The great city of Phukin Biltit is one of the most unfortunately named of all cities.
Construction, destruction and obstruction workers had all worked under the strictest of guidance from three-or-fourmen to create one of the most impressive castles ever seen for the Good King Slaughterbill, a monument to his frequently terminal cruelty and lack of respect for anything. He defiled the surrounding serene grasslands with muddy, soaking camps for all of the slaves required to keep any vicious monarch happy and diverted the pristine river to provide fresh water and sewage, sometimes in that order. Years passed, and no one had the guts to try and dethrone Slaughterbill, mainly because anyone who tried to dethrone Slaughterbill swiftly had no guts. Being the very special kind of crazy that assumes anyone who disagrees with you would benefit from major reconstructive oral surgery, and so amazingly competent at survival without giving the least bit of thought to it, Slaughterbill’s rein lasted for many years. Over his lifetime, he set several records including “Most assassination attempts ending with self-deboweling,” and “Most arrows dodged while distracted by a blasted shiny object at his feet,”. Eventually, he died, happily in his bed with a lifetime of murder and mayhem lulling him to his final sleep. Amazingly, the community was shattered. No one had been able to organize any kind of resistance without incredibly unfortunate circumstances halting the attempt, and all of his most senior advisors had been unable to handle the mental stress that came with advising someone who tended to remove whatever he could pull off when you disagreed with him, and had all gone completely mad. The small society fell apart, no more conquering, no more slaves from campaigns. The population of Slaughterbill’s Kingdom had decreased by 85% through death and running away when word had finally spread far enough of his death that The Godslayer heard of his demise and gathered his armies. They arrived at the Castle surround by filthy encampments after weeks of marching, and asked the first person they saw what the name of Slaughterbill’s City was. This happened to be a wizened old man, Old Boomer Jones, one of the few to survive the Crews that built the castle. Being slightly hard of hearing because “I got a smidge too close to the ‘splosives,” He misheard the question. He answered it.