Swan Honk's Trip

The young kenku bard walked with his friends through the ancient, stone, benighted corridors, a torch high in his hand as he looked over the glyphs etched into the walls. He wasn't much of a historian; they meant nothing to him. All he knew of this place was that it held something of value, was cold, wet, and gave him a bad feeling. He shivered, his feathers floofing and smoothing as he did, then wrapped his blue scarf a bit tighter 'round his neck. Supposedly these ruins were important to his people; something about the fall of the kenku. But, that had no value to him. He knew the story. His predecessors betrayed their goddess, and were rightly punished. She took their voice, and humbled them. Their status as thieves and cutpurses was deserved, this mistrust well-earned. After all, if their own god couldn't trust them, how could their neighbors?
It was in these thoughts that he was lost when he heard one of his friends cry out, "Swan, stop!" Alas, it was too late, the trap had been sprung. The floor slid out from under the small bird-man, and down he fell into the darkness. The panel slid back into place, and Swan was left blind for the moment. As his small body came to a sudden stop on the stone floor, he let out a cough, and took a moment to gather himself. First, he felt his legs and arms, no breaks. His beak, chest, all fine. He shifted, and realized something was digging into his back. He hissed like an angry cat, and reached back, expecting to find a spike or stone stabbing him, but instead, it was merely a shiny marble he had sewn into his waistcoat. Finally, he felt his neck, and his heart sank. His scarf had fallen off during his descent! No matter, he could find it. 
Swan Honk closed his eyes, and opened his beak slightly. A sound, like a summer day in the park, came from his throat. Children playing, a dog barking, and even the sound of a couple whispering sweet nothings to each other filled the dark space, and slowly, an orb of light began to form about his head. And another, and another, until three orbs orbited him, glowing like a spring afternoon's sun. The chamber he now found himself in was large and dusty. Broken pieces of stone had been piled into a makeshift throne in one corner, while other piles formed makeshift statues or plinths. While most of the debris had been cleared from the floor, silver-bladed spears lay scattered, untouched. There among them was his scarf, safe and sound. As he picked it up and wound it about his neck, the remembered fondly the young woman who gave it to him.
Willing the orbs of light to glow brighter, he took a few cautious steps, his eyes following the contours of the room until he noticed a shadowed figure sitting upon the throne of ruin. Quickly he pulled his dagger, and screeched like a hawk, hoping his friends would be able to hear. Swan approached the figure, quietly, cautiously extending the reach of his light, until two red pinpricks opened in the figure's head.
"Ach, it has been an eternity since I've been cursed with the pain of light, and my hatred has only grown. Who is this to have wandered into my chambers?" came a slimy, evil voice, as the eyes focused on the kenku approaching. "Ah, one of the Corvalon, I see," it continued, chuckling mercilessly. "I remember your people. Quite the trouble for my master some years ago, until I intervened."
"And ye might be?" came the voice of a drunken dwarf. Swan now held his knife before him, eyes narrowed at this creature. There was an evil smell in the air, and it was cold. This malice was old, old, tired, and hateful. Even now the kenku could feel a weight on him, like a wet blanket. 
The old presence cackled, and said, its voice oily, "You may call me Azgon, little bird. You won't be doing much with that name, but at least you'll know your murderer." At this the figure stood, or appeared to. It had little actual body, but was merely a tall shadow, stretching up from its eternity-long sit. "I haven't had a corvalon soul in a long, long time, and I'm absolutely starving," Azgon said as it poured itself down the steps, keeping its eyes locked onto Swan's own.
"Stay back!" an elf woman's voice said, coming from Swan's throat. The kenku kept his face toward this creature, and his blade before him. "Corvalon," he said in the creature's own voice. In a mishmash of dialects, he said, "I am kenku."
The demon laughed, throwing back its head, baring shadowy fangs. "Is that what you're calling yourselves now, old crow? Before I delivered my missive, your pathetic kind was called the corvalon. You followed us into shadows, hunting down our kind. Such noble hearts, so brave, so many died to our blades, but you were winning. Until I came along, at his request," the monster said, as it circled Swan. It was taunting him, while looking for an opening. Swan Honk, while he didn't show it, but worrying. This creature was old, and it was powerful, and Swan was aware just how small he was. Still, he wouldn't back down from this thing.
Azgon shifted, so that it was circling the other direction, and said, "Indeed, it was the Deceiver's plan. When your priests thought they had defied your goddess, and that she had turned her back on you, they threw down their statues and symbols, and severed their link to her. They turned their back, fearing her wrath, just as my master planned." Then, Azgon lunged at Swan Honk. The attack took the small bird by surprise, knocking him aside. He quickly regained his footing, digging his talons into the floor, and humming a deep tune. The light strengthened, and Azgon hissed, pulling back.
Staring the demon down, Swan Honk said, "Aye, look 'ere lads, we have us a miscreant! Cannae trus' this one tae tell a truth, even if 'er life depends on it!" His voice was that of a woman scolding her child. The demon merely grinned, showing its teeth.
"I speak truth only to the dead, and you, little bird, are dead. Behold! It was I who delivered my master's message," Azgon said, its body turning into a tall, handsome figure. It looked angelic in its beauty, with raven-black feathers, and long, powerful wings. Shadows of winged kenku appeared before the demon, knelt down, weeping. The form shifted between a raven angel, and the demon's true form. The scene shifted, and figures knelt before a powerful light. Their own raven-mother, who they had betrayed. One of the figured told her how they had cast down their tokens, how they had turned their backs on her when she needed them most. She wept, and with a sweep of her hand, took the wings from her beloved children, and stole their voices, so that they could no longer speak lies. More than anything, she mourned them.
The vision collapsed, leaving the shadow demon grinning before Swan, who's beak hung open slightly. This had Azgon's desired effect. The demon rushed Swan, and struck him to the ground. In a panic, the kenku tried to back away, but Azgon was too fast. His claw sliced across Swan's face, tossing the bard several feet across the ground. His orbs of light flickered as they lazily tried to keep up. 
A dark laughter filled the room as Azgon approached. It leaned down, grasping the ends of Swan's beloved scarf. It pulled, while stepping on his back. Swan felt the fabric tighten around his neck, and felt his world going dark. He clicked his beak, clawing at his throat, before managing to choke out the sound of a thunderclap. Dust was blown in all directions, and Azgon was blown backward toward his throne. 
Swan took a deep breath and scrambled forward, grasping for something in the dim light. The demon was upon him in a moment, its claws ready to rend Swan's flesh from his bones. Suddenly, there was the great, loud cry of a swan, and Swan Honk lay on his back, the silvered, blessed blade of one of his people's spears pointed up at the oncoming beast. Azgon impaled himself upon the spear, and let out a violent, horribly cry. The metal burned the shadows of its flesh, while Swan slowly got to his feet, twisting the spear in the demon's body. As he did, the kenku belched out a dwarven battle cry, as his eyes began to water. 
Slowly, the demon's body shriveled, as its essence began to scatter all over Ulei'var and the planes of darkness. Soon, all that was left was a leathery, desiccated corpse, and a small bird-shaped man, who had only wanted to help his friends, and bring a smile to someone.
---
Fifteen minutes later, when his friends finally managed to find him, they found Swan, exhausted, laying atop his slain foe. His knife was gripped tightly in his small hand, as he repeatedly stabbed the dead demon's chest, coughing and sputtering. When they approached, their magelights illuminating the room properly, they found his blue eyes wet, and the feathers of his cheeks soaked. He was hoarse and coughing because, as a kenku, he could not create his own sounds. No noise he had yet heard could encapsulate his own personal grief and sorrow, and he could not invent a cry or a sob. All he could do was cough and croak, as he weakly stabbed at the creature that had brought his people low. He knew that this creature's lies had taken his people's wings, their voices, their boldness, and their honor. Generations suffered because of them. His best friend's parents took her away, because of what this creature had made his kind.
Gently, the elven ranger knelt beside him. She sighed, and wiped tears from his cheek, not knowing why he was hurting. Still, it pained her to see such a person so low. She looked over her shoulder, and gestured for their fighter. The large human knelt down, and gently bundled up the kenku into his arms. Swan covered his face with the end of his scarf, and wept as they took him out of that benighted ruin, and back to their lodging.