Andaris
5 CYLUS 718 | CROWN JAIL - COURTYARD
The night air was bitterly cold, painfully so. Snow was falling, less heavily than it had been the trial prior, but still enough to leave a downy blanket on the heads and shoulders of those caught in it. With no moonlight to speak of thanks to thick cloud cover, the perpetual night of the trial seemed even darker than before, slushy puddles of icy mud covering the cobblestone streets of Andaris in the wake of the hastily shovelled snow. Everything seemed empty, hushed, as though the populace were all walking on eggshells. Those that were left in the city at least. Most had made their way up to the Crown, nobles and commoners alike, to see the public execution of a mage under King Cassander’s decree.
The jail courtyard was a sodden affair, mud and slurry clinging to boots and clothing alike, many a dress hem soiled for the spectacle. People milled in the square, surrounded by high stone walls where smatterings of Purifiers were placed with bows in hand, their points trained on the crowd with watchful eyes. Those in the square would find themselves shoulder to shoulder, noble to commoner, there was no differences here. Everyone was a spectator to the sentence, no matter their creed or status. At the head of the audience, there were both Second Swords of the Mantis and Moseke Knights positioned to control the crowd, shields and swords in hand and dressed in full armour. The blackened metalwork of the Second Swords was a bleak contrast to the bright and polished Moseke Knights, something about their appearance more ominous and foreboding.
A few yards beyond the Knights was the platform, a wood and stone structure built by the very men that resided in the prison cells. It was raised, allowing all to see the bundles of pitch-covered wood that was piled around the stake jutting up to the sky like some sick proud effigy. On the platform stood a unit of First Swords, their hard eyes on the crowd and the only public entrance and exit from the prison. The metal gate had been drawn up, allowing people to enter for the punishment, like some gaping maw welcoming it’s unsuspecting dinner. At the entrance of the jail, where people were coming through even still, a group of hooded protesters stood holding signs scrawled either with the words of the Seven, or names of people who had been taken on the accusation of magic use.
“Turn away from this cruelty, show your kindness! This is wrong, madness. Friends, family, lovers, teachers...we’ve all known a mage sometime in our lives. Not all mages are bad, no one deserves this!” One of the sign holders was saying to anyone who walked past, shaking her sign in heartfelt passion.
“Stand up for your peers! Stand up to this facade! Please!” She called out again, her peers around her muttering in agreeance.
“It’s a good trial.” The guard standing beside Caius murmured, his breath steaming from him in a thick plume, keen eyes sweeping across the crowd that had gathered in the courtyard as he stood with hands clasped behind his back on the platform. Beside them both, facing the audience was a podium, containing a scroll listing the crimes of the one they waited in the snow and the dark for, and the punishment. Resting with it, an unlit torch, ready to burn at a moments notice. A braizer burned brightly beside the podium, hissing and popping as the snow melted into the flames.
“A good trial indeed.” He muttered again, training his eyes on the far wall, towards a wooden door currently closed, currently guarded by two ashcloaked Knights. Beyond that door, their criminal waited, thinking their last thoughts. Did they regret the choice to let the Spark in? Did they fear death, or were they bravely meeting their end as a martyr to the cause?
“I heard they burn the mage alive.” A woman whispered in hushed tones to her partner, standing amongst the crowd of people as they watched and waited, snow settling in their hair or on their cloaks. Her partner, a middle aged barkeep from the midtown huffed softly, tucking his fingers under his armpits.
“Sod off. That’s just for show you silly woman. They’ll bring ‘em out and probably kill ‘em first. Chop the head or strangle or something. No one’s burning anyone alive. The Empress would never allow somethin’ that awful.” The woman shook her head.
“It’s true! I heard from old Patty from the bakery! Burned alive!” He waved the woman off, shoving his way through to get closer to the front, as morbidly curious to see the prisoner and punishment as everyone else. Through the crowd, more whispers were being uttered, quietly for fear of retribution lest one of the King’s Ashcloak’s overheard. At the centre of the throng, a hooded figure took in the scene, his old eyes scanning the guards and his aged ears listening to the crowds bantering. To some he would have once been known as Victor, to those in Andaris he was merely Benjamin Stone, and elder and former Skyrider. The grey haired man pulled his cloak closer, warding off the cold and perhaps the atmosphere of the gathering. Around him, Benjamin listened to the rumours about the prisoner.
An evil powerful mage, a man, or so they said...
A woman driven to the end of her tether, wicked and wanton with sin, or that’s what I heard...
A beastly being, neither man nor woman, warped by the magic they wielded on the innocent lives they took, or that’s the word on the street...
At the head of the crowd, an older woman wept openly, her greying hair loose around her tear streaked face. In her hand she clutched a small child’s toy, a stuffed bear. It appeared old, well loved, and seemed to be the woman’s only comfort.
The bits wore by, as they waited till as many of the city had arrived, pressed into the square or lingering outside the gate on tip toe to see what they could see from afar. On the snow fell, blanketing the people and the mud alike. Finally, the man turned his gaze on Lord Caius Gawyne with a small nod.
“At your command, my Lord.”
It was time.
The jail courtyard was a sodden affair, mud and slurry clinging to boots and clothing alike, many a dress hem soiled for the spectacle. People milled in the square, surrounded by high stone walls where smatterings of Purifiers were placed with bows in hand, their points trained on the crowd with watchful eyes. Those in the square would find themselves shoulder to shoulder, noble to commoner, there was no differences here. Everyone was a spectator to the sentence, no matter their creed or status. At the head of the audience, there were both Second Swords of the Mantis and Moseke Knights positioned to control the crowd, shields and swords in hand and dressed in full armour. The blackened metalwork of the Second Swords was a bleak contrast to the bright and polished Moseke Knights, something about their appearance more ominous and foreboding.
A few yards beyond the Knights was the platform, a wood and stone structure built by the very men that resided in the prison cells. It was raised, allowing all to see the bundles of pitch-covered wood that was piled around the stake jutting up to the sky like some sick proud effigy. On the platform stood a unit of First Swords, their hard eyes on the crowd and the only public entrance and exit from the prison. The metal gate had been drawn up, allowing people to enter for the punishment, like some gaping maw welcoming it’s unsuspecting dinner. At the entrance of the jail, where people were coming through even still, a group of hooded protesters stood holding signs scrawled either with the words of the Seven, or names of people who had been taken on the accusation of magic use.
“Turn away from this cruelty, show your kindness! This is wrong, madness. Friends, family, lovers, teachers...we’ve all known a mage sometime in our lives. Not all mages are bad, no one deserves this!” One of the sign holders was saying to anyone who walked past, shaking her sign in heartfelt passion.
“Stand up for your peers! Stand up to this facade! Please!” She called out again, her peers around her muttering in agreeance.
“It’s a good trial.” The guard standing beside Caius murmured, his breath steaming from him in a thick plume, keen eyes sweeping across the crowd that had gathered in the courtyard as he stood with hands clasped behind his back on the platform. Beside them both, facing the audience was a podium, containing a scroll listing the crimes of the one they waited in the snow and the dark for, and the punishment. Resting with it, an unlit torch, ready to burn at a moments notice. A braizer burned brightly beside the podium, hissing and popping as the snow melted into the flames.
“A good trial indeed.” He muttered again, training his eyes on the far wall, towards a wooden door currently closed, currently guarded by two ashcloaked Knights. Beyond that door, their criminal waited, thinking their last thoughts. Did they regret the choice to let the Spark in? Did they fear death, or were they bravely meeting their end as a martyr to the cause?
“I heard they burn the mage alive.” A woman whispered in hushed tones to her partner, standing amongst the crowd of people as they watched and waited, snow settling in their hair or on their cloaks. Her partner, a middle aged barkeep from the midtown huffed softly, tucking his fingers under his armpits.
“Sod off. That’s just for show you silly woman. They’ll bring ‘em out and probably kill ‘em first. Chop the head or strangle or something. No one’s burning anyone alive. The Empress would never allow somethin’ that awful.” The woman shook her head.
“It’s true! I heard from old Patty from the bakery! Burned alive!” He waved the woman off, shoving his way through to get closer to the front, as morbidly curious to see the prisoner and punishment as everyone else. Through the crowd, more whispers were being uttered, quietly for fear of retribution lest one of the King’s Ashcloak’s overheard. At the centre of the throng, a hooded figure took in the scene, his old eyes scanning the guards and his aged ears listening to the crowds bantering. To some he would have once been known as Victor, to those in Andaris he was merely Benjamin Stone, and elder and former Skyrider. The grey haired man pulled his cloak closer, warding off the cold and perhaps the atmosphere of the gathering. Around him, Benjamin listened to the rumours about the prisoner.
An evil powerful mage, a man, or so they said...
A woman driven to the end of her tether, wicked and wanton with sin, or that’s what I heard...
A beastly being, neither man nor woman, warped by the magic they wielded on the innocent lives they took, or that’s the word on the street...
At the head of the crowd, an older woman wept openly, her greying hair loose around her tear streaked face. In her hand she clutched a small child’s toy, a stuffed bear. It appeared old, well loved, and seemed to be the woman’s only comfort.
The bits wore by, as they waited till as many of the city had arrived, pressed into the square or lingering outside the gate on tip toe to see what they could see from afar. On the snow fell, blanketing the people and the mud alike. Finally, the man turned his gaze on Lord Caius Gawyne with a small nod.
“At your command, my Lord.”
It was time.
Mod Notes
Welcome all to the first event of the new arc in Ryn! Rules are as follows:
- One post per round.
- I will be posting again in four days, and every fourth day after that.
- If you miss a round, you won’t be written out, but you must get minimum 3 posts or 1500 words per standard posting rules to get your skills/knowledges.