The Death Gods (2)

A beautiful woman materializes out of a thick black mist. Clothing her body are thin black robes with red and gold threaded runes, glowing ominously with power. Her robes are airy, and they have a large gap in the back to give her large black wings plenty of room to stretch. In one hand is a plain silver spear, and in her other hand is a lantern flickering with silver flames.

The Crow goddess looks over all the corpses of the Kareen raiders – some of whom washed ashore, while the ones who were found were dragged back by the townsfolk and burned.

The goddess Freyya then looks closer and sees the corpses have spectral versions of themselves floating above their heads, only connected to their bodies with silver spiritual threads – silver being the threads of lingering attachment.

Without an ounce of pity, Freyya swings her spear, cutting the threads and detaching the souls from their bodies. Some of the souls cry out to her in their tongue, "No! Leave us! NO!"

All of them are behaving the same way Haalfrin did the moment he found himself in the sea of blood; they swing madly out of fear and despair. However, unlike Haalfrin, they don't manage to calm themselves down.

Freyya rolls her eyes at the souls who tried swinging their fists at her. How foolish they are; they clearly know who she is, yet they still resist.

She swats a few of them aside and mutters, "These souls who die violently always try to misbehave. As I thought. All mortals are foolish."

A few of the stronger souls have spectral weapons in their hands, so Freyya knocks their blades aside with her silver spear, then jabs them all in the heart with the pointy end one by one. As each of them are stabbed, their souls are sucked into the spear.

Once her spear is glowing with a faint black mist, she opens her lantern and sticks the pointy end into it, and all the souls are dumped inside. As her spear empties out the souls, the silver flame inside flares a little brighter.

After that spat out of the way, she starts doing this job with "monotony" written in her eyes.

Every now and then, she gripes aloud, "Picking up battlefield souls SUCKS! They all have to up and die all at once, now, do they? Das and Basti? They just show up for a job, pick up one or two souls at a time, and off they go. Me? I got dozens, hundreds, or even thousands at a time. So annoying."

She had just flown over from a huge battle further north, and she had spent weeks picking up thousands of souls. "I want to go home and read a book or something…"

Freyya sifts through the bodies burning on the shore, and she notes several mortals – probably peasants, gawking at the bodies from the side. Of course, none of them notice her; if they HAD seen her, there'd be less gawking and more screaming. Most mortals see her as a sign of bad luck after all. They even extend their superstition to normal crows too, as if THAT makes any sense.

After she finishes with the bodies burning on the shore, she goes further down the beach, sensing some death aura further down where some bodies washed up out of sight.

Among these bodies is an old man without armor. "Oh? I can sense this man fought on his way out, but he doesn't look to be a soldier… Well whatever."

The old man does seem a little different, now that she looks at him. His soul has silver AND gold spirit threads attached to his body. "He got some gold yet… so Felkawyn hasn't Changed him yet?"

A person can't really be considered dead if his soul hasn't passed through Felkawyn's barrier. She leans in and presss her ears against his heart. "Nope. He's clearly dead. His heart stopped…"

Now that she thinks about it, she just groans aloud. "I think I know what's going on."

Some souls, however, are stupidly stubborn and cling to life way too long. When you have hope and a strong will, you don't sink deep enough in the Spirit Realm to be caught by Felkawyn.

Obviously, this old man has some poor little grandchildren or something he wants to stay alive for. "It's no use, stupid human," she muttered as she disrespectfully kicks his ribs. "You can't resist. Just let go and make my job easier."

*Dead Silence*

Freyya rolls her eyes, she leans down, presses her hands on his face, and scrunches it up into a creepy, comical grin. "HEY MISTER! You're dead already!"

She continued in a calmer voice, "Just let go. Seeing all your clansmen and friends here, there's no one waiting for you in this world, so it's ok to let go."

*Dead silence*

"Fine, I didn't want to have to do this," she gripes again as she pulls out some spectral knives with transparent blades from her pockets, as well as a sewing kit with glowing thread.

She's about to get to work removing the spirit from Haalfrin, when an old gentleman in a black formal attire materializes next to her holding a lantern in his hand and a book in the other.

"Freyya! Thank goodness I came in time," the old man says in a cordial voice.

"What's the matter, Das?" Freyya queries with a peeved look.

Das looked over at Haalfrin's body and says, "I was looking over the book of the dead, and it showed here that this man is supposed to die of old age; that's MY department, mind you."

The look on Freyya's face is priceless. It's the kind of face you have when someone says something incredibly stupid with the utmost seriousness.

"Uh... Das..." Freyya says as she points to Haalfrin's corpse. "This man is dead. He has sword wounds and a gash in his stomach, and he's bleeding from the head. Obviously he died in a battle, which is MY department… in case you forgot."

Das gives her a kindly smile, then offers her the open book. "Oh," he adds, "It's on the top right side of the page – the third name listed."

Freyya reads the passage furrows her eyebrows.

While Freyya is looking up Haalfrin's records, Das bends down to inspect Haalfrin's corpse. In the middle of reading this mortal's recorded Fate, she hears Das's voice call out to her.

"Ah, Freyya! It appears that I did the right thing in coming here," Das says calmly. "You were about to cut this man's spirit out, but he appears to be alive."

"What?" Freyya stands up abruptly. "I'm never wrong about stuff like this! He's SO dead!"

"Tsk tsk, Freyya," Das apologizes as he pats the short girl on the head. "Look at those bags under your eyes, junior. You must be tired. It's normal to make a mistake or two."

Das steps aside to give her a few view of the mortal. "See? He's breathing."