#but instead of following his ambition it's for meting out his own punishment

[reitziluz]

YES the episode DID end with him flying in!!

i need to talk a bit about the whole helicopter scene! because what the FUCK it was such a cool reveal!

the camera angles kept him hidden, until

here we can see his knees and crossed arms on the left, but no recognizable features, and then

HERE that's the back of his head in the bottom right corner

and then

HERE we get the violent reintroduction

(what the fuck kind of a prison has he been in!! horrifying!)

but then the first img is after he looked back, recognizing hatori's voice, and DAMN his expression there is complex. so taken aback.

i'm already dead from what next week's ep is going to dish out!

[ceruszael]

Burdens of Power

Following the evening’s events, Ceruszael found himself traveling south from Stormwind to beneath the shadowed boughs of Duskwood. Part of him felt something akin to guilt for leaving Adhelin to deal with the remainder of the House personnel circulating the embassy, but not enough to prevent his departure. The Ebon Knight walked the distance across Elwynn and the Nazferiti River. He needed the time to sort out his thoughts, as they were rather beyond the norm. Ceruszael was given to pondering the nature of undeath, philosophical viewpoints surrounding the Scourge, Acherus, and their interactions with the living. He dwelled on the benefits of the wars various factions engaged in when weighed against their costs. He contemplated his own position within the Alliance, when in truth he owed more kinship to the Forsaken in Lordaeron. All of these thoughts, however, were tied to his current existence. As evening turned to night he found himself instead contemplating his past.

The cause, he knew, was the issue brought to him concerning Percival Thalsian and Sarahni Rennith. Mere days after Adhelin announced his position as Castellan of the House he was forced to wield the authority of such a position to mediate conflict. One claimed to be assaulted by the other, who in turn objects to any involvement. Such was the hubris of the living that whichever one was at fault was not only at ease lying to Ceruszael’s face, but to their Matriarch’s. Ample opportunity had been given for the truth to emerge without investigation or interrogation. It seemed, however, that whichever one was guilty of deception was content in obfuscation.

Ceruszael’s methods for unearthing the truth by force had been denied, as he suspected they would. That in and of itself implied a measure of guilt, but could almost as easily be interpreted another way. Percival and Sarahni both were well versed in mystical arts, though he had conceded to interrogation by banshee possession while she refused.. The former was arrogant enough, perhaps rightly so, to assume himself capable of deceiving the banshee to reinforce his claims. The latter was cautious enough to truly wish to avoid the risks involved in this method. Consent had been required, however. He very much doubted if such methods were forced upon them that it would remain House business, even if others within the House could be made to see his reasons for employing them. At length, Adhelin decided on trial by peers. It may yield success. It may not. In a House not unused to shrouded secrets and double dealings, it was difficult to tell.

Shaking his head, the Castellan took a moment to regard his surroundings. Ceaseless steps had carried him to the Raven Hill Cemetery. Mindless creatures of the dead wandered around him, recognizing perhaps on a primal level the presence of an apex predator of their breed and giving him a wide berth. To a point this made them more respectable than the fools he had dealt with earlier. Ghouls, geists, and skeletal constructs had no ambitions to override good sense, no arrogance to blind them, no ulterior motives to justify deception and betrayal. Yet this was due to mindless subservience. To recognize them as worthy of respect or admiration, they should have had the potential for ambition, arrogance, or motivation and yet overcame them for the greater cause they had aligned to.

As we used to.

Ceruszael remembered the Lordaeron of his life. Before the Scourge. Before demonkind ravaged the land and lay siege to the World Tree. He recalled the unbreakable code of honor binding those of his deceased household and those allies they had made. The institutions and systems put in place to ensure unbiased judgement when tribunals were forced to mete out justice. These did not break under their own weight. They were not misused and tarnished by corruption. An outside force rampaged through the kingdom, laying low all who crossed its path. Betrayal had killed the man who was now Ceruszael but it was a betrayal of men seduced by power, not the failings of his family’s legacy. Dragon banners flew over armies who marched against the damned. Those sworn to it, or trained beneath it, gave their lives. Others who thought themselves above it had injected themselves as a venom which had been realized all too late.

If only we had survived. If only we had endured.

Teeth grit in anger, Ceruszael turn his head skyward and unleashed a pained cry of frustration. Duskwood’s shadows coalesced in his rage, forming over his crimson warplate to replace it with segmented armor of shifting darkness. Spectral blue wisps of lichfire were replaced with a writhing baleful amber tones. The dead nearest the Ebon Knight were lifted into the air, spines arched and mouths agape in a silent howl of unimaginable agony as the same dreadful magics bled from within them. The whole scene held in eerie silence for a handful of seconds as discipline and control gave way to a raw expression of ire. Its end came with the utter obliteration of the dead caught on Ceruszael’s wrath. Their decayed forms were slammed against the ground, bones shattering and exploding in all directions as flesh disintegrated to ash and bound spirits shrieked their last, banished from torment on Azeroth to whatever horrors lay beyond. Darkness dispersed from the Ebon Knight, leaving him again armored in crimson with trailing ethereal teal contrails clinging to his form.

Moments passed with his eyes closed as the Castellan composed himself once more. At length he turned to depart the cemetery, unconcerned at the signs of his passing. Latent unquiet spirits would once more animate the shattered forms he left behind. They would again wander without path or purpose, feral and restless. He would return to Stormwind to carry out the duties he shouldered willingly. Perhaps a measure of wisdom from his life could be injected into this madness. If not, the least he could be certain of was that punishment would be delivered to mitigate the chances of this madness repeating in the future.

((Tag Lineup: @adhelin @thalsianiii @sarahnirennith @householt for mentions.))

[harlockauxillia30k-blog]

Backstory I: Halcyon

[background lore for Harlock; feel free to ignore if you don’t care]

Centauri Prime, 38 years after Unification Day.

Harlock ran a hand through his wavy hair and smiled to himself, enjoying the feeling.

He walked at a steady pace down the grand halls of his extended family’s hive spire. As a member, even if loosely and from a minor sub-house, of the great house Gloriana, Harlock felt somewhat entitled to this place. In time he knew he could expect some form of position here; a manager perhaps, or tax-man, perhaps if his fencing classes payed off, a captaincy in the house guard. Not perhaps the loftiest of ambitions, but Harlock knew his place.

After some time, he arrived at the house of his father; in a lowe annex of the spire, still high over the other commoners of Centauri prime, and let himself in.

“Good day father” he announced, taking off his petticoat and hanging it, winking at a maid who offered to do it herself.

“You’re finally here. Hmpf. Good. Get over here.”

Harold Harlock Gloriana was an ancient beast by any account, somewhat fat and balding. Harlock supposed such things were hallmarks of age; during the war, apparently Harold was something to behold.

Harlock walked into his father’s study, and saw a beautiful maiden he did not recognize, bedecked in a violet and purple dress with a flowing pattern. He bowed somewhat. “My lady,”

The fossil of a man who was his father threw a walking stick at his son.

“That’s ‘your grace’ you ignorant fool!” he exclaimed. “This is the fair lady Myrene Artemesia Galm. You’re the elected tour guide and drink-fetcher for this fair lady as she tours our spire. If you touch her, I’ll touch you like the Emperor’s Astartes did to me!”

Harlocks father made a ‘bang’ motion with an artificial hand as the young lady giggled to herself. Naturally, the two Life-Guards of House Galm that stood with her merely quietly nodded at the old man, in affirmation.

Harlock offered a deep bow.

“I apologize, for both myself and father, who as you can see still fits what the terrans describe as their famed ‘techno-barbarians.’ I am Jan, and it would be my pleasure to fetch her highness-

“Her GRACE! She’s not a queen you inbred dolt!”

“Her grace, then, some of our finest water.”

Smiling, Myrene extended a hand “Myrene, then, would simplify things. I have been looking forward to getting out of our spire. Do show me where the fun things are around here, wont you?”

Jan took her hand, and motioned to kiss it, when he saw a life-guard casually reach for his sidearm, cupping the hand with his other instead.

“If that is what you wish Myrene, then so shall it be. Let it not be said Gloriana was not accommodating for such lovely guests.”

Harlocks father nodded. “Yes. Good then. She has a meeting with the current house lords in five hours. Take her to whatever pretty places we have in the spire. Be on your best behavior son, or I’ll send you away! Now off with you! And to you my GRACE I do bid a good day.”

Myrene curtsied at the elderly statesman, and the pair walked off, exchanging pleasantries as the sun set upon a momentous evening.

...

[two weeks later]

“Oh, Harlock...” Myrene swooned, wrapped in the fabrics of a private room Harlock had commissioned. Harlock glanced behind him with a smile. “You are by far the superlative lover, your grace.” Harlock said, stepping out of his bathroom into the dimly lit room. In the distance, red lights blared and searchlights were lit. Something going on at the Galm Spire.

“I say, Myrene?” Harlock inquired, his mind slowly realizing something.

“You did say you were stepping out for a moment, yes? To your handmaidens. Like the other days?”

Myrene groaned, clearly tired and on the eve of passing out. “I suppose.. ugh. What does it matter? I am the heiress of Galm. I can do whatever I like. Or.. whomever I like... come back to bed.”

Harlock scratched his chin and walked toward the window, peeking through the blinds.

“Then I do hope nothing has happened. House Galm is throwing quite the tizzy.”

The heiress huffed. “Aren’t we always! Not calm like you Gloriana folk are! Always imperium this and terra that. And don't get me started on Colonial rights and Imperial tithing. So boooring!”

Harlock shrugged and walked back to the bed. “You’re right, of course. Those silly imperials. Who needs them I say! Hah! Now, ready for round two?”

“Oh...” Myrene moaned, clearly enjoying the idea.

Precisely this was when Harlock heard and felt the window break as his back was cut by several tiny shards.

“BREACH BREACH BREACH!” a man in strange heavy armor screamed, ziplining into the room, followed by another one. Harlock also saw a similarly armored foot smash through the door, followed by a second team of soldiers.

Lady Myrene screamed, and covered her body immediately.

Harlock panicked, and made to reach for his sparring sword, when a gun was violently inserted below his jaw. A raspy, masked voice said.

“Try it, you traitor fether. Give me a reason.”

Harlock blinked. “I-I what is the meaning of this, I am no traitor!”

“Shut up! You’re under arrest and Imperial censure for the kidnapping-” the soldier glanced at Myrene “And rape, of her grace Lady Myrene of Galm. If I were you boy, I would save it for the courts.”

[Later, Imperial Court, Centauri Prime]

“After hearing the testimony, the court has decided to drop the rape charges. Her grace maintains such... contact, was consensual. It was, however, illicit and distasteful in the extreme. For the lady, we submit her to her family for whatever punishment they wish to mete out. Harlock, however, is a different concern...”

Count Vladimir Nossic Galm leered over his plinth, clearly incensed at the case before him.

“In the olden days, Mister Harlock, you would be already dead. Now however-” Vladimir glanced at a silent Imperial Censor watching the trial from the sidelines. “We must try to be more... civilized.”

The count turned to the censor. “Perhap you would spare impartial advice as to what to do with the man?”

The censor contemplated Harlock, a pasty white complexion marked with the clear signs of a life spent in space.

“Perchance, sir Harlock, I might extend to you a choice; for the emperor believes firmly in man choosing his own destiny.”

The censor stepped forward, gesturing to the court with perfectly trained theatrics.

“House Galm will be unsatisfied with anything but death. But this crime, such of passions and old house law- that no house may mingle with one another in such a manner as these- is not per se illegal in the imperial sense. But a pardon will not do, so I offer this: serve house galm as indentured servant until death, or serve the emperor upon the great crusade which liberated this world of yours. The crusade which your house, once upon a time sought to halt.”

The censor grinned, looking upon the surprised nobles. “Indeed! Tithing will soon be in more than materiel, but men also! Contemplate what glorious titles your sons will achieve in Imperial Service. Men like this hapless boy here are just what our new Auxillia Imperialis needs. Most recruits will serve until their alloted time is up but this... hmm This Harlock. He will serve until he dies!”

The censor clapped his hands with satisfaction, and looked upon the count-judge. “Does this ruling please the house of Galm?”

The count considered things for a moment, then smiled. “He will serve in a combat function, yes?”

“Definitely my lord.”

“Then yes. A lifetime of war on the frontier for mister Harlock.”

A round of quaint applause clapped out through the assembled persons, the Censor bowing deeply.

“Then! I decree that house Galm will provide this man Juvenat, so he may serve until his time is due. It is done! it is law! The emperor wills it!”

Harlock sat in his chair, uncertain as to what had just took place. Somehow, from the look of the censor, it was not a fate he would particularly look forward to.