#ozmit sea

[exandriacityshowdown]

Round 2 Poll 15

Vesrah, Ozmit Sea: Vesrah is a remote island settlement in the Ozmit sea. Its location is not well-known. It is home to the Water Ashari. Vox Machina accompanied Keyleth there in 811 to complete the final portion of her Aramenté, and there they learned about the fate of Keyleth’s mother Vilya.

image uses the official map by andy law and ashari crest by conceptopolis.

Byroden, Tal'Dorei: Byroden is a rapidly-growing frontier town in the south of the Tal’Dorei Republic. It is the hometown of Vox Machina’s twins Vex’ahlia and Vax’ildan, as well as Opal of the Crown Keepers. When the twins spoke of the place they left in 793, they considered it a backwater farming village, but it was significantly changed by the time the Crown Keepers visited in 842. 

image is official art by blacksalander

[unicyclehippo]

Museum au!!!!!! Thank you for writing, I love it very much! :) happy holidays!

i love museum au i have been trying very hard to write it but life & time & my perfectionism have conspired against me. regardless here is a short snippet from what may be chapter one pls enjoy

//

The Letter arrived on a Thursday evening.

Not by itself, mind you.

It had help in the form of one Claudia Hup, Emon Postal Officer, Third Class, who delivered it to the manor herself. It was the first time she’d had to head out there in the three weeks since trading her rural truck route for a cushy city job; most of her deliveries were contained to Greyhunt and the Shoreline, the northernmost suburbs of Emon, but the manor was a peculiar exception. It stood a mile or so outside city limits—close enough that the job fell to her to cycle all the way out there to deliver the weeks’ post but far enough, imposing enough, that doing so felt like entering a world all its own.

Older.

Menacing.

Save it for last or it’ll ruin your day. Don’t mess around. Drop the post and scram, said the shivering postie who’d traded for her old truck route.

I don’t go out there. Just send ‘em a message saying it got left at the collection, said the postie who ran her route on her off-days.

Oh yeah, it’s extremely cursed, said her trainer, with a bracing clap on her shoulder. Good luck.

The comments were easy to shrug off as tomfoolery, maybe light hazing, from her coworkers until her GuideDot glitched and she had to ask a Shoreline baker for directions. The pitying look that garnered, like he wasn’t convinced she’d make it back, made the whole thing rather less funny.

It was a perfectly lovely afternoon. Claudia whistled as she cycled. The sun would set soon so she didn’t linger beyond a photo or two for her son. Rusted sunlight poured over the Ozmit to her left and the vast wheatfields to her right. The wind was brisk, whipping up the cliffs from the churning sea. Ahead of her rose a tall, grey hill. By the time she made it to the top, she was no longer whistling. The hill was steep, after all, and she wasn’t yet accustomed to the effort of cycling after several years spent driving her truck around the countryside. It had nothing at all to do with the sudden quiet of this place, the wind abruptly falling still as she made it to the manor. The way the sky seemed awfully low, dark clouds hooked on the spires of the roof and the grasping branches of the trees that stood guard at the fenceline. Claudia shivered. Mopped the clammy sweat of her forehead with a sleeve and dismounted her bicycle. She kicked the stand down and crept forward to the iron-wrought fence and the mailbox bolted to it. It opened with a shriek of rusted metal.

From the well of shadows that was the front door to the manor appeared an enormous hound as if summoned.

Red fingers of light reached through the gaps of the fence and brushed over deep black fur. It shone bloody across a long, pointed snout full of glistening teeth and it lingered, caught, in a pair of amber eyes that glowed in those deep shadows like specks of fire.

Claudia Hup - Emon Postal Officer, Third Class - had met dogs before. She had one of her own—a small yappy thing she didn’t like all that much but her son adored. She also knew that dogs were the natural enemy of postal workers worldwide and that this dog, loping down the steps of the creepy manor toward her, did not want her here. As it drew closer, Claudia could only stare in horror. It was a wretched looking thing—tall and lanky, its fur mottled, patchy, and a mess of white and pink scars across one side of its face that drew up the lips, exposing the teeth on that side. Each one had to be as long as her finger. She gulped.

But she had a job to do, and Claudia Hup was very good at her job. She would be made Postal Officer Second Class within two years, something of a meteoric rise in the industry, and in ten she would be Head of the Emon Division. Consider this her first gauntlet.

From the pocket of her uniform, she pulled a small box. It popped open. The dog’s ears shot up. Its nose followed after a moment, snuffling in her direction.

‘Good dog,’ Claudia murmured, eyeing the mailbox. It was uncomfortably close to the enormous dog and suddenly the imposing iron-wrought fence didn’t seem that sturdy. ‘Want a treat?’

Most dogs knew the word treat. Staring into this ones amber eyes, Claudia knew that it knew the word treat…and that it wasn’t impressed. Still, it was worth a try. She tossed the treats past its head. One ear twitched but its attention remained fixed.

Claudia stared back.

‘Right,’ she said after a long minute of losing a staring contest with a dog. ‘Here’s how this is going to work. I’m going to take a step forward.’ The dog growled. Claudia gave it a powerful glare, one she’d pieced together after fifteen years of raising her son. ‘Stop that.’ It stopped. ‘I’m going to take a step forward. I’m going to put these,’ she lifted her handful of mail, ‘in that mailbox. You aren’t going to growl or try to bite me. Got that?’

The dog blinked.

‘Gonna take that as a yes. Great. Good. Talking to a dog. Wonderful.’

Claudia Hup sucked in a deep breath. She stepped forward—well, it was more of a nervous inching forward. But she made it to the gate and the mailbox and with another deep breath—eyes still locked on the dog—she lifted the top and dropped the mail inside.

The moment the papers dropped, the dog began to growl a growl that started in its belly and made its way up to the tip of its creased, snarling snout. Its hackles lifted like black spines.

Claudia’s courage, already strained, packed up and left and she was quick behind it, hurrying to her bicycle and pedalling away, down the tall grey hill and back up the long path to the city ahead of her, as fast as she was able.

The hound watched until she was out of sight. As soon as she was gone, it turned its suspicions on the mailbox. He investigated with a wet nose, sniffing all of the mailbox he could. Smelling nothing, he growled. Low at first, then one loud bark. The moment he did, he leapt back into a crouch, ears pinned flat to his head…but the mailbox merely sat, ever so slowly rusting in the sea-air. The contents of the mailbox—a thick glossy PLEXUS catalogue, the kind they sent out only twice a year; a stack of coupons for the landfill; two fridge magnets from local businesses; a handful of bills; and a postcard, slightly weathered, featuring a golden sun; and The Letter—did not respond to his challenge either, neither growling back nor biting. Harmless, then.

Satisfied, duty done, the hound—Mortadella, according to the bone-shaped tag on his purple collar—sneezed, proud with his victory. Then, he turned and walked back to the steps of the manor, pausing to snuffle at a few patches of moss and bite playfully at the grass that peeked up through the brickwork path. He made his way back to his bed laid out on the porch and turned in a circle once, twice, before settling back down to sleep.

The Letter sat in the mailbox for several more hours.

[waltwhitmansbeard]

5. “You don't have anything to be sorry for.”

Absolutely a Vaxleth prompt… specifically post-Kraken fight.

Because ooh boy… Kiki’s not going to forgive herself for a choice that got Vax killed, even if he got resurrected.

5. "You don't have anything to be sorry for."

Vax wakes up in the middle of the night, momentarily disoriented. It takes a few seconds for him to remember that they're in Vesrah, and a few more for him to realize that the bed beside him is empty. He sits up, rubbing his eyes. "Kiki?"

She's sitting on a little window seat, knees pulled up to her chest, staring out at the sparkling night waters of the Ozmit Sea. She is bathed in silvery-blue moonlight, and without her gear and her circlet and all the usual accoutrements of what they do, she looks ethereal, like a ghost come to haunt him.

He slips out of bed and pads over to her, sitting on the floor just below her. "Is something wrong?"

She huffs out a humorless laugh. "Is something wrong. Wow." She looks down at him, and the moonlight bounces off of the unshed tears in her eyes. "I get you killed, they throw a party for me to celebrate it, and you ask me if something is wrong."

"Keyleth..." He reaches up to pry one of her hands from around her knees, laces his fingers with hers. "You did not get me killed."

"How else you explain what happened down there today?" Her voice is cracking, and the tears are threatening to fall. "None of you would have been there if it wasn't for me. Gods, not only did I bring you down there to die, but I left Grog and Tary to die there, too. And they want to make me a leader? I'm a monster."

Vax pushes himself off of the floor and slides onto the window seat next to her, pulling her into his arms. He tucks her head under his chin. "I'd never let another soul talk about you that way, so don't think you're gonna get away with it."

"Vax—"

"I make my own decisions, Keyleth." He extends her away from him just enough to look her dead in the eyes. "Since my sister and I left Syngorn, I've gone where I wanted and done as I pleased. You didn't drag me into the Water Plane kicking and screaming; I went on my own because I choose to follow where wherever you go. Because I love you."

Keyleth reaches up to wipe the tears from her cheek. "But I could have done better. I'm sorry that it happened, I'm sorry I didn't stop it, I'm sorry—"

He kisses her, slow, soft, but insistent. He needs her to understand, needs her to get it. "You don't have anything to be sorry for," he murmurs against her lips, "because I would do everything over again. I will follow you into the Nine Hells, I will follow you into a volcano, I will follow you into the belly of a kraken, because I don't ever want you to go where I can't follow." He tucks her hair behind her ears. "Right now, I would very much like to follow you back to bed, because I did die today and I'm still kinda tired."

She frowns at that, but he smiles and kisses it away. He pulls her up and leads her back to bed, with her saying all the while, "Okay, but just promise me you won't die again, because I can't take it and Vex can't take it and I'm pretty sure we all fall apart without you—" He's pressing her back into the bed. "—and I know what we do is dangerous and yes we all choose to be here but still—" He slides back in beside her and tosses an arm over her torso to pull her in close. "—I feel terrible and I would very much like to not feel this way again so if you can just not die—"

"Keyleth?"

"Yeah?"

"If I promise not to die again will you let us go back to sleep?"

She curls up into him, warm and soft. "Yeah, okay."

He hums his thanks and closes his eyes, grateful to his matron for another night with her.

[blorbologist]

Two for joy - Chapter 5

(Reminder that I’m switching to a Monday update schedule for this fic!)

More interesting targets present themselves for the two ranged fighters soon enough: pirates.

Or, they do not so much present themselves as try not to.

Kynan gestures very pointedly at the looming fog. “When we - well, I mean. There was a lot of research and planning, given” - he runs a hand through his hair - “look, just take my word for it that I had to ask a lot of people about things to look out for in the Ozmit sea, and this trick with pirates came up often!”

Adella tilts her head towards the nearest Vox Machina member. “Well! Not going to say no to some intel - do you want to ready a welcoming party for them?”

“I think we can manage that,” says Scanlan.

--

As soon as the pirates reveal the location of their ship, it’s a done deal.

Kynan and the twins board, making quiet work of any crew not attempting to flee the sinking vessel as Keyleth drags it down. Looting the looters was just too good an opportunity to pass up for three rogue multiclasses.

“Maybe we should have brought Grog along!” Vax screams over his shoulder, to be heard over the galloping rush of water entering the ship. White and frothing, for now, gurgling past them into deeper parts of the ship. He knows it’ll be at their ankles soon enough. “Of course he’s got the bag of holding!”

Vex is taking anything - maps, ledgers, coinpurse - to toss into the Bag of Colding as a quick fix. “I think I can grab everything in here - go give Kynan a hand below!”

[One for sorrow]   [Ch 1]   [Keep reading on AO3!]  

[tempestsmantle]

@tcaleaf: I didn't steal it, if that's what you're wondering.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀𝓉he trip to wildemount had been...unexpected, to put it mildly. when keyleth and the rest of vox machina originally left tal'dorei, they had intended to travel to the other side of the world, to vesrah in the ozmit sea so she could better hone her waterbending — and maybe, just maybe, know the fate of her mother. it was a frightening reality to face . . . but the spirits, apparently, would rather her postpone it a little longer. publicly declaring herself as the avatar comes with an unexpected jump in social status, and with that came invitations. emon, vasselheim, rexxentrum: she can hardly keep track of them all. one of them, however, had come from the watertribe in western wildemount, more specifically the menagerie coast, which piqued her interest more than the others. in part, because of tribe's princess who was reportedly a very talented waterbender. and it doesn't hurt to extend their allies, right?

⠀ ⠀ ⠀which is all a long-winded explanation to how she's ended up here, entirely out of her element and feeling far too small to fill the role the world expects of her. keyleth starts at the voice, her eyes darting up to the face of princess mollymauk with a red flush weaving through the freckles on her cheeks. 〝 oh— no, I didn't— 〞 faced with royalty, and still as ineloquent as ever. 〝 I was just...those are yours, then? 〞and she gestures weakly to the scimitars hanging from their belt. spirits, obviously they're mollymauk's. 〝 I mean — you can use them, too? 〞

[ofsvnlightt]

Was that [SARAH DREW]? Oh no no, that was just [KEYLETH], a [CANON CHARACTER] from [CRITICAL ROLE]. They are [54 / LOOKS 26] years old, use [SHE/HER], and [ARE] aware that they are not actually from Washington DC. Too bad they can’t stray from this city for long.

spoilers for campaign 1 below

this is going to be a looong one (like my other cr intros....possibly longer i think?) (sorry) so if you’re just looking for the washington stuff, it’s at the bottom

keyleth is a character from critical role’s first campaign

she’s played by the lovely marisha ray!

she is a half-elf, and does have slightly pointed ears despite whatever magic brought her here --

 she is a little socially awkward, and often rambles. do not underestimate her though. while she was that much more so before and even during her time with vox machina, she is much more mature now. aside from being a powerful druid, she is the leader of her people, the air ashari, one of four tribes that looks over the veils of their corresponding elemental planes. there’s the air, earth, fire, and water ashari, scattered across exandria. 

her home, zephrah, and terrah (earth ashari) are located on tal’dorei; pyrah, where the fire ashari are located is on issylra; and vesrah, the water ashari, are near the Hespet Archipelago in the ozmit sea, near marquet. 

each of the tribes are sequestered away from civilization, so keyleth had a pretty sheltered upbringing. she was raised with a deep love of nature and the elemental magics. as a young girl, she had a knack for air manipulation and beast shaping abilities. the headmaster at the time, her father, noticed this, and her childhood was quickly stripped away and replaced with spell memorization and other teachings. as she got older, the next step on this path is to embark on and complete her aramente - visiting the other tribes and completing a trial at each one, gaining the respect of the other headmasters, and returning home to become the leader of her own tribe. she is on this journey because years ago, her mother not only didn’t complete it, but never returned, presumed dead.

as keyleth went off, on her own for the first time, she arrives in stilben, meditating on what the aramente means: proving yourself a strong warrior, a valiant protector, and a wise and compassionate leader. she wonders if she can even do this or if she’s worthy of such labels, or eventually the title of voice of the tempest

here, in stillben, keyleth meets a set of twins, and later begins travelling around and taking jobs with a few other strangers. 

this will later become the group known as the shits vox machina

this group consists of 7 members: her, a druid vax’ildan, a half elven rogue vex’ahlia, a half-elven ranger percy, a human gunslinger scanlan, a gnome bard pike, a gnome cleric and grog, a goliath barbarian

SPOILERS START HERE. c1 went from 2015-17, so it’s been over 7 years since it ended, but you know, just in case ;))

events from the campaign will go here

hidden washington info!

How long has your character been in washington: newly arrived Job: unemployed/hero?  Where has your character been pulled from in their fandom: episode 51 of campaign 3 Has magic affected your character: nope! she still has all her memories and druid abilities. also as stated at the beginning of this long post, she does still have her half elven ears. she was not turned human but the magic of dc.  Anything else? keyleth is from campaign 1, but cameos (a few times actually) in campaign 3. that's where i'm taking her from. (< link to the exact moment!)

vox machina has split up and been retired for a while now, everyone going their separate ways. out of all of them, keyleth probably with the most responsibility. being the leader of her people, the air ashari, she in concerned as to why and how she got here. especially considering how she left things during the solstice.

to explain her age: because she’s a level 20 druid, she has timeless body (which she got at level 18) which causes her to age 1 year for every 10. so while campaign three takes place about 30ish years after c1 - making keyleth 54 - she looks only 26.

[whirlingbadger]

Oh hey! It actually *did* go well! This should help them make some more contacts within Uthodurn.

Further babbling:

Given how FUCKED magic is on Xandria - who knows just how long the two groups will be separated and how they will reconnect.

Sending? Static.

Dream walk? Nahhh.

Contact Nana? Sorry, can't contact other planes.

Teleportation circles? Nope

Scrying? Not happening

Sky ship? Not in Uthodurn and even so, it's unclear if the brumestone still works.

Druids? Maybe? But the Earth and Air Ashari are on Tal'Dorei. The Fire Ashari are on Issylra and the Water Ashari are out in the Ozmit sea.

Fearne could transport via plants (I think 🤔) but where could they go? The grove in Jrusar? They don't know where/when the other half of their troupe is, so right now its a guessing game.

And this is what's fucked right *now*. I can't wait to see what happens as things break down even more.

Time for sleep. Good luck Bells Hells - I'm sure the fight against the giant raging astral/semi-amorphous bull is gonna go great 👍

[captain-noface]

Aimee: wait, should Opal do a check or something?? Has she ever seen the ocean?

Aabria: Are you asking ME??? idk your character bestie???

Aabria: Bitch have you seen the ocean????

[exandriacityshowdown]

Round 1 Stage 4 Poll 5

Vesrah, Ozmit Sea: Vesrah is a remote island settlement in the Ozmit sea. Its location is not well-known. It is home to the Water Ashari. Vox Machina accompanied Keyleth there in 811 to complete the final portion of her Aramenté, and there they learned about the fate of Keyleth’s mother Vilya.

image uses the official map by andy law and ashari crest by conceptopolis. apologies about the aspect ratio >_<

Druvenlode, Wildemount: Druvenlode is a city in the centre of the Dwendalian Empire, known for its mines. It has only been mentioned in passing onstream.

[vestigesofperversion]

In 2022, I would like to offer you this apt comparison:

Taryon Darrington

(seafaring edition)

=

Stede Bonnet

(our flag means death)

💯

I cannot believe that Taryon didnt witness his very first kill, that was a low blow XD this is VERY impressionistic (rough) and i hate dayfog

[divinesouldariax]

Spoilers and content warnings for Critical Role campaign 3 episode 33

“I’m just saying, I think we can probably make it on the bar,” Dariax was insisting. “We just gotta make sure to bring enough food and–”

“We have plenty of money to get airship tickets!” Opal argued. “We have enough money to BUY an airship, or bribe somebody into looking away while we steal one.”

“We are not stealing an airship,” Fy’ra Rai said wearily. “And we are not traveling across the Ozmit Sea on a floating bar.”

“Aw,” Morr said. “I kinda like the idea of stealing an airship.”

Sitting on the brick steps in front of the ramshackle, abandoned house they had been staying in while they debated their next move, Dorian gazed idly up at the sky. He knew what they would eventually settle on. There was no way they would be doing anything other than using disguises and leaving Emon by airship to head back to Jrusar and hopefully meet up with Orym and Fearne and the rest of Bell’s Hells. It was the only thing that even remotely made sense. At this point, the arguing was more for fun than for function.

"Should we vote?" Cyrus said tentatively.

"We are not voting, there is nothing to vote about!" said Fy'ra Rai. "We--" Suddenly, she gasped like something had struck her and knocked all of the air from her lungs. Her eyes flicked back in her head, which tilted up with her mouth slightly open.

Dorian sat forward.

Then Dariax gasped, too. His hand went to the compass around his neck.

"Oh, shit," whispered Opal, leaning closer to Dorian.

As if sensing that something important was happening, Morr and Cyrus went silent and stared at Dariax and Fy'ra Rai with wide eyes.

Fy'ra Rai came back to herself first. Her hand flew up to her heart, and she was breathing shallowly. "No," she whispered. She looked over and noticed that Dariax was still seemingly lost in some kind of trance. Dorian wanted to reach out and touch his shoulder, but didn't want to startle him out of it.

"What did you see?" he asked Fy'ra Rai quietly.

Her head snapped towards him. Her golden-red eyes were shiny with unshed tears, and Dorian felt a mote of dread form in his chest.

"What did you see?" he repeated.

"Just a spark, a draw, towards Marquet," Fy'ra Rai told him. "They are in trouble. More danger than they have ever been before."

Out of the corner of his eye, Dorian could see Dariax trembling. A tear was slipping down his cheek towards his beard. "Do you think Dariax is seeing the same thing?" Dorian asked.

"I do not know. His Gift is...a little different, I do not understand it." She swallowed. "You have a way to reach out to them, yes?"

Without realizing it, Dorian was already reaching into his pocket to wrap his fingers around the sending stone. "Yes, but if they're in trouble, I shouldn't distract them, right?"

"I do not know," she repeated. "I don't--"

Dariax inhaled sharply, doubling over with a strangled sound of distress. Opal started patting him on the back. "Oh, gods," Dariax managed. "Oh, fuck!"

"What is it?" Dorian demanded.

"Orym and Fearne." Dariax was pushing his hand against the center of his chest, reeling and wincing. "They're...they're…oh, gods. No, that can't be right. Fy'ra, that can't be right, right? They can't be."

Fy'ra Rai was shaking her head. "I just know the danger. I just know--" She cried out, her eyes closing. "No!"

Dorian scrambled closer to both of them, grabbing Dariax's hands. "What did you see?" he all but begged.

"It's too late," Fy'ra choked out. "We cannot help them." She sank to her knees.

Dariax met Dorian's frantic gaze. "There was a lady with grey hair," he breathed. "And she split herself into pieces, and they all had swords, and...Orym fell, and she…" He ripped a hand free to clutch uselessly at his chest again like there was a sword there. "And then Fearne, too...there was screaming, a-and...and a sandstorm. And they both…"

"You saw it? You're sure?" Dorian couldn't accept it. Bell's Hells wouldn't let that happen. "It's not--the future? It happened now?"

More tears were spilling down Dariax's cheeks. “I don’t wanna believe it,” he said. “Dorian…”

"No. No!" Dorian said.

Opal had a hand to her mouth, breathing in shaky little sobs. Morr and Cyrus had scooted over closer to the rest of them, looking solemn and concerned.

Numb, Dorian put his arm out to let Opal collapse against his side and held her tightly. "Maybe Letters can still save them," he murmured. I should never have left. "Maybe...maybe somebody can still save them." Don't die. I told him not to die. Why the fuck didn't he listen to me? "They can't just be gone. That doesn't make any sense." I told him not to die. He pulled the sending stone from his pocket and stared at it, half-waiting for a glow and a familiar, comforting voice.

Dariax crumpled into Dorian’s lap, burying his face in his side and shuddering. Dorian put an arm around him too, reflexively. 

He looked over to Fy’ra Rai. “It doesn’t make sense,” he stated again.

“It never does, little brother.” Her tears let off a little bit of steam as they fell.

“But if they–they can’t be gone.” Something broke inside of him. Dorian stopped breathing. He couldn’t keep breathing when he didn’t know if Orym and Fearne were…if they ever would again.

And the rest of Bell’s Hells. If Orym and Fearne had…fallen, where was everyone else? Were they alone? Were they all so outmatched that the entire group had…

He just didn’t know. He couldn’t know. His chest felt tight, like a chain had wrapped around his heart and lungs and was squeezing, squeezing until tears sprang to his eyes and his vision went a little grey, and he wasn’t breathing, and he didn’t need to breathe but he was suffocating anyway. Dorian stared at the small blue stone in his hand, blurred beyond tears, and rubbed his thumb over it.

It glowed.

“Tell me you and Fearne are alive,” Dorian pleaded. “We’re trying to get to you. We’re coming back. You can’t die. We love you. I love you.” The glow faded, but Dorian didn’t stop talking, using all the air he had stored away with his last breath. “You can’t die. Orym. Fearne. Orym, Fearne, talk to me. Tell me you’re alright. Don’t leave me. Don’t you two leave me, I was coming back to you. I’m coming back. I’m so sorry I left you, I’m so sorry, please don’t leave m-me–” His voice faltered, weakening, unable to get more words out without taking another breath, which he wouldn’t do. He kept mouthing the words. Don’t leave me. Don’t leave me.

The stone in his hand remained dull and silent. Past the rushing in his ears, Dorian could hear his friends sobbing. He wasn’t sure if he had joined them. Everything was spinning. Why did his chest hurt so much? He didn’t need to breathe. He wasn’t going to breathe ever again. Not until he heard their voices.

But the stone was still silent, and Dorian’s mouth was still moving.

Don’t leave me.

Don’t leave me.

Don’t leave me.

[arclundarchivist]

Later

SPOILERS FOR CRITICAL ROLE CAMPAIGN 3 EPISODE 14!

IF YOU HAVE NOT SEEN, GO BACK!

AWAY WITH YOU!

THERE WILL BE TEARS!

.

.

.

FINAL WARNING!

The trip had gone by much quicker than he had thought. But that didn’t make the ache in his heart feel any more the lesser.

Beneath them the rolling waves of Ozmit sea gleamed, and in the middle distance the dreadfully familiar spires of Emon sat, awaiting him.

Another challenge awaits.

He had known for some time that his people were meant to follow the Winds. Let them addle and spin him before forcing him in a cardinal direction.

He’d thought he had accepted that.

So why now as land fast approaches does he feel more unmoored than ever.

Dorian sighs, leaning against the railing, absentmindly drawing the Gambler’s Blade and looking down it, seeing the settled worry in his own eyes staring back at him.

“You know why.” he mutters to himself, smiling slightly as his memory flashes with the familiar words, “You don’t have to deny it.”

He was of the Silken Squal! An Air Genasi!

Meant to always be on the move.

But Gods forgive him, his heart was not moved by the Winds.

It was moved by the Poison Flowers, and Fresh Earth, as he hugged them close to him late at night.

Their combined scent, a wonderous anchor of blooming flowers and claying baking in the kiln.

He never knew how much it meant until he went to bed that first night alone. 

He still feels his lips on Orym’s forehead, feels Fearne’s hands caress his neck as she places the necklace he now fiddle with around his neck.

Both of their pleading eyes, their hands similarly calloused from lives spent in nature.

“Don’t go.” they had pleaded.

“Be with me.” he had wanted to return.

His mind turns to the others, how they had emerged into his life.

The spark of electricity that was Imogen, sudden from a seemingly tranquil sky, fostering inspiration.

Laudna, whose pallid shadow had given way to a comforting chill over him.

The soulful presence of Fresh Cut Grass, a ray of sunshine reflecting on bronze.

Ashton, Earthen Thunder always ready to shake the world with wit, work and wrath.

And Bertrand, the Tinderflash gone to soon that had knitted them all together only to replaced by the inferno that was Chetney, wood-carving wolf with blood of flame.

He chuckles to himself slightly.

He’d said they were like his family.

That he wouldn’t promise to come back.

What a foolish thing to say.

They had given him a place, anchored him amongst them and in his rush to get away he had left so many thins unsaid.

“Some bard.” he mutters, pretending he doesn’t see his own tears marking the surface of the blade.

He could say them now, through that wonderous tiny stone, but it felt...wrong, not being able to look them all in the eyes.

A sudden stop shakes him. Looking around he realizes in his musings he had missed them coming into dock.

Cyrus approaches, hood up, rucksack over his shoulder, an ashamed but hopeful look on his face.

“You ready to go?” Cyrus asks.

Dorian whips his eyes, focusing on his anchor as he feels the prickle of his nerves kick up as he gazes across the city. His eyes fall on a raven as it soars away, startled from its perch by their arrival.

“I think I am.” Dorian states, glancing down as he sheathes the Gambler’s Blade, close a chapter of his life...for now at least.

After all, it would still be waiting for him later.

“So what are we doing?” Cyrus asks, as the pair fall into step.

Dorian taps his chin, smiling up at his elder brother.

“Tell me brother, what do you think of pie?” he asks, fighting a laugh as his brother’s eyebrows knit together.

“Like in general?” Cyrus asks.

“Well...sort of.” Dorian states, stepping onto solid ground once more, though it does nothing to ease the ache, “Come on, I’ve got another story to tell you as we walk.”

The pair vanish into the crowd, arm in arm, two brothers following the winds of fate once more.

See you latter Dorian Storm, see you later Robbie Daymond. Till our paths cross again.

[blorbologist]

One for sorrow, two for joy - Chapter 14

* posted yesterday, but waited for C3 stuff to chill a lil before posting to tunglr

With the dragon gone, there’s just enough time to consider the implications of what Vox Machina found in Ank’Harel and the Ozmit Sea. What they didn’t find, really.

 

Scarbearers, having access to the goon Ripley so kindly charred and left for dead, could have decided to follow up and see what a woman might know. In which case, a criminal organization could know almost anything Percy did, provided Ripley had listened in to the conversation and the caster of Speak with Dead asked the right question. It could be anything - it could be nothing. At the very least, if it was them they could be in possession of Whisper.

 

The other, more sinister option, was the presence of a mole in Whitestone. 

 

Vex’s skin crawls, the hair on her arms prickling as though with static, near the ziggurat. She rubs at them absentmindedly, keeping an eye on the door as Vox Machina huddles. 

Assum had suggested keeping meetings to the war room. Allura was not here when they returned, looking for information on Raishan. Kima had been very vocal about taking the fight to the dragons, regardless of how prepared they are. Many of Whitestone’s new council members were survivors of the Briarwoods’ reign, potentially with a desperate survival instinct. Hells, they couldn’t even be sure of Zahra or Kashaw - left with free reign of the city and castle, who knew where they disappeared off to.

 

All the suspicion hurts Vex’s chest to think about, punching her first in the gut and then knocking the breath from her with a jab to the sternum. She cares for them, so much - that they could betray them, not be who she thinks them to be… it’s an old reflex, from she and Vax’s days on the road, she is reluctant to revive.

 

Even Gilmore is on Vex’s radar, though she avoids bringing it up - he and Vax have gotten awfully cozy, as of late, which could be nothing. Or it could be a ploy to weasel more information out of him. And it’s not as though they haven’t fallen for a false Gilmore before.

 

With so many potential moles - be they genuinely themselves and selling secrets or illusory plants - they hadn’t informed anyone of the team meeting currently occurring beneath Whitestone. Well. Only so many potential leaks - there was one outside the party Vex was fairly confident in.

(Keep reading on AO3!)

[pock-o-pea]

a moment, a love, a dream, aloud

Characters: Dorian Storm Chapters: 1/? (Consider this a prologue) Background: implied Dorian Storm/Orym, eventually all of Bells Hells and the Crown Keepers will be joining in Rating: PG, for swearing Notes: Meanwhile, in Tal'dorei, the ripple effects of Critical Role Campaign 3, Episode 33 come to light.

Before Dorian can berate himself for wasting his message, he finds himself frowning harder, because none of the arcana that typically surrounds the stone in his hand is present in this moment. There’s no thrum of power, no warmth emanating from it that Dorian catches himself imagining as Orym’s hand in his own.

Unfortunately, it’s not something Dorian notices immediately. 

Driving a bar held aloft by brumestone is a bit time-consuming after all, especially with a whole criminal organization hot on your tail, an ever-present threat to Dorian’s - and Cyrus’s, Dariax’s, Opal’s, Mor’s and Fy’ra’s - freedom. 

It takes Dorian by surprise, therefore, when, one late night at The Dapper Swan - an average tavern in an average village in some average region of Tal’dorei - he pulls one of his most prized possessions from his pocket to find it looking… oddly average.

His thumb rubs over the familiar markings etched into the sending stone, and a small, nervous frown graces his lips as he speaks. “Well, greetings from Tal’dorei,” Dorian whispers. “I owe you so many stories. We’re safe, but��out of the frying pan, into the fire, right? Shit, word limit—”

Before Dorian can berate himself for wasting his message, he finds himself frowning harder, because none of the arcana that typically surrounds the blue-grey stone in his hand is present in this moment. There’s no thrum of power, no warmth emanating from it that Dorian catches himself imagining as Orym’s hand in his own. 

Sure enough, he waits several seconds, then several more, and a full minute passes without him receiving a response. He spares a brief moment to look up and around the room: Cyrus is fast asleep on the far side of the bed; beside him, the lump under the blanket in the middle of the bed is a snoring Dariax. They’ve had a tiresome day, and Dorian doesn’t want to wake them with his worry.

A part of him wants to think it’s simply because it’s the middle of the night. Surely, Orym is simply fast asleep, curled up in the crook of Fearne’s leg as he usually does. Yet the better part of Dorian knows the truth: he’s received no response because his Sending message never sent in the first place.

“Fuck,” Dorian says, looking down at the very average, inert, no-longer-magical stone in his hand.

Leagues away, southwest across the Ozmit sea, in the badlands of the Hellcatch Valley, on a street in Bassuras, what once was the counterpart sending stone to Dorian’s is now shattered, mixed with the sand and rubble of a city block decimated by the sheer power of Imogen Temult.

to be continued.

[shenonagons]

Day Twenty-Eight: Presumed Dead (C3)

Read here on AO3

Summary: The news came at noon. A explosion had torn through Lord Eshteross's airship over the Ozmit Sea. There were no survivors.

(Just to be safe, TW for cutting someone's hair without their consent.)

The news came at noon. A explosion had torn through Lord Eshteross's airship a few miles out over the Ozmit Sea. The hull had been rent from stem to stern, the cargo consumed in either the blaze or the ocean. There were no survivors.

Eshteross had sequestered them in a large, though dusty, sitting room while he met with some of his other business partners. He hadn't said whether it was for their safety or for his other compatriots' anonymity, but no one had really protested.

They had a lot to deal with right now.

Fearne sat alone in the corner, turning the sending stone over and over in her hands. She'd been trying to send messages every few hours, but had never gotten a response. Her eyes were red-rimmed but dry, and she had barely spoken other than to the sending stone since they'd gotten word.

Ashton paced, as though finding an outlet for his restless energy would lessen the burden of the news. They'd come so close. Dorian and Cyrus were safely out of the city, out of the hands of the people who would do them harm. It couldn't have all ended like this.

Laudna put her own grief aside to stay busy, in some attempt to help the others. She consulted with Evelyn on refreshments that her friends might like, tried to coax Imogen into drinking another glass of water, or pull Fresh Cut Grass into a conversation about what she'd found under the settee. It was usually dust, but they'd found a few interesting coins once, proclaiming them foreign food to save for a special occasion.

Chetney stared out the window, like he could have seen the skyport from the back parlor of Eshteross's estate. His whittling tools were laid out on the table beside him, along with some pieces of wood from a project he'd started, but they'd gone untouched. He'd refused to believe it was Eshteross's ship that had been destroyed, and said they needed to wait for word that it was all a mistake.

Imogen tried to keep herself calm, to reach out for Dorian's mind. She should be able to message him, wherever he was in the world, but the grief and anger of her friends battered at her mind. And the dream...the nightmare of two figures walking into the fire hand-in-hand. What if it hadn't been the Lumos twins? What if it had been the Wyvernwind brothers?

Fresh Cut Grass was doing their best to soothe everyone's emotions. Since they could send messages in waves of feelings, they were nearly exhausting themselves trying to project peaceful thoughts into the minds of their little group of friends.

Orym sat cross-legged on the floor, just out of Fearne's reach. He watched her flip the stone over in her hands, watched her whisper messages to it and hold it up to her ear. Watched her face fall as she pulled the stone away to stare at it again. Over and over. If anyone noticed the way his hand kept straying up to touch the tattoo on his shoulder, no one said anything.

“Fuck, we have to do something,” Ashton spoke up. He looked around the room intently, focusing in on Orym. “We have to find out who did this.”

“Eshteross is our best bet for that,” he replied.

“Yeah, fuck him. He said they'd be safe.”

“This isn't his fault, Ashton,” Imogen replied. She'd curled up on one end of the settee, propping up her tired head with one hand. “He couldn't have known this would happen.”

“So what? He's been prepared for every other fucking thing, why wasn't he prepared for this?”

Imogen was already shaking her head. “You don't know...he's hurting. Bad. It wasn't just Dorian and Cyrus on that ship; he lost everyone.”

“Oh, and he seems real broken up about it.”

“Let's not fight,” Laudna said, stepping in between them. “There's enough pain here without adding disagreements to it.”

Ashton whirled on her, squaring his shoulders up like he was going to argue, then seemed to think better of it. He shot Imogen another look, then stalked over to the opposite corner of the room to stare at the wall.

“That's better.” Laudna tried to be cheerful, but her facade was starting to wilt. “Ah, Evelyn, right on time. Did you find those meat pies we were talking about?”

The older woman stood in the doorway, hands folded in front of her. “Not yet, I'm sorry. But the master wishes to see you, if you'll follow me to his study?”

“This had better be good,” Ashton groused as they filed out of the room after Evelyn. Fearne caught Orym's hand and held it tightly, while Laudna hung back enough to offer Imogen a supportive arm. They huddled close together as a group, even in the safety of Eshteross' manor. Ashton at the front of the group, Chetney at the rear, as though they could protect them from any further shattering.

Evelyn lead them to the familiar study, and left them standing in front of the orc's massive desk. Eshteross himself looked like he'd aged a few years in the hours since the news had broken.

“I'm afraid I must offer my most sincere condolences,” he said, his deep voice gravely from lack of sleep. “Had I known that my other endeavors were endangered, I would not have sent Dorian and his brother on my airship.”

“So you don't think it's connected?” Imogen asked.

“I do not. There is evidence that would suggest otherwise,” he explained, sliding a handful of papers forward for them to see. “I had a previous business relationship with a man named Tahno, and while I thought we had parted under amicable terms it would appear he has a different opinion.”

“Let me get this straight,” Ashton cut in, slamming his hands against the desk. “You screw this guy over in some business deal, he blows up the ship with our friends on it? And that's that?”

“I did not 'screw him over',” Eshteross replied. His lip curled, a little of the familiar pride seeping into his mannerisms. “We had a mutually profitable business relationship that we both agreed to dissolve when our interests differed.”

“Is that supposed to make us feel better?”

Eshteross growled and rose to his feet. “Make no mistake, I have every intention of pursuing this matter to its completion. If Oskar Tahno is responsible for the death of my charges and the destruction of my airship, he will face the consequences of his actions. What we need now is subtlety. I called you in here because I assumed you would want to aid in the investigation of Tahno's business endeavors?”

“Absolutely,” Orym said. He was barely tall enough to see over the edge of the desk, but he'd stepped forward to look at the papers anyway. “You think he could be responsible for Dorian's death?”

“He is the most likely suspect now, though there are others.” Eshteross studied them all, his gaze lingering on Fearne and Orym. “I take full responsibility for the attack that claimed the lives of your friend and his brother. I will see to it that the ones who carried this out are punished, and I will offer the Wyvernwind family and the Silken Squall whatever comfort or recompense I can. But I cannot do this without your help.”

“Well, I'm in,” Fearne announced. She still had the sending stone clutched close to her chest as she walked forward to stand next to Orym. Orym didn't say anything, but reached up to lay his hand on her arm.

They were all gathering in, pulling together to find resolve, looking to each other for strength, when Evelyn quietly slipped into the room.

“You have a visitor,” she announced.

“Tell them to wait,” Eshteross said, waving impatiently. “We have important business to discuss.”

“I'm sorry, but he's rather insistent.”

Eshteross let out a heavy sigh and straightened up, the expression on his face unreadable. In the back of the room, a cloaked figure slipped through the door just behind Evelyn, the deep hood hiding his features.

Though there was something familiar about the way he moved...

The figure in the hood seemed to draw back when he saw the group gathered around the old orc's desk. The hood twisted as he looked from face to face, then he raised his gloved hands and drew the hood back. The face underneath was familiar, though the hair had been cropped short. His clothes were simple, nondescript, and so ragged they were word thin in places, nothing like the immaculate attire they'd last seen him in.

“The, uh, the carriage never made it to the dock,” Dorian explained nervously.

Fearne was across the room in a heartbeat, picking him up in a hug that spun his feet off the ground. He gave a shaky laugh and tried to pat her on the back when she set him down, while Orym hugged him around the waist. They all piled in on him, going in for hugs or pats on the back or (in Ashton's case) a solid punch to the arm, until Lord Eshteross tapped his cane against the ground to get their attention.

“I think he needs some air,” Eshteross said, not unkindly. “Evelyn? I think we could use some refreshments.”

Dorian caught Fearne and Orym by the hands, letting everyone else space themselves out. “I tried to come back sooner, but I couldn't get away. I'm sorry.”

“Where were you?” Fearne asked. She dropped down to sit on the floor, and Dorian went with her after a moment's hesitation. To Eshteross's amusement, the rest of the group followed suite until they were all sitting in a rough circle in front of the orc's massive desk.

“You should probably know that the carriage driver was a member of the Corsairs in disguise,” Dorian said to Eshteross. “We never made it to the dock; they've been keeping us locked away. For 'safety', they say.”

“I messaged you every day,” Fearne said. She still had the stone in one hand and held it up for him to see.

“They took everything we had, I'm sorry. These aren't even my clothes,” he added, gesturing to the rough, nondescript shirt and pants he was wearing under the cloak. “We lost everything.”

“So what have you been doing?” Laudna asked, breaking the momentary silence. “If you weren't en route to Tal'Dorei all this time?”

“Oh, sitting around. Mostly.” Dorian shrugged. “We were, uh, locked up. Me and-and Cyrus.”

Orymn leaned closer to put a steadying hand on Dorian's knee. “They said it was for your safety?”

“Well, yes. But I think they just didn't want to lose Cyrus.” He looked around the room and suddenly seemed much older than twenty-seven. His face was drawn and thin, and his eyes were glazed with exhaustion. “As a resource, not as a member. I think they're after Cyrus's connections to our home. The Silken Squall,” he added, looking back up at Eshteross.

Eshteross pondered this for a moment, resting his chin on his clasped hands. “As an ally or target?”

“I don't know.”

Fearne tugged on his hand to bring his attention back to her. “How did you get away?”

Dorian managed a hesitant smile, nothing like the carefree grin they were used to. “After we received news of the explosion, Cyrus managed to convince them to let me go. I'm not sure what he told them, but he put his bounty up as collateral. If I can't clear it in two weeks they're turning him in.”

He ran a hand through his hair, but froze up a little when he touched it and quickly dropped his hand to his lap. He looked up, his eyes bright with emotion. “They took everything. Even my hair.”

“Oh, Dorian,” Fearne wrapped her arms around him and tugged him close. He buried his face in her shoulder as his whole body shuddered through a barely-suppressed sob. “They didn't take everything. You still have us.”

“Cyrus's bounty just jumped to the top of the list. We'll get that cleared as soon as we can,” Ashton added. “No one fucks with Bell's Hells and gets away with it.”

Eshteross gingerly stepped in front of Dorian and held a hand out to pull him to his feet, steadying him with a hand on his shoulder. “The Corsairs are a dangerous enemy to have in this city,” he rumbled, turning to look at each of them. “But so am I. I think it's high time they understand this.”

The others rose as well, and Orym caught Dorian's hand to tug him toward the door. “C'mon. Let's find you something clean to wear.”

They all filed out, discussing plans or ideas to help clear Cyrus's name and get the Wyvernwind brothers the freedom they deserved, but Fearne held back for a moment. She lifted the sending stone in her hand and focused on it, then raised it to her mouth.

“I don't know if you can hear me,” she said sweetly. “But you made a terrible mistake, and now I'm going to kill you all. And this time I'm not joking.”

[treeofcups]

Listen, the worldbuilding of Exandria might have a few weird little sticking points, but Matt really gets what makes things work. He just mentioned that the Ozmit Sea is much calmer than the Lucidian Ocean, which makes it a more popular trade route. Just one sentence, and there’s that extra little depth added to the world. I love that.