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]

McCoy doesn't have to be asked twice. He picks the least comfortable chair in the room and sinks down, not a little relieved to be off his feet and, at least, not in a cell.

And it gives him an opportunity to give their momentary benefactor a second once-over. The boy favors his mother, eh?

"Your father should lie down a bit, if you ask me. He's pushin' himself a bit too much." And, maybe, a calmer king would be easier to reason with. "If you got fresh water, I'll take it. Otherwise I packed away a good breakfast before I left this morning."