Yeah you totally need a Vlad the Impaler type for balance... although given the standards DF nobles already set its hard to imagine what one would have to do to warrant a death sentence.
"DEATH TO THE AMOSTKOKEB! DEATH TO THE CAPITALIST RUNNING CATS! LONG LIVE THE WORKERS!"
The chants of the mob echoed off the high ceiling of Axehandle's Great Hall. It was so high that there was a noticeable delay to the echoes, creating a discordant din. Normally one could see an intricate mural overhead there, the result of years of painstaking and dangerous work by the engravers; now thick, rolling smoke from the torches covered it. The smell of burning pitch and blood filled the air.
To Nil, it was beautiful.
The object of the mob's attention was a hastily constructed stone platform in the center of the Hall. The duke's wife, the mayor, the dungeon master and a hapless philosopher were chained to the rough stone blocks of the platform's side. A stone spire topped with a holding tank and some exposed mechanisms was in the center of the platform; just in front of it was a bauxite stockade. The captain of the revolutionary guards--a superdwarvenly strong but somewhat dim and easily influenced former miner--was in the middle of locking the stockade. The Duke was inside. Nil could see the noble's mouth moving; most likely, he was cursing the onlookers, although might have been pleading for his life. It didn't matter; Nil doubted even those standing next to the platform could hear a word of it. From Nil's position in the center of the mob he might as well have been mute.
"Everything is ready, sir," whispered a nearby lieutenant. "Shall we proceed?"
Nil gave him a curt nod and the fellow revolutionary slipped away into the mob. A minute later Urdim strode up onto the platform. Urdim had been head of the carpenter's guild before the revolution, and as a skilled public speaker who was also handy with an axe he had become the face of the new Republic. However, although Urdim was not completely without power and influence, he had been subordinate to Nil ever since the latter walked in on him while he was wearing a full suit of wooden, elven armor. Nil had always felt bad about the blackmail. After all, Nil knew that someone who likes to wear elf armor isn't necessarily an elf-lover--some dwarves are just kinky like that. Nonetheless, Nil was willing to use any means necessary to further the cause.
Urdim hushed the mob.
"You all know what we do today, and why we must do it. Our glorious new Republic can have no future--none!--if the crimes of the past remain unpunished. Today, we will have justice!"
The crowd cheered. Urdim turned to the Duke. Some of the more enthusiastic members of the crowd had thrown rotten plump helmets at the noble, and his face was covered with a viscous purple slime.
"Do you have any final words?" asked Urdim.
The Duke spit some blood; we'd unleashed some frustration on him just before the trial and someone had managed to knock out one of his teeth since then. "Yeah, how about 'Let me go, you goblinfucking treasonous little shits'?!"
Urdim shrugged. "Works for me. Go ahead, executioner."
The sound of stone on stone began up at the top of the stone spire, just below the smoke layer. The Duke's expression turned from rage to horror--I think that only then did he realize that we were actually going to go through with it. The sound continued for about half a minute as the secondary chamber filled, then there were a few moments of silence. The Duke started to say something, but never finished. The lower hatch opened directly over his head and released 10 gallons of red-hot molten rock. His death wasn't quite instant, but it was quick; the scream only lasted for a moment.
The captain of the revolutionary guards picked up the Duke's body, the cauterized stub of a neck still dripping magma. He dragged it to the front of the platform, and together with Urdim lifted it into view. The duchess vomited and the mob gave a deafening roar of approval. Thus was born a Republic that endured for nearly three months.
Even after royal guards from the Mountainhome tunneled into the exploratory mining shafts and snuck into the barracks to choke half the revolutionary guard in their sleep, even after they killed the rest in a one-sided battle in the Great Hall, even after they'd tossed the captain of the guards and Urdim down the pit in summery executions, even after half of the population of Axehandle had looked relieved to see the new duke come in through the front door, Nil regretted nothing. He may have lost everything, but for that one night he'd had justice, and for that it was all worth it.
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Topic: Hellchains (Story/Community) - Chapter 3 - The Children of the Damned (Read 13616 times)