aven, who was old when the fierce gods stalked the northern lands, settled into the ghostly white branches of the deadwood desert tree. It would begin soon. Already the drums called across the sands and they came whispering through the silver shadow like so many lost tumbleweeds. 

Nichodemus Mulhouse barely paid attention to his surroundings,  absorbed in his book, as he always seemed to be. No matter, the Lesser Opener of the Ways scurried before him and moved every door or random piece of furniture from his path and he never once faltered in his step. That is until he stepped into the Council Room. Sometimes Mulhouse would come here to read, especially when the resonance of his study rang true with the meeting of minds that still echoed in the tapestry of the chamber. But something was terribly wrong and the strange presence of the raven only served to distract him for a moment. A chair at the great table was gone. And with naught but silence, the raven sat upon the 10th Chair like some dark omen. 

For possibly the first time since his apprenticeship, Nichodemus, Librarian of Horizon Chantry let the ancient tome in his hand fall from his grasp. There were summonings that must be made. As he raced for the door, the Lesser Opener of the Ways crept over to the tome. Perhaps the secrets of its binding, and thus the keys to its freedom might be found within. Raven regarded the little spirit with an amusement that could only be found in one who knew with the certainty of an oracle that the Opener would not find what it sought, with an amusement that could only be found in one who would happily pluck the eyes from the dead so that no one could steal their secrets without paying proper respect to the wise bird.

Gahutu found the desert through he walked strange and yet familiar. All deserts are part of the same dream, he thought. I wonder what Adambara and Bold-Counsel want of me. A black bird loomed ahead of him in the branches of a ghostly strange tree. They called you Joshua, pale one, he found himself thinking to the lost tree. You were called for the one who led a people after they fled the Black Land. Now you have fled to the dream. The raven regarded the emaciated African with unblinking eyes.

Moonharp threw his leather jacket onto the bed and dropped painfully into the black wooden chair sitting in the corner. From here he could cast his tired gaze over the whole room, which felt good to be able to do right now. He was just at that stage when you have had about all the fun out of the X that you want and you just wanted it to go away. Besides, it was making him paranoid. He was sure someone was following him. And what was that? 

Something dark squirmed at the window and somehow he was sure he heard tapping on the glass. This had to be some crap to do with those snotty Hermetic sorcerers. They still resented that it was only with the help of Moonharp and his clic that the asshole Jeremy Case had been caught in Horizon. Takes one to know one, Moonharp had heard one too many times. And indeed it had. We found that bastard and you know, you arrogant pricks. You would never have tracked him.

With a sudden jerk he yanked the window open and was startled by the dark bird fluttering into the room. Alright you fucks. You can cut it out with that Nevermore crap. It wasn't the Hermetics at all. Had to be his cutup friends. "Yeah, well, you can go tell Lenore that I am going to sleep, okay!" And with that, Moonharp threw himself down on the bed. He was so tired that even the unnerving feeling that those two eyes would watch him until he dragged himself into the shower in the afternoon was not enough to keep the sweet darkness of the dream from engulfing him. And in his dream he pushed his chair up to the Council table and all those fat old fucks had to watch the lovely Lenore take her long deserved seat at the table.