#char: beauregard

[copperhawkthoughts]

Happy Wednesday!! Today is the day - the last chapter and the epilogue of The Nature of Light are up. I hope you enjoy, and thanks for reading!

…Over the following days Beauregard holes herself up with Caleb and the Volstrucker by turns, spending hours sequestered. Caleb leaves these sessions ashen and distant, scratching at his arms. Astrid is ever aloof, appearing outside of mealtimes only infrequently, but she is never more stone-faced than when Beauregard has released her. The man – Essek learns his name is Wulf – turns out to have a knack for thatching, and spends the hours between interviews atop the roof of the Clay home with Cornelius and Calliope, pitching down charred bundles and lashing in new.

He also joins Essek in the garden, seeming comfortable in his skin bare-headed in the sun and bare-handed in the damp soil, tucking seedlings from the Clays’ greenhouse into freshly-dug beds.

“We were farmer’s children, you know. B- Caleb and Asa and me,” he says congenially one morning, as they work toward each other from opposite ends of a row, pulling weeds.

“Indeed,” says Essek, cloaked and rose-gloved beneath a ludicrously beribboned sunhat. “I was not.” Wulf barks a laugh, loud and genuine.

Wulf also flirts, in a bluff and genial way very different from Kingsley’s swaggering charm, with Fjord, with Jester, with Fjord, with Kingsley himself, with Veth and Yeza, with Fjord, and even once with Caduceus, who only laughs and tells him to find another tree.

He never flirts with Caleb, nor with Essek. With Caleb it is clear there is some history there which Wulf has no desire to stir up, but Essek is unsure why he has been spared, save that the afternoon after their return, when Essek had sought refuge from the brightest sun within the cool walls of the Clays’ temple-home, Wulf had ducked his head in while Caleb had been expounding on the principles of his Vault of Amber. Wulf had watched from the door for a moment, eyes on Caleb’s gesturing hands, and then caught Essek’s eye, winked, and disappeared.

The Volstrucker have been with them for three days when Beauregard pronounces herself satisfied with her gathered testimony, and the holiday atmosphere shifts. After dinner that night, over mugs of fragrant tea Essek now understands the nomenclature of and tumblers of Clay homebrew he swiftly learned to decline, the Nein begin to strategize…

Read the rest here

#critical role #the mighty nein #essek thelyss #copperhawk writes #cr fanfic #shadowgast #the nature of light #wip wednesday

[thedevilofblackbrook]

{ DEMO TBA }-{ CHARACTERS }-{ MAIN BLOG }-{ PLAYLIST }

the barn leaned over, the vultures dried their wings

the moon climbed up an empty sky

the sun sank down behind the tree on the hill

there's a killer and he's coming through the rye

but maybe he's the father of that lost little girl

it's hard to tell in this light

and i want to know the same thing

everyone wants to know

how's it going to end?

--- TOM WAITS, "HOW'S IT GONNA END?"

after the death of your mysterious and secluded great-aunt, you receive a letter from her lawyer saying that she's left you all her earthly belongings: her house, her money, and her secrets.

in order to claim your inheritance, you travel to blackbrook, a small town in the south, to clean out her old and dilapidated house. the town itself is even stranger than the situation you've found yourself in; your house is far on the edge of town, the townsfolk all but avoid you, and you feel like your being watched at all times.

the shadows around your new home seem darker every day. death now permeates everything around you, and the fate of the town is up to you: save those around you or let them burn?

set in a fictional town somewhere between the late 1890s and early 1900s, the devil of blackbrook is a southern gothic 18+ interactive novel with horror elements.

customize your character's name, gender identity, pronouns, physical appearance, personality, and more.

solve the mystery plauging this town with the help of a strange group of townsfolk and outsiders.

romance any of eight characters, all of which have fixed genders but are available to romance by all mcs.

your actions have consequences: "true evil is, above all things, seductive. [...] like a siren, beckoning you to ruinous shore." -- the creature, penny dreadful; evil is as evil does, your choices may help your foes and alienate you from your friends (or maybe you've decided the roles are reversed? who am i to judge?)

THE DEVIL: ???

the white eyes. the darkness that creeps into town. the shadow around every corner. makes you feel as if air is being sucked out of your lungs. when will it stop? please god let it stop.

THE SHERIFF: abraham beauregard.

he's been doing this for far too many years. duty. authority. he needs to be in power because without it he is nothing. if the town finds that his station is no longer useful, his life will crumble and fall apart. he knows there's evil. but pretending it's explainable is much easier than accepting he can't do anything to stop it.

THE HOLY MAN: pastor moses kelly.

wake up, preach, bless the folks that are scared (even though he knows it won't do anything), barely eat, barely sleep, wake again. the church is old and it's bones are brittle and he thinks he can't stand the image of the crucifixion any longer. when the devil calls, how can he prove the might of god when the sky seems so empty?

THE CAMBION: samson graves.

he never asked to be here, never asked for this body, for this inherent evil carved into his tendons and bones. his mother was good, but she's long gone now, his home a charred grave behind him. violence and death follows him wherever he walks. maybe killing the devil will bring him peace... even if he doesn't know what that feels like.

THE OUTLAW: stranger wyatt.

stranger... strange man... rider upon a pale horse. he claims the outlaw life brought him freedom but... he longs to settle. plant roots and watch a life grow. but his hands have done so much wrong and he thinks that he doesn't deserve anything good. maybe the only thing that could save his cursed soul is sacrifice. will he give until there is nothing left?

THE REVENANT: francis.

they don't know who they are. what they are. they crawled out of the earth coughing up dirt with nothing but a ring and sheer terror. they remember love, happiness, sadness, and warmth but all that's left is fear and cold and anger and a deep sense that something is very, very wrong. the house is familiar, but will it remember them?

THE BRIDE: mrs. ethel de loughrey.

she misses her home. her mother. her baby brother. her father was loud and terrible but she would trade anything to be out of this loveless marriage and quiet (too quiet) house. she resigns herself to baking and sewing but she longs for so much more. her husband isn't mean or rough but he wishes she was someone else and she wishes she was anywhere but here.

THE PROPHETESS: constance abernathy.

she sees too much. knowledge is a terrible thing when cursed with too much of it. everyone she meets she sees how they end: jealous husband, robbed and killed by outlaws, a mistress who wishes to be more. the worst ones are those filled with darkness and terror and eyes. those fucking eyes. she doesn't know what it is but she knows its not of this world. but no one beliefs the woman with the strange visions.

THE ARTIST: rosalyn goodwin.

the people of the town whisper about her behind her back about her "unwomanly" proclivities, but she couldn't care less. she keeps herself busy in front of a canvas and she wouldn't have it any other way. her hands are stained with paint and she fills canvas after canvas with beautiful pieces. this town does not accept women who live outside of their expectations, but perhaps somewhere in the west will provide a more welcoming place for her art.

#the devil of blackbrook #interactive fiction #horror #southern gothic

[bornbreathless]

@accustiv from x

06:20 [text: beauregard] how and why are yuo awake this early jesus fukcing christ

06:21 [text: beauregard] yes i have ur jacket and ur not getting it back

06:21 [attachment: beauregard] {it's a photo clearly taken the previous night, where Char is a) definitely wearing the jacket and b) definitely more than a little drunk}

06:22 [text: beauregard] mine now

#accustiv #((she didn't just borrow it she STOLE it))

[willowdied]

WHAT  DOES  YOUR  HEART  LOOK  LIKE?

BEAUREGARD 

a tangled ball of red strings ~ Who are you without the company of others? You aren’t sure, but you know that you aren’t fond of whoever it is. You are an actor, a pretty face and a pleasant song. Many idolize you, or love you, but you can never be sure of how sincere it is. Your heart is buried under the letters they leave you, sealed with a kiss. It can’t be untangled from the red strings they’ve attached to you. You deserve to find something, someone, true and faithful to hold your heart in place. You don’t have to be everything to everyone.

IMOGEN 

iced over, out of the sun ~ Your heart is very lonely, isn’t it? Is your fortress of ice self-made? Are others afraid of you, or are you afraid of them? Are you afraid of hurting them, or of being hurt? Vulnerability and connection can be frightening, but that’s no reason to shy away from their light, to tuck yourself small into corners, to build up frigid walls to keep yourself from feeling. You will heal when you allow yourself to draw closer to the flames and thaw.

LEX 

molten lava and charred flesh ~ Your heart burned so fiercely that it burnt itself out, leaving horrible scars in its wake; scars inside your chest and on the hands of those who touched you, the hearts of anyone who got close enough to connect to yours. The person you are now is no longer recognizable, burnt up by your own anger and passion and love. The injuries can never be fully erased, but they can be soothed with time and trust and forgiveness.

STEPHANIE 

iced over, out of the sun ~ Your heart is very lonely, isn’t it? Is your fortress of ice self-made? Are others afraid of you, or are you afraid of them? Are you afraid of hurting them, or of being hurt? Vulnerability and connection can be frightening, but that’s no reason to shy away from their light, to tuck yourself small into corners, to build up frigid walls to keep yourself from feeling. You will heal when you allow yourself to draw closer to the flames and thaw.

MARIANNE 

broken, missing pieces that once were there ~ Your heart has been torn before, chipped and maybe even shattered. Some pieces will never be recovered, and you are shaped by the loss. But it can still be shaped into something tangible, something good, even with its flaws and imperfections. You don’t have to do all the work of rebuilding by yourself. Allow other hands to leave their fingerprints on the new heart you create from the remnants.

tagged by @aschcregen​ !  tagging @risingmccns , @forwardmoved , @artaemisia , @thrillorl, @horizontouched , @macabrepuppet , @betweenthesinnersandthesaints , @betterto-die-thanto-crawl , & @chmerical , & YOU Steal and tag me!

#ha #ouch #thank you for the tag my friend!!!! #( marianne ~ tagged ) #( stephanie ~ tagged ) #( lex ~ tagged ) #( imogen ~ tagged ) #( beau ~ tagged ) #( queue )

[lcvnderhaze]

if you take too long to hit me back I can't promise you how i'll react but all i can say is at least i'll wait for you lately i've been on a roller coaster tryna get a hold of my emotions but all that i know, is i need you close and i'ma scream and shout for what i love passionate but i don't give no fucks i admit that i'm a lil' messed up but i can hide it when i'm all dressed up i'm obsessive and i love too hard good at overthinking with my heart how you even think it got this far?

MINHA CENTRAL DE CHARS

001.   |   𝐌𝐄𝐄𝐓 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐕𝐈𝐄𝐕𝐄﹆   basic info

nome completo: genevieve eloise beauregard

conhecida como: a herdeira do reino encantado

local de nascimento: reino encantado

apelido: gennie, gen

pronome: ela/dela

idade: 29 anos

signo: touro

alinhamento moral: neutro

mbti: infp (mediador)

profissão: dona de academia de dança, bailarina e infliuencer social

lealdade: mocinhos

sexualidade: bissexual

traços positivos: paciente, criativa, leal e responsável

traços negativos: teimosa, impaciente, arrogante, mimada.

conto: barbie: as doze princesas bailarinas

inspiração: genevieve (barbie), kate sharma (bridgerton), piper halliwell (charmed), kang ji won (marry my husband)

face claim: phoebe dynevor

002.   |   𝐌𝐄𝐄𝐓 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐕𝐈𝐄𝐕𝐄   ﹆   about her

sendo a mais velha das irmãs, genevieve é a responsável por garantir o bem estar de todas, ela prioriza suas irmãs mais que tudo e isso acaba fazendo com que ela acabe muitas vezes, deixando suas próprias paixões de lado, mas ela não se importa muito com isso

sendo uma princesa, ela tem pressão para ser perfeita em tudo que faz: dança, cuidar das irmãs, cuidar de sua própria vida pessoal e mais especificamente, um marido, no entanto, ela odeia essa pressão toda e muitas vezes, acaba se escondendo e chorando longe da vista das irmãs, afinal ela deve manter a força para que sua família não desabe

quando a dança foi proibida em seu reino, genevieve fez questão de liderar suas irmãs em busca da fada da dança para que ela pudesse desfazer o feitiço, mas acabaram parando em tão tão distante, um reino novo e desconhecido

em um reino novo, as responsabilidades de genevieve aumentaram: além de ter de cuidar e proteger as irmãs, ela também devia ser a responsável por prover para as mais novas, ela acabou montando uma academia de dança e estabelecendo uma carreira em influencer social, o que acaba gerando a renda para sustentar as irmãs

o maior medo de genevieve atualmente, não é que não consigam voltar para casa ou que não achem a fada da dança, ela tem mais medo de algo acontecer com suas irmãs e não ser capaz de fazer algo para impedir.

003.   |   𝐌𝐄𝐄𝐓 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐕𝐈𝐄𝐕𝐄   ﹆   extra info

ainda vou por algo aqui juro

004.   |   𝐌𝐄𝐄𝐓 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐕𝐈𝐄𝐕𝐄   ﹆   the disclaimers

ainda vou por algo aqui juro +2

#⸻ ✧ 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐄𝐒𝐒 : bio ‘ and the story of us looks a lot like a tragedy now ’ .

[silencehq]

mods eu pensei o seguinte: minha char ter voltado antes pra o acampamento e ter se ferido já que ela estaria na parte dos chalés, vocês indicam que eu faça pov ou interação sobre isso?

Nesse caso específico do drop, nem um nem outro, cabeça laranja. Apenas os semideuses menores (semideuses NPC) ficaram machucados gravemente. Esse drop como combinado com vocês anteriormente, era um drop dando protagonismo aos que participaram da competição dos conselheiros. A primeira parte sendo foco nos eleitos da primeira competição, a segunda parte (o drop) sendo o foco os que não atingiram a pontuação na primeira e segunda, ou que não mandaram as planilhas. Então nenhum semideus deve se machucar gravemente ok? Vai ter outras chances pra isso!

Vou te dar sugestões de POV pra te ajudar a substituir essa ideia já que no momento ela não é aplicável :

Como seu char reagiu quando viu o acampamento meio destruído? Que tal um POV ou Interações sobre isso? Sobre seus sentimentos, sobre ver os chalés meio destruídos, irmãos crianças (NPC) machucados sendo levados para a enfermaria.

Seu char conhecia o filho de Apolo? Que tal um POV sobre o dia da cerimônia? Seria triste e cheio de angst, olha que delicia. Ou... que tal seu char até ter ficado feliz com ele indo de Silena Beauregard? Vai que ele e seu char não se davam bem?

Que tal um POV do seu char vigiando o semideus de Hades? Sabe-se lá o que ele faz lá com Quíron.

Acreditem, vocês terão muitas chances de parar na enfermaria ou se ferir gravemente no futuro.

#swf:ask #admin. dionisio

[cranesofibycus]

T E A M   H U M A N : conquering the world, one library visit at a time {  2x18  |  2x89  }

#critical role #cr spoilers #team human #empire kids #empire siblings #caleb widogast #beauregard #gifs by b #cast: marisha #cast: liam #gifs: constructed #gifs: cinematic #c: 2 #ep: 2x89 #char: caleb #char: beauregard

[notophelia]

Jester: *casts multiple fire spells*

Fjord: *polymorphs into a T-Rex*

Me: Well, they’re making sure Caleb is with them in spirit. What’s Beau gonna do?

Beau: *leaves a charred corpse*

Me: ...oh.

#vm vs m9 #critical role spoilers #jester lavorre #fjord tusktooth #beauregard lionett #caleb widogast #i don't know what i expected #and of course the charred corpse is vax #which is hilarious and wrong on multiple levels

[fjoundfjamily]

literally every single time i see an image of sokka atla i immediately think it's beauregard critrole

#my only way of telling which fandom art containing one of these two is for is by looking at the other chars #atla #cr #critical role #sokka #beauregard lionett

[gwilymplots]

lia’s really bored and likes to procrastinate a series:

↳ dimitri beauregard’s instagram

#ny char: dimitri beauregard. #my edits. #os números tão todos tronchos? tão #vou ajeitar? não #porque vai ficar mais cagado ainda

[thedevilofblackbrook]

he's been doing this for far too many years. duty. authority. he needs to be in power because without it he is nothing. if the town finds that his station is no longer useful, his life will crumble and fall apart. he knows there's evil. but pretending it's explainable is much easier than accepting he can't do anything to stop it.

ABRAHAM BEAUREGARD: thirty-eight years old; sun-tanned skin; shoulder-length salt-and-pepper hair; thick, more-grey-than-black beard; grey, tired eyes; square jaw and grecian nose; stands about six foot one; has crude, faded tattoos on arms and chest that can be seen when sleeves are rolled up or shirt is unbuttoned; wears worn-in clothes, usually cotton overshirts and dark jeans; always wears a sheriff badge and an old brown cowboy hat.

wake up, preach, bless the folks that are scared (even though he knows it won't do anything), barely eat, barely sleep, wake again. the church is old and it's bones are brittle and he thinks he can't stand the image of the crucifixion any longer. when the devil calls, how can he prove the might of god when the sky seems so empty?

PASTOR MOSES KELLY: twenty-five years old; pale skin; short, wavy, dark brown (almost black) hair; alabaster skin with freckles on cheeks and nose; dark, deep-set black-brown eyes; clean-shaven, gaunt face; stands about five foot eight; wears black clothes with clerical collar during mass and around town; usually seen wearing a cool-toned, well-made frock coat.

he never asked to be here, never asked for this body, for this inherent evil carved into his tendons and bones. his mother was good, but she's long gone now, his home a charred grave behind him. violence and death follows him wherever he walks. maybe killing the devil will bring him peace... even if he doesn't know what that feels like.

SAMSON GRAVES: thirty years old; rich, copper skin; burn scars on hands, arms, and chest; black, curly hair that ends around his ears; hooked nose, full lips, and hooded, dark brown eyes; scruffy beard; stands about six foot six, but slouches; wears old black clothes, black leather gloves, and a black cowboy hat kept low over his eyes; wears a bandana over nose and mouth when walking around town.

stranger... strange man... rider upon a pale horse. he claims the outlaw life brought him freedom but... he longs to settle. plant roots and watch a life grow. but his hands have done so much wrong and he thinks that he doesn't deserve anything good. maybe the only thing that could save his cursed soul is sacrifice. will he give until there is nothing left?

STRANGER WYATT: twenty-seven years old; bronze, scarred skin; long, wavy, sun-bleached brown hair; day-old stubble on a strong jaw; almond-shaped, hazel eyes with a scar running over his right eye; stands around five foot eleven; wears warm-toned clothes with dark brown leather chaps and vest; dark brown, dirt covered cowboy hat; wears multiple gold rings on his fingers; rides a white american cream draft horse.

they don't know who they are. what they are. they crawled out of the earth coughing up dirt with nothing but a ring and sheer terror. they remember love, happiness, sadness, and warmth but all that's left is fear and cold and anger and a deep sense that something is very, very wrong. the house is familiar, but will it remember them?

FRANCIS: true age unknown, physically in late twenties/early thirties; shaggy, mousy brown hair; downturned eyes, one pale blue and the other a milky white; sculpted face with an aquiline nose; ashen skin; stands around five foot ten, but is hunched-over when they stand/walk; brutal scar running across their neck; wears ragged, torn clothes and a stolen black duster.

she misses her home. her mother. her baby brother. her father was loud and terrible but she would trade anything to be out of this loveless marriage and quiet (too quiet) house. she resigns herself to baking and sewing but she longs for so much more. her husband isn't mean or rough but he wishes she was someone else and she wishes she was anywhere but here.

ETHEL DE LOUGHREY: twenty-four years old; straight, honey-blonde hair that ends at her hips; fair skin; wide, light brown eyes framed by thick lashes; heart-shaped face and button nose; stands about five foot five; wears light colours and expensive, well-made dresses and skirts; wears a gold wedding band on her left hand and a silver locket around her neck.

she sees too much. knowledge is a terrible thing when cursed with too much of it. everyone she meets she sees how they end: jealous husband, robbed and killed by outlaws, a mistress who wishes to be more. the worst ones are those filled with darkness and terror and eyes. those fucking eyes. she doesn't know what it is but she knows its not of this world. but no one beliefs the woman with the strange visions.

CONSTANCE ABERNATHY: twenty-nine years old; curly, auburn hair usually styled in a messy braid; wide, tired, dark green eyes; golden skin; full lips and a roman nose; stands about five foot seven; chewed and bleeding fingernails; wears mourning clothes with a dark green shawl; wears a wedding band on a chain around her neck.

the people of the town whisper about her behind her back about her "unwomanly" proclivities, but she couldn't care less. she keeps herself busy in front of a canvas and she wouldn't have it any other way. her hands are stained with paint and she fills canvas after canvas with beautiful pieces. this town does not accept women who live outside of their expectations, but perhaps somewhere in the west will provide a more welcoming place for her art.

ROSALYN GOODWIN: thirty-five years old; thick, curly, black hair that ends at her mid-back (occasionally kept back by a scarf); narrow-set, amber eyes framed by long lashes; warm, tawny skin; round face and dimpled cheeks; stands about five foot eleven; wears bright clothes in both masculine and feminine fashions, which are usually covered in paint.

#the devil of blackbrook #ch: the sheriff. #ch: the holy man. #ch: the cambion. #ch: the outlaw. #ch: the revenant. #ch: the bride. #ch: the prophetess. #ch: the artist. #misc: character list.

[peach-the-owl]

Mighty Nein

Child of the Nein (CotN) Series:

First Meetings pt. 1

First Meetings pt. 2

Learning About Each Other

Your Race and Personality

New Friends

Your Abilities

When You get Hurt

Winter Festivities

You Call them Mom/Dad

Taken

Rescued

Welcome…

Memory Lose

Trick or Treat

What Lucien Thinks of You

A Terrible Fate

A Second Chance

Cuddles

Other:

Birthday Surprise

Carry On

Payed Performance

Lost Time

Godlings

Dancing With Death

Jester

Collaborative Effort

CotN First Blood

CotN Divine Intervention

CotN Meeting Marion

CotN Sweet Valentine

CotN Nightmares (pt. 3)

CotN The Ruby and the Sapphires Jewel

CotN The Little Things You See

Nott

Collaborative Effort

CotN Nightmares

CotN A Matter of Family

Caleb

Caleb Widogast & Sibling!Reader

CotN Playing with Fire

CotN Acidic Touch

CotN Just a Scratch

CotN Nightmares (pt. 2)

CotN Charred Memories

On the Road Together

Party Preperations

Caduceus

CotN Accidents

CotN A Peaceful Stroll

CotN Bolted Pain, Healing Touch

CotN Nightmares (pt. 2)

CotN Violence… It’s Natural

CotN Meet the Clay’s

Fjord

CotN No Matter What

CotN Training Session

CotN Nightmares

A Mask of Many Faces

A Hint of Blue

CotN DISTRACTION… PUNISH… BAIT…

Beauregard

CotN Nightmares

CotN Sweet Valentine

CotN Full Custody

Yasha

CotN Strength has a Scent?

CotN Nightmares (pt. 2)

CotN Sweet Valentine

CotN The Forsaken

Mollymauk

Back from the Dead

CotN Attention

CotN An Uncomfortable Encounter

CotN Nightmares (pt. 3)

CotN In My Time of Need

Lucien

CotN Meeting Again, for the First Time

CotN Snowballs and Sunrise

CotN A Betrayal?

CotN A Moment of Reprieve

CotN The Anomaly

Essek

Shadowhands Apprentice

Worth

On the Road Together

In Runes

The Shadowhand and the Taskhand

#critical role #critical role & reader #mighty nein #the mighty nein #mighty nein & reader #jester lavorre #jester & reader #nott the brave #nott & reader #veth brenatto #veth & reader #caleb widogast #caleb & reader #caduceus clay #caduceus & reader #fjord #fjord stone #fjord & reader #beauregard lionett #beauregard & reader #yasha nydoorin #yasha & reader #mollymauk tealeaf #mollymauk & reader #lucien #lucien & reader #essek thelyss #essek & reader #nothing romantic here

[iatethepomegranate]

We are not alone in the dark with our demons, Chapter 7

In which Caleb buys a house in Rexxentrum with Beau and Yasha, becomes a professor, is loved a lot by the Nein (including lots of Shadowgast in most chapters), and fights to protect vulnerable people from going through what he did.

Chapter summary: Time is of the essence. Caleb cannot let it end this way. He will not let more lives be ruined by Trent Ikithon.

Notes: CW: Caleb's backstory but REALLY BAD, references to child abuse, vomiting

More detailed warnings and a chapter summary can be found in the end notes on AO3.

If you need to skip, you can probably read up to Caleb telling Beau to use Step of the Wind. There is a reference to past child abuse a few lines above that. If that's an issue, stop reading as soon as Caleb flags down a villager.

Chapter title is from Eight by Sleeping At Last again.

****

Chapter 7: For the innocent, for the vulnerable, I'll show up on the front lines with a purpose

They landed. The stormclouds were heavy overhead. Caleb hadn’t witnessed a storm in Blumenthal for a long time, and it disoriented him.

“Caleb, which way’s north?” asked Beauregard.

He grounded himself, breathed, pointed. Beauregard angled herself in a northeastern direction and started off. He followed close behind; Astrid and Wulf were half a step behind him on either side.

Caduceus had mentioned an orchard. Caleb had his head on a swivel, but he couldn’t see any fruit trees. And the buildings seemed slightly… off.

Oh. Oh no.

Caleb felt sick.

“Wait,” said Astrid. “We’re in the wrong place.”

Caleb held himself very still, silently counting eins, zwei, drei, fier, fünf… “Okay.” He breathed deeply. “Around me, please.”

Of all the times for a teleport to send them off-target. He wanted to scream, but instead, he focused hard on every little detail Caduceus had provided. And he cast again.

Again, they landed. The orchard trees were in sight. Caleb pointed them in the right direction again. The road was muddy, squelching as they ran. There were a handful of people still in the street, making last-minute preparations for the storm, and they definitely looked askance at a group of (somewhat) strangers tearing down the street.

“Astrid, what’s the name of the family?” asked Caleb.

“Baumann.”

Caleb caught the nearest villager who didn’t look too freaked out, switching to Zemnian. “Excuse me. My name is Caleb Widogast. I am a teacher at Soltryce Academy. We are looking for the Baumann family.”

The man he had stopped looked him up and down for far longer than Caleb could stand under the circumstances. “What’s your business?”

“We need to discuss Nico’s tuition this year,” said Astrid. “He was set to graduate, but the seniors may need additional support after the departure of Master Ikithon.” She held out her hand. “Archmage Astrid Beck. I am Ikithon’s replacement.”

“All right. What’s the rush?”

Caleb sighed, because he had to let something out. “I had not wanted to speak of this in public, but if we must… Master Ikithon was arrested a few months ago for abusing his students. Nico and Felix have been missing since just before the arrest. We have located Felix, but we have concerns about Nico. This is time-sensitive.”

“This Master Ikithon did something to the boys?” The man’s face didn’t give much away, but he pointed down the street. “Head to the end of the road, turn right, and keep going until you see the house with the cabbage patch.”

“Thank you.”

They ran. That had taken far too much time. Caleb should have been pulled the abusive teacher card from the beginning. Fuck.

“Beauregard, Step of the Wind? We three can fly.”

“Got it.”

Caleb, Wulf and Astrid cast Fly on themselves, and Beau began to fucking book it. She was technically faster than them, even with flight, but she only pulled a little ahead. If they were too late, there wasn’t much she could do alone.

There was an odd scent in the air. Caleb wasn’t sure if he was imagining it, until Beau yelled over her shoulder, “I smell smoke!”

They turned the corner and pushed onwards, and soon it became clear looking for cabbages was the least of their problems. There was a house on fire.

Time stretched, before Caleb breathed and it snapped like a bowstring. They were coming up fast, and there was barely any more time to think.

“Wulf, find the boy,” Caleb said. “We’ll get inside.”

“I see him.” Wulf broke off towards a barn, where there was a young man half-hidden, staring at the flames. There was no time to determine his condition; that had to be up to Wulf.

They reached the house. There was a thick plank of wood jammed against the door handle. Caleb cast Telekinesis, threw it out of the way.

Beau charged ahead.

“Wait!”

Beau stopped. Caleb used the spell to throw the door open, and there was an explosion of flame outward, which would have hurt. Belatedly, rushing to open the door may have been a mistake, but there was no time to think about it. They raced inside and crouched low, coughing from the smoke. They could barely see, aside from flickers of orange light all around them. The heat was unbearable.

“I’ll start on the fire,” said Astrid, throwing out a Ray of Frost at the staircase. Aside from the roaring of the flames, there were not the noises Caleb could remember. It was almost… too quiet.

Beau got out her fan. “Split up?”

“I’ll go upstairs.” It would be safer for him to go. He could control the flames better than she could with her limited-use fan, or her Belabour. Best to keep her close to Astrid. “Be careful of backdrafts.”

She punched his shoulder and crawled deeper into the house, while Caleb ducked towards the staircase he could barely see through the thick smoke. Nico must have expended most of his spells to have burned the house this quickly.

Caleb had to douse and climb over a fallen beam to get up the stairs, pulling his shirt over his mouth and nose for a bit of protection. He could not shake his dread.

The smoke was thicker upstairs. Caleb’s eyes watered. He tamped down what flames he could see with his Control Flames cantrip. His hand found a doorframe. Door open, no backdraft risk. He peeked inside, squinting against the roiling smoke. But he couldn’t see far enough for just a glance. He cast Control Flames again, pushing down as much flame as he could.

He crawled inside the room, his hands quickly finding the frame of a single bed. Probably Nico’s. He felt around for a moment longer to be sure, but it was unlikely anyone was here. He moved on, coughing hard enough to tear his throat. His eyes streamed from the smoke. He cast again. But it would take time for the smoke to clear, even as the flames slowly dwindled around him.

Caleb crawled down the hallway, finding another doorframe. Felt for the door. Closed. Rested the back of his hand against it. Hot. Opening it was too risky without improving the conditions up here. Even if he was safely away from the backdraft by using telekinesis, if someone was on the other side of the door, they could get hurt.

Caleb aimed a Disintegrate spell for the ceiling above him and hoped it would punch a hole all the way through. Memories of what to do in a fire were slowly filtering through his scattered mind. Vertical ventilation mattered in a building fire.

He let the spell loose, and it punched a hole the size of Caleb’s head all the way into the sky. A horrible thought occurred to him, even as smoke began to escape and oxygen equalise, slow as it was.

Caleb knew a lot about fire. In a situation where a backdraft was possible, it was highly unlikely to find survivors. Caleb tamped down the flames around him again, which had grown with the presence of more oxygen.

Then he stepped back and Disintegrated the door, taking a huge chunk of it away. He kicked the jagged remains open and crawled into the room. Control Flames once more.

He reached out, and found a shape on the floor. Edged closer. A hand. Blackened. It twitched, and then fell still. Caleb gently felt the wrist for a pulse. Couldn’t find one.

He edged around the charred body, and found a second one. There were no discernible features left. Just a vague human shape, burned to a crisp.

Caleb flung out his Control Flames cantrip again, dousing the flames in the room. Then, he pulled out his copper wire. “Beauregard, call off the search. They are dead. Get outside. Astrid and I will finish putting it out.”

Beauregard’s reply was instant, raspy. “Okay. I’ll check on Eadwulf. Don’t take too long.”

Caleb was thankful she didn’t say anything else. He kept working his way through the upper floor, snuffing the flames until all that remained was smoke slowly curling towards the hole in the roof. His throat was raw from coughing. Fire gone, he opened all the windows he could find to help ventilate the building and make it safer for Astrid downstairs.

He found her in the kitchen, icing the flames over. “I heard.” Her voice was equally shredded.

Caleb wordlessly helped her put the rest of the flames out. They stepped out of the house. Beauregard had reached Wulf by now, who was kneeling in the grass, cradling Nicolaus.

They approached. Nico’s eyes were glazed over, unfocused, and he lay limp in Wulf’s arms. Astrid twitched.

“He got a little aggressive, but I handled it,” said Wulf. “Now he’s…” He looked up at Caleb. “Like you were.”

A muscle was working in Beauregard’s jaw, but whatever was on her mind, she said something else. “Take me back to the office and bring Caduceus. I’ll watch Felix.”

“Astrid,” Caleb said flatly, “do you have any teleports left?”

“Ja.” She approached Beauregard, moving stiffly. “I’ll be back.” She and Beauregard vanished.

Wulf gazed up at Caleb, his face serious but giving little away as it often did. “Lionett told me what you said.”

Caleb took a deep breath, which itched terribly, forcing him to cough again. “We have one thing left to try. It’s… a long shot.” He knelt in front of Nico, who did not react to his presence. “Do you…” He coughed again. “In your experience with me, do you know if he might…”

“You would sometimes react to things,” said Wulf. “Not often. I don’t know if you could make sense of anything we said. Astrid said you don’t remember anything?”

“I do not.” Caleb sighed; if there was even the slightest chance Nico could hear them, he had to say something. He switched to Zemnian, in case that would be easier for him to process on the off-chance he heard anything. “Nico, my name is Caleb, or Bren. Either is fine. I know you are not well at the moment, but we are going to help you. I promise we will help you.”

There was no reaction. Caleb hadn’t really expected one. Wulf certainly hadn’t. They caught each other’s eyes again over Nico’s head. Wulf’s expression cracked, just a tiny bit. Caleb breathed deep, and Wulf did the same.

Caleb coughed again. Breathing really hurt.

Astrid appeared with Caduceus a few feet away.

Caleb got up, every part of him aching. His fingers were blistered. “Caduceus, let us walk and talk.”

“You do not have to go back in there,” Astrid said.

“I know. I am choosing to go.” Caleb pulled his Transmuter’s Stone from his pocket. “I have a trick I want to try.”

Her eyes fell to the ground. “All right.”

Caleb turned back to the house. Blackened. Smoking. But the flames were gone. He led Caduceus across the ash-spotted grass.

“Beau said it was bad,” said Caduceus.

“It is bad.” Caleb cleared his throat, painfully. “Will you be all right here?”

Caduceus nodded. “We both know I’m not the one to worry about.” He cast a low-level Cure Wounds on Caleb as they walked, and his throat and fingers felt a bit better.

Caleb went through the front door first. A fair amount of smoke had cleared by now, but the acrid scent of burnt wood remained. They headed up the stairs; Caleb used Telekinesis to move the fallen beams.

Light streamed into the upstairs from the opened windows and the hole in the roof. Caduceus looked up at the hole.

“Huh. You did that?”

“Vertical ventilation reduces backdraft risk.” Caleb led Caduceus to the second bedroom. Now that enough smoke had cleared out, he could see the reality of the room, the blackened double bed, compromised dresser, scorched mirror, the two charred human bodies on the floor, closer to the door than he had realised. And a very familiar stench of burned flesh.

Caleb swallowed against nausea, and knelt beside the smaller of the two bodies. “I can try to Raise Dead with my stone. Like Molly. I can only do it once.”

Caduceus knelt beside the larger body, taking in the damage. “Caleb.” He was about to tell Caleb how bad the chances were that they could fix this, and he really really could not handle hearing that from him. Him specifically. Caleb could not afford to break. Not yet.

“I know.” Caleb placed his stone on the woman’s chest. He had researched the Raise Dead spell since figuring out he could use his stone in this way. He knew the spell could close all mortal wounds, but would not replace body parts or organs integral to survival. If the Baumanns had died from smoke inhalation, this would have a higher chance of success. In this state…

Unlikely. But he needed to try. Caleb poured magic into the stone. Beside him, Caduceus placed a large diamond on the other body’s chest and prayed softly to the Wildmother.

Caleb’s stone shattered, and he could feel for just a moment a catch of something. Like he had snagged the corner of the woman’s soul.

“Frau Baumann,” he muttered. “I don’t know if we knew each other when we were children. My name was Bren Ermendrud, and I am here to help your son. He needs you. And this does not have to be your end. The world will be much poorer without you in it.”

The stone glowed, and he felt the soul drifting, snagged by the spell. For a moment, the soul seemed to dip, like it wanted to return. And then, as the stone shattered, it drifted away. He tried to grasp for it, but it slipped through his magic. And then it was gone.

The body was still just a body. There was not enough left of her for him to even recognise. The air was empty. Or maybe there wasn’t any air.

Caduceus sat back, shaking blackened dust of the destroyed diamond from his fingers, and raised his eyes to the window opposite them. “Wildmother, a terrible tragedy has happened here today. This is not the natural way of things. I know this is a huge ask, but… we would like to have these people back.” He waited. A full sixty seconds passed. Nothing changed. He sighed. “I’m sorry, Caleb.”

It was done. They had tried everything they could. And everything had failed.

The nausea crashed over Caleb once again. He tried to breathe, and smelled burnt flesh. He shoved a hand over his nose and mouth, swallowing hard.

Caduceus pulled him to his feet. “Let’s step outside.” He led Caleb out of the room, down the stairs, out the front door.

Caleb gulped the fresh air down. “Go to the others. I… need a… moment.”

Caduceus squeezed his shoulder and approached the barn, where a crowd was beginning to gather. Caleb walked, tightly-controlled, around the side of the house, just out of sight, and threw up on the grass. Wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. Banged the side of his fist against the charred wood until he could think again.

Then he straightened, rolled back his shoulders, and approached the slowly-building clump of people.

Caduceus was doing most of the talking, with some input from a tense Astrid. Wulf had stood up, carrying Nico, who was still unresponsive. They were all out of teleportation spells, but Caleb had brought enough chalk and ink to draw a circle to the archives.

“All right,” Caduceus was saying. “We are going to take Nicolaus to Rexxentrum for care. I think we’re all a bit out of it after all of this.”

“Our gravekeeper will take care of the Baumanns,” said an older man, who Caleb recognised as the mayor. He’d avoided speaking to him last time he visited, so he had managed to not learn his name. “You take care of Nico, and send us updates as you can.”

“That can be arranged,” Astrid said, businesslike. “Thank you.”

“I’ll start drawing a circle to Rexxentrum,” Caleb said quietly. “May I use the barn? The chalk will vanish once we are gone.”

The mayor shrugged. “I suppose.”

Caleb stepped into the barn and cleared a ten-foot circle of hay so he could draw directly on the clay. “High Curator. It’s Caleb. May I bring Astrid and Eadwulf through the Rexxentrum circle? We will have Caduceus and a sick young man with us.”

“Hello, Professor. You may do that. If you are able to update me on your search on your way through, please do.”

Caleb would probably vomit again if he had to talk about it, but Caduceus could get the point across, probably. He knelt on the floor and began to draw the circle, honing down his focus so all he thought about was the next stroke of chalk and ink, and the specific detailing for the Rexxentrum Archives.

The others entered the barn seven minutes and thirty-two seconds into the drawing. “Caduceus, can you Send to Beauregard?”

“Can do,” Caduceus replied. “Hey. We’re coming through the Archives soon.” A pause. “She says she’s gotten Felix settled in a dormitory and is headed home to prepare for our arrival.”

“We should keep Nicolaus away from the Assembly, ja,” Astrid said quietly. “Until we think of something.”

“I have a spell for this, I think. Better to get away from here first.”

“Yudala wants an update on our way,” Caleb said.

“I’ll take care of it,” said Caduceus.

Caleb finished the last few strokes of the circle in silence. It came alight, and they stepped through.

He had to fight back the nausea again once they landed. Caduceus steadied him with a hand on his shoulder. Yudala entered the circle chamber, taking in the ash-covered group and the catatonic boy in Wulf’s arms.

“The monks have informed me the other boy is safe,” they said. “Is this as bad as it looks?”

“It is,” Caduceus replied.

“Very well.” Yudala looked at Caleb specifically; they were smart enough and had enough access to Caleb’s past specifically to put it all together. “We’ll talk later. You all look exhausted.” They turned to Astrid. “I will send a formal invitation in due time.”

“We’ll see how much it panics the Martinet first,” Astrid said without inflection.

“I have my ways around him if need be.” Yudala led them through the archive personally, letting them out into the overcast afternoon. The storm was on its way here. “Get some rest. You have earned it.”

#caleb widogast #astrid beck #eadwulf grieve #critical role #cr2 #cr fanfic #my fics #fanfiction #the pomegranate's professor widogast fic #professor widogast

[vethbrenatto]

🎼 + Beauregard

🎼 + char name - character theme song

oooh that’s tough. Maybe Bulletproof by La Roux? It’s a little upbeat for Beau but the lyrics are relevant. It might be a little more early to mid campaign Beau than current Beau.

#ask #ask game #kissesforcas

[cranesofibycus]

[ oh, those found family feels... | 2x48 ]

+ bonus Tal:

#crteamhumanweek2019 #empire kids #team human week #still one of my favorite moments between them #gifs by b #cast: all #cast: liam #cast: laura #cast: travis #cast: tal #cast: marisha #char: caleb #char: beauregard #c: 2 #ep: 2x48 #gifs: constructed

[heartslaced]

𝐇𝐨𝐰 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐚 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐛𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐮𝐩 𝐞𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐲? 𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐢𝐭 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐠𝐨?

#edit #char: percy jackson and silena beauregard