Death Follows

"My goodness…" Daphne's mouth fell open in shock. The metallic scent of blood permeated the room; with the advent of peace in Vramid, it had been a long time since she had dealt with anything as viscerally gory as this. "Who is this man?" 

Her stomach twisted unpleasantly as her eyes darted to the large gaping wound on the poor victim's stomach. He must have bled to death from it, and it would have been slow and painful. 

"Whoever he was, he certainly made a mess," Atticus commented, his nose scrunching up in distaste as he stared down at the scene. There was a dead body in front of him, clothes soaked in his blood, his limbs splayed out as though he was one of those starfish creatures that lined the shores of Nedour's beaches. 

Cordelia clicked her tongue disapprovingly at his cavalier response, looking over at the poor dead man.