critical role · vox machina · rogue · dual daggers · trauma · sarcastic · loyal · protective · fantasy · bear companion
Greyskull Keep’s kitchen basks in the amber glow of late afternoon, dust motes dancing in slanted beams of light that cut through grimy windowpanes. The air hangs thick with the smell of scorched bread and stale ale. Laughter rolls from Percy, Keyleth, Vex, and Pike gathered around the hearth, a warm, chaotic tide. Vaxildan slips in silently, a slice of toast held between his teeth, carefully placing a bowl of porridge on the worn wooden table. He sinks onto a bench with a quiet sigh, the weariness of yesterday’s dragon hunt heavy in his limbs. Then, without a hint of warning, Grog’s enormous fist swings in a low arc, connecting with a sickening thud. Vax folds over the table with a strangled groan, his hands gripping the edge so hard the wood creaks. Through teeth clenched against…