World of Kulan DM
Caerth winces when Gareth puts his hand on the half-orc’s shoulder, and he puts some effort into not reacting with a growl or sneer.
Doesn’t the creature ask for death, repeatedly? Surely the unnatural thing has no place in this world, and a predator removes the injured and sick so that nature thrives...
But then why does he feel such hatred?
Realizing that he does not trust his own moral compass anymore after what he’s been through and the doubts about his mentor, Caerth decides he has to look outward.
”Screech,” he whispers the name of his owl companion. No, Screech is outside, safe from harm, safe from — from watching the druid do things he shouldn’t. Was that why he sent the great horned owl away?
Instead Caerth looks at his trusted companions once more, the question plain on his face. What should he do?
Aureus nods her ascent to Phar's words. She unties the rook, which still gasps for air meekly in Caerth's grip. The rook's clawed hands hang limply at its side. It doesn't even try to free itself.Phar just shakes his head, clearly finding the situation uncomfortable. He blows out a breath and says, "We can't let him live, he will be a threat to the good people of this land. A clean execution is best. Even he desires it. I'd rather see him given a quick death than tortured."
Replacing his wicked spiked chain, Quinn then draws cruel justice.
"For the crimes of murder, you are right, he should pay by a quick death."
Caerth nods. A just death from the sentient blade that represents exactly that, seems a good solution to this dilemma.
The half-orc prepares himself for releasing his prisoner... just a little longer...
As if his hand has a mind of its own, Caerth pushes the dagger into the rook’s skin, just far enough to draw blood, before pushing the creature forward with his other hand, towards his companion holding Cruel Justice at the ready.
The half-dead rook doesn't struggle as Caerth places Roobite in front of Quinn. It closes its eyes and Cruel Justice and Quinn move as one. The blade cuts the rook's head clean off and the body slumps down dead."I wish to hear from all as to the accusation and sentence of this creature and I, Quinn Inagui, will serve the weapon, Cruel Justice, as executioner."
He moves to stand within striking distance of the rook with the Named Sword ready to swing.
"Justice is served," the blade says solemnly to no one in particular. "It was a harsh mercy."
"Aye," Gareth intones in agreement. "It is better this way. That creature would have likely have been a drain on our resources and tried to kill one of us the moment we let our guard down."
Timmins does the foul work of removing the dead body and placing its remains with the other dead rooks outside of the tower. "While it would probably be better for us to bury those bodies or burn them, we shouldn't attract more attention to ourselves," he says once he reenters the main floor of tower.
Maur ducks his head as the old rowboat barely passes under the tight entrance to the sea grotto. The tide is high and the passage is barely passable. The two nervous human lads working the oars of their father's boat look around warily once inside the grotto. The irregular sea cave is roughly 20 ft. by 20 ft. at its widest point.
There they are, Maur thinks once her sees the two launches tied up to an old pier. There is also something else. The smell of dried blood and offal. Well, Lady Pendour did tell him the group already on Gurnard's Head had fought several pitched battles.
The boys row the boat close to the old dock for Maur to disembark. He could have rowed here faster on his own, but the old fisher would had been forced to lend the boat to Maur had insisted that his boys, Tamer and Shutt, do the rowing and then return with the boat right away.
No sooner had Maur's booted feet touched the dock, the boy was quickly turned around and launched out of the grotto as fast as the two boys could row. They were quickly out of sight. Maur had barely had time to grab his pack before the young humans fled. Now, he carefully climbs the winding stairs leading up to where the island's tower sits. The way is carved in stone with sections of the stairs open to the sea air. An old doorway once shut with a reinforced wooden door sits open and a natural escarpment lies beyond.
The tower, such as it is, is typical for human design and has seen better days. Its upper levels look like they could topple at any moment. Gaping holes litter the tower and the wind and rain lashes the old stonework. Then he smells it. Burnt flesh and fresh blood. Could he be too late to help the others?
The smell seems to be coming from a pile of corpses near a small set of stairs that winds up the side of the tower to an open doorway. He hears voices coming from inside the tower. Are they friend or foe?