Nights in Northerot

[Darlok]

Days, or maybe weeks, have passed since Lord Monarch Darlok was seen last time in the halls of his castle.
He locked himself deep in his own rooms, only some selected servants and trusted where allowed to enter his refuge.
There he was laying on his bed, heavy breathing, and his chest covered blood-soaked bandages.
“Old wounds.” He once explained, but maybe also these from his last fights.
Healing efforts have shown themselves as useless, these wounds refused to heal.
Servants as well as his loyalist, who know about his condition, seem to be clueless about the future and show sorrowed faces when leaving the rooms of the King of Northerot.

It is a cold and cloudy night in the Kingdom, where the full moon should be, only dark heavy storm-clouds roam the sky.
It’s the night where the once mighty Darlok took his last breath.
These news where carefully sealed inside the castle of Northerot, no one was allowed to carry it outside by death penalty.

Some days since this have passed. The body of Darlok has been carried down in the catacombs of his castle where he shall find his eternal rest.
However, it is already noticeable that even now he will not find the rest all of us share.
May it be because of the unnatural influences his body was exposed during his life, a prize he has to pay even after his mortal life ended, or because of a last joke or gift of the gods, his body did not start to decay.
His skin turned ash grey expect of a patch of skin, or better said, a huge scar on his chest.
Another trophy of his life and collection of unnatural oddities, something that saved him long time ago, a gift from a sea nymph. This part of his skin seem to sill have a light pink tone.

There he is now, placed in his coffin, unusual looking in these fine clothes stripped from his armor he tends to wear so often in his life.
As a symbol of his former power he was given a large blade, now laying on him while he holds it with his two hands.

After the leader of the still young Kingdom passed in his mid years and left nobody of his own blood behind, it is now upon the Royal Advisors to select one of them and to take over the power.

[Arkadia Misella]

For days Arkadia had watched her King's health fade away. She had locked the doors to the castle to insure peace for her Lord. When the day came and Darlok had passed, the small group of remaining advisors stood around the corpse throwing questioning glances at one another. After a few moments Arkadia reached down and took the keys to the kingdom's treasury and armory from the belt of Darlok and softly walked from the room. She soon returned with a small golden crown placed upon her head. She snapped her fingers and ordered the others to prepare Darlok's body for burial. None dared to oppose her. She oversaw every detail and prayed at his coffin the entire night. As morning came she yawned and stretched her arms and slowly made her way upstairs. She gazed over the balcony and her inheritance and pondered what steps to take next.