Let me be perfectly clear, while most wizards are complete ass bags whose egos have superceded all other reasons for them to still be alive, there are a few out there who despite their sorcerous handicap, manage to be fairly decent human beings.
And by 'fairly decent' I don't mean in any moral sense of course, I'm talking ethically. Being a Dark Lord I obviously don't care if he/she feeds stolen babies into a volcano or bathes in the blood of virgins. As long as I have a slightly better than fifty percent chance of trusting them should I require their services, their off hour hobbies and side projects are their own affair.
So, to continue with my premise, I give you five reasons why wizards suck:
1) They smell funny. Wizards smell funny because they have weird shit in their robes all the time. Dried penises and powdered testicles and other less wholesome substances.
2) THEY SMELL "FUNNY". The aforementioned robes are voluminous and many layered. And they are magical. Magical things don't really enjoy being washed. As a result, a wizard who is straining day after day in the heat of a Summer campaign to help his employer's forces smells only marginally better than the bloated carcass of muskrat being waved about on a stick.
3) Wizards are the most rigidly power-mad creatures outside of demons, and in some cases are even worse than demons because of their humanity.
4) Wizards are silly. They have silly fucking names. Even the ones that can level cities sound like low grade reality show characters.
5) They like goofy looking hats. Or skullcaps. Hats are for people who work outdoors.
Why choosing your second in command is the most critical decision you'll make as a Dark Lord:
If you'll recall from my earlier writings, being assassinated by offspring/trusted henchman is the leading cause of death among all Dark Lords across all genres and timelines. Therefore if you stick to Rule #1: Don't Have Kids, then your trusted henchmen become your primary concern.
I cannot stress the importance of a rigorous vetting process in the selection of your second. You can't successfully Lord on your own, you simply have to have underlings you can trust to not only obey and fulfill your whims and orders, you must feel confident that they're not out to slit your throat and take your job. Or if they are, that you're already two steps ahead of them and their agonizing and unexpected death waits only on your word.
Now if you happen to be a self made Dark Lord, like me (after I'd pissed away my Father's empire...) and started from the bottom, alone and minionless, your natural second in command will probably be one of your first henchmen, one who's always been there for you and had you back. One who ascended the Evil Dick ranks with you; made sure murders happened and villagers were properly terrorized.
This is how I got my second in command, Dermott Krullbjorn.
Dermott is a giant, insanely strong Northman whom I strongly suspect has Troll blood, although he vehemently denies it and gets all axey when someone brings it up. I met him right after I'd lost my Pop's empire by being a conceited, drunk twat who made incredibly poor decisions. I had landed in a small hamlet called Boar's Sack; defeated, penniless and with not a friend nor ally in the world.
But since I come from a long line of angry, genocidal dictators, I'm not easily discouraged. I perched myself by the river next to the hamlet and when anyone sought to use it, I charged them for the privilege, declaring that the river now belonged to me by right of conquest. I beat up all the pathetic villagers one by one and in groups until they sent the miller's hulking idiot, Dermott, to sort me out.
Dermott and I fought for three days and three nights (it was actually about 15 minutes, but my PR Dept yells at me when I say that) and when I finally bested him I offered my hand to help him up and asked him he'd join me in subjugating this lovely village, and wringing every last copper from these saps.
He readily agreed. Turns out the miller hadn't treated him so good....
The rest is history. Dermott's had my back almost since day one and is the most loyal minion I've ever had. The best part about his ironclad fidelity is that it's tempered with a refreshing lack of ambition. The best traits you can look for in an adjutant are tactical brilliance, moderately high intelligence, a lack of remorse or pity and a stalwart aversion to being in charge.
The long standing years of good service aside, here's how I vetted Dermott after my empire became respectably large and affluent.
ME: (striding away casually) "Hey Dermott. I'm retiring and leaving the throne to you. I've had enough."
DERMOTT: (following and then stopping abruptly) "Yes, my Lord, I will.....WAIT. WHUUUUUUUUUUUT!?"
ME: (stopping also. looking over my shoulder) "Seriously. I'm good. It's yours now. I'm retiring and I feel like you're the best choice to replace me on the throne and frankly, you've earned it."
DERMOTT: (stuttering, looking shocked) "Buh-buh-buh-buh..uh..."
ME: (striding back toward him) "Quit stuttering like a an elf kid who fell from a tree. There's a lot of preparations to be made for your coronation."
DERMOTT: (head tilted to side like baffled hound) "Buh-buh-buh my Lord. I don't understand. Where are you going? What am I...."
ME: (attempting to tower over him even though I only reach his shoulder) "Silence underling! You will take the fucking throne and you will like it!"
DERMOTT: (brows knitting, other signs of agitation showing) "Hey man, easy with the 'underling' thing! I've been with you since..."
ME: (screaming and blatantly invading his personal space) "AND YOU WILL FUCKING WELL LIKE IT, WORM!"
DERMOTT: (putting a restraining hand against my chest) "FUCK YOU, MAN! FUCK YOUR EMPIRE! I AIN'T TAKIN SHIT AND IF YOU'RE LEAVING-I'M GOING WITH YOU!"
ME: (shrieking, spittle flying, knocking his hand aside) "NO! NONONONONONO! YOU STAY HERE AND RUN THE FUCKING EMPIRE LIKE I DECREE!"
DERMOTT: (picking me up and throwing me twenty feet to bounce off a particularly nice tapestry and the solid marble wall behind it) "EAT A DICK YOU CRAZY AUTOCRATIC DUNG-SNIFFER! I AIN'T RUNNING SHIT!"
ME: (gasping, probing tender ribs) "OK, man. Relax. It was just a test. I had to be sure you didn't want my job. I had to be sure."
DERMOTT: (mollified, moving to help my injured ass up) "God, you're an asshole. Now get up and tell me what to do."
It was that simple. I threatened him with the rulership of the Empire and he threw me against a wall rather than accept it.
That's solid. You can't ask for more than that.
Teach your henchmen well, their's Father's hell did slowly go by
-Lord Hurderoth
Law His May Word Be?
