[ Prompt ] Syra's Inspirations :: Updated Weekly!

[Syranelle Ironleaf]

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It has always been my habit in various roleplay communities that I've been part of to aspire to inspire others and provide them a small nudge in further developing their characters.  There aren't any "rules" to this beyond your own creativity; they can be as long or as short as you please.  Whatever the prompt inspires you to write, you write, whether it's on the prompted theme or not.  

 

This week:

 

What is the best advice your character's father ever gave them?  (If your character doesn't have a father, then substitute any other mentor or significant role model.)

 

"Take care of each other," her father rasped as both of his emaciated hands enveloped one of her own.  Syranelle's eyes looked over the gaunt hollows of her father's face, her lips compressing into a thin line.  He had once been so strong, so virulent; the wasting sickness had eaten away at him until he was but some pale imitation of himself.  Yet, there was still an underlying thread of strength in his voice as he spoke and a fierce determination in his eyes as he gazed back up at his eldest daughter. "Family always comes first."

 

"I know," she replied.  "I'll do my best."  

 

She withdrew her hand from his in order to reach into the nearby basin and wring out the cloth she left there.  As she set the cool compress on her father's forehead, she could feel the heat radiating from his skin.  Try as she might, there was naught she could do to alleviate his symptoms or her mother's for that matter.  They had both taken ill almost simultaneously; she half-suspected it was because of their close bond and how devoted her parents were to one another.  They were a testament to her father's own words:  Family always comes first.  There was no burden they wouldn't share with each other.  Still, Syra couldn't help but feel a pang of resentment.

 

If family always comes first, then you cannot leave us!  You cannot leave me here alone to tend to Arthuriel!  You have to fight!

 

Yet, even as she thought the words there was a pang of regret as they passed.  She knew both of her parents well enough to know that if there was any alternative at all they would never place this burden on her shoulders.  A hand lifted and brushed across her cheek which caused her to look up at her father.  Green eyes that mirrored her own gave her a long look of understanding.  "I know that we're asking a lot of you, Ironleaf, but you're strong and you'll do right by your sister.  I wish we could... We could--"  A spasm of pain crossed her father's features and anything else was lost as she clutched at his wrist gingerly with both hands, as if she could cling to him and keep him rooted in this life for just a while longer.

 

"Don't leave me," she whispered, nuzzling her face into her father's palm as it still lay against her cheek.  "I'm not ready yet."  The only answer was her father's unsteady, shallow breaths.  

 

Take care of each other; family always comes first.  The words engraved themselves upon her heart and she would follow them to the best of her ability.  She was young yet, still malleable to her parents' will.  It would become the cornerstone upon which her future would be built, whether she realized it or not.

[Virella]

If you're going to update weekly, I won't do mine then ! In any case, once I wake up, I will edit this and reply properly to this

[Valence]

Obedience without a thought is to be cultivated, but so is the moral certitude to know when to disagree.

 

 

Was told to Suen by her mother matriarch once, in a matter where she had to disagree with the botanist guild. It came to bite her in the ass later when Suen twisted it to the letter for pretty much anything.

[Raeje]

Raeje's father disappeared along with her mother and older sister when Raeje was only 6, but, being the more nomadic Xeaela out of her whole family, Raeje's father did give her some useful advice. 

"Learn how to protect yourself. Yes, we are open to communicating with various races, but that doesn't mean they completely understand us. There are some who are still weary of us. Learn to fight. No matter how much you may hate violence, at least learn to defend yourself and the ones you love. There may come a time when you have to fight for your life."

 

At six, Raeje thought nothing of this, but as she grew older, she began to pick up on the dangers that her father was talking about. When she was 16 she began to train in archery, because mele combat seemed too much like dancing, and Raeje couldn't seem to keep her balance and timing. But archery came to her, eventually.

 

 

((*Edit* By the way, I love the writing promt. Let's do more of these.))

[Syranelle Ironleaf]

What is one thing in your character's possessions that has special significance to them? It can be as magical or mundane as you like.

 

Long-fingered, elegant hands took each book down from the bookshelf, dusting off the binding and edges with care. For a moment, the Duskwight paused in her work, looking at the ruin of those hands; each finger slightly twisted and misshapen, the knuckles bulbous and inflamed. Flashfire memories drifted across her mind -- Lifting the rock to smash it against her hands time and again, leaving them as mangled, bloody messes. I never wanted to wield a bow again... Not after what I did to her... A pang of regret rippled through her, not for what she did back then, but for how it affected her now. Still, though she couldn't hold a bow, Ree had shown and taught her that it wasn't altogether different to use a rifle. A smile crossed her features then and she set the book back on the shelf with equal care before moving onward to dust off the shelves of the curio cabinet.

 

Flumph. As she neared it, one of the stuffed animals that resided there had fallen onto the floor. It was a tattered, stained stuffed Chocobo that looked as if it had seen better days. She knelt, collecting the small toy up in both of her ruined hands before cradling it to her chest as if it were a living thing. "Sorry," she murmured, gentle fingers brushing the dirt and rug fibers from the top of the tiny doll's head. She kissed its soft forehead, its pale, Nophica Green head feathers waggling with the exhalation of her breath. The stitching of its seams was thinning and it had one small patched area where it had sprung a leak a few years ago. Still, even as battered and war-torn as the toy was, it soldiered onward with her through life.

 

"Remember, Syra..." Her mother said, her tone quite serious for the normally merry weaver. "A chocobo is a lifelong companion; they are steadfastly loyal to their riders and you'll nary find a better friend." They stood together at the pen where the family's one chocobo, Yohan, paced around in the hard-packed dirt. He turned his head and piped a glad-sounding, "Kweh!" before running over to meet them. Her mother laughed, smiling fondly at the large bird.

 

"Now, hold still a minute, Yohan." Vivienne raised a hand to caress the chocobo's noble head before abruptly plucking a couple of crest feathers. "Wark!" Yohan yelped in protest, shuffling his feet against the ground. He made no other move, nor did he snap at the woman who so offended his plumage. Syra's mother dipped her head courteously to the chocobo. "Sorry, Yohan, but I need these for a project." She reached into a pocket, producing a Krakka Root which she gave over to the chocobo. It seemed to mollify him as he wolfed it down.

 

Mother and daughter carried on back to their modest cottage; that's when Vivenne set to work. It was such a small thing, but it took her a good day and a half to create because she wanted it to be as perfect as possible. Once she was done, she called Syra into the room with her and presented her with the hand-sewn stuffed chocobo doll. Yohan's feathers, it seemed, were used to create the doll's crest feathers on top of its head. From the moment Syra laid eyes on it, she loved the toy instantly.

 

"Until you're old enough to manage Yohan on your own, this will have to do." Her mother chuckled.

 

It was one of the few things Syra had managed to keep all these years; one of the very few reminders and remnants of a life that felt so distant from where she was now. She was the daughter of a weaver and a thief; humble beginnings for someone who now rode into battle against Garleans and Dravanians and whatever else Eorzea had to throw at them. Yet, it served to keep her grounded, to remind her that life was more than endless war and waging of these monumental battles. There was life and the living of it, too.

 

She set the toy back on the shelf where it belonged. "Thank you, Mother. I miss you..."

[GhostlyMaiden]

"Hey, hey Aulbi! I got you somethin! It was pretty like you and I know your namesday was bout a week ago, so I thought i'd give this necklace to the best big sister eeeeever!"

 

Aulbiene had just turned ten years old when her seven year old brother gave her the necklace. It was a necklace which had a crest and the symbol of Ishgard inside, it was fashioned like a chocker and decorated in silver. She never did question where her younger brother got the necklace, she was just happy she had a present from who she saw was the 'best younger brother ever'. At the time, the necklace was too big to fit and until she could finally wear it, she kept it hidden from sight in her pockets.

 

It's been twenty years now since she got the necklace and she still holds onto it - wears it all the time. Desipte her feelings for Ishgard, she wears the necklace proudly for it was a gift given to her by the family member she was closest to. She yearned to see her brother again, but she knew it could not happen, not for a long time.

[Syranelle Ironleaf]

Tell a story about your character's favored animal companion. This can be a mount or a pet, whichever is preferred, past or present.

 

In the first days after the Calamity, Syra wavered in and out of consciousness as Allerian, the one surviving healer, struggled to keep her from the Lifestream. In those rare, blissful moments that she slipped into slumber and away from the agonizing pain of her injuries, she dreamt. Or, perhaps, it was remembered. She was never quite sure. They were lucid and so real, it was as if she could touch and smell everything. This one was no exception.

 

Father took her up in his arms, lifting her high overhead to settle her onto Yohan's back. She squealed giddily as she threw her arms around the valiant chocobo's neck, nuzzling into the downy feathers. "Yohan here has been in our family since my grandfather raised him from a chick, so you'll have to be gentle. He's an old boy."

 

Syra loosened her grip on the chocobo's neck a tad, large green eyes looking to her father as she nodded with a grave seriousness that was ill-suited to the normally precocious child. "Yes, Father. I'll be good to him." The chocobo turned his head and nuzzled his beak against his tiny rider's knee. She scratched his crest feathers in return. A slow, content whistle eased out of Yohan as he closed his eyes in enjoyment.

 

"See? He likes you." Her father chuckled. "Chocobo are very loyal to their riders, as long as they're treated well. I want you to be sure and take extra good care of him because he's always been there for our family."

 

"Yes, Father. I promise."

 

Wait. Where was Yohan?

 

All at once, Syranelle snapped to full wakefulness. Her eyes darted to her surroundings as the fog of slumber gave way to the searing dawn of pain. Even as her body stiffened in reaction and tears welled in her eyes in response, she wouldn't stop searching. Yohan. Where is Yohan? Her vision wavered and she felt more than saw the looming shadow of someone sitting nearby. She lifted a hand toward it and felt two others envelop her own. They were cool, small, and delicate. Arthuriel.

 

"Shh, Syra, don't speak. I know it hurts, Allerian will be here shortly." Her sister murmured softly.

 

The elder of the sisters shook her head vehemently. "--han..." she managed to gasp past the overwhelming feelings of pain and bewilderment. "Yohan."

 

Arthuriel's brows twitched together. "You nearly died in that cave-in and all you can think of is the damned chocobo?"

 

A wave of dizziness assaulted Syra's senses as the peripherals of her vision were hemmed with blackness. She was going to lose consciousness again. Arthuriel didn't understand, though, she had to make her sister understand. This was important. Yohan was important. She'd promised. Promised Father...

 

"Oh, Allerian, thank every God that you're here..." Arthuriel drew away and despite a Duskwight's keen sense of hearing, whatever was said next became nothing but garbled sounds as Syra continued to struggle to stay awake. The pain was too great, though, and her body refused to partake of it any longer.

 

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Long recovered, Syranelle crept through the Shroud undergrowth toward the caravan encampment. Donatien's information had proven true; the merchant's guard contingent was non-existent. This would be easy-pickings. She looked over her shoulder, holding up two fingers and waving them off to her right, then motioning with a hand to move forward. Two of the hunting party split off and flit through the forestland off to her right as indicated, the other four followed her as they snuck into the encampment proper.

 

As they neared the wagons, they could see that one of the two was a cage. In that cage were crammed at least a dozen chocobo so that there was barely space to move. They all lay on the filthy, mute-covered floor of the cage, piled on top of one another as they tried to sleep. Just by looking at them, it was easy to see that they were malnourished and mistreated. Syra motioned for the other three with her to check the other wagons as she herself went over to the cage of birds. Hopefully they wouldn't raise a racket and rouse the camp before their work was done.

 

Duskwight shadows flit through the camp, but Syra's attention was rooted to the chocobo. Poor, abused creatures. She studied the simple iron lock holding the cage closed; it should be simple enough to pick. Her nimble hands plucked the lockpicks from her belt and she set to work. As the picks rattled lightly, one of the birds raised its head and peered her direction. One eye of the noble bird was swollen shut and there was a crack in his beak on that same side, as if he'd suffered some massive trauma or beating on that side of his head. Syra felt a wellspring of sympathy for the creature.

 

"Almost done..." she whispered to the birds. At the sound of her voice, the chocobo's one good eye seemed to brighten. "Kweh-kweh!" it piped.

 

The sound jolted Syra and she peered more closely at the bird. Dusty-green feathers covered the bird, save for a few patches where they'd been rubbed down by harness or saddle. Yet, there was something unmistakable in his carriage and the sound of the creature's ululations. "Yohan..." she breathed.

 

Somehow, the chocobo had escaped the cave-in during the Calamity and found his way to the surface. Like her, he was a survivor who had found a small group of others to band together with. She smiled, tears welling in her eyes as she worked to pick the lock faster. "Oh, Yohan..." There. It was done. The lock clicked then sprang open, allowing her to throw the door of the cage open. Yohan shuffled to his feet, which woke his cage-mates.

 

For a moment, the chocobo stood there, bewildered at this development. It took Yohan piping and hopping down out of the cage for the rest of them to follow suit. Syranelle didn't waste any time throwing her arms around Yohan's neck and hugging the bird as she buried her face in his neck feathers, as she had done so many times as a child. Chocobo are very loyal to their riders... she recalled her father saying.

 

"Syra! Come on, there's nothing here. Let's go!" one of the other Duskwights hissed. Oh, how wrong he was though. There was something beloved and treasured here. She turned to him and replied, "Lead the chocobos out of here, they're good animals that could be good for us, if we nurse them back to health and take care of them."

 

There wasn't any time for argument. The other hunters took the remaining chocobo by ones and twos, leading them out of the encampment. Syra wouldn't allow anyone to lead Yohan away but her. Bird and rider, reunited. This time, she intended to make good on her promises and make sure that he was well taken care of for the rest of his natural life.

[Raeje]

Raeje's favorite pet is Jeseppe. It's her horse. Horses are common creatures for Xaela, but Raeje didn't own her own until right before she fled from the Garleans. This is because she stole the horse from a Garlean soldier. When they came to take Raeje's and her uncle's Inn by force, the Garleans left their horses in the stables outside the Inn. Raeje isn't an idiot, so she stole one, and rode off on it immediately. 

 

Of course, Raeje did have a little trouble with Jeseppe at first, because the horse didn't know her, but she had been taught to ride horses as a child, and although it had been many years since she had ridden one for any length of time, Raeje found herself eventually learning the horse's personality. Being a natural animal lover, Raeje learned to become almost one with the horse over a long period of time, and eventually, they became good friends. Raeje trusts her horse almost more than she trusts some people. She is not a member of the tribe who marries their horses, and so would not marry her horse, but even so, Raeje does think extremely highly of Jeseppe, and would go to great lengths to preserve the horse's life.

[Syranelle Ironleaf]

What is one outstanding feature of your character?  Tell the story behind it.

 

"Nice tattoo."

 

Steam wafted up from the Camp Bronze Lake hot spring, casting the speaker that loomed over her into shadow as Syranelle opened her eyes.  The Duskwight shifted slightly, sitting up in the pool from where she'd been reclining, a hand reaching up to the left side of her chest where the only tattoo she had resided.  It rode just beneath her collarbone and dipped down to just where the curve of her bosom began.  The detail-work was exquisite, the artist clearly having given painstaking attention to the tattoo's design and implementation.

 

It depicted a large closed book of a green-gold hue. Upon the cover of the book was an elegant spear of what seemed to be bluish crystals. The spear itself was surrounded by vines and leaves of varying green, giving the appearance that it was being completely embraced by it.  Behind the book was a pair of scaled wings that closed lightly over the book, almost in a protective way, they themselves were cyan and purple in color.  Just looking at it gave the Elezen cause to smile as she looked up at the young miqo'te girl that joined her in the hot spring.

 

"It is of great significance to me," she said, letting her hand drop back down beneath the water, though she continued to sit up and look at the miqo'te congenially.  "It commemorates the moment in which I fully dedicated my life to my beloved, conquered his heart, if you will."  Her mouth pulled upward in a tilting, playful smile, as if recalling some unknown, private jest.  After a moment, she returned her attention to the miqo'te who peered over.

 

"Interesting, but what does it mean?"

 

"Truthfully, it is symbolic of who we are together.  The book represents me and my scholarly pursuits; I am a researcher, something of a historian, and a growing Arcanist.  The spear represents my beloved, a dragoon of Ishgard.  The vines that embrace the spear, me again, a play on my taken surname of 'Ironleaf', and the wings, him again, telling of his protective nature over me as well as the draconic aether that all dragoons possess."

 

"How... romantic...?"  The miqo'te sounded more confused than impressed.

 

Syranelle could only laugh gently.  "Perhaps not to some, but just the act of getting the tattoo has significance in itself.  You see, it was once customary of my beloved and his squadron of dragoons to commemorate their victories with such tattoos.  This is the first of many I will likely have, but my bright-heart already has so many that there is nary room left upon his skin by which to mark any more of his accomplishments."

 

"Sounds like quite a catch."  The girl replied with a slight smile.  "This guy must be pretty important if you're wiling to get all tatted up on his account."

 

The Elezen lifted her hands out of the water, holding them about a fulm apart, each hand holding a small amount of water.  "He is all of my heart and half of my soul.  Our lives have run together like two handfuls of water to make one irrefutable whole."  She drew her hands together, the cupped water merging.  "Together, we are made stronger and we bring out the best in one another."

 

"I hope I find someone like that someday," the girl sighed wistfully.

 

"You will, probably when you least expect it.  Gods only know I wasn't looking at all when Irridias came along.  Now?  I can't imagine my life without him."

 

The conversation continued onward, the young girl asking questions of the older Duskwight, about love, dedication, and all the things young girls daydream about, but very few got to experience.  Syranelle answered her questions kindly; after all, it wasn't every girl who got swept off her feet by a gallant knight and Syra counted hers among the very best.  Of course, she knew she was biased, but she wouldn't have it any other way.