Justice.

[lawnmowerman 3040]

JUSTICE

 

 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cNdB5-A9O7g

 

Justice. The word with a thousand meanings, ten thousand different malleable faces - twisted by one man; made different by the next. Yet it was on the lips of Rhys Roke - clenched amidst the rough fists of his hands. Earlier it had been hate, his wrothful nature manifest ‘pon the edge of a blade - the sweet steel tip. Now it was justice.

 

The pair of flaxen-haired youths had stormed through the halls of Dour Watch with fire in their eyes - matched by the Istriots of Sola and Capua. A hunt; a spark of disagreement, and then the roaring fire of conflict. Steel slammed into steel - sparks flew across the halls as a vicious battle was fought, one that ended with the fall of both Philips. Grazes covered the knight, yet far more vicious cuts adorned the youthful Duke.

 

A stifled scream, a muffled grunt - but the sound was there. Rhys’ calloused hands had shot beneath the table and wrapped themselves around the maid’s blonde hair, forcing her out from the hiding place and up into the air. The diadem of a Princess. Matted blonde hair, flushed red cheeks - the nervous stifled breaths of a girl that did not understand what she had seen.

 

Snarling lips, brooding eyes. Harsh words that poured forth as a torrent and the trio went forth to Peremont with haste in their step and fear in their eyes. The flower of Istrian nobility, wounded and almost broken by their own hands. Geldern loomed ever closer and on its walls the waitings forces of the Brotherhood; black on white, white on black. Arbalests and spears resting by the sides of jovial men, a sword at the hip of the Ashford who greeted them.

 

 

 

 

Their faces were not so jovial after he recanted the story - raised his fists to the skies and swore for vengeance upon their assailants. Spears were grasped and raised up high, swords loosened in their sheaths. A river of helmed soldiers, lines of men prepared to fight for justice - the testimony of the Princess the only justification that he needed.

 

Then, a letter. Worry and panic - his erstwhile enemy assaulted by another. Rendon Vimmark. The soldiers had departed - travelling to Luciensport with all the haste that could be mustered. Too late.

 

Too late, a pair of broken, bleeding bodies. The time for hate and fear and wroth had gone - it was a time for justice. The boy, a mere youth, had cut down the flower of Istrian nobility, and he should pay.

 

Such is justice.

[Aedrabani 66]

Rendon would smile, sipping from a hot mug of mulled cider during a break from sharpening his sword in an unnamed land.  "One down." he would mutter.  "Three more murderers to bring to GOD's justice."

 

He would smile, sliding the whetstone down the length of his blade.  "Eamon."  "Rhys."  "Aulfr."

[lawnmowerman 3040]

13 hours ago, Aedrabani said:

Rendon would smile, sipping from a hot mug of mulled cider during a break from sharpening his sword in an unnamed land.  "One down." he would mutter.  "Three more murderers to bring to GOD's justice."

 

He would smile, sliding the whetstone down the length of his blade.  "Eamon."  "Rhys."  "Aulfr."

 

Rhys Roke smiles the sun's smile as Rendon has clearly failed to execute any of the men on his hit list!

[CheekyNolan 5420]

Moved to the Archive. It shall be sorted into the appropriate category shortly.