Peek: The Origin of the Raven?

Settle down, everyone.  Yes, I'm late, which is a bit fitting considering the subject of today's theology lecture: The Raven.  While technically in the Golden Wings pantheon, every known deity seems to acknowledge the Raven as the ruler of death, though this does not mean the ruler of the dead.  Each pantheon has their own claim to that, yet the Raven has his place in delivering the deceased to whatever afterlife they have coming.

So why a Raven?  Why not some other metaphor?  Some unearthly courier, perhaps, as that seems to be the Raven's job.  Why the large black bird?  Well, some say it's because of the more mundane ravens that tend to be among the first to feast on carrion, though some say the ravens get their form from him.  It's a chicken and egg situation, or raven and egg, to be more specific.

The origin comes from ancient Golden Wings legends.  After their creation, which they have many myths on, eventually comes the first death.  Interestingly, this legend is remarkably unchanging, and it begins before the first death.

The first ravens were usually a light grey, though much of the rest of what we associate with ravens was still present: they are smart, they like shiny things, they're quite social, and so on.  One of them, while quite fond of shinies, had no nest full of them to attract a mate.  While most ravens have no compunctions against theft, this one did.  In fact, it would often spot loose shiny things and return them to where they belong.  Most often, they were simply fallen out of the nest of other ravens, and when returned, he would be given food or something else to repay him.

One day, though, something far more precious fell from a nest.  A hatchling.  It broke its neck in the fall, meaning its death was mercifully quick, at least.  But the gray raven could tell there was something of great import there, even if it didn't sparkle or glow.  His talons reached through the hatchling and drew out... something, and he knew where it needed to go, just as he knew the journey would not be an easy one.

He would need to take it to the dawn, where the Goldplume spreads her wings over the world each day.  He knew, whatever this thing he had was, it belonged to her.  The details of the journey are hazy, and there are many legends about them that get argued over.  The Raven certainly could give the details if he so wished, but he has made no effort to clear those muddy waters.

At the end of the journey, he reached the dawn, and beheld a bemused Goldplume.  "Not many even attempt to greet me, let alone accomplish it.  What brings you here?"

The raven thought for a few moments, then answered: "I have something for you."

"A gift?" she asked, surprised someone would make such a trip to offer her something.

The raven shook his head as he presented the delicate soul of the hatchling.  "Not a gift.  A gift would be something of mine to give to you.  This is yours, it was never mine in the first place."

The Goldplume gasped as she saw the young soul, for she knew exactly what it was.  What she didn't know was how the gray raven before her managed to sense it, let alone carry it to her completely unharmed.  She gently took the soul into her nest, and then regarded the raven before her.

"Stay, a moment," she asked, for the raven was preparing to leave, his task finished.  At her request, though, he settled his wings and waited to see what she had to say.

"This will not be the last.  There will be many more who die, many more who will need to be carried to where they belong.  You are a strange raven, to want to return things, instead of hoard them yourself.  Would you like to be the one to return those who die?  It will not be a simple task..." she says, uncertain how to actually explain how big of a job it would be.  However, she wouldn't get the chance.

"Yes.  Lost things are unfortunate, but lost people... are tragic.  I will bring them where they need to go."

The Goldplume stared at him for a few long seconds, not weighing his conviction, but admiring it, before she spread her wings wide.  "Then I will give you what I am not, so you can do your new duty with the speed and solemnity it deserves."

He bowed to her as power flooded the gray raven, giving him impossible strength, and staining his feathers black as midnight.  He had lowered himself as a raven, but stood as The Raven.

"All your kind will bear your legacy.  To many, your kind will be a nuisance, or an ill omen, but some will know the truth: You are a transition.  Life and death must ebb and flow, and you will ensure those tides turn as they must."

The Raven turned to look, and saw someone he would soon need to deliver, so he gave another small bow.  "Then I must go.  I have much work to do."

~Julior Juntil, theology professor.  Excerpt from a lecture transcription.