Crime and Punishment (Warning Graphic Violence)

[Peregrinus]

((All characters used with authorization from their players, this is the results of the Trial of Xarion Black.))

The rains had left the arena floor in Cear muddy, but the sky was now clear, the sun burning low in the sky as people filtered into the arena for the evenings fights and shows. However, the fights were not the first thing to be held that night, two burly Fleetsmen, their blue uniforms immaculate strode out, flanking an unshaven man in a long black robe, his hands bound in irons. Behind them walked two wafish elven women, one in the uniform of the Fleet, her rank clearly visible as Corporal, the other in a tight-fitting suit of clothes that showed off her nearly perfect form.

"Citizens of Cear, Subjects of the Empire," the arena announcer intoned in a loud but calm voice, "know that justice is swift and sure, and that truth wins out over lies, and Lochwar's retribution is final."

They stopped in the middle of the arena, the two Fleetsman roughly stripping the man of his shirt, bearing a scarred but muscular chest and back to the people.

"Xarion Black has been charged with the foul conspiracy against the crown, consorting with Canites and the murder of a Fleetsman in the line of duty. On the first charges, he has been found innocent by the court and pardoned. For the last charge, he has been found guilty."

The Fleetsman pushes Xarion to his knees, and the elfin Corporal approached, a cat-o-nine-tails held at ready in her hand, points of metal glistening red on the end of the whips in the setting sun.

"For punishment, he will be given twenty lashes and then turned over to Tahl'nae for further punishment at his own request."

The first blow sounded nothing more than a dull thwack, however, his back turned from pale white to red as the metal spikes in the whip tore into his flesh, the elfin Corporal's strength much greater than her size would indicate. Xarion winced at the blow, but made no sound.

"One."

The second blow, more rivulets of blood gushed out, deeper now, the whip tearing into him.

"Two."

A third, the crisscrossing marks on his back now streaming blood soaking into Xarion's pants and dripping into the mudder floor of the arena. They continued to strike and count, each blow cutting deeper and more viciously than the last. Blood splattered from the impacts, marking the Fleetsmen and Corporal with it. By ten lashes, strips of flesh hung off his back, dripping, the muscles underneath torn and battered by the Corporal's minstrations.

By fifteen Xarion could no longer remain silent. His cries of pain echoed over the hushed crowd, he collapsed into the muck beneath him, a mixture of mud and his own blood. The two Fleetsman grabbed him roughly, propping him up for the last five blows. They came slowly and deliberately. Each one measured, no different than any of the ones before it, the Corporal not hesitating despite the clear pain Xarion was in.

"Eighteen."

Xarion no longer cried out, his pain so beyond what he could voice.

"Ninteen."

Xarion went limp in the arms of the Fleetsman, breathing roughly, each breath costing him dearly.

"Twenty."

The Fleetsman released him from their grasp, sending the man falling into the pool of mud and blood beneath him. He laid there, unmoving for a time...

((To be continued by baby1111007...))

[baby1111007]

Tahl'nae walked up the ramp, her eyes cold, her face a mask. She nodded to the nearby cleric who healed the prisoner enough that he could stand on his own two feet again, though his body would still be sore, his muscled painful. The petite elf was dressed in form fitting black leather, various weapons sheathed on her form. The midnight hair framed a cold but beautiful face. And absolutely nothing showed in her eyes.

Once, the prisoner and her had talked of gladiators, of the dance of battle and how it could entertain. But the eyes of the crowd to her felt accusing. The man who stood before her was a friend, a comrade. This would be as much punishment for her as it was to him. But it was what he had asked for. She had failed him once, she would not fail him this time.

She walked up to him, so small next to his own warrior form. "You asked me for this...remember that." With those words, she slid into shadows. The first strike slashed out, taking him by surprise, the twin blades slicing deep scores across his abdomen. "Next time I tell you to stay put...you stay put!" Again she faded into shadows.

She appeared next in front of him, her knee slamming into his groin with enough force that she robbed him of the ability to scream. She watched as he crumpled to his knees...and the crowd howled. A shudder moved through her own body as her nails racked down his cheek, drawing blood. "You stupid, stupid man...you could have trusted us sooner. Stand up...you asked for this, you will damn well face it...and you better not pass out."

She waited until he got to his feet, then it was the shadows again. The next attack came swift, the light hammer striking at his sword arm with a sickening crunch as the bone shattered. To his credit, the condemned took his pain with a stoic expression. Tahl'nae's eyes became almost grateful as he tried to make this easier for her.

Again and again, the shadows were employed, every strike taking the male by surprise. Sometimes with blade, sometime with hammer. The scent of blood thickened in the air as bones cracked and gashes wept. A knife went in his side and twisted, another into his back. His face was slashed, both arms broken. Until he fell to his knees, the pain overwhleming him.

She stared down at him, her eyes glittering in the failing light, her face an expressionless mask. The hilt of her blade came down, across his nose with an audible crunch and he finally was allowed the relief of blessed unconsciousness. Tahl'nae looked to the healer that she had paid out of her own purse. "See to it he suffers no permanent damage or I will come for you."

With that, the black clad form walked slowly into the depths of the arena...the blades and hammer that she used dropped to the ground, never to be wielded by her hand again.

[Karma]

As the proceedings take place, Thayne Rhaz watches from the stands. A calculating and pleased grin passed his face as the man is beaten senselessly. Thrice broken, He can now be reforged even stronger... He applauds along with the crowd, and at the closing, tosses a single red rose into the arena from his lofty front row seat. He watches the way Tahl'nae moves with extra glee...

[Crimson]

As Tahl'nae leaves the arena, the bronze-clad form of Darion Crimson walks in.
He shoots a glance at the healer... a glance that makes the poor man stop his advance towards Xarion,and step back carefully.

Darion reaches the bloodied, shattered form of Xarion and kneels down in the mud.
He holds a hand just above the former Canite's broken shoulder, but he stops himself from laying a hand on the man.

Instead, he mutters a few words in dragonic, and a few of Xarion's worst wounds starts closing slowly.
Darion then curls his hand into a fist and rises.

He looks up at the crowd, turning his head and meeting as many gazes as he can with his own.
His faintly glowing, green dragon-eyes are full of an agonizing shame.

He then speaks, his voice calm and cold, anger and disappointment under full control:

"Is this... how we prove that we are better than the Canites? To tear the flesh from a mans back with a steel-tipped whip? To cut him, stab him and shatter his body, leaving him in something very near the ultimate, physical agony? And all this... in public? With applause?"

He shakes his head slowly in disbelief.
"This man has killed another man... and for that, we have broken him physically. He is shattered beyond full recovery. Where is the mercy? Where is the consciousness? Where is the humanity?"

He looks to Xarion, his anger and disappointment too strong for tears.
"I see only cruelty..." he says.

Darion kneels down and lifts up the broken form of Xarion Black, carefully.
"Rest now... I will bring you to a friend who can tend to you." he whispers, though he knows that Xarion cannot hear him.

The Dragon Knight turns around, and attempts to walk out of the arena, carrying Xarion as if he was a wounded child.

[Hvrankel]

A man with a dark armor and patch over his left eye moves closer to the edge of the arena and looks down on Darion as he are attempting to leave and speaks up.

Humanity you say? If i recall right the last time you was here in the arena you cursed the humanity and all the people that was here. The great people of Cear. Morgen tilts his head and motions towards the crowd that is gathered with his arm. Is this the hero that you all should follow or is it just a fool that tries to win you all back with giving you shame. I do wonder if he has the right to judge you all? The murderer and the thief Darion. Do we of the people forget so fast? Morgen looks down again on the men in the arena with a playful smile.

[Crimson]

He meets Morgen's gaze and listens to his words.
He then shakes his head.
"To do something like this... is inhumane. And in regards to me... we can never run away from our past, but we can turn around and face it - and I did that. I turned myself in and took my punishment like a man. But this..."
He looks at Xarion's broken form in his arms.

"This is evil."

Without another word, Darion leaves the arena with Xarion in his arms.

[Jain Zar]

On a bench, not far from the black clad man sat a hooded woman with a small blue package in her arms. Her eyes had shifted from the man down there to the man with the black eyepatch.

She knew them both. The one down there once had been struck down by a Canite. Nevertheless he had stood by the side of an ex-Canite and rejected openly the way this punishment had taken place.
The other was a handsome man at whom she had whistled, … a lot. She had lost sight of him, just before an elf walked into her life... just before she was caught and arrested for killing four fleeties...

She bit her lip nervously, while raking up the memories of her misdeeds. Yet she had been spared from things like this. Thanks to her husband she had avoided punishment, and probably even death.

She watched the departure of Darion, carrying the tortured man.
The question was, who was right and who was wrong.

She looked down at the blue package in her arms, a tiny face visible and two innocent green eyes curiously looking at her. She casted a weak smile at the baby and caressed its cheek with the back of her forefinger.

[Outbreak1992]

As Xarion was being carried out, he was passing in and out of consciousness, he managed to smirk as he was taken away, he knew what had to be done and he had managed to live through it all. He had experienced tortures such as this in the past, the most notable being a near death battle in an illegal arena game back in Varana, that was a long time ago though and those wounds had healed now, he had also experienced a similar experience when he proved his worth to Canas and to rise to the rank of Deathspeaker within the Canite Church. During his phases through consciousness, he managed to glance around the arena, seeing various faces but all of them blurred, he knew that by surviving this, he was still worthy of calling him a warrior, he had not grown weak with the influences of the world, he has still a cold emotionless warrior, his time in the Canites had seen to this.