[ID: A digital illustration of Fearne Calloway, Dorian Storm and Orym. Fearne smiles, her face tilted towards the flowers on her staff. Dorian plays his flute, looking at Orym. Orym holds his sword, resting it on his left shoulder as he smiles at Dorian. End description.]
They're cute <3 🌺🌧️🍃
I’m convinced Liam and Robbie have some kind of psychic Dorym link there is no other explanation for Orym saying “I run straight at Dorian—“ and Dorian immediately making the move to boost him up w/o speaking
(a snippet of a fic i might never finish)
"I’m just more used to it, I guess,” Dorian said after a moment. “Leaving things out, I mean.”
Orym tilted his head, considering that. “How do you reach the point where that’s more familiar to you? Isn’t it... isn’t it normal for kids to lie to their parents?”
“Oh, sure,” Dorian laughed, “but, well, my mother has a bit of magic, and zone of truth makes that much more complicated.”
Dorian was smiling, but Orym felt his blood run cold. “What?” he breathed.
“It’s a tricky spell, that one,” Dorian continued, seemingly not noticing the horror slowly making its home on Orym’s face. “It doesn’t actually force you to tell the truth, but it feels like it’s going to. The first few times she used it on me, when I was a kid, I just blurted out every truth I could think of. Not just what I had done wrong in that moment, the thing she was asking about, but any rules I had broken that she hadn’t asked about.”
“How young were you?” Orym found himself asking, unable to tear his eyes away from the relaxed, carefree, casual expression that Dorian wore. Like this was commonplace, normal. “The first time. How young?”
“Oh, five, maybe?” Dorian answered easily. “But I learned pretty quickly, what the spell required. You couldn’t lie, but you could dance around the truth, say just enough to satisfy the questions without really saying anything you didn’t want to.” He lifted a shoulder, a half-shrug, his mouth still turned up in that smile, like they were sharing a joke. “Easy.”
“Dorian, that’s...” Orym hesitated, searching for the word.
Dorian blinked, noticing, now, the look on his face. His expression faltered, becoming unsure, nervous. “Ah, sorry, did I say something wrong?”
“No,” Orym said quickly, the word coming out in almost a growl, wrenched from his throat. “No, no, you didn’t do anything wrong. But nobody should be casting zone of truth on a five-year-old, let alone their own child.”
“She was just... she was over-protective. She didn’t want us doing things we weren’t supposed to be doing.”
Orym shook his head. “Dorian, zone of truth is... it’s a spell for criminals on trial. Or, if you’re especially paranoid, it’s for dealings with people you don’t trust. It is not for... for children.”
Eshteross should’ve made them write the letter
Dear Lady Vex’ahlia and Lord Percy of Whitestone,
We regret to inform you that this old man your friend? Sir Bertrand Bell said he knew you and was once a member of Vox Machina. He’s dead now. We regret to inform you he has passed away. Uh here he is. And his personal effects.
Oɾყɱ σϝ ƚԋҽ Aιɾ Aʂԋαɾι, ꧁༺ʄɛǟʀռɛ ƈǟʟʟօաǟʏ༻꧂, ꜰʀᴇꜱʜ ᴄᴜᴛ ɢʀᴀꜱꜱ, ᴬˢʰᵗᵒⁿ, 𝔇𝔬𝔯𝔦𝔞𝔫 𝔖𝔱𝔬𝔯𝔪, 𝓘𝓶𝓸𝓰𝓮𝓷, and L̸͎̣̻͍̯̅̋͘a̶̡̜̳̬̘̫͒͊͊̽ų̵̻̮̈́̅̋͋̔̃̕͠d̵̙͙͚͙̮̖͈̺̎̆̓͋͂̀͋͜ͅn̵̩̿͂̀̏͂͛̃͘̚ä̵̧̛͕͔́͐̉̇͘̕͝