Whitley

"I choose Whitley," you say. "Whitley, you'll do as I ask, won't you? You can keep living your lavish lifestyle, keep doing what you want with only a few changes. Your family stays safe, you stay safe, everyone stays safe. I'll even leave your little bitch of a son alive to take over when you pass on in keeping my Empire going. God knows he'll be loyal, or else I'll fuck the shit out of him again. Just keep the garrisoned forces and defenses strong. Make sure the taxes get to me. Sort out any shit that needs sorting. Got it?"

Lord Whitley is quiet for far too long, before nodding.

"I won't let you down," he says quietly.

"I know you won't, because you don't want to know what happened to the last person who let me down. Actually, I don't think anyone ever has. So if you do you'll be the first, and I'm going to have to make a serious fucking example and crucify your cock, **** your family and do a third thing I haven't thought of yet. Understood?"

"Yes, Lord Abaddon," he mutters.

"Oh good, you're learning. Perfect, then. Well, the air stinks of pig shit and I miss my bed. I'm getting the fuck out of here. Have these issues sorted."