Then what are us outsiders left with?
I'll just post this. After that whatever...
*The midday sun peeks through the clouds and the windows as Lord Jason, given himself only the tittle of lord with no subjects to be king of, wanders the hollow walls of his castle. The contractors he paid to build his palace have all gone. The halls and rooms that could be filled with subjects, empty and barren. No chefs to prepare his meals, he grabs a cold leg of turkey from the grand opening feast of yesterday, sprinkles some salt on it and tears at it much less than a hungry wolf would. At his throne he watches for what seems like an eternity, across the grand hall. His imagination revealing the subjects, the knights, and the nobles that could be seated.
Finishing his leg, he climbs the mountain of stairs to his forward rampart and sighs deeply at the view, with a sigh of sadness. Off to the right on top of the hill lay the tall and fortified Spoon Kingdom. In the distance to the left just before the Chopstick Mountains lay the Fork Kingdom. The cold wind nipped at his cheek and tugged at his cape, more humble garb now than symbol of royalty. Satisfied that he's reminded why his kingdom is here: to keep the two nations at bay, with only himself to fight, he returns to his chambers and attempts to slumber. If he was slain in his sleep by some assassin he would not care. For who would approach his doorstep, bred for murder or begging for mercy from the cold? Only so few could he think of.*
