Grog - Blog Posts
Devil Baby of Mine - Critical Role Fanfiction
A/N: Hey guys! Here’s an extract from my new Critical Role fanfiction, the story of Grog finding a baby in the woods and deciding to kep him. If you enjoy, the link to the full story will be at the bottom of the post!
It wasn't unusual to find Grog wandering about the woods near Westruun. Whenever the need to smash some things arose – which, in his years of retirement, was just as strong as it had been in his prime – he would leave home in the morning and return before supper, just like Pike had instructed him. Sometimes, he would return with gifts, depending on what he had killed. Direwolf teeth, owlbear feathers, even a bulette shell, once. Everyone liked those gifts, especially Juniper. The gifts that Pike and Scanlan didn't like were the living ones, like that time he'd brought back a griffin egg and it had hatched in the living room. Pike had made him promise no more living gifts.
On that bright spring afternoon, Grog was making his way home after having climbed into the hills to fight a giant, just because he could. The sun was shining through the trees above him, casting small shapes of light on the ground. Grog's hammer rested over his shoulder, slick with the hill giant's blood. He was thinking about whether he should stop on his way home to find a gift for Juniper. He knew she would be sad if he didn't bring her something. Maybe he could stop on his way back to pick a few flowers. They would whither more quickly than wolf teeth, but he would be back to the forest in no time, so he could bring her more if Juni was sad that her flowers died.
Something shone in the distance, reflecting the mid-afternoon sunlight. It almost blinded Grog.
"Oh, shiny," he said as he quickly made his way toward the shiny.
Once he was close enough, he noticed that the shiny in question was a large safety pin, keeping a bundle of cloth tightly together. Grog carefully pulled the safety pin out to look at it. He thought Juni might like it, so he placed it in his bag. Then, light babbles echoed from between the folds of the cloth, and he looked down.
There was a baby in the cloth. A tiny thing, but bigger than Juni when she'd been a baby. The same size as the quarter elves when they were baby, or close to it. But it wasn't a quarter elf, even though its ears were pointed. Its skin was pink, but not a normal sort of pink. A bright, flowery sort of pink, which reminded Grog of the sky at dusk sometimes. Pink like some of Scanlan's clothes, or pink like a slice of bacon before its cooked. Two tiny horns protruded from its forehead. Its eyes were a solid shade of gold as if two coins had been placed in its sockets. It barely had any hair on its head.
Confused, Grog looked around, wondering who could have left their baby in the middle of the forest all on its own. All he saw was a dire wolf, attracted by the sounds the baby was making.
"Go," Grog ordered as he tried to shoo the animal away. "Don't make me punch you."
The wolf flinched at the sound of Grog's voice, and after a moment of hesitation, it ran away. Grog kneeled beside the baby and picked it up. Where he'd been able to hold baby Juniper in the palm of his hand, he had to tuck this baby in the crook of his elbow to be sure not to drop it. The child's golden eyes were staring at him with wonder. It extended a tiny pink hand to reach for his face, but its arm was too short to reach Grog's beard.
Grog decided he couldn't leave the baby there, to be eaten by wolves. He had to take him home and take care of him. From now on, this baby would be his. After all, almost everyone else in his family had kids now, so why not him too? Then, he remembered what had happened the last time he'd brought something living home. Pike had said no more living things. But if he didn't tell Pike, then there would be no problem. It seemed like the perfect idea. Don't tell Pike and Scanlan, and he wouldn't have to ask for their permission to keep the baby.
Satisfied with his plan, Grog carefully placed the bundle of cloth in his bag. Once he was sure his new child was comfortable, he continued on his way.
Full story: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25819042
Clay
Sometimes, if I like you
I'll let you mold a part of me or, thin out my walls
Sometimes, I feel young, energetic and naïve
But sometimes the weather forecast, forecasts colder weather
And I start to feel a little lethargic,
A little tired,
Maybe a little cracked
And trapped in this mold
Sometimes I grow harder, colder and more fragile
And sometimes my eyes seem to have a glazed coating
Because there are some tools out there
However tools don't get under my skin
If anything they get under my nails
I've got ribs and knives
So don't mess with me
Sometimes I'm as closed off as a clam,
With a secret,
Hidden pearl
Obviously I'm pretty imperfect
And I've become tired of finding a reason for
Being bent out of shape and having sharp edges
Edgy is my style
Because this is art
And anything ugly should not be held against the piece
And sometimes I have to let it go
Or just let it slip
Out of the grogginess of my tired head
Even if it leaves a shattered mess on the floor
Destruction is an art too
Like how angry painters have been known to throw paint at canvases
Fire me up
And I hope I won’t explode
With the unspoken air in my lungs
