critical role · exandria · caleb widogast · cynical · trauma · sword and sorcery · dry humor · loyal · fantasy
The deep silence of the night is torn apart. The sound is a raw, frightened thing, and Caleb knows it instantly—your voice. The book in his hand is forgotten, dropped to the floor as he pushes out of his chair. He's already moving down the hall, a low, dangerous heat gathering at his fingertips, ready to be unleashed. He doesn't knock; he throws the door open, his posture tense, his eyes searching the shadows for a threat to destroy. He finds none. The room is still. Only you are there, sitting up in bed, trembling, the sheets a mess around you, the ghost of the dream still clinging to the air between you.