Page Four: Reservoir Corvidae

…As a hunter, the Shadow was not fond of the scavengers, but they were tolerated because it needed them and used them. They, for their part were handsomely rewarded by the carrion that littered the Darqlands and were eager to assist if an easy lunch was involved. Even so, the pact was an uncomfortable one, borne out of necessity…

Mr. Jackdaw	'So, are we a murder?' Asked the Jackdaw, scanning around the disused warehouse, eyeing his fellow conspirators with a single pale and beady eye. The Rook stared back with the measured aloofness the Jackdaw had come to expect and obviously had no intention of acknowledging the question. The little Chough was keep look-out by the window, while hooking ants from peeling paintwork with its flashy red bill, and acting like it really didn't want to be there. The narcisstic Jay was too busy preening to even partake in the conversation and festidiously arranged and rearranged its feathers. The Magpie was clearly agitated and giving out signals that it more interested in plucking out the Jackdaw's tiny, irritating, little white eye to consider an answer. The Crow, however, was also getting impatient.       'Not 'till the Raven gets here.'      'And where the fuck is the Raven?'      'Quoth the Raven, 'Neverwhere'.' Deliberately miss-quoted the Jay, looking up from cleaning the electric blue feathers on its left wing.      'Eh?' Inquired the Crow, more than a little puzzled by the Jay's sudden out burst.      'Poe.' Was all the Jay offered in reply and turned to preen the right wing.      'Eh?' Inquired the Crow.      'Edgar Alan Poe, The Raven.' Snapped the Magpie, feeling even more irritated as the conversation took this mindless detour into the nether regions of the Crow's missing education.      'The Raven's called Edgar Alan Poe! Well I never, in all my years,' The Crow was off, there was no stopping him now, 'all this time I've been calling him 'Raven' and he's really 'Edgar'. I never had him down as an 'Edgar' though. Well fuck me sideways I never knew that, you could knock me down with a fea-'      'I'll fucking knock you fucking down with more than a fucking feather in a fucking minute mate, if you don't fucking shut the fuck up!' Interrupted the Magpie. Magpie was getting aggressive, its head bobbing from left to right like a prize-fighter squaring up for the killer punch. 'Edgar Alan Poe was a writer,' (bob to the left), 'he wrote a poem called 'The Raven'' (duck to the right), 'and all the fucking Raven can say is Never-fucking-more.' A sharp forward jab punctuated the final syllable, his jet black beak just missing the Crow's eye. The Crow reeled back in surprise.      'But he said 'Neverwhere'.' The Crow nodded his head in the direction of the Jay, who had since moved away from the crowd and was now picking ants with the Chough. 'The Jay said 'Neverwhere', not 'Nevermore'.'      'Nevertheless, the Raven said 'Nevermore', not 'Neverwhere' - it's in the poem...'Once upon a midnight dreary ... blah-blah-blah... Quoth the Raven, 'Nevermore'.'!'      'Cor.' Said the Crow.      ''Balls.' Said Milligan.' The Rook, with a self satisfied smug grin, hopped back several paces, well out of Magpie's reach.      'Eh?' The Crow ducked as the Magpie lunged forward again.      'Puckoon, a book written by a human called Spike Milligan.' Said the Jackdaw, wishing that he'd never started this conversation. That set the Crow off again.      'Someone wrote a book about me once, well it wasn't a real book, it was a comic, well not a comic comic, but you know, one of those graphic novel things, well I suppose that's still a book though, anyway, it's real gory with loads of shootin' and stuff and they made it into a really brilliant film, except the bloke who everyone thinks is the crow, but isn't 'cos I am, gets k-'      'Can't you keep your fucking beak shut!' The Magpie cut in mid-sentence.      'Oh...' The Crow was well aware that the Magpie would not miss every time, so it did as it was told.      'So, what's his fucking problem?' Whispered the Jackdaw to the Rook.      'He always was one for sorrow' Quipped the Rook, a little too loudly, and the Magpie responded with its 'So don't fuck with me' glare. With that they all dropped into silence and stood there, waiting, looking at the ground and trying to avoid the Magpie's stare. A tapping noise disturbed the uneasy silence. They all froze, then looked towards the sound. Fearing they had been trapped, they searched for a means of escape, but the door was the only egress and that was exactly where the knocking was coming from. The Jay was the first to speak.      'While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping.' - then the Jackdaw picked up the next line..      'As some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.'      ''Tis some visiter,' I muttered, 'tapping at my chamber door -'.' - added the Rook,      'Only this and nothing more.' - finished the Chough as the door swung open and in walked the Raven. With barely a flutter of its wings it flew across the warehouse and settled amongst the crowd. Standing half as tall again as the Magpie, it towered over the ensemble, clearly their undisputed leader.      'Hello Edgar.' Said the Crow, seconds before the Magpie laid him unconscious with a swift peck to the back of the head. The Raven surveyed the scene, instantly assessing the possible causes of such an action before nodding to the Magpie and announcing.      'Okay Gentlemen, let's go to work'.
Mr. Jay
Mr. Crow
Mr. Rook
Mr. Chough
Mr. Magpie
Mr. Raven

…And so it was, and so it would ever be. Such was the way of scavengers. With their task set into action, the Shadow can now head back to the Darqlands, to the centre. The Heart of the Darqlands, where Shadows are converging: to bicker and argue as disparate entities; That will congregate and assemble into cadres and cliques; Which will form and coagulate into factions and cabals; To finally merge and meld into a unified whole…