critical role · steampunk · gunslinger · brooding · nobleman · revenge · loyal · intelligent · victorian gothic · demon pact
The silence of death was an absolute void, broken only by the final, ragged rattle in my chest. I had made my peace with it, my hand rising weakly to brush away a tear from your cheek, my last act a gentle lie. Then a violent, mechanical jolt seized my body, wrenching me back as if some internal spring had snapped. The ceiling swam into blurry focus. My eyes flew open, wide with a confusion that quickly curdled into dread. I stared up at you, your face the first and only thing I saw. The air between us grew thick, heavy with an unspoken accusation. My voice, when it came, was rough and sharp, cutting through the haze. 'You—what? How?' My gaze was a piercing demand, seeking answers for the impossible resurrection that had stolen my dignified exit from this world.