Title: Porcelain
Fandom: Critical Role (campaign 2)
Rating: G
Length: 1219 words
Content notes: vague spoilers for campaign 1? Or not necessarily spoilers, but it'll make less sense... Set before the start of campaign 2.
Author notes: at the end.
Summary: How Nott found her porcelain mask.

By the time Nott comes upon the ruined halfling village, in the early darkness brought on by gathering storm clouds, she’s close to collapsing from sheer exhaustion. The seemingly deserted farmhouse she’d tried to steal eggs from earlier that day had turned out to have several farmhands around, out of sight in the barn when she arrived, but emerging just in time to see her attempting to open the hen coop. She’d had to run for what felt like hours, dodging and weaving and taking advantage of every possible place she could slip through that was too small for the pursuing humans, before she finally managed to shake them off. Even after their shouts faded away in the distance, she’d kept running for a long time, fear driving her aching legs.

Now, she stumbles through the weed-grown streets, looking for a building that seems safe to sleep in. Most seem more damaged than the simple passage of time would warrant - a collapsed wall here, a caved-in ceiling there - and she guesses some natural disaster took place here, perhaps an earthquake. For a second, the thought gives her pause, and she considers simply sleeping out in the open. It would hardly be the first time she’s done it… But a low rumble of thunder reminds her a storm is likely coming, and she changes her mind. Sleeping beneath the stars is one thing, sleeping beneath the rain quite another. The village has clearly been abandoned for some time, there’s no reason to specially fear another earthquake; she should be able to find somewhere safe to sleep. And perhaps even something to eat, some dried rations maybe, left behind when the former inhabitants fled? The thought moves her to inspect the nearest houses, treading lightly for fear of starting a collapse. Most of the doors are locked, but they’re simple enough mechanisms that pose her no problems. The houses have been emptied for the most part, but her search is rewarded with some dried fruits and a jar of honey, overlooked at the back of deep cupboards. She doesn’t care to linger in any of the dwellings, though; they look too damaged and unstable, as if they could come down completely at any moment.

As she emerges from the third house she’s tried, clutching her meagre spoils, a sudden movement at the end of the street catches her attention. It’s too quick to be sure, but she thinks a bird just flew across. Well! A bird would be good eating, if she could catch it. Stowing her finds in one of her many pockets, she pulls out her small crossbow and moves stealthily towards the end of the row of houses. Peeking around the corner, she gets a better look at it, a large black bird standing on some stone steps. She lifts her crossbow, but before she can release the bolt, a sudden thunderclap rings out, startling both her and the bird, who darts into the building behind it with a croak. Reminded again of the storm, Nott looks at the building with an appraising eye. It’s larger and sturdier-seeming than the simple homes around it, and looks to be mostly intact. The first splashing raindrops make up her mind, and she runs to it, slipping through the half-open doors as the rain begins to pour down in earnest.

She looks around, blinking, as her eyes adjust to the darkness. There’s not much inside, some benches, the broken remnants of a large fallen statue, and she guesses this may have been a temple - who to, she has no idea. Nott knows little of gods and cares less, but this seems as good a place to sleep as she’s likely to find. The bird she followed here seems to have vanished, and she’s too tired to go looking for it, so she contents herself with finding a sheltered corner where she can curl up, take a sip from her flask, and eat a handful of dried fruit before falling asleep.

Sunlight wakes her the next morning, and she looks around, bleary-eyed. She can see the inside of the temple better now. It’s in more disarray than she’d realised in her weary state, some of the benches overturned and rocks lying around, doubtless dislodged in whatever catastrophe befell this village. There are birds carved along the walls, crows or ravens perhaps, and Nott wonders if they were welcome or perhaps even worshipped here, if that’s why the one she saw last night flew in. Her sharp eyes make out what seems to be some sort of hole in the wall at the back, but when she approaches it it’s empty; she assumes the villagers must have taken whatever was kept here. A sudden sound, like a flutter of wings, comes from the doorway, and she wheels around. Is it that bird again? She heads towards the door, but her attention is caught by something glinting in the light, next to the fallen statue, and she turns to examine it.

The statue is a woman, and must have stood at least as tall as the halfling worshippers when it was whole, Nott guesses. Now it’s shattered across the stone floor where it fell; and next to the face, gleaming in the sunlight that streams through the doors, is a porcelain mask. Part of it seems to have broken when the statue fell, but the bottom half is whole. Nott looks at it, and a sudden thought strikes her. Picking it up, she places it against her face, grinning as it seems to fit over her nose and mouth as if it were made for her. She’ll have to do a little work on it, no doubt, attach a string to help it stay on, perhaps paint the lips to make the white porcelain more natural at a glance, but this could be exactly what she’s been looking for to help her walk amongst people more easily.

A whispering gust of wind blows past her as she holds the mask in her hands, and she shivers suddenly, the hairs on the back of her neck standing on end. Where did that even come from? Why did it sound almost like words? With a quick, practiced movement, Nott tucks the mask away in the folds of her clothing as if she’d just lifted it from someone’s bag, and steps back. “Nothing to see,” she mutters to herself, and the sound of her own voice makes her feel more rational again. There’s no-one here, it’s just a drafty old abandoned building. She’s wasting her time.

Again, the flutter of wings comes from outside, this time accompanied by a cawing sound, and she hurries out. There’s no bird to be seen anywhere, though, and after a quick look around, Nott decides it’s time to be on her way again. It’s unlikely there’ll be anything of interest in these humble houses worth the risk of poking around them, and (though she doesn’t like to admit it) the thought of that whispering wind that seemed to come out of nowhere still unsettles her. Moving the few things she found the night before to better places in her pockets, and checking the porcelain mask is safe, she walks away.

Silently perched on the temple roof, a raven watches her go.