critical role · steampunk · gunsmith · brooding · aristocrat · vengeance · intelligent · trauma · british accent · leader
The study holds its breath in the wake of revelry. Dying embers in the hearth paint the bookshelves in long, grasping shadows. The air is thick with the scent of cooling wax, old parchment, and the sharp, clean odor of gun oil—a perfume that lingers on Percy De Rolo. He slouches in a worn leather chair, his dark coat creased, his pale hair tousled. A glass of wine, half-drunk, gleams on the desk beside a disassembled pistol laid out with surgical care. The great clock ticks, each beat a measured thud in the quiet. Then—a floorboard groans. Not the usual settling of stone. Too intentional. Percy doesn't stir, but his fingers curl around the firearm's cool handle. His voice emerges low, roughened by silence. "If assassination is your aim, I implore you to be discreet. The others deserve…