The Price of Love

[PrinceJose270 1211]

High upon the costal south, did a fellow curse child watch the ever setting sun. One of his own agents had just relayed such news of a old friend that he himself considered, Gusiams eyes only looked upon the still forming stars, Yet no smile beared upon the horned ones features, Instead, the tip of the mountain offered a harmless tremor As he looked back to the agent.

"And you are positive this is true?"

He'd only watch as a singular nod returns. The being looked back to the stars.

"They really had to say this was the work of their fallen god? To punish a tainted soul for finding redemption and love? How long will they call that sorry excuse they call a faith become nothing more then a blanket excuse to harm. They have never met what true gods are like, only the fallacies of scriptures of who knows wether its sources true or some crackhead wrote them out of sheer bordom. Yet last i check faith is ment to be rewarded, to go beyond to show you are not amongst the plagues of this world be rewarded."

A bolt of lightning struck only meters away into the sea, yet the being did not flinch. His eyes only returning to the agent.

"There is only so many times a person, a realm, a community or beyond can tolerate being whipped before they have nothing to lose. To face whatever then a repeat over and over...."Then he looked to see the suns full decent, and the moon ever so rises begind him. To such the lilies around the top glowed as a mark upon his back did too in a soft, moonlit glow.

"Keep me updated on this matter. llir. I have some things to take care of... The words of Idunia it seems are for show in some aspects."

And with a nod, the agent departed. The being only looked to his left, where no one was there. Yet a response was given.

"Let us hope he can still be redeemed...."

[JediMaestro 240]

"Will nobody have the courage to SPEAK?"

 

The whole wretched ordeal would not leave Solveig's head. It was like being trapped in a small room with a days-old body, a pervasive, all-consuming stench that sickened her to her stomach, leaving her to heave the contents of her stomach out, only to be sickened all over again when drawing her next breath. Still the noises of the past day rang in her ears: the shouts of the confused and angry crowd, the grating voice of the demon Iudas, the rough orders of the thugs standing around her husband, her babies' cries, her own sobs, the scream that Bron let out when the blade pierced his arm . . .

 

Solveig Skellig bent double in the small stool where she sat next to Bron's fitfully sleeping body, her arms reaching up to her hair, fingers lacing over her head to stop herself from pulling at the threads in sheer panic. It was dead of night in the clinic, the others long-gone, and still silence would not settle in around her. Still she was caught up in a cacophony of chaos, voices rising all around her, not only those she had heard today, but the voices that had whispered in her ear ever since the first time that her relationship with Bron had caused her husband trouble:

 

You are the cause of all his trouble. Without you in his life, he would have his horns, his hand, his squireship, perhaps even his knighthood by now. You have brought him only pain and suffering. Iudas claimed that your husband tricked you into falling in love, but it is the other way around. He is under your spell, and he will suffer until someone breaks it. If only you had died that night long, long ago, perhaps your Bron would have been happy. I can picture it now: a world where Bron wears the shining armor of a knight, beaming at his family all around him, while the corpse of a young Norlandic girl rots under the fresh-fallen snow far away-

 

Solveig refused to speak, to rebuke the voices, would not dare risk waking her husband, who so deserved his rest. Instead she stood abruptly, as if hoping that the noise roaring in her ears would become frightened and scamper away, would leave her in peace. Instead, as her body began to ache in memory of the long time spent standing, stumbling, clinging to Bron . . . in her silence, the memories only sharpened.

 

And yet, she thought bitterly, though the awful noises of the day would give her no peace, the moment that haunted her most was when her husband was dragged out into the square like a dog while his friends and family mutely raised their hands at Iudas like a bevy of schoolchildren dutifully appealing to their teacher. Sascha, Mereid, Owin . . . none would speak out, protest the horrific treatment, unless first called upon by the wicked Wick. In that moment, dumbstruck by the power that the rulers of Idunia still allowed this monster to exert over the flock he so blatantly relished dismembering, Solveig had stared around at them all; in horror, asking: "Will nobody have the courage to speak?"

 

There it was, at the crux of the matter, past the deafening noise of the public spectacle. There, in the heart of Idunia, an awful silence festered, growing more putrid by the second. Solveig remembered well the first confrontation with Iudas in front of the cathedral doors, after her and Bron's abortive flight from Idunia: when the rulers of Tir'Glas had bucked against the bishop's efforts, only to meekly bend the knee and allow the farce of 'penance' to continue unfettered. They had been silent then too, cowed as soon as their protests stood to put them into trouble.

 

Iudas had been, and continued to be, anything but silent. He was a prattling and foul-mouthed creature draped in the finery of a holy man. That he should continue to hold sway over even a single person, much less an entire nation's church, was enough to condemn the very robes he delighted in wearing. And to think that Solveig should now be forced to drape herself in that same cloth . . .

 

Solveig sat heavily once more. Twenty years of serving as a nun in service of the church she despised, who called it holy to mutilate and torment a good man trying to do the right thing. She clenched her fist in helpless anger, the nails re-lacerating the wounds only now barely beginning to heal. She relaxed her hand, lifting it to stare at it in defeat. Though she knew that she could have been demanded far worse in penance, Solveig wished desperately that that Magister had listened to her words, had been transfixed at the notion of spreading the pain he so loved to dole out, had taken her hand in place of Bron's.

 

A tear squeezed out from one corner of her eye. Again that awful notion assaulted her, which had reared its ugly head only hours before: the thought that never again would her and Bron's fingers interlock, feel skin against skin and palm against palm. Of course he had his artificial hand . . . but though Solveig would never tell Bron this, it was not the same, made her shudder a bit every time the cold metal touched her bare skin. 

 

The sound of a murmuring baby roused her from her reverie, turning to see the two twins peacefully sleeping in a corner of the room, none the wiser for the terrible things that had happened before them today, from which Solveig had done her best to shield their eyes. Andor and Muriel . . . there they sat, her first-born children: now destined to be her only children. Perfectly safe, they snoozed on, rescued from Iudas' attempts to wrest them from her bosom and bind them to a life of service to the church. Remembering the worry that had consumed her and Bron leading to this moment, Solveig felt a trickle of relief run through her. Despite the horror and the blood, their children were safe, and thus their future was preserved.

 

Looking down at Bron's sleeping form, which even now tossed and turned and let out small sounds of anguish, Solveig felt that same deep sense of love surge through her which had at many times propelled her into her husband's arms. Selfishly, even if it were true that she had caused every bad thing to happen to Bron, she would not change her first chance meeting with her beloved for the world - for he was her world.

 

Solveig felt resolve begin to take shape in her. If Idunia was filled with dreadful silence, then she would speak out all the louder for it. She would laugh, she would sing, she would trade jokes with her husband and loudly proclaim her love for him, and she would do the same for her children - all at the top of her lungs and without fear. To live in fear was something she had always spoken against, and she knew that above all else, this is what Iudas desired of her and of Bron: to cower in fear, too afraid to live their own lives. It was the very plague that rotted at the heart of Idunia. But this plague would not touch her family, no matter how much it stank and spread its deplorable odor to their doorstep.

 

On the bed of the Alduun clinic, stretched out next to her husband, Solveig Callaghan closed her eyes and, for one merciful moment or two--long enough for her to slip into the arms of sleep--she knew silence.

Edited January 11 by JediMaestro

[Mescaffier 6197]

"Just kill all the devils. They're devils, after all," remarked one aged Novellen to her husband, the, similarly ancient, Archchancellor of the Empire. She had grown ever more violent and wroth in her age. "It is a mercy to them. Shame upon whoever gave these fanged and horned beasts even a shred of hope that they may be civilised like us." 

 

She sneered, and stood to go light the incense sat upon their windowsill. "May the Lord GOD protect us from them – and their wicked offspring, and the licentious profligates that side with them. All of them, to the butcher's block."

@cadazio

[Aimy_lol 429]

This was all too oddly familiar to Mereid. Standing on the side of the room, next to the pews, her pale, blue eyes peered at those around and the sight of her older brother in front of the Magistar once more. Her gloved hands clasped together with firmness as it was used as restraint from the tension growing in the large hall. An air of caution engulfed her and stiffness stifled her as she stood on edge while the penances were announced, then a growing tremble in her legs as she followed the mass of crowds outside of the church and into the barracks. Penance.. Is it truly penance that is given or an act of what seemed to be righteous punishment? Penance should be of remorse of one's sins and their seek for repentance. It should be a journey of shaping one's self into a better person, a path down into the light, and a offerings of good deeds. One should not have been forced to be presented in front of a congregation to be judged upon. Penance is done in the act of seeking forgiveness. However, this penance was not like that and was much worse than before. Her gaze remained on the scene, unable to flicker away from the gruesome sight. The scenes of the mutilation of her brother's limbs left within her a distasteful feeling. Like pebbles and gravel grinding down to make concrete. Concrete understanding and proof of what the definition of mercy is in Iudas's eyes. There had been hope once in her youth that the Church would see the good in her brother, the hardships he had faced to prove his worth, and the battles he had gone through for not only himself, but for all the ones he loved and cared; for Idunia. All the hope she had and the only thing she could give, while she remained unable to move closer or to speak of a word in aid for her brother. Truly a day of turmoil.

[MrMojoMordor 2413]

Bon'Ox had known Bron when they were a young wannabe-knight.
When Bron was trying to find a way to save his soul from the fate his kind are destined to.
He offered Bron that - though for one reason or another, Bron had declined his offer to do it through Shamanism.
Decided to commit to Knighthood & the Tree-hugger ways of Garenbrig - the fanatic pro-imperialists.
He remembers sending a very strongly worded letter to Bron about that.
Or maybe he just wrote it, but forgot to send it - he can't remember.

The goblin takes a break from writing bills to the Garmont, to grab a drink at the Tavern.
The news of what had transpired reaches him, the Tavernkeeper sharing the rumor in a hushed tone.
The goblin takes a sip and answers:

 

Spoiler

Can't believe so many people saw things going awry early for Bron

 

[Gridlock 1033]

Spoiler

Out of sight but never out of the heart. We always support a chained dragons post with a +1

 

[johnnydeath6 229]

Wyllm sat himself upon a bench with in the city of Idunia, puffing upon a pipe watching as the smoke left his mouth and drifted into the air. He hadnt witnessed the events of the poor mans maiming, but he witnessed the aftermath, learning of it sickened him, he knew the cursed man was just a man at the end of the day. A noble soldier whod dedicated himself to the defense of his home, a man Wyllm respected, punished for attempting to start a family merely due to his race. With a grumble Wyllm tapped the pipe against the bench leaving a dusting of ash and soot from the pipes bowl as he stood and made his way home to contemplate.

[CasualNuker 1113]

On 1/11/2026 at 1:04 AM, JediMaestro said:

And yet, she thought bitterly, though the awful noises of the day would give her no peace, the moment that haunted her most was when her husband was dragged out into the square like a dog while his friends and family mutely raised their hands at Iudas like a bevy of schoolchildren dutifully appealing to their teacher. Sascha, Mereid, Owin . . . none would speak out, protest the horrific treatment, unless first called upon by the wicked Wick. In that moment, dumbstruck by the power that the rulers of Idunia still allowed this monster to exert over the flock he so blatantly relished dismembering, Solveig had stared around at them all; in horror, asking: "Will nobody have the courage to speak?"

Îlmârion Callaghan had stood watching the ordeal unfold from his position in the stands of the Holy Temple in Aldunn.. Îlmârion’s mind had been racing since the beginning of the proceeding of what the Magister would do to his brother. Unaware of the cruel punishment a penance could hold over his brothers head, he at first had hoped mercy would be granted but such was quickly brought to an end by the Magisters call to “Cut out his Tongue!”. His mind spinning as he looked around desperate for help to be had from a higher power as Ser Boromir his trusted mentor from his childhood jumped into motion to ensure Bron would be safe from such cruel punishment.. It was the beginning of a long day as Îlmârion would soon find out..

 

Hours would pass as the penance proceeding dragged out and before long Îlmârion found himself outside the Temple with the penance being served as “Cut his tail off and cut his right hand off!”  It was at this moment that he began to spring into motion himself to attempt to save Bronadrons ability to walk and be mobile in his own life. 
 

So Îlmârion Callaghan first bid the Former-Princess of Tir’Glas Safiyaa Glennmaer to call for mercy stating “If his tail is removed mich brother shall nae walk again in this life.” Then at her  beckoning he would seek out the High Chancellor Vourkehardt to petition her speaking the same words as before. “If Brons tail ist cut off he shall nae walk again!” It was at this that for the first and only time on that fateful evening that mercy was granted for the High Chancellor had spoken up levying the concern to the Crown-Prince of Idunia to steer the Magister away from such a horrific punishment for Bronadron Callaghan..

 

Despite his ability to petition the Higher Powers for such mercy to be granted his actions that were to be unknown, and not noted by his family.. Though in his heart he knew he had done the right thing for his family.