He was hurdled in a corner, trembling like a man caught in a snowstorm with nothing to protect him from the unforgiving winter chill.
Strange how he was dressed in the finest silk and had the entire room covered to ensure that it remained warm.
Regardless, he seemed to be muttering something to himself like a wizard conjuring a spell, but on closer inspection, even that was strange as he was not uttering any language charged with supernatural credence. Instead, he was merely speaking gibberish.
This was no mere man; nay, this was King Draco of Astoria, a man meant to be seated at the highest point in the affairs of the city-state.
Such a great figure had been reduced to a blundering idiot, not of his own machinations but due to the cruel hand dealt to him by fate in the form of a mental condition.