Villain's Plight

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[Santinka]

Villain’s Plight
By Lady Aether

Lord Dorien was not evil. He did not destroy for the sake of destruction, nor did he kill just to bring misery and discontent to those around him as many people mused when they thought no one was listening. He was not the embodiment of some demon, neither was he doing the bidding of one. People thought he loved gold and wealth simply because having it meant someone else who needed it more did not, but this was not true either. It didn’t matter to Dorien at all if his subjects were happy or not, poor or not, liked him or not. Dorien was simply a tyrant, through and through. He liked power, power to do whatever he wanted and have whatever he wanted. People could condemn him for it if they wanted but it would be with hypocritical tongues that they did so because deep down, everyone wanted power. Some just didn’t have the drive to seek it as he did, didn’t have the will to crush others to attain it as he did, wouldn’t plan to kill the ailing king to have the ultimate seat of power as he did. Let them talk. They wouldn’t do it for long. He would have no one threatening his power. Hence the reason that damned Gabriel was such a thorn in his side.
He drummed his fingers agitatedly on the stone sill of the castle’s window looking out at the little dots of light that studded the darkness; candles in the night. The whelp was little more than a boy, with few resources, a limited education, and only a rag tag following for support, and yet somehow he had been managing to undermine Dorien’s efforts in multiple provinces, always evading capture. It made no sense at all to Dorien and he blamed the boy’s success solely on Monica's infernal idea that the good guy always has to win. It was perverse really. He’d toiled endlessly to get to where he was and yet that boy, the “unlikely hero”, simply had to want it and the means would fall into his lap!
Dorien realized his hand had clenched into a fist, his nails drawing blood, and forced himself to calm down. It mattered not. Even with the author on Gabriel’s side, he had finally managed to capture him. A messenger had brought the news to him the night before that his troops two provinces over had apprehended him as he tried to poison the force’s food supply.
A smug smile spread across his face. He would take pleasure in killing that boy. Not that he was going to draw it out, oh no. He knew all too well what happened when a story’s villain indulges in torture and maniacal laughter and final requests: the hero by some miraculous turn of events escapes either during a bout of maniacal laughter or during the explanation about the reasons behind the whole scheme, and the “villain” is left either dead, looking like a complete imbecile, or a nasty combination of the two.” No, he would simply happily slit the young man’s throat and then cherish the memory if not the moment.
A knock came at the door.
“Enter!” he said cheerfully, his mood already improved just thinking about reprieve from the perpetual frustration of his plans by a farm boy.
The door opened a crack and a man poked his head in. It was Peon# 3814159. “M-m-my Lord?”
Dorien narrowed his eyes at the man’s nervousness. “What is it? Speak up, don’t just stand there in the doorway.”
The man very reluctantly entered. He cleared his throat and busied with himself, trying to put off the moment when he would have to deliver his message.
“You have a tongue for a reason,” Dorien said impatiently. “Use it, or I will relieve you of it.”
That got him talking. “I was sent by the troops in Fayinar to tell you that the insurgent Gabriel escaped.” He said the words all rushed together as if hoping Dorien would miss what he’d said. He cowered, expecting a violent reaction, and watched in fear as the lord walked over to a stand with a goblet and a pitcher on it.
“How did it happen?” he asked in a calm voice that Peon# 3814159 distrusted immediately.
“It was dragons,” he said. “And elves. They came to rescue him. There was nothing anyone could do! Apparently, they’re all headed this way now to overthrow you.”
“Indeed…” Dorein picked up the pitcher as if to pour some water into the goblet but at the last moment, unable to contain his rage, he turned and hurled it with all his force at the head of the hapless messenger. The porcelain shattered against his head and he went down, blood streaming.
Dorien let out a yell of rage. Of course. Of COURSE! Why hadn’t he seen it coming?! Never mind that for the preceding 150 pages there had been no fantastic elements to the story at all, never mind that the boy had began with a group of less than twenty unskilled young people like himself. Monica wanted Gabriel to escape and Dorien to lose and so that was all that mattered. He was pacing now, not even noticing that he’d walked through Peon# 3814159’s blood and was now tracking it on the floor.
It wasn’t FAIR! Dorien was not incompetent, he’d done everything a good villain should. He’d constructed his fortress to withstand any threat—except for dragons which until then hadn’t existed—with ventilation shafts to small to crawl through, he never engaged in relationships with beautiful rebels, his troops were trained in basic marksmanship, he followed the Tips for the Evil Overlord field guide to a T! And yet, despite all this, mythical creatures were conjured from nowhere for this boy just because he was the hero while Dorien couldn’t even get decent minions! He and his friends had been at the top of their class in high school; why hadn’t he followed their examples: physicians, scientists, and the like. Why hadn’t Dorien become a lawyer? Lawyer, villain, there wasn’t much of a difference there, and such a career path couldn't be nearly as frustrating as the one he'd chosen. Damn Gabriel, damn Monica, damn them all and damn it all! He quit. What was the point if he could never win even though he gave it his all?! Fine, he could take a hint. He was out of there. Monica could take her dragons and elves and gary-stus and shove them all up where the sun didn't shine for all he cared. He was through.
When, the next day, Gabriel, the elves, and the dragons overran Dorien’s fortress and made their way to his study, all they found was the body of Peon# 3814159 and a note that read:

Gone to law school. I win.

No one ever quite knew what to make of it, but Lord Dorien was never heard from again and Monica's book never got published because with no villain and a gary-stu with the ability to conjure mythical beasts as a main character, it was the stupidest story ever written and boring to boot.  

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About the Author

Lady Aether(formerly Delitescence, formerly Riyokoe, mentioned throughout the story as Monica) is 18 years old and has been writing for about 2/3 of that time. She was never quite satisfied with life as it was when she was younger and so created her own worlds on paper, some that were happy, some that were sad, some that were nonsensical, and some that were exciting. Her biggest inspiration comes from what if scenarios: what if she lived in medieval times, what if supernatural creatures did exist, what if there are alternate realities. Expounding on these and making the idea her own is how her stories come about. She aspires to be just like Stephen King, who can strike fear of everyday items into the heart of even the bravest person using only words.
“Words are powerful things if you know how to harness them and my goal is to become a master at that.” To keep her skills sharp, when she’s between stories she is involved in online role-play, mostly what if situations (what if this character and that character met), and has made some good friends that way. When she’s in a writing rut, she walks over to Publix, buys a grape Fanta, and eavesdrops on people's conversations for more inspiration. She has two mutts, Kiki and Sassy and she loves them to death.