A Raven's Journey Pt. 2: Betrayal

It is dawn in the city of Duskwall, and Roric’s head is pounding. He can’t quite remember what happened last night. He opens his eyes. He’s in his room on the top floor of the Crow’s nest. There are two empty bottles of mushroom wine knocked over on his ornate desk. That explains the headache and the memory loss. The Crows might be the baddest gang in Doskvol, but they still can’t afford whiskey. Only the trust fund babies from the six major houses have money to burn on that. He scans the room. It’s large and well appointed, with a dark oak bed and desk, and a seating area near the door with plushly upholstered fine couches. There’s a large bay window looking down onto the canal. It’s a room befitting a crime boss. There’s more bookshelves than one might expect, maybe, but Roric did always love to read in his spare time.

Roric swings his feet over the edge of the bed and heaves his bulky, muscular frame upright. As he does so, the events of last night come back to him. Last night, over a year of planning finally came to fruition. That Dunvil brat just had too big of a secret, and last night he paid up for it. He’ll be paying for the rest of his life, too. Last night was a celebration, and maybe Roric could have actually afforded whiskey on his new salary. There’s a knock at the door.

“Come back later. I’m 'under the weather.'”

A brassy voice answers him.

“It’s Lyssa. It’s urgent.”

“Fine, come the fuck in then.”

Lyssa, second of command of the Crows, enters the room with two men. Her peircing brown eyes scan the room. She’s got a single crow feather tucked behind her ear in her straight black hair, and is wearing the mottled blacks and greys that mark the uniform of the gang. The two men with her are attired similarly. One is tall and rail thin, moving with a clumsiness that belies how impressive he is with a knife, with a tattoo of a crow on each cheek. This is Bell, lifetime crow and Lyssa’s best friend. The other man has a stocky torso, with spindly legs. He has the physiology of an Akorosan goat. This is Caillin, an insane man who will kill anyone, for any reason, at any time. He’s spent over half his life in Ironhook Prison, but somehow always avoids a death sentence. Roric furrows his brow at them.

“This had better be important, I was sleeping.”

Bell turns to look at Lyssa with an expectant expression. Caillin stares straight ahead, eyes looking into the middle distance. He addresses Lyssa without looking at her.

“Get on with it.”

In one fluid movement, Lyssa rushes towards Roric, knife flashing through the air before she burrows it cleanly under Roric’s ribs. Roric’s eyes go wide. Bell giggles softly. Roric’s usually boisterous voice sounds as though all the air has been taken out of it. He keeps repeating the same phrase:

“Lys, what the fuck.”

“What the fuck, Lys.”

“What the fu...”

He tries to grapple with her but the strength is sapped from his body. The dagger was poisoned, as Lyssa's always are. She whispers in his ear.

“Thanks Roric. I couldn’t have done this without you. Now we’ve got the Dunvil money you're expendable. It’s my turn to rule.”

She pushes roughly off him, fiercely yanking her knife out of his stomach. She gives him one hard kick, and he topples backwards, arms windmilling, through the bay window. His body plummets through the ashen sky and hits the cobbled sidewalk. It bounces with a sickening crunch and slips off the bank, where it slowly sinks into the dark water.

The raven lands on the embankment and peers into the ebon mirror of the canal. It cocks its head to the side, as if pondering the difficulty of retrieving this body, but more likely examining it's reflection. After a moment, it pushes off the bank and flaps its wings twice, heading up into the darkening sky, looking for easier corpses to mark.