#Orrin

[dia-viller]

Orrin was such a dork

[kairamuwu]

o<-< made a ref sheet of an oc design that's just been laying around in my sketchbook for a hot sec so I can put him on artfight :3

He's just a lil archery guy called Orrin!!

[thearunadragon]

Random Varden citizen from the crowd: (yells) I hate you!

Eragon: (calls back) I hate me, too! Nasuada: Eragon, you cAn’t sAY thAt—!

Eragon: Why not? It’s true.

Orrin and Murtagh: *wheezing in the background*

[hurricanes-art]

doodling a fairy tale au concept

dragons have opposable thumbs so they can commit crimes 👍

[nailsinmywall]

eragon (inheritance cycle) ⚔️

[froggowivdagudvibes]

Orrin is british and if you get him drunk he goes full roadman and says innit and stuff

Thats canon now.

Am i sorry?

No.

[alagaesia-headcanons]

I think it's a good thing that coffee isn't readily available in Alagaesia. Yesterday I was thinking about what sorts of things Orrin would drink after his struggles with alcohol, and it occured to me that he would absolutely drink a frightening amount of coffee if he could. Which made me realize that Murtagh would be just as bad. They would be the worst about enabling their truly concerning caffeine habits; between the two of them there's perpetually a fresh pot of coffee somewhere. I know in my heart their sleep schedules would be in shambles.

Nasuada would also drink way too much. She'd always say she can quit whenever she wants and every couple months she resolves to cut back which lasts all of two days before she's having an expresso at 9pm again. Elva is constantly trying to steal it.

Eragon hates the way it tastes and is disgusted by the sheer amount they all consume every day.

[modern-inheritance]

Brom’s turn to be random and weird

Eragon and Co. are at a war council meeting that has devolved into bickering between Orrin, the Council of Elders and Nasuada. Eragon, Brom and Arya are staying out of it as they’re considered just ‘other’ enough to know not to get tangled in ‘purely Varden trivial affairs’ so they don’t inadvertently undermine Nasuada.

Eragon: *mentally to Brom and Saphira* any way Saphira and I can get out of this? We haven’t had to speak up for an hour now.

Brom: Unfortunately, no.

Saphira: *straight up taking a half-awake doze* give it another half hour and I’ll scare them off.

Eragon: much appreciated.

Arya: *doodling in note margins stick figures with swords and angy faces because why not and apparently not paying any attention*

Eragon: sooooo…what now.

Brom: we still sit here quietly and wait.

Brom: *reaches into an interior chest pocket of his armored coat and pulls something out*

Brom: *very quietly whispers out loud to Eragon* Pocket Chocolate?

Eragon: beg pardon?

Brom: Pocket Chocolate.

Arya: *doesn’t look up, extends hand, palm up, behind Eragon’s shoulders and is rewarded with a piece of chocolate*

Eragon: …isn’t it melted?

Brom: Pocket Chocolate never melts. Tropic stable.

Eragon: …………

Eragon: yes, please.

Eragon: *looks up when he realizes it’s quiet in the tent*

Nasuada: …really?

Brom: I have plenty to share, ma’am.

Arya: *holds out hand for another piece*

[agentshades]

Things My Wife Has Said While Playing Baldur's Gate Part 6

We keep playing, she keeps saying. Everybody give it up for @everyoneinmckinneyisdead

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

Part Five

*after casting Fireball, and to the tune of "Blinded by the Light"*

Kelsey: "Blinded by the baaaaaallll!"

--- 

*Myrkul appears*

Kelsey: "Is that literally three skeletons in a trenchcoat?"

---

Shadowheart: "How could you have known that? I told very few people. Certainly not you! And yet, you knew!"

Kelsey: "Lisan al-Ghaib!" 

---

*Looks at the spell description for Moonbeam*

Kelsey: "Only 20 damage? That's not very much..."

Me: "Being a Sorcerer may be skewing your perception of 'not very much...'"

---

*after building Jaheira into a Circle of Spores Druid and realizing she can make spore zombies*

Kelsey: "HA! Take that Astarion! What can you do? Bite people, stab people, and stab people sneakily? Zombies!" *gesturing at screen* 

--- 

*The person Kelsey is talking to shapeshifts. Orrin appears* 

Kelsey: "Wait, she was just that random guy? I just picked some random dude to talk to and it happens to be her? Crabby tits?"

---

*she tries to target two enemies with lightning bolt but an ox is also in the blast radius*

Kelsey: "NOOOO THE COW! I don't want to kill cow but I want to hit both of them. Ughhhhhhh." 

---

*when invited to join a clown on stage for a magic trick*

Kelsey (to me): "I bet you'd just go up on the stage with him instead of doing literally everything possible to get out of it like me. Cause thats what you'd do in real life. You weirdo."

---

*when a guard demands 200 gold to get into Baldur's Gate* 

Kelsey: "What?! I'm not paying her! Its an open road! I pay taxes! Probably!"

[fuck-kirk]

*takes king Orrin away from Christopher Paolini* it’s okay…..he just doesn’t understand you like I do

[rizardofether]

Another new sylvari! Meet Orrin. He dreamt of the asura and their inventions. He knew he had to learn from them and make his own inventions. Unforunately he awoke a year after Scarlet's death, so the Arcane Council did not want anything to do with any more sylvari in their colleges. Fortunately he found an old asura researcher who agreed to apprentice him.

He absolutely hates being compared to Scarlet. Red also happens to be his favourite colour and detests that Scarlet chose a red colour for her name.

[thearunadragon]

Nasuada: And how is everybody this morning?

Orrin: *drunk* dhakthiejl-?

Roran: Armed.

Murtagh: Tired.

Arya: I am well, thank you. And you? Nasuada: I am still alive, at least. Thank you for asking Arya. Orik: I am EXCELLENT— *dwarf-y ominous cackling as he envisions Hvedra*

Nasuada: And you, Eragon?

Eragon: sad

[hurricanes-art]

nerd bonding time

[elliotly]

nnwm, do the children yearn for the mines?

YES THEY DO!

orrin does especially. hes literally neurodivergent and a miner

[ariquar]

“Keep the turns gentle, and no aerial maneuvers,” Ariquar says for what feels like the seventeenth time since he's called the dragon before him into the temple gardens. Belqoriik’s white wings shuffle as he keeps his neck low to the ground so Ariquar can reach around him. He turns one large, sky-blue eye to Ariquar and the human apprentice beside him. He's young, red-haired and freckled, hair pulled back with a strap of cloth around his forehead. He's obviously nervous, but hiding it with the way he's clenching his fists at his sides.

“I will not drop the hatchling, Dovahkiin. I have not dropped you, geh?” The dragon’s lips curl upward, almost as though he's smiling.

“You have not,” Ariquar agrees, pulling one of the saddle straps tighter. Belqoriik only shifts to aid in the adjustment, pulling his neck slightly away. Once the strap is tightened, Ariquar shows the human man to the stirrup, continuing his conversation from before. “But I have more experience riding on your kind, saddled and unsaddled.”

“Hm.” Belqoriik turns now, making sure his neck is straight and even so the human can find his place. Ariquar helps in that, showing him where to latch himself in.

“Think you're ready, Orrin?” Ariquar asks. Orrin — that's the human’s name, Belqoriik remembers — nods once, his hands gripping the handle of the saddle.

The design was the result of Ariquar and the dragons working together to find something comfortable for both the rider and the dragon — long leather straps wrap around the neck and chest, secured over the shoulder of the wings. The seat rests at the base of the neck, rather than near the head, and only the dragons who either bear short spines or were willing to have them modified have been fitted for saddles.

Orrin settles in lower. Belqoriik thinks about jokingly shaking him just to see his reaction, but decides not to once he feels just how nervous the poor boy is. His legs are anxiously tapping his sides, and Belqoriik hums low in his chest to calm him.

“Drem, youngling. I will not drop you. Your kinbok would have my head if I did.”

“It is something truly unprecedented, to fly. For humans.” Orrin says. His voice is low, and Belqoriik thinks that he may be controlling his volume so Ariquar doesn't hear.

“Humans are not built for flight. But neither are elves, and your kinbok handles it quite well.” Belqoriik says. He takes a step forward. Orrin grips the saddle tighter.

“He's got the soul of one of you, though.” Orrin says. Belqoriik laughs, a rumbling, crackling noise like ice breaking near the Windhelm docks.

“That does nothing for his body. He is as fragile as you, when it comes to this.”

Orrin seems to relax at that. But still his grip is strong, holding on while Belqoriik begins to move forward in earnest toward the newly-constructed flight platform of the temple gardens. It juts out to serve as a place for dragons to pick up speed before taking off — nearby there are also newly built perches of sorts, hewn from metal and stone. Orrin gets one good look at one of the dragons perched, watching — and then he's shaken from the view as Belqoriik jumps, wings spread to glide downward. The dive is faster than Orrin expected, whipping his hair back and pressing his heavy coat to his body, and then —

Belqoriik flaps his wings, and it feels as though Orrin is being tossed for a moment before he gets his bearings. After several more flaps of his wings, Orrin seems to catch the rhythm of it and braces for each movement. Belqoriik arcs his neck just so to get a glance in Orrin’s direction, then he tilts his wings to turn in the air.

Down below, the sprawling camp of the reachfolk looks miniscule. Orrin looks over the other side of Belqoriik’s body, taking in the long, winding rivers and open wildlands.

He's seen so much of Skyrim, but it’s never been put in this sort of perspective. It looks small in a strange way, yet vast in another that he can't quite comprehend.

“Settled?” Belqoriik asks. The wind is loud enough that Orrin isn't sure his voice will be heard over it, but he tries to reply, shouting in the affirmative.

Belqoriik tilts a wing again, turning into a slow descending circle. A slow and easy way to get the human on his back more accustomed to flight, rather than taking him up into the clouds and the chilling, biting air there. Perhaps he will convince Ariquar to allow him to fly this human further out, into the hills and valleys across Skyrim.

(It is a strange thing to want company. Even stranger to want it in the form of mortals — though, Belqoriik, like all of the dragons staying under Ariquar’s banner, have found that mortals make such interesting conversation despite their short lives. Or, perhaps, because of that very reason.)

Their flight lasts only as long as it takes for the sky to become clouded. Before the weather can turn wet and cold, Belqoriik flies them back to the temple, where he lands in the gentlest way he can muster. Humans and mortals are all so fragile.

Orrin undoes the saddle straps, climbing down onto the solid ground once more. Ariquar is there to greet him, steadying him with both hands.

“How did it go?” Ariquar asks.

Orrin runs his fingers through his own hair. It's gotten tangled from the wind — he'll braid it before the next time.

Next time?

“It went well.” Belqoriik says. “Your youngling-apprentice settled into flight quite easily.”

“Is that so,” Ariquar says, rubbing his bearded chin with one hand. Something in his eyes tells Orrin that he's planning something. Orrin says nothing in response, only holding onto the hope that he'll be chosen for the next flight.

Belqoriik reaches out with his long snout — white-scaled, nearly pearlescent on sunny days — and taps Orrin in the back just as he and Ariquar turn to head back into the temple walls.

“You have bravery, to fly such heights.” He says, and Orrin seems taken aback.

“Thank you?” He says sheepishly, and Belqoriik grins at him, all of his dagger-sized teeth on full display.

“When the weather is warmer and you will not freeze to death, I will take you into the skies once more. Higher, then, so you can truly see what you mortals have never been able to.” He nudges Orrin again, who now reaches out and puts a hand on the end of his snout.

“I will look forward to it. And I will be less terrified.”