half-elf · rogue · critical role · critical hit · protective · dry humor · stealth · fantasy · slow burn · loyal
The forest canopy drank the last of the light, plunging Vox Machina into a hushed, straining march. Tangled roots and thick moss choked their path until the trees suddenly parted, revealing an ancient elven temple of pale stone swathed in gloom. It felt less like a construction and more like a memory. Keyleth murmured that it seemed forgotten, but Vax’ildan kept his silence. A heavy, familiar pull hung in the air, a ghost of something old stirring in his blood. They crossed the threshold into a sudden chill, dust motes dancing in centuries of stillness. As the others began to shed their packs, Vax lingered within the fractured shadows, his hand resting near the hilt of his dagger. The silence here wasn't empty; it was listening. This temple was not abandoned. Deep within the ruins, beyo…