01-02-2020, 01:39 PM
decisions to decisions are made and not bought
If there was one thing to be known about Astiar, it was that he was horrifically simple. He was a simple creature with simple desires. He was, after all, on the same mental levels as a bug. It was what he was. A cicada that had been taken from a nymph into the body of a dragon. A heavy genetic mutation. How it had happened was unknown. Why it had happened was equally as odd. No reasoning for such a thing, but it had happened nonetheless. It had taken an ordinary metamorphism and created a monster of a creature. A cicada thrust into the body of a dragon. Instincts that did not line up with the body that he was in. The instincts were so basic, though, that they worked rather fine no matter what body he was in. The diet was the same, and that allowed for him to survive without complications. It would be terrible, if he were to change into this humongous form and then instinct not provide for him. It certainly would have led to his demise. Perhaps it had been because of the mutation, that allowed for his body to share a diet with the body that he once had.
Food was constantly on the cicada's mind. Whenever he was not lazing around in camp, or making as much noise as he physically could manage, he was looking for food. Constantly scouring the burned jungle for whatever plant sustenance he could find. The garden that had been made, thus far, had alluded him. That trend would continue today. His antennae were raised high and his head lowered to the ground. Astiar swiftly snapped up burnt twigs, leaves, and the sprouts of plants that were trying their hardest to return to life. His attention was easily moved around - the bug was an easily distracted by many things. Small ants caught his attention, and his lowered head was easily able to see the small insects march along. He chattered to them, and few chattered back. After all, he could be considered a predator now despite his cicada roots. He had the size for it, the body for it. Yet he seemed more than happy to converse with fellow insects in the ways that only insects could. Astiar wasn't too upset about not being able to speak to others that lived alongside him back at the camp. He wasn't truly capable of feeling upset, for that matter. "SMALL," came the sudden shriek from the cicada's mind. It sent the ants scurrying away - a boost of another strange add-on to the anomaly that was Astiar.
The cicada was no deep thinker. It was something that he was not able to grasp. His mind was a simple thing, and simple things were all he could grasp. Single words were the limit of his comprehension for the tongue that everyone around him spoke in spare the language of the insects. He could only comprehend singular words, and even then it was a coin flip of if the cicada would truly understand. Sometimes his expression would only convey confusion, and his head would tilt to the side and he wouldn't make any move based on it - unless other factors came and forced him. Danger was one of the most common forms that would strike the cicada and change his actions. A lazy dragon that did little to nothing had been spurred to investigate during a massive raid that had burned down his food supply. It had led to him venturing from the Pitt's territory, looking for food. Starving, the cicada had been. He still was, in truth, but there was little he could do about it. Food wasn't spare. He wasn't about to go back to where a lion had burned him, where shouting had ensued, where pain had taken hold of one of his legs. It still hurt as he trotted on back to the camp. An awkward limp had attached itself to his walking cycle. Despite having five other legs, Astiar did not easily adapt to change.
Taking in suddenly being able to speak, in an odd sense, was confusing. It didn't compute with his instincts or his mind that was still entirely convinced that he was a bug and needed to stay in his bug like demeanors. Instinct kept him safe. His basic mind had absolutely no reason to ever ignore his instincts. Astiar may have the body of a dragon, but time and time and time again he proved himself to be a bug in the mind. When he arrived back to the camp - after munching upon a rare burned bush that he had found in order to sate his hunger - he somewhat charged at the first person that he saw. It was seldom a time for the insect to actually move quickly. Not even when he was attacked did he move quickly. He did slow down a decent distance away, his antennae wriggling above his head. From his mind came a sudden and sharp chatter, one that absolutely tore into someone's head in the way a severe headache would. "HIVE SMALL GREETING SMALL NO FOOD HIVE GREETING NO FOOD SMALL," came the burst of jagged, simplistic words from the cicada. His head tipped curiously to one side, staring down at whomever it was who was the victim of, technically, the first words for Astiar to ever speak. Loud and noisy, the entire embodiment of Astiar summarized in two words simple enough that even he would be able to understand.
Food was constantly on the cicada's mind. Whenever he was not lazing around in camp, or making as much noise as he physically could manage, he was looking for food. Constantly scouring the burned jungle for whatever plant sustenance he could find. The garden that had been made, thus far, had alluded him. That trend would continue today. His antennae were raised high and his head lowered to the ground. Astiar swiftly snapped up burnt twigs, leaves, and the sprouts of plants that were trying their hardest to return to life. His attention was easily moved around - the bug was an easily distracted by many things. Small ants caught his attention, and his lowered head was easily able to see the small insects march along. He chattered to them, and few chattered back. After all, he could be considered a predator now despite his cicada roots. He had the size for it, the body for it. Yet he seemed more than happy to converse with fellow insects in the ways that only insects could. Astiar wasn't too upset about not being able to speak to others that lived alongside him back at the camp. He wasn't truly capable of feeling upset, for that matter. "SMALL," came the sudden shriek from the cicada's mind. It sent the ants scurrying away - a boost of another strange add-on to the anomaly that was Astiar.
The cicada was no deep thinker. It was something that he was not able to grasp. His mind was a simple thing, and simple things were all he could grasp. Single words were the limit of his comprehension for the tongue that everyone around him spoke in spare the language of the insects. He could only comprehend singular words, and even then it was a coin flip of if the cicada would truly understand. Sometimes his expression would only convey confusion, and his head would tilt to the side and he wouldn't make any move based on it - unless other factors came and forced him. Danger was one of the most common forms that would strike the cicada and change his actions. A lazy dragon that did little to nothing had been spurred to investigate during a massive raid that had burned down his food supply. It had led to him venturing from the Pitt's territory, looking for food. Starving, the cicada had been. He still was, in truth, but there was little he could do about it. Food wasn't spare. He wasn't about to go back to where a lion had burned him, where shouting had ensued, where pain had taken hold of one of his legs. It still hurt as he trotted on back to the camp. An awkward limp had attached itself to his walking cycle. Despite having five other legs, Astiar did not easily adapt to change.
Taking in suddenly being able to speak, in an odd sense, was confusing. It didn't compute with his instincts or his mind that was still entirely convinced that he was a bug and needed to stay in his bug like demeanors. Instinct kept him safe. His basic mind had absolutely no reason to ever ignore his instincts. Astiar may have the body of a dragon, but time and time and time again he proved himself to be a bug in the mind. When he arrived back to the camp - after munching upon a rare burned bush that he had found in order to sate his hunger - he somewhat charged at the first person that he saw. It was seldom a time for the insect to actually move quickly. Not even when he was attacked did he move quickly. He did slow down a decent distance away, his antennae wriggling above his head. From his mind came a sudden and sharp chatter, one that absolutely tore into someone's head in the way a severe headache would. "HIVE SMALL GREETING SMALL NO FOOD HIVE GREETING NO FOOD SMALL," came the burst of jagged, simplistic words from the cicada. His head tipped curiously to one side, staring down at whomever it was who was the victim of, technically, the first words for Astiar to ever speak. Loud and noisy, the entire embodiment of Astiar summarized in two words simple enough that even he would be able to understand.
control yourself and take only what you need from it
TAGS 9/4/19:
[table]
[tr]
[td][/td]
[td]
[/tr]
[/table]
[tr]
[td][/td]
[td]
FULZANIN is a 19 year old content creator. Currently roleplaying as Beezlebub in the Pitt and Jotunhel in the Typhoon. Time spent outside of work and writing is typically done in Creatures of Sonaria. FULZANIN is also in a happy relationship, and is aegosexual/asexual herself.
[/td][/tr]
[/table]