The Owl.

17th of Trescia, 1492.

***

As Amun and the Troupe got underway to Winwell, the Owl flapped and flew across the frozen forest of Bakewia until the sights of the forgotten passed him by. But not through those dilapidated streets did the Owl waddle. Instead, the Owl dawdled into the Realm of Darkness to tinker and toy with flesh and gore.

Using knowledge from the fiendish friends, the Owl tanned and laced the flesh of the wicked and fueled it with a maddened soul to make a hungry maw and an angry visage for a lock and forged the key as a condition. And, using the blood, the Owl composed, transcribed, and detailed, up to a third.

The Owl did not ascend when the task was done. No, the Owl descended to the Pit of Pits and exited to fly through the city of damned and devils. In that library of the greatest of worsts, the Under's library of archdevils and deathly sovereigns, the Owl composed, transcribed, and detailed, up to a third.

The Owl did not return when the task was done. No, the Owl left the Pit of Pits and entered the great Abyss. To the infinite yard of souls, the Owl traveled to do as none could and fall through. And in eternal emptiness, the Owl composed, transcribed, and detailed, up to a third.

The Owl did not emerge when the task was done. Not immediately, for the Owl stayed long enough to notice the endless empty the Owl merged with, merging with the Owl. There was a name The Owl wanted to call. But the Owl had the inkling to save it for the Other when the time was right. And so, the Owl emerged into the Plane of Mortals to listen in on the whispers, deposit his trinket in a nearby nest, and take flight.

Now in the deep of night, the Owl flapped and flew across the frozen forests of Bakewia until the sights of the miraculous passed him by. But not through those enchanted streets did the Owl waddle, instead, the Owl wove through windows and dove under doors to sink a maddened soul into an otherwise unordinary object, then plummeted to the districts of artificers below to perch atop the Cane of Duality and play the waiting game.

It would be long until the desperate one arrived. But it did not take long for others to wade through the night.

Case in point. "The 'ells are you 'posed to be?" a peasant thrust his swaying finger forward, leaking spittle and the stench of alcohol everywhere.

And so, the Owl asked. "What do you see?"

Fearful or in shock, the drunk leaped back, only to lean forward, squinting intently. "Uh." He leaned forward. "Owl."

"Then the Owl is what I am."

"So whadd'ya just sit here on yer fuckin' post?" he angrily slurred.

"Until those such as yourself appear, yes."

"Er- right then. An' then what?"

"Some would say the Owl grants wishes. Others would say the Owl inflicts curses. Both would be incorrect, for the Owl only assists in acquiring the soul's desires."

The drunk squinted, swaying in place while the words muddled his insignificant mind. "You fuckin' what, mate?"

You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

"Oh, what a pretty owl!"

The Owl would have sighed in relief if such a thing did not blow his cover, for a lady of my night came strutting forward with the poise and grace of a royal.

"Says it grants wishes." The drunk slurred.

The courtesan rolled her eyes but jumped as high as he did when the Owl pointed a wing to the man. "What the drunk says is partially true. I assist in acquiring the desires of the soul. And so, I ask you, what is it that your soul desires?"

The woman grew wide-eyed, if for only a moment before reeling back, tapping at her chin thoughtfully. "What an interesting question."

"One that yields interesting results." The Owl countered. "What should be yours?"

"If I were to make a wish," She carefully said. "It would be to be liberated from my employer. I would wish to have the power to choose my clients as I see fit. To live where and as I see fit. Can you grant me that?"

"The Owl can. And so the Owl will." With a wave, a black feather, glowing with a golden radiance befell the maiden and dispersed into a field of starry lights.

"Wha' happened?" The drunk asked, seeing her glowing eyes widening beyond belief.

"A most magnificent building will be constructed." She gasped. "For me. For my… Gilded Feather."

He nearly fell over turning to face her."The 'ells issat?"

"Look near the military district a tenday from tomorrow night. When you're sober, preferably." Her stern tone ended with a hint of playfulness, topped off by a wink that birthed a new fire in the drunk's eyes.

A fire that birthed sheer avarice once he turned back to the Owl, screaming. "I wish to be a powerful lord!"

Without waiting, The Owl sent out a feather with a wave of his wing. The oppressively black, hardly radiant feather dispersed into a dark cloud as it befell the drunk, yet pride bloomed in his eyes as the Owl declared. "A powerful lord, you shall become."

Confusion crossed his face until the visions came over him, widening his eyes and broadening his smile, giving enough air to the fires within him to drive his legs toward the horizon with nary a concern for anything else.

"Where is he going?" The courtesan turned after his fading frame.

"To the Capitol of Shujen, where he will become a powerful lord."

"So much for seeing him again." She shrugged, then dismissed the matter entirely by facing front. "Thank you for the service you've done, Owl. I'll tell everyone I know of your graciousness."

Only a nod was given as a response, as the Owl was eager to have a period of silence after the blubbering buffoon ruined the night's peace.

Within an hour, another young courtesan appeared. Another lady of my night. But one with far less elegance than the first. Despite her knowledge of the Owl from the first courtesan, her avarice was on par with the drunk. She wished for fame and renown across the realms as a high-class brothel mistress to net her immense wealth. And so, the black feather she was given showed her a vision of grandeur she would come to find above the City of Bards.

The next passerby appeared around four in the morning. A half-elven boy at the latter end of puberty. He lamented his apparent destiny of being a farmer, inherited by virtue of his dead father. He lived the life since he was born and for as long as he could remember, he hated it. He spent every minute of his breaks drawing or painting. He wanted to be an artist- a bard, and with the golden feather he received, the Owl declared an opportunity would present itself to his farm, opening the door for him to fulfill his dream and more.

Throughout the morning and into the day, the Owl sat in the shade atop his perch, cursing and blessing the endless streams of passersby until the silent dusk came upon the city of Shavew. Then came the time for my desperate one to arrive, accompanied by a high elf doused in flour and dough. He was a withered, lanky old man with salt and paprika hair covered in fine silks and furs. He was taller than the Owl's human-sized frame perched atop his cane. 190.5 centimeters of man who drank himself to an elevated status with a levitation potion, floating helplessly beneath a haunting figure of darkness clawing so desperately at his chest.

Helpless, the desperate one was. Helpless, like his plea.

—

[The Path of Zefroth, Step 3: The Mind of Night - Complete.]

[Reward: Mutation - [Nightmare Gland] The development of the nightmare gland assists the devil in entering the minds of mortals to supplant information or unpleasant thoughts, make deals, or form pacts.]

[The Path of Zefroth, Step 4: The Minion.]

[To continue down the path to the end of the Abyss, you must make a pact with a mortal who is suitable to become your first Undying Fiend.]