Wither

Moss grows throughout these long-abandoned walls, as the wood and bodies that once thrived within them---one with aesthetic, the other life, both function---rot away, consumed by the earth beneath it, forgotten by all but one: the king of the small castle, whom lives on for so long as the castle remains. He sits upon his throne, his body too weak to be raised from it, starved and thirsted, sleepless and withering, still not dead after many centuries had passed, but nor was he living.

A young lord had fallen for a lady, as many do, but this lady was no a commoner; a daughter of a powerful dark elf, whom had many more, and was growing his empire to such greatness, even his own kind grew fearful of him. She met with the boy in secrecy, telling him of her father's brutality, and the plans he had shared with her for the realm to be under his dominion; the boy, courageous and strong for his age, took the girl in refuge in his---at the time---father's castle, and made her tell of the true horrors of the dark elf they all feared.

As many have been fought before, the boy's father fought first with quill, uniting his house with others through politics, trade, treaty, and marriage, bring together the armies of Man, Blood Elf, Dark Elf, and Dwarf, however, Orc wanted no part of the coming battle of arms, Goblin are too cunning a race for any trust, and Giant too simple in nature to care for any such issue. Through this great union of many kingdoms, a magical greatsword was created, powerful enough to slay the evil dark elf, weilded by the boy's father.

To war with arms they went.

The boy's father failed to slay the dark elf, as did the boy's elder son, whom the sword and crown were passed down to, but he, too, was slain, as were the his two sons, leaving the boy to weild the sword and claim the throne, leaving his lady, a queen, safe in his castle, who was, unbeknownst to him, with child.

The boy-king's forces were repelled back by the dark elf's conjured daemons, retreating to his castle as his kingdom's last stand; each army slew one another, leaving king and emperor to a duel to decide the fate of the realm.

The King gained advantage, and moved to strike, but in his swing, the emperor dodged it, and ran to the daughter the King had been shielding from him; the dark elf ripped his claws through the Queen's belly, and pulled out an infant her husband had hitherto not known of, casting a final spell as his daughter was bleeding to death: 'with my death, you shall become one with the castle, withering away as it does, until the foreigners I have foreseen arrive to claim your magical sword; only then shall you know death and I shall live again!'

The King had ignored these words, and avenged his lady, his unknown child, his father, his nephews, his brother, and his men, with a single swing of the sword that beheaded the dark elf. In grief, he stumbled backward, falling upon his throne, seeing his world no longer with him. With his great depression, he never once attempted to raise himself up off his sitting until he had grown too weak to do so, and there he remained.

His undead corpse still remained over a millenia later, and finally the foreigners arrives: a knight and a lady from another world, and with them, a blood elf girl, and a man who, too, seemed withered.

'So,' the boy-king choked out from his lifeless, dry throat, 'you've came for the sword.'