Chapter 7 - Call of the Evil
What? Why are we stopping? Lokir's panicked tone stayed with Rosanna even when they were off the cart. Roll call.
Why do you think? Ralof had said. End of the line
"Empire loves their damn lists." Ralof grumbled. He was the main talker amonst the group.
Rosanna was tugged back to reality by his voice. She had been thinking about her brother, Tomlinson. She had never realized he had genuinely cared for her. She had guessed it was too late that she genuinely cared for him as well.
"Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Windhelm" An Imperial called. He stood next to the Captain, looking sorry for the captives.
Something about that young man was vaguely familiar. Rosanna remembered childhood friends she once had, while Rosanna was on a short trip through Skyrim to a hunter's dream.
"It has been an honor, Jarl Ulfric." Ralof callef. Last good-byes.
I never got to say mine. To Crystal, or Aren. Not even to my dogs
"Ralof of Riverwood." The Imperial called. His voice...
"Lokir of Rorikstead."
"No! I'm not a rebel! You can't do this!" Lokir cried, panic edging his voice.
"Mnnnn!" Rosanna muffled a cry of protest, and pressed her lips together. All she could do was watch in horror as the scene unfolded.
Lokir ran. He was bony and lean, but his limbs flung out as he ran, desperate for freedom as Rosanna was. "You're not gonna kill me!" He taunted. She had to admit, he had gotten farther than she had imagined.
"Archers." The Imperial Captain called, raising a lazy hand.
A single arrow pierced Lokir's heart flesh. He cried out and fell, swinging around and lying face down. War dogs rushed forward, to devour their new meal.
She abruptly retched, and jacked a fist into her mouth to stop the solid, hot volcano building.
"Anyone else feel like running?" The Captain asked teasingly. Her eyes were glittering with a horrible light.
"Wait, you there. Step forward." The Imperial called. He looked down to the tiny Nord with sorry eyes.
Hadvar.
Memories flooded forward through her slightly muddled mind. Of Ralof, Hadvar, and her playing in fields, gathering wildflowers and stealing pies off of window sills during summer twilight. Laughing, and secret notes, written in what they had thought at the time, was Falmer language.
It seemed like a lifetime ago
"You've chosen to come home at a bad time, kinsmen." Hadar mourned. His eyes never left hers, as recognition registered. Hadvar nearly dropped his registor. "Rosanna..."
"Hullo, Hadvar." She said quietly. "And good-bye."
It didn't seem to matter whether her name was on the list or not. The Legion couldn't afford to risk it. So here she was, lined up in military fashion with Stormcloaks.
Rosanna remembered Hadvar's last words to her: I'm sorry. At least you'll die here, in your homeland." Yes. Her home.
"Ulfric Stormcloak." General Tullius said, all to gloating in his nature. He stood in front of the man, eyes glinting.
"Some here in Helgen call you a hero. But a hero doesn't use a power like the voice to murder his king and usurp his throne."
Fancy.
Ulfric just grunted, his voice muffled by his gag. For a moment, his eyes flickered towards Rosanna, then went silent.
"You started this war. Plunged Skyrim into chaos, and now the Empire is going to put you down, and restore the peace."
A rather loud kind of...roaring? Shouting? Whatever it was, echoed off through the plaza from an undetermined location. Everyone started to look around, and a few even looked almost a little nervous.
"It's nothing. Carry on." Tullius said, brushing it off like nothing had happened.
"Yes, General Tullius." The Imperial Captain said. "Give them their last rites." The captain commanded to a preachet. Gods. Rosanna had gotten enough from Da.
"As we commend your souls to Aetherius, blessings of the Eight Divines upon you-" she had begun, raising her arms toward the sky. She never finished.
"For the love of Talos, shut up and get on with it." A Stormcloak snapped. He walked forward, to his death. Poor soul. The preacher stiffened from a sore pride.
"As you wish." She said coldly, and slunk to the sides, to hide her new red face.
"Come ON. I haven't all morning." The Stormcloak cursed. He was fearless, it seemed. All the Stormcloaks were. No one was scared, no one was nervous. Rosanna guessed serving Ulfric was gift enough.
The Headsman shoved the soldier down, and his head rested against the block. Last words came forth.
"My ancestors are smiling upon me, Imperials. Can you say the same?" He challenged, then glared at the Headsman with a mocking glare.
There was a pause.
Whack.
Head rolled.
Traumatized.
