Lord of the Wings: Return of the King

Banworld

You must understand, it is not my own sense of justice that purchases my skullduggery, nor some mere petty slighting that may have slandered my character in the past; it is simply through the lens of scum and villainy that I begin plotting the downfall of a Lord most vile. For far too long have I pissed away my time in a court of fools and knuckle-dragging apes, it is time for me to spring my trap upon the nest of monkeys; and watch as they devour the pig-king and his entourage; who partake in cuckoldry and homoerotic expeditions, stinking up the halls with anal pheromones' most pungent and raw. 

For you, who may live in ignorance to my unfortunate vassalage to the Lord-baron, I shall regale unto you his identity and wrongdoings. The name Richard McGravy Jordan III may not mean much to many outside this isolated realm, but here it is feast or famine, and for him the feast is nigh on over. Forsooth, this man-pig has planted his ass upon our throne of men for far too long, though in awe one must admit, big ups to his chair for holding it down, at least the short life it transpires; for every year when the snowfall begins we must construct a new throne for his leviathan of an ass.

And woe to us for this is just but one of his many crimes upon normality, and even upon obscurity. He himself is an anomaly, and his continuation to exist exceeds the fathoming of the most wise of our magicka seer. Our private order, our rebellion, utilizes our seers to scry forth into his mind to decipher his thoughts, though these efforts are wasted for his 62 IQ serves as an innate protectant to all lifeforms considered intelligent. And afforded to this situation through our inability to survey his mind, we must act soon, and we must act irrationally.

The last scandal of the Overweight Overlord, the failed surgery and the missing 13k.

You see, the lying pig-man had called our court to council, and he proclaimed he needed donations for a surgery. He wished to purchase a caravan to assist him in travelling to a far off land, in search of a surgeon of master proportions. He did beg and plead with the courts, and we had to listen, some of us with more willful ignorance than others.

" Peimps....I have called forth today to say something I ain't too proud of...I mean you either a real one or not...you can either tithe, donate, or get the fuck out." his greasy cheeks ocellated as his chili stained lips flapped and slung webs of spit.

A man most innocent said forth, "My liege, we already pay a tax...whatfore could you require coin for?"

The blubbergutted beast stewed on the thought for a moment, and gesticulated with his hands as he slovenly spilled the words from his jowels

"You're clearly a troll, awnestly. If you were truly loyal to me you wouldn't pierce my veil of privacy, reel tawk. Though I suppose I can relay unto you all, I wish to pursue a surgery to reduce my weight, all attempts through magicka have proven failure...i assume it is the fault of trolls such as yourself...Matta fact, guards! Please relinquish this man to the chilinator, have him pressed into a delectable meal." He rubbed his greasy palms together, drool clinging to his three chins. The guards grasped ahold of the man and began dragging him off to his doom.

"Wait!!!" he cried out. "Look here! Look! Listen!" his cries became more desperate and dreadful, "I shall donate sire! please! It shan't be a chargeback!! I swear to thee!!!!" His cries were soon muffled by the sound of crunching and crushing.

The leader of our little coalition, a hearty goliath woman named Brandy, she had taken to calling us The Blacked, for we were stained by the Count of Calories and his wings of redemption. And in a night not unlike the many others throughout the year, we amassed in large numbers, 13 thousand of us stormed the building, and at the end of a long battle with the palace guards, we were rewarded with the helpless tub of monkey shit that was Richard McGravy Jordan III. You might thing that we murdered him. That perhaps we might have beat him to death, or extorted him for money. Perhaps you may believe we enslaved him, tortured him, but you would be wrong. And esoteric I must be, so I will tell you only this. Richard McGravy Jordan III was well, and truly, BLACKED that night.