I Am Stepping Down as Lord of This Fief to Focus on My Other 700 Fiefs
Dearest lowly vassals,
Many a night have I served as thy worthy liege and master, but unfortunately the tyme hath come for me to step down as lord of this fief.
‘Tis not that I didn’t enjoy tormenting thee and driving many of thee to ruin. ‘Tis not that I didn’t revel in asserting my dominance over thy contemptible little lives at every turn. ‘Tis just that I have like 700 other fiefs to lord over, and most of them are much better than this one.
This wasn’t my favourite fief, and it was far from my most profitable one, but there was something special about it which makes our parting bittersweet.
I recall fondly the first tyme I cast all of thy able-bodied sons into the salt mines for a month because my roasted pheasant supper was bland. It brings a tear to mine eye to reminisce on the many tymes I ordered one of my henchman to slap thee upon thy filthy peasant faces for the dual cryme of having faces whilst being poor (I was inclined to do so myself, but would ne’er let thy squalid flesh touch my fair noble skin). The days when I would have one of thee beheaded for no reason whatsoever made me remember why I chose to be born into the nobility in the first place.
Such golden days may be in the past, but I am hopeful the future of this fief is equally as bright.
You shall be happy to know I have appointed Kíltrogg the Terrible as my successor and new lord of the fief. Henceforth, his every command is to be obeyed with utmost fear and self-abasement as if they were issued from mine own mouth. As a blood ogre with years of experience tormenting the innocent, I trust the place is in goode hands.
It hath been a goode run, but now I must bid our cherished lord-vassal relationship adieu. All fyne things must come to an end, I suppose. With the exception of our precious feudal system, of course, because that’s not going anywhere.
Until next tyme, scoundrels, I wish thee naught but pain and misfortune. I promise I’ll still stop by from tyme to tyme just to harass you ignoble dolts for olde tymes’ sake.
Gracefully thine,
The Lord Honourable Cleon Rust
P.S. Don’t even bother asking for thy last paychecks because I have already spent them on orbs.
