Sir Frederick Black was a sophisticated raven with a penchant for thurgery and magic. He hung out with wizards and sorcerers of all kinds. Mostly he brought them bad news and drank their coffee. He wore a gold chain that a Certain Witch had given him for luck, spoke in dulcet tones and often stood on one foot for no particular reason at all.
The witch was exceedingly beautiful, not the wart-on-the-nose-wrinkly-kind and her beauty wasn’t caused by spell either, but she sure could cast spells with it. Like trap the brave knight so I can suck out his soul, one of her favorites: she was quite an evil witch.
Sir Frederick Black loved her madly.
But that’s another story.
“There’s a bunch of Christians about to burn Loopey Looise at the stake down by the swamp.” Sir Frederick Black said to the grand mage named Bob. Bob backwards is still Bob: very mystic.
“What shall I do?” said Bob.
“Get her the hell out of there.” Sir Frederick Black replied. “Otherwise she’ll get all black and crispy and she won’t like that the least bit.”
So Bob went down there and raised quite a ruckus, by the time it was all over Christians were running everywhere shrieking, screaming about Armageddon and crying out for help. Bob was indeed a grand mage and no slouch either. Bob made off with Loopey Looise who was vaguely disappointed there wasn’t going to be a big bon fire after all, while Sir Frederick Black dive bombed anyone who even looked like their spirit wasn’t completely broken. He could shriek when he wanted to too.
It was all very exciting and talked about on both sides for generations.
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