Arakiel felt Mellia squeezing his hand with varying degrees of strength that often correlated to the way and pitch the prisoners’ screams reached them. Some were more pleading, others much louder and some shrill – and whenever a voice ceased and a new one took its place, he could tell that his little sister didn’t take it too well. Despite this, she insisted on staying with him as he asked her twice in the lingua kalans. When she told him that his presence helped her, he didn’t know how to respond.
But inside, he felt very glad to hear these words.
Aurora, on the other hand, seemed more concerned about his reactions while the rest of the small force he was hiding with seemed to delight in their enemies’ suffering, even taking it as a kind of stimulus and a challenge to add new voices to the choir of Middle humiliation. After all, it was but the sliver of a fraction of the humiliation that the proud people of the Holy Transcended’s chosen had to endure for decades.
And while Arakiel’s expression remained fairly indifferent to the men’s screams, that changed in one fell swoop as soon as the new set of voices had a higher, feminine pitch. It didn’t take long at all for his insides to twist at the sound of the first, pitiful pleas.
So distant, and yet it kind of felt as though he was standing there, torturing them.
Now it was his time to squeeze Mellia’s hand while Ezekiel reminded him that everything he felt – the Middles most likely felt to a much higher degree.
The other Mortal Ascendant’s words ended up being true, for it only took about half an hour more before the keep’s bridge crashed down with a loud bang while another noise indicated that the two other obstacles were also about to be removed.
This prompted his squad to put on alterations, enchantments in addition to imbibing several kinds of alchemical substances that Arakiel hadn’t seen used before.
The first wave of Middles that charged out were ten heavily-armored people clad in full mail with sizable amounts of plate and unfortunately, they didn’t just exit the keep and then ran off; Instead, the obviously heavily enhanced soldiers began to form a defensive perimeter around the keep’s sole entrance and exit, effectively establishing a bridgehead.
On first glance, Arakiel assumed several layers of mostly water, nature and even some earth enchantments or alterations, but their skin was thoroughly covered up while both shields and swords glowed in varying degrees of faint blue or brown.
These Middles then called out towards any challengers, demanding they be met in honorable combat instead of taking out one’s lowly impulses on defenseless maidens, which slightly raised Arakiel’s eyebrow.
When no immediate answer returned, the Middles signaled that the cowardly desert rats were too afraid to crawl out from their holes, right after which a second set of soldiers charged out. It consisted of two kinds of combatants. There were those who wore mostly highly-decorated chainmail in addition to varying degrees of plate armor mostly aimed at protecting the upper chest. These fighters’ weapons ranged from the usual sword and board all the way over bows and spears to someone wearing massive two-handed sword that would’ve been called a zweihander in Kalanaar.
The second set of soldiers in that unit concerned obvious mages, given their staves and wands, their robes and the overall light cloth armor that was meant to encumber them as little as possible.
All two dozen members of this second group were buffed as well, their skin showing traces of magical energies.
They charged ahead and into the noble’s district, their goal undoubtedly to reach the execution grounds and a little later, a third group of similar make headed of the keep.
Roughly five minutes after the second group had left, Arakiel silently gave the order and when the other groups saw the spearhead move out, they’d do so as well.
The group commanded by Basam sprang forth like a coiled spring under strong tension and Arakiel was honestly surprised – impressed even – how quickly they not only crossed the half-circular square in front of the keep’s entrance, but how effortlessly the heavily-armored men passed by the defenders.
The Middle vanguard only truly noticed what Basam’s men were up to as they slipped past them. The soldiers tried to intercept, but a second group of warriors from the Smokeless Host had already made their first move.
With their attention split, the duke’s soldiers were divided into those who hurried after Basam’s fighters and those who were beset by a mixture of heavy and medium infantry as well as some Evokers who flung zaps of lightning, little darts of fire or sizable rocks.
A battle of sword and sorcery ensued, yet the vanguard defenders’ armor proved to be of exceptional make as normal weapons seemed to more or less bounce off of them while evocations showed some signs of effect, but it wasn’t the impact one might hope for.
Nonetheless, the constant pressure applied by the southerners proved enough to distract and effectively force their opponents on the defensive right from the get-go.
And then the third and fourth group moved onto the battlefield, not giving the defenders that were more or less out of position the time of day.
These warriors of the Host also hurried over the bridge into the keep where Basam and some of his most-heavily armored and burly men had formed a line as though they expected something.
A myriad of shouts resounded, raising attention to all kinds of things, yet Arakiel kept his focus on the keep’s entrance as it was the crucial point upon which everything else depended.
There, a loud noise resounded and the descending portcullis threatened to cut off those who had made it inside, but five warriors of the Smokeless Host, including Basam, met the massive falling grate of metal.
Through magic, indomitable will and the strength of their alterated bodies, the elite of the Smokeless Host intercepted the gate, stopped the portcullis.
Arakiel felt not only baffled by their strength, but also proud – proud that his soldiers were willing to go all out and beyond to see his orders fulfilled. It wouldn’t be a big deal on a medium plane, but on a minor plane? This was definitely a notable, praiseworthy feat!
Their action allowed most of the third and fourth group to charge into the keep as well, after which point Basam and his men let the portcullis fall down, unable to keep it suspended any longer.
For them, the crucial part of this entire mission began, but more than 40 people had made it inside. Arakiel hoped that it would be enough – it had to be. These were some of his best fighters.
No, it’d be fine. The cavalry commander had guaranteed it.
Meanwhile, the few remaining soldiers of the spearhead that had kept the Middle vanguard busy continued their dance on the drawbridge – a delicate act of thrusts, slashes, parries and deflections, all crowned by a constant vigil of their hazardous surroundings.
Ezekiel whistled approvingly while a new battleground had been opened in the distance, the faint sounds of slung magic and steel seeking new prey even making its way over to here.
At least the cries of the female prisoners seemed to have ceased, or maybe the other sounds just drowned them out.
Arakiel felt restless as he watched his soldiers fight from the distance, but the more, longer and harder these two forces clashed against one another, the more he realized that he was right where he should be – which wasn’t over there.
The intensity with which both Middles and southerners attacked one another was both wondrous and frightening to behold – none gave the other any quarter whatsoever. Few words were exchanged and those that did usually served as a means for coordination. Every lapse got exploited to the full, the idea of something like mercy being a far-fetched sentiment.
According to Ezekiel, that was how it should be.
Arakiel agreed while also realizing that he wasn’t abiding by it.
And while the duke’s elite fought truly valiantly and they might even be the better fighters, they were too few, being outnumbered almost four-to-one. Furthermore, their opponents were too skilled and patient to risk any reckless attacks.
The nobles’ armor was as strong as their will, but even the best plate and mail had weaknesses and the people chosen for these missions had all been veterans of former raids; they knew how to deal with heavily armored Middle soldiers or even Alterators. Arakiel assumed that some of the men down there were Alterators, but unlike the jinnum, these didn’t flare their magic for show.
Meanwhile, the battle in the keep raged on in full and while the portcullis remained yet closed, the drawbridge hadn’t been pulled up.
Several more minutes passed until the first two casualties happened when a member of the spearhead fell off of the bridge, taking a Middle soldier him. Both plummeted into the moat at which point Arakiel ordered Ezekiel to save this man if anyhow possible.
Ezekiel called it unwise, but Arakiel insisted. He, Mellia and Aurora were safe here on their new hiding spot, which was in some distance on a balcony.
The Lord Executor’s right hand briefly took on Selene’s aspect, drew two sigils in the air and then applied them to himself after which he had Arakiel help him out of the heaviest pieces of armor. Then, he dashed out of their hiding place and hurried down into the moat with unprecedented speed.
Further towards the city center, he witnessed more of his army approach and occasionally, his ears caught wind of orders and screams from inside the keep where the battle seemed to escalate ever further.
Despite realizing that he shouldn’t be down there, he grew restless once again, feeling as though he should join in – but he’d be a liability. This, he had to tell himself over and over, but it might only be because of Mellia and Aurora that he stayed up here, hidden and secure.
His little sister clung to him, repeatedly whispering that she had to be here if she was to support him in full, as the Lady Alexandrite had ordered. He pulled her a little closer and Mellia did not shy away. This way, he had a reason to remain up here, a reason he had to honor because he, too, had made an oath to her.
His aurea also supported Mellia in her own way, whispering words of comfort in addition to ruffling the girl’s hair which Mellia, surprisingly, did not forbid.
As he beheld his trembling little sister, Arakiel wondered how she’d look back at this in a few years. By that point, she might’ve become what most-likely everyone expected her to: a pillar for House Alexandrite, a young woman whose only obstacle would be how quickly she rose to divinity and perhaps beyond.
It made him further wonder just how much his mother knew about Aurora and the solution he and Shemyaza had chased for over a decade.
Now that he had begun to grasp even a sliver of what Aurora was capable off – and the price that her powers demanded – it seemed overly convenient to have Mellia join him from the get-go.
Only time would tell, would tell whether he could withstand it.
It might come across as a little derogatory, given that these thoughts tumbled through his mind as he watched his men fight with their lives on the line, and yet he interpreted it differently. He was certain that they would win – and the way the battle developed supported his claim for now.
One by one, the Middle vanguard were whittled down while reinforcements were close at this point and when the portcullis began to open, a slight but triumphant smile hushed across Arakiel’s lips – one that widened as Ezekiel climbed out of the moat, giving him a thumbs up even if the man he was supposed to rescue wasn’t with him.
He was probably down below, safe.
His right hand man then joined the fight outside the keep.
Despite the overwhelming advantage that the Smokeless Host had, the battle for the keep of Irialswell – and really the town proper – lasted for roughly two more hours, even though Duke Irial fell in battle some time earlier if shouts inside the keep could be believed. The death of their leader only spurred the remaining surviving nobles of the town into a desperate frenzy – one that ended with their bitter end.
Arakiel had to most likely reconsider his earlier evaluation.
To him, the battle for Irialswell ended when the banners of the Smokeless Host were hoisted over the keep and soon afterwards, a blood-drenched Basam ibun Zaki marched out, one hand holding the severed, crowned head of a blonde man while the other dragged a heavily injured woman along. Given her attire and jewelry, she was most likely the duke’s consort.
The other warriors that followed in Basam’s wake were also covered in guts and gore from head to toe, yet everyone appeared to have claimed at least one prisoner to display as proof of their superiority. Again, judging by attire, these mostly women and some men to be nobles. He guessed that most didn’t appear to be combatants for their clothes were relatively free of blood if one ignored the splatter on the skirts and trousers.
Arakiel and his retinue descended to the streets to meet the triumphant victors and while he had no trouble wading through the massive pool of blood that had formed from all the dead people on this square, Mellia and Aurora chose to wait near the edge while Selene had waited upstairs, waiting for her Master to pick her up. The silver-eyed seraphim had been so quiet that Arakiel had almost forgotten about her.
Basam’s unit stopped on his sign right in the sea of blood.
He stood face to face with Arakiel, who waited in some distance.
The man took off his helmet, which prompted every other warrior to do the same, after which he presented Duke Irial’s head to Arakiel, announcing in a solemn and proud voice. “Lord Executor! The coward duke lies slain by my hand! His band of Middle rats fought bitterly, but their puny water and nature magic is no match for us men of earth, fire and air!”
Arakiel matched the commander’s tone, addressing the assembled soldiers. “You have brought great honor to the Smokeless Host, to Sultan Zimraan and to me, your Lord Executor! Vengeance and justice for the Crimson Week!”
His call was echoed by every warrior of the Smokeless Host, their voices forming to a brief but incredibly potent choir.
“Vengeance and justice for the Crimson Week!” The men repeated thrice after which Arakiel spoke up once more. He decided to strike while the iron was hot. Not only was morale at a high point, but these people had just done an outstanding service that he could set as an example for everyone else. “You have done well, warriors of the Smokeless Host! As per the sultan’s decree, you are not only permitted to select some loot prior to everyone else, I will also grant you and your men the honor of choosing how to display your battle trophies! Furthermore, everyone shall know of your accolade in the upcoming gathering!”
His men saluted once again, their eyes lighting up with pride, reverence and satisfaction.
“We thank the Executor Djinni for his display of magnanimity!” Basam replied solemnly. There was a hint of pleasant surprise in the warrior’s tone. He saluted once again and then ordered his people to march on.
Arakiel then repeated his offer to the surrounding, remaining soldiers in a slightly different way: given their meritorious service, they were also allowed to pick some loot prior to the mandated day.
Again, his display with met with fervent-yet-measured approval.
Then, he returned to the other battleground which had stretched all the way from the execution grounds over the walls and parts of both districts as some particularly foolish Middle citizens had thought that they could play the hero. The results were seen in the fluids that now stained sizable portions of the wall and the houses close by.
This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
However, when he made his way up the wall towards the execution grounds, he was met with a sight that left him puzzled at first, and then thoroughly outraged.
Not only were there still some nude prisoners strapped onto the torture tables, but a sizable portion of his supposedly disciplined force had begun to force themselves on roughly two dozen collared women and even two men whose subdued pleas only seemed to animate the others, especially those who guarded the remaining, kneeling captives that were forced to watch this event.
Arakiel’s genuine outrage caused an immediate cessation of all activities, but the confusion written across these men’s faces perplexed him as well and when he asked what exactly they thought they were doing here, a lean soldier who had just finished bandaging a stripped, shackled woman’s leg, came over towards him.
He respectfully introduced himself as Zuhayr, second in command to Basram ibun Zaki.
Arakiel had to force himself to remain in a somewhat calm state as he wasn’t expected to show brusts of emotion. He questioned the man in a cold voice that trembled only lightly, inquiring what exactly was going on here. After all, he couldn’t recall his order being this.
Zuhayr calmly explained that the Executor Djinni’s words had been followed to the letter. First, all the men were tortured and subsequently executed, at which point he motioned to a small pile of maimed bodies. Then, he went on to report that the chosen of the Smokeless Host had begun with the ugliest and oldest women, who had been tortured to the brink of death, but only that far. To back up his claim, he motioned over to a group of sitting women who looked as though they stared death in the face – and lost.
But they were alive and although they were covered in blood and injuries, those had come from instruments of metal, not flesh.
When Arakiel pointed at the collared people, the second-in-command pointed out that these were the prisoners from Filannsforst who had already been processed and sold. As such, it was perfectly in line with the Smokeless Host’s decrees which stated that sex between owner and property was not only permitted, but encouraged as a means to foster a healthy relationship between Middle slaves and masters of the Holy Transcended’s chosen people.
Arakiel let his gaze briefly wander across the scene. He only recognized two faces: the weeping recruit from the gatehouse who knelt beside her fellow captives in the back and the Water Evoker that had wounded him in the previous night. She was the woman that Zuhayr had bandaged and judging by the freshness of her injuries, she was one of the two survivors of this particular battleground, revealing the ferocity with which the Middles had fought.
Realizing that he had no legal ground to stand on, Arakiel instead commended the soldiers for their quick witted thinking and then ordered them to help secure the town now that the last major pocket of resistance had been squashed. He furthermore ordered to prepare the prisoners for the evening as he paired this with the announcement of an order that was to be carried to every ear in the town: come evening, every capable adult was to gather for the central square for an important announcement. This included both warriors of the Smokeless Host and citizens of Irialswell.
Then, he set out to meet with with his advisors and some of the captains and commanders to discuss further steps.
To Arakiel, it felt as though the rest of the day passed by in a flash. Meetings, discussions and then preparations for the event and before he fully realized that it was time, it was about to happen.
From behind the curtained window of the temporary headquarters that he had spent nearly the entire afternoon in, he could tell that most of the central square had already fallen to the shadow as the sun set swiftly and early, yet it nonetheless burst apart at the seams as more and more people streamed towards it. That behavior was partially enforced by the occupying army, yet it mattered not for the outcome.
A sizable wooden stage of three layers had been built in front of the temple-turned-hospital, high enough that even those in the back could see what would happen. Right now, it was empty that wouldn’t be the case for long.
The warriors of the Smokeless Host had donned their black garbs as a means to differentiate themselves from the rather colorfully-dressed Middle burghers and peasants and around a hundred of them formed an indomitable wall that divided the square.
Irialswell’s central location was abuzz with whispers of all kinds, but Arakiel barely noticed them from inside.
He had just finished looking over another report that Akili had just brought in and its content had seemed fairly promising, although it’d be an issue for tomorrow.
For now, he straightened his doublet and ensured that his black cloak fit him spotlessly, which his aurea assured him that it did.
Then, he put his hand onto his scimitar’s small pommel and left the preliminary headquarters, Aurora right behind him. She had requested to stand at his side and he saw no reason to deny her. Ezekiel and Selene followed right behind him while Mellia chose to remain inside the building, watching over Nyanna whom he still had plans for later.
Arakiel stepped outside and was greeted by a gust of relatively cold air, but he didn’t mind. The dusk sky was spotless, but the sun’s light would fade soon.
They had brought lots of potential fire to ensure visibility once the sun was gone for good.
A brief look around – everything seemed to be in order.
An Air Enchanter whispered a spell.
Arakiel cleared his throat and began to ascend the stairs, all the way to the top of the empty stage which truly wouldn’t remain empty for long. The only sound that accompanied his ascent was a muffled, hateful noise in his back.
Once on top, thousands of faces looked up towards him and in but a short moment, most of the residual noise on the square ceased, replaced by curious and bated silence.
That, too, wouldn’t remain so for long.
“Citizens of Irialswell,” Arakiel began his address, the air enchantment carrying his words far and wide.
Silence ensued.
“As I speak, my soldiers are scouring your city house by house to see if anyone dared to disrespect the first order given by the Executor Djinni. Offenders will be fined harshly, but you can ease the burden on your household if you or a member of your family gives a valuable hint that leads to an offender.”
As expected, quiet outrage – but this was just the opening hook.
“Citizens of Irialswell, allow me to introduce myself,” Arakiel spoke up as he took on Aurora’s aspect, causing the first murmur to go through the crowd. “I am Lord Executor Arakiel, entrusted by the Lord Djinn Zimraan al al-Aliriq, to settle the myriad of grievances that the Holy Transcended’s chosen people have with the Middle Kingdom, most notably its ruling class.”
Arakiel raised the hand that had rested on the scimitar, causing some movement behind him.
A second murmur went through the assembled crowd as Basam ibun Zaki and several other members of the spearhead dragged seven prisoners in total onto the highest platform next to him. A woman, four adolescents in addition to a girl and boy.
The Middles below began to show anger, only for it to fall silent as Basam presented the duke’s severed head.
“Duke Irial is dead!” Arakiel proclaimed loudly, adding. “He was slain by Basam ibun Zaki, a commander of the Smokeless Host and special guest of honor for today’s celebration!”
The middle-aged warrior chuckled lightly as he reached for a spear that had the banner of the Smokeless Host attached to it.
Dropping the duke’s head onto the ground, the warrior skillfully and determinedly impaled it onto the tip. Then he wedged the spear into a little opening on the corner of the highest platform.
The bound adolescents winced, the children wept and the gagged woman offered muffled scraps of noise as she struggled against Basams grip – to no avail.
“Hear my words, citizens of Irialswell!” Arakiel went on to announced the new reality. “The warriors of the Smokeless Host, the combined forces of the three cities of the southern desert, are here to stay! This isn’t a retaliatory raid, we are here to invade and conquer the Middle Kingdom that has humiliated the proud people of the south for too long!”
Stunned silence on the one side, cheers and applause on the other.
He immediately continued for the next sentences were crucial.
“But know this, fine people of Irialswell – while you have enabled and tolerated the treatment under which the proud daughters and sons had to live for decades, you are not responsible!” Arakiel went on to point out as he lightly twisted his outstretched hand, giving another signal.
It was time to reveal the guilty ones. “Responsible are those who ruled over you! The nobles, counts, dukes and above all, King Cahir and Queen Fohdla!”
As he spoke these words, more honorary fighters began to march surviving adult and adolescent members of the nobility onto the stage – those who had been identified as belonging to more influential families onto the second layer while the rest were herded on the lowest.
The assembled crowd watched with bated breath, sometimes marred by anger, sometimes by fear. None even attempted to intervene.
While that event was still in place, Arakiel went on to remind the Middles. “These are the survivors of those who left you to your own fate at the first sign of danger! The others, we have already punished for all the atrocities they committed against the Holy Transcended’s chosen people!”
He appreciated the fact that the noble prisoners didn’t even try to struggle, it certainly reinforced his claims.
“But these still remain, and the decree of Sultan Zimraan al-Aliriq is clear: every captured noble must face judgment for facilitating the Crimson Week!”
His army cheered, the citizens of Irialswell kept quiet, observed. For now, it didn’t affect them.
Arakiel walked over towards the boy and the girl, the two youngest children of the duke. He addressed them loudly and some in the crowd began to shout.
“Young Lady Almha, Young Lord Ciardan,” Arakiel began and the two thoroughly frightened children looked up to him while the duchess struggled some more, but Basam quickly subdued her. “Your parents and bloodline are responsible for heinous crimes against the people of al-Aliriq, al-Bukhari and al-Zuhyar. You are too young to make the choice that every noble has to make, which is why you will be taken to the south. There, you will learn what your kind has done and when you are of age, you will be judged depending on your understanding.”
Arakiel motioned for the children to be taken away as he heard sighs of relief from the crowd after which he addressed one of the soldiers on the lowest level of the stage by name, asking him to take it from here.
Part of the honor that he had bestowed upon the people that had stormed the keep was to actively participate in this ceremony.
The reception had been… ecstatic to say the least.
The relatively young soldier of the Smokeless Host then removed his prisoner’s gag and accused him of a similar crime, only that he was deemed old enough to face the consequences. Either, he’d submit and repent for the rest of his life in servitude to those they had wronged, or he could continue to defy them.
This young soldier’s prisoner – another young man of similar age – began to insult his opposite and when he was about to address the populace, the suddenly tried cried out.
The honorary combtant had grabbed the man’s tongue at which point he began to recall in great detail how members of his family starved to death because the Middles refused to offer them food for hihgly valuable alchemical potions of the highest grade.
The soldier’s hate was palpable as he vividly described scenes of himself as a young boy that had to witness how his father passed away because he couldn’t get up anymore and as he did, he began to cut the noble apart, eye for eye and then finger by finger.
It made for a gruesome spectacle, yet the grim satisfaction that the members of the Smokeless Host took from the slow execution was enough for Arakiel to warrant this event.
The hatred of the southerners was palpable and very real. Arakiel needed to give them closure – and it would be attributed to him, for he allowed them to satisfy their need for vengeance, not Sultan Zimraan. It should hopefully prove to be an important distinction.
When the soldier eventually slit the noble’s throat, he turned towards Arakiel and made a deep, respectful bow while some of the surrounding fighters cheered for the man, calling it a long-overdue serving of justice and vengeance.
Arakiel forced himself to watch the entire event, for he was their Lord Executor and on his behalf, he allowed his men to quell his thirst for vengeance.
Then, he called out the man next to him by name and bade him to continue.
At first, it seemed to be a similar scene, only that the noble was a young woman this time. She initially called her captor names, insulting him harshly. But as soon as the man began to draw his knife over her cheek, she quickly changed her tune, begging for mercy and what followed suit would’ve made Arakiel turn away were it not for Aurora, whose golden irises gleamed with a halo as her whisper carried the words right into his mind.
“You should witness this, my Lord. If you are to be a conqueror, you need to see this, need to feel it. You have taste it.”
Ezekiel quietly added to this, speaking in the lingua kalans just like Aurora had done earlier. “For once, I agree with her. This is par for the course if we rely on the locals’ help. Watch it, learn to appreciate or disparage it – and then act from there.”
Arakiel forced himself to watch the woman undressing under tears while having to endure the mockery of not only the warriors of the Smokeless Host, but also many of the crowd of Middles, calling her a disgrace, a whore and the like.
The warrior then made the woman kneel, at which point he fastened a rope around her neck, claiming her as his own, which was the only way to leave this scaffold alive for those who were about to be convicted.
Afterwards, he turned towards Arakiel and gave him a similar show of respect as the ceremony demanded he did.
This procedure went on for nearly an hour. The crime was recounted, the sentence passed which was then usually followed by the soldier speaking about a personal event in his life that had happened because of the Middles’ actions. Usually, it involved a starving family member or some tale from the Crimson Week. If the noble submitted right away, they were allowed to keep their clothes as long as they kissed the feet of their new owner. If they showed even the slightest trace of resistance, they were humiliated like that woman and only one older Lady endured the torture to the end, at which point she died with a triumphant smile on her face.
Most of the others broke down long before that.
From the roughly 100 nobles, only a fifth chose to stare death in the face until the end and when it was eventually the duke’s family’s turn, it caused a major ripple throughout the crowd as the duke’s sole daughter immediately kissed her captor’s feet once confronted with her ancestry’s crime. An even worse reception returned when all three sons of the duke followed their younger sister’s example.
And when the injured countess obeyed Basam’s orders to strip for his pleasure in front of her dead husband’s head, the crowd erupted in righteous anger at the cowardice of the duke’s family who had been fully gripped by terror after having to witness the Smokeless Host’s determination.
Arakiel raised his voice as soon as Basam paid his respects to the Executor Djinni, continuing on to the next phase of the ceremony.
“Citizens of Irialswell,” he began once again, causing the agitated crowd to more or less fall silent once more. “As expected, many of your cowardly rulers have chosen to live in service of their new superiors, who will now take reigns of this settlement and you!”
“Starting the day after tomorrow, a new set of temporary laws will be put in place while this city remains under occupation. The rules are clear and concise and will not impact your daily life in many aspects. However, any infractions will be reprimanded once, and punished harshly on the second time.” Arakiel went on to say before he reached for the final part that looped all the way back to the beginning.
“And before I forget, there is one further aspect that needs to be addressed. I had initially hoped to rule differently, but some of you just had to attack us after we’ve established a curfew. Therefore, the following set of rules applies from midnight to midnight, effectively the entire day tomorrow.”
He briefly paused, letting some of the implications in and then announced the verdict. “As enablers of the Holy Transcended’s chosen people’s humiliation, you will be subjected to two punishments. The first is that for the entirety of the day of tomorrow, my warriors may enter your home and demand any item of value that you possess. No more than one item per warrior and furthermore, as long as you comply, neither you nor your family will be implicated. Any infractions on behalf of my people can be reported on the day after tomorrow in the temporary administration whose location will be disclosed in time and I can assure you that any claims will be investigated. If it proves to be true, you will be reimbursed. If it does not, then you will be punished harshly for slandering an honorable warrior of the Smokeless Host.”
Unease began to spread on the square, but none of the Middles dared to protest.
Arakiel then announced the last topic and since the enchantment had run out, he needed to shout quite a bit. “And lastly, on the day after tomorrow, every household that is not a member of the peasantry will be expected to pay a one-time tribute which will depend on the evaluation on your holdings. Alternatively, you can hand over one adult son or daughter who will then pay for your family’s collective transgressions! That will be all!”
Arakiel was about to turn around when he suddenly stopped and then reminded the crowd. “Remember – any hint that leads to the apprehension of dissident elements will be rewarded. We wish to cooperate with you to secure a swift and effortless change in leadership. Whether that succeeds is up to you!”
With those words said, Arakiel headed down the set of stairs, letting the words and their implications sink in.
He could only hope that the time of unrest would be kept relatively short this way as he really didn’t have the time.
Ezekiel patted him on the back, praising that this had been a decent show of force while Aurora merely gave him a charming smile.
Selene was, well – she seemed too preoccupied with the guy holding her leash that she had anything worthwhile to add and Arakiel couldn't help but wonder whether Ezekiel had drugged her with something. She almost seemed intoxicated.
Many of the surrounding warriors in black gave him approving nods and Akili was already waiting downstairs. He was accompanied by Aisha, who was more bandage than jinnum but she nonetheless looked fairly content by his performance that she must’ve witnessed.
The two also praised the event, noting that while the effect on the residents remained yet to be seen, the Smokeless Hold had felt vindicated and was all fired up to repeat this in the next town of Scitathswood.
Arakiel queried whether there was more to discuss tonight, but the jinnum waved him off, saying that he should relax a bit, as would most soldiers do now.
They had earned a rest.
Arakiel dismissed Ezekiel and Selene before returning back to where Mellia and Nyanna waited, asking his little sister whether she wanted to take a little nighttime stroll to get some heavy thoughts off of her mind.
She affirmed, which pleased him greatly.
Lastly, he ordered his aurea and his slave to remain here. He would fetch them later.
He, too, had quite a bit to get off of his chest.