Faction Home of the Brave II [THE EMPIRE]

[DECEASED Erskine Barran]

An-Cridheachan (The Heartlands)
Ancestral Homeland of the Woad-Macushla

Regional Temperature Avg. (Summer): 27°C (80°F)
Regional Temperature Avg. (Winter): -13°C (8°F)
Distance to Nearest Ocean: 643.9km

Moods have somewhat improved since the previous great gathering of Imperials on Galidraan III.

Battles have been won, foes defeated, and breathing space earned for the wars yet to pass.
But still, all are aware of the eyes that have since turned to the Empire as their great antagonists, nemeses in the making.
​

But despite it all, the Lord-Regent has since properly healed from the wounds he incurred on Ilum, and with help from sporting and combat-physicians alike, it would appear there is more than just a boost in health and morale to consider. Sporting not only a fully-healed but also a more-muscular physique, moving and holding ground with a ferocity unseen in the Steward of Imperium, even in the form carried around in his younger, Stormchasing days, it is clear to the men and the women of the Imperial court that Barran has since been able to physically carve out a new lease of life for himself in more ways than one.

The recent changes in season have certainly helped to that effect, and for more than just the healings of the old Imperial Custodian himself, as there is a new lease of life for more than just the household from where he holds his seat of power, and all across the lands on the surface of Galidraan III itself. Happiness returns to more than just the Hearths of Barran Hall, and to more than just the hearths of his most-loyal clans, but also to the common, humble families living in any one of all three nations under the Galidraani sun, and most-notably the families of the men dutifully serving with Wildcat Division and the Highland Brotherhood alike. A much-needed boost in morale, especially for those unfortunate enough to have deployed to the worst crucibles imaginable, and with the festivities of winter expected and paid-leave granted for all the homecoming Goidels, the well-earned break from service had certainly been earned with absolute certainty.

And just like the heroes on the home-world, those heroes farther-flung have earned their reprieve, some time away from the violence, the madness and the dread - even if only for a while in the grand scheme of things.

"Thy spirit within thee hath been so at war
And thus hath so bestirred thee in thy sleep,
That beads of sweat have stood upon thy brow
Like bubbles in a late-disturbèd stream."
Excerpt from Henry IV, (Part 1) penned by William Shakespeare

INTRODUCING....

-A THREAD OF THREE PHASES-

-BEFORE WE GET INTO THE NARRATIVE-
Whether you're involved in the main plot here or not matters little for this one.

The main objective this time is to let your characters UNWIND.
​

Be it on Galidraan III or elsewhere within the Empire's borders, the realm's best and brightest will rest, recuperate or make use of the free time by whatever means suit your characters best.

Some will have storylines to continue, some will have storylines to start, and its always best to do so from an entirely new starting-point if big OOC events have thrown it all off-kilter, so it is arguably for the best to find your feet again from an easier springboard so to speak. Post-poofening muse may be difficult to obtain, but trust enough that it DOES return, especially in an open, interactable environment and character-cast. We're out hunting for good dialogue so don't feel disheartened before you get to writing, we're all here, and with more returning in dribs and drabs, it falls to us to find momentum for their sake. With life and activity, more return to it, even if we're a little slow to start - so any and every small effort is appreciated here.

-NARRATIVE-​

The events of the main narrative here take place around Barran Hall, though there are plenty places one can be at any point on the planet or beyond, (so that matters little to those just wishing to BYOO and hold to PHASE ONE whilst all the others do the party stuffs in PHASES TWO and THREE) and whilst everyone settles into the thread, some of the NFU-officer caste will be sword-sparring in the hours leading up to the party itself. As for everyone else, perhaps they just want to settle into their boarding-quarters and cottages for a while before the real festivities begin.

The general mood in the region is upbeat, as the winter always draws families closer to their hearths, though there is much in the way bustling festivities on the streets of Saintston, the cultural hub of the Heartlands. But with that being said, all the nearby villages will have similarly lifelike intentions closer to home as well, so the overall feel of the region should instil at least a little bit of warmth in our characters here. Perfect conditions to heal within and on the surface, and perhaps to heal a few rifts within the Empire itself, even if only for a while. Within the mansion itself, the rooms are every part as lavish as the larger rooms of the Barran household, but if you have opted for something a bit more cozy in the cottages beyond the east wing, you may yet find an entirely new, tangible meaning for,"Comfort", and,"Charm".

But with that being said, the local bothies, boarding-houses and hotels aren't too shabby either.

-NARRATIVE-​

The entirety of Barran Hall is open to the Imperial guests, as everything tells of a history too rich for the latest generations to disdain, and nothing at all for which Lord Erskine nor Lord Michael could possibly feel ashamed; but the real attraction rests within the observatory in the north wing, and with the Barrans fully aware of the solar activity at the height of the winter-season, the party itself is said to have a visually delightful event taking place later on as a rather wondrous side-attraction. However, just like things are with all great rarities in the skies, the sun will need to set properly in the west in order for such wonders to be seen by the naked eye, so there is much in the way of celebration to enjoy before the observatory becomes even-remotely useful to the party itself.

Besides, there is much to occupy us as the sun passes the Miltonside Pillars mountains, with even more to entice the Imperials towards the bar, the lounging and gambling tables as according to the whims and preferences of the Lord-Regent's guests. Also making the affair all the more luxurious for the guests is the fact the Goidels always keep a wide-array of Galactic beverages in their cellars, and with Imperials born of many cultures attending, there is likely to be something for almost everyone, especially in consideration for the discerning tastes among them. Open-bar policies have been implemented for the party, including for the one inside the observatory, the one set up in the outer roof-courtyard and any others that may be found littered across the mansion; and in the case for those outdoors, heating lamps aplenty can be found close by.

Formal though this occasion is at the surface, one should still take note of the fact all on each of the habitable worlds of Galidraan, drinking is viewed as both the best of pasttimes and the best means of breaking the ice with other peoples, (ringing especially true for the Three Tribes of Galidraan III) so be sure to accept a Goidel's gift of alcoholic nectars whenever it reaches you. And also, be careful who you challenge in a game of drink-for-drink, as the host planet's braves have been taking pride in the fact they've been challenging their own folk in the same fashion for centuries, though it doesn't exactly stop you from joining them to drink in the spirit of merriment instead.

-NARRATIVE-​

The party is in full-swing, all are wined and dined on the finest of Galactic dishes, of gourmet, of delicacy and of everything pertaining to diner's delights, (besides the many beverages that never seem to run out of supply for the guests) and yet - the greatest of attractions is nigh at hand.

Named the Aurora de Danu by Galactic scholars.
And yet, to this the phenomenon is colloquially referred by the locals as,"An-Aurora de Tuatha".

And it is here where all the biggest events of the night will occur, as above - so below.
​

With the good sense of considering the grand observatory tower for the Lord-Regent's festivities, the staffers will be glad to bask in the rare occurrence of seeing an Aurora so far south for the first time in almost eight years, anticipating and predicting correctly as according to the alignments of lunar and solar cycles within the Galidraani solar-system itself, and basking in the myriad of vivid colours on the misty, starlit backdrop with guests and dignitaries alike. This is considered to be a grand Woadish tradition, with the main reason being consideration of the fact the aurorae normally don't extend any farther south than the northern boundaries of the Southern Highland districts, a fact that isn't lost on the locals of An-Cridheachan, giving the Woad-Macushla's sons and daughters all the more justification to celebrate their collective good fortune in true Goidelic fashion.

After all, its not a common occurrence to have so many soldiering sons of Danu returning to Galidraan III at once either.
​

Auspices upon auspices, blessings in the skies and across the surface of the Goidelic homeworld, a once-in-a-lifetime interweaving of many thousands of little happy events, and all wrapped up into one wondrously long season that marks it's zenith as the aurora's first lights begin to flicker in the skies above. An event so profoundly heart-warming, and so intensely needed at the same time, that it won't be forgotten in any of the locals' lifetimes - so try for their sake to make the most of your experience if you have the good fortune to look up at the right time.

 

[DECEASED Erskine Barran]

1st Post

-A THREAD OF THREE PHASES-

SHIELD_ONE
LORD-REGENT OF THE EMPIRE
GRAND-TRIUMVIR OF THE TARKINIST ADMINISTRATION
GOVERNOR-CHIEFTAIN OF GALIDRAAN III

Tags: Ignacious Korvan DECEASED Aron Gowrie Yorunarr Ahan-Yan'Sharlim Aoki-Barran Mira

FATE OF THE REALM VII: HALLS OF OUR FOREFATHERS - PART ONE

THE SPARRING YARD, BARRAN HALL,
AN-CRIDHEACHAN, GALIDRAAN III (SUMMER OF 877 ABY)

---

"Difficulties strengthen the mind, as labour does the body." - Lucius Annaeus Seneca​

---

Impressive for a fleeter anyways.... Definitely something to work with here.
Not bad, Korvan. Not bad at all.​

Besides all the clanking of Songsteel and Beskar, grunts and growls of exertion and simulated aggression alike, there was something of a serene calm in the air, washing over the castle's sparring yard whilst a light morning snowfall served to muffle and slightly soundproof the training efforts of the officer-swordsmen occupying the space in an effort to while the afternoon hours away. Not by much, but enough to give the guests at least some peace and quiet away from the raucous sparring output, as there was enough between four blades to attract at least some attention in the process, though the sparring-yard was certainly expansive enough to grant room for more.

​

'Your chosen swordfighting form is something else, Korvan! The counters are murder, I swear! Refreshingly so!'

Lord Ignacious was proving quite proficient in testing Lord Erskine's abilities on this occasion, and in the effort of having to make prudent lateral-escapes for the first time since his duel on Ilum, it was appearing to Barran that a new member of the NFU-training team was making his presence felt from the offset, and Korvan was certainly not slouching to that effect. Proving himself worthy in the earlier hours of the sparring-sessions already, Ignacious had shown proficiency against the likes of Priest-King Yorunarr and Lord Aron before he finally stepped up to the honour of going toe-to-toe with the Empire's Lord-Regent, and in the simulated struggles, all four swordsmen would find an eerie sense of steady-hearted calm along the way. Clashing in long spells of wordlessness, continuing this peaceful series of combat-experimentation in the calming, therapeutic snowfall, taking the clashes into a clear, sunny-skied afternoon without even so much as an extensive conversation.

'Excellent! Aaaaaand - disengage.... Good, now - salute! Sheathe! Bow!'

With another long series of training rounds out the way, Barran smirked at Korvan for a moment as he took a moment to get his breath back, taking in the clean, cold air of the region before he finally remarked,'That was better than a great display o' skill anyways, you've got something there.... Jus' keep tappin' into that mindset, there's clearly more yet to utilise - an' you can trust my words as you would your own gut instinct.', offering genuine insight into the old Woad's estimated trajectory of his subordinate's fighting capabilities along with it. The others would disengage and have a chat of their own away from the two Imperial delegates, though neither Barran nor Korvan would notice, both on account of fatigue-heartrates and in full concentration on important matters of swordfighting nuance, though Gowrie and Ahan-Yan'Sharlim would be far too busy having their own discussions to distract their superiors at the time.

He'd likely baulk at the notion but-
Can't help but wonder what sort of frontline-commander he could've been.

Under other circumstances.... I'm sure he would've been a force t'be reckoned with.

 

[Yorunarr Ahan-Yan'Sharlim]

1st post

-A THREAD OF THREE PHASES-

GODMASK_ACTUAL

LORD-CAPTAIN OF THE HIGHLAND BROTHERHOOD
HIGH-SHAMAN OF THE SERENNOAN ESOTERIC CHAPTER
PRIEST-KING OF ARCHAIS

Tags: DECEASED Erskine Barran Ignacious Korvan Aoki-Barran Mira DECEASED Aron Gowrie

FOR THE ANCIENTS I: IN THE EYES OF THE GODS - PART 1

Sparring Yard, Barran Hall,
An-Cridheachan, Galidraan III (Late 878 ABY)

---

"With Free minds all are to worship their Gods." - Constantine the Great​

---

I know he's working me for all I'm worth - his pace is proof of this.
But I know he is just toying with me.... As if it were nought but exercise or routine.

Darth Malus would be dead in minutes against this one.
​

Little more than a dance to the Tuath, or at least this was the case according to the experience of his Novanian sparring-partner, it appeared as though Lord Aron was stepping above and beyond the meagre means expected of him; and though the Major-General was, (in his own way) he was certainly holding back for the Shaman's sake, seeking to test fighting-prowess so he was measuring by way of gradually-increasing difficulty as the sparring-bout progressed between them. Though as for which of the two was in the greatest need to know, neither could say, but in pushing technical and defensive capabilities to their absolute limit by then, Yorunarr would certainly be the one to learn the most from their little competitive bout.

'That pace-'

SLAP​

Turning back to check if it was a hand that brazenly struck him on his cheek, thinking it personal until he noted the Tuath's blade waving back and forth brazenly in front of his face, Yorunarr soon realised he had been disciplined with the flat of his opponent's sword, silently and mercilessly discouraged from distraction in a harsh, goading test of ego-control. Seeing that the Kellas was expecting something wrathful, the Godseer would delight in Gowrie's surprise to see him winding his neck back, leaning forward again to offer a wry smile as he responded,'If I catch you with one of those in response, don't take it the wrong way.... Fair?', though in tone that could only be described as mild disapproval. Then just as Yorunarr looked to his opponent, he was met with a nonchalant, accepting nod that was accompanied by a lazy nod of the shoulders, telling of agreement that took nothing personal from the Novanian's warning.

'Thanks, didn't know if it was a slight or a reminder.... I had to be sure.'

The Tuath then waved off the justification, smiling in kindness as if to keep the Arkanian from thinking too heavily on the matter, saluting with his blade before resetting for the next sparring-round in response to the sudden, though visible setting stance of the Shaman; wide-set like the Kellas' own, but unlike the lazy-low Meyerite grip technique, the Godseer's blade was set in a frontal, Fiorist guard. Much like that of his first mentor, the Lord-Regent in years before he was ever considered for Imperial command, the chosen form was a great indicator of the impact Lord Erskine had on the early years of Yorunarr's service as a bodyguard with the legendary Blue-Heart Brigade, a process for which Lord Aron was present at the time.

'Excellent.... Now concentrate, we're takin' it up a notch or twa fae here on. Ye ready?'

Oh, Kark.... Here goes nothing, I guess it could be worse though.
Damned Goidels, I always said they'd be the death of me someday.

​

 

[DECEASED Aron Gowrie]

1st post

-A THREAD OF THREE PHASES-

WILDCAT_ONE
TRIBAL-CHIEFTAIN OF AN-TUATHA
MAJOR-GENERAL OF WILDCAT DIVISION
SWORD OF THE VALKYRIES

Tags : DECEASED Erskine Barran Ignacious Korvan Aoki-Barran Mira Yorunarr Ahan-Yan'Sharlim

TRIBULATIONS OF THE WILDCATS VI: A NIGHT OF INNER-PEACE - PART 1

THE SPARRING YARD, BARRAN HALL,
AN-CRIDHEACHAN, GALIDRAAN III (SUMMER OF 877 ABY)

---

"I embrace the purpose of God and the doom assigned." - Charlemagne​

---

'Excellent.... Now concentrate, we're takin' it up a notch or twa fae here on. Ye ready?'
​

The setting stance on the Priest-King was all the confirmation the Major-General needed to initiate the next round of sparring between them, but in seeing Yorunarr stopping to nod in poise for the final word, Aron was unable to help himself from appreciating the earnest will to learn for the wonder it was to behold every time. It wasn't exactly a common occurrence to spar with such high-quality duelling material, and despite the errors in footwork and focus, the Kellas could see the potential for himself with ease - and he was more than impressed so far.

'Good.... AGAIN!!!!'

Surging forth, the two warriors set upon each other, choosing to engage at a spot that was conveniently a little farther away from the Lord-Regent's bout than they fought upon before, preemptively and handily ensuring there would be no interruptions for the next round without even so much as realising the full extent of their good sparring-yard etiquette. Difficult enough though it had been for the Godseer before, the extra space to work would make all the difference in the next test of prowess, testing Yorunarr's agility as much as his fatigue-endurance in these moments; and as Lord Aron's tactical focus shifted from defensive-countering to a full-on attacking lead, the pacing and the angles dictated the rest, keeping the Novanian on the evasive back-foot whilst also forcing him to duck and side-step in search of his own countering-angles this time.

It was a good back-and-forth for a while, but in the constant observance of the Kellas as he tested the Godseer's reactions, the understanding of the latter's footwork mediocrities would be exploited eventually; though only on two instructionally-cautious slaps on the ankle and the shin, making showy gestures of maintained aggression to keep with the momentum they were building together, keeping the Novanian from thinking long enough to feel embarrassment as they continued. And yet, despite the momentum and intensity, the Lord-Regent's call for a break took precedence, as the volume of working output was mostly-dependent on Barran's choice of sparring-partner - ever in search of means of improving on perfection despite his old age.

'Aw'right, Yorunarr.... Lets jus' take the auld-yin's cue an' take a rest-period ourselves here.'

As the white-haired Novanian followed suit in the Tuath's silent sword-salute, sheathing, and ceremonial bowing as one who was a lifelong-accustomed competitor, they would overhear the old Woad's punditry with quiet sniggering in the moments they walked off to one side, keeping their tones hushed so as not to disturb vital appraisals and the like. It was good to see Barran looking and acting more like the Stormchaser of old, and perhaps even more than ever before, but in the moment Gowrie turned to mutter,'Pay attention.... As this will make all the difference going forward, Br'er.', the Priest-King knew he had his own issues and improvements to worry about.

Especially whilst under the instruction of one so illustrious as the legendary Kellas.

'Now, before I begin, I have a habit of appraising things I dislike first - but the appraisals do move toward a more-positive light eventually.... An' whether there's acceptance of instruction at the end o' my appraisal, I'll quickly state my coaching-focus is habitual repair, form reconstruction, an' lastly - endurance.'

 

[Michael Barran]

1st post

-A THREAD OF THREE PHASES-

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

TAGS: Aoki-Barran Mira Siyndacha Aerin

BORN OF BRIGHT STARS IX: HONOURING ANCESTORS - PART 1

THE BARROWS OF GOVERNANCE, HART HILL,
AN-CRIDHEACHAN, GALIDRAAN III (LATE 878 ABY)

---

"There is nothing impossible to him who will try." - Alexander the Great​

---

Been a fair while since I last saw you, my dear friends....
Almost sixteen years to the day, an' you're all so much taller now.
​

Bereft of leaves in deciduous, wintry sleep, the oaken pathway to the Barrows of Governance still had enough protection from the winds that beat against the surrounding landscape in the months following the planet's Winter Solstices, flanked by strong evergreens that grew thickets all the way down Hart Hill's steepest faces. Covered by snow, with more already adding to the soft blanket in the morning hours on the day Lord Michael chose to respect his elders, the pathway was covered lightly to Barran's good fortune, as it was high-time the Druid fulfilled his duties as the clan's chosen Cairnsman. Once a rebel on home soil in his formative warring years, considered a terrorist by the Sith-Loyalists who once held sway over the planet's two largest cities, the Wanderer always assumed he would be dragged back to Galidraan III as a war-criminal, and not as an Imperial hero as everyone perceived him to be.

But as circumstances changed in a never-ending rollercoaster ride for one who was happier as a civilian, the grand and obscure alike had twisted and guided Lord Michael's on a path his younger self would have avoided like a plague, and all without having any say on the matter, yet life still illuminated his outlook eventually - regardless of misgivings and resentments alike.

Even in his unlikely, grieving jump to the first in the clan's ancient line of succession, it was looking to the future that brought the Wanderer back to the realm of reason in particular, and in the sudden reminder of this fact, Lord Michael's walking cadence instinctively picked up the pace as his boots sank into the snow with each stride in renewed vigour. It wouldn't take much longer than an hour or so at that rate, so Barran was quite happy toiling and struggling up to the Barrows either way; as it meant more time to reflect on his life, where he had been and to where the Galaxy was pushing him towards, and for what it meant for the future of the Hearts and Minds strategy that had kept the Druid in line for so long. The future itself was marking Lord Michael for a grandeur, a status, a duty for which he was in no way mentally prepared.

But like all things in the life of a Barran, reluctance and ill-suiting attributes for certain roles always played second-fiddle to the work they were always made to carry out for the Empire.

However, it would only be a passing train of thought for the Wanderer as he continued to climb the tree-protected trail towards the burial-mounds of his ancestors, as there would be much and more to think about when the Aurora de Tuatha finally started illuminating the entire northern-hemisphere, with much more yet still to think about by the time Barran finally reached the first of the nearest burial-mounds. For there, as much as it sent shivers down Lord Michael's spine to consider it, rested the charred remains of the valorous firstborn; Lord Thomas Barran, Lord-Leftenant with the Fighting First, heir to An-Cridheachan until his untimely death in 864 ABY.

Whether it is all just a rumour, dark magic, or legitimate resurrection.
I need to know, before it drives me insane.

 

[Aoki-Barran Mira]

The Galidraani nights were crisp and cold. Wearing winter Atrisian robes, Aoki Mira stood atop a rocky hill. The entire landscape of this place was mountainous and rocky. Hills dotted the landscape; grass grew like wild flowers between the boulders and stones. The night sky usually would be so dark, but it was not. Mira looked up in awe at these brilliant skylights. Many colors, bright and magical, flowed through the cloudless night sky. There were many planets capable of emitting these northern lights, but Galidraan III was by far the most incredible display.

This galaxy could be cruel and heartless. But it could also be very beautiful and lovely.

The bitter winds nipped her face, but she did not want to take the trek back to her lodgings. Running around the landscape, her charhound Yamasaki was barking at the unfamiliar lights and jumping as if he could rip the lights from the sky. Mira, meanwhile, was hushed and still. The multicolored hues reflected in her childlike brown eyes. The glowing auras were captivating, but not just visually. Through the Force, Mira sensed something deeper. It permeated the air. It dwelled in the sky. There was something... truly magical going on here. And she was overwhelmed with the feelings of emotion that came with it.

Being completely alone, aside from her dopey dog, she let herself shed a tear.

Incredible... Auntie, you would have loved this.

She remained under the captivating sky, staring up with upmost awe.

A tie fighter gracefully flew across the landscape. The Imperial Knight inside scratched her sleeping dog's chin as she gazed down at the evergreen forests spread wide across the landscape. It was morning now, and she was tired from staying up so late the night before. But now, she needed to return to her leader, Michael Barran. She was ever loyal to him. As she piloted towards the Highlands, she felt the need to take a nap once she returned. Yamasaki was already napping behind her, after all. His rhythmic breathing did not help her to stay awake.

She approached a river, yawning as she slowly lowered the ship. Sensing that they were landing, Yamasaki awoke. The moment she opened the ship's hatch, he leapt out and bounded around the wild grassy hills. As the charhound darted around, Mira took a couple steps closer to a seemingly random pathway - then paused. She felt like an ant still. A disposable insect compared to Michael. And yet, she was staying in his brilliant abode. She gulped and whistled for her pup. Yamasaki hopped up to Aoki, covered in mud. He needed washed. Aoki returned to the ship, Yamasaki right behind her with wagging tail and lopped out tongue. With a sigh, Mira knelt down and pulled out a spare robe, washing him off.

When the canine was cleaned to her satisfaction, Mira stood up again. She tossed the dirty robe into the ship then left it, approaching the Barran Hall once again.

She gulped.

Then, she stepped towards a random tree trunk, only to pull out a hidden boat. It was such a simple thing, in this grand galaxy. A single paddle was the means of moving this slim, long wooden boat. Yamasaki hopped inside as Aoki pulled out several bags from her ship. She approached the canoe again as the ship hatch finally closed behind her. She plopped some large bags in, including one clattering with her many weapons. She then jumped in herself and picked up the paddle.

She started rowing.

The scenery was absolutely beautiful. Galidraan III was endlessly captivating. Rowing past mountainous forests and grasslands, Mira was slower than she would have been, gazing upon nature's splendid display. Yamasaki may have been tipping the boat over a bit too much at first; barking at every single fish he saw. But Yamasaki himself was growing tired, and for most of the trip he actually slept instead. And so, it was a quiet trip.

Mira had much to think about. The recent battle at Exegol, her family history, her feelings of failure and remorse... She did not like it.

She started rowing faster. Tunnel vision drove her past the world she had been admiring so much, and towards towering walls where she could train further.

Thankfully, the ferrymen had given her instructions and a holomap when she first arrived at this planet. It took little time to enter in, through the mountain high walls and brooding gate...

The courtyard was surprisingly familiar to Serenno. The arrangements of plants and layouts of hedgerows. The statues dotting the neatly kept pathways. The fountain in the center. The depictions of beasts and ancient Goidelic gods. It struck her, how much it reminded her of home. But not her home on Atrisia. Not her childhood fishing village. No, it was the home she had found on Serenno. Her time staying at the Demici estate as Raina Demici's knight errant. Her times visiting Michael Barran, attending political parties and balls, and keeping her own little apartment in the capital's downtown. This felt like home in a way that shocked her. Had she really been in the Empire that long? Had Serenno truly crept into her heart that way?

She walked slowly through the courtyard, Yamasaki in tow. Carrying so many bags, the mirialan hybrid trekked on before approaching the front gate.

Inside, she was even more alarmed. She knew that Michael Barran had an affinity for blue, but she was welcomed in a bath of her favorite color here. The white marble walls complimented the blue curtains, blue bear imperial banners, and rich blue and black silk. Even the checkered porphyry and amber floors complimented it all perfectly. Wandering the halls of the Wanderer's home, she eventually was able to find her guest quarters.

Yamasaki happily jumped onto the king sized bed inside. Oh, this room was far more lavish than her minimalistic bedroom at home. Royal Galidraan paintings and tapestries were hung on the walls. The desks and drawers were wild and wonderful like the people here. Rustic yet kingly, like the warriors of this planet. The bed had an army of throw pillows on it, which Yamasaki was already digging a den into. Mira was about to unpack, but exhaustion overtook her. She simply set her bags down in an orderly fashion and walked over to the bed. She plopped down onto it. Galaxy above, was it comfortable! Far more cushioned than her thin mattress. She could bury herself in this bed. And so, she slept. Even when Yamasaki sat on her head.

She woke up eventually. It was dark out, but when she checked the time it was nearly morning. A high pitched yip told her what had woken her up. Yamasaki was standing at the door, waiting for his owner to take him outside. Mira sighed, pulling herself out of the sea of pillows and comforters she had wrapped herself in. Unwilling to be seen with the bedhead she just knew she had, she opted to take a quick shower and change before taking the dog out.

Dressed in a casual Atrisian robe, the young woman took her charhound to the river beyond the walls for her dog to do his business. She leaned against a tree as she let him roam around, resting her head against the scratchy bark. She stared up for a while, contemplating as she watched the sun rise. She needed to train today. She needed to get stronger. She needed to endlessly push herself, so she would not lose more soldiers than necessary. War was a wretched thing. And with the Maw gone, Mira was fearful of what was coming next. One evil in the Galaxy was put down, but she subconsciously understood that more would rise in its place. She would have to be ready for it. To beat evil down and to bind trouble makers. Make them submit. The Empire was here to bring order to a chaotic galaxy, but Mira did not want to risk anymore lives in that righteous march.

The faces of the dead in Exegol. They still stared back at her.

Mira frowned as the sun rose. What was next? Could she take it? She had a mission and a goal, but how could she make an entire galaxy of different people agree to the same merciful order and peace she yearned for?

Well, she supposed, that was not her question to ask. Michael Barran was her leader. He knew more than she did. And so, she would trust him wherever he took her next.

For the betterment of the Galaxy. For the safety of innocent people. For the warmth of peace and stability of order. She would keep moving forward.

​

 

[Felix e Archion]

_ R E B I R T H _
GALIDRAAN BASTILLE, _ _ UNKNOWN VILLAGE
{PHASE 1}
O P E N​

The cold which was found throughout mountains of Galidraan was a famed feature documented on tourist pamphlets now brushed at the durasteel window bars; the wind piercing into the cell like infantrymen committing shock n' awe warfare. Sitting on the ruffled bed was Agent 312, better known as Felix Archion. Here he stayed for the days post his return from the 'Invasion of Exegol', his war crimes didn't warrant the inaction of this situation, no, it was loyalty. Entering the cell now was a male interrogator, the agent raising his face to meet his visitor, the slim light caressing his face as his growing beard slipped in and out of view.

"Good afternoon, Agent. I am ISB-900; we've been recently informed of your involvement in a brawl between Compnor Agents. Please tell me do you have thoughts of defection?" The Interrogator questioned, his voice quite rough from the effects of the climate.

"Negative. My loyalty is to Imperialism, the Nation-State." Felix responded, his answer quite frank and frequently utilized.

"...Excellent. Now, answer this..he paused...did you have any involvement in the recent assault upon TK-181? According to Imperial Records you described him as an 'Imperial-Confederalist Dog' & an advocate for the end of the Empire via democratization. Why are you hostile to these ideals? Just one question more before I release you." The interrogator pressed. Resting his datapad on his chest as he leaned against the wall; recently gossip amongst Local-Armed Forces was the rise of clique-vs-clique violence.

"I plead the right to silence." He exclaimed. Rubbing his eyes which were quite red.

"Your plea to silence is accepted. No further questions, Agent 312. Please, enjoy the celebrations, no more brawling." The Imperial backed off completely, it seemed as though the Bureaucracy of the Security Bureau wasn't as ruthless as long ago, more so its efficiency was souring.

Felix stood brushing off dust as he exited the cell, walking down the white corridors of the Bastille he was housed in. As he took his steps out into the cold air of Galidraan he began to think about his family, more so lack of; his father had been gone for quite some time and recently his mother fell sick, bedridden which led to a lack of communication and furthering of emotional distance. His service in the specforces of the Imperial Regime was finally showcasing its effects, once uptight & cutthroat dissipated over time, all that was left being an empty shell of the man he was. No more great centralized Empire, simply a beacon once more of a fading ideology.

"Too- much. I need a drink." He said simply, heading for Sainston where celebrations flooded the streets. He was going to drink his misery away for now.​

 

[Davin Jusik]

Felix e Archion

Phase 1
Post:1, Cantina Time
A small red orb held itself in suspension for a moment in the chilled air. Smoke drifted offward from it's source. Idyllic. That was the word Davin would use to describe the gentle serenity of the streets of the early quiet of Saintston. Jusik's constant companion, insomnia, saw to it that he had awoken before most would wake. The Pilot stood on the balcony of his hotel room, electing to spend extra credits on a local dwelling as opposed to the normal grey, black, and white of Imperial barracks. He hadn't the family expenses that many of his compatriots had so he figured why not spend a bit of those credits that stayed largely untouched.

Filled to the brim with local color, this place. Despite the cold the outside air had a warmth to it, likely fueled by the festivities to come. The warmth turned to ash in the Lieutenant's throat as he spied a pair of stumbling Ensigns, fresh uniforms, besides the damage they themselves had done to it. He snorted and flicked ash off the side, pushing old ghosts away. One of the pair looked up and caught his eye before straightening up and giving a drunken salute and bidding his friend to do the same. Jusik returned it and smiled, getting a small amusement from the situation. He smiled to himself as they waddled away, they truly were the Ghostly mirror he'd thought. And with them, the last chance of catching any further shuteye.

The TIE Bomber looked thoughtfully at the cigarello in his right hand and decided it needed a friend, leaving the room and making his way towards the cantina the other Navy folk had wandered off from. Could do him good to mingle. His command was always complaining about his terse nature and seeming coldness towards some of his fellows. Hard to take the orphan totally out of one's personality, even when gifted with a surrogate family.

 

[FN-999]

Tags: TBD | Open

For the second time in the past few years, the Baron found himself on the homeworld of the insufferable Goidels.
​

Only the pleading of his therapist, Doctor Bacadi, was enough to convince Nines to accept his Lord-Regent's invitation to return to the world and partake in the festivities. It was not that he particularly hated parties. On the contrary, FN-999 often enjoyed the positive atmosphere they brought, which often gave him a brief reprieve from the aches and pains of a sore body and mind alike.

Instead, the Baron's objections stemmed primarily from his own insecurities.

FN-999's paranoia had been worsening in recent years, only stabilizing once Docor Bacadi had replaced his previous therapist a year earlier. Still, the Baron often had trouble realizing that no rebel sharpshooters lurked in the distant trees and no assassins peeked in through his windows. He had been reassured again and again that it was not schizophrenia and that he was merely suffering from the significant stresses of commanding an army and barony at the same time while fighting in person. Still, the Baron was well-aware of the physical and mental punishment he had taken over recent years, which had become less and less sustainable as he aged. Somewhere deep inside him was a nagging urge to step back, to become a traditional general who commanded from the back and used his brain as his most powerful weapon. Strongly repulsing this force was the decades-old belief and experience of fighting in person, leading from the front, personally seeing the glory of victory and inspiring the troops to success. Yet, once more, the Baron had to ask himself how sustainable this style of fighting was as he approached the end of his thirties.

For now, FN-999 satisfied himself with the status quo, seated in full armor in a comfortable lodge not far from Barran Hall. He had at least another hour before he was due to attend the ceremonies at the hall, so he had time to get in what little relaxation he could and brace himself to enter the public scene.

 

[Yorunarr Ahan-Yan'Sharlim]

2nd post

-A THREAD OF THREE PHASES-

GODMASK_ACTUAL

LORD-CAPTAIN OF THE HIGHLAND BROTHERHOOD
HIGH-SHAMAN OF THE SERENNOAN ESOTERIC CHAPTER
PRIEST-KING OF ARCHAIS

Tags: DECEASED Erskine Barran Ignacious Korvan Aoki-Barran Mira DECEASED Aron Gowrie

FOR THE ANCIENTS I: IN THE EYES OF THE GODS - PART 2

Sparring Yard, Barran Hall,
An-Cridheachan, Galidraan III (Late 878 ABY)

'Now, before I begin, I have a habit of appraising things I dislike first - but the appraisals do move toward a more-positive light eventually.... An' whether there's acceptance of instruction at the end o' my appraisal, I'll quickly state my coaching-focus is habitual repair, form reconstruction, an' lastly - endurance.'
​

Annoying though the thought of rough-appraisals was at the time, the Priest-King couldn't help but feel that enticing urge to learn more, a feeling of which had been lost on Yorunarr since his most-loyal subordinate perished on Hoth. And though there was no way of knowing the Tuatha's ancestral Chieftain's innate ability to bring out the best in everyone around him, and no way of knowing quite how much he needed a reawakening of the sort, Yan'Sharlim's only son would find himself galvanised before long, unwittingly fated to be trapped in his own tunnel-like focus until everything in his life began to make sense again.

I swear, this Tuath's more brazen than any Goidel I've ever known.
Gallingly so - but by Melarran, is Gowrie endearing with it.... Uncanny.
​

The Novanian couldn't help but shake his head and scoff, especially after achieving so much to earn his place among the Imperial elite; as one of the realm's most-diligent bodyguards in his early years of service with the Free-State of Galidraan, as one of her most-destructive duelling wildcards in the same phase of his career, and along with it, the Empire's most-effective warfighting shaman as part of the Highland Brotherhood. Accolades of which Yorunarr still held close to his heart, proud of everything he was never expected endeavour to such extents in the first place but in the moment he finally replied,'You're something else, Lord Aron.... And after all I've survived, first champion to wield Lord Erskine's blade on his behalf no less, you had best have all the answers with an attitude like that. Not even remotely joking either.', it was clear even to Lord Aron that the persuasion process was already having it's way with the Tuath's intended target.

'Ugh.... Fine, lets get on with it - before I change my mind!'

Another step in the right direction towards humility, and a solid, lengthy stride it was at that, but Gowrie was left with ground yet to cover in his efforts of persuasion, a chasm yet to leap in contrast to the distance the Novanian's effort travelled to humour the Tuath's endearment. Yet it seemed to Yorunarr that Lord Aron didn't mind in the slightest, still exhibiting warmth despite the brusque and brash responses of his white-eyed friend, a trait the Shaman was glad to see remaining after all the years of war, killing, death and despair, the accursed abundance of which the Kellas would have seen since his years with Blue-Heart Brigade. The years had been kind to the Major-General, though in being able to study Gowrie closer on account of the fact he was stationary between sparring-rounds, taking a much-needed break from darting back and forth, and for long enough to note that time had been kind to everything on his Tuath-born friend but the eyes.

Same heart, but scarred from trauma.
Same man, same soul, but tortured by circumstance.

You have deserved better than this, Kellas. Much better.

​

 

[DECEASED Aron Gowrie]

2nd post

-A THREAD OF THREE PHASES-

WILDCAT_ONE
TRIBAL-CHIEFTAIN OF AN-TUATHA
MAJOR-GENERAL OF WILDCAT DIVISION
SWORD OF THE VALKYRIES

Tags : DECEASED Erskine Barran Ignacious Korvan Aoki-Barran Mira Yorunarr Ahan-Yan'Sharlim

TRIBULATIONS OF THE WILDCATS VI: A NIGHT OF INNER-PEACE - PART 2

THE SPARRING YARD, BARRAN HALL,
AN-CRIDHEACHAN, GALIDRAAN III (SUMMER OF 877 ABY)

'Hehehehehe! Settle down, its not that bad.... An' trust, this type o' tuition goes a long way indeed.'
​

At last, relenting for the sake of learning, Yorunarr would gladden Lord Aron farther by throwing hands up in a showy expression of acquiescence, one such that Gowrie wouldn't forget. The Novanian's credentials were well-known to the Tuath already, and to the extent that even the Kellas himself felt like his time had not been wasted by tumbling down Godseer's hallucinatory rabbit-hole, so the student's humbling experience was certainly not lost on the tutor in these moments, as it was such that awaited rewards the Priest-King would be reaping for decades after the fact.

Good man.... A fair amount o' that ego was jus' killed aff there.
No bad, I think I see now why the Barrans favour this one so much.​

'This.... Keep with this - I'll say that much afore I begin at least.'

​

Lighting two cigarras and passing one to the Novanian in the spirit of kindly courtesy, the Tuath took a moment to frame his appraisal as he smoked a few drags in luxurious silence, then after careful consideration he finally commenced with,'You think I'm fast; I am, but no faster than you or Lord Ignacious o'er there, an' as far as that goes - to each o' you both is an anomaly. But alas, there is error that hinders your progress in ways your human counterpart has improved upon greatly.... Its just a matter of footwork, Yorunarr. Speed an' agility are nought but dead-weight without it, lad.', even going so far as to keep his vocal tone and execution as balanced as possible so as not to sound overly-critical.

'Potential's there, no doubtin' that for a single second, but ye need t'keep drilling side-steps, lateral escapes an' the like. These exercises seem silly at first, but when ye start seein' results, the self-consciousness melts away in favour o' the working grind.'

​

It was at this particular moment when old, neglected gears began to turn the right cogwheels in the Novanian's mind, and the Tuath could see it with ease, smiling with a newfound delight in seeing a potential reawakening of the information-sponge he first met on Archais. Then with a sympathetic tilt of his head, Lord Aron guessed,'You're jus' like me in one regard in particular.... Leadership works fine, but the duties and status of a ruler didn't appeal to you, thus you were shunted into it. Chite, isn't it?', receiving the raised eyebrows of surprise, but the humility had taken hold to such effect that Yorunarr slowly nodded in patient confirmation of his tutor's unexpectedly-accurate assumptions.

​

''My advice, don't think about it so much. You're the right leader for your people, trust.... Jus' do what you were born to do, it's overthinking that invites the frustration - indirectly inviting error to the party.... Frustration's very own persistent stalker. You're better than that, are ye no?''

 

[Michael Barran]

2nd post

-A THREAD OF THREE PHASES-

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

TAGS: Aoki-Barran Mira Siyndacha Aerin Anja Doreva

BORN OF BRIGHT STARS IX: HONOURING ANCESTORS - PART 2

THE BARROWS OF GOVERNANCE, HART HILL,
AN-CRIDHEACHAN, GALIDRAAN III (LATE 878 ABY)

First mound's right there, remember to kneel at the gates.
Respect the dead as you do every other day, but properly.
​

Despite the snowfall, high winds, hemispheric, seasonal chill and the funnel-like exit from the tree-shielded trail, the Wanderer had been working up quite the sweat on his climb up Hart Hill, hiking through the knee-high snowdrifts with a rucksack filled with lesser-chemicals and cleaning utensils, whiskey, cigarras and some snacks to reinvigorate his energy-reserves for the task ahead. Already half-finished, but enough there to keep him working through the harshest, coldest parts of the day, as there would be much in the way of street-food on the way to his cottage in Saintston by the time he started making his way home again.

No issue, and especially not with the simplicity of the task considered as Lord Michael briefly turned back to look downhill, gazing down in the general heading towards the distant spot where his speeder-bike had been parked before the hike. But the need to turn back uphill was still there, urging him to look back in the direction of the ancestral cairns he had climbed to clean and offer praying respects specifically, so turn he would, and turn he did. Slowly though it was but still, the Druid regardless committed to the heartache that went with thinking of all his clan had lost to make it into the latter half of the 9th Century ABY, duty-bound to the pain of praying for the continuation of the eternal peace they found in death, the shame of not having done so for sixteen callously-distant years.

'Get it done, Barran.'

A struggle to get to the gate itself, both in exertions and mental avoidance alike, but the Wanderer reached the banded-iron gates eventually, kneeling in reverence to the place where his own bones would rest someday, feeling that emotional lump in his throat when his gloved fingers ran along the wrought thistles and lions that adorned the tops of the gates in perfect synchronicity with each other. Made worse in the moments following the eventual push to open them inward towards the gravesite, the effort of approaching to his brother's mound seemed to weigh Lord Michael down with more despair with every stride, ultimately bringing Barran to his knees by the time he was able to discern the prayer-cairn's form beneath the snow.

'Come on, come on - come on.... Come on, damn you!'

Pulling gloves off with a near-spasmodic desperation, the bare fingers (in full accordance to tradition for winter visits to Hart Hill) clawed at the snow-covering hindrance, but fortunately for the Wanderer, it would neither affect his resistance to the cold nor would it take him too long to uncover the cairn of marble and porphyry stones. Then after clearing the snow away from the space in front of the small cairn, the burial plaque would be revealed, along with the inscription of which Michael was all too familiar.

Lord Thomas I Barran
"Born of Bright Stars"
829-864 ABY

2-Time Galidraani Fencing Champion
Lord-Leftenant of Tal's Fighting First Brigade
Heir-Apparent to Ancestral Governance of Galidraan III

Son - Brother - Friend - Leader
​

The tears were streaming down the Wanderer's face by then, but he knew why he was there, what he was there to do first and foremost before anything else; so Barran clasped his hands together, closed his eyelids and bowed his head in silent prayer for his brother, a soul of which Lord Michael wished was still in the warm embrace of his ancestors. Then with his left hand placed on the toppled capstone, the second son placed his right hand over his heart, verbally concluding his prayer in suppressed sobs as he whispered,'A man's mask is hung by the coats of his winters, for a real face becomes him by the hearth.... A hearth from which life flows, a warmth with which a man can die peacefully, brave, lion-hearted to the last gasp. *Sinn'Searann, cluin mi a-nis.... Brisidh mi mallachd a-bhasa so uair-eigin.', sending shuddered foggy fumes into the heavy snowfall beyond as the tears continued to flow.

*"Ancestors, hear me now. I will break the curse of this barrow someday."
​

Unable to stand, unable to even move from the spot, hunched over in grieving anguish, weeping under the weight of the memories the brothers shared together, the Wanderer was being swarmed recallings of all the advice Thomas had given him over the years since they were children. Flashbacks from their last ever conversations with each other, the months leading up to the Second Battle of Ziost, and all of it seemed to strike at his soul as if done by malicious, gauntleted fists - a gut-wrenching eventuality for which Lord Michael was clearly unprepared.

But the Druid wasn't alone, or at least, not in the spiritual sense.

Raise your head from the capstone.... The past tortures you gleefully.
You can seek the truth when your hands no longer tremble - so stand ye must.

Walk to the First Barrow, Cairnsman. Walk for your own sake.

 

[Denniston Thrast II]

1st Post

-A THREAD OF THREE PHASES-

REAVER_ONE

Captain of the 1st Scouts Battalion,"The Raiders" (Highland Brotherhood)
Imperial War-Historian
Heir-Apparent to Mathan Glen

Tags: Anja Doreva Aoki-Barran Mira

THE FAR-TRAVELLED HIGHLANDER II: WHERE THE HEART IS - PART 1

CHESTNUT BRAE, OVERLOOKING HART HILL,
AN-CRIDHEACHAN, GALIDRAAN III (LATE 878 ABY)

<"Fraser to Reaver One! All surrounding areas are clear, no indications of presence given. Permission to bug out?">

<"Granted, I'll stay behind though.... Jus' keepin' a wary eye on my cousin is all. Reaver One out!">

​

Quietly perched on a hill overlooking the Barrows of Governance, leaning against a sleeping chestnut tree as his his bolt-action slugthrower rifle leaned with barrel upwards against another, Denniston Thrast II was patiently watching over his cousin with thermal binoculars in one hand and a lit cigarra in the other, shielded from the snowfall as he earnestly guarded a man of whom he had revered for decades. A man with infinite potential, and yet humble enough that he was capable of rousing even the steeliest of hearts, and as far as the Hunter saw it, a man who was more than capable of ruling as an Emperor someday. In terms of duty, urgency and the very future of the Goidelic human tribes, Denniston's personal views always assumed there was no other who was competent or brave enough to rule the Empire, and none worthier of protection than the newly-anointed Warden of the Imprial Knights - none but Michael Barran.

I know my tribe's history was always something else.... Same for Nat's lot.
But as for the Woads - is all a rollercoaster from the Age of Heroes to the present day.

Even as I watch him approach the gates on thermal - the pain is there t'see.


​

'You'll find that strength eventually, cousin.', Denniston then muttered to himself, almost wishing for the gifts of his cousins and his own family in these moments, almost cursing the NFU-limitations of his father in the humble similarities to his Uncle Erskine. Not that such things ever put a dampener on his ever-persistent need to go above and beyond his meagre means, as Thrast was well aware of the fighting and strategic prowess of his own legendary bloodline, forever remembering the wisdom and philosophies of the family's warrior-poets of bygone centuries, such who inspired all the tribes to turn on their Royalist Galidraani oppressors time and time again. Even giving rise to the Aleckist Rebels who almost succeeded in shaking the Royalist yolk once and for all, but like with all things Historic Goidels, they always an almost-race from a nearly-planet until the Empire gave them a means to fight again - and to win.

It was all this and more that inspired young,"Denny", to seek out Lord Michael in the first place, and so it would stand to reason that the man who inspired him would coincidentally be the same man who willing mentored him every step of the way, discounting the fact they were cousins on the matrilineal side of the Barran family-tree; however, the one thing the Hunter seldom considered in his time fighting for the Wanderer, obvious though it would appear to anyone else in Thrast's shoes, was the fact Denniston himself had proven his worth as a warrior time and time again. It was all they knew, and in establishment of the motto, success could only await the likes of the Hunter, and with it only assured, unshaking loyalty.

​

 

[Kastav Volff]

​

Location: Galidraan III
Objective: Drink and Meander
Tags: Felix e Archion Davin Jusik Open

​

The dull glow of a data pad illuminated Kastav’s face in the dim control room of the ISB’s regional office. As he stood there his commlink chimed and he activated it, the voice of a military police officer filling his ears. “Sir, we got reports of a drunk group of naval personnel entering a bar filled with stormtroopers. The owner is starting to get concerned the ’friendly banter’ is going to turn into a large scale brawl.”

Volff let out a deep sigh. This is what his life had been reduced to. After the failed mission at The Redoubt during the Chiss Rebellion he was shuffled all the way to the inner territories of the Empire, stuck running internal security far from any real danger. He was told there was a staffing shortage but Kastav knew it was a punishment, wasting away dealing with drunk soldiers and the occasional troublemaker was not the career trajectory of an Agent who hadn’t disappointed someone.

He raised the commlink to his mouth and spoke. “Understood. Rerouting two foot patrols to you now. Only intervene if you need to.” he looked to one of the ISB staff sitting at a terminal and gave a nod and they quickly sent the dispatch for two nearby MP patrols to head to the bar. Galidrasn was a very loyal planet of the Empire which meant the ISB internal security group’s usual tasks of rooting out traitors and suppressing uprisings was more or less not needed, instead they supported local law enforcement.

Kastav checked the time and sighed, his relief was late. Not that he blamed him, he wouldn’t be all too enthusiastic if his shift took place right in the middle of all the celebrations. Still he toyed with the idea of a formal complaint, this tardiness was the only thing standing between him and a drink.

His train of thought was broken by the sound of the control rooms doors opening behind him, a fresh faced Compforce officer walked in. The man stood to attention as Volff approached him, Kastav payed little attention to the gesture and spoke immediately “You’re 3 minutes late.”

Before the young officer even got a chance to explain himself the ISB agent had already pushed the data pad into his hands. ”Potential brawl at J16, MB-236 is on scene and monitoring. Expect more minor incidents as the night goes on.” He said before walking past him and towards the exit.

“And don’t let local law enforcement or MPs bring any drunks back here, they have their own drunk tanks and stations for that.” He continued before leaving the room. The sooner he was out the better.

Kastav exited the ISB office and into the busy streets of Galidraan. He quickly blended into the crowd, having swapped out his crisp white ISB uniform for a far more generic, black uniform. It was easier to get around when folks didn’t think you were there to arrest them. After some time walking Kastav entered a cantina and after barging his way to the bar he quickly ordered a drink. The bartender slid over a glass of Corellian Whiskey and Kastav scooped into his hands and sipped on it quietly.

 

[Felix e Archion]

_ R E B I R T H _
CANTINA,_ _ SAINTSTON
{PHASE 1. . . Operation Drown Miseries}
TAG: Davin Jusik | Kastav Volff (open)​

The man entered the city of Saintston with a limping walk of confidence, his nostrils being pummeled by a wide variety of native foods; most of which Felix disliked, preferring ISB-Rations. As he tipped further into the city his eye would catch something intriguing:
"CHRISTOPHSIAN NEWS: CORPORATE-BAILOUT, INTEREST HIKES^^, PROTEST!"
Felix read in an almost hypnotic state, home, he missed it so much, he left the world of Christophsis when he was so young without thought and how much of a mistake it seemingly was. Tucking the HoloPaper away into a vest pocket, the Agent spotted the spot of paradise, a Cantina, double-timing through the crowd as he entered the establishment. The Cantina was quite sophisticated, when entering the first thing which peaked his interest was the carver-work of the Galidraan Artiste, reminiscent of Christophsian Artisan Cartels which dominated the small-market.

"Hmm, not too snabby." He commented, smirking hesitantly; it was almost if he was worried about being reprimanded. Heading over to the bar he took a seat to the left of a stranger , whistling for the bartender. "Kuati Beer, Warm." the agent ordered in a dull tone. He was going soften himself up before he proceeded to drown away, maybe he'd get alcohol poison...one could only hope. Looking around he also spotted a group of TIE-Pilots, Davin Jusik , simply nodding as he acknowledged them.

Reaching into his vest he pulled the HoloPaper out again, beginning to read up on the State of Christophsis. . "Corporate Welfare, ridiculous don't you think? if a company can't tip the saddle it has to grind to death." He said addressing the imperial at the bar, Kastav Volff , the tender bringing over his drink to which Felix tipped him with some Imperial-Credits. The Agent took note of this stranger's black uniform, raising an eyebrow but turning back to his drink and swirling it, a good drunk always needed a drinking buddy.

"Survival of the fittest...Yeah, that's how we evolve." Felix added, a social darwinist at heart, how nice.​

 

[Anja Doreva]

V O R N S K R
THE EMPIRE
HART HILL AND SURROUNDS | GALIDRAAN III
TAG: Denniston Thrast II | Aoki-Barran Mira | Open

BLACK TAR AND NICOTINE

A chance to finally wind down some.

If it's even possible for any Imperial to actually wind down. Considering the stock from whence Nat comes from, it was nigh impossible. Even when winter was a time for family and mirth.

Granted, her entire family was there, so technically, family time was covered. But completely relaxing after all that has happened within the Empire, was really not all that possible.

One thing about Raider Company is that they took their roles seriously enough - it wasn't just a job. It was a lifestyle. And who better to make it clear over comms than the bane of Nat's existence - Laird Denniston Thrast. Well, he wasn't really the bane of her existence - he was actually one of the few she'd want at her back during infiltration, Captain or not. And he wasn't a bad egg either. Not that she would ever admit it aloud. It would ruin their efficiency, in all honesty.

Scott-sass aside, Nat wasn't heartless. Especially when it came to a time like this where others were finally enjoying themselves, including Fraser of all people. Nat dove behind the bar without any invitation. Luckily it was a regular occurrence when Goidels came together like this. Filling two flasks with some single-malt, the Vornskr then took off in the direction of the lonesome hill her bane had made his lookout point.

Moving like a shadow through the snow-laden night, she made her way up the hill. Catching sight of her Captain leaning against a chestnut, her typical impish nature took over. Sneaking up to him, she drew her dagger to lightly press the tip right where his kidneys would be.

"Sleepin' on the job, ey?" she chuckled before dangling a flask of whiskey over his shoulder while she sheathed the dagger. Sitting down on a tree root next to him, she took out her own flask to take a swig before continuing her jest.

"Wan' all the glory of night-long watch yerself, tha' it, Capn' Thrast?"

 

[Frank "Begs" Jusik]

Post 1
Barren Hall of Wonders and Fun
Tags: FN-999, Those inside hall
Frank took a big whiff of the transport's fumes as he stepped off into the brisk Galidraan air. The shipyard smell always reminded him of his home, put him in a cheerful enough mood before having to deal with the schutta he was to meet. His combat boots echoed across the durasteel before meeting with the traditional steel mats that crisscrossed the spaceport. Hawkish eyes scanned, taking in the festive attitude of those around him. Everyone seemed to be in a well enough mood, even some of the staff seemed to be drunk. "My kinda place" Jusik murmured as he produced a cigarette from his black corellian jacket's interior pocket. He closed the ship's walkway as he puffed, contemplating his route. A fat, short, kind looking Twilek in a red sweater approached him from a nearby terminal. He wore a smile, totally unaware of the nature of the man who's eyes he now met.

"Evening sir. You've arrived at a great time!" The attendant began with a genuine, if slightly inebriated laugh. "The festivities are already underway, but plenty of time to join in. I'll just need the thirty five credit docking fee and you'll need to fill out this form." The twilek mantained his smile as he held out a datapad. Frank gave the datapad a look like it was pigeon shit. The look shifted upward to the owner of the datapad, who's smile vanished in quick order. "Thirty Five credits to what? I don't need ya to take her on a date, it's parking." Frank scoffed and gave a violent scowl, blowing smoke into the attendant's face as he did, before reaching into his pocket again.

The twilek reflexively went to retreat, but to his surprise Frank produced a hundred credit note and pushed it into the twilek's hand. Frank then grabbed the attendant's shoulder with his free hand and pulled him in close. "That's your's, no paperwork, eh?" The tone was nice, but the eye's again communicated the intended message. Black pits. A crossed blasters tattoo on the neck showed military service, a LMG of some sort judging by the size. The attendant nodded and breathed a sigh of relief as the stranger patres him on the back and strolled off, humming. An old refugee, the twilek had known men like that on Ryloth, with those same souless eyes. There was a commonality amongst most sentient species. The old humanoid had found that the predators in any intelligent species tended to display similar traits. He would take the bribe and if questioned chalk it up to forgetfullness and celebration. Not even the Imperial governement had perfected protecting it's citizens from every random ne're do well, particularly when they had honorable discharges.

A smug, narcissistic grin was plastered on his face as he strolled past what he now considered plebians. His contact had gotten his proper papers for his meeting. A fancy sort of lad. Barren Hall was his destination. Moving up in the world he thought to himself as various imperials moved in and out of the crowd. No more marching. No more saluting. Not that there was anything wrong with it, all well and good. Necessary. But a lifetime of witnessing the galaxy's truth combined with his own abhorant personality, couldn't help but produce an elated ego response when he finally got to wear the fancy clothes.

He saw a trooper in a lodge in full armor, appearing to be relaxing before heading somewhere. Frank felt for the poor sod. He through out a half hearted salute to FN-999 from outside the lodge and continued on his way. Glancing at his watch as he moved about. Still a bit of time to muck about. He headed in to the Barren Hall, to take in a bit of the culture like the man of sophistication he now was.

 

[Yorunarr Ahan-Yan'Sharlim]

3rd post

-A THREAD OF THREE PHASES-

GODMASK_ACTUAL

LORD-CAPTAIN OF THE HIGHLAND BROTHERHOOD
HIGH-SHAMAN OF THE SERENNOAN ESOTERIC CHAPTER
PRIEST-KING OF ARCHAIS

Tags: DECEASED Erskine Barran Ignacious Korvan Aoki-Barran Mira DECEASED Aron Gowrie

FOR THE ANCIENTS I: IN THE EYES OF THE GODS - PART 3

Sparring Yard, Barran Hall,
An-Cridheachan, Galidraan III (Late 878 ABY)

'My advice, don't think about it so much. You're the right leader for your people, trust.... Jus' do what you were born to do, it's overthinking that invites the frustration - indirectly inviting error to the party.... Frustration's very own persistent stalker. You're better than that, are ye no?'
​

Advice more valuable than the Priest-King could have asked for under the circumstances, and almost-completely unexpected to make the revelation seem all the more intense for Yan'Sharlim's only son, like this moment had been brought about by the most subtle of human magics, almost as if Lord Aron himself was far more than just the inspiring General he was always portrayed to be. After all, much and more had been told of the Kellas in the years since they last spoke with each other, with more yet still being told of his exploits and those of his subordinates in the newly-forged Wildcat Brigade, becoming like the Blue-Hearts in more ways than just the upscaling to Division-sized contingents in their own rise to warfighting prominence.

But it wasn't a reference to warfighting or command this time, instead the Tuath had chosen to cover subject-matter that would naturally have been difficult for anyone to drudge up in similar circumstances to those of the warrior standing before the Novanian. This time, as unlikely as such subject matter would seem for his like, Lord Aron was referring to something altogether closer to his heart; a matter on which both legends were able to relate in some form or other, something both Aron and Yorunarr alike were prone to neglect from time to time, detrimental though such habits were in the long run.

'If only rulership were so easy, Lord Aron. If only it came as naturally to us as it does to others, perhaps then we could have won our wars a little more decisively, but alas, reality loves inflicting blunt-force traumas - as always.... But for you, I will try. You deserve that much at the very least.'

​

It would be a strange process indeed, of this Yan'Sharlim's only son was well aware, but as far as curveball advices went, Yorunarr had certainly heard worse than the suggestion of treating the act of rulership as if it came naturally. As in the mind of the Priest-King at that particular moment, he understood that anything could have been better than treating the role as if it were some unsavoury chore, just as anything would have been better than letting the other Novanians see the struggle behind the mask; granting further credence to the Tuath's words and anomalous nature alike, and without even realising it at the time, taking a behemoth's weight from the Priest-King's shoulders along with it.

Uncanny....

​

 

[DECEASED Aron Gowrie]

3rd post

-A THREAD OF THREE PHASES-

WILDCAT_ONE
TRIBAL-CHIEFTAIN OF AN-TUATHA
MAJOR-GENERAL OF WILDCAT DIVISION
SWORD OF THE VALKYRIES

Tags : DECEASED Erskine Barran Ignacious Korvan Aoki-Barran Mira Yorunarr Ahan-Yan'Sharlim

TRIBULATIONS OF THE WILDCATS VI: A NIGHT OF INNER-PEACE - PART 3

THE SPARRING YARD, BARRAN HALL,
AN-CRIDHEACHAN, GALIDRAAN III (SUMMER OF 877 ABY)

'As far as I see it - an' at this particular stage, thats as fine a start as any.... An' a damned fine start at that!'
​

With enough time, Lord Aron was sure he would be able to get through to the Yorunarr he once knew, tapping into what the Kellas himself saw as the warrior the Shaman was capable of becoming before, and every part of capable of becoming after the ascension to dominion over the Novanians. After all, this was the humble, stimmed-up bodyguard who made Darth Malus flinch, the brave soul who calmed that of the Wanderer in his darkest hour, the very Novanian who cast fear into the hearts of Shi'iDo and Drengir monsters alike - owed his due respect and so much more.

'We need the leaders o' the future t'be ready after all....'

In the spirit of unimpressed, judging scepticism, the bristles of the Priest-King's right eyebrow raised as if to question what appeared to be a sudden, fatalistic outburst, the Major-General raised a hushing hand for space in the discussion to calmly caution,'As my likes are slowly dyin' off, one-by-one as the years pass, an' with it, the knowledge we forget or haven't the time to pass on to the next generations. We need men like you ready for any storm, as the very survival of the realm, an' that of all who dwell within it's blessed borders depend on it. You know it, I know it..', unleashing the harsh reality of such advices with a cold, deathly stare that brooked no argument on the matter. This was the most important factor driving such insight after all, as everything the Shaman knew had depended on the reasons behind the part he had to play, the struggles that were yet to strike at the heart of the Empire itself, giving Lord Aron every reason to drive the point home as honestly as possible.

'Reason enough to play the good part and to focus on improving your chances of survival.... Reason enough to heed the words of a brother-veteran, don't you think?'

Watching on as Yorunarr dropped his gaze, nodding his agreement as his eyes drifted towards the hipflask at the side-railing, the Shaman would drop into a thousand-yard stare for a moment before the Kellas broke through it by drawling,'Good, you understand. As I guarantee that dread you feel will move your feet quicker than any stim or psychedelic ever could. It's like a drug, but far more potent.... Quite adrenal t'say the least, an' besides, you of all people ought t'know it's benefits more than Korvan o'er there - yer file is actual, tangible proof o' this.', in a matter-of-fact tone that was only ever known of Gowrie in his darker moods. Urgency was demanded, but as far as the Tuath was willing to go, the intensity behind it could easily be dispensed with, as it was just the lesson itself that was needed to be imparted after all, as all the horror, apprehension and everything else was already there to be seen resonating from within the Novanian already.

Memories that followed the Godseer everywhere he walked, hounding every step since the end the of the Third Imperial Civil War.

'You're more than your self-imposed limitations, Yorunarr.... Ye need t'be, an' now more than ever.'

Only a fool would believe our wars have ended.
Complacency is death for Imperials.... Always has been - always will be.

 

[Michael Barran]

3rd post

-A THREAD OF THREE PHASES-

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

TAGS: Aoki-Barran Mira Siyndacha Aerin Anja Doreva

BORN OF BRIGHT STARS IX: HONOURING ANCESTORS - PART 3

THE BARROWS OF GOVERNANCE, HART HILL,
AN-CRIDHEACHAN, GALIDRAAN III (LATE 878 ABY)

Walk, damn you!
Mine capstone is surely known t'you already!

Come pray to your Sinn'Sear! Come learn mine secrets!
​

Following the commands of an ancestor who had been dead for well over a thousand years, instinctively obeying through the tears above all things, fully-understanding the implications of ancestral-deification; the Wanderer was bereft of any say on the matter, but it seemed as though he didn't mind this fact, and especially not whilst trapped in such an anguished state of grief at the time. A perfectly compliant predicament to urge and beckon at will, though fortunately for Lord Michael's sake, his clan's bastard-born progenitor was cut from cloth too fine to besmirch with the stains of coercion and torment alike, even for the likes of Barran Harte,"The Broken".

​

That one irresistible, magnetising force that beckoned Lord Erskine's Noble-Exiles PMC homeward, an ethereal reminder that all was not lost for as long as the Barrans had the will to fight their way back again; the myths and tales, the relics they were able to take into exile with them, all of it had served as kindling to the fire that set the Stormchaser onto the Imperial path with lasting finality. A madness in historical context, especially in consideration of all the wrongs of which the progenitor had been accused in life, but in consideration of all it took to redeem his good name, it only made sense to draw hope and inspiration from the oldest of the clan's ancestral spirits in the fight against the Sith Empire. Ever intertwined with the fates of House Fortan's most-prominent scions, it was their oldest enemies who would end up barring the gates to the last gasp, or at least, it was until the Galidraani Free-State swept them aside with diplomacy and paramilitary actions alike.

I trust you, Sinn'Sear.
I only ask that you refrain from toying with my sanity.

Admittedly - it hangs by little more than a thread at this point.
​

No answer was given, not even an indication of whether the revelation would be life-affirming or otherwise, but the Wanderer had become a patient, calmly entity in his years since the eventual move to Serenno - and was readier than his mask of teary-eyed grief implied.

'Whatever it is you have to tell, or rather - show me, whichever way the wind blows.... It had better be fethin' helpful, an' I hope for your sake it-'

SILENCE!!!!
ENTITLEMENT SUITS YE NOT!!!!

THINE FEET - damn you - are treading safer ground, Michael.
​

Relenting, seeking not to incur the wrath of an ancestral spirit of whom he would never have strength or power to fend off, the Druid bowed his head once more, walking in slow cadence as a mark of respect to an ancestor who chose him above all the others. Cairnsman-predecessors the spirit had ignored over the centuries, all every part as competent as practicing druids as Lord Michael was, and perhaps to extents much greater than anyone could know in the False Spring era, forgotten, neglected prayers that were likely kept secret on account of each and every failure to reach the spirits of their ancestors. But after the years of the Wanderer's service to the family as their Cairnsman-elect, the resting-place of the future sons and daughters of Clan Barran wouldn't break the heart so much to maintain, proof of Lord Michael's awareness of the honours bestowed upon him in life.

Even if the second son himself was prone to forget or momentarily forsake this truth from time to time.

We are here - now mine Cairnsman must kneel.
Mine capstone rests within the snow before thee.