[WP] The enemy of your enemy is also your enemy.

...

Atop the outpost, Dozens of boots stood on the warming stone of the tower, figures silent and listening for any explanation in cool morning air.

There were many men present, this day. More than might usually be expected to stand watch for such a location, considering its depth within the heartland of the country which it was meant to defend. So far as outposts went, this was not a border-structure of dire and immediate need, but a leftover from more violent historic times. A building that was staffed sheerly because it happened to exist, and it might be a waste otherwise.

As it was though, even with this known and observed, the Soldiers atop the tower fell into their roles by appearance. Or, at the very least, fit the part while standing still.

Dressed and shaped to standards, armor and leather strapped with weapons on hip, it was in this manner that all eyes continued to glance back down to the red-stained floor and cloth covered form, before darting back towards their Captain. Even those shaded by helm or steel cap, seemed desperate in a quiet sort of way. A deep aversion to looking at what they should not.

As the silence stretched, though, the unease only grew as their Captain made no move to address them. As such, they were simply forced to wait. To stand, and to try their best not to stare at the dead man only a few mere paces in front of them, and instead eye the Captain with their best show of patience beneath the heavy thump of panic.

For those watching, though, the Captain's face brought little in the manner of explanation. If anything, it seemed that his frown was locked in place: A frown that may have been slowly maturing into a scowl for the past hour- but too slowly for the unaided eye to confirm. The type of shift that might only be visible upon reflection of the "before," and the "after."

"Goblins?" A woman's voice spoke aloud, breaking the palpable discomfort of all those present. Breaking away from the crowd, the Dark Elf crouched beside the evidence, lifting the cloth to inspect what lay beneath. "Seems likely, to me."

"Could be." The Captain's frown did little as he nodded in the voice's direction, eyes still locked on the mound ragged fabric and the bloodied patches. "Could be..." He trailed off, tone shifting towards some subtle layer of deep-irritation, just as another voice spoke up.

"Captain! The Forest to the North, across the highway-road. We've had reports of Goblins in the past seasons, Sir." The Soldier stood at stiff attention, eyes looking directly ahead as if will-power alone was what kept them from confirming there was a dead-man under a wool blanket not two paces to their right. "Holy Knights have been dispatched to deal with them- Sir!"

"You too, eh?" The Captain replied, staring at the nervous soldier. "Go on."

"Yes sir! A salute fell away as the Soldier continued. "If he was hit on the North side of the watch-tower, there's a clear line of sight."

"True." The Captain replied. Indeed, there was. As well as a trail of blood all along the stone worked side of the Outpost's tower. "Goblins, Goblins, Goblins..." The Captain eyed the Soldier as he repeated the word, irritation only seeming to grow as he roughly waved the man back to the rest of the gathered crowd. "Everyone is so quick to settle."

"Well, it certainly looks like a Goblin arrow." The Dark Elf stated, lifting up from her crouch and nimbly plucking the shaft of wood from atop the cloth where it lay. In her fingers, the bloodied portion of iron and wood spun with a slow twist. "This is how they make them."

"I'm not doubting the arrow, Sola." Turning to overlook the crowd of nervous Soldiers, the Captain frowned slightly. Many of the faces staring back at him were young, twenty summers or less in age, for rare exception. "Don't you see anything out of the ordinary about this?" He shifted his attention back to the Elf. "I mean, look for yourself." Plucking the arrow from her hand, The Captain pointed over the watch-tower parapet to guide the watching eyes past the northern side. "How far was this shot, do you think?"

The Dark Elf held no reservations, walking over to lean past the side of the battlement. "Hmm..." Narrowing her eyes, she considered the distance. "Three-hundred paces? Maybe less if they were in the road."

"Second Rank, Eldra." The Captain turned back to the soldiers, picking one out and forcing him to step forward from the group. "If I remember what I read of the scribe records last night accurately, you're the best shot with a bow in the outpost."

"Sir." The young soldier moved towards the wall on the Captain's gesture, perhaps somewhat mindful of the blood as he took his steps as he left his fellows still standing at attention.

"Eldra, could you have made this shot?" The Captain pointed towards the Forest line across the road. "Three hundred paces, with a sixty pace elevation on account of the tower. Maybe another ten to keep the shooter in cover from those watching along the road-side."

"Sir!" The soldier eyed the distance pensively, focused look coming over their face before finally shaking their head. "No, it's not likely Sir."

"Then, do you think a Goblin could have made this shot?" The Captain asked, expectantly. "Do you suppose it's in the realm of possibility

"No Sir." Eldra replied, turning back to eye the distance once more. "Only in a massive volley, Sir- and maybe not even then." He concluded.

"Ah, a volley- maybe, there's something. But, we can certainly agree: not on the first shot, and most definitely not with confidence."

"Light and gods, no Sir." Eldra replied, returning to attention. "I pray no Goblin should be so capable."

"Hear that?" The Captain spoke aloud, dismissing Eldra to return to his place beside the others. "Three hundred paces distant, and then sixty paces up: In the dark no less!" All present watched him as he made his way back towards the blanket-covered corpse, arrow pointing towards the blood-stained fabric. "Can anyone name a person who could have made this shot?"

No one moved to speak.

The Captain's eyes narrowed.

"I'm asking you all: Name one archer who would have been capable of this." His voice grew cold. "Now answer. One of you."

"Sir, perhaps with a steel-braced crossbow-" A voice from the back row lofted up, but was quickly silenced.

"I said Archer, not crossbowman. It's an arrow, not a bolt: Name an Archer."

No one spoke, each wilting under the sweeping gaze. Even the Dark Elf looked troubled, brow pressing to concern as she watched the Captain.

"Give me a name. Eldra of the Second Rank!" The Captain shouted as he turned, arrow once again directing his attention to the soldier previously dismissed from his attention. "Now!"

"But sir-"

"Answer," The Captain stepped in with a growl, "Answer or I'll have you sent back to the Capital in a sack."

"SIR!" Eldra shouted in a panic. "Lance Frielo! Sir!"

"There we go." The Captain stepped back with a smile, hand rubbing at his bearded chin as the bloody arrow spun in practiced motions between the fingers of his spare hand. "And who, might I ask, is Lance Frielo?"

"He was my instructor, Sir." Eldra responded in a panicked voice. "He's the only one I know who could have made that shot."

"And what was his profession before becoming your instructor." The Captain's smile held, arrow abruptly stopped and released to fall back atop the cloth it had originated.

"Sir! He was a Holy-Knight, Longbow in Service of the Faith."

Silence greeted such an answer. Silent stares, from the Soldiers, from the Elf, from the stillness of the breeze; its motion cut as if by the uttered possibility of heresy aloud. From the looks that now drilled into the young soldier's head, passed from nervous faces, it seemed that the wind was not alone in such considerations.

Then, the sound of applause rang out. Single repercussions of two callused hands slapped together and pulled apart.

"Well done." The clapping slowly died off, Captain's grin receding beneath a calculating gaze as he addressed them all equally. "I strongly recommend that no one try to leave this outpost."