A long time ago, a raven had gotten too close to someone with a sharp edge. That sharp edge lashed out with lethal accuracy, gashing open the raven's throat. The raven soon bled out and died.
Then the Master raised the raven's corpse. The raven corpse followed the Master underground. A mechanism tripped. A cage shot from the floor, enveloping it. The Master walked away. He kept walking.
The dead raven's wings beat furiously at the cage. It slammed its body against the bars, to no avail. The cage was made of copper. The Master went far away. The pull became less. The raven sat in its cage and waited.
Things happened outside the cage. The raven waited. The sun rose and fell. The raven waited. Less and less things happened. The raven waited. The heat came and the cold came. The raven waited. The raven corpse remained perserved by the magic that animated it. The raven waited.
The cage collapsed. The raven squirmed out from the pile of verdigris. It flapped its ragged wings and flew out into the sun.
The undead raven still felt the pull of the Master. But its brain also contained other, raven-y thoughts. It wanted things that gleamed.
The raven decided that it would combine these thoughts. It would bring something good to the Master. It flapped away awkwardly to the northeast.
On its way it stopped and picked up something it found. It hung the shiny thing from its neck and continued.
Over the mountains, another fortress came into view.
As dawn broke, the raven circled the fortress. It saw the Master! But something was different about the Master. The undead raven flew down to investigate. But the Master ran from the raven. Confusion fizzled in the raven's necromantic brain.
Then it saw the yak skeleton charging toward the Master! It flapped as hard as it could! But raven wings weren't built for speed, and the raven corpse was very old. The yak bowled the Master over. Blood splattered the snow.
The raven attacked the yak's skull with beak and talon. One! Twice! The yak's skull was gouged. The yak turned, knocking the raven out of the air. The raven scrambled to its feet, too slow. The yak crushed it beneath its hooves. The glass amulet shattered. The yak raised its head, tossing its horns. But the wolf woman was gone.
Desli dragged her wounded body around the corner.
That stupid militia commander! What was he thinking! There were mortals in this fortress! She might have died, if not for that strange raven with the glass amulet. Where had it come from, anyway?
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Topic: Museum III, adventure succession game (DF 0.47.05) (Read 474450 times)