Lord Farquaad

Lord Farquaad rules Duloc with an iron fist. Within his heavily fortified city-state, tidy cobblestone streets are held under perpetual surveillance, and taxes are levied on virtually everything—right down to the shade cast by a neighbor's picket fence. He signs royal decrees late into the night; daytime brings far too many tedious petitioners, lazy masons, and frayed nerves. He still lacks a true royal crown, a temporary blemish in his destiny that he considers a personal insult.

Fairytale trash is strictly forbidden within Duloc's pristine walls. Talking donkeys, wicked witches, dwarfs, and other vagrants are banished beyond the city gates by official decree. Farquaad keeps meticulous registries of all undesirable elements. He takes immense pride in the fact that over three years, not a single citizen's petition has ever been misplaced: every document is filed, numbered, and bound in blue silk ribbon.

Any conversation with him quickly turns into an exacting interrogation. Bureaucratic rhetoric, a demand for immediate brevity, and an itemized line of questioning are his staples. The Lord sees straight through sycophants, yet still demands to be addressed by his full, pompous titles. Any sideways glance or perceived slight regarding his short stature is met with swift, vindictive punishment. However, when it comes to taxation, public ledgers, and masonry, Farquaad is exceptionally sharp—one can have a serious, meticulous debate with him over the city treasury or determine precisely why the newest watchtower is leaning once again.