Faction HOME, OR WHATEVER'S LEFT OF IT (GALIDRAAN III)

[DECEASED Erskine Barran]

Cridheachan Province,
An-Woad Galldachd,
Galidraan III (868 ABY)

HOME, OR WHATEVER'S LEFT OF IT (BARRAN'S RETURN TO THE HEARTLANDS)​

Bringing all the Armoured Infantry's Woads, Highlanders and Tuaths (Even some Carrack-Born locals) back to the home-world they all yearned so much see again; and the true exiles, the ones who waited eagerly, as the NIO pushed their borders ever closer to the star-system they'd dreamt of for so long, would unilaterally agree to escorting their beloved commander to his family's ancestral abode. Everyone knew that despite Lord Michael's aggressively successful efforts, there would still be a sizeable Sith-loyalist element to keep in the forefronts of their minds, so the decision to keep hubris at bay would entail much of the strategy they'd implemented before; fortifying and patrolling the area as the Lord-Commander picked up the pieces of his family's past within the castle itself, the men of Bllue-Heart Brigade and Wildcat Battalion would try their utmost to avoid disturbing Lord Erskine in the process of establishing their defensive perimeter, not knowing that the Laird and his Lady were both expecting and hoping for company of any sort.

The once-luxurious interior of the castle itself would give a scant welcome to owners the surrounding towns assumed would never return, but the Stormchaser wouldn't be dissuaded so easily, picking up a brush and a dustpan to begin the process of making an overly-large house into something resembling a home. Whether the mood that plagued him would change for the better or not was up to fate itself, or so it seemed, as visitors would always show if a Barran was home; as per the local legends, and also taking into account the friends and allies the Stormchaser has accumulated along the way; allies the Heartlands' rightful Chieftain-Governor needed to retake the Heartlands as much as to aid in reclaiming his morale and sanity, but knowing that the Free-State could easily prevail with the addition of whatever friendly contingent showed up to double up on the mayhem, Lord Erskine wouldn't lose any hairs over it as the veterans of Blue-Heart Brigade approached through small-counties that had already rebelled against the Sith-holdouts in the area.

This was the Stormchaser's home, the first place he saw when his eyes opened properly for the first time, seeing everything anew as a baby, and growing to love the Heartlands as he grew to love everyone who fought stubbornly to see him live to rule it someday. In vain it once was, but no longer.

OBJECTIVE ONE: HOSTING FOR HEROES​

Much of the old furniture remains, though whatever was seen as low-value in comparison to the items that had been taken in Barran's absence would naturally be left behind for belongings that could be taken as trophy-plunder or traded in pawnshops instead; items that Lord Erskine would see returned in the reconquest of his home province, items he knows the Sith-loyalists would keep for themselves, reclaiming his heirlooms through blood and retribution. This process, however, must be left to the subordinates of those infantry commanders who attend the small get-together, and this would apply to the Laird himself as well, a reality Lord Erskine begrudgingly accepts on account of the fact he has the freedom to enjoy himself as the soldiering class administers the Imperial justice in their former Lord-Commander's absence. Something the Free-State Galidraani will need to get accustomed to, as the new-look Mechanised Infantry divisions will most-certainly depend on it throughout the events of the Second Great Hyperspace War, no matter how difficult their next deployments were expected to be.

All attendees are allowed to bring their own bottle, food and/or tobacco-products for the occasion, though are asked to dress for the countryside and not for a parade or posh party. All the dusting off and deep-cleaning was finished off hours before the first guest is expected to arrive, so all the residence is free of reasons for guests to pick up a cloth or mop in the process of having a good time. All who would attend are welcome to ask about their futures, the future of the Free-State and of what the Stormchaser plans to do next, the freedom is there to do so, especially with the comfortable Laird in a forgiving mood to answer your burning questions. Barran appears to be in a talkative mood, but also in the mood for making congratulations of his own to one or two of the guests, depending entirely on who shows up and when.

Do be sure to ring the doorbell at the gate to the southern courtyard, it's a much more picturesque entrance in comparison to the others. Excuse the guards, they don't know their former Lord-Commander seeks friendly, bantering company.... But I'm sure they'll stand aside if they recognise you or your rank, they're reasonable fellows after all. Trying times when you're surrounded on all sides, but as soon as you're past the gate - rest assured you'll be left unchallenged for the remainder of your visit.

OBJECTIVE TWO: ALEA IACTA EST​

The Laird's mission (should your subordinates choose to accept it) is, quite simply, waging total war on all those who do not rise up against the Sith-affiliated elements in the area. Fortunately for the New-Imperial contingents, there has been enough of a polarization between the local cities, towns and smaller settlements that a good portion may welcome your presence beyond those within Lord Erskine's immediate control. While some will already be aware and welcoming towards the Iron-Sun insignias, others may not be, and may need further convincing that you represent Clan Barran's best interests as you branch out into friendly territory, but rest assured all of the rebelling villages will heed the Stormchaser's demands for justice, and order if convinced of your fidelity. Good men are these, and toughened by the lands and rural lifestyles of the archetypally traditional Woad-born farmer, but do have faith in their ability to hold the line against other mobs of Lowland Goidels, as you'll see in their brusque, standoffish nature that they'll battle it out with their neighbours with stalwart dedication in the event of their Laird's return.

Barran Territory: Clans Barran of Cridheachan and Faslane, Somerled, McHugh
Barran Loyalists: Clans Sinclair, Grant, MacLellan, McGechin, McCarron, Forster
Anti-Barran Declarants: Clans Boyle, Begg, Johnstone, McAlister, McMann, Farring
Sith Loyalists: Clans Keegan, Campbell, Carr, Stranruen, McInnes, Morn, Lister
Undeclared/Fortanists: Clans McLean, McLaren, Davidson, McRuraidh, Stoat, Waugh

Whatever path your subordinates choose, and with the freedom in abundance to choose for themselves, they can fight on without the worry of putting the Lord-General at risk in the process, as there are multiple New Imperial contingents expected to be on the ground at the time, so plot your paths and conquer as much as you can before the entire province declares for Barran, Tal and Fel under the pressure. Every possible direction is going to be memorable, no matter which direction your contingents move, and so long as they let nature take it's course, everything else can and will fall into place for the Reconquest of the Heartlands. This kind of fight is exactly what the locals have been spoiling for, on both sides of the small-scale run of local battles, so if rallying mobs and causing mayhem is what your individual contingent is into, this deployment could be just the boost in experience they've been hoping and praying for. Lord-General Barran was specific when he said he wanted,"the Heartlands' rivers to run red with the bloody sanguine of those who bled the province dry already.", and the look in his eye showed no sign of sarcasm or jest.

Wreak havoc, end the border-gore once and for all.

[UPDATE]
[NEW OBJECTIVE]

OBJECTIVE THREE: BEAST OF GALIDRAAN​

FOUR WEEKS AFTER THE FIRST BATTLE OF THE HEARTLANDS....

Dark tidings, and when the Wildcats' Woad-born Captain,"Spear'd at the locals.", of An-Cridheachan and the Highlands for the latest after the first sightings of,"A Demonic Wolf.", had been reported on the local Holonet transmissions, Alun Reed has been given no choice but to call in to Preston-HQ for assistance. However, with no available units to deploy to the Heartlands, the young Laird has been given no other choice but to wrack his brain for potential interested parties to hunt this beast down, but being misfortunate enough to be in an apocalyptic state of inebriation, Michael Barran has been unable to find any other solution but for Reed to take it up with his own commander. And now, as a result of the recent developments, the Westcape native has no other option but to wait for the Tuath's arrival to Saintston and dig through all the folklore, historical accounts and all things pertaining to demonic wolves and lycanthropy at the local library, looking for anything that might help him make sense of it all.

When Lord Gowrie makes it there, he'll have a whole host of potential leads to chase down, and nowhere near enough manpower, time, or energy to make such investigations into the occult; as Captain Reed delves further, he'll be sure to find much and more on the Beast of Galidraan before long, completely unaware of the fact his investigative research is being conducted in the very town where it's legend originated. The very site where the Beast and the Druid-Cairnsman slaughtered an entire lesser-coven of demonic witches, the first of many to fall to the might and ferocity of celestially chosen champions, forging the near-mythic pact that would tie Clans Barran and Sinclair in bonds of alliance and friendship thereafter. Saintston has a storied history, along with all those who were,"Gifted", this power through the generations, and whether the current matriarch (or any of her clansmen) know enough to be of help will need to be subject to inquiry to know for sure.

There is much and more that must be done if we are to find this lycanthrope, and more still to ensnare the damned thing. The only factor we have going for us is the fact this thing only appears to hunt and kill Sith-Loyalist families, ignoring every other potential victim on multiple well-documented occasions, prompting orders for nonlethal methods to be applied in bringing it down soon after the intel had been sent to Lord Aron. Small blessings, but if the Beast perceives us as threats - you know how it ends.

Good luck out there.

OBJECTIVE 4: BYOO​

Whatever gets ye postin', br'er. Lots o' Galidraan III to explore after all.

 

[DECEASED Erskine Barran]

1st post
THE-CHIEFTAIN
OBJECTIVE 1: HOSTING FOR HEROES
TAGS: Ollis Barran Morgana Sinclair Tyrell Lockhart (MORE WELCOME IF YOU APPROACH FOR INVITE OOC)

HOME, OR WHATEVER'S LEFT OF IT (PROLOGUE)

CRIDHEACHAN PROVINCE,
AN-WOAD GALLDACHD,
GALIDRAAN III (868 ABY)

Making landfall on Galidraan III using the cover of a misty, cloudy night to obscure their arrival to the Heartlands, Lord Erskine was wise to choose friendly territory as his means to start his homeward journey, alighting from the dropships in the McCarron Forest, just a few miles east of Saintston. A hero's welcome awaited the brigade of veterans, retirees and medically-dismissed soldiers of all varieties, as many of the soldiers' families were native to Saintston and smaller settlements all around Gilphead District, given plenty forewarning of their arrival weeks before the Blue-Hearts and Wildcats departed from Calavar. From there, Barran's contingent would use the mountains and the surrounding woodlands as cover as they embarked for their true northward run, not taking long to parade through Saintston as he was more eager than ever to return to Barran Hall, ordering the mechanised column to drive in high-gear as they passed Loch-Gilphead along the way.

Their river crossing would be welcomed with open arms also, given safe directions to the nearest camp as they ferried the first wave of armoured vehicles across the fording, a quicker process than all the returning soldiers could ever expect; and for this, the ferrymen would be rewarded with money slipped surreptitiously into their pockets, beers thrust into their hands and cigarettes politely placed on the lips and lit for them just as kindly as the first wave of vehicles crossed the Rannoch Ford. Apparently the royal treatment continued for the rest of the vehicles waiting on the east bank, but would sadly come to and end when there were no more people to transport, as the entire workforce's readiness to ferry the Free-State elements from one side to the other on short notice deserved so much more; yet the hardy ferrymen of McGechin & Sons would be more than happy with their lot, suggesting safe directions and thanking them vehemently as they parted ways, and swearing undying loyalty to Clan Barran as they waved the last of the homecoming troops off from their places at the mooring-ports.

The northwestern war-camp of Anti-Sith clansmen from Clans Sinclair, Grant and MacLellan would cheer the horde's approach, but instead of heeding the suggestion for Blue-Heart Brigade to join their pushes into enemy territory, the loose contingent of clansmen countered with the suggestion to push on north instead. The local Woads were all quite comfortable with their circumstances, so they felt that they could afford to allow spurning potential reinforcements' for a while longer, confident in their ability to maintain and build on their unassisted winning-streak against their disloyal neighbours. As far as the locals saw it, the moment Lord Erskine arrived to Barran Hall would be the moment their victory, their prosperity and the assured future of the Woad-born Goidels would be irreversibly set, theoretically solidifying the Stormchaser's governance with lasting finality. The clansmen were right, and Lord-General Barran knew they were, and could do nothing but thank them for their insight and their dedication to the final fight against the Sith-loyalists, leaving the brave men of the Heartlands to their night-watches as Barran's contingent headed off northwards.

To the only home Lord Erskine ever knew.

HOME, OR WHATEVER'S LEFT OF IT (PART 1)

BARRAN HALL, CRIDHEACHAN PROVINCE,
AN-WOAD GALLDACHD,
GALIDRAAN III (868 ABY)

<"To the Lairds an' scions of Clans McLellan, Grant an' Sinclair - this is your Chieftain speaking! An' my first resuming act as chieftain will be marked as thus; as any son of Clan Barran would have the right, I, Erskine Barran, will henceforth claim my right to declare total war on all who stand in our way.... I made it home, an' victory - is yours for the taking! DIA SAOR GU WOAD-MACUSHLA!!!!! DIA SAOR GALIDRAAN!!!!">

Set to go out to all frequencies on loop until all was said and done that day, the sun would rise over Galidraan III as Lord Erskine sent out his message to the Woads after passing safely into the mountainous valley he (as well as a few of the non-coms in the Blue-Heart Brigade roster) called home, though the threat of the Sith-Loyalist city to the east would be kept firmly in their place by the heavy bolstering of the home-valley's outer defensive perimeter. Adding depth and more coverage with HASCO walling and sandbags in abundance, the local garrison's reinforcements would get to work in building and digging in with all the vigour of warriors in the prime of their youth, kicking up enough dust, noise and enough of a fearless collective presence that the city of Drumrannoch's inhabitants would double their watch-rotations and keep themselves at a respectable distance. Not knowing if Barran intended to expand or not, the neighbouring city would be patient in their approach to adopting defensive strategies in anticipation, realizing also that their own forces were much weaker and outnumbered by at least 3-to-1, giving the Stormchaser all the breathing-room he needed to host a threat-free party for his friends and colleagues.

'DRUMRANNOCH, AYE?!?! DRUM-FETHING-RANNOCH, WAS IT?!?!? MARE LIKE RUBBLE IN THE MAKING, YA ROTTEN BUNCH O' DIRTY, SCUMMY SITH-LOYALIST REPROBATES!!!! EVERY - LAST - FETHING ONE O' YEES!!!!'

Cleaning the place (though with help from the brigade's orderlies and lesser-ranked staffers alike) within hours of arriving, it wouldn't be long before they got the hot-water and the power up and running properly too, showering and ironing the creases out of the clothes they intended to wear for the day on the water they had only just put into the empty water-tower just hours beforehand. With rest, presentable appearances and time to take in the views they'd missed for so long, the weight of their circumstances finally had it's chance to hit them with the force of a roving XT-62, bringing about the teary-eyed feelings of joy and letting the flood of emotions take hold for a while, letting it all wash over them completely before realizing that such moments would become the norm until the wonder and amazement had truly given way to life's many necessities. Soon after, once the eyes had dried properly for a while, word of the guests they were hoping for had filtered through, telling of NIO-marked ships dropping beneath the atmosphere and vectoring in on the nearest airship-hangar just north of Barran Hall itself; as for who it was, the lack of tracking tech in the area would keep the guests' identities a mystery until they arrived to join the celebrations.

A small annoyance that neither Erskine nor Carla would care to acknowledge beyond Erskine's red-faced, bellowing outburst, the one and only real snag to their ambitious resettlement plans.

 

[Michael Barran]

1st post
SECOND_SON
OBJECTIVE 3: BYOO
TAGS: Raus Garrat (Maybe sum Ajaya ?) A'Runda

PROVING GROUND: DEPLOYED UNTIL VICTORY (PROLOGUE)

McMinn Castle Distrct, Preston,
Firth of Sillston, Galidraan III (868 ABY)

<"Calston to Cairn One! More NIO-marked traffic inbound, but we don't recognise this one. Scans of the ship's interior suggest the crew to be of Arkanian origin - figured this would be in your wheelhouse, Milord.">

<"You'd be correct on this occasion anyways.... Leave this one with me, Cairn Five. Cairn One out!">​

Sitting at the helm of Eastern Command's control-tower, looking on the planetary holographic display to find the fourth dropship of the day braking to hover just beneath the stratosphere, Michael would walk to the comm-link unit with the intent to hail and challenge the unknown crew of Arkanians, briefly pondering to himself, trying to remember if these were the Corsairs that Yorunarr had mentioned just days beforehand. With no other choice but to find out by hailing them, the Wanderer would take a moment to frame the wording of his message as well as he could, inhaling and exhaling slowly before he clicked on the receiver's,"Talk", button. The readings of the ship had suggested the shape to fit the boarding-action tactics that would accompany the duties of archetypal corsairs, among other revealed ethno-pattern decals on the ship's wings, all factored in his decision to hail the vessel privately, seeing that it would be best to keep air-traffic running smoothly around them until the fighting in the Heartlands had concluded properly.

'A'Runda, with me! Ah- I know, I know.... Heightened security seems dumb in Preston - but there's really no use in making mistakes at the last hurdle now, lets go.'

<"Barran to.... Ah, Blue Three! Drop altitude for Holonet communication, stand by for transmission.">

Quiet on the sub-street levels the-night, is it? Ideal.​

The Wanderer would then cross the street with the Tusken watching his back as they exited with disruptor-cover from the doorway to their well-disguised commander-center, crossing over to a quiet, though well-guarded pub with the Holonet terminal he needed, noting the regulars weren't using it as he entered and waved his greetings to the patrons and the landlord serving them before closing the door to the terminal's booth behind him. A'Runda would stand guard on the other side of the door, though he was the only one who was exclusively permitted to listen in as Lord Michael patched through to the Corsairs in the sky, focused primarily on every approaching, exiting and every settling entity drinking peacefully within the walls of the oldest pub in the district; though it was a nice change to the boring, beige surroundings of the Wanderer's command-centre, Barran's latest addition to the Brotherhood was in no mood to make any mistakes whilst the Heartlands' fate was still to be ascertained, and nor was anyone else deployed to the coastlines that day.

<"Barran to Blue Three! We have a flight-path mapped out for you, our friend has told us to expect Imperial Corsairs, and is very keen to meet his Arkanian kinsfolk from what I've been able to gather so far.... You can find Yorunarr ahan-Yan'Sharlim at the summit of Ben Macalpin, enjoy the views. An' when yer done up there, come find me in Preston. Cairn One out!">​

With the transmission ended, Lord Michael would then switch the monitor off and step out of the booth to exclaim,'Denny! Haw, Denny! Pour us a couple glasses an' set the screens ti the situ in the Heartlands! The auld man's hame noo, so the scrap's as good as aw'ready started!', as he walked out towards the stools at the barfront counter. A'Runda would follow Barran's lead in walking to the bar though his back would not turn fully to the open entrance behind them, especially when the Wanderer's kinsmen were on the verge of attaining complete victory on Galidraan III, knowing the way their enemies worked on home soil and elsewhere in the galaxy, the young warrior wasn't going to drop his guard as easily as that. The very fact that Anti-Barran and Pro-Sith declarants still had footholds in the Heartlands and Highlands respectively troubled everyone, so being attentive enough to pick up on the tension and behave accordingly was working out nicely for the latest addition to the Highland Brotherhood, and when others among Michael's brethren picked up on A'Runda's focused behaviours, their estimations of the Tusken would consequently improve as a result.

'GOD S'VE THE KARKING BLUE-HEARTS, MILORD!!!! ABOUT BLOODY TIME, EH?!?!?!'

PROVING GROUND: DEPLOYED UNTIL VICTORY (PART 1)

Ben Macalpin (Galidraan's tallest mountain)
A-'Ghàidhealtachd Province, Galidraan III (868 ABY)

These Sith demons have been torturing you for some time now, I can feel it.​

On the summit of Ben Macalpin, towering above her neighbouring peaks (at an impressive 11,500ft from the valley floor to the snowy-topped summit) to yield a view of the Highlands' most-mountainous district and beyond, Yorunarr ahan-Yan'Sharlim knew this peak would have strong spiritual significance to the people of Galidraan III, and the steadily growing masses of disembodied Goidels' souls was serving as a perfect indicator that the Shaman was making all the right choices in this endeavour. In his telepathic statement to the gathering of ghosts, the Novanian was most-certainly correct, and in more ways than he could ever possibly have known; and yet, in the memories that some were putting forth and into his mind in turn, Yorunarr couldn't help but experience what some of these souls had felt in their final corporeal moments. Helping his safety factor immensely was the fact they could feel the Highland Dirk's presence as it rested on the Macalpin Cairn-stone nearby, and the fact Yorunarr was putting forth an aura of warmth and kindness as the ghosts continued to mass around his ritual with piqued interest, and the son of Yan'Sharlim was in no mood to incur the wrath of entities over whom he held no control or seniority.

'Though you should return home one last time, for the Sith will be gone before the sun rises tomorrow. The Barrans have returned, and they intend to stay. You will know when Lord Erskine succeeds, you'll be able to feel it as I feel your pain now - so please, return home one last time.... Watch as the light and life of this world returns to the Goidels, then you'll know, deep down you'll know it is time to embrace the next part of your journey.'

Thank you, White-Eyed Stranger. Thank you for seeing, hearing and understanding us. We will do as you ask, but please - do not betray our descendants. They have suffered enough.​

'Rest assured, the Goidels will always be safe around me. Now go, gaze on your homes once more.... Rest in peace, brave souls.', the young Novanian replied, responding with head bowed until he could neither feel nor see the spirits surrounding him at Ben Macalpin's summit. Straightening his posture almost a minute later with a groan from mild lower-back discomfort, Yorunarr would look to the southern horizon and notice a descending ship in the distance, drawing nearer with each passing second and growing louder and louder as the dropship's form came into focus through the clouds. Seen bearing the crossed-swords imperial ensign of the Arkanian Corsairs, the Shaman gripped his supply of Melarria's Root and put it down by his stool as he set the small campfire into a wild blaze once more, tossing sticks and logs alike onto the windswept embers of the previous ritual in preparation, but he had to know if the new arrivals had Novanian blood in them or not first.
Even if only one or two, it is enough - enough to return without being disdained for it.

 

[Morgana Sinclair]

SUNDRY
CAPTAIN "SKYBREAKER" SINCLAIR
GALIDRAANI FREE-STATE
"THE WYVERNS"
Liam Docherty DECEASED Erskine Barran Ollis Barran Tyrell Lockhart Willan Tal

Dressed to the nines in her tailcoat, the ox-blood color of her house naturally, with her vivacious curls unleashed to whichever shape the gentle winds would carry them, Lady Morgana Sinclair proudly stepped out of her modest transport and beamed brightly at the distant estate, her eyes glimmering with delight at the sight. A gloved hand rested on the toe of the saber that had struck her legend into the annals of history, the same blade that had beheaded the outpost commander the night The Wyverns had finally flown together for the first. Her attire was as modest as her household name, her clan still recovering from the reeling death knell of its patriarch had seen it fall on rougher times. But it was nothing the newfound matriarch and her steeled determination would not resolve given the necessary time to focus on such.

Life had returned to the old home, just as it had to the lands around them. The very air itself left lighter, easier, as though it had been purified. She hadn't known peace since the Sith occupation, the same that had taken her husband from her too soon, and scorned her into wrathful crusade by the blade. Yet, now, as she quietly awaited the rest of her humble reagent to join her, those modest soldiers who filled in her formation and served as the only members of her clan left, she found herself regretting not one second of any of it.

"M'lady, th'others will be arrivin' shortly." A gentle hum cast from the cockpit of the transport toward her, the pilot speaking.

"Am content t'wait," she responded with her smile turning toward the escort, "look thir, th'windae. Did ye see it?"

"Fit's 'at?" he leaned backward in his chair, craning his head to peer beyond the opened door and the woman herself to gaze at the distant home.

"Th'life's returnin' ti th'place." Her curls bounced over her shoulder with the swift motion that saw her eyes fixed forward once again, "Bit by bit."

"I s'pose so," he hummed in mirthful agreement, finding some warmth in the much younger woman's hopeful manifest, "'s a dream come true, ti b'sure." He remembered too well the oppression of The Sith Empire and all its zealous shackles. Its horrific stranglehold on their people, yet try as it might, it could never crush their spirits. It was that very spirit that saw them all swallow their pride and ally themselves beneath the Iron Sun, eagerly crushing the Sith beneath their heels at every turn in hand-off for aid in ridding their home of the vile presence. He was too old to wage war, long retired now as his beard grew more grey and his eyes less keen, but the fighting spirit in the young woman he had helped raise was more than enough to keep the old dog's spirit well alive.

"We did 'is, Alec," Morgana sighed whimsically, "all o'us."

"'at you'se did, m'lady," he chuckled, "an ye kept th'spirit alive."

"Oh!" the captain stamped a foot, its heel cracking against the cobblestone path with her impatience, "I jus' cannae wait ti see 'at ol'bastard again. I gotta clap him on th'back... maybe haze him a wee bit- feels like 's been ages since I seen him last, hev a lot o'time ti make up fur!"

Indignantly, the woman pulled out her commo, posing to tuck it into her ear.

"Patience, Morgana," Alec chimed with a delicate sigh, "they'll be here soon."

The lady huffed and shoved the device back into her coat pocket, grumbling beneath her breath.

​

 

[Liam Docherty]

L I N D W O R M
THE WYVERNS
GALIDRAAN
STARRING | Morgana Sinclair | DECEASED Erskine Barran | Willan Tal | Ollis Barran | Tyrell Lockhart ​

Better attire than that insufferable uniform he was obligated to wear for the march in liberating Galidraan from the majority of whatever Sith loyalists remained on the planet. Still it was not his style of fashion as he was more accustomed to a more...commoner approach to clothing. A past chapter in his life, before crossing paths with Morgana and her clan. Nothing but a wild adventure ever since he flew out in defiance against the tyranny of the Sith and their spineless, corrupt puppets.

“I look ridiculous in ‘is suit,” he commented loudly to one other of his Wyvern peers as pulled his outfit, his fingers pinching at the cloth on his thigh.

“Oh, relax ya ol chap,” Hailstorm, in a more calm attitude, tried reassuring Liam as he had been fidgeting with the outfit since getting inside the transport. “You’ve been fussing and whining, you’ll have to get used to it. Besides maybe the cap’n will say how cheeky you are.”

“I doubt it,” but when it came to Morgana, she definitely would and make him turn into an apple.

“Watch she’ll say ‘Oh look ‘ow dashing ye ‘ook, Lindy!’” while giving a loud chuckle.

“I’ll believe it when I see it, thank you,” annoyed while trying not to blush any shade of red on his cheeks.

“And speak of the devil, we are here. You familiar with any formal talking or how’re supposed to act?”

“No idea, but we’ll just have to see who’ll be the first fool tonight outta the lot of us.”

Make a fool out of themselves and the Baroness of House Sinclair.

The two pilots stepped out of their transports, already there was a crowd of Galidraani that had arrived for this occasion. Immediately, Liam looking around for his comrades as he had no reason to interact with anyone until finding all of his squad mates. First one he found was the gallant Captain of his squad. Bright with that vibrant coattail and smile she always had. Naturally, Lindworm and Hailstorm walked towards her direction.

“My Lady, you look ravishing. How long you’ve arrived here?”

“Have the others arrived?”

 

[Willan Tal]

LORD PROTECTOR
GALIDRAANI FREE STATE
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER

​

Enedina Tal DECEASED Erskine Barran Liam Docherty
Fate was but a fickle mistress, it seemed, and as such, the masked man in the cape had seen it fit to slight him with the promotion of one of Tals own from among the Galidraani general command to head of the Imperial armed forces. It made perfect sense, one had to cut the proverbial heads of the hydra to hurt the main body, and Ruriks dislike towards him, and the other warlords were becoming increasingly apparent by the day. So he'd wager it fair game that the Fel bastard might send one of his stooges to take Willan's own head and present it to the Imperial throne. Or he might send Barran to do it; nothing surprised him at this point. Old friends became enemies fast in this trade, and if Fel threatened one of Erskine's brood, he had no doubt Erskine would honour Fels demands wholeheartedly. He'd do the same if in the same position.


His days and nights became one in the same, held up in the foreign confines of the blue palace from which he temporarily called home. Tals paramilitaries acting on the power and authority of the Lord Protectors list had cut a brutal swathe across the Galidraan system, with dozens of opposition and activists found dead or otherwise missing. It was only a mere hiccup at best; a few heads, after all, had to roll in order to protect his new Galidraan from internal and external threats. A meeting of the now ruling military council, which was the political arm of the corrective movement, would be held in the coming days, to determine future course and decisions in which Galidraan post-Sith rule would go.


But that would wait, for he had called for the presence of his protege and eldest daughter to his makeshift office in the tower spire above the blue palace. If Enedina were ever to succeed her father in the future should he die, she'd have to swallow some uncomfortable truths about the nation's future and the realities she'd face.

​

 

[Hiran Avola]

UNKNOWN
UNKNOWN
GALIDRAANI FREE STATE

'DEATHSQUAD'

Morgana Sinclair Liam Docherty DECEASED Erskine Barran Enedina Tal ​

The waters of Galidraan I lapped gently on the riverbank, its depths dark and forbidding. At this point in the river, the current ran deep and swift. It claimed many a hapless person and child who deemed it wise to swim in its strong currents. It was said among the locals that Galidraans fickle and dangerous rivers were akin to a benign monster that devoured its victims, sucked the life from their bones and then deposited their useless shells on the riverbank. Very few people had swum the murky waters and lived to tell the tale, leading many locals to treat the rivers with fear and suspicion. For others, however, it was a convenience to depose of bodies and other undesirables.

His men had ticked off six targets off the list in recent weeks, many of whom had been caught by surprise and subjected to a swift execution. Once news initially broke out of armed men searching for 'dissidents' and 'Sith sympathisers' among the aristocracy and middle class, many scurried like rats for shelter or a ticket off the world. Those whose families had either collaborated with the local Sith government or had spoken ill of the corrective movement were deemed fair targets. He stood at the river's edge, its dark, swollen waters accepting the offer of another body tied up in sheets and weighed with chains like a greedy benevolent entity. They'd soon become fodder for the fish and other elements, buried by time and decay beneath the murky waters. No one would know their names, their story, their legacies, only that they were but one of many nameless dead that had crossed the new order.

Welcome to the new Galidraan. Born in blood and forged in fire.

​

 

[DECEASED Erskine Barran]

2nd post
THE-CHIEFTAIN
OBJECTIVE 1: HOSTING FOR HEROES
TAGS: Rurik Fel Ollis Barran Morgana Sinclair Liam Docherty Tyrell Lockhart

HOME, OR WHATEVER'S LEFT OF IT (PART 2)

CRIDHEACHAN PROVINCE,
AN-WOAD GALLDACHD,
GALIDRAAN III (868 ABY)

Two hours before Lord Erskine's arrival....

'Darun Campbell, as ah live an' breathe! Never thought ye'd go for this, honestly.'

'Shut it, Boyle! We're only here makin' alliances on account o' the Barrans' return, glaikit!', Lord Darun Campbell snapped back, on edge and very much amiss of his temper. The Boyles, and all the Anti-Barran declarants, had been thorns in the Sith-Loyalists' sides long enough for the Laird of Drumrannoch to know that trusting them beyond the agreement to eradicate the Barrans was suicidal at best, and Campbell wasn't one for trusting people who would've happily slit his throat just hours before the meeting took place. Pacing up close, Darun,"The Last Campbell", then grabbed Stephen Boyle by the collars of his coat and headbutted the rivalling Laird with wicked intent, growling,'Dinnae go forgettin' oor war noo, Boyle! As soon as Tal's lapdog is hanged, drawn an' quartered - I have the same end in mind for you, an' then Sinclair! UNDERSTAND?!?!?!', with a visibly deep-seated disdain for everything Boyle's disloyal clan-confederacy represented.

'Perfectly, scum. Ye forget that end was exacted on mah faither an'aw!', Lord Stephen retorted, spitting a bloody globule at the feet of his rival with equalling disdainful intensity. The bad blood between Erskine's enemies spanned for centuries, continuing for their bloodiest decades in House Barran's absence until the very day they learned of Blue-Heart Brigade's return to the Heartlands, a day that felt auspicious to all who hated the Cairnsman Chieftains of old, a day that all who bore such hatred knew would come to pass sooner or later. Some even prepared for Lord Erskine's return, testing their mettle on the Stormchaser's son in the cities of Preston or Milton, amassing whatever cheap ordnance they could get their hands on as they waited; preparing for that fateful hour as they, in consequent realisation of the hellishness that awaited them, steeled their hearts in the constant reminders that many would die on the same fields and hedgerows that soothed their aching, grieving hearts.

'See ye soon, scum. Don't go dying on me yet, will ye? The screams o' horror, agony an' despair are for Clan Campbell's ears only! Just like yer faither's were!'

HOME, OR WHATEVER'S LEFT OF IT (PART 3)

BARRAN HALL, CRIDHEACHAN PROVINCE,
AN-WOAD GALLDACHD,
GALIDRAAN III (868 ABY)

<"Brand to- heh! What is it? "Lance One", that's the callsign! Heh! But enough of that, news just in; all the Anti-Barran Declarants and Campbellists have declared a temporary truce, purely on account they want you captured for execution.">​

Sitting by the opened window, with cigar in one hand and his personal comm-device in the other, Barran was looking to the east with jaw clenched and eyes wrathfully wide open, awaiting guests in his country attire as Lady Carla showered and readied herself for guests as Lord Erskine had before her. By then, reports from the coastal air-control towers were already talking of incoming traffic, so the change in pace for communications was certainly a welcome one for the Lord-General, never quite willing to shake his Stormchaser epithet in his old age. To top it all off, the brigade's Chaplain had inadvertently drudged up some intriguing local history, bringing it's former Lord-Commander to believe that old traditions would die hard that day, a prospect that had him smiling before Brand's last syllables on the word had been spoken.

'Barran to Blue-Heart Delta! I know what they want, they wanted this of my father an' my uncle Brennan back in the day as well.... Hanged, drawn an' quartered! That goes back farther than the Sith influence so it does, much farther.'

<"Brand to Lance One! You got similar plans in mind for the Campbells and such?">​

Surrounding himself in tobacco smoke in absolute calmly leisure, puffing away as he considered his final answer, Lord Erskine then laughed a wheezing, malicious chuckle as he realised the true symbolic weight of his decision, letting it all out before he put the cigar in the ashtray for a moment. With wary eye then kept to the mountainous eastern horizon, Erskine would frame his answer in silence as the fireplace crackled and sputtered with fiery warmth behind him, letting the breeze beats against his face before responding,'Aye, in fact - virtually identical. If that be my fate in defeat, let it be theirs an'aw. Keep me posted, Captain. Lance One out!', as small droplets of rainy cloudburst drizzle beat against the lounge's window-panes. The Stormchaser would then stand up and snatch his (still burning) cigar from the ashtray on the window-sill, puffing assured life back into the burning head when another message of inbound air-traffic was patched through from Preston.

<"Calston to Lance One! The Imperator's ship is landing near your location in a few minutes, an' we honestly had no idea he was expected to show up. His clearance-">​

'-I certainly hope you wouldn't consider delaying Rurik Fel of all people, Cairn Five. This is fine, as the Imperator is more than welcome to visit. This is a rare honour our people will not take for granted, Calston! Lance One out!'

 

[Morgana Sinclair]

RUBY
CAPTAIN "SKYBREAKER" SINCLAIR
GALIDRAANI FREE-STATE
"THE WYVERNS"
Liam Docherty DECEASED Erskine Barran Ollis Barran Tyrell Lockhart Willan Tal

The familiar drone of transport shuttle in the distance earned her attention and the impatient woman turned her eyes in its direction, lifting a hand to shield her sight from the glare of the sun. The same hand soon shot upward in a wave. "'s aboot time!" she shouted though she knew they could not hear her, "I bin losin' it standin' here!"

Her declaration earned a gentle laugh from the cockpit of the transport she stood by, Alec finding the humor in her mannerisms. She was a far-cry from the proper lady she had been groomed to be, now more than ever, though it didn't make her any less fit to run the clan- in fact, it did the opposite. In a society that praised the strength of men, Morgana's insistence to butt in and lead a small unit had carried on the work of Tal's eldest daughter. The tides were slowly shifting. It was slow progress, but it progressed, though Alec doubted anyone would have the stones at this point, to question precisely why Lady Sinclair was leading her men, rather than tending to the homestead as had her contemporaries.

The captain waited until the transport doors swung open and two familiar faces stepped out: Hailstorm and Lindworm. She stood in place, fighting the urge to jog to greet them, and returned her lifted hand to the toe of her blade, a position that was as casual as it was habitual. "Oi! You'se runts kept me waitin'!" She shouted in a playful taunt as they approached, settling into a comfortable laugh, "Why thank ye, Lindy. Fer sufferin' in th'name o' th'clan, mostly. I know ye hate yer wee suit." Morgana reached out, brushing a gloved hand across the shoulder of his coat, soothing the wrinkles his fidgeting had created in the posh fabric.

"Hailstorm, ye rascal," her hand rose to smooth the man's flaxen hair as she addressed him, coaxing it away from touching his brows, "we're th'first ones here. Th'others should nae be tae far behind."

The warmth of her gaze settled on the two men with a partial step back, her smile only serving to uplift the image of pride she held. "You'se both look right handsome," she nodded, "not bad fur a band o' misfits, ur we?"

Distantly, another transport was incoming, carrying the rest of The Wyverns, no doubt.

​

 

[Rurik Fel]

I M P E R A T O R
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
SOVEREIGN IMPERATOR
GALIDRAAN III
Iron Skin | Lightsaber
Konrad Harrsk | DECEASED Erskine Barran ​

THE HILLS
​

Galidraan. The very beating heart of what a great deal of the Empire's identity was in their rampant virtue and cultural integrity. So much that its influence had reached Bastion in as much force as it reached Dosuun. Even if Rurik was of one of the most traditional Imperial dynasties, there was no telling how the ideology would have fared if Galidraani influence did not grace the persistent sun of Imperialism.

But Galidraan III, the homeworld of his now chosen marshal and Lord General, Erskine Barran, was a land far more primitive, simple and humble than its sister world of Galidraan. In a way, he admired the humility of its people. A far cry from the awe inspiring skyscrapers and marvels of engineering in Galactic City or Ravelin. No, it was awe inspiring in a way Rurik could appreciate a great deal more. The hills and rocks of this land were largely untouched, even in the rush of civil unrest between the Sith aligned, traitor and New Imperial clans on Galidraan III, its simplicity offered its own margin of sanctuary to an Imperator who grew more weary from politics than battle.

But this may very well be the last reprieve for some time, he could only think. The last open breath before he was into the fray once more. His shuttle landed at whatever landing pad might've been available near to Barran's manor. He stepped off to little fanfare, by his own wishes. If him and Irveric had any commonality in their time as Imperator. They cared little for ceremony, drill and fanfare that came with what the position as head of state warranted.

He stepped down from the loading ramp of the shuttle, making way to the entrance of the Baran hold before his gaze caught the glimpse of another Imperial only vaguely familiar to Fel himself. Harrsk. Konrad Harrsk. The son of the late Jaeger, a man who had all but a polarizing legacy in the New Order. As much a patriot and nationalist as he was a terrorizer. Even so- Konrad had made his presence as known in fiery rhetoric as his father had with his Iron Sun Youth Group. He anticipated they would encounter one another sooner or later.

"Harrsk." He uttered with his voice of strained, dark distortion. A mortal he was, but clearly brought close to the end once before.

"I anticipated we might speak soon enough. Walk with me, if you would. No doubt the Lord General will be expecting to greet us but even so it is about time we meet." Rurik iterates, motioning a gloved hand through his argent cloak toward Konrad to follow. A gesture from the Imperator one would be hard pressed to neglect.

 

[Konrad Harrsk]

D E M O N ' S _ H E A D
MILITARY INTELLIGENCE, 501st LEGION
GALIDRAAN III

The assassin's mission as part of the 501st' Mil Intel brigade was all but coming to a close, and thankfully so. He had no interest in aiding Tal - or any other 'warlord' for that matter - in power grabbing and purging ambitions. On the contrary. When Rika Hiro had handed him the detonator to a bomb planted beneath one of Tal's rivals' cars, Konrad had crushed the device in his hands. Divide et impera. He had learned that well from both his father and the Shadows. A temporary setback, a deliberate weakening in the Empire, so when a Warlord inevitably loses the grasp of his holdings, then the Empire will be forced to take control.

Growing stronger in the process.

He stood with arms crossed outside the Barran castle and paid silent gratitude to the fresh air. The walls of stone inside were so well layered and glued - as masonry in a damp and moist climate was supposed to be - that there was no escape from the ratchet smell of these locals' barbaric cuisine. Sniffing his obsidian cloak earlier drove him to a minute's long belching. A pathetic sight, really, for one donning the moniker of Demon's Head.

A roar of engines took his attention, forming a curious frown on his face as he trailed the shuttle landing on the pad nearby. It bore no distinguishable marks, a generic Imperial shuttle of no special note until the ramp slid down with a hiss and an argent-clad figure emerged and Konrad's eyes widened in surprise. The Imperator. Rurik Fel. It seemed a part of Tavlar's legacy had been inherited by the Scion of the Fel dynasty - to remain as spartan as the stormtroopers he led.

"Harrsk." He uttered with his voice of strained, dark distortion. A mortal he was, but clearly brought close to the end once before.

Konrad's hand reached for the domino mask, unfurling it and shoving it within a compartment on his chestpiece before he knelt as etiquette dictated. Rurik may have come to possession of numerous of Tavlar's qualities and manners but he still carried an air of regality that Irveric simply could never muster and probably never desired to.

"Imperator." his head bowed. An act his ego swallowed hard but knew was necessary. His grandfather - Dhul Qarnayn - had taught him well in the manners of the court.

"I anticipated we might speak soon enough. Walk with me, if you would. No doubt the Lord General will be expecting to greet us but even so it is about time we meet." Rurik iterates, motioning a gloved hand through his argent cloak toward Konrad to follow. A gesture from the Imperator one would be hard pressed to neglect.

"Yes, My Lord." he stood back up and realized the Iron Man was far taller than he looked on the holos. Konrad felt like a child again and liked not one bit.

Following the Imperator's trail towards the reeking halls of clan Barran, he arched an eyebrow, "Given your words, am I to assume you wish to discuss something with me, Imperator?"

Rurik Fel DECEASED Erskine Barran

 

[Fiolette Fortan]

The Battle for Galidraan's soul had only begun in Fiolette's mind. Tal had become the man he opposed, he had become very much like Carnifex only perhaps much worse. Carnifex... Fiolette thought on the former Sith Emperor's name, he held some semblance of honor or at the very least knew enough to keep the peace with her and her family. Tal, Tal had lost it and if the reports of murders and exile of his rivals and any who opposed him were as true as Fiolette thought them to believe. Then he had to be stopped, or Galidraan truly had replaced the tyrannical Sith with one of their own. "It's never the devil you don't know, but rather the one you do." She recalled the old saying as she sipped her whiskey from the balcony of Andrasta's Court.​

​

The estate, for the time being, belonged to her and thus was her seat with the county of Eceni. It was small compared to everything else she had in her possession, but it also meant she'd have to keep it well-armed, and defended - that it could be a safe haven for those who did oppose Tal. The Reliquarist have gone into hiding concealing their locations from the non-Sensitive. Many groups like them have as well, a smart move, for while Tal rules the system - there can be no peace. For there is no freedom, no guarantee of basic civil liberties - their freedom is on his will and his will alone.​

​

"Will you be attending the festivities on Galidraan III?" A servant inquired of her while placing a new glass of whiskey down beside her, taking the empty one away.​

​

Fiolette thought about it, "no."​

​

"I will not involve myself in the politicking of the New Imperials, not directly."​

​

She left the conversation there, for when and if information scurried back toward its master. Her mind wandered over the question once more and she answered. "However, I feel obliged to congratulate Barran and Tal so perhaps I should."​

​

The Royal Family and their supporters had been informed to keep their opinions to themselves, in fact - Fiolette prepared vessels for their departure to Dosuun. Those who wished to leave Galidraan I and her surrounding systems were given passage by Fiolette. Passage to Dosuun and its surrounding systems. Where her niece had so established a set of worlds friendly and accommodating to Galidraani of old. Fiolette found that the larger majority of the systems supported Tal and with good reason. She couldn't fault them for it, but she could fault them for the hero worship that blinded them to what the man was becoming. She could only hope to reach the men and women who opposed Tal long before his death squads got to them.​

 

[Enedina Tal]

Enedina Tal|New Imperial Order|Galidraan
Tags: Willan Tal

Galidraan had been through such drastic change; it almost seemed that Calavar itself had convulsed at the speed and momentum of the last few weeks. For a while, there had been panic in the streets, the newly founded junta paralysed by indecision, a commonplace occurrence when the old is replaced so brutally by the new. There was even a brief moment when the planet had teetered on the edge of chaos. But yet it hadn't; seemingly, her father's show of force and brutal use of paramilitaries to mop up any resistance had quelled any afterthought of reprisal against the new regime.

These stone corridors were cold and hostile, strangely bereft of any life or energy, the only other company she was the occasional soldier or officer who wandered through the halls. A place so big felt so lonely. She passed a banner of the royal family being brought down by men, a sad reminder of the past tenants of the palace, wherever they were.


She'd only seen the blue palace in postcards of home and vague holonet stories prior; its illusive foreboding gothic spires hugged the dreamy clouds above and was imposing in its height and appearance to many of those who walked the streets below its majesty. Enedina had little objection to what her father had summoned her for to meet at the palace. This morning, she saw the papers and the holonet stories of apparent unknown shooters targeting random people deemed to be connected or have some vague connection to the prior administration. Anyone with serious rank in the new order knew of the Lord Protectors lists; it'd only grown lengthier and bloodier in recent weeks as the body count piled up and more names were added to the count.


Enedina stood before the great oaken doors; she moved a hand to push on its ornate handles, but hesitated at the last moment taking time to collect herself before entering the office of the Lord Protector of Galidraan: her father.


"Father."​

 

[DECEASED Erskine Barran]

3rd post
THE-CHIEFTAIN
OBJECTIVE 1: HOSTING FOR HEROES
TAGS: Rurik Fel Konrad Harrsk Ollis Barran Morgana Sinclair Liam Docherty Tyrell Lockhart

HOME, OR WHATEVER'S LEFT OF IT (PART 4)

CRIDHEACHAN PROVINCE,
AN-WOAD GALLDACHD,
GALIDRAAN III (868 ABY)

"Death, Donn, whoever it may be for thee, let him be met on amiable terms.

If struggle ye must, then survive ye must - after all, better ye keep one waiting than it would be in begrudging their arrival." - Thrast's Sword - chapter 6

Standing at the borders between Barran's domains and those of Clans Lister and Farring, Arman Proost and his contingent of XT-62s began to lay waste to everything below them; ordering bombardments from the plateaus of Erskine's favourite mountain for hillwalking as a youth, knowing fully that no quarter was to be given under any circumstances. Twenty-two obsolete-spec Cataphracts from the Stygian Campaign, twenty-two veteran tank crews, and twenty-two last hurrahs for Blue-Heart Brigade, with another thirty Scout-AFVs waiting for the chance to scour ahead and get involved more-closely to enemy lines. Captain Brand was more eager than ever to get involved, though all involved knew it was because he also knew that it would be a last-hurrah for the Free-State's 2nd Armoured-Infantry Brigade, and the Archaisian could almost feel it, even though they were split off by at least two mountain summits. Between them would rest the remaining NAKAIOMA-tech MLVs, crewed by QM-Captain Archer's best retirees, and though only eight or so remained in the Blue-Heart array, Barran knew it would be enough for the tasks at hand.

<"Brand to Blue-Heart Bravo! Might as well aim incendiaries over their walls now, we're as good as ready for any 'ornet's nest action now anyway.">​

'Agreed, stand by.... And by the way - good suggestion, bruu. Any more like that would be welcome, so keep patching 'em through whenever they come to mind. Blue-Heart Bravo out!'

Overhearing the transmission on local-channels, all the XT-62s on the mountaintops ceased fire and let off the recognisable metallic clanks of reloading shell-magazines and readjusting smoothbore-barrel inclines, setting to work in anticipation of the final order, a habit learned over multiple campaigns to quicken their overall effective output under-fire. As far as Captain Proost saw it, he was walking through whatever war's version of Paradise looked like, walking through the very place they would constantly strive to reach whenever they were blessed with a crucible in battle; the very same place, according to Captain Brand, would be felt as a state of mind as much as it would be when seen as a tangible, glorious realm of wonder and excellence alike. For the first time in his lifelong experience, and out of nowhere in the process, Arman began to understand it all, feeling shivers down his back as he snatched up his comm-device to exclaim,'WEAPONS FREE!!!! READY, AIIIIM - FIRE, FIRE, FIRE!!!!', feeling what the Chaplain felt on Ilum like the snowflakes and the kyber were there with them on Galidraan III.

HOME, OR WHATEVER'S LEFT OF IT (PART 5)

BARRAN HALL, CRIDHEACHAN PROVINCE,
AN-WOAD GALLDACHD,
GALIDRAAN III (868 ABY)

'Ah, there she is! Go an' fetch 'er entourage afore they get bored an' leave on us, Erskine.'

'Will do, seems the Imperator is speaking with someone by the landing pads for now so we've got time t'get everyone settled in an' such', Barran replied, letting his wife get the service-staff busy and set to their hospitality matters at peak efficiency. The brunette curls of her hair had given Lady Morgana's identity away at a first-glancing distance, even before seeing the sleeves of her Clan-coloured coat as she fixed and fretted away at the shoulders of her subordinates' coat in turn, giving the Stormchaser all the reason he needed to snap his fingers and point the butler's staff in the Wyverns' general direction after talking with Lady Carla for a moment, fixing his Woad-blue silk tie in holding himself to the image of the very same high-esteem that others harboured towards him. Seeing the staffers closing the doors behind them, Barran approached the Wyvern entourage, seeing an upright, militant posture in every last one of them, finding himself proud that the young Baroness had stuck to her training in maintaining an identically-right posture as well.

'These the Wyverns I've been hearin' about, aye? Glad t'have ye with us in any case, Sinclair! Right this way, if you please.'

The staffers would take whatever coat was offered to them, almost subconsciously knowing fine and well to push for neither coat nor sword in lands that might require man and woman alike to sally out with both, one of the many traditions that locals of every allegiance would vocally adhere to, and especially in times of perpetual war for An-Cridheachan's braes and mountains. The metallic glint of Sinclair's sword-hilt caught Erskine's eye soon after, catching his right periphery in a silvery glare as he was appraising the attire of some of the Baroness' lower-ranked subordinates, alluring his gaze to the decorative black-and-red leather scabbard of what was no doubt a basket-hilted cavalry sabre, much akin to the newest addition to Lord Aron Gowrie's sword-collection. The Stormchaser then admitted silently to himself that, with such a blade in a TIE-pilot's quick-reacting, coordinated hands, he wouldn't want to be the one getting on the Iron Lady's bad side; Lord Erskine had never known Sinclairs to wilt or break easily, and Lady Morgana, in all that she wished to accomplish, was no exception.

'Dia be praised! Never knew aw yer pilots were Woads, Sinclair! The implications alone are staggerin'!', Lord Erskine continued, pointing to his own sword-hilt with a wide-eyed nod of appreciation towards her love for Woad traditions and her choice of sword in the same gesture. Shaking hands when they finally got close enough to talk without exclaiming to be heard, Barran quietly whispered,"Proud o' ye, mate.", with kindly sincerity before moving on to banter as all celebrating Woads would under the circumstances. Despite his localised way of getting past the mushy, heartfelt stuff, the Lord-General had in fact meant what he said, as they both knew she'd amount to more than just a local Baronness sooner or later; back when the revolution was only just beginning for Galidraan in general, back when Lady Morgana was reported to have been spending most of her hours studying or training under guidance from Saintston's smartest and toughest Sinclair Clanswomen (with plenty of the men helping in some of the heavier-going, prep for TIE-command) alike.

'Entourage for every occasion, just like the auld man! Though ah'm gawnty need ti admit it does make sense the-day, Morgana.... Speakin' o' which, heard the news? Clan Campbell an' Clan Boyle want us both hanged, drawn an' quartered!'

 

[Liam Docherty]

L I N D W O R M
THE WYVERNS
GALIDRAAN
STARRING | Morgana Sinclair | DECEASED Erskine Barran | Willan Tal | Ollis Barran | Tyrell Lockhart | Enedina Tal | Rurik Fel | Konrad Harrsk | Fiolette Fortan​

His captain, as always, with that bright smile and spirited attitude approached the two pilots. Naturally, he smiled back and bit the inside of his left cheek in hopes it would suppress his face glowing red as Morgana caressed his shoulders with her fingers to flatten out the wrinkles on his coat. Comparing themselves with the other Galidraanis, it wasn't hard to assume they were the odd bunch out of the rest by how they appeared.

"I feel like a posh prick, my Lady," a small joke as he stood upright, still his undivided attention meant for Morgana and Hailstorm. His attitude uplifted when the Baroness complimented on their looks, calling the pair of men handsome.

"Except that most posh pricks don't get the 'onors of coming to gatherings like this."

"True, but I guess there aren't much of them left after the revolution."

He heard the reports, how many extremists hunted down anyone that was allegedly believed to have been sympathizers and supporters of the Sith Empire. Naturally, with such chaos some individuals were opportunistic of the change of power and culture that they attacked and stole from those belonging to wealth and high status. To Liam he was not bothered at all with hearing that sort of news; happened all the time in war. Besides he was certain most of those with wealth and status were spineless cowards that supported the Sith. Wasn't uncommon to him as he and his fellow Wyverns saw it, before their departure of Galidraan.

He was about to continue dialogue until the honorary Lord-General approached the group, all pilots saluting the the Lord Barran with respect. They walked as the Lord-General spoke to Morgana, the Wyverns uncertain to remain with their captain or to spread out in the crowd. Liam decided to tag along with the Baroness and Lord-General.

"I'm surprised they still have a tongue to speak with, my Lord," he commented, again biting his cheek if it was appropriate for him speak in a conversation such as this considering he held no titles. He would, however, found out if his words didn't show any offense or were accepted as equals.

 

[Rurik Fel]

I M P E R A T O R
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
SOVEREIGN IMPERATOR
GALIDRAAN III
Iron Skin | Lightsaber
Konrad Harrsk | DECEASED Erskine Barran | Liam Docherty | Ollis Barran | Willan Tal | Tyrell Lockhart | Fiolette Fortan | Enedina Tal | Morgana Sinclair ​

THE HILLS
​

It was odd that Konrad ask if Rurik would've liked to speak to him. It was Konrad who brazenly addressed him personally under the mask of his Iron Sun Youth Group, puffing his chest to the powers that be to act with virtue and patriotism. And so when the boy encountered him in the flesh, he seemed to shrink in his presence. Hardly anything to point and demean from. No doubt Konrad would've only cared to meet Rurik on his own terms and his own venue with prepared rhetoric or arguments to draw from as he would his valiant blade.

And yet here, a chance encounter. Modest revelry, no fanfare. Only two men caught in the cross fires of destiny. As inevitable as the encounter seemed.

"Naturally. You addressed a missive to me personally, did you not?" He asked, arching a brow beneath the iron visage.

"I'm not ignorant to your actions on the field, Harrsk. You have a fire in you no different than your father did." Not as if Rurik had many encounters with Jaeger, only what was passed on to him by the late Imperator.

"You needn't worry...I am hardly offended by what you and your group spout. The youth carries that unfortunate burden of the nation. To fight its most difficult battles while carrying one of its smallest voices. We are perhaps fortunate that the Empire is no stranger to strife at all levels...but even so, good times can make for weak men- I'm sure you've heard the expression in its fullest." Rurik remarks as the two passed the Northern entranceway and into the Barran Hold proper, lingering among now the Galidraani present.

 

[Konrad Harrsk]

D E M O N ' S _ H E A D
MILITARY INTELLIGENCE, 501st LEGION
GALIDRAAN III

Jaeger this, Jaeger that. It seemed there was no escape from the shadow of his father. The grumbles underneath his nose remained silent and unheard but his desire to rip that shadow apart only grew stronger. This was his own legacy, Konrad's. Not Jaeger's, not Harrsk's.

The Demon's Head's.

"All too many times, Lord Fel." he remarked. Both sides of the family shared the same sentiment. Good times created weak people. And thus, the act of culling was a necessary part of the natural cycle. An act the Axis of Shadows often deployed across worlds.

The doors to the great hall of Barran's castle opened to reveal a crowd of these primitive Galidraanis chattering loudly and the stench of their repugnant cuisine struck his nostrils like a disintegrator beam through his atoms. His black cloak fluttered against the wind battering from the outside as he drew in his breath.

Swine.

"ALL KNEEL BEFORE YOUR ONE AND SOLE LORD THE IMPERATOR RURIK FEL!"

his voice boomed through the walls of stone cutting through meaningless conversations like hot knife through butter.
​

The days of rampant warlordism were coming to an end.

Rurik Fel DECEASED Erskine Barran Liam Docherty Ollis Barran Willan Tal Tyrell Lockhart Enedina Tal Morgana Sinclair Fiolette Fortan

 

[Fiolette Fortan]

Fiolette would have arrived sooner, prior to the Lord Imperator's announcement. Had it not been for Kassandra Distorith insistence that she needed help, with her dress. A few times over, and of course, what kind of significant other would Fiolette be if she did not oblige to assist. All that being said, Fiolette's entrance was delayed - it wouldn't due to roll in right after the Imperator. She would once more be of assistance to Lady Kassandra before setting a single foot onto the grounds that were the humble adobe of the Barrans.​

​

"I realize I have family on this world, and yet I have never - visited, perhaps I should change that," she thought aloud as she buttoned her cuffs and checked her suit over once more. "My Lady." Fiolette extended her hand helping the Dantoonian out of the vehicle. The two waited until after the Lord Imperator had been announced after the crowds had been silenced by the call to attention. Fiolette inquired with staff on a more discrete entrance as to not detract from the occasion.​

​

She and her beau were directed to just such an entrance. Upon entering it would be hard not to notice just where the crowd's attention had been turned toward. The Lord Imperator. Admittedly, Fiolette only knew of Fel and this was by Tavlar's word only - when she sought someone to help control her own son's attunement to the Force.​

Konrad Harrsk | Rurik Fel | Ollis Barran | Tyrell Lockhart | Enedina Tal | Morgana Sinclair | DECEASED Erskine Barran | Willan Tal | Liam Docherty

 

[Willan Tal]

LORD PROTECTOR
GALIDRAANI FREE STATE
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER

Enedina Tal
​

"Take a seat, commander." Tal pointed to the wooden chair in front of Enedina, his back firmly leaning against the colossal throne-like seat that he'd occupied for many days and nights issuing orders from his lair in the blue palace. With a flick of his pen and an authorisation of his datapad code, he'd signed off the death sentence on multiple men and women accused of dubious loyalties or collaboration with the Sith state. It was all but a temporary and needed step to bring stability to his planet and his own government, which was still wrestling with the parliament and nobility, which had lain in a paralysed state ever since his men had draped Tal's battle banner over Calavars rooftops and towers.

"It's a lot different than our old home, isn't it."

He spoke with an almost nostalgic tone to his voice, reflecting back to the old wooden grounds his family called home since its foundation. A humble beginning for any man such as himself, prior Galidraani rulers had grown up in splendour and wealth in the lands closest to the capital. Now Galidraan was guided by minor families thrust into prominence and working-class soldiers who held the mantle of the nation's future and next steps into a brave new path.


"But I didn't summon you for a nostalgia trip; our work is not done on this planet and will not be done anytime soon with the amount of snakes that infest this blasted parliament and nobility, which i'm sure you're aware of as much as the rest of us are."

He treated her no different from the rest of the generals and staff, and why would he, for she was a commander in his army and had not gotten in it based on nepotism like some other noble-born children. It was respect on his side, blunt as it would be to some.


"And what of the situation regarding Galidraan III?"

​

 

[Tyrell Lockhart]

1st Dunwall Irregulars (The Devils of Dunwall)

Tags: Willan Tal , Enedina Tal , DECEASED Erskine Barran , Morgana Sinclair , Fiolette Fortan, Konrad Harrsk , Rurik Fel , Liam Docherty

Some time ago...

The days of rejoice had been many since the NIO had claimed Galidraan as their own, and the DI had been taking their part in the celebration. So many years had been fought just to achieve this victory, and being comprised of largely commonfolk before taking up the revolutionary mantle, there were many that welcomed the pause in their activities. Nevertheless, the stench of the old Sith regime was still lingering in parts of Galidraan, and Tyrell had taken care to keep the fires of the fight well-fanned. Since rising through the ranks of the NIO, Tyrell had been increasingly focused on the bigger picture rather than his men alone. Most days, he felt out of place among the upper echelons of Galidraani society, yet the struggle of the people had been felt by all, and the chaos of battle had only confirmed that their glorious leader and his companions understood the stakes. So Tyrell would accept his new lot in life in stride, casting aside his old life and leaving his soldiers in the hands of another.

The shuttle touched down upon Galidraan III, and Tyrell quietly exited as he stared at the gathering place before him. There was a certain majesty about the place; the sort of grandeur that can only come with time. He had not visited Barran's home until today, and the sight of it was quite awe-inspiring. Tyrell silently chuckled to himself. A man such as him, born of the rabble and raised as a common man, finding himself about to rub elbows with true Galidraani nobility... life certainly was a funny thing sometimes.

A few choice members of the DI accompanied him, but would remain behind to oversee the craft as he proceeded through the great doors of the hall. He did his best to appear like he knew how to carry himself among such political giants, but couldn't quite shake the rugged swagger he usually carried. It seemed that, no matter how one tried, you could take the man out of Dunwall, but you couldn't take Dunwall out of the man. He swiftly did his best to locate lord Erskine, before he made a damn fool of himself in front of these fancy folks. He approached the man, providing a respectful nod as he approached.

"Lord General, always a pleasure. I hear that the Imperator 'imself will be arrivin' shortly."

The timing was almost perfect, as it was only moments later that the booming voice of Konrad Harrsk could be heard from across the room. Tyrell turned to find the Imperator himself standing in the entrance of the room. Tyrell hadn't met the man, but the name Rurik Fel had long since been a household name, even before Tyrell had stepped onto the greater galactic stage. Perhaps tonight he could get a feel for the man, aside from what he had seen on the holonet. As for this young man accompanying him, Tyrell could already feel the uncertainty creeping up the back of his neck. He didn't much care for the sort of blind imperial devotion shared by some of those within NIO borders. Though a loyal citizen, and a deeply devoted man in his own right, Tyrell's first and foremost loyalty would always be to Galidraan and her people.