The Empire

The Empire. It is many things to many people. For some, it is the paramount of all goodness and righteousness in the world. For others, it is the epitome of all that is evil and corrupt. For many, it simply is, and whatever "is" is, that includes being too big and powerful and lumbering and mundane to have much consideration for except to either dwell in it or put up with it. It is not the only empire in the world, but whenever people talk about an empire, this is what they mean.
The Empire is dying.
Great wraiths, invisible and poisonous, have come into the world. Great magicians fight the wraiths, but this unholy war is far from over. The wraiths float and enter the bodies of people, sucking the very breath from them. But now, they have turned to sucking the very spirit from the people of the Empire. The potions that the alchemists have spent every waking hour mixing are beginning to fail. The people of the Empire are entering into despair. Since the wraiths are invisible, there are religious cults who believe that they don't actually exist. But they do. And those who fail to believe in their existence pay an even higher price with their disbelief—they often pay with their lives.
The king was born into the Empire, but is not of the Empire. He is not exactly for it, but neither is he against it. Like many of the countless kingdoms, districts, territories, dukedoms and baronies the comprise the Empire, the king is simply one of those in it. He looks over the hills and mountains surrounding the realm, and he wonders how long it will be before the wraiths find his people too. If they haven't already.
The king remembers a time when he was swayed by a wandering prophet who ranted and raved against Empire. That man had great influence over the king for many years. And then, one day, when the prophet was preaching loudly and turned the chastise the king for "not doing enough", the king realized that the prophet was never really against the concept of empire after all...just any empire that wasn't the prophet's empire. And so, the prophet was banished from the kingdom. The Empire, as it turns out, couldn't care less about either the king or the prophet, so long as the roads are maintained, and taxes and/or tribute is paid.
The king keeps a weary eye on the borders. As the Empire slowly fails, he notices the breaches. Goblins pick at the edges. Neighboring kingdoms report that they have had to deal with orc infestations, but the king is cautious of these reports since kingdoms are also now more open about attacking other kingdoms. To the king, it looks like the Empire is turning a blind eye to these squabbles. Worse, there are times that the Empire itself has encouraged these squabbles, perhaps watching to see which kingdoms are truly loyal and which are weak and to be rooted out. There had long been problems with the Empire using slaves. Some wonder if this is still the case. This is why the king keeps a weary eye on the borders. Whether it is wraiths, goblins, cultists, or imperial mercenaries, the dangers lurk. The dangers are real.
Once, when the king was not as sick and old and tired as he is now, the king was able to go out into the Empire among the nearby kingdoms. He helped other kingdoms, and sought a cooperative alliance among them to help make their part of the world a better place. But after prophets and preachers, war and famine, the ambivalence of the queen, and now the wraiths and the lich, the king sits at the top of the tower at the outpost, watching. Waiting. Waiting for what? The king thinks upon this question and is not entirely sure of the answer.