Faction Banners of the Fallen I [EMPIRE]

[DECEASED Erskine Barran]

INTRO

Noris (Fallen Planet)
Broken Heart of the Frontier
Population (Pre-War Years): 17,475,498
Population (Prior to Recolonization): 37

Hold the Line
Die Like a Hero
Make Your Escape
Aid the Wounded

The last objectives of a doomed planetary-defence contingent.
The last options it's heroes had when all was falling to flame around them.

An event of which, as much as it still irks the Lord-Regent, was still one that could have been avoided.​

The year was 874 ABY, and all around the planet's capital, a last-minute deployment of IMPAF elements was underway, setting into motion a last-ditch defence of Primus at every possible corner. Primus was more than a beautiful city after all, and more than the loyal Chiss-born citizens who built her from the very foundations into the wonder she became, as with all things Frontier-Imperial, there was a beating heart of defiance against all enemies who dared cross these planets. They always had been, and always would, and on the surface of every last frontier world, from Nirauan to the Redoubt, and all through Krieg to the other Mandalorian worlds, all their great works would stand for as long as the strong hand of their Imperial overlords mobilized to defend them.

Though as for the peoples and garrisons on Noris, this fate was not to be.

Fortune often favours the brave in this Galaxy, but without any meaningful, weighty support or reinforcements, that same fortune can dwindle with frighteningly quick momentum; and in this Galaxy, it does, and often. As it had for the Norisian defenders on that fateful year, hopelessly outnumbered from the moment the Maw set out to stake their claim on the planet and any that were poised to fall thereafter, but hope remained for as long as Imperials stood to defend Primus city, even at the pinnacle of the world's eleventh hour. They know someone would answer their call for aid, their roaring swansong, even if it proved ineffective in the end, as in the event they gave the Mawite host a bloody nose for their troubles, then all thoughts and designs on Nirauan were likely to die fresh out of their infancies.

And when Noris called,

THE EMBERS ANSWERED, AND WITHOUT EVEN SO MUCH AS A MOMENT OF HESISTATION.​

Led by the famed 117th Divison's very own 15th Company, along with other elements from IMPAF, IMPMAG and a few smaller-but-notable contingents from the 313th and 501st alike, the planetary defence set to their defences, constructing FOB: Belisarius and manning several fortified skyrises around the city, the Imperials would be as ready as they were ever likely to be under similar circumstances. However, despite the welcome arrival of the Elite Troopers on the surface a week before the Mawsworn assault, it was clear from the offset that no such weighty, meaningful support could be offered with the lion's share of the army deployed to other frontiers, making it clear to all this fight of all fights would doubtlessly become a forlorn, final stand eventually, leading to a small, though-recurring trend of suicides in the hours (and even minutes) leading up to the attack itself.

But when the Maw eventually arrived to hit out at the planet's defenders, they hit hard, and harder than anything the Imperials could effectively defend against - changing the very nature of the battle itself almost two days after the first landings.

And yet, not all was lost to the Maw in that fateful attack, not whilst the Elite Troopers were still breathing.​

One was a renowned Warmaster, closely bonded and dutybound to the other, a personal bodyguard to one who would become Lord-Regent someday, (despite both being little more than youths at the time) and in the hours following the wounding and near-killing of the latter, plans began to form for a fighting-retreat covered evacuation to the city's one and only spaceport. It was enough to provide just a sliver of hope to citizen and soldier alike, even though the small take-off escape windows seemed insane to even think of endeavouring, but they needed to try at least; and with what little help they had from above, already heavily-embattled within and outside of the Norisian orbital sphere, they would push deep into the safety of the Empire's inner sectors.

Only to look back on the distant surface of a world they believed they would never see again, evacuating at the last minute to see the worst of what earlier evacuees may have missed - a fortunate thing when compared to the despairing, diminishing perceptive sight of a city in flames for the last of the high-flying evacuees.

Chance had never been on the Empire's side, nor on the side of it's most heroic warriors, but despite the dwarfing odds that went with facing the likes of the Bloodsworn and the Crimson Hand on the last day, a heroic effort was mounted against the sheer weight of numbers and firepower. They were, as some say in this Galaxy,"Always outnumbered, never outgunned.", and to each a man this phrase rang true when push came to shove, but it still wasn't enough to prevail in the end. Regardless of the intended bloodying of Mawsworn noses, regardless of the resistance offered in the explosive fighting-retreat, the weight of force carried from he Unknown Regions had proven all-encompassing after all. A harsh reality of which would result in the order for a Broken Arrow action as soon as the last escaper ship leapt into orbit, taking swathes of opposing elements out with our heroes, allowing true warriors to drag their adversaries into the next life with them.

Tying evils in servitude to their strong-hearted enemies forevermore, an end to the Empire's darkest hour. But oh, what an hour it was for the Imperials all the same, for the best of the best, rare though their sort were, (even then) always seek a fittingly-heroic end that would be worthy of remembrance.

"God forbid that I should live as an Emperor without an Empire. As my city falls, I will fall with it. Whosoever wishes to escape, let him save himself if he can, and whoever is ready to face death, let him follow me." - Emperor Constantine XI Dragatses-Palaiologos, the last Emperor of the Romans

-A FALSE SPRING STORY-

In his dreams, the past torments the Lord-Regent.
Diminishing his already-short spans of restfulness, diminishing his will to hold back the traumas.

Time works against the old man, but fast is the urge to fight it.​

In light of the war's ending, Lord Erskine ironically finds himself busier than ever before, working hours in peacetime of the likes he would never have been allowed to endeavour before, not even whilst deployed to other planets at the peak of wartime. Made all the more difficult when the rest he is offered yields less sleep, fewer dreams and fewer reserves of waking energy than ever before, it is clear to all around the old Woad that the darkness of the past must be addressed, and not only for Barran's own sake, but for all those suffering the sleepless horror as he is.

The frosted ground of the future still bears no Spring flower for the realm, or at least, not until our boots warm the very ground we tread, not until there is some semblance or peace or closure for the ones who fought tooth and nail to the war's explosive end. But in this, a reason to keep moving (a reason to work for the good of the realm once more) has been found, though it would be madness to suggest the intended areas of concern won't test the hearts of our soldiers on the ground, as an entirely new test of will is to be faced in the process of rebuilding what was lost. Yet despite the heartache and grief, hope of a better tomorrow, flowers on the frost can be found in the newfound purpose, a means to live again - and with it a means to live for each other.

It won't be easy, but remembrance was never simple, but Noris needs us, and now more than ever.

Our futures need us.
Our families and comrades need us - and Primus is the city where it all begins to make sense again.

[MISSION BRIEFING]
-OBJECTIVE 1-

FRONTIER REBUILDING [Warposters, Fleeters, Survivors]

When the last blast sent it's shockwave through Primus, all the planet's fortunate ones had escaped.

And of those who survived to live another day, the bloody sword of the Maw would turn to them.
Whittling down the desperate souls who answered the calls to evacuate - but some resisted.
​

In time the surviving victors would be enticed to move on from Noris, but not in search of something worthwhile to fight or kill, but in the hopes the silent, hidden vengeance was left wanting for shadows in the end, taking more than a few straggling drunkards and wanderers like gusts in the blizzards the hidden few were using for cover. However, the only things confirming such living presences on Noris are decoded comm-link chatter and Datapad message-threads from fleeting elements in the area, rumoured to be snatched from Mawsworn elements exiting Imperial space from that particular segment of the the Unknown Regions frontier. They are rumoured to number around 37 in total, and it is this group we are trying to locate, as they are likely the best hope we have for any sort of navigational and safety advantage in the area.

A good thing it is then that we land on Noris with peaceful intentions, it has been some years since we parted ways after all.

​

We must approach this community with kindness and reconciliation in mind, for it is for these people, the returning refugees and their families that we rebuild here; so our military presence, that of our fleet, along with our intentions for using Noris as our first step to surveillance of the Unknown Regions, all must take secondary priority until safety and security are assured for residing and returning settlers alike. We come bearing arms after all, and perpetually so, but not to intimidate or neutralise the reinjection of Chiss-born citizens, not whilst we still retain heart enough to protect them instead. Our weapons must point outwards, towards the dark, celestial shroud beyond the starry canopy of our western Galactic frontier, towards a region still rife with evils too great to ignore.

Find the local survivors, settle the refugees, consolidate and widen the defensive perimeter.
Do what you can to warm the ruins of a snow-covered city.

-OBJECTIVE 2-

FIND THE BANNERS [Imperial Knights, COMPNOR/ISB, Imperial Chiss]

Whilst IMPAF handles matters pertaining to the living, it falls to their peers to handle matters pertaining to the dead.

Yet some of the legionary caste would rather follow the Imperial Warden's example instead....​

Under the ever-watchful eye of the Empire's clandestine agencies, the Pellaeonist-led Order of Imperial Knights set out in search of rumours, stories and legends alike, stories previously told in Galactic Basic and Cheunh among others; all varyingly-grim tales of fallen heroes and the insignias they wore proudly, of the foes they held at bay for so long without support or reinforcements, and lastly of the very ground for which they bled and died as true warriors of Imperium. This should make matters difficult for the spiritually-attuned types, and in feeling the grief of those who follow in your wake, the very training that represses the worst of your wartime memories could find itself being tested like never before, so it stands to reason that one must be as wary as can be mustered for the purpose.

After all, survivors and subordinates alike are counting on you to be their pillars of strength in such times.

We walk with the ghosts of our past, as such is life for the Empire's best and brightest, but in this case, it would come as a surprise to none if other ghosts happened to accompany our Imperial Knights on their way through the snow-covered streets. Much and more has happened here after all, and even more still that none would ever be able to recount, but the remains of our fallen comrades (along with the banners they defended to the last gasp) must be found so that we may honour them properly, and in turn honour their families and surviving comrades - once and for all.

Hear the dead, let them guide you through those streets where none dare walk.
The living have horrors of their own after all - though some would wander all the same.

-OBJECTIVE 3-

DISCUSS AN UNCERTAIN FUTURE [REGENCY, MOFFS, GENERALS]

Despite the harshness of the Empire's circumstances, the Post-war Era yields an anomalous hope.

The sort the realm has never known before, calling the Regent back to Bastion.
Calling for a prosperous future.​

Since reconciling with the son who remains, the issue of the one who died has since reared it's ugly head for all to see, as in the case of all things that refuse to stay dead, the blight of Darkness remains to torment those who survived to remember it. Aftershocks of a once-terrifying menace in the eyes of all, even to the darkest Force-Orders in the Galaxy, for if the Sith could suffer it not, one would be mistaken in the ill-advised assumption that the rest of the Galaxy could suffer it either. As just like it's alliance against the Sith Empire, the Galaxy was needed to cast differences aside to topple a nemesis altogether more destructive in comparison, and we still ache and groan from our fight with the latter, leaving us with nothing in the way of room for calm or complacency for that matter.

But despite the lingering threats in the Unknown Regions, tensions remain in the Empire's standing with the rest of the Galaxy, favourable though our position remains as things stand; but even with inter-factional rivalries considered, along with those of internal nature, the opportunity for prosperity is clear to see in all of it. After all, in consideration of the fact all great Galactic powers need peacetime conditions, the process of trying to recover becomes all the more necessary, and especially with the lingering threats doubtlessly growing in our absence, the time for complacent hubris will not be permitted of the Imperial Regency's command structure. It makes no sense to hang back and let the bittermost pills await ingestion, and certainly not whilst the Barrans still live and breathe, so the edicts must be discussed and implemented accordingly - whilst time remains on our side.

When the Grand Assembly convenes again, speak your mind, and speak well.
Your words may yet shape our future - a future to which the entire realm is gazing.

 

[DECEASED Erskine Barran]

1st Post

-A FALSE SPRING STORY-

SHIELD_ONE
LORD-REGENT OF THE EMPIRE
GRAND-TRIUMVIR OF THE TARKINIST ADMINISTRATION
GOVERNOR-CHIEFTAIN OF GALIDRAAN III

Tags: Ignacious Korvan [OPEN FOR POLITICAL CHARACTERS]

FATE OF THE REALM VIII: IMPERIUM, FOR ALL ITS WORTH - PART ONE

CONFERENCE HALL, GRAND ASSEMBLY BUILDING,
RAVELIN, BASTION (SUMMER OF 879 ABY)

Romhanaich.... Are your souls still with us?
Still watching from beyond the veil?
​

First to arrive for a change, and without so much as a word said to his guards on how he was feeling at the time, the Lord-Regent sat in contemplative silence, talking only to ghosts from the depths of his soul. Wordless as he looked to the columns, the banners and even to the Imperial throne still unoccupied behind him, Lord Erskine couldn't help but feel like Fortress Imperator felt emptier than ever without an Emperor to rule it, made all the more noticeable by the fact Barran's seat was the only remaining one of it's Triumvirate sort.

Has the young Warden joined your ranks?
​

Bowing his head in the realisation of what he was doing, the Steward of Imperium's heart and soul would be laid bare for his guards to see, though only for a moment before lifting his head again, and just in time for the first of the Moffs, Governors and the like to arrive. A different sort of bowing of his head followed, though it was more akin to a highly-respectful downward nod of recognition, and before long the old Woad's trademark smirk would return as he exclaimed,'Welcome back! Been a while, I know - but we're here now, eh?', lifting his posture straight as he arose from his seat to make the welcome appear fittingly warm for those who worked tirelessly to assure the realm's prosperity. A particularly Barran-like behaviour of the likes would never be seen in the public acts of his predecessors, but unlike the predecessors in question, the Lord-Regent's position was perpetually precarious, thus giving reason aplenty for caution and courtesy alike.

After all, ambition was always synonymous with Imperium, and in acknowledgement of this fact, the understanding of his choice to change edicts after the war would no doubt test the footing on which Lord Erskine relied. Especially if some of these changing edicts challenged former policies, such that the Empire needed to survive before, but in the ending of war and strife against the Sith Empire and the Brotherhood of the Maw, fighting for civilisation (and their right to rule and preserve it) had taxed the realm far too much for the old Woad to take lightly. This was a necessity, and though it incurred risks aplenty, the rewards would see the Empire through to survive a little longer, and for as long as that precipice remained, the Steward of Imperium himself would work himself doggedly to avoid it.

'Now, let us see how long it takes the others to arrive.... Cigarras permitted for now - an' I think I'll be joining you on that matter.'

 

[Cataca Atra]

The World We Knew
Objective 2 : Imperial Missions - Secure A Site
Tags : Melvain Braxis O P E N

​

Something horrible sat in the young Errant’s gut and it poked and prodded her ribs, begging to be noticed. It wasn’t the assignment surely, or at least she had beguiled herself into believing that. They were here to help-Noris had been a very distant memory in terms of the war path but everything was fine. Surely it was fine.

Her former Master and herself hadn’t seen the worst of the fighting here after all. The absence still stung, returning together might of smoothed over the wounds-

Cataca shifted her weight from one foot to the other, a small part of her regretted volunteering. Her attention strained as she followed the two finger salute down the ruined roadway. Eyes glared in the dark as the trooper and herself stood at its center hunched studying a cerulean screen. The map blinked steadily showing a general road map for them, rubble that still decorated the neighborhood’s door step had blocked their progress in other sectors thus far and finding a suitable location to set up shop had begun to dwindle. Cataca’s breath clouded around her as she glanced back past her shoulder, vehicles burned with steam as the rest of the detachment began to unload tools. A torch erupted and sparks flew as the street’s power box was ripped open.

“What we have recorded from pre-invasion is there was a municipal building or other facility about five blocks down, we’ll restore power if you can investigate ahead. We don’t know the state of most of the buildings but I’d steer clear,” the man’s voice fluctuated under his helmet, and the young woman caught the sight of his visor and nodded swiftly.

“Right-er yes sir,” Cataca said, gauntlets pulling her cloak closer and shaking off the layer of delicate snow that had settled on her shoulders. Another frigate roared overhead then, announcing the arrival of a back up unit, the distant amber search lights reflected off the pristine white layer encapsulating the old warzone.

“Yeah I am just comms, radio Medusa if you find anything kid,” the trooper dismissed her simply and she couldn’t help but burn with embarrassment-all the ranks looked the same to her anyway. The trooper turned as he flipped a series of pages on the data pad and retreated back to the unit leaving her with her assignment “-I have you on the map, I’ll keep an ear out for you Atra.”

Her shoulder sank then with a heavy sigh. The near deaf whisper of snowflakes floated down, slowly mounting a cold resistance against her. Another spray of sparks decorated the soldiers and she turned to face the lonely road. Cataca hadn’t the heart to tell him she wasn’t here to scout, there wasn’t an eager line of survivors lining up at their banner in need of medical attention after all. The Imperial Knights that had been assigned were at best flippant bodyguards, more for show.

The talk about Mawites seemed more a precautionary warning than anything. Her hand skimmed her hip for her blade as she planted one boot in front of the other and made her way down the lane. What power had been restored to the district was unreliable at best, another distant hum and unsuccessful click sounded as the engineer corps worked away.. What power they had secured would turn off at random intervals and she was left in the dark for now.

“It’s fine, this is fine,” Cataca uttered under her breath, the cold burning her face. She needed only to keep moving. She couldn’t help but miss the warmth of the vehicles though. No matter how heavenly it sounded, on instinct she checked the communications piece on her ear. Her chin tilting up to take in the snow stacked grim skyline, the residentials did not tower high-no more then three stories but the shadows they casted were long.

A shiver crawled up the woman’s spine as she picked up her pace, one hand landing on heavy cemented rubble and hauling herself over the road’s first obstacle. The young woman radioed it in as she pushed ahead, melted metal of old speeders and the remains of a downed building made their stake here. Cataca could not help but check twice as she passed through the cross street’s branching paths, old footprints marked their way through the area and even as she peered down the empty thorofare there was no sign of life.

<”Medusa this is Atra..I’m uh finding footprints, maybe before the snow started in?”> Cataca’s thumb pressed in to the ear piece as she spoke.

<”Copy that Atra, we won’t be far behind. Don’t engage any locals. Probably a scavenger, over..”>

Or someone who wanted to pick a fight, the Empire had been gone long enough for sentiment to change and her brows furrowed. There had never been favor held here anyway and the young woman envisioned the knife in the dark-as her thoughts reeled Cataca huffed assessing the old block barricade ahead-standing out from the general wreckage. Imperial fortifications, they had held this area before it seemed. Her gauntlet fell from the comms piece as she picked up her feet, abandoning the signs and pressed through the blasted terrain.

The gray slate barricades were a head taller than herself, gun ports long abandoned and scorched from blasters as she approached slowly. One hand reached out before she reached the wall, the tips of her gloves skimmed the surface as a crack sounded behind her. Cataca turned in a rush, hand having fell to her blade-flares. A red ugly light decorated the building’s rubble, troopers a stone toss behind dropping the temporary light. Of course. She wasn’t alone but there was a spike of fear had pierced her heart, a thumping in her chest weighed her down. The young woman took a step back from the barricade, this wisp of the wind stirred the snow but so did the faint power of the Force. She dropped her body low to launch herself over the roadblock in one great leap, held aloft by her mind before it all came crashing down. Cataca landed amongst sandbags and blacktop mutely, burnt out power cells were scattered across the entrenchment and she blinked as her eyes adjusted to void. The blockade bridged from building to building, long abandoned.

She walked the length of it, what she could atleast as she swiftly threw herself over temporary walls and crate. Unable to peer down the rest of the road as abandoned vehicles, long torn apart and or blasted to pieces decorated the rest of this part of the road. So far as she could see. Taking a second glance, Cataca steped up on the stairwell of a dwelling, straining to peer further down the way with the height. Even by the grace of the Force it was too dark here. Shaking off the chill that threatened to settle in, the young woman pawed at the side of her belt, slipping out a flare. She wrenched her arm back and slammed it in to the building side with a dull thud as the flare sputtered to life-a crimson light that was harsh on the eyes but it did well to illuminate the broken doorway too.

It was gleam of the visor that caught her attention first, her arm wrenched back to chuck the flare down the road. Just there at the corner of her eye-and Cataca's head snapped toward the hall of the old home to only find a dead trooper at the base of the staircase. Red light reflecting off the armor encased in frost. In an ideal setting they would have retrieved everyone, but a black scorch mark through the heart had ended this soldier. Cataca’s own sunk-torn then, she decidedly lofted the flare far and down the roadway just outside and it settled atop the ruins of some power equipment.

It could wait.

The woman fumbled for her solar lamp shortly after, unable to make out the armor detachment’s markings. She produced the small beacon off the same belt at her side. Her head lifted then to check her overhead, stone buildings held up well and atleast the floor was not about to cave in as she waivered in the threshold. It was the snowdrift that had built just inside the doorway that was the problem.

<”Medusa we have a trooper's body here, I’m just ahead of the rubble. There is remnants of an Imperial blockade-”> Cataca said, as she hauled one leg over bank wall-cold seeped through the gaps of her armor almost instantly. Her heel slipped than and she sunk in to the snow ass first as she caught herself. The woman grunted as she was forced to pick herself up. Something creaked somewhere within the dwelling and Cataca hissed as she hurried to pick herself up, snow clinging to her-the silence was the worst she tossed the solar light beside the corpse as her heel threatened to slip under the icey surface.

<”Copy that Atra, we’ll focus retrieval efforts later. Return to mission-”>

Cataca glanced once more over the scene one hand gathering the end of her cloak-hem weighed down and wet. She gathered up the wool in her arms as she picked up the blue markings of the 501st decorating the dead man. Her expression fell. Maybe he had been descending a post overhead to retreat, but they had been overwhelmed? 501st weren’t known for leaving men behind, but maybe it had been a quick death. The young Errant looked down then, she needed to grab the lamp atleast. In the sterile light she noticed then wading in the snow her ankle pressed into a thin rusted wire, straining against her boot. A cold grip took her by the throat then as she sputtered in terror-

No, the 501st never left a man behind. They volunteered to stay behind.

<”Medusa we have a problem-”> Cataca cried, a hitch in her voice. The building might hold up, but the short explosion would still easily rock the foundation. A short burst of flames and black smoke decorating the dark roadway in the cold night.

 

[Bex Tarring]

DECEASED Erskine Barran | Ignacious Korvan | OPEN

Major General Bex Tarring
Bramber Division
​

Part of the distinct joy of serving within the Imperial Army was the feeling of comradery that was nurtured across the span of ranks, both enlisted and commissioned. From the lowliest tanker to the highest officer cadre, the sense of belonging unified all, honour bound to tackle whatever struggles came their way head-on in a show of defiance and strength.

The feeling within the pit of his stomach was in direct contrast to the security he should feel. It wasn’t a sense of danger; the surrounding military presence on Bastion was almost hysterical in its enormity. If their very way of life wasn’t threatened on an almost constant basis, he’d find it an ostentatious and overwrought statement of power, projection beyond the necessary. However, he had seen what the collective enemies of the Empire could do. He had known it first-hand on too numerous occasions to think of the military presence as anything other than totally necessary and measured.

After Ilum, Major General Bex Tarring, commanding officer of the Bramber Division and one of the few ranking senior officers based on Galidraan-proper, had been seconded to the home system. He had voiced his dissent, taking the posting as a slight on the Division’s hard-earned honour, their Divisional Colour soaked in the metaphorical blood of the hundreds of soldiers, dying without ceremony on far-away planetary bodies, most without their own bodies accounted for, let alone repatriated. However, he had met strong objection and a scolding more suited to a young scholarship boy at the Academy than a Major General in the Imperial Army.

He altered his collar. It felt particularly stiff today. It was three years since he had seen action like this, whether in the field of battle or this particular field of war; the political arena. Three years, he mused. What had he achieved? A series of upgrades to the Bramber and Thames regions, ensuring the defences of the planet were well-maintained and without compromise. He had made reports to regional and sector governance, of course, but not before the Lord Regent. Not to Erskine Barran.

Erskine had been a mentor to him and seen to it that the ‘Boys of Bramber’ had gone from a ragtag regimental order to a fully-fledged division, capable of holding their own in deployment circumstances. Heck, loud voices even called for the men of Bramber and Thames to field a second division, threatening the formation of an entire Corps. Bex smirked at the notion, reminding them that whilst an army marched on its stomach, they’d find the experience decidedly less exciting if there was nothing in the stomach.

The agricultural importance of Bramber to the Galidraan production portfolio was without equal, the processing of grains and materials related to them was the central focus of their industrial might. That and the making of soldiers. They seemed to produce soldiers now at an alarming rate.

Yes, there were parades and flags and celebrations. Bex, however, wondered why the seemingly short memories of people, forgetting the pain of burying their sons upon their return. Perhaps it was that so few of the fallen actually returned that the citizens were spared the hardship, left to imagine some glorious field of war. He knew the truth; dirt, blood, hunger and too much excrement. There was a whole business of dealing with battlefield excrement that would both fascinate and disturb the casual listener, Bex thought. He sometimes wanted to bring it up when somebody gave too ardent an account of what they expected 'war' to be. He thought that shocking them with the realities might soften their stance, though more likely end up with a reprimand and a spell in a political correction facility, his verbal blasting likely to be construed as ‘anti-Imperial sentiment.’

“Keep ‘em in good spirits, Tarring” his former Commandant at the Academy had said. The ISB had made sure that any such notions of ‘disquiet and displeasure’ were promptly and judiciously dealt with. Tarring nodded at one such officer as the General entered the chamber.

There he was. The Lord Regent.

Bex had already taken off his hat, a smiling adjutant shuffling over towards him to take care of it. He gave a curt salute, Tarring almost smirking at the ferocity of it. It seemed the closer you were to the source of the power, the more certain of your commitment you had to be. They had to really know you were loyal.

He looked around, trying to spot his friend and Imperial icon Aron Gowrie. He wasn’t here yet. They hadn’t seen each other for the years he had been babysitting the populace of Galidraan but deeds and tales of heroism that were coming out in the media were, if to be believed, staggering in their undertaking. He hoped half of it was exaggerated; he wasn’t sure one person could withstand even half of what might have happened to Gowrie.

He watched as Erskine played the diligent host, the great statesman. Tarring had nothing but respect for the man who had given him all of this, given all of them ‘all of this’. He found his allocated place with the help of another adjutant and he nodded politely in thanks. He would speak if necessary but it was true that his intentions today were motivated by a selfish want; a need to have his division put back into the field. At full strength, they were ready and well-trained. Their tank drill alone was worth committing, the mobile infantry of the Bramber being fussed over by all that saw action with them. They were proud fighters and showed a determination that was to be admired. Bex knew this and more.

He thought he caught the eye of the Lord Regent for the briefest of moments and felt like a pupil, fully grown, returning to see his favourite teacher after years of living his own life. To some extent, it was exactly what was happening. In every other sense, it couldn’t have been farther from the truth.

 

[Roxy Rizzan]

T H O R N
THE EMPIRE
WASTES | NORIS
TAG: Open
PROXIMITY: Cataca Atra | Melvain Braxis
GEAR: Armour | Pistol | Rifle | Vibroblade | Vibroknife | Grenade loadout

GOLGOTHA​

"The warehouse."

Danny's voice was quiet, laden with memory. It's been five years, but it did not diminish the memories of those that had been here back then. It was Danny, after all, that had come across the pieces of her sister's armour and what he had thought was the dead Sith in the very warehouse to their left when it was all done.

Unfortunately, the bastard had survived.

The Boomers had faced Darth Saevius and his horde on Tython. Anith had died for nothing. Anger welled up in Rose, not for the first time. She had not known that her sister had survived the assault on their homeworld until Danny Evans had brought her the news of Anith's death on Noris along with most of the 117th.

The Platoon had been accompanying one of the Knights, but at Danny's emotion-laden words, they had stopped. Rose was torn in two. The news of how her sister had died had been difficult enough. To now stand where it had happened was even worse. But the battle-hardened Chiss wanted to envision it all for herself.

"Can you show me?" she asked him. She knew it would be difficult for him, Jed and Erin to relive it all.
"Yeah. You of all people deserve to know." Danny said.
"Geier! Take the rest and catch up to the Forcie. Stick to him. We'll be along shortly." Rose ordered the most senior officer aside from her and Danny, Kale Geier.
"Yes, ma'am!" he said before rallying the platoon aside from the small squad that had Danny, Erin, Jed and Asha.

Rose stepped toward the doorless entryway of the ruin that was the warehouse first. But the squad was right behind her as they all entered.
"Talk to me." Rose said as she looked around the ruin.
"Jed and I flanked from the back while Anith entered from here." It was Erin who spoke up as Asha remained in the back of the group. She had not been present in the warehouse that day. She had been one of the few that had fought her way to safety on the frontlines. But she had heard what had happened when the other three had joined her on the evac shuttle.
"Sith had been waiting for us, though." Jed added to Erin's words as he stood next to her, motioning to the back of the warehouse. "He did something funny to my mind. Caused me to attack Erin. Almost killed her had it not been for Evans here."
Rose looked at Danny then. The man stood quiet, his helmet staring straight ahead.

The comms echoed through his memory. Anith's tortured screams. The choice he had to make. Save Anith or save Jed and Erin by getting the lad to an Imperial Knight to undo what had been done to the young man's mind. It had been five years, but the choice haunted him to this day. He couldn't speak at that moment, reliving that fateful day. Anith's last order to him.

Rose laid a hand on his shoulder.
"You did the right thing." she said as if she knew what had been running through his mind. Yes, she had lost her sister in the process, but she had gained Troopers that had survived and had come out stronger on the other side.

Wordlessly, Danny took Rose's wrist and led her and the rest up the crumbling stairs. In a large, open room, the ceiling collapsed halfway on the floor, but the one wall told most of the story. Scorch marks and large holes littered it. cold air wafting through from outside.
"This is..." His voice failed, but he motioned toward the wall.

Rose didn't need more to know what he meant.

She didn't have their memories, but her sister's presence lingered in that area all the same.

 

[Argilac]

OUTFIT: x
TAG: Kallirróē Vrenth | Nuruodo'kal'brast | Odin | Open
LOADOUT: in bio

GIFTS OF OUR FATHER

NORIS, CHISS SPACE, THE UNKNOWN REGION, SUMMER 879 ABY​

Gushes of spectral gust fill the air of Noris, all amidst the industrial corpses of an abandoned city. It's almost like, all that surges amongst the air are not just dust and wind, but also souls. All the souls that were lost in the war. Unlike many others involved in this operation, I don't have any personal attachment to Noris, nor to the Chiss. I was in Kuat when the battle broke here, fighting on another front. A mere Knight-Errant, thrown into the brink of a governmental collapse. They said that the battlefield makes the best learning experience. That remains true till this day. It was the stormed bunkers, flooded camps, and bombarded trenches that forged my craft, not in the youth group I was part of nor in the Imperial Knight academy. I was a troubled errant, I was considered expendable, and truth be told, I might still be. The difference is, back then, everyone expected me to die on those missions. But no, I survive every single one of them. Just like how I survived my time as a slave. Just like how I survived my siblings' betrayal.

Yet, the eerie whispers of the wind still perked up the bristles on my back and sent shivers down my spine. The cold blast doesn't help either, bypassing the breathing holes of my armor and piercing the surface of my dry skin. It seems like ever since the decimation of the planet, Noris doesn't care about the scheduled summer. No, the haunting spirits that were left, the victims of Mawite depravity, they want to make sure that we all know that they are still here, screaming their plight of mercy, yearning desperately for an eternal peace.

At the behest of the Imperial Knights Order, I was sent to escort an exploration unit of COMPNOR operatives on their mission to secure a former military base at district 11 and recover Chiss heirlooms. As for my personal objectives, well I need to keep a lookout for two things. First, fallen Imperial insignia. So many of us died here, five years ago, and it is up to us to recover what remains of them, giving them one last honor, and bring the glory of their sacrifice back home. They would do the same for us, and they deserve the upmost respect from we who survive til this day. Second, any potential threats to the party. Everyone knows how deranged the Mawites are. After they captured Noris completely, we lost all contact and information on the planet. Who knows what degeneracy has the Maw unleashed here. Barbaric traps, mutated faunas, or even sith-spawns. There are also rumors of Mawite remnants left, deep in unexplored ruins, but I wouldn't count on it.

Once we are past the last checkpoint on the outskirts of Imperial camp, it's just us against whatever lurks at the vast, desolate plain of ruins. The scenery that greeted us was one of shock and chill. Along what remains of a wide dirt road, are decapitated Stormtroopers, beheaded civilians, and Maw symbols carved into defiled ruins of what once was a bustling city. It's hard, at times like this, when even I can feel an ominous disturbance in the force, to differentiate sounds from this world and what remains from the day of the mass carnage. I held my lightsaber tighter, not because I know that something is close, but because I don't know. My weak connection to the force has put me in a precarious position, once again. The only thing I can rely on is my reflex, once any resemblance of threat flashes right upon my eyes.
​

​

 

[Melvain Braxis]

Roxy Rizzan | Cataca Atra

​

"Better than these Devil-Eyed bastards deserve," Melvain overheard from a stormtrooper. Their short war with the Chiss was over and policies were changing, but sentiments towards them were still the same. Traitors. Vile and cowardly. The human-centric pull in the Empire had reached even his men it seemed. He cursed the men responsible for the treatment of the Chiss. Mel was at the heart of the capitol as part of the Imperial Mission, a chapter of the Imperial Knights that saw little use outside of propaganda holos and the lavish schools and orphanages built in places like Ravelin or his own home of Feriae Junction. Lines of people, dressed in tattered coats and sweaters, stretched from the new Imperial Center. Most of them Chiss. Many of them residents or recently released from the Imperial camps. Another error.

For now, Mel ignored the trooper's comment, filing away the man's face for later, and continued towards his tent. However, tent was a little dishonest. While it was mostly made of fabric, the building was sturdy, designed to withstand storms, weight, and even blaster fire. It was more bunker than tent with two separate rooms, one for his own lavish sleeping quarters and the other a larger room for coordinating military strikes, communicating with the fleet, and most importantly for his purposes now, commanding the relief efforts on Norris. He entered the tent, the warmth of the heaters instantly causing his cheeks to relax and gave him the urge to peel off his now sweat slick bodysuit and stark white Imperial Knight armor.

"Knight-Commander," a woman in an Imperial Engineering Corps uniform was waiting for him and had lunged at him like a hungry nexu before he had even the opportunity to remove his cloak. He sighed, the droids he kept to aid in putting his armor on moving in to begin the process.

"Yes, Lieutenant?" The woman swallowed and presented him with a datapad. He took it, his eyes flicking over the contents as the droids did their work pulling plate after plate from his body.

"The buildings in the surrounding area are unfit for living-"

"Yes, that is why you all were called here and why I am here rather than back on Ravelin for a very important meeting of the other Moffs. Get on with it."

"W-well," she stammered, "It's because we have been finding explosive devices, booby traps, and we aren't sure if they were left by the Maw, Imperials, or the Chiss Reclamationists. The Empire fled the region so fast during the war that-"

"That our own records are incomplete, difficult to decipher."

"It is making our jobs and the military's job of protecting us very difficult. If you could offer us more support from the Knights-"

"The Knights need to be seen here. I've given you several Knight Errants to help mapping out the city ruins. We-" The flap opened and this time an Army trooper stumbled in.

"Knight-Commander Braxis," the lad looked out of breath. Mel had a bad feeling about this. "One of your Knight Errants, she found something. Its-"

"Boobytrap," Mel said, a look of exasperation on his face. He didn't miss that the Engineering Corps lieutenant had a look of triumph on her face. "We'll talk when I get back," He said, pointing at the woman and waving the droids away. They had already managed to take off his grieves and cloak but he didn't know how much time he had before the situation with this Knight became volatile. As far as he knew this was the first time one of these traps had been actually activated. The report only mentioned the Engineering Corps finding the traps. What luck that it was a Knight that triggered the first one.

"What luck indeed,"

 

[Cataca Atra]

Objective 2 : Imperial Missions - Secure A Site
Tags : Melvain Braxis Roxy Rizzan

​

All she could recall was a distinct man’s voice that had screamed her name on impact. The young Errant’s eyes cracked open expecting to find a crimson gaze staring down at her. Yet, only the remnants of a ceiling greeted her, exposed wires and sheet metal hanging precariously above. She had been caked in dust and debris, the taste of blood on her tongue was strong and nausea swept over her. It was Cataca’s first weak cough that stirred life back into her body. The second, that brought a rake of pain across her being, and the third guttural hack that flooded her lungs with air-and she gasped like a wheezing animal.

Something uncomfortably hot pressed into her side, and the air was rife with smoke. Curato Salva, the word sat on the tip of her tongue. Words were more tangible than the art, it was her word of meditation, but as her head lulled to the side..There was no reconciling with the act of healing now.

Cataca’s chin lifted first as her vision darkened and light danced across her vision. One arm dragged painfully across rubble to push herself up from her prone position, flames burned to close for comfort at the corner of her eye. The material she would later realize had been her cloak-and she weakly pushed the fabric away from her. Pain, dull and overwhelming jabbed it’s way down her back at the movement and she was forced to ever so slowly roll herself over-away from the heat. Her eyes finally settled on the home’s once humble doorway as she lay there amongst the rubble. It was still snowing. The pale cement walls hadn’t collapsed but everything else had been torn away. Spot fire ate away at what could burn and blast marks surrounded her.

Master Ktela'rsu'atr was nowhere to be found, and her consciousness ebbed and flowed until Cataca slumped back to the ground. She could sense his anger still.

“Medic!” the man’s voice was harsh, cutting through the night.

When Cataca came around a second time, the girl flinched violently only to be hauled back. Armor clanked around her and two hands pinched under either bicep as her head hung low; actively being dragged from the dwelling, a train left in the snow of blood and ash. She’d call it an accident, but what kind of accident was this? She coughed, flecks of red on her cuirass-there was plenty of light now. Luminescent street lights hummed now for the first time in years and revealed the fresh carnage amongst the frozen warzone. They had restored power.

“Knight Atra-”

Cataca’s eyes dropped again, a rough hand clawed her chin as the cold set in-she could not celebrate their achievment. Embarrassment and fear were flighty emotions and coiled in her gut, there was no blissful escape from the consequences of here and now. The girl forced herself to look up without the hand’s direction. The visor of the crouched trooper reflected the street lights and she was forced to squint, unable to hold his gaze. There was no comfort here, not when the metallic blanket was peeled out and draped over her, or when her limbs were manipulated onto a stretcher.

Orders flew between the men as she laid there close to the blacktop. Something halted the retreat as boots passed and scrambled around her. Each thud distant, or too loud as the high pitched ringing still haunted her. Percussion damage, the girl had to wonder if one of her ear drums had blown out. A stray few fingers pressed against her temple, the stretch and pull of her muscles were weak. The young Errant grimaced and sputtered, drawn from her headspace by cold water as her face was roughly cleaned off by someone’s palm. It stung worse.

“Please stop,” she pleaded, dragging a digit under each eye to chase it away

“Head wound and some burns, internal damage likely, alright grab an’ end we need to move her.”

There was no use in arguing, pressure mounted at her temple as shadows of busy hands descended on her. Gauze wrapped and jolted by unsteady terrain, Cataca retreated within. Troopers raced down the slick roadway with her in tow. What a waste, perhaps this had been the price for her silence. Advocation-no the young Errant knew she was a liability and the truth was bitter. Had she spoken up about the fears of the assignment maybe she wouldn’t be here. Her fingers twitched again at her sides as she pinched thumb to index, her thoughts ravaged but warmth bloomed ever so briefly as she inhaled again. She interrupted herself only to turn her head to spit out a wad of bloody saliva.

“We need an evac now! Clear anything out. Radio the field hospital, warn them we’re coming!”

Vehicles passed in a flurry as the noise of the repulsor engines overwhelmed them, faceless helmets that glanced at the spectacle and the girl shut her eyes so as not to face them. She drew in another strained breath, the ache pushed back by focus one that she clawed for. One moment she held the needle the next she was left digging for it as more shouting, and the hiss of hydraulics resounded. Her back hit something hard, as the stretcher scraped metal, doors shut at her feet. Her wrist was held aloft, two fingers pressed against the pulse but it did not stop her. Cataca relinquished the tide and waited for a heartbeat, and drew it to her. She could not stop the bleeding or undo the damage yet-but the pain began to lift from her like a veil by the powers that be.

“I need you to relax your hand, can you do that-”

“Do you have bacta,” Cataca spoke up again, the question poised was in part a barb and any argument was set aside. There was never enough supplies to go around in her limited experience. The weight on her chest had eased at least and the space between her brow hummed as she pressed on, drawing on the Force. The red markings that decorated the man’s pauldron told her enough as her eyes passed vacantly over the cramped space, this had been a deployment vehicle. Commandeered. She sought out the other soldier crammed in there with them, by their hands she was braced as the vehicle turned sharply.

“Don’t set a I.V until the bleeding stops-what’s our ETA?”

“Less than ten minutes.”

Cataca would have argued it felt more like a standard hour by the time doors were peeled open and a rush of frigid air swept in. Much to the protest of the troopers that had seen her this far, she had propped herself up still clinging to the flimsy cold guard as she sat on the back end of the transport. It was not the mess of a main hospital but the military's bodies in green passed them. She had only briefly seen the main hospital that had been established-a slew of black logged refugee and resentment from caregiver to receiver. Her Master had been justified in his anger, how bad would it be now had he lived to see the state his people was in. She would have to face the masses if she wasn't pulled from the planetside, her expression fell as her mind was wrought with fleeting thoughts. The exchange between the troopers was lost on her as the medic’s boots hit the muddy slosh first, and she latched on to his shoulder-eased down to her own feet. Cataca stood on bowing legs, gauntlets keeping her aloft and she struggled with but relished the numbness. The urgency had shifted in the air and the young Errant was herded inside the mobile station.

“You shouldn’t be walking-which bed do you want her at.” The medic’s helmet swiveled from her to the triage team as he spoke. Sterile didn’t fit the field hospital, even here it reeked of mildew.

“I’d hate to make you carry me when I have two working feet. Did you retrieve the trooper's body,” she mumbled, changing topic remembering her course.

“No and we don’t know if anything’s broken-”

“Well it’s a good thing I am in a hospital right?” Cataca’s reasoned, a strained laugh escaping her though she rather of not.

 

[DECEASED Aron Gowrie]

1st Post

-A FALSE SPRING STORY-

WILDCAT_ONE
TRIBAL-CHIEFTAIN OF AN-TUATHA
MAJOR-GENERAL OF WILDCAT DIVISION
SWORD OF THE VALKYRIES

Tags : Roxy Rizzan Cataca Atra Melvain Braxis Argilac Bex Tarring

TRIBULATIONS OF THE WILDCATS VII: A DARKENED PLANET - PART 1

THE RUINS OF FOB: BELISARIUS, NORTH DISTRICT,
PRIMUS, NORIS (879 ABY)

Ashla, do your feet tread these ruined streets with mine?
Will you walk with me as I find my way? As your Saint did on Exegol?

Your blessings will not be forgotten, Eina will not be forgotten.​

Standing barefoot among the snow-topped ruins of the last Imperial stronghold on the planet, praying to the one who blessed his Sting o' Frost, (the Songsteel cavalry-sabre that aided the Ashlan Saint's attempt to turn the tide on Exegol) the Kellas had arrived on the surface of Noris with penitence ruling his heart, desiring more than anything to bring light and life to a planet he couldn't reach in time before. When all else was falling to ruin around those who fought there almost five years before that day, when the forlorn last stands were decided with impossibly-heavy hearts, Lord Aron knew deep down in his own that he should have acted sooner, prompting the dutiful Major-General to help in the efforts to rebuild the realm as it once was - the way it was before the Maw laid waste to the jewel that was the Empire's old frontier.

As he knelt on one knee, Gowrie held the talisman of his newfound faith, silently praying then for all the souls who perished for the sake of the evacuees that day, caring not for Imperial prejudices toward the Chiss by then, nor any before or after for that matter. After all, this wasn't the way for the Tuath's sort, as anyone with courage enough to fight, regardless of whether it was for or against the Empire he served, was worthy of a warrior's respect. No matter how small or humble the starting position, the ambitions that swayed them to take on such struggles were nothing to mock or sneer at, no matter what it did to ruin the reputations of all who survived to tell the tale. This was nothing new in the eyes of a Goidel, not for as long as history was told in harsh and insightful lessons alike, as without it, Lord Aron himself knew the tribes of Galidraan III would have faded to extinction without their rebellious nature.

The Chiss belonged on Noris as much as the Empire trying to rebuild it, and in the personal disregard to loyalist or rebel affiliations, the Kellas vowed to give the Chiss a reason to smile again, making sure to keep the scarred souls of the region in his prayers for as long as the Wildcats were there to help.

Thank you, Ashla.... Thank you for everything.​

'Alright then, I suppose its time you bring some light back to this place.... Bring them peace, gentlemen. The glorious dead have earned their rest.'

Rising again from the snow-covered ground, the Kellas looked to the snowy skies above for a moment, and in the understanding that there would be much to do in his time on the surface, finished praying so as not to delay the Reconsecration any longer. Then with a curt nod to the men at the East Gate, beckoning chaplains, bishops and shamans of every civilised sort who were stood patiently in wait for their turn, (though all were fortunate enough to be wearing warm socks with boots on their feet instead) Lord Aron slowly paced past them with hands clasped and head bowed in reverence for all in attendance. Faiths of Chiss, Imperial, Ashlan and Mandalorian cultures, all in one place and all with one collective purpose in mind so as not to ignore a single departed soul - and all at the invited behest of the Tuath who confessed his sins to the dead in the minutes before they arrived.

The biting cold of the snow beneath the soles of his feet was nothing to the Tuath that day, disregarding it all as much as he was the rank he held in these moments, and as far as Lord Aron himself saw the whole affair, not even a Major-General had a right to complain or begrudge the punishment his soul was due. And yet, the Walk of Redemption would end as soon as Gowrie walked himself past the derelict checkpoint by the temporary encampment, granting the Kellas at least some solace before the real work was endeavoured, though it certainly didn't feel like the walk was long enough to redeem his costly indecisiveness.

I let them honour the dead for me.... As I, myself, should've done on that fateful day.
I never answered the call, as I had so many times before.
​

With socks pulled on and boots right after, the Tuath's expression would change into that of anger, that of disdain for what Lord Aron himself felt was a failing of character, and it was all his own to blame - and yet all around him were in visible disagreement with this viewpoint.

For all the Kellas had endeavoured, for all he sacrificed in the hopes the Tuatha would rightly outshine the Woad-Macushla, in service to Willan Tal, Rurik Fel and the realms they ruled, the entire rank-structure of Wildcat Division felt that Aron Gowrie's part in the failing was a falsehood in and of itself. After all, if anyone would have remembered the Kellas' long and storied history, it would have been the Wildcats most of all, and they knew that disobedience (no matter how honourable and righteous their intentions were at the time) carried the threat of execution. The Empire's borders could not risk a single breakthrough at the time, and with the Galidraani frontier already quite vulnerable in the latter years of the Second Great Hyperspace War, it would have been senseless to leave Galidraan without active defenders to safeguard all four of the system's habitable worlds.

The orders were strict, I was to remain in Riordan Glen until prompted otherwise.
I know this!

But this is no excuse, we were ready - standing by the entire time.
​

What had taken seven minutes for the MPs to blunder in the attempt to restrain him only required a few seconds of Lord Byron Scott's time to achieve, along with a swift and well-aligned headbutt in adherence to Galidraani Hast doctrine, utilising harsh insanity-deescalation methods for the sake of the Galidraan Imperial State and all the citizens they strived to defend with every baited breath. Even when the clock had passed the window of effective action, there was no chance of consoling or talking the Kellas down, and making the ordeal so much worse by forcing himself to watch it all unfold onscreen whilst restrained in his own command-centre, compounding the worst of all furies on one of the worst days of his life. It was obvious, even in depths of his lowest moment as a serving General, it was clear to the other Tuaths that Lord Aron would never forget what Exegol inflicted on Noris that day.

A day of infamy that bit and gnawed at the mind that dared to block it out, a dark moment in history of which the Kellas knew would never cease to grate on his soul - flaying guilty the very conscience that marked him apart from that of his Woad-born rival.

I am as much to blame as everyone else in IMPAF at the time.
This is on all of us! We're demons until our actions redeem us.
​

Yet still, despite all that the Kellas thought had been a failing in his soul, the Wildcats would never have imagined themselves having it any other way, seeing this trait as a better attribute of humanity and seeing it every time his sword was drawn, marking him a hero of Imperium - even in his lowest moments.

Especially in his lowest moments.

<"Scott to Wildcat One! Standing by to restore power to the third and fourth aid-sectors.">
<Gowrie to Guardian One! Proceed, an' proceed on Guards' initiative.">
<"Copy that, Milord. Consider it done.... Guardian One out">

 

[DECEASED Erskine Barran]

2nd Post

-A FALSE SPRING STORY-

SHIELD_ONE
LORD-REGENT OF THE EMPIRE
GRAND-TRIUMVIR OF THE TARKINIST ADMINISTRATION
GOVERNOR-CHIEFTAIN OF GALIDRAAN III

Tags: Ignacious Korvan Bex Tarring Marcus Bastion [OPEN FOR POLITICAL CHARACTERS]

FATE OF THE REALM VIII: IMPERIUM, FOR ALL ITS WORTH - PART TWO

CONFERENCE HALL, GRAND ASSEMBLY BUILDING,
RAVELIN, BASTION (SUMMER OF 879 ABY)

Alright, everyone's here....
Heh! Even Tarring's got something to say this time.​

It was time to begin, and with all the right faces in attendance, Lord Erskine understood it would have been senseless to hold off any longer - and never being the most patient-minded man of his caste certainly had a spurring effect by then.

'Good afternoon, everyone. I hope everything is well in your own sectors, considering all we've done to make it this far anyways.'

A light murmur rang out across the Conference Hall, recognised as the venue's scale diminishing their volume through the echoes that breathed hither and yon around them, understanding the murmur to be polite, light-hearted mirth and monotonal agreeing responses to the Lord-Regent's commencing sentiments. Wishing very much to set a calmer, heartfelt tone for the meeting ahead, there was plenty in the way of precedence to veer away from the warlike aspects of the gatherings of years bygone, especially in a Galaxy that was experiencing it's first spell of lasting peace in centuries, though the dangers that remained still held threats enough to snatch it all away again. The sort the Steward of Imperium knew could never escape without mention in the Grand Assembly, especially not with so many of the realm's best and brightest perishing almost in vain, and against the likes of the Scar Hounds, the NJO and most of all, the resurgent Sith Order.

Offences that would never escape justice, slights and provocations of the unforgettable sort, slanders and shirking condemnations that still ruled the minds of the realms many rivals, not for as long as the Regent himself still breathed, and certainly not whilst the Assembly still remained to debate this or that policy along the way.

'Assuming we've all seen the realm-wide briefing, along with the sudden changes in edict, I think it would be for the best that I start there.... The questions are still fresh on the edges of your lips like froth, I can see it from here, but it would be nothing short of malice if I went without admitting I feel every part as slighted by it as you do - but times change, and thoughts of an ENDURING DEFIANCE has room to encompass ALL!!!! AN' AS WELL IT SHOULD!!!!'

'Its not like I come unarmed to this debate, I have ammunition aplenty up here after all!', the Lord-Regent continued, pointing to the greatest weapon he ever had at his disposal, directing index-finger right at the very thing his skull encased. The very thing that made the right decisions that kept the realm in the fight, decisions both tough and easy alike, and when Lord Erskine concluded,'The very thing on which everyone here has relied at some point.... Throw me your questions, your Lord-Regent is ready.', it was clear from the offset of the conference that none would be permitted to forget it. Not that anyone had any choice in the affairs that decided one's memories, nor even the merit of their content or their voracity for that matter, as such things were always fated to sway the many peoples of the Galaxy, their choices and the very ideological fabric that clothed them had proven as motivation enough to change the very threads of fate that guided them.

And the old Woad was no stranger to the whims of memory, as there wasn't much in his life that was benign enough to forget, a torturous existence when left alone with his thoughts - as it was for all who survived long enough to see peacetime as Lord Erskine himself had with them.

They were all living in this strange emptiness together after all.
Precarious in days of peace.

 

[Ryihor Thave]

Search & Rescue Unit, TK + ISC
The Tionese Despot-in-Exile
[E-3] Corporal | Zelta Squad | Imperial Storm Commando
TAGS: OPEN

​

_ GROUND ZERO, NORIS, CHISS SPACE _

<"ISC-001, Reporting, We are -erm, approaching ground zero; no sighting of sentient organisms nor organisms in general."> The Commando said in a troubled tone, his accent a mixture of old-money Tionese and the Aristocracy of Serenno, both of which features embraced after some timing of experimentation. Noris, this world was an utter sinkhole of saddness and despair, urban-areas annihilated with traces of civilization being voided in way of chaotic rubble; Ryihor believed it was justified yet unjustified, the event, he heard gossip of the whole series from fellow Commandos though just now was he seeing it with his eyes, the destruction.

"Boss, this is an absolute waste of time. If there was survivors they'd had com'in introduced themselves to us already." A Tired Trooper exclaimed, his knees buckling with every word as he struggled to stand up; it had been hours of exploration and nothing of interest was discovered.

Ryihor rolled his eyes under his helmet before throwing his hand up unprofessionally as the group dispersed, most sitting on rubble whilst some stood guard. Holstering his sidearm, he raised his helmet and widened his nostrils before leaving the group behind to explore the city further. Nothing, every turn, nothing was to be found.

The atmosphere of emptiness must've been how worlds were showcased when Daritha Xim and his Feudal-Empire entered systems to sack, that again, he couldn't get Tion off his mind. Every fiber in his Ryihor's body was Tionese, his accent perhaps not in absolute but he believed himself to bleed the Tionese Way, one day he'd return home and establish the 'Despotate of Tion' or 'Tionese Imperium' and prop himself up as Heir-Apparent to Xim the Despoiler - "No..." - He mumbled, face reality, this was but a dream.

"A breadbasket of Chiss Civilization, destroyed- unfortunate, the children..Gone." He exclaimed, speaking to himself- his feelings proving themselves to be a headach to his mission. Ryihor's helmet dangled to its shoulder clip, the Commando then entering what seemed to be the former home of a family, home no more, simply collapsed infrastructure.

'ORGANISMS- D E T E C T E D - TAH TAH...ACK" The cold voice of a Imperial-Trooper sounding off into his helmet communications.

<"Command - Local...Units. I think we found our targets."> He spoked into his Regional-Comm Network for anyone to hear, equipping his helmet the Commando double-timed to the locked location where he seen multiple units grouped up, what- in the middle was a trooper hanging upside down by his boots yelling.

"CUT ME DOWN! IDIOTS! KARABLAST YO- ACK, MY HEAD!"​

The Commando fired his whipcord from his gauntlet, slicing the captured trooper down with high precision. "Enemies ? What happened trooper?" Ryihor questioned with interest, his eyes yet to meet the trooper, he was focused on the trap itself which was tribal in design. "Corporal - I , um, I don't know. I was going to relieve myself and boom, stepped in this damned trap! Then a kid came out, threw a rock, and ran away! I'm not crazy Thave, it was one of those blue psychopaths." The soldier recounted his story, Ryihor stood silently as the men around him burst into a short group laugh. "SILENCE...Location, now." The troopers laughter stopped immediately before the captured unit pointed south, off into the rural parts of the city.

"Commandos on me, tis is for special-forces." Ryihor sounded off, annoyed heavily but the fact that he was assigned to a unit with regular troopers; pure examples of a failing state..failed state, first the armed forces, then the remaining strongholds of imperialism will suffer the fate to which this world has endured.

<"Zelta going dark."> ​

He spoke into his comms before the Commando Squad double-timed further away from the city. Squeezing his module, a bright-light appeared, a moment of silenece was conducted before it broke from darkness, ASE-X, a probe unit - "Search. Engage Restricted. Chiss. Find and broadcast a location, at will." Ryihor said addressing the floating bot - <"BEEP _ BOP"> The droid floated away; as for Ryihor and his group, they split up, Ryihor going solo as they proceeded further away from the city central, what awaited the commando questioned, hopefully not death.
​

​

 

[Odin]

​

A chill had crept it's way up Odin's spine as he gazed upon the scene before him. Though he had seen inhumane and gory sights before in his time as a slave, he was still not used to it. The sight or the smell. The dead had a smell to them, a distinct one, that would bring a nausea feeling to most that had an ounce of empathy in them. Odin would not let this distract him from the mission. Many lost souls required closure and even more loved ones needed it more. He felt a hint of pride while doing this, though he would not let that overwhelm his senses.

Odin could feel the stillness of the air as Argilac also looked ahead of them. The Maw were cruel and monstrous. A force of pure darkness in the galaxy. He knew what comes next would likely change him going forward.

"Master. Your orders?"

Argilac ​

 

[FN-999]

DECEASED Erskine Barran | Bex Tarring | etc.

The moment the shuttle entered Bastion's atmosphere, something in the Baron snapped.
​

All of a sudden, he was back in battle, Sith troopers swarming him in all directions. His body instantly turned as stiff as a board, his adrenaline surging. Just as he began to make sense of the situation, the troopers vanished, a dark fog appearing in front of him. A cold sensation rushed through his entire body, and he began to shiver as if immersed in a bath of ice.

"Kyber Dark." it murmured. "Kyber Dark."

Another cloud of fog appeared to his right, about the size of an adult human. His body instinctively pivoted to the right, his blaster aimed at the cloud. He reached to pull the trigger and-

A blue hand caught his finger centimeters away from the trigger. He turned his attention away from the fog, his body thawing as he did. To his left was a brown-haired Chiss man with immaculate brown hair and an equally impeccable gray Imperial uniform. For a moment, the two simply stared at each other. Then, the Chiss spoke.

"This is not reality." he stated in a calm, confident voice. "Let me show you what is."

With a snap of the man's fingers, the Baron was forcefully thrust out of the scene of a besieged Bastion, reeling back in agony as his head throbbed relentlessly. Once he got the pain under control, he was still on the shuttle, his blaster in his hands but aimed harmlessly at the ground. In front of him stood the same Chiss he had seen in his hallucination, a Chiss he had gotten to know quite well over the past few years.

"Thank you, Doctor Lamaty." said the Baron.

"Thank you, my lord, for not pulling the trigger." replied Doctor Sermala'ma'tyrvan, personal therapist of the Baron of Borosk.

"Still, is it possible to make the transition less painful?" exclaimed Nines.

"I'm afraid not." replied the Chiss. "The stronger the trauma, the more of my ability it takes to get you out of it. Rest assured, this will only get easier as your condition improves."

"Thank you, doctor."

"Again, thank you. Just think of the secretary who would have had a bullet through his chest if I hadn't caught you in time."

"Secretary? I don't see him."

"He was walking by. You spooked him out of the room the moment you pulled the blaster on him though."

"I'll go apologize."

The pair parted ways, and before long the shuttle had touched down on a landing pad attached to the Grand Assembly Building. Slowly but surely, the landing pad came down, with the air taking on a distinct scent of fresh steel as the shuttle opened up to Bastion below. The change in scent threatened to pull the Baron back in, but with a reassuring touch from Doctor Lamaty, he got his stuff together and followed his staff into the building.

The Baron and his therapist entered the conference room just as proceedings started.
​

As the Lord Regent was opening the floor to the discussion of edicts, the pair took their seats near the left of the room and directly adjacent to each other. Nines listened attentively as Erskine spoke, noting that he seemed eager to discuss any questions or concerns about the new doctrines. Without further hesitation, the Baron spoke up.

"How do we hope to accommodate both frontier militarization and frontier normalization?" asked the Baron. "Is is that we seek to make militarization of the frontier the new normal, or do you have another plan in mind?"

 

[Marcus Bastion]

Tag: DECEASED Erskine Barran Ignacious Korvan Bex Tarring

Moff Marcus Bastion entered the assembly with a heavy heart and a paranoid mind. The Galaxy had suffered greatly. After centuries of warfare there was tentative peace. Bastion could not help feeling however peace in its own way could be even more dangerous then war. Major powers had decayed in peace in the past becoming soft and weak while being corrupted like a cancer from the inside. As a Moff of the Empire Marcus was determined not to let that happen to the Empire. Still their needed to be some way for them to move forward.

Any decent tactician can look at a situation and se an opportunity. The peace could be used to stabilize the Empire after its own years of recent turmoil and struggle. Emperors falling or disappearing being divided into Tarkinist, Palleonist and Fellists. The Empire could present a united front to a weakened galaxy. Perhaps even more so then in a time of war.

Not for foolish notions of Peace and tranquility. For strength stability and order the true bedrocks of the Empire.

Peace. It was such a misguided term. Peace was only useful if it was enforced by Order and Control.. War was useful any basic tactition knew that it was the path to power, to wealth, to the stability of the Empire and the strength to withstand its enemies. History remembered victors not peace.

Tactically Bastion predicted a Cold War forming neither side willing to commit to a full blown conflict for fear of mutual annihilation or at the very least a pyrrhic victory. The next few years would decide the fate of the Galaxy as easily and decisive as any military victory. The Empire would endure or it would fade into memory. Meetings and events such as this one would prove crucial to the continual functioning of Imperial Space.

His family were Loyalist they beard the name of there very capitol. Moff Marcus Bastion would not be the Bastion remembered for failing their namesake. The doggerel rhyme practically wrote itself. 'The Bastion that Fell'. Moff Bastion was determined not fail either himself, his house or his Empire.

Despite the lack of conflict like any other siginificant even on a galactic scale the fall out of Exegol was an opportunity here. The Empire may be weakened, but Marcus own fate was far from defeated. The people in the room represented the core strength of the Empire. There were alliances to be made, positions to ascend to. People always associated Chaos with War but the Chaos brought about with a sudden Peace could be just as useful. People wanted strong leadership in during a fragile peace, they wanted advancement, new technologies, better standards of living, monumental projects to aspire to.

A population with a new and fragile peace would withstand much to preserve that peace. The Original Empire founded so long ago was forged from the peace that the end of the Clone Wars brought. Perhaps the Empire could be built renewed from similar circumstances. Perhaps Moff Marcus Bastions own circumstances could be beneficial.

With that in mind Moff Bastion decided to play his first card. The Regent invited questions.

Marcus decided to accept the invitation.

"Lord Regent" Marcus greeted standing from his position at the table "Perhaps, the best way to answer any questions, would be for an explanation. A discourse in your own words what the briefing and edict cover. A declarative statement often clarifies the terms and positions of any diplomatic endeavour."

"You invite us to ask questions. So here are mine. Where do we go from here? What it means for us? For our future? For the Empire?"

 

[Melvain Braxis]

Cataca Atra​

The field hospital was a dirty place, though not for lack of trying. The smell of ozone and antiseptic was prevalent outside, the fumes hanging like a miasma over the muddy slush. The actual hospital in the city had been blown to bits by the Empire or the Chiss or Maw nobody knew. Now places like this dotted around the city and its outskirts were the refugees' only source of medical attention. Children were the most common sight in the tents, foolish thrill-seeking youth who took a bad fall or tripped one of the traps left behind. Scavengers were next. He felt less compassion for them—men and women who made their living off the dead and dying quiet streets.

He entered the station, the miasma of the outside replaced by the stink of sweat and mildew. He grimaced.

"I don't think that was a suggestion Knight Errant," Melvain said. Others in the room snapped to attention, others continued on with their work.

 

[DECEASED Erskine Barran]

3rd Post

-A FALSE SPRING STORY-

SHIELD_ONE
LORD-REGENT OF THE EMPIRE
GRAND-TRIUMVIR OF THE TARKINIST ADMINISTRATION
GOVERNOR-CHIEFTAIN OF GALIDRAAN III

Tags: Ignacious Korvan FN-999 Bex Tarring Marcus Bastion [OPEN FOR POLITICAL CHARACTERS]

FATE OF THE REALM VIII: IMPERIUM, FOR ALL ITS WORTH - PART THREE

CONFERENCE HALL, GRAND ASSEMBLY BUILDING,
RAVELIN, BASTION (SUMMER OF 879 ABY)

'How do we hope to accommodate both frontier militarization and frontier normalization?'

Another friendly face, an' it seems this one came prepared too.
As all things should be in the Chambers of Assembly.​

Briefly nodding in the Baron's direction, the Lord-Regent smirked with kind intent as he held to reserved silence for the sake of a peer he respected more than most, and in the perceptive understanding that Nines' opening amble was but a precursor to the real question, Erskine (in his long-standing involvement in the realm's debated politics) knew better than to take any general pretences personally. This was a shrewd exemplar of the strategist caste in IMPAF after all, and there was always a tangible level of perceptibility about the Baron in turn, the sort that was more than worthy enough to grace the Assembly with his presence, and every part as much to have his voice heard that day - like any other for that matter.

'Is is that we seek to make militarization of the frontier the new normal, or do you have another plan in mind?'

Such respect had been rightly, and painstakingly merited over time, and the Lord-Regent's like had seen it with their own eyes as they held the flank and pushed alongside FN-999's famed 908th Legion.

'Welcome to the Grand Assembly, Lord-Baron. And fortunately for everyone, I do not have the former in mind, so let us dispel such worries by firstly admitting IMPAF will not be the element of militarization in this context. So IMPAF's function now will be somewhat more nuanced than we have been in recent years, more flexible in our function and guiding-doctrines.'

​

Pausing for a moment to light a cigarra, measuring his words carefully as the lighter was magnetised to his cybernetics, the old Woad slid his left sleeve down and took a few drags before continuing,'So instead, I intend to aid the frontier in militarizing itself. But only one segment of the frontier in particular, an' we all know it to be that which borders the Unknown Regions - Exegol is just one planet after all.... An' we know the capital planets of feuding states often change with the ebb-and-flow of war, an' I'm betting the raiders have established another since.', only to pause again for effect. But not even Lord Erskine was all that keen on torturing the others with it, taking two last draws from his cigarra and placing it into his ashtray for their sake as he admitted,'As truth be told, the only frontier that still matters is that which borders the Upper-Side of the Unknown Regions, as there may come a time when their madness returns.', already at the ready with his closer.

'We're all a little depleted after two wars on the trot, Lord-Baron.... Better off being prepared than caught unawares again, better to live an' fight another day, better we play it passive for once in our accursed lives - even if only for long enough to replenish partially at least. Its enough to stand a fighting chance when it matters to fight again.'

​

In the hopes he had made himself perfectly clear, Lord Erskine would leave it at that, taking the silence well and taking it as sign that everyone was waiting for the next line of questioning, though he wouldn't be kept waiting for long. Standing up to speak next would be none other than Moff Marcus Bastion, a long-served politician of the Assembly of whom had earned his stripes in the heart of the policymaking and decrees over the years, one of whom had rested on the same side of multiple debating divides over the years, and in this understanding Barran knew he was better off beholden to honesty in this case as well.

​

'Lord Regent.', Marcus began, ever adhering to the chain of command despite the standoffish nature often associated with Moffs of Bastion's calibre, and with it holding to decorum in the public eye as well as ever. The perfect, right-honourable blend of oratory nature, especially for Imperial politicians, thus granting Bastion an air of professionalism as he continued,'Perhaps, the best way to answer any questions, would be for an explanation. A discourse in your own words what the briefing and edict cover. A declarative statement often clarifies the terms and positions of any diplomatic endeavour.', unabated and uninterrupted by all in attendance. Clearly for more than just the status the Moff carried in such a prestigious political chamber, and for more than just the clear-spoken, concise eloquence on which the others relied in such times, making it obvious to the Lord-Regent as to what had silenced the room around him - and with crystalline clarity at that.

'You invite us to ask questions. So here are mine. Where do we go from here? What it means for us? For our future? For the Empire?'

If I can't convince Marcus we're on the right path, everyone will follow suit.
The grander scheme o' things, obscure though they are to me, or abdication.

Don't feth this up, Barran. Fel chose you for a reason, so don't let 'im down - not now.
​

'Fair play, Bastion. Well said!', the old Woad started, taking the time to consider the straight-backed, forthright nature of the inquiry, as it certainly rested within the same moral boundary as that of FN-999 just moments before. But despite the pause for thought, Lord Erskine was never one to stall for time in a debate, choosing to be amiable in his curt response,'Where from here? Security, safety.... Observance, an' that which keeps our realm alive in the long run.... An' as for what it means for our realm, the golden age of risk an' gamble has ended quite explosively to say the least, gone with the glories of our own making. Even in those ambitious, hopeful minds amongst us, we're still at risk for at least as long as we cling to what small numbers we can deploy these days.', pausing only to swipe over the projection datapad-plinth to bring up comparisons between troop-numbers in years 863 and 879 ABY respectively.

'Aye, you're seein' exactly what I've been seein' o'er the years. Not much better in the earlier-half o' the decade either, Bastion.... An' in that revelation, I have my perfect reason why we're placing the blight of arbitration in the hands of the Galaxy now, as it is quite obvious that we need it not.... An' for all the trouble and death its worth, they're all welcome to it - the one folly I should have shaken sooner.'

The following pause of the Old Woad's making, though it was far more tense in the time taken to let his words work their magic properly, would be well-earned this time.

No such internalised thoughts would show in the eyes of the others by then, nothing on the chances their Lord-Regent was stalling for time, nor on the previous mutterings on the likelihood of his reaching for excuses for that matter, allowing Barran more than enough breathing room to angle a shot at the very issue of his change in governing edicts. The main, most honest line of oratory the Lord-Regent had to work with was that of grieving solemnity, bringing out his genuine thoughts on the matter without reservation, and in a way that left no doubt as to the heart he had for the lives of the realm's best and brightest, as without it there would be nought but the robotic, emotionless sort of politicking that never swayed anyone.

'So heed my words, an' heed them well! Regardless of the peace-treaties I seek, the memorandums an' nonpartisan war-memorials, this realm can an' will be ready on it's frontiers, effectively readier than ever to defend itself.... We have all the right resources, but this wastefulness of ours - this will not suit our realm before long. Not when the threats of invasion, subterfuge and annihilation continue to increase around us - an' not for as long as the Darkness continues to exist in the Unknown Regions.'

What many had assumed the end of Lord Erskine's reply, true-hearted and short (or at least for Barran's standard of oratory) though it was for men of the Assembly's stately caste, would be met with an encore of sorts, functioning like a revelation of unstifled, refocused ambition for the sake of those with an ear for reading between the lines. The old Woad would never let the Galaxy outshine his beloved realm after all, as it was always the ambition that roared loudest in the voices of Imperium's eternal defiance, as it was that which pushed the Empire ever-forward the most, pushing IMPAF's and the Imperial Knights' greatest heroes to defy the odds every time.

And it was that which made even the greatest powers flinch in the wake of Tavlar's rebellious creation.

'And as for the mantle of arbitration an' justice, welcome to it though the Galaxy might be for now.... It would be wrong to set it down without the intent to return for it someday, would it not?'

 

[DECEASED Aron Gowrie]

2nd Post

-A FALSE SPRING STORY-

WILDCAT_ONE
TRIBAL-CHIEFTAIN OF AN-TUATHA
MAJOR-GENERAL OF WILDCAT DIVISION
SWORD OF THE VALKYRIES

Tags : Roxy Rizzan Cataca Atra Melvain Braxis Argilac Bex Tarring

TRIBULATIONS OF THE WILDCATS VII: A DARKENED PLANET - PART 2

AID-SECTOR 1, EAST DISTRICT,
PRIMUS, NORIS (879 ABY)

<"Guardian One to Wildcat One! Ready when you are, Command-Vehicle's fuelled and ready to go.">
<"Time to find the standards then, my boots are on an' I'm stepping out now. Wildcat One out!">
​

The IFV-column had been loaded with ground-penetrating radar and scanning-droids, and though they were on the right city block to head out without finding obstacles along the way, Lord Aron still had some walking to do. Though Gowrie would be happy to have the time to dwell on the real reason for his presence on Noris, as besides the coordination of Wildcat Division's humanitarian rebuilding efforts, along with the initiation of the Reconsecration Ceremony, the Kellas was quick to remember that they were searching for the Standard of the Embers.

And perhaps, with luck - the remains of it's heroic Captain.

It was enough to pause on the spot, seemingly vacant behind that thousand-yard-stare but for the hand reaching into the inner-coat pocket for his datapad, and in the moment Gowrie snapped out to bring up Karsh's file, the biting remorse threatened to beset the war-weary Tuath once more. Shaking it as far from mind as possible, there was nothing left but to whatever was in the Wildcats' ability to achieve whilst they were there, but even then it wasn't an easy task for the Kellas by any means, though still manageable enough to keep the all-consuming guilt from enveloping his soul. After all, despite his feelings on the matter, the pervading truth of his inability to help remained ever-present in the minds of Gowrie's subordinates; ever at the ready to remind their Major-General of his Guard-Captain's due measures to keep him from making such a lethal mistake, killing the idea of disobeying the strictest of orders in it's fiery, static beginnings.

A nasty, but nonetheless necessary headbutt for Lord Byron Scott to deliver at the time, cracking skull against skull with a force of the likes the old Guard Captain had never exerted before, never before being so infuriated with the Major-General as he was in those moments. But despite the vicious knockout, that which left the Kellas unconscious for the better part of thirty minutes, the pride the Wildcats had in their Kellas for his attempted actions was enough to keep them from judging him too harshly for his,"Hast Moment", as braves would always understand the ways of their own in such circumstances. Helping Gowrie in this instance however was one Hast-doctrine implementation was viewed collectively as a minor trouble, or at least in comparison to the one the doctrine was written around, as there was one in the Galaxy who had lived to see two such headbutts in his long-standing military career, and it just so happened to be the one who was ruling the Empire at the time.

The Woad-Born rival the Kellas still revered, Lord-Regent Erskine Barran.

'Ready to go, Milord?'

'Aye, might as well!', Lord Aron responded with freshly-enthused fervour, feeling a certain nostalgia as he marched up to the armoured column with wide grin beaming for all to see. The war-weary soul always saw life and opportunity in these vehicles after all, a means to stay in the thick of the fighting and leave their mark, so seeing the column of IFVs would always bring at least some form of comfort to one who had as much war and destruction as the Kellas had in his time as an officer, bringing hope to his subordinates in turn. This was seen almost instantly by the old Tuath, expressing the very same pride as he had in the hours after the fight for Exegol, and when the Kellas calmly ordered,'Let us kick these engines intae life, Laird Carwood.', he took a mental note to remember that pride in his subordinates.

'ONCE MORE, FOR THE SAKE OF OUR REALM - ITS WHISKEY-TIME!!!! LETS GO!!!!'

​

The Wildcats, as an entity of their own, had turned the tide and saved more than the life of their Major-General after all.

 

[FN-999]

DECEASED Erskine Barran | Bex Tarring | Marcus Bastion | etc.
​

'So instead, I intend to aid the frontier in militarizing itself. But only one segment of the frontier in particular, an' we all know it to be that which borders the Unknown Regions - Exegol is just one planet after all.... An' we know the capital planets of feuding states often change with the ebb-and-flow of war, an' I'm betting the raiders have established another since.', only to pause again for effect. But not even Lord Erskine was all that keen on torturing the others with it, taking two last draws from his cigarra and placing it into his ashtray for their sake as he admitted,'As truth be told, the only frontier that still matters is that which borders the Upper-Side of the Unknown Regions, as there may come a time when their madness returns.', already at the ready with his closer.

'We're all a little depleted after two wars on the trot, Lord-Baron.... Better off being prepared than caught unawares again, better to live an' fight another day, better we play it passive for once in our accursed lives - even if only for long enough to replenish partially at least. Its enough to stand a fighting chance when it matters to fight again.'

"As I understand it, you are proposing a concentration of forces along the Unknown Regions?" inquired the Baron.
​

"I agree with that part of your assessment. The Unknown Regions are well deserving of that name, its antagonists disappearing into its vastness far before we can get our hands on them. As far as I am aware, the legions on that frontier understand the unique peril they face, and they would be receptive to receiving reinforcements."

"At the same time, I strongly advise that any new frontier militarization stay defensive. Unless a native superpower emerges in the upper Unknown Regions, our conflict will most likely primarily be centered around irregular warfare. Hit-and-fade tactics, transport raids, terrorist bombings, and so on. Without excellent intelligence, it is very difficult to eradicate cells of guerrillas and stateless agents. The best course of action would most likely be reinforcing civilian centers, which will have the dual benefit of protecting our loyal citizens and preserving our industrial base."

"Protecting our industry in the frontiers will also make the reintegration and reconstruction edicts easier to carry out, since we will have access to more output and more secure avenues of trade. Furthermore, if our citizens feel protected, they will be more willing to accept our programs. A defensive militarization will be of benefit to us all, regardless of our political positions."

The Baron then took a seat, his speech concluded.

As he listened to others speak, he suddenly felt a gentle tap at his shoulder. The Baron swung to face his therapist, who was staring directly at him.

"If I may." whispered Doctor Lamaty. "I would like to ask about the Chiss repatriation plan."

The Baron paused for a moment to think. Personally, he knew no more of the plan than his Chiss counterpart, and if it had harsh terms then all the goodwill he had built up with his Chiss therapist over the years could come crashing down. At the same time, preventing Lamaty from inquiring into the plan could make him suspect that the Empire had nefarious intentions surrounding the Chiss. To put it simply, there was no easy way out of the question.

For the sake of their incredibly fragile friendship, the Baron would take the risk.

"You have my blessing." replied the Baron.

Nodding in reply, Lamaty rose up to face the Lord-Regent, a placid expression upon his face.

LAMATY​

"I extend my sincerest gratitude for being allowed to speak here." introduced the therapist. "I am Sermala'ma'tyrvan, personal therapist of the Baron of Borosk. For the past three years, I, along with most of my species, have been prisoners of war. On behalf of my species, I would like to ask about the Chiss repatriation plan. What are the terms necessary for our allegiance to be restored?"

 

[DECEASED Erskine Barran]

4th Post

-A FALSE SPRING STORY-

SHIELD_ONE
LORD-REGENT OF THE EMPIRE
GRAND-TRIUMVIR OF THE TARKINIST ADMINISTRATION
GOVERNOR-CHIEFTAIN OF GALIDRAAN III

Tags: Ignacious Korvan FN-999 Bex Tarring Marcus Bastion [OPEN FOR POLITICAL CHARACTERS]

FATE OF THE REALM VIII: IMPERIUM, FOR ALL ITS WORTH - PART FOUR

CONFERENCE HALL, GRAND ASSEMBLY BUILDING,
RAVELIN, BASTION (SUMMER OF 879 ABY)

'As I understand it, you are proposing a concentration of forces along the Unknown Regions?'
​

'I agree with that part of your assessment. The Unknown Regions are well deserving of that name, its antagonists disappearing into its vastness far before we can get our hands on them. As far as I am aware, the legions on that frontier understand the unique peril they face, and they would be receptive to receiving reinforcements.'

But if only that were so easy, my old friend.​

Though there were glaring realities that were yet to be realised by the majority, the fact the Assembly were expressing general receptiveness to the edict-proposals had rightly been taken as a promising omen in the Lord-Regent's assumption, but in his well-trained refrainment from speaking too soon on such matters, Barran patiently considered FN-999's latest contribution to the discussion at hand. After all, if it had not have been for Nines' like, the fight for survival against rebellion and incursion alike would have been nigh on impossible to achieve, the Lord-Baron had earned his right to speak on matters of defence and then some, and the old Woad would respect his status as such an exemplar in the eyes of the realm.

'At the same time, I strongly advise that any new frontier militarization stay defensive. Unless a native superpower emerges in the upper Unknown Regions, our conflict will most likely primarily be centered around irregular warfare. Hit-and-fade tactics, transport raids, terrorist bombings, and so on. Without excellent intelligence, it is very difficult to eradicate cells of guerrillas and stateless agents. The best course of action would most likely be reinforcing civilian centers, which will have the dual benefit of protecting our loyal citizens and preserving our industrial base.'

Considering the nature of the response, the Lord-Regent was quite relieved with the circumstances by then, understanding that the fighting-chance of swaying the majority was still very much within reach, and perhaps even more for the fact it would be easy to hammer out specifics on the matter of the frontier in question. The complicated Galactic west frontier was enough to doom realms much greater than that which had been carved out by Tavlar's successors, an issue that forever kept the Empire's politicians on their toes, and for as long as the fighting manpower (along with all the citizens living on the frontier) was to be an issue, then there was nothing truly stopping all the other factions from turning on them as they once had against the Sith Empire - a fate of which Lord Erskine was in no mood to invite for as long as he was alive to remember his part in shaking such an accursed yolk in the first place.

'Protecting our industry in the frontiers will also make the reintegration and reconstruction edicts easier to carry out, since we will have access to more output and more secure avenues of trade. Furthermore, if our citizens feel protected, they will be more willing to accept our programs. A defensive militarization will be of benefit to us all, regardless of our political positions.'

​

A specific matter on which the old Woad was ready to reveal more, ready to answer on the matter of the Chiss majority either still residing-in or returning-to the Unknown Regions frontier, but there would be a quiet conferring exchange between Nines and his Chiss-born doctor, and within that an opportunity to turn the discussions into something of an inroad to Imperial-Chiss reconciliation. If perhaps more than just a chance to speak to the Chiss diaspora in a public manner, and in their entirety at that, then surely enough to mark necessity for more of their sort in the Grand Assembly in the future, chances of which Barran was more than willing to take in the realm's post-war years.

'I extend my sincerest gratitude for being allowed to speak here.'
​

Rising from his seat, the Lord-Regent smirked endearingly as he bowed his head in visible assent, giving the Lord-Baron's good doctor his chance to shine as the young Chiss was given room to say,'I am Sermala'ma'tyrvan, personal therapist of the Baron of Borosk. For the past three years, I, along with most of my species, have been prisoners of war. On behalf of my species, I would like to ask about the Chiss repatriation plan. What are the terms necessary for our allegiance to be restored?', introducing himself with articulation as well-spoken as the inquiry that followed. A point that hit exactly where it needed to land home the most, the burning question (among many) that all the Cheunh-speaking peoples likely desired to ask the old Woad in the good doctor's stead, and Lord Erskine was ready to answer and put all concerns to rest once and for all.

'Let me send you a little data, though I'll be making sure to project what I'm sending for the benefit of the Assembly.... An' what I'm sending are particulars, demographics and every relevant law-code we have pertaining to the Chiss Repatriation Plan - the great idea, so to speak.'

Swiping at the holographic-projector's control console, Lord Erskine first brought up the requirements of repatriation first for all too see before stating,'Keeping it simple, citizenry - but only insofar as they wish to pledge.... For a large majority, representing loyalists and displaced Norisians and the like, that full-hearted pledge would be as easy as buttoning a coat, but for pardoned separatists and their like, we understand this may take some time - time that we have in abundance now.', laying it all out on the line for everyone else as much as the young doctor himself. It was just the right amount of conciseness for the amount of detail that was being holographically displayed at the time, and just the right amount of hints and nudges in the right direction, leading all towards his idea for Noris, Nirauan and all the lonely planets still waiting for help on the Unknown Frontier.

'Its a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance, Dr. Lamaty.... Glad to have you with us, and on this day of days no less? Don't be mistaken in thinking the importance of this moment is lost on me, I hear the voice of your people - and I seek to protect the will that guides them.... After all - if I can for the sake of Novania, then we both know I can for that of the Chiss.'

'But just before I forget, Doctor.... Nines! Your thoughts on the Unknown Frontier, how's this for an idea?', the old Woad continued, stopping himself in his tracks and silently gesturing his request for a brief moment of distraction, briefly turning to the Lord-Baron in the attempt to nullify multiple questions with one wildly-unorthodox solution. But despite the strangeness of it's application in Imperial terms, the old mercenary of the Noble-Exiles PMC began to shine out from within, seeing methodology that was only ever utilised in certain capacities to diminish allegations of full-involvement, but strangely seeing the same principles displaying clear transference with passive peacetime reorganisation along with it. A matter that made the Woad's eyes light up like never before, especially when he asked,'Would you, at all - be opposed to deploying advisors and instructors on Noris an' such? Food for thought.', chuckling as he finally turned back to the doctor.

'In other words, Lamaty.... I'm sticking my neck out, an' for the future of all the Chiss who live within our borders. Venturing farther than every Imperial leader who ruled before me, searching for a means to reconcile the Chiss with Imperium in the future.'

 

[Marcus Bastion]

Tag: DECEASED Erskine Barran FN-999 Ignacious Korvan Bex Tarring

Marcus nodded as the Lord Regent addressed his concerns, sifting through the necessary diplomatic language that both such a meeting, and such an office that the Lord Regent was required to deliver... Marcus for the most part agreed. If anything it was a little soft, even if he did agree with the practicality of it. The Empire should shore up it's borders and defence's an isolationist policy was only prudent, for a time, but Marcus believed that it should be until such a time they gain their strength and the other major powers were weakened or atleast lulled into a false state of security. Just like The Empire of Old di when reforming into the First Order before delivering a fatal blow to their enemies of the so called New Republic. Either that or The Empire of the Hand, the sources of which were almost Legends. It was ironic that the discussion concerned the Unknown Regions in that regard.

"I agree with the Lord-Regents frank appraisal of the reality of the situation." Marcus acknowledged the rest of the room. "Now is not the time to be wasteful or seeking glory at the expense of our citizens. We need to be shoring up our defenses not over extending our lines… Atleast until such a time of renewed strength."

Marcus gave an affirmed approval done at the Barons own analyses of the immediate threats of irregular forces.

"The good Baron is right, rebellion will be feuled by guerella warfare and partisan forces. I have made my career hunting down such insurgencies, his suggestions of reinforcing civilian centers holds merit. However I would also emphasise that preventing these rebel factions from unifying into an Alliance would also be key. Our history is full of the failure of Empires at the hands of a Unified Rebellion. Without unity Guerillas may be surrounded and eliminated as necessary. With allies they have resources, trade routes. At best stamping out rebellions becomes a game of holo-wacka mole. At worst rebellion can turn into revolution.

Marcus paused for effect, before giving a wry smile.

"And Despite the flowery praise of our new treaties I doubt any of the other major powers of the galaxy would give us aid."

Marcus quirked an eyebrow at the inclusion of Chiss being given purview at the meeting. The last time he was in a meeting such as this Chiss and Rebels had been the topic of discussion then as well. To Marcus's ire his own suggestions of moderate response of integration and assimilation rather than oppression and persecution had been ignored, the fall out of which continued to this day.

"The Chiss could be of great value an asset, particularly in this time of uncertainty" Marcus acknowledge thoughtfully already seeing several angles to the new development. "Perhaps if as the Lord-Regent suggests an oath of fealty would dissuade those factions within our borders from becoming radical. If we as an Empire can demonstrate our good will towards the Chiss. It would be a useful counter point to any dissatisfied objections towards us. Which may very well be enough to prevent radicalization of those movements."


The thought occurred to Marcus that the Lord-Regent was right in that he was sticking his neck out for the Chiss. Which just might be enough rope to hang him with should the day ever come that Marcus found the Lord Regent to be removed. Marcus made a mental note. In case that day ever came.