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[Deacon Drake]

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Thus, in summary, its existance has never been proven. As such, civilization itself seemed to forget about it. At one time, sonnets, songs, and poems were written about its potential whereabouts on an all too common basis; yet now, it barely qualifies as myth. Humanity has evolved to the point where even children won't listen to its fairy stories anymore.

Nonetheless, there are a few, if extremely few, rumors about the existance of the Crest. Some say it lies beneath one of the Serpent Pillars, some say it lies in a hidden chamber beneath Castle British. There is no way currently of telling which, if any, is true.

Steel closed the book, leaning back and resting his feet on his desk. The scriptures he had been reading for days were being of no help, giving no information but rather speculating about what people are saying about it.

There was more than one reason he recreated the Navy, and few knew more than the blatantly obvious: protecting Britannia. If people knew what he was searching for, or what he would have to accomplish to get it, he would be branded as a mad man.

Nonetheless, he was set on finding what he was looking for. He had never been a collector of ancient artifacts, but this was an opportunity he couldn't pass up.

He walked onto the deck of his ship, and admired its rediscovered beauty. While maintaining all its famous speed, new fabrication techniques also made the Celtic Wind's hull stronger and thicker than ever, being able to withstand expensive cannonfire from even within fifty yards. The concept of cannons on ships was spreading faster than he thought, and he figured it would be better to be safe than sorry.

After giving a quick order to a new Ensign, he went back into this bedchambers and retired for the night.

The next week should bring a hell of a lot of sailing.
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