RP:Execution of Ephram Higgins
Present
- Executioner
- Sapheul [Guardian of Jacklin]
- Ephram Higgins [Condemned]
Location
Execution
Jacklin approached from the eastern side of the river, mud and weeds clamping down around her footings with each step she took through the muddy path. It hadn’t aided much in the meeting place that rain had earlier in the day swept through. Several remaining droplets falling from the sky in odd increments, splashing down against both men and mud alike. As the sight of two silent figures came into view the elder warrior drew the hood down around her eyes with a nimble tug from leather-wrapped fingers. Sapheul hailed his Queen with a jerk of cigar between chapped lips. Fingers were closed down around the neck of a rather brutish looking male. His face cast downward, bushy brows nearly covering his eyes, “This one be Ephram Higgins. Caledorem portmen said he tried to climb aboard the Governors ship. Had nets and knives with ‘em. Nothing more than a simple assassination gone awry.” Jacklin nodded along with the words of her guardian. Leaning low to examine the marred face of her prey she used fingertips to raise his chin upward. Though she could see his eyes now, there wasn’t much to look for. Washed out from age and emotionless they were. Letting fingers slip from his chin she motioned Sapheul to the side as she began.
Sapheul itched at the growth on his chin before handing Ephram off to the tender touch of Jacklin. Swirling the cigar around with his tongue he departed for the riverbank. Eyes leaving the two at his side for a moment and finding entertainment in the salmon struggling against the rapid currents below. They’d never make it, he thought. Spitting blackened juice from the cigar down into the clear river, watching the wad almost instantly disappear withing the raging waters. As the muffled tones of Ephram struck the air he lifted his eyes upward. It was the first time he’d spoken and Sapheul was determined to hear whatever was being said. It was the same pleas that any damned man made. Apologies for their deed, pleas for their family, and the general cries for whatever salvation they assumed would save them in the end. “We’ve a live one today it seems,” came the gravel-tinted tone of the Executioner. This was his second time seeing the woman work her madness. His honeyed gaze darted from male to female and the action that ensued. The cigar hung limp in the corner of his mouth as he finally gave his Queen some sign that he’d heard her words, a dip of his head. “Yes ma’am.”
Jacklin clung to the neck of Ephram as he made a final dash for freedom. The bulky body of her prey jerking and twitching in an attempt to secure his path away from the pair. Though the male was quickly subdued by a well-placed knee into the abdomen courtesy of the Executioner. “Should have calmed him down before I got here, Saph.” Straightening she began to unlace Uabhasach from its residence upon her back. Affectionately the spear was held, even admired by its hooded master. It was possibly strange that Jacklin loved whiskey and a spear more than people, but it suited her well to the job. This job. The one which made her fairly wealthy and notable. “I hadn’t met the new Governor back there. I know Wilson died shortly after I left. Bet anything Wilson would have killed this man and not sent him off to be killed. Such a shame these men.” With an extended sigh she lifted the lip of the hood and pulled it down over her mouth and chin. The time had come for complete silence. With mud-stained slippers she forces the head of Ephram Higgins back against the soft soil, “Best it be dark while the Executioner tasks.” Standing over the writhing man she began to size up what needed to be done.
Sapheul fell silent along with his master. She was his master, right? He’d enjoyed her company from the time of arrival and doubted anything would cause him to leave. He was partial to power without a doubt. And Jacklin...she was power. Even before meeting her he knew of the tales that had traveled back home. Of wars and warriors. He knew well of the woman before laying eyes on her. As such, he silently grieved for her at times. What a long life she had led, but what did it all amount to? The Queen of a powerful city and one of the most, if not the, most powerful armies in Hollow. Her name stamped on the annals of history forever? What about children and a husband. She had neither of those and the only man who had recently taken interest was cast out with the rest. Parsithius was the name. A kind man that he’d heard the Executioner mourn many nights in her office. But for her weaknesses, he knew well of her strength. And that was precisely why he was endeared to her. It was why he remained silent at her side while she tore apart a man who couldn’t fight back. Thus, honey-eyes trained themselves on Ephram and Jacklin as the Executioner began.
Jacklin had finally chosen her method for demolishing the failed assassin. Spear was stuck into the soft soil for keeping until its aid was needed and instead she reached for the knife hiding within her breastplate. It wasn’t a large knife by any means, but it was sharp. Sharp enough to cut wood and damage steel. It would have no problems with bone more assuredly. Knees met the mud with a jolt, head bent downward and eyes apparently focused on the thigh of Ephram. It was fleshy and muscular which made it the ideal place to begin. Ripping the cotton pants from around his legs she gave no mind to the whimpers now drifting from his mouth. Instead she plunged the knife into the top of his thigh and concentrated all of efforts on separating legs from torso. The screams, she knew, were liable to attract unwanted attention. In one quick motion she leaned across his body, taking Uabhasach from his abode in the ground, and planting him with a swift thrust into the center of Ephram’s throat. The only sound now being the gurgles of Ephram, the attempt to keep conscious as the body automatically did when fighting against the inevitable. Continuing her task of removing his legs she’d cast his right over to the side, his left coming off with a resounding crack of bones being broken. It had taken effort, no doubt. The sign of exertion soaking through the brow of her hood. The loss of blood would eventually lead to Ephram’s demise. The gurgling ceased and pooling blood continued on its own, the only signs of life remaining for the man. Grabbing a shock of grey hair she dragged the lifeless body of Mr. Higgins to the riverbank and positioned the legs in his arms, folding the limbs around the two objects as if he were holding them by his own accords. A man in the afterlife would have trouble killing without legs. And with a final, swift kick the body of Ephram Higgins fell from the bank and into the swift rapids. Carrying the prey down the river, from Larket, and from her mind.
Sapheul sniffed, regard never shifting even as the painful cries grew louder. Loud enough to scare away a few small rodents fidgeting around the bank. As the spear made short work of the agonizing melody, Sapheul smiled. Despite what was actually occurring at this very moment, he could help but be impressed by the quick work of his Queen. It was smart to have silenced the man before others were aware. Some might have just let his screams die out along with his body, but Jacklin knew better than that. Quiet was better. The orange glow of his cigar was suddenly killed by a fat droplet of rain. It would have been expected to hear a few choice words from the swarthy guard just then. But for Jacklin’s sake he remained like a stone. Instead he spit the cigar into the river and concentrated his attention on what his Queen was doing. Watching as she carefully dug through the mess of muscle and bone, flesh and tendons. It was like a science it appeared. Jacklin knew exactly which way to cut next, which would be the most useful motion and require the least exertion. As the last leg was detached from the body he attempted to guess her next move. It would be like a game for him now. Try and presume what ghastly way she would dispose of the masticated body. Brow lifted as she drug the body, hair first, to the edge of the bank. A thin smile plastered on his lips as she arranged the legs within his arms. It was humorous in some sad way. A legless assassin would never do. As the splash of finality came he watched the bobbing body until it was out of sight. Sight set on the hooded face of his master as she retreated from the river, his own steps following. Sapheul, as he moved, was oddly appreciative of his own legs.
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