[Orym either doesn't notice the flinch or ignores it, moving to oh so carefully brush some of Dorian's hair from his face, as another figure makes their way over.]
Heal him, and let him rest. He'll be coming back with us.
[The words are spoken softly as his fingers smooth over Dorian's hair. The halfling hasn't changed all that much physically. The only real difference are the scarlet streaks of lightning-like lines, not all that different from those that marked Imogen's arms, that streaked over most of his body, up one side of his face. And his eyes, that shifted between their usual green and a bright unnatural red. The red has been much more prevalent, but looking at Dorian now, that color had shifted.
Protecting Dorian is not Predathos's will, it's Orym's, even if it has wound up twisted.]
Sleep now. You'll be all right. Everything will be all right.
[Along with the healing, the caster also spares some magic to put Dorian into a deep, lasting sleep.
When Dorian wakes up, he'll find himself tucked into a large, soft bed. The blankets are drawn up over him, his head rested on featherdown pillows. Late afternoon sunlight streaks through the windows, coloring the entire room with a gold and reddish glow. He's been tended to carefully. His weapons and instrument are set over on a table, along with his boots and cloak and the outer layers of his clothing. By now any injuries have been fully healed.
And he isn't alone. Orym has taken up vigil in a seat by the window, one knee drawn up to his chest, gazing out the window as he waits for Dorian to stir once more. He looks idle, but he isn't the conversations in his head are buzzing. Reports being heard, orders being given.]
no subject
Heal him, and let him rest. He'll be coming back with us.
[The words are spoken softly as his fingers smooth over Dorian's hair. The halfling hasn't changed all that much physically. The only real difference are the scarlet streaks of lightning-like lines, not all that different from those that marked Imogen's arms, that streaked over most of his body, up one side of his face. And his eyes, that shifted between their usual green and a bright unnatural red. The red has been much more prevalent, but looking at Dorian now, that color had shifted.
Protecting Dorian is not Predathos's will, it's Orym's, even if it has wound up twisted.]
Sleep now. You'll be all right. Everything will be all right.
[Along with the healing, the caster also spares some magic to put Dorian into a deep, lasting sleep.
When Dorian wakes up, he'll find himself tucked into a large, soft bed. The blankets are drawn up over him, his head rested on featherdown pillows. Late afternoon sunlight streaks through the windows, coloring the entire room with a gold and reddish glow. He's been tended to carefully. His weapons and instrument are set over on a table, along with his boots and cloak and the outer layers of his clothing. By now any injuries have been fully healed.
And he isn't alone. Orym has taken up vigil in a seat by the window, one knee drawn up to his chest, gazing out the window as he waits for Dorian to stir once more. He looks idle, but he isn't the conversations in his head are buzzing. Reports being heard, orders being given.]