Chronicles of the Crow

September 26, 817 Working in Torch

The chronicles have exchanged hands rather quickly within the past month or so. Penknife, a man I know only through writings and the mourning of the some vets, was the chronicler for Crow Company until he was killed in a skirmish outside of Drown. Then Constant took over but never really wanted to. So when I saw he had lost an arm, I took it upon myself as the new guy to buckle down take some of the burden for these old boys. Besides, the work might keep me alive and out of some of the hairier situations.

I’ve only just gotten the job from the Captain, who is an absolutely terrifying fellow. When we were pissing time away at Broker’s farm, we saw something in the distance at Cordon and I am starting to think it was good ol’ Captain. But I’m getting ahead of myself.

Since Penknife died before he could jot down any info on Drown, it’s all up to me and I apologize to the boys that will pour through these notes (you wretched things), and find I don’t quite have Penknife’s flair. In fact, it’s all my fault. I think this spot just might be meant for me. I inadvertently helped Penknife on to deeper waters.

From what I understand, having not had the chance nor time to read over all the notes yet, The Company of the Crow was taking work against the Obsidian Lords, and it proved to be a slaughter. Either way, I’m unsure if we won or lost, but only five hundred or so survived. They fled in to Drown, and that’s when I met Smoke. I am known in certain circles for the work I used to do, and for one reason or another, they called me Diver. This worked in my favor, since the Company seems to mostly work on nicknames. I’m unsure how frequently they change them, if at all. All things to get used to, in time.

So Smoke hired me to collect something from The Ruins. Drown was essentially built right on top of a great, ancient civilization (which itself had been built on a mire, it seemed). And the whole damn place was in a valley and rained all the time. And it was home. People worshiped the rain and the water, though I never had any stock in. That faith made those ruins sacred and absolutely a blasphemous sin to explore their depths. And that was my livelihood! Besides, most of the people that hired us just wanted interesting looking trash. The upper class citizens were exempt from the rule, though it was still a holy crime to wander those ruins. So they’d pay us – that is, me and a few friends – to clean up for them. And it paid well. Some people wanted specific things, and for that we have to swim. Those jobs paid better. Smoke knew how hard it was to get what he wanted, and that’s why I got paid so cheaply. And I needed the money, so I accepted.

The work itself was easy, but Crouch caught wind. I barely made it out of there with my things. The details are trivial. In fact, all the time in Drown was. Suffice it to say, Penknife lost his life there. So did someone else, but their name isn’t in my mind… I’ll have to ask Twitch in the morning. We also drowned Drown, but let the historians bother with those details. Some things are better left unsaid. Or unwritten. -Finish backlog over breakfast

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Ozymandre

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