Topic: Black Rook Takes White

Canaan

Date: 2015-12-13 21:18 EST
Canaan watched the murder from the safety and shadow of a great pine whose heavy boughs hung low to create the perfect veil.

It had taken him the better part of two weeks to track down the white jackdaw without magic, and for a while, he simply followed it. For the most part, it behaved as a normal bird alongside its fellow corvid. Hunting. Scavenging. The first three days of Cane?s spying on the bird were as fruitless as the dormant apple trees in which the murder chose to roost. It was not until the fourth day that the jackdaw parsed itself from the others to sit on the roofline of the Teas n? Tomes. Hours later, it moved along to soar over Shady Lanes and chose to rest in the eaves of a small pub just half a block from Panacea. The next day, it flew North and West, toward the ocean and the cliffs, but it did not stop to watch Casa del Brujo -- there was no one there -- and circled back toward the city. When the jackdaw next led him to the sinner and what he presumed to be the home Sin and Salvador shared, Cane quit tailing the bird to go retrieve his own.

If his suspicions were correct, and indeed they were, he did not wish to touch the bird in any way. Cane was not privy to what special capabilities Keythe had at his disposal, and if he did not already know that his spy was being tracked, then Cane wanted to keep it that way. So rather than trap and end the bird with his own hands or touch it with his magic, he employed the use of his owl.

Thought he gave no audible signal, Strix dropped out of the higher branches of the pine at his master?s command, gliding toward the murder silent as death. The owl was only a year old, but a skilled hunter, one that had Cane?s complete confidence in getting the job done.

One of the corvids brayed a warning caw and it?s fellows, including the white jackdaw, scattered from their tree branch perches as Strix swooped in for the kill. Canaan watched as the owl skimmed the topmost branches of the apple tree and flapped its massive wings, which were wider than Aoife was tall, to gain height and speed enough to circle back around.

The corvids were a wild, cawing congregation above the orchard, swarming instinctively to confuse their predator. Strix melted into the darkness for a time, and then reappeared with a terrifying screech. It almost sounded like a laugh.

From afar, beneath the tree, Cane?s smile was just as vicious as he watched his boy play monster.

The sea of birds parted as the owl swooped in once more, Strix having reversed his course to attack from below. The white jackdaw rocketed out of reach, high into the sky. When the owl flapped away to circle around and regroup, the murder split once more; half of the birds escaped into the nearby trees and the others dropped down into the thick underbrush. That was all the owl needed to seal the deal.

Strix came in low this time, his broad wings slicing through the night air silently. He caught the grounded corvids entirely off guard. The white jackjaw had barely even gotten out a panicked scream before Strix?s razor sharp talons closed tightly around its body. It flapped helplessly as the owl came to a stop, pinned to the ground beneath the owl?s full weight.

A handful of the corvids harassed the owl, petulant and brave in their heckling. Strix expressed his annoyance by bowing into a defensive posture, ducking his head. Back feathers ruffled, his tail fanned and he spread his wings threateningly as the corvids continued to press their luck. He clicked his bill, but the birds continued to bomb him; Strix began to hiss and spit, much like a cat, but Cane did not step forward to rescue the bird, letting him handle it on his own for the time being.

The white jackdaw, broken and dying in the owl?s strong grasp, tried valiantly to fight back. It drove its bill into the leg of its captor. The manifestations of Strix?s frustration shifted from cat-like to a deep, powerful barking noise. The owl closed its wings and hunkered down. Then he took the white jackdaw?s throat between its bill, clamped it shut and wrested the bird?s head from its body with two sharp jerks.

Cane?s wicked smile widened.

Sinjin Fai

Date: 2015-12-23 16:03 EST
Bright red blood spread over white feathers and the ground beneath it, cooling quickly in the late fall weather. Even after the owl wrest the jackdaw?s head from its body, it twitched ? lifelessly, desperately ? on the ground, its now almost visible heart beating erratically inside its torso. It stank of death and it stank of magic. It had been a good servant, once: it had done its duty, swiftly and never not so, for the gifts which it had received. As its life drained away from the body, so did the magic which kept it whole: white feathers became black as coal, one leg shriveled up into nothing, floating away like dust in the air. Pinions cracked and burned away. The deal was broken. The song of servitude reached its crescendo and faded. A good servant, a cunning servant ? wise for its close master, the kindred sinner, and then its distant one.

It was the distant master who felt its last keening wail in death.

Keythe Misra was a patient man. It did not suit him to be anything otherwise. He had time and the world would reap itself, whether it be naturally or unnaturally; he would wait and watch until the opportune moments. Slaughtering a fawn was nothing in comparison to the sweet meat of venison, and in the same sense, it afforded him little to act without forethought and planning. What Keythe did not like was having opportune moments stolen from him, and now he could feel it occurring like the shuddering of a spider?s web far from its center. The closing of an eye, some small part of himself gone blind.

The magic that leaked from the jackdaw became volatile. The cajoling, warning cries of the corvid went silent. Flocks fled to the sky, like rats fleeing from ships into the harbors. Either there was no flame that took over the jackdaw?s body, or it ate it so quickly that it became nothing but smoke that pooled in the air. For a moment, the smoke to the shape of a man: the features too indistinct to truly place but for the flickering, pale suggestion of eyes that focused in the distance. The figure hung in the air for an unnatural moment before the wind took it away, gone as if it had never been.

Patience. Patience, that inevitably, would grow thin.