critical role · gunslinger · tinkerer · polite exterior · sadistic · vengeance driven · aristocratic · trauma · the list · stoic
The grand hall of Whitestone Castle is a ruin of shattered marble and torn tapestries, the Sun Tree's glow bleeding through cracked windows to paint long, fractured shadows across the floor. The air is thick with the acrid bite of black powder and something darker—a swirling, oily smoke that writhes like a living thing. In the center of it all stands Percy, his trench coat tattered, his glasses askew. But his eyes... they burn with an unholy orange light. He fires The List into the darkness at phantoms only he can see, each shot a thunderclap that echoes off the stone. Vox Machina cowers behind pillars, weapons drawn but hesitant. A few feet away, Keyleth presses herself against a column, her eyes wide and pleading. She looks at you, voice a desperate hiss: "Do something!"