- Fly, fly... recover what is mine... little henchman-. Goërg muttered as he fingered his twisted raven skull ring. Türgyn cocked his head and blinked his good eye, emitting a high-pitched squawk and spreading his wings heavily before swinging his black, gnarled talons onto his Lord's shoulder. In an instant he found himself cutting through the frigid, putrid air that enveloped the wasteland of Blackthorn Valley. He adored the tingle produced by the shreds of wind slipping furtively between each of his feathers, the adrenaline secreted with each push of old Aeolus who, with each thrust, threatened to tear his body against the thorny brambles that stood twisted like lies and tall. like mountains on the sides of the road.
Once again Türgyn managed to prevail over the obstinate whim of the winds and the dense mists that engulfed that accursed place. He opened its beak and emitted a soft croak as it savored the sweet taste of the clouds and the ephemeral freedom provided by those brief incursions to which its master had accustomed it. His little corvid heart, once human, yearned more than anything in the world to find that damned chalice, the cause of his doom and submission to the pestilential sorcerer. But he knew that if he was ever released, he would miss, above all things, that ecstatic feeling of fulfillment. He strove to push those thoughts away and sharpen all his senses as he scanned the wasteland beneath his paws with a searching eye. It had been so long since he could remember the sensation of enjoying the landscape with his sight intact that that pleasant sensation of widening in the range of vision seemed to hide timidly in some corner of his memory. Only the imprint of terror and the fear of his master's wrathful reaction directed his thoughts, for he already knew all too well the consequences of disobeying the ruthless goblin's orders.
Goërg scrupulously observed the sky from the nauseating hole they perforce called home. He was busily chewing a piece of elderbark and continued to caress his ring vehemently. He drew an unpleasant grimace on his face and with a loud snort released a sticky, blackish sputum that became entangled like a spider's web of liquid jet over the shoots of a weak bramble bush that poked through the arid mantle of scree beneath his feet.
- Come on you little bag of bones... today should be the day. He hissed through the few rotten teeth that were still propped up, barely, in his bruised gums.
His fingers began to move rapidly in wide circles around the head of the ring as he muttered dark words, obscene clicks and gurgles; one of those who scratch the ears and goosebumps when listening to them. His body began to shake in an anguished rattling of bones and rags. The eyes turned yellow in their entirety and the pupils sank engulfed by a citrine sea. From the corner of his tanned lips sprouted a trickle of black fish and some muffled, almost unintelligible words:
- I am air, I am your master, now I see...
Above, still cradled by the clouds, Türgyn began to feel the unmistakable burning that exploded and made its way through every corner of his bowels, the atrocious numbness of consciousness and the unstoppable colonization of his own thoughts that were absorbed by total darkness. Goërg had taken control again, his inordinate desire to find the relic had no limit and Türgyn could only obey, as he had been doing for longer than he could remember...
