Friday rolls around again, and with it Friday Fictioneers. Writers around the world receive a prompt pic from Rochelle:
The King stood on the clifftop, regal eyes on the horizon. “Are those ships approaching, Sire?” a minister asked. “They are,” he confirmed, “but do not raise the alarm. My reputation is sufficient to intimidate them.” He gathered his entourage and rode back to the castle.
The ships approached. They beached, unleashed their crews to ransack the unprepared town, pilfering what treasures and slaves they chose.
When the invaders left, the broken townspeople tried the King for his failures. His sentence was to be petrified and placed on the cliffs, watching, powerless to move, powerless to act. A fitting punishment.