Post by bentusi16 on Jun 12, 2013 23:11:37 GMT -5
Across the border, across the river, south of Proskur
The town bell rang. Standing before the gallows, a small crowd had begun to gather. It would not be long now, they knew. The sun was high, and the promise of a long and good summer was in the air. Today there would be no planting done. Today was a hanging day.
Towering nearby at two meters the steel clad figure watched, expression hidden behind the helmet; the symbol of Tyr was clearly emblazoned across the chest piece, and a massive hammer propped before him with the head on the ground and his hands on the hilt. The villagers stayed a few steps back, all but a long jawed man with grey hairs on his temple, who kept tight grip on a young boys shoulder.
The boy could no longer cry. The tears simply would not come any more, despite standing out in his eyes.
As the final bell of noon rang, another smaller bell began to ring. This one was carried by an elderly priest, bent with age but still maintaining the strength to lift the thick pole with the tolling bell on the end. The ringing was hollow, a grim tone compared to the town bell, and the priest was dressed all in black.
Behind him, flanked by a pair of simple militiamen, was an average looking man in an average looking smock, his hands bound behind him. He was ashen-faced as he walked through the silent ranks of his fellow villagers.
When he finally passed the child held by the elder, the boy let out a yell and tried to lurch forward.
“Father!” he cried. But the elder was a farmer, and his grip was good, even with his age. The boy struggled desperately for a few moments, and then fell to sobbing, unable to stand.
The man did not reply. He followed the elderly priest up the steps of the gallows. Only now did the towering figure of steel move, smoothly hooking the massive maul he carried into the wire holder upon his back as he strode up the gallows steps.
Here the Tyrran unhooked a heavy and ornate book from the chains that attached it to his armor, and flipped it open. When he spoke his voice was calm, neither accusatory nor pitying, but simply as if he was stating the facts.
“Elias Ferin, you are today to be hung for the crime of murder, of which you were found guilty by way of two witnesses to the foul crime and the evidence of the body and struggle. Have you any words?”
“I never meant to kill her.,” the ashen-faced man managed to choke out, his words coming out with a struggle “I never meant to kill her.”
The armored man nodded briefly and turned to the crowd “Will any step forward now to refute this mans guilt upon their honor?”
Not a voice was raised. Hardly a noise was being made, but the sobbing of the child and the creaking of the gallows, the metallic sound of the knights armor as he moved, and here the sniffling of a single old woman, slightly bent with age as peasants tended to after years of toil.
Again, the knights voice spoke with calm authority
“Then by the authority as invested in me by the Church of Tyr, and of precedents there in regarding the role I perform within unclaimed territories within Faerun, I hereby move to finalize your sentence; priest, his rites.”
The priest stepped forward, gently running a thumb over the mans cheeks and forehead, before hugging him and kissing him on each cheek while muttering.
A hood was produced and placed upon the prisoners head. His neck was placed within the rope. The knight took hold of the lever and pulled.
Their was no mistakes with the construction. There was a heavy thump as the gallows pole began to bare the weight of the man, but he did not choke or cry out. The paladin had done this to many times and knew how to build a proper hanging space.
The crowd watched for a moment, and then began to break up. No one spoke, and many walked away slowly. It was over, and the knight was sure many would wish to forget the incident altogether.
Here now the paladin moved over to the elder, and looked down upon the child.
“I know of a house of Ilmater not to far, across the border into Cormyr. Does the child have family here?”
“He is alone,” replied the Elder “His mother long gone and his fathers family left many years ago.”
“Then I shall take him. What is your name, boy?”
The boy looked at the figure. There was hatred there, yes, confusion and anger as well. The paladin nodded.
“Cecilius is his name, your honor. He is a good boy.”
“Then I will take him to where he will be treated as such. Thank you for your cooperation in this matter, Elder.”
The town bell rang. Standing before the gallows, a small crowd had begun to gather. It would not be long now, they knew. The sun was high, and the promise of a long and good summer was in the air. Today there would be no planting done. Today was a hanging day.
Towering nearby at two meters the steel clad figure watched, expression hidden behind the helmet; the symbol of Tyr was clearly emblazoned across the chest piece, and a massive hammer propped before him with the head on the ground and his hands on the hilt. The villagers stayed a few steps back, all but a long jawed man with grey hairs on his temple, who kept tight grip on a young boys shoulder.
The boy could no longer cry. The tears simply would not come any more, despite standing out in his eyes.
As the final bell of noon rang, another smaller bell began to ring. This one was carried by an elderly priest, bent with age but still maintaining the strength to lift the thick pole with the tolling bell on the end. The ringing was hollow, a grim tone compared to the town bell, and the priest was dressed all in black.
Behind him, flanked by a pair of simple militiamen, was an average looking man in an average looking smock, his hands bound behind him. He was ashen-faced as he walked through the silent ranks of his fellow villagers.
When he finally passed the child held by the elder, the boy let out a yell and tried to lurch forward.
“Father!” he cried. But the elder was a farmer, and his grip was good, even with his age. The boy struggled desperately for a few moments, and then fell to sobbing, unable to stand.
The man did not reply. He followed the elderly priest up the steps of the gallows. Only now did the towering figure of steel move, smoothly hooking the massive maul he carried into the wire holder upon his back as he strode up the gallows steps.
Here the Tyrran unhooked a heavy and ornate book from the chains that attached it to his armor, and flipped it open. When he spoke his voice was calm, neither accusatory nor pitying, but simply as if he was stating the facts.
“Elias Ferin, you are today to be hung for the crime of murder, of which you were found guilty by way of two witnesses to the foul crime and the evidence of the body and struggle. Have you any words?”
“I never meant to kill her.,” the ashen-faced man managed to choke out, his words coming out with a struggle “I never meant to kill her.”
The armored man nodded briefly and turned to the crowd “Will any step forward now to refute this mans guilt upon their honor?”
Not a voice was raised. Hardly a noise was being made, but the sobbing of the child and the creaking of the gallows, the metallic sound of the knights armor as he moved, and here the sniffling of a single old woman, slightly bent with age as peasants tended to after years of toil.
Again, the knights voice spoke with calm authority
“Then by the authority as invested in me by the Church of Tyr, and of precedents there in regarding the role I perform within unclaimed territories within Faerun, I hereby move to finalize your sentence; priest, his rites.”
The priest stepped forward, gently running a thumb over the mans cheeks and forehead, before hugging him and kissing him on each cheek while muttering.
A hood was produced and placed upon the prisoners head. His neck was placed within the rope. The knight took hold of the lever and pulled.
Their was no mistakes with the construction. There was a heavy thump as the gallows pole began to bare the weight of the man, but he did not choke or cry out. The paladin had done this to many times and knew how to build a proper hanging space.
The crowd watched for a moment, and then began to break up. No one spoke, and many walked away slowly. It was over, and the knight was sure many would wish to forget the incident altogether.
Here now the paladin moved over to the elder, and looked down upon the child.
“I know of a house of Ilmater not to far, across the border into Cormyr. Does the child have family here?”
“He is alone,” replied the Elder “His mother long gone and his fathers family left many years ago.”
“Then I shall take him. What is your name, boy?”
The boy looked at the figure. There was hatred there, yes, confusion and anger as well. The paladin nodded.
“Cecilius is his name, your honor. He is a good boy.”
“Then I will take him to where he will be treated as such. Thank you for your cooperation in this matter, Elder.”