#about cuervo

[cordaxmerc]

no one can hide against the mighty no one can protect from my hunger my eyes are not my own my beak is consecrated to rotting flesh my being belongs to seers and carrion this is a caw rising from my guts

[cordaxmerc]

[see, i was born into a family of great lineage, putrid abolengo, gilded family books. but i was not quite born out of my mother. my father was (is?) a great soldier. the little maid from Azlan was a war prize. her copper red hair, her dark skin, eyes dark like pools of tar. my mother, that caged panther, that girl who bore me into the world and perhaps loved me from afar.

unlike most stories of similar origin, my father did love me, too. alonso, is too, his name. my older brother, regino, wore his mother's name instead. My brother, tall and pale and handsome, dark haired, like a pale ox, some sort of bull, his strong brow and his big hands. my brother picking me up to teach me to ride horses. father took us hunting. but a half-bred child, a soiled mongrel, cannot quite take up knighthood. no, as per my blood, half righteous and half a wild beast from recently conquered lands, half prince and half slave, either learning all about philosophy, politics, rules and rituals or told i was too brutish to understand it all, it was simply not allowed for me to take titles, lands, gold. so i was to be a cleric. a cleric. a gods damned fucking cleric, can you imagine? no, absolutely not. i had already sieged a castle with my father and brother, taken to block roads to enemy cities with my cousins, enjoyed the plundering and the reaping of war. and then i was supposed to wear black instead of red and silver and to educate myself on divine law? i laughed. i took up my horse, my savings and my weapons, and i set off to find others like me. first it was five, all friends, then it was twenty, sixty, two hundred, more. it was good to invest in good weapons. it was good to invest in cannons. i love cannons more than i love any gods. i love artillery! i love knives. we were known for our brutality. push of pikes? no problem. the hopeless first body held the line and, from behind, armed with swords, navajas and shields, the cuchilleros would come out screaming and devastating lines with the closeness of our blades. our name was to be known. The sixth Merindal company, a bunch of bloodied young men from Merindal and its surroundings. No worship but war. No worship but gold. during the winter we were city guards for Balchandar, and trained the local militia. during the summer, we reaped riches and corpses. ... i haven't told anyone this. are you listening? listen well. when i was 8 years old, i whispered to a crow: "make me a lord of war" and he whispered back, "my lord, do you wish to live forever?" i promised to abandon the gods as long as it let me wage war. i think it ate my heart. ... see, i was born into a life of great carnage. great riches. whores, gold, silk. brocade, new guns, gunpowder. colorful tents. war, war, war, war, war. i think my mom whispered something when i was born. i was born with a bad moon in my eyes, you see. not quite entirely boy, not quite entirely girl, not quite entirely fair-skinned, not quite entirely a pureblooded warhound from Azlan, not quite anything, fully. not quite alive, not quite dead. not quite good. entirely bad. see, i was born to die, and i died to be born. something akin to a phoenix. just made out of blood.]

[cordaxmerc]

''He paid for what?!'' ''Well, I was aware Josaf had a deep grudge with the Gurlanes, but I didn't know he would...'' ''Hire a mercenary! He hired a mercenary! The little bastard had Baron Gurlán killed and strung up!'' ''Well, he didn't get his hands dirty, at least. He hasn't spoken about it officially. But he did seem extremely pleased after the fact.'' ''That little Torquemada bastard is a demon. How much do you think Josaf paid him?'' ''Enough to deal with the consequences of killing a Baron and taking over his state, that's for sure. But knowing Alonso, he probably did it for fun. I've heard he sent Josaf the eldest son's teeth.'' ''These young noblemen are too god damn difficult, too brutal, too cruel-'' ''What can you say? Josaf was just the one who got the idea, Alonso was the one who did it. And Josaf himself had many backers on his ideas of taking down the old Gurlán and his sons. I'm not saying the Baron had it coming, but-'' ''It's horrible!'' ''It's noble business. And it gets bloody. Josaf just has very good... friends, I suppose.'' ''Those damn Torquemadas- demons! All of them!''

[cordaxmerc]

["It's the hour of the wolf. Are you still awake, sir?"

Ciro looked over at the captain. Indeed, he was still sat up at the bed, staring at nothing. The captain's irises went from staring ahead to looking at Ciro, doing a little unnerving movement. As if a statue's eyes moved on their own. The gaze remained fixed on the guard for a moment, before returning to their lost staring at the wall of the tent.

"Too many thoughts. I cannot sleep."

Ciro quietly took a seat -his seat, as for some reason he was favored by the captain- and put his hands over his knees, looking over at the almost haunted man in front of him. If one did not know him, he looked like a sick boy with a camisa too big for him, but Ciro knew his captain quite well, and had finally noticed the aging and the stress carving the little head into something misshapen and offputting. He felt a slight pang of nervousness when he noticed the captain's eyes staring at him again, now the head slowly turning to face him.

"The night watch reports nothing, sir. The hounds have been calm all night, as well.''

"Good."

"...What I'm saying is- you can sleep fine, sir. We'll be awake and wary."

"Oh, I'm not worried about an ambush tonight. I'm not worried. I'm just _thinking._"

Ciro was, in a way, the captain's own private confessor. The captain hated the idea of a chaplain in his ranks. He personally asked all men their beliefs. If anyone was slightly too fond of the idea of the Three Heads, or wore any sort of pilgrim's badge, they were discarded. Sometimes worse, in the case of prisoners. Ciro had been a flagellant as a boy, but guilt was easier to deal with than the desperation of hunger. Still, he found it heavy to be the captain's only listener. Being a favorite allowed him some privileges, but this was certainly a task meant for someone with a bit more brain. Or so he thought. The captain didn't care. Ciro just nodded and mumbled the memorized phrase,

"Of what, captain?"

"I want to burn the Capital down."

Ciro blinked. The captain kept going- like an avalanche.

"It's been a dream since I was a boy. I want to siege and destroy the Capital. I want to behead the Emperor in the main plaza. I want to see my flags wave over the Red Palace."

The captain lifted up his hands, as if to seize the dream. "I want a magnificent army. I want a thousand bombardas laying waste to the inner walls of the Capital. I want the streets to run red. Have you heard of the Siege of Vernitz? Every single Holtzisch soldier, destroyed. I want the Imperial Army broken and begging for mercy. I want that bastard Severino to plead for mercy."

"...Why?"

The captain shrugged.

"I just want it. "

and once again, he kept going. "It's impossible right now. My beloveds, you all, you're useful men. But we couldn't take over the Capital as we are, right now. We have destroyed many things, but we do not have what it takes to destroy the Imperial Army, currently."

Ciro watched as the captain laid down again, covering himself with the red velvet blanket, hugging one of his five pillows.

"Will you be there with me when I do it, Ciro?"

The guard was taken aback. He fidgeted with his belts. A single nod was sure to keep the captain happy, so that's what he did.

"Good. Don't die til then."

Then the captain rolled over and went quiet.

Ciro knew, in his heart, they were all going to die if they even tried.

He simply watched as the captain slept and hoped he'd forget by tomorrow. The night passed by quietly.]

[cordaxmerc]

[''The Monseñor's son went to war? Alonso?'' ''Indeed. Seems like he took after his brother.'' ''He was looking towards becoming a cleric like his father, was he not? That boy is too shy for war and its business. What is he even doing out there, playing soldier?'' ''He joined his brother's company. Seems like he must've learned something. Unfortunately.'' ''Unfortunately?'' ''His brother may be a good strategist, but it turns out the little lord is... particular. He knows what to say. He became his brother's recruitment officer. Have you not heard about what they did in Flecha?'' ''Huh?'' ''A skirmish. An old dispute between the Torquemadas and the Cárceres that the brothers used as an excuse to take over the north side of Flecha. At his little brother's request, Regino...'' ''Regino what?'' ''The Cárceres' soldiers were hung around the limits of Flecha. The little one sent a bag of teeth to Lord Preciado, alongside a letter. And a beheaded dog.'' ''Gods- what? And Regino just let him do that?'' ''Indeed. And now he granted him his own little unit. Regino was already a warmonger, but Alonso seems to be... cruel. Strange.'' ''...I did know about the incidents with the servants, but-'' ''Here's to hoping they do not bring us too much trouble.'' ''May the Gods and all the war saints hear you. I think there's a bad breeze coming.'']

[foca-and-gato]

i'm not sure what to do. they're all so nice to me. they offer to help me with no second thoughts. or a lot of second thoughts, but still… offer it. unlike me, they're not dumb. i feel nauseous… it's like i'm deceiving them somehow.