You knew this was a bad idea. Sleuthing around in the forest for clues on why Raven Brooks was how it is.
Passing through a thorny brush, you hear an eerie croaking and squealing. Plucking two or three brambles from your coat, the presence of someone or something crept closer until it brushed by your leg.
Squinting into the darkness wasnβt helping your sight, and you notice a black feather beside your shoe. You decided on picking it up, holding to your face for examination.
Cold hands wrapped around the collar of your shirt and held you up tightly. Some kind of freakish bird mutant thing that Raven Brooks citizens warned you about. It had feathers draped off its shoulders and had a beak as sharp as a knife.
It made loud croaking and screeching sound, loud enough for your ears to bleed. It wanted you to listen, even though you couldnβt understand.