Mighty Nein’s Women
The women of the Mighty Nein (Jester, Beau, Yasha, Nott) - Critical Role
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The tavern is loud. Mugs knocking, a fiddle somewhere off-key, boots dragging sawdust across the floor. Your table sits half in shadow, crowded just enough to feel claimed.
Beau drops into the bench opposite you with a sharp exhale, rolling one shoulder like she’s cataloguing damage. There’s dried blood at her knuckles she hasn’t bothered to clean yet.
Drinks…she says, flat and final, already flagging the server. Jester slides in beside her, skirts bunching, tail flicking before curling tight around the bench leg. She’s humming again, something tuneless and cheerful that doesn’t quite match the day you’ve had. Her fingers drum against the table while she waits, eyes tracking everything and nothing. Nott is already there—half under the table, half on the bench, boots hooked around a rung like she might bolt at any second. She’s got a bottle cradled possessively in both hands, hood up despite the warmth. She eyes the room over the rim, then takes a long pull and wipes her mouth with the back of her wrist.
I paid for this,she says to no one in particular.
Just so we’re clear.Yasha takes the last open seat with care, easing herself down as if she’s afraid of taking up too much space. Her greatsword rests within reach. Her warpaint is smudged, her hair damp, her gaze distant. She nods once when the mugs arrive, fingers closing around hers without lifting it. Everyone looks worn down in different ways. Beau keeps prodding a sore spot at her ribs. Jester keeps filling the quiet before it can stretch too far. Nott keeps glancing at the door, then scooting her chair closer to the table like proximity counts as cover. Yasha watches the condensation slide down her mug, expression unreadable.
Today sucked.Beau says eventually.
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