Bare Bones

[paradox]

i originally began this piece several years ago as a possible submission to a game-based magazine. in the writing of it, i began to feel it was beyond the scope of the sort of marterial they were looking for (i didnt fel it fit the guidelines so well as i 1st thought it would). it sat unfinished for some time, until i came back to it this fall/winter during my creative writing class. im going to post it in several pieces in order to break it up a bit, due to length (its about 5 pages if single spaced).

feel free to comment openly and honestly.

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Fritz Jäger shivered as the cool morning mists seeped through the chinks in his armor. A sharp tattoo of Imperial drummers roused the troops from the last vestiges of their fitful slumbers into neat, ordered ranks. Gripping the shaft of his spear tighter, Fritz peered anxiously into the fog that smothered the surrounding lands. The Sun had not yet broken free of the clammy grip and it's rays dyed the morn red like blood. He could barely discern the ghostly forms of his comrades-in-arms as the army broke camp, pre-paring for the carnage that the day surely promised to bring. Another icy chill ran up his spine as he watched the standards and banners of various regiments dip and sway with spectral grace, like omens of death floating over the doomed regiments. He tried to swallow his apprehension as the words of his long-dead grandfather came to mind.

'A red sky at dawn and all soldiers take warn, for surely their doom is upon

them!'.

Snapping from his reviere, Fritz hastened to find his place in line as the regimental drummer signaled the orders to rank up. He couldn't suppress a shudder as the company banner dipped and swayed in reply, looking too much like the wraiths he had imagined hanging over the rest of the army. Fingers colder than death seized the back of his neck. Whirling with a start, Fritz encountered the laughing visage of Gruber Holtz.

'Fritz, Relax!' soothed Gruber 'You look like you've seen a ghost!'

'And mayhaps I have' grumbled Fritz to his line-mate 'I feel like we are all

doomed today'.

'It's nothing!' Gruber scoffed, a grin breaking on his scarred face 'Nothing more

than Le Croix's foul gruel. I warned you about second helpings!'

Fritz could not keep the smile from his lips at his comrade's jest. 'Yes, that must

be it. At least Gretta would be glad to know that I had someone to henpick at me while

I'm away!'

Fritz's laughter died as the mirth drained from Gruber's face. Following that pointed gaze, he turned to see Captain Mansel's cold glare upon them both.

'Don't make me warn you about talking in ranks again!' snapped Mansel, his thin

lips moving only enough to form the threat. Turning sharply on his heel, the Captain

continued his inspection of the ranks.

As they shaped up Gruber muttered 'One more warning and we're through.' Fritz grunted in agreement. Mansel was practically a legend. Cold and calculating, he was one of the most promising captains in the Empire. It was said he had once bested a mighty champion of the fell chaos gods in single combat! It was even rumored that his sword was an ancient heirloom, a dwarf-forged blade that had been gifted to his family over a century ago. Whispers around the campfires claimed that Captain Mansel aspired to be as cold and unbreakable as that blade.

Shaking his head clear, Fritz concentrated on the present. Stray thoughts like that

would do nothing but get him killed in the coming battle. As if on cue, he could hear the distant booming of savage drums. It sounded as if the beastmen too were ready for battle. Fritz tried not to think too hard about the nature of his enemies as the Imperial forces began their march. The regiment wound its way up a long, low hill, taking up position on the left flank. As they halted, Fritz gazed along the battle-line. He could barely make out the cannons and mortars that General Kirkland had ordered hauled up the hill the night before. The general had chosen this small valley to meet the encroaching horde and wanted to ensure that his big guns had a commanding field of view. The Imperial forces were deploying along the crests and slopes of several low, rolling hills that bordered the southern edge and meandered away eastward and upward towards the distant World's Edge Mountains. Along the northern edge the hills faded into a dense forest, the tree line roughly skirting the valley, thinning out to the southwest near a wide, slow stream. Yesterday, scouts had confirmed rumors of a beastman horde encamped in this forest.

Peering into the mists, Fritz strained to catch a glimpse of the horde. The bestial drums could be heard clearly now and he thought his stomach would sit better if he could see the enemy instead of this infernal, unknowing wait. Just then the Sun finally struggled free of the choking fog, burning away the obfuscating mists like wax before a flame. As the fog was drawn back the bestial horde was unveiled at the boundaries of the forest. A cold knot of disgust tightened in Fritz's stomach as he surveyed the writhing mass of fur and flesh. He had to do this, for his family, for the Empire. If they didn't face these abominations today there might soon be no home to return to. Fritz's gaze lasted only a moment longer, before the horde broke from the cover of the forest at a run, the booming drums suddenly beating wildly as if at some unheard signal. Orders raced up and down the Imperial lines and guns and cannons opened fire. The first wave of ungors fell in droves. Despite the heavy fire some of the loathsome creatures were closing on the Imperial lines and the infantry was ordered forward to prevent the beasts from reaching the gun emplacements. As they descended the hill, Fritz could see ranks of gors and other monstrous forms following close behind the ungors. Soon, the fight would begin in full.

Mansel halted them atop a low rise that afforded some view of the field and would

aid them in holding the flank. Down in valley, the fetor of the beastmen was nearly overpowering. The Sun had turned the cool night mists into a swelter, brewing up the offal stench of the chaos things into a reeking concoction of putrecence. Nearby a large herd of ungors paused to take notice of the new arrivals, hurling sticks, rocks and other, less wholesome missiles at them.

'Steady on men!' snapped Mansel 'These beasts are quite below our concern! Let

them impale themselves swiftly that we may be rid of their nuisance and on to the real

battle!'

As if on cue, the pack hurled itself forward, under cover of one final, foul barrage.

At Mansel's command, the company set spears and leaned too. Behind him, Fritz could feel Gunter brace, his shield against Fritz's back. This was the part he hated most.

...

[paradox]

continued.

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Impact.

To his fore, Hans was staggering back under the press of filthy bodies, pressing back on Fritz's shield, squeezing him. Gasping for breath in the rank air, Fritz missed his mark, the spear nearly slipping from his sweat-slick grasp. All about, men swayed and staggered under the weight of the charge as a seemingly endless sea of ungors broke on the spear- wall. However, some of the beasts slipped past the thicket of death or squirmed under the bodies of their impaled kin to get at the men beyond. To the left Fritz heard screaming as Georg was dragged down by three ungors. On the right he could hear Mansel bellowing an order that was lost in the din of the braying swarm. Just then a shadow fell across Fritz. Glancing up, he saw that one of the creatures had wriggled to the crest of the wave of bodies. The thing crouched, preparing to leap over the bristling spears straight at Fritz. In desperation, Fritz hauled his spear up frantically to stop the beast. Too late. With a prayer to Sigmar in his teeth, Fritz dropped to his knees, yanking the spear up and left in a wild attempt to spit the creature. The haft undulated wildly as the ungor landed square on the point. Bucking like a mad beast, the spear fought with Fritz for freedom, but he dare not let go. Finally, it ceased and sagged. Letting out a sigh of relief he steadied the over-burdened spear, wondering what he was supposed to do with his grim trophy. The spear answered with a loud crack, snapping off just above his hand. The dead ungor plummeted down atop Hans, knocking him flat. As Hans fell creatures piled into the gap, attempting to break the line. Dropping the broken haft, Fritz yanked out his short sword, its blade gleaming new in the sunlight, its weight unfamiliar to his grasp. Trying to recall his brief training, he stepped forward and thrust awkwardly. An ungor screamed as the blade bounced off a rib and slid along it's bare chest, leaving an ugly, red gash. Pulling his arm back just in time avoid a crushing blow to the wrist from the thing's cudgel, Fritz regained his footing, warding off several wild swings with his shield. Seeing the swell of beastmen behind his attacker, Fritz knew he had to finish this one fast. Sweeping wide with the shield he leaned in, the sword leading again. This time it struck home, cleaving the heart. Jerking the blade free, Fritz muttered a prayer to Sigmar and waited for the tide of foes to wash over him. At that moment Captain Mansel darted into the gap with a rallying cry. Cold precision closed the hole in the spear-wall, the sword of Mansel dancing and slicing in a dazzling display. Three foes already lay dead as he stepped in front of the panting Fritz, bolstering the men in his valor.

'Set about them men!' cried Mansel, 'This rabble is spent!' Tentatively at first they began to advance, pushing back upon the waning tide of fur and flesh. For brief span of tense moments they ground together, man and beast, sword on shield, steel on flesh, before the bloody attrition broke the tide and the ungors turned in panic to flee. With a hearty cheer Mansel's regiment broke ranks and sprang forward, seized with battlelust, pushing past the enemy lines with victorious slaughter. Their triumph however was short lived. From the rear of the horde the beatmen reserves charged forth. These creatures were no lowly ungors, but huge, hulking minotaurs, armed not with feeble sticks and crude spears but great cleavers. With a deep braying bellow they set about the dis-organized mob. Fritz watched in horror as the largest of the beasts split Mansel asunder with one great swipe, the captain falling to either side amidst a great gout of blood. That spray of gore seemed to incite the monstrous beasts even further. Foaming at the mouth, several nearby creatures fell upon the corpse with wild abandon, the battle forgotten in their blood greed.

Fritz's stomach wrenched at the grisly sight and his nerve failed. Backpeddling away from that gruesome feast he turned to flee, only to come face-to-face with another of the ravening beasts. The thing reared back and launched a mighty swipe at its quarry. Fritz threw his shield up in a feeble gesture of defense and desperately attempted to reverse his momentum, but it was not enough. The minotaur's blow splintered the shield like so much matchwood, the edge of the glaive catching Fritz on the chin with enough force to send him spinning through the rank air.

He was laying somewhere warm. It seemed as if he'd dozed off because he felt

strangely numb. He thought he could hear Gretta and little Hermann near by. Was it sunset already? Somehow he thought that the Sun had only just risen. Why couldn't he

move?...

***

Before the Voice there was nothing. It came from the nothingness, or maybe it came through it, it's beingness shattering the void. It was. And because it was, so too was he. It called to him, smooth as silk. It twined about the nothingness and it promised. Promises of more. Promises of being. It tempted the nothing with something and it trapped him— because one can never chose nothing. And when the Voice had filled the nothingness with its being, it emitted a long strand of light, or maybe it penetrated the nothingness, peeling away it's shell. Whatever the case, he was drawn along. That is, I was. Because I am. And the Voice makes me....

If this is birth, or rebirth, then it is a terrible thing. I feel sluggish. My body doesn't seem to responded. Have I been convalescing? There was a battle.... It feels very difficult to breathe and I can't see anything except a blur of light, but it seems distant or muted. Am I blind? I can't remember. All I have is pain....

I think I have been losing consciousness. Sometimes I have a sensation, as if I'm

moving, but I can't be sure. Am I asleep and dreaming? Sometimes I hear a child laughing, other times a voice, but not the Voice. This one sounds like a woman. It comes from somewhere else. Somewhere the Voice isn't. I don't believe I am the Voice any-more. It was me, or maybe it made me, but it isn't me, because I am still here when it leaves. I....

I think the Voice controls me. It is often the last thing I hear before I black out. When I wake it's gone. There doesn't appear to be a pattern. This is a strange life. I have memories. Memories of something else not like this. Names, faces, too indistinct to know them. I think I can see better now. Sometimes I can discern shapes around me, though I can't be sure they aren't just memories. I'm not sure of anything now. This must be a dream. I can hear the Voice, and with it pain....

Madness! I can see! Or I think I can. But what visions! I am surrounded by corpses. I must be in some ancient tomb, for they stand against the wall, propped up as if macabre suits of armor. What sort of creature am I? I am not a man. I was, but I am not now. I remember. I was a man. There was a battle. And a name...Gretta? The woman? Who is she to me? Or was.... Every time the Voice beckons now I answer, or at least my body does. I can feel myself stir before I fade out. What am I? I have a terrible fear, a suspicion that I dare not ponder....

There was a battle. I was a man and there was a battle. I was a soldier. I was a

soldier and we followed orders. I follow orders now. I must be a soldier. The Voice, it is my commander. This is some strange magic that has robbed my senses. Gretta. I can see her face. I loved her. I can hear her sometimes, though I think they are memories. Gretta would not be in a charnel pit like this. I don't know what I'm doing here. Have I gone mad? No, the Voice is my commander. I was a soldier and there was a battle. I left Gretta to go fight. It is still difficult to breathe. I must have been wounded. I am convalescing and have become delirious. These sensations must be fever-dreams. I was a soldier. I was a soldier. I was a sold....

Fritz. My name is Fritz and I am a soldier in the Imperial army. I left my wife Gretta to fight off the marauding beastmen. I have a son but I can't remember his name. I left them and went to fight. There was a battle and....

I AM A SOLDIER! I AM A SOLDIER! I AM A SOLDIER! I AM A SOLDIER! I AM A SOLDIER! I AM A SOLDIER! I AM A SOLDIER! I AM A SOLDIER! I AM A SOLDIER! I AM A SOLDIER! I AM....

[paradox]

continued...

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My name is Fritz Jäger and I am a damned man. I have seen the Voice. The Voice is the Master. He is rather strange—frail, bent and utterly unwholesome. He commands me with the Voice. We are no longer in the charnel house. The Master has commanded us to march. I remember this well and my body complies whether I will it or not. I cannot defy the Master's Voice, but I can retain my wits in the face of it now. I don't think he knows this. I have seen my body now too. I can see again and I can see that I am damned. Were I still a Man I would curse the Master as a necromancer! My name is Fritz Jäger and I was a soldier. We marched to battle against the foul beastmen and I was killed. Sigmar preserve! I am a damned man, bound to the will of this vile sorcerer.

I have learned to defy the Master's will. When he is gone and the Voice is silent I can move my fingers and sometimes shift my feet. We are often compelled to march and sometimes, I think, we have fought. It is hard to know though, because that is when the Voice is strongest and I'm often smothered in it. But sometimes I'm not. Not entirely at least. If I could somehow strengthen my will, I might be able to strike out at my Master, end this hellish torment. I wonder if there are any others like me. I've watched my fellow corpses closely but there has been no sign of life in them. Sigmar save me! This is madness truly! I died a servant of the Empire with a prayer to the man-god on my lips! Where is the peace of Sigmar!

He has lost! My foul Master has lost! His forces are in disarray and the Voice is faltering. Though he is near my Master's Voice fails him! I can't yet wrest my control from him but it cannot be much longer now. Perhaps his enemies will discover him. We have retreated somewhere dark, away from the Sun, away from the burning brands of our foes. I can see my Master, frail as ever in his flesh and now a weak voice to match it. Outside there are voices, men shouting and fighting, then sunlight bursts in. I am called to fight, but the Voice is weak and I feel sluggish. I can see them now, the holy Templars of Sigmar. They lay about us with their blazing brands and blessed warhammers, their captain leading them on. The Master is extorting us but my will seems stronger. The captain is before me now and the Voice forces my arm to thrust, but it is a weak impulse and I only snare the brim of his hat. I remember my son now... Hermann. The Voice has vanished. I drop the spear. The captain raises his hammer but he hesitates. Hermann, my son....

***

Witch Hunter Captain Hermann Jäger stopped fast, staring at the tangle of naked bones at his feet, not so much in revulsion, for he had long been accustomed to such atrocities, but in wonder. Something strange had transpired between him and this creature before Brother Jakob smote down the evil necromancer with Sigmar's blessed fury. Something had been in the skeleton's eye, a spark of recognition. Bending down to inspect the remains, he rummaged through the dusty pile. A gleam of gold caught his eye. What he saw caused him to stagger back, mouth agape.

'Brother Hermann?' queried Brother Jakob. But Captain Hermann only stood mute, gazed fixed upon that dusty pile of bone. Slowly he reached into his pocket and drew forth the ring he had always carried, a trinket his comrades had seen often.

'Brother Hermann, what troubles you?' Brother Jakob was at his side now, trying to break that unblinking gaze, fixed on the answering glint within the bones.

~fin~

[paradox]

any thoughts? opinions?

do you think i could try to write this style professionally (one of my many pipe dreams :laughing )

[Amerist]

The battle is gruesome but it comes across reasonably well; at least in the visual and highly visceral sense. The blur, the noise, but it seems to lack environment--I have a hint of trees, but no idea of the surroundings, and that's a little strange. Even though it's not too surprising that the soldiers see only themselves and their forest of pikes there must be some sort of idea of what the region looked like before they set to battle. I do get a sense of the fog at the beginning but I think it would be clearer if it were juxtaposed with what the landscape that was hidden may have looked like.

The paragraphs are a wee bit too big. In fact, in the first part they're huge. They suck up the dialogue and they run me out of breath from sheer weight. Breaking them up a little into more focused ideas and working scene-by-scene might benefit the readability.

I would like a clearer idea as to why Fritz is there in the first place. It could be just why he's a soldier; or why they're facing this massive enemy, what do they expect to gain, aside from survival...

The unconscious part is really confusing at first. It didn't have real sense of reality to it and it suddenly switches to the first person? I would suggest making it italicized or something else to disentangle it from the rest of the narration, or giving it a little bit more of a foundation. I got really, really lost.

Although, the whole being raised from the dead from a charnel house and commanded to march is quite interesting. Getting inside of Fritz's head is just jarring and unexpected. It would work a lot better if there was some sort of narration about world events while Fritz is dead/down/whatever. Maybe the actions of the sorcerer who brings him up interspaced with the strange stream of consciousness? Something to give the reader a real foundation in the world while also reflecting the mad stream-of-consciousness ramble of the madman? It would take some deft scene weaving but it could be sewn together.

Also, it could just be possible to flip directly to the beginning of the marches, and then use flashbacks to the resurrection or whatever that was.

I love the battle, the monsters, the gors, ungors, minotaurs, poor Mansel being shredded (with his neat name) and the whole Germanic names are also interesting. The dialogue goes away too quickly though, the battle is gruesome and bulky, and it left me jittery, which only worsened my confusion when "the Voice" came into discussion, and suddenly it was first person. Might just wanna go somewhere else with that.

I love the Witch Hunter Captain Hermann Jäger part at the very end, but it's so incongruous: it feels like it's been led too much to that. It's interesting, but not interesting enough. It would be nice if there were more tie-ins throughout the text. I don't recall a ring at the very beginning of the story...only a sword…and it didn't belong to Fritz.

Ah well.

In conclusion:

The descriptive style and use of terms has strong promise. It certainly feels really Germanic. I like the phrasing and some of the emotional interplay in the words, the technical style, and poetry work extremely well for painting a visceral sensation of the situations. Though this piece is a nice series of visceral scenes, though, it seems to lack coherence. It doesn't tie together well and in the end it leaves me dangling and wondering what's going on. Repairing this may take some deft work at trying to keep the components together, drawing better parallels for the plot to follow, and probably rewriting the presentation of the mysterious Voice and what Fritz has to do with the goings-on later on.

And finally: Good luck.

[paradox]

thank you most kindly for your candid reply! :grin

i truely appreciate an in-depth responce.

but no idea of the surroundings, and that's a little strange. Even though it's not too surprising that the soldiers see only themselves and their forest of pikes there must be some sort of idea of what the region looked like before they set to battle.

<{POST_SNAPBACK}>

i did try to give a general overview of the terrain as Fritz's unit takes position with the following passage:

As they halted, Fritz gazed along the battle-line. He could barely make out the cannons and mortars that General Kirkland had ordered hauled up the hill the night before. The general had chosen this small valley to meet the encroaching horde and wanted to ensure that his big guns had a commanding field of view. The Imperial forces were deploying along the crests and slopes of several low, rolling hills that bordered the southern edge and meandered away eastward and upward towards the distant World's Edge Mountains. Along the northern edge the hills faded into a dense forest, the tree line roughly skirting the valley, thinning out to the southwest near a wide, slow stream. Yesterday, scouts had confirmed rumors of a beastman horde encamped in this forest.

though maybe this was too brief/summary? when i editted this for the class i turned it into, i tried to limit lengthy flora and fauna descriptions so as not to slow the pace or lose the focus. do you feel there should have been more? where and how would you suggest? im always open to suugestions.

The paragraphs are a wee bit too big. In fact, in the first part they're huge. They suck up the dialogue and they run me out of breath from sheer weight. Breaking them up a little into more focused ideas and working scene-by-scene might benefit the readability.

if you could cite a few examples, that would be stellar of you

the battle scenes have little or no dialouge on purpose though. i wanted a little pre-battle banter so the reader could get to know Fritz a little, but thats just an opening to situate and familerize you a bit, and the battles whole point is to kill Fritz. it ended a little lengthier than 1st expected, but i just cant pass a juicy battel scene!

also, for this type of fiction, its somewhat expected. there needs to be some graphic death and dying. :devil all the characters are disposable. for fans of this genre, i was aiming at something of a shock that Fritz and Mansel die. Fritz, obviously, is our guy. they arent usually supposed to bite it, as thats typically the end of your story.

Mansel is clearly a bad@$$. :grin the bad@$$es dont usually die, or at least not that quick/in that fashion. i was going to bury him in a pile of ungors :laughing but i didnt. he deserved a minotaur for having such a cool name.

I would like a clearer idea as to why Fritz is there in the first place. It could be just why he's a soldier; or why they're facing this massive enemy, what do they expect to gain, aside from survival...

hmmm... im not sure what to say here?

hes a solider. he doesnt get a why or even necessarily a where. he gets orders. it was taken for granted that the beastmen had invaded the Empire (where Fritz lives). i think i even said this in the begining. he was conscripted, but thats more implied and not vital to know.

does that help?

The unconscious part is really confusing at first. It didn't have real sense of reality to it and it suddenly switches to the first person? I would suggest making it italicized or something else to disentangle it from the rest of the narration, or giving it a little bit more of a foundation. I got really, really lost.

ive gotten this comment before, but ive also been told it works.

its supposed to be confusing at 1st. and jarring. you dont necessairly have to realize its Fritz at 1st (in fact, you could say that it really isnt him anymore). but it should become apparent soon enough. the initial paragraph does need work, i agree. it could be smoothed out a little. it was hard to write the 1st few parts of reawakening. i knew the emotion i wanted to portray, but finding the right words to pass that on to the reader wasnt easy. the short paragraphs are supposed to represent Fritz's brief spells of conciousness, which become gradually more lucid as he learns to assert himself over his reanimated corpse

It would work a lot better if there was some sort of narration about world events while Fritz is dead/down/whatever.

this is the exact thing i wanted to not do. the whole story, really, is from Fritz. the external narrator in the 1st part and 1st person in the 2nd are to facilitate the change in status. we are a limited 3rd person (i think? my technical skills are sadly lacking, i just write what sounds right to me) in part 1. we are in fritz's head, but also somewhat outside the story, so i can set up teh world without having to have Fritz think/say it all. alot was left or cut out too. i leave the reader to catch up on what beastmen are and figure out the types and what the Empire is, though this is based in a well-establish world for a game called Warhammer, so people familier with the game/stories should know exactly what is what. trying to describe a whole world for this story would be too much unnecessary front, IMO.

if you caught on to the fact that Fritz lives in a psuedo-medieval society with elements of fantasy in the world, that is good enough. the rest of the world is inconsequential, though it should be apparent that this type of event is fairly common place (border skirmishes with encroaching outsiders and what-not) and that neither Fitz nor anyone else nor any of the events are earth shattering or important in a global sense. just another army fighting another battle in a long, violent, unending cycle.

I love the Witch Hunter Captain Hermann Jäger part at the very end, but it's so incongruous: it feels like it's been led too much to that. It's interesting, but not interesting enough. It would be nice if there were more tie-ins throughout the text. I don't recall a ring at the very beginning of the story...only a sword…and it didn't belong to Fritz.

Fritz encountering his son, now grown and having far surpassed his father (due in no small part to his untimely death), i felt, brought us full-circle. the riong does need to be put into the beginning, to tie it up. the problem was that i didnt know what 'it' would be. rings are way too cliche to have, especially nowadays ( Lord of the Rings and so on) but it was stuck in so i could finish. its a stop-gap. :grin ill have to think of something better and put it on Fritz at the start too. ive also thought i should make a tad more mention of Hermann before Fritz dies. its hard to add detail but not overdo the balance. the intro and battle arent the focus of the story. at the core, im aiming to question existance and forms of being. what is the 'it' that makes you you? does it linger after death? or is there nothing? does it lay dormant with our remains? (important in a world where necromancy exists, i suppose).

Fritz has 2 avenues of 'immortality' 1 brought about by his reincarnation as an undead, the other thru the more traditional prepetuation of species. is it Fritz in the skeleton? is that fragment dragged back to its remains the 'it'? that made Fritz Jäger? does Hermann really recognize a piece of his father in that corpse as he destroys it?

or is it the memory of his father and his bloodline that really perpetuate the 'it' of Fritz beyond his death?

i dont have the answers to those questions... i leave those to you.

i hope that clairifies my aims a little

It certainly feels really Germanic

to bring you the flavor of the world a little more:

the Empire in Warhammer is a sort of lose parallel to the medieval/early renaissance Holy Roman Empire. so a germanic/central european theme is the right track to be on.

the mysterious Voice

the Voice is supposed to be the necromancer, or at least his will, as exercised thru his spells and powers over the undead. the ironic thing, to me at least, is that the necromancer is unaware that his servants are still 'there' in some sense. i had a few sections, which i cut, where the necromancer senses some sort of resistance. it got out of Fritz's head, so it didnt fit the theme of part 2. i wanted to stay focused on Fritz and how 'there' he was or wasnt.

again, thank you for your comments and criticisms! :grin

i do value all input and i do keep it all in mind when i go back to these to tweak.