northclifflogs | Event: June 1312

WHO: the town of Northcliff Pass and their new friends
WHAT: the Shepherds have returned
WHEN: early June
WHERE: the town square
NOTES: oh this gonna get real gnarly yall

The month has been quiet, cheerful even, with the snow melting away in its entirety and giving way to the beautiful sunny weather with which Northcliff Pass is blessed this time of year. It will last a few months like this: high-70’s, a light breeze, flowers blooming and birds singing, until it’s time for winter to reclaim the mountain again. But in the meantime, all is bucolic.

It’s a pity a damper is thrown onto it when, one evening, the two Shepherds return from the pass. They’d been gone long enough for everyone to more or less put them out of mind-- people do come and go, after all-- but when they come back they have a third traveler, and he looks rather worse for wear.

The Watch bell is rung, and all townspeople are summoned to gather in the fountain square. The Shepherds stand in front of the town hall with their shivering charge between them, waiting stoically for the townsfolk to gather.

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If anyone else thinks of saying something against the Shepherds, the look on Deron's face ought to quickly advise against it. His eyes are narrowed, scowl deep on his face; he looks like one of his hunting birds, ready to strike on the crowd of watchers. Deron is a pious man and everyone knows it; he's plenty likely to drag the next naysayer out by the throat.

The Shepherd doing most of the talking narrows his eyes as someone is dragged from the crowd, but upon seeing that it's by the Watch, takes little more notice of it.
Satisfied that he has the attention of the onlookers, he turns to walk back to the accused, dragging his head up by the hair to face the crowd.

"Have you any final words?" the Shepherd asks.
"I--" gasps the prisoner, "I loved her. Please--"

The Shepherd shakes his head, and motions to the other, who withdraws a wicked-looking blade from a sheath on his belt and draws it across the prisoner's throat without preamble.

"Funny," comes a grumble under Ben's breath, "usually they burn them." He seems otherwise unbothered, his gaze hard as he blows out a stream of smoke.

Not even going to the trouble of hanging him.

If you're going to kill someone, you should at least have to work for it.

But then Ben speaks, and Colin feels cold. It could be much worse than a clean, lazy cut. It could be shrill screams and the smell of burnt flesh and hair. He gives Ben a pale, horrified look, but makes no sound. He wants to get out of here. Please let this be over.

Johanna watches with the rest of the crowd, her expression grim and terrible. She did not speak to them when last the Shepherds were here, it was easy to forget them. This, however, she will not forget. It is so very lucky that this caught her unawares, that she did not expect such a terrible spectacle to take place in this little town--had she known ahead of time...she would likely be dead as well.

The man sputters, chokes and drowns in his own blood, and eventually slumps to the ground. Johanna watches the whole ordeal, every moment, until the light leaves his eyes and he has passed from this world. She cannot feel her hands, nor her feet, and her limbs are weighted down with shock. It is lucky, that, or she might've done something rash before they permitted them all to leave.

Hopefully no one is standing too close to the scene of the accused's exsanguination. Gouts of arterial blood splatter aggressively across the cobblestones, albeit with diminishing returns.

"The gods shall always take back what is theirs," he observes quietly.

(Is he speaking to the corpse, or to the Shepherds? Who knows.)

"Thanks for that."

(puff)

"So this is Northcliff Pass, then--?"

Said below the average height of the crowd, and under the speaker's breath, the question's a tinge of what have I gotten myself into? to it.

It isn't every day you walk into town and find they've just slaughtered a pig in the town square in front of a crowd of murmuring onlookers.

At least, Vervain hopes that's what the smell is. And the sounds. And the...strange absence of the townsfolk everywhere else in town that had sent him searching for them still in his travel dust.

(It probably isn't a pig.)

Bewildered by the question, Ben turns to look behind him and wrinkles his nose at what he sees.
"Are you joking," he says flatly, and it's difficult to tell if the question is in earnest or not. An idiot walks up to an execution wearing a blindfold and asks where he is, it feels like a setup.

Looking disgruntled at the comment would require Vervain was gruntled in the first place--but all he's got at the moment is a vexed bewilderment.

"No--" His tone's polite enough for all that; Gram'd expect as much. "Only I'd not been asking anyone in particular."

Given the reception or lack thereof, he probably ought to shut his mouth there; but curiosity, as ever, gets the better of him. "What's happened?" he asks in an undertone, head angled in roughly Ben's direction.

A roll of his eyes and a scoff is Ben's response at first, but when it occurs to him that perhaps the fellow isn't joking, and actually can't see, he realizes how useless that motion will be.

"They just offed a Profane," he mutters, folding his arms tightly.

"They just offed a Profane."

Definitely wasn't a pig, then. Vervain's expression goes briefly slack with shock; less the they just executed a man in public sort and more they've got enough Profane around here to off sort. (Though there's enough of the former; he was scarcely old enough to watch the last time anyone had gotten wrong enough with the law in 'Thwaite to deserve execution over exile.)

"Gods protect us," he mutters at last, signing himself against evil as he does, "and wash away the poor creature's sins in blood."

"Mm." The grunt sounds unenthused, dismissive even, and Ben looks forward again at the now-dispersing crowd. "Good luck with that."
Now that they have permission to leave this vile place, he turns and goes without another word to the blind stranger.

"Oh," Leala all but squeaks. It's not the first time she's seen an execution, but it's the first time she's been this close- close enough to really see, to smell it, to feel-

All of her sways. She screws her eyes shut, trying to breathe, but she's definitely about to pass out.

Waen , for one, is glad he has left his dogs at the shop. They're well trained, but he's not sure how they would have reacted to this sight. Probably not as delicately as Leala who squeaks and manages to pull his attention from the gore in front of them. She sways precariously and Waen very nearly dives for her. He grabs her by the shoulder and, when she goes limp, wraps the other arm around her back.

At any other time holding her this closely and with his hands placed so precariously would be a bit on the improper side. As it is, Waen's expression just maintains it's unhappy severity as he waits to see if he needs to pick her up or if she'll bounce back.

She hasn't hit the ground.

As dizzy and ill as she thinks, Leala is distantly thankful for it. The ground wouldn't be particularly comfortable. Certainly not as comfortable as- as...

Oh.

"I wasn't expecting any of that," she offers, and the sway that had been present in her body is clear in the waver of her voice. "Thank you."

Not that she's moving just yet, mind you; she still hasn't gotten her eyes open.

Event: June 1312

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ಠ_ಠ

hENLO

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