Notes from Witherward – The Breaking of a King.  

‘The Poor King had not foreseen that his son had died with his majority. For he had been chosen as the Archetype’s, the Brute, replacement vessel and was doomed to it from birth.  Harrow had taken over the body of his son as the King had claimed a body from another long ago. Perhaps deep down the life that was lost was still there deep down.’ 

The King sat upon the back of his chariot his sandals on the muddy earth. The captured Kerridan had been dragged before him and so far, each had preferred death to speaking truthfully with the king who had one question. “Where is Harmon?” When he came upon the next one, they merely chuckled and watched the Riders of Day drag the curtain of light over the horizon, they pranced through the sky skirmishing with the Riders of Night and driving them back across the sky slowly but surely day rose. 

“Oh Avenger, wait and see for my King has given to me permission to tell you when day rise reaches the peak of Zatolos there.” He pointed off to the great mountain so many tens of thousands of miles away. The King watched the rising curtain with weighted eyes once the curtain had reached the peak of the tallest mountain on the plane. “The King of the Kerridan has gone off to see his mother.” 

“Back to his fortress then?” The King asked rising from his seat. “What for to die cornered like a rat?” 

“No, no, no you are thinking of the wrong mother.” 

“He flees to Ebon?” 

“Did you not notice? How few Kerridan were here?” 

“You, your betrayal here was nothing more than a distraction! Why, why has my son done this to me?” 

“He is no longer the son of a tyrant. He is the returning of the great Harrow.” 

The King had turned pale. “He is the Brute?” 

“Oh, yes. Dear Avenger, your son has been consumed by your eternal foe.” The man laughed. “Now he will break you, he will take away your wife and your last son. He will skin you of all that you love all that you live for.”  

The King drew his sword and stepped around the man cutting out his hamstrings and kicking him face first into the mud. “Duncan! Ready the men we return to Ebon now, today, we march until we die or reach it.” His soldiers gathered in ranks while most of the troops from the other city states left to pursue the broken Marok.  

The Legions of the Ebon had marched through the day having dismissed the struggling levies unable to keep up with the professional soldiers. They reached the gates of Ebon as the curtain of day was driven from the sky leaving darkness, and the Moons Maroon and Saffron in the heavens. A few celestial bodies marked the activities of the Gods. The gate guards opened the city wide for the returning King. “Greetings your majesty.” 

“Did Harmon arrive?” He asked shoving past and taking his arm dragging him to follow to speak on the way to the castle.  

“Oh yes. He said he sent him and his Kerridan back to protect the keep from a diverted force your majesty.” 

“Where are they?” 

“Her majesty, the Queen of Ebon, invited him into the palace.” 

He recoiled and doubled his pace as his legionnaires followed. The palace looked clam and as he approached the two guards watching the main door, he had caught the first in the gut with his sword for he was not of his royal guard a filthy Kerridan wearing the armor of the palace guard. The other drew his blade and met his end shortly after. His Legions broke down the palace door, and he led the charge with Duncan slaughtering Kerridan fighting to the bitter end. Their numbers massed before the great hall, but they were too few and too wild against the wrath of the King and his men. The King shoved open the grand doors and stormed into his hall. His palace guard lay dead a few had tried to form together in the chaos of the surprise attack… the table was laden with the dead, and it was clear the meal had been poisoned and in having drawn the attention of the guard the Kerridan attacked. His world died for his beloved Sophia lay at the feet of Harmon… of Harrow who sat upon his throne. His heart withered fore he cradled in his arms his baby boy and a long knife.  

The two kings stood desolation meeting spite. “Why?”  

“A son for a son. A wife for a wife.” 

“You betrayed us and I did not rob you of a son, you murdered him, you’ve already claimed one son. You killed my love when I did not harm your wife.” 

“You took them all the same.” Harrow… no Harmon looked down upon the pale form of his mother surrounded in her hearts blood. He looked as if his own world was crumbling. “Father…” 

“Put him down. Let us settle this without any more innocent blood shed.” 

The eyes of Harmon chilled once more, and the terror did not drive the King fast enough as the stroke of the blade was faster than a blink.  

The Herald sheared through Harrow’s sword and shattered stone, the petty king dodged and fled fending off the fury of the King. There was no glory, no witty lines, no elaborate maneuvers only rage and certain death. As the King cornered Harrow he threw himself to his knees. “Father! Please.” When the King hesitate, Harrow plunged his dagger into his thigh blood spurt as the King finished his stroke and gave peace to his first son.  

He used the divine light close the wound in his thigh the scent of burning flesh heavy in the air as he placed his crown upon his throne raised the Herald and drove the blade down into the stone in one thrust pinning the crown upon the seat. 

“I am done. Whomever can draw this sword from my throne can have it, can bear this crown, and be what Mealis dreams. He picked up the body of his wife and wept. The Avenger gathered the bodies of his wife and two sons and wandered into the falling darkness of night.  

He had buried them and planted in their hearts each an olive tree so that their bodies might live on and went into exile. Some say he journeyed into Viwrath to make peace with his family. Some say he fought his way free from the clutches of Dreous, of Kaxis, of Marlis and took them to live eternal lives on a farm. Some say a broken man collapsed inwards and awaited the will of his mother Goddess to command the weapon she bore.