Order Of The Black Rose

[Avacyn 1706]

"It's good that you would not accept those who would be enemies of our Holy Empire into your nation. That would just worsen our relationship right now, yes? But of course, he is also undermining your words. He shall be dealt with accordingly, I assure you. Now... give him here, and we'll bind him, eh?"

Rorik brings out a length of tight, tough rope, and prepares a knot to keep the man's hands bound in anticipation.

[Baconthief 672]

Khel assist in the tieing of his hands. He grips his forearms and holds them in place as the knots begin to tie. Once finished he stands back and looks to him. He removes a stand of white hair from his eyes

"Your name noble son of Horen? So I may refer to it as proof that this organization was swiftly dealt with in its infancy."

Khel hands over the prisoner and returns to malinor with his comrades

[MetaSolaray 242]

Remained silently in the rear of the guard, his eyes blinking only when the body needed it as he stood at attention, till it was time to depart.

[Free The Hobbits 859]

"My words just go through all of you..."

[Free The Hobbits 859]

((So, anyone from Oren in power care to respond?))

[ayresalex 517]

"Can we hang him?"

[Free The Hobbits 859]

"Uh no?"

[ScreamingDingo 17115]

"Yeh should shut yeh mouth yeh filthy tree'ugger... We can decide tah burn yeh violently or hang yeh peacefully..." Terryn shakes his head as he approaches the group, his hands clasping together and going behind his back as he looks at Davis. "Shall I ask yeh a question? Do yeh believe in the Creator, filthy creature?" Terryn stares blankly at Davis as he awaits a response, the large imposing emblem of the White Rose on Terryn's tabard

[Free The Hobbits 859]

"I do believe in the creator, do you think we all have similar beliefs?" 

[ScreamingDingo 17115]

Terryn nods his head, thinking to himself as he scratches his beard. "Shall the Creator find room for you, another soul may depart for the Creator today. Terror you have tried to bring upon us, terror we shall bring upon you 'Criminal' ." Terryn walks around the man, eyeing his appearance and features. He stops abruptly and raises his hand towards his chest, tracing a Lorraine cross on tabard. "Get timber and barrels of liquids that burst into flames when they're in contact with them, I think we needa send a fawkin' message 'bout us. How not tah try and copy us or even oppose us on our bloodeh own grounds. We're burnin' filth today boys..." He waves his hand as Unoathed soldiers run around the camp, gathering the necessary materials

[Stevie 1598]

Thomas rides past the scene on his mailed horse, he was informed prior of the situation, and with a simple wave of his hand he speaks to Terryn as he passes, "Burn 'im."

 

The Grand Marshal spoke, and rode on. Not bothering himself with it any longer.

[Warwick 12]

Aureas laughs, staring at the prisoner as he clicks a flint and steel together, sparks flying.

[Free The Hobbits 859]

"Tis' better to go out with fire than to simply fade out no?"

[ScreamingDingo 17115]

"And ye're not comin' back, Terror ye 'ave dun has gone far ploughin' enough!" Terryn waves his hand as the rest of the Unoathed prepare the timber and the pole that lies next to it. "Get sum salt too, with a nine o' tails..." Terryn turns around as Davis is dragged towards the pole by the soldiers, they outstretch his arms and put them behind him. One of the unoathed grab nails and a hammer, with the others holding his hands in place. The first nail slams through the flesh of the first palm, blood trickling out as the nail is continued to be hammered. The nail rips through the first hand, now going into the second. Terryn walks over, his hands behind his back as he looks down at Davis. "Are yeh enjoyin' dis lad?"

 

Terryn raises his hand for silence as the Unoathed soldiers smile, looking up at Terryn. "He's been secured Sir, anything else you want to do?" Terryn shakes his head as he looks at Davis, his face scrunched with pain as he looks to the Unoathed soldier with the hammer. "Pass meh dah bloodeh hammer." The soldier passes him the hammer. Terryn twirls the hammer in his palm, shaking his head as he whispers to himself. "Raise da bastard..." The unoathed all raise the pole, it standing upwards as five men hold it. Terryn walks forward, his gauntlet wrapping around the wooden grip of the hammer. "This is so yeh dun ever ploughin' 'ave aneh filth like you!" He growls as he swings the hammer towards Davis' groin, a large smack is heard. Terryn waves his hand as the Unoathed lift the pole, carrying it towards the pile of wood, all to wait for the order to be lit. "Who wants tah rid da scum ov' dis world and send a filthy soul for da Creator's judgement?"

[SteelMarshall 190]

Amluhan, Drengr of Holmstrom, watches the commotion as he sits upon a roughly hewn bench, a low fire crackling under a small cast iron pot, steam rising from its contents. The weathered and intimidating man rises slowly as Terryn shouts gruffly to see if any want to execute the elven prisoner, who is nailed upright. Amluhan steps forward, slowly and purposefully, shouldering past footmen gathering wood. He holds one gloved hand out, as a soldier hands him a stave of wood wrapped in alcohol-soaked linen. His other hand is nestled under his worn belt and the fabric of his muddy tabard, clutching a small, oak-carved figurine, what his wife had made for him when they had been in orcish captivity.

He had his doubts as he stepped forward, still not having spoken a word. Maybe he was wrong, maybe... maybe the elves weren't terrorists, that they weren't out to kill his people and take what little he had left. He faltered, almost dropping the unlit torch. He then saw the prisoner raise his head. Despite his fate the prisoner seemed at peace, his posture aloof as someone nailed to a log could be. His fair elven face seemed to sneer at the dirty humans around him. Amluhan remembered that the dark elf who had clapped him in irons had worn that same small, cruel grin. He heard in his mind the tinkling laughter that had followed, as he had fallen to his knees in shock and pure anguish as he saw his dead child lying inside the burning barn that had been their home.

Amluhan clenched his fists until his knuckles turned white, his usually forboding and stern face made frightening and unsettling by his cold and focused anger. He turned the torch slowly over a brazier standing near a wealthy noble's tent, his chilling stare unbreaking from the elf. He stepped forward slowly, deliberately, and held the torch mere inches from the fair face of the wicked individual before him. He knew, as Drengr of the Ulfhaedyn's, he had the authority to end the elf now. However, out of respect, he waited for Terryn to give the final order. He also wanted to prolong the prisoner's suffering as long as he could. For him, it was and always would be, personal.