Estylwen — Roleplayer Guild

Hathforth Castle Dungeon -> Plaza at the Pier

In collaboration with @ERode

In the darkness, he could hear the clicking over of a key, the squeaky iron as his jail door swung open. But this time, it wasn't the gloved hand of Duke Rhinecliff offering reprieve. No, it wasn't reprieve at all.

The guards unchained Duke Sev Willowsteel from the wall, and he fell limply to the ground, numb. His whip lashes cracked open with the sudden movement as he was hauled to his feet. Iron, absent of the typical enchanted hand covers geared to nullify mages, shackled around his wrists, connected with chain to his ankles.

“Come on. Her Majesty is waiting for you.” Said one of the guards, pushing Sev down the long, torch-lit hallway and up a narrow flight of stairs.

The outside door cracked open, and sunlight came rushing in. Sev's eyes pounded painfully, and he flinched in the light. The evening sun was warm overhead, yet did little to heat the dead-cold chill in his gut.

He was escorted, two guards in front, two guards in the back, and a flag bearer hoisting the Hathforth's colours leading them to the plaza near the pier. Sev wasn't looking at onlookers. How could he, when he was counting his remaining breaths?

Staring at the raised platform, a rectangular piece of polished stone that spanned the majority of the plaza, was the Wizard Queen and her entourage, under make-shift canopies. There was a seat for herself, while others stood, watching carefully. Some faces included Duke Grimhand, watching with a pained face.

The plaza opened up to Sev, and he was marched to the center of the raised platform, caked chopping block cleared and ready. However, today, Her Majesty had other plans for this particular execution…

Duke Rhinecliff himself was present, of course. His own entourage was smaller than to be expected of a noble of his stature, but he was an eccentric, practically an ascetic compared to the excesses of his peers. A dark cloak was draped over his shoulders, the patterns of blueberry brambles sewn upon it as a cigar smoldered between his fingers. It was a lovely day, though it ought not to be. The Wizard-Queen had done well to finish the sham trial and set up the execution so quickly; the people of Nordor wouldn’t even have time to plan something before news of her judgment and execution was known.

No space for rebellion, when the Queen’s own had kept an eye on Sev’s companions, ensuring that their hands were tied.

He lifted up his cigar to his lips, inhaling the sweet smoke once more, then exhaling it as a singular sigh. Lightless eyes laid behind the spectacles, as the Duke gazed upon the late Arthur’s progeny. What still remained in this man, now that death came with an inevitable cadence?

Sev now stood at the center of the raised platform, in front of the chopping block, facing the royalty and nobles who'd come to witness his execution. His eyes briefly glanced to Duke Rhinecliff. All the man would see was a smoldering fire burning behind those eyes. It would seem Sev wasn't entirely resigned to his fate.

The Wizard Queen watched silently, before she nodded to Vulluin, who stood faithfully beside her. Vulluin took a step forward, and addressed Duke Willowsteel.

“Sev Willowsteel, Duke of Norder. You are hereby sentenced to death for your act of treason and defaming the Crown. You will be ignited, and left to burn until you are nothing but bones.”

Vulluin glanced at the Wizard Queen for a moment, before turning to Duke Rhinecliff. “If you would, Your Grace.”

Sev had kept a stoney face, except for when Lord Urimyar called upon Duke Rhinecliff. Now? Hints of betrayal, and bitter understanding seeped into his face. Sev, however, kept silent. It wasn't his place to speak, unless he was given permission.

Positioned at the edges of the platform, drums began to thrum a steady beat, reverberating the air.
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