Sergeant Hickensen had always done his best at everything he tried. For a better part of his life, that was defending the lives of Myrken citizens as a member of the Order of Straka. He had a wife, no children, a sister and a diseased old mother who couldn't recognize him for the life of her.
And tonight, he died.
The Sergeant had been taken prisoner rather suddenly, not far from the Broken Dagger. Even before he fell unconcious, he knew what was going on - not necessarily by who or for what, but he knew the old story. When Hickensen awoke, it was to a blindfold and torture. At that moment, Sergeant Hickensen knew he was going to die.
He also had a damn good idea who was running the torture show.
"I'll speak, but only to Roschen," he'd demand of their questions, though the request would never be granted.
Still, it was a goal to hold out for - one that allowed Hickensen to hold off for a great passing of time. He held little hope of rescue; but as long as they weren't giving in to his demand, he'd make them dig their questions, inch by inch. Still, the Sergeant learned what he needed to by the questions they asked - Interrogation 101. One learns just as much from the interrogators by what they ask as the answers given.
"Heh heh...see, now I know Suede is here. And that means you'll have to kill me. Then they can pin you for murder and let you rot for life, #$%&*&%s!" he'd bravely say when there was no doubt left. He might've lost his fingers for that, or just because.
"Just remember...even dead men talk," he'd caution.
Sergeant Hickensen had his moments. The rest of the time was filled with pain, agony, and screams from the tormented man. He whimpered as he lost a thumb, a couple of fingers, a nipple - along with the regular skull-bashing and rib-cracking.
His only hope was to communicate. Tonight, they gave him that hope.
* * *
Sergeant Hickensen was brought to Straka's Barracks by a couple men. He was a mess, of course - thumbless, fresh wounds still bleeding. But as he was being dragged across the roof opposite the Barracks, Hickensen got what he hoped for. The two men wouldn't notice; he picked at the bloody scab that had replaced his thumb, drawing fresh blood. He had no shirt and his flesh was as good a writing surface as any.
He was almost finished when they cut his throat and dropped him to plummet two stories, where he hit the cobblestone and died.
* * *
The Order of Straka had been quick to respond; once the body had been identified, the Barracks went on alert. The two men escaped, but one woman did not - Sill was captured in Captain Daniels' office as they were moving Hickensen's body. The Captain spared no time with her, having her locked up elsewhere in the Barracks until things cooled down and he could talk to her personally.
Captain Daniels and another guardsman were left to inspect the body of Sergeant Hickensen. Kneeling beside the fallen guard, Thomas looked a twisted mix of anger and sleep deprivation. "Sergeant...damn! ...I need a name! A weapon carelessly tossed! Somewhere, a mistake..."
While they say dead men tell no tales, Hickensen was different. The other guardsman interrupted Daniels: "Uh...sir. Look at his back."
Thomas cut the rope binding the Sergeant's hands together, placing them at his sides. On the bottom of his back, though it was hard to make out amidst the bloody patches and dripping lines, was the clear, distinct pattern of blood smears from the stumpy hand.
The Captain's eyes went wide, and he turned to the other guardsman. "Go get me Councilor al'Nerun, now! I don't care how late it is! Tell him it's urgent!"
The guardsman nodded and left, leaving the Captain alone with Hickensen and the message written across his back: C J E |) F.
The first two letters only needed to be completed, the lines connected, and the last added to make the message clear: S U E D E