A purple cloth
Arsus wakes up at dawn, trying to yawn quietly so as not to wake everyone else. He gets up slowly and looks around the tent, realizing that it does look different from yesterday when he fell asleep. He had heard Crow just before he fell asleep, a familiar voice that he had missed. Is Haru here too? He doesn’t know, but surely she will be here. He heard about a big storm that had passed over Port Kar, merchants in Kassau reported it. In any case, so it seems, Crow managed to leave Port Kar in time. His gaze falls on Kedja, who is still asleep, a smile flitting across his face for a moment. He quietly leaves the tent and lets his gaze wander over the square until he catches sight of his friend’s banner. They had once met in The Lost City after a long time in which Arsus did not know where to go and whether his caste still existed. He was taken in by Crow even though he didn’t know who Arsus was. He smiled softly to himself at the memories that warmed his thoughts as he stood alone outside the tents, the rising sun peeking slightly between the leaves of the trees. He would make a note to himself to watch his belts more and not stand around lost in thought whenever Crow was around. He had missed him and Haru.
Arsus missed Crow’s humor, which, when he thought about it, wasn’t everyone’s humor and maybe not everyone understood it, and maybe not everyone could handle that kind of humor. Arsus and Crow are probably a lot alike, the determination and coldness on a job on the one hand and the humor and lightness, if you want to describe it as such, on the other. Arsus got closer to Crow than he ever thought he would. He has a deep respect for Crow. A singing bird snaps him out of his thoughts. [03:05:58] Daimos Baarer: He goes back into the tent, quietly opens a chest and pulls out a small purple cloth with a big grin on his face. He leaves the tent again and walks over to Crow’s tent and quietly attaches the cloth to the entrance of Crow’s tent, hoping he won’t be noticed. Even if he’s really quiet, Killers have easy hearing even when they’re asleep, at least that’s the case with Arsus himself. He looks at his work with satisfaction and goes back to his tent to wake Kedja. A hot tea will be good for him in the cold of the morning.
Crow (melchior.wardell) stepped outside and his eyes were instantly drawn to the piece of fabric that was attached to his tent. The colour significant for and to him. “The little twat.” he grinned as he plucked the purple cloth from the tent. He would look over to the tent opposite from him. He was pretty sure that this was left by Arsus. A man that was easy to work with. Never unneeded questions or trouble. A hard working man that knew his trade and had a similar taste in women.
Crow (melchior.wardell) looked at the purple cloth and knew it as a sign of friendship. Something which was considered rare in their caste. Many killers were taken by greed alone, yet he was sure Arsus was not. It was a gift to keep a certain brightness in a life when the rest was dark and often tainted by violence and murder. Just as his girl, Arsus could see a side of him that was still of enjoying things in life. The colourful flower, the well made black wine or a trip with a tarn without any issues.
Crow (melchior.wardell) chuckled thinking about Tarns. That tale was one for a campfire for sure. Although he wondered if Arsus would dare to share it. They were men that stood firm within the caste of Assassins. They earned every stripe and yet they could still laugh and not take themselves always that seriously. For a moment he pondered. Would he leave the purple cloth there ? Or keep it in a spot that would remind him of this moment of reflection over a comradeship between Arsus and he himself.
Crows Murder 
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