Frederick woke to the sound of voices floating through the air, a stench reaching his nose, and chilled floor under his body. The last he remembered he tucked into a hay bed with his wife and children, ready to sleep only to wake a start a new day. Instead he woke up confused and sore. He moved, stretching out his tired muscles a bit only to find that his clothing was missing. He remembered, he went to sleep in his undergarments. That was not so unusual though, not matched up against everything else.<br/><br/>Not when he woke up in a... in a jail. What crime had he committed he wondered. Perhaps he had too much mead at the tavern and his memory of going to bed with his wife was just wishful thinking. That was a strong possibility. Frederick was not a young man, but age had not crept up on him too much just yet. Brown hair with a few streaks of gray, a few days growth on his face, and a body that was earned through hard honest labor. For a man like him who struggled every day in the fields, under the sun, to keep his land and family, it was not unexpected to take a couple more drinks then needed when he could afford it.<br/><br/>Still, that could not be it. Not possibly. Not when he pushed himself to his knees and looked around the dirty cell. Dirty was a great understatement. The floor with grim that he didn't want to start to discribe, a smell hanging in the air that made even that sturdy man catch a lump in his throat. Outside of the terrible little prison he heard a more common language then his own. He knew it to be more common from the travelers that came through his town, his farmland. It was a bit reassuring, though not much given his current surroundings, that he knew at least some of what they said. That's what drew him to his feet and to the door to glance out from behind the bars only to see more cells and little else. He heard those voices but saw no one.<br/><br/>"Who... Who are you?" He asked softly in his native language, trying to get at least one of the people's attention but the man spoke so low it was doubtful that anyone even heard him. Never before had Frederick seen such a condition as the cell he was in, an act of the devil no doubt. He didn't feel the light of god in that small cold cell. Was that it, had he been punished for his sins? The thought made his pausing heart then race. Could this be hell?<br/><br/><br/>(Ditto with Faithless. Edited. My apologies.)