Three figures stand around a deathbed. The room has grand interior, suggesting that the dying man is of high importance. Behind him, four ghostly shadows of grotesquely wounded men stand watching in silence. Above the old man, a colorless gem attached to a gold chain hovers.
"Only he of royal blood can restore the ruby. And the one of you who does so shall be the new king of Stormhold," he said. With his final breath, the ruby flies out the window.
The oldest man turned to the other two. "I suggest we head out tomorrow. We have to see to our father's burial after all."
"Primus, I should have been crowned king by now. Do you really think that I want to wait around any longer?"
Primus closed his eyes, usually patience came easily to him, but his youngest brother was really pushing him. "Septimus, you know as well as I do that we must at least see the old king to state. Tertius, you agree don't you?"
Septimus gave the third brother a withering look. "Well…" Tertius began, shooting a nervous glance at his younger brother. "Yes. I mean, no. That is," he cleared his throat. "We should probably see him to state." He ducked out of the room suddenly, leaving the other two alone.
The darker prince set his eyes on the horizon.
"There's no telling where it went."
"I can tell."
Primus waited expectantly.
"If you think I'm going to tell you, you're a fool," Septimus said and left, leaving Primus to deal with their father's dead body.
The four ghosts move over to the window. The living prince however did not notice them.
"I'll bet you Septimus gets to it first," the one with the squashed face said.
Another, with a hatchet buried in his head answered, "Ok, Secundus, I'll take you up on that bet. I think Primus will win. Who do you think will win, Sextus?"
"Well, I think- Oh, you two are mad! That's what I think. What are we to bet? Days in purgatory?"
The first two ghosts nod at each other reasonably. They hadn't thought about it before, but now that their brother mentioned it, that was a good idea.
"H-honestly, I-I-I c-can't s-see how you c-can all talk of s-such tittle-tattle. Our father is dead. We should be m-mourning him."
The others looked skeptically at their frozen-to-death brother. "Father only held a memorial service for you. He didn't respect our deaths, so I see no reason to respect his," the charred one, Sextus, said matter-of-factly.
"And stop chattering, we know you can't actually feel anything," Quintus, the one with the hatchet in his skull, said.
Quartus huffed, "Sometimes, I do happen to catch a chill." All pretenses of being frozen vanished.
"What?" Secundus scoffed. "When you're dead?" The others all had a laugh at his expense.
"So where do you think it went?" he asked, wanting to change the subject.
"East, I'd say," Sextus commented.
"South," Secundus challenged.
"East."
"South."
"I think it went northwest," Quintus said, just to be difficult.
Quartus groaned. "Never mind. You guys are idiots. Why couldn't I have been stuck with Primus? Instead I'm dead with you three ninnies!"
The ghosts continued to bicker, while their oldest living brother left the room to get some servants to help bring the dead king into state.