2nd Post
TRIANGULATED SEARCH ZONE, RED VALLEY BASIN,
BRENDOK, OUTER RIM (902 ABY)
Cheeky, but I like the sentiment.
An' with that, herein also lies a chance to answer my curiosities.
Let us see what the next generation is capable of achieving, shall we?
It wasn't the first time the old Woad had to be reminded
(subtle though the reminders had become of late) he wasn't expendable any more, and due to the fact he was still getting to grips with life at the top since awakening from his Bacta coma, it wouldn't be the last time either. A humbling reminder, even despite the great and elevated status implied, a reminder of which had been taken as a slight on the first few awkward occasions; but in the early months of 902 ABY, after many multiple reminders of his importance to the cause, Barran had since become better-accustomed to the cautionary prudence of his Imperial subordinates.
'Alright then, Galloway. Stick w'me.... I'm sure we'll see some action soon, an' if ye keep yer heid on a swivel - I'll be sure t'follow suit.'
Making a beeline for the Temple in the distance, the old Woad walked proudly at the head of his contingent, leading from the front as his own father had before him, yet still somehow paling in comparison to a father who lacked the Force-Wielding power of other Imperial powerhouses. Perhaps it was the fact such a man
(renowned for his achievements as a Non-Force User) was very-much capable of making the strongest of Force-Wielders flinch, an anomalous feat of which not even Lord Michael himself had been capable of achieving in all that time, living to make shining examples of an old man finding his second-wind in battle. Even for a former Imperial Knight of his own great renown, the Tattered Regent knew the Stormchaser's shoes would be difficult to fill, and for an old Songsteel swordsman like Erskine Barran, the entire Galaxy would know his achievements to be a miracle for Defiant Imperium.
'C'mere, Galloway.... Afore we reach the temple o'er yonder, I'm going to clue you in on the wonders o' Combat Intuition, a little light entertainment on the way if you will. I mean, you probably know a fair deal about it aw'ready - but there's levels to this that many still seem to overlook.'
Little wonder then as to the extent of amazement the Imperials felt to see a man like the Stormchaser leading from the front, and the Tattered Regent knew he needed to grow into those proverbial shoes, and to carry an aura strong enough to match the talismanic power of his father's presence on the frontlines. Though Michael himself would be fortunate to have time and familial prestige on his side, these perceived safety-nets were not considered as substancial enough to hold compelling, authoritative sway over frontline morale, only merit, victory, and his own valorous deeds would lend power to his words when it mattered most.
'Now, believe it or not, most Force-Users are ay'ways the last to learn the power derived from conventional combat-strength, often viewed as a mythic form of mastery, perceived as a deritive from lower-vibrational, near-undetectable Midichlorian frequencies. Its a power unattainable to most of the Galaxy's stronger NFU-duellists, and yet some have managed to beat such odds under supreme duress, warriors including my father, the Mongrel an' Aron Gowrie to name but a few.... An' that's just from the NFU-Duellists who learned it.'
Drawing nearer to the temple by then, it wouldn't take long for Lord Michael to detect the Force signatures within, with one in particular ringing as supremely familiar, an effervescent offshoot of the one he remembered belonging to Argilac in life. The child of one who knew much of Combat Intuition, as did the daughter in question, drawing into relevence with the Tattered Regent's topic of instruction, giving Barran all the more reason to continue,
'Oddly enough, its only in recent years that this wonder was given it's official name, an' the Highland Brotherhood's scholars have jus' naturally stuck to calling it,"Combat Intuition", since, even though it might have had other descriptions before.... There's only an elite few alive today who can wield it, but I'm willing to bet you'll know them all before the year is out.', before the darker, altogether-more arcane presences began to draw into his outer sphere of detection.
"You want to burn away corruption?!"
'Just in time t'show ye what I mean.'
"Then show me what passes for Fury among your misbegotten kind!"
'Gladly.'
Mostly muttering to himself and young Cannaugh, the old Woad knew he was too far off for his enemies to hear him, though they would not be waiting for long for the Lord Imperator's real, official response, as by then the very details of the temple's entrance doors were easily discerned by from Barran's approaching distance. Unbuttoning the overcoat and removing his arms from the sleeves, just a little shift of posture would click the coat in place on his back to cloak-fitting standard, Lord Michael would have coat-tails at his back
(in faithful, purposeful keeping with new officer-regulation traditions) for the impending clash of powers, keeping his blades at his hips until he was sure the time was ripe to unsheathe them.
'Veer aff t'one side, please. Safety first an' aw that caper.... What I'm about to do next, my Masks know it to be a Combat Intuition technique, a Warrior's Will derivative I call,"Warrior's Impact". Watch closely.'
Cracking his knuckles, his knees and even his neck on both sides, the old Woad smiled in the moments he approached the last few steps in his approach, taking his time as his focus hit a flowstate on the center-mass point of the entrance doorway.
'YOU IN THERE, THE VOICE I HEARD SCREAMING WITH BLUSTER!!!! I SUGGEST YOU LISTEN, AN' LISTEN CLOSELY!!!!', the Tattered Regent started, trailing off for effect as he stopped at the entrance, just as a certain pressure began to emanate, pulsating in increasing pressure and intensity from the outline of Barran's physical form. There would be no doubt as to whether Argella and her opponents would sense that pressure within, and in that correct assumption another would be made, assuming they were already braced for Lord Michael's next move as he concluded
,'DO NOT FORGET, IN YOUR DEMAND FOR FURY - IMPERIUM GRANTED YOUR REQUEST!!!!', reaching in for power from every active sinew of his anatomy.
'AAAAVE - RUUUUURIIIIIIIIIIIIK-'
BOOM
BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM
With left fist firmly pressed against the door as his counterweighting anchor, allowing all the pressure to build up to satisfactory extremes, the consequent right-fisted punch was able to gather new extremes of force and mass from the pressure in it's trajectory, already quite volatile on it's way toward the small impact-zone. But when the punch landed, and square on the entrance's lower point of center-mass at that, the most vicious of elemental call-and-response reactions transpired, surprising even Lord Michael as the shockwave's closer-proximity burst threatened to kick it's living catalyst to the dirt. Creating a blast that was potent enough to shatter the doors, their dividing supports and all the surrounding rock-face architecture, leaving nothing but a broken, crumbling chasm where the entrance had been just a moment before, Barran would stand to marvel at his handiwork for a while, almost completely forgetting why he blew the doors off in the first place.
'Not bad.'
After twenty years, the Hero of Nirauan was still a formidable sight with hair greyer than ever, and even whilst covered with the rock-dust, wood-splinters and the like, the sight of the bearded Woad would have been a sight from yesteryear to behold. Pulling the Order's Tancredian mask over his face, and without once dropping or shifting his gaze from the warriors on the other side of the breach, the leader of the Protectorate was gesturing the makings of a strong front; working to boost morale for his subordinates in the fight's early stages, working to make a visible point of walking the path of his father, and in clear sight of those who would appreciate it most.
Thus the great choice befell the old Woad once more, deciding between Kyber or Songsteel, and once again at the precipice of violence; and this time, on this day of days, the Tattered Regent would call on his Serennoan-Hilt sabre, activating the blade to reveal the deep-blue of the crystal that chose him so long ago. A sight and sensation of which Barran had not experienced for many years before he landed on Brendok, even in wielding it on many occasions after waking from his coma, giving rise to a yet-another momentary distraction that day, though this would do little to keep Lord Michael from finally entering the temple.
The lightsabre's tip would then scrape the tiles beneath on approach, kicking up sparks and embers just inches away from the right-handed, right-footed cadence of it's wielder, gesturing adoption of Fool's Guard as a taunt, a challenge to any and all potential opponents in the temple. By coincidence, this was a habit mostly associated with masters of Form 2, and in baiting an atypical false-opening, the chance of early parrying-counters would remain, made deathly apparent to all as Barran advanced further in from the destruction of his own making. Makashi practicioners always had their surreptitious tricks at the ready, a truth so prevalent it was still considered a universal constant among Force-Wielders, and though there were duellists skilled enough to meet such a sabre-fighting style in the middle, all would know to be careful around a Form-2 user with hair-greying years of experience under their belt.
'I BRING GREETINGS FROM THE PEOPLE OF NIRAUAN!!!! THE BEATING HEART OF IMPERIUM!!!!'
Michael Barran
, she paved herself a path of blazing glory.
