When the heir-less King Hienmighte of Ilu'dia was slain in a midnight assassination, there was no mourning. Instead, all the high dukes and lords and jarls and even the farmers began electing for kingship.

 

  One fairly promising and blatantly crooked fellow, the Duke of Nottingud was eventually chosen to inherit the throne, mostly due to the sheer stupidity (and vision defects) of the villagers and town council members.

 

  The Duke of Nottingud was vile. He took on the name of King Atrocios Of The Grand Land Ilu'dia, and began to seperate the races into nations. The Orcs and Humans and Elves and the rest of the races were forced into migrating into the far corners of Ilu'dia.

 

  For five hundred years, for five generations, King Atrocios ruled. He ruled and lived with the aid of Dark Magics, to keep him alive and absurdly young and untouched by years. When the first of each race started to age and fall, when the tales of unity and friendship among races were forgotten, and when the need for more land and the competition for property emerged, war broke.

 

  The king was pleased, for he could finally watch his complicated plan for eternal entertainment and chaos unfold in front of him. Popcorn in hand, Atrocios was ready to spectate his little game.

 

  As a bonus, he got to watch the skirmishes happen in front of him, even offering an army Tokens if they achieved a feat that made him chuckle.

 

  But the armies were blind with anger and saw not the main cause of their problems, but the immediate one. So the king sat back as his pawns thrust swords and arrows into each others' flesh...

 

  ...whilst yelling: