[ She hates her tower, hates the view it affords her. The warbird thinks it would be much improved were the whole city to burn. ]

He was born to a line of kings. And he squandered his blood on madness, not victory. [ The Light of the West has thought it fit to see the warbird tethered. Her golden collar is now affixed to a lead that chains directly to the wall above her bed and so when she moves, it is to the heavy tune of lead. ] He earned his ignoble death.