Fifth Edition Friday
- 20 year old Kenku
- 105 lbs
- Covered in inky black feathers
- Black eyes and beak
- Twitchy, paranoid, demeanor
- Wears a hooded, nondescript robe, adorned with assorted charms made of small bones
- Nearly inseparable from a pale white raven that perches upon his shoulder
Before the death of Yalujath Esor, Dread-Mage of the Wintercrest Forrest, Feathered King, and Speaker of Gods (all self-proclaimed titles), to describe Kazack was to describe any Kenku of the Wintercrest Murder. He kept his head down. He followed orders. He spent his evenings huddled with friends and family, chittering, and repeating folk stories told identically by Kenku across more generations than anyone could count; stories of blue skies, homes among the clouds, of Gods and betrayals, of The Raven Queen and lifted curses. He toiled in the mud and undergrowth, never once considering any other way of life might exist – not really anyway – especially not for people like them. Despite the abuse, the inhumane conditions, the expected and consistent violence, Kazack gave no more thought to leaving than any other Kenku. The Kenku are tools of the powerful, of great mages like the Half-Ork Esor, no more, no less.
It wasn’t until the group of adventurers from Post #132, lead by Eilein Al’en, showed up that things changed. It wasn’t the battle that changed them, not the Kenku who threw themselves against their blades at the behest of Esor, nor any number of the Mage’s spells crackling overhead. It was something much more subtle, yet much more powerful: a spark of creativity.
The feeling was entirely alien to Kazack and as he wondered if he might be the first Kenku to feel such a thing in millennia, he decided to give himself over to the experience. When Kazack’s dagger sunk into the back of Esor, it was difficult to determine which of the two of them was more surprised. It hadn’t been enough to kill him, of course, but it was enough to provide Al’en an opening, which she seized with unyielding and deadly grace.
After Esor’s head hit the ground, there was no more battle – only confusion. The remaining Kenku fled, except for Kazack who stood paralyzed. Terrified. Elated. And yet, somewhere deep in his soul he felt something else too: reassurance. A feeling of comfort and love like he had never known. As if he had done something right and somewhere a guardian angel was very pleased.
Provably, however, his savior was certainly pleased. Kazack sensed an openness and kindness in Al’en that he hadn’t known pink-skins were capable of. When she bid him to return with her and her companions, he went. Not because he was told to, but because he wanted to. He felt his angel bless this action as well.
All of these feelings remained when the Pale Raven showed up the next morning. They remained when magic began to awake in him, and with it a sense of confidence. He never questioned their arrival. He only felt that it was right and he knew that some stories are true; stories of betrayals, of Ravens, and just maybe, of redemption.