Post by Requiem on Oct 21, 2013 11:25:40 GMT -5
[ Takes place before and leads unto both " The Storm Breaks "(quest) and "Eye of the Storm" (mb thread) ]
GIRARD
Time had come that Girard could no longer suffer through Vilen's continued whining through the torn fabric that had been shoved in the Necromancer's mouth and tied around it in order to keep the possibility of spellcasting to a very low one. It was for the very same reason that despite the good-nature of the Skald that he had begun to break a few of the fingers and toes of his younger brother.. after the first instance that a spell had washed over him. The mistake had been learned from between Greysage and the travel of the shadow fringe towards the Stygian Embrace Hall. They came to leave the shadow plane several yards away from the destination.. forcing him to drag the mostly stumbling Vilen Sirri through the snow until finally forced to allow his anger to bring a foot down on the Black Mage's jaw.
" Stop your struggling, I wouldn't even have felt the need to bring you here to face judgement if you had left Ovid out of it. "
While the press of his boot against the younger Rumerian's jaw should have earned the bound and gagged necromancer a proper curb-stomp it instead came to be that he earned a reprieve of further pain. The progress towards the Hall began again.. until finally with a shoulder pressed into the door and dragging the younger Sirri inside by the collar of his shirt beneath the now frayed hem of the no doubt formerly fancy robe he wore..
".. Heyr, "
He didn't know if the man was about..but it was easy to presume..
" Is Fenris about.. I've need of his his advice.. not too sure who holds the right to judge someone who dares steal a Zorcan soul from their earned afterlife.. "
Alright so even Girard knew that this was likely to earn far too much attention by mentioning it as he had.. but Girard sought to be certain that Vilen knew exactly what his actions were going to earn him.
FENRIS & HEYR
Heyr looked up from where he currently was tending to one of the fire pits used inside the Hall's feasting area. The iron poker pushing lowly at the embers, stirring them around so that air could reach down within and stir them back to life. When the sounds of a struggling person filled the otherwise quiet interior, the older man hardly batted an eye. He simply continued to tend his current endeavor, long ago having grown a tolerance, even deafness to the sounds of struggling and bound people.
After all, the cellars of the Hall were not used solely to store foods, drink and weapons. There was a room, carved even deeper to into the rocky hide that was Alzorc's body. A dark and quiet place, where the acrid metallic scent of blood and the odor of piss and shit never seemed to fade from.
Dreaming's work area.
When he heard his name, he looked up. When he heard the inquiry for Fenris, he rose. When he heard the reason why, he moved with a sudden ferocity, brandishing that poker as if it were a trusted blade. In a rush he was on the pair of them, one hand pushing Girard's shoulder so that he could easily see the bound one. Heyr tilted his head slightly and raised the red tip of the poker, setting it down upon the neck of Girard's captive.
The muffled screams of pain rode the scent of burning meat high into the rafters above them. Lifting the poker and making to jab at the prisoner again, his hand was stopped, by a much larger hand.
From where the Named Man had emerged from was anyone's guess. The way he could move that massive frame with such stealth and silence was not altogether a comforting fact. Beryl eyes flashed with that deep burning hatred as he looked down at the gagged one. Stepping before Girard and his captive, Heyr dismissed with a none-to-gentle-shove, Fenris lay his other hand around the neck of Girard's prisoner. The scar tissue on those iron like ridges creaking as fingers closed down around the throat of the man, choking him.
"Who is this?"
Fenris jerked the man from the ground with that one hand as easily as a child would pick up a fallen toy. Violently shaking him, the rabbit caught in the hound's jaws. Setting the flailing man so that he could look him in the eyes.
"He has a Zorcan soul?"
Turning his gaze down upon his friend, brows drawing tight over his eyes, almost seeming to forget he was chocking the prisoner to death right there in the hall. Already the man's face had shifted from pale, to red, to purple, and now his eyes blinked rapidly and started to appear unfocused and roll upwards.
"He can be judged here. On the rock."
Opening his hand, Fenris let the man fall back upon the ground in a heap.
GIRARD
Whereas the actions of Heyr should have caused the Skald an instant of surprise at least he found it difficult to muster enough emotion regarding his prisoner to care. The ferocity of movement that led the man with the improntu branding tool stole away his attention.. the scent and sound of sizzling flesh reached his nose and could not be easily dispersed once there. Still Girard kept a hold of his captive, acknowledging the appearance of Fenris much as the rush of Heyr had been.
" Vilen Sirri. "
He would not call this man his brother.. being of the same bloodline did not make him his brother.
While the fact that this man shared his surname had occurred to Girard as something that would be easily picked up on.. the fact would not be hidden, lest Vilen come to believe it was a fact that could be used against him. The subject of the soul finally garned his attention to Fenris and Vilen.. with his scrawny neck trapped between the Named Man's hands. Regarding the sight as if it were a little more distant than the truth of it.
Eventually he bothered with retrieving the soul gem from where he'd stored it.. giving the thing another look over himself. It bothered Girard that he'd yet to discern a means of freeing the soul within.
" Soul of Ovid Galinn, Named the Evensong. "
Girard put emphasis on that one word.. intending the fact that the soul of a Named Man was bound to the gem. Girard at heart was not a violent man, nor did he tend towards torture.. still it was clear as day that his captive had been through exactly that on the way to the Hall.. aside from the new torments spawned by less-than-delicate touch of Zorcan hands.
" The Rock? "
The Skald found himself filling in the reasonable answer on his own.. he didn't doubt for a moment that the Rock had seen its fair share of Rumerian blood.
Bothering to let his eerie greens fall to the newly unconscious Rumerian.. Girard couldn't quite succeed in disguising the look of disgust - due to the man rather than the more recent pains inflicted upon his younger brother.
FENRIS
There was a faint narrowing in the corners of Fenris' eyes at the mentioning of the name, this accompanied by a slight tilt in his head forwards and a lowering of his brows. The surname was one that he had come to know, even trust--when it was applied to one name that was. The crumpled figure of the bound and gagged bore the same family name as Girard. Where a good number of the known kingdoms may very well question a person for tossing a member of their family upon the flames, that was not so much the case in Alzorc. Definitely not the case with the mass of northern flesh before the Minstrel now.
Turning his focus back upon Vilen, the Named Man issued a small nudge with the toe of his boot, rolling Vilen over onto his back. The binds and the cloth stuffed into his mouth as a gag had Fenris lowering himself down into a crouch.
"When we wakes, what do we need to concern ourselves with?"
It was when Fenris bent down, and Girard continued speaking that the Minstrel would be afforded a small glance beyond Fenris. Heyr's expression changed rapidly, as if with each beat of his heart a new surge of feeling washed over him. Confusion, surprise, concern, anger. It seemed that not all were ignorant of Evensong and who he was. Though any revelation to be found was once again cut off by the imposing figure of Fenris.
This time, with something draped over the wide expanse of his right shoulder.
"Aye, the rock."
GIRARD
Girard happened to be very much aware of how other kingdoms would view this decision - especially for involving Alzorc in any fashion. The nations of the Svek were not known for giving up one of their own for wrong Alzorc.. least not within the limits of history known to the Minstrel.
When the question came from the crouching Fenris, the response coming in the wake of acknowledgement. The answer could be deduced easily enough by those that knew Girard and the methods in which one kept a mage from casting their spells.. least the sort that needed words and movements to make their spells work.
" He's a necromancer I've dealt with the matter of his hands.. but the gag had to do on short notice.. "
Surprising how difficult it was to cut a man's tongue out without a clamp of some sort. He didn't doubt much as had been considered during the trip would be carried out if only to null the chance of escape due to magic. Course there was always involving A'kana, the Spirit, as Girard had noted them calling her. While the thought did cross his mind once more.. the considerations of anything but the subjects at hand brought him back to the present - and his mind to the changing expressions shown by Heyr. Many of those expressions were those he'd displayed not long ago while attempting to come to terms with the revelation.. something that hadn't fully come to pass now that he found himself looking away from Heyr.. to the gem that now housed the Evensong.
" He was my mentor.. "
Girard did not know if either Fenris or Heyr were listening but the consideration did not last long. Finding a means to free Ovid would have to wait, casting aside the reasonable possibility that he neither possessed the skill nor means to crack open the gem without damning Ovid to nothing more than utter oblivion. That was often the price of a soul mistreated by necromantic tampering.. especially by one not a master of the craft. Girard was under no delusions - he was no master of Necromancy.
Not until the sound of somethingbeing draped over the shoulder of Fenris did the Minstrel lend his eye to anything aside from the smoky topaz with the all too noticeable 'movement' within.
" ... Long as justice is meted out. "
It could be made no clearer that he meant the Zorcan brand of justice.. else he never would have brought the man to them .. save that any other kingdom would have required much evidence or manipulation to avoid the label of Kinslayer for just how close the situation had come to that and could still potentially be viewed depending on how one viewed the people of Alzorc.
A hushed curse later he was looking at the gem yet again.
FENRIS
"Justice is always fair by my hands."
Fenris spoke the words, but he had already turned his back to his friend and was headed towards the doors. Leaving the Minstrel to ponder over if what had been said was in jest or serious. One did not gain neither a name nor reputation such as Fenris had without having wagon loads full of dark tales. Perhaps the scene would have been easier to absorb had Fenris had held the crumpled and unconscious form of Girard's brother up and over his shoulder as if he carried a bag of grain.
"Yes, Girard, the rock."
Fenris turned just at the door to speak back to his friend. Though his long legs continued to move, keeping him walking backwards towards those massive doors that lead into and out of the feasting area. Near fifteen feet in height, a foot thick of true Zorcan oak, reinforced with bands of rough thick adamantite. The doors were designed to withstand a seige. The Stygian Embrace as much a war-time fortress as a peace-time gathering area.
CRASH!!
The impact jarred the doors so violently that they creaked and bounced within their hinges. The massive frame of Fenris bucking back forwards from the rebound of walking backwards into a door. Mock surprise washed over Fenris' features as he turned to see what just happened.
THUD!
The limp figure draped over his shoulder flopping around at the sharp turn and sending Vilen's head to connect solidly with the wall behind the Named Man.
Fenris gave a faint shrug and moved finally, outside. The walk was a short one, but the destination had been clear the entire time. In the distance was a large jagged boulder, a fragment of the mountains distant brought here for one purpose. The thick lengths of chain around the base of the boulder, the dark brown stains of dried blood smeared across the front, and the small items beside it leading Girard to the easy guess as what most people's fates had been.
With the same ease that the butcher carves the meat, Fenris propped the body of Vilen against the boulder with one hand, his other picking up two long pieces of rusted steel. One set down into his belt while he shifted his body to prop Vilen up by leaning against him. Fenris held Vilens hand out over a small groove form in the stone....and then drove the steel spike through his hand. Repeating the process with the other, crucifying Vilen upon the stone before using the chains to bind the necromancer completely to the rock.
When Fenris stepped away, he gave Girard a soft nod of his head.
"Plead your case against this man."
GIRARD & OVID
Hearing a phrase out of Fenris that he expected far more out of someone from the Kullyrian Temple of the Just Hammer earned the man only a brief glance. The rest of his efforts were put towards keeping up as he traveled in the wake of movement spawned by the Fenris. Another mention of the rock did not find another question instead only the wait to discover it for himself. Deciding that only found interruption in the form of that thud, it didn't take much imagination to realize Vilen had earned a unpleasant connection to the wall. It mattered little if only for the moment the Rumerian Necromancer and Nobleman remained unconscious.
The application of those steel spikes alongside the sight of the Rock itself finally answered his questions over it. Perhaps the thing was more torture than justice as the southern kingdoms knew it. Dropping his gaze to the smoked topaz that served as the vessel for the soul of Ovid Galinn he found it rather easy to come to terms with what was going on. Every chance had been given to the man related to him by their father's blood. None had been accepted and no doubt Vilen had thought Girard not resolute in carrying out the threat of judgement at Zorcan hands.
Not until the request to plead his case did the minstrel turn his attention away from the gem. Doing so led to the drawing of the parchment Vilen had sent to him during what was quickly becoming his last days in Sarkotos.
" I received this a day ago, demanding my presence in Greysage in what serves as the von Sirri estate for sometime now. It made no mention of Ovid, only of a confrontation long overdue. Expecting a trap I still chose to go, what I discovered there only served to display Vilen's sense of superiority. There was no trap, no guards, only the intent to make a spirit controlled by his magic kill me or be killed.. "
Girard doubted he had to elaborate on just who that spirit happened to be.
" Ovid Galinn did not bend to his control, nor did he interfere in the duel that followed.. "
Girard felt that important to mention, that even in forced undeath Ovid still had his wits about him.
" The crime stealing a Zorcan soul cannot be proven by my words only implied by my words. "
-----
questing requiem: [Spell: (Shadows Fade) - Target: (Soul Gem) - Spell Type: (effect) - Save: +24 ]
questing requiem: [ Soul Gem's Save ]
OnlineHost: questing requiem rolled 1 20-sided die: 19
questing requiem: [ 19 vs 24 = Save Fails. ]
*Note: Shadows Fade is a Dispelling Effect and Vilen is of Equal Rank to Girard*
------
So it came to pass that the parchment was put away and the soul gem taken up again. He'd read up plenty on the nature of these gems, but rarely heard about them being used without the body in the necromancers possession from which to steal the soul. Still that hardly stopped the minstrel from opening that conduit to the shadow plane in order to work in canceling out the binding spells imprisoning the Evensong for a time. It was a temporary freedom only.. a greater spellcaster than he would be needed to break the spells hold completely.
Even so the minstrel-cast spell served its purpose in interrupting the binding magic and allowing the spirit held within the gem to manifest in the world of the living. Whether the minstrel would suffer a reprimand or worse for it only Fenris could say - what the magic accomplished no doubt proved distracting from it when the incorporeal, twenty-years dead example of a Named Man, the Evensong, made his presence known. No less impressive than the day he died though outside of the afterlife earned.. the wounds that led to his death were very much apparent in this state.
The spirit cast his gaze over the Minstrel first.. then Fenris and the necromancer nailed to the Rock.
" Judgement is it then Mourning-Song.. always did keep that words of yours. "
A nod proved the acknowledgement given to Fenris.. still Ovid knew why Girard would not be foolish enough to use magic in front of a Zorcan such as this without good reason.
" I've given my plea against him, "
A glance paid to the Rock bound Vilen.
" You have more right than I to speak against him. "
" That is not for you .. or I to decide. "
Ovid paid the whole of his attention back to Fenris who clearly was leading this judgement. All knew who held the right in this situation to forgive the minstrel for spellcasting and allow the spirit of the Named Man, The Evensong, to speak against the man bound to the Rock.
FENRIS
The fading light of the dying day painted the sky above them in a bright array of colors, crimson red and fiery oranges and yellows. The light from the sun as it neared those distant peaks lending a faint lighted outline to those figures outside for the trial of Vilen. Half of the massive frame that was Fenris was illuminated and cast in a deep golden wash. The other half of him lost in deep shadow, a blackness only broken by the white of his teeth and a sharp glint of his hidden eye. It was said that in Alzorc, above all other kingdoms, their Pantheon played a greater role. They lent their hand in more of the affairs of man than any other divine figure could attest.
In that moment, Girard was lent the truth of those claims. For only by the workings of Tid, Flaks and Sjanse, The Three Sisters, could such a thing come to pass. The timing in which the trial was to take place. The position of the rock serving as what appeared to be both courtroom and gallows. The way the figures had placed themselves. The eerie and surreal effects the setting sun cast on the group. All of these factors, that at first appeared nothing more than random coincidence, playing out before the eyes of Girard.
Fenris stood there unmoving, a living statue of all that Alzorc stood for. Large and hard, chipped from the Knockskulls themselves, a bitter and unforgiving cold washing out through his aura, the unyielding set of his jaw and the steel in his voice. The half of his washed in that golden light granting the illusion as if this portion of him was just, was fair, was perhaps almost angelic. The other half lost in abyssal shadow, this complete blackness only broken by the small glint of his eye as it caught the light, this was the darkness of this land, the savagery, the predatory way this land would cull the weak, it was the killer lurking beneath his flesh.
This effect lasted only until the presence of Ovid, in which Fenris shifted and the dual nature dropped from him, returning him from his temporary appearance of the light and dark entities and placing him back as what girard had always known him to be. Be that for good or worse, it was only Girard's call.
The use of magic, while still not something Fenris trusted wholly, was a thing in which he had become more.......tempered to. Living with and being mated with, one such as A'kana--a spirit of complete magic--it was hard to not find some level of familiarity with it's workings.
Once Girard and the Spirit finished their small talking, Fenris lowered his head and shoulders slightly. As close to a bow as any had ever seen from him. Respect for a Named Man and the spirit of the one before him clearly on display. The creaking of scarred flesh over iron like knuckles the outward sign of Fenris' anger at what had happened.
"I give you my word, I will see you back in Vörðrheimr. I need to know what happened first, please."
Fenris' had begun speaking Zorcan, if he knew it or not, the words slipping past his thinned lips were the hard, gutteral tongue of his people.
GIRARD & OVID ( and a little Vilen)
Small talk of this sort could last only so long before those participating in it set their minds to more important matters. Girard could not help but to imagine all the ways a Zorcan might view this situation spawned by his decision in how to deal with the actions of a brother he barely knew beyond his actions. These thoughts going through the mind of the minstrel faded from their forefront in the wake of that aura that succeeded all too easily in turning his attention and eyes to the mountain of a man that was Fenris. Lacking a thorough knowledge of Alzorc despite the lessons of Ovid, Girard possessed only guesses as to what exactly caused this particular change in his unlikely friend.
Settling into the uncomfortable ethereal existenc, Ovid Galinn , the dead Named Man called the Evensong barely paid any mind to the lack of a arcane leash..the interruption of bounds lacked the same tug of arcane chains in the release from the prison that was to most a mere gemstone. The promise made by this Named Man opposite of he and Girard earned acknowledgement in the form of a open recognize and the inclination of his head that could easily be barely perceived due to his last than opaque form.
" Cannot begin to explain how he came to pry me out of Vörðrheimr. The tale you request began too long ago by my comprehension however he came to accomplish the feat I found myself bound to the gem now in Girard's possession. As ... what was his name? No matter.. the Black Mage went in too a good deal of detail on his reasons. Solely out for the approval of his father by using a Named Man, alive or dead, as little more than an fierce hound to tear out his wayward brother's throat. "
The 'he' earned a jerk of his ethereal head in the direction of the worse-for-wear Rumerian though the next marked Girard as the wayward sibling. Ovid knew well that Girard did hold a spot as the catalyst.. how well that could be made up for in the eyes of the Pantheon was another matter altogether.
" His method of carrying it out was more foolhardy than ingenious, got Girard there and now he is the one suffering. Still a Sirri suffering just the same, wager he succeeded in that desire. "
All in the Zorcan tongue and not a word of it made sense to the minstrel. His lack of understanding did not matter overly much. Both these particular specimens of Named Man had earned his trust in some manner that the need to know exactly what those spoken words meant did not come about save as curiosity. This bout of curiosity did not keep the notice of the 'effect' that appeared to end around the time of his spell casting and the release of the Evensong. While the two Zorcan, one living and one dead, held the words of the other the minstrel kept his mind on sight.. especially the darkness that had seemingly taken hold of part of Fenris just a moment ago. Symbolic certainly.. a trick of the eye? Such proved doubtful even from his perspective.. not when shadow always held meaning.. least in his eyes. This was not a land where the Six held a presence, a factor that did not concern Girard overly much.. never had the Wanderer held faith with the Six worshipped over much of the continent nor in the smattering of lesser deities. Course the base query remained.. what exactly had been the cause of that.. hard to designate it as coincidence alone!
One could not wholly forget the Black Mage himself.. consciousness proved fleeting at best. Far more easily recognized was pain.. from branded flesh, pierced flesh, and the many fractures and outright breaks of his fingers. The voices were noticeable though hardly discernable against the flare of pain that had not yet been experienced enough to be ignored as numbness set in .. that would come later. If there was a later. The facts of what was occuring had not yet come to be fully realized.. certainly it wasn't to be a pleasant fate.
FENRIS
Fenris stood silent as he listened to the words of both Girard and the spirit of Ovid. Never once did emotion creep into those rough features. He, like the stone that bound Vilen, stood scarred and silent. His role was now something he had no taste for. He needed to sit and listen. To stand as the unbiased voice of justice in this matter. None of his thoughts, beliefs or wants could find purchase in the events unfolding around this old jagged boulder.
For had they the ability, or had Fenris the choice, he would have cussed Girard for a fool for not simply slitting Vilen's throat and bringing just the stone to the Hall. If such a turn of events had passed, none would be able to harm Girard under the Hall's protection.
Instead, he had to stand and listen to the story unfold.....from both parties.
It was the time for the damned to speak.
Fenris moved to stand before the form of Vilen, towering over the crucified man, those beryl orbs narrowing slightly as he looked over the figure of the necromancer. Pulling the water skin that hung from his belt, Fenris pulled the stopper and raised the skin up and over Vilen's head. The frigid water may have served to be enough to rouse Vilen from his state of unconsciousness, though the hard open handed slap to both cheeks was there trigger for those eyes fluttering wide.
"Wake up." Fenris lowered his body down so that his eyes were aligned with Vilen's as he spoke again. "It is your turn to speak. To say what it was you did. You understand my distrust of your kind."
Fenris' right hand reached around his body to grasp the handle of a knife tucked away at the small of his back. Drawing it slowly out and bringing it into the space between his and Vilen's eyes.
"I live with a Spirit. A creature of magic. I know the feel of those powers. If I feel the beginning of it....."
Fenris moved the blade down as his other hand found the fabric over Vilen's crotch. One deft swipe of the blade and the sum of what made Vilen a man was out and exposed. Fenris' free hand reached up and ripped the gag from Vilen's mouth, right before it dropped and grabbed Vilen, pulling both shaft and testicles out so the blade could rest firmly against the tender flesh.
"...I will cut these from you. Now that we understand one another, talk your piece."
GIRARD & VILEN
Safety within the Hall was all well and good but it was hardly going to provide security of a sort that Girard desired .. one that did not involve his friends and those who saw them as their superiors in a hierarchy to fall victim to protecting him. There would be nothing to be proud of in such a scenario .. all the more reason to avoid it. Alas slitting the throat of a nobleman that possessed nothing noble about him? It had been a trial not to.. difficult to resist the urgings in his head spoken in dark, feminine tones.. it hadn't taken much to realize the Nightsinger wanted him to carry out an execution of that sort.
But vengeance was not justice.. nor was justice one could buy likely to warrant what was deserved by the Necromancer. Thus Vilen had been brought to the Hall..rather than to find justice in Rumeria where Von Sirri coffers could silence opposition no matter how convincing any one minstrel might turn out to be. A silver tongue often turned out to be no match for a coinpurse weighed down by gold.
As his attention returned to the scene in front of him Girard heard more than saw more than enough to wonder just what Fenris could be thinking. Certainly the accused had a right to defend themselves.. but there tended to be a risk when allowing a spellcaster the benefit. Alas a lack of vocalized misgivings on the part of Ovid gave little reason for the minstrel to do more than be ready to cast a spell most likely to disrupt or end any spell his unforunate brother might choose to unleash in what would no doubt be his last moment if it came to pass.
How unfortunately memorable this awakening happened to be.. no warm bedcovers or warm, unclad body beneath them.. no luxury at all. They had been replaced through his bad luck and the manipulations of his elder brother it retribution. Least such proved how Vilen saw it. Especially considering the current predicament he faced.. not only to what remained of his life.. but to a portion of his anatomy that he preferred to remain intact into the next life - or oblivion.. it didn't matter too much then though did it?
A pained grunt, then one of clearing his throat that ended in the unpleasantly pigmented phlegm that was spat from his mouth to floor, or more likely the mountain of muscle and scars infront of him. When the voice did come it was marked by the strain borne of granite-like fingers that had been about his throat not long ago.
" I never took the Bloodied as one to make Jests. "
Certainly that needed a little elaboration.. before a pound of flesh was lose.. well ..flesh more valuable than a pound of meat to him. Barking out answers with this situation upon him didn't really find expression of thoughts into words all that easy. A moment or two could be used to settle those words into something much more arrogant than the situation called for.. especially considering what he faced.. perhaps there was good reason to be. Wise spellcasters did not undertake a gamble unless they were sure they could avoid the negatives of losing.
" You do not expect denial of the accusations I hope.. oh those are true. A crown for my legacy .. piercing Vörðrheimr as easily as a mewling farmgirl and taking away one of its souls. There will be a many to come who will attempt , full to the brim with dreams of surpassing Vilen Von Sirri.. "
A little arrogance fit well. after all when else would he have time to gloat? Well.. after his death certainly.. and for one who practiced the black arts.. it was hardly an end to the story. Vilen had no anticipated that Girard would have friends among the Zorcan aside from the fluke that was Ovid Galinn. A little too bias to believe at first that a Rumerian, even one who by all appearances followed some ridiculous self-exile from his homeland, could be found among their enemies... as someone trusted.. perhaps the tales of Named Men and their aversion to magic was much more smoke and mirrors than once many believed.. little time to be pondering that.. or how to abuse it in an advantageous way.
" On with the execution then.. well who will it be.. you? Or the Bard? "
FENRIS
When Vilen had finished pouring forth his false bravado, when those near endless streams of how those like him would never stop nor would Girard find peace had come to an end, Fenris tilted his head back as if looking to the heavens for guidance. Closing beryl orbs and breathing free a small sigh through his nose as he looked so eerily calm for one known to harbor such a temper.
That was until the muscles in the massive Named Man's shoulders bunched, cords in his neck pressing out and the sudden jerk of his torso came forward. The connection of Fenris' forehead to Vilen sounded sharp and clear. The blow sending Vilen once again into the land of unconsciousness. Once the condemned was snoring through a newly broken nose and drooling a mixture of spittle and blood down the front of his tattered clothing, Fenris released his hold on the man's testicles. Wiping his hand on Vilen's chest, Fenris turned to Girard.
"He is, as you say, a necromancer. I feel that one such as him would have a something in place should his soul ever part from his body. One that would put him in a new form, or place him one step closer to becoming whatever it is these death benders do."
Fenris grabbed a fist full of hair and jerked Vilen's head to the side, his free hand pointing at a section towards the back of the man's skull.
"I watched a man take a blow from a hammer....right here. After that he was never himself. He just wandered the town, drooling, talking to himself.....he was never right....never whole....."
With a low growl, he turned from Vilen and looked around as if seeking some form of punishment that would be fitting.
"I think he is to suffer until his soul parts from his body. When that time comes, we will have his soul be placed in the gemstone you carry. Let him suffer alone in the prison he harbored for Ovid."
GIRARD
Many a year spent wandering provided quite the pre-cursor and more recent adventures served well in not flinching at the sound of skull colliding with skull. It did not serve no well in keeping his mind on how to restore Ovid to his proper afterlife.. bringing about the shift of acknowledging more immediate matters before Fenris spoke up. The means of punishment was a cruel one, though not an unusual one when it came to spellcasters who used their magic in ways deemed criminal by the ruling body of whichever nation they had forced their presence upon. It was not likely to be something a fellow could come back from no matter the skill of any healer involved.. save perhaps those divinely-touched in their talents.
Acknowledging the reasoning as sound did not mean that it set well with Girard. After all this was exactly what could happen to him if one among the people of Alzorc took it upon themselves to rid the Hall of the Rumerian so often seen amongst the men and women of the Stygian Embrace. Those doubts he held about whether such was truly called for in this situation were silenced for the time being once the Evensong came back into his line-of-sight as his gaze had drifted away from Fenris and once again unconscious Vilen.
" Like father, like son.. if he is anything like the man that spawned him.. "
And he had every reason to believe he was considering the actions committed through spell.
" ... He may well have damned Ovid to being bound to the living world.. it would be.. poetic to do much the same to him bereft of the magic he has so cultivated and misused.. "
FENRIS
Fenris gave a slight nod as he looked down at Vilen once again, open disgust on his features. Whether it was to ensure Vilen remained in the blackness of unconsciousness, or if it was for his own guilty pleasure, Fenris struck him once again. A hard upper handed punch that snapped Vilen's head back violently to collide with the rough face of the rock. The blow causing Vilen's nose to split at the bridge and the point to rest against his cheek. The impact with the rock had cause a large bump to rise almost instantly, at it;s very peak a jagged gash split his scalp and sent more blood out to stain the stone and ground.
Setting a hand to Girard's shoulder, Fenris turned his friend away from the sight of Vilen.
"I will have Heyr come check on him regularly. Ensuring he remains sleeping and confined until we can get somebody to swap Ovid's soul for Vilen's in that rock. It will have to be in the morning as we have something to do today. I just received word that Rumerians were in our kingdom trying to mine once again. Let's gather whom we can and get this tended."
GIRARD
Time had come that Girard could no longer suffer through Vilen's continued whining through the torn fabric that had been shoved in the Necromancer's mouth and tied around it in order to keep the possibility of spellcasting to a very low one. It was for the very same reason that despite the good-nature of the Skald that he had begun to break a few of the fingers and toes of his younger brother.. after the first instance that a spell had washed over him. The mistake had been learned from between Greysage and the travel of the shadow fringe towards the Stygian Embrace Hall. They came to leave the shadow plane several yards away from the destination.. forcing him to drag the mostly stumbling Vilen Sirri through the snow until finally forced to allow his anger to bring a foot down on the Black Mage's jaw.
" Stop your struggling, I wouldn't even have felt the need to bring you here to face judgement if you had left Ovid out of it. "
While the press of his boot against the younger Rumerian's jaw should have earned the bound and gagged necromancer a proper curb-stomp it instead came to be that he earned a reprieve of further pain. The progress towards the Hall began again.. until finally with a shoulder pressed into the door and dragging the younger Sirri inside by the collar of his shirt beneath the now frayed hem of the no doubt formerly fancy robe he wore..
".. Heyr, "
He didn't know if the man was about..but it was easy to presume..
" Is Fenris about.. I've need of his his advice.. not too sure who holds the right to judge someone who dares steal a Zorcan soul from their earned afterlife.. "
Alright so even Girard knew that this was likely to earn far too much attention by mentioning it as he had.. but Girard sought to be certain that Vilen knew exactly what his actions were going to earn him.
FENRIS & HEYR
Heyr looked up from where he currently was tending to one of the fire pits used inside the Hall's feasting area. The iron poker pushing lowly at the embers, stirring them around so that air could reach down within and stir them back to life. When the sounds of a struggling person filled the otherwise quiet interior, the older man hardly batted an eye. He simply continued to tend his current endeavor, long ago having grown a tolerance, even deafness to the sounds of struggling and bound people.
After all, the cellars of the Hall were not used solely to store foods, drink and weapons. There was a room, carved even deeper to into the rocky hide that was Alzorc's body. A dark and quiet place, where the acrid metallic scent of blood and the odor of piss and shit never seemed to fade from.
Dreaming's work area.
When he heard his name, he looked up. When he heard the inquiry for Fenris, he rose. When he heard the reason why, he moved with a sudden ferocity, brandishing that poker as if it were a trusted blade. In a rush he was on the pair of them, one hand pushing Girard's shoulder so that he could easily see the bound one. Heyr tilted his head slightly and raised the red tip of the poker, setting it down upon the neck of Girard's captive.
The muffled screams of pain rode the scent of burning meat high into the rafters above them. Lifting the poker and making to jab at the prisoner again, his hand was stopped, by a much larger hand.
From where the Named Man had emerged from was anyone's guess. The way he could move that massive frame with such stealth and silence was not altogether a comforting fact. Beryl eyes flashed with that deep burning hatred as he looked down at the gagged one. Stepping before Girard and his captive, Heyr dismissed with a none-to-gentle-shove, Fenris lay his other hand around the neck of Girard's prisoner. The scar tissue on those iron like ridges creaking as fingers closed down around the throat of the man, choking him.
"Who is this?"
Fenris jerked the man from the ground with that one hand as easily as a child would pick up a fallen toy. Violently shaking him, the rabbit caught in the hound's jaws. Setting the flailing man so that he could look him in the eyes.
"He has a Zorcan soul?"
Turning his gaze down upon his friend, brows drawing tight over his eyes, almost seeming to forget he was chocking the prisoner to death right there in the hall. Already the man's face had shifted from pale, to red, to purple, and now his eyes blinked rapidly and started to appear unfocused and roll upwards.
"He can be judged here. On the rock."
Opening his hand, Fenris let the man fall back upon the ground in a heap.
GIRARD
Whereas the actions of Heyr should have caused the Skald an instant of surprise at least he found it difficult to muster enough emotion regarding his prisoner to care. The ferocity of movement that led the man with the improntu branding tool stole away his attention.. the scent and sound of sizzling flesh reached his nose and could not be easily dispersed once there. Still Girard kept a hold of his captive, acknowledging the appearance of Fenris much as the rush of Heyr had been.
" Vilen Sirri. "
He would not call this man his brother.. being of the same bloodline did not make him his brother.
While the fact that this man shared his surname had occurred to Girard as something that would be easily picked up on.. the fact would not be hidden, lest Vilen come to believe it was a fact that could be used against him. The subject of the soul finally garned his attention to Fenris and Vilen.. with his scrawny neck trapped between the Named Man's hands. Regarding the sight as if it were a little more distant than the truth of it.
Eventually he bothered with retrieving the soul gem from where he'd stored it.. giving the thing another look over himself. It bothered Girard that he'd yet to discern a means of freeing the soul within.
" Soul of Ovid Galinn, Named the Evensong. "
Girard put emphasis on that one word.. intending the fact that the soul of a Named Man was bound to the gem. Girard at heart was not a violent man, nor did he tend towards torture.. still it was clear as day that his captive had been through exactly that on the way to the Hall.. aside from the new torments spawned by less-than-delicate touch of Zorcan hands.
" The Rock? "
The Skald found himself filling in the reasonable answer on his own.. he didn't doubt for a moment that the Rock had seen its fair share of Rumerian blood.
Bothering to let his eerie greens fall to the newly unconscious Rumerian.. Girard couldn't quite succeed in disguising the look of disgust - due to the man rather than the more recent pains inflicted upon his younger brother.
FENRIS
There was a faint narrowing in the corners of Fenris' eyes at the mentioning of the name, this accompanied by a slight tilt in his head forwards and a lowering of his brows. The surname was one that he had come to know, even trust--when it was applied to one name that was. The crumpled figure of the bound and gagged bore the same family name as Girard. Where a good number of the known kingdoms may very well question a person for tossing a member of their family upon the flames, that was not so much the case in Alzorc. Definitely not the case with the mass of northern flesh before the Minstrel now.
Turning his focus back upon Vilen, the Named Man issued a small nudge with the toe of his boot, rolling Vilen over onto his back. The binds and the cloth stuffed into his mouth as a gag had Fenris lowering himself down into a crouch.
"When we wakes, what do we need to concern ourselves with?"
It was when Fenris bent down, and Girard continued speaking that the Minstrel would be afforded a small glance beyond Fenris. Heyr's expression changed rapidly, as if with each beat of his heart a new surge of feeling washed over him. Confusion, surprise, concern, anger. It seemed that not all were ignorant of Evensong and who he was. Though any revelation to be found was once again cut off by the imposing figure of Fenris.
This time, with something draped over the wide expanse of his right shoulder.
"Aye, the rock."
GIRARD
Girard happened to be very much aware of how other kingdoms would view this decision - especially for involving Alzorc in any fashion. The nations of the Svek were not known for giving up one of their own for wrong Alzorc.. least not within the limits of history known to the Minstrel.
When the question came from the crouching Fenris, the response coming in the wake of acknowledgement. The answer could be deduced easily enough by those that knew Girard and the methods in which one kept a mage from casting their spells.. least the sort that needed words and movements to make their spells work.
" He's a necromancer I've dealt with the matter of his hands.. but the gag had to do on short notice.. "
Surprising how difficult it was to cut a man's tongue out without a clamp of some sort. He didn't doubt much as had been considered during the trip would be carried out if only to null the chance of escape due to magic. Course there was always involving A'kana, the Spirit, as Girard had noted them calling her. While the thought did cross his mind once more.. the considerations of anything but the subjects at hand brought him back to the present - and his mind to the changing expressions shown by Heyr. Many of those expressions were those he'd displayed not long ago while attempting to come to terms with the revelation.. something that hadn't fully come to pass now that he found himself looking away from Heyr.. to the gem that now housed the Evensong.
" He was my mentor.. "
Girard did not know if either Fenris or Heyr were listening but the consideration did not last long. Finding a means to free Ovid would have to wait, casting aside the reasonable possibility that he neither possessed the skill nor means to crack open the gem without damning Ovid to nothing more than utter oblivion. That was often the price of a soul mistreated by necromantic tampering.. especially by one not a master of the craft. Girard was under no delusions - he was no master of Necromancy.
Not until the sound of somethingbeing draped over the shoulder of Fenris did the Minstrel lend his eye to anything aside from the smoky topaz with the all too noticeable 'movement' within.
" ... Long as justice is meted out. "
It could be made no clearer that he meant the Zorcan brand of justice.. else he never would have brought the man to them .. save that any other kingdom would have required much evidence or manipulation to avoid the label of Kinslayer for just how close the situation had come to that and could still potentially be viewed depending on how one viewed the people of Alzorc.
A hushed curse later he was looking at the gem yet again.
FENRIS
"Justice is always fair by my hands."
Fenris spoke the words, but he had already turned his back to his friend and was headed towards the doors. Leaving the Minstrel to ponder over if what had been said was in jest or serious. One did not gain neither a name nor reputation such as Fenris had without having wagon loads full of dark tales. Perhaps the scene would have been easier to absorb had Fenris had held the crumpled and unconscious form of Girard's brother up and over his shoulder as if he carried a bag of grain.
"Yes, Girard, the rock."
Fenris turned just at the door to speak back to his friend. Though his long legs continued to move, keeping him walking backwards towards those massive doors that lead into and out of the feasting area. Near fifteen feet in height, a foot thick of true Zorcan oak, reinforced with bands of rough thick adamantite. The doors were designed to withstand a seige. The Stygian Embrace as much a war-time fortress as a peace-time gathering area.
CRASH!!
The impact jarred the doors so violently that they creaked and bounced within their hinges. The massive frame of Fenris bucking back forwards from the rebound of walking backwards into a door. Mock surprise washed over Fenris' features as he turned to see what just happened.
THUD!
The limp figure draped over his shoulder flopping around at the sharp turn and sending Vilen's head to connect solidly with the wall behind the Named Man.
Fenris gave a faint shrug and moved finally, outside. The walk was a short one, but the destination had been clear the entire time. In the distance was a large jagged boulder, a fragment of the mountains distant brought here for one purpose. The thick lengths of chain around the base of the boulder, the dark brown stains of dried blood smeared across the front, and the small items beside it leading Girard to the easy guess as what most people's fates had been.
With the same ease that the butcher carves the meat, Fenris propped the body of Vilen against the boulder with one hand, his other picking up two long pieces of rusted steel. One set down into his belt while he shifted his body to prop Vilen up by leaning against him. Fenris held Vilens hand out over a small groove form in the stone....and then drove the steel spike through his hand. Repeating the process with the other, crucifying Vilen upon the stone before using the chains to bind the necromancer completely to the rock.
When Fenris stepped away, he gave Girard a soft nod of his head.
"Plead your case against this man."
GIRARD & OVID
Hearing a phrase out of Fenris that he expected far more out of someone from the Kullyrian Temple of the Just Hammer earned the man only a brief glance. The rest of his efforts were put towards keeping up as he traveled in the wake of movement spawned by the Fenris. Another mention of the rock did not find another question instead only the wait to discover it for himself. Deciding that only found interruption in the form of that thud, it didn't take much imagination to realize Vilen had earned a unpleasant connection to the wall. It mattered little if only for the moment the Rumerian Necromancer and Nobleman remained unconscious.
The application of those steel spikes alongside the sight of the Rock itself finally answered his questions over it. Perhaps the thing was more torture than justice as the southern kingdoms knew it. Dropping his gaze to the smoked topaz that served as the vessel for the soul of Ovid Galinn he found it rather easy to come to terms with what was going on. Every chance had been given to the man related to him by their father's blood. None had been accepted and no doubt Vilen had thought Girard not resolute in carrying out the threat of judgement at Zorcan hands.
Not until the request to plead his case did the minstrel turn his attention away from the gem. Doing so led to the drawing of the parchment Vilen had sent to him during what was quickly becoming his last days in Sarkotos.
" I received this a day ago, demanding my presence in Greysage in what serves as the von Sirri estate for sometime now. It made no mention of Ovid, only of a confrontation long overdue. Expecting a trap I still chose to go, what I discovered there only served to display Vilen's sense of superiority. There was no trap, no guards, only the intent to make a spirit controlled by his magic kill me or be killed.. "
Girard doubted he had to elaborate on just who that spirit happened to be.
" Ovid Galinn did not bend to his control, nor did he interfere in the duel that followed.. "
Girard felt that important to mention, that even in forced undeath Ovid still had his wits about him.
" The crime stealing a Zorcan soul cannot be proven by my words only implied by my words. "
-----
questing requiem: [Spell: (Shadows Fade) - Target: (Soul Gem) - Spell Type: (effect) - Save: +24 ]
questing requiem: [ Soul Gem's Save ]
OnlineHost: questing requiem rolled 1 20-sided die: 19
questing requiem: [ 19 vs 24 = Save Fails. ]
*Note: Shadows Fade is a Dispelling Effect and Vilen is of Equal Rank to Girard*
------
So it came to pass that the parchment was put away and the soul gem taken up again. He'd read up plenty on the nature of these gems, but rarely heard about them being used without the body in the necromancers possession from which to steal the soul. Still that hardly stopped the minstrel from opening that conduit to the shadow plane in order to work in canceling out the binding spells imprisoning the Evensong for a time. It was a temporary freedom only.. a greater spellcaster than he would be needed to break the spells hold completely.
Even so the minstrel-cast spell served its purpose in interrupting the binding magic and allowing the spirit held within the gem to manifest in the world of the living. Whether the minstrel would suffer a reprimand or worse for it only Fenris could say - what the magic accomplished no doubt proved distracting from it when the incorporeal, twenty-years dead example of a Named Man, the Evensong, made his presence known. No less impressive than the day he died though outside of the afterlife earned.. the wounds that led to his death were very much apparent in this state.
The spirit cast his gaze over the Minstrel first.. then Fenris and the necromancer nailed to the Rock.
" Judgement is it then Mourning-Song.. always did keep that words of yours. "
A nod proved the acknowledgement given to Fenris.. still Ovid knew why Girard would not be foolish enough to use magic in front of a Zorcan such as this without good reason.
" I've given my plea against him, "
A glance paid to the Rock bound Vilen.
" You have more right than I to speak against him. "
" That is not for you .. or I to decide. "
Ovid paid the whole of his attention back to Fenris who clearly was leading this judgement. All knew who held the right in this situation to forgive the minstrel for spellcasting and allow the spirit of the Named Man, The Evensong, to speak against the man bound to the Rock.
FENRIS
The fading light of the dying day painted the sky above them in a bright array of colors, crimson red and fiery oranges and yellows. The light from the sun as it neared those distant peaks lending a faint lighted outline to those figures outside for the trial of Vilen. Half of the massive frame that was Fenris was illuminated and cast in a deep golden wash. The other half of him lost in deep shadow, a blackness only broken by the white of his teeth and a sharp glint of his hidden eye. It was said that in Alzorc, above all other kingdoms, their Pantheon played a greater role. They lent their hand in more of the affairs of man than any other divine figure could attest.
In that moment, Girard was lent the truth of those claims. For only by the workings of Tid, Flaks and Sjanse, The Three Sisters, could such a thing come to pass. The timing in which the trial was to take place. The position of the rock serving as what appeared to be both courtroom and gallows. The way the figures had placed themselves. The eerie and surreal effects the setting sun cast on the group. All of these factors, that at first appeared nothing more than random coincidence, playing out before the eyes of Girard.
Fenris stood there unmoving, a living statue of all that Alzorc stood for. Large and hard, chipped from the Knockskulls themselves, a bitter and unforgiving cold washing out through his aura, the unyielding set of his jaw and the steel in his voice. The half of his washed in that golden light granting the illusion as if this portion of him was just, was fair, was perhaps almost angelic. The other half lost in abyssal shadow, this complete blackness only broken by the small glint of his eye as it caught the light, this was the darkness of this land, the savagery, the predatory way this land would cull the weak, it was the killer lurking beneath his flesh.
This effect lasted only until the presence of Ovid, in which Fenris shifted and the dual nature dropped from him, returning him from his temporary appearance of the light and dark entities and placing him back as what girard had always known him to be. Be that for good or worse, it was only Girard's call.
The use of magic, while still not something Fenris trusted wholly, was a thing in which he had become more.......tempered to. Living with and being mated with, one such as A'kana--a spirit of complete magic--it was hard to not find some level of familiarity with it's workings.
Once Girard and the Spirit finished their small talking, Fenris lowered his head and shoulders slightly. As close to a bow as any had ever seen from him. Respect for a Named Man and the spirit of the one before him clearly on display. The creaking of scarred flesh over iron like knuckles the outward sign of Fenris' anger at what had happened.
"I give you my word, I will see you back in Vörðrheimr. I need to know what happened first, please."
Fenris' had begun speaking Zorcan, if he knew it or not, the words slipping past his thinned lips were the hard, gutteral tongue of his people.
GIRARD & OVID ( and a little Vilen)
Small talk of this sort could last only so long before those participating in it set their minds to more important matters. Girard could not help but to imagine all the ways a Zorcan might view this situation spawned by his decision in how to deal with the actions of a brother he barely knew beyond his actions. These thoughts going through the mind of the minstrel faded from their forefront in the wake of that aura that succeeded all too easily in turning his attention and eyes to the mountain of a man that was Fenris. Lacking a thorough knowledge of Alzorc despite the lessons of Ovid, Girard possessed only guesses as to what exactly caused this particular change in his unlikely friend.
Settling into the uncomfortable ethereal existenc, Ovid Galinn , the dead Named Man called the Evensong barely paid any mind to the lack of a arcane leash..the interruption of bounds lacked the same tug of arcane chains in the release from the prison that was to most a mere gemstone. The promise made by this Named Man opposite of he and Girard earned acknowledgement in the form of a open recognize and the inclination of his head that could easily be barely perceived due to his last than opaque form.
" Cannot begin to explain how he came to pry me out of Vörðrheimr. The tale you request began too long ago by my comprehension however he came to accomplish the feat I found myself bound to the gem now in Girard's possession. As ... what was his name? No matter.. the Black Mage went in too a good deal of detail on his reasons. Solely out for the approval of his father by using a Named Man, alive or dead, as little more than an fierce hound to tear out his wayward brother's throat. "
The 'he' earned a jerk of his ethereal head in the direction of the worse-for-wear Rumerian though the next marked Girard as the wayward sibling. Ovid knew well that Girard did hold a spot as the catalyst.. how well that could be made up for in the eyes of the Pantheon was another matter altogether.
" His method of carrying it out was more foolhardy than ingenious, got Girard there and now he is the one suffering. Still a Sirri suffering just the same, wager he succeeded in that desire. "
All in the Zorcan tongue and not a word of it made sense to the minstrel. His lack of understanding did not matter overly much. Both these particular specimens of Named Man had earned his trust in some manner that the need to know exactly what those spoken words meant did not come about save as curiosity. This bout of curiosity did not keep the notice of the 'effect' that appeared to end around the time of his spell casting and the release of the Evensong. While the two Zorcan, one living and one dead, held the words of the other the minstrel kept his mind on sight.. especially the darkness that had seemingly taken hold of part of Fenris just a moment ago. Symbolic certainly.. a trick of the eye? Such proved doubtful even from his perspective.. not when shadow always held meaning.. least in his eyes. This was not a land where the Six held a presence, a factor that did not concern Girard overly much.. never had the Wanderer held faith with the Six worshipped over much of the continent nor in the smattering of lesser deities. Course the base query remained.. what exactly had been the cause of that.. hard to designate it as coincidence alone!
One could not wholly forget the Black Mage himself.. consciousness proved fleeting at best. Far more easily recognized was pain.. from branded flesh, pierced flesh, and the many fractures and outright breaks of his fingers. The voices were noticeable though hardly discernable against the flare of pain that had not yet been experienced enough to be ignored as numbness set in .. that would come later. If there was a later. The facts of what was occuring had not yet come to be fully realized.. certainly it wasn't to be a pleasant fate.
FENRIS
Fenris stood silent as he listened to the words of both Girard and the spirit of Ovid. Never once did emotion creep into those rough features. He, like the stone that bound Vilen, stood scarred and silent. His role was now something he had no taste for. He needed to sit and listen. To stand as the unbiased voice of justice in this matter. None of his thoughts, beliefs or wants could find purchase in the events unfolding around this old jagged boulder.
For had they the ability, or had Fenris the choice, he would have cussed Girard for a fool for not simply slitting Vilen's throat and bringing just the stone to the Hall. If such a turn of events had passed, none would be able to harm Girard under the Hall's protection.
Instead, he had to stand and listen to the story unfold.....from both parties.
It was the time for the damned to speak.
Fenris moved to stand before the form of Vilen, towering over the crucified man, those beryl orbs narrowing slightly as he looked over the figure of the necromancer. Pulling the water skin that hung from his belt, Fenris pulled the stopper and raised the skin up and over Vilen's head. The frigid water may have served to be enough to rouse Vilen from his state of unconsciousness, though the hard open handed slap to both cheeks was there trigger for those eyes fluttering wide.
"Wake up." Fenris lowered his body down so that his eyes were aligned with Vilen's as he spoke again. "It is your turn to speak. To say what it was you did. You understand my distrust of your kind."
Fenris' right hand reached around his body to grasp the handle of a knife tucked away at the small of his back. Drawing it slowly out and bringing it into the space between his and Vilen's eyes.
"I live with a Spirit. A creature of magic. I know the feel of those powers. If I feel the beginning of it....."
Fenris moved the blade down as his other hand found the fabric over Vilen's crotch. One deft swipe of the blade and the sum of what made Vilen a man was out and exposed. Fenris' free hand reached up and ripped the gag from Vilen's mouth, right before it dropped and grabbed Vilen, pulling both shaft and testicles out so the blade could rest firmly against the tender flesh.
"...I will cut these from you. Now that we understand one another, talk your piece."
GIRARD & VILEN
Safety within the Hall was all well and good but it was hardly going to provide security of a sort that Girard desired .. one that did not involve his friends and those who saw them as their superiors in a hierarchy to fall victim to protecting him. There would be nothing to be proud of in such a scenario .. all the more reason to avoid it. Alas slitting the throat of a nobleman that possessed nothing noble about him? It had been a trial not to.. difficult to resist the urgings in his head spoken in dark, feminine tones.. it hadn't taken much to realize the Nightsinger wanted him to carry out an execution of that sort.
But vengeance was not justice.. nor was justice one could buy likely to warrant what was deserved by the Necromancer. Thus Vilen had been brought to the Hall..rather than to find justice in Rumeria where Von Sirri coffers could silence opposition no matter how convincing any one minstrel might turn out to be. A silver tongue often turned out to be no match for a coinpurse weighed down by gold.
As his attention returned to the scene in front of him Girard heard more than saw more than enough to wonder just what Fenris could be thinking. Certainly the accused had a right to defend themselves.. but there tended to be a risk when allowing a spellcaster the benefit. Alas a lack of vocalized misgivings on the part of Ovid gave little reason for the minstrel to do more than be ready to cast a spell most likely to disrupt or end any spell his unforunate brother might choose to unleash in what would no doubt be his last moment if it came to pass.
How unfortunately memorable this awakening happened to be.. no warm bedcovers or warm, unclad body beneath them.. no luxury at all. They had been replaced through his bad luck and the manipulations of his elder brother it retribution. Least such proved how Vilen saw it. Especially considering the current predicament he faced.. not only to what remained of his life.. but to a portion of his anatomy that he preferred to remain intact into the next life - or oblivion.. it didn't matter too much then though did it?
A pained grunt, then one of clearing his throat that ended in the unpleasantly pigmented phlegm that was spat from his mouth to floor, or more likely the mountain of muscle and scars infront of him. When the voice did come it was marked by the strain borne of granite-like fingers that had been about his throat not long ago.
" I never took the Bloodied as one to make Jests. "
Certainly that needed a little elaboration.. before a pound of flesh was lose.. well ..flesh more valuable than a pound of meat to him. Barking out answers with this situation upon him didn't really find expression of thoughts into words all that easy. A moment or two could be used to settle those words into something much more arrogant than the situation called for.. especially considering what he faced.. perhaps there was good reason to be. Wise spellcasters did not undertake a gamble unless they were sure they could avoid the negatives of losing.
" You do not expect denial of the accusations I hope.. oh those are true. A crown for my legacy .. piercing Vörðrheimr as easily as a mewling farmgirl and taking away one of its souls. There will be a many to come who will attempt , full to the brim with dreams of surpassing Vilen Von Sirri.. "
A little arrogance fit well. after all when else would he have time to gloat? Well.. after his death certainly.. and for one who practiced the black arts.. it was hardly an end to the story. Vilen had no anticipated that Girard would have friends among the Zorcan aside from the fluke that was Ovid Galinn. A little too bias to believe at first that a Rumerian, even one who by all appearances followed some ridiculous self-exile from his homeland, could be found among their enemies... as someone trusted.. perhaps the tales of Named Men and their aversion to magic was much more smoke and mirrors than once many believed.. little time to be pondering that.. or how to abuse it in an advantageous way.
" On with the execution then.. well who will it be.. you? Or the Bard? "
FENRIS
When Vilen had finished pouring forth his false bravado, when those near endless streams of how those like him would never stop nor would Girard find peace had come to an end, Fenris tilted his head back as if looking to the heavens for guidance. Closing beryl orbs and breathing free a small sigh through his nose as he looked so eerily calm for one known to harbor such a temper.
That was until the muscles in the massive Named Man's shoulders bunched, cords in his neck pressing out and the sudden jerk of his torso came forward. The connection of Fenris' forehead to Vilen sounded sharp and clear. The blow sending Vilen once again into the land of unconsciousness. Once the condemned was snoring through a newly broken nose and drooling a mixture of spittle and blood down the front of his tattered clothing, Fenris released his hold on the man's testicles. Wiping his hand on Vilen's chest, Fenris turned to Girard.
"He is, as you say, a necromancer. I feel that one such as him would have a something in place should his soul ever part from his body. One that would put him in a new form, or place him one step closer to becoming whatever it is these death benders do."
Fenris grabbed a fist full of hair and jerked Vilen's head to the side, his free hand pointing at a section towards the back of the man's skull.
"I watched a man take a blow from a hammer....right here. After that he was never himself. He just wandered the town, drooling, talking to himself.....he was never right....never whole....."
With a low growl, he turned from Vilen and looked around as if seeking some form of punishment that would be fitting.
"I think he is to suffer until his soul parts from his body. When that time comes, we will have his soul be placed in the gemstone you carry. Let him suffer alone in the prison he harbored for Ovid."
GIRARD
Many a year spent wandering provided quite the pre-cursor and more recent adventures served well in not flinching at the sound of skull colliding with skull. It did not serve no well in keeping his mind on how to restore Ovid to his proper afterlife.. bringing about the shift of acknowledging more immediate matters before Fenris spoke up. The means of punishment was a cruel one, though not an unusual one when it came to spellcasters who used their magic in ways deemed criminal by the ruling body of whichever nation they had forced their presence upon. It was not likely to be something a fellow could come back from no matter the skill of any healer involved.. save perhaps those divinely-touched in their talents.
Acknowledging the reasoning as sound did not mean that it set well with Girard. After all this was exactly what could happen to him if one among the people of Alzorc took it upon themselves to rid the Hall of the Rumerian so often seen amongst the men and women of the Stygian Embrace. Those doubts he held about whether such was truly called for in this situation were silenced for the time being once the Evensong came back into his line-of-sight as his gaze had drifted away from Fenris and once again unconscious Vilen.
" Like father, like son.. if he is anything like the man that spawned him.. "
And he had every reason to believe he was considering the actions committed through spell.
" ... He may well have damned Ovid to being bound to the living world.. it would be.. poetic to do much the same to him bereft of the magic he has so cultivated and misused.. "
FENRIS
Fenris gave a slight nod as he looked down at Vilen once again, open disgust on his features. Whether it was to ensure Vilen remained in the blackness of unconsciousness, or if it was for his own guilty pleasure, Fenris struck him once again. A hard upper handed punch that snapped Vilen's head back violently to collide with the rough face of the rock. The blow causing Vilen's nose to split at the bridge and the point to rest against his cheek. The impact with the rock had cause a large bump to rise almost instantly, at it;s very peak a jagged gash split his scalp and sent more blood out to stain the stone and ground.
Setting a hand to Girard's shoulder, Fenris turned his friend away from the sight of Vilen.
"I will have Heyr come check on him regularly. Ensuring he remains sleeping and confined until we can get somebody to swap Ovid's soul for Vilen's in that rock. It will have to be in the morning as we have something to do today. I just received word that Rumerians were in our kingdom trying to mine once again. Let's gather whom we can and get this tended."
