Once upon a time in the far reaches of the cultural imagination sat an ivory encrusted, bronze throne. Somewhere further south, in the dim grey maze of the Politibureau building sat the throne’s long forgotten owner. An age had passed since she, Duchess Yammerslot of Redmen, had been shoved out of her place of power. The usurpers carried the same bronze armor of her own armies and each one had the same grand helmets, replete with silken strands, which she saved for her best generals. Their sheer numbers had been enough to secure the defeat of the Duchy of Redmen. They had not, as she hoped, thrown her from the towers of her palace. Instead they took her back to the common world so that she would melt into the mass. But no! She would not forget. Even now when the memories were dim and dated, she talked them up so that none could forget.