Sapience,

I have quite the tale to tell you of a Carnifex Revenant and her first encounter with the citizenry of Enorian. You see, before this rather eventful tale began to take shape, this young Huntress was hunting one of her favourite hunting areas:

The Village of Torston.

Why, you may be asking. Well, to that I say "Why not?" But there is a second answer: There is gold to make there and she wants it. The weeks and months prior to this incident, she would run through this village with no issue and collect her gold as she pleased. As she began turning in her corpses for her financial reward, two rather stuffy and unpleasant individuals began to confront her and accuse her of being in possession of shackles for enslaving the villagers of Torston. Now, while this young Eidolon hopeful has participated in enslavement efforts, it was not and never has been within Torston for one reason:

The inhabitants are worth more to her dead than alive.

Of course, these two clueless gaffs having the nerve to call themselves 'knights' would not know that and this Revenant would not even divulge this information voluntarily for one reason:

There is gold to be made and she wants it for herself.

Instead of taking her at her word and leaving it at that and just kindly warning her that Torston was off-limits for the time being, the male knight who appears as if A: He constantly finds walls with his face and B: Has teeth looking like they're waging civil war for front and center (please, for the safety of Sapience, do not let this man smile. Sapience suffers enough from his clueless and inane belligerence. Have we all not suffered enough...?) decides to be a delightful individual and blatantly acccuses this young lady of lying. That Carnifex?

It's me. And accusing me of lying is an attack against my personal intergrity which is the worst possible way you can insult me, Knight. Had you simply been cordial and civil about it, I would have left it at that. Even after threatening to kill me, I chose not to say a word and walk away, though believe me, fear was far from my mind as I left, Sryaen. Unlike your teachings that you blindly follow through a false pretense you call faith and devotion, we Carnifex are taught differently. I have and will continue to die at your hand and will still come for that village. You will give me my means of financial earning back or I will fight you and your entire damn city for it. Unlike your pathetic teachings, I am taught the way of Slaughter in all forms, whether I deliver it or have it delivered unto me. Death means nothing. I am no Blind Spot.

I have verbally expressed my sincerest feelings on your opinion, city and laws that I do not give a damn about to your face and I will repeat them here with an addendum, just for you. Kindly take those opinions and laws and shove them where your bottom cheeks meet. Might I also suggest them being placed into a freshly-crafted to make this transition easier perhaps? That is what I still think.

Now, ungum your ears and wipe that ridiculous haughty sneer from your face; you're fooling no one. Focus your eyes here and pay close attention. You, Sir, are nothing more than a bully who attempts to push people around. Yet when a bigger hound comes to claim the proverbial yard, I am told you are quite a runner. That tells me that you bully the smaller individuals and flee when someone who can wants to use you in an impromptu facial reconstructive experiments involving a warhammer, some wasps and the rather vacant-looking space between your left and right ears. Please tell me you are NOT Enorian's brightest star or I will begin to pity them.

That said, I will keep coming for that village. I have been collecting my finances from there long before I knew your bloody name. I still do not know who you think you are, nor do I care. You are not fooling anyone. When confronted by one who is able to fight, you run. One day, I will be on that list. I will gladly take every hit you throw. Every death will be a learning experience. One day soon, I will learn to hit back. You will not like me then, Sir.



Penned by my hand on Tisday, the 23rd of Arios, in the year 502 MA.