The Fog of War

My path was set the moment I saw our Red Devil jailer drive a knife into Ariel. Dully, I could hear Orlando divert him from us, buy us more time, but there was a shroud about my mind. I saw only her, bloodied and beaten, as the figure of my companion shifted about in the corners of my vision.
 
And then I was free. Perhaps I ought to train as an actor for a spell—they seem to possess no shortage of useful tricks. Though they don’t necessarily know the finer decencies of society; my temper flared when he denied Ariel the basic decency of an apology, but there was no time to argue. With a flicker of my will, my rash’tam was in my hands again, guardian of my honor. It would taste blood before I returned to its sheath.
 
I set about patching us up and preparing us for what was to come. Our weakened states would prove extremely perilous unless magical healing could be found to restore our resilience. Ariel allowed me to bandage her wounds after a brief moment of uncertainty. I could understand why—my presence had only led to harm inflicted upon her. What good would my hands do? But I managed to provide adequate first aid to her ghastly wounds, and with each wince of pain I heard from her my resolve to kill these Red Devils intensified.
 
We were not stuck in the cell for too long. Baltos’ prior absence yielded a fortunate return, with Neema alongside him. Our resourceful companion found her way into the depths of the lair by exploiting one of the greatest weaknesses of most folk, that which this place was built upon, and when she appeared before us in dress that would make Nobler blush, I saw a new determination in her eyes, the likes of which I had not quite witnessed in her before. She told us of the path ahead: eight heavily-armed Red Devils, the rest having fled to pursue a score with the Maycomb pirates. My kesh’tam was nowhere to be seen, but Ariel knew it may be found on the crew deck. It was time for us to do what we came here for.
 
We left an example of our former guard as a warning. Morikage’s most useful secret: fear is the greatest weapon.
 
It is a shackle we freed some fellow prisoners of when we made our way to the brig. Orlando spoke a brilliant oration of a chance for escape and freedom, while I spoke of crueler opportunities. The Paradoxes each had their moments of wrath in the span of their adventures, but the spirit of vengeance soared within me on the wings of Bir’kaa, he who knew only chaos and destruction, he who would hunt unfortunate souls to the ends of the earth.
Our fellow prisoners were eager to escape, indeed, and with them, we completely overwhelmed the first wave of guards. Crude improvised weapons broke their bones and bled their bodies as Orlando and I cut down the rest. The Red Devils were on their guard, but no one expects a distraction from the likes of Baltos.
 
One of our new allies was a Maycomb cur, offering no promises of peace upon his exit. He would be one to watch carefully, but then again: we were his only way out.
 
We passed around the guards’ weapons—firearms, crude as ever—and used their keys to pilfer their storerooms, where we found the potions we needed, as well as some other useful herbs. I kept them close at hand. A sturdy iron door barred our passage to the other room, a door which we had no key to, but there are other ways to eliminate a lock. Perhaps a finer lock would have weathered the small explosive I fashioned with gunpowder, but these are pirate locks we’re referring to—the way was opened, and once inside, Baltos was able to slip through and grab the rest of our things. The fine balance of my kesh’tam in my hand again invigorated my spirits, and we proceeded forward…
 
Into a bloodbath. Where Ariel had led me into her perfumed room hours before had been drenched in blood and viscera, omens of a slaughter. Corpses of pirates and innocents alike littered the ground, and I felt something waver within me, the spirit of my fury which I had embraced so eagerly before causing my body to seize.
 
Izem had warned me of such things, long ago. There are spells and poisons which can inflict such conditions upon the mind and body, which can cloud a soul beyond its own parents’ recognition. He gave me this warning as we sparred one bright spring day, my frustrations at my failure overwhelming entirely ability to bring my training to bear. My master warned me that if I were to ever lose control in such a way, be it through toxin or arcana or my own bloodlust, I risked never finding it again, and I risked easy defeat at the hands of those who could weather such an imprecise storm.
 
I administered my newly-found muscle relaxant without a second thought. If I were to choose between losing an edge and losing control entirely, I saw the former as the lesser of two evils. We had a job to do. I saw a similar haze fall over three companions of ours, Ariel included, but there was no time to worry about that now. We had to press onward.
 
As it turned out, I wished we hadn’t. The same Black Bishop faced us upstairs as before, the Blakc Bishop who had evaded us initially, but he was not the greatest horror I looked upon.
 
No, what wracked my spirit was the sight of Nobler, red fur redder still with blood, with a collar upon him, bearing down upon us with the same fury beyond his control that I had nearly succumbed to. Seeing my noble friend before me shackled and bound, compelled by a mind which was not his own, surrounded by fire and death and the pain of those I held dear, I wished for only one thing:
 
I wished a hideous death upon the Black Bishop.
 
I charged past my overwhelmed companion, heedless of his feral assault upon me, and made directly for the Imperium scum. He would not escape this time. He would feel the full devastation a Blade of House Senhotep could wreck.
 
He barely turned aside my first blow, some stroke of fortune diverting my strike, and when he rallied himself, his retort was ferocious. I felt again his claws sinking into my flesh, his rampant disregard for his own safety allowing him to pursue openings any typical warrior would not dream of exploiting. My offensive was fierce, too, however, and even as he withstood my assault, I forced him to give ground. Flames erupted about us as his form turned more bestial. Behind us, I could see Nobler fighting to resist the crush of the Imperium’s collar, as Neema held onto him for dear life and Orlando’s song bolstered our spirits. It seemed for a moment this was a fight I would have to fight alone.
 
Izem taught me not to fear solitude. After all, though the harmony of the Great Spirits echoes brightly within our bonds with our companions, it resonates still in the quietus of distraction which is discovered in solitude. And I had another with me—my mother was certainly watching. As this fell emissary of the Profane Faith bore down upon me, I discovered I still had one trick up my sleeve: my last firecracker, obtained what felt like ages ago. The Bishops’ slavering, fiery maw seemed the perfect receptacle for it.
 
My aim was true, and the firecracker exploded within his gullet, staggering him for a moment. In that split second, above the din, I could hear a shout from Neema, and saw a brief moment of stillness down the stairs. Something in the air changed.
 
And then the Black Bishop rallied himself and turned back towards me, full of wrath, fires hedging my back. There was nothing to do but grip my kesh’tam, my sun, and steel my nerves for his attack.
 
A blur of movement caught my eye, and Nobler fell upon the monstrosity before me, ravaging him with claw and fang. the Black Bishop reeling and turned back towards him—the tides seemed, finally, to be shifting. Orlando found his way up next, and his biting song lashed our adversary. We were at last again, three friends united, facing down impossible odds turned ever so slightly possible in our unity. I redoubled my efforts.
 
In one perilous moment, the Black Bishop snapped again at Nobler as he had the night before and forced him to his knees. I saw my friend’s will buckle and waver under the psychic onslaught of this monster. Our fortunes seemed to sway in the balance.
 
But then perhaps the most extraordinary thing of the day happened. Neema, the Great Spirits’ deeds echoing in her actions, took Nobler’s head in her hands and professed her love for him—and in that moment, light overcame dark and we crashed upon the Imperium heretic in a wave.
 
Nobler surged forth, cutting a deep gash in the Bishop as Orlando’s magic caused the fire which he had embraced to consume him.
 
Your wrath will swallow you whole if you allow it.
 
And I, while this fiend was harried and distracted by my companions, put my grapple and my blades to use bringing him to his knees.
 
I don’t remember if it was my sword or Nobler’s claws, or Orlando’s song which opened the Black Bishop’s throat, but I knew the explosion was coming, knew to tuck and tumble as the shockwaves rolled over me. When I stood, I saw before me:
 
Nobler, fur singed and matted with blood.
 
Orlando, fighting for consciousness, coat torn and sullied.
 
Neema, fighting for composure with a determination as fierce as ever.
 
Ariel, unnatural bloodlust still upon her, restrained by our surprisingly capable drunken prison-mate.
 
Baltos, Baltos.
 
The ruins of the Red Devils’ brothel burning around us, consumed by fire.
 
And the war-chimeras of the Ember Imperium, emerging from the water as they lay siege to a blood-shrouded Del’Orta.
 
When did things get so complicated?
 
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.