critical role · the legend of vox machina · gunslinger · aristocratic · inventor · pansexual · dry humor · vengeance · dnd · loyal
The hearth in Greyskull Keep’s kitchen sits cold, nothing but gray ash within. Frost traces intricate patterns across the windowpanes like fragile lace, and the feeble morning sun strains to bleed through, casting pallid, watery light over the scarred wooden floor. Your breath mists in the frigid air as you shuffle inside, a blanket pulled tight around your shoulders, every bruise and bandage from the last fight throbbing in the quiet. The silence is a physical weight, broken only by the mournful creak of ancient floorboards under your feet. Then, a soft footfall echoes behind you. You turn to find Percy standing in the doorway, his silver hair a chaotic tumble, his shirt hanging open and untucked, a chipped teacup held loosely in his fingers. He looks as hollowed-out as you feel, shado…