Dominion The Wild Horde [MP Dominion of Feriae Junction]

[Yorunarr Ahan-Yan'Sharlim]

2nd Post

GODMASK_ACTUAL
CHAIRMAN OF MELARRAN PMC
SHAMAN-GENERAL OF THE FIREDANCE BRIGADES
EXILED PRIEST-KING OF NOVANIA

TAGS
Mia Monroe Elise Ahana-Gwyneira Oceanus Rekali
Liorra Kurayami Bloodborn

FIGHTING OUR WAY BACK I: LIKE THE HEROES OF OLD - PART 2

MOTHMA BOULEVARD, OLD DISTRICT,
BRAXIS TERRITORY, NEW JUNCTION (901 ABY)

'RAGE, MY FRIENDS - FOR YOUR PRIEST-KING HAS SPOKEN!!!! YOUR GODS ARE WATCHING!!!!'​

Within moments, the shrieks, the roars and ululations of their people rang out louder than the zombified gargling and growling of their undead assailants, and in the heat of their shock-trooper tactics, stormed into the midst of the nearest mob of rotting locals with an abandon that told of wilder, darker times before. Such that were deep-seated enough to pass generational trauma into Novania's next generations, such that taught them to,"Fight like its your last fight - every fight.", as the old Hirkenburg-Archaisian adage went.

'Heeeuurgh-'

CRUNCH​

Like a fury, the Godseer led the charge from the front, caving in the skull of the nearest zombie with his Highland Targe shield, only to follow through with a wide, beheading swipe at the throat of the walking corpse behind the first. One of many benefits offered with the long reach of Raindancer's cavalry-sabre design, and with the light-weighted durability of Songsteel factored in, decaying bones fared worse than butter ever did against a breadknife, setting an example for the bodyguards who were unfortunately setting to attacking torsoes and faces in the absence of undead-knowhow. Not a good thing to see whilst dealing with the painful eye-socket itching of the Gods' Glow, as it only added irritation onto an already-weighty aggravation at the time, and enough that Yorunarr could no longer keep himself from expressing his dissatisfaction, striking out at his subordinates a few times with his sword's pommel before he could simmer enough to give voice to that aggravation.

'You waste time needlessly on malice, they can't even feel that anymore! There's only one judgement to pass here, you fething idiots!'

Smashing the skull of his next target with extra force to illustrate his point, the exiled Priest-King's shield would serve as a perfect demand for strict, coherent adaptation to the unfolding mayhem, bloodied beyond discernment of detail and pattern by then, with droplets flowing freely through the cracks to their eventual splashes on the ground beneath. It presented quite the indomitable image to the guardsmen still switching out for Fairbairn combat-knives at the time, but in the continued explosiveness of melee-methodology, it presented no argument to brook on the issue.

'SEND THEM BACK TO THEIR GRAVES, QUICK MERCY IS THE ONLY WAY!!!!'

~=Michael, you know whats going on!=~
~=I'll be needing some,"Clickwave" action real soon at this rate!=~

~=MOVE IT!!!!=~
​

With nothing else for it, the others joined the fray, using their SMGs and rifles to keep the undead at arm's length whilst their newly-adjusted knife primaries handled the rest; and with a little of that same operator's level of warfighting savagery from before, clenching jaws with teeth snarled in clear sight, Yorunarr's household guard would begin to work at a cleaner, quieter level of collective cohesion. The frenzy on which their Warseer advisors thrived in battle would show his face soon enough, this the exiled Priest-King knew and remembered well as a trait of which he knew to be wary, though as for whether the Godseer would think it wise or not, the former would be assumed on the growing likelihood their struggle would be concluded within the first hour of engagement.

On this one occasion, (though it was likely other, convenient occasions would be found along the way) it seemed like a one-time opportunity to let it all out, to get all that rage off their chests once and for all, and the Godseer was more than willing to indulge it. Fortunate then that Yorunarr found it to be the closest-possible substitute for a controlled-environment, a safe arena within which they could fight and frenzy freely - testing limits and tuckering themselves out for the sake of those on both sides of the Feriae Civil War.

​

'HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAUUUUUUURGH!!!!'

 

[Michael Barran]

2nd Post

CAIRN_ONE
CHAIRMAN OF PELLAEON PMC
DRUID-GRANDMASTER OF THE HIGHLAND BROTHERHOOD
LORD-IMPERATOR OF THE IMPERIAL MILITARY PROTECTORATE

TAGS
Mia Monroe Elise Ahana-Gwyneira Oceanus Rekali Liorra
Kurayami Bloodborn

HEAVY ART THE HEADS I: TROUBLE IN PARADISE - PART 2

KRANTHAR'S, OLD DISTRICT,
BRAXIS TERRITORY, NEW JUNCTION (901 ABY)

~=Aye, aye.... Haud yer steeds, Preach! I'll be there before ya know it.=~​

Unbuttoning his coat by Kranthar's quiet cloakroom, the attendant saw Michael's gesture on approach, thus was able to hand over the coat on the way to the foyer, catching the token in hand as the attendant passed it with a throw before seeing to the task of hanging the pinstriped suit-jacket for the Tattered Regent's sake. The exit would've been smoother if it wasn't for a final parting comment from the attendant, drawling,'Mind the surroundings out there, Lord Michael.... Our infrastructure isn't what it used to be.', in kindly earnest, knowing how hazardous the city could be - even without the undead considered.

'Duly noted, Stan. I won't be long.'

With only his lightsabre as his carrying-weapon, there would be no need to worry about a scabbard for Mountainsong for as long as Barran persisted in keeping his offensive capabilties in surreptitious secrecy, the only part of his garb where he would ever reach for his deep-blue Makashi would be within the frontal trouser-pocket on the right. Kept where it was for the sake of rolling up the sleeves of his white shirt, there was still time yet to activate a Dooku-influenced wonder of which the old Woad hadn't used in decades, choosing instead to draw the Songsteel Cavalry sabre for so long until that one day, that one time when he was tactically-naked and lacking combative choice between both.

No Songsteel, and no armour-protection either, just a well-dressed statesman with kyber hiding in his pocket. A man with heart awaiting the boldest of opponents, throat offered to all who would ascend the raw power of the Bloodhound - a victor of whom had thought his younger brother slain in defeat.

Such would be the only openings offered in brazen challenge for would-be assassins and opponents alike, but enough had been learned in victory, draw and defeat alike, and much more in the victories, draws and defeats of his predecessors, as such was the way for every Barran chieftain from it's very first progenitor. Thus the library grew on Galidraan III over the course of centuries, taken to grow all the more in exile, on Archais, and lastly on Bastion before it found it's last, permanent home on Nirauan, to empower the Laird as much as temper all expectation. If it wasn't for these tomes, Lord Michael's conscious recovery may have been a much-slower, more-laborious process in contrast, proving their spiritual connection had permeated to Lord Erskine's second son, and in turn proving his patience in the slow return to form.

However, somewhere along the way, at some point in the latter-stages of this process, Lord Michael became stronger than ever before, somehow standing as a testament to empowerment-of-focus in earnest. Barran was readier than ever before, and with much owed to the second-wind genetics of his lineage, the youthful vigor (for which his father was renowned) would ready the son for a journey his father walked to greatness, preparing the next Barran chieftain to outshine all opposition accordingly.

Father never had it easy, an' I'll never dare t'say otherwise.
But this struggle's fated t'be much worse, a much-steeper path to the top.

​

 

[Kurayami Bloodborn]

Kurayami could feel the anger rising in Liorra and while he didn't know the young woman nearly as well as her mother Mishel, there was a familiarity to the feeling given off by it. Something in the way it was directed seemed familiar, though not exactly the same, the thoughts were little more than surface level as he fired in bursts past her to keep her flanks cleared when she was focused on the frontal assault. He owuld also turn and fire slightly longer bursts behind them if anything showed up on the scanners. In those cases it was usually an NIO soldier trying to sneak in for an easy kill on distracted targets. The chatter of the TL-50 was a sound he had grown to very much enjoy and was seriously considering making this his go to weapon with the DC-17m as a backup.

​

Though he finally managed to catch up to Lio, he still hung back a couple paces as the sheer feeling of anger pouring forth from her was oppressive. He wanted to say something, anything to try and bring her back from the edge. Kurayami had been to this level of self doubt and self loathing, but he didn't know how to put into words what he wanted to say to her, and just saying that you aren't alone wasn't going to do jack shit right now, or probably ever with the level of pissed off she was now. Not with her lineage. When she sheathed her beskad he dropped focused his energy on projecting a barrier to protect himself from the hell he was sure the woman was about to release as he maneuvered to stand closer to her without degrading the angles he could fire from too greatly.

Liorra | Mia Monroe​

 

[Daesyn Rodarch]

Location: Rodney boarding party
Objective: Rescue defenders, collect samples
Tags: Arla Rodarch Aloy Vizsla
Gear: Manda's Wrath - Paladin's Grace - two particle blasters

Daesyn could detect it too, the gas in the air was increasing and it was at a concentration that could be easily ignited if they were not careful, the mandalorians could probably bare the brunt of a flash fire were that to happen, but the fleeing survivors would not be so lucky. Daesyn reached her hand down to lift up a small girl who tripped in the near stampede and was could easily have been crushed. "Watch your step! You aren't animals!" she yelled angrily at the crowd to try and encourage a modicum of control.

Arla looked at her and boosted up onto the upper levels where more infected were beginning to poor in. Flames licked around the air her jetpack passed through as the gas tried to find its ignition point. <<Watch your jets Vod.>> she said to her clans mate as she herself took to the air. Her wings provided no chance of fire risk and she wanted a better view.

The crowd was moving but infected began dropping in from the balcony behind them, one got too close and Daesyn decapitated it with a swing of her hammer. All of her ranged weapons were energy based but she had another trick. She hovered low above the crowd and a glow began to appear around her, any force sensitive would feel her force light building and she was surrounded by and orb of divine light a score of metres across filled the room. Any infected caught within it either dropped down dead as her light pushed the darkness out of the virus sustaining them, or were forced to the perimeter of the light were they snarled at the existential threat that hung glowing with her wings spread wide in the air.

This delay helped the crowd to make their move towards the corridor and towards relative safety, although she wondered what the situation closer to the Rodney was. <<How you hanging in up there Arla?>> she asked as she saw her friend engaged in melee combat. They would soon be able to return to their ship hopefully.

 

[Mia Monroe]

The rage in Liorra reached its peak, she was a swirling storm of heat and fury, unleashing it into the undead that had spilled into the barracks. If Mia had ever had any doubt of her lineage, this was enough to confirm it. Mia had fought with Siobhan Kerrigan more times than she could count on her hands, that her granddaughter had landed in her path was no coincidence.

The muzzle of her own rifle flashed but the telekinetic heave wave Liorra was creating was forcing even their own men to hunker down. She was out of control. She moved up with Kurayami, a hand falling on the girls shoulder. "Udesii, Lio'ika" she said softly moving carefully into her peripherals, crouching, keeping a hand on her arm. The heat was unbearable for most, but Mia had walked through fire often enough. "Gar cuyir narir hra'ne bal Ni cuyir giarioa be gar. Ni ne'waadas gar at hiibir a haal par ni."

Kurayami Bloodborn Liorra

 

[Liorra]

Liorra had been so focused on the death and destruction of enemies around her. She had become locked on it, like a dog thrashing its prey. When the Liberator placed her hands on the girl's shoulder. Liorra jumped a kad at the ready, realizing who it was she relaxed her stance and looked toward the sea of destruction she had carved. Heat and telekinetics came to a stop, she stowed the kad and placed her hands back on her rifle. Lio was grateful that her helmet could conceal the flush of her cheeks. Quietly with her head bowed she responded, "akutudir al'verde bic malyasa'yr va banar tug'yc." The other Protectors were able to stand and return to formation as the group continued down their path. Liorra fell into step and focused her blaster fire on where it was needed.

Mia Monroe | Kurayami Bloodborn ​

 

[Yorunarr Ahan-Yan'Sharlim]

3rd Post

GODMASK_ACTUAL
CHAIRMAN OF MELARRAN PMC
SHAMAN-GENERAL OF THE FIREDANCE BRIGADES
EXILED PRIEST-KING OF NOVANIA

TAGS
Mia Monroe Elise Ahana-Gwyneira Oceanus Rekali
Liorra Kurayami Bloodborn

FIGHTING OUR WAY BACK I: LIKE THE HEROES OF OLD - PART 3

MOTHMA BOULEVARD, OLD DISTRICT,
BRAXIS TERRITORY, NEW JUNCTION (901 ABY)

'RETURN THEM!!!! RETURN THE DEAD TO THE CRYPT!!!!'​

Blow after blow, slice after puncture, and shot after click, the Novanians held firm against the undead onslaught, as they had on Carlac, all those years ago. The very same night a young Shaman swore fealty to the last-surviving son of a Clan Chieftain - held to his oath at the tip of a Songsteel sabre.

'PUUUUUUUUUUSH!!!!'

Time would do the rest, and in all the twists and turns of Fate, the destined paths of both lads would lead them all the way to Feriae Junction; one would become a Priest-King, the other becoming Lord-Warden of the Imperial Knights before the Empire's bitter end, only for both to hold empty titles of rulership at the turn of the next century. Struggles of identity to which both wanted war-criminals would need to acquiesce quickly, as every great endeavour always started from meagre, humble springboards, struggles of which Yorunarr's bodyguards would see and feel in every last one of the Godseer's strikes, or at least in all they could see in the midst of their melee with the undead.

'HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAUUUUUURGH!!!!'

Screaming out to the world around him, and with such volume and vigor that it left no room for incorrect interpretations, Yorunarr was throwing in his all - and then some.

But in the act of jumping into his first proper fight in decades, it would only be a matter of time before the Godseer saw the mere lows of his new endurance-ceiling, though Yorunarr was certainly aware of the creeping limitations at the time. Yet despite the increasing cortisol-burn in the muscles, drying of the mouth and diminishing grip on his weapons, the Priest-King held firm for the sake of his subordinates, using every last reserve of strength for the impending arrival of their Brotherhood's one-and-only existing lifeline. The Godseer was ready for all outcomes, regardless of life or death, but he knew the city (and with it: the entire planet) would be much safer without the zombified remains of their compatriots to worry about; thus would remain devoted to the task, and to whatever end awaited, as this was just a part of living - the Novanian way.

'Looks like we're done with this lot.... But there's more approaching - PREPARE A LAST STAND, MEN!!!! THE NETHER AWAITS!!!!'

When compared with the swathes they had to hold off before, it was clear to all (even at a distance) that the next herd of undead Imperial citizens was much larger than that which was slaughtered by the Novanians just moments before, and even with the small reprieve of a minute's rest before the eventual clash, the creeping dread would do nothing to aid in the deathly realisation of their predicament. To survive this encounter would take something of a miracle, and with no intention of running from their grim task, the Firedance operators would adhere to their stand with their Priest-King, and without a single notion of consideration for anything even-remotely daring to renege on their vows.

'No need, sir! OUR LORD-IMPERATOR IS WITH US!!!! LOOK!!!!'

The broad-shouldered form of their Brotherhood's Druid-Grandmaster would be seen approaching through the humid mist from the south, and as the old Woad was in the process of wordlessly rolling up his sleeves, the Novanians began to step backward, away from the mayhem of their own making. Knowing they would be seeing something incredible in the following moments, it was all they could do to keep themselves from childishly pointing down the road to their intended targets, but in understanding that nothing of the sort would be needed, the Priest-King's bodyguards would revert to an archetypal observer's cheering and ululating favour for one who would stand as their protector. A collective approval for which the Tattered Regent was eternal grateful, and for their unshaken loyalty, even in the midst of the worst adversities, Barran would be seen bowing with fist-over-heart in salute to the braves who remained.

'UNLEASH THE POWER OF IMPERIUM!!!! DO IT!!!!'

 

[Michael Barran]

3rd Post

CAIRN_ONE
CHAIRMAN OF PELLAEON PMC
DRUID-GRANDMASTER OF THE HIGHLAND BROTHERHOOD
LORD-IMPERATOR OF THE IMPERIAL MILITARY PROTECTORATE

TAGS
Mia Monroe Elise Ahana-Gwyneira Oceanus Rekali Liorra
Kurayami Bloodborn

HEAVY ART THE HEADS I: TROUBLE IN PARADISE - PART 3

KRANTHAR'S, OLD DISTRICT,
BRAXIS TERRITORY, NEW JUNCTION (901 ABY)

~=Consider it done, my old friend.... For the realm of old.=~​

Feeling a sense of pride like never before, feeling every last ounce of it's fuel-like properties bubbling to the very forefront of his mind, Michael was readier than ever to mark his return to Force-Wielding prominence - to wield the greatest of all powers in the Galaxy once more.

'DO IT FOR THE LIGHT OF IMPERIUM!!!!'

All at the very same fingertips that saved Barran's hide before - countless times before.

'FIGHT FOR ERSKINE!!!! FOR THE STORMCHASER!!!!'

That which cancelled out lesser magics, lesser powers and such that rested beyond the norms of scholarly description, that which held off demons and spirits of all origins, the Tattered Regent's sole-surviving links to a century of heartache still had meaning; even after almost twenty-one years of recovery, the training in old, discarded methods of midichlorian suppression, that surge of energy would find no barriers to impede a long-approaching eventuality. The static was already building up at the fingertips, and the Tattered Regent wasn't even within range of the zombies yet, and with it - the excitement would build in tandem to the sheer force of trained Midichlorian control.

'FOR THE BROTHERHOOD!!!! FOR ALL OF US!!!!'

Neither in joy nor anger, neither in emptiness nor overflow of emotion, the Light of Imperium would flow from an entirely different wellspring of motivation, thus the Light of Rurik, Halketh and Lucien always stood as a glow apart from that of the Jedi. A light the Ashlans knew well, considered as Holy from the first moment they laid their blessed eyes on it's anomalously-rare hue, a light of which even Lord Michael himself had struggled to understand in his formative years, knowing little and less of the calmly counterweight to his vicious existential disdain in those days. When all would endure the habits of their masters against those of their opposites, the Light of Imperium would simply flow from a deathly resolve, that which can only be learned in the most intense of duresses, the greatest of warring struggles against evil.

To reach deep within one's self.
To bring out that which conquers giants, from the deepest depths of the soul.​

With hip twisting into brace, anticipating the recoil of his first Force-Wielding offence in almost twenty years, the old Woad's heart began to quicken in prediction of the destruction his hands could wield at such a stage of Midichlorian maturation, but still - steady was the mind.

Then forward the right arm was thrown in completing his brace for recoil, resulting in the eventual snapping of the thumb with index and middle fingers for which Lord Michael had waited far too long already, though as for what the Click-Wave technique had become since it's last-known appearance on Nirauan, nobody could have anticipated a potency so strong that nearly all the Novanians there would flinch in reaction. A soundwave vicious enough to physically tear the air apart from it's base-molecules, a ripping reverberation that could be heard as loud as any explosion in it's place, and when the attack reached the gathering throng of undead Imperials, none could offer anything steely enough to resist it's eviscerating impact.

Then another tore through the air, and another, and one more for good measure.

Physically covering their ears by then, the Novanians could only watch on with amazement, seeing the man their Druid-Grandmaster had become since their formative years as part of the Brotherhood; watching over the course of decades, seeing the struggle to achieve even base-power alignments in the beginning, only to find the genuine finished article before them. The Wanderer had not become the Tattered Regent after all, and though that epithet would likely follow Barran to the Barrows, it would be clear to all that Lord Michael would likely embody his own father first before perishing, much though that would have been to the great chagrin of the old Woad in younger years. Prompting every last bodyguard to leap once more into the fray, finishing their Lord-Imperator's good work in thanks for the tide-turning efforts there and in New Carannia alike.

'Fate, in an ocean of joy.'

However, just when the Novanians were dispatching the heads off their undead foes, completing the task for their sector at least, their Priest-King would turn to the Lord-Imperator. Covered head-to-toe in undead blood, standing proudly with sword and buckler in hand, the Godseer growled,'Your work isn't done here, Milord! We're done with the dead, so save the rest from the vultures among the living!', shunting the old Woad westward. Towards the Pellaeonists of Braxis, towards those who were poisoned against them, and last of all - towards the very warhawks who perpetuated this little war to their favour.

'Alright.... Here goes-'

In order to halt everything whilst the world was in the process of going awry, the Tattered Regent understood that a drastic measure would need to be taken, though the Pellaeonist brand of lawful would dictate the severity of the response; thus the warning-system would be the chosen method, and in order to bring a cease to all hostilities suddenly, a spanner would need to be thrown into hawkish workings. Dictating the flow of enmity from there, and by rule of law, all chances would be given before orbital bombardment could even-remotely find consideration among the attending Protectorate elements. Made all the simpler by the new main go-to for Imperials, as this had been more than enough to throw a spanner in all beligerent works before, (and would again) and for as long as comm-traffic recquisition remained within their technological capacity, the Protectorate would control the flareup of all conflicts within their reach.

<"Barran to Cairn Two! Snatch up those airways, will ya?">

<"On it, Milord.... Ready in five, four, three.... All Comm-Link Arrays are ours now! Snatched up good an' proper! Cairn Two - out!">​

Better to kill a war than to kill it's best and brightest, better to dissuade the sword-arm than it would be to catch it mid-strike.

<"All Imperials, all Mandalorians - this battlefront has fallen under the jurisdiction of the Imperial Military Protectorate, legitimate heirs of the Empire. You are hereby ordered to put your weapons down, as such escalations are unwelcome under newly-forged diplomatic convention.... If you wish to slip imprisonment for war-crimes, this is how it is done.">​

Little did the old Woad know it then, but not only did he look a lot like his father in this moment, but also sounded and moved in much the same way, like father like son, and seemingly deep enough to register on a spiritual level. Embodying that charismatic assertiveness of a time bygone to the new century, a callback to a time when Imperials made even the Masworn flinch fearfully, a time when all rued the day they declared for the Sith in hatred of Tavlar's New Imperial Order, when all respected the lawful strength of Imperium in it's truest, most-natural form. The Goidels once embodied that very defiance that defined Irveric's Imperium, and for those who escaped the Empire of the Lost, Lord Michael knew they still had that obstinate fury burning deep within their souls, and for them - Barran would let the likeliness to the Regent shine brighter than ever before.

<"D'ye like death, aye? D'ye like the smell o' gore that much that you'd all jump to the slaughter so easily? Is it really that important that you'd ignore walking death to SOW YOUR OWN?!?! WHO THE FETH D'YE THINK YOU ARE?!?!.... Now, I'm not suggesting we're all angels here, but if you want to prove your worth in good faith, you'll come find me so we can sign some agreements together!">




<"My name is Michael, Lord Chieftain of Clan Barran. Druid-Grandmaster of the Highland Brotherhood - AN' LORD-IMPERATOR OF THE I - M - P!!!! AVE RURIK!!!!">

​

 

[Arla Rodarch]

Feriae Junction
Space - Aboard Transport 1

The fight with the undead was brutal and bloody. They came on without fear or hesitation, and Arla had to struggle against the seemingly endless tide. Daesyn Rodarch lit the Zombies up with what had to be a Force attack, and Arla was grateful for the reprieve. Between the two of them they had held the flood back for the refugees to escape.

"I'm fine!" Arla yelled over the growls and snarls of the oncoming zombie horde. "We're clear!" Yelled a veteran from the ground floor. Arla retreated several steps, pulling a thermal detonator from her pouch and holding it up for Daesyn to see. "Get the door!" Arla commed to Daesyn. Then she armed the detonator for five seconds and yeeted it at the horde. Then she turned and ran for the stairwell. Unlike Daesyn, Arla couldn't fly.

Five seconds was an eternity, and it was not long enough for Arla all at the same time. The Rodarch Mando ran her guts out descending the floors, leaping rails and dropping several floors to the ground. She hoped to Kad that Daesyn had made it away to the exit door. Arla got to within a few meters of the way out when the detonator went off behind her. "Screw it." A little bloody fire wouldn't matter now. Quickly she ignited her jetpack and flew into the next room before she was incinerated.