Chapter Thirteen: The Lady of Death

Wherever crows went, death and misfortune were often not very far behind. The pitch black birds were regarded as harbingers of ill, symbols of evil that knew no boundaries. Abhorred and feared by all those who did not wish to suffer a painful, violent death, it was only fitting that they accompany someone who was seen as the physical incarnation of death itself.

Flocks of the accursed birds descended to join their compatriots to feast on the bodies strewn across the ruins of a village. One that had been a bustling hive of cheerful life and civility only mere hours ago. Now it had joined the ranks of the settlements that had been completely destroyed by an army of blood thirsty mercenaries, led by an individual whose mere presence brought terrible sorrow and suffering. Black smoke streamed up from the funeral pyres where the bodies of innocent victims had been piled up and burnt. Houses lay in smoldering ruins. Hundreds of dead corpses that had abandoned littered the streets, their i