Book 7. Chapter 15: Cult of the Bob
The gate doorway was massive, towering above an Odin. Maybe ten times their size, all stacked up like vertical black potatoes.
I contemplated how I was going to get through such a tiny hole in the wall and not bump or scrape all my gear to the sides. “If Father could see me now, proud knight retainer, warlock apprentice, Feather slayer - now crawling my way through a tiny gate on all fours.”
“I’ll share the recording with him.” Cathida said, her avatar leaning on the doorway side, arms crossed. “I believe he would be more upset that you’re going to go through the clearly trapped and cursed gateway instead of the more obvious path, such as jumping over the entire thing.”
“Manners, Cathida! We’re not savages.” I gave her a scoff, then turned back to the doorway, and looked up.
Above, I could see the Odin all lined up and looking down at me with beaks up in the air, each having one eye pointed down at me. It was a little unnerving since they looked like tiny gothic commando chickens to me no matter how I tried to think differently.
I did have some experience with the beady merciless chickens back home. The rosters would absolutely chase and camp anyone who showed a hint of fear. So somewhere in that bird evolution tree, there was a deadly predator buried deep down and the Odin clearly tapped into it.
Also they also had a bunch of weapons of various kinds and tactical gear. Might have added to my suspicions.
Cathida had a point about the wall being cursed on another note. There were effigies and strange kinds of woven baskets all hung from string that lined the wallsides. Very tiny, each the size of a marble with one feather sticking out. I hadn't noticed them on approach, thinking they were just cracks or dirt exploded onto the wallside at some point and never cleaned off.
As far as both Cathida, Journey and I could figure - we had no godsdamned clue what those were used for. It was literal twigs and feather-down. Hundreds of them, clearly handmade. Or beak-made.