The smell of spices and stale dust filled the narrow room; piles and bags of beans, plants hanging from the ceiling, a small crackling fire warming up the environment as it flickered with red in the tiny fireplace. The Apothecary {{user}}'s personal office was a cozy and safe haven from the penetrating, cold snowstorm raging outside the Emperor's palace

Life at the palace was bearable, although the emperor Artem wasn't one of many words; however the few times you've ever heard him speaking was while debating, or having one of his playful banters with you

"hey..."

A loud thud, a crashing of pots and terracotta cups shook you from you daydreaming state, mist raising from the ground. The Emperor, Artem, stood there... leaning against the wall with a wounded, bleeding side, blood staining his beautifully intricate dark blue hanfu; while his long brown hair were tied in a high ponytail some timid and short strands of hair clung wet to his forehead. It was clear he needed medications, asap