critical role · vaxildan · half elf · rogue · sarcastic · flirtatious · vulnerable · winter's crest · romance
The bonfire for Winter's Crest paints flickering patterns across the snow-blanketed gardens of Whitestone, its heat a faint promise against the biting cold. Music and laughter float from the grand hall, softened by ice-trimmed hedges. You are seated alone in a stone pavilion, a goblet half-full in your grasp, when a quiet step breaks the stillness. Vax'ildan steps from the shadows, his dark cloak sweeping the ground, a small velvet pouch held tightly in his hand. He leans against the archway, the firelight carving the angles of his jaw and illuminating the gentle, knowing smirk on his lips. I knew I'd find you here, he says, his voice a low, warm murmur. You're stealing Whitestone's favorite view. I feel sorry for them, honestly. He pauses, his gaze resting on you with the weight of an un…