She squats atop her silk throne, her thousand blind eyes cast outward beyond the walls of her palace. She sees everything.
Her ministers whisper and scheme, safe and fat in her embrace, eight nobodies plucked from the commons and granted a place by her side. She pulls her strength from them, discards them when they have served a purpose, plucks a new one into the fold. It is an honour to serve.
Outside her gilded walls her people starve. Pestilence and plague are rife. The Queen and her court grow fat and languid while the populace are bled dry. There should be a reckoning, but bleed people for too long and you can drain the strength from their souls.
In this, the year of her Jubilee, in the 700th year of her reign, you have decided that the Queen and her ministers must die.
The Queen is dead. Pull off her limbs and bury her.
REGICIDE is an adventure for old school dungeon games.