242: Raven and Crow (Patreon)

<It’s been nice, having you around rather than gallivanting in one Dungeon or another,” Trixie said, hovering near Roland’s head.

Their next meeting wasn’t in his office in Salisbury, which was still the informal capital of the Refuge, although Roland suspected that would be changing soon. Hartford or New Haven were more centrally placed and had more connections. He would have to pick one of those cities and shift his flag there, so to speak.

It kind of sucked. He’d enjoyed the few days he’d stayed at Gorman’s manor, although that was mostly the company.

Said company was holding his hand as they strolled through the woods a couple of miles away from the Salisbury Safe Zone. Dahlia was still in her usual black garb, but she had added a few purple flowers in her hair, a splash of color in her midnight underground palette. She was in a good mood.

“You really think we can get the Necropolis after all?”

“Maybe. It’s probably going to be a quest thing.”

<The Morrigan and the Aisar are not exactly close,> Trixie said. <But I suspect they are part of a coalition of gods or even entire pantheons that have taken a friendly interest in you. Just keep in mind that even friends will be serving their own interests when helping you.>

“Doesn’t sound very friendly,” Roland said.

“Kill?” Bloodykee asked, rubbing his furry flank against Roland’s leg.

“Nobody is killing anybody today,” he told the MiniFiend firmly. “Just a meeting in a meadow under the moonlight.”

“Yeah, nobody ever got killed wandering in the woods at night,” Dahlia commented.

<We are safe. The emissary just wanted to avoid disturbing the community.>

Dahlia and Roland nodded. Some entities had auras too powerful for mere mortals – and most Ascended even at E-Grade – to withstand. They had been warned, and they were ready.

This will be interesting, Raven said. And I promise I will be on my best behavior.

Roland didn’t ask what he meant. Raven was a lot more than a familiar; he’d known that even before he summoned the bird, an event that remained memorable even after all the weirdness that followed.

His faithful companion was fond of name-dropping gods and mythological beings. Dahlia was convinced he was the Raven, the Native American great spirit. Roland suspected he was more than that. The Eater of Endings, with a close relationship to the Grim Reaper.

 As they approached the clearing marked on their minimap, Roland picked up the Avatar’s aura. The woman wasn’t even physically present; her Grade was too high for the world. What waited for them – in a meadow outside the ruined remains of a large house that hadn’t survived Integration – was a spirit projection with a fraction of the power of the original.

The Avatar was also suppressing her aura, tucking it in closely. Otherwise, the five-mile distance from the town wouldn’t have been enough. Roland’s estimate was that she could blanket Salisbury with her presence and hurt everyone in it.

Un-inducted humans would have been killed instantly, although there were none left in Salisbury. Most F-Grades would be knocked out, with some of the weaker ones dying or falling into hours-long comas. And that was if she wasn’t trying to kill everyone. If she tried, Roland and maybe a dozen other elites might survive; everyone else would be SOL.

Their visitor was a mystical version of a suitcase nuke.

Don’t worry, Raven told him. To be allowed to send a projection, she had to swear strong oaths not to bring harm to anyone. Not even deities can break such oaths, freely given under the eye of the System.

Roland shrugged, not entirely convinced. People could and did find ways around oaths. But trusting nobody was almost as bad as trusting everybody.

The presence grew heavier as they approached, following the private road the previous owner had set up. Weeds and shrubs were already growing on it. In a few weeks, or even days, the road, the remains of the house and the meadow would be swallowed by the forest. Things grew fast in Mana-rich environments.

Greetings, Roland Webb, the Avatar said as they reached the clearing.

Trixie had described the woman. Tall, pale and black-haired, wearing a black dress with scarlet symbols embroidered on it and a cloak that dripped with what Roland’s nose told him was fresh blood. A black bird was on her shoulder – a crow, probably, because Roland could tell some differences between it and Raven. Smaller, and its beak straighter.

“Good evening,” Roland said.

“Merry meet and blessed be,” Dahlia said.

And merry part and merry meet again, Dahlia, Daughter of Marsha, favored of Hecate, the Avatar said. It is good to see you both and glad we are that you have chosen us as one of your Sponsors.

“It seemed like the right thing to do,” Roland told her. “I suppose this meeting makes it official.”

It does. And we wanted to take a closer look at you, one who carries the blood of the Grim Reaper as well as the Anunnaki. Such things are legends among the followers of the Path of the Deity.

“Does that change anything between us?” Roland asked.

He was still working out what his second Bloodline meant. He really needed a day or two in deep meditation as he examined his inner self, but after defeating the Dullahan his time had been taken up doing more important things. Or maybe not more important, just urgent. Making sure New London Territory was integrated peacefully into the Refuge. Paying visits to other Zones and Territories who needed convincing. Rebuilding ruined towns.

The grace period they’d earned would be up soon, and there would be a new crisis. After this meeting, he would hole up in a time-compressed Dungeon and take a good long look at himself.

It causes some trepidation among some, the Avatar of the Morrigan admitted. The Anunnaki are from outside the System in ways not even Primals are. Whenever they touch the Agglomeration, upheaval and disaster follow.

I guess fifth-dimensional super-angels would have a way of upsetting the proverbial applecart, Roland thought.

But the consensus remains. The deities who have chosen me as their agent still wish to assist in your Ascension. I will leave you a guide and teacher, to help you in ways your System Guide and your boon companion cannot.

The crow looked at Roland and spoke. I would be honored to assist you, Roland Webb, if you would have me.

Oh, good, now there’ll be two of them. He wasn’t really annoyed, though. Raven had saved his life too many times to count.

“What do you say, Raven, my boon companion?” he asked.

Heh. What are you called, child? Raven said, turning to the other bird.

I am Crow. And far from a child. I feasted on the eyes of the Fomori as their bodies rolled amidst the waves on the beaches of Eriu.

Raven croaked in amusement. I suppose Eriu’s wars are no longer considered recent news. But I suggest you find a sense of humor if you plan to keep us company. We are short on deference and high on mockery.

“Guys, let’s not get into dick-measuring contests,” Dahlia said.

I wouldn’t dare participate in such things, being that I am female, Crow said, and cawed her laughter.

“I think she’ll fit right in,” Dahlia told Roland.

“Welcome to the team,” he said, hoping this wasn’t a mistake.

Choosing Sponsors had been a pain in the ass. In the end, he picked one of Trixie’s three choices and added the Morrigan as the second, leaving a slot open. Trixie had recommended the Satori Zaibatsu and the Immortal Guild, leaving the option to accept the Danse Macabre as a third if negotiations with the organization’s representative went well.

Roland had reluctantly accepted the Satori Zaibatsu. The corporation had also sponsored the Chapel, so in a way he was already in bed with it. And supposedly they were the ones who put Marcus Yang in Roland’s sights. A nice bonus, except that it had almost gotten Roland killed. Great rewards from greater risks seemed to be the way everyone played in the System Agglomeration. It was getting hard to take it personally.

If one of those die rolls got him killed, he would take it personally, of course.

He would speak to the Danse Macabre rep when he or she showed up, but for now two Sponsors felt like more than enough.

Crow landed on Roland’s left shoulder, giving him one bird on each.

“All you need is an eyepatch and we can start calling you Roland the Wanderer.”

Raven and Crow both laughed at that. Roland didn’t get it, but figured it was some kind of inside joke about Odin.

May Crow serve you as well as she has us. And before I depart, I have some news you need to hear.

Of course, more bad news.

The great city to your west has fallen to a particularly sinister Crossworld Faction. How they managed to sink its hooks into this world eludes us, but sink them they have. They are called the Cult of Perdition.

“They sound nice.”

All surviving Exemplars in the city, as well as two Nemesis, now serve the Cult, although most of them probably do not do so knowingly. Beware of them, because they will soon come into conflict with your Territory.

“I guess that tells me what we’re going to be tackling next.”

The two birds on his shoulders exchanged caws and croaks. Carrion birds loved their wars.