The Crown

Old Haarkon was a sight to behold. The warm glow of torchlight and braziers flooded the ancient city, standing as a shining beacon against the dark landscape. Elkoron’s reputation was enough to give raiders pause; there was no need for this place to hide. Blue-green roofs of long weathered copper sat atop crumbling stone ruins, patchwork cloth and wooden extensions grafted on by the new inhabitants. At one end stood the remains of a once-great castle, one of its tall towers long ago having toppled and taken a whole wing of the main structure with it on the way down.

It was more populated than she expected. Nearly half of the city was alive and bustling with activity, a small glimmer of the world the Knights claimed they could build visible in its shape. It only made her temper flare.

The outskirts were still abandoned, still little more than crumbling remnants of an older world, and here Ichta found it trivial to slip close to the castle under cover of total night. Armed men were posted at every entrance and active road, yet little was done to patrol the spaces between. They thought her arrogant enough to pull the same theatrics she had against the likes of Victor even in a place of this size. Illona being out of the picture made her task far simpler—the only guard that might pose a real threat was already gone.

Shining bright as it was, scouting a path from afar was easy. She hid along the ruined edge of the castle that there was little point in watching without suspicion. The rubble would let her climb up to the higher floors and sneak down from above where they would not expect her. Inside, she would rely on her intuition and trust in her spirit bond to guide the way to her quarry.

All she needed now was cover and a distraction. From a pouch at her side, she pulled a small vial of deep blue liquid and tied it to the blade of her dagger. She held it in her hand, getting a feel for the new weight, then hurled it up and over the castle wall.

It crashed down and shattered in the courtyard. There were shouts of alarm, clattering footsteps… then nothing. Smoke enveloped the space in a great cloud, dyed in deep shades of purple and blue. She recalled her dagger, immediately starting to attach another vial.

The first of her tools from Korellin: Pure essence of nolum root blended with a reactive agent to get it airborne. The smoke would muffle all sound within to utter silence for as long as it lingered.

She deployed several more, until the whole base of the castle was blanketed in smoke and it seemed a great shadowy beast was devouring it. Silent chaos raged within as guards rushed in to find the intruder in the impossible fog. Ichta climbed up above it beyond their notice.

Dropping down into the castle proper, she searched the halls, following her instincts to a large room that housed a makeshift throne. It was clearly not the original from when this place thrived, but Elkoron insisted on playing king. The walls were lined with tall archways out onto open balconies where smoke could be seen yet billowing in the torchlight, banners hung neatly above them. There was a large opening in the ceiling looking out to the void above, one clearly broken from decay and not carved with intent. The door was ungaurded—she had seen them abandon their post to investigate the commotion below, as word that countless others were already doing the same could not reach them.

Beside the throne was a crowded workshop of sorts. Tables strewn with paperwork, glass vials and jars laid out haphazardly, oddities like a wooden mask and tattered purple banner hung on the wall behind it. A tall figure stood there, back turned.

Ichta threw her knife with no hesitation.

The figure stepped aside and the dagger crashed through a glass container instead. They swivelled around to face her, grabbing a shield and a glaive to brandish with casual ease.

“It seems Illona has failed, then. Pity,” the figure spoke in a deep, smooth voice. “I had a feeling that mess out there meant you had arrived.”

Elkoron Alkane. She had not laid eyes on him since the day her village burned. He towered over her, a capreolin in his prime, antlers sharp and bright, standing with only a slight hunch in his shoulders. Long dark hair half shrouded his eyes, sleek and tinted murky green. He wore a gilded breastplate over a flowing purple robe. In all her years, Ichta had never once seen anyone so clean and well dressed.

“You’re an interesting one, embarrassingly brazen in your work. You’re after the old ‘Knights of Orin’ specifically, yes? I ought to thank you.” He took a few slow, heavy steps toward the throne, eyes never leaving Ichta. “Rats, the lot of them. You’ll find no argument here. Selfish, always wanting more than they were owed… I’d dare say the pixie is the only one who really knew their place, but, well, she couldn’t help herself with you, could she?”

Ichta’s eyes narrowed, scanning the room. She had her weapon drawn, hands tight around the chain. Elkoron was a fearsome warrior, no gutless puppeteer hiding in shadows. Charging in without a plan would be far too risky.

“Oh it could have been glorious! A kingdom of old, reborn in the dark, new banners unfurled! Prosperity, stability, safety… but they couldn’t see it. Small minded, uncooperative elements spoil the whole thing. We were so close to greatness, if I could have just held it all together a little longer…”

“You killed countless innocents,” Ichta hissed, unable to hold her tongue. “Razed villages to the ground! There was never glory in any of it.”

“The price of progress,” he replied, cold and slow. “Those who would not join in unity, became instead a threat. Those that joined but would not pay their share to the collective: parasites. To make punishment absolute kept others from taking such foolish paths, kept the kingdom safe and healthy.”

Ichta grit her teeth. She looked at the gilded banners, the throne, the flowing robes. Parasites…

“Ah, but I had guessed you were a survivor of some dissident town or another, it only made sense. We’re talking now, that’s good, I’d heard from some you were mute. ‘The Red Death’, how dramatic. Care to tell me your real name?”

She did not.

“A little courtesy wouldn’t hurt. I’m being quite generous here, considering the mess outside and the attempt at my life. I’ll get to it then: I don’t care about you or your work, no grudges here. What I am interested in is that artifact of yours I’ve heard about.” He nodded toward her gauntlet. “Go ahead, don’t be shy. Show me your little trick.”

Ichta hesitated. She held out her hand and recalled the dagger, pointing it toward him. An excited glint sparked in his eye at the flash of magic.

“There it is! How very interesting that someone like you would come to have something like that.” He took a small step closer. “I really am impressed with what you’ve accomplished, truth be told, so how about an offer? Hand over that gauntlet, and all that’s come before will be left in the past. I’ll give you a nice place to live here, something luxurious. A fresh start. What do you say?”

She threw the dagger in reply, shifting to a battle ready stance. Elkoron raised his shield to block it with ease.

“Ah. I can pry it off your corpse, if you truly insist.”

There was a small vial in his hand that Ichta hadn’t noticed before. He raised it up to his face and crushed it, small puffs of vapor spilling out to be breathed in. In one swift motion he tossed the shards aside and brandished his weapon, charging forward.

Ichta struck first, to no gain. He easily brushed her blade aside with his shield, closing the gap to thrust his glaive back before she could recover. A narrow dodge, she leapt away, dancing around his strikes just to stay on her feet, fighting hard for a chance to retaliate. Her chained blade swung, backed by a quick flick of her dagger—both blocked with ease. There was a wild look in Elkoron’s eyes, an already fearsome warrior invigorated by the elixir to might beyond what she could match.

She knew from the start she was unlikely to win a direct duel.

Cornered and feigning exhaustion, she stepped forward as Elkoron made a decisive thrust of his glaive. Too slow to evade, it pierced through her armor into her side… but it brought her as close as she needed to be. As fast as she could, she pulled a vial of pitch black liquid from one of her pouches, popping off the cork and splashing it on her foe in the same motion. Mothweed oil.

Elkoron recoiled the instant it made contact. He howled in pain, stumbling back, glaive and shield tossed aside to free his hands.

“You vermin! You wretch! How..! HOW!?” he bellowed, frantically wiping his hands across his face.

Caustic burns sizzled at the point of contact, already boring through his flesh from just seconds of exposure. His quick reaction saved his face and throat from total decay, yet only transferred the oil to his hands, then his robes, all scorching and putrefying in turn. 

He fell back to the ground in his panic; Ichta leapt to the air, ready to strike.

Elkoron looked up, met by the sight of fury shadowed in the low light, chains whirling like flames and a look of pure malice glaring down. Behind her, the shape of a great, monstrous vulture spread its wings, and he swore he heard its cry.

Utter dread took hold of him.

With such force that a crack echoed through the room, her blade snapped forward. It pierced clean through Elkoron’s arm as he tried to shield his face. She left it embedded there, dropping the chain to advance instead with knife in hand.

“Stop, stop! I beg of you!” he shrieked. His arm trembled and fell limp as he crawled back away from her. “I yield! Let us speak!”

Ichta threw her dagger. It embedded itself in his shoulder. She recalled it, arm immediately rearing back again.

“I’ll give you anything! Anything you desire!”

“My only desire is to see your corpse.” There was venom in her voice as she threw her dagger again.

“You worthless rat! Moths take you! Moths take all of you small minded worms!” he growled. His voice was hoarse. The dagger struck him again. “Are you so desperate to stay writhing in the mud? For nothing to change?”

She recalled her dagger, then threw it again. And again. And again. He finally slumped over, unable to crawl any further. 

“You can’t do this to me…” he sputtered between coughs. His regal image had completely collapsed, now burned and bloody and ragged. “You’re nothing, you… I’m important beyond what you think you know… connections… they’ll come for you, the Vulm—”

She hurled her dagger one last time, straight into his head. She’d heard enough of his blabbering for a lifetime.

There, he fell still, eyes glossy. Ichta stood in a trail of blood staining the stone behind his corpse. For a moment, silence. She felt a new mark etch itself into her arm. Then she fell to her knees, taking heavy breaths. A weight suddenly lifted.

It was done. A lifetime of hunting, of restless pursuit and preparation in every moment, finally at its end. The man who took everything from her, dead before her, by her own hand. Her village and countless others avenged. The Knights were finally, truly gone.

She laughed a pure, mirthful laugh for perhaps the first time in her life. The catharsis was so great she hadn’t noticed the tingling itch had not left her skin.

“Well done. A feast indeed.”

It was the ragged voice of Olim-Vir. The spirit drifted over to stand by Elkoron’s corpse.

“Two remain.”

Ichta’s smile faltered, tension flooding into the air. She looked up at the spirit. “No… This is enough. It is done.”

“No?”

She felt tiny needles dance over her skin, her heartbeat quickened. The spirit’s head flickered and crackled, warping from a simple sphere into a vulture skull as it turned to face her. With a sickening crack, its legs folded back to resemble those of a bird, talons scraping down against the stone as it marched forward to loom over her.

“Not done. Two remain,” he hissed, harsher than before. “Vengeance sworn: All Knights fall. Vengeance is not had.”

“The Knights… disbanded. Long ago,” Ichta said. She was trembling, struggling to get the words out with the spirit's aura bearing down on her. “Elkoron was their heart… and last vestige. They died with him.”

“No!” the spirit screeched. 

Its robe unfurled, revealed as great wings with jet black feathers. Red, glaring eyes patterned the inside. Ichta screamed, every one of her marks flaring with searing heat as if her arm was on fire. She could see the ones exposed on her hand glowing red. The room seemed to grow dark, colors shifting to colder hues, a faint wind blowing from nowhere.

“Vengeance. Sworn. Two remain. Vengeance will be claimed! All Knights fall! No choice, no refusal, no escape.”

In the strange light that flooded the room, Ichta saw something flutter up from Elkoron’s corpse. A bright white moth, ethereal. Olim-Vir lunged over with a single beat of his wings and caught it between his jaws. A few pitiful sparks of white sputtered out as his beak snapped shut.

“Die by your hand. Work is not through. Vengeance sworn, vengeance had.”

“Yes, okay, I’m sorry! It will be done, I swear!” Ichta pleaded.

Finally, the power faded from the air. Ichta gasped, clutching her arm. The spirit leaned in, still looking monstrous.

“Correct. Go west. Take vengeance. Prey hides well.”

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