Many eon’s ago there had been a great rift in time, a war between the forces of good and evil. It grew to the point that everyone was tired of the constant back and forth, so the overlords, decided to quit. Quit isn’t quite the right word. They stopped fighting, not because they didn’t love a good battle for the fate of mankind, but because they were neglecting their own lands. Peasants growing rowdy from lack of rule were revolting. Minions, slaves and other servants were leaving and seeking more abusive and attentive masters. Overlords were waring with themselves over trivial matters and uncontrolled chaos ensured throughout the country. It took the formulation of an Government, chosen by the various overlords to represent them to bring order to the chaos.
With rules and revelations established and firmly in place the country began to prosper. The citizen, comfortable again with the steady fear and terror settled back into their every day lives of peasantry and poor-dom. The overlords went back to wracking havoc in their domain and peacefully dwelling together (for the most part. Small skirmish and duels would break out as is only expected from a homogenous group of evildoers living together within the borders of a single country).
The do gooders across the boarder were rather pleased with the development, glad to no longer be engaged in the exhausting mission of saving the world from all darkness. As it turned out, not everyone wanted the life of roses, sugar and walks in the parks. Some people drew joy out of causing terror in the hearts of all they came across, issuing vast orders of death and destruction on a daily basis, while others enjoyed living under the tyrannical, though well organized, rule of an overlord with a daily fear of their own demise. To these people, life had never been merrier.
Life continued as normal. Some overlords were memorable and some forgotten, but all kept to a common ethic. Inspire through fear. Griselda had been a formidable ruler, leaving terror and awe in her wake. Findelwort managed astonishment. His days were long, filled with endless rhetoric from his stewed and advisor Nigel on all the ways he could better himself, and endless attempts to bolster himself into the role he was never meant to play.
Not for his lack of trying, the disarray of Findellwort’s Dark domain was seen in all aspects of his life. His minions wandered aimlessly through the fortress halls, remembering the days of before when they were constricted into service, ordered to wreck havoc and rewarded with plunder. Now their days were spent in endless backgammon matches and stagings of elaborate operas.
The Fortress was in disrepair itself, its once magnificent black walls crumbling. The roof leaked over the spare bedroom, the drawbridge was operating on a one chain bungee system, the dungeons were to dank for the rats. Even his once friendly experiment gone wrong Steve had resorted to hiding under the bed and keeping Findellwort up from what little sleep he got.
Findellwort fumbled for his list, smearing the ink with his dirty hands. He crossed off Feed Steve and tossed the list onto a pile on his desk. With a heavy sigh he sat, his body slumping. It was only nine in the morning and the pile in front of him spoke of the horrors that awaited. Some of it was half drawn budgets for building repairs while others were outlandish plans cooked up by Nigel to enhance the Kingdom. There was a status report including every small detail. It would need to be gone through, scrutinized for mistakes and improvement. Findellowrt tossed it aside. It could wait.
He turned his attention to the pile of mail carefully stacked to one side, no doubt left there by Nigel. He picked up the first envelope. It read; Deserted Valley Moat Care. An elaborate outline of every reason any Dark Lord would chose Deserted Valley for all their moat care needs. Findellowrt set it aside. Reading through the rest of the mail, one envelope caught his attention, a garcacious purple envelope with a obnoxiously large seal displaying dragon devouring a small child stamped on the back. It was no doubt from the Coalition of Evil Advancement.
Generally letters from the CEA meant one of few things. They were reminding members of the oblatory voting of new cabinet members, asking for money from the mandatory peasant taxation or they were following up on a citation or complaint of being to plaicent. Findellwort had no doubt that the latter was true. He had received several citations in the last year for failed attempts of evilness. Findellwort pulled out the neatly folded document:
Mr. Findellwrot The Agreeable, Dark Lord of Grisholm,
It has come to the attention of Collation of Evil, Breueru of Internal affairs that the allotted time of three years since your inheritance of Grisholm without the proper insurance or notification of an heir of the estate is up. Given as the three years is almost passed, you are given a extended grace period to secure and formally recognize an heir, wether sired, kidnaped, bought or apprenticed (details unnecessary) to be successor to all the estate both beholden to you now and further gained of Grisholm. If you fail to percure such an heir by the date of one month after the death of your predecessor then your will be considered void to any other then the legally appointed heir as seen fit by the CEA. Please feel free to contact us if you have any question.
Coalition of Evil Advancement
Broxworth the Woeful, Lord of Heapshire and the Black Sea