Dominion In the Lions Den| NIO Dominion of Galidraan

[Rurik Fel]

I M P E R A T O R
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
KNIGHTS OF THE EMPIRE
Iron Skin | Lightsaber
Willan Tal | DECEASED Erskine Barran

​

The spectacle Willan Tal offered by personally facing each unit of the Free Galidraani Imperial State was certainly an admirable sight. Something in the same vein of the late Imperator Tavlar, ever eager to endear himself to the fighting men and women of the Empire. Rurik certainly respected each of them, a sentiment he'd held since the first days of his defection under the Iron Sun. He remembered spilling his lifeblood side by side with the troopers of the 501st Legion on the desolate world 'PL-40122', the very same battle which he'd become...what he was now. Forsaking the cloak for the mantle of iron.

But in the end, as much as he respected and held an obligation to protect and lead them each into battle, he was a man alone. Nigh unrelatable with the stature of his power and certainly unrelatable by the nature of his being to this point. Some even questioned if he was man or machine. But in spite of the ironclad exterior, he was but a mortal man.

He stood aside, letting the Galidraani leaders seize this as their moment of glory as although Rurik certainly fought for the New Order, he was hardly attached to the personal nature of the Galidraani's crusade for the reclamation of their homeworld, as much as it was a parallel to what he'd done himself on Serenno and Bastion.

"I care not for the prisoners of war. Criminals all of them and just punishments will be done unto them. Remember, Tal the Sith have eyes everywhere. They will eventually see this display. Make them writhe in rage over it." Rurik suggested.

 

[Konrad Harrsk]

Calavar Streets // Galidraan
Rika Hiro
​

Konrad's head was leaning on his hand out of boredom for the last hour. He wasn't sure why exactly they had to wait for this supposed Sith Loyalist to show up instead of hunting him down, but this was allegedly the best assassin in the New Imperial Order, according to his late father, and the young Harrsk was far too uninterested in hunting down what he believed were simply rivals to Tal's power pursuit over Galidraan. If it were up to Konrad, he'd have all Warlords hanging from a chopping block and then fed to the sharks.

"Quaint, I might never have considered the late Harrsks son would grace us with his presence."

He threw a glance to meet Yubari's glance, slightly squinting as smoke rings touched his eyes. A droid smoking?? The black-haired assassin shouldn't have been surprised. Both father and son had never seen droids as anything more than just tools, but Asa Yubari of project ERIS seemed to be an exception to his father. In the occasional, or rather rare, father and son times, Jaeger had expressed an opinion on Yubari that did not correlate with his general view of androids. She was special, according to his father, at least. Konrad did not share the sentiment. Neither did he share the belief that a mere droid, no matter how identical to a human, could be the best assassin in the Empire.

"You look so much like him."

"Hmph." he huffed in annoyance at the remark. She wasn't wrong but Konrad always focused on the features inherited from his mother and ignore those that drew him closer to his father. He glanced at the vehicle's side mirror as if to reassure himself.

"Have you been programmed for small talk or are you just bugged?" the half-Kandaran carped with the signature frown everlasting on his face.

 

[Rika Hiro]

Asa Yubari|Galidraan|Calavar streets
Tags: Konrad Harrsk

"We are programmed to be able to do small talk, to put other employees of the state at ease and to facilitate the killing of others," she retorted in a monotone fashion, her hand toying with the trigger of her detonator. Konrad certainly had his fathers traits, but it seemed the son had something wrong with him or it might've been false bravado. Asa calculated that Konrad's likelihood of trying to insult her origins would only increase with each passing minute, but she could tune him out just as easily as she could go into power-down mode. At least the replicant would not be graced with Konrad's angsty retorts there.


"If you would like me not to talk, just say now and avoid the awkwardness that will derive from such an interaction," she offered him no eye contact, preferring to keep an eye ahead and watch for the target. It was her own small way of showing defiance to those that programmed her and controlled her, but her limitations were many and she could only get away with the odd retort within the confines of her programming.







​

 

[Enedina Tal]

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

"Just a lack of sleep and long nights, you know? so much has happened in so little time, and I find myself everywhere at once, it seems." Enedina sighed loudly, painfully reminiscing about all that had happened. If she were to openly speak of her own guilt about all her men that had died, she might've fell into a hideous mess, and that didn't bode well for her own image in the army. Galidraani military culture prided itself on the staunch tradition of soldiering in the face of odds; they had done so in the wake of their casualties on Ziost and Serenno. But she questioned how long any soul could keep up such a facade before they inevitably cracked under pressure.

"It feels so good to be here and strange at the same time? I remember home vaguely, but so much has changed." Enedina pondered what home would be like, for years and years while her father had gone into exile fighting for other powers. In her adolescent mind, she had imagined Galidraan to be almost fairytale-like; her own fleeting memories of the short time she grew up there had been one of the summers spent at the family home and playing chase around the family estate with her sister. But now, she was a grown woman, whose once sheltered views of life had been stamped out and twisted by years spent in Imperial academies and dominated by years of fighting and struggling under the banner of her father's ragtag forces.

"What about you?"​

 

[Raus Garrat]

"Blue-3, you are clear for arrival. You and your mates hold dagger formation, then freefall. Understood?"

"Roger that."

"For Novania..."

"For Novania."

BYOO

5x Imperial Corsairs (Sons of Novania)

VS

30x Sith Apologists
​

Wind whistled by Raus' helmet as his body was rocked by turbulence. Like a sword in the sky they were, righteous and majestic, above the heads of those that would soon come to realize that their way of life was obsolete. There was no room for the Sith in the galaxy any longer, and should that realization be made through force, then so be it. Time and time again these battles were waged, fought, and bled over. Time and time again they will repeat themselves until there are none to lengthen this process.

Synthesized and distributed, betted upon and smothered with greed and the whims of "gods" and those that scoff at the lower zoo of men and women. These are what the Sith were, what they still embody. Wretches all the same.

"Freefall point in view, engage in descent maneuvers."
"Roger!"
"Heard."
"Affirmative."
"Dagger offensive active."

Like meteorites screaming through the air, the band of composite clad men ripped their way out of the clouds and pounced upon their intended prey. Blaster bolts protested this advancement, but completely missing their mark, instead being discarded to the ground, nondescript and without flesh to operate it. Those very fingers and palms that were dirty with the lies and bloodlust of maniacs were now broken and disfigured, and lifelessly twitching away every last pathetic muscle. Knives into skulls, skulls into dirt, until there are none left.

5x Imperial Corsairs (Sons of Novania)

VS

20x Sith Apologists
​

And for what was wrought upon them they shall not forget; lest they lust for the bitter sting of steely blades puncturing their innards and souls. There is no deity that can quench the wrath of the Novanian people, no flood too great to wash them out of existence. They will drink beyond their fill on the blood of those already damned. They will rise.

And those still loyal to the Sith, they will fall. All of them.

Death to the Sith.​

 

[DECEASED Erskine Barran]

3rd Post
THE_WOAD
Location: HOME
OBJECTIVE : AWAIT THE BEGINNING OF THE TRIUMPH

Galidraani Forces: Willan Tal Berach Ulrand Enedina Tal Roselina Tal Morgana Sinclair Liam Docherty Tyrell Lockhart DECEASED Aron Gowrie Michael Barran Eskel Ravenot Amadeus Blackwood Arcturus Tal Hiran Avola Siyarr Ahan-Mitharran Alais Kaun Ollis Barran The Fool Ajaya

Allies (NIO/GA): Rurik Fel Noel Strasza Aemilio Valaar Jax Sloane Cotan Sar'andor Julius Haskler Raus Garrat

Calavar City,
Galidraan
Fourteen Minutes into the Victory Parade....

'As well-earned as this victory feels, I still find myself saddened that Irveric Tavlar never got to see it.'

Passing the threshold of the podium parade-ground itself, the backdrop opened up before the Lord-Commander's motorcade like a mural of victory's manifested definition, like a depiction of what jubilation looked and felt like to warriors like Lord Erskine. Like a panoramic view of every soldier's dream parade, with the nearby crowds on ground level, sporting Free-State and NIO Iron-Sun flags, along with Blood-Red Lion banner miniatures of which contributed to the view-obscuring effect on the food and drinks stalls further back behind them. From behind the crowds and stalls on either side, the idyllic architecture of the Calavaran city landscape would tower for several stories, with slanted and domed rooftops giving way on either side to the sprawling riverside metropolis that represented the peak of their star-system's historic cultural achievements; spellbinding Lord Erskine in ways which he couldn't quite articulate a fitting description, it felt as if time was slowing down for this experience, and the Brigadier-General understood this (in his lifelong superstitious ways) as something very much akin to the dreamlike aspects of consciousness itself.

'Proost, I'd normally slate you for talking like that. But this time, I think I'll agree with you. When our revolution learns to continue on with one of it's forefathers assassinated in it's latter stages, its only natural that we're gonna feel like something's missing - or at least, it'll feel that way until such a loss is avenged properly, eh? Seems like a more realistic prospect now than it did before we left for Carlac anyways.... Can't say I know 'ow it feels for the Blue-Hearts on the matter though.'

Intensified by another round of eerie goose-bumps that would only become more noticeable as the procession continued, the motorcade would come to a halt as Barran noticed the hairs on either side of his wristwatch's golden clasp, standing to attention as the transports in the front veered slightly to the right so the others could complete their drill-movement orders. Watching on as Lord Willan returned to his place in the stands, strolling with a commanding, noble cadence towards a man who was known well by the brave soldiers of the Free-State, Erskine could see that Tavlar's successor had arrived to fill the vacant ceremonial role for the day. With mask and cape completing the look, the surging, surreal rushes that such a sight was giving the Stormchaser, as the realization that the new Imperator had arrived to see the Free-State's victory for himself kicked in, helped bring it all into magnitudinous perspective. In that moment, there was no doubt in Barran's mind that this was quickly beginning to look like the happiest, most blessed day in his long and storied military career, a concept that had felt quite alien to the Woad-born general before that day.

'Rurik is more than enough t'fill that void, Pencin. You'll see it soon enough, as I did. Some might be put off by the,"Madman in the mask.", but when one fights malicious mercury and bloodthirsty raiders over an extended period of time - it's easy to see that a presence like Fel's is exactly what this empire needs now.... An' while I am still grieving over the loss of a great man, I also rejoice at the fact we can celebrate the rise of another. One was a masterful conqueror of the Sith, the other is a powerful Imperial reformer, a sleeping-giant destined to become this century's greatest unifier. We're still in good hands.'

The Captains aboard the Woad's speeder-transport would find themselves silenced, unable to fault their senior-officer's statement on the new Imperator, and yet, the others onboard would feel comforted by the Brigadier-General's words, nodding appreciatively in affirmation as the mechanised and infantry elements filed into ranks on the vehicle's left side. Leaning back in his seat with a smug, leisurely slouch, Barran would let that statement hang in the minds of the others for a while before lazily drawling,'An' the cherry on top? Rurik Fel is also in attendance the-day, see for yersels.', pointing towards the stands beyond and above the speaker's podium itself before reaching into his pocket for his cigarette-pack and it's accompanying lighter. In the act of opening the left door to smoke in peace, the scar-faced Proost would notice and join Barran with his own cigarette-pack after leaving the others to confirm whether the Brigadier-General was telling true or not, taking full advantage of their moment alone together so the Archaisian could quietly ask his Woad-born commander a question or two.

'Milord, I never asked, and I know I should've asked this sooner but.... Do you believe it was right of us to ask Michael to lead in your stead? Be honest now, I can handle it.'

With billowing smoke exhalation, out came a misty cigarette sigh with signs of obvious irritation on his face, the Woad silently locked onto the Archaisian's gaze with a querying look of his own, only to relent with a slow, side-to-side shake of his head as his answer. As he took another drag, Lord Erskine would relent further by shrugging it off and looking to the mass of soldiers and armoured vehicles before exhaling again, clenching his jaw with a disappointment that he could neither prevent or foresee; there was much and more that Proost's Lord-Commander would've endeavoured differently, and plenty more of that the Woad wouldn't have considered endeavouring at all, but Barran also knew there was still scant offerings as to what else his son could've done to prevail under the circumstances. Comforted by the fact his son went above and beyond for Galidraan III, even if it was in his second son's usual weird way, Lord Erskine was gladdened that the urge to lead and wage war on the conventional stage was engrained deeply into the Wanderer's psyche; hoping beyond all reason that Michael's proud Goidelic heritage would help him find spiritual stability, sooner rather than later, as even Erskine could tell his time as a vanguard-commander was drawing slowly to it's natural conclusion.

'Still though, all things considered? Yees did remarkably well under the circumstances, reports on the ground situation in my absence were all quite an entertaining read, an' it's no very often that happens anyways! This is nae secret, as I'm sure you'll know by now..... If ever ye needed perspective on the matter, eh?'

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

Still looking to the skies outside, Lord Erskine's eyes would remain open with thoughts of his past keeping him awake again, though Lady Carla would be sound asleep in his warm embrace, dreaming her vivid dreams as the loving husband cast occasional glances on the love of his life's face, and the peaceful, smirking comfort of her lips as Carla's breathing alone soothed her husband's heart in her absence. Thoughts of Leftenant Jorie and CSM Heggy from Bastion 2, Vostok Grauv and young Karelin, and of Bruenn McHugh when his mind wandered to dwell on the Generis matter; it was like every last one of the Stormchaser's failings as a commander were flashing before his very eyes, made all the more troubling by the light-flashes in the distance seemingly serving as small catalysts for what felt like PTSD flashbacks. However, it wasn't until his memories reminded Barran of the Ziost 2 and Serenno deployments that his emotions took a sharp, darkening turn for the worst, remembering Thomas, remembering the two dead troopers he found in the Carannia subway tunnels; and last of all, remembering what these moments did to damage his mental stability for so long.
Never thought I'd miss hearing the voices in my head.... Feels like aeons have passed me by since.

In the shifting of the Woad's thought-process, drifting off from the darker memories to the good that had come of it all, to the people he'd met along the way who'd survived like he had, Lord Erskine's spirits began to pick up again before long. People like Noel Strasza, Cotan Sar'andor, Alais Kaun, Tyrell Lockhart and several others had become firm friends of the Free-State since Erskine Barran first declared for the NIO in 863 (ABY), people who consequently kept the Stormchaser from perishing to almost every hostile method known to the Galaxy by then. If it had not have been for the other warfighters in the New Imperial Order and Galactic Alliance, (perhaps also the Ashlan Crusade in some instances) Blue-Heart Brigade may never have survived to see future iterations along the way, and in that very same truth, may never have lived to see their homeworlds again. Relieved by this fact alone, Lord Erskine finally relaxed enough that his urge to stay awake gave way for a need to close his eyelids, resting his head on the pillows as the glowing festivities outside continued to illuminate the skies over Calavar.
We'll be home in the Heartlands soon, darlin'. No long t'go noo.

 

[Waymar Dathrohan]

P A L A D I N
KNIGHTS OF THE EMPIRE
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
OBJECTIVE IIa | NO KING RULES FOREVER
CASTLE VYKERN, SEAT OF HOUSE GEYER
ARMOR | LIGHTSABER
Daina Bragg

​

A flurry of argent and crimson danced between the Knight Paladin and the Sith Assassin before eventually, Waymar took righteous retaliation with a saber through the gut of the Sith, twisting the silver blade into the searing flesh before wrenching it to out. Immediately, his helmet was wrought with the distressed communications from his Death Trooper ally in Lieutenant Bragg. While the moment of Waymar staring down his traitorous, deceitful kin seemed larger than life- it was all but a miniscule component of a far larger problem. The Castle's defense force was thought to be surrendered to the Empire and the Knight Lieutenant was thought to be the symbolic arbiter of a seemingly seized fiefdom.

Were it so easy.

<"I know- I know. Get the airspace locked down...nothing enters, nothing leaves. I'll work to regroup with you and we'll...initiate a purge...of this place."> His childhood home needed its sickness purged from the inside out. A difficult order to give, but a necessary one, one expected of the Imperial Knights and the rest who served in the New Order- to put the interests of the Empire ahead of personal attachments.

​

He turned to the 501st Stormtrooper at his flank, barely able to rattle a shot off with the pace of the duel between Waymar and the assassin.

<"Sweep the towers and all the highest floors, we'll work our way down from there and meet with Bragg's unit at the ground level."> The stormtrooper clad in argent and cobalt nodded once to the command, a sergeant by the looks of it before proceeding through with orders dished out through the rungs of command beneath him.

At Waymar's flank, two more 501st Stormtroopers would accompany him in relieving the Death Trooper in desperation, as much as he was confident in her ability to handle herself, it would take a great deal to bog even a single Death Trooper down. But the Sith were capable of expelling great force with a potency in spades over the New Imperial Military. It didn't take very many of them to place them in a state of crisis-but it was in these moments that lessons in leadership came with the trials and tribulations of crisis.

Immediately leaving the corridor leading to the throne room which would've served as the venue of Lothar Geyer's execution, a Sithspawned beast emerged from the humanoid mortal coil of what appeared to be a servant, now a demented beast. The stormtrooper at Waymar's right lifted his rifle, only to be brought low immediately with a savage swipe of a jagged claw and it was left to the Knight Paladin to bring about righteous retaliation.

He surged forward, argent cutting through Sith-flesh only for another savage swipe to dig into his cuirass, sending him back a pace in his stance before he hefted his left hand up to throw a forceful push of his will against the creature. It would be longer than expected before he'd reach Bragg.

 

[Fiolette Fortan]

Fiolette scoffed, "there isn't much of a family to talk about."

Theodosia gave her a small shrug that all but said, 'and?' she didn't care that there wasn't much of their family to talk about. "I'm not here to discuss the officials. I'll leave that to the upstanding citizens in our family such as your niece." She swirled the spoon in the cup of tea, "sugar is so sweet, don't you think, but perhaps too much and you spoil the tea."

"Quite," agreed Fio as she shifted her weight in the chair, "ruins the tea completely."

Theodosia's gaze came to level with Fiolette and all the younger woman could see, was a smile made for the devil looking right at her. "I understand you've been a great deal of help to dearest Wynevere." She stated quietly with a pointed edge on each word it seemed, gingerly Theodosia raised the cup of tea to her lips. "I've also heard a rumor that the seat to Eceni waits for you."

The redhead looked down at her own cup of tea, the black liquid only shown a small portion of her reflection. "Andrasta Court," she began and then looked up at Theodosia who by now had taken a scone and placed it near Fiolette. "Grandfather Fredar's only heir, black listed from family records, how tragic."

"It is quite a tragedy," Theodosia agreed, "however, the seat remains open and I have no doubts that the worms who call themselves Fortans have called upon you, the woman they discarded."

"Discarded? That's awfully generous, though I suppose it's better than dead," which is exactly what they did to Theodosia.

Theodosia inclined her head in agreement and continued, "but ol' Theodosia Fortan had a wonderful life."

"As did Fiolette Fortan before she was made to leave," it was odd to speak of herself in a third person, but it was the truth of the matter. High societal types of the time were not allowed to even think of the word divorce, let alone get one. She had been reassured later on that had she been more forthcoming with the crimes committed against her, that this all would have gone on a lot smoother. Fiolette didn't believe it, Galidraan was and could be quite a harsh place for women. It wasn't until more recent times that women were seen as more than just property. "I'm still not sure what any of this has to do with you crawling out of your casket to find me, dearest Theodosia."

"Well, if you would eat your scone like a good girl, then perhaps, we can leave Thames and head to Calavar. I hear it's all the rage." Theodosia went on to say.

Fiolette rolled her eyes, "perhaps I shall refrain from the scone, this tea, and you. I want nothing to do with Calavar nor the festivities of those clamoring over one man. Not after this system bled for its freedom to be rid of the Sith, it seems they are all too eager to throw themselves under the yoke once more, this time for someone of their own making."

"We are a prickly one, aren't we?"

"I cannot blame you and I find myself in something of an agreement," Theodosia remarked as she then took some time to eat the scone. Fiolette sighed in her seat and looked away from Theodosia briefly. Taking into view the city of Thames and all its beauty, the old and the new, all that Galidraan was and could be in one city. "When I was left for dead, I thought. I thought if all I had in this life was my family, and that my family had beaten me as they had... then perhaps I need nothing from this life."

Fiolette's attention shifted back to her aunt.

"Then, then my wife, the woman who I had confessed to loving before my own father. Saved me," confessed the older woman, "you see, in my day. We had to keep our activities quiet and to add insult to injury, I was gifted in the Force. Gifted in the ways of magic and attracted to the fairer sex." Theodosia watched to see if Fiolette was following along, and when she was sure she was she pressed onward. "Our family, our wonderful family, have always been beholden to traditions..." Her voice trailed off, almost on purpose as she played with the scone in her hand. "Then I suppose that is why the true Fortan line is dead."

"And those that are alive, are the ones who were never meant to be part of such... Perfection."

"What is it, Theodosia? What have you to say then?" Fiolette questioned almost angry at the thought of the woman daring to speak the truth. For the truth was that those who were listed as "official" and "true" Fortans were beholden to archaic and at times barbaric traditions. Everyone has their place and role in life, there was a reason why they were left there, a reason why women were to simply be quiet and marry. Those thoughts, in this patriarchal society the ones that choked the life from progress.

Theodosia put the scone down on a napkin delicately, all the while she took her cup of tea and began to nurse it once more. When she set it back down, she answered Fiolette. "I say that perhaps you should establish your own House Fortan, your own line. What was true and pure to those who are no longer with us, is now gone. Those who are left are no longer Fortan in name, and while they possess the blood of one. They are not our concern any longer, the days of your father, your brother, my own father, and his kin, are gone."

"I say, rather ask politely, my dear niece. Why not let us start House Fortan anew."

 

[Tyrell Lockhart]

1st Dunwall Irregulars (The Devils of Dunwall)

Call Sign: Devil One

Location: CLASSIFIED

Tags: Willan Tal , Enedina Tal , DECEASED Erskine Barran , Berach Ulrand, Morgana Sinclair , Eskel Ravenot , Fiolette Fortan, Roselina Tal, Hiran Avola , Siyarr Ahan-Mitharran , Konrad Bolter , Alais Kaun

Part One: Adjustment Period

Tyrell never liked sitting at a desk. The one provided him by the Free-State was comfortable enough, but sitting at a desk left him feeling uneasy... stagnant. He would often catch his foot furiously tapping on the office floor, resulting in a drink from his flask and a long exhale. Offices are for the rich and the old, he would think to himself as he looked over the countless bits of information displayed on his holo. Fortunately, it wouldn't last long.

"Hello, Tyrell."

He looked up from the desk to see the familiar face of Zed, the man that had sent him on countless missions in the name of Galidraan. The one that sent many of his men to bleed and die. Tyrell's eyes narrowed as Zed approached the desk, watching his every movement with immense scrutiny.

"It's General Lockhart now, Zed."

Zed's usually slimy smirk produced itself upon his face as he took the liberty of sitting across from Tyrell.

"Oh come now, surely after all we've been through, we can forgo the formalities?"

Tyrell's stone gaze didn't budge.

"No."

Zed's chit-eating grin disappeared, and he stared at him in silence. Zed wasn't the kind of man to let a person walk all over him, but then again, most people weren't Tyrell Lockhart. After a few moments, the silence finally broke, and that damn grin came right back.

"Very well then, General. I'm sure you heard that Galidraan will soon be ours. I assume you and the rest of the DI will be there."

Tyrell leaned in toward the man, the frustration now fully visible upon his rugged face.

"Get to the fethin' point, Zed. You an' I both know you aren't one for small talk."

Zed pulled a datadisc from his pocket, sliding it across the desk. Tyrell stared at the datadisc for a while, wondering if he would rather take it, or put a blaster round into Zed. The man had been using the DI like a pack of dogs through the entirety of the war, and while they were willing to oblige, Tyrell didn't take too kindly to the air of superiority that the man maintained. Not wanting to sully his new office with the stench of Zed's corpse, Tyrell opted to take the disc, inserting it into the projector within his desk. The holo display lit up with a list of names, each accompanied with a full dossier. It didn't take long for Tyrell to realize what he was looking at.

"So, you found 'em all, eh?"

"Yes. The location of every major Sith loyalist on Galidraan is on that disc. I have been instructed to ask the DI to handle the situation."

"Ya know, we aren't yer fethin' scapegoats anymore, Zed. I don't 'ave to take orders from ya anymore."

"Yes, I am well aware of our new... professional dynamic. But you and I both know that you're going to take care of this. Isn't this what the DI have wanted all along?"

He was right, and Tyrell hated him for it.

"Right, well, I 'ave work to do, and yer takin' up my time. Best get yerself outta my office."

Without a word, Zed quietly got up and proceeded for the door.

"And Zed... I don't wanna see yer mug in my office again."

Part Two: A Long Time Coming

Gallows Pole

"No, please, you've got it wrong! I didn't do anything!"

The man struggled as the DI dragged him through the lowers levels of the dimly lit home, tugging at the arms that kept him at bay. At the end of the dark hallway was the man's wine cellar, with Tyrell waiting therein.

"I'm telling you, I did nothing wrong!"

The two members of the DI propped the man to his knees, and he found himself looking into the eyes of the madman himself. Tyrell looked down to him with a hellish look in his eyes.

"Are you not Aldric Brand?"

"Wha... of course I am!"

Tyrell let out a sigh.

"Right, well then, Aldric, you listen 'ere. You've been accused of supportin' the Sithie efforts 'ere on Galidraan. 'Ow do you plead?"

Aldric stumbled with his words for a moment, unsure of what to do.

"I... not guilty. Of course I'm not guilty!"

Tyrell knelt down, meeting the man at his own level as his cold stare pierced his soul.

"Yer a fethin' liar."

Standing back up, Tyrell motioned for the DI to bring Aldric to his feet.

"String 'im up, lads!"

A makeshift noose was made, and promptly slung over the rafters of the cold cellar. Aldric's face became a manifestation of pure horror at the sight of his own fate as he was forced onto a stool, the DI quickly tightening the noose around his neck. Among his murmurs of sorrow and desperation, only one word could be made out...

"Please... please..."

Tyrell's eyes narrowed, his hands folded behind him back.

"For yer crimes against Galidraan an' 'er people, you've been sentenced to death... by order of the Dunwall fethin' Irregulars."

The stool was promptly kicked out, and the murmuring ceased.

"Make sure there isn't any trace of us. Remember, we're painting a tragic story 'ere. Just another Sithie loyalist who couldn't 'andle going on without their masters."

Turning his attention back to his men, Tyrell took a moment to gather himself before speaking.

"Right, so, who's next on the list?"

The creaking of rope against the durasteel rafters was all that remained as they quietly left the room.​

 

[Willan Tal]

LORD PROTECTOR
GALIDRAANI FREE STATE
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
Rurik Fel DECEASED Erskine Barran

​

And as expected, Erskine and a select cadre of officers marched with the captured Sith banners and moved into position before the podium in neat order. Triumph ceremonies were a central part of Galidraani military tradition, but such ceremonies had scarcely been performed in years, and this one had been the largest in recent memory. And the significance of it was not lost on anyone's end, for the Galidraani forces had captured multiple Sith battle banners and other trophies. In Erskine's hands lay the flag of the Galidraani Sith division that had fought his own men time and time again, brothers they might've been and separated by a third power they were but this capture of their banner and the Sith divisions subsequent annihilation was hugely symbolic. Moreover, casting the banner of the collaborator forces first sent a message of Tal's parties triumph over the enemy and the emergence of the new order over the old one. But, all formality and pomp aside, one had to acknowledge that these ceremonies were just a highly sophisticated way of humiliating your defeated foe.

"ATTENTION!" A strained shout from the head of Tals elite soldiers called for the troops on either side of the podium to stand to and salute the passing men who carried the banners. Willan tidied himself out and addressed Barrans honour guard with all the formality and protocol expected of the ceremony.

"On this eve of our people's victory, we give thanks to our soldier's eternal courage and bravery, and in honour of our victory, we lay the banners of the defeated legionaries and add them to the halls of our triumph as witnessed today."

Tal raised his hand in the air, pausing in his speech before continuing as his gaze met the masses that roared in approval. He looked down, and met Barrans stare, Tal smiled and nodded to his old friend.

"PRESENT ARMS"

​

 

[DECEASED Erskine Barran]

4th Post
THE_WOAD
Location: HOME
OBJECTIVE : LAY THE ENEMY STANDARDS DOWN

Galidraani Forces: Willan Tal Berach Ulrand Enedina Tal Roselina Tal Morgana Sinclair
Tyrell Lockhart DECEASED Aron Gowrie Michael Barran Eskel Ravenot Amadeus Blackwood Arcturus Tal
Hiran Avola Siyarr Ahan-Mitharran Alais Kaun Ollis Barran Konrad Bolter The Fool Ajaya

Allies (NIO/GA): Rurik Fel Noel Strasza Aemilio Valaar Jax Sloane Cotan Sar'andor Julius Haskler Raus Garrat

Calavar City,
Galidraan
Sixteen Minutes into the Victory Parade....

'ATTEEEEENTION!!!'

With cigarettes stubbed out and put into Proost's empty pack, the Archaisian would hear the chaplain's general order for the formation to stand to attention behind them, reaching into the transport-speeder to snatch up both the Sith banners they were ordered to place at the base of the Galidraani podium as the entire parade-square came to a drilled standstill; Barran would see Pencin and a couple others grabbing the other Sith-loyalist banners and stepping out the other side, awaiting the Blue-Hearts' best strategists as they walked around the front side of the vehicle to join the third select officer. Other banners from the Zambranos' forces and plundered trophies of high-significance to the Free-State's constant fight on two fronts, on the home-front and the Galactic grand stage respectively, would be brought out from within other vehicles in the motorcade behind the one they'd travelled in, forming up behind Pencin and his non-smokers already by the time the Woad and the Archaisian had calmly marched their way round to take their place at the head of the small, decorated drill-formation.

'On this eve of our people's victory, we give thanks to our soldier's eternal courage and bravery, and in honour of our victory, we lay the banners of the defeated legionaries and add them to the halls of our triumph as witnessed today.'

With their enemies' standards tucked under their left armpits, along with the prized trophies held on cushioned plinths with each allocated devotee placing both hands underneath to provide balance and support for each and every higher-value offering for the triumph ceremony, the motorcade-transported procession of victorious officers would wait, (whilst Barran, Proost and Pencin stood to attention with the three most important enemy standards just five paces ahead of the others) as Captain Brand was waiting for the cheers and applause to die down before proceeding with his duties as the ceremony's drillmaster. Everyone's eyes were on the ceremony's parade-square, and had been since Lord Willan stepped up to grace the podium, but it felt to Lord Erskine like they were the only ones there; as his ears were tuning out to listen for the Hero of Ilum's voice, much like every other soldier there, including the Lord-Protector himself. Tilting head slightly, Tal would join the procession in tilting head towards the expected ground-zero of the AFV-commander's next drill-movement order, but would quickly turn his attention towards his Woad-born subordinate as the eventual commencement was roared out by Captain Brand.

'PRESENT - ARMS!!!!'

With a brotherly smile and a kindly nod, Lord Willan would find the same sentiments returned, though instead of a smile, Lord Erskine's usual endearing smirk would accompany his replying nod. All the vehicles, rifles and the likes would be swung towards the podium in one ceremonious swoop, all pointing to the sky as the procession paced forward in formation for nine paces before the three ranks of junior officers halted first. Next to halt would be Proost, halting three paces later and pivoting on the spot to face the three-ranks procession and parade-square respectively, with Pencin halting three paces after his Archaisian comrade and facing left and space out enough for Barran to halt freely three paces later, with the lattermost facing the podium and placing the Galidraani-Sith banner on the ground like the other Sith banners behind him. From there, Erskine would lead an,"On-three.", count to synchronise their forward-kneeling motions, placing the enemy standards next to their parade-shoe wearing left feet then drawing their officer-issue rapiers in time to Erskine's unsheathing of the famed basket-hilted Vibrosword.

The Stormchaser would remain kneeling, symbolically offering up his sword for the cause and bowing his head as the rising subordinates kept their rapiers facing outward and tilted towards the Calavar sky, signalling Brand in the distance to lead,"The Mechanised-Infantry Creed of Galidraan.".

'FOR LORD BARRAN-'

'-LORD TAL, AND FEL - IMPERATOR!!!! WE BLEED FOR THE NEW ORDER!!!!'
'-LORD TAL, AND FEL - IMPERATOR!!!! WE BLEED FOR THE NEW ORDER!!!!'
'-LORD TAL, AND FEL - IMPERATOR!!!! WE BLEED FOR THE NEW ORDER!!!!'
'-LORD TAL, AND FEL - IMPERATOR!!!! WE BLEED FOR THE NEW ORDER!!!!'
'-LORD TAL, AND FEL - IMPERATOR!!!! WE BLEED FOR THE NEW ORDER!!!!'
'-LORD TAL, AND FEL - IMPERATOR!!!! WE BLEED FOR THE NEW ORDER!!!!'

Pencin and Proost would then sheathe their rapiers, backpedal two paces away from the standards they'd placed on the flat-paving stones between the three-step stairwells that led to Tal's podium, then turn to march to the left side of the officers' procession. Settling into the front rank of the formation as Barran remained kneeling with head bowed, holding up his claymore by the tip of it's blade and the pommel in the most humble of gestures, the two other standard-bearers would gaze on as the Stormchaser awaited his order to ceremoniously rise and gesture the continuation of his duties as the Lord-Protector's second-in-command. Their part in the ceremony had gone by without a single hitch on the way, an omen that would've been viewed by the Free-State's more superstitious soldiers as both lucky and blessed for their future outings as Imperials, and as far as Barran saw it, also vital to their morale in the hard fights expected of them in the near future.

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

Just like Carla, deep in his sleeping, dreamy state of wonder, Erskine would be fortunate in the fact his soul relented enough to allow him enough rest for the following day's proceedings; taking full advantage of the few hours he needed to sleep for a full day's worth of energy, and taking full advantage of the peacefulness in his life while it still lasted, the Lord-Commander of Blue-Heart Brigade would somehow find himself wishing it would all last just a little longer than anticipated as he waded through the forested haze of his dreams. But then a tribal mask appeared before him, materialising in the distance, pulsating in a bright scarlet hue of the likes Barran had never seen before, neither in his wildest dreams nor in the many Galactic realms he'd seen with his conscious, calculating eyes. Soon the forest itself would melt away for the realm that would briefly replace it, though the Stormchaser would never know how deep into this entity's realm he'd been brought, finding himself atop a mountain and staring on the myriad of psychedelic colours as the unidentified mask framed their opening question, nodding in silent greeting as everything else began to come into focus around them.

Are the Novanians better off with your kind? Truly? Are they.... Safer, Woad-born?​

'Your chosen people's ways aren't all that compatible to those of a monotheistic Galidraani majority, and I doubt they ever will be, but rest assured they won't vanish for as long as they remain kindly predisposed to the New Imperial Order.... But now I'm curious - who are you? An' please be honest, as I've been more than upfront with you under the circumstances.'

A breeze would run through his mind like a gale-force torrent of clarity of the likes Barran had never known before, inducing even more visual delights as the mountaintop itself revealed the same gateway Erskine's son had seen in his recent veering off from cultural roots, though Barran would have no clue exactly how great this honour was in comparison to those bestowed upon Lord Michael, nor of how much farther he'd travelled into this realm than was permitted of the Wanderer, and in stark contrast at that. Both the mask and the Stormchaser knew that the latter was in a place where no other mortal would ever have the right to be, and yet the welcoming nature of this entity was doing a great deal to put Erskine's dreaming mind at ease somehow, confirming without even trying that they both accorded on more than just the issues at hand. Realizing then that he was conversing with some sort of deity or god, Lord Erskine would then bow his head respectfully, allowing the celestial visitor in his dream his due space and time to speak of his own accord, returning a kindly courtesy in the process.

You're quite right, my friend.... My name is Melarran, and I will leave your people alone now.​

'So you are a god then, it's an honour to meet you, and an honour reaching an accord as well. Peace is assured, and my end of the bargain will be kept. Find them an Imperial leader, and fate will do the rest.... Farewell, Melarran. It was an honour making your acquaintance, brief though it was.'

 

[Ishida Ashina]

OBJECTIVE ONE | GALIDRAAN | CALAVAR CITY
STORIES ARE LIGHT, AND
LIGHT IS PRECIOUS IN A WORLD SO DARK.
Aiko Hayata

​

'FOR LORD BARRAN-'

'-LORD TAL, AND FEL - IMPERATOR!!!! WE BLEED FOR THE NEW ORDER!!!!'

The display was certainly ceremonial, and Ishida leaned forward in her seat with a thoughtful sound buzzing at the back of her throat.

Despite the stark contrast in Galidraani culture to the Atrisian serenity she'd grown up with, the careful, rhythmic and synchronized execution of the arms display drew flashes of nostalgia from her childhood. The armoured, brawny silhouettes of the Galidraani weren't anywhere near the silhoeuttes she was familiar with, but when each sword caught the light with their lifts, she was reminded of the early dawns among students in the courtyard of the Ten Thousand Waterfalls Dojo. And in that reminiscent state, she became thoughtful. She'd heard of these warriors and their tenacity, and now they were exuberantly celebrating their seeming rewards. Reclamation of their homeland. An intimate and important affair.

~They are very loud.~ Ishida observed, keeping her tone hushed –– even by a polite society's standards, but she leaned back enough for it to be conversational to the mogul she sat with.

Lady Hayata had access to many worlds, and many contacts and a combination of both those connections made accessing the most intimate and patriotic celebrations easy. It was something Ishida was quickly realizing, and taking careful note of the necessity to have two (at least) faces if she wanted more doors to open for Hebo and its inventions.

She'd never been to Galidraan –– never had a reason to be here. What was a Carp amidst Lions –– and she supposed that was another similarity she might have shared to some of the soldiers in the parade that readily brandished their arms in celebration. This might have been the first time that they too touched down on home soil.

Such devotion to a planet they'd only heard stories of.

~And big.~

 

[Ollis Barran]

"Well, Ollie, whit's the plan this time? Considerin' ye've declined tae visit the celebrations an aa. Ye cannae just enjoy yoorsel for a wee minute, can ye?"

Ollis looked away from the small spotting scope he held, his heavy glare falling squarely upon the lieutenant of his that had spoken up. "An I reckon ye'd be one for the pageantry, aye?" came his gruff reply, sarcasm dripping from every word. "Nae, ye glaikit lecher, I ken where I'd find ye, droolin' all over yoorsel while pretendin' the braw, bonnie lassies in the pub werenae intent on escapin' yoor clutches." He shoved the scope into the other man's hands, nearly knocking him over with the rough shove. "Think afore ye speak in the future, Niall. I hate parades."

Ollis pushed himself up from the ground with a grunt, standing to his full height. Up ahead, he could see the target of the day's work. A small estate, situated deep in a considerably narrow glen. Not much good for any use of the land, but a perfect retreat for a man with nothing more to pursue in life than leisure.

Until the Sith had retreated, and the New Imperial Order came to his threshold.

"Mak sure the lads are ready tae storm the grounds. First one wi' blood on his knife gets a pint on me." Then he took his great sword in hand, and began to hike on up to the gates of the estate. Not for the first time making such a brazen show, his skin crawled the entire way, though he'd never show it to his boys. The chance that a sniper could stick out from a window and fire a shot at him was quite high, and he'd sacrificed all cover for the sake of shock and intimidation.

Someone out in the courtyard looked up, noticing him, and ran inside the building itself. The gate itself swung shut, barring his entry.

And all was quiet for the remaining walk, save the thoughts and emotions that boiled within the mind of the elder Barran cousin.

He gazed almost disinterestedly at the gate to the courtyard, unsheathing his sword. The light hum of its sonic vibration cells filled the air, but more noticeable even than that was the barest hint of silvery light that seemed to dance along the edge, nothing more—as the ever-supertitious Woads would claim, anyways—than a trick of the eyes. But Ollis knew better.

So did the gate, as the blade cleaved through it with no more trouble than a normal sword cutting into a branch. He hacked once, twice, and a third time, and the gate at last fell open to his passage as the lock itself was entirely destroyed. The estate remained hush, presenting the facade of a home left empty; and with but a few more steps, he stood in the center of the courtyard, his glare levelled on the purposefully-darkened windows.

"Sillbhain!" he shouted, his voice echoing through the valley. There was no reply. Ollis's expression shifted from disinterested to annoyed. "SILLBHAIN!" he yelled again, louder, as though threatening to level the building through nothing more than the power of his own voice. As the echo died, he heard others, inside the estate; hushed, panicked tones, urgent, demanding; one curtain, up high, shifted—and as his eyes drew upwards to meet the disturbance, he saw not a rifle barrel, but the hand of a young man.

Nae, he thought to himself after a moment. A boy.

His annoyance grew to wrath, the flames stoked higher by the lord of the estate's lack of response and his refusal to plan ahead, to even get children taken out of harm's way.

"DERMOT SILLBHAIN, YE COUART BASTARD! COME YE OUT, YE LUBBART, AN' LET US SETTLE OOR DEBTS!"

That last one seemed to do the trick. The sounds stirring within the house could not be missed, now; and before long, the door opened, and out stepped the minor lord Dermot Sillbhain of Glen Luath. A weak man, long since grown fat and soft through years where the hardest work he'd had to do was lift food to his mouth. Ollis almost pitied the man.

"Whit's the meanin' o' this, lad?" the Sillbhain snarled—or rather, he tried, but where he thought to make an intimidating growl, it came out more like a scared pup's whine. "Some commoner like ye's git nae busin—" His words cut off in a startled yelp, prompted by nothing more than Ollis taking a single, menacing step forwards.

"I am nae commoner, Sillbhain, an ye ken that fact better than maist," the hulking Barran replied, his words coming out in a hiss. Sillbhain stepped back, hiding behind his threshold, even as Ollis took another step forward, his glare never leaving Sillbhain's own eyes.

"Noo, Sillbhain, I'll gie ye this opportunity," he rumbled, his fingers tightening around his sword. "Ye can duel me here an noo, an I'll tak that whit ye awe me. Yoor bairns an any else wha think tae surrender can live free. An if ye kill me, here in Glen Luath, ye'll hae naught tae be afeart of for the rest o' yoor life. I told bonnie Erskine tae mak sure o' it." He raised his left hand, making a hooking motion with one finger.

Bidden by their leader, thirty warriors, all surrounding the estate, rose like ghosts from an ancient bog, and quietly began to march. Ollis heard someone within the estate gasp; even Dermot Sillbhain's eyes looked ready to burst from their sockets in shock and fright.

One by one, each of his fighters shed their camouflaged cloaks, standing at the outer gate of the estate, rifles in hand.

"An if ye deny me this satisfaction, Sillbhain, I'll mak sure the histories ne'er can forgit why yon bonnie glen is ca'd the glen o' ashes." He lowered his hand, sword hanging loosely at his side. "Whit'll it be, Laird Sillbhain? I'll be remindin' ye, this is mair than ye'd gien tae me an' my kin in the past." Sillbhain stared at him, aghast, afraid, and immediately slammed the door.

Ollis stood, still, deathly quiet, closing his eyes in silent acceptance of the rebuff.

"Sae be it, Sillbhain."

He opened his eyes again, and raised the pistol he'd made for himself. With a single, well-placed shot, Lord Dermot Sillbhain's front door disintegrated entirely. The space beyond was completely empty, Sillbhain already having made his hasty retreat somewhere deeper within his mansion. He turned to his men, who were already running up towards him. "Spare the children, an' bring Sillbhain oot tae me," he said, before turning his head gravely back to the now-empty doorway.

His men needed no further words. Grim-faced, blasters and knives in hand, they stormed into the estate of Glen Luath. Ollis closed his eyes again, doing his best to ignore the screams that soon came from deep inside the mansion.

 

[Konrad Harrsk]

Calavar Streets // Galidraan
Rika Hiro​

He averted his eyes away from her and back to the task at hand, shifting the topic to the mission they've been employed to jointly carry out. A rare instance of COMPNOR and the Army's Mil Intel interacting. Konrad assumed it had to do with the increased scrutiny COMPNOR faced after the death of his father, but if his command expected him to report any 'oddities' from COMPNOR operatives - they were out of luck.

He had his own agenda to further.

"Why is COMPNOR working to eliminate Tal's opposition? That should've been his own matter to deal with his own resources." the black-haired assassin asked. Of course, if it was up to him none of this would've mattered - there would be no Tal, no warlords, and everyone would fall under the thumb of the Empire or perish.

 

[Arcturus Tal]

Commodore Tal | New Imperial Order | Galidraani Free-State

Tags: Willan Tal , Enedina Tal , DECEASED Erskine Barran , Berach Ulrand, Morgana Sinclair , Eskel Ravenot , Fiolette Fortan, Roselina Tal, Hiran Avola , Siyarr Ahan-Mitharran , Konrad Bolter , Alais Kaun

The speech was well-worded, and the parade well-choreographed; a man from Galidraan could not expect greater from his people, nor his uncle...

His uncle, the man that had seen this moment to fruition. The man that had led their people into the crucible time and again, and saw them through the abyss every time it had tempted to claim them. This man, his uncle, had always been a hero in his mind; perhaps, even mythically so. And yet, Arcturus could help but to wonder...

Was his faith well-placed?

He stood among the others at Willan's back, taking his place among the family that he had once sought approval from. His uncle's words did warm the heart, he had to admit, though he couldn't shake the feeling that dark tides were on the horizon. Perhaps they wouldn't be today, but he felt them nonetheless.

As the speech concluded, Arcturus took the opportunity to leave the stage, taking solace in the company of his good friend Quintus, who had stood next to him every step of the way.

"Quite the passionate speech, eh Commodore?"

Arcturus place a soft hand upon the man's shoulder, a small token of his appreciation for his efforts.

"Quintus, when have I ever asked for you to address me by rank?"

The response was one of uncertainty.

"Well, sir, I just felt it to be appropriate, what with your uncle's new station, and all."

Arcturus offered him a reassuring smile.

"You have always been a true friend. People like us don't have many of those. Please, lets keep it cordial."

The nod in response was still ridden with protocol, causing Arcturus to change the course of discourse.

"Lets go grab a drink, shall we? We have both worked so hard for this moment."

He was met with an understanding nod, and the two left the stage. As they made their way away, Quitnus leaned in to him.

"Tell me sir, are you sure we are on the right path? Tell me, and I will believe. I need to hear it from you."

Truth be told, Arcturus did not have the answer. His time spent away from his people had left him often wondering if they were truly on the right path. No matter the future, however, he knew one thing; they had done well thus far.

"Quintus, I do believe we are on the road to greatness. Should that ever come into question, I will be the first to speak out. For now, let's revel in the fact that we can once again call this place home."

The commander finally resigned to the triumph and splendor, and allowed Arcturus to direct them to the closest bar.​

 

[Roselina Tal]

Rose smile, her words simple and understated.

"I am fine."

If that's what one could call returning to one's birth path after years of exile. Fine. Truth be told she could hardly remember the place. Maybe that was just because her disfigurement had always kept her indoors, or maybe she had simply been too young. Rose didn't like to linger on the past, a fact she had never been forced to face until this moment.

She looked around for a moment, a comment lingering on the tip of her tongue. "I remember it being... grander. It looks ... surprisingly... just like the rest of the universe."

And yet, they had spilt all that blood to return here.

People were possessive like that.

She shoved the thought behind a dry smile and regarded her sister. "I take it father is pleased?"

 

[Willan Tal]

LORD PROTECTOR
GALIDRAANI FREE STATE
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
DECEASED Erskine Barran Rurik Fel

​

After the banner ceremonial duties, Tal saluted Barrans entourage and turned leftward to salute the flag of his armed forces before turning to address the crowd once more as tradition dictated.


"Let it be known, let it be known to the entire galaxy, that the old Galidraaaaan is no more; instead, it has emerged from the fires and ashes like a phoenix reborn! Long live Galidraan and the people! Galidraan lives and marches on!"


And with that, the last of his parade speeches were done in spectacularly dramatic fashion, as the last of the parade troops marched over the distant rise and into Calavar, where they would march throughout the city in the festivities that would follow. Tal withdrew from the podium to find Rurik Fel waiting for him, he nodded in acknowledgement and waited for Erskine to join the duo up on the area behind the podium.

​

 

[Aiko Hayata]

Business Trip|Galidraan| Calavar
AIKO HAYATA, CEO OF HAYATA CORP
TAGS//: Ishida Ashina

~Oh, I know, I've met some of those men and women before, and I've seen the holonet reports; it seems the Galidraanis are reborn anew.~

She chuckled lightly, taking a light sip from her cocktail as Ashina and her watched the parade and ceremonies take place. Aiko kept a tab on the entire conflict; she might've sold Tal weapons were she not initially sceptical of his chances. But Tal had seemingly proven her and the wider galaxy wrong, what was once a minor aristocrat now had risen astronomically in stature to the leader of an entire people.

~And to think this army was but a desperate ragtag band of a few thousand men and women holding the line against a horde of Sith at Bastion, now it is a real army and with experience to prove for it.~


Aiko grinned to herself, almost as if the reality of her being proven wrong was deeply amusing to her entire state of being. Nevertheless, it was a missed opportunity she deeply regretted, having essentially allowed the Nakoaima CEO to sell weapons freely to the Galidraani forces like it was open season.


~Fascinating, really.~​

​

 

[DECEASED Erskine Barran]

5th Post
THE_WOAD
Location: HOME
OBJECTIVE : COMPLETE THE TRIUMPH

Galidraani Forces: Willan Tal Berach Ulrand Enedina Tal Roselina Tal Morgana Sinclair Tyrell Lockhart DECEASED Aron Gowrie Michael Barran Eskel Ravenot Amadeus Blackwood Arcturus Tal Hiran Avola Siyarr Ahan-Mitharran Alais Kaun Ollis Barran Konrad Bolter The Fool Ajaya

Allies (NIO/GA): Rurik Fel Noel Strasza Aemilio Valaar Jax Sloane Cotan Sar'andor Julius Haskler Raus Garrat

Calavar City,
Galidraan
Eighteen Minutes into the Victory Parade....

'Let it be known, let it be known to the entire galaxy, that the old Galidraaaaan is no more; instead, it has emerged from the fires and ashes like a phoenix reborn! Long live Galidraan and the people! Galidraan lives and marches on!'

And with that, the Lord-Protector's last speech of the triumph would signal the march of the parade-column into Calavar, and as according to their parade-ground traditions for victory, the senior-most military entity in the parade-ground contingent would remain knelt, with sword held high until their movement's leader joined the dignitaries' audience-stands beyond the podium itself. Then, at the exact Lord Willan had crossed the participation threshold, Lord Erskine would rise and sheathe his basket-hilted claymore as the crowd continued to unleash their jubilation on the decorated column of soldiers, vehicles and officers alike, pivoting about-face to salute the officers' procession and ordering them to lead the second marching-column before turning back to face the podium once more. Marching twelve paces, (including the upward steps on the approach to the podium) Barran halted, turned right, then saluted the flag of the Galidraani Free-State in perfectly-drilled precision, booming his voice across the parade-ground as he bellowed,'GOD SAVE GALIDRAAN - AND GOD SAVE WILLAN TAL!!!!', with all his heart and soul.

An' for as long as I remain to see it remain so, that flag's stayin' up there.​

With a simple bow to supplement his heart-over-fist salute to the flag, the Stormchaser would rise with the calmly reverence that befitted such an officer in such a sincere setting, then turn to the left so he could complete his drilled crossing of the same participation threshold his Lord-Protector had crossed just moments before. None would see, not even those the Brigadier-General was marching over the parade-line to speak with specifically, but a dewy-eyed memory of the men he'd lost in the last days of the war on the Sith would bring tears to Lord Erskine's eyes as he did his best to fight them off, much like the recollection of watching Commoner-Leftenant Birrell's last moments from Goliath One's duly-returned black-box. Moments like these never got any easier for Barran, (perhaps even harsher as the Woad's heart hardened steadily to it all) they just made him stronger, and ultimately more resilient in the face of abject horror, forever lurking every hostile corner that awaited the indomitable Stormchaser on the NIO's next campaign.

And though the latest of his pangs of grief were hard-hitting, Lord Erskine would be sure to keep them from lingering long enough for anyone to notice his heartache or his tears, as none present would need to have any illusions shattered that day, and absolutely not when victory was the home they'd fought so hard to see again. Be it emotionally downtrodden or jubilant, the stone-faced, stiff upper-lip image would be kept intact by the time the Blue-Hearts' Lord-Commander approached the guarded doorway to the dignitaries, moffs and warlords beyond; Lord Barran was never one to become a cause for others' concern, and wasn't about to start any time soon.

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

Lord Erskine was the first to wake, though in seeing the sun peaking over the horizon, the Stormchaser would refrain from stirring in his newfound consciousness, both to keep Lady Carla from being rudely awakened and to enjoy the feeling of seeing a Galidraani sunrise for the first time in decades. Knowing his steadily-breathing, slumbering wife wouldn't take too long to wake up after him, the Lord-Commander of Blue-Heart Brigade would just stare out the window for a while, matching his breaths to Carla's own as she dreamed on, oblivious to the waking world as all sleeping beauties should be. As far as the blissful Stormchaser saw it, this was everything he needed constant reminding of, the kindly telling off from fate that whatever Lord Erskine was experiencing in that moment was everything he'd been fighting to protect and secure; to Barran, his sleeping wife was everything that represented the true beauty of Galidraan's old and illustrious culture, all that represented the epitome of all things wonderful in his life.
I'll never be granted such a beautiful moment of reflection when I die, don't care though.

This moment, now, is more than enough to keep my heart true in my final moments.​

With a golden, warm array of colours lighting up the morning skies, the cool, dewy morning breeze would throw in aromatic residues of the celebratory fireworks from the night before, with the gunpowder smells of smoke and cordite intermingling with the smell of the bakers' prep downstairs in the most surprisingly pleasing ways. This was that day, that day which marked the beginning of the rest of his life, Lord Erskine's golden years for as long as they could last; and though it was sure to have it's fair share of ups and downs, Brigadier-General Barran would make sure he would swing for the fences every step of the way, to keep his golden years golden - and his battlefield record just as precious and rare with it. The more pleasure he felt, the more the Stormchaser felt he'd need to fight to protect all those he loved and respected, but in remembering his chancing, fate-tempting ways, upping the stakes was looking to be exactly what Barran needed to perform at his best.

Just like every other deployment that pitted the Free-State's Mechanised-Infantry against the odds, just like every apocalyptic battle they'd fought through with wild determination, time and time again.

 

[Fiolette Fortan]

Fiolette eyed Theodosia and studied the woman carefully, "allow me to understand this for a moment. You, crawl out of your proverbial casket, and thus far I've allowed this charade to go on. Now you declare to me, to create a new House Fortan." Fiolette wasn't sure if she should laugh or be disgusted, perhaps both. "I may not approve or even like how I or my aunt had been treated, but-"

"Huttslime on a droid's leak, how dense are you going to be?" Theodosia scoffed her tone underlined feeling: the audacity of this woman in front of her. "But then, you do, come from my brother's loins and so thus in fact cannot be expected to understand the true nature of my being. So then, come, come with me my dear, and trust in the Celestials that your bodily self will remain in one piece." The older woman stood on her feet and held out her hand to her niece. "We must take a trip, a trip through space and time that only Lilith herself can provide."

She should have said no, but something told her to do so - almost compelled and without actual agency, Fiolette took Theodosia's hand and rose to her feet. The two women seemingly disappeared but remained as they were in the physical realm and those who would look to them only saw two people engaged in conversation. When their incorporeal forms were transferred elsewhere, "My dearest Fiolette, I understand that you may not believe me to be - well, me, but I know the path you have taken."

Theodosia had brought Fiolette to her home, in the Southern Hemisphere of Galidraan where the climate was warmer and the sea surrounded the land in such ratio that even the mainlands of Galidraan's Calavar and Thames could not compare. They were in a meadow with grass that stretched out toward the beach. With her hands, Theodosia brought forth what felt like a holofilm of Fiolette's life. "The moment they forced you into marriage, the moment you left, the day you decided to pursue a career with Imperials."

"When my wife, Regina met with you."

Fiolette's brows furrowed and then relaxed, a complex run of emotions had flown across her mind faster than she had liked. Regina was a name that she was all too familiar with. Regina Crane represented the Reliquary, the Daughters of Lilith to be exact. It was she and Elisabeth Whitmore who represented the Daughters of Eve who had approached Fiolette in wanting to help overthrow the Sith Empire in exchange for being left alone once more. "Ah," Theodosia's expression acknowledged the realization that Fiolette had been met with, "now it's all connecting for you isn't it?"

"It is," Fiolette answered, "but it doesn't explain why you ask of me what you ask, nor does it give me any definitive proof in that you are who you say you are."

"And did your niece ask you for such information so haphazardly?"

"No, no she didn't but she did turn me away initially, I think..." Fiolette couldn't have been sure, her memories tended to be fuzzy. At the very least when it was around the time of Omega. "I-"

Before Fiolette could say anything further, Theodosia took them away from where they were to another place, a darker place quite literally. It was nighttime wherever they were. A younger Theodosia with a much smaller Fiolette, who had been asking her auntie to show her the little lights again. Theodosia obliged and displayed a small little rabbit made of lights. Fiolette turned away from the scene, "I had asked for you to tell me the story of the rabbit and the hunter."

"And." Theodosia responded in a tone that demanded Fiolette to respond.

"The rabbit being faster and more clever, outwitted the hunter. The moral of the story was to stand your ground and stand up for yourself."

"Because your brother told you, you weren't a girl for wanting to learn to fence and shoot, remember?"

"I do."

With the snap of her fingers, Theodosia transported them back to the cafe.

"The old Fortans are dead, they have died. Those who remain have done so by methods that would not have been approved of, we were cast out, told that we did not fit their precious mold." Theodosia looked at her niece with sincerity, "so why bother with attempting to apologize, why bother with attempting to conform, is it not enough that you still love your niece? Love your cousins, it is not as if you are leaving them behind."

Fiolette sighed and rather than answer Theodosia outright, she decided to take of the tea and scone.

"Told you to eat, didn't I? Teleportation of the incorporeal takes a lot out of you."

"I wasn't exactly forewarned, but thank you nonetheless."

"Fiolette, you have children, don't you? Plenty from what I've been able to gather, you yourself are your own matriarch, so I believe it is time for you to reestablish this family under your name."

She still wasn't sure, but she would at least consider it. "It is a rather heavy thing you ask of me, and you yourself do not bear the name. " A pause as she set the scone down, "but I will consider what you have said, although to what end I'm not sure."

"It is to the end that means a better day for Galidraan, for what my dearest counterpart has seen for what Eve has revealed to her... There are dark days ahead for Galidraan yet, and it must be you, it must be Fortan that leads the way for Galidraan, once again."