Red Stains

The plaza outside of the dul Naevius castle still had the fresh blood of the baronial guard from earlier battling and the two guillotines had been brought with carriages from the stables that had served to hide all the equipment for the attack. Immobile bloodied corpses laid on the ground; the ones face down showed gruesome wounds evidence of their demise: one had a slash that had mangled the muscles of his arm, the other had the bones of his leg gruesomely coming to view and a third one had been trespassed by a spear, the wood still stuck in it.

The shouting and chanting was hectic, revolutionary exclamations being echoed by rebels. “To The New Baron, Kaython dul Pondulle!” “Liberty! DEATH TO THE BARONS!” Then a general roar of “DEATH TO THE BARONS!” repeated.

The gates of the castle opened and a group of rebels took the baron and the baroness out of the gates, dragged through the ground and still donning the fine silken garments they had dressed for the coronation: their first day of ruling. “DEATH TO THE BARONS!” The rebels brought the two of them to the center of the plaza and dropped them on the ground. The chubby Vavardi baron said something but the shouts of “Death! Death! Death! Death!” made all his speech unintelligible. A shield rammed the head of the nobleman, a spurt of blood out of his mouth.

“Comrades!” a booming voice called to silence all, Kaython dul Pondulle having emerged from the crowds, the leader of the rebellion against Vintrius. His dark eyes traveled the crowds, donning brocaded silks and the one-pronged coronet of the barony of Vintrius. “We gather to celebrate the fall of another faulty rule. A rule, which like that of the Renarde was bound to dig a hole of oblivion around our barony. A RULE which would prefer to have us starve before lowering the taxes!” Fists emerged from the crowds and a roar of agreement. “A RULE which would prefer to have -CORONATIONS- instead of tending to the problems of the barony!” Another roar surrounded the barons. “A RULE which will end TODAY!”

“Death! Death! Death! Death!” The baron shouted, “We have done nothing!”

“Shut your bloody hound mouth,” Kaython snapped at the baron and slapped a hand at him, before his voice lifts to call to the crowds: “The people has issued their ruling; guards!” Four peasants armed with bloodied spears and armor stepped forth, closer to the baron and the baroness, who was sobbing on the ground, damning all propriety. “Prepare the prisoners!”

The baron stoically made his way to the blade while his wife continued to sob. They reached for the ropes of the wooden beam and placed it around the baron’s and baroness’s wrists, their head secured in place. “I die with my wife and an impeccable reputation!” the baron calls out to the crowds. “May I be remembered as a martyr of the doom of the revolution!” “Death! Death! Death! Death! Death!”


The blade hissed as it fell, a loud wooden clack ringing across the plaza followed by the running of fresh baronial blood. The sobbing of the baroness was replaced with the popular roars of freedom, new rulers and death. The dul Naevius had lost their first baron. The people wanted blood and Kaython would give it to them.

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