RP:Execution of Byron Cawdon
Present
- Executioner
- Sapheul [Guardian of Jacklin]
- Byron Cawdon [Condemned]
Location
Execution
Jacklin eases into the Cavern with torch held in right hand, spear drug behind her in the left. The warm glow of orange delicately lighting her roughed features with a dizzying dance of shadow and illumination. Maw was held thin and firm, lips revealing themselves as a thin white line as the Queen flicks a half-lidded gaze to where the two massive dragons sleep in the corner. Instruction had been given to, well, sedate the beasts and surely, she thought, Sapheul followed these simple orders. Elbow lifted in indication of the silver creatures as the familiar figure of Sapheul stepped around the small fire he built near the right side of the area. With a single, solemn cant of cranium the guardian crouched low on the balls of his feet with fingers curling behind him and jerking rudely toward the warmth of light a frighteningly young male. Dressed in a black tunic and beaten leather pants he looked up directly into the eyes of Jacklin, but never did he speak. Lips gaped as curly red hair flopped lazily into his eyes, Sapheul’s thumb and index finger curling around his neck as the faults of the boy were thrown out from memory, “Picked him up this morning from Cenril. Name of this one be Byron Cawdon. Lived down in the lower streets of Caledorem, yes? Boy stole from a prominent banker, then turned right around and stab that man in a second attempt with damn fire poker. He be in best medical place but they think him real ill.” As Sapheul rose in knowing position, Jacklin drew the thick black hood down to cover her face in a surefire sign of opening act.
Sapheul moved back from the Queen and prey a few paces to allow more ample space for the butchering to come. Boots kicked at the Caverns soft soil with the male looking much like a scorned child in the process. With lack of anything more to do the guard of Larket’s Queen took a cigar from the breast pocket of his shirt and bent down to set its tip against the fire. The now lit brownish roll was placed into the corner of his mouth with tongue acting as the guide and anchor. He was getting more used to this it appeared. His honey-eyed stare didn’t hold quite as much dread as they did in the earlier executions. In their private meetings, he no longer questioned Jacklin about what her role was for fear of another slap across the cheek. And when he walked the boards of Cenril’s pier it was with purpose. The swarthy-skinned keeper had a job which entitled him to a good deal of respect from others. And when he took charge of the unloaded poisoner, he did so with pride. At the thought he puffed out his chest slightly. His entire life had been normal up until this point. This was the apex, he knew. To serve a Queen he had grown to love and respect was what life had given him. But as he realized the black, sightless hood was directed toward him, he allowed the inflation of pride to dissolve. Jacklin wasn’t the type to coddle him for a job well done, but the small things were what mattered with a woman of her make. Stepping off to the right side of Jacklin he adjusted his eyes to her and waited. Waited for whatever the next gruesome move would be.
Jacklin suddenly rolled back the hood for a moment. The face of this boy familiar. In the far back trenches of memory she recalled a young woman of early acquaintance. A friend, she was. Living down the path from Jacklin and her family. This boy reminded her vaguely of the young girl known so long ago. Her father had even carved the girl a toy pony with small, wooden wheels. Funny how the mind held fast to memories that no longer mattered to a person. And, without a doubt, it no longer mattered to the Executioner. “I think I knew his mother,” she says aloud. Not that she expected a reply, but it needed to be released so that the mind could be cleared. Byron did not reply to this or even show any signs he had heard the words of Jacklin in the first place. Again hood was pulled over features and leather wraps tightened on her hands. Digesting the scene she eased down in front of the boy, resting back on legs as hidden sight wandered the vicinity until a plan could be made. Eventually idle hands stirred to life and grappled with the tunic covering Byron’s chest. Had anyone walked in during that very moment it would no doubt have been a puzzling scene. Here sat the fifty-year-old Executioner undressing a boy young enough to be her son’s son. If she had children, at least. Wrangling the cloth from over his head she roughly positioned his bare-chested body in front of her, “Best if be dark while the Executioner tasks.” Behind him was the burning fire. An ominous sign of what was to follow.
Sapheul lifted a wiry brow. It was a surprising new tidbit of information for the guard to obtain from the unnervingly private warrior. He had known she was from Caledorem, but he hadn’t exactly pictured her as a young girl. Or even having many female friends for that matter. It was a strange thing to imagine the Queen as a young girl growing up with friends and family. He certainly had a family, but this was different. Jacklin was an island. Islands weren’t supposed to have other islands near them. Not that he knew much about geography in the slightest bit. Knowing better than to answer her question with words, he gave the dull ‘mmhm’ in reply. Her next movements were even more odd than he expected. Jacklin calmly began to undress the boy. Or his upper-half at least. His own eyes darted upwards and over to the entrance of the Cavern in hopes that none would walk in on the three and think something horribly wrong was happening. Without movement or sound he watched the pair. Still thoughtful as to why the Executioner was removing clothing rather than cutting him from limb to limb. Sapheul wanted to ask. He wanted it more than the cigar currently rolling from corner to corner. But speaking would be breaking the code, he imagined. It was not a rule so much as something he knew after being sent a steely eye by the brawler upon his attempted conversation after her hood was lowered. As the Queen finished pulling tunic from body and positioning the boy before her, it was in that moment Sapheul realized her intent. Cyris, he prayed, let the screams drown his own.
Jacklin drank in the face of her old friend for a moment longer. It was for pity of what she was about to do, but for sadness she would not be the one to tell her friend she’d killed her son. How sad a thing it was. Leather-bound hand was pressed flat against the chest of Byron Cawdon before pressure was applied in one, quick motion. Down his head went into the fire with the back meeting embers head on. Switching her own position she climbed atop the burning boy with knees planted against his stomach to assure that he would remain in the fire and no attempt to free himself from the proverbial Hell he’d invited upon himself. The reason for tunic removed appeared to be for the Executioners own benefit. Flames would likely have leapt onto the woolen fabric and caught fire leave space between prey and predator. But here she had complete control over the body of young Byron. His screams of pain were ignored completely. The cries had lost their effect on Jacklin long ago. If she had halted each time a guttural groan had met her ears, then she’d have never got anything done murder-wise. But she wished for the sake of poor Sapheul that the boy would remain still and now wail so loudly. There she remained atop the writing body of the thief until his howls had ended. It had now been thirty minutes into the burning man scene and slowly the Executioner slid from the lifeless form of Byron. The smell of charred flesh enough to cause Sapheul to gag aloud. Jacklin disregarded the noise of her guard and slowly eased the head of Byron from the fire. Completely black and unrecognizable...just like she liked. Grasping the wrists of the dead boy she drug him to where the dragons were. Jacklin knew to be swift in this case, and so the body was released right beneath the maw of one slumbering beast before she receded, with quicker steps, from the Cavern. The sound of a dragons burnt treat being devoured with a snap of massive jaws.
Sapheul barely resisted the urge to stick his fingers in his ears. The sounds coming from Byron were not of a human, but of something else. Men changed in the face of death. And the sounds coming from the lips of his Queens prey held up that thought. Watching the maneuver of Jacklin he was reminded what she truly was. An Executioner. A woman, perhaps not built for this, but born to play this part. When in this practice he knew she was not his Queen. Not the Jacklin he had come to know over the weeks of time spend inside her office. How many people knew what she did within the thickets of Larket? As many as needed, he thought. As knees were planted into the abdomen of Byron he, despite the circumstances, cracked a half-grin at the sight of his master and her workings. Deliberate movements they were. It seemed as if the elder had practiced the moments in times before. As if there were classes to teach how to burn someone alive. Then, as if by an assassins magic, Sapheul breathed in the fumes of death. Hand immediately lifted to cover his mouth and nose. While he did suppress the bile rising in his throat, a cracking gag couldn’t have been helped. Expecting some sort of sharp reply from Jacklin he closed his eyes tight. Praying silently that the thoughts of his Queen would be so bright as to allow a gag to be overlooked. Hesitant lids fluttered before honey-pools came to life once more. Just in time to see the jaws of one silver dragon lifting Byron Cawdon into their mouth with a loud, jarring crunch of flesh and bone. Quickly Sapheul gathered any objects which might have been left behind and hurried from the den just as Jacklin had moments earlier.
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