The Monarch Crow
Midnight black circling murder, a thousand glinting beady doll eyes watch from up high. A titanic nest running upwards in spinning spirals, pockets house nests every few feet. The floor is packed thick with feathers and stool creating a living, breathing, rotting carpet. Every nest is filled with baubles and trinkets, they glitter in the dying eclipse light, from afar the tower lights up as if on golden fire. At the very top of the tower sits the oldest of all his kind.
His nest is a collection of the truly grand. Scraps of holy writ paper, the skin of wizards, long dead kings crowns, dragons membranes, the wrung out ink from krakens, the head of Oto'sh the last lord of the giants, devils tears and angels rage. The monarch crow has personally collected them all, his gallery spans the entire tower, he knows all, he sees all, every secret word whispered. Only the mad or madly desperate seek an audience to acquire a part of the collection. The monarch crow will have what you need, but the price paid is usually far steeper.
The size of a castle he slowly pulls himself upright. His wings unfurl and snap open like the sails on a ship. His entire frame is like a vantablack jet, light itself revolts against his touch, recoiling away from his inky appendages. The defiled king drips the darkness leaving behind a permanent leak into another world. His eye surveys all below him, watching and waiting, planning and plotting and always on the lookout for beings to use, manipulate and violate.
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