Balius paced along the halls of his new palace in Nova Tyrus, restlessly. His hunched, almost grotesque form had been compared by some to that of a mythical troll, the kind that skulks under bridges to ambush peaceful sheep. Balius found that imagery rather amusing, personally; a trollish man such as him still inspired so much fear, so much anxiety, in the minds of the supposedly powerful men currently ruling in Constantinople. In his Constantinople. His preciousss Constantinople.

Soon, Balius would see his preciousss Constantinople once more. He would takes it from the usurpers who still feared him so greatly. He would have his preciousss. His preciousss...