A First Time for Everything

A fool I am for being tempted by an extravagant plan. The relief that I yet draw breath is tempered by the shame at the loss I have suffered. Well… shame? I… I’m not sure. I can’t say I’m certain. It’s something which burns with the same intensity as fury, and yet, it is not born of a fear of the judgement of others, no. It is something I direct the flow of. Disappointment—in myself, in my allies—and anger. But not defeat. Never again, as I live, will I be whispered lies in the guise of defeat.
 
The night began with me seeking advice from Orlando, which should have been the first indication things were about to go awry.
 
His plan for us to invade the brothel of the Red Devils required a certain degree of commitment to the particularities of the setting on our part. Involved commitment. I, for one, wished to keep a clear head and avoid becoming entangled in the carnal opportunities the Red Devils’ headquarters would present. For one, it would disrupt the circulatory equilibrium in my body and cloud my judgement and my attention. But then, there was the ideological stance…
 
I am no prude. I am quite familiar with the epic romances of history. I am not squeamish about the topic of physical pleasure. I am also not particularly practiced in the actualities of that domain. Of that subject. This is mainly due to my dedication to other things—while Draconian Imperial Legion cadets and ministry apprentices are rolling about, fooling around, making full use of their “caves and horns,” a Blade is spending their time dedicated to their training. Now, are there advanced areas of study for a courier who wishes to bring their charms to bear in a more substantial way? Certainly. My passion—and my respectable capability—was and has always been as an infiltrator and a swordsman. The arts of the more conventional twinned swords. More useful, in my opinion.
 
In addition to my substantial reasons for desiring to abstain as described above, the Draconian Imperial Republic takes distinct pride in producing a strong draconic lineage. Now, this isn’t a major state-mandated requirement of the citizens, but I feel special pressure as a member of House Senhotep and a scion of one of the eldest lines of our people. My sister and Amiri have always told me that such concerns shouldn’t stand in the way of romance, but it’s just… easier to not bother. Easier to not concern myself with it. My heart lies in service to my people. I’ve had a few attractions in my life, it’s just always easier to concentrate when I don’t concern myself with their pursuit.
 
So what I suppose I’m trying to say is, I asked Orlando if it would kill our cover for me to not partake. After much ribbing on his and Baltos’ part, he recommended I seek a “lapdance” if I didn’t want to distract myself with more rigorous activities. Fine by me. I have to wonder if the mission was the first thing on his mind.
 
When Nobler returned from getting the hair cut off his face—must be a nightmare, growing hair—Orlando revealed more wrinkles in his plan: a code phrase to commence our attack, a set of false identities. I had to convince him to not have me parade about this seedy place as the Second Adjutant to the Princely Order, Haru Hakoshima, and I had had to convince him some more to not make me dye my scales.
 
I wanted to tell him that the notion of obscuring one’s true draconic heritage, whether another’s or oneself’s, is one of the most hideous insults to a dragonborn’s pride in the world, but I didn’t want to seem hostile; blood runs hot before a dangerous mission, and berating a comrade would do no good. It is Katsuhito who said a true ally is one who takes responsibility for understanding your ideals, but Morikage said in the same breath that words are secondary to intent, and there was no ill intention behind what he spoke—simply misunderstanding. And a certain glee. For a Blade, disguise, deception, may be part of the job when called for. For actors, it is the job. A veritably bizarre lot.
 
So It was set. I was Yu Hakoshima, traveling with Harry and Winston, and we were to walk in, do our business with as much discretion or mayhem as warranted, and rendezvous back at the Bridled Mare. Another thing which unsettled me: Orlando’s devil-may-care attitude towards who our targets were. My mission is to make an example of pirate scum, not the innocent people under their thumb. Orlando and Baltos chuckled when I used the word “innocent” to describe prostitutes, but… there are few comparisons to the impact of physical violence, in any form, on a living being. Being the target, or the perpetrator.
 
Especially the perpetrator. The perpetrator makes a choice.
 
There was another reason for my hesitance. When my mother first passed away, a draconian courtesan who was visiting House Senhotep offered to take care of Hikari and I. Munirah, the Winter’s Tear of Kokkyo. A remarkable dragonborn with legendary tact and grace—I like to think my sister and I learned some of her poise while she helped our family. I was very young, but I remember gentle arms rocking me and a soothing voice and gaze to lull me to sleep. It was not to last—my father quickly grew concerned that folk would misinterpret Munirah’s proximity to our family, in spite of the care she took to be discreet. Few things escape the attention of a community of Blades. And so she left, not long after she arrived.
 
No. I do not assume those of such work are less innocent than any other civilian simply due to the nature of their work involving their body as much as their mind. And I do not assume they are helpless, either, and that it is my responsibility as a noble being to defend them and bury them in tasteless flatteries. But they will not be subject to my violence. Morikage’s teachings state some objectives may demand unorthodox methods, some goals unusual targets.
 
I say I won’t stain my blade with any more innocent blood.
 
We entered the gaudy hive with little issue. The bouncer seemed formidable, to be sure, but no longer in a way which intimidated me. Still never a reason to drop my guard. The interior was a hazy mess, naturally; six Red Devils minimum, as well as a number of civilians. Orlando got to work right away, working the bartender and the regulars like a natural. I realize I’ve sounded almost scornful in the past, but I cannot emphasize how remarkable he is. And Nobler! Nobler maneuvered the crowd with great confidence, if not in the setting itself than in his own capabilities. It’s usually something I am able to do, as well, just… not in a place like this.
 
I made a decision I saw as purely tactical which I realize in retrospect may not have been—purely. I made my way over—well, she found me, almost as much, to be fair—to a tiefling woman of a vibrant pink complexion.
 
I instantly began to doubt the draconian national proclivity to limit procreation to dragonborn.
 
Ach, listen to me… I sound so crass. Writing about a mission should not impart the same flippancy as writing a cheap penny novella! And yet here I am…
 
This woman I began to talk to did not speak with sophistication, but she certainly spoke with a wryness which struck me. Struck me very directly, I should add—she, like my companions, saw fit to prod me a few times when she saw my hesitancy! But I decided the best decision would be to play along. There was much I could learn from an insider about this unfamiliar setting, many secrets she could reveal to me.
 
What confused me was her perpetuation of this pattern I’ve seen in Nobler first, then Neema, then even Orlando—this sense of belonging to one’s captors. For this prostitute considered herself a Red Devil! I could only wonder—was it simply due to a mix of her heritage and her location? Did she feel an affinity towards them? Care for them? I had heard the Red Devils make some of their captives their playthings, though not all those who work for the Red Devils are so directly compelled to do so. She certainly acted with an ease which suggested free will.
 
Anyway, I followed her downstairs. A certain eagerness propelled her steps; dragonborn often encounter this… enthusiasm when traveling abroad. So, to briefly demystify the dragonborn body: Yes, they come in pairs. No, they’re not both used at once—usually. No, there are no “spikes.” Yes, hitting them produces a rare breed of agony (though not, admittedly, as much as for humans, or so I’m told—or maybe dragonborn simply manage it better). No, we are not barred entirely from premarital relationships. Yes, I do feel there are better things to talk about as well, especially when I am recording my thoughts here for my own good. I don’t often get sidetracked in such an inexplicable manner. Perhaps some foreigner will chance upon this journal some day, find my writings and my sketches. And my lessons in dragonborn anatomy.
 
Ahem!
The underbelly of the Red Devil’s lair showed no means of escape from the vessel in a pinch, and three guards whom I would certainly have to contend with later. Two of them guarded a sturdy door that my escort told me led even further down, where a meeting between important figures was taking place as we spoke. Now would be the perfect opportunity to strike! Strike off the head and the serpent will wither. But my companions were nowhere to be seen, and the woman attending me—Ariel, I learned her name to be—was eager to begin.
 
Let me tell you, I stalled as much as I could. Now was no time to lose myself in simple pleasures, not when our target lay directly beneath me (well, not like that). Great Spirits, this Ariel went so far as to put off my payment for later! It seemed my heritage and my hesitance both were compelling challenges to her. She knew I wasn’t an ordinary customer with simple wants and complimented me anyway. Was it genuine? I couldn’t tell, but I wanted to know. She knew I was someone to not be bought easily with such honeyed words, so why would she bother with falsehoods? No matter! I remembered Orlando’s recommendation at the last second—a lapdance. It was my best chance at buying myself more time.
 
As stalling tactics go, lapdances are effective. For buying time. But when that came to an end, she sought more than simple conversation. And I… Great Spirits, I felt foolish because I didn’t want to disappoint her. I didn’t want to wound her pride by simply walking off and I didn’t want to… ach, not live up to her expectations. Expectations I’ve never really felt the press of before. It frustrates me that such things were deterring me from such a simple goal. But I was cognizant, too, that I would have nowhere to go if I abandoned this little cloister downstairs; there was only the hallway, the rooms, and the door. And the guards. The few guards…
 
A plan began to form in my head. Pretending to play into her expectations, I asked Ariel to gather more of her friends for a… proper appreciation of the occasion. And to accommodate a friend of mine. And when she gathered her coworkers, lo and behold, did Nobler appear before us! He has his way with women, I thought, he’ll know how to get us out of this situation.
 
As is turned out, his only words served to reveal complicating factors. The Black Bishops were in attendance.
 
Which could only mean two things: First, our objective had become substantially more dangerous. My experience with direct confrontation of the Imperium has been minimal, but I know even Blades view entanglements with them as rarely worth the potential risks. Knowing this… We should have left immediately. But I was too stubborn, too set on the goal apparently so close to me, as always. I often forget the Illusion of the Summit: a mountain’s peak often appears to be just ahead, even when there are many steps left to walk.
 
But the presence of the Black Bishops in this place also must have meant they were consorting with the remnants of the Red Devils, plotting against the bedlam equilibrium of Del’Orta. The Red Devils with their Imperium contacts, the Maycomb crew with their strange crow patron, the Flying Flynn’s in their pursuit of an apocalypse engine… it seems every faction in Del’Orta has sold their soul to someone. I can’t wait to never see this place again. They need a truer faith in their lives.
 
Nobler’s news brought an abrupt end to my tepid facade. There were no more impressions to be made, no more prides to plump—we had to act decisively. I appealed to the woman who had, moments before, pronounced herself a Red Devil, to aid us in working against her kin. I expected no sympathy, I expected no joy, but I hoped that my coin would speak for me… and apparently it did. Or, something did. Because Ariel and her two friends, a half orc and a cat (I could have never gotten involved with someone who shared Bastet’s features, anyhow) saw to it that their martial friends outside were thoroughly distracted, and Nobler and I silenced our last obstruction. I must remember to ask him what the hell “jazz” is.
 
I felt a strange twinge, watching Ariel coax another person so quickly into her chamber. But it passed. Mostly.
 
As we searched for a place to hide the body, our rummaging caught the attention of the Devils we had just treated to a good time—maybe sex isn’t quite the distraction I had chalked it up to be. Still, I managed to remain hidden and provide us the drop we needed to dispatch them quickly as well. When Ariel heard the ruckus outside, she seemed shocked at first, but not surprised—and none too shaken, as well.
 
The mystery of this person, admittedly, fascinated me; after giving her some more gold, she agreed to work to keep the last of the guards very busy, and even let us use her room as… storage. She essentially agreed to be complicit in our murder of people she swore herself to. Why? I regretted that there was little time to consider what her story may be.
 
Nobler and I had just finished hiding the bodies, and begun to search them for a key, when Orlando burst in from upstairs, having kept all the patrons distracted for an impressive span of time. He knows how to work a crowd. When I enlisted his aid in keeping us concealed, though, he revealed there were other things on his mind.
 
First of all, he was roaring drunk. He was disappointed to have missed the bloodshed, and on top of that, began to argue with Nobler about how to split the belongings of people we had just killed.
 
If it had stopped there, we would have managed fine—but instead of moving beyond the argument, Nobler entrenched himself even deeper, and they both refused progress! Two grown men, squabbling over knives they didn’t need and gold they possess in spades! Comrades through our share of trials arguing over minutiae of no relevance to our mission! It was absurd. My blood began to boil in a way it seldom has before. These are people who I see reflections of the divine in. These are people who have saved my life and whose lives I have saved a number of times each. These are men who I trust to accompany me on missions of state, for the love of Cinder! I very nearly exploded on the spot, but such an action would have compromised our position entirely.
 
As it turns out, it already was. Dark figures emerged through the door, figures whose presence compelled us to scramble for cover. The Black Bishops.
 
And they came for Nobler. An ignoble thought crossed my mind for but a second… If Nobler was to go with them, would they leave Orlando and I to our original objective? I refused to ponder it. The life of a steady companion, a friend, far outshines the value of achieving a short term goal which may change with the tides. Orlando conjured a bawdy illusion, and we hunkered down together, desperate to escape notice.
 
These Black Bishops… their senses are unnaturally keen. What’s more, they seemed to touch the mind of Nobler in a way which frayed his senses. And they don’t die easy, I learned as I plunged my blade into one’s throat, a perfect White Dragon’s Transfixiation. Despite my mortal strike, they retaliated, unerring, lashing out with startling speed in a manner similar to that with which I often see The Red Fang of the North attack.
 
At least my blessed kesh’tam and rash’tam could wound them—I kept waiting for Nobler to bring his silver claw to bear, Mai Lin’s gift, but he appeared too shaken, and soon fell into a fugue. Orlando lit up the room with crackling spells and biting song laced with magic, but none managed to fell the beasts, and they consistently evaded my blows. At one moment, Orlando strummed a soporific tune on his new harp and caused one Bishop to keel over in slumber, but the onslaught of the second was relentless, like a cornered dog. In one swift movement, he pushed his way through to Nobler and took my friend in his claws. That would not do. Botched operation be damned, they would not steal away my companion.
 
I poised myself in the doorway. If this cur was to take him, it would have to go through me. One last spell of Orlando’s surged through my body, and suddenly I could keep pace with this beast. My kesh’tam was an arc of silver lightning as I scored one hit, then another, driving the beast back. In one moment, I was rocked by an explosion as his cursed blood combusted, but it seemed naught but a desperate trick. I was gaining ground. I made him bleed. If I struck this one down, we could strike off his friend’s head where he lay. He was an Imperium wretch. I am the Fifth Blade of House Senhotep. I am my armor. I would not be defeated here. I would not lose Nobler to those who sought to corrupt him. We traded one, two blows, and then I, fast as the wind, dealt him one more than he could evade and my sword slipped by his defenses like silk through a needle’s eye and I cut his head from his shoulders.
 
Then he exploded. His blood burst where it had sputtered the ground and threw me into the air and then the world went dark.
 
###
 
I awoke—praise be to the Great Spirits, to the embrace of my mother with her starry arms about my soul, for I am but a transient pilgrim walking the paths of this past and future world—
 
I awoke in a cell, tied to a chair, in the dark… the shadow of a Red Devil standing over me.