Post by Tobias Scylding on Aug 20, 2007 14:53:01 GMT -5
Tobias had watched the sun rise, pale and watery, through the bars of his cell. He hadn't slept that night, a good nights sleep seemed of little worth when it was your last day alive.
The chill morning breeze that blew in from the sea had carried the scent of brine and Tobias had breathed it in deeply, savouring the scent that had been his succour all his harsh life. The smell of the sea, his only mistress.
The morning had passed slow and heavy, each second a lifetime. When death came like this, it seemed it liked to take it's time. His last meal had been served, hardly the manna of the immortal realms, greasy meat and limp vegetables. Tobias had refused the ministrations of a priest or priestess, preferring to spend his last moments without the empty platitudes of someone who would then merrily return to their comfort and life.
There had been no great musings on life in Tobias' last hours. He wasn't one for philosophising, his life was what it was and this end was more or less one of an inevitable few that he had imagined. His only regret was taking sail under Captain Vamir, but seeing as it wasn't a mistake he'd get the opportunity to repeat or rectify, there seemed little point in bleeding his heart over it.
And now he stood, hands bound, in the back of a rough wooden cart that was rumbling it's way toward the fortress gates, the sounds of the people outside, muffled and dulled by the thick wood. He was dressed in his finest regalia, all black and red and shining buckles and buttons - every inch the fierce picture book pirate. His jaw was clenched in a tight grim line and though his face seemed indifferent, there was a wild light in his eyes. His heart beat fiercely and the blood that raced through his veins was pure adrenaline, a powerful mixture of anticipation and defiance.
The heavy wooden gates of the fortress swung open and his ears were instantly assailed by the noise of the crowd, ten times louder now. It seemed that his reputation preceded him. The short run down to the scaffold was lined with people of all ranks and station, the wealthy jostling for shoulder room with the poor to glimpse the condemned.
He glanced at the faces that lined the way, seeing both a ravenous, voyeuristic excitement in some and a shinning light of adoration in others, lost in some romantic notion of piracy and high adventure. He heard cries of derision and yells that justice was served mingled with shouts of support, blessings for serving up justice to the wealthy and even declarations of undying love as ladies fluttered handkerchiefs or threw flowers.
A wry smile touched the corners of Tobias' mouth. Both sides had it so terribly wrong, there was nothing just about his death just as there was nothing romantic about his life.
The cart rumbled on and reached the edge of the square where the wooden scaffold had been constructed, the black hooded executioner, a priest and naval official already stood on the platform, awaiting his last steps.
As tradition dictated, someone from the crowd pushed forward and shoved a tankard of ale in to his hands. He raised it to his lips, downing the contents in one and saluting the crowd with his empty cup. He was rewarded with a roar of approval. The reckless grin, long absent during his stay in prison, reappeared. If there was one thing the city loved, it was a good death.
The back of the cart was dropped down and he was roughly helped down to his feet and shoved towards the scaffold.
The wooden structure cast a long shadow across the square. As Tobias climbed the steps a strange calm fell on him. His fate was in the hands of the gods now and there was nothing he could to stop it.
The chill morning breeze that blew in from the sea had carried the scent of brine and Tobias had breathed it in deeply, savouring the scent that had been his succour all his harsh life. The smell of the sea, his only mistress.
The morning had passed slow and heavy, each second a lifetime. When death came like this, it seemed it liked to take it's time. His last meal had been served, hardly the manna of the immortal realms, greasy meat and limp vegetables. Tobias had refused the ministrations of a priest or priestess, preferring to spend his last moments without the empty platitudes of someone who would then merrily return to their comfort and life.
There had been no great musings on life in Tobias' last hours. He wasn't one for philosophising, his life was what it was and this end was more or less one of an inevitable few that he had imagined. His only regret was taking sail under Captain Vamir, but seeing as it wasn't a mistake he'd get the opportunity to repeat or rectify, there seemed little point in bleeding his heart over it.
And now he stood, hands bound, in the back of a rough wooden cart that was rumbling it's way toward the fortress gates, the sounds of the people outside, muffled and dulled by the thick wood. He was dressed in his finest regalia, all black and red and shining buckles and buttons - every inch the fierce picture book pirate. His jaw was clenched in a tight grim line and though his face seemed indifferent, there was a wild light in his eyes. His heart beat fiercely and the blood that raced through his veins was pure adrenaline, a powerful mixture of anticipation and defiance.
The heavy wooden gates of the fortress swung open and his ears were instantly assailed by the noise of the crowd, ten times louder now. It seemed that his reputation preceded him. The short run down to the scaffold was lined with people of all ranks and station, the wealthy jostling for shoulder room with the poor to glimpse the condemned.
He glanced at the faces that lined the way, seeing both a ravenous, voyeuristic excitement in some and a shinning light of adoration in others, lost in some romantic notion of piracy and high adventure. He heard cries of derision and yells that justice was served mingled with shouts of support, blessings for serving up justice to the wealthy and even declarations of undying love as ladies fluttered handkerchiefs or threw flowers.
A wry smile touched the corners of Tobias' mouth. Both sides had it so terribly wrong, there was nothing just about his death just as there was nothing romantic about his life.
The cart rumbled on and reached the edge of the square where the wooden scaffold had been constructed, the black hooded executioner, a priest and naval official already stood on the platform, awaiting his last steps.
As tradition dictated, someone from the crowd pushed forward and shoved a tankard of ale in to his hands. He raised it to his lips, downing the contents in one and saluting the crowd with his empty cup. He was rewarded with a roar of approval. The reckless grin, long absent during his stay in prison, reappeared. If there was one thing the city loved, it was a good death.
The back of the cart was dropped down and he was roughly helped down to his feet and shoved towards the scaffold.
The wooden structure cast a long shadow across the square. As Tobias climbed the steps a strange calm fell on him. His fate was in the hands of the gods now and there was nothing he could to stop it.