Like many Shadow dragons, Crowe hatched in utter darkness, though his was not a purposefully shaded birth like most of Shadowbinder's brood. Crowe's mother had been a Plague dragon living on the outskirts of the Seedscar, clanless and living off of scraps fought for tooth and claw. It was a dangerous life; the blame can't be placed wholly on Crowe's mother for the precarious spot she chose to build her nest in, deep in the thorny barrier of the Plague/Shadow border. As Crowe's clutchmates hatched, they accidentally knocked his egg from the nest with their clumsy movements, sending it rolling into the depths of the Foxfire Bramble.

Crowe hatched alone in the darkness with no idea where, or who, he was. He yelped out for mother, yet found only shadow. He began to cry. Instead of tears, however, came only more shadow, dripping from his eyes like a thick mist. "Be still, my child," a quiet, eerie voice hummed to him, sounding like it came from inside head instead of the woods around him. "Do not fear the shadows. They are your birthright."

Crowe's mother managed to pinpoint his crying and tore through the brambles to reach him. When she did, she recoiled in horror at what had been done to his eyes. She brought him back to the nest, but found she was uncomfortable around him, as were his clutchmates. Crowe spent his first few moons an outcast in his own family, hated for a reason he couldn't understand. It wasn't his fault his eyes welled with intangible darkness at their own volition, or that his family had nightmares whenever he slept in the same nest as them.

As Crowe grew up scavenging in the Wasteland, he spent most of his time wandering alone. His family preferred to have him go off by himself while they hunted...or did anything else, really. He learned to hide his eyes at a young age; wandering alone was dangerous, and bands of ravagers often tried to poach him to use for experiments, thinking his eyes were a symptom of some new disease, and traveling gangs of other flights that plundered the Wasteland found him a unique enough quarry to hunt him down whenever they first noticed his eyes. Crowe cycled through various trashed items he was able to find to hide his cursed features: shattered goggles, torn cloaks, broken masks.

One night, Crowe awoke in his lonesome nest to the sound of voices. An unfamiliar dragon was speaking to his mother outside the entrance to their temporary den.

"Five gems," said the strange dragon.

"Ten," replied Crowe's mother.

"Seven. Final offer," the dragon said after a moment.

"Deal," Crowe's mother said curtly.

"Give him this piece of carrion in the morning. It should knock him out so we can come get him."

Crowe forced his breathing to steady, pretending to sleep as his mother returned to the nest she shared with his clutchmates. He waited there until the sound of his mother's breathing had slowed...then fled the den as fast as he could in a random direction, not knowing where he should go.

He stopped only when he hurt his foot on a stray thorny tendril...one that was just one of millions in the massive bramble mass that stood between Shadow and Plague land. All of a sudden, he remembered the circumstances of his hatching. Maybe he would be safe in the Tangled Wood. Maybe the shadows would hide him, keep him safe.

He could have sworn he heard "Welcome home, child," as he scrambled through the brambles, feeling safer than he ever had amongst the sharp, concealing branches.

Crowe wandered the Tangled Wood for moons alone, never encountering another dragon in the dark silence of the forest. Despite being a poor hunter in the wide expanses of the Wasteland, Crowe found himself a decent hunter in the shadows of the Wood.

He wasn't sure how much time had passed, but eventually, his wandering brought him to the southern swamps of the Wood. He enjoyed it—it was incredible to step in, swim in, and drink from actual, clean, non-contaminated water!

Crowe spent one morning bathing himself in the water...but he felt like someone was watching him. He continued—that feeling wasn't uncommon in the Wood—but soon, he noticed a pair of bright white eyes watching him from the shadows.

He called out to the eyes, and after a moment, a white nocturne confidently slinked out from the underbrush. "You've been wandering the Drag for quite a while," she said smoothly.

Crowe felt his scales prickle with apprehension. He had only known dragons to be selfish and cruel, and he expected this nocturne was no different. He nodded his head.

"You ought to know: this is my clan's land. You're trespassing," She began circling him.

"I didn't know anyone owned the swamps," Crowe replied.

"Well, you should have. You're lucky I didn't kill you on the spot," Her eyes glittered with confident malice.

Crowe felt his chest tighten with anger. He was so tired of being pushed around by every mean, foolish dragon he met. "I'd like to see you try," he spat, but immediately regretted such foolish anger.

"Is that so?" In a split-second, the other nocturne leaped at him, her fangs snapping at his throat as she shoved him to the ground. Crowe writhed and snarled at her, shoving her off of him enough to swipe at her with his claws. They rolled back and forth on the swampy ground for an intense few minutes, yet neither seemed to triumph. The female nocturne was strong and well trained, but Crowe was desperate, and a desperate Plague dragon could be a formidable foe.

Suddenly, the female pulled away from him, eyes dark. Crowe had scratched her up a good bit, but he was equally injured. He panted heavily as she hummed.. "Hm," her voice was now aloof and curious. "You have more fight in you than I thought."

Crowe didn't know how to respond, so he didn't. He continued catching his breath.

"Come back with me, meet my clan. I'm sure they'll find you…interesting."

Crowe reluctantly followed. He didn't think he had much of a choice with the way the nocturne—she introduced herself as Lilith—looked at him. She brought him back to her clan, and, surprisingly, he found he fit right in. None of them were bothered by his ethereal eyes, and they all seemed to agree that he should stay once he told them of his origins. They believed he had a special connection to the Shadowbinder; that it was she who had spoken to him so long ago.

Slowly, Crowe began to fit in. He liked the rigidity of the clan and their passion for art…plus, his upbringing in the Wasteland left him without any moral haughtiness like some other clans; he didn't mind getting his claws dirty. He befriended the banescale Bane and settled nicely into the clan—they weren't too caring or friendly, which was fine with him, as he preferred to keep quiet, and he found he enjoyed following orders. He slowly developed into a silent but loyal clan member, even eventually siring hatchlings with Lilith, who wanted heirs despite her lack of desire for males. He didn't mind helping her...he had become loyal to his clan above all, and he remains so to this day.