Transcript:

Page 1:

Panel 1: A castle smokes and burns. The gate is open. Dead bodies lie in the muddied snow outside the barbican wall. A siege has just ended, and a raid begun.

Panel 2: A hand holds a longsword in the foreground. A Lord sits on a throne atop a dais in the background.

Lord: “G-G-Guards!”

Panel 3: The helmeted swordsman steps up the dais and runs the lord through with his sword. His crown comes off his head as he’s thrust forward, and it lands on the floor with a “KLANG”

Panel 4: The soldier kneels on the ground before the crown, reaching out for it trepidatiously. Half In darkness, half in the light of the court.  In the background, the lord sits limp on his throne, a sword sticking out of his chest and blood leaking down the chair.

Panel 5: The shining crown sits in a black void. The swordsman’s disembodied hand touches one of its spikes. It pricks his finger, blood drips down.

Panel 6: The soldier still kneels, the door to the keep wide open in front of him. More bodies dangle from the gallery above the court. As blood drips from his finger he mutters.

Swordsman: “Mayhaps I…”

Page 2:

Panel 1: The soldier’s norman style helmet falls to the ground with a CLANG.

Panel 2: The crown is held in the soldier’s right hand. It is stained with blood, and it emanates a sinister aura.

Panel 3: The soldier delicately holds the crown over his head. It continues radiating. A single drop of blood falls from the crown.

Panel 4: Another soldier taking part in the raid enters through the open door, he stands with a spear in his hand, and looks dismayed. Smoke from the burning castle billows outside. The Soldier calls inside:

Soldier: “Comrade!” “You wouldn’t!”

Panel 5: The Swordsman’s face is revealed, he holds the crown just above his shaggy short-cut hair. Blood from the killing of the lord has splattered his face. He looks ahead, mouth agape and wide eyed. His expression is a mix of embarrassment, fear, and anger.