[center]"[b]HARLOT! RELEASE THE CROWN OR RELEASE YOUR LIFE![/b]"[/center]

The voice tore through from another veil of reality to spew out of the King's dried skull-cave, echoing in Emmaline's mind so loudly even Amal heard the psychic aftershock. It jerked its other limb upwards, seemingly attempting to shake off an advanced and overdue case of rigor mortis. Clearly it did not need to breathe, but a ghastly flow of air emanated from its throat nonetheless as its head twitched from the golden assault the snake bite had gifted it. Amal stepped in the things way before it fully got to its feet, Emmaline clearly it's target. 

"I don't think you'll need the crown." He said in Riekspeil, grinning a grin that would make Ranald proud. "Or whatever is in the chest. We'll take it off of your hands. What do the dead care?" 

The Wightking swiped at him savagely. It was as if his hand was at his side one moment and across the small chamber in the next, but amazingly Amal had ducked. The thing wasn't angered, and it merely attacked again. It was hardly larger than a normal skeleton, but there was a magic weight behind it that told Amal whatever it hit would be sent flying. Despite his agility, the thing pushed Amal back into the right wall, slamming its fists into the rock and leaving terrifying indentions. Amal dodged and slid, and as the Wightking continued to attack the wall began to crumble. The rock cracked and the integrity of the structure deteriorated, giving Amal cause to smirk. Small beams of light shot through the holes.

"Thank you for the way out." The thief mocked, but it was one mock too much. It's next punch hit the wall and was dodged perfectly, but without pulling back, its fist shot through the rock again and hit Amal in the side, sending him flying into the next wall. The thief barely caught himself before his head cracked against the stone surface, and the Wightking strode past him towards Emmaline, blue witchfire eyes fixed upon her and the crown. Amal saw it approaching her, and he found a new strength in his weakened limbs and  pushed off the wall. He tackled the Wightking to the ground in a hopeless, impossible contest of grappling strength.

"Use your magic, Em!" He cried, desperately holding onto the thing's wrists as its inhuman, inexorable strength threatened to dislodge or harm Amal.
[@Penny]