Continued from here...
81st of Ymiden 720
The runes of fatigue, along with the mastery with which Woe wielded the cat, filled the air below the scaffold with the choral screams of the condemned. Every exhalation of agony seemed to spread like a contagion from one afflicted to another, compounding their agony. Woe danced for them all, as only he could, bearing his whip like a brush, their bared backs the canvas on which he writ this lesson. The torturer was well capable of scourging them without drawing blood for much longer than most torturers, being a grandmaster of the whip.
He could stretch the moments of agony into trials perhaps. But even he wasn't infallible. A few breaks into the torment, their backs began to bleed ever so slightly from the abuse.
Seeing this, Woe stopped, and decided they'd had enough agony, slumped over their carved executioners block. Queue Fleaface to enter the scene, with an executioner's axe. Being as this was a rabble, a clean death wasn't to be theirs. The Etzori peasant wielded a heavy axe, it's edge rusted and caked with dried blood. Some of the condemned wailed upon seeing the hooded Fleaface enter the scene, in the guise of an executioner.
Woe thought he looked good in that role, and almost formed a sense of admiration for his servant. Perhaps they'd have made a good team as torturer and carnifex, had their paths in life gone differently. But as it was, Fleaface was a good servant to Woe, who commanded his obedience through a superior position.
Fargis bore the axe forward, and Woe laid a hand on his shoulder. For a moment they locked eyes, and Woe looked deep into his soul, attempting to lay his brand upon the man. Having seen him in his carnifex raiment, Woe thought it might be useful to keep tabs on his servant during his dreams.
Thus he was branded.
Fleaface strode further onto the scaffolding, brushing past Woe brusquely. There, he stood at attention, wearing the executioner's garb, and the huge axe they'd given him for the job. Woe for his part simply stood by, waiting for a signal from the Commander. When it came, Woe cleared his throat, readying himself to pitch a prepared speech he'd concocted for just this occasion.
He rattled off the names of all the condemned, one after the other. As they heard their names uttered by their tormenter, they couldn't keep the tears from their eyes. Those in the crowd who knew these men were in varying states of disrepair and grief. From pulling their hair and scratching their faces, to screaming epitaphs at Woe and Fleaface. When Woe was done reciting the names, he went on to the condemnation.
"Since you have denied the sovereignty of your head of state, his Majesty, King Arkenstone, you have hereby been sentences to lose your own heads. The punishment for treason is clear. Expiation of your crimes through agony, ritual humiliation, and then death. If you have any last words to give, now is the time."
For a moment in the courtyard beneath the Scaffold, there was silence. And then the silence laid on the scaffold. Woe was about to give the signal to Fleaface, when he heard a cough from one of the condemned. He said, "I spit on the stripling king, who couldn't protect us from the Creep! Even a King may bleed, and the Wounded God will have his due!"
Woe shook his head at this speech, and in disgust signaled for Fleaface to take his head. Whatever the King's fate, this worm would bleed his last long before he had the pleasure of seeing anything like that from King Arkenstone.
