Dear Diary,

At some point the whole 'can only focus on one thing at a time' will come back and bite me in the ass, I'm pretty sure of it.

I mean, right at the moment? I kinda wish I could put one of me in each of my recent acquired Jarldoms, just to make sure nobody decides to go on a rape and murder spree while I'm not there. Like, so I could stop it. Not to join in. Despite what my tentacled alter ego seems to think about the idea of anybody else's Agency being vaguely akin to bubble wrap. Y'know, the shit you cannot help but pop, just because it's there. Although to be fair that's an insult to the word 'think'. Bitch barely emotes properly. So far I think I've felt 'enraged', 'scared', and 'hungry'.

Yes, I'm growing increasingly annoyed at the thought that despite having foisted such things off on my gorgeous Wife, I'm still gonna need to head down to Norfolk and do... blech. Politics. Paperwork. Organizational shit. Which I suck at, by the way. If I were at least confident I wouldn't fuck it up this wouldn't be nearly so bad. I could just tell myself 'self, do this job right and there will be extra Kinky Fun Time in store for you'. I mean, she'd know I was lying, because no way will I forgo any available fun time. It's like those old 'when you've studied for fifteen minutes, reward yourself with a cookie!' ADHD 'helpful suggestions'. Look, bitch, I am not two years old. I can both reach the cookie jar and my object permanence is nominally functional. For a value of functional that means 'I will eat the cookies now, then forget I ate them later and be sad when the cookie jar is empty'.

Dammit, now I want cookies. Fortunately for keeping my svelte figure, I'm not all that into sweets in the here and now, and when I get that kind of urge my Kitten has built me the ultimate cookie jar.

Kitten and I finally collapsed all our asses back into bed late last night after doing a quick re-read through our collected Norfolk customs lore. Overall it wasn't anywhere near as bad as I'd worried it would be. Basically, the original 'Jarls', or chiefs who founded the City were ship captains who wanted their own Jarldoms, but Scandinavia not exactly having an excess of available land, they sailed on over to Atlantis. Of course, they weren't going anywhere settled or even really explored at the time, so the 'Karls', or free men back home didn't have a whole lot of reason to come along. Instead, the mostly brought people who couldn't say 'no'. 'Thralls'. Slaves. Apparently over in Europa they were battle captives, and half the time they wound up getting adopted, or married, or becoming Karls through like, a bunch of other ways.

Most of which required an abundance of Jarls and Karls. Like, based on Saffron's estimates, in Europa only like four in ten people in any given village will be Thralls, and then only right after a big raid comes back with a bunch of new ones. The only people who wind up lifelong Thralls are the ones too unpleasant to join a local family, or the ones made Thralls as punishment for a crime, or the really unlucky fuckers who keep getting stolen or traded away to different Jarls, which isn't super common. Pretty much the bulk of the people over there are freemen.

In Norfolk? One Jarl per village. Ten to twenty Karls, most of them warrior types who want the Jarl's chair. Hundreds, even thousands of Thralls, who are all kept in check through a combination of recruiting any combat talented Thralls to be new Warrior Karls and the Legion of Trolls sworn to the King and loaned out to the Jarls in penny packets. Apparently the Lizard Bois had a kingdom somewhere down in Germany or Denmark or something, but got kicked out by some dude named 'Honey Seeking Bear'. I mean, I totally get it. If Winnie the Pooh kicked my ass? I'd go looking for someplace to hide out until the end of time too. Apparently it's not really the cold that gets them, either; they're just hardcore diurnal or some shit. Like, they're fine at night if it's bright enough, but put them in a dark room and they go directly the fuck to sleep.

Hell, maybe they're birds. Maybe they're the long lost descendants of the dinosaurs.

Yes, I am trying very hard not to think about how I now own a Legion of Trolls.

So I got sleep last night. Mimic apparently got the message about Norfolk, because that bitch stretched her fat ass halfway down the coast to Jackville. I think I'm getting a better grip on the flavors of Worship, too. There's the sort of organized, directed, personal shit from my High Priestesses and worshippers who report direct to them. Then there are my good old psychedelic tadpole homies, who still exist, but except for the ones in the water are kinda weaksauce. Then again, that's only really in an individual sense; all put together the tadpoles are pretty potent. But I still prefer the flavor my KItten and Murder Mittens throw into things. Then there's something new coming from Norfolk way. A sort of, I dunno, really rigid, regimented kind of thing. Like not really 'worship' so much as... obedience. Deliberate subordination. Not sure if I like it or not. Definitely there, though. Gotta figure out what that's all about while I'm down there, too.

So after staying awake far too long, Saffron and I both slept late. Marie and Isnomi woke us, with Isnomi sitting on my side with her feet propped on Saffron while she played patty cake with the Marie watching over us, whose thighs had more or less permanently replaced our pillows. Then again, I woke with my arms around Saffron's, hers curled up between us, so I found myself fully willing to play furniture for Menace. Saffron stirring into her morning wakeup routine a few moments later just pushed the morning from wonderful into perfection.

Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

The only tiny fly in the ointment was that, eventually, it had to end and we had to go to class. Well, okay, we all went to class, Saffron took a Marie to the Inter-City Council Meeting, another Saffron stayed home to code with a Marie sitting on the floor doing handwork, with one of me lying on the bed trying not to get too distracted by my Marital Arts book, and one of me hopped down to Gregor's throne room. Okay, I managed to steal away a Saffron and two Maries to test out submission holds in the Library, but by now that's a given, right?

It turned out that 'do whatever you want' included rolling into the fuckin' King's council chamber at the crack of noon. They all seemed more than a little surprised to see me. "Hey, guys. S'up?"

Olga looked down at me. "What's up is that you're in my chair."

"Yeah, yeah, but not your seat, as of yet." She nodded her acknowledgement of my point, and I continued with, "that might change, though."

"You have my undivided attention."

I glanced at Weyson and Svart, both of whom took seats and listened. "Yeah, here's the thing. I'm almost as shitty at kinging as I am good at shit wrecking. So while I'm absolutely keeping every bit of property that I don't owe you for showing up to fight me, I'm looking for someone to take over the actual job of running shit around here." When they all nodded, I said, "I'm not promising anything yet, but I also don't want to stick someone with the job if they're gonna tank it just to spite me. So, are any of you three interested?"

Svart shrugged. "I could. Don't want to. But somebody needs to. But Weyson would be better. Either of us can do the numbers, but he's better with people."

Weyson shook his head, "I will do my best if selected, but I have no desire for the position. Precisely because I am better with people."

After the other two finished, Olga leaned down and said, "I'll take the job. I know a good quartermaster and foreign minister to do the parts I don't want. Also, I think it would be funny to refer to a certain cranky puss as my 'consort'."

I smiled as Svart went. "Words dinnae bother me, woman."

"I'll get him some skimpy outfits... maybe something with a collar and a little chain?"

Before Svart could explode, I interrupted. "Okay, that's one thing that's changing. We can work out a reasonable timeline, like maybe a month, for implementing it, to make sure nobody dies, but slavery? Done. Not gonna be legal in any part of the Alliance."

"So we're to be part of the Alliance then?"

I nodded to Svart, "With official access to crossbows and other good shit like that, too." When he nodded to acknowledge my point, I continued. "Couple other things. First, I need you three to arrange a Thing." I felt stupid saying it, but they all nodded like I hadn't just been ambiguous as fuck. "We're going to be setting up some written laws, and I want every Jarl to get a chance to speak on what goes on the list and what doesn't. Laws that apply to everybody, mind you. Not one set for Jarls and another for Karls. Everybody follows them, or they pay the same penalties."

"Some of them won't like that," murmured Weyson.

"They can grow a pair and deal, or grow a bigger pair and come at me, at which point I'll cut them off and feed them to them. I'm willing to give on a lot of shit. But the law being the same for everybody? Not a point under debate."

"Yes, your Majesty."

"Shit, I'm not King."

"By our current laws you are, at least until someone defeats you in a duel or you abdicate. Or you die, but after he shot you and I hit you with Thor's own lightning, I doubt that will happen any time soon."

"Okay. So you three arrange the Thing." They nodded. "Also tell the Jarls and anybody else who needs one we'll be holding arbitrated Moots before the big meeting. I don't want anyone going in with any debts or grudges. We settle that shit first."

"What if there are debts that can't be paid?" Weyson seemed real good at ferreting out problems, but somebody had to keep my sorry ass in line. His job today, I guessed.

"I'll figure out a way to pay them. If everybody winds up owing me? Fuck it, I know the only thing I'm gonna do is try to make shit fair, and mostly I'm just gonna sit there and look mean to keep people from fuckin' around." When they nodded, I said, "three more things. One, all the Trolls are to form up and get ready to march on Calverton."

Olga smiled, "march?"

"Yeah, march. Nobody says they have to march on land, and they can breathe under water. They will be marching straight up to the harbor, though, so they'll need to surface ready to fight undead."

"Likely hit them sooner." I looked at Svart. "They don't breathe either."

"Fair point, good catch. But they all need to form up here first, and I'll let them know when to leave. So between form up and go time, they need to gather supplies, train, work out some kind of command structure, all that good shit. Next, anybody who wants to volunteer for the Calverton raid forms up here as well."

"Raid? Aren't we both in the Alliance?"

I smiled, "we both are. But the undead are not. We'll dicker out percentages with the Mayor and General before go time, but I think its only fair if the troops taking the City back get some loot. Nine out of ten Calverton folks are dead. Even if you take half the loot in the City, that still leaves the folks returning with five times as much as they had. Don't hold me to that number, by the way. Just making a point."

"And a good one," rumbled Olga. "Will we be marching too?"

I shook my head. "That's the third part. Get every ship in Norfolk that can sail to Calverton in whatever harbor will hold them."

"That's likely more than we'll need."

"More than we'll need to ship Norfolk's raiders, but we'll also be shipping food from Lancaster and Alliance troops. We're gonna hit this shit as hard as we can, and hope that whatever's left doesn't splatter too hard."

Olga nodded. "You say you're a poor King, but that sounds like an effective battle plan to me."

I shook my head. "Don't blow smoke up my ass, Olga. Thanks to your buddy Weyson, I'm now aware that whatever freaky kinks I've got, smoking internally is not one of them."