Exarch Lorenzo Anzion: the Scarlet Seneschal, Lord of Bastion World Kaiser and all Attendant Domains
Exarchate Kaiser
Traits: Bastion World, Popular Support, Citadel of Doom, Paranoid
Description:
Anzion's homeland of Kaiser was one of many regions absorbed by the Mastery during the height of its exploration and expansion. The inhabitants bowing to the seemingly unstoppable, implacable power of the Rmasters after a spirited but doomed defense of their world and celestial territories. Choosing instead to broker and bargain with the empire poised to swallow them whole than further resist such Godlike power. In recognition of their surrender they were spared the
overt depredations of the Mastery- they were afforded certain convenient freedoms, allowed a degree of indifferent autonomy, allowed to exist without a bloody jointing and realignment. But they were not free. Not as they once understood it. And they never would be again.
Their leaders and bureaucrats became members of its civil service, their armies components of
its armies, their economy of
its economy. They were now one with that empire, you see, a part of the self-same beast that had -with such good manners- devoured them in their entirety. And they could no more wrench themselves free than a man's liver could make a daring escape from his innards.
They made the best of it, as people in such circumstances have always done. The Rmasters were distant and uncaring, distracted with their own ploys and power plays. Their more mortal servants found the territories of Kaiser novel, exotic. Their fascination prompting cyclic periods of cultural interest and intrigue. The ancestors of Kaiser had made contract and compact with Astral things you see, creatures of sweet fantasy, and shuddering fear, of nightmare and awe. They mingled their flesh and their fates with them, invited them into their home and their hearth. And in so doing they changed, became more like them in body as in appetite. Hulking wolves that walked like men. Chiropteran monsters and keen-eyed corvids and pelagic hybrids. Organisms of jagged black bark, coiling root, bloody leaves and bleak bone. All drawing a degree of sustenance, as many Fae things do, from mortal emotion and passion. From carefully cultivated terror and the catharsis that terror brings.
Perched on the upper edge of the Abyss, wreathed in dense aetheric cloud cover, Kaiser is a world of ever-Autumn. Of short, orange and sepia tinged days, dying light and seemingly endless nights. Of rain that falls thick and hard on titanic, primeval factory-forests, the shadows between the trunks deep and dark and lovely, the boulevard-broad branches mantled in all the colors of flame. Of city piled upon city in red-lit arcologies and sheer-faced sprawls. Growing entangled with darkling mountain and steep, river-carved ravines. Marching to the edge of the broken coasts and beyond; entwined with the old growth in the heart of crumbling continents. The capital and Exarchate seat of Kaiser is the Duskwall. A synthetic island landmass of colossal size located in the planet's Northern oceans, stitched to other population centers by air and magnarail, wreathed in fog and storms from the heat and vapor vented by its cyclopean systems. A livid brand on the planet's surface, visible from orbit.
Exarch Lorenzo Anzion
Traits: Electronic Old Man, Hobbies (Politics, People, Magic)
Description:
There is a contradiction, a kind of tension, in a life like Anzion's. This desire to cry out to the skies, to the stars, to all the judging eyes from across the ruin and wreckage of the Mastery. To ask for forgiveness, beg understanding. To rail and rage and weep- "It wasn't my fault!" he might say to those uncaring, indifferent radiants, to those empty eyes set in faces so haggard by war and all the deprivation it brings. "It wasn't me!" He's not even wrong, really. It wasn't just him, him alone, him with his hands on all the levers of empire. Throwing the switches in some great control room. He wasn't the one who broke this nation- who tore out its heart and damned its soul. First and final culpability lays with the Rmasters and the decisions they made so long ago, errors that could not be fully comprehended in their scope, ineffable tides of causality and causation that could not be overcome. Second order blame lies with the EEF, the rebels, the jackals who couldn't even wait till half-made carrion became carcass, became the completed corpse. And the titans of the Interim Conclave of course.
But he was there, on Narbonilla. Sitting at the table and drinking a glass of water as the Conclave put forth all its best laid plans, making a light suggestion to a ripple of dry laughter. He's there on all the photographs, his pretty face smiling that pretty smile out from dust-covered dataslates that flicker and die. His voice warm and friendly and tinged with a certain casual slyness (the kind of thing that beckoned you closer, invited you in on some secret joke) as it haunts long-ago, static-laced broadcasts.
A storied career out in the Frontier among its mercenaries and expeditionary forces- after the death of the Aquilar Blue's captain and the dispersal of the company, he parleyed his youth of adventure and moderate renown into public prominence and media popularity. Turning his wealth of contacts and well-honed charm into a niche as a facilitator for the rising Conclave. He was good at it. Quite good really. Slipping and shedding the usual epithets of "Spider" and "Puppetmaster" that haunt such people, such personalities. Few ever thought of him as some bloated monster sat in the center of his web- he was simply gregarious, amiable and affable, a political creature who thrived in the uncertain waters of the post-Rmaster state, a Good Friend who could certainly introduce you to other Good Friends; behind the sharp-toothed smile his mind a carefully kept ledger of owed favors, useful gossip, and quiet secrets. He even looked every inch the part, always dressed in dashing reds and beautiful carmine cloth. His rich Kaiser heritage marking him as strange and singular even among the jaded halls of power. As something fae and fell. A touch of the batlike to his ears, to his thick mane-like hair, to his nails, to his smile- an unearthly pale body, with all the ageless beauty of a marble statue. At home in the shadows, at home in the softly lit night, eyes always gleaming with a scarlet inner light and the suggestion of something hungrier, and more monstrous lurking beneath the flawless, bloodless skin.
The spotlight loved him and he loved it, craved it and chased it. As the fissures and fractures began to lace through the foundations of the Mastery he was always there, always present, holding it together. Confident up until that desperate, panicked flight from collapsing Rubicon space that they were on the right side of history.
Military Forces
1x Battlefrigate (-20)
2x Dreadnought Division [6 Total] (-80)
2x Light Frigate Squadron [12 Total/4 Missile Frigates] (-40)
2x Regular Infantry (-20)
2x Elite Infantry (-20)
1x Special Forces (-10)
2x Armored Legion (-40)
2x Legion Battery (-40)
4x Interceptor Wing (-20)
1x Bomber Wing (-10)