Learn About Tary And Doty's Early Adventures From Jess Barber: Read an excerpt from Vox Machina Stories Untold

Critical Role fans are well known to be ravenous for... well, more. With the release of the Vox Machina: Stories Untold anthology writers new and familiar to Critical Role have collaborated for a collection of short stories focusing on and around the lives of Vox Machina. Sam Maggs, Critical Role: The Mighty Nein Origins, writes about the seafaring adventure of Lady Kima, Aabriya Iyengar, Exandria Unlimited and Dimension 20, tells the tale of Shaun Gilmore reflecting on his life, and Jess Barber tells the story of an early adventure of Taryon Darrington from the perspective of Doty.

In Take this Down: Being an Accurate Accounting of Doty and Taryon Darrington in the Basilisk’s Den Barber manages to embody the voice and observations of an Automaton that has a vocabulary smaller than can be counted on two hands. Picking up in the Mincing Mongoose Tavern the quick talking Taryon is matched in pace by the intuitive and calculated observations of Doty, and TechRaptor has been provided with an exclusive excerpt.

Tary and Doty are about to be greeted by a group of adventurers looking to hire some assistance to take on a Basilisk that has been terrorizing the town of Lichenvel. This new party is comprised of a half-orc and two Eisfuura, a race of birdfolk on Exandria.

Excerpt from Take this Down: Being an Accurate Accounting of Doty and Taryon Darrington in the Basilisk’s Den, by Jess Barber

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Current location: The Mincing Mongoose Tavern, Beaded Alley, Port Damali, Menagerie Coast, Wildemount, Exandria, Mortal Plane. Recommended maximum occupancy: seventy-five medium-sized creatures. Current occupancy: six. 

The tavern where I established myself to commence the search for questing partners was a squalid little affair in the most dangerous part of town, absolutely teeming with cutthroats and villains. Risky, yes, but a necessary evil if I wanted to find like-minded compatriots willing to brave the trials and hardships of adventuring life. As I swilled rotgut whiskey, the only thing the tavern had on offer, I returned the steely-eyed glares of the other patrons, and wondered whether I would manage to escape with my life. 

"Are you still working on your wine there, m'dear?" 

Name: Hilda Thurgood. Occupation: Tavern Proprietress. Ancestry: Gnomish. Apron: Blue Gingham. Cheeks: Rosy. 

"Oh dear, is it not to your liking?" Hilda's brow furrowed in concern as she noted Tary's mostly-full glass. "It's one of my favorite vintages, but I suppose it is a little on the sweet side. Shall I bring you something else to try?" 

"Oh! No, no, it's quite delightful, actually." Tary turned on his most sparkling smile. "The perfect terroir for my palate. In fact, I was just about to ask if you had any additional recommendations. It's so difficult to find a good sommelier these days, one must cherish the opportunity when one can." 

Hilda's cheeks grew even rosier. "Well, that's awfully kind of you to say. I was actually just sampling from a new vineyard in Kamordah—" She was cut off by the bell on the tavern door jingling cheerfully. 

New occupant analysis: Ancestry: Human. Age: Early thirties. Hair: Close-cropped black curls. Eyes: Dark, with a roguish sparkle. Lips: Full, with the slightest smiling tilt, hinting at shared secrets. Shoulders: Broad. Jawline: Chiseled. 

Tary was no longer looking at Hilda, his attention having shifted fully to the new patron. His heart rate had increased approximately ten percent. Doty recalled the protagonists from Tary's favorite romance novels, and Lawrence, and in general the sort of faces that tended to lead to Tary making bad decisions. 

This was concerning. 

The human lifted a hand in Tary and Doty's general direction, smiling. He had a tiny, fetching gap between his front teeth. "Afternoon!" he said. "You wouldn't happen to be Sir Darrington, would you? The one looking for a new adventuring party?" 

"Wh—" said Tary. "I'm—was I—oh! Sir Darrington. Yes. Yes! Indeed, that's me. Please, do sit. All of you." 

Analyzing additional party members. One: larger-than-average half-orc. Long tusks, roughspun clothing, significant tattoo coverage. Analysis: Intimidating. Two: smaller-than-average eisfuura. Fluffy feathers, jaunty cap, leather vest with elaborate stitching. Analysis: Adorable. 

It took a little doing to replace two of the chairs with a bench capable of supporting the half-orc's weight, but eventually the newcomers got settled in around the table, with the concerningly handsome human sitting catty-corner to Tary—a little closer to Tary, in fact, than Doty would like. "I'm Clarke," he said, extending a hand, which Tary shook warmly. 

"Charmed, I'm sure," said Tary. "And your friends?" 

 "This is Dayner—" The small eisfuura. "And Bex." The half-orc.  

"Pleasure," chirped Dayner, extending a wing to Tary.  

Tary took careful hold of the longest primary feathers. "The pleasure is all mine." 

Bex lifted one large hand in a wave. "Hope you don't mind if I don't shake your hand," she said. Her voice was much quieter than Doty expected, and a little shy. Up close, he could see she had an assortment of twigs and dried leaves carefully woven into the unkempt reddish-brown curls of her hair. "Sometimes I accidentally, uh." She made a crushing gesture with both hands that very effectively conveyed broken bones, snapped ligaments, and general agony. 

"When you put it like that, I certainly don't mind at all," said Tary. "And while we're at it, let me introduce my traveling companion, Doty. Say hello, Doty." 

Creak, said Doty. 

"Fascinating," said Clarke. "Your flyer mentioned an automaton, but I'll admit this isn't what I was expecting. Where did you get it?" 

"Well," said Tary, "I built him." 

"Built! Well, damn." Clarke sat back, looking impressed. "You really are an inventor and an adventurer, huh. I figured that was an exaggeration, but I see now it wasn't one bit." 

"Oh, well." Tary's cheeks pinked. "I like to stay busy, I suppose. You mentioned you saw my flyer…?" 

"Right, your flyer. We saw it down by the waterway this morning, and as soon as I read it I thought, maybe we could help you. Or, more accurately, we thought maybe you could help us."  

"Please," said Tary, leaning forward and balancing his chin on his hand. "Say more."  

Body angle: Fifteen degree incline toward conversational partner. Blink ratio: One-point-seven times standard. Currently remaining below threshold for 'fluttering eyelashes'.  

Clarke smiled, leaning forward, too, until the angle of his body matched Tary's. When he braced his elbows on the table, the swell of his biceps strained the fabric of his shirt. 

This was very concerning. 

"Let me start at the beginning," said Clarke. "There's a small fishing village about a day's ride from here, name of Lichenvel. They've been having trouble lately with a basilisk. It's just been a general nuisance so far: getting into the storehouses, interfering with the catch, that sort of business. So far, nobody's been hurt, but, well." His expression grew somber. "I'm sure a seasoned adventurer such as yourself is familiar with basilisks. You know as well as I do that it's only a matter of time." 

Tary went from Expression: Enchanted to Expression: Serious one-point-one seconds too late. "Ah, yes. Yes, I certainly do." 

If Clarke noticed the delay, he didn't show it. He continued, "They put out a call for help, and we answered. The three of us have traveled together a long time, doing this sort of work. For coin, of course,  but we also try to do some good in the world, and we're no strangers to monster-hunting. We felt we were well-equipped to take the beast on. And we would have been—" 

"We would have been!" cut in Bex. Tone: Distressed. "If it weren't for Swink being a rotten little—"  

Clarke winced, and Bex stopped, frowning. "Sorry," said Clarke. "There's been some—inter-team conflict—" 

"We got ditched," interrupted Dayner.  

Clarke sighed, rubbing his forehead. "One of our members abandoned us. It's not that the three of us aren't capable—we've taken on plenty of challenges on our own. But Swink was a skilled warrior, and to defeat a basilisk, you need someone who knows how to handle a sword. And that's not any of us." 

"It's not?" asked Tary. Doty calculated that the natural variation in Tary's line of sight had decreased significantly, in a way that indicated Tary was trying very hard to keep his focus on Clarke's face and nowhere else. "I'm just—surprised," Tary said, when Clarke looked puzzled. "You look like you might have trained a bit, is all." 

Dayner covered her beak with a wing, muffling a cough. The blood flow to Tary's cheeks doubled. 

"That's kind of you to say," said Clarke. "I mean, I do carry this." He gestured to a dagger slung at his waist; fairly standard-issue adventuring gear. "But honestly that's mostly for show. Really, I'm more of an academic. Here, look—may I?" 

There was a bit of spare thread clinging to the collar of Tary's cloak. Clarke reached long, elegant fingers towards it, then looked up at Tary, waiting for permission. 

Tary, holding his breath, nodded. 

Clarke plucked the thread away from the fabric of Tary's cloak, and made a flourishing little gesture. There was a spark, and then, instead of the thread, he was holding a sleek, green feather.  

"Of course," said Clarke. "I have plenty of spells in my repertoire that can hit harder in a fight; it's not all parlor tricks. But I'd barely know the pointy end of the sword from… the other one." 

"The hilt," said Tary. Expression: Helplessly Charmed. 

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Reprinted from Critical Role: Vox Machina—Stories Untold. © 2025 by Gilmore’s Glorious Goods LLC. Published by Random House Worlds, an imprint of Random House, a division of Penguin Random House LLC.