3RD POST
OLD-TOWN DISTRICT, DRASTARRA,
BATTLEFRONT: EAST, NESHTAB (SPRING 878 ABY)
'Intuitive that your pain already knows to associate itself with me.'
With clear curiosity, the lethal, power-wielding beauty who stood against the Druid was smiling.
Warning of a deeply mischievous mindset that suited her subtle, stealthy ways to troublesome effect.
And throughout the moments of recognition, continuing on throughout his request for a name, the smile remained, wickedly holding in a fearless promise of violence at a moment's notice. Waiting for the Woad to make the first move, the first step or lunge, waiting for the Bloodhound's brother to prove his worth against a warrior who had never been so close to achieving glories normally reserved for rivalling Goidels, and with the highly-coveted title of
,"Barrans' Bane", it would not be long before Ashina's name was etched across the walls of eternity itself.
'A nickname?'
Much like the sagas on the frozen walls of the community park, Ishida's legendary name alone would carry for centuries if Lord Michael perished that night, and with the seemingly-imperishable flames of the lanterns adorning the four corners of the near-stadium sized enclosure around them, the nightly dark they were keeping at bay seemed all the more deathly as the cloud-covered sun steadily receded beyond and below the mountaintops in the west. This would be a danger unlike any he ever faced before, and to an extent that perhaps even his own feud with the Dathomiri Sith Lords paled in comparison to the danger Lord Michael was in by then, something new of the likes the Wanderer knew he would need to face someday; and though his relationship with readiness was a rocky thing at best, and though it would have benefitted Barran greatly to be prepared for such a fight, the Woad was trapped in the makeshift arena with the Atrisian whether he liked it or not.
'Fun.'
Seeing the smirk, Lord Michael couldn't help but succumb to the infectious nature of it, and being of a smirking clan from a smirking culture, it was almost as infectious as a yawn by then. Even despite the clear threat aligning her attacking-rhythm to his own, clashing and holding
Ashla's Arbiter against the curved quick of the Druid's very own
Mountainsong, Barran couldn't help but acknowledge the benefit of detaching from the intensity that drives each given fight, lightening up a little at the fact others had, were at the time, and would die in ways much worse than their own demises under the circumstances. After all, whenever Force-Wielders of Lord Michael's sort were asked what was preferable, they always said it was better to die a quick, clean death than to perish in slow, excruciating pain, and even better to die cleanly against warriors of great renown and repute alike.
And when he saw the lantern-light illuminate the cold surfaces of both swords in their second clash of the fight, an increasing sense of old Taro's yin-and-yang could be felt in the equally-applied force from both perspectives, intensifying the joy of the moment in ways he never thought would be possible in such circumstances. Starting something of a recurrence within the fight itself, for many duelling firsts for the Woad would occur as the clash progressed, and many new plateaus of excellence would be discovered and shared between himself and the Atrisian as a result of the sensations and revelations discovered therein.
'You should know me by my deeds.'
To anyone else, that phrase would have rung as a banal, introductory statement, like that which precedes an attempted great-endeavour, but to the Wanderer's ears, there seemed to be a meaning and hidden knowledge in her wording, secreted away in the sudden deepening of her own curiosity in turn. But as soon as a recognition of sorts was seen in the Jedi's gaze, Lord Michael knew the real changes, the real revelations were about to transpire, and by the time Ishida guessed
,'You're a Barran.', the Druid knew there was more to his opponent's choice of phrasing, much more going on beneath the surface of seemingly superficial wording. It was enough that Lord Michael was silent in his brow-furrowed nod of confirmation, letting Ishida retain the proverbial speaking-floor as he pondered with increasing frustration, growing increasingly curious as to who this knight could be.
However, there was one particular Jedi knight who carried a particular reputation that preceded her in such a fashion, a renown gained from deed alone that set her apart from her Atrisian peers in the Force-wielding community.
It can't be- Ishida Ashina, can it?
Surely not.... I know,"Small Galaxy", but- what?
This is too much to be a coincidence.
'The eldest?'
Winding his neck back in an entirely new form of surprise, and instead of fear having the driving, spurring effect on the surprise, it was irritation that bordered on murderous rage as the Woad shot back,
'You fething what, mate?', but in an eerily quiet tone that conveyed much more than any shout, scream or roar ever could. And in all that time, Barran was standing deathly still with eyelids receding and eyebrows rising in a brief display of his former manic furies, baring the whites of his eyes and clenching his jaw whilst trying his utmost to reign in a side of him unseen since his Tarkinist days. But in drawing in a breath shaking from the cold within as opposed to that without, taking in all through his nostrils and out again, the Druid continued
,'Naw, the youngest - an' the last-surviving.... I should know, believe me - I should know.', and only then did the internal struggle with reopened wounds slowly but surely start to shift in Lord Michael's favour.
'I was the one who identified my brothers remains, as is the traditional custom of my people, an' under the - circumstances, I was the only one on the planet at the time who could. I even saw how he died when my index and middle fingers together brushed against the frontal lobe of the charred skull that remained, saw the orbital bombardment an' felt that searing heat until I snapped out of it, an' here you stand - forcing me to drudge up a past I moved on from.... Poor form for a Jedi, wouldn't you say?'
Resetting his form then and there, the Meyerite principles would be abandoned for those the Woad learned to perfect under the guidance of his Serennoan King, taking on a recognisably ancient form known to Jedi and Sith alike. But in veering away from utilising Makashi with his Cavalry sabre, the life-long adherent to tradition then sheathed his Songsteel and brought his lightsabre to hand instead, and yet, much to the Druid's surprise, it was not the blackened-songsteel hilt of the Pale-Blue he always wielded. And as the curved hilt's lower half caught the base of his palm, Barran quickly realised he was holding the Galaxy-renowned sabre of Lucien Dooku, a surprise unlike any Lord Michael had experienced that evening so far.
I know not why my soul wanted this.... It always draws out my own sabre. Always.
As for how or why though - I'm not so sure I want to find out.
The Wanderer's lightsabre was still clipped to his belt, and in realising that there was no way his mind was under the impression it wasn't there, Barran let a loud shudder shake through the air as the intense blue glow illuminated Ashina's flowing locks before him. It was clear that Lord Michael was missing his friend, and with no means of gaining time enough to grieve, it seemed as though his soul was still calling out for it's brethren-counterpart. As if the grief for the loss of a friend was intensifying that which Barran still felt for the loss of his big brother, and for the comrades he lost along the way, and it was souring his perception of the Galaxy around him, as if all was becoming infected by a virus of hatred and gore-filled ultraviolence. It needed to stop, and whether the Druid would live long enough to see it occur with lasting finality, he needed to try at least.
As in that moment, it seemed to the Wanderer that none else were - anywhere.
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'So what's the craic w'Novania these days? All well under that Tarkinist system still?'
Sniggering audibly, though heard doing his best to stifle it, Varim quickly shot back,
'Our beloved nation is thriving now, and with a constant feed of increasing freedoms from the Kato Institution, we can freely express views from other corners of our Ideological Triangle.... Its just a system of governance on Archais, Randall. Especially with our Priest-King considered.', leaving his views on the proverbial table to leave no mistaking as to which ideological corner he leaned by then. There was nothing either of the officers would keep from each other in this regard, making it all the easier to put concerns and the likes to rest with finality, and in times of political uncertainty, this was something of a rarity in the Empire of late.
'Oh, is that so? Interesting tidbit o' current native-events anyways.... You - errrr - ever considered the path o' shamanism yersel, or...?'
This time, the sniggering had devolved into wheezing, clearly in the know on something the Highlander wasn't, though it had been taken in good humour. A new Deathseer had been chosen since the Priest-King's highest-ranking subordinate perished on Hoth, and in the months since the shaman's ascension, it had been often said that the one who had been chosen in secret had also been a member of Firedance Battalion since it's inception; but none of the human-born brethren of the Brotherhood were ever told who it was, thus bringing about a rather humorous dynamic between the most curious and the most secretive of the fold, holding in continuation for almost three years by then. One individual was on the verge of giving the Deathseer's identity away at one point, but as soon as it seemed like the name would be dropped on the Brotherhood's ever-suspecting laps, the Arkanian in question had been transferred out to the ADF before anyone could find out.
Putting the matter to a faux-rest for the foreseeable future, but the Goidels, in all their infamous, Galaxy-renowned persistence, would only continue in their guesswork. And in the clear, founding base origin in the two senior-most dedicated members within the Highland Brotherhood itself, and bearing it's clearest signs in the two adjutants leading the 300 operators on Neshtab, it was clear the trend would continue for as long as the Arkanians remained silent on the matter, but it wouldn't stop the Gallowglass from prodding with the issue.
'Perhaps someday I'll be permitted to say who it is.... But you can rest assured it isn't me, though I do practice Shamanism - my role in the Order of the Warseer is but a low rung on the ladder. Nothing fancy like Sur-Huwal and the Deathseer, of whom I haven't even met yet by the way - haven't even met one of his Grey Masks yet either.... Seems as though they don't like to be known, or seen for that matter.'
<"Ahana-Merla to Warmask Red! Are you listening?">
<"What is it, Warseer Red? Speak up and clearly if you can.">
A feminine voice, belonging specifically to the only other serving female within the Highland Brotherhood's upper-echelons, and consequently, the only rank-carrying woman on the ground that day; Lady Nathalie Scott would have been in a position to alleviate such pressures of shining against the sea of masculine operators, but in light of the Serennoan King's disappearance, the young Stag of the West would be deployed elsewhere in the constant search for Dooku instead. However, despite the obvious lack of the savage legend in the making, Warmask Red was holding her own quite well in light of the sheer depth of excellence she was included with, as not only had she earned her way into the Neshtab Cadre on the merit of her skill with a rifle, but her skill as a Seeress had saved more than enough Novanian lives in the years leading to her deployment to Drastarra.
<"The GADF, they-">
<"Its alright, darling.... We can handle it.">
However, little did anyone know it at the time, but the words she would speak that day would change the course of the war for the soldiers of the Serenno henceforth, as similar words had changed the face of war that IMPAF had always claimed to know just moments before.
<"Well, it doesn't help that I'm purposefully broadcasting to the entire Cadre at the moment, and with reason in mind.... There's something I think you all should know - now I could've just kept this quiet until we got home but I FETHING DIDN'T!!!! REMEMBER THAT, BOYS!!!! BECAUSE I WON'T FORCE MYSELF TO REMIND YOU AGAIN SO LISTEN UP!!!!!">
<"You heard 'er, lads. Firedancers an' Goidels alike will listen to the Warseers words! Go for it, Merrian!">
<"I have just received word from Major Shazzeke of Sabretooth Legion, so we know their word to be true already, making it all the easier to comprehend what was being said at the time - no matter how disgusted you will be to hear what I have to say.... The GADF, as of one hour and fifteen minutes ago, have endeavoured the unforgivable! THE JEDI HAVE CHOSEN TO SIDE WITH THE PARIAH LEGION!!!! HOLDOUTS FROM THE SITH EMPIRE WE OVERTHREW TOGETHER!!!! THIS, AS MUCH AS YOU DON'T WANT TO ADMIT TO YOURSELVES, IS CORUSCANT'S LAST PROVOCATION!!!!">
The only one present who knew this behaviour to specific, the only one close enough to know such things about Merrian, would be her husband; and fortunately for Randall's curiosity, much to the great luck and coincidence of knowing the man who held all the answers, Varim was and always would be that man. Seen easily when McBain turned around to find Ahan-Kaskim's thumb caressing his wedding-ring, the Goidel sympathetically inquired,
'Merrian's never been much of a shouter, has she? Seems unlike 'er, an' though this is just an assumption on my part, I'm guessing she doesn't even sound like that when you're both at home the-gither either. Am I right, or am I missing something here?', to which the Novanian snapped out his reverie to turn and respond with a confirmatory shaking of his head.
'It sounds very much like the Mother's Root is in my wife's bloodstream now.... It would seem we heard her in the process of turning from sober to someone else entirely, and it looks very much like my Merrian will be gone until the sun rises.... So now, we must fight - as the Ancients have only gone and decided for us sadly. For this I sincerely apologise, my friend.'
Ignacious Korvan
) were on approach now, and the Admiral was making sure the enemy didn't cut off their ability to... strategically withdrawal when the time came. Vexx could appreciate that. Not how you convinced your enemy to be where you wanted them, but in some way it was likely how a Senator corralled others into making the 'right' decision.
Cynthia Alucard
) entering the combat zone. If nothing else they could help screen enemy fighters pelting their capital ships, which would keep them all alive a great deal longer.
