Faction Banners of the Fallen II [EMPIRE]

[Ashel de Stilico]

Ashel de Stilico, Stormtrooper Medic
Actions: Moving out, Awaiting Enemy
Tags: || DECEASED Aron Gowrie | Michael Barran | Yorunarr Ahan-Yan'Sharlim | FN-999 | Albrecht F. Herlock | Darth Imperius | Nukth Kelga'an | Aoki-Barran Mira | Kastav Volff | Argilac ||

Ash found a nearby ammunition crate and sat on it as she inspected her bag for medical supplies. Recently it was prudent to let the medic keep all the bacta and drugs, but as it stood their new mission objective was to act as a quick response force. More like a spitball aimed to plug a hole, and give the actual reinforcements time to mobilize and react. Ash wearily mused as she counted the bandages, suture pen, bacta-patches, and most interestingly enough a few death-sticks.

“-As my body lies here broken, as I’m carried towards the light, just let me die. . .” Ash hummed and stashed the sticks away. Not the first time I needed to hide contraband from quartermasters or from Gunny. It was cruel to allow suffering to last longer than it was needed, their duty was to do and die after all, not ask for death in pained gasps. 'Giving the Imperial Peace' was the common joke among most troopers, though it usually pertained when dealing with enemy combatants and mostly against the Maw Zealots.

Several troopers began to march further down the underground hallway, her own squadron readying to move out. When she spotted her team-lead she too stood back up and double checked the clips that tied her supplies to her waist. He tilted his head slightly and Ash quickly lined up to his left, their RTO also lined up on the right as the trio kept pace with each other.

“The LT mentioned something about Naval Support from Orbit,” Hank began as he turned his head slightly towards their RTO, “-I want you Trev to find a way to get comms with any air or space assets if we need support.”

“Sure thing, but no promises we share any comms. Gotta say, it’s easier to get Maw Zealot’s Frequency Codes than from a Naval Officer.” Trev explained with a short muted laugh. Ash raised a single eyebrow but kept her lips shut for the time being, Hank himself grunted as he faced forward again as they continued their short march to their forward position.

“How’s our bacta situation?” Hank asked a few moments later.

With a shrug Ash patted her kit with her right hand, “Depends, if you mean my ability to keep our company combat effective, then sure we’re good. . .”

“But?”

“But if I need to play ambulance, well, there’s always a price to pay and this time around it’ll be quite expensive.” Ash explained evenly. “I used to do the books for my family after class, I understand austerity. Until you say otherwise Sergeant.” She kept facing forward, triage was a grim reality for all them.
​

 

[FN-999]

FORT DEFIANT - NIARAUN - 880 ABY​

ALLIES: Albrecht F. Herlock | DECEASED Aron Gowrie | Argilac | Michael Barran | etc.
ENEMIES: TBD
EQUIPMENT: 908th Legion

NINES
​

'We don't have much in the way o' supply for one or two o' those items, but I'm sure we have enough on Nirauan.... Might not be enough for a long, drawn-out fight, but this is more than achievab-'

“We don’t need a large supply.” responded the Baron. “The moment they know we’re onto them, their morale will falter."
​

Before the Baron could continue, both him and Lord Aron were drawn away by the comms of their subordinates. Seeing as no other person in the room raised any point of objection or concern, Nines assumed that his plan would be followed more or less. Still, before he could leave the room, he had one last thing to say.

“Thank you.” called the Baron to Aron. “It has been an honor to serve alongside you. Godspeed."

With all he wanted to get off his mind said, the Baron turned to leave the room and join his legion on the field.

 

[Michael Barran]

3rd Post

-THE BITTER END APPROACHES-

CAIRN_ONE
RINGLEADER OF THE PELLAEONIST CLIQUE
WARDEN OF THE IMPERIAL KNIGHTS
DRUID-GRANDMASTER OF THE HIGHLAND BROTHERHOOD

TAGS
FN-999 Aoki-Barran Mira Argilac Darth Imperius

HOLD THE LINE I: DEFIANT IMPERIUM - PART 3

CENTRAL TOWER, THE HAND OF THRAWN,
NEW CARANNIA, NIRAUAN (LATE 880 ABY)

'Water under the bridge, Warden. I acknowledge and accept your apology.'
​

Like the warriors of old, both right hands grasped on the forearms of both Imperial heroes, marking a soul-deep respect between brothers in arms, and marking a rare closure of sorts in the minutes before battle. The sort that only befalls the fortunate ones in such dire predicaments, a fact of which that could never be lost on the Lord-Warden's Druidic caste, and despite the general mood of the Imperials on the ground and beyond the orbital-sphere alike, all the Goidelic Druids who were there to see the gesture took heart from it all the same.

'Let us win this battle first and then we can talk with a glass of fine wine or whatever you choose.'

Smiling with a warm-hearted chuckle at the prospect, Michael then nodded in agreement before replying,'Fair, I'll happily remain beholden to that.... But still, even with that considered, wine actually does sound quite appealing now that you mention it.', happy to consider something else besides war for a while, even if only for the brief passing of seconds their enemies would allow under the circumstances. But something happened in Aurelian's eyes as they scanned across the Druids and the operators standing guard with them, and though there was no harmful or malicious was seen, there was a weighted concern of sorts emanating behind the Vandemarian's eyes, the specific, knowing sort the Woad had seen in his own reflection from time to time.

Both Imperial heroes were more than aware of the great lengths the Empire had leaped to defeat every last Galactic-level threat along the way, and in turn both heroes were more than aware of the great cost, and the many suchlike sorts that few in the Galaxy seemed to care about; from manpower to ordnance, to fleets, medical-stations and so much more, the longest of butcher-bills that accounted for everything down to the last, psychological detail. Barran and Sigismund had seen almost all of it between them, and despite the fighting spirit the Griffin could see remaining with his own eyes, there was no way the Wanderer could deny that the Empire was hanging by the weakest of threads by then, choosing dangerously to stand at the realm's closest-ever precipice to final collapse.

An unenviable predicament for anyone to be forced into, even for those who willingly accept such fates before the fact, let alone those who knowingly foresee it all and step up to face such threats accordingly, but the Imperials would regardless stand to fight the fated collapse. As all things for which Imperium was becoming destined near the end of the 9th Century ABY, but despite bearing the tell-tale signs of impending doom, hinting at the nearing of the planet's most desperate struggle yet, the warriors of Imperium were standing with more courage than most could muster under similar circumstances.

'Yup.... Some would call it,"Combat Fatigue", but I think you an' I know differently. We'll leave it at that for now though, as there is hope enough to each a heart here to survive an' that's good enough for me. An' besides, there's immediate matters that require our attention for the time-being.'

With immediate effect the Wanderer carefully cast a little Holographic Puck to the ground, somewhere off to the side and out of their way, then the urban top-down projection burst into life with all the colour-coded salient zones in clear view, granting Barran a visual means of better-explaining the reasoning for his intended allocation-placement. This would be the Woad's sole strategic contribution to high-command besides his efforts to defend the Hand of Thrawn, and in being wise enough to see that the right choice would doubtlessly improve their chances, Michael was confident enough to continue,'See that magenta static-line? Look to the markers of local Pellaeonist design here, stretched across the left flank an' consequently becoming the weakest point of the salient there.... However, fortunately for the New Carannians, should you accept, is only seven-hundred metres due-north from here.', briefing quickly for Aurelian's sake.

'Strong though they are, an' well-trained though they might be, they're still unbloodied - for the most part anyway. But with your sort there to lead them, bolstering their ranks an' punishing the hubris of our enemies in this fashion, I'm adamant these militias will stand with you - an' without so much as a second thought either.'

​

 

[Yorunarr Ahan-Yan'Sharlim]

4th post

-THE BITTER END APPROACHES-

GODMASK_ACTUAL

LORD-CAPTAIN OF FIREDANCE BRIGADE(THE HIGHLAND BROTHERHOOD)
HIGH-SHAMAN OF THE SERENNOAN ESOTERIC CHAPTER
PRIEST-KING OF ARCHAIS

Tags: FN-999 Argilac Aoki-Barran Mira Ashel de Stilico Darth Imperius Kastav Volff Nukth Kelga'an

FOR THE ANCIENTS II: IN THE EYES OF THE DEAD - PART 4

Fiyarro District, The Old City,
New Carannia, Nirauan (Late 880 ABY)

'Time for your big speech, my old friend.... Go, show them why I call you,"Preacher".'
​

All the brethren serving with Firedance Brigade, from shaman to warrior, (right down to the last orderly) all were gathered around their Priest-King's underground command-tent, waiting in the dim-lit tunnel for the final word from their beloved Godseer. The time to act was upon them, and with the heightened possibility of the Ancients being present to watch it all unfold, the time to ready the Novanian host was long overdue, rushing Yorunarr to stand and walk out to address them once and for all.

'SONS AND DAUGHTERS OF THE FOREST - ALL RISE FOR THE PRIEST-KING!!!!'

​

Erupting with cheers and roared appreciations as the Novanian host erupted from the gravel beneath them, it became quite clear that everyone welcomed the newly-defined nearness of impending conflict, anticipating the clashes with near-frantic excitement by the time the Godseer exclaimed,'Your acclaim humbles me, offering relief for a Priest-King in these troubled times! Perhaps enough that it could even offer relief for the Hearts of the Ancients!', pausing for effect as the crowd drew back to an earnest, curious silence once more. After all, everyone was understandably excited, but especially with the celestial omens of the Ancients' presence considered, giving Yorunarr every cue he needed to instigate a collective adrenal response, releasing their fight-or-flight responses as any competent leader would in the Priest-King's place.

'They're here - everyone knows already.... Every last beating heart that stands with me, right down to the last reservist! You know our Gods are here with us, but as we know already - such divine favour is never gifted lightly! WE'LL NEED TO EARN IT THIS TIME, AND IF TRIBULATION IS REQUIRED OF US - SO BE IT!!!! WE STRUGGLE TO THE LAST GASP!!!!'

​

After decades of struggles for survival, holding out against their better judgement against the Galaxy's strongest, most-organised tormentors, the adrenal reaction had long-since veered in majority-favour of fight over flight, making such a task all the easier for the Godseer to accomplish. All that Yorunarr could have possibly needed in these moments was an intensification of collective hypervigilance, knowing what sort of gruelling ultraviolence awaited every time, thus prompting the abandonment of brazen-hearted excitement as he continued,'Now I know our Warseers are prepared, their souls are in the grasp of a higher power already - their will is that of Maaru! But of those who chose to fight as soldiers, WHAT SAY YOU TO YOUR IMPENDING ERADICATION?!?!', resorting to below-the-belt tactics akin to those of a seasoned boxing-coach.

'WHAT SAYETH THE DOOMED TO SURR-HUWAL?!?!'
​

Chants of,*"Ea!", echoed through the tunnel as the Godseer's voice had just moments before, repeating in resolute calm as if they were finding meditative stillness, blessed with minds open as if inspired from a spiritual mantra. Growing louder with steady cadence as the Novanian crescendo continued to assail the tunnel walls around them, increasing the intensity of the echoes in devotion to the Ancients of Archais, Yorunarr wouldn't let up on the Firedance contingent; not even for a second, not whilst his eyes seared his silent demands into those of his subordinates, allowing nothing of complacent, hubristic sort to fester. The shamans and the soldiers standing with them, as much as they wanted to relax in the comfort and confidence to hold the eastern battlefront, couldn't avoid the cyan glow, sensing and even seeing it searing correction into their peripheries with every averting turn of their heads.

**(Translated - "So be it!", in the native Novanian, a slow-merging evolution of Arkanian and Ancient-Melarri languages)

All those who wore the Godmasks (and even the Root-Painted Warseers to a lesser extreme) retained colour-specific hues in their eyes, set into uncommon backlit glows behind the indicative white of their pupils, setting unanimous norms despite the rarity of their sort making consensus seem anecdotal at best; but no such rules or scrutiny could apply to the cyan glow of the Godseer, and certainly not after Melarran's bestowal during the Battle of the Goshen Rainforest, as such power had seemingly turned white eyes a bright, pale shade of blue whenever the Priest-King wore his mask. After all, there was always purpose and meaning to the cyan glow of the Godseer, and it was clear to the chanting Novanians that this showing was no exception, and as much as he wished to grant the others some encouragement, there was significance and meaning to their incantations.

Significance of the sort that demanded their divine acquiescence be treated with it's due reverence.

'MELARRAN, MAARU AND SURR'HUWAL - THEY WILL BE WATCHING!!!!'

​

 

[Thomas Barran]

//Systems Hijacked//
//Intruder Alert//
//Security Alert//
//Systems Corrupted//
Tags
FN-999 Albrecht F. Herlock Nukth Kelga'an Aoki-Barran Mira
Darth Imperius Argilac Kastav Volff Ashel de Stilico

[x]

WE WISH NOT TO HOLD YOUR WORLD IN CONQUEST
WE WISH ONLY TO BREAK IT'S INHABITANTS

FOR NONE NOW LIVE WHO DESERVE IT'S GLORY
​

From this moment henceforth, any fleeting desire for surrender will be useless to you, as extra mouths will find no food where my people are going, nor in the realms to where your souls are destined now. Prepare for war, survival or death, we care not, but blame not your foes, for there are higher powers to whom your enemies answer.

We obey Celestials, Gods with whom we agree from the depths of our souls, and if we are no longer permitted to live in this Galaxy, then nor - are - you.

Your collective choice is made already, as Imperials are always so willing to do, and without so much as a second thought for your own safety under such a system. Many of my brethren have lived to see it, and many more have known what it means to be on the receiving-end of such bluntness in governance, thus your choices were made long before this day of days. Such is life in the wars of the Galaxy, this we understand at least, and as battle-lines are drawn, we also know that living souls are always damned without rhyme or reason.

The Empire collectively chose to persist in this folly, and you chose with every ounce of zeal you could muster.... You chose to spit in the face of an Eternal Cycle, you chose to halt Nature's progress; choosing blood and vengeance, wasting endless lives in a never-ending loop of futility, rejecting the Cycle for a shiny, optimistic falsehood.

And now, as a result of your choice, every last soul that poises above you does so with the deepest contempt.

We are here to destroy all corporeal life on the surface
We are here to remove all traces of your civilisation

THIS IS YOUR DUE
THIS IS YOUR FATE

AND NATURE'S JUSTICE HAS WAITED LONG ENOUGH

//End Transmission//​

Div-credit: Shaun Lucien Dooku

 

[Darth Imperius]

AURELIAN SIGISMUND

"There is no enemy. The foe on the battlefield is merely the manifestation of that which we must overcome. He is doubt, and fear, and despair. Every battle is fought within. Conquer the battlefield that lies inside you, and the enemy disappears like the illusion he is."

Equipment: Armour | Sword | Vibro-Claw | Dual-Ranged | Bodyglove
Ship: Eternal Triumph, Pax Imperialis-class
Tags: DECEASED Aron Gowrie | Yorunarr Ahan-Yan'Sharlim | FN-999 | Ashel de Stilico | Albrecht F. Herlock | Argilac | Nukth Kelga'an

Direct Partners: Aoki-Barran Mira | Michael Barran

Post III​

THE LAST OF US
Aquila-Actual​

NIRAUAN SYSTEM, NIRAUAN, HAND OF THRAWN
{>LATE ABY 880<}

Combat fatigue was common, but this was more, this was worse. He felt it and he didn't need to use the Force to confirm it, he has seen it at the end of the Third Galactic War, at the end of the New Sith Wars and in some many occasions afterwards. It was normal, it was a burnout only a sense of duty and righteousness could have on warriors and soldiers. No individual from the outside, no civilian who never touched the surface of a battlefield, could understand it. It was a suffering so deep rooted and tiring, a thirst which could not be quenched, that even in peace there would be no rest.

Aurelian observed the city projection, right away entering all the markings and dispositions into his own HUD while he listened to Barran. A curious defensive scheme to say the least. They would not focus on rigid lines but to cut off the approaching forces at locaitons where it made most sense and which were the most defendable. It was smart and it was based on someone meticulous analysis of the city and that was more than admirable.

"They will hold. I will make sure of that. Who is the local commander of the militia?"

The Zakuulan observed the rest of the defences and forces. He started to wonder if this is all what the Empire could muster at this stage and what that would mean for the rest of the realm. This was their original capital and the birthplace of the rebellion against the Sith. The units present were formidable, elite even but compared to what they had mustered for the defense years ago, it was meagre.

"Is there any armour or artillery available? How does the fall-back plan look like?"

Last time he could at least count on some imperial tanks to be the anchors of his defenses, hopefully they would at least be equipped with heavy weapons.

His eyes and attention were then drawn to one of the large, public holonet screens he could see from where he stood. Black until a second ago, now it flickered and a voice started its ominous and threatening speech. Aurelian listened to it for a couple of seconds before he looked back at Michael.

"I be on my way. Honour and strength, Warden." He offered a nod and would start to make his way there, the heavy plate clanking brutally as he went to jog towards his assigned area. The golden giant disappearing in the next street, heading towards another battle.

* * *
​

On the Eternal Triumph everything was silent. A huge ship and there was no living and organic soul on board anymore. It was entirely run by droids and the GEMINI protocols it got implemented from the good old Phalanx. It did not immediately react to the holonet capture, as the droid did not recognise it as a threat and as it was generally not integrated to explore or understand the holonet. But with a thought impulse coming from Aurelian, the ship went into battle stations immediately, bringing its shields and weapons online as well as preparing the fighter and bomber complement to launch at any given moment.

War was on their doorstep.

​

 

[Aoki-Barran Mira]

​

Equipment
Armor	Light Imperial Knight Armor.
Weapons	Imperial Knight Lightsaber.
	Hazukashi, Naginata Pole-Arm.
	Fukaikira, wakizashi short sword.
	Seijo-Ki, tanto dagger.
	Fragarach-model Heavy Disruptor Pistol.

Primary Objective: Protect ICANNOTSPELLPLANETNAME from unknown invaders.
Secondary Objective: Keep Michael Barran and as many good soldiers alive as possible, even if it costs her own life.
Location [Start of Post]: Hand Of Thrawn.
Location [End of Post]: Hand Of Thrawn.
Allies: Michael Barran Darth Imperius .
Engaging: Thomas Barran .
Misc. Tags: tba.

H E A L T H - B A R:
| | | - | | | - | | | - | | | - |

~ I S - T H I S - T H E - E N D ~

​

"Heh! Didn't think you had it in you yet.... Proud o' you, I mean it."

Mira's face was still devoid of visible expression, but Michael would have been able to sense the burst of joy in his adopted daughter. Though, it faded into the unreadable mask of hidden void of emotion. Even in the Force, her inner turmoil was being tightly guarded. That was why it surprised her so much, when like an open door he still saw right through her.

"But now, someone needs to offer you that same encouragement."

Mira looked up, surprise subtly written on her features, as she stood to face him.

"The advice from before was nought but the ideals to which we should still strive, the real advice comes now - so listen up an' listen up well.... In our darkest hours, our ancestors provide; an' for you, I know an entire collective will be watching.... So make them as proud as I am now."

Mira blinked away the emotions threatening to show on her face. Her birth family, all dead, haunted her to this day. She reached down, clenching her hand at the empty air where her family's broken heirloom, the katana Utaken, would be if it had not been shattered. If it had not been a symbol of family honor she deemed herself unworthy of to this day.

She loosened her hand, gazing upwards as Michael turned his attention elsewhere. Her mother, aunt, uncle, and father... did they think all her efforts were wasted now? Did they see it coming? She wondered. Regret and depressive melancholy were ever hovering around her, for so many years of her life. And today, it felt all the worse. But Michael Barran was proud of her. And not only was she Aoki, but she was also Barran now. She closed her eyes, thinking towards the ancestors that she wondered could even hear her.

Even if I've failed you in the past, I will try to make you proud today. If I have been misguided this whole days, may even my good intentions speak for me. I cannot say I have no regrets, but I don't know what else I would have done either.

She turned and took a couple steps towards the direction of some battlements that could potentially use some help securing. But she was stopped at a loud crackling in her comlink earpiece. She lifted her hand to the com, when that foreboding message came through. She stood deathly still, listening to the whole message. Her face was a stone, but inside, her dark emotions churned and rumbled.

As the warning ended and cons were restored, she sensed all the turmoil and disquiet surrounding her as her soldiers whispered hushed words amongst themselves. She lowered her hand from her earpiece, stoic and externally unwavering in the face of such wrath and hopelessness. She turned, with all her grace and calmness, and spoke.

"Shall we show these aggressors that mind games do not work on us, my brave troops? They give us wrath, we merely dish it back towards them for such barbaric accusations and low methods of attempting to frighten us."

"We are better. We are stronger. Let us shove their words back down their throats! Continue your preparations, and remain calm. It is useless to let our emotions cloud us in battle, for it only weaknens our might."​

Yet I let my own eat me alive...

She turned and approached Michael once again, leaning in and whispering into his ear. "You heard the message?..."

​

 

[Yorunarr Ahan-Yan'Sharlim]

5th post

-THE BITTER END APPROACHES-

GODMASK_ACTUAL

LORD-CAPTAIN OF FIREDANCE BRIGADE(THE HIGHLAND BROTHERHOOD)
HIGH-SHAMAN OF THE SERENNOAN ESOTERIC CHAPTER
PRIEST-KING OF ARCHAIS

Tags: @ FN-999 @ Argilac @ Aoki-Barran Mira @ Ashel de Stilico @ Aurelian Sigismund @ Kastav Volff @ Nukth Kelga'an

FOR THE ANCIENTS II: IN THE EYES OF THE DEAD - PART 5

Fiyarro District, The Old City,
New Carannia, Nirauan (Late 880 ABY)

'THE PAINT, THE PIGMENTED ROOT OF THE MOTHER - IS IT IN YOUR BLOODSTREAMS YET?!?!'
​

Seizing the moment and leaving no time for the madman on the airways, the Dreamseer had roared as if to mark his official response for the others' sake, marking the long pause on his own terms as anyone iron-willed would under similar circumstances, ensuring the doom-sayings had no solid footing in forcing the Novanians to think on their own matters for a moment or so. Even with Yorunarr casually leaning against the tunnel-wall, subtly chiming in with supporting input as he baulked,'Haaaah! Well, it should be.... And definitely after hearing that - madness on that Holonet-Terminal over there.', seeing the nature of his friend's speech in quick and thoughtful order.

'After all, nowhere is it written that blood-rushes don't enhance the effects of the Root, nor of there being any lesser-method of immersion - YOU FEEL THAT FRENZY AS I DO!!!!'

​

Rightly infuriated, the Empire's Spiritual-Arkanian caste felt slighted by such words of Nature's Justice, as there were none of animistic, shamanistic leanings who would accept such words as anything other than blasphemous; as none had ever, in all the time their warriors and shamans had been fighting the Galaxy's wars, dared to insult the Ancients of Archais in such a fashion. Not even in the decades they suffered occupation at the hands of Syndicalists, Humans, Sith and the First Order, and in this slight of all slights, the Swords of Novania silently vowed to silence the Holonet-voice once and for all, and with everlasting finality. They owed this sweet declaration of Holy War to the Galidraani, the Goidels, the Mandalorian Clans on Krieg, and to all the people of Serenno as much as they owed it to each other, so all began to make their internal peace with the fact there would be no turning back beyond that point.

And such inward mantras of,"Ea!", began to take true form at the nerve-endings, further-intoxicating the Novanians as the hairs on their necks and arms stood on end - hallucinatory augmentation in full-effect.

'FOR THIS ONE DAY, THIS PLANET IS OUR TEMPLE - AND THEY MEAN TO DESECRATE IT'S ALTAR!!!!'

​

Some would crack their necks one side or the other to relieve the building stresses of aggravation, others would clench their teeth and even sneer at such an outcome, but a shocking majority would make an entirely-different collective expression of rage, that which seemed to bear a strange habitual similarity to that expressed by the Goidels. A hypervigilant, wild-eyed intensification of threatening gazes, showing more of the eyes than their eyelids would normally allow, often expressed in lesser form as the wide-eyed displeasure of unwelcome surprises, but altogether more unsettling when seen expressed to the fullest extent. Expressing what some would describe as feral psychosis, and what others would coldly describe as the look of bloody-murder in the making, both Godseer and Dreamseer alike began to pity the foes who were destined for capture, as both knew the most-unfortunate among them would be heard screaming under the malice of torture in the quieter moments.

My father's method.

"Son, if we can hear it - so can they.... So can they."
I hate it, but it works.​

All fine and well for the end-goal, but in realising the likelihood of severe barbarity that awaited the attackers, the soul within warned the Priest-King to reconsider sending his men to aid, reinforce or relieve the embattled Battle-Line: Purple, highlighting the hidden dread of seeing his old friend gradually begin to ignore his own advice. The Godseer knew Siyarr had been wise enough to warn of ulterior godly plans before, but as the High-Dreamseer's rhetoric steadily took on a shamanistic, ecumenically-animistic form, only then did Yorunarr find his true understanding of what his lifelong friend was trying to tell him, done so surreptitiously that it could only be assumed he was hoping the Ancients weren't listening at the time.

~=Father, I know you can hear me on the other side.=~
~=Is that what our people must become - again? Really? ANSWER ME!!!!=~​

Of all the city's three salients, Battlefront: West retained the greatest potential to become a horror-story for the planetary attackers, and despite not knowing the formerly-weak left flank had been strengthened by the timely arrival of the Vandemarian host, all the Novanians there were eager to make the bloodiest of all stands in the heart of Fiyarro District. Eager to introduce their enemies to the vicious aspects of their culture, to present the horror with horrors of their own, and to such an extent that it wouldn't matter if they were given a wide berth or not, Firedance Brigade would leave their mark in some fashion or another. It was this that turned the Priest-King's thoughts on other things he had seen as a boy, repressed memories of,"Trophies", out on display for occupiers to see from miles away, of skulls used in the rituals of tribal chieftains, all were memories of a past his people had long-since put behind them.

This was a part of his own past that the Godseer did not want outsiders to know, seeing for himself the disgust in the eyes of Michael Barran when he found out, becoming a secret that Michael and Yorunarr would between them - vowing to silently share the bloody burden for the sake of their friendship.

'SO I PONDER, AND FOR YOUR SAKE - WHAT WOULD MOTHER MELARRIA SAY IN YOUR STEAD?!?! WHAT FATE WOULD THE WONDRESS WANT FOR HERETICS?!?!'

No, Siyarr! You idiot!

~=FERTILIZE THE SOIL - LET THE RAINS PUSH THEIR BLOOD TO THE ROOTS BELOW!!!!=~
​

The Priest-King wanted more than anything to scream his horror through the monorail tunnel-network, to unleash his anguish in realisation of the Ancients' true plan, but it was too late to do anything about it by then, and much too late to keep the Novanians from resorting to the worst of warfighting butchery. The Gods had found their chance to exact revenge on the Unknown Regions, completely disregarding how violent and unhinged it was likely to make the Arkanians look by the time the last shot was fired, completely unwilling to see the reason and common-sense of mortals, especially for all the celestial suffering they had endured at the hands of the Dark Three.

Why, Siyarr?

~=Blame not your friend, son. He almost escaped it, believe it or not.=~
~=But Arr'Huwal stepped aside eventually - and so will you.=~​

The Ancients could smell blood, and in the faint recognition of it's stench, knew it could belong to none other than the weakened Avatars of the Maw - and not even the Godseer himself could stop his Ancients from seeking them out.

​

 

[Michael Barran]

4th Post

-THE BITTER END APPROACHES-

CAIRN_ONE
RINGLEADER OF THE PELLAEONIST CLIQUE
WARDEN OF THE IMPERIAL KNIGHTS
DRUID-GRANDMASTER OF THE HIGHLAND BROTHERHOOD

TAGS
FN-999 Aoki-Barran Mira Argilac Darth Imperius

HOLD THE LINE I: DEFIANT IMPERIUM - PART 4

CENTRAL TOWER, THE HAND OF THRAWN,
NEW CARANNIA, NIRAUAN (LATE 880 ABY)

'They will hold. I will make sure of that. Who is the local commander of the militia?'

Relief, unexpected though it was, washed all over the Wanderer all the same.

Not only in the good fortune of according on strategic matters, but also in the safety-net the Vandemarians had assured.​

In this, there was hope, and the sort that made all the difference in the latter stages of any similarly existential struggle, and though there was much yet to overcome, the Wanderer couldn't help but admire the Griffin's sort at the eleventh hour. Vandemar had proven exceptional in the fashion before, and in true sky-dropping flashiness, were proving that certain things about the Empire would never change, a small blessing for embodying the defiance of true Imperium - the most-costly of all Galactic endeavours.

​

'Ah, you've got two actually.... Both brothers of Mirialan heritage, an' both with militias of their own. Easily identified, easily coordinated.'

Despite being deployed to serve as the weakest part of Battle-Line: Purple, Barran often had to force himself to admit the two militias there were among the city's tougher collective, sporting more than enough experienced elements that it was easy to believe they could keep their greenhorns in line; but just like with all the city's best militias, and all the middling and lesser peer-companies, paramilitary organisations were only ever as strong as their weakest links when push came to shove. However, with such weak-links negated by Vandemarian force-of-arms, even the formerly-weakest links stood a better chance of holding the line with the others, and with the Hand of Thrawn nearby, (offering pillbox, mortar and sharpshooter support from the south) the Southwestern battlefront was already beginning to look like an ill-advised choice for any attacking contingent.

'Is there any armour or artillery available? How does the fall-back plan look like?'

Nodding with a sly smile, the Lord-Warden looked to his new friend's display, expanding over a particular corner of the map for the Vandemarian Imperator's sake as he earnestly replied,'Absolutely, we've got a few Cataphract MBTs, an' assortment of different IFVs, an' we've got Bulwark MLVs in reasonable supply as well, an' with tracked-vehicles heavy enough to bear the weight of our Predator Launch-Platforms.... But if you're feeling a bit - um.... Spicier, you needn't look any farther than Fort Defiant - we've still got stationary and self-propelled cannonry in the Southwestern Courtyard. Kept in working order since the battle in '73.', recalling that battle in particular to be his father's first defeat as the Empire's Lord-General. Michael remembered the Holo-Call he had with his father in the hours before the consequent reconquest, standing with jaw-clenched as his empty left sleeve flapped with every sway and shudder, painting quite the vivid picture of what his own failure would look like.

It won't be me....
I won't be the one headbutting the Holonet Terminal.

I won't be the one turning feral in the wake of defeat.... It won't be me.​

'And the fall-back principle has been simplified to this.... Bear the weight of attack, then engage rear-guard actions, touch base on the second defensive line.... Then you counter! An' from there its,"Game on!", to reclaim the initiative with support, but if you need to rinse an' repeat the process - it becomes like clockwork at any and all attacking pressures after that. "Practice makes perfect", as we know fine an' well aw'read-.'

Interrupted, but not by anyone with him or on the ground elsewhere for that matter, but stopped in his tracks by the gathering doom in the skies, Barran knew from the offset that his anger would begin to creep in as the sudden broadcast continued. Hatred enough had been brewing from the smallest of catalysts, even from motives as petty as being forced to hold out against raiders from the Unknown Regions, against the dregs and remnants of the foes who perished before them, it was enough for all his Brethren to see that Michael himself had perceived a slight in the assumption of disappointing Mawite aftershocks. Consisting of all the dwellers in the Unknown Region who never declared for either of the Dark Lords, all who sat back and watched as Exegol died at the hands of their enemies, all who ignored the call of their Gods, these would be the ones to wash over the Empire in it's darkest hour.

It was an insult to all who stood defiantly against the forces of Darkness, a slap across the face for all who bled for the New Order, and for that - Lord Michael had already sworn he would rather die screaming than allow such a cowardly, craven swarm to conquer Nirauan.

But the message heard on the nearest Holonet-Terminal was something entirely different, and in the sudden and abrupt oratory, the Wanderer's eyelids receded to reveal a maddened, near-intoxicated rage as the speaker blared with the sort of rhetoric that the Empire recognised as Mawite, but something altogether more distinct than that. All the Galidraani and Goidelic elements, (and perhaps also every part as much for their kinsfolk in the air) and perhaps others on the ground would find strange familiarity in the words they were hearing, these chosen colloquialisms of the reader on the other end of the hijacked connection, but none could quite put their finger on who it was exactly.

Throwing even the most-seasoned Imperial soldiers for a loop, and perhaps even more-so at the uncharacteristically-new habit of hijacking planetary airways, something often left to the Mawsworn Elite in the wars of yesteryear, works that were often attributed to Dark Lords and Heathen Priests instead of warriors, raiders and the like. Someone was stepping up in absence of their former status quo, someone powerful enough to hold sway over at least some elements among the gathering swarm, and in the noted absence of certain Mawsworn tribes in the Battle of Exegol, Barran could then narrow down the list of suspect resurgents quite easily. Narrowing down far enough to only three Mawite tribes, as there were few among the hordes who who could lay claim to such choice phraseology, and fewer still among them who could claim true understanding of every last word, as such zealots were truly rare for their archetypally-chaotic sort.

'I be on my way. Honour and strength, Warden.'

With a simple, but enthusiastic fist-over-heart salute, the wide-eyed, galvanised Lord-Warden expressed heartfelt respect in his gesture, holding true for a quiet moment before he finally responded,'Good luck out there.... Show this swarm what true defiance looks like!', bowing his head before turning his gaze to the cheering Druids and soldiers gathered around his Shadow. The Griffin likely followed suit with a place where his stand could be made more effectively, and with nothing left to be said, both heroes parted ways with purpose, and mutually-menacing axes to grind with their enemies. Not knowing whether one would see the other again, utterly clueless as to whether one, the other or both would be left standing in the end, both Wanderer and Griffin alike regardless stood and walked as pillars of Imperial strength, marching head-first into the fray despite the deathly dangers they faced.

'You heard the message?...'

Mira had concluded her response to the enemy's speech, breaking away from the gathered crowds to approach her father and whisper her query into his ear, revealing that she also felt the wording to be aggravatingly familiar, and as a consequence the Wanderer couldn't help but believe someone celestial was upping the stakes beyond the veil between life and the Nether. There was plenty already to indicate that higher powers of some sort had been at play for years already, and regardless of whether such a power was benevolent or malevolent all along, Barran couldn't help but feel enraged at the mere possibility of their presence on Nirauan, and especially so after remembering what he found within the dirt walls of his brother's barrow-mound.

A golden skull and bones, wicked replacements of Lord Thomas' charred remains, replacements of which never would have been sanctioned by Clan Barran's ancestral Cairnsman. No second-born had ever done such a thing, nor would they ever feel the need to remove perfectly-preserved materials in such a manner, as no folklorist, or even Druidic traditions had ever allowed such outlandish practices to stand without execution, nor would they with the Highland Brotherhood's spiritual adherences considered.

'Aye, indeed I did.... I don't think its the Maw, but definitely of those who were absent from the Battle of Exegol.'

​

 

[DECEASED Aron Gowrie]

4th Post

-THE BITTER END APPROACHES-

WILDCAT_ONE
TRIBAL-CHIEFTAIN OF AN-TUATHA
LORD-GENERAL OF IMPAF
SWORD OF THE VALKYRIES

Tags : FN-999 Argilac Aoki-Barran Mira Ashel de Stilico
Albrecht F. Herlock Nukth Kelga'an Kastav Volff

TRIBULATIONS OF THE WILDCATS VIII: THE LAST TRIBULATION - PART 4

FORT DEFIANT, THE MYRMIDON QUARTER,
NEW CARANNIA, NIRAUAN (880 ABY)

'Thank you.'
​

The Baron of Imperium was nothing, if not professional in his courtesy, a cut above the rest in terms of soldiering decorum, and certainly a shining example of what an Imperial soldier should've been in such times, and perhaps something of a glimpse into what could have been in such times. Fate always had other plans, but it still didn't stop the Kellas from thinking on the what-ifs, the maybes and all the potential the Galaxy wouldn't allow Imperium to actualise in time, not while there was still some fight left in the Empire's best and brightest.

'It has been an honor to serve alongside you. Godspeed.'

​

Customarily rising from their seats to stand to attention in each other's presence, Gowrie warm-heartedly replied,'Well.... On this day of days, I believe the honour would be mine.', offering a quick fist-over-heart salute before Nines had any time to break off from the decorum of leadership. It wasn't much for men on the precipice of doom itself, but for men like the Lord-Baron and the Lord-General respectively, it was more than enough to see them through to whatever ends awaited them, toward whatever world was in the most dire need of their strength before the end. They were almost like cornered Mantellian tigers, majestic in their unwavering strength and focused ferocity, even with the prospect of impending demise hanging over them, as it was nothing new to men who had conquered the wilderness already.

'Godspeed, Lord-Baron!'
​

And with that, two of the Empire's best military minds parted ways for the fight of their lives, though for one - it would be the last.

​

The Kellas believed he would have another short period of working reprieve after that, but in the minutes following the Lord-Baron's exit, the enemy's first transmission blared out over the speakers of the nearest Holonet Terminal, stirring a soul-deep rage within Gowrie's mind as his right hand began to instinctively reach over for his sword. A knee-jerk response to words he knew had belonged to the Maw's Marauder caste before, but in his self-assurance of their timely eradication since peacetime conditions were implemented, Lord Aron couldn't bring himself to believe any such contingents existed any more. Thinking that hoarse, dry voice on the airwaves to be nothing more than that of an opportunist, acting as part of an avaricious, cowardly scavenger-mob, separated from Exegol in their motivations and apathetic disregard for their downfall.

They don't know....
The Maw learned this eventually, but these fools have not.

Order was designed to make Chaos flinch, an' they will flinch before the end.
​

By the time the broadcast was ended, the Tuath and his Woad-born colleague were already smirking at each other, fully aware of the hubris they both caught in the wording of their foes' speech, and fully aware of everything such carelessness implied when found on the other side of the struggle. The two Goidelic coordinators knew then that the Swarm were flying directly into the Empire's favoured arena, claiming victory prematurely, and over a battle-ground for which they had neither scouted nor trained to dominate. Nirauan would become a bloodbath, and for all the Swarm had been assured of victory by strength in numbers, they knew not of Imperium and it's hard-fought excellence, knowing not that much-greater warfighting powers had, in turn, learned that same lesson the hard way.

'They'll pay for that.... Whether it be with their blood - or their fear..... Our enemies will pay for that before this day is done.'

 

[Albrecht F. Herlock]

Allies : Imperial troops

Foes : Any hostile people/ship

Equipment : Uniform; custom-made blaster; cerermonial sword; telescope

Task Force 58 composition : AIV Napoléon Bonaparte (Legate-class battlecruiser, flagship); AIV Maréchal Davout (Pellaeon IV-class star destroyer); AIV Maréchal Lannes (Pellaeon IV-class star destroyer); AIV Robert Surcouf (New Imperial-I class star destroyer); AIV Jean Bart (New Imperial-I class star destroyer); AIV Dixmude (Onager II-class star destroyer); AIV Montfaucon (Onager II-class heavy cruiser); AIV Passchendaele (Onager II-class heavy cruiser); AIV L'Effroyable (Harrier-class heavy cruiser); AIV Le Téméraire (Harrier-class haevy cruiser); AIV L'Indomptable (Harrier-class heavy cruiser); AIV Le Malin (Harrier-class heavy cruiser); AIV Forbin (Cuirassier-class cruiser); AIV Cassard (Cuirassier-class cruiser); AIV Camerone (Cuirassier-class cruiser); AIV Koufra (Valiant-class star destroyer); AIV Bir Hakeim (Valiant-class star destroyer); AIV Athos (Katana-class heavy cruiser); AIV Portos (Katana-class heavy cruiser); AIV Aramis (Katana-class heavy cruiser); AIV Silencieux (stealth corvette)

Legate-class battleceruiser AIV Napoléon Bonaparte
Commanding officer : Commodore Albrecht Herlock

As soon as he got his orders from FN-999 , his fleet took position. The starfighters started attacking ennemy positions while alarms started ringing in the Napoléon Bonaparte. Many contacts appeared on the radar scope and the fleet took position in order to prevent ennemy warships and starfighters to attack the imperial positions on the planet. As quickly as possible, many laser bolts came from the fleet's guns while the stealth corvette Silencieux began its usual attack pattern, attacking ennemy ships from behind using its cloaking device to remain undetected. Then Herlock took his microphone and spoke to the imperial command center on the planet.

"Guardian One, this is Commodore Herlock on board of the Napoléon Bonaparte. My fleet has engaged ennemy ships. I'll hold the ground up there while my starfighters provide air support to your troops. If you need to treat wounded soldiers, I can transfer them to my medical facilities on board. Glory to the Empire ! Herlock out."

 

[Sylas]

Location: Far East of the Hand of Thrawn, Nirauan
Objective: Defend the First Line of the East Group as apart of the Imperial Knight Chapters
Tags: FN-999 , Argilac , Kastav Volff
Forces: 32 Phase I Dark Trooper-class Battle Droid, 2 Ghouls

Sylas situated themselves in the tallest building in the first line of the East Group, just past the Second Line and in the reserves of the Front Line. As a member of the Mission Chapter of the Order of the Imperial Knights, they were the heavy-handed side of the Chapter, shying away from the humanitarian and non-combative elements and enforcing law and order through brutality, violence, and fear. Sylas considered their fellow Chapter members as the benign carrot while they served as the vicious stick to ensure that the Empire's generosity and kindness were not taken lightly or for granted. Thus, their work was deeply entrenched with the less savory and more militant aspects of COMPNOR, finding them transferred from one unstable region to the next, perpetuating a figure of infamy known as Sylas: the Scourge of the Outer Rim and the Empire's one and only Unholy Cleric.

Perhaps Sylas was a bit too effective in their duties, cementing the idea that they were more suited as an instrument of destruction than law keeping, sending them on a cascading series of war fronts to war fronts. They did not have much opposition to the arrangements of Imperial leadership, as war brought casualties and casualties for Sylas were subsistence to his decaying and dying body. Death was the best supplement to feed his endless gluttony for lifeforce.

This large commercial building was cleared out and replaced with Sylas's direct subordinates: 32 Phase I Dark Trooper-class Battle Droid strategically placed at various vantage points that overlooked the entire battlefield and guarded the building's entrances and 2 Ghouls--Sithspawn Cyborgs of Sylas's own creation. Equipped with IL-25X Sniper Rifle, their primary responsibility was maintaining overwatch over the entire First Line, eliminating key targets and monitoring the flexible defensive lines two Nirauan militia regiments. Furthermore, a heavy, yet mobile repulsorlift equipped sensor array system provided a constant stream of information about the battlefield, designating weak points in the defensive line as well as the various unit compositions at each location.

Sylas personally did not have high expectations for the militia, although they were curious to see the renown martial prowess of Imperial Knight Argilac who was responsible for leading one of the Nirauan militia regiments. Assigned underneath his command, they decided it was best to have their presence be known.

Hello Imperial Knight Argilac, I have heard about your reputation as a fierce warrior. I am Cleric Sylas; let me know if you have any orders for me.

They quickly sent over a copy of their current position, along with a status report of their current forces and objective.

"We are currently maintaining overwatch over the Front Line: we will continue to update you about the status of the First Line. We are also ready to reposition on your command."

As Sylas finished the transmission, rain droplets slowly fell, seeping through the cracks and dripping onto the ground at random points. They looked up to the barren and dilapidated ceiling and sighed.

When was the last time Sylas had seen rain? Millenia on a molten planet left them unfamiliar with the concept of large amounts of water; for they had long adjusted to the brutal temperatures of Cessed, cool weather was a curse not a respite. It was a foreboding omen.

​

 

[DECEASED Aron Gowrie]

5th Post

-THE BITTER END APPROACHES-

WILDCAT_ONE
TRIBAL-CHIEFTAIN OF AN-TUATHA
LORD-GENERAL OF IMPAF
SWORD OF THE VALKYRIES

Tags: FN-999 Argilac Aoki-Barran Mira Ashel de Stilico
Albrecht F. Herlock Nukth Kelga'an Kastav Volff Sylas

TRIBULATIONS OF THE WILDCATS VIII: THE LAST TRIBULATION - PART 5

FORT DEFIANT, THE MYRMIDON QUARTER,
NEW CARANNIA, NIRAUAN (880 ABY)

'Everything holding up so far?'
​

Both Goidels had been sitting in silence since the Baron of Borosk walked out to fight on the frontlines, but whilst the Tuath was gazing into one glowing holographic blue display, watching Imperium's heaviest guns engage the Swarm in the air, the Woad's eyes would hold to the bird's-eye view of the city around them instead. Between them both, the entire battle for survival would be overseen within the four walls of the command-centre's planning room, and in that small, windowless, crypt-like setting, all the most-difficult decisions would be made in the tension of all their battle-stresses.

'Eh, debris is the only issue down here - so far.... I'm just waiting for the bombardments at this stage - ghoulish as that would sound to your ears. But they are in range for it, an' I'm also quite the impatient one when it comes to matters of waiting out the enemy.'

Nodding his approval with a wry smile, the Lord-General then raised his hands to surrender in jest as he replied,'You'll get nae arguments fae me anyways, we're of the same mind on both issues this time. A rare instance of Woadish an' Tuathan cooperation, so it is.... So lets make good use o' this cooperation while the magic's there for us-', only to find himself cut short once again by the flow of Comm-Link traffic. Rotten luck that was only fated to get worse for the Kellas as the hours passed, but he took it in stride as he listened in to Fleet-Command's report, then with a simple shunt of shoulders, Gowrie decided to let McGechin handle the chatter as he looked back to the holographic fight for the skies.

<"Guardian One, this is Commodore Herlock on board of the Napoléon Bonaparte. My fleet has engaged ennemy ships. I'll hold the ground up there while my starfighters provide air support to your troops. If you need to treat wounded soldiers, I can transfer them to my medical facilities on board. Glory to the Empire! Herlock out.">
​

'Instant comm-reroutes.... The joys, eh?'

<"Fleet Command, you've been rerouted to callsign: Wildcat Three! You're probably better off giving such assurances to Nines at this stage, as Guardian One has voluntarily gone dark on the comm-link, so the Air-Defence Hub can only receive Datapad messages for now. But still, with that being said - they're currently dialled in and waiting for coordinates, Sieur.... Glory to the Empire, an' Bon Chance! Wildcat Three - out!">

 

[Yorunarr Ahan-Yan'Sharlim]

6th post

-THE BITTER END APPROACHES-

GODMASK_ACTUAL

LORD-CAPTAIN OF FIREDANCE BRIGADE(THE HIGHLAND BROTHERHOOD)
HIGH-SHAMAN OF THE SERENNOAN ESOTERIC CHAPTER
PRIEST-KING OF ARCHAIS

Tags: FN-999 Argilac Aoki-Barran Mira Ashel de Stilico Darth Imperius
Kastav Volff Nukth Kelga'an Sylas

FOR THE ANCIENTS II: IN THE EYES OF THE DEAD - PART 6

Fiyarro District, The Old City,
New Carannia, Nirauan (Late 880 ABY)

~=Father, I know that Gods of opposing faiths are waging war on each other.=~
~=BUT YOU FORGET THE WICKEDNESS IT BRINGS OUT IN ALL OF US!!!!=~
​

Pulling the Mask of Godseers from his face, Yorunarr looked to his friend with head shaking in disapproval, loudly growling,'Kark it all to the Nether! We could have achieved this with the Ancients as our spectators, we were capable of shining without their assistance! And now.... I must give myself over to Mother Melarria - as Melarran watches in silence!', only to look away again in disgust as everyone watched and listened on in silence. An unexpected turn of events it was to warriors and shamans who otherwise believed this was a wondrously momentous occasion, as any sign of assistance or favour of the Ancients had always been viewed as wondrous before that day, but the discord caused in two of the Theocracy's most-prominent bonded Seers confused all those who bore witness.

'Preacher.... We fight on either way, so what difference does it make if the Ancients provide or not?'

'What difference, you say? DID I JUST HEAR THAT CORRECTLY?!?!', the Godseer shot back in a sudden (but certainly expected-) rage, rising from his camp-stool as the echoes of his voice reverberated hither and yon through the tunnels. But Yorunarr wouldn't stop there, nor could he for that matter, hoping beyond all reason that he could talk sense into Siyarr's mind as he continued,'Heady, think.... Have you truly forgotten so easily? You know, what we were - before the New Imperial Order landed on Archais? BECAUSE I SURE AS KARK HAVE NOT!!!!', heartily committing to his last chance for a second occasion of mortal Novanian glory. As there was no way the Godseer could forget that many still believed the victory owed to the Novanians on Neshtab, hard-fought though it was throughout, to be the indicative fluke of a spiritual collective, and the Highland Brotherhood invested much and more to help their comrades shine a second time for Imperium.

Yorunarr couldn't bring himself to allow such failures to befall Firedance Brigade, and certainly not by that point of their march into prominence, the Galidraani had taught them far too much of the value of holding against the odds to just give in to Divine Intervention so easily.

All who were in that monorail tunnel with them knew how hard it was to earn respect among their Imperial peers, and especially so after the Battles of Carlac and Lao-Mon respectively, amounting to stains on the reputation of people whom Galidraan had staked their reputations on Novanian effectiveness; and even in their latest predicament against the Swarm, in sight of the Empire's apathetic scourge, submission to celestial observers was understood universally to be the worst way to earn respect on the merits of their warfighting valour. Such reckless destruction was never received well among IMPAF's highest echelons, much like that which left a massive crater in the heart of Lao-Mon's Goshen Rainforest, leaving the landscape with a pock-mark that was large enough to be seen from space, a memory of which the Godseer still carried within his soul.

'The Galaxy reduced our tribes to little more than primitives, letting our Ancients have their way with us - making bloodthirsty savages of all who were born into it.... CHILDREN AS YOU AND I WERE, LITTLE MORE THAN FERAL BEASTS WHO CHEWED ON EVERY BITE OF RAW MEAT WE FOUND!!!! KEEPING OUTSIDER SKULL-TROPHIES AFTER SUBJECTING THEM TO THE WORST DEATHS IMAGINABLE!!!!!'

The silent Novanian audience soon peeled off from the interaction, too far gone to hear out their own Priest-King, (and far beyond the control of their Godseer's mortal-hearted will) but Yorunarr wasn't speaking to any of their, he had no reason to worry if no swords would be drawn on their leader. But something else would happen in this tense turn of events, something else that coincidentally occurred within the theocratic collective, but the Priest-King was unable to see it unfold as he stepped closer to inquire,'This I know you haven't forgotten.... Is that what you truly want for us, Siyarr? IS THAT WHO WE ARE IN THE HERE-AND-NOW?!?!', concluding unabated in sight of the few who remained in attendance.

'That isn't your CALL TO MAKE, PREACHER-'

'-SIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIILEEEEEEENCE!!!!'
​

Screaming as if from the depths of the Nether itself, a voice erupted from within the ranks of those who remained, cutting short the developing enmity between lifelong, close-knit friends, seemingly unimpressed by what was transpiring in clear view of everyone. But as soon as the Warseers' High-Seeress stepped forth from the crowd, it was apparent by the glow of the eyes that Mariyum Ahana-Merla was taking a divine backseat for a higher power, sleeping soundly within her own mind so Yorunarr could finally meet Maaru,"The Warrior", for the first time. An encounter of the likes none would forget, and of the likes that had been anticipated for nearly fifteen years by the time the Swarm made their war on the Empire, and despite the fact both Yorunarr and Maaru subconsciously avoided each other over the years, the former (and since childhood) knew better than to shirk the latter when their paths eventually crossed.

~=Worry not, Godseer.... There are no quarrels to be had with your Wargod.=~
~=You have an unlikely ally in your corner now.=~

~=We can win without the Mother's Thralls.=~​

'Heh! At this stage, I'll take all the help I can get.... You just had to leave it to the very last second, hm?'

​

Maaru and the Godseer would laugh together for a few moments, though sincerity was still creeping in with the Wargod's kindly surrender of silent placation, breaking the silence but only to reply,'Being perfectly honest, I walked down into these tunnels over a week ago - with you.... I've been here from this endeavour's very first steps, Yorunarr.', but done so with the fullness of his voice for the sake of the remaining observers' curiosity. The Priest-King's relief knew no bounds by then, and in the midst of the Wargod's assurance, Yorunarr himself was self-compelling his mind to thank the great Maaru for seeing sense in a mere mortal's reasoning, but another broadcast was fated to interrupt this process instead.

'Another message from the Swarm.... Wonderful!'

​

 

[Thomas Barran]

//Systems Hijacked//
//Intruder Alert//
//Security Alert//
//Systems Corrupted//
Tags
FN-999 Albrecht F. Herlock Nukth Kelga'an Aoki-Barran Mira
Darth Imperius @ Argilac Kastav Volff Ashel de Stilico Sylas

[x]

If fleet debris won't root you out, if burning metallic shards won't set your hairs on end....
Your gathering doom will be left to ponder with crosshairs fixed on Nirauan.

And thus - you force us to ponder with crosshairs fixed on New Carannia specifically.
​

Some are looking to your orbital-defence cannonry, while others are licking lips at the sight of the energy-shields covering certain areas within the city itself, but I, personally must admit that my own preferences are somewhat more callous than those of my peers - all I want to see are entire neighbourhoods cratered indiscriminately.

And perhaps to hear that collective, groaning regret of complacency's traumatising, grief-struck rewards.

THAT WAVE OF ANGUISH
THAT FEAR YOU WILL KNOW SOON ENOUGH

YOU EARNED EVERY LAST SECOND OF IT
​

Don't mind my friend, he doesn't usually interrupt my transmissions.

But anyway.... Before we begin, I ask that you take these words into consideration; if Ziost is still healing from one barrage of orbital bombardments, imagine what that might inflict on a Galactic frontier-city like New Carannia, then add two more barrages of the sort. Thats what I, personally, want for you.

Though I do wonder, can your minds even fathom what that level of firepower can do to cities like your precious New Carannia? In fact, is there even a single Imperial living now who remembers it? The others mostly believe they're all dead now, and I must admit I'm quite inclined to agree, but I digress; if any among you were, in-fact, there for the Second Battle of Ziost.... You should ready yourselves - its happening again.

//End Transmission//​

Div-credit: Shaun Lucien Dooku

 

[DECEASED Aron Gowrie]

6th Post

-THE BITTER END APPROACHES-

WILDCAT_ONE
TRIBAL-CHIEFTAIN OF AN-TUATHA
LORD-GENERAL OF IMPAF
SWORD OF THE VALKYRIES

Tags : FN-999 Argilac Aoki-Barran Mira Ashel de Stilico
Albrecht F. Herlock Nukth Kelga'an Kastav Volff Sylas

TRIBULATIONS OF THE WILDCATS VIII: THE LAST TRIBULATION - PART 6

FORT DEFIANT, THE MYRMIDON QUARTER,
NEW CARANNIA, NIRAUAN (880 ABY)

'ALL HANDS ON SITE - MOVE TO THE ALLOCATED BUNKERS AN' BRACE FOR BOMBARDMENT!!!! LETS GO!!!!'
​

Screaming out into the command-centre's surrounding hallways, Lord Carwood loaded his tactical belt with pistol and sword-scabbard, and in the process of watching all the nearest subordinates making their way to the safety of the bunkers two floors beneath. Some would scramble to sprint their way down, others would run with a little less urgency, but most would stick together in groups, passing the word along to the offices down the hall in the other direction. All would have reasons to prioritize in their own way, and when the time was eventually to come to surface again, each of the highest-ranked officials would be needed to handle intel and matters like obtaining enemy-armour schematics, thus urgency would guide their judgement accordingly.

'Come on, folks! Time is of the essence here - PASS THE WORD ALONG!!!! WE'RE BRACING FOR BOMBARDMENT!!!!! BASEMENT - LEVELS - NOW!!!!'

But neither Lord Carwood nor Lord Aron were going anywhere, as someone was still needed to watch over the Holo-Projections in the staffers' absence, and with clean chains of command established, such a task would always fall on the highest-ranked defensive coordinators. However, with Michael Barran already situated within the Hand of Thrawn, and with FN-999 en route to Battlefront: East, only one of those coordinators remained to man his station, fortunate the others were then that Gowrie had an iron-willed, dependable assistant on hand for the ordeal. However, as for the briefly-solitary Kellas, his maddened, furious gaze at the Fleet projections appeared to be telling an entirely different story - a wide-eyed tale of sudden recognition.

'Thomas.... Is that - you up there? D'YE MIND O' THAT PROMISE I MADE YOU ON PANATHA?!?! LETS SETTLE THIS SCORE ON THE SURFACE, YA FETHIN' COWARD!!!!'

McGechin understood it, especially in his lifelong accordance with Goidelic law and all it's warlike implications, and understood the finer points for all it meant with a Mawite Barran thrown into the mix of this tribal complication. The Gowries wished not to sunder a clan with whom they made their tentative peace in 864 ABY, a clan of whom (and in all the latest generations) Lord Aron had learned to respect greatly over the years, thus it made no sense to the Kellas or the Champion of the Heartlands to allow one Barran to kill another. "Better it be to risk intertribal tensions than allow yer favoured rivals to die off, better it be to rattle sabres than to lose the greats who make us stronger.", such was ingrained into the Goidels from childhood, arguably going blood-deep to the greatest extremes of adherence.

'NAME THE SPOT, BARRAN!!!! LET US SETTLE THIS, LET US SEAL THIS PAX GOIDELICA - ONCE AND FOR ALL!!!!'

In the most-lawful, most-ethical and most-heartfelt of executorial circumstances, all but the other Barrans agreed that the Bloodhound would need to die at the hands of a Thrast or a Gowrie, as killing the resurrected husk of Thomas would set multiple precedents for a second (and final-) Conference of Reconciliation. The long-awaited negotiations that would lead to true, lasting peace between the tribes on Galidraan III. However, despite the tensions such bloody precedents were likely to create in most instances, Clan Barran wouldn't protest as intensely as some had previously assumed, observed to be more in line with a,"Let the Games Begin", attitude on the matter of the Bloodhound. The Barrans had even ventured far enough to wish the Kellas good luck in his personal crusade for peace, with Lord Erskine himself publicly admitting he admired Lord Aron's plucky nature in public.

And with such respect offered between clan-war rivals, it was clear to all that the Bloodhound would perish by the sword of another Goidel, one way or another - regardless of whether it was a Highlander, a Blue-Heart, or a Tuath.

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!!!!​

Then just as the Kellas began to focus his gaze on the naval Holo-Projection, he would only have enough time to see the concentration of planetary-facing dreadnoughts before the shock of the first salvo shook the fortress around then, impacting within and around the Myrmidon Quarter, along with other areas around New Carannia. But the second salvo would hit much closer, opening up the fort to the skies above as the shockwaves within sent Gowrie and McGechin careening into the Duracrete wall behind them, but fortunately for the surface-skirting Goidels, the orbital bombardments would shift away from Fort Defiant and onto other positions of interest to the Swarm. However, despite his good luck and readiness to call his officers back from the bunkers, this orbital bombardment only seemed to further-aggravate the Lord-General, climbing out from the rubble with a gut-deep roar to the skies above.

'COME ON DOWN, FREAK!!!! LET US SEAL THIS ACCORD WITH YOUR BLOOD!!!!'

 

[Michael Barran]

5th Post

-THE BITTER END APPROACHES-

CAIRN_ONE
RINGLEADER OF THE PELLAEONIST CLIQUE
WARDEN OF THE IMPERIAL KNIGHTS
DRUID-GRANDMASTER OF THE HIGHLAND BROTHERHOOD

TAGS
FN-999 Aoki-Barran Mira Argilac Darth Imperius

HOLD THE LINE I: DEFIANT IMPERIUM - PART 5

CENTRAL TOWER, THE HAND OF THRAWN,
NEW CARANNIA, NIRAUAN (LATE 880 ABY)

'Oh, you've got to be jokin', man.... INCOMIIIIIIIIIIIIIING!!!!'​

It was merely moments between Michael's discussions with his Druids when the first orbital salvo sent shockwaves across the city in it's entirety, standing around discussing the second Holo-Broadcast when the first silent flashes appeared to the northwest of the Hand of Thrawn, rendered powerless by the time the seismic thuds tore their way across New Carannia. Even the collective outcry of the Hand's defenders was rendered mute by the noise, completely stifled by the targeted fire from beyond the orbital sphere as the sonic thudding continued to throw the Druids into disarray, but Michael hadn't the time or the good fortune to chance the luck of the only people there with him - the only people standing between the Swarm and the very place where Imperium's defiance began.

'GET MOVING - ALL O' YOU!!!! GO - GO - GO!!!!'

Flashbacks from the shared memory, however, were proving to be a hindrance to the Wanderer in these moments, manifesting a cursed vision he found when he lifted the charred skull of his brother from the ashes on Ziost, manifesting as if Lord Michael himself was reliving the same moment for his own turn against the doom of above the clouds. Even screaming with the initiative of desperation against unassailable odds, much like that expressed by Lord Thomas in his final moments, as much as it helped to get everyone running in the right direction, proved useless for Barran's own chances of reaching safety on his own. He wasn't moving, just yelling and shunting everyone to the safety of the Hand's basement levels, and by the time Michael could do anything about it, he was already too late to ready himself for the next orbital salvo.

'TAKE COVER-'

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!!!!
​

Impacting just outside the western tower, most of the blast had been averted in tower's fortunate placement in that moment, taking the brunt of the explosive firepower and collapsing under the pressure of the consequent shockwave, leaving the rest for the Lord-Warden to brace accordingly. He was fortunate to avoid the worst of the blast, but Lord Michael knew it would regardless send him flying, deciding then to flow with the shockwave's singular gust until the last moment; a risky thing for any Force-User to try, let alone a skilled warrior of the Imperial Knights, but it was Barran's only chance of survival. It was either that slimmest of chances, or find himself crushed and suffocated by the rubble thrown out from the blast itself, but fortunately for Lord Michael in that moment, he understood physics well enough to know that a well-timed Click Wave could kick enough to break his tumbling momentum.

Better to land on the rubble than to let it land on you.

Wait.... Waaaaaiiiit....
NOW, BARRAN!!!! NOW!!!!

​

 

[Thomas Barran]

1ST POST

-YOUR BITTER END APPROACHES-

THE_BLOODHOUND
GREAT KHAN OF THE SCAR HOUNDS
WARDEN OF RHIGAR & MAR'ZAMBUL
DIVINE CHAMPION OF THE DARK THREE

Tags: Aoki-Barran Mira Argilac Darth Imperius FN-999

BECOMING SHADOWS II: DEATH FROM ABOVE - PROLOGUE

ABOARD THE WRATH OF RHIGAR,
APPROACHING NIRAUAN (LATE-880 ABY)

'DARKHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAANS!!!!'
​

Standing at the bridge of a fortified (though formerly-obsolete) Dropship-Transport vessel, the one-eyed Woad was ready to make his grand entrance, especially after seeing the doubled efforts of the orbital cannons below. Time was a precious commodity in the Galaxy, and always had been, but now the Bloodhound understood this most of all, and quite acutely at that.

'Your orders, Khan?'

After turning around to see, the Khan would once again find himself proud of the warriors who protected him, standing more fearsome than ever as their upgrades to both armour and weaponry were on full display for the occasion.

Rook (the one and only Arkanian serving with the Scar Hounds) had always been a force to be reckoned with, fighting like a man possessed for so long that the very white in his eyes seemed to bear a reddish hue, more than deserving of the Falchion that hung from his right-hip. But it was the blade strapped on the left side that mattered more to the Bloodhound in these moments, as it was coincidentally a dagger of Fairbairn design; as it held far more meaning than any killing tool of it's Galidraani ilk, as it's previous owner just so happened to be the Great Khan himself, awarded duly for his actions of leadership on Exegol.

Unshakable - even in the Crucible of War itself.​

Standing proudly to his right was none other than Dreamer, leader of the Tribe's growing Chiss-born clique and another formidable presence among the Darkhan caste, and with the guile and cunning to match, the blue-skinned menace certainly fit well in that particular mould. Wielder of the Bloodhound's former sword, Dreamer was seen standing proudly with Barran's Romphaia hanging from his belt on the frontal-left side, awarded for constant, unwavering excellence as a strategist with the Scar Hounds, and for watching Rook's back over the years - as he had in those intrepid years before the Omen of Durace's resurrection.

And to think I tried to kill this one in our first encounter.... Wild.
Glad things turned out differently.
​

After turning to look to the Arkanian's left, the Khan would find Nail's hulking human-cyborg form, stood towering above those of his peers with a pride of his own, gifted with recently-fitted upgrades for his loyal, unwavering protection. It just so happened the new Exosuit was already fated to prove effective in the midst of the heaviest firefights, but the cyborg himself was more proud of the fact his Brothers made it specifically with the Smasher in mind, made all the more significant after learning that even Barran himself was involved in some of the upgrade's lattermost procedures. All agreed the Smasher was more than deserving of such augmentations regardless, as Nail's warfighting accolades extended as far back as the Tribe's explosive origins, already a famed cyborg of great repute by the time he foresaw the Omen of Durace's resurrection, thus making the new Exosuit the easiest of priorities for Barran to declare.

That human intuition is not t'be ignored here either.

With Nail behind the trigger.... He'll make for quite the gory spectacle this time.
​

Then the gaze of the one-eyed Woad turned to the youngest of his Darkhans, the only other human of the small collective, and yet (just like his peers) the fourth-and-last guardian of the Scar Hound tombs was by no means a lesser example of his fellow exemplars, and certainly not for as long as Ghoul continued in his own particular path of exemplary achievements. However, if it wasn't for the skinny Corellian's shaky beginnings, the heights reached in Tribal prestige may have shone considerably dimmer in contrast; but despite the underdog circumstances Ghoul was up against from the start, the recovering Spice-Addict was still plucky enough to prove his true worth in some of the Second Hyperspace War's bloodiest battles, thus earning his right to wield Barran's Fragarach pistol with a pride befitting that of his peers.

None have ever watched our backs more than Ghoul has over the years.
None.
​

'The Hour of Strife is upon us, dear Brothers. The fleet's captains are quite content to act with autonomy, thus the landings are left to us an' us alone.'

As the excitement began to build in the Darkhans, their reminder of the impending battle would be allowed to burn in their minds for another moment or so, letting the lust for war continue to build until Barran warned,'I understand the feeling, dear Brothers. I do, but I must remind you that this is our most ambitious operation yet, and with the largest host our ilk have mobilised since the 60's.... We must be wise if we wish to avert that which befell the Mawsworn.... Brethren all, kindred in battle - despite what they became before the end!', letting the weighted implications leave their mark in the pause that followed. There was always the great and terrifying possibility that each and every great venture would be the last for one Darkhan or the others, even for Thomas himself, (and especially after his fight on Empress Teta) there was no escaping fates that would reach out to claim them eventually.

'This is for them, as much as it is for the Mongrel an' the Dark Three.... Do not forget this today - now let us begin.'

BECOMING SHADOWS II: DEATH FROM ABOVE - PART 1

OBSERVATION DECK, THE WRATH OF RHIGAR,
APPROACHING NIRAUAN (LATE 880 ABY)

'Great Khan, the Fleet have begun ground bombardments.... What are your orders?'
​

The great battle for the skies was already in full swing by the time their briefing was finished, greatly limiting the Scar Hounds' window of opportunity as a result of weeks-pervading eagerness to engage the Imperial fleet, a matter of which the Bloodhound knew was beyond the control of his tribe, especially in his dire need for allies at such a pivotal time in living history. Even with only half the swarm in attendance to enact the Nirauan invasion-plan, these petulant warlords were still more than a calamitous handful for Thomas with their numbers halved, and despite their otherwise-admirable desire to wreak havoc on the Empire, Barran himself knew it was only a matter of time before their impatience eventually set everything into motion.

'Send in the droids - by the time the next wave drops, whatever survives of the first can take on support roles.... My reasoning for this is simple, our blood is needed remain in our own keeping for now, an' the results of that vote stand without contest. But we still need our wee foothold, do we not?'

The other leaders of the expedition would need to die off in droves before Barran could even think about asserting his will over the majority, but as circumstances were looking increasingly difficult for the Imperials, so too were those of the swarm with no name. All the Horde of the Scar Hounds, in terms of manpower alone, were outnumbered 10 to 1 by the unnamed swarm, giving the Bloodhound little in the way of choice as the overgrown fleet surrounded both planets of the Scar Hounds' little corner of the Galaxy. Led by what seemed to be a loose-confederation of roguish warlords, chieftains and kings, all of whom working towards their own individual ambitions, it was fairly obvious (even as far back as a few months before, in Barran's first encounter with them) there would be no success in trying to make cohesive allies of such a rabble, not without making enemies the Bloodhound could ill-afford in the years following Exegol's destruction.

'So we let our machines soak up their aggression instead, eating up their projectiles, blaster-fire an' the likes.... Heh! An' even the very confidence on which they rely in the beginning, wasting much-needed energy on robots!'

​

However, this blunder of impatience still bore the potential of playing into the hands of the Great Khan, and despite the quickness to fire on the planet's surface to their own detriment, windows of opportunity were still opening for the Scar Hounds' attacks. A measured, planned element to the invasion, somehow given a fighting chance by detestable, unruly warlords - all unwittingly distracting the Imperials to the hidden, ulterior benefit of the Bloodhound's grand scheme.

'That actually could be enough to bait them out of their defences, but we need to set rear-guard protocols if we really want it to work as planned - at least then we can guarantee our bites are out in the open for the second wave.'

'Alright then, Ghoul.... Make it happen.', Barran replied quietly, nodding in an expression of absolute trust between friends, trusting in the solution of a man who hadn't failed him in almost eight years. Ghoul had been clean and Spice-Free for years, and though the scarred Corellian still professed addiction in kindly candour, (as any other recovering addict would in Ghoul's place) the Khan couldn't help but affirm,'You've come a long way since the start o' your journey with the clique - a long way indeed.', and not only for all his battle-brother had done for his brethren by then. After all, in acknowledgement of the fates with which they were all gambling, the Khan did not want to chance such clouds of self-doubt and shame to hang over his friends in their last days, and especially not over one such friend who had grown on everyone in his time with the Scar Hounds.

'Remember, count the dropships you're sending for the first wave, double that in decoys.... Rinse an' repeat for each an' every wave!'

 

[Nukth Kelga'an]

Banners of the Fallen II
The Bitter End Approaches​

N. Kelga'an, Banshee-Actual

The Empire Third Sector Defence Forces First Anaxsi Free Brigade -- Task Force Er'kit 'Banshee' Company V MULTIPLE IMPLOSIONS Er'kit's Last Stand -- Part II​

Interacting with: Argilac Albrecht F. Herlock
880, Eastern Sector's First Line, New Carannia, Nirauan

«Chiss, Galidraani, Novanians, Anaxsi, Yinchorri, Nirauanians. Devoted children of the Empire. (...) On this day, we are standing here with our life on the line, ardent to root the evil out of the galaxy, to end the Maw once and for all. Hark my words when I say the good will triumph! Order will triumph! The Empire will triumph, on this day and every single day to come!»​

The Sieur-Captain only heard Argilac's speech as a murmur; but some words could be saved for his ears. Actually, Nukth didn't know the Imperial Knight, but by the way he talked to the soldiers he was in charge of, he could say the man was a born leader. Kelga'an didn't know a lot of things about the Force and what Its users could do with but he assumed that some would gain eloquence through this source of power. Maybe the man was into these ways of the Force.

He couldn't tell how, but his mind had caught a word: 'militia'. If this piece of information was accurate, this would mean the Anaxsi-Yinchorri contingent was the more... Professional on the first line's battlefield. Quite interesting actually. As the Empire's integrity was now a matter of time, Kelga'an didn't expect so much gratitude from IMPAF or SDF Commands, but it was always time to win your spurs. No matter your nation's health. The Hussars' skills would then matter for warlords or Imperial states that would like to expand their forces. A shot at glory couldn't be a bad thing for them.

Nukth then turned around to face one of his most recent friends: the marksman who escorted him every time, everywhere to make sure he wouldn't die on the battlefront. This guy was part of the privileges he was entitled to now that he was the Sieur-Captain. Somehow, Jonas was probably still leading the group from his fortress on Yinchorr, but Nukth had been nominated as the only officer who had the credentials and the Hussar who was the oldest hand in the commanders' clique. But even Kelga'an knew that politics still pulled the strings behind the scenes. This was obvious, clear but it wasn't his work; what really mattered was to keep his Sons and Daughters alive for the battles to come. Then he would have earned his right to retire as a veteran.

«When we'll be done with the Maw... I'll retire. I've got nothin' more t'do here,» he declared to his colleague after an instant of silence, «Don't dare try to stop me, Grandchamp, my decision is made; I won't change my mind.»

«I didn't intend to, Sieur. You've given everything to the Corps until then. You've literally spent your life to achieve an impossible goal... An' Anaxes hasn't allowed you to die in a fight, despite the multiple battles you led with your Children.» He took a moment, pausing for effect. «This is fair; this is enough. But I've got a question -- what are you gonna do after that? You'll need a purpose, or you'll be lost.»

This was the hardest part. Nukth knew exactly what to do after he would have retired from the Corps. But the 'How?' remained uncertain. He had a defined goal, something he knew he would fight for, but didn't know how to reach it. He had no clue, no idea of where to start his search. «My son.» This was the goal. «He disappeared six years ago. When he was fourteen.» This was the point: Seth could now be anywhere in the whole Galaxy, with no track to follow for the Sieur. The boy was nowhere to be found. «I gotta find him so he'll see his mother before she'd die. I must bring him back home. I've got no other option...»

The marksman nodded in reply. He seemed to understand Nukth's worries, but couldn't help him at the moment; instead in providing emotional support and an ear for the Sieur-Captain. Soon after the Sieur's last words, a wide BOOOOM!!! shook the whole battlefield, coming from the space. Orbital bombardment had begun and the Anaxsi weren't safe anymore. They would have to fight and Nukth especially had to survive if he wanted to find his son back. Now he had a sharp idea of his goal in mind, thanks to Grandchamp's questions. «Grandchamp -- ask Unaone! Terrathree, how are the comms?»

::Sieur, here's Zann! Comms are good but we just lost half of our batteries! We won't last long at this tempo! Any sugg-... DAMN ANAXES -- SAPPERS BE LOCKED AND READY FOR FURTHER ENGAGEMENT!!! No more artillery, Sieur! We're makin' our way back to the nearest FOB so we'll engage those scumbags as soon as they'll put a foot on the ground! Godspeed Kelga'an!!!::

«Zann? ZANN?!» No answer. «Sieur, I've got bad news -- Milo has lost a quarter of his groups. Less than one hundred and fifty Hussars are still able to fight. What are we gonna d-...?»

Kelga'an wasn't listening to his friend. His gaze was stuck on the fortress near them, where Gowrie co-ordinated Imperial Forces. The building was partly destroyed by the bombardments, but the Kellas could still be alive. Nukth had to make sure his friend was safe, or he couldn't get to fight with his death in mind. He gave a look at the marksman:

«Grandchamp, transfer the leadership to Milo an' take your rifle -- we've got a friend to save. Follow me!»​

​

 

[FN-999]

NIARAUN - 880 ABY

LINE OF BATTLE

​

ALLIES: DECEASED Aron Gowrie | Argilac | Michael Barran | etc.
ENEMIES: Thomas Barran | etc.
EQUIPMENT: 908th Legion

NINES

The Baron arrived at the eastern front just as a foreign transmission came in.
​

WE WISH NOT TO HOLD YOUR WORLD IN CONQUEST
WE WISH ONLY TO BREAK IT'S INHABITANTS

FOR NONE NOW LIVE WHO DESERVE IT'S GLORY
​

From this moment henceforth, any fleeting desire for surrender will be useless to you, as extra mouths will find no food where my people are going, nor in the realms to where your souls are destined now. Prepare for war, survival or death, we care not, but blame not your foes, for there are higher powers to whom your enemies answer.

We obey Celestials, Gods with whom we agree from the depths of our souls, and if we are no longer permitted to live in this Galaxy, then nor - are - you.

Your collective choice is made already, as Imperials are always so willing to do, and without so much as a second thought for your own safety under such a system. Many of my brethren have lived to see it, and many more have known what it means to be on the receiving-end of such bluntness in governance, thus your choices were made long before this day of days. Such is life in the wars of the Galaxy, this we understand at least, and as battle-lines are drawn, we also know that living souls are always damned without rhyme or reason.

The Empire collectively chose to persist in this folly, and you chose with every ounce of zeal you could muster.... You chose to spit in the face of an Eternal Cycle, you chose to halt Nature's progress; choosing blood and vengeance, wasting endless lives in a never-ending loop of futility, rejecting the Cycle for a shiny, optimistic falsehood.

And now, as a result of your choice, every last soul that poises above you does so with the deepest contempt.

We are here to destroy all corporeal life on the surface
We are here to remove all traces of your civilisation

THIS IS YOUR DUE
THIS IS YOUR FATE

AND NATURE'S JUSTICE HAS WAITED LONG ENOUGH​

He immediately scoffed in disgust. The hordes were as fanatical as ever, their zeal to slaughter in the name of their unseen deities unchanged. Csilla had not been enough for them, and neither had Exegol. They thirsted for the blood of the innocent above all else, and would stop at nothing to get it. The thought made the Baron sick to the stomach. At least he didn’t have any doubts about what he was fighting for.

This was a battle between good and evil, in its purest form.

The Baron hopped into the trenches, carefully constructed to weave through the urban environment. He had to admit - the Reborn were getting pretty good at the job. Each of the three, zigzagging, layered trenches were lined with duracrete and even had small, downward-sloping holes near the bottom of the slanted walls to prevent rainwater or blood from building up in the trench. Each machine gun nest had its own dedicated bunker, and a maze of underground tunnels provided both passage between the trenches and a safe refuge for troopers to retreat into during artillery bombardments or orbital strikes.

Presently, the Baron made his way down a set of stairs to the outermost trench’s underground command bunker, where three of his four majors were meeting. As he swung the doors open, the three men paused their conversation, turning to address their commander.

“Nines, we’re tracing their transmission now. It appears to be coming from planetary orbit."

“The fleet is being engaged, but there is no sign of any ground forces!"

“Should we withdraw the scouts?"

The Baron raised his palm into the air, and the three men immediately went silent. Then, their commander spoke.

“Very well."

“Bigfoot, keep on tracing. Let me know if the transmission point moves planetside."

“Sylver, keep the troops on standby. You never know when they might break through."

“Yes, Holmdall, let’s withdraw the scouts. The enemy will likely approach from above, and we do not want them to get caught in the crossfire."

The trio promptly went to work, with the Baron walking over towards the central holoprojector just in time to receive a second transmission.

If fleet debris won't root you out, if burning metallic shards won't set your hairs on end....
Your gathering doom will be left to ponder with crosshairs fixed on Nirauan.

And thus - you force us to ponder with crosshairs fixed on New Carannia specifically.
​

Some are looking to your orbital-defence cannonry, while others are licking lips at the sight of the energy-shields covering certain areas within the city itself, but I, personally must admit that my own preferences are somewhat more callous than those of my peers - all I want to see are entire neighbourhoods cratered indiscriminately.

And perhaps to hear that collective, groaning regret of complacency's traumatising, grief-struck rewards.

THAT WAVE OF ANGUISH
THAT FEAR YOU WILL KNOW SOON ENOUGH

YOU EARNED EVERY LAST SECOND OF IT
​

Don't mind my friend, he doesn't usually interrupt my transmissions.

But anyway.... Before we begin, I ask that you take these words into consideration; if Ziost is still healing from one barrage of orbital bombardments, imagine what that might inflict on a Galactic frontier-city like New Carannia, then add two more barrages of the sort. Thats what I, personally, want for you.

Though I do wonder, can your minds even fathom what that level of firepower can do to cities like your precious New Carannia? In fact, is there even a single Imperial living now who remembers it? The others mostly believe they're all dead now, and I must admit I'm quite inclined to agree, but I digress; if any among you were, in-fact, there for the Second Battle of Ziost.... You should ready yourselves - its happening again.

FN-999, Bigfoot, Sylver, and Holmdall all bolted towards the comms station at the same time. Pushing the others out of his way in his desperation, the Baron activated the comms.

[[ORBITAL BOMBARDMENT INBOUND!!]]

Not even five seconds later, a resounding boom rattled the entire room and brought the quartet to their knees. It was followed by more booms in rapid succession, some louder than others and coming from all directions. Chunks of duracrete fell from the roof of the bunker, dust and dirt rapidly clouding the room. Yet, by some miracle, the room remained intact and neither the comms nor the holoprojector were damaged beyond repair. After about thirty seconds, the booms grew quieter and quieter before they were no longer audible, the bombardment presumably moving to another section of the line. Still, the Imperials waited another minute, wanting to ensure that there would not be a second strike.

After the minute elapsed without incident, the Baron rose and turned towards the comms.

[[Reborn, casualty and trench reports.]]

[[This is Trench 1 Command, 5% casualties and moderate trench damage. Initiating repairs.]]

[[This is Trench 2 Command, 7% casualties and moderate trench damage. Initiating repairs.]]

[[This is Cromie in Trench 3 command, 4% casualties and light trench damage. Initiating and assisting with repairs.]]

He let out a sigh of relief, mentally commending his legion once more for their excellent trenchbuilding skills. If they had been any less sturdy, the battle could have ended right there with the total collapse of the Reborn’s position.

Suddenly, the Baron remembered.

Not all the Reborn were in the trenches.

[[3rd Scouts, this is Nines. Do you copy?]]

No response.

[[Flymore, this is Nines. Do you copy??]]

Still no response.

The Baron could only hope that the only part of the 3rd Scouts that had been destroyed was their comms.

[[All trenches, this is Nines. Treat the wounded and repair the lines. Keep an eye out for the scouts.]]

Having delivered his last command for the moment, Nines turned back towards his commanders and addressed them.

“Gentlemen, you know your positions. Get to your stations and show those cultists what we’re made of."

“Yes, sir!” the trio cried in unison.

The Baron, Sylver, and Holmdall all left the bunker, leaving Bigfoot alone to gather his own staff. While the other two men took off towards the subterranean tunnel network, the Baron himself rose up to the surface to inspect the line. The formerly pristine trench was now riddled with large craters, leaving portions of the line exposed to gunfire from kilometers away. Yet groups of stormtroopers were already assembling to refill the holes with liquid duracrete under the watchful eye of combat engineers, closing the gaps as quickly as they had opened.

Other portions of the trench were filled with the wounded and the dead. Sometimes, all that remained of a trooper was a single arm or leg, the rest of the body completely vaporized in the center of a blast. At other times, troopers that were still alive had lost an arm or leg to shrapnel, and now lay on the ground writhing in pain as they waited for a medic while their squadmates tried not to look. The Baron had long since grown desensitized to such gore, but even he understood how urgently medical attention was needed in the forward trench.

The Baron reached towards his back and removed his high-frequency radio from his backpack. Then, he activated it, set it to a general-purpose encrypted frequency, and spoke.

[All available medics, this is Nines. I am requesting additional medical support for the 908th Legion, Trench 1, coordinates attached. We’ve got a lot of amputated men out here. I’m hoping you can stabilize their condition. Nines, out.]

Suddenly, the Baron picked up another signal.

It was definitely an Imperial frequency, but nothing was coming through but garbled static.

[Hello?]

[~~~~~~~~~~~~~a~~~~]

[This is Nines, do you copy?]

[~~~~~Nin~~~is~is~~~ymore.~~~~omm~~~~~not going through well.]

[Flymore, is that you? I’m picking you up better now.]

[It must~~e because~~~~~etting closer.~~~~~bombardment really~~~~~~~~up the comms.~~Hold~~~]

[Flymore, what’s the status of the Scouts?]

For a few moments, there was silence. Then,

[They got us good. About 40% casualties. We had to leave a lot of good men on the field. I don’t think we can continue without reinforcement. We’re heading back now to regrou- wait up...]

[Flymore?]

[Are those… droids?]

[Droids?]

[They don’t look Imperial.]

[Hold on sergeant, stay bac-]

The sound of blaster fire briefly interrupted the conversation.

[They’re hostiles! Enemy droids approaching! Gotta go, I’m heading your way!]

The radio kept playing, but the only noises were blaster fire and the sound of a speeder bike accelerating. The Baron turned off the radio and towards his men.

“Enemy droids inbound!” shouted the Baron. "To battle stations! Spread the word!"

Immediately, troopers sprung into action. The teams working on trench repair doubled their efforts while every other trooper in Trench 1 clambered onto the side of the trench, rifles in hand. The machine gunners, already in their bunkers, stood at the ready.

Electing to remain squarely in the center of Trench 1, the Baron withdrew his high-frequency radio once more and began to relay commands.

[Bigfoot, this is Nines. Hostile droids sighted. Let Cromie know to load the artillery with the modified EMPs. Also, get him in touch with the Scouts on firing coordinates.]

[Copy that.]

The Baron next switched to the designated High Command frequency before continuing to speak.

[Wildcat One, this is Nines. My scouts have detected enemy droids approaching the eastern front. They will likely be approaching the north and west as well. I would recommend making the most of our EMP attacks right now.]

[Another thing - I suspect that they are sending their weakest in first. They likely want us to exhaust our ammunition on the droids before sending in their organic elites. I recommend that we conserve our supplies as much as we can while still holding the line. At least, until the organics show up.]

[Nines, out.]

In the days leading up to the battle, the Baron had ordered a shipment of electro-proton bombs specially modified to his parameters. They were built longer and thinner than the airdropped variant, designed to be fired from the hypervelocity gun of a HARP cannon. Despite, or perhaps because of the extensive modifications, the electro-proton bombs still packed a serious punch, with each artillery-launched bomb capable of disabling all droids in a half-kilometer radius of the impact zone.

[Nines, this is Cromie. I’ve acquired the coordinates of the hostiles on the eastern front. I am holding off for one minute since there are still some scouts retreating into the lines of the militia. Awaiting further orders.]

[Cromie, this is Nines. Continue as planned. Fire as soon as you get word that the remaining scouts are within the militia lines. Nines, out.]

All that was left to do now was wait.

There was not much tension in the air, the Reborn reassured by the fact that the militia remained ahead of them. Still, they remained alert. In line with the Baron’s defense-in-depth protocol, the militia would likely fall back into the 908th’s lines once the second or third wave of hostiles struck. Each trooper had to be ready to defend not only themselves, but also one other soldier.

Suddenly, the barrage began.

A loud boom came from behind the lines, followed by many others, their combined noise making the ground rumble beneath the Baron’s feet. If not for the sound dampeners in the his helmet, he might have gone temporarily deaf on the spot. After the booms came the whizzing of projectiles soaring far overhead. All the Baron and his men saw of the electro-proton bombs was a long gray blur that vanished in the blink of an eye, flying kilometers away towards an unseen enemy. All one hundred and fifty of the 908th’s batteries unloaded upon the droids, each gun firing three shots before stopping to receive new intel.

As the Baron watched the spectacle unfold before him, he felt a little bit of sadism begin to creep into his thoughts.

Hopefully the cultists enjoy our warm welcome.