Role

Chapter 1

There are some men born with everything, and there are those who earn it
through sweat, toil, and dedication. Caecilius Abbington Lawson IV happens to
be one of those men who is both, and has always been. Jealousy rains down
like a monsoon on those he comes across. He has been a sailor, merchant, a
guardsman in three cities and four prisons including a short and mysterious
stint at the very male-unfriendly sirine ruled Glynmarch, warlord, a
statesman and an adviser to several, a tax collector in three boroughs and
even a cardinal, a title he only occasionally mentions. And the list goes on.


Caecilius is twenty five years old.


Those whom he used as steps as he climbed these varied ladders sling insults
about him in taverns, and rumors follow the man as closely as the stink
follows a pig. Never, though, to his face. Or rather, never does a man insult
him to his face and live to regret the error, and if he does by some miracle
live, noone on the outside looking in would call it that. Ruin comes to those
he desires it to, and he is - and has always been- very well connected, never
having to get his hands dirty, necessarily, though he has been known to
indulge. He is also complimented endlessly, either in earnest or by liars
keen to his game, but there is one descriptor never used for him behind is
back or to his face:


Humble.


To actually describe the man entirely is more difficult than it would be even
with men of modest means, but in his own mind he is the epitome of goodness
and intelligence; it is not without merit, the man was educated by the best,
his family could be said to bathe in gold and influence for generations, but
he is a man who uses order because he knows how to use it. He sets his sights
now on more than inherited royalty, power and wealth - he wishes to rule the
world. To him, it will be doing the entirety of Thera a favor should he
succeed. And obviously, he is confident that he will.