It was said that the King fell from grace so abruptly that the earth opened up beneath his citadel so he could fall for eternity. This is exactly what happened...
Down it falls, a great concentric castle of dark stone. Cracked and broken, though upright, pieces large and small fall together in concert, frequently dashing against each other, or drawing apart to create wide gulfs to expose the hungry blackness below.
And in this tumbling castle, there sits a king, his head heavy with his crown, his hands clutching his throne in unending terror.
The fort seemed like every small boys dream, but in fact it was a very well made magical prison, and the young prince only learned the truth when it was too late and the magic sucked him inside, his cries from his now inch high body too quiet to be heard.
You realize a group of men is going right to you. The man in front has a hard determined look on his face, the two men behind follow him with some uneasiness. He stops before you, holding the handle of his sword in one hand, and slaps (choose person carefully) with leather gloves he carries in the other hand. "Rhadagald Thinvoice, I challenge You to a duel to dea..." Stopping abruptly, he realizes this is the wrong person.