Capital City of Sol-Regis – "The Golden Inn" Luxury Suite. 18:30 – 30 Minutes Before H-Hour.
The VIP suite, which usually radiated an aura of quiet nobility, currently looked like it had been hit by a mana-grenade. Clothes were strewn across the plush velvet floor, silk shirts hung precariously from the crystal chandelier, and polished leather boots had been kicked into the far corners of the room in a fit of frustration.
In the center of this chaotic whirlwind stood Sir Riven Sudrath. He was staring at a floor-to-ceiling mirror with an expression of pure, unadulterated horror. His breath came in short, panicked gasps, and cold sweat the size of corn kernels beaded on his tanned temples.
"Garrick!" Riven bellowed, his voice cracking with anxiety. "This isn't right! This is fundamentally wrong! I look like a bloated penguin that's been stuffed into a sausage casing!"
