Hello folks, and welcome back to Wrong Every Time. Today I’m eager to check back in on the trials of The Mighty Nein, or at least whatever portion of its members are hitting the spotlight this episode. As this adaptation’s first episode well demonstrated, Critical Role are taking a drastic approach to reimagining their second tabletop campaign, reordering and reframing and generally attempting to make a coherent, propulsive narrative out of a largely unguided collaborative experience. And so far, I have to say they are absolutely nailing it.
While The Legend of Vox Machina did a fine job of recreating the experience of participating in a tabletop campaign in animated format, it’s clear that they’ve adjusted their goals for The Mighty Nein, and are instead attempting to assemble the best story possible out of the campaign that was. They are not attempting to strictly recreate The Mighty Nein in video format – they are diverging and restructuring in service of the campaign’s potential, rather than its played reality. It’s pretty much exactly what I hoped for from Critical Role’s simultaneously best and least fully realized campaign, abandoning both the inherent limitations of tabletop storytelling (the primacy of the party, the singularity of perspective, etc), as well as the narrative pitfalls of a party and dungeon master not being entirely on the same page. It’s an audacious trick, but I’ve been thoroughly impressed with their adjustments so far, and am eager to see how this new edition of the story unfolds. Let’s get to it!
Episode 2
We open on a recap detailing the political conflict brewing between the Kryn Dynasty and the human empire, which in turn informs the journey of our monk investigator Beauregard. As I said in our previous writeup, none of this context was available to the actual players for dozens of four-hour episodes, giving them no sense of urgency or particular attachment to the fate of either of these nations. As a result, when they actually received the call to action regarding this conflict, they rejected it, making all of this dramatic backroom war-crafting essentially irrelevant to their own journey. It’s an issue that would hamstring both Critical Role’s second and third campaigns – a disconnect between the overarching conflict at play (a war between nations, a challenge to the gods) and the interests of the players/characters themselves, who felt no particular attachment to those conflicts
It’s a tricky thing to balance, of course. A great part of the appeal of Critical Role in its original format is just hanging out with the cast bouncing off each other in-character, but that only really leads to a coherent narrative if they’re simultaneously being led by the nose through a clean series of hoops (like with Vox Machina’s vestiges of divergence)
We then cut to a new member of the team, a half-orc man currently sparring with his captain aboard some naval vessel. Nicely animated fight choreography here, with our new lead’s impatience clear in his wild strikes, and his captain’s experience equally apparent in how calmly he guides his fencing partner into physical traps. The half-orc feels uncertain of his own strength, an immediate visual characterization that will directly inform his journey
“Any frightened boy can attack. A brave man knows how to wait.” Immediately, efficiently setting the terms of what this character must master in order to be an asset to his companions. In a party shared with characters like Nott and Beau, a sensible voice of reason is much appreciated
Solid direction here too, using panning cuts and soft focus to emphasize the dimensions of the battlefield
“Whether you think you can or you think you can’t, you’re always right.” Underlining that key hurdle for this character – learning to trust in his own strength. Also a point with direct mechanical relevance, as his emerging warlock abilities will in part rely on his own confidence of application
Thus we essentially speed-run the key origin points of Fjord. This sequence is definitely a bit on-the-nose in terms of carving out his backstory and psychological hangups, but that’s more or less a necessary concession, given this particular point of his narrative could not possibly be connected to any of the other characters, and also couldn’t be overlooked given its cruciality to his journey
Ooh, love how the lightning illuminates the shadow of whatever monstrous creature is hunting their ship. I’m looking forward to seeing how they adjust Fjord’s story, as his player Travis also just sorta rejected the call to action during the original campaign
The crew are betrayed by a sailor named Sabian. Given how cagey these players were about revealing their secrets during the campaign, it’s quite refreshing to see this adaptation declare “you know what, the audience should actually know what motivates these characters, I imagine that’ll make them much easier to invest in.” Another situation where what works for friends at a table doesn’t really work for a narrative designed for a secondary audience
Ooh, lovely composition as Fjord sinks beneath the waves. The light of the fire above makes it seem as if he’s sinking from heaven into the abyss, the blood from his wound a final tether to the life he left behind. Excellent visual storytelling!
Fjord awakens on a beach, his wound mysteriously healed
All that’s left of his captain is his hat and his sword. Thus Fjord is swiftly and dramatically defined as a pretender, a coward hiding in borrowed clothes. It’s a funny thing, and very in keeping with The Mighty Nein’s many contradictions, that these players worked so hard to conceal such compelling origin stories
It’s a question any storyteller must persistently ask themselves – is keeping this information hidden actually more interesting than revealing it? Dramatic reveals are well and good, but the base allure of “there’s a secret hidden here” is often less narratively compelling than actually having the truth of that secret inform both the characters’ and readers’ experiences
Granted, I’m obviously not a neutral party here, as I’m generally as anti-mystery as they come. As I always say, the fact that information is concealed from me does not make it inherently interesting. If your story’s fundamentals are strong, you needn’t hide them to generate the appearance of suspense or conflict – the conflict should emerge naturally from those fundamentals
Meanwhile, Beau’s been given a mission to meet someone who apparently knows the head of the Volstruckers. Pretty natural example of the same principle here – would it be more interesting if we had no context for why Beau is doing anything? I can’t imagine that’d be dramatically superior to this time-sensitive cat-and-mouse situation they’re developing here
We then jump to a Moulin Rouge-esque stage performance by a tiefling courtesan. This character wouldn’t be formally introduced for a fair number of actual play episodes either, and this choice definitely informs our perception of her daughter. This one I can see being a genuine cost-benefit tradeoff; there was actually some poignancy in not knowing if Jester’s perception of her mother was utterly misguided, but I can also appreciate the efficiency with which this explains Jester’s whole deal. To say nothing of the structural appeal of balancing everyone’s origin stories, or the practical pacing-based need to explicate Jester’s situation prior to the party’s collective introduction
And yes, there is Jester, likely the best-loved character of Critical Role at large. Laura Bailey hit a home run and then some with her mischievous tiefling cleric, a chaos agent equally enamored with maudlin fairy tales and drawings of Dickbutt. And as with Nott in the preceding episode, it’s instantly clear how the animators favor her, with Jester’s every turn through the brothel’s backrooms being accentuated with dramatic flourishes and Fonzy smiles
Jester’s establishing scenes come off much more naturally than Fjord’s, primarily because she’s so proudly, defiantly herself. An interesting contrast made possible by this adaptation’s perspective-hopping juxtapositions, implying paths for their mutual journey before they even meet each other
Meeting Jester at home like this emphasizes one of her main contradictions, as the daughter of a courtesan fully involved in her mother’s work, yet extremely sheltered from the world at large
Elsewhere, Beau is securing lodging in a forest inn while Caleb and Nott break into the attached stables
Caleb and Nott’s bickering serves to underline the intelligence of frontloading their story in the first episode; they’re basically the only two members of this party with anything approaching a stable working relationship, a truth emphasized through their significant on-screen time together even before any of the other characters meet
Their conversation illustrates both their growing mutual fondness and the pressure points that still divide them, the open wounds they’re each hiding
It’s also a smart idea to lean on these two for the simple reason that they can bear that weight – their dynamic is strong enough that they could carry a story even without any of the other team members
Oh my god, Nott stretches and circles before going to sleep like a cat. As I said, the animators clearly have their favorites (and their favorites are correct)
We’re unfortunately still dealing with a persistent Vox Machina visual issue – night scenes are too damn dark!
Returning to the Kryn Dynasty, we are introduced to Essek, an apparent advisor of the Bright Queen. I believe he was introduced around episode seventy of the original series, which again goes to show how dramatically we’re foregrounding the original series’ “lurking conflicts,” lest they once again become outright forgotten conflicts
Regardless, he’s clearly Matt Mercer’s favorite, a conflicted, ambiguous fulcrum point for this continental drama
The queen reflects on the importance of the lost beacon, which serves to shepherd all departed souls of those within the kingdom into itself, and then onward to new living bodies. It’s an inherently compelling centerpiece for a very unique social order, though I believe its in-campaign power was limited to providing luck checks or something similar. I can see how that idea of a roll do-over might be considered adjacent to the grand do-overs facilitated by the beacon, but it was certainly never clear just how important the object truly was. A key lesson there – you have to meet your players where they are, rather than continuing your worldbuilding plans regardless of how the players are interpreting them. If they are failing to perceive the significance of a crucial relic, it is explicitly your job to make that significance clear to them; saying “oh, you were supposed to realize this ten sessions ago” after the fact benefits no-one
Essek and his compatriot float the concept of “duenomancers,” spellcasters who can apparently manipulate the relic
“I didn’t have any children in this life. Thought I’d get to it in the next one.” As I said, the ways this beacon’s existence impacts the culture and philosophy of the Kryn Dynasty is inherently fascinating stuff. Mercer did a terrific job with Wildemount’s worldbuilding
Love how Essek floats everywhere just because he can. A natural piece of visual characterization for the man who instinctively considers himself above the fray
Elsewhere, a hungry and exhausted Fjord at last reaches a coastal city
After being denied at the gate for lacking papers, his cry to “let me pass” is offered some magical assistance by his captain’s sword, presumably giving it the power of the Friends cantrip. Warlocks are tricky in D&D because, well, because they’re really, really bad. They’re simply not designed to be equivalent to other casters – they receive only a tiny apportioning of spell slots relative to other classes, forcing them to rely heavily on cantrips (spells too weak to require a spell slot), as well as the few “signature spells” they might acquire via the class’s Eldritch Invocation feature
I actually chose a warlock for my own first D&D character, assuming they would play somewhat similarly to the warlocks of World of Warcraft. It was not a pleasant journey learning how mechanically impoverished the class truly is, and our collective efforts to retrofit homebrew mechanics in order to expand Tae’s functionality only ended up muddling the relationship between her personality and mechanical features
Beau’s attempts to image train a rematch against her volstrucker foe lead to a key revelation – the crystal found at the pass is the same as the crystal embedded in the volstrucker’s wrist. This sort of coalescing of the clues spontaneous stroke of genius thing is extremely difficult to mechanize, often resulting in situations where the characters simply don’t make the connection (as often happens in Critical Role) or must be told the answer as a result of successful dice rolls (as Mulligan tends to rely on in Dimension 20). The closest I’ve come to a solution is “offer such a significant density of relevant clues that the players can find their own route to the solution,” but that obviously works better for something like a dungeon puzzle than an intellectual revelation like this
Another good trick is to lean on key words that only crop up in relation to a specific mystery – if every time Mercer describes a “jade crystal” it points to the same answer, then eventually players will likely get the hint. Specific, unusual words can serve as signposts for players’ mental connections, inherently encouraging them to seek for links between seemingly unrelated events
Back at the inn, Nott and Caleb are discovered after Nott engages in some ill-advised late night filching
“Do some magic with it!” “Not all shit is magic!” Nott’s half-formed ideas of how magic works are always fun
And once again, this production pulls some solid emergent drama out of the reagent-based nature of wizard spellcasting, with Caleb fumbling for feathers in order to create a gust of wind. “What magic can I cast with whatever materials are at hand” is a great riff on wizard casting, though applying it to an actual tabletop setting requires a wizard player who’s game with making drama out of their comprehensive understanding of reagent uses
Thus Caleb and Nott accidentally chase Beau’s horse into the woods
We’re then back to Essek again, who deliberately touches down before entering his mother’s house. I frankly can’t recall if his mother was even a character in the original campaign; as I said, he had no presence at all in the campaign’s first act, and his risen profile here clearly speaks to this adaptation’s intentions to fully engage with this war narrative
It seems he’s caught her on one of her bad days. I imagine enough lives relived with the same soul would naturally degrade the tape over time – another compelling repercussion of the beacon’s existence
“Time pries magic from all things, eventually.” Her words obviously speak to more than this gifted crystal
“You agreed to give me time to find a cure.” And apparently her condition “Typhros” is cause for execution
“The beacon should be studied, not worshipped.” An efficiently drawn distinction between Essek and his people at large
“When am I? Which life?” Yeah, that would definitely wear on anyone. Bold choice to reframe Essek as one of the protagonists of this narrative, but it certainly helps solidify the terms of this conflict
Some colorful, detail-rich backgrounds as we return to Fjord, with foreground objects emphasizing the all-encompassing bustle of the city
His sword instinctively switches his face with that of a passing human. As I said, warlocks tend to rely on signature spells offered by choosing specific Eldritch Invocations, and Travis wisely chose the extremely flexible Disguise Self as one of his. A natural switch to make that the sword’s choice here, where the narrative is already emphasizing Fjord’s feelings of helplessness and confusion regarding these sudden powers
Fjord stumbles across Lord Sharp preaching of the danger of the Kryn Dynasty, a speech cut short by the reveal of Jester’s exceedingly rude banners
This sequence offers more of Jester conversing with “the Traveler,” who at this point appears to be an invisible friend. Apparently Laura was initially planning on picking a warlock for campaign two, but switched to a cleric after Travis decided he was interested in the class as well. Echoes of that initial design seem clear in Jester’s relationship with the Traveler as a pseudo-patron, as well as her general unwillingness to do any traditional cleric-style “protecting and healing the team” stuff. And ultimately, all of this stuff serves as great characterization for Jester in her own right – she would have a mysterious secret friend even though she’s not a warlock, and she would be the cleric who doesn’t even know they can cast Cure Wounds
I really like the multi-tiered, vertically oriented nature of this city. Architecture’s a tough thing to convey at the table, where it all just feels like exposition, but it’s basically the core of worldbuilding when it comes to visual drama
Jester immediately clocks Fjord as a handsome hero type. They’re frontloading a key element of these two’s dynamic, one that echoes the dynamic between Nott and Caleb – each of them pushes the other to embody the good qualities they see in each other
Once again, Fjord’s magic acts unbidden, defending Jester on its own. This is an excellent, highly character-appropriate addition to his origin story, aligning his magic with the overall false costume he’s wearing. Like his captain, his magic pushes him to be more than he considers himself capable of
Fjord’s attempts at negotiation are significantly hampered by his continuous Eldritch Blasts. That spell in particular is one of the only reasons to ever consider playing a warlock – it’s simply one of the most efficient offensive spells in D&D, your consolation prize for otherwise being a magical scrub
He then shows off his other signature trick, by teleporting in the form of a globe of water. Honestly, even this demonstration of talents is giving the on-book warlock class too much credit. Don’t be fooled by the flavor, and if tempted, consider homebrewing some fixes in concert with your DM!
On the other hand, Jester’s abilities being demonstrated here are basically all authorial embellishments, largely unrelated to any on-book spells. If you want to conjure a fleet of unicorn hamsters to do your bidding, you’ll have to discuss that with your own table
Quite enjoying seeing these two get so much supplemental material together. In the original campaign they basically met at the same time as all the other characters, but tethering them together like this gives their relationship some welcome time to breathe
Buoyed up by Jester’s expectations of heroism, Fjord adopts his captain’s accent as he formally introduces himself. I frankly assume Travis just got sick of the southern accent after a while, leading him to eventually drop it and return to his “normal” voice, but having it be framed as another aspect of his aspirational heroism is another smart adaptive choice
Also, crucially, “Eldritch Blast” really rolls off the tongue with that southern drawl
More fun embellishments on standard spells, as Jester’s Healing Touch is envisioned as a spectral teddy bear stitching up Fjord’s cut. This sort of thematic re-envisioning is a great way to add some personal flavor to generic spellcasting – if your players are comfortable with it, asking them things like “how does that spell manifest for you” or simply “what does that look like” can serve as a natural invitation to differentiate their mechanical identities
Lord Sharp at last follows Jester home, forcing her mother to send her out of the city. This is perhaps the one bit of ambiguity I’ll miss from the original sessions; Jester’s relationship with her mother was unclear until the party actually reached Nicodramus, and at times it felt like she’d been genuinely, purposefully abandoned. It wasn’t disappointing to learn how nice her mother actually was, but it did diminish a certain tension in her character, that feeling that she might be performing gaiety all the more forcefully because she knew her life was collapsing
We then cut to a gentle moment between Nott and Caleb, as Nott returns the favor of Caleb helping her cross a trauma-evoking stream by revealing her knowledge of Caleb’s bounty. They’ve both been forced to be hard and cunning, but together they’re indulging the possibility of being vulnerable for once
Their bond is embodied through Caleb teaching Nott simple spells. Through their mutual concern and Fjord alike, this episode quietly insists we can be more than our hated reflections
We conclude on a final reveal – Essek and Trent are in cahoots!
And Done
Ah, that was extremely satisfying. This adaptation continues to rearrange and even fundamentally reshape the original campaign in all sorts of effective ways, clarifying conflicts and bolstering relationships and naturally drawing parallels across its various players. The early relationship of Fjord and Jester was this episode’s biggest innovation, an effective mutual sketching that had the nice secondary benefit of framing them as parallels to Caleb and Nott’s relationship. And beyond that, the shifting of Essek from backstage schemer to a genuine co-protagonist will have wide-ranging repercussions, reframing the overarching story from one of misguided adventurers occasionally stumbling into significance to a more focused, inevitable journey towards a clash of civilizations. Terrific work all around!
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