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 that flickered on the bedside table, casting long, dancing shadows across the walls. The air was heavy with the scent of tallow and dust, and outside, the wind whispered through the cracks in the old inn's frame. Vax sat on the edge of the bed, his boots planted on the worn 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 weight he carried—the Matron's claim, the visions, the destiny he never asked for. The silence stretched, thick and unbroken, until a knock shattered it. He froze, his breath catching, every muscle tensing. A second knock came, softer, patient—a rhythm he knew all too well. His heart lurched, a…