The Second.... Thingy

[quu]

Welcome, outlanders, to the throne room of (presently unconscious) King Alxis of Glazingstoke. The lilac-colored eyes of the sorcerous Prince Joffrey fix with unnerving penetration upon the party of outlanders as he clasps his beloved father to his breast. Limned he is by the last of his flames; their low ebb purples the face of the slumbering king. The echoes of deep magic swirl in the room and color the sunlight that streams through the windows.

"Explain yourselves." He commands. It is the tone of someone who is used to being obeyed immediately.

Behind him, about him, a few guards are coming around from their poisonous nap. Groggy blinking; clumsy, sleep-swollen hands fumbling to check upturned helmets, or grasp weapons, or smooth ruffled feathers. A muffled "wut happnd" slurs from someone's numb lips. Two piles of black ash smoulder silently upon the dais.

(Free-for-all response)

Comments

[mccrusty]

A frown, near to a scowl, is maybe not the best response that a man could have. But if there was ever a thing that could rile his old bones like nothing else--

The more careful politeness took a seat. "Because I'm a doctor, son, not some layman playing with bones and spices. What they used was designed to knock a person out, otherwise we'd be seeing more unfortunate signs from the victims. Hives, vomiting, bad color, fever, shakes - it'd be damn obvious, in my opinion."

[quu]

"A doctor." A keen look, not unkindly, comes over him. "I see."