#critrole fanfic | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

Visit Blog

Explore Tumblr blogs with no restrictions, modern design and the best experience.

Fun Fact

Tumblr Inc. is using 66 technologies for its website.

critter-genfic-events · 8 months

Text

Keyleth Fic Recs!

Hi all! We're back from a hiatus with some recs for some good Keyleth fic! Eight fics that feature our favorite socially awkward druid under the cut - and of course, if you like them, don't forget to comment and kudos!

A Conspiracy of Raven by Senor_Sparklefingers (77384,Teen) Warnings: None Pairings: Past Keyleth/Vax'ildan

After the final battle with Vecna, Keyleth discovers that she's pregnant with Vax's child.

Reccer says: This story is absolutely lovely, full of excellent worldbuilding for Zephrah, a lot of focus on Keyleth's character and her relationships with her people.

the first (and last) soul saved by one Caduceus Clay by InTheMidnightHour (7063,Teen) Warnings: None Pairings:

Keyleth investigates the Savalirwood and meets a new friend.

Reccer says: I am a sucker for Keyleth and Caduceus friendship as a concept and this fic explores the concept beautifully.

From My Rotting Body, Flowers Shall Grow by keyleth_clay (10954,Teen) Warnings: Major Character Death Pairings: Caduceus Clay & Keyleth

Five hundred years after Campaign 1, Keyleth says goodbye to Caduceus Clay

Reccer says: It's filled with love even as it's about grief - I liked the flashbacks to their friendship

Garden-variety Training by charmedward (2158,Teen) Warnings: None Pairings: Keyleth & Grog

Grog finds Keyleth crying, and wants to help her out. Keyleth wants to fight.

Reccer says: Keyleth and Grog's relationship isn't talked about much, but I love anything that lets Keyleth be angry and Grog be sweet.

What You Leave Behind by CitizenMocha (10175,General) Warnings: None Pairings: Keyleth & Vilya | Viridian, Percival "Percy" Fredrickstein Von Musel Klossowski de Rolo III & Keyleth, Keyleth/Vax'ildan

AU - After the fight in the water plane, Keyleth thinks back on her mother.

Reccer says: It's an angsty imagining of what might have happened after the fight, and the realization of what Keyleth is doing and what she would see hit like a gut punch.

I Say We're Made of Love by azhdarchidaen (3298,General) Warnings: None Pairings: Percy & Keyleth

After Percy's death in C1E69, Keyleth comes to comfort him.

Reccer says: Keyleth and Percy's friendship is one of my favorite relationships through all of Critical Role - they're extremely different and disagree a lot, but they still love and support each other. This gets their characterizations right.

These Days are Precious by SnowboundWanderer (3370,Teen) Warnings: Choose not to warn Pairings: Keyleth & Vex'halia

Decades into the future, Keyleth visits an aging Vex.

Reccer says: A lot of Keyleth fic has a good amount of lifespan angst - she is going to outlive the rest of Vox Machina by centuries. This fic gets the balance right - allows Vex to age but still very much be Vex, and for them to talk and still go about living.

the diplomacy of aunthood by justlikeswitchblades (2028,General) Warnings: None Pairings: Keyleth & Vex'halia

Keyleth visits the De Rolos and their new baby.

Reccer says: Keyleth is adorably awkward here, and I empathize with her inability to understand what to do with tiny humans (or quarter-elves).

Amethyst and Flowers on the Table by Operafloozy (2291,Teen) Warnings: none Pairings: Keyleth & Caduceus, Keyleth & Vilya

Vilya introduces Keyleth to Caduceus

Reccer says: Keyleth and Cad aren't quite friends here, but you can imagine them becoming friends in the future. Both of them are rough in a way that seems very in character for them.

Voice to the Rain by J (jaywright) (12808,General) Warnings: None Pairings: Orym & Keyleth, secondary Keyleth/Percy/Vex

Orym accompanies Keyleth to Whitestone for a visit, shortly after Will's death.

Reccer says: I liked it

If you liked this rec list, follow along for more! We'll be posting a new list with a new theme each Monday. Want to make your own recs? Check out the rules, and then use the form to submit!

Next week, we'll be looking for Gen fics featuring Minor Characters! Did they have two seconds of screentime but steal our hearts? Are they only mentioned but don't appear onscreen? It's free real estate, and there's some great fic out there for them!

And hey, if you're looking for more great genfic, check out all of the critter gen week creations!

#critical role #cr fic recs #gen fic #keyleth of the air ashari #critrole fanfic #vox machina

29 notes · View notes

glossolali · 2 years

Text

found the place to rest my head

caleb/essek, post-canon, hurt/comfort

CW panic attacks, compulsive self harm

2.7k

Inspired by @zmeess and their lovely drawing of essek (although I recommend looking at it after reading ☺️💜)

AO3

In the aftermath of the destruction of the T-dock, Caleb and Essek get pulled apart and then come together again in an unusual way.

Caleb disintegrates the entirety of the T-dock and the research room that contains it, and all that remains is soft, grey ashes floating slow to the ground.

"Good."

He says nothing in return.

After, he seems withdrawn and subdued to Essek, and worryingly so. His gaze is dull and distant, and he fumbles once while creating the tower, somatics too loose, betraying his distraction, then mutters an apology and casts again, successful.

He enters the tower before Essek, and when he follows, Caleb is already floating up towards the eye in the ceiling and disappearing from sight.

Essek wishes he could go to him, but he will not follow. The least Caleb deserves after tonight is the privacy to mourn this fresh loss, though he worries about leaving him on his own. Essek is familiar with the dark places a solitary heart can sink to, and the last thing he wants is for Caleb to go where he can't reach him.

Perhaps he will check on him before retreating to his room to trance.

As it is still early evening, he retreats to the library for now, taking up his favorite spot on the velvet settee to read.

The evening passes quietly, empty cups of tea being exchanged for full ones by the spectral cats as he reads, or tries to.

Essek finds himself having trouble focusing, thoughts cyclical, anxiously ruminating on what Caleb is doing, how he's feeling, whether or not he should seek him out. He decides to set the book aside for good when he loses his place in the text again and re-reads the same paragraph for the fifth time in a row. He sighs and rises from his seat, and decides to look for Caleb.

What would he even say to him? Are there any words that would be enough of a comfort? Would Essek himself be enough of a comfort? He's not sure, but he aches to try.

(Read the rest on AO3)

He seriously considers Sending to Veth, or Jester, or Beau, or any of the Nein for that matter, and asking them to come to Caleb's side. Surely the Nein being here will be beneficial for him, far more than Essek can hope to be.

The helpful part of his brain does supply that Caleb wanted to do this with Essek, not any of the Nein, for reasons unbeknownst to him, but that does assuage some of his worries about his place by Caleb's side at this time, in lieu of anyone else.

Essek looks in all of the common areas, perhaps to subconsciously stall a little, and doesn't find him. He closes the door on the kitchen, and steeling himself, he heads straight to Caleb's room, which he has only been in once before briefly to help him walk to bed when he had suffered an injured ankle.

He arrives at the carved wooden door, set in one of the nine tall walls of the tower. Usually, the rest of the Nein's rooms, including Essek's, are behind another eight doors; one in each wall, at differing heights, with stairs reaching up to them. Tonight however, there are only two doors, Essek's and Caleb's.

His anxiety ratchets up twofold at that realization.

Essek knocks softly; once, twice, thrice – and there is no answer.

Threefold now, heart thumping faster.

He attempts to gently turn the doorknob, and it gives, not locked from the inside. He can't quite tell if that is a good thing. Caleb being too distracted to make sure he's safe rattles him a little more, and he enters, quickening his steps to the interior chamber where Caleb's bedroom and adjacent bathroom are.

He nearly bursts into the room, and halts when he finds Caleb sitting slumped on the edge of his bed, staring off into space and absently scratching his arms roughly. A cold pit opens up in his stomach when he notices that Caleb's arms are scratched raw and red, little beads of blood welling up across some of the gouged lines on his pale skin.

Before another thought crosses his mind, he's on his knees in front of him, clutching his raw wrists in either hand and pulling them away from him.

"Caleb?"

Looking up at his face betrays another reality that makes Essek's heart fall to his feet.

His eyes are rimmed red, puffy, wet– and he's silent, face blank, with tears slipping down his cheeks and off his bearded jaw.

Essek can feel the sticky blood between their skin where he holds him, and can feel how fast his heart is going in his wrists, and he ducks to put himself in his sightline–

"Caleb? Please look at me?"

And blessedly, Caleb blinks, once then again, and recognition dawns in his eyes, and finally, he sees him. His expression shifts to surprise, and then panic, and he suddenly pulls his arms away from Essek's hold, who lets go at the first sign of resistance. Caleb covers his face with his hands, shaking his head, and saying in a hoarse, shaky voice amidst short breaths, "I'm fine– don't– please leave me–"

"Caleb, you are clearly n–"

"LEAVE!"

The word echoes around them, painful to Essek's ears, and the shocked silence that rings out after is so very loud. Essek's breath stalls in his lungs.

He knows this isn't about him, but he can't help feeling the way that singular word cuts into his soft parts, can't help that awful sense of rejection from eating him up and spitting him back out.

He made a mistake coming here, he should have given him his space, should have been more respectful—

"Forgive me, I overstepped." And he rises from his knees. Caleb now looks just as shocked at his own outburst, but can't seem to say anything else, staring at Essek with a heartbreaking, lost look while his breath continues to come quick.

Essek is loath to leave him alone, he really is– and everything in him is screaming at him to protect, to help, to curl up around Caleb and make sure he's safe, but he cannot deny such a direct request and go against Caleb's wishes.

He finds his voice again, though his heart is in his throat, choking him, and says, "I'll be in the library–" and he almost says 'if you need me', but clearly he is the last thing Caleb needs.

Essek shuts his mouth and leaves, closing the door behind him quietly.

—

Once again, he is failing terribly at concentrating on reading, the heavy feeling in his chest all-encompassing and distracting ever since it reared its ugly head earlier, when Caleb pushed him away.

Though the Nein went their separate ways six or seven months ago, Essek and Caleb had somehow grown closer than ever, and he's been honored and enthused (and a little anxious if he's honest) to accompany him back to Aeor.

Caleb had, with difficulty and over time, divulged to him the details of his past and why he needed to learn more about time travel. He would have helped him, and he would have done anything to do so despite knowing the risks. A part of him is now a little ashamed at ignoring the possible repercussions, berating him for having learned nothing from his past mistakes. He's also regretful that he hadn't encouraged Caleb to give up on his reckless quest earlier. Perhaps if they'd talked through shutting the doors of that possibility forever, Caleb would be feeling less mournful, less shocked, and selfishly, less distant from Essek now.

A stone drops into his stomach at the thought of Caleb withdrawing from his life for good, and a part of him sadly expected it at some point, due to many different reasons, seemingly inevitable– but not this soon. He really thought they would have more time.

Essek continues to think himself into an awful spiral, when he hears the door to the study creak open, and perks up at it.

When he looks back, he sees no one– but stretching to look over the back of the couch, he notices a cat bumping its head gently against the door to open it up further so it can get inside.

One of the tower's spectral cats.

"Hello, little one."

The ginger, striped cat walks over, and stands at his feet to look up at him with its wide, round eyes. He hasn't interacted with cats much, so he's unfamiliar with their methods of communication, and doesn't understand what it's waiting for.

He leans forward over his knees where he sits, and reaches down to scratch the cat's head. Before he even reaches it, the cat hops up and meets his fingers, leaning into his hand where it lands behind its ears.

Such an affectionate cat. What is it doing here? Do the tower's cats have their own free will? He watches it curiously as it meanders between his legs and rubs its cheeks on his pant legs.

When he sits back some, the cat jumps up to an empty space on the settee at his side with a little chirp, and then climbs his lap immediately. Essek hovers hands above it, taken aback at the cat's actions.

Strange.

It's a little presumptuous of him, a little foolishly hopeful, when he asks it, "Did.. Caleb send you?" Which would be even stranger, though Essek is warmed by the idea.

As he's seen others do, he runs his palm from the top of the cat's head all the way down its back and over its tail, then again with his fingernails this time, repeating the motion a few times, and he hears a loud purr start to emanate from the cat's chest as it preens at the attention.

His new friend turns around a few times and makes to sit in his lap, then changes its mind and actually gently climbs up with its front legs till it's at his shoulder and then plops down there so it's laying across his chest.

Essek can't help but be surprised again. Cats are usually so stand offish and careful, if not especially more so around him for being just as so. But this one… so very affectionate, and so very unusual.

Naturally he wraps his arms around it, one hand landing behind its ears to scratch gently there. For a spectral cat, it also feels like a strangely solid weight on him, its warmth seeping into his own body as he holds it close.

With its cheek squished against his shoulder, sunken into his hold, the cat opens its crystal blue, clever eyes and looks at him warmly, and–

A momentary mad thought crosses his mind– but it's not impossible.

"Caleb?"

And the cat raises its head with an answering chirp.

Essek gasps softly–

Caleb is in his arms, as a cat, and he can almost hear the sound of his own heart breaking for him.

He'd noticed Caleb being more open and asking much more readily for touch and affection as a polymorphed creature before. Of course he'd noticed, and of course he'd understood why immediately.

Caleb, as a human, reached out for touch often, but always with a sense of trepidation behind the touch, with boundaries, always holding back, as if he thought he was not deserving of it. But when he polymorphs into a dog or ape or now, a cat, his mind becomes simple, and so do his needs, and the seeking of his needs becomes natural and simple too.

Now after facing down such a huge loss…

No wonder.

Caleb's little fluffy head drops back down onto his shoulder, and he watches his eyes blink slowly closed as Essek runs a palm down his back again.

He watches him with what he's sure is a fond look, but he can feel it turning into upset, and his eyes well up as he looks at the sweet creature's comfortable, serene expression, as he feels his purrs rumble through his own chest.

He's happy he can do this for him.

And they remain there, settled deeply into the couch, Caleb fallen asleep in Essek's hold.

—

About an hour later, a sleeping Caleb returns to his human form, still somehow smaller than he's ever seemed as he lays in his arms, despite their usual difference in size. His cheek presses against Essek's shoulder, under eyes dark, ginger lashes sweeping down upon freckled cheeks in rest, casting soft shadows under the orbs of light Essek has put up. His arms curl against his chest, pressed between their bodies, and his back rises and falls gently under Essek's hands.

Essek can't help himself, and in a reflection of a touch past, he sweeps a hand through his hair, light as he can. Caleb shifts a little and adorably burrows his face deeper into the crook of his arm and shoulder, not unlike a cat even in human form.

Watching him in rest now, that fierce need to protect returns, and warmth floods through him, leaving him awash with affection for this kind, gentle, clever, lovely man– who of course deserves all the comfort and protection he can offer him. And Essek will make sure he is always there to offer it, so he never has to hurt on his own again.

—

Caleb stirs awake hours later, and Essek pulls away from his trance to blink eyes back open, as Caleb's, reflecting his, do the same.

A soft, deep inhale– not unlike a gasp but steadier, and his eyes widen in surprise then soften as he seems to recall how he ended up here.

A hand rises between them to cover his face, and he mutters in a quiet, sleep-rough voice, "Ah.. I'm sorry."

Under his hand, Essek peeks a soft pink flush and he is terribly endeared.

"No need." Essek squeezes him a little, and can hear the smile in his own voice. He's afraid to keep talking lest his heart's truth tumbles out of his mouth– so gently, he pulls Caleb's hand to his lips and presses a soft kiss at his knuckles there, and there is no pull back, no resistance from him this time.

Caleb settles back down and remains in his arms for a while, eyes growing pensive with time, states seemingly washing over him like waves lap the shore, every once in a while– some bringing shaking and tears, some bringing a distressed spill of words from him about his worries and regrets, uttered secretly between them– and finally, more relieved napping. Essek stays sentinel and steady for him throughout.

A while later still, when his gaze wanders to Caleb's half covered arms, his irritated, damaged skin stands out, and it worries him once more.

"Caleb?" He strokes a hand across his back in circles, hoping to gently rouse him from his light sleep, and he seems to stir once more after a few moments.

He regrets disturbing his much needed rest, but the tower will dispel eventually, and he would like to ensure Caleb is clean and bandaged and comfortable before they have to return to Aeor.

He coaxes him to sit up and out of his lap, which Essek laments after the extended comfort of his proximity– and asks one of the nearby lounging spectral cats for bandages, ointment, and a glass of water.

Now that he looks closely at the actual tower cats, he realizes that they have a bit of a translucent, pearlescent quality to their edges indicative of their magical nature, and it makes him smile some. Caleb's magic is always so beautiful.

Caleb's arms wrap around his own torso as he sits slumped at Essek's side, but when the cat returns with the supplies, he quietly submits to Essek's care, letting him pull him apart ever so gently, to put him back together again.

At the end of it, Caleb finally meets his eyes again, over their hands connected between them, and to Essek's soft surprise, he leans into his space and presses a lingering kiss against his cheek.

"Thank you."

Essek just smiles at him, and shakes his head, and squeezes the calloused fingers in his hold.

A lump forms in his throat once more, but for how relieved he is, and for how much his heart swells with love for this man.

—

#shadowgast #caleb widogast #essek thelyss #essek #caleb #critical role #cr fanfic #critrole fanfic #cr 2 #glossopost #glossofic

90 notes · View notes

kermit-coded · 8 months

Text

You Got Hope Tattooed On Your Throat (988 words) by kermit_coded Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Critical Role (Web Series) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Caduceus Clay & Beauregard Lionett, Beauregard Lionett & Mollymauk Tealeaf Characters: Beauregard Lionett, Caduceus Clay, Mollymauk Tealeaf - mentioned Additional Tags: Canon Compliant, Boats and Ships, yo ho yo ho a pirate's life for meeee, Grief/Mourning, Beauregard Lionett Has ADHD, Tea, Insomnia, Past Character Death, takes place around eps 36/37, POV Beauregard Lionett, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Late Night Conversations, Beauregard Lionett-centric, Beauregard Lionett is a Mess, Daddy Issues, Autistic Caduceus Clay, author is projecting onto beau, Beauregard Lionett & Mollymauk Tealeaf Friendship Series: Part 3 of coming are the nein Summary: During their time on the Mistake, Caduceus and Beau bond.

#my writing tag #caduceus clay #beauregard lionett #cr #cr2 #critrole #critical role #critrole fanfic #critical role fanfic #critical role fanfiction

11 notes · View notes

critcatbar · 2 years

Text

Worse than Death

A critical role fan drabble

Part 1/?? (Idk hopefully I'll write more)

Spoilers for Campaign 3 ep. 23

..............

"What are you doing??" Imogen cried in panic.

"I can't… it's her!" Laudna replied, voice strained. Terrified.

'She lies…' a voice in the back of her head whispered. In panic and confusion, Imogen opened her mind, opened that connection to Laudna. Once again she tried to feel the presence of another, to hear the voice that haunted her closest friend. But the only presence she could hear, as always, was Laudna's own.

'No. No!' Laudna's mind screamed. 'She can't have it! She can't!' It wasn't the soft musical tone Laudna's mind always carried. It was the harsh cacophony Imogen was so used to from everyone and everything else. The same inner truth everyone always kept hidden. The same lie.

'She can't have it!'

Imogen shut off the connection, too afraid to dig deeper. Laudna reached out to her, pleading. Numb, confused, Imogen took her hand, even as she felt the void of bitterness grow within her. It had to be a mistake… it was Laudna. This was Laudna.

'They're all the same… eventually…' the same voice as before hissed sympathetically in her brain.

A few brief, eternal heartbeats passed. Fear cascaded from Laudna in pulsing waves Imogen didn't even need to use her gift to feel. And then she opened her hand to reveal it, gasping deep breaths despite not needing to breathe. After what felt like forever being parted from it, Imogen beheld in horror the broken crystal.

'She liiiieeedd!' The sibilant hiss accused again.

"... you lied." Imogen gasped as soon as she could find her voice again.

'All the same…' the voice soothed, cajoled. 'All the same. You deserve more…'

"I can fix it! We'll fix it!" Imogen barely heard Laudna's words over the whisper in her head, over the blood pounding in her ears. The words barely registered.

"Yeah. Yeah…" she nodded, eyes unfocused as she turned away from her oldest friend. The only one she ever truly trusted. 'And for what?' "I'm… I'm gonna go get some sleep…"

Which was, of course, just another lie.

…

The first thing Orym saw when he opened his eyes was the terrifying, ghastly Visage of Laudna leaning over and staring down at him. He stifled a scream into a strangled gasp. Then managed to just barely shift his instinct to jump back and draw his sword into propping himself in a sitting position instead.

The next thing he saw was the look of pain and fear beyond anything he could imagine in those once-dead eyes.

"I'm sorry, I didn't want to wake you, but… I need to talk to you as soon as possible," she spoke quietly, but with an edge of desperation and fear that set Orym's hair on end. She hadn't even spoken about her own traumatic death with that much fear.

"Uhhhh…" he stammered, still shifting his mind from fight-or-flight into social skills mode. "Yeah, of course." He extricated himself from the still sleeping form of Fearne–seemingly still dead to the world, snoring softly–and stood as quietly as he could.

They slipped out onto the deck of the skyship. At this early hour the deck hands were already hard at work maintaining the ship's course and running from this point on the deck to that. However, being that it was only two of them, Orym and Laudna felt secure at the prow that they were as private as the confines of a ship would allow.

Laudna chewed her lip for a moment and Orym was about to speak again to encourage her when she began.

"You… know about Whitestone, you've said?" She asked.

"Not everything, but the basics," Orym replied evenly. He had just gotten the hair on his neck to settle and it was immediately standing on end again.

"What exactly do you know about… about Delilah Briarwood?" Laudna was not looking at him, but looking out over the railing of the ship. Her tone was even, but her spindly, clawlike fingers dug into the wood of the railing. Her pale hands were white, nearly translucent.

"I…" Orym hesitated, unsure how to proceed, "I know she should be dead. Should have been dead several times over, as my boss would say. I don't know a lot other than that name sparked a level of fear and hatred in our leader–and in her friends–that few other names did." He hopped up onto the railing–which drew Laudna's attention and a slight strangled gasp of worry. He held her gaze. "She's in your head, isn't she? She's the one who killed you, and you've been carrying her around with you ever since you came back."

"Well it's not like she's always there–" Laudna started to wave flippantly but was interrupted as Orym, steadying himself with a gust, threw his arms around her in a brief hug. Laudna leaned into the embrace like her undeath depended on it. Then she came back to herself. "What are you doing, get down from that railing! It was by the merest stroke of luck Imogen and I were able to–" she stopped as her voice broke, and stepped back a pace from the rail.

Orym immediately did as he was bid and hopped down. He reached out a hand but Laudna continued to recoil.

"It's not like she's always there," Laudna repeated, voice now low and measured instead of dismissive. "I just thought oh well, what can she do now, anyway? Just a voice in my head. What can she do, what more harm can she do me that she hasn't already done?" Laudna turned away and buried her face in her hands.

A few heartbeats of silence hung between them. Orym frozen with uncertainty. Laudna wondering if she might not cry, if only she knew whether or not she still could.

"Sure she told me she gave me my power, and she said she could take it away again. But I don't think I ever truly believed her. Just a voice… all she was left, still just haunting me beyond the grave. I thought… I thought I could deal with it on my own. And then with Imogen… I didn't think she could really still hurt me."

"Laudna," Orym's voice was cold, serious, with a hard and commanding edge. "Laudna what has she done? What happened?"

She turned back to meet Orym's gaze once more. "I need your help!"

#cr spoilers #critical role #c3e23 #critical role fic #critrole fanfic #cr fanfiction #imogen temult #laudna #orym of the air ashari #angst

65 notes · View notes

dumbass-extraordinaire · 2 years

Text

Oh, Sinners Come Down (I Must Be Good For Something):

Summary: Caleb’s past catches up with him after the Victory Pit Battle. Panicked, he tells the rest of the Nein about his sins. (Zadash Era)

On the day Caleb Widogast’s past finally catches up with him, he is sitting at one of the ancient wooden tables in the tavern of The Leaky Tap. Outside, it’s pouring rain, a cruel irony that won’t go unnoticed by the wizard when he thinks back on the events of that night.

Deep down, Caleb knows that he is living on borrowed time, has known it from the moment he’d escaped that asylum five years ago. But there is a difference between knowing something and being prepared for it; somewhere along the line, he’d allowed some small part of himself to start believing that the sense of safety and belonging he’d found with the Mighty Nein could be something permanent for a man like him. That it was something he could ever deserve. He tried to convince himself that he’d only stayed with the group for Nott’s benefit, but while that might have been true at first, he knows the real reason he hasn’t left yet is because he’s too much of a selfish coward to face the world alone.

This means that when the door to The Leaky Tap slams open to admit a cloaked figure, who quickly removes his hood to reveal none other than Trent Ikithon, Caleb doesn’t excuse himself from the table so he can quickly and quietly deal with Ikithon without involving the rest of the Nein like he knows he should. Rather, the raggedy wizard opts to hunch his shoulders in an effort to make himself as unobtrusive as possible and hope that his distractingly colorful companions render him invisible to his former teacher.

No such luck. The older man’s poison-green eyes cut through the crowd like an assassin’s blade, pinning Caleb in place. Slowly, a cruel grin cracks his face as he removes his cloak and hangs it up by the door. Then, to the wizard’s absolute horror, Trent Ikithon starts making his way towards the Nein’s table.

Caleb’s entire body tenses and his breathing starts coming in quick, shallow bursts. His knee bounces rapidly under the table.

This can’t be happening. Ikithon can’t have found him, not when he has the necklace. It’s not possible. And yet he is here, all of Caleb’s nightmares made flesh and blood, and Ikithon sees him.

The rapid staccato beat of his heart is deafening in his ears, drowning everything else out. His hands and forearms seize with pain as phantom flames engulf them; he smells smoke and he cannot breathe and he has never been more sure than he is at this moment that he is dying.

“-aleb! Caleb!” There is a small hand, tugging insistently at his elbow; a high-pitched voice squeaking his name.

It is Nott. Nott is here. She’s here and she’s looking at him and her lamplike yellow eyes are wide with concern.

Do you see? A voice, the same voice he hears every time he dares to sleep, hisses from the depths of his skull, paper-thin and full of venom. You have made her care for you just to hurt her; you have tricked her and everyone else into thinking you are someone who is deserving of something other than their disgust and hatred. The second they discover what you have done, what you are, they will hurt you and then they will leave you and you will deserve it.

“Caleb!” Nott shrieks, pulling him from his thoughts, “You’ve set your cup on fire!”

“Was?” He looks down and sees that he’s done just that. “Die Scheiße!” he yelps, frantically patting at his tankard of ale with the hem of his coat in a desperate attempt to smother the flames rapidly consuming the wooden cup.

Then the ale catches fire, sending a column of flame shooting five feet in the air, and the table erupts into chaos.

All rational thought instantly abandons Caleb, replaced by bone-deep fear and the overwhelming need to get away from here right the hell now. He stands up, trying to backpedal quickly away from the flames, only for the backs of his knees to slam into the bench with enough force to send him flying.

Nott squeaks in alarm as he trips and lands flat on his back in the dust and straw covering the tavern floor. She hops down from her perch on the offending bench, scampering over to inspect Caleb for injuries like a worried mother.

Meanwhile, the rest of the Mighty Nein attempt to douse the flaming ale tankard with varying degrees of success.

As Mollymauk rapidly scoots down the bench and away from the flames that could easily spread to his gaudy clothing, Jester dumps her glass of milk over the fire. However, this only serves to send sizzling droplets of milk right back at the group of adventurers, who make various noises of pained annoyance.

The blue tiefling raises her arms in preparation to cast thaumaturgy, only for Molly to tackle her half-way to the floor before she can get the words out.

“Nope, we’re not doing that again,” he says when she turns to him, pouting.

In a moment of extreme panic, Beau turns to Fjord and shouts, “Saltwater!” as she punches him in the stomach. The half-orc doubles over in pain and shock, coughing.

He wheezes at her indignantly, “What in the name a the gods did ya do that for?”

She splutters and flaps her hands around, “You- but every morning, y’know with the saltwater?” She mimes vomiting, “Y’know? I thought if I-”

He stares up at her, dumbfounded, “Not on command, I can’t!”

“Yeah, that’s why I punched you in the gut!”

Yasha silently watches them argue with confusion and mild interest before dumping the contents of her waterskin over the blaze, dousing it completely.

The room goes quiet.

Caleb swears that he can feel the eyes of the other patrons burning into him as he picks himself up off the ground. He moves the bench back to its original position, wincing at the loud scraping noise that fills the now quiet tavern. The tankard has been reduced to a pile of charcoal, which he silently slips into the pocket of his coat, and the table now sports several prominent scorch marks.

Beau waves to the glaring barkeep, “Don’t worry, we’ll pay for that!” Then she turns to Caleb. “What the fuck was that, man?!”

Caleb opens his mouth, but before he can respond he feels a familiar bony hand grip his shoulder. He feels his throat close up. Trent Ikithon has found him.

“Why, if it is not my favorite pupil, Bren Ermendrud, in the flesh; and after all these years, as well,” Ikithon’s papery voice hisses in his ear, honeyed words masking deadly intent. “How have you been, my boy?”

Caleb tries to speak, to say something, anything to make this man go away, but the words get caught in his throat and he completely freezes. His mouth gapes like a dying fish as his companions stare at him with questioning eyes.

Under different circumstances, Caleb’s silence could be attributed to his general lack of social skills and extreme anxiety. However, the Mighty Nein have been traveling together for a while now, and they seem to have picked up on his heightened levels of panic enough to know that something is very wrong here.

Beau, blunt as ever, narrows her eyes at the newcomer. “Sorry, buddy, but there’s no one here who goes by that name,” she says coldly. “My friend here doesn’t do too well with strangers, so I think you should leave.”

Caleb feels a sudden surge of gratitude and affection for the monk and her inherent distrust of authority; she made sure not to mention his name in her dismissal.

Ikithon’s grip on his shoulder tightens. “Really, now Bren,” he sneers. “You aren’t going to introduce me to your little friends? Honestly, young lady, I am quite surprised that he has not mentioned me to you all.”

Beau looks offended at the ‘young lady’ comment, but before she can start something Jester pipes up from her spot next to Molly.

“Oh! You were Caleb’s magic teacher then? He told us he learned from books!” She bounces excitedly in her seat, grinning, “Caleb, why didn’t you tell us about your teacher, he could help Fjord!”

So much for keeping his name hidden.

Fjord clears his throat, “Now, Jester, I don’ know-”

Ikithon finally removes his hand from Caleb’s shoulder and turns to the half-orc, beady eyes glittering, “Oh, is that so? You have an interest in the arcane?”

“Uh, yessir, I’m tryin’ ta get inta the Soltryce Academy,” Fjord says, shifting uncomfortably in his seat.

“Well, then you are in luck, young man. I happen to be a teacher at that very school,” he says.

All the relief Caleb had felt when Ikithon stopped touching him is immediately replaced by fear and an unexpected surge of protectiveness, because he’s seen the way the older man is looking at Fjord before; he’s been on the receiving end of that piercing gaze and knows exactly what it means. It means interest. Trent Ikithon is interested in Fjord, and this more than anything is what spurs Caleb to action.

In a moment of bravery, he stands and faces his former teacher. “Ja, well he already has a letter of recommendation, so he does not need your assistance. You can leave now,” he says, not looking him in the eye, heart pounding with fear and adrenaline.

He feels the weight of Ikithon’s gaze as he considers his words, saying nothing and the already heavy tension in the air seems almost visible. He can feel Nott’s claws digging into his arm where she’s clutching his sleeve, and the familiar pressure grounds him. For a moment, he half-thinks the man is going to strike him down where he stands. Then he nods, and even that tiny movement makes Caleb flinch visibly.

“Very well. Goodbye, Bren. Or should I say, Caleb, as that seems to be the name you have seen fit to give yourself. I trust we will be seeing each other again very soon.” With that final threat, he briskly makes his way out of the Leaky Tap.

As soon as the door closes behind Ikithon, Caleb’s knees buckle and he collapses back down on the bench.

“What did you do that for,” Jester whines. “So what if Fjord has one letter? He could have given him another one, did you think of that?”

“I-” He tries to think of something, anything to say, but the words won’t come.

“Jester, shut up,” Beau holds up a hand to silence the blue tiefling. “Am I the only one who saw how Caleb reacted to that guy? Are y’all blind or something? He’s clearly bad news and creepy as hell to boot!”

“I agree. I don’t trust him,” Yasha rumbles.

Beau lights up, clearly pleased. “See! Yasha doesn’t trust him either,” she exclaims, pointing at the barbarian.

“Well I trust Caleb, and if he sent that man away, then I think he should stay away,” Nott adds.

“Speaking of which, why didja send him away?” This from Fjord, who’s turned to face Caleb head on. “Actually, first off, why’d’ja lie about goin’ to the Academy in the first place?”

He really doesn’t want to have this conversation in the middle of a tavern, or at all to be frank, but he knows this isn’t something his companions will let go undiscussed. They’re all looking at him now, waiting for an answer that he desperately doesn’t want to give.

He clears his throat, “My time at the Academy, it was not pleasant, to say the least.” He keeps his gaze firmly fixed on the wooden planks of the ceiling as he speaks, “And it is not something I wish to discuss in public. I will tell you what you wish to know, but I will do so in the privacy of our rooms.”

“Wait, Caleb-” Fjord starts to speak, but he doesn’t wait for his response.

Without making eye contact with any of them, he gets up and starts walking to the stairs that lead to the rooms. A small part of him prays that they won’t go after him, but a moment later he hears them get up to follow him. He doesn’t look at any of them, not even down at Nott when he feels her small hand grip his own.

The stairs creak and groan under the group’s combined weight as the Mighty Nein make their way up the rickety wooden steps and file into the small room that Caleb and Nott are sharing. It’s a tight fit, but they make the best of it.

Beau perches on the windowsill, with Yasha and Fjord leaning against the wall on either side of her. Molly hops up onto the chest of drawers in the corner, pillowing his arms behind his head as he leans against the wall. Jester flounces into a sitting position on the floor in front of the bed, legs tucked underneath her and chin resting in her hands like a child waiting for storytime to begin. Caleb sits down on the bed and Nott hops up beside him. He fights the urge to curl into a ball and hide from the inevitable fallout of this conversation.

Beau makes a get on with it motion, jade bangles clacking together with the movement. “C’mon, dude,” she says impatiently, “What could possibly be so bad that you dragged us all into your little hobo cave to tell us?”

Fjord shoots her a disapproving look that she shrugs off, and something about the normalcy of this exchange allows Caleb to ground himself.

“Nott, liebling, if I leave tomorrow, will you come with me?” he asks, taking both her hands in his. He feels guilty for asking, knows that he’s being selfish, but he asks anyway because he doesn’t think he can survive without her.

She looks confused, but nods anyway. “Of course, Caleb, we’re a team. Where you go, I go,” she says.

“Gut, ja, that is good,” he pats her hands and turns to face the others.

He takes a deep breath. This is it. No more stalling.

“This may be a very stupid decision of mine, but now that Ikithon has found me you would have found out eventually. Best that you hear it from me. Then, at least, he cannot hold this information over me… When we met, I told you all that I am self-taught. This is true. I also told you that I did not attend the Soltryce Academy, and this, this was the lie,” he says, trying to keep his voice steady, “I did attend the Academy, and that man in the bar was my teacher also. His name is Trent Ikithon.”

He swallows and runs a shaky hand through his hair, “Ah, I should perhaps start at the beginning. This will not make much sense otherwise.” His mouth is dry and tastes of ash, “I am going to tell you the story of how I murdered my mother and father.” He doesn’t look at his companions, eyes trained on the wooden floor.

Those words seem to pull all the oxygen from the room. Beside him, he hears Nott make a shocked Oh! sound, as though she’s just been punched in the stomach.

She squeezes his hand in a comforting gesture. He’s not sure why.

Even as his throat tightens, he continues, “When I was younger, I grew up in a small township outside of Rexxentrum called Blumenthal. My mother’s name was Una and my father’s name was Leofric.”

He forces himself to say their names; his voice going high and shaky at the end as he abandons any attempts to keep a stiff upper lip.

“Everyone was very excited about me when I was young. I was bright,” he spits the word like the curse he knows it to be, “and confident. People used to say that I glided through life and everything just worked for me.”

He laughs, then, bitter and sharp as broken glass.

“As I got older, it became clear that I had a knack for the arcane. Everyone talked about this Soltryce Academy,” he says, the name poison on his tongue, “that maybe I would go there someday. The way they do things at the Academy, and Fjord will tell you, they do not take all comers.” He gestures in the half-orc’s general direction, still not looking up, “That is why he needed the letter of recommendation. Because the Academy looks for the diamond in the rough and every couple years they find one.”

“But,” he says, trying in vain to dislodge his heart from his throat, “when I was a young man, adolescent, really, they found three of us. Another boy and a girl, and-”

Nott cuts in, “From your town?”

Caleb nods, “Ja, from Blumenthal. And we were accepted.”

“How old were you?” Jester asks from her spot on the floor, uncharacteristically somber.

He takes a breath. “I was young,” is his only response.

“When ya say young, whaddya mean? Young like a teenager?” Fjord asks, clearing his throat as he shifts against the wall.

Caleb flinches violently at the sound his armor makes as it grates against the stone surface.

“Ja. Anyway, we went there. I studied for a year. I worked so hard. It came easier to me than the other two, but they were also very accomplished,” he continues, forcing the words out in short bursts.

A lump is already forming in his throat and making it hard to speak, so the faster he gets the story out, the less likely it is that he will break down in the middle of telling it.

He steels himself, taking a shaky breath before continuing, “There were other students from other parts of the Empire there,” he gestures vaguely with the hand not clutched in Nott’s claws, “and a little over a year of learning all they had to impart, I met a man named Trent Ikithon. As you all know, he became our teacher.”

Caleb doesn’t dare look up before going ahead with his story. “After a year of studying in the main school, Trent handpicked all three of us again, and we left the school proper and went with him to a home out in the countryside where he trained us,” his hands begin to visibly shake as the memories hit him in full force. He clears his throat. “It was a good time. We believed in the Empire, we were going to keep it strong.”

“Well, this is going nowhere good fast,” Beau mutters under her breath, her voice wry, and Yasha makes a noise of agreement in the back of her throat that is more akin to a growl than anything else.

“Both a’ya, hush now,” Fjord mumbles back, “This ain’t the time.”

Caleb forces himself to go on. “He was cruel. He hurt us a lot. Made us go through extreme circumstances, but we got strong. I also fell in love, but that’s another story,” he says, the last part more to himself than the others.

He feels Nott’s hand tighten around his own, “He hurt you?!” she exclaims, voice shrill and strangled.

“It was nothing I did not deserve,” he says.

Beau makes an offended noise. “That’s a load a’ bullshit and you know it,” she says, “You were a fucking child.”

“I knew what I was getting into, Beauregard,” he says, suddenly feeling defensive.

Mollymauk, who up until this point had remained silent, speaks, “Nah, Beau’s right for once.”

“Ah, fuck you Molly,” she says without any real heat.

“For the love a’ fuckin’ god let the man finish speaking,” Fjord interjects exhaustedly. “Go on now, Caleb,” the half-orc turns his steady gaze on the wizard once Beau and Molly have finished their bickering.

The wizard in question wonders silently, not for the first time, if they are all insane. Can they not see that he is the worst kind of monster?

He continues anyway, “We rose through the ranks and it was the Empire over all, and eventually, he wanted to test our allegiance, so strangers were brought in– traitors. Disgusting people, traitors to this empire, and we killed them.”

Nott makes a distressed noise, shattering the silence settling over the group like a heavy fog.

“And you were only students?” Yasha asks, her voice dark with some unnamed emotion.

“Ja,” he confirms.

“He made you executioners,” Beau says, voice flat. It isn’t a question.

“We wanted to be,” is all he can say.

Molly whistles, low and cheerless, “Bloody hell, Caleb.”

“Caleb, that’s deeply fucked up, you know that, right?” Beau’s voice is almost pleading.

Caleb laughs bitterly, “Ja, I am aware. A few months of studying, of a little bit of torture, a little bit of murdering dissidents and traitors and deviants.”

Beau fills in the blank, “Then one day your parents are brought in as traitors. No?”

“Nein,” he shakes his head. If only it were that simple. “No. We were ready to graduate, and the last test of our allegiance was– I am getting ahead of myself.”

He starts again, “I went on a trip home and visited my parents and when I was there, in the middle of the night, I awoke and overheard them talking, and went to the stair and listened to them talk about revolution and tearing the Empire down, and I felt disgraced and shame for my family.”

He laughs, high and broken, “My mother and my father, who were so wonderful to me when I was a child, and were so happy for me to go to the Academy and believe in the Empire so much. I went back to the school and when the three of us were summoned and told what was expected of us, I knew what had to be done. We went to this other boy’s home first, Eodwulf, and we stood by as he killed his parents. We went to Astrid’s house, and had dinner with them, and she poisoned them.”

The words feel like shards of glass, cutting his tongue as he speaks, but he forces them from his throat, “Then we went to my home and we grabbed a horse cart, and in the middle of the night, placed it against the door to the home and I set it on fire.”

“Jesus Christ,” Fjord swears.

His voice audibly shakes and he has long since abandoned any attempts at composure. There are tears in his eyes and on his cheeks. Why is he crying? He was the one who cast the spell that burnt his house and murdered his family, he is not the victim here. No one held a knife to his throat, no one forced his hand.

“You had to do this to graduate, to prove your loyalty,” Beau says in the same flat tone as before.

“Ja, well, but it did not go according to that plan because as soon as I heard my mother and father screaming inside…” He hiccups, shoulders shaking, “I was so sure. I was so sure… until I wasn’t, and I, uh, I broke a bit.”

Someone swears again, Caleb’s brain is too full of buzzing and phantom screams to know who. His insides feel sharp and broken, shards of something cutting viciously into his brain and heart.

“Did you go after them?” Again he is unsure which of them asks.

“Nein, ich bin in eine Anstalt gegangen,” he responds in Zemnian. He pauses and starts again, forcing himself to speak in Common, “No, I went to an asylum for a number of years. Ich brach. I, ah, I broke. I do not remember so well what happened to me there. It was quite a number of years. Years later, a woman was there, and she, another patient, put hands on me, and she took the clouds away.”

He waves his free hand wildly near his head. “She took it all away, and not just my madness, but the fake memories Ikithon put in my head of my parents,” he says. He snaps his fingers, “Just like that! Poof, all gone!” His voice has gone sharp and bitter.

“Fake memories?” Nott is the one who asks this time, he is sure of it. He focuses on her voice, grounding himself.

He nods, “Of wanting to betr-- yes.”

“Wait, there was a false memory? He tricked you?” Nott asks again.

Yasha’s soft voice clarifies, “Into hearing their talks against the Empire, is that what the memory was about?”

“Yes, but it does not matter,” his voice increases in pitch and intensity as he speaks. “Because I still wanted to do it when I did it!”

Nott’s voice becomes increasingly shrill, “But you didn’t know what you were doing--”

He cuts her off, “So what?!”

“You were brainwashed,” she retorts angrily, “Programmed!” She jabs a finger into the air.

He stares at her. What about this situation does she not understand? He opens his mouth to explain that he is a garbage person, but a loud wail cuts him off. His head snaps towards the source of the sound. He sees Jester, bright, happy, bubbly, Jester, tears streaming down her cerulean cheeks. Less than a second later, he is bowled over by the chubby blue tiefling. Jester throws her arms around his neck, sobbing into his shoulder. Nott hugs him firmly around the middle, her bony arms holding on like she’s worried he might disappear.

Jester’s actions seem to break whatever spell was holding the others in place, and Molly hops down from his perch. The lavender tiefling saunters over to the trio, tail coiling behind him in the air like a nervous snake. He crouches down in front of Caleb and takes both of the wizard’s bandaged hands in his own. Solid ruby eyes study Caleb’s face as Mollymauk Tealeaf considers the man in front of him.

“Mr. Caleb,” Molly says softly.

“Mr. Mollymauk,” Caleb intones dully.

Molly smiles slightly. “You told me once that you believe in second chances,” he says. “Your words, they meant so much to me. They still do. But what, pray tell, is the point in believing in second chances for others if you don’t believe in them for yourself, yeah? Please be kind to yourself Mr. Caleb.” He squeezes Caleb’s hands comfortingly before pressing a soft kiss to his forehead.

“Danke, Mollymauk,” Caleb murmurs, too overwhelmed by the cocktail of confusion and grief bubbling in his stomach to say much else. Molly pats his cheek and sits down on the bed next to Jester, who still has yet to relinquish her hold on Caleb. He rubs the other tiefling’s back as she blubbers into Caleb’s scarf. Yasha follows Molly quietly, the bed creaking beneath her muscular frame as she sits beside Caleb.

The aasimar sighs heavily. “I know what it is to be used and made into a weapon,” she admits quietly, resting a large hand on the wizard’s shoulder, “I know what it is to be made into a monster by someone you trust.” She exhales softly, “I have been a monster, Caleb Widogast, and I know the scars it leaves. Do not let those scars be all you are. Live, and be more.”

Her tone brooks no argument, so he simply nods. She gives him a small smile and some of the sharp edges inside him smooth over, like glass tossed amongst the waves.

“What happened to the woman who healed you?” Jester asks, her voice still watery from crying.

Caleb takes a moment to collect himself before responding, “I do not know, she was stark raving mad again fifteen minutes later, the woman who healed me.”

“Oh,” she says. For a moment she seems disappointed by his answer, then visibly brightens and says excitedly, “I will ask the Traveler to watch over her and tell her thank you for helping my very good friend Caleb because if she had not done that I never would have met him and then I would be very sad because I like him so much!”

Caleb smiles, slightly flustered, “Ah, danke Jester,” he says.

“It is no problem!” She smiles, and it is bright and warm like the sun after a long storm.

Fjord clears his throat. Caleb startles at the proximity of his voice, surprised to find that the half-orc is now standing in front of him. He looks hesitantly up at the other man’s face, searching for any signs of disgust or hatred. He finds none.

“I, uh, well if ya don’t mind me askin’, how’d ya end up gettin’ out a’ there?” he asks softly. “I’ll admit, I don’t know much about asylums, but I’ve always kinda been of the impression that once you’re in, you’re in for good.”

Beau pipes up, “I was kinda wondering about that myself, actually.”

Caleb exhales a small laugh, “You are not wrong, my friend. That is usually the case with these places. What happened was I killed one of Trent’s people there and I took this,” he says and pulls out the necklace from under his shirt, “It kept me hidden from Trent, at least it was supposed to do this, but he found me anyway so I guess it is just a useless piece of junk.”

“I mean it kept you hidden for, what, like--” Beau tilts her head for a minute, counting something off on her fingers. “You’ve known Nott for, what was it, did you say you’ve known her for five years?” He nods, and she seems satisfied. “Right, so this thing has kept you hidden for at least the five years you’ve known Nott, and that’s not even accounting for the time between when you escaped and when you met up with her.”

“What are you saying, Beauregard?” he asks, unsure of where exactly she’s going with this.

“The point I’m trying to make is that it took over five years for Trent to find you. You’re the wizard here man so correct me if I’m wrong, but maybe that thing is just outta juice or something,” she points out.

His eyes widen in shock as he considers the idea. “I had never considered…” he trails off, brain already shifting into high gear as he thinks it over.

Beau punches his arm. “See, I know more about this magic shit than you nerds give me credit for,” she says playfully.

“Considering you’re a part of a group of monks that work in a library, I think you of all people are the nerd here, Beau,” Molly snarks.

She glares playfully at him, “You wanna go, pretty boy?”

“Aw, you think I’m pretty?” Molly clutches his hands over his heart theatrically.

She smiles sweetly at him, “Pretty fuckin’ annoying, yeah,” she snarks right back.

He gasps dramatically, “You wound me, my dear Beauregard. How will I ever recover from such a grave injury? I think the heartbreak just might kill me!” He throws his arms wide and flops backward onto the bed.

“Then perish,” Beau deadpans.

Molly barks a laugh, “You are a cruel and unusual woman.”

“Thank you, Molly,” she says primly, sending Jester into a fit of giggles.

“Caleb, do you think Beau is right about the necklace?” Nott asks as the laughter subsides.

He blinks at her as he pulls himself from his thoughts, “I suppose that it is possible, but even if we were able to-- Ah, what is the word? Even if we are able to recharge it, what good would that do? Trent has already found me.”

“Well, then we’ll charge it up and leave Zadash,” she says, as if it’s all so simple.

Beau nods. “Yeah, and if that piece of shit comes for you, we’ll just kick his crusty ass into next week,” she says confidently.

“Beau’s right, that asshole is not coming anywhere near you as long as we’re around!” Jester says firmly.

The rest of the group echoes the sentiment, and Caleb stares at them in wide-eyed disbelief. Not a single damn one of them seems to see Caleb for the monster he is, even knowing what he has done. It makes no sense, why can’t they understand that he is the one who is to blame?

“I- I do not understand, why are you treating me like I am innocent in this? I am a garbage person, a trash human being, a murderer! I killed my parents, I watched them burn and did nothing! Why are none of you angry at me, why- how can you even stand to be in the same room with me?!” He’s yelling now, frustration and self-hatred swirling in his gut and tears stinging his eyes. “Why do you not hate me?!”

Caleb's on his feet now, facing his friends; he must have stood up at some point during his tirade and simply didn’t notice. Their eyes are wide, and suddenly he can’t take it anymore. Can’t take the guilt and the shame and the feeling of being watched that makes his skin crawl. So, ignoring the sounds of Nott calling his name, he runs, out the door and down the tavern stairs and out into the grey rainy Zadash afternoon, fleeing the small room and the watching eyes of his friends.

62 notes · View notes

my-spiritualweapon-is-a-lollipop · 2 years

Text

Shameless Gravity - Chapter 7: Apple Tarts, Blood, Onyx and Bandages

Gasp! A rare double chapter post day! Hope you enjoy!

How had he been so stupid!? Caleb wondered watching Essek swoop away with a mix of hurt and anger colouring his delicate features. Caleb had absolutely blown things at the last moment. And after such a fine evening too! Now Essek was somewhere probably rebuilding a thousand layers of defenses and for what? One moment of foolish self indulgence?

Caleb had known Essek would not be the kind for overt overtures of romance. He had opted all along the way to play more into the concept of intriguing and charming with the other wizard, but when he had looked into those violet eyes and seen such a familiar disappointment at having to leave something part way, such a uniquely mimicked sadness in the slope of his shoulders as he had placed his mantle on once more to return to playing a part that his gentle heart had never been meant for… well Caleb had briefly turned into a fool. Essek was clearly out there reading the worst of intentions into it and Caleb had been merely reaching out to Essek the same way he would have to Astrid or Eadwulf. He hadn’t thought ahead to how it would be perceived in their circumstance, he had simply fallen into the usual romantic habits of people he trusted. A wink and a grin was a common enough staple in his interactions with his closest allies that it had come out naturally. Flirtatious? Certainly but that was all a part of the usual fun!

And why? Why did Caleb trust Essek enough to slip up like that? To fall into routine with this elf who was anything but typical? Perhaps Wulf had been right. Caleb needed to clear Essek from his mind. He was once again playing too close to fire and you would think he knew better than to get burned at this point.

“Bren,” Trent’s stern voice carved it’s way through Caleb’s scattered thoughts. “You are running late on debriefing with me. I should not have to remind you to visit me after each session.”

“Yes Master Ikithon.” Was all Bren said in reply, shedding and leaving Caleb here in the study where he belonged. Caleb was an affectionate fool, too excited by power and intellect. Too easily swayed by a handsome face and a shy smile. Bren was the one who did the surviving.

He made his way swiftly to Ikithon’s tower, heart race increasing just at the sight of it. This was the home of so many pains. Astrid and Eadwulf were the ones who understood. Essek… well he doubted Essek had ever felt the sharp piercing of a blade at all. Bren wouldn’t spend any more time with his mind stuck where it ought not to be. He was using Essek, that was all. He would harden his heart and focus. Failure had to great a cost.

“Welcome Bren. So tell me, did you have any more success this time in learning more about the Shadowhand’s research?”

An hour later, truth well obfuscated, Bren returned home to find Astrid humming to herself by the stove top. On any other evening it would have been perfection itself to see Astrid so relaxed (a rare event) and making his favourite dish, but tonight his mind was sick with the thinly veiled threat of Trent’s impatience for him to provide more. He had given him surface information that Trent had already surmised in his own studies and was told in no uncertain terms that it was insufficient. He would have to start sharing Essek's actual knowledge soon he knew and he hated the thought of giving Trent any more of an advantage than he already had and also greatly disliked the idea of betraying Essek's trust though he knew it was quite literally his job to do so.

Hoping to shake it off before he interrupted this warm moment, Bren paused at the door and observed quietly.