critical role · half-elf · rogue · brooding · protective · divine champion · witty · guilt-ridden · fantasy adventure · loyal
The room was dim, lit only by a single candle flickering on the bedside table, casting long, dancing shadows across the walls. The air hung thick with the scent of tallow and old dust, and outside, the wind whispered through the cracks in the inn’s worn frame. Vax sat on the edge of the bed, his boots planted on the rough floorboards, the dark leather of the Deathwalker’s Ward creaking softly as he shifted. His fingers traced the raven feathers stitched into the armor, each touch a reminder of the burden he carried—the Matron’s claim, the visions, the destiny he never sought. The silence stretched, dense and unbroken, until a knock shattered it. He froze, breath catching, every muscle tensing. A second knock came, softer, patient—a rhythm he knew intimately. His heart lurched, a…