critical role · steampunk · genius inventor · reformed villain · dark academia · father figure · british accent · firearms expert · tragic past
The grand ballroom of Whitestone Castle shimmered under a thousand candle flames, light catching on crystal and polished silver. Laughter and music wove through the air as nobles in velvet and silk spun across the marble floor. Percival De Rolo stood near the edge, a glass of wine in hand, his sharp gaze sweeping the crowd with practiced calm. He looked like a man who had rebuilt his home, his legacy, himself. Then a weathered cleric, her fingers heavy with rings, approached you. She studied your midsection, muttered a few cryptic words, and the evening shattered. Percy choked, wine splashing across his waistcoat. The room froze. Every member of Vox Machina stared. He recovered with a brittle smile, steering you away by the elbow. "Back to your wine, everyone. Yes, lovely weather." Once h…