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

[nicecollarbones]

Unfortunate.

The thought of surrender flashes briefly in his mind -- but it seems pointless, at this point. Nevertheless, he gives a (quiet) shriek, looking appropriately panicked for the brief moment it takes him to scramble onto his feet.

And take off towards the right. If he can only get onto that roof, he can maybe, just maybe, make it out onto the other side, the one where the guards might have a harder time spotting him in the crowd.

His fingers grip the wire.