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Brimstone Ashe
Archived Post
Posts: 1,156,071 Arc User
1721 London, England
MURDERER the angry men shouted down while hanging on the rails of the courts balcony. The rectangular court hall was packed with men stewing with ire, yelling with vehemence, and having nothing better to do with their days than to find something to hate. Shoulder to shoulder, floor to balcony, the hall was loaded with malevolence.
A fat man sitting in a chair similar to a throne continually slams his gavel on the desk in front of him urging order in his court. He did it so consistently, and with such indifference that it wasnt so much a motion to cease the noise, so much as it was a conductor merely keeping meter to the malignity.
At the opposite end of the hall, a tall man with skin like shadow was being led by two bailiffs who were pushing through the enraged crowd on the floor. The bailiffs fought more to restrain the crowd than to restrain the prisoner who was showing no signs of resistance. Not that he could resist much if he wanted to, for he was bound with shackles around his wrists and feet with a thick and heavy chain interconnecting it all. His tattered clothes stained with dirt and grime. His back bore wet crimson streaks soaking through his large loose shirt. It hung on his frame like a drape on a statue waiting to be revealed, for one could easily observe the build this man had was not only large, but hardened and dense.
The prisoner stared straight in front him, and because of his height, no other man could meet his gaze except for the fat one elevated by stage at the other end who was too busy to conducting this commonality of scorn that they constitute as a trial.
The bailiffs pushed through the mob and made their way to a chair that sat twenty feet in front of the fat man whom they referred to as Lord. At the chair stood another man, who was pale, lanky, and emulated frailty and weakness to the highest degree. His face was sullen and his eyes reflected a desire to be somewhere else to be anywhere but where he was now . Like the fat lord, he wore a wig that was so ladened with perfumed powder that it looked as if it had been rolled In flour as if it was were to be deep fried like a haddock.
He motioned the bailiffs to seat the prison in the chair. The Lord banged faster now; shouted louder ORDER! ORDER! signaling to the audience, he actually meant it this time, and they responded with compliance to his commands. The weak man raised one hand as if to touch the prisoner on the arm, but it was merely symbolic as his hand kept itself several inches of ever touch him. It was deliberate. The other hand motioned, with palm up for the prisoner to sit. Please sit. I am Francis Reynolds, your council. And what is your name?
The large dark man slowly sat down, as someone from the crowd shouted DONT OFFER HIM A SEAT! OFFER HIM A ROPE! HANG THAT SAVAGE! The prisoners eyes snapped out of its solemn stare and shot intensely to the direction of that voice and found the man suddenly creeping back and showing a look of fear once his eyes met the prisoners. He stared at the man until the man slunk back into the crowd and out of sight. The prisoner turned his eyes to Reyonlds.
I am Leonidas.
To be continued....
MURDERER the angry men shouted down while hanging on the rails of the courts balcony. The rectangular court hall was packed with men stewing with ire, yelling with vehemence, and having nothing better to do with their days than to find something to hate. Shoulder to shoulder, floor to balcony, the hall was loaded with malevolence.
A fat man sitting in a chair similar to a throne continually slams his gavel on the desk in front of him urging order in his court. He did it so consistently, and with such indifference that it wasnt so much a motion to cease the noise, so much as it was a conductor merely keeping meter to the malignity.
At the opposite end of the hall, a tall man with skin like shadow was being led by two bailiffs who were pushing through the enraged crowd on the floor. The bailiffs fought more to restrain the crowd than to restrain the prisoner who was showing no signs of resistance. Not that he could resist much if he wanted to, for he was bound with shackles around his wrists and feet with a thick and heavy chain interconnecting it all. His tattered clothes stained with dirt and grime. His back bore wet crimson streaks soaking through his large loose shirt. It hung on his frame like a drape on a statue waiting to be revealed, for one could easily observe the build this man had was not only large, but hardened and dense.
The prisoner stared straight in front him, and because of his height, no other man could meet his gaze except for the fat one elevated by stage at the other end who was too busy to conducting this commonality of scorn that they constitute as a trial.
The bailiffs pushed through the mob and made their way to a chair that sat twenty feet in front of the fat man whom they referred to as Lord. At the chair stood another man, who was pale, lanky, and emulated frailty and weakness to the highest degree. His face was sullen and his eyes reflected a desire to be somewhere else to be anywhere but where he was now . Like the fat lord, he wore a wig that was so ladened with perfumed powder that it looked as if it had been rolled In flour as if it was were to be deep fried like a haddock.
He motioned the bailiffs to seat the prison in the chair. The Lord banged faster now; shouted louder ORDER! ORDER! signaling to the audience, he actually meant it this time, and they responded with compliance to his commands. The weak man raised one hand as if to touch the prisoner on the arm, but it was merely symbolic as his hand kept itself several inches of ever touch him. It was deliberate. The other hand motioned, with palm up for the prisoner to sit. Please sit. I am Francis Reynolds, your council. And what is your name?
The large dark man slowly sat down, as someone from the crowd shouted DONT OFFER HIM A SEAT! OFFER HIM A ROPE! HANG THAT SAVAGE! The prisoners eyes snapped out of its solemn stare and shot intensely to the direction of that voice and found the man suddenly creeping back and showing a look of fear once his eyes met the prisoners. He stared at the man until the man slunk back into the crowd and out of sight. The prisoner turned his eyes to Reyonlds.
I am Leonidas.
To be continued....
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