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critrolestims · a day ago
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beau cosplay gifs 📘 source
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phoebbit · 2 days ago
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Based on this post from Laura Bailey’s insta, the chaos of mighty nein vs ‘chenga’
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twinklestarss · 2 days ago
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“I fell in love with you in Kamordah.”
Campaign 2 Episode 126: Worth Fighting For
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friendsandcookies · a day ago
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My favourite part about the date, besides the obvious, is that we get to see what Beau considered the important aspects and moments of their relationship up until this point. There is the time they first met - and we know Beau was attracted to her from the beginning. The bathhouse, where they had their epic battle of chicken and she saw Yasha naked for the first time. The fish tacos, a reminder of their first ‘date’. The fight because that’s where Beau kept looking over her shoulder, just to see. The wildflowers and Xhorhas where Beau’s feeling started to slowly develop from a simple crush to something more. And the dogs, not only something Yasha loves but also a reminder of the moment Beau knew she was in love with Yasha. 
And the best part about it all is that while it was Beau’s view on their relationship, every single part was added with Yasha in mind, so that they could relive their highlights together and create new memories at each of these steps.
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Yasha charging in to the hag's hut after finding out that Beau offered to walk away has so much more meaning now that we know that she fell in love with Beau just shortly before this.
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plaidonsad · 12 hours ago
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The Critical Role thing that will probably stick with me the longest is Fjord’s tired “Why do you do these things?” as Jester hands Beau a smutty book to read aloud as they walk through the worm tunnel.
the quiet “Why are you like this?” that follows.
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dumbass-extraordinaire · 2 days ago
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Oh, Sinners Come Down (I Must Be Good For Something):
Summary: Caleb’s past catches up with him after the Victory Pit Battle. Panicked, he tells the rest of the Nein about his sins. (Zadash Era)
   On the day Caleb Widogast’s past finally catches up with him, he is sitting at one of the ancient wooden tables in the tavern of The Leaky Tap.  Outside, it’s pouring rain, a cruel irony that won’t go unnoticed by the wizard when he thinks back on the events of that night.
   Deep down, Caleb knows that he is living on borrowed time, has known it from the moment he’d escaped that asylum five years ago.  But there is a difference between knowing something and being prepared for it; somewhere along the line, he’d allowed some small part of himself to start believing that the sense of safety and belonging he’d found with the Mighty Nein could be something permanent for a man like him.  That it was something he could ever deserve.  He tried to convince himself that he’d only stayed with the group for Nott’s benefit, but while that might have been true at first, he knows the real reason he hasn’t left yet is because he’s too much of a selfish coward to face the world alone.  
   This means that when the door to The Leaky Tap slams open to admit a cloaked figure, who quickly removes his hood to reveal none other than Trent Ikithon, Caleb doesn’t excuse himself from the table so he can quickly and quietly deal with Ikithon without involving the rest of the Nein like he knows he should.  Rather, the raggedy wizard opts to hunch his shoulders in an effort to make himself as unobtrusive as possible and hope that his distractingly colorful companions render him invisible to his former teacher.
   No such luck.  The older man’s poison-green eyes cut through the crowd like an assassin’s blade, pinning Caleb in place.  Slowly, a cruel grin cracks his face as he removes his cloak and hangs it up by the door.  Then, to the wizard’s absolute horror, Trent Ikithon starts making his way towards the Nein’s table.
   Caleb’s entire body tenses and his breathing starts coming in quick, shallow bursts.  His knee bounces rapidly under the table.  
   This can’t be happening.  Ikithon can’t have found him, not when he has the necklace.  It’s not possible.  And yet he is here, all of Caleb’s nightmares made flesh and blood, and Ikithon sees him.
   The rapid staccato beat of his heart is deafening in his ears, drowning everything else out.  His hands and forearms seize with pain as phantom flames engulf them; he smells smoke and he cannot breathe and he has never been more sure than he is at this moment that he is dying.
   “-aleb!  Caleb!”  There is a small hand, tugging insistently at his elbow; a high-pitched voice squeaking his name.  
   It is Nott.  Nott is here.  She’s here and she’s looking at him and her lamplike yellow eyes are wide with concern.  
   Do you see?  A voice, the same voice he hears every time he dares to sleep, hisses from the depths of his skull, paper-thin and full of venom.  You have made her care for you just to hurt her; you have tricked her and everyone else into thinking you are someone who is deserving of something other than their disgust and hatred.  The second they discover what you have done, what you are, they will hurt you and then they will leave you and you will deserve it.
   “Caleb!” Nott shrieks, pulling him from his thoughts, “You’ve set your cup on fire!”
   “Was?” He looks down and sees that he’s done just that.  “Die Scheiße!” he yelps, frantically patting at his tankard of ale with the hem of his coat in a desperate attempt to smother the flames rapidly consuming the wooden cup.  
   Then the ale catches fire, sending a column of flame shooting five feet in the air, and the table erupts into chaos.
   All rational thought instantly abandons Caleb, replaced by bone-deep fear and the overwhelming need to get away from here right the hell now.  He stands up, trying to backpedal quickly away from the flames, only for the backs of his knees to slam into the bench with enough force to send him flying.  
   Nott squeaks in alarm as he trips and lands flat on his back in the dust and straw covering the tavern floor.  She hops down from her perch on the offending bench, scampering over to inspect Caleb for injuries like a worried mother.
   Meanwhile, the rest of the Mighty Nein attempt to douse the flaming ale tankard with varying degrees of success.
   As Mollymauk rapidly scoots down the bench and away from the flames that could easily spread to his gaudy clothing, Jester dumps her glass of milk over the fire.  However, this only serves to send sizzling droplets of milk right back at the group of adventurers, who make various noises of pained annoyance.  
   The blue tiefling raises her arms in preparation to cast thaumaturgy, only for Molly to tackle her half-way to the floor before she can get the words out.
   “Nope, we’re not doing that again,” he says when she turns to him, pouting.
   In a moment of extreme panic, Beau turns to Fjord and shouts, “Saltwater!” as she punches him in the stomach.  The half-orc doubles over in pain and shock, coughing.  
   He wheezes at her indignantly, “What in the name a the gods did ya do that for?”
   She splutters and flaps her hands around, “You- but every morning, y’know with the saltwater?”  She mimes vomiting, “Y’know?  I thought if I-”
   He stares up at her, dumbfounded, “Not on command, I can’t!”
   “Yeah, that’s why I punched you in the gut!”
   Yasha silently watches them argue with confusion and mild interest before dumping the contents of her waterskin over the blaze, dousing it completely.  
   The room goes quiet.
   Caleb swears that he can feel the eyes of the other patrons burning into him as he picks himself up off the ground.  He moves the bench back to its original position, wincing at the loud scraping noise that fills the now quiet tavern.  The tankard has been reduced to a pile of charcoal, which he silently slips into the pocket of his coat, and the table now sports several prominent scorch marks.
   Beau waves to the glaring barkeep, “Don’t worry, we’ll pay for that!”  Then she turns to Caleb.  “What the fuck was that, man?!”
   Caleb opens his mouth, but before he can respond he feels a familiar bony hand grip his shoulder.  He feels his throat close up.  Trent Ikithon has found him.
   “Why, if it is not my favorite pupil, Bren Ermendrud, in the flesh; and after all these years, as well,” Ikithon’s papery voice hisses in his ear, honeyed words masking deadly intent.  “How have you been, my boy?”
   Caleb tries to speak, to say something, anything to make this man go away, but the words get caught in his throat and he completely freezes.  His mouth gapes like a dying fish as his companions stare at him with questioning eyes.
   Under different circumstances, Caleb’s silence could be attributed to his general lack of social skills and extreme anxiety.  However, the Mighty Nein have been traveling together for a while now, and they seem to have picked up on his heightened levels of panic enough to know that something is very wrong here.
   Beau, blunt as ever, narrows her eyes at the newcomer.  “Sorry, buddy, but there’s no one here who goes by that name,” she says coldly.  “My friend here doesn’t do too well with strangers, so I think you should leave.”  
   Caleb feels a sudden surge of gratitude and affection for the monk and her inherent distrust of authority; she made sure not to mention his name in her dismissal.
   Ikithon’s grip on his shoulder tightens.  “Really, now Bren,” he sneers.  “You aren’t going to introduce me to your little friends?  Honestly, young lady, I am quite surprised that he has not mentioned me to you all.”
   Beau looks offended at the ‘young lady’ comment, but before she can start something Jester pipes up from her spot next to Molly.
   “Oh!  You were Caleb’s magic teacher then?  He told us he learned from books!”  She bounces excitedly in her seat, grinning, “Caleb, why didn’t you tell us about your teacher, he could help Fjord!”
   So much for keeping his name hidden.
   Fjord clears his throat, “Now, Jester, I don’ know-”
   Ikithon finally removes his hand from Caleb’s shoulder and turns to the half-orc, beady eyes glittering, “Oh, is that so?  You have an interest in the arcane?”
   “Uh, yessir, I’m tryin’ ta get inta the Soltryce Academy,” Fjord says, shifting uncomfortably in his seat.
   “Well, then you are in luck, young man.  I happen to be a teacher at that very school,” he says.
   All the relief Caleb had felt when Ikithon stopped touching him is immediately replaced by fear and an unexpected surge of protectiveness, because he’s seen the way the older man is looking at Fjord before; he’s been on the receiving end of that piercing gaze and knows exactly what it means.  It means interest.  Trent Ikithon is interested in Fjord, and this more than anything is what spurs Caleb to action.
   In a moment of bravery, he stands and faces his former teacher.  “Ja, well he already has a letter of recommendation, so he does not need your assistance.  You can leave now,” he says, not looking him in the eye, heart pounding with fear and adrenaline.
   He feels the weight of Ikithon’s gaze as he considers his words, saying nothing and the already heavy tension in the air seems almost visible.  He can feel Nott’s claws digging into his arm where she’s clutching his sleeve, and the familiar pressure grounds him.  For a moment, he half-thinks the man is going to strike him down where he stands.  Then he nods, and even that tiny movement makes Caleb flinch visibly.
   “Very well.  Goodbye, Bren.  Or should I say, Caleb, as that seems to be the name you have seen fit to give yourself.  I trust we will be seeing each other again very soon.”  With that final threat, he briskly makes his way out of the Leaky Tap.
   As soon as the door closes behind Ikithon, Caleb’s knees buckle and he collapses back down on the bench.
   “What did you do that for,” Jester whines.  “So what if Fjord has one letter?  He could have given him another one, did you think of that?”
   “I-” He tries to think of something, anything to say, but the words won’t come.
   “Jester, shut up,” Beau holds up a hand to silence the blue tiefling.  “Am I the only one who saw how Caleb reacted to that guy?  Are y’all blind or something?  He’s clearly bad news and creepy as hell to boot!”
   “I agree.  I don’t trust him,” Yasha rumbles.
   Beau lights up, clearly pleased.  “See!  Yasha doesn’t trust him either,” she exclaims, pointing at the barbarian.
   “Well I trust Caleb, and if he sent that man away, then I think he should stay away,” Nott adds.
   “Speaking of which, why didja send him away?”  This from Fjord, who’s turned to face Caleb head on.  “Actually, first off, why’d’ja lie about goin’ to the Academy in the first place?”
   He really doesn’t want to have this conversation in the middle of a tavern, or at all to be frank, but he knows this isn’t something his companions will let go undiscussed.  They’re all looking at him now, waiting for an answer that he desperately doesn’t want to give.
   He clears his throat, “My time at the Academy, it was not pleasant, to say the least.”  He keeps his gaze firmly fixed on the wooden planks of the ceiling as he speaks, “And it is not something I wish to discuss in public.  I will tell you what you wish to know, but I will do so in the privacy of our rooms.”
   “Wait, Caleb-” Fjord starts to speak, but he doesn’t wait for his response.  
   Without making eye contact with any of them, he gets up and starts walking to the stairs that lead to the rooms.  A small part of him prays that they won’t go after him, but a moment later he hears them get up to follow him.  He doesn’t look at any of them, not even down at Nott when he feels her small hand grip his own.
   The stairs creak and groan under the group’s combined weight as the Mighty Nein make their way up the rickety wooden steps and file into the small room that Caleb and Nott are sharing.  It’s a tight fit, but they make the best of it.
   Beau perches on the windowsill, with Yasha and Fjord leaning against the wall on either side of her.  Molly hops up onto the chest of drawers in the corner, pillowing his arms behind his head as he leans against the wall.  Jester flounces into a sitting position on the floor in front of the bed, legs tucked underneath her and chin resting in her hands like a child waiting for storytime to begin.  Caleb sits down on the bed and Nott hops up beside him.  He fights the urge to curl into a ball and hide from the inevitable fallout of this conversation.
   Beau makes a get on with it motion, jade bangles clacking together with the movement.  “C’mon, dude,” she says impatiently, “What could possibly be so bad that you dragged us all into your little hobo cave to tell us?”
   Fjord shoots her a disapproving look that she shrugs off, and something about the normalcy of this exchange allows Caleb to ground himself.  
   “Nott, liebling, if I leave tomorrow, will you come with me?” he asks, taking both her hands in his.  He feels guilty for asking, knows that he’s being selfish, but he asks anyway because he doesn’t think he can survive without her.
   She looks confused, but nods anyway.  “Of course, Caleb, we’re a team.  Where you go, I go,” she says.
   “Gut, ja, that is good,” he pats her hands and turns to face the others.
   He takes a deep breath.  This is it.  No more stalling.
   “This may be a very stupid decision of mine, but now that Ikithon has found me you would have found out eventually.  Best that you hear it from me.  Then, at least, he cannot hold this information over me…  When we met, I told you all that I am self-taught.  This is true.  I also told you that I did not attend the Soltryce Academy, and this, this was the lie,” he says, trying to keep his voice steady, “I did attend the Academy, and that man in the bar was my teacher also.  His name is Trent Ikithon.”  
   He swallows and runs a shaky hand through his hair, “Ah, I should perhaps start at the beginning.  This will not make much sense otherwise.”  His mouth is dry and tastes of ash, “I am going to tell you the story of how I murdered my mother and father.”  He doesn’t look at his companions, eyes trained on the wooden floor.
   Those words seem to pull all the oxygen from the room.  Beside him, he hears Nott make a shocked Oh! sound, as though she’s just been punched in the stomach.  
   She squeezes his hand in a comforting gesture.  He’s not sure why.
   Even as his throat tightens, he continues, “When I was younger, I grew up in a small township outside of Rexxentrum called Blumenthal.  My mother’s name was Una and my father’s name was Leofric.”  
   He forces himself to say their names; his voice going high and shaky at the end as he abandons any attempts to keep a stiff upper lip.
   “Everyone was very excited about me when I was young.  I was bright,” he spits the word like the curse he knows it to be, “and confident.  People used to say that I glided through life and everything just worked for me.”  
   He laughs, then, bitter and sharp as broken glass.  
   “As I got older, it became clear that I had a knack for the arcane.  Everyone talked about this Soltryce Academy,” he says, the name poison on his tongue, “that maybe I would go there someday.  The way they do things at the Academy, and Fjord will tell you, they do not take all comers.”  He gestures in the half-orc’s general direction, still not looking up, “That is why he needed the letter of recommendation.  Because the Academy looks for the diamond in the rough and every couple years they find one.”
   “But,” he says, trying in vain to dislodge his heart from his throat, “when I was a young man, adolescent, really, they found three of us.  Another boy and a girl, and-”
   Nott cuts in, “From your town?”
   Caleb nods, “Ja, from Blumenthal. And we were accepted.”
   “How old were you?” Jester asks from her spot on the floor, uncharacteristically somber.
   He takes a breath.  “I was young,” is his only response.
   “When ya say young, whaddya mean?  Young like a teenager?”  Fjord asks, clearing his throat as he shifts against the wall.  
   Caleb flinches violently at the sound his armor makes as it grates against the stone surface.
   “Ja.  Anyway, we went there.  I studied for a year.  I worked so hard.  It came easier to me than the other two, but they were also very accomplished,” he continues, forcing the words out in short bursts.  
   A lump is already forming in his throat and making it hard to speak, so the faster he gets the story out, the less likely it is that he will break down in the middle of telling it.
   He steels himself, taking a shaky breath before continuing, “There were other students from other parts of the Empire there,” he gestures vaguely with the hand not clutched in Nott’s claws, “and a little over a year of learning all they had to impart, I met a man named Trent Ikithon.  As you all know, he became our teacher.”
   Caleb doesn’t dare look up before going ahead with his story.  “After a year of studying in the main school, Trent handpicked all three of us again, and we left the school proper and went with him to a home out in the countryside where he trained us,” his hands begin to visibly shake as the memories hit him in full force.  He clears his throat.  “It was a good time.  We believed in the Empire, we were going to keep it strong.”
   “Well, this is going nowhere good fast,” Beau mutters under her breath, her voice wry, and Yasha makes a noise of agreement in the back of her throat that is more akin to a growl than anything else.
   “Both a’ya, hush now,” Fjord mumbles back, “This ain’t the time.”
   Caleb forces himself to go on.  “He was cruel.  He hurt us a lot.  Made us go through extreme circumstances, but we got strong.  I also fell in love, but that’s another story,” he says, the last part more to himself than the others.
   He feels Nott’s hand tighten around his own, “He hurt you?!” she exclaims, voice shrill and strangled.
   “It was nothing I did not deserve,” he says.
   Beau makes an offended noise.  “That’s a load a’ bullshit and you know it,” she says, “You were a fucking child.”
   “I knew what I was getting into, Beauregard,” he says, suddenly feeling defensive.
   Mollymauk, who up until this point had remained silent, speaks, “Nah, Beau’s right for once.”
   “Ah, fuck you Molly,” she says without any real heat.
   “For the love a’ fuckin’ god let the man finish speaking,” Fjord interjects exhaustedly.  “Go on now, Caleb,” the half-orc turns his steady gaze on the wizard once Beau and Molly have finished their bickering.
   The wizard in question wonders silently, not for the first time, if they are all insane.  Can they not see that he is the worst kind of monster?  
   He continues anyway, “We rose through the ranks and it was the Empire over all, and eventually, he wanted to test our allegiance, so strangers were brought in– traitors.  Disgusting people, traitors to this empire, and we killed them.”
   Nott makes a distressed noise, shattering the silence settling over the group like a heavy fog.
   “And you were only students?” Yasha asks, her voice dark with some unnamed emotion.
   “Ja,” he confirms.
   “He made you executioners,” Beau says, voice flat.  It isn’t a question.
   “We wanted to be,” is all he can say.
   Molly whistles, low and cheerless, “Bloody hell, Caleb.”
   “Caleb, that’s deeply fucked up, you know that, right?” Beau’s voice is almost pleading.
   Caleb laughs bitterly, “Ja, I am aware.  A few months of studying, of a little bit of torture, a little bit of murdering dissidents and traitors and deviants.”
   Beau fills in the blank, “Then one day your parents are brought in as traitors.  No?”
   “Nein,” he shakes his head.  If only it were that simple.  “No.  We were ready to graduate, and the last test of our allegiance was– I am getting ahead of myself.”
   He starts again, “I went on a trip home and visited my parents and when I was there, in the middle of the night, I awoke and overheard them talking, and went to the stair and listened to them talk about revolution and tearing the Empire down, and I felt disgraced and shame for my family.”  
   He laughs, high and broken, “My mother and my father, who were so wonderful to me when I was a child, and were so happy for me to go to the Academy and believe in the Empire so much.  I went back to the school and when the three of us were summoned and told what was expected of us, I knew what had to be done.  We went to this other boy’s home first, Eodwulf, and we stood by as he killed his parents.  We went to Astrid’s house, and had dinner with them, and she poisoned them.”
   The words feel like shards of glass, cutting his tongue as he speaks, but he forces them from his throat, “Then we went to my home and we grabbed a horse cart, and in the middle of the night, placed it against the door to the home and I set it on fire.”
   “Jesus Christ,” Fjord swears.
   His voice audibly shakes and he has long since abandoned any attempts at composure.  There are tears in his eyes and on his cheeks.  Why is he crying?  He was the one who cast the spell that burnt his house and murdered his family, he is not the victim here.  No one held a knife to his throat, no one forced his hand.
   “You had to do this to graduate, to prove your loyalty,” Beau says in the same flat tone as before.
   “Ja, well, but it did not go according to that plan because as soon as I heard my mother and father screaming inside…”  He hiccups, shoulders shaking, “I was so sure.  I was so sure… until I wasn’t, and I, uh, I broke a bit.”
   Someone swears again, Caleb’s brain is too full of buzzing and phantom screams to know who.  His insides feel sharp and broken, shards of something cutting viciously into his brain and heart.
   “Did you go after them?”  Again he is unsure which of them asks.
   “Nein, ich bin in eine Anstalt gegangen,” he responds in Zemnian.  He pauses and starts again, forcing himself to speak in Common, “No, I went to an asylum for a number of years.  Ich brach.  I, ah, I broke.  I do not remember so well what happened to me there.  It was quite a number of years.  Years later, a woman was there, and she, another patient, put hands on me, and she took the clouds away.”
   He waves his free hand wildly near his head.  “She took it all away, and not just my madness, but the fake memories Ikithon put in my head of my parents,” he says.  He snaps his fingers, “Just like that!  Poof, all gone!”  His voice has gone sharp and bitter.
   “Fake memories?”  Nott is the one who asks this time, he is sure of it.  He focuses on her voice, grounding himself.
   He nods, “Of wanting to betr-- yes.”
   “Wait, there was a false memory?  He tricked you?” Nott asks again.
   Yasha’s soft voice clarifies, “Into hearing their talks against the Empire, is that what the memory was about?”
   “Yes, but it does not matter,” his voice increases in pitch and intensity as he speaks.  “Because I still wanted to do it when I did it!”
   Nott’s voice becomes increasingly shrill, “But you didn’t know what you were doing--”
   He cuts her off, “So what?!”
   “You were brainwashed,” she retorts angrily, “Programmed!”  She jabs a finger into the air.  
   He stares at her.  What about this situation does she not understand?  He opens his mouth to explain that he is a garbage person, but a loud wail cuts him off.  His head snaps towards the source of the sound.  He sees Jester, bright, happy, bubbly, Jester, tears streaming down her cerulean cheeks.  Less than a second later, he is bowled over by the chubby blue tiefling.  Jester throws her arms around his neck, sobbing into his shoulder. Nott hugs him firmly around the middle, her bony arms holding on like she’s worried he might disappear.  
   Jester’s actions seem to break whatever spell was holding the others in place, and Molly hops down from his perch.  The lavender tiefling saunters over to the trio, tail coiling behind him in the air like a nervous snake.  He crouches down in front of Caleb and takes both of the wizard’s bandaged hands in his own.  Solid ruby eyes study Caleb’s face as Mollymauk Tealeaf considers the man in front of him.
   “Mr. Caleb,” Molly says softly.
   “Mr. Mollymauk,” Caleb intones dully.
   Molly smiles slightly.  “You told me once that you believe in second chances,” he says.  “Your words, they meant so much to me.  They still do.  But what, pray tell, is the point in believing in second chances for others if you don’t believe in them for yourself, yeah?  Please be kind to yourself Mr. Caleb.”  He squeezes Caleb’s hands comfortingly before pressing a soft kiss to his forehead.
   “Danke, Mollymauk,” Caleb murmurs, too overwhelmed by the cocktail of confusion and grief bubbling in his stomach to say much else.  Molly pats his cheek and sits down on the bed next to Jester, who still has yet to relinquish her hold on Caleb.  He rubs the other tiefling’s back as she blubbers into Caleb’s scarf.  Yasha follows Molly quietly, the bed creaking beneath her muscular frame as she sits beside Caleb.
   The aasimar sighs heavily.  “I know what it is to be used and made into a weapon,” she admits quietly, resting a large hand on the wizard’s shoulder, “I know what it is to be made into a monster by someone you trust.”  She exhales softly, “I have been a monster, Caleb Widogast, and I know the scars it leaves.  Do not let those scars be all you are.  Live, and be more.”
   Her tone brooks no argument, so he simply nods.  She gives him a small smile and some of the sharp edges inside him smooth over, like glass tossed amongst the waves.
   “What happened to the woman who healed you?” Jester asks, her voice still watery from crying.
   Caleb takes a moment to collect himself before responding, “I do not know, she was stark raving mad again fifteen minutes later, the woman who healed me.”
   “Oh,” she says.  For a moment she seems disappointed by his answer, then visibly brightens and says excitedly, “I will ask the Traveler to watch over her and tell her thank you for helping my very good friend Caleb because if she had not done that I never would have met him and then I would be very sad because I like him so much!”
   Caleb smiles, slightly flustered, “Ah, danke Jester,” he says.
   “It is no problem!” She smiles, and it is bright and warm like the sun after a long storm.
   Fjord clears his throat.  Caleb startles at the proximity of his voice, surprised to find that the half-orc is now standing in front of him.  He looks hesitantly up at the other man’s face, searching for any signs of disgust or hatred.  He finds none.
   “I, uh, well if ya don’t mind me askin’, how’d ya end up gettin’ out a’ there?” he asks softly.  “I’ll admit, I don’t know much about asylums, but I’ve always kinda been of the impression that once you’re in, you’re in for good.”
   Beau pipes up, “I was kinda wondering about that myself, actually.”
   Caleb exhales a small laugh, “You are not wrong, my friend.  That is usually the case with these places.  What happened was I killed one of Trent’s people there and I took this,” he says and pulls out the necklace from under his shirt, “It kept me hidden from Trent, at least it was supposed to do this, but he found me anyway so I guess it is just a useless piece of junk.”
   “I mean it kept you hidden for, what, like--” Beau tilts her head for a minute, counting something off on her fingers.  “You’ve known Nott for, what was it, did you say you’ve known her for five years?”  He nods, and she seems satisfied.  “Right, so this thing has kept you hidden for at least the five years you’ve known Nott, and that’s not even accounting for the time between when you escaped and when you met up with her.”
   “What are you saying, Beauregard?” he asks, unsure of where exactly she’s going with this.
   “The point I’m trying to make is that it took over five years for Trent to find you.  You’re the wizard here man so correct me if I’m wrong, but maybe that thing is just outta juice or something,” she points out.
   His eyes widen in shock as he considers the idea.  “I had never considered…” he trails off, brain already shifting into high gear as he thinks it over.
   Beau punches his arm.  “See, I know more about this magic shit than you nerds give me credit for,” she says playfully.
   “Considering you’re a part of a group of monks that work in a library, I think you of all people are the nerd here, Beau,” Molly snarks.
   She glares playfully at him, “You wanna go, pretty boy?”
   “Aw, you think I’m pretty?” Molly clutches his hands over his heart theatrically.
   She smiles sweetly at him, “Pretty fuckin’ annoying, yeah,” she snarks right back.
   He gasps dramatically, “You wound me, my dear Beauregard.  How will I ever recover from such a grave injury?  I think the heartbreak just might kill me!”  He throws his arms wide and flops backward onto the bed.
   “Then perish,” Beau deadpans.
   Molly barks a laugh, “You are a cruel and unusual woman.”
   “Thank you, Molly,” she says primly, sending Jester into a fit of giggles.
   “Caleb, do you think Beau is right about the necklace?” Nott asks as the laughter subsides.
   He blinks at her as he pulls himself from his thoughts, “I suppose that it is possible, but even if we were able to-- Ah, what is the word?  Even if we are able to recharge it, what good would that do?  Trent has already found me.”
   “Well, then we’ll charge it up and leave Zadash,” she says, as if it’s all so simple.
   Beau nods.  “Yeah, and if that piece of shit comes for you, we’ll just kick his crusty ass into next week,” she says confidently.
   “Beau’s right, that asshole is not coming anywhere near you as long as we’re around!” Jester says firmly.
   The rest of the group echoes the sentiment, and Caleb stares at them in wide-eyed disbelief.  Not a single damn one of them seems to see Caleb for the monster he is, even knowing what he has done.  It makes no sense, why can’t they understand that he is the one who is to blame?
   “I- I do not understand, why are you treating me like I am innocent in this?  I am a garbage person, a trash human being, a murderer!  I killed my parents, I watched them burn and did nothing!  Why are none of you angry at me, why- how can you even stand to be in the same room with me?!”  He’s yelling now, frustration and self-hatred swirling in his gut and tears stinging his eyes. “Why do you not hate me?!”
   Caleb's on his feet now, facing his friends; he must have stood up at some point during his tirade and simply didn’t notice.  Their eyes are wide, and suddenly he can’t take it anymore.  Can’t take the guilt and the shame and the feeling of being watched that makes his skin crawl.  So, ignoring the sounds of Nott calling his name, he runs, out the door and down the tavern stairs and out into the grey rainy Zadash afternoon, fleeing the small room and the watching eyes of his friends.
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stardustedknuckles · 7 hours ago
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Beau worried Dairon might actually kill her for working with the dynasty and giving them a heads up on what's going on anyway as return on their good treatment of her - god. That would be a lot coming from anyone, but from Beau specifically it's incredible. Some part of her does have a little faith in Dairon's genuine investment for her, somewhere, but that's not the point. She's doing a good turn because someone has been good to her, and she's doing it with her eyes wide open as to what the consequences could be. Grudgingly. Tentatively. Stressing what could happen and what power could be given up in doing so, but unwilling to consider the alternative where Dairon cares for her and gets wiped out because she didn't give them the heads up they fully earned.
Dairon as the metric by which to measure Beau's growth is honestly one of the best parts of campaign 2 as a whole.
After all, Dairon was the first to follow Beau when she ran from something, the first to prove her view that nobody wanted her wrong and to say, "I want you. You are worth my time." And even though Beau doesn't know it yet, they are the first to listen to and believe her when she says something is fucked up here. Beau immediately rose to their every expectation. She'd been waiting for exactly the purpose and freedom they offered her, and through seizing it Beau learned more about who she was and what she wanted.
And one of the first things Beau decided she valued was returning that kindness regardless of what it could mean for her. If the Soul wasn't as detached as they claimed, if they had their roots in the empire, Beau really could lose her affiliation with that organization in a way she hadn't yet managed. Dairon could destroy her.
But in the end there's no real deliberation.
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languishedlaughing · a day ago
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Another excerpt from my potential fix-it fic for the C2 finally. I really liked this a lot, so have another cute mental image. There is a lack of Mollymauk content and apparently I have to fix that too :P
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“Moonweaver decks are unique to the person that worships her, so nothing I tell you about my cards will apply to anyone else’s cards.” Molly was saying. Caleb had never seen most of the cards; it had been too painful to look whenever Jester had pulled them out. Each card had two parts, or at least were intended to be; some were unfinished or completely blank, like Molly hadn’t gotten the idea for the other half of the card yet. He slid several of the cards towards Jester, the ones she’d added to the deck with a smile after inspecting them one by one complimenting her on her work. He was frowning though, when he got through the stack of finished cards, shuffling through the ones with sketches and then the ones left completely blank. 
Caleb’s memory was perfect, so of course he recalled the card that Jester had left at his grave site. He didn’t like the disappointed look on Molly’s face. “Mollymauk,” he said softly, calling Ruby eyes up to him. “Forgive me, I know a bit about The Moonweaver, she is not a typical deity for a tiefling.”
Molly shrugged. “Man who raised me, if you’d forgive the phrase, was a half elf. The way Gustav tells it, Sehanine led me to him.” Clearly everyone was waiting for an explanation and Caleb could tell, rather than see, Molly roll his eyes. “He tells it much better, but, after I woke up, I had no idea where I was or where to go. I just… walked and in the sky was the moon. I don't remember consciously following it, but Gustav liked to say that it was The Moonweaver leading me to him. He’d gone to pray in private on the full moon and found me instead. Anyway, It seemed right to thank her, so I asked him more about her and eventually started making the cards. She really doesn’t ask for much, so it was easy to follow her.”
“So,” Fjord interjected. “Each time you tell a fortune are you actually praying to the Moonweaver?”
Molly grinned at him, resting his cheek in his palm. “Right under the empire’s nose.”
“Wait,” It was Beau, this time, leaning in incredulously. “Then what's with the thing about the Platinum Dragon?”
“He’s an approved god, Moonweaver encouraged deceit and creativity. And now you know why I’m so full of bullshit all the time.” The salon was filled with laughter. Even Caleb couldn't help, but smile.
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lesbeauien · a month ago
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Some of my most favorite completely pivotal, campaign-changing moments from Critical Role Campaign 2, in no particular order:
-mail fraud
-walking through a literal, not-space-related, massively long tunnel-like worm hole from one continent to another. with no DM prompting to do so. they chose this.
-blueberry cupcakes
-almost killing a weird purple dude with a weird geometric object, letting him go only for him to get killed by the government an instant later, and then being like “well I don’t want the GOVERNMENT to have whatever that is” and stealing it back on a whim. and then just. carrying around a powerful magical relic of unknown significance. for months. just jangling around in their bags and occasionally being whipped out for a once-a-day reroll. this thing started a WAR and then disappeared from under the noses of TWO NATIONS and these random adventuring chucklefucks had it the whole time
-appearing for an audience before a queen of a foreign land wearing BDSM gear and whipping out one of their lost religious relics
-The Wildmother loving her weird pink son enough to give him THREE successful divine interventions
-relentlessly attempting to become best friends with a war criminal even after learning that he started a war
-accidentally stealing a pirate ship. not ~accidentally stealing~, actually on accident stealing a pirate ship with no intentions to do so prior to stealing the pirate ship. and then going “I guess we’re pirates now.”
-Fjord flipping off a sea god and destroying his weird sea sword and then refusing or forgetting to get rid of the weird sea orb inside him and then going out to sea after he pissed off the sea god. multiple times.
-Yasha cannot make a wisdom saving throw to save her life her free will and it changed the course of the story. multiple times.
-negotiating peace between warring nations, and then dipping out to go organize and attend a cult convention
-going to their first ever big city and being like “what do we do now? crime? is crime what we do now? crime?” and committing treason and conspiring to murder a city official and joining a crime syndicate led by a wet dude who later turned out to be Jester’s dad
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mophamsa · 18 days ago
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We’re at it again folks.
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starving-and-arting · 2 months ago
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A little Marisha character appreciation 💚🖤💙
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casukaga · 2 months ago
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[yasha voice] “frame so small…yeah, she’s so small…”
🌟 Instagram | Twitter | Youtube | Ko-fi 🌟
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llysaan · 2 months ago
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The photographer and the subject 💙💚
Critical Role modern aus are my current fixation 🥰
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marrowjaw · 2 months ago
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Beau energy is perching on chairs to get a good view
Laudna energy is just straight up crawling upon the table
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thechekhov · 3 months ago
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When you get a chance to perhaps go beyond the limits of all known magic and manipulate the flow of time itself, regardless of consequence, and go back in time to change history...................
but you know it’s a bad idea..... 
but it’s hella tempting. 
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khalliys · 3 months ago
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Hi, yeah, more of this. These screenshots (the first is from ep 93: The Cupcake Moment, the second I don’t know) have nothing to do with each other, but I’m still going to present them to you as Beau having a rough time and Yasha looking like she wants to beat someone (preferably Thoreau) up about it. 
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hanaraad · 3 months ago
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stardustedknuckles · 9 hours ago
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The only thing funnier than Essek watching Fjord coach Beau on how to be inviting five feet in front of him is the fact that he turned the offer down only to show up like a wet cat three hours later. So like. It worked.
He's famous for agreeing to work with Caleb for a 12 persuasion roll but taking Beau up on a dinner invite is the same vibe but stronger.
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marvelousbelladonna · 18 days ago
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Marisha with a sword is like a kid on Christmas Day
Bonus Ashley
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