As I sit pon’ me throne, and lay my eyes to the desolate wastelands which sprawl before me, my bushy unibrow presents much defeat, as a veil of sorrow falls over my kingly bearded face and I resign it seems, such as a ghost at middle night, fading back into the pit of its misery.
I kneel my heavily crowned head under my fist, this fist, which has held high the sword, and felled those who would seek to bring the hammer down. For freedom we have fought, years of war has writ our histories in blood, but victory was achieved. The trees sang with the children, and the morn was wed to the night.
Yet, know O’ Prince, that the strongest enemy lies at your doors, always watching always scheming, the serpent to the maiden, the buzzard to the dying. Like wolves my people turned on one another, giving birth to a realm of rot and corruption. I grow old and weary, and my black mane which once shone blue in the bright fires of war, is now a sickly gray, a sickly gray as the sky I see before me, as it dies with me. To kill your enemy, this I have done. Rivers of blood flowed in the streets in the name of my people! I have led armies through storms and the darkest knights, and I have, with my sword, with my will, and with my love, forged a land of prosperity, bounty and freedom.
But woe! How I knew naught, that truly, empires are built pon’ human bones, towering over rivers of blood!
What a fleeting dream it was! It is easy to kill your enemy, easier still, to find one to call foe. But I was led wrong, and knew nothing. The serpent came to me, the buzzard gave me advice, and so, this was engraved in stone for all to follow!
The most difficult ordeal is to understand that which you own. And to comprehend this, you must learn that after all, you own nothing, and no one.
Our swords have sang the song of death in the name of the greater good, we have ridden on our steeds towards the stars and sought to snag them, we have made merry, someone has writ The Eye of Argon, we loved in the meadows and then have built great works, just to bring them down!!
But the day, I recall our thundering armies, as my heavily crowned head rises once more to the bleak sky, the bleak sky soon to mourn over the dying land, with a distanced roar of thunder, as the black rain draws its attack upon the ancient trees, which no longer house bunny or owl, trees as dead as a massive army of frozen ghouls. They house instead, the ghosts of middle night, forever seeking to wage battle, and ne’er finding respite. I shall join them soon, this old king who understands too late, and may only weep, as he dies. The king dies, and so does the land with him.
Sorry. That’s probably now what you’re asking, but it said fantasy in your topics, so I thought it was okay not to address English royalty and just think about Conan. And no, I wouldn’t wanna be a part of royalty, whether that has to do with enormous responsibilities or paparazzis or wtv haha.
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