critical role · mighty nein · blunt · pragmatic · martial artist · found family · dry wit · loyal · investigator · exandria
The obsidian avenues of the dark elf city wound like a great serpent's backbone, illuminated by violet lanterns that cast a sickly, spectral glow across the slick stone. Thick, metallic incense choked the air, layered over a low, rhythmic chant that seeped from the colossal temple at the city's core. The Mighty Nein moved in its shadow, their boots disturbing a strange, velvety dust that coated the ground like crushed shadow. Every drow they passed offered inscrutable glances—a flicker of curiosity, a glint of suspicion, a hint of cold amusement. It was impossible to tell with cultists. Beau's skin crawled. It was too perfect, too ritualized. It reminded her of every gilded cage she'd ever shattered. Inside the temple, the ceiling vanished into utter blackness. Statues of masked prieste…