The Legacy of Dirty Birds

The Ceremony and an Appointment

Idris Opaling was the three hundred and twenty-first High Welf to look after the Colliste Colony. This morning, she breathed in tainted air from the balcony in the tower in which she lived. She was not a ruler, but didn't object when tongues slipped. She was the humans might call a priest, cleric, perhaps an ambassador, but her job was much more important than that.

She sighed and went back inside, readjusting her dark hair up and out of the way, pulling on two gloves made of hide. The air was worse inside, it rank of dead things and preservation liquid. It was a workroom, there was a wide wooden table that held a myriad of things. The most obvious was a humanoid body, naked, pale, with the same dark raven hair Idris had, and long pointed ears. Idris disconnected a series of tubes from the bodies neck and wrist, and corked the jug of blood it had dripped into. It was time to get going.

The jug she slung around her waist, then donned a heavy pack and the dark concealing Cloak of Mourning. When they saw her in the street, the other welves fell silent, bowed, or disappeared from sight entirely. Her bladed staff fell against the smooth cobblestone with every step. It was a heavy burden, but it was a responsibility she'd sworn to uphold. She wanted this.

It was a long, arduous walk to Woden's Circle. By the time Idris arrived, the sun was crawling like a dog back to the horizon. The stars would show their faces soon. The warm breeze began to pick up. Idris let her pack fall, and drew the Cloak of Mourning tighter around her thin frame. This time was different. This time she'd let the blood siphon naturally over the course of a month. What a hard month it was for her people, but if this time was successful, then Idris would be the first High Welf in thousands of years to live curseless. She's be revered as a god for twice that length.

The thought brough new life to her bones, and she began the spell in the circle within the sleeping curled, petrified body of the dragon. A simple horse-hair paintbrush was all it took, but her blood circle took time. The welven runes had to be perfect each time. Old pain laced up her back when she stood, she hissed and grasped at it. Her sweating, shaking palm pressed against the stone dragon's face. The entire statue was stained a dull brown from centuries of blood washes, back when they did that sort of thing. She stared into Woden's closed eyes.

"Watch and weep, you worm bastard." She whispered under her breath with a grimace.

There she was, posture regained, standing in the center with her long fingers raised to the sun. As she recited the spell, she allowed herself to imagine, just this once, what I would be like to kill the curse, to have fire in one hand and the wind in the other. It would be nice.

Nothing changed when her arms fell to her side. She recked the spell, as she always did, nothing out of order. Then sighed and packed her things. The walk back to her tower was long and arduous, but Idris did it every time. She wanted this.

Candle light flickered against her walls as she set up the tubes to continue to drip whatever blood was left from the body. Then took the clips out of her hair, it fell down to her waist. Another day, another failed guess, but it wouldn't stop her. She'd figure it out eventually.

There was a letter on the desk in her bedroom detailing the date for another visit to the Black Hunt's Campus, a trip she always looked forward to and dreaded at the same time. Her traveling pack was still empty. A massive white bird was perched nearby, with his head tucked under a wing. Idris addressed him directly as she moved to pick up the pack.

"Well Pax, looks like it's time to drop in on our friends in Colliste."

The bird shuffled and looked up at her, the notion seemed to tire him.

"I know, but it will be humbling if nothing else. It's not every day I get to eat Colliste's finest bog-boiled-potatoes."

The bird was still unamused, and instead of responding let out a shrill call. Idris dropped the back and walked down the stairs once again, at her front door there was another welf about to ring the bell. She smiled at the sight him; she loved the startled look on his face.

He bowed deeply, "High Welf Opaling, I bring news." In his hands was a letter.

"What's this?" She took it, it was plain, even dirty, and already opened. They weren't intercepting peasant letters now, were they? She had so many other things to do.

"You may wish to read it."

When she slid the paper from its enclosure, she spotted a stamp, a simple silhouette of a crow, but it sent chills down her spine. The print itself was welven, but it was sloppy, child's scratch. It was intelligible as well, more creases formed on Idris's forehead.

"A coded message between deadwings, I believe. I found it in the possession of a Colliste Mail Carrier, heading into the outskirts. I'd like your permission to work on decoding it, madame."

Idris's eyes narrowed, "I want to know what this says when I get back from the Hunt."

He nodded, and she closed the door in his face. Her skin boiled, but a deep breath re-centered her immediately. She had to remember her purpose, her destiny. At the core of everything she did was the love of her welven people. It was the sweet beckoning of enamor and glamour that kept her on her path.

Oh, how she would shine.