1st Post
Conference Hall, Unknown Location
Telos IV (Early-Spring 900 ABY)
Argilac told you this day would come, Barran.
Fate indeed calls upon the exiles once more.... An' your head is where, exactly?
Huh??? On a planet you'll likely never even see again?
Sneering at his own mirror image in the bathroom of a location he could neither discern nor reveal, baring teeth at the man he had become, this had become a norm for the Tattered Regent in the years since the Fall of the Empire. Reduced to the shell of his former, more-lifelike self, still reeling from the worst of all circumstances, inherited from a ruler who perished with the realm for which he bled and toiled endlessly.
An' what would my Ancestors want with me now?
I'm a Cairnsman who couldn't even bury his father.
Life for Lord Michael had never been an easy thing, but in the wake of Imperial downfall, Barran had not only lost his Empire and his home-world, and not only the world and legions he had earned the right to govern and lead accordingly, but it seemed as though everything else in his life had perished. His father, his closest friends, and even his own daughter was lost for a time, and though the Wanderer had been offered a new lease of life in his Shadow's unexpected return, it seemed like there were some wounds that were just too deep to recover fully from such devastation. Yet these were just the psychological scars, such that only added to the physical scars the Regent-in-Exile incurred against his brother on Nirauan, suffering life-threatening head injuries for the second time in less than a year by then, giving Argilac no other choice but to hastily induce a Bacta Tank coma for Michael's sake.
'Lord-Regent, the meeting has begun. So if you're ready....?'
With a sharp inhalation through the nostrils, taking in a fresh lungful of air for what could only be described as dejection, Barran then replied,
'You've been calling me that for the better part of fifteen years, Nelson.... Fine, fine.... Lead the way, Captain.', still utterly clueless as to what to expect but resolving to see it through anyway. It wasn't his young adjutant's fault after all, and in acquiescence to encouragements, the Tattered Regent resisted no more as he walked down the hallway to the guarded doors at the other end, only just then beginning to wonder who would be in attendance for the first Imperial political-gathering in over twenty years. Making the matter all the more intense was the fact these young guards knew exactly who he was, parting with doors opened as soon as they saw Lord Michael as he approached the Conference Hall, almost as if the significance of this moment wasn't lost on their fresh-faced sort either.
'As for units in force, we will commit to it when this fledging band of like-minded should decide to go for it in union. Our Battlefleet and ground troops will stand ready.'
Familiar, and well-spoken, and at such a timbre it left no illusions as to who the Wanderer was hearing as he crossed the threshold into the smoky Conference Hall, it was none other than the Griffin himself. Then as if by involuntary outburst, Barran exclaimed
,'Lord Aurelian - my friend! Ah, sorry.... In any case - its a relief to see you here for this, Griffin.', leaving it at that with a silent fist-over-heart salute for his brother in arms. The Woad may have begun his greeting from there if it wasn't for catching FN-999 in the corner of his eye, offering a warm-hearted, though flashy wink of acknowledgement before turning his attentions back to the others in the room.
'Greetings all, I'm sure you have much to discuss, so I'll jus' find myself a wee seat an' let you all get on with it.... We can handle formal introductions an' the likes when we adjourn later.'
Michael then groaned as he lowered himself into the seat between Nines and that belonging to Aurelian respectively, and despite the comfort of the chair he landed on, certain wounds and injuries from the past still persisted at the turn of the 10th Century, namely those across his back, his shoulders and the back of his head. The Bloodhound had left his younger brother in quite the mess after the Third Battle of Nirauan, and in the wake of the Empire's downfall, none could doubt that rumours of this duelling outcome had accompanied such melancholic collapse, and to such extremes that many in the Galaxy still believed the Wanderer was dead decades later. But still, ever being happy to disappoint in this regard, it was high-time the Galaxy knew the Wanderer wasn't dead after all.
If it took decades of trying for the Galaxy to end my father's life....
What makes my enemies think it would be easier to end mine?
Barrans aren't so easy to kill after all - not in any of our living forms.
As the next to speak stood to speak, (assumed to be in response to the Griffin's personal pledge of armed support) Barran brought out a cigarra and set it at the corner of his mouth, then leaned leftward towards Nines so he could whisper,
'Lord-Baron.... I apologise for not seeing your face sooner - my eyesight isn't what it used to be, old friend.', leaning upright again to light and take his first drags at a courteous distance away from his old friend's face. A rare comfort of presence among such high-ranking officials of the former-Empire, and though such respects were earned in difficulties between them in the beginning, their acquaintance had become a lasting bond of fellowship, a battle-tested friendship of the likes Imperium was in the direst of need.
And it just so happened that a very similar friend, a fellow of aligning difficulties of early-acquaintance, was sitting to the right of the Tattered Regent, holding firm as Imperium's other much-needed, battle-tested fellowship. The Griffin's first experiences with the Wanderer followed a very similar pattern, albeit a more-volatile and more-abrupt example in contrast, but like with some friendships on the playground of life, many often start in a conflict of two as beginnings of forged oaths of brotherhood. But when peace was finally made between them on Nirauan, not even the fall of the Empire itself could tear it's fighting fellowships asunder. Thus earning Sigismund his place (along with Nines with equalling merit) in Barran's strategic circle of trust, and long before the Woad awoke from his Bacta-Coma, but to have people like the Vandemarian around to protect the Regent-in-Exile made all the difference in his darkest days.
But there was another diligent, loyal Imperial who had earned his place among the Woad's little circle of trust, and not only in the valour of heroism in battle on Nirauan, but also for saving his life on that day; carrying the Wanderer all the way back to Fort Defiant, treating then placing his Lord-Warden into a Bacta Tank whilst still covered in Barran's blood, taking a chance on Michael when many would have considered him beyond saving. A man who answered to the name
,"Argilac", and even though neither had had formally met before, the young upstart had gone above and beyond for Imperium by refusing to let the Wanderer die, strong in devotion - even beyond the point of eradicated hope.
At first, Michael believed Argilac wasn't in attendance, but as soon as he looked around at all the heads sat at the conference table, the hair stood out as familiar at the seat directly across the table. Then as soon as the Woad's eyes focused in earnest, the beard-strands stood out from the smoky haze in the opposite seat, prompting a sudden, but whispered,
'Oh.... Argilac, what you leanin' back for? Good t'barely see ye, mate.', stifling a chuckle as he nodded in kindly affirmation. After that, the Tattered Regent felt a certain long-forgotten relief, like the Imperials really were on the right track again, washing over the Wanderer with a hope he had forbade himself to indulge for too long. It was very-nearly an alien concept to Michael's mind by then, but fortunately for all who remained, the Woad had known this hope before, and was willing to risk life and limb to know such hope again.
Dare I hope again?
Dare I hope enough to save Imperium - as father did before me?