I
Barbarism Begins at Home
Archais, 865 ABY
Willan Tal
Enedina Tal
Arcturus Tal
Konrad Bolter
The Fool
HQ 1
It felt good being back in their main headquarters again, just a shame it had to be under such diplomatically-strenuous circumstances; an important gathering had been convened, consisting of the highest ranking from within the Free-State's ever-growing diaspora, and all would have urgent stakes in the outcome of the day's discussions. A decree written in 864 ABY, drafted in good faith that the NLA would honour their side of the integration agreement, though the Warlord King of Ketaris (one of the declaration's key proponents, and it's most verbal advocate at the time) would not know of the NLA's most recent bout of treacheries. Though King Enlil had been a good friend to Galidraan 3's Lord-Commander in the past, and had accepted advice from Lord Erskine on a delicate matter that also led to having the Woad accredited with implementing some of the planet's latest political policies, Barran knew that a continuation of the integration decree would prove fatal for the civilians living within spitting distance of the Novanian terrorists.
Angering colleagues whichever way we choose to turn on the matter, but Enlil isn't here to see the benevolent treaty became worthless anyway.
<"Gowrie to Blue-Heart Alpha! Mopped up on Greenmane Crest, so we'll be moving in on Mount Tusk as soon as the sun sets.... The men are resting for now, loose-watch pattern for those who saw- aaah, for those can't sleep anyways.">
'You've given us all the intel we need to state our case for the implementation of Archaisian Correctivist Tarkinism, though it worries me what it might bring out in Bolter and Cato. Ah, but enough o' that chite, though. It's mid-morning now, if ye get at least 5 hours sleep, I guarantee you'll be as sly as your usual self when ye wake up. Just leave aw this Free-State stuff wae me this time around, you're on form doun there; an' there's nae way ah'm gettin' in yer road when yer on a roll noo, is there? S'get a gid swally o' that Tuath rye, brush yer teeth, pitch up an' crash oot for the sake o' the others. Blue-Heart Alpha out!'
With recordings from all the hostilities of the previous night's attempt to track the NLA's Jack-of-Diamonds, (an unfinished remnant from the previous year's reclamation efforts) one who'd tried their hand specifically on the empty homestead, so Lord Erskine had every intention of having the individual, along with his best resistance cells, tracked down and killed. Making this easier was the combined displacement-and-deportation actions of his colleagues and subordinates alike, taking the majority on a mass-corralling excursion as the overgrown company of the Brigadier-General's best shots were set to the task of hunting the culprit of attacks on the homestead and atrocities on civilians alike. One tenth of the brigade's manpower, shouldering the soon-to-be redundant SA-35 on what looked to be it's final collective outing, and by the time the afternoon sun was expected to wane forf the evening sunset hours, every last one would be springing forth from their poised positions like bloodhounds.
Leaving his Tuath subordinate alone, the Woad-born aristocrat would adhere to the comm-silence and enter Free-State HQ in search of the meeting room within, grumbling to himself of what he'd do if Gowrie ruined his almost-infallible image of competence on New Imperial soil. Without missing a beat, however, the well-accustomed Archaisian sergeant at the desk muttered that the Lord-Protector was hosting proceedings on the third floor, being quick with his pertinence before unlocking the inner entrance to the facility for Lord Erskine to continue on his way. As soon as Barran had exited the elevator on the right level, he knew exactly which room would be chosen for such an illustrious gathering of diasporic representatives, marching down the hall and past the guards as they opened the double-doors for,
"The Medal Magnet".
'Ah, so this is where everyone's decided t'gather after all! A good view, a few floors up so we get the best of the breeze, perfect conditions for a good cigar in the hall.... Wouldn't you say, Milord? Besides, for your eyes only....'
HQ 2
Op-Sec is Op-Sec is Op-Sec, Lord-Protector's orders.
Lord Willan looked around him from left to right, returning his gaze to Lord Erskine with something of an ice-cold, searching glare before silently nodding his assent for Barran to wait outside and clear the hall; Tal knew they'd be viewing sensitive material in privacy, but was making a show of his general cluelessness to throw the others' guesses on widely incorrect tangents for a while, and Erskine knew that the silence in response would also aid in this temporary smokescreen of sorts. With the doors shut behind them, Barran would growl a simple,
'Feth off, both o' you!', to the guardsmen as he reached into his memorial-number coat for a small holographic-projector device, waiting a moment before placing it on the floor down the hall from their colleagues.
'First thing Lord-Major Gowrie finds when they clear the first hideout, and it's not a pretty sight.... All goes downhill from there, but I might as well give you a morsel of what this footage shows overall. Our Jack-of-Diamonds from the reclamation op, as previously suspected, has a preference for poorly-armed farmers of the Archaisian variety, but that's not the first thing the Tuath found down in the basement of that hideout. First recorded casualty was a freshly-reported AWOL from Blue-Heart Brigade, but you'll see for yourself soon enough.'
'And may god have mercy on our souls if we let any part of it stand with impunity.'
Highlands 1
'Baird, Gould! You take point and scout the approaching ground to the hideout. Silent kills only, Understood? Gallous, lads. Gallous! Move out! Archer, you stick wae me an' coordinate the other scopes t'back them up, so sit doun o'er here. Good! Auchan, aye you! Take every Guardian we have, an' surround the entire valley at the treeline. Understood? Excellent! Good luck, gentlemen! We'll be back at HQ before ye know it, so stay sharp an' make sure everyone returns to base in one piece!'
Waiting for the others to be out of earshot before he spoke, the previously rapid-talking Lord-Major knelt down next to the Commoner Leftenant, and asked the experienced Archaisian Quartermaster,
'So what d'you know of the Highlands here? Any tales, legends or stories about this region in particular?', whilst reaching into his trouser-pocket for a pack of Faslanes, giving away no intention to ask the hard question yet. Wordlessly offering a smoke to Leland with the opened pack outstretched towards him, Erskine smirked when he saw the Archaisian accepting the offer with an appreciative, grateful nod; seeing the guardsmen splitting off into groups in the distance as they lit their cigars, it would take a moment for Archer to rack his brains on what he knew about the area, but Barran was quite happy waiting for as long as necessary.
'From what I hear, it was a nice place to live before decolonization destroyed everything. A farming community that became a bustling rural town at the base of the Greenmane Crest, chipped down to size over the course of six months with incessant night-raids.... Then utterly annihilated by the NLA when the colonists tried to evacuate the planet, but this is a story that rings out from all over this world as commonplace. Sad state of affairs for this region in general, Milord. Ill-fated from the moment human feet first starting climbing the hills, curses on the horizon that seem to protect the land we tread on; be they the feet of Archaisian or Novanian ancestry, these rocky faces are known to eradicate the presence of both, and quite indiscriminately at that.'
Having stood up by the time he'd mentioned the annihilation of the Greenmane farming community, Lord Aron had heard enough to know his real question was more pertinent than he had initially thought, waiting for Leland to finish before inquiring,
'Tell me, Archer. Are we likely to find something nasty in that old farmhouse doun there?', with a snarl that brooked no avoidance or deflection on the matter. To which, even though many would've averted their gaze to it by then, a wide-eyed, silent rage was thrown back in the Tuath's face by then at first; clearly indicating how close Gowrie was to drastically-lowering his own life-expectancy, and something of a reminder of where Lord Aron was standing, a reminder of which host world was so kind as to provide the Free-State a home and lasting safety from the offset.
'Never slashed a Laird's face before, so don't - test me! Not today, Milord! Read the karking room, for goodness sake.... And to answer your obviously-barbed question, there's no doubt in my mind the swarms have already made a nice home of that farmhouse down there. It's the karking NLA we're dealing with here, remember? Little more than up-jumped cutthroats, every last one o' them! Should've killed that Jack-card while you still had the chance, man. Lord Erskine never usually leaves his food unfinished, so what's his deal with his one?'
Highlands 2
'Scope Nine to Blue-Heart Bravo! The Jack left a small garrison to cover their retreat, Milord. Holding position in our new guardroom for now, and the Guardians are just about to breach the door to the basement - awaiting Baird's next sitrep. This means your approach is well-covered by QMs for the time being, free to move when ready.'
'Copy that, Gould. We're on our way, ETA two minutes. Blue-Heart Bravo out!'
With their SA-35's shouldered and ready to gun anyone down their subordinates might have missed, Archer and Gowrie began moving quickly towards the farmhouse, casting each other sidelong glances in reference to the heated discussion they'd only just concluded moments before. The tension was just about to increase tenfold, and both officers in that moment knew it; almost as if Rhone's young successor had confirmed it on their comm-link already, though Archer's gut-feeling was panging more acutely, and more noticeably at that. Slowing down to let Gowrie take point, the Archaisian quartermaster could be heard cursing under his breath as if it were some rookie move on his own part, but returned to his former pace and ably guarded the Tuath's six from there.
The recognisable sonic thud of detonated plastic-explosives was heard moments later, followed by complete silence for the rest of their brisk approach to the house's front entrance; whether the local NLA contingent had left it empty or otherwise, it wouldn't be long before the Kellas (and all who were bored enough to listen in on the unit's comm-link chatter) found out for sure. By the time they entered, some of the guardsmen were already walking out with horrified pallor on each face they saw, but there were still enough grumbling in hushed tones below to guess that the Tuath and the Archaisian were safe enough to go down and see the horror for themselves. A simple flight of fourteen steps that descended to a doorway that led to two separate rooms, and though the power was out, the rooms below were still well-lit by the torches on the armour of those guardsmen still bearing witness to the cursed sight that shook the ones who'd left the basement so quickly.
When they were descending the steps, Archer slipped on something on the last few steps, but as he grabbed onto Gowrie for support, blood could be seen from his right periphery and he instantly turned to walk up to the ground floor again. Knowing what awaited them, (having seen it so many times as a child) Leland was seemingly acting out of instinct alone when he walked to the top again, wordless throughout the process until he uttered a quick,
'I'll just wait with the QMs, Milord. Seen too much of this stuff to abide seeing any more of it, especially in matters of violence on the homeworld.', as he stepped back through the same splintered basement-door they'd entered through.
'Chitebag, just means ah'll be draggin' ye in ti see the next wan! Desensitized, that's how a want ye! No the flapper ah see gawnty cosy up wae Gouldie, ya big Jessie! Quietly, or by the scruff o' the neck! YOUR CHOICE WHEN THE TIME COMES, ARCHER!!!'
Choosing the correct entrance, though wishing he hadn't, (as it would've given Aron a chance to better prepare for what he would see next) the Kellas walked in to a room that silenced itself as all the guardsmen within stood to attention and saluted the Tuath Laird as one. As they stood at-ease, the pale-faced Guardian sharpshooters shuffled to both sides to part for the Kellas as he approached silently, letting Gowrie see what had gotten everyone on edge; a gory, grisly affair that seemed to have slipped out of the Jack's control on multiple occasions before leaving the Blue-Hearts with the end result that left Lord Aron clenching his jaw at the sheer barbarity of it. There were clear signs of the victim's constant will to escape the basement, but also signs that the struggle had been harder for his captives than the NLA would care to admit, but the one particular thing that had all of Gowrie's subordinates worked up, shocked or sickened was the fact the victim was of Woad-Galidraani descent.
'What now, Milord?'
'..................................'
What now? Now, we hunt for the Jack! An' chase every last NLA sympathizer off these god-forsaken hills!
DECEASED Erskine Barran
Enlil
threatening the delicate balance of the planet and the increasingly bold NLA ambush operations. Lord Protector Tal is forced to cast his hand into the fire and preemptively strike the NLA where it hurts, authorising a preplanned military offensive into the highlands of Archais where many high population Novanian villages lay. All Galidraani personnel are to search and destroy all NLA hideouts, identify key members for detainment and locate any and all weapons caches hidden in the deep highlands of Archais. And in a memorandum handed out to all high ranking officers and commanders of the free state, explicit permission is given to use brute force against the Novanians and, if need be, destroy the villages to deny the Novanian rebels cover and respite from free state patrols. 
