Converging Shadows

It would seem we made our way through the thorns to pluck a rose or two for ourselves; I yet bleed, but we all have something to show for it now.
 
The brothel hid a handful of potent treasures in its stores. Orlando walked away with a rifle and a set of drums, Nobler with a mysterious skull, and I with a pair of daggers—which I gave to Neema—and a set of slippers which, while ragged, grace my feet with a nimbleness I have not known before. The cost was… well on top of the demons we encountered recently, a charm I suffered in which I found myself thoroughly paralyzed attempting to claim these items. A parting trick. It was a jarring reminder—even after all I overcame moments before, I might have had my breath stolen away by a simple spell to foil petty burglars. A harsh reminder, to be sure.
 
We did not have long to examine our gifts—as the red mist fell about Del’Orta, it drove ordinary folk mad with bloodlust, and a mob of them made their way towards us. Neema and our now-sober companion did a good job of barring the door before they fell upon us, but they were moments from crashing through the makeshift fortification.
 
I had no desire to be a fish in a barrel here, and hurried to the outer quarters. My wounds stung with every motion, my head throbbed, my muscles ached—but there was no time to preoccupy myself with external hardship.
 
It was not Master Izem, not Hikari or Amiri, but my father, who taught me how to push away such physical distractions. The funny thing is… I don’t remember the first occasion I learned that lesson from him. It is one which has been ingrained in me, present in my mind from bee stings and sword wounds alike. I will remember his words always, and the eyes upon me as he spoke them: “Pain is your body telling you something is wrong, my son. It is an alarm, a cry for you to listen, but it cannot be an obstacle. Do not fear it: greet it, accept it, and tell it you understand.”
 
The words of a being with an intimate understanding of pain; they have helped me persevere through my most grueling trials. I understood this agony.
 
The luxury rooms on the edges of the ship were designed with rather… eclectic… tastes in mind. But it was a design that proved useful. A set of cuffs was available to restrain Ariel, who was still gripped by the curse which had befallen Del’Orta. I felt reprehensible subjecting her to such bindings, but she threatened to harm us and herself in such a state, and they proved useful when we had to pull her up through a hatch in the roof.
 
It was a small thing with a rope ladder; rather inconvenient for our purposes, but better than nothing. I was able to ascend without issue and begin the process of seeing the rest of my companions through. As we were hoisting Ariel, though, the mob burst through the barricade and began to assail us, assail her—I would not have it. Civilians or not, they would kill us, kill the woman who had sacrificed so much for me, and I would not have it. My breath withered them.
 
Standing upon the roof, we had a better view of this horde of possessed folk. They filled the streets, ravenous, tearing into each other when no other prey presented itself. The only way to get away from them was to descend the heights we stood upon, make for the docks. Again my grapple proved handy—I wish Ariel could hear my apology in the moment for the rough landing, but perhaps it was better that she was not aware of the situation to begin with.
 
The boat we had hired to The Ship—these Red Devils aren’t too imaginative, are they, the bastards—still remained on the dock. We would need it to escape to Del’Orta proper, or anywhere else for that matter, stuck as we were on the northeastern island now. Unfortunately, despite it being present, its availability was limited due the threat of a roaming dockmaster under the curse’s grip. As it turned out, though, the rifle Orlando had claimed was quite sufficient to dispatch him: it shoots gouts of fire, apparently. If ever there were crude instruments unworthy of the touch of magic, firearms are the prime example. But it was useful, certainly.
 
We decided there that our objective from what was now the previous night remained: destroy the Red Devils, using the chaos to our advantage. They had two stack ships docked at Old Town, ripe for the taking. If we were quiet and decisive, we could seize one ship and turn its guns on the other, as well as any other Red Devils present. There was one other thing to take care of, though.
 
Katsuhito’s Queries of Embodied Light ask a warrior how they can possibly capture the hearts of those around them by partaking in their deeds of glory without considering the consequences to others, and at this moment I saw with us a person for whom the consequences of our actions had been quite severe, and I saw a way out for her. Our once-drunk companion, Lysander, had done an effective job of keeping Ariel out of harm’s way for the time being, and I saw no reason that might not continue for a while longer. I offered him a generous sum—some fifteen gold and fifty ninesilver I would have no use of—to ensure she remained safe until this perilous situation was resolved.
 
Orlando, for reasons I cannot comprehend, seemed to take offense to this, going so far as to threaten our acquaintance with his new rifle when I made the offer. MY offer. He talked as if this man was extorting me, was attempting to swindle me, threatened his life based upon an offer I had put forth. Looking back upon the encounter, I suppose he could have been speaking as a concerned friend, unwilling to see me taken advantage of. I can appreciate that in retrospect. In the moment, though, I had to force my anger down yet again as I saw callous threats being made towards a potential ally. We’d already seen too many lives unnecessarily lost as a result of such reckless pride, and I would not see it happen again. I promised Lysander his sum, shook on his slimy hand (such an odd custom to spit on one’s hands when we could have simply bowed respectfully from a distance) and saw them off.
 
I was glad to see Ariel go in the arms of a resourceful soul determined to live to see their payment. I hope I see her again; Orlando and Baltos keep insisting that I am smitten, but I play the fool less than they would seem to think. It was simply the right decision, investing myself in an innocent’s safety, especially after the aid she gave us out of nowhere, with little promise of reward aside from a reasonable stack of gold. I still don’t believe that such a sum would have been sufficient alone to buy her into our conspiracy, and my hope is to eventually understand what would have. Not to mention… I still find myself haunted by Neema’s expression after she first saw the slain circus members. Their colorful bodies strewn about the floor, framed in crimson. Casualties of foolish, reckless pride.
 
An adherent to the Pilgrim’s Way cannot afford to leave death in their wake. Such a person would be a harbinger, not a holy one. I cannot claim to follow the way of the Great Spirits and spread echoes of unjust death in their great harmony.
 
My mind was heavy with such thoughts as we embarked for the stack ships in the distance. That bloody mist hung heavy in the air, and profane horrors lurked in the waters. I was weary—I still am weary. My spirit remains strong, but caution is of the essence—my body has reached its limits.
 
Still, there was yet beauty in this dark place, that of the love between Neema and Nobler. They truly are a pair for the ages—my quiet utterances of my prayers only served to magnify their words in my ears, not drown them out. It’s as if the Fireheart Cinder was whispering in my ear… “Look no further, faithful one, than the love of your companions, the convictions of those who have fought beside you. Your warrior’s hands need not be clapped over your dreamer’s eyes.”
 
For now, though, they needed to remain at the ready. One of the Imperium’s monstrosities stirred beneath our boat, eager to sate its hunger.
 
There was no time to waste in confronting this monster, nor could we afford to make too much noise; taking a cue from a certain variety of ferrymen, I shot a grapple to the stack ship and pulled us through the water as fast as the magitech could while the creature tore at the boat in our wake. We rocketed through the water at remarkable speed, but our assailant had plans of its own for us, and tore at our tiny vessel as it went. Creaking and groaning, strained to its limit, my grapple flew from the hull of our target, with nearly twenty feet to go. The wondrous device smoked upon my wrist—I couldn’t risk any further strain to it. The eel chimera bore down on us. Our window was closing… our window!
 
A porthole in the hull of the boat before us proved just a large enough target for my conventional rope and grapple. I began to pull my way up, Neema making an even faster pace than I. As I climbed, the beats of a drum cut through my focus—Orlando was trying out his new toy. I almost shot a reprimand over my shoulder, but I wasn’t the one engaging the beast, and, strangely enough, it seemed mystified by the spell this drumset was putting it under. As I watched, a cavalcade of shots rang out, blowing precise holes in the creature’s head—brilliant marksmanship from Nobler. The Imperium’s experiments would not taste our blood today.
 
The ship’s furnaces were quiet, but footsteps rang in the silence above us—there were yet some crew members left. My footsteps lightened by the embrace of the slippers, I disappeared into the darkness again, prepared to execute these scoundrels. It would have gone cleanly, too, were it not for a sneeze which tore the silence apart. Holy Haretal. I was prepared to wait behind the stack where I’d found a hidden vantage, wait while my quieter companions regrouped and Orlando talked these five Red Devil’s ears off… but I never heard such honeyed words slip through the air; only a gunshot rang out. Ah… such potent tools seem to be an irresistible temptation for some.
 
Regardless, we dispatched our foes quickly. One pirate who attempted fruitlessly to shoot me discovered my rash’tam in his skull, and the rest were slaughtered with efficiency. I watched as Neema felled not one, but two adversaries—she has grown quite capable. One might expect a person in her condition staying huddled within her room, tending to our comatose charge, but she had apparently spent the time practising relentlessly. Her spirit is rather remarkable.
 
WAIT—our dwarven friend… she must have been left behind when Neema came to rescue us! Is she still in our room at the Bridled Mare? Such measures were simply necessary at the time, but I fear what may happen if the Imperium is searching for her—if the Imperium is aligned with the dark forces who aligned themselves with the Maycomb pirates. There are a dizzying number of factions pursuing their own machinations here. I would be incredibly grateful for even something as simple as a Blades-compiled briefing right now. She may have to be our first priority upon our completion of our goals here.
 
Once we had control of the ship, manipulating it to our desires was straightforward enough—after all, each of us possesses at least some measure of nautical experience. The other stack ship withered under our cannonade. That just left the remaining Red Devils, seemingly holed up in Old Town itself. For a moment, I feared the potential of civilian casualties, but a quick reminder from Orlando assuaged that concern; this place is cursed, with not a living soul in the whole superstitious town who would willingly approach it, much less live there. Desperate rats in need of somewhere to hole up, though…
 
I was perhaps all too happy to bombard the place. Such is the just reward for pirates. The square crumbled beneath our shelling, and from beneath, what seemed like the entrance to a bunker poked its head. Went sent a couple more shells its way for good measure, striking true and dealing even further damage to the structure.
 
They were loosened up—now, it’s time to deliver the final blow. I only hope the superstitions about this place are neutral towards outsiders, or at least hostile to the Red Devils within, as well… my stamina is depleted, and my body is at the breaking point. I shall approach with utmost caution. The Blades are relying upon me, the prosperity of the Republic itself perhaps hanging in the balance. There are dark shadows converging…
 
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. May their might see me through to duty’s end. 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.