6TH POST
AN AGE OF STRIFE STORY
THE_BLOODHOUND
TRIBAL-WARLORD OF THE SCAR HOUNDS
WARDEN OF RHIGAR & MAR'ZAMBUL
GRANDMASTER OF THE TRI-LUNAR CLIQUE
BELLIGERENTS
(BOTM Vs. GA)
Tags:
Keilara Kala'myr
Tu'teggacha
SHRIVEN NO MORE: FIVE FALCHIONS, FIVE HUNTERS - PART 6
MIRKHEART VALLEY, CAIRN DISTRICT,
NORTH OF THE BLACKSITE, EXEGOL (EARLY-WINTER OF 877 ABY)
*'Nirvehe'i-Csah! Cart vah g'enraszah?!'
**"Rebirth! Are you watching?!"
The Chiss-born Darkhan was speaking in his native Cheunh, only ever known to occur in moments of frenzied wrath, only ever known in those inconsolably murderous moments in his years since ascending from aspirant-marauder status. - only ever known to the eyes and the ears of his closest friend.
'Brothers, that's not a good sign by the way! NO OTHER CHOICE BUT TO RESTRAIN HIM NOW!!!!'
They were closing in on the long stretch towards the landing-paddocks, and even with the high-fog and shadows of the night, the communications-tower was still visible from where they were at the time, slashing at the approaching shades as the Five Falchions of Rhigar backed ever closer towards the northern treeline. The Darkhans' only saving grace was the fact the waves of Ebruchized abominations were beginning to thin out by then, but not enough that any of them could be granted any rest or reprieve by that point of the escape, just another of the many realities of their daring attempt to break the Matriarch out from captivity, realities of which the Darkhans had embraced weeks before that fated night.
'Not here we don't, Rook! YOU'D BE AS MAD AS HE IS, FOR FETH'S-'
'-CART VAH G'ENRASZAAAAAAAAAAH?!?!?!'
'Case-in-point, White-Eyes! WE WAIT FOR NOW!!!!'
With no other choice but to continue, the other four resumed their slow, fighting retreat with their crazed Chiss comrade firmly in mind, shunting or throwing their friend behind them as the swarms continued to babble and screech northward through the forest, bearing down on their prey as it continued to fend them off with tireless abandon. However, though Dreamer was gone to everyone at the time, slashing, dismembering and stabbing without a single thought for the others, himself or for anything else in the Galaxy, everyone else knew exactly what they were there for; and though they were all surely in the thickest of the fighting for the sake of the Matriarch, the Darkhans were confident they were holding off the creatures well enough to assure her safe departure from Mar'Zambul, so all that remained in the forefronts of the warriors' minds was their collectively-dreaded attempt to assure their own.
'You snivelling little cowards, it makes no difference WHATSOEVER!!!! We fight on, shoulder-to-shoulder with our BROTHER!!!! AS WE ALWAYS DO!!!!'
The hulking cyborg was right, and in his hatred for fighting retreats, elected to join the Chiss in his rampage, making his statement louder and clearer than ever as soon as he started cleaving his way southward instead. It was Nail's turn to throw Dreamer back northward, but he wasn't doing that any more, all the brute did was keep his friend from venturing any farther, convincing the group's strategist to hold his ground - and to fight for the very ground they had been losing to the Ebruchized until that moment.
'STAND AND FIGHT, BROTHERS!!!! BELIEVE IN THE FAVOUR OF THE DARK THREE!!!!'
And stand they did.
First to join the fray was young Ghoul, ever the first to stand with Nail since Tython, next was Rook, beheading the nearest threat to Dreamer's side as he placed himself directly on his friend's right flank, then finally Caz - working to keep any and all abominations that worked their way around to strike out behind them from the north.
It was all ultraviolence of the purest order from there, with the five surrendering their collective will to the fury, the fire that threw all sense of stealth and sneakiness to the winds of Exegol, drawing their pistols with their free hands and lighting up the northern thickets with amber-glowing blaster trails to toss caution to the wind along with it. And yet, making it easier was the fact there was no need to play it carefully any more, knowing that they had bought more than enough time for their Undying brethren in the struggle, more than enough time for the resurrected ones to find the Matriarch and get her to safety.
'WELL COME ON THEN, YOU UGLY FREAKS!!!! WE'RE NOT RUNNING ANY MORE!!!!'
And just as the poorly-recovering drug addict stated, all would stand their ground once and for all, ready to lay down their lives for the sake of their Warlord, their Matriarch, and the Legacy of the Mongrel. This was it, no more backpedalling, no more hurling or shoving their delirious friend northward, little by little, and no more hoping for the trees to run out eventually, no more but the desired continuation of their Songsteel incantation. Shunt, slash, crunch and splat on contact with every shrieking monstrosity that dared lunge out from the grim, shadowy haze of the misty forest around them, eviscerating and dismembering every last threat for as long as the collective threat persisted, living in the moment in the only way they truly knew how; nothing else mattered any more, nothing else but their focus, their blades and the gruelling struggle itself, leaving nothing to chance in their singlemost difficult fight for survival.
A fight unlike any they had endeavoured before that night.
'Nirvehe'i-Csah! NIRVEHE'I-CSAH!!!! CART VAH G'ENRASZA?!?!?!'
But something had to give eventually, and it surely wouldn't be the Darkhans on that night of nights, not even as the southern skies lit up with the swift departure of the Taskmaster, booming into orbit as the warriors on the ground failed to comprehend who exactly was leaving so suddenly. Creating a reality of which none would be able to piece together until the Bloodhound's best guards made it home, and whether all involved had or ever would will it or not, the battle in the trees would continue on regardless, distracting the Five Falchions from the latest of Fate's brutal slights as the blue-skinned abominations covered Tu'teggacha's escape. Not that any of the five Darkhans cared at the time though, but such was the way of a warrior steeped in their own resolve, that which encouraged the greatest to go above and beyond their mortal means, specifically that on which Barran's best were taught and encouraged to rely.
'NIRVEHE'I-CSAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!!!'
And for the next twenty minutes or so, the Five Falchions were proof as embodiments of the urge to go above and beyond, ascending beyond humble, mortal means for the sake of a better future for Marauders, ascending beyond the shackles of servitude - flying far higher than the conditioning of Exegol could ever offer them before.
Freedom to rage, freedom to fight, freedom to rampage.
The density of Ebruchized monsters had been thinning in their ranks, little by little waning in their strength and numerical advantage as the Darkhans continued to cut and slice their way through every foe in fight, still shrieking and babbling as the five warriors roared, cursed and grunted their exertions with gleeful, ecstatic abandon. If the Mongrel or the Matriarch had been present to see such wonders, there was no doubt they'd see exactly what sort of tribe the Bloodhound was trying to forge in the long run, standing as proud examples of what was being built on the glorious foundations of their predecessors, wielding the forged wonders of the one-eyed Woad as if devastation was best suited at the Darkhans' disposal. By the end, there was nothing left of the swarm from before, just occasional stragglers who perished almost as quickly as they appeared, leaving the Darkhans alone in the silent, foggy forest, alone with piles of bodies and amputated limbs strewn hither and yon.
'My thanks, brothers.... A Scar Hound though I may be, I would be stupid to let such slights stand against my species. Chiss will not be misshapen, Chiss will not be altered, Chiss will not be melded OR cloned for that matter. And if any such abominations appear in the skins of your peoples, you can count on me to aid you in righting wrongs such as these.... But still, I thank you all for helping end this.'
Sharing a grateful glance to his blood and gore-covered brethren, Dreamer bowed his head in deep, heartfelt respect.
'We'll return again someday.... But not too soon, after all - endeavours like these take time to prepare.'
All that remained was their run back to the landing-paddock, though everyone was already quite tired out from their ordeal, one of the many realities of endeavouring the impossible to successful effect, but one they all needed to put firmly to the backs of their minds. None could forget how deep into enemy territory they had pushed to assist the Matriarch's escape, and for as long as they remained to fight on Exegol's surface, the Five Falchions were all well aware that other threats would likely step forth to assail them.
'Shall we, brothers?'
And without so much as a word about their predicament, the Darkhans sprinted like madmen for the northern treeline once and for all, darting through the trees with Falchions still drawn at the peak of their wariness.
THEME
^THEME^
'How's your power-supply, Nail?'
Like hounds on the hunt, the Darkhans sprang forth bursting out from the treeline, taking on the open expanse of Mirkheart Valley with eyes darting back and forth on all sides, watching for enemies in the mist, behind distant mounds and cairns and sparse thickets alike. The risks were there to see, especially so in their collective choice to keep going against all caution, as each and every last one of the Five Falchions had felt the stomach-turning gut instinct in this matter, understanding that stopping for anything or anyone would mean certain death by then. And though they were few in number that night, the screams, the mound of charred golden skulls left as a message for the Exegolian tribes, the exit of both tormentor and tormented alike, and the fight itself were all contributing as loud, conspicuous signals of the Scar Hounds' brief planetary intrusion.
'Good enough to last, brother.... Just worry about yourself, seriously! HUD says we're still out by twelve klicks at least, SO SHUT YOUR TRAP AND DIG IN FOR A LONG HAUL!!!! MOVE IT!!!!'
Seemingly gliding across the valley as the Cairn District slowly and steadily receded behind them, it seemed that it wouldn't matter how quickly they darted across the mountainous plains of Exegol, there was just so much of it that it felt like mere metres were being covered in every league that enveloped the Five Falchions in transit. Swallowed by expansive distances from landmark to landmark, daunted by the aches and the burning fascia in the muscles of their legs, battered by the elements from their hips down to their toes, but they had to keep going. The ever-present threat of the new Dark Lord's wrath was enough alone to spur them on, but with other wicked tribes and machinations to think about, the very presence of the Darkhans amongst all of it would prove helpful enough to lash and kick their minds into overdrive, forcing postures to lean forward and strides to widen even deeper in their dash to the safety of the landing paddocks.
Long and arduous though the process was, the Five Falchions continued on regardless, pacing out without so much as a single backward glance indulged by any of them. It was the only thing that seemed to matter by then, but in the moment they saw the larger of the two primed ships shooting up into orbit on the northern horizon, another burst of motivation met the minds of the Darkhans, knowing their objectives had been completed - knowing that the Matriarch and the Mineheel community had escaped uncontested.
All that remained was the smaller shuttle the Darkhans arrived in, but contrary to all the issues that went with leading smaller ships on such a journey, that smaller shuttle was all the Five Falchions needed to make it back to Mar'Zambul.
But the expanse still had a ways yet to before they could feel even a shred of well-deserved relief.
'DIG IN FOR THE LAST STRETCH, BROTHERS!!!! WE'RE TWO KLICKS OUT NOW - SHOW ME WHAT GREATNESS LOOKS LIKE!!!'
With everyone else working to the utmost of their physical, flesh-and-blood capacity, the hulking cyborg had been smart enough to adapt to the situation accordingly, taking on the role of a battlefield disciplinarian to get every last ounce of motivation he could from his comrades; however, in the process of driving his brethren onwards, the cybernetic monster words began to resemble those of the Bloodhound, and to the extent that he even began to sound like the one-eyed Warlord as he mechanically roared his encouragements at the digital-larynx's loudest possible volume-setting. And much to the cyborg's surprise, against all sense of rhyme and reason alike, it was working, seeing for himself that his friends were picking up the pace and gaining momentum again for the last stretch.
As a result of his stern, though praise-filled encouragement, reading the situation and seeing the requirement for the same greatness the Warlord required of his Darkhans every time.
'DO YOU WANT TO BE REMEMBERED AS LEGENDS?!?! GIVE FIRE, GIVE ZEAL - GIVE IT ALL IN REVERENCE TO THE DARK THREE!!!!'
And give it all they most-certainly did.
By the time they closed the distance, the hangars and control-tower had been visible for a mile or so already, spurring the runners even more to bound towards their exit with every last energy-reserve they had, running the Darkhans ragged right up to the shuttle's off-ramp itself before Nail could find it in himself to let up on them.
The other Falchions were literally crawling up to the loading bay by the time the largest turned around to guard their entry, holding out with Songsteel drawn to assure his comrades' efforts to reach and seal themselves within the cockpit and passenger-bay, and though this brought endless risks to their trusty, hulking friend, the fleshers were all doubtlessly grateful enough to groan their thanks on the way in. However, it wasn't until then that Nail saw what had been following them in the mists to the south, understanding quite quickly that their enemies had been slow in releasing monsters to hunt the Darkhans down, though not quite slowly enough for the cyborg's liking, backpedalling up the off-ramp with wrist-rockets firing indiscriminately southward as the next wave of monsters lurched forth as one.
'BRANCH LURKERS INCOMIIIIIIIIIING!!!!'
Firing with his blaster-rifle attachment (and with an uncharacteristically trigger-happy abandon for his cold, calculating sort) as he continued to back his way up the off-ramp, the previous-delirious Chiss was first to react, stepping out from the passenger-bay with rotary-cannon in hand to fire into the misty haze beyond. As he unleashed the volley of amber trails out the back of the shuttle, Dreamer would initially slide backwards by a pace or so, driven back with the heavy-hitting pressure of the rotary cannon's recoil before he dug in and pushed back against it in turn, letting fly with the rest of the magazine with added support from Nail for effect.
'CLOSE THE OFF-RAMP AND PRIME THE AUTOTURRETS!!!! MOVE IT!!!!'
Unearthly roars and braying met the ears as the heavy automatic thuds punctuated the high-pitched agonal responses, bursting out from the distant mists just past the point of mortal visual perception. But still, some were approaching from angles unseen, though if it wasn't for the other human, this would likely have scuppered their chances of surviving the ascent beyond the planet's atmosphere. The autocannons were finally online, and active from the very moment Ghoul started priming all the relevant switches, and within seconds, the off-ramp followed to the fanfare of the shuttle's engines. Then just as the ship itself lurched above ground, the cyborg pulled the Chiss back to the passenger-bay's airlock, closing the door behind them just as the warning lights in the loading-bay began to flash.
The Darkhans had escaped, and even if it was within a nose-hair's reach of ending catastrophically for all involved, it was enough to know they were free enough to escape without anything else to worry about, and to chase their Matriarch's ship all the way home to Mar'Zambul. It was over, the deed done, and the endeavour achieved, nothing else remained but to calm and steady their turbulent hearts, nothing else but the long, laboured sigh of delayed relief.
'Alright, brothers.... Distance us from this wasteland - and get us back home.'
