Private Gold & Iron

[Onansi of Thyrsus]

​

The clanging of metal on metal rang in the combat chamber. Two forms danced around each other, parrying, feinting, stabbing. Aside from the sharp sounds of alloyed armaments striking against each other, the occasional grunt and huff of exertion emanated from the pair after an attack or block.

Muscled ebon flesh ripped and tore as it stood in the path of the blade. Sucking his teeth, Onansi’s upper lip curled into a sneer as blood leaked from his bicep. Seeing his opening, his foot raised and shot forth, right into the stony abdomen of his opponent. For a brief moment beneath his foot the surface remained firm, before it crumpled behind the weight of the kick and brought the man low.

Blade poised to strike, the Warlord’s hand dropped as he turned, barely sparing more than a scrutinizing look before stepping away.

“I did not me-"
“You fought well, Khaldun.” He waved a dismissive hand and replaced the sword in one of the empty slots of the weapons rack. Ignoring the thanks, Onansi’s hand was held out, and expectedly he received the mans blade.

Pausing, he eyed the smattering of his blood that lingered on the edge of the blade, and bobbed his head. “Slave.” He declared.

From the shadows of the dimly lit training room, a white specter appeared.

She tread the ground with short, but hurried shuffles. She was young, attractive too. Smooth skin on initial glance, one only needed to know the location to spot the thin and pale discoloration where old scars had long since healed. She stopped in front of him, cloth in hand, a comfortable foot shorter than him.

She didn’t take long to make her appraisal of the damage, and immediately raised the cloth to address the wound.

“You’ll lead the mornings training,” he went on to say, searching the face of the demure echani slave. She was broken, long before he had been named Sun Guardian of Thyrsus. Rumours had existed on Thyrsus of the mind and body breaking Khonsu enacted on the paragons of the Moon. He did not believe them until he became the Sole Ruler. It was a torture of the curelst variety to take someoes mind from them. Onansi could not determine whether it was a fate worse than death. “For when He arrives.” Perhaps it was true that he’d grown soft as King.

“As you wish, my Lord.”

A silent hiss raced through the room, and when the pair looked at the source, they’d see the door to the room open, another darkly pigmented figure.

“The Emperor has arrived.”

Nicaea, Capital of Thyrsus
Thyrsian Palace, Sun Guard HQ


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The grounds surrounding the Palace were filled with hundreds of soldiers. The Father and Son, the twinned suns of Thyrsus beat heavily on the training soldiers. Raucous choruses of cried mantras echoed down the sands as they went through the motions.

Advance notice had been spread to the garrisoned forces. Both the planetary armed forces that cleared the skies, and the Sun Guards that were in the midst of training the marshaled stormtroopers. Most of them hailed from the time of Tavlar, when the Imperial Assembly had taken preventative measures of fashioning Thyrsus into a Fortress World. With rising tensions to their galactic south, their Sun Guard trainers had made their sessions longer, rigorous, in anticipation.

A hush came across the grounds as the sound of ion engines were heard above the Palace.

Many of them hadn’t seen the Emperor before. Tavlar had brought them into the fold, welcomed them as protectorate. There had been celebrations and then, things went back to normal as was promised.

And then they moved, despite their apparent disorganization, they quickly came into formation. A few years ago it wouldn’t have been so, but the Thyrsian Special Forces had seen to it.

Onansi looked out over the grounds, eyeing the hodge-podge gathering of equipped soldiers. Some fought against the twin suns and wore their full-garb of betaplast plates, others, only key parts. Bracers, shin guards, and the occasional chestplate. Sword, spear, and shield as far as the eye could see.

Garbed in the olives and black of the Moff uniform, Onansi stood before the designated landing zone, steps away from where the ramp would end and deposit the Emperor. He looked to the side and caught sight of one of his Sun Guards, Khaldun, and nodded before returning his attention to the shuttle.

All eyes were on the shuttle as the ramp extended. A familiar sensation raced through him, reminding him of times past in the ranks of the Golden Company before he straightened and raised his hand in salute.

“Hail, the Emperor,” he said, raised voice.

Undoubtedly waiting for it, the thyrsian drill sergeants took up the call. And it was quickly echoed thousands strong.

“HAIL! THE EMPEROR!

FEL! FEL! FEL!”
Rurik Fel​

 

[Rurik Fel]

E M P E R O R
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
THE IRONCLAD
Onansi of Thyrsus​

Though Rurik's rule had so far been one of consolidation and uniformity among the Empire's many governates, it would be foolish to be so abrasive to the cultures of the Empire's earliest backers. Thyrsus has been an official member world of the Empire for over a decade now, however its allegiance with the New Order preceded their official annexation into Imperial space. At the dawn of the Third Imperial Civil War, the late Imperator Tavlar brokered personally with the now...missing Khonsu Amon to secure the Sun Guard's backing of the then-fledgling New Imperial Order. For the Sun Guard's willfulness to fight for the Imperial dream, the Empire would secure the long vaunted sovereignty of Thyrsus, its security as a world finally ruled by its Sun Guard backed by the new monolithic superpower that the Empire had become.

Much like the Mandalorians, Rurik had to make certain that their way of life would not change under his reign. He had enough burden resting on his shoulders dealing with the egos and ambitions of those more traditionally Imperialist, to lose the loyalty of the more autonomous, divergent realms beneath the Iron Sun would only serve to loosen the grip Rurik sought over the Imperial realm.

He'd held a deep respect for the Sun Guard, the fearsome warriors they were with a tale he could embed himself within on a personal level, wayward sons forced away from a stolen home only to return in righteous fury as its new and rightful masters, much the same music as Rurik's own claim of Bastion and his reclamation of a name lost to time and shame.

He emerged from the shuttle only for the heat and burning rays of the Father and Son of Thyrsus to beat against his Iron Skin. His gaze danced between the formation aligned at either side of the path from his arrival.

“HAIL! THE EMPEROR!

FEL! FEL! FEL!”​

Though Rurik had reigned for several years, this was the first he'd heard a chant in unison, of loyalty as this outside of the annuls of the Fel Redoubt or the Ferrata. It was as humbling as it was chilling. A welcome sensation beneath the skin of iron that was somehow a respite from the even still torturous flesh beneath.

After the chant, the vow of loyalty, Rurik raised his hand to signal his salute in return before reaching it forward to Onansi as he stepped toward the Sun Guardian, clasping the man's forearm in his hand in greeting before speaking up to the formations of Sun Guard, drawing his attention away from Onansi to address the Thyrsian warriors.

"And so too must we hail the Sun Guard. The Empire has not forgotten and will never forget the price Thyrsus paid in defiance of darkness. So long as the Empire reigns, so too will the Sun Guard reign over Thyrsus. And so long as we march one next to the other...the Galaxy will be brought to order. Ave Empire! Ave Thyrsus!" Rurik said, piping up in a rare show as he spoke with his continuously strained and pained voice, managing the note of defiance as he clutched a fist in salute to the Sun Guard. After the display of benevolence, the time for business was nigh and Rurik shifted his attention to the Thyrsian Moff.

"My visit to this world is long overdue, I appreciate the invitation. The necessary role that Thyrsus must play as a bulwark to the Core is certainly taken to heart here, I commend the effort. I assume you requested an audience because you read the same writing on the wall as I do." Conflict was arising with the Alliance as relations with the roguish republican state deteriorated, so too would they with the Silver Jedi- both of which Thyrsus found itself at a strategic annex between, further stressing its importance as a militant fortress world of the Empire. With the fortifications constructed through the Thyrsian system atop further Imperial funding, it was one of the more strategically advantageous hardpoints in the Empire's borders.

Nestled along the Parlemian Trade Route, either Silver Jedi or an Alliance assault force would have to make its way through the system in an initial invasion of the Empire- but the chance they could successfully break through the defense of the system in a time window before Imperial reinforcements could arrive to wipe them out- was next to zero.

 

[Onansi of Thyrsus]

Nicaea, Capital of Thyrsus
Thyrsian Palace, Sun Guard HQ​

In concert, the clenched fist salute was returned. Hundreds of fists raising into the air in the wake of Rurik's brief speech.

It didn't take long for someone to call out and bring the training cadre of soldiers back into their regimens. An organized chaos appeared around the pair of Onansi and Rurik as they walked the grounds,, treading to the interior of the Palace.

"Indeed," Onansi confirmed.

"Thyrsus grows in safety within the Empire, this much is true. We may be a border world, a bulwark of this Order, but we have been untouched since Khonsu's unfinished Crusade." He'd never been careful with his wording, not in the Imperial Assembly. But since Halketh's betrayal, and the detonation that had almost taken his life, he'd found himself questioning his position. Would a younger version of himself prey on his stagnant promises like he had on his forebear? A challenger? Had he deserved this position?

Once, when he was leading his company across battlegrounds. But the battles waged in assembly halls were far different than the icy plains of Helgard, or the ruinous streets of Bastion. "In Khonsu's rule here, complacency festered. What made the Sun Guard a reputable name, forgotten. Cast aside for peace." A reality that he could not abide. "When I took his place, I swore to not let that happen in the faces of those who couldn't bare more Thyrsian blood to be spilled." A thin lipped smile took to his face. "But we are warriors. And death and killing is the spirit that brought us home. To let that part of our culture die out is worse than any enslavement by the white-skinned."

"There is battle enough with the Maw and undoubtedly with the Alliance in the near future...But the Alliance's giddy rush to be the saviours of the Unknown Regions has stretched them thin. Too thin to provide protection to a shared neighbor who has only known military failures."

He'd be lying if he did not admit that it also secured his position. The culture of the Sun Guard was tribal, no matter what denials of primacy he threw out. Their numbers were few, albeit bolstered after reclaiming their home, but small nonetheless. It gave way to an effective form of attrition to cull the weak from their midst, and to retain the status of 'elite.' Bloodletting. A trend that, after his exposure to the Sith, Onansi could comfortably draw comparisons between the Golden Company and the Sith Order's own Creed.

Of the erected pillars that Khonsu had put up, and of those that Onansi had struck down, that was one that he intended to maintain. Even if he feared it might one day undermine him.

The Warlord chose not to go into depth on the matter, and allowed his earlier words to make his case. A forewarning of disturbed order if promises remained unkept. A threat that, while unforeseen now, would be intolerable for the Empire. And Onansi knew, Fel would not hesitate to instate Order or Destruction upon his people if he failed.

Rurik Fel​

 

[Rurik Fel]

E M P E R O R
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
THE IRONCLAD
Onansi of Thyrsus​

He understood the meaning of Onansi's sentiment almost immediately. The Empire brought peace and order...but so too could peace and order allow the rot to rise to the surface. The plague of stagnation, the comforts of material wealth would only lead to decadence and corruption both morally and systematically. The New Order was luckily, an Empire carved in distaste for these values- however as the lines of the maps and galactic projections swayed with the winds of war and nations rose and fell- the nature of mortals remained unchanging. No system, no matter how absolute in its authority could alter that.

But there was a wisdom in this spartan way of living that the Thyrsians had adapted. It was grounded in the truths of what brought forth greatness from man. Struggle. The Thyrsians had molded themselves into one of the most feared fighting forces in the Galaxy for one reason alone.

It's all they know.

To beat back Echani oppression or the manipulation of the Sith grounded into their history, they had to be tough, unwavering and uncompromising. It was a creed that Rurik could only hold respect for, respect he held higher than some forms of the Imperial ideology which concentrated far too much on arbitrary values, status and name to derive meaning- where as the Sun Guard could not afford the luxury to create value out of anything other than what they could make of themselves and what they were capable of. Such was their way, such was the New Empire's way. But that way was slipping unless Rurik clutched it close to the Iron Sun.

"I understand," Rurik says, clearly following Onansi's pattern of thought as he shifted his gaze in the man's direction, his pale, steel-like gaze peering out from beneath the false ironclad visage conformed to his tortured features.

"The nature of the warrior is to overcome struggle...and while time in peace has done well for the Sun Guard to further cultivate its home...so too must they abide by their nature. But this is a personal conflict. The Maw...and what I can only anticipate- soon enough, the Alliance offer that just opposition, that worthy battle...but clearly, there is business unfinished for the Sun Guard." He remarked.

"Just as the Sons of Mandalore reclaimed their home sector, just as Willan Tal threw the Iron Sun over Galidraan and just as Lucien Dooku returned to Carannia...the Thyrsians must have their vengeance on the Echani..." Rurik said, crossing his arms over his chest as he mulled over the thought.

"It would be unjust to deny to you and your people what has been claimed by others in the Empire's march of defiance...but even so you must understand...we walk the razor's edge..." Rurik said, eluding to the precarious state of the Empire but even so, he'd entertain the Moff. If the man had a purpose, he must've had a plan.

 

[Onansi of Thyrsus]

Nicaea, Capital of Thyrsus
Thyrsian Palace, Sun Guard HQ​

From operating in secret on Thyrsus to escaping the doomed sands of their home, only to return as a crusading force. Twenty years ago Onansi wouldn't have believed it to be possible. By then his bonds had been severed, and although he didn't believe they'd ever make it home, he swore that he would fight and die for Thyrsus. Leading the attack, immortalized in the history of his people forever... Not in a million years had he ever thought it'd be a reality.

And now, he was closer than ever. Closer, than he thought his forebear was after reclaiming their homeworld.

"The security of the Empire is paramount," Onansi said. The worlds outside of his reign as Sole Ruler may not have concerned him much, but he could not deny that he needed the Empire. While any Warlord could defend a Fortress World, Onansi determined that the effort and resources needed to bring a culture like Thyrsus' to heel in the wake of an outside removal would be too much. Years of investments wasted, just to be replanted in a nearby location. In this pocket of time, where the galaxy was quiet and waiting... Now was his chance. "But in this moment of silence," a hand raised between them, his thumb and index finger indicating how minute this moment actually was. "It's where history is made."

Once, in his early days he'd made the comparisons of how similar their two peoples were; Thyrsus, and the Order's. Both oppressed by nearby threats. And yet, no help from the supposed Jedi. Left to their own devices, they'd become villains in the eyes of those who had been too weak, too cowardly to do right by them. The blood-feud of Thyrsus was alike to the Civil War. Neither could be cast aside and forgotten forever.

"We've both been discarded and slighted by this would be enemy. My people's, undoubtedly on a more personal scale. But yours? Certainly grander. They have opposed us, and though we may have fought alongside them for a brief stint, I doubt this will stay their hand from interfering in our affairs -- much like the Alliance of recent."

While they may have been a bulwark for a time, victories had only begun to turn in their favour once the Empire had intervened. At that point, the galactic invaders had been made mortal. And all the while the Warlords of the Order were ready to attack. They'd just needed the word.

"I believe an attack of such devastating proportions will make them rethink aggressive posturing. I would have my target be the anvil, the Sun Guard the mould, and the Empire... The hammer that forges us into shape."

He'd aggressively given his counsel over the years. First to Tavlar, and now to Fel. Always had he stood by aggression and strength of arms. It was doubtful to change.

"It's not just revenge," he said. "But a warning. Never to challenge us again."

Rurik Fel​

 

[Rurik Fel]

E M P E R O R
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
THE IRONCLAD
Onansi of Thyrsus​

Violence of execution. The Moff spoke in simple yet relatable terms. He wanted more than revenge. He wanted to send a message. The Empire- while fielding the most devastating military force the Galaxy had seen since Tarkin Doctrine following the Clone Wars, the parasites still sought to draw weakness from its depths.

"If the Sith are correct in any of their teachings...it is that there is only a place for the strong in the Galaxy. It is a hard truth...and as hard truths do- it cuts both ways." Rurik remarked, letting off an exhale through the mouth of his iron visage.

"You aren't incorrect in your theory. But so determines the path they might walk under such an attack. Without pretense, it may very well rile the collective populace of the Concord and Alliance to seek out revenge...but if they were to believe they might have been to blame for the mire they'd dug- the result could be much different. They all know the history of the Thrysians and the Echani, they know the ills and evils done unto your people. They don't care. The Jedi much as the Republican glad-hands, have no integrity, they are morally bankrupt all of them, they would happily send a generation of young sons to die if it meant putting every single living body between them and justice." Rurik remarked.

"Perception is the reality to the masses, Onansi. If the people believe they have been attacked unjustly, they will want revenge, they will want to march to war such is their nature. If they believe they might be to blame- the popular interests sways against their government's willingness to fight. Do you understand what I suggest?" He asked, willful in explaining further but wanting a gauge on the Thyrsian's understanding of what he offered.

If they wanted to venture into foreign space for revenge, they needed to fabricate pretext belong ancient grudges. A pretext to subvert the will of the collective consciousness in Light-Space, the Alliance and Concord.