A crow by another name

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by TujoThePanda

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Summation:

A crow by another name

Eyes of pale slate stared icily down a narrow alleyway, opening forth into a particularly unattractive stretch of urban milieu. The tell tale signs of municipal decay were evident in the discarded rubbish strewn about the grimy pavement. A mass of seemingly arbitrary objects that only served to aggregate the very image of decadence marred what little beauty could be found here. Miscellaneous cans, damp papers, broken bottles, molding boxes of cardboard, even rotting crates of wood. The black tar pavement lay as the canvas in sporting such an array of objects, set against walls of rust and dull beige.
As the scenery began its shift from the ambient visage of business to that of a more mechanical nature, hurried steps slowed to a steadfast walk. A figure emerged on one end of crumbling brick into what appeared to be an industrial yard of sorts, long since having fallen into disuse. Much of the same decay that marred the ambiance of the alley streets was present here as well, in even greater excess. Whatever trespassers delving in delinquency or vagrancy had run amok of the place, a wooden storage crate having been shattered to pieces against the grounds before a tarnished metal door. Rather obtrusively, broken and mismatched piping had been shoved through one end of the box, as well as what appeared to be a broken muffler. On the pile of shattered wood lay a heap of seemingly related objects to the yard itself, by and large. Cinder blocks, mismatched piping in a cardboard box, rusted out drums, a barrel encrusted with grime, even boards set against scrap metal sheeting. A lone sign hung adjacent to the chain linked door, marking a designated area that remained separate from the surrounding yard.
High above, a mass of clouds obscured the sun in a thin veil of condensed vapor, casting the city in a uniform shade of gray. There was the coming of a storm. one could easily feel it. The gentle winds that blew through the narrow alleyways, kicking up all manner of debris with it. The change in the feel of precipitation brought with it the notion of rain, which could be felt in the occasional drop of water that marked a faint drizzle. A premonition of a sort, for the storm alluded to far more grave connotations that surpassed the scope of the mere physical plane. A foreboding darkness would come, as judgment would be passed on the innocent and wicked, in time.
It was a strange place to find seclusion, more a haphazard discovery than anything to be found with any real sense of intent. And there he stood, tall and stalwart amidst the elements of urban decay. An avian of a sort, the strangers appearance was loosely ominous in the way he looked. The scowl he bore as time came to pass was most evident in his gaze, the crease of his beak the furthest thing possible from that of an amicable grin. Feathers of black covered his form where clothes did not already obscure his visage, his eyes an ice colored pale slate against the obsidian beak protruding from his face. With shoulders broadly wide and textured like that of a sculpture of granite, his built physique denoted something of strength and a hardy exterior. Whilst he lacked hair in any sense, several feathered lengths drooped in a peculiar fashion over his forehead, hanging there like strands of hair. This one was a crow.
Adorning his form, there were the clothes of the streets. Both articles had been stolen as he came into the city, a necessity to cover his naked form. A pair of jeans, torn, worn, and ragged, right from an overhead clothesline. A hooded shirt of synthetic materials, swiped at gunpoint from a street vendors stand, the threat of violence for mere clothing. On his way out in the rush of a mad dash for the alleyways, a black leather belt had been snatched from another street stand on his way out of market square. For now, the seclusion and isolate nature of the alleyways would afford him a modicum of safety from the local authorities.

In truth, he was actually someone else. Someone else, before he had the misfortune to wander directly into a rift off the wayward path in the wilderness of Fells Point. A culmination of his negative emotions gradually manifested itself into a physical form, which warped the one who had been known as Koishi Akamoto into something else.
Koishis struggle in the streets of New Haven had been characterized by the depraved violence he had shamelessly partook in, killing a number of individuals in cold blood when a fight could have easily been avoided. Whilst his rationale could have been argued as sound in the hopes for self defense and that of others, redemption had steadily slid further and further from him. And as he wandered ever further into the plains of Reylieu, the rift in all of its corrupting energies delivered him to the ruins of long forgotten towns. There, deep beneath the creations of man and animal, there lay the enigmatic monolith. It could not ignore the negative karma surrounding the panda, and saw a worthwhile addition. It's corrupting energies reached from afar, eventually changing Koishi from panda to crow. Against the reflection of a dirtied mirror in a ruined hospital, Koishi could have sworn he had become a tengu. A reflection of what he had become, now with an exterior to match. The symbolism was greater than one could have seen at its base, for he was intended to become a servant to the monolith, and bow to its will. And his new found form would befit his title as a harbinger of death, one in the service of the monolith.
The fear had been insurmountable, before and after the fact. All manner of hellish beasts and creatures had attacked him throughout the rift, warped and distorted memories manifesting themselves into physical form. Unable to face the monolith in its entirety, and unwilling to become a servant to it, Koishi fled. Fled back to more familiar territory within New Haven, as he stood now in the industrial yard, reflecting the days events in silence. Whatever negative emotions had run rampant before seemed greater in feel, as a deeply agitated state of mind drew on his psyche. Anger and aggression was steadfastly suppressed by sadness and regret, held back for the coming of events in the near future. He was more or less a ghost, and as he was now, could not return home or to his place of work. What worried him more, however, was a sudden lack of direction in life. What was he to do now?
At a loss for any lasting pursuit with which to take him, Koishi could only accept the inevitable. He would go on to adopt a name to fit his new found identity, as Karasu Jima.

Commentary: I'm not completely sure if this is actually going to be happening in the story of Genova Dei, but it's a thought. Honestly, I was going to split this summation of sorts into two parts. Two possibilities, one being Karasu as a stand alone character, and the one you see before you. But that would be kind of complicated and potentially confusing, so I'll leave it at this for now.
I dunno, I always liked crows for some reason, but “Karasu” is more of a Jackdaw. A type of crow, but not a typical sort. All in all, I feel as though the picture came out great in all its gritty splendor. And it was about time I added another corvid to the character list, despite being an alternate form for an already existing character.

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