Grimliss stood proudly in the streets as all manner of social deer came to watch at what was unfolding. One of the nobles, a grumpy doe with no antlers, was being dragged out of her sizeable home in chains comprised of the shadowy essence that surrounded the god-king himself. His own guards were performing the act of 'escorting' the noble all the way to their master's hooves. One would wonder why the god-ling didn't simply use the guards of the north rather than his own, but that was how he preferred it: To have the dead serve the dead and little else.
"What am I being ripped out of my home for?" she growled.
Grimliss was a little different when not around his nephew. He wasn't as 'jovial' or 'amusing' and certainly wasn't 'playful' either. No. Outside of that small area of living, he was the Grimliss of old: The one who, like his sister, had no qualms with being 'over-the-top'.
He looked at the doe with a sharp glare in his eye sockets, and no manner of shadowy miasma could alleviate the pressure and fear she felt at the time. "So, I hear you've been plotting to assassinate my nephew," he said coldly.
"I-I-I would never!" the doe stuttered.
Grimliss grabbed a large pile of papers from one of his undead guards, looked at the top sheet briefly, then threw them across the floor in front of the deer. "These papers say otherwise."
The doe, squashed onto the floor by her captors, saw the documents in front of her, with some being blown away by the chilly winds.
"This one," Grimliss said as he picked a piece of paper up. "You were talking with one of the servants inside of the palace to plan a poisoning of sorts, but using the bed to kill both my nephew and nice-in-law." He dropped it and picked up another paper. "Here, you were trying to instill unrest amidst the farmers in trying to oust the lead agricultural expert: A pony, using old hostilities towards the pony-song." He shook his head and clicked his non-existent tongue multiple times. "And here. Thanks to this we have a group of smiths working in a smithing factory that need to be ousted and, perhaps, executed. They're wasting resources on selfish actions to get money and allow you to arm some would-be assassins." Grimliss tossed the paper and blew some snow off of his hooves. "Which I have captured, no-less."
"What are you going to do to me?" the elderly doe asked. "Please!" she pleaded. "Have mercy!"
"Mercy is for the living." He leaned towards the culprit and kept a stoic expression. "I am not one of those. But!" He shouted with a raised hoof. "I don't feel like executing you right now. I'll have you taken to the dungeons where the others wait. You might die, you might live...with some personal losses," Grimliss teased.
"No! Please!" The doe started thrashing about. "I don't want to die!"
"Awwwww," Grimliss teased again. "And you were trying to kill my nephew." He got close enough to her ear that she could hear the miasma swirling through his skeletal body. "If you can kill then you can die."
He gestured his personal guards to take her far away while she continued to scream, and, looking at the crowd, he saw an opportunity to use.
"Such a shame that you hate your new king. He's not a god-king, after all, however. Do not worry, though, for I am here, and things should be similar to how my late brother used to rule. I'm sure you'll be very jovial during my rule as a sit-in for your king. You needn't worry about anything ever again."
Grimliss walked away casually amidst the silence of the crowd staring at him with terror hidden within them, refusing to be shown. The stag had no qualms with what he was doing, either. In fact, there were even corpses draped around the central plaza, with some kept near the entrance of the palace. His tactics terrified both the guards and the populace, but, as always, there were those who opposed his methodology despite the victims being those who tried to kill Grimliss' nephew.
"He's a monster!" the stag overheard. "Anglacite was never like this, was he?"
He started hearing another conversation developing further down the street as well.
"I still prefer this method over having a pony-song lover."
"Are you serious?! He's killing us! At least Anglacite's son tried his best to keep us out of his dungeon! This god-king is just slaughtering us!"
"So then what? Get the other one instead?"
"Hmmm. Other one," Grimliss pondered. "Perhaps I should invite her. She's been depressed ever since my nephew brushed her off." He rubbed his chin. "Kind of a lengthy time to be depressed."
Once inside the palace, he sat in front of the podium where the royal couple's still destroyed thrones sat, and stared at the icy ceiling. Being immortal and practically invincible as well, the stag had no need for guards in the throne room and had them patrol the city for signs of assassination ploys, illegal activities, and the like. The main purpose of the guards. Grimliss rolled onto his side and groaned.
"I need coffee," he said to himself. "I hope my cousin is having a better time here than I am. All of these dissenters are quite irritating to deal with. At least the dead are calm and collected and usually keep to each other. The living are far too much of a hassle to take care of for an extended period of time."
"God-King Grimliss!" a small stag yelled. He ran to the god-king and pulled a saddle bag off of his shoulders to take several letters out of its pouch. "Why are you on the ground?" he asked.
"Because I'm both bored and tired."
"I thought you couldn't get tired."
Grimliss answered by tapping his skull, creating a resounding, hollow thunk with each tap. It would be rather humorous if it weren't for the source of the sounds.
"I see. Anyways, the pony-song have sent you several messages from Equestria. I think their false gods are going to come back." The messenger scratched his antlers. "Why did they leave, anyways?"
"Issues in their country or something. A magical incident. Let them deal with it. We have no reason to help."
The messenger shrugged. "I wasn't going to suggest helping them, but I'm glad we agree on that."
He passed Grimliss his mail and rushed out of the palace, leaving the stag to check on what diplomatic niceties he will need to deal with. The first involved, obviously, cultural exchange. It seemed that the ponies wanted to know more about the 'frost essence' and spiritual connections the deer had, but that wasn't something they would be getting just yet. Those were too important to deer society and losing those advantages could prove disastrous in the future, so Grimliss painted 'DENIED' in bold, purple letters across the letter and set it in a pile. Another letter suggested the same thing, but with custom exchanges and another suggesting historical inquiries. These weren't important and would remain as belonging to the deer, so Grimliss nodded and placed them into another pile.
One of the letters was from a would-be grand merchant who wanted to purchase deer paraphernalia made from permasnow for eleven bits the product, regardless of what it was. Grimliss laughed at the notion and crumpled up the paper. He might not know the exchange rate, but he knew that such a suggestion was a rip-off. He wasn't born in the last millennium.
"Ugh," he groaned. "I wonder if I can't bring Mix-Up here to change the color of the snow. I'm growing tired of seeing the same color every day." He scratched his jaw. "Can he even work on snow?"