[Reports of this fog are unnerving, to say the least. Firoza is not versed in how illness spreads, particularly, but the very idea of something you could breathe in causing such harm...well, it stirs memories of times where she thought back to what could have been, and pulls the blue bandana up and over her Nidoran snout, if only for a way to comfort herself as she dives into the woods to help.]
Hello? Anyone out there? Can you hear me?
[For someone usually so soft-spoken, Firoza's shouts through the trees are surprisingly strong, unshakably confident. She hopes that's something these lost and confused Pokemon are drawn to - someone who sounds like they could get them out of here. And she can! You can't be ignorant of the forest if you're with the Cheri Berries, after all.]
It's going to be alright - help is on the way!
B - Night Terrors [cw: body horror, scars, blood, fucked up nightmare imagery; closed to Cheri Berries]
[She doesn't know if the fog from the forest had gotten to her somehow. If it had clung to her and lingered in her lungs so it could seep into the rest of her body. But that night, curled up in her allotment of leaves, the wind is bitingly cold, and the darkness presses oppressively close.
In her dreams, she's a Hyur again - and in her dreams the dead strip away her armaments and drag her deep, deep, down into a tangle of briars and rotted corpses grasping, grabbing. The briar patch blooms with black roses. The dead are a thousand thousands, foes and friends alike, pulling her further and further in until she can't even see faces anymore. Until ice-cold hands cradle her face, and her eyes pop open to see the luminous blue of-]
Ve-
[The utterance is heard in the waking world as Firoza's form thrashes, strangled cries of pain slipping through gritted teeth. In the faint light of the stars and moon that push through the Canopy, you can see a line of blood etch itself across Firoza's right cheek. Then another. Then another - enough to form wispy tendrils, a garish mimicry of the markings on her face in her original body. The ones she awoke with, after collapsing in front of the Sultantree and properly communing with Hydaelyn for the first time. The marks she often joked were the strange scribbles of a god, a primal, an ancient who wanted to make sure everyone knew this was Her Mortal.
Firoza tumbles out of her nest of leaves, half-awake and shaking with pain, but once with that onze of awareness, her pained cries are wrangled into strained hisses and gasps.]
Wh...why...who - ow...
[Oh boy, talking doesn't feel great.]
C - Someone Fetch a Healer!
[Fixing clerical errors is not something Firoza can do. She's just...her brain doesn't process it. Making food or medicine? No, can't do that, the most she can do is put something on a stick and roast it on a fire. But delivering that food or medicine? Absolutely easy-peasy lemon squeezy. All she needs is a description of the patient and to know they get this or that, and she's off, maneuvering with care around the overcrowded clinic. She's pulled her bandana over her snout again, half for the placebo against the illness and half because her face is...well, let's not scare people with what happened to her face, yeah? Yeah.
It so happens she approaches you with a baggie held between her Nidoran buck teeth. She looks you over, as if mentally confirming something, and then places it down before you.]
Hello. I've been told to deliver this to you, and see that you take it.
[So whether it's the grossest medicine you've ever had to drink or a berry-jam sandwich, this little blue creature is going to sit and watch you put it in your gob and finish the whole thing, goshdarnit.]
D - Wildcard
[None of these prompts hitting your interest? Want to encounter Firoza somewhere else? Hit me with a scenario, I'm up for it!]
Firoza Istus | Final Fantasy XIV (OC) | Current Player, OTA unless noted
[Reports of this fog are unnerving, to say the least. Firoza is not versed in how illness spreads, particularly, but the very idea of something you could breathe in causing such harm...well, it stirs memories of times where she thought back to what could have been, and pulls the blue bandana up and over her Nidoran snout, if only for a way to comfort herself as she dives into the woods to help.]
Hello? Anyone out there? Can you hear me?
[For someone usually so soft-spoken, Firoza's shouts through the trees are surprisingly strong, unshakably confident. She hopes that's something these lost and confused Pokemon are drawn to - someone who sounds like they could get them out of here. And she can! You can't be ignorant of the forest if you're with the Cheri Berries, after all.]
It's going to be alright - help is on the way!
B - Night Terrors [cw: body horror, scars, blood, fucked up nightmare imagery; closed to Cheri Berries]
[She doesn't know if the fog from the forest had gotten to her somehow. If it had clung to her and lingered in her lungs so it could seep into the rest of her body. But that night, curled up in her allotment of leaves, the wind is bitingly cold, and the darkness presses oppressively close.
In her dreams, she's a Hyur again - and in her dreams the dead strip away her armaments and drag her deep, deep, down into a tangle of briars and rotted corpses grasping, grabbing. The briar patch blooms with black roses. The dead are a thousand thousands, foes and friends alike, pulling her further and further in until she can't even see faces anymore. Until ice-cold hands cradle her face, and her eyes pop open to see the luminous blue of-]
Ve-
[The utterance is heard in the waking world as Firoza's form thrashes, strangled cries of pain slipping through gritted teeth. In the faint light of the stars and moon that push through the Canopy, you can see a line of blood etch itself across Firoza's right cheek. Then another. Then another - enough to form wispy tendrils, a garish mimicry of the markings on her face in her original body. The ones she awoke with, after collapsing in front of the Sultantree and properly communing with Hydaelyn for the first time. The marks she often joked were the strange scribbles of a god, a primal, an ancient who wanted to make sure everyone knew this was Her Mortal.
Firoza tumbles out of her nest of leaves, half-awake and shaking with pain, but once with that onze of awareness, her pained cries are wrangled into strained hisses and gasps.]
Wh...why...who - ow...
[Oh boy, talking doesn't feel great.]
C - Someone Fetch a Healer!
[Fixing clerical errors is not something Firoza can do. She's just...her brain doesn't process it. Making food or medicine? No, can't do that, the most she can do is put something on a stick and roast it on a fire. But delivering that food or medicine? Absolutely easy-peasy lemon squeezy. All she needs is a description of the patient and to know they get this or that, and she's off, maneuvering with care around the overcrowded clinic. She's pulled her bandana over her snout again, half for the placebo against the illness and half because her face is...well, let's not scare people with what happened to her face, yeah? Yeah.
It so happens she approaches you with a baggie held between her Nidoran buck teeth. She looks you over, as if mentally confirming something, and then places it down before you.]
Hello. I've been told to deliver this to you, and see that you take it.
[So whether it's the grossest medicine you've ever had to drink or a berry-jam sandwich, this little blue creature is going to sit and watch you put it in your gob and finish the whole thing, goshdarnit.]
D - Wildcard
[None of these prompts hitting your interest? Want to encounter Firoza somewhere else? Hit me with a scenario, I'm up for it!]