There never was a good day to witness an execution.
The weather agreed wholeheartedly. The usually bright, sunny, and warm springtime of Fodlan was covered in dark-grey storm clouds. Rain covered the monastery of Garreg Mach in a thick mist of heavy rain, thunder booming overhead. Rainwater streamed off the stage's edges where four men in ceremonial hoods and robes sat on their knees, wriggling and squirming, the one on the very end openly weeping for all the school to hear all to the jeering of the crowd at their fronts, who gathered in droves to witness it.
They were the stragglers of the Western church ruckus. The unlucky few that couldn't quite get their foot out the door before Archbishop Rhea, and her Seiros Knights, gathered them up like dogs in armor herding sheep. They didn't stand a chance in the trial. Rhea had ordered their swift execution for their infidelity and desecrating the holy sanctity of Sothis after a trial not even an hour long.
This was the fourth and last trial. Seven men, far younger than they should have been, were on their knees with their hands bound, and heads pressed to the hardwood surface, as if in permanent prayer. Their prison-tattered rags were soaked in the rain, leaving them shivering and miserable. Some were sobbing violently, others were somber, as if they had already accepted their fate.
The executions had left the stage stained with blood. Rainwater soaked the wood through so much that some had dripped onto the dirt below, and dripped on some onlookers who were too interested.
Will personally considered them lucky. Rhea was a kind woman, but not one to be trifled with. A swift execution was a mercy, all things considered.
A part of him wanted to say something in protest, but this had nothing to do with him. It was just another mercenary job amidst a massive war. The Empire was running amok, taking over half of the country, while the Church was pulling out all the stops to strike them down. Wartime was a mercenary's dream come true, as the jobs were as abundant and lucrative as they were cruel.
The faculty lined up at the front of the stage, having been called for added security. Or rather, Will was. It was his job, after all.
He hadn't a clue why Manuella, a songstress whose niche lies in helping people, or Hanneman, a crest scholar with no desire for bloodshed, had to be witness to this. Especially up close. It was almost cruel, with Will getting a reminder that they were there every time Manuella would reach for his hand to hold tightly. Whenever the man at the end would scream loudest and sob, her grip would tighten. The woman was on the verge of tears.
Someone please just get this over with. He thought, one of his hands tightly balling into fists.
The massive gate of the Church opened, and Rhea strode across, surrounded by four knights patrolling in sync. Her white dress and green hair almost seemed darker than usual in the atmosphere. Almost sinister in appearance, a far cry from the kindhearted soul he was used to. She marched up to the stage, casting a looming shadow on the masses, and raised a single hand. The jeering and impatient screaming of the crowd was silenced on the spot.
"We are here today to deliver swift justice to the blasphemers who dare violate the goddess's hallowed grounds," Rhea announced, with a biting edge in her voice. "These lost souls tampered with the very boon of the goddess herself. That is a treason of the highest order-"
"Mercy!" One of the older prisoners begged. It was the first time the prisoners had spoken in the last hour and it drew a haunting silence from the crowd. The dread in the air was palpable. "Please have mercy on me! We were simply given orders!"
Rhea's expression didn't change. On the contrary, it was more ice cold than ever. Those sullen, apathetic eyes could turn a man to stone. "You can choose to follow orders, my child, don't you understand that? You chose the lark of a zealot instead of the words of your goddess. There is no excuse for that."
"Mercy! Mercy, please!" The prisoner cried, being the first to raise his head from the stage. The desperation had set in. His hands curled into fists and he pulled at his bindings hard, wriggling them until the rope tore at his skin.
Will looked away for the first time that day, tapping his foot anxiously on the cobblestone. "Please shut up," He silently pleaded. "Don't make this go any longer." It was hard to watch as is, let alone listen. Some of the crowd also went pale and squirmish, looking everywhere else but the stage. As morbid as it was, Will wanted this to be over as soon as possible.
"Silence!" Seteth, the emerald-haired advisor hissed. Even in the gloom of the dark clouds, Will noticed his handsome face was tense and uncertain. "You are to speak only when spoken to."
"To hell with that!" Another screamed, similarly struggling for dear life against the bindings. "That crazy old bitch is gonna kill us either way!"
A heavy silence drew over the crowd. Few had dared to insult Lady Rhea, let alone to her face, and the young man didn't live to tell about it. The guard didn't miss a beat. With one swift chop of the axe, the young man's head bounced and rolled away from his body, the ghost of his last defiant insult still on his face.
The crowd erupted again, cheering the moment the brutal display began. Suddenly, whatever whimpering and pleading the prisoners had were lost on them. The executed had sealed his fate- he insulted the Archibishop in front of the most devout followers of the faith in the entire country. The center of the Seiros Religion itself. One simply doesn't do that and expect mercy, and the crowd agreed.
"No no no, please!" The first prisoner pleaded, but this time, it fell on deaf ears. "Savages! Blasphemers! You'll all be guilty! Kill me won't bring back your goddess-" A dirty rag was stuffed in his mouth, silencing him. He howled and pleaded again, but it was inaudible now. He was a deadman.
One by one, the axe fell and the cheers grew louder and louder. By the time it had gotten to the final prisoner, he shrieked through his gag and tried to roll away, kick, anything to resist, but it was for naught. One of the guards had shacked his neck to the stage. All he could do was wait and die tired. The man looked up again at the crowd, and eventually, towards Will. His stoic face was the last thing he saw as his neck was severed.
The crowd continued to jeer long after the execution was over. People did love a good bloodbath, but this was too morbid. Too sadistic. Even the guards surrounding the stone-faced Lady Rhea looked shaken and unsure, exchanging looks through their helmets. Rhea raised her hands and all at once, the crowd silenced, like she commanded voice itself.
"Do not cheer for these lost souls' demise. Let us pray for their salvation, as they face judgment from the goddess, Sothis," Rhea preached, clasping her hands together. "May they be granted mercy in her eyes."
Will was the only one in a crowd of a good hundred that didn't have his head knelt in prayer. Much like all aspects of himself, he stood out. Luckily, people were too busy basking over nothing to notice. He shook his head and gazed at the gagged man's head, which had rolled to his feet. There was nothing but sheer terror on his face.
Will sighed. "Welcome to church."
"You would do well to respect it," Will was taken out of his stupor quickly and instinctively stood up straight. How long had Seteth been standing there, towering above him?
"Seteth."
"You aren't praying."
"I'm not a praying man."
"You are when you're in this monastery."
Will turned towards him with a defiant glimmer in his eyes. "Who's the foreigner here? I thought you all were accepting. Are you about to impose your beliefs on someone else?"
Seteth didn't take too well to the hidden edge in Will's voice, but he hesitated, exhaling through his nose. The rain pulled some of his bangs over his eyes, annoying hiding what he could've been thinking or feeling.
"Do you think this is the time or place for a religious debate, Will?" Seteth questioned. "Follow everyone's example, and offer your prayers, no matter what your belief is. This is all I ask of you. You'll receive your payments after the fact."
"Payment after selling my personal beliefs? Sounds like the army- easy, Seteth. That was just a joke. I'll oblige."
Seteth let out a quiet 'Hmph', turned to face the stage, and knelt his head in prayer, hands clasped. Will sighed and followed suit, letting his mind wander off.
"Just to be clear, I never thought of you as a foreigner," Seteth mumbled so only Will could hear.
The Almyran couldn't stop his oncoming crooked smile. "Thanks, you old fart."
Cleaning up took longer than the second coming of Sothis. The rain had washed blood and viscera everywhere, dying some of the street red. Will had to wait, twiddling his thumbs, until Seteth had returned with a rather small sack of gold and silver coins. No matter. Whatever small payment this was could set him up well until his next mission.
There was barely a word spoken between the two before they parted ways. Will didn't want to linger, especially with this rain. The tavern was so close, and drinking the night away until he woke up damning the sun sounded like a good idea. It was dimly lit and obnoxiously humid inside, along with a dirty moldy smell, but it could be a living pile of shit that could talk, and Will wouldn't care. Just so long as they had beer, he'd treat it like a god.
He sat atop a barrel at the bar, next to two gentlemen who were chatting lively about the execution. Will shut his ears off to it, and waved the bartender over. "Some of your best beer, if you don't mind. It's payday."
The bartender, a tired and frail middle-aged man, turned around slowly with a welcoming smile. "Ah, payday's the best day to be merry. What's your…" The welcoming smile on his face slowly marred with uncertainty. "Er, you said payday was today? I could have sworn it wasn't for another week and a half for the soldiers of Seiros."
"I'm a mercenary, just passing by," Will swiftly explained. "And uh, the beer?"
The bartender scratched his bushy mustache, eying Will suspiciously. "Lady Rhea hiring mercenaries?"
"The Goddess works in mysterious ways. The beer, if you don't mind."
"Who are you?" The bartender asked, starting to drop the pretense. "If you're here to start a brawl, have the common decency not to take it away from my doors."
Will sucked in a deep breath, trying his best to be patient. "The last thing I want is a brawl. Do you know what I really want right now? A frothing mug of beer to pass out to. Would it help if I said please?"
The bartender opened his mouth to reply but never got the chance. One of the men next to Will, a stout, burly man with a gut not-so-subtly slapped his hand on Will's shoulder. "Are you sure you're not here to cause something? I hear that's what Almyran's are famous for."
"Well consider me a very strange, and thirsty, Almyran." Will was getting impatient at this point. What does a man have to do just to get one pint of beer without wanting to gut someone?
"How do we know that? You're people are already causing so much hell at Fodlan's Throat," He demanded. "How about you go-"
A hardy young man slapped his hand on the table. "Gentleman, hey, let's not start pulling swords out just yet," He said. The young man was unassuming enough. He was rather scrawny in appearance, with powerful forearms, messy black hair, and a wispy beard. "Bartender, please don't give my new friend any trouble. Just one beer, huh?"
The bartender kept his suspicious gaze throughout but finally obliged, filling his mug to the brim. The young man cheerfully smiled. "Good man! See? The people of Garreg Mach aren't all sticks in the mud."
"You do love yourselves a good execution though," Will pointed out, gratefully taking a sip of his beer. "And, friend? Must be nice to be friends with someone you've never met."
"Never met yet, my good man," The boy said with a wave of his finger. "My name is Horace, and I hear you're looking for a job."
"You're a little early. I'm not usually on the market again until I've had my first drink."
Horace beamed. "Then we're off to a good start already! You wouldn't mind hearing me out, would you?"
Will scoffed with a little grin. He had to hand it to Horace, the man had charisma. A pleasant tone and confidence can move entire armies to march into certain death, and with Horace's voice, consider Will moved. "If you're willing to hire an Almyran to do your dirty work, what are you after?"
Horace craned his neck, leaning closer so that only Will could hear in this crowded bar. "Had you ever heard of the Witch of Edmund?"
"The Witch of what?"
"That answers that. There was a woman that rolled into a town by the name of Hictchen. In a single day, half a field of crops died, a child went missing, and what could only be described as a rain of blood occurs every third night. The villagers are too scared to go near her," He explained.
"And you're sending a lone mercenary in, because?"
"Because the money is worth your while. And besides, a mercenary has fought more than just some random witch in the woods. Mages and necromancers shouldn't be too much of a surprise for someone of your caliber." Going the route of praise? He couldn't fault him for that. What did Will have to lose, to begin with?
"I'll take it."