The Harvest Wars - Part 1 - Awakening

CHAPTER FOUR - The Brass Executioner

"Dear lords and ladies!" yelled the court herald. "I present to you the ultimate tool of justice, the slayer of the wicked, the legendary Brass Executioner!"

As the Brass Executioner finally stepped through the large gate, his entrance accompanied by the overwhelming jubilation of the audience, the warrior was surprised. He had pictured the other man to be... taller.

It was not that the Brass Executioner was small; in fact, he was at least a hand taller than the warrior and had a lean, muscular physique. It was just that, after all the legends the warrior had heard about this terrifying fighter, he half expected him to resemble a giant rather than a normal man, standing at least ten feet tall and with more muscles than a warhorse. He should have known that the stories were mostly myth, since nobody could truly know how the Brass Executioner looked but the nobles and other mighty of society.

It was a well-known fact that only this elite group was allowed to see the executioner in action, and the warrior had never mingled with those people, nor had he ever wanted to. Seeing the Brass Executioner doing his bloody handiwork was considered a great honor, and for the common people, it had attained the status of myth. And as with any myth or faerie tale, it had been blown out of proportion.

But the rest of the stories describing the executioner actually fit very well. Resembling a gladiator, he wore a helmet and a tight-fitting face mask that looked like a skull. A richly adorned shoulder guard with spikes like frozen fire protected his right shoulder as well as the adjoining parts of his neck and arm. He wore heavy bracers that covered his lower arms, a white apron, and leather-strapped sandals. Apart from the latter two garments, everything was fashioned from brass and polished so that it gleamed like gold. The Golden Deathsman—that was another name of the Brass Executioner, and it suited him.

And, of course, there was his axe.

In a way, it was even more intimidating than its wielder. It exactly matched the stories the warrior had heard: a gargantuan, single-bladed executioner's axe that looked as if it was made for the hands of an ogre. Its blade was brass as well. It had a wavy, saw-toothed edge, and the ornate surface had been carved to resemble solidified flames. The blade alone was almost as long and wide as the chest of a grown man, and it was attached to an equally massive shaft that seemed to be the bone of a monstrous beast. It was a true feat of strength to lift such a weapon, let alone wield it with any skill. The Brass Executioner displayed both abilities as he stepped into the arena and performed a dazzling series of swings that ended in sheer bravado as he raised the blade in a victorious gesture over his head.

The crowd cheered. It was clear who its favorite was.

While waiting for the swaggering to come to an end, the warrior paced around the blood-soaked ground of the arena and selected his weapons from the dead. Having seen the axe of his enemy, he briefly contemplated picking up a large battle axe, but in the end decided against it. The weapon was of inferior quality and, in a direct clash, would surely break when pitted against the formidable blade of the executioner; the warrior was better off with two swift blades. At least, he hoped so...

He retrieved his short sword from the corpse of the slain Aracnear, not bothering to clean the blade of the black gore and pus that stuck to it. If he was lucky, the executioner would have enough respect for the vile fluids to put a major part of his focus on the weapon. That could give the warrior an opening he might be able to exploit...

To complete his set, he took a similar short sword from the slack hand of one of the fallen. Both blades were plain, and compared to the magnificent axe of his enemy, they were ugly and inferior, but an inferior weapon could kill just as well as a flawless one if the strike was true.