Lords of RPG

"The Holy Doeth Emperor would never allow such a thing!  He's vicious...but he is vicious on our behalf!"

"Unholy Doeth Emperor you mean."

"Hold you tongue!  The Red Jackel is a nightmare...I'll give you that.  But, he's other people's nightmare.  He's the Fairy's nightmare.  He's always used his powers and strange allies to the benefit of the Empire of Bone.  He founded the Empire...built and maintained the Empire all these years.  He wouldn't jeopardize it, or give it over to someone else."

The two men sitting at the rough-hewn bar in the farm town of Zelen Polya argued in their native tongue, Cyril.  The one defending the Red Jackel was Lobov.  He was tall and broad, with a flat face, and ruddy skin.  He was in his middle-thirties, but looked well into his forties due to years working outside in both sun and cold.  The one defaming the Red Jackel was a much younger man, named Gusev.  He was thin and tall, and he had a darker complexion, testifying to ancestry going back to the Dun raiders of old.

With a sneer, Gusev continued.  "The Red Jackel's never been the same.  Not since his misadventure at the Nameless Battle."

Lobov scowled.  "Misadventure?  He was a great hero!  He and his elite Urrick warriors and Westland bowman drove back the Souless Ones and their barbarian lackeys!  He stood against one of the Carrion King's Fallen single-handedly, they say."

Gusev chuckled.  "You mean one of the Fallen kicked his ass.  He was maimed...and broken.  Why do you think we have not seen him in public these many years since.  Only Doeth knows which rumor is true as to how diminished he is since his near destruction in that battle.  He's a cripple I hear...and I believe it!"

"Fah!  You're a mean-spirited little shit."  Lobov drank down a glass of potato-spirits, and slammed the empty glass on the table to get the bartender's attention.

Gusev, the younger man answered.  "Oh...you might be right.  All the kindness has been worked and starved right out of me.  But, I assure you I am not lying.  A dark city has grown around the base of the Mountain of Man.  Within view of the Red Jackel's throne-room, this twisted labyrinth of crooked buildings and unearthly monuments has grown over the lava fields around his seat of power."

"You are ridiculous," Lobov scoffed.  "No man, or elf, or urrick could build a city there, let alone live there!"

"You are right!  The people of our Empire do not live there!  It is occupied by dark creatures, unknown to me...or any one else.  Gibbering, mad creatures, that ooze puss, and randomly scream as they go about their dark business.  No man or elf or urrick survives there.  Just these horrors."

Lobov took another gulp of clear spirits.  "So over-dramatic."

"Over-dramatic!?!  What of the rumors of the Velik Bezum, with his spiraling obsidian tower!  Three times taller than the Mountain of Man!  The shadow of his black tower falls across the Red Jackel's throne room, for Doeth's sake.  My cousin Khaslik says the Velik Bezum is our true ruler now.  A demonic power, risen from the very Abyss!  He uses the Red Jackel like a puppet...his hand up his ass making him say this and that."

Lobov had heard quite enough, and his big meaty fist struck the side of Gusev's head with a loud thud.  The younger man's eyes rolled back in his head, and he slipped from his stool onto the bar's dirt floor.  Gusev lay there, his mouth agape, and his breathing rumbled a bit, like someone in a deep sleep.

"The Red Jackel is our Emperor...and I won't have my drinking night interrupted with dirty rumors about him.  I hope you choke on your tongue, you Dun durak."