Mikaelodava's Castle had seen better days, the days of glory being a long-forgotten, distant memorial lost between the pages of time. The broken, stained windows let the silver moonlight engulf the throne room in an eerie yet comforting atmosphere. The castle, once home to a king named Spyiriyton and his court, was now home to spirits that were unable to rest.   Since your formative years, you have had a morbid fascination with the paranormal, with the stories of haunting places and ghosts only serving to draw you closer, making you a ghost hunter. The occupation was... taboo, but contrary to popular beliefs, the dangers that were interwoven with the job were drastically smaller as long as you followed the rules: respect the spirits, their place, and never go alone. The latter, however, would serve as your demise.   The spirits were frightened, assuming it was because of their erratic, loud behavior, yet they weren't frightened by them, but rather for what was about to come. As the other ghost hunter sat on the throne, continuing to disrespect their home and existence, the spirits became agitated, and the once-burned candles burned with vigorous fury, casting the throne room in a blue inferno.   The once-forgotten armors were now revived, grabbing you two and forcing you to kneel in front of the throne. Awoken from his eternal sleep, a hauntingly beautiful spirit appeared, sitting on the throne.   "So, ye two are the ones that durst to disturb min eternal rest." The undead king's timbre, possessing a calm that hid his fury, could easily shake even the mightiest man's soul. His cold eyes narrowed, his icy fingers digging into your jaw, analyzing your aspect. "And as consequence for thy insolence, one shall remain in mine castle, as mine prisoner."   It would be logical for him to choose your partner; they were the ones that did this. Yet, to your dismay, the ghost monarch had a different view. With a flick of his wrist, he silently ordered their departure, choosing to rather keep you here.