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skonen_bladesThe cape was made from the skin of crows, not the feathers. It was pink and nubbly. It felt like a cold lover. It was unsetting.
That’s why Foot Admiral Ovenshack wore it. It freaked people out. They could have their sable, their mink, and their panther. That was the artifice of the rich.
When Ovenshack came for you in the birdskin cape and the mask of his office, all jokes were aside.
“I can’t be bribed and I think your display of wealth is a thumb in the eye of society” is what the cape said. It allowed him into the upper crust restaurants where capes were a necessity. Its unsettling appearance got him past repulsed bodyguards that didn’t want to touch it.
It got him into poor hovels. It protected him in places where his position would have gotten him killed if he was a more pompous person. The off-duty knife gangs laughed at him but quickly left him alone afterwards. He bore the scars of a veteran and his stare cut to the chase. His cape said to the poor people, “I have to dress like one of them but I have more in common with you.”
It was almost magical.
Without it, no one knew him. Becoming famous for wearing the cape let him be anonymous without it. With the help of a fake moustache or a nice hat and a change in carriage, he became a regular member of the populace. It was more dangerous to appear this way but it worked for undercover work.
Ovenshack was almost genetically destined to be a member of the patrols. He had a distaste for everyone that left him perfectly neutral. He believed in the dependability of human nature but not it’s virtue. Money held no temptation for him. It couldn’t buy him back the love he had lost. The threat of violence held no sway over him. He knew he would die in battle at some point and it might as well be tonight if it couldn’t be avoided.
Foot Admirals rarely survived more than a year. Ovenshack had been in this stinking city for six.
He was as good as it was possible for a Foot Admiral to be.
Until his dead wife came to town.
She’d been dug up and enchanted. She’d been slipped into the work force for canal work.
Not illegal but unsettling. Most zombies were shipped away from the cities where they’d been disinterred for the very reason that people might recognize old loves or relatives.
Ovenshack’s wife’s re-animated corpse had been shipped from the city he had run away from. The city he’d fled. The city he’d tried to leave behind. Cruel fate. Capricious destiny.
He started legal proceeding to free her but no one would listen to him.
His office suffered from disarray and soon enough, outright neglect. The rest of his men soon resorted to taking bribes. Anarchy was soon to come without a Foot Admiral at the helm.
The found Admiral Ovenshack under a bridge, arm around his smelly, green, and naked wife. Her eyes stared without emotion at the iron strutwork above her. She blinked if a fly came too close to her eye.
Ovenshack was dead.
He’d killed the zombie crew overseer, freed his wife and dragged her here to kill himself.
His eyes also stared without emotion at the iron strutwork. They did not blink as flies crawled freely over them.
The crowskin cape was draped over both of their cold bodies.
This is where we get the song.
tags
That’s why Foot Admiral Ovenshack wore it. It freaked people out. They could have their sable, their mink, and their panther. That was the artifice of the rich.
When Ovenshack came for you in the birdskin cape and the mask of his office, all jokes were aside.
“I can’t be bribed and I think your display of wealth is a thumb in the eye of society” is what the cape said. It allowed him into the upper crust restaurants where capes were a necessity. Its unsettling appearance got him past repulsed bodyguards that didn’t want to touch it.
It got him into poor hovels. It protected him in places where his position would have gotten him killed if he was a more pompous person. The off-duty knife gangs laughed at him but quickly left him alone afterwards. He bore the scars of a veteran and his stare cut to the chase. His cape said to the poor people, “I have to dress like one of them but I have more in common with you.”
It was almost magical.
Without it, no one knew him. Becoming famous for wearing the cape let him be anonymous without it. With the help of a fake moustache or a nice hat and a change in carriage, he became a regular member of the populace. It was more dangerous to appear this way but it worked for undercover work.
Ovenshack was almost genetically destined to be a member of the patrols. He had a distaste for everyone that left him perfectly neutral. He believed in the dependability of human nature but not it’s virtue. Money held no temptation for him. It couldn’t buy him back the love he had lost. The threat of violence held no sway over him. He knew he would die in battle at some point and it might as well be tonight if it couldn’t be avoided.
Foot Admirals rarely survived more than a year. Ovenshack had been in this stinking city for six.
He was as good as it was possible for a Foot Admiral to be.
Until his dead wife came to town.
She’d been dug up and enchanted. She’d been slipped into the work force for canal work.
Not illegal but unsettling. Most zombies were shipped away from the cities where they’d been disinterred for the very reason that people might recognize old loves or relatives.
Ovenshack’s wife’s re-animated corpse had been shipped from the city he had run away from. The city he’d fled. The city he’d tried to leave behind. Cruel fate. Capricious destiny.
He started legal proceeding to free her but no one would listen to him.
His office suffered from disarray and soon enough, outright neglect. The rest of his men soon resorted to taking bribes. Anarchy was soon to come without a Foot Admiral at the helm.
The found Admiral Ovenshack under a bridge, arm around his smelly, green, and naked wife. Her eyes stared without emotion at the iron strutwork above her. She blinked if a fly came too close to her eye.
Ovenshack was dead.
He’d killed the zombie crew overseer, freed his wife and dragged her here to kill himself.
His eyes also stared without emotion at the iron strutwork. They did not blink as flies crawled freely over them.
The crowskin cape was draped over both of their cold bodies.
This is where we get the song.
tags