#what wildemount and the empire does to its children. they are two out of two million. we just happened to follow their stories

[wizardnuke]

i love the empire kids so so much i feel like i am losing my gfuckinf mind. ohh my god empire kids

#do you ever think about the concept behind wildemount. it was the calamity's the final battleground it's half-ruined and scarred over #the savalirwood is mutating. the barbed fields are barren. there are ancient ruins scattered all around the continent #they weren't left on purpose but they are a warning. something something this is not a place of honor. #and the people of wildemount reflect the landscape they're suspicious and rough. the leaders of the empire and the dynasty #(meaning the cerberus assembly and leylas kryn) are both vying for war and/or power - ikithon doesn't seem to care about the war but he #is throwing children into it like logs in a bonfire. leylas is going mad. da'leth remembers the calamity! and he still wants to take down #the gods! he was at ground zero and he wants to build it up again! not to mention that delilah briarwood is also an offshoot of the #assembly. the empire! with its archmages! delilah and ikithon and da'leth! they're the rotten core of it! and all of the m9 are from #wildemount but beau and caleb are the children of the empire. beau's dad's hatred and disregard for her (and remember kamordah is said to #be dreary and largely barren and her dad had to make that deal with the hag in order to make the ground fertile enough to grow grapes in #the country in the continent of barren ground) echoes the larger problem within the empire the assembly and ikithon and how he ruined #caleb's life. the empire kids. the children of the country that encapsulates wildemount's worst parts. the savalirwood is separate from #the empire as are the barbed fields but the people who symbolize the cause and effect of the calamity are in the empire's assembly it #starts and ends with them. they're the epicenter. they're ground zero. they're the poison into the drinking water. and beau and caleb are #the victims of that. of course beau is angry of course she was cast out. of course caleb is haunted of course he was left to die. that's #what wildemount and the empire does to its children. they are two out of two million. we just happened to follow their stories #AND THAT IS WHY BEAU AND CALEB FIGHT WITH EACH OTHER LIKE THEY DO. YOU CAN'T EXPECT CHILDREN OF THE EMPIRE TO TRUST EASILY. #they were both raised on ruined ground! beau was never loved and she was thrown out. caleb was incredibly loved and he killed his parents. #that is what the empire does. and. to see them in the end. raising hell and tearing the assembly down brick by brick #it's personal for caleb and it's meaningful for beau - what happened to them will not happen to any other child within the empire #they're breaking the cycle that's been spinning on and on for nearly two thousand years #and (caleb voice) it takes time. nearly a decade down the line they'll be trudging thru a desert on another continent in search of da'leth #but. my god. they're gonna do it. you know the chernobyl sarcophagus. the structure they built to hold the radiation in. that's them #that's why they read luciens book btw. that's what they're made to do. they r both so full of hubris - beau absolutely is btw. she would #icarus herself up to the sun in a heartbeat if she was given that level of freedom you know she would and that's the kind of hubris I #mean for both of them - the stubborn desperate confidence they have that they will prove everyone wrong and break free of the cycle (they #can do it. they just can't do it alone. they need each other and a whole support system to hold them back if need be. no wax wings for you #that's why they push each other so hard. that's why they lean on each other so much. they can't do it alone. and then they do it together #and end up rocketing towards almost near-certain death together. they just wanted to know more. those two always want so much more #that's why theyve always had that 'i'll watch you if you watch me' pact. together or not at all. and it still isn't enough. empire hubris

[beeftony]

There’s a moment early on in campaign 2 of Critical Role, after the Mighty Nein first make the acquaintance of The Gentleman. To prove their merit, Fjord bets every piece of gold he has in the Gambit of Ord, and wins. Once that interaction is over, Caleb pulls Fjord aside, asking if he had wagered the party funds or if it was just his own money.

Fjord, perhaps misunderstanding the intent behind the question, reassures Caleb that he only risked his own gold. Caleb then surprises him by asking, “Did you know I would have been okay if you had?” He then goes on to explain that, while he doesn’t put much stock in luck, he does believe in calculated risks.

This interaction is the key to understanding Caleb as a character and why things played out the way they did in the Bright Queen’s court. And, not coincidentally, it all ties into the dodecahedron.

The dodecahedron, by its very existence, seems to contradict Caleb’s worldview. Once per day, it allows one person to alter fate in their favor. This becomes especially interesting knowing that Liam’s previous character, Vax, had this as an inherent ability that, while based on a feat, tied in narratively to his relationship with the literal Goddess of Fate. But in truth, the Luxon actually serves as the perfect illustration of Caleb’s philosophy, and his ultimate goal: with the ability to bend time and fate, any sort of risk becomes much easier to calculate.

A running joke in the fandom has been that the Mighty Nein have used this incredibly powerful, unknowable, culturally significant artifact for ridiculously petty things, such as winning a drinking contest. After all, what’s the point of having power if you’re not going to use it?

At the same time, Caleb can seem like a cipher of a character sometimes because he plays his long term goals close to his chest. While one could reasonably assume he may want revenge for what the Empire did to him, he instead focuses his efforts on becoming powerful enough to ensure that the defining mistake in his life, the moment that broke him, need never have happened to begin with. And he’s not going to get that from the Empire.

Moreso than campaign one, a major focus of campaign two has been about questioning audience assumptions regarding various fantasy tropes. Vox Machina traveled along a much more traditional arc, starting out as a group of misfits who grew to become heroes of the land. With the Mighty Nein, however, the players have specifically built their characters to go against that kind of standard fantasy mold. Similarly, Wildemount as a setting has more of a focus on grey morality, entirely by design.

We first learn of the Krynn through rumors, through books in a library, and even smutty historical fiction. They encounter one and fight him in the sewers, but only because he attacks them first. They have no skin in this game, no interest in getting involved in this conflict. They don’t even want the dodecahedron at first, but end up taking it anyway.

They also start to question what they’ve been told about their supposed enemy. Jester is quick to correct people not to use the term “Crick,” as the phrase is a derogatory slur and she doesn’t approve of being disrespectful to anybody in that way. She’s fine with pranking people, but not demeaning or dehumanizing them (technically they’re drow, but you get what I mean). Once they get a taste of Xhorhas, and see that the monstrous races have managed to build what amounts to a functional society, Beau questions her mentor, Dairon, when they suggest that not even one of the Krynn deserves to live.

Fundamentally speaking, there isn’t that much difference between the Dwendalian Empire and the Krynn Dynasty. Both believe that they are doing their best to keep their people safe and prosperous. Both can be extremely harsh and draconian in the way their societies are structured, but within those societies there exist a multitude of beings who simply want to find their way in the world and live out their lives. The Krynn kidnap children, massacre garrisons and darken the skies, but the Empire imprisons people for worshipping unapproved gods, recruits children with magical potential and proceeds to torture, brainwash, and convince them to kill their own families, all in service of some supposed greater good. This means that allying with one or the other isn’t a question of morality, but political advantage. Which is where this all comes full circle.

When Caleb reaches into that bag, he makes a bold declaration: “I am of the Empire... but I am no friend to the Empire.” When he produces the dodecahedron, all the blades in the room clatter to the ground, and the Bright Queen is rendered momentarily speechless. He takes a calculated risk. And I’m very excited to see how it pays off.

#critical role #critical role spoilers #caleb widogast

[onceuponawar]

and i’ll remain fearless at trails that don’t last

well it did not take me long to get sucked into Critical Role or its wonderful angsty fanfiction prospects, especially after episode 25, so here’s what started as me messing around with a textpost prompt from @spottedspeck‘s blog and quickly became a mess

original post | read on ao3 

A mismatched group comes wandering into his portion of the forest, like thousands before them, speaking in low tones, murmuring his alias among themselves in tones that suggest he his their last hope.

That is nothing new. Here is what is new:

A tiefling steps forward, unhidden sorrow on his face. How strange it is to see an unmasked individual here, of all places. “You are the Crossroads Shadow, correct?”

“I am.”

“We were told you would know, should there be traffickers in this area. We… are in need of any information you can give us.”

“Lost a companion of yours, have you?”

The tiefling hesitates, glances to his current companions. “More than one.”

“Pity.” And the Shadow turns to go. He’s not an information board, he’s a secret keeper for these wood. Such a request is nothing short of insulting.

“I’d suggest helping us, friend,” the tiefling says, voice abruptly turning much darker, and the sound of a sword being unsheathed bounces off the trees.

He turns back and looks curiously at the group, sees the desperation written all over them like a sonnet. Desperation can mean a lot of good things for a man who deals in secrets.

“What do you call yourselves?”

A grubby human man lingering behind takes a shuddering breath, lifting his head for the first time.

“We-” he stutters, but a Zemian accent is easily recognizable anywhere. Thick with heritage of the Empire and emotion. “We are ze Mighty Nein.”

His eyebrow quirks as he looks over the group again, taking each of them in in turn. In his time, he’d had the chance to learn how to read many people, but rarely ones so easy as these. So apparently frayed by the tragedy that had befallen them on the side of the Crisp Valley Roadway, they make no attempts to disguise their own emotion. He glances across them, seeing, reading like an open book.

In the back of the group, there’s the Zemian man, who now stares in agony, sparks dancing across his palm. He watches him clench and unclench his fist, obviously itching to call fire there, but afraid in the same time. His brow is furrowed so low it’s hard to make out the color of his eyes, and if there was a way to physically look like you were pushing to the side all emotion, this man has captured it. He flinches of his own accord every few moments, wearing pain and guilt like a cloak. So different this dirty man is from the other wizards he’s known; how peculiar the way he looks to the purple tiefling for guidance.

Yes, the tiefling who spoke first, threat on his tongue. As though threats would work on an elf such as he, with half of a millennia of knowledge and strength tucked carefully into his being. Those blood-red pupiless eyes did not intimidate him, for as much malice they held, they held naivety also. This creature thought he could talk his way into information and out of subsequent deals, and charming as he was, it was simple to see through. His sly words shook, growls for information on traffickers mere pleas. A piece of him was missing, it was clear in the way he’d look over his shoulder to empty space. Was this tiefling’s companion the better piece, the elf wonders? It’s been so long since he’d had a situation enthralling as this come through this portion of the wood.

It’s been even longer since he’d seen such anger as he sees in the human woman who stands a few steps behind the tiefling. It comes from her in waves, twisting and crashing in search of a coast not yet found. When he meets her eyes, she does not flinch, but instead glares in fury. It brings a sort of smirk to his face, thinking of how similar she is to the women he knew back home. She knows he has the information they need and that he’s toying them with it, and how could she not? She bears the robes of the Cobalt Soul, and oh how they love to lord their extensive, age-old knowledge over the common folk. He thinks she looks quite young to have completed their training, even younger with dried tear stains cracking on her cheeks, but he can see the fire they placed in her from here. Even in the way she not-so-subtly readjusts her staff and points it in his direction.

That anger is what, if anything, puts on him edge. Desperation works in his favor, fire only brings about the ash of what could have been. He’d learned that long ago.

He takes himself off that road, too long, too many times already travelled, and pauses for a moment. Surely there had been a fourth set of footsteps? He peers around the feet of these travellers. And–yes, how curious–at the leg of the Zemian man is a little goblin girl, face poorly hidden by a porcelain mask. Her eyes are narrowed, but glassy; sadness and anger going hand in hand. He knows little about the emotions of goblins, especially one’s this young. He’d always been one to think that maybe they had no emotions at all.

He does, however, know that he’d receive a plentiful bounty for her head. But instead he leans once more against the tree, a quirk in his eyebrow and a smile pulling at the corner of his lips.

“But I see only four of you?”

In an instant, there’s a wooden staff at his throat. Loose strands of the human woman’s hair tickle the sides of his face. Telling, how simply he could have guessed she’d be the one.

“I suggest you begin talking, Crossroad Shadow, before I crush your windpipe and leave my friends here to take care of the rest of you.”

He glances again at the strange party, weapons pulled, magic conjured, and snarls on their faces. And he coughs out a laugh. A number is such a strange thing to have as a soft spot, but the elf knows he’s struck it like a bullseye. He’s sparked a certain fury in them now. Desperation written all over them, indeed.

“Surely you don’t expect such information for free?”

“How about we spare your life and call it even?” The monk presses her staff a bit further into his throat, until he’s forced to cough.

He thinks of all the ways he could get out of this situation, how easy it would be to sweep the woman’s feet out from under her, steal the staff and knock the tiefling unconscious in one movement. The wizard and the goblin girl wouldn’t be much harder. He could leave their bodies in the darkest shade and disappear from the crossroads. Nothing bound him here but his own mourning. But still, he sees something of the friends he once had in these people, in their pain and fury.

He knows it’s a mirror of his own, and maybe that’s what stops him. They’ve had their companions stolen, it would take a cruelty beyond his capacity to steal their secrets, too.

And so the elf tells them of Lorenzo, a ruthless slaver that wandered the reaches from Hupperdook to Nagvaraat in search of good prospects for his trade. Or what had begun as his trade. In recent months, in spite of the brewing war, Lorenzo’s operation had been taken over by a power the elf, in all of his secret knowledge, couldn’t even identify. All he knew was that it was linked to the missing children near Xhorhaus and it was more dangerous than a party of their likes would be able to handle on their own

As all fools, they ask his name but heed not his warnings.

Quynn Dwin’itran, he tells them, but his own name doesn’t roll off his tongue the way he knows it’s supposed to. It’s the first time in over two centuries he’s spoken it and twinged in a sadness he can’t discern.

He can see the spark of hope in their eyes now, they have a name to follow through the wood, to the very edges of Wildemount if that’s what it takes to find those they’ve lost. Quynn wants to tell them so much, about where such undying loyalty leads, how much pain it’s going to bring them one day, but he doesn’t. He’s old, but not too old to forget what it felt like to have people to lose.

He lets them go on their way, towards their inevitable demises with hope in their eyes.

But he watches closely from above as they climb back into their covered cart, as they cling to each other in the smallest ways. The monk clasps the wizard’s shoulder, the goblin gently holds the tiefling’s fanciful cloak in one small fist.

Slowly, bitterness breaks to fondness and mourning settles into nostalgia.

And Quynn hopes, too. For this ragtag party to be graced with a fate far better than his own.

#critical role #critical role campaign 2 #cr ep 25 #anyway I don't know how to tag anything that doesn't have a shipping pairing involved have a nice day #wrote this instead of doing college work which is pretty much about all you need to know about how my life is going right now #critical role fanfiction #caleb widogast #mollymauk tealeaf #cr beauregard #cr nott