Private Home of the Brave

[DECEASED Erskine Barran]

An-Cridheachan (The Heartlands)
Ancestral Homeland of the Woad-Macushla

Regional Temperature Avg. (Summer): 27°C (80°F)
Regional Temperature Avg. (Winter): -13°C (8°F)
Distance to Nearest Ocean: 643.9km

A mountainous backdrop, set by the glacial elements on a harsh, yet thoroughly-beautiful world.

A province in the very heart of it's most beautiful, most bountiful region.
​

To visit Galidraan III was a wonder for the strongest-willed peoples to behold, but visiting An-Cridheachan would always snatch the words from the lips of the Heartlands' foreign beholders. As it had for the Royalists and Tarkinists of Galidraan before, as it had for the Emperor, and for all from within and without the Empire's extensive borders. The ancestral holder of the title,"Governor-Chieftain", had returned from exile in a time when Galidraan III's cities and towns were run down by the One-Sith, the First Order and worst of all by the Sith Empire, but in his first visit in almost ten years, old Barran will be pleased to find how much the world has greatly benefitted from it's inhabitants' renewed freedoms.

Bustling towns and cities full to the brim with growing families and trade-counters alike, its clear these days that the largest cities of which are hellbent on setting the standard for growth and industry alike, having become something of a lifeline for all the nearest towns, provinces and tribal nations alike as they had for almost eight years already by now. And to top it all off, making it all the better for the Goidels outside Preston and Westcape alike, were the results of a reawakened spirit of conservationism within the hearts of the urban communities, putting money into efforts to make the countryside within as beautiful as it once was in previous centuries. An-Cridheachan would prosper most-noticeably, though only for as long as House Barran ruled such a pretty, idyllic province in the first place, and with much and more needed to get the Heartlands back to their former glories, much and more yet still has gone into restoring the villages and towns of Lord Erskine's youth.

The planet's tribes also enjoy their first true, lasting peaceful accord between each other, and though many of them all serve as part of Wildcat Division, it stands to reason that many retired or discharged soldiers proudly fly Blue-Heart banners above the houses and shacks of their homesteads. For some, as is evidenced by the proud retirees of the Stormchaser's first Imperial contribution to the realm, pride in the Blue-Lion they chose as their banner goes deeper than most allegiances in the Empire's vast array of armoured-vanguard contingents, making it virtually impossible to fight for a,"Mythical Creature's Pawprint", for as long as they still draw breath. However, little do any of them know that their old governor will arrive soon, landing at Preston spaceport and making his way east from there, changing their minds about retirement almost as soon as the NIV: Stalwart lands in clear sight of the Woads in the city, almost instantly changing many warriors' futures on contact.

Others will arrive, but in reaction to the Lord-Regent's first visit since he was much lower in rank, the very sight of the Stalwart's descent from orbit will change the atmosphere on the ground as much as it will as it slips down burning past the stratosphere. None could foresee such an outcome, for none among the Goidelic tribes have ever risen so high before, and to the extent that not even the greatest heroes of the Clan Wars era could even dream of achieving dominion over the Empire in it's entirety - none but Lord Erskine I of Clan Barran.

But did he ever dream of ruling the Empire in it's entirety?

Never, not even once.
Not even after rising to the grand, prestigious rank of Lord-General.​

After all, Lord Erskine was never forged in the image of patricians, and certainly not in the image of those worthy enough to rule as legitimate Emperors, Imperators and the like before him; and the Lord-Regent he chose to become, reluctant though he no doubt was to rise to rule as such, was specifically chosen with the legitimacy of the Empire's Great-Houses in mind. After all, an Empire could be held together by way of supreme merit as the Goidels have seen in action time and time again, and as opposed to holding the realm together by the weight of names, Force-abilities and the rule of law at it's apex, the renewed spirit of the Stormchaser within Barran knows there is still a way to ensure the survival of Irveric's legacy.

The old Woad awaits.
​

In Barran Hall, where it all began, and not only for Lord Erskine himself, but for all who endeavoured the unknown both with Barran himself and with the sons of his issue also. Adventures began here, rebellions and wars also, but the most important part the castle had to play was in the memories it gave the planet's ruling clan over the centuries, memories of life, love and wonder to fuel them in their deeds and misdeeds alike, recalls of what they were all fighting for in the first place. It is here where the legends rose and fell as according to each and every choice that history's greatest Barrans made, here where the clan's ancestral spirits spoke most loudly to their descendants.

There is a chance that even the visitors may hear the godly whispers of the Chieftains, the Goidelic Swords of the Morning Sun, thoughts of the old leaders from beyond the veil of existence itself. Rurik Fel likely felt their presence during his visit in 868 ABY, and in according silently to their ways, accorded with their collective will to see Lord Erskine safe for as long as the Empire could allow, but in the wake of the Iron Emperor's demise, no such safety could ever be assured, and certainly not for as long as he tries to uphold Rurik's realm as a mere Lord-Regent. A particular pursuit that still vexes him almost daily, though the difficulties presented would never amount to enough pressure to dissuade the Steward of Imperium, for his particular sort of warrior were always rare enough not to let such irksome trivialities affect him, and Barran has been brought through the ringer enough to know there are much more dangerous things in the Galaxy to worry about.

​

Matters of which that may be raised in discussion in the Laird's study, though Lord Ignacious won't be alone in these discussions with the Lord-Regent, not with so much going on behind the scenes. However, despite the secrecy of Lord Erskine's actions of late, the Grand Moff will no doubt be very fortunate that Barran plans to bring the rising star up to speed, for all things would be better for everyone involved if both parties were operating on the same wavelength - following the timeline on the same page for the sake of the Empire's survival.

And for the sake of the realm's many planets still thriving within Barran's curtain of protection.

 

[DECEASED Erskine Barran]

1st post

HOMEWARD BOUND FOR A WHILE

SHIELD_ONE

Lord-Regent of the Empire
Grand-Triumvir of the Tarkinist Administration
Governor-Chieftain of Galidraan III

Tags: Ignacious Korvan Annor E-059 Erin E-141 Liene E-230

FATE OF THE REALM VI: IN THE WAKE OF TOR VALUM - PART 1

Old Arthur's Pier, Saintston,
An-Cridheachan, Galidraan III (Spring 878 ABY)

'Wake up, darling.... We're home now.'
​

As had been the norm since his ascension, the Steward of Imperium was sleeping whilst sat upright with his back straight, with only the slightest of slouches to be seen as tells or proofs of his unconscious states, though not that he ever slept deep enough for others to take advantage of his light slumbers. However, the Lord-Regent would be glad of it this time, unsure on whether the painkillers would wreak havoc on his circadian rhythm this time or not, and in his relief, old Erskine would find himself snapping awake excitedly all the same - completely unaware that he wasn't considering how much the sight would effect him psychologically

'Rosk'Aiar, step to.... I'll get the door.'

And as his beloved Lady Carla had stated just moments before, they were home, and for the first time in ten years, the old tugs at his heartstrings were back for more, and carrying much more intensity than they had when the Empire first brought him back. It was one thing to return to a star-system that rejected his competence before, exiling him for going against a stagnant grain until he fought his way back, but another matter entirely to return to a home he missed more than ever, a home he was still working diligently to protect. Even in the years that Laird and Lady alike had spent on Bastion, but in the effort to keep the Goidels free of cannon-fodder servitude, or slavery and worse besides, the Lord-Regent's work had never ceased, and certainly not for as long as the threats of Galidraan's enemies remained to the Galaxy in some form or other.

Last time, I returned as an exile, a conqueror.
Now, as the Regent of the greatest empire the Galaxy will ever know.

I think I liked it better the first time around - I didn't feel so empty back then.
​

From there, the small entourage stepped onto a McGechin Forders boat and made their way from the Spaceport to Saintston, home to the famed, and loyal Clan Sinclair. Walking assisted through streets he once ran and played games on as a child, as much as the sight made the Lord-Regent think of fonder days in his life, did little to help the hurts his heart was feeling at the time; and as the McGechin clansmen helped the Barrans onto the next ferryboat, it would become quite obvious to the others that the old man was growing increasingly withdrawn, silent before long as the boat rushed it's way towards the Laird's pier of Barran House's western access-courtyard. The old Woad was home, but as he learned from his first return, Lord Erskine would understand all the more that something was missing, believing in his heart of hearts that the very soul of the place had died in the long absence of his time in exile.

But little did the Lord-Regent know that hope still remained, rekindling fires both tangible and obligational alike as the old man neared closer, little by little as he passed the chestnut and oak trees that closed in the gravel pathway to the western entrance. To further contextualise the hope Lord Erskine would find within his old home, awaiting to strengthen heart, mind and soul with their presence alone, would the presence of old friends, old friends who fought tooth and nail for him before his ascension. But as for who, there was no way of knowing for any in Barran's small entourage all they could do was guess at the identity of the ones stoking the flames of the old chimney-fireplace, pondering on the meaning of their presence as the flames of the greathalls hearths lit up with fiery life in the distance.

<"Proost to Blue-Heart Alpha! We see you, but trust us when I say you're safer with us than with anyone else in this Galaxy.">

<"Barran to Cataphract One! Dia be praised, bai! I never though I'd hear your likes over the Comm-Link again.... Not in this life anyway, who else is there?">

<"Oh, you'll see soon enough.... Welcome home, Milord. Cataphract One out!">​

With spirits lifted suddenly, a little burst of energy, strength and lifelike vigour brought the Steward of Imperium from his darkening thoughts, snapping out with steadiness in his legs, and in a way that made it easier to rely on the walking-cane's support as Barran trudged down the path with the others in tow. The castle itself was more openly visible by then, and even with the waning whirr of the riverboat in the distance behind them, the clamour and wooden thuds of the doors within (and the increasing amount of glowing lights in the windows as they neared little by little) told Lord Erskine everything he needed to know on whether others were inside with Commoner-Captain Proost or not. Then as soon as his booted front foot landed on the grass of the inner-western courtyard, the oaken double doors opened inward and revealed the face of the Archaisian human he was just speaking to, greyer at the temples but no doubt stood as strongly as he had in the old Woad's memory.

'Good to see you're finally out of that hoverchair, Milord. You'll be glad to walk around in a prettier home than the one you remember.... Locals made a point of attempting to return the place to 'er former glories, but you'll see when we get you up these stairs here.'

Every part the warrior who withstood the worst with the Stormchaser in the latter half of the Third Imperial Civil War.

'Good to see you too, Milady. Word from the Highlands is that your people miss you very much. Talk of,"Wishing to see the Jewel in the Hills in a time when your people are dancing amongst the Jewels in the skies.", making me think Lord Michael is doing well at the Highland Brotherhood's helm.... But I'm sure family matters can wait for now, you have friends awaiting after all.'

Walking inside, Lord Erskine finally replied,'I know not what I've done to deserve this reception - but I thank you for it all the same, my young friend.', expressing his gratitude with the utmost sincerity in the process, understanding the magnitude of the gesture as he slowly shuffled into the foyer with the oaken doors closing loudly behind him. And when the old Woad turned back towards the inner-workings of the family home, that gratitude in Barran's demeanour would become quite visible in sight of people he never thought he would see again in life, people of whom Lord Erskine assumed had put their life soldiers behind them since their last outings in the field, making the experience all the more surreal for the Lord-Regent's mind to comprehend as his old friends stepped out from the light of the hearths in the clan's Great Hall.

'Welcome, my dear friends.... I expected company of other sorts, an' though my new subordinates are likely still on the way, we have time yet to talk an' to drink the-gither - like the good ol' days.'

In reply, every right fist before him, even those of Proost, Wyll and Rosk'Aiar slammed against their left pectoral in the old Fist-over-Heart salute in unison, and without prompt or barked order guiding their hands or snapping them into life. It was more than knee-jerk, more than instinct, and in the eyes of Lord Erskine and Lady Carla - this displayed their collective, soul-deep will to pay homage to a man they all revered.

For his deeds, for his choices, his faults and his misdeeds alike - this was the man they all chose.

As he once chose them.

 

[Liene E-230]

Liene E-230
Objective: Home of the Brave
Post #: 1
Writing With: DECEASED Erskine Barran
Narrative Tags: DECEASED Erskine Barran

Sometime earlier, 878 ABY...

Liene and Annor slink through the dry stone dark cellar beneath the Var Koon palace; they wordlessly communicate through a series of blink-clicks on their heads-up displays and hand signals. Annor made a gesture; Liene reads it as Squad, left-stack prepared to breach. Liene follows through with the command, covering behind the smaller Supersoldier.

"Counter-breach", Annor states through the comlink; a waft of infrared-dampened smoke whirls and contrails through the underground hallway. The closed wood door explodes into a hail of splinters that patter impotently against their deflector shields. Liene doubles back with Annor; she spots something giant and vaguely Humanoid slide on its' knees between them. "Contact, rear." Liene heard another explosion, not the supersonic explosion of a detonation but the soft fizzle of deflagration, instinctively Liene commanded her visor's display into light amplification and looked in the direction of the sound only for her whole vision to be smashed by a dense white wall that burns her pupils.

Annor turns to see through the Murk with her natural eyesight, Liene clasping at her faceplate with a left gauntlet. A shadow punches a clenched fist straight through Liene's grenade launcher to hold a steel ring fixed to a fragmentation grenade in a pouch on Liene's breastplate. Annor fired four shots from her particle blaster; each found its mark. A blue field shimmered down the length of the shadows' armour. "They have deflectors." Annor distracted the cloud now; they had a close-quarters knife fight with guns in a hallway. The Shadow, without missing a beat, flicks the ball-shaped fragmentation grenade.

It explodes just shy of Annor's visor; all four-hundred odd kilograms of her armoured mass is thrown into twelve inches of brick. All four of Annor's limbs, with effortless grace, brace her fall with a feline's grace. Rapidly, her eyes sweep around the room and in less than s second, Annor identifies Computers, servers, radar displays and massive blocky portable radios. It was an abandoned command post; the intel had been correct. It dawned on Annor. "It's a trap."

"I can't move," Liene thought wordlessly; her right arm was pinned against the floor, and her ribs lay on her side; her eyes turned toward the ceiling to see an armoured humanoid golem squat above her, using its pelvis to keep Liene's torso pushed into the ground. Its' left-arm wrenched Liene's only other arm over its' bent knee like a fulcrum. Annor leaps up to her feet, raises the blaster rifle braced into her shoulder, and aims it at the cyborg whose armour is thrummed with power; a brass-coloured visor meets Annor's gaze.

"Liene, stay down", Annor, utterly stunned by the Blitzkrieg of precision and overwhelming violence, spoke with a voice broken with panic that was heard, if not seen, throughout the concrete bunker and over the comlink.

The Demon's head immediately swivelled down to look upon the pinned figure beneath its mass. "Liene?" A synthesized deep baritone voice asked, holding its' own blaster rifle in one hand in Annor's direction. It drops the weapon without explanation. They Released Liene and pivoted away in an elegant twirl avoiding each shot from Annor's rifle like some clairvoyant ghost. It Pulls a plastic device from the pouches magnetically affixed to its' breastplate and holds a detonator. "Is your Empire so weak it has resorted to kidnapping children?"

Liene snatches her rifle from the floor and raises it toward the seven-foot-tall Demon, wreathed in a black paint that appeared to swallow the light itself. She went to pull the trigger into the receiver. "How could they know that about us?" Liene thought. Annor said something over their comlink. Liene halted her instinctive attempt to shoot the warrior; it would be fruitless if they had deflector shields. All of them did. Annor was a pragmatist and wouldn't reengage without assessing the room for a means to disengage.

Annor's rifle lowers after examining the plastic bundles lining the support structures of the cellar. Annor's shimmering turquoise visor meets the opaque brass of their assailant. "This is a prepared ambush", Annor observed outwardly into the space between the Elites and their opponent. "You're here for us." Annor continued to no reply. The three of them continued, and all lowered their ranged weapons acknowledging the reality of the deflector shields protecting each of them. "A unique resource for two faceless expendable soldiers?" Annor paused again; she felt Liene leer toward her Annor knew she wouldn't like being described as 'expendable' for no other reason than it wasn't true, and the Demon would know that.

"You're a poor liar, Elite." The Demon raises the detonator. "This Palace is now your tomb." With a squeeze of the index finger, the Earth gave way beneath Liene and Annor; they fell in silence with limbs flailing, grasping at the smooth concrete walls of the chutes for a grapple point. The Demon walks to the edge of the square-shaped hole where a Durasteel grate once spanned and peers down into the dark, murky waters fifty metres down that lap. It roils, freshly disturbed from swallowing the two armoured women. "Consider this a professional courtesy." The Demon turns away and hits the detonator again. A series of cacophonous explosions sound throughout the halls destroying the subterranean supports.

---

Spring 878 ABY...

"I don't like these parties" Annor and Liene walk abreast with one another past the proud tall oak doors; they use an outwardly indiscernible sign language known only to the Elites, devised by Berach Ulrand. Annor wore a crisp pressed bone white military intelligence uniform with embroidered cuffs entitled.' Kallus'. On the double-breasted tunic that Annor wore was virtually every decoration awarded by the Imperial Military except the prisoner of war medal and being wounded in action. Liene, contrasted with Annor, had significantly fewer distinctions. However, there were still more than an infantryman with twenty-five years of experience on the front line. The rank plague on Annor's tunic marked her among the most senior Non-Commissioned Officers in the Navy with a billet equivalent to a Battalion Commander. Ergo, it meant a Junior Officer outside her chain of command didn't have the power to give her orders.

"You're not too fond of social interaction." Liene countenanced with a smile beneath her peaked Imperial Kepi cap, which she shifted with black fine hide gloves on the black strands of her hair. Liene was impossibly tall for a Human Woman standing seven feet tall in her uniform with comparatively smaller hands and feet. Annor, by contrast, was much smaller, the top of Annor's hat cresting between the height of Liene's jaw and eyes. Annor had distinctive straw-coloured hair and a sun-kissed complexion. In contrast, Liene stood pale as a Phantasmic humanoid with nigh transculent skin.

The pair of them peer around the great hall taking in those in attendance; industrialists, statesmen and military generals. "We're likely the lowest-ranked people invited." Liene's head turns to Annor, who makes a flippant gesture with her left hand toward the ceiling; Liene takes it to mean, "Who cares?" Liene's face softly creases into a scowl; oh, how it frustrated Liene that Annor appeared outwardly indifferent to the fact that a lot of people present in the Grand Hall with them at this time would leap at the opportunity to have a personal death squad. Liene's eyes turn to the Woad as he addresses the fire-lit guests; she hoped he wouldn't loan out the protective services of the Seekers as a political favour.

Listening to the words of Erskine, virtually the entire Grand Hall snapped into a crisp customary salute used by Galidraan's inhabitants. Liene and Annor, trained in Imperial tradition, snapped to attention though they noticeably did not salute. Not out of any disrespect offered but because Imperial dress standards dictated one did not salute while in-doors. They had already broken one part of the uniform policy, though, in not removing their headdress. "Kepi," Annor whispered, and the two women, in flawlessly drilled unison with two sharp movements, brought their hats to their left hip.

"He's walking again, that's good." Annor said under her breath of the Lord-Regent.

---

---

---

Kaptein Fenneke 'Fenn' Grimlaw
An-Cridheachan, Galidraan III

Angeron carried a smoking lantern between the ranks of Shadow Legion warriors in the gargantuan hold of the two-hundred-and-forty-metre-long Dominion Frigate. He is followed by two deacons, each having aluminium bowls full of viscous blood in their pale hands. Angeron pauses in front of 8th Company's Officer Commanding, Kaptein Grimlaw. Angeron was extraordinarily tall for one of the 'High Men' nigh eight feet tall; there was more than a head between him and the soldier. "Kaptein Grimlaw, Commander of the 8th Assault Company." His voice was a serene, soothing baritone. Angeron gestured to one of his following Deacons and dipped his right hand's index finger into the precious lifeblood of their kinsmen. "Kneel and receive the benediction of our ancestors."

Fenn's left-hand fastens around the shortsword sheathed on her powered armour's belt and drops the corresponding knee into the deck. The entirety of the 8th Assault Company mimics their commander. Fenn's helmeted head bows and Angeron inscribed a rune into the space above Fenn's greenish eye lenses; his throat rumbled with a deep ancient power that rose from the underworld. "May your ancestors turn their gaze upon you with favour, Fenn Grimlaw." Fenn rises to stand at-east with the left gauntlet still fastened around her tanto's hilt. Seconds turn to minutes, and minutes turn to an hour. The Dominion Frigate's feet settle onto the surface of Galidraan III.

Chapter Master Grann Ironfist was the Master of the Chapter of Veiled Deceit, one of the Shadow Legions' constituent units. The Shadow Legion itself started as a band of Privateers, raiders in the lawful employ of the Frysk dominion. The preferred Private Military Company of choice to do the Frysk Dominion's dirty work beyond their borders had been referred to the Lord Regent directly for employment. The Frigate's stern hanger door folds rearward, and a ramp extends like a tongue from the Hanger Floor. Grann Ironfist stood proudly with his helmet tucked under his left arm; the skin of his face was a patchwork of burns and lacerations. It was a declaration that, first and foremost that Norr Officers led from the front.

Grann stood beside Fenn, and she heard his nostrils suck in the thin atmosphere of Galidraan III. "The low men occupy soft worlds that cater to their weakness." Fenn calmly breathes the recycled and rich atmosphere within the confines of her helmet. Grann's eyes look around, and he cracks an utterly hideous smile licking his lips like a hungry wolf. "Look at their country, fertile and ripe. Were it that our race numbered as theirs." Grann pauses and turns his gaze to Fenn, who stares forward at attention. "What do you see out there, Fenn?"

Without so much as breaking her posture Fenn squints toward the pier-side great wall and imagines the pleasant scent of fresh water; it reminded her of the home where she grew up on the coast. "I see opportunity Grann, the opportunity to strengthen our people. For my children to grow and prosper. We'll never stand apart from the Empire, but by standing with it, we can build a future beyond the wildest dreams of our heroic fathers." Fenn pauses for a moment. "We would change a place like this, but it would also change us."

Grann was fascinated with her last statement, so he turned his whole body to address his subordinate in a sign of respect. "How do you think it would change us, Fenn?"

Fenn's eyes shift behind the lenses and fix on Grann's familiar scarred face. "Living softly, we would prosper, but the same prosperity would lend itself to a weakening of our traditions and practices." Fenn paused. "It would make us weaker."

Grann took a few steps toward Fenn; they stood eye-to-eye with one-another equal height. Grann is considered short and thin for a Norr male. "And how would we mitigate that weakness?"

The answer appeared obvious in Fenn's mind. "Our children should be raised on Frysk as our ancestors, and we were. Colonial living and prosperity shall be reserved for Citizens."

Grann gave a dip of his head in approval. "I agree. Perhaps one day I will see you in the Conclave as a Magistrate."

"Perhaps I will; blood alone turns the wheel of history, and it starts here. With our service to the Empire." Fenn paused and inclined her head to the gravel parade ground awaiting the Chapter's arrival.

 

[FN-999]

HOME OF THE BRAVE
INTENT TO INTERACT WITH: DECEASED Erskine Barran | Liene E-230

ONE HOUR BEFORE LANDING

The Baron floated serenely in a bacta tank, left to his own devices.
​

Just days ago, he had been gravely wounded on Dorin, only his sheer rage and motivation to live sparing him from a fiery death. Days before that, he had personally led the defense of Blacksite Barbarous, only to be outwitted and overpowered by the Jedi rescue team. Worse yet, the Blacksite's treacherous warden had briefly taken him hostage, intending to earn the Alliance's favor by delivering him to them. In each situation, he had barely gotten out alive, and being the suicidally patriotic idiot that he was, he had sent his body beyond his physical limit. In the end, it had barely taken any psychic coercion to knock him out.

Yet even the Baron's failing body would not stop him from visiting Galidraan.

FN-999 had scheduled the visit months in advance, clearing for himself a two-day opening where his services were not immediately needed on the battlefield or in his barony in Borosk. As the home of the sitting Lord-Regent and the highly influential Barran clan, it was absolutely essential for the newly minted noble to understand the affairs of Galidraan.

If anything, it would distract the Baron from his failures on Dorin. Because of his mistakes, thousands of good men had died in the Blacksite and besieging the hangar. He had failed to notice the warden's treachery until a gun had been put to his head and had only escaped a potential hostage situation thanks to the assistance of his close lieutenant Bigfoot. He knew that some of it was irrational self-deprecation: his therapist had drilled that much into him. FN-999 knew better than most that no battle plan survived contact with the enemy, and surprises were always bound to happen. However, he had never abandoned his compassion for his troops. Even if he could no longer memorize all of their names, each casualty still felt like a punch in the gut. Here he was, sending men and women half his age to die hundreds of light-years away from their homes. Was it really worth it?

He had grappled with that question every day for the past five years of his life.

"My Lord, we're about to exit hyperspace." called a medic as he entered the room.

FN-999 took a moment to swim upwards, towards the top of the bacta tank. He only stopped when his head popped above the surface, taking off his mask to better communicate.

"Please just call me Colonel Nines."

ONE HOUR LATER

Decked out in full stormtrooper armor, the Baron descended the ramp of the shuttle, taking his first step on Galidraani soil.

Or at least, he was going to, until his left leg cramped around the knee, sending him tumbling to the ground.

An onlooker in the hangar rushed over, offering FN-999 his hand.
​

"Thank you, good sir." stated the Baron as he took the man's hand, rising to his feet once more.

"No problem." replied the man. "Welcome to Galidraan III, the most beautiful hellscape you'll ever see."

As soon as he walked out of the hangar, FN-999 understood exactly what the man meant.

The city in front of him lay in the shadow of an enormous mountain range, its jagged peaks utterly dominating in comparison to the quaint rolling hills of Borosk. Vast glaciers wound their way through the range, a snake of ice constricting the rock in between. The air was cool and dry, a breeze rushing in from the mountains.

Yet within the rugged plateau, the people of central Galidraan thrived. Thousands crowded busy streets and vendors sold their wares, hundreds of large banners waving overhead with the crest of a blue lion. Blue-Heart, as the soldiers of the Wildcat Division had sometimes gone by.

Decked out in his full armor as usual and standing over two meters tall, the Baron stood out among the crowd. A few curious pedestrians stared as they walked by, parting to allow the large man to pass unobstructed. He paid them no heed.

He had more important places to be.

 

[Ignacious Korvan]

Grand Moff Korvan​

Location: Galidraan III - Descent, An-Cridheachan
Tags: DECEASED Erskine Barran | Liene E-230 | FN-999

Given the manner in which the diplomatic summit on Kestri had taken place, Ignacious was uncertain what this invitation to make the trip to Galidraan III - by Erskine Barran no less - meant. During their last meeting, the Lord Regent appeared all too ready to execute the Grand Moff on the spot for the rumors surrounding his culpability in the premature demise of thousands of Imperial servicemen. Yet, it would seem the facts of the situation were enough to dissuade the Lord Regent’s thirst for blood, if only temporarily.

It wasn’t as though the Grand Moff was incompetent. Although the Galactic Alliance claimed victory over Ilum, the fact was that the Empire had achieved her objectives even so. What did they think - that the Empire meant to occupy the frontier world? ‘Hardly.’ No, even with near-loss of the prototype, the Empire had gotten what it wanted. It had sent a message to the Alliance military, who knew well that their forces did not achieve victory on that day.

The Empire was out for blood, and in a more practical sense - kyber crystals. The tithe for both was paid tenfold on that day. In the months to follow, the Chiss Rebellion would be crushed, with the Western Frontier being put to rights in short order. Peace was restored in the Empire, however briefly it was fated to remain. Despite the speed bumps along the way (including the rather major one over Kestri), Korvan was on the rise within the Central Government, and in the Imperial Navy. The fools within the Mandalorian Enclave were thirsty for war, yet if they thought the Empire was as easy a mark as the Eternal Empire was, they would be sorely mistaken.

The Empire may have been weakened by the Chiss rebellion, but it had proven itself resilient enough to survive and restore order. If war was desired, then War would commence - the likes of which would make the incident on Mandalore look like a minor disagreement.

That is, if Korvan had anything to say about it. He may have been considered a blithering diplomat by his rivals, but none could dispute his military capabilities. A strength it would seem the Lord Regent valued as of late.

The Grand Moff’s thoughts focused on his eventual meeting with the Lord Regent as his shuttle descended to the planet and landed within the spaceport.

​

Location: Galidraan III - The Lord Regent’s Estate

Ignacious would emerge from his landspeeder bedecked in the snow white uniform of his rank as a Grand Admiral, yet bearing the rank placard of his Central Government role as a Grand Moff. The sable-black armor of his Death Mask bodyguards flanked him on either side as he proceeded through the main entrance of the estate, with several Imperial dignitaries of inferior station standing-to as he passed by.

The Grand Moff’s entrance into the estate would pass with a slight increase in the air of authority in the room. While his presence was no more meaningful than that of the Lord Regent himself, this would be among the first of potentially many future public appearances of the two men at the same place at the same time.

The first of such meetings had resulted in an attempt on the Grand Moff’s life, and the second was at a diplomatic summit destined to fail horribly. But this one - the third of these meetings - was as much of a mystery to him as it was to those around him. Even still, he carried himself with the dignity and authority one might expect of a senior government official; grasping a glass of wine from a passing servant as he made his way deeper into the main hall, just as Erskine was about to address the rest of the room.

​

 

[DECEASED Erskine Barran]

2nd post

HOMEWARD BOUND FOR A WHILE

SHIELD_ONE

Lord-Regent of the Empire
Grand-Triumvir of the Tarkinist Administration
Governor-Chieftain of Galidraan III

Tags: Ignacious Korvan Annor E-059 Erin E-141 Liene E-230 FN-999

FATE OF THE REALM VI: IN THE WAKE OF TOR VALUM - PART 2

West Foyer, Barran Hall,
An-Cridheachan, Galidraan III (Spring 878 ABY)

Dia be praised....

All three Elites made it here-
Even Nines has shown up. An' glories are these if my Baron shows up, glories indeed.
​

Applauding his entrance and downing drinks all around him, it was clear to Barran that both his presence and his oratory were as welcome in his own home as he was, though it felt even more like a home he didn't recognise than it had when he first returned. The Steward of Imperium, despite his self-doubts in such a sorry state still, could feel the warmth in the reception; and though the Elites among them stood as testament to the wrongs he had committed to make it so far, all three examples of scientific wonder appeared to be as glad of his presence as all the others in attendance, and for this - the Lord-Regent was extremely grateful.

​

'Now, I know I've been speaking of the good ol' days like they were somehow easy for us, an' for this I apologise.... I see faces here who were present for the latest Civil War as much as they were for the beginning of the latest Great Hyperspace War in turn, and of those who had no choice but to endure both - I can only beg Dia's forgiveness for asking for one last run at glory.'

Well-stated from the offset, the Lord-Regent was laying out the deathly cost of the attendees' further-involvement for everyone's sake, but before he could continue, a familiar face stepped forth from the small throng of gathered heroes. It was the former Chaplain-Major, though standing as the new High-Bishop of Calavar, wearing Holy attire as he approached until he stopped respectfully close to his former Lord-Commander, close enough to lay a kindly, understanding hand on the Goidel's shoulder. Calmly replying for everyone with a simple,'Lord Barran.... We do not mind, for we believe your cause to be more just than you're allowing yourself to believe, and even then, I will briefly drop the robes for military attire as soon as I have words with my peers.', in his recognisably Northern-Galidraani accent, though also in what was instantly recognised to be Brand's new high-priestly cadence.

'Your Chaplain will remain as ready for the Crucible as he was when first he found God on Ilum. A planet you visited for a second time, an honour for which your Chaplain was not called up.... And so, from this moment henceforth, wherever your feet tread, my feet will follow in whatever path you make for me - and in this you will see divinity in purpose itself.... Such purpose was always Heaven-sent, Lord Barran. And you of all people should know this as well as I.'

Shocked though he was, and continuing an increasing silence, (and not only between himself and Phillip the former tank-commander, but between them both and the rest of the room also) Lord Erskine was still very much stirred enough by the words of his old friend that he quickly shot back,'Aye, about that - we can talk plenty about Ilum after the proceedings here if you want, won't take us too long either. Would this offer some piece of mind for now at least?', understanding the plight of the one who commissioned the Blue-Heart cenotaph near the Goliath graveyard, understanding that there was much and more to explain to his former colleague on the matter. And yet, much to the Lord-Regent's good fortune, the former Chaplain-Major understood his old friend's tone was hinting there was much he wanted to say about Ilum in particular, sympathizing enough to shake hands with a silent nod of acquiescence before taking place among the small gathering again for Lord Erskine's sake.

'Brother, your patience knows no bounds, truly.... An' I promise you now, there will be much to talk abou-'

​

Just as the Lord-Regent was about to let the festivities begin, just when he was about to relax once and for all, a new arrival had walked in behind him, fanfaring his arrival at the sound of the oaken doorway's screeching Durasteel hinges. Turning around, Lord Erskine would still find himself glad of Lord Ignacious' presence, not only for the fulfilment of yet another strange order from the apex leading aspect of the Triumvirate, but in being there in a time when the old Woad's allies were dwindling down to few and far between.

'HIGH-COMMAND OFFICER IN ATTENDANCE!!!! ATTEEEEEEEEN-SHUN!!!!'​

'Aaaaaa.... I was wondering when this one would arrive.... At ease, ladies an' gentlemen! Do not be worried by the attire, I've gone to great lengths to see to it that this one has been tried, tested and' vetted all the same. Your words are safe around this one - for you will find them according heavily with those of the Grand-Admiral here.'

​

As the Grand Moff walked up beside him, the Steward of Imperium cast him a warm-hearted smirk as he concluded,'Hard choices have been demanded of this one, and in the complications, true conviction was realised. But enough o' that for now, my exclusively esteemed guests.... For tonight, we drink, be merry, an' STAND IN FORMATION OF A BETTER TOMORROW - ANOTHER GENERATION OF IMPERIAL DOMINANCE!!!!', straightening posture with whiskey glass raised in his own salute, thanking all the attendees for their unwavering loyalty thus far. But the gathering weren't done with their warm displays of loyalty, not by a long chalk, and certainly not as far as the Empire's last true stalwart was concerned, for affirmations aplenty would always await one who gave them all reasons to aspire to something greater.

'GOD SAVE THE EMPIRE-'
​

'GOD SAVE BARRAN!!!!'
'GOD SAVE BARRAN!!!!'
'GOD SAVE BARRAN!!!!'
'GOD SAVE BARRAN!!!!'
'GOD SAVE BARRAN!!!!'
'GOD SAVE BARRAN!!!!'
'GOD SAVE BARRAN!!!!'

​

 

[Corvallis Tavlar]

IMPENITENT SON
The Order of Imperial Knights
Katja Javik
[IGNEOUS]

Turbulence shook the transport when it broke the barrier between vacuum and ether. The scream of repulsors and atmospheric engines quickly grew along with the atmospheric density until Corvallis could hardly hear himself think. Atmolocks pulsed, strangling sounds from the exterior to a muffle and altered the pressure in his ears with an unpleasant tension. Corvallis manifested a faint wince, one eye squeezed shut as he rolled his jaw to release the bubble sensation in his ear canal.

"Knight Tavlar, Sergeant Javik, welcome to Galidran III," the Pilot called over his shoulder in a fitting Galidraani accent. "Ten minutes flight-time until Barran Hall."

Corvallis seized an overhead strap handled and leaned a shade forward to peer out of the glasteel ports. Horizons of green-and-stone highlands undulated as they were strung along a limited sightline. An amused hum emanated from the Knight as he watched the hills seethe by from overhead. It was far from the most remarkable planet he'd ever seen, yet there was an inexplicable elegance in its featureless simplicity. One of the rare places where it wouldn't be laborious to simply enjoy its particular nature, he postulated.

"So, what exactly coaxes a SCAR medic to come all the way to Galidraan III?" Corvallis inquired as his regard slowly turned from the port. It was the first thing he'd said beyond an assurance of recognition wrapped in a cordial greeting since they boarded the transport. Their acquaintance before this point had been brief, and as such Corvallis was the farthest thing from an amiable chatterbox.

An expressionless visage contradicted the notion of genuine curiosity in his query, though a vestigial incline of the brow went as far as to betray the contradiction. Affable impassiveness must have been a congenital quality, considering the prevalence among the late Imperator and his progeny. Corvallis, however, possessed the kind of stony astuteness that had become almost stereotypical for Knights of the Order. A puzzling composition made no simpler by an appended sentiment; "I would wager security were it not for the fact that we're both late to this reception."

 

[Ignacious Korvan]

Grand Moff Korvan​

Location: Galidraan III - The Lord Regent’s Estate
Tags: DECEASED Erskine Barran | Liene E-230 | FN-999 | Corvallis Tavlar

'HIGH-COMMAND OFFICER IN ATTENDANCE!!!! ATTEEEEEEEEN-SHUN!!!!'

As Ignacious entered the great hall, he had to admit he was slightly taken aback by the almost-immediate recognition of his arrival. Perhaps he had taken for granted that on the Capital, high-ranking officials were a common sight for the general populace within Imperial High Society. The Grand Moff had heard much of Galidraani discipline and respect for title and patronage, and had been exposed to it to a small degree during his tenure as liaison between the New Imperial Fleet and Galidraani High Command during the Great War - yet he was nowhere close to the level he had ascended to in the past few years. It struck differently being the recipient of such honor and attention, as opposed to being a mere spectator to such treatment.

Even still, Ignacious carried the accolades in stride as he nodded to a few who he recognized. But he did not anticipate what would follow; namely the voice of the Lord Regent himself.

'Aaaaaa.... I was wondering when this one would arrive.... At ease, ladies an' gentlemen! Do not be worried by the attire, I've gone to great lengths to see to it that this one has been tried, tested and' vetted all the same. Your words are safe around this one - for you will find them according heavily with those of the Grand-Admiral here.'

In a rare sight, Ignacious froze on the spot as the Lord Regent spoke of him in such a way. The slightest of cracks in his frozen demeanor could be seen. Was it shock?

It felt quite shocking, for as already mentioned, Ignacious was not wholly confident as to where he stood with Erskine. But as the Lord Regent continued, whatever doubts or ambiguity that may have remained would be categorically dispelled:

As the Grand Moff walked up beside him, the Steward of Imperium cast him a warm-hearted smirk as he concluded,'Hard choices have been demanded of this one, and in the complications, true conviction was realised. But enough o' that for now, my exclusively esteemed guests.... For tonight, we drink, be merry, an' STAND IN FORMATION OF A BETTER TOMORROW - ANOTHER GENERATION OF IMPERIAL DOMINANCE!!!!', straightening posture with whiskey glass raised in his own salute, thanking all the attendees for their unwavering loyalty thus far. But the gathering weren't done with their warm displays of loyalty, not by a long chalk, and certainly not as far as the Empire's last true stalwart was concerned, for affirmations aplenty would always await one who gave them all reasons to aspire to something greater.

Korvan’s gaze met Erskine’s, with a fractional nod being exchanged between the two men before his attention shifted to those before him. Everyone’s glasses were raised as Erskine spoke again.

'GOD SAVE THE EMPIRE-'

'GOD SAVE BARRAN!!!!'
'GOD SAVE BARRAN!!!!'
'GOD SAVE BARRAN!!!!'
'GOD SAVE BARRAN!!!!'
'GOD SAVE BARRAN!!!!'
'GOD SAVE BARRAN!!!!'
'GOD SAVE BARRAN!!!!'

“God Save the Empire.” Korvan mumbled as everyone’s voice joined together. He brought the glass of wine up to his lips as everyone drank their fill of the toast. Thereafter, the Grand Moff took a few steps closer to the Lord Regent and spoke in a lower tone as he slightly inclined his head in deference. “My Lord - thank you for the... unexpected recognition, as well as the invitation to join you here. I can’t say I’ve ever made the journey to Galidraan until now.”

The Grand Moff offered a rare smile. “I am eager to learn what is on the agenda for our stay. I’ve brought my hunting gear... just in case.”

It felt... odd, for Ignacious to resign himself to the unknown. It was certainly possible that this trip was rife with all manner of unspoken tests and pitfalls on the part of the Lord Regent - but it was also quite possible that in a rare instance of levity, this trip was nothing more than an excuse for recreation.

The most deadly game of all in The Empire.

 

[FN-999]

HOME OF THE BRAVE
INTENT TO INTERACT WITH: DECEASED Erskine Barran | Ignacious Korvan

GALIDRAN III: THE LORD-REGENT'S ESTATE

The Baron arrived at the estate not a second behind schedule.
​

The reception hall seemed to swallow him whole, its vastness leading FN-999 deeper inside. Servants scurried to and fro, undoubtedly responsible for the upkeep of such a grand facility. He arrived in the main hall not long afterwards, standing near the back of the room and peering out towards the front. The Lord-Regent himself had arrived with his top officers, who currently chatted animatedly among themselves.

Before long, the meeting formally began.

'Now, I know I've been speaking of the good ol' days like they were somehow easy for us, an' for this I apologise.... I see faces here who were present for the latest Civil War as much as they were for the beginning of the latest Great Hyperspace War in turn, and of those who had no choice but to endure both - I can only beg Dia's forgiveness for asking for one last run at glory.'

FN-999 settled down where he stood and continued listening. The Lord-Regent exchanged words with one of his commanders before the shouts of the honor guard alerted the room of the presence of a certain Korvan. He stood at attention with the other officers of the room, giving the Grand Moff his due respect as he strode by.

'GOD SAVE THE EMPIRE-'

'GOD SAVE BARRAN!!!!'
'GOD SAVE BARRAN!!!!'
'GOD SAVE BARRAN!!!!'
'GOD SAVE BARRAN!!!!'
'GOD SAVE BARRAN!!!!'
'GOD SAVE BARRAN!!!!'
'GOD SAVE BARRAN!!!!'

"God save the Empire." repeated the Baron.

With blessings given and received, chatter filled the room once more, giving FN-999 all the opening he needed to approach the Lord-Regent. Normally, he would never dare be so bold. However, two factors motivated him to approach: he had been invited personally, and he did not fully understand the agenda of the meeting.

As FN-999 drew closer, he overheard part of an exchange between the Lord-Regent and the Grand Moff, with the latter raising the same question the Baron was about to ask: what is the agenda? In a show of respect to both of his seniors, FN-999 took off his helmet, fixing it to a hook on his waist belt. He instantly tensed at the sensation of unfiltered air hitting his exposed bald head, but in the blink of an eye he managed to hide his nerves behind a casual poker face.

"I have the same question, Lord-Regent." introduced the Baron. "What tasks lay ahead of us?"

 

[Katja Javik]

501st LEGION
IMPERIAL SPECIAL FORCES
Corvallis Tavlar

​

It had almost been a spontaneous decision to leave when she had. Although the sentiment had been lingering under the surface for a while, she was not known for being particularly proactive. She didn't care for being the one to make decisions because it meant accepting responsibility and the reality that accompanied. Even so, she held a duty towards her fellow Imperials, particularly her squadron, as their medic and it was that sense of duty that had brought her to Galidraan.

But she wasn't visiting alone.

It hadn't exactly been planned, seeing as they didn't yet know each other well enough to exchange much of a conversation beyond pleasantries, let alone intentionally crash a gathering of some of the Empire's most esteemed together. It had been easy enough to befriend his brother since the pair often worked together but she didn't believe herself to hold much common ground with a Knight. They seemed to be far different in temperament to the usual bravado that she was used to but she was thankful for Corvallis' presence nonetheless, hoping that he would add some legitimacy to her own presence at the gathering.

In the near-silence, aside from the humming and whirring of the aircraft, she pondered as her gaze idly shifted over the landscape. She had grown up in a city but war had seen her reach far corners of the galaxy and left her jaded, though she could appreciate beauty in simplicity, as she had learned through her change in lifestyle upon joining the military. There was no elegance in battle, contrary to the present as both sat uniformed by their respective branches, Katja decorated by the rather lowly rank of Sergeant compared to the others in attendance.

The Knight's movement briefly caught her attention out of the corner of her eye but it wasn't until he addressed her that she turned to face him, regarding his expression with curiosity as he spoke. She gave a small smile of amusement at his comment. "I'm usually more punctual. It's just that this was more of a spontaneous opportunity." She replied initially before continuing to answer his question.

"I have some concerns I'd like addressing about the lack of infantry support for special forces. I wouldn't normally get involved but I felt this was important." She answered. "What about yourself?" She asked out of genuine curiosity rather than politeness, assuming that since he had asked her first then he wouldn't mind responding.

 

[Liene E-230]

Liene E-230
Objective: Home of the Brave
Post #: 1
Writing With: DECEASED Erskine Barran Ignacious Korvan FN-999
Narrative Tags: DECEASED Erskine Barran Ignacious Korvan FN-999

Liene and Annor came up behind Erksine as the chanting faded. Annor keeps her gaze focused on Korvan, she watches him lean into Erskine's ear, despite what might be considered the safety of distance. The sensitive tiny fibres in Annor's ears prickle and hear each syllable of their exchange. Liene casually turned from Annor placing her gaze in the opposite direction in a not-so-subtle display of the concept of '360 degree security. It was well known though seldom acknowledged the Lord-Regent kept 'Elite Troopers' for a close personal protection detail.

A man whose height threatened Liene's began to approach Korvan and Erskine as they spoke; Liene studied his clothes fastidiously within half a heartbeat and identified him almost immediately as an honoured member of the Imperial Aristocracy. Liene nodded to the Baron beneath the visor of her Cap's bill. "Sir." Liene stepped out of the Baron's way, though allowed herself the indulgence of allowing her gaze to linger somewhat longer. Liene thought the skin of his face said he was young while the piercing gaze was the familiar one of a weary Veteran.

---

Kaptein Fenneke 'Fenn' Grimlaw
An-Cridheachan, Galidraan III

The halls great doors are steadily pivot open with a great steady carnivorous groan that was difficult to ignore, piercing the sound of the rancorous revelry. Through it walked two files of figures clad in head-to-toe vanta black coloured industrial-looking powered armour. Their two lines were four people deep. At the formation's head standing centered between the two files is a lone unhelmeted man, Grann Ironfist wearing his deep ugly facial scars, bald head and clean shaven face proudly. Each of the newcomers stand as giants, the crest of their helmets all stood two metres from the soles of their boots.

Walking parallel to the two files of guests on either side was an armed detail of Erskine's household guard. "Mi laird regent sa!" The Lieutenant calls to where Erskine stood, flanked by two officers and a pair of 'Elite Troopers'. "Th' black legion o' Frysk."

The giants each wore a crimson-stripe down the centre of their helmets. Following behind the two files not visible immediately from the front, is a priest holding a pendulum that swings from a chain scattering incense and smoke in the warriors' wake. His throat, made a smooth monotone rumble and its' baritone recites a pledge in the ancient language of the Norr. "Fan 'e stjerren nei it lân fan Izer, wy binne kommen. Us belofte is om út te hâlden oant de tiid einiget." The two files take a pace on their left foot in wordless unison and then bring up their right leg with their knee at a right angle and then slam their soles down into the floor with a singular fantastic clap.

Grann Ironfist's eyes searched for Erskine's gaze, the fingertips of Grann's right hand steadily rose up and softly touches to brow in a sign of deep respect. "I am Grann Ironfist, Chapter Master of the Veiled Deceit." Grann's galactic basic accent sounded akin to a rural roughneck coresman, his penetrating gaze looks around to the officers around him and is particularly taken by the opulence and wealth on display with the guilded artistry woven into the architecture though he did not show it in the slightest. "By the will of our ancestors, as obligated by the Ironstar concordat, we are here to fulfill the dominion's pledge to war for Empire and Lord-Regent, he who we know as 'Steward of Iron and Warmaster."

A small minority of Imperial soldiers had fought a war against the Norr to bring their errant world to heel, such was their ferocity and discipline honed by an utterly unforgiving and inhospitable homeworld that conflict had ended in a mutually beneficial treaty now come to fruition. The Norr were honourable, scorned cowardice and put oathbreakers on gallows. "The Black Legion come in the time of the Empire's need, and shall pierce its' enemies like a pike." Grann sentence came out in a low growl left fist came up and snatches into a tight fist.

 

[DECEASED Erskine Barran]

3rd post

HOMEWARD BOUND FOR A WHILE

SHIELD_ONE

Lord-Regent of the Empire
Grand-Triumvir of the Tarkinist Administration
Governor-Chieftain of Galidraan III

Tags: Ignacious Korvan Annor E-059 Erin E-141 Liene E-230 FN-999
Corvallis Tavlar Katja Javik

FATE OF THE REALM VI: IN THE WAKE OF TOR VALUM - PART 3

West Foyer, Barran Hall,
An-Cridheachan, Galidraan III (Spring 878 ABY)

Ah, good job the man showed....
I need Ignacious here the most, I need 'im prepared for whatever comes next.
​

'My Lord - thank you for the... unexpected recognition, as well as the invitation to join you here. I can't say I've ever made the journey to Galidraan until now.'

​

Despite the rocky start, there was nothing stopping the Lord-Regent from appreciating the Grand-Moff for the man he was off-duty, and much the same vice versa, but with all the testing, lecturing and lessons all given by then, all that remained was the inevitable seal of approval and the expected accompanying rationale. It was obvious by then that, with the right direction and the right mentorship, the Naval Powerhouse could become a true legend in his own right; and in seeing the commitment to the most-irregular of the Regency's summons so far, Lord Erskine couldn't help but believe it possible by that point of the war, solidifying his self-assurances that the right choice had been made in the end.

'I am eager to learn what is on the agenda for our stay. I've brought my hunting gear... just in case.'

​

The two highest-ranking officials in the room were in the process of shaking hands, expressing sincere respect for each other in clear sight of their subordinates, showing as the sort of unity the Empire needed to see before their colleague in prestige strolled over to take his rightful place among them. 'I have the same question, Lord-Regent.', the war-hero began, pausing to accept the old Woad's offer for a handshake as soon as his hand had parted with that of the rising star, fitting in well with the nobles already. And when the Baron eventually asked,'What tasks lay ahead of us?', the Lord-Regent couldn't help but smirk in appreciation, comforted in increasing confidence that the right man had been chosen to ascend from the trooper caste.

'Well, I dare say the tasks an' the hunting temptations can wait for now, but I will be needing your firearms present for a particular broadcast I intend to run on the Holonet.... My - assessment of the Galaxy's factions - so to speak. But first-'

'Mi laird regent sa!', an old Household Guard of Barran Hall cut in, though just in time for Barran himself to get to the first order of business before the broadcast, seemingly understanding exactly what could prompt such specific exclamations from the entrance, and seemingly before anyone else in the room. As it seemed there were more expected than was first assumed, though as for how many, none of the guests within could say for sure, though the old Woad wouldn't keep them waiting in earnest for long - nor would he endeavour to keep the new arrivals waiting either.

'Heh! Like clockwork, so they are.... Now, if all the guests would like to follow me out to the courtyard - I have a little something to show you all. A certain something akin to displaying the power of Imperial decrees, so to speak.'

And in a silence to himself, Erskine pivoted on the spot with military about-face precision, aided by the walking-cane his cousin made to aid such movements; then from there, the old Woad then marched in leading the small procession out to the lush, garden-filled courtyard beyond the doorway, flanked by officials with Elite-Troopers marching on either side of Nines and Ignacious respectively. Then as soon as the procession made it out into the light of the fading sunset, the old Guardsman announced the latest arrivals,'Th' black legion o' Frysk.', just as soon as the last of the guests within had stepped outside the entrance. Quite the introduction for the last expected arrivals, especially in seeing them formed up in battle-order, dressed in their best armour-sets and sporting the recognisable red streak of the Norrmen on their helmets, leaving quite the favourable impression on the revellers already.

'Fan 'e stjerren nei it lân fan Izer, wy binne kommen. Us belofte is om út te hâlden oant de tiid einiget.'
​

With a priest leading the Norrmen's procession, waving incense back and forth, it almost seemed as if his voice was coming from deep beneath everyone's feet instead of up at head-and-shoulder level, almost as if the incense-wielding man of the cloth was summoning their god from the deep soils of An-Cridheachan. But what the Lord-Regent never expected was what happened next, given flashbacks by the mere sight of the warriors kneeling as one before him, snapping him back to the very liberation of Galidraan III itself, and with nothing more than the deep armoured slapping of knees on the scaled slab-tiling of the castle's wide-reaching parade ground. Just as the officers of the Blue-Heart Brigade had almost eleven years before that day, the Black Legion of Frysk would kneel before the Lord-Regent as the Woads once had for Rurik Fel, taking Barran aback in ways he could never have possibly anticipated.

Get it together, man.
Not the time for weepy nostalgia, not in any capacity.
​

'This, my esteemed friends, is the result of our latest cultural-conservation edict- I forget the precise nomenclature but as you can see, it was meant for more than just our Thyrsians, Arkanians, an' loyalist-Chiss respectively.... The Norrmen, well, thats a story for a quieter hour I dare say.... But in any case, you two, Elites too, follow me!'

​

'I am Grann Ironfist, Chapter Master of the Veiled Deceit.', the nearest officer introduced himself with a casual, though endearing salute in greeting, and spoken in better-than-passable Galactic Basic, already proving a natural multilingual despite the potential difficulties that come with switching between cousin-languages. Perhaps in time the differing Goidelic brogues (and perhaps even the Tuathan-Carrack with enough practice) would be learned on a conversational level, but for the time being, the old Woad would be happy listening on as Ironfist continued,'By the will of our ancestors, as obligated by the Ironstar concordat, we are here to fulfill the dominion's pledge to war for Empire and Lord-Regent, he who we know as "Steward of Iron and Warmaster".', holding Barran's gaze and his own confident proclamation as the small Imperial delegation approached.

'The Black Legion come in the time of the Empire's need, and shall pierce its' enemies like a pike.'

​

Bowing head in gestured response, the old Woad extended his hand in a kindly offer of friendship, then warmly smirked towards his kindred in cold-eyed stares as he replied,'I would be that Steward, Lord Grann.... My name is Erskine Barran, Lord-Regent of the Empire an' the ancestral chieftain o' the lands upon which we stand now - and it is an honour to make your acquaintance finally.', pausing in his amble in the moment Ironfist's hand met Barran's own in the middle. From there, curt nods of respect were given in early foundation of a good rapport between them, giving Erskine enough speaking room to introduce the others to continue,'Unsure if you're aware of my Elites or not, but I'm sure the Norr would could learn much from this sort.... An' as for these two, meet my most-prominent subordinates, both functioning as strategic lynchpins on the ground an' in the air. Rest assured you'll be seeing a lot o' these two in the future.', leaning in to whisper as soon as he was finished.

​

'You arrived just in time, my new friend. First order o' business is this; fall yer subordinates out, liquor them up an' get them all a little amped up for me if ye can.... I am just two hours away from putting an entire Galaxy on notice.... We have our Casus Belli now, and one such that is unlike any other in Imperial history - an' I suspect the ensuing fireworks to be of the greatest magnitude in response. But first-'

Carefully stepping back with a wink whilst in the process of successfully finessing the attempt to hide his poor physical health, Barran then tapped his earlobe in a silent suggestion to listen before he turned to exclaim,'Ladies an' gentlemen, humble classes of every standard, I hereby stand to present.... The Norrmen of Frisk! The strongest of foes within our borders in years bygone - now preserved and brought into the Imperial fold where they belong!', pausing for effect as he studied the curious gazes of the other guests. None of them knew what purpose, what function or whichever Imperial ambition they were serving, none but Erskine and the Norrmen themselves, though it wouldn't be long before their true purpose was known to all, within and outside the Empire's ever-expanding borders.

'By decree, as we had with the Arkanians of Novania before them, conservation allows an unsullied, primordial strain of humanity - to thrive under the Imperial Iron Sun! TO THRIVE AS THE OTHER IMPERIALS DO - AN' TO PROVE THEIR WORTH AGAINST THE ARMIES OF THE GALAXY WHEN THE NEED ARISES!!!!'

Then with a brief tilt of his head, Barran then nodded silent consent towards Ironfist to proceed in falling out the armoured warriors, turning back to the other guests in the hopes the kneeling masses wouldn't bring about more flashbacks of people he still grieved at the time. The old Woad had to host a party after all, and only when everyone was ready would he be ready to start his public Holo-Transmission, as everything was clicking into place by then; but with enough leeway, Lord Erskine knew he had time enough to celebrate a little in anticipation, regardless of the urgency of the matters at hand. There were allocations, declarations and ideas to be thrown around in discussion after all, and with as much out the way as possible, there would be more of a productive quality in the occasion than there had been for others before, hoping for an upward trend in other instances of this already-fortuitous outing.

Life, comatose or the Nether....

Regardless of which outcome my own fate would decide for me,
I would have our next generation readied for dominance - true dominance.

​

 

[Ignacious Korvan]

Grand Moff Korvan​

Location: Galidraan III - The Lord Regent’s Estate
Tags: DECEASED Erskine Barran | Liene E-230 | FN-999 | Corvallis Tavlar

"I have the same question, Lord-Regent." introduced the Baron. "What tasks lay ahead of us?"

Another faintly familiar voice came from the side, which caused Ignacious to glance in the direction of the question. It took a moment for it to register who he was, but soon enough Ignacious would recognize the unmasked face of FN-999. The Grand Moff had to admit, he knew little and less about the man aside from that he was an exceedingly well decorated military commander within IMPAF, and had secured a promotion to the rank of Baron at the same ceremony in which Korvan himself had been the intended target of a failed assassination attempt. Despite the Grand Moff’s ability to present a neutral and barely perceptible expression when at public events, it was clear to the select few who knew him in more private and intimate settings that the attempt had agitated certain scars within him.

He had spent much of his early adulthood narrowly avoiding attempts on his life by his lord father; at times only just escaping such a fate by nothing more than his own guile. But he had only survived this attempt thanks to a few millimeters of protective under armor, which had only narrowly missed striking true by again a handful of centimeters. His recollection was foggy for the moments after the attack, but he knew that he owed his life to Admiral Charidot, the handful of members within SCAR, and the Baron himself. Even with the effort Korvan had taken to learn more about one of those valiant few, FN-999 was a hard man to learn more about. His dossier within the Imperial records were sealed by none other than the ISB itself, which lent itself to the notion that there was more to the Baron than initially met the eye.

Ignacious would have to be tactful if he was to use this meeting as a medium to learn more about him, as well as leverage the situation to gain influence with the Lord Regent himself. But all in due time...

'Well, I dare say the tasks an' the hunting temptations can wait for now, but I will be needing your firearms present for a particular broadcast I intend to run on the Holonet.... My - assessment of the Galaxy's factions - so to speak. But first-'

‘Interesting...’ Korvan thought to himself. If memory served, Erskine was not a man who often bothered with presenting himself for an official statement via broadcast. As of late, it would appear the Lord Regent was more than content to delegate such things to Ignacious, or other senior members of the central government. Whatever it was, the implication was clear - it was important enough for the Lord Regent to feel obligated to handle himself.

The three of them would observe as an elite outfit of Galidraani soldiers presented themselves to them all, with one of their commanders introducing himself smartly, and with a noticeably accented level of Basic. Ignacious would offer the unit’s commander a nod in acknowledgement as the trio proceeded - opting to remain silent as they did so. Whatever Erskine had in store for them, the Grand Moff had the distinct feeling that more questions would be met with even more riddles - something the Grand Moff mentally cursed at everytime he was subjected to it.

 

[Lyra 'Sybila' Voikryt]

Relic Of A Bygone Age
Major General Voikryt
Savior​

Location: Galidraan III - The Lord Regent's Estate
Tags: DECEASED Erskine Barran Liene E-230 FN-999 Corvallis Tavlar

“Stand on no ceremony..”

Concise as the woman’s words were, slipping off the edge of her tongue with a bite-canines bearing a veiled smile. It was the flicker in the eye of the door’s keeper that brought the weight of her gaze on the man. To still him and his rabbit heart, inquisitive eyes beamed from behind her sheen of fiber, the low whine of the door’s hinges bringing her hackles to raise.

Perhaps the poor man’s question may of been as simple as her name, but the woman offered a plain flash of badge and Iron-Sun at her wrist.

Galidran III, the Barran’s Hall was clouded by champagne, sweet smoke, and stronger sins in hand as she made the exchange. A chorus of voices going up and this band of elite cheered for the Empire, they cried for Barran-a crowd’s cry reverberating through the crystal chandeliers. Yes cheer, some petulant emotion kissed each of her cheek and the woman grimaced behind the weight if only briefly. The turbulent feeling of the unknown chased her on the tail end of the sound, not too dissimilar to the descent into the planet’s atmosphere and tumultuous mountain escape.

The pit in her stomach. Beautiful as it was, as thrilling as it was to move freely nowadays. She was here not for the personal enjoyment of her person.

Lyra Voikryt found herself a unique feature without place amongst this niche, this day and agae. The weight of a gown pooled at her heel but it was the cut of a soldier’s stone brow she wore on her visage proudly. She preyed on the edge of the party’s gathering. The galaxy had persisted, beyond Irveric, the woman’s gaze panned across the grandeur of the mob-somewhere beyond the sea of faceless men and women she might find the old man. Erskine Barran. No, on this night she had no interest in making a stir amongst the bureaucrats, amongst any soldier, she took one step across the threshold as the man sputtered in acquiescence-

“None in fact,” she uttered and the poor footman was abandoned as she lurched forward her servo lofting fabric aside; on the prowl.

Had ignorance been truly been bliss, she would have been content to remain on her rotation between Bescane and Dantooine; cutting ribbons, greeting new classes, and playing the recluse in her office. Alas she wore para-military service like an ill-fitting chiffon, had been too tired to raise a finger in the face of the Chiss crisis, and been all the more relieved when Rurik Fel was proclaimed dead. Even if that too had put things in a further precarious setting. Things were changing and it left an itch in the back of her skull and pain in her jaw, what would become of it all now was the question?

Not for herself mayhaps, but for her sons and their's to come. She did not fancy getting lost in the tide of another war.

The stem of her heel clicked as she passed through the rings of the upper echelon like a ghost, how they clustered together and she observed them with placid vissage. Strangers, a nerve struck and twitched at the strained corner of her smile. Slowly trailing after the commotion of soldiers and officers that coagulated at the gate’s arch to the lushious flora filled beyond. Galidraani wasn't her native tongue by any means, but she had picked up enough in the field of personal study-Michael had helped.

Where had they all gone? She had Irveric, whether they had been on the same side. She had always had him, but with Lucien's absence..no greater connection to the Force would find someone who might not want to be found. It had been years too since last she had seen Michael, torn apart by the former's disaperance. That was life, she supposed, surviving others and the last to remain and remember. Her pinched smile faded, lips pressing together at the macabre reality. She knew no one in this room truly and the solitariness was...a stark reminded. There were few in her corner, and few she'd rise to the occasion too just the same. The Empire was no more then a bunch of wolves, stalking each other as the threat of stagnation set in and an unsolved war front.

One day they'd have to learn to be happy with what they had, less they lose it all in the fall out.

The gravity of the night was made aware to her but the impact seemed to miss it’s mark in her heartstrings. Had she the mind she should have brought well wishes to Erskine but he might forgive the matter of business. The woman wasn’t a fool to risk a past and polite friendship, if it could have been even called that. For the younger Barran’s once fondness, Lyra had not been content to witness the next hurling step of the Empire from behind some holo clip or hear of it second hand a half standard year from now.

They would never be free of this 'cusp' and metamorphism, and it left far to much to chance for the woman to like.

It was pleasant thought to know Erskine Barran’s bravado hadn’t changed himself, if out of all the brutality of war he was the rarer one. It stirred her away from thoughts and the cog like machine that thrummed in her mind. That quirk was the whole of the man’s homeland alas and it’s people. Infectious as it was, a beacon it served to track him down to the garden courtyard in the sea of crisp uniforms. She moved like a snake slipping between and under foot. She only needed to follow the flight of voices, charismatic and an octave too high-too much. Herself, quizzical and lying in weight to greet the elder, corner him, congratulate him. It was hard to reason what would come of it and had lent to many creases to her brow. The woman lingered alone but a part of the crowd armed with crystal flute lifted from the tray on passing hands. A faint interest in the bubbly as she waited for a moment to approach, her brows furrowed in thought.

 

[FN-999]

HOME OF THE BRAVE
INTENT TO INTERACT WITH: DECEASED Erskine Barran | Ignacious Korvan | Liene E-230 | Lyra 'Sybila' Voikryt

'Well, I dare say the tasks an' the hunting temptations can wait for now, but I will be needing your firearms present for a particular broadcast I intend to run on the Holonet.... My - assessment of the Galaxy's factions - so to speak. But first-'

Another campaign?
​

Truthfully, the Baron was not looking forward to more combat any time soon. Illum and Dorin had cost the 908th hundreds of precious troopers, leading to all sorts of staffing issues that would do nothing but hinder the legion in future combats. He knew from his correspondence with his fellow legion commanders that the toll had been similar across the board, and the Corps as a whole needed time to regain its organization before they once more plunged into the trenches.

Still, FN-999 understood that now was not the time to express such complaints.

Not while he stood in procession with two of the most powerful men in the Empire.

He felt the gaze of a certain Grand Moff pass over him ever so briefly, stiffening under his gaze. While not even ten years older than the Baron, Grand Moff Ignacious Korvan had the presence of someone incalculably wiser and far more cunning than Nines would ever be. Nothing showed of the attempt on his life on Bastion, his posture as regal and immaculate as ever, an overwhelming air of authority nearly surpassing that of the Lord-Regent himself. The stormtrooper in the Baron found himself wanting to kneel, bow, or somehow prostate himself to the man far above his station.

Yet he remained still, his fear of messing up outweighing his fear of disrespecting his superiors. Instead, FN-999 observed the spectacle unfolding in front of him. One by one, processions of elite Galidraani units stepped forwards to address their lord in their native language. The Baron had recently begun studying Galidraani to better communicate with and utilize their cavalry units in battle; however, his grasp on the foreign tongue was still quite limited. Among their ranks were the Black Legion, startling in their smooth combination of grace and militaristic efficiency. They were soon followed by the... North Men? Norken?

It was in that moment that the Lord-Regent helpfully spoke up, referring to them as the Norren.

They were a curious bunch, very much an irregular force on one hand but apparently possessing great potential. The Baron wasn't quite sure what to make of this force, and likely would remain confused for quite a while. Already, his head was swimming with all the new, unfamiliar information he was processing, just attempting to make sense of it all.

Hopefully, there would be time to spare.

 

[DECEASED Erskine Barran]

4th post

HOMEWARD BOUND FOR A WHILE

SHIELD_ONE

Lord-Regent of the Empire
Grand-Triumvir of the Tarkinist Administration
Governor-Chieftain of Galidraan III

Tags: Ignacious Korvan FN-999 Katja Javik Lyra 'Sybila' Voikryt

FATE OF THE REALM VI: IN THE WAKE OF TOR VALUM - PART 4

West Foyer, Barran Hall,
An-Cridheachan, Galidraan III (Spring 878 ABY)

I suppose now's as good a time as any....
Time to start the clock.

'Greetings, Lady Sybila.... I only wish that better circumstances were here for us in these moments, but alas-'
​

With a respectful nod of appreciation cast in Sybila's direction, the Lord-Regent then turned to the gathering crowd at the bar, briefly pausing in momentary bitterness to himself before beginning,'It is my understanding that some of you wish to understand my plans for the future, the Galaxy's plan for ours an' what I intend to have done about it. But the thing is, my life-expectancy has never been so close-cut as it is now, even in recovery from my previous assassination attempt - I will not be alive for long an' you will mistake it not!', letting the statement hang in the air a while as he visibly gritted his teeth in anticipation of what would come next. However, even in his shagged-legged bitterness, a fire remained for all to see, and in his eyes all would understand the tone of what was expected to happen next.

'But will your Lord-Regent go willingly into that good night? NO, NOT BY ANY MEANS!!!! NOT FOR AS LONG AS I HAVE THE WILL, THE RESOLVE, THE RAGE NEEEDED TO FIGHT TO THE LAST GASP - SWINGING MY SWORD UNTIL THE LAST DEATH-RATTLE TAKES ME!!!!'

The silence continued, and to such a noticeable extent it could have been perceived as deafening, but the Steward of Imperium held to his need for urgency as he calmed himself to continue,'Its a miracle I've made it this far if we're all being honest here, my fate was sealed from the moment I ascended to rule this Empire, but that need not mean that yours is sealed with mine.... I need you to survive.... Come what may, I need the legacy to live on in at least some fashion - you're all thats left of the Empire as we know it.', looking into the eyes of all in the room at the time. Sombre though it cast the mood of the party in it's infancy, turning a promising assembly of like-minded conquerors into a Imperial custodian's Last Supper, but the truth was needed, and the Woad was quite done letting it erode his patience by then.

'Do what you can to protect my son when my time comes, for as of two weeks ago the Galaxy learned the true meaning of,"The Eleventh Hour".... What comes next either saves.... Or destroys us - an' may Dia have mercy if you're not ready for it.'

A room either shocked or devastated, Lord Erskine would never know, nor would he ever give himself time to know, nor the rest of the Galaxy outside the Empire for that matter. All the better, for tortured souls such as Barran's own never needed excess baggage, though the cosmos around such people always found ways to get their pound of flesh one way or the other, even those of high standing. One of the many constants to the Universe, but with all that considered, the people around him could only marvel at the strength required to withstand it as the Woad had from the beginning.

'Holo-plinth - now! About time I gave our guests something to smile about... After all, we achieved much an' more to make it this long, surviving long enough to become the Last Galactic Empire - surely counts for something in this day an' age. Even now.'

'Ready.'
'Good, now go stand with the others.'
​

With a click, the broadcast began to authenticate as the blue light emanated from the holographic plinth beneath, whirring into life as the Lord-Regent straightened his posture, casting a blue-glowing hue on his white, cape-wearing attire as Erskine tried his utmost to look the part. However, even in his pale, atrophied form, the man himself would not be mistaken for anything weaker than the man he'd been before, nor would anyone who was aware of all that the former-Stormchaser had endured in the line of duty. Still a force to be reckoned with, and every part the man needed for the following endeavour, as the last thing the Galaxy would ever want was an Imperial Ruler to set into deathly, grim determination at such a critical point of the war - but it had all been leading to this moment.

With each costly decision of the other Galactic factions running up to the old man's boiling-point.

'Ladies an' gentlemen, stand proud an' get some satisfaction fae this!'

Broadcast begins in five, four, three, two.....

Beep

Greetings from Imperial Galidraan, though you won't find so much as lukewarmth in mine.
​

For those who do not know, I am Erskine of House Barran.

Governor-Chieftain of the Free-State's Goidelic Tribes,
Lord-Regent of the Empire.

An' I would have more than a few things to speak about on this night of nights, things the Galaxy would not wish to hear, but speak I must an' to Hell with all the consequences.... YOU ALL ASKED FOR THIS - SO DO NOT PRESUME TO FEEL DEMEANED OR AGGRAVATED BY MY WORDS NOW!!!!

It would be safe to assume we passed that point-of-no-return a few years ago.

Firstly, I'll start with those of whom have never dared to change or pretend they were something else, starting with none other than the Brotherhood of the Maw.... You fought us tooth an' nail every step o' the way, you lost your best in the attempt to kill OUR best, there was honour in that, or at least - until you resurrected my firstborn son and sought to use him against me.

This will not be forgiven, and in the attempt, I will gladly give my life if need be - ALEA IACTA EST!!!!

Next, I'll move on to the Sith Order.... Think I don't read the reports of the Vultures hiding out in Wild Space? Awaiting the downfall of a realm that fought doggedly to bring your villainy to an end, convenient. How frightfully convenient to tuck yourselves away as far from out borders as possible, with no desire to rise up from within.

Did you not want it that much, no? Was Korriban, Bastion and Dromund Kaas not good enough to meet your standards in the end? You gave it your all on Vjun, Generis and Ziost, so why not the ones you valued most in the beginning? KAAS CITY IS A FETHING RUINOUS HEAP AN' YOU DID NOTHING TO STOP ME!!!! I WAS JUST A GENERAL THEN, AN' YOU - DID - NOTHING!!!!

Who next, hmm? Whose next for my GALACTIC CROSS EXAMINATION?!?!

Alright, I'll go at random, perhaps aiming my sights at the Silver Jedi Concord this time.... Did you not think we would find out about the Sith's Anti-Imperial accords? The ISB - MISS - NOTHING!!!! COMPNOR SEES ALL, AN' THIS HAS NEVER CHANGED!!!! Infobrokers have been useless for years because of this, and you think we have no Casus Belli now?

GOOD LUCK, SILVERS!!!! You're gonna need it now, an' make no mistake on that matter - I intend to ACT on that declaration.... But first, I think I'll just take a moment on to think on what I might say of the last few factions.

'Wyll.... Bring me a glass o' whiskey, I intend to finish this one quickly.', Erskine then trailed off to mutter to the young Thyrsian, reaching into his coat pocket for a cut, unlit cigar that was kept specifically for the occasion. Then by the time Sir Marten returned with a glass of Cladhan, the old Woad let his guard light the cigar for him before handing him the glass on the same hand; grasping the glass by ring and pinkie fingers working with the thumb, and keeping the cigar between index and middle fingers, the resulting combination would mean there would be no need for compromise on the matter of the walking-cane. Gratefully taking this into consideration as he quietly muttered,'Thanks, Wyll. You're a good man, don't change for anyone - I mean it.', Barran found himself glad of all the help that kept him moving over the years, understanding exactly the sorts of sacrifices required to prevail for so long.

No longer just the strong, stern leader needed to marshal such a realm into action, but the one who saw the true value in loyalty

Next, we have the HUTT - SPACE - CONSORTIUM.... I can't deny I've benefitted from certain go-betweens an' contacts between us. After all, where else would I turn for smuggled contraband from outside our ever-embattled borders?

Would be a shame if you chose to opposed our expansions into the Southern Tingel Arm, really.... Can't exactly deny you're proficiencies in your,"Profession", either, but truth be told - makes no difference to a Super-Laser in the end. An' neither do you - so stay in your lane an' keep the contraband flowing if you wish to hold your seat of power in perpetuity.

I'd hate to find competitors in this day an' age....

An' next, we have my friends.... The Mandalorian Enclave, haven't heard from them since Kestri, but I hope the Warmaster is better now - seemed a little, erm.... Off, if you catch my drift. Almost as if he were - perhaps - hiding something? In all honesty, the painkiller stims were messing with my perception at the time, so I really couldn't tell either way.

I mean, I have my suspicions.... But what are they worth in this war?
Not worth much at all, my esteemed warrior-friends.

But I have a message for Clan Krayt in particular, so I'll get right to it if you don't mind - the matter of Shai Maji rests in fault on our shoulders and our shoulders alone.

Clans Barran and Krayt alike tossed her to the wolves without even so much as a thought for preparation, and it all led to me being gutted by blaster-fire; quite the revelation, and though I hope Shai killed her financier after collecting, sincerely I hope she tore that GA-contact limb from limb. She had every right to do so, an' yet you all spurn your greatest living Krayt regardless.... AN' FOR WHAT, HONOUR?!?! IF SO, THEN CONDEMN YOURSELVES AS I HAVE!!!!

You have five years to reverse your decision, as after that, I intend to adopt Shai into Clan Barran - a form of adoption that holds for countless generations!

Trailing off once more, but in silence as he downed the glass of whiskey and passed it to Sir Marten, Lord Erskine then basked in the silence some more, looking to the murals in the ceilings and down the old columns then down to the marble floor - shaking his head a little (in what appeared to be mild dismay) as he almost puffed himself into a smoky cloud. As for those who knew the Lord-Regent better, however, something else entirely would be seen in the brief expressiveness, almost as if there was some sort of realisation that Barran was unwilling to discuss at the time.

Almost as if it was too painful to bear thinking about in such important moments, almost as if it was being compartmentalised before their very eyes.

An' now, last but not least by any means, certainly not in my list anyway, I close out my appraisal with the Galactic Alliance, the one entity that makes the least sense in it's actions.

An' the most insulting of all in their actions at large.

I forget exactly when the provocations began, but I remember this much, the lacklustre showing in the Sacking of Coruscant may have proven to be the final nail in the coffin that was THE BASTION ACCORDS!!!! An' our Emperor, may Dia rest his soul, was right to tear the Accords to shreds - but did the provocations end with that?

Not even for a moment, it only got worse, an' now we have ample justifications in our Casus Belli, ample motive to proceed with all-out war on the Alliance.... War on our former allies.

Former-comrades who stood with us when ALL THE GALAXY TURNED THEIR BACKS ON US!!!! STANDING WITH US IN DEFIANCE AGAINST SITH-IMPERIAL DOMINANCE!!!!

I REMEMBER!!!! THESE EYES SEE MUCH - AN' THIS MIND O' MINE FORGETS NOT!!!!

In any case, in two days, I'll return to my seat of power - readying for war.

The Galaxy knows where to find me.

End transmission.

​