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[AdrienGarnier]

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Adrien walked briskly into the great-hall of a great estate, his armor, and official attire peeled away to reveal a dark-black satin walking coat, silk gloves and rather formal dark-red short-pants and delicate leather shoes. He stepped carefully over shattered statuary, felled branches littering the cracked and aged marble floor. He paused briefly upon reaching room’s center as he gazed down upon a faded and worn image of a seal of sorts, to hard to tell now as various types of tropical fauna pushed their way mercilessly through the cracks, the words once displayed proudly on it’s banner now only partially legible:

“Nemo M....im…ne…Lacessit”

Continuing on he passed what seemed to be the remains of several pieces of statuary, men covered in ornate armor ankhs emblazoned on their chest. Others garbed in heavy robes clutching stone tomes engraved with odd markings and similar symbols.

Holding out a tarnished candelabra in his right hand he found his way in the dark of that Britannian night to what once must have been a breathtaking great-stairway now seemingly crumbling to nothing under its own ornate design. One unfamiliar with its state would no doubt have made a misstep falling to their demise, but not Adrien. Knowing well the path he had no doubt walked many nights before he stepped quickly without though over loose stones, sharp edges and shattered glass until he came upon a door, or at least what used to be a door.

Stepping reverently through the door-jam he found himself on a once decorative loft peering out over the hall he had so expertly navigated moments before. Even in it’s sorry and broken state, he noticed, it still looked so beautiful.

His face betrayed him, so often gleaming with leadership, courage, humility and kindness it revealed almost an expression of loss or sadness if but for a moment. Turning with a sigh and a forced yet faint smile he turned his back on the chamber once more and made his way to a well-carved wooden bench.

Resting the candelabra down to his left, the light pouring from it’s six lit candles revealed row upon row of the ivory keys of a large pipe-organ of sorts.

Adjusting his posture and clearing his throat came natural to him on this bench after so many years of practice here as a boy, but of course there was no audience now, nor any tutors.

Removing several crumbled and clearly aged pieces of parchment from within his walking-coat he laid them reverently on the music stand before him and leaned in slightly for a moment to gaze upon the first movement.
With a gentle nod to the organ he lifted his hands about ear-level before thrusting them sharply down into the lowest row of keys.

With that the silence of the night was instantly broken as the old and until now silent pipes of the organ proved to be in working order indeed as notes blared out from them shaking the foundations of the crumbling hall.

As he played, increasing in speed it would have been quite obvious to any onlookers this man was clearly musically inclined. His body moved with the music as his face seemed to contort and express each note, each pitch of the piece.

While his body became one with the rhythm of the music, his mind was else-where.

He thought of the progress the Britannian Protectorate had made, how close the world had once again come to the unity and prosperity once dreamed by Lord Stromcrow, Lord Aeirs, and Lord British himself.

Gracefully and pleasantly a harmonic and soft sound resonated from the pipes of the mighty instrument…

His mind turned to the near decade of war, famine, plague and darkness that tore the word apart, bred division, death, deceit and discord.

Yes discord…that was the word for it…

Suddenly the music seemed to change rapidly, becoming coarse and cacophonic…

Civil War, Necromancy, Walking Undead, Corruption, Civil Uprisings, his mind turned to the years and years of detailed history he had studied and indeed witnessed. What Britannia had become, a pale shadow of it’s former glory…a dozen city-states, three dozen organizations vying for control, to quell the anarchy to restore the government.


Suddenly a triumphant and hopeful melody erupted from his finger-tips, speaking in unison through the booming organ-pipes…

But wait! His mind turned to the Britannian Protectorate, the massive legions of it’s members and allies, to the legal system waiting to be developed, to a return to economic prosperity, a return to dialogue between nations, an end to secrecy, isolationism and the destruction of the power-hungry few who held their hands like a vice around the throat of the people.

He saw it with perfect clarity, the banners of their enemies a blaze on the fields of battle, the liberation of every city, village and hamlet from the hands of their oppressors. The makings of a utopian future.

Adrien laughed throwing his head back playing more and more rapidly.

In but four days…four days time the largest and most constructive gathering of the world’s civilized leaders in nearly eight-years would take place.

The foundation for the future of Britannia was about to be laid, and it’s true purpose was hauntingly close to being realized.

The legacy of Dayel, of Kornos, of Aleph, of Malacite…the power of the people of Britannia would reveal itself to be impervious to the criticisms of the cynics, the treacherous jabs of greedy politicians and the might of evil emperors…

Adrien saw slowing growing in the reflection of the old pipes above him the sun rising,
The light of a new day began to slowly fill the crumbling chamber of Britannia’s noble past.

Quickly grabbing an ink-quill from a well idol until now Adrien scratched some music notes rapidly onto a blank portion of the crumbling parchment and gazed to a hole in the ceiling above him.

The dawn of a new age was nearly upon them all…