The Raven Society

Chapter I

Raven swung open the doors of the Golden Goblet, a small tavern in the big city of Cragshire, black cloak swishing as she walked to the decades-old wooden bar. Drunk men smelling of old ale laughed and hooted around her, oblivious to her presence. Weaponry clinking, Raven sat on a bar stool in a humph and slapped down a silver coin.

"Raven, my dear! It's been a awhile since I've seen you here," bellowed Godwin, the owner of the tavern. Raven looked up and gave him a crooked smile. "I've been busy," she said, and he gave a hearty laugh as he set down a tall glass of ale for her. Raven took a big swig and set the heavy glass down, tracing shapes in the frosty glass with her thumb. She was tired, unbelievably tired, and desperately needed the drink. Godwin returned, cheeks red with effort.

"So how've you been, birdie?" he asked, setting his elbows on the table. When Raven didn't answer, his head tilted to the side just a smudge, and he gave her a funny, father-like look. "Take care of yourself, Raven," he said, and he left to pour more drinks for his customers. Godwin has been a father to Raven as long as she could remember. He was an old friend of her father's until the Black Death had swept the nation, killing not only her parents but leaving her with an ugly scar running down her left cheek. A scar that marked her survival of the very same plague.

Raven finished her ale and stood up quickly from her seat. She surveyed the room. She looked anything other than ordinary. Protruding from her back were her twin swords, hilts coated in black leather with strips of shining silver peaking through. And of course, the scar on her face forever marking her as a mercato, a brand that people gave those who had survived the plague. Whenever people saw it, they shied away in fright, as if the disease still poisoned her veins. But it was hard to taper the lingering fright and the memory of destruction that the plague had caused.

Raven pushed her way outside, relieved to feel the cold wind that greeted her, so different in contrast from the stuffy warm air inside the tavern. Her cloak, fastened with a silver clasp at her neck, swayed as she walked swiftly across the cobblestones towards home. Other, less fortunate mercatos lined the streets, begging for food and money.

Finally, Raven reached home, and picked up the mail that was left at the end of the walk. Raven shuffled through the letters as she walked and jiggled the front door open. Even though Raven was only sixteen, she had forged papers making her eighteen, or old enough to have the property signed under her name. She glanced at the papers in her hand, and a letter marked 'EVICTION NOTICE' stood out on top. Money was incredibly tight, but she refused to ask Godwin for help. He had done so much for her and her family when her parents had died, and she knew that bartending wasn't exactly a high paying job either.

As she undid the silver clasp on her black velvet cloak, she shrugged off the black-and-white leather scabbards that held her swords. Together, they were named notte ed edera, or 'dark and ivy.' A gift from her father. The cloak was a birthday gift from her mother, which she had received one year after she was given notte ed edera. She glanced at the mirror that hung in the foyer. With her jet hair pulled back in a loose braid, her scar was on full display and her slate grey eyes looked back at her. They were always soft, despite their color.

A swirl of emotions played at her fingertips, itching to be released, to be set free in some way. Pulling the tie out of her hair, she rain her fingers through the oily strands and pulled off the black body suit that she wore when she went out. Strapped to her thighs and hips were an assortment of other daggers -- she never went anywhere without her blades. Her father was a great swordsman, and taught her everything she knew.

Stepping into the kitchen in just her undergarments, Raven boiled a pot of water and made herself a cupful of hot green tea. She sipped at it absently, sitting at the worn wooden kitchen table. Hands wrapped tightly around the mug in an attempt the keep them warm, Raven spent yet another night, utterly sleepless, alone with the deep and dark thoughts of her mind.