Flint from his toolkit, a steel blade, and kindling yielded by the nearby forest allowed him to start a small campfire. The light danced eerily in the terrified eyes of the deceased bandit. He'd drowned, in the blood that poured directly down his throat from it's wound. 'Pathetic' was the thought that crossed Fandruzsch's mind, he should have been paying attention.
The thought of what he was doing never occurred to the killer as he ran the bloodied blade over the corpses throat, slicing it open posthumously. Next he slit open the chest, breaking the rib cage in order to tear the man's heart from his chest, this was then tossed into the fire to burn to dust. Folding the arms over the opened chest, he slipped the hilt of the knife under the dead man's paws, blade down. It had been his trade mark all those years ago, and the mindless killing returned him to it without a thought. Soon, he would find her soon.
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