Faction Death to Traitors | A Operation Cinder Story

[Thomas Barran]

TAGS
Ersethy Maestus Shannic Wulf The Contingency

BLOODHOUND - PART FIVE​

CADEMIMU V,
HOME TO BETRAYERS (902 ABY)

-This tower, I think, is complete.-
-But the meditation needs - ah - just a bit more.-

-The Dark Three will show me the path I should be treading.-
​

After taking a moment to catch his breath, (having exerted himself twice over without resting) the Khan finally sat with legs crossed once more, completely unaware this would be the last time that night, and coincidentally - the last time he would ever meditate on the surface of Cademimu V.

​

The one-eyed Woad had decided to take in the sight of the distant rhypalm flames for another moment of serene, unspoken calm, looking past the wispy emanations of it's lethal, billowing bi-product to note it's rather-obscure elemental properties, fully believing it was unlike anything he had ever seen before. The symbolic significance of this display wasn't lost on the Bloodhound either, being born to a life his culture steeped in poetry, philosophy and superstition alike, so the one-eyed Woad always viewed matters of mysticism and whimsy with an air of mirthful affection, and especially so in the small few moments he spent watching fire that feared no rain.

​

The rain was still pouring torrentially, and still, the flames continued to dance, casting their lively shadows around in ripples of deathly delight, an undimmed glow; seemingly detonated into a life of it's own, as if it was born with the sole purpose of intensifying the night's intense shroud, that lightless, ever-recurring void. For all the stormy, elemental power that poured with weathery derision on the rhypalm below, the flames still hissed and crackled with a cackling derision of their own, burning with an impunity, an infallibility that dared the clouds to give it their all, and the storm was falling short of the rhypalm's hopeful estimation.

-I may not be the greatest in the art of divination.... All my visions are simple, blnnt.-
-But I know a good omen when I see one, an' that - is no exception.-
​

Only then did Bloodhound Khan close his eyelids, closed for the eye that remained, and closed over the ruby that rested where the other once resided, thus letting the inward search resume in a complete visual blackout. Sinking deeper into the dark within, immersing into a realm not too dissimilar from the deepest depths of the Netherworld, near-adjacent in the Khan's perception, though the Khan himself could access realms the living would never know. The way was open on Durace before, but since his return, something had awakened in Barran's soul - as if some key between dimensiosn had been found.

As if the Shriven One had possessed this key all along, the Khan he became was reaching for it - reaching for his means of opening the path to enlightenment.

An uncanny state of affairs for an uncanny presence on Cademimu V, uncanny like every known return of the Dark Voice, a scream from the void that could only be explained by ancient scriptures. It was little wonder why the observers had fallen silent in the tower-block above, as they were of a collective mind to embody the same good omens, becoming fire that feared no rain for the sake of another resurrected power. To revere another legend the Galaxy wanted dead above all others, gradually uncovering the solutions to all their problems, the answers to all their questions; and there he was, sitting out in the open, unravelling the next threads of fate with the rain meekly beating down from above.

Every heartbeat, every Midichlorian emanation, and even every inanimate sound had been filtered out in the pursuit of the one revelation Barran was seeking the most, and with the darkness of the mind rolled back in pursuit of that one revelation, Thomas knew he had delved farther than ever before. The path was here, the right state of mindlessness had been attained, (to where the Khan could reach again at any time) but the one-eyed Woad was nothing, if not persistent; fortunately for the Khan, however, his answer appeared more quickly than he expected, and the answer roared in absolute clarity.

The wraith you carry is a wealth of information.
The wraith you carry hides much from his carrier.

The wraith you carry can be tamed.
​

The word,"Tamed", alone felt talismanic, even before the visions flooded his mind, insights, traumas and core-memories from times far-removed from the present, current timeline, experiences far-removed from the realms of the living and the dead. These were the far-distant past, intertwining with the hands (and their consequent actions) of the near-future, intertwining the burning hot threads to forge the tapestry of a new era, woven from all the lessons imparted by an ancient predecessor. Visions of blowdarts striking the hidden flesh of hellish apparitions, of an obscure blue flower, and the white-eyed forest dwellers who used it as a tranquilizing agent against them, only to have it swept away to visions of modern, warlike applications before Barran could take it all in properly.

Thomas would go on to see it's use as a powerful, psychotropic catalyst for shamanism, watered down for use as a detoxing agent, and all from a flower in the reeds. It was all too much to take in at once, and certainly warranted grander perspective, but it wasn't until the last vision that the Bloodhound would snap himself back into a decent state of consciousness, as it was that which shocked the Khan the most. He was seemingly cursed to see a vision of the substance in a complete extreme, in it's most-destructive form, utterly dumbfounded by the planetary scale on which it was applied, a chemical-weapon like no other.

Designed to eradicate life in all it's forms, right down to the last blade of grass.

Snapping back out to the sound, the sensation and the cold of the rain, to the shadows of the city around him, the distant omen still burning freely as the sporadic din of war cut through the Khan's hard-fought serenity, the one-eyed Woad could not help but gaze at the good omen once more. having been faced with visions of a supremely-dangerous magnitude, he understood that consideration was needed on the ways this ill-omened substance could be applied. How such a planetary-scale killer could be utilised for the sake of the flora and fauna, that natural state to which worlds return when civilisations perish, the Khan did not know, but then something happened.

'Its been a while.'

Almost as if the answers were being revealed to Barran then, as they were within, and just like the answers materialised just moments before, the conscious confirmation also seemed to materialise from nowhere. Turning to find a very particular face standing at the threshold of the courtyard, a steadfast ally with the same, forward-thinking hobby, fate was decreeing the right path had become clearer than ever. The answer had been obvious all along, and when the Bloodhound finally exclaimed,'Sister Maestus! Avatars be praised!', the joy would be impossible to contain, an elation of fellowship that carried all the way across the decades.

'And yes, it has been a while. An' things have been - uh - happening, since.... Might be a good thing to get back into our old habits, t'be fair.'

​

Politely rising from his seated position, the Khan bowed his head with a slight leftward tilt, giving Maestus as much thanks as he was devoting to the great signifance of the encounter, in and of itself. Distinct enough that Thomas even felt safety for the first time in a while, a safety he felt would extend to the family he was raising at the time, even sighing with clear relief as he pulled off his mask to conclude,'Its good t'see ye again, Sister Maestus.... Come, you need not worry about protocols around me.', beckoning his welcome as the rain finally landed on his face.

 

[Ellayina L'lerim]

Information

Objective: Purge the Traitor
Location: Cademimu V
Equipment: White uniform | Viper Mk. I Skinsuit || Empyrean gland || OPBC-01m
Tags: The Messenger | Shannic Wulf | Domaric Mordane | Aldo Garrick | R Remus Adair | Open

"Galactic Common" | <"High Nelvaanian"> | ["Essonian"] | ~ telepathic communication ~ | << comm. channel >> ​

Ella had not yet received any response from the other ship as to what to do, so she continued to wait and turned her attention to the rest of the fleet. Or rather, the data that was coming in from the planet. Her troops had not yet landed on the planet when one of the former Dark Imperial ships opened fire on the planet's surface to incinerate it. In truth, the blonde-haired woman was unperturbed. The traitors had to die, as did the people of the Galactic Alliance, and the planet now belonged to them. So, in fact, this attack was a double victory. On the one hand, the traitors and even some of the GA people were destroyed.

It was precisely because of this attack that her people's drop ships were diverted to land in a region where there had been no air attack. There the black ops team can operate perfectly well without fear of friendly fire. She was like most of her family in this; Ella didn't like to waste her resources; she wanted to make the best use of them. For the long term. If they had just been simple clones, maybe droids or disposable things like tribes in the Maw's day, that would have been a different matter. But her people were highly trained agents, not easily replaced.

And for that reason alone, she was planning for the long term. The last years of her studies and everything, the patience, the waiting. If she had wanted everything at once, she would have been an amateur like Sularen, who was only interested in his own power and always stood where the power was; a man who knew no loyalty and was loyal only to himself. Such men will be the ones to fall the hardest in the end. But she was loyal to principles, to ideology; and they have not changed. While Ella still didn't like Force users, she acknowledged that they were useful assets, and she followed Solipsis not because she was a Sith, but because of principles and ideology.

While the former ISB director was waiting, she watched the incoming data, which appeared thanks to HPI's solid state hologram, and followed the events. She kept the communication channel open to her The Messenger ship, of course, and even made an outgoing call to Shannic Wulf 's ship to greet her mentor "in person", so to speak. It was the least she could do, as she had learned a lot from the previous - and hopefully next - Grand Vizier after the fall of the Dark Empire, while she was enjoying the hospitality of the Terraris.

And that's when the first reports came in from the teams on their way to the planet that they had found a suitable place to land and that they would land there and then begin Operation: Cinder. She just sent them a short message to approve the change of location and that although the location had changed, the team would stick to the original plans. She also used reconnaissance drones with the team to monitor what was happening with the team and how they were progressing.

Meanwhile, she continued to wait for an answer to the question she had asked her superiors.

 

[Tyro Lok]

​

The fallen troopers lay twitching in silence, the last vestiges of life gasping from crushed lungs as the dark warrior squeezed. Tyro Lok advanced through the soot-stained plaza with a predator's gait, his saber held loosely at his side with the red blade sizzling in ash-laden air. More fire erupted from the broken barricades outside the Tribunal gates. The traitors, desperate and disorganized, loosed volleys into the smoke as if fear alone could ward off the inevitable.

Lok did not sprint. He walked.

For he was not alone.

Sahar and Creuat were near.

With each step, the shadows around him seemed to deepen. Shattered statues of Imperial heroes lined the plaza, their faces eroded by physical damage and time, staring blankly as if mourning what their world had become. Tyro whipped his saber forth, deflecting a blaster bolt toward one of the traitors, striking him in the chest. He hissed under his mask, pausing only briefly before one of the broken edifices, a defaced bronze of the Emperor himself. This one had been tore down not by war, but by precision... by command.

"Such false reverance." Tyro muttered, his voice modulating low through the mask, "You all worshipped power when it suited you, now you shall fear it again."

Tyro raised his hand toward the blast doors where the loyalist squad had taken cover. With a twist of his fingers, he gripped the central beam locking them shut.

Screeeeech.

Metal howled as it bent against unseen pressure. Sparks burst from control panels. The locking bolts were torn free, and the blast doors began to shudder.

"The Emperor's Will shall be made manifest."

Tyro surged forward.

"There is no escape. There is no mercy."