Chapter I - A New Musketeer
What could be said of the Reavers that were not already said in many poems and epics? They were a team of Gryphon master swordsmen, axmen, spearmen, arrow and crossboltmen - you name it, they had them. When the Gryphon Empire gained the technology of firearms, they suddenly needed a new addition to their team. Riflemen. I was one of the best, of this early technology. My name is Karl Gusteck, I was born in the Skyllian Falls east of Featherdrop Point. Rather than saying this is my story, my journey and my hopeful adventure - I am going to tell you the cold hard truth of what happened through my service as a Reaver and how I, myself, became the Reavers in its entirety. Consider this a confessional, for there is no glory to be found in these words. Before I was a riflemen, I was a failed crossbow marksman and before even that - I was a struggling author, who wished to pen beautiful stories and epics. I first became aware of the Reavers when I wrote a small story about them, about Reaver George. Their most famous member no doubt. It started nearly a decade ago, with his most courageous act.
You see, Reaver George was more than just a Gryphon, he upheld this belief that there needed to be a line drawn between us bird folk and the dreaded beasts that inhabited our neighboring lands. Dragons, they are a greedy bunch and a greedy problem - taking care of them was costly and required a lot of finances. At the time, before they became obsessed with money and fame, it was the Reavers who would perform such a monumental task without anything but the good will to do so. George was a cunning Gryphon, with black armour to match his feathers and a red cape for thematic effect. He was the definition of a Spiritual Liege, or a rather a soldier-saint. He was a Golden Legend, despite being ark as night. In the small city-state of Silene, the small town of Lasia put out a wanted poster calling for the Reavers' assistance. George was the only one brave enough to answer the call.
Beside the town's small lake was the dragon, known as Count Grish'nack. Of course, he did not deserve the title of "count", as it was given to him sarcastically by the local villagers. They offered him gems, fortunes, even hatchlings and fledglings - but the plague bearing Grish'nack continued to poison the country side. Two sheep a day and an orphan did not sate its hunger, it would constantly raid the neighboring towns within Silene and destroyed all those who opposed him. George felt that he was soon to face the very personification of The Great Magi. For those unfamiliar with our religion, the "Thulean Fellowship", it is named after the Gryphon Empire's capitol city. Thule was where the brave and noble George descended from, his sainthood was also marked there in what was now the Reaver headquarters. In our beliefs, The Great Magi was a magician, a hook-beaked eagle that crafted the world from his own magical realm. He created us from clay and fancied us rook pieces on a chessboard, however - to his greatest of faults, he bestowed upon Gryphons free-will. With free-will, gave us independence. And a God without a people to rule, became a wickedly evil devil. Creation turned against Creator.
George agreed to take on the contract, but mentioned that this was a rare time a Reaver would need some sort of payment, due to the extensive risks of taking on a dragon. A dragon that was believed to be none other but an abomination, spread across the land by the Great Magi to punish us for our sins. Our sins of independence. As we were created in the visage of slaves. George firmly believed in this, some could call him a zealot even. He said that if he could rid them of the dragon, the people of Silene would have to become apostates from their own damnable pagan religion, which was the worship of the Great Magi and all of his creations. "Free yourselves from the binds of theocratic slavery," Reaver George preached. "I have not come to save you from the wicked dragon, but from the snakes of a religion you folks call your own." Desperate, the Silenians agreed that a church would be placed in Lasia.
While they all conversed among themselves on the decision, the dragon Count Grish'nack suddenly emerged from the lakeside. It attacked the city of Lasia and George was forced to craft a coat of arms, to fight against the darkness the creature carried with him. George returned with a shield that bared a green crooked cross, representing the branching destinies of an independent people. George was amused to see the dragon was in fact a lowly, diseased wyvern. He slayed it none-the-less with a great lance. Afterwards, he buried the beast in salt and on its foundation, a church dedicated to the Thulean Fellowship was commissioned. Fifty thousand Gryphons, including the king of Silene converted over the course of ten years. It was even said that a water spring that cured all diseases appeared just near the lakeside former-home of Count Grish'nack. The Reavers were known from there on end as crusaders of the faith, heroes of the people. They were... we were everything that the world wanted us to be. The Gryphon Empire had a force against those who walked in the shadow of the Great Magi, a candle light in the eternal darkness.
But times have changed. War has changed and ergo, so have warriors. I wish I knew this before I enlisted with the Brother Reavers. Fate had a strange way of turning people into heroes. My creamy-white feather complexion didn't complement my dark beak anymore than my childish, bright golden eyes. I looked better fitted singing songs at a tavern, strumming a hardly-tuned string instrumental. When I traveled from my native town of Brishmore to the city of Thule, I had little but the feathers on my wings and a ruck-sack of small belongings. The Thulean City was a sight to behold. I flew forth and perched myself on a wooden bench in the city square. The city was founded by a Clan of Snow Owls, lead by none other than a Hippogryph. Ironic, how a sub-species would establish the capitol for the main species. Yet, it made sense and said plenty for the city I stood in now.
My mother once said my eyes shined like the best of jewels, diamonds and crowns that could be found for sale in Thule. I guess she was partially right, in the slums I found some shiny tiaras but in the main city - the modest, humble folks did not flaunt their immense wealth. However, the Reavers were a different story. Their castle was seven stories high with golden perches at the top for their scouts, who looked like monstrous bastards, ready to rip your throat out with their talons. Even from ground level, I felt their eyes stare holes into me from way above. My invitation to approach the Reaver compound was given to me a month ago, I was a week late due to traveling complications. I could only hope now that they would allow me to enter in the first place.
Having knocked on the door and waited patiently for a solid few minutes, my mind began to wonder. Was this really happening? Was I truly set, to besiege the enemies of the Great Magi along a brotherhood of courageous individuals? Why was I scared in a time like this, where I should have been nothing but happy. This looming darkness of the future suffocated me, the only thing to break me out of the trance was the chirpy speech by a sudden stranger. "Ah, you must be our new d'Artagnan". Of course, I turned - a bit startled and my youthful gaze was cast upon a tall Gryphon with an honest smirk. He looked like a noble, in his expensive threads and leather-padded, casually-worn armour. This was indeed the place, as the small flags and draperies outside suggestions - stripes of black and orange were the colours of the Reavers. My new-found acquaintance's entire colour scheme was that of "Reaver George's Ribbon". He looked as if he had just flew out of a Golden Legend himself. "You must be our newest Musketeer, eh? Well, our only one for that matter."
I blinked, unsure of what to say with my brain subconsciously bathing in questions. "I am Karl Gusteck, of Brishmore. I sent in an application awhile ago and was accepted for an interview, however, I know I am late." I did not help but gulp, it was unfortunate that it was very audible as a lot of saliva had packed itself in my beak. The stranger chuckled at me, his modest brown feathers flowed with the sudden gush of wind that pushed some dust from the cobblestone beneath us directly into my face. As my eyes burned a gentle red, I coughed and continued on as if nothing had happened, even though my expression could tell a million tales about the taste of dirt in the corners of my mouth. "I appreciate the reference to Comte d'Artagnan from the Three Musketeers, but even the title of Musketeer is a bit too flattering for me. As of now, I am a modest riflemen of reality - while Comte is from a tale of fiction, a fairly recent one as a matter of fact..."
The stranger waved a talon at me, his grin became a bit more warm. "You are a smart one, I will give you that. Just as you suggested in the application. Lucky for you, I am a Gryphon of the arts myself. I'm fond of literature, as I understand from your diction, or rather - your lexicon... you are a writer." He was right. I could tell in his eyes that he knew it too. His confidence was a bit overwhelming. My own eyes wandered from his bright, jade green ones down to his belt. He had an impressive sword strapped to him. It was curved, something not common in these lands. Especially among the noble folk and noble places of living, which preferred straight swords and rapiers. "The funny thing is, while yes - the Three Musketeers is a recent bit of literature, it is also in fact based on truth. So think not of it as a tabloid, a piece of fantasy to reflect the current coming of age. D'Artagnan is indeed a real person, I know for I have met him. He is a musketeer serving under King Lovitch as we speak."
I was a bit speechless. So often I have read books, of tales and never once thought of them to be anything but fiction. I should have known better, for even the ridiculous and silly tale of George Reaver had much truth behind it. The truth was lot to time, as it was a tale passed down through spoken word and off-hand drawings by unknown, amateur artists with very few actual documents providing concrete relevance. To know that D'Artagan was a real, breathing Gryphon among us came as a bit of a shock. "I must admit, I did not know... So I must ask for you to forgive me of ignorance, for obviously, you are not only a Brother Reaver but a fellow brother in culture..." I bowed my head slightly in respect, but I raised it quickly when the stranger tapped his talons on the top of my head and then flicked my beak once I was face-level with him again. "I'm sorry, I forget you are all such a humble bunch, no need for the formalities, right...? We're all from common birth after all.
"Pavel. My name is Pavel, I may be a Sir and a 'Pavel Of So-And-So'... but you are correct, formalities bore and frankly I am more for jests and humour. For that is our Reaver motto, 'To Enjoy and To Excite'." The stranger announced to him, however I could even call him a friend now, as we spoke on a first name basis. I did not even receive his patronymic nor his knightly title. In a moment's notice, I was swept away in conversation with this man. We walked side by side along the stone walls of the Brother Reaver headquarters. "We never let anyone in through the front door, so don't you worry about that, D'Artagnan. I am going to care of you, as far as I am concerned - you are a Brother Reaver in training and I am going to keep you under my wing." It seemed appropriate at the time, but Pavel did not bring me anywhere near the secret entrance to the castle I was expecting. Instead, we trotted out toward the backstreets, where light hardly dared to visit.
I continued the conversation. "So, why not through the front door? Is something wrong with it or is it merely because we do not want people to see how easy it is to become a Reaver?"
The joke was well received. "Ha, a classic one you are, boy! A writer and a joker, are you sure you did not apply to become our new jester?" The Gryphon raised a single talon on their left hand, their fancy leather glove was missing a few finger-ends. With a sharp talon, he plucked an apple from a nearby stall we passed, I assumed it was part of being a Reaver. Being able to take a 'charity donation' from any of the local marketplaces in return for their unpaid good deeds. Pavel was strange however, the way he carried himself was more dramatic than I anticipated. The small hen-looking wench that ran the apple stall seemed to look away, wary.
"Seems like you have an interesting reputation around here. You'd think that people would be more happy to see a Reaver walking about, not just flying above doing what best he can to stay out of the spotlight. The code of Humility and all that." I subtly interrogated.
"You really are well read, you now that? I like you kid, I really do." Pavel snapped into the apple and swallowed the chunk without even bothering to chew. "We have a lot of work to do, you and me. Initiations and all that."
I must admit, I was puzzled. "Initiations? I thought us- uhh... well, you knights were above all that sort of thing. The somber type, serious with not much play..." Pavel seemed to get nervous at this.
"What are you implying, d'Artagnan? We are more than just poems, legends and heroic tales. We are individuals, with personality, with individuality - as it implies. After all, we all follow the Thulean Fellowship. That is what makes us good, makes our religion good. Indeed, we are taxed heavily and there are no rich men - but there are no beggars, either! We take care of each other, we do not need any Great Magi's eyes watching over us, nor do we sniff the feathers of his magical magician hind-quarters to please our pagan ways." As he spoke, I did not realize he had lead me into one of the backalleys. It was strange to see such a poor place, in an otherwise beautiful location. The cobblestone streets ended long ago, only dirt was felt and the smell of something or someone dying.
"Why are we here, Pavel?" I looked around. It was hard to find a discernible reason. I spotted someone's head poking out from a window near the end of the narrow corridors of rotting exterior shops. Half of a full body emerged with a small wingspan, if there was one at all - it waved us in. "A friend of your's?"
The playful grin of Pavel turned to something dastardly. It made a few ice cubes of chilling uneasiness enter my bloodstream. What was I getting myself into? "Do not worry, d'Artagnan. I am your friend, you are my wing mate. And as part of the initiation, I have to make sure you are a man not a boy. Before once can take life, even from the most wicked of creatures, one must be well suited with its brother-act. The making of life." His gloved hand prodded me from the side, he lead me further down the corridor. I gulped, audibly as like before. I was unsure of everything now and whether this person was even a Reaver or a mere swindler, maybe I had fallen into a trap without realizing it. "My friend, my friend, do not worry."
I stopped just before the entrance into a rather suspicious looking, back-alley household. "I understand the need of uhmm... friendship and comradeship and all. But if your intentions are to fuck me, I have to say you are greatly mistaken Pavel." I was proud of myself, protecting my pride and saying what needed to be said.
"Oh no, no, no, you got it all wrong. I may dress well and nice, but that goes for all Reavers, my friend. We are a hardy bunch, deep down. And traditional, conservative, even at that. Remember, not even the Thulean Faith looks fondly upon that sort of feather-plucking degeneracy." Pavel winked at me, it failed to make me any more comfortable. I entered the doorway and found myself in a room that smelled greatly of burnt sage. It failed to comfort me. Pavel progressed forward and soon we were in numerous, interchanging and connecting corridors. The smell of opium and sex was strong. It failed to comfort me. Each doorway we passed, draped with exotic, somewhat transparent fabrics to conceal what was inside besides dancing shadows - failed to comfort me. We were in a whorehouse. "You are a smart person, can you guess what I am going to ask you next?"
"About my virginity...?" I answered correctly, according to his chuckle. "Fine, I will admit. I have never plucked a feather besides my own before, but to be honest this is something... that is meant to be sacred, no? This act of courtship? It is so strange that we are knights in the service of the Thulean perspectives, yet I doubt this fits well into the verses supporting Knightly Celibacy."
My companion patted my head, as if I were a child. Truth be told, his demeanor and towering, almost possessing presence made me feel like one. "Young one, you little young feather... As I said before, how can you take a life from a beast without knowing how to create life within a beauty?"
"Poetic words, poetic words. Did you make them yourself?" I questioned. Of course, I knew the real answer.
"I believe they were your own." He was right. "It was in your application, after all? Did you not ask if you were allowed to marry and enjoy life during your training, before you took the final vows of celibacy and knight hood?"
It didn't add up, it hardly made sense. Somehow Pavel knew everything was to know about me and had even read my application. Was he a friend or a foe? Was he truly helping me, was he even a Reaver? For all I knew, he could have been a misguided, mentally deranged mail-bird who had stuck his talons into other people's business far too often, even that of the Reavers. "Perhaps you are right, I should partake in some fruits of life before the fruits of labour, right...?"
Pavel shoved me into one of the shrouded rooms.
Author's Note
Once again, I do apologize for any errors in this submission!
I do not currently have someone willing to read through my work combing for errors and I find it very difficult to bring myself to do so due to my other obligations and the fact that english is far from my first language in the first place.
Chapter II - Foreign Pleasures
The room smelled like cinnamon spice, a samovar with boiling hot tea sat nearby on a small table constructed out of an old tree stump. The white woman sat perched on her bed in front of me. White as snow and with a smallish beak, the dove gracefully fluttered her wings in invitation. Wrapped in beads of numerous colours and numerous cultures, her eyes were alluring to me. She was nude, besides the decorative ornaments. A playful chirp radiated toward me and my heart fluttered once more. I did not even notice that Pavel slipped off my ruck-sack while I was not looking. This was not at all how I imagined my journey into the Reavers' brotherhood would start. "You look tired, a bit wary even." My hostess stated, but the way she said it implied it was a compliment of some sort. "You look like someone... very deserving of some foreign pleasures." I could not place her accent, but I wanted to believe she was from the far south east of the Empire.
"You uhh... look very soft and white." As a poet, I certainly had a way with words. She flicked her beak in laughter at me, what a tease. The gentle Dove-Gryphon left her perch on the beside and sprawled out, showing me just what her curved body had to offer. It was so silent everywhere around me, as I was deafened by the pounding in my chest as if it were a tight-spread leather drum. A screeching ghost could have confronted me and I would have been blissfully unaware of it. "You must be a madam of some sort, with those fancy beads and all..." My eyes trailed off to the rest of the room. It was humid, a bit damp even. The walls were covered in rugs to keep the cold out and the heat in. The samovar still buzzed with hot tea. I realized now the strong scent of cinnamon was to mask the stench of frequent and furious sex.
"Enjoy my wares, do you? Fortunately, those are not the things for sale. Those are my heirlooms, belonging to my people, my culture and just to simply put it - they belong to me." She had a way with words, like how a snake could delicately wrap itself around a sharp, double-sided blade without hurting itself. She slithered her way past my neutral, cold expression and forced a smirk out of me. I was young and a virgin. My finger had not known the lap of any woman, merely the trigger wells of crossbows, muskets and a variety of firearms. My father being a weaponsmith had done little for my confidence in anything besides operating a weapon of all sorts. "You seem cute, a little flustered... So overly polite. I know Thule can be an enthralling place dear, but you simply have to relax and let your beak dip into the waters slowly. It is best - so that the tides of degeneracy in this city do not pull you in."
Somehow, I was closer to her and the bed than I was the door. The room's walls became farther and farther as the center piece of my focus only became closer. I had walked up to her, my tongue flicking about in my mouth in anxiety. The tip of said tongue prodded my cheeks as my brain prodded for thoughts to process and turn into words. All like a well oiled machine. "It is nice to meet you, really... Perhaps, perhaps I am a bit too polite. I was raised well, to respect any and all women. Whether they be of common birth, nobility or..."
"Even a street wench?" She teased, her sudden intrusion caused me to blink hard and let my eyes re-emerge from the cover of my lids with a subtle shake. We maintained eye contact for a moment, I believe she had been drawn in by the amber colour of my irises. "Even a whore? A back-alley sally? You truly are a gentle bird, young feather. I bet you have never even plucked or ploughed a fair lady such as myself." She sat up in the bed, her wings close to her body to emphasis her curves. Her talons traced the outline of her mouth before they departed from her beak. She was so inviting and comforting. Motherly, almost. I wanted to embrace her, but I could not help but to think I was being told not to by some inherit self-discipline. Deep down, there was some good morale instilled in me since youth that said it was morally wrong to take advantage of an already disadvantaged woman.
"Surely, this is not the occupation you wanted for yourself. Not the one your ancestors fought for. I am sorry, but you are far to beautiful to be spreading your legs and hind quarters for young men as a young woman yourself... Us Gryphons, we are prideful, greedy - I know this to all be true. But even as a simpleton, from a simple place, I cannot in me find something withstanding the abuse I'd put myself through if I slept with you." It was a bit wordy, but I think I got my point across. She shrugged and rolled over, her wings fluttering again and letting loose a feather or two. The whore stretched out and her tail slapped me across the beak. The teasing little brat, she acted like a spoiled house cat. "I'm sorry, but I cannot stress this enough. I would be lying if I said I didn't want to, but I can't force myself to break away from my own moral bindings."
The Madam of the room sat up sharply, I thought that for a second she was about to pluck out one of my eyes with mouth or shove a claw into my nostril. "You're cute. And smart. And handsome, maybe even a bit charming and enduring, lovely - possibly." Her head titled back and like the rest of her body, slumped back down on her expensive bed. It was probably the only thing her whore-master dared to gift her with, besides the unpleasant company of peasant fellows wanting to stick their dick into any orifice. "What if I told you, that I - Lady Key, had laid with both farmers and peasants, kings and nobles, mayors and counts?"
My attention snapped into another direction entirely. "Key. Lady Key. Is that short for something?" I asked, intrigued.
Lady Key replied with a prominent pout. "I am trying to tell you, if you think I am not worth your cock, you are entirely wrong. I am not worth anything, beauty alone does not define me because perhaps - I'm a little black inside, a sharp contrast to my whiteness. So don't see me as this pure, virgin, alright? Relax and take me for what I am." The gentle Dove begged, her taloned grasp tugged at my clothes and my heart strings. "And yes, by the way. Key is short for Katelyn. At least, that is what the big boy at the entrance likes to call me."
"This is hardly a job," I mentioned. "This is not something you just come in and do. There has to be a reason for it."
Her talons playfully swirled at the feather-tuft on my chest. Her alluring, black-abyss like eyes distracted me from the fact she had slowly undressed my torso. "Not everything has a reason. I'm just a maiden, a maiden for pleasure. A beacon of delight. I cannot go out and live with the nobles, nor can I even eat with the poor in public. But they all come to me, in private. I'm the name that whispers to them in the wind and the face they see in their sleep. The person loving husbands dream about as they lay beside their wife. Is that not a sort of fame that is unachievable otherwise? I am a fairy tale here, a legend almost. And it is beautiful. A little tale. A little wisp of light. A candle that is snuffed out but always remembered for a pleasant scent." I didn't want to break it to her that she smelled less like lilacs and gooseberries and more like sex, perfume and an undercooked cinnamon cookie.
"Life is valuable. It should be preserved and cherished. No one truly wants to be a fading memory." I spoke aloud. Perhaps it was my own musings being given present though, rather than a direct answer to her. She had taken my hand and glided it against the tuft of feathers on her chest, soon bringing it up to her neck. Lady Key wrapped my fingers with her own around her neck. Instinctively, a gave her a light choke which set her face ablaze with a smile and playful chirp. With a quick swipe of her hand, she knocked my own away and she fell back to the bed, turning her back to me. Her wondrous wing spawn shot open and flapped happily, the carpets and drapes in the room fluttered with the momentum of the wind.
"Come on, little bird. I will give you a memory to preserve and cherish!" Lady Key was happy to give this to me, so much that she bent herself over and spread herself wide for my manhood. After a moment of silence, the cold wind hit her warm privates as I pushed my through doorway. And I do not mean that in a sexual metaphor. I was out of the room before she could scream, "You haven't even paid me for the conversation, you little worm!" My sack was gone, my belongings gone as well as my entire world essentially. Pavel had taken them after the little distraction and I was there, looking like a fool with no way to pay for a somewhat pleasant conversation with a whore. I ran through the corridor and wished there was enough room to spread my wings.
I nearly flew straight out of the whore house entrance into the alleyway, belly close to the scummy floor until it reached the dirt outside. I pranced and looked around, eager for some blood, if it was necessary. Besides me money, that sack also had a substantial amount of gunpowder and unused casings for being loaded later. Both were worth enough to be sold and pay for a trip back, if I had to depart from the Reaver facility. Otherwise, both of those abundant items would have served me well in my service under the Brother Reavers. I saw nothing but red, but soon my vision focused when it caught ahold of Pavel - who was patiently leaned just outside of the brothel, underneath the window where his 'mutual friend' waved him in. "Pavel, you bastard dog!" I screeched and flew up to gain some momentum. I was going to come down hard on him, yet I was surprised he did not fly up in defense or in an act of fleeing.
"Wish I could fly, my dear d'Artagnan, but this dear bird is clipped." Pavel stepped away from the building and leaned downward, showing off his small wingspand. Indeed, the feathers were clipped. This was a punishment Thule passed down on criminals, on thieves and pick pockets. He may have been a swindler, but he was not someone worth harming or killing. I landed down hard, shooting dirt into the air and scattering about with another swipe of my feathers. I opened my maw, wanting to spit venomous words and insults upon the thief. I could see my belongings being placed to remain at his idle feet. "Come on and get them, just remember. Your actions have consequences and the minute you even step towards me, everything you think you know is going to change." The con let out a laugh. "So for the sake of us all, please step forward. Let's make history."
When I reached out to give him just a scratch across the beak, something had hit me from the side and knocked me down hard. Before I could rise, I tasted another strike to my face. Already, within seconds, I could feel the swelling that would inevitably form on my face. My wings fluttered as I tried to catch my breath from a blow to my stomach, one that had nearly lifted me off the ground and made me airbourne. It was what I had to do, fly up and away from my attacker. I tried to do just that, but someone had a firm grasp on my tail. They pulled me down and continued to deliver pain to my face and extremities. Every time I raised limb in my defense, they would pass it and hit my torso hard - occasionally chopping at my throat with punches or kicks. Blood dripped from my beak, I could feel a small crack for just near the tip. My vision was blurry and all of a sudden, I didn't feel like I had much more of a fight in me.
So there I laid, on my back like a whimpering mutt. My limbs came close to my body, it had started to get dark outside - I could feel the chill overtake my temperature. I thought I was fortunate enough to allow my heated blood to keep me warm, but it ceased to do so. I was less angry than I was relieved, I was less vengeful than I was thankful of the new found mercy my attacker had found for me. But he was not attacking me for any reason, he was attacking me in defense of Pavel. "Sorry, d'Artagnan. Not every hero's story is rags to riches, sometimes you have to spend sometimes in rags before you can even call yourself a beggar." The con taunted me further. I raised my head to see not just him, but another - moving through my stuff with their greedy talons. "No bother looking, you'll probably never see him again anyways."
From the more worn and faded colours of the uniform, I could tell this was an actual Reaver. Or at least, one worth his steel. I was assaulted by this crow, this tar-black bastard with sharp blue eyes and the legs of a panther. "You did well, Pavel. The skills we taught did not need to go far, you caught a vulnerable one pretty early on." The Reaver spoke to his new comrade. I had been fooled, or rather - I was a fool all around. But for what purpose, were the heroes of the Brother Reavers, recruiting their younger members to mug individuals such as myself? The pieces came together, but never to a full picture as to what was going on. I knew that if I moved to get up, I would be brought to the subject of conversation once more. I was correct. "Just lay down, peasant. We have not enough room in our order for the likes of you anyways. Skilled rifleman or not, if you can let yourself get so easily conned, I don't think you could stand a chance against any actual threat beyond city walls." The words he spoke stung at me like arrows.
If I was one thing, I was stubborn. I confronted this hero and his the young recruit Pavel, I got back up to my feet and wiped the blood that dripped from my mouth like a school yard bully-victim. "I do not understand, you convinced me to leave my home, leave the fortunate life I did have - to come here just to be mugged? If the guild is truly so lowly, why bother bringing foreigners here in the first place? Why not prey on the poor locals?" My heart pumped true to the virtues I have instilled in myself, my fading and blurry sight only showed these men for the shadows they truly were. Shadows - pale comparisons to the bright tapestries I have seen in my youth, showing these orange and black clad warriors fight courageously for ideals greater than themselves. "Or what? Did you go out and plunder these people enough already, no matter they shirk away from the visage of your cloaks..."
I blinked, for a moment - the crow had gone. When I blinked again in disbelief, he was in front of me. His stature was so imposing, that I felt my joints give in at that very moment. The power he could gain just from being toe-to-toe to a peasant like me, his evil confidence nearly dropped me down to my stomach in submission like a whore. "I am Daken - Daken the Bastard. If you want to talk shit like the little guttersnipe you are, I suggest you at least do it with a weapon in hand." The crow swatted my face, his talons dug deep into my cheek and drew blood from the feathers he flustered. Deep down, I fought every urge to throw my own claws at his face. He could see this in my posture that I had subconsciously set myself up for such an action. "Go ahead, swipe my face and see what happens. Draw my blood. Show me you are worthy for me to sheath a sword in you. Or rather - you are a fan boy who'd rather I sheath my cock in you." Daken teased, he wanted to see how far he could push me, to see if I had any discipline at all. He raised a wing, to reveal his straight sword - strapped firmly to his side.
I did not. I thought I did, but I lacked the resolve to resist my own attempt to slash his face. Talons drawn, I aimed for his eyes, but he caught my wrist with his hand. Lunging forward, my balance was easily kicked out from beneath me. Daken had my arm in a grip that only continued to strengthen as he rubbed my face in the dirt. "You are cheeky one, I'll give you that - Karl. If you really want to show your worth to us, come pleading at our door - like a whore begging for a fuck." He released me and I brought my hand back to my chest. The sky was almost as dark as him now. Daken walked over me, taking my bag from the dirt that would soon turn to mud - as a rain drop pelted me in a bruised eye of mine. I huffed, even though there was hardly an exertion from me. I felt weak, but as I watched Pavel and Daken leave with my belongings, I knew the truth.
I was being tested, just as Pavel was. Speaking of which, I noticed the peculiar way his tail was shaved on one side. He was a very recent free-bird, having just gotten out of containment within the dreaded Gulag merely days ago. I knew enough about laws and customs in Thule to tell that was the mark of a rapist, a convicted rapist. Swallowing my pride, the rain that had started gently dripping down my face had now soaked me - I made my way back toward the castle. Maybe I should have been relieved, my test was not necessarily over and my gear was probably my admission fee. Mind over matter. I had to overcome this obstacle. After all, if someone who was completely scum like Pavel could get a second chance and proudly be a part of such an organization - what was truly stopping me? A busted face and the rain? No demon in Tartarus could hold me back now.
Through the pain, I pushed through - in pursuit of my one true calling. To be a Brother Reaver.
Author's Note
Had a bit of fun writing this, I have discovered that I greatly love writing more dialogue driven stories.
As always, sorry for any blaring errors!
