The Ruined King was visibly shaken, and dropped his blade and dead wife. He stormed out of the room crying those Blessed Isles crocodile tears. The same tears Maokai cries for the “trees” (who today live in such luxury that most own branches) when they jealously try to claw justly earned wealth from the deserving Yorick mains. There is no doubt that at this point our professor, The Ruined King, wished he had pulled himself up by his bootstraps and become more than a sophist liberal necromancer. He wished so much that he had a Kalista to stab himself from embarrassment, but he himself had banished her!