The court winced as one, a collective shudder rippling through the assembly as the steaming pile of hot offal flattened itself upon the pristine white marble.
The color drained from Lord Cregan's face until he was as pale and hollow as the mist clinging to the tower walls. A sharp, collective gasp hissed through the room, and every eye turned toward the black-wood chair, waiting for the Prince of Yarzat to...set the mood.
Cregan began to stammer, his hands trembling like dry leaves as he looked from the steaming mess to his new liege, his tongue tripping over half-formed pleas and excuses.
Sparing him from further humiliation was a sudden, sharp sound, a laugh. It bubbled out as if held back by iron pinches before erupting into a thunderous, rib-shaking roar.
