A/N Sometimes seemingly ordinary people can be caught up in extraordinary events.
This is the first time I have shared my ramblings publicly, and also my first attempt at writing in first person viewpoint, so it has been an interesting and somewhat nerve wracking challenge. Reviews are welcome, of course, but please be gentle with this fanfic virgin ;)
I have set this eight years after the events of DA:O, and always thought it would be fun to explore the story of a 'bit player'.
A caveat or two: Whilst I have played Origins, Awakenings and DA:2, I haven't read any of the Dragon Age books or played the DLC, so if I am unintentionally stomping all over canon, then my heartfelt apologies. It's certainly not my intention to abuse the in-depth lore that Bioware have lovingly created for us to play with.
That said, I hope you, dear reader, find my ramblings enjoyable in their own right :)
Obviously Bioware owns Ferelden, Thedas and all contained within.
Chapter One
The tap room of The Honest Politician was bustling, patrons filled every table and were piled three deep at the bar, pressed against the walnut, polished to a warmly glowing sheen and trimmed in gleaming brass, clamouring good naturedly for the attentions of the harried bar staff. I had squeezed my way to the front of the press and exchanged friendly banter with the barkeep, teasing him about his lack of haste. He gave me an indulgent smile along with mugs nigh overflowing with the dark, foamy ale for which the tavern was famed. I nodded my thanks, making sure to slip him a generous tip alongside the payment to ensure I didn't wait long for my next refill.
I slipped away from the bar, another body immediately shifting to fill the place I had just vacated.
Blowing a wayward strand of wavy hair away from my eyes, I paused as another of the tavern's regulars waved a greeting. I grinned in his direction and inclined my head, unable to return his wave without throwing ale all over myself and my fellow customers. I tightened my grip on the wooden handles of the mugs and started back towards my table. I halted abruptly, as a powerfully built figure moved to block my way.
I glanced up, a frown of irritation creasing my brow. The intense hazel eyes that met my gaze stopped the brusque words before they left my lips. The man took my hesitation for invitation and stepped closer to me, My heart sank as my eyes took in the rest of him. Unkempt mousy hair, several days worth of stubble, dark smudges beneath those uncommonly arresting eyes and a slightly glazed look that indicated he was already well into his cups. I prepared to state my lack of interest firmly, but didn't completely dismiss him. He was tall and broad shouldered, but he didn't have the usual bulk I associated with habitual drinkers. Oh he was big enough, but he was lean, trim, no excess flesh to form jowls around his face or hang over his belt.
"Evening m'lady," he greeted me, a small smile curved his lips, his words slightly slurred from the alcohol he had consumed.
"Not interested," I stated tersely, and moved to sidestep him so I could continue back to my seat.
He reached out and placed a large, scarred palm on my arm, not roughly but firmly enough that I stopped and glared at his hand, then moved my glare slowly up to his eyes.
"You obviously haven't been coming here for very long," I said, calmly, though I knew that my green eyes were seething at his uninvited touch. "So I'll tell you nicely, now, what everyone else here knows already. I do not get grabbed. Ever. By anyone."
His hand dropped away from my arm, his brow slightly furrowed, as if confused.
"Oh come on love, I just want a bit of company..."
Fucking drunks! I swore to myself. Even on my night off, I didn't get a break from them.
"Oh in that case, excuse me whilst I swoon at your feet. Look, I'll ask you politely, one more time to piss off and leave me alone, before I turn nasty," I snarled at him.
I really didn't want to be carting another wine-soaked lout off to the Guard House, especially not on my night off.
Last time I'd pulled that little stunt, the lads on duty had laughed themselves insensible for a week and had made certain that everyone knew I'd arrested some daft sot for grabbing my arse in a tavern.
This one was either not as addled as he appeared, or was smarter than your average tavern dwelling lothario. He backed off, his hands raised in a placatory gesture, an almost sheepish smile on his lips.
Shooting one last dark, warning glare in his direction, I headed for my table once more, shaking my head at the bouncer who had started towards me, a wry smirk on his face – don't misunderstand, the bouncer hadn't been rushing to my rescue to defend my honour, he had been getting ready to stop the drunk from being too badly hurt if I'd lost my temper.
It wasn't the first time I'd had to give a man the brush off in this tavern, often much more forcefully. Some men really do not know how to take "No" for an answer. So I had to teach one or two that when the lady almost breaks your arm, it's generally a hint that she isn't interested.
Word eventually gets around of course, so it had been some time since anyone had bothered me.
I wended my way through the crowded public bar. I've always maintained that there's an art to moving through a crowded space, particularly a pub, you just have to know how to gauge people. Some will respond to a tap on the back and a polite word, at the other end of the scale you have the obstinate ass that won't move for anything short of an elbow to the kidneys. I squeezed, dodged, cajoled and shoved my way through, as appropriate.
The Honest Politician was the largest tavern in Denerim, as well as offering some of the finest ales in Ferelden. Tables of various sizes filled the spacious public taproom, all the same highly polished walnut as the bar, some large enough to seat ten or more, others far smaller - designed for two and tucked away in intimate little nooks. Regardless of size, every table was surrounded with solid, extremely well padded and comfortable seating. Once they'd hooked you with the ale and the atmosphere, they were determined to reel you in with the comfort and camaraderie. Arriving at my table, I set the mugs down on the dark wooden surface with a dull thud, then flopped into my seat with a drawn-out sigh.
"Next round's on you," I stated.
My companion grinned across the table at me.
"You can't really blame the poor sod, my dear. Look in the mirror occasionally. You are a particularly toothsome morsel, Keralai Worthward."
He leered at me dramatically, an expression that looked incredibly strange on his devastatingly handsome face.
Crispian had a perfect smile, set in a perfectly dark-complexioned face, with perfect glossy dark brown hair hanging over his perfect black eyes.
He was possibly the only man in Ferelden that could talk to me in such a manner without being forcibly fed his own teeth. I knew he was only joking, because I was completely and utterly the wrong gender to attract his genuine carnal attentions.
I snorted in a most un-ladylike fashion.
"At least he took the hint quickly."
Crispian smiled at me, shook his head at my dismissal of the man and took a long pull from his mug. He smacked his lips with pleasure – the ale in the Honest Politician really was very good. Leaning back with a satisfied sigh, he went on.
"Actually, he was much better looking than the usual class of drunk. Maybe I should see if I can... Soothe his damaged pride."
I stuck my tongue out at him.
"I don't think he was that drunk, Crisp."
" Bitch!" Crispian gasped in response to my jibe.
" Hussy!" I retorted.
"Ice Queen!"
"Floozy!"
We both burst into laughter.
"Makers breath, Crisp, I must have had more to drink than I realised. You were actually funny," I said, my tone deliberately teasing.
He knew me too well to be offended by my casual insults. He winked at me and we resumed our previous conversation, which I had interrupted to go fetch our drinks.
Crisp was imparting the latest piece of juicy court gossip that he had picked up from one of the wealthy clients of his successful smithy, where he and his journeymen crafted the finest arms and armour for the great and the good of Ferelden. The usual buzz of background noises – other conversations, drinks being drained, the strumming of the bard in the corner near the fireplace and money clinking on the wood of the bar – were precipitantly interrupted by voices raised in anger and the crash of furniture being overturned.
My head came up immediately and I cast about, looking for the source of the commotion.
"You know Ker, you don't have to wade in and save the day. You are off duty after all. Let someone else worry about it," Crisp piped up, his exasperation obvious.
I don't think he seriously thought for a moment that I'd heed his advice though. Seeing my determined expression, he sighed, deep and heartfelt, waved his hands at me in a shooing motion and concentrated on his ale.
I weaved my way past tables, chairs and other patrons, arriving quickly at the scene of the altercation. Two men were shouting and gesticulating at each other – I noted the overturned chair next to the table, which must have been the cause of the crash that had caught my attention, an ale mug lay forgotten on the table, on its side in a pool of ale. What a bloody waste.
I was surprised to see that one of the would-be combatants was my would-be suitor, standing facing in my direction, whilst the other had his back to me.
His face was a mottled, angry red beneath his scruffy stubble and shaggy hair, his expression scornful as he narrowed those hazel eyes and yelled into the face of the other man.
"You can take your platitudes and shove them up your arse! Wasn't it clue enough when I left you to rot?"
Noticing the curious stares he had attracted from virtually the entire tavern, his voice dropped into a furious hiss.
"I want nothing from you!"
I knew that if I was going to step in and try to calm things down before the situation managed to get completely out of hand, this was the moment. I could have left the two bouncers to sort things out – they were handy enough lads. But, well, they're called bouncers for a reason... Fine for cracking heads and tossing people into the street, but far more likely to escalate to violence than actually placate anyone.
On the move again, I fished my Guard insignia from my pocket and holding it aloft, I insinuated myself between the two men before the other had a chance to respond.
My drunk 'friend' seemed suddenly a great deal more sober as he glared at me, his eyes blazing with his nigh-incandescent rage.
"City Guard," I declared, looking sternly at each man in turn.
"Now gentlemen, this is supposed to be my night off, so right at the very bottom of my plans for the evening is breaking up a bloody bar room brawl." I jerked my head at the bouncers, who were hovering nearby with billy-clubs held in plain view, their already simian faces set into intimidating scowls.
I returned my attention to the combatants, matching their hot anger with icy chill.
"If you insist on being at each other's throats, do me a favour and take it outside. This screaming match is doing nothing for the ambience."
Hazel eyes glinted as the ... well, the not-so-drunk replied in tones fairly dripping with contempt, "No need for your concern, 'Officer'. I was just leaving. The atmosphere in this place just turned to shit."
Biting back hot words – it would only make matters worse if I gave into the sudden, strong urge to deck the fool myself – I stood back to allow him to pass. He shoved past me then shouldered the other man aside roughly.
The oaken door which served as main entrance to the inn slammed shut behind him, quivering on its hinges.
I stared after him, eyebrows raised in surprise. The door was three inches of solid oak, the hinges were thick wrought iron. It would have taken some strength to set that lot shuddering like some flimsy shutter in a thunderstorm.
I turned to find the other man staring at me with cold, pale blue eyes.
"Problem?" I asked, raising an eyebrow in his direction.
He let out a long, slow breath, visibly deflating as the air left his body.
"No Miss. I apologise for the disruption to your evening. It seems I have made a pointless journey and wasted a good deal of time in the process. Still... I don't know what else I really expected."
As his voice trailed off, it seemed to me that the man was talking to himself more than anything or anyone else, as if he'd forgotten my presence as the words began to leave his lips.
Remembering himself, he shook his head, bobbed a brief and shallow bow in my direction, turned on his heel and left the inn, almost as abruptly as his antagonist. I must admit to a great deal of surprise at his small show of courtesy. Bowing wasn't something I saw much of, as a Guard.
Intrigued despite myself, my eyes lingered on the closed door for a few moments, as I stood, deep in thought.
I never could resist a mystery (a handy trait in my line of work) and Maker knew, there was a mystery brewing here. I could feel it in my bones.
But, with the men departed and the potential dust-up successfully averted, there was no need for further action on my part. I shrugged and returned to Crispian.
He pouted at me as I settled into my cushioned seat at the table once more.
"I can't say that I think much of the entertainment. No blood, no flying teeth, no broken bones. Standards are dropping around here. If I didn't know better, I'd say you're going soft, Ker."
When I said nothing, he leaned forward, all eager attentiveness as he tried to extract tantalising gossip from me.
"What was all that about?"
"Buggered if I know," I retorted.
Crisp drank another swig of ale and scowled,
"Foul mouthed harridan."
I grinned at him, knowing that my face was almost vulpine with the expression as I carefully enunciated my retort,
"Fucking drunk."
I woke slowly and reluctantly, light pouring through the open window, seeming to lance directly into my brain with hot, pointy needles of pain. My head throbbed in protest.
I attempted to lick my parched lips and failed miserably as I realised that my mouth felt as dry and unused as a Chantry sister's nether regions.
Groaning, I heaved myself out of bed, my limbs heavy and sluggish. I stumbled my way out of the bedroom door, down the blessedly dim hallway and through to the pantry. Taking a mug from the shelf beside the sink, I poured myself some water, drained it in two gulping swallows then poured another, sipping it more slowly. The water was cool, fresh and delightful on my desiccated tongue. It tasted like it had just been drawn from the well mere minutes before.
Blight take that blasted Crispian! I was placing blame for this hangover squarely on his perfect shoulders.
After I'd broken up the argument the previous evening, my mood was well and truly soured. I was all for calling it a night and heading home. Crisp, on the other hand, was having none of my recalcitrance. He told me firmly that we had gone out so I could let my hair down, so down my hair was going whether I liked it or not.
He decided that just the thing to revive my flagging spirits was a few bottles of potent, vintage Orlesian red. I was only too happy to oblige him once he made the suggestion. A decent Orlesian wine tasted like heaven on the tongue.
Unfortunately, I was reminded now of the old adage about mixing the grape and the grain. And how it was a bloody terrible idea.
The night had ended with us weaving our meandering and drunken way back to Crisp's smart home in the merchant district, where I had proceeded to pass out cold in his guest room.
I'm convinced that there is a corner of the Fade dedicated to a particular kind of sinner, where damnation comes in the form of enduring a red wine hangover for all eternity.
My head pounded and my stomach churned in agreement with my gloomy sentiment.
A particularly noisome corner.
A startled voice interrupted my reverie.
"Oh Mistress, I'm so sorry, I had no idea there was anyone about!"
I stopped wallowing in my alcohol induced misery for a moment, to see one of Crisp's servants backing towards the door, a shocked expression on his face. I'd forgotten about the hired help.
Momentarily confused by the man's consternation, I looked down at myself to realise I'd staggered out of bed wearing my knickers and not much else.
"Sorry!" I called after the servant as he fled the room in embarrassment.
Shrugging, I took my mug back to the guest room with me.
Several hours later, washed, dressed, fed, much apologised to by a contrite Crispian and feeling much recovered from my hangover, I reported to the Guard House for duty.
Fortunately for me, I had drawn the easy shift for the next few days – Afternoon and evening.
The majority of Denerim's resident thieves and whores wouldn't come out to play until well into the night shift.
The Guard divvied the day up into three eight hour shifts. Noon until eight in the evening, eight until four in the morning, then four through to noon.
We rotated the shifts between ourselves as fairly as possible, changing on a weekly basis so no one was stuck with the really shitty stints for an extended period. Although there were a few mad bastards that actually preferred the night shift – the rest of us were more than happy to indulge their insanity.
The desk sergeant greeted me as I entered. He was a grizzled Guard veteran named Cobb, his face tanned a deep, nut brown, and seamed with lines and wrinkles, surmounted by shaggy white brows that almost eclipsed his eyes entirely. Semi-retired, he was mostly a desk man at that point, getting a bit too long in the tooth to go chasing after cut purses and pickpockets in the Market District. He was still tough as old boots though.
"Ah, Miss Worthward. Still punctual as ever I see," his voice was deep, resonant, almost commanding and betrayed no hint of his encroaching years.
I grinned and waved in response, heading for the locker room.
I opened my wooden locker, donned my woollen gambeson, mail hauberk, chausses and bracers over the simple dark red under shirt and leggings that were the base of the Watchmen's uniform. I carefully stowed my pack in the locker, then closed and locked the door. The mail was decent enough, though worn and repaired in places. It was second hand, having been altered to fit my more diminutive frame by the Guard's smith. The symbol of the Guard was engraved on a shield shaped steel plate and riveted to the upper right side, sitting above my breast. The bracers were leather with steel plates. Simple, but they did the job.
I strapped on my sword belt and sheathe and went to retrieve my sword from the armoury. I always wore a long dagger on my hip and another, smaller dagger secreted in my boot, even when off duty. A single, unescorted woman needed some protection in Denerim.
I opened the secure cabinet in the armoury and selected my weapon. The blade was my own, personal weapon, not Guard issue and as such, my fellow Guardsmen knew better than to borrow or even touch it when I was not present. The last one to try it had been sent home by the duty Captain with a badly broken nose.
Did I mention that I don't share particularly well?
It had been a gift from Crispian upon my induction into the Guard some eight years prior, crafted by his own fair hand. It was a true sign of his generous spirit and his staggering skill. The ironwood short sword was finely crafted, exquisitely balanced, strong, and surprisingly light for such an item.
I treasured it.
I shook back my hair, pinning it at the nape of my neck, to keep it out of my face, and to make it harder for anyone to grab hold of and try to use as leverage.
My hair was my one small vanity, though I allowed it to grow only a little way past my chin. It fell in thick, luxuriant waves and was a shade of auburn so dark, it almost appeared black, but glowed with soft burgundy highlights, set off by my vivid green eyes which in turn contrasted with my olive skin.
You may wonder how a woman, never mind an attractive one, could get along in the Guard. It's really quite simple. By being better than the men. There was no point in aiming to be equals, the men hadn't accepted me until I had proved I was tougher than the lot of them, despite my gender. I had carefully cultivated my reputation for fiery temper and for being predisposed to knock heads first and ask questions later, though what the men thought of as outbursts of temper where usually the result of cool calculation.
I was not big, even by women's standards, leaning more towards petite and pretty. My fellow Guard officers had stopped noticing my femininity long ago, much to my relief. The occasional newbie might try his luck, which invariably ended in much amusement for the other Guardsmen and much embarrassment for the unfortunate chauvinist.
Guardsmen always patrolled in pairs, at least, and at that point, I was partnered with a relatively new officer. In my eight year tenure I had worked my way up to Sergeant, and was usually entrusted with showing new recruits the ropes.
I picked up Jacob outside the armoury. He was a tall lad, his slender physique was athletic without seeming skinny. I'd observed him running down a pickpocket a few days before, one moment he'd been standing next to me, the next he had exploded into motion, halfway across the square and nearly on top of the unsuspecting thief before anyone else knew what was happening. He moved like greased lightening, reflexes faster than any I'd seen before, including my own.
Blonde haired and blue eyed, he had an open, honest face and looked far too fresh and shiny and new to be a Guardsman, but he was taking to the job like a duck to water.
He had an excellent way with people and a knack for talking down a potentially violent situation without any need for physical force.
We had interrupted an altercation a fortnight back when we were on the night shift, the two men had been ready to draw steel on each other and go toe-to-toe. By the time Jacob had finished with them, they had been smiling, shaking hands and ready to go their separate, peaceful ways. I had been truly amazed.
Personally, I would have been quite amenable to bashing their fool heads together and sorting it out back at the Guard house - a night in the cells was usually enough to cool even the hottest temper- but Jacob's method certainly saved us some time and trouble.
He smiled and bade me good afternoon.
I returned his smile, greeting him warmly and asking after his family.
I always made it a point to get to know my recruits, their background, home life, family and anything else they cared to share with me. It seemed to help them settle in and feel like they truly belonged in the Guard. We always look out for our own.
We wandered out of the Guard House into the afternoon sunshine.
"Where to today then, Chief?" Jacob asked, deferring to me easily, as usual. He had no issues with taking his orders from a woman. Sometimes I wondered if it even occurred to him. He simply saw a more experienced and competent member of the Guard, someone to look to for leadership and guidance as he learned his way around the job.
I considered for a moment where we might be best put to use
"We've had reports of some nasty, violent muggings Dockside. Worse than usual, even. People have handed over their valuables without protest, but still given a thorough hiding. They nearly beat one girl to death. Raped her too. Five of the bastards. She was in a right state when her father came to tell us about finding her, we weren't able to interview her and find out what had happened to her for another three days, it took that long for the poor lass to regain consciousness," I replied
Jacob's nose wrinkled with distaste at the thought of such brutal and unnecessary violence.
Dockside was the roughest area of Denerim, but that had been really bad, even by those standards. The Guard Commander had decided to up the presence of patrolling officers until the perpetrators were caught and things calmed down.
"I want to stop by the Honest Politician on the way through," I continued, "There was nearly a spot of bother in there last night. Had to step in and make sure it didn't get too far out of hand"
Jacob frowned at me.
"I didn't realise you were on duty last night?"
I smiled ruefully.
"I wasn't."
"No rest for the wicked then, Ker."
"Too bloody right," I replied, laughing.
Randall, the landlord and owner of the Honest Politician had no further incident to report, thankfully.
In fact, he had told me of his surprise that the young man with the hazel eyes had gotten himself involved in any kind of row.
"He's normally a quiet and affable enough chap. Comes in regular, two or three nights a week these last couple of months. Drinks his fair share, but not over-much, tips well, polite if a bit cheeky with the serving girls. Doesn't bother anyone really. Oh, he'll try and engage some of the prettier patrons in conversation, which he usually manages without too much effort... Present company excepted of course," he added, with a grin, knowing my usual response to any overtures. Someone had obviously told him about the man's attempt to approach me.
"Seems to have a bit of a thing for red-heads now that I think of it," he continued, with a quick wink, "Never goes home with anyone though, despite a bit of idle flirting, never tries to bed any of the girls. Probably could do if he was of a mind. Between me, you and the barstool, he's not a bad looking sort, and certainly doesn't seem short of a few coppers."
I arched a dark red brow at him.
"I'm not after a character witness Randall, I just wanted to check up on the place, and on you."
Randall huffed at my scolding.
"I know that Ker. Just weird is all. That other fellow must have done some serious wrong to the lad to get him riled up so badly.
"I've seen him smile and bow at that old sot Seth, even after he called the lad a fatherless whoreson for sitting in his favourite chair."
That titbit had surprised me. Seth was a harmless enough, if foul tempered old bastard, but that little insult could easily have earned him a black eye or worse from many people.
"You're a shameless gossip, Randall, but I'll keep it in mind. Maybe I'll go a little easier on him myself, next time I encounter him."
Jacob and I were patrolling the winding streets of dockside with a measured, confident tread. I didn't expect to see a great deal at that time of day, but we projected an air of easy self assurance, making it clear that we were no simple marks for anyone. We were watchful and alert, in any case.
Most of the criminal underclass had developed a healthy respect for the Guard.
Since the blight had ended just under eight years ago and Queen Anora had ascended the throne, she had steadily increased the Guard budget, having seen for herself the impact that rampant crime had on the population just prior to the final battle. Riots and unrest had nearly torn the city apart before the darkspawn even set foot in it.
I had been a green recruit barely three months into the job, thrown into the thick of it all to sink or swim as my abilities dictated. There had been next to no training, no guidance and the equipment provided had been so bloody shoddy that I'd simply eschewed it and used my own. Since then, we'd doubled our numbers of patrolling officers, and combat and weapons training, as well as the equipment with which we were outfitted had improved exponentially.
Our boys (and more recently, a few girls like myself) could handle themselves and a weapon a great deal better than your common garden variety of thug and miscreant.
As a result, crime in Denerim had been severely reined in. The only really unsafe places for the average, law abiding citizen to walk the streets at night, were Dockside, and - for the Humans - the Alienage (though even that was safe enough for the Elves). Most Humans avoided the Alienage, however, knowing their uncertain reception. So it really gave us little trouble to speak of.
We turned a corner onto a wider thoroughfare which ran parallel to the docks themselves. The road was lined with warehouses to store the goods that were brought to Denerim by boat from all the corners of Ferelden and beyond, mostly from the Human lands of Orlais and Antiva, though our markets could boast wares brought overland from Orzammar, home of the Dwarves We even saw the occasional Dalish Elf trader.
As we continued our way along the Dock road, I espied a young woman heading in our direction in quite a hurry. I elbowed Jacob surreptitiously and we came to a stop as the woman reached us, breathing a little heavily from her haste.
She was clearly distraught, her youthful features pale, her brown eyes too wide with shock, wringing her trembling hands. She can't have been any older than sixteen.
"Oh Sers, thank the Maker! You have to come and help, I'm so glad I found the Guard, I didn't know what to do, I didn't want to leave him in case someone else came across him, but I couldn't just sit there, that'd be no good at all," her tone was pleading, desperate, so I gently interrupted her rambling, exchanging a glance with Jacob as I did.
"Miss, it's okay, you're all right. You've found the Guard now, and we'll help you, but you need to calm yourself and tell us what's going on."
She nodded, and took several deep breaths, gulping the air into her lungs and visibly attempting to compose herself.
"I've found someone... He.. I think," she hesitated before plunging on, the next words coming out in a rush, as if she was eager to be rid of them, "I think he's dead, Mistress."
My heart sank, and I knew my face was grim at the prospect of investigating a corpse. Maker knew, but violence and death never became easy things to deal with, despite the fact that I was adept at it.
I gestured for her to lead us onward.
She nodded abruptly, the gesture jerky and unnatural, then turned and started back the way she had come, with Jacob and I close behind her. Stopping next to a warehouse, she glanced over her shoulder, I think to make sure that we were still following, then slipped into the alley that ran alongside the large storage building. Hesitating once more, she pointed a shaking finger behind a pile of empty packing crates, stacked up to lean haphazardly against the warehouse wall.
"He's behind there Mistress, I was cutting through on my way back to my Da's from market, and there he was..." her voiced trailed off into silence as I peered around the crates.
Sure enough there he lay, most definitely a corpse, there was no doubt about it.
He was lying on his back, his eyes open and staring up into the bright blue sky. His face was beaten and bloody, his clothes torn and stained with blood and dirt. The skin that showed beneath the caked filth was waxen and pale. Oh, someone had not pulled their punches, that was certain, and must have used a bludgeon or club to help inflict the kind of damage the poor creature had endured.
I moved in for a closer look, trying to kneel down beside the corpse to see if I could locate the death blow, though I was suspecting that his skull had simply been staved in by the violent force of the attack on his person.
I crouched, balancing myself with an outstretched palm against the warehouse wall, looking down into the poor bastard's face, I saw blue eyes, several shades lighter than the sky they could no longer comprehend, open and glassily blind in death.
I started in shock, gaping at the man now, disbelieving.
"What's wrong?" Jacob asked, alarmed at my reaction. Whilst unpleasant, it was hardly as if this was the first corpse I had examined in a stinking Dockside alley.
I shook my head and replied quietly, thoughtful now and subdued.
"I know him."