#kyor: nothing

[discordiansamba]

Kyor: ...where's Hunk?

Lance: He went off with your nanny. Something about learning about Galra culture?

Kyor, pinching the bridge of his nose: Okay. First off. Dayak is not my nanny, but I sense this is a losing battle so fine. My real question is- why didn't anyone stop him?

Lance: What do you mean? He's going to attend a lecture or something, right? ...right?

Kyor, heaving a long sigh, looking directly at Allura: Princess. You should have known better. You should have stopped him.

Allura: I'm not sure I understand your... oh. Oh. Surely her teaching style is not the palen-bol, right? That teaching method was considered outdated amongst the Galra even in my father's youth.

Kyor: (continuing to make direct eye contact with Allura)

Allura: oh no. we must rescue Hunk.

[punkrockgenasiashton]

For your characters, I'm just interested in any general information on Zeki, since she's one of your favorites (also 👀). I've seen you post about Kyor a bit, but nothing on her (that's come across my dash at least).

Zeki is a tiefling, obviously, who was orphaned at a young age and left at a Monastery that believes in a creation myth that their world (it's a homebrew) was created by a race of dragon-like god figures. She grew up there surrounded by a wonderful support system of friends and mentors and was trained in archeology, anthropology, herbology, brewing, and The Way of Mercy. (She's mechanically a Level 3 Monk, Level 1 Warlock, Level 4 overall)

The elders of the monastery tapped her for a mission to the neighboring country, which is believed to be the birthplace of dragons, following the ascension of a king there who has tyrannical tendencies as well as the vanishing of all dragons. Early in her mission she wound up with a group of adventurers investigating what turned out to be a ruin of some kind of dragon tomb. There she found an ancient tome of dragon lore protected by a dragon spirit who, dismayed by the news dragons had vanished, agreed to share their power with Zeki in return for Zeki taking the spirit into her body so that they could figure out what happened to the dragon. (Gaining that 1 Level in Warlock)

Personality wise she's fun-loving, a bit of a lush (she brews her own alcoholic healing potions!), enjoys meeting (and flirting with) new and attractive people, is a bit pompous and can be a lot to deal with, but is also merciful almost to a fault, and is an absolute NERD when it comes to anything dragon related.

[unicornmagic]

would you ever write a gradence star wars AU? not meant to be a request or to pressure you, just curious if those particular two jams of yours might ever result in a mashup. :D

Signs point to yes, noni-wan :3

The healers’ aides on Kyor Wen woreuniform jumpsuits of dove grey trimmed in green.  The color put Graves in mind of Initiates’robes, or the mist that clung to the cloud forests beyond the Temple.  

A jumpsuit didn’t do much foranybody, even the young man of alarming beauty who was checking Graves in, but thecolor suited him.  MedCorps Assistant Barebone, read the badge at his breast.  He leaned over the medical droid’s displaypanel, attentive.  His hair fell in dark wavesto the nape of his neck.  

“There’s a prescription for ananxiolytic–”

“No thanks,” Gravessaid.                                        

Dark eyes flickered up at him,then down.  "Just the analgesic,then.“

Graves stretched his right leg.  He’d torn a ligament or two clawing free fromGrindelwald’s den, but the ache was mostly phantom now.  "Low dose,” he said.

He studied the young man, feelinga pull that was only part physical.  TheForce swirled around him, around the two of them, in deep currents–notagitated but distinctly in motion, impossible to ignore.  Graves hadn’t felt the like since it had draggedhim by the nose to Tina, back when she was a scrawny sprat, but this boy wastoo old to become a Padawan.  Too old byfar. 

Even so, his presence in theForce was tremendous.  "How’d you wind up in the Corps?“ Graves asked. "If it’s not too cruel of me to ask.”

“As an Initiate I hadproblems with control,” said Barebone quietly.  

“Lots of Initiates haveproblems with control.”

“Mine were unusual.”  The dark eyes gave nothing away, but Gravesfelt a glint of old hurt through the Force. “No Jedi Master would have me.”

Graves grunted.  "Cowards.“  

It earned him a wan, fleetingsmile.  The medi-droid blipped, whirred,and dispensed a payload of painkillers. Barebone handed the packet of capsules to Graves.  

"Your plan of treatment isrest, meditation, exercise in moderation, hydrotherapy, and cognitive sessionswith a Healer.”

“Can’t wait,” said Graves.  It all sounded tolerable, actually, exceptfor the last on the list.  He stuffed thepack of meds into the depths of his cloak.

Barebone glanced at the droid’sdisplay again, then at Graves, eyes fixed on the general area of Graves’shoulder.  His head bent with deference anddoggedness in a peculiar mix.  

“The sessions are mandatory,it says.”

Grousing was beneath a Jedi, aswas hiding a hand in his sleeve to flip the bird at Coruscant and MasterSeraphina.  Graves settled for risingfrom his seat and smoothing his cloak.  "Wherecan a guy get a drink around here?“ he asked.

"The refectory serves winewith meals.”  Barebone spoke withclinical disinterest.  He poked atGraves’ chart with one long, elegant finger. Lucky chart.  "The commissarystocks other legal intoxicants.“  

"You don’t drink.”

A headshake.  So much for that tack.  Graves tried again.  "You play sabacc?“

Barebone opened his mouth, as ifto issue another rote no, then paused.  Hisexpression changed.  He blinked, mouth hangingon faint startlement, then straightened and stood eye to eye with Graves forthe first time.  The Force swelled.  

Graves tilted an eyebrow, mildlyenough–or so he thought.  Barebone promptlylooked down again and colored.  He curledhis hands into his uniform sleeves.

"I don’t, MasterGraves.  But I’d like to learn,” hesaid.

[dancerwrites]

for all the love that we’ve known

written for: Day 4 of CR Ladies Week - Guest Characters, NPCs, and Villians set just before Episode 94 summary: The world moves on, and Cassandra remains. words: 1.3k

The day comes, not entirely unexpected, when the city starts to empty again. It wasn’t only that Vox Machina came and went as often as the sun passing overhead, but eventually those who had fled Emon and dragons and fire for the cooler safety of Whitestone had something to return to.

It’s not that she begrudges them a home, or some semblance of one, but there’s something to be said about the growing bustle of the city that begins to dim again only a couple weeks after Thordak’s fall.

Several families decide to return home. Cassandra doesn’t know if they received word of living family back in Emon, or perhaps somewhere else, and she doesn’t ask when they come knocking on the castle door. They thank her for her kindness, for allowing them to stay, for being “hospitable”, and she wonders if that’s part of being a leader – getting thanked for things you didn’t entirely contribute to. She’d let them stay, yes, but the last few months had been busy and she hadn’t taken a vested interest in any family’s living situation whilst mages were trying to rid them of the ominous presence below ground and illusory forms of allies seemed to pop up every day.

But, as it is, they thank her and they begin packing the same day, and when she makes her way down through the streets, empty of those who are preparing to leave, she feels like the city hasn’t been so empty since undead and giants roamed the streets. It hasn’t been so quiet since fog laid like a woolen blanket over the houses, terror keeping anyone from lingering in the open.  

The former Empress and her children do not come to her directly, but Cassandra notices the familiar restlessness in them and asks when they will be returning to Emon over a cup of afternoon tea.

“I asked Eskil about it this morning, actually,” Salda says, glancing out over the courtyard where Odessa, Illiya, and Gren are running through the garden playing some form of tag. “I carry little power of my own without my title, but standing beside my husband for years gave me a good mind for the workings of Emon as a city. I believe the Clasp, as much as they might resent my presence, will respect that knowledge, and that the council being established there could use some guidance, with most of their members travelling far and wide.”

Cassandra feels somewhat vindicated by the ill-concealed snub at Vox Machina, but the smugness is somewhat dampened by the sour and tight feeling in her chest. She grips the handle of her teacup tightly to keep it from rattling in the saucer due to the trembling of her hands.

“Will you be leaving soon then?”

“Likely tomorrow, or maybe the day after, once the children have had time to pack their things. I heard a caravan is coming up from the South – perhaps we can join them on their return journey.”

Cassandra wonders where Salda heard rumors of the caravan, and curses the many hours she is required to be in her study, signing notices and reviewing treaties.

“I was thinking we might bring the boys with us as well,” Salda says.

Lost for words for a moment, Cassandra tries to think of which boys would want to go to Emon – surely not Jarrett, for he had become nothing less than the leader of the Pale Guard. But perhaps Kynan, the teen Vox Machina had returned with after her brother’s-

“I just don’t think that being here without a parental figure is right for them,” Salda continues, interrupting Cassandra’s musings. “The gods only know what they’ve been through, poor things. First slavery in the Plane of Fire, then dumped at a castle in the last dregs of winter…”

Salda tuts and shakes her head, resigned, then sips her tea perhaps more aggressively than the situation calls for.

“But what do you think, Cassandra? You told me that Vox Machina was planning on settling down for a while after their current endeavor. Do you know if that’s still their plan?”

Cassandra, who has only just remembered the two blue-skinned boys Vox Machina had brought back with them, straightens to attention and shakes her head.

“I can never tell with them, I’m afraid,” Cassandra admits, willing down the flush beginning to color her cheeks and taking a deep breath. How she could have forgotten… She wonders if it’s a part of being the youngest sibling, or simply from needing to look after herself for so many years, but the care of the two boys hadn’t crossed her mind in nearly a week.

“I continually labor under the assumption that Vox Machina won’t follow the letter of their word,” she says after a moment. “Their plans are too often influenced by the actions of others, and while they don’t go looking for trouble all the time, I think that trouble often comes looking for them.”

“So, no settling down?” Salda clarifies, and Cassandra holds back a sigh by taking another sip of her tea.

“I don’t think it will be settling so much as slowing down.”

Salda chuckles at that, though her lips purse slightly. “That sounds like them… But, in that case, I really don’t think that Hunin and Kyor should remain here unattended as they have been. They have already been playing quite a bit with the children, and joining in some lessons here and there.

“I also have a few friends still living in Emon who know Celestial and will be able to assist the two in their studies. They need someone who can help them understand more Common, who can nurture them fully – don’t you agree they’d have better prospects elsewhere?”

It sounds, to Cassandra, as though Salda has prepared her speech, and Cassandra wonders why she, as the Lady of Whitestone, should be the one to give the woman permission to do anything.

Leading involves less decision making and more approval of the decisions of others than Cassandra had first believed. And while her heart already aches to be rid of the small presence of the twins in addition to the Tal’dorei family, she nods solemnly, forcing herself to take another sip of her tea.

She reminds herself that she will not be one to dictate how others live their lives, and she will certainly not be one to keep people from living to the fullest.

“Wonderful,” Salda says, her voice warmer, her smile brighter, and her back straightening as if a load was falling off her shoulders.

The issue of the Aasimir twins had obviously been a concern of hers, and while Cassandra understands, that doesn’t stop the half-pained swell of emotion in her chest that echoes in Lady Briarwood’s simpering tone: “Wonderful. I’m so glad you’ve decided to stop fighting, dearie. Why, you’re practically our own daughter now, aren’t you?”

Cassandra has spent so much time trying to be her mother and channel that knowledge, that command of Whitestone, that she forgets what it means to have one.

Little Cassandra de Rolo, halfway between a child and an adult, unable to decide which to be.

Making up some excuse about needing to get paperwork done, Cassandra bids Salda farewell, a casual smile not quite as difficult to muster up as it once had been.

She tells the guard outside her room not to disturb her, not unless there’s an emergency, and spends a few moments sorting through the clothes in her closet, trying to find something comfortable.

The only casual dress she can find has rust-colored stains of blood around the collar.

Instead, stays in her more formal wear and curls up on the windowsill, alternating between staring out over the city and burying her face in the duvet she pulls from her bed to wrap around her shoulders.

Eventually silent tears soak the top of the pillow she holds tight in her arms, but that doesn’t stop her from pretending. Pretending that she’s hugging someone who smells of lavender and currants, whose breath is warm and calming on top of her head, and who has a beating heart within, matching the pace of her own.

[mariekjepowerwrites]

Ladies Week Day 1: Pike Trickfoot

First time of tipping my toes in writing anything Critical Role related. And the first time of writing anything fanfic related in about a year?

Ladies Week felt like the perfect place to start!

AO3 Link

Whitestone.

It’s weird. Never before has Pike walked into Whitestone like this. She’s been here, yes. She spent a lot of her time here ever since the Chroma Conclave attacked. But the first time she was here, she wasn’t really there, just a projection. And when she finally did go to Whitestone, it was through a tree. Being able to teleport is really helpful, but it takes something away. You miss the experience of walking up to a town for the first time. You don’t know the roads leading to a place, your first impression is… well, weird.

Now she reaches the town in the way most people do. She sees the wall and even though she knows the place behind the walls quite well, it still feels a bit like visiting a place for the first time 

At the same time she’s impatient. She quickens her pace and puts a hand on her ear.

“Guys?”

They’re not here. Of course Pike knew that was possible. Probable, even. They travel so easily these days, moving from one side of the world to another within seconds. And the world is so big, they could be anywhere. Zephra? Vasselheim? Ank’Harel? Are they even on Exandria, or on a completely different plane?

Pike worries. Pike misses them. Pike is even a bit jealous.

She worries that she loses one of them while she’s not there, and that she can’t get there to help them. She worries that she might even lose most or all of them. Vox Machina is bad at planning and worse with sticking to plans, if that is even possible. And what if they don’t come back from whatever trouble they’ve gotten themselves into this time? How could Pike ever get them back to her?

She misses them so, so much. She misses the silliness, the laughter, the time together. Just hanging out in a bar, or in Castle Whitestone, or even back in Greyskull Keep. She misses Vox Machina, each and every one of them, even Scanlan. She misses going new places with them and returning home with them.

She is jealous of their travels without her. She knows her place is not always the place she wants to be. She is a Cleric of Sarenrea and she helps people where they need her the most. Sometimes it is building a temple in a place where people of Sarenrea are few and far between; sometimes it is helping a community that has been suppressed by vampires and necromancers for half a decade. Other times it is helping rebuilding a city from the ground up after it was destroyed by dragons. And sometimes it is with Vox Machina. But while she is busy doing other things, they still go places. They see new sights, they meet new people, they adventure. But most of all, they are together. And Pike wants to be with them.

Pike lifts up another crate, high above her and it’s lifted out of her hands by a guy in the cart. It’s simple work. No hard thinking, no life or death situation if she places her foot wrong, her armor can be loud and no one complains. It’s good and it’s boring at the same time. Most of the people around her look at her weird, first like she was a little helpless girl and they couldn’t understand why she was with them and now like they can’t believe their eyes as she picks up heavy things like they’re nothing.

It’s not all bad, though. Salda Taldorei is a very sweet woman and seeing her kids and the Aasimar boys, Hunin and Kyor, running around and playing games is good to see. Pike’s glad that the former Empress will take in the boys. Vox Machina is not equipped to take care of kids and putting more stress on Cassandra, who is barely older than them herself, is unfair. Salda is kind and wise and much more capable of giving the boys the guiding hand they need. And Salda having something positive to focus on after everything that happened… Well, in Pike’s opinion, it’s a win-win on all sides.

As she looks up from picking up another crate she sees them. She does a quick count. Five and Tary. They’re all alive. Another glance over them shows them worse for wear. New bruises and cuts, tired. Keyleth has a new mantle, but there is already blood on it. They don’t seem to be bothered by it and neither do the people of Whitestone. They’re getting used to Vox Machina looking like shit when they turn up.

Pike watches as they talk with Salda for a moment before walking off in the direction of their favorite tavern here in Whitestone. Handing over the crate she was holding (and hearing a bit of a groan from the guy she hands it to), she starts running in their direction. She’s in armor, so subtlety is nowhere to be found and Vox Machina looks over their shoulders, their faces breaking in to grins as they see her. Pike feels herself grin in return.

“Hey, hey! You’re just gonna walk by?!”