Calandra

Calandra

Postby Tyralor » Sat Oct 11, 2003 8:11 am

Kilborn had listened to the gathering, and the words they'd said.
Kildrummy had nodded a fair amount in support of the poopy.
Pritchard had confirmed the account that had been overheard.
Cecily had been called an oobnoxious wee imp.
Aeri had dragged Biske around like a ragged doll, by accounts.
Biske had, however, definitely held center stage for a period of time, as he struggled to describe precisely what had occured and what had been heard.

Well, eventually Biske had managed to clear up every detail.

Starting off with the commentary "Calandra is innocent of Tyralor's so-called death" had been less than informative, and decidedly more suggestive that Calandra hadn't killed anyone. Of course Kilborn knew better than that. Afterall, Tyralor had been identified, and had been buried since the end of July. He was quite dead.

Clearing that initial impression up wasn't exactly difficult, however it had been particularly late at night. The coherency of pretty much everyone involved had some decided lackage.

"S-somun' else done it, don' know they names, bu' two women an' a man. One sent t'man t'off Tyr'lor, but 'pparently 'e go' th'wrong 'un, an' they wan' 'er -, t'ang fer it." Biske had offered helpfully, and more elaborately. Not, that it was particularly helpful.

It'd taken Kilborn a moment or two, in an attempt to sort out, more or less, what it was that Biske was trying to get at. Eventually with a slightly bewildered look, and seeking more clarity than he was receiving, he'd questioned the werewolf once more.."I'm sorry....Three people didn't kill Tyralor, but want Calandra to hang for that? Isn't Calandra already going to be hung for killing Tyralor? I don't see the connection."

Kildrummy of course, took this moment to look exasperated. Then simply confirmed what he'd just said. At least that was Kilborn's apparent impression. So when Aeri in turn looked exasperated, and scrawled out at length on her tablet, "Biske heard two women and a man set out to kill Tyralor but something had gone wrong. They want Calandra to hang for it. Can you not see?" Kilborn simpmly had to furrow his brow.

"Yes. That's what I just said. Calandra killed Tyralor. So she's going to hang for it. Whether or not these other people set out to kill tyralor or not, Calandra beat them to it. right?" It was getting a bit bizarre for him. Why on earth would he care, whether or not other people wanted to kill Tyralor as well? Calandra had done it, confessed, been found guilty, and was going to hang. Apparently these three were morbid enough that they wanted four people to hang for the death of one man.

Kildrummy's negative response to that particular statement was enough encouragement for Biske to actually try getting something out that was helpful. "-They- killed 'im. Or least, th'man did. One o' the'women all's much admi'ed it."

Kildrummy once again provided supporting commentary, inclusive of a brief description of two of them.

"Wait just a second. It's late and I'm tired and I'm having a bit of trouble following you. So instead of this group of people wanting Tyralor dead, and having Calandra beat them to the punch, they actually beat Calandra to killing Tyralor, and managed to frame her for it? Then what was this about the 'so-called' murder of Tyralor. For a moment you were suggesting he was still alive, right? And there was a man called Joel involved? And a witch?" Kilborn countered, glancing between the lot of them, and the rousing Calandra in the cell otuside of which they'd been standing.

Finally, it seemed everyone was in agreement on the subject. That had been exactly what'd occured. More, it had taken place inside the Dagger, and they had another supporting witness. An obnoxious wee imp called Cecily. Which meant presumably, Pritchard had also been present. Of course, that still left a few questions unanswered, one of which Kilborn inquired about immediately. So his attention turned to Kildrummy.

"Who are you?" was the ultimate gist of the question. The answer being less than informative, despite the name "Hugh Muir, Laird of Kildrummy." Sounded impressive.

For a moment, Kilborn took some time to think. Biske and Hugh Muir took the opportunity to jab at one another. In short order, commentaries about being dragged about by lassies, lady troubles, tracking culprits by smelling, and threats, as well as blazing eyes. The werewolf and the laird were best of friends, one could tell.

Ultimately though, it was late and a conclusion was reached. A guardsman would confer with Pritchard, and ensure that the tale had been accurately portrayed, and ultimately, should that be so, an event long awaited would occur.

Calandra would not be hung.

Instead, she would be released.

And thus, on a Saturday morning in the midst of October, Calandra once again found herself breathing free air. Two and a half months had passed since she'd lost her freedom. Two and a half months. Now, finally, it'd been returned to her.

Victory and Misty Shaila barely survived three days in captivity. One could only imagine, what challenges lay ahead for someone who'd spent nearly three months behind bars.

Time would tell.
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That morning...

Postby Driftingstar » Sat Oct 11, 2003 8:03 pm

“… she's going to hang for it.”

A fine and fearful note to wake up on, jarred from her uneasy rest by a muddle of confused voices just outside. “They’ve come for me already.” Raced through her mind, her heart fluttered in a moment of panic to which she curled up tighter, bony wrist clamped over her ear, anything to mute out the voices. The time of night, didn’t even dawn on her until much later.

In the end, it turned out her fear had been premature,

“According to Biske, and Lord Muir of Kildrummy, apparently a group of three individuals were in the broken dagger the other evening, celebrating the success of framing you for the murder of Tyralor. Which has left me in a peculiar position, since you confessed to the crime and were found guilty.”, was the not to thrilled summery given to her by Kilborn himself.

Struck silent by disbelief, she stared at the small gathering uncomfortably. Stiff-jawed, tongue tied, “Yes?”, whispered past her lips and then cringed at her witless reply leading to even more questions in the end. Judging by the less than pleased looking Kilborn upon her explanation, he shared this exact thought.

The rest was a muddle. Something about confirming their information with Pritchard and then upon that, her possible release. It didn’t seem real, even Treadwell, one of those in council who appeared far to eager to see her at the end of a rope only ever suggested a “retrial” upon a sudden change of heart.

That last night was spent sleepless. Tossing about endlessly while nervous disbelief grated against the delicate thread that was her sanity. Had the whole conversation been a cruel dream?

Morning came, as did word of her fate. “A conditional release” There would be no execution.

In the end, she never really manage to come up with a decent answer for Lt. Kilborn about why she confessed to the murder of Tyralor at the very last minute. The fact that both she and Sill had sworn their innocence up until the very moment they reached the gallows never seemed to factor in the answer. It was desperation, a pitched attempt to save one life over loosing two. To her it was as clear and simple as that, and still not what some wanted to hear. In the end, it saved two lives.

Outside the heavy gates, the Gaol loomed just beyond as a strict reminder to the nervous, pale, grungy, thread of a girl standing just beyond. She was free. Nearly three months she had wished, dreamed for this day. Nearly three months later, blinded by the early sun and greeted by a cold fresh breeze the dream was reality, partially. She had not received a full pardon, her freedom was conditional and still the feeling left her elated, terrified, and numb all at once as the lingering questions still faced her.

“What would she do now? Where would she go?” that lingering, unknowing “What..”
"Lets just say that if complete and utter chaos was lightning, he'd be the sort to stand on a hilltop in a thunderstorm wearing wet copper armor and shouting 'all gods are bastards'."
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