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[Darrien Church]

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A particularly cold air rolled across Britain as a the city slept draped in darkness. The streets had the feeling of grandeur about them again, since the Britannian Protectorate had established it as their capitol city. Be it for actual love of the people or his refusal to stare at eyesores, Adrien Garnier had helped organize and finance something he called the “Capitol Restoration Project” repairing statues, homes, shops, streets and even undertaking new beautification processes…


Regular patrols of guardsmen in the ornate armor of House Garnier walked slowly and assuredly through the streets, their lanterns like little fire-flies moving through a maze from the windows of Blackthorn Palace…where a solitary figure gazed out deep in though.

There he stood, his green eyes gazing intently from his pale and linear face, he was slender, the body of an athlete and the bearings of a royal. He clasped his hands behind his back mechanically in a matter of days he had tied up his last lose end, his marriage-contract with Sanctus, and had been fully briefed on Isk’s doings and the political movements of the world.

”Your Majesty…” spoke a firm yet respectful voice from behind Adrien. The man, after pausing moved to continue but was quickly silenced by a gentle and flick of Garnier’s gloved left hand.

“Clearly Magistrate, We were foolish to assume you could properly expound our thoughts, our wishes and our counsel to The Governor-Regent, also, clearly you opted to not inform in writing of certain issues that would disturb us…” Adrien calmly spoke, with a tint of humor in his voice.

’But fear not…” he continued “Your efforts are noted. No need to worry my dear Magistrate, this too was anticipated and provided for. Inform the loyalists and allies I shall be inviting them to a dinner here at the Palace.”

Adrien Garnier had returned…