(( This is a segue off of
The Tower of Uthlyn after Jobias and Olive separated when the church went all zombie inferno ))
Uthlyn Commons"And so let it be heard by His flock, we the faithful who honor each day we live by His grace through our toil both in both yield and folly, His words spoken through example of righteously placed blade;
'Let not the wicked conspire the elements of our sacred Earth to turn against man, and should such treachery be unveiled; stand together, as the many are strong against a twisted tyrant, and suffer not the witch to live!'" Jobias slapped his old prayer book closed, staring a moment at the ridges of its pages heavy with ink as the crowed around the platform roared in their myriad of emotions at the scene; sorrow, piety, outrage, all yearning for justice in some form or another. The nearby church could barely be recognized, its stone foundation and supports alone remained. The madness of the horrific magical assault upon it, the clergy, and the surrounding populace was only a day ago, the pain and anguish still fresh in the mourning of so many. It was because of that death and destruction, did the once-mordecai barber find himself performing this duty now, and he looked with eyes as heavy as his book to the three mages bound and kneeling next to his side in a row.
He held the prayer book up high in one hand to signal to the din around them that the service was continuing. "Rothan Eddin, Julaci Eddin, Goffrin Mileswidth, you three now kneel before the good and faithful of Uthlyn and Connlaoth, subject to witnessed magical offense against our people and our fair city under the righteous eyes of Holy Angsar, and are judged by His Righteous Mandate and our traditions of faith and law to give yourselves to sentence for your crimes. In the benevolence and kindness of our customs, you are to have your say before penance is given." With his free hand, Jobias gestured for one of the guards to ready the nearest mage to him; Goffrin. As he slowly stepped over to them. Already the crowd had raised in their outcry, but it was almost muffled in the barber's ears. Having hardly any time to do any proper investigating, he highly doubted any of these three had anything to do with hell-borne, necromantic conflagration that swallowed the church, but they had nonetheless used magic against the public even so. Jobias knew that it was likely in defense against the freshly wounded people, Angsar knows tensions have been steadily growing in Connlaoth between those scornful and sympathetic to their kind, but it was quite simply out of his hands. He was no longer of the Order, just a man who knew the words, and enough blood of mages on his hands to see the service through to the end properly. Still, as he subjected himself to his duty to the people, all his mind truly fell upon was the nature of main attack, its connection with the enchanted rats, and certainly not the least, if Olive had managed to find her way out of the chaos. He gave a silent thanks to Angsar that she herself was not kneeling here now.
Goffrin was presented before Jobias, and felt the relief of his gag being stripped away after a nod from the mock-priest. Excitement pinned at his skin at that moment, for in secret, the stocky mage had practiced the use of conjuration without the need of his hands, and it was here he had planned to summon himself away to safety, but the man's heart sank cold when his incantations would not even be felt in their usual initial stirrings in a coppery taste on the side of his tongue. His eyes widened; there was something keeping his power from manifesting, and he knew what that meant, as all mages of Connlaoth would know.
"Have you anything to say, Goffrin Mileswidth?" Jobias let out in weary rhetoric.
Goffrin's mouth quivered, there were only three words he intended to say, and knowing they would do nothing for him, they came out meekly on the instinct of flight alone; unintelligible, purely somatic gestures of the mouth for incantation that would offer him no respite from his fate.
Jobias exhaled through his sharp nose, knowing enough from his service to the Order what was occurring, and shook his head before speaking to him in a volume to let the crowd hear, drawing a long, narrow sword from a leather scabbard decorated a bit elaborately for a man of his current station. "So are your words given, and in Angsar's name do I give myself to assist you in your penance." He stepped closer and moved the pointed tip of the weapon down to the mage's collar. Goffrin only muttered a shaken prayer as Jobias continued. "As He did so to the King of Witches on his day of Glory, you are to die by sword to the heart. May God purify your corrupted soul." And down the sword went, angled to slide down into his heart, killing the good man dead.
The crowd roared in triumph. Jobias repeated the service for the recently married Eddins, finding what little mercy he could by executing Julaci first so that she would not have to watch her husband die first. Her words were pleading, but there was only one path in this grisly ritual. Rothan could only shout and weep, and upon his silencing, Jobias held his bloodied sword up to the people, keeping his resolve and his words steeled for them, his friends and neighbors who were still in the throes of morning of those that have been lost both here and the day before. "Connlaoth belongs to the people! Let us pray in His name our thanks for delivering us from magical tyrants and enchanted devils! Let us pray in His name our thanks for giving us the strength to stand against the witch! Let us pray in His name our thanks for Connlaoth!!" The ceremony ended with those words and the roar of the crowd. Jobias had taken a cloth from a guard to clean the blood from his sword, and the barber looked nearly ten years older as he moved to try to leave through the crowd of blessings and thanks.
The bloody ceremony finished, his duty fulfilled, Jobias stayed not for tea and ale amongst his neighbors. No, there was more going on here, and he would damn himself thrice if he wasn't going to find out just what it was exactly, Order or no Order.
