Kawkrookitar

**Kawkrookitar** is one of the five main protagonists. He is a tengu oracle. He is played by Jacob Chapman.

He spent many years of his life practicing as a wandering druid, but he eventually renounced his druidic ways and became an oracle. He is the younger, conniving brother of Lekkunar Greyfeather. He was the third member to join The Boys, and is a devout follower of the goddess Urgathoa (who he believes to be "The Woman of his Dreams"). At one time he was accompanied by a female hyena named Scazzle - the two got along well, for they were both scavengers. It was often stated by Urgathoa that if Kaw truly devoted himself to her, he might one day become her Champion. However, the tengu seemed to be content to serve as her mere oracle.

His true name is Notakar Greyfeather. The name "Kawkrookitar" is one of numerous aliases Notakar has gone by throughout his life of crime. He is also known as: *The Crow-Man, Bird, Broken Beak, The Grave-Eater, Stench, The Midnight Rambler, Jabberjaw,* and *Crawly Boy* (this is only naming a few). During their travels together, Bongo and the Boys referred to him as "Kaw" for short. Despite his greedy, self-centeered nature, the tengu fought alongside The Boys throughout numerous battles, and participated in the ultimate siege upon The Zorendal Empire.

## Appearance

Kawkrookitar is skeletally thin, at most weighing ninety pounds, and stands at roughly six feet. His natural eye color is a vivid shade of blue. His natural feather color is dust-grey (although he stains them completely black as a form of disguise). His beak is roughly twelve inches in length. At the beginning of the campaign, Kaw is seen wearing a suit of basic leather armor, a dark cloak, and a fedora clapped onto his head. As do the other members of Bongo and the Boys, Kaw also is seen carrying a bindle over one shoulder, containing all his worldly possessions.

Throughout their grand adventures across Soresia, Phylum, Abbadon, and Tibet, Kaw undergoes several changes to his appearance, these being changes in outfit as well as physical transformations. These changes include:

* After being forced to serve under the Zorendal Empire by Terrick and Azindahl against his will, Kaw (along with the rest of The Boys) is given a magical brand of the Zorendal crest upon his right shoulder, a brand that cannot be removed by any means, unless Azindahl removes it himself. These brands allowed Azindahl to track The Boys where ever they roamed. The brand eventually faded from Kaw's shoulder after he and The Boys slew Azindahl.

* During Chapter Two of The Unforgettable and Fantasmic Adventures, Kaw's face is wounded during a fierce brawl with an undead child. The child raked its jagged fingernails down the tengu's face, leaving five grizzly, identical scars running down each side of his jaws. Enraged by this, Kaw made short work of the child. Although there are magical methods of removing scar tissue, Kaw decided to keep these scars as a sign to enemies that he is not to be trifled with.
* In Chapter Three, The Boys are introfuced to the duergar known as Gyystoph "Dusgusting" Dryshali. Upon this first meeting, Gyystoph mentioned that he was capable of replacing flesh-and-blood limbs with robotic replacements that are far superior. Aigee-Gorg requested that a robotic arm be crafted for him. An extremely-drunk Kaw decided that he also wanted a robotic appendage, he desired that his left leg be replaced. The following day, still in a drunk stupor, Kaw's left leg was severed by Bongo's scimitar, and a robotic leg was magically mended in its place. The morning after, the hungover tengu was shocked to discover his new leg, for he had no memory of the previous two nights. His shock did not last long though, for with a shrug the tengu muttered, "Eh, whatever."
* The urgath sus

After pledging his fealty to Urgathoa and becoming her oracle, Kaw's body underwent a revolting transformation. His body grew even thinner than before, and the skin beneath his feathers appeared to be rotten. His blue eyes became a lifeless white color, and blood spilled from them down his face. His beak also grew small fangs. It looked as though the tengu was half-dead. The Boys questioned him about his transformation, but the secretive oracle merely changed the subject.

* In Chapter Six, The Boys were wrongfully imprisoned within the prison camp Ost. They were stripped of all their belongings, this included their clothing and weaponry. Thus, Kaw was separated from his leather armor, his cloak, his fedora, his scythe, all of his gold, and to his dismay, his beloved CrowBar as well. Throughout this chapter the tengu was dressed in only filthy rags that hung in tatters from his skeletal frame.
* After their escape from Ost, The Boys journeyed to the Ishandryn Empire where they purchased new adventuring gear. Shedding his prison rags, Kaw purchased a suit of boneless leather armor which allowed him to twist and contort his body with ease. Along with this armor, he purchased a dark indigo cloak embroidered with the crest of the Ishandryn Empire. This cloak had a deep hood which shadowed the tengu's face.
* For a period of time, Kaw's left arm was missing. This occured in Chapter Eight, when Aigee-Gorg was transformed into a solid-stone statue by the goddes Jezelda, patron to all shape-shifters. Kaw was forced to call upon Urgathoa to free his companion. Urgathoa did so, but her help came with a price; as payment she tore Kaw's left arm from his shoulder, leaving a bloody stump in its place. Following this, Kaw attempted to replace the missing limb with a robotic appendage courtesy of Gyystoph, however this did not go as planned: from his shoulder-stump sprang a mass of cockroaches and other vile insects. Urgathoa appeared in a vision and told Kaw, "I shall return your arm after you've proven your loyalty to me."
* Kaw's left arm was indeed returned to him in Chapter Sus, shortly before the tengu entered the portal to Abaddon alongside the rest of The Boys. However, his arm was not as he remembered it: the appendage had decayed, it was no more than bone laced with rotten sinews and tendons. Kaw drove the diminished arm back into its socket and snapped it back into place with a twist. Although the arm was much weaker than before and a challenge to control, Kaw was pleased to have it back.
* The greatest and most drastic transformation that Kawkrookitar underwent came in Chapter . Kaw used the Nine of Hearts he drew from The Deck of Many Things to grant a single wish, that wish being that he could harness the strength and power of a daemon while retaining his cunning tengu mind, thus becoming a hybrid of tengu and daemon. He believed that this transformation would grant him immense power and earn him favor in the eyes of Urgathoa. After stating his wish, Kaw's body began to contort and stretch. The transformation was excrutiating. Afterwards, Kaw stood a head taller and was even thinner than before. His feathery skin had become dark and charred, as though it had been burned by Hellish flames. Scythe-like claws emerged from his fingertips. His head lolled to the side at a bent angle, ofr his neck was permanently snapped. His fanged jaws also appeared to be broken, for they hung open revealing a massive tongue dripping with acid. Lastly, a sunction-cupped tentacle that was strong enough to grapple enemies sprouted out of Kaw's shoulder. This form, among many other advantages, granted Kaw the power to read thoughts up to a distance of fifty-feet. He also become completely resistant to all poisons and magical instant-death-spells. To better disguise himself, Urgathoa offered Kaw a large, tattered, hooded black robe to replace his indigo cloak.

## Korvinox's Feast

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A Dungeons & Dragons story written by Jacob Chapman

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The prison of Aurelia, the capital city of The Zorendal Empire, reeked. Freezing drops of water leaked through cracks in the stone ceiling, landing in growing puddles on the hard-packed dirt floor. The constant plip-plip of dripping water echoed ceaselessly throughout the prison hall. The sound was absolutely maddening.

The prison cells were small enough that if you stood in the center and stretched out your arms, you could place both your hands against each cold wall. The ceilings were so low that you had to duck your head slightly to fit inside. Each cell included a rickety bunk of straw, a waste bucket, and a single barred window - through which poured rays of frosty moonlight.

The air was completely still and bitterly cold. Plump rats scurried to and fro like huge, furry cockroaches. The prison housed a handful of criminals, some petty and other notorious. This included a massive, battle-scarred orc guilty of street-brawling, a half-elf with cat-like eyes guilty of burglary, an enslaved kobold that had slit his human master's throat in his sleep, and several others.

Distantly, the prisoners could hear their jailers barking with laughter from their barracks down the hall. The jailers raised their overflowing tankards of grog in celebration. This was indeed a night for celebration, for the Zorendal Empire had finally locked the filthy criminal known as Notakar Greyfeather behind bars.

This, however, was not the first time Notakar had been imprisoned. In fact, he’d been arrested a total of twelve times throughout his past, but had managed to somehow break free each and every time. No one was quite sure how he managed these narrow escapes, for the criminal was stick-thin and appeared to have little combat expirience. This would be his thriteenth stay in prison. And the jailers intented this to be his last. For this time around they were taking no chances.

Notakar was currently bound to the wall of his cell by a set of gleaming shackles. These were no ordinary shackles of simple iron. No, for they’d been enchanted by the powerful magic-user Terrick himself, a man whose physical prowess and magical abilities were feared all throughout the Empire. He was considered to be one of King Yarham Zorendal's elite soldiers. He followed the King's orders without hesitation. The enchanted shackles were unbreakable, and would grow tighter and tighter the more the criminal bound by them struggled to break free. Only the key could release the shackle's hold.

Notakar Greyfeather was known by many names, and guilty of many crimes. Burglary. Drunken assault. Sometimes murder. But the most prominent of them was grave robbery. He stole valuable trinkets and tresures from the coffins he unearthed, but that was not all. For it seemed that over time, Notakar had aquired a taste for mortal flesh, be it fresh or rotten. By the time he was finished, coffins would be found completely empty, with heaps of cleanly-picked bones nearby.

Such a foul creature was surely destined for the gallows. Come first light tomorrow, he would hang without a doubt, then his body would be left for the vultures. There would be no escaping this time. Notakar had finally reached the end of his rope, so to speak.

Down the hall in the guard barracks, one of the jailers -a brutish, bearded dwarf- growled to his comrades, "What a fool he is, that blasted tengu! When we stumbled upon him digging up that noble's grave, catching the monster red-handed, do you know what he did? He tried to hide from us inside the coffin!" The rest of the jailers roared with laughter, throwing back their heads and slapping their knees. "We couldn't get him out!" the dwarf went on between his own bursts of drunken laughter. "So we had to lug the coffin all the way back here on our shoulders!" Suddenly the iron door of the barracks swung open and a woman marched inside. The jailers knew her by name, and immediately they ceased their merry-making. The woman was known by the name Celeste, a revered assassin. She was another member of King Yarham's elite.

She shoved forward a scrawny human man dressed in ragged clothes. His wrists were bound with steel cuffs. The fellow had a voluminous mane of flowing silver hair that spilled past his narrow shoulders. Such hair looked very out of place atop the peasant's head. His nose was badly broken, and both his eyes were black. Dried blood was smeared across the lower half of his face. He threw a dark scowl at the jailers, spitting upon the floor. The criminal was known as Silver Mane. The bounty on his head was ten-thousand gold.

“Got another one here for you, boys,” said Celeste, her voice a deadly hiss. “Where do you want him?”

The brutish dwarf growled under his breath, “We’ve got too many prisoners and not enough cells…” He stroked his beard for a moment, then grinned nastily. “How about we throw him in with the tengu,” he chuckled, rising to his feet and grabbing hold of Silver Mane. He drug the fellow down the hall.

The hall was illuminated with smoldering torches fastened to the stone walls. The street-brawling orc snarled at the two as they passed by. They halted before the final cell on the left. The dwarf drew a gleaming ring of keys, threw open the cell door, shoved the silver-haired man inside, and slammed the barred door shut behind him. The jailer’s footfalls grew fainter and fainter as he returned to the barracks. Celeste must have gone, for the celebration had resumed.

Silver Mane sat upon the dirt floor of the cell, his back pressed against the stone wall. After a moment, he drew a crooked cigarette and matchstick from a pocket on his chest. Awkwardly -his hands were still cuffed- he struck the match across his boot, held it to his cigarette, dragged deeply, and exhaled a long spiral of smoke. Despite his current situation, the man looked at ease, untroubled by the fact that he was imprisoned within the capital city of Soresia.

Silver Mane noticed his cellmate, who sat on the rickety straw bunk across from him. The fellow was draped in shadow, and was nearly invisible. But his brilliant white eyes, glowing in the darkness like a pair of magical orbs, gave him away. A pair of shimmering shackles hooked into the wall were fastened around his wrists and held behind his back. His eyes never blinked, not even once.

"Well met, friend," said the human in a hoarse voice, puffing on his cigarette. "It's good to see I'll have someone to talk to tonight. They call me Silver Mane, a name I'm sure you've heard before," he chuckled to himself, "for I am norotious across both Phylum and Soresia as a master thief and pickpocket. There's no lock that I can;t pick, and no coinpurse that's safe from me." He paused for effect, wearing a smug smile, before continueing, "My secret is this hair, it's the source of my luck. You see, I'm not a pure human. The father of my great grantfather's father was a Luck Elf. He was born with pure silver hair, and was the luckiest man that ever lived. And his blood runs through my veins. But... it would seem that my luck has finally run out."

His cellmate said nothing. He merely continued to stare at Silver Mane with his luminous blue eyes.

“You see, I was prowling the streets of Rockwater,” Silver Mane went on, “looking for an easy target. I spotted a duergar fellow, crept up behind, and sliced open his coin pouch with my dagger while he was looking the other way. I caught the coins in the palm of my hand, then slipped away before the noble had any idea what was happening. I figured I was in the clear, and ducked into an alleyway to count the gold in my hand. Then out of nowhere, this gigantic snake springs onto my back and coils around me, strangling the life out of me. This wasn't any ordinary snake either, it was built out of solid metal! While I'm trying to break free, somebody strolls into the allly. It was the duergar bloke! He walks over to me, a big smile on his face. He lifts up one of his fists, and I can see that it's also made of solid iron. 'You should have chosen to pick someone else's pocket,' the duergar chuckled in this thick accent before planting his fist square between my eyes. Snapped my nose like a dry twig. Everything went dark after that. When I finally came to, I was in a cart being hauled here. But I suppose things could be worse. After all, I'd rather be locked up in here rather than breaking my back over in that prison camp Ost.

His cellmate still remained silent. His unblinking gaze drilled relentlessly into Silver Mane.

“And what of you, my friend?” the pickpocket asked lightly. “What mischief were you getting up to, before the Empire tossed you in here to rot? I've told you my story, so what is yours?”

This question was met with no response.

The dreadful silence was only broken by the *plip-plip* of dripping water, and the howling laughter of the jailers down the hall. Somewhere outside, an owl hooted in the distance. “What?” Silver Mane laughed. “Don’t tell me they cut out your tongue before locking you up!” The man sitting on the bunk suddenly stirred with a startled grunt. "Eh? What is it?" he snarled beneath his breath, looking around the cell dubiously. His voice was a gruff, rusty croak. "What's so goddamn important? Can't a guy doze off in this place for five minutes?!"

Silver Mane couldn't believe it. His cellmate had been fast asleep this entire time! ANd with his eyes wide open! Groggily, the shackled fellow leaned forward on the straw bunk. The moonlight pouring through the barred window washed over his face. And to Silver Mane's shock, the man across from him bore the head of a massive crow.

In place of his mouth was a long, hooked beak. Along the edge of his beak ran a jagged crack, a souvenir from some past brawl. His entire body was covered with frayed, dust-grey feathers. His spine was hunched, his shoulders slumped, and his body was utterly skeletal. Even with his feathers sopping wet, the fellow would still weigh less than one-hundred pounds. He wore a tattered cloak that hung from his decrepit frame. A fedora was clapped onto his head.

Mere inches away from Silver Mane's face, the grey tengu's beak creaked open like a rusty door hinge. His thick breath was laced with the mingled aroma of cigarette smoke and mead. Along with the eye-watering stench of fetid meat.

“Is there somethin’ you need, pal?” he croaked to the pickpocket.

Silver Mane faltered for a moment, stunned by the man sitting opposite of him, for tengu were fairly hard to find in Soresia. But that was not all. He could have sworn he recognized the cloaked tengu from somewhere... though he couldn't quite put his finger on it. "I was only wondering what you story is, friend. How you came to be here," he answered.

The grey tengu's cracked beak curved upwards, forming an avian grin. He leaned back onto the bunk, returning to the shadows. "Now that's a lo-o-ong story," he chuckled. "Could take all night if I start rambling. Eh, but I suppose I've got some time to kill, so what the hell? You wanna know my story? Well then, listen up. This is the stoyr of Notakar Greyfeather---"

Silver Mane muttered, "Notakar Greyfeather..." his casual grin slowly faded. He knew that he'd recognized the tengu. He'd seen his wanted posters all across Soresia; Notakar's face was a hard one to forget. "I've heard of you," said the pickpocket, his voice dropping. The color began to drain from his face as it dawned upon him that he was currently locked inside a barred cell with a monster. "I've heard the rumors. They say that you sneak into cemeteries under the cover of night like a phantom, a shovel carried over your shoulder, to dig up recently-buried graves... and steal whatever valuable you might find inside... and to aslo..." he trailed off, his eyes wide.

"They call you The Grave-Eater," Silver Mane said at last, his voice hollow. Notakar's grin broadened.

"Lemme start from the beginning," said the tengu. "My memory's a bit fuzzy... I think it all started about a year or so back..." Speaking amiably to the terrified pickpocket, Notakar explained how two years prior, he'd been but a mere wanderer, a vagabond that stole and begged to survive. "I drifted from town to town," he claimed, "no clear destination in mind. During the day, I'd hunker down on the side of the street and beg the people passing me by for any spare gold. Then at night, if I hadn't made much gold that day, I'd carry this big scimitar on my belt, to make any bandits think twice before tryin’ to give me trouble. During the day, I’d hunker down on the side of the street and beg the people passing by for any spare change. At night, I’d sleep out in the woods, usually up in a tree.

“Mainly ‘cause I couldn’t afford to rent a room in an inn. But that wasn’t the only reason. You see, I’ve always felt a strong connection with the woods. The silence. The solitude. That’s the whole reason I became a druid in the first place. Anyway, when I couldn’t scrounge up enough gold from the streets, sometimes I’d use magic to break into shops and steal whatever I could get my hands on. Most of the time I’d break into the local tavern and take as many bottles of mead that I could carry.”

He grimaced as the ear-splitting cry NONE SHALL TOUCH THE BEER! tore through his mind.

“Then I’d move on to the next town. And the next. And the next. That’s how I got by. Stealin’ and beggin’. Life wasn’t great, not by a long shot. But hey, it wasn’t half bad either. So one day, I’m sittin’ on the side of the road outside of Shardstone, when out of nowhere this caravan of merchants passes by, on their way over to Rockwater.

“And to my surprise, these merchants see the scimitar on my belt and mistake me for a mercenary. They offer me seven-thousand gold pieces to travel with ‘em, and make sure they get to Rockwater safe and sound.” The tengu cackled with laughter. “How could I refuse? Do you have any idea how many bottles of mead I could buy with seven-thousand gold? Enough to drink myself to death! Ha ha!

“But a few of the merchants were skeptical about hirin’ me. And I don’t blame them, considering that at the time, I hadn’t had a bath in months and was wearin’ nothing but rags. So to convince them, on the spot I make up this grand story. I tell ‘em that I’m a master swordsman, trained in the art of killing since the day I was hatched. I claim that I’m responsible for striking down hundreds of evildoers with both my mighty blade and powerful spells.

“Then I explain how I was banished from my mountain village by the elder, who feared my mystic powers, dooming me to a life of poverty.  I even draw my scimitar and give it a few swings through the air, and conjure a ball of fire in the palm of my hand. The merchants seem pretty impressed.

“Of course, all of that is a sheer lie.

“I don’t know the first thing about sword fighting. My scimitar is nothin’ but a bluff.  And the real reason I got kicked out of my village was for fallin’ asleep on guard duty. While I was asleep, a whole group of cutthroats crept past me and sacked the village. By the time I woke up, the raid had been over for an hour or so, and the village elder was standing over me with a battle axe clutched in his withered hands.”

Notakar scowled darkly.

“I mean, yeah, it was my fault the cutthroats got through the gates. I’ll admit it. I take full blame for it. But booting me out of the village and vowing to lop my head off if I ever return? That’s a little harsh, don’t you think? But I’m gettin’ off track. So these merchants believed my bogus story, and for the next three days, I kept watch over their caravan…. For the most part that is. I confess, on more than one occasion I slept with my eyes open, a skill that I have perfected. It was gonna take around three weeks to get all the way over to Rockwater. Three weeks is a pretty long time to spend on the road, but I figured the amount of gold I was gettin’ paid was well worth it.

“The caravan travels through the woods, making our way towards Lokryn’s Academy. To the north is a towering range of mountains. To the south is this huge lake. For those three days, things were goin’ off without a hitch, and I’m thinkin’ to myself, That seven-thousand gold is as good as mine! Then, on the morning of the fourth day on the road, everythin’  plummets downhill.

“The morning was dark and foggy. The sky was full of black clouds. Looks like it could start pouring rain at any minute. At first, nothing’s out of the ordinary. Then, something spooks the merchants’ horses, and they start freaking out. It’s like they can smell somethin’ evil in the air. While the merchants are busy trying to calm ‘em down, I sneak over behind a tree and take a swig outta my last bottle of mead. But while I’m drinking… I spot this flash of metal in the bottle’s reflection. That’s when I hear a twig snap in the woods under somebody’s foot.

“I spin around just in time. This bulky white dagger comes flyin’ out of the woods, slicing through the air.

“I stumble back, tryin’ to get outta the way, but the things clips my shoulder, leaving a deep scratch. I’m so surprised, that for a second all I do is just stand there. After that, all hell breaks loose.

“About twenty or so guys spring outta the woods, drawing bows and arrows. The whole lot of ‘em are dressed in these baggy, dark purple robes with deep hoods. But that’s not all. To hide their faces, they’re wearin’ these blood-soaked skulls as masks. Most of the masks are made out of human skulls. They look like a bunch of crazy cultists.  They draw back their bowstrings and let their arrows fly. The merchants don’t got any time to react. They’re sittin’ ducks out in the middle of the road. By the time I’ve drawn my scimitar, half the merchants are already dead, layin’ face-down in puddles of blood, full of arrows.

“The dagger that clipped my shoulder must’ve been smeared with poison, ‘cause all the sudden I’m wobbling all over the place.

“While the archers are gettin’ more arrows ready, a few of the cultists charge forward, waving around these weapons that’re carved out of bones, like swords, spears, and axes. They get to work slaughtering the merchants that managed to survive the first wave of arrows. While I’m still bumbling around, my scimitar in one hand and my bottle of mead in the other, fighting just to stay on my feet, one of the cultists runs at me with a club made out of a bloody leg bone.

“This cultist’s wearing the thick skull of an orc, and a necklace made out of severed fingers.

“He swings his club, but somehow I manage to duck under it. I take a slash at him with my scimitar, but at this point, the poison’s really startin’ to kick in. I trip over my own feet and hit this rock sittin’ on the ground instead, breaking my blade clean in half. This poison is some really strong stuff. I’m so loopy that by the time I see the bone club swinging at me, it’s too late. The cultist cracks me right across the face with his club before I even know what’s goin’ on. It’s a wonder the bastard didn’t snap my beak clean off.”

The grey tengu tapped the jagged crack that ran along his beak with a clawed finger.

“I hit the ground like a sack of rocks. The cultist lifts his club, about two seconds away from bashing my brains in. But at the last moment I roll away, and the club smacks the ground right where my head had just been.

“So there I am, layin’ flat on the ground, full of poison. My sword’s broken, and I got nowhere to run. All I’ve got left is my bottle of mead. The cultist tosses his club aside, then lifts up his skull mask a little, revealing his mouth. He smilin’ down at me, and all his teeth have been whittled into long fangs. He jumps at me, openin’ up his mouth wide, like he’s planning to take a bite outta me. My mind goes blank. I don’t have any idea how to get out of this pickle.

“And then, without even thinkin’ about it, acting completely on reflex, I conjure up this magic mudball in my hand and pelt it right into his face. And while he’s stumbling around, tryin’ to cough all the mud out of his mouth, I bash him over the head with my bottle of mead, shattering the glass all over the place. That does the trick; the cultist keels over onto the ground with a grunt and stops movin’.

“The other cultists are so busy finishing off the rest of the merchants that they haven’t taken much notice of me. Yet.

“My mind’s racing. What should I do? Sure, I could try to run off into the woods, but thanks to the poison runnin’ through my veins, I can barely walk in a straight line. And fightin’ all the cultists off is outta the question; I could barely take down one of them. While I’m tryin’ to decide my next move, my eyes drift down to the body layin’ at my feet. Then an idea pops into my head.

“I rip off the cultist’s purple robes and throw ‘em on, pulling the hood down over my head so nobody can see my face. Then I heave the naked guy’s body over into the woods and cover him up with some leaves. It’s the perfect disguise. As long as I don’t blow my cover, I’ll be able to hide from the rest of the cultists right in plain sight! Then, when they ain’t lookin’, I can just slip away into the shadows, and they’ll be none the wiser! Ha ha ha!”

“Oi,” a slurred voice shouted down the hall from the barracks. It was the bearded jailer. “Keep it down, ya blasted bird!” In response, Notakar uttered a piercing screech that tore throughout the entire prison.

Silver Mane cringed back against the stone wall, jamming his fingers into his aching ears.

“Don’t make me come down there, bird,” the drunk jailer growled, brandishing his quarterstaff.

Notakar unleashed another shrill screech, even louder than the first.

Down the hall, the jailer muttered, “Eh, you ain’t worth it.” He lumbered back into the barracks for more mead. “Now then, where was I?” the grey tengu wondered. “Oh yeah. So there I was, disguised as one of the cultists, tryin’ my best to blend in. By now, the merchants that’d tried to escape’ve been finished off. The ground’s covered with bodies and blood. And I’m thinkin’, Well, I can kiss that sweet seven-thousand gold goodbye.

“With the slaughter finally over with, all the cultists gather around this guy who’s wearin’ this tattered, bright red cloak and hood. Underneath the cloak, he’s wearing this jagged black armor. Turns out this guy’s their leader. He’s tall and skinny, and hung across his back is this nasty lookin’ scythe with a black blade. All the cultists kneel down at his boots like he’s some sort of prophet. Tryin’ not to stick out, I kneel with ‘em.

“The guy in the red cloak pulls back his hood, revealing his face.

“Turns out he’s a drow. You know, one of those dark elves that live deep underground. His skin is ashy grey. His long hair is pure black, and his eyes are completely white. His ears stretch up into sharp points. Right smack in the middle of his forehead is this symbol that’s been branded into his skin; it looks sort of like a skull, but with little legs and wings.

“And he’s grinnin’. Just like the rest of the cultists, all his teeth have been sharpened into fangs.

“Then he spreads out his arms and says in this deep, echoing voice:

“Well done, brothers and sisters. Now gather your kills. For today, we feast!

“The cultists bow their heads, and altogether they say, ‘Yes, Master Korvinox.’ Then everybody jumps to their feet and gets to work grabbin’ the dead merchants off the ground and dumping ‘em into this wooden cart.

“That poison sure did a number on me; I’m lucky that dagger only nicked me, otherwise it probably would’ve killed me. The entire world’s spinnin’ around me, and my whole body feels numb. While I’m watching the dead merchants getting stacked into the cart, I notice the cloaked drow is watching me with those sharp white eyes of his. I try to stand up straight and look natural, but I’m swayin’ back and forth like a drunk. I can’t stop myself. Then the drow asks, Is everything alright, brother? He sounds a little suspicious.

“I give the guy one of these -”

Notakar put his clawed thumb and index finger together, forming a circle -

“then I get busy lugging merchants over to the cart, tryin’ my best not to trip over my own feet. Underneath my purple robes, I’m sweating like a madman. That was a close call. I thought the drow had sniffed me out. It takes about fifteen minutes to fill up the cart, then a couple of guys grab the handles and pull it away into the woods. The rest of the cultists follow behind the cart, the cloaked drow up in the lead.

“I follow the herd, and eventually we end up in this ancient-looking graveyard out in the middle of the woods. All the tombstones are cracked and unmarked. The ground’s hidden by this thick layer of mist. The graveyard’s surrounded by this circle of barbed trees. Perched in one of the trees is an owl with yellow eyes. The sky is still full of black clouds. It’s startin’ to thunder.

“Nearby, there’s this crumbling statue of a woman holding a scythe. Looks like it’s hundreds of years old.

“When I look at the statue, I feel a chill run through me for some reason.

“In the middle of this graveyard, there’s this fancy table covered by a red tablecloth. And off to the side, there’s another wooden table stained with dried blood. There’s this giant guy standin’ behind the bloody table, wearin’ a filthy apron. He’s at least eight feet tall, so I figure he must be a goliath. His head’s covered up by this black sack with two eyeholes. In one of the guy’s meaty fists he’s holdin’ a huge cleaver.

“We pull the cart of bodies over to his table, and Korvinox says, We’ve got quite a large haul this time, Butch. Do you think you can handle it? The goliath raises his cleaver in the air and gives a deep growl. All the cultists chuckle at that. Korvinox claps the goliath on the arm and laughs, I like your enthusiasm, Butch! Now then, my brother, do what you do best! Then the drow tosses one of the dead merchants onto the table, and the goliath hacks it to ribbons with his cleaver. Blood and severed limbs go flyin’ all over the place.

“Master Korvinox throws back his head and cackles. The rest of the cultists join in. I give a little chuckle.

“The cloaked drow suddenly gives me this sharp look, and he asks, Are you sure you’re alright, brother? You seem a bit strange today. I tell him real quick, ‘I’ve never felt better in my whole life!’He stares at me for a second longer, then grins and says, Whatever you say, brother. Now then, let us set the table!

“So all the cultists start puttin’ these fancy plates, forks, knives, and goblets along the table, and start takin’ their seats. I grab a random chair, and to my surprise, the drow sits down right beside me like we’re best buddies or something. From the depths of his cloak, Korvinox takes out this glass bottle full of red wine...

“At least, I thought it was wine at first.

“Twisting off the cork, he says, Before we feast, let us partake in the ceremonial blood drinking! This blood has been trapped within this bottle for exactly one year’s time. Aged to perfection! He pours himself a glass, then passes the bottle over to me. I pause for a second, feelin’ my stomach doing somersaults. Blood is nasty enough when it’s fresh. But blood that’s been stuck inside a bottle for a whole year? You’ve gotta be kiddin’ me!

“Then I notice that everybody around the table’s lookin’ directly at me, so I quickly fill up my goblet and take a big swig. It took all my strength not to puke the stuff back out.

“‘Mmm! Now that hits the spot!’ I say, passin’ the bottle down the table.

“After everybody’s had a drink, the drow claps his hands and says, Now then, let the feast begin!

“The cultists start banging their forks and knives on the table. The goliath lumbers over, carryin’ a bunch of body parts on this silver platter. He sits the platter down on the middle of the table, and all the cultists reach out for it. But the drow raises his hands and shouts, Have you all forgotten your manners? No one shall eat a single bite until we have given thanks to our mistress, the Lady of Despair.

“The cultists grumble at that, then they all bow their hooded heads. Korvinox lifts his face to the black sky and bellows, Hear me, Lady Despair! My Pallid Princess! We all have gathered here this morning in honor of you. And we give you our utmost thanks for this bountiful feast that lay before us… blah blah blah, yada yada yada.

“I can’t remember everythin’ that bastard Korvinox said. He rambles on for what feels like hours about somebody he calls Urgalitha… or maybe it’s Ergatheewa. It was somethin’ like that. And he also won’t shut up about this place he calls the Black Lodge.

“I was on the verge of passin’ out, when the drow finally says, Dinner is now served! Dig in, my brothers and sisters!

“All the cultists attack the platter of raw meat, fightin’ with each other over arms, legs, bones, and raw, bloody organs like a pack of starvin’ animals. So I won’t look out of place, I snatch this severed hand off the platter and plop it down on my plate. Then I just stare down at it. The hand has a bunch of these fancy rings on its fingers. I can’t help but wonder which of the merchants this hand used to belong to. While the rest of the cultists are tearing into the feast, there I am, just staring down at the hand on my plate, stickin’ out like a sore thumb.

“The cloaked drow’s staring at me again. And grinning.

“Go on, brother! he says, It’s been far too long since our last feast. You must be absolutely starving!

“I jumped a little bit, then I told the drow, ‘You know what? I actually ate a pretty big breakfast early this morning. I’m still stuffed. Feels like my stomach’s about to pop. I don’t think I could manage to eat another bite, you know what I’m saying?… heh heh...”

“Korvinox’s grin was growing wider and wider, spreading across his grey face. I could see every single one of his long, sharp teeth. Suddenly snatching a bloody heart from the silver platter, he takes a chomp out of it like it’s an apple, staining his fangs red.

“I realize that everybody’s completely silent. Lookin’ around the table, I see that all the cultists are starin’ straight at me again. Even the goliath with the cleaver is staring. Nonsense, Korvinox goes on, You’re nothing but skin and bones, brother!  Go on now, no need to be shy… eat up. His grin grows so wide that blood starts to trickle down from the corners of his stretched mouth.

“I gulp and look back down at the hand on my plate. Knowin’ that my life depends on it, I slice off one of the fingers with my knife, shake off all the fancy rings, and toss it into my mouth. I don’t even chew the thing, I just swallow it whole... And you know what the crazy thing is?”

Notakar gave Silver Mane another twisted, gnarly grin. The pickpocket felt his blood run cold.

“Believe it or not, pal… it doesn’t taste half bad. In fact, it’s the best thing I’ve ever tasted.

“You see, at the time, I hadn’t eaten a decent meal in a week or two. So when I swallowed that finger, my empty stomach roared for more. So I slice off another finger and toss it down the hatch. And another. And another. I end up eatin’ the whole damn hand. Then I wash it all down with another gulp of blood. I grab seconds from the platter, a severed foot, and devour it. After that, I kind of lose sense of time. I  asked for thirds. And fourths. And fifths. I can’t remember exactly how much I ate, only that by the time I was finally full, I’d eaten so much that my gut felt like it was about to bust, and my goblet of blood was dry.

“The rest of the cultists at the table are eatin’ again, not payin’ much attention to me anymore. All except for the drow, who’s still grinning down at me. How does it taste, brother? Korvinox asks me.

“I tell the guy with complete honesty, ‘This is the best food I’ve had in weeks!’

“That’s good to hear, says the drow with a chuckle.

“...because this will be your last meal, tengu.

“A split second later, I’m slammed flat onto my back with the drow’s boot pressin’ down on my chest. My purple hood falls back, exposing my handsome mug for all to see. Korvinox is standin’ over me, the black blade of his scythe held against my throat.

“Did you truly believe you were being clever, tengu? Master Korvinox laughs down into my face.

“Fool! The Pallid Princess sees through your disguise! She whispered into my ear that an outsider was hiding among us, and as always, she spoke the truth!  The rest of the cultists jump to their feet and draw their bone weapons. But the drow halts them. Allow me to deal with this outsider, my brothers and sisters, he tells them. It’s been too long since my scythe was fed the blood of a tengu!

“‘Now hold on a minute, pal,’ I say Korvinox lifts his scythe, about to lop my head clean off my shoulders. ‘Let’s talk this over.’ In the middle of the black sky, lightning strikes, and finally rain starts to pour down into the woods. In only a couple of seconds, everybody in the graveyard is completely soaked with rain water.

“Korvinox swings his scythe downwards, and I’m certain I’m a dead man, so I close my eyes tight and wait for the final blow… but it never comes. I crack open my eyes. The black scythe clatters to the ground right beside me, and I hear this terrible laughter echoing out of the woods...

“EEH HEE HEE HEE HEE!

“I take a look around, surprised that my head’s still attached to my neck. All the cultists are screaming and runnin’ around like a swarm of angry wasps, and flooding into the graveyard is this pack of starvin’, mangy hyenas shrieking with laughter. The pack must’ve smelled the raw meat and come runnin’.

“One of the hyenas has got her jaws wrapped around Korvinox’s throat, diggin’ in her fangs. Blood’s gushing out of the drow’s throat. He’s trying to rip the hyena off with both hands, but she ain’t letting go anytime soon. Release me you filthy mutt! he growls through a mouthful of blood. The drow’s crazy grin is long gone, replaced with this evil scowl.

“Still roaring with laughter, the pack of hyenas jump onto the table and start eatin’ off everybody’s plates. The cultists bellow with rage, drawin’ their bows and openin’ fire on the pack. About ten of the hyenas get shot down by the arrows. The rest of the pack forget about the meat on the table, and instead they attack the cultists as they’re reloading their bows, tearin’ them all to shreds with their fangs and claws.

“The goliath screams in this high-pitched voice, throws down his cleaver, and runs off into the woods.

“So there I am, caught in the middle of all this chaos, watchin’ the drow fighting with the hyena chewing on his throat. Finally Korvinox rips the hyena off, swiftly snaps her neck, and tosses her limp body aside. His throat’s torn wide open. Blood’s pouring down the front of his black armor. But somehow, he’s still got plenty of fight left in him. Turning back towards me, he reaches down for his scythe on the ground... but he doesn’t find it.

“That’s ‘cause I’ve got his scythe. I snatched it off the ground while he was fightin’ with the rabid hyena.

“I take a wobbly swing at him with the scythe, and the black blade slices right through his armor and plunges straight into his chest. Korvinox stumbles back, his white eyes the size of goose eggs. Then he collapses to the ground with a surprised OOF! He tries to yank the scythe out of his chest, but it won’t budge. Blood pours out of his chest like a fountain.

“Korvinox grins up at me, and says in this raspy voice, That… was… very sneaky! But do you actually think… this petty wound…. is enough… to stop me? Then he pulls this healin’ potion out of his sleeve, pops off the cork, and puts it to his lips, about to take a sip.

“But I’m too fast for him. I snatch the potion out of his hand with my foot. ‘Nice try, pal,’ I say to him, stickin’ the potion into my pocket. ‘I think I’ll hold on to this.’ Korvinox’s grin vanishes, and he scowls up at me like a bloodthirsty demon. I’ll return for you, tengu, he hisses. When you least expect it, I will strike you down with the power of Lady Despair herself. When you… least… expect it...

“Then the drow goes completely still, layin’ in this huge puddle of blood. It looks like he’s finally croaked.

“Now I’m standin’ all alone in the graveyard, in the pourin’ down rain. The ground’s littered with the ripped up bodies of the cultists. A couple of ‘em got away into the woods, but the pack of laughin’ hyenas are chasing after them only a few paces behind.

“All alone in the graveyard… or so I thought. When I listen closely, I hear this weak, painful breathin’, and I realize the hyena with the snapped neck is still alive -but only barely. I stroll over to the dying hyena, and as thanks for tearin’ out Korvinox’s throat, I decide to pour the whole health potion into her mouth. After a second, her broken neck snaps back into place, and she jumps up to her feet.

“You helped me out, so I returned the favor,’ I tell the hyena. ‘Now we’re square.’ But the hyena starts snarlin’ at me.

I think she’s about to snap her jaws onto my throat. But then I realize that she ain’t snarlin’ at me, she’s snarlin’ at something behind me. I whirl around… and Korvinox’s body is gone. All that’s left of him is a set of bloody footprints leading away into the woods. The rain pours down harder and washes all the blood away. I guess I should’ve made sure the bastard was dead before I turned my back to him.

“I thought about goin’ after the guy. But I was still so doped up on poison that I’d probably end up just gettin’ myself lost out in the depths of the woods. So instead, I got the hell outta there while I’ve got the chance.

“After all that, I spend a few days out on the road, until eventually I c0me across this trading ship that’s anchored on the shore. I stowaway in the brig, and a couple days later I end up over in Koryn. I went back to my old beggin’ ways. Only these days, I ain’t travelin’ alone. Remember that hyena I gave the healing potion to? Well, she started followin’ me around for some reason, kind of like a guard dog. I don’t mind the company. I even ended up pickin’ a name out for her. I called her Scazzle.

“With all that cultist business settled, everythin’ went back to normal… that is, except for one thing.

“The thing is, I haven’t felt the same since that day out in the graveyard. Somethin’ inside me’s changed. My stomach’s always empty, and growling for food. But when I try to eat the normal stuff -you know, like bread, apples, things like that- I puke it out immediately. I just can’t stand the taste. There’s only one thing I can eat without puking these days…

“And I bet you can guess what it is.

“Ever since I ate at that cannibal feast, I’ve had this insane, unending hunger for human flesh. At first, I tried ignorin’ it. But then the hunger drove me insane. I knew I’d have to eat again sooner or later. But I figured goin’ out and murderin’ some random guy on the street every time I wanted a snack was too much work.

“So instead, I started robbin’ graves. It’s the perfect crime for somebody like me. It’s tough having to dig up the coffins, but it’s definitely worth the effort. Not only do I get my hands on jewelry -which I can sell to an appraiser later on- but I also get a free meal. It’s a win-win.

“The only problem is, the Zorendal Empire ain’t too fond of my eating habits.

“This is the thirteenth time I’ve been tossed behind bars. But you know what, pal? After I bust outta here this time, I think I’m gonna turn over a new leaf. I’m gonna try and lay low for a while, until the Empire ends up forgettin’ about me. I’ve been thinkin’ about hangin’ up the towel as a grave robber.

“So anyway, there it is.”

Notakar dragged on his crooked cigarette a final time, then flicked it away. “You wanted to hear my story, and now you have. Satisfied?” Silver Mane was silent for a long minute, stunned by the tengu’s story. Finally the pickpocket answered, “That is quite a tale, my friend. You’re lucky to have gotten out of that graveyard alive. But it would seem that your luck, along with mine, has run out. If you truly are an enemy of the Zorendal Empire as you say, I doubt they’ll even give you a trial. I don’t mean to crush your spirits, friend, but it wouldn’t surprise me if the Empire plans to send you straight to the gallows at first light tomorrow.”

Notakar Greyfeather chuckled to himself, “We’ll see about that.”

The celebrating of the jailers down the hall abruptly ceased. For a moment, all was silent. Then came a chorus of savage battle cries, and the clattering of blades being drawn hastily from their scabbards. There were a few piercing gunshots, and the echoing clash of a sword striking against a shield.

“It’s about time you showed up, Lekkunar,” Notakar muttered.

Grinning, the tengu stood from the straw bunk. The enchanted shackles tugged at his wrists, rapidly growing tighter. Extending one of his fingers, Notakar jammed his claw into the keyhole of one shackle, twisted it, and the shackle came free. He did the same with the other, freeing himself from the stone wall.

“What’s going on down there?” the half-elf guilty of burglary asked, peering down the hall at the jailers’ barracks. The chorus of battle cries soon changed to shrill howls of pain. The bearded jailer dressed in leather armor emerged from the doorway of the barracks, his quarterstaff clutched in his hands. He staggered forward, then collapsed face-first onto the dirt floor. A gleaming kukri was buried into the base of his neck.

“What’s the meaning of this?!” the battle-scarred orc roared.

In the doorway of the barracks appeared the shadow of a tall, slim man with hunched shoulders. He wore a frayed black coat, and a hat with a wide brim. His face was hidden within the darkness. Dropping to one knee, the stranger tore his bloody kukri from the jailer’s neck, then grasped the jailer by the collar of his armor. Then the stranger strode down the hall, dragging the jailer’s body behind him. He passed by each cell without sparing the inmate inside even a glance; his glowing eyes stared straight forward. As he passed, the orc glowered down at him.

The stranger halted before the cell of Notakar and Silver Mane. He turned on his heel, facing the both of them.

He removed his hat with a sigh, revealing a face covered with frosty white feathers, a curved beak, and a pair of keen, unblinking green eyes. Aside from the color of his feathers and eyes, the stranger looked exactly identical to Notakar. In a sharp, icy voice, the white tengu hissed, “I’m growing tired of always rushing to your rescue, brother.”

From a leather belt wrapped around his waist, the white tengu drew a gleaming revolver.

Swiftly, he jammed the pistol’s barrel into the cell’s keyhole and pulled the trigger with his clawed finger. There was a flash of black powder, a resounding gunshot, and the gates of the cell swung open with ease. Returning the smoking revolver to his belt, the stranger hissed, “This is the last time I spring you from jail. The next time you are arrested, you’ll be on your own. Hear me?”

“Loud and clear, brother,” said Notakar. “You’re a lifesaver, Lekkunar. And don’t worry, I’m gonna change my ways.” Scowling, Lekkunar hissed, “That’s the exact same thing you say every time you’re arrested.” The white tengu tossed the limp body of the bearded jailer at his brother’s feet. “If I were you, I’d make use of this man’s leather armor. He won’t be needing it anymore.”

“Well don’t mind if I do,” laughed Notakar, casting aside his ragged, purple cultist robes into the corner and donning the armor. As he did so, he grabbed the jailer’s blunt quarterstaff off the dirt floor and weighed it in his hands. He gave it a swing through the air. “While I’m at it, I might as well take this too, in case I gotta crack open somebody’s skull.”

“We've no time to waste, brother,” said Lekkunar darkly. The gunslinger fastened the plague-doctor mask back over his hooked beak, adjusting the goggles, disguising his avian features. "Let's get going, before any Zorendal soldiers turn up and happen to notice that all the jailers are dead. I've tethered two horses outside Aurelia's walls, so that we may make a hasty retreat once outside. We're not out of the woods yet, Notakar. This is the capital of the Zorendal Empire. To escape, we'll have to stick to the shadows and keep our heads down. Understand?"

“Alright, alright,” said Notakar nonchalantly. “Lead the way. I’m right behind you.”

Notakar Greyfeather turned to Silver Mane and said, “Looks like today’s your lucky day after all, pal.” The dumbfounded pickpocket followed after the brothers, unable to believe his own fortune. As the trio strode down the hall, the half-elf stared at Lekkunar with his cat-like eyes. “Any chance you could blow the locks off our cells as well?” he asked. The white tengu replied coldly, “I refuse to waste my bullets on an orc, a half-elf, and a kobold. You boys are on your own.”

Half an hour later, after slowly creeping their way down the dark, quiet alleyways of Aurelia, the three of them escaped the capital. Lekkunar led Notakar to a small grove, where two horses were tethered to a tree. Also waiting in the grove was Scazzle the hyena.

“Perhaps we shall meet again someday,” said Silver Mane, before setting off on foot. Then he muttered beneath his breath, “But I certainly hope not.” The pickpocket imagined himself chained to a table in a dark room, as Notakar Greyfeather loomed over him with a knife and fork clutched in his leathery, clawed hands. Shuddering at the thought, Silver Mane vanished into the night.

“Heed my warning, brother,” hissed Lekkunar as he mounted his horse. “I shall not come to your rescue again.”

“Like I said before,” Notakar told him, “I’m gonna clean up my act, and this time I mean it. I’m plannin’ to head down to Baronel, and see if I can find any work there. And even if I can’t find any jobs to do, at least I’ll be able to wet my whistle over at the tavern. It’s been too long since I had a drink. But I’ll have to make some kind of disguise, so the Empire doesn’t recognize me…”

The tengu thought it over for a moment, then said, “Maybe I’ll dye my feathers black, with some ink or something, and start wearin’ a cloak and hat. Not the best disguise, but it’s better than nothing at all. I’ll  have to ditch the name Notakar too, and come up with another fake name. Hmmm.” He thought for a moment longer, then went on, “Maybe somethin’ along the lines of Kawcrookitar. Yeah, that’s a good enough name as any.”

He crawled into his horse’s saddle. “Stay out of trouble, brother,” said Lekkunar. Exchanging a final nod with each other, the two parted ways. Spurring his steed onwards, Kawcrookitar raced off towards the town of Baronel, as Scazzle ran beside him. The tengu had no idea of the perilous challenges he would face in the days to come, alongside his soon-to-be allies Skimp the rogue, James Hurley the monk, Aigee Gorg the bard, Thgil the wolf, and Bongo the druid...

Nor did he know that he was currently being magically scried by Master Korvinox, one of Urgathoa’s most devoted followers. Korvonix watched as the tengu rode off towards Baronel, along with the hyena that’d torn open his throat. The drow cackled with insane laughter as he plotted his vengeance.

Kawcrookitar had not seen the last of Master Korvinox.

...Nor had he seen the last of Urgathoa herself.

## Epilogue

Following the Ishandryn Empire's victory over the Zorendal, the streets of the devastated Aurelia were strewn with the twisted, mangled, nearly unrecognizable bodies of both Ishandryn and Zorendal soldiers. Unceremoniously, the bodies of the Zorendal soldiers were thrown onto a burning pire, for their would be no honored buriel or resting place for them.