The Darkened Path

Great Spirits, what a magnificent quest! It is utterly invigorating to be on solid ground for a classic infiltration/extraction mission, pitted against a classic enemy. The Oprishniki, of all lowlifes!
 
After destroying the Witch Hunter, we darted from the great room, down the hall. Well, Orlando darted—I had Kyliko with an arm over my shoulder, wounded as he was. Orlando seemed content to pull ahead while we drew the away the Oprishniki who pursued us all. In the moment, I felt almost a sense of betrayal; why was he fleeing from the men with guns while we lagged behind, with a serious injury to nurse? Bullets whizzed and snapped by our heads, but we managed to evade the shots, and Kyliko’s icy breath upon the ground behind us did well to slow the pursuit.
 
By the time we reach what seemed to be a central office at the end of the hall, Orlando was nowhere to be found. Fraxiros’ Fang! Did he think now of all times was one to slip away?
 
No time to ruminate, I had to remind myself, though it was difficult not to—we yet remained for Orlando’s cause, after all. Forcing down my rising anger, I sequestered Kyliko into a side office, where he could hole up and catch a breather. It’s a good thing I did, because, shortly after, an Oprishniki emerged from another office at the end of the hall!
 
Ordinarily, I would’ve anticipated a healthy fear of death would’ve halted this brute as he came face to face with a Blade, but he appeared unperturbed. As he called for reinforcements, I noticed he was shrugging on a magitech exoskeleton not unsimilar to mine. I rushed in to close the gap, but in one swift motion, he had dropped some sort of smoke grenade upon the floor. These Oprishniki were more capable than their typical allies, it seemed!
 
Well, they all die when they are cut, in the end. I heard whispers of the soldier’s voice through the smoke, saw the hazy outline of his body, and Cloudpiercer was true to its name. As the soldier before me died, I heard his fellow Oprishniki rush inside the office, taking up positions in an attempt to flank us—flank me, I realized, with Orlando nowhere to be seen and Kyliko hunkered down in the side office. In an attempt to outwit our enemies before I was forced to outfight them (the Moon Arts in practice!), I snatched up the fallen soldier’s speaker bauble and muttered misdirection through the line, but it was no use—our enemies were canny. I heard the hiss of grapple systems and saw shadows moving beyond the smoke. I would need to move quickly to keep from being outmaneuvered.
 
It was thrilling to be battling foes of this capability and training, using equipment similar to my own! It reminded me of my days sparring Amiri in the various gauntlets within the Blades’ compounds and temples, constantly seeking ways to gain the upper hand despite being instructed by the same master. One thing I learned form Amiri then: at a certain point, discipline will only do a warrior so much good. After that, success in battle depends on adaptability and instinct, and I had been honing both in the six months approaching this mission. These bastards thought they could escape Cloudpiercer my gaining the high ground—little did they know reach was not limited to the length of my arms.
 
I caught sight of an Oprishniki soldier lining up a shot at me from the balcony and zipped up to him. Using my magitech’s reel to aid my momentum, I spiraled through the air, a bolt of lightning sent by the Great Spirits. Cloudpiercer rent my hapless foe from every direction, and even as he, somehow still alive, attempted to flee, I reminded him of the fact that a grapple transfixes flesh just as well as infrastructure.
 
It was now that I saw—or rather, heard—Orlando (as one does tend to hear him first, don’t they?). I saw the Oprishniki on the ground below scatter from the blast of a familiar barker cone, the office erupting in a whirlwind of broken desks and scattered papers. A magnificent showing, as usual, but we were not in the clear yet. As if one hadn’t been enough, two more of those “pill boy” mechanized units burst into the room. Tempted as I was to dismantle them as we had destroyed their companion, we were spread too thin—it was time to retreat.
 
Kyliko, Orlando, and I fled across the balcony towards what we assumed was a lift to Olivia’s office, just as the Witch Hunters opened fire. Their crank guns growled and roared as the world seemed to explode around us, shredded paper and splintered wood and pulverized chunks of marble.
 
We barely wrested the lift doors open as the pill boys lumbered up the stairs after us. Before I jumped into the open shaft, though, a premonition crossed my mind—it would be a sore miscalculation if the lift was above us, blocking our way. My companions had already jumped in, though, and a groan of despair confirmed my suspicions: our path upwards was blocked by the lift.
 
We needed more time. Seeing my comrades tucked into the nooks and crannies of the shaft, out of harm’s way for now, I flicked the switch of the lift and heard a grating echo as it lumbered downwards. It had some ways to go, though, and the Witch Hunters were rounding the corner, their sights set on me alone now.
 
I spun about to face them as they began to make their way around the balcony. The floor creaked in protest beneath their weight, and I threw myself to the ground as their guns opened up.
 
The Great Spirits were with me in that moment! One of the pill boys began to shudder and hiss, and I saw its cockpit begin to fill with the same yellowish cloud that they had released upon us before, the one which made my lungs burn and my eyes water. Now it seemed the pilot of this machine was completely shrouded in it, suffocating in the fog of his own arrogance.
 
The other unit was working as intended, though! I watched the very walls of the building be torn apart around me—if this thing drew any nearer, I would be facing down its crank gun point blank. I could not allow such a thing to happen, and made a quick tactical decision almost by instinct; my grapple snapped across the balcony at the level of the thing’s ankles, and I pried to the Great Spirits it would hold…
 
And hold it did! The lumbering machine was thoroughly foiled by my impromptu tripwire, and collapsed in a heap just as the lift rumbled past us. I jumped into the now-cleared shaft and cut the suspension cables, and the carriage plummeted with an echoing crash to the ground below. Orlando was ready to resume his climb in a moment, but Kyliko, wounded as he was, was another matter. I saw him waver as he coiled himself to jump, and almost called out to him—but he had already sprung forward. His tired body did not muster for him quite the distance he needed, and Orlando’s hand shot out to grab him—to no avail.
 
I attempted to catch him myself, claws digging into his scales, but I watched him, panic in both our eyes, slowly slip away.
 
As he began to tumble, I caught his robes in my jaw, desperately hanging on, but slowly, slowly before he could muster himself, I heard a tearing as his robes came away in my jaws, and he was falling again.
 
I would not let the warrior assigned to guard my life be lost to such a plunge because I could not catch him! In a last-ditch effort, I sent my grapple hissing towards him, catching him by the leg. He grunted in pain as the cable jolted him to a halt, but there he was—still alive, and hanging on.
 
We resumed our climb.
 
After a few moments’ ascent, Olivia’s office was revealed to us; it had to be hers, adorned as it was in fine polished wood and shelves of books and fine alcohol. At the center of the whole affair was the rascal Jensen, rag tied in his mouth, bound to an ornate chair. His eyes widened as he saw us enter the room, and frantic grunts crawled past his gag. I saw why in a moment—a thin wire made its way from somewhere beneath him to the bookshelves. A tripwire? I had Kyliko step back into the hallway, pondering our next move as Orlando began to talk at Jensen. If it was a tripwire trap, I thought, severing the cable without disabling the mechanism itself would only cause the trap to go off. We needed to think of a better approach.
 
Orlando began to make his way towards Jensen, careful to stay away from the wire. Something was still wrong, though—Jensen didn’t seem at all reassured that we had taken note of the trap. Orlando began to remove the gag on Jensen as something clicked in my mind.
 
I had just tripped up a Witch Hunter by snaring its ankles with a taut line. This wire had no tension in it; if it was a tripwire it would have to be pulled—
 
And then a massive explosion rocked the room. Tucked behind the doorframe as I was, I could only watch as wave of heat rolled over me and obliterated everything where Jensen and my companion had been standing. Dust choked the air, and I heard myself calling Orlando’s name…
 
… Imagine my astonishment when I saw him standing there, still intact, glowing with an inner light. In that moment, the typically-ostentatious bard looked like an image of Godmaker Cinder. From behind the bookshelves, three Oprishniki emerged, apparently expecting to clean up our remains, and with hardly a shrug, Orlando loosed a barrage of energy upon them, as if returning the explosion they had set off, and vaporized them. Or, almost of of them.
 
I leapt into action, levelling Cloudpiercer at the one Oprishniki who was yet standing, apparently a captain. We had the scum surrounded, his compatriots but charred remains upon the floor. So many questions to ask, yet so little time… we began with the one at the forefront of our minds—where could we find this contact of Orlando’s? Still, despite being surrounded, outnumbered, and weak from his injuries, this man did not submit—he feared us, he said, much less so than he feared Olivia’s father.
 
So Olivia herself was but a pawn. I almost admired this captain; he reminded me of Draconian bodyguards of past lords who had stood by their masters’ sides till the last breath, past the edge of oblivion. I had hardly thought humans capable of such courage before. Still, his bravery here strayed too close to foolishness for the man’s own good. We began to press our interrogation further, before a crash from the shattered window’s ledge caught my attention.
 
A Witch Hunter’s grapple; I rushed over, eager to cut the thing down before it could enter the fray. Rattled ever so slightly by the surprise—these Oprishniki simply never seem to quit!—I once again failed to cut the chain on my first try, and the mechanized unit reeled its way up the side of the building—the very same pill boy I had tripped earlier on! In mere moments it would haul itself over the side, and then we would be well and truly outgunned. I had to think fast. There was yet one tool in my arsenal I had not brought to bear! The dragon-headed cane which I had retrieved from the mage’s vault gleamed at my side, and I pulled it free; I could only assume it operated as its shape would suggest. I roared, and willed it to roar beside me, and sure enough, a fan of lightning arced from the cane and augmented my own! It watched as the Witch Hunter spasmed and sparked, its pilot shuddering along with it—hard to believe the poor fools had failed to insulate their most feared mech. I watched with satisfaction as the metal beast creaked and toppled, tumbling down over the side of the building and landing with a crash, far below.
 
And then I heard two gunshots, and saw the captain standing over the bleeding bodies of Orlando and Kyliko.
 
There was something more than rage I felt in that moment. It was a sense of… disgust. Disgust that this man had seen two sorely wounded opponents and not even done them the dignity of delivering a personal death. Smoking barrels like two probusci. I turned to face this insect.
 
His boldness from earlier remained, I will warrant him that. He stood there before me: scarred, cold. Grip tightening around the hilts of his pistols. Clear blue sky behind him. I breathed in. Fifteen paces apart. Sun between us. Great Spirits pelting us with their light. Wind scattering cinders like fireflies in the daylight, his gelled hair unmoving. Me, unmoving. Him, unmoving. My arm loosens. His eyebrow marks my movement. Breathe out. Hold. His buckles flash in the light. Breath in. Hum of an airship, far away. His elbow shifts, shoulder twitches, breathe out, halfway now, hold it to steady myself—
 
BANG! His pistols roared as my arm went to my rash’tam upon my back, but the Great Spirits had me in their arms. The shots his me like pelting stones, and I let them twist me about and lend their momentum to my Windpiercer, Riptide spiraling end over end before splitting his sternum like firewood. His loyalty still lit his eyes as he stumbled backwards. I couldn’t see that light when he fell.
 
I rushed to Kyliko immediately, just managing to bind his wounds—I’ve certainly been treating a lot of gunshots this past year, haven’t I? But he was stable, and that stability left me quite comfortable with admonishing him for tending to Orlando before the man armed with guns standing ten feet away. I mean, really, Kyliko! What sort of bizarre tactical assessment was that?
 
At the very least, he had succeeded in that task. Orlando sputtered awake, and we planned our next move. I was initially concerned there may be more Oprishniki flooding in, but a glint upon a distant rooftop caught my eye—the gleam of a rifle, and, squinting, a familiar shrouded face! Ko! So the Drop Corps had survived their fall, then! The presence of allies reassured me somewhat; I would’ve been more heartened by the presence of a fellow Blade, someone who could watch my tail in the thick of things instead of from afar, but I hardly had time to complain.
 
I looked to my companions: Orlando and Kyliko were both sorely wounded and frail. Kyliko and I had escaped captivity, and freed Orlando while we were at it, a feat indeed! But we had yet to find Orlando’s contact. Hmm…
 
I could not risk the life of my sister’s attendant, such a loyal Blade. And yet, I could not leave a job incomplete, either! It was not enough to have simply escaped the clutches of the hideous Oprishniki—I felt a need now to take something back from them in kind. If my duel had proven anything, the Great Spirits were with us. I instructed Kyliko to flee, safe under Ko’s eye, and ensure the safety of the boy I had saved from the crash. Orlando and I, though, would stay, stay and wrest one more soul from the soulless witch hunters.
 
It was decided—we would descend into the dark.
 
I held onto Orlando tightly as we descended, my grapple easing our passage, but it was not to be such a luxurious joyride: as we went, there were the sounds of more Oprishniki behind us, the grapple-equipped elites. The close quarters of the shaft worked in our favor, though, and even as I saw the spiderweb of their cables crawling down the shaft after us, I breathed my draconic wrath upon them and they tumbled into the dark below. No time to waste, though. I set us into a freefall as more Oprishniki gathered blow us, and we plummeted past them before I caught us just in time—my arm was wrenched mightily, but we managed to fly past the frustrated curs.
 
Our passage would have been expeditious, but Orlando was overcome by avarice when we passed by the broken body of an Oprishniki I had earlier felled. He had fallen atop the ruin of the elevator, crushed from the earlier impact of me cutting its cables. Why did he desire so strongly a grapple system now? We had soldiers on our tails! I only barely managed to tear him away before the elites—and I could hear Olivia among them, now—finished their descent.
 
We made our way down the profane halls of the Oprishniki’s deepest dungeon. No light of the Great Spirits graced this place, no echoes of their harmony rang within the cold tunnels. As we went, we passed by the products of countless heinous experiments too horrid for me to have imagined. People with their skulls split, still alive, their brains twisted grey masses strung with wires and tubes; people shackled to the wall, their arms lined with syringes, veins pulsing with a sickly tar; people with their heads entirely encased in dull mechanical contraptions, eyes refracted through layers and layers of tiny red lenses. It was undoubtedly the most horrid place I have ever seen. There were no gods there, no spirits or prophets—not even discord in the Great Harmony, so beyond that holy song it was. Only cold lights and rumbling pipes.
 
I felt my spirit had drained from my body by the time we reached the intubated flesh of Oleric. He was visible, eyelids shut, through the glass panel of a metal coffin, which opened with a hiss at Orlando’s touch. Black bile oozed from his lips, as Orlando took him gingerly in his arms, and I resisted the urge to vomit. Whatever had been done to the other experiments had been done to this man, his body seeming to be entirely vacant of a soul. I somewhat doubted he was even alive; it seemed fruitless to pray for him, in this place.
 
Orlando cloaked us in his spell of invisibility as we fled, misleading Olivia and her squadron of Oprishniki with a separate illusion as they passed by a hair’s breadth from where we walked. It was intensely satisfying watching and hearing them take the bait.
 
As we retreated, I jammed the elevator behind us with one of the fallen Oprishniki’s grapple cables— that should keep them occupied. I took Oleric, the corpselike man still leaking pus, and grappled upwards as Orlando used my rope to do the same. As we passed by a mechanic attending to the damaged hull of a Witch Hunter mech, I hear a slight shift in the shaft beneath me, and knew he’d soon be dead by Orlando’s hand. Well, if he wanted to delay, he could delay—I would keep climbing.
 
It was something divine being under the light of the sun again, even though my time in that dungeon had been relatively short. After all we had been through, I was relieved to simply take a moment to decompress, taking in a moment again to finally breathe in the fresh air. I felt the light of the sun on my scales, saw the sprawl of the city below me, clouds dotting the sky, an airship passing in the distance, the Great Spirits all around me, I felt serenity in my heart…
 
And then there was the jagged pain of the mark upon my leg, the Mark of the Crow burrowing into my leg. I doubled over for a moment, wracked by pain, and as I did, a saw a sight which caught my breath in my throat: the mark was no longer limited to my leg, but had wound its way up to my hips. I shuddered to think of what would happen if it progressed too far. I refused to become a servant of some dark god, as I had seen in my nightmares. I would not be a slave to evil.
 
A commotion from below pulled my attention away from my crisis, a commotion which sounded an awful lot like a Witch Hunter’s crank gun had been set to fire until it overheated and exploded. Orlando was up to his old tricks. They seemed successful in their goals, though: I could hear the cries of the Oprishniki below. Orlando had also, apparently, busied himself with the theft of another set of magitech gear. I tried to keep in mind the boon it would be for both of us to have such mobility, although I could not help but feel a sense of frustration that he was eating up our precious time trying to prise the equipment from dead bodies so that he might hastily strap it on himself. Well, if he was going to delay for a new toy, then he could put it to good use. As soon as he had swung to the top, I handed him Oleric and grappled away.
 
Finally—free from the Oprishniki. I kept low to the ground as I swung between the buildings of Tica’Ma, using the architecture as cover for my passage. Descending to the ground, I sought to melt into the crowds upon the streets, but apparently dragonborn are a strange sight in the portion of Tica’Ma we were in, because they shied away from me like oil from water. Meanwhile, still more Oprishniki were swarming like cockroaches from the Star Prison.
 
Hah! Even as I readied myself for their approach, though, a gunshot rang out and one pursuer dropped to the ground, contents of his skull emptied onto the street—Ko was still watching us, it seemed! I took the opportunity to inhabit the Tenets of the Sun, striding forth fearlessly and declaring the scorn of my gods for the lives of the Oprishniki! The rats shuddered and scurried back into their warren, too afraid to risk the wrath of my gods, my Blades, or the sniper perched above, a sniper who now directed me towards her. Making my way into an alley, I found my way to the subtle soldier, who had already rendezvoused with Kyliko. We picked up Orlando—he wasn’t hard to find—and proceeded into League territory where we would be safe, Oleric in tow. For once, I was almost glad the League had an overbearing presence in most places of civilization—it would certainly serve to keep the witch hunters off our tails. It was unfortunate I had to cover my scales as we went, though. A dragonborn, as I had learned, would stand out too much on the streets, a theory which was proven yet again when my cloak caught on a fence post and I was spotted by a patrol!
 
I decided to try my hand at performance—why not, yes? The Great Spirits had been with me today! While I was certainly able to distract the Oprishniki long enough for my companions to melt away, the ruffians were intent on capturing me, something which I could not allow to happen; just as they thought they hand me, in their grasp, hands raised in surrender, I swung away, bullets buzzing by me, but otherwise unharmed.
 
I found my way back to the safe house Ko had designated, and was relieved to see Captain Azon there, alive, as well. He looked upon me with grim eyes as I entered. A few of his soldiers had escaped the crash, but were set upon by the Oprishniki soon after. Kudan was missing, and Sarabet had been killed in the ensuing struggle. I was leaden with a cold sense of remorse. Had it been my actions which had gotten them killed? Surely not! It as the interference of the Emperor and the League who had assigned the Drop Corps to my clandestine journey, meddled in Blades matters. I had gone so far as to dive into the Green Sea after the wreckage in an attempt to rescue them! But still, the loss weighed heavy on my heart. My mind flickered back to Amiri—I know what it’s like for a dear friend to go missing. There are few things which compare to the sorrow of not knowing the fate of a close companion. Even though missions I have partaken in have seen few casualties, every loss stings, another sour note in the Great Spirits’ harmony. I tended to Orlando’s wounds as Azon brought me up to date, mind set on the day’s consequences and the holes in my friend’s flesh. Time slipped away, as my attention narrowed.
 
And that, I realize, was my greatest mistake of the day.
 
As I began to bind Orlando’s last wound, a twinge crept into Azon’s tone, and an apology escaped his lips. I didn’t have time to register whether I believed it genuine before there was a pounding at the bulkhead, the clatter of legion boots hitting the pavement.
 
The first thought which burst through my mind—had Azon, of all folk sold me out to the damnable Oprishniki?? But it was not Olivia’s voice which reverberated through the door. Azon stood resolute, even as I accused him of treason. Not witch hunter, no… the League.
 
And such is the end of all argument between the military and the Blades. The Noble Clans of the Imperial Republic serve the Emperor and their people—the the military, however advanced they may claim to be, are naught but the League’s guard drakes, their true loyalties to their people apparently long forgotten.
 
I was tempted to flee; I still had the opportunity to slip away, escape into the crowded city and steal towards my true objective as day turned to night. But there was Orlando to think of, and Kyliko, and the League host outside—and Adeline’s keen aim certainly echoed in Ko’s abilities. There was little chance I could slip away, and it would be a poor reflection on my family name to flee as such.
 
So when the preening elven steward stepped, in flanked by a squad of crack League soldiers, I did not resist. It did not seem as if I was under arrest—it was a summons to the oracles Tar Aranie is famous for, prophets said to ordain the very future itself. Not even Hikorra nor Master Izem has seen them! My father mentioned having an audience with them when he was a young general, once, when they foretold the end of a small but treacherous war. He told my sister and I that, while he doesn’t believe the Great Spirits speak through them, their portents are not to be trifled with. Perhaps my being apprehended might lend me some insight, after all.
 
The elves led me to a self-propelled carriage, a monstrous thing drawn by two metal horses fused to its coach, and we were off. I had seen vehicles like this before, at a League Fair Amiri dragged me too, but they had always struck me as inelegant hunks of metal, belching smoke and steam into the gods’ clean air. Of course the elves favor them.
 
What would these oracles reveal—fortune or omens? What had happened to Orlando’s contact? Better yet, will Orlando be able to stay out of trouble while I’m gone?
 
I suppose I don’t need to be a fortune-teller to guess that one.
 
May the Great Spirits watch me through the gleam of my sword, enlighten me in the hidden places of the world, guide me in the words of the strangers I've yet to make familiar, and bless me in the light of sun and moon. May they walk in the stride of those I walk amongst, and touch the world through the hands of my companions. May their deeds echo in my actions and their will echo in my wishes. May I honor them in the paths I follow and the waters I tread and the mountains I climb. I am but a transient pilgrim walking the tracks of this past and future world, my blood the blood of my lord and my father and my people.