#shadowgast is just both of them standing | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

mollywauk · 2 years

Text

Did I ever mention the arranged marriage Shadowgast fic I sometimes feverishly outline but never write at 3 in the morning?

Think arranged marriage to friends to enemies to lovers

Bren's meltdown does not happen immediately after his parents die but rather a few torturous, agonising years later when Bren is on the mission that will solidify his position as volstrucker.

The mission? Espionage in Xhorhas under the guise of a peace-making marriage of alliance. His spouse? Essek Thelyss of course.

Bren is passed off as some unimportant nobility who has exceptional standing at the Solstryce Academy (the last part is true). Essek is not the shadowhand yet, just an up and coming wizard of the respected Den Thelyss.

They marry to solidify recent peace talks between the two nations and to infiltrate and glean information from each other, obviously

Bren is teetering on the edge with only denial keeping him balanced at all times

Essek is bitterly disillusioned about the luxom, struggling to get his research into dunamancy approved and isolated from his society as both an elite and a first life with no previous connections

They become friends of a sort, Essek falls onto the Cerberus Assembly's radar when he and Bren are touring the Dwendalian Empire and Bren is told to extract information about dunamancy from him when they switch and move to Xhorhas/Rosohna

Essek's passionate dunamancy theory reignites Bren's own love for magic which then allows for the shattering of every emotional barrier he has put up to cope with his parents' deaths

He knows that once he has all the information from Essek about dunamis that he can give, the Assembly will likely have him kill Essek and disguise it as an accident letting him be free of the marriage without overtly breaking the alliance. And once he is extracted they will damn the alliance anyway.

Essek is quite blinded by Bren's charm when he finally let's his guard down, and he is experiencing friendship for the first time outside of his brother who doesn't really understand him anyway. His notes on Bren's revelations about the Empire subtly shift into notes pertaining to a fascination of Bren himself. It's very confusing to him and he kind of hates it even though he disgustingly has come to enjoy on their little dunamancy lessons over the months

Bren is increasingly being pressured by Trent and the Assembly, simultaneously, his memories of his training slowly dig themselves up from the box he buried them in, he is finally told to start initiating Essek's death, his final mission to steal a beacon and return with all information he has gathered

Bren snaps, tells Essek he's a traitor to their marriage and the alliance, knocks him out and flees Rosohna, triggering a volstrecker attack that was supposed to help him escape if anything went wrong. The volstrucker kill a number of high level Xhorhassians, Essek was supposed to be among them but Bren magically warded his unconscious body before fleeing

The alliance with the Dynasty is obviously over

Astrid and Eadwulf are sent to hunt Bren down but they find him easily after a few weeks. He is found in what little remains of his childhood home, his mind is broken. They take him to the Sanitarium.

Essek is angry and betrayed, he hunts down the volstrucker who were part of the attack after Bren fled and extracts valuable information from them including their interest in the luxon and dunamis. He only tells the Dynasty half of what he finds. The alliance is gone and tensions are rising on the border but incidents are low

In proving himself in his redemption with the captured volstrucker, he is promoted to Shadowhand. After a few years of secretive, tentative back and forth with the Assembly, he hands over the beacons with the exchange of unlimited access to the results gleaned from testing the beacons. The tensions between the two nations become what they are at the beginning of the campaign

Years pass and then Caleb Widogast is in a tavern with his goblin friend Nott and a blue Tiefling is telling him he is very stinky....

The narrative continues into canon with very few changes

When they encounter the Kryn soldier under the city, Caleb speaks Xhorhassian to try and shock him into answering, when questioned by the rest of the Nein he says he had cast a spell without them noticing

He knows a lot more about the beacon than he let's on (he does not know the religious significance just the dunamantic properties) and he quietly studies it when the others are distracted

Caleb accidentally says Essek's name instead of Astrid's when he is drunk, when pressed on this clearly Xhorhassian name, all he will say is that 'Essek' was a kryn scholar he met at a bar once before the war got bad again. Nott and Jester send a letter to Xhorhas (somehow, it's them they find a way) but use the name Caleb. (Essek thinks it is some strange new code being used by the Assembly and agonises over breaking it for months)

When he tells Nott & Beau about his past, he includes some of what happened when he was sent to Xhorhas, thus Nott's accusation "your people did this" has two meanings, your people the Assembly and your people of whom you are still technically married into, the Kryn

Caleb is more knowledgeable about Xhorhassian culture and structures in this au so some things go smoother than in the campaign once they cross the border, he and Beau do not dress up in fetish gear for example

When they present themselves to the Bright Queen no one but Essek recognises him, as he is presumed dead on the word of one of the volstrecker many years ago who revealed that when he fled he was turning traitor on Empire & Dynasty both

Also his appearance is very different from the court persona he assumed as Bren, and his accent is much thicker, having learnt a generic dwendalian accent like all volstrucker (and further hints of upper class Rexxentrum for his persona) in contrast to his natural, rural Zemnian one

They are led away by Essek to visit Yeza in prison and as soon as they are out of sight, he puts Caleb in a dunamantic chokehold and demands to know what they are doing? The Nein bristle at the ready but Caleb (and Beau who guesses Essek is the husband) waves them down

Caleb explains to him in Xhorhassian that he is no friend of the empire and reveals that it was Essek's kill order that made him run, pleads not to reveal him to the Bright Queen and explains Yeza's importance to his friend

Essek reluctantly agrees (worried Bren knows about the beacons and will use it against him)

And so the campaign continues but with the added tension of Caleb and Essek being kind of exes

(and kind of maybe fumbling into friendship and companionship and something elseship as the events unfold.)

Caleb: recites some information about Xhorhassian fashion that Essek told him when they first got married / Essek: Um actually that was a lie I just hated what you were wearing that day

"I did not think I would miss this place but strangely I did." / "Yes well I miss my husband being dead." / "Liked the image it gave, 'Widow Essek'" / "That and your dead body had indefinite custody of the kids" *pointedly looks to Jester/Beau antics*

"Why do they call you Caleb? Is that some kind of title?" / "that's my name. Now." / "how many names does a dwendalian need, you people only have one lifetime?"

#cr2 #cr2 spoilers #arranged marriage #shadowgast #political marriage #essek #bren aldric ermendrud #caleb widogast #essek thelyss #fic idea #the mighty nein #long post

256 notes · View notes

janitorjuliann · 1 year

Text

i think what makes FCG/FRIDA so beloved is that its a basically unexplored relationship dynamic? not because theyre robots. but in years and years and multiple campaigns, i dont believe we've ever had a relationship that's just. nice?

theres no internal character struggles or external forces keeping them apart. theyre not a slowburn juggernaught, not a one night stand. although it does inform both their characters in fun and interesting ways, its not terribly complicated and layered.

its just two people who met, liked each other, got together without much fuss, and are enjoying kissing and holding hands and using petnames on each other.

and while i do hope for some conflict or hardship, because i love drama and i think the actors will handle it in a super interesting way, im finding it very refreshing to watch critical role for once do a relationship thats quite simple and lovely - a fairy floss love story, as compared to the seven course meals that are, say, perc'ahlia or shadowgast - and i think a lot of fans feel the same

#critical role #just thinking my little thoughts. these robits in love have bewitched me heart and soul.#long post for ts

36 notes · View notes

saltytothecore · 4 months

Note

INFINITE REGRESS AND POLLEN PLS POLLEN IF I HAVE TO CHOOSE ONE BUT I WOULD LIKE BOTH V MUCH PLS PLS PLS

hey blu 💙

infinite regress is a shadowgast timeloop fic - Essek accidentally kicks it off during the fight with Lucien and eventually ends up in canon, where he then has to deal with the fallout

pollen is a sex pollen fic for sex pollen haters. Essek gets dosed in Aeor with a probably not lethal but definitely miserable sex pollen. Caleb offers to help, downplaying his own feelings in the process, which Essek first turns down but comes around to after he can't stand it anymore. Instead of the pollenee being passive, Essek takes charge, to Caleb's surprise and delight, because Essek has had it bad for Caleb but hadn't figured out how to tell him. Cue misunderstandings and aspec thoughts afterward

snippets for both below

infinite regress:

“Are you all right, where are you,” he rambles, panicked words tumbling from his mouth. “Are the others with you, please be specific, please, I’ll come immediately, just tell me, Jester, please be—” The spell snaps, all his words used. Lamely, he finishes with a meek “all right.”

He presses his hands to his mouth, waiting, praying for a reply.

“Essek!” He makes a noise that cannot decide if it is a sob or a laugh as Jester’s voice fills his mind. “We’re at home, at the Xhorhaus—”

It worked.

He saved them.

It worked.

Essek does not even wait for her to finish, Teleporting immediately into that familiar address. He appears in the main hall, only feet from Jester and Fjord. Her face is screwed up in concentration, and Fjord’s hands are held up, to count for her.

“You don’t sound good, did something bad happen? Do you need help? What’s going on? Are you okay?”

Essek winces, the rest of her words finally catching up to him, on a slight delay from what his ears have heard.

“Jester!”

They both start. Essek’s heart is hammering in his chest. They’re alive.

Essek throws himself at her, taking her by the shoulders and kissing both cheeks, greeting her like the beloved denmate she is, then throws his arms around her neck. She flinches, but reaches back, hugging him so hard it hurts.

He laughs, wheezy, until she lets him go.

He turns to Fjord, grabbing him by the arm, just to reassure himself. Down the hall, Caduceus, Beauregard, and Yasha poke their heads out of the dining room. He can barely see them through his tears. They’re alive. They’re all alive.

“Ach, what’s going on?” comes a familiar, beloved voice from further in the house. Caleb, Caleb, leaning out of the door to the training room. His hair is haphazardly tied up, and there’s a bit of ink on the side of his nose, and he’s frowning in that way he does when he’s interrupted from study.

He’s never looked more perfect.

Essek cannot bear the distance—he closes it with a bit of magic, vanishing in a swirl of mist as he folds space until he is standing before Caleb. Caleb’s frown vanishes, replaced with wide eyes and a parted mouth.

It’s—it’s too close to the last memory Essek has of him.

He wipes it away with a kiss, touches him like he’d tried to before—before he died. Essek trembles against him, but Caleb stands firm. Stands—

Still.

annnd pollen:

Essek paces the length of the room, breathing labored like he’s running. His temples are glistening in the low light, making him look fever sweltered. His pupils are blown wide, and that is its own thing.

His agitation is contagious—Caleb is fidgeting, suddenly regretting taking a seat.

“Stop means—” Essek growls, palms the bulge in his pants. “I don’t want to get more complicated than stop. Or, two taps, anywhere on my person. Or—” a word Caleb has never heard before, probably Undercommon, but maybe Essek speaks whatever language the pebbles preceding a rockfall do. “Just throw me across the room with the spell of your choice, if you are no longer comfortable with the proceedings.”

Caleb reaches out, catches Essek by the elbow. The silk there is damp with sweat. Suddenly all of Essek’s attention is on Caleb—blown out pupils, slightly parted mouth, perked ears.

“The same will go for you?” Caleb’s boundaries are not the only ones in play. He is trying to help, yes, but the medicine need not be bitter.

Three breaths over nine seconds, loud in the relative silence.

“Yes, of course.” He says it like a formality. Caleb wonders if he should push, to properly hammer out the understanding that, even to Essek’s detriment, he would back off, but Essek throws a knee onto the sofa and hovers over Caleb.

“Is this all right?”

“J—ja.”

Essek pulls his other leg up, sinking into Caleb’s lap. He is sitting taller than Caleb, this way. If Caleb is to look at him, he will be looking up. Caleb presses into the sofa, letting his head fall back.

“I would start with—” Essek’s eyes fall to Caleb’s mouth. Caleb nods, suddenly not trusting himself to speak.

Essek leans down, resting most of his weight on arms braced either side of Caleb’s head against the sofa back, and tastes his lips. The first brush is a question, a hypothesis—soft, well kept lips on his, testing give and angle. This close, Caleb can feel the poison’s heat radiating off Essek. Would swear, on his life, that he can hear his rabbit-fast pulse. Essek makes a noise, low in his throat, almost like surprise, and then there is a fist in Caleb’s hair and a tongue between his teeth.

Any thoughts of having to coax Essek through this evaporate like they’ve been set to a hard boil. There is only trying to keep up.

5 notes · View notes

professor-rye · 2 years

Note

PLEASE tell me about "hustlecat???"

Oh man. I am so excited about the Hustlecat AU So the shortest answer is that Hustlecat is a really cute little dating sim where you start working at a cat cafe, and you can date your coworkers. This AU is a Hustlecat x Mighty Nein crossover The long answer is that this is a Modern with secret magic slow burn Shadowgast Cat Cafe AU, where early campaign Caleb and Nott are homeless up until they get a job at this very strange and mysterious cat cafe owned by a handsome drow :D I'll be honest though, the premise may be sweet and soft, but I am apparently incapable of not writing angst, so there will also be elements of tragic backstories, mysteries, and magical danger! Ho boy... picking a snip for this one is proving difficult. There are lots of good options. I'm trying to write out the entire thing before posting it, but I've been posting snippets in the Aeor Is For Lovers Discord Server

~(‾▿‾)~ ~(‾▿‾)~ ~(‾▿‾)~ ~(‾▿‾)~ ~(‾▿‾)~ ~(‾▿‾)~ ~(‾▿‾)~ ~(‾▿‾)~

Caleb smirked and shook his head while Nott just shrugged. Then, they entered the cafe. The door opened with a jingle of a bell, and the black cat that had been sitting there darted off.

Inside was a veritable cat paradise in minimalistic but fashionable designs. Counters lined the edges of the room with plush stools tucked underneath, while several traditional cafe tables sat near the side windows. Walkways were built into the walls, one even spanning the front window, and a spiraling cat tree formed a pillar of support for a balcony style second floor. Paintings and photos of cats covered the walls and cat toys could be seen tucked into corners everywhere. A large, circular couch sat in the very center, with no less than three cats lounging on its cushions.

Everything was in shades of black, white or gray, save the occasional pop of bright orange wood or deep purple fabric. It looked modern, fancy, and clean, and Caleb suddenly felt very out of place.

“Oh wow,” Nott murmured as they looked around the massive room. Caleb was trying to find some word of agreement, when suddenly, someone called from up above.

“I’ll be right with you!” a warm southern drawl called, drawing their eyes to the second floor where a tall half-orc was standing up from where he had been sitting with a well dressed drow.

It was the strangest relief, seeing a half orc and drow, and Caleb couldn’t help but glance down at Nott to see if she felt the same. Her reusable cloth medical mask was still pulled up, and her ears tucked in, so her race wasn’t immediately obvious, but if there was a possibility that she would be accepted here…

“Hello there,” the half-orc said, now on the same floor as them. He was tall and lanky, with mottled skin and stark black hair swept back from his face. He was also very attractive.

“Welcome to The Cat’s Tower. Are you here for some of our delicious food, or would you like to learn about the cats?”

Caleb blinked. “Ah, is both an option?”

The half-orc smiled, a handsome and charming thing before he motioned them over to one of the tables. “Of course! We have our menu right here. I can place your order and then tell you about our shelter while you eat.”

#ask game #cr fan fic #hustle cat #the mighty nein #honestly. its a combo made in heaven

29 notes · View notes

thevalleyisjolly · 2 years

Note

widofjord, maybe?

Ooh, thanks Thane!

when I started shipping it if I did:

Pretty early on in Campaign 2, because I remember being invested enough by Episode 44 that I got in a tangle with particularly aggressive Fj*rester fan.

my thoughts:

It's about balancing each other out, keeping each other in check, that slow to grow but mutual respect and acknowledgement of each other, how neither of them would claim to be leaders and yet both take up unofficial mantles of responsibility, taking the hurt and injustice and trauma of their pasts and figuring out who they want to be here and now. Not narrative mirrors- but maybe parallel paths, two people sharing a common road, falling into equal step for a while.

what makes me happy about them:

The way they started out, so wary and suspicious of each other, like two cats circling, and then the way they became, the trust and the respect.

what makes me sad about them:

On a meta-ish level, that we saw less of their interactions/relationship later on in the campaign?

things done in fanfic that annoy me:

I haven't actually read a Widofjord fic in a long while, but I guess anything that overlooks how messy and complicated these boys are? Fair do's if you just want to read them boning or being cutesy in a modern AU, no judgment here. I'm just a fan of early-stage Widofjord, where they're still sizing each other up, butting heads (but oh, it's so good because you can see where both of them come from and neither is wholly right or wholly wrong), recklessly pushing each other on.

who I'd be comfortable them ending up with, if not each other:

I love Shadowgast for many of the same reasons that I love Widofjord, so Essek and Caleb for sure. There's also an absolutely tragic lack of queerplatonic Fjord/Caduceus out there, which I think could be super interesting to explore. I actually don't mind in-game canon Fj*rester, I just can't stand what some very loud elements of the fandom have made it.

my happily ever after for them:

I actually like them as an impermanent ship, I don't think a relationship has to last forever in order for it to be meaningful, and I think a 'happily ever after' for these two would probably look like a period of time (long or short) where they're together, learning from and building off of each other, before a mutual agreement to remain friends. So kind of like canon Shadowgast.

who is the big spoon/little spoon:

I don't see there being a designated regular big spoon/little spoon, but Fjord does often end up being the big spoon more often than not.

what is their favourite non-sexual activity:

Testing the limits of their own abilities (and I don't mean that in a sexy way). Listen, they're both very curious and intelligent people, they would absolutely spend hours figuring out exactly how an eldritch blast ("Aæeldreitchh bleyaaaaast") works, what exactly it's capable of, where its limits are, if there are any ways to expand what it can do, how to change the colour aesthetic...

Which reminds me, both of them know the importance of presentation and aesthetics, so they also like dressing up. Caleb will go out shopping with Jester and Caduceus, and Fjord will mix and match and arrange what he brings home into fetching ensembles. Although Caleb does have a sense of style and will frequently make his own suggestions, "sleek wizard chic" does not a varied wardrobe make. Sometimes you want a cozy cableknit sweater for settling down with a good book or walking around the deck of your ship!

#thanks thane!

4 notes · View notes

czechforrain · 3 years

Text

2nd picture was made for a draw your OTP challenge

542 notes · View notes

ariadne-mouse · 2 years

Note

are you still taking prompts from the casual affection list? cuz id love to see 19 or 7 in relation to shadowgast !

I am! Though I am slower working through them at the moment. In a choice between 19 and 7 I decided on... both! Both is good. I hope you enjoy this Aeorian mishap (~900 words)

7 - guiding them with a hand on the small of their back

19 - tugging at the other's clothes to keep them close

Poof!

The lid of the Aeorian chest popped open, revealing dozens of tightly rolled scrolls, and a huge cloud of purple dust that blasted Essek right in the face. He spun away, coughing and hacking.

“Sheisse!” Caleb quickly scrambled back out of reach. They tumbled into the antechamber and slammed the door on the fumes with a whine of thousand-year-old hinges.

“Are you alright?!” Caleb sought Essek’s shoulders and turned him around to see if he was hurt.

“I… I think so,” Essek replied, shaking off his last coughing fit. “What– oh no.” He swayed on the spot, though he continued to float, like a soap bubble caught in an eddy of the breeze.

“Are you hurt?” Caleb pressed, doing his best to keep Essek in one place. They had precious few healing potions left, but a face full of magical mystery dust — poison?— might merit one.

“No,” Essek said. His eyes were unfocused, and he looked dazed. “Just a little off balance.”

“Are you sure? That was clearly a trap we sprung.”

“I think–” Essek stopped, swayed again, and gave a very uncharacteristic giggle. “I think it is meant merely to incacapi– incapati– incapacitate an intruder so they may be captured. I feel very strange. I am not sure all my faculties are… faculting.” His hand rose to grip Caleb’s sleeve for stability.

“That’s not good,” Caleb said, alarmed at the slips in Essek’s usually precise language. He glanced hurriedly around. They’d heard some noises a while back, which could mean anything from crumbling architecture to eldritch horrors on the hunt. Being incapacitated in the ruins would be dangerous at best, fatal at worst. He nodded decisively. “I will cast the tower, and we can figure this out in safety. Wait it out.”

He let go of Essek to search for a suitable place to set up his components.

Again, Essek caught his sleeve.

“Ah,” Essek began, looking embarrassed when Caleb stopped short. “My apologies. I am very… ah… I cannot seem to release my graviturgy. Gramiturvy. Floating like this is extremely disorienting.”

“No, no, it’s alright,” Caleb assured him. He cast around. “Here, see if this helps.” He guided the floating Essek to a pillar at the edge of the chamber, a hand pressed gently to the small of his back to propel him forward in the air. The pillar had deeply recessed carvings that made it easy to hold onto. Caleb moved Essek’s hands there. “Can you hold on for just a minute while I cast the tower? I’ll be back in a blink.”

Essek’s expression was grim, but determined, and he nodded. “Go.”

When the heavy wooden door with its stained glass pane had appeared in a nook in the wall, Caleb returned to find Essek was still fastened onto the pillar like a limpet, his eyes wide and pupils dilated. He had also tilted about forty-five degrees in the air. With every breath, he bobbed up and down like he was at sea.

“Okay, we are good to go,” Caleb said, torn between amusement and worry at the sight. “Can you manage moving on your own, or would you like some help again?” He suspected he knew the answer by Essek’s tight-knuckled grip on the stone.

“Help would be preferable,” Essek answered quickly. “But why are you leaning so strangely?”

Caleb, who was standing up perfectly straight, raised his eyebrows. “Ah! Hm. Don’t worry about it. Okay. Here we go—”

At Caleb’s urging, Essek shifted his grip from the stone carvings to the fur-lined lapels of Caleb’s coat.

“We need to get better at checking for traps,” Essek said, clinging to Caleb’s front as they entered the tower and rose up to the salon. “This is highly incomnivient. Incon… vimient. That one.”

Caleb almost laughed. “We do,” he agreed. “Do you feel any different? Better, worse? Still no pain?”

“I don’t feel hurt,” Essek confirmed.

“Good.” Caleb squeezed his shoulder. “Should I take you to your room? You can try to sleep it off, maybe. Or trance it off.”

“No,” Essek balked. His feet swished oddly through the air, like he was trying to find purchase on a cloud. “Can… can you stay? It is… grounding, to have contact.”

“Ah! Of course,” Caleb hastened to agree, relieved not to let Essek out of sight in his current state. “We can stay here by the fire.”

He gently ferried Essek over to one of the plush couches next to the warm hearth.

It was heavenly to bake the Aeorian chill from their bones, but the mixture of Essek’s vertigo, disorientation, and his uncontrolled graviturgy made it something of a challenge to get him sitting in any comfortable sense of the word. In the end, they settled for Essek floating horizontally with his head and shoulders in Caleb’s lap. He kept a tight hold of Caleb’s lapel, and Caleb rested an arm across his chest to prevent him from drifting away. The cats brought them tea and refreshments.

An hour later Essek’s vision cleared, and he sank like a feather coming to rest on the ground, his weight resting fully where he lay.

“Back to normal?” Caleb inquired, putting down his book and looking Essek over.

“I think so,” Essek said, blinking. “Yes.” He sighed in relief. “That was terrible.”

“We’ll have to be careful when we open that door again, in case the substance that caused this is still floating about.”

“Mm. Agreed.”

Though the crisis was over, they stayed where they were, neither in a hurry to be parted.

#disaster wizards in aeor is one of my favorite flavors #thanks for the prompt!#shadowgast #critical role #ariadne writes CR #tumblr snippets #op #casual affection prompts

133 notes · View notes

aboxthecolourofheartache · 3 years

Note

Hello! 27 (public displays of affection) + shadowgast, if you'd like! Mostly because they are not pda people normally and I love seeing them outside their comfort zones haha

okay, admittedly they did not really go outside their comfort zones, because this was Weaponized PDA which seems like it would be very on brand for them ^^;; obligatory joke: in Rexxentrum, parent teacher conference go to you ~ Caleb loves teaching. He does. He loves watching the dawning understanding in his students’ eyes as they grasp a concept for the first time. He loves the challenge of breaking the complexity of magic down to its fundamentals and then pushing those building blocks across the table into new hands. Every student trying a spell for the first time is a pair of fresh eyes, and sometimes they make unprecedented observations or attempt something so innovative no one has tried it before simply because they do not yet labor under the weight of convention. Caleb loves their mistakes, both as opportunities to explain why something does not work and also because nothing keeps an arcanist on their toes like the accidents caused by people too young yet to know their limits. He spends most of his daily spell slots Counterspelling and Dispelling the misadventures of bright, eager, risk-blind teens with all the brains and lack of self-preservation it takes to be a wizard.

Caleb does not love their parents.

He watches a self-important galleon of a man in brocade push through the sea of tavern-goers and takes a deep breath. This is the problem with being both recognizable with his distinctive red hair and vocal in public forums. It’s always worse just after exam season. Nevertheless, he stands politely.

“Good evening.” Caleb greets the oncoming headache with a bland smile.

“You!” The man has the sense not to shout, but his speaking voice is unsubtle. “You failed my daughter.”

Off to the races. Hooray.

“Three of my students did not pass their exams this semester. What is your daughter’s name, sir?”

Caleb’s interlocutor seems offended by Caleb’s lack of immediate recognition and draws himself up. “Lisobet Brindholme.”

“Ah, yes.” Caleb resists the urge to sigh. “Frau Brindholme and I spoke earlier this week. We went over her exam results, and she understands why she did not pass. We have also reached an understanding with the Academy Board of Academic Integrity, who have recommended an academic probation period beginning next semester. Frau Brindholme will have the opportunity to retake the class when it is offered again in the spring.”

“‘Academic probation?’” Herr Brindholme seethes and sputters like an over-full kettle.

“That is Academy policy for cases of plagiarism, Herr Brindholme. Your daughter admitted to me and to the Board that she obtained and used pre-written essays with full knowledge that what she was doing goes against the rules of student academic conduct.”

They are beginning to attract a small audience, Caleb notes. The post-exam euphoria is wearing off, and the taverns are full of students settling into the mellow period between semesters. Not much is happening, locally, and a good argument is always entertaining. Unfortunately, Herr Brindholme seems oblivious to the fact that he is publicly humiliating his daughter.

“Lisobet’s tuition pays your salary. Meaning that I pay your salary.” Herr Brindholme leans into Caleb’s space. “You answer to me—”

“Excuse me.” Essek’s cool voice cuts through Herr Brindholme’s bluster like a razor through gauze. He steps around the man and sets two drinks on the table. “I was delayed at the bar while the keep tapped a new cask. Am I interrupting something important?”

Essek’s disguise is almost as beautiful as his true face. Half-elven, dark-skinned, crowned with neat braids, he looks as princely as ever in black silk. He knows very well that he is interrupting. Caleb throttles a grin as he watches Essek take command of the situation. The Shadowhand is alive and well.

Essek sits, leaving Herr Brindholme standing like a petitioner. One hundred and twenty years of political and social maneuvering aged to an acid vintage are wasted on a man like this, but Essek rarely gets to have fun these days. And, if Caleb is honest with himself, this is hot.

Essek sips his drink in the uncomfortable silence. He quirks an eyebrow. “Well?” he asks. “Is this important?”

Herr Brindholme, to his credit, rallies. “Yes, this is important! ‘Professor’ Widogast has compromised my daughter’s future.”

“Oh, I see.” Essek sets down his drink and laces his fingers before him, giving Herr Brindholme his full attention. “So important that you chose to address the matter in,” he sweeps his gaze across the room, “a public tavern.”

It dawns on Herr Brindholme that publicly accosting Caleb is a double-edged sword. His face colors, and he falls back on the familiar weapon of clout. “Do you know who I am?”

“No,” says Essek, simply. Then, in softest, purest threat, he adds, “But I could find out.”

Caleb cuts in before this can go sour or make Essek’s disguise too memorable. He reaches across the table and squeezes Essek’s hand. “It’s nothing like that,” Caleb soothes. “Herr Brindholme is in his rights to submit a complaint to the Academy if he believes I acted in poor faith.”

Essek laughs. “That would be, what, complaint number 114? They haven’t fired you yet, radical that you are.”

Caleb shrugs. “I try to teach my students integrity and stewardship. That is hardly radical.” He turns to Herr Brindhomle and apologizes. “Sir, I understand your dissatisfaction, but the student handbook clearly states all academic policies. If you wish to pursue the matter, you should start with the Office of Academic Affairs. Your daughter’s studies are important to me as well, but I am off the clock and trying to enjoy the end of term.”

Herr Brindhomle, motivated either by embarrassment or Essek’s shark-eyed stare, adjusts his jacket cuffs and makes his parting shot. “I will do just that, and I will bring my solicitor.”

Essek takes a long sip of his drink when Herr Brindholme is safely out the tavern door back into the evening light. “That was remarkably vicious, even for you,” he remarks. “Gave me his name, and what was that about his ‘rights to submit a complaint’ and ‘poor faith?’”

“I was vicious?” Caleb smiles behind the shield of his tankard.

Both of them are very aware that they are still holding hands across the table, fingers now entwined. Neither moves to let go.

#thank you for the prompt!! :D #Box attempts CritRole #Happy Fun Box of Writing #Essek Thelyss

328 notes · View notes

kmackatie · 3 years

Note

For the non-sexual intimacy prompts: 20 (tracing designs on arms) and/or 121 (touching affectionately without asking) for shadowgast 💜

Hello friend! Thank you for the prompts - same dealio as before, will probably get to the second one eventually and will post separately.

request a prompt from this list here

121 - touching affectionately without asking shadowgast, post canon, 611 words, no content warnings apply

He isn't sure when it starts. Or rather, he isn’t sure when it starts again.

He knows when it started before, but then it always had a purpose, an intent or a goal. There was manipulation on both sides, Caleb’s was just more overt.

Maybe it starts again in the bowels of a ship, a kiss pressed to a forehead, a hand grasping his. Or maybe it is a hand clasping an arm reminding him to breathe, fingers brushing as components were gifted, or hands gripped in what he assumed were final moments.

But he finds he comes to like it, that he looks forward to the moments when Caleb holds a hand out to help him stand from wherever they had been sitting, the fingers that brush against his back as he beckons Caleb to look at a passage in a text book, a hand wrapped around his for a moment when handing over a mug of tea. It emboldens Essek to reach out, to brush the hair back from where it’s fallen across his forehead, to rest his hand on Caleb’s shoulder as he passes by just because he wants. Because he knows it will be appreciated and leaned into.

They learn to communicate through touches. They learn to communicate through words as well, through shared spells and knowledge, but Essek savours their touches. Maybe it’s the fact he has had so few of them. It’s not common in the Dynasty to have casual touches with someone you weren’t married to. From what he knows, it’s not even common to have them with someone you are married to. He can barely recall the last moment that he was truly held, before Jester came along. Before Caleb.

It’s the arm that automatically opens when Caleb is sitting on the couch, expecting Essek to curl up against his side and tuck his feet into the edges. It’s the way Essek always knows when Caleb is about to wake, so he threads his hands through Caleb’s hair and strokes gently. The times Caleb falls asleep, half on top of him on those lazy afternoons, and Essek can’t help but hold him close, his heart beating fast at the open trust Caleb has in him.

But it’s more than that. It’s also the moments where Caleb holds his hands, as his own fatalism spirals and he needs the grounding. How he tugs Caleb’s fingers away from his forearms, when the past looms and looks all encompassing. It’s when Essek sits in a courtroom, disguised, with his hand not moving from its place on Caleb’s back through every moment until they can leave, Caleb pulling Essek close and burying his face against his shoulder.

It’s the linking of arms, of hands, as they walk. Of how Caleb holds a hand out and it’s just expected that Essek will take it, that he doesn’t have to ask for it.

It’s a gift, and Essek doesn’t think he will ever be able to convey just how much it is treasured with words.

So he doesn’t. But he makes sure to squeeze Caleb’s palm when he threads their fingers together. Makes sure that there’s always space for Caleb to tuck his legs under when they share the couch. That he’s there when Caleb wakes, and when on those rare occasions he doesn’t feel like trancing upright, he tucks into Caleb’s side and it’s always welcoming and always warm.

As he cups Caleb’s cheek, holds his face between his hands and presses his own kiss to Caleb’s forehead, he decides it doesn’t matter how or when it started. They have time after all. There’s no need to rush.

#shadowgast #critical role #essek thelyss #caleb widogast #cr: fanfic #ficlet #writing prompt #my writing #non-sexual intimacy prompts #mlle kurtz #ask katie #katie replies #the mighty nein

223 notes · View notes

mooneloquence · 2 years

Note

"you are the peace i crave in this chaotic world." or/and ❛ the most beautiful part is, i wasn’t even looking when i found you. ❜ for shadowgast? 👀

Hooooly fjuck, this got extremely out of hand. These prompts were so lovely, I couldn't help but want to use them both for this. After making myself (and apparently other people) cry with this, I needed a little bit of crack treated seriously and (quite a bit of) fluff, and these phrases had HUGE wedding vows vibes👀

Sorry this took so long, I've been studying for my finals and life has been busy. Thank you for the prompt! (Also, I need to say that I adore your art! Your textures are amazing, and looking at your pieces makes me so happy) Hope you enjoy 💜I'm still taking prompts from here, send me an ask! (I intend to go through all of them, though they may take me a while to fill)

You are the peace I crave in this chaotic world. // The most beautiful part is, I wasn't even looking when I found you. (2.2k words, G)

In retrospect, it was easy to see why holding their wedding aboard the Nein Heroez was not the greatest idea, but Essek believed it was worth it just to experience the full chaos and unpredictability characteristic of the Mighty Nein. He knew he should have probably been worried to even think that way—he'd spent almost all his life in relative comfort and peace—but perhaps the Nein had more of an effect on him than he knew.

Only a day ago, Caleb and him had attempted to announce their engagement to the rowdy bunch in the quietest way possible: after dinner, Essek had approached Caduceus and murmured something to him that had made the firbolg smile in that placid way of his. It did not take long for Beauregard—whose ability to read lips he had not accounted for, and who was very, very drunk—to gasp loudly enough to catch the attention of the rest of the group before shouting, "MOTHERFUCKER." She shot a look of betrayal at the other human, who almost choked on his beer, startled. "You're getting married and you didn't tell me?"

At the word 'married,' Jester perked up, her eyes wide and full of stars, and several things happened at the same time. There was a screech that could come from no other than Veth, Fjord looked around the room in an attempt to understand what was happening, Kingsley's eyes widened before he smirked, and Yasha’s eyes went to Essek as her face formed into a soft smile.

Ah, there went their plan to tell them separately or in small groups.

And then, Caduceus, with not even a glint of malice in his eye, decided to add a little more chaos into the mix.

"I will gladly officiate the ceremony."

Everything that ensued after that was a bit of a whirlwind in his mind, but thankfully things had calmed down significantly by the time Jester approached to give him a hug. It definitely seemed like more than five years since she had done that for the first time, and by now Essek could return the gesture with a genuine, if small, smile without even flinching.

"Congrats, you guys. I'm so excited for you! Are you happy?"

"Yes, Jester, I am very happy. And thank you." Still, there was something in her expression that caught his eye when they pulled apart. It was strange, to be able to see the way others masked their emotions behind something else. "Is there something wrong?" he asked, careful to turn away from where Beau was standing with her arm around Caleb’s shoulder.

Her smile faltered for only a millisecond. "Oh, it's nothing." At his raised brow, she let her face grow more serious and looked down, becoming thoughtful for a moment. "I am a cleric, too, you know?"

Essek's eyes widened with understanding. Caleb and him had hoped to keep this ceremony a secret, just something quiet for them before Essek needed to go away again after their reunion, but had talked about a 'proper' wedding later on, something with all their friends there—perhaps even Verin. But now that the secret was out, there was no harm in asking Jester what he would have in the future.

"I know. But if you perform the ceremony, who is going to stand by my side?"

Her eyes lit up again, the smile that bloomed on her face making her blue freckles dance on her cheeks. This time, her hug squeezed the air right out of him with an undignified oof—even after years, he was still caught off-guard by her strength.

"Ohmygosh, Essek! Of course I will be by your side!"

It was Fjord who piped up next and asked, "So when is the wedding?"

A look was exchanged between the two wizards.

"Ah, we were originally thinking tonight, but... maybe tomorrow?" said Caleb.

"What?"

"Tomorrow?!"

"You guys, we don't even have fancy outfits for the occasion!"

Thinking back on it, the commotion that answer had caused paled in comparison to what transpired about fifty minutes into the Ceremony.

They were on the deck of the Nein Heroez, Caduceus standing near the bow of the ship, one hand covering Essek and Caleb’s joint hands. To Essek's right was Jester, who had somehow managed to get them all the fanciest outfits she could with such short notice. (Teleport was an incredibly useful spell.) Her proud smile and mildly watery eyes hadn't faltered since the start of the hour-long spell. To Caleb’s left stood Beauregard, whose electric blue eyes were not misty at all. The hour needed to cast Ceremony was almost over when Kingsley's voice came from the crow's nest,

"Captain, we have a small island coming towards us!"

Essek, who had only heard the story of the time when the Nein had been chased by a dragon turtle, frowned at the strange phrasing, but the realization hit him as he looked around to see that, effectively, there was something that resembled an island approaching the ship, still far away, but steadily becoming larger in the distance.

Caduceus tightened his hold on them, but otherwise kept steadily murmuring the prayer to the Wildmother that was nearing its end.

In less than twenty seconds, everyone except the three of them necessary for the completion of the spell had taken their respective places, the calm mood switching almost immediately to the tense bustle of action. Jester and Orly stood mostly where they were, ready to cast or help as needed, Veth and Yasha ran below deck to ready the cannons, Beauregard remaining on the stairs between the two decks to relay Fjord's orders. The half orc in question had taken his place at the helm of the ship, both captain and first mate shouting instructions to the rest of the crew as the sails were unfurled so the Nein Heroez could start moving again.

Even having traveled with them already, the drow could not help but be impressed by the swift efficiency the Mighty Nein displayed in dire situations. When he turned his gaze back to Caleb, he found him looking at him with a faintly apologetic smile; Essek smiled as well. There was a small velvet pouch clutched in Caduceus' other hand, his staff useless to him if he intended to complete the Ceremony. Caleb's left hand—not his casting hand, but it would have to do until the end of the spell—and Essek's right were poised at the ready by their sides.

The next few minutes were tense as the ship slowly kicked into motion, the fairly steady wind working in their favor, but not nearly enough to outpace the powerful swimming of a vengeful dragon turtle whose figure continued to grow bigger and bigger. With a muttered curse, Beauregard ran back onto the deck and opened her fan with a whip of her wrist before bringing it down in the direction of the sails. The Gust of Wind gave them an intense boost, and Essek's hand shot out to steady the cushion upon which two rings and two earrings were placed before anything could roll away and get lost in the depths of the Lucidian Ocean. At some point, Jester ran towards the stern of the ship, and some of her words drifted towards them,

"Hey... having a wedding here... this for... -ther day? Unless... you wanna... with us? Doo doo..." A few seconds passed before she relayed to them, "I don't think he's stopping, not even for the wedding. He's kind of a dick."

By then, Caduceus' prayer was nearing its end, and even with the speed they were moving at, their pursuer came close enough for the stern chasers to fire. The loud explosion rang in Essek's ears for a moment, muffling what the firbolg had just asked them. His lack of an answer seemed to be enough for him to repeat it, "Is there something you would like to say or to promise each other as part of the ritual?"

They looked at each other. The night of their engagement a couple of months prior, they had already talked in private and told each other exactly how they felt. Many promises had been made and kept since a night long ago on a different ship—one that had fallen to the very same creature chasing them—but, even in the face of imminent danger, to not say anything still felt lackluster.

With a shaky intake of breath, Caleb’s hand tightened its hold on his under the protective cover of Caduceus' large, warm palm. The cannons fired another round. "Essek," the human started, "I will try to make this brief, but I wanted to say something. You are my friend and my colleague, my mirror in so many ways, and yet so different in so many others. I am so proud of you." Something pink flashed in the distance, but they kept their eyes locked onto each other. "You never cease to amaze me; your mind and your heart are precious, and I am equally baffled and honored to know that you want to share them with me." His brow was furrowed in that particular way that indicated he was speaking from his heart. "Mein schatz, mein Mondlicht. Meine Freude. It would make me the luckiest man alive to love you for as long as my heart beats, and more."

Essek's free hand darted up to wipe a tear that threatened to roll down his cheek, his mouth upturned in a soft smile. He breathed in as well, nodding. "Caleb." The three of them stumbled as the ship rocked violently under the assault of the gargantuan turtle, and Essek interrupted what he was saying to thrust his hand out in a frantic rendition of the somatic component for Magic Missile—many of his more powerful spells required the use of both hands, and he couldn't let go of his lover's hand. The small beams of force collided against their foe's shell, chipping and cracking it in places.

Caduceus, who had tilted the contents of the tiny pouch to let the powdered silver cover the earrings and rings, let go of their hands and lifted the small cushion. Releasing each other they took the earrings first; one golden and the other one silver, both with a single amber teardrop dangling from the hook portion. With no time to delay in contemplation, they exchanged the earrings and slipped them into the right earlobes. The rings were next. Taking the drow's left hand and the band with a black pearl framed by two silver ends that curled around it one from the top and one from the bottom, Caleb slipped it onto his ring finger. Essek took the other ring, matching in design except for the gold that comprised the band and the white pearl that replaced the black one.

"Caleb," he repeated, "You already know what you are to me. I was a lost man before you came into my life, and definitely changed it for the better. Even if I considered myself a visionary, I was still blind to so much, and I am eternally grateful to you and the Mighty Nein for showing me that. I think... I think the most beautiful part is, I was not even looking when I found you."

Another cannon shot, and the Nein Heroez rocked again, not as harshly this time. Around them, the air was filled with different voices shouting orders, arcane phrases and divine incantations of different sorts. Swinging his left arm in a wide arc, Caleb's voice joined the cacophony before several rays of fire shot out from his fingers and impacted right on the creature's eye.

Smiling and wholly aware of the irony of the situation, he continued, "Against all odds, you are the peace I crave in this chaotic world, my home to come back to, the fire that thaws me when I think I'm growing too cold. The time I get to spend with you is a greater gift than I ever believed I deserved, and I will honor that for as long as I have memory." The next time the ship rocked, it was accompanied by the horrible sound of wood moaning and shattering under great stress. They both looked around. "I will tell you the rest when this is over," he promised, taking his husband-to-be's hand and slipping the ring onto his finger.

Even in the dire situation, Caduceus smiled. "This is nice. You are now wed under the protection of the Wildmother. You may kiss if you like, but we really need to get into the battle, things aren't looking very pretty."

Both wizards' expressions became sheepish. With one hand, Caleb took the back of Essek's neck and pressed his forehead to his, blue eyes boring into violet ones, and pressed a single peck onto his lips. "We can have the rest when this is over. We've got time, Mister Widogast."

"Indeed, Caleb Widogast. We've got time."

#shadowgast #essek thelyss #caleb widogast #my writing #critical role #critical role fanfiction #prompt fill #writing asks

96 notes · View notes

kurosmind · 3 years

Text

Manifesting a pride and prejudice finale for ep141 shadowgast. They're just standing among the flowers of the Blooming Grove, letting everything that happened settle over them. Caleb reaches for Essek's hand, gingerly intertwining their fingers. After a moment, Essek slowly, slowly, brings their hands up to his lips and kisses Caleb's knuckles.

They look at each other, no words needed. Their foreheads touch once more. And this time, they're both smiling.

#caleb widogast #Essek Thelyss #Shadowgast #Cr spoilers #Critical role #Lima please

174 notes · View notes

mithrilwren · 3 years

Text

I really, really wanted to contribute something to Essek Week, but unfortunately with two essays and a novel chapter due by Monday, I didn’t have the time or mental energy to write anything new. Cue me remembering that I’d actually started working on an Essek-centric shadowgast Pirate!AU last summer, that never saw the light of day! Though I did a whole bunch of research for it, summer ended before I could get farther than the first couple chapters. Still, I’m very fond of the premise, and I’d like to finish it one day. I can’t guarantee I will (life’s too busy to commit myself to another Big Fic Project atm) but in the meantime, here’s a little taste in the form of the first chapter.

-------------------

For @essek-week Day 7: AU

Courts of Silk (Chapter 1)

Essek startled from his trance to the crackle of blistering thunder overhead.

Mind bled of all drowsiness in an instant, he unfolded his legs and slid off the berth, drifting to the center of the room and tilting his ear towards the boards above.

A storm… but the skies were meant to be clear for days, and he trusted Avus to know it. Could the weather have turned so–

Boom.

Essek’s eyebrows flew up as the deck visibly lurched below his feet.

Not thunder.

Cannon fire.

More sounds now, hurried ones – an erratic tempo of feet pounding through the corridor outside his little room, the floorboards creaking dully under the weight of the crew scrambling over the deck above. He flinched as a louder noise pierced through the commotion: the rattling of a heavy fist falling against the door of his cabin, hard enough to shake the wooden frame.

“We’ve been boarded!” Zel’ra’s guttural shout startled him out of his confused stupor, and he flew to the door and flung it open. The quartermaster stood outside, her snarling jaw dripping with whitish battle foam, the kind that bugbears of Rosohna so seldom have occasion to sport within city walls. “Come on, magic boy, time for you to earn your– Shit!”

Then she was gone, and Essek was left staring dumbly at the empty corridor, as Zel’ra raced back the way she came. A moment later, there was a yelp, and the grisly crack of metal hitting bone. Then there was no sound at all, save the rocking of the ocean’s pulse against the hull, and the thump of confident, unfamiliar footsteps, coming closer and closer to his open door.

He had only a few moments to make his decision. The fight might still be going on above deck, but if intruders had already made it below, there was little hope of a favorable outcome for the crew of the Barren Bow. He hadn’t thought the Empire would be brazen enough to attack a diplomatic ship in open waters, but there were soldiers of all ilks on the open sea, and no government to hold them to account so far from land. He would not put it past a Dwendalian crew to sight a Dynasty flag on the horizon and decide to take the matter of revenge in their own hands. If so, there was no telling what treatment they might expect at the hands of their attackers. Rage was rarely tamed by abstract rules of engagement, and he doubted anyone would care to ask what the nature of their mission was, once the killing began.

But perhaps…

Quickly, Essek drew aside his sleeve and materialized the leather–bound contents of his wristpocket into his hands. His spellbook lay beside precious components in their embroidered fold, and there, at the bottom of the pile: the folio. He whispered a quiet word and the paper folded apart, revealing its damning – and perhaps, in the right hands, lifesaving – contents.

The letters.

If the tides were so unfavorable that he could not fight, perhaps that might be enough to–

He vanished the whole affair back into the ether as two shadows fell across the door.

From the darkness of the hallway, two figures stepped over the threshold. In front was a young woman: human, with swarthy skin made darker still by the weathering burn of long days at sea. Her hands were tucked beneath bare arms and her hip turned out to an unconcerned jaunt, adorned by a sash of deep blue. Behind her, and looming so tall that she had to hunch to fit through the frame of the door, was a giant of a woman. Taller even than Zel’ra, her bare shoulders glistening with rippling muscles and sweat, pale as moonlight – or as the steely glint of the broadsword at her back. The younger woman swept him over with piercing eyes, her confident grin not quite masking the focused gaze beneath. Though she bore no weapons, Essek could feel the stain of threat in every taut sinew of her body. He held still, waiting to see who would make the first move.

Her eyes finally paused, centered on the floor beneath his feet, and her grin dropped into something more like a startled ‘oh’. Too late, he realized his mistake – that his levitation, as natural and instinctive as standing on his own two feet, had just given him away.

“Mage!” she sputtered, and her hand was gripping his arm and twisting it behind his back before he even realized she’d moved. Essek dropped the levitation spell, hoping to get enough leverage from the sudden height difference to slip out of her grasp, but before he could so much as shuffle to the left, the taller woman was at his right, clutching his other arm with a grip strong enough to break bone.

“Shit,” the first woman spat as she stepped back, allowing the second to take both of his arms into custody. “Who the fuck did we just board?”

Essek kept silent, staring at her, searching for any sign of weakness and finding less than nothing. If he had just had his hands free for a moment longer… but that didn’t matter now. There weren’t many spells without a somatic component at his disposal, and cantrips wouldn’t save his neck, should the giantess move quicker to snap it than he could speak.

Without a means of immediate escape, he looked next for any way to identify his captors. They were human, but their loose, subdued dress – for the younger woman, a vest of blue cotton, the other, a braided grey tunic, and frayed ribbons in both their hair – was nothing like the silver and crimson finery of the Righteous Brand.

If not from the Empire, who were these people? Hired thugs? Mercenaries?

“Are there more of you skulking down here?”

He didn’t ask the woman to clarify, though he wasn’t sure exactly what she was asking. More drow? Yes, but he was not about to reveal the nature of the delegation travelling under his protection to her. More mages? No. As always, he had convinced the Bright Queen that his effort alone would be sufficient. For the first time in a very long time, he wished he’d been a little more conservative in estimating his own skills. Given the current situation, someone else’s power at his back might actually be welcome, rather than distracting.

Her burning gaze made it clear that he had to say something, and soon, but for once, the right words did not come. The truth did not matter: he knew that any unfavorable answer would be taken as a lie.

Still, Essek would not panic. The only way to regain control of the situation was by carefully gathering information, finding something that he could use to shift the balance of power at a more advantageous moment. That was his particular specialty.

“I do not know,” he answered coolly. “For I do not know who is above and below deck at all hours of the day. I can only speak for myself.”

“Beau! Fjor– fuck– Captain Tusktooth wants you on deck!” A new voice, its timbre high and grating, like glass against cold iron, echoed from around the corner. The woman – Beau, he filed away – turned her head and shouted back out the door.

“Just a second, we’ve got one more!” Then, “Tell him to get Caleb over here, we’ve got a goddamn mage to deal with!”

The giantess at his back leaned down, so close that her dreaded locks nestled amidst the silver chains that hung from tip to base of his pointed ear. “You aren’t going to give us any trouble, are you?” she murmured, and despite every ounce of training he’d undergone for exactly this sort of intimidation, he still couldn’t help the way he shivered at her dark tone. There was a deep quality to her voice that sung of violence, for violence’s sake, and though he wasn’t yet truly afraid, he had no wish to provoke her.

“How could I?” Essek gently flexed his arms in her grasp: not enough to challenge, but enough to reassure her of his helplessness.

Her lips curled back, and… yes. There was a little fear gathering there, in the back of his throat. A good kind of fear – the prudent kind. It would keep him alert, and focused, and ready to strike back when the moment was right.

When she started pushing him forward, he followed her lead willingly, and the two of them shadowed Beau into the corridor and up the steps that led back above deck. Essek winced as the bright noonday sun slipped into view, already anticipating the stinging burn that was sure to follow. He’d managed to avoid the deck for most of the voyage, much to the chagrin of the Assarian crew. He was not born into a body made for manning rigging, and certainly not under an unrepentant sky determined to scorch his face and hands and neck and leave him itching and miserable for days without relief. His better use was below deck, planning for the engagement ahead, and his hours of fresh air better taken in the evening, when the gentler light of the moons was merely a prickle beneath his skin, rather than a flame.

Everywhere he looked, he saw mismatched bodies. Though Essek hadn’t met the entire complement of the Barren Bow’s crew, he had to assume most of the scattered orcs, goblins, and bugbears belonged to their side. Most of the ones on their feet were being held in the shallow recess at the centre of the deck, where great cannons might have been lodged on a more modern ship. A handful of unremarkable humans, each equipped with a rapier – or, in one man’s case, a salt-encrusted retort – stood above them, keeping watch. Amidst all that humanity stood a wild–eyed goblin in a blaring yellow dress, hefting a crossbow composed of whirring gears and levers of an intricate make that rivaled Waccoh’s own craftsmanship. She was currently in the process of shouting threats down across the heads of his cowed compatriots. Some were clutching broken arms or wiping blood from contusions and burnt welts. Lying at the center of the group was an unconscious Zel’ra, the goose egg at the back of her skull already angry and red.

Finally, he spied the remainder of the drow contingent clustered by the ship’s rail. Diplomats, all of them, bound for a parley at sea and not trained for conflict beyond what it took to hold a dagger right-way up. He was the only one among them battle-tested, and even then, his means leaned more towards subterfuge than outright combat. Theoretically, the Assarian crew was meant to be their main line of defence in case of attack. Clearly they had not proven up to the task.

Essek would be filing a very unfavorable report with their commanders upon his return, if any of them survived the day.

“Captain!” Beau shouted, and a tall half-orc stepped away from the railing, his wide-brimmed hat only partially disguising the many scars that littered his face.

“Weather’s turning,” he said, casting his eyes towards the – as far as Essek could tell – clear horizon. Those same yellow eyes flickered up, above Essek’s head, and for a moment seemed to narrow before turning back to Beau. “You finished clearing the hold yet?”

“Didn’t make it that far.” Beau jerked her head, and Essek was thrust into the sunlight all at once. The glare was blinding, and apparently not just to him. The giantess’s hands jerked around his arms, like they wanted to fly up and shield her eyes as well. That was all the opportunity he needed.

With one quick motion, he jerked his arms from her grasp and drew his hands together, tracing familiar glyphs out of nothing but muscle memory as his mouth uttered an incantation, and the world exploded around him. The giantess was flung back against the doorframe, wood splintering beneath her weight, and both Beau and the half-orc slammed into the deck and began to hurtle towards the side of the boat. Forcing his eyes to stay focused amidst the chaos and the harsh light, Essek caught the glitter of a cutlass skittering along the boards as he took stock of his position on the newly reborn battlefield.

Nearly all of the boarders were in a concentrated area in front of him, and the rest of the Assarian crew were protected by the lip of the recess in the deck. The terrain could not be more advantageous. Essek allowed himself a small smirk as he raised his hand and prepared a vacuum blast that would level the whole of the upper deck, and deliver them all to safety in one swift stroke.

How arrogant, that this petty group of mercenaries thought they could capture–

“Counterspell.”

The magic sizzled and died in his hand, and Essek whirled, searching for whoever had spoken behind him. Thugs he could handle, but it was always best to deal with a mage first, when they could do such infuriating things as what had just occurred. But once he turned, he found himself facing an empty doorway, and an empty deck above that. No trace of whoever had cast the counterspell.

The giantess was gone as well.

He heard the click before he could parse what cold and heavy thing was tugging on his wrist, but he was horribly aware of what was happening by the time his other wrist was wrenched behind his back and small hands clasped the second iron band shut. A stomach-churning wave of exhaustion passed through him from scalp to toe, and he staggered, only barely holding on to consciousness. Head lolling towards the floor, he saw two soft-soled boots landing lightly on the deck in front of him.

With great effort, he managed to drag his head up from his chest, and found himself staring into blue eyes and dusty freckles, lips pressed into a thin line, all framed by tangles of copper-red hair.

“Good work, Nott,” the man said. His accent was one Essek had only heard once before, though through the mire of exhaustion he could not remember where.

Behind Essek, the half-orc groaned and pushed himself up off the deck. “Next time you have a brilliant plan for subduing the prisoner, maybe let’s try not putting us all in the line of fire, hm?”

The man ignored the sarcasm, still looking all too carefully at Essek.

“Are you finished?” he murmured, and though his body was lithe, his soft voice sung of as much violence as the giantess’s darker growl.

With a sigh, Essek let his shoulders drop. He could still feel the pulses of magic coursing through the iron bands around his wrists. Even if he got his arms free again, the cuffs would not be easily slipped, or broken. These people, whoever they were, came equipped to handle wizards like himself. Was that what they were, then? Assassins in disguise? Privateers? The blunt instrument of some government or another?

Not that it made much difference now. Whoever they were, he was at their mercy.

“Spin him around.”

Essek felt himself being maneuvered away from the man’s incisive gaze. Through bleary eyes he caught the looks of frustrated disbelief from the four drow delegates, lamenting their crushed hope in silent, huddled unity. He was meant to be their protection. Now that Essek was taken, what else could save them? Not one of them was brave enough to attempt it themselves. A shiver of disgust ran through Essek, as heady as the self-recrimination it concealed at having allowed himself to be captured so easily.

The half-orc strode up to Essek, the sword in his hand now replaced, though Essek hadn’t seen the man move to retrieve it. It was a silver cutlass, fine enough to cleave a person clean through and leave one half still propped up on the other. Too rich a prize by far for a simple mercenary – he must have come by it dishonestly, or been given it as boon or bribe. Neither prospect boded well.

The hand that gripped the sword told an equally foreboding story, for only the thumb was composed of green flesh. The rest of the fingers were severed at the third knuckle, and replaced by metal imitations fixed to the wrist by a harness of leather cords. Still, he held the hilt with all the confidence of a trained fighter, and the surety of his grasp left Essek little doubt as to its effectiveness, mechanical augmentation or no.

“My name,” said the half-orc, “is Captain Tusktooth.” A hint of bright teeth flashed from below the wide brim of the hat. “And this ship is mine now. Its cargo, mine too.”

The answer about the identity of his captors, at last, became clear, for what little good it did him.

Pirates.

“By whose authority?” Essek shot a harsh look at the foolish dignitary who had chosen this moment to find their courage, but Tusktooth only grinned harder.

“By my own.” Behind Essek’s back, Nott and Beau slipped back through the splintered doorframe and down into the depths of the ship once more. “Now, my crew is going to finish taking a look through your cargo. I trust that your captain has been honest about the contents of your hold. Are there any other surprises I should be warning my people of? Anybody else looking to make trouble?”

Would that there were. “You will find little of value to take. We travelled light.” He spoke the truth, having no more useful lie at his disposal. His tongue felt heavy in his mouth, and another wave of exhaustion teased at the edges of his mind. He fought it with all the strength he had – which was growing less and less by the minute.

“So your captain told me. But that wasn’t my question.” Tusktooth’s voice grew as keen as the blade in his hand as he lifted it and placed the edge to the shallow of Essek’s throat. “Are there others like you aboard?”

He did not flinch. Torment and torture were old friends: his own cherished instruments. He did not fear what this man would do to him, any more than he feared death itself. At least, that is what he told his errant heart, as sweat began to bead at the nape of his neck.

“No.”

Tusktooth stared him down for a minute longer, and Essek held his gaze as best he could with the sun still searing his eyes. But at last, the sword withdrew, and Essek’s breath came a little easier. “Then let’s call this an exercise in… mutual trust.” He smiled once more, and Essek returned the expression with a vague twitch of lips.

The tense exchange was followed by ten excruciating minutes of silence, during which Essek did his best not to fidget in his heavy robes, even when his exposed skin grew so heated he felt liable to burst into flames. As they waited, the redheaded man pulled Tusktooth aside for a private conversation, and Essek sweated, and watched, and tried to formulate a plan.

The pirates would find nothing of value to steal. The Barren Bow had provisions for the voyage, but anything else aboard was the purview of the Assarian crew, who had planned to head back towards the shores of Igrathad as soon as the parley concluded. There were no scheduled stops for trade, and thus, no trade goods in their hold. There weren’t even guns to offer. Essek would never dare to admit it aloud, but the Dynasty lagged sorely behind the rest of Wildemount in outfitting its fleet with the relatively new technology of cannonry, at least of the type that lacked a magical component. Firearms had only entered the sphere of weaponmaking some thirty years prior, and with Xhorhas primarily landlocked, the navy hadn’t been high on the priority list for refurbishment.

His best hope was that some of the crew had hidden stashes of coin in their quarters. Otherwise, there would be nothing for the pirates to take, and without anything to satisfy them, well… he did not want to be in manacles when that news was delivered to a man who’d already put a sword to his throat.

If only to convince himself he was not totally beaten yet, Essek watched Tusktooth and the redhead carefully, seeing what he could glean from body language alone. Their conversation was hushed but tense, and every few moments the redhead would turn his eyes towards the drow delegation, and then to Essek himself. He made sure to drop his own eyes before they could meet again, not wanting to spark another confrontation by appearing insolent. As for the pirate captain… there was confidence, yes, but the unwavering edge of confidence seemed to drop away from his shoulders as he spoke to the other man. His arms moved more wildly; his words were more rapid, and at a higher pitch. Perhaps his earlier confidence was not so unshakeable as it at first appeared.

At last, Beau and the goblin re-emerged from the staircase. “We got shit all,” Beau said, tossing down a half-empty sack by Essek’s feet. He winced as a few bruised tubers rolled out across the warped deck.

“...Shit.” Tusktooth ran a hand over his mouth. “Shit. Nothing?”

“Nott and I checked every inch of that hold, the crew quarters, everything. No money, no timber, no – fuck, I don’t know – fine silks or–”

“No cannons,” Nott added mournfully. “No black powder.”

“We went through all this for nothing?”

“Maybe someone’s holding out on us,” Nott said, brandishing her crossbow. “I could make ‘em talk for you, Captain. Make them squeal–”

“Oh–kay, Nott,” Tusktooth said, “let’s take it down a notch.” But despite his placating tone, his look was thoughtful. Again, he turned to Essek. “You never never did say what you all were doing out here, so far from home. You don’t look like a sailor to me.”

“Yes, friend,” said the redhead, stepping up to Essek from Tusktooth’s other side, alarmingly calm, and placing altogether too much emphasis on the second word to be trusted, “what is it you do here?” Essek took a half-step back, not liking the feeling of being pressed in from all angles, and walked himself straight into the chest of the giantess.

Nowhere to hide. And with his hands bound behind his back, no way to levitate up to a level where he didn’t feel every inch of height his captors had over him. Which, at his firmly average height for a drow, was many.

Focus, Thelyss. Focus.

“Why should I answer your questions,” he sneered, “when you have not done me the same courtesy? Who are you, to board a vessel commissioned lawfully by the Bright Queen herself?” It was a dangerous ploy, but a considered one – a hastily calculated risk. If the pirates could not be convinced there was nothing of value to be found, they might decide to punish the crew for concealing their rightful prize, and when even a beating couldn’t drive his compatriots to forfeit non-existent gold, the pirates might well scuttle the ship and leave them all to drown at sea. He doubted simple brigands would care much for the particulars of a diplomatic mission if there was no treasure involved, so there was little harm in broaching a subject that might be far more dangerous to discuss with more educated captors.

But apparently, some aspect of Essek’s logic had failed him again, because the redhead immediately shot a wide-eyed look at Tusktooth, before looking back to Essek. “The Bright Queen?”

Essek gave a little bow. His head swam as he dipped back up – the handcuffs, no doubt, though it could just as easily be the beginnings of heatstroke – and he had to swallow twice to find the fortitude to speak without slurring. “Essek Thelyss, Shadowhand of the Kryn Dynasty and ambassador of the realm.” The last part was an… embellishment, and if he chanced a glance over at the true ambassadors, he imagined there would be many offended looks. But thankfully, all attention was solely focused on him. “I assure you, you won’t find the prize you’re looking for on a diplomatic vessel, gentleman. Your friends have already given you proof – we carry nothing beyond our own provision. Unless you have a particular taste for the delicacies of Xhorhasian fashion, I’m afraid we have little to offer you.”

Nott snarled, but the redhead put up a hand. “Captain,” he said slowly, looking at Tusktooth. “Might I… make a suggestion?”

“You may.”

“It’s not something I’d usually propose, but times being what they are…” Tusktooth nodded grimly.

“We haven’t got many options left.”

“Precisely. I believe that our friend Mr. Thelyss here has lied to us.” He could laugh for the irony of it all; this was the most truthful Essek had been in years. “There is indeed something very valuable aboard this ship.” His blue eyes pierced through Essek, and it was only his determination to keep the – now violently pitching – contents of his stomach where they belonged, that stopped him from speaking up in his own defense.

“And that is...?”

“Himself.”

#critical role #essek thelyss #shadowgast #essek week #my writing #also since plank king essek is a... thing??? now #the timing seems appropriate lol #this fic is not that but it is still (eventual) pirate!Essek #and who doesn't love that

161 notes · View notes