King Phillip "The Slayer"'s Story

Roland watched as she disappeared into the gathering night. Taking a deep breath, he and Thomas quietly shed what little was left of the Elfenslaga plate. Carefully setting it upon the ground, they nodded to one another. Both took off at a jog. Their boots made little sound, their eyes rapidly scanning ahead of them for any underlying brush or branches. This was their first time in Fae territory, but it certainly wasn't the first time in several years that they'd had to move near silently. The Joined Blade often engaged in espionage and other activities under the nose of the Elfenslaga.

Thomas spared a short glanced towards the river, which they had silently elected to follow out of Fae territory. It would take them slightly off of a direct course towards the border. However, it reflected the rising moon, allowing them to more easily see the path in front of them. He spotted his new Kappa friend swimming silently alongside them. If they moved without sleep, there was a chance they could outpace Griffin, and make it out of Fae territory before morning. Each second they remained, they were at risk of death. While beautiful, neither Roland or Thomas much wanted to die there.

Roland took point ahead of Thomas, his younger eyes giving his night vision a slight advantage. He cut sharply, avoiding a bit of loose bramble. Thomas followed swiftly behind him, following in his footsteps exactly. Having been together for years, they could operate as one even in such unfamiliar surroundings. They each kept one hand on the swords at their hip, holding the weapon still against them, making sure nothing rattled or shook as they moved at a somewhat brisk pace. Roland came to a gentle stop, and Thomas did as well.

Turning, Roland gestured to his eyes and pointed to their right. Up ahead was a willow tree. If they focused on it, they could just make out the gentle glimmering of lights unnatural to a willow in their own lands. Pixies? Thomas wondered. Roland was sure of it, somehow. His connection with Anansi seemed to have only served to further deepen his intuition. Thomas motioned for them to circle wide left, and Roland nodded. Moving off the mostly clear river path, they slowly entered the more forested area. Their pace crept to a crawl as the pair tried to avoid stepping on anything crackly or snappy. As they moved around the willow tree, Thomas cast a glance back at it. What a strange land. It didn't hold the same appeal to him as it seemed to Roland, but... Thomas was old, he knew. Set in his ways, and tired of danger.

Thomas felt Roland jerk him backwards roughly all the suddenly, causing him to stumble backwards into Roland's arms. Straightening up, he cast a silent glance at Roland, a bit annoyed. Roland pointed to a large patch of odd looking mushrooms. Raising an eyebrow, Roland motioned for them to circle back around towards the river, and Thomas relented with a nod.


"THIS IS THE PRICE OF HERESY!" King Phillip roared. He stood in the middle a cobbled street. All was silent, save for the gagged whimpers of a family strapped to several stakes behind him. Flanking each side were several knights, clad in polished steel that shone in the newly risen sun. The emblem of the Elfenslage was emblazoned upon the breastplate. The blue banner flew along the Crimson and Black of Westfall, the golden cross blazing against the lighter background. An executioner stood nearby, nursing a flaming torch.

Alongside the streets, horrified townspeople looked on, helpless. Many turned their eyes down, away from a sickening scene which none could prevent. Some had retreated into their businesses, others to their homes, herding their children inside. The city of Crownsport was a massive hub of trade within Westfall. Bordering the great sea that separated Westfall from The Imperium to the west, the port city was always bustling with trade and business. The walls had grown over the years, as more and more distracts sprang up from the wealth generated.

On this day the gates to the districts sat barred. Trade had come to a halt, and as many as possible were to be witness to the events about to transpire. Multi-colored banners flew from storefronts, the colorful town square of Crownsport belaying the horror now felt in the breast of many.

"This man and his wife are guilty of the most heinous of crimes! Heresy, an affront to the Creator, and an affront to me! They have defied their ruler, both Earthly and Heavenly, speaking of tolerance and peace between us and the Fae! Between us, and the spawn of Hell, the minions of Satan himself! Are we to break bread with demons next? With witches and cultists?" Phillip's voice was powerful, carrying across the silent square with ease. He was a powerful and able speaker, striking fear and acceptance into the hearts of his audience.

"These heretics, these blasphemers, these TRAITORS, best make peace with the Creator now. Beg him to spare them from an eternity of fiery torment, for it is only in there that they will find mercy. I have none to give, for I am a ruler of men! Our laws are what set us apart, what raise us above! Justice, my people! Justice shall be met out in grevious measure!"

The woman, gagged and tied to her stake, let out a heartrending wail of terror and despair. The muffled sound created by the cloth shoved into her mouth only made it all the worse. Those nearest could manage to make out her begging. Pleading with the knights to talk to the king, to spare her children. Phillip raised his hand, his cloak streaming behind him in the warm breeze. The Crimson and black adorning him making him appear an even fiercer man. The executioner readied his torch, lifting it above his head.

Phillip gave the command, his hand arcing through the air. A scream pierced the silence. The scream of a man. Phillip spun on his heel, and spotted the execution clutching his hand. A barbed arrow had punched through his hand, knocking the torch from his grasp.

"Ambush!" An Elfenslage knight roared, drawing his blade. Men rushed from both sides of the street, pouring from the alleys. Their state of armor and weaponry varied. Some had no armor, armed with clubs or salvaged blades. Others wore partial and even full plate, scarred from time and battle. Some just used, others torn from dead Elfenslaga, the emblems covered up. A banner unfurled from a nearby rooftop, the silver and green of the Joined Blade flowing in the wind as several archers let loose. The execution fell, several arrows piercing his chest and one punching clean through his throat.

The Elfenslaga charged into the fray, leveling shield and blade against the oncoming skirmishers. Phillip growled, drawing his blade from its scabbard. Several of his royal knights rushed to his side, attempting to intercept the two who had charged straight for the king. Phillip strode to them, easily ducking under the wild swing of the first man. These two were no knights, merely trained rabble that had gotten too excited for their own good. The second man swung from over his shoulder at Phillip. Phillip moved his blade to the side, cutting off the lane of attack. Stepping through the guard, he slipped easily from the bind and arced the sword over his shoulder, slicing into the side of the skirmisher's neck. Blood sprayed from a severed artery, splashing upon the crimson fabric of the King's tunic.

The attacker screamed in pain and desperate fury. He spun on his heel, rounding on Phillip and attempting an even wilder strike. Phillip caught the man's wrist, and drove the pommel of his sword viciously down into his skull. Once, twice, thrice he struck. On the third blow, the man's cracked skull gave way. The man's eyes rolled back into his sockets, and he toppled to the ground, twitching as he bled out.

"No! You son of a whore!" The man's compatriot yelled, charging at Phillip. Enraged, his lack of technique was further compounded. Phillip simply drove the toe of his boot into the man's groin as he neared. The man fell hard to his knees, gasping in eye watering pain. Taking his blade in both hands, Phillip swung it up, arcing it around his head as he brought it down at a sharp angle. The blade bit deep into the man's neck, jarring off the spine and stopping short of severing his head. The peasant dropped, however, his life extinguished brutally. As his royal knights neared him, Phillip waved two onward and the rest away.

"Fools! Eliminate the Joined Blade, two is more than enough." He ordered, spinning on his heel and departing from the scene as the battle raged on.