Vindictive
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The smell of rain was hanging heavy in the air that day. Water droplets clung stubbornly to the tall grass, unfazed by the coming light that would undo them all. It is said that it was this stubbornness that gave a lone soldier another ounce of strength to lift their body from the earth despite knowing that someday they would return to it for the rest of eternity. It was this stubbornness that allowed that soldier to take their sword and jab it into the ground to help them walk three miles to their resting station just south of the battlefield. And it was this stubbornness that allowed them to accept the fact that one of their arms was gone and they would never see it again.
Field medics would speak of the sight of the young solider stumbling into the station with unfathomable determination for years to come. That even after collecting the nerves and tissues where the rest of their arm should have been and cutting them to fit the new length this soldier would not scream. Even after pressing red hot metal to close and clean the wound they did not close their eyes to hide from the pain. They made no sound and they did not pull away. They were someone else. Nay, they were something else.
A fire burned in their eyes as the medics worked, a fire so intense and so violent that no one lingered after the work of life-saving was done. No one visited the maimed soldier and no one asked of their health. When the battle was won the solider returned home and would not be seen again until five years later when the king's head was on a stake and the country was thrown into a darker time.
There was never any explanation, no statements or comments from those who could give them, and little was done mend the wound of the nation. Because, as they say, an angel had witnessed the murder of the king and had said nothing. And when the king's murderer fell from wounds suffered by the royal guard the angel caught them and brought them into the sky. It is said that heaven itself yearned for the death of the king, and with that saying all belief in the throne was thrown to the ground and shattered like weak stone.
Freya set her book down and rubbed her emerald green eyes. The library had grown dark as the dusk swallowed up the city and she suddenly remembered the smell of musty old books all around her. She gently drew her fingers over the book's cover before closing it and resting it on the table before her. It read just the same as last time, it offered nothing new. No clues or scents to follow, no epiphanies or eurekas to shout at the top of one's lungs. No new avenues to explore to find what she seeked.
This was getting rather frustrating.
The death of the king all those years ago was just as ambiguous and mysterious then as was it now. Even with the newest magics from the wisest practitioners and the most dependable tricks of the cleverest investigators did her no good, there was just no way of knowing how the king really met his end on that frightful night. The violence was so thick that day that one could taste it in the air. She remembered it well, though she was just a girl back then. She remembered the unnamed fear that clenched her chest and threatened to make her undone but could not remember why she felt it. She remembered the screams of people she could not see feeling the same pain but unable to live with it any longer. There was something off about that day, something unique and colorless but vivid like burning sunlight. But no one knew what it was, and fewer and fewer people could remember it at all. Time was running out and any answers that were within her grasp would die away soon along with the people who kept them. What was she to do?
She rose from her seat and carried the book with her, the empty study hall mocking her motions with yawning echoes from the enormous hallways that slithered out all around her. She had been defeated again today but she would not give up. Like the dew of the early morning she would be back tomorrow and the next day, pouring through books and trying to wrestle out their secrets.
She could only hope that she would find them before the sun could rise and bring her down for another day.
Field medics would speak of the sight of the young solider stumbling into the station with unfathomable determination for years to come. That even after collecting the nerves and tissues where the rest of their arm should have been and cutting them to fit the new length this soldier would not scream. Even after pressing red hot metal to close and clean the wound they did not close their eyes to hide from the pain. They made no sound and they did not pull away. They were someone else. Nay, they were something else.
A fire burned in their eyes as the medics worked, a fire so intense and so violent that no one lingered after the work of life-saving was done. No one visited the maimed soldier and no one asked of their health. When the battle was won the solider returned home and would not be seen again until five years later when the king's head was on a stake and the country was thrown into a darker time.
There was never any explanation, no statements or comments from those who could give them, and little was done mend the wound of the nation. Because, as they say, an angel had witnessed the murder of the king and had said nothing. And when the king's murderer fell from wounds suffered by the royal guard the angel caught them and brought them into the sky. It is said that heaven itself yearned for the death of the king, and with that saying all belief in the throne was thrown to the ground and shattered like weak stone.
Freya set her book down and rubbed her emerald green eyes. The library had grown dark as the dusk swallowed up the city and she suddenly remembered the smell of musty old books all around her. She gently drew her fingers over the book's cover before closing it and resting it on the table before her. It read just the same as last time, it offered nothing new. No clues or scents to follow, no epiphanies or eurekas to shout at the top of one's lungs. No new avenues to explore to find what she seeked.
This was getting rather frustrating.
The death of the king all those years ago was just as ambiguous and mysterious then as was it now. Even with the newest magics from the wisest practitioners and the most dependable tricks of the cleverest investigators did her no good, there was just no way of knowing how the king really met his end on that frightful night. The violence was so thick that day that one could taste it in the air. She remembered it well, though she was just a girl back then. She remembered the unnamed fear that clenched her chest and threatened to make her undone but could not remember why she felt it. She remembered the screams of people she could not see feeling the same pain but unable to live with it any longer. There was something off about that day, something unique and colorless but vivid like burning sunlight. But no one knew what it was, and fewer and fewer people could remember it at all. Time was running out and any answers that were within her grasp would die away soon along with the people who kept them. What was she to do?
She rose from her seat and carried the book with her, the empty study hall mocking her motions with yawning echoes from the enormous hallways that slithered out all around her. She had been defeated again today but she would not give up. Like the dew of the early morning she would be back tomorrow and the next day, pouring through books and trying to wrestle out their secrets.
She could only hope that she would find them before the sun could rise and bring her down for another day.
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Oh... well that was... overwhelming^^
Was this an Intro? or was this the First Chapter already?
Anyways, it's pretty damn well made! very few typos and no mistakes I could see.... Nice Job Man!
Was this an Intro? or was this the First Chapter already?
Anyways, it's pretty damn well made! very few typos and no mistakes I could see.... Nice Job Man!
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It just sort of rolled off my fingers. Yes, it's intended to be more of a prologue or intro than an actual chapter.
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The following morning had brought the sun later than usual. The season of autumn was setting in and gaining strength, bringing a chill to the winds and making shadows lithe and menacing. The city square was awake and already bustling with merchants selling their wares and commoners looking for work. The nation was still recovering from the fall of the monarchy and the race for power was still in full swing, leaving the people in a terrible state of poverty that was somehow worse than when the greedy king still lived.
Freya was fortunate, being the daughter of a knight and therefore able to access the family coffer to support her simple lifestyle while she pursued her work. Hers was a profession that was new and full of potential, and because it was in it's infancy there was much risk involved. She had no intention of shaming her family name, however, and every morning when she stepped out into the morning light she swore that she would make her father proud. Today she had a client, so her personal quest to unravel the mystery of the fallen king would have to wait until that evening. She had some traveling to do this morning.
Her attire was as modest as her small home. Her short blonde hair had a natural tendency to flow down and outward, like an overturned flower, and she did little to tame to it other than brush it. Her clothes were those of a young working man, a combination of a short, sleeveless shirt sitting beneath a long-sleeved green top. These were tucked into her brown pants which were in turn tucked into a pair sturdy boots. Unlike the clothing of other folk, however, hers were adorned with pockets of all sizes, and that included her long soil brown cloak. Very unlady-like clothing, to be sure, but there was nothing lady-like about her line of work.
A state carriage was waiting for her when she stepped out of her modest home on the southern reaches of the city. A tall, well-dressed man in black was holding the door open for her, gesturing politely for her to enter. She gave the man a nod and straightened her cloak before slipping inside. She found Achim waiting for her.
"Good morning," he offered as she sat opposite of him. He was somewhat disheveled, as he often was, with his hair somewhat unkempt but still clean. He dressed simply, like her, but had a taste for loose-fitting clothing, a most peculiar trait of him. And as usual he was having an issue with sitting still, his bouncing knee gave that away. He was the pacing type, too.
"And to you," she replied. She folded her hands on her lap and sighed quietly beneath the hood of her cloak. "The details please."
"Of course, my lady. Of course." Achim searched his pockets and produced a small black notebook. He flipped to the page he needed and summarized the words he found. "The village of Tusser experienced a disturbance three nights ago. According to the local guard and witnesses two outsiders attacked members of a local known band of misfits. The guards did not interfere because one of the attackers wore the crest of the lion head and two arrows."
"The Fuchs family..." said Freya. "Go on."
"Both of the attackers fell but took well over twenty of the misfits with them. The guards have no idea how to proceed."
"Twenty?" exclaimed Freya. "Well, it's the Fuchs family."
"They've moved the bodies to a secured building and are awaiting your arrival, my lady. It will be a few hours travel, I'm afraid."
"Oh, well," she sighed. "Excuse me while I read on the way."
Freya was fortunate, being the daughter of a knight and therefore able to access the family coffer to support her simple lifestyle while she pursued her work. Hers was a profession that was new and full of potential, and because it was in it's infancy there was much risk involved. She had no intention of shaming her family name, however, and every morning when she stepped out into the morning light she swore that she would make her father proud. Today she had a client, so her personal quest to unravel the mystery of the fallen king would have to wait until that evening. She had some traveling to do this morning.
Her attire was as modest as her small home. Her short blonde hair had a natural tendency to flow down and outward, like an overturned flower, and she did little to tame to it other than brush it. Her clothes were those of a young working man, a combination of a short, sleeveless shirt sitting beneath a long-sleeved green top. These were tucked into her brown pants which were in turn tucked into a pair sturdy boots. Unlike the clothing of other folk, however, hers were adorned with pockets of all sizes, and that included her long soil brown cloak. Very unlady-like clothing, to be sure, but there was nothing lady-like about her line of work.
A state carriage was waiting for her when she stepped out of her modest home on the southern reaches of the city. A tall, well-dressed man in black was holding the door open for her, gesturing politely for her to enter. She gave the man a nod and straightened her cloak before slipping inside. She found Achim waiting for her.
"Good morning," he offered as she sat opposite of him. He was somewhat disheveled, as he often was, with his hair somewhat unkempt but still clean. He dressed simply, like her, but had a taste for loose-fitting clothing, a most peculiar trait of him. And as usual he was having an issue with sitting still, his bouncing knee gave that away. He was the pacing type, too.
"And to you," she replied. She folded her hands on her lap and sighed quietly beneath the hood of her cloak. "The details please."
"Of course, my lady. Of course." Achim searched his pockets and produced a small black notebook. He flipped to the page he needed and summarized the words he found. "The village of Tusser experienced a disturbance three nights ago. According to the local guard and witnesses two outsiders attacked members of a local known band of misfits. The guards did not interfere because one of the attackers wore the crest of the lion head and two arrows."
"The Fuchs family..." said Freya. "Go on."
"Both of the attackers fell but took well over twenty of the misfits with them. The guards have no idea how to proceed."
"Twenty?" exclaimed Freya. "Well, it's the Fuchs family."
"They've moved the bodies to a secured building and are awaiting your arrival, my lady. It will be a few hours travel, I'm afraid."
"Oh, well," she sighed. "Excuse me while I read on the way."
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i'll spilt my comment for the two chapters
Prologue:
The intro/prologue was good it gave a good impact(in fact i was so stunned to see something like that). It was very creative to start off with a mysterious little story like that but i think the intro lacked something.....Description.... The description of the girl, Freya was not written(i imagined her to be a blond with long hair and wearing medieval clothing....). You should describe how she looks like as she is the protagonist. Also there were a few grammatical errors as i read through which i find annoying btw so fix that....
Chapter 1
Again i find it dissapointing that you did not describe Freya or that customer of hers for all that matter. There were a few minor grammatical errors but i'll overlook that...Then 1 more thing which i find REALLY annoying is that you did not even describe what was her job!!!!
Prologue:
The intro/prologue was good it gave a good impact(in fact i was so stunned to see something like that). It was very creative to start off with a mysterious little story like that but i think the intro lacked something.....Description.... The description of the girl, Freya was not written(i imagined her to be a blond with long hair and wearing medieval clothing....). You should describe how she looks like as she is the protagonist. Also there were a few grammatical errors as i read through which i find annoying btw so fix that....
Chapter 1
Again i find it dissapointing that you did not describe Freya or that customer of hers for all that matter. There were a few minor grammatical errors but i'll overlook that...Then 1 more thing which i find REALLY annoying is that you did not even describe what was her job!!!!
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Tusser was in the east and the morning came swiftly as they traveled towards the rising sun. Freya sat straight and proper with a book in her lap which she held gingerly with her bare hands. The book was a collection of testimonies from witnesses on the night of the king's fall. And as the smell of farmlands wafted by while the horse-drawn carriage lumbered towards their destination she parused the individuals accounts of that fateful day, examining every word and noting their possible intentions.
If there was one curious aspect about what happened that day it was the wide variety of stories from those who lived through it. Even people standing a room away from others told very different versions of the same story. It was frustrating, but Freya had made some progress days before by finding all the common elements and discarding the rest. And strangely, each story did have a few things in common.
The attack on the castle began just after sundown, every witness remembered that quite vividly. And all remembered that a great battle had taken place in the castle's halls with dozens, perhaps hundreds of participants. And for some reason each account made some mention of the color purple, a curious common denominator. Every other aspect of the day had a hundred different stories and no two witnesses seemed to agree about much of anything. Again, frustration rattled her, but she pressed on.
She closed the book and set it down as she closed her eyes and leaned back on the awkwardly built seat, pointing her fair face skyward. Her headache was returning, a menacing thing that seemed to pop up every time she did any research on this subject. She could understand it, nothing ever seemed to add it up and when it did it was not helpful in any way. She hadn't been sleeping well either, and would often lay with her eyes wide open, staring at the ceiling and going over the notes in her mind.
"My lady, are you ill?"
Freya blinked her eyes open and found Achim's worried face fixed on her. She waved a hand and touched her forehead with her fingers.
"A slight headache. It will pass."
"You seemed worried, my lady. Forgive me for intruding upon your thoughts and redirecting your mind but you didn't look comfortable in the slightest."
Freya smiled. "Your concern is appreciated. But really, I'll be fine."
He didn't seem convinced but he nodded and looked out the window. "We'll be there in just a few moments."
"I'll be ready," she said as he slipped the book back into a large pocket in her cloak. "Worry not."
Achim smiled. "It smells lovely, doesn't it? The farmlands, I mean."
Freya took in a deep breath and exhaled slowly, letting the scent of wheat fill her lungs and massage her throat. "Yes," she said quietly. "It does."
If there was one curious aspect about what happened that day it was the wide variety of stories from those who lived through it. Even people standing a room away from others told very different versions of the same story. It was frustrating, but Freya had made some progress days before by finding all the common elements and discarding the rest. And strangely, each story did have a few things in common.
The attack on the castle began just after sundown, every witness remembered that quite vividly. And all remembered that a great battle had taken place in the castle's halls with dozens, perhaps hundreds of participants. And for some reason each account made some mention of the color purple, a curious common denominator. Every other aspect of the day had a hundred different stories and no two witnesses seemed to agree about much of anything. Again, frustration rattled her, but she pressed on.
She closed the book and set it down as she closed her eyes and leaned back on the awkwardly built seat, pointing her fair face skyward. Her headache was returning, a menacing thing that seemed to pop up every time she did any research on this subject. She could understand it, nothing ever seemed to add it up and when it did it was not helpful in any way. She hadn't been sleeping well either, and would often lay with her eyes wide open, staring at the ceiling and going over the notes in her mind.
"My lady, are you ill?"
Freya blinked her eyes open and found Achim's worried face fixed on her. She waved a hand and touched her forehead with her fingers.
"A slight headache. It will pass."
"You seemed worried, my lady. Forgive me for intruding upon your thoughts and redirecting your mind but you didn't look comfortable in the slightest."
Freya smiled. "Your concern is appreciated. But really, I'll be fine."
He didn't seem convinced but he nodded and looked out the window. "We'll be there in just a few moments."
"I'll be ready," she said as he slipped the book back into a large pocket in her cloak. "Worry not."
Achim smiled. "It smells lovely, doesn't it? The farmlands, I mean."
Freya took in a deep breath and exhaled slowly, letting the scent of wheat fill her lungs and massage her throat. "Yes," she said quietly. "It does."
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Damienthedevil wrote...
i'll spilt my comment for the two chaptersPrologue:
The intro/prologue was good it gave a good impact(in fact i was so stunned to see something like that). It was very creative to start off with a mysterious little story like that but i think the intro lacked something.....Description.... The description of the girl, Freya was not written(i imagined her to be a blond with long hair and wearing medieval clothing....). You should describe how she looks like as she is the protagonist. Also there were a few grammatical errors as i read through which i find annoying btw so fix that....
Chapter 1
Again i find it dissapointing that you did not describe Freya or that customer of hers for all that matter. There were a few minor grammatical errors but i'll overlook that...Then 1 more thing which i find REALLY annoying is that you did not even describe what was her job!!!!
Oh! You're right, I didn't describe her at all. How silly of me. I'll go back and fix that.
You'll know her profession in one more post.
Edit: I added a description in the second entry.
Her attire was as modest as her small home. Her short blonde hair had a natural tendency to flow down and outward, like an overturned flower, and she did little to tame to it other than brush it. Her clothes were those of a young working man, a combination of a short, sleeveless shirt sitting beneath a long-sleeved green top. These were tucked into her brown pants which were in turn tucked into a pair sturdy boots. Unlike the clothing of other folk, however, hers were adorned with pockets of all sizes, and that included her long soil brown cloak. Very unlady-like clothing, to be sure, but there was nothing lady-like about her line of work.
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Interesting. I would like to see how this plays out. Keep up the good writing. I find it rare to be intrigued by a short work, but your start seems to do so. :D
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Glad you decided to describe them
Anyway on with Chapter 3:
There wasn't anything that struck me as worth mentioning due to the fact that it was very short. But one point worth mentioning is that i think that it was a very good idea to add the mystery....It keep getting to me and i keep wondering what happenned lol
Anyway on with Chapter 3:
There wasn't anything that struck me as worth mentioning due to the fact that it was very short. But one point worth mentioning is that i think that it was a very good idea to add the mystery....It keep getting to me and i keep wondering what happenned lol
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I'm enjoying reading this ^^ You're painting a picture with your words very well. The dialogue fits the story fantastically also!
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The small town of Tusser grew larger and larger in the horizon. And as the carriage made the last turn to bring itself in line with the main gate Freya looked closely at the structure surrounding it. Tusser was a military fort turned settlement for merchants and tradesman and served as a hub for this region outside of the city. Farmers used this place as their market to keep their equipment in top form and tradesman honed their craft day after day to accommodate them. It was small and the wall that had served as the town's defense was still standing well over 10 feet tall, complete with old battlements and observation towers that the local guard made use of to this day. Since the fall of the king bandits and highwaymen were becoming more common, making Tusser one of the more fortunate settlements in the nation because of all this elaborate military spending from another time.
And two people had attacked this place all on their own? There were some extraordinary circumstances to be heard, she knew.
They passed through the gate, which no longer seemed to have a door, and lumbered into the small town's square. When the carriage came to a stop Freya lifted the hood of her cloak over her head and allowed Achim to open the door. When she stepped out she used the shade from the early morning sun to give her a quick look around.
The state carriage had brought many spectators to the square that morning and her rather strange appearance likely made them even more curious. Men and women, child and elder, were all within view when she panned her gaze from left to right. Achim stepped off to the side where a guard waited to talk about the particulars while Freya took in their surroundings.
The place looked normal enough. Wide tables were organized neatly along the tents and small shacks that the locals had used as their shops. She spotted one blacksmith, a stable, an inn, and small spot for farmers to sell their goods. Typical stuff, really, except for maybe the area upon which she and the carriage stood. The very center of the town was wide an unoccupied, to allow for easy travel, she supposed. But why they're granted such a wide circumference she did not know.
"My lady," came Achim's voice. She turned and saw the guard walking away and Achim gesturing her to quickly follow. "We're to see the captain right away."
She said nothing and strode along after him, ignoring the gawking locals as they headed toward the guardsman's headquarters.
Achim paused near the doorway to allow her to enter first and stepped in behind her. The room was dark with the windows covered and candles had been lit. A gruff looking older man sat at a long, narrow table and motioned for her to join. She flipped her hood down and accepted his invitation, sitting across from him with her back straight and her eyes downcast.
"Welcome to Tusser," said the man. She noted a snide tone in his voice. "Three days is sooner than we expected a state representative. I trust Tusser is still on all the national atlases?"
Freya ignored him. "I have come to investigate the attack you suffered three days ago. I will require access to the bodies of all those involved and no less than one hour's access to the area where the attack took place."
The captain chuckled. "Straight to it, then? I was about to offer you a glass of wine and perhaps a light snack. My men have been slaving away in the kitchen all morning."
The guard that escorted them snickered.
"No," said Freya, firmly and with a short pause. "Thank you."
Achim noted the look in Freya's eyes and grew very nervous. She was furious.
"Do you even want to know what happened?" the captain asked. "You haven't asked so I assume not?"
"I have the reports. And when I've been given time to see what I need to see I will know exactly what happened." There was nothing but confidence in her voice, allowing Achim to breathe a private sigh of relief. The tension in this room was straining him.
The captain looked genuinely shocked. His look of surprise quickly melted to that of distaste and perhaps even disgust and he rose to his feet. He motioned to the guard who stepped in a lively fashion to the door and held it open. Freya rose and stared hard at the captain for a moment before turning on her heel and striding out, not bothering to lift her hood again. Achim bowed and smiled awkwardly before shuffling after her.
"He doesn't like you," he said when he caught up.
"I'm not here to gain the favor of captain who longs for the return of a dead king," she replied sharply. They walked toward another pair of guards since they seemed to know where Freya wanted to be at that moment. "Ready your notes."
Achim reached for his pen and patted his pockets for his notebook. Yes, he thought, she was indeed furious.
And two people had attacked this place all on their own? There were some extraordinary circumstances to be heard, she knew.
They passed through the gate, which no longer seemed to have a door, and lumbered into the small town's square. When the carriage came to a stop Freya lifted the hood of her cloak over her head and allowed Achim to open the door. When she stepped out she used the shade from the early morning sun to give her a quick look around.
The state carriage had brought many spectators to the square that morning and her rather strange appearance likely made them even more curious. Men and women, child and elder, were all within view when she panned her gaze from left to right. Achim stepped off to the side where a guard waited to talk about the particulars while Freya took in their surroundings.
The place looked normal enough. Wide tables were organized neatly along the tents and small shacks that the locals had used as their shops. She spotted one blacksmith, a stable, an inn, and small spot for farmers to sell their goods. Typical stuff, really, except for maybe the area upon which she and the carriage stood. The very center of the town was wide an unoccupied, to allow for easy travel, she supposed. But why they're granted such a wide circumference she did not know.
"My lady," came Achim's voice. She turned and saw the guard walking away and Achim gesturing her to quickly follow. "We're to see the captain right away."
She said nothing and strode along after him, ignoring the gawking locals as they headed toward the guardsman's headquarters.
Achim paused near the doorway to allow her to enter first and stepped in behind her. The room was dark with the windows covered and candles had been lit. A gruff looking older man sat at a long, narrow table and motioned for her to join. She flipped her hood down and accepted his invitation, sitting across from him with her back straight and her eyes downcast.
"Welcome to Tusser," said the man. She noted a snide tone in his voice. "Three days is sooner than we expected a state representative. I trust Tusser is still on all the national atlases?"
Freya ignored him. "I have come to investigate the attack you suffered three days ago. I will require access to the bodies of all those involved and no less than one hour's access to the area where the attack took place."
The captain chuckled. "Straight to it, then? I was about to offer you a glass of wine and perhaps a light snack. My men have been slaving away in the kitchen all morning."
The guard that escorted them snickered.
"No," said Freya, firmly and with a short pause. "Thank you."
Achim noted the look in Freya's eyes and grew very nervous. She was furious.
"Do you even want to know what happened?" the captain asked. "You haven't asked so I assume not?"
"I have the reports. And when I've been given time to see what I need to see I will know exactly what happened." There was nothing but confidence in her voice, allowing Achim to breathe a private sigh of relief. The tension in this room was straining him.
The captain looked genuinely shocked. His look of surprise quickly melted to that of distaste and perhaps even disgust and he rose to his feet. He motioned to the guard who stepped in a lively fashion to the door and held it open. Freya rose and stared hard at the captain for a moment before turning on her heel and striding out, not bothering to lift her hood again. Achim bowed and smiled awkwardly before shuffling after her.
"He doesn't like you," he said when he caught up.
"I'm not here to gain the favor of captain who longs for the return of a dead king," she replied sharply. They walked toward another pair of guards since they seemed to know where Freya wanted to be at that moment. "Ready your notes."
Achim reached for his pen and patted his pockets for his notebook. Yes, he thought, she was indeed furious.
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It was good. The descriptions of the captain's expressions were well written and i have no trouble imagining it at all. The city was well describe as well as the history made it very unique good job on that. You also manage to tell about Freya's personality from her reaction when she 'chatted' with the captain(loved it btw). It was altogether very entertaining.
I have nothing to critisize except that i think for a chapter in a story it was considered too short. Also there was no significant happenings in the 'chapter'. Each chapter of a story should have a significant event or happenings that will tell the readers that this will effect the storyline. That is the way a chapter should be written.
Overall i think this chapter deserves a 6.5/10.0 rating
I have nothing to critisize except that i think for a chapter in a story it was considered too short. Also there was no significant happenings in the 'chapter'. Each chapter of a story should have a significant event or happenings that will tell the readers that this will effect the storyline. That is the way a chapter should be written.
Overall i think this chapter deserves a 6.5/10.0 rating
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The guards led them for a short walk across the small settlement to a large building, likely a warehouse Freya accurately guessed, and she noted that the door was barred and chained. Good, she thought, much less chance of the bodies having been tampered with. She glanced to Achim and was happy to see that he was taking note of this.
Then it hit them. As they grew closer and closer to the building a powerful stench climbed over them and clung to their nostrils. Freya didn't seem phased but Achim was still not used to this odor. The smell of the deceased was unique in it's sting and it's flavor, like feces and rotting meat. Which is was it was, really. Quite often when a man fell, when all his muscles relaxed as death took him, he would relieve himself then and there. So not only was the smell of his rotting flesh something to look forward to days later but his essence was as well.
The guards paused in front of the door and one produced a long, black metal key from the key ring on his belt and removed the padded lock from the chain. A short while later the chain was removed and the doors were opened.
"My lady, how much time will you need?" asked the guard with the keys. There was no hidden anger or distaste in his voice and she smiled genuinely at him for his attempt at politeness.
"A long while, I'm afraid. Ours is tedious and careful work." He nodded, still with no sign of hostility and turned to take his place at the door's side. The other guard was much less enthusiastic to do his job, and after giving her a good, long, expressionless look he took his place as well. He didn't earn more than a passing glance from Freya, but she put her hand on the agreeable one's shoulder and smiled again. "Guard us well."
Achim noted with some amusement that the guard had earned a disapproving glare from his comrade as they walked inside. The doors closed behind them and they were left with the light from the erratic placement of oil lamps around them and the sunlight peeking through the many cracks and crevices in the walls and ceiling. It gave the macabre scene before them a pale yellow light, a sight that fit the awful smell perfectly.
Bodies were arranged neatly in long columns at their feet. The warehouse had been cleared in order to fit them all in here, it seemed, and there were many. 27 bodies lay there, meaning that the two attackers had felled 25 fully grown men on their own. A downright legendary feat, really. There had to be more to this than they were told in their report.
Achim was furiously scribbling down notes from what he could see, heroically ignoring the terrible smell that overwhelmed them. Freya knew what he was writing since she had taught him herself. He was noting the number of corpses, of course, but he was also probably writing careful descriptions of what they were wearing. He began to slowly step along each column of bodies, taking a close look at each one and using a fresh page for each individual. While he busied himself with that she identified the attackers and made her way to them. They'd been set off to the left from the door and were laying by themselves, their weapons laying on the ground at their sides.
"They're women!" exclaimed Freya. Achim paused and turned.
"Really?"
"If my eyes to not deceive me, yes! And one of them is so very small. No more than 160 centimeters."
"A moment, I beg. I'm nearly done with these fellows here."
"Of course," she said. She knelt down beside the smaller woman, a fair and young thing with her blonde hair tied back in a tight pony-tail. Her skin was white as snow, and when she gently opened one eye she saw the greenest orbs she'd ever seen. She wore elegant silver armor with purple decor, though only from the waist down. Her top was strangely missing any protection at all and she wore a simple white, long-sleeved shirt. Her hands were bare as well, though they were covered up to the elbow in dried blood. In fact, there was blood spattered all over her, though only on her arms was there any kind of concentration. That and her waist and right shoulder, where her white shirt was stained crimson. The causes of death, she assumed. And a stomach wound was a terribly painful way to go.
Freya gently touched the young woman's body with a gloved hand as she explored her, searching for small details here and there. She did indeed fall in battle and, based on the blood she found, had done very well for herself. The blood found on her arms and spattered about her body was likely not hers. She was swift enough to avoid most of the blood from her enemies as she loosed it from them. Very impressive.
Achim joined Freya as she inspected the small woman's sword. "Oh my," he said quietly as he knelt down. "She's beautiful. Did she really do this?"
"She did," began Freya, holding up the sword from it's blade to bear the guard to him, "and she did rather well." The crest of a lion with two arrows sat proudly on the sword's guard.
"The Fuchs' family crest! It's little wonder then. Still..." Achim sighed and looked at her face. "She's so very small and so very young."
Freya only nodded and sighed in turn. She couldn't have been more than a teenager, 20 years at the most. And if she was as skilled as Freya was guessing then she was something of a brilliant combatant, better than most twice her age. She'd come from such a powerful family. Why was she here?
Achim rose and moved to the other woman. He gasped.
"This one's a foreigner!"
Then it hit them. As they grew closer and closer to the building a powerful stench climbed over them and clung to their nostrils. Freya didn't seem phased but Achim was still not used to this odor. The smell of the deceased was unique in it's sting and it's flavor, like feces and rotting meat. Which is was it was, really. Quite often when a man fell, when all his muscles relaxed as death took him, he would relieve himself then and there. So not only was the smell of his rotting flesh something to look forward to days later but his essence was as well.
The guards paused in front of the door and one produced a long, black metal key from the key ring on his belt and removed the padded lock from the chain. A short while later the chain was removed and the doors were opened.
"My lady, how much time will you need?" asked the guard with the keys. There was no hidden anger or distaste in his voice and she smiled genuinely at him for his attempt at politeness.
"A long while, I'm afraid. Ours is tedious and careful work." He nodded, still with no sign of hostility and turned to take his place at the door's side. The other guard was much less enthusiastic to do his job, and after giving her a good, long, expressionless look he took his place as well. He didn't earn more than a passing glance from Freya, but she put her hand on the agreeable one's shoulder and smiled again. "Guard us well."
Achim noted with some amusement that the guard had earned a disapproving glare from his comrade as they walked inside. The doors closed behind them and they were left with the light from the erratic placement of oil lamps around them and the sunlight peeking through the many cracks and crevices in the walls and ceiling. It gave the macabre scene before them a pale yellow light, a sight that fit the awful smell perfectly.
Bodies were arranged neatly in long columns at their feet. The warehouse had been cleared in order to fit them all in here, it seemed, and there were many. 27 bodies lay there, meaning that the two attackers had felled 25 fully grown men on their own. A downright legendary feat, really. There had to be more to this than they were told in their report.
Achim was furiously scribbling down notes from what he could see, heroically ignoring the terrible smell that overwhelmed them. Freya knew what he was writing since she had taught him herself. He was noting the number of corpses, of course, but he was also probably writing careful descriptions of what they were wearing. He began to slowly step along each column of bodies, taking a close look at each one and using a fresh page for each individual. While he busied himself with that she identified the attackers and made her way to them. They'd been set off to the left from the door and were laying by themselves, their weapons laying on the ground at their sides.
"They're women!" exclaimed Freya. Achim paused and turned.
"Really?"
"If my eyes to not deceive me, yes! And one of them is so very small. No more than 160 centimeters."
"A moment, I beg. I'm nearly done with these fellows here."
"Of course," she said. She knelt down beside the smaller woman, a fair and young thing with her blonde hair tied back in a tight pony-tail. Her skin was white as snow, and when she gently opened one eye she saw the greenest orbs she'd ever seen. She wore elegant silver armor with purple decor, though only from the waist down. Her top was strangely missing any protection at all and she wore a simple white, long-sleeved shirt. Her hands were bare as well, though they were covered up to the elbow in dried blood. In fact, there was blood spattered all over her, though only on her arms was there any kind of concentration. That and her waist and right shoulder, where her white shirt was stained crimson. The causes of death, she assumed. And a stomach wound was a terribly painful way to go.
Freya gently touched the young woman's body with a gloved hand as she explored her, searching for small details here and there. She did indeed fall in battle and, based on the blood she found, had done very well for herself. The blood found on her arms and spattered about her body was likely not hers. She was swift enough to avoid most of the blood from her enemies as she loosed it from them. Very impressive.
Achim joined Freya as she inspected the small woman's sword. "Oh my," he said quietly as he knelt down. "She's beautiful. Did she really do this?"
"She did," began Freya, holding up the sword from it's blade to bear the guard to him, "and she did rather well." The crest of a lion with two arrows sat proudly on the sword's guard.
"The Fuchs' family crest! It's little wonder then. Still..." Achim sighed and looked at her face. "She's so very small and so very young."
Freya only nodded and sighed in turn. She couldn't have been more than a teenager, 20 years at the most. And if she was as skilled as Freya was guessing then she was something of a brilliant combatant, better than most twice her age. She'd come from such a powerful family. Why was she here?
Achim rose and moved to the other woman. He gasped.
"This one's a foreigner!"
0
Freya's job is not really explained but i assumed she is some sort of an investigator. Am i right? Archim is the assistant i presumed...
Like always good descriptions. Their facial expressions were well written and no typos as far as i can see. The story was developing nicely but i think the chapter was too short...It lacked content though you did put in good desciption...
I don't think i can rate this chapter sorry....
Like always good descriptions. Their facial expressions were well written and no typos as far as i can see. The story was developing nicely but i think the chapter was too short...It lacked content though you did put in good desciption...
I don't think i can rate this chapter sorry....
0
That's about what I would expect from something that's pretty much rolling off my fingers each time I sit down to write. I go have several goals with this story but it isn't planned out much at all. I often change my mind and delete an entire paragraph when I realize something else might work better.
I agree that the last one was too short. I hit "Submit" with much regret, but I simply needed to take a break to give myself time to work out the next bit. It's going to get more complicated now.
I agree that the last one was too short. I hit "Submit" with much regret, but I simply needed to take a break to give myself time to work out the next bit. It's going to get more complicated now.
0
"A foreigner?" said Freya. She stood and walked quickly to Achim's side.
"Brown skin and red hair," said Achim as he pointed down at the corpse. "She's an Easterner."
She was laying on her side so Freya squated down to right her onto her back. She was enormous, well over 180 centimeters tall, and built like no woman Freya had ever seen. Her muscles were toned yet slender, giving her a strange look somewhere between muscle-bound soldier and elegant dancer. Her armor was clearly Eastern, made from tough leather material rather than metals to allow for freedom of movement instead of protection. Her arms and stomach were bare and covered in tattoos, which Freya believe acted as some kind of status symbol in some countries. Her brilliant red hair was long, easily passed the small of her back, and was untied. When Freya gently opened her eye she found a fiery red iris.
Freya stared at the women for a long while as Achim wrote furiously in his notes. This was downright bizarre, and for more reasons than one. The countries in the East had never been on good terms with this one, and on several occasions throughout history had acted aggressively, nearly causing no less than three wars. In fact, those past aggressions were largely the reason Tusser and forts like it were built in the first place. If Freya was seeing the circumstances correctly here then this foreign woman was fighting alongside the Fuchs girl. But that didn't make any sense at all.
Achim finished writing and cleared his throat. The smell was beginning to really get to him.
"What does this mean?" he asked.
"I have no idea," replied Freya.
That bothered Achim more than anything else. Freya was the most brilliant person he'd ever met who always had at least an educated guess for a given situation. The fact that she could not come up with any possibilities here caused him great distress. He looked back at the body of the Fuchs girl.
"No member of the Fuchs family would fight alongside a foreigner. And the government has closed the borders. She shouldn't be here."
Freya slipped her glove from her right hand and brought her fingers to her lips. She closed her eyes and thought hard. The borders had been closed, so this woman came here for a very good reason if she were willing to risk capture. She was skilled enough to make it this far into the country without being caught. She likely had connections, knew people that could facilitate her arrival. But that barely made sense as well since foreign sympathizers were rare things during this time of national crisis. Everyone who was rich and powerful enough to care was playing in politics. There was also a simple matter of where this woman was living before she came here to die.
And what was she doing with a member of the Fuchs family?
The Fuchs were a military clan with a long line of knights and successful commanders, and from all the conflict they'd endured throughout their long lineage they'd became increasingly distrustful of anyone or anything that came from outside the country. They were well-documented racists and were quite proud of it. Something very extraordinary must have happened for these two women to work together in this way. Perhaps it was just blind luck?
"Achim," she said after a time. "Start on the other side of the room. I will see to this side."
"Of course, my lady."
Freya stood and turned, deciding to leave further examination on the women for last. They would have more than enough work with the 25 men laying here as it was. It would easily take all night.
Freya removed her cloak, rolled up her sleeves, and began.
"Brown skin and red hair," said Achim as he pointed down at the corpse. "She's an Easterner."
She was laying on her side so Freya squated down to right her onto her back. She was enormous, well over 180 centimeters tall, and built like no woman Freya had ever seen. Her muscles were toned yet slender, giving her a strange look somewhere between muscle-bound soldier and elegant dancer. Her armor was clearly Eastern, made from tough leather material rather than metals to allow for freedom of movement instead of protection. Her arms and stomach were bare and covered in tattoos, which Freya believe acted as some kind of status symbol in some countries. Her brilliant red hair was long, easily passed the small of her back, and was untied. When Freya gently opened her eye she found a fiery red iris.
Freya stared at the women for a long while as Achim wrote furiously in his notes. This was downright bizarre, and for more reasons than one. The countries in the East had never been on good terms with this one, and on several occasions throughout history had acted aggressively, nearly causing no less than three wars. In fact, those past aggressions were largely the reason Tusser and forts like it were built in the first place. If Freya was seeing the circumstances correctly here then this foreign woman was fighting alongside the Fuchs girl. But that didn't make any sense at all.
Achim finished writing and cleared his throat. The smell was beginning to really get to him.
"What does this mean?" he asked.
"I have no idea," replied Freya.
That bothered Achim more than anything else. Freya was the most brilliant person he'd ever met who always had at least an educated guess for a given situation. The fact that she could not come up with any possibilities here caused him great distress. He looked back at the body of the Fuchs girl.
"No member of the Fuchs family would fight alongside a foreigner. And the government has closed the borders. She shouldn't be here."
Freya slipped her glove from her right hand and brought her fingers to her lips. She closed her eyes and thought hard. The borders had been closed, so this woman came here for a very good reason if she were willing to risk capture. She was skilled enough to make it this far into the country without being caught. She likely had connections, knew people that could facilitate her arrival. But that barely made sense as well since foreign sympathizers were rare things during this time of national crisis. Everyone who was rich and powerful enough to care was playing in politics. There was also a simple matter of where this woman was living before she came here to die.
And what was she doing with a member of the Fuchs family?
The Fuchs were a military clan with a long line of knights and successful commanders, and from all the conflict they'd endured throughout their long lineage they'd became increasingly distrustful of anyone or anything that came from outside the country. They were well-documented racists and were quite proud of it. Something very extraordinary must have happened for these two women to work together in this way. Perhaps it was just blind luck?
"Achim," she said after a time. "Start on the other side of the room. I will see to this side."
"Of course, my lady."
Freya stood and turned, deciding to leave further examination on the women for last. They would have more than enough work with the 25 men laying here as it was. It would easily take all night.
Freya removed her cloak, rolled up her sleeves, and began.
0
A man sat uncomfortably in front of a desk in the parliment building in the capital. He was hunched over as he wrote, gripping his pen tightly as he struggled through the constant pain in his chest to write. His old face was covered with a long but well-trimmed gray beard, eyes nearly non-existent his furry eyebrows. He wiped his forehead repeatedly to keep the sweat from blocking his already limited vision and pressed on. Daylight had been creeping into his study but he hadn't noticed. The candle atop his desk had long since flickered out.
The heavy door behind him creaked open and light footsteps filled the room. He didn't hear anything.
"Cardinal!" came a young man's voice. "What in the world-- What are you doing up and about?"
The cardinal ignored him and continued to write.
A boy of few seasons stood at the door, dressed in the black garb of the church. His short, curly black hair was kept neat and clean and his neck was adorned with the necklaces of a young priest. His skin was fair but his eyes were dark and sharp.
The young man stepped forward, letting the door closely heavily behind him, and closed his hand gently over the old man's writing hand. He knelt down, trying to look into the old face he found there, but he was ignored still.
"Cardinal!"
The old man finally seemed to acknowledge him and grunted a response but the boy could not make sense of it. The harsh voice grated like thick metal on stone. He leaned in and listened carefully.
"One more page," said the cardinal.
"You mustn't!" exclaimed the boy. "You should be at rest. Your health is failing and you must conserve your energy."
The cardinal did not move for a long while, just lay his head on the desk and breathed deeply from his exertion. After a few moments his brows tightened with resolve once again and he tried to free his hand from the boy's grip.
"Cardinal!" he exclaimed, exasperated now. "Fine. I will write for you. You need only speak the words you wish to have on these pages. But please, retire to your room first."
The old man sighed and lay still once again. He seemed to be thinking it over.
He soon lifted his hand and wrapped his arm around the boy's shoulder for support as he tried to rise. The boy sunk down low to hold the cardinal up gingerly and began to turn to lead him out. Before he did, though, he paused to look at the page upon which the old man was writing. It was some kind of report. He could see Tusser mentioned in the main headings and a long block of text following it. Beneath it was the cardinal's writing.
"Investigation denied," was written there. The boy took note of it as he lead the cardinal out of the room. That paper needed to be delivered. It had been dated for two days prior!
The heavy door behind him creaked open and light footsteps filled the room. He didn't hear anything.
"Cardinal!" came a young man's voice. "What in the world-- What are you doing up and about?"
The cardinal ignored him and continued to write.
A boy of few seasons stood at the door, dressed in the black garb of the church. His short, curly black hair was kept neat and clean and his neck was adorned with the necklaces of a young priest. His skin was fair but his eyes were dark and sharp.
The young man stepped forward, letting the door closely heavily behind him, and closed his hand gently over the old man's writing hand. He knelt down, trying to look into the old face he found there, but he was ignored still.
"Cardinal!"
The old man finally seemed to acknowledge him and grunted a response but the boy could not make sense of it. The harsh voice grated like thick metal on stone. He leaned in and listened carefully.
"One more page," said the cardinal.
"You mustn't!" exclaimed the boy. "You should be at rest. Your health is failing and you must conserve your energy."
The cardinal did not move for a long while, just lay his head on the desk and breathed deeply from his exertion. After a few moments his brows tightened with resolve once again and he tried to free his hand from the boy's grip.
"Cardinal!" he exclaimed, exasperated now. "Fine. I will write for you. You need only speak the words you wish to have on these pages. But please, retire to your room first."
The old man sighed and lay still once again. He seemed to be thinking it over.
He soon lifted his hand and wrapped his arm around the boy's shoulder for support as he tried to rise. The boy sunk down low to hold the cardinal up gingerly and began to turn to lead him out. Before he did, though, he paused to look at the page upon which the old man was writing. It was some kind of report. He could see Tusser mentioned in the main headings and a long block of text following it. Beneath it was the cardinal's writing.
"Investigation denied," was written there. The boy took note of it as he lead the cardinal out of the room. That paper needed to be delivered. It had been dated for two days prior!
0
Several hours passed as Freya and Achim slowly worked their way around the room. Each of the 25 other combatants had a great deal of variety among them. Some wore simple leather armor, some wore chain mail, some wore full plate, and some wore little more than rags. Each one, however, bore the same marking on their forearm and wore the same necklace around their necks.
"Bandits", Achim had thought aloud early in the investigation. Freya nodded and continued to work, carefully noting any other markings on their bodies and, more immediately important, their wounds.
Some had succumbed to very precise and fluid cuts at notable weak points like the chest, throat, and spine while others were quickly literally broken by immense and heavy swings. Two very distinct styles were at play during their battle, fitting the general description they already knew and matching up with what they'd seen already. Clearly the Fuchs girl was the quick and nimble one and her blade would have accommodated the precise strikes that felled roughly half of these men. The giant foreigner had most certainly broken the rest with some kind of heavy blade.
A blade that was most notably absent.
The sun was already beginning it's descent when Freya sent Achim to confirm that everything the guards had found after the battle had been placed within the warehouse. Achim trotted through the door as Freya finished writing notes on the 18th bandit, his voice quivering as he tried to steel himself against the horrid smell again.
"The captain says everything is here. He knows not where the giant blade may be."
Freya stood quietly for a few moments as she considered his words. Evidence of a large blade was everywhere yet somehow it was not accounted for. Thievery? It was the simplest explanation.
"Inform the captain that either his men failed to secure everything from the aftermath or his warehouse has been compromised," said Freya.
Achim nodded, hesitated at the thought of delivering such news to such an ill-mannered man, then turned and moved back to the guardsmen's headquarters.
The 19th bandit was something of a giant himself. He was built like an oak, tall and wide, this arms and legs thick with strength and power. But in his chest was the most vicious wound of the lot, a large, cavernous hole. A straight thrust from the missing giant blade, she guessed. He'd gotten the very worst of it of all the bandits because, despite the sheer size of the wound, he would have died with incredible pain. Ribs were snapped, their fragments slammed into the flesh all around, and his left lung was nearly torn out with the blade. The strike had missed the heart but torn the arteries that connected it to the rest of the body. He likely suffered a great deal as his lungs failed to gather air and his blood never fueled his body.
The foreigner had no love for this man.
She heard the captain's voice as she scratched more notes on the giant bandit's page, he was talking to the guards outside. They insisted that no one had entered during their watch, which was only a few hours before Freya and Achim had arrived, and the captain resolved to check with the guards that stood watch before them. Achim apologized profusely - much to Freya's annoyance - and stepped back into the warehouse.
"This man seems to have been the target," said Freya.
Achim closed the door behind him and made his way over the other bodies to where Freya stood. He looked down on the man and winced.
"So it would seem."
Freya looked out over the bodies around them. "He may even have been the first to fall."
Achim sighed. "If only we could have been here to see where they had fallen."
Freya nodded. Too often vital information that could be gleamed from the position of the dead was erased when local guards unknowingly ruined any possibility of getting that information by moving them. Part of it was how long it took for Freya and those like her to arrive, she knew, as leaving bodies laying out in the street didn't make for a very livable environment. All she could do was instruct the captain that notes could be taken of who had fallen where - with as much accuracy as possible - and hope that he would remember to follow her instructions should she or any other investigator be needed again.
Remember and cared enough to bother, she thought.
Over the course of the next few hours Freya and Achim worked to finish their notes on the remaining bandits. They found more of the same, that some had died to expertly cut wounds while others were simply broken by a giant blade, and wrote their disappointing lack of progress in their notes. Freya was standing by the warehouse door when Achim stood up over his final bandit and scratched his word into his book. He looked at her as she peered out the door and noted the displeased look on her face.
"You know, I could do it on my own. You can stay and--"
"It's faster this way," she said.
Achim closed his notebook and stepped over a corpse to meet her. He didn't know why Freya disliked talking to witnesses. To him it was the most relaxing part of the job.
"Bandits", Achim had thought aloud early in the investigation. Freya nodded and continued to work, carefully noting any other markings on their bodies and, more immediately important, their wounds.
Some had succumbed to very precise and fluid cuts at notable weak points like the chest, throat, and spine while others were quickly literally broken by immense and heavy swings. Two very distinct styles were at play during their battle, fitting the general description they already knew and matching up with what they'd seen already. Clearly the Fuchs girl was the quick and nimble one and her blade would have accommodated the precise strikes that felled roughly half of these men. The giant foreigner had most certainly broken the rest with some kind of heavy blade.
A blade that was most notably absent.
The sun was already beginning it's descent when Freya sent Achim to confirm that everything the guards had found after the battle had been placed within the warehouse. Achim trotted through the door as Freya finished writing notes on the 18th bandit, his voice quivering as he tried to steel himself against the horrid smell again.
"The captain says everything is here. He knows not where the giant blade may be."
Freya stood quietly for a few moments as she considered his words. Evidence of a large blade was everywhere yet somehow it was not accounted for. Thievery? It was the simplest explanation.
"Inform the captain that either his men failed to secure everything from the aftermath or his warehouse has been compromised," said Freya.
Achim nodded, hesitated at the thought of delivering such news to such an ill-mannered man, then turned and moved back to the guardsmen's headquarters.
The 19th bandit was something of a giant himself. He was built like an oak, tall and wide, this arms and legs thick with strength and power. But in his chest was the most vicious wound of the lot, a large, cavernous hole. A straight thrust from the missing giant blade, she guessed. He'd gotten the very worst of it of all the bandits because, despite the sheer size of the wound, he would have died with incredible pain. Ribs were snapped, their fragments slammed into the flesh all around, and his left lung was nearly torn out with the blade. The strike had missed the heart but torn the arteries that connected it to the rest of the body. He likely suffered a great deal as his lungs failed to gather air and his blood never fueled his body.
The foreigner had no love for this man.
She heard the captain's voice as she scratched more notes on the giant bandit's page, he was talking to the guards outside. They insisted that no one had entered during their watch, which was only a few hours before Freya and Achim had arrived, and the captain resolved to check with the guards that stood watch before them. Achim apologized profusely - much to Freya's annoyance - and stepped back into the warehouse.
"This man seems to have been the target," said Freya.
Achim closed the door behind him and made his way over the other bodies to where Freya stood. He looked down on the man and winced.
"So it would seem."
Freya looked out over the bodies around them. "He may even have been the first to fall."
Achim sighed. "If only we could have been here to see where they had fallen."
Freya nodded. Too often vital information that could be gleamed from the position of the dead was erased when local guards unknowingly ruined any possibility of getting that information by moving them. Part of it was how long it took for Freya and those like her to arrive, she knew, as leaving bodies laying out in the street didn't make for a very livable environment. All she could do was instruct the captain that notes could be taken of who had fallen where - with as much accuracy as possible - and hope that he would remember to follow her instructions should she or any other investigator be needed again.
Remember and cared enough to bother, she thought.
Over the course of the next few hours Freya and Achim worked to finish their notes on the remaining bandits. They found more of the same, that some had died to expertly cut wounds while others were simply broken by a giant blade, and wrote their disappointing lack of progress in their notes. Freya was standing by the warehouse door when Achim stood up over his final bandit and scratched his word into his book. He looked at her as she peered out the door and noted the displeased look on her face.
"You know, I could do it on my own. You can stay and--"
"It's faster this way," she said.
Achim closed his notebook and stepped over a corpse to meet her. He didn't know why Freya disliked talking to witnesses. To him it was the most relaxing part of the job.
