#orym thread

[songandshield]

@whitestone-endures sent to Orym from Vilya II...

"Can't you give me a straight answer anymore?"

"For what, Vi? Why I don't want to go with you? Why I don't want to stay here? I have--" Orym took a deep breath, rolling his shoulders, looking out on the cliffside where she had followed him. News had spread (from his mother or Nell maybe) that Orym was intending on setting off alone. Possibly towards Emon.

"I have to do something on my own. Without..."

Without Will. Without Derrig.

He had never had to do that before. Never.

"Leaving here is just easier. Without anyone else. I'm sorry. I just... have to figure myself out for a while."

[songandshield]

@whitestone-endures sent from Keyleth...

"You were injured. Have you allowed someone to heal you or are you too stubborn to let them?"

"No-- um, no, I mean, I did. I did, Tempset. But..." Orym shifted a little nervously. The Tempset was worldly, she was wise and powerful and smart. He did not take her for a fool, he did not take her to be prejudice or bigoted in anyway. What he did know, however, was her abundant caution for her people. Himself, included, if not more so, after everything he'd lost.

If she wanted to bench him, so to speak, she could. He didn't want that. Not over something that had been resolved.

Orym's hand briefly touched the scars on his face, as if to show they didn't hurt. But he knew they wouldn't heal either.

"Believe me, Mom already tried." Orym smiled for a brief moment before turning serious again. "It wasn't a full moon, so I'm... fine. Chetney-- he just lost control. He's better now. He's more in control than before." He shrugged, shaking his head, smiling again. "I'm fine. He just got a lucky swipe, that's all."

[songandshield]

@whitestone-endures sent from Vilya II ....

"And now, rather than admit these feelings, you're dancing around one another with this mind-numbing and frankly boorish mating ritual."

"Keep your voice down, Vilya." Orym glared back at his old friend as he plucked eggs from his mother's chicken coop. They were alone, more or less. The others of Bell's Hells were enjoying their few days in Zephrah. And all Orym wanted to do was spend time with his mother, doing chores around the house for her.

"Could you take these into the house for Mom? Please?" He handed the basket to her, or rather held it out hoping she would take it and drop the subject. Once she was gone, he'd start up on actually repairing the warped boards of the coop. And he couldn't very well carry on a conversation about his stalled love life if he was hammering away, could he?

He knew the Tempest was a formidable woman. She wouldn't be their leader if she wasn't. But had very few memories of the Champion of Ravens. And Vilya and he had grown up and perhaps grown apart a little in the last handful of years, as Orym set off on his own adventures away, after Will's death. So perhaps Orym simply forgot how stubborn his old friend could be.

[songandshield]

@opal-punk asked for ...a Orym starter!

"Dorian? Take a walk with me?" Orym asked, once they were settling in, after Aeor. Back safe in Zephrah. Alma had hugged Orym tight when he return and burst into tears seeing Dorian, hugging him with an extra squeeze. Something Orym knew his mother did when she was extra worried. Cyrus's body had been returned to Zephrah. Orym knew he couldn't expect Dorian to stick around for much longer.

As much as he wanted him to stay...

Orym held Dorian's hand, bringing him along towards a winding path, where the blossom of flowers and trees grew more vibrant with each bloom they passed until they came to the memorial plateaus, the graveyard. There were bridges and stepping stones, each memorial connected to the next. A reminder that they were all connected, in some way. There were empty spaces still and Orym knew it was far too presumptuous to think that Dorian would want to lay Cyrus to rest here. But he wanted to do something, for Dorian.

"I know your parents will want to... I mean, I don't know how your people deal with death. But if you would want something here for him. A stone, a tree, anything... I'm sure Derrig and Will wouldn't mind the company. It's helpful, I think, having a place to come talk to people who have left us."

Stacked stone marked the graves of his husband and the man who Orym thought of as his own father. Will's sword stuck into the ground, Derrig's chestplate fastened to the stones. Six years of weathering, six years of Orym and their family coming to visit and polish the relics and leave flowers. He had failed to bring Faerne and Dorian with him before, failed to visit himself when they had stayed here before setting off for Orym's mission. Before meeting the rest of the Bell's Hells.

[songandshield]

[ cont from here with @springvaletales ]

"Either way, you're not getting him without a fight."

Orym gave a half shrug, not letting his defenses down for a moment. He was quick, but he wasn't about to make the first move if Michael had a mind to do it himself. He was here to protect his friend.

"What are you?"

[songandshield]

broken cornerstone | bell's hells rp | orym open thread

Orym didn't speak much after they had found him. He'd been gone for weeks. The Ruby Vanguard getting the drop on the party. He knew he'd fallen in battle. How badly the whole thing had gone, he couldn't even remember. But at least some of the Vanguard had gotten away.

With him.

At first he thought maybe everyone had been taken, captured, questioned. But they had quickly let him know that hadn't been the case. That his friends had left him to die. He knew that couldn't be true.

But they had kept and tortured and manipulated Orym for nearly a month. He had started to question things, not realizing that had been their plan all along. They tortured him without asking questions sometimes, threatened people he loved, then assured him they would come to no harm. He never saw who any of them were. Magical darkness or blindness prevented him from seeing most of anything. They used illusory magic to make him hear thing. People.

His body was healed well enough. His sword arm was slower than it had been, but with practice that could heal in time.

"I don't know what they wanted from me... just to let me go..." Orym couldn't give the group much in the way of anything. He hadn't seen anything. He only heard what they wanted him to.

"I don't know... if this is real or not. Right here." His hands shook, lifting his better one to wipe tears from his face. "I'm sorry."

[songandshield]

“Will?”

The name on his lips slipped quietly away along with consciousness. Orym had been in bed for a number of days, in and out, unable to keep a clear mind for more than a few minutes. And even then it was the same few questions: Where am I? What happened?

He’d fallen from a rather great height. He was in the healing ward of the temple of the Changebringer. He was awake for longer each time, wasn’t that good news?

He politely smiled to the old half orc woman that brought him breakfast, which he picked at now. Surprisingly he didn’t feel hungry, though he was sure he hadn’t eaten on his own in days. His bones had been mended, his wounds gone almost entirely.

But Orym knew something else was wrong. Something worse. Because the visitor who was sitting in front of him now, introduced as ‘one of your friends, dear’, looking at him with such concern... he simply couldn’t place.

It was the expectant look that gave him pause, made him nervous. He hadn’t anything to offer. How could he disappoint someone like that?

There’s a tattoo on his arm. A sword and a shield in the corner, a small bag with a Sending Stone among it’s contents. They don’t mean much of anything to him.

“I’m sorry...” The halfling shook his head. There was no way to ease into any of this. “I don’t remember... what happened. The healers say I’m lucky to be alive.” His small shoulders gave a shrug, finally meeting the eyes of his visitor. “But I don’t remember... most things now.” 

[songandshield]

“Don’t worry...” Orym moved in front of the other, his back to them. Guarding them. He lifted his shield, his sword firmly in hand, tight muscles tense, ready to spring into action at any given second. Whatever this thing, or person was... He certainly didn’t trust it.

“I’m right here...”