“Invitations,” the figure on the shoddy throne croaked, “Invitations… who is coming to the Electoral Ball?”
The footman kneeled before the throne, his eyes averted lest madness be his fall.
“A shriveled gnome, child of loam. A steely dude. A teeny fey fair. An orc most foul. A curious, curious pair. And one as yet unselected,” the footman replied.
“Bring on the dancing horses!” shouted the Party King.