Factions

        At the center of The Garden, where trade converges and banners flutter in ceaseless wind, stands the city of Goldenglough — the second of its name, but the first in power. Forged by Superbia in an age of ambition, it is now ruled with quiet strength by his successor, Humilitas, King of The Burning Lily.

        Unlike his father, Humilitas wears no crown of vanity. He governs not with spectacle, but with service. Under his reign, Goldenglough thrives: its soil fertile, its fountains clear, its people neither chained nor coddled. Where Superbia built in his image, Humilitas tends what was planted — like a careful gardener nurturing blooms where once there were weeds.

        Among his greatest virtues is his son: Patientia, Prince of Goldenglough, whose spirit is as still as winter waters and whose heart beats with the rhythm of time well spent. Patientia does not command the room with presence — he listens, and by listening, earns the loyalty of all who speak. Many once mistook this quiet for weakness. None do now.

        It was Patientia’s enduring calm that allowed the roots of alliance to take hold between The Burning Lily and a far stranger bloom: The Succulent Marigold, a coastal faction ruled by Gula, Lord of Meritide Bay — a man bloated not by girth, but by appetite.

        Gula, embodiment of Gluttony, governs a port of unrivaled bounty. Ships from across the sea dock in Meritide, their hulls heavy with goods meant for Goldenglough’s markets. But much of what is sent… never arrives. While the bay swells with seafood and salt, Gula hoards the best of foreign wines, cheese and the like. "The Garden should not starve," he says. "But why should Meritide feast last?"

        Yet even Gula’s indulgence could not prevent what grew in his own house: Temperantia, his daughter — as self-restrained as her father is ravenous. In her, measure tempers excess; balance mutes hunger. Where Gula devours, Temperantia declines. She serves with gentle grace, managing what her father squanders, and quietly winning the favor of both court and port.

        It was Temperantia’s serene dignity that first drew Patientia’s eye. And in time, a slow, enduring affection blossomed — not the fevered sort of young lovers, but something steadier. Their union, still unwritten, stands now as a symbol of peace between crown and coast.

        Because of them, The Burning Lily and The Succulent Marigold are bound more tightly than ever before — not by treaties, but by trust. Though Gula continues to withhold his share, the alliance remains intact for now, for Temperantia reigns as the unspoken bridge between her father’s excess and her future kingdom’s need.

        In Goldenglough, the people whisper that when Temperantia weds Patientia, a new age will dawn — one where indulgence yields to wisdom, and balance finally tempers hunger.

        But The Garden is ever shifting, and not all who dwell within its walls are patient.