The Diary of Crow Grieve

[C. Veldrin]

Under the floorboards of a small cobblestone cottage in the woods, just east of the city of Cove, is a small leather-bound book. As the moon ascends a starry night sky, a woman in a feathered hat lifts the creaking board and withdraws the book from its shadowy niche.

[This information is all OOC.]

Thursday, August 13th. Late evening.

Here I am, settling into my new home in Cove, and no one suspects a thing.

I really wasn't sure whether it was all going to work. I left a potential mess behind in Britain, but if my luck continues as it is, no one will ever know anything. There's no reason the guards would want to search through the murky waters of the moat around the castle anyway. If anyone even tries to delve into my past to find out which noble family I belong to, I've left no evidence of my identity behind. At best, I might be accused of lying about my noble origins, and at that I will graciously apologize for my heinous deception. Then the woman called "Ashleigh Meredith" will be completely dead.

Is it a good idea to keep a written account of my secret elation about getting away with my crime? Absolutely not. But what fun is life without the risk of certain death? The beauty of being out here in this backwater country however, is that it's likely no one would even care if I were discovered. The attitude of these Covian yokels is much too carefree and self-concerned. And while that should be some sort of relief to me, I find myself somewhat disappointed. Surely, however, this is out of a childish desire for attention, and I am truly lucky to have escaped to the North and begun my new life. Although... I wonder if that will lead me to make myself entangled with the less virtuous elements of these local cities.

Most certainly it will. Ah Crow, you are a foolish, conniving thing. I am absolutely infatuated with you.

I've already found myself scouting for the devious and the scheming. Yesterday at a place called Swaggers I met what I very well suspect to be a vampire. Now, chaining myself with undeath is a most unattractive notion, but allying myself with dark forces to serve my own ends, whatever those might turn out to be, is a prospect that is nothing but promising.

The Baron of Cove, Octiovus von Richter, is more or less the man I've heard about. Different from the other aristocrats I've known in that he makes no attempt to hide the more sinister facets of his being. That sort of honesty is refreshing from a breed such as his. But there is still that air of nauseating pompousness and entitlement that drove me to leave Britain in the first place.

There were of course other things that drove me, but at its core, that is the entirety of what was wrong with my family.

A watchman called Thomas Aylmer seems to have taken some kind of liking to me. Though perhaps he is simply starved of attention and my enduring politeness is charming to him. It is hard to tell which, but for now his company does not bother me.

The hour is growing late and my eyes grow heavy. Perhaps it's time to get some sleep.

Ah, sleep. Covian slumber is the deepest and most restful I've had in a long, long while.