Lore Bit: Cheat 'Em. (DnD: Devil's Dragons)

A short lore piece written for the DnD campaign I'm in with my friends: Devil's Dragons!

Summary: One of Ishmael's most impactful nights as captain of the army. The night before everything goes downhill.

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"No."

"Ishmael, just listen to me--"

"I heard you clear as a whistle. I know we're getting desperate, but this isn't--

"Oh for Bahamut's balls, listen to yerself, 'Mael!"

Ishmael watches as Raphael paces the length of his tent. He prowls with the energy of a cornered animal and, even in the heat of their argument, Ishmael couldn't really blame him. Everyone is on edge in the silence of the night; there's been some modicum of success on their part if the sudden cease-fire from enemy forces is any indication. It gives his own battalion the much-needed room for recuperation, but Gods only know how long that will last.

"Whatever we hit, we hit them good enough to stall ‘em. All ya gotsta do is send in me 'n yer best soldiers, and we'll clean house to give ya breathing room to take the Maw. You‘n I both know this is our best shot to get the foothold we need to end this gods' forsaken war-"

"Absolutely not-"

"Is it because you don't think I can do it? Is that it?" Raphael says, indignation burning bright in his eyes. He gestures roughly at himself. "What? Too wet behind the ears? Too bull-headed?"

"Stand down, Commander," Ishmael growls with a lashing tail. He stands to his full height and squares his brother in the eyes. Even with Raphael towering over him, Ishmael still manages to match him pound for pound. Steam rises from his nostrils the same time Raph's billows smog, his brother gnashing his teeth at him.

"Stand down? Stand down?" He hisses. He jabs a talon roughly into Ishmael's chest and feels satisfaction when his brother winces at the action. "If you haven't fuckin' noticed, oh wise leader, we're fuckin' dyin out there the more we sit’n do nothing!"

A large copper paw shoots out and gestures to the war-torn earth around them. Blood is heavy in the air--even through the canvas of the tent-- and the shouts of battle's past still echo against the dead sky even hours after their last failed charge forward. One of so, so many. Ishmael juts his jaw to expose more of his tusks, lowers his head to bring his antlers to bear in a display of dominance. Raphael balks at the gesture.

"It is a suicide mission you're proposing, boy. I won't throw my soldiers blindly at a stone wall in the mere hopes that we'll breach it."

"Boy? Ya can't be fuckin' serious, ya blind bat--"

"I said NO, Commander! I've no time for your piss match, and if you don't want to be demoted to a lowly private, I suggest you follow orders and Stand. The fuck. DOWN!" Ishmael's words are backed by a dragon's roar, the pulse of his magic dropping the temperature in the tent several degrees down in his outburst. Ice licks at the canvas and seeps through the cracks, crystals sprouting up from the now-frozen ground like weeds.

Raphael pays none of it any heed. If anything, he only lashes back with equal fervor, acrid green leaking from his mouth like an oozing wound. It plip-plip-plops down his jaw and splatters against the ground, the droplets sizzling on impact and leaving the pungent smell of death and burning dirt in its wake.

"FUCK YOU!" He bellows right back, standing in Ishmael's space. Spittle splatters against his brother's shoulders and face but the older does nothing to wipe it clean, barely notices how it stings against his scales in the wake of their mutual rage.

"This ain't no damned piss match you entitled twat! N’you fuckin' know that! We are bleedin' precious time to do sumthin' because-- what? Fear?" There's a twinge of high-pitched laugh at the word "fear", oozing with disbelief. "This is literally our only chance to strike while we have every advantage in our fuckin' favor. We are dying, Ishmael, dying, and we have nothing left to lose--"

"I HAVE EVERYTHING TO LOSE!" Ishmael yells with so much force he vibrates with it. Large, scarred paws rocket out and digs claws deep into his little brother's shoulders, and his voice betrays him when he admits: "YOU, you fuckin' idiot! I can't lose you!"

The resulting silence is deafening as it brings a hush to the night.

"....I should have never accepted this responsibility. Leading this battalion." Ishmael starts after a beat with a croak in his voice. "You are right. I hate that you're right. I know your plan is our only chance now but I-I'm... I'm too weak to do it."

There are no tears. Ishmael has run out of tears long ago, at the start of this war. But his eyes sting anyway.

"Stand down, Raph. Please stand down. I can't send you to your death."

Neither sibling moves, Raphael staring at Ishmael with shock while Ishmael turns his gaze to his feet. He can't bring himself to look his little brother in the eye anymore, and reigns his claws back from digging divots. Raphael can feel the tremor in his brother and feels a pang of guilt.

"...Look at me, brother."

For a moment Ishmael doesn't, feels shame burning in his chest and keeps his eyes glued to the floor. But a paw settles heavy on his shoulder and it's enough to finally tear away and glance up. Raph's smile is crooked: all teeth and cocky, but his eyes are sad, full of understanding.

"Do ya remember what we always say?" Raph says with a gentle shake of Ishmael's shoulder. "If Death comes to do us part...”

"...we cheat him."

Raphael laughs roughly at that, releasing his grip to punch his brother's shoulder instead. "N’how many times have we cheated death now?"

Ishmael can't really stop the twitch of a grin at his maw, even if it looks more like a grimace in his state. "More times than I care to count."

"This will be no different." Raph says with all the confidence in the world. His younger brother was always the cocky one; he wasn't too far off when he mentioned "bullheadedness". But no matter what, it somehow never failed to get Ishmael to believe him (often to their mutual detriment), even if only slightly. They really have been through the thick and thin of it throughout the years, and there have been many scares. Especially in the middle of the war. And yet somehow, they've always found each other.

But there's something in the pit of Ishmael's gut that says this time will be different. He can't return home without his brother beside him; how is he gonna tell Adara "the bestest uncle in the world" was gone? How is he going to face Oto and tell her her best friend perished under his watch? Because of him? It's always been him and Raphael, every step of the way in this cruel world. Ishmael feels selfish for it, but he doesn't know if he can stomach losing the one constant in his entire life.

His silence must speak volumes, because Raphael softens his confidence and gives Ishmael the sternest look he can muster, with a weight equal to the world around them.

"You are right too. We do have everything to lose." He says quietly, holding his paw up in front of himself. "I am yer best soldier. Gimme anyone who is willing to fight, and we will defang the Dragon's Maw until it is nothing more than a whimpering whelp. We will return to you with her fangs as a fuckin’ trophy. I promise."

Ishmael stares at the offered paw for a long moment. So long that Raphael almost begins to think he didn't get through to him. But relief and acceptance floods him when Ishmael grips his paw with none of the strength of a leader but all the strength of a brother, and he squeezes right back with all he has.

"If Death tries to do us part--" Ishmael starts.

"-I'll cheat him." Raphael finishes.

"...And make it a good one, horns-for-brains," Ishmael says, slipping on the cool, confident mask of the Captain he never believed himself to be. "Adara and Oto both will kill me if you come back with so much a scratch."

Raphael grins so hard his fangs unfold like the viper he always is, his rumbling laugh echoing through the tent like the final knell of a funeral bell.

"Fuck off, fish face, the scars are the best part."

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Some funfacts:

-Ishmael has a background as both a soldier and a mercenary. Well before the campaign began, he fought in a violent war against a corrupted dragon and it's army; he performed well enough to be given the ranking of high captain.

-Ishmael suffers from PTSD from his time as a soldier. One of his reoccurring nightmares, when he has them, is just a play-by-play of this exact night. He fully believes he sent his brother to his death.