The Trial of the Boar
The square outside Greymoor's keep had never seen such a crowd. From dawn, peasants, merchants, freed slaves, and even trembling nobles filled the streets, packed shoulder to shoulder.
At the center stood a great wooden platform built overnight, draped in black and crimson banners — the crude sigil of Voss Arclight Cross. Torches smoked in the morning air, their flames licking high against the stone walls.
Atop the platform, a chair had been set, rough-hewn and without ornament. Chains rattled as Halbrecht was dragged up the steps, his swollen frame barely able to carry itself. Once he had roared, cursed, bellowed like a boar before his people. Now he stumbled, slack-jawed and broken, his face mottled with bruises.
The mob erupted in jeers.
"Piglet!"
"Sky demons broke him!"
"Boil him like he boiled us!"
Damian, Kael, and Riven ascended after him, their armor polished, their banners rippling in the smoky wind. They stood above the people not as rebels, but as rulers.
Damian raised a hand, and the crowd stilled. His voice carried like steel across the square.
"People of Greymoor. You know this man." He pointed at Halbrecht, who flinched as if struck. "He called himself your lord. He burned your villages. He boiled men alive. He bled you for coin while he feasted like a hog. Today, he faces the judgment not of gods, but of you."
The crowd roared approval.
A scribe read aloud a litany of Halbrecht's crimes — executions, extortions, purges, the boiling of innocents. Every word fanned the flames of hatred.
When asked for his defense, Halbrecht mumbled, slobbering, "Mercy… I was your protector… I kept order… without me, you are nothing…"
The jeers nearly shook the platform apart.
Kael stepped forward, voice sharp and deliberate. "Order built on fear is not order. It's rot. And today, that rot is cut away."
Riven leaned close to Halbrecht, his grin wide. "Any last words, Piglet?"
Halbrecht whimpered, trembling as the crowd screamed for blood.
Damian lifted his sword high, its blade flashing in the sun. "By the will of the people, by the right of conquest, and by the judgment of the House of Voss Arclight Cross — Halbrecht Greymoor, Boar of Greymoor, Piglet of these lands… is condemned to die."
The executioner — a masked rebel wielding a massive axe — stepped forward.
Halbrecht sobbed, writhing in his chains. "No! I am lord! I am—"
The axe fell.
The crowd erupted as Halbrecht's head rolled across the platform, blood spilling into the dust.
The Boar of Greymoor was no more.
The square shook with chants:
"VAC! VAC! VAC!"
"Sky gods! Sky gods!"
For the first time, Greymoor had a new house, a new name, and a new banner.
Hollowmere's Second Visit
That evening, as the blood was still being washed from the square, horns sounded again. The riders of Hollowmere had returned, this time with carts of food and cloth trailing behind them.
Ser Calvian entered the hall, bowing low before Damian, Kael, and Riven. His words were smooth, measured.
"Lady Seraphine has seen your justice. Harsh, but… effective. She sends these gifts — grain, tools, cloth, timber — a token of goodwill to your fledgling House. She would speak further, should you accept her envoys."
Damian's face gave nothing away. "She means to test us again."
Kael muttered under his breath. "Or to buy us."
Riven just grinned. "Either way, we eat."
The rebel-turned-rulers stood in the great hall, watching the Hollowmere banners ripple in the torchlight, knowing that for every gift came a chain unseen.
The trial had won them legitimacy with the people. But now, the game of houses had begun.
The Aftermath of Judgment
The blood had barely dried on the scaffold when the gossip began.
In the taverns, in the markets, in the narrow alleys of Greymoor, peasants whispered with wide eyes.
"They cut him down like a pig."
"They said it was the people's justice, not the gods'. That means they're with us."
"No, you fool — it means they are gods and men. They walk in both worlds."
Children carved crude banners of VAC's sigil onto wooden planks. Old women pressed bread into the hands of rebels who had once terrified them. Even the city's broken priests, though silent, could not silence the chants echoing day and night:
"VAC! VAC! VAC!"
The Boar of Greymoor was no more. In his place, a new myth was taking root.
Inside the keep, the work began.
Courtyards were cleared of rubble, broken gates patched with scavenged timber. Blacksmiths worked night and day, reforging bent swords into plowshares where they could. The dead were buried outside the city walls, their graves marked with wooden stakes and crude carvings.
But food — food was the true battle.
Kael hunched over ledgers by candlelight, his voice edged with exhaustion. "We've got maybe two weeks' grain at most. After that, we're eating bark, rats, and each other."
Damian's jaw tightened. "Hollowmere's gifts buy us time, not survival. We need a permanent solution."
Riven kicked his boots up on the table, smirking. "Solution's easy. We take what we need. Greymoor's neighbors are fat and lazy. Their barns are full. Why not make their generosity compulsory?"
Kael glared. "Because bandits don't build kingdoms. Trade builds kingdoms. Trust. If we want to last, we can't just be raiders with banners."
Riven rolled his eyes. "Spare me the sermons, accountant. These people don't give a damn about trade. They care about eating."
Aldric, who had been silent, finally spoke, his voice like gravel. "There is truth in both. We raid to survive, but we trade to endure. If you would be lords, you must do both."
Meanwhile, the peasants' gossip grew louder with each passing day.
"They buried our dead with honor."
"They punished their own men when they wronged us. Even gods have laws."
"They'll feed us. They must. Otherwise, what kind of gods are they?"
The expectation was clear.
The people of Greymoor had accepted the rule of VAC — but their loyalty was now tied to something sharper than steel: bread.
The trial had given VAC legitimacy. But legitimacy was only the first step.
Now came the question that would decide if their House would rise or fall:
Could gods put food on the table?