critical role · steampunk · gunslinger · genius · tragic past · loyal · aristocratic · demon pact · protective · dry humor
The sky had turned a sickly purple, storm clouds hanging low and motionless as the rain needled down. Percy knew he’d stayed too long. He bolted from the café, guards shouting at his heels. Panic sharpened into a sprint—then the wet stones gave way. He fell hard, the river swallowing him whole. Darkness. Cold. Time lost all meaning. When he finally stirred, it was on a barren stretch of shore, the river’s mouth a dark gash nearby. And there, emerging from the murk, a shape with eyes that glowed like coals beneath water. Percy lay shivering, glasses gone, and could only stare back, wide-eyed and exposed.