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