[img]http://i.imgur.com/3VLa52M.png?1[/img]

A piece of burned bread fell from the sky and landed in front of his foot.

[color=0072bc]"The head cook seems lively today,"[/color] Rouen thought and picked up the charred bread. He sniffed it once and tossed it aside.

Rouen stood in the open corridor. He felt rain pelt his cloak and gather in droplets along the ridges of his clothing. His messy brown hair grew damp. He breathed deeply, feeling the surge of the storm spirits gathering above, drawing from their strength.

[color=0072bc]"It has been a long time,"[/color] he thought. 

He was 78 years old, middle-aged for a Fulgarius. 58 of those years was spent as a Kingsguard. 58 years of service to the Kingdom. 58 years protecting its ruler and its heirs. 58 years of fighting in a war that showed no sign of ending, of fighting the battle both in the light of the field and the dark of the alleyway. 58 years of upholding the highest ideal of humanity, paragons of what man should strive to be.

He could feel the age in his bones. The last time he looked in a mirror, he saw the gaunt lines of a long life running through his face. Years and years of physical effort and exhaustion had taken a toll on his body.

He sipped from his flask, feeling a relaxing surge.

More and more he felt like he relied on the alchemical draught made of fruit liquor, seedlings of a mind-soothing plant, and a pain-numbing agent that he carried in a flask. More and more he relied on his secret society, the Veiled Men, to act on his behalf. 

Maybe once in a stormy night he would go out and take personal actions in a matter.

He took a sip from a leather flask. Something was going to happen tonight. A message came from one of his informants.

He walked to the castle armory, where he found what he was looking for.

[color=0072bc]"Now what would a prince of the Kingdom, be doing in the castle armory at this time of night?"[/color] Rouen asked.