Lawes, Thaddeus XXVI

[Guest]

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CASE FILE: Vazentian Militant

"Give me a sense of wonder, to wonder if I'm free."
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FULL NAME:
→ Thaddeus Dante Osiris Lawes XXVI

AGE:
→ 34

SEX:
→ Male

BIRTH PLACE:
→ The Sanctum of Progeny, Babylon, Vazent

RACE:
→ Vazentian (with the slightest final TRACE of Esparian blood, diluted by 25 generations of breeding with with indigenous Vazentians)

DEPARTMENT:
→ Primarch of Vazent.

DATE OF BIRTH:
→ Vazentians are technically unfamiliar with the Gregorian calendar, but, their equivalent places Thaddeus at being born on July 27th, 1978.

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HEIGHT:
→ 6" 0'.

WEIGHT:
→ 13st. 6lbs or 188lbs

PICTURE:
→

Spoiler:

DESCRIPTION:
→ Thaddeus appears with the epitome of regality. He holds himself in high regard, quite clearly, with a walk that demonstrates just that he does know who he is; he's accustomed to this power, and it belongs to him.

For a ruler of a land as arid as Vazent, and situated on the equator, Thaddeus' skin is oddly enough a pale and almost ghostly white. This is one of the many things carefully maintained through generations of father teaching son. In order to differentiate himself from the masses below, the Primarch must not just be different, but look different. It is for this reason that Thaddeus walks the lands of Vazent scarcely without sunblock or protection of some sort against being burnt.

His eyes are a striking bright red, something else carried down throughout the Lawes line that seems to be a consistently dominant gene in his blood. There has not been a single Primarch in Vazentian history that does not possess these same sharp crimson orbs - perhaps it is a strength of the bloodline's gene pool, and perhaps it's just simple chance time and time again. His gaze is piercing, but something distant and cut-off lies behind those great pupils; it's difficult to pick up on, but very much present to those who can read people.

Thaddeus' hair is a cold white, stylised and cut short so that it doesn't appear unkempt or messy. Usually combed, he has a short fringe, and bleaches it once every three months to ensure a consistency in colour. This odd hair colour emphasises his individuality, which in turn makes him stand out from most of the other Vazentians, differentiating himself from what are essentially slaves.

The Primarch's regalia is varied, but typically of an extravagant nature. Whilst he has numerous dresses dependent upon the occasion, his most frequently-donned piece of attire can be seen in the first picture below. A flowing coat of black, silky linen with a white undershirt, and a cream sash littered with various medallions and jewellery. This coat comes with rigid yellow-gold pauldrons with small tassels, similar to an admiral's epaulettes. White cuffs poke outwards and from there the Primarch wears skin-tight linen gloves drawn around his wrists, and a pair of the purest white slacks and dress shoes. His cavalry sabre tends to hang at his side.

When in battle, as can seen below, Thaddeus chooses a far darker uniform emblazoned with Vazentian insignias. Freshly-tailored and inspired from Esparian officer uniforms, similarly to his public appearance regalia, it comes with epaulettes and numerous medallions pinned boldly to it, but the jacket itself is an off-olive longcoat with a black tie and forest green shirt beneath it. Once more, Thaddeus dons olive slacks and a pair of black formal shoes. The most common addition here is a black officer's cap, glistening usually in the Vazentian or Esparian sunlight.

Finally, Thaddeus' ceremonial garb is the rarest of all them seen but is an extravagant meld of blue, red, yellow, gold, and white, all meshed together in a grand over-jacket and a rose-tipped tricorn hat. The overcoat trails behind him in the wind and he wears grand black boots, with bracers and a tightened white cuff around his nape, securing his neck and keeping his posture rigid and appropriate for a man of his stature. The Primarch hates this particular piece of attire with a passion as he tends to wear it in Vazentian parades, when he's exposed to the harsh sunlight: and it quickly becomes steaming hot.

Occasionally, Thaddeus may be accompanied by his falcon. The Primarch has a great hobby of falconry, and requested from a young age the domestication of one of Vazent's symbolic black-feathered falcons. Whilst most regular falcons will only live to 17-18 years maximum, Vazentian Black Falcons (falco tenebrae vazentia) live to up to 25 years, and as such, Thaddeus' falcon is currently eighteen. Its name is Craven, and it can be seen in some of the images below.

The last thing of note is Thaddeus' voice. Rigid and upright much like his personality, and obsessed with order, his grammar and diction is impeccable, even in languages that he's not native with. His eloquence is almost unmatched and the smooth tones appropriating that otherwise profound structure make it almost compelling to listen to: for if there's one thing Thaddeus XXV taught him, it's how to be a brilliant public speaker.

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PERSONALITY:
→ Akin to his father, and his father's father, and his father's father's father, Thaddeus is one thing before anything else. It's visible in his stride, audible in his tone, and radiated in an aura around him. Thaddeus Lawes is so proud it's almost suffocating. One could call this haughty nature ignorance in another vein, but that would simply be for lack of knowledge to possess; up until eleven months ago, the Primarch thought he was the ruling figure of the human body of the entire world, so perhaps this insane pride has some reason to it.

Thaddeus is arrogant and this overconfidence is not a product of simple good luck; it's a 'quality' tailored into his entire bloodline. It's something that the Primarchs of Vazentian olde have always possessed; this sheer confidence is something required in order to lead fairly, in truth. With a group of workers who feel they are absolutely indebted you beyond all belief and that you are, by divine nature, their rightful leader... confidence is not a bad side to show. Infact, it's almost... oddly virtuous.

The next thing to mention would be Thaddeus' obsession with order. Everything must be planned and everything must go according to this plan, this grand scheme of things; harmony is a byproduct of order, and if everything is rigid and controlled then no anomalies can arise and thus everything will go well. And what has bred this into Thaddeus but what the Vazentians have for centuries called their Objective? Working towards it is the goal that lies in Thaddeus' mind and the goal that lies in the minds of all his underlings. They work for him, because he works for the Objective.

Thaddeus treats the slaves as a means to an end and is somewhat dehumanising when it comes to them; especially the women that he courts, the ones that he chooses he has his way with and disregards. They are all tools, and to give tools personality is to show favouritism; to show favouritism is to deny the fact that this structure is strictly utilitarian, and to deny that fact is to with open arms welcome the chance of revolt. Perhaps it is for a good reason, though this yet remains to be seen.

With his arrogance and obsession with things going to plan comes a force to drive the pair of them; Thaddeus' grit-teeth determination is second to none in the entire island. If he says he will do something, he will execute an action within a moment's notice. He is a man of his word, and a man to whom sheer force of will means everything. Upon on an island which was basically his playground, stuck in a loop where he could do whatever he want to those under his control, he required this determination to exercise... really, his free will.

Some would call Thaddeus uptight, and say that his obsession with order is somewhat anal and peculiar. His particular nature, his obsession with symmetry is almost compulsive and classifies as a disorder, but really he just likes things to go neatly and cleanly, because he was raised this way. "A clean world is a perfect world"; one of the Lawes' bloodline's many creeds, amongst others that are far more poignant.

Considering Thaddeus has dominion over what is essentially a large group of slaves told simply to work for him, even in a nation considered a communist autocracy, this responsibility - and the fact that Primarch Lawes has no problem with it, even with an ulterior and higher Objective in mind - shows that his moral compass is possibly not as acute as possible. Then again; having being raised and affirmed that this is right, it's possible that moral relativism comes into play here; and, really, what is right in a world where people have known this to be their only reality for so long up until but a year ago?

The new world has changed Thaddeus, and caused him to become nervous for everything, as he can divine and predict that one day the introduction of such a vastly different way of life into the Vazentian people could cause them to feel as if their Primarch has been maltreating them; and things could very swiftly spiral out of control. Fashioning a crude internal power structure is one thing which has helped stabilise affairs thus far, but undermines the true nature of Thaddeus' Objective. However, the second thing which has undoubtedly also helped is the Primarch's nature as an incredibly striking figure in both appearance and voice. A greatly inspirational figurehead and a truly revolutionary public speaker, the sovereign himself can move mountains with just words, or so it has been said. If there's one thing that he is assured himself of, it's just how good an example he can set.

Perhaps his diplomatic skills are somewhat lacking for the fact that, when in Vazent, he never really had to exercise them; but Thaddeus, when dealing with international matters, is tenacious, audacious, and downright ballsy. A little childish in that he likes to be the focus of attention - which can almost be, for the moment, assured simply for the fact that he's the monarch of a country no-one knew to exist - perhaps he may not be the best at striking deals, but the Primarch has kept his wits about him and exercised the fact that he is a fast learner, and is beginning to work on making the Primacy a formidable world power.

It can be hinted at from around, however, but there's something that Thaddeus Lawes chooses to show to no-one. For everything that he has and everything that he is, inside, he is insecure, and holds a great inner turmoil within. He's scared that the twenty-sixth member of such a prestigious and "grand" bloodline may be the last, and that he will lose almost a full millennium of what his forefathers have worked for. A great responsibility weighs on his shoulders; and it's up to Thaddeus to deliver. But, truly, he doesn't know how: and for the fact that he fears dissent, thus far, he has no confidants, and must deal with the truth completely alone.

That said, he will try his absolute damn hardest to never let it show, and to ensure that the Primacy becomes a name to be feared, and not to be mocked.


LOVE:
→ Order, slavery, power, duty, glory, domination, totalitarianism, control, the Objective, his sabre, when everything goes perfectly, the fact that everything has gone perfectly, the color black, the color of steel, metal, statues of himself, himself, Craven, falconry, glory, and these mysterious new pastries he has just discovered that one would call "a donut".

HATE:
→ Chaos, fear, any possibility of dissent (though it hasn't happened before), those who oppose the Objective (though none have before), sunburn, the fact that one day he knows he must surrender his power, weakness, war, new things, new people, change, uprising, the old Esparians, and RIOTE.

DEEPEST SECRET:
→ The true nature of the Vazentian Objective and its use.

IDOL:
→ His father, Thaddeus Lawes XXV.

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HISTORY:
→ This story begins not with Thaddeus Lawes XXVI, nor his father, nor his father's father before that. No, this story begins a tentative eon ago - approximately one thousand and four hundred years prior to this very moment, in the year of 611 AD.

There existed in the Esparian colonies a nobleman whose family had for years owned a gracious slice of land upon the mainland of what is now the city of Malos Ciudad, a glorious estate, grand in architecture and construction. The noble Lawes family had stood here, stalwart, for as long as all could remember, and on every side of the estate there was a cave, and in every cave, the Lawes family put to work a large group of slaves, picking day after day at the rocks, mining precious iron and tin from the veins, what little they could from the Esparian wastes. These were the lucky ones, in this time - they had happened upon some of Esparia's scarce natural resources. And for this reason, surrounding the Lawes estate, the sound of picks falling upon rocks or metal, be it day or night, rain or sun, was never absent from the air.

It was not long before the Lawes family decided that their influence should stretch farther; for a small spit of land amongst others was not going to truly secure a grand fortune and notorious infamy as the medieval slavedrivers of olde, which is what the Lawes clan wanted above all else: reputation. It was from here that the Lawes family decided they would expand: and so, they took up their six children, gave each an expeditionary party of two dozen slaves, and sent them off in different directions, telling them to report back with news of fertile land - if they so found any - in two seasons' time.

This is where the bloodline of Primarch Thaddeus Lawes begins.

One of these six children, Thaddeus, ventured far to the east of Esparian soil, searching for news and rumours of any far-off and exotic lands they could sail or trek to that would bear fruit for their colonisation and primitive industry. It was not two weeks before they found word of a tunnel that had only just been completed, leading not over the ground, but beneath it - leading up on the other side to an island none had yet seen fit to tread upon. An island that was an inhospitable as it was new, fresh and exotic to the eyes of these Esparian slavers. But Thaddeus Lawes knew he and his two dozen slaves would succeed above this land of risk and mystery with ease, and they took to the tunnel immediately, boldly going to a land where none yet had successfully walked.

All that hung in the grand halls of Thaddeus Lawes' mind was a single sentiment. "I shall make my family rich," He thought. "Father shall truly notice me, and appoint me his heir." Greedy notions of future power hung in his mind and corrupted whatever virtue the slavedriver once could have possessed as they traipsed through the tunnel with oil lanterns and slow steps, the sounds of the sea swirling around them, great echoing thud noises ringing out around them in this cavernous tunnel as the waves slammed into the ground above this subterranean seabed passage.

However, it was when the cracking noises begun to ring out that the slaves stopped in their tracks, chattering amongst themselves. Thaddeus, not at all ready to take any laziness from these fools and not wishing to spend any more time under the sea than he had to, turned around and snarled at them. "MOVE!" He howled, a single, vicious command; but, already, it was too late. The cracks turned to a hiss, and the walls, ceiling, and floor of the tunnel begun to shake around them. It's truly disorienting when the ground quakes from beneath you; but when you lose all stability whatsoever in every surface surrounding you in a complete, three-hundred and sixty degree radius? When your sense of direction is completely thrown? Physically, it's devastating.

The tunnel began to fall apart behind them, and before they could truly realise what was going on, they were running, sprinting in one direction, as far away from the breakage as they could. The ceiling began to crumble and blocks of heavily-packed organic rubble fell down, crushing the slower slaves that lumbered behind; the expeditionary party, with Thaddeus at its head, in a matter of minutes, went from twenty-five to under half a dozen.

Then the sea-waves wrested up from underneath them as they scrabbled up the final upward slope towards the tunnel's exit, and consciousness was pulled from them. A veil of darkness descended over each slave and the nobleman himself and the group of now no more than five, Thaddeus included, were left, stranded, with no way back to the Esparian mainland, on an inhospitable island they didn't know.

Waking, tired, bruised, bloody, and hungry, they looked down to the flooded wreckage of the tunnel in despair; the slaves not so much, but the turmoil and the distress evident completely in Thaddeus' vibrant red eyes. Realising they would not last without some form of contact or sustenance, and every moment in this sweltering heat sapping lifeforce from them, they advanced up the endless sandy slopes towards a thickly-forested summit, hoping that there was something - anything - that could assist them, as moronic and implausible as the idea was.

For twenty days and twenty nights they climbed and they explored. They found food and clean water quickly, but the vicious fauna of the uncharted island's forest slowly began to pick the crudely-armed slaves, only given small rock picks as improvised weaponry, off one by one. They pushed through the brush, unaware of what would happen as they advanced - but Thaddeus was tenacious, and he was driven. He would get back to the mainland. He would see his family again. He would tell them of his struggles and his adventures. There was something here that could help him.

He pushed and pushed and pushed towards what he was the centre of the forest. And, amazingly... he wasn't wrong.

Light began to pierce the gaps between thick leaves and knotted vines. On the fortieth day that he had been stood upon these lands, he was the only one of the expeditionary party left, with his blunt broadsword hanging at his side, his body beaten and slashed as he pushed through into the light, and almost tripped; ready to look over the horizon, his glance fell, however, not on a clearing, but upon a great, sandy basin, with thousands of tiny, ant-like figures working beneath a beating sun around the makings of a primitive city of stone.

Babylon.

His descent began immediately, but once he reached the great stone city, out of sheer excitement and relief that he had found... something, halfway down the basin, he collapsed from exhaustion and starvation. When he awoke, a half-dozen odd-looking indigenous individuals speaking a language he had no understanding of were looking over him, conversing, Thaddeus could only presume, of his fate.

They did not understand his cries in Esparian nor any other base language he could present; and though given some degree of freedom in the small cavern, he was not allowed to leave the threshold for days, pushed back by some lumbering brute whenever he approached the exit. Thaddeus Lawes was not a violent soul, and even though the thought of drawing his sabre and cutting through the unarmed slaves one and all did cross his mind, he thought it better now simply to accept their hospitality – after all, if he had come so far to die now, it would be something of a waste.

Over the next couple of months, he ate their food, he drank their water, and he learnt their customs; but these people were primitive, fighting back the lions with their bare hands, hunting with their fists. Their strength and power was unrivalled and unlike anything he’d seen; lumbering men seven feet tall with muscles as hard as rock and the ability to lift great boulders he would struggle to shove without even flinching. Thaddeus consolidated his thought once more that it would perhaps not be the greatest idea to take his blade to them.

Over time, he absorbed their customs and became knowledgeable to them; he was still an outsider, but his restrictions were lowered. One thing he had noted was a distinct lack of any sort of hierarchy; no clan system, no familial superiority, and they all just appeared to be somewhat anarchic. If one man wanted something of another’s, he took it; and if there was a dispute, it was settled in blood.

For as efficient as this system seemed to be, many of these Vazentian indigenous appeared to be distinctly unhappy with what was essentially chaos waiting to sprout in some great free-for-all; some viewed Esparia’s medieval power structure as, at best, primitive – but this was... this was truly animalistic. These weren’t people. They were beasts in human bodies.

And perhaps it was the delirium. Perhaps it was the starvation. Perhaps it was for a lack of human contact. But something sparkled in Thaddeus Lawes’ eye. And in that sparkle a seed came forth, germinating within the caverns of his mind, growing soon into mimicry of a blossom of true fruition. There was... potential, here. Perhaps he should focus less on going home – and more what he could do with a blade, an old uniform, and a moving word...

It was another two years, but after that point Thaddeus began to show a distinct interest in the Vazentian language – outwardly. It took him only six months of striving through it to learn it to an audible point, and for another twelve after that, he was almost fluent, bar the strangest accent that hung over his voice; these indigenous, these people who ate raw food and drank water from the sea, did naught but turn their head in wonder and watch. This man was different – and at first they were apprehensive, even aggressive, but the nobleman’s family had a reputation for being able to twist others to their will with words; being one of the greatest slaver families in all of Esparia, after all, it came, somewhat, with the territory.

Over time, the Vazentians began to listen to him; watch as he taught him the simplest things, yet they looked on in awe. How to cook their meat properly so it was not charred nor raw, but perfectly roasted; how to filter water patiently so the salt did not drive their first and leave an aftertaste in their mouth; how to build shelters of leaves and trees, how to make their beds inside more comfortable. And with every lesson he taught, they begun to respect him more and more. This strange, lighter-skinned man from across the ocean.

Before long, for all his knowledge they thought divine bred into him from centuries of having to thrive in society, for all his pragmatism and for all he taught them, they began to let this respect turn into reverence. With that charisma and those tools, barely three years after he’d landed on the island, they all turned to him as their grand diplomat, and they turned to him – as their overseer. Their leader. Their... Primarch.

A combination of the delirium and this overwhelming newfound power drove Thaddeus to something beyond a leader. Something beyond a simple monarch and a figurehead. With the musclebound arms of a legion of slaves clutching primitive tools, stone hammers and rusted iron sickles, his sovereignty lead to what he presumed to be some divine-driven vision. But in his insanity he became a tyrant.

But this generation of slaves listened to him; and even as he began to feel himself withering, he knew that this power was too much for one man. He took a slave woman on as his concubine, the finest and most gentle he could, and impregnated her as quickly as I can; the first three children she birthed were female, and simply cast back out into the colony of slaves to function then, not truly considered worthy of his seed or status: but the fourth? The fourth... the fourth was a child.

And in a great stone spire he had fashioned for himself, he raised up the infant out over a balcony and howled. ”THADDEEEEEUUUUUS!” Thaddeus Lawes, the baby was to be cold. Just like he. And he too would be Primarch one day, that nude babe wrapped in leaves and hand-woven linens. But he would not be Thaddeus Lawes, simply as he knew himself; no, before his eyes, things began to unravel and become simpler. Perhaps it was the salt of the water he drank that he was not yet used to: but his child Thaddeus, half of Esparian blood and half of Vazentian, would be stronger than he ever would. Thaddeus the Second. With his rule would come coherence, would come unison.

And in his generation... a return to the mainland could happen.

With this revelation from the Primarch, kept silent from his labourers, all of the Vazentian populace – women, children, teens, adults, the elderly – were turned to workers, unflinching in their loyalty to a man they considered a prophet. They held primitive hammers and shovels and under the name of their Primarch, they toiled endlessly, not even so much as a seed of revolution boiling in their mind under a totalitarian and even tyrannical rule. For so long they had followed him, thirty years unquestioning his wisdom and the wisdom of his bloodline even as his hair greyed and his skin wrinkled, his heir growing to be a youthful mimicry of him. And in his tower, Thaddeus smiled, as he co-ordinated all efforts towards digging a great pit in the centre of Babylon, a wide, downwards shaft that cut into the very earth beneath the island. One day... it would rejoin the tunnel. And one day, Thaddeus II would return home.

But fate is a cruel mistress, not a bountiful one. And she denied Thaddeus II these teachings, to learn of the first’s grand objective. And it was in this moment encapsulated that a wizened old Primarch succumbed to his failing heart, with only a single heir to succeed him. It was in this moment that the last of the pure blood of Esparia upon this island... died.

Thaddeus II had no choice but to uphold his father’s reign and continue things further; barely twenty, he saw it fit next to continue to breed in with his Vazentian half-brothers and half-sisters, churning out more unwanted female heirs, the blood of the Primarch regardless, and finally a third Thaddeus Lawes. The bloodline continued, but in his confusion, Thaddeus II knew not to do with the great pit in the middle. His father had told no-one of the mainland, no-one that he had come from elsewhere. They simply thought he had come as a divine messenger, a prophet from the heavens above, his existence transcribed as poetic and heavenly on the walls of those ancient Vazentian caves. And in one generation they had constructed Babylon, the grand city of stone, before all turning to that pit before them.

One day, Thaddeus II’s confusion became too much, and he ventured down into the warm sands of the basin-city proper, and approached one of the older slaves. Coolly he spoke even beneath the beating island sun. ”For what reason do you think you are digging this pit, slave?” The slave turned to him, lowered his pick, and replied:

”We do not know, sire.” The wizened, bearded slave spoke in a binary tone. ”All we know is that it was for your father’s Objective.”

It seemed no-one had true knowledge of what this Objective should be; but surely, a generation on, announcing that he was just as clueless as the rest... would that undermine his status as having been emplaced divine as their Primarch, their prophetic ruler? It would be heresy, and the entire structure would crumble beneath him. So in the eye of his mind, Thaddeus II created a fresh Objective, and simply told the slaves to continue to dig this pit. Much as his father had not before him, he told his son nothing of this; but once the time came that he realised Thaddeus III could rule, the second Primarch established another great Vazentian tradition.

He had a great, spherical chamber built behind his tower, and he ventured out there with a ceremonial dagger, completely nude, having handed his mantle to his adolescent son, raised by the Vazentian Matron of his era and having told him all that he needed to know to rule, and Thaddeus II dubbed this place the Sanctum of Progeny. With no clothes upon his back, Thaddeus Lawes the second walked out there, stood in the very centre, heaving the door shut behind him, and drove the kris straight into his heart, splitting his sternum with that abnormal strength of the Vazentian, and fell down, dead, in a pool of his own blood.

Eons have passed since these traditions were established, the Vazentian Primacy now said to have been – no matter the actual creeds of Thaddeus I – founded on three principles. These are power, glory, and virtue, all of which each Primarch is said to possess in equal amounts.

The Primacy still functions with one man at the head, and no lower structure of society; there are simply the slaves and their prophet; the workers and their lord; the Vazentians... and their Primarch. This said, Vazent has since adopted something of a caste system; and whilst no castes are ranked above one another, occupations tend to be strictly familial. For instance, if a Vazentian’s father was a forger, it is almost certain that the child would be a forger, too. It is only when a bloodline dies out or when a family begins to dwindle that it is deemed acceptable to change occupations – habitually, most Vazentian families have possessed the same occupation for centuries, defined from the original rule of Thaddeus I. Alchemy came about just as it did upon the mainlands; but here only used for practicality, for instance the family of a forger possessing fire-based alchemy, or the family of a miner possessing extraction-based alchemy. They differentiate in structure in that the designs of transmutation circles are typically tribal, but for all intents and purposes, are the same.

And in spite of the turmoil around them, twenty-five generations on, with the rule of Thaddeus XXVI, nothing had changed.

Until now.

In secret, for the past two centuries, the existence of humanity on Vazent had been discovered. Esparian advance parties for colonists had somehow broken through the riptides and washed up on Vazentian shores; they too, similarly to Thaddeus’ forefather, searched for days until they uncovered the existence of Babylon at the bottom of the basin. And with a legion of slaves working like ants, and one man delivering commands and stating an autocratic rule from his balcony on the tower, even though they possessed inferior technology, only blades to their muskets and revolvers, the Esparians saw the strength of the Vazentians, and hurried back to the mainland to inform their leaders urgently.

For fear of the threat that Vazent could pose as an island nation, an executive Esparian decision was made to establish something of a quarantine around it. At all times, Esparian ships circulated the massive island, cutting down with cannonade fire any who came too close. When the creation of planes came through, a no-fly zone was established over the top of it under penalty of death. For all intents and purposes, it was waived as an uninhabited Esparian island where they were running a new energy program. Automated naval defense systems were emplaced so that they would keep Vazent unoccupied, but monitored all the same.

When RIOTE decapitated the Esparian government and usurped control, all policies concerning Vazent were simply removed as part of Vasco’s failsafe. With no appointed heir to the Esparian line, all of the protocols dropped, all gun turrets were deactivated, and the no-fly curtain fell. And then, last summer, a nondescript cargo plane changes its route unwittingly to hover over the uninhabited island of Vazent – and yet, from every angle, people put down their tools, stopped working, and looked to the sky at this great, roaring behemoth.

At first, panic erupted within the people. They ran to and fro, seeking defense from this new breed of mechanical, metal monster; but Thaddeus XXVI kept calm, he kept cool, even in his lack of knowledge, too, and assured the people of Vazent that it was nothing to be worried of, just a new breed of machinistic predator that wanted naught to do with them, and he managed to maintain control and quell the panic. He wondered... had his forefathers ever been presented with tribulations of chaos like this?

For once he saw the seeds of revolution in his people, and tightened his grip to maintain control, things resolved themselves; but Thaddeus XXVI’s trials did not end there. It was another four months, after it had turned into a new year, in January, whilst as in Esparia RIOTE took control and noted this island’s apparent anomalous nature, before they sent an expeditionary force over – this time, with a flight of the metal behemoths approaching from the other side of the island, except at a lower altitude – on the sea. Their noises grew closer before finally ceasing with a heavy thunk as they disappeared behind the treelines. Had these things landed on their turf!?

Apprehensively, Thaddeus lead out a large, well-armed expeditionary party to look for the beasts; and before long, they discovered the troupe of five small armoured catamaran boats, with five navigators and surveyors, and five guardsmen emblazoned with the RIOTE insignia. Other... other humans? With lighter skin and fairer hair? Within the still metal beasts that walked on the grand, tearing seas?

Utterly perplexed, Thaddeus had his men regain themselves and approach tentatively, seeing as they clutched their strange black metal implements, the bent frames and the wary stares... raising them and “aiming” them like some advanced, mechanised bow. They howled in languages none recognised, prodding their weapons into the air, as if to say that they should keep back, as the navigators jotted down notes on a pad. It seemed that they were... monitoring them?

Something snarled within Thaddeus. He and his people were not primitives – the slaves, in spite of being lesser, were still his kin. They were not like the jaguars of the forest or the falcons of the desert. They were a strong, hardy people, confused by these men in strange garb with odd weapons, with their loud, whirring machines and their clicking metal objects. For what felt like an eon between them, the sea of slaves stood at bay around the ten men in the centre as the surveyors continued to jot down notes on their physique, their structure, and the fact that Thaddeus stood at the top of the hill, watching as his hand tightened around his sabre.

One of the less-able of the men, however, soon dropped his gun; the pistol went off, and with a sharp crack and a yowl of pain, one of the slaves clutched at his legs. At first, the group of slaves recoiled and shouted, frightened and confused, in unison, but as the wary guardsman reached to – slowly – pick up his gun, they snarled and reared their heads... This was... an attack. And just as they all realised it?

So did Thaddeus.

”Vazentians...” His stern call came, trembling from the treeline. SHING. He draw his saber, steel glistening between the harsh yellow rays of sun. He jabbed it forth into the air in a motion universal even as the RIOTE surveyors stared in horror. There were hundreds, possibly even thousands of slaves – and there were ten of them, with five guns between them. ”ATTACK!”

Obedient even going to their deaths, all of the lumbering Vazentians charged; the first few fell to their guns, but soon the strange weapons had their hammers fall on empty chambers, and it was too late. The Vazentians, superior genealogically and in numbers, fell upon the RIOTE troops, armed or not, and tore into them with blades, clubs, and hammers, leaving behind mangled remnants of the men that had one stood on fresh sands. And as they approached the tenth, Thaddeus raised his blade once more, and called for all the slaves, a sea of angry fists and vicious teeth, to halt their assault. Immediately, they so did; and the sea of bodies parted as the paler, fairer man walked down in a path between them, to the last one, restrained by two of his finest defenders.

”You will take us to your leader.” He demanded. The RIOTE navigator shrugged frantically, scrabbled against the hold of the Vazentians, and howled, sobbing in some foreign language. Perhaps things had to be simpler... and looking to the horizon, Thaddeus raised his hand and pointed directly off to the direction the Esparian boats had come from. In a response, terror upon his visage, finally, the navigator nodded.

Every last Vazentian that could fit was stuffed aboard the boats; cargo holds, engine rooms, command bridge, and told to stay dead still. Thaddeus took the helm with the navigator, noting what he did to control and move the boat, looking off from the island as their response to the expeditionary force cast off. Gasps of awe came in unison from every Vazentian aboard as the machines spluttered to life beneath them and they began to chug along across the vicious riptides, the boats’ reinforced hulls and hardy chassis the only thing that kept them holding fast.

And upon the deck of the leading ship, with his sabre at his side, Thaddeus looked out onto the new island as the sun set on the horizon and they drew close. They would land on Esparia.

And they would take it in the name of his forefathers.

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TRIVIA:
→ Began ruling at 17.
→ Refuses all psychological analysis rather violently. Hates being treated like some foreign test subject.
→ Observant analysis suggests that he possesses something of a god complex, as do most in the Lawes bloodline.
→ Trained in six different Vazentian CQC styles, each of which are based upon swordsmanship.
→ Has never known love or compassion.
→ The word “revolution” has no meaning to him. It’s a purely fictional concept in his mind.
→ Similarly, “harmony” and “total order” are synonymous to him.
→ Has his hair bleached white every three months using Vazentian herbs.
→ Has five female children whom he does not know.
→ Owns a rather vicious Vazentian black falcon called Craven who he has a degree of control over due to being relatively skilled in falconry.
→ Thaddeus only speaks his native language of Vazentian (gold) fluently, but he's been avidly learning Esparian (hotpink) for the purposes of diplomacy and for the invasion.

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ALIAS:
→ Ross

OTHER CHARACTERS:
→ Ayden Derocha, Calvin J. Knox, Zen Howler, Dr. Vergil Rawls

CREATOR'S COMMENTS:
→ This guy's app was fun as all hell to write.

FACE CLAIM:

Code:

[b]AXIS POWERS: HETALIA[/b]/[i]prussia[/i]

CUSTOM RANK:
→ VENI, VIDI, VICI

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