To the boneshaker, unbroken yet beaten, shot down and tinkered with to the epoch of agony, one who is not a shattered mirror, Percival -

// a poem by Maestrander // 3/9 // Critical Role

there are more than enough ghosts in your thoughts than there are to be mechanically placed in graves
too many that hiss and keep you awake
your thoughts are driven from project to project just to keep yourself occupied
the only peace you feel is one when you believe you stand at the bodies of the ones who have pained you so much
the tears that sting your eyes also burn your throat like gunpowder
every dream begins with your voice a whisper and ends a broken cry
death itself seems a kinder fate than the blazing fire that ignites your heart
the guilt is a swallowing sea and you are drowning in it
it seems selfish to swim to the surface

it whispers in your ear
you can feel its power as your arm jerks back and the blast is deafening
revenge, it says
you are afraid you have been pushed too far to return
it sounds too good to be true
after all, since those years have passed, they had been swallowed in bloodshed
it was easier to wave the thing off
now you can see the lady and lord in full glory
and it is not so easy

the screams
the agony
their names, emblazoned on your eyelids every time you blink
there is no words to describe the icy fear threatening to implode and detonate the ticking time bomb in your chest
the smoke blisters your lungs as you inhale, reminding you that despite your best efforts, you still remain alive
it’s for revenge, the thing murmurs to you
slowly, you begin to agree
it does not seem to selfish to gasp your first breath of fresh air and wallow in the warm sunlight

he risked his life for you
the cloaked and shadowed one
he cares, too much, you can just barely tell
he has tried to suppress it beneath every word that echoes from his lungs
you can hear the pain
it is too much like your own

her bear is much of a friend to you as she is
warm, inviting and welcoming
her laughter rings throughout the tavern, enchanted and wild
she’s quick as her bow and not afraid to put you in your place
you welcome the harshness of her truth,
straight as an arrow

she’s shielded in iron, but her heart is as soft and kind as it once was
she’s not around all that often,
but her goddess is
you barely wander into the sanctuary, afraid that the thing would be angry
her rays of serenity stretch even to you, boneshaker,
do not fret

you find him tall and full of laughter
he enjoys a drink as much as the splatter of blood
to you, he is but a child in a rock body
he may strike hard
but he is kind
he will fight for you

the one who shapes flowers like clay stands at your side
her eyes -  today, they are like summer leaves – flooding with tears
the resonance of your sin hits you like one of your shots
she cares for you, but she is scared of you

the bumbling sorcerer seems to understand the need for you to tinker
his temper can blaze as bright as your furnace
he blunders, but he means well

the one who sings, his voice filling you wish blooming inspiration more often than not
he is clever and witty,
holding you in a certain regard
be kind to him
his heart is not as small as it appears on his sleeve

fight it
do not let it consume you
for the seven who outnumber the names on your barrel
they will keep you standing and steady