As a kitten, Wencelas was constantly discovering the wonders of the universe he had created. The crunch of grass on his paws, the wonderful way draperies sheared when attacked, and divine taste of fresh cream on his rough tongue. He was king of his domain, and every bug that dared to pass without paying tribute learned the true price of defiance, swift and merciless death.

The others that lived with him were to Wencelas higher beings than the bugs, but were still vassals of his realm. They played their roles, and the good king allowed them to continue serving him. His claws and teeth were sharper than anything in the world he had built, he had no rival.

He patiently tolerated the indignities suffered when his vassals insisted on picking him up. To lose control was a humiliation, but the gentle pleasure from their scratching his soft spots, was a fair compensation.

Into this world one day came the dark lord. A being of inestimable power, Wencelas instantly knew his enemy. He called it Maelstrom, the dog.