Lady Ursa's face warps with wanton scorn:
- How... dare you! How dare you! On this day, of all days, when the Sun has risen as this! Do you not see this Sun, and what it has done to our land? What the desert and parched sands will do to us? You should be ashamed!
A land enslaved by this Sun... where our people no longer have water enough for even tears to weep!
Do you mock me, you slave? With the name of the hated Slave-taker, Urshull Vandal-Eye? I had presumed that you - as the bearer of that sword - that you were an Executioner.
Finally, a wielder of sword and Rose to deliver Judgement upon the hated Slave-Taker, Urshull - long the hated oppressor of our people - he who languishes in our dungeons awaiting his fate even as we speak.
But the vile and wicked Slave-taker does not die! And not for want of trying. They say he is one of the ancient Highborn.
The Silverless mercenaries, the Anargyroi, have tried everything - even the Threefold Death of old Lailoken. He resists falling from the Tarpeian Cliff, hanging, drowning. Poison and stabbing, the wheel, fire - all have been tried. He will not die! It must be his Highborn blood...
https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Threefold_deathhttps://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Myrddin_Wyllthttps://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lailokenhttps://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tarpeian_Rock(QM: a strange speech is recalled to your mind)
>>5340792 