Heads hang, and formerly brave men and women cower away from my fearsome presence as I stride through the lanes and alleyways of their pathetic hamlet. A few swings of the dark steel on my axe, a few dead villagers, and it is done the village is defeated. I let my goblin slaves off the leash and they leap upon the enraged villagers with yelps of pure, evil, pleasure. They turn on my minions and I, wielding pitchforks and hoping to evict us from their sickeningly pastoral, peaceful abode - but their rebellion is short-lived. The villagers, previously in awe of their new lord and master - although clearly not quite enough awe - don't take it well. He burns very well, and screams even better.
He goes down like a sack of spuds, and I idly flick a fireball spell his way. He starts to say something jovial, clearly not noticing that I'm feeling even more evil than usual today, and is interrupted by my iron-clad fist in his mouth. Nothing for it with my minions gibbering with glee at the mayhem to come, I turn around and march to an unguarded gate at the other side of town, and stride through the streets until I find the town's mayor (who sounds surprisingly and disturbingly like Barry White). Despite my terrifying visage, replete with spiky helmet, giant axe, flowing blood-red cloak and aforementioned horde of goblin minions, the villagers appear to have seen fit to lock me - me, the very embodiment of evil in the land! - out of the town. With my all-conquering horde of faithful goblin servants at my heels, carrying with them the spoils of their recent pillaging rampage through a nearby halfling village, I have returned to the idyllic hamlet of Spree.
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