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The Sublime Overlord of the Realm
Adam breathed and then smiled. By toppling everything, then we would be equal. But it has to be everything. He stood and then walked a quick circuit of the room, like a powerful, but caged beast that knew the boundaries of its cage very well. The poor are more eager to heed my call. You might have noticed that if you were in the market today. The wealthy want me to die. The guards want me to stand trial for trying to start riots and then probably die for that, eventually, perhaps. The priests preach against me because the gods are the ones that chose men to rule and those men are there because of divine enlightenment. So they all say. The gods are gone. They have left... if they ever existed in the first place. There is no "divine spark" in the heart of a tyrannical ruler. I set myself on this path. If I level everything, we all stand on the same floor. Suffering and bloodshed are simply steps to a greater goal. All must sacrifice and the entire world must be laid waste so we can build upon the remains. It is like it is in forests. When fire takes down everything, what remains is fertile soil, seeds, the promise of new beginnings.

His pacings took him to the window where he looked out, standing dangerously close to the woman that had stolen into his room. He looked down at the people milling down below. A carriage drove down the rickety cobblestones, its driver using his whip on peasants who strayed too closely. Whomever was inside seemed to be in a hurry... at least in this part of town. Hmph. Adam looked away from the scene below and at the woman once more. To let things go on the way they have been, is to let a chamberpot go unemptied forever. Eventually, all you have is a mess on your floor that smells from rooms away. Pardon the analogy. He gave her a short half smile, a tightness in his face. He was irritated by the state of things. One might say he was angry, to a degree. He looked away from her again and went to sit upon his bed again with a soft sigh. His voice softened as his gaze once more reached and found her. So, have you heard what you wished, my friend? Or are you a hired assassin, paid by the hand of some well-placed guard to end me? I have been making myself a target, what with window open, greased hinges, my curtains open to the street-side. Now to know why you are here and what your interests are, my dear.
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Clarion Call to Chaos · City Randatria

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