There was once a great leader, brave, noble, intelligent, the definition of style, grace and class. His name was Inivrap. He commanded a small but dedicated band of distinguished warriors. And all was well in the world.
However, one warrior, Noslen, did not share Inivrap's great vision. He mistook his confidence for arrogance, his style and grace for ostentation, his nobility as snobbery. Noslen was frequently jealous of Inivrap, and took to every attempt to belittle him in front of his men.
Inivrap was a patient man, and a fair man. He endured the daily jibes of the upstart Noslen for months, years. Slowly but surely, the other brave warriors would join in. Inivrap's once legendary authority was eroded. Noslen was like the fly in his ointment, the germ in his system of antibodies, the taint on his otherwise gleaming body of armour. And as time passed, the ointment became overrun with flies, the system of antibodies riddled with germs and disease, the body of armour covered with rust.
One day Inivrap took his daily inspection of his men. Various members of the band made silly noises and mocked him as he walked passed. Loudest among them, of course, was Noslen. And, finally, Inivrap could take no more. He snapped. He drew a line in the sand and asked his men to choose who would be their leader, he or the dastardly Noslen. He let it be known under no uncertain circumstances that if the men did not choose he would kill one of them.
No man stepped forward. No man dared raise his head above the parapet. Noslen smirked as Inivrap's big display of power had failed. Invrap turned and withdrew his sword. And in a flurry slit the throat of the nearest man, the quiet veteran warrior Veb. The blood went everywhere. The men looked shocked, upset, stunned. Inivrap looked coldly at Noslen. "This man's blood is on your hands".
And lo, despite the martyrdom of Veb, the insolent Noslen did not relent. He had established a small rebel consortium within Inivrap's band of distinguished warriors. There was Zdik, a jovial chap of wavering loyalties who had ambitions of doubling as the band's jester. The ridicule of his master, Inivrap, was an ideal opportunity to show off his talents and win the superficial approval of his fellow men. As long as he could make them laugh, it was worth it. And then there was Yelworc, a small and devious warrior who had served as the group's engineer, readying catapults and siege equipment. Rumour had it that he had been disgruntled ever since his replacement in that role by the young and unassuming Notgnilleks of Goss. Yelworc had been quietly undermining Inivrap for years, and so jumped at the opportunity to unite with Noslen and Zdik. They had a tacit secret alliance with Vizier Hsoj, an emissary from the distant land of Selat, who maintained the façade of good diplomatic relations with Inivrap.
Inivrap could still count on the support of a few good men: his loyal deputy, Lihp of Retslu, the careful and considered Gadrig, the sceptical Aizyx, and the sensible keeper of the books, Trebor of Reyalsllort. But his grip was weakening. Some foot soldiers, such as Traw, and Ymrow Yppiks from Soow, saw their loyalty severely tested. Noslen was cunning and clever. He had developed an ideology of 'cool' around himself and his two principle cohorts that others wanted to be a part of. He made Inivrap seem increasingly out of touch and isolated. And the blood of Veb had only served to increase this feeling among the men.
Inivrap and Noslen sat in their respective camps plotting their next moves. Noslen maintained a public image of not wishing to pursue conflict with his leader, but the Veb episode had showed vulnerability and his instincts were telling him to strike while the iron was hot. Inivrap was on the ropes, how could he deliver the fatal blow and finally take command of the band himself? They both mused.
Inivrap had always been a careful leader, rather than rule through fear or strongarm tactics, he instead relied on 'soft power' by subtly controlling the way that the band's adventures were chronicled and remembered. He ensured that he gave his men their fair share of glory when recounting their numerous exploits, even if this glory was scarcely deserved. Inivrap believed that self-interest and self-confidence were the key to long-term success. That he could foster loyalty and peak performance through a sense of individual importance inculcated in the men through his chronicles. This had always been his strength.
But the clever Noslen had started to make strikes in this area too. He deployed Zdik to make well-timed critiques of the chronicles. And soon Zdik produced full-blown parodies of them. And as the 'soft power' of self-belief started to crumble, Inivrap, backed into a corner and increasingly concerned for his own stability as leader, began to resort to cruder measures. In this way, the rebel triumvirate scored quiet victories over their leader. In this way, the Great Inivrap's authority was subverted time and time again.
This was not the first time that Noslen had attempted a fullscale overthrow of Inivrap, far from it. Nor was it the first time he'd put together a triumvirate of terror. Yelworc was a constant almost from the start, but before Zdik, there was Gadrig – known to be Inivrap's least favourite warrior. But Noslen found that Gadrig was an unreliable ally in combat, frequently taking the 'neutral' ground and even appearing to defend Inivrap.
It was around this time that Noslen ruthlessly cut Gadrig from the triumvirate and replaced him with the ambivalent wit of Zdik, who if nothing else could definitely be counted on not to support Inivrap in public. Zdik quickly proved his worth with a series of lampoons and Gadrig's involvement in the rebellion came to an end. Inivrap, only vaguely aware of what was happening, maintained his public persona of heaping scorn and vitriol onto Gadrig, but deep-down he knew he was loyal. And so slowly and gradually, he eased the frequency and level of severity of his attacks and sent him private messages of assurance, even going so far as to break bread with him in private. And so it was that Inivrap broke the first triumvirate, but Noslen, undeterred was sure that his new-look threesome would be able to finish what it had started.
Having seen his execution of Veb heartlessly mocked, Inivrap was in unusually sour mood, and he was haunted by visions of Veb's ghost. "The blood is on THEIR hands!", he repeated to himself. But the visions of the ghost would not stop.
At the next day's daily inspection, he finally confronted Noslen. "You are banished from here. Do not show your face again." Noslen feigned shock and innocence and protested that he had no idea what this punishment could be about. Zdik, for once, was stunned into silence. And even loyalists such as Aizyx were shocked this uncharacteristically tyrannical measure from Inivrap.
Noslen sadly began his march up the mountain on his way to the no man's lands of Yerp. He gave one sad, but calculated look back at Inivrap, who caught a single tear in his eye. Inivrap relented. "You are no friend of mine, Noslen, but I am a fair man. You will wear this brown cloth at all times and this sign". He pinned a sign to Noslen: "The banished". "You are no longer part of this band, Noslen, and all privileges have been stripped, but I will not force you to leave these lands". Noslen looked solemn.
Inivrap thundered back to his tent. His usual casual nature was now coarse and hard. He was unusually serious. The men were weary of him. He took a copy of one of his many chronicles and went back outside. He made a point of tearing it up in front of the band. "Lihp, there will be no more awards, no more celebration of mediocrity, no more fictitious stories of the glory of this servile band of rejects!" Lihp furrowed his brow. "I will be sitting on my throne if you need me. My frozen throne". We stormed back into his tent. Alone, in the dark and in the silence, he thought he heard the voice of Veb. He shook his head. "Even the ghosts here don't know how to haunt properly".