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Dominion In the Lions Den| NIO Dominion of Galidraan

Long live Galidraan





OBJ1- The day has come, and with it, Galidraan is no longer under Sith hegemony. With only minor resistance encountered by both the NIO and Galidraani free-state forces, the predicted bloodbath that would've followed was fortunately avoided in the wake of the Sith empire collapsing and pulling forces from the planet. Celebrations are now to be held at the grounds of the parliament, with an army parade of Galidraani troops and captured war equipment ready to commence. Officials from the wider NIO are invited to watch the parade, where the leader of the new Galidraan is slated to give a speech and commemorate the end of the Galidraani struggle.

OBJ2-Threats lurk at every corner, and even with the Sith having fled the planet, there still is the threat of remnant forces and pro-Sith Galidraani holdouts. All units and COMPNOR personnel have been directed to aid Galidraani security forces in hunting down and eliminating all targets. All dissidents who have spoken out or denounced Tals former rebel group and it's affiliates as being populists and puppets of the New Imperial Order are also slated for execution. Do not fail the Order, be swift, be merciless, be ruthless.


Long live Galidraan

Many years of prolonged hard fighting and decades of exile had led to this triumphant point, thousands had died and many more wounded in the greatest struggle for Galidraans future and legacy since the times of the Empire. Gone were the days of being sheep; gone were the days when Galidraan was known as an Imperial culture of intellectuals and tea drinkers, from the fires of the great struggle, arose a new Galidraan. A Galidraan forged in blood and conquest, proving that the lions had claws and claws that ran deep. No more would they be taken for granted; no more would their sons die for the conquests of another petty Sith Emperor.

Tal took the long steps toward the podium, as did many of his great predecessors from before him. Though they had lived centuries past, Galidraans long gone heroes still walked with him and the others through all the hardships and triumph. No matter how many Galidraanis the Sith fell, no matter how many rituals they engaged in, raw evil did not overcome the power of a people spurred on by the legacy of their forebears and the thought of home. And now their ancestors could rest once more, knowing that Galidraans sons and daughters had answered the call in their homes darkest struggle.

Though many of his soldiers had perished, it had not been without purpose, for their sacrifices had all led to this point. Now all that remained was honouring their sacrifices further and building Galidraan into the powerhouse it formerly was, in unison with their Imperial brethren in the New Order. But such thoughts quickly left him as he ascended the steps and stood before the roving masses and array of soldiers neatly aligned on the parade grounds before him. Ten thousand of Galidraans most veteran soldiers, along with their equipment, stood to attention immediately, and the crowds roared with applause and excitement as the face of Galidraans Imperial forces took to the podium to speak. The last time such an occasion had been long ago, but then no one, not even the Sith, had expected their Empire to fall either.

The Lord Protector waved to the soldiers and civilians below, dressed in his ceremonial alpine white and gold Generals attire fit for someone of his rank and importance. He waited for the crowd's applause and mania to abide before speaking into the row of microphones before him.

"Dear fellow Galidraani's, brothers and sisters! Heroic officers and men of the Galidraani army, and men and women guerillas, Brave officers and men of the New Imperial order army, Dear comrades, On this great occasion at 10 o'clock in Calavar yesterday past, the withdrawal agreement was signed by the representatives of the Galidraani free state and New Imperial order on one side, and by representatives of the occupying forces headed by the Sith puppets on the other side. This victory is the outcome of our people's heroic struggle against the maligned forces of Sith eternalism and the Eternalist puppets in the traitorous parliamentarian clique. The people of our nation have spent many long years, reclaiming honour and independence in this heroic struggle that my homeworld and our people have now won. So, in this great occasion, send to all the galaxy a message. Galidraan lives and marches on!"

A roar of joy and exhilaration broke through the Galidraani masses, and as the soldiers stood to at their officer's behest to start the march. One rallying cry rang out over the speaker systems.


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"The Stormchaser"

Calavar City,
Ten Minutes into the Victory Parade....

Giving his best oratory, (which, in all fairness was far exceeding most of his predecessors in recent-centuries) Lord Willan would speak of the sacrifice, the glory and all the Free-State had to endure on their way home. It would be a life-affirming experience for all in attendance, for all in support watching from their Holonet terminals, and most of all, for all the loyal wounded soldiers tuning in from the comfort of Fort Imperator's Obsidian-Heart hospital. Hearts stirred, as one and one soul in magnetised movement with the words of their Lord-Protector, and when Lord Willan said,"Galidraan lives - and marches on!", all of the people bearing witness felt it in the depths of their souls. Their beloved star-system, all they'd ever thought about, and whether it was in exile or bleeding for control of the streets, the very word,"Galidraan.", had stirred an entire host of emotions before VG-Day, but none quite so strong as the elation they felt in that moment.


Standing with all his captains, his Lord-Protector's staffers and the lower-Leftenant caste of both, Barran understood that while it was a good turnout of surviving officers in comparison to the lesser that was expected by the time Calavar had been reclaimed, they'd sacrificed enough that Lord Erskine could see for himself how few there had been since their part in the NIO's victory-parade on Bastion. Even the replacement captains among them looked like they'd been brought through the ringer a few times along the way, proving their right to be there by the looks in their eyes alone as Erskine responded to the most-prominent of them all, looking Phillip Brand's parade-uniform up and down as he replied,'For things like this, never. But we brave it all the same, Padre. You can take drillmaster-duties for this one, an honour you've more than earned by now.', with hand extending out in congratulatory kindness. Eagerly met in the middle, Brand would nod his silence before disengaging, pivoting then approaching the appropriate formation-leaders of the Blue-Hearts, the Wildcats and the Fighting First to get everyone on the move.

<"All units, this is Brand. All vehicles will move and keep-pace on my mark.... QUIIIIIIICK - MARCH!!!">

Leading the parade-column, the officers' speeder-motorcade would drive out in front of the relic-refit of ACV One they affectionately named,"The Saga.", but in a slow, considerate pace as the other command-vehicles followed; and behind them, in successive order, would be the XT-62s, Scout-AFVs and mobile artillery-pieces would be accompanied on all-sides by the rifle-toting thousands serving within the Fighting First and Blue-Heart Brigade. To the front and right of the MLVs would be none other than the Guardian and Scope units, with the petty officers representing from the other integral companies or battalions who served with Lord Erskine during the course of their journey home, the moving procession (as far as Barran's eye could see) was finally headed off in the right direction; with Commoner-Captain Brand as drillmaster, the pacing and calmly coordination on their part would surely go off without a hitch.
At least some of their memories can pass on in peace.... But as for the rest? Soon, brothers. Soon.



Weston-on-Thames, Calavar Province,
14 Hours Before the Victory Parade....

'Not the sort o' lights you expected to be seeing over Calavar, is it? Can't deny you're not alone in that.'

Calavar's cloudy skies had been alive with activity all night, giving off a violently beautiful array of bright, fiery and war-like flashes from aimless skyward blaster-trails, fireworks and floodlights of celebratory fervour; and all of it, from the moment the first of it lit the skies in the moments following the sunset blackout, would be enjoyed by the Blue-Hearts in drunken observation from almost 20km west of the celebrations' ground-zero. Lord Erskine himself would be shacked up overnight in a cosy boarding-house with his wife, happy to wait out the process from the very penthouse suite they were staying in as her husband ventured to dealing with the military parade matters the next day, lounging around with the full spa treatment as she waited for her husband's return. But the time they'd be spending together on the eve of the parade, in all it's revelry, would be spent devotedly; enjoying time together for the first time in months, and without interval but for occasional distractions provided by the bright lights of the world outside.

'You're not wrong, m'dear. Vjun changed everything, even the way you caress me now.... New scars ti trace yer nails across, a new lease of life for oor journey - hmph! Oor journey home.'

'I know, feels weird saying that word, but it's a new kind of weird, isn't it?', Lady Carla responded, before being cut short on account of her husband's scars, and particularly of how he incurred them in the first place. Gazing on the freshly-healed slashes and stab-wounds to his chest, the loving wife looked on her husband's abdominal form, occasionally lit up by the fanfare in the distant city of Calavar as he smoked his Fortaner cigar by the bedroom window, and swore silent, bloody vengeance on the woman who dared draw blood from her soulmate's flesh. After scowling at the dagger-scars for a little longer, Carla's expression softened before her eyes wandered back up to Erskine's, continuing,'I did tell you not to mess around with the,"Girls who collect porcelain-dolls.". But I suppose some can't be avoided in a war with the Sith.', in her usual leisurely drawl. Though she was no doubt a beauty, even in her late-fifties, that fire in her eyes left no illusions as to what great family she had married off from; the fire of warrior-philosophers, the fire of a clan that was every part as old as her husband's, the burning light of the Thrast clan.

'Those days will soon be a thing of the past, Carla. If Lord Willan goes as big an' bold as I think he will, then the hardest part truly has been endeavoured already - even if the Zambrano-loyalist scum attempt a resurgence, the next generations of Galidraanis an' Woads will be ready for every last one o' them. But enough o' that borin' chite! Can't be talkin' shop wae the wife, no after seein' the way she's lookin' at me the-night, an' certainly not when she appears more alluring now than ever before.'

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As absent as she had been from the campaign, absent she was from their celebrations. She was not present in Calavar that day, instead, Fiolette Fortan was in the capital of Thames. Calavar was much of the heart of Galidraan I, but it was Thames where political schemes were made and felled, and at times with a single word. The Royal Family had summoned Fiolette to Thames, there at their Palace she spoke with them the change of Galidraan from the Sith Empire to the New Imperial Order was unique.

"Your niece negotiated for us promise with the Sith, a promise we are no longer assured," a member of the family spoke plainly. Fiolette recalled as she wrote in her journal from a small cafe. She replied that the Royal Family would have to speak with Tal, most likely it was that Tal should be ushered in as the Prime Minister. At least that was Fiolette's suggestion as she replied plainly, "the days of aristocracy and position are long gone, Your Majesty. It is a different world, and a different breed of Galidraani that Tal leads, one that believes in the nationalism that they have promoted."

She swore she could hear the sighs they wore on their faces.

"The Fortan Family can no longer aide you as it once had, I'm afraid. We are... as out of touch as you are," she remarked her voice somber in tone, "but make no mistake, this is a time - that was long coming."

An advisor for the family pitched in, "we recall the day the Sith Empire came marching down with demands for people to wear bands as if we were some bygone fascist regime."

"I also remember how cruelly they dismissed the voices of the non-sensitive, and now the Sith Empire is no more and the new masters' bark just as much, but perhaps display more compassion," one of the other advisors concluded after a moment or two.

Fiolette shook her head and let out a sigh of her own in that private room in the palace, "do you not remember when I personally gave Marcus his choice?"

The former Sith-Imperial appointed governor, Marcus Parlow. He was gutted in his own home, for Fiolette Fortan had offered him a choice - he was to either join the change or be left behind. He chose to be left behind and so he was, in his office left behind in pieces. Fiolette wasn't the neat-polite posh politician that was her daughter and niece. Instead, she was at best, a bull in the shop. "Have the deputy governors finally resigned?"

"They have," confirmed the other advisor who took a deep breath and exhaled. "No doubt the Lord Protector is giving his rousing speech."

"He deserves it, he and the thousands of those who followed him," Fiolette said as she turned to look at the Royal Family and their advisors who now wondered what was to become of them, as she was sure, many aristocrats wondered what would happen to them and the lands they owned, their power, their money. It was indeed a different Galidraan now. "I do not pretend to know what the man has in mind, nor do I know how best it is to help you preserve what you have, all I can tell you is to be prepared for changes."

Fiolette knew one thing was certain much like the change that had arrived at Galidraan now, it would not be permanent, nothing was. The Lord Protector was but one man, and those who followed him were simple men and women, but as the times, they would pass. Fiolette made a solemn promise to outlive them all and see to it that the Lord Protector utilized his powers properly, or be made to pay the price.

She left the palace with a few notes on what to change, how to best prepare for the changes that were to arrive. She was glad that the deputy governors saw to reason, and was there to personally invalidate the Sith Empire's claim on Galidraan. Galidraan was no longer a vassal state of the Sith Empire but was now a free state. Free for as long as the New Imperial Order, said they were free, at least.

The Guv'na

Lt Col. Berach "The Guv'na" Ulrand
Objective 1
Galidraan 70'
Ulrand Family Ranch
Alais Kaun Alais Kaun

Berach flops down into the black leather-wrapped armchair and watches with weary eyes. Still, a smile across his hideous weathered face as Willan's speech is played on state holovision. "we over'hrew one firm ov toffs faw ano'her." Berach raises a long-necked bottle containing a dark alcoholic liquid. "cheers 'o 'he free-s'a'e".

Alais can hear Berach from down the hall. She is in the kitchen swirling a teaspoon in a white ceramic mug filled with aromatic tea.
"Berach." Alais starts carrying the cup with her to the lounge room, where she saw her mentor slumped in an oak armchair wearing a white polo and blueish jeans. "I thought you were mates with Willan and those men".

Berach lets out an ugly wet chuckle. "I am. I like 'hem. Bu' 'he fac' is, darl' i didn'' figh' in 'he imperial army so 'ha' Rurik Fel aw Irveric Tavlar could mit Galidraan 'o a Willan's bloody pride." He turns his eyes to Alais, sitting with one of her bare feet on the couch's surface, cradling a steaming mug in both hands. "Honestly, luv. I'm 'hinkin abou' re'iring, maybe goin in'o poli'ics."

Scoffing, Alais struggles not to spit out her tea. She looks over to Berach with blue eyes and meeting her gaze, Berach's scowl can't help but soften slightly. "Never thought I'd see you retire!" Alais exclaims, gesturing to the wall of trophies mounted on shelves above and around the holovision. "You've been a fighter most of your life. Why retire into politics, why not stay as an Instructor at the Imperial Academy or coach kids in boxing?"

Sovereign Imperator


Iron Skin | Lightsaber

Willan Tal Willan Tal | Erskine Barran Erskine Barran


Though the recent string of defeats against the Brotherhood of the Maw still weighed heavy on the forefront of Rurik's psyche, but even so there was still the moments of revelry deserved in the wake of vaunted triumphs. Galidraan, while yet to ever enter the fold of the New Imperial Order in any official capacity, had been integral to the heart and soul of the Empire since the days following the reclamation of Bastion and the shameful defeat at Dantooine. It was moment of vindication that Rurik's predecessor would've certainly yearned to see in the flesh...but in its stead, Rurik was the reigning Imperator for this moment of glory, as much as it was hardly his own.

The Galidraani Free State was one of the most potent military forces within the Empire, and today- they displayed that in spades once more, beyond the battlefield in this display of decorum and discipline.

Tal's speech was vicious- akin to the demagogic nature of the Lord Protector himself, no doubt fueled by the very triumph he was able to march rampant in. Rurik could relate, Serenno was much the very same of a spiritual reclamation of home for himself.

Following his speech, Rurik was the first to approach the Lord Protector, offering a nod of respect before his gaze drifted toward the marching formations of the valiant sons and daughters of Galidraan.

"Today is a day well earned, Tal. The speech was rather fitting of that. Hopefully...whatever remains of Sith resistance will be stamped down with minimal effort in its wake. Your people sacrificed a great deal as it is. However, if it is in your ability, give your summons to Barran." Rurik commands, leaving the means rather open ended.


Liam Docherty Liam Docherty

Standing among the formations of Galidraani soldiers, Lady Morgana Sinclair grinned wide, glittering eyes turned up toward their Lord Protector as his words rang out on the streets. The ragtag band of misfit heathens she had assembled had earned this. Her brothers and sisters had earned this. Her world had earned this. They had earned it, through their struggle and efforts now penned across the pages of history. Through the labor and toil of their backs and the aid from the New Imperial Order, Galidraan was free of the Sithly shackles burdening it. The woman closed her eyes, allowing the warm breeze to caress her face, broadening her smile further. This was a moment to be savored, more than any other before it. It was the night she had raided the outpost and plundered Sith Imperial fighter craft for herself all over again.

The moment she had struck head from shoulders and brandished her saber high stained with the blood of the dogs who sought to keep her kin oppressed.

The moment her spiraling Interceptor blasted a rival from the heavens for the first time.

This moment was all of those folded a dozen times over and woven into the most beautiful tapestry she had ever seen. Her lashes fluttered apart and from the corner of her eyes, she watched the fidgety rabble-rousers shifting beside her in discomfort at remaining in position for so long. Subtly, the woman's right hand parted from its place glued at the small of her back and smacked the broadside of Raven's thigh in a flash- a silent and a rather ironic warning to stop fidgeting. This brief motion was enough to disturb the tight bun she had drawn her unruly waves into, sending a spritely coil to bounce down central of her forehead.

Nostrils flared as Morgana glared at it, though she dared not move further from her position to correct it.

It was only when the command was given that the woman took charge of her modest band of misfits, snapping to attention to draw the saber at her hip and angle its glinting blade skyward. "WYVEEEEERRRRNS!" her voice bellowed, "FOOORWAARD-HARCH!" The slim band of uniformed pilots stepped forth, ushering themselves onto the boulevarde with their comrades, led at the helm by the very same blade which had founded them.​





"You were born under the same stars...and so we named you after our great forefather, the founder of this House, this bloodline...your bloodline. And you would betray us like this. You and your petty 'Empire' will pay..." The old, greying man, Lothar Geyer donned in ornate and noble finery muttered in the direction of the Imperial Knight before him through bloodied lip. Waymar nodded once in acknowledgement. To return home, to return here, in these circumstances...it threw a knot in his stomach. A moral dilemma to crown them all. But in the end, Waymar would do his duty. He would enact justice, the crusader of Imperial order he was.

"I know, uncle. And it is to this House and my blood that I reserve a great deal of love and compassion toward..." Waymar offered in return, though his voice was largely placid- its sentiment was true and genuine.

The nobility of Galidraan had stewed in corruption and decadence while those loyal to the Sith Empire and their sympathizers brimmed with the fruits of the Imperials of which they'd pilfered the power and resources of to secure their place of power in licking the bootheels of their Sith overlords. But the long reach of justice had reached Galidraan- Empire would reign over this world again and beneath the Iron Sun the sons and daughters of the New Order would bring justice and order to a world tainted by the Sith.

Geyer was one of many Houses which needed to be stripped bare to the foundations, to root out the Sith sympathizers and all those who milked the wealth of this world under the reign of the Crimson Saber. As horrid as it was, Waymar's own kin were as guilty as the rest and the Knight of The Empire he was- he would root out this malfeasance personally, even if it meant shedding the lifeblood of his kin upon his argent blade.

"But you would still betray us...leave us to these...wolves!"
The man said with venom in his tone toward his kin in Waymar, his very nephew you'd now betrayed his house. But there was a deeper context to this seeming 'betrayal'. His uncle had never meant to be the reigning Lord of the House Geyer. That duty rested on the shoulders of Waymar's father. A man who'd passed over a decade ago. The concealed critic of the Zambrano regime seemingly 'ousted' overnight, recordings of vitriolic fervor in opposition to the Sith leading to his summary execution and his brother's emergency seizure of power. The confusion, the distrust all led a newly made man Waymar off world- to become an oathsworn Knight of the Empire, knowing well he'd return home to enact his vengeance.

This...this was that moment.

"No...I'd not so simply...forsake my blood so coldly. The sentence has already been passed in regards to your fate, uncle. The Empire has seen the evidence in your complicity with my father's death...and thus it is only just that the sentence be...and eye for an eye." Waymar says before he willed the hilt of his argent blade to his hand, igniting it with a smooth hiss of the silver crystal flicking to life. He took the hilt of the saber into both hands, raising it parallel with his form before rearing it back to lunge the blade into the man's abdomen, screwing his eyes shut only for the crackle of a crimson saber igniting to meet his own blade drew him into reality once more. The illusion, dissipated and before him- a Sith assassin.

"Were it so easy, Imperial. Shades of the night! Emerge and reap death unto these Imperial dogs!" The Sith shouted in its voice of dark and depraved distortion before swinging the crimson blade down unto Waymar's argent saber once more, leading the Imperial knight to follow through with a parry and riposte, veering the end of the silver weapon toward the Sith's shoulder.

The castle which moments before was under Imperial custody erupted in chaos as carefully placed assassins, terrorists and saboteurs emerged to slay the Imperials to conceal the whereabouts of those the Empire sought initially. To piece together the trail would now be a far more difficult task. But not one as difficult as what they faced down now in the Sith interloping them in their immediacy.
Lieutenant Bragg

Lieutenant Bragg
Objective IIA: No King Rules Forever
Castle Vykern, Seat of House Geyer
Waymar Geyer Waymar Geyer

In the mines beneath Castle Vykern, Daina went to seize one of Geyer's sons. Standing in the shadow of a great drilling machine, the sound of static beckons Lieutenant Bragg to turn in the sounds' direction. With narrowed eyes and a scowl, Daina watches employees become shrouded Sith Assassins clutching glowing red Lightsabres. Daina stood in the centre of a triangle of Stormtroopers in the dark sooty tunnel. The sound of the second squad's men screaming as they're viciously butchered nearby fills Daina's ears.

Narrowly avoiding a lightsabre to helmeted head, Daina cannons a fist through the assailants' mask straight through his skull and burrowing with a squelch through the nervous system beneath. Casting the limp body off with a left-handed slap, that's when Bragg acknowledged her back was against the wall with three Stormtroopers.
"This is Bragg. We have hostiles egress has been compromised. Geyer, do you read me!? Geyer!?! Requesting immediat-" immediately keying up her comlink, she begins unloading her particle rifle in a flurry of precise fire.

It wasn't enough. One of Daina's Stormtroopers flees in a panic. Even though they stand behind the commissioned officer. Rols and Merk fall into bloodied heaps, leaving alone Dark Trooper to cleave through a horde of Assassins and mutated beasts with her weapon. Dropping four spent power packs onto the floor at her feet. Lieutenant Bragg finds a moment of reprieve, and down on one knee with the scent of charred flesh wafting up through her bodysuit into nostrils. Daina glances over her left arm and notes the simmering gouges through her rent armour and rises.

Daina glances over shoulder and briefly examines the mauled bodies of Rols and Merk; trails of red meat burst from their armour lying in a field of their own life-fluid. "Goddess above!". Daina exclaims with uncharacteristic grief, her attention to the path ahead and hears the distant cries of triumphant Sith warriors, noting all but one from second-squad had flat-lined from her helmet's tactical display. "Geyer, this is Bragg. How in the hell are we supposed to hunt down somebody in this mess!?"

Lieutenant Bragg's voice demanded an answer with fiery dismay. "By the Goddess, Answer me, Geyer! We have to get to the shuttles and alert ImpCom. Bar two troopers, first and second squad are all dead!" Pausing for a moment, Daina starts walking through the mine tunnel for her escape.







The past few days and weeks had passed in agonising length, dominated by the fear and anxiety of what was to come next. He had been no fan of the Sith dominated government, but he was no fan of that evil snake and his populist band of rebels that seeked to bring brutal change to Galidraan. He had been among the first in Galidraani journalist circles to pen articles and opinion pieces on the Galidraani insurgents, and he had been among the first to criticise the self-proclaimed 'Lord Protector'. His work called out the man known as Lord Tal to be nothing but a vicious nationalist and snake who served as a convenient front for the now deceased Tavlars plans for Galidraan. And perhaps he had been right, but even as the Galidraani insurgents got closer to the homeworld and even as the Sith governors proclamations of the insurgents being nothing more than a nuisance proved to be increasingly out of touch.

He still kept his journalistic integrity, refusing to change his beliefs on a man he viewed as a threat to Galidraani freedom of speech and the free press even as Tal's wolves closed in on Galidraan. He held out on the increasingly slim slither of hope that the man would die in action or the Sith would lay a counteroffensive; the former never happened, and the latter failed miserably. Now Tal's forces had taken control of the homeworld, and his worst nightmares came true. There had been assassinations and targeted bombings of diaspora and other officials critical of Tal's group, but that that was just child's play compared to what would happen the moment Tal's thugs would arrive in force.

So he had made his plans in advance, buying a family ticket for him and his loved ones to depart for the galactic core, far from Tals incoming autocratic rule and the immediate threat of his men. But his anxieties did not abide as he grabbed another suitcase and passed it to his son, who put it in the trunk of their speeder; he removed a cloth and wiped the sweat from his brow. He checked the time on his watch with a stressed look, the pit of worry building in his stomach with each fleeting moment. They had to get out as soon as possible; they would certainly come for him as they would do with the rest of his colleagues. His wife and daughter sat in the speeder, with his daughter listening to music on her headphones, seemingly oblivious to the situation in stark contrast to his wife, who was ghost white and looking ahead at something in the distance.

He furrowed his brow in confusion and turned around to see six masked figures ahead rapidly approaching, he moved from the speeder and tread cautiously over to greet them. The lead figure stopped and spoke out abruptly as the rest of his men stood in a line.

"Mr Jedd Alan?"


The lead figure lifted up a blaster pistol, and the others pulled out submachine blasters, Jedd eyes raised in blind panic, and he lifted up a hand in futile protest. The last thing he heard as he hit the pavement was the sound of blaster fire and his wife's howl of terror as the men fired on them all.



Fiolette sat quietly writing in her journal, notes to dispatch back to her dearest Kassandra about the events unfolding. Beside her were files compiled over the course of the war about both Willan Tal Willan Tal and Erskine Barran Erskine Barran along with any other Galidraani man or woman who rose to prominence with the New Imperial Order. She studied their files and the personality information, details provided by those willing to give the information to Fiolette's corporate reporters. She sipped her tea and tended to the information provided, for it was without a doubt that Tal as nationalistic as he was could take this for a much darker turn.

In which case, Galidraan did nothing for its freedom and merely handed the yoke of tyranny from one master to another. Word on the street happened to be that the New Imperial Order had arrived; to squash anyone who dared utter the name Sith. Or perhaps, was it to do that and rid Tal of any rivals that might challenge his incoming authority. Barran was a different man altogether, at least on paper she hadn't had the benefit of meeting him. The same could be said for Tal, however, Fiolette did get to meet with his daughters for drinks.

The former socialite wondered if Tal would drag Galidraani women's rights back a few centuries with how misogynistic he could be. Then her niece was right to depart Galidraan when she did, for as it stood, Dosuun resembled more of the old realm than anything else. Often nationalistic regimes tended to be dark on the part of individual rights and civil liberties. She looked at her notes and the files and continued to nurse her tea, and write with what remained of the Fortan estates could or would do.

It was then that a shadow seemed to be cast over Fiolette's table. "Would you mind if I sat here?"

Fiolette's gaze turned to see a woman dressed unique and with an umbrella on her arm. "Please, by all means." She gathered her work, and files and carefully straightened them. Putting everything into their folders and back into her bag, "I seem to be at a disadvantage."

"Where are my manners, my name is Theodosia Crane."

Fio's eyes widened and she gave the woman before her a smile with something of disbelief, "oh, well hello, Aunt Theodosia."

"Hello indeed, dearest Fiolette."

Angry Galidraani

Enedina Tal|New Imperial Order|Galidraan
Tags: Roselina Tal Roselina Tal Willan Tal Willan Tal

Enedina could've never imagined the sheer grandeur and magnitude of such an event unfolding; all this struggle and bloodshed had led to this moment. But for all the joy and festivity in the air, all she felt was the heavyweight of guilt upon her own shoulders. So many of her friends and people had died for this, and they didn't live to see it. Yet, she did, and it bore deep into her very soul. In the rows of soldiers marching below where her and many other military personnel and commanders watched, Enedina could've sworn she saw the faces of her long-dead friends among them. But no, they were gone, and she remained in this life.

Her father cut an impressive figure stood on the podium to her left, although he had become more and more distant with each passing day. Enedina wondered if it had been the same man up there who had been the smiling father who doted on his daughters and sacrificed so much for them. It seemed her own father had become cold and withdrawn; the Galidraani struggle seemed to have consumed him to its very core and made him a different person altogether. Power did corrupt, and though she preyed it not to be true, she had suspicions that such circumstances had changed the man she knew most affectionately as her father.

Enedina wore the same dark naval blue uniform as the rest of Tal's generals and commanders who sat on the stands on either side of the podium, medals adorning her chest showing her service and sacrifices in the Galidraani struggle. Her eyes wandered for her sibling, and she moved from her bench to go look for her. To distract from the thoughts and negative guilt that weighed heavily on her.


TAG: Jaryg Syn Jaryg Syn | Open
GEAR: Armour | 2x
Pistols | Sniper Rifle | Vibroblade | Vibroknife | Grenade loadout



Blitz always took celebrations of any kind with a grain of salt.

He had been fighting against chaos and darkness and survived long enough to know that weeds don't easily die just because of foliage spray. They had to be eradicated, root and stem. So a festive, parade-watching mood did not agree with the Spectre.

Instead, he dove into the obscure areas of the planet along with one other who had caught the old warrior's attention - Commander Jaryg Syn Jaryg Syn . The flamboyant, obnoxious attitude held no value to the Order, but the man's skill in special operations was nigh-incomparable, and in hunting both Sith and Sith-sympathisers, Blitz needed someone that did not shy away from violence like some others the Spectre knew of.

Local word had led them underground - quite literally. The sewer system was vast and the hideout was rumoured to be nestled near to the heart of the city - close below the parliament grounds where vast amounts of military assets and civilians had gathered in celebrations. That was an ambush waiting to happen.

Blitz withdrew the vibroblade from a lookout's back, snapping it back into its hilt while keeping his hand clamped over the dying man's mouth.
"Good to know we are still on the right track." he said quietly through the comms. He had started to wonder if they were still heading in the direction they were supposed to before they stumbled upon this sympathiser.

The body finally went limp in his grip and he slowly lowered it to the wet ground before removing its comm device and rigging it onto his armour to be able to keep track of whatever communications there may be between these remnant individuals. He had no idea if there was still some dar'jetti that spearheaded this covert uprising or not, but he intended to find out.
"If I look at the layout we received, we're coming up on a central junction. We're probably going to get more resistance from there. You ready to lob some heads?" he asked the Commander as he studied the blue print displayed on his HUD.
Into The Mouth of Hell



Open to interaction otherwise I solopost.

So the parade began, punctuating the Lord Protector's speech with display that solidified victory. Eskel sat in a loose shoulder to shoulder line with other officers on the stands just meters from the podium, with a front-row view of the parade. He watched the exhibition of Imperial-Galidraani might, vast stretches of limbs marching and striding in perfect unison. It was almost hypnotic in its machinelike coherence, not a single hand or foot out of standard. Nameless faces, familiar faces, and fresh faces, stoically forward as individuals cogs in the force that brought it all home.

"Did you ever think you'd see this day?" asked an Admiral to his left.

Eskel turned, took a moment to recognize Admiral Quintrell as the man accosting him. "I don't know," Eskel confessed.

"I've dreamed about it every night since I left. I knew we'd be here one day, Ravenot."

"I can only believe it now that I'm seeing it for myself."

"Ye of little faith, aye?" Quintrell chuckled. "I put mine in the Lord Protector, knew he wouldn't let us down."

Eskel glowered slightly, leaned to steal a glance toward the podium. Willan Tal Willan Tal and Rurik Fel Rurik Fel were already mingling to one another. "Faith?" Eskel echoed skeptically. That's a fool's confidence, he thought. "Tal's a man, not a god." It must have been hard not to feel like one, Eskel imagined. At least a little bit, after something so seemingly insurmountable had been overcome. Eskel had more respect for Willian that possibly any other man standing on this very planet, but he was no sycophant. "This isn't his victory, Quintrell. It's our victory. Galidraan's victory. Don't be such a fawner, give yourself some credit."

Quintrell grinned. "Something crawling around in your arse today, Ravenot?" A few of the other men nearby in the stands laughed, having overheard despite the parade and surrounding conversations.

Eskel sighed. "If aimlessness can crawl, I suppose."

"What do you mean, lad?"

"We've made it. Reclamation is behind us now, we've done it. I just can't help but think, what now?"

"Reckon you've got the itch? As long as Galidraan stands, there'll be enemies who want to take it from us. More baskets for your eggs, lad. Don't worry."

"It feels wrong to say this, but I hope you're right. I don't want to become washed up."

Long live Galidraan


Tags: Rurik Fel Rurik Fel Erskine Barran Erskine Barran
They marched in legion before him, from Helgard to Generis and Generis to Serenno and beyond. His men had followed him every step of the way and had endured so much sacrifice to achieve this moment; this victory and outcome yearned so dearly for by many of his comrades. He saluted each and all of the columns that passed, reserving special notice to his personal division 'the fighting first'. He addressed them all as per tradition with a greeting as befitting custom for each column that passed him.

"Greetings, soldiers!"


"Soldiers, you have worked hard!"


He did this for each and every unit, he owed them this honour, and he owed them this day, for it was their day just as much as any. They were all equal in this struggle, regardless of noble origin or not. Any other worries were all but put in the back of his mind, and he had his men and the people of COMPNOR to deal with those rodents. The rat race had begun for those of the opposition and former sith collaborators, many having already fled weeks prior, but that did not matter one bit; his men would find them, and they'd suffer their heinous crimes against the homeworld.

Willan found himself soon face to face with the iron man in the mask, who he'd encountered in the solitude of the groves on Bastion prime. What the two discussed and dealt with was significant, so much so that his own generals knew scant little of the dealings that took place, only that Tal had emerged more resolute than ever. Rurik had come to occupy the proverbial mephistophelean figure in Tals recent weeks, always there, always watching, he had made his pact with the devil, and now the arrangement bore fruit.

"Do not worry about the traitors or the prisoners of war Imperator; they have and will be dealt with accordingly to my own plans; as for Barran, look before you, you will see the triumph ceremony from which we will symbolise the defeat of the Sith forces."

"The Stormchaser"

Calavar City,
Twelve Minutes into the Victory Parade....

The adoring crowds were certainly grander than the scale Lord Erskine had envisioned of the victory-parade in his dreams, with people of all ages and from all the known communities within the movement's showing to cheer and take in the sight of the men who freed them from the Zambrano yoke. Yet the Brigadier-General knew, and had contributed to a portion of the Lord-Protector's other plans, smirking at the realisation that it still wasn't quite sunshine and rainbows, despite all the glitz and glamour of the Free-State's homecoming Victory-Parade; many of the same people condemned for purging had, in fact, collectively turned a blind eye as Lord Erskine's friends from Sandhurst and Faslane were either imprisoned, exiled or executed for daring to exceed the institutions who brought them into the fold. Fear of a coup by hardened veterans, skilled officers and the righteous retribution of the archetypal fanatic they shuddered lifelong apprehension at having to face off against eventually, all things that would drive weak governments, weak monarchs and weakened minds to make ill-advised choices that would ultimately bring about their own ruin in the end.
Always remember this, for the work we do henceforth may obscure the good in what we do.

Lord Ollis would feel this need to clean up with the opposition on Galidraan Station, and almost just as acutely as Lord Erskine, as they had both felt the brunt of the Sith-loyalists' purge of potential threats in the military, and with the funding to fight back on Galidraan III whilst the clan's chieftain tried to bring all the other exiles home, it wouldn't be long before the Stormchaser's hulking cousin couldn't stand his own stir-craziness any longer. Pretty much all the Barrans could feel it, as Faslane was known to be the last puzzle-piece for the Woads before their eventual return to the wildest region on Galidraan's most-warlike habitable planet; no place to run off to, no population to call on for help when the Stormchaser finally graced the Heartlands' with his returning presence, a sight the Blue-Hearts' Lord-Commander was more than happy to wait a little longer for. Black Sgaire's Carracks would offer no refuge for the Sith-loyalist Woads either, and for obvious reasons that most would be able to ascertain by then; and so the opposing Woads of Clan Barran's home province would need to wait for events to unfold, just as their exiled enemies had been, but for so much longer than the traitors who'd forgotten them.

The lashing whip of the word,"Home", in his mind, though it seemingly only whispered itself from within, felt like Sar'andor was healing him on Bastion again for a moment, unleashing shivers that both horrified and pleased him to near-narcotic degrees. It was both Lord WIllan's and Lord Erskine's mutual Memento Mori, their reminder that they would die someday, but also a reminder of what it was all for; one of the many finer nuances to what drove such men so far in the first place, for home, at the root of all things, is what Galidraani men and women had moved mountains to protect for centuries before that day. Turning back to gaze on the marching columns, Barran would feel the goose-bumps properly, knowing the next generations (in all their renewed fervour) had the tools to they needed to uphold that eternal will to protect Galidraan from all invaders for centuries more; knowing that whoever dared set their sights on the Free-State henceforth, in hubris or hatred, would feel a conventionally-driven wrath unlike any they'd ever faced before.


Weston-on-Thames, Calavar Province,
11 Hours Before the Victory Parade....

Lying in bed together, Lord Erskine and Lady Carla would enjoy the comfort of each other's embrace as their heart-rates steadily settled to something leisurely once more, staring into each other's eyes on occasion as they passed a cigarette back and forth between each other. Breaking their rest in exchanging occasional silent kisses as the fireworks continued to light up the night skies outside, it was obvious that after all the years of exile, the Stormchaser's wife was still beyond smitten with the man she'd chosen to stick with, through everything; and in such moments, the inner-strength it had given Lord Erskine over the years had kept him alive through deployments like Ziost, Serenno and Vjun. Viciously, uncontrollably struggling to stay on his feet, to reach deep into himself under severe duress, all from remembering the rock, the pillar of inspiration that was his wife in such moments. In Erskine's estimation, Carla's beauty alone was worth fighting savagely enough to live for, and in consideration of her love, loyalty and affection, the Stormchaser would have his constant reminder that he'd always been strengthened by it.

'Whats on your mind this time?'

'You, an' the fact you could've cut an' run at any point - but haven't, in all that time.', the Stormchaser replied, looking to her lips once more, but kissing with a polite briefness in comparison to the amorous kisses beforehand. A trick that Erskine learned from Carla, as means to let him know that his wife was in a talkative, sociable mood again; neither were the type for hanging on too long, neither were ever perceived as clingy, so these small signals from partner to partner were always noticed quickly throughout their marriage, and without a single hiccup to recall from their time together. Such marriages weren't often seen to be strongly sustained in the late eighth century, (ABY) but were still fortunate enough to be commonplace among every rung of Galidraani society, giving hope and incentive to those who would see what couples like Erskine and Carla could endure together and of each other. The Governess would smile as she returned the gesture, understanding exactly what the Lord-Commander meant in his wording, though kindly disagreeing with a cursory glance at his impeccably-white teeth and a smug tilt of the head.

'An' marry into what family o' Woad-born cave trolls, exactly? All the alternatives are far too ugly to even entertain such a thought - so that's a hard,"No, there was no chance o' cutting an' running.", Erskine. Not even if ye paid me t'leave. Yuck, man!'
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Liam Docherty



Morgana Sinclair Morgana Sinclair

Unlike his jolly commander, the Lady Morgana, he found great discomfort in ranks with his fellow Galidraanis and in uniform. This was not his crowd or scene, although he understood the importance of it. The blood, sweat, and tears of their fight led them to this monumental day with that great Lion tearing down the blasphemous banners that belonged to the once Sith-Loyalists, that were now scattered like rats on Galidraan. The recognition by their Lord Protector did raise up his spirits, but he much rather prefer a loud pub with the smell of ale and whiskey flaring his nostrils; or rather being proactive in weeding out the remaining insurgents that now hid and cowered in dark alleys to plot their mischievous intentions of terrorizing the public.

At least they could move as the columns marched, the temperature did not agree with him and the overwhelming uniform that itched him. He wasn't the only one that shared that sentiment.

Being in front of his fellow squadmates and close to Morgana, Liam made a daring comment to his superior out of desperation from his lack of comfort.

"Mi'lady, when ya think we can drown some points at th'pub? The lot of us 'ave been wan'ing to celebra'e properly."

Of course, he kept composure before passing by the Lord Protector as the Wyverns saluted to their established leader.
Momento Mori

Asa Yubari|Galidraan|Calavar streets
Tags: Konrad Harrsk Konrad Harrsk

Yubari found herself in the confines of a speeder overlooking a junction in Calavar, her only company the distant crackle of the radio and the son of a man she had known so very well. She pulled out a cigarra and lit it, blowing small clouds of smoke that snaked around the interior of the speeder. A funny-looking device with a trigger sat in her lap, and Asa keenly kept an eye on the road ahead in between smoking and the small talk that had took up much of the task so far.
"Quaint, I might never have considered the late Harrsks son would grace us with his presence."
She remarked, turning to look Konrad in the eye; what Yubari thought of Konrad was not blatantly obvious to anyone. The HRD was a tough nut to crack, and she was incapable of real emotion, only able to imitate at best to do her work, but in her own strange limited way, she had cared about Jaeger and when he had died. It seemed a key aspect that had been around her for most of her existence had been snuffed out so brutally.

"You look so much like him." Asa pointed out bluntly before turning her attention back to the road looking for the target. They knew who they were waiting for, Tals own men had given Compnor personnel dossiers on the Sith loyalists marked for execution. The man they were waiting for was a now-former Galidraani security forces personnel Commander by the name of Rufus Donovon. He had been head of counter-insurgency operations against free state-affiliated insurgents in the countryside outside Calavar, killing or capturing a great many men and stockpiles. Now he was forced into hiding, the hunter had become the hunted and intel had provided them with the knowledge of his exact driving routes. Tals men had wired Donovons speeder with a bomb, and had provided Compnor with the trigger in order to distract from the overall mass purge that was taking place.

Roselina Tal


Enedina Tal|New Imperial Order|Galidraan
Tags: Roselina Tal Roselina Tal Willan Tal Willan Tal

Enedina could've never imagined the sheer grandeur and magnitude of such an event unfolding; all this struggle and bloodshed had led to this moment. But for all the joy and festivity in the air, all she felt was the heavyweight of guilt upon her own shoulders. So many of her friends and people had died for this, and they didn't live to see it. Yet, she did, and it bore deep into her very soul. In the rows of soldiers marching below where her and many other military personnel and commanders watched, Enedina could've sworn she saw the faces of her long-dead friends among them. But no, they were gone, and she remained in this life.

Her father cut an impressive figure stood on the podium to her left, although he had become more and more distant with each passing day. Enedina wondered if it had been the same man up there who had been the smiling father who doted on his daughters and sacrificed so much for them. It seemed her own father had become cold and withdrawn; the Galidraani struggle seemed to have consumed him to its very core and made him a different person altogether. Power did corrupt, and though she preyed it not to be true, she had suspicions that such circumstances had changed the man she knew most affectionately as her father.

Enedina wore the same dark naval blue uniform as the rest of Tal's generals and commanders who sat on the stands on either side of the podium, medals adorning her chest showing her service and sacrifices in the Galidraani struggle. Her eyes wandered for her sibling, and she moved from her bench to go look for her. To distract from the thoughts and negative guilt that weighed heavily on her.

Rose sat off to the side of stage, allowing both her father and sister their time in the light. There was a period in her life when the public hadn't even known she was still alive and while that once had bothered her, she now found the autonomy rather... freeing.

Her family would never know the parts she played behind the scenes-- the strings she had pulled and the events she had influenced. Not all battles were fought with knives or guns. A surprising number of wars ended with a promise and the stroke of a pen. She would let her role remain undiscovered, the hem of her dress tucked neatly around her knees. She smoothed it out and smiled at her sister as she approached.

"You know, for a day of celebration you look awfully tired." She scooted to the side, allowing Ededina to fit with her on the bench. "Still not sleeping well?" The woman was too much like her father, always pushing herself at any cost. She gestured to her sister's eyes, a brow raised at the lack of makeup.

"It's going to cast shadows for the pictures."

Enedina Tal Enedina Tal

Theodosia Crane. A name that Fiolette had long forgotten about until now. Theodosia Crane was a woman who before Fiolette was known for her scandals, a woman who yearned to break from the mold that had been put into place for women of the time. She was simply to marry, and marry a man at that and bear heirs to him and his legacy. Theodosia wanted nothing of it, she wanted her own legacy, but then that was the day that Theodosia Fortan died. She died in a terrible accident during one of the Northern Hemisphere's most diabolical storms. Fiolette was only six years old when she attended that closed casket ceremony.

"I, um, I don't um..." Fiolette struggled for the words to describe how she felt.

Theodosia only smiled, all too much like a Cheshire cat as she waved the waiter over, "more tea please, Earl Gray if you have it. Oh, and can we please get a few more scones? I am simply famished." She then turned toward Fiolette and gave her a sweet, sweet familial smile. "My dear, you needn't worry about words, my dearest, dearest child."

Fiolette suddenly felt the air around them become thin, and she felt the ink in her skin burn.

"Oh you have been quite naughty, are those ... Sith spells on your arm?"

She didn't point, not even a nod, and Theodosia knew. "My, my, my you do get around, don't you?"

The accusation was enough for Fiolette's lips to turn upward into a snarl. "I do not like your implications, my dear aunt."

"Please, do take it down a notch, I am simply impressed that someone from my brother's stock managed to do more than simply, breed." Her tone was two-fold in its cold direct deliverance. It was a barb, sharp on its way in and serrated as it withdrew, jagged edges on each word, and Fiolette knew now the woman was simply trying to bait her.

So then, Fiolette relaxed in her seat, "seems quite harsh coming from the dead."

"Ha!" Theodosia exclaimed and then laughed, "dead is the new alive, after all. How do you think the people in this galaxy keep going? They're all just a little bit closer to death, some are closer than they know."

The woman sat across from Fiolette and as she studied her features she began to see a woman who not only had faced down some rather horrific events in their life, but also a woman whose ambitions knew no bounds. It was rumored and only rumored that Theodosia Fortan was gifted in the Force but as it was then, as it is now. Those gifts were looked upon with shame and rather than doing as she was told and keeping her powers down. Theodosia sought training, and knowledge, some of the more forbidden knowledge with a cult on Galidraan known as the Reliquary.

"But I did not come here to start fights, or even upset you," Theodosia began just as the waiter arrived with tea and scones. "I came here to talk to you, dear niece."

"About?" Fiolette prompted as she continued to relax in her chair.

Theodosia made a gesture for Fiolette to share in the tea and scones. "The family, and Galidraan."

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