1868-05-17: How's it hanging?
How's it hanging?
Summary: Havelock takes care of a few loose ends.
Date: 1868-05-17
Related: The Greens Bluff Tavern Brawl.
NPCs: {$npc}
Players:
Havelock  

Havelock finds it hard to get used to the way things are. Things were so much better prior to visiting Rikton, nothing good ever comes of visiting a city. But one thing he does know, Myrana's little explosion simply cannot be spoken freely about. Without pause, as glass tumbles from the shattered window, and dust fritters from a ceiling in need of repair, Havelock knocks back his beer and stalks out onto the street. With little pause, Havelock and his newly arrived Reliants, round up the prisoners. What's the worst that the Reliants could do? Heal them too much? Leave a splinter in? With the Inn in a shambles, the family who own said inn no doubt loudly complaining about matters, not to mention the withering scorn one Master Croix might well deliver, well, it is ample confusion.

d'Kemp's men are lead swiftly towards the gates, prisoners under guard of the Reliants, lead by Havelock himself. It has to be him that gives the order. These aren't orders that can be yielded to anyone else. Havelock smiles faintly, remembering a better time, a time when if he did indeed hang a bandit or two, it was because they deserved it. Not because they witnessed something that any half decent Inquisitor would purge with fire. Not just the oddity itself, but the village. Wipe out every trace of the corruption? It can't be that.

Swiftly, the herded men veer towards the steps to the wall, confusion is sensed and Havelock's hand picked men guide them briskly, giving them little chance to speak or profess their curiosity at the sudden change of venue. What likely does warrant attention from atop the wall, as the red clad Reliants guide their charges to the edge, are the shouts of panic, worry, and defiance. But the noise is too little, too late.

"Hang them." Havelock utters rather darkly, not glancing towards any of the Aequor contingent down below. It simply has to be done. No loose ends. What happens next can be a trifle more leisurely. As leisurely as sorcery and the dark arts?

Dark arts? Myrana? Hah. No. This can be sorted out. Set right. Perhaps.

To each of the d'Kemp men, Havelock looks, his face a mask of cold indifference, a look that would likely please any Inquisitor. Nooses are fitted roughly, and while they are, a couple of Aequorian soldiers break towards the wall, eager to stop whatever is happening. They are their prisoners after all.

Before the Aequorian men can even take that first step, the nooses are secured and each man roughly shoved over the edge, necks snap in quick succession, and Havelock utters a prayer for the newly dead. Where as once they might well have spoken of sorcery, spreading that vicious little seed of rumour, that rumour is quashed in a most final way. While in itself, the bodies hanging from the walls of the lush township might well prove warning enough to anyone thinking of rebellion.

Some might well ask why the Reliants? But if asked, they are simply told to speak to Sir Havelock the somewhat more Penitent than before.

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