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7/10/2025, 5:36:19 AM
How boring...
Juniper knew humility. Juniper did not believe herself the strongest Scion in Kettleburn County, let alone the March of Edelweiss or the Thornlands as a whole. The blood of angels ran thicker in her father, for one. In his heyday he could call upon the sword of the Garden's Keeper, a blade of holy flame that purged all evil in a single swing. While such relics eluded Juniper, she possessed gifts enough that on talent alone she exceeded most adventurers.
Growing up around such power, being given such power by her blood alone, this made all the peasants worries and desires seem positively droll. What did crop failure mean to someone who could effortlessly catch all the fish she needed with her bare hands? Why covet what your neighbor possesses when you can just hunt yourself a dozen bandits and buy whatever he had? Why obsess over petty things like the execution of this blackheart woman when mere skeletons die so easily?
It's a shame she slept through the alleged battle. They said the bones were ironclad, but that cannot stop the gentle fist and its lifepulse from sending the dead back to their graves.
Now she has to play the part her father assigned her.
A judge to pull the gallows lever and execute a witless Imperial who tried to infiltrate a fortified hamlet alone.
They even made her wake up before dawn for the execution. Martin captured the woman, and even suggested the ritual hanging at sunrise to symbolize the light triumphing over the dark. Given how passionate the dispassionate man seemed last night, she bet the woman bit him when he tried to have his fun with her. Martin never took his fun like that before, but the Imperial was even prettier than Juniper was. Pretty enough to stir the passions of the most frigid man for miles, and earn his resentment with her rejection.
Probably.
That was just speculation on Juniper's part.
He marched her out of the warehouse cold as ever. He wore a dark hooded robe over his tunic and trousers, fitting clothes for an executioner. She could almost see the latent psychic power swirling in his eyes, potential he had left untapped for near two decades now. Martin's strength was peer to hers in his many years of torpor, so seeing his passion sparked again left Juniper excited to have someone to test herself against.
The woman he dragged behind him was pathetic. She was tall, well groomed, and wore the toga of the Imperial nobility as well as anyone could. The iron brooch on her breast must have been the sigil of her house. The way she conducted herself, however, was entirely unbecoming of a Noblewoman. Tears streamed down her face in unbecoming rivers, and her voice filled with the whiny desperation of a woman who relied on men to save her.
Juniper knew humility. Juniper did not believe herself the strongest Scion in Kettleburn County, let alone the March of Edelweiss or the Thornlands as a whole. The blood of angels ran thicker in her father, for one. In his heyday he could call upon the sword of the Garden's Keeper, a blade of holy flame that purged all evil in a single swing. While such relics eluded Juniper, she possessed gifts enough that on talent alone she exceeded most adventurers.
Growing up around such power, being given such power by her blood alone, this made all the peasants worries and desires seem positively droll. What did crop failure mean to someone who could effortlessly catch all the fish she needed with her bare hands? Why covet what your neighbor possesses when you can just hunt yourself a dozen bandits and buy whatever he had? Why obsess over petty things like the execution of this blackheart woman when mere skeletons die so easily?
It's a shame she slept through the alleged battle. They said the bones were ironclad, but that cannot stop the gentle fist and its lifepulse from sending the dead back to their graves.
Now she has to play the part her father assigned her.
A judge to pull the gallows lever and execute a witless Imperial who tried to infiltrate a fortified hamlet alone.
They even made her wake up before dawn for the execution. Martin captured the woman, and even suggested the ritual hanging at sunrise to symbolize the light triumphing over the dark. Given how passionate the dispassionate man seemed last night, she bet the woman bit him when he tried to have his fun with her. Martin never took his fun like that before, but the Imperial was even prettier than Juniper was. Pretty enough to stir the passions of the most frigid man for miles, and earn his resentment with her rejection.
Probably.
That was just speculation on Juniper's part.
He marched her out of the warehouse cold as ever. He wore a dark hooded robe over his tunic and trousers, fitting clothes for an executioner. She could almost see the latent psychic power swirling in his eyes, potential he had left untapped for near two decades now. Martin's strength was peer to hers in his many years of torpor, so seeing his passion sparked again left Juniper excited to have someone to test herself against.
The woman he dragged behind him was pathetic. She was tall, well groomed, and wore the toga of the Imperial nobility as well as anyone could. The iron brooch on her breast must have been the sigil of her house. The way she conducted herself, however, was entirely unbecoming of a Noblewoman. Tears streamed down her face in unbecoming rivers, and her voice filled with the whiny desperation of a woman who relied on men to save her.
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