It has been six summers since Prince Crevith fell into a stream. Though he lived, the prince could not be awakened no matter the medicine or magic tried. Until one storm-wracked night he awakens. His family is jubilant, until he acts belligerent in ways the prince never was, desperate to go east. -- Deathshead419
The Prince had been twelve when a terrible accident resulted in his almost being lost to the frigid, rushing waters. He was lucky to be pulled out alive. The healers had done their best, but Prince Crevith remained insensate. Magic could make him swallow, so his body could be sustained. Magic could make his body move, so he would not waste away while he recovered.
If... he recovered.
Magic could only do so much. One of the things it could not do was return a will to consciousness. The healers and assorted caregivers did their best, but the ultimate strategy was to wait and hope for the best. The best Clerics appealed to the gods. The best Druids tried to influence Crevith's healing. The best Sanguimancers and Necromancers moved his flesh around in complete privacy, so that none would be disturbed.
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