“Generally, a level 30 person is thrice as powerful as a level 20 person, nine times as powerful as a level 10 person, and so on. But enough about statistics. The facts are, I could beat the ass of anyone in this piddly little town.”

* A young Stina Walsh, some sixty years prior to the present

“What the hell did you do?” Stillbottums roared, grabbing Wilholm by the throat and slamming him against the wall so hard that it cracked.

“I-- I just-- I-- the man-- t-fh-they surprised me--ughk--”

“My announcement goes horribly, meanwhile, Develeon is off doing Archons only know what, having incited a riot, promised to fix it, and then vanished on and off again. At the same time, a basic manhunt for two, perhaps three, people, who were directly in front of you, ends with the only other left dead because of your petty anger, and the insurgents scattered to the wind, defended by angry hordes that you have failed to put down!”

Face blue, struggling, Wilholm screamed: “Yeh watt awaygh!”

Curious, the loosened his grip on his subordinate’s windpipe. “What did you say?”

“You… Walked… Away!” Wilholm said, sucking in gasps of air. “You had them at your mercy, had one of them by the throat even like you love to do, and you lost interest and WALKED AWAY! If you’d stayed a minute longer, actually dealt with things yourself like a real ruler, we wouldn’t be in this situation! Yeah, I got murderously mad, once. I failed, once. How many years of neglectful misrule does it take to cause such an easily stoked rebellion? How many genocides and conquests, how many raids and roaring proclamations?”

“Silence.” Stillbottums said, tightening his grip, restricting the man’s airflow once again. “You idiotic little fool. Killing them was beneath me, but it apparently was above your abilities. I haven’t a single loyal subject at or above level 30 in my forces besides Devoleon, and even his allegiances and capacities I begin to question. Get to level 20, and then I’ll make an effort to listen to your whining, piecemeal attempts to harm my pride. Until then, you’re nothing to me, as is everyone else of your wretched kindred.”

You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

“You know, it’s interesting, to me, that you think I’d incite a riot without having a plan. I know I’m not quite as sharp or as quick of mind as I once was-- but who is as sharp and quick as your thirty-year-old self at my age?” Stillbottums turned to see Devoleon standing some distance away, holding his black book. “Archons, you weren’t even twenty when we dreamed up this madness that is our kingdom. Now half of the original group lies dead, we claw at finding new talent and undermine one another, all the while our greatest triumph decays into chaos and schism under our own faulty management. The boy has a point, Ron. We need to be better, or else we’ll be dead before two years have passed, I’d stake every coin I have on it. Now let the man down, and stop acting like a political cartoon. He’s got potential.”

Stillbottums lowered Wilholm to the ground, and turned away from him, giving his a look. “I always thought that Andrium would kill us all in our sleep. What was your guess?”

Devoleon cracked a mad grin. “I thought that I’d have to do away with Andrium, and then we’d find the Elixir, and be able to rule for centuries, millennia even, if we played our cards right. Ah, but that seems like an idle dream now.”

“Don’t talk like that.” Stillbottums said, suddenly truly impassioned. “We still have a chance of finding it, and not an inconsiderable one. Oakchild said he was close to a breakthrough before…” He paused, pain entering his voice. “Before we lost contact. But still, if we can get his notes, we have a chance.”

“I’ll retrieve them. You need to handle the situation here with some finesse, alright? I’ll explain my plan here when I get back, but until then things need to stabilize where they’re at-- unstable, to be precise.”

“And as for Wilholm?” Stillbottums said, raising an eyebrow and turning to the twenty-something man, who rubbed at his throat and glared red hot daggers at his liege.

“He’s your charge, Your Majesty, but I’d suggest assigning him to a job more his speed. , maybe?”

Stillbottums brightened, cruelty burning in his eyes and shining from the whites of his teeth. “A fantastic idea. Wilholm.” He rubbed his hands together. “Let’s have a more cordial conversation about your employment.”