The man known today only as the Apothecary sat cross legged in front of an open flame in the deep woods alone. The flames flickering light reflected and danced in the lenses of his mask as he stared into the soul of the fire.
Is that what they're calling you these days? The Apothecary? Congratulations. You're a boogeyman.
The Apothecary looked up and into the eyes of the man standing across from him. Why are you here?
I'm here to pull you out of this. To be here for you.
Now.
I should have been here for you sooner. I don't want to lose you to whatever this is.
I'm not not lost. I'm a better version of myself.
Better version? Are you blind? When was the last time you looked in the mirror? You're obsessed. You're so lost in your own mind that you're oblivious to the blood soaking your hands.
The Apothecary stands up firmly, taking a step towards his friend.
You need to accept what happened. I'm sorry for your loss. I truly am. But your wife is dead. She is never coming back.
The Apothecary roars, sending a vicious red energy bolt directly towards Conrad's heart. Conrad screams in agony as his skin melts from his bones and his skeleton collapses onto the fire between them. Soon to be nothing but forgotten ash. The Apothecary falls to his knees.
My friend.
Sa Orderly assembled in a grand display of the Glacierborn's disciplined military power is a large force of soldiers lined up outside the entrance to the glacial keep. Each and every soldier is unflinching and deep in their eyes reflects their unwavering loyalty to the glacier born people and their king. Vurgla walks firmly beside his army arriving at the front, turning to face his soldiers.
My people. Our kingdom's protectors. There are not words in any language in the realm that can truly express my gratitude and the pride I feel to see you all here today. Today. Today we march towards a great darkness. Our allies, our friends the Stormborn, have called upon us in aid. We as a kingdom owe our service to those that have served us. The armor that you all wear, the shields you carry, they are indicative of our role as defenders today. That role demands we strike. We will meet this threat head on. We will meet. This would be prospective Apothecary with our swords. Our shields. Our hammers. Our swords. Let the ice that binds us flow through your veins. My friends. Should I be slain, remember our prophecy.
Verglaw holds an armored fist to his chest.
If I fall, let the Foretold Queen. Take my place and guide your hearts.
Prince Frost takes a step forward.
My son, Lead your division with honor. You are ready to lead.
Verglaw gently takes Frost's head and pulls it forward to meet his own. I won't let you down, my King.
I am your father before I am your King. Never forget that.
Prince Frost holds back a tear as he steps back, rejoining the ranks. Verglois looks out over the mass of soldiers and raises his massive hammer to.
The sky, for the realm and all lives within it.
Meanwhile, Ethereus and her abhorrent monster are swiftly dispatching legions of Stormborn soldiers. The soldiers are armed with broadswords that they channel lightning through, but their electrically charged weapons are no match for the monstrosity they face. The beast slices through body after body with each of its six dark blades, each death granting more power to the hungry weapons. Aetherius uses her monster as a shield, walking behind it and casting bolts of dark energy at strikers, incinerating their skin, leaving nothing but molten skeletons to scatter the wooded battlefield. Further within the Stormborn Kingdom, military leaders deliberate within a protected hut.
I should be on the front lines, sister.
No you shouldn't. You are where you need to be if your people are to survive. We must be here and devising a plan of defense.
We have been here for too long, Gael, and gotten nowhere. There are people dying under my rule.
We can't afford to charge out there without a strategy. Let's find a way to handle this until the reinforcements we send for arrive.
Suddenly, a young messenger, out of breath and covered in dirt, sweat and blood, bursts into the hut.
I'm sorry to intrude. I have unfortunate news.
Tempest rises to her feet.
Go ahead.
The Infernoborn are not coming.
Any life that Tempest still had drains from her face.
What do you mean?
Exactly what I said, Midas. He elected not to send any troops to our aid.
Thunder rumbles overhead and Tempest's eyes glow an electric mix of blue and yellow hues.
Midas will pay for this half witted, senseless decision.
Gael turns to his sister and places a gentle hand on her shoulder in attempt to prevent something of a thunderstorm.
Tempest, now is not the time for retribution.
The thunder rumbles and the lightning fades from her eyes, but the electric hues are replaced by quickly forming tears as she turns to Gale.
What are we going to do?
Gale takes Tempest in his arms in a wholehearted embrace. She cries softly into his shoulder as they hold each other, listening to the carnage transpiring beyond the hut.
Tempest I need you to listen to yourself. Look within. Focus your heart and mind. Let them work together as one. You are the rightful ruler of the Stormborn. Whatever it takes to defeat this darkness is inside you.
A deliberation of a different sort is taking place within the gilded throne room of the Infernoborn Kingdom.
My Lord, I don't mean to pressure or overstep my boundaries, but are you sure you do not wish to send even a small battalion of archers to the Stormborn?
Midas sits upon his golden throne, staring at the floor beneath him.
I will not sacrifice a single life to a belligerent psychopath who thinks they are the next Apothecary. Sending soldiers to do battle with such a thing is equivalent to sending them to die.
I appreciate that you value the lives of all Infernoborn. I truly do. However, if we do not assist the Stormborn with stopping this woman here and now, she may arrive even stronger at her doorstep soon enough.
It is a risk I am willing to take. Her survival and continued campaign of chaos is not an inevitability, but a possibility. If the Stormborn and whoever else comes to their aid are unable to stop her, that is a situation we can begin to handle if and when it arises.
Incendior is not used to arguing with his superior, let alone his friend. He tries to stifle his opposition, but decides his feelings too important to not voice.
My Lord, I just believe that if we do not send military support to the Stormborne, we are in a way, allowing Stormborne blood to be shed on our behalf.
What does it matter what you think? You do not rule the Infernoborn and you never have. You couldn't possibly understand the nuance factors that weigh into these sorts of decisions. You are a general, not a king. You listen to me.
Incendior is at a loss for words. He takes a step back in shock. He turns his back to Midas, walking out of the glimmering hall.
I. I am sorry, Incendior. My passions betray me. I only meant to Incendior. Incendior Please come back. Incendior.
Midas Words fall on deaf ear.