The story of Sergey Vladimirovich Taboritsky is as anomalous as his personality and political views. Born to a Russian merchant and Jewish seamstress, Taboritsky was nevertheless a staunch Russian monarchist and earnest anti-Semite from an early age, trying to get rid of the "Cain's seal" inherited from his mother. Becoming an exile in the Weimar Republic following the Russian Civil War, he acquitanced himself with Russian reactionary circles, reinforcing his beliefs and helping to spread the infamous 'Protocols of Zion' in Germany. Along with his long-time friend Pyotr Shabelsky-Bork, he assassinated a former Russian Kadet politician Vladimir Dmitrievich Nabokov in attempt to bring revenge upon those whom he considered the main instigators of the revolution that ruined the Russian Tsardom. As the NSDAP came to power in Germany, he became one of the most enthusiastic collaborators with the Nazi regime among the White émigrés, hoping that the German dominance would pave a road for the restoration of monarchy in Russia.Like others, Taboritsky joined Vladimir in Vyatka, but soon he became displeased with who he claimed was the 'impostor Tsar', sincerely believing that the true Emperor of Russia, Tsarevich Alexey, miraculously survived and will arrive to his subjects should they prove their loyalty to their rightful ruler. Few in Vyatka could share his eccentric beliefs, but soon he found his following in Ust-Sysolsk.A person too unhinged for his enemies and friends alike, Taboritsky, however, succeeded to outplay them all and emerge as the sole ruler of the city, claiming the title of the Imperial Regent for Tsar Alexey II for himself. Few expect Taboritsky's delusions to come true, but few doubt his rule will be anything but ferocious one, as his zeal is fueled by long-standing hatred for Bolsheviks and anyone who betrayed the Russian Tsar in his darkest hour.
The mask has finally slipped, and the clock now ticks ever forward. Sergey Vladimirovich Taboritsky, formerly the dark horse of the Passionariyy Organization, has finally secured utter control of the state, and his plans for its future could not be any more disturbing - at least to his many detractors.
Once again harnessing the talent for oratory that ensured the relevance of his Society for the Restoration of the Russian Empire even when, by all accounts, it should have been entirely subsumed by the larger Organization, he has now announced that very restoration. Claiming to rule as regent for the Tsar Alexei II, who he states escaped execution by the Bolsheviks long ago, he routinely issues thunderous appeals to those to value traditionalism and Imperial nostalgia, and couples these appeals with open and extremely virulent anti-Semitism.
To those supporters, relatively numerous as they may be, it is as if God himself descended, in the form of Taboritsky, from Heaven in order to save the Empire. To everybody else, he is an abject madman, as unstable as he is dangerous, and as opposition coalesces, both within the state and within his own mind, the question is clear:
How long until the clock strikes midnight?
A deafening silence fills the airwaves. The clock has stopped, its hands frozen in time. No new missives are sent out bearing the personal seal of the Blessed Regent.
Yet the brazen gears keep turning, grinding heathen corpses into mulch in the name of a lost child. Blood continues to saturate the soil as the Regent's butchers vivisect the Motherland in search of a cancer that does not exist. Ever more skulls are piled high in the ossuary once known as Russia.
On, and on, and on it goes. Every soldier and bureaucrat who chose to follow the Regent's bidding continues to do so. Numbering in their millions, each slathered from crown to heels in gore and reeking of poison, they know there is no choice. They know that the Regent and Tsarevich Alexei are watching. Justice knows each of their names and will hold them accountable for failure. Beneath the guns of fanatical overseers, their nightmarish harvest continues. In time, the Lord will reward them for the sacrifice of their humanity, and the Tsarevich himself will clothe them in golden glory.
But there is no purity left in their wake, only putrefaction and decay. There is no sanctity, only defilement. There is no peace, only the silence of a million mass graves.
Above all, there is only the cold, dead gaze of a corpse, staring out into an empty room through clouded eyes as rot sets into its withered flesh.
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