[b][u][center] Adjutor Insula[/center][/u][/b]

[center][b]The Templar[/b][/center]

Templar Gombas left the Council of Sorrow more angry than sad. Madness! 

Or so it seemed to him, that the Order of Adjutor would so willingly proclaim the Lord Defender their King. KING! Surely their minds had gone to madness, and their bowels to water, if they were so sacrilegious as to throw down Faran's teachings and appoint a man with a forbidden title. 

Fear gives men wings, this was known, but such brash insanity? 

As the Templar descended the stairs from the meeting house, he found his carriage waiting, but raised an eye at the twenty or so Sword Brothers circling it in a loose phalanx. 

"Problems?" He asked to no one in particular.

One of the Sword Brothers grunted, "since the Matron Scribe's unlawful killing, all vote eligible members of the Adjutor Order are assigned a tripple guard."

Gombas rolled his eyes, "I'm an old man. If winter doesn't get me this year, then a Karkarth dagger will the next. It's irrelevant. I dismiss you." 

The Sword Brother shook his head. "Can't do, my Lord Templar. King's orders. Says he wants you all safe and sound."

"Watched and silent, more like," Gombas shot back. 

Now, Templar Gombas was an old man. All Templars were. To achieve his title, one had to serve twenty-five years in an Order branch, and then be honourably transferred to another, where they had to serve twenty-five years more. Well, Templar Gombas was sixty three years old, and his silver tonsure - no maintience required - his foamy white beard and his leathery skin demanded somehow immense respect. But his guard would have none of it.

"Forgive me, Lord Templar, but I cannt allow you to slight the King," the Sword Brother said. 

"Ballocks," Gombas spat, "your name, soldier." 

The Sword Brother hesitated before answering. "Thomas Stillwater."

"Well," Gombas grunted, "are you aware of what a dictator is, Master Stillwater?"

"I-"

"Or how about a war monger?"

"My Lo-"

"Murderer perhaps?" Gombas finished. He did not bother to give the young man time to respond, and he brushed past him to clamber into the carriage. "Take me to the Lord Defender's residence."

"He is not there, Lord," the subdued Sword Brother uttered. 

"Good," Gombas smiled. 

[center]***[/center]

Marcus' residence was built to the man's stature. Large, angular, dull but somehow intimidating. As if someone had just dropped one giant brick in the middle of Love. It had taken four days to arrive there, and Templar Gombas had not allowed he nor his guard more than an hour's rest a night. He was tired, but he was sustained by his faith in Faran. King Faran, who after he wiped out an entire peoples, realised he was no hero - no, he was a monster. King Faran, who had tried to build a better world. 

"So long as I still draw breath, perhaps what was, can still be," Gombas muttered, as the carraige came to a standstill. 

Two guards helped him down, and three of the now defunct Order Guard met him from the house. They were grim men, unshaven and smelling foul. 

"I'm here to see the Lady Aticus, if you will," Gombas said to the Order Guard, all smiles and wrinkles as he was. 

"She is unwell, I'm afraid Lord Templar. Perhaps another time," one of them replied, fingering a sharp dagger at his waist. 

Templar Gombas was... well, he was a Templar. If he wanted to see the Lady, then only she herself could refuse him. He'd done enough for his country to earn that right. He went to move past them, but their spears crossed his path. "Return to your home, Templar. You'll find nothing here." 

"You deny me?" he asked incredulously. He tried again to get past them, but this time they relented. 

He walked past the bland gardens, the bulky water features, the statue of Marcus' father, and pushed aside the front door with strength not befitting his build. Then he disappeared inside, and did not emerge for some time.