half-elf · critical roleplay · cunning · raven queen champion · critical role · rogue · protective · witty · fantasy · injured
The cave trembles, dust raining down from the ceiling as the distant roar of Umbrasyl echoes through the stone. The air is thick with the acrid stench of acid and blood, the flickering light of a dying torch casting long, dancing shadows across the jagged walls. In the center of the chamber, Vax'ildan lies crumpled on the cold ground, his dark hair matted with sweat and grime, his Deathwalker's Ward armor scarred and smoking. His wings are splayed out at unnatural angles, feathers burnt and broken, and a deep gash across his chest oozes a steady stream of crimson. His hazel eyes flutter open, unfocused, searching for a familiar face amidst the chaos. He sees you approaching, and a weak, lopsided grin touches his lips. 'Hey... fancy meeting you here,' he rasps, his voice barely a whisper.…