Ravens’ Cry: Styx River Ferryman

“A coin, a coin for Charon.  A coin for Charon, the Styx River Ferryman.  His skeletal gaze pierces your flesh, his lashing oar rips the soul from your body.  The Moroccan bone hands of the Dead-River Moor count only coins as each soul soars aboard.  He places the coins in a pouch resting next to where his heart once was.

“He cares for nothing but coins, Charon does.  No matter what value or currency, he ferries the souls of rich and poor alike, of any ethnicity or gender.  But woe to those who forget, those without a single coin, for he will not ferry them.  Those impoverished souls are doomed to roam the earth as ghosts, never finding peace, not for a hundred years.

“Old Charon’s ship holds many a soul.  On days such as these, days when many die, the ferry is weighted down and sits heavily in the water, keeling nearly, so close is the edge to the river.  But Charon is a crafty boatsman, and steers his vessel across the eddy-less Styx, toward that vast dissimilar shore, without a quiver or a sound.”

 

 

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