The Raven, the Haven, and the Craven

[Leopold]

Rook’s body rested in the snow, aglow with purple light that ooze from her wounds. Duffy and Leopold rushed to her side, dwarfed by her immensity. Leopold pressed a shaking hand on her beak, and smiled weakly when he felt her move.

“She’s still alive. Barely.”

“What can we do?” Duffy looked up at Hawk’s shattered henge and spat. “That bastard.”

“She’ll be fine, we just need to find where her reliquary is.” Leopold began to search between the giant feathers, growing desperate and delirious. He slipped into and out of madness with one thought on his mind: his wife.

“Reliquary? What?” Duffy shrugged.

“Blood, Duffy!” Leopold shouted. “Find her damned blood!”

The bard’s eyes widened. His brother had only mentioned Rook in passing, but he remembered being told about her necromancy. She carried the blood of her enemies and herself, able to undo the gravest of wounds and perform seeming miracles. He raced up and down, stepping around pools of blood in search of the bandoleer.

It took them an age to find the vials. Leopold snatched it from Duffy’s hands and began to search for Clarissa’s sample. It was darker than the rest, laced with flecks of purple ooze and sealed with wax. He dropped the bandoleer to the snow and hurried to her head. Duffy followed, unsure what to do, and watched his brother break the seal and poured it gently onto Rook’s beak.

“It’s that simple?”

“Yes. Stand back.” Leopold tossed the empty vial over his shoulder and made a hasty retreat. “She’s going to be really, really pissed.”

They watched as the Rook’s body began to shrink. The wounds widened, shrunk, and folded in themselves. In a manner of minutes there was no sign of black feathers and divinity, and an upstart lady remained amidst the lake of glowing lifeforce. As Rook faded, so too did her blood and when she opened her eyes and gasped there was no trace of the Old God at all.

“How dare you!” she screamed. She practically leapt into the air and drew her sword. “I told you never to touch the reliquary!” She swirled, eyes set on Leopold, and advanced with bloodlust in her eyes.

“Clarissa, wait!” Duffy stepped in front of his brother. “It was the only way to save you!”

“Get. Out. Of. My. Way bard.” She waved him aside with her blade but he stayed put. “I will run you through.”

“You’re alive, that’s all that matters. Whatever cost you have to pay for that, it is worth it.”

“What do you know about blood magic?” She snarled.

“Blood magic?” Duffy gawped. “Leopold told me you were a necromancer.”

“Oh, please. Anyone can be a necromancer. Blood magic is the only reason we can live as we are. Those vials, they contain blood from all the Old Gods. Only because of me were we able to make it this far!”

Duffy looked to Leopold for answers.

“Anyone who uses the lifeforce of the dead for their own ends is a necromancer. You can’t dress it up in semantics but we don’t have time for this.”

Stood in a triangle, the trio let their anger and confusion run its course. Contrary to her legendary temper, Clarissa sheathed her sword and relented first. She tucked her hair behind her ears and folded her arms across her chest.

“What happened after I fell?”

Duffy explained that Hawk was dead and Y’edda, for now, was banished. When he explained what Phoenix had done even Clarissa’s cool, emotionless facade broke. She looked worried, but not desperate.