The Gauntlet
Stoneshade Keep & Suncross Square
The old proud woman from Saliam's farm was the last to be ankle-shackled in the line. Everyone else had narrow iron bands fastened around their wrists too. Wim Riese's attacker and only confirmed member of the Creed of Slivikhi led the line. His feet were wet with blood and his face bruised and battered. His eyes flicked open at the sun's light in the winter sky. This parade down the main concourse to the Plaza was going to be one long bloodbath, the group knew.
The excessive brutality of the dawn raid arrests, doors battered down, families dragged from their beds, amidst wailing children and wives, provided the first layer of shock. It served to daze and be a bloody warning to the rest of the populace. The gallows erected in Suncross square another reminder of what happened to criminals and those that took up arms against the Lord Commander's men. All done in the name of exposing a secretive outlawed Creed of some forgotten god, most had never heard of before.
They were trussed up and shackled, forced to stand in the Keep's courtyard awaiting to run the Gauntlet. It was a sour and obvious mockery of justice, to be subject to other citizens anger, while walking to their place of execution, but one that served a real purpose too. Fearmongering of course, but it also pandered to people's lust for blood and violence, one that stripped away the few remaining expectations of civil behaviour, leaving nothing but the chaos of savagery.
The poor folk mobbed the streets when they heard the details of the murders and attacks on their own, as well as rumours of a forbidden death cult in their midst, screaming for blood. The Gauntlet would give them faces to focus on with rage and hate, while the Lord Commander showed that he was still in control of the city and doing his best to protect law abiding citizens.
Just before noon the guards opened the Keep's gate pushing forward the chained line. A roar poured through the archway, a wave of sound that hit soldier and prisoner alike, bouncing off the high walls. The prisoners walked on and out into a sea of madness and bloodlust.
People lined the street leading to the Square, bailing and screaming for justice, some guards and soldiers tried to contain the crowds but again and again the mob seemed to find weak spots in their lines, as hands tore at prisoners, fists pummelled them, blurred faces lunged nearby to spit gobs of phlegm at their faces. Some prisoners loosened their bladders, others tried to make themselves smaller and less of a target but none went unscathed. Stones and rotten fruit as well as vegetables, flew at them constantly, some hitting, most missing, but still damaging those sentenced to die.
The crowd roared. Bodies crowded in, hands tearing, nails clawing. The old woman's last shreds of clothing were torn away. A hand closed on a fistful of her hair, yanked savagely, twisting her head around almost breaking her neck. She heard screaming and realized it came from her own throat.
Up ahead the Creed member was spitting bloody skin from his mouth. His left ear had been torn off, taking with it hair, skin and flesh. The bridge of his nose glistened darkly, from earlier wounds now re-opened, one of his eyes had been gouged out.
All their bodies suffered some sort of injury or degradation and they slowly kept moving pushed and dragged my soldiers at each end of the line.
Farmers and peasants lined the road, showing the same frenzy that had gripped sailors and merchants alike. As the group dragged themselves to their final destination some began to cry while others prayed to their gods through broken teeth and split lips. The gallows awaited them up ahead. The crowd parted in Suncross Square as the five were led to their final destination. Thick ropes drifted in the winter breeze, hanging from the gallows sturdy wooden beams, awaiting the necks of the condemned.