“Cor, heck, Skell! I’m gonna cough up a lung drinking this rubbish. How on earth can you drink this?”
“When you’ve been alive seven hundred years, lad, you’ll know why.”
“That’s your answer to everything, Skell…”
Skellian took a long, deep inhale of thick black ash from the air, and said, “Come, lad, we must report this night’s events.”
They walked along the ramparts and down into the castle. In front of them sat the Queen, Dinglemunch. Her orange hair trailed down the steps of the throne, about eight or nine feet or so.
“Ah, just the pair of morons I wanted to see.”
Joe mcshoots looked up at Skellian. “What in god’s name is she talking about? Morons, us?”
“Pay no mind, lad,” Skellian replied. “Your magisty! How are you on this absolutely splendid evening?”
“Splendid, Skellian?”
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