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Their Legacy
Syldor Vessar had very rarely been at a loss for words. On most occasions, silence was the most diplomatic response to any retort or provocation, however silence by choice and being at a loss were two separate circumstances. He was not a man of very many words or one to show strong emotion, although he had tried as best he could to be there for his youngest daughter. When it came to eldest children, he had not been the father they deserved; he had been distant and cold. A man of no words at all.
When he had learned that his son, Vax’ildan had become the champion of the Raven Queen and had not only slain dragons and saved the primaterial plane, he had locked himself in his study for long enough that his wife had worried for him. When Vex’ahlia had come to him as Whitestone’s diplomatic liaison with Syngorn he had realized just how much of her life he had missed out on. Syldor was not an unfeeling man, but he had not been equipped to care for the twins when they had been children and as adults he had not known how to breach the gap after so many years of bitterness.
Now I’ve lost them, he couldn’t stop staring at the ragtag band in front of him. My only son and my eldest daughter… gone before they could ever truly live.
In truth, Vox Machina did not look anything like the ragtag adventurers he had met on occasions before. The goliath, at least, remained the same although he seemed somber and haunted now. The gnomes who sat by him—much closer than Syldor had ever seen such small entities to such a large one, there must be great trust there. The gnomes were well dressed and regal looking; the bard’s eyes were sad but the set of his jaw defiant and the cleric, although childlike and angelic, seemed to have aged well beyond the years of any being he had ever encountered. Indeed, whatever these friends had witnessed must have been terrible.
Yet, it was the half-elf with them that surprised him; she stood tall and proud. Syldor wondered if his own children would stand so in the Elven City. The druid’s eyes were haunted and red-rimmed, she did not look pained, but rather as though she had found some strength beyond her own and it allowed her to stand in his presence. Headmaster of the Ashari, Keyleth Voice of the Tempest, stood in his parlor and held the hand of his wife as she bore the news that had broken her and her friends.
The human man, Lord Percival Fredrickstein von Musel Klossowski De Rolo III of Whitestone, did not look at him nor did he spare a glance at Devana. No, Lord De Rolo only had eyes for Velora as she walked into the parlor and took in their sad and tired faces.
It was obvious that Vox Machina had prepared for his trip to Syngorn; they were well groomed and wore their titles and styles. Syldor might have thought it pompous once, but seeing them now as they truly were he realized that their attire was a statement to all who crossed their path: We will not be ignored.
“Where…Where are Vex and Vax?” Velora asked as her gaze searched the room.
Lord De Rolo took a few steps forward and sank to his knees in front of her, at twelve years old Velora was much too old to be knelt in front of when spoken to, but the human was tall and they met almost at eye level. He did not say anything at first, but pulled a box out of his jacket pocket and gave it to her.
“What’s this?” she opened the box.
His voice shook as he answered, “Their feathers. We retrieved their feathers from the battlefield for you.”
Velora’s eyes widened and shone with tears of recognition, but it was denial that fell from her lips, “It’s a trick. It’s not true! Where are they?!”
The young man’s face crumpled, “Their spirits are with their gods, hopefully together. Their bodies are in Whitestone, the funeral preparations are being made.”
“No…” the young elven girl’s voice was barely a whisper and Syldor longed to reach for her, but his body would not respond to his mental command. “They’re gone.”
“They’ll always be with you,” Keyleth said softly as she let go of Devana’s hands to step closer.
“The twins would never leave you,” the gnomic bard added from where he sat. “They’re too strong willed to let something like death keep them from you.”
The cleric was sniffling and the goliath remained silent, but Syldor sensed that they too believed that Vex’ahlia and Vax’ildan would not leave their sister to weather the storms of the world alone.
“Their—” Lord De Rolo’s voice broke. “Their final resting place will be in Whitestone because it had become their home. And—and it is where their chosen family now resides.”
Velora’s eyes were fixed on the man’s face and, throwing all propriety to the wind, she threw her arms out and enveloped Lord Percival Fredrickstein von Musel Klossowski De Rolo III in her arms.
“Velora!” Syldor exclaimed as feeling and command of his senses finally returned to him. “Lord De Rolo I’m so sorry—”
“Percy,” Velora’s voice rang out clearly.
“What?” he couldn’t contain his confusion.
His daughter—now his only child—raised her head from where it had rested on the human lord’s shoulder, “Percy. That’s his name. He was my Vex’s Percy and now he is mine. She protected him, and now so will I.”
The simple truths falling from her lips stunned the room into silence.
Velora looked up at Keyleth, the all might Voice of the Tempest and said, “You were my Vax’s Kiki, now you are mine. You will live a long life and you have the strength and wisdom to lead your people, but I won’t let you walk that path alone. I will walk with you even if I cannot do anything more.”
Syldor did not know what to think as the half elven leader fell to her knees and hugged his daughter with tears streaming down her face.
They sat on the floor for many minutes as Velora comforted two of the saviors of the primaterial plane. A simple twelve year old child wiped the tears of mortals that may well have been gods among their kin. She listened as Percival told her how sorry he was that she had lost siblings, that he knew her pain and could scarcely bear that she was experiencing it.
Velora, however, must have been endowed with resilience from the gods her siblings served because she simply shook her head and asked, “Where is Trinket?”
The bard gave a cough from where he sat; it sounded something between a laugh and the cry of a wounded animal.
“Here,” Percival rested a hand on the pendant that hung around his neck, and out of seemingly nowhere materialized a large brown bear. “I’ve been keeping him as happy and comfortable as I can, but he misses her. He misses both of them.”
Velora raised a hand from where she was still hugging Percival and rested it on Trinket’s head, “I’m sorry, Buddy. I know you loved her and protected her as much as you could. It’s not your fault.”
The room lapsed into silence again, Syldor could think of nothing to say and Devana was silently weeping beside him for the loss of the step children she had never truly known.
The cleric cleared her throat and stood, “Vox Machina has come to invite you to the funeral that will happen in two days.”
He nodded, “We will take the teleportation Sygil and be present. Thank you.”
Velora shook her head, “I’m going back with them.”
Devana gasped, “Oh no. You can’t impose—”
Lord De Rolo, for that was who became again as he looked to them, “Velora is welcome in Whitestone whenever she chooses,” he turned back to the girl in his arms then. “Should you choose to accept it, your sister has left you her home and her titles and lands.”
Syldor frowned at that, “She’s twelve years old—”
“And,” Lord De Rolo turned to him, “Baroness of the Third House of Whitestone, should she choose to be. The title encompasses the house, the land upon which the Temple of the Raven Queen in Whitestone is built, and rights to all of the privileges that being a direct member of the De Rolo household entails.”
“She left me everything?” Velora had tears in her eyes.
Percival nodded, but it was Keyleth who spoke, “Vax didn’t have much to his name, that was Vex’s thing, but he did have a pair of boots that he loved very dearly. They’re yours if you’ll have them.”
Velora nodded, “I want to come back with you.”
“Velora!” Syldor couldn’t help feeling like he was losing the last of his children in her desire to leave.
“Not forever, Papa,” she looked at him imploringly. “Not for a long time. I’ll stay with Percy until the funeral is over and come home. But, I want to go and see my brother and sister. I want to go see their home.”
He could not fault her for that.
Two days later, Syldor stood on the path leading up to Whitestone Castle with his wife. He had been in to see the bodies of his children. Vex’ahlia and Vax’ildan were dressed respectively in white and black, both regal and peaceful looking. Vox Machina had commissioned a casket that held both of their bodies together because—as Keyleth had pointed out—the twins were never meant to walk the planes alone. Even in their final rest, Vex’ahlia and Vax’ildan would be together.
After Vox Machina’s departure, Syldor had felt a numbness overcome him as he tried to fully comprehend the loss of his children.
Where was Velora? She had been supposed come find him after she was dressed.
Now, the trumpets sounded and a mournful music filled the air as the doors to Whitestone Castle opened and the procession began. Out came the Riflemen and the Clergy followed by the casket bearing the bodies of the twins.
Vox Machina followed the casket on foot. They were all dressed in their battle armor and carried their weapons proudly as they walked. Their faces were ashen and tear stricken, but they held their heads high. The gnomes rode on the goliath’s shoulder, the bard playing a sad tune as the cleric seemed to sing as she prayed in celestial. In front of the goliath—Grog, the Grand Poobah, he had been informed—walked Keyleth alongside Trinket, she seemed to raise a tumultuous wind to carry the sound of their sorrow as the procession moved. Tears fell from her eyes, but her gaze did not waver.
Only slightly in front of The Voice of the Tempest, walked Lord Percival von Musel Klossowski De Rolo III clad in a fine blue coat, rifle strapped to his back. He looked like he had been crying heavily. Settled proudly on his hip, arms around his neck, dressed in white armor and a cloak black as night with raven feathers adorning the shoulders was Lady Velora Vessar Baroness of the Third House of Whitestone.
Although Syldor might have once said that Velora was much too old to be carried to bed, much less publicly during a procession, he could not bring himself to think so now. Percival held her securely and she looked out at the crowd with an expression that spoke of both sadness beyond measure and courage beyond all comprehension.
Once the party had reached the Sun Tree, Vox Machina took the floor and spoke of their fallen friends. Of their bravery and love, and of their willingness to aid those who needed it.
Percival was the last to speak, he held Velora as he talked about Vax’ildan and how much he had loved having a brother once more. And his voice broke as he spoke of Vex’ahlia as the love of his life, but with tears streaming down his face he placed Velora on her feet and said:
“Whitestone, today is a sad day in the story of Vox Machina and in our history. But,” he closed his eyes for a moment and then, as if willing himself to find courage he did not possess reopened them, “Vex and Vax would not have wanted us to mourn forever. They would not have wanted their sacrifice to be in vain.”
He stopped again and Velora took his hand.
“Today, I present to you all, Lady Velora Vessar Baroness of the Third House of Whitestone,” Percival gave a watery smile. “Vex’ahlia and Vax’ildan’s legacy; Whitestone’s Little Lady.”
Velora stood proudly by Vox Machina and, for the first time, Syldor saw clearly: she was what this band of ragtag heroes had fought for. She was their hope and she may not have fought on the battle fields beside them, but they loved her as one of their own.
She was their legacy.