"Yes," says Constantin. He rubs his eyes and nods. "We'll just have to do our best in court."
It is full dark by now and the trek back to Lepistadt feels longer than ever after the encounter with the wraith and the weight of the events at Hergstag.
By the time you return to the Inn, your beds are calling.
......
The next day the party rises early, despite their weariness. After a breakfast of cold meats and porridge they collect their gear and head out into the day.
As they walk the streets toward the courthouse, they sense a change in atmosphere. Cold eyes greet them on the street, whispered insults and on a couple of occasions young men – more brazen than the rest – would hold their ground as the group walks through to bump shoulders and glare, or spit on the ground as you pass.
This continues as you get closer to the courthouse. The Burning Man stands still as a stark reminder of what is at stake and the crowd has grown deeper still. After the events at court yesterday, the festival atmosphere has been replaced by a nervous anger and although street performers still line the streets, their acts are half-hearted and several stalls have already been packed up.
Viewers are already making their way through the great doors of the court as you arrive but the line stretches almost around the corner of the building as you notice for the first time that each citizen is being searched before they enter.
It is at this point that the group split into two once more, some continuing the defence and heading within whilst the others resolve to continue their investigations.
You eventually take your seat on the low benches set aside for the defence. Gustav Kaple is already there, nervously fidgeting with his copious notes whilst Prosecutor Otto Heigel sits with a calm, relaxed demeanor, fingers steepled beneath his chin.
Finally, to a chorus of boos and vicious insults, Bland is brought in and once more chained to the great iron chair in the centre of the court, the three judges – resplendent in their black gowns – look on solemnly.
After the rules of court are once more read out, there is a ceremonial hammering of the gavels and the trial once more resumes.
The sisters you previously met are escorted one by one to the witness box. With care and skillful questioning, Prosecutor Kaple outlines the case for the prosecution – that the horrible Beast did kidnap and slay six children of the village of Hergstag and almost every sentence is punctuated by the chorus of jeers from the frenzied crowd and the booming voices of the justices calling for order.
Finally, the chief justice’s gaze falls upon you and he says gravely;
Defence, you may begin.
SOund good?
| 2 people marked this as a favorite. |
With a nod to Bland, and one to Kaple, Kazamir rises, buttons his coat, and walks purposefully to the lectern.
“Lords and ladies of the Court, Honored Justices, thank you.
That tragedy struck Herstag, and six innocents were cruelly slain is, sadly, beyond doubt.” He pauses a moment for the inevitable shouts, insults, and accusations. “ What is in doubt is that those innocents died at the hands of the accused. My colleagues and I shall lay out diverse proofs that show that, once again, Bland, called the Beast of Lepistadt, is incorrectly accused.
We entered the abandoned grounds of Herstag last night. We explored that house that was, in life, the home of young Karin. Karin, who died, in her bad, days before the Beast was ever seen nearby. Who died without a mark of violence upon her. Look at the captive, I implore you – see the terrible strength of those hands – and ask if a defenseless child killed by one such as the prisoner would be untouched.
Perhaps, it has been suggested, Bland used some dark magic or placed some terrible curse on her. I would counter that we have seen no instance that he has ever done such – and ask yourself – the accused is bound here, surrounded by his captors, afraid and angry…has one man, woman, or child that has the charge of keeping him locked up laid down in their bed and died? Can one realistically imagine that, if the prisoner had such dark powers, he would use them to affect his escape?
In addition, no door or window had been forced open. The family was home before finding her dead in her bad – surely they would notice one such as Bland, who would need to bend almost double to pass through their doors. Even were he to turn invisible – which he cannot – the creaks of floorboards under his great frame would be heard in Lepistadt!
What about the window? You may ask. WE thought much the same. There is indeed a lattice outside of it. A thin weave of tiny wooden slats, that would have trouble supporting the weight of a raccoon – impossible for even a large man, much less Bland – to climb without damaging it…and lattice, window and wall were all undamaged. The accused would have needed to tear open half the wall to even fit through the window – and that had not happened. The shutters were in place and fastened, even.”
The investigator’s voice and face drop – noticeably, but not dramatically. At least not overly dramatically.
” If it had been Bland that killed her, we would not have met her as we did. Like a black flame, full of malice and a grave-chill beyond mortal cold, she came for us, and only the prowess and skills, the piety and magic of my compatiots saw us through. The witnesses are right about this – Herstag is now Haunted – but not by the victims of Bland, who you call the Beast. My colleague, an expert in such matters, will explain how that haunting came to be.
Thank you, my Lords and Ladies.
The investigating group finally arrive at the door of the auction house.
Once inside, they enter a large hall with paintings and tapestries of various designs and tables filled with artifacts and tools.
Some time after you arrive, a woman enters the room with a grace and air of superiority usually reserved for royalty. Her hair is her most obvious feature, a red so deep it cannot be natural. The thick make-up she wears makes her look more striking than she likely is beneath.
She gives you a less-than-discreet appraising look and says;
Can I help you?
| 1 person marked this as a favorite. |
Zed stands and makes his way to the lectern, leather boots creaking against the floor. He reaches it and folds his hands, resting his elbows on the wood. "Wraiths are a form of undead created when the life force of a person is drained out of them, typically by another wraith. They become incorporeal shades, capable of phasing through solid barriers, the ground...and people. They are utterly silent and able to drift through any building without notice. And their very touch drains the life out of the living, eventually killing them and making them rise as wraiths. This life draining touch leaves no marks or other noticeable forms of damage on its victims." Zed pauses and shifts his balance. "I have been skeptical the past week about arguments from both sides. I could have understood a raging beast losing control. But what we have experienced last night washes away all doubt. The accused did not kill that child. A damned soul did. It is the only explanation why she was found dead without a stractch, and why she had become a wraith herself. The accused is incapable of performing such a heinous act."
She examines the tools down her long nose and says;
Yes, I remember these. Good work so I thought they'd fetch a decent price. If I remember correctly these were bought by a very dapper gentleman, dressed in black from head to toe. She seems to stop herself; How did you come by these?
As arguements continue for the defence, the audience seems tense and bordering on hostile.
Jon Derlith and Kendra are ever-present in the front row of the gallery, watching with nervous intent as the events unfold before them.
Bland sits restlessly in his iron chair, chains clanking with regularity and to the point where you have to speak over the sound. He looks thoroughly miserable.
As the defence case unfolds the audience begins whispering among themselves. In terms of Kaz' presentation about the window - it seems to strike a chord with some but others mutter about Zed's depiction of some phantom enemy when the Beast sits large as life before them.
However, it is the justices who decide the fate of this creature and they remain as stoic as ever.
Zed makes his way back to his seat, a tight frown. Too detached. You're coming off as inhuman. They need the facts wrapped in a narrative... But the damage was done. He hopes that at least the justices could make use of the information.
Nope! Take it away!
Once called up, Constantin rises and clasps his hands. "Thank you. Your honors. Ladies and gentlemen. We've already heard expert testimony that some kind of ghost-like horror was responsible for Maise's death. Now, some among you may say, 'This doesn't mean that he - Blând - was not bad, it just means that something else got to Maise.' And that is certainly true. The fact that Maise met an unfortunate end at the life-draining touch of a sepulchral monstrosity does not invalidate those concerns. So I shall discuss them."
He turns and paces back and forth and says, "We have seen a child's drawing of Blând as a friend - a companion figure. While children can be whimsical, this does raise one question: If a child - presumably Maise - saw Blând well enough to draw him recognizably, then she must have been somewhere that she could see him, perhaps interact with him. Yet if he were hostile, if he were filled with killing intent, how could she have lived long enough to make such a drawing? She would have been dead long before she picked up a charcoal pencil. But she was not. She finished the drawing - a drawing depicting Blând as her friend, not as a monster. A child's eyes saw him based on how he behaved, not based on his outward appearance."
Constantin unfolds his hands and with an explanatory gesture continues, "We've heard that Blând was found laughing when Maise was killed. Great heaving gasps of air and a bellowing noise - the laughter of the damned. Consider... if Blând was a friend to Maise, if she saw in him a companion and not a monster, why would he laugh at her death, especially if she succumbed to some other horror? Would he not be crying? With great heaving sobs and bellowing? Would the sorcerer who patched him together from haphazard flesh bother to give him the ability to weep? A tragic notion - to lose one's only friend, and be unable to shed tears for her, because you were never built to have them."
Constantin's lips firm up for a moment as he looks across the judges and finishes, "Or perhaps he does have tears. But would the folk who confronted him have bothered to stop and find out? It seems that the matter of discerning the facts has been left to this trial. So here they are: Maise was not killed by Blând, nor was she threatened by him. She saw herself as his friend - perhaps his only friend in the world."
He sighs and says, "Thank you again." Then he takes a seat once more.
At the mention of Maisie's name, his one true friend in life, Bland once more collapses into fits of anguish.
With a great rattle and groan of chains he raises his clenched fists in the air and begins his weird, braying cry. To the defence the scene is heartbreaking - this child like creature distraught over the loss of the one person who had shown him kindness in his entire existence.
To the crowd, it is a spiteful display of remorselessness. As his 'laughter' echoes through the courtroom the crowd in the gallery gasps with disbelief and then almost as one rise and begin screaming and howling - a deafening cacophony of hatred. This upsets Bland even more and in fright, he begins to strain at his chains, the braying chokes of sorrow coming even louder. The great stitched muscles across his arms and chest bulge and heave against the iron chair which creaks and groans under the immense strain.
Prosecutor Heigel seizes his chance and erupts from his chair, sending it flying backwards, and crying out he declares;
Justices! The Beast shows no remorse at all! See how he mocks this trial, these good people, with his sickening laughter! This creature is all together evil and I move for an immediate verdict of GUILTY! he shoots a glance at the defenders, pure glee in his eyes.
In the pandemonium that ensues Zed and Constantin are dimly aware of Gustav Kaple and Jon Derlith in the crowd, pleading for calm. The nobleman, Derlith appears to be knocked to the ground by one particularly enraged man before he is helped away by a guard, holding his sleeve to his bloody nose.
Suddenly there is a like a clap of thunder overhead that slices through the din. As shocked silence descends, you see the black-armored Herald lower his greatsword once more, crackles of eldritch light still dancing on his gauntlets from the spell he just cast.
Chief Justice Khard looks outraged.
Guardsmen, you will keep control of the defendant. he turns to Bland. One more outburst like that and these men will subdue you to the fullest extent of their capability, do you understand?
Bland looks confused but nods nonetheless.
Prosecutor Heigel, I thank you for your empassioned plea but I will hear the rest of the evidence the defence has. Thank you!
She strides back and forth, her demeanour changing at the mention of the swamp.
How ghastly! She says. Let me think.... I just can't place his name... I'm sure he mentioned that he owned a chymic works nearby though. I hope that helps. she shrugs, not displaying much in the way of interest.
I'd be willing to buy them back for a fair price? she asks hopefully.
Constantin pinches the bridge of his nose and closes his eyes, then sits down looking rather dejected.
"In the days to come perhaps", Vermundr answers at the suggestion of buying the tools back. "I think we should hold onto them a bit longer."
"What's a chymic works? Are there many nearby?"
Zed goes white knuckles as the chaos erupts. Ever so slowly he uses the back of his chair to push his tetsubo closer to his hand, keeping one eye on brand and the other on the crowd. But as the situation deescalates he takes a deep breath. The Herald is more than meets the eye.
There are plenty of factories by the river. she shrugs. I couldn't say which does what though. Chymic works produce all kinds of filthy chemicals, you can smell them all the way to Harrow street sometimes. she says with her nose upturned.