It's one thing to dream of the middle ages; of dragons and princes and knights in shining armor. It's a whole other thing to live it. [rated for violence]
Above the sound of the drumbeat, the voice of the man some thirty feet away from him rang throughout the crowd gathered in the execution grounds, carrying with it his death sentence. Although these people’s tongue was unintelligible to him, he knew perfectly well what he was being sentenced with. He could almost have laughed aloud from the sheer brilliance of it, or perhaps just from the subdued hysteria of his imminent death.
Despite his calmness, he could feel a hint of the panic he knew he should be feeling somewhere deep within him. Yet, thinking of the alternative to this hanging, his own death hardly seemed to matter. It was this morbid satisfaction that left him in a state of what could almost be labeled as bliss for the last several moments of his life.
Once the man’s declaration of the sentence drew to a close, the execution grounds grew utterly silent, save for the steadfast precision of the drums. It was this short gap between the seemingly eternal waiting and the moment in which he knew his life would end that he had been waiting for. This situation had been so delicately crafted, the true “justice” for this crime so gracefully danced around that it would have been a crime in itself to let these people go on believing that their form of justice had been served.
Despite his lack of knowledge of these people’s language and his utter disdain of the entire culture or anything related to it, he had carefully chosen and memorized two words of the tongue with which he would allocate the truth he so desperately needed them to know.
“Elle vive!” His triumphant declaration rang throughout the crowd. In response came an astonished murmur, spreading like a plague and soon growing into an uproar.
“De que parle-t-il ?”
“Est-il fou ?”
“Ce traître a été tué !”
“Il est aliéné !”
“Juste tuez-le maintenant ! Amortissez son non-sens !”
The voices of the crowd soon became so numerous that no single one could be distinguished; they melded together into one massive tidal wave of sound crashing upon the execution grounds. However, what sounded like a roar of astoundment, rage, and bemusement to most was a harmonious song to those truly listening for its sweet melody. It was this melodious song that filled the ears, mind, and soul of Nightblade as the end of his life drew increasingly nearer. This song that allowed his inner peace to overcome the rising hysteria within him. This song that allowed a smile to spread across his face in his penultimate moment of life. This song that assured him that this was meant to be done as the lever was pulled and he began to fall to his certain demise. This song that assured his soul eternal peace as, upon the instant that his neck snapped and his life ceased, his purpose had been fulfilled.
What is he talking about?
Is he crazy?
That traitor was killed!
He is insane!
Just kill him now! Stop his nonsense!