Ol' Flint the Crow

A Good Ol' Bird

The bartender shook her head in frustration, making her golden locks swing pitifully in front of her gloomy face. She did not want Ol' Flint to reveal himself in her tavern. The crowd was already murmuring amongst themselves about what they had just witnessed. Soon the entire village would know of the talking crow. Gossip would spread like wild fire far beyond the mundane town she lived in and make its way to more sinister ears.

The only customer who seemed to be unfazed by Flint's outburst was a fashionably dress gentleman, with a beautiful ruby neckless. After the crow had thrown off his shroud, the man had nonchalantly opened up an old leather notebook and began to fervently scribble in it. Using a sliver pen, he dipped it into a bottle of blood red ink.

"Alright everyone!" the bar lady yelled at the chatty customers. "The parties over! Go back to your drinks and shut up. Anyone who bothers the bird again answers to me! And as for you!" The bar lady, who was now speaking to Samuel, grabbed the lanky minstrel by the shoulder. She forcefully yanked him away from the crow.

Yelping in pain, the minstrel cried out, "Stop! I know my way out!"

Taking no heed to the flute player's words, the bartender held on to him and was prepared to cast the man out in the pouring rain. Flint, who had wrapped himself back into his black cloak, watched as Samuel was being forcefully escorted out of the Tavern. Cursing under his breath, the small bird chirped at the muscle-bound bartender. "Wait Miss Bleak! Don't send the gentleman away. I owe him an apology."

Scrunching up her dainty nose in confusion, Bleak the bar maid turned herself around and gave the bird a puzzled look. Obsessively tapping his wing on the hard wood table, Flint grunted as he struggled to speak. Miss Bleak shoved Samuel on the seat next to the crow as she flopped on the chair besides the weak minstrel. As if about to burst in anger, her face turned bright red.

"I am sorry!" the talking animal said to Samuel in all sincerity. "Truly and deeply sorry!"

Flint slid his second mug of ale to Samuel as his gloomy eyes looked downwards. Motioning his wing to the cup, the crow said, "You may hit me with this and call us even. Please be gentle; my skull is a great deal more fragile than a human's."

Moving his eyes towards the glass, the minstrel cocked his head sideways; he looked quite taken aback by the crow's form of justice. Clearing his parched throat, Samuel said, "Um... No thank you. But I will have a drink on you!" With a few large gulps, Samuel finish the beverage like he was in the middle of a drinking game. He sighed in satisfaction as the cold beer began to warm up the inside of his body with its wonderfully bitter flavor. "Many thanks!"

The bird smiled, impressed by the minstrel's drinking ability. Bleak's face showed no signs of amusement as she scoffed at Samuel. With a flick of her soft yet muscular hand, she said to Flint, "Alright, the flute player received his apology and even got a free drink out of it. It's high time that I chuck him out of my bar!"

"Then you'll have to throw me out too!" Flint said with a hiss escaping from his scar ridden beak. "I started the issue after all." The crow sighed in frustration as he scratched at his eyepatch. He regretted the tone he had used with his friend. "Please Miss Bleak! Let the young man stay. I beg you!"

"Fine!" the bartender said as she slunk into her seat. Just then, a customer at the bar cheerfully asked Bleak for another drink. She scowled at the drinker causing his head to cave into his shoulders. With the patron looking at his empty mug in sorrow, the bar lady was left alone to converse with her friend and the irritating minstrel. "The flute player already caused an unforgettable scene. I doubt he can do anything worse. However, I've been wrong before."

Nervously grinning at Miss Bleak, Samuel spoke with Flint. He was eager to know everything about the bird, who had only been a character in a children's song five minutes ago. How much of the tale was based on real events in his life? What was it like to traverse the Razor Leaf forest? And did the Lord of the Underworld actually send him back to earth since the bird's horrible life was more of a hell than any tortures that could be summoned in the land of the dead?

With his fingers rapping on one of his knees, the minstrel excitedly said, "So Flint the Crow? I never realized you were an actual creature. Guess Galahad the Bard did not write it as nothing more than a melancholy tune."

"Galahad!" the crow squawked in agitation at the name he knew all too well. "That crooning jackass! I ought to take legal action against him for infringing on my privacy. The fool!!!"

As he watched the raving bird slam his wing on the table, Samuel nervously spun his flute around his twitching finger tips. "I take it you did not want Galahad to use your life story as inspiration for one of his songs. If I may defend it, the balled is quite good. It's completely heart wrenching, even if it's more of a children's tale. However, Galahad should not have written it without your consent."

With his shaggy, black feathers lifting up from his arched back, Flint pitifully stated, "He had my approval! I was depressed and also drunk when he offered to write my life story. Like an egotistical idiot, I agreed to; it thinking it might make me feel better about myself. When he finished composing the song, I gave him written permission to publish it and months later I heard a pack of brats singing that stupid rhyme. They were grinning from ear to ear! They did not care the least that it was at my own expense. After peaking the remains of their blood stained scalps, I searched for the bard to demand that he burn it all to hell. But it was too late. Everyone was humming along to the damn tune! And I only have myself to blame for letting it happen."

Flint grumbled in agony as he beat his scrawny leg, causing a crimson colored bruise to form. Samuel, frowning in pity, touched the bird on the shoulder in an attempt to comfort him. Knocking the minstrel's hand away, the crow turned to the bartender. Her eyes were almost watering from seeing her dear friend in deep sorrow.

"I will be leaving today Miss Bleak." the bird said slowly. "Thank you for your hospitality as always. I doubt I will be coming back."

"What?!" the bar lady yelped as her cheeks flushed green in shock. "Just because some idiotic flute player provoked you into show yourself?! You can't leave! You're safe here. If any of my customers breathes a word about this outside the tavern, I'll have their heads. No one will know that this ever happened, I promise you!"

With a melancholy grunt, Flint said, "I have been planning to do this days ago. There have been bizarre occurrences that I have disturbed me recently. I feel that they probably point to my enemies having discovered my location. I am not yet sure which ones they are but the danger is too great for me remain here." Whispering the last few sentences into Bleak's ear, Samuel could barely catch what the bird was saying. What he had picked up from the conversation was, "...That man with the notebook. He's a spy!"

Diving on the hay covered floor, Flint the Crow strolled across the bar hall to the well-dressed man with the leather notebook. A harsh sound, made by the bird's rapier being yanked out of its holster, echoed across the room. The sudden noise instantly silenced everyone in the bar, causing a few to loose hold on their glass mugs. Grasping onto the man's tense back, Flint swung himself in front of the note taker's startled face. With the crow's sword pressed up against the man's sweat drenched Adam's apple, Flint's eyes sparkled like a raging fire.

"Who sent you?!" the bird snarled.