Hello, veracious readers! It's Tari J. Deitrich again with another story that just won't leave me the hell alone.

I know, I've posted a story similar to this before. Same name, same characters. Same cross-over. The truth is, I was really intent on actually finishing a pathfinder story. Unfortunately, a couple years ago, I'd quit my DND group only to go back in a few weeks later after starting an easier character: a catfolk rogue named Ash.
My group is pretty much disbanded now. Probably for good. But, the thing is, pathfinder was my first DND gaming encounter I'd ever done and literally the only person who can explain it to me in ways I can understand is my dungeon master. The rest of my group will all talk at once, telling me what to do and what not to do and how I SHOULD customize my character. My anxiety kicks in. I left the group, deleted the story from both here and my jumpdrive, quit watching Critical Role for a while, and just separated myself from some of the serious DND gamers in my group. But the story wouldn't leave me alone.
So, what's the reason for reposting this story? It was eating away at me. Consuming all my thoughts. And, recently, my dungeon master offered to run a private campaign between just me and him. He gave me permission to use his world, his map, his characters. My team mates also gave me permission to include their characters in this story. But I'm missing about three characters so it'll take me some time to gather the information I need on our fighter, half-elven druid(?), and half-orc rogue.

Right now, this is just a taste. I won't be including Vox Machina quite yet. Simply because those of you who watch the show already know quite a bit about the characters. I just want to include a little bit of background on the characters before I throw the seven people we know and love into the mix.

Another note, like the original story I'd posted before, Blindstrike is a vestige of divergence. I know the Critical Role story is well past the battle against Thordak the Cinder King. However, like everything else on this website, this is a fan fiction. I can do what I like with it for the sake of artistic liberties.

In any event, let's cease my mindless rambling and move on to the story. Starting with my character, Afow.

Please Read and Review.

1

The mountainous region of Belanur was not the first place Afow Esruf had called home nor was life in a monastery full of cleric-fighters known as warpriest the first life she'd ever known either. Afow had started off in a town in the foothills of Belanur called Braxia.

Braxia was a town just like any other a motley of races blended together and living in squashed together cabins that served as homes. Orcs, elves, humans, a handful of dwarves, some tieflings, and a few halflings. Half-orcs and half-elves were more common in Braxia than their full-blooded relatives. And Afow was one of the half-elves running about the town.

Braxia was once considered a safehaven for half-breeds and their guardians. A safehaven for women subjected to rape and forced to carry their bastard child to full term.

Yet, Afow considered herself lucky at one time. She was no bastard. Her kindhearted mother and reclusive father were mated through the bonds of matrimony. But she was only one of a few half-breeds who were the natural children of double ancestry.

Perhaps that was why she got along so famously with everyone in Braxia? Her pretty human mother, Gwenevere, managed to wrangle an elven male, Tayvian, and tie the knot with him. Though, Tayvian was hardly around. He was a rogue after all but at least he came home with plenty of useful items and pretty trinkets to present to his wife and young daughter.

Meanwhile, Gwen spent her days rearing her half-elven offspring, working as a seamstress out of their modest cabin, and looking after all the other children running amok about the town. The house was peaceful and Gwen was a kind woman who rarely had a bad thing to say about anyone. Yet, Afow always felt like there was something missing from her life.

Something she couldn't put her little finger on.

The town was full of families, most of which were single parent families consisting of mother and child. While Afow's father was in Afow's life, he was away more often than he was home. At least when he was home, he would stay with them for a moon phase or two and leave.

When Afow was six, her father started to stay away more. The weeks between visits stretched out longer and longer until, one day, Tayvian never came home.

Gwen did her best. She sewed and mended and looked after her child and all the other little children that came around. But her business had changed since her husband left. Without the bags of coins Tayvian sometimes came home with, Gwen sometimes found it difficult to pay taxes to the human lord, Cellas Cossah, who ruled over Braxia and other surrounding towns. Gwen had spent most of her savings—as well as the gold Tayvian had squirreled away in their cabin—to pay off the guards who came to collect the taxes. But it still wasn't enough and Gwen couldn't turn to begging either as she knew many other families were in similar straights. She collected all the trinkets in the house and sold them piece by piece for a little extra coin.

But Gwen wasn't the only one suffering due to Tayvian's disappearance. Afow was also subjected to a non-verbal shunning. Only a young male half-orc named Zet Velrebro and a grumpy-looking kind-hearted dwarven smith named Stold Cinderspark still showed the young half-elf some kindness. Zet took Afow to the river to hunt for frogs and Stold let both children into his forge to observe his work and help with small chores; giving them a few small coins for their help.

But it wasn't enough. The guards continued to harass Gwen for more money and the poor mother was at a loss. That was until a breakthrough happened.

A breakthrough that came in the form of an elven male dressed in scalemale armor and a red cleric's robe with a long sword at his hip

He came to Braxia seeking individuals with talent to live and work at their convent in service to his order. In return, the volunteers could bring their family members with them and all would be protected within the hall.

"You needn't worry about taxes or food or medicine if you need it," said the warpriest, Krulem Nemvulno, to the townsfolk of Braxia.

Gwen's arms tightened about Afow at the thought of all her worries vanishing. She could live comfortably with no wants and only be expected to serve the warpriests. Her daughter would be safe and looked after.

But could she really leave this life she had established here behind? Rip her daughter from the only home she'd known all her life?

Thankfully, Gwen didn't have to decide right away. Krulem announced he would be staying for a week.

"Everyone who wants to go to Belanur will be accompanying me up the mountain," Krulem went on.

I have time, thought Gwen as she took Afow inside for supper.

"Why don't you go, Gwen," said the female tiefling druid, Zarren Febra when she came to visit one night at Gwen's behest. Her fiendish appearance hid her kind demeanor and Gwen considered Zarren to be her dearest friend. "Think about it: you will be in a place where you'll never need to worry about never having food or shelter. There will never be the threat of eviction hanging over your head. And neither you nor your daughter will ever need to live on the streets."

Gwen sipped at her tea while she considered Zarren's words. The purple-skinned, demonic-looking druid had a great deal of insight to offer and that was why Gwen sought her out for advice.

"I still don't know, Zare," said Gwen. "What if they demand for Afow to join them?"

Zarren sat down across from Gwen, her druidic staff held in her prehensile tail and her thick scales glittered in the lantern light. Her solid yellow eyes caught Gwen's green ones and she smiled.

"Is that such a bad thing, Gwenevere? Warpriests are protectors. They always have been. Even the nobles regard them with respect. In this land, they are untouchable." Zarren reached across the table and took Gwen's hand. Her claws barely reddening the human woman's pale skin as they brushed over her hand. "She'll learn magic and skill with the sword. She will have many mentors. What more can you ask for?"

"A life of peace," Gwen said, perhaps too quickly. Peace was always on Gwen's mind. The hope and prayer that Afow would never know war. Would never need to take a life to protect her own. Sadly, before Zarren even spoke, Gwen knew this was a foolish desire.

Zarren frowned. "Peace and war tend to go hand-in-hand, Gwenevere Esruf. For there to be peace, there must be war. And there will always be those who choose to disrupt this peace for their vision of another peace. Wouldn't you want your daughter to be prepared for this war? Perhaps she can help bring peace."

"I want my daughter to be protected," Gwen admitted. "I want her to be able to defend herself. It's just—"

"Just . . . what?"

Gwen did not speak for a moment. She mulled over her greatest fears. Afow's non-verbal shunning hadn't gone unnoticed by Gwen, as Gwen herself was also being non-verbally shunned. This is all Tay's fault. If Tay had stuck around, we wouldn't be in this mess now.

"What if they won't take her?"

Zarren laughed. "They always have room for one more person in their ranks," she declared. "They are always looking for new-blood. No matter what, if you or she were to ask for her to join, they will accept her."

Gwen relaxed. Perhaps things wouldn't be so bad after all.

Zarren rose. "That fighter-cleric will be here only a few more days. If you're going, you'd best get a move on and tell him."

Gwen took Zarren's advice to heart and went to seek Krulem Nemvulno out. As promised, the warpriest had stationed himself in the common room of the inn he was staying at. An inn called the Ebony Oak Inn run by the halfling couple Dumon and Halizi Hillbreath who served the best ale in the region. Their seven children darted about the room, skirting around patrons, and delivering platters of food one tray at a time.

Gwen stopped in the doorway of the inn and looked around. She found Krulem sitting in a corner feasting on a platter of roast duck and stewed potatoes and sipping at a tankard of ale. Beside him sat Stold Cinderspark who seemed to be regaling the elf with descriptions of his skill. Gwen was taken aback. She hadn't expected the dwarven smith of wanting to leave. Though, she supposed, he was struggling to keep up with the taxes as much as she was and the warpriests were more likely to appreciate his work than any adventurers and soldiers who came to town.

Gwen took Afow's hand and led her daughter over to the table. She cleared her throat, interrupting Stold's tale on how he once made an axe from dragon bone. Krulem raised his bright eyes to Gwen and smiled.

"Ah, little housewife. Pleasure to meet you." Said Krulem.

Gwen inclined her head. "Warpriest Nemvulno. I've come to offer my services to the monastery atop Belanur."

Krulem indicated she take a seat across from him. "You must be Gwenevere Esruf. Yes, I was told to expect you."

Gwen sucked in a breath. "I'm expected?"

Stold laughed. "That druid beat you to the punch, Gwen."

"Yes, one Zarren Febra told me you would be coming. I only agreed to hear you out. Whether or not you will fit is another matter." He nibbled at his duck, his blue eyes centered on her.

"I understand," said Gwen. "Though, I wonder, what sort of people are you looking for?"

"Smiths, seamstresses, warriors and fighters, or those with a special talent for the arcane." Krulem answered.

Gwen straightened. "You're in luck. I'm a seamstress." She said.

"And a damn good one." Stold said. "She's fixed my breeches and apron more times than I can count. Made me some new shirts for festival day, too. This woman's the best in town."

"I'd like to see your work," said Krulem. "To make sure you're as good as you say."

Stold bristled. "You don't believe us?"

"I believe you when you say she is a good seamstress, gifted with making and mending. I prefer to see things for myself," said Krulem.

Gwen waved Stold down, wordlessly begging him to calm himself. "How do I show you what I can do?" She asked.

Krulem lifted a rucksack from beneath the table and presented Gwen with a tunic of brown cloth. A slash across the back resembled a ghastly grin.

"Kobold." Krulem said by way of explanation. "Nasty little tribe. Last time I let one with a razored tail attachment get behind me."

Stold chuckled. "Those razors and spikes will get you every time." He drank deeply from his tankard.

Krulem gave a small smile. "We did find a nice collection of traps from their horde."

Stold raised his tankard. "Good."

Gwen turned the cloth over in her hands. "So, you'd like me to mend this and return it to you?"

Krulem nodded. "That's all I need for you. Except one thing: how many in your family is coming with you?"

Gwen put the tunic aside and lifted Afow into her lap. "Just my daughter, Afow." She announced, truthfully.

Krulem regarded the child before him. "Afow? That's an unusual name." He reached across the table and swept her black hair aside, noticing the dull point to her ears. "Half-elf. Should have guessed. She looks elven. Those ears give it away." He locked eyes with Gwen. "You give it away, too. Though it's obvious she favored her father more than you but there is some of you in her."

Gwen kissed the top of Afow's head. "Yes." She said. "My husband was an elf. Afow is the only good thing he gave me since we married. The only good thing he left behind the day he never came home."

Krulem sighed, his fingers gently stroking Afow's cheek. The child shuddered at his touch, turning her gaze up to her mother; clearly afraid these kind caresses were hiding some form of guile. "I regret it is the way things are. My kind live such long lives, we find it hard to keep relations with more . . . mortal beings.

"I can't say why your elven husband married you. Perhaps he really did care for you. Wanted something different in his life. Wanted a family. Perhaps he left because he realized you weren't going to live as long as he would and that might have upset him."

"He said he loved me," Gwen said, barely able to keep the sadness from her voice as his words cut a deep cord inside her.

"I'm not saying he didn't. Elves don't marry unless there is a bond between us that runs very deep. What I am saying is perhaps he regrets marrying you because he realized—sooner or later—he'd have to watch you die."

Gwen said nothing. Just continuing to hold Afow as tightly as she could. Her lips pressed into her daughter's dark hair while keeping her gaze on the warpriest before her. Krulem seemed honest in his words. His face betrayed nothing—a similar expression Tayvian used to display when she was certain he was lying about where he'd gotten the trinkets he came home with. She couldn't decide if Krulem was also lying, or if he truly did believe in the reasons he used to explain Tayvian's sudden disappearance.

How often do these things happen? How many other "bastards" out there aren't actually bastards? How many times have elven fathers and mothers just left their half-breed child with another caregiver because their partner has a shorter lifespan?

Gwen took a deep breath, smoothing Afow's hair. "I'm the only parent she has left," she finally said. She hated how she was now going to resort to begging. "Please. I can't contact my husband. Even if I could, I doubt he'd take her with him. I won't leave her."

Krulem gave her a small smile. "Do this one thing for me and I promise you, you and your daughter will never be separated by one of us."

Gwen felt a wave of relief wash over her. Zarren had told Gwen he'd promised not to separate families, but the fear of her daughter being ripped away from her had kept her awake the whole night. She'd heard Krulem say the same that first day he came to town and announced it before all of them. Even as she sat at her treadle sewing machine putting Krulem's tunic back together, she could feel the exhaustion tugging her back to bed.

She stole a glance at Afow who was seated on the floor playing with her rag dolls. Gwen had made those dolls out of scraps of fabric left over from special orders she'd received when business was still good for her. She smiled, watching and listening to Afow babble back and forth in Elven and Common as she manipulated the dolls across the floor. Gwen was pleased Afow could fluently speak her father's native tongue, though Tayvian had little if not nothing to do with teaching it to her. Afow had had plenty of Elven mentors to teach her the beautiful tongue.

Gwen sipped at her tea, watching Afow play with her dolls and jabbering away in the dual tongues. Not long ago, a full-blooded elven girl named Touli Shollis and a full-blooded human girl named Svogny Mithe used to sit and play on that same floor with Afow. Ever since Tayvian left, Svogny and Touli never came around. Only Zet seemed to care less about Afow's new bastard status and more about making sure Afow had a friend.

Gwen went back to her sewing. There wasn't anything left in this town for either of them anymore. Nothing to keep them here. Afow's only friends were Zet and Stold and the dwarven blacksmith seemed intent to accompany the visiting warpriest to the monastery of Belanur. Gwen hadn't a clue as to whether or not Zet's human mother, Sali, was also intent on relocating to Belanur as well. As for Gwen, her only friend was known for visiting the monastery from time to time. Belanur was no stranger to Zarren and neither were the fighter-clerics atop the mountain either.

Gwen guided the material through the sewer, her foot rocking the treadle back and forth. I'm doing this for both of us. We can have a life. A real life. I can do my work in peace and Afow will never be shunned for her father's mistake again, she thought as she checked her stitches and cut the thread.

"Amal," Afow said, now standing at Gwen's elbow and clutching her favorite doll.

Gwen lowered the mended tunic to her lap, reaching for Afow's shoulder with one hand. "Yes, love?" she asked, encouraging Afow to speak.

"Are we going away, Amal?" Afow asked.

Gwen shrugged. "Maybe, love. Maybe."

"I don't wanna leave!" Afow protested. "I don't wanna leave my nildo."

Gwen barely recognized the elven word for friend and guessed she meant Zet. As big and intimidating as the half-orc was, at least Zet was kind to Afow, perhaps due to Sali's influence.

Gwen sighed, using both hands to pull Afow close. "I'm sorry, love. I wish we didn't have to—really, I do. But, things are difficult right now. The warpriests are offering a chance to help us out of a difficult situation. It's better for both of us if we leave."

"But, I don't want to leave my nildo!" Afow protested.

"You'll see Zet again," Gwen promised—though how she was going to keep that promise to Afow, she didn't know. "Why, I bet Zet will even make the trip to Belanur himself someday."

"But, Osinus Tos next door says orcs don't make good warpriests!" Afow said.

Gwen frowned. Her elven neighbor Osinus was well-known for his bold opinions of others. In truth, Gwen blamed Osinus for the non-verbal banishment she and Afow had received as much as she blamed Tayvian. Not that Osinus could talk. It was said he had several illegitimate offspring in other towns and cities around the world in the sixty-odd years he'd been traveling before settling in Braxia. Whether this rumor was true or not didn't matter. If Osinus did have offspring elsewhere, he never seemed to make an effort to see any of them, elven or half-elven.

"Osinus Tos likes to talk, that's all, dear one." Gwen said. "I'm sure Zet would make a fine warpriest one day. There's plenty of orcish fighters and clerics in the world. Zet could be one of them."

Afow didn't seem so sure. Orcs were an odd sight about the town. Gwen wasn't even sure if Afow had ever seen a full-blooded orc before. Gwen had rarely seen full-blooded orcs either and the ones she did see were neither fighters nor clerics. But she knew the warpriests weren't quite as selective about race as they were about skill with steel and spell.

"I'm sure you'll see Zet some day, Ayf." Gwen said, trying her best to put her daughter's fears to rest. In the distance, she could hear the bell chiming and realized the sun was slowly descending over the horizon. "Right now, it's late. You should be getting ready for bed. Go on. Pick up your toys and be off with you. I'll be up in a minute to tuck you in."

"Alright, Amal." Afow said. She pecked her mother on the cheek, then hurried over to put her dolls away.

Meanwhile, Gwen folded the tunic carefully, wrapping it in parchment, and placing it tenderly into the hand basket she used specifically for deliveries. Then, after putting her sewer away, she went to Afow's loft and tucked her in bed. Once she was sure her daughter was asleep, Gwen hurried over to the Ebony Oak where she found Krulem seated in the same corner as before. He was neither eating nor drinking and he was alone, ignoring the crowd around him as he ran a whetstone down the length of his long sword. A sharpened dagger sat on the table in front of him.

"Warpriest Nemvulno," Gwen said, seating herself across from him and shaking her head at the halfling child offering her a pitcher of ale.

The elf looked up from his work only momentarily and gave her a brief smile. "Ah yes, the seamstress. I take it you've finished my tunic already." He ran his thumb across the edge of his sword, sucking on the sliced digit when it bled in response.

"I have," Gwen announced, taking the once-ripped tunic from her basket and presenting it to him.

Krulem sheathed his sword, accepting his tunic from her and scrutinizing it closely. "Nicely done. Stold and Zare were right. You do do good work."

Gwen would have smiled if she didn't feel so tired. "Does this mean you'll make good on your promise? You'll take myself and my little girl with you to Belanur?"

Krulem stuffed his tunic into his rucksack, nodding at her. "You did what I asked and you've proven yourself worthy of a place in Belanur. I meant very much what I said. I only hope you and the child are up for a journey."

"I am," Gwen said. "Afow on the other hand . . . she's friends with a half-orc here. A boy named Zet Velrebro. She's reluctant to leave because of him."

Krulem's eyes went to the far corner of the room as he murmured the half-orc's last name under his breath. ". . . you mean Sali Jaskar's boy. Yes, I've met them. Sali seemed intent on sending him with me claiming he's apprenticing under that dwarf blacksmith. I've had to kindly decline for the time being. We have no room for apprentice blacksmiths right now. 'Perhaps next year', I told her."

"He and my daughter help Stold around his shop from time to time," Gwen explained.

"That may be, but that does not mean Velrebro is actually Cinderspark's apprentice." Krulem calmly countered.

Gwen only nodded.

"Honestly, I wish I could take him. Only problem is Sali has no valuable skills we can use right now and we cannot just take her boy away." Krulem said, gently.

Gwen nodded. Sali was a basket weaver—a trade she had learned from her own mother. Clearly the warpriests had no use for basket weavers for the moment and that was why Sali and Zet were being left behind.

"I promised maybe next year. I am always true to my word. This time next year, I'll return to Braxia and see about taking them with me." His mouth curled up into a small smirk. "Perhaps this time next year, we'll need a weaver to make laundry baskets."

Gwen would have smiled back but she was too tired to. "I understand, Warpriest Nemvulno."

Krulem studied her face. "In the meantime, you should get back to bed. You look ready to collapse at any moment." He stood up, took her hands and pulled her upright. "Don't worry, I'll make all the arrangements. Let's get you home and rested. I'll still be here when you wake up."

Grateful for his words and help, Gwen staggered home with his arm wrapped around her. Before she knew it, she was waking up in her own bed and the sun was shining bright through the window.

2