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[i]“Johan…” The voice wavered, a raspy quality to it that was new to the elven regents cadence. “Why?” The Kings hand reached feebly up towards the ceiling, blood soaked his clothes as he slowly got up from his throne. Johans breath came in short gasps, the Gungalans clasped in his hands like a overboard sailor clinging to his lifeline at the side of a ship. His eyes wide, those blues filled with fear and sadness. His king moved like he finally realized what age was, his movements heavy with time and with wear.

“Why” The King fell forward, hand still outstretched as if beeching the gods. Then he crumpled at Johans feet. “You… Were my champion.. I gave you… everything.” His hands clasped at Johans pants as he pulled himself face to face. 

“I am sorry” Johan thrust his sword forward, felt the flesh yield as the spear of odin pushed trough the elven regents chest. He felt the man he loved go limp, his arms falling the the sides. Grabbing the golden crown, he stared at it. “The next crown should be of iron” He hear himself saying, but not recognizing his own voice. [/i]

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Johan woke up with scream of rage and terror in equal measure. He shot up from the bed and stumbled over the toilet. Heaving, he knelt before the porcelain seat. He could taste the chipotle as it came back up, his body heaving violently as felt violently ill. The room and everything around him smelled of old booze, a pile of vodka bottles in the corner of the room. He pushed himself back up. The spear lay in a corner opposite to his altar of alcoholism. It seemed to beckon him. 

“The King Of Iron shall sit upon the Throne.” The words came from his lips unbidden. He stepped up to the spear picking it up. Rinsing his mouth with what was left in the vodka bottle by his bed, he spat into the sink and lit a cigarette. 

“Alright then, then.” Moving over to the door, he stopped suddenly as he felt a prickle in the back of his head. The electric crackle of his wards being upset by uninvited visitors. His hand slid into the coat hanging, not having been worn in quite a while. He hesitated, then slung it on, the runes lightning up inside, all the seals and the protections drawing upon his overflowing arcane energy. One breath to steady himself, one more to feel the spear in his hand extend to its full shape. A third as he listens to footsteps outside his window.

“Humans.” He mutters. “We really are the dumbest race in all of the nine realms” He takes a fourth breath, then his foot kicks just the door and it flares up with wards, before exploding outwards. There is screams of confusion as three hounds are sent toppling out over the railing and falls down onto the yard below.

Stepping out, two more hounds level their guns at him. There is the sharp report of a gun going off, but the small arms bullets stopped mid air. 

“Switch to anti-arcane rounds” The human supremacists began to quickly switch magazines only to fire again. This time, the bullets were in cold iron, carved with holy symbols. They smashed past the unseen the barrier with ease but their target has already began to move, Johan going low with surprising nimbleness. 

“Vintri” Johan lazily waves his hand towards the shooter that yelled orders and froze him solid where he stood. “Fjäder” Hopping over the railing, he landed easily as the magic made him fall light as a feather. Two more hounds appeared, wielding the same kind of anti-magic weaponry as the others, but as soon as they took the corner they were blasted by a violently powerful wind. Johan simply jogged past them as vines tied them to the ground.

“I’ll let the boys in black suits deal with you crazies, I got a prophecy to avoid.” And with that, he slipped out into the night, leaving yet a hotel and a fake name, behind.