[Dorian is a walking advertisement for Olympia. He's dressed in white and gold garb and a pin of the Institute on his breastpocket, actively reaching out to anyone around camp that seems they might hold interest. Olympia is the key to advancement, he says, despite the terribly politics that might put their homelands to shame. At some point, he may take you by the shoulder and ask if you're willing to carry a basket from camp.]
There's a glowtree, not far from here. I've been meaning to try their apples, but what they're selling them for in the market is a crime. We can talk more there, let me show you...
[The weather, is in fact, not perfect. You're an hour into the forest, and the tree is glowing on the horizon, but now it's hailing. Just seconds ago, it felt like the two of you were going to boil alive, so the cold is sharp and the winds blow right through. Dorian manages to groan over it, lifting his basket overhead as a shield.] Lovely weather we're having, my ass!
ii. scully you're not gonna believe this
Fascinating. [You've probably heard Dorian say that before, in that exact same tone of voice: ecstatic. He's been wandering the looped area for awhile now, trying different forms of magic to stress test the circumstances: once, he set fire to a tree only to see it revert back to its uncharred state, tried to record himself walking and talking only to find his gallery empty. At the moment, he isn't quite looking where he's going as his gaze searches for an anomaly, so just shortly after he's made his interest vocal, he runs into you.
Again. He steps back, blinking several times as to try and ward off the overwhelming sense of deja-vu.] I'm terribly sorry, you're... [He should know your name, but he simply has a terribly attention span.] Yoooouuu... are...
iii. this kid is alright i guess
[The scene before you is like something like a time-lapse. You aren't in one place too long—once, you're walking the wide expanse of a historical estate, with stone walls and high ceiling that seem to stretch on forever. A child is ahead of you, dragging a wooden duck on wheels behind him. Or perhap you're on a boat far from a summer home shore, sun blazing down servants manning the boat as a woman looks through the window at her son rather than join him. Or perhaps you're in a solitary confinement room of an extravagantly furnished school, with the voices of irritated sounding teachers arguing the attitude of a student. There is one consistent factor in each room: there is a young Dorian, and he is utterly alone. The memories do not last long because they are too empty to form a false reality.
Eventually, one seems to stick, coming into greater detail than any of the rest. You hear the yelp of that Dorian as a woman holding strong resemblance to him drags him off of a rich party floor by his earlobe, scolding him in a language that isn't quite decipherable. They come to a halt at the door, and after proclaiming she's going to find his father, she walks off. That's when Dorian notices you, and how horribly out of place you are.
His voice is pitches higher than the man he is in the present, but it seems his tongue is even sharper than before. In a tone that's matter-of-factly:] You look all matters shit. Dog, cow, that fat man around the corner... Should I go on?
dorian pavus | dragon age
[Dorian is a walking advertisement for Olympia. He's dressed in white and gold garb and a pin of the Institute on his breastpocket, actively reaching out to anyone around camp that seems they might hold interest. Olympia is the key to advancement, he says, despite the terribly politics that might put their homelands to shame. At some point, he may take you by the shoulder and ask if you're willing to carry a basket from camp.]
There's a glowtree, not far from here. I've been meaning to try their apples, but what they're selling them for in the market is a crime. We can talk more there, let me show you...
[The weather, is in fact, not perfect. You're an hour into the forest, and the tree is glowing on the horizon, but now it's hailing. Just seconds ago, it felt like the two of you were going to boil alive, so the cold is sharp and the winds blow right through. Dorian manages to groan over it, lifting his basket overhead as a shield.] Lovely weather we're having, my ass!
ii. scully you're not gonna believe this
Fascinating. [You've probably heard Dorian say that before, in that exact same tone of voice: ecstatic. He's been wandering the looped area for awhile now, trying different forms of magic to stress test the circumstances: once, he set fire to a tree only to see it revert back to its uncharred state, tried to record himself walking and talking only to find his gallery empty. At the moment, he isn't quite looking where he's going as his gaze searches for an anomaly, so just shortly after he's made his interest vocal, he runs into you.
Again. He steps back, blinking several times as to try and ward off the overwhelming sense of deja-vu.] I'm terribly sorry, you're... [He should know your name, but he simply has a terribly attention span.] Yoooouuu... are...
iii. this kid is alright i guess
[The scene before you is like something like a time-lapse. You aren't in one place too long—once, you're walking the wide expanse of a historical estate, with stone walls and high ceiling that seem to stretch on forever. A child is ahead of you, dragging a wooden duck on wheels behind him. Or perhap you're on a boat far from a summer home shore, sun blazing down servants manning the boat as a woman looks through the window at her son rather than join him. Or perhaps you're in a solitary confinement room of an extravagantly furnished school, with the voices of irritated sounding teachers arguing the attitude of a student. There is one consistent factor in each room: there is a young Dorian, and he is utterly alone. The memories do not last long because they are too empty to form a false reality.
Eventually, one seems to stick, coming into greater detail than any of the rest. You hear the yelp of that Dorian as a woman holding strong resemblance to him drags him off of a rich party floor by his earlobe, scolding him in a language that isn't quite decipherable. They come to a halt at the door, and after proclaiming she's going to find his father, she walks off. That's when Dorian notices you, and how horribly out of place you are.
His voice is pitches higher than the man he is in the present, but it seems his tongue is even sharper than before. In a tone that's matter-of-factly:] You look all matters shit. Dog, cow, that fat man around the corner... Should I go on?