Varlen couldn’t believe it. He was right there. So close that, if he wanted to, he could reach out and
touch the hem of his shirt. Smell his cologne. Experience the sharp corners of
his moustache. Creators have mercy…
He thought. I am not prepared for this.
It was an odd feeling, seeing someone he had idolised for so
long standing a few short paces away. A part of Varlen was convinced it was a
dream. It had to be. What if Dorian looked at him? Spoke to him?
Oh gods, Varlen
thought, trying to force down his panic with a sharp swallow. I might
actually faint. Or worse. What if I say something stupid? Shit, I’m definitely
going to say something stupid. This is bad. Maybe I should run?
Dorian Pavus. The
Dorian Pavus. Varlen had seen all of his movies – read his autobiography from cover
to cover. Six times. Last year. Maybe
slept with it under his pillow a few times. But he wasn’t obsessed. His walls weren’t papered with pictures of the man or
anything. There was no candle-lit shrine. He just admired him. A lot. Admired his work, and the name he
had made for himself across Thedas. According to Dorian’s autobiography, it had
been a hard, long road for him to get to where he was. According to Varlen, Dorian
had earned every piece of success he had achieved, despite what his critics
And he was standing right
in front of him.
He won’t even notice
me, Varlen thought, trying to calm himself. It will be fine. Wait, should I say something to him, then? No. No, I
don’t want to bother him. He probably has to put up with people fawning over
him all the time. I—
“… Hello? Anyone home?”
Varlen blinked, his mind snapping back to the present like a
rubber band. Dorian was looking directly
at him, those grey eyes digging a hole in his soul and filling it with pure
disbelief. Immediately, Varlen’s heart took up a frenetic rhythm, and for a
second he thought he might make good on his fainting comment.
“Y-Yes?” Varlen replied, staring. It was as though the dark
haired man was standing in a spotlight. The rest of the café seemed distant –
out of focus. Dorian raised an eyebrow, and for a second Varlen swore there was
a twinkle of amusement in his eyes. Or maybe it was just his imagination.
“Excellent – you are
awake! Tell me, what is your name?”
Varlen’s mouth suddenly felt like it was stuffed full of
cotton. It was the desert of Seheron. The desolate dunes of the Western
Approach. Cracked as the mighty tundras of…
“M-my name’s,” Varlen began, but suddenly drew a complete blank on everyone and everything he was. He panicked. “Uh… Dorian!”
- i ended up eating corn chips, listening to fob, and typing at the same time
- it was nice but now there are some crumbs in my keyboard
- i don’t regret it tho
- amice (the charcoal/carmine/black g1 i picked up a few days ago) plays a big part in it (since i feel like writing about her)
- i wrote about 700 words but none of it is actually about my clan on flight rising
- basically at this point it’s just amice and she’s a bounty hunter or smth
- so i guess my nanowrimo project is a story about amice
tl;dr: i wrote about one dragon. actual clan lore eludes me.
playing any game with romances causes me to make up approximately seven million little stories in my head that lead absolutely nowhere and are nothing but my character and the character i have chosen travelling and protecting each other in combat and giving each other meaningful looks when something is amiss and making each other laugh and having really deep conversations about life and death and what a shitty situation they’re in