BAD-020
Barista: Rachel Rosethorn
Date: Jan-12-2020
Receipt: BAD-020
Subject: Omens
The wind howls low, the barrow hums, a hollow drum where an omen thrums. In the earth deep down below, I see her sitting upon a stolen throne, the usurper, the phantom queen, the sisters three—the fated crow. The hand that steers, the voice that whispered ov’r a thousand years. It is not Fate or Its fickle face—she is not even of the Archonic race. The blood that courses in her veins is unlike any of the common strains. She does not bleed a mortal red, nor does she bleed a demon’s black—her blood is almost the white of an angel’s might, but tinted still with the gold that Archons’ hold. It is… a blood that should not be.
Her heart pumps an iridescent silver sea.
And it is not her heart alone, if we pricked the hound, argent ichor would also be found. Silver blood and silver flame, stamped in waning sunlight by Morningstar’s name. The mark upon her daughter’s arm—the mark of which was carved in stone—the mark of a world no longer ours.
A Mark of the Otherworld.
She waits for us in barrow true—A cavernous tomb, carved from ribs the land itself once grew. The walls breathe with an ancient age, smoothed by hands that have long since turned the page. The air down there is thick and damp, like a shot that has been over tamped. The weight of centuries of untold lore, are sealed beneath a hidden door. It’ll take the light of a promise made to clear the shade—to show the path to a land beyond, to go far, far, across the pond.
The isles five bob in a gilded silver sea—one of green, one of gray, one of black, one of red and one of tarnished gold. The cycle broken by greed’s approach—his avaricious tendrils encroach on the last of the tales yet untold. Soon his sisters’ sworn secret will be his greatest story ever told, by the toll of all of his terrible towering gold.