[Thread] I will be your executioner this afternoon
Characters: OU Sylvanas Windrunner, OU The Joker, OPEN to any any all -- especially those who wanted to take part in the more formal trial.
When: The day the Keepers sweep down on the compound, set just before they do so.
Where: The Park, behind the church -- the same place that the five people were buried alive.
Summary: Sylvanas intends to execute the Joker for his crimes. She has welcomed others to contest her decision. However, the Keepers get in her way.
Warnings: Discussing death and killing people. Also, eventually, a furious Sylvanas.
Sylvanas guided the Joker behind the church with a rope around his neck and a sword point hovering near his spine. His hands had been bound in front of him and his legs hobbled. But Sylvanas was patient with his shuffling steps -- surprisingly patient, considering how restless she had been of late. If he tried to stop, she pricked him under the ribs. A troop of twelve skeletons guarded the procession, armed with dirty shovels: an appropriate escort for the queen's intentions.
Thus they made their way to the burial grounds. Last night she and her skeletons had worked to clear out one of the holes the residents had been buried in. The coffin rested beside it, open. Weeks of weather had eaten at the metal: frost traced elaborate patterns over the spots of rust. The edges reflected the harsh white winter sun. What a lovely, miserable little cell.
Sylvanas tugged on the Joker's leash to halt him before his grave. "Now," the undead elf said lowly, sweet and sinister, "we wait and see who is willing to defend you."
When: The day the Keepers sweep down on the compound, set just before they do so.
Where: The Park, behind the church -- the same place that the five people were buried alive.
Summary: Sylvanas intends to execute the Joker for his crimes. She has welcomed others to contest her decision. However, the Keepers get in her way.
Warnings: Discussing death and killing people. Also, eventually, a furious Sylvanas.
Sylvanas guided the Joker behind the church with a rope around his neck and a sword point hovering near his spine. His hands had been bound in front of him and his legs hobbled. But Sylvanas was patient with his shuffling steps -- surprisingly patient, considering how restless she had been of late. If he tried to stop, she pricked him under the ribs. A troop of twelve skeletons guarded the procession, armed with dirty shovels: an appropriate escort for the queen's intentions.
Thus they made their way to the burial grounds. Last night she and her skeletons had worked to clear out one of the holes the residents had been buried in. The coffin rested beside it, open. Weeks of weather had eaten at the metal: frost traced elaborate patterns over the spots of rust. The edges reflected the harsh white winter sun. What a lovely, miserable little cell.
Sylvanas tugged on the Joker's leash to halt him before his grave. "Now," the undead elf said lowly, sweet and sinister, "we wait and see who is willing to defend you."