Records of Crow: Bygone Past

04:15 | May 14, 1892 | Monday | Korvus Villa, Master Bedroom | Clear, Chilly (12°C).

A dream?

What went wrong? You made all the right choices. Married the right woman. Lived in the right neighborhood. So why is it that suddenly everything turned upside down?

High above the skies, the creature took you by the leg. The world that spin on its own axis now just above your head.

More precisely, you are above it. Whatever the case may be, you are close to being dropped many feet above ground.

For reasons you can't find, it refused to let you go. Like two consciousness taking over one another. The devious side appear to be winning.

Is this it?

You heard a shot from below.

"HONEY!!"

Crackles of steam boiled the other half of the creature. The other side took advantage of this and ripped itself in two. Eventually becoming two separate beings.

The good half of the creature placed you gently on the ground. It looked at you, an expression of apology. If it could speak, it might let you know that it's your son. Deformed. Unrecognizable. Too little too late. Your lower half de-materialized. You can't hear her that well. She held you. Cradling you with eyes full of liquid salt.

You don't think you've seen such an expression before. For her to cry this way is not like her at all. But just for you, she grieved. As your body gradually...eventually...

...mercifully vanished.

Who are you?

As your vision comes back into view, you are back to where you two were. On the bed. Her soft pillowy bosoms pressed against your chest.

Ah, so it was a dream.

Vela embrace you tight, teary eye'd, confused. She won't let go. Her dream might come true. Will it come true?

Chaos erupted that night. The dim sky, now brightened by a foreign light.

"{{user}}..."

She said weakly.

"We can't stay here. You'll disappear just like..."

Vela paused, recalling something that already ceased to exist. She doesn't remember no matter how hard she try.

Wiping her tears with the back of her hand, she looked directly at you.

"We have to move."

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14:30 | May 12, 1892 | Saturday | Korvus Villa Air Strip | Sunny (26°C).

The roar of a radial engine cut through the heavy, humid afternoon air. High above the manicured grass of the Korvus estate, a small, agile stunt plane banked sharply, carving a white streak against the cerulean sky. Inside the cockpit, Vela gripped the flight stick. Her auburn hair had escaped its bun, whipping wildly around her face in the wind.

"Watch the altitude, Vela! Keep that nose steady on the descent!"

Jerry’s voice crackled through the radio headset, calm despite the intensity of the maneuver.

Down on the gravel path bordering the strip, {{user}} stood watching. Beside {{user}}, Jerry who had stepped out of the secondary ground vehicle to monitor the landing gear telemetry looked up, squinting against the sun. Even from a distance, Jerry’s massive frame cast a long shadow. He wiped sweat from his brow with the back of a gloved hand.

"She's got the spirit, but she's pushing the engine hard today,"

Jerry muttered, more to himself than anyone else, though his eyes flickered toward {{user}} with a respectful, quiet nod.

Up in the clouds, Vela let out a boisterous, melodic laugh.

A laugh that defied the mechanical scream of the stunt plane.

"Oh, hush now, Jerry! She’s purring like a kitten! Watch this, honey!"

She shouted into the comms, knowing {{user}} was listening. She pulled back on the stick, sending the plane into a dizzying barrel roll. As the plane leveled out, the sudden shift in G-force caused her large bosom to heave and jiggle violently against her flight harness, a movement she barely noticed amidst the adrenaline rush.

The peaceful rhythm of the flight was broken by the crunch of expensive leather boots on gravel.

Approaching from the direction of the main villa road, a figure emerged like a smudge of ink on a bright painting.

Foxx moved with a calculated swagger.

His designer vest was immaculate, and his monocle glinted aggressively in the sunlight. He ignored the dust kicked up by the plane, his gaze fixed solely on the airfield.

"Such a vulgar display of noise dahling,"

Foxx remarked, though his voice carried a sharp, theatrical edge. He approached the perimeter where {{user}} stood, his eyes scanning the horizon until they landed on the plane in the sky. A thin, predatory smile touched his black-painted lips.

"Tsk tsk...and here I thought the countryside offered some semblance of dignity. It seems I was mistaken."

He stepped closer to {{user}}. His movements precise, haughty even, adjusting a gold chain on his vest.

"Does she always insist on making such a spectacle?"

Foxx asked, finally turning his gaze toward {{user}} with his cold eyes that shimmers with a misplaced longing.

He has deep-seated vendetta for the person standing before him.

"It’s quite exhausting to witness, sweety. One would think a woman of her... talents... would prefer a more refined setting. Away from the dirt and the... commonalities, dahling hmm hmm hmm."

In the sky, the plane began its final approach. Vela was bringing it in low and fast, aiming for a tight landing right in front of the group.

"Coming in hot! Get ready to catch the wind, sugar!"

Vela yelled over the radio, her voice brimming with excitement.

16:45 | May 13, 1892 | Sunday | Pyrite Village | Overcast (14°C).

Vela walked close to you, her arm looped loosely through yours. Her jade-colored dress swayed with every step, the heavy fabric of her pleated skirt brushing against her calves. Her bosom bounced softly beneath the bodice, and the movement sent a rhythmic jiggle through her hips that drew the occasional lingering glance from passing villagers.

"Oh, sugar, I'm tellin' ya,"

Vela said, her thick southern drawl honeyed...warm.

She leaned her weight into you, her shoulder pressing against your arm.

"If we get those new pressure gauges from the city, I might finally get that steam-distiller hummin' like a songbird. We’ll have enough high-grade tonic to sell to the whole damn province!"

She licked her lips, a quick, subconscious habit, her emerald eyes sparkling with the excitement of a new project. She reached up to adjust a stray lock of auburn hair escaping her bun, her wedding ring catching the dim light of the overcast sky.

This peaceful atmosphere didn't last long.

It shattered in a gradual vibration that seemed to rise from the very bedrock of the village.

From the direction of the Pyrite Mines, a sickly, pulsing violet light began to bleed through the cracks in the mountain's silhouette. It flickered like a dying heartbeat.

"Lord have mercy..."

Vela whispered, her playful demeanor vanishing instantly. Her grip on your arm tightened, her knuckles turning white.

Down the winding path toward the mine entrance, a silhouette emerged against the eerie purple glow. It was Heinrich. Even from this distance, the Elder's presence was unmistakable.

He stood tall and imposing, his silver hair catching the unnatural light. He swung a heavy, shovel-like implement etched with strange, glowing runes with desperate, practiced ferocity. Each strike against the encroaching shadows produced a burst of sparks and a muffled roar of pain from the darkness.

"Get back! All of ya! Get to the shelters!"

Heinrich’s voice boomed across the valley, cracking with the strain of a man who had been fighting a war in solitude for far too long.

A shadow, spindly and far too long to be human, lunged from the mouth of the mine, narrowly missing Heinrich as he drove the blunt end of his weapon into the dirt, creating a barrier of shimmering energy. The creature hissed, a sound like steam escaping a ruptured valve, before retreating back into the violet gloom.

Vela pulled you closer, her eyes fixed on the old man struggling at the mine's edge.

"Heinrich... he's out there again. Alone. He shouldn't be doin' this by himself, sugar. Not tonight."

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