I've barely made up my mind about the odd locket when a strong breeze fills my pinions. Some force, it seems, is pleased at my lack of avarice, and I let the winds carry me Southeast.
Whatever breath adds speed to my flight seems quickly fickle; on the Eastern shore of the Inner Sea, the new dawn has spread a contagion of mist. My clear eyelids keep my vision clear of the cloying dew. Just enough sunlight pierces through the mist to keep me from losing my heading.
I breathe a sigh of relief upon finding myself in clear skies once more. Below me, I spy a blue jay, a distant cousin, carrying something within its claws. I hail them with a croak before gentle lowering myself to their altitude. As I become level with them, I can make out more of the object's appearance: a strange, flat circle of metal, emblazoned with the human rune that represents my name, the S. I remember seeing my humans use such devices to cast their messages onto paper with liquid shadow.
Surely, the appearance of such a sigil must be providence. The blue jay bows its head in deference, but I can see a jealous glint in its eyes. I speak quickly and quietly, in the mother tongue of all corvids. I see her head twitch as she considers my story. I'm convinced she will flee without response, until I can see her studying my rings. Even to the uninitiated, the binding I cast upon them is faintly visible. With a wish for safe winds, she rolls mid-flight, and tosses the "S" key to me. It nearly slips from my grasp as I grab it with my damaged claw.
I spend the next few miles alone, a single dark blot in an otherwise blue sky. I know I am drawing near to the Ghost Town. The land beneath me has the touch of wither upon it, and all of the soilbound going about their lives are gaunt, sickly. My crop rises at the thought of eating any of the tainted offerings this land provides.
Wheeling slowly nearby I spot a conspiracy of my fellows. The magic I can see on them is slow, and primal; no initiates are amongst this flock. I know enough to intuit their stageplay movements are precise steps in a healing ritual. On the ground beneath them lies a wounded doe, heavy with her young. A broken arrow is lodged in her thigh, and her breathing is clearly labored. The weight of the rings upon my ankle seems momentarily heavier, so I add myself to their performance.
Their distrust is immediately apparent. Undeterred, I let the ancient rhymes begin to flow from my beak. My spells act as a smithy's hammer, beating in time to hone their untempered spell. With every syllable, the rings feel lighter. I find myself so lost in the effort that it takes me a few moments to realize I now sing alone.
With a clatter, the arrow falls to the marshland, & the doe weakly pushes herself to her feet. She will not die in the blighted land, at least, not this day. Before I can react, the conspiracy begins to encircle me, a feathered whirlwind peering into my soul. If they decide to make a move on me, there is little I can do in defense. Their bodies blur into one mass of black shrouding me from the caress of the sun.
I dip my head in expectation of the first blow, and do not open them again until I hear departing wingbeats. I see, glinting in the space vacated by the doe, a small glass bottle of luminous spider venom. If my oncoming meeting were with a creature of flesh and bone, I would gladly collect this valuable tool. As things stand, I can do nothing more than mentally mark its location, in the hopes I can search for it again.
The charred remains of the Ghost Town have become visible before me. A dim field of malice encircles the ruins, more felt than seen. I steel myself to breach the barrier, when a small cry reaches my ears from behind. A young jackdaw, his wings pumping quickly, falls into place at my side.
It seems the wild ravens have spoken of my quest to their kin. This jackdaw, who introduces himself as Gristle, begs leave to lend me aid. He is younger than I, but not by much. Perhaps I can teach him by example the lessons I had to learn through blood. My conscience protests, but my heart is too gladdened to have company in this dismal place to pay much heed. I tell him to follow my slipstream, and we begin to explore the settlement's remains.
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Prompt 5: A tailwind gives you haste. Advance immediately to any adjacent hex.
Prompt 6: You fly into low cloud or mist. Make a navigation check. On a failure you become lost and must take another turn in the current hex.
Prompt 7: Another bird joins you in flight. They are carrying [a typewriter key: a letter of your choice]. You can persuade them to give it to you with a successful befriend check. Alternatively, fight them for it.
Prompt 8: A conspiracy of ravens are performing an airborne healing ritual. Join them and make a dance or sing check. If you succeed, you can remove one injury tick and they will gift you with [a miniature vial of spider venom. Use this in place of an attack to automatically inflict one injury on a creature (three uses).]
Prompt 9: You meet a jackdaw who offers to accompany you and help you at your next location. In the current and next hex you visit, make all checks with authority. They will leave you after you leave the next location.
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