Ankyra Sound twelve-hundred people dead or left to die

dis could b us but u playin

now, bartok didn't fancy himself much of an actor – an amateur, a junior high theatrical flunkee at best – but this caiaphas was doing a fantastic job of building up his confidence about some of his supposed buried talents. actually, in general, she was just doing a fantastic job at sustaining him with an ample narcissistic supply.

what he figured would be transparent artifice turned out to be in fact, climactic genius, and he pried an eye open upon hearing the rustling and subsequent convulsions wrought in clammy desperation coming from the scarily gullible wolf.

he wasn't exactly sure what she was doing in that moment, maybe some sort of voodoo witchdoctor sacrament towards cthulu, forking over accolades for his delivering unto her the bird of tremendous... inviolability? yes, that. please be that exactly.

there were three simple guidelines for a raven's existence: 1. don't bully things bigger than you, especially if they have really impressive dental work 2. don't get comfortable about bullying that specific thing 3. definitely don't pretend to be dead in front of the thing you like to bully you unbelievable moron

in the next instant a swift movement found her slavering jowls closing in around him and ever in the manner of a berserker did he thresh and flap to remove himself as far as possible from the stomach acid-incrusted portal to his bleak and wildly inconvenient ruination. "HEY! NO! BAD DOG!" he screeched offendedly, socking her spring-ready jowls with the forceful influence of a precise pinion.