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  1. THE RIVIAN REGENCY Rivia in Spring, (circa 1856), by an unknown artist. Having been sickly bedridden for half a decade, the Viscount of Rivia, Philip Rupert Galbraith, regrets to announce a state of regency over all Rivian domains. While the Viscount left a rightful heir in his grandson, Charles Antonius, his youthful age and inexperience have made it tedious for him to reign. It has thus been decided that his mother, the esteemed Countess of Carolustadt, shall act as his regent until he comes of age. While the Countess of Carolustadt acts as the Regent of Rivia, the Lord Commander of the Rivian Houseguard, Montgomery Potte has been tasked with presidening over the education of the young heir. Signed, The Right Honourable, Philip Rupert Galbraith, Viscount of Rivia, Baron of Rivia Her Imperial Highness, Victoria Emma Augusta, Countess of Carolustadt, Baroness-dowager of Rivia, Prefect-Castellen of Vienne
  2. The Late Viscount Rivia smiled somewhat, raising a glass in honour of what was. The void bound Rivian did try his best to ignore any mention of the Qualasheen boy however.
  3. "Luv' Mah Va'count, Luv' Mah King, Luv' Rivia" The Potte smiles a toothy grin raising his sword thereafter.
  4. William 'Big' Potte ponders how remaining cooped up in your Castle while your fields and fiefs burn yields any honour at all. Never the less the voluptuously large Potte returns to snacking on his pies whilst slumped upon the back of his struggling mare.
  5. A long dead Viscount and Major in the Imperial State Army peered proudly towards Hieran. Robert was pleased that he made the right choice for a successor. No matter the choices Hieran made Robert was no doubt proud. "Godspeed Melphestaus" the Galbraith uttered from the void.
  6. A long dead Viscount scowled from the depths of the void. The man first felt great disappointment as he usually expressed for his grandson, yet it only seemed to feel like sorrow. Eating away at the man's psyche he was still not ready to witness the death of the grandson he so very liked.
  7. T I M E The 4th of Harren's Folly 1862 It was nearing the aged Viscount’s 85th name day. It has been ever more apparent to the man that death was creeping slowly towards his door. As one of the last members of the ISA’s old guard the Major had bore witness to the ever fleeting numbers of his original comrades. The men who developed the man into his final state were long, long gone and the world around him has all but left him behind in the wake of radical change. The elderly man most commonly found refuge in the company of his ever growing family. Finding hermitage within the upper wings of his estate it had appeared the Major had grown far-distant from his men in the Helena Dragoons, distanced and subject to his own isolation the Major was clearly not what he once was. A shell of his former self, a near mockery of the man who he was in his prime. As a victim of his elderly body he was no longer able to lead the charges that he once had. No longer was he able to do what he so very wished he could accomplish. The man was no doubt discontent with his existence. Robert Galbraith, a man of solemn state of being, sat silently secluded, bound to his study within the Viscounty of Rivia. In a state of contemplation, conscious yet seemingly out of it. In this period of detachment, appearing to slip unnoticed, a figure, a shadow, an entity shifted between the backdrop of Rivian architecture. The Viscount continued staring blankly at the tasks before him, a staff Officer’s duty, all he could interpret of the dense military notes and movements were mere markings upon paper. They meant nothing to him anymore. Time had not been kind to the peer. In this atmosphere of silent contemplation the shadow neared, closer and closer it crept. The elderly Major, unaware, confined to his own bubble of thought and perception. Slowly but surely death seemed to near, moving betwixt the towering walls of bookcases scattered uniformly across the room. Many books have fallen into disrepair as a result of either complete lack of use or perhaps reading of a more thorough nature. The candlelight dimmed for a moment in the already murky room, it was nearing midnight and the aged man had failed to catch any sleep thus far. Searching for nothing but the time he had already wasted in his life the Major continued, flicking through page after page, though he read nothing. It was most apparent now that death was creeping closer and closer to the Viscount with every second he wasted. Time was not on his side. Memories of his now distant past haunted him, like ravaging specters they would not leave the Major alone. The very men who once populated the Major’s most prosperous Brigade were long gone, the Crowly twins, the Ein Sark boys, Ezekiel Moores, Samuel Gendik, Josephus, Kelhus Othaman, Josef Var Ruthern, Mata Leslie, Tristan Pedriz, Leon D’Azor, Edwin De Sarkozy, Arthur Galbraith, Mika Uialben; these are the names the aged Officer would never forget. The death of Elizabeth Raven never failed to doom the elderly man to a bout of sorrow whenever the memory pierced his consciousness. It was now when a cacophony of these so distant memories assaulted the Major, once more binding him to the very chair in which he sat, to the despondency he secluded himself to. It was self-evident now that death was upon the Major, there was no escape. The figure had neared. The shadow of damnation peered down the Viscount’s neck. It was too late to act now, the Major stood and turned only to face a dagger to the gut. Twisting and turning before plunging it once more into the elderly man the shadow hacked away at Robert, soon he fell, though there was no blood to be seen. The Major grasping at his chest in his final moments did not speak a word, the Viscount simply laid silent upon the floor of his study. In an act of sheer mockery, the aged man had lived. Gasping for air, awaking from a period of comatosis, the Viscount lay in a slump against the bookshelf behind him. As soon as Robert had shown an inkling of acceptance of death he was robbed of his perceived tranquillity of such a certainty. He had been derided by death. At the crack of dawn the next morning the elderly man mounted his steed for a final time. Linking up with a small retinue of men with the objective of disruption. First he rode to the narrow passes of Urguan, setting up a checkpoint upon a gap on the ever winding road to their Capital. Not a soul was found. With the expected blow to morale that such a lack of combat may bring harrowing above the Viscount’s head he carried on. Onto the snowy wilderness of the Haenseti Northern frontier. Heading South from the snowy peaks of Rimveld the Major trekked Southwards to the Capital. Once More not a soul to be found. After countless hours of searching the barren lands surrounding Karosgrad the Officer finally spotted a target. Alongside one of his trusted Scouts they narrowed in on the individual. The call to Halt and subsequent clashing ensued, the sound of steel upon steel rang out in the surrounding hills for a skirmish had begun between the men. Driving the Haenseti back to their keep the Rivian men followed, the Major in an action of sheer arrogance and pomposity, charged alone unto the breach. It was here where the trap was sprung. A loud metal clang rang out into the Major’s ear. The door behind him had been sealed shut. The elderly man had no other choice than to engage the much younger Haeseti in a duel. Longsword crashed against war axe as the two men fought for their lives. In what seemed like a flash of the moment the Major managed to manoeuvre behind the Haeseti combatant slashing rapidly against the man’s armour. As the Viscount moved to make what he thought would be the killing blow he collapsed. The elderly man was struck with the blunt edge of the war axe falling to the floor unconscious. His men watched in horror as Haeseti poured into the area seemingly out of nowhere to aid their Lord Marshall and transport the unconscious Major to Karosgrad. The Major awoke to find himself in a foreign place surrounded by foreign people. To him they spoke an indistinguishable barbaric tongue in which he could barely decipher; he was in a Haenseti court. Unable to move anything but his elbows, the man sat in silence awaiting the arrival of his grandson, Nikolai Vladislav Othaman. After what seemingly appeared to be hours of waiting he finally arrived, and the trial had begun. Unwilling to allow for what would amount to a mockery of justice to occur the elderly man swiped the dagger off of his grandson’s belt and to the boy's horror plunged it deep into his own throat. An expression of utter disappointment played across the Viscount’s face as he locked eyes with his grandson. Spluttering upon a fast growing pool of blood which found itself filling the Major’s throat the elderly man fell to the floor. Seemingly death had finally allowed the man respite. The Viscomital Household of Galbraith is saddened to announce the death of it's 1st Viscount and 3rd Patriarch, Sir Robert Galbraith, Knight of the Most Ancient and Most Noble Order of the Lion. The 1st Viscount shall be held in the highest honour by his close family and friends and his ashes shall be placed within the family crypt in Rivia. His oldest son and heir Philip Galbraith shall assume the title of Viscount of Rivia and Patriarch of Galbraith and be named 2nd Viscount of Rivia and 4th Patriarch of the Galbraith Family with his son George Octavius being the new Viscount's heir as right by the oldest son. Signed, Philip Rupert Archibald Galbraith Viscount of Rivia Patriarch of House Galbraith Deputy - Secretary of the Foreign Office Viscount Rivia Robert Galbraith 1778- 1862
  8. Major Sir Robert Galbraith an already near broken man sat down once more at his desk within Rivia. Moments later a guardsman marched in to deliver the Viscount a missive. Slowly reading over it the elderly man's hands began to tremor. Placing the missive back upon his desk he glanced at it for a moment. Despite the General's health not being the most stable throughout his years the elderly Viscount was no doubt taken aback by the news. A long time comrade, friend and mentor; the General was one of the last members of the ISA's old guard in which Robert valued most. Erik Var Ruthern was one of the finest Officers and Generals to grace the ISA no doubt it was not just a personal loss Robert felt. Secluding himself in his study Robert reflected, mourned and grieved. The elderly Major did not take this loss lightly.
  9. Robert, in a moment of contemplation was deeply saddened by the Urguani's decision. Despite this the Major turned to his servant to reaffirm his position "Tell me, surely if he had any sense they would have signed the document, no?" The elderly man sat at his desk for a moment reaching for a glass of whisky before turning towards his servant standing at his flank, "We did give him a choice after all..." The Servant simply bowed his head politely, in that moment the Major frowned deeply turning back to the missive in front of him to continue reading dissatisfied with the response from his staff member.
  10. George Octavius proceeded to scratch his head peering around the hall for a moment before turning to Andrea "Yes! Okay!" the youth happily replied completely unsure of why Andrea was speaking to him. Shortly after she departed the young boy fetched one of his servants to pen a letter to Nikolai and inform him of his duty- to retrieve a gift for the duchess.
  11. An elderly man, the Viscount of Rivia was shattered by the news. For both Dukes of Cathalon to pass in such quick succession was a tragedy for the Major. Riding in haste once more to Cathalon, the elderly Viscount rode to consult the young Duchess, a granddaughter of his. In a desolate mood and state of being the Viscount once more prepared himself for what is to come.
  12. An aged Major sat down in the Rivia study examining the missive placed before him, shedding a tear as he read through. Moments later he set the document aside, locking the door he took a moment to contemplate the situation before him. The Duke was a good man, a just man. After a time of contemplation, the old Viscount called for his squire to ready his steed before moving to depart for Cheval Hall. He rode at haste.
  13. An aged Major and Viscount of Rivia smiles as he reads over the missive, giving a thumbs up.
  14. An aged Major moved to carry Helton to safety within the Bastion, tending to the man's wounds for time afterwards.
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