Private Deep Sleep

[Marcus Bastion]

Moff Bastion woke up to sirens. Sirens going off loud enough to wake the dead. Which he supposed in a way they had. Not that carbon freezing was necessarily the same as being brought back from the dead but it certainly seemed like it. The analogy came to mind at any rate. Personally Marcus hoped death was that peaceful. Unless of course the Jedi were right and everyone reunited with the force when they died. Or was that only for the righteous and fluffy? Bastion was still dreary and couldn't see very well out of his eyes. The subtleties of the Jedi's religion eluded him. The sirens continued to wale only this time Bastion could make out the speech that blared along with it.

Special Order 15 Activated. Moff Bastion please respond. Well at least there was some good news. For the first time in… how long had it been? After the collapse of the Empire, Bastion had retreated into the Unknown Region and activated Special Order 15. Putting him and his entire fleet to sleep. Well when he said fleet it was a small one. One of each ship that Bastion thought he could save. The fleet might be enough for a small campaign on a mildly defenced planet. Assuming that they didn't loose any of their destroyers anyway. One of each meant one of each. He couldn't afford to loose any ships at this point. A fleet for what purpose? Was the Empire gone for good? Maybe Bastion could set himself up as his own little Warlord on some innocuous moon somewhere. He had run a base out of Yavin IV he could do it again at a less auspicious location.

Bastion sighed as he tried to shake his head through the fog. First things first. Find out what activated the Special Order 15. The contingency was that any remaining Imperial forces put themselves in cryo carbon freezing, until they were activated again for the glorious return of the Empire. Privately Marcus thought that it was more of a contingency to make sure that their enemies never got their hands on their resources, as well as giving the Empire's soldiers a dignified end beyond ritual suicide or total surrender.

Still as a loyal son and officer of the Empire Moff Marcus Bastion followed orders and activated Special Order 15. Now it was being activated again. Only a limited number of people had the code for the activation Bastion could only hope someone in High Command had done so with a plan in mind. How long had it been? What was the state of the galaxy. The galaxy always seemed to be in flux Powers, Nations and Factions seemed to rise and fall like the fields of moisture farmers. Whomever was in charge someone out their wanted Imperial resources, Imperial property and Imperial men. Bastion might as well see what they wanted. After that… he'd see what he could find out about the rest of the Galaxy. Find out who was in power and whether or not they were a threat. TO him and to his fleet and to the Imperial way of life. If Bastion had to he'd restart Imperial power to the galaxy himself.

Marcus pressed the receiver of the comms link.

"This is Moff Marcus Bastion. Responding to the Activation of Special Order 15. High Command Please Respond."

Atleast that shut the blasted sirens off. He could do nothing more until he got a response. Marcus sent his message out on repeat, setting up a notification to alert him when someone responded. Now how to determine their situation?

Bastion typed into some old Imperial codes, some responded some didn't. Well start with the basics holonews and holowaves. No matter who was in charge the holonet always loved it's gossip. It wasn't the most reliable source of information but it was a start.

It wasn't much but slowly Bastion managed to piece together the broad strokes of what was going on in the galaxy. At the very least he got the names of what passed for Powers and a rough idea of their borders. The Galactic Alliance was still strong it seemed and central. Bastion supposed that was better than the Sith ruling everything and crushing everything. Mandalorians had popped up again as they were prone to do Rimward were clinging on though seemed hard pressed by the Sith. But from the sounds of it a couple of start up Empire's were doing their best to do so. Marcus wasn't sure what to make of them yet, but the Emperor of one seemed… off and the other seemed more like the Sith then the steady order he expected of Imperial rule.

Regardless there were enough players in the game that Bastion doubted he could take any of them by himself with his small ragtag fleet. Maybe they could hold the line and go down in blazing glory of a Pyhhric victory, but the futile loss of life didn't appeal to Bastion. Nor the ego it would take to send thousands to their deaths on both sides for nothing more than an old man's pride in his glory days.

If someone didn't respond to he'd have to make a decision either join this new Empire with it's… quirky Emperor or go back into cryo sleep and hope that someday someone would find them and help them fulfill their purpose. OR just float out here in what was effectively a tomb. Bastion snorted as he had a brief vision of History students touring the decks of his Star Destroyer receiving a lecture on what they thought the various functions of the ship would have been used for.

The Galaxy had a long history to be studied it was bemusing to think he might be the subject of it. Bastion sighed. This is what it had come to. An old man standing on a deck hoping that his broad wave would be received. That someone would come along and give him purpose again.

"This is Moff Marcus Bastion. Responding to the Activation of Special Order 15. High Command Please Respond."

Bex Tarring Michael Barran

 

[Bex Tarring]

Krieg




General Bex Tarring stood atop the makeshift observation deck, his gaze sweeping over the expansive landscape of Krieg. It was a harsh world, with its rugged terrain and unforgiving climate, but it was home now to thousands of Imperial soldiers under his command. The city they had built, forged from the grounded hulls of two Imperial Star Destroyers, stood as a testament to their resilience and determination.

As he watched the sun dip below the horizon, casting long shadows over the city, Bex couldn't help but reflect on the journey that had brought them here. He had once been an Imperial commander, leading his men into battle with unwavering loyalty to the Empire. But now, things were different. The Empire had fallen, and he found himself facing challenges far greater than any he had encountered on the battlefield.

Leading men into battle had always been his duty, his purpose. But now, as he looked out over the city he had helped to build, he realized that ensuring the survival of his people was an even greater responsibility. It wasn't just about winning battles anymore; it was about providing for the needs of those under his command, about building a future for them on this harsh, unfamiliar world.

The transition hadn't been easy. Many of his men still harboured loyalty to the Empire, and there were those who resented him for leading them away from the cause they had once believed in so fervently. But Bex knew that their survival depended on their ability to adapt, to let go of the past and embrace the challenges of the present.

As he descended from the observation deck and made his way through the bustling streets of the city, Bex couldn't help but feel a sense of pride in what they had accomplished. The city was thriving, its people resourceful and resilient in the face of adversity. But he also knew that their future was far from certain. The remnants of the Empire still lurked in the shadows, and there were other dangers lurking on the horizon, waiting to test their strength and resolve.

Bex's thoughts drifted back to his former life on Galidraan, to the lush green hills of Bramber that had once been his home. The memories were bittersweet, tinged with nostalgia for the idyllic landscapes that had shaped his youth.

Bramber, nestled amidst the rolling hills found to the south of the main continental mass on Galidraan, was a fertile and pleasant land. As far as the eye could see, verdant fields stretched out like a patchwork quilt, dotted with clusters of ancient oak trees and hedgerows alive with the chatter of birds. The air was sweet with the scent of wildflowers, and the distant bleating of sheep echoed across the countryside.

The city of Bramber itself was a picture of rural tranquility. Stone cottages with thatched roofs huddled together along winding lanes, their whitewashed walls adorned with colourful blooms spilling out of window boxes. The village green was a focal point, a lush expanse of grass where children played and villagers gathered for community events.

At the heart of Bramber stood the manor house, a grand estate surrounded by manicured gardens and sprawling orchards. The ancestral home of the Tarring family, it had stood for generations, its ivy-clad walls steeped in history and tradition. From its lofty vantage point, Bex had often gazed out over the surrounding countryside, feeling a deep sense of belonging to this land.

But beneath the serene surface of Bramber lay a world of intrigue and ambition. As the heir to the estate, Bex had been groomed from a young age to take on the responsibilities of lordship. He had learned the art of diplomacy and the ways of courtly intrigue, honing his skills in the pursuit of power and influence. He led the family now.

There was no family now.

Yet, for all its beauty, Bramber could not shield him from the harsh realities of the galaxy beyond. When duty called, Bex had answered, leaving behind the tranquil haven of his childhood to embark on a journey that would lead him to the far reaches of the galaxy.

Now, as he stood amidst the rugged landscape of Krieg, Bex couldn't help but long for the simplicity of life in Bramber. But he knew that those days were gone, replaced by the stark realities of war and survival. Still, in the quiet moments of reflection, he allowed himself to indulge in memories of a time when life was simpler, and the only battles he faced were fought with words rather than weapons.

He surmised that it might be fine to revel in the moment, to take pride in the city he had helped to build and the people he had sworn to protect. Whatever the future held, he knew that they would face it together, as one. And as he looked up at the stars twinkling overhead, he felt a glimmer of hope that they would find a way to carve out a new destiny for themselves on this distant world.

Krieg. Once a lush world, Krieg was devastated by a Sith superweapon, leaving it desolate. Chiss were among the first sentient beings to arrive, followed by Togruta refugees and Mandalorian settlers from Clan Naudir.

But now? Home to the 'Boys of Bramber', the remnant forces of the 1st Corps of the 2nd Army, led by their leader Major General Tarring. Some forty-five thousand men had made landfall, with their remnant transport ships and two imperial star destroyers serving as the only firepower they had.
They had settled and quickly evolved into a sprawling military encampment, settling into a home away from home, a new Galidraan. Bex looked out, his hands sweaty.

He thought of the old days, the old faces that were no longer living. The songs were still sung, however. Those would never die.
A tumultuous beeping disrupted the serenity of his thoughts, pulling him back from wherever he was, lost in the past.

He listened intently and smiled.

Moff Bastion.

The past was playing catch up and the future was finally listening. He lept towards his desk and punched in the transmission codes for another old friend. He'd wanna hear this.

"Michael. You getting this message. It's the Moff!"

Michael Barran Marcus Bastion

 

[Michael Barran]

1st Post

CAIRN_ONE
CHAIRMAN OF PELLAEON PMC
DRUID-GRANDMASTER OF THE HIGHLAND BROTHERHOOD
LORD-IMPERATOR OF THE IMPERIAL MILITARY PROTECTORATE

TAGS
Marcus Bastion Bex Tarring Aoki-Barran Mira Siyndacha Aerin Albrecht F. Herlock

HEAVY ART THE HEADS II: A VOICE FROM THE PAST - PROLOGUE

KRANTHAR'S, OLD DISTRICT,
BRAXIS TERRITORY, NEW JUNCTION (901 ABY)

~=Lucien.... Lucien!=~
~=Might I find you here? Even so much as a trace of your power?=~
​

Sighing into his Prastaig, a brand that had expanded enough by then to be known across the entire Galaxy's vast collective of high-end bars and cantinas alike, (especially on former-Imperial planets) the last visit to Kranthar's would be spent mostly in silence, leaving a wonder with a locale that had to suffer the Galaxy's unrepentant masters after that day. Depressing though the revelation was at the time, the Tattered Regent just had to make it worse for himself by reaching out telepathically for a mentor who went missing almost thirty years before that day - knowing well by then that the King of Serenno would never be found.

A hope that only served to further-intensify that melancholic dread.

Had to check.... After today, I won't get another chance here.​

Even despite the success of destroying their part of a zombie-infestation, the success of establishing diplomatic negotiations with the Mandalorian Protectors and the peaceful transfer of Imperial citizens to the IMP's star-destroyers, the cultural evacuation itself was still seen as an insulting defeat in the viewpoint of Nirauan's Lord-Imperator, conceding to enemies with a near-home court advantage. Indemnities of which Rurik Fel's Empire would never have allowed to stand, (not even in it's last years) nor would the realm's stronghearted, ideologically-defiant citizens for that matter, and to add insult to injury, the transfer of Braxist POWs had been a financial cost of which his father would never have tolerated either. Truths that lay deep within Lord Michael's heart-of-hearts, like constants to the universe striking harder than any executioner's sword-arm, eradicating hope as Lord Erskine would, as no such insult would ever have gone without swift, destructive answer in the Stormchaser's era.

[...unprecedented normalisation of events coming out of Feriae Junction this week, as the arrival of the refitted NIV: Tigress seems to have yielded everyone's ideal outcome. It's commander, identified as none other than Michael Barran of the IMP, has seemingly opted for a soft-handed approach to a-]
​

'Kranthar, please.... Change the channel, on the Holonet terminal there.'

With a knowing, kindly grin, Kranthar nodded to affirm his intent to heed the Lord-Imperator's request, switching over to another Galactic news channel - one with a report that had a better chance of returning to it's place as background noise.

[TONIGHT - ON CORE DAILY - DEFEAT ON TYTHON, PRAKITH AND EMPRESS TETA-]
​

'Hey, turn that up!'

[...marking the beginnings of another dark era for the Galactic Alliance, the Sith Order and all who live as powers in this Galaxy, it would appear the denizens of Solipsis have returned stronger than ever. Marking his place on Tython with lasting certitude, seemingly rectifying his failings there in the second half of the Ninth Century, but to what end?]
​

A pertinent question, one of which the Tattered Regent knew he was in no position to know the answer, further adding to that pang of foreboding in the back of Barran's mind; like a twitch at the deepest, darkest corners of his Force-Sense, but ringing with a much-grander chance it would amount to news of personal, familial nature. Reaching out across to the anatomical extremities, extending with static to finger and toe alike, but not before turning the stomach in a fight-or-flight reflex, a feeling the old Woad would not have wished to experience again. But the regret of losing to his murderous elder brother would always lie in wait, poised to feed this adrenal response to worsen the feeling of it's growing intensity, always at the ready to reveal the face of one he once recognised as Lord Thomas, even in times when unrelated adversities tested Lord Michael's patience.

[His Dark-Imperial shadow casts over Prakith as well, but perhaps more intensely over the Alliance's beloved, revered Empress Teta. With all things considered, it would be easy to assume so, as the Dark-Imperial armies have proven every part as destructive as the Final Dawn had been in previous decades, and with a newly-formed Khanate at their side no less.... Remnants of the Maw, reunited under the banner of the Bloodhound for-]
​

'Of course he would, of - course he karking would.... Robs my brother of an eternal resting-place, parades his corpse everywhere like a marionette, murders my father AN' HAS THE AUDACITY T'MAKE A GOD-KING OF HIMSELF NOW?!?! Honestly.... If this day gets any worse from here....'

HEAVY ART THE HEADS II: A VOICE FROM THE PAST - PART 1

CATO BOULEVARD, MYRMIDON PLAZA
NEW CARANNIA, NIRAUAN (901 ABY)

​

'Glad you're finding your feet again, Lord-Imperator!'

Having completed his one-and-only public task for the day, speaking publicly on the first day of summer as he had for almost ten years by then, the Lord-Imperator could allow himself to spend time revelling among the masses for once, all too happy to mingle among the good people of his new homeworld by then. More than reason enough to celebrate another Summer's Morn, along with the recent-though-expensive injection of Frontier-Imperial expatriates to the planet's population, and despite how much it still smarted and tested the old Woad's patience, demographic growth was nothing to be taken for granted in peacetime conditions.

​

'Happy Summer's Morn, Lord-Imperator! Glad to see you back for another year of salvation!'

​

The Barran clan, or rather, the Barrans who remained could afford to relax and socialise with the citizens of the city for once, as even the small victories could be celebrated in the insult of bloodless defeat, thus Michael and Mira could calm their hypervigilance enough to actually enjoy the world they defended. The planetary surface that survived an all-out assault, orbital bombardment and the death of the Empire's most-decorated General, coming back to survive and recover against the odds, as Barran himself had just a few years later. Thus the entire holiday proceeded, eating, drinking and making conversation with all who stepped out from the crowd, regardless of whether such was done politely or in local, bantering manner, it mattered little for all the good is was doing to improve the recovering clan's morale.

Pellaeon's last light needed this, though not half as much as the events that would unfold next.

<"This is Moff Marcus Bastion. Responding to the Activation of Special Order 15. High Command Please Respond.">

<"Michael. You getting this message? It's the Moff!">
<"Yup, an' something's telling me that message went out to all the old comm-tags that remain.... I know I'm better off not jinxin' it, but this might be something promising for once, though there's time to discuss that later.">

<"Anyway - preemptive permissions granted, respond with intent to secure safe conduct en route. We can escort him back to IMP-space with our latest fleet-additions as well. See ye soon, auld friend.">
​

With near-whiplash intensity, the Tattered Regent arose from his seat by one of the local beer stalls, standing up straight as he exclaimed,'Mira! Highlanders! We're mobilizing again! Armed-Escort doctrine this time, so we're fighting the ticking clock more than anything! Lets go!', just as soon as everyone else began to rise in response. All responding with gleefully-sharp attunement to alertness they had envied of their Novanian brethren since Feriae Junction, happy to have an excuse for feeling alive again, the Reavers who served as Barran's personal retinue of SOF-trained bodyguards would find themselves all too keen to part from all things dreary-and-drab, even if only for a short while. They knew they needed time away from all the doom and gloom, but more than anything, the Highland Brotherhood could not deny their greater, overriding need for purpose, more than anything else in their postwar lives until that moment.

'CHA BHI SINN UILE!!!!'

 

[Albrecht F. Herlock]

On board of the Legate-class battlecruiser AIV Nouvelle-Anaxes, somewhere in the galaxy.


Herlock was sitting at his desk, reflecting on what happened for past years. He got his first command under Julius Haskler's rule over the Imperial Anaxsi people, fought in many battles against the Brotherhood of the Maw, climbed ranks in the Imperial Navy, saw his fleet growing, getting bigger and bigger. And yet, the Empire collapsed. It reminded him how Palpatine's empire died after the battle of Endor, based on what he learnt in his history books. But his fleet remained loyal to the Imperial Creed. Despite having no news at all from High Command, he maintained a high level of training for his ships, keeping them at their best. As he was thinking about that, his comm unit started beeping.

"Sir, incoming transmission on the encrypted channel. It's imperial."

"I'll take it from here."

"Yes Sir !"

The link with the Comms room closed itself, as he entered the encrypted channel.

"This is Moff Marcus Bastion. Responding to the Activation of Special Order 15. High Command Please Respond."

As he heard those words, he smiled. Finally, what remained of the Empire will stand up once again, reclaiming it's lost territory. He then pushed a button on his comm unit and answered :

"This is commodore Albrecht Herlock, commanding officer of the Force X, reporting for duty."

 

[Aoki-Barran Mira]

"To freedom!"

Two mugs of ale slammed together as a Novanian and Galidraani soldier of the Highland Brotherhood held their heads high. As they drank deep, however, they simply could not be accommodated for their own worlds in chains. As the Galidraani lowered his mug, he sighed, "If only Galidraan could be as free as Nirauan..."

The Novanian scoffed, "The imposter empire at least treats your planet well."

The Galidraanian raised an eyebrow, "Archais...?"

"The mainline Archais colonists see better economic fortune, but that's normal. For the most part us Novanians are left alone, even if those damn Jedi try to sneak in and draft of our Force Sensitive children. But to be under the rule of the Galactic Alliance that betrayed us on Ilum... it's an insult."

"It isn't right. We're all at peace here, but we're only exiles here on Nirauan. And you saw the holonet, what our own former brethren have become... we're about to go from bad to worse."

As the streets were aglow in lights, drinking, and feasting, the Nirauan people of the Imperial Military Protectorate celebrated its only freedom. The drinking and laughter were all silently observed by a traditionally clad half-Atrisian. Her Atrisian robes glowed a pearly rainbow light against the festival lanterns, and she stoicly yet daintily sipped her wine. She was never a party person, never a social acolyte, but she had long ago grown accustomed to flashing lights and boisterous crowds. After all, she still would rather see a party, as opposed to a battlefield. She looked up to the natural starlight, or the small amount of starlight the light pollution let through, and she sighed. Another figure approached the table, an individual she knew well. She looked over to him, her well dressed hair hardly disturbed, as she spoke in a cool, serene manner, "Andrew?"

"Duchess." The Galidraani man responded. Wearing traditional but casual Galidraani attire, he clasped his hands behind his back. His upright posture had all the makings of a military officer, but his loose shoulders and relaxed demeanor all pointed to non-official business being on his mind. "I am once again... pleased, that I have tonight to celebrate with the rest of my kin."

He nodded to her with a hint of a smile, "Thank you."

The duchess dipped her head in response, the smallest of smiles crossing her face. "Of course."

"Although, once more, I have to question." He pulled a fist to his mouth, coughing into it, "Why not have her here, learning more about politics."

The duchess frowned, looking away. She took a sip of her wine, then she spoke. "I would rather her make memories with her father."

She had come here out of political necessity, but she truly wished to be with her husband and daughter, who were currently buying ice cream at a calmer part of town.

"But her duty!" The man reminded her, "The younger she becomes involved in politics, the more prepared she will be for her future-"

"-She is eleven, Andrew." The duchess cut him off, "She is still a child. She has a lifetime of duty and regal honor ahead of her, not to mention the lives she'll be responsible for. But she's young yet, and I want her to keep her childhood innocence as long as possible. After all... I was not so lucky."

"I-Milady- The Dark Emp-"

The duchess abruptly stood up, smoothing out her robes, "I will not speak of anything more concerning this tonight. You may be her tutor, but I am her mother."

The man paused for a long moment, then lowered his head in a bow, "... Yes, Duchess Aoki-Barran. I will leave you to enjoy this fine evening."

As Andrew slinked into the crowd, the woman sighed heavily. In a manner contrary to her proper demeanor, she gulped the rest of the wine down in one gulp. As she wiped her mouth, she looked back up to the sky.

"I'd rather be having that ice cream with you, Linfred, Hikari."

She looked around, at the other people here, considering her place in it all. She was a noble lady of the Barran family, and the current defacto "head" of the Aoki Clan. The Aoki Clan had bonded with the Barrans, in a permanent way, when the duchess declared loyalty to Michael Barran as his Shadow so long ago. She looked around, at the remnants of the New Imperial Order that had become her own people. And she remembered what she saw on the holonet, the nightmares of her past reborn. As she contemplated the sad state of the Imperial Military Protectorate, she felt a familiar headache pounding in her head. She dropped her glass, grasping her pounding forehead.

​

"There is no hope in this galaxy."

"Mmphf..."

​

"Only one thing can save."

No...

​

"War. Death. Rebirth."

Mira winced, fighting the phantom pains of her old brainwashing. Fifteen years after escaping that place, the conditioning still karked with her mind.

"You... may have lost hope long ago... Uncle." Mira lowered her hand, looking towards her people in determination. Her father was currently speaking into a comlink, and Mira once again thought of her husband and daughter getting ice cream together. Regardless of what the Tarkinist and Scar Hounds did now, she knew what she was fighting for. The headache retreated. "But I chose to hope in what we have."

Then, Michael stood up with such force and strength, Mira nearly felt another headache come on as he shouted.

​

"Mira! Highlanders! We're mobilizing again! Armed-Escort doctrine this time, so we're fighting the ticking clock more than anything! Lets go!"

Mira blinked in confusion, then looked down to her shattered wine glass. She wondered what possibly could have prompted such a drastic shift in mood, but she seldom questioned her twice rescuer. She looked back to Michael, then started dashing towards where the Highland Brotherhood was mobilizing.

"I'm drunk, father." Mira dryly retorted as she fell into place by his side, "I hope you realize that."

But Mira was quick to move. In only approximately twenty minutes, Michael would be greeted with a familiar sight of the past ten years. A figure in black, wearing an intimidating Oni Mask, slipped behind him in official position. As her blades and lightsabers swayed on her belt, she knelt down from behind him, looking up through his mask.

<"Ready.">

Now that the Brotherhood was far more organized, and prepared to go where needed, Mira sincerely hoped that he would tell her what was going on.

 

[Marcus Bastion]

Marcus had managed to get some response from his broadcast. What that response was still wasn't quite clear. According to the holonet broadcasts, the Dark Imperials were considered a very real and active threat to the galaxy. From the sounds of it they represented the very worst of Empire philosophy from it's darkest times. The Empire of the Lost seemed little better. It's Emperor seemed unbalanced at best if not quite outright insane. Fortunately there seemed to be a more moderate element in the Imperial Military Protectorate. Marcus had to grunt with amusement at the acronym. It was certainly appropriate in an irreverent kind of way. People called them Imps anyway they might as well be The IMPs.

Caught between wry amusement and sadness that this is what had become of his beloved Empire. The Empire had always had it's feuding factions, and Marcus had done his best to navigate them as a man an officer and a Moff, but this was a real split. Factions at war with each other striving to power based on flimsy claims to the Empire's legacy.

The Bastions had been an Imperial family for as long as anyone could remember, probably since there had been a Bastion. It was hard to tell. Still the calling and duty to the Empire was ingrained deep in Marcus. It was in his blood. Now however there barely seemed an Empire to serve. His best hope seemed to be with Michael Barran and the reforming IMP faction but he was unwilling to commit without atleast talking to the man.

As it was it seemed his flotilla fleet would soon be having guests. An Armed-Escort taking him to the Imperial Military Protectorate space and hopefully meeting The Lord-Imperator. As well as another response from an Imperial officer Albrecht F. Herlock

"This is commodore Albrecht Herlock, commanding officer of the Force X, reporting for duty."

"Commodore Herlock. Conviene on my location for Armed-Escort to Imperial space. Sending coordinates now."

"Well I guess I better wake up the ship." Marcus muttered. He doubted he could pilot it on his own. Besides it was time he woke up his men.

They had been in a deep sleep for long enough. They were his men they had followed him into exile, and then into stasis without rebellion. If they had done that at his command he had no doubt in their loyalty to him. They would follow wherever he may lead.

"Fleet wide Activate Special Order 15."

The ship went to work as it defrosted the men, they one by one came out of stasis.

The responsibility daunted him. The men were depending on him. If he woke them up to the chaos of the galaxy without a plan or backing of a power, they would expect him to solve it. That he be an almost precognitive military and political genius. The truth was Marcus was pinning his hopes on a remnant faction providing not just a purpose but a home for his men.

Still the Fleet as dusty as it was would provide a formidable force. Perhaps enough to stave off any of the major powers without them committing to a all out battle. It was something out of fables a Fleet coming from the Unknown. It would be rash and foolish for any power to fire on them without either intel or a clear threat. Hopefully by the time they got to Imperial space they would be safe enough from any random patrols that could trigger an engagement.

The first of his men Captain of the ship approached the bridge his eyes blinking as he tried to see through the blinding light one had when waking up from carbon freezing. The protocol for defrosting was based on rank which was why he as Moff had been woken up first upon the Activation. Highest ranking officer woken up to assess the situation, then on his command the rest of the fleet. Officers first in order to instruct some sort of organisation of the lower ranks as they awoken.

"Sir?" Captain asked hesitantly before military training kicked in "Sir! Orders Sir!"

"Activation of Special Order 15. Everyone to their stations as they awaken. Prepare for the fleet to move out when ready." Marcus paused "I don't anticipate combat engagement. We're getting an Armed-Escort to Imperial space. Still best to be prepared and present a united front."

"Sir! Yes Sir!"

Unfortunately the order meant those blasted sirens were set off again.

"Activation of Special Order 15. Assume Battle Stations."

Marcus gave a brisk nod as he himself assumed at ease posture on the deck of the bridge.

If nothing else he had his fleet back, he had his men. Barran seemed like he'd make a good Emperor. Once he had made that determination Bastion would be happy to swear allegiance and his men would follow… and if not… well Bastion would cross that bridge when he came to it.

Perhaps the Lost Empire as Marcus had already begun to think of it wouldn't be so bad. The Empire was more than it's leader. Force knows they had plenty of changes of leadership over the years. There was a shared culture of Identity of Order and Discipline. Marcus men might just find a place there. Atleast until an opportunity for something better came along.

Moff Marcus Bastion remained in parade rest as the rest of the ship and then one by one his fleet came alive. A few officers gave him salute's as they took their stations.

"Captain prepare comm link fleet wide."

"Sir! Yes Sir!"

"Men. The time has arrived. We're to be given an Armed-Escort to Imperial space. I don't know what awaits us. The galacy is chaos. The Empire is fractured. Our place in this galaxy is uncertain at best. Just know this. You did not abandon me when all hope was lost. So I promise you on my word as an officer that I will not abandon you now."

As a speech it was hardly one for the history books but it would have to do. Marcus waited a solemn moment before adding.

"Oh and try not to blast our Escort out of the sky."

The crew around him brought out a collective tenssion built laugh. Despite the uncertainty, Marcus couldn't help feel just a twinge of excitement, and maybe if he dared to admit it just a hint of… hope.

Bex Tarring Aoki-Barran Mira

 

[Michael Barran]

2nd Post

-A PRELUDE TO THE "ARISE/REPENT" SAGA-

CAIRN_ONE
CHAIRMAN OF PELLAEON PMC
DRUID-GRANDMASTER OF THE HIGHLAND BROTHERHOOD
LORD-IMPERATOR OF THE IMPERIAL MILITARY PROTECTORATE

TAGS
Marcus Bastion Bex Tarring Aoki-Barran Mira Siyndacha Aerin Albrecht F. Herlock

HEAVY ART THE HEADS II: A VOICE FROM THE PAST - PART 2

CHECKUP ROOM 19, INFIRMARY,
NIV: INDOMITABLE, BRAXANT RUN,
EN ROUTE TO NIRAUAN (901 ABY)

I know not of whether this turn of luck is my salvation - or my doom.
I dare not even test the Cosmos on the reason for this gift.

But whatever was done t'let this day come t'pass - it affects the future of Imperium.​

'Mira, with me.... More than an Imperator to protect in here, so we'll need you close for this one.'

Standing outside the recovery ward's checkup rooms with two of the realm's most-prominent officers, the Tattered Regent understood the importance of these moments impending, and with it found a new understanding of the ones who stuck around in obstinate defence of Imperium, or rather it's defiant, New-Imperial form. Fortunate Lord Michael was then that the two officers accompanying their Lord-Imperator were standouts, valuable, heroic standouts from the previous Great War, as Lords Bex Tarring and Albrecht F. Herlock were always there before, deploying whenever and wherever the worst of circumstances occurred.

The heroes of his father's generation, for all the roadblocks and unpredictable rivals getting in the way, had still managed to mentor the heroes of Michael's own, and all despite being burned by that defiance of Imperium in one fashion or another. Thus the results would redeem the mentors in the eyes of those who were left to pick up the pieces, and all before the previous Great War had met with it's conclusion - even before the battles on Tython and Panatha alike.

'Good t'see ye again, my old friends.'

Alas, the officers standing with the Lord-Imperator had become different men entirely in the years since, unspurprising in consideration of the experience they had gained since their snapshots were taken for file and archival identification; both hardened by war as as his own adopted daughter was, strengthened and steeled by civilisational collapse, likely compounded by the endless stresses of surviving the following decades as remnant powers. Credits though these officers would be to Barran's military and fleeting effort, this was in no way an indicator of adapting to the new, budding ideals of New Carannian philosophy, though Tarring and Herlock were fortunately renowned for their lawful, honourable conduct within the Imperial framework of yesteryear.

'Nirauan, Krieg an' Yinchorr, all in the same place - I actually see this as a good omen.'

Even Barran's own Force-Sense techniques were telling of their loyalty, overriding all the good, the bad and ugly alike, vaulting with dominance over all the faults and attributes as if Imperium itself was enough to hold the sternest of souls in place. A quality of which Tavlar's many foes were vocally envious, for even just an elite-few Imperial officers of their quality were enough to crush any and every realm that dared cross them, enough even to grasp the Galaxy's illusive mantle of responsibility, even if only for a while. The warriors of yesteryear, those who manned their posts with conviction, still somehow showing signs of evolution; though as for what the Protectorate was becoming, or fated to become in the following years, there was still no way for the fossil in the room to discern with finality.

'This is it, folks. A new chapter awaits us.... Let us welcome an old friend, shall we?'

​

The door then slid open at Lord Michael's approach, revealing an Arkanian doctor standing with her datapad at the ready, quick to offer fist-over-heart salute and declare,'Lord-Imperator, the Moff is ready for you now. Clean bill of health... Well, decent enough for sleeping on ice for so long - follow me and you can see for yourselves, sirs! Madame-Warden!', surreptitiously handing the datapad to Lady Mira when the others were in the process of entering Checkup Room 19. A rare show of trust and sincerity in such trying times, but in the newly-forming Protectorate, a culture of it's own was forming from the ashes of true belief in Imperium, thus the doctor's gesture served as the vision of those who banded together in rebellion against the Sith.

'Nothing troubling, though it stands to reason that the Moff requires bedrest - real rest, Milady.'

 

[Marcus Bastion]

Marcus sighed with impatience as he went through all the standard medical chec ups, procedures and protocols one should he reluctantly admitted probably should go through when one comes out of carbon freeze. It was tedious and boring process one which every single one of his men would have to go through as well. As a matter of precedent and rank Marcus was going through it independently in his own space on his ship in Checkup Room 19 in the Infirmary.

Privileges of ran aside Marcus envied those men who would be able to go through the procedures in the company of their comrades. Jokes and insults to alleviate the tension and boredom. Maybe catching up on what the experiencing of being in deep freeze was like. Gossip and speculation about what their next mission was going to be or the state of the galaxy.

It was an unfortunate consequence of being an officer that the further you rose through the ranks the less comraderie you naturally had with the ranks. Marcus missed the days when he could lead his men in the field a small squad or platoon hunkered down with the enemy just over the next ridge. It was an anethma to him how many officers in particular moffs grew weak and fat in their positions of comforts. Marcus was a warrior at heart a soldier who did his duty, followed orders and fought the enemy. In that order.

Problem was he wasn't sure what his duty was, whose orders he was following or what enemy to fight. Hopefully the officers he'd invited on board would have answers. If nothing else it might clear up a few things. The holonet was hardly a reliable source of information. It would be good to get a proper debriefing on what happened after they went into deep freeze, and potentially a briefing on what would come next.

Marcus was glad that it was happening on his ship The Indomitable. It was a position of strength and homefield advantage. It made him more at ease if not quite relaxed. He wondered if that was intentional or just a happy by product.

Then again having the meeting here exposed limited resources of those coming to meet him. If the holonet was any indicator those limited resources might very well be limited. It was difficult to say.

This meeting had a lot of the answers Marcus needed before planning his next steps. It was hard to plan those steps when one didn't know the terrain. The door to the infirmary opened as officers came in.

Marcus came to attention and saluted.

"Sir!"

It was an automatic reaction from years of training, drilling and discipline. Unfortunately it also made Marcus woozy. The sudden rush to his head cause flashes in his eyes and Marcus had to reach out and stabilise himself before he fell over completely.

"Sorry Sir." Marcus managed a little sheepishly "Temporary condition due to carbon freeing. I'll be ship shape in no time."

"Sir! Request a debriefing and then a briefing."

"Sir not to be insubordinate but… what happened?"

"I don't know anything that happened after the freezing. All I've got a half baked reports from the holonet. I… the men need to know. I think most of them are still realising they may not have a home to go back to. No families waiting for them at the end of their deployment. They need a purpose a mission or else they're just lost out here on the edge of space."

Marcus knew the metaphor wasn't a subtle one, or who he was asking for but it was all the dignity he could cling to. The fastest way he knew to get a briefing was to ask for one.

"What happened? What happens now?"

Bex Tarring Aoki-Barran Mira Siyndacha Aerin Albrecht F. Herlock

 

[Michael Barran]

3rd Post

-A PRELUDE TO THE "ARISE/REPENT" SAGA-

CAIRN_ONE
CHAIRMAN OF PELLAEON PMC
DRUID-GRANDMASTER OF THE HIGHLAND BROTHERHOOD
LORD-IMPERATOR OF THE IMPERIAL MILITARY PROTECTORATE

TAGS
Marcus Bastion Bex Tarring Aoki-Barran Mira Siyndacha Aerin Albrecht F. Herlock

HEAVY ART THE HEADS II: A VOICE FROM THE PAST - PART 3

CHECKUP ROOM 19, INFIRMARY,
NIV: INDOMITABLE, BRAXANT RUN,
EN ROUTE TO NIRAUAN (901 ABY)

Its been so long, I feel like I'm looking at the past.
Like I'm seeing through the lens of a time-traveller's periscope.

Like escatology, but in past-tense.
​

As the doctors fussed around a man he considered a close ally of his father's caste, Lord Michael couldn't help but feel the lure of a glorious past pulling him into a chill-inducing nostalgia, even if only for a short, fleeting moment of that feeling the Protectorate missed. That IMPAF, Felist feeling, that spark of belief that often escaped the reaches of Galactic-Basic articulation - that one thing for which all defiant Imperials fought first and foremost.

'Ah, the Moff looks fresher than he did before he went on ice.... But anyway, afore I digress - would ye mind if we had the room for a while?'

'Not at all, Lord-Imperator. By all means, I just need to finish checking the Moff's blood-pressure here.', the doctor replied warmly, trailing off to attend to her latest part in processing the most-important patients aboard the Indomitable at the time. This the Imperial officials allowed, responding only with grins and nods of silent assent whilst the doctor gratefully continued, smiling in turn before she concluded,'Resting rate, good - so I'll just be another moment.... And there we go, the blood-vessels retain optimal pressure. Not bad, or at least as far as the cryo-thawing stage goes.', satisfied enough not to worry about lingering issues as the confirming consult of the general-practicioners collective.

'The Moff is ready to be checked out now, but I'll wait outside as ordered.'

Heralding their privacy on her way out, Dr. Carvalho marched out with the hissing slide of the door closing behind her, leaving the Lord-Imperators' crowd to greet their old comrade as Barran himself drawled,'Now, I'm not so sure you an' I ever met before, but I'm sure you can see an' hear a Barran when ye meet one.... Its an honour to make your acquaintance, Lord Marcus. I'm Michael, Lord Erskine's successor.', extending a hand in amiable, friendly introduction as the Moff arose from the gurney, assumed by all in intention to politely meet the offer in the middle. But first, Lord Marcus would stand to attention as if by instinct, throwing fist-over-heart salute with a,"Sir!", for good measure, a reflex of which seemed to disorient the Moff for a moment, grabbing onto the bed-railing behind before sheepishly admitting it to be a temporary condition.

'Yes, the very one, though I'm not quite sure I've earned that salute yet.... An' like the old man, I also have the grandest of plans in mind, but-

However, despite eventually receiving his handshake in courtesy, it was clear the Moff had questions, and within an instant of letting go and returning to seating posture once more, Bastion would let fly as was his due. Assured in the assent given to his debriefing request, Lord Marcus prefaced in reasonable curiosity to ask,'Sir not to be insubordinate but… what happened?', not knowing that the past twenty years had given his comrades much in the way of the perspective they never wanted. A turn of events so harrowing, so depressing that even so much as thinking about it still struck most of their comrades dumb, struck wordless by a collapse they never believed would happen in their lifetimes.

'I don't know anything that happened after the freezing. All I've got a half baked reports from the holonet. I… the men need to know. I think most of them are still realising they may not have a home to go back to. No families waiting for them at the end of their deployment. They need a purpose a mission or else they're just lost out here on the edge of space.'

​

With one look apiece cast to Tarring and Herlock alike, Barran silently stepped up to bear the burden of revelation, understanding Bastion's plight enough to enlighten him to all he may not have known by then, details of which that were still torturous for the Tattered Regent to recall. Even after twenty years, two decades of biding his time on Nirauan, the realm's last days were insult enough to recall - even without his own comatose predicament considered.

But above it all stood the necessity, the Imperium-given right to know what happened to the realm in the frozen sleepers' absence; that which brooked no coyness, no apprehension and no silence whatsoever, and the Tattered Regent understood this need for closure, more than most who lived to see this unforgiving new era. Bastion's subordinates had a right to know, every part as much a right as those who were awake through the last twenty years, and when Lord Marcus persisted,'What happened? What happens now?', the truth's burden of responsibility would finally weigh the Lord-Imperator down with lasting finality.

Pinning the old Woad to the spot in obligation as their leader.

'Well, I think, in your case - it would be pertinent to start off with what happened after your successful evacuation.... The Empire eventually lost to the Swarm, but the Swarm were, in turn, betrayed and slaughtered by the Scar Hounds. New Carannia survived, but Ravelin lies in ruins - irony of which I know is not lost on the comrades who remained.'

The Moff and his Lord-Imperator needed only to look into the eyes of the Lord-General and his Grand Admiral contemporary to see the merit of fate's cruel sleight of hand, playing it's callous hand in every part of the Empire's surreptitiously-ordained downfall, an unjust manifestation of destiny of which was seen clearly in eyelids darkened by restlessness. Though just as this nightmare of an outcome had kept the Imperial remnants awake at night, the light in the eyes of Fel's heroes would also dwindle with the passing years, with all hope of resurgence scant until that one beacon of hope finally rang out across the Protectorate's obsolete Comm-Link array, reverberating across entire swathes of parsecs to reach as far as Nirauan, Krieg and even Yinchorr in an instant.

'But not all is lost, Lord Marcus.... We hold the Holocrons of our predecessors, we hold the same writs of succession as we did when the Empire still reigned supreme, and with it - the sword, scepter an' seat of the Imperial Throne.... Our goals remain, our dream remains.'

 

[Marcus Bastion]

Bastion restrained himself from rolling his eyes grimacing and huffing at the doctors fussing. With all the advanced medical technology between bacta baths and the availability of mechanical implants, chances were if you made it to a hospital at all you were going to make it. Although according to some without the spirit to live one wouldn't make it at all. Bastion didn't believe in many of the theological beliefs of the universe but he had seen men fight to survive and knew something about the human spirit. One needed to know it if you were to inspire it, or crush it however the case may be.

"It would be hard to mistake that accent sir." Still Bastion couldn't resist a wry smile at the Imperators introduction of himself. "It's comforting to know that whatever else has changed doctors are still as imperious as ever."


Bastion briefly had a flash of concern. It was more familiar than he was used to being with most Imperial officers, even ones of equal rank, but then the Imperator seemed a congenial man, and Bastion prided himself on reading people. Hopefully he didn't get it wrong. If not he would be reprimanded and he would adjust appropriately.

"Apologies officers. I've been remiss. Moff Bastion at your service."

Bastion introduced himself to the other officers with the Lord Imperator.

Whatever the vices and virtues of this Lord-Imperator were, he certainly had spirit. It wasn't everything, but he wasn't weak and that was not nothing. The Barran's did have a reputation for effective leadership whatever else their faults. Bastion had respected and admired his father. They were a family of duty. Bastion understood that. It was in the Bastion family name after all.

Barran's next news was not a surprise but it still shocked him. Bastions eyes and face looked haunted as he pictured the lives lost on Ravelin and the fall of his beloved Empire. Without the Empire Bastion knew the state of the galaxy as easily as reading a galactic map. Powers, nations, faction vying and fighting for power with very little order within or without their borders.

Marcus supposed how he might look in his eyes a relic of a by gone age. Perhaps ones people talked about with reverence in their tone. The wars of their fathers always seemed to capture the imagination of the young, dreaming of their own days of future glory. Of course most said fathers were either dead or grown men by their time their stories grew into legend. Which was appropriate because at that moment Bastion felt like an old man.

Perhaps that's exactly what he was. A man out of time, out of place, with no home to go to, no purpose, no mission, no Empire. In other words no life. Bastion didn't fear death exactly. Oh he still felt flashes of fear in combat, but it seemed like his worst fear had come true. The Empire had fallen. The Empire he had dedicated his entire life, to his family had dedicated their lives to. The name Bastion came with a responsibility and a duty. It was more than just a place name of a tactical planet. It meant the Empire. Bastion could live without his home planet for the Empire was his home. Now it was gone.

Bastion tried to decide what that changed in regard to his circumstances. Did it change anything? Whatever else Bastion believed in the Empire, still did. The Empire was the only… well bastion of order, justice and civilisation in the galaxy. The Alliance would hold the centre but the rest of the galaxy would be in Chaos. The Alliance bickered in their senate ineffective at best spouting promises of freedom while everyone in it lacked purpose. The Sith only ever craved power destructive power at best where they killed on a whim fighting each other and themselves as much as any external enemy addicted to their own desires. The Mandalorians fundamentalists and isolationist if you weren't part of their clan based culture you were disregarded and ignored until you became useful, clinging to their ways like Mynocks on a ship. As for the other Imperial factions…

The Imperial remnants that survived would be among them of course, the darker nature of the Empire that had been held in check by the Moff Council seemed to have been reformed into this Dark Empire he had heard referenced and the holonet. The rest would have flocked to any flag that represented strength this Empire of the Lost. The remaining will have waited biding their time until the right time to sieze the moment. It would appear that Barran was gathering them to his banner. A wise play given the circumstances.

Bastion sighed as he digested the news and analysed the situation as best he could. He supposed he could still defect to one of the other factions, but then…. He was here now. His responsibility was to his men, to make sure they had a purpose and a mission. Something to fight for. It might as well be the Lord-Imperator, and if not well Bastion knew how the game was played the time may come when circumstances changed once again but for now it was sink or swim. Luckily Bastion knew how to swim like a Quarren. At least in these waters.

"I suppose I was expecting something of that sort." Bastion admitted reluctantly. "I don't know my place in this new world except that it is with my men and my men need a purpose beyond drifting out in space or inhabiting some no name moon or world. We need the Empire. The Galaxy needs the Empire. As far as I can tell that means you."

"Those other Imperial…remnants they seem… unbalanced. Internal vying was a part of the Empire but we were for the most part united. Still they should be monitored, maybe they can be saved or brought into the fold, if not they are no true Empire and should be dealt with decisively. The Imperial way is the only way to deliver order and order is the only true path to peace and prosperity."

"Very well sir." Bastion gathered himself "What are my orders?"


Michael Barran Bex Tarring Aoki-Barran Mira Siyndacha Aerin Albrecht F. Herlock

 

[Michael Barran]

4th Post

-A PRELUDE TO THE "ARISE/REPENT" SAGA-

CAIRN_ONE
CHAIRMAN OF PELLAEON PMC
DRUID-GRANDMASTER OF THE HIGHLAND BROTHERHOOD
LORD-IMPERATOR OF THE IMPERIAL MILITARY PROTECTORATE

TAGS
Marcus Bastion Bex Tarring Aoki-Barran Mira Siyndacha Aerin Albrecht F. Herlock Thade Rhas

HEAVY ART THE HEADS II: A VOICE FROM THE PAST - PART 4

CHECKUP ROOM 19, INFIRMARY,
NIV: INDOMITABLE, BRAXANT RUN,
EN ROUTE TO NIRAUAN (901 ABY)

'First off, I daresay we ought to discuss this future of ours, that to which we've found ourselves embroiled all the same.'

​

Studying the expressions, and estimations of his newfound ally-of-old, Barran knew that Bastion did not require any information dumps to learn what the best approach could be, but also knew that any and all transparency was his only chance to convince the Moff of his sincere dedication to the cause. Thus having been gifted his relevence of reference, Lord Michael would find his intended subject-matter within Lord Marcus' own to the other Imperial remnant factions, quick to inform,'Speaking of which, the other remnants are quite secretive to say the least, though sadly one of our ilk has already collapsed in the wake of the Dark Empire's rise to prominence, a well of information an' insight we'll likely have lost to time itself.... This will not do, not for the plans I have in mind.', looking his former-superior in the eye as the subordinate he once was.

'So let us look at the players on the board, shall we? We've got Korvan's Remnant, gone, an' as according to the reports you've likely seen by now, apparently in a blaze o' glory. Leaving the Empire of the Lost, the Dark Empire, an' lastly - us, the Imperial Military Protectorate.... But we're the only ones standing with any such legitimacy carrying back to Fel's Empire, but now, its clear we're lagging behind our enemies in the unending intel war - an' I have a nagging desire to put a swift change to that unwelcome truth.'

'So for now, we work to learn, an' grow from the shadows that shield us - learning how our enemies have evolved in our absence.', the Lord-Imperator continued, pausing only for effect and time for the Moff to take in the implications with weighted earnest, as every last one of Bastion's previous leaders had preferred conventional, upfront implementations of grand-strategy before the Tattered Regent standing before him. From Tavlar to Fel, even to his own father, all were resolved to fight punch for punch to whatever end awaited, but in the pursuit of lasting survival, the old Woad knew that more was needed of the cloak and dagger approach in order to return stronger than ever before. For this, Barran was more than prepared to weather the new, slanderous consensus, though a reality would bare it's ugly face when he admitted,'I'm just about done playing weak, but if you're as curious as I am - surely I can show restraint a little while longer.', a sacrifice already made for the sake of Imperium.

'They want to make rogues of us, Lord Marcus. Rendering us pirates, renegades in the eyes of the Galaxy.... Tarnishing true Imperium, brazenly slapping us across the face with the very legacy we forged together - an' I'm fethin' furious!'

That same Imperial wrath flowed through both Moff and Imperator alike, as it was often that which marked Fel's high-flyers from those who languished without growth, that which marked those who took Imperial defiance into their souls, almost as if it were etched into their bones. That very belief that marked their Imperial soldiering caste from their counterparts in the Sith Empire, as the belief itself was an anomaly for it's potency, and no other Empire besides Fel's would ever be able to replicate it in the wake of Ravelin's collapse. Marcus Bastion was no exception, and like his new Lord-Imperator, resolve in abundance would be formed of his belief in the cause, and without a single trace of mind-control or manipulation endeavoured to achieve it.

And the Tattered Regent was confident of the awakening Moff's claim to that truest, most-defiant of Imperial beliefs.

'You furious, Bastion? Hm? Are ye?'

 

[Marcus Bastion]

Bastion nodded firmly as the Lord-Imperator dived into the list of problems facing them in priorities. Discussion of this now future seemed prudent.

"By all means sir, let the briefing begin."

Bastion frowned as he considered what the Lord-Imperator was telling him. It did seem a maybe not hopeless but desperate case. Fighting from the shadows wasn't quite his strong suit he was used to searching those shadows for rebel scum. Perhaps his experience on this side of the line could be useful in now. Who better to fight from the shadows than someone who used to search them for a living.

"The Dark Empire is certainly a fitting name" Marcus muttered in concernation. "I'll admit in my youth I leaned towards Tarkinism as being the only true path to Orer and therefore peace in the galaxy and I still believe the people need a firm hand to guide them but wanton destruction and cowing to the Dark Side represented the darkest parts of the Empire which had been stemmed by more moderate voices on the Moff Council. Myself among them."

Bastion continued to frown as he focused on the issues. Dark Empire, Empire of the Lost these false pretenders to the Empire were the greatest threats and should be dealt with. Perhaps some could be brought back into the fold eventually but first they must be opposed.

Bastion returned to the conversation at hand.

Bastion sighed with regret.

"Previous Imperial tactics have been called forthright and upfront for myself they were often… heavy handed. Brute strength and power are only useful while you have it and leave little room for error. Every so often subtlety is needed. If that is what is required of me in my service of the Imperial way of life than that is what I will become."

Bastion grew angry at thought of the mighty Empire being reduced to being considered pirates, renegades and outlaws as if they in some bizarre twisted turn of fate had become the Rebel scum.

"Aye, Imperator I am furious" Bastion agreed in response.

The Empire would rise again Bastion would ensure it with the help of the Emperor himself. The Dark Empire was a concern but he doubted there was much he could do about it this Empire of the Lost however.

"The Dark Empire is a concern, but I fear we do not yet have the strength to oppose them at least not yet and not directly. This Empire of the Lost however there may be some who could yet be saved and brought back into the fold."

"If we are fighting from the shadows and my presence is as yet undiscovered perhaps we should use that our advantage. These new Empire's are- if I'm reading the terrain correctly- not yet strong enough to ignore a Moff coming out of the past."

"Particularly if that Moff appeared to give them legitimacy" Bastion said with a spite ful smirk rising on his face. "I suggest if you will that I go behind enemy lines. I did some undercover work and behind the lines actions during my time with the ISB. Pretending to be a loyal Imperial officer should prove no challenge. For all in tents and purposes I still would be. Just serving a different Emperor. Bastion considered what he was saying. "Playing the game of Council with the Moff's is nothing new to me."

"Perhaps if you send some agents in with me as my staff. I'm sure we could get statistical information on military strength and forces but more importantly my personal assessment of Imperial officers within their ranks particularly the other Moffs maybe their Emperor himself."

"When the time is right I would return back to the fold with useful information and strategic advantage. A Moff seemingly defecting from one Empire to ours would also give our cause legitimacy."

Bex Tarring Aoki-Barran Mira Siyndacha Aerin Albrecht F. Herlock Thade Rhas

 

[Denniston Thrast II]

1st Post

-A PRELUDE TO THE "ARISE/REPENT" SAGA-

AIDE-DE-CAMP TO MOFF MARCUS BASTION
COMMANDER OF TASKFORCE: REAVER
DRUID-GRANDMASTER OF THE HIGHLAND BROTHERHOOD

Tags: Marcus Bastion Albrecht F. Herlock Bex Tarring Silya Thrast Thade Rhas Martin S. Senée

THE MAVERICK I: A WATCHFUL ROGUE - PROLOGUE

HABITATION DECK, SECURITY SECTOR,
NIV: INDOMITABLE, BRAXANT RUN (900 ABY)

All the frosty fellers are wakin' up the-day.
The-day's the day, so it is.​

'About damn time - lazy fethers slept through aw the weird border-gore! Can't be havin' that!'

Showering under better-than-adequate water pressure, with the heat ramped up bad enough the steam escaped into the hallway, tripping the air-vents to near-constance for as long as Hunter persisted in scrubbing to satisfactory standard, it was clear that Thrast's time spent aboard the Indomitable had been spent in leisurely bliss. Not that it started out that way, as in the beginning of his stay - Denniston was quite conscious of his life-sign footprint.

After all, there was always a chance of unexpected visitors, returns and the like, especially in consideration of agents with similar skills to the Hunter's own, similar hunches on where to find this and that, all standing among the many variables of which were still known to the veteran intelligence-officer at the time. However, after further, deeper explorations were endeavoured, a better defensible section was discovered, granting a better observational advantage than anything the loading bay's control-tower ever could; auspiciously granted by it's bottleneck positioning in the interior layout, and with the security sector locked down easily, Thrast was finally presented with an opportunity to switch off that nagging hypervigilance once and for all.

From there, everything else was a matter of patrols, investigative-prying and always keeping watch for as long as the Indomitable remained at risk of unwanted discovery - for almost six months after the initial discovery of the cryogenically frozen fleet staffers in question.

My hunch was right all along, I knew it from the start.
What's a six-month break from life for the trouble?
What's this peace an' quiet, if not a reward for trusting the right hunch?​

Not that the Hunter had anything going on at the time, as the Brotherhood's newly-anointed Druid Grandmaster had been left with nought to do in the wake of 900 ABY, left to his own devices by all with autonomy around him, a feeling of which Thrast quickly began to dread until his creativity finally found it's second wind. The beautiful wife had left him, the Lord-Imperator had his own leads to follow, the Brotherhood were in the midst of their own operations, and to top it all off, Raider Battalion had been given autonomous permission to form Taskforce: Reaver in Thrast's absence. All Denniston had left by that point was boredom, his own devices, and access to many of the Empire's old surveillance stations, so it was only going to be a matter of time from there, as curiosity was always a game of which Thrast was happy to play.

But as all good things meet their end, such was life for the Hunter's poor attempt to take time off work, as such a break might have lasted longer if it wasn't for the overriding objective of watching over valuable Pre-Collapse resources, always on the job to his own detriment. Just Denniston's luck, but he knew the fun and games would need to end eventually, making way for games of a gambler's nature, the games of which the Hunter enjoyed playing most of all, and in his efforts to study the order in which staffers would be awoken to resume their duties, knew that the first to wake would be security officers, technicians and medical staff, giving Thrast all the information he needed for slipping into the sluggishly-motivated first rotations.

Most of the cleanup had already been completed by the time the Highlander took his last leisurely shower, leaving just the security-paddock's kitchens and every possible trace of his presence from the archived surveillance footage; five months, three weeks, six days and two hours-worth, adding a small virus that disrupted security-software across the entire flagship for good measure. It was during this process that the most-unexpected feeling hit the Hunter, a nostalgia brought on by the memory of all that his Serennoan handlers taught him, especially on the importance of covering one's tracks in art of spycraft. Lessons that stuck with Denniston all the way into the Tenth Century ABY, and here he was, getting dewy-eyed in remembrance of the good ol' days, and finally allowing himself to let in all he had been repressing since he departed from Nirauan.

If ye want it aw back.... Ye know what must be done, what must be sacrificed.
For the realm, for Lord Michael.... An' for yer family first an' foremost.
​

As Lord Michael told him weeks before receiving the fated,"Dear John", letter from his beloved Siyndacha, he could feel a change in the wind, feeling the potential for the wildest, most-unpredictable sort; and it wasn't until that very moment that Thrast finally understood what Barran meant, looking over the slow, laborious deletion process in within the fortified security-paddock, and it struck the walls of his mind like a speeder-bike at full-speed. Laughing through the tears in his realisation, and despite all that both Goidels had warned of vainglorious hope, Thrast almost-disapprovingly exclaimed,'Now what did I say about dreaming o' more, Cousin? Ya ballsy karker, so ye are!', as it also meant suffering the greatest of heartaches in the effort to save his family from tyranny.

Ye better dream o' more, Thrast! Fix this!
Even if the cost is dear - even if it costs everything!

Family first an' foremost, you're no Goidel without them!​

After all, protecting family was always the Goidelic way - as they would not have been scions of their sort without this ideal in mind.

THE MAVERICK I: A WATCHFUL ROGUE - PART 1

​

DIAGNOSIS HALL, INFIRMARY,
NIV: INDOMITABLE, BRAXANT RUN,
EN ROUTE TO NIRAUAN (901 ABY)

Mate, they're practically sleepwalkin' oot here.​

'Heh! How is this even possible?'

Tracking the movements of the first thawing wave, the Hunter was already standing in medical equipment specific to the Checkup Staff by the time he began to study the movements of his,"Peers", hacking the security-systems and watching their progress on a widescreen datapad in the nearest bathroom. Sat wheezing mirthfully to himself in the comfort of the nearest cubicle to the entrance, but doubtlessly poised to step out at moment's notice, and with time aplenty to spare for following patterns, and comm-traffic on an earphone plugged into one of the ship's many comm-devices, Denniston was more than content where he was for the next phase of infiltration. Especially with the automated reconnection of the Indomitable's very-own Galactic relay system, opening it's signal-strength from a dead zero to every known frequency in the Galaxy, unleashing a vast array of latest happenings on which Thrast had been missing out for nearly six months.

But distractions would always play second-fiddle to one of life's most exciting games, understanding well enough that news and geopolitics could always wait a little while longer, and with no other obstructions to the infiltration effort, Denniston had granted himself a means of seeking his way into the right room at the right time. Expecting the presence of Imperial High-Command by then, as in the moment the Galactic relay went online again, an automated broadcast had been sent out to all the old Imperial comm-frequencies, frequencies of which the Hunter knew the Protectorate were still using at the time.

Its been two hours since the first doors opened....
An' they're still zombying around the place.

Can't deny it, I'm envious o' folk who get t'sleep for o'er twenty years.​

'Lucky bastards, truly.'

Sighing away the last of the laughter, Thrast redevoted his attention on seeking out the highest-ranking checkup doctors, looking specifically for a woman of Arkanian ancestry, a particular Novanian-born officer serving as the Senior Consult for that sector. This would naturally present challenges, though not half as many as the challenges presented in the attempt to embed himself among the right clique of assistants, but there were many nuances to the avoidance of detection - and all of which had been known and familiar to the Hunter for decades before that day.

Then before the Goidel knew it, he was standing with the other assistants as Bethe Ahana-Katherin was asking her staffers,'Raise your hand if this applies - who among you feels the least sluggish? I need help for Checkup-19.', with lazy eyelids hidden poorly behind the sanitary visor, but cognitive enough to see which of two hands was the quickest to rise. Continuing,'Ah, so you're the designated atrophizine-recipient. I'll need another for this anyway, so you'll both be needed. Follow me.', without even noticing that there was one more assistant than the six on Bethe's personal briefing-roster file, and as a result of her sluggish adherence to strict thawing-protocols, also failed to notice that five assistants remained, not four.

'Excuse my sluggishness, I never understood why the Moff's survival-protocols turned atrophizine-distribution into potluck - but then again.... Atrophizine isn't cheap, and we likely don't have a realm to call our own any more.'

'Its fine, Ma'am. I also happen t'have a little hope for a silver lining.... Friendlies are docking - so keep that chin up.', the quickest assistant responded, but with little more intensity than a whisper, reassuring though his hushed tones were. Yet despite waking from a slumber that began with abject terror and hopelessness, giving Bethe every possible reason to shoot down every last hope of salvation for Imperium, the Novanian felt reassured by the soothing mindset of her assistant, encouraged by a presence she assumed had dreamed of silver-linings at least. It was enough to stop Bethe in her tracks, but Thrast was no stranger to the effect true belief had on the soul, feeling that belief for himself in the process of concluding,'As long as Imperials live, true Imperium endures.... We're not done here, Ma'am. Not by a long chalk.', dancing on the very precipice of compromisation to lift the spirits of one in dire need of reasons to live again.

'Thank you, I needed that.'

[CHECKUP 19]​

'This is it.... Follow my lead, and let me do the talking.'

 

[Michael Barran]

5th Post

-A PRELUDE TO THE "ARISE/REPENT" SAGA-

CAIRN_ONE
CHAIRMAN OF PELLAEON PMC
FORMER GRANDMASTER OF THE HIGHLAND BROTHERHOOD
LORD-IMPERATOR OF THE IMPERIAL MILITARY PROTECTORATE

TAGS
Marcus Bastion Bex Tarring Silya Thrast Albrecht F. Herlock Thade Rhas Martin S. Senée

HEAVY ART THE HEADS II: A VOICE FROM THE PAST - PART 5

CHECKUP ROOM 19, INFIRMARY,
NIV: INDOMITABLE, BRAXANT RUN,
EN ROUTE TO NIRAUAN (901 ABY)

Well, well, well....
If looks could conquer entire realms, that right there would be one o' them.
​

When Bastion answered in a quiet fury of his own, Barran could easily believe it, knowing both silent wrath of Imperial officers and in seeing the look in Moff Marcus' eye alike - waking sleeper was readier than ever before.

The wonders that behold from chips on shoulders, such things would never cease in abundance for Imperials, but the wonders were still yielding for the harvesting scythe, much to the pleasant surprise of the Tattered Regent in these moments. Not knowing for sure as to which thawing-wave let the Moff out, or when that wave ejected him from slumber specifically, so there was no way to know for sure as to how much information was being taken in, or at least not until Bastion's response assured Barran he had been paying perfect attention from the start.

From the personal assessments on Empires Dark and Lost alike, to the likelihood that Imperials worthy of salvation still remained on the planets of the latter, Lord Michael couldn't help but feel a certain shock-and-awe from Moff Marcus' thought-process, but then the grandest, most-brazen of ideas was suggested. Leaving the Tattered Regent speechless in it's wake, rendered a gobsmacked, gawping mess of wheezing, devious mirth by the sheer audacity of it's implications, Barran eventually replied,'Not only would you attempt mass double-agency, but in patient work within the realm of the Lost, weaken them further; not only once with your own return into the Protectorate fold, but twicefold with the acquisition of another sizeable Imperial contingent.... If anyone else had been in your place, saying exactly what you've just said - I would have assumed you t'be a madman.', grinning almost ear-to-ear at his sudden, auspicious turn of luck.

'But truth be told, I think we need your sort o',"Madman", as you could very well be mad enough to pull this off.... My guts rumblin' in aw the right ways, an' its tellin' me t'have faith in this plan - so lets make it happen.'

In the following moments of comforting, thoughtful silence between the four legends of the Imperial high-commandry, the Lord-Imperator's thoughts began to drift towards potential candidates for faux-defection, noting similarly preoccupied expressions on the faces of his peers as he continued,'Oh, an' as for the matter of those who I could send o'er with ye, I know a man with a few bodyguard-candidates, an' certainly a few trained contingents here or there who fit the bill.... Oh, an' by the way, word on the grapevine is that a certain Highlander is looking for you, but first - let us focus on the forces of convention, hm?', allowing the brainstorming phase to quicken at a somewhat-more esoteric level between them. Inadvertently kicking into cadence a reminder of great relevance to the discussion, as his appointed high-level recruiter had been just two ships behind in the rescue-column, sticking like glue to the Tigress' attack formation.

'Well, the Priest-King did dock to the left o' the Tigress o'er there, I can see the River's Bloom from here-'

 

[Yorunarr Ahan-Yan'Sharlim]

1st Post

-A TALE FROM THE "HOME" SAGA-

GODMASK_ACTUAL
CHAIRMAN OF MELARRAN PMC
FORMER GENERAL OF THE FIREDANCE BRIGADES
EXILED PRIEST-KING OF NOVANIA

TAGS
Marcus Bastion Bex Tarring Albrecht F. Herlock
Silya Thrast Thade Rhas Martin S. Senée

FIGHTING OUR WAY BACK II: A REASON D'ETRE - PART 1

CHECKUP ROOM 19, INFIRMARY,
NIV: INDOMITABLE, BRAXANT RUN (901 ABY)

'-DID SOMEONE SEND FOR A SHAMAN OR WHAT, LADS?!?!'
​

Poking his head in through the opening left by the slide-door, the Godseer would feel somewhat shocked the delegation hadn't included the Novanian Priest-King in their rush to meet the Moff, but in seeing a different sort of surprise on the faces of Imperium's remaining planetary-leaders, realised his presence was required despite his sudden arrival. It was then that Yorunarr turned to Marcus and greeted,'Its a relief to see you alive and well, Moff Bastion. I am Yorunarr Ahan-Yan'Sharlim, First Godseer of my Name, deposed Priest-King of Archais.... An honour it is to finally meet you, sir. If only it were under better circumstances - but I'm willing to fight the tide if you are.', with a fist-over-heart salute reminiscent of that often performed in the ranks of Fel's IMPAF collective.

'Speaking of shamans and - stuff, I bring word that a certain Druid is looking for you, sir. A certain fellow from the Lord-Imperator's homeworld-'

The look on Barran's face was all Yorunarr needed to know the surprise had been spoiled already, and in the Godseer's rueful chuckling eventually continued,'-Oh, I see you've been informed already.... That must mean.... You've all moved on to manpower matters without me, you bunch o' surreptitious rogues! No fun at all!', exclaiming indignance in jest to liven up the otherwise-deathlike silence around him. But despite referring to everyone else in the room, the Priest-King's wide, pupil-less irises remained fixed firmly on the Lord-Imperator throughout, little pale orbs that left no illusions as to where they were gazing at the time, clearly glaring with purpose - and with more to say between the lines.

~=Way to spoil the big reveal, idiot!=~
~=You retired from the Brotherhood, remember? Seeking Ashlan absolution, of course.=~

~=Just - leave the mystic stuff to us from now on, will ya?=~​

Seeing his old friend put hands up in surrender (even if only in the same jest he was offered before) was reason enough for the Godseer to relent, especially with more-pressing matters already firmly on the agenda, giving Yorunarr his prompt to pump the brakes on the banter to turn back towards the awakening Moff and reveal,'Anyway, I have someone you might need if you wish to survive in this Snakes' Nest we call a Galaxy.... Moff Bastion, I introduce to you - Thade Rhas, a duellist for whom I can vouch confidently.', stepping to one side for the Imperial warrior standing directly behind him at the time. The man in question stood tall as he silently stepped into the dim light of the checkup room, and all despite the weighty killing-instrument that was strapped to his back at the time, as such would have been difficult for most, even for the strongest of Imperial stalwarts.

'Come on in, lad. Let 'em see the sword you brought for show-and-tell.'

 

[Albrecht F. Herlock]

On board of the mighty NIV Indomitable, checkup room 19.

Herlock entered the room at the same time as the men who were with him, and remained silent . He was first listening to the Lord-Imperator who was telling Moff Bastion what happened to the Empire and answering his questions. And then, when it came to speak about forces, Herlock cleared his throat and said : "My Lords, if I may speak, in terms of forces, I have a full fleet composed of twenty-seven ships with their full squadrons of starfighters and transport shuttles. One of them can be used to do reconnaissance missions, the stealth corvette Silencieux. I'm also in touch with my fellow colleague officer Honoré d'Estienne d'Orves from Yinchorr's defense fleet Azure Shield. And I still have contacts within the Sevenners, former TodHusars of House Haskler." As he said those words, the door of the checkup room opened revealing the presence of Yorunarr Ahan-Yan'Sharlim, followed by another man.

 

[Marcus Bastion]

Moff Bastion allowed himself a small smile has his plan was met with support, he was glad it was well received as he hadn't been sure he wasn't a Madmen for even suggesting it luckily that seemed to be welcome from his new Imperator. It was an interesting thought. Bastion had always considered himself a rational man after all, but he had to admit the… ambitiousness of his proposal even caught him a little off guard, and Moff Bastion was an ambitious man.

"I've never considered myself a madman before, but then would I know if I was?" Bastion let out an amused grunt, with a wry smirk. A gesture he would never have dreamed him have making in front of let alone to the Emperor.

Despite the lack of formality that Bastion would normally find uncomfortable and the thick accent and gregarious attitude, Bastion found himself warming to this new Emperor. Bastion could easily see himself serving with this new vision of the Empire. Bastion wondered if he should feel any guilt for infiltrating and betraying other Imperials? Then he dismissed the thought. If anything he was saving them from an actual Madmen and returning them to the true Imperial way. Besides this was how the game was played as far as he was concerned this was just another game of the Moff Council one Moff moving against another Moff. The scales were just a little grander after all. All for the Empire.

"Perhaps a Madman is just what's needed to face the Madman in the Empire of the Lost after all. If succeeded we may indeed save more Imperials than we defeat. Bring them back to the True Imperial way of life. We'd be serving them as much as defeating them. With the additional forces we may be able to face the greater threat of the Dark Empire and of the other powers in the Galaxy."

Besides in the game of Empire's he had just risen to new heights after all. Bastion believed in serving the Empire and believed in the Imperial way of life but he was also ambitious. If he hadn't been he would have never became a Moff after all. If Bastion pulled this off he could very well be Grand Moff which was only one step down from Lord Imperator after all. Not that Bastions ambitions extended to the throne itself. The Emperor was a symbol as much an office and Bastion knew he didn't have the charisma to hold such a title and office for long. Grand Moff however was a more practical position to attain.

Bastion returned to the issue at hand. Bastion thought through process of his defection.

"For all intents and purposes I would have to be a loyal Moff of the Empire of the Lost until the time of my return to the fold. It shouldn't be hard, I've had plenty of practice at pretending to be an Imperial. " Bastion let a small smirk at the last. "I would welcome any personal staff with experience in espionage. Atleast one operative I can send as a contact between us as well as any... peripheral missions I may need him for."

"A Highlander?" Bastion asked with a frown. "As far as I know I've done nothing to offend any?"

Bastion knew of the Highlanders of course, their skills and valor on the battlefield was legendary even if they were a little… isolated. As far as he could tell present company excluded Highlanders were for Highlanders. Bastion didn't doubt their loyalty particularly to Barran, but their devotion was to each other first and Empire second. Still a useful tool not to be discarded lightly.

Bastion raised an eyebrow as several new figures entered or spoke up. Bastion dismissed the medical staff out of hand, but the Priest King and his bodyguard made an impression as they entered and he gave a shallow bow at the introduction.

"A pleasure to meet you… Priest King. Your Grace? Your Eminence?" Bastion paused unsure of what the proper term of address to a Priest King was. Still Bastion imagined he was a powerful Force User which could be very useful indeed. Mostly Bastion distrusted and was weary of Force Users. They always seemed to be imposing their religious views on the galaxy and were as likely to fight you as the enemy. Although Bastion had had a deep respect for the Imperial Knights, he felt a heaviness in his heart as he realised the Order was probably deposed.

"A Druid? This Highlander the Lord-Imperator spoke of? Speaking of… religious matters. What of the Imperial Knights? Are there any left? Or are we to rely on Druid's and Priest Kings? No disrespect intended of course just trying to assess our position. Strengths and weaknesses."

Bastion paused as he tried to frame his questions without causing offence.

"If you'll pardon my ignorance how do the Druids and Shamans of your order differ from the Imperial Knights, Sith and Jedi? Are they like the Witches of Dathomir?"

"Sir Thade" Bastion offered a short courtly bow. Bastion glanced at the Sword mentioned and withheld the comment of wondering if the duellist was compensating for something.

Bastion listened to Herlock's report of the fleet at his disposal and was impressed.

"I fear my own fleet pales in comparison." Bastion admitted reluctantly "When Special Order 15 was activated I escaped with as much unique forces as I could maintain. Unfortunately, my thoughts ran along the lines of saving one of each so that if- when- we returned we would be able to use each one as a basis for expanding the fleet. I'm not sure how many survived and won't until the Fleet has completely woken up from the freezing. We should also consider other forces who will be awakening from Special Order 15. It was a general order across Imperial forces and they should all wake up once the Activation Order has been put out."

"A Stealth Corvette for reconnaissance could have any number of uses. Those other Fleets and Forces you mentioned will also be a welcome addition to our ranks."

Yorunarr Ahan-Yan'Sharlim Albrecht F. Herlock Michael Barran Bex Tarring Thade Rhas Martin S. Senée Silya Thrast Denniston Thrast II

 

[Michael Barran]

6th Post

-A PRELUDE TO THE "ARISE/REPENT" SAGA-

CAIRN_ONE
CHAIRMAN OF PELLAEON PMC
FORMER GRANDMASTER OF THE HIGHLAND BROTHERHOOD
LORD-IMPERATOR OF THE IMPERIAL MILITARY PROTECTORATE

TAGS
Marcus Bastion Bex Tarring Silya Thrast Albrecht F. Herlock Thade Rhas Martin S. Senée

HEAVY ART THE HEADS II: A VOICE FROM THE PAST - PART 6

CHECKUP ROOM 19, INFIRMARY,
NIV: INDOMITABLE, BRAXANT RUN,
EN ROUTE TO NIRAUAN (901 ABY)

Easy confusions for people to make, even for the extraordinary sort.
For our power stems from the Force all the same.

Even if the power of a Druid or Shaman would differ to that of a Sith or Jedi.
​

Listening on with a patient, understanding smile, the Tattered Regent would find new perspective on how such matters of mysticism would appear to the eyes of sentient convention, though there would be a somewhat-bittersweet jading in light of remembering that Druidism was no longer permitted of the man who revolutionised it for combat. There was nothing else for it, nought but the forward path to forging the leaders of the future, working for an Ashlan redemption; for the sake of Imperium perhaps, but in the wake of more than a century of death and destruction, the silent Lord Michael knew the fight to preserve life would be much more difficult to win.

'For some reason, though mostly down to my retired status among the Druids an' such - I believe it best if I left inquiries on mysticism to the Shaman here.'

Thus the Lord-Imperator would snatched back from his inward musings, as the very fate of the realm would be decided there, floating through space aboard the Indomitable as Barran added,'Now, in terms of fleeting matters, you have full-autonomy now as you have for decades already, an' this includes the issue of procurement an' upgrade-limitations. There were lasting powers bestowed in Special Order 15 after all - especially those pertaining to fleet-authority clearances..... Use them, an' use them like ye were bettin' the house on yer actions.', in clear, gut-delivered tone for the sake of the others in the room. With Lords Albrecht, Bex and Yorunarr in the room with them as standing authentication, Lord Michael's full, expressed permission had just been given, and with no mistaking as to what the green-light was enabling, every high-ranking witness would hold their Imperator at his word henceforth.

'After all, we do not wish for your authority to be challenged when it matters either.... Or at least, for long enough without protest that your subordinates can keep their mouths shut throughout the defection-process. You may also inform your trusted subordinates as you deign fit, but I hope for your sake that you choose wisely.... Stealth-calibration is one thing, but switching leaders from Bar-ran to Kil-ran is another entirely - thus Bastion's Weanings had best be potent if you catch my drift.'

With a few index-finger taps to his own temple, the Lord-Imperator would leave these thoughts to the mind of the Moff to mull over for a while, leaving something to dwell on later as he left an opening for the Priest-King to have his say. As much as Barran himself was happy to talk strategy with an Imperial legend, and as much as he wished to talk shop on fleeting stealth-upgrades, there would be no getting in the way of one's curiosities, beholden to himself as much as he was to a newfound ally. A curiosity of which all in the room knew the old Woad could satisfy, being the only one in the room who dared to blend the world of the Force with that of Ancestral, Animistic power, but Lord Michael was content to stand on ceremony for the sake of the mystic scholar among them.

One who could explain it all much more easily than his Goidelic friend ever could.

 

[Yorunarr Ahan-Yan'Sharlim]

2nd Post

-A TALE FROM THE "HOME" SAGA-

GODMASK_ACTUAL
CHAIRMAN OF MELARRAN PMC
FORMER GENERAL OF THE FIREDANCE BRIGADES
EXILED PRIEST-KING OF NOVANIA

TAGS
Marcus Bastion Bex Tarring Albrecht F. Herlock
Silya Thrast Thade Rhas Martin S. Senée

FIGHTING OUR WAY BACK II: A REASON D'ETRE - PART 2

CHECKUP ROOM 19, INFIRMARY,
NIV: INDOMITABLE, BRAXANT RUN (901 ABY)

~=I wouldn't have begrudged you that one, Brother Michael.=~
~=You might be retired, going Ashlan and all the rest of it-=~

~=But you're still one of us.... Always have been - and always shall be.=~
​

'So you wish to learn the difference between Force-Knights and Mystics of our sort, hm? I like this curiosity of yours, Lord Marcus.', the Novanian began, smiling in appreciation as he reached into his coat-pocket for a cigarra, lighting up and taking a few drags as he thought on how best to frame it in short, condensed manner. Though it wouldn't take long to get his short, quipping comparisons out the way as he quickly exhaled the last draw to continue,'Lets start by putting it this way, for instance.... With a lightsabre, I would only bring as much harm to myself as the people around me, but in the grasp of a man like our Lord-Imperator here - that same lightsabre would bring you magic.', trailing off as Barran himself started chuckling at the concept.

'What must be called upon by the incantations, or summonings, of Druids and Shamans alike is already inherent within Jedi, Sith and Imperial Knights.... The Force itself is like a God to a Force-Wielder, but for a Mystic of the Entities, the very spirits who rule and empower these Midichlorians are those to whom we draw our own power.'

​

Just then the Godseer's white irises began to take on a glowing, pale-blue intensity, verging on cyan as the hue gave way to the crux of his surface-level explanation, even pulling out his mask and showed it mutating from grey to blue for effect before he finally concluded,'And for some, that well from where that power is drawn.... Like myself.... Reaches deep, as it did for me against the Drengir on Lao-Mon.', trailing off again, but only for another few drags from his cigarra. One matter still hung in the air, and though Michael had somewhat hinted at the madness needed to work within the EOTL's command structure, Yorunarr knew if such defiance of convention was to be seen as fortuitous - then certain truths would need to be admitted in complete acquiescence to it.

'Though there is one matter to which our Lord-Imperator could have spoken without reservation, that madness one needs to succeed in double-agency? Rest assured, I feel like I can speak for everyone else in this room when I say - we're all quite,"Mad" here.... In order to make it this far, we've needed to be.'

​

In this, both Goidel and Novanian could share a hearty chuckle together, still on the same page after so many years, an alliance formed coincidentally on the planet that would later become the Dark Empire's capital. An alliance of Arkanians and Humans who embraced their tribal, spiritual origins to fight like their forebears, a friendship of which would endure long after these souls were laid to rest, though in their fraternal shoulder-shunts and brotherly handshakes, a certain unspoken approval was granted for strategic gamesmanship. Especially when that same gesture was offered to the Moff, to meet the Priest-King's offer of friendship in the middle, and in much the same informal, brotherly manner.

Bastion was free to play the grandest game of all, and with blessing from his new friends - it would be made clear that they would be watching on with great interest.

 

[Marcus Bastion]

Bastion raised an eyebrow at learning the Emperor was a retired Druid. Although it didn't surprise him too much. Bastion could more easily see him a Druid than a Jedi or Sith and powerful leaders were often attuned to the Force in one respect or another. Sometimes Bastion regretted and envied that he himself didn't have such a talent, but then he wasn't sure he wanted to devote his life to pursuing a spiritual philosophy of any sort, his duty to the Empire was absolute. Even now when he had found it had fallen he was finding a new purpose and a way to serve it in such a manner that would bring it back to full glory. Still Bastion had always wished he had been capable of some of the feats he had seen on the battlefield and of even some of the more apocryphal tales he was sure, that were associated with the Force.

Bastion nodded as he received the parameters of his authority in regards to his fleet. He was relieved he was still in command, although truthfully had expected nothing less. An Empire with limited resources would have to retain it's structure including it's officers chain of command, not too mention the impracticality of dividing already divided resources. Bastions men had followed him into exile and he was sure they'd follow him wherever he would lead. Although he'd have to keep operational security as to the true nature of their mission. As far as the fleet was concerned the defection would have to be real. It wasn't that he didn't trust his men quite the opposite, but the less who knew the better. All the best to let the hammer blow strike hard when the time came.

"Aye Emperor" Bastion nodded firmly upon receiving his instruction "I'll play the hand I've been dealt as deftly as I'm able to."

"Fear not Sabaac has always been favourite of mine. How better to understand someones tell when they either do or don't want you to know or think something about them. Or to present your own agenda in the manner you wish it to be received." Bastion allowed the flicker of a smirk run over his face.

"As for operational security I'm aware how important it is. I'll tell only those who are necessary and those whom you deem necessary sir. The men will follow orders. If they were willing to follow them into being frozen then they'll follow them wherever I take them have no fear of that."

Bastion's mind turned to who he would trust in his fleet, his second in command and his aide perhaps, he'd have to warn the fleet captains closer to when it came time to defect. In the mean time as much as he would have to be a valuable member of the false emperor Kilrans war machine he shouldn't let his troops intermingle too much with the Losts. Lest they feel conflicted when it came time for friends to become enemies. Unless of course they integrated seamlessly from all facets of the Losts military. Bastion thought it over for a moment. Such a device could be devastating if pulled off with precision. Bastions mouth flickered as he dismissed the notion. Too risky, too ambitious too many things that could go wrong. All it would take is one senior officer to change loyalties for real after integration was too close. Bastions would have to try to keep his fleet independent and any recruits he made among the Losts forces careful.

Bastion turned his attention to the Druid who was attempting to explain the differences and distinctions between his religion and that of the Jedi or Sith. Bastion tried to follow as best he could but matters of religion had always escaped him. Oh he understood their power anyone who lived in the galaxy could hardly deny the presence and power of the Force, but the subtleties and intricacies escaped him. Truthfully Bastion had been hoping for a breakdown in the combat applications of these mystics shamans and druids. Whatever they may be.

At the very least it would seem this particular mystic didn't use a lightsaber. Bastion felt a flash of disappointment at that. He had always admired the effectiveness and even the aesthetic of a lightsaber. Ruefully he had to admit a small boy inside him who used to play with sticks and the warrior who still played with vibrosword was disappointed. Still whatever their capabilities Bastion just had to hope they were effective counter to any Force Wielders they happened to encounter. Even so trained force wielders were rare and had to be utilised carefully in the best of circumstances let alone with their current limited resources.

"I Hope I see a demonstration on the differences at some point" Bastion allowed politely not willing to risk offending the gracious man nor his new Emperor who seemed to have some sort of connection to his order.

Bastion turned back to the Emperor.

"We'll need an effective defection method. Something big and flashy. An event will do something diplomatic." Bastion proposed already thinking through the options. "I thought of a battle reinforcements coming in at just the right time, but that could get messy they could just as easily perceive us a threat from the Dark Empire as reinforcements for the Lost. It wouldn't do to have to fire upon or defend myself from the very group I'm intending to infiltrate. I'll need to state my intentions clearly before any such action."

"Something public. A Moff's public declaration of loyalty and support cannot be ignored lightly. They'll have to either accept or deny me publicly as well. The latter is unlikely but if it does happen. It will free me up for direct benefit to the Protectorate."

Bastion waited for the Emperor's response as he thought it through.

"I doubt that will happen the Lost can hardly offered to waste resources offered to them so freely and securely. Even if they harbour secret doubts they will still want to keep an eye on me rather than risk me going to the Dark Empire. If I make as if I'm a neutral party at the event it will make my declaration seem that much more genuine."

Bex Tarring Albrecht F. Herlock Silya Thrast Thade Rhas Martin S. Senée Yorunarr Ahan-Yan'Sharlim Michael Barran