Keyleth's Timeless Body: You have become so connected to nature and the essence of renewal.
Beau's Timeless Body: You have reached peak enlightenment where the physical no longer affects you.
Laudna's Timeless Body: WELL Y'AIN'T GETTIN' ANY DEAD-ER!
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"Hail to the Tempest."
[image description: an illustration of Keyleth, from Critical Role. She looks a bit older, a bit worn--her expression is soft but tired. Her mantle of leaves cascades down her shoulders and to the left, and she holds the Spire of Conflux in her right. End ID]
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Keyleth on the outside rn: composure and concern, responsible, if still a little awkward 
Keyleth mentally rn is just: what the fuck what the fuck what the fuck holy shit holy shit holy shit what the fuck in the goddamn holy fuck Percy is not going to believe this holy shit what the fuck I need to tell everyone holy shit fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck
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"Hey I'm not judging. I walked around with a bunch of slap dicks back in my early life."
-Keyleth after watching all of that divination go down.
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Not me thinking about the intimate power of love in this campaign.
Not me thinking about how Imogen’s reaction following the first kiss solidifies that she has likely been pining for Laudna for some time and never thought she’d reciprocate.
Not how these two women fighting being puppets in maniacal mages games look to each other and find stability amongst the ever worsening storm.
Not thinking about Ashton and how he claims he doesn’t give a shit about anything. But he does about them. He *does*. He loves them. Each of them have wormed their way past his worn, barbed exterior and even he is baffled at how much he missed the ones that were gone. One, a thief of many things and a giver of something so hard to steal back, possibly burrowing even deeper than the rest.
Not thinking about the three “unromancable” PCs finding love.
Not thinking about the Murderbot finally finding a true reason to live, and solidifying his faith through another wander lost in the world just like him. That literally took off the mask and showed him the truth lying underneath.
Not thinking about the old wolf who despite how he acts, had it in his heart that he never amounted to much and his future was quickly shortening finding a light, a core light of his life returning to him by the whim of luck and the Gods and seeing him for *all* he is, all he’s been, all he can be and telling him: “I love you.”
Not the hanged woman, the stand-in, the lone witch seeking true connection, finding it in the woman who can see every single part of her, and find none of it wanting. An intimate tether through storm, and death and madness and grief, something to rush back to. A true *home*
And not about our little lone soldier, his love gone, clutching to the memory so tightly it scalds his palm and burns his heart.
And not about how he clutched a certain stone in much the same way.
And not how the Chosen of Death itself returned come hell, high water or screaming torment to save the life of the woman who became his entire world. I don’t think he regrets it.
Love is Transformative. Love Holds Us Together. Love Sets Us Free.
Love is.
So don’t go forgetting it now, ya hear?
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