Gathering Clouds

In my dreams, I was flying.
 
They have been more vivid since I returned home; ah, what a day that was! I’ll never forget the sight of Drakkon emerging from the horizon. The looks of awe from those gathered as we touched down in the Ebon Storm. The feeling of triumph I had disembarking, victorious, after my long trials.
 
I’ve never been so happy to see my family; Hikora was present in moments, her pride glowing—haha, perhaps this brings me one step closer to catching up to her! Master Izem required a full account of my journeys to truly be satisfied, which I might have expected—he’s a storyteller at heart, and it brings me pride to know that perhaps he may now use my story to inspire a new generation of trainees. My father was busy with matters of state, and I would not see him for awhile longer, but a missive was sent right away, with another returned just as hurriedly: he had been waiting eagerly to hear of my success! I cannot envision a happier day. I am blessed that the music of the Great Spirits would ring such joyful notes about me.
 
For the next couple weeks or so, I could show my companions around Draconia—those parts which secrets of state did not forbid me to reveal! Orlando regaled us all with his performance, much to the delight of Izem; such things are right up his alley. Nobler and Nema were another point of fascination, showing us a bit of their act from their circus days, only now in an environment truly worthy of their talents. We spent some time recovering, some time relaxing… and then we said goodbye.
 
And after that, there was work to do. No word of Amiri, that much I knew as soon as I landed. But the intelligence bulletin, the scout reports, the plainclothes operatives—nowhere was there even the slightest news of his whereabouts. It is as if he vanished into thin air. It was a sobering reminder, after I’d permitted myself such luxury of celebration. There was work to be done. There is always work to be done.
 
Thankfully, I did not spend those couple weeks slacking off entirely. As soon as we touched down, I announced my readiness to name my kesh’tam and rash’tam, as well as my readiness to challenge the Fourth Blade—Inobu. A daring move, I know, perhaps even a bit arrogant, but I was ready. Ready for both. There would be no stopping me now; I swept in on marvellous wings and I had no intention of slowing.
 
There was much to prepare. In-between checking upon Amiri’s status, I spent my time training relentlessly. I wove the obstacle course until it became instinctual, performed agility exercises until my scales felt as if they’d fall off; I even managed to catch Hikari and Izem for a few sparring matches, something they almost never have time for! All to prepare myself for this moment of truth I had claimed for myself. I prayed the Great Spirits would see me through. The temple felt different now; I felt within it new echoes of the Great Melody which I recognized from my travels. The shrine at Hu Zhuang Wu, the hidden temple along the Sidein Coast, the blessing of the Great Carp at Yokozu… I carry each of them with me now, and they echo through me. I prayed. I meditated. I trained. And as I did, my body’s strength returned and I drew nearer and nearer to my Naming Ceremony.
 
Six months later, I found myself flying over Drakkon, on my own wings.
 
It’s every dragonborn’s dream to fly, to embrace that proud heritage our principles are built upon. In fact, I was dreaming in that moment, I realized, soaring through the air with Bastet right along side me, and I could feel the wind tossing my aural fringes and beneath my wings.
 
And then I saw ash. When I looked down, Draconia was burning, my beloved country set ablaze, its gravity-defying towers crumbling to the earth and smoke choking its skies. Bastet had transfigured into a mocking crow alongside me, and I felt my wings grow heavy with dark feathers before they fell away just as quickly, and I plummeted. When I screamed, all I heard was a strangled caw.
 
And then I was awake. The day of the Naming Ceremony was upon me.
 
My leg throbbed. For awhile, I had almost forgotten the insignia Nar’Shen had burned into it when I slew him the first time; it was impossible to ignore now, which only exacerbated my frustration at having no idea what it entailed. I could only pray for the Great Spirits’ protection and continue on my way. My ceremonial robes slipped on easily over the magitech frame I yet wore. The mechanical frame has become a comforting weight, one which has spared me many a plunge and gotten me places I otherwise never might have.
 
As I made for hangar, eager to board my family’s private airship (The Thundercrest), I came to the quick realization that I was not the only one there. Loitering next to a ship of their own were Draconian Drop Troops, louder and more boisterous than I remember them being.
 
The Drop Corps is a special unit of the Imperial Military who specialize in, as their name would suggest, rapid insertion from an airship. Sometimes this means sliding down grapple lines, sometimes using massive parachutes which darken the sky—I hear they’ve even tested artificial wings which allow them to glide for a short period of time, play at being true dragons. I find this silly for two reasons: first, because they have taken the belief that a few months of specialized training and cunning equipment may stand in for traditional regimens practiced from birth. Second, because the day our people truly fly solo will be a day heralded by a message from the Great Spirits themselves, not a quartermaster handing out a fancy rucksack. Now, that is not to say that I’ve any desire to disparage the great ingenuity of Draconia’s brilliant scientists and engineers—far from it. Rather, I am opposed to the hubris developed by entirely unremarkable individuals when the product of such minds comes into their hands.
 
Needless to say, I hoped I would make it to the Thundercrest without having to engage with the Drop Troops, but even the Great Spirits cannot rescue me from small talk. As soon as they spotted me, they set out to disparage me, mock the Blades—as if. I was tempted to correct their coarse tempers where they stood, but taking part in such petty squabbles is beneath my family name, especially on such a momentous day. I thought of my companions of my Del’Ortan adventures and I bickering, the mere remembrance ample motivation to not act hastily. I offered them a companionable reminder of their national pride, and continued on my way. I cannot say I was not tempted to show them the merits of the Blades’ teachings, though.
 
Aboard the Thundercrest, I was ecstatic to see Hikora herself greeting me! She seems to be mostly recovered from her previous injury—in spirits, at least. One cannot regrow a lost eye. According to her, a number of early successes have made the drop troops quite bold. I reminded myself that such successes boded well for my country, but I couldn’t shake the disdain in their voices when we had spoken, the arrogance. Thankfully, I had other things to think about, like how the bounty on our heads in Del’Orta had been signed with the same crow insignia which marked my leg, as well as a previous letter I’d shown to Hikora years ago after my first assignment. A letter which had prompted her to hide it away and change the subject as quickly as it had been raised. Now, when I showed her the bounty notice in our airship, she again pretended she had no idea what I was speaking of, and told me to put it away. Her reaction… practically frightened me. I did not wish to imagine how deep a secret this was if she could not even tell me. Does she… have some association with this crow figure? Is she investigating it, unable to speak due to there being hostile agents in our midst? I left the airship with a troubled mind when we landed at Bladesinger Temple.
 
The Hundred Steps served to clear my mind somewhat. For each I ascended, I could feel the fog lifting a bit more, my ascent up the mountain matching my descent into the still waters of my deep psyche. There is something unique to the structure of stairs in that for each one, it is as if the ground has lifted higher to meet you. My feet connected to the eager ground, and the stone responded to me.
 
I arrived to the presence of a full crowd of monks, Blades, officials, and dignitaries. I saw my father, his noble brow instantly standing out amidst the crowd. Hikora joined the audience next to Izem, who had even dressed for the occasion! Noro Igrin-Senhotep, he who I had challenged years ago, was nowhere to be seen. As one who is not an Ordinal Blade, he is expected, but not duty-bound, to attend such ceremonies, and I’m sure he found some excuse.
 
Noro remains a mystery to me. Flamboyantly-dressed, unwedded, and tastefully disinterested in everything, he chose not to vie for a numbered position amongst the Blades despite his great skill. My sister has expressed before that she sees him as perhaps a more formidable challenger to her position as the First Blade than the current Second Blade, Rakkaro Din-Senhotep, if only he would muster the desire to seek it. I trust him, oddly enough—it’s said that in the brief instant of a duel, a warrior sees their opponent’s heart, and I did that day. Though he beat me, he no longer derides my family in the way he had. He completes his assignments with admirable reliability and discretion. He simply… doesn’t fit within my understanding of what it means to be a dragonborn.
 
Regardless, he wasn’t here now, and I was out of time to ponder where he might otherwise be. The moment of my Naming Ceremony was upon me.
 
Dragonborn—well, Blades, at least—aren’t so presumptuous as to lavish our swords with titles before we have had the opportunity to understand them. One does not name a song they have yet to hear. Instead, we wait until our service with our tam’ur has shown us what name they ought to carry, what deeds are echoed and will yet be undertaken in wielding them. Naming gives life to the legend of a weapon.
 
The Naming Ceremony itself sees a participant enact a ritual performance incorporating both verse and movement, intended to embody a wielder’s ability to channel the spirit of their blades as well as their unity with them. It is the duty of the swordbearer to create the spoken verses and the movements they will perform, a process many weeks, even months might be spent on. The poetry itself is a traditional style rooted in the Pilgrim’s Way, known as a Transitory; these feature two verses which evoke the spirit of a location or circumstance, followed by a single word indicating a passage or shift in time, and concluded by a cascade of action which flows through the established setting and leaves it a changed place. It is a form of poetry which captures the power of our interactions with the world, our connectedness to the places around us and our ability to effect or even simply bear witness to great change in a dynamic world. As for the physicalization which accompanies it in this particular ceremony, well… I’ve enjoyed experimenting with poetry, but I’ve never fancied myself much of a dancer. Still, it is an honor to be able to take part in such a thing! The movement features slow, controlled phases punctuated by bold stances and postures, a demonstration of physical control, mastery, and vigor. Mine I augmented with the presence of the humble shrine bell from Hu Zhuang Wu, a precious reminder of the Great Spirits’ presence I’d kept with me from the very beginning of my most recent journey.
 
I took up each sword in turn, and completed my ritual, chanting the Transitories for my kesh’tam and rash’tam as I named them:
 
CLOUDPIERCER
 
ravenous clouds consume the sky
 
a black wing blots out the sun
 
then,
 
the spirits sing
 
an azure bolt splits the heavens—
 
light like the sun—
 
and the thunder roars its glory.
 
My shining sun is Cloudpiercer—Great Spirits bless its name.
 
 
RIPTIDE
 
pale shadows lurk under the sickle moon
 
silver flickers on the water
 
now,
 
the light cuts at their ankles—
 
a fang against the dark sky—
 
and the ghosts sink beneath the gentle waves
 
and their ripples fade as they glide into the night.
 
My guiding moon is Riptide—Great Spirits bless its name.
 
 
I am proud to say that, while there were some nearly imperceptible flaws I will be reconciling and Hikora may be teasing me about for years to come, my tam’ur were named immaculately.
 
Cloudpiercer: the longsword with which I had struck down vile evils even as their profane clouds darkened the sky.
 
Riptide: the faithful blade which had guarded me even when all else was lost, and toppled even giants in the rush of its current.
 
Precious to me are these moments in which my joy feels earned, when I know my victories are the product of tireless work I myself have invested. This was the sensation I felt here.
 
I would have liked it to have lasted longer, though. Immediately as I completed the consecration of Riptide, an interloper came bursting into the fold—Inobu, the Fourth Blade, fuming to avenge his dignity. I had been hasty in challenging him, certainly, but this… the fury was uncalled for. He challenged me to duel him on the spot, in a sacred space before my time of rest from the ceremony had even begun. On top of that, he had drawn his tam’ur in a place where their use in battle is strictly prohibited, especially not against a fellow Blade. To shed Draconian blood in a temple… I could not imagine the repercussions. He approached me wantonly, without the slightest thought for precedent, his booming challenge ridiculous and offensive against the still temple air. How my blood boiled! There was a fury inside me now that crackled amidst the clouds in my mind. How I would have liked to show him his place! How dare he? Even the rites involved in challenging a Blade for their place were much more than a simple duel. He would not be securing his position as the Fourth Blade through rightful ceremony—he would only be cutting down his competition. Impudence! It was heretical impudence! I was ready to cut him in twain…
 
In moving to respond to him, though, I jostled the shrine bell which remained in my hand. Its clear ring pierced the haze in my mind, and I remembered where I was, remembered the debt I owed to the Great Spirits. I would not dishonor them, would not dishonor my family, now of all times. I remained calm, and requested he sheath his naked blades. My named swords were at my side, their heft reassuring me. I could feel the magitech exoskeleton bracing my body.
 
There was a sense of betrayal I felt here, though. We were surrounded by warrior monks, military officials, dignitaries—and yet no one saw fit to stay his hand? No one acted out against his gross misconduct, restrained him?? No one save Hikora moved to my side or spoke a word on my behalf, but even then, I realized I could not have my sister fighting this fight for me.
 
I tried a decisive bid to take Inobu’s legs from underneath him with my grapple, but I was unsuccessful, and I saw now there was no staying his wrath. I would not draw my swords and taint the legacy of their names so quickly… but I would not go without a fight.
 
We squared off. It had been some time since I had dueled another trained in Draconian swordsmanship, outside of training, that is—there is practice with one’s family, and then there is genuine strife, which may only be resolved with the drawing of blood. My mind raced—how could I, unarmed, account for his reach, his lethality? I could attempt to duck under his opening blow and sweep his legs, but a miscalculation would result in my head being taken off. I could attempt a Winding Tail, Broken Wing to intercept his blow, but the attack was coming from the wrong side, and its alternative forms to account for that had fled my mind. I resolved to strike as hard and fast as possible, rush inside his strike to deliver a Crooked Wing to his head.
 
As soon as I found this course of action, though, we were already moving towards each other. I saw the fury in his eyes as the gap between us disappeared and we opened our hearts in that split second.
 
CRACK! My elbow strike connected with his snout, but so too did he twist his slash to rake across my torso. We were locked in this tangle of violence for but a second before twisting away, and I felt blood pool in my wound as I did.
 
No time to waste. I determined quickly, as I struck out with another blow, that simply attempting to render him unconscious before he killed me would not be any path to victory. Instead, I resolved to disarm him. He came at me with both blades drawn: his first mistake, for I had sparred Amiri many times, the unorthodox style being my friend’s favorite. His first blows were wild, sending me staggering back—but he lacked focus, and I realized that if only I could hone my senses to him, his rage would render him predictable. As he came at me with another series of blows, I listened for the discord in his strikes, that particular way one’s blade sings when it is dissatisfied with a cut, and caught him then—his kesh’tam went skittering to the ground! Amiri was saving my life, even unknown miles apart. Even as his Sun had set, yet he persisted under the light of his Moon. Wretched.
 
As he came at me again, I noticed another stirring in the air. Dark wings. But he did not care, and he was upon me again. This time, I wrenched at his arm and sent his rash’tam flying from his grasp, demanding he cease. A murder of crows had darkened the sky, and we had greater concerns. For a moment, int he close quarters of our grapple, I saw his eyes shift, his mouth parted in hesitation…
 
And then he unleashed his breath upon me, and I found myself reeling back. Amidst the cloud of his breath, the crows descended upon us, and I found myself staggering their onslaught. The sigil on my leg burned. I could barely see, barely breathe; talons raked my hide. One set of the sharp sets of claws caught Inobu in the throat and face and he gagged amidst the swarm.
 
And then, as soon as it had begun, I saw Hikora rushing forward, heard her tam’ur ring and flash with light, and the crows were banished.
 
The ceremony was brought to a prompt conclusion, and my sister whisked me away without another moment’s hesitation.
 
She had few words for me as we hurried from Bladesinger Temple. When I asked her how she achieved such a thing, she urged me to silence myself before speaking another word. What she told me next chilled me to my core—
 
The sigil on my leg is no simple mark. Through it, I have become a pair of eyes for this… lord of crows. Hikora could not tell me more, for obvious reasons, but she did give me one directive: go to Idran, in the Green Sea, and seek a man named Maximov, who I believe she referred to as a “windcaller.” I swore to her I would cut off my leg if I had to—I would give anything to not be an aid to this dark being, swear any oath. Draconian prosthetics are formidable things. She assured me, though, that it would not be necessary. I set out now, with the company of her aide, Kyliko, and a private Draconian airship.
 
Well, almost private. Apparently word reached the Emperor quickly, and I am to travel with the company of a squad of Drop Troops. I can’t say the thought excites me—I’ve no desire to put up with their snooping, nor their lack of subtlety. But I have few other options, for now I act to keep my family safe.
 
I am loath to leave them again. For a while, I had hoped… silly thing though it is… I had hoped I might have even just a little more time with them. A few more weeks to spend in the light of their company. This was just all so… sudden. A foolish hope, I know, for the life I live, but an earnest one.
 
Well… another quest it is! It would appear even my very senses betray me this time—it’s never easy, isn’t it? Besides, what would the fun in that be? And so I offer praises to the Great Spirits as I depart! At least this time Hikora offered me a speaker bauble, and approval of my Naming Ceremony. And with Cloudpiercer and Riptide at my side, well… I think I’ll manage. I’d be eager for the opportunity for more renown, if only it weren’t so personal this time. And then there are my… traveling companions. We’ll see. We shall certainly see.
 
It’s shaping up to be quite the new adventure.
 
May the Great Spirits watch me through the gleam of my blessed swords, 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 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.