The Execution of Saint Godwin

Lerlund, someone you love will die today.

Upon the center stage of the Auditorium, a singular woman stands, she was beauty itself, her skin was pale like milk and her platinum white hair fell down her face and caressed her shoulders like snow, her eyes were like gorgeous amethysts, as a black spiked crown, with dragon heads etched into each spike, adorned upon her head. A beautiful red toga fell from her shoulders to the ground, as her nails were polished in a multitude of colours ranging from blue, red, green, black and white. Draconic scales protrude from her flesh of all chromatic colours. Her gaze is serious yet calm, as she looks ahead of her, down towards a man ready to pass the realm’s justice. The man whose sentence was about to pass, stood not so far from the stage, before the stairs on the mossy cobbles, his back turned to the audience.

There stands Godwin, branded a traitor yet seen as a hero. The man who saved the city ten years ago and successfully broke the siege has captured and enamored the hearts of many, yet his ties to revolutionaries were finally exposed, for which he will pay the ultimate price. Four guards surrounded him, chains strapped to his wrists and ankles, once a man who donned polished Adamantine armor now wore prisoner’s rags covered in blood and dirt. The paladin, who had once stood like a behemoth among men, now seemed feeble and frail. His flesh was dry, his cheeks hollow. He appears to have not eaten in days. His eyes were sunken, his back hidden beneath a tattered black cloak stained dark by still-open wounds. His once-beautiful crimson hair hung greasy and tangled, yet he stood tall not with pride, but with kindness. He knew his friends and family watched from the crowd. He would not show weakness before them.

His gaze met that of the Dragonborn upon the podium, Arkhan the Cruel, the one who alongside his men stormed his house and seized the father as he dined with his daughter, with no way to defend himself or his honour. Yet Godwin’s eyes showed pity for him, not hatred. He turned, and his eyes swept over the assembly to his right: Amos Goldheart, the cleric who had initiated him into the Church; Hanz Medani, the noble who had knighted him; Ozias the White, the mage who had offered him redemption as a soldier instead of a smuggler.

Behind Godwin, upon the raised seats sat the Leonin twins, Yully and Kully, the brave men who had stood before many challenges in the battle of the city. Then Marcus the Dragonborn of Goldkeep, Protector of the Smallfolk, Most Holy Archon of the Western Provinces his righteousness rivaled Godwin’s own. Udyr the Goliath loomed nearby, a man who took the role of a shield to all others. Many more of Godwin’s companions waited in the stands, ready to risk everything to free him. But as he caught their eyes, he shook his head. This was not a fight worth their lives. Too many would die for a fleeting escape.

Finally, his gaze found his brother, Lerlund. A telepathic bond sparked to life, and Godwin smiled faintly.

“What are you having for dinner after this?” - Pause for Jayden to respond. - “Whatever happens, do not mourn me, celebrate me. And make sure Vittoria takes her medicine today.”

The message faded, and Godwin looked ahead once more as the guards began to drag him toward Arkhan. He walked with them not in submission, but as a soldier walking to his final battle. When his eyes met the Dragonborn’s, he felt no fear or hatred, only pity. The dragonborn looked down on the puny human before him, as the Queen finally began to speak while the soldiers began to grab onto Godwin to tie the noose around his neck and ensure his feet were right under the trap door.

Queen Arya Aerith: “Godwin, for your crimes against the crown, you were tried before the small council and Field Marshal Antonios, for your treachery and unwillingness to cooperate, you are to be put to death. Any resistance be it from you or cooperators-” The Queen pauses as her gaze washes over the crowd, trying to see a reaction from any of them yet noone’s eyes spoke of their intentions but more so looks of pity and disdain. “-is futile, and it will be responded to with appropriate force.” She looks back into the eyes of the traitor, her gaze as cold as the peak of a mountain yet her eyes burned like a branding iron. “If you have final words for the crowd, speak now or forever remain silent.” The words left the queen’s mouth, her voice ripping through the air like a thunder crashing down upon the world, she looked down on this puny disappointment of a man, this traitor with such disdain, as if she was looking down on a mere rat caught in a cage, one she was to throw to the herdkeeping dogs as a treat.

Godwin: Godwin turned to face his crowd to utter his last words to his followers; “The false authority that now binds me to my death will fall. I regret that one day I will miss the celebrations that will be held in the streets, when people are free and the tyrants are rotting six feet under.” Godwin looks directly at you Lerlund. “Tell Vittoria to not be scared. Everything will be alright.” As he begins to speak once again. His gaze met that of the queen one final time. “Tell me dragonwhore, when you die which layer of the hells will you descend to?” Then the party would hear a click as you see one of the guards pull the lever as the queen continued to glare at the traitor, Godwin.

At his final insult a sudden clunking of a trapdoor echoes in the open auditorium, the rope snaps taut, his limbs flail and try to reach up, but the chains pull down his hands. The man that was Godwin struggled but to no avail, with the lack of air and the aches of his bones, his body finally went limp.