Trumped Cabal
Behind the tinted windows of a sprawling hotel-casino turned fortress, the Trumped Cabal counts its credits and sharpens its paranoia. This Pure Blood family holds no seats on the Board, yet roughly six out of ten working locals in Aysea pay rent to them. Even after the Board takes its hefty tax cut, the family retains a fortune large enough to purchase the muscle that keeps them relevant. In a city that runs on money, the Cabal has enough of it to matter.
The family's power dates to the early years of Aysea's post-Fall history, when they were among the Board's first and most vicious opponents. The fighting ended in a truce rather than a victory: the Trumped Cabal retained its claim to many of the city's lesser hotels and housing areas in exchange for cessation of hostilities. The arrangement has held, but the relationship between the Cabal and the Board has never thawed beyond armed neutrality.
What makes the Cabal more dangerous than a mere landlord dynasty is the pronounced genetic predisposition for paranoia and delusions of grandeur that runs through the bloodline. Older members remain locked behind the gilded fences of their fortified compound, venturing out only through proxies. Younger members enjoy the Gator and conduct business in person, but the family madness claims them eventually. Rumors about what happens behind those tinted windows range from incestuous debauchery to obsessive weapons stockpiling. The Board would pay handsomely for intelligence from inside the compound. No one has managed to obtain any.
The family's power dates to the early years of Aysea's post-Fall history, when they were among the Board's first and most vicious opponents. The fighting ended in a truce rather than a victory: the Trumped Cabal retained its claim to many of the city's lesser hotels and housing areas in exchange for cessation of hostilities. The arrangement has held, but the relationship between the Cabal and the Board has never thawed beyond armed neutrality.
What makes the Cabal more dangerous than a mere landlord dynasty is the pronounced genetic predisposition for paranoia and delusions of grandeur that runs through the bloodline. Older members remain locked behind the gilded fences of their fortified compound, venturing out only through proxies. Younger members enjoy the Gator and conduct business in person, but the family madness claims them eventually. Rumors about what happens behind those tinted windows range from incestuous debauchery to obsessive weapons stockpiling. The Board would pay handsomely for intelligence from inside the compound. No one has managed to obtain any.
