The Elitist: The Very Embodiment of High Society

“Ah yes, my life story,” begins The Elitist, taking a small sip from a glass of the finest brandy. “Your sort is always asking about that. ‘Just how powerful are you? How did you get to where you are now?’ Blah, blah, blah. Your proletarian curiosity is so incredibly dull. I shall, however, indulge you this once. I’m in a favourable mood.”

We sit together, The Elitist and I, in his exquisitely arranged drawing room, replete with Victorian portraits of long-dead European monarchs, gleaming suits of armor, and towering shelves full of leatherbound books. In this veritable plethora of class and sophistication, we shall dig deeper than the debonair demeanor, pry past the pomp and the pageantry, and ultimately uncover the unparalleled saga of The Elitist.

“I was born as Stephen Dickson in an English country house around twenty one years ago, the firstborn son of well-bred and fittingly affluent parents,” he begins, calling in a servant to act as a footrest. Though he offers me one, I politely (and humanely) refuse. “My father sat on the House of Lords, owned most of the land in the region, and was president, vice president, and CEO of a multinational financial firm. My mother, of course, stayed at home, as is only proper for the fairer sex.”

Home, sweet multimillion-dollar home...

The Elitist calls in another servant to light his cigar before continuing. “I had every privilege in my youth: I wore the finest of clothes, attended the most prestigious of schools, and socialised with only the most influential of persons. Were the other children jealous? Most certainly. Every so often some poor sniveling urchin would try to have a go at me. It was always the same story: ‘Your father put our family out on the street’ or ‘When I asked for a halfpence you spat in my face’... you know, the usual. Well, a little house call from a band of thugs my father hired always shut up those tramps in a timely fashion.

“But I suppose you want to know more about my rise to fame, fortune, and the like,” he goes on, taking a puff of his cigar. “Once I had finished my schooling, I did a bit of adventuring, as is tradition amongst the firstborn men of my line, and it was then that I developed my twin tastes for big game hunting in the former colonies, and recolonisation.”

To retake the Queen's Dominion!

Recolonization? An interesting hobby to be sure. Our esteemed friend elaborates. “Those bloody provincials are so backward now that they don’t have good, God-fearing Englishmen to guide them to civilisation, so it’s my heavenly ordained duty to retake them for the Crown. God’s work, you see. That, and it would greatly expand the resource and labour base for my various business interests.

“Eventually, I decided to return to London and socialise with fellow members of the ruling elites, attempting to restore the old Empire to its former glory in my spare time. The latter actually proved less difficult than I originally imagined; it seems that when you are more than half of the nation’s GDP, buying a position of complete political dominance and an accompanying cover-up conspiracy is a relatively simple prospect.

For instance, he hired this reputable fellow to advocate wildly implausible alternative conspiracy theories as a distraction!

“And as for the former,” The Elitist says, with a smugger grin than usual, “while I attended a great deal of rather extravagant parties, none were quite as opulent, nearly as ornate, or even remotely as ostentatious as the gala honouring my purchase of the title ‘The Most Esteemed and Elite’ held at my grandest estate. The wine flowed like so many rivers, the floors themselves were made of pure gold, and angels flew overhead. Well, the ‘angels’ were actually servants dressed as angels and using jetpacks, but the impression of angels was made nevertheless.

Yes, your ears deceived you not....JETPACKS!

“It was here at this gathering that I met one of my dearest friends, the fellow you know today as The Outlaw. He was leaning against a gilded Corinthian column, as drunk as one would expect an Irishman to be. I was just about to have him thrown out, when a cage which had been hitherto holding seven tuxedo-clad tigers burst open, freeing its contents to wreak havoc on my guests. Quite unnerving, to be sure. People panicked and ran about frantically, knocking expensive items over and getting their blood and innards all over my floors and tapestries. Really, how uncouth!

"Why will no one dance with me?"

“Then, in a flash, this man, this Outlaw drew two massive guns and unloaded into the beasts, felling them with one shot each. It took no more than six seconds, I’m sure. Then he told me that he was glad that this elitist party was finally livening up. Having just encountered possibly the most intriguing (and, quite frankly, badass) man that I had ever met, it was only natural for me to bring him into my circle of confidence. Eventually, we became steadfast friends and partners.”

When asked of his plans for the future, The Elitist is unsurprisingly unperturbed.

“Recolonisation, of course,” he answers with a grin. “Recolonisation and the conquest and civilisation of the rest of the world. I shall retake the smaller, weaker lands first, and then move on to the crown jewel: America. With her riches at my disposal, it should not be much of a trouble to subdue the rest of the periphery. Why? Well why else? There will be more peons to kick around, of course! Oh, and the power will be nice, too.”

Oh what noble goals. What noble goals...








Original Artwork by the amazing, astounding, and absolutely astonishing artist: Christine Suggs