“Did … did you just call the demon lord ‘an overdramatic bitch’?”, the little blue goblin looked up from his quill.
I nodded, “Yes, yes I did.”
He blinked at me, “Do you want me to relay that as spoken?”
“Yes, please.”
The goblin looked increasingly uncomfortable, “His Majesty is temperamental, perhaps it would be best if I were to paraphrase for you. For instance, ‘His Majesty’s countenance could perhaps be enhanced by –“
“He’s an overdramatic bitch,” I cut the little man off. “And I want you to tell him exactly that.”
The goblin gulped, “Pl-please wait here, ma’am.” He scurried out the back door of the room, presumably to relay my insult to His Majesty the Demon Lord of Madness.
I seated myself on the ornate couch robbed from some manor or another. It was a very old antique, original upholstery, only somewhat ruined by the demonic sigils roughly carved into the wood. Emblematic of the whole place, really. Nothing original, just slap-dash devilry on top of what could have been a perfectly respectable castle. So very gauche.
The goblin peeked back into the door, “His Majesty demands your presence ma’am,” he whimpered.
I tried hard to hold back a smile. I had passed the first test. “By all means, lead me to him.” I followed the goblin down the hall, past countless blood-tinged weapons tacked on to the wall where tapestries and portraits would normally hang. Almost all hung at an angle, off-kilter. Blood and rust mixed together to the point that it was hard to tell where one stopped and the other began. It made it look cheap rather than threatening.
We strode into the throne room where the man himself sat. He had black hair, but the strawberry-blonde roots close to his scalp revealed his true hair color. Small trickles of sweat suggested that the red streaks across his skin were probably artificial dye. A large mace lay to the left of the throne, despite the fact that he was clearly right-handed, propped up by skull that looked like it might have once belonged to a sheep, but was definitely not human. Very sloppy.
I knelt in front of him and bowed, demonstrating proper decorum even though he almost certainly couldn’t tell the difference, “I greet You Majesty.”
He glared down at me. His wrath, at least, seemed genuine, “I want you to repeat what you said to my herald in front of me, if you have the courage.”
I looked up at him, careful to keep my expression inscrutable, “Your Majesty, although you have demonstrated undeniable military prowess, you will never truly be able to rule your territory. You have the instincts of a monarch, but you are an overdramatic bitch and the only way you will ever be taken seriously as a nation is if you reform your image. You are the laughingstock of the century and even your own subjects don’t take you seriously, assuming they are out of sword-range. Sir.”
His eyes burned, “How dare you insult me to my face. I will have your head for this! You will be flayed and your body hung at the castle walls as an example for any who –“
“This is what I’m talking about!” I interrupted him, “No one flays anyone anymore. Even you have never flayed anyone. You have the trappings of a violent and malevolent demon lord but if trappings are all you have then it just makes you look like a melodramatic bitch.”
He fumed, silently, reflexively gripping the mace. I started to suspect he wasn’t strong enough to lift it.
“You have two possible paths forwards,” I pressed my advantage. “You can start to follow through on your threats. Make your malevolence more than just trappings. Kill, plunder, maraud. Perform dark rituals with actual human blood. Lean into your rule by fear.”
He sneered in a practiced motion, “How do you know I won’t start by flaying you?”
I smiled sweetly at him, “You don’t have the stomache for it.” He stared back at me, astonished. “Your other option is to reverse course. I said you have the right instincts, and you do. The first thing you do with your conquered territory is purge corrupt officials, order a census, and rewrite the tax code. Your agricultural policy is inspired. Anyone who hasn’t gotten within eyesight of the melodramatic mess you call your ‘capital’ believes you to be a competent administrator. You’ve even managed to keep the peace between the monsters and humans under your rule. If you stopped trying to be a ‘demon lord’ and focused just on being a ‘lord’ you could make this whole operation much more efficient.”
He raised an eyebrow at me, his demon lord persona slipping rapidly, “I suppose I can guess which you would prefer.”
“Yes, well, I admit I have ulterior motives. But to be frank, I’ve never seen the Hinterlands so prosperous before.”
“I’ve worked hard to create this monstrous persona. I wanted the outer kingdoms to fear me so they would leave us alone.”
“And it will be twice as much work to undo it. What you need is a very competent secretary,” I grinned at him and pulled a business card out of my bag, “and I have lots of experience.”
StunningStuff t1_j0nm5bt wrote
Reply to [WP] "Did... did you just call the demon lord an overdramatic bitch?" by SqueakyFarts99
“Did … did you just call the demon lord ‘an overdramatic bitch’?”, the little blue goblin looked up from his quill.
I nodded, “Yes, yes I did.”
He blinked at me, “Do you want me to relay that as spoken?”
“Yes, please.”
The goblin looked increasingly uncomfortable, “His Majesty is temperamental, perhaps it would be best if I were to paraphrase for you. For instance, ‘His Majesty’s countenance could perhaps be enhanced by –“
“He’s an overdramatic bitch,” I cut the little man off. “And I want you to tell him exactly that.”
The goblin gulped, “Pl-please wait here, ma’am.” He scurried out the back door of the room, presumably to relay my insult to His Majesty the Demon Lord of Madness.
I seated myself on the ornate couch robbed from some manor or another. It was a very old antique, original upholstery, only somewhat ruined by the demonic sigils roughly carved into the wood. Emblematic of the whole place, really. Nothing original, just slap-dash devilry on top of what could have been a perfectly respectable castle. So very gauche.
The goblin peeked back into the door, “His Majesty demands your presence ma’am,” he whimpered.
I tried hard to hold back a smile. I had passed the first test. “By all means, lead me to him.” I followed the goblin down the hall, past countless blood-tinged weapons tacked on to the wall where tapestries and portraits would normally hang. Almost all hung at an angle, off-kilter. Blood and rust mixed together to the point that it was hard to tell where one stopped and the other began. It made it look cheap rather than threatening.
We strode into the throne room where the man himself sat. He had black hair, but the strawberry-blonde roots close to his scalp revealed his true hair color. Small trickles of sweat suggested that the red streaks across his skin were probably artificial dye. A large mace lay to the left of the throne, despite the fact that he was clearly right-handed, propped up by skull that looked like it might have once belonged to a sheep, but was definitely not human. Very sloppy.
I knelt in front of him and bowed, demonstrating proper decorum even though he almost certainly couldn’t tell the difference, “I greet You Majesty.”
He glared down at me. His wrath, at least, seemed genuine, “I want you to repeat what you said to my herald in front of me, if you have the courage.”
I looked up at him, careful to keep my expression inscrutable, “Your Majesty, although you have demonstrated undeniable military prowess, you will never truly be able to rule your territory. You have the instincts of a monarch, but you are an overdramatic bitch and the only way you will ever be taken seriously as a nation is if you reform your image. You are the laughingstock of the century and even your own subjects don’t take you seriously, assuming they are out of sword-range. Sir.”
His eyes burned, “How dare you insult me to my face. I will have your head for this! You will be flayed and your body hung at the castle walls as an example for any who –“
“This is what I’m talking about!” I interrupted him, “No one flays anyone anymore. Even you have never flayed anyone. You have the trappings of a violent and malevolent demon lord but if trappings are all you have then it just makes you look like a melodramatic bitch.”
He fumed, silently, reflexively gripping the mace. I started to suspect he wasn’t strong enough to lift it.
“You have two possible paths forwards,” I pressed my advantage. “You can start to follow through on your threats. Make your malevolence more than just trappings. Kill, plunder, maraud. Perform dark rituals with actual human blood. Lean into your rule by fear.”
He sneered in a practiced motion, “How do you know I won’t start by flaying you?”
I smiled sweetly at him, “You don’t have the stomache for it.” He stared back at me, astonished. “Your other option is to reverse course. I said you have the right instincts, and you do. The first thing you do with your conquered territory is purge corrupt officials, order a census, and rewrite the tax code. Your agricultural policy is inspired. Anyone who hasn’t gotten within eyesight of the melodramatic mess you call your ‘capital’ believes you to be a competent administrator. You’ve even managed to keep the peace between the monsters and humans under your rule. If you stopped trying to be a ‘demon lord’ and focused just on being a ‘lord’ you could make this whole operation much more efficient.”
He raised an eyebrow at me, his demon lord persona slipping rapidly, “I suppose I can guess which you would prefer.”
“Yes, well, I admit I have ulterior motives. But to be frank, I’ve never seen the Hinterlands so prosperous before.”
“I’ve worked hard to create this monstrous persona. I wanted the outer kingdoms to fear me so they would leave us alone.”
“And it will be twice as much work to undo it. What you need is a very competent secretary,” I grinned at him and pulled a business card out of my bag, “and I have lots of experience.”