- Pronouns
- She/Her
Reedie_
Legend
The blonde elf's robes draped behind him as he ascended the marble steps of the podium. The people of the city were normally well-behaved, but the same could not be said for this day. The courtroom was filled, onlookers practically being pushed over the gallery's barristers, each trying to get a careful look. The elf, reaching the top of the podium, sets out a book before him, and lifts his gaze, regarding the hundred eyes looking back at him.
Below the chamber, two men sat, one with a gaze seemingly distant, the other's face dotted with sweat, his expression one of a genuine fear, a feeling of hopelessness paramount in his soul. The two men exchanged glances, and regarded the stone chamber they found themselves in. A fine prison, filled with ornate stonework, but a prison nonetheless.
A deafening sound filled the building, echoing down to the chambers below. The sound of the ornate steel gavel, cylindrical in shape, crashing against the plate beneath it—a sound akin to a quiet cannon shot. The men exchanged a final glance, before the guards appeared at the door; they began their ascent up the stairs and into the courtroom's chambers.
The roar became a frenzy as the two men's faces appeared in the chamber, men and women of all sorts hurling insults of 'traitor' and 'murderer', and each demanding justice. It was a trial, but all knew there was little doubt of the outcome. As the men took their seats, the blonde elf stood, holding the book in his hand. Lifting a arm to the gallery, the onlookers grew quiet, silent gazes befalling him. The elf spoke of the necessity of justice, the need to let any accused face their charges, not simply be taken to a stake. The two men in the defendant chairs avoided eye contact, but the blonde elf spoke to them, in a commanding voice: he read out the charges—treason, murder, and kidnapping—and narrowed his gaze, asking for their pleas.
The sweating man was the first to stand, his legs trembling beneath his feet. Clearing his throat, he spoke clearly, declaring himself not guilty of the charges. The gallery could not hold their silence, and erupted in fury, silenced only as the blonde elf presiding raised a hand, turning to regard his counterpart. A brief nod was exchanged, and the sweating man sat, his colleague standing beside him. The distant gaze focused itself firmly on the elf before him, and a tired, weary voice responded: "I am guilty of many things", the man said, "But treason is not one of them." Again, the courtroom was filled with ruckus uproar, and the blonde elf, despite his best efforts, would struggle to contain their passion.
The afternoon was a long, drawn out occasion. First came the testimony of countless who witnessed the horrors of the past several months, speaking of mercenaries barging into homes, bringing needless bloodshed upon those guilty only of refusing their arbitrary and hawkish demands. Each pointed to the two defendants, crying out in anguish that it was them, that they sent the men who ended lives, divorced families, and took livelong friends away from each other. Throughout it all, both the men sat, not looking at anything but the table afore them.
It finally came to the time of their defence. The sweating man had heard enough, and when asked to stand and make his case, he shook his head, his gaze still fixed to the desk before him. As gazes shifted to his companion, the weary man stood, adjusting the blouse he wore. He spoke of philosophies, rather than actions—that he does not dispute the acts described, and holds great sorrow for them, but that it was in service of a transcendental purpose that was greater than any of them, including the defendant himself. His speech becoming more passionate and with a quiet fury, until, at the crescendo of his monologue, he levied a finger towards the blonde elf sitting atop the podium, and with his voice enraged, he cried out: "I was saving these people who you have failed!"
The courtroom grew quiet, and the blonde elf rose to his feet. Resting a hand on the book before him, he spoke: "I have given you a trial, you would not have done the same." A weak response, perhaps, though it contained the core of his feelings of the matter; turning to move down the steps, he called the trial into a recess as he receded to his deliberations.
No sooner had the elf left the chamber than the pent-up fury of the crowd erupted anew, with none to quell it. They pushed against the barristers, and considered jumping into the chamber below; the room, lined with guards, held firm against the pressure of the crowd pressing upon them, those enraged by their lost loved ones filled with a bloodlust that would not be settled. Before long, more guards rushed in from below, desperately holding their fellow citizens at bay while the two defendants sat quietly, motionless in their chairs.
Some of the guards doubted their actions—after all, they were holding back their friends, their countrymen, to defend traitors! A few pulled off from the guard line, refusing to aid further. The guard captain turned to them and shouted, with some compassion, "We are not brutes! If we ignore the law we have lost all we have fought for!" Several glances were exchanged between the guards, and before long the line was reinforced anew, the angry mob within the courthouse slowly pushed back.
After a long while; longer than many would have expected, the blonde elf returned to the chamber, his robes draped behind him as he ascended the marble steps of the podium once more. The defendants rose to their feet, and met his gaze. The blonde elf spoke clearly and harshly, and lifted the steel gavel, clattering it to the plate, the quiet cannon shot filling the chamber once more.
There was never any doubt, but the words quelled the last hope of the conspirators.
Last edited:
