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Description
The British Museum was not the nicest of places to be during the day, never mind the middle of the night. The old dinosaur bones hung from the ceiling, suspended by fine wires. The hall was full of them; to any necromancer walking in, it would have been like a small piece of heaven, a whole army of prehistoric creatures at their fingertips. Undead or alive, they would still have been the same; the jaws that bite, the claws that rip through flesh as if it were nothing. All that would change would be the survival instinct turning into murderous intent.

But in this hall of darkness, the enamel of the bones seemed to hold its own source of light. However the room did hold one small source of light. Below the jaws of the best known carnivore in history was a ball of light, clasped in a flesh covered bone hand.
“So where is this exhibition?” she muttered and looked down at the museum map that had shadows dancing across it. The Crow turned and glanced up at the Tyrannosaurus Rex, resisting the urge to kick it in her frustration. But as she looked at it, a chill went down her spine. No matter how many times she looked at a corpse or skeleton, she would always think of Drakeom and how he kept reanimating them. Some of them were in good conditions, others; well, meeting a corpse with mashed ribs, an eye hanging out of its socket by its optic nerve, part of its flesh missing and what flesh left rotten; was not what the Crow enjoyed meeting on dark nights. She, however, was glad that anything dead here was just bones, or stuffed, or pickled; not rotting away making a bad smell; though admittedly formaldehyde does, but she had no intention of opening jars to smell it.

Some half hour later, having got lost in the Egyptian exhibition and a few others, she had finally mastered the museum’s floor plan, and arrived at one of the upper galleries. The Crow actually smiled as she saw the magic lacing through the room. Even though the English hated magic, they’d still use it for security (the hypocrites), and evidently this claw was worth protecting. Taking a leap forward, she vaulted several of the magic beams, and coming out of one somersault she landed on one foot with barely space to move.

She was about to put her hand on the floor to flip forwards into a space when a strange buzzing filled the air. Slowly she came back upright, and the buzzing continued. However, the noise was not coming from the security system. Dragging out the looking ball, she hissed,
“Who the hell? I’m busy.”
“It’s Drakeom.” She looked down at the young face, and wondered if the rumours she had heard of her friend from twenty years back were true, that he was now vampire. Just seeing that eighteen year old face told her it was true, for youth could not be retained in any other way.
“Well talk of the devil. But buzz off, I’m in the middle of sommat’.”
“Look, just tell me where to find Max and I’ll go.”
“What d’ya want Blooder for?”
“I’m trying to find something, and I thought you were busy.”
“Yeah yeah. Max has got a brewery in Madrid, just follow the smell of nightshade, you can’t go wrong.”
“Where are you even Crow?”
“In London … on holiday.”
“You’re stealing something. What, the Crown Jewels?”
“In a museum with all your sort of friends. It’s dead funny.”
“I get the point, I’m going. Don’t trip the magic sensors.” With that he disappeared.
“You never heard of Sod’s Law you idiot,” she muttered under her breath and let the ball go, allowing it to hit her breast. Falling into the handstand she had intended to take, she flipped to the first of five cabinets.

All of a sudden, the silver claw appeared on her hand, the silver dancing shapes in the half light. Her tongue ran along one of the sharpened points, nicking at the end, causing a droplet of blood to form on the metal.
“Time to get rid of the barrier,” she chuckled. Red sparks shot off the claw, drawing in the magic all about the room. The magic detectors completely disappeared, leaving the room empty of sensors.

She turned and looked inside the case. A small white card with neat, Indian ink, black italic writing. The small white card was placed amongst the red velvet folds.
‘Artefact 3. The Golden Claw. Belonging to the Thunder God Racnoth. Discovered in Hyde Park. Donated.’
“Spell it right for Christ’s sake, it’s Racnozz! And who donated this, don’t just say donated? Anyways, I better check this out.” With her own sharp claw, she cut through the glass and picked up its golden look-a-like. As she brought it up to her face she stopped. Some of the gold had come off on her claw. With the sharpened point, she scratched at the gold, and watched as it flaked and floated to the ground. Turning the claw in her hands she saw the furrow on the back ridge of it.
“The frauds,” she muttered, “It’s gold leaf, and a copy of mine. It’s even got the bullet mark from when Grantvich tried to kill me a few years back. Someone else knows this is a fake.” Instantly the fake claw melted in her hand as she sent heat rippling through it. She moved onto the next cabinet, and its solitary artefact.
‘Artefact 2. A priest of Racnoth’s headdress.’
“Priestess,” she continued as she looked at the mask that was not to dissimilar to her own, “And it would have been mine if I hadn’t had done what I did.” Her feet took her to the next cabinet, and as she looked down tears sprang to her eyes.

‘Artefact 4. A Racnothian bracelet.’ The silver torque winked in the half light. It had once belonged to her, but she had lost it many years ago. Again she cut through the glass, and rested the small bracelet in the palm of her hand.
“He gave me this,” her body shook with emotion as she slipped it on over her wrist, “His whose name I can’t remember. Why can I never remember his name?” The tears ran like flooded rivers down her cheeks, she couldn’t remember having cried this easily in such a long time. She brought her hand down a little to hard on the glass case, making it break with a crash and sending the shards tinkling to the floor. She didn’t even notice as the glass cut at her unprotected left forearm, she didn’t care as the maroon blood dripped down it and she didn’t feel as her arm instantly healed itself against the broken shards. Her feet took her away from the broken glass and towards the next case.

‘Artefact 1. Totem to the Death God.’ Her emotion of sadness suddenly turned to that of anger. The bone white figure gazed sightlessly at her while she glared back with hatred.
“You’re no death god; you’re just the everything I can’t have. And you’ve survived just as long as me; and still now, after everything we did to stop you, you still mock me!” power emitted from her hand as her anger continued to grow, “You! You destroyed my life, and everything I had. You destroyed all of it, and as a last memento, you took him from me! You took him, and you stole his name from my memories!” The small bone figure shattered, cascading the broken shards onto the red velvet.
“No!” she screeched, “I can’t take revenge on something that doesn’t exist anymore, you cursed World Spirit. How after your death do you keep on cursing me; why?” She kicked at the podium, then leapt back in agony as the pain ripped through her foot.

As she leapt about in her agony, she fell against the fifth and final podium.
‘Artefact 5. The Scroll of Racnoth.’ She stopped leaping about, and the high emotions ran from her, leaving her just standing there like a staue.
“Racnozz’s scroll,” she barely breathed, “I really thought it would have been destroyed by now.” Again she cut through the glass, and took out the scroll inside. Carefully she took it out of its sheath and unrolled it.
‘Day 9: Death of the People.
Day 10: ’
“The death of Racnozz,” she stated, “When the believers are dead, the god is non-existent, it’s inevitable, once I am dead he is dead. I alone know what it means, I alone understand Racnozz, only I truly believe.” Slipping the scroll inside her belt pouch, she turned away and walked out of the room. Everything in that room was part of her past; everything that she needed to do, but was unwilling to let go of. But we have to remember our pasts, to look forward into the future. And as she walked out of that room, she could only think about how bad her past had been, and how the same outcome was likely for her future.

She stood on the barge, just as dawn was breaking, floating down the Thames. She watched as the sites passed by, but she didn’t give second thoughts to them. This place had once been her home, long ago, but now it didn’t seem so, and she was glad she was leaving. She didn’t know when she’d be back again, or even if, but home has a strange way of calling out to you, and from moments of the previous night, the Crow wished it wouldn’t. For this was not her London, this was a new London, a London she didn’t like; but she couldn’t change it back for the world. Deep inside, she wished that London was not her home, but where she was heading to, those back Parisian streets where he was waiting for her; but deeper still, she knew this could never be.

Description
The British Museum was not the nicest of places to be during the day, never mind the middle of the night. The old dinosaur bones hung from the ceiling, suspended by fine wires. The hall was full of them; to any necromancer walking in, it would have been like a small piece of heaven, a whole army of prehistoric creatures at their fingertips. Undead or alive, they would still have been the same; the jaws that bite, the claws that rip through flesh as if it were nothing. All that would change would be the survival instinct turning into murderous intent.

But in this hall of darkness, the enamel of the bones seemed to hold its own source of light. However the room did hold one small source of light. Below the jaws of the best known carnivore in history was a ball of light, clasped in a flesh covered bone hand.
“So where is this exhibition?” she muttered and looked down at the museum map that had shadows dancing across it. The Crow turned and glanced up at the Tyrannosaurus Rex, resisting the urge to kick it in her frustration. But as she looked at it, a chill went down her spine. No matter how many times she looked at a corpse or skeleton, she would always think of Drakeom and how he kept reanimating them. Some of them were in good conditions, others; well, meeting a corpse with mashed ribs, an eye hanging out of its socket by its optic nerve, part of its flesh missing and what flesh left rotten; was not what the Crow enjoyed meeting on dark nights. She, however, was glad that anything dead here was just bones, or stuffed, or pickled; not rotting away making a bad smell; though admittedly formaldehyde does, but she had no intention of opening jars to smell it.

Some half hour later, having got lost in the Egyptian exhibition and a few others, she had finally mastered the museum’s floor plan, and arrived at one of the upper galleries. The Crow actually smiled as she saw the magic lacing through the room. Even though the English hated magic, they’d still use it for security (the hypocrites), and evidently this claw was worth protecting. Taking a leap forward, she vaulted several of the magic beams, and coming out of one somersault she landed on one foot with barely space to move.

She was about to put her hand on the floor to flip forwards into a space when a strange buzzing filled the air. Slowly she came back upright, and the buzzing continued. However, the noise was not coming from the security system. Dragging out the looking ball, she hissed,
“Who the hell? I’m busy.”
“It’s Drakeom.” She looked down at the young face, and wondered if the rumours she had heard of her friend from twenty years back were true, that he was now vampire. Just seeing that eighteen year old face told her it was true, for youth could not be retained in any other way.
“Well talk of the devil. But buzz off, I’m in the middle of sommat’.”
“Look, just tell me where to find Max and I’ll go.”
“What d’ya want Blooder for?”
“I’m trying to find something, and I thought you were busy.”
“Yeah yeah. Max has got a brewery in Madrid, just follow the smell of nightshade, you can’t go wrong.”
“Where are you even Crow?”
“In London … on holiday.”
“You’re stealing something. What, the Crown Jewels?”
“In a museum with all your sort of friends. It’s dead funny.”
“I get the point, I’m going. Don’t trip the magic sensors.” With that he disappeared.
“You never heard of Sod’s Law you idiot,” she muttered under her breath and let the ball go, allowing it to hit her breast. Falling into the handstand she had intended to take, she flipped to the first of five cabinets.

All of a sudden, the silver claw appeared on her hand, the silver dancing shapes in the half light. Her tongue ran along one of the sharpened points, nicking at the end, causing a droplet of blood to form on the metal.
“Time to get rid of the barrier,” she chuckled. Red sparks shot off the claw, drawing in the magic all about the room. The magic detectors completely disappeared, leaving the room empty of sensors.

She turned and looked inside the case. A small white card with neat, Indian ink, black italic writing. The small white card was placed amongst the red velvet folds.
‘Artefact 3. The Golden Claw. Belonging to the Thunder God Racnoth. Discovered in Hyde Park. Donated.’
“Spell it right for Christ’s sake, it’s Racnozz! And who donated this, don’t just say donated? Anyways, I better check this out.” With her own sharp claw, she cut through the glass and picked up its golden look-a-like. As she brought it up to her face she stopped. Some of the gold had come off on her claw. With the sharpened point, she scratched at the gold, and watched as it flaked and floated to the ground. Turning the claw in her hands she saw the furrow on the back ridge of it.
“The frauds,” she muttered, “It’s gold leaf, and a copy of mine. It’s even got the bullet mark from when Grantvich tried to kill me a few years back. Someone else knows this is a fake.” Instantly the fake claw melted in her hand as she sent heat rippling through it. She moved onto the next cabinet, and its solitary artefact.
‘Artefact 2. A priest of Racnoth’s headdress.’
“Priestess,” she continued as she looked at the mask that was not to dissimilar to her own, “And it would have been mine if I hadn’t had done what I did.” Her feet took her to the next cabinet, and as she looked down tears sprang to her eyes.

‘Artefact 4. A Racnothian bracelet.’ The silver torque winked in the half light. It had once belonged to her, but she had lost it many years ago. Again she cut through the glass, and rested the small bracelet in the palm of her hand.
“He gave me this,” her body shook with emotion as she slipped it on over her wrist, “His whose name I can’t remember. Why can I never remember his name?” The tears ran like flooded rivers down her cheeks, she couldn’t remember having cried this easily in such a long time. She brought her hand down a little to hard on the glass case, making it break with a crash and sending the shards tinkling to the floor. She didn’t even notice as the glass cut at her unprotected left forearm, she didn’t care as the maroon blood dripped down it and she didn’t feel as her arm instantly healed itself against the broken shards. Her feet took her away from the broken glass and towards the next case.

‘Artefact 1. Totem to the Death God.’ Her emotion of sadness suddenly turned to that of anger. The bone white figure gazed sightlessly at her while she glared back with hatred.
“You’re no death god; you’re just the everything I can’t have. And you’ve survived just as long as me; and still now, after everything we did to stop you, you still mock me!” power emitted from her hand as her anger continued to grow, “You! You destroyed my life, and everything I had. You destroyed all of it, and as a last memento, you took him from me! You took him, and you stole his name from my memories!” The small bone figure shattered, cascading the broken shards onto the red velvet.
“No!” she screeched, “I can’t take revenge on something that doesn’t exist anymore, you cursed World Spirit. How after your death do you keep on cursing me; why?” She kicked at the podium, then leapt back in agony as the pain ripped through her foot.

As she leapt about in her agony, she fell against the fifth and final podium.
‘Artefact 5. The Scroll of Racnoth.’ She stopped leaping about, and the high emotions ran from her, leaving her just standing there like a staue.
“Racnozz’s scroll,” she barely breathed, “I really thought it would have been destroyed by now.” Again she cut through the glass, and took out the scroll inside. Carefully she took it out of its sheath and unrolled it.
‘Day 9: Death of the People.
Day 10: ’
“The death of Racnozz,” she stated, “When the believers are dead, the god is non-existent, it’s inevitable, once I am dead he is dead. I alone know what it means, I alone understand Racnozz, only I truly believe.” Slipping the scroll inside her belt pouch, she turned away and walked out of the room. Everything in that room was part of her past; everything that she needed to do, but was unwilling to let go of. But we have to remember our pasts, to look forward into the future. And as she walked out of that room, she could only think about how bad her past had been, and how the same outcome was likely for her future.

She stood on the barge, just as dawn was breaking, floating down the Thames. She watched as the sites passed by, but she didn’t give second thoughts to them. This place had once been her home, long ago, but now it didn’t seem so, and she was glad she was leaving. She didn’t know when she’d be back again, or even if, but home has a strange way of calling out to you, and from moments of the previous night, the Crow wished it wouldn’t. For this was not her London, this was a new London, a London she didn’t like; but she couldn’t change it back for the world. Deep inside, she wished that London was not her home, but where she was heading to, those back Parisian streets where he was waiting for her; but deeper still, she knew this could never be.