Deleted

Moments as the prayer ended, the peace of Kavaki and Manethak could be felt, as though speaking directly to the core of her troubles. In her youth, it had taken years of unanswered prayers and questioning if the gods truly cared for their people at all, before succumbing to the will of her creator. Before realizing that the gods were not there to serve, but to be served. Perhaps her faith faltered during captivity, her belief wavering due to a disconnect. This was untrue, as she was aware deep within herself, but doubt can be a powerful evil nonetheless.

The familiar voice of one across the darkened hallway broke the silence, and the Goliath's reverie, as the human known as "Renault" inquired further into the woman's background. Vah'lux was impressed however, that the other allegedly learned something of her race from manuscripts, or perhaps they could have been cave wall paintings, as many tribes long passed have used to document their time in the world.

Either way, it was a notable quality.

"I traveled from one strange and terrible land to yet another in search of my people." She spoke in an even-toned manner, the accent of her native language heard in each syllable of common. "Where they are, I do not know. Scattered about perhaps." She paused for a moment, allowing a breath to escape. "But, while my purpose in this place is not clear, it is where I need to be."

Indeed there was purpose for them all as they drifted back apart for the night, huddling and holding to their own piles of straw and blanket. Only the slow, rolling chatter of the flames from the torches filled their ears and with their protective light, their distant heat. Without it, it might well have made sleep difficult even with these great stone walls of the prison, but to their relief and fortune there was no need for concern. Their captors may have been errant in many of their charges but they were not evil, and while hearts far from pure - instead blinded by terrible fear and paranoia born of this fringe land - they would inflict no such cruelty. If anything this would be one of those saving graces for the four of them, just as they needed it to be, although it would come in no fashion they likely expected or would enjoy.

As a result, in the earliest hours of dawn, when the sun cracked just upon the horizon, the sound of horses and a wagon awoke them. Gorosk, first, seeing as he was the closest to the distinct sound and how his enlightenment made his senses keen, found himself brought back from a night of dreamless dreaming. By the time he arose and realized just what it was, he could see it was not his imagination. There were indeed several men and several horses, not the least of which was the horse and cart he had become familiar to, but the others? This was new, and news enough at that, for anyone who could own such a beast and make use of it as transport here likely had some prominence. By the time the rider dismounted, so too could the others in the prison hear the arrival and approaching footsteps of the militia, while the half-blood himself could see a few of the men preparing to open the door. What at first seemed like liberation and vindication, however, sunk in the heart.

These men were the militia, sure enough, and with his eyes to see through the fading ambient dark outside Gorosk could tell that those who accompanied them were not. One man in modest robes, presumably a priest of some variety, and a reasonably well dressed man who bore a sash across his chest, sewn with a badge of decoration. These were formal men, officials of the temple and the kingdom itself, likely the justice and the priest assigned to carrying out their sentencing. They spoke for a moment in idle tones as the sound of the wrought iron door being unlocked beyond echoed into their chamber and one of the men, the jailer as the three men knew him at this rate, entered and paced down the isle, bringing his held torch to their cells to ensure no tampering had taken place; none of them had dared to escape or even managed the effort.

He gave a few tapping kicks to the door which held back both the humans, being certain that he gained the attention of all within before he spoke, his voice only moderately raised, "Your sentencing will begin shortly, so up, and up now."

The man said no more, aside from that which he said without words by furrowing his brow a bit and scowling at the orcish man before walking out again. He paced back to the cart where the other few militia men were moving a chest and equipment from the back of the cart, passed by the priest who soon entered, followed by the justice. They stood there quiet for a moment, the calmness of the former and stoicalness of the latter making it clear this was not the first and certainly not the last time they would pronounce judgment. And contrary to that which may well have been expected, the priest with his clean shaven and youthful face, spoke. He spoke loud enough to hear without being forceful, whereas the older, balding man behind him with stern eyes seemed like at moment's notice he could bellow out a direct command.

"I will be the one to perform your test of purity, so that in the eyes of the divines whose land this still is, we may know where your heart lies before the law."

He gestured to each of their cells, ignoring the obvious that they not all could see him before he continued, following the drawing back of his flax hood. To Beaumont's eyes, as the man adjusted himself for the formalities to follow, it was clear who the priest followed, a symbol of Erithar upon his chest in humbly carved wood; likely too poor and youthful a priest to afford anything of value.

"May the holiest of holies, the name of our great sacred protector and judge of that which is righteous and good, find you all without stain in his vision for us all."

The priest then came before the door nearest the two men, just a pace away, and began to cast a spell. As he intoned the words, the stern justice behind him watching without word or interference, the holy man's hands formed a few gestures and then laid the pads of his fingers to the divine article around his neck.

"Who will be the first to be judged?" He inquired, although likely it would be that he knew the answer already beyond just his own sight.


@BangoSkank@Hellion@Lord Wyron@TyrannosaursRex

Screams. Blood. Anger. Slavery. Death.

What had once been a peaceful community of dozens of Goliath male, female, and younglings, became the site of much violence and bloodshed, as the Orc army stormed the Kathaal encampment. No mercy was given to those the invading creatures chose not to allow to live, but the Goliaths fought bravely to protect their land and people. Vah'lux was amongst the warriors, and her spear and arrows found their mark, tearing and ripping through Orc flesh and bone with little effort. But it seemed the more the battle raged on, the more futile the tribe’s attempts were to snuff out the threat.

They just kept coming.

Across the square in the center of the camp, she spotted both her parents, armed with sword and axe, fighting back-to-back, and surrounded by a half dozen Orcs. “Na’h-jek!” She yelled, battling her own way through the enemy to aid them both. Her pace was slowed by the onslaught, however, as the Goliath woman with a heart and mind full of both courage and fear, dodged and countered each attack with a supernatural strength beyond the norm, cutting down those who stood in the way.

But it was still not enough.

Her attempts were quickly stopped short, as several armor-clad Orcs, ropes and chains in hand, snared the Goliath in place, pulling tightly on the ropes around her neck, arms, and torso, eventually bringing the pseudo-giant to her knees and disarming her. And what transpired moments after would be burned into her mind for the rest of her days, as both of parents were brutally cut down in an almost ritualistic manner by the great number of Orcs who surrounded them. Each taking a turn to stab, maul, and slice with every manner of weapon at their disposal until the couple’s armor was drenched in their own blood.

But, it was the coup de grâce which held the most significance to the enemy terrorists, for they knew that demoralizing the offspring would allow her to become theirs for life. The spear that Vah’lux once held had been taken by the Orcs, and slowly driven deep within the chest of her father until it exited through the back, and impaled his wife in the same manner.

“NOOO!” Vah’lux roared, gazing daggers at the smug expressions of the merciless beasts as they kicked over the dying couple and began to disperse. The anger raged within her once again, but as she felt the burst of energy enough to charge the Orcs in front of her, a hard crack to her skull from behind caused an immediate blackout.

---

The Goliath woke with a start from the deep slumber, her head jerking back enough to hit the stone wall behind, eliciting a grunt that echoed slightly through the cell. It was then, she heard the commotion down the hallway, as the iron gate to the prison block clattered, followed by unknown voices and shuffling of feet. Vah'lux stood up and brushed remnants of straw from her skin and clothing as she stepped over to her cell door. From her vantage point, she could see barely anyone, save for a few armor-clad humans assumed to be the militia.

The one who spoke was completely out of her line of sight, but his voice was loud, filling the empty spaces of the prison. What came next was what sounded like perhaps a type of prayer, but the woman was unsure if it was something regarding human culture.

Either way, it seemed things were going to move in some kind of direction, for better or worse.

---

Was he dreaming? No...nightmare. Flashes of discordant sounds and images painted a horrific canvas; images that were so personal, yet tainted by sin and shame. In his head, he reached out, reaching for the one thing that could save him. But he took one step too far, and the ground beneath him fell.

Plummeting through shadow, his lifeline grew smaller, dimmer, heralded by a lone shriek.

A cloister bell began to ring.

---

"...Up, and up now." The ringing faded, eclipsed by the gruff voice of the jailer rapping his boot against the iron bars. With eyes weakly opening, Renault's lethargy lasted only a few moments when he saw who the jailer was accompanied by. A weight formed in his chest, followed by a tightening of the throat. This was it.

The nervousness he felt was only exacerbated by the first words spoken by the holy man: the Test of Purity. For ten years, Renault had seen such rituals performed by clerics, and even certain Paladins in the field. Their shared ability to ascertain one's motives and alignment all-but-trivialized many disputes, and hastened a process that could otherwise take days or even weeks.

Slowly rising to his feet on stiff, wobbly legs, Renault's mouth fell open as the priest drew back his hood and revealed the wooden symbol of Erithar worn around his neck. Overwhelmed with shame, Renault quickly bowed his head, as if subconsciously hoping the priest would not recognize his face. The absence of his own pendant made him feel naked, vulnerable.

Next came the words Renault had heard a hundred times a hundred different ways, yet this time more harrowing than the last. "May the holiest of holies, the name of our great sacred protector and judge of that which is righteous and good, find you all without stain in his vision for us all."

"May it be so." Renault responded, half to himself, and half to an unknown audience. Swallowing hard, he lifted his head to meet the priest's gaze. "I will go first." He said, the bravery in his voice wavering ever-so-slightly. "Judgment is an old friend." Taking one step closer towards the bars, Renault bowed slightly in deference, submitting himself.

"Very well." The priest's calm, ever so restrained voice answered, having paid keen note to the man's obvious submission to the trial. Were it left to him to judge, one could imagine how the gesture would have persuaded his heart, and one could see why the sternness of a justice like the one just behind him would function more than as a governing figure. But that was what the sanctioned spell was for, to judge not in the eyes of a young priest or an old judge, rather to view with that which the god Erithar did.

Once Renault bowed before the bars, at the mercy of the divine conduit before him, there was a pause as the priest's eyes washed over him and studied the fallen paladin intently. There was nothing to truly be felt, no sensation of tingling, no mystical chiming or whirling of incense smoke or anything of the like. All the fancy, grandiose ritual was removed here in this forsaken place and its cold stone walls on such an early morning. So when no obvious result came other than the priest nodding without word, the judgment in the eyes of a literal god had been passed. Erithar, merciful as he was, would not have struck down Renault, altough it still burned him at the soul ever so slightly that a holy man of his own church, the same one he was cast out of, now saw over him down to his very heart. The priest could not know the depths of his failure but a god sure did.

The modestly adorned priest turned to the justice and took the man's hand with both his own and communicated, equally wordlessly, with his digits to the other's palm. No one would know any of the shame outside the two men and the guilty themselves; it was a respectful gesture, even if it were so primitive and one likely having been quite different ago. In the end it was all the same as the justice, in turn, still stoic and only watching the working of the man holding his hand before him, nodded in reply before speaking.

"Judgment in the eyes of the holy has been passed. You may pronounce divine judgment in the eyes of our god upon the next."

Which in turn brought the priest to a mirrored bow to Renault, their eyes holding upon one another for a moment. There was much to be said between an obvious faithful of the temple to the man judging him at the behest of their god but it could not be said or done now and it was clear the priest knew this, young and inexperienced as he was. The shared exchange broke as he stood again, hands clasped over his abdomen. He blinked almost mournfully, knowing some glimpse of truth that only the divines above, far off and away as they were, knew for certain.

"Please come forward, the next man, and allow judgment." He spoke this time, gently turning a palm toward the fellow cellmate of Renault, the man who had kept almost exclusively to himself throughout the past few days.

@Lord Wyron@TyrannosaursRex

Deleted

Despite the well reasoned and restrained hostility of de Bray, the priest but only brought both his hands back rest around his crude belt. He bobbed his head quietly, listening to the man's words. The priest did not smile nor did he frown throughout, seeming pensive for a few prolonged moments before he at last spoke.

"We are all going to be judged, friend, I probably more than any of you in the eyes of our god. So I don't envy your position in this cell knowing that I too will need come before the ultimate judge one day. And while he is merciful, I know without doubt in my heart that he will know each instance of my deeds in greater detail than that which I will be judging in your sum."

He said nothing more after, calm eyes looking away from the incarcerated man before he straightened himself up before the cell door. For a moment the youthful priest's gaze closed tightly and relaxed until he simply stared upon his fellow man. Just as before, no word or break in character came to pass and instead when it seemed he finished, he addressed the justice. The same peculiar ritual was played out and the old, clean cut man kept the scowl that played across his ivory dusted face. By the time they had finished, de Bray was left only knowing that whatever magic had stared him down, he would not know the answer even for himself. Was he truly as guilty as he stood accused or was he an innocent man made example of? The duo, however, gave him no clear insight as to if he was or was not.

Again, the judge spoke up following an adjustment of his more elaborate costume for the event, "Judgment in the eyes of the holy has been passed. You may pronounce divine judgment in the eyes of our god upon the next."

The priest stepped back from the cell, whose bars de Bray held upon, grim smile still upon his lips the entire time. There was more to be said as well, too much more, but now was not the time. Instead, the matter fell to Gorosk as the procession arrived at the mouth of his cell. For the first time the half-orc could see both men, one years younger than he and one many more. Each fit the bill as he had first seen them outside the window and even with dawn peaking behind him, the darkness and the glow of the torches that lit them made them far more theatrical than they would have been otherwise.

"Please come forward, orc, and allow judgment."

@TyrannosaursRex@BangoSkank

Religious rituals and prayers were quite common within Goliath society, usually performed by the tribe’s shaman -or Skywatcher- on the eve of a hunt or long travel. Being prayed over, for better or for worse, was typical, the gods -as fickle as they were- would either see you succeed or fail, in hopes that you would learn and grow. However, what was transpiring within the confines of the prison block felt foreign to Vah’lux, and the litany -while in the common tongue- confounding and unsettling even while listening to the response from the human prisoner known as “Renault”. It seemed the weight of his words carried with them much guilt and remorse, as though the priest had a personal effect on him.

The other, “Quentin”, however seemed much more resistant and offended by their very presence, a sentiment Vah’lux could almost relate to, especially being in a foreign land. The Goliath knew nothing about their god, nor did she truly care to, for fear of mincing loyalties to the wrong deity and angering the creator and protector of her people. Kavaki had always been, and always will be, a fair and justice god, and no manner of human influence would change that.

As moments passed, the men turned around, and made their way over to the cell holding Gorosk, and for the first time, the Goliath caught a glimpse what could be considered their judge, jury, and executioner.

Gorosk had watched the "judgement" of the two men and it was now his turn. He had been called to step forward and allow judgement. As they stepped across between the cells he stepped forward to meet them, trying to perform his own assessment. One younger, one older, both seemed to have the air of men simply going about their business dispassionately. In the seconds he had to consider this Gorosk was not able to decide if that should calm his fears that this was all a show to justify their executions to the militia.

"I am Gorosk," he said stepping up to the bars and meeting the gaze of the men.

Perhaps this was it. Perhaps he would find out if his blood was cursed, if the curse had damned him, if his time with the Brotherhood of the Perfected Hand had been wasted. There was little he could do as of yet but go along with their process. Gorosk would face this judgement head on, come what may.

"It is a shame to meet you this way and here, Gorosk."

The young priest replied, attempting to be as articulate as he could when repeating the obviously orcish man's name. He provided a courteous smile despite it being clear all along he knew what it was he was to do; that they both knew as much at that. He took in a long drawn breath as the justice behind him folded his hands behind his back, observing the turn of events. The watchful eyes of the much older man said much by themselves, that he was not hopeful in any of this. Were it truly so bad here in this land, that it was almost assumed or known all were guilty, and worse yet, guilty in the eyes of the gods? Or just was it by chance that the dogged, tired man worn by a lifetime of this type of arbitration just expected an orc to be guilty? He truly had acted no different in each of their cases but this was unknown to all of them, by design even. Whatever sense of "fairness" he would put unto them in trial would likely be evenly cast if his demeanor was consistent.

In all this time, all this thought aside, the priest stared down Gorosk in a way that was far from menacing - a procedure that truly was "looking through him", so to speak. It fit the bill for the type of stare a master could give a pupil at the monastery, sizing them up, albeit this time said master was supposedly a god working through magic. Maybe a man working through the perspective of a god's magic or altogether something else but it was uncomfortably familiar. For as long as the penetrating gaze held, it soon ended predictably with the ritual the two deciders of fate had done before, this time Gorosk being unable to see what was communicated as the leading younger man turned his back to him.

When he returned to face forward once more, the elder spoke up, again reciting the words, "Judgment in the eyes of the holy has been passed. You may pronounce divine judgment in the eyes of our god upon the next."

The two shuffled on down the uneven stone floor without a word more. For better or worse the half-breed had avoided being condemned outright although it might really have just been another moment of stayed execution. He did know, however, if he was doomed, then certainly the beast of a woman crammed into the tiny cell at the end was just as hopelessly doomed as he. Whether that brought solace or not, only the disciple of his art knew.

When the priest arrived at last to his final charge, he looked up to her. It was clear at first he was going to ask her to kneel but held his tongue when he realized the woman all but visibly radiated pride. It may have been that she would concede and she simply intimidated him or it could have been she might have well tried to strike him for making such a demand or something else altogether that made him opt against this. He would concede to making this work, one way or another, and all he was going to do to do so was hope that the patron divine of this tiny village in the wilderness would find this suitable all the same. His lips gave a soft smile all the same, asking her just as sincere as he could manage the same question he had begun with each time.

"Please come forward and allow judgment."

@BangoSkank@Hellion

Vah'lux allowed a long-held breath to slowly release as the two men began to make their way over to her cell. The Goliath truly had no idea what to expect, as this was the first time she had been held captive by humans. Were they to hold a summary execution, using her as an example to foreigners that they would not tolerate disobedience? Perhaps. Or whatever prayers or last rites were being spoken over each of the prisoners was something beyond her comprehension of the culture and beliefs, which is quite possible. It was tough living in a world where one didn’t quite belong, but as most of her race, the pseudo-giant was adaptable.

She stepped as close as she could to the iron bars, and simply stared back down at the one dressed as a priest. She didn't know what else to do as she examined the face of the one who would be her judge, jury, and executioner.

There was long silence again for many moments prolonged and while to any observer of the ordeal, the extension was no less and no more than any other. Vah'lux received no added punishment, no preferential treatment, or anything in between. Rather the towering woman and her ornate natural camouflage upon her slate flesh was seen just the same as was any other, at least in the eyes of the god who the priest invoked. So the events played out characteristically before, with the young man turning away and offering the encoded, somatic gesture in reply to the hand of the judge. Mayhap the goliath expected something more extravagant, something more distinctly judgmental, but from the look of it at least these people's god was fair in his consistency; it would be determined later if he were truly as merciful and good as they proclaimed, however.

This sort of test was at least not unfamiliar to her, at least as far as her memory extended. A trial of spirit? Foreign, distant, estranged from the earth and from all of nature, but at least it could not be regularly - or at least easily - cheated except by practitioners of spell craft. It may well have had some merit although her heart still welled with the uncertainty of all what it meant. None of the men, not the orc, not the soldier, and not the faithful, had given her any insight on this - not that she needed it, of course, she was well off without them as it had been were it not for the rough hewn stone holding her back in a mockery of her heritage.

Ultimately for one last time the words were spoken, so that they too filled the now faintly morning lit prison, given by the lip of their decider of fate.

"Judgment in the eyes of the holy has been passed."

This time they were short another breath, followed on by something new and different once the two withdrew to the entrance of the doorway. The elder nodding to the priest and speaking beneath his breath with a thanks, receiving a verbal blessing in response. It was unclear to de Bray and Renault just what was said, with the other two unable to hear anything more than the voices interacting, but it was evident now the time of their mortal judgment was here.

"As it has been seen, in the eyes of the holy patron, all of you are free from the evils of the deeds us mortal men have accused you of. The breaking of our time honored law and tradition, the commitment of crimes against the land and its service to His Majesty as the great bastion against the most barbaric things beyond, however, cannot go unpunished. As a consequence, as giver of your collective sentences, per my noble station, I judge all of you innocent in the eyes of the divine, but guilty in the eyes of man."

He paused for a moment as he withdrew a bound parchment from the inside of his coat, laying it into the hands of the priest who took it with some obvious and apparent ill preparedness.

"You all shall find yourselves in service to the temple, so that it may be judged the sincerity of your commitment to wiping your slate clean. Once this task is done and it is deemed that you have paid off your collective debt, you will be free men, and woman, once more. Should any of you fail, you all fail together, and I shall proclaim the judgment which was determined for each you at first from the start of your crimes."

The justice addressed the priest from a glance over his shoulder, seeing the younger man a bit taken aback at suddenly being given the responsibility of these four outsiders. To Renault this was not an unexpected turn of events, something that could legally be done, of course, but from the reaction the humbly robed man gave it seemed as though he was ill prepared to receive them all and guide them on being redeemed in the eyes of the kingdom.

Looking forward once more, stern stare sweeping from the furthest back to the front, ending upon de Bray, who he glowered at - knowing the man's charge of cowardice and clearly having been a man of prominence in battle himself in youth based upon the ornate, cleanness of his attire and presentation. His restrained intensity continued, not breaking from where it came to rest.

"Have the guilty anything to say before the justice?"

@BangoSkank@Hellion@Lord Wyron@TyrannosaursRex

---

"Judgment in the eyes of the holy has been passed. You may pronounce divine judgment in the eyes of our god upon the next."
Releasing a breath he didn't realize he was holding, Renault felt something wash over him - a stirring of the heart, of the spirit. Stepping back from the bars, Renault's stance seemed uncertain, like he was afraid of falling.

Choosing instead to sit, Renault drew his knees in towards his chest and rested his head upon them, as if trying to imitate a posture of prayer. But no prayer formed, either on his lips or in his thoughts.

Quentin was next to be judged, and met his invitation with confidence born of apparent contempt. Mighty and indomitable as the gods were, the most irreverent of mortals only had to look up to spit in their eye. The priest's response was measured and thoughtful, echoing sermons of the temple. Though the more jaded among them might have found the priest's words to be not more than waxing theology, Renault felt a silent comfort. It was something beyond nostalgia...homesickness. He remembered the years spent in the temple back home, the fresh air perfumed by the censer's incense; priests in their ornate ceremonial robes, and Renault, himself in resplendent plate armor, bearing the sword-and-shield of his faith.

Then he remembered the sound of that same armor stripped and scattered upon the cold marble floor; his cloak torn from his shoulders, and his blade sheathed within the fabric. Grimly, Renault swallowed hard. No...this meant nothing.

Looking up to see the priest walk away from their cell, Renault could only hear his voice calling to Gorosk, offering Erithar's unbiased judgment even to one of 'cursed blood', as it was said. With the same words echoed now a third time, Renault knew only one remained: the pseudo-giantess Vah'Lux.

Puzzled, Renault was unsure on how a Goliath would perceive such a ritual, and how Erithar would reconcile it. The woman was silent, a stoic defense that neither admitted guilt nor professed innocence. She would not submit to justice or try to resist the spell, but simply weather it. Renault had to wonder if such endurance was a hallmark of her people, or a trait acquired through discipline and hardship.

With the words spoken a fourth and final time, both men withdrew from the prison and made way toward the entrance. Unable to discern what was being said, Renault reasonably pieced together that it had something to do with the test they had all been subject to, and what that meant for their final fates.

Rising again to his feet, Renault decided that he would accept his sentence with whatever small grace he could muster from within the cell. From the very first words spoken by the town justice, Renault found himself speechless aside from a choked sound he was unable to restrain. Innocent in the eyes of the divine. Renault struggled to even process the words as they were spoken. For seven years, he had felt his guilt upon his back, against his chest, and wrapped around his ankles. It was a part of him now. But for a moment - and only a moment - it felt as if the weight had been lifted.

"Have the guilty anything to say before the justice?"

Half-afraid and half-uncertain, the dangling glimmer of hope that their sentence held in front of it drew Renault's eyes, and with it, an assuredness he hadn't felt in years.

"We will not fail."

Gorosk had been wrong it seemed, about the woman. He'd thought there were some truth in the accusations against her. Unlawful hunting, conspiring with beasts, disturbing cursed ground, and uttering curses. Why had he given the militia the benefit of the doubt, when he had been a victim of such false claims himself. Uttering curses had simply been the odd tongue of her people, unlawful hunting was a rather strange concept in these days, but he had been ready to go along with the claims. The holy men had judged them all free from evils they had stood accused of. All of them. Innocent in the eyes of the divine, but guilty in the eyes of man. Guilty of breaking some law or tradition against the land and against the King.

Gorosk wondered what crimes those might be. They were to find themselves in service to the temple, to wipe the slate clean for these crimes. In exchange their "debt" would be considered paid and they would be free men, and women, once more. Yet they were free from the evils they had been accused of and innocent in the eyes of the divine. This smelled of politics, were they caught up in such games of men?

He could do little to disguise the doubt on his face. To be found innocent in the eyes of the divine, but forced to serve the will of the land, or the King. It might be legal, but it seemed wrong. Gorosk looked to the priest, who seemed surprised at the verdict, then back at the Justice. He made eye contact with the justice and shook his head, No, slowly in response to his question, then continued to try to assess precisely what was going on with the two of them. Were they sincere in this, what was the motive here, was this the judgement of the gods that they should pay for whatever law of man they had broken or a more mundane trick to free them of their shackles but keep them imprisoned.

The suspicions of the man of split descent were wise to exist, human lands were rife with politics, the worst of which embroiled several of their kingdoms in a spanning conflict all along the southern border of their territories. Were it not for the fact man was so busy fighting himself in this manner, it would be reasonable to assume he would be expanding in some other direction and drawing the ire of those inhabitants instead. Yet never once would he manage this without internalized conflict all its own along the way. Gorosk knew, without doubt the more he thought about it, there was some likelihood they had been conscripted into something similar to deal with the affairs in this region - that their imprisonment was an excuse to those ends. This all was coming together quite clearly until something stood out to him.

The god, presumably Erithar based upon the rhetoric used by both justice and priest, saw them as innocent of crimes. Erithar was a good of good and law, that he would honor the laws broken of a land, even if righteousness and holiness were not tenants of it. So long as no evil was done, that seemed reasonable. Not only did the justice and priest seem to believe this, their laws seemed to follow this as well. They, all of them in this stone tomb, had broken the law, but not terribly enough to offend a god of good. It was not to say their charges were good acts, however, or that they honored the law.

This, truly, made matters worse more than it made them better, as not only now was their purity judged, so too now was their honor. Were they just all miscreants it could just be ignore and one would expect as much. But for someone who came from a temple of discipline and instruction? What about a man who clearly practiced the faith and just, in a single breath before Gorosk could crack his parched lips with reply, pledge their unyielding success? At least if they were criminals some of them would be punished and let go, others likely executed, but now they were to serve the temple to absolve themselves of the crimes. It was enough to make the orc grit his jaw, as either these two men believed what they had done was as right as it could be, as just and as fair as it came, or they had practiced this act - and the younger of the two in his crude robes certainly had not the seeming face to feign anything of that variety.

Yet while Gorosk struggled with the realization of how this was likely a worse outcome than just being say, publicly beaten and humiliated, Renault would find the justice's attention upon him. There he would see the man's skepticism fade with nothing more than the restrained pleasantry of a huff and light smile. For the time being he had been distracted from wordlessly scolding de Bray just beside the paladin, instead giving his approval to this reaction. Whether the justice believed it or not, that was debatable, but it was clear he was contented with the knowledge that at least one of the two men was not going to prove an issue. He turned away, following down the hallway to inspect the final two remaining figures and see if they dared issue rebuttal, leaving the priest to simply hold and read the scroll to himself.

@BangoSkank@Lord Wyron

...innocent in the eyes of the divine, but guilty in the eyes of man...

Man was as corrupt and fallen as any, yet who were they to pass judgement? The Goliath never quite understood the accusations that were tossed her way when first she was taken in by the militia, charges thrown in her face by a race of people who have done more to destroy the world than build it up. Inherent greed, personal interest, and thirst for power had always been a driving force for humans, while many others outside of their circles suffered.

The two men were safe, that was for certain. They were being judged by their own kind, and would most likely be given enough leniency that any “punishment” would be negligible. The half-breed, Gorosk, she imagined they would perhaps take pity on him as a creature living in both the human and Orc world, the human part being the more important of the two. But for Vah’lux, a pseudo-giant from a land far away and displaced from the rest of civilization, the woman felt the weight of the mighty hammer of judgement falling atop her every so slowly. She would not be welcomed within the arms of their god, and would simply be executed and burned to ashes, never to be heard from again.

Perhaps this is the fate of her as well as her people in these dire and dark times. Perhaps it is the end of her race altogether. Perhaps it is time to ascend and be with Kavaki, or has her soul become tarnished and unworthy to the point that she would simply float in between planes of existence for an eternity.

Vah’lux shook her head. The thoughts of such things weighed on her mind, and yet all that mattered was that she would be freed from her iron and stone confines to see the sky one last time.

At the moment the question was asked by the priest, Vah’lux said nothing, because there were no words to be said at such an uncertain time. She was ready for death. Whether it be by the hands of the humans, or by another means altogether.

Deleted

The justice stopped where he was, some paces down the lonesome central path that made up the only means in and out of the hold. He canted his head, ever so slightly back, his leather riding boots grinding into the grit of the floor as de Brey continued. His reaction, in comparison to that of the priest, was quite different. To the orc who could see him, there was no flush of red to his old face, there was no range of emotions or sudden indignant outrage at he, a judge, being challenged upon his judgment, or even the slightest twitch that would pull at the corner of a cheek. No, instead the justice maintained a certain focused bearing, while the younger man recoiled slightly at the outburst.

It was a tidal wave of words and emotion, perhaps held back longer than it should have been, and it shocked the much less seasoned of the pair. This was no surprise, truly, this priest was maybe well one of a handful that were sprinkled throughout the region and was too uninitiated to expect someone would reply to their resolved execution to come with such a thing. He folded the scroll and listened, looking over the obvious disparity in the two men before him aghast; the justice, however, remained where he was until the outburst ended. Then, with a decided pivot, he went from being mid stride to standing, to facing the other direction and all but taking his time to return until he stood imposing at the bars that held back the man and his radically different compatriot.

Hands tracing the outline of his close cropped white upper lip and beard, the slate stare held upon the prisoner who spoke up for a moment, but only a moment long enough. Behind his back he folded his hands against one another, the rich purple sash across his chest and official garb displayed more prominently.

"Then you will have no issue proving your innocence and valiance by performing the tasks set before you by the temple. Truly if your cause is as righteous as you think it and our god has seen to it that you are worthy of a second chance, this will be trivial." He replied in the characteristic manner he had displayed, leaning in ever so slightly after, he broke for a moment, "If not, your cowardice will be self-evident for all to see."

"But..." The justice began as he returned to standing just short of rigidly, "Only time will tell, will it not?"

The question was not aimed at any of the prisoners this time, instead it focused on the priest who had kept his eyes on the exchange. He nodded silently, in response as the justice then passed him by, pushing aside the large iron door and announcing only as he departed, "You will see to them being let out, Marthan. Be sure to deal with the elf too, she is your charge now as well."

Outside the sound of the militia idly going about bantering, with their work of offloading the wagon having long since been done, fell more quiet. For Gorosk, who had the minor luxury of a window behind him no bigger than his own head and barred, the justice casually mounted his steed and rode off without any sense of urgency toward the village. This left the four of them and their newfound warden of sorts there to themselves, in the after effects. It took not long for Marthan to reply either, seeing to it that the militiamen were called in, this time sans nearly as many chains, shackles, and weapons. Each door was opened for its inhabitants and they were permitted out, still under watchful eyes of the faux soldiers.

Once they were brought outside, at last free and in the daylight again for the first time in days, some cases weeks, they were almost casually returned their equipment - barring their weapons. It was only then once each chest was emptied that the men at work hauled it back upon the wagon while the priest oversaw. Or more accurately, stood awaiting them all to finish their individual shades of work. Some looked at the sorry four with some amusement while others were much more wary. The bolder ones among them clearly had mutterings of a "pool", betting of some variety, about each but none of them spoke directly to the lot before them. Rather it was only the priest who did, watching as they went about ensuring nothing was amiss.

"Forgive me, not all of your things are here as you can tell, His Honor ordered the men to keep hold of your weapons until we returned to the village. I am sure you can understand his reasoning."


@BangoSkank@Hellion@Lauder@Lord Wyron@TyrannosaursRex

Vah’lux stood near the cell as the barrage of words echoed down the hallways. It seemed the human, the one known as “Quentin”, was having more than a difficult time adjusting to whatever changes were coming. The man’s words held much fire as each dart was directed toward the priest and justice, but moreso, their god. Although the response wasn’t surprising, and Vah’lux only shook her head wondering why the captive soldier didn’t simply keep his mouth shut. Was this a human trait? To let the tongue go before the mind?

The Goliath smirked at the thought, as she could be considered a hypocrite for even thinking that, especially considering her own vile words toward the Half-Orc, Gorosk. She wanted nothing but to see him hang, and for no other reason than her own personal grievance against the entirety of the race. But perhaps the time spent in the confines of a prison cell with nothing but her own thoughts and prayers to keep her company as lessened the anger that once boiled inside. It wasn’t worth the fight. At least not now. Granted, Vah’lux would never let her guard down around such a creature -half blood or otherwise- but she also was not looking to throw the first punch.

The rusty iron door to her cell was finally opened, and as she advanced, exiting the cage, the soldiers could be seen visibly taking a few steps back, weapons at the ready. But the woman showed no concern for them, nor an expression of hatred, as she passed them on her way down the hall and toward the exit. If anything, she pitied them, for being so wrong about their views of her or her people. Goliaths were never the mindless, barbaric, war-like creatures that the stories of old were told around a campfire, or to instill some false fear within a misbehaving youngling. Aside from the Dwarves and Giants, very few knew of the nomadic race and their cultural significance throughout history. But why should they, when an unknown people are painted as mere monsters and brigands?

She nodded to each of the others who had made eye contact as the group was being led outside the prison, and upon crossing the threshold, the Goliath lifted her face to the sky, allowing the warming rays of the morning sun to cover her skin. She did not hesitate to stretch her muscles, loosening what felt like days of stiffness in her joints, as she bent over to relieve a sharp pain in her lower back. Freedom was sorely missed indeed. Her gear and supplies were placed in a pile, and from the looks of it, were unspoiled, however she wondered if she would really ever see her glaive once again. The prize of killing her previous captor. The beast deserved what he got in the end.

Vah’lux kept her composure as best she could considering many eyes were on her. The whispers, while not decipherable, were still at the woman’s expense. She shrugged the piercing judgement off as though tossing away a rotten fruit, and began slipping on her hide and fur armor one piece at a time, ensuring that each was secured and adjusting as needed.