House
Voluptas, purveyors of the finest flesh in the Spiral, stood atop the legalized sex trade through the nimble use of politics and persuasion. Their rise had been meteoric, as
previous generations had languished as nothing
more than minor
players is the flesh trade. It took a ruthless visionary, Horatio Voluptas, to create
the perfect alchemy of supposition and coercion, eavesdropping and extortion.
Young
Horatio was the third son and by far the fittest to lead the House. After the suspicious deaths of his two older brothers, Horatio assumed the Lordship when
his puerile father succumbed to the coughing plague.
The
boy’s appetites
were almost as great as his cunning and such
distractions could only be satiated with coin. Impossibly large numbers
of coin. And so
he set his mind to work.
Within
a decade Horatio had
outmaneuvered, outworked, and outshined his competition. House Voluptas was a
force in the political landscape of the Core with bordellos stretching from the
Eastlands to the Fractured West. At their zenith, some
twenty years into his reign, the
House controlled over one thousand brothels, ran countless smuggling
operations, and commanded a personal army of no small measure. House
Voluptas had arrived. And yet, Horatio was unable to fully enjoy the fruits of
his conquests. There was one conquest yet to be had. A conquest that would take
the full measure of his essence.
Though
his ambition strained the bounds of mortal men, Horatio was, at heart, a
pragmatist. House Voluptas had thrived in no small part because of his uncanny
political instincts. His ability to push to the very precipice of disaster only
to pull back at the moment of optimal gain was preternatural.
As is
known to any with even a passing knowledge of the social vagaries of polite
society, there is a distinct stratum among the Houses of the Spiral. At the
pinnacle of those layers are the Imperial Houses. All but untouchable, the
‘Houses Imperium” are above all
but the most egregious of political offenses. Horatio was determined that
before his passing he would elevate House Voluptas to that rarified standing.
And
so, with secrets, favors and no small degree of temerity, he crafted an
undertaking so audacious in its complexity, that its success relied on not on
the tumbling of a single domino, but rather on the toppling of hundreds. Yet, such a master manipulator had he become, a puppeteer
of unparalleled ability, that those within his House refused to cross him.
As
with most men of ambition, it is the very thing that propels them to greatness
that ultimately is responsible for destroying them. And
Horatio was, despite numerous reports to the contrary, just a man.
His
plan to blackmail the Grand Mayor of the Clockwork Empire was as brilliant as
it was elaborate, a machination for the bards and baristas to tell tale of for
the ages to come. Like a master marionettist, he pulled, tweaked and tugged at
the strings, and the puppets all danced, while the dominos fell in a
mesmerizing pattern.
His
grand scheme shifted and chameleoned through its stages. His reactions were
perfectly sure. The layers unfolded like the petals of a rose awakening to the brilliance of a new morning. There had
perhaps never been an a more perfect architect of deception. The stories tell
of a man at the height of his power and genius. A man who fully expected his
House to be the first human House ever elevated to Royal Imperial status within
the Empire.
If not for the resilience of a single domino that refused to be
toppled; a single puppet whose sharp, splintered
edges sheared
the strings that Horatio had so carefully threaded, the
history of House
Voluptas would most certainly be different.
But as
he hung from the gallows, his neck not broken, slowly suffocating as he
spiraled listlessly to a
meeting with his maker, his lips pursed together in a silent howl.
One
word, whispered in the language of the dying. A curse. A lamentation. A vow.
“Cross.”
***************
The
Empire had been simmering since the cessation of the Second Ether Crusade. In
the boardrooms and parlors, the taverns and the estate galas, Horatio’s death
was the tinder. With no explanation from Parliament as to what his offense was,
the seething undercurrent of discontent rose to the surface once more.
The
Third Ether Crusade was about to begin with the most unlikely of catalysts.
