Sizniche
This profile is no longer in use
You are a criminal; a conniving bandit with a bad history of various crimes against either the people or the crown... or both. While you may be remorseful and ready to admit your wrongdoing, however, it matters little now; you have been brought to "trial" to answer for your actions.
Calling it a "trial" is the nicest compliment you could possibly give it; instead of being judged by an impartial arbiter or at least a judge of some form—damnation, even putting your fate in the hands of the town would be fairer—the guards, who had caught you red-handed in a crime just weeks earlier, gagged you and dragged you by your arms along the gravel path, through the hastily-made wooden gate of the fortification, up the gritty steps made of poorly, unevenly cut granite, straight in front of the monarch's throne, in his grand hall surrounded by his guardsmen. The guards encircle you, save for one guard who holds your arms behind your back, forming a barrier of rushed-looking iron armor, covered in scuffs and uneven patches, like it was hammered out and cooled with none of the polish that normally goes into armor. The hall, at least what you can see of it past the guards, is simply just the largest room in a small wooden manor; not quite what one would expect of a monarch, but, then again, the manor doesn't really belong to him, anyway. The monarch sits upon his high throne, looking down into the circle of guards, his eyes meeting yours with a particular coldness. Next to him sits a coal fire with a branding rod in it. Instead of a reading of the charges or even a formal declaration of the trial, the monarch begins rather halfheartedly, as if he couldn't be bothered to care about your fate after you left "his" great hall.
"You've built quite a reputation, haven't you?" the monarch says, speaking in the tone you'd expect from someone of royal status—that is, a tone that manages to be proper and serious yet unrelentingly condescending at the same time. You would respond if you could, but you're still gagged, and the guard behind you isn't going to budge to let you ungag yourself any time soon. With the silence in the room maintained, saved for maybe some futile mumbling, the monarch continues.
"I don't wish to hang you, if that comforts you at all. My nation, despite the recent... troubles... that have befallen us, has yet to execute a soul. It's actually a point of pride for us; that we don't have to stoop to murder like the savages out there that have the gall to call their stolen lands and pathetic hovels 'civilization'. However," he says, shifting in his seat,"That puts me in a difficult position. What am I to do with you? Normally, a fine or a heavy lashing will do, but I'm not sure if that will be enough to get the point to sink in with you. Not to mention, I have a few other fellows like you that I must deal with as well. I briefly considered funding the construction of a dungeon in the manor because of that, but I fear it would eventually go to waste."
You are desperate to speak at this point; whether to insist that he get to the point, defend yourself, or simply to just beg and grovel to be spared from the punishment he has waiting. However, the guards refuse to ungag you or let you ungag yourself, and so the monarch continues.
"But then, a thought occurred to me after a brief meeting with a friend and advisor of mine. I realized that I don't need to deal with you if you aren't my problem anymore; that you and your kind are no problem of mine if you stay away from my lands." He rises from his seat, lifting the brand from the fire, the end of which forms a solidly-filled crescent. The guards break their circle to allow him to approach you, and he does as such. "Hold them down," he requests, and the guard behind you complies, forcing your hand outwards towards the monarch.
"You will never set foot on my lands ever again for as long as you live. With this iron, I will mark you with a symbol of exile. Your land and possessions are forfeit to the crown, save for one item you wish to take with you that is small enough for you to hold in one hand. You will be taken to the limits of the kingdom and set free. However, any man in my lands marked on the back of the hand with a crescent shall be seen as an intruder and killed on sight, and anyone aiding them shall be punished severely. You will never see these hills again and live to recount it."
The monarch plunges the branding iron onto the back of your hand. You can feel the skin blistering under the intense heat, and you need to take deep breaths to keep yourself from panicking. The monarch then returns to his throne, throwing the iron back into the fire and sitting down without another word. However, an order is implied, and the guards drag you out to a wagon, as well as a few others marked as you are. With nothing but the rags you are wearing and the item you chose, you will be forced out into a world you have never even seen before to fend for yourself.
Will you find your place in the world? Will you go back to your old ways? Will you seek redemption and do good for the world? Your future, however uncertain, is in your own hands.
Calling it a "trial" is the nicest compliment you could possibly give it; instead of being judged by an impartial arbiter or at least a judge of some form—damnation, even putting your fate in the hands of the town would be fairer—the guards, who had caught you red-handed in a crime just weeks earlier, gagged you and dragged you by your arms along the gravel path, through the hastily-made wooden gate of the fortification, up the gritty steps made of poorly, unevenly cut granite, straight in front of the monarch's throne, in his grand hall surrounded by his guardsmen. The guards encircle you, save for one guard who holds your arms behind your back, forming a barrier of rushed-looking iron armor, covered in scuffs and uneven patches, like it was hammered out and cooled with none of the polish that normally goes into armor. The hall, at least what you can see of it past the guards, is simply just the largest room in a small wooden manor; not quite what one would expect of a monarch, but, then again, the manor doesn't really belong to him, anyway. The monarch sits upon his high throne, looking down into the circle of guards, his eyes meeting yours with a particular coldness. Next to him sits a coal fire with a branding rod in it. Instead of a reading of the charges or even a formal declaration of the trial, the monarch begins rather halfheartedly, as if he couldn't be bothered to care about your fate after you left "his" great hall.
"You've built quite a reputation, haven't you?" the monarch says, speaking in the tone you'd expect from someone of royal status—that is, a tone that manages to be proper and serious yet unrelentingly condescending at the same time. You would respond if you could, but you're still gagged, and the guard behind you isn't going to budge to let you ungag yourself any time soon. With the silence in the room maintained, saved for maybe some futile mumbling, the monarch continues.
"I don't wish to hang you, if that comforts you at all. My nation, despite the recent... troubles... that have befallen us, has yet to execute a soul. It's actually a point of pride for us; that we don't have to stoop to murder like the savages out there that have the gall to call their stolen lands and pathetic hovels 'civilization'. However," he says, shifting in his seat,"That puts me in a difficult position. What am I to do with you? Normally, a fine or a heavy lashing will do, but I'm not sure if that will be enough to get the point to sink in with you. Not to mention, I have a few other fellows like you that I must deal with as well. I briefly considered funding the construction of a dungeon in the manor because of that, but I fear it would eventually go to waste."
You are desperate to speak at this point; whether to insist that he get to the point, defend yourself, or simply to just beg and grovel to be spared from the punishment he has waiting. However, the guards refuse to ungag you or let you ungag yourself, and so the monarch continues.
"But then, a thought occurred to me after a brief meeting with a friend and advisor of mine. I realized that I don't need to deal with you if you aren't my problem anymore; that you and your kind are no problem of mine if you stay away from my lands." He rises from his seat, lifting the brand from the fire, the end of which forms a solidly-filled crescent. The guards break their circle to allow him to approach you, and he does as such. "Hold them down," he requests, and the guard behind you complies, forcing your hand outwards towards the monarch.
"You will never set foot on my lands ever again for as long as you live. With this iron, I will mark you with a symbol of exile. Your land and possessions are forfeit to the crown, save for one item you wish to take with you that is small enough for you to hold in one hand. You will be taken to the limits of the kingdom and set free. However, any man in my lands marked on the back of the hand with a crescent shall be seen as an intruder and killed on sight, and anyone aiding them shall be punished severely. You will never see these hills again and live to recount it."
The monarch plunges the branding iron onto the back of your hand. You can feel the skin blistering under the intense heat, and you need to take deep breaths to keep yourself from panicking. The monarch then returns to his throne, throwing the iron back into the fire and sitting down without another word. However, an order is implied, and the guards drag you out to a wagon, as well as a few others marked as you are. With nothing but the rags you are wearing and the item you chose, you will be forced out into a world you have never even seen before to fend for yourself.
Will you find your place in the world? Will you go back to your old ways? Will you seek redemption and do good for the world? Your future, however uncertain, is in your own hands.
The Specifics:
- Time Period Equivalent: 500 AD
- Intensity of Fantasy Elements: High-Fantasy; expect a similar feel to old fantasy epics.
- Detail Level: Casual
- Character Minimum: 4
