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Chapter 4: The Conniver
The news that Emperor Larsa was no secret, and though it was silent leaving, no parade to see him off, no official program to wish him good speed, the Emperor's eyes were still there, ever watchful of those who are still searching in vain for a knife to plunge in his back.
Senator Vladimir stood upon the balcony of his abode, staring at the distance, towards the direction of which the Emperor took to go to Bhujerba. He was a hard-faced man, with pale parchment-colored skin that contradicted his beady black eyes. Those eyes were darker than his hair which was graying and those eyes were as unemotional as his jet black cloak which swirled about his shoulders as the wind blew around it. He was the most cunning of the Senators, but the most cautious, yet the greediest. His family had stood in the halls of the Emperor long before the House of Solidor took over with Emperor Gramis. His family was overthrown the years when he was about to be elected as Emperor and his social status and wealth was the only thing that landed him a seat in the Senate.
During Gramis' rule, Vladimir's desire was to take the throne for himself, but now that Larsa sat, he wanted the House of Solidor to crumble in the crushing darkness into the depths of below and for the House of Vladimir to regain their long robbed glory and honor.
He did not like cooperating with others, but the other Senators were as brainless as nannas, and needed a leader to keep them organized and in line. It didn't hurt that their purses were as fat as the roundest cockatrice either. He used them, as much as he could without letting them know and his plans would have been successful were it not for Vayne, who possessed such an unpredictable mind, Vladimir could not counter any plan the late lord had.
But Vayne was dead and his successor was not as smart, as Vladimir liked to believe. He simply rearranged his plans to suffice that of Larsa's downfall. But the Emperor had good friends and strong protectors, so Vladimir needed to break that defense in order to strike. He knew that he could not achieve this at the point of an Archadian blade nor cannonade. He needed brains, and not only his own. He needed a man who would work for him but did not question, a man who thought only of money and nothing else, but a sense of survival.
"A sky pirate." Vladimir smiled to himself. "One who is familiar with our politics. A man born of Archadia."
