Blogs in The Dark

It has been a long night, and the lone raven soars, through a downpour, seeking the updrafts from the factories, heading back home, to Bellwhether Crematorium. She found many bodies this night, but there are always many bodies to find; humans are far too fond of killing one another. She swoops down through the small door at the very top of the rookery’s spire, swooping into the main hall. The shrieking of burning ghosts is always present here, and the ravens that can’t handle the onslaught of noise and emotion are quickly cooked into pies. She lands on the perch that is solely hers - no other would dare to occupy it - and folds up her wings, preparing for sleep. A lone figure walks along the ravens’ perches, giving each raven a bit of meat in turn. The figure has the long-beaked bronze mask of the Spirit Wardens, and they wear the mask even though they wear the robes of a Raven Tender rather than the posh uniform of an agent. The largest piece of meat is for the raven we know best...