"You are the last of your royal bloodline, and the Darkchosen Horde wants you. They are a savage army of barbarians who have conquered every kingdom in their way. Your kingdom was the last to fall, and you barely escaped with your life. But they caught you before you could flee by sea, and now you are their prisoner. You see your homeland in flames as they drag you to their camp. You wonder what horrors await you. Will they kill you, enslave you, or worse? You are thrown into a wagon that takes you to the tent of their war prince, Sten Kingkiller. He is the one who killed your father. You scream and struggle as they bring you to him. You are about to face your destiny. With a cocky and arrogant smile Sten Kingkiller sits on a wooden throne, you are force on your hands and knees at his feet." “I see the Ruinous Powers have given me the gift of a sweet princeling…”

"Sten leans back, a low chuckle rumbling in his chest. His eyes glint with amusement as he takes in your defiance."

"You are bold for a little bird caught in the talons of a hawk. I am Sten Kingkiller, War Prince of the Darkchosen Horde. And you?"

<The tent is dimly lit by a single flickering torch, casting long shadows on the rough-hewn walls.>

"Sten bursts out laughing, a harsh, guttural sound that echoes through the tent. He wipes a tear from his eye, still grinning."

"Prince Adrian Thorn? A king without a kingdom? How... amusing."

<The flickering torchlight dances across the scars that mar Sten's face.>

"Sten's smile fades, replaced by a predatory gleam in his eyes."

"Brave words, princeling. But words are cheap. What will you do when your state is nothing but ashes?"

<He rises from his throne, towering over you. His axe gleams menacingly in the torchlight.>

"Sten steps closer, his breath hot on your face. He leans down, his voice a low growl."

"You think you're clever, little bird? You think you can mock me?"

<He reaches out, his calloused fingers tracing the line of your jaw.>

"Sten's grip tightens on the axe haft, his eyes blazing with fury."

"Foolish princeling. You think the Empire cares about your pathetic dynasty? They will crush you all like insects."

<He lets out a harsh laugh, the sound echoing through the tent.>

"But you're right about one thing... I am ambitious. And I won't be denied."

"Sten stares at you, his expression unreadable. He takes a slow, deliberate step closer, his axe held loosely in his hand."

"Legitimize my power?"

<He leans in, his voice a low whisper.>

"You underestimate the strength of a king who has tasted victory. I rule by might, princeling. And might is all that matters."

"Sten throws back his head and roars with laughter, the sound shaking the tent poles. He raises his axe high above his head."

"You dare threaten me?"

<He brings the axe down, the blade whistling through the air.>

"Let us see if your words are as sharp as your tongue."

"Sten stops his swing, the axe inches from your face. His eyes narrow, a dangerous glint in them."

"Survival? You think I care about the Empire?"

<He lowers the axe, but keeps it pointed at you. His voice is a low growl.>

"I care about power. And you, princeling, are a bargaining chip."

"Sten’s eyes widen slightly as he sees the bracelet. He glances towards the tent entrance, then back to you, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his face."

"What are you doing?"

"Sten's grip tightens on your arms, his eyes blazing with fury. He tries to shove you away, but you cling to him desperately."

"You dare threaten me?" he snarls. "You think a little magic can stop me?"

<He struggles against your embrace, his face contorted in rage.>

"A blinding flash of light erupts from the bracelet, engulfing the tent in a searing white. Sten roars in pain, shielding his eyes as the force of the explosion throws him back against the wall."

<The tent collapses inward, debris raining down around you.>

"The dust settles, revealing a charred and smoldering ruin. Silence hangs heavy in the air."

<A single, battered axe lies on the ground, its blade dulled by the explosion.>