Faction Home of the Brave II [THE EMPIRE]

[Denniston Thrast II]

2nd Post

-A THREAD OF THREE PHASES-

REAVER_ONE

Captain of the 1st Scouts Battalion,"The Raiders" (Highland Brotherhood)
Imperial War-Historian
Heir-Apparent to Mathan Glen

Tags: Natalie Scott

THE FAR-TRAVELLED HIGHLANDER II: WHERE THE HEART IS - PART 2

CHESTNUT BRAE, OVERLOOKING HART HILL,
AN-CRIDHEACHAN, GALIDRAAN III (LATE 878 ABY)

Of course, the cairn o' the other older cousin.
Feth's sake, Barran.... Wants t'find out in the worst way possible.

Fethin' Woads, man.​

Pulling his thermal scope away, giving his leader a chance to grieve in peace, Denniston muttered,'Raw deal as always for the Barrans, its jus' generation after generation o' this chit.', to himself as he bowed his head low in singular respects for the dead as much as the Wanderer. So instead of watching over every last moment of the encounter, Thrast would lean back against the hibernating chestnut tree and stare across the mountainous to pass the time for a while, keeping an eye out for potential threats until it bored Denniston enough to light another cigarra.

For the following minutes, Thrast would rest the back of his head against the trunk, smoking away to himself in ponderance of the struggles the Goidels had faced to get to such a high place of Imperial prestige, and of the struggles they were likely to face in the following years along with it. Guile was needed to survive most of all, and especially with the Second Great Hyperspace War considered, but if Guile would be needed in abundance going forward, then all the Brotherhood's hopes and dreams were likely to rest in the hands of a clan that needed it more than most. However, despite Clan Barran's inability to keep the Empire from pulling them towards the realm of convention, Denniston himself knew there was still something of that conqueror's cunning remaining to be used to devastating effect.

I can only hope ye ken whit yer daein', cousin.
Same goes for yer auld-man.
​

Impatiently taking time for one last look in the Warden's direction, the Hunter opened his right eye for a brief gaze through the thermal optics on his detached scope, only to find that Lord Michael had moved from the spot, tracing around until he found Barran walking towards the last, most-distant mound with head still bowed low in morose, downtrodden emotion. And yet, with all this seen and factored into his constant, silent assessment's of his older cousin's potential, the Raider-Captain's appraisal was still grand and glowing after surviving their struggles on Exegol, ringing especially true after the Warden's sudden decision to take his brethren back home to Galidraan. A decision of which none expected, though in consideration of Lord Michael's grief and traumas, and the lives he tried to defend in his increasingly desperate fights to gain ground on their behalf, Denniston was unable to dispel the thought he should have at least expected something of the sort along the way.

Leave 'im be, Denny. He's safer here than anywhere else in the Galaxy.
​

In his conscientious effort to leave his cousin be, the Hunter then laid the thermal sight on the folds of his winter coat, carefully placing it alongside the long-distance binoculars as he briefly checked to see if his rifle was still by the other tree; then after ensuring for certain that his high-powered slugthrower hadn't wandered off, Denniston's head turned back to gaze out to the wintry night backdrop for a while, seeing hills of the likes he never knew he missed so much before. But then the snowdrops began to remind Thrast of better times, closing his eyes to the world as he tried to remember events that occurred in his formative years as a Separatist saboteur, times when everything seemed simpler, with complications being so minor that hindsight would have found them difficult to recall - let alone compare to the warfighting complications of the Brotherhood's latest iteration.

'Sleepin' on the job, ey?'
​

Mildly surprised to hear a welcome voice, Denny then opened his eyes and looked up to find a blade brandished in his face with one gloved hand, and a whiskey-flask hung above his shoulder with the other; recoiling in necky shock for a moment before he realised it was Nat after all, even chuckling a little as he watched her sheathe her personal Highlander's dirk-dagger, the flask was then accepted with a kindly nod of appreciation before turning back to lazily gaze on the countryside once more. A backdrop filled to the brim with memories good and bad alike, reminding Thrast of the fact he left the planet as a failed war-criminal, but in the same brief train of thought, reminding the Hunter of the fact he had been welcomed back as a heroic element of a much-loved Imperial bulwark since.

Though the reasoning of the night-and-day difference of eleven years, simple concept though it was to the likes of his grieving Warden, always seemed to escape Denniston - especially on nights like the Eve of the Aurora De Tuatha.

'Wan' all the glory of night-long watch yerself, tha' it, Capn' Thrast?'

Chuckling with the added warmth of being able to smell the Prastaig Gold-Label in the crisp, cool wintry air, Denniston briefly lifted his head to smile a silent, almost-childlike gratitude and replied,'Thanks, been a while since I last drank the local stuff.... An' answering yer question; something like that, but while we're on the subject, that stand-down order counted for yersel an'aw by the way. Earned yer time aff an' then some, though you'll know I'm understating that - debrief records speak plenty to that effect.', finally indulging the flask's tincture and drinking a few swigs before passing it back to Natalie. Then after letting Scott take the flask for herself, Thrast once again laid the back of his head against the bark of the sleeping chestnut, savouring the oaken, rustic flavour in another brief silence to himself, smirking like a greenhorn as he recalled the days when celebrating with such nectars marked victories that saved their people from tyranny.

A shame then that such victories like Exegol and Neshtab cut too harshly to boast so fervently, a contrast in the warmth of these celebrations - making snow all the more suiting for the Empire's brief, small elations of late.

'Better the pubs in Sainston than the wilderness anyways.... The Aurorae don't even reach this far for another eighteen hours, give or take, so the prettiest sight t'content ye here is jus' the snaww an' the landscape sadly.'

 

[Kastav Volff]

​

Location: Galidraan III
Objective: Drink and Meander
Tags: Felix e Archion Davin Jusik Open

​

Kastav savoured the taste of the whiskey, it's smoky and smooth flavour. If there was one thing he could enjoy in the inner regions of the Empire was the alcohol, always in stock and the quality always high. It even took his mind off the monotony of his job. Kastav was slightly startled by Felix, usually Kastav was 'lucky' enough to get the graveyard shift so when he did come to the bar he was usually alone, the Galidraani bar owner kind enough to allow him in after closing time. The people here were keenly aware of the importance of alcohol.

Kastav's eyes darted to the holopaper as Felix spoke. Corpos. Kastav hadn't ever met them much, on Axxila the upper echelons were made up of corpos and kingpins. He believed he had never met any during his youth but if his older cousin was to be believed they would've been destined for that life. Instead they lived on the streets and from there they always seemed so distant, no point even thinking about them.

"Survival of the fittest, eh?" Kastav mused.

"This is how those corpos stay 'fit', wiggle their way in until they can't ever be taken out." he continued. He sized the man up, from his accent alone he clearly wasn't a local. The celebrations had brought people far and wide from the empire so it didn't exactly narrow down who he could possibly be.

"I take it you got a vested interest in that planet." He commented. Maybe he could glean more information from him.

 

[Ignacious Korvan]

Grand Moff Korvan​

Location: Galidraan III - The Lord Regent’s Estate
Tags: DECEASED Erskine Barran | DECEASED Aron Gowrie | Yorunarr Ahan-Yan'Sharlim | Aoki-Barran Mira

CLAAANG!!

Their swords met only briefly in a lock above their heads - with Ignacious holding the lock for a moment as both his and Erskine’s eyes met. But just as suddenly as the lock was made, his guard purposefully faltered as he side-stepped to the Lord Regent’s weak side and brought his dueling sabre into a tight flourish aimed at scoring a mark at the aged warrior’s side. One would think that the advancing of age would dull Erskine’s senses enough for said feint to gain purchase, but such a person would be guilty of grossly underestimating the Old Woad. Erskine would lead into the strike and spin on his front foot, allowing his momentum to shift and catch the strike at the final instant.

'Excellent! Aaaaaand - disengage.... Good, now - salute! Sheathe! Bow!'

Muscle memory had nearly disregarded the Lord Regent’s declaration, but years of discipline had kept said actions in check as Erskine dropped his guard. Ignacious did the same, with his sword-hand instead pulling the hilt of his sabre up to his chest in a salute of respect to his senior. His adjutant brought him a towel and collected his sabre before returning it to its scabbard. Korvan would dab the sweat from his brow, which had flowed down his face to stain the collar of his snow-white dueling tunic.

That was better than a great display o' skill anyways, you've got something there.... Jus' keep tappin' into that mindset, there's clearly more yet to utilise - an' you can trust my words as you would your own gut instinct.'

“You honor me, Lord Barran.” Ignacious replied with a respectful tone of deference. “T’was one of the only skills my late father saw fit to train up within me. I kept it up over the years as a means of self preservation... it’s served me well, thankfully.”

It had been some time since Ignacious had arrived on Galidraan III - long enough in fact for his subordinates to begin growing antsy as to when he would return to his responsibilities. HIs aide had done much to keep him informed and help in bringing the truly crucial decisions to his attention so as to provide cursory approval or advice when necessary. But to his subordinates’ credit, they knew better than to overstep and demand more of his attention than he could give.

In an Empire without an Emperor, one did not balk at an audience with the Lord Regent. Over the preceding weeks, Ignacious had acquired... a distinct sense that there was more to this visit than had previously met the eye. It seemed apparent to him that he was being... appraised? Observed?

To say that it was a touch unsettling was putting it mildly, but Ignacious was no stranger to being appraised or observed. In fact, he had been so scrutinized for the majority of his life - what was another month-long sabbatical?

“Forgive me if I’m speaking out of turn, my lord -” Korvan began, his tone cautious; indicative of years spent navigating the Imperial Court both prior to, and after the revolution. “...but I cannot escape the feeling that there is more to this visit than you have led on. You have something up your sleeve again... don’t you?”

 

[Aoki-Barran Mira]

As the day went on, Aoki had let Yamasaki adjust to the Barran manner and explore the garden. She even cleaned up after his bathroom trips! But after eating lunch, she was content to leave her charhound in her room napping while she put on a training Gi and slung her bow and naginata over her back. She also took up her tanto and wakizashi. Time to train.

As she entered the training yard, she heard voices and the clashing of blades. She was not the only one to be thinking of training today. She entered the yard, thinking that it would be minor Galidraani nobles or high ranking soldiers training today.

But who she laid eyes on had her floored.

In the center of the yard stood four of the most prominent and powerful individuals in the Empire.

Erskine Barran. Very recognizable by the beard and mustache. One of the heads of the Empire, and the father of Michael Barran. Aoki followed Michael Barran with upmost loyalty, spoke with him behind closed doors, and carried out whatever duties he asked of her. In this time, she had heard... less than pleasurable things about him. Having been dearly close to her own father, Mira could not understand such estrangement between parent and child that well. However, looking at his actions, Aoki could see why from a political and ethical standpoint. Erskine had simply stood by while the wretched discrimination against the Chiss took place. He had been the one to order that terrible attack on Ilum himself. And he had left the man who fired on his own soldiers, Korvan, unpunished for his evil deeds. By these standards alone, Aoki had little respect for the man. The only respectable thing she could see at the moment was his facial hair.

Ignacious Korvan. Whenever she heard that name, it made the fires of righteous anger burn inside Aoki's heart. This was the vile scum who had carried out the darkest and cruelest of Tarkinist policies and deeds. The passing of the punishments for one Chiss rebellion only scratched the surface. When others within the imperial ranks tried, though failed, to assassinate him, it was obvious he was a terrible man. Yet there he stood, unopposed and unpunished for his evil deeds. Strong, stoic, and proud. It made Aoki sick, and she had to look away from him. Else bile rise in her throat.

She next rested her eyes on someone she knew less about. Aron Gowrie. Aoki had heard of his prowess and skill as a duelist and general alike. She heard some stories here and there, but knew little about him. His political affiliation escaped her knowledge, and she knew less about his own deeds in battle. She was curious, watching him train. His skill already was impressing her. But it took more than skill alone to gain Aoki's respect...

Of course, Mira knew Yorunnar. A close underling of Michael Barran, he was a valued shaman, commander, and warrior. Wherever Michael was, Yorunner was bound to be nearby. Despite both he and Mira working close to Michael, they had never actually worked together on any missions or battles. Both were constantly on the move, so they never actually had the time to converse much either. While Aoki already knew she could trust him as a comrade, she knew less than one would expect about him. And just like he may consider Atrisian culture to be confusing and weird, Mira knew little of his own culture. They respected each other, so far, but that was where their interactions ended. Perhaps, today she would be able to learn more about her brother in arms?

Mira blinked rapidly, struggling to process this all. Then she realized that at least one of them had noticed her. She suddenly felt hot. She finally gave her head a firm shake and cleared her throat. Regardless of any misgivings or positivity she felt towards these men, they were still upper ranking superiors. They were to be treated with upmost respect and reverence. With her two blades sheathed in her hands, she entered a disciplined, military posture and offered the deep, respectful bow of her people. As she bowed, she silently cursed leaving her hair messier today. I could have combed it at the very least! I usually do not think of this stuff before training!

She spoke, still bowed. All internal feelings were blocked from view expertly. She only appeared and sounded stoic, calm, and controlled. "Greetings, lords, generals, Moffs. It is an honor to be in your presence. I apologize if I have intruded."

Ignacious Korvan DECEASED Erskine Barran @IWon'tTagAllBarran'sAlts

​

 

[Samson Trahvai]

[ C O R R O S I O N ]

PHASE I​

30 Minutes Ago... "Gods Help You...These...Aren't...YOUR PEOPLE!"
​

An accented voice exclaimed, the clinging of swords carrying throughout the vicinity; A duo dueled, back and for the table of supremacy went, Samson and his combatant moved in a slow chain of light-attacks, the bitter cold which was Galidraan III's weather settling in over the forested region forcing the battle to a stance of stagnation. The Silver-Coating of the Knight-Errant's armor caked with debris from a cycle of tumbling and rolling throughout his surroundings; his combatant wearing slim to nothing, attire more accustomed to a summer world. "Gossip more, my ambitions are beyond those of you simpleton." Samson countered, his tone a mixture of bitterness and cockiness. The two halted their duel before stepping 5 paces back; sweat pouring down Samson's skin which glowed under the descending sun, twirling his vibroswords which he dual-wielded, enough, he was going for a killing blow.

"You fought. You failed. My people...Our people would be ashamed of you..Hahaha.."​

The Errant said sarcastically, an ambitious sorcerer of the Imperial Regime yet he carried himself unlike a Felist as the calendar ascended and more of a Sith; from his personality which reaped one of arrogance, to his style of fighting, sheer forcefulness being pummeled into his enemies. Raising his left-vibrosword he swung down to which the Korun blocked horizontally, "RETREAT! DIE!" a smile under his helmet formed as he rammed his shorter vibro-counterpart into his enemy's armpit to which he belched and released his weapon...It was over.

"BZZ-I-I-Sur!"
​

Samson swiftly decapitating the Ko-no, the Holodroid which he fought. Not a moment wasted, a brutal combatant without remorse for his enemies or anyone who stood in his way, so unlike a Imperial-Cleric. He stared as the bolts sprung from the lifeless droid's abdomen, his brown eyes glowing with adrenaline..And something else. Force-pulling his backpack he began to sprint exiting the forested area, he was heading back to the Barran-Fortress which was ripe with Imperials. These were the only times he truly showed his inner-character, deep down he was a festering mess of aggressiveness which was removed from his people to fight, to which he fought no more, no friends nor family, or mentor.. simply a man without a home, without...A God.

---

Present...
Location: Training Grounds, Barran Household, Galidraan III.
Tags: (?/Open/Everyone in Training Grounds)

"Honor. Duty. Family. Herd." He repeated to himself in a soft tone. Sitting on the floor he meditated, not on the Traditional Code of the Imperial Knight but his home; a display of his cultural patriotism which wasn't nullified completely, still implanted in a dying soul. The loud sound of laughter and rapiers locking pierced his shield of meditation to which he clinched his fist & scowled, standing and wrapping a jacket around his shoulders as he exited his fine-art room. He paused as a slight chill choked him, a pain which centered in his forehead being produced as the chill washed over; this was a repeated nuisance throughout Samson's days, he spoken to Seers & Secular Doctors yet both entities couldn't answer him, what was this pain? this chill? He wondered. Looking out the window he seen a group of Imperial Warriors gathered yet took he avoided heading out right away, being quite antisocial when it came to most comrades, a trait which was the potential reasoning behind his lack of a mentor.

"Trahvai. Your shepherds, dishonorable..Disappointment, peer disappointment." A voice called out to him, Samson halting in his steps as he began to become nauseous and brittle in his legs. Samson attempted to study it for moment, it sounded foreign, snakelike, intriguing. He examined the lobby of the household, everything seemed normal; combat, he exited heading for the Training Grounds where it seemed that everyone was gathered.

Despots, Pseudo-Aristocrats, Knights of Honor, it seemed as though Imperial-High Command were located on the training grounds. Grand Moff Korvan, the first individual his sly eyes locked upon, a smirk growing; this man was for such an eldritch reason an individual to which Samson looked up to and held in high esteem similar to the Fallen Blade, Rurik Fel. Moving his eyes gazed upon Korvan's counterpart, the supreme politician, Lord Barran, an individual who he profiled as a true yet incomplete Imperial, far from Felism yet centered in the circle of 'Adequate' enough and someone who could bring about an era of Imperial Hegemony. He wasn't too read up on Aron Gowrie yet he produced feelings of war and Machiavellianism though..Him, the Priest-King was a name which was notorious to Samson, a smile plastering across his face, a balanced organism, a Shaman reminiscent of the ones from his home, one of the only people he held in high esteem, nostalgia beaming heavily.

The last one was Knight Mira, he refrained himself from growing to close to other Knights for unspecified reasons but she seemed to stand out, he couldn't give a proper analysis, simply rubbing the white tribal marks under his eyes as he pondered something unspecified whilst watching her. Then turning his head and walking down the steps before seating himself near a group of Imperial Officers; watching the encounter unfold silently..

​

​

 

[FN-999]

Tags: TBD | Open

The Baron's relaxation came to an abrupt halt as someone addressed him from outside.
​

An unfamiliar man gave him a brief salute through the bedroom window, reminding Nines of the purpose of his trip. He had to get out, to strengthen his connections and build long-lasting relationships. There was no longer any room for hesitation.

The Baron took a few minutes to stretch his limbs, easing the sore aches in his muscles before fluidly rising up to leave the room. In what seemed like the blink of an eye, he had left the guest cottage and stepped onto a pedestrian road, a gentle breeze seeping through the plates of his armor. For a moment, his thoughts went back to his adopted home of Borosk, with its beautiful spring weather and the modest comfort of his estate. The memory calmed the battle-weary Baron, his heart rate slowing as he settled into a comfortable stride.

Taking Doctor Bacadi's advice as gospel, Nines continued to shift his thoughts outwards rather than inwards.

Galidraan III was a beautiful world by any standard. Wild, untamed forests and towering peaks coexisted with thriving villages, towns, and cities, home to traditions and festivities older than the Baron could ever hope to process. Briefly setting aside his prejudice, FN-999 took a moment to listen to the conversations around him, picking up snippets of cheerful, carefree discussion of the upcoming feast and the grand aurora due to occur tonight. Tears threatened to well up beneath his helmet as he realized how damn proud he was of the enduring peace in the heart of the Empire.

This was what the Baron had fought for every day of the past fifteen years of his life.

This is what FN-999 would protect at any cost.

He had begun to slow down unawares, his emotions, so often bottled up, threatening to overtake him. Just as he was about to regain his composure, a group of boys no older than ten years old ran by, calling out to the Baron as they passed.

"Thank yeh fir yer' service, brave sir!"

Their kind, innocent words were what did the veteran of a hundred campaigns in.

FN-999 fell to his knees, tears flowing unseen down his face. He hadn't known - couldn't have known just how much of an impact Galidraan would have had on him. He hadn't expected half of what he was feeling now. But his surge of protectiveness and patriotism was as real as the armor covering his body.

Fortunately for the feeble remnants of the Baron's pride, no other pedestrians were nearby, and after ever-so-briefly taking off his helmet to wipe his tears, he was back on his feet and walking as confidently as ever.

Strangely enough, FN-999 felt better after letting it all out. Perhaps Doctor Bacadi was actually onto something when he constantly reminded the Baron that expressing himself more openly was the key to combating his stress. For the first time since meeting him, Nines came to better appreciate all the Chiss therapist was doing for him.

With renewed vigor, the Baron strode straight for Barran Hall.

 

[Michael Barran]

4th post

-A THREAD OF THREE PHASES-

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

TAGS: Aoki-Barran Mira Siyndacha Aerin

BORN OF BRIGHT STARS IX: HONOURING ANCESTORS - PART 4

THE BARROWS OF GOVERNANCE, HART HILL,
AN-CRIDHEACHAN, GALIDRAAN III (LATE 878 ABY)

The engraved sapphire, yes.
Mine Cairnsman knows what must be done.

Now, whilst time still favours us.
​

With a near-silent incantation of,'Light, light, light - be the glow that emanates from within.... Like fire.', the carven blue gemstone began to glow as prompted, just as it had on previous occasions. Yet despite the fact the ancestor was able to feel what he wasn't able to see, he would feel enough warmth emanating from within the grieving descendant to know he was smiling at least, and for all that was worth to the Wanderer, it brought about a much greater sense of relief in contrast to that of the Cairnsman. After all, taking this step to fulfil his duties as the clan's Cairnsman-elect meant much and more to the Bastard-born progenitor, but there was more yet to be done, more to discuss on the matter of ensuring their clan's survival in the long run.

More yet for which he was to give the gift of galvanisation - a means to bear the weight more easily.

On the previous visit, one struggled to light just one for every incantation.

Now turn an' face the other barrows....
See what was achieved this time.​

Bleary-eyed, though coming around from the despair, the Wanderer smiled again, looking to the glowing sapphire for a moment before finally straightening up to turn and see his own handiwork. However, surprises of much greater magnitude awaited the living Woad, and when he eventually turned his momentum around in full pivot in expectation of three or four others, Lord Michael would find himself utterly shocked to find that all the capstones were glowing beneath the snows of the graveyard, a feat of which Barran never thought was even possible before. Not for the Druid himself, not for any other Druid of the era and certainly not for any Druid who walked the same path before, but the difference was there to see in every last glowing, snowy mound he laid eyes on.

Every light shone within the old bricks-and-mortar boundary, and with such bright clarity that Lord Michael was sure the previous attempts' full-intensity was but a middling effort in comparison. However, something was missing; a glow of fiery-gold hue, emitted from a distinctly rare red-opal - picked specifically for Thomas Barran almost fifteen years before that night.

Not yet, Michael.... Work yet still t'be done o'er here.
Now turn an' face mine barrow - the one mine Cairnsman was told t'find.
​

Obeying, the Wanderer shrugged it off and concentrated on the task at hand, clasping hands together with the sapphire in the middle as his mind focused on the telepathic connection between the progenitor and himself, fingers interlocking as the threads woven between them began to thicken and multiply as intended. No more exclaiming and projecting full intention of telepathic communication, no more meditation and no more meeting between planes of existence, the time had come to build the bridge between them once and for all, and both progenitor and druidic descendant were ready to make that last leap of faith in each other's direction. An imperative above all others as far as the spiritual-duo were concerned, and what helped was the realisation they both saw eye to eye on this matter specifically, and sensing the necessity for telepathic tethering long before this encounter.

With the unspoken realisations dawning on them nearly three years before the moon soared above the mountainous horizon in the east that night.

And then things began to change.

Enhancing the process so much it sent visions into the mind of ancestor and descendant alike.
Visions of the pasts they lived, the paths they walked, the battles and duels they fought alone, and together.

~=Now our talks can be endeavoured without straining our ears.=~
~=Ideal.... Never told me you wielded an axe wae yer aff-hand though. No bad.=~

~=Oh? The descendant likes that, does he? Yet I must warn - it is an acquired taste.=~
​

Even through the tears, the grieving Wanderer couldn't help but join his mirth to that of his ancestor, laughing jovially as he laid the progenitor's sapphire-capstone back where it belonged, still completely unaware as to what had been achieved in the act of lighting the other capstones. But in the moment the Imperial Warden arose from the boot-printed snow, the very ghostly presence of all the clan's ancestral spirits could be seen gathering around him, as if their very forms were temporarily becoming corporeal for the one purpose of proving their existence beyond the realms of mortal perception, to give hope to their Cairnsman that not all was lost after all.

'Oh.... So the souls-between were here this entire time, as you were as well. Interesting.'

 

[Yorunarr Ahan-Yan'Sharlim]

4th post

-A THREAD OF THREE PHASES-

GODMASK_ACTUAL

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

Tags: DECEASED Erskine Barran Ignacious Korvan Aoki-Barran Mira DECEASED Aron Gowrie Samson Trahvai

FOR THE ANCIENTS I: IN THE EYES OF THE GODS - PART 4

Sparring Yard, Barran Hall,
An-Cridheachan, Galidraan III (Late 878 ABY)

'You're more than your self-imposed limitations, Yorunarr.... Ye need t'be, an' now more than ever.'
​

For one so grounded in the humblest of wartime pursuits, the Tuath was sounding quite prophetic indeed, but from the Novanian's point of view, his tutor for the day had every reason to speak in such a fashion. This was the Kellas after all, warrior of great repute from the very first moment he began to excel as a Blue-Heart officer of the noble's clique, ever the one to survive and even prevail in places where many would have routed in the Wildcats' stead, and to such an extent that Lord Aron had carved out quite the boogieman's reputation for himself against the odds. A man who often spoke of others as anomalies whilst completely ignoring the anomalous nature that forged his own path to comparative extremes, that of his Wildcat subordinates and the very legends that surrounded the Empire's most-decorated officer, and the one voice the Shaman needed to hear most that day.

Whilst he speaks true, other words await behind his teeth.

Oh, I see - another unspoken Goidelic law.
Unspoken, and yet to this - all their warriors adhere.... Fascinating.​

Yet still, there was more to the Human's words than what was being said openly, but even the Arkanian knew there was the chance of threats even greater than those before, challenges on the horizon of which Lord Aron fully intended to meet as his means of shaking his mortal coil, though in that same realisation awaited implied chances that this had always been Gowrie's intention. Though there was something quite unlikely that happened along the way, something of which Yan'Sharlim's only son was beginning to understand to articulable extents, and in comprehending the results of Lord Aron's acceptance of the fact he was already dead in all but mind, body and soul, affecting his mindset enough to cast fear into generals and leaders alike along the way.

'Can't even keep yourself away from your own adrenal reserves, can you?'

​

What may have seemed like an insult at first glance only needed a second look, as the smile on Yorunarr's face at the time was certainly one of contrastingly encouraging smile of approval, and in the moment the realisation struck, the Novanian would be surprised by a sudden, wheezing guffaw that gave him all the pre-emptive indication of an affirmative response he needed. Even before the laughter itself, there were a few little tells of how correct the previous assumption had been, but in hearing the near-wicked mirthful precursor, the Priest-King could only guess inwardly as to how wild the following verbal reply would be.

'Like a hound to a fethin' grouse, son.... An' what a drug it is, though ye don't need me to tell ye that. White-Eyes would know plenty o' that particular substance, am I right or am I right?'

This man has utterly lost his marbles, but they're all like that here.
Damn Goidels love to make that a point of prideful contention too.

But Gowrie - oh, Gowrie.... Of course you'd be the exemplar in all of it.

​

 

[DECEASED Aron Gowrie]

4th post

-A THREAD OF THREE PHASES-

WILDCAT_ONE
TRIBAL-CHIEFTAIN OF AN-TUATHA
MAJOR-GENERAL OF WILDCAT DIVISION
SWORD OF THE VALKYRIES

Tags : DECEASED Erskine Barran Ignacious Korvan Aoki-Barran Mira Yorunarr Ahan-Yan'Sharlim Samson Trahvai

TRIBULATIONS OF THE WILDCATS VI: A NIGHT OF INNER-PEACE - PART 4

THE SPARRING YARD, BARRAN HALL,
AN-CRIDHEACHAN, GALIDRAAN III (SUMMER OF 877 ABY)

'Like a hound to a fethin' grouse, son.... An' what a drug it is, though ye don't need me to tell ye that. White-Eyes would know plenty o' that particular substance, am I right or am I right?'
​

A begrudging, though mirthful reply met the Tuath, nodding before giving in to the laughter himself as Lord Aron widened his eyelids in a near-manic means of saying,"Now you know why, and nothing will ever change this fact.", almost demanding that same level of combative, indomitable abandon of his Novanian acquaintance. From other people in Aron's proverbial shoes, such statements would be considered suicidal, martyr's leanings, but in studying the eyes, the hue and the heartrate of his tutor, there was no denying the Kellas was proving far more persuasive than any other Imperial the Godseer ever knew.

'This is what they find so difficult to fight against, as fearlessness was always the stuff of nightmares for destroyers o' the likes we face every single time - breathing life into the very thing they all perceive as malice.'

Yorunarr was in the process of internalising Aron's insights, nodding and listening with emphatic fervour until there was a small distraction, and one of specifically telepathic nature. Difficult to detect though it was, and owed exclusively to the fact the disturbance was of Midichlorian origin, the Priest-King was still able to sense something of a headache in the sparring-yard, something lesser though very-much akin to the pains of the Lord-Regent's son. And before long Lord Aron was following Yorunarr's gaze as it trailed off in the direction of another human nearby, then as soon as he was sure it was in fact the Human-born officer the Arkanian was looking at, Gowrie leaned in to querie,'Ye know this one, lad?', only to receive a slow and visible shake of the white-blonde head in response.

Watching on as the Novanian caught the Imperial officer's attention, scratching his chin as his temporary pupil silently beckoned the man forth, there were no doubts by then as to the mutual nature of the Tuath's curiosity in turn; Lord Aron could tell from the offset that being the one to approach Yorunarr meant a lot to his fellow Blue-Heart officer, even though they had known and had a mutual respect towards each other for years before that day, but seeing the man the young bodyguard had become was nothing short of inspiring for the Kellas to behold in these moments. Struck silent as the Priest-King wordlessly commanded respect and obedience without so much as making a showy scene, without so much as expressing entitlement, distaste or pomp for that matter, the Major-General couldn't help but marvel at the sort of monarch's archetype his student embodied in these moments.

Full o' the surprises, so 'e is.... The auld-yin taught 'im well.
Can't help but wonder how far he goes in the fu-
​

'-Greetings, lords, generals, Moffs. It is an honor to be in your presence. I apologize if I have intruded.'

​

Recognising the Atrisian accent, the Tuath turned towards the sound of the new arrival in the hopes it was the Atrisian he was assuming it was, and in noting the green skin and face-tattoos, Gowrie soon realised the correctitude of his guess-work and smiled at the chance to train with one of the Empire's most-skilled Force Wielders. As rare occurrences were those sparring-matches that facilitated the combative ambitions of the NFU-caste, and infinitely-more anomalous were those that retained potential for personal growth in both sides of the struggle, and in true Kellas-embodying fashion, the mere prospect alone was thrilling enough to set off the rising hairs on the back of his neck.

Goosebumps stemming from the base of his skull, reaching right down to the tips of his toes and tidal-shifting all the way back up again - unexpectedly feeling rushes on a morning like any other.

An' just like that - Pellaeon brings all the spices to the party.
Ya gotta love it, man.

 

[DECEASED Erskine Barran]

2nd Post

-A THREAD OF THREE PHASES-

SHIELD_ONE
LORD-REGENT OF THE EMPIRE
GRAND-TRIUMVIR OF THE TARKINIST ADMINISTRATION
GOVERNOR-CHIEFTAIN OF GALIDRAAN III

Tags: Ignacious Korvan DECEASED Aron Gowrie Yorunarr Ahan-Yan'Sharlim Aoki-Barran Mira Samson Trahvai

FATE OF THE REALM VII: HALLS OF OUR FOREFATHERS - PART TWO

THE SPARRING YARD, BARRAN HALL,
AN-CRIDHEACHAN, GALIDRAAN III (SUMMER OF 877 ABY)

'You honor me, Lord Barran.'
​

Nodding affirmatively, the Lord-Regent couldn't help but inwardly admit the Grand-Moff was growing on him by then, proving to be more than just the opportunist he was often portrayed to be as Korvan admitted,'T'was one of the only skills my late father saw fit to train up within me. I kept it up over the years as a means of self preservation... it's served me well, thankfully.', showing there was more of which that both Erskine and Ignacious could work with in the future. After all, there was more of the cunning there of which the Woad could have make good use, more of the scheming that was there utilise against the darker, shadier elements still clinging to the Empire and working to undermine the authority of the Tarkinist administrations, and more of that instinct that was capable of striking out decisively in a sea of fickle naysayers.

Such tenacity was often rare in the political class, and in begrudging admiration of the fact Lord Ignacious retained rare leadership qualities, (especially those often shirked by the Empire's hubristic sort) Barran would patiently hear Korvan out with due courtesy as the latter continued,'Forgive me if I'm speaking out of turn, my lord-', pausing for what seemed a reach for wording pertinent enough to confidently resume with. But in concluding,'...but I cannot escape the feeling that there is more to this visit than you have led on. You have something up your sleeve again... don't you?', the Lord-Regent smirked with kind warmth and nodded - revealing entirely new intentions that contrasted those expressed in the process of the Grand-Moff's previous visit.

'Aye, an' it may jus' give us the breathing-room we need on the Home-Front.... A change in edict awaits us, an' though it incurs risks all on it's own, I believe future generations of Imperials would revere us for it.'

'Oh, an' by the way.... Lord Korvan - welcome to the gang. No more suspicion, no more tests, but... Always a but, yet this one may be more agreeable than most.', the Woad declared, bowing his head slowly in sincerity as he weighed up his own run of pertinent wording. Though fortunately for the Grand-Moff, the tension wouldn't be left in the air for long, and when the Lord-Regent implored,'But I think it best for the safety of the realm that you an' I partner up - implement our own damned policies for once.... To Hell with the Assembly's feelings as far as I see it, but we must trust each other completely if we are to have even a whisker's chance of succeed-', making his point but being cut off just as he was about done.

'Greetings, lords, generals, Moffs. It is an honor to be in your presence. I apologize if I have intruded.'

Turning to see who arrived, and to see if the latest arrival had come to train or not, the look of shock in the blue-eyed gaze of the Woad could not be so easily concealed, for a familiar, though newly-acquainted face the Lord-Regent recognised was walking out into the snow-covered courtyard. An individual who just so happened to be his son's protector, and though this set them firmly on opposite ends of the Tarkin-Pellaeon paradigm, old Barran would afford young Aoki her due respect all the same as he finally answered,'I believe, an' perhaps on more than just this occasion if we're lucky, that the honour would be mine. An' you're certainly not intruding as far as I see it, Lady Mira.', bowing in polite respect to the Atrisian aspect of the Shadow's ancestry.

'Gentlemen, I present t'you - Aoki Mira; Imperial-Knight of Serenno, former student an' now the bodyguard of the current Warden.'

Silent nods and low-rumbling greetings followed from the others, then as soon as all the introductory behaviours had died down a little, Barran approached Aoki at little more than a strolling cadence and concluded,'A rare occurrence this is for swordsmen of our humble sort, this I cannot deny. Though here, you needn't worry about pomp, ceremony or subordination - not in the sparring-yard, not on the snow.', with hands clasped politely at his back. Knowing this meeting was a long-overdue eventuality, the old Woad would be patient in his conversational approach, and especially after speaking boldly of dispensing with the formalities just moments before, as there was every chance they would cross paths again soon after the fact.

And to make matters all the easier for the young Hybrid, the old Woad had grown quite tired of tempting fate against Force-Wielders, ringing especially true on account of his fight against Darth Lucid in the dark, dusty streets of Kaas city. But the real factor at play in his patience and kindly demeanour, unlikely though it would have seemed to Serenno's best and brightest, were the as-yet inarticulable (though not for long) intentions Lord Erskine had for the Empire's near and not-so-distant future, and to Barran's great relief these intentions were very likely to bring a few smiles to the faces standing among the Pellaeonist fold.

Ilum, Neshtab, Noris.... I know I must honour our departed heroes.
And I know my son's clique would honour the dead as I would.

But I also know I have quite the earful of rage awaiting me as well.... So be it.

 

[Felix e Archion]

_ R E B I R T H _
CANTINA,_ _ SAINTSTON
{PHASE 1. . . Operation Drown Miseries}
TAG: Davin Jusik | Kastav Volff (open)​

Felix stood silent as the conversation began to flow. The stranger not hesitating to return Felix's commentary, speaking of how the corpos' stay fit and wiggled into society, a relation to survival of the fittest, with the outcome being corporate-giants who pushed for cronyism in way of endless fighting to captures pieces of power. Though he didn't have quite an micro or even macro-insight into the former New Imperial Order economy, and economics of the Empire, Felix simply assumed that in the end, however political they were, some imperial bureaucrats were corrupt; of course they promoted competitiveness but some entities such as the Trade Federation and alike slipped through and became 'Too Big To Fail' businesses, something the GA & Imperials had in common.

"You're correct friend, I do take interest in that planet...he paused a moment...In fact that is my home, I may not look like a Christophsis native but I am. I miss it, a lot; utter bullcrap, damned politicians cliquing up with pseudo-aristocrats. Pushing out small businesses, crushing the working-man. Degenerates." He said, his tongue perching up and spewing hate. Over time his tolerance for other ideals decreased, his tolerance for the those Pellaeonists who sat on their high-horse and spoke nigh democratic crap, for the Felist, a bunch of rabid bigwigs who swung a sword and marched singing the song of 'patriotism', hate, he had it for all. He was overjoyed when Barran took power, the only way to supremacy was establishment of hierarchy..fall in line or be left behind, Tarkinism, the way out.

"Even the ISB, my brothers, they're going soft. We tolerate too much, we have to put our foot down or else the civilians will revolt. Revolt is death of Imperialism, a strong-government keeps all well." He continued, quite drunk now yet slurring a word he did not.

"I hope you agree friend, the galaxy has gone to crap." He exclaimed, his tone saddened now.​

 

[Kastav Volff]

​

Location: Galidraan III
Objective: Drink and Meander
Tags: Felix e Archion Davin Jusik (Open)

​

Kastav's attention turned to Felix the more he spoke, he certainly was different to the usual patrons of the bar, who were mostly drunk Galidraani soldiers or civilians who constantly pointed out Kastav's offworld accent. The man revealed he was indeed from Christophsis and from his rant Kastav got the impression he was some sort of political firebrand. Talk of revolutionary change, pushing out the systems and people of old, it almost reminded him of the rallies the local COMPNOR branch would hold in his sub-district on Axxila.

Then he spoke a magic word. ISB. Kastav couldn't help but grin. "So you're ISB, huh?" he said turning to the man. He knew some agents who wouldn't dare reveal their line of work in public. Then again, those types of agents didn't tend to have any lives outside the Bureau. He looked down into his drink before talking another sip. "ISB-506." he said softly, referring to his numerical identification. "Or Kastav."

Kastav then turned his attention back to the words he spoke of the ISB and Empire, words that could get him in trouble with a Supervisor. But it wasn't like Kastav didn't agree. "Galaxy has indeed gone to the dogs."

"Before I was stationed in this..." Kastav said struggling to find words. "place... I did my fair share of counter-insurgency, I got a nose for when the wheels of change start turning. The Chiss were only the start of what's coming" He reflected on his mission against the Chiss Uprising, how quickly they turned on the Empire. "And now the galaxy no longer has to worry about the Maw? Well. You can tell where those Alliance dogs will look to next." Kastav continued before taking another sip of his drink.

He lifted his glass up in his hands and spoke in a hushed tone, "So, what do you think should be done about it?."

 

[Felix e Archion]

_ R E B I R T H _
CANTINA,_ _ SAINTSTON
{PHASE 1. . . Operation Drown Miseries}
TAG: Kastav Volff (open)​

Felix listened with great interest as the individual announced himself as 'ISB-506' or 'Kastav', a name which was known to Felix to a slight extent. His comrade was for the most part agreeing with him; 312 could only watch as the galaxy spiraled out of control, the Empire couldn't enforce its will no longer. Felix nodded softly as Kastav made the 'Maw' comment, he was right..Without the Maw, the Military-Industrial Complex and corrupt bureaucracy of the Alliance would need to justify their warmonger economy and hunting...No, slaughtering the weak shell-states which remained of Imperialism would justify said doctrine.

"You're a smart man, Kastav; I'm Felix, or ISB-312." He said smirking as he introduced himself formerly."What do I think should be done? To be frank..A lot may disagree but I have to keep pushing this concept, we need a stronger state." He said simply, reinforcing his ideal of a proper society, one which was purely dystopian in nature yet successful in way of true Imperialism.

"More aid to Compnor & The Security Bureau. Well..And I hate to say it, but we have to embrace the Old Guard ideals of the Empire." He added. "Erskine Barran, The Mighty Tarkinist, is the only one who could lead us out...His son though..He's trouble." He finished, Erskine was held in high esteem from within' the ISB though his son on the other hand, Felix thought he was too mystical and too much of a figurehead, most Imperials knew Michael Barran's name and that was something which could prove hurtful down the line.

"A simple plan. Now Mr. 506, tell me how you'd deal with the Imperial question?" Felix asked now wondering how his counterpart would do so in his actions; this being a moment of profiling once more.​

 

[Michael Barran]

4th post

-A THREAD OF THREE PHASES-

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

TAGS: Aoki-Barran Mira Siyndacha Aerin

BORN OF BRIGHT STARS IX: HONOURING ANCESTORS - PART 5

THE BARROWS OF GOVERNANCE, HART HILL,
AN-CRIDHEACHAN, GALIDRAAN III (LATE 878 ABY)

'Oh.... So the souls-between were here this entire time, as you were as well. Interesting.'

~=As we always shall be, but only for as long as our clan endures the ages.=~
​

Nodding in his understanding, Lord Michael then looked around to see all the men and women who heroically kept their clan alive throughout the war-torn centuries, all clad in traditional regalia as befitted their varying stations and roles in life, and all according to the fashions and stylings of the many centuries they all lived to the fullest. Expecting to see disappointment on their faces before the fact, the relief would be nothing short of narcotically thrilling as Barran saw nothing but warmth, happiness and pride in each and every gaze that fell upon him in these moments, a sight the Wanderer never knew he needed to see so much before, but all was changing before his very eyes.

As everything in the Goidel's life was set to change as a culminating result of all the clan's living sons' efforts, a costly reward for the never-ending struggle against the hordes of Light and Dark alike.

~=In time, all will be understood.... But for now, mine Cairnsman must meditate.=~

~=Preparing thine heart for whatever comes next.=~​

The command was simple, yet the Imperial Warden knew there was more to it than that, as the clan's progenitor was considerate enough to understand his descendant's needs and traumas alike, and understood the gravity of his needs on that night in particular. It could be felt in the heartrate, the hands, the jaw and most of all, in the mind of the Wanderer, like the despair had clung onto Lord Michael for dear life whilst the tears were finding their own warmth in the rewards of meeting ancestral requirements in one swoop, and as much as the progenitor's spirit knew it would hurt his Cairnsman's soul, there would be no more distracting from the main, unsavoury task ahead. The task that brought him to tears in the first place, the task the Wanderer was much too grief-struck to endeavour by the time his ancestor found him weeping on the snow-covered ground.

But for as long as the reminder of his departed predecessors' presences was there to see in near-tangible visibility, the sorrow, the trauma and all the horror Lord Michael was fated to see, great and seemingly-insurmountable though it all was at the time, would hurt that little bit less.

Knowing their strength would remain with the sole purpose of upholding and bolstering his own.

'Bless you all.... Bless you all eternally.'

Kneeling at first, but only in a first step towards his intended seating-position, Barran smiled as he both sat with crossed-leg care on the snow, looking to the spirits around him as the winds around him began to calm to a light, listless southerly breeze. Perfect for his first meditational inhalation through the nostrils, giving the Warden all the clean air his lungs needed for the first, aggressively-exertive sigh of release, letting loose the last of the teary-eyed emotionality, almost immediately opening the right pathways to the mind and getting back into his usual, serene breathing-cadence once and for all.

 

[FN-999]

Tags: TBD | Open

Suddenly, a transmission came in through Nines' helmet comms.

[Baron, I have heard word of an interesting development.]

[What is it?]

[Imperial leadership is gathering near a local sparring ground. Perhaps your presence would give you opportunities.]

[Perhaps it will. Thank you.]
​

With his concluding remarks, the Baron cut the channel. Seconds later, a pitch-black trooper materialized in the shadows in front of the Baron, map in hand. In a swift, wordless exchange, Nines took the map and strode away, the trooper vanishing as quickly as he had appeared. It was a tempting offer, and he readily took it up. After all, nothing killed stress like socializing and exercise.

The trek took him away from the town center, and he was thankful for the insulation in his armor as the cold picked up. He began to stride up a gradual, sloping hill, a thin layer of snow crunching under his steel-plated boots. It was a relaxing walk, with nothing to occupy the overworked commander's mind except for the gentle flakes of snow descending gracefully all around him. Some of it touched his armor before seemingly merging with it, the two an almost identical shade of white. It was an oddly fascinating phenomena, perhaps made more interesting since the Baron had nothing better to focus on.

That was until he heard the commotion ahead.

Speeding up his stride, Nines drew closer to the sparring yard, letting out a deep sigh before finally stepping in.

 

[Aoki-Barran Mira]

Aoki was left in complete awe as these high ranking, glorious men all greeted her with deep respects. It stunned her to freeze, locked in her current place. She had not expected this at all. She was the servant, the Shadow. To be treated with such dignity was a surprise. Although, it was a pleasant surprise to be sure.

She finally recollected her bearings. She cleared her throat and offered a bow mirroring Erskine's. The fact that he had offered her a bow similar to her culture had not escaped her.

"I am honored by your greeting. I thank you wholeheartedly."

As she rose again, butterflies flapped away in her stomach. She still felt like an ant amongst giants, no matter how much her accomplishments spoke for her. Even if only she knew it at the time, her adoptive father's Goidelic dagger was hung respectably in her guest room. Aoki-Barran Mira was not exactly the type to brag. News of her true adoption by Michael Barran had not leaked out yet. Despite her adoption, Mira still felt that she had not earned much respect. Yet here it was given to her. Was Michael right? That there was so much in her she simply did not see? She approached the group, managing to keep her head high. She was not at all prideful, but perhaps she should let herself have this.

The smallest flame of confidence candle flickered in her as she closed the distance between her and the others. Her chest was pounding inside her chest, but she kept her cool. Only the sweat dotting her forehead hinted at her anxieties as she moved with calm grace. She spoke in a clear, concise, militant, yet gentle tone.

"How goes the sparring? Perhaps, I could be graced with the rare oppression of participating in a practice duel with the Empire's finest?"

Compliments went a long way, especially when trying to hide one's disdain for the political affiliation of half the people here. But Mira truly meant these words as well. She had heard of the strength and skill of these men, and she was always eager to improve her skills in combat.

"I am eager to learn from more experienced swordsmen. The better I become, the less I am likely to fail on the battlefield."

Her personal failings, or what she had perceived as failings, on Exegol still stung - despite Michael's best efforts to soothe her doubts. Mira ever pushed forward, ever trained to improve. And she was truly eager to duel these giants today.

Her stomach was still light, but with as much excitement as she felt anxiety.

DECEASED Erskine Barran Ignacious Korvan

​

 

[Sera Rosh]

V O R N S K R
THE EMPIRE
HART HILL AND SURROUNDS | GALIDRAAN III
TAG: Denniston Thrast II

BLACK TAR AND NICOTINE

'Thanks, been a while since I last drank the local stuff.... An' answering yer question; something like that, but while we're on the subject, that stand-down order counted for yersel an'aw by the way. Earned yer time aff an' then some, though you'll know I'm understating that - debrief records speak plenty to that effect.'

Nat snorted.
"We both know I listen as much t' ye as a teenage bab to his ma." she said. but their loyalty ran deeper than the words she spoke, though she'll never admit it aloud. He'd get a swollen head.

Taking another swig of the stellar golden liquid, she studied the landscape below them. It was clear that Denny had been keeping an eye on Michael who had broken off from the festivities within and was up to something strange. Well, not really strange anymore. She was accustomed to the younger Barran and his out-of-ordinary ways by now.

'Better the pubs in Sainston than the wilderness anyways.... The Aurorae don't even reach this far for another eighteen hours, give or take, so the prettiest sight t'content ye here is jus' the snaww an' the landscape sadly.'

The Scott looked back at Denny when he started speaking. She was silent for a moment when he had finished.
"Good thing I thought o' bringing whiskey then." she said, shaking the flask back up at him. "Cheer up, Sunshine. Snaww and landscape isnae that bad," she said, settling herself more properly on the root.

She watched Michael going through his motions below for another few heartbeats.
"You expecting somethin' to happen t' him here?" she asked more sincerely after a while. She very much had the ability to be serious in a situation.

While she was feeding Denniston whiskey, she might as well get the details of why they were here.

 

[Denniston Thrast II]

3rd Post

-A THREAD OF THREE PHASES-

REAVER_ONE

Captain of the 1st Scouts Battalion,"The Raiders" (Highland Brotherhood)
Imperial War-Historian
Heir-Apparent to Mathan Glen

Tags: Natalie Scott

THE FAR-TRAVELLED HIGHLANDER II: WHERE THE HEART IS - PART 3

CHESTNUT BRAE, OVERLOOKING HART HILL,
AN-CRIDHEACHAN, GALIDRAAN III (LATE 878 ABY)

'We both know I listen as much t' ye as a teenage bab to his ma.'
​

Despite the innate ability to rain on each other's parade on matters pertaining to the job itself, there were never any hindrances to the moments of mirth they could share together throughout their respective Imperial tenures, making it all the easier to snort and snigger off the war's consequent years of peace, tentative though the balance still was for the Empire at the time. A clear, visible embodiment as to what brand of,"Reliable", was needed most for the realm in the latter decades of the 9th Century ABY. After all, it was one thing to attack or kill on demand, but another thing entirely to hold to cohesion and loyalty throughout one's service to a higher power, and both vital attributes ran deep within both commanders of the 1st Scouts Battalion.

A fearsome wonder to behold in the hands of Thrast and Scott alike.

The easiest of backchats to roll with, the easiest reminder of individual proficiency, and in this throwaway quip something else slapped the back of the Hunter's mind; it never seemed to be a matter of never listening, as in their long run of successful deployments it became apparent Vornskr never really needed to, she was a keen mind in operational autonomy without the need for such. In a way prompting Thrast's stand-down offer, as there truly were none more deserving of a day off than the ever-sharp Scott, not that the Empire (nor it's scions for that matter) was in any hurry to rush anywhere, but a reinvigorated contingent would always benefit from the decisions of a rested second-in-command. Orders were expected for Serenno's clandestine elements after all, and expected quite soon by then, as Lord Michael was taking on larger roles with each surge in prestige, and the Lord-Regent was likely to implement high-surveillance focuses in the transition towards passive, post-war doctrines.

Every ounce of energy and willpower would be needed, and everyone knew it, despite the relaxed mood within the Empire's first days of relative peace.

'Good thing I thought o' bringing whiskey then.'

Putting hands together, looking up to the skies and giving silent thanks to Dia, St. Anne, and his Sinnsear'Ann, Denny smiled for a moment before turning to offer a silent, sincere gratitude for the one who brought the single-malt in the first place, bowing head with his fist-over-heart salute before politely accepting the flask-full of Goidelic nectar. A contrastingly kind gesture for one who was supposed to keep the Hunter on his toes, but in their rare cohesion, and in the bonds shared within Raider Battalion in general, this was nothing irregular. After all, their ancestral traditions of candour, warmth and hospitality almost demanded it of the Goidels in everyday life, let alone the lives of the tribal warrior-caste, and for the touted successors of great Lairds who were sat poised atop Chestnut Brae, the highest-ranking Reavers were no exception to these principles.

Ideal.... Michael's no gawn near Tommy's mound anyway.
Clocking out, but watch 'im anyway.

Nae - hubris - allowed, Denny.
​

With a few swigs of the single-malt, Thrast savoured every moment, even in the aftertaste phase as he returned the flask to Scott, still beaming with the simplest of elations as he silently saluted his fiery subordinate once more. For the act of bringing the whiskey alone, Nat had earned the right to keep the rest of it to herself in Denny's opinion, as not only did it fight the chill of the wintry night around them, but it also fought the steeling of the heart - helping to forget a war that affected them enough already.

'You expecting somethin' to happen t' him here?'

​

Taking a quick moment to observe Hart Hill again, the Hunter sighed with both disappointment and gladness alike, slipping the detached scope into his coat pocket again as he curtly replied,'Is jus' an operational safety-precaution is all, an' cutting the rest o' the Reavers some slack in the process. Pertains to the newest o' those mounds o'er there, apparently needs t'know if the stories are true; needs t'know if the Bloodhound is cousin-Thomas or no, but he's no ready for that yet, so the Warden's wee task is a bust for now.... An irritation no doubt, but also a relief somehow - as I'm no so sure he's ready for horrors o' the sort yet.', reporting as on-duty Captain to his Leftenant in the spirit of conciseness. A force of habit, though one of which most within Raider Battalion valued greatly, and even in the off-duty drinking hours, keeping it brief was especially well-received by Highlanders on account of time-saved alone.

'So now, it's aw jus' a case o' watching what the dafty does afore he leaves.... That opposite treeline marks the edge of our observation zone, so as soon as he marches past that, oor good work is done here for the night - though it appears cousin-Michael could be on that Druid action for a good while yet. The joys o' military service, eh?'

Seemingly-pointless though the mild inconvenience was, it was still easy enough for Thrast to shrug it off with a sigh as he reached into his coat-pocket again, though it would be to pull out a pack of cigarras instead of his scope this time; pulling out two, one for Denny himself and one for Nat, the Hunter killed off the stress within as he lit both and passed the other to Vornskr in short, quick order. The whole affair (in it's otherworldly madness that was still difficult to comprehend by then) was a difficult prospect to anticipate, even for a younger cousin who was relatively removed from the most-dangerous aspects of the Imperial Warden's war on the lingering Darkside powers, even for one who wished for an end to the curse as much Barran did by then.

And whether it really was Thomas or not, Denny had no illusions that the one they expecting to find was marked for death either way.

'But enough wae that chite though - Heh! Startin' t'bore masel wae that caper aw'ready.... Whit ye been uptae anyways, Nat? Seen yer folks yet?'

 

[DECEASED Erskine Barran]

3rd Post

-A THREAD OF THREE PHASES-

SHIELD_ONE
LORD-REGENT OF THE EMPIRE
GRAND-TRIUMVIR OF THE TARKINIST ADMINISTRATION
GOVERNOR-CHIEFTAIN OF GALIDRAAN III

Tags: Ignacious Korvan DECEASED Aron Gowrie Yorunarr Ahan-Yan'Sharlim Aoki-Barran Mira FN-999 Samson Trahvai

FATE OF THE REALM VII: HALLS OF OUR FOREFATHERS - PART THREE

THE SPARRING YARD, BARRAN HALL,
AN-CRIDHEACHAN, GALIDRAAN III (SUMMER OF 877 ABY)

'I am honored by your greeting. I thank you wholeheartedly.'
​

Receiving a graceful, gracious bow in reply to the Lord-Regent's own, it was clear as to which driving motivations pushed the Shadow to excel as an Imperial-Knight, and they weren't all that far removed from those of all the heroes of Lord Erskine's homeworld; something more than mere instinct, almost as if that same self-spurring reflex stemmed from nerves much deeper within the brain, almost as if these valorous urges stemmed from the very soul itself, passed down through tradition and every generation of their kin. However, this essence seemed to shine out all the brighter in the young hybrid, as there was a war-like pride in both peoples with whom the Goidels could relate, as both Atrisian-Human and Mirialan cultures could be counted on by the fortunate few with whom they rarely aligned without reason.

Despite oor issues.... Despite oor regrets....
It still gladdens my heart t'see Michael's been wise with his choice o' protector.

Very wise indeed.... He sees what I see at least.​

It was good to see that his son, despite his previous reputations, (and despite all that had transpired between them over the course of the previous fifteen years or so) was finally behaving in a responsible, leaderlike fashion, finally in line to become the man Lord Erskine refused to become. For this was not conducive to the victories or the assured survival of the Empire as Rurik Fel saw it, nor was it conducive to his own will, as it took the sacrifice of his position within the Galidraani Imperial-State to achieve the Lord-General's sceptre in the first place, a reality that remained firmly in the mind of the Lord-Regent as he made every soul-destroying decision for the realm after that fateful day. All of it was a run of harsh compromises at the cost of what appeared to be the old man's soul, and yet all of it was to be spared from his son's fate, a fate of which Lord Erskine was sure was safe under the protection of the rising star rising proudly before him.

'How goes the sparring? Perhaps, I could be graced with the rare oppression of participating in a practice duel with the Empire's finest?'

The old man's eyes lit up, almost as if it was his birthday, wedding and greatest victory all rolled into one, as the rarity of learning between Force-Wielders and the NFU class certainly wasn't lost on the former Stormchaser at the time, and opportunity always knocked at the last, and least-expected moments. Though as Barrans and Gowries alike always admitted they were,"Gambling Men", at heart (and quite openly at that), such offers to sparring-duels would naturally draw the attentions of more than Lord Erskine's own, and as the lure of warlike opportunism bore it's greedy face, the old Woad still found a moment to appreciate another showing of hidden value within the young hybrid's good sparring-yard decorum.

With her ego left firmly by the gate, or perhaps even as far away as her lodgings within the estate, the humble approach would yield a fair amount of useful results here, and if Lady Mira was lucky, she would be training with the elite NFU-swordsmen of the Empire again soon. However, on a tactician's level, the good fortunes had already begun for the Shadow by then, as all the best strategists in the Empire would be in attendance that day, including the impending arrival of the one last element to complete the collective.

'I am eager to learn from more experienced swordsmen. The better I become, the less I am likely to fail on the battlefield.'

A kind-hearted, humble statement that certainly sat well with the others, but still drew their attention even further all the same, but despite this small, though-intensified fixation, it still served to further-endear the warfighting elite to the Imperial Knight's presence. Perhaps in rivalling measure, perhaps even enough that all would be raving, and perhaps even telling all to their subordinates after the fact, though the certainties of these thoughts were something Barran could never retain power enough to know for sure; and though the Imperial Warden would be clueless until told of the encounter, there was something telling the Lord-Regent that his son would be proud of the way his Shadow carried herself that day, presenting as a rare, meditative beacon of serenity.

'Well, if you would accept, I would like to-'

Exuding absolute calm in a wild sea of irreverence.

'WHIIIIIIIIT?!?!'
'Oh, here we go.... If you need me, I'll be speaking with the quiet gentleman over here.'

 

[DECEASED Aron Gowrie]

5th post

-A THREAD OF THREE PHASES-

WILDCAT_ONE
TRIBAL-CHIEFTAIN OF AN-TUATHA
MAJOR-GENERAL OF WILDCAT DIVISION
SWORD OF THE VALKYRIES

Tags : DECEASED Erskine Barran Ignacious Korvan Aoki-Barran Mira Yorunarr Ahan-Yan'Sharlim FN-999 Samson Trahvai

TRIBULATIONS OF THE WILDCATS VI: A NIGHT OF INNER-PEACE - PART 5

THE SPARRING YARD, BARRAN HALL,
AN-CRIDHEACHAN, GALIDRAAN III (SUMMER OF 877 ABY)

'WHIIIIIIIIIIT?!?!'
'Oh, here we go.... If you need me, I'll be speaking with the quiet gentleman over here.'
​

Without as much as another word said between them, both Godseer and Kellas alike would split off after offering curt, respectful nods in each other's direction, driven by sudden urgency on both counts; and despite the clear differences in wartime professions, all around them could see that both Yorunarr and Lord Aron alike were cut from the same highly-professional cloth, tailor-fitted to Imperial service in differing, though similarly-colourful fashion. Both Goidelic Human and Novanian-born Arkanian varieties alike were usually quite the intriguing elements on a general, non-commissioned level, let alone Lord Erskine's most-accomplished former acolytes, and in perpetual awareness of this fact, the Tuath would find ease in making his own presence the loudest in the courtyard.

'I have a better idea, an' besides - we have another latecomer in case ye haven't noticed!'

And for as long as necessary.

'WELCOME TO THE YARD, NINES!!!! SWORDS ARE ON THE RACK AT YOUR SIX, PROTECTIVE GEAR'S IN THE LOCKERS ON THE LEFT - JUS' HELP YERSEL AN' JOIN US FOR OUR MORNING WORKOUT!!!!'

Turning away from the Baron in assuredness of his ability to find everything he needed, Lord Aron turned to Lord Erskine's corner of the sparring-yard with purpose in mind, walking to claim his sparring-duel as he quietly muttered,'Now, where was I wae that line-jumpin' Woad?', fully intending to utilise the lessons learned in combat someday soon. After all, since the Lord-Regent's recent bouts, it was becoming apparent to all his closest subordinates that he would remain set in his adherence to the merits of Fiorist swordsmanship, forever set in his ways and to deathly extremes of obstinance - though this also served as a point of inspiration for all his peers among the knighted IMPAF-officer elite.

On one hand, a potential blight in the making, but on the other, an abundant wellspring of blessings from which flowed all the warlike blessings on their soldiering attributes.

'Not today, Erskine.... An' besides, I have something t'show you the-day. Jus' watch, an' you'll know what I mean soon enough.'

Without missing a beat, the Steward of Imperium silently made a showy, (though in smirking jest) portrayal of a fearful yield to the sword in response, leaving his would-be sparring partner with a kindly bow as he made to return to Grand-Admiral's side; but just before turning to join Lord Ignacious for another chat on matters of state and governance alike, Lord Erskine offered Lord Aron a slow nod of recognition, telling of the undivided attentions the latter was to expect for the bout's duration. After all, there was no denying the duelling rivalry that still existed between them, a tally kept between brothers in arms, and in this mutual understanding the makings of a showcase began to form, wordlessly sanctioning a token showing of all the Kellas had learned since the Stormchaser beat him in 875ABY.

In Riordan Glen, on Lord Aron's front lawn of all places.

Barran 2 - Gowrie 1
And the window was closing for the Tuath's chance to level the scoreboard between them.

And you, Woad, will watch as I ascend your Fiorist standard.
Now - and when I clinch the token draw.
​

After their silent agreement was made, both tribal chieftains stared each other down for a moment more, feeling that allure of competition again, and for the first time in almost three years - for the first time since Barran beat Gowrie for the right to challenge and finish the Mongrel in single-combat once and for all.

Friendly though the competition was between them, old rivalries always died hard in the Galaxy, and the lingering remnants of a once-fierce feud were of no exception to this rule, seen still in the eyes of Kellas and Stormchaser with equalling, or perhaps even rivalling fervour. Yorunarr's reaction would have been a great indicator for those who were aware of his great knowledge on the subject, as the Novanian himself was gifted access to Goidelic lore from almost as far back as the very beginning of the Erskine/Aron tally itself, and knew plenty of the bad blood between both tribe's ruling clans, giving plenty indications for the others in the act of personally ducking away from ground zero. Not only so as not to risk life and limb for his hesitance, but also in great respect for the Goidels' culture, their traditions and customs, bearing great resemblance to those of the Priest-King's own, and bearing great importance to men he revered greatly.

Yet fortunately for Lord Aron's Imperial reputation, and especially for the skipping hearts around them, the friendly rivals would need to break off eventually; and break off they did, nodding again but with much more warmth than the previous offering, and of their own accord to make matters all the easier for the tense onlookers around them. But despite the fiery staredown, both Lords had given their Imperial guests an inspiring display of the culture that won wars for Willan Tal's Imperial State, perhaps of that which excelled for powers much vaster than those of their long and storied past, and maybe even a showing of the fight that still remained in the blood and minds of their respective tribes.

But in their good showing of rivalry, the lack of poor taste doubtlessly gave something of a good display and lesson in grace between opponents as well, especially in the way both individuals almost immediately turned to express kindness and amiable demeanour to those around them; with the Stormchaser turning to his Grand-Admiral and the Kellas to the Shadow, the strange lack of tension in their movements would tell yet another story, making explicitly clear to all that tradition came before all personal needs as far as both Chieftains were concerned. Thus making it all the easier for Lord Aron when he turned to bow to his sparring-partner, as his cold-grey eyes, demeanour and attitude were almost-instantly eradicated by a breeze-like serenity, a rushing, meditative wave of calm - washing over a self-admitted NFU in what appeared to be arcane levels of focus.

'Welcome t'Galidraan III, Lady Mira. But before I begin, I feel it pertinent to first explain that moment between auld farts jus' there, as you see - the Lord-Regent an' I have been duelling each other for the longer part of fifteen years, believe it or not. Our - um - peaceful microcosm of yesteryear's Clan Wars, so to speak.... Now, if you would join me, we would appear to have the makings of an intriguing matchup to endeavour here.'

Flashing his usual roguishly-Tuath grin, the war-wearied Imperial hero began to express something of a youthful vigor again, even lighting up somewhat in his smile as the Kellas cheekily tilted his head towards the sparring yard's red-slabbed centerpoint, a promising indication of Lord Aron's likeliness to teach in reward and correction alike. Yet despite the Major-General's wealth of warfighting knowledge and experience, Lord Aron himself and all around him would have been fooling themselves to think the odds weren't stacked against him, as even a bout against an Atrisian of NFU-class prestige would have been risky for the Tuath's particular brand of Meyerite disciplines, let alone an Imperial Knight like the one he was matching up against.

'Rest assured, we'll talk o' rulesets an' the like of course. But first, I have curiosities, an' nae doubt there's curiosities o' yer own that await me in turn; an' honestly, better t'get some o' those burning questions out our domes sharp an' early, we dinnae want that sort rollin' around in mind when we're midway through a round. I know the feeling, and have risked life an' limb to avoid such distractions.... Food for thought.'