User:Michael Bard/The Last Trial
{{#ifeq: User |User| The Last Trial | The Last Trial}}[[Title::{{#ifeq: User |User| The Last Trial | The Last Trial}}| ]]
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{{#ifeq: {{#ifeq: User |User| Michael Bard | Michael Bard}} | |
{{#ifeq: {{#ifeq: User |User| Michael Bard | Michael Bard}} | ||
Author: [[User:{{#ifeq: User |User| Michael Bard | Michael Bard}}|{{#ifeq: User |User| Michael Bard | Michael Bard}}]] [[Author::{{#ifeq: User |User| Michael Bard | Michael Bard}}| ]]
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{{#ifeq: {{#ifeq: User |User| Michael Bard | Michael Bard}} | |
Author: {{#ifeq: User |User| Michael Bard | Michael Bard}} |
Author: [[User:{{#ifeq: User |User| Michael Bard | Michael Bard}}|{{#ifeq: User |User| Michael Bard | Michael Bard}}]] [[Author::{{#ifeq: User |User| Michael Bard | Michael Bard}}| ]]
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{{#ifeq: {{#ifeq: User |User| Michael Bard | Michael Bard}} | |
{{#ifeq: {{#ifeq: User |User| Michael Bard | Michael Bard}} | | Authors: ' |
Authors: [[User:{{#ifeq: User |User| Michael Bard | Michael Bard}}|{{#ifeq: User |User| Michael Bard | Michael Bard}}]]
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{{#ifeq: {{#ifeq: User |User| Michael Bard | Michael Bard}} | |
Authors: {{#ifeq: User |User| Michael Bard | Michael Bard}} |
Author: [[User:{{#ifeq: User |User| Michael Bard | Michael Bard}}|{{#ifeq: User |User| Michael Bard | Michael Bard}}]]
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December, 707 CR
Yvarra stood in the good sized chamber. In the middle, alone. She was dressed in simple robes, her fedora was in her hands against her chest. The Sword of Songs had been left in her rooms. A tiny stub, shattered, torn, still remained coming out of her forehead. Other than that, good food, bed rest, time, all had healed the wounds to her body. And maybe to her soul.
Except for the memories.
The chamber was crowded, filled to capacity and possibly beyond. The goat who had chased her in Euper was there. The tiger that had saved her, that had saved the keep, if not the world, was there. The scarred fox was there. And so many others.
Before her were two thrones, a larger one and a smaller, both had crimson cushions and looked to be made for humans. Behind were the three rows of full benches, and the aisle between them she'd been escorted down. A deep red cloth covered the floor, and ancient hangings poured down from rafters as sunlight shimmered in through glass windows.
The two guards, a human and an otter, turned and left her as an old man called out. "All stand for his excellency Duke Thomas of the House of Hassan, fifth of his line, Duke of Metamor and Euper, King of the Northern Midlands. Hail! Hail!"
The last two words were echoed by the crowd, and Yvarra curtseyed as low as she could as Duke Thomas entered the room. He was a horse, a rich chestnut, dressed in simpler robes than she'd expected. He walked with a stately dignity, his hooves thudding on the rich carpet. As the crowd was silent, he made his way to the larger of the two thrones, and carefully lowered himself into it. From experience, Yvarra could tell that he'd pulled his tail painfully up so that he could sit in a seat made for the human form.
"Be seated; the accused will stand," boomed out the same old man.
With grace, Yvarra stood up from her crouched position, and looked at the Duke, at the judge of her fate, with steady eyes. His voice was steady, old and tired. "Court is now in session. The accused, known as Yvarra, once known as Sarpadon, employed as an obtainer of rare antiquities, you are before this court on multiple charges of murder. Of the killing of citizens that have my sworn protection. How do you plead?"
Yvarra swallowed. Glad that cud did not chose to come up. Her voice, proud and steady, she called out her choice: "Guilty."
The crowd mumbled and the duke’s ears lowered. He sighed. The crowd leaned forward.
An old man slammed the base of a staff on the floor with a dull boom and roared out: “Are there any who would speak on the behalf of the accused?”
For a moment there was silence. Then the massive tiger boomed out. “I wish to speak.”
“Let the speaker step forward,” boomed out the old man. “Speak naught but truth before the eyes of the Duke.”
The tiger stepped forward and Yvarra remembered. Remembered meeting him in the keep. Remembered meeting him at the fair. And remembered him rushing inexplicably to her rescue before the swirling gate and, even as she begged, he hacked off her alicorn. Her hand reached up to touch the jagged edge and her body shivered.
She had been unconscious, either with, or dreaming, of meeting Klepnos, as he had carried up back to the keep. Carried her to the chambers the Keep has prepared for her and lain her down. He had summoned the healers, the servants, that had nursed her to her current life.
Of so she had been told.
“You may speak Adon Naharel Sahana’Haudorn, also known as Oberon, of the Longs.”
“I met her in the keep before she went on her course. I met her again during the Fall Festival. She looked nervous then, almost hunted. Now I think it was the cult that was hunting her. Somebody was knocked out nearby, by a dart I think. Likely it was meant for her.”
He bowed his head. “I admit, that at first I suspected her of being without honour. I had heard of the murders, and then Jim, Head of Euper Investigations, brought me a piece of evidence. A dagger I had made, and that I had sold the accused. I heard what she was accused of, the murder of innocents, the murder of children, and-- and I prejudged her.”
Yvarra shivered at the hatred in his voice when he had said murderer of children. She remembered something that the rabbit had said -- about setting her up with the watch with one of the daggers. That must be the one he meant. Still-- “The children, if they were--“
“The accused will remain silent!” boomed out the old man.
Yvarra did.
“Adon Naharel Sahana’Haudorn, also known as Oberon, will continue.”
Yvarra sighed, and lowered her muzzle. It was so light now, and she ached at the loss of the weight of her alicorn. She had murdered, she did not deny it, even to herself. But they needed to hear the truth!
“I needed to kill her myself, to attone for the guilt she had put on my personal honour for the killings she conducted with the weapons I’d sold her. But, nobody could find her. With urging from Misha I spoke to Fox Cutter, the librarian of the Longs, and he told me some information about a cult. And-- and when I returned to my forge Kyia had put a door there that hadn’t been there. Arming myself, I took the door and followed a passage down into the bowls beneath the keep. It led me to a massive chamber where there were seven people chanting before a swirling portal.
“Whatever was behind that gate was-- evil. Utterly and completely evil. There is no other way to describe it. I watched as the accused burst from the cage they’d sealed her in and killed what seemed to be the cult leader. The others turned on her, as whatever was trying to come through the gate was urging everybody to kill her. A burst amongst them, and slew the rest as they fought.
“The accused fled, or at first I thought, but instead she ran to the portal. When the rest of the cultists were dead, she was standing there, her alicorn piercing the veil, and her body slowly being pulled in. Even though she told me, begged me, to leave, to not risk saving her, that the gate had to be sealed, I cut off her horn. The portal twisted into tortured rock and she screamed, and collapsed.
“I picked her up and carried her back to the keep. I came out in rooms I had never seen before, but there was a bed and I put her upon it. Then I summoned healers, and guards.”
Yvarra watched the Duke looking at the tiger, measuring him.
“Your highness, I do not believe the accused is evil. There was as cult, and the cult was trying to bring something into this world that would have destroyed all of us. She stopped it, and in doing so I believe that she saved every one of us. From what Fox Cutter told me, the thing she stopped was a Titan. Only her actions kept it from being let out.
“She did what she had to do to save us all. Should she be punished for that?”
The Duke scratched his chin. “Oberon, how did you know that removing her alicorn,” the word rolled oddly off his tongue as though he was unfamiliar with it, “would seal the gate but let her live? Did you consider that closing the gate required her body as while as her horn?”
“Your highness, I-- I do not know. All I can say is that I knew. Knew it with absolute certainty. How-- I do not know.”
The Duke nodded. “At least you were right. You are sure the gate is sealed?”
“As sure as anybody can be. When I arrived, it was swirling as though alive, glowing with unholy light, pulsing with energy. When I left it was cold rock, dark, cold.”
“Could you lead anybody there, so we could guard it?”
“With apologies, no. After I brought her back, the door vanished and nobody has seen it. The Longs have looked. All I can think is that Kyia will take care of it herself. Though, one wonders why she did not take care of the summoning herself.”
“Is that all you wish to say, Adon Naharel Sahana’Haudorn, also known as Oberon?”
“That is my account, and I swear to its accuracy.”
“Thank you. You may be seated.”
The old man boomed out: “Adon Naharel Sahana’Haudorn, also known as Oberon, your evidence has been heard. The Duke thanks you for your aid in this matter, and bids you be seated.”
The tiger looked at Yvarra, measuring, weighing. He nodded, and then turned and returned to his seat.
The Duke turned to regard the unicorn. “Yvarra, you had something to say. Do you wish to say it now? Do you wish to change your plea?”
“No. My plea stands. I killed the cultists. Thirty-seven of them. I regret them all, but the leader. However, I do object to the accusation that I killed either children or innocents.”
“Continue.”
“I was sent here originally to find the Sword of Songs. It is in the room I was using. Understandably, the guards preferred me not carry it here. One power that the Sword of Songs had was to detect cultists. Other than a dyer in Euper who attacked me to take my alicorn -- and I do not include him in the list of the cultists as I consider that self defense -- all of them were confirmed as a cultist by the sword. Except for the rabbit cult leader, but after weeks of being whipped and tortured at his hand, and his actions, I think his case was fairly obvious.”
“How did this sword reveal the existence of these cultists?”
“By actions, usually be playing one or more tonal patterns. It’s name is more descriptive than one might think. And, I’m guessing that most of this, charade,” she motioned at the crowd and the chamber, “are for those I killed in their sleep. Each of those I made absolutely sure were cultists before ending their lives. And, as to the children, given the curse, how can anybody be sure who is an adult, and who not?”
“Is that all?”
Yvarra sighed. “That’s all.”
The old man slammed the base of his staff on the floor with a dull boom and roared out: “Are there any who would speak on the behalf of the accused?”
For a moment there was silence. Then an old fox, one leg twisted but standing on three good ones in some kind of ‘taur form, spoke out. “I wish to clarify a point.”
“Let the speaker step forward,” boomed out the old man. “Speak naught but truth before the eyes of the Duke.”
The foxtaur walked forward and bowed to the Duke who waved it off. “Your highness, I confirm that the elves who were here before us believed that a Titan was imprisoned beneath this keep. The accused showed Mael-Murie a symbol known to be used by a cult dedicated to released things better left sealed away. I would have suggested action, but she dismissed it and I found out almost too late. The cult was real, the Titan was real. I thank all the divinities that the summoning was halted. Given what Oberon described, I have no doubt we all owe our continued existence to this individual.
“That is all.”
“Thank you, Fox Cutter,” said the Duke.
The old man boomed out: “Fox Cutter, your evidence has--"
“I don’t think we need to formalities every time,” said the Duke.
“As your Highness wishes.”
Yvarra shook her head as the fox sat down. A noble not taking every instant to remind people of his power -- who'd have thought?
The old man slammed the base of a staff on the floor with a dull boom and roared out: “Are there any who would speak on the behalf of the accused?”
“I wish to speak,” said an old raccoon.
“Oh go ahead, Brian,” said the Duke before the old seneschal could speak.
“Oberon fetched me to look at the wounds of the accused. Her body showed the long healed scars of massive abuse. Whippings and various sword wounds. The greatest wound was the alicorn hacked off of her head. The wound seeped blood, and her body was cold to the touch. Her breathing could barely be detected. It was very slow. She has suffered a lot of damage, and a lot of abuse. From the age of the wounds it happened many months ago, before she even existed as I stand the current theory. Given what has been reported of the healing abilities of her alicorn, the could have been very recent. All I could do was keep her warm, prescribe lots of rest. I didn’t expect her to live. But then-- something happened. Her body suddenly grew warm, and her breathing became much more rapid. The same type of change that occurs when a mage or priest returns to their body from wandering outside it. After that she healed rapidly.
“She was a model patient, at least at first. Always kind, always thankful. I can’t see her being a murderess. As I was leaving one night, she had fallen asleep, and I heard a harp playing a lullaby. I couldn’t place it at first, but I determined it came from the sword that was hanging on the wall near her bed. Assuming that is the Sword of Songs, it has at least some magical ability.
“That is all, your highness.”
“Thank you Brian. Anybody else?” The Duke looked around and the crowd murmured, but nobody else raised there voice. “Well then--"
“I wish to speak!” Yvarra burst out.
The Duke shrugged. “Well, speak then.”
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