Once they’re gone, it’s nothing but you, Tempest, the Staff of Sacanas, and a handful of elite guards in your big and intimidating imperial throne room on Storm Island. A long red carpet stretched from the foot of your throne to the main doors over yonder, lined with braziers that burned with green flame. Green banners with your insignia draped down from the side walls every so often, with an imperial storm beast guard posted between each one, every one of them wielding the most powerful magic equipment in the lands thanks to the staff’s assistance. And the big space behind your throne was filled with the statues of each and every do-gooder and hero who ever tried to stop you, arranged just so that everybody entering knew exactly what your body count was, and what you were liable to do to them should they try to fuck around with you.