Part 19 - Funeral for a bard.
The following day dawns with the sky a mass of dark cloud limned in crimson against the sunrise. Thunder grumbles faintly in the distance, and rain lashes Crossroad in fitful squalls, making the ground even muddier.
The executions are over quickly - nobody (not even the condemned) feels like hanging* about in the cold rain and the gusty, biting wind.
Colwyn mutters sulkily, "This is bein' what my ol' ma was callin' a lazy wind, on account as it's cuttin' straight through a body, 'stead of goin' roun' 'im." He pulls his cloak tighter, and shivers miserably.
The condemned men are sitting on two horses beneath an oak tree, their hands bound behind them, and a noose around each of their necks. They are watched carefully by several guards, two of whom hold the reins of the horses.
The chief magistrate reiterates the sentence, and declares that the cult of Orcus is, forthwith and forever, barred from Crossroad upon pain of death. Then the horses are led away, leaving their burdens dangling in the wind. Those citizens who had attended the execution (and there are many, free entertainment always being worth the cost of admission) are back in the hovels before the corpses have stopped swinging.
*OOC: Yes, that was a joke. You may laugh out loud now.
This message was last edited by the GM at 15:14, Sun 26 Nov 2017.