Upon the sacred peak of the mountain Jalsheka, there lied a small cottage standing proudly in the wind. In this cottage there lived an old waste of a man, named Erestufa. He was greatly despised by the public, so much so that he never left his home. So Erestufa would spend his days counting his riches, for he had collected an inheritance from his father, the old king, when he was killed in battle. In the streets, they would shout his name. "Erestufa the Corrupt" they would chant, "Erestufa the Devil", they would yell, but the walls of the cottage had blocked out the noise, and so he was ignorant.
When the clocks had struck midnight, a mob of marchers climbed the mountain, and chanted songs of hate. It was then for the first time in forever, he was reminded of how much he was truly despised. Before he had time to hide, the torch-lit mob had encircled his home with angry mouths and stomping feet, and had lit it ablaze. After the inferno had calmed in the morning, no man was mourning, for Erestufa was finally dead.