Written by Gordis
Kvigr was lying trussed on the floor of a dirty hut, the tight ropes painfully biting into his wrists and ankles. He told himself calmly that it mattered not, as he would not need his legs or arms or other body parts anymore...
After the trial, Kvigr remained numb for a long time, his mind totally blank. He even dozed for a few hours, but then the pain brought him back to bitter awareness.
Soon his head would be stuck on a pole in his village of Penn, for all to see, as is the way with brigands and murderers. Now Kvigr was glad that his father was dead, and wouldn't feel ashamed for him. But his poor mother would see it, and all the neighbors, and Hegga, if she were still alive... Perhaps she would even shed a tear... before marrying someone else.
What had he done? With his own hands he had dug a grave for himself and likely for the fair Lady Aewen as well. The thought of her made him flinch... The brute had flogged her mercilessly, but was that all? Kvigr imagined the cruel giant Broggha brutally raping the poor lady again and again... The scene was so vivid that Kvigr moaned in hopeless anguish...
Aewen's cries and Algeirr's cruel words resonated in his brain.
"A stupid pup, weak and silly... He was never of any use... I can't care less... can't care less... can't...".
Something snapped inside him and Kvigr wept.
Morva Torch, Afternoon of October 8, 1347
Written by Angmar
Though scheduled for that morning, the execution of Kvigr had been delayed because a chill autumn rain had fallen. When the skies brightened in the afternoon, it was deemed that the execution should commence, for in spite the weather, Jarl Broggha wanted the man dead by nightfall.
The sun gleamed on the raindrops still clinging to the colorful autumn foliage, adding a carnival air to the great clearing in Broggha's camp. The gibbet stood high on its platform above the gathered throng of people. The device was little more than a pole with a crossbeam and brace, with an attached metal loop driven into the end of the crossbeam. The lumber had been cut quickly, the lumber still rough and weeping with oozing pine sap.
Since the method of public execution had been virtually unheard of before in Rhudaur, there had been little time to prepare. By necessity, the instruments selected were rude improvisations using common tools found upon farms. A brazier glowed on the platform, a number of useful implements lying near at hand. The executioner, one of Broggha's men who had volunteered for this service, and his assistants were nervous, but all of them realized there was a promise that if they became adept, there would be more such work for them in the future.
A chill autumn wind blew from the west and fanned the fires in the brazier as Broggha climbed the stairs to a raised observation platform, his six bodyguards following in his steps. Drawing his great fur cape about himself, he sat down upon his log throne, which had been placed there for the occasion. Two more men flanked an ashen-faced Aewen, her arm held in a sling, as she struggled to climb the stairs. When she stumbled, she was caught by one of the men before she could tumble off the steps. Looking apprehensively at Broggha, she took a designated seat beside him, with Malaneth standing nigh to her.
"Bring forth the condemned!" Jarl Broggha's great voice boomed out.
A horn sounded as guards with spears kept the path cleared for Kvigr. His hands bound behind his back, he was marched forward, the sound of the screaming hoots and jeers of the throng echoing in his ears. All of Broggha's men who had not been assigned sentry duty or who were not away on scouting missions were in attendance, as were many of the morbid curiosity seekers from nearby villages. Parents held small children aloft on their shoulders so that the young ones would not miss any of the spectacle. As the children pointed fingers to the gibbet, the parents laughed as they answered their questions.
"What is going to happen, Father?"
"We are going to see a great event, son! A villain is going to die today in a most peculiar manner and we are going to witness his death!"
"Oh jolly! This shall be amusing!" the child exclaimed as he pounded on his father's shoulders in his excitement.
Some innovative merchants had set up temporary marketplaces from the backs of wagons and hawked everything from carved wooden whistles and other toys to bread, cakes, wine and ale.
Kvigr, his head bowed, stood atop a platform as a noose was placed around his neck, the rope running through the ring at the end of the crossbeam and feeding out to the hands of three men on the ground. One of the executioner's assistants bound the condemned's knees and ankles with ropes.
The crowd watched in silence as Broggha rose to his towering height. "You have been found guilty of the crimes of treason, murder and abduction, and have been sentenced to death. Have you any words to say before the sentence is executed?"
"I beg that a message be taken to my mother and a woman named Hegga of my village, asking for their forgiveness and telling them that I love them. I ask the Lady Aewen for forgiveness and am sorry that I have brought her more grief."
"Your request will be honored," Broggha responded munificently. As the Jarl resumed his seat, he brought his right hand down towards the ground, the signal for the drummers to begin their death knell and the execution to commence. A stark look of terror and disbelief engulfed Kvigr's face as he found himself hauled into the air by his neck. The crowd roared its approval as the three men held the rope taut while Kvigr's legs bucked and kicked spasmodically. The noose slowly strangling him, Kvigr's body reacted to his terror and a stream of urine soaked his breeches. Fingers pointed at him as the shouts of the crowd rose to a fever pitch.
The executioner signaled to his assistants and they slowly lowered Kvigr's nearly unconscious body to the floor of the platform. They waited until Kvigr sucked gulp after gulp of air into his lungs. Clearing his mind of confusion, the executioner set his mouth into a tight line as he drew a dagger from his belt. Quickly he did his work as Kvigr screamed his agony, watching as the severed parts were tossed into the brazier. The crowd howled and clapped.
Looking into Kvigr's pain-filled eyes, the executioner bent and plunged the dagger into his abdomen, cutting from left to right and then slightly upward. Kvigr's intestines began spilling out. The executioner drew out the rest with hook and threw them into the fire. Aewen and Malaneth screamed, Aewen soon falling into a swoon as Malaneth blanched in horror and put her hand to her mouth. Some in the crowd did not have the mettle to stomach this gruesome sight, and turned their heads, some retching, but most cheering.
Kvigr's life almost gone, the executioner ended it by slicing upward into his torso and drawing out his still-beating heart. Holding the dripping muscle in his hands, he presented it first to the view of Broggha and then turned and showed it to the crowd. Hats were pulled from heads and tossed into the air as the people screamed their approval.
An assistant handed an axe to the executioner, who divided first Kvigr's head from his body, and then his four limbs. His head would be placed in a box and returned to the village from which he had come, and the arms and legs would be delivered by special courier to the four closest villages to the border of Rhudaur.
At the conclusion of the execution, Jarl Broggha, a smile of satisfaction on his face, walked regally down the stairs and through the processional way held open by the guards. Even though his back and shoulders throbbed painfully, this had been a good day, for he news of the Jarl's justice would spread throughout the whole country. Kvigr's death would serve as an example to any others who would dare raise their hands against the powerful chieftain.
Morva Torch, Night of October 15, 1347
Written by Angmar
One week had passed since the execution of the criminal Kvigr. All that day, there had been a great commotion in camp as stores of supplies and possessions were loaded in packs for the trip to Cameth Brin. Before dawn the next day, the packs would be loaded on the pack saddles of horses, and the journey to the capitol would commence. A small garrison were to remain in Morva Torch to "keep the peace" in the area. The men were exhausted from the labor of the day, but not too exhausted to hear the latest news.
On the day of Kvigr's death, ten riders in pairs had been dispatched to carry the severed pieces of the felon's body to the village of his birth and to the four corners of Rhudaur. One pair - the two who had ridden to the man's place of birth - had returned just that morning. After reporting to Jarl Broggha, the men had been dismissed to relax and were now describing their trip to the off duty men, who hovered around them.
The men stood, laughing and talking, around the campfire, taking advantage of the heat of the fire to warm their backs. Griss and Heggr were all ears to hear what had happened and were listening intently to the man's account.
Between liberal sips of ale from the drinking horn, the short, one-eyed man scratched his stubby beard, reflecting upon what he would say next.
"Kvigr's old dam - and I'll say she had a real figure on her for a woman that age..." he winked his good eye, "I notice things like that..."
"Go on with your story! We don't want to hear about this wench!!" Heggr complained irritably.
"Give me a minute, will you? This ale is good!" The courier was obviously enjoying being the center of attention. "Well, anyway, we rode up to the camp. Everyone eyed us suspiciously. Maybe they had already had word of what had happened. Who knows? It doesn't matter." He lifted the horn to his lips again and squinted his good eye at the crowd.
"Are you going to tell the story today or do we have to wait all week?" a man muttered angrily.
"None of you have any appreciation for a good story, do you?" the one-eyed man said. "I'll tell it, I'll tell it! There were not too many people around when we rode up. After that little visit we paid on them last year, not too many people live there anymore. The Jarl's man - the thane he put in charge - came running out of his longhouse with his council right behind him and all of them stood there waiting like hounds with their tongues hanging out, all eager to see what we had brought them. After the proprieties were exchanged, the thane ordered that a regular ceremony be held in honor of such an occasion!"
"You mean the delivery of a severed head is an event worthy of ceremony?" Heggr guffawed.
"Why don't you just shut up?" the one-eyed man shouted angrily.
"All right, all right," Heggr grumbled. "What happened next!"
"The thane held the package up in the air as he walked to the center of the village - all of his counselors keeping in his footsteps - real solemn, you know, as a boy pounded on a drum. The stinking head attracted every dog in the village, and they followed along behind, barking and yapping! It was quite a procession, and I felt sort of humble at being a part of it. The thane ordered a post set up in the middle of the town, and there he stuck Kvigr's head for all to see!" The man wiped his mouth off with the back of his hand and waited to see the crowd's reaction. "That is about all there is to tell."
"What about his mother?" Heggr asked.
"I thought you weren't interested in his mother," one-eye said churlishly. "My drinking horn is empty. Boy," he looked to a young Arnorian thrall, "bring me more ale!"
"I wasn't interested in the middle of the story, but I am now." Griss grinned.
"No fairer woman of that age have I ever seen in all my days! Her hair was darker than the raven's wings and she wore it in two braids wrapped around her head with a cloth pinned over it. Her dress was of poor quality, but she filled it out most admirably! Her pretty face had hardly any wrinkles, but had a sad look to it. With a woman like that..." one-eye winked.
"We know what you would do to a woman like that!" Griss interjected. "Now what about her, besides the fact that you are lusting for her?"
"When she saw her boy's head up atop that poll, she screamed like some demon and then fainted dead away! One of the women stuck an onion under her nose to revive her, and she finally came around, but she was as pale as a spectre in a barrowfield!"
The boy had returned with one-eye's refilled drinking horn.
"Now that I have finished my tale, leave me in peace! I'm tired from my journey, and the Jarl has let me off for the rest of the day! Now don't you louts have something to do?" He gave a dismissive wave of his hand as he sat down and turned his attention to his ale.
"Let's go over to the cooking area and see if there is a scrap of meat or something left from the supper," Griss suggested to Heggr.
Distracted, the other man mumbled, "Aye."
"What's wrong with you?" Griss queried. "Your jaw is generally flapping all the time."
"My teeth are bothering me. It is this cold air that makes them ache."
"I've been around you long enough to know that that is not all that is on your mind. Out with it, man! What are you thinking about?"
"I'm thinking I'd like to go courting!" Heggr grinned, showing several brown, decaying teeth in his lower jaw.
"Before you do that, I suggest that you get the shaman to pull some of those teeth out of your fool head. As you look now, no woman would have anything to do with you! And do something about your breath, man! You would stink out the vultures that gather around the village cutter's cart."