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Your whole life you've lived in a castle. Swelled in it's luxury, plump with the best food money could buy, and cradled in the finest clothes seamstresses can sew. You father is king of Alberting, and you are his second son. Your father is ill, and it seems thing will soon take a turn for the worse. Even though you lived your life as perfect as anyone could, you're still unhappy that just because your brother was born minutes before you he gets to be king. But the only thing you can do now is wait and hope on of your heirs can earn the crown, or get it yourself somehow.

You decide to visit your father is his bed, since hes too ill now to get out. Once you open the door to his bed chamber he looks at you.

W-Who... Are you? He asks breathlessly. His memory must be fading in his old age. Poor man can't even remember his own son's name.


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Tregas, father. Its your son. You sigh as you speak, reaching out the grab his hand. How do you feel?

You father lets out a grim sigh. I will not lie, Ive had better day. As if on cue he starts to hack and cough into a rag he was holding in his other hand, when hes done, you can see the rag is coated in blood, both new, and old.

My eyes are... Are fading. My eyesight and memory fade more every day... He drops the bloodied rag, and holds your face, rubbing your cheek. I can barely remember what you look like anymore... My own son.

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