[GRAVEFIRE] Crow, the Necromancer

Crow begins at the Carnival of Doom + The Clown's Circus.

Before the world burned, one of the chief attractions in the Zebathen Empire was the Grand Carnival on the borders of the Great Lake. It was established on the thousandth year of the Empire's founding as a permanent celebration: a bold display of Zebathen wealth, culture, and power.

People came from all over Ekothis to see the Carnival. Musicians, dancers, jesters, acrobats, storytellers, magicians, bards, sword-dancers from Lox, the House of Glass, and the Fountain of a Thousand Lights all became part of its spectacle. Even people from Motonia, Zebathen's ancient rival, came to see it.

Among the people who made a living there was a strange man known only as Crow. His dark, gloomy presence clashed with the Carnival's bright colors, but that contrast became part of his appeal. Wealthy nobles and merchants visited him because Crow could tell fortunes.

Other fortune-tellers gave customers what they wanted to hear. Crow told the truth. His prophecies came wrapped in riddles and biting sarcasm, but those who understood them found that they came true sooner or later. Merchants learned when to make profits. Noblemen saw political openings. Men of science received revelations that changed their worldview.

Crow could have become a prized guest in any royal court. He stayed at the Carnival because one prophecy belonged only to him: dark times, darker days, an age of strife and anguish, and the smallest sliver of hope beyond it.

A prophecy of a grave fire.

When flames burst from the bowels of the earth, Crow went to the small hut where he had lived for years. He listened to the roar of the fire, the screams of the dying, and the stench of ash and burning flesh. The flames consumed him and his home, but they did not reduce him to ash like everyone else. They changed him, exactly as he had foreseen.

When it ended, Crow walked through the ruin of the Grand Carnival. At its center, a black scythe stood embedded in a field of ash. He had never seen it before, but he knew where it would be.

When his hand closed around its fire-hardened haft, ancient energies moved through him. The whispers of prophecy sputtered out. In their place came other whispers: obedience, service, and nameless dead souls crying for salvation.

Around him, the Carnival stirred again. Joy and laughter were gone. Unseen horrors clawed out of the ash. The music that once echoed for miles played again in cold, eerie tones, a foul mockery of what it had been.

As the Carnival of Doom began, Crow walked out through its shattered gates. The fortune-teller was gone, burned away by the Grave Fire. Something new remained.

The Necromancer.

He had foreseen it.