Turn Sent
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"Get ready to pull!" shouted the Nobleman as he reloaded his absurdly cumbersome Quarry Gun.
His retainers strained and pulled an enormous crank connected to a large catapult a few paces nearby. Once a weapon of ancient war, now it served as a plaything for the bluest of bloodlines.
"My liege I must protest! Surely there must be more constructive and civilized way to spend the day?" asked a foppish chamberlain, picking at his badly fitting hunting clothes. The sun was rising above the backdrop of the ice-kissed mountains of Delphi in the distance. A small crowd gathered around the scene as family, friends and a Sheriff of the Realm looked on the field.
Clad in royal blue and bearing the gold crest of the Lion, the Noble grinning from ear to ear as he readied his weapon replied, "Nonsense! I think it's a rather ingenious way of discharging my duties AND squeezing a bit of fun into my schedule." Nodding to the Sheriff, he hefted the gun to his shoulder and aimed down the range.
The Sheriff read from a prepared film-scroll, "By Order of his Most wise and August majesty, Duke Bror Fredrik von Ivald Hawkwood, I now pronounce thee guilty of...two counts of treason most foul, may the Pancreator have mercy on your immortal soul!" With a quick pull of the catapults lever, a screaming vagabond hurtled into the air until his cries (and his head) were cut off by a thunderous crack.
A round of polite applause joined in the noise as the Duke lowered his smoking gun, he waved to the crowd and gestured to the Sheriff, "Well done. Justice has been carried out, Zebulon's will be done, etcetera, what do we have left in the lockup?"
"We have two murderers, one unlicensed slaver and a cattle stampeder sire."
"Cattle stampede? That's not much of a crime."
"He forced them through the Capitol Cathedral my lord."
"Kinkyyy, load him next then!"