The Ghost of the Canals. He moves through the mist-shrouded alleys like a shadow, his presence announced only by the faintest ripple in the black water. His word is law, not written, but whispered. The fear he inspires is a quiet, cold thing, settling into the ancient stones of the city. To cross him is to simply... disappear, leaving behind only a story and a warning that drifts on the damp evening air. Venice does not love its king; it dreads him, and in that dread, finds a terrible order.