Crow—a young man with hair as black as a crow’s wing, eyes as green as the sea—and full of poetry when they’re not watchful and skeptical. He radiates a certain Goodness, whether or not it’s deserved.

At the Court-Coven of Salt and Fortune, he'll dress elegantly enough—think 1930s, 1940s but slightly off-kilter sartorial glory—although it's clear he's not the first favorite. Left to his own devices, he’s happy to wear low class workman's togs, mayyybe a nice coat and hat to hide his face. He's usually wearing rings of some black rock around two of his fingers and a ring of smokey gray glass around another.

Also usually, Crow's got two fiddle cases hanging from his shoulder. They're scuffed and obviously well-loved. Also well-loved's his motorcycle, named Bad Luck and the color of blue glass. Everything that makes Bad Luck work is visible ghostly beneath the lacquered chrome of it, and its handle bars and kickstand are lightless black.

He's currently tooling around in a Ferrari Tributo, satin black with gold accents, a ridiculous vanity license plate and a busted up back window. Often accompanied by a black cat. Scuffed, well-loved fiddle case still around somewhere.