He listened patiently to his dark lord after having given his reports, flipping through the pages once of twice to make sure he'd covered everything. He smiled quite happily, and quite eerily, when he was praised concerning his efforts in the shading process. While Gammon had the kind of smile that made women concerned for their maidenhood, men too at that, Crow had the kind of smile that made the leaves fall off trees and small children cry. He stood from his conjured chair and bowed deeply, making a small flourish with the long flap of his tooled leather coat, the upraised leather giving the illusion of intricate feathers. His other hand went up to keep the party hat from falling. "I shall do my utmost to ensure this praise was deserved my Lord." He eyed the intricate rune the dark Lord carved into the woman's flesh. An impressive display of his arcane knowledge, the kind of knowledge Crow had spent the past eighteen years under Gammon's command trying to learn.
He straightened as his Death day was mentioned, straightening his coat as he did. Since he had no recollection of his life, he had no idea when his Birthday was, so his Death day was a sort of backwards version of the former. Instead of celebrating the day he'd been born, they now celebrated the day of his death. To Crow, it was no secret that Gammon was slightly jealous of Eckhart. After all, Crow was obligated to spend the majority of his time both on and off the island with the man. This put Crow in a somewhat... precarious position. "I'm.. Uncertain what to say. Thank you my Lord! I'm certain whatever you've prepared will be more than perfect. It will certainly be more than I am deserving of." Secretly though, the idea of a banquet sat ill in his mind. After all, he didn't have a sense of taste! The only reason he ate was to ensure he had enough proteins and nutrients to maintain his muscles and skin. Things like wine, chocolates and other such delicacies held no value in his eyes. He ate expertly balanced meals using only salt as a seasoning, and even at that he only salted his food to maintain a healthy sodium level. As for this gift he spoke of... Knowing Gammon, it could be any of a hundred things. Only one way to find out, and that was to wait a week for his Death day.
Apparently Gammon had heard him mention the current fragile state of his body, because he brought the subject back up and pet his hand like one would a small and fragile cat. While he was incapable of disgust, the dark Lords touch and his leer combined stirred up something in his deep well of emotions. What was it? Ah, discomfort. After letting go of his hand, Gammon glided over to a cabinet in the corner of the room, which was of course black, just like everything else in Gammon's chambers, and opened it up, after about forty seconds of flipping secret levers and turning small knobs hidden in the woodwork. He returned holding a small vial filled with a strange liquid. Apparently it was some sort of rejuvenating ointment, created to make Crow's body like that of one still living. Upon hearing that, he all but snatched the small vial from the Dark Lord and began his inspection of the fluid. How was something like that possible? Perhaps something the lines of a youth potion, but specifically altered to bring something closer to a state it previously held? Knowing the extent of Gammon's magic, it could be done. "Very interesting... I accept your deal, on one condition. Please refrain from calling me beautiful, it's highly... irregular." The chained woman had the audacity to smirk at that, and Crow's all seeing eyes took note of this, quickly decided upon the proper response, and executed it.
He drew from a small but intricately patterned pocket what appeared to be a small, perfectly clear crystal. They were an item of Crow's creation called "Records". They varied in size, but all held the same purpose. They stored information, withdrawn from countless sources, whether it be a book, someones voice, a specific spell or even someones mind. He took the Record, rolling it gently between his fingers before pressing it against the woman's forehead. At first nothing happened, but suddenly the woman's eyes filled with shock and the Record slowly turned a deep black, images flashing briefly across its surface. He withdrew the Record and returned to his chair, watching the Record for a small while before tossing it to Gammon. "A gift for a gift. A complete Record of this woman's hopes and fears. I trust you know exactly how to use it."
He took complete notes of his Dark Lord's desires regarding his bride to be. Essentially, it sounded like the polar opposite of Gammon himself. Night and Day, Light and Dark. To the romantic that was still somewhere in Crow, buried under an immense pile of hatred and skepticism, it sounded beautiful and perfect. To the realist, which rested ontop of said pile, it sounded all around like a bad idea. Not that he could tell Gammon that, nor even imply it. "I believe that is indeed all my Lord. He stood up and waved a hand, the chair vanishing as he did. "Thank you for your time. I'll let you return to your... playtime." He bowed elegantly and turned, vanishing with a flash of black and the sound of flapping wings. All that remained to prove he'd even been in the room was a small black feather that fell where he'd been standing.
He reappeared in a small corner of his own chambers which had been set aside for his teleportation. The rest of the large room was... Well, odd. While Gammon's chambers had been an elegant black, Crow's room was filled with various colors. Strange plants sat under magic lamps which provided a controlled amount of artificial sunlight. Shelves upon shelves of books spanned across each wall, bound in various colored leathers. A complete human skeleton stood in one corner, held together with thin metal wires. Stuffed birds and reptiles and mammals and other... undefined things hung from the ceiling or sat ontop of shelves. Strange chemicals bubbled in strangely shaped beakers ontop of desk against a far wall. All in all, it was the chambers of a sorcerer. A well funded sorcerer at that.
He placed the vial on his favorite desk, carved from ebony wood, and stared at the shelves upon shelves of books, formulating a plan in his head. He jotted his ideas up in the air, where they stayed and glowed with a green light. He drew diagrams and formulas until he was satisfied. Yes, this could be done... and it would be much more efficient. He climbed a small ladder against his bookshelf and started pulling out books, which floated in the air next to him. First was the Necronomicon, followed by A Complete study of the human body, and finished off with A Study of Theoretical Enchantments. He sat at his desk and flipped through said books until he found what he needed. But if the enchantment failed, the ointment would be destroyed... Better do some test runs first.
He prepared three variations of the enchantment known as Never Ending Bottle, one from the book, one he vaguely remembered from around seven years ago, and one based off the book, but with certain elements he believed would work better. Done correctly, the enchanted container will never run out of whatever fluid is contained within. He filled three beakers with water and placed the enchantments on each. The first was... almost right, but instead of never running out of liquid he now never ran out of beaker. He cast a dispell before it got to out of hand. The second failed miserably. The water had become wine an expensive red wine. He shrugged and corked it, no point in wasting it. The third was less obvious. It looked no different than before. Experimentally, he took it to the open window and poured the water out, and kept pouring. He waited about half a minute, but he was still pouring by then so he decided that the third had been a success. He removed the text from replaced it with his successful enchantment, a small black star in the top right corner marking it as a success. Replicating it on the ointment vial was a simple task, and pouring the ointment into another vial revealed that it had been successful. There were now two vials of ointment.
Next he recreated the human sweat gland system with one twist. It would secrete the ointment at a slow rate and keep his skin and muscles as healthy as any living person for as long as the vial remained intact. But for now, he removed his clothes and placed them on a chair, then rubbed the ointment into his skin. He gasped at the nearly instantaneous results, his muscles firming up and his skin becoming more elastic and healthy. Even his hair felt better! He slipped his clothes back on and looked in a mirror. He looked... alive. Pale as the moon but alive! He grinned and flexed his muscles. They were more firm and defined and... well beautiful. He laughed and thought about telling Gammon he call him beautiful as much as he wanted, but that was probably a bad idea. He corked the second vial and placed it in a secret compartment of his desk before going into his teleportation corner. In a flash of black and the sound of flapping wings he was gone.
He appeared outside the Atropa Belladonna, sighing slightly. He... disliked this establishment. It felt like the women here made a game of seeing if they could get a rise out of him. He shook his head and slipped inside, sitting down at a bench and toying with his new fingers. A "waitress" placed a glass of clear water in front of him and winked, leaning down a little to far to show off her bosom before sauntering away. He sighed and sipped the water. His lack of desire for carnal pleasure was a game to them, despite him being one of Gammon's generals. But what could he do? They were, after all, indiscriminately doing their jobs. He saw Eckhart and waved him over, placing the never ending wine beaker on the table in front of him. "A failed enchantment, but I prefer not to waste useful things. Consider it a gift."