#und jetzt schau ich mal was auf ao3 so los ist

[critical-ramblings]

What they Heard

This is just Caleb and the Scourger’s conversation in the cell, translated into German, with some fellow character reactions thrown in.

Also on AO3!

Fjord was standing right there still, next to the door. Beau was just a few steps behind him, and the others one step behind that. Eight Krynn guards, all watching them intently. Caleb took his hands out of his pockets and walked up to the cell door, putting his hands on either side like blocking out the rest of them would help. The remaining two globes of light hovered behind him, swirling gentle patterns that probably matched the ones in the cell. 

“Sind Sie wach?” 

Jester had known he spoken Zemnian--it was practically the first thing you learned about Caleb, that he was a wizard and that he was Zemnian. It used to be that he was smelly, too, but he had been keeping very clean since they’d come to Xhorhas, actually. Still, there was something about him, about his voice, that felt different, now. She’d never heard him speak it for any length of time, really. Not just Zemnian. 

“Wach auf. Sie sind an einem schlechten Ort. Rede mit mir.”

Though the peep-hole was too small for Fjord to look in, he heard the faintest shift of chains, a slight cough from the Scourger. He couldn’t see her, so he watched Caleb, carefully marking the tension in their wizard’s shoulders.

“Na los. Deine Lebenserwartung ist momentan äußerst gering. Wenn Sie sie nicht noch mehr verkürzen wollen, Ich brauche Sie mit mir spricht.”

“Es ist...wie es ist. Solche Dinge passieren im Krieg.” 

Caduceus could hear the damage in her voice from twenty feet away. It sank under his skin like an itch, an irritant that he longed to correct. It wasn’t about whether someone deserved healing, he told himself. It was about whether or not they needed it. He couldn’t understand what they were saying, either of them, but he knew she needed healing. Caleb took up the whole doorway, making requests that sounded like orders, and this was his test, so Caduceus would not interfere. Not until he was asked for. But he kept the warmth of the Wildmother close in his chest, ready to use if he should need it. 

“Können Sie mich ansehen?” 

“Wer fragt? Was wollen Sie?” 

“Sie hören doch, dass ich dieser Sprache mit dir spreche, im diesem Ort. Möchten Sie jede Hilfe oder nicht? Sieh mich an.” 

“Mit Magie kann man vieles vortäuschen. Mein Leben ist bereits verwirkt. Versuchen was Sie wollen, ihr könnt mich nicht brechen.” 

Was it just Beau, or was the Scourger’s voice getting stronger? She couldn’t see over Caleb’s shoulder into the cell, though she had her goggles on for sure. The reedy quality of the woman’s voice was probably caused by a couple of hits to the throat--it was a familiar sound, though Beau was used to it being accompanied by a ringing in her own ears. She was more concerned with Caleb, though. What this was doing to him, if it was really Astrid. What the Hells were they saying, anyway? The Reserve hadn’t been able to hammer languages into her any better than they had patience. Or respect. 

Of course Nott recognized when Caleb said, “Astrid.” It was the only word he’d said so far that she knew, even if he said it differently. And not just with a heavier accent--he said it so full of fear and longing. Nott reached for her crossbow, for her component pouch. She was already sizing up the guards. She could hear the chains clinking as the Scourger woman shifted.

“Was haben Sie gesagt?” 

“Sie haben mich schon gehört. Schau mir in die Augen.” 

“Wer sind Sie?” 

Caleb didn’t look away from the hole in the door, but he did lean his head against it, a familiar desperation coloring the words they couldn’t understand. “Dafür ist jetzt keine Zeit. Heb den Kopf. Dein Leben hängt am seidenen Faden, was haben Sie denn noch zu verlieren? Sieh mich an.” 

“Scahu doch, wo ich bin. Wem kann ich noch vertrauen? Wer ist es, wer Astrid kennt?” 

Caleb was silent for a long while. Jester almost stepped forward, wanting to put a hand on his shoulder. To tell him he was not alone in this room. At the same time, hadn’t they left Nott a little space when they’d rescued Yeza from this same prison? Was it the same, with him and Astrid? She wasn’t sure anymore. 

Even when he pulled his hand away to snap Frumpkin into the room, Beau could see it wasn’t shaking. It was like he was a different person, even without seeing his face. It wasn’t just that she couldn’t understand him, though that was fucking her up plenty. It was that he stood differently, spoke differently when he spoke Zemnian. She didn’t like this at all. 

“Werden--will you open the door?” Caleb turned to look at one of the guards, but he turned away so Fjord couldn’t see his expression. “Can we go in?”

“I’m sorry,” the drow said at once, an almost incredulous look on his face. “That cannot be done.” 

Fjord turned to look back at Beau, to see she was thinking the same thing. And Nott, patting excessively at the part of her cloak that hid her weird crossbow. In this, at least, they were on the same page. If Caleb wanted it. They still didn’t know if this was someone he wanted to...rescue? Interrogate? It certainly hadn’t sounded friendly, whatever they were saying. 

While Caduceus was asking his question, Caleb turned back to the door like none of them existed. 

“Kennen Sie Bren. Aldric. Ermendrud?” He said the name like it had been pulled out of him, like he was the one being tortured in a chair and she was the one questioning him. Still his hands didn’t shake, his voice stayed steady. 

“Sehr gut,” the Scourger said, almost sweetly. 

“Wer war er?” 

Fjord shifted so he could see just a corner of the chair, just a thin slice of the woman’s face when she lifted it to look at them. 

No. Just at him. 

“Weiß nicht. Bist du er?” 

“Wir werden sie beide finden. Und töten sie.”

But the lie was weak, and he knew it. Strange eyes like black pools pinned him in place, a vicious smile that he had seen in the mirror so many times.

“Ich habe schon von dir gehört, Bren. Wilkommen zurück.”

“Ich bin neugierig, was Sie über diesen Junger gehört haben. Mal sehen, ob Sie lange genug leben, um es mir zu erzählen.”

When he pulled away from the door, it felt like everyone in Rosohna was looking at him. He could still feel her eyes on him, through stone and darkness as he snuffed out his lights. Fjord’s voice sounded far away and under water, and Caleb had time to think that this somehow appropriate for him before he realized he should answer. 

Jester jumped at the chance to get a look at this Scourger herself. It could be Astrid, after all! Caleb had described her as short, with brown hair, but was she pretty? Did she have curves like Jester, or maybe a cool tattoo? But the woman in the cell just looked crazy, with her twisted smile and her swollen face. Blood had stuck her black hair to her skin in some places, and she...she really didn’t look sane. 

“Caleb are you alright? You don’t. Seem well. Do you...know this person?”

“She’s a murderer. She’s one of my own. She is me if I had. Done that to be me.” Caleb was still hiding, standing in a far corner and half-turned away from the group. He was clearly having trouble with something, he was very obviously not okay, but what exactly could Fjord do to call him on it? Best to finish dealing with this situation, figure out where they stood now. And ask later about what the hells he had said to her, and her to him. 

“But do you know her personally?” Meaning, are we breaking her out? Are we getting the hells out of the Dynasty now?

“No, no,” Caleb said, and wouldn’t look at him. “She’s one of many.” 

#cr #critical role #ep 70 spoilers #caleb widogast #the mighty nein #i may not be GOOD at German #but i love it