Open Chronicles Stand and Be Free

[Elliot Aldmar]

GRIFFIN'S PEAK​

Not even a minute into the Arbiter's proclamation, Elliot knew that this was his opportunity.

"Hear me, citizens of Griffin's Peak! For I would speak on the final adjudication of this matter which has gripped your hearts so dearly, so passionately, in these many past days!" called the Arbiter from atop the platform. The man had a way with words, a natural charisma to handle a crowd, even one as divided as that assembled in the vast Square of Griffin's Peak.

The murmuring of the crowd hushed. Atop the wide platform with the Arbiter was plump form of Urgen Goldsmith, Commander of Fort Perseverance, and a troop of Obanese soldiers. Also atop the platform, a young woman whose name was Patricia Brightheart. Her hands were bound at the wrist behind her back, her mouth was gagged, and a bailiff stood at vigilantly at her side.

The Arbiter began again, his indulgent smile charming. Sickeningly so to Elliot. He could tell that the Arbiter loved his authority, how he could wield it like a hammer and how he took pleasure in the striking.

"Nine months ago, Patricia Brightheart made a promise. And not, my friends, just any promise! A promise which carried not only great weight, but great legal responsibility. A promise, my friends, made not only to Urgen Goldsmith, but a promise to the very law of our beloved land of Dalriada! Just are the laws of Oban, for just is our King from which they come! Would you not agree, friends, would you not agree?"

Cries and cheers of assent. But there were some, Elliot noticed, who did this only in a perfunctory manner. Some of the citizens of Griffin's Peak did not cheer at all.

Good.

The Arbiter continued: "Patricia Brightheart, as it is known, agreed to bear for Commander Goldsmith a son, for it is a terrible tragedy that his wife has proven to be barren. A most noble sacrifice! For to be a legitimate heir to the Goldsmith name, such was it reasonably demanded for Patricia to be a virgin on the night of conception! The red blossom speaks true, as you have all doubtless heard the saying go."

Elliot could feel the tension in the crowd. Friends who had argued with friends, neighbors who had fought with neighbors—a town with a fracture split right down the middle on this case.

The Arbiter, with a grand flourish, continued: "And yet! Though Patricia upheld her promise and lay with Commander Goldsmith, though the 'red blossom' was seen, her virginity was a lie! The deceit which grew in her belly for nine months, which she in her guile wished to pass off as Commander Goldsmith's own son, went undiscovered until the child was born, whereupon slim chance bore out the truth! That Patricia Brightheart had slept with another man before she had done so with Commander Goldsmith, used trickery to conceal the absence of her virginity, and planned to present this bastard child to our esteemed Commander and then to abscond with the scoundrel she claims to love! This, of course, with the considerable payment in gold for her 'services' in tow!"

And here it would come. The moment that would truly tear Griffin's Peak apart.

The moment that would plant the seeds for its liberation.

The Arbiter whipped an accusing finger around to point at the bound woman upon the platform. He reached his crescendo. "Patricia Brightheart, you have been found GUILTY! For your trespasses upon the laws of Oban, you are hereby sentenced to HANG FROM THE NECK UNTIL DEAD!"

Patricia screamed into her gag and tears flowed from her eyes. The crowd erupted into mixed cheers and lamenting. Hands and fists were thrust into the air at the same time as jeers and cries of protest were flung at the Arbiter, the Commander, and the soldiers.

Elliot's expression pulled into a deep scowl. Many times before he had seen injustices carried out, and many times before he had been able to do nothing.

Not here. Not this time.

He stalked away from the tumultuous crowd. Out of the Square and the raucous clamor at the verdict within. His brow was set hard with determination.

Three days. Three days time until the sentence was carried out on Patricia Brightheart.

All Elliot needed was a few good men and women to not only save her, but to save all of Griffin's Peak from the iron fist of Oban.

 

[Arnor Skuldsson]

Go west, they said. Go west and find more work. More monsters to slay, more contracts. Sure enough, the weeks had been fruitful. Monsters, contracts, jobs. Bandits to be headhunted, bounties to be claimed. Monsters to be hunted, problems to be solved.

And now, apparently, gathered in a crowd among one of the larger towns, the big Northman had a new problem to be solved. Though, he was but one man. He had traveled long and far enough to know that sometimes in the world, injustice was the way of it all.

Sometimes, you had to let the rough end drag.

Or maybe, this time, Arnor didn't have to. He thought of Maude, and what she would say to him. He could almost hear her cursing him for his cowardice or aversion to a good fight- a honorable fight, at that. He breathed in deeply, touching the braid of red hair woven into his black-and-gray mane.

He turned his head, walking away from the crowd. And from a displeased look on his face- spotted a dark elf. A furrowed brow. Arnor stalked ahead, his footsteps silent as the grave, his predator's prowess shining through. More or less he would appear in front of the Elf, staring down at him, arms crossed from roughly 20 feet away.

The Nordenfiir would share words, but not in public.

Elliot Aldmar

 

[Elliot Aldmar]

Sometimes the look on one's face said more than words ever could.

And it was this that made Arnor stand out to Elliot even more than his Norden features in Obanese land or his formidable stature. Elliot saw him down the street upon which he was departing from the Square (the cheers and jeers still loud behind him). The sight alone told him much. Told him the most important part about this man.

That he might well be one of the good men and women who could save Patricia. Who could save all of Griffin's Peak.

Elliot came to a stop next to Arnor. Said, "It's a shame. What happened back there."

Looking up to the man, he gestured his head gently. Let's walk. Unspoken was the shared thought between them: words, but not in public. What was said here on the street as they walked would be merely "polite" and "ordinary" conversation, even more tame than some of the fiery debates held among the townsfolk themselves before the Arbiter's proclamation.

With the whole of Griffin's Peak assembled in the Town Square, the choice of locale to hold their real conversation were vast.

Arnor Skuldsson

 

[Khari]

How many months had it taken her?

Tracking rumor.

Following after stories and tales whispered in taverns. Her mother had given the word, and for what seemed like almost a year now Khari had followed it. The time spent could have amounted to a hundred assassinations, a dozen killings of Kings.

Yet here she was in a shit heel town, in a shit part of the world that nobody really cared about. Nobody but the person she was after. A mystery. A ghost that some in the Court back home didn't even think was real.

The Daemonette wondered what Ichika would have thought of this. The mystery that she had been tugging at. The string that she had been following in the dark. It seemed absurd for someone like her to be doing this, but then she understood why the Dynast had pointed her this way.

She was...she was a freak, an outcast.

The perfect friend to a rebel.

Violet eyes caught on the figure walking through the crowd, a hulking northman besides him. She wasn't sure, she couldn't be sure, but an inkling trailed down her spine. One of those tells that simply pointed in the direction she needed.

As they stepped past her she grunted, bitterness that she did not have to fake clinging to her tone. "What a fucking disgrace."

Khari muttered quietly, just loud enough for Elliot to hear.

 

[Arnor Skuldsson]

Another person joined in their collective disagreement about the goings on. But between all of them, Arnor was the only one who seemed to be capable of a straight up fight.

Arnor turned his head down to the horned woman, not really taking in her appearance as odd. He himself, was odd, so who was he to judge?

"A great shame, indeed." Eyes wandered down to meet Elliot's frame.

"I suppose it would be quite awful if she was left alone there... wouldn't it?" He said, with an almost sort of grin. He was a big man, but still- had an air of mischief, of trickery about him. Like he was in on a joke no one else was.

Elliot Aldmar l Khari

 

[Elliot Aldmar]

A woman. A strange woman, even to Elliot's eyes. A strangeness that marked her as a foreigner. Along with what she had said, this was good, for there were a great many cheers and vehement calls for the execution of Patricia Brightheart from the crowd, and a large number of those cheers and calls were from the women from Griffin's Peak.

"A disgrace," he said, and gestured his head as well to her as he and Arnor passed. Walk with us.

His tone may have been subtle, his grin a mere ghost, yet the spirit of the big man was solidly in the right place. He was a man who, by Elliot's estimation, had the volatile air of an agent of change, as well as sharp cunning and the sheer brawn to make it so.

"It would be awful. If she were alone." Yet in Elliot's tone, the answer was self-evident. But she's not; there are more people like us.

Elliot casually let his eyes wander their surroundings on the street. Vacated buildings. Through the buildings, glimpses of Fort Perseverance in the highlands overlooking the town. And the snow-capped peaks themselves, where wild griffins flew and nested.

Elliot gestured forward with his hand. "Friend's house, just ahead. We ought to relax."

Though he saw no one when he'd let his eyes wander, still he was careful. Outwardly, he had said relax.

But what he had meant was far different.

Arnor Skuldsson Khari

 

[Khari]

A word.

A gesture.

How many times had she needed to ignore those very things? More often than not they had been curses. Denuncations for the thing that she was. Yet was Elliot stepped passed the remark lingered in the air, his quiet expression more telling than any word he could have offered.

It would be awful. If she were alone.

Those words rang within her mind. Not meant as a cutting edge, but she shirked from them all the same. Her world was loneliness. Isolation. A gilded cage kept apart from any of those within Dornoch that would venture near.

Sometimes she wondered why she even bothered bearing the weight.

Without a word though she slipped into step behind Arnor and Elliot. Falling into the gait as they moved towards the 'friend's' house that the Drow pointed out. Her eyes flickered around, searching as though she were watching for someone untrustworthy.

 

[Arnor Skuldsson]

In life, there were moments that defined not entirely your life, but rather, the course of the next few hours, weeks, or months of it. This was one of those moments. And by choosing to venture with his two newfound conspirators, Arnor would come to find his life changed... for a little while. In his myriad of adventures, meeting devils, demons, and witches, it was never a permanent change- he would always be him, just more of him, more of a learned man.

"Relaxing is a gift I would gladly accept." Both an agreement, and a true statement. He hadn't rested since he came to the city- his horse stabled, Rhi, was happy, content. Probably remain there during this entire ordeal.

He stopped in front of the house, hands curled into fists. Big, meaty, well-worn hands. A hands of a predator, a killer, a man who knew how to wield a sword and how to inflict great amounts of pain with it. He turned to face the newer woman- who was strangely attractive. Part of him blamed his birthright- Nordenfiir were notoriously.... free with women. Or maybe that was part of her birthright- cursing his mind to find her so.

Maybe it was the horns.

He looked over at the Drow. Interesting type. He didn't know what quite to make of him. He saw little bit of himself in him.

"You are both in agreement, then- the something that needs to be done, or that could be done, wages our lives in it's bet."

They were to be fighting not just an outfit of rogues- no, a Lord and the men at his command. Quite a feat. If they could even manage it.

 

[Jacob Ford]

A new town and a new adventure.
Jacob had been wandering about, as was his way, hunting and living under the stars. With no master to tell him what to do what so ever, and so too was his preference... He was never one to do well under an authority, except he respected that authority, which was a rare thing to ever happen.

The noises and shouts from the town's square caught his attention from miles away.
"Now what have we here..." He thought aloud, just as he stepped out of an ally way, and was at the edge of the square.
A lady tide to a pile was the first thing that caught his sight. The second thing that caught his sight, aside from the roaring crowd, was a pair of horns moving at a rather taller height than you would expect to be on a goat, or sheep.

Shifting his eyes more, they fell on two rather contrasting characters. One outlandishly large, and the other significantly small. "Odd combo... I like that."
Racing through the square, he we ever through the crowds with expert ease. Taking a different route, he would flank them and wait for them further down the street they walked on.

"Hey there fellas!" He greated, stepping out from behind a cart. "You look like you wanna cause some trouble. Mind if I tag along?" He eyed the group slowly. His eyes lingering a little longer on the odd looking female. Now he had seen many odd creatures in his lifetime, but very few that were exotic, odd looking, yet still beautiful.

 

[Elliot Aldmar]

Elliot placed his hand upon the door, glancing back and up to Arnor. "Yes. We'll have a palaver." The task before them would not be easy. Something needed to be done, and their lives would very much be the wager of the bet.

But for Elliot, at least, this was a long time in coming. He could not speak to the tall man with the Norden features, nor to the woman with the horns and the markings, but he had lived long enough to see an accrual of such injustices as the one Patricia Brightheart faced now. He had seen these play out, and he could do nothing about them, and each only added to his moral debt. Only could he watch as men were hanged, or women burned at the stake, as the law of the land was used as a bludgeon to destroy the innocent.

Here in Griffin's Peak, it was time to pay some of that debt back. To act. Where now he at last he had the means to do so.

Elliot had the door halfway pushed open when a third person appeared. Another tall man, clad in black, speaking casually, even amicably. He, too, had the mark and air of a foreigner. So were they all, foreigners, and all for the better.

"Step inside," Elliot said to Jacob, and as well to Arnor and Khari. He did so himself, waiting for them all to enter, and shut the door. A modest home with a cozy common room. Elliot's friend would likely be returning soon enough from the gathering in the Square, and he would not be surprised to see Elliot inside with a collection of strangers. He might well be expecting it after the Arbiter's proclamation, so Elliot reckoned.

He took a moment to look over the three others gathered inside, scrutinizing eyes taking in their measure.

"I don't know how long each of you has been in Griffin's Peak," Elliot started, at first with a neutral expression, but then with a slight smile, like a man on the cusp of revealing a winning hand at a gambling table, "but I have good news. Half the town feels the way we do...and there are more, only a day's ride away."

The smile faded.

"We'll need them."

Arnor Skuldsson Khari Jacob Ford

 

[Khari]

The company she now kept was an...odd one. It was like the telling of a joke. A demon, a drow, and a northman walked into a bar. Then along came another man.

That was always how those jokes went about. Yet here they were not chortling with any amount of humor. They were planning a shortcut to rebellion.

Khari raised an eyebrow. "Half the town?"

The words echoed from her lips with a small notion of disbelief. Not that she though him a liar, but if that many disagreed then the chaos was going to spread much further and much faster than one would expect. Especially if there were more on the way.

Her lips thinned for a moment, and her ran her tongue over her teeth as she considered.

"Dangerous business." Khari remarked with a frown. "Townsfolk running into Soldiers."

The words were clear, though his an unspoken question.

Were the more coming villagers? Commoners and peasants? Or did the Drow have something else up his sleeve which could bear a little weight. Khari wanted to know, no, she needed to know. Everything she'd been told about the man marked him as clever.

The question was just how clever.

How many cards did he have up his sleeve? Though she had come to quickly realize that question might not even be the most important. It was more how he was going to use them.

 

[Arnor Skuldsson]

The room was barely enough to fit him- Nordenfiir weren't exactly put into the structural design of most buildings in the Summer Lands.

"Soldiers are only as good as those who command them. We may not need to contend with the garrison should we remove their leadership- if we were to avoid an open rebellion." Arnor was not a soldier, no, but he had been in his share of battles, willingly, unwillingly, accidentally, or on purpose.

"Where there is politics, lords and kings, there is discontent and a desire for the seat of power sat in by someone else. This is as true in my land, as it is in yours." He spoke with an accent, solidifying his foreign nature.

Curled knuckles rested on the table, leaning over as he pondered what they might do.

"Our fight, should not become everyone's."

 

[Jacob Ford]

The small dude said half the town felt the same way they did. But until now, Jacob didn't even know what they were up to. Nonetheless, he played alone smoothly, hoping to glean some info as time went by.

"Soldiers are only as good as those who command them. We may not need to contend with the garrison should we remove their leadership- if we were to avoid an open rebellion."

And the huge fellow gave Jacob an idea to what they were doing. They were planning a rebellion.
Seams the gathering at the town Square was no ordinary gathering.
Now that Jacob thought about it, it looked more like a hearing. With a the image of the woman tied to the pole on the elvated stage, he asked a question, with a far off look in his eyes.
"Sorry, but I didn't get what the woman was sentenced for... Like what would a pretty lady such as herself have done to anger an entire town.*

 

[Elliot Aldmar]

Elliot shifted his gaze to Jacob. The man in black hadn't been there at the Square, or maybe the laws of the Oban and the Kingdom of Dalriada at large had left him baffled. Perhaps as well they should. The laws of civilization were nothing to be respected, for they withered easily under the weight of time and creeping corruption, so was Elliot's view.

"An allegation that she broke a contract and tried to run with the money." The word allegation left Elliot's mouth with no small air of distaste. What Patricia Brightheart had been charged with might well simply be a wholesale fabrication, Urgen Goldsmith simply being disappointed with the son he'd received as per the contract and concocting a way to get his coin back. Elliot, having done a job for the Commander previously, didn't view Goldsmith as being above such petty callousness.

Dangerous business. Townsfolk running into Soldiers.

"It is," Elliot said to Khari. And the tone of his agreement made no mistake about it. There would be plenty of danger for both them, and for the people of Griffin's Peak. But they all knew that to do nothing would be to let a woman hang from the noose of injustice.

And then it was Arnor who spoke. Elliot crossed his arms, hearing him, but he had to make clear what his own intent was, and not just to the Norden man but to the others. It was one of the few times when Elliot would readily play what was in his hand, for time was short, and the window of opportunity narrow.

"I would say that this isn't our fight. This is their fight." He studied them, eyes roving from Jacob to Khari to Arnor again. "I've been in the southwest of Dalriada for some time now." And helped to crush the first rebellion down in quiet little Ypress. It was a shame, that. Yet, things fell into place after that, and how Elliot handled Captain Leona and James Farson set up the opportunity for Griffin's Peak liberation now.

"These people. They want their chance. I say we help them take it."

Arnor Skuldsson Khari Jacob Ford

 

[Khari]

Khari listened carefully, her gaze flickering towards the massive northman. Lips thinned as she considered the words he spoke, finding herself in quiet agreement with exactly what he said. Fingers drummed on her thigh as she nodded.

"Nevertheless..." She said quietly, looking over towards the Drow.

In the back of her mind Khari tried to remember what mother had told her. About containing this, making sure to find out what she could but not leaving a trail of destruction within her wake. It was important. She was to be a razor, not a sword.

She glanced over towards Arnor.

"The Norhtman has a point..." The Daemonette offered. "Perhaps this need not become a revel of blood."

A hand gestured. "If we cut the head off the snake, others might simply topple behind."

It was better than this village ending up as the site of a battle. If they could kill one man, or half a dozen, to prevent the deaths of a hundred? Khari would happily carry that problem through to the end.

 

[Arnor Skuldsson]

Arnor seemed less than enthused with the idea of participating in yet another war. Belgrath was bad enough. He didn't need to be privy to another slaughter.

"And who is to say that is not what you want, Drow?" He turned his head. Mistrust was part of his nature. The thought of a person simply being virtuous for no reason at all was not appealing, nor realistic to him. He was a cynic, after all.

"What do you seek to gain from these things, Drow?"

 

[Jacob Ford]

"An allegation that she broke a contract and tried to run with the money."

An allegation he said. From that statement, Jacob could deduce that Elliot had somewhat of a personal relationship with the accused, or her reputation preceded her. His level if trust in her was high, and his statement proved he strongly believed the allegations to be false.

In Jacob's experience, one needn't jump to conclusions about anyone, be it good or bad, no matter how close the individual. Everyone makes decisions and choices, and even good people sometimes make bad choices. But, it was not in his place to judge the woman... He was here for some adventure and fun. Whether or not she was guilty of the allegations, were non of his concern.

"Well seeing as we don't have much time, we should get to planing."
Jacob's mind began running different plans for different situations, but was cut short in his thinking, when the giant fellow ask a very intriguing question.

"What do you seek to gain from these things, Drow?"

Jacob qwirked an eye brow in Elliot's direction, awaiting an answer.
"Indeed, that is a worthy question." Jacob added, trying to sound formal.

 

[Elliot Aldmar]

If we cut the head off the snake, others might simply topple behind.

Elliot gave a receptive nod to Khari. "I am a man who's fond of efficiency. Forcing a mass surrender is ideal."

But we also need to be ready just in case, so said Elliot's tone at the end. The Obanese soldiers would all have better equipment and training, but the side of the potential rebels had the numbers. And they would also have the surprise that Elliot and James Farson had been working on for a moment just like this.

The man in black mentioned planning, and indeed, if they were to do this, they all needed to be on the same page. And that started with names (truthful or no, at the very least something to call one another by). Elliot opened his mouth to speak on that front.

The Norden man spoke first. Two questions. Better to simply address the second, for the first had no satisfactory answer that could possibly come from Elliot's mouth.

"I know what it's like to live under the heel of a boot," he said simply, his arms uncrossing and his thumbs sliding down to hook into his belt. "I'm here to take that boot off of Patricia Brightheart's face. Off of the faces of everyone here in Griffin's Peak, if I can help it."

Khari Arnor Skuldsson Jacob Ford

 

[Khari]

Khari frowned.

It was an answer that she found...surprisingly genuine. A part of her had expected what most men like him gave as a response. Power, money. Any number of selfish reasons that would have done for a conqueror or agent of chaos.

More than most people did things because they were selfish, because whatever they were doing would benefit them.

It was simpler that way, believing that everyone was out for themselves. Yet as she looked at Elliot Khari couldn't help but believe him. Perhaps she was lying to herself in that, perhaps she wanted him to be pure, but...the feeling was there nonetheless.

Lips thinned, and then slowly she nodded. "I've never much liked seeing a boot on any neck."

The Daeomette commented quietly.

Knowing full well that at the end of this the Drow would still have to die. Knowing still that her mother would likely want him dead regardless.

That was the way of things. Her role in life.

 

[Elliot Aldmar]

((Continuing on))

THE DAY OF THE HANGING​

The air of Griffin's Peak was strangely festive. Though the town was split on its opinion of Patricia's verdict, those that were in favor of her hanging took the occasion like any other public execution—which was to say, an exciting event to see. Justice was going to be meted out in their community, of course, so why not make a day of it?

The whole morning was full of hearty breakfasts, games, songs and dance, comedic performances (which had wrapped within them little morals for the children on the values of telling the truth, keeping one's word, and the wisdom of the nobility), and general celebration. Traveling merchants who just so happened to be in Griffin's Peak at the right time were ecstatic at the opportunity.

To Elliot, it was all a peculiar sight. He never had put much celebratory stock in death—or anything, for that matter. Reserved as he was, he wasn't the lively personage among his mercenary peers whenever they threw a celebration for a contract or battle gone well. One of his friends, who was exceptionally bright at parties and shined like a star before a crowd, once called him a "dour darkie." To some large extent, that was true.

But not so much here. Here it was not Elliot being "dour." It was simply unseemly to celebrate what he believed to be gross injustice. And those who were celebrating had all been misled by the powers that be.

Today, said powers might fall.

Elliot was perched in the third floor window of a home overlooking the Square (to the owner he'd paid a handsome fee to have it for the day, conjuring some excuse about fears of inns). His Black Bow was set against the wall adjacent to the window, as was he—Elliot exposed little of himself, only enough to see clearly what was transpiring outside.

It was approaching noon, though such would be difficult to tell. Unbroken clouds blanketed the sky yet put no damper on the celebrations. Off in the far distance beyond Fort Perseverance, griffins soared as small dots around the peak for which the town was named.

At last, the huge procession of Obanese soldiers came marching into the Square. Soldiers were already scattered all around town, ensuring the peace was kept, and this newest contingent flooded the Square with a ton of new steel and clanking armor. Commander Urgen Goldsmith was among them, as was Patricia Brightheart, she with her wrists bound and a black cloth bag over her head. The celebrations stopped, and the awed spectacle began. As Patricia was led up onto the gallows which had been erected in the Square, jeers from the crowd:

"WHORE!"

"HARLOT!"

"THIEF!"

Elliot touched his Black Bow. Watched as the Arbiter, as well, ascended the stairs up the gallows to address the crowd. He had no idea how long the Arbiter's speech might actually be, but he had figured it would be long enough. He hoped it would.

Because the plan was all about timing. Timing.

Ruthless timing.

 

[Khari]

Khari sat perched upon a rooftop like a gargoyle.

She was wrapped in a clock of gray, covering every inch of her figure and blending in with the drab stonework around her. A scowl pulled at her lips as she watched the crowds below.

Even back home she had always detested the Public Executions. It was rare that her mother actually allowed them, and most often it was for those of the Blood who had done some great wrong. Yet there was a shadowed malice to it. That yearning for blood which always spread so disgustingly quick.

She could feel it in the air here.

The people were ravenous. Either because they truly believed within the violence of this act, or because they craved it in their own dark hearts. Khari hated it, despite the irony of what she was.

No illusion harbored within her heart. The Daemonette knew that she was no better than any executioner, yet the fervor of this crowd still disgusted her even now. Fingers wrapped tight around the cloak, resting upon her sheathed knives.

As the clatter of the Obanese Soldiers began to call out Khari flinched slightly.

She still couldn't help but wonder if she was doing the right thing.

Getting closer to Elliot, following through with the plan...yes that was her mission. But by the end of the day she would slaughter a dozen men, all of them of a foreign nation. Enough, by some peoples estimation, to start a war.

Khari knew she had to be careful. If anyone recognized her, it would be a far greater spark than was intended here.

Slowly the Daemonette curled in on herself, watching, waiting.

 

[Elliot Aldmar]

The Arbiter was taking his place atop the big gallows platform, and Elliot took a quick stock. Connor Blomgren, the owner of the house in which Elliot had held a palaver with the few like-minded foreigners, was down below, close to the gallows; his part was very perilous, securing Patricia once everything down on the ground went to hell, but he knew the stakes and cared not for the danger. Khari was on a rooftop, overlooking everything; Elliot couldn't say what precisely she did for a living, but the air with which the strange horned woman carried herself made it effortless to trust her judgment in matters of battle—she'd know where best to strike. Rebels from the southwest, from Ypress (those who hadn't been killed, anyway) were scattered among the crowd, blending in as if they were merely travelers or were themselves residents of Griffin's Peak.

And, as yet unseen in the distance, Elliot and James Farson's big surprise for Commander Goldsmith and his soldiers. Timing. Ruthless timing.

The Arbiter began his speech, indulging in his own self-righteousness and that of Oban at large. "The hour has come, my friends, for justice to at last be delivered. I ask you: what house can stand upon a foundation in which rot has corrupted the very..."

On he went, justifying the morals that he hadn't discovered for himself but instead had impressed upon him by the Kingdom in which he lived. These weren't the words of a man who ever once interrogated the way of being presented to him by his family and fellow citizens. These were the words of a true believer.

And to him, Patricia Brightheart was a heretic. Knowingly or not, she challenged some select and precious facets of what the Arbiter had been told to hold dear. Perhaps no one would revel in her death more than him. With her passing, his world would be kept safe and intact.

"...so we follow the carefully prescribed decree. Today, carry out the sentencing of Patricia Brightheart. For the crimes of which she has been proven guilty, she is to hang from the neck until dead. Gentlemen."

The Arbiter stepped aside, and two Obanese soldiers roughly led Patricia forward. Unseen by the crowd (but heard and ignored by the two soldiers), Patricia wept and stumbled over saying a desperate, pleading prayer. One soldier held her in place while the other affixed the noose around her neck and tightened. They each stepped away.

Elliot didn't quite have a good angle on Commander Goldsmith, the fat officer surrounded by a contingent of men beside the gallows platform. That was alright. Elliot was anticipating that, and ensured he had the best view possible of the more important target.

The rope.

As a hushed anticipation swept over the onlooking crowd, as the executioner prepared to throw the lever to drop away the trap door beneath Patricia's feet, Elliot took aim with his Black Bow. He had to be true. Patricia was much more than a young woman accused now. She would become a symbol.

Dark green and gray magic gathered about Elliot's hands, and he loosed his arrow. The arrow morphed in flight to become a spear of Bone, flying nearly twice as fast. The executioner threw the lever and the trap door tumbled away from Patricia's feet yet before her fall had even begun in earnest the Bone Arrow sliced through the rope, leaving only the severed noose dangling from her neck. Patricia hit the ground beneath the gallows and the Bone Arrow impaled an Obanese soldier whose misfortune it was to be standing in the projectile's trajectory.

And thus the ambush had begun. The soldiers, a good half of the townsfolk, Commander Goldsmith and the Arbiter, all were caught by surprise. Rebels in the crowd drew concealed weapons. Doors and shutters from buildings surrounding the Square burst open, bows and crossbows and slings readied.

Shouts of alarm and screams of panic sailed into the air.

Khari

 

[Khari]

Khari moved as soon as the rope dropped.

The Daemonette was like a blur. She darted from the roof top in an instant, landing upon the ground and rushing through the cloud like liquid smoke. She slipped through the press of people, avoiding soldiers, civilians, and rebels alike.

Most did not even notice her.

Screams and panic began to take those around her. The sound of drawn blades and slashed throats echoing out as Chaos began to bloom from the seed sown by Elliot.

Khari ignored it all, just as they had planned. She could fight, the daggers nestled against her abdomen would prove that before long, but that wasn't her part in this. Not yet anyway. She rushed through the crowd, and then finally made it to the executioners platform.

Two steps and she threw herself up onto the wooden gallows.

The executioner whirled around to face her, his head obscured by a black hood. In his eyes he could see the panic, confusion, but his hands moved towards the axe hanging from his belt. Before he could grasp the weapon Khari's dagger flickered forward.

A silvery blade slashed through black cloth and pale skin, blood spurting from the man's throat as he collapsed like a rag. "Take my hand!"

Khari shouted at Patricia as she offered her palm through the gap in the platform.

 

[Elliot Aldmar]

What the rebels didn't have was superior arms, armor, and training.

What they did have was speed, surprise, and numbers.

As Khari had mentioned during the palaver three days ago, cutting off the head of the snake was ideal. Men without clear leadership and freed of the fear of reprisals from the authorities ruling over them were far more apt to be self-serving. And here, self-serving meant surrender, if these soldiers felt strongly that any chance at victory was lost.

Yet cutting off the snake's head was a difficult task. Urgen Goldsmith was a large man, and Elliot did have a good vantage, but the Commander was in the midst of chaotic melee (civilians fleeing every which way, pockets of soldiers and rebels fighting instead of any discernible frontline). Elliot loosed three more Bone Arrows from his window, aiming for Goldsmith each time but missing as foot soldiers instead stumbled into the line of his fire. One Bone Arrow penetrated all the way through a soldier but had lost enough momentum that it bounced harmlessly off of the back of Goldsmith's breastplate.

And that was all he had time for. Goldsmith's retinue was urging their commander away to relative safety. Going in the direction of Fort Perseverance, Elliot noticed. They might try for a fighting retreat back to the strongpoint of the Fort. Elliot, Khari, and the rebels had to make sure that didn't happen.

On that front, they had help. Off in the distance, Elliot saw them. James Farson's big surprise. The aid Elliot had secured by fulfilling his bargain with Farson in dealing with Captain Leona. They were coming.

Elliot smirked. Then turned and hastily started down the stairs of the building he was in. Khari and Connor might need help on the ground with Patricia.

* * * * *​

Connor Blomgren, seeing Khari leap onto the gallows platform, climbed up it himself. They needed to get Patricia out of there.

Take my hand!

Patricia, still with her wrists bound together and with a black cloth bag cinched shut over her head, squirmed on the ground, illuminated by the trap door's opening. "Wha...? Where are you!? Help, I-I can't! I can't move my hands!"

"Patricia!" Connor called down to her. "Don't worry, we'll—"

A crossbow bolt burst out of Connor's forehead. He went rigid, his arms spasm for a moment, eyes fading quickly out of focus, and then he toppled over the edge of the gallows platform, his weathered old boots likely the last thing Khari saw of him.

An Obanese soldier, some twenty meters away and with a line of sight up onto the platform, had his eyes fixed on Khari as he was reloading his light crossbow. He intended to do his duty, to fire again, to kill the hellish-looking woman who had thrown her lot in with the rebels.

Khari

 

[Khari]

Connor toppled, hitting the deck first and then sliding to the ground.

Khari let out a quiet curse as the soldier lowered his crossbow, another bolt quickly flickering into his palm and slapped into the weapon. The Daemonette shifted, and without even a second thought pulled herself through the gap within the stage.

She tumbled, using a hand to catch herself and land on the ground with a mute thud directly behind Patricia.

A blade flickered into her palm. Rope binding her hands was severed, and she hissed in the woman’s ear. ”Move!”

In the middle of her sentence the loud twang of the Crossbow once again rang out. The bolt flickered, the soldiers having bent low to aim at the two women. A loud thud rang out as the bolt struck one of the wooden pillars just to the side of Khari’s head.

Her fingers curled in reaction, the red lines on her face pulsing.

Then she remembered. Another curse, and then she grabbed Patricia and shoved her forward. The would be dead woman reached up, tearing off her blindfold and letting out a whimper as she saw the Daemonette’s face. ”Go!”

Khari reiterated as the two of them ran out from beneath the gallows and rushed into the chaos of the crowd.