Fable - Ask A Feast of Crows

[Caspian Reneux]

A Feast of Crows

​

A feast. This was the unspoken promise between the figure and the flock of crows that followed him through the forest, circling high above the pines in languid patterns. He would provide the carrion, and they would circle above and act as his eyes. He had long since become accustomed to them, their caws echoing through the forest on the eastern banks of the Bystra as he travelled south down it's length. Ever since his village was but a distant dark stain on the landscape, the lazy pillars of black smoke climbing from what remained of the wreckage a smudge on the horizon, his steps had been dogged by crows. Crows, and the dead.

Caspian was wrapped in his robe, pallid flesh a stark contrast to the dark blacks and browns of the rough spun linen. A similarly simple cape billowed behind him in the early morning wind, the rising sun catching off the interwoven gold trim, equally golden eyes blazing with purpose. Finally free, finally embracing what he saw was true, had cause them to burn bright within the now darkened sockets. A price, or some form of side effect, he was unsure for the moment. He mind was consumed with other matters as he wound his way towards the next village.

"Come along, Silas." He called, the shuffling form of what was once a forester dragging the limp leg that was the cause of his demise. A bad fall, infection, all long since forgotten since the body had been brought back to unlife. The Zombie dragged what was once a large felling axe behind it in the dirt, guttural and gargled moan coming in what could have constituted a response. Caspian was still unsure if the creature retained the ability to speak, the occasional groan and ominous red eyes peering at him the only response he had so far earned. He did as commanded though, and speaking to him kept him sane, so that was enough.

"Shunned." He spat briefly as the rounded a corner, his thoughts broiling within his mind as the monotony of pines was broken by white smoke coiling from chimneys ahead. Despite being outcast from his home, kept to the edge of the village, he still knew of their closest neighbour. A small dock, a few huts and drying racks for the fish they lured from the depths of the Bystra, Brackenwold was little more than a collection of huts and a longhouse; an insult to call it a village, yet it was his next target. With the exception of the creature dragging the axe at his side, the dead at his home had lasted but a day, perhaps two, before their bones had clattered to the ground once more. He had plans that called for more time, and Brackenwold was the answer to that call. Soon enough he and Silas would descend, soon enough his magics would be put to the test again.



Clementine

 

[Clementine]

To say Clementine felt uneasy would be an understatement. Lately she noticed more and more of a certain energy, though she couldn’t quite grasp what it was. It felt like.. Well, life, maybe, but not he way life was supposed to feel. But maybe she was wrong; life could feel very different for different species, after all.. And yet, there was this unease she couldn’t shake.

After a day or two of flying around with it, Clementine decided that enough was enough and that she would start investigating. Perhaps some other fae of her court was already on duty, but in case they weren’t, she would follow the feeling herself. She knew it would lead her away from Elbion; she could feel it in the ley lines, beaconing her closer, drawing her in. The city would just have to run smoothly by itself, for a bit. And hopefully it’s residents would not chop any more trees down.

The ley lines took her close to where she had to be, she could feel it with her entire being, as if some compass guided her way.
Her surroundings seemed normal enough, though. No big fire, no mortals screaming, no immediate death. Swift as she was she flew about, inspecting the trees, the grass, the flowers, but they all seemed fine. A crow cawed at her, and she waved back. It flew away, favoring the company of his own species over that of her. She shrugged. Whatever, crow.. As the bird flew away, Clem redirected her attentions on that awful gut feeling, now noticing it even stronger than before. Suspiciously she eyed the crow who was starting to leave her field of vision, flying away with it’s big wings, following it’s flock. Could it be..?

Clementine’s wings fluttered, preparing for their pursuit. Just as she was to fly towards the crow, she noticed another movement from the corner of her eye; this time coming from the ground, not from the sky. She flew closer towards it, maybe this..

The sight haunted her. It was an undead she saw, walking after it’s master, no doubt. There was nothing Clementine hated more than undead. It went against everything the Autumn Court - and in extension, she - stood for. Quietly she watched, following the cloaked figure with disgust and nausea, her left hand resting on top of her rapier. She had to do something..

With precision the little pixie positioned herself behind a leaf, hiding away as well as she could in broad daylight. From her pack she grabbed her notebook and charcoal and scribbled down a hasty note, after which she looked around searching for a messenger. A big amount of crows were now crowding the sky, scaring off any little birdie that she could employ. She’d have to search a bit harder. Her way of flying had something akin to walking around on ones tippy toes as she carefully searched hollows and nests. The fourth time of entering a home unwelcomed she found a squirrel, whom she quickly whispered the situation to after which she tied her note around its neck with a piece of string she had made just a few days before. “Go now, off with you,” she whispered hurriedly.

After she left the squirrels hollow Clem looked around for the cloaked man. She could not afford to loose him and his abomination out of sight.

- Feel free to either notice or not notice Clem!​

 

[Corvetius of Ruthgaard]

Spoiler: Music

Spoiler: Cream of the Crop

Sir Corvetius stepped up on the improvised scaffold - an impounded cart - and unsheathed his scroll case. Scattered about him stood the finest of the finest of Lord Ruthgaard's men-at-arms, the cream of the crop, coifs and kettle-helmets glinting with rust in the sunlight, all cleanly shaven, as Corvetius preferred them. They were men of civility after all, not to be mistaken for stray raiders, bandits or, heavens forbid, barbarians. A scowl of disapproval made it to his brow when he caught one of them, Lampfrey, picking his nose, warhammer resting against his shoulder. But with the peasantry all circled around them, this was an improper time for a reprimand.

As he rolled out his scroll, no doubt the first such craftsmanship these common folk had seen in their lives, Corvetius sniffed in the country air through his nose, and found it punishing his senses with the reek of rotten fish. But he wouldn't let the stench of their livelihoods deter him from his message of utmost importance:

"Good folk of," Corvetius squinted at the name of the village, then frowned, rearing back his head. What kind of name was that? "Brackenwold. I am Sir Corvetius Tinworth Pettybrand of Ruthgaard, in the worshipful service of Lord Ruthgaard - by the same name." Glancing up from his parchment, he noted the many slack-jawed and dead-eyed gazes from his audience. "The lord of these lands, mind you," he added, pointedly, before clearing his throat, carrying on. "Since his lordship has widened his borders, it has been decreed that your hamlet falls under his jurisdiction. As such, you shall have the great honour and peerage of falling under his protection as his serfs. But such glorious governance comes at a price, and it is each serfs irrevocable duty to pay their due tithes for the maintenance of our integrity on our roads and safety--"

At this, angry mutters and murmurs overcrowded his voice. His men-at-arms straightened a little. A hammer went down to be hefted in hands, above which a gluttenous smirk peeked. Swords and axes were drawn. A crossbow lazily cocked, the soldier in question taking his sweet time to prepare his vicious weapon, while murmurs turned to shouts.

"Quiet! I will have silence!"

Clementine
Caspian Reneux

 

[Caspian Reneux]

Spoiler: Music

The crows above the figure cawed loudly, fractious as he paused his advance to tilt his head upwards to the pines. An errant few seemed to tussle in a tree, Caspian's head tilting slowly to the side as golden eyes stared upwards. Before long he saw a sparrow hounded by the corvids, driven high into the forest before the spritely bird lost them by darting between the trees, the ominous birds returning shortly to the flock. A moment was spent with watchful eyes high into the trees, songbirds and squirrels darting to and fro as the murder above him seemed to grow restless, as if they were trying to tell him something. Movement caught his eye as his golden gaze burned into the leaves. Was that a bird...?

A guttural growl snapped his attention from the pines, Silas shambling ahead of him as he'd stopped, picking up pace. Caspian tilted his head to the morning breeze, quiet a moment before he heard what had stirred the Undead to motion; voices, clamorous and loud from the village ahead. The distraction forgotten he marched, the hand around his stave gripping tighter as the leather palm of his glove creaked. He walked briskly, his ungloved hand brushing along the bushels and brush at the side of the makeshift road as he did, their leaves wilting and withering from vibrant green to autumn brown, some even falling free of their branches as his lips moved in silent prayer. He levelled his stave at Silas as he walked, the creature seeming to quicken in pace as the once dragged axe was quickly hefted into both hands.

"Around the back, Silas." He commanded as he directed the zombie with a jerk of his stave, closing in on the village ahead as buildings began to take form. A crowd seemed to have gathered, a voice on the wind as one figure stood atop a platform addressing a crowd. Shouts of frustration and outrage clamoured, Caspian closed the distance with a final few strides. He stood to the side of the cart, a good few paces away as the one on the cart pleaded for silence. To the figures side, guards raised their weapons slowly, sloppily and Caspian surveyed the scene with golden eyes. A jerk of the hand directed the unseen Silas, the presence of the creature felt and directed by the Necromancer as he guided him towards their rear from his skulking at the outskirts, a finger settled on the crossbowman briefly. Behind a small hut the lumbering zombie spurred to motion, closing the distance unseen.

"Protection?" Caspian called out, his voice like gravel yet clear above the shouts. A few peasants closest to him turned at the proclamation, the eternally slack jaws accompanied by a tilted head at the stranger just outside their midst. "You speak of protecting the simple folk, yet here you raise your weapons to them?" He walked forwards slowly, each step calculated and measured as he stepped beside a scrawny man that lingered at the back. "What do you protect them from?"

Clementine
Corvetius of Ruthgaard

 

[Clementine]

And so she kept following the cloaked figure, trying her very best to stay unnoticed. Her chest tightened as she watched leaves wither away at the man’s touch. Such a waste, and for what.. The spectacle? Playing god? Anger took a hold of her, tinting the tips of her wings red.

They approached a village. She didn’t know exactly what the man’s plans were, but it could not be anything good. Clem’s hazel eyes narrowed as she saw the undead walk away from it’s master and then circling back again, still under complete control of the necromancer’s magic.

With haste she flew onwards, still taking great care to stay hidden, slightly worried about what such a powerful wielder of magic would be able to do should he find out he was being followed by a small pixie. There was a small crowd gathered here, listening to a speech spoken by what seemed to be an important man. She didn’t know him. She looked around, searching for the undead, noting his position - he seemed to be flanking the crowd.

Even though Clementine had a profound distaste for everything undead, she actually didn’t know too much about them. In her 80-ish years of life she hadn’t encountered many of them, which meant she wasn’t completely sure how to kill this thing..

With a glance back she could see the necromancer engaging the important guy, so that meant he hopefully wouldn’t have much eye for detail - her. She wasn’t out in the open of course, always finding something to hide behind, but she was also closer to them than she had been before - a mere 50 feet away, give or take. She would have to be, if she wanted her aim to be perfect. Clem’s brow furrowed in concentration as she unsheathed her rapier, lining it up with the undead’s neck in a way that it would slice it, not pierce it. Then she blew, tapping into the magic reserve her body was made out of, calling forth a wind tunnel in which she fired off her pixie-sized rapier. It flew towards the undead with a quickness not unlike a bullet, going sideways to cleave exactly like she intended. Clementine held her breath. Would it hit, and if so, would it be enough to kill something already dead?

Caspian Reneux
Corvetius of Ruthgaard ​

 

[Corvetius of Ruthgaard]

In a sea of uncouth interruptions, one wave crested above the others.

Corvetius' generous jowls quivered with indignation. He lowered his scroll an inch, spotting above its roll a black-robed figure, pale as death and gangly as a scarecrow, standing behind the peasants. Some vagrant beggar-monk, no doubt, that these easily duped villagers had taken in for sake of misplaced piety. Well, if they could spare a coin for some worthless vagabond, then surely they would have the requisite wealth to show proper loyalty.

The scandal. All that time he had spent carefully and meticulously scribing each word on his proclamation, of which his liege lord had given full approval (barely reading it and going straight on a hunt though, but he supposed his liege's faith in his most trusted bailif was undeniable by that gesture). And here he had come in his finest clothes to this muddy armpit of a village, dirtying the polish on his boots and scorching his rear in a saddle, only to find the villagers uproariously uncompliant. Well, this would certainly not do.

Reluctantly, he rolled up the scroll halfway, holding it by his side, as though still fully intending to go through the whole transcript, in good time. But first, he had this cawing crow of a man to shoo off. He adjusted his red velvet bag hat and shook out the extravagant, gold-threaded surplus velvet of his sleeves, pulled up in his belt to puff out his chest a little more, and like a thus bedecked rooster of fine cloth, he set about sinking his claws into this interloper.

"Perhaps from disturbing rabblerousers such as yourself. Hm? Your raising slander here of the honourable Lord Ruthgaard will do this village," he had to sneak a peek at the scroll again to remember the name, "Brackenwold, absolutely no favours. Without our gods' chosen swords, this will be lawless territory." He swiped out his hand as if tearing into the fears of the villagers, and indeed, some of them recoiled at the gesture, faces frightened. The fearmongering might have been helped by the crossbowman mock-practising his aim, checking the scope of his weapon. "Easy pickings for any warband of deserters or outlaws! And in these dark days, who knows what might happen? Orcs, goblins, fae-folk, rogue magi, ogres and trolls, for goodness' sake, and a whole host of other wandering evils! Frankly," he scoffed, looking about him with disdain. "I am surprised it hasn't already been burned down sooner. Hardly any defences or palisades to speak of, little infrastructure, certainly no militia that I can see. But trust me, that day of reckoning will come." He pointed out at the crowd for dramatic effect, rings glinting in the sun, causing two parents to huddle up protectively over their child and some older folk to quiver their knees. "And you will rue the day you rejected the crown's protection."

Clementine
Caspian Reneux