2nd post
The Rowan Grove Plateau, Mt. Sintarin,
Northern Temple Valley, Tython (Late-Autum of 876 ABY)
As all wondrous sights should be..... Beauty in the clashing of static-lines. Glorious.
The pincer was finally moving into place, and with the Mongrel's dedicated Scar Hound majority looking to be moving in on opposition to the south, the forward momentum was steadily swinging in the Maw's favour on the ground already, given heart by the lightning bolts and gathering clouds that emanated around the sky-scraping tower of Akar Kesh, but Thomas would be brought down from his perch in the dying autumn blossoms of the Rowan tree he'd chosen. Wondrous though the view itself had been, Barran couldn't help but address the presence approaching from the treeline beneath, a presence he both recognised and didn't at the same time.
A presence the Bloodhound couldn't fully identify, despite Barran's recognition of this individual from the night of his resurrection.
Interesting.... Are you watching, my love? Perhaps even guiding his way to me?
Durace had been intense as far as most rebirthing processes went in the Galaxy's often-arcane past, but not only that, it had also been rather horrifying for the Woad's first moments alive as an amnesiac, rage-fuelled mess. Remembering the presence as one who watched on whilst the Mongrel tried his best to reason with him, but remembering the presence as one he saw as his consciousness was swept out from under him, Thomas understood this individual as the one who fought side-by-side with his darling Rebirth, one who saw her eyes and heard her voice as Barran did. Some named the individual before, though the information on the one who was approaching was scant at best, offering two names he could possibly answer to. One being
,"Erion", and the other
,"Darth Superious", both from people who'd seen him and what the stoic, secretive Sith Lord had been dealing with since.
With a little jump down from the lower segment of the Rowan's trunk, the Bloodhound would remove his gas-mask and helmet almost as soon as his boots touched the wet, grassy ground of the mountain plateau the grove had braved the winds on, calling out
,'Darth Superious!', whilst in the process of tucking his brodie-helm under his armpit as he closed the distance. It appeared as though they were alone but another approaching presence was still much too far away to make out or acknowledge at that point, so in ignoring the far-off acquaintance in the making, the Woad continued,
'Now, I know when we last met, the happenings were a bit - weird, eh? Perhaps,"Intense", would be the better term to use here, but I digress.... We've both heard the voice of Rebirth, we've both felt her power, an' though I cannot feel her power here, you can rest assured I'll do what I can to protect you.', closing the last of the distance with right hand outstretched in attempted endearment.
Acceptance of the handshake had been doubted slightly before, partly assuming that Justeene wouldn't be one for bonds or other declarations of association, but in the moment the Sith shook his hand, the Bloodhound smirked with head nodding in appreciation. Knowing that this meant they would be looking out for each other for the rest of their part in the cycle at least, a wave of comfort and contentedness washed over the Bloodhound in that moment, but something else began to take precedence in his mind as soon as their hands politely disengaged; a certain curiosity, with the light of ambition shining through with pin-point punctures self-exacted with the flashes of self-awareness that brought everything into focus, thus awakening the hidden Barran-esque opportunism within - hitting Thomas in the gut like a heavy blaster-trail had just collided with his flak jacket.
'Fate- no! REBIRTH brings us together again for a reason, Superious.... She wants you to join us! She wants you to join the Scar Hounds!'
The anointed one understood the situation well, and understood the power-dynamics of the other main warfighting tribe enough to know that some of the elements within the New Sith Order differed from the demographic majority, and of those who differed, philosophies and behaviours often dictated such differences between them. Yet such differences had little and less likelihood of bringing such opposites into contention or conflict with each other, giving Barran no reason to worry about welcoming carefully-selected Sith into a clique that was fast-becoming something akin to a household guard, especially if the Scar Hounds' training methods benefitted these Sith as much as it benefitted the cyborgs among them. Forging a different kind of warrior from the sabre-wielding evils of yesteryear, this was the Bloodhound's hope in this moment, knowing deep down that Superious would be the first of the select few to learn the ways of the Scar Hounds.
'Your true power lies with us, brother.'
NEXUS OF THE BLOOD-HOUND: SHRIVEN NO MORE - PART THREE
Floodbank East, South of Journey's End,
Temple Valley, Tython (Late-Autumn of 876 ABY)
<"Rook, you seeing this? Unexpected to say the least.">
<"With ease, Ghoul. Nobody expected this on our end either. Matters not, pincer moves in on what's in front of us. Better off finishing what's on our plate before we go offering assistance. Not leaving myself exposed in the open, and guess what? Neither are you, Ghoul. Rook out!">
two outbreaks of hostilities could be made out through the long-distance lens of the tank's periscope-optics, one being a set-pieces engagement between Imperials and Mawites already, taking up most of the distant ground, though still much too far ahead to do anything about it. The other battle, however, would be the one that would surprise the Bloodhound's contingent the most, as the Mongrel's main host of Scar Hounds had found themselves facing off against the forces of House Io, a faction that was completely unknown to the Scar Hounds, though it seemed like they were holding their own with experience and firepower that belied their prowess against the Walord's tried-and-tested force of cybernetic marauders. Fortunately for the Tri-Lunar clique's commander, Thomas would be much too preoccupied with his new acquaintances to notice the insignia of enemies he'd known from his first life, for this would've been a headache that the Bloodhound didn't need hindering him at the time.
A nose-bleeding migraine that would've angered Barran beyond reason.
'Leave off him, will ya? We've got our own idiocies to worry about, at least for now anyway.'
Dreamer was right, and Rook knew it, especially in consideration for the misplaced plans for Branchlurker-trap locations beyond the new beachhead, and a forgotten callsign for their Twi-Lek friend. Problems that both had agreed weren't urgent enough to inquire to Thomas about, but still problems that brought beads of sweat to their brows all the same, as it was easy enough for them to remember each other's with ease, having joined, trained, initiated their tenures and served together; but with the new addition to the clique owning a particular callsign, and for the purpose of maintaining unpredictability and Op-Sec against a multitude of OPFOR elements working against them, neither Rook nor Dreamer could afford to lose track so early into the planetary assault. However, much to the delight of the latter, Cazne'Kairn's ping patched through, seemingly in the nick of time but the situation was far less severe than that, though the Mawite occupants of the modified Cataphract had no way of knowing this for sure.
<"Mineheel to Dreamer! I've been waiting on your call, what gives?">
<"Avatars be praised, Mineheel! Good job you got in touch when you did, honestly. We forgot your callsign, and to make matters worse, we've lost the coordinates to your dig-sites. Sorry about that by the way.">
The recognisable click of the opening comm-link from the other end followed, but no words spewed forth, only the sound of solitary laughter in the background, derisive but still amiable enough not to be considered disdainful. Throughout this awkward moment, Dreamer would be looking to Rook for his reaction, seeing eyes rolling with a mild disgust as he heard Rook mutter
,'Not like we didn't deserve it, brother.', before turning his attention to the map-holographic plinth beside him. Heavy was the mood before, but it looked to be lightening somewhat, a small blessing that Dreamer would not have traded for anything, especially not in the approach to the meat-grinder that awaited them. It wasn't just cohesion he was seeking, but the desire to stay on good terms also, wishing not to part with Rook or the other Scar Hounds in rueful, sour regret - nor in teary-eyed yearning for what could have been.
<"You're both idiots, but you're both also very lucky that I and mine have taken a shining to you.... Just remember,"Mineheel, Mineheel!", and be sure to keep Rook focused on the mapping endeavours. After all, you can surely handle coordination and tough decisions yourself. It isn't exactly rocket-science now, is it?">
<"Fair point, and thanks for that.... Good luck out there. Looking quite hectic beyond our lines at the moment, and looking set to be all the wilder as time passes.">
<"No problem, Dreamer. And don't you worry about me, I'm a man of my means - so expect no wild heroics or gambles on my end.... Going silent now, Mineheel out!">
Deftly placed, though only for the dreaded prospect of being pushed back by their enemies, seemingly pointless for as long as the flood-plains took to recede back into the lake the flood-waters had originally spilled out from; almost entirely dependent on the engaged Mawites in the south, along with their chances of holding against the multitudes beyond, but little else could be done about it at that point of the swarming advance. As long the Maw continued to consolidate and fortify the ground they took, then holding the defenders in at the Pillars of Kalesh seemed all the more plausible, and in turn, all the more plausible for the safe implementation of the Bloodhound's,
"Wee" contingency plan. Their Warlord had always shown great prowess in cunning and skill with set-pieces, and to an extent that it dwarfed the intellect of many Mawite tribal leaders in turn, big shoes for the successor to fill, but if the mind of the Bloodhound was to be considered even half as wondrous, then people like Cazne'Kairn would definitely be needed in the long-run to bring his ideas to life.
Branchlurkers are one thing, Bloodhound. But Moon Children? A madness, truly.
But still a madness we need - on this day of days.