Information

despot has a minion!

vow the Frotin

despot

The

Glacier Irion
Owner:

goodboy

Age: 4 years, 2 months, 1 week

Born: January 6th, 2022

Adopted: 4 years, 2 months, 1 week ago

Adopted: January 6th, 2022

This pet has been nominated for the Pet Spotlight!

Statistics

Level: 101
Strength: 251
Defense: 15
Speed: 62
Health: 50
HP: 50/50
Intelligence: 428
Books Read: 420
Food Eaten: 760
Job: Mastermind Incorporated

! best viewed on a wide display ! if images obscure text due to low screen
resolution, hover to lower image opacity or zoom out in your browser !

CREDITSpet profile (c)

goodboy thank you to
CSS compendium by

Hongske
font (c) googlefonts roboto mono
story, illustrations (c)

goodboy

story
“Still nothing?! What have they been doing? Playing all year?”

Amidst the ruins of an old stone castle, a Glacier Irion, the despot, laid sprawled out and supine on a decrepit throne.

Vow, his personal minion and protégé, and ofttimes an intermediary, had just returned with news.

“They said it’s due to withering vegetation and...” the minion bowed his head, “and disease... spreading through the pack.”

The Heladion minions in the east had yet to deliver on their food offering for the year. They had produced not even a quarter of their required target, and time was well and truly up.

Despot scoffed, "disease, pff!” He'd heard that uninspired excuse before.

The Irion drove a clawed hand into the collection of assorted berries by his side, the last of their food supply, and started eating them one by one.

“This will simply not do,” he deposited a berry, “you’ve no idea the immense self-restraint I’ve had to exercise to keep my claws out of their bodies,” another two, “what they’ve procured this year is nowhere near sufficient.”

He sighed a pained sigh and claws travelled back into the berries.

“From what I remember, the Heladion pack have honored their commitment every year prior to this," Vow shook off the leftover snow from his flank, “they seemed pretty remorseful. Maybe consider pardoning them this year?”

“Granting them mercy will only lessen their fear of me,” feathers ruffled as the Irion shook his head, “and we can’t have that.”

Another berry fell prey to his gullet.

“The Heladions are the last on my list. Tell them that their king is still hungry,” he picked at his teeth, “and that I won’t hesitate to get my fill the hard way.”

A stray breeze swept through the room and up the Frotin’s spine.

“But it’s November,” he shivered.

The Irion grunted, “and what of it?”

“Winter’s almost here. And you’re usually... uuh, satiated by now.”

The Irion persisted in picking at his teeth, ignoring the smaller.

“The winds are picking up,” as if on cue, the sound of wind gusts came from beyond the walls,”I-I can hardly move through the snow. Can’t we just cut our losses and—“

"That’s up to me to decide!” Despot snapped, “I'm the only one who knows when I’m satiated.”

A brief pause, then he regarded the other squarely, "and Vow, I am not yet satiated.”

He then skewered another berry with his claw and continued to fill his already rotund self.

The Frotin frowned. The tyrant had definitely made a stuffed turkey of himself this season, and Vow did not want to return to the beyond freezing weather outside.

“It’s just,” the minion cleared his throat, eyes darting on and off the griffin, “you, um, you look more than ready for hibernation.”

There was a short pause before the Irion let loose a dark, exuberant laugh, his blue-tipped wing feathers shimmering with the bounce of his shoulders.

“What? This?” A curled claw indicated his excessive gut, “that’s just my primordial pouch.”

His laughter continued for a moment until Vow’s unconvinced look caused it to peter out.

With great reluctance, Despot shifted himself, allowing gravity’s pull and the inertia of his weight to roll him off his throne.

“Uurgh. Must we go over this again?”

Vow instinctively began backing away as the Irion traversed the short staircase between the throne and his underling, the noticeable sag of his bloated paunch bobbing with every step.

“Vow. My dear Vow, how many years has it been?” He cocked his head, “three? Four? A decade?”

Vow looked as if he started doing head math, but was quickly interrupted, “don’t... work it out— it was rhetorical...”

The Irion sighed and began circling him.

“All these years together, all these winters, yet you still question me.”

The Frotin cowered, “I- I don’t. I’m not. It’s just—“

“Oh, but you are. Do you not get the weight of this whole arrangement?” A clawed paw landed dangerously close to the minion, “have you forgotten how things work?”

“No, I —”

“If I were to soften my expectations of the minions, even a little,” he gestured accordingly, “their fear of me would diminish... along with their offerings. And what then? Hm?”

“Uhh...”

“I would starve. You would starve. And I’d be forced to go back to my old ways...” the Irion suddenly looked lost in thought, “hunting on a daily basis. Killing the meek. Blah, blah, blaah. And while that might sound tempting — it’s been a while since I’ve had a minion ragoût,” he laughed wickedly, “I’m not as young as I used to be. And I quite like this life I’ve made for myself. For us."

“Don’t you?”A claw hooked around one of the minion’s horns, and he was pulled close, “or would you rather return to a dull life of fending for yourself and eating snow?”

Vow gulped, and shook his head.

“That’s what I thought.”

With a claw, he directed Vow’s gaze to the outside world — a hole in the castle’s far wall that both served as a window and a doorway.

“See that? I own every inch of that frozen wasteland.”

Stark white snow stretched on for what looked like an eternity.

“Every piece of fur on every arctic minion’s body is mine to control or devour, and, despite what you may think,” he yoinked a stray hair from the top of Vow’s head, causing him to wince, “you’re not excluded from that.”

Vow watched as the Irion released the single strand and let it float down to the ground.

“Next time you feel the desire to question me, remember that your kind is a delicacy to some,” he was that some, “you’re just lucky I like you.”

The Frotin breathed a shaky breath within the Irion’s grasp.

“So,” the griffin straightened, and neatened up the stray feathers on his head, “until the Heladions comply and hold their end of the bargain, I will not be satiated, and I will not be ready for hibernation. Understand?”

Once freed from his claws, Vow’s forehead hit the ground in a deep bow, despite himself, “yes, understood.”

“Good,” the tyrant stood and stretched his wings, readying himself to leave, “now, I’m getting hungry. Are there any other matters to address before I pay the Heladions a little visit?”

Vow blinked into the cold ground.

There was one thing...

“Just... just one last thing,“ the Frotin met the ruler’s gaze.

“There’s been murmurings of a... a Silver Archan.”

The Irion paused his departure.

“An Archan?” His brow furrowed, “what’s an Archan doing all the way out here?”

“I wondered the same,” said the minion, an unease to his voice, “they claimed to just be passing through—”

“And they’d be wise to do so.”

“But I spotted them in the distance on my way back here.”

They had shared a loaded glance across the ice fields. The silver lion-like beast’s eyes glowed an intense violet. Vow knew nothing of the other, but the Archan’s scrutinising stare conveyed that they knew all about him. And even when the minion broke eye contact and fled, he could still feel the eerie sensation of their unwavering glare.

This news seemed to give the Irion pause, and he began pacing the stony ground.

“Mmm, I don’t suppose this has anything to do with the Heladions being so negligent this season,” his claws clicked as he turned, pacing back the way he came, “they’ve never been this uncooperative, after all.”

He changed direction again.

“Could it be they’re rallying against me? With the help of this... this...”

“This mysterious Archan... ” they both said in unison, although Vow’s timing was unintended, still haunted by the memory of the Archan’s weighty gaze.

Irion eyes met with the unnerved Frotin’s, and he crouched down to his level, “yesss, that’s it. Seems I have a new adversary on my hands, hmhmm. Or should I say victim.”

He laughed and scratched under his beak, “either ither, I will teach them I'm not one to be messed with.”

With that, he turned abruptly and resumed making his way to the exit.

“Be careful. Stay in the air if you can,” urged Vow, trailing behind, “and if you see the Archan, I think it’s best you avoid them. There’s just something about th—“

“Hahaah! Oh, Vow. You’ve such little faith in your king,” Despot chuckled then his expression turned solemn, “I refuse to be bested by an outsider.”

He extended his wings, then took off out into the frigid night.

character exposition

Vow is a Frotin existing only to serve under the despot. Originally from a herd of mixed arctic minions, he was exiled after choosing to aid the Irion in a hunt against his own kind. Not wanting to suffer a similar demise to his kin, the cowardly Frotin vowed to become a follower of the despot, earning his name in doing so. The Irion took a liking to him, and offered food and asylum from the winter in return for his unquestioning obedience. The wayward Frotin lives alongside the tyrant grudgingly exerting his control over the region, all while struggling to exist with the severe anathema declared upon him. Vow is driven by fear. Regret and self-disgust weigh him down.

Despot. A cruel and unjust Irion with a voracious appetite for those who oppose him. A simple carnivore turned devourer of all things noncompliant, this Irion found ways to impose his predatory position on the minions living in Ytiva’s unforgiving environment. While cold all year round, Ytiva’s winters bring even lower temperatures. Severe snow storms and lashing winds overwhelm the polar ice fields for four months. Those lucky enough to eat their fill are rewarded with a lengthy hibernation during the most unliveable time of the year.

The ruthless Irion opted for the arctic minions to be his source of sustenance. Homes were ravaged and souls were devoured, until a modest proposal was made. “If peace is what you so desire, then give me the means to hibernate,” he proclaimed a top the Tormirgard ruins he made his throne, in front of the minion populace, “provide me with a steady flow of food for the months leading up to winter, and I’ll steer clear of your territories. Failure to do so will result in me going hungry. Heh. And you’ve all seen me when I’m hungry.” Roots, nuts, berries, stolen food from human settlements and meat (however procured) are among what is offered to the despot. Minion clans who fail to deliver on their offerings are hunted down until he has fulfilled his food quota.

Despot is larger than the average Glacier Irion, proudly displaying a wing span of 4.6 metres. His size won him his many battles against those who resisted his system, including multiple Anyus, and he soon won (and ate) his way up to the top of the food chain. During a particularly arduous fight, he lost his distinctive Irion ear feathers, and his ear never fully healed. He appeared one day nearly twelve years ago and has ruled the frost-molded wastelands as the apex predator ever since. Despot is driven by an insatiable hunger for both food and control, which only grows by the year. The only thing weighing him down is his ever-expanding midsection, which is good for hibernation but not for facing off against a rivalling Silver Archan...

Deep Lore

Spoiler (click here to toggle)