RP:Blood Eagle

Part of the Surface Tension Arc

Synopsis: After discovering Zendor to be a traitor and defeating him in battle, Hildegarde takes Zendor back to Frostmaw to deliver a grisly justice. Tylania weeps for Zendor.

(Googling Blood Eagle not recommended for the faint of heart.)

Path of Bones

Hildegarde staggered backwards until she fell onto her back with Zendor sprawled upon her body. The woman lay there for a long moment, groaning as her body aches and the blood collects in her armour; oozing from that entry point at her armpit. Yet suddenly she remembers the traitor in her lap, the traitor who she had called a friend. With a snarl, the woman suddenly jerks so his body must slide off of her own and she can surge to her feet only to lean down and grasp the front of his tunic. Lifting him up a bit, she whips his helmet off his head and cracks her fist squarely against his forehead. Not enough force to kill, but enough to knock him out cold. Kovirsson and company have defeated Zendor’s gathered men and approach the bloodied Steward, “Do we go on or do we stop?” they asked of her; asked of their commander. “Proceed. Destroy the supplies, then get out of there. Aramoth protect you,” she wished upon them, “I’ll take this traitor back to Frostmaw. Justice must be doled out.”

Frostmaw Arena

Hildegarde had not bothered to have her wound tended to nor even wash up. She had journeyed straight from that bone ridden path to the arena of Frostmaw with her prisoner in hand. The man she had once called friend, whose company she had enjoyed and relished in… it felt so strange to look back upon it. If she looked too deeply, would she see falsehoods in their friendship? It was not a thought the woman could bear. No, better to retain the better memories. Better to keep them free of the taint of this treason. Zendor had been stripped of his armour and helm, the wound on his thigh bound tightly to limit the blood loss. On either side of Zendor stood a wooden post, to which hempen rope held his wrists up, though not terribly tightly. He could sag a little. The Silver leaned upon her halberd, waiting for the elves to gather and bear witness to their vengeance.

Zendor came to consciousness during the journey to Frostmaw, but had to keep himself from passing out again due to the loss of blood. Sometimes he did, or nearly. He dreamed he was at peace; nothing to hide, nothing to fight for, nothing to lose. Then he would wake up and face the terror that was facing your death. He thought of pleading, of saying anything, but whenever he saw Hilde, there was nothing worth saying. One tear rolled down each of his cheeks. One for his life, and one for his shame. When they stripped him of his armor, he was in the dingy clothes he always wore, but it made him feel wretched and undignified. At least they could see his drow slave collar now. Maybe before they could've helped him somehow, but not now. As his wrists became tangled to the posts, his breaths grew deeper and more rapid. He closed his eyes refusing to face his victims, too scared of how they would look when they knew what he really was.

Tylania had caught wind of hildegardes and Zendors fight back in the tavern, leaving nymh and flying out immediately after, she came face to face with a crowd of elves, people asking for his blood. She saw the woman she was beginning to recognize as hildegarde walking with zendor. He looked awful. Tears pricked the back of her eyes, she had known what he had done, but it didnt matter, to her he was simply a dear friend. And she was about to lose him. She wasnt naive, she knew that treachery meant death, but her mind raced for a way to stall it, to prolong his life by even a few seconds. He had helped her so much, but now she would stand helpless at his execution. If ever there was a time to repay debts it would be now.

Hildegarde pressed the halberd down into the ground so it would stand independent of her. The woman moved towards Zendor, drawing the blood-stained Oathkeeper from its sheathe so she might cut at his tunic until it was removed and left his chest and back bare. “Zendor… is a traitor! He lied. He worked for the drow and sought to destroy the elves from within. I thought him a better man, but I too was lied to. And so he will face his punishment and the elves will be granted the justice of Aramoth! Almighty Aramoth will shed no mercy nor tears for Zendor today. But if he is a true man, a true warrior with a shred of dignity and worth… he will not cry nor bemoan his punishment, thus finding himself welcomed into the halls of Aramoth,” the Steward decreed to the arena where many elves had gathered to bear witness. They had no sympathy for his tears. The knight stooped down and spoke some hushed words into Zendor’s ear, looking sorrowful as she straightened her posture once again. “Aramoth have mercy on you,” my friend she wished to say, “for Frostmaw will not.” The woman gripped her blade ever tighter and closed her sole eye for only a moment. What would Kirien think of her now? Would he hate her for what she must do? The tip of her blade pressed against the soft skin of Zendor’s back, pricking the flesh and forcing that precious crimson fluid to well up from the site of the wound. The Silver pulled the blade up from the small of his back right up the length of his spine until it reached the side of his shoulder blade. A short pause before the same line was made on the opposite side of his spine.

Zendor listened intently to Hilde, probably the last words he would ever hear. He decided to commit himself to be in good standing before Aramoth. He never knew him in life, but now that he was facing death he prayed for the strength. He saw Tylania and instantly grew sorrowful, wishing she would never have seen him like this. It didn't matter, he made his choices, and now had to face the consequences. Everybody would some day. He balanced straight as he could on one leg, and nodded once more to the crowd that despised him before Hildegarde plunged her blade into him. He exhaled forcefully, and stifled his cries under a choked cough. As she dragged the blade up his back his mouth hung open, and the color fell away from his face and he began a low moan. By the time she stabbed his other side, he was already hanging limp, struggling to keep his eyes open as blood and drool fell from his lips onto his chest and the ground. After that there was no more breath, only a short gurgle and a blank stare. His body convulsed weakly, legs, arms twitching. In a moment he hung dead by his wrists.

Hildegarde had anticipated that Zendor would die from blood loss rather than the actual method of execution itself, so she says not a word on the matter. Instead, she carries on the punishment to his now fresh corpse. Her sword saws through the ribs of his ribcage before she casts her sword aside, her hands pressing into the cavity in his back so she could wrap her hands around his still warm lungs and pull them out through his back to hang over his shoulders; splayed like fleshy red wings as they oozed with blood and gore. With a grunt, the woman took a step back and stared at his freshly dead corpse. “The traitor is dead. Peace is restored to the elves in this matter.”

Tylania watched it, it was like a train wreck, she didnt want to watch it, but she couldnt look away. She caught his gaze for only a moment, and in that moment she felt something inside of her break. Not her heart though, more like her sanity, her decency. Watching him lay there, twitching on the ground she had two emotions build up in her. A great, ovewhelming sadness to the events. So much so it felt crippling, she grabbed her chest, and fell to her knees. The next emotion was what scared her the most, it was giddy, a happiness, and she didnt understand. She looked at his dead body, and in a way wanted to run to it, to shake him awake and tell him he would make it. But if she looked long enough she would see that his eyes were already dead, and he was already gone. No tears fell for the man though, she just knelt there, watching his body grow cold.

Hildegarde undid the rope around Zendor’s wrists and let the body fall to the ground. “Mikael,” she called, watching as the giant of the Queensguard swiftly approached and joined her next to his corpse. “Have a pyre made for the body. He did not cry out. He restored some honour. Give him an honourable funeral,” she bid the giant, watching as the giant dipped his head in acknowledgement and made to scoop up the body to prepare it for the funeral rites. Better to have the body seen to than let the people gawk any longer. The Silver sighed heavily and lifted her short-sword and halberd, thinking it would be best to retreat to the fort and assess the victory of the day.