5TH POST
OLD-TOWN DISTRICT, DRASTARRA,
BATTLEFRONT: EAST, NESHTAB (SPRING 878 ABY)
'The only banner that could make sense of the darkness at work of which you speak.'
Tearing away at the walls of his soul, walls the Wanderer diligently kept up for years.
Threatening to reach the fire within, threatening all that kept Lord Michael in the fight.
'You know it.'
But he had to be sure, he needed to know if it was true once and for all, but the Druid also needed to hear the words he was dreading the most, leaving no illusion or mistaking as to who or what Barran's brother had become in his second life. And yet, up until that moment, there was no telling what sort of adversary his brother had become, only assuming Thomas dead until the moment of revelation, thinking the firstborn had been reanimated by some wicked sort of Sith-oriented ritual somehow.
It made perfect sense that Michael's brother had become some tortured brand of hidden Sith weapon to take down the Lord-Regent in one savage strike at the Empire's stability and lasting order, knowing by then that the Sith had risen again on the planets of the Wild Space region, feeling that presence rising from within the Galaxy's farthest-flung regions in his ceaseless search for Lucien; even going so far as to cloak and infiltrate with his own powerful presence on the Sith-Loyalist worlds, for days on end, and to no effect. But on all those planets that Barran risked life and limb to scour for Dooku, there was no indication that the presence of another Barran had ever set foot on these worlds, (not even a sliver of the soul that remained) but despite the fact the Druid was looking in all the places where the dreaded Bloodhound had never been, Michael would find himself confronted by the fact traces of his brother's soul would have been found on all the worlds he wasn't permitted to approach.
By then, the only thing Barran wanted was to be put out of his misery, but fate had other, more twisted plans in mind for the Wanderer, something completely unexpected - something that would push through the tears to frightening effect.
'He follows the legacy of The Mongrel, and leads The Scarhounds.'
Friends from his days as an exile, mercenary-friends from Empress Teta that were there to aid the Noble Exiles PMC against adversaries twice and thrice their number at the time, had been in close contact with their friend over the years; but in recent years, they had fallen silent until the Woad found them all hiding out on Corellia whilst in the process of searching for his Serennoan leader, and somehow in a strangely fortuitous detection of their presences at the edges of one of Corellia's largest urban-districts. But making it all the stranger at the time was the most recent stories from their time fighting to reclaim Empress Teta, telling tales of an Atrisian's efforts to stem the Scar Hound tide in the first battle, clashing not only with the Mongrel himself but also reported to have clashed with a Goidel in the second outing, and the significance of this matter would remain lost to the Wanderer for a while after the fact - though only until the very moment of revelation itself.
But instead of breaking the shaken Woad, the news instead began to function as a fuel for something else entirely
'Well, you had me until that last part. I expected,"The Banner of the Sith Order", honestly.... But-'
Boiling to the surface and pushing aside the tears to unleash a particular fire that Michael knew he needed to stifle with every part as much prejudice as was offered for the tears from before. After all, the Druid had much to despise about the Maw's very own caste of renegade Sith Lords, let alone the Scar Hounds who killed thousands upon thousands of his tribal and ethnic compatriots over the years; but in learning that the Mongrel had a Woad of his own waiting to be utilised, holding to the legacy almost two years after the Warlord's demise at the hands of the future Lord-Regent, the drying tears would do very little to hide the bloodshot fury beneath by then. It was enough to release a shudder of an entirely new sort, that which usually accompanied horror, or preemptive regret, and it was in this moment that Barran came to the ugliest, most bitter of realisations.
Clenching his jaw briefly before controlling himself once more, inhaling deep as he unbuttoned his military coat, a prized possession he never wanted to see covered in blood of any sort, it was in this moment that Michael realised the raging part of his soul was quite transmutable. Unexpectedly so, but in this realisation lay another, poised to lash him for ignoring the signs, the Druid understood that focusing the rage was his only means of survival; but just like all things transmutable in the spirit of conflict, there would naturally be a fair deal of pain to endure along the way, and these would be made even worse by the headaches that would surely persist until the fight's natural conclusion.
'-If you knew he had nought but vengeance on his mind, facilitated by none other than the Galaxy's greatest swordsman no-less, nurtured by the one who would die to the very man who sent my brother to his death in the first place.... Then why....? Wait a second.... Oh.... It would appear I'm the last to know - what a night this is turning out t'be.'
The Wanderer then switched off Lucien's sabre, ceremoniously folding his officer's jacker over his arm in the latest of brutal realisations, then he briefly grumbled,
'I'll be with you in a moment.', turning to walk towards the coat, gloves and pistol as he properly processed the implications of the firstborn's place among the Marauder caste. However, despite his apparent self-preparations for execution, showing visible preference for burial in the uniform he learned to revere in the end, the last of the Pellaeonist Clique's officials had plenty fight left within to offer the Jedi Master, perhaps revealing as such in the cold change in his spoken tone - walking away at an angle that still kept Ashina firmly in his periphery.
But as soon as the thick overcoat, pistol and gloves were joined by a neatly-folded officer's jacket, the Woad then decided it was only fitting that Mountainsong and his own lightsabre joined the pile, leaving only a free hand and Lucien's curved-hilt Makashi waiting for the violence. The lattermost item was then clipped onto Michael's belt where it belonged, granting him enough tactile freedom to roll up the sleeves of the deep blue formal shirt and the long sleeved t-shirt beneath, tucking just beneath the elbows whilst moving closer towards the inevitable clash for which his soul was beginning to yearn. And yet, by the time the Goidel was face to face with the Atrisian once more, a strange calm had fallen over the former, and to such an extent that even his gaze had grown considerably cold in contrast to the burning emotion from before, and every part as cold in comparison to the teary-eyed dismay that preceded Barran's wrath.
'All revelations and such aside, I am admittedly quite thankful for your honesty.... But now, it is time to dance amongst those treacherous threads of fate - as promised!'
With hands displayed clearly, Barran's middle-fingers would be seen tapping against thumbs, bouncing in against each other a few times in an effort to poise in readiness for his Click-Wave attack, such that carried sharp, auditorily-fed Force Waves through the air with blaster-quick intensity. All it took was the snap of his fingers to unleash brutalities he often preferred to shy away from, but despite his intentions, the Woad still very much beholden to the Force-Wielding chivalric code, allowing the Atrisian to set into the depth of her poise before he could venture to make any honourable sort of attack or counter from the offset. And though the tears were still taking their time to wane, despite all he was up against by then, Lord Michael wanted this fight, finally - after approaching far too close to the point of giving up.
'BEGIN!!!!'
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'DARSIM SHASSAAAAAAATH!!!' *"KINDRED SOULS!!!!"
'Ea!' *"Hail!"
'Ea!'
'EA!!!!'
'Ea!'
'EA!!!!'
An unidentified Mandalorian ship had crash-landed somewhere towards the eastern districts of Drastarra, but instead of despairing the obvious threats it's contents would wield against them, the Arkanians of Novania relished the challenge; and before they all set out to take their places in the perches, blind-spots and other means of utilising their surroundings, the very resolve they held in the face of the Mandalorian dread would manifest in ritualistic chanting in religious preparation for the fight itself. A rare ritual it was, for it was a war-ritual conducted by the suspected-presence of Novania's matriarchal deity, and though they all knew the Seer was taken over by Melarria's root, there had been no way to ascertain which spirit had possessed Varim's beloved wife.
'KARRN SHASSAAAAAATH!!!!' *"BRAVE SOULS!!!!"
'EA!!!!'
'Ea!'
'EA!!!!'
'Ea!'
'EA!!!!'
Despite the clear femininity of the voice, the power wielding it was making her roar with a clarity that seemed to resonate upward from the gut, like the spirit possessing the Warseer was bellowing out from the deepest depths of Merrian's soul at the time. All the rifle-bearing men and women of Novania there to hear it would all feel that strength resonating from within, as if the very spirit of galvanisation was coursing through their veins and nervous-systems alike, as if the voice of Melarria itself was the drug they needed to fight their way to the sunrise, something their ilk had not felt in what seemed liked centuries before that night. However, despite all this, they all knew that there was one of their ilk who had ventured to experience all of this before them, and to know it was none other than Priest-King Yorunarr I (unlikely though it seemed to the others to articulate) would only serve to add to the self-belief element within, making it all the more intense for the chanters as they readied for battled.
'DENN NAYARN KEST'IIN VAAAAAAAAAATH' *"FOR ALL YOU ARE WORTH!!!!"
'EA!!!!'
'EA!!!!'
'EA!!!!'
'Ea!'
'EA!!!!'
For the sharpshooters, it would be difficult to let go for a little while, finding it tough to attempt conceding to their own wild abandon when focus was needed at the time; but just like all the anti-tank and fire-support squads, the Warmasks within Drastarra knew it would be fine to let the gods watch over them for a while. After all, Mother Melarria wasn't finished yet, and nobody was venturing to challenge their hold over the ruinous northwest of the city so far; but like all things war and strife, such reprieves were never meant to last very long with enemies fewer than two kilometers away, moving further into the city as the Brotherhood's scouts observed their movements from street to street. Merrian's ritual would be safe for a time, but not much longer, as it wasn't just the survivors of the crash-site they needed to be keep their eyes on, there was a sizeable contingent of Companions making their way westward in support of the Mandalorian contingent to consider also.
'AYAR KEST'UUM ARTHENN!!!! MISSAR KEST'UUM VESAAAAATH!!!!' *"FIND YOUR STRENGTH!!!! DISCOVER YOUR SOUL!!!!
'EA!!!!'
'EA!!!!'
'EA!!!!'
'EA!!!!'
'EA!!!!'
'FOR HONOUR, FOR ALL THAT WONDER BESTOWS - FIGHT LIKE THE HEROES YOU WERE BORN TO BE!!!! THE ANCIENTS ARE WATCHING!!!!'
Then all of a sudden, and without warning, shots rang out in the north, lighting up the air in the distance in a myriad of white and blue light, heralding in the true beginnings of the Brotherhood's Battle for Drastarra. But instead of stopping the Novanians in their tracks, it only served to amp them up even more wildly than before, unleashing cheers, ululations and sporadically chesty barks of
,"EA!!!", whilst running towards the direction of the outbreaking hostilities with every ounce of fight needed to spur them on. Everyone knew they would be in the heat of the fighting in at least some fashion or other, especially the AT-squads and sharpshooters, drawing much of the attention away from the Old Town district whilst the infantry support worked to apply additional flanking pressure for as long as the threat of envelopment remained.
<"Ahan-Kaskim to Cairn Two! I hope you are listening-">
<"-BIT FETHING BUSY HERE, WARMASK-RED!!!! MAKE IT SNAPPY!!!!">
No easy task by any means, but for as long as the Highlanders' support elements remained mobile there was much they could offer in the fight, so all they required in the sustained firefight was relief from the heavy hitters; and little did they know at the time, and as unlikely as it seemed to the Brotherhood's handpicked elite as they fought tooth and nail for survival, elements of the 313th and the 181st would be making a point of chasing a contingent of Pariahs and GADF Marines eastward towards Drastarra before long. Although it would appear messy in the beginning, the weight of the modified XT-62 and the brutal vanguard tactics of he Sabretooth-Troopers would prove pivotal in tipping the balance of war in their favour. But the Highlanders and their Novanian comrades needed to hold on, to fight on against increasingly difficult odds - to hold the line and perhaps even push the Companions and the Mandalorians back eastward.
<"Ahan-Kaskim to Cairn Two! Got good news and bad news for ya.">
<"Grow a pair an' fething say it, Varim! I can tell by the sound of your voice that it's all bad news, so get on with it!">
If this could be achieved, even if only to temporary effect, then there was a chance they could screen and open the way for the tanks and rotary-cannons in the eastward push; none of it would be easy, but if all the right Imperial elements persevered, everyone knew they were likely to succeed in the end. The only downside to an otherwise-admirable plan, as well as things were going for the Imperials in the west and on the Maurus Flatlands, and as much as it would tear at the others to learn after the sunrise, was the disaster that befell Eastern Burus infiltrators in the night. Varim, along with ninety-nine of the Brotherhood's toughest Goidelic and Novanian soldiers, had been outsmarted and surrounded by a contingent most could only assume to be elements from the GADF and NJO, likely operating out of the command-centre or the spaceport respectively.
<"Good news, we made it to the mountains south of the OPFOR spaceport.... Bad news, we got rumbled.... I'm dropping my rifle in surrender as we speak, Randall. Nothing else to be done about it now - it is what it is, my dear friend.">
<"See you on the other side, brother.... I'll let the wife know when she snaps out of 'er trance.... Survive, you hear me? Your fight doesn't end until they put you in front of a firing-squad. After all, cha bhi sinn uile! ITS ALL WE FETHING KNOW, VARIM!!!!">
