"what was it like...?" keyleth asks, quiet yet contemplative; her voice is as soft as her bare footsteps, approaching the champion, blue air ashari robes floating behind. "being dead. i know it's going to be a long time until i experience it, but... i suppose morbid curiosity has the better of me as i watch our friends go one by one."
It was something of a quick visit, another life that he had to carry to the Shadowfell and for a brief moment, the visage of the de Rolo crest burned in his eyes as he made his way to the top of the tower. Decades had passed, as previously his only steps onto the Material Plane were for a friend, a golaith with a nasty infection even the Everlight couldn't heal. Now, it was for royalty. Seeing the white haired man, lying in bed with his children surrounding him and his wife at his bedside --- no, not wife. His sister. Vex'ahlia. Time in the Shadowfell moved differently for him, and the faces he saw were only flickers of his time before She called him 'Champion'. He guided Percival Fredrick---no. Percy. He liked to be called 'Percy'. The paladin guided him from the bed, the once lithe and stoic faced gunslinger stood before him as he made his way towards the shadows and to his rest.
The Champion felt the tug again, only this time towards a familiar place. Of home. Of the woman that he loved and the life that he left, the future of what if's and lost time, to Zephrah he went. He stood on the edge of the cliffside, the salted breeze coming up from the crashing waves below him and the cloak billowing around him, he waited. It would be inevitable for her to come, with his ravens that brought her messages of his thoughts and the small gifts where he went. Some days he knew of the Tempest. Other days, it was a muscle memory of 'i need to do this, but i can't remember why.' Even still, every day he sent the raven, and every day it came back to him. She still waited.
The question was not uncommon to him, but from someone that he admired and loved it meant something. Whether it was fear in her voice or if she spoke truth in the morbid curiosity, the Champion turned to see her, give a small smile and beckon her forward to the cliff. He did not reach for her hand, only turning back to look out onto the ocean and the horizon as they met. Did he lie to the Tempest and give her false hope, or did the half-elf do the duty bestowed unto him, give the truth and throw more fear onto the dark fire in her heart?
' death...is spoken about as a definite. as our minds wither and our bodies decay from the erosion of nature, we see it as the end. there are those who believe they will come back as someone else, as their gods and goddesses intend. to some, death is painful. ' He stopped for a few moments, his head bowed in a soft prayer for their fallen companion. ' to others, it is as simple as a breath. in, full of life and wonder and out, a powerful gust to move even the smallest of threads. i am not dead, but walk between the last exhale. i exist not only because of that breath but for others who wish to bottle it and keep it, to stopper the weave of fate.'
' death...befalls us all. ' With a small movement of his wrist, a snowdrop pushed itself up from the edge of the cliff, in front of where he stood and watched its petals move in the breeze. ' though, from death we learn. from death, life begins anew. you and the others of vox machina will take that last breath, but with it's exhale push life into others from beyond your knowledge. do not worry, as i will be there to guide you. '
The half-elf turned towards the druid, leaning up to kiss her forehead. Still to this day, his beautiful Keyleth was still a head taller than him, and it made him smile. ' do not forget that i am with you. Forever and always. '
A few raven feathers were left where he stood, and as the wind picked up against the edge, they flew against the cliffside. Save for one, which rested itself against the flower.
