Ol' Flint the Crow

Another Woeful Adventure

The trio awaited a reply for what felt like a life age. Flint's thick talons nervously tapped on the table, making deep scratch marks that would be difficult for Miss Bleak to have repaired.

Mumbling curses as she busily cleaned up her disorderly tavern, the bar maid could only hope that Princess Tabitha would be merciful and not burn her beloved home to the ground. Bleak grabbed a broomstick and angrily swept the messy floor, kicking up a cloud of dust and woodchips.

Meanwhile, Samuel spent these tense moments focused on the journal. He kneaded his hands together and remained absolutely silent, which was quite unusual for him.

With his patience running thin, the discouraged crow flapped his stiff wings causing a mug of ale to spill over the side of the slashed up table. His one good eye narrowed making him look even more fierce and dangerous.

"Enough!" Squawked the bird as he plunged to the floor and kicked the fallen ale mug at the dead noble's stiff body. "I can't wait any longer! It didn't work! She knows it's a trick."

Turing to the bartender, Flint said, "Miss Bleak, the minstrel and I are leaving. I'm sorry that I cannot repay you for all the trouble I caused, but what I can promise you is to not let that royal pain in the ass destroy anything else that you hold dear!"

"I'm already involved Flint!" Bleak yelled as she flung the broomstick to the other side of the room. "Tabitha has ruined a good day's worth of my business and I'm gonna take it out of hide! I don't care how many of her nobles she has with her. I'll clubber every last one of those rich ass hats!"

The bird sighed as he scratched angrily at his eyepatch. Gripping the hilt of his rapier, the bird said, "Very well, if I'm to be tortured by the hand of my enemies then I might as well have someone to share the pain with! Help me barricade the doors. This will be one hell of a fight."

Nervously watching the bartender and Flint prepared the battle arena, Samuel prayed that it would not come to a skirmish. He fiddled with his flute as he wondered what chance he and the others had at surviving this battle. With one last desperate glance at the notebook, the minstrel's face lit up at the sight of letters forming on the page.

"Hey!" Samuel called out to the others as they gathered wood from the tables and chairs scattered about the bar. "They're writing back! Look. They actually bought it! We're safe!"

In disbelief, the crow let go of the plywood and charged forward to the journal. With bated breath, Flint watched the remaining words slowly emerging underneath the minstrel's forged writing.

'Understood. We will wait for the crow's arrival at appointed location. Do not think that you will be spared proper punishment for your failure to remain unnoticed. Return immediately.'

The bird's beak dropped in shock as he muttered, "How thick headed are those nobles?"

Respectfully nodding at the flute player, Flint gave the man an appreciative grin for his successful assistance. "Not bad Samuel. You did good."

Speaking to Bleak as she stopped tearing apart the furniture, the crow said, "Now that we have at least a half a day to get as far away from town as possible, let's prepare for our departure. You are still going right?"

Bleak weakly gestured 'yes' to her friend and gathered up supplies from behind the bar. Collecting dried fruit, salted meat, and alcohol bottles by the handful from the drawers, the bartender said in annoyance, "Now I'm gonna have to pay someone to look after the Bar while I'm gone. Where are we headed?"

"East, that surgeon near Planker Creek owes me one operation. Best that I cash it in before he forgets about it."

Staring at the crow in amazement, the skeptic bar maid said, "Richter Valentine? That quack?!"

"Operation?!" Samuel added with a shudder as he nervously put his palm on his delicate heart. The idea of a strange surgeon digging around his bod caused the minstrel to question the bird's plan. "Um... You sure we can't figure out the Kill Word ourselves?"

"The only one who knows the word or phrase is Tabitha." Flint said in annoyance. "You're welcome to wait for her here but I'm leaving with or without you! If you come with us, we'll bring you to Valentine who can fix your worm problem. Staying here is futile, especially for me! Now that you understand let's get going. We're losing day light. Might I remind you, your heart only has a week until it stops beating!"

Turing away from the minstrel, the bird said to the bar maid, "Miss Bleak? Are you done yet? Anything else we need we can find on the road. We have to go!"

"Hold on!" the bartender said with a ferocious flash of her nostrils. She quickly gathered the remaining supplies, which included a massive crossbow, and tucked them into two travel bags. Bleak tossed one of the heavy sacks to Samuel, knocking the wind out of him. The minstrel staggered back as he tried to maintain his balance after being hit with the bulky bag.

Miss Bleak swung her own supplies over her shoulder and tied it to her back. Without being weighed down by her load, the bar maid stood up straight while watching the flute player struggled with his burden.

Annoyed at the clumsy weakling's attempts at strapping his sack, Bleak snatched the travel bag with one arm and roughly spun Samuel around. Securing the supplies on his small shoulders, Bleak twirled the minstrel to face her as she fastened the satchel steady.

"Thanks!" Samuel said smiling in slight embarrassment as the bar maid tied the last knot to his thin waist. He felt like a five-year-old being handled by his agitated mother.

Looking at Flint, the minstrel spoke in a cheery manner. "I guess this is the start of your next grand adventure, huh?"

His feathers puffing up in agitation, Flint glared at the grinning flute player. The crow rotated his wings a few times and exhaled the stale air from the tavern. He pondered Samuel's foolish words in his world-weary mind for a second. Yes, it was going to be another adventure for the crow. However, the many escapades Flint had undergone always brought disappointments of some shape for form. This one would be no different, whether they managed to complete it or not.

"Just be quiet and let's get this over with!" Flint squawked as he lead to group out of Bleak's Bar. Lifting up his black hood, he continued, "When we finish fixing your problem we're going our separate ways. There's no need for you to keep talking to me!"

Samuel angrily shook his weary shoulders and followed the grumpy old crow out into the pouring rain. The heavy droplets hammered the minstrel's exposed head making him winced at every cold splash of water striking him. Seeing Miss Bleak and Flint tightening their waterproof cloaks, Samuel enviously grumbled to himself as his boots sunk into the deep puddles.

Lifting his hand to shield his damp hair, Samuel could barely believe that he was traveling with Flint the Crow from the song. If the weather had been clearer and his heart was not housing a killer worm, Samuel might have enjoyed this moment. But right now, all he wanted was to go back to the cozy tavern and guzzle down a couple of pints.

Marching east through the muddy dirt road, Flint, Bleak, and Samuel began their venture to Planker Creek, the home of Richter Valentine the supposed surgeon.

With his body already shivering from the bitter cold, the minstrel chanted the first verse of Flint the Crow:

"Gather around and prepare for a tale of woe.

This is the sorrowful story of poor Flint the Crow.

An evil wizard came upon a nest that dark day.

With his enchanted hand, he took baby Flint away."