My First Execution

[Fjorleif]

Please find in the posts below the story of my first execution, narrated by my Lord Grandfather. I was only nine and so exited.

[Fjorleif]

The foreday broke clear and cold, with a crispness that was so typical for an early Gularish autumn.

Led by the Sovereign Lord of Stormark Himself, a horsed party, forty in all, set forth at the crack of dawn to see an outlandish convict beheaded, and Storjarla Fjǫrleif rode among them, nervous with excitement.

This was the first time that her Lord Grandfather, the High King of Stormark, had deemed her old enough to carry out His Justice, after she had seen it done by Him various times. It was the Thirteenth Year of the Second Viking Age in the Second Epoch of the High Realm, and the tenth of Storjarla Fjǫrleif’s life.

The High King's Granddaughter sat regally on her mount, her long brown hair stirring in the wind. The little Lady Imperial on all Continents was in dressed in a black catsuit made of studded Valtian leather. The accoutrements of the young Imperial Chieftainess of Eidsivarike further consisted of gloves and riding boots - the both of them also made of black studded Valtian leather - and a purple cashmere cloak lined with fur, which was strewn with the embroidered Arms of the Merchant Jarldom and fastened with a golden Falcon brooch. Her outfit was completed by an ancient Celtic circlet, a gift from her aunt Lady Aoife the Celt.

"On the morrow we'll be seeing a sacrilegious foreigner executed by you. Are you sure you can stomach the beheading, little one?", her Lord Grandfather had asked her yesterday.

"Ha! Women can stomach the bloodiest of violence, Grandsire!," Storjarla Fjǫrleif had replied with confidence. "It’s us women after all who suffer the violence of childbirth and rape and pay the dearest for men’s crimes."

"You remind me so much of your Lady Grandmother", the High King had said with a smile from ear to ear.

"And of the Lady Freyja, our First Foremother, too!", the Imperial Chieftainess of Eisivarike had replied with a mischievous smile on her face.

"Careful, careful, little one! To much boast will render one toast!", the Sovereign Lord of Stormark said with a big fat wink, very much knowing the truth of His Lady Granddaughter’s bold words.

The condemned outlander was a stout man, with jowls and a bald pate. He was frog-faced and built like a keg. He had been brought to an ancient moot hill in the Haraldsborg Marka, at which foot he was now - tied by hand and foot to a pole and guarded by armed prison officers who were accompanied by Hell's Handmaidens - awaiting the Imperial party to deliver the High King's Justice unto him.

The breath of man and horse mingled, steaming, in the cold morning air as Storjarla Fjǫrleif had the man cut down from the pole and dragged upon the moot hill. "Noooooooooo!," the man cried, as the prison officers pulled him higher and higher onto the hill until they had reached its top.

The Imperial Chieftainess of Eidsivarike glanced at her Lord Grandfather. For an instant their eyes met. Then the High King nodded.

[Fjorleif]

The eerie early forenoon silence was broken only by the sound of the pipes of a lone piper.

The piper, who belonged to the Imperial Piper and Drum Band, was solemnly walking up the ancient moot hill towards its Godsgrove while playing the age-old Valtian folk song "Justice Be Done". When having arrived at the edge of the hilltop Godsgrove the lone piper halted, but he continued to play his glum song.

Storjarla Fjǫrleif graciously and regally dismounted, handed the reins of her horse to a prison officer, and quietly followed in the footsteps of the lone piper onto the doom and gloom of the moot hill, only accompanied by the sound of the ancient piped folk tune.

When the High King's granddaughter had also reached the edge of the hilltop Godsgrove, every trace of the giggly little girl who liked to skip rope, play with her dolls, and sit before the fireplace at eventide - eagerly listening to her Lord Grandfather's stories from the Days of the Old Tale and other days long gone by - was gone. Storjarla Fjǫrleif had, while sloping upward, taken off her own face and donned the face of Her Imperial and Royal Highness the Imperial Chieftainess of Eidsivarike: a grim and stern chieftainess' face.

With icy courtesy the little Lady Imperial greeted the Guest of Honour: the legendary Norman Knight Sir Pierre Bourgault de Dampierre, Comte Royal of Secqueville, and one of her Lord Grandfather's Principal Travel Companions from the Days of the Old Tale. As the Guest of Honour the chevalier had the highly esteemed task of presenting the High King's Lady Granddaughter with the sword with which she was to behead the condemned outlander.

The Norman Knight was resplendently dressed in a suit of Valtian Steel armour, which bore the name of Sable Protectress, and which was so magnificent that it could put virtually any other suit of armour on Reikistjarna to shame. Sir Pierre's greatcloak was sewn from countless layers of crimson Valtian silk, so heavy that it barely stirred even when he moved, and so large that its drape covered most of his stallion's hindquarters when he was in the saddle.

No ordinary clasp would suffice for such a weight, so the greatcloak was held in place by a matched pair of miniature lionesses crouching on his shoulders, as if poised to spring. Their mate, a male with a magnificent mane, reclined atop Sir Pierre's greathelm, one paw raking the air as he roared. All three lions were wrought in gold, with ruby eyes. His armour was heavy Valtian Steel plate, enameled in sable, greaves and gauntlets inlaid with ornate gold scrollwork. His rondels were golden sunbursts, all his fastenings were gilded, and the sable steel was burnished to such a high sheen that one could use it as a mirror.

The Lady Fjǫrleif knew Sir Pierre only from her Lord Grandsire's tales, but what a tales they were: fear-inducing and awe-inspiring stories about the Norman Knight's travels, his tourneys, his battles, his duels, his dipsomania, his horses, and his joie de & savoir vivre. Numerous times the High King had compared the chevalier to a viper: deadly, dangerous, and incredibly unpredictable, and no man who had ever had the gall to tread on him had lived to brag about it.

"There are only a few people in the world who would dare to greet me like that", Sir Pierre thought while being mildly impressed and slightly amused, "Harald's granddaughter has really got it!"

"Fetch me the block!", the Imperial Chieftainess of Eidsivarike commanded.

A pair of prison officers carrying a time-worn executioner's block quickly paced up the ancient moot hill. They entered its Godsgrove, where they laid the block before the Bosom Tree.

"Bring me the condemned one!", Storjarla Fjǫrleif then ordered.

The man was still protesting as the prison officers half-marched, half-dragged him before the High King's granddaughter and her Lord Grandfather's Principal Travel Companion.

"My Lord, have mercy!", the man begged, turning to Sir Pierre. "I did nothing wrong!"

"According to the Law of the Land, you very much did", the Norman Knight remarked dryly. "One ought to know by now that we in Stormark have got our very own way of doing things and that mindless mouthing about as well as bashing the customs of worship of the State is not too much appreciated. Even I, an arrogant staunch Catholic knight with a barbed tongue and a fearsome reputation, know better. On top of that you called the Lady Judge of the Gulathing a 'sow in silk' and tried to curry favour with the Law Court of Last Resort by telling them misogynistic jokes such as 'What do women and turds got in common'....."

"The older they are the easier it becomes to pick them up", the convict added and burst into raucus and complacent laughter.

Sir Pierre rolled his eyes.

"Besides you are talking to the wrong person", the Norman Knight continued.

"Wh....wh....what do you mean", the condemned man stammered.

"As much I would love to chop off that shit-filled head of yours, that "honour" belongs to the Lady next to me", Sir Pierre said while laying his hand, which was gloved in a black gauntlet inlaid with ornate gold scrollwork, on Storjarla Fjǫrleif's shoulder.

[Fjorleif]

The condemned man burst into raucus and contempteous laughter.

"If you think that you can frighten me, then you are mistaken," they heard the man say. "That little girl would not dare to touch me."

Sir Pierre rolled his eyes once again.

Do you really think that you can hurt me, pup!?", the man then snorted to Storjarla Fjǫrleif, his voice thick of complacent disdain.

"I'm not going to hurt you. I indeed would never dare to do so", the High King's granddaughter meekly said with a shy expression on her face.

"Mon Dieu!", Sir Pierre cried out.

The smug smile that the convict then smiled had all the sweetness of rancid butter, thinking that he was off the hook..... Until he heard Storjarla Fjǫrleif say, "I'm only going to kill you!", while a smile appeared on her face that was so creepy and bloodlusty that it would even scare the hell out of a beserker on speed, magic mushrooms and steroids.

"Oh, gods be good, what is that foul smell!?", one of the prison officers asked.

"I think that the condemned one has soiled himself", the Imperial Chieftainess of Eidsivarike casually remarked. "It probably is a desperate attempt to curry favour with the Tree of Life by offering it some fertilizer. An attempt very much in vain, since Mighty Yggdrasil is not into criminal nightsoil", the Lady Imperial added with a big fat wink.

"Come on, good Sirs! Let's get this over with! Take the condemned one to the Bosom Tree!", Storjarla Fjǫrleif then commanded.

"No," the convict cried, as the prison officers half-shoved and half-pulled him through the Godsgrove to the executioner's block at the foot of the Bosom Tree. "Let go of me! … you cannot …"

Having arrived at the Bosom Tree, one prison officer kicked the legs out from under the convict. The other prison officer planted a foot on the man's back to keep him on his knees as his collegue forced the culprit's head down onto the time-worn chopping block.

Sir Pierre then brought forth the sword and solemnly presented it to Imperial Chieftainess of Eidsivarike. "Law-Bringer," that blade was called. It was an heirloom from the House of Utenlov, the Mysterian Noble House of which Storjarla Fjǫrleif's Lady Grandmother - Storjarla Geirbjörg - was the head of. She had given the greatsword to Lady Fjǫrleif's Lord Grandfather many moons ago in the Days of the Old Tale when He was a young chieftain on the Mysterious Isles.

Law-Bringer was made of Valtian Steel, spell-forged and as shiny as polished platina. Nothing, except for Lightning - the Imperial Greatsword of the High King of Stormark - held an edge like Valtian Steel.

Storjarla Fjǫrleif peeled off her gloves and handed them to Sir Pierre. With her right hand she raised the ancient greatsword high and chanted the age-old Valtian executioner's invocation:

"Today is the grave end
Of infliction of misery upon our land.
Together we rise
For this evil one's demise.

His time is fleeting,
For justice shall be done.

Asafolk and Vanafolk
All clearly realise
The threat that resides
While thugs are breathing.

Let justice be done!"

The Imperial Chieftainess of Eidsivarike then took hold of Law-Bringer with both hands and said, "This shall go easier if you stay still". "Move to avoid the cut, and you still shall die, but your dying will be uglier. Stretch out your neck, sir." The bleak foreday sunlight ran up and down her blade as the Lady Imperial clasped the hilt of the greatsword with both hands and lifted it high above her head. "If you have any last words, now is the time to speak them," she said, expecting one last barrage of curses and bad language.

The condemned man twisted his neck around to stare up at Storjarla Fjǫrleif. "Please, My Lady. Mercy. I'll … I'll, I'll never, I …"

"It is too late for that now", the Imperial Chieftainess of Eidsivarike thought with a sad smile and proceeded with the execution.

The Lady Imperial's voice rang with command as she exclaimed: "In the Gulathing and the Law Court of Last Resort, in the sight of gods and men, you have, in the name of His Imperial and Royal Majesty Harald Freyjugjöf the Generous Giver of the House of the Descendants of Freyja, High King of Stormark, Sovereign Lord on all Continents, Sovereign Ruler of all the Lands Whatsoever Where Man Can Smell the Scent of Saline Waters or Hear the Sound of Crashing Waves, been judged guilty of sacrilege and yfirfirring and condemned to death for the aforesaid heinous deeds by the authority of the same! Therefore, in the name of the aforesaid Sovereign Lord of the Twenty-Six Jarldoms and with mine own hand, I, Fjǫrleif Hallbjörnsdóttir of the House of the Descendants of Freyja, Imperial Chieftainess of Eidsivarike, Arvjarla of the Twenty-Six Jarldoms, Storjarla of Stormark, Lady Imperial on All Continents, Lady of the Holy Lakes, hereby take your life! May the Lords and Ladies Divine take pity on your soul!"

Storjarla Fjǫrleif took off the man's head with one sure stroke. The head bounced off a thick root of the Bosom Tree and went rolling across the Godsgrove's grassy ground. Blood sprayed out across the grass, as crimson as Treesian Red. She could not take her eyes off the blood. The earth surrounding the chopping block drank it eagerly, reddening as she watched.

[Noor bint Daniyal]

My Lady,

The abhorrent nature of the death penalty is something that the Elwynnese nation forever will disavow, condemn and oppose with all their might.

I recognize that the act of killing another human being, that you performed, was done in a place where these atrocities against the human dignity are legal. I will respect that, however reluctant I am to do so.

I wish to note my strongest disapproval of the way you are proud of what you have done, and the way you are propagating for the death penalty, by romanticizing it and portraying it as heroic and majestic. It is your right to do so, but in our Nation of our values and our ideals, it is most foreign and most vile, and I would very much wish you did not.

[Fjorleif]

To each their own, My Lady.

[King Noah]

You've really got it, Sweet Sister of Mine!

[Fjorleif]

You've really got it, Sweet Sister of Mine!

It is my in blood.

That said, it is about time for you to perform your first execution.

[Noor bint Daniyal]

You've really got it, Sweet Sister of Mine!

It is my in blood.

That said, it is about time for you to perform your first execution.

The King shall do no such thing!

[Fjorleif]

The King shall do no such thing!

The King of Elwynn definately won't..., but the Imperial Chieftain of Thule might.

[Noor bint Daniyal]

But doing so would be a gross disrespect to the people of this country, their values and the constitution that they hold dear.

[Raz]

You should visit Thule some time soon dear Noor!

[Noor bint Daniyal]

That would be lovely!

[Fjorleif]

But doing so would be a gross disrespect to the people of this country, their values and the constitution that they hold dear.

Some coutries, so many customs...

You should visit Thule some time soon dear Noor!

Oh yes! I would love to show the Lady Noor around on the Light Side of Reikistjarna!

[Fjorleif]

But doing so would be a gross disrespect to the people of this country, their values and the constitution that they hold dear.

Has Elwynn ever had the death penalty?

[Nathaniel]

Not since the days of Baron Ardashir, cousin.

[Fjorleif]

Not since the days of Baron Ardashir, cousin.

Have there been any attemppts to bring it back?

[Hallbjorn]

Have there been any attemppts to bring it back?

Ardashir tried to re-introduce the death penalty, but his attempt was sunk by Steward Leo and later Duke Nathan made a more comprehensive decree, including certain minority rights and a ban on corporal punishment.