Yes, he could feel something in the air here. The way smaller creatures acted and, if the blade were to be believed, even people didn’t like the place all that much. Good, that meant he’d be safe. Quenta spread his wings and jumped, pivoting the pinions down at just the right moment. Nnh. It was still clumsy, but getting better.
Today, he would continue to practice and he would think. Quenta settled on the top of the wall, where he could see out into the rest of the ruins. Out of nowhere, Quenta made a caw of noise. A cat had been eyeing him.
“I’m bigger than you, cat. Don’t even think about it,” he hissed out. The cat, startled by the human words turned tail. “That’s right, tell your dumb friends, too! I will eat you! Ha! HAahaha!hrrrrrr…” Quenta’s laugh ended in a burr of noise, more raven than human.
“You know what I also wonder, Baz? I wonder if ol’ Bela has a line on me anymore or if he felt me die. I never felt any link to him, but I know one existed…” Quenta fell into quiet contemplation. Something glinted in the light on the other side of the wall.
“Quork? Currrrrr…”
That’s when Quenta noticed the crows. Something inside him welled up and suddenly he was in flight, cawing loudly at the crows. This was HIS territory now. HIS!
The glint was sunlight on armor. Another dead man and the smell… oh, the smell… drawn by the scent, Quenta flapped down to the man’s chest. And, before he could stop himself, his sharp black beak had pierced the man’s glazed over left eye. Flies buzzed up and away before coming back to touch their little proboscis to the fluid that oozed from the eye. Tilted his head up and jerking it up and down, Quenta ate.
Whatever remnant of humanity that had lived through the tortures he’d endured to become a battlemage were stuffed down deep inside him. This was about survival. For whatever reason, Quenta hadn’t wanted to die then, nor when he’d been killed by that archer. No and he sure as hell wasn’t going to allow himself to starve because of some damn qualms about this once being a person. Who gave a shit?
Anger welled up and consumed him. Quenta jabbed his beak into the man’s flesh over and over again, eating the carrion as much as he threw it from side to side. The other carrion birds, hovered, waiting. They knew. They knew he was different.
“HA! I’m your fuckin’ KING!” Inhuman noises gurgled and coarsely echoed off the walls, causing the birds to lift from the ground before settling again. They knew how to wait.
After the emotion waned, Quenta studied the man’s corpse and looked for anything he could take back to his nest. Fighting men didn’t carry coin, no, but they had other things. Fabric, yes, he’d need that for his nest. And, then, only then, did Quenta let the others have their moment.
The feral cats and dogs had come, too, but even they knew. Quenta was different.
With a beak full of flesh, Quenta flew back to the wall. He made a few trips, scaring off the boldest of the other scavengers whenever he returned. Somehow he needed to figure out how to store his food. Fresh was a relative concept. He’d settled on tearing the leather the man had worn and wrapping the meat in it. That’d have to do for now.
It was already late afternoon and he had a full belly. The urge to purge was on him, so he went to what he’d decided to call the “Poo Pillar” to relieve himself.
“Damn, Baz. I miss my house…” Maybe he’d go look at it tomorrow and see what he could salvage from it.
About a Bird
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The Raven Basilards
- Citizen
- Posts: 76
- Joined: Fri Oct 11, 2013 9:39 pm
- Name: The Raven Basilards
- Race: Basilard
Re: About a Bird
The basilard paused, its light pulsing slowly. It was thoughtful regarding the situation it now found itself in; the last time the basilard had mentioned the ritual, the raven had swiftly clamped its beak shut.
As I said, The basilard commented, I do not understand the nature of your initiation ritual.
It could define the exact terms by which the raven would be freed. Because it replaced rather than healed flesh, any hold the Lord of Kaledin had upon the battlemage’s body would be rendered null by the basilard’s magic. The destruction of Quenta’s original body would cause the Lord of Kaledin to believe Quenta had perished. By contrast, if the link fell to the more spiritual, intangible side of magic, it would still exist.
Rather than explain, it chose to press for knowledge. It would learn little by offering answers freely, and before it told the raven the full extent of its powers, it wished to understand that the information was not to find its way to the Lord of Kaledin’s ears.
Tell me the nature of the Lord of Kaledin’s power over you, and I shall inform you if I have broken it... I will need details. It added as a warning.
The basilard waited for a response, watching the bird devour the dead man’s eyes. This one was curious in many ways. The red gloves must lead exceptional lives. The basilard had witnessed ravens that had refused to eat carrion for years, instead taking risks to steal food from humans. Many had even preferred begging children for pieces of bread.
The basilard wondered if eating the dead man’s flesh was little more than a stall tactic. Even borderline cannibalism might be a better option than recalling such torturous memories. The basilard had never experienced physical pain. It could not wholly sympathize.
As I said, The basilard commented, I do not understand the nature of your initiation ritual.
It could define the exact terms by which the raven would be freed. Because it replaced rather than healed flesh, any hold the Lord of Kaledin had upon the battlemage’s body would be rendered null by the basilard’s magic. The destruction of Quenta’s original body would cause the Lord of Kaledin to believe Quenta had perished. By contrast, if the link fell to the more spiritual, intangible side of magic, it would still exist.
Rather than explain, it chose to press for knowledge. It would learn little by offering answers freely, and before it told the raven the full extent of its powers, it wished to understand that the information was not to find its way to the Lord of Kaledin’s ears.
Tell me the nature of the Lord of Kaledin’s power over you, and I shall inform you if I have broken it... I will need details. It added as a warning.
The basilard waited for a response, watching the bird devour the dead man’s eyes. This one was curious in many ways. The red gloves must lead exceptional lives. The basilard had witnessed ravens that had refused to eat carrion for years, instead taking risks to steal food from humans. Many had even preferred begging children for pieces of bread.
The basilard wondered if eating the dead man’s flesh was little more than a stall tactic. Even borderline cannibalism might be a better option than recalling such torturous memories. The basilard had never experienced physical pain. It could not wholly sympathize.
Re: About a Bird
“Blood, blood, blood, and more blood. Torture.” Even as he spoke about it, Quenta knew the pact was null. Before, if he tried to speak of it, he couldn’t. His tongue turned in his mouth and words did not come out. “It was a blood pact. Betray him and my life was forfeit. Plus, I don’t want to talk about it. The past is in the past. The fact that I can talk about it at all, says it’s gone. I don’t need you to tell me that.” Quenta turned his head this way and that. “I need a bath. Bleh.”
He settled down into his little nest, content with a full belly for the time being.
“I think I’m going to nap. Then, I’m going to go find a bath.”
In truth, becoming a raven had its perks. He didn’t have to answer to anyone but himself and probably Baz. All he had to do was hang out, eat, drink, poop, and sleep. The lazy man’s ideal setting. He did miss his opulently cozy house, though. Maybe he could sneak over and take a few things…
He settled down into his little nest, content with a full belly for the time being.
“I think I’m going to nap. Then, I’m going to go find a bath.”
In truth, becoming a raven had its perks. He didn’t have to answer to anyone but himself and probably Baz. All he had to do was hang out, eat, drink, poop, and sleep. The lazy man’s ideal setting. He did miss his opulently cozy house, though. Maybe he could sneak over and take a few things…
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The Raven Basilards
- Citizen
- Posts: 76
- Joined: Fri Oct 11, 2013 9:39 pm
- Name: The Raven Basilards
- Race: Basilard
Re: About a Bird
The basilard considered adding its own confirmation: that a blood ritual fell under the proper categories by which the basilard could free it. It refrained from doing so after deciding that the fledgling would not appreciate the somewhat convoluted explanation for why that was the case. Besides which, the fledgling had already arrived at his own conclusions.
The basilard decided it would wait for the fledgling to finish his short slumber before asking further questions of it. As the raven nestled down atop the pillar, the basilard started decided how to word its questions.
Time passed and the sun rose further into the sky. It was noon when the raven awoke; the basilard was at its weakest.
After waiting for the raven to acquire breakfast from the flesh of the dead man, it finally posed its question. With carefully chosen words, its ancient voice bored into the fledgling’s mind. Would you be willing to share knowledge of your magical abilities? I would be particularly interested in any which might aid us in locating the other blades.
The basilard decided it would wait for the fledgling to finish his short slumber before asking further questions of it. As the raven nestled down atop the pillar, the basilard started decided how to word its questions.
Time passed and the sun rose further into the sky. It was noon when the raven awoke; the basilard was at its weakest.
After waiting for the raven to acquire breakfast from the flesh of the dead man, it finally posed its question. With carefully chosen words, its ancient voice bored into the fledgling’s mind. Would you be willing to share knowledge of your magical abilities? I would be particularly interested in any which might aid us in locating the other blades.
Re: About a Bird
Quenta fluffed himself and shook out his feathers, before digging his beak in to get a pesky itch.
"Hm. I am an elemental mage, with a focus on wind and sound. I'm not even sure if I have my abilities any more." Quenta fell silent, brooding. Magic had always been part of his life. He had come into his powers early, playing with dust devils and the like even as a toddler. That was what got him into trouble, though. Demolish half a house and suddenly you are in the Asylum being raised by cold hands.
"Hm. I am an elemental mage, with a focus on wind and sound. I'm not even sure if I have my abilities any more." Quenta fell silent, brooding. Magic had always been part of his life. He had come into his powers early, playing with dust devils and the like even as a toddler. That was what got him into trouble, though. Demolish half a house and suddenly you are in the Asylum being raised by cold hands.
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The Raven Basilards
- Citizen
- Posts: 76
- Joined: Fri Oct 11, 2013 9:39 pm
- Name: The Raven Basilards
- Race: Basilard
Re: About a Bird
It wasn’t the first time the basilard had converted a mage. It rattled off its explanation easily. Over the centuries, I have learned that human magic is primarily psychological. You should retain some amount of your ability, though the exact amount varies between individuals. It will be most difficult if your magic was in some way related to human anatomy, such as the movement of hands or fingers. Using rough approximations of those movements may help, if that is the case.
The basilard’s glow was invisible to mortal eyes, drowned out by the overwhelming light of day. Its emotive glowing removed, it became even more difficult to read the basilard’s emotions. In this particular case, the blade regretted that the fledgling did not seem to possess any powers with direct applications to finding lost objects or people, but the humans had a saying; beggars could not be choosers. The basilard would welcome whatever advantage it might attain, no matter how indirect.
Perhaps you had some minor spell which we might test? If the battlemages were incapable of detecting my presence, they certainly will not be alerted by a small gust of wind.
The basilard’s glow was invisible to mortal eyes, drowned out by the overwhelming light of day. Its emotive glowing removed, it became even more difficult to read the basilard’s emotions. In this particular case, the blade regretted that the fledgling did not seem to possess any powers with direct applications to finding lost objects or people, but the humans had a saying; beggars could not be choosers. The basilard would welcome whatever advantage it might attain, no matter how indirect.
Perhaps you had some minor spell which we might test? If the battlemages were incapable of detecting my presence, they certainly will not be alerted by a small gust of wind.
Re: About a Bird
Quenta listened, but only half-way. Had he still been human, his expression would have turned mulish.
"No. I don't want to."
And, with that, he hopped, jumped, and flapped away. He needed to stretch his wings, literally and figuratively. Once beyond the walls, Quenta stumbled a few times, flapping gracelessly, before he got the hang of things.
Then, he discovered the true joy of flying. It was part terror and part ecstacy: the coasting lift on thermals, the sudden drop as a thermal disappeared. Soon, though, soon he began to understand. Flap to find a thermal, coast, flap... it was a game, then a routine.
Once the routine came into play, then he could focus on looking around. From here, things were so different. He could see the lines of the streets and the crooked lines between the stalls of the marketplace. The scents from the marketplace drew him down, closer to it. Smoke from an outdoor grill spiraled lazily up and dissipated.
Meat. He liked meat. Quenta landed on a nearby stall's roof and called out. The cook jumped, surprised by the noise.
"Go 'way, ya damn crow!"
Crow? CROW? He wasn't a f... Quenta ruffled his feathers and walked back and forth so the man might see him better. He was much prettier than a crow. Wasn't he?
Quenta called out again, this time with a soft 'hrrrrrr' and quorkle.
The man made a face, then took pity on him. Quenta was tossed some leavings - mostly fat and gristle with a little bit of meat. Quenta jumped and managed to catch the toss mid-air.
"Well, will ya lookit tha'?"
Landing, Quenta tilted his head up and shook it up and down to get the food down into his gullet. He made a sound that sounded almost like "Thank you. More?"
The man looked starteld, wondering if the thing actually did say something and if the catch was a fluke. Taking up another piece, the man tossed it. Quenta hopped, flapped, and caught mid-air once more.
"Hey, Mister! Is that your bird?" A boy stood watching, fascinated. He held his mother's hand.
"Mam! I wanna feed the bird!"
The man smiled entrepreneurially. "Two bits and you can get a little tidbit to feed him! Two bits and a bishi will get you both something tasty to eat!"
"Aw, mam, can we?"
The mother made a face, but it was couched in a doting look. "It's your chore money, but don't regret it when it's gone!"
"I won't mam, I promise!"
"Well, take two pork pie sandwiches and something for the bird."
Oh, ho ho! Quenta thought this arrangement sounded like a good plan.
Quenta waited patiently while the man reheated two pork pies. He even strutted around so everyone could see how grand and glossy his feathers were. Full bellies were good things.
"No. I don't want to."
And, with that, he hopped, jumped, and flapped away. He needed to stretch his wings, literally and figuratively. Once beyond the walls, Quenta stumbled a few times, flapping gracelessly, before he got the hang of things.
Then, he discovered the true joy of flying. It was part terror and part ecstacy: the coasting lift on thermals, the sudden drop as a thermal disappeared. Soon, though, soon he began to understand. Flap to find a thermal, coast, flap... it was a game, then a routine.
Once the routine came into play, then he could focus on looking around. From here, things were so different. He could see the lines of the streets and the crooked lines between the stalls of the marketplace. The scents from the marketplace drew him down, closer to it. Smoke from an outdoor grill spiraled lazily up and dissipated.
Meat. He liked meat. Quenta landed on a nearby stall's roof and called out. The cook jumped, surprised by the noise.
"Go 'way, ya damn crow!"
Crow? CROW? He wasn't a f... Quenta ruffled his feathers and walked back and forth so the man might see him better. He was much prettier than a crow. Wasn't he?
Quenta called out again, this time with a soft 'hrrrrrr' and quorkle.
The man made a face, then took pity on him. Quenta was tossed some leavings - mostly fat and gristle with a little bit of meat. Quenta jumped and managed to catch the toss mid-air.
"Well, will ya lookit tha'?"
Landing, Quenta tilted his head up and shook it up and down to get the food down into his gullet. He made a sound that sounded almost like "Thank you. More?"
The man looked starteld, wondering if the thing actually did say something and if the catch was a fluke. Taking up another piece, the man tossed it. Quenta hopped, flapped, and caught mid-air once more.
"Hey, Mister! Is that your bird?" A boy stood watching, fascinated. He held his mother's hand.
"Mam! I wanna feed the bird!"
The man smiled entrepreneurially. "Two bits and you can get a little tidbit to feed him! Two bits and a bishi will get you both something tasty to eat!"
"Aw, mam, can we?"
The mother made a face, but it was couched in a doting look. "It's your chore money, but don't regret it when it's gone!"
"I won't mam, I promise!"
"Well, take two pork pie sandwiches and something for the bird."
Oh, ho ho! Quenta thought this arrangement sounded like a good plan.
Quenta waited patiently while the man reheated two pork pies. He even strutted around so everyone could see how grand and glossy his feathers were. Full bellies were good things.
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The Raven Basilards
- Citizen
- Posts: 76
- Joined: Fri Oct 11, 2013 9:39 pm
- Name: The Raven Basilards
- Race: Basilard
Re: About a Bird
The basilard was worried by the raven’s reaction; such a quick flight from the church might be the last it would ever see of the fledgling. Unwilling to risk appearing overly aggressive or fearful in its pursuit, it waited for a long period of time before deciding to reach across the streets of Marn with its telepathy.
Hoping Quenta remembered that he could respond, it said, I hope I have not lost your alliance with my reckless comment. I would be regretful if such an event ever came to pass.
Hoping Quenta remembered that he could respond, it said, I hope I have not lost your alliance with my reckless comment. I would be regretful if such an event ever came to pass.
Re: About a Bird
Quenta jerked suddenly and hopped sideways. He'd forgotten about the mental link they shared. He ducked his head as he regained his equalibrium.
"Bye!" It was a raven-sounding thing, but it definitely sounded like a 'bye' to the pork pie seller. Quenta launched himself into the sky, scattering smaller birds.
"Hnh," the man said as he scratched his head. Must be somebody's pet, but who cared? That bird made him a nice jingle today.
When he was far enough away from the market to feel comfortable, Quenta finally spoke.
"Nah. I'll be back. I just needed to stretch my wings and get an idea of how to fly in places bigger than our home." Quenta turned his body and tilted, changing direction to head back toward the Ruins.
"I think they managed to contain the riots. I'm not seeing much fighting anymore. Guess that's that, then." Quenta gave a mental shrug and flapped his wings.
"I'll be home soon, don't worry, Baz."
You're the only friend I've got...
"Bye!" It was a raven-sounding thing, but it definitely sounded like a 'bye' to the pork pie seller. Quenta launched himself into the sky, scattering smaller birds.
"Hnh," the man said as he scratched his head. Must be somebody's pet, but who cared? That bird made him a nice jingle today.
When he was far enough away from the market to feel comfortable, Quenta finally spoke.
"Nah. I'll be back. I just needed to stretch my wings and get an idea of how to fly in places bigger than our home." Quenta turned his body and tilted, changing direction to head back toward the Ruins.
"I think they managed to contain the riots. I'm not seeing much fighting anymore. Guess that's that, then." Quenta gave a mental shrug and flapped his wings.
"I'll be home soon, don't worry, Baz."
You're the only friend I've got...
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The Raven Basilards
- Citizen
- Posts: 76
- Joined: Fri Oct 11, 2013 9:39 pm
- Name: The Raven Basilards
- Race: Basilard
Re: About a Bird
When the basilard did not immediately receive a response, it reserved judgment. Its patience was rewarded when moments later when it heard the fledgling’s voice.
Ah, excellent. While you fly, perhaps keep an eye out for black marks on the skin of other mortals. The rioters may have wielded one of my kin. It didn’t actually expect Quenta to find any such marks, but the chances were higher immediately after widespread violence. It supposed it should warn Quenta. It is unlikely, but possible another basilard may have partially or completely converted another in the chaos.
The basilard then did the only thing it could do, the only thing it had done for the last two thousand years. It waited, watching as the sun climbed through the sky. Now on the opposite side of the building, shadows fell over the blade and its eerie light pulsed like a beating heart, faintly visible against the crumbling stone.
Ah, excellent. While you fly, perhaps keep an eye out for black marks on the skin of other mortals. The rioters may have wielded one of my kin. It didn’t actually expect Quenta to find any such marks, but the chances were higher immediately after widespread violence. It supposed it should warn Quenta. It is unlikely, but possible another basilard may have partially or completely converted another in the chaos.
The basilard then did the only thing it could do, the only thing it had done for the last two thousand years. It waited, watching as the sun climbed through the sky. Now on the opposite side of the building, shadows fell over the blade and its eerie light pulsed like a beating heart, faintly visible against the crumbling stone.
Re: About a Bird
With night, came the need to settle in. Something in Quenta's body said night was for resting and he was not one to argue. Though it wasn't necessary, he announced his return as softly as was ravenly possible.
"I'm back, Baz. Did ya miss me?" Had he been capable of it, Quenta would've given a wry smile. Could the blade actually miss someone? Probably not.
On this night, as Quenta settled in for the night, thoughts about what he'd lost surfaced. Everything had changed. Every thing.
He wasn't human any more. He was bird. He would never again do human things like take hot baths, use utensils, and never mind the whole sex thing. Quenta fluffed his feathers and gave a sigh.
"Baz, I need something to do. What do you want to do tomorrow?"
And so, the days passed, until Quenta found a routine in survival. Eat, bathe, poop... he couldn't bring himself to mate with the wild ravens that migrated through Marn, not that they'd have anything to do with him anyway. He was too odd. He was an outsider, neither raven nor man.
Quenta and Baz continue here
"I'm back, Baz. Did ya miss me?" Had he been capable of it, Quenta would've given a wry smile. Could the blade actually miss someone? Probably not.
On this night, as Quenta settled in for the night, thoughts about what he'd lost surfaced. Everything had changed. Every thing.
He wasn't human any more. He was bird. He would never again do human things like take hot baths, use utensils, and never mind the whole sex thing. Quenta fluffed his feathers and gave a sigh.
"Baz, I need something to do. What do you want to do tomorrow?"
And so, the days passed, until Quenta found a routine in survival. Eat, bathe, poop... he couldn't bring himself to mate with the wild ravens that migrated through Marn, not that they'd have anything to do with him anyway. He was too odd. He was an outsider, neither raven nor man.
Quenta and Baz continue here