Lord Grocknar lived in a rusting yellow palace and from there he liked to peer down upon his subjects as he addressed them. With only moderate inducement, his subjects would chant Grock-nar-Grock-nar-Grock-nar until their mouths dried up in the searing heat.
When Lord Grocknar wished to visit another part of the Grimlands, he would have the palace transported from place to place by the hundred brawny slaves who lived beneath it. These wretched brutes were assisted in this task by a wheezing old motor that belched greasy, black smoke - a machine that few in those days had ever seen working.
Such was the greatness of Lord Grocknar.