(Spoilers for Critical Role Campaign 2 Episode 77, DON'T READ IF YOU HAVEN'T SEEN THE EPISODE!)
"No!" Yasha screamed, as the Orphanmaker raised Magician's Judge and sliced clean through yet another innocent person. The blue and grays of the Cobalt Soul now utterly marred by quick-spreading crimson. These were Beau's people and she could only watch as her body…or was it actually her slaughtered them.
The portion of her mind, a memory or imagination of the spire she had been chained to in her vision from the Storm Lord, but there was no thunder now, no deep voice commanding her to fight, the only noise was her own struggle. He cries of anguish and rage, the sound of clanking chains as she fought against them. That's all it was in this place she'd retreated to, or been forced to…was this her? Was it her imagination? She surged against the chains that held her, fighting to regain control to force the Orphanmaker to put down their blade, or to even halt, but whatever Obann had done had strengthened her bonds. They twinned around her entire form, not just her arms, small barbs digging into her skin…or was the pain also just a figment of her psyche?
Another cry, as another person died beneath the Orphanmaker's blade. She remembered her time in Zadash, before the Dynasty…before Bazzoxan before it had all gone so very, very wrong. The people of this city had cheered her name…would anyone who might survive recognize her? Would any survive? If they did would her name be cursed from that point forward. Would their hatred of Xhorhas, of her people…be proved right?
A scream drew her attention back to the image of the outside, but she couldn't see a crumbled form before the Orphanmaker, instead she froze for a moment in her struggling as the disconcerting, burbling laugh of the Laughing Hand reached her ears. Whatever abomination that beast was deeply enjoyed their work, though part of her doubted that Obann could force that creature to do anything even compared to how easily he was puppeting the Orphanmaker.
The laughter of the Hand causes a flurry of memories to get dragged up.
Storm Lord, please let her friends be safe? Were they searching for her? Did they hate her? Would she see them again? If she did would….would they take her back if they could find a way or…or would their faces be the last ones she ever saw again?
"Why?"
Fjord's bloody face looking up at her in anger, confusion and just a bit of acceptance as his life teetered right on the edge of death. Blood seeped from numerous wounds across his body, and both the Orphanmaker and the Hand had been bearing down on him.
"I hear you." She said, and at that moment the Orphanmaker had missed their strike against her friend, a look of confusion crossing his face making her realize he had actually heard her.
She'd struggled and fought, cheered and wept as she had been forced to watch what happened next. Beau darting in to carry Fjord to safety, the door closing as the Orphanmaker raced forward, Jester and Nott reaching out for her.
"Yasha!" Jesters anguished cry had been the last thing she'd heard for a very long time except for the sound of steel against the stone and the sickening laughter of the Hand.
"Very good." Her struggling growing ever more frantic as Obann walked out of the portal and laid a hand on the Orphanmaker's shoulder.
But she hadn't broken free, the only show of her inner defiance, her vicious inner struggle the tears she could feel streaking down the Orphanmaker's face.
The Orphanmaker reached the bottom of the steps and there before them was Oban, disguised as a member of the Cobalt Soul desperately hunting through books.
She screamed, and struggled and begged, wishing against wish for her body to take the bloody blade clasped in its hand and take off his head.
"Vence fails to pull his weight." Oban spat, as he continued frantically searching through the books, "The Angel will see that I am superior."
The Angel of Irons, all this bloodshed, all this death, all in her name. She cursed her name, she cursed Obann, she cursed herself and continued struggling only for an excited smile that infuriated her even more crossed Oban's face.
"Juriel's remains were bisected, the heart was placed in the Lotus Den, the Skull was given to the Elves of Veluthil. Hand!"
His joy angered her more than anything and it also filled her with fear. More people were going to die. She fought with all her might against her bonds…but again the only sign of resistance was the tears in her eyes.
The Hand arrived, looming behind her, it's sickening laugh echoing inside her mind.
Obann looked up with a smile as he stood up, "Let's go find you another friend."
He clasped the Laughing Hand's great blade in his hand and reached out towards the Orphanmaker, to her.
She wanted desperately to chop it off, to rip his arm from his socket, to spit in his face, to do anything! Anything but gently take his hand as her body did.
"We're going to kill more innocent people." She thought, the chains tightening ever so slightly.
She had hoped her friends were safe.
But who was going to save the next people Obann set the Orphanmaker and the Laughing Hand upon?
Who was going to save her?