Faction Banners of the Fallen II [EMPIRE]

[DECEASED Aron Gowrie]

10th Post

-THE BITTER END APPROACHES-

WILDCAT_ONE
TRIBAL-CHIEFTAIN OF AN-TUATHA
LORD-GENERAL OF IMPAF
SWORD OF THE VALKYRIES

Tags : FN-999 Argilac Aoki-Barran Mira Ashel de Stilico
Albrecht F. Herlock Nukth Kelga'an Kastav Volff Sylas

TRIBULATIONS OF THE WILDCATS VIII: THE LAST TRIBULATION - PART 10

FORT DEFIANT, THE MYRMIDON QUARTER,
NEW CARANNIA, NIRAUAN (880 ABY)

[This is Nines, your plan has been received. I accept your proposal, though if things go awry I will implement a Plan B.]

'YA DANCER!!!! JUST IN TIME AN'AW!!!!'
​

The enemy landing-crafts were bursting through the orbital sphere under fire, and larger than those which were sent careening into Nirauan's surface before them, yet still the Goidels of the Empire held firm with gleeful anticipation, more confident than ever that their greatest gamble of all would pay off with the greatest of rewards in turn. If those landers were to open their off-ramps with infantry spilling out, they would need to wait, but considering the sizes of the dropships (and all the decoys pretending to bear the same contents) making their way down, the comparison alone to those preceding was enough to guess that the implementation of EMP-1 would likely be used in the impending wave of attack.

'Carwood, you know to do.... I'm not using EMP-8 this time, not even usin' 9 or 10 for that matter. Its the Fat Man this time, Br'er! SET THE KARKER AFF AS SOON AS YOU GET WITHIN REACH OF IT!!!!'

​

With little more than a silent, appreciative nod as his gesture of affirmation, Lord-Major McGechin then manically sprinted out the door and made his way down to Artillery Command, embarking on a drop in three floors and across two courtyards to reach the EMP-detonation terminals. A necessity that was so severe that some had speculated on the strictness of their security-protocols beforehand, but all the previous dissenters would either be dead or silent by the time the Swarm's third wave had been sent to assail them; marking the importance of keeping the strictest clearance-level passes in the hands of the best-protected, best-suited decision makers, especially in the moments leading to the battle's most-vital phases.

<"Nines, this is Gowrie. I got your message.... I'll apologise in advance, as its not the usual batch of EMP-bombs I intend to implement here. We're detonating EMP-1, the biggest in our arsenal - for the last great strategic masterstroke of the century.... I know you'll understand, an' I know you also believe the next wave is armoured, tracked contingents, the most-susceptible to electronic warfare. Trust in the Force as I would in Ashla, trust in that an' you will be rewarded. Wildcat One - going dark for now!">​

Setting the comm-link receiver onto the holographic map-table's wide rim, the Kellas moved towards the cracks in the duracrete walling to see the progress of the Swarm's latest wave, and before he had the time to see, the thuds of the dropships could already be heard crashing into all the districts surrounding New Carannia's Myrmidon Quarter. Thus the old Tuath was given all the more reason to catch the dropdowns of the off-ramps, but by then Lord Aron knew he would be better-served putting an ear to the cracks as opposed to using an eye, as it wasn't the landing craft that mattered in the end, only the contents contained within until the last moment. Gowrie's great gamble was culminating in real-time, but due to the nail-biting, last-moment nature of the Tuath's wildest guess yet, he was listening out for the tanks and his Woad-born friend at the same time.

Increasing the stress-factor tenfold with every passing second.

<"ALL UNITS, SWITCH OFF BATTERIES!!!! I REPEAT - SWITCH OFF BATTERIES!!!! EMP-1, THE HEAVIEST WE'VE GOT IN OUR ARSENAL, IS GOING LIVE!!!! STAND BY FOR COUNTDOWN!!!!">

[EMP-Detonation pending: thirty - seconds]
​

'Come on, you karking freaks.... I want to hear your smoothbores already.... Come on, I need t'see I made the right choice here!'

Silence (and not of the serene sort) followed and still, Lord Aron listened on with left hand cloyingly grasping at the grip of his sword in anticipation, almost spasmodic in his tensile, tensive hunch by the cracks in the duracrete. Waiting with baited breath for the recognisable sound of distant, weighted sonic-booms, hearing in the low, windy growl of the city for anything resembling the metallic clang of primer-on-shell contacts, the whistle of SABOT shells screeching through the air, and the deep succession of thuds as the turret-shots sent their projectiles through multiple urban layers of wall and pillar. These, and these small auditory outbursts alone, were all the confirmation the Lord-General needed to know he was right to make such a wild call in the first place, the only indications required to know it wasn't a lethal, disastrous mistake after all.

[EMP-Detonation pending: twenty - seconds]
​

'Come on, muh wee tank-babies.... Roar out for yer Pappy now.'

​

Just one clue of what to expect, just one small, distant inkling of the true third wave and those the Swarm deemed fitting enough to answer Imperium's waning defiance, this was all the Kellas needed to divine success or failure before the fact, one booming confirmation through the loudest silence Nirauan had known for years. But then, as if out of nowhere, seemingly from the aether, a distant, echoing,"Pokk!", pulsated through the city.

[EMP-Detonation primed: ten - seconds]​

The first of many, followed by the first of many screeching, whistling pre-impact trajectories, and when the shells began to strike the city's picturesque buildings around the landing sites, Gowrie knew his gamble had paid off with dividends. Seen bellowing with a jubilance he hadn't felt since the Battle of Exegol, Lord Carwood had returned just in time to find Lord Aron screaming to the heavens with fists balled to white-knuckled extremes, subsiding only to look McGechin in the eye to exclaim,'We did it, Carwood! The gamble paid off - they sent the weight of their mechanised arsenal after all! WE FETHIN' DID IT!!!!', before unleashing another jubilant, ecstatic war-cry on the clouded New Carannian skies above.

woooooooOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOSSSSHHHH
​

'HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!! BRING ON THE CARNAGE!!!!'

​

Even as the detonated electromagnetic pulse tore through the air, Aron knew he had unleashed mayhem, that of the sort he had never wrought before, despite the long, illustrious career the Kellas had enjoyed up until that point, adding something of a maniacal edge to an otherwise-victorious mirth as the shockwave swept through the city in it's entirety. But when the consequent chain-reactions tore apart a few of the Swarm's dropships from within, (likely caused as resulting malfunctions in the targeted missile weapons-systems still making for their off-ramps at the time) the laughter had no choice but to give way to curiosity as the Tuath's eyes finally found their purpose, seeing explosions with high-stacking smoke plumes in the city's eastern and northern districts as early as the first sweeping glance.

The Empire's last moment of greatness, the last swansong of Imperial glory was upon him, but despite the immense pressure that still remained after the majority of it had lifted in an intoxicating instant, the newly-promoted Lord-General was readier than he had been for anything in his life. The Tuath's finest hour had found him, the one thing for which he would be remembered above all else, but would the Empire's most-decorated soldier falter, or even hesitate at the pinnacle moment?

<"ALL UNITS, I REPEAT - ALL UNITS!!!! ADVAAAAAAAAAAAAAANCE!!!!">

Not even in his darkest hours before, and not even in his life's ending supernova.
This was exactly where Lord Aron wanted to be.
​

With one single look shared between them, both Aron and Carwood drew their swords from their sheathes, and their Fragarachs from their holsters with mutually-wicked grins, sneering ear-to-ear with gleeful abandon as they heard the fort's entire garrison charging out from within. With bayonets fixed and rifle's switched back on, with hearts filled to the brim with all the pride and rage of Imperium at their backs, and in the midst of the screaming, frothy-mouthed counterattack, the Woad and the Tuath joined their own cries to those of the men they were leading to glory. The perfect time to strike back could only follow the disabling of the Swarm's droids and tracked vehicles, but as they ran through the smoky remnants of the explosive chain reactions beyond, nothing would give the Imperials cause to second-guess their approach - and especially not with isolated raiders likely losing more than just the initiative in the electromagnetic blast.

'AVE RUUUUUUUUUUUUUUURIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIK!!!!'

 

[Thomas Barran]

5TH POST

-YOUR BITTER END APPROACHES-

THE_BLOODHOUND
GREAT KHAN OF THE SCAR HOUNDS
WARDEN OF RHIGAR & MAR'ZAMBUL
DIVINE CHAMPION OF THE DARK THREE

Tags: FN-999 Aoki-Barran Mira Argilac Nukth Kelga'an
Aurelian Sigismund Kastav Volff Sylas Albrecht F. Herlock

BECOMING SHADOWS II: DEATH FROM ABOVE - PART 5

OBSERVATION DECK, THE WRATH OF RHIGAR,
APPROACHING NIRAUAN (LATE 880 ABY)

'What the-?'
​

Powerful enough to be seen from outer-orbit, a bright, luminescent blue shockwave lit up everything around and above it, though fortunately for the Scar Hounds and all the remaining fleet elements still operating just beyond Nirauan at the time, the blast was only strong enough to reach the highest clouds above them. Blanketing the city in a temporary hue before vanishing to it's still-powerful limitations, Thomas knew that the implications of such a simple display would be lost on the Swarm for a moment or so, though as for how the stunned masses would react, Barran had no way of knowing for sure.

​

'Oh, I see how it is.... They played the Swarm like fools, made clowns to the last man. These Imperials had them in the palm of Imperium the whole time.... Well-played, Aron. Well-played indeed.'

​

The Scar Hounds didn't mind that the Swarm had lost their heaviest-hitting wave of attack, as there was no love lost between elements that disliked each other already, and quite intensely at that; yet despite seeing the joy of the Empire serving the Swarm with a massive slice of humble-pie, especially in the self-reminders that their so-called allies were practically ruled by their own egos, all the tribal coordinators agreed before that the armoured attack was needed to screen their own for better effect. But in the moments after they saw the disaster for themselves, the Scar Hounds' leadership realised they had no contingency-plans for the Swarm's easily-thwarted efforts, never once thinking the most-destructive of all the attacks could amount to nought within seconds, never once considering that New Carannia still had teeth to bite with.

'So be it.... Prepare - EVERYONE!!!! PREPARE EVERY RESOURCE WE HAVE AVAILABLE - WE LAND WITHIN THE HOUR!!!!'

Michael was my only target, now I have to account for the Tuath.
I don't have time for this.

 

[Aurelian Sigismund]

Aurelian Sigismund
Hegemon of Zakuul and Vandemar, Moff of Vandemar, Exarch of Zakuul, Imperator of the Eternal Legion
The Griffin of Zakuul

{ WE ARE WINNING }
​

NIRAUAN | WEST OF MYRMIDON QUARTER | LEFT FLANK
THE VENGEFUL SPIRIT - LAST PART

​

If anything, the Nirauan defenders were courageous. Once the capital of a fledging new idea, now just a hollow skeleton of what once was. The New Imperial Order and Empire were gone for good and Aurelian was not crying about it. Yet he was pleased to see that some of its spirit was still living in these simple souls. He was proud to command them, even if it was temporary and for many of them, their last command.

The line was holding, first against the bombardment, then droids and then against whatever else the Mawites had mustered, but they were holding. They had the training, they had the adequate equipment and they were holding. What they lacked in experience, they came up with in bravery and discipline. It needed some inspiration and personal leadership, but it was working. The Griffin was positively surprised and pleased with the officers and especially the NCOs, they were the heavy lifting spirit.

Of course the golden figure helped. Aurelian Sigismund was not just an anchor point for the line to stand, he was a beacon and banner of strength for them to stand side by side with him. A warrior-god clad in gold, killing enemies in the dozen with his magnificent weapons. They were pawns, yes, but it was the sight to behold which counted. Where the infantryman needed a good shot and a series of well-wished strikes to take out a droid or beast, the Griffin of Zakuul was doing so effortlessly. They were inspired and consequently their vigor intensified.

Aurelian witnessed how a squad under the command of an especially muscular and moustached sergeant managed to take out a command section of the enemy, hiding their approach by the canalisation and then killing everyone in the house before an artillery shell levelled the entire building. He witnessed how the sergeant was pushing everyone out of the back door shortly before the shell hit and crashed the building onto the man. Even Aurelian feeled inspired by this noble sacrifice, especially since it allowed for a very successful counterattack, as the mawites were locally without leadership.

The counterattack got momentum. Despite the enemy bringing in reinforcements - armoured as far as intel said, the enemy was pushed back. It was a turn in both the essence of the battle as well as its dynamic. The Nirauan troops did very well on the defensive, the defensive plans well versed and executed, but now it was to reverse it and attack the enemy. When from the Hand of Thrawn the order to advance came and Aurelian observed his feed, realizing what the imperials did, he proceeded without hesitation.

"We advance. Six blocks wide, the 18th takes the lead, the 21st on the right, the 22nd on the left, search every building, no vermin survives this day. Get your men together and move. Watch for ambushes and traps. Give no quarters, everyone in front of us is an enemy."

His voice echoed through the com-channel towards the units in his sector. He knew that it was a narrow attack corridor he chose, but he was to clear the path to the landing pods, not just rush through it. The enemy was not only disoriented, their main force was also knocked out, they had to make ground. Penetrating in depth would do, they were careful but powerful and unrelenting in their forward movement. Further he could wing the flank regiments to extend his line and prevent getting flanked if necessary. These soldiers would do anything at this point if they could both destroy the mawites and impress their golden leader.

Aurelian took the lead. He was the center of the attack and was the one directly spearheading one of the platoons of the leading companies. The enemy was indeed disoriented, even paralyzed to a degree. They were prey and the predator approached. Only sporadic fire came as they advanced, compared to their precise fire, even while walking the Nirauans offered good accuracy. With ferocity and a warcry on their lips, the defenders attacked the enemy, driving them back, houses by house, street by street, block by block.

The Hegemon coordinated the attack movement while his sword cut a bloody path through the enemy, making them aware of pockets of resistance as well as adjusting the formation. There indeed seemed to be a gathering point for the enemy three blocks to the North and his men would soon hit them. He transmitted according warnings and would resume his path forward.

He did not see it personally, but later heard how it happened, but apparently the mawite gathering had no weapons except for the melee ones anymore, courtesy of EMPs. The leading company commander, a captain called Viktoria Derin, was not directly assaulting them but instead offered a semi-enveloping movement and managed to bring several repeaters in position with overlapping arcs and everything she did was trigger a charge and they ran into a deathzone, being fired upon from multiple sides and killed to the last. Two hundred marauders in less than two minutes with no losses.

The battle in the sector raged on for several more hours, even though the last two were nothing but annihilating what was left of the enemy. They had no properly working equipment anymore and the simple superiority in firepower made the whole operation quite straight forward. Added by that was the rising confidence and experience of the Nirauan troops who by now excelled and were outright eager to battle the barbarian invaders. They made sure that nothing and nobody was surviving this, that none would escape.

​

 

[Yorunarr Ahan-Yan'Sharlim]

9th post

-THE BITTER END APPROACHES-

GODMASK_ACTUAL

LORD-CAPTAIN OF FIREDANCE BRIGADE(THE HIGHLAND BROTHERHOOD)
HIGH-SHAMAN OF THE SERENNOAN ESOTERIC CHAPTER
PRIEST-KING OF ARCHAIS

Tags: FN-999 Argilac Aoki-Barran Mira Ashel de Stilico Aurelian Sigismund
Kastav Volff Nukth Kelga'an

FOR THE ANCIENTS II: IN THE EYES OF THE DEAD - PART 9

Fiyarro District, The Old City,
New Carannia, Nirauan (Late 880 ABY)

'You heard the Tuath on the Comm-Link, did you not? ADVAAAAAAAAAAANCE!!!!'
​

With blades and blaster-pistols at the ready, Yorunarr's War-Shamans sprang forth with a collective roar, screaming to the Nirauan skies with violent elation, setting sights on everything to the west and aiming to drive them to the desert beyond, for all who would survive to feel sand beneath their boots would suffer slower, more-gruelling deaths than their comrades. With such a brash, bloody plan in the minds of the Novanians, and the considered armaments of the foes still firing on them before EMP-1's implementation, Firedance Brigade were in a perfect position to lead the way for the Highland Brotherhood, the Nirauan militias and the Vandemarians most of all; so all that would be needed of the Theocratic warriors of Archais, strategically strange though it seemed in that order, all that was needed was the shock-charge of a well-motivated brigade.

Thus the splitting, schismatic forces would return to their ecumenical roots, even if only for a time, but even Yorunarr knew they would come to terms again at some point - opening the way for a cohesion of the likes the Firedance contingent had never known before the rains started falling that day.

'NO QUARTER!!!! NO MERCY!!!!'

The Vandemarian artillery barrages were already striking the previous landing-zones by the time the Highlanders had caught up with Raider Battalion in tow, promising the impending arrival of the Vandemarian-coordinated militias, taken as ample justification to keep with the counterattack's ever-gaining momentum. But instead of taking a risky initiative, leaving the west-facing Imperial advance exposed to attack from the same positions they held before, the Priest-King and Dreamer alike were smart enough to foresee such risks, and had been instructed well enough under Galidraani and Goidelic tutorships in the formative years of their Imperial tenures. Lucky then that the briefly-estranged friends were of similar minds that day, as they were both considering the shock-effect Sigismund's warriors could provide to the counter's next phase, forcing Siyarr to exclaim,'Not bad, Preach! I guess we're cohesive after all!', from an elevated position on the right flank to let his voice travel farther.

'Its just a schism, Heady! Don't take it so personally! We're still friends despite it all! AND NOTHING'S CHANGING THAT!!!! NOTHING IN THIS LIFETIME - OR THE NEXT!!!!'

​

Even with blasters firing off, with attacking raiders trying their utmost to overrun the Imperials with the weight of massed, charging numbers, the old friends still offered fist-over-heart salutes from a distance, disdaining all danger as all mayhem broken loose around them. The Ancients may have been splitting down the middle, with Gods stepping back and forth in an ever-shifting balance in realms unseen by mortal eyes, but on the ground, in realms corporeal and tangible, Preacher and Heady would handle matters as any mature-minded mortals would in their predicament. Infallibility was seen as a curse for the living, the meek and the marked alike, as it was for any Ancient to whom the friends had prayed throughout their lives, giving Yorunarr and Siyarr every reason to cast it aside for the sake of their collective redemption.

'AURELIAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAN!!!!'

​

 

[Michael Barran]

9th Post

-THE BITTER END APPROACHES-

CAIRN_ONE
RINGLEADER OF THE PELLAEONIST CLIQUE
WARDEN OF THE IMPERIAL KNIGHTS
DRUID-GRANDMASTER OF THE HIGHLAND BROTHERHOOD

TAGS
FN-999 Aoki-Barran Mira Argilac Aurelian Sigismund

HOLD THE LINE I: DEFIANT IMPERIUM - PART 9

CENTRAL TOWER, THE HAND OF THRAWN,
NEW CARANNIA, NIRAUAN (LATE 880 ABY)

Eeeeeeh.... Pretty sure that was the Fat Man, Aron.
This is Nirauan's shot for victory now then.

Damn Tuathan better not kark this up!
​

The sheer weight of the pulse from EMP-1 was enough to push the Wanderer and his Shadow southwards a few metres or so, sliding strong, upright postures across the dust-covered northern courtyard for a second or so, owed mostly to the depth of the electrostatic shockwave as it pushed it's way far beyond the southern boundaries of New Carannia's outer districts. However, as for the Druids and Guardsmen around them, the force was enough to sweep them all off their feet, seemingly decked to the last man by the same heavyweight's invisible punch, but they were all tough enough to rise to their feet after a few groaning, cuss-hurling moments on the ground with the rubble-blocks.

'Glad I chose - fibre this morning.... Never mind, I can always have words with McGechin on the matter, such as those I have tattooed across MY FETHING KNUCKLES!!!!'

​

'Walk it off, Mackie! Firedance can handle the dropships in the West, so rest and recharge yersel.', Barran chirped back, acting more like a working colleague than anything resembling his real status, clearly dialling back the bombast for everyone's sake in the Heart of the Crucible. The battle was beginning to drag on by then, and everyone around the Lord-Warden knew him better than Michael knew himself, as Michael himself knew his peers better than they knew themselves in turn, a particularly-symbiotic truth with which both elements were happily aware by that point of their Imperial careers. Granting the Wanderer his freedom to think outside the box without the worry of judgement or complacency present to hinder the process, a full-investment of the likes that made communication all the easier for Barran's brethren - especially in their receptiveness to the Woad's commands.

'Same goes for everyone else! Hydrate, eat something, recharge yourselves an' your battery-packs! Next wave is likely inbound - an' I know exactly who they intend to deploy!'

Even from the Hand of Thrawn, Barran's small defensive contingent could hear the Brotherhood's majority surging forth with the Novanians at the frontlines, ululating and shrieking with ultraviolent intent and with enough aggression that the wind was able to carry their voices even farther, a particular sort of cacophony that always brought a smile to Michael's face. As it was war-cries of similar sort that bought the Goidels' freedom with Sith-loyalist blood as their currency, those same screams of furious, untamed abandon that kept all the tribes on Galidraan III from dying off to Calavaran firepower, a raucous reminder of all it took to topple dynasties, and Aron Gowrie had just gifted his fellow-Imperials their chance to break a siege as Goidels would.

Chuckling as he heard the rage over the rushing shoulder-mounted rockets and blaster-shots alike, the Wanderer couldn't help but feel at least a little envious of all the fun he knew he was missing out on, but in the understanding of Firedance Brigade's need for strategic redemption, Lord Michael kept himself firmly in place. The Vandemarians would adopt the tactical control of over Battlefront: West in the Woad's stead, and that was enough for Michael to relax and prepare his soul for the impending encounter with the Scar Hounds, the prophesied bloody reunion he dreamt months before that fateful day; thus the mirthful joy would dry to ash on his lips, and almost as soon as his thoughts turned to Thomas, an approaching dread for which Michael knew he was better off preparing.

~=Come now, Tom.... Don't be shy, I know you're up next. I can feel it!=~
​

'Mira.... Its time.... Meditate.'

​

 

[Thomas Barran]

6TH POST

-YOUR BITTER END APPROACHES-

THE_BLOODHOUND
GREAT KHAN OF THE SCAR HOUNDS
WARDEN OF RHIGAR & MAR'ZAMBUL
DIVINE CHAMPION OF THE DARK THREE

Tags: FN-999 Aoki-Barran Mira Argilac Nukth Kelga'an
Aurelian Sigismund Kastav Volff Sylas Albrecht F. Herlock

BECOMING SHADOWS II: DEATH FROM ABOVE - PART 6

OBSERVATION DECK, THE WRATH OF RHIGAR,
APPROACHING NIRAUAN (LATE 880 ABY)

~=Ah.... So wee Mikey found his voice eventually. I was wondering when you'd call.=~
​

Under other circumstances, the Bloodhound would have laughed with excited anticipation, but Michael's challenge was different to that which Thomas had received almost an hour beforehand, as there was something else to the cutting nature brimming the remarks of his brother, no warmth or hatred from which the Great Khan could draw ire or hilarity for that matter. It wasn't indifference, as the one-eyed Woad knew how that sounded to the ear, it wasn't apathy either, as the willingness to engage had put that to rest almost instantly, thus it had to be something of colder, darker intent. Then, and only then did Thomas understand the heart of his brother, the intent behind the words and the approach he would be adopting when their blades eventually met, very-easily noting the headsman's dispassion that closely resembled that of a popular town-butcher.

~=Tom.... It will be decided today, one way or the other.=~
~=You intend to gut me like a pig, don't you? There's no harm in admitting it.=~
~=Focus your mind.... An' hurry the feth up! You're testing my patience.=~​

Snarling loud enough to be heard by his Darkhans whilst in the midst of loading up for the landings, all four stopped in their tracks and stared with concern towards their leader, though only Ghoul spoke up to say,'Michael, I guess.... Don't let him distract you now, there's still a target down there that we need to take out first.', reminding his Great Khan that the mission mattered more than any brotherly showdown could that day. Then just as he was the only one to speak up, Ghoul would be the only one to step forth in the attempt to reason with the Bloodhound as well, concluding,'Brother, you knew the Swarm would need us to clean up their messes, and they've made the biggest of all here.... Best thing we could do now, sadly, is kill a few high-profile targets and plunder the damn place - taking what we need before we move on Bastion.', to the surprisingly-receptive comfort of the one who Ghoul revered above all.

'You're right.... About all of it.... Alright, lets move. After all, there's only so much decimation our new,"Allies", can handle. They were as good as unbloodied before, so its likely they're all in disarray down there.'

Using his Datapad, Barran gave in to the urge to check the fleeting matters for a moment, but in the moment he saw that the Swarm were making an early departure for Bastion, the snarl became the low-rumblings of a growl. Even though a couple of the Swarm's ships remained to deploy infantry elements as reinforcements, the vast majority of those attending for the assault on Nirauan were still abandoning their second and third waves to their fates, a form of cowardice the Bloodhound despised more than anything else, as it represented everything the Scar Hounds could never be permitted to become. Giving Thomas no other option but to commit fully, reminding him that he was bound to the personal goal of eradicating the Empire's reigning power-base, eradicating all that brought his first life to an agonizing end before, serving as yet-another great test of his devotion to the Dark Three.

'And now.... The Swarm are leaving us to fight the Imperials alone here, leaving us nought but two allied vessels to provide infantry-support - an' we're leading the way in this time.... Prepare for battle!'

 

[FN-999]

NIARAUN - 880 ABY

LINE OF BATTLE

​

ALLIES: DECEASED Aron Gowrie | Aurelian Sigismund | Michael Barran | etc.
ENEMIES: Thomas Barran | etc.
EQUIPMENT: 908th Legion

With a faint whirring noise, the doors to the second trench’s command center opened up.
​

Through the opening stepped the Baron, unaccompanied as he approached Commander Silvertounge and his staff. Noticing the Baron’s arrival out of the corner of his eye, the commander paused his proceedings and turned to face his superior.

“Is everything all right?” asked Silvertongue.

“That’s what I’m here to ask you, Silvertongue.” replied the Baron. “How are the Scouts?"

“Still recovering.” admitted Silvertongue. “That bombardment was rough on them - I’d estimate they’ll be at around 60% strength until the battle concludes or reinforcements arrive."

Letting out a deep sigh, the Baron reflected on the situation he was in. The 3rd Scouts Regiment was the most important intelligence unit of the 908th Legion, providing live battlefield intel from well-concealed positions and rapid transportation on the front lines. With nearly half its number now casualties of the battle, the Reborn lost a significant amount of adaptability, leaving it vulnerable to sudden developments in the battlefield. It would only be a matter of time before something new and unknown emerged, putting the legion at risk.

Surely enough, at that moment, two transmissions came in nearly simultaneously through the long-range comms.

[Command, this is Bigfoot. The militia just radioed in, they’re reporting drop-pods landing ahead of and within their positions. They made contact with the enemy and have suffered heavy casualties. The survivors are withdrawing towards the trenches now.]

[Command, this is courier ST-1192, callsign Kax. I’ve returned with the fort with intel that the Wildcats are advancing in the wake of their EMP deployment.]

Never had a Plan B been more needed than in that moment. Thinking fast, the Baron formulated a response.

[Reborn, this is Nines. If possible, regroup and rearm the surviving militiamen. Prepare for contact with hostiles.]

[Additionally, we can no longer withdraw from the trenches. The Wildcats are advancing, and we cannot let their right flank be exposed. Withdrawal is only to be considered if our entire line is in danger of being overrun.]

[Nines to Holmdall, load high-expolsive rounds into two thirds of your batteries and once both militia and hostiles are within range, commence reverse creeping fire immediately behind the militia. Load flak rounds in the remaining third and prepare to shoot down any unidentified pods approaching the trenches.]

​

The stormtrooper stared down the barrel of his rifle, his palms growing sweaty as the dust cloud grew nearer.
​

Was it the surviving militiamen approaching? Or was something far more sinister concealed within the dust? No one nearby had any answers, all as anxious as him to face down whatever lay within the dust cloud. When would new intel come in? The Scouts had taken heavy casualties, but surely there was radar and rangefinders and long-range thermal sights that could shed some light on whatever was approaching. The tension grew steadily, his fingers millimeters away from the trigger as the dust cloud grew larger and larger, shadows becoming visible within. Some seemed to be human or at least humanoid, but others… they were hard to describe.

Just as the tension reached its climax, a loud boom came from behind him as the artillery in the third line sent shells over the trenches. At the same time, his captain barked out an order, audible even over the artillery. Yet even if it was not, there was little room for misinterpretation.

“Open fire!"

 

[DECEASED Aron Gowrie]

Final Post

-THE BITTER END APPROACHES-

WILDCAT_ONE
TRIBAL-CHIEFTAIN OF AN-TUATHA
LORD-GENERAL OF IMPAF
SWORD OF THE VALKYRIES

Tags : FN-999 Argilac Aoki-Barran Mira Ashel de Stilico
Albrecht F. Herlock Nukth Kelga'an Kastav Volff Sylas

TRIBULATIONS OF THE WILDCATS VIII: THE LAST TRIBULATION - FINALE

NEW CARANNIA, NIRAUAN (880 ABY)

'NO QUARTER - NO MERCYYYYYYYYYYY!!!!'​

Goidels, Galidraani, Vandemarians, Novanians, Yinchorri and troopers from every corner of the realm were sallying forth, unleashing the might of Imperium on all who dared to besiege the Great, Holy city of New Carannia. Roaring outwards from their defensive positions like hellbound beasts gifted with a way to the living surface, charging out like fury incarnate, screaming right down to the last rifle-bearing soul, and with a wrath of the likes that made Sith, Jedi and Marauder shudder every time. This was the power of the Fel Dynasty, this was the power of the Barran Regency, and on Nirauan's surface, a fair showing of Tavlar's righteous defiance against tyranny most of all.

First into the fray (charging in with the fleet-footed quickness and agility that had marked the Goidels apart from their peers for decades already) Lord Aron would lead from the front as he had in the wars of yesteryear, killing whoever he could find in the Crucible as one felled foeman followed another, again and again in the Kellas' effort to break the siege once and for all. But it wasn't all sunshine and happiness in their breakout attack, and when the Scar Hounds' dropships were seen falling from the skies above, it almost threatened to break the momentum of the counter, though Gowrie himself had more than enough to say on the matter.Almost welcoming their arrival as he took one last glance up to the ships, seeing the burned-golden skull insignia and realising the true decider was yet to unfold, though in this case, the Lord-General was quick to understand the purpose of the Bloodhound's late arrival.

'KEEP - FIGHTING!!!! THEY HAVEN'T SENT ENOUGH TO STOP US NOW!!!! PUSH ON TO VICTORYYYYYYYY!!!!'

Thus the second great surge followed, but even in their regained momentum the Kellas could see and feel that something was different this time, sensing shivers akin to those he felt when he fought the Mongrel on Korriban, goosebumps that felt like a narcotic rush of the highest intensity. It felt like Aron was flying across the ground, even with the thumping impacts under the soles of his boots, shooting off into the sooty, smoke-filled fog of war as if he'd been shot out from an artillery cannon, it felt like he was levitating at speed in ways only repulsorlift speeder-bikes could understand. But then the booms, bangs and screams of war began to dimish, becoming quieter with every pace the Tuath put to pavement, and even with the near-unseen aversaries hiding and striking out from within that fog, it became clear before long that Lord Aron had just ran one stretch too far.

'Greetings from from the tribes of Rhigar an' Mar'Zambul, Laird Gowrie!'

And when the smoke had been burst through to the unoccupied streets beyond, nearing the coastal Er'Kit suburbs, there he saw his nemesis. The one Gowrie met a few times before the ill-fated Second Battle of Ziost, the one he met again on Panatha, knowing the demon he faced within his adversary - Lord Thomas of Clan Barran.

'I bid you welcome to our duellist arena - FOR A SHOWDOWN OF WOAD AN' TUATH!!!!'

With a hard inhalation through his nostrils, and loud enough that even Thomas could hear it from his distance, the Bloodhound would see the Kellas inhaling with eyes wider than any stimulant-addled vagrant, seeing Lord Aron's rising thrills and rushes bubbling to the surface as the Mongrel had decades before him. But in the moment Gowrie replied,'Greetings from the clans of An-Tuathan, Great Khan! Though with that being said - what took you so long?!', Barran would be able to feel those rushes coursing through his opponent's veins, displaying the one thing the Bloodhound feared in his opponents, the true thrill of the sword. That which no Force-Wielder would or could ever know, that which Erskine Barran had achieved before Aron ever had, and in the love, the adoration for the beauty of single combat, true perfection could and had been found in the Heart of the Crucible.

'Being honest.... I was trapped in disbelief that I'd solved the Erskine/Mongrel problem.... But I understand it now, and I understand now that your vengefulness on Panatha was just a show - as you believe you also have the solution to the same problem.... Am I right?'

Aron knew that Thomas could see and feel what he was feeling in these moments, but the unexpectly-honest reply was all the confirmation Gowrie needed to know for a fact the Bloodhound could sense the rushes that were fuelling his Tuathan opponent; though it wasn't the rushes in and of themselves that frightened the man in the golden mask, but the implications that went with such an emotional encounter, and all that those implications were telling Barran at the time. This was fated to be a clash like no other, but in the resolute, smiling nature of the Tuathan's air of finality, it was becoming quickly apparent to the Woad that only one would be walking away alive, a duel in the truest, purest form imaginable.

'Perhaps.... But therein lies a new problem, though one that could solve both either way. Fresher legs, fresher physiques, with rival-eclipsing skill in both cases, it really only leaves us with one option as far as I see it.... To exceed the abilities of our contemporaries, masters and the like - an' to change the course of sword-fighting history in one move!'

​

The Lord-General then set his starting-posture in Meyerite form, looking on with a daring, goading glare with the widest of sneering grins, cracking his neck and controlling his elation so he could concentrate on what would end up being his last-ever duel either way. After all, Lord Aron had failed against this move before, and only just managed to survive it, but in remembering how the Lord-Regent prevailed on Tython, the Kellas understood it then as a mere matter of good timing and strong technical speed in the pivoting-motion. A perfect move for a perfect move, glorious at any visible angle, practiced so many times in Fort Imperator's sparring-yards already, but it wasn't just any odd opponent the Lord-General would be facing this time.

'NOW SHOW ME THE SWORD I FACED ALL THOSE YEARS AGO!!!! I NEED TO FEEL ALIVE AGAIN - ONE LAST TIME!!!!'

​

Then with little more than a bowing-head in respect for Goidelic duelling traditions, Barran drew the fabled Greatsword of the Mongrel, forged of leftover Beskar armour-pieces, saluting with the grace of tourney swordsman as he bowed again. It was clear to both warriors by then that the hour for hatred had passed long before the two Goidels met for the last time, and despite the raging hostilities to the south and all around that quiet city lane, the reverence between both swordsmen would not waver, not even as the last of the Swarm's unfortunate dupes broke off into full-rout within the waning fog of war. Lord Aron had already won his last-ever battle against the odds, ending on a crowning achievement that marked the great swansong of Imperial power, and in the mutual understanding that the Kellas had nothing left to prove, all that remained was the final clash for which both had been praying incessantly.

'BEGIN!!!!'

Bursting full-tilt into approaching sprints, the very sort both had learned to implement against Force-Wielders on both sides of the Light/Dark divide, Thomas and Aron had finally committed to the final act of the rivalry between tribes.

Although the champion of the Woad-Macushla was by no means the ideal deciding-factor, and by no means a fitting candidate to stand as champion in the Lord-Regent's stead either, the ever-present champion of the Tuathan North was satisfied enough with the wisdom to know he was finally facing the greatest of living Woad-born swordsmen, thus had no complaints when the final moment of tribal tensions finally came to pass. Deciding the victor of warring-states with one sword-strike, after centuries of wars, skirmishes and tentative peace-pacts, after the near-endless tumult that moulded them into the conquerors of Sith and Mawsworn alike - everything that forged the Barran/Gowrie rivalry would be struck to a peaceful conclusion in the following moments.

'NOW!!!!'

With growling exclamations, throwing everything into their attempts to decide the greatest of warrior-generals, to decide the final victor between warring states, the time had come to endeavour that one culminating all-or-nothing challenge that decided which legend would live to fight another day. Setting to their roles as Erskine or Asher in answering the great Tython question, and like perfect embodiments of the previous clash of Order and Chaos, everything in their execution of form had followed their clashing predecessors to the letter; but the real challenge was to exceed the technical output of their exemplars, to see if the Mongrel really had faltered after all, and lastly, to leave no doubt as to which sword really prevailed in the end.

Dropping his posture low to knee-bent extremes, it appeared as though the Bloodhound would be aiming for the heart from the low-frontal angle, as the angle offered was perfectly poised and positioned to lunge out even quicker than the Mongrel had before but in the moment the Kellas reached the perfect spot to twist into a standing-pivot, (seemingly set to turn into a deep backhand slash with more pace than Erskine's offering had been) the unexpected would once again come into play. On the Lonely Isle, the old Woad had remained standing in his pivot, but right at that perfect, pivotal moment of wonder, the scarred Tuath had failed himself again by choosing to jump into his own backspin. Foreseen in dreams by the Mongrel's powerful successor, showing the only use of his arcane, dark magic against Lord Aron in their final engagement, as there was neither an urge or a need to bend the rules so callously.

All that Thomas needed was to move his blade to the right by a few inches instead, catching Lord Aron's forward-leaping momentum in full-spin as his blade reprioritized to puncture the Tuath's chest through the ribcage, stabbing through Gowrie's left lung and heart alike.

'Any last requests, Laird Gowrie? I'll keep the sword in place to buy you time, but your moment is drawing near.... Laird Gowrie, snap out of it!'

Lifting his head from the intensifying stupor of shock, the Kellas would look on the Mongrel's sword, running his left hand down the flat (slowly swiping towards the hilt as if to clean it for a few moments) before his gaze finally met with the Bloodhound's own, gladly nodding with confirmation of intent to make that last request after all. Yet despite how much difficulty it entailed, Lord Aron coughed up and spat out the blood in his throat to command,'Lower - me down to one knee, let me enact The Knight's Prayer, then pull - the sword out.... The Ashlan Saint will handle - the next part.', through the pain in an effort to keep the agonal hyperventilation at bay - and all whilst the Bloodhound followed every instruction without complaint.

'You fought - well today, Thomas.... Better than I ever could've hoped.'

Leaning forward as he knelt to let his head rest on Sting o' Frost's decorative pommel, Lord Aron then wrapped both hands around the grip before turning his gaze to Thomas, standing in wait like a headsman awaiting the final instruction, but with an earnest that appeared far more solemn and sincere in contrast. An act of which that would earn the Scar Hounds' evolution, mutating and metamorphosing in Galactic perceptions from abject evil to deathly inevitability, from the chaotic Maw to the embodiment of the Galaxy's three darkest constants in one fell swoop. Becoming new breath of life for a Great Khan who was in dire need of it by then, and in his devotion to the importance of history, the Bloodhound would earn that final nod of approval in short order.

'I'll be seein' ye, Laird Barran.... But not too soon, eh?'

His last, rattling breaths were well-spent, as all were spent devoid of regret, devoid of bitterness and fear, and last of all, (and most-noticeably at that-) devoid of his deepest resentments. Thus in accordance to all the customs and traditions the Goidels swore by, in old times as much as the knew, Thomas couldn't deny that his opponent departed to the afterlife as a true Brave of their culture, dying as he lived in the way that only the Kellas could. Barran himself was moved enough by the sight that he promised himself to leave Gowrie's body undesecrated, instead bowing as the Lord-General's corpse held it's praying form in the rain, droplets that would stay with the Bloodhound - raining on a picture-perfect memory of the Kellas he slew on Nirauan.

The place where it all began for the dream of Imperial defiance.

~=Eina - its time.... My tribulation is ended.=~



I'm sorry, Helen.... I'll wait for y-

[EXIT THREAD]
[DECEASED]

 

[Thomas Barran]

7TH POST

-YOUR BITTER END APPROACHES-

THE_BLOODHOUND
GREAT KHAN OF THE SCAR HOUNDS
WARDEN OF RHIGAR & MAR'ZAMBUL
DIVINE CHAMPION OF THE DARK THREE

Tags: FN-999 Aoki-Barran Mira Argilac Nukth Kelga'an
Aurelian Sigismund Kastav Volff Sylas Albrecht F. Herlock

BECOMING SHADOWS II: DEATH FROM ABOVE - PART 7

NEW CARANNIA, NIRAUAN (LATE 880 ABY)

'I hope Asher resides where you're going.... But I'm destined for the Nether, sadly.'

Rest in peace, Laird Gowrie.
You've earned it more than anyone ever has afore ye.​

Never before was Barran given reason to believe that dark, irreparably-bleak days awaited the Galaxy, and certainly not of the sort that horrified Mawites and Scar Hounds alike before Exegol's downfall, as such premonitions were always seen as reasons aplenty to restart the Great Cycle for the Galaxy's sake, reasons in abundance to eradicate the Galactic powers who persistently risked such decay in the first place. But the Maw failed in their endeavours eventually, opening the floodgates to an irrevocable darkening of the Galaxy's already-uncertain future. The death of the last Tuathan hero was something of an evidencing factor to this truth, twisting and turning to sickly effect in Barran's gut, as there was the overriding feeling that his (and the Galaxy's-) time was running out, just as it was for Darth Solipsis and Darth Mori from the very beginning.

The mantle of responsibility had fallen to the Bloodhound, and in that moment - Thomas immediately realised he was feeling utterly sickened by all that the revelation implied.

I can't succeed, the Galaxy will wither an' die afore it's time.
I can delay it's slow death - but thats the only card I have to bet with.

Doom awaits on the horizon, an' we're all marching headlong into it now.
​

With a long, dejected sigh, the Bloodhound finally sheathed his mentor's Greatsword and turned to walk away, shaking his head in the rain as he finally closed a long-and-storied chapter in the Galaxy's already-storied history, but heavy was his heart in moments that would have been cause for celebration under other circumstances. It was a great victory for the Great Khan after all, but despite the clear enmities that grew between the Scar Hounds and Galidraan over the years - Barran knew in the churning of his stomach that others far more deserving of death should have stood in Gowrie's place that day.

<"Barran to Trilunars.... Objective one is complete. Move on to the Hand of Thrawn, order our troops back to the dropships - we're almost done here.">
<"Copied loud and clear, Great Khan. We'll see you there. Trilunar Four out!">
​

'Rebirth.... I'm tired.'

 

[Aoki-Barran Mira]

​

Equipment
Armor	Light Imperial Knight Armor.
Weapons	Imperial Knight Lightsaber.
	Hazukashi, Naginata Pole-Arm.
	Fukaikira, wakizashi short sword.
	Seijo-Ki, tanto dagger.
	Fragarach-model Heavy Disruptor Pistol.

Primary Objective: Protect ICANNOTSPELLPLANETNAME from unknown invaders.
Secondary Objective: Keep Michael Barran and as many good soldiers alive as possible, even if it costs her own life.
Location [Start of Post]: Hand Of Thrawn.
Location [End of Post]: Hand Of Thrawn.
Allies: tba.
Engaging: tba.
Misc. Tags: tba.

H E A L T H - B A R:
| | | - | | | - | | | - | | | - |

~ I S - T H I S - T H E - E N D ~
​

The successful click wave barrage, and the countless swings of their blades, felled the droids surrounding them. But it was in the air, more was coming. Mira could sense it.

In the piles of rubble, debris, and droid parts, Mira stood next to Michael as the harsh winds blew across the landscape which was no longer protected by standing buildings. Mira sensed her soldiers falling a distance away, and she grimaced as she looked to Michael. Her father had gone from speaking in coms to narrowing his eyes, silent but focused on something. Aoki-Barran narrowed her eyes as he spoke to her at last

"Mira... it's time... meditate."

Mira put her weapons away, panting. She spoke, voice hoarse from all the fighting as she retorted, "You should do the same. The more you let yourself be distracted by your brother, the more likely you are to fall."

Aoki-Barran Mira knew Michael well enough. He was in telepathic communication with his brother. A toxic family whispering into his mind's ear, twisting him. Mira frowned, but she reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder.

"You need to recenter yourself more than I do. Do not worry, father. Against him, I remain by your side, regardless of how this all ends."

With that, she lowered herself to the ground and entered a meditative stance found commonly in Atrisian culture. She closed her eyes, steadying her breathing as she focused herself from the chaos and loss of the battlefield. The final attack, most ruthless of all, was closing in. She had to be prepared. For Michael Barran's sake. If Thomas Barran wished to kill him, he would have to go through her first. That was an absolute. Levelheaded and focused, Mira strangely felt no fear. As she meditated, she only felt a grim determination... and a strange sense of hope. All her doubts and misgivings were gone, only replaced with a soothing clarity that strengthened her spirit. Whatever came, even when Thomas Barran himself stood before them, Mira knew what she was going to do.

The Imperial Samurai opened her eyes.

She remained seated, next to Michael Barran as she sensed the doom incoming. Calm, breathing steadily, she spoke. "They are coming."

Through the smoke and debris clouds, she saw the silhouettes. Two lone figures marching through the ruins they created. A massive, looming cyborg clanked loudly as he marched. But the greatest Force Signature came from the cloaked figure in the lead. His Force Signature was strangely similar, and she knew exactly why. Blood relation to another Force Signature she knew well. This was it.

Aoki-Barran Mira stood up, still not taking hold of any of her weapons. She took a couple steps forward, standing between the Bloodhound, his minion, and the Wanderer. She narrowed her eyes, cool and unflinching in the face of the skeleton mask and his puppet.

"Konnichiwa, Bloodhound. I have heard a lot about you."

Her eyes darted coldly to the cyborg. He was here for a purpose, but what? She was determined to keep an eye on him, as she looked back to Thomas. The Shadow, it seemed, became more pronounced in the light. A stark contrast to its shade, and it stood out more than anything else in this ruin.

She still did not touch a single weapon on her person, "I apologize for delaying your big plans, but the Wanderer is under my protection."

She reached to her hips, placing elegant yet sturdy hands on the hilts of her two blades. "You still have a long ways to go, before finally facing him."

She pulled her weapons from their sheaths, combat ready. The blades glistened as the Shadow stood, stoic and ready. This was it. The final hour. And she would give everything she had to determine the best possible outcome for her soldiers, her civilians, and her father. She had no fear of death, or whatever the Bloodhound could do to her. Dauntless, she would face this giant unshaken.

​

 

[Thomas Barran]

7TH POST

-YOUR BITTER END APPROACHES-

THE_BLOODHOUND
GREAT KHAN OF THE SCAR HOUNDS
WARDEN OF RHIGAR & MAR'ZAMBUL
DIVINE CHAMPION OF THE DARK THREE

Tags:

BECOMING SHADOWS II: DEATH FROM ABOVE - PART 7

NEW CARANNIA, NIRAUAN (LATE 880 ABY)

My brother's Shadow, his acolyte.... Will she join my list?
We shall see.... We shall see.
​

After running through the fog of war to reach his brother, sensing both the presence of Michael and his protectress from as far away as the outer-reaches of the Myrmidon Quarter, but in this regard Thomas knew his brother could sense his arrival impending with every pace he strode southward, making the renewed telepathic silence seem all the more intense between them. This the Bloodhound couldn't deny, but the time had come, and nothing remained on Nirauan that could stand in their way by that point, as the last true dangers were either miles away or (in the case of his previous, most-recent opponent) dead already, taken off the board early with respect to the greatest of living NFU threats.

But when the Great Khan arrived to the Hand of Thrawn's northern breach, he would be met with the surprise of seeing the Shadow step forth to challenge him first, only granted enough time to greet,'Konnichiwa, Bloodhound. I have heard a lot about you.', before catching Nail's approach at the corner of her periphery. The other Darkhans would watch on from the rubble-strewn threshold, leaving the Bloodhound and his cybernetic subordinate to handle the last active bastions of Serennoan Pellaeonism, leaving the hardest-hitters to the fight ahead as they leaned back to enjoy the show. However, it became clear that the young knight wasn't backing down from her challenge to Thomas when she continued,'I apologize for delaying your big plans, but the Wanderer is under my protection.', tempting the fate of the Great Khan's kill-list with a defiance he once knew well.

'You still have a long ways to go, before finally facing him.'

The Bloodhound would have responded quickly, but when his one-remaining eye drifted to lock on with those of the Wanderer once and for all, and for the first time in-person since 864 ABY, Thomas would feel a migraine of the likes he felt regularly in the hours following his resurrection. Stumbling in clear sight of the man he intended to kill, but when the once-elder Barran's one-remaining eye focused again, he would let inward thoughts out in saying,'I don't recall you being one for - nosebleeds, Brother.', pulling the golden-skull mask from his face to reveal what this experience was inflicting on them both. But time wasn't on the Great Khan's side, thus granting the Lord-Warden very little in the way of reacquaintance to the facial features he once recognised as his elder brother's, turning to the Shadow once more to conclude,'You've much to live for, Shadow.... Better it be for everyone if you just watched this time.', reaching for his own lightsabre in response.

'But if it's what you want-'

 

[Michael Barran]

10th Post

-THE BITTER END APPROACHES-

CAIRN_ONE
RINGLEADER OF THE PELLAEONIST CLIQUE
WARDEN OF THE IMPERIAL KNIGHTS
DRUID-GRANDMASTER OF THE HIGHLAND BROTHERHOOD

TAGS
Aoki-Barran Mira

HOLD THE LINE I: DEFIANT IMPERIUM - PART 10

CENTRAL TOWER, THE HAND OF THRAWN,
NEW CARANNIA, NIRAUAN (LATE 880 ABY)

'I wouldn't be so quick to dismiss my Shadow.... She was trained to face your ilk.'
​

Opening his eyes, the Wanderer arose from his meditations to follow the sound of his brother's voice, finding that he was face to face with a man he knew to endeavour all with the golden mask covering his features, an unexpected gesture of which Lord Michael knew was for his sake and his sake alone. However, what was seen had given way to much of the unexpected, firstly for the fact it seemed as though his once-elder brother hadn't aged very much since the day he died, and secondly for the lack of reporting the loss of an eye in combat along the way, among other things. Made all the more intriguing for the fact none of the Bloodhound's previous opponents had ever laid claim to such disfigurement against him, and to an extent that not even the elite few to best him had mentioned maiming the new leader of the Scar Hounds - not even a single boast had been uttered to obtain piggy-backed prestige and fame.

Nothing that could contextualise what happened to that which had been covered by an eyepatch since.

'She even surprises me sometimes, though my Shadow's always wondered what it would be like to fight you, an' now - it appears Mira here relishes her chance to find out once an' for all.... So who am I to deny her, hm?'

​

Genuinely shocked by the grand confidence his brother was placing in one that was known to have been his one and only Padawan-apprentice by then, and in more than one way impressed by the comfort heard in the voice of the Wanderer as he spoke, as Thomas himself knew that Michael rarely spoke with such confidence without at least being prepared in some unseen way beforehand, making the sight of the Lord-Warden's smirk seem all the more disconcerting from a duellist's perspective. The brotherly bond was still there in some way, holding to at least some sort of familial ties in their otherwise-curt interaction, perhaps seen in the Bloodhound's one-remaining eye as his eyebrows raised in a silent challenge for voracity from the would-be challenger, expressing a curious smirk of his own by the time his gaze crossed that of the Shadow.

~=Good luck with this one, Brother.... Rest assured, you're gonna need it.=~

​