Enter the Dragonborn

I COULD SING!! I could sing like the birds in the Pavillion of the Dawn, like a canary free from a mine, like Orlando in one of his rousing performances!!
 
MAI LIN LIVES—and my solemn duty, for as long as I must, is to keep things that way.
 
Allow me to explain as I gather myself.
 
When I returned from the wretched Del’Castan Square, I was met by Nobler in the boat—no sign of our jongleur friend. Our dwarven friend was still asleep, and had not woken, he said, mentioning that he’d found a journal of hers. It is written in Old Doylin; not a tongue I am familiar with, but one the likes of our Loremaster might easily decipher. Reaching the Blades became a matter of still greater importance.
 
Nobler sought a missive service while I remained behind, meditating on my new discovery. My body feels so light without my armor, even more so than with only my shozoku upon me. Nothing burdens me aside from my trousers, this wondrous exoskeleton, and my swords. I feel how the air moves, in silence and in noise, how the sun and the moon shine upon my scales. It is liberating, exhilarating. There was only one thing left which concerned me—our charges.
 
I worked up the nerve to talk to Nema. I know not why it was so difficult for me to open my mouth, but it felt as if something were clamped about my jaw. I broke through eventually—I am trained as a courier, after all, as out of my depth such a role may be.
 
Nema told me much—her history as a thief, her training as an acrobat, her feeling of being trapped between two paths she has no desire to walk. And she told me of the circus, her family, the kindness she and Nobler found in the cracks of society. The Great Spirits echo in the darkest chambers. She seems to still be searching for her faith.
 
I resolved to train her, but I didn’t wish to embarrass her. It was put forth as more sparring for my own sake, a request she was gracious to accept despite her own confusion. What I told her was that “some sparring partners train the body, and some the spirit”; an inspired bit of poetry, if I do say so myself. What I didn’t tell her was that the best ones train both. Hikari. Amiri. Izem. I was surprised, though; she took naturally to swordplay. I gave her my kesh’tam to use, my sun—the rash’tam, the moon, guards the inner self, and should not be given as lightly.
 
We trained for a long while, and I glimpsed the glow of someone becoming more of themself. She does have some of the heroes of old in her.
 
After his initial shock at the sight of Nema and I clashing swords, Nobler returned with modest news: our two options for contacting my family were the Post, or baubles. Had we considered such a grave outcome, we might have considered making communications baubles more standard issue among the Blades, but the assumption was that I’d meet Mai Lin and return posthaste. We really ought to discuss that… especially after Amiri’s disappearance, we’ve nothing to lose from preparing ourselves with such utilities. I had tried to convince my sister to obtain a pair with me in the past, but she values her privacy; she wants to be available, but not too available. Which I understand. I am disappointed, but I understand. Within this motley band we’ve assembled, though, a network would be just the thing.
 
Especially to prevent Orlando from coming and going unannounced, as he did shortly. He had set us up with accommodations at a local inn. I was hesitant to accept such an invitation, especially after Armitage’s suspect offer of accomodation, but Orlando had emphasized it would be a discreet place, where few questions are asked.
 
When training as a courier, I was taught two things of utmost importance: Someone is always watching, and someone is always asking. For now, though, we had no better place to keep our companions, conscious and coma-stricken, safe—and none of us longed for another night spent upon the rocking of a boat.
 
The question of the hanged dragonborn still echoed in my mind as we made our way to the inn, and it was a question I realized I could not answer alone… but we had a companion who could easily slip about to discern minor details about a hanged corpse:
 
It was time to strike a deal with Baltos. I am rather aware I continue to put the weight of subterfuge upon his invisible shoulders, but his stature and his capabilities just make him such an ideal candidate, the little imp! So a bet—if he could report back to me the appearance of this dragonborn and the presence of a certain scar on his face, I would owe him homage as the strongest among us, as well as a couple gold pieces.
 
And sure enough… NEVER TRUST A GODDAMNED PIRATE! For the scar on this corpse’s eye was a fresh wound, a fabrication, which could only mean its presentation was a show of smoke and mirrors. I pity the wretch they slew for the deception.
 
On the subject of smoke and mirrors, though… Orlando had an audition to attend, and Nobler and I certainly weren’t about to let him slip away unattended again. The bard’s apparent openness veils a strange reserve, the like I experienced in my diplomatic training: often, those with the most to hide tell you so much that you wouldn’t think there was any more to ask—and that is where the true secrets are buried.
 
I left Nema with my kesh’tam again and instructions to keep the door locked—I didn’t want to get into any fights, anyhow. I really must buy her her own sword. She has a pistol, I am sure, but a gun at the hip doesn’t suggest competence in the same way that a blade does in this day and age. There is value still in her appearing unarmed—one often finds more violence when they appear prepared for it than when they do not. That, though, is a risk I find worthy of taking, when it comes down to being able to defend oneself. Certainly something to ponder.
 
The Bridled Mare is a gaudy place, the smell of roses thick in my nostrils as soon as Nobler and I entered. I must say, his presence next to me is reassuring in a way only a handful of others are. Such a den of decadence was no place I could see anything good borne in.
 
I sought Orlando as he apparently drank his nerves away. I have utmost confidence in his frankly remarkable skills, it’s just the whole matter of causing a scene which concerned me. Now was a time for us to keep our heads low. I told him there were other ways we could find his father, other avenues to explore, people I could contact—I came very close to telling him of my connections in that moment. He was undeterred. Despite his extraordinary potential, he remains glued to the stage and the parlor tricks. Whatever he seeks is enough for him to risk everything, and despite my frustration, I know exactly how he feels.
 
He proceeded to the “green room”; but not without a pair of guardian angels. If a Blade in the dark may be considered that.
 
I wish I could say my friend’s performance was excellent—I certainly imagined it was, but the room was completely soundproof, and I was left waiting on a couch which seemed to swallow me more than seat me.
 
But when he finished, we were—all of us—offered audience with a “Mr. Z.” I didn’t know who Mr. Z was or what he wanted, but I didn’t bode well to me that he knew our names. The only factions in Del’Orta who knew our names wanted to kill us.
 
I practically had my rash’tam drawn when I saw three figures approaching through the shadow, but when I saw who they were, it was as if I’d been struck by lightning:
 
Mr. Z was Mai Lin, alive and waiting for me! He must have escaped the Flynns or sought some vengeance, because now he wanted us to steal from them, and frankly? After they tried and failed to deceive me, to check my quest? I couldn’t be more eager to rob them. Great Spirits, it was a joy simply to speak my own tongue again. I can’t wait to tell Hikari.
 
Still, I mustn’t get ahead of myself. I must remember my mission. Mai Lin, or somebody, told the Flynns everything about me. Somehow, he escaped, and now he wants me to delve straight into the heart of their lair. If it is for the only copy of the schematics he had, I’ll do anything—but I’d prefer to ask him what he knows, first. The less trouble we get into, the better, and I can’t help but feel as if there are pieces to this puzzle I have not fitted to their respective spots. Time will tell.
 
But now, more than ever before on this mission, I know the path I walk is the way forward.
 
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.