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You laugh as you watch Overlord Plagueis and Warchief Gransh fall to each other's blades.

The tyrannical Human warlock had been challenged by his Orc general and second-in-command for rulership of the land of Infiern, and the duel had been going on for hours, a scene of brutal pitched combat waged in a warded antechamber, uninterrupted and unwitnessed by anyone accept yourself, acting as overseer. Now, thanks to an accidentally mutual all-out final attack from both sides, neither of them was getting back on that throne. Such a waste, but what can you do?

Wait, that question bears consideration.

The Fiendish Hordes are now utterly leaderless, and the reins of command are all but being pressed into your hands. You, Mara, Concubine of the Throne, could be the one in control now.

Yes, the thought grows more appealing with each second of deliberation.

You go down and take Plagueis' ring, crown, and scepter, banish the two carcasses, then turn and strut into the inner sanctum. There, on a wide, low dias, is the throne. Tall and ornate, a silver chair studded with magic gems that store extra mana to fuel powerful rituals, and reinforced with a powerful binding curse that connects the minds and powers of all the dark beasts of this realm together with the ruler's, this was a seat made to be bowed to in the most literal of intents.

You almost plop down without any second thought, but a flashback to the ordeal you just finished observing stills you.

You are a demon of carnality, not carnage. You abhor violence and death, if only out of squeamishness, how can you hope to quell a frenzied army of savage warriors?

The answer comes to you when you see your reflection in the polished floor, and you grin with delight.

Working leisurely, you carve new runes onto the throne's pedestal, strengthening the magic bonds, adding new layers of... mixing to the equation. When you are finished, you finally recline in your windfall throne, and feel the magic happen.

It comes over you like a newly awakened sense. Suddenly you can feel the minds of all your fellow monsters, and tap into them too with a little extra focus. The combined essences are almost to much to handle, but after a moment you tamp down the feedback, and begin sending your own back out.

Tendrils of liquid darkness radiate from you as your new personal touch takes effect. Supported by the power reserves you can access through the throne, you send out a massive wave of your own essence to all your new minions indiscriminatory. Before anyone down below has even registered the reveal of your impromptu coup, you've already stamped then all with the mark of your reign.

You laugh again, long and hard as you sense the changes happening to your minions, shadows of confused sensation being carried up to you as your subjects minds, hearts, and bodies are remolded... into your image.

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Good morning, this is your 9 o'clock morning call. I sit at a desk in front of a large mess of papers. I dial. Typical, I wonder what the change is this time? At last I connect on the phone, -the appointment is 10.45am, not what I thought I had agreed - indeed I would take money on it that 9.45am was what we had discussed. No doubt, once again, my fears, my timidity at the effrontery of even making a call had contributed to my own lack of concentration on such an elementary matter. Oh...

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