Galling, Gruelling Eternity

Galling, Gruelling Eternity | The Red Raven Part 5

Cold, stiff, skeletal . . .

“How long do you suppose he’s been dead?” the woman asked. She refrained from nudging the body with her boot.

“It’s hard to say just by looking,” the other man replied. “He’s been here for weeks, or months. We’ll have to get him back to the laboratory for further analysis.” He scratched his beard.

“It looks like he’s been bitten,” she motioned to the neck of the corpse. “Everything about this case screams that it’s been staged. Do you suppose that this is a ritualistic murder?”

“Yes,” the man replied without so much as a hint of hesitation. “I know this man.”

“He’s the thief, then?”

The professor–Alec A. Chamberlain–sighed. “Yes.” It was always the thief. He had seen DeCorvi dead so many times that he had become accustomed to it; the first few times he had dreaded the outcome–it was always the same–until he stopped thinking about it. Alec was not heartless. No, far from it. Pragmatic? Yes. So far his theory had been proven true.

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Something Else, But What?

Something Else, But What? | The Red Raven, Part 3

Joseph DeCorvi . . . 

Was how how the letter began. When Joseph had found it tucked neatly into his back pocket a month ago he had been surprised, to say the least. Upon reading it, it had left him in a cold sweat.

I have heard that you are the right man for this particular job, or rather, for a job of this calibre. 

At the time he had been staying at a little inn near the shores of Waridge, an island located right on the border between Cannard and Oursar. Waridge profited from the two countries in trade, tourism, and as an official border crossing (of which only two ferrying companies legally benefited from). Another thing the island profited from was numbers. Its population was comparable to that of Tarano, comprising of many cultural groups.

We sketched a map! Now you can see into the future! Wait . . .

We sketched a map! Now you can see into the future! Wait . . .

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The Thief, Mr. DeCorvi

The Thief, Mr. DeCorvi

The Red Raven, Part 2

The Red Raven . . . What was it? Where had it come from?

The man wondered as he hunkered down into the bush.

It was an idea–a symbol–an ancient being. In other words, a very good myth. Whatever any of it meant . . . He laughed to himself, a bit on edge.

The Red Raven, it was said, was the cause of dreams, the true king of the dream world. Day or night, it cast out its seeds, good or bad, to be had by the dreamer. Rich or poor, woman or man, the Red Raven cared not. The being was a chaotic agent, and therefore did not care what it did, without being good nor evil. According to many stories, the sovereign had reigned supreme, until its downfall, when it lost its crown . . . Continue reading

The Red Raven, Part I

The Red Raven, Part I

Sylvan Spider God

Like a wheel, spinning, spinning, spinning–a maddening rhythm that increases in speed–the god-creature spins and spins away, all eight of its hands a silver shimmer in the air.

Like a nightmare-creature, it sits in its golden chair. A chair made from gilded bones, which the spider god looks at fondly from time to time. The creature in question is itself a mystery: why does it spin, and who does it spin for? It is both a horror and a delight to behold; gold and silver, with black bands on all eight of it’s arms, hands, and fingers, which–in just the right light–are translucent, revealing an intricate network of veins, muscles, and sinew . . . All of which sparkle, due to the star stuff from which the god-creature was made. Continue reading