Delver Magic II: Throne of Vengeance

King Bol Folarok rigidly turned his back to his son and stared vacantly at the stone wall before him.

“I am leaving Dunlop,” he said. The tone rang hollow, his emotions encased in a vacuum. He spoke as if it were some well-rehearsed line he had already repeated a thousand times. The announcement, though cold, remained firm, and it indicated more than just a temporary absence. The finality of the statement slowly took substance, and it lingered in the dimly lit chamber.

The words fell upon Prince Jon Folarok’s senses like a lead weight. He looked upon Bol’s back, impatiently waiting for further explanation. He was offered nothing. He stared breathlessly into the dark space between him and his father.

This was no time for the king to leave. What could be more pressing than the current and growing unrest? Bol was needed here, needed now. He couldn’t leave. Jon wanted answers, but the back of his father wouldn’t reply. Face me! But Bol would not turn. The dwarf prince squinted as if hoping to see clearly through a dense fog.

“Where are you going?” Jon stammered.

“Does it truly matter?”

The temperature seemed to drop several degrees.

“When are you coming back?”

“I’m not coming back,” King Bol replied with the same sterile tone as before. If he had sympathy for his son’s confusion, he would not show it. His words remained as brittle as frozen twigs. “Not ever.”