** This chapter will involve violence and body horror **
Already that evening came the first sacrificial execution to pay dues to The Warmaiden. Sancha and Asa, clothed in their poorly hidden holy robes, stood in a sea of curious and frightened onlookers.
Meanwhile from the balconies of the most wealthy far overhead she could catch glimpses of curious and almost excited faces worn by those who had made almost a party out of it. Tables of finger foods sat on tiered silver serving platters sitting upon lace covered tables. Sancha had to catch herself as her thoughts began to imagine throwing their cakes into their faces. Asa caught her gaze and looked up to the balconies. "Ridiculous." they muttered.
The two of them tried to stand on their toes and look around at the crowd surrounding them, hoping to catch a stranger in mysterious dark robes.
"C'mon poorly disguised death clerics." Asa plead.
They were both punchy. Sancha and Asa were thoroughly out of their comfort zones: Asa never having attended an execution and Sancha having never wanted to attend another as long as she lived. Sancha pulled anxiously at her left sleeve, she felt like if she gave it too much thought she'd somehow accidentally activate her runes right then and there -- giving herself up instantly.
In the town square they had all gathered the finishing touches were being put on an unfolding wooden stage set before them. The city's guard were being directed by the sharp yells of someone Sancha feared would be a Warbound Soldier. She couldn't bring herself to look at them, fearing the sight of the uniform would make her faint. Or some worse more violent other option.
The crowd around them grew impatient. Sancha didn't even remember going to hold Asa's hand but at some point it had happened, her vision swam as she became overwhelmed by the smell of sweat and bodies in such close quarters. Finally after a few more minutes a local city official climbed up on the newly erected platform.
His face was ghostly white with powder, and his stiff suit was a garish deep violet -- perhaps the closest color he had to a mourners black. He wore the ridiculous layered necktie that puffed out so far it looked like a growth upon his neck. His expression was clearly one of extreme discomfort.
He introduced himself as a member of the merchant's council, apparently the highest authority in Olfyield. Sancha had trouble listening and felt lightheaded and non present. Somewhere far away Asa suggested that they wait out the actual execution in a nearby alleyway and just look for one of The Reapers followers as the crowd dispersed afterwards.The council member dabbed at his face smearing some of the white makeup off to reveal a swollen red face underneath before he submissively handed off the stage to a woman. Sancha's attention snapped back to the present as she looked up to the newcomer and she had the oddest sensation of her face going numb. She saw the clean white uniform with silver trim in almost painful clarity, badges of polished steel decorated her front and a chain wrapped across her breast to a heavy cape dyed deep red. Her steel eyes, marking her devotion to The Warmaiden, flashed unnaturally in the setting sun that began to darken the square as it fell beneath the city's outer wall.
"Good evening." she said, her voice ringing through the unnatural silence that had suddenly fallen upon the onlookers.
"And welcome to your first night as a city in service of Her empire."
There was rustling as people silently moved in discomfort.
"The Warmaiden demands tribute from each and every one of Her citizens. In return you will be granted strength and glory, but the tribute is essential. You are of Her empire, and She is now your patron."
" On day one we have asked so little of you. All we asked was that you stay and await your newest orders. Through the obedience of that command you are showing respect to Her holy decree." She spoke with an air of false sincerity and emotion that was at odds with her cold face. It was chilling to listen to. Her emphasis on certain words sounded artificial and rehearsed but it struck fear into the audience nonetheless.
"If you can not pay tribute in the most basic way of obedience, you will pay through blood, steel, and bone." The woman, Commander Isthmus Sancha now recalled from the poster she read that morning, now motioned off stage.
Two more warbound soldiers marched up along with six figures who had stacks of steel mail mesh obscuring their faces. At the sight of the figures the spell was broken and the crowd erupted into loud furious protest. Even high up in the balconies people leaned over to scream and yell in outrage -- their entertainment taking a dark turn.
Out of the six figures, only two were of grown adult size. The four following, however, were unmistakably children.
Sancha realized she was still holding Asa's hand for support and had to drop it after realizing her grasp had turned into a deathgrip.
Completely immune to the jeers from the crowd below, the Commander gave another signal. One of the Warbound, tall and thick with muscle, unclasped the fabric of his sleeve to reveal a mess of runes tattooed into his left arm. He went to touch one, and it flashed aglow with a cool steely light as he proceeded to materialize a greataxe from the rune. The crowd's shouts grew louder as the scene continued onwards without pause. This finally began to draw the ire of the commander who shouted. "Silence!" in a voice that rang throughout the square. Somewhere far off, a clock tower chimed giving the hour in a low discordant sound.
"These six are traitors to your empire. They displayed cowardice and disobedience by trying to flee the city just a few hours ago. Furthermore, the action of fleeing with four children of proper age to join the Warbound academies is the equivalent of stealing The Warmaiden's property. She owns you, She owns your city, and She owns your children. As recompense they must pay tribute in the most basic way -- with blood, steel, and bone."
At the repetition of these words once again the two other Warbound on stage did a well rehearsed crisp hand motion and salute. The magic of the summoning had faded and the axe held by the larger Warbound had finally faded to a dull and solid color.
People now protested but with quiet dissent. They were horrified. Some watchers on the balconies hurried away from the scene into their homes to spare themselves the horror, others were frozen unable to look away. Many in the crowd tried to move, only to find Olfyield local militia encircling the crowd with swords drawn. They looked no more confident then the people in the crowd but their eyes kept darting fearfully to the Warbound on stage.
"There is no escaping this! This is an important lesson you all must learn." The commander shouted from above.
Asa had their eyes closed tightly and Sancha could catch bits of prayer muttered from their lips. Pleas of mercy and compassion.
Sancha took stock of the situation, rooted in place in horror as her stomach curdled.
The Saint was all good things. She was supposed to embody that mercy and compassion Asa was asking for, but also love and family. She is supposed to protect those who have good in those hearts, but a sort of passive protection. You could pray to her to protect your harvest, or perhaps for your loved ones safe return from travel or the healthy birth of a new child. With only two followers and a world full of terror Sancha's service was a bit skewed. They would show up at the homes of those in need, always too late. Doing what they could to clean up the horrible aftermath of some tragedy and help its victims back to their feet. Sancha had taken vows to The Saint. To protect and uphold Her light and love. Those vows included foregoing violence -- there was too much of that in the world already.
But as the third Warbound threw off the steel mesh coverings and let them heavily fall upon the stage one by one her previous teachings seemed irrelevant. The two youngest children looked maybe four and seven. The third was a girl in her younger teen years. The eldest daughter didn't look at her siblings or her parents who sobbed and begged for mercy, but straight ahead at some unforeseen thing with fierce determination and resolve.
There was something in that gaze that made Sancha feel like she was looking into a mirror. She saw herself reflected more true than the reflection on any of Ilya's decorated and polished plates. Sancha could so clearly imagine what that girl must be thinking.
That girl was scared of course, but there was a fierce determination in her stoic face that could boil blood. The girl looked up to blink away the tears threatening to spill onto her cheeks and Sancha wondered if she was praying. To who? What did she want? Was it for her family? She was close enough to take the small dimpled hand of the child closest to her as the axeman approached the end of the line, starting with the youngest first.
Sancha decided that passive protection was overrated, and before she could stop herself she was running forward.
She pushed forth through the crowd and tore off her ratty cloak. She worked at her left sleeve to expose her forearm (a difficult task considering she went great lengths to assure her rune was securely hidden). Asa tried to grab her too late and was left grasping at the empty space behind her.
Asa's shouts were swallowed up by the swell of the crowd that began to crescendo in anticipation of the horrible thing about to happen. Shaking with adrenaline Sancha felt a few steps behind her body as she watched it burst through the front of the crowd, catch the attention of the Commander, vault up the stage in one swift movement, and -- using the element of surprise because who in the hell would have expected this -- run full kilt towards Isthmus and shove her clear off the platform. The commander's arms wheeled in the air as she gave one sharp yell and lost balance.
Immediately the axeman was upon her swinging the greataxe forth, she fell forward into a roll neatly dodging the attack and leaving the axe embedded into the splintered wood where she had just been standing seconds before. Moving automatically within the next breath she pulled forth her own weapon bound to her soul by the runes on her flesh, a simple yet sturdy single handed sword. She had not stayed in the army long enough to earn the essential accompanying runic shield her station called for and was at a marked disadvantage with just the single weapon, but she knew how to fight with it irregardless.
"Go! Run!" She shouted at the family as she quickly swung her sword and shattered the metal loop their binding ropes were tied to on the stage. She gave a full forced kick to the third Warbound right before he summoned his weapon and caused him to stagger back at least a few steps. Using speed over strength she dodged another blow from the axe bearing Warbound as he dislodged his axe from the wood and swung again. Behind her the Commander had made her way back upon the wood platform and swept away the wisps of hair that had begun to escape from her rigid bun. "You!" she hissed.
In silent obedience the two attacking Warbound stepped back to give way to their commander who was already summoning a long and ornate rapier from a tear in her uniform. She brandished it forwards pointing the sharpened tip still glistening from magic towards Sancha's throat. Sancha tried to place the hidden emotion underneath the woman's rage and realized with a start it was that of recognition.
"Runaway little soldier, using her little stolen gifts she has taken for granted. I have heard about what you did." She gave a sharp laugh before composing herself.
"Death is too good for you. I will bring you back to Intmont where you will endlessly pay in blood for your crimes." Silence hung in the air.
This was a scenario she maybe hadn't ever imagined exactly as it were playing out before her, but facing some Warbound commander wasn't too far fetched. Sancha was, after all, a defector of the army. She was also surprising herself with what was decidedly a greater deal of composure than she thought she would have in such a scenario. She found herself thinking that this commander, which Sancha admittedly did not recognize from her time as a soldier, was being a been melodramatic. But then that gave her an idea.
"I'm sorry to say, I don't quite think I've ever heard of you." Sancha said breathily as she tried to steady herself. For a second her eyes caught the tremble in her hand amplified through her sword whose steel hilt wavered, but she kept focus on the commander before her.
"What you know or don't know is irrelevant. You're the traitorous heathen who walked away with stolen runes and lived. Maybe the highest crime you can commit. The Warmaiden gave you speed and strength and st-"
Sancha steadied her blade and loudly exclaimed "The only thing irrelevant is your personal code of ethics!" the pure insanity of what she was doing and how dumb she sounded instantly struck Sancha but it had been at least a little bit worth it to see the look of pure fury that crossed Isthmus' face.
"You won't fool anyone here with your lies that there are laws these people can abide to that would keep them safe from your sword. All you're proving is you will kill anyone down to the smallest child for whatever made up reasons you see fit in the name of your--" Sancha's voice almost caught on this last bit "false god!" Sancha felt her cheeks warm at the exaggerated theatrics on her part but it was having the right effect on the audience who were shouting in agreement. She hoped the performance was all worth it, if it was a show they wanted it was a show they would get.
Comments (0)
See all