#I am once more rotating Ori slowly in my head... | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

loregoddess · 2 months

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not a whole lot of observations before I go and fight the final boss (who I think I'm gonna curbstomp anyhow despite not fighting the superboss first and not having yet used any nuts, I guess lv 70 which is my default "this seems like a nice level to be at for endgame stuff" is high enough to kill minor bosses w/out them ever getting a chance to attack once), but I did notice a few things while playing though the final chapter stuff since I decided to actually walk around instead of fast-travelling like I did my first run...

you know that kinda creepy girl who stands outside of the inn in Crackridge at night who, if spoken to, runs off in the direction of the Fellsun Ruins? Yeah, so turns out she is not there during the final chapter sequence at all. I'm gonna head back to Crackridge after kicking Vide's ass just to see if she returns or not.

checked a few of the towns and it seems most of the NPCs don't really...seem to notice the unnaturally long night going on. I mean sure you get some updated dialogue after relighting the Flamechurch Flame from the NPCs, but generally? no unique dialogue. which I mean, it would have been a developmental nightmare to have unique dialogue for every NPC during this sequence, but it's still hmm

ALSO I finally figured out (I think) why Castti is the only traveler to be directly attacked by Vide and nearly overtaken (her and Ochette's crossed paths ch2), and that's because she was the only one of the main characters to have read the Book of Night (when she met Claude with Trousseau when they were in Lostseed). It occurred to me while I was reading Tanzy's journal and Tanzy wrote that she had read the book, and I had gone down the TV Tropes rabbit hole on Octo2 a few nights ago and the people writing those pages seem to think that what caused Tanzy's death was similar to what Castti experienced in the second crossed paths, and so now I'm wondering if the Book of Night has anything to do with Vide being able to shadow-eat people. Like, Hikari's the only other traveler to battle with the shadow, but it's very much something inside him and according to what's been said about the bloodline of Ku, the shadow wouldn't have killed him had it overtaken him, it would have just used him as a puppet. So yeah, maybe there's something here...or maybe I'm overthinking it.

I absolutely annihilated the Grotesque Monster and Arcanette battles both in three turns, neither got a chance to attack, Temenos dealt 86k+ damage in one. This is why I think I'm gonna waltz through the Vide fight again, esp. since I know the battle gimmicks and am preparing accordingly

I have this theory brewing that D'arqest may have been stopped by eight travelers during his time, based on some things said by the Moonshade Order major villains (Arcanette mostly), and bc I took a good look at the "beginning of Ku" mural again and counted eight red squares gathered around the image of the Flame, and what Hikari said about the first ruler of Ku, and the implied history of the Lumina clan having once fought against the darkness, and a few other details I'm not recalling at the moment, but it would be very hmm-worthy if it pans out for anything. CotC lore implies Beowulf had probably seven other companions and traveled across Orsterra, so it would be an interesting recurring Octopath Theme if it pans out in any way.

everything about Ori in this part of the game still gets me like, even knowing what was gonna happen, I was still like, "holy shit." Love Ori, but damn girl.

actually despite there being very little writing overall for the final chapter sequence, I just really love this part of the game. Like it's not even that I think it's well-written or challenging in an interesting way or anything, I just love the vibes a lot I guess. Absolutely haunting story segment for me.

#I am once more rotating Ori slowly in my head...#but also I love this section of the game so much #kinda sad it's so short but also I know from a development standpoint it would have been hard to make significantly longer #oracle of lore

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joyfullynervouscreator · 7 years

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Leaving Home pt 5

@life-is-righteous

Dori’s leaving

word count: 3k

Dori could have sworn she saw Nori’s distinctive peaks when she went to the market to buy something for their supper, but she shook off the thought. Nori had not come back once these past few years, leaving no word with the ragamuffins that used to come to her backdoor with his presents. Dori had learned a long time ago not to speak to Nori’s delivery boys, though they would usually accept a token of food for the delivery.

She regretted their last fight, five years earlier, and she missed her little brother, her mithril-heart, that bright spark of mischief that Nori had always had, able to make her laugh even when Amad was dying, only holding on for Ori’s sake. Dori sometimes wondered if it had not been better for Arnóra to have died with less suffering, even if it would have stolen her mother at least six years earlier. She chastised herself for the thought, but she still felt – even if she now realised that Nori’s current lifestyle had always been nigh inevitable – that if Arnóra had died earlier, Nori might not have come to the Guard’s attention quite so soon. That was wishful thinking, she knew, because Nori had told her that their father, under the name Radulf, had taken him on as a protégé many years before Arnóra’s lungs, damaged by the smoke from Smaug’s fire and further harmed by the coal dust from the mines where she worked, had begun to fail her. Sometimes, Dori had envied Nori the time spent with Natfari, whom she had rarely seen herself, but at the same time, she had been aware of the danger his presence posed to their lives. Natfari was always careful, entering their little house quietly, and never in the same disguise, but her Adad did not have the same life as he had enjoyed in Erebor, spending enough time in Guard rotations that he could be home at least every third night.

Dori remembered the day the dragon had attacked, shortly before the Forge Day Feast, when it had been permitted for parents to bring their children to work, to show them what they did for a living. She had begged for WEEKS before Natfari had agreed to bring her with him on Guard duty, having already spent many hours in her Amad’s wire-weaving workshop. When the fire and smoke clouded the hallways, she had been ripped away from Natfári’s hand, but someone she didn’t know had picked her up along with another little girl and carried her out of the inferno and made sure she was fed. Dori had not known at the time that Princess Frís had been her saviour, something she had only realised upon meeting the princess as an almost-adult in Ered Luin. By then, she had been used to hiding her femininity, having learned early on that it was far easier to avoid trouble with Men if they though she was male. Her mother had wept, as they re-stitched clothes to hide Dori’s bust and give her a more masculine shape. The beard alone might have fooled them, but she did not want to give away her identity to other Dwarrow either, and so Dori, daughter of Natfari, had become Dori, First Son of Arnóra.

By now, braiding her hair as a male was second nature to Dori, and she was quite content never to have felt the Longing, because trying to explain her complicated relationship with her own gender would have been more than troublesome. The Sons of Arnóra were fairly well-known, by now, with Ori making himself a name under Master Balin’s tutelage – for which Dori was grateful to her father, towards whom her feelings were even more tangled than towards her brother – and Dori herself had done well as a tailor and lace-maker, especially since she had met Princess Dís. Dís was one of the only ones who knew her true gender, but Dori knew that her friend would take the secret to her grave if need be. Dís had not liked that Dori felt she needed to hide, and sometimes she had invited her to the Royal house while her ‘boys’ – Dwalin, Thorin, Fíli, Kíli, and Balin – were out, in order to let Dori have a safe place to be feminine and pretty. Of course, Dori was always pretty, widely considered the most beautiful Dwarf in Ered Luin, and many had lamented the fact that such beauty was wasted on a male who had no interest in suitors. Dori had giggled when Dís brought her that bit of gossip, delivered in the Princess’ driest tones, but with her eyes showing her mirth.

When she got home, having shaken off her musings on the past and almost forgotten the possible sighting of Nori, she had received the first shock of the day.

Nori was in her kitchen. Dori dropped her parcels with a shriek, her hands flying to her mouth, but Nori handily grabbed her bags and put them on the table.

“Nori…” Dori had not known what to say, and Nori had simply stood there, looking as though he was unsure whether he should have come. In two steps, Dori had reached him, pulling him into the tightest hug she had ever given him. “You’re alive!” as Nori’s arms hesitantly wrapped around her, Dori inhaled his familiar scent, a mix of leather, mineral oil and something herbal that always clung to his hair.

“Hello, Dori.” When he tried to give her one of his unrepentant grins, Dori had snapped. She had punched him in the stomach, hard enough to make him winded, before she had found her words.

“FIVE YEARS, NORI! FIVE YEARS AND NOT A SINGLE WORD!” She shouted, and she DID NOT care if all of Granite Way could hear her. “YOU COULD HAVE BEEN HURT! YOU COULD HAVE BEEN DEAD!” her breath hitched, but her glare kept Nori seated, looking like he had as a Dwarfling when she berated him for getting in trouble with the Guard. “You could have been dead, Nori, and we would never have known what happened to you!” Dori’s voice lowered to a whisper, a broken sob on her next words, “Nori, you could have been just like Adad, just never coming home…” Dori crumbled. She was surprised when Nori caught her, sliding to the ground with her as he let her sob into his shoulder, stroking her braids gently. Dori’s anger calmed slowly.

Nori had made a pot of tea, just the way she liked it, and silently pushed her cup towards her. Dori’s hands shook, but she lifted the cup and sipped her tea, staring at him in total silence. Nori looked skinny – but Nori always looked skinny – and slightly haggard, as though he had spent months on the road with little rest. Dori winced, but she did not apologise for hitting him, and Nori gave her that smile that meant he knew he had earned her ire and deserved everything she threw at him.

“I’m sorry, Dori.” Nori eventually broke the silence, tracing the edge of his own empty cup with a finger that had a slightly crooked look to it, as if it had been broken and set by someone with little experience. It had not looked like that the last time he was home, Dori was sure. She reached out, covering his hand with hers and stilled its slightly twitchy movement.

“I know, Nori. I’m sorry, too.” Neither of them needed to say more, and when Dori knocked her forehead against Nori’s, he gave her a soft smile and caught her up in a proper kin-blessing. Dori’s shoulders lost the last vestiges of tension, at least until Nori spoke once more.

“I came to say proper goodbye, sister,” his voice was hoarse with unconcealed emotion and Dori stiffened once more.

“What’s wrong, Nori?” she searched his face frantically, but Nori just sighed and pulled her back to rest her head against his.

“I am going on the Quest for Erebor along with the King, Dori.” Dori’s second shock of the day was even more devastating than the first, but her first reaction, a vehement denial, died on her lips when she saw the look in Nori’s eyes.

“Please, Nori.” She begged, “Please, don’t do this.” She knew his answer before he voiced it, however, and just caught him up in a wordless hug. “Thank you for coming back to tell me,” she whispered, her heart breaking into tiny pieces.

“You’ll be good, Dori. Ori will take care of you, and I’ll do my very best to come back to you,” Nori swore. Dori almost believed that he would – in fact – return to her, but she knew her brother well enough to know that even if he used every trick in the book, he was going up against a dragon – not to mention all the dangers he might find on the road between here and Erebor – and she knew that this was his goodbye. Nori did not expect to live long enough to see her again once he left, and Dori knew it.

“I’ll help you pack,” she whispered, and it was a declaration of love. Nori hugged her tighter. When he finally let go, they both wiped away tears, but Nori’s crooked smile had returned.

That’s when Ori entered the house, like a harbinger of doom, and delivered the third shock of Dori’s day:

“Master Balin is going with Uzbad Thorin to Erebor!” he exclaimed, glowing with pure excitement. “I’ve already signed up; I’ll be appointed official scribe! Master Balin says I can earn my Mastery writing the official account of the Quest!” Dori froze. Nori sent a despairing glance towards her, but Dori was speechless in the face of Ori’s excitement. “Nori’s here!?” the journeyman scribe exclaimed, hugging the Thief tightly. Dori screamed.

When she had yelled herself hoarse, with unexpected but heartily welcome support from Nori’s impressive collection of curses, Dori looked at her brothers, feeling her heart break as surely as a glass orb under a smith’s hammer. “You can’t both leave me behind to wait for news, Nori,” Dori said, dashing away the tears she would not shed. “I expect it from you, but you can take care of yourself, I know. But Ori… please, Ori, don’t go get yourself killed like this too.” Looking at Nori, who – in a rare unguarded moment – gave her the smile he had always saved especially for her as a Dwarfling, her efforts were in wain. The tears began falling, and the next thing she felt was Nori’s slim arms wrap around her as he whispered soft Khuzdul into her ear. On her other side, Ori – who was right that he was an adult, she knew, but that didn’t stop her seeing the Dwarfling she had raised almost as if he had been her child – joined the hug. The three children of Arnóra spent the night curled around each other, looking for some sort of comfort.

Three weeks later, Dori was signed up as the Quest’s jack-of-all-trades, strongly backed by Dís, who had given her a teary hug when Dori had come seeking her advice and realised that she had only one option, and surprisingly Dwalin. Dori was sad to leave her friend behind, but Dís had all but told her to go with her brothers, and Dori felt grateful to have such an understanding friend.

The Present:

Dori looked over the three packs that littered her kitchen table. Nori’s, a little worn from use, but with so many extra pockets and other useful things stitched into the seams that she would never even suggest he replaced it, Ori’s, which was brand-new, and her own, by far the bulkiest. Sometimes, it was good to have her strength, Dori knew, and she had caught the grateful flash in Dwalin’s eyes when she had signed on. The big warrior had met her through Nori, of course, but Dwalin had only challenged her to an arm wrestle once. Nori had suggested it, a drunken wager going round the table of the inn they found themselves in, and Dori had earned the moniker ‘The Strongest Dwarf in Ered Luin’ with as little apparent effort as when she lifted her mug of ale. She smirked at the thought of the look on the Shumrozbid’s face; flabbergasted had been putting it mildly, but she had earned a new kind of respect from Dwalin thereafter. With a sigh, Dori turned her attention to their saddlebags, counting off her completed tasks on her fingers.

She had decided to stitch a supply of gold wire-thread – her mother had been a canny Dwarrowdam, and she had known many things that had been useful when they lived on the surface – into their clothes seams, so they would have money, even if they lost their packs. Most of their food would be in the saddlebags, but she made sure to stuff a bundle of oilcloth-wrapped cram into the bottom of each pack, on the basis that the ponies might run off with their saddlebags.

They’d each have a small blade – Nori had obtained these, and Dori knew better than to ask where he had found three blades of exquisite quality on such short notice – strapped to their belts, which had more holes than necessary, in order to be cinched in when they lost weight on the journey. Dori had been stuffing all three of them full of the richest foods she could get her hands on since they had decided to go, and even Nori now had a small layer of extra padding around his middle.

Dori had – at the urging of Dís – asked young Prince Kíli to help her create extra pockets in her own and Ori’s boots. Nori’s already had such, each boot carrying two small blades cleverly hidden in invisible pockets. The Prince had been so excited about the idea that he had promptly added more pockets to his own and Prince Fíli’s boots. King Thorin had already been gone by then, but Dori would not be surprised if Masters Dwalin and Balin also sported boot pockets when they all met up in the Shire.

All their cloaks had been treated against the weather, and lined with a layer of silk Dori had once bought from a merchant and then never had opportunity to use. The silk would ensure that the cloaks were warm in the cold but not overly hot when the sun shone, and Dori had noticed that Nori had stitched superstitious luck-knots and old traveller’s blessings along the hems. The thought made her smile, an old habit of their mother’s carried on in Nori’s fine stitches. He had learned the knot-language from Natfari, Dori was sure, and she still had some of the frankly beautiful knots he had tied when he was still learning. She had one that spelled her name, with each knot meaning beautiful sister, and it had hung over her bed for many years.

When the packs were as organised as she could make them, Dori turned her attention to that night’s supper and the morning’s breakfast. She had set aside the whole day to get them all ready, handing the key to her shop to Dís for safe-keeping the day before and saying her goodbyes to her neighbours and few friends.

When Ori got home – the lad had been adamant that he would finish his current project and bring the payment along on the quest against unforeseen events as he had called it – Dori was almost done cooking. They waited for Nori to make an appearance, but when it was an hour after normal suppertime, Dori tersely ordered Ori to eat. Her own stomach was in knots, and she could not stop herself from listening for the door – a rather useless occupation, as Nori always oiled all hinges when he came around and could move as quietly as a cat – but Dori tried to eat anyway. When they were done, she was grateful when Ori escaped to his own room, leaving her to fret by herself. Her baby brother needed a good night’s sleep. Dori did not, or perhaps could not, think of Ori without seeing his excitable Dwarfling face superimposed over his adult face, and he would always be her baby brother, even when he woke in Itdendûm and got to meet their father for the first time. When Dori finally went to bed, far later than she had planned, she did not think she could sleep, but sleep found her with surprising speed.

When Dori woke, the first thing she did was check on Nori. She had not heard him come in – a surprise, considering the stench of alcohol that drifted from his very skin as well as the fact that he was accompanied by Bofur, who had probably never even heard the word stealth – and her relief mingled with fury until she was yelling at the two delinquents at the top of her lungs.

Eventually, Dori took pity on them, both dwarrow looking more than a little abashed and definitely hung-over. With a final scoff of contempt, Dori granted them each a token of her mercy: a cup of her secret hangover cure, which made Bofur call her many flattering things and apologise profusely for his drunken state. Nori simply sipped in silence, and ushered the miner out the door with a raised eyebrow at Dori, who huffed, cuffing him gently round the head. Nori grinned, tossing back the rest of his cup and began to check the gear she had packed.

They were delayed by several hours, but Dori knew they could make up the time on the road so she didn’t worry. Nori was – by far – the most travelled Dwarf of all the Company, she knew, and felt surprisingly good about their leaving Ered Luin. Waving back at her neighbours, Dori set off into the sunlight with a slight smile.

Full series on Ao3!

#dori #nori #ori #Leaving Home #Dwelf-'verse #hobbit #pre-hobbit

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