See Critical Role’s Mighty Nein through the eyes of nine of their friends and foes in this new anthology, with a foreword by Taliesin Jaffe. In these nine stories, the legend of the mighty adventuring party grows with tales from some of the most memorable characters who fought with--and against--the Mighty Nein! Within its pages: • Essek Thelyss grapples with the choices of his past and the potential of his future, as told by Dani Carr . • Isharnai deals with the emotional aftermath of a fate-altering cupcake, as told by Kiri Callaghan . • Pumat Sol returns to his shop after the fight with Obann and the Mighty Nein, only to find that his adventure is not quite done, as told by Mike Chen . • Plus six more hilarious, heartbreaking, and heroic tales featuring Sprinkle , Avantika , Dairon , and more! With their hope, unbreakable bonds, and larger-than-life commitment to heroism in a dark world, Critical Role’s Mighty Nein touched hearts everywhere they went--both those of their fans and their fellow denizens of Exandria. This collection spotlights nine characters whose lives were changed by the Mighty Nein but whose stories have not yet been told. Contributors: Foreword by Taliesin Jaffe • Betsy Aoki • Kiri Callaghan • Dani Carr • Mae Catt • Mike Chen • Rin Chupeco • Nino Cipri • Nadia El-Fassi • Chase K

Autorentext

Founded by veteran voice actors Matthew Mercer, Ashley Johnson, Marisha Ray, Taliesin Jaffe, Travis Willingham, Sam Riegel, Laura Bailey, and Liam O’Brien, Critical Role has grown from a weekly improv storytelling campaign set in an ever-evolving world to a media company centered on connecting with communities in new and meaningful ways, including fiction (Critical Role: Vox Machina—Kith & Kin) and nonfiction (The World of Critical Role) books on the New York Times bestseller list, comic books (Vox Machina Origins, Tales of Exandria), graphic novels (The Mighty Nein Origins series), collectibles, tabletop and roleplaying games, podcasts, live events, and a critically acclaimed animated series, The Legend of Vox Machina.

Leseprobe
Fight for the Soul

by Betsy Aoki

**Intro to the depths
**
Dread Uk’otoa, in his prison sealed, three locks

Here, in the storm-­shattered splinters and melted slag from the Tide’s Breath, sinking swiftly into the depths. Here, in ruddy pools of blood diffusing across hungry waters. The rack and ruin of souls stilled as the Lucidian Ocean swallowed it all, and flotsam whirled down to Uk’otoa’s domain as tribute.

Green fronds waved amidst spiraling bubbles and the chuckling of a hungry leviathan.

So compelling, the movements of the drowning. Under the dark waters, their struggles became seductive, sensual, slowed like a lover’s caress.

Uk’otoa thought no one would ever understand this beauty: his need to see them die with all his burning yellow eyes, hold them tightly within the serpentine coils of his mind, taste their last thoughts and breaths.

Where once he spent his followers’ blood across the islands, now the fallen leviathan savored each tiny blood-­tinged bubble, each terrified last shudder, as the fire of salt water filled their lungs. Seawater was the only substance that could erase the souls of fools in quite this delicious way, and Uk’otoa drank deep.

Their minds? Their minds screamed for the Dawnfather, the Wildmother, other godly relatives even further from the frequency upon which Uk’otoa thought his thoughts.

At least they weren’t crying out to his father. Uk’otoa felt the old anger rise and reflexively quelled it. Revenge against the Cloaked Serpent would be in stealth until such a time when it was too late to be anything but loud.

Something new descended, cutting through the deep kelp . . .

Ah, Vandran’s old falchion, seawater converting its barnacles into encrusted blue-­green eyes. Once wielded with utter devotion, now cast off in treachery. Uk’otoa didn’t care how the storm killed Vandran. His lack of weapon suggested the human captain had drowned already.

Near the falling blade, Uk’otoa found Vandran’s pet, the half-­orc sailor, still struggling in the bloody waters. Fjord. So angry, having just witnessed his shipmate Sabian’s explosive betrayal of the Tide’s Breath crew.

Burning to save his own life, yes, but also to be powerful, to not be at the mercy of anything or anyone. Like Uk’otoa, Fjord did not want to die alone down here, defeated by his beloved wind and open water, betrayed by someone he thought he understood.

As his dying soul screamed for recourse into the sea’s cold depths, Fjord didn’t realize there was a bargain to be made. But Uk’otoa did.

And Uk’otoa made it for him.

What the bison remember

The Wildmother, in her realm far from Exandria

The first time the Wildmother grew concerned about the sailor was when she heard of him from the bison.

The elders had scented a not-­from-­here stench that stood out from the clean grass and the wind through the cottonwood trees. The smell centered on one of the travelers who trod the land with a heavy boot. And in the abandoned campsite, the bison nosed through a wet area littered with bloody dust clumps and orc tusk shavings, rife with the burnt smell of tooth.

The Wildmother recognized the stench through their noses: the acid burn of salt water vomited in a rough series of circles, burning through the grasses and killing the soil underneath.

Her seas were nowhere near this place. Who would carry seawater while traveling, drink it to the point of sickness, and then vomit it out upon her lands?

Reaching with her soul-­sense, she found that the area smelled of coercion, a deal forced upon someone. Salt water from her seas had been used as a tether. She could think of only one power on Exandria who placed such bindings on the drowning: Uk’otoa, creation of her twisted brother the Cloaked Serpent.

The bison elder, sensing her growing dismay, sought to ease her worries.

The interlopers moved on, of course. And this smell certainly didn’t disrupt the evening feed or the morning lowing rituals to the Mother of All Bison, he said hurriedly. All herd proprieties have been observed, and our gracious lady still holds these lands.

But the grass never did grow back.

The words, and the weapon

In his prison sealed, three locks

Another midnight arrived, along with the roiling of mazarine-­blue oceans inside Uk’otoa’s soul. His dreaming eyes saw overturned silt sending rot-­scum in eddies across cold currents. Within these tiny vortices Uk’otoa detected Fjord’s young soul, yearning and bright, coming to rest before one of the leviathan’s burning eyes.

Delicious. Words seek havens, like larval barnacles seek rock, and Uk’otoa would send such larvae to swim deep inside Fjord’s soul.

Come to your true father, who has sought you out, Uk’otoa thought, preparing his own mind for the exhausting contact with Fjord beyond the barrier. Cast off these fools and weaklings. Come into your power as my Fathombound.

The giant leviathan coiled gently around Fjord’s tiny soul—­a soul so anxious to please his new traveling mates, so worried about his tusks and his ability to appear strong, so concerned with his ability to fit in. So full of shame about who he was, where he came from, how little he knew about the world and his magic.

Easy doorways, to a son of the Cloaked Serpent. The half-­orc was wide open.

Let him face the scrutiny of just one eye—­all he could probably handle at thi…