[LOG] Farra executes Veilus.

[The_Last_Good_Dragon]

I chose to only include emotes based around the ceremony of the event and exclude those of the PC's in the crowd, to offer them anonymity from the log!

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On the third of Aprilis, year 377, the great bells of the Cathedral sounded
out across a festive Lithmore City, the call of the chimes taken up by chapel
and guardtower, summoning the citizens to fill River Square. There, dressed
in lighter fabrics promising the turning of the season, the Grand Inquisitor
her Holy Honour the Lady Farra dul Baildana put the former Seneschal Veilus
op Tethno to the flame for the sin of Magery. The man was calm as he was led
to his fate, silent even as the flames burned up his arms and face. The
Grand Inquisitor spoke to the crowd about the dangers of those who would
abuse the established authority of the Kingdom to pilot its future towards
the Abyss, and promised that the Holy Inquisition would always stand against
such unholy dominion, continuing in the holy decrees of King Dav ab Harmon,
two-hundred and thirty-three years after his murder.
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It is a chilly Eldes day in early April. Clouds are thick in the initial ring, which summons people from their revelry of Spring Awakening to River Square. There, a group of Inquisitors work to ceremoniously prepare the pyre, a line of Knights in their gleaming armors, swords, spurs and horses manage the eager crowd.

Farra casts her gaze out over the assembling crowd, stepping forwards to herald in a silence even as people find their places to witness what is to come. Gone are the wintry layers of the past several months, replaced by an outfit eager to shed the chill of early spring as the Kingdom heats towards summer. Behind her, the line of Inquisitors still, the pyre prepared and the Knights fanning out to keep a perimeter around the group of Orderlies; though these are sharply focused they do not show a tension of expectation, merely a presence against the festive crowds.

"People of Lithmore!" she says, not shouting -- not exactly -- but lifting her voice dominantly, a voice and cry which seems at odds with the small woman's delicate features, her small build, her unquestionable eastern beauty. "Ever are there hyenas nipping at our heels, our shins, our bellies." There is a hardness about this woman, a coldness in her eyes and in the sharpness of her tone. Her hands are clasped behind her as her pale eyes skim the surface of the crowd from her raised position. "Our throats. There are those who see our prosperity, our peace, our community and grow envious. Salivate at their mouths and covet dominion, covert ownership, desire only to place their mark of ruin upon our great and impregnable faith."

"Not all of these carry the corruption of the abyss in their blood. The taint manifests itself in far more ways than this: the murderer, the deceiver, the treasonous, the wicked, there heretic. But these all call to those who allow themselves to turn corrupted by the Permanent Taint." Farra seems entirely at ease in this place, in this moment, her voice unwavering as it addresses the gathered crowd. Still no heretic has been brought forwards, no body to be fed to the flames. Behind the assembled Orderites, Ahalin Tower looms.

"As long as men gather in communion and community to worship the Lord of Springs, to bear proof that the civilization of man will not be ruled by demonic powers, then there will be those who stand against you, the faithful of Dav, hoping only to bring ruin down upon your heads. Whether controlled by arrogance, greed, or the sinister whispers of their abyssal masters I know not, but authority attracts the wicked like the moth to the flame." She looks sideways: this is apparently some signal; the doors of Ahalin swing open. [Farra]

The clouds part to reveal the heavens above.

Out is led a tall young man with sky blue eyes dressed in prisoner's sackcloth, his hair shorn short, unshaved bristle on his face. His fingers are wired together, his wrists manacled, chain connecting his ankles together. As he is led towards Farra and the pyre, towards the crowd, some would well recognize him beneath the bruises and scrapes of torture which show upon his once-handsome features: Veilus op Tethno, the former Poet Laudate and, more recently, the oft-absent Seneschal who had to step away from the position. He does not look healthy: cheeks are sunken and his eyes hollow, a decaying man held in the grasp of some untreated illness beneath his more recent touches of the Jail. [Farra]

As the bard is brought forwards, the Grand Inquisitor speaks, her voice gaining a tremble of zealous passion.

"Like that moth, these mages have one proper end: a short burst of the fire's purifying light and a quickly-fading memory of them. Veilus Tethno," the ommision of the man's bardic patronym cannot be an accident from Farra, gesturing as the man is secured into the metal pillar around which the pyre is pre-built, "is such a parasite. A man who would steal your loyalty with lies, pick-pocket your admiration with arcane glamours, hand your gold over to the sorcerers and summoners who use creatures such as Tethno as pawns in their heretical games. And then, I suppose, Veilus Tethno dreamed of no higher honor than to die, and pass his soul off to the abyss, to be eternalized in his wicked ways."

Oil is poured over the man, who does not look up to meet the crowd's stare. His eyes are hard as well, his mouth firmly set shut -- by choice, it seems: the man will go quietly to the beyond, offer the crowd no satisfaction of writhing and spiting at the Holy Inquisitor's accusations. [Farra]

"Tirelessly," Farra says, her voice growing more gentle though not really any meaningful bit more soft, extending a hand to accept a torch from one of the red-robed Inquisitors, "the Inquisition works to protect the citizens of this kingdom from these threats. These mages whose mind and heart is too twisted to accept the eternity the Lord provides, to do all that they can to squirm away from us even as they try to subjugate us.

She steps forwards, closing the gap. Her eyes flick to the bound man, slick with that consecrated substance. There's a flicker of an emotion there, something stirred in the pale eyes of the crimson-clad woman, but it is so short-lived and so distant the crowd garners no insight to it before the Holy Honour is looking back to them, addressing them with: "Take sight and know hope, people of Lithmore, for even as the Blessed King Dav burned the Seven down from their unholy thrones, his Inquisition continues two-hundred and thirty-three years after his murder to protect you. To shift the balance of the endless war towards the light, towards the purity of the Springs, towards the embrace of our Lord."

She sets the torch to the pyre; it engulfs almost instantly. Within moments the acrid smell of flesh blistering and peeling away fills the square. The Grand Inquisitor, like the majority of the Orderites assembled, do not react to this. Impassive, they step back and allow for the cleansing to take its course, gathering the remains when the time is come. [Farra]

"Lord Bless you and keep you safe, people of Lithmore. Be ever alert. Recall that it is impossible for the Inquisition to be everywhere at once, to know all things. Come to us when you see the signs, when you read the portents. Be loyal and be pure. Be faithful. And enjoy the promise of eternal purity in the embrace of the Lord of Springs which this Spring Awakening provides to you." With those final words, Farra chalices herself pointedly, dramatizing the gesture so that the crowd might be drawn to it, reminded of its necessity. The Inquisitors begin to file away, the Grand Inquisitor lingering. For questions or discussion with the faithful, one might well imagine as she steps off of the dais. [Farra]