Staring into the flames was one of those moments were thoughts of past and future came to him as these notes that he needed to read or store somewhere so he could remember them. The Peacock, made him think back on the encounter he once had with her. How proud she had been and yet she had something about her, that made her hardly appealing. The latter rather odd, since Crow enjoyed the women more than he often was willing to admit. He never underestimated the power these creatures held in his world, even though they could be enslaved and taken at whim by any men. Perhaps some women felt secure behind the high walls of cities, but he was very sure that if a man truly wished to possess one, she eventually would find herself at his feet. However the man might have to pay with something much grander than the woman would. He had lost something, which Crow tried hard to keep.
The flames made his eyes light up with that glow of demonic thoughts about the women he had owned, deceived, taken and even murdered. He was a proud man and never really lost that strength that he owned when he was still a tarnsman in Glorious Ar. But even then he knew that love could weaken him, would make him soft, tender and caring. His companion had eventually showed him how weak he as a man had been, when she had died in his arms. The loss of her, had made him doubt everything he was at that point and eventually prey to the Assassin Snix. It had been him that recruited him for the first time, when Assassins had been outlawed by the mistakes of Pa Kur.
He glances to the girl that seemed to crawl deeper underneath his cloak in wonder why she came so often on his path in life. The peacock that had been bitter to his caste, by the loss of her lover that desired the black cloak and helmet. The lad hadn’t survived the harsh training and he knew she had blamed him for his demise. In a way he knew that her judgement was true and false. The lad had died eventually if he hadn’t done it in his training. There was no true desire, but only the wish to learn the skill and run off with the woman he loved. Crow shook his head, when the thought of love crossed his mind. Love was one thing that many of his caste feared. He knew that some did love their slave, perhaps even had a secret affair with a lady that betrayed her own companion with such a dark and sinister killer. But he knew also how many of those had been killed, because they eventually weren’t able to be uncompromising to their profession.
He took a stick and poked the fire to ignite it a bit better and added a new log upon it, when his thoughts went to the women and slaves he had deceived by his – so called care – They thought to own his heart, but it had been cold to them. However their need to have his love, gave him the opportunity to fake it and make these women splendid within the furs. The y blossomed in their collar only because he had been able to be this amazing actor that could play the part. The last one of the things that abled him often to approach a target, to kill him in the next.
When the girl moved and spoke he turned to her, noticing that she wasn’t doing that well. Cold might have held her longer than he thought. Perhaps hunger or thirst made her hardly conscious to what danger might be beside her. When she spoke the words – My Crow – he arched a brow. If she had knelt before him, he would have slapped her for speaking so boldly. He wasn’t anyones, but his own. However her voice seemed weak and hardly the woman he remembered from Ar. It had been there where he had made her walk around a tree, just for his entertainment and have her out of hearing range. She was at times obnoxious, annoyingly there, when he didn’t need a slave or a woman such as herself. She was not only beautiful in an unique way, she was cunning too. The peacock wasn’t one he would ever underestimate.
When the woman again spoke his name and seemed to drift back in her own world, where she struggled with her own demons, he wondered what to do with her. He could just leave her there, have nature or the wheel of life have his own way with her. However he couldn’t dismiss that feeling he had been sent here for a reason and that she was part of an answer that needed to be unravelled. She seemed so helpless there now, something that made her truly beautiful. “How sweet to concur a peacock when she has no longer her feathers to ruffle.” He mused while he decided to end the fire with some kicks of dirt over it.
He turned to the woman that seemed even more fragile in the moonlight. He used the cloak to keep her warm as in this role that he could carry over his shoulders. “Seems you must have a good luck charm, Peacock.” He mutters while he tried to lift the weight on his shoulders so he could walk without much discomfort. Unsure where he could find a physician in these parts that might take care of her, he started to walk. Thankful for the strength he owned and that helped him to keep going even with the load of the woman on his shoulders.
Although this might be seen as care for the women, it had a different purpose to him that he took her. For some reason he had found her and with it he felt there was something that he needed to learn from her. He would drop her by the first signs of danger, would sacrifice her if some thieves held an interest in her. She was only a woman and with it, unimportant when it came to the choice he or she. “Too noble.” He muttered to himself, knowing that he was an odd one in his caste and wondered how many of his caste brothers would have made the choice to pick up the girl to carry her to a physician. His face became grim of anger, when he considered why he eventually had made that choice. He – by the Priest Kings – cared for the girls life. Death served a purpose, but he wasn’t one to just offer a life to death without giving effort to keep it alive, unless coin was paid. Then, but only then he would take life, without blinking or doubt.
Even as she slumbered, the past still proved nettlesome and revealed itself in the form of nightmares that proved an unparalleled consistency which Gorean men could never amount too. A man can conquer a woman – her heart, body, mind, and soul, but there is always something in a human being which another cannot fathom touching. The bosk dung heap in combination with the fire proved to be of some benefit, despite the fact that her larl cloak which she had robbed from the bondmaid she murdered began to decline. Perhaps it was her time spent within the wilderness or the quality of the fabric, but she never seemed to be warm enough. That changed when her so-called “savior” arrived in the form of a previously marked man’s cloak. Crow’s garment offered her respite from the frost that labored in men’s work – only this time it was enslaving the last remnants of green nature. Autumn was tolerable for the Pani panther, and even in Port Kar for the duration of her formative years of beggary, she seemed to thrive best during that season. However, it was always during Winter where it was a hit or miss in her luck; winter is when she blossomed, when others seemed most content in the summers of their lives.
Her dreams were vast and uncompromising, though to state that they were cruel was relative. In her sleeping visions, she discovered how her gender became subordinate to men; the war between the sexes was waged through toil, labor, and violence. The chaos resumed until Priest-King gods declared that women were born to serve men. This knowledge she gained originally through reading and folktales, finding thediscovery silly, if not a bit cumbersome to her sensibilities. During the few moments of her life when she was free, her dependency was not upon men, but survival. But, survival incorporated men and it was a game regarding who had the upper hand. Yurei had always desired the upper hand, to maintain the control that evaded her the day that she and her mother were sold to the Karian slaver. She was treated as a daughter, but the stain of what Lord Nishida never left her and haunted her even in the present. There is no alleviation for women in a world whose fathers eagerly sell them to the highest bidder. Lord Nishida had inadvertently taught her that her gender was marketable and that she was at the mercy of men; even female children are not exempt from the standard Gorean men had coerced upon them.
Yurei stirred in her sleep, disturbing the snow beneath her fetal form as one of the moons illuminated her. Despite her disheveled appearance; gaunt form, tangled and dreaded coarse blackberry colored hair, and a visage that carried scars of which devalued her prospects upon the auction block, she was still beautiful. The serene countenance of her sleep, despite the tornado of otherworldly visions dancing in her head, revealed her heart. She was hardened, but soft. Cold and comfortably detached to where she could easily kill to survive, but compassionate enough to offer aide when she saw fit. She feared much, but rarely doubted herself. She had been the victim and now sought out conquests of meticulously and stealthily kidnapping high caste free women and selling them for a profit. Like assassins, she emptied herself of her feelings when enduring difficulty and simply soldiered through it like a rarius. She was strong, resolute, and wayward but haphazardly vulnerable and helpless when doubt did enter her mind. Men seemed to cause the rapid second-guessing of herself during enslavement. She could love so profoundly and obey unquestionably… that is, until she was denied the opportunity to be herself. The forest offered another perspective outside of the world of men. In the forest and alone, she could be herself… not Pani, not a free woman, a panther, a slave, an outlaw… just herself. The Northern Forests were her Thassa and she mariner to them; navigating through the sea of verdant trees with lush foliage and taking what she wanted. She was the “man” in her forest and she intended to remain as such
Her lashes fluttered spontaneously against her cheekbones while the dream abated; this one featured the mystical black bird which she had been following. Suddenly, she felt very warm due and her body tensed in opposition as she curled more tightly into her fetal pose. A sole panther girl in the wilderness is similar to that of an Earth lone wolf; they both can survive on their own for sometime, in fact for several years, but eventually the solitary lifestyle will catch up to them. The self-imposed solitude that the Pani panther had settled into was beginning to take its toll. Barns and fires afforded her some immunity from the cold and kept hunger at bay it was obvious from the feverish shivering beneath Crow’s vast cloak that she was battling her own limitations.
Consciousness briefly claimed her and her russet colored eyes opened to peer, albeit feebly at her surroundings. She descried the figure who was rekindling the fire, imbuing the flames with life despite hands which had shed blood for decades. Her heart thrummed against her chest when she gradually began to recognize the darkly attired man. From what her weak vision discerned, his clothes revealed him for what he was she croaked his name with a hoarsened, weary voice, “Crow, my black bird.” There was movement beneath the cloak as a single cracked and bleeding hand touched the ground behind him. She sought to touch him, even though the distance seemed pasangs to her in her enervated state, “Crow.” Though the effort to touch him was arduous for her, the peacock still possessed her determination as she called his name once more before succumbing back into the space where dreams and nightmares were sovereign and where the gods could continue their meticulous manipulation of her mortal, human mind. She called to Crow once more, though either through relief or delirium, labeled him with irony, “Tengu-karasu…”
Perhaps she assumed he was one; the protective spirits of her culture and childhood. But sleep seized her just as her hand brushed against his backside, alerting him of her awareness of his presence. Another gim hooted in the distance while a second moon made them luminescent; making them appear like otherworldly and ethereal creatures who seemingly belonged to scrolls of fiction for children. The darkness had subsided for now while it seemed like the moonlight intended to guide Crow as to what he should do next.
The dagger had been washed from his forehead before he had pulled down the hood and had sheltered his face from the snow. His cloak heavy by the snow crystals that had occupied it while he walked in the darkness that he often called his friend. His steps through the snow seemed to be slow, calculated and with determination, while nothing in him really gave thought to the direction he was heading. This last kill had broken something within him, something he needed to find back for if not his own demise would be certain. No Assassin would be able to do what they did if they couldn’t shut down their own emotions. The thought of leaving a woman he had held dear, pregnant by the corpse of her companion, weighted heavy on his shoulders while he ploughed through the snow.
His eyes just above the scarf he had drawn up his nose were keen on his surroundings as if it had become a second nature to be alert and on the ready. Those green eyes that once had sparkled of joy were lifeless and yet behind them there was this grief of an old man that feared he had lost his most loyal and beloved friend. His heart that once had beaten for his companion, his children and a slave felt empty and cold. The sound of his footsteps in the snow made him aware that one might hear him coming and with it his one hand gripped the hilt of his blade, so he could draw if some thief would dare to venture in his direction. His expression tensed at the thought of all the gold he made in his profession, most of it he wouldn’t ever spend. He figured it was something in his genes, from his father, to hold on to fortune while he doubted them both to be of greed.
He held pause by this large tree that had dropped all of his leafs, since season had changed. The branches the sharp outlines against the light of the moons. He pulled down the scarf and inhaled the cold night air and sighed deeply. How had he become the man he was now ? The man that indeed could say without blinking that nothing else mattered. The man that could kill in cold blood because a simple exchange of coin had been made. The answer had been clear when he was many years younger and now in this cold he wasn’t certain. He had justified himself that he held honour. That he prevented the wars that would rage between cities if it weren’t for that single kill. He, not only an Assassin but a mentor for others had often told the reason and purpose for their caste and professions and yet now felt himself in doubt.
A nightly cry seemed to call him from the distance and yet he was certain that no noise was made. He squinted his eyes to see if something on the horizon could tell him what might lay ahead. The cry had taken him from his negative thoughts and he couldn’t help to think of T. and their long hour discussions about the spirits and the wheel of life that kept turning. Crow was more of a rationalist. Calculated and organized in his thoughts and yet he had seen too much which he couldn’t explain to dismiss the spirits or influence of a hidden force. He waited to listen if there was truly something calling him and yet he knew deep down it was in vain. He pulled up the scarf again and headed in the direction in which he felt himself directed. An old killer that had nothing better to do than to find himself walking in a direction that held perhaps only a dream.
Along the line he felt the call stronger, making himself restless and weary. Was it the call of his own death ? Was it the call that the wheel would turn without him ? He remembered the story of the urt, T. once told him. The older urt telling the younger one to watch out for the wheels of a cart and with it finding his own death. A small grin formed behind the scarf at the recollection of the story, which no other could tell so beautiful as his comrade Taog. He chuckled softly to himself, visioning the faces of the slaves that had often been forced to listen to the two men sharing tales about life, death and the meaning of life. How amazing that even now such could bring comfort while something seemed out there, which didn’t make any sense. The weariness seemed to be replaced with the hunger of knowing, the desire to face the demon or to learn from his mistakes. The killer : The Crow seemed to have ruffled his feathers and was ready to face that which had called him from afar.
Something told him in the darkness that someone was there and yet he couldn’t see anyone there. The crying seemed to have stopped and he was sure that this spot, was one that he needed to find. He stood there, completely in that power of his. That strength that indeed would tell about the purpose, the meaning of what he was. It felt that with every step he had made his doubt about himself had become less. He was slightly annoyed that his own puzzle didn’t seem to be unravelled by the spot he was drawn too. Yet now he had found it he wouldn’t leave it without the answer he felt was there. In no state to just find a spot to get some sleep, he gathered some branches when suddenly his look met the sleeping girl near something he could use to start a fire. The girl unrecognizable in the dark was sound asleep. A glance about the place to see that she at least had sheltered herself against the cold wind.
While he silently build that pile he could light for a fire, he wondered if this woman was perhaps there for his answer. It wouldn’t be a first that a slave girl, without knowing, had given him answers to puzzles he didn’t seem been able to resolve. With the first light of the fire he watched the light dance over her small frame. Her pale skin seemed fragile while her hair was like this frame around it. The woman curled up as if it had tried to find shelter by nature itself became more visual and suddenly he knew who this woman was.
“The Peacock has lost her feathers.” He whispered while he placed the heavy cloak over her body and warmed himself by the fire until she would awake.
The snow crunched under her boots as she shuffled along towards the encampment while she deposited more wood into the weak fire that she had compiled. The fire crackled in response to the additional faggot she added to the small pit she had managed to create despite her obvious surroundings. The faggot she discarded into the fire revealed to be thick, decaying boards of wood that she had meticulously extracted from the adjacent barn’s walls and floors. Though this one seemed to be bare as compared to the last barn she stayed in, ushering half of the animals outside to where she had to take solace in sleeping next to bosk dung to retain warmth since it was so cold. She had returned to Dyval to find her former owner’s cabin had been sold and the former remnants of her Pani identity either abandoned or sold. No word or acknowledgement… in his own way he had liberated her.
The cabin was a footnote in her history, another seed of pain planted and reaped into her irreversible memory.
She ran through the Northern Woods a great distance, apathetic to the branches and shrubs which scratched her limbs and to the fallen trees she tripped over. She did not even care if a larl or Kur assaulted and devoured her. She was beyond the syncretism of both her cultures which she depended upon for survival, having been consequently abandoned by both. Her spirit and beauty were always accepted, but like a jewel in an Ubar’s ring, she was a showpiece; an object for men to display at will. Where was the honor in that?
Even Lord Nishida, who had later sold her mother’s contract to the Karian slaver who witnessed her at the Tyros-Cos victory banquet all those years ago did what he wanted… and she assumed he was her father.
Or was he?
Apparently, her mother had been with another man before Suyuan’s conception. A one-named ashigaru named Goro who was fiercely loyal to the daimyo. To reward him, Lord Nishida indefinitely loaned him Mizumi briefly after her debut as a contract woman. Even Lord Nishida saw to it that his own women would be put to use even amongst his own men. But, it was not revealed, even to Mizumi herself was was that she had an allergy to the sweetener which was usually added to the wine of the noble free woman that contract women utilize to deter unwanted pregnancy. Most children of contract women begin as mistakes anyway. The formula proved useless and Mizumi’s belly swelled with child. Lord Nishida, who had stolen Mizumi’s virginity and had legal rights over her body, believed the child was his and confined her for the duration of her pregnancy.
The pleasure house manifested a rival contract woman whom loathed Mizumi and her success. Her name was Sumomo and she had a peaceful, lovely demeanor with a proud high brow, expressive eyes, and an oval mouth which was twisted into a perpetual smirk. Sumomo was ambitious and cruel, but also very cunning. Because of her, Suyuan was often switched and Mizumi often scolded by the Okaasan. But, Lord Nishida remained steadfast in his devotion to both. The ost woman executed a plan for Mizumi to find disfavor with the daimyo and she observed the reserved, kind woman often to seek out her weakest point and strike like the proverbial snake she was. Her opportunity came.
Mizumi was discovered in the arms of Goro by Lord Nishida, due to Sumomo’s precise and careful planning. From that moment on, the idyllic world of that the then seven year old knew was shattered.
————-
She was preparing for her Obioki ritual, being permitted to attire herself in the traditional obi that adult women wore and commence rigorous training in the contract women arts. According to the priests and diviners, a seven year old girl was no longer considered part of the world of the gods – of fantasy, dreams, and blessings. She was growing up and had to begin to accept duty and responsibility. The mirror which reflected the image before her revealed a comely little girl with a soft, heart-shaped face, unscarred then and eyes which revealed irises of honey-brown to amber shade. Varying eye colors among the Pani people were uncommon, but not unheard of, due to lessening isolation with mainland Gor over the years. Ki smiled with her as the platinum-haired slave remained untouched by the years.
“Little Mistress does look very beautiful. You will be very strong after this and no longer a fragile child. You will bring your mother honor.” She stated, admiring her charge.
“Ki, after this ceremony, will I still be able to play with my friends? Like other children?”
Ki was about to answer her when the shoji screens of Suyuan’s room burst open and revealed two ashigaru of Lord Nishida. They were two men Suyuan knew and who personally guarded both Mizumi and Suyuan.
“Yuji-san! Minoru-san! Do you both like my kimono?” The child was attired in a korti of gray-green and vermillion colors, revealing maple leaf designs in expensive fabric. At her obi, she bored a mingled crest of both Lord Nishida and the pleasure house. Unlike other free women, contract women changed their colors and flowers patterns monthly, depending upon the season. It was an expensive, but colorful investment. The kimono that Suyuan wore was for Pani Children’s Festival in which she would receive copious blessings and gifts for becoming a “healthier child on the path to adulthood”.
The one called Yuji stepped forward just as Ki leaped up and began to scold them for their rude intrusion, when he backhanded her and she collapsed to the floor. Suyuan gasped, observing the display with shock when Minoru approached Suyuan and glimpsed down dispassionately at her, “Suyuan.” He stated flatly, more like a command as he addressed her, “Lord Nishida has ordered us to take you to Port Kar where a slaver is awaiting both your mother’s and your personal delivery. He has sold your mother’s contract to him. One day, you will be a collar-girl.”
The news was like a white noise in her head and she blinked for several moments as she attempted to process it, “N-Nani?! What?!”
“We know your mother’s secret and whether or not you knew it yourself is inconsequential. You may be a contract woman’s daughter, but you are not a daimyo’s child.”
Ki clamored over to Suyuan’s side where she wrapped her arms about the young girl’s ankles and wept into the hem of her kimono. Yuji kicked her, sending Suyuan stumbling into the mirror when Minoru thrust some folded garments against her chest.
“Change and then we will depart. If you attempt to run or struggle, we will shackle you and carry you the rest of the way. You are fortunate that Lord Nishida is sparing both yours and your mother’s lives, despite this dishonor she has brought upon you both.”
Suyuan would later learn that her biological father was coerced to commit ritual suicide and Lord Nishida collected his head afterwards as a trophy which only Pani did to enemies. Goro, the roughened, yet scheming ashigaru who actually gave a damn enough to often inquire about his own daughter’s life was killed… because of Lord Nishida’s anger with Mizumi.
—————————-
The first frost had broken and the snows would soon follow and with it the difficulty to navigate the forests as they lacked the lucidity of what she sought – the black bird. It was the caw of that beast which had settled into the nettle tree and perched upon a single branch to observe her nearly lethal actions. The cawing rightfully distracted just as she approached the edge while the late summer breeze picked up and idly played with random strands of her tangled, thick blackberry locks. There was no plea from the Thassa breeze to cease her action as she glimpsed down the linear aspect of the cliff. Another jagged rock dislodged itself from the wall and tumbled down into the depths below, splashing as it encountered the currents. She teetered over the edge, glimpsing down into what would be her future when the bellowing of the black bird interrupted her thoughts and her head turned to regard the creature.
That was when she remembered the old folktale of the tengu-karasu which both her mother and Ki had expounded upon. They were fearsome creatures with sharp teeth and claws who hatched from large eggs and resided in nests in the mountains of the Farther Islands where the Pani resided. Despite their frightening appearance, they were good spirits; appearing to humans through thoughts or dreams and rewarding the good and punishing the unjust.
Suyuan narrowed her eyes and scrutinized the creature, noticing a third appendage upon the beast which resembled something of a third leg which was slightly shriveled. Most would regard the beast as deformed but her recollection expounded what her mother’s diviner at the tarncamp shrine manifested to her after her reading her fortune at age three.
“Her life will be changed by the Yatagarasu… the three-legged crow.”
Katsumi was an aged, silver-haired shamaness whom the people visited to retrieve their fortunes. Many said she spoke to the gods, including the Priest-Kings.
“What do you mean, Katsumi-sama? Is it Amaterasu-omikami?”
The crow, particularly the legend of the three-legged one was a messenger or symbol of the compassionate Pani sun goddess, Amaterasu who reigned and watched over the world. But, with the arrival of the dour, white-robed men, the sects devoted were outlawed. After the initial “sacrifice” of the men, the beliefs resumed, though with more discretion due to the fanaticism of the Priest-Kings centuries earlier.
“This child is being watched over by the gods… she may never know it, experience it, or even realize it, but she is a vessel, an agent. But, death surrounds her… one man who brings death everywhere has his path interlinked with hers. He too, is an agent. He is the symbol of the crow and she is the butterfly with peacock wings.”
——————-
Suyuan cast another board into the flames as she wrapped the tattered larl fur around her shoulders. She hadn’t realized how much weight she had lost since her absence of the collar and her time at the cliffs. A gim hooted in the distance as she raised her legs up to her chest to settle against her fur and leather poncho which was stained with old blood – whether from hunting the barn urts she dined upon this evening that she had gutted, but there was too much of it and she recalled the pretty slave girl she had to dispose of who nearly revealed her hiding place in the barn. She pressed her lips against the back of her knees, shivering while she remembered the sweet, mellifluous voice about to bellow out for help, “Panther! Panther!” Suyuan’s callused hand clamped down over her mouth and her crude sleen knife performed the rest as she sliced into the tender flesh of her throat and the arterial spray inevitably stained her clothes, hair, and face. She closed her eyes while the bondmaid sputtered, gurgled, and expired in her lethal embrace. Suyuan did not flinch or even weep while she extinguished her life, only proceeding to drag the corpse over to where her compacted sleeping corner was and laid the girl there. To glimpse at the eyes of the dead was a bad omen but she did anyway and noticed that they were blue and open, gaping; staring at everything and nothing. The bondmaid’s face had a horrified expression which would remain frozen before she began to decay. Death was indiscriminate in its expressions at times. The Pani woman performed her last kindly gesture for her by placing her fingers upon her eyelids and closing them so that evil spirits wouldn’t enter her eyes and commenced to cover her with the bale of hay next to her. She genuflected and prayed over her corpse, beseeching her and the gods for mercy with tears cresting upon her cheekbones
She hated killing and this girl certainly didn’t deserve to die, but in matters of survival and avoidance of the collar, her death was necessary.
Now she wore her blood upon her clothes like a badge and even though it was days prior, the girl’s face joined the blur of souls she had killed and sold to survive; a procession of men and women who haunted her Suyuan divested herself of the garment, allowing it to join the other barn boards in the fire. She watched it burn with the numerous faces that haunted her like ghosts, hence why she named herself Yurei… she had died and returned to the world of the living as a ghost; sometimes vengeful, often hungry, though mostly roaming. The world of men was her irrevocable fate and she haunted just on the outskirts of their will. For now, her primary thoughts catered towards the probability of escaping Dyval and finding the man whom the diviner had referred to. As the smoke ascended into the night sky, she stated one word, her breath steadily expelling past her lips as she stated his name, “Crow…” It was he that she needed to find in order to find the root to the strange occurrences which have been transpiring as of late.
Because, she had seen more than one black crow and only one with the third-leg before her attempted suicide… and in Pani folktale, that’s when Heaven intervened on someone’s behalf.
The diviner’s message from her childhood… and her last conversation with Crow before the omens commenced. He brought death which she was aware of. He had to have something to do with the omens… which were yet to be determined in their nature.
But, as superstitious as she was in her later years, why would he be the first one to consider?
Then she recalled Crow’s advice to her before his departure from Dyval; something about life after she had tearfully informed him of a known Pani woman’s suicide from the Impress.
Her eyes became heavy and she laid down next to the large bosk dung pile for warmth and curled up into a fetal position while she attempted to get warm. The gim hooted again as she slipped into unconsciousness, dreaming of her better days in Salernum when she encountered the infamous Black Caste for the very time and how she came to meet Crow.
Crows Murder 