Roen

And he said, "I want to live as an honest man To get all I deserve and to give all I can And to love a young woman who I don't understand Your highness, your ways are very strange." But the crown, it had fallen, and she thought she would break And she stood there, ashamed of the way her heart ached She took him to the doorstep and she asked him to wait She would only be a moment inside Out in the distance her order was heard And the soldier was killed, still waiting for her word And while the queen went on strangeling in the solitude she preferred The battle continued on

The Worricker Trilogy short-series on Amazon Prime comes to mind. Duty/Shame on Netflix is a rung down, but that was a watch from last year.

I just finished The Crown not too long ago. I recommend it for those who haven’t seen it.

Come lay beside me, this won't hurt I swear She loves me not, she loves me still but she'll never love again She lay beside me but she'll be there when I'm gone Black hearts scarring darker still, yes she'll be there when I'm gone Yes she'll be there when I'm gone, dead sure she'll be there? What I've felt, what I've known Turn the pages, turn the stone Behind the door, should I open it for you? Yeah, what I've felt, what I've known Sick and tired, I stand alone Could you be there 'Cause I'm the one who waits for you Or are you unforgiven too?

You’re going to have to give us a little more information than that, sport.

Follow me now and you will not regret Leaving the life you led before we met You are the first to have this love of mine Forever with me 'till the end of time Your love for me has just got to be real Before you know the way I'm going to feel I'm going to feel I'm going to feel Oh yeah Now I have you with me, under my power Our love grows stronger now with every hour Look into my eyes, you'll see who I am My name is Lucifer, please take my hand

Only twice did the Outsider pause in his journey. The first time he stopped, he turned his head to the ceiling and pursed his lips slowly and spectuatively. He felt it, of course; the temporal distortion and the threat thereof. It hung heavy in the air, sticking to his teeth and bones with foreign weight. He was an interloper, this man, this thing of crude matter and sinister intent, and did not ride on the stream of what most, mortal and immortal alike, considered time. He knew the touch of it, though. He knew the taste and pain of it, and he also knew of the feats of esoteric (and sometimes technological) skill to accomplish it. It bespoke volumes of the techno-sorcery that was invested into this citadel, these wards he passed through that threatened to spring should he have been the unwary or the unwanted. Testing his footing, he wondered briefly what it might be like, walking an eternity through a labyrinthine trap. He smiled without mirth. The second time he stopped was for reasons far simpler but no less profound - he had heard his name. Cocking his head and turning, the Outsider flinched as if struck. Carried from afar by unseen hands and whispered to him by the enchantments laid upon it, his name and the subsequent seven words issued by the speaker thereafter touched his mind and injured his calm. Once upon a time, when his ambitions were young and his blood still boiled, his name in the wind was common enough to ignore; naysayers to curse him, supplicants to beg his attention and fishwives to gossip. Those days were long gone, and the people who spoke his name aloud were fewer than those that remembered him at all. Disturbed, charmed, angry and confused, the Outsider furrowed his brows and, in a fit of mercurial inconsistency, turned and started to walk back from whence he came. He made several feet of journeying before he stopped, rooted in place by yet still more indecisiveness. There was a part of him that demanded he quit the field and return to the surface, to seek out the foolish soul that threw his name so blandly into conversation and assert himself once again as an entity not to be spoken of so lightly. That part, too, spoke of ulterior motives, desires and sentimentality and of needs and fantasies better consigned to oblivion rather than indulgence. It would be a thrill, it whispered with all the damned seduction it ever possessed, to lay eyes on her again. But pride stayed his hand if not his retreat, and the Outsider found himself rooted in place, grimacing and frowning. Stifling the beating of his heart with a hand over his breast, he took several long, indiscreet moments composing himself - whispered her name under his breath, though in threat or promise, none could say - and turned his back on impulse. Irritated and anxious, the Outsider lost much of his aloofness and level-headed disposition, and scowled the rest of his journey through the citadel to meet his would-be hosts. To that end, he entered the greathall with hard, sharp taps of his hard-soled boots against the stone beneath his feet, and kept a level disdain for all those he strolled passed and parted before him. He knew their kind, having seen their faces on many worlds across many lifetimes: the poor, the angry, the embittered and the hopeless. These were not the souls he were expecting, but he supposed he was not who they envisioned, either. Sensing no hostility by stint of general mood gauging as opposed to any esoteric means, he raised his right hand in greeting and to show he was unarmed, displaying his splayed fingers to one half of the parting crowd, then the other. They were of all ages, he saw. Some old, most young, and a few younger still, barely out of their adolescence. He suddenly felt very vulnerable, as if close proximity with his lessers somehow made him susceptible to their collective weaknesses. A herd mentality, some distant part of him whispered, though it was quickly silenced. He was no lost lamb returning to a flock, but a contented predator, wading through and soon to leave once curiosity was satisfied. ”Well… you’re certainly something, aren’t you?” Months of isolation had done much and more to dull the Outsider to the social contrivances. Once, he might have responded with a witty retort liable to charm or set oneself at ease. Now, though, his mind struggled to come up with something even remotely charming, and he gave up trying. Blunt, stupid honesty would suffice where a gilded tongue no longer remained. “I am.” He said simply, a touch of sadness coloring the outside edges of his tone. He was sad, and he did not know why. With want for a place to put his hands, but not wanting to seem too nonchalant, the Outsider clasped his arms behind his back and above the small, wrists braced. It straightened his posture and lent him an air of authority, or so he liked to think, at least. Turning his green gaze to the wise woman that addressed him and turning her way, he approached slowly, wary but still possessed of the curiosity that led him thus far. She was making introductions, both of herself and the citadel they now stood within, and the Outsider rewarded her honesty with honesty in return. Though, that itself was a struggle. When he thought to introduce himself in kind, he no longer recalled the truth. Though the Black City still existed, nay, even thrived, he was hardly Lord over it. A Duke of Perdition, too, was a title that was gathering dust, his ties to his own masters severed and for many years, now, with much detriment to his power. Lord, Duke, Margrave, Emperor and King, these titles were either irrelevant, left behind or removed; he was a far cry from the illustrious being he had been in this world but a handful of years ago, and he struggled to remember who he might be after all was said and done. “My name is Roen.” I’ve been called worse.., he thought. “Long have I heard whispers of the Witch-King, longer before the continent was Fracture. That’s all they are - whispers.” Turning his head, the Outsider leveled the weight of his scrutiny on the disparate group that hovered near the edges of the conversation, ignoring how the matriarch clapped her hands, evidently prompting the stone doors to close behind them all. It wasn’t until the matron spoke of vengeance that his head snapped back around and his eyes found her again, dark with intent. “Revenge..,” he whispered, tasting the word on his tongue. “Revenge.” He said again, muttering, preoccupied with the sound of it. Revelatory, it was. He felt his stomach lurch with providence, and looked on the older woman more studiously, intensely. He approached closer, closer enough to touch, and glanced down between he and Elisha both to the hand she offered. He was being offered a place among them, and that, too, tasted of fate and destiny. He just couldn’t take it, at least not yet. “In my dreams..,” he said slowly. “In the words of prophets that have come to my door, seeking asylum. They showed me this place.” He looked back up, frowning. His was a face made for frowning, all lines and trenches. “She said I would be reborn in black and gold. That I would find Vindicta.” Tilting his head and turning vaguely, he looked up at the walls, the ceiling, the citadel itself. “In my dreams, that is what I called this place. Vindicta. The Spirit of Vengeance. That is why I came, I remember, now..,” he trailed off. Looking back down, he regarded Elisha again. “It isn’t enough to see an empire fall, Herald of Zengi. What is your reason for war?” He tilted his head. “Your casus belli. What drives you..” He gestured around them. “What drives all of you to seek revenge?”

Lay your blouse across the chair Let fall the flowers From your hair And kiss me With that country mouth So plain Outside the rain is tapping On the leaves To me it sounds like They're applauding us The quiet love We've made Will I always feel this way So empty So estranged?

It's been so long since the moon has gone And, oh, what a wreck you've made me Are you there over the ocean? Are you there, up in the sky? Until the return of my love, this lullaby My hope is on the horizon Every face, your eyes I can see I plead and pray though each night and day Our embrace is only a dream And as sure as days come from moments Each hour becomes a life's time When she'd left, I'd only begun this lullaby

Closer to the engine room, many of the airship's corridors were calcified into a labyrinth of bleached bone architecture. Despite it's brief stay within the Immaterium, the malignant touch of the Warp showed in stark contrast against the ship proper. Grey formations of lusterless crystal knuckled up from the joints and cracks in the bone walls, veined and pulsing with the beating pulse of the reactor core deeper within. The entire vessel, it seemed from a certain threshold beyond, rang with the sense of journeying through the half-alive corpse of some great beast, languishing in a somnolence not wholly natural; breathing, watching, and waiting. Not all was bleached bone and garrulous growths, however. Metal between the calcified obstructions, rusted and pitted, sweated blood and more. Exposure to the Immaterium's tides had drawn forth memories from the ship's interior, manifesting ghastly echoes of the crew who had died serving aboard the airship when and after it feel into the Warp. They were ghosts, ghosts of glass; crystal faces leering from bone and metal walls, crystal arms and hands reaching out, some beckoning for Tenkai and his companions, others gesturing, showing the way. The faces, so detailed, were perfect masks of closed eyes and open mouths; so perfect in their make, even the crease lines of their lips were visible. And to the physically attuned, they spoke to whomever came close enough to hear. I am alive, one hissed, a whispered shriek. I screamed as the halls burned. I screamed as the fire sloughed the skin from my bones. They were tomb markers, one and all. I am alive, another whispered to Tenkai. When I hesitated, I took a blade to my belly. Every gasp sucked blood down my throat. Blood filled my seizing lungs. But the ground shook, and the vibrations of the deck plating caused a glass arm to crack and shatter. Then the smoke came, as it ever did in it's presence, a graveyard shroud of burnt cinnamon, blood and decaying meat. A shadow moved down the great hall, far along the passageway before the Inquisitor, Swordsman and their two companions, something huge and black in the gray, seeping smoke from beyond, and in those depths where the eyes might strain to see, stared eyes like ruby, lit and blazing like coals aflame. The Blackened Knight seethed, breathed, and through its very presence as a bloodied avatar of blood and war, influenced several of the men - Guardians all - into pure, unadulterated black rage. Together, eight all, rushed from formation, some discarding shields, and into the thickened fog to face the daemon with throaty cries of war before vanishing into the charcoal mist. The Blackened Knight rushed to meet them. The towering shadow in the fog of war lunged forward with whipcrack force, leaving but curling embers of smoke in the place where it had stood. The smoke filling the hall started to smell of burning wood and seared flesh as the Blackened Knight drew closer to the company as a whole, occluding sight further as it rose in sympathy with the Blackened Knight's rage, its cloven feet ringing sharp staccato taps into the decking with its tumultuous, lumbering charge. Melee erupted, men shouted, the roar of gunfire and the waspish buzz of weapons charged the air, and with them came the harsh, sweeping air displacement of a massive sword swinging, crashing against weapons, and the shatter-crack of splitting armor and the cries of dying men too proud to scream. It was a wrenching metallic wail, the breaking of armor. And of the men within, it was a juicy snap, like the crunch of wet lumber. The Guardians were dying, and in a dozen heartbeats, they were dead. All sounds of battle stopped, and what followed in their stead were watery snarls and long, sticky growls, and then great gulping swallows as the smoke thinned. The Blackened Knight was crouched among the dead, its horn-creasted head tilted back to face the bone ceiling. The daemon was swallowing with gagging sounds, letting chunks of flesh still tombed in armor to run down its throat without chewing. It was using several corpses of Guardians as a throne while picking apart another body, reaching with gnarled black and red hands for another portion before it had even finished gagging on the former. It kept gagging, but never resorted to breaking the meal apart with its teeth. When it swallowed, it turned its eyes towards the other pair. Beside it stood it's giant black blade, run through a yet still alive Guardian, pinning the man to the ground like a banner. Tenkai... the Blackened Knight gurgled through saliva-strung fangs. It's voice echoed aloud as well as in the mind. I see you, Ssssswordsman. Are you alone but for these few, brother?

I'm a man, I'm a twisted fool My hands are twisted, too Five fingers to black hooves I'm a man, don't spin me a lie Got toes and I can smile I'm crooked but upright And all I ever want Is just a little love I said in purrs under the palms And all I ever want is breaking me apart I said to the thing that I once was

$100

So up to the rooftop the servants of the Outsider flew, With an airship full of gifts, and old drunk Roen too- And then through the ceiling, I heard the old feller, Mutter, 'Shit', 'This is crazy', and 'I'm light as a feather.' As I drew my sword and yelled for my guards as I ran, Down the chimney fell Roen, with a shout and a bang. He was dressed all in red, from his head to his toes, With scents of cake and whiskey wafting off from his clothes. A bundle of weapons he pulled in a flash, And placed them with care, not first asking for cash. His eyes - how they twinkled! I thought, but no homo. His hair was unkempt, stubble wild as a hobo. He strolled through my house, swaggering like a hotshot And stroked my sleeping wife, who gently whispered, 'Fuck off'; The old sword Hraeoilgr that hung on his back And an old rusty gun he had, which he had stolen in Orisia after an attack He had Saint Odin's hat on, its trim white as snow That shook when he laughed, like jiggling jello. He was crazy and manic, that jolly old monster And I pointed and laughed when I saw his garish red duster; A flinch in my eye and a call of my bluff, He gave me a wink through his odor and scruff He spoke not a word, didn't haggle or barter, 'Neath the tree he placed a dagger, a sword, and a katana And snapping his fingers with a grunt and a click, He flew up the chimney with a laugh and a kick He sprang to his airship, to his minions gave a yell And away they all flew as if driving back to Hell. But I heard him call out, ere he 'Hahahaha'd' out of sight- "Happy Devilmas to all, and to all a splendid night!"

I said I wanted to Do all I can, to be a good man But the scene I fell in to Took me away, but what can I say? It's the times, I'm living through And we can't pretend We're reaching the end, it's true Love's been a strain, a strain in my heart I'm numb to the feeling It's too late, to run away The final frame will never know Just float away, in our parade Of love and pain, away we go, away we go