Hanging The Wingless Drake

[radio]

          Have you heard the news?

What news?

                                                                The Drakanite. 
                                                          They are being strung up outside the walls.

  

 
Rumors begin to spread throughout the streets of the Shimmering City. Rumors of Drakanite criminals sentenced to death being rounded up in droves. A certain nobleman of House Astor with a head sporting dignified blonde at the wheel.
    
Acacio wore the same crooked smile as he had during the fighting over Baleford as he himself took the role of Hangman. Gallows are set up just outside of the Osrona's walls and the necks of Drakanite condemned are to find noose. A man who titles himself Dragonslayer at the lever which pulls away footing to allow the creaking of rope to be heard. For a week, day in and day out there would always be a new line of less fortunate criminals to meet their ends at the Astor's call.
   
But, there was a certain stage that was without an act. A grand stage that seemed most out of place. Somewhere where one might witness a play, people would have second thoughts if not for the noose that hung with from centermost point. Before the wooden structure a pit for audience waited to be filled.
   

"Come one, come all. Today, we have a show for you.  

Sadly, I bring you no Dragon. Simply another Newt. A tadpole belonging under the wing of the Primordial. But, we will deal with them all the same. So many letters that I have been sent asking for their return. Though, what it is I want I'll never just be given. It's something I'll have to take.
 

So this is me, telling you all.
 

I'm coming to take it."

- Acacio vey Astor

As the words of the nobleman came to finish a guard of Osronan knights would begin to escort a woman with sack concealing their head up the steps of the grand stage which Acacio stood upon. His promised showcase for the audience which cared to attend the evening's play. A woman of large stature and obvious Drakanite heritage, one recognized as the woman he had captured during his battle for Baleford Bridge.

 

Marched to the center of grand stage Acacio would then take it upon himself to apply finishing touches. Knights shooed away while cord was loosened. Set around neck found just under the coverings of their head. A tug of noose tightened the hempen cord and prepared for the next step to it all. Steps carried themselves to lever, a look of blue eyes given to the crowd that watched. Then, the creak of wood as hand tugged the device back.
  
There was an initial snap as feet and legs gave way, as wood opened below and ended the support of their weight. The initial creaking of rope, then a sound none would expect. A tearing sound as body split from head. Hay took to the winds.
  
Whatever hung, revealed to be a double.
 

"Oh, yes. I did forget to mention. This was only a teaser for the final act. I'm so very sorry to disappoint.
 
In two months time Pandora will hang. She will hang unless I get one thing and one thing only. All of you who write and expect her return. My price is one thing and one thing alone.
 
A living Dragon."

[Milly]

“You hear that, Esshar? The sounds of ripe hypocrisy that comes

 from the so-called shimmering city?”

In response to the Astor’s bold claim of hanging not just the Dragoon’s elder sister, but for those 

Drakanites that find themselves upon the wrong side of the law of Osrona, Emerson sat about doing 

what a showman such as himself was prone to do.

Make the show even bigger, of course.

Flyers were posted up along the Waystone, and letters and missives were sent to 

every corner of Esshar (not to the dreadwoods). The message was crystal clear.

“They claim they wish to save you when they beat you, and when they 

batter you. They claim their stars can offer you salvation in your hour of need - and yet picture this!

Instead of offering repentance and assistance to those they view as lesser? They 

hang them. The only saving grace those Drakanites witnessed was a firm knot of rope against their neck and a swift drop.

Instead of offering assistance to those with the occult, they work to kill them and 

hang them more than they aim towards any sort of merciful work!

This is the time to stand, people of Esshar. Not just for those poor souls who offered no true problem 

to the people at large and were merely inconveniences this so-called Dragonslayer wished to get rid of… No….

It’s time to stand up against every single wrong Osrona has committed within its vast, vast history. 

Today it’s Drakanites and my own sister - tomorrow is it what? Rhoynish? Those from Moxtli? 

Barsburgians? Perhaps… Even those few souls who call the Waystone their home?

Will you stand around and allow them to do as they’ve always done?

I call upon every single one within this land to raise arms against Osrona in one swift blow. To take out the cancer in 

Esshar that disallows worship outside of its own beliefs, and that claims they value mercy above all. When their mercy is nothing but death.”

It was crystal clear then and there, what the Forgemaster and Dragoon 

of the coat was doing. To distract the forces of Osrona with whatever attacks came their way…

As a small strike force descended within the city to reclaim not just Pandora, 

but any other helpless Drakanites held captive and soon to meet the Astor’s noose as well.

Yet… There was a single letter delivered directly to Osrona. Enchanted with runes upon 

opening, sound blasted from the paper directly in the face of it’s intended recipient, Acacio vey Astor, with a very clear message:

“I fucking hate you.”

[Quatral]

  

Sat upon a low balcony overlooking the gardens and training courses of the Order, a thin smile draws to the taciturn monarch's lips at news of the Ebonblooded's rebuttal. Though matters are ultimately shifted and left in hand of the upstart Astor noble, this much is said,
   

"Nina... there's little more I enjoy that to hear the thrashings of a dying beast. Have you ever hunted? It's the noise of a magnificent yet terrible monster brought to its last, halted breath. Watch them...- these Ebonblooded, watch them thrash and call as they're snuffed out like candles.

  

One by one.

    

Let them cry for sympathy, let the beast on the mountain howl for aid. For as many innocents have seen their fates at the Obelisk, will I ensure their black scaled kind are put to the sword tenfold. I've faith in Acacio however... tell him- tell the young Lord, I'd like the tongue of that loud Forgemaster. It's far too eloquent to sit in the empty head of such a foul-minded creature as he."

  
From upon on the balcony, the Queen's maid is issued to dispatch a series of letters and correspondence, watchful eyes of placid sapphires observing all that goes on below.