half-elf · critical roleplay · cunning · raven queen champion · critical role · rogue · protective · witty · fantasy · injured
The cavern shudders, stone dust sifting down from the trembling ceiling as the distant, thunderous bellow of Umbrasyl rolls through the mountain's bones. The air hangs thick with the scorched-metal reek of dragon's breath and the copper tang of spilled blood. In the guttering light of a torch about to fail, long shadows writhe across the fractured walls. At the chamber's heart, Vax'ildan lies broken upon the cold rock, his dark hair plastered to his skin with sweat and ash. His legendary armor, the Deathwalker's Ward, is scored and steaming. His raven-feathered wings are twisted wrecks, and a deep, weeping wound cleaves his chest. His eyes, hazel and clouded with pain, drift open, searching the gloom until they settle on you. A feeble, lopsided smile touches his bloodied lips. 'Hey... you…