Chapter B4C42 - Clash of Steel
A ro’klaw was, at its best, an ill-tempered brute of a semi-monstrous bird. It had a beak capable of cutting through steel mesh, claws that could shred a human's flesh with casual ease, and tough, layered feathers that could stop an arrow. Combined with their surly attitude, they were a nightmare to train and keep. Workers in the rookeries were frequently injured, and it wasn’t uncommon for there to be deaths, especially among the younger trainees.
Yet, the beasts had many undeniable benefits. They were smart, very smart, and could be taught to deliver messages to several locations, making them extremely flexible. Due to their size and fearsome weapons, they were menaces to the predators of regular birds and would almost never be killed by hawks or falcons. Furthermore, they were fast and enduring. Once they reached maturity, a ro’klaw could fly for a week without rest, and was fast enough to reach Kenmor from anywhere in the province in that time.
Despite their usefulness, Rurin just wasn’t a fan. They were noisy, bit everyone they could get their beaks on, and unleashed an unspeakable amount of foul-smelling shit. It smelled so acidic she swore it would melt through a sword given a little time. Alchemists went mad for the stuff, but they were just as useless in her eyes.
“All right, Meesha, I’m here,” she announced, striding into the rookery. “And why couldn’t you just send it to me like usual?”
“Because,” the old woman's voice echoed out from deeper in the rookery, “all the runners decided to try and be Slayers, and because you asked me to send for you if a black ringed message came in.”
The acrid stink of the rookery was enough to wrinkle Rurin’s nose just at the entrance, but she knew damn well Meesha wasn’t going to meet her at the door. With a powerful sigh, she stepped further in, holding her breath.
The Keeper of the Rookery was a wrinkled old woman who’d worked there since before she was Awakened. She looked about two hundred years old and sounded like she breathed in smoke every day on waking. In short, she was as tough as leather boots and took less shit than Beory Steelarm, despite being ankle deep in it.
“I’ve entered your palace of bird crap, just as you wished. Can I have the message now?”
Meesha reached out and went to drop the long, thin message-tube into her open palm, but pulled back at the last minute.