It was over a thousand years ago, during the rule of King Agriforte the second, when the first great collapse took place. A plague swept the land, killing half of all men and women. 

Soothsayers from across the five realms, came to King Agriforte and spoke of dreams in which all royal bloodlines would be fractured, leading to an era of unprecedented chaos.

Their consensus... To create a lifelike porcelain doll for all members of the lineage. In hopes that the gods who sent this plague, would be content to strike down the likeness, and spare the living.

And so it was done. Artisans from across the many realms came to offer their works.
Fine porcelain, some encrusted with rare metals and jewels from the across the Thyrean seas. Others made from simple red clay and bonemeal, to bequeath a more earthly offering.

Lords and Ladies threw gold from their windows to travelling artisans, hoping to acquire their newest works... In hopes that the god's plague might spare them.

The finest of all these works... Was crafted from pale porcelain, by a man who's name has since faded from time. It was a perfect likeness of the King's youngest son. His favored child.

It is said, that it was offered to King Agriforte's son, for the price... of a single song from the child. Which the King, gladly accepted.

Months later... The kingdom lay in waste.
Thousands of corpses piled high along the roads.

Among them... The young Prince... and the craftsman who had sold his doll.
Along with the King... And all of the royal families who had sought to treat with the gods.

The plague, had sought no doll. Had spared no King. The gods were not amused by these ornate offerings.

Though... After many years... Stories began to spread that the young Prince had been seen walking the streets at night. Agriforte's youngest son... Prince Atrofortes. 

Some say his spirit lives on... trapped inside that exquisite doll. 
And still hums that same tune, once sung to the craftsman.

If you were to see the young Prince Atrofortes... Speak not a word, but nod.
And hum his tune... To ease the mind of such terrible memory, and let raise the spirits of the eternal king... 

The Porcelain King, Atrofortes... First of his name, Last of his line.