Private Consulting a Barran...

[Nathan Bloodscrawl]

Wearing: Interceptor Gear

Armed With: Nathan's Jedi Lightsaber, Sword of Cinndurr

Arrived in: Gullwing-Class Starfighter

Deployed from: Sarka Class Frigate (Smile of Erskine)


With: Meleena Bloodscrawl

Meleena's Equipment

Armorweave Catsuit (Reflective Gold)

Bacta-Works Capture Pistol


Planet: Niruauan (New Carannia)

Objective: Speak with Michael...develop insight into new fighting style with Michael's help/ learn more about Laertia


Earlier...


Venture-Class Star Galleon (Atrisian Pathfinder)

Nathan had gone into the chamber where it had been kept ever since he had found it.

He felt himself battling a terror he had rarely known. The terror of the unexpected.

Every instinct told him he should have turned it over the instant he located it to someone like Kahlil Noble . He would have even been tempted to turn it over to Valery Noble despite his current disagreements with her.

But the truth was...he couldn't...

He...he wanted this piece of her. Needed this piece of her.

Something that still had traces of the Light. It might be the closest he'd ever get to speaking to the actual Laertia, before the Cult ate her alive.

He stared at the Holocron in its bare chamber, isolated from the other ones he had been collecting.

The Holocron of Blades shimmered in the low light, giving off a feeling of innate wrongness in spite of its Light Side signature. It's Pyramid shape had been one he had been taught from youth to be instinctively wary of.

But morbid curiosity compelled him ever closer to it.

His hand reached out...and touched the top of it.

The Holocron flashed blue for a second and a full 3D, life sized image of Laertia Io in her spiky black biker gear appeared, her pale face still scarred, her eyes bearing the taint of the Light Sith 's teaching...her eyes were a shiny bronze, and her irises were a dark green.

Jedi Colors Nathan noted.

"Ah...a Maverick!" The Gatekeeper said pacing around the Holocron. "You feel... interesting...not at all like a proper Jedi, but just close enough that I bet your buddies don't raise much fuss over it. I have the honor of addressing --?"

"Nathan Bloodscrawl..." Nathan answered, not sure how much his daughter had known about him. This device had been created way before his resurrection.

"A pleasure, Nathan Bloodscrawl, I'm Darth Xiphos..." The Gatekeeper answered, seemingly non-plussed.

"Do you know who I am?" Nathan asked, hiding how emotional he was at seeing her before she gave into the Cult.

The Gatekeeper looked at him, frowned.

"No, can't say that I do." The Gatekeeper replied. "Does my creator know you?"

"You could say that..." he replied quickly.

The Gatekeeper leaned forward, arms folded behind its back.

"So, Mister Bloodscrawl, how can I help you this fine day?" She asked.

"Why...why a Light Sith?" he asked.

The Gatekeeper shrugged. "Why not? It's not as if the Jedi own the Light Side. My creator was growing weary of their philosophy even before she finally rebelled. And I sense a weariness just like my creator's within you."

Nathan's heart skipped a beat.

"What do you mean?" He asked.

"You're halfway there, my friend. It would only take a few nudges more to push you into my camp." She said. "You would make an excellent Marauder of the Light Side. Hell...you might even be Bright Lord material, like Darth Themis..."

"I'm nothing like you..." he asserted.

"That's the same thing my creator said to Themis. Tell you what...I see such potential in you...I'll give you a free lesson...on the House. No strings attached." The Gatekeeper offered.

Nathan thought a moment...

"How do I defeat that which loves war and bloodshed?" he asked.

"Oooo, a genuinely good one!" The Gatekeeper gushed. "In yourself, or in another?"

"Another." He replied.

"You don't. Defeating such a thing in yourself is relatively simple. You simply have to put down the weapon, realize the weapon is bad for you, and walk away. In another, your best bet is to use that love against them and position them in such a way that their love of battle will destroy them."

"Why didn't you use that for Erskine Barran?" Nathan asked.

"I respected him too much. Besides, war was not his sole love. He was defending something. Fighting for what he believed in. Tavlar? That other guy, the Iron Masked motherfether? Ego. Bruised Ego. Ryv Karis? Past grudges with the Sith. Erskine was the only proper warrior in the NIO. He taught my children much. In some ways...you could say he was their father...were I not already Xiphos, I would have wished to be him." The Gatekeeper asserted. "Practically carried the NIO on his back in a ground conflict..."

"I seek to defeat one of his relatives, a man who loves war. Breathes it. But I don't love war. I never did."

"The cunning warrior attacks neither body, nor mind." The Gatekeeper cautioned.

"Then what?" Nathan asked.

"The heart. First, we attack his heart..." The Gatekeeper answered.

(Cutaway of the Green Goblin dropping Mary Jane from the top of the bridge)

"And how would I do that?" Nathan asked.

"Speak to one who knows it..." The Gatekeeper answered. "I will await you eagerly should you seek further counsel..."

The Gatekeeper vanished.

Nathan left the chamber and collapsed to his knees, suffering a massive panic attack.

Present


"I do not know if this is wise, my dear brother..." Meleena Bloodscrawl, coded to be Nathan's 'Older' Sister said as she played the Piano in her private quarters while Nathan listened, looking at a holoprojector displaying the image of Michael Barran on a coffee table.

"Nothing says Michael will be in any way hospitable to your presence. And this is not friendly territory we are heading towards. There are real risks in coming here, Nathan. I can only protect you so much. Not just from them...but from yourself..." she added.

"It's a risk we have to take. Thomas Barran must be removed from the board...he's too effective a commander to be left in play. I need an insight in how to defeat him. That insight can come only from a relative..." Nathan said as their vessel entered the system.

Meleena stood up as she stopped playing.

"The Barran's are cunning and dangerous. Do not grow so obsessed with gaining insight into Thomas that you give Michael too much insight into you..." she warned as the ship comm announced they were in system.

"I'll be in the hangar..." She said, departing her quarters.

Nathan sat up from the sofa, stared at the oil portraits he had been painting. One was of Caltin Vanagor in full gear...and the other was of Connel Vanagor , carrying his father's body through the ruins of Coruscant. It had been based on eyewitness reports.

Nathan stared at the portrait of Caltin that he had painted himself.

He felt a deep remorse and sadness that he couldn't explain rationally as he stared.

"You were the one who said I should have been knighted years ago..." Nathan said to the portrait. "I...I want to be at least somewhat worthy of that belief...but this war...it killed even you in the opening battle. What shall I have to do, to see the other end?"

He grimaced.

"It wasn't really the Sith who killed you, you know...it was the incompetent morons running the show that let the Sith grow in strength. You died over their stupidity."

Nathan turned, opening a Box containing a terrible, legendary weapon that had become Laertia's signature blade, in both her war against the Bryn'adul, as well as her war with the GA, NJO, and NIO.

Something that, if this Michael were a student of history as he suspected, might well be the only way to convince him Nathan wasn't some con man, but her actual father.


The Sword of Cinndurr.

The Crossguard with seemingly burnt edges around the emitters hummed invisibly in the Force with terrible strength and power. So much that it actually frightened him, having to carry the damn thing. This was why he didn't trust "Freak" Blades, even though it was one of the most powerful lightsabers he had ever personally come across.

He clipped the blade that scared him to his belt and headed for the Hangar. As he headed out he stopped by another portrait he had recently painted...one of Braze

"Where are you, my friend?" Nathan asked, vowing to track him down and get him help.

"I will undo the perversion wroght upon you, Braze..." he vowed before leaving.

The Gull-Wing Fighter was an unusual little vessel, and Nathan thought it highly bizarre...but also highly useful as he piloted to the planet's surface, requesting permission to land...

 

[Michael Barran]

Nathan Bloodscrawl

CONSULTING A BARRAN - 1

​

Index Conference Room, The Hand of Thrawn,
New Carannia, Nirauan (903 ABY)

<"Lord Imperator, singular starfighter approaching planetary orbit, signalling diplomatic intent.">
<"Oh? An' from what frigate, exactly?">
<"Promise not to get mad, Lord Imp-">
<"Out with it, man!">
<"Scans indicate it to be - uh - the NJV: Smile of Erskine?">
<"HA!!!! What?! Ya know what, just - land 'em at the palace paddocks. I'll take it from there. Shield One - out!">
​

Going back to laughter for a moment, wheezing at points, the old Woad could not help but appreciate the lasting tributes to the Stormchaser's legacy, even muttering,'First, the Barran IFV.... An' now....', underbreath whilst rubbing his eye-sockets. By then it was time to snap out from the lighthearted mirth for something more important anyway, for any one matter of statecraft would be endeavoured, regardless of the strenuous precipice on which New-Imperium rested. Rising to the occasion as a testament to the resolve his surrounding subordinates, and in a time when his Protectorate troopers needed it the most, such an ability to laugh and see the good in the Galaxy would be seen by many as,"Sent from Sedes Aurea".

​

'Tancred, you're up front an' center with me on this one.'
'Hurry up then! Your coat's still on the seat.'

5 Minutes Later....​

As the new arrivals stepped out from the off-ramp of a Gullwing-Class Starfighter, the Tattered Regent was shocked to find that it could fit two people, as it's relative size was disproportionately smaller than most other starfighters in the GA's fleeting array. If circumstances had not yielded a delegation-of-two, perhaps Michael would likely have stopped to appreciate it's design a little longer, but alas, statecraft would take precedence for the sake of the new arrivals. There was plenty to draw Barran's mind into focus after all, as both the new arrivals were powerful warriors, this the old Woad could feel emanating from both of their souls, sensing also that the man in particular was especially powerful in this regard.

'Greetings from the people of Nirauan, the last great bastion of New-Imperium.... I am Michael, of Clan Barran, an' rest assured, your safe conduct is guaranteed. We're bound by constitutional law now.... Movin' with the times.'

Barran's first objective was to keep all tensions simmering to a respectful, respectable calm, working to dispel any thoughts for enmity between opposing factions, in his own mind as much as those of the three people around him. The best way to do so (as the old Woad had noted in a vast majority of diplomatic occasions) was to make the earliest-possible assurances, and not only to dispel fears of capture or ambush, but also to show an early willingness to engage in good-faith dialogue, a gesture of which the Lord Imperator was more than willing to express as a cue of intent for the others to act upon.

To what, or rather - to whom - do we owe the pleasure of your visit?'

 

[Nathan Bloodscrawl]

Nathan examined Michael Barran as he introduced himself, his own grim, silent countenance betraying nothing as Michael gave his assurances.

He seemed a total contrast from The Bloodhound. Something had twisted a mighty warrior into that thing that had fought Nathan on the Sepulchre. That fed off war, that fed off his opponent's very willingness to do battle.

Nathan had no idea, really, how to fight that, and never had. Every problem to him was one of cold physicality. He figured everyone had limits. It was just a matter of testing them until he found the weakest limit.

Nathan cared only for physical victories. Tangible defeats. For much of his life, he had never appreciated philosophical or moral victories if it meant the enemy still got what they wanted.

But the Holocron of his daughter insisted victory against Thomas could not be achieved through strength of arms in of itself. His heart must be understood. Even if it meant the risk of his own heart becoming understood by another he wasn't sure if he could trust.

In other words, he had to make himself vulnerable in order to make Thomas vulnerable. It was a concept that some part of him inherently recoiled at the very thought of.

He took a step forward. The years of endless war showed in his eyes, the piles of dead left in his wake echoing through history like the most metal album ever made.

"My Nathan Arnold Bloodscrawl. I am a Jedi Knight...and Patriarch of my own House. With me is my sister, Meleena."

"An honor, Lord Imperator..." Meleena said, giving a slight bow.

"I too, come in peace. One of my reasons for being here is because you have an insight into a very dangerous individual I fought recently. A man known as The Bloodhound and Great Khan of the Mawites--Thomas Barran...I seek the insight necessary to defeat him. For as long as he is in play, many innocent lives are at risk due to his tactical acumen, including the lives of my peers..." Nathan explained.

"But that is not the only reason I am here...I seek insight into another individual I must defeat...one your father knew and fought many times..."

Nathan carefully removed the scorched looking Crossguard Lightsaber , holding it out for Michael to examine , so he would know it was the real deal. One of the most dangerous and powerful Lightsabers in the Galaxy.

"I seek to defeat my daughter, Laertia Io, who is irredeemably corrupted and insane." he explained.

"Thomas is my first priority...but she is a close second."

With Syd a very distant third. Meleena thought to herself.

 

[Michael Barran]

Nathan Bloodscrawl

CONSULTING A BARRAN - 2

​

Landing Paddocks, The Hand of Thrawn,
New Carannia, Nirauan (903 ABY)

'Ah.... I see.... With Thomas, its personal for me.... But Laertia? With that name, I almost feel - enticed.'
'Sir, Ma'am? Why bring these-?'
'Enough, Tancred! You know why!'​

The hilt's authenticity was unquestionable, even at first glance, as the weapon itself was a thing of legend, especially among Imperial sword-sparring and Kyber-wielding collectives; it was one of the easiest evidences for Michael to confirm as the Sword of Cindurr, especially with visual reference aplenty to draw from, and especially in it's noted clashes against his father's very own Silken Lion. Both were blades of which the Tattered Regent believed were better off encased in museum glass, or serving historical, perhaps even ceremonial purposes, as the Stormchaser's would, set down with purpose across the Imperial Throne.

​

Thus the oath of Regency was honoured, but Defiant Imperium was reaching it's eleventh hour, necessitating Barran's recent ascension to the rank of Imperator, reaching the sovereign halfway-point in the hopes his son could become the first Goidelic-Born Emperor in Galactic history. Necessity had finally overruled duty, and with it, ambition had finally become permissable, finally fighting back to back with survival, just as survival was fighting back to back with Bloodscrawl's own. The old Woad could see this urge behind the eyes of his guests, and yet, more could be seen behind Nathan's specifically, sensing that soul-deep struggle to break out from all things that stifled, constricted and kettled Bloodscrawl into dangerous corners.

On this matter, they would have much in common.

'Interesting names, interesting challenges.... An' yet, I still believe that none are infallible. Or at least, none living.'

With this, the Lord Imperator cut to the beating heart of the matter, fully aware of the matter's irony, especially if it pertained to wisdom bequeathed from the dead, though life's many ironies had struck Michael enough to teach him desensitizement to it all by then. Such was life for an Imperial leader who had lost everything over the course of his life, and much of it could not be clawed back into the realm he had served for most of his life; after all, many important souls had perished in the process of the Empire's downfall, but the old Woad had stopped fretting and despairing about that, as there were things they left behind that were far more difficult to cast into obscurity.

But the bitter memories remained, and in moments like these, the loss of vibrance could be felt in the Galaxy all around him, (and to agonisingly painful extreme) but the Tattered Regent always marched through these bouts of spiritual migraine. Even rubbing over his right eye as if it was little more than an itch, Barran calmly drawled,'As the adage goes,"To each a Great, a countering strike awaits.". A specific sort of logic to which I know the first name clings - like tar, I should add.', as if it was merely a minor hiccup to proceedings, but the small trickle of blood running from his nostrils would tell a different story.

'Tancred, prepare the Index Lounge.... Its time we showed our esteemed guests here some hospitality.'
'Right away, Your Majesty.'

 

[Nathan Bloodscrawl]

"I assure you, Lord Imperator, it's as personal for me where Laertia is concerned as Thomas is for you, and the challenge Thomas poses is as enticing to me as the challenge of Laertia almost is to you..." Nathan said truthfully.

Already, Michael Barran was providing insight, however slight, into Thomas. Nathan decided to provide Michael some insight into himself.

"My family has a saying too. Directives, really. Serve The Public Trust, Protect The Innocent, Uphold The Will of The Force. I've not always been the best at abiding those Directives, passed down from parent to child, but where Laertia and Thomas are concerned, I feel I am absolutely attempting to uphold those Directives, in spite of how personal it's become."

For various reasons, Nathan would not count the women he would later have killed at Hapes as innocent, but willing and involved supporters of two different criminal regimes.

Nathan hid his reaction to the small blood trail from Michael's nose. Internal issues. Hmmm.

Apparently, he was getting an audience. Michael Barran was an interesting fellow. Rather charismatic up close.

Do I like this guy already? Nathan asked himself.

Nathan was silent during the trip to the lounge with Meleena, and let Michael examine the blade up close. It thrummed with terrible, almost alien power. Being able to feel it up close, it would be easy to understand why Nathan treated it like it was a nuke clipped to his belt.

The arrival at the Hand of Thrawn made Nathan stop and stare at the enormous tower with such history. Fitting. They had much history to discuss.

Being ushered into the Index Lounge, Nathan raised his eyes at everything around, him, feeling the history churn like a pulsing, beating heart.

"Quite the place, Lord Imperator..." he complimented, finding a seat and sitting down calmly.

"Thomas is quite the opponent... immensely strong in the Force, incredibly skilled...and deeply driven by his devotion to his cause..." Nathan said. "But so am I. And I would very much like to know as much about him as possible. He is only one of many enemies, but he is an enemy with a genuine vision, twisted though it is, and one I am having very great difficulty understanding. Laertia, her motivations are somewhat easier to understand, but with her I think I'm too close to the problem, so I wanted to speak to someone with a different viewpoint of her.

Nathan leveled with him.

"I could not be there for her, growing up. I wasn't a deadbeat, mind you...I was flat out dead. Period. Murdered along with my first wife by Darth Phyre, who was later captured and reprogrammed into being the rogue Jedi Syd Celsius..." He said quietly, the horror of everything that had happened showing in his eyes.

"Thomas Barran came back from the dead as I did...but our journey could not have been more different...he...baffles me..."