There are as many accounts describing the character of the late Vladimir Alecto as there are suns in the sky. Architect of peace or brutal warlord? Stern judge or bloody tyrant? Hero or monster? A thousand histories grace the libraries at Pentateuch, and I can attest that no two tell the same story.
Whatever Vladimir Alecto may have been, he was emperor, and his assassination sent the realm spiraling aimlessly and out of control, like a war-vessel damaged by cannon fire. Years of campaigns had left him no time to sire an heir (despite a number of strumpets' claims to the contrary), and so no sooner had his corpse cooled than the hungry scions of the Ten circled in, eyes gleaming and tongues lolling like feral scavenger-gokks, homing in on power as their bestial counterparts trail the scent of blood.
And thus a peace of weeks once again erupted into years of flame and blood. Every pupil knows the rest: Five of the Ten Houses fell into ruin or ignominy, the Guilds violently declared their sovereignty, and we of the Church tried as best we could to mitigate the damage to an already weary cosmos.
Finally, praise the Pancreator, simple attrition succeeded where diplomacy failed. The barbarians still swept across the borders to loot and burn, and increasing numbers of holdings fell to poorly led raiders simply because no forces could be spared to defend them. And so peace was declared, and it was decided that, as no contestant was equal to the task of rulership, a substitute should be elected by a tribunal of politically significant electors.
This substitute, henceforth known as the Regent, was to rule in the accustomed fashion from Byzantium Secundus. During his tenure of office he could do as he would; but never would he reign for longer than 10 years, at the end of which time he would abdicate and a new successor would be chosen. (I have heard rumors alleging an outrageous suggestion made by the Decados envoy to the proceedings, namely, that the retired Regent be ritually sacrificed at a great gala, in the manner of certain ancient cultures of Urth, but the rumor concludes that this Decados was shouted down by outraged Hawkwoods.)
And so the sceptres, those symbols representing one or more electoral votes, were manufactured and distributed. Each party of political stature, regardless, it seems, of equivalent moral stature, was presented with this tool. Every 10 years the vote would be cast, and the chosen candidate would ascend the seat of absolute (in theory) government for a decade.
Of course, the greedy nobles would not suffer themselves to be barred from such an arena. The evenhanded division of sceptres among them was aided by the fact that, of the Ten who had initially competed for the throne, a scant Five remained. These Five, Hawkwood, Decados, Hazat, Li Halan, al-Malik, were each given custody of sceptres, and so the intrigues began almost immediately, and have not ceased since.
Alas, too many imperial warriors had succumbed to the vices and military luxuries proffered by the Guilds, and so a certain allotment of sceptres went to the lords of Leagueheim. Thankfully, internal squabbling among the Guilds often stymied any individual Guildmeister's sordid aims, and so the Guild often abstained from voting, or used its influence only to block the rise of a candidate detrimental to its goals.
Wisely, if surprisingly, the guardians of Urth's souls were deemed worthy to exert some measure of control over the race's secular destiny, and so the Church currently holds a number of sceptres. (I sometimes question the amount of good such a gesture does, for such is the moral turpitude of most candidates that abstention often proves the only ethical way to vote.)
But in the end, I suppose, it matters little; for the Regent himself (or herself; there have been a few female rulers) was, and is, a relatively impotent figure, ruling as he does at the behest of powers that would sooner dance naked in the pits of the Voroxi malga-beetles than see their personal interests stymied for the welfare of the whole. Would the Regent raise taxes on the Byzantine populace? Would he deploy the Imperial Navy against Malignatian belt pirates? An excellent decision, my liege, the nobles cry. Would the Regent dare to conscript Hazat levies for use in the Vuldrok campaigns, or demand that the Decados account for the contents of the Imperial granaries built on Cadiz?
He would be dead within the fortnight.
And so, in lieu of a contender strong enough to unite the children of the fading suns by dint of might, the Regency continues, decade after weary decade. Because all parties of power vote, none can agree on any candidate of real magnetism or magnitude; and so the Regency is but a puppet-show of weak diplomats and figureheads without any real purpose or power. I am no lover of tyranny, but I would almost wish a despot, so long as said tyrant proved subservient to the will of the Pancreator, upon the throne of Byzantium Secundus. At our borders our enemies array themselves, and they are many. I aver that a chilly peace would be preferable to these centuries of endless war.
