[Log] The Pyring of Quentyn le Bray

[The_Last_Good_Dragon]

River Square
[Freezing, dark clouds, strong winds from the southwest, dawn]
The gently curving path of the River Bren takes a sharp turn south here,
running nigh-perpendicular to Church Street. An island rises from the
center of the broad waterway, connected to the road by arching stone
bridges on either side. It has been paved with square flagstones that fit
together snugly, kept clean and bare of greenery. On the northern edge of
this rectangular plaza, Ahalin Tower rises in a smooth cylinder toward the
sky, casting a long shadow. Oil-burning wicker torches on slender posts
frame the area, microcosms of the blazes for which River Square is known.

Recently:
(A few Knights have fanned out to create a quasi barrier around the Pyrepost,
which has been built up in a traditional fashion and looks stained with oil.
Nearby, a pair of Inquisitors hold torches already lit, their faces solemn,
certain. )

[ Exits: -north- east west down ] [ Air exits: up ]
Post torches set at intervals along the path light the square at night. (northwestern corner) (lit)
The common gallows as used by the Reeves stands here on sturdy weather darkened pillars. (southeastern corner)
A thick wooden post blackened by fire proudly points to the sky. (northwestern corner)
A bulky woman-at-arms with tight braids is here. [App: 1]
A lanky administrator wearing thin spectacles is here. [App: 2]
Vlora von Vashaak has just arrived atop her mount, followed by a trio of mounted Knights in full armoured
Norrig Donoven is here. [App: 3]
He is here, riding a common, dun horse.
A tall, brawny, ruddy-haired man is here. [App: 3]
A large reddish-brown and white alpine mastiff is here.
Prisca Connor is here. [App: 2]
She is here, riding a dark chestnut Charalin stallion with a black mane.
Quentyn le Bray is here. [App: 1]
He is wearing nothing on his head!
He is wearing nothing on his arms!
He is wearing nothing on his legs!
He is wearing nothing on his feet!
He is bound with a pair of cuffs.
A short green eyed dainty redheaded young lass is here. [App: 2]
A short and lanky Vandagan with dark skin is here. [App: 2]
Empena dul Cybinese is here. [App: 4]
She appears to be pregnant.
She smells faintly of floral perfume.
Rothgar Astartes is here. [App: 2]
A young curvaceous olive skinned girl stands amidst the onlookers [App: 4]
A tall dapple grey horse with a flowing white mane and tail is here.
A stocky, sandy-haired bodyguard with a square jaw is here. [App: 2]
A tall, slender manservant with light brown hair is here. [App: 2]
A lithe male chevalier with wavy blond hair is here. [App: 3]
Marisa dul Damassande is here.[P] [App: 5]
She carries a rich, sweet fragrance with a sophisticated character.
Elle ab Wilde stands amongst the crowd. [App: 5]
Cataleya le Sandes is standing here in the square. [App: 3]
A snow-white Charali mare is here.

Marisa dul Damassande passes off the reins of her horse to a tall, slender manservant with light brown hair, moving in to take up her place to see what is going on.

Leading Empena dul Cybinese into the Square, Rothgar Astartes wears a scowl upon his features as he looks up at the frigid dawn. His lips twitch, and the man looks down to Empena dul Cybinese, placing an arm about her to shield her from some of the wind.
[Action: Rothgar Astartes is standing by Empena dul Cybinese, shielding her from the wind. ]

Cataleya le Sandes shivers slightly in the cold air, but her hands are down at her sides. She is just standing there. [Hidden]
[Action: Cataleya le Sandes is standing in the square, unprotected from the wind. ]

[Action: a short green eyed dainty redheaded young lass stands at the river square with everybody else. ]

Farra is stood near the pyre, Quentyn le Bray restrained by manacles, wire, and guardsmen behind her.

[Action: Norrig Donoven has just arrived from the west, armed and armored. ]

[Action: Empena dul Cybinese stands next to Rothgar Astartes trying to stay warm under an elegant black ladies greatcloak lined with warm bear fur and looking up towards the burning post. ]

[Action: Vlora von Vashaak has just arrived atop her mount, followed by a trio of mounted Knights in full armoured regalia. ]

Quentyn le Bray smiles a bit as he sees everyone coming into the square, " Ahhh, a true audience." he says.
[Action: Quentyn le Bray is being prepared to be kindling. ]

Prisca Connor trots in, taking up a position with other mounted folk at the rear of the crowd.
[Action: Prisca Connor sits mounted upon a dark chestnut Charalin stallion with a black mane, head facing the spectacle. ]

Cataleya le Sandes's fingers clinch and unclinch, and she's trying not to shiver her face off, her nails digging into her palms as she hears Quentyn le Bray's voice.

A young curvaceous olive skinned girl mutters: '--something--'

Norrig Donoven rides from the west, a hooded wool cloak bearing the Guild of Mercenaries' sigil flapping in the freezing late night wind. His golden eyes scan the crowd slowly, as if searching for something or someone.
And they find what they look for. The man dismounts and discreetely makes for Cataleya le Sandes, trying not to attract attention. Studying her.
[Action: Norrig Donoven is snaking a way through the crowd towards Cataleya le Sandes. ]

Vlora von Vashaak arrives into the square with a clip clop of hooves, bobbing up and down in her saddle with each clap. a steel chained medallion, set with the Earl Marshal's seal lightly taps against her chest with each jostle, and she looks all rather authoritative in her current state. She is flanked at either side by a fellow Knight Lithmorran in full armour, and with a few deft hand signals they clap out a pair of salutes and start to forage their way through the crowd. They find their marks at each point of the pyre- standing watch, with eyes flicking towards the skies and crowd ahead. She herself, she moves toward the head of the crowd. Various citizens moving from her path, with her unruly looking mount not taking no for an answer. Eventually, she finishes the short journy and finds herself within the cordon beside the soon to be bonfire. A salute is pressed to her chest towards Farra, "Your Holy Honour." She greets, a sombre expression slapped on her face. Without another word, she falls silent and turns towards the brimming crowd to keep watch. A hand places gently towards the pommel of her sheathed sword.
[Action: Vlora von Vashaak is standing at the head of the crowd, maintaining the security cordon with a squad of Knights. ]

The winds of Novembris whip across Church Square in a feirce manner, bringing the freezing promise of the winter to come ahead of the snows that will surely soon be falling. It is just past dawn, with the sun rising high in the moonless, magebane sky. The Inquisitor leading the procession is small, diminuative, almost easy to miss amidst the towering, armored Knights, but even if she was not paid deference by all of these there is something particular about the small woman, something that speaks of a confidence very few can so capable immitate. A gesture has the Guardsmen holding Quentyn le Bray's shoulders moving towards the pyre post, which has been prepared with wood that reeks of oil. They bind him there and, nearby, a pair of Inquisitors each hold lit torches.

Pale eyes of Grand Inquisitor of the Holy Order sweep across the crowd. Her own face is solemn, a small smear of dirt under an eye but nothing that makes her look dirty. She is beautiful, curvaceous, a true eastern beauty. But her arms lift, invoking a silence that hushes the busy crowd. Farra's voice rises, and for some it might be difficult to connect the loud and carrying, authoritative and confident tone with the small woman.

"There are terrors in this world, Citizens of Lithmore, that make us all envy the day our Souls might Reconnect with the Peaceful Eternity of the Lord of Springs. This world is a corrupted one, Tainted by the caress of the Abyss. We stand against it, protectors and guardians, tasked with cleansing this world of that which causes ugliness to rear its head, time and time again." [Farra]

Cataleya le Sandes is standing in the center of the crowd, though easily seen do to her hair color and her islander's skin. She hears rather than sees Norrig Donoven's approach, and rather than saying a word, her eyes move to him and she nods slowly, turning back to the would be pyre.

A young curvaceous olive skinned girl fidgets in place and fights to keep her teeth from chattering. She is losing the battle, but manages to keep her eyes locked forwards towards the pyre

Quentyn le Bray laughs a bit, " Oh, listen to the little woman." he says, apparently meaning Farra, " I am Tainted, there is no doubt. But listen to me, you quivering worms." he says to the crowd, his voice raising, " My body is bound by contract to the Demon Queen herself." he says, " The moment I die, it is fulfilled and the dream I sent you all becomes true." then smiling, " However, if I am freed....."

"A story told ten thousand times through the mouths of so many more. Every time more boring than the next." Rothgar Astartes mutters, looking down to Empena dul Cybinese and shaking his head a few times. The man purses his lips thin and redoubles his efforts to shield the smaller woman from the wind, lapsing into silence as the goings-on... Go on.

Farra stands near the prepared Pyre, at which Quentyn le Bray has been secured.

Norrig Donoven stops as he reaches Cataleya le Sandes, his golden eyes flicking towards Quentyn le Bray. Blank. Taciturn. He removes his mercenary cloak to cover Cataleya le Sandes's shoulders, looking aside at her carefully.
Norrig Donoven gives a hooded wool cloak bearing the Guild of Mercenaries' sigil to Cataleya le Sandes.
[Action: Norrig Donoven stands next to Cataleya le Sandes, armed and armored. ]

Cataleya le Sandes is staring at the pyre as Norrig Donoven puts his cloak around her shoulders, but now she's not shivering, though her eyes flick to Norrig Donoven then flick to the pyre, she is not looking at the man tied upon it. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction.
[Action: Cataleya le Sandes is standing near Norrig Donoven. ]

Rana 'Arla' de Mesira arrives from the west.
Rana 'Arla' de Mesira arrives in the company of a wirily muscular, grizzled Farin soldier with a dark scowl, who guides both his mistress and a white-dappled, chestnut Charalin mare with a spirited gait simultaneously. a gracefully cascading mantle of rich, sapphire blue damask is thickly drawn around her shoulders, shielding her from the frigid weather; though it's hardly necessary with the press of bodies that litter the River Square. Rana 'Arla' de Mesira takes her place among them, slightly off to one side.
[Action: Rana 'Arla' de Mesira is stationed off to one side, among the crowd. ]
Marisa dul Damassande chalices herself in the wake of Quentyn le Bray's words, though her attention focuses perhaps pointedly on Farra, ignoring the man with determination.

Farra's smile is slender and sharp, her pale eyes inviting, her voice unshaken by the declarations of Quentyn le Bray. "Mister le Bray has chosen, for years, to revel in this Taint. To allow it to define him, corrupt his soul and spirit against the Purity of the Springs. Faced with the prospects of eternity, he confessed his Taint to the Inquisition, and so may be cleansed of that which has turned him from the Sacred Joy and his soul, purged of evil, reunited with the embrace of the Lord of Springs."

A breath is drawn, and the woman continues -- her voice doesn't shake; although it's well known she's new to this role and was raised to it in an odd circumstance, she seems well practiced at speaches, at least. "We fight, Lithmore, against this Taint. This Taint kills, murders, betrays, corrupts. We fight it, with every breath of our bodies, every beat of our hearts, and every fiber of our souls. In this way we stand pure, a Kingdom forged by the wisdom of the Prophet-King, maintained by the Saints, and secured by the sacrafice of Knight and Inquisitor. And by you, those we are called by Lord himself to defend."

The woman has a way about her, an appeal that is hard to deny. Her eyes scan the crowd as she pauses, then declared: "Is Cateleya le Sandes here in the crowd?" Farra's stare picks out Cataleya le Sandes. "Step forwards, child, please."
Farra appears to be of Heroic charisma.

Quentyn le Bray laughs a bit, " Ah, poor Astartes, you shall be spared, you and your wife. Since your child will be interesting to raise. Which shall it be? Fire, water, void like myself?" he asks, then his eyes finding Cataleya le Sandes in the crowd, " Poor poor Cat. YOu know I was hoping to save you for a special sacrifice, yes? It would have been magnificent. Instead, " he smiles a bit, " I shall simply haunt your dreams and nightmares. Think on me whenever." sighing and turning his head to Farra, " Do you mind? I am trying to speak here. Would someone please shut this woman up?" he asks, looking to the guards.

Prisca Connor doesn't seem to notice the going-ons in the packed crowd, focused instead oon the speeches of those involved with the burning. Her brow furrows when Quentyn le Bray speaks.

Vlora von Vashaak rolls her eyes so hard one would think they might turn back into her skull, and she lets out an audible huff. A twitch of leather as she flashes a glance back towards Quentyn le Bray, only for a moment, and she resumes her stance and turns her back. "... you would think these Mages all draw their 'speeches' from the same well-used book, do you think they all agree on how to be the biggest arsehole? Some sort of book club, perhaps..." She quietly grumbles towards one of her fellow Knights beside her, and the man responds with a muffled chuckle from within his great helm. She lets out a breath, and fixes her free hand to clasp around her sword belt.

As Farra calls out her summons, she snaps straight in her posture with a leathery snap. "Part!" She calls to her Knightly entourage, who each take a single step forwards with a cacophony of steel plate. The Knights begin to part the crowd, opening up an avenue for Cataleya le Sandes should she choose to take it an announce herself.

Cataleya le Sandes's eyes move to Farra, and her gaze spears the woman, before she is pointed out. She moves forward slowly, hands at her sides as she moves to stand near Farra, though she doesn't speak. Her eyes don't tear, her back doesn't bow. She moves forward with grace. When she reaches Farra, Cataleya le Sandes curtsys, but doesn't speak. [Cataleya le Sandes]
[Action: Cataleya le Sandes is standing near Farra. ]

[Action: Norrig Donoven remains by the crowd, armed and armored. ]

"If he should be like you, I would drown him, myself." Rothgar Astartes mutters back to Quentyn le Bray, keeping sky-blue gaze upon the man as he rants and raves against the Holy Order and it's servants.

Safir Mara'aye arrives from the west.
[Action: Safir Mara'aye is standing in the back of the crowd. ]
Safir Mara'aye slips into the already quite large crowd of the square, standing near charlie, and eyes moving towards the pyre and those nearby.

Farra doesn't look to Quentyn le Bray as the man continues his speach. She doesn't need to: one of the guardsmen at-hand dazzles the man with a sharp blow across the head. [Inflict]
Farra hits Quentyn le Bray's head!
Quentyn le Bray looks pretty mangled.

A young curvaceous olive skinned girl tries to squeeze further forwards, bumping and nudgeing her wayinto the tighter crowd. "Pardon.. 'scuse me.. sorry, pardon"

Marossa Gardner arrives from the west, with a patter of feet.
[Action: Marossa Gardner has just joined the outskirts of the crowd. ]

Cataleya le Sandes After a moment, because right now her brain is slow to process anything, the sacrifice part hits her and she turns her gaze finally to Quentyn le Bray. She still doesn't speak, and her hand hovers in the air as if expecting to fend off blows.

Quentyn le Bray grunts as he is hit by the guard, " Well, that wasn't very polite." then his eyes coming to fall on Marossa Gardner, " You." he says to the woman, then canting his head, " You I have nothing to say about. You are the only one that I ever met that was actually nice. Your thoughts were the purest I had ever tasted. Too bad no one else in this city was like you." he says, then looking to Cataleya le Sandes and smiling, " Hello, dear. I was wondering if you and I could speak about our recent tiff? I mean, I said some things, you said some things, one of us spoke to the Order, the other gave the populace a nightmare about invading demons? Can we get past this?"

A wirily muscular, grizzled Farin soldier with a dark scowl's closest hand rises, set between Rana 'Arla' de Mesira's shoulder-blades carefully; a gesture which functions both to assure her of his nearness, and to protect her from the crowds. Rana 'Arla' de Mesira's mouth twists at a corner in reaction to Quentyn le Bray, in a distinct, but subtle expression of distaste. She doesn't otherwise speak; sooner rather than later, her dark eyes swivel to Cataleya le Sandes. [Rana 'Arla' de Mesira]

Farra's voice remains louder than Quentyn le Bray's as a product of both the man's clear wounds -- a bandage is around one shoulder, cleanly applied, and what looks to be nothing more than a thread-bare blanket wrapped around his waistline, stained deep crimson -- and her own apparent training at being the focus of a crowd. "We are all of us tasked with our Sacred Duties; the Inquisition does not work alone, though we work at the forefront. We, all of us, struggle with Sin and the hooks temptation places in our minds to stay silent, to suffocate our heart as it knows what to do and how to do it."

A gesture from the Grand Inquisitor indicates Cataleya le Sandes. "Miss le Sandes, here, was faced with such a dire choice. She was brave in the face of terror, she was determined against the sweet lies of the Taint, she was resolute in the determination to do her Duty and come forward with the information that led to the discovery of and this cleansing by fire of Quentyn Bray. She has the Blessing of the Lord for her Purity, and the respect of the Inquisition for her Courage."

And, then, the Grand Inquisitor of the Holy Order, her Holy Honour the Lady of Hevstina, bows her head and gracefully dips herself to one knee in a sign of utmost respect. The woman even sweeps a crimson Inquisitorial bolero with a wide black-lined brim from her head, revealing hair contained chastely beneath a close-fitting winter hood lined with densely woven merino.
Farra appears to be proficient at performing.

Empena dul Cybinese blanches a bit and looks up at Rothgar Astartes and her platinum brows knot together in the middle she looks for a moment like she might say something and sort of stammers but then doesn't say anything else and ends up making sort of a half-choked sort of sound. And then looks over to where Farra bows to Cataleya le Sandes and looks confused.

Norrig Donoven widens his amber eyes a little at Safir Mara'aye's revelations, exhaling through his nostrils. He then looks and listens to Farra, like everybody else, and widens his eyes a little more at seeing the petite powerhouse k-n-e-e-l-i-n-g.

Cataleya le Sandes's hands still hover and she takes in a breath, though still doesn't speak, yet there's a shattered look to her features as she shakes her head, not speaking. Her eyes move to Quentyn le Bray, the fingers of one hand moving into a loose fist. She doesn't move, though her breath comes in soft puffs as she clinches her teeth. She looks like she's going to spew obsinities, or get angry, yet she just stands there, even though she looks like she could just shatter into a billion pieces. The woman looks like a wind could knock her down, but she just stands there, looking as if dispair is heavy on her face. Finally, she says two words, "Die qquietly." At Farra's kneeling in suplication to her, Cataleya le Sandes looks down and as if she couldn't cry anymore, she starts to cry. Though she doesn't bow her back, tears just fall down her face and she looks into Farra's eyes. She nods her head and says in a quiet whisper, "Thank you, Your Holy Honor." She turns to Quentyn le Bray, tears on her face as she says, "I'll watch you burn. You deserve to burn. now for once in your life shut up and let yourself burn to one cender of ash because that's all you'll be." [Cataleya le Sandes]

Marossa Gardner cranes her neck to see over the crowd, peering up at Quentyn le Bray on the pyre. When he addresses her, her face quickly blanches and she averts her gaze. "Don't talk to me," she says solemnly, pulling at dainty gray merino mittens with snowflake embroidered cuffs over her hands.

A young curvaceous olive skinned girl glances from one speaker to the next with an expression of growing confusion even as she nods in agreement to what everyone who isn't strapped to a post is sayingd

Marisa dul Damassande raises her brow a fraction in surprise at Farra's gesture, though she decides to give an appreciative nod in assessment of the decision, remaining quiet as events unfold.

Quentyn le Bray laughs, " Pure? Her? Right." he says toward Farra, then looking to Cataleya le Sandes, " Have you admitted to Her Holy whatever she is, that you lied to her during your interview about our Banns? Have you? Are you suddenly a pure Davite?" then smiling, " I'll die, but you will live and you will have me in your mind until you die, much like the Epion shall always see my name whenever she thinks of her will, much like .....Mmmm, I think I'll let that one be a surpise, I wish to see it, but unfortunately, I have a Prophet and a Lord to Taint, and I don't want to be late."

One hand presses against her cheek, which by now has turned red by the bitter cold; Rana 'Arla' de Mesira, of course, is unused to it. She gives no outward reaction to the theatre unfolding in the Square. Farin discipline breeds true in even its most unmartial citizens. The tip of her chin dips, burrowing into the dense folds comprising her mantle. [Rana 'Arla' de Mesira]

Charlie stamps a foot at the edges of the crowd, the horse unmoved by the goings on. Likely just irritated to be there, as evidenced by a quirk and downturn of his left ear. Safir Mara'aye just stands by, one arm lazily on the horses neck, as she watches the dramatic goings on from the sidelines. [Safir Mara'aye]

As he listens to Quentyn le Bray speak, Rothgar Astartes's lips twitch, and his eyes travel briefly towards Farra, and her display of humility. Eventually, however, he looks back down towards Empena dul Cybinese, giving her a grunt and motioning Westwards, brows lifting ever so slightly.

A wirily muscular, grizzled Farin soldier with a dark scowl mumbles under his breath, in a low growl that barely reaches Rana 'Arla' de Mesira's ears: "--Something--". [Rana 'Arla' de Mesira]

Elle ab Wilde stands silently amongst the crowd watching the main area of the square where Farra stands and speaks, blue eyes drift from person to person as they make their comments to each other and those gathered. Tugging her mantle closer to ward off the cold, she remains focused and observant of the proceedings.

In tandem, the Knight's Lithmorran in their encircled ring about the pyre turn at once, to smack their steely gauntlets upon their hearts in a loud crack of metal on metal. Saluting the woman, Cataleya le Sandes, for her bravery in a sign of deep respect. They linger not, for they have a job to do- they all turn back around to resume their station watching over the crowd, and skies.

Vlora von Vashaak does not turn around, and keeps her steely gaze towards the crowd. "I believe the crowd requires a fire to keep them warm." She states with no equivocation of her meaning. [Vlora von Vashaak]

Prisca Connor, with much of the rest of the crowd is growing restless as Quentyn le Bray continues to spew vague threats.

Farra straightens up and redons her hat, the brim of which snaps a bit against the strong winds. She glances to Quentyn le Bray and makes a motion with her hand; the torch-bearing Inquisitors step forwards, lowering the business end to the oil. As they do this, the Grand Inquisitor addresses the crowd at large again. "I cannot promise safety, Lithmore. I cannot promise that there will not be terrors to come. I cannot promise that this," a gesture indicated the bound man once more, who is increasingly earning the ire of the crowd, "poor, misguided man has not set into motion movements to renew the cycle of pain and terror that the Abyss promises to the Corrupt. I can promise you that, for however long the Taint whispers to the Corrupted soul and invokes the Abyss and the wicked weapons of Sorcery to turn fire and ice, shadow and earth, heart and air against man, that the Inquisition and the Knights will stand against it."

Finally, she faces Quentyn le Bray more fully, and the fires begin to spready, climbing up his arms, his neck, eating with the insastiable need of flame. "May your soul embrace the Lord, Quentyn Bray, and in doing so find the peace you fled from in life."

A young curvaceous olive skinned girl asks whomever is standing near her, without turning her gaze from the show, "Is there always this much ceremony here? Back home they usually just read the sins and started the fire"

An exotic looking girl with long silky ebony locks arrives from the west.
An exotic looking girl with long silky ebony locks hurries into the square just in time for the pyre to be lit. She blinks and pales a bit moving to take a place near the back.

Cataleya le Sandes's fingers move to her sides and she turns to watch Farra, wiping the tears from her cheeks as she doesn't speak to Quentyn le Bray, and indeed, even though she looks a little like a woman who wants to kill him, she doesn't move. The tears nearly freeze on the woman's cheeks. She blows them away from her face.

To the girl who spoke, another woman murmurs, "Yeah, they just read the sins and then burn 'em from my experience too. I wonder why they have to make such a big deal of it here?" [Cataleya le Sandes]

Quentyn le Bray finally can't take it anymore, his calm evil face cracking, " Le Bray. It's LE Bray! YOu stupid little Vavardian ..." he attempts to stamp the fires out, but oil is funny. catching up his leg, " le bray, le bray, le bray, le bray!"

Prisca Connor watches on impassively as Quentyn le Bray is finally set alight and the acrid stench of burning oil and flesh begins to fills the square.

A lithe male chevalier with wavy blond hair casts a circumspect glance in Marisa dul Damassande's direction, who he stands at attention behind, before remarking to the pair, Cataleya le Sandes and a young curvaceous olive skinned girl, "We do speak of a Vavardi Grand Inquisitor."

Marisa dul Damassande glances towards a lithe male chevalier with wavy blond hair with a light raise of her brow, but doesn't comment.

Marossa Gardner tugs a heavy winter cloak with silver snowflakes around the hood more closely around herself as she dares to return her gaze to Quentyn le Bray upon the pyre. Her face adopts a stony look as she watches the flames lick at his form. Still pallid and pale from his previous outburst.

Norrig Donoven closes his honey eyes and chalices himself in silence, humble and spartan against the terrors of the soul alight.

As Quentyn le Bray burns, Cataleya le Sandes watches, she watches him burn and her face almost seems peaceful, almost. Her hands move into fists and she uses one hand to chalice herself, the other to push her hand into her hair. [Cataleya le Sandes]

A young curvaceous olive skinned girl blushes and shrinks a bit, "Oh, sorry.. I didn't.. I ain't been here too long"

Safir Mara'aye's nose twitches ever so slightly and she raises a hand to rub a knuckle on it, before she proceeds in making the sign of the chalice.

Flames lick at the base of Quentyn le Bray's feet.
Rising higher, the flames encompass Quentyn le Bray. The smell of burning flesh permeates the air.

Prisca Connor makes the sign of the chalice as Quentyn le Bray becomes fully engulfed.

Quentyn le Bray writhes in the flames.

Quentyn le Bray burns and screams, the flames consuming, his very last words are of course, " Le Bray!"

Completely engulfing Quentyn le Bray, the flames burn him to cinders.

The woman beside the girl nods her head. "Oh aye, ain't nothin', love just mind yer mouth, aye?" the woman murmurs with a kind smile, though stares at the pyre as the evil greasy littl terd is burned upon it. [Cataleya le Sandes]

Elle ab Wilde raises a silk clad hand, tracing the sign of the chalice in front of her torso with care. Bowing her head in silent prayer as the fire lights, a serious expression on her features.

"Who?" Rothgar Astartes asks the pile of cinders, letting out a breath of amusement as he looks back towards Empena dul Cybinese, giving her a grunt.

"I think you have lost any respect for your station, geeven everything," Marisa dul Damassande comments to the recently deceased.

Empena dul Cybinese lurches a bit at the shoulders as the pyre does its cleansing work and works on swallowing down whatever struggles to divest itself of her well-rounded stomach. She works to fan an intricate, carved folding wood fan scented with lavender back and forth in front of her and puts a hand up to her forehead pinching two fingers at at the bridge of her nose.

A quiet exhale depresses Rana 'Arla' de Mesira's shoulders as the man is finally silenced. Her head ducks as a hand lifts, forming the sign of the Chalice. [Rana 'Arla' de Mesira]

Farra, still playing her part, formally chalices herself as her underlings who provided the flame to light the Pyre do so in tandem. She turns to face the crowd, hazel eyes still sharp as she sweeps her stare out over it one more time. "Lithmore!" she calls out, drawing attention back to herself. "Our proud city still lacks a capable Seneschal; it has lacked a capable Seneschal for years. I ask that you not be idle in being involved; let it be known that I endorse Rothgar Astartes for the seat." This rather untraditional voicing of support in a secular matter managed, she turns, sharply, to vanish back inside Ahalin Tower.

-----------------------------------------------------

In the midst of Magebane, at dawn of Novembris the 3rd, her Holy Honour Farra
dul Baildana led a bloodied figure out from Ahalin Tower to the gathered
assemblage of the capitol. There, pyred Quentyn le Bray, a Clerk of the
Reeves, for the sin of Magery. Speakingly loudly so as to drown out the
raving prophecies of the man that his death would summon terrors far more
foul upon Lithmore, the Grand Inquisitor promised that, no matter the trials
of the future, the Inquisition and the Knights Lithmorran would always defend
the Kingdom of Dav.

Of note, in the midst of her speach the noblewoman called forth Cateleya le
Sandes, praising her for the courage to do what is right and turn the man in
before further terrors could come. She knelt humbly before the shocked
Troubadour before the young Tubori, crying, was swallowed back up by the
crowd.