King Ruffullo MDCC, Seventeenth Hundred of His Name, has lived a life so long that it has become difficult to separate truth from exaggeration. In a kingdom where most perish before they’ve properly learned to fly in a straight line, Ruffullo has endured storms, predators, rival claimants, and at least seven entirely unrelated coronations, his own included.
It is said he hatched during the Great Damp, when the stump flooded and half the brood floated off into legend. Others insist he survived the infamous Ant Skirmishes, where he personally led a charge armed with nothing but a sharpened thorn and an unreasonable amount of confidence. Whether any of this is true is beside the point; what matters is that Ruffullo is still here, and in the Costella tribe, that alone is proof of greatness.
His reign has been one of unusual stability, if only because he has outlived every problem presented to him. Disputes tend to resolve themselves when all involved parties expire within a few days. Policies are forgotten, rivals fade, and yet Ruffullo remains, watching, ruling, occasionally napping mid-decree.
To his subjects, he is less a king and more a phenomenon. A creature who has somehow slipped through the cracks of fate and refused to be claimed. Ancient beyond reason, fragile yet unyielding, King Ruffullo MDCC stands as the living memory of a people who barely remember breakfast.
