The house of Verdantwings were a gruesome sight. Their garments was shattered, and their limbs were twisted at unnatural angles. Morgant had used his precision arts to systematically disable them, ensuring every bone was broken enough to prevent escape, but not enough to grant them the mercy of death.
"I made sure they stayed awake."
Morgant whispered, leaning over the trembling House Leader.
"It would be such a shame if they slept through their own execution, wouldn't it?"
The Verdantwing Leader, the Councilor, his face bruised and leaking blood, looked up at Drakovitch with a mixture of terror and lingering spite. He tried to spit, but only a dry wheeze escaped his throat.
"You… you're a monster, Morgant!"
Then his gaze hardened as it shifted to the throne.
"No… not just you. Your king as well."
A bitter, broken breath escaped him.
"You're both monsters… puppeteers who twisted this kingdom to your will."
