Anderas Kerrik

Anderas Kerrik, Director of Kaukolastani Internal Security Agency

Born of an immigrant family, Kerrik was a child prodigy, and was quikly picked up by the ISA and trained to be an Operative. As he aged, his mental capacity continued to awe those around him, although he grew more and more reclusive. Eventually being tapped by then-Director Iams, Kerrik became the Special Operative in Charge of Director's Operations, better known as Wraith, or more simply, the blackest of black ops.

After Iams' retirement, Kerrik assumed the position of Director, and looked forward to serving his nation. However, illegal actions by Iams, who was testing a forbidden chemical weapon on the allied nation of Transnapastain, forced Kerrik to act behind Chancellor Fenris' back and clean up the former Director's actions. Kerrik was forced to gun down his former mentor to save the lives of his allies, although they would never know of the choice he had to make. After this, Fenris no longer trusted his own Director of Intelligence.

As time passed, and Fenris became increasingly erratic, Kerrik was again forced to make a difficult decision, and he ordered the Chancellor eliminated. Agent Darius Jensen was the trigger man, and Kerrik usurped the role of Chancellor. However, though Kerrik has now ruled under "Emergency Provisions" for more than a decade, he had never taken the role of Chancellor officially. In fact, he has tried to step down multiple times, but is always re-appointed by the public, who have entered a new Golden Age under his rule.

Brilliant, ruthless, and dangerous, Kerrik has presided over a decade of unparalled peace and prosperity, manipulating all factors behind the scenes. Over this time, he has grown increasingly enigmatic, vanishing for days at a time, speaking only in convoluted riddles, and seeming to never sleep. It is said that he has left "human" far behind, and become something more, an Avatar of the State.

Now, in this waning of the Second Republic of Kaukolastan, Anderas Kerrik weaves a dream-web of illusion for the people, and guides them towards his twisted vision of the future. Though no one yet realizes this, the seeds of destruction have been planted, and Kerrik continues to nurture their wrathful emergence.

Inside of NS Description, taken from "Price of Power"

Kerrik appreciated the museums, libraries, universities, and chapels. For in these places, there was knowledge, which he loved more than all else. He cherished it, cultivated it, and craved it. His personal library rivaled the Corsingard Archive, and he was a beneficiary of every museum in the Capital. He spent hours in these harbors of thought, absorbing tome after tome, and committing every fact to memory. His interests ran from physics to theology to history to biology to philosophy and back again. He could pick out the manufacturing plant of a piece of New York and New Jersey chest plate, name the composer of obscure Hattian sonatas, give the average water temperatures of Iansisle’s harbors, recite TEO’s stock index of the past trading day, and notate the latest seasonal fashion trends in Menelmacar. To allies and enemies, Kerrik knew even more specific and timely data, insisting on reading their various publications every morning. Kerrik was a living archive, a mental giant, and a living legend to Kaukolastanis.

However, in his quest for knowledge, his personal Grail, he paid a price. Kerrik was notably distant and reclusive, more so with each passing day. He spoke in riddles and parables, driving others towards his conclusions with questions, and was intolerant of ignorance, though he reveled in knowing more than every other person he dealt with, finishing a race while the others waited for the start signal. He was a true puppet master, manipulating wheels within wheels, moving Byzantine constructs, and allowing others to take the credit. So controlling, manipulative, and intellectually superior, Kerrik was isolated from other beings, locked into himself and over all others. His dark eyes, deep and morose, windowed into a regret, remorse for choices made and paths taken. But this sorrow was overpowered by the inky black steel behind it, the cold and petrifying gaze of a man who had chosen his own fate, and whose unyielding will would demolish any that opposed him.

Those who had confronted him face to face commonly reported feeling disquieted, disturbed, and even terrified. His eyes could swallow soul into their lightless depths, and lies turned to ash in the mouth. He knew you before he met you; he could see through your careful pretense. His every word carefully placed and articulated, a piece of a puzzle and a verbal weapon, wielded by a master of the art. His knowledge immolated every attempt at rationalizing, and to speak of emotion to this man was as if preaching compassion to a firearm aimed for your temple. Supporters called him a visionary, a demagogue, a leader of men. They would claim him a miracle worker, able to give revelation in a simple phrase, to cure with a word. Followers pledged fealty to him in droves, disciples to his vision of a great tomorrow. Opponents feared to confront him directly, for those who did were often reduced to stammering wrecks, speaking in short, confused phrases of “falling into darkness”, or of simply being dumbstruck by his powerful presence. Few could speak to him without being swayed to his views and vision. He was the prophet of the state, the epitome of the ISA. Even his closest associates (for he had no “friends”) spoke of him in hushed towns. There was something inhuman about him, something more than human.

Anderas Kerrik was more than just the prophet of the state; he was the avatar, the incarnation of the dreams of centuries. His life was a parable of dreams of every Kaukolastani, his ideals their dreams. Do dedicated to the state was he that he had crossed a line of humanity. He had taken the dream of Kaukolastan to heart, let it replace his heart, burning away his personal desires with a beacon of commonweal glory. He was no longer a true believer, but the incarnation of the belief. His every essence screamed out for the benefit of the nation, and he was an overwhelming presence to those who saw him. Kerrik was nearly a demigod to the people, who revered his selfless dedication and wealth of knowledge. He served no code what would benefit the state, and no moral or emotional binders were tolerated. He would walk the dark paths, to guide the others forward. He was loved and feared, emulated and avoided, honored and isolated for his choices in life, and that was the way he knew it had to be. He had never married, and there was no family to speak of. He kept no friends, for they would long ago been burned away by his inner fire. His was a solitary path, excruciating and remorseless, but he knew that he must walk it for the others; no matter what damnation he accrued.

Kerrik stood in his normal spot, in the center of the Mosaic room, beneath the oculus, which filtered in the orange glow of evening. This was his favorite place in the world, in the center of this living artwork. The history of Kaukolastan wrapped around the interior wall, illuminated by diffuse glowpoint lamps and the oculus high above. The artwork had spanned millennia, and it was only a third of the way around the chamber. Even now, the latest addition was being finished, a section detailing the past fifteen years. The fall of Chancellor Fenris, the rise of the ISA, and the new Golden Age Kerrik had ushered in, all of this was being painted by a master, commissioned from the university.

We have always been the artists, not the subjects. The ISA molds society in secret, not in public. Now the roles are blended by Fenris’s failure, and I am forced into this role. Kerrik had ordered the last Chancellor’s execution from this very room, and it had not been an easy order to give, to upset the delicate balance of crafted democracy. Unlike many other coups in history, the executor did not grave power for himself. Fenris was a failure, and he endangered this land. It was not my choice; it was my duty. He was harming this nation, disrupting the perfect dream we have crafted. Now I must do my part to ensure that incompetents like him may never arise. I must lead, for the good of the nation in this dark time.

Kerrik knew how the people viewed him, but he did not wish it. He viewed himself as the servant of the state, of the people, and as their guardian, but not as their idol. His parents were immigrants, fleeing the collapse of their home nation for the golden shores of Kaukolastan. His mother cleaned houses, and his father joined the army to gain citizenship. Anderas Kerrik was born after they had been here but a year and a half, after a particularly rowdy shore leave nine months earlier. Raised in a household that rapidly moved from working poor to middle class, Kerrik was indoctrinated by his parents to excel here, as he had been given so much opportunity. By the time he was in middle school, his father was a ranking non-commissioned officer, and Kerrik was fully bred into the military lifestyle, moving from school to school with redeployments.

A particularly brilliant mind, he was favored by almost all of his teachers and scorned by his classmates, who wished only to steal his tests. Coldly, he had stared at them, making them recede from the terrifying stare of this child, and he had stated, “Someday, you will all know to respect me.” And with that pronouncement, he returned to his studies. His lessons were accelerated, and the school officials were enamored with this wunderkind, promoting him faster, and using connections to move him into better and better institutions at low cost.

He was attending a boarding secondary school when his father was killed in the Roanian Intervention, dieing while manning a machine gun to decoy the attacking army. The Nova Medal that was delivered to Widow Kerrik did not stop her grief from spiraling into depression, and deterioration. She never recovered from the loss, and by the time she died five years later, she was little more than a vegetable. But Anderas Kerrik collected his parents possessions, invested them while he attended the Corsingard University under full scholarship, hanging his father’s medal on his mantel. More determined than ever to repay their gifts to him, Kerrik chose to triple major in Kaukolastan History, Psychology, and Game Theory. He was a prodigy, bound for the academia, or personal fortune, but first, he had to perform his service. The ISA approached him with an analyst position, but he had refused, wanting to take a combat role to prove his value to his deceased father.

In Operations, Kerrik was yet again a remarkable specimen, earning over seventeen commendations in Geridian conflicts. He was decorated for bravery under fire, and for deep penetration missions that had him cut off for two years at a time. During his exemplary service, he was once again noted by those above him, who passed him up the chain of command with stunning speed.

Nevertheless, unlike in school, Kerrik did not do this to prove anything to anyone. The ISA was his calling, and he knew he would never need another employer. Service to this nation, planted by his parents and cultivated by the ISA, had morphed into a fanatical belief, a complete dedication to everything the state wanted. His immense mental capacity and his bizarre personality did not alienate him inside of the ISA, it made him trustworthier. He soon attracted the attention of Director Iams, who took the young agent under his wing, teaching him the inner workings and arcane secrets of the agency, showing Kerrik the plans and plots. Kerrik was a natural, and he was completely in his element. He was soon the Special Operations Field Commander under Iams, the wet-works agent that answered directly to the Director. In this realm, Kerrik had pursued tasks darker than even the ISA in general knew about, and he was mired into the conspiracies and histories of the agency. He loved it, and his voracious mind soon propelled him into a command post. He was Iams’s protégé, it was no secret, and when the Director retired, Kerrik had easily slipped into his new shoes as the spymaster of Kaukolastan.

Kerrik had intended to do no more than continue the proud tradition of service and secret control, but circumstance had conspired else wise. The failure of Chancellor Fenris’s leadership had forced Kerrik into making a radical change, eliminating the elected leader and stepping in to fill the role temporarily. Nevertheless, the people loved him, and when he spoke of stepping down for an election, the popular will held him in office. He refused the title of Chancellor, though the people wished it upon him, and he refused to reside in the Chancellery. He still referred to his rule as an “emergency measure”, though it was now over a decade in length… the best decade in recent history for Kaukolastan.

Kerrik’s brilliantly manipulative and discreet leadership, using the ISA as a tool to move the nation, had resulted in low crime, a booming economy, a secure border, and flourishing culture beyond even the high standards held before. The people loved him, and the politicians loathed him, both for his refusal to join their games, and for his success. He was the publicly mandated dictator, and the philosopher-king. The politicians in the senate could only fume as Kerrik rode on wave after wave of public love, and the media found nothing to smear, for his past was a blank page in the books, and his present was an Eden. The Dream was a reality.

Still, Kerrik stood in the orange evening light, below the oculus, watching the painting, contemplating. I have done things… things I cannot call moral or even amoral. Evil. For my accomplishments, I have done evil. Moreover, such is as it should be, for I am not the beneficiary of my actions. My crimes will be weighed against my success. But what of my successor, and his? This nation will return to the turmoil, the risk. Nations, like men, are mortal, and both eventually die.