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abraxaslogs2021-08-24 10:21 am
abraxasmods) wrote in abraxaslogs2021-08-24 10:21 am
Entry tags:
- !event,
- !npc,
- alucard; the hierophant,
- amos burton; the lovers,
- brad bakshi; the wheel of fortune,
- coraline finch; the tower,
- eponine thenardier; the hanged man,
- estinien wyrmblood; the hermit,
- geralt of rivia; the hanged man,
- gideon nav; strength,
- harrowhark nonagesimus; the magician,
- hector; the magician,
- himeka sui; the fool,
- homelander; judgement,
- jon sims; the high priestess,
- jordan hennessy; the moon,
- julie lawry; the wheel of fortune,
- kay faraday; the fool,
- kylo ren; the tower,
- lloyd henreid; the lovers,
- louis; death,
- majima goro; the hanged man,
- martin blackwood; the empress,
- nadine cross; the world,
- nero (drakengard); the devil,
- phoenix wright; the lovers,
- relena peacecraft; death,
- roland deschain; death,
- ronan lynch; the moon,
- sam wilson; justice,
- sasarai; judgement,
- stephen strange; death,
- yennefer of vengerberg; the chariot
EVENT #3: AN EXECUTION OF SORTS
THE EXECUTION
As if performing a vicious mockery for what should be a somber day, the sun shines brightly in the sky. The rays of sun catch the iron brackets that hold up the gallows that have been erected overnight for the occasion, the gentle breeze causing the noose to swing ominously. Public executions do not happen frequently in Thorne, so a crowd gathers in strained anticipation of the grim sentence.
The welcome guests, who have up until this point been free to come and go within the confines of the castle, have been mandated to view the execution. It is meant to serve both as an example of Thorne’s power as well as a lesson to those who might think to try the same. The courtyard, which was buzzing with quiet murmurs, turns silent as Ambrose strides up the wooden steps of the gallows, flanked by two guards and a haggard-looking Jonathan Sims, arms bound behind him. As the guards march their charge to the trapdoor that will serve as executioner and position the noose around his neck, Ambrose turns to address the crowd that has gathered- willfully or not.
“Citizens of Thorne, our esteemed welcomed guests, it is with disappointment and a heavy heart that we’ve gathered to see to the execution of one of the very guests we sought aid from in our time of need. In a selfish and distrustful act, I was attacked, an action I cannot abide.”
He turns halfway toward his charge. “Jonathan Sims, you are charged with assault and intention of lethal harm. The punishment is to be hanged by the neck until you are dead. May the gods have mercy on your soul.”
Ambrose raises his arm to signal the executioner to pull the lever to release the trapdoor beneath Jon’s feet, steely expression locked on the prisoner’s face one last time.
The welcome guests, who have up until this point been free to come and go within the confines of the castle, have been mandated to view the execution. It is meant to serve both as an example of Thorne’s power as well as a lesson to those who might think to try the same. The courtyard, which was buzzing with quiet murmurs, turns silent as Ambrose strides up the wooden steps of the gallows, flanked by two guards and a haggard-looking Jonathan Sims, arms bound behind him. As the guards march their charge to the trapdoor that will serve as executioner and position the noose around his neck, Ambrose turns to address the crowd that has gathered- willfully or not.
“Citizens of Thorne, our esteemed welcomed guests, it is with disappointment and a heavy heart that we’ve gathered to see to the execution of one of the very guests we sought aid from in our time of need. In a selfish and distrustful act, I was attacked, an action I cannot abide.”
He turns halfway toward his charge. “Jonathan Sims, you are charged with assault and intention of lethal harm. The punishment is to be hanged by the neck until you are dead. May the gods have mercy on your soul.”
Ambrose raises his arm to signal the executioner to pull the lever to release the trapdoor beneath Jon’s feet, steely expression locked on the prisoner’s face one last time.
MEANWHILE
Several miles away, atop a hill in the forest, two figures meet between portals. Oliver, tall and lithe, steps out to stand next to a petite waif of a woman who looks at him with a familiar smile. Her voice is lilting like a songbird’s when she speaks up, turning her gaze back over the city.
“Find out anything good?”
He hums softly, his hands clasped behind his back. “Two dozen prisoners, give or take. The one I met was very grateful for our assistance.”
“That’s good. Perhaps her gratitude will endear our cause to them.”
With a nod, he takes a deep breath and then sighs. “It’s time, Elizabeth,” he says, lifting one hand to open a new portal.
She nods and raises her arms above her head, eyes closing in concentration. Her arms begin to glow green while the grass around her begins to ripple in rings. The very ground seems to surge with power that radiates outward from her, and it isn’t long before the castle and the town are engulfed in a heavy air of intense magic. It courses from her in shockwaves.
Satisfied, Oliver steps through the portal.
In the wake of the magic flood, the walls of the dungeons seem to shudder for a long moment, and the doors suddenly clink open. No guards come rushing in to shut them, and in fact, all ambient noise in the dungeons seems to stop as the whole of the people of Thorne freeze in place. The hall becomes lit by daylight as a portal opens at the end of it, showing them the crowd of welcomed guests and Jon alone on the platform.
In the portal, alone stands Oliver, hand offered to the prisoners in welcome. His smile doesn’t reach his eyes, though this seems to be by nature rather than intention.
“Please come with me.”
“Find out anything good?”
He hums softly, his hands clasped behind his back. “Two dozen prisoners, give or take. The one I met was very grateful for our assistance.”
“That’s good. Perhaps her gratitude will endear our cause to them.”
With a nod, he takes a deep breath and then sighs. “It’s time, Elizabeth,” he says, lifting one hand to open a new portal.
She nods and raises her arms above her head, eyes closing in concentration. Her arms begin to glow green while the grass around her begins to ripple in rings. The very ground seems to surge with power that radiates outward from her, and it isn’t long before the castle and the town are engulfed in a heavy air of intense magic. It courses from her in shockwaves.
Satisfied, Oliver steps through the portal.
In the wake of the magic flood, the walls of the dungeons seem to shudder for a long moment, and the doors suddenly clink open. No guards come rushing in to shut them, and in fact, all ambient noise in the dungeons seems to stop as the whole of the people of Thorne freeze in place. The hall becomes lit by daylight as a portal opens at the end of it, showing them the crowd of welcomed guests and Jon alone on the platform.
In the portal, alone stands Oliver, hand offered to the prisoners in welcome. His smile doesn’t reach his eyes, though this seems to be by nature rather than intention.
“Please come with me.”
CHOICES
Everything is happening quickly.
Once through the portal to the execution yard there's a moment of chaos and confusion at the sudden arrivals and then it stops. Everything and everyone has stopped, save for the guests, the prisoners, and the two mages who have come to their aid. Guards freeze in place. The attended mages are still as statues. Banners lifted by the wind remain where they are and even the noose hanging from the gallows stills.
"Time for them is halted." Oliver addresses the assembled, his voice projected to be heard but his tone calm. "It will remain so for one hour, no more. An hour is all you have to make your choices. Remain here in Thorne, or take a portal to either Solvunn or the Free Cities. The portals cannot be traced by the Thorean authorities, so no need to fear them giving chase.”
Elizabeth emerges from a portal behind him, which closes as she enters the yard. They both raise an arm and two white circles spread through the air, showing new towns in the distance on the other side. There is an ethereal glow around them.
“The Free Cities are martially powerful and seek to destroy the Singularity,” Oliver narrates, gesturing at one of the portals. “Solvunn is reclusive and claims neutrality, both in politics and in regard to the Singularity. I advise that you think hard about your choice. Travel between cities is not exactly easy."
He turns back to the crowd with an almost apologetic smile. “I'm sorry you don't have more time to make this decision. We’ll meet again.”
Opening a third portal with the wave of her arm, Elizabeth, who has not spoken a word, gives the group a wink and leaves with Oliver. Their portal closes behind them, leaving everyone to begin making moves.
Now is the time to make serious choices. Two portals stand in the courtyard, one courtesy of Oliver and one of Elizabeth. The Free Cities and Thorne are enemies, Solvunn watching both to see where the cards end up falling. None trust one another, none work with one another beyond trade through middle-men in Solvunn. The clock is ticking.
Someone should probably get Jon out of that noose.
Once through the portal to the execution yard there's a moment of chaos and confusion at the sudden arrivals and then it stops. Everything and everyone has stopped, save for the guests, the prisoners, and the two mages who have come to their aid. Guards freeze in place. The attended mages are still as statues. Banners lifted by the wind remain where they are and even the noose hanging from the gallows stills.
"Time for them is halted." Oliver addresses the assembled, his voice projected to be heard but his tone calm. "It will remain so for one hour, no more. An hour is all you have to make your choices. Remain here in Thorne, or take a portal to either Solvunn or the Free Cities. The portals cannot be traced by the Thorean authorities, so no need to fear them giving chase.”
Elizabeth emerges from a portal behind him, which closes as she enters the yard. They both raise an arm and two white circles spread through the air, showing new towns in the distance on the other side. There is an ethereal glow around them.
“The Free Cities are martially powerful and seek to destroy the Singularity,” Oliver narrates, gesturing at one of the portals. “Solvunn is reclusive and claims neutrality, both in politics and in regard to the Singularity. I advise that you think hard about your choice. Travel between cities is not exactly easy."
He turns back to the crowd with an almost apologetic smile. “I'm sorry you don't have more time to make this decision. We’ll meet again.”
Opening a third portal with the wave of her arm, Elizabeth, who has not spoken a word, gives the group a wink and leaves with Oliver. Their portal closes behind them, leaving everyone to begin making moves.
Now is the time to make serious choices. Two portals stand in the courtyard, one courtesy of Oliver and one of Elizabeth. The Free Cities and Thorne are enemies, Solvunn watching both to see where the cards end up falling. None trust one another, none work with one another beyond trade through middle-men in Solvunn. The clock is ticking.
Someone should probably get Jon out of that noose.
no subject
Not after what he did, not after the mages had already decided his fate. Not after Homelander's blood was already rushing, waiting for the axe to fall.
cw: Homelander
No, he Looks at Homelander. Something larger than himself opens its eyes behind his, stares through Jon and into the so-called hero. From somewhere, there is a faint electronic whine, a hiss of tape.
“I don't have time,” he says again, “for your pretend heroics. Do you think you're impressing Ambrose? Now? After I walked right past you to go and interrogate him and you never blinked an eye? After you have failed over and over since you arrived here?”
Jon can see those failures, and so Homelander can too, vivid scenes playing in recent memory. But not only Homelander's memories. The altercation in the prison, that left Homelander with a bloody nose, the guards watching with snickers behind their schooled expressions. They'd gossiped about him later, laughing openly. His loss at the Festival, in a fight he'd expected to be an easy win. In front of so many people, both Thorneans and guests. The way they'd clapped for Snow.
“You think you were brought here to lead?” he asks, the question almost an accusation. “You were an accident, the same as any of the rest of us. Ambrose scarcely knows who you are. He would have been just as happy to get...” He takes a second, that gaze digging farther back, raking at Homelander's past. “Billy Butcher. Or the Deep. Or Madelyn.”
Jon's expression hardens.
“And she'd have been so glad to be brought here, taken out of your reach. Where she could stop letting you close to her. Stop walking that terrifying tight-rope of manipulating you to keep herself in power and manipulating you to keep herself safe. From. You.”
He makes Homelander feel it then, the way her pounding heart was terror, never love, the stiffness of her body whenever he touched her. The deep breaths she took to brace herself every single time he turned her way. Every time. From the first, to the last.
no subject
--on the tape recorder that's manifested there, the record button already depressed.
no subject
But he doesn't. The first few words sink in, brushed away as the desperate words of someone who was about to die. Painfully. For the sins he's committed, the main one being 'being too much of a asshole'. People would say all kinds of shit when they realized that their tiny lives were about to abruptly end.
But the more Jon talks, his voice low and almost hypnotic, slithering like slimy snails across Homelander's skin, the more he starts to hit on... he swallows thickly, hands clenching against his thighs as they drop down on their own accord. Jon just keeps talking, every word a fresh kind of poison, dripping filth in to his ear, pushing his fears in to his thundering heart.
Homelander gapes, blinking rapidly as blood rushes too hot and too hard in his ears. Fear, the soul-stabbing fear that someone, anyone would know about this- and someone like Jon? How could he possibly know? Did everyone know?
Shame floods him like being dropped in to ice water, terrifying and endlessly deep.
The last, most fucking horrible part, is the jack-rabbit sound of a heartbeat. He knows this, has had his head buried in Madelyn's amazing tits while he listened to it, her voice gentle and soothing in his ears and but it's not until Jon says it, spells it out, that he listens. The fear that drives that pulse so high, the metallic taste of terror laced through.
"What?"
He doesn't even look at Coraline, he just stands there, knees weak and feeling like he's about to throw up, tears gathering in the corners of his eyes.
"... how?"
no subject
“Before I make you feel what she felt, those last seconds. The fear, the hate, the sheer terror that you would kill her, or that you would hurt the only person she ever loved, and worst of all, that you would let her live and things would just go on as they had, with you in her life forever. The relief, at the very end. I think that's the worst part, Homelander. Go. And never let me see you standing in my way again.”
no subject
Again, like an echo, his emotions running wild, panic just under the surface. Jon knows, and for one bright, sharp moment, Homelander thinks about burning it all to dust. All of them; the welcomed and the prisoners, the thorneans that stand around frozen in time. Of just letting his lasers rush over everyone and-
Then what? He's be stuck here, alone. No one to talk to, no one to make his food or make that soft noise of sympathy when he needs it the most.
But for that one moment, it's almost too clear. How it would look if he just barbecued them all.
He blinks back tears, mouth working soundlessly for a second, eyes riveted on Jon's mouth. "Who knows, Jon?"
no subject
Can he do that? Jon honestly doesn't know. But he makes sure Homelander knows, knows to his core that he can.
no subject
Coraline's voice is quiet, firm, but her hand is shaking a little when she reaches to take Jon's hand, squeezes it a bit too tightly so her smooth-worn bark fingers end up pinching his skin.
"Stop it." She doesn't tug at him, but there's an intense edge to her eyes: there's no fear in them, but only because adrenaline and willpower are holding it firmly at bay. "We need to go. Now."
Her gaze flicks to Homelander, looking pathetic and defeated; she doesn't miss that he's crying. "He's not going to stop us."
no subject
This-thing- hissing truths, voice cold and dripping with scorn. Throat working, he says, "And if I let you go?"
Gaze flicking from Jon to Coraline, a crease between his eyebrows. "If I let both of you go, and not just you," he amends, "You will keep this to yourself?"
no subject
"All of us," he says, with a short nod. "You don't stop anyone from leaving here, and I don't share it."
And after that, he's not waiting, beginning forward again, simply expecting Homelander to step out of his way.
no subject