Private Omen of Durace

[Melinda Bloodscrawl]

Armed with: Herself.

Coruscant, Space Port

Vale Tudo, an Iridonian Dark Jedi Assassin, arrived around sunset at the Space Port. He was dressed in a sleek all black business suit. Even the shirt and tie was black.

Vale was the sort of person who got hired when one was rich enough to afford more than just your bog standard Mandalorian but not enough to tempt an actual full on Sith into a contract.

Let it be said that Vale wasn't a slouch, either. His reputation as an effective, vicious assassin was well deserved, and he specialized in using his telekinesis in creative ways, with the Force Choke being considered a specialty of his.

He was here to kill a Senatorial Candidate from a fringe Alliance World that had refused his employer's generous offer of favors and bribes. It would look like an accident. Ideally, he would die in his sleep from asphyxiation.

His cover was airtight. He was a wealthy gambler and was planning to visit a Casino that was here.

He had made two mistakes.

One, the Candidate he had threatened was secretly an agent of House Bloodscrawl. He had made requests for protection as soon as Bribe attempts turned to open threats.

Second, the Spaceport he had arrived at was owned by Bacta-Works. His location had been given away within minutes. Truth was, House Bloodscrawl was brutally and secretively targeting any Dark Side User they could find, not willing to let them threaten the hard won stability being maintained by Alicio Organa . They had their ears in the underworld. Vale had been on their Radar for months.

Soon a Taxi would arrive and he would be off to a Five Star Hotel to await the Candidate's arrival.

He breathed in fresh evening air as he waited for his repulsor taxi to show up by the curb of the space port entrance. He was constantly alert, watching the crowds across the street from the port, the Hotel looming in the distance.

Vale was confident in his chances of success. The Candidate was well guarded, but that had never stopped him before.

"Excuse me!" chittered a silvery protocol droid that waddled up to him

Vale frowned. "What is it, Droid?" He asked, tone even.

"I'm handing out flyers for the grand opening of a new war memorial commissioned by Bacta-Works CEO Sera Mina and was wondering if you would be interested in having one!" The Protocol Droid chirped, holding up flyers for the obelisk like Memorial soon to be unveiled. That the set up had something to do with death was House Bloodscrawl's twisted idea of a joke with its prey. A joke the prey didn't know it was being told.

"Sure. Why not..." Vale said, taking a flyer.

Just then, Vale saw what looked like a funeral procession. A bunch of people dressed in black, carrying something long and boxy. A coffin. They were playing horns and flutes and trumpets in a slow, mournful manner. The road had been cleared...

He felt discomfort, a warning in the Dark Side, but he couldn't place it.

"Wonder who's funeral it is..." he muttered at the slowly moving crowd as he waited for his Taxi, the procession slowly moving in front of them.

"Wonder who's so worth burying that they'll hold up street traffic..." He muttered.

"How about you?" The Protocol droid asked, a silvery tendril of nanites holding a vibrodagger erupting from the side of its arm and into his side, piercing his ribcage and into his heart, killing him before he could react, mouth going slack in shock as the procession came to a stop in front of him and he fell to the ground a corpse, quickly rolled underneath the coffin where a trap door on the bottom opened, mechanical tendrils scooping the body up into it, the trap door shutting.

The leader of the procession, in reality a heavily disguised Nathan Bloodscrawl suddenly sounded off in a joyous manner with his horn, wearing a straight up fake mustache and glasses that made him look like a parody of Groucho Marx and everyone in the Funeral Procession threw up their hands and started dancing and playing their instruments joyously as they marched faster down the road, still carrying the coffin (When you were young, and your heart was an open book: 7000 XP)

The Protocol Droid waited a few minutes until the mobile funeral team that had pulled off the execution was out of site, and proceeded walking off, handing out the last of its flyers before wandering off the premesis. The street cameras had recorded nothing, and House Bloodscrawl has made sure everyone at the Space Port, including the Exterior Perimeter, was someone who worked for them.

As it wandered, the Droid headed for an alley. What stepped out of that alley, wasn't a Protocol Droid, but a slender looking young woman with golden tan skin and straight gold blonde hair in a red Cocktail Dress and matching Stilettos.

Melissa Bloodscrawl happily whistled down the street, proud that her Family were masters of Trollish Methods of killing enemies...

She was soon headed to her own custom crimson Interceptor , waiting at a nearby space port also owned by their family (They owned fifteen major space ports on Coruscant and were looking to control or build more). It was to become the official Starfighter of their House, still hidden in shadow from the Alliance.

She had been planning to head home to Kytrand to spend some time with her other sisters when a transmission came in from Melissa as soon as she got into the cockpit.

"Yes, Sister?" Melinda, codes as the youngest of Nathan's artificial sisters to the Sister who outranked her, Melissa Bloodscrawl , appearing on a mini holographic projector.

"Lindy, we have an emergency. Just got a transmission from Nathan. He needs you to take a priority assignment to The Durace System..."

Melinda frowned. "Isn't that Maw stomping grounds?"

Melissa nodded. "He'll explain more once you rendezvous with one of our stealth cruisers in the area. One of our spies dumped a bit of info our way. Concerning the Maw Warrior known as St. Thomas Barran ."

Melinda raised an immaculate blonde eyebrow.

"What, exactly?"

"He's got a bunch of Mando's about to roll on him. I need you in that system fast, Sister." Melissa replied.

Melinda nodded. "I'll be there at once."

Her interceptor rocketed off out of the Atmosphere of Coruscant...

 

[St. Thomas Barran]

BLOODHOUND KHAN

Tags
Melinda Bloodscrawl

[THEME]

OMEN OF DURACE
1​

VALLEY OF THE DEAD,
DURACE, THE UNKNOWN REGIONS (902 ABY)

'Ah, yes.... I had a feeling you'd be showin' up at some point. But I see no carbonite here.'​

'Not now, Thomas.... The ride ends here - for you and that sword of yours.', the Bounty Hunter responded, signalling for his comrades to fan out in the attempt to surrounded their one-eyed target, a good few more in attendance than there were in their previous encounter. Barran couldn't ignore the extra lengths endeavoured to trap him, but when the Mandalorians surrounding him stopped in their tracks, it would be clear they wanted to gun him down on the spot, shouldering disruptor rifles without taking the chances of fighting the monster they assumed he had become.

'What has this Galaxy come to, huh? Ye can't even bring yourselves to let an old man walk down memory lane these days!'

'Ya know what, Daru? Kark it!', the Great Khan continued, trailing off to pull the Golden Skull mask from his face as he slipped out from beneath his cloak, and all with a singular, particularly violent purpose in mind. For this, the Promise (the sword he forged for the Mongrel) would need to remain in her scabbard-bound slumber, as this kind of danger only required one particular sort of response, and when Bloodhound Khan concluded,'I was jus' droppin' onto Durace, visiting out o' curiosity.... But now, I think I'll just claim it as my home! The very same Steppes that made me who I am now - the capital world of my fledgling REEEEALM!!!!', the ground would shake and tremor beneath the feet of his adversaries.

Telling much of the dangers these Bounty Hunters were nearing in turn.

​

With all that the shadow within could muster, Thomas would find himself sensing there was more to this sudden attack, almost as if their silence was anything but fear in these moments, a quiet confidence of which Barran found deeply unsettling. Putting the one-eyed Woad on edge for the first time in years, and it made him feel like a cornered beast again, like he was once again incarcerated by his enemies, almost confirmed when all but a select few stepped back in an act to conserve manpower. Or at least, this was how it appeared until the aforementioned few stepped forward, drawing blades with a confidence that rivalled that of an accomplished Alor.

'My apologies, Thomas.... I would have buried you here, and with all the respect your culture affords.... All you needed to do was accept your fate, but these contractors here wanted you to go out fighting - seeking an excuse to take your head as a trophy.'

​

Bloodhound Khan visibly smiled at that remark, appreciating the barbarity surging through the bloodstreams of his would-be opponents, but in the understanding that this also meant he could fully exert himself, Barran would quickly find himself unable to hold back the wildest possible shriek of mirth. Screaming with a delight of which he thought had died with the turn of the century, a delight of which he couldn't even feel when he discovered the hidden nuances of Inherited Will, and by the time his laughter descended to a dewy-eyed wheeze, Thomas knew his soul was ready for any and all outcomes that night.

Even as the stormy clouds rolled ever closer from the mountains to the south, carrying flashing thunderclaps as if under the arm of the storm itself, there was a sense of peace in planting his feet on a world he always denied to be his home. Deep down, in his heart-of-hearts, Barran always knew the truth that someday (mattering little as to whether it would be sooner or later) Durace would become the homeworld, the capital planet of his new realm; the base foundation, the gravtitational magnet that would hold his floating palace in place forevermore, this was where the eventual final stand would be fought.

'Better to reign here for a day than it is to die on the run, Daru! I'M HOME NOW!!!!"

 

[Melinda Bloodscrawl]

One hour before the ambush on St. Thomas Barran occured...


Her stealth interceptor came out in the Durace System, the Wild Karrde Replica having transmitted an encrypted signal to guide her to it.

She landed on the completely cleared out deck, where Melissa Bloodscrawl awaited in a crimson catsuit.

"Greetings, Sister..." Melissa greeted. "I trust your trip wasn't too difficult?"

"No. Why are you out here, Melissa?" Melinda asked in curiosity, morphing her form to look like she wore a similar red catsuit.

"I'm mission control for this. Follow me..." Melissa said, leading her past various Bacta-Works employees to a private briefing room, where a hologram of Thomas Barran was displayed from a projector...

"The object of interest is like our brother...a man once brutally murdered and then resurrected through murky means..." Melissa explained. "Thomas Barran is the son of the Late Erskine Barran of Galadraan. He was a cunning and extremely wily and dangerous military commander that Laertia Io's military clashed with multiple times. Curiously, while Laertia held grudges with nearly everyone she felt distracted the Galaxy from the Bryn'adul threat, Erskine wasn't one of them. They even clashed during a particularly infamous battle on Vjun where they dueled each other naked. Even after Laertia went insane, neither Erskine or anyone related to him was ever targeted off the Battlefield. He was apparently one of if not THE only opponent she genuinely respected in the Bryn'adul Wars. When the Nuetralizers heard he had passed away, They drowned a thousand Sith Imperials in a pit filled with a spirit known as Cladhan in his honor and hung their drowned bodies from cliff sides all across Khemost. They never did that for any other enemy commander. Which brings us to Thomas."

Melissa circled the hologram of the incredibly savage and dangerous warrior.

"He was killed during an orbital bombardment. According to captured Mawites we applied...extensive interrogation to--

(Cutaway of Nathan applying a feather to a mawite's foot back and forth as a form of tickle torture)

--he was found in the Forest of Broken Glass on Durace. He'd dug himself out of the mud. A particularly savage and intelligent Maw Warrior known as The Mongrel found him with a bunch of others. He was completely insane from whatever he had experienced on the other side..." Melissa added.

"Nathan told me he experienced something similar during his own return to life. He dug himself out of the very soil that he and his wife were murdered and dismembered on. He didn't do anything but scream at first. He just screamed and screamed..." Melissa trailed, looking at Thomas's image. Had Nathan gone to the same place as Thomas?

"One thing led to another, and eventually, Thomas attributed his resurrection to the Mawite gods War, Death, and Rebirth. House Io came to despise the Maw almost as much as they despised the Bryn'adul and battled them relentlessly. House Io supposedly detonated a Nuke aboard the Mawite Superweapon to destroy it. Their fleet was the first to challenge The Maw's in direct combat over Tython, and helped destroy their Super Star Destroyer."

"And if Laertia had just possessed the Good Sense to die there, there might have been a chance of her being remembered as a very malignant Anti-Hero instead of the narcissistic sociopath she is now thought of as..." Melinda mused.

"One must give Thomas his credit; At least he's open and proud about the lows he has sank to, unlike Laertia, who tried to hide how far she was gone." Melissa said with a snort. "It irritates me, honestly, that he must be kept alive, for now."

Melinda blinked nanite-forged eyes. "Why? If the Mandos bump him off our hands are clean...The Scar Hounds lose their leader."

"And we go back to the drawing board trying to figure their next move out. His death could pave the way for someone even worse. Like this monstrosity--" Melissa trailed, changing the image to that of a pale, red headed woman in a sparkling black gown that exposed her legs.

"A dangerous Mawite Sorceress preaching of the Dark Three, and carrying out particularly sadistic massacres and torture. She's low ranking for now, but she is powerful and ambitious and merciless. Her name is Ersethy ..." Melissa stated, folding her arms. "Claims to be the very first of all Force Spawn. If the Scar Hounds are to be crushed, it must be crushed all at once as much as possible, and with Thomas at the head of it...letting him die now, like this, will only create a power vacuum and uncertainty, and send us back to the drawing board guessing what the Maw will try next. Hence why The Mandos cannot be allowed to kill him."

"And if by saving him we create an opponent too powerful to defeat down the road?" Melinda asked crossly.

"The Maw has risen to prominence before. People will die regardless of whether he is left in power or not. What if he dies, and the person who replaces him really IS too powerful to defeat in addition to being a potentially nastier customer by a country parsec? What you fear might happen anyway, regardless if he lives or dies. Better the Devil you're familiar with than the Devil you aren't..." Melissa replied patiently.

Melinda simulated a sigh.

"I'll be down there in a jiff..." she confirmed.

"I'm really sorry about this...but now is not the right time..." Melissa said to her "younger" sister in sympathy.

Present...

Melinda had landed on the hellscape world with an EFR Heavy Blaster that had a scope and a Tripod, tailing the Mandalorians who had also landed here.

These ones apparently had history with him if her Nanite audio tech was any indication. She approached Cloaked. Aiming the heavy rifle at the ones staying behind the others, targeting the joints.

She watched Thomas laugh in mirth...

...and then something strange happened to her nanites.

They glitched.

The particular mass of Nanites she was composed of had been found in storage aboard a House Io ship as a blank slate...

But that was because it's original memories had been wiped.

As she stared for a second at Thomas through the scope, her nanites, deep in their atomic circuitry recalled a fragment of memory on a burnt city scape, dueling a man who Thomas bore a heavy resemblance to...she got feelings of nostalgia she didn't understand, a cunning old man with a cunning style that confounded her programming.

You see, Melinda wasn't just any Advanced Model 1.

She was the Advanced Model 1 that had once fought Erskine Barran himself during an invasion.

 

[St. Thomas Barran]

BLOODHOUND KHAN

Tags
Melinda Bloodscrawl

[THEME]

OMEN OF DURACE
2​

VALLEY OF THE DEAD,
DURACE, THE UNKNOWN REGIONS (902 ABY)

'You might recognise the way we fight, Goidel! Lets see if you can figure it out!'
​

The one-eyed Woad, as much as his first-life heritage might have played a part in his approach to duelling, only ever treated the strongest of opponents with that sword-saluting reverence for which his kinsmen were renowned; and as much as he wanted to give Daru Fett's new associates the benefit of the doubt, Thomas couldn't ignore the fact these sword-wielding opponents could only muster power enough for murder, marking it as a meagre, lesser form of fighting ferocity. Whoever had trained them had obviously known the sort of training required to clash with the greats, but in their haste, or lack of time, had left much to be desired in the ways of perception and ascendant progression alike.

This was not the work of other Mandalorians, nor of other Barrans, but of someone else within the Goidelic sphere - and the Bloodhound was already getting very close to the answer.

Initiating the attack before his assailants could enact their own, Thomas made a barbed point of putting his opposition on the back-foot, practically leaping into a sprint before they could even think of applying pressure with their numerical advantage, and like clockwork, the mouthy one would step out to one side in the hopes he could study the Khan a little more closely. An unwise choice, as was the decision of his peers, rushing Barran's advance without that extra, third-angle backbone there to back them up, even coordinating with well-trained strike combinations down the center line. These were easy to evade, easy to predict with the blade-length of their Beskad swords considered, as they always required a followup that resulted in advancing into the reach-pocket, even when faced with visible efforts to forge lengthened variants.

Every part of this ambush was tailored with the one-eyed Woad in mind, and as much as it brought many concerns to the fore, it left all the same openings his own subordinates had left for his brother on Coruscant; giving rise to the sudden realisation that their tutor would be one of two remaining suspects, one had already perished to his sword, and the other was the son of the man he defeated all those years ago. There were none others living who knew how to force center-line precision that way, a Meyerite method as rare as the individual who perfected it for combat, but in that same recognition hid the sort of rage he needed most, that which carried the Khan much farther than regular combat ever could.

Then out of nowhere, in true knee-jerk fashion, Thomas sneered as he clicked his fingers, willing with hands aimed firmly at the knees of his adversaries, throwing all compulsion, all impulse, all need into his intent to propel as much harm as possible down the center line. A rush of weighted motion, carrying a sharp impact on a wave of audiological amplification, and though it was certainly a lesser, weaker answer to his younger brother's Click-Wave technique, the nearest assailants would quickly learn how little it would matter when faced with their agonies on impact.

Click Click
SNAP SNAP​

Shrieking ensued, and judging by the reaction of the others, these screams were unlike any these Mandalorians had heard for a long time, reminiscent of times when war was a much darker affair for these veterans. Brutal and often-gruelling though their private contracts had been in the past, especially with the Heathen Saint of Rogues and Outlaws considered, nothing would compare to the last years of Total War in the Galaxy's previous century. The perfect reminder of the risks the small headhunting party had known they would be facing, but something still seemed quite awry, as he still suspected their ease of sacrifice, almost as if this little trio were making a sacrifice they felt was worth untold suffering.

'In answer t'yer question, I'll throw another in response... Though as far as yer Meyerite training is concerned, I do recognise it, but I must ask - d'ye really think it'll save ye here, against the Goidel who slew the man who perfected it?'

Click Click
SNAP SNAP
​

Instead of attacking the unharmed kneecaps, the Bloodhound felt justified enough to inflict more torture on his nemeses, thus chose to worsen the condition of the knees he had attacked before, hoping it was enough to make them sing with the truth of their ill-fated battle plan. The third assailant was shuddering, seemingly glued to the spot, granting the one-eyed Woad enough time to reach for his sword, still in her scabbard at the time. Even expecting to be struck on his way, or at least to be told to stop, Barran would soon find himself pleasantly surprised to see that the talkative one was silently processing the screams of his two battle-brothers instead - transfixed with Beskad longsword barely in his grip.

But then, Thomas found himself getting the sudden urge to use his Force Sense abilities, and just as the Promise was unsheathed with intent to test a solo opponent, the truth of this seemingly dumb plan would illuminate in Barran's mind like a mural. Proving his sneaking suspicions, and not a moment too soon it seemed, as in the very moment the Khan let the intoxicating rage subside enough for a little focus, nine others would be found approaching from all sides. However, much to Barran's great surprise, there was a tenth out there, carrying entirely different Midichlorian variants, and with it - differing entirely in overall intent.

~=If yer helpin'.... Be wise about it, pick yer moment. Nae harm in,"Waitin' yer turn.", as they say.=~
~= But for now, sláinte - an' enjoy the show!=~​

Adopting fool's guard from a Fiorist stance on a feigned starting point, the one-eyed Woad then pulled his eyepatch away to reveal his blood-ruby, practically glowing by then. But then the Bloodhound began to dance around as he struck at nobody in particular, then the rain began to sound off, bouncing off the helmets of all the Bounty Hunters in attendance; even bouncing off the helmets belonging to the two headhunters still writhing around in the midst of crippling incapacitation, and all the while the Khan was still quite happy slicing at increasingly-large raindrops, drawing quite the uncanny picture as to how small those first droplets must have been.

Thomas had taken the rage from his soul, beaten it to submission, and with it, he was finding new levels of meditative calm - such that only served to further-unsettle his approaching assailants.

'HE FETHING KNOWS!!!! HE KNOWS HE'S BEING AMBUSHED!!!!'

~=Welcome to the crucible, my young acquaintance.=~
​

As the headhunters approached sprinting from all corners behind him, the Khan chuckled as he pivoted around to meet the attack head-on, as one had been fast enough to close the gap between them; but for all his bluster, and all his lightfooted stealthiness, the quick sprinter had missed his mark like many a lesser warrior before him. Likely the ambush's greatest hope of success, the true gambit hidden in the feigned all-or-nothing opener, and all that was required to counter it was a good sense of rhythmic timing, forcing the ambush into little more than a trench fight.

Barran's natural habitat.

 

[Melinda Bloodscrawl]

"Lindy?" Melissa called out in an encrypted transmission to her nanites from the stealth ship. "Your systems glitched for a second on our monitors..."

"I'm fine..." Melinda said, even as the data fragment made her see the flashes of Erskine's sword savagely defending against her arm blades intermittently between observing the combat style of St. Thomas Barran as he cunningly slaughtered whoever got close.

Thomas Barran's indirect similarities to her brother had disturbed her. The more she learned, the more disturbed by the similarities she got.

Both from prominent families in their respective cultures. Both dedicated to their ideals. Both cut down cruelly and unjustly.

Both resurrected as men out for revenge. Mentally ill, despite their obvious intelligence. Melinda knew Nathan wasn't without his little aspects of insanity. His hatred of Brain Demon Cultists was outright maniacal.

He was just actively managing it, trying to genuinely listen to his family to avoid turning into his daughter.

But the data fragments added a whole other level to it. Melinda didn't understand what was happening. She felt a feeling of Nostalgia that refused to leave her as she watched Thomas fight.

She wanted to fight him herself even though it made no sense.

More attackers showed. While Thomas killed the closest to him, Melinda decided to act at last, firing her scoped EFR Heavy Blaster in short, controlled bursts--

(Cutaway of the Xenomorph reactor ambush in Aliens)

The bolts punched through joints and visors, due to even short bursts coming so rapidly that they shredded through the weakest parts of the Mandalorian's armor.

Melinda rose up, slaying or severely wounding the attackers in the rear of the assault, coming under fire from surprised and enraged survivors...but the trouble with this was it just exposed their visors and necks better to her blaster fire. She dropped the rearward attackers, waiting until Thomas had finished off the ones closest to him, hopping down to walk up to him.

Uncertainty over the flickering data fragments of fighting his father made her hesitant to speak to the blood spattered warrior at first.

"Quite the combat technique..." Melinda complimented, the mass of Nanomachines (SON!) that she was composed of analyzing everything, body language, eye movement, breathing rate. Some of it reminded her heavily of Erskine...much of it however, didn't...

Erskine was a man fighting for something more than his bloodlust. Something comprehensible even to something inhuman like Melinda.

Melinda did not comprehend the attraction to the Maw faith. What's the appeal in destroying the universe? Were they seriously all that unhappy with the current state of things? Much like Darth Phyre, Melinda thought the Maw Gods were lying, and that they had something even worse than death planned for their own followers...

Melinda's body reflected everything from the neck down like a crimson mirror, her mass made to look like she wore a catsuit. It eerily reflected Thomas himself.

The environment was as dead as the Mando's around them, angry lightning flashing across her body...

"So...what was their beef with you?" Melinda asked, her nanites replacing Thomas with Erskine for a split second in her mind...

 

[St. Thomas Barran]

BLOODHOUND KHAN

Tags
Melinda Bloodscrawl

[THEME]

OMEN OF DURACE
3​

VALLEY OF THE DEAD,
DURACE, THE UNKNOWN REGIONS (902 ABY)

'Eeeeeh- honestly? I'm supposed be in jail, mate.... On Kolene, but - uh - Kolene's empty now.'
​

Shrugging as if this was just one of the Galaxy's many mysterious ways, as if such an outlandish claim was nothing new in a Galaxy gone mad, the Khan chose then to guard his words with specificity as he continued,'An' these unlucky bastards are the ones who dragged me to my jailers, an' twice over.... Seems like they couldn't stomach the shame of a third capture, however-', trailing off as one of the lengthened Beskads glinted the reflection of a distant lightning flash in the eye that remained. But despite the fast approach of the storm in the north, the one-eyed Woad found himself pondering about the one who likely suggested such Beskad variants in the first place, the one who trained them how to use them against Goidelic opposition.

'Heh! Well.... As for the one who trained these Mandos to fight with these longer Beskads, I slew his father in single combat, twenty-one years ago.... on Nirauan.'

​

Finally taking a moment to properly comprehend what had just transpired, Barran soon trailed off again, considering the ever-illusive Brandon Gowrie as he muttered,'Never met the son, though.', almost taking to himself as his gaze studied the Beskad's cultural meshing of form and design. Fully-aware of previous failures to combine the best attributes of Mandalorian and Goidelic sword-smithing, and with them, fully aware of the curse of perfect opposites; as all things between their warriors would reflect in the fighting styles of both cultures, representing mutually-potent roles as perpetual nightmare matchups, resulting in wildly ascendant clashes like that which was fought between his own father and Shai Maji on Ilum.

'Speakin' o' which, I never met you afore either.... Lets fix that, hm?'

Extending his right hand in offer of amiable acquaintance, regardless of whether it was in fellowship or professionalism, as the sudden extension of his life-expectancy seemed to make such particulars seem quite trivial under the circumstances, a curiosity that mattered little with the foiled assassination attempt considered. After all, this warrior had spilled the blood of the Great Khan's assailants, and according a vast majority of the Mawsworn Tribes, such strong acts of valorous loyalty assured her status as an honorary Marauder.

Worthy of song and Magnardom alike.

'I'm Thomas of Clan Barran - much obliged for the help by the way.'

 

[Melinda Bloodscrawl]

Melinda took the hand offered and firmly shook it. Her memory data glitched again, and she again saw Erskine Barran dishing out advice to her.

Everything else had been blanked out, but the memory of fighting Erskine was so strong it couldn't be wiped out. It had been one of the defining moments of her original life.

She had not been expecting him to extend his hand in gratitude. She had expected suspicion. Hostility. It wasn't even thirty seconds into her interaction with St. Thomas Barran and he already had her off balance and uncertain just like his father had .

Erskine to this day remained one of a handful of ordinary organics who had survived a close range battle with an Advanced Model 1

"Melinda..." Melinda said. "Of the House that watches from shadows..."

That was the closest her programming allowed her to get to directly telling him who she served.

"And you're welcome for the help..." Melinda answered.

"Mandalorians never like the idea of a job they perceive as half finished...but if they came this prepared--"

Melinda wheeled around, saw a bunch of fast moving shuttles in the distance. On loud speakers a catchy song in the Galadraani language played, indicating at least one of the bastards coming to kill them possessed a dangerous level of Meta-Awareness.

"In some cultures the greatness of a man is measured by the amounts of enemies he possesses." Melinda mused as multiple rockets began to be discharged their direction.

Her scoped rifle snapped to attention, and short bursts aimed with impossible speed at the seven that sped towards them, her super accurate burst fire and reflexes destroying all of them.

"Honestly, that they feel the need to resort to overkill could be taken as a weird compliment of sorts." Melinda remarked dryly as each shuttle, still closing in, pivoted to the side to reveal a Mandalorian gunner behind a pintel-mounted Z-6 Rotary cannon.

"SO ANYWAY, TOMMY-BOY...WE STARTED BLASTIN'!!!" One of the Pilots yelled over the speaker as they all fired at once.

Melinda moved extremely fast, this time on full auto as she targeted the cannons directly on two, destroying the guns and killing the gunners, but was then forced to retreat away from the fast approaching shuttles... though she still stuck a few meters close to Erskine's son, refusing to abandon him, the memory of his father's sword fighting haunting her data streams in her Nanites, burning deeper with each passing second.

The part of her that was remembering felt she owed Erskine something. Somehow, this has become about more than following orders very quickly, despite knowing what a dangerous threat St. Thomas Barran was...

 

[St. Thomas Barran]

BLOODHOUND KHAN

Tags
Melinda Bloodscrawl

[THEME]

OMEN OF DURACE
4​

VALLEY OF THE DEAD,
DURACE, THE UNKNOWN REGIONS (902 ABY)

'Well met, Melinda.'
​

Amiable, fortunately, as even after the clash, there was no way of knowing her intent until his good will was met in the middle, though the full appreciation would be seen garnered toward Melinda's perspective on the Bloodhound's assailants, nodding in an affirmative, smirking nod. But just when Thomas was on the precipice of passing comment on the matter, the attentions of both unlikely acquaintances would be taken by the engines, the speakers, and soon after, the voices that preceded the mayhem they were positioning to unleash.

'GYAAAAAH - I ACTUALLY LIKE THAT SONG THOUGH!!!! NO FAIR!!!!'

​

These assassin-hopefuls, and likely in a reflection of all that a weighty bounty had promised, had endeavoured their research, and delved deep. This was no longer a matter of contractual frustration, likely changing the moment they dropped Barran on Kolene, and in an absolute refusal to incarcerate him a third time, the Khan's liberty was likely the last insult. It had become personal, and for all of Daru Fett's cool, calm approach to the operation, the one-eyed Woad knew they had the most visceral axes to grind with their quarry, instigating a supremely-dejected sigh in response.

'Naaaah, no way I'm lettin' that slide now!'

Leaping from his next starting point, the Bloodhound sprinted toward the approaching shuttles with Melinda keeping up close behind, though the replying attack by their distant assailants soon changed Barran's next move, launching a large salvo of rockets in the unlikely duo's direction in the hope that the heavy-explosive saturation finished what the swordsmen could not. Once again smirking, it was then that Thomas began to believe he was better off taking such gestures as compliments, remarking,'At this rate, we might as well consider it a Mandalorian love-letter to the Goidels!', wheezing mirthfully as rockets and targets continued to approach the makings of ground-zero.

'Time for a cold front-'

Didn't want to break out the tricks again, but here goes nothing.
Thermal Death it is then....
​

'EMBRACE THE CHILL, FEAR NO FLAME!!!!'

​

With a backhand swipe, wide enough that it covered Melinda in equal measure, the Khan created a cold front wide enough to pass through, immediately killing their thermal outputs, and in clear sight of pilot and projectile alike. The missiles delayed in their reaction for a short moment or two, or at least, not until Barran's new acquaintance passed through Death's icy wall; but then, as Thomas expected, the projectiles near-immediately veered in all directions without a viable target to track. Most would visibly veer against the grain of their natural trajectories, careening into other warheads and detonating in overlapping succession, though others would screen out wide to crash into the surrounding mountains, but these were not the detonations the unlikely duo were worrying about.

Not with so many still heading towards their generation direction, fated to hit the ground, but for all the immediate worries these missiles presented, it was the ones curving up skyward that worried Barran the most, expected to fall listlessly without propellant fuel. A late after-tremor of the Mandalorian barrage, one last roadblock between the Bloodhound and the last ace up Fett's sleeve, but judging by Melinda's ability to keep up, Thomas would easily assume she retained similar levels of athletic mobility to boot. If she could survive this, then the new acquaintance would earn more renown than mere tribal affirmation could ever provide, and with it - the undying respect of a living Heathen Saint.

'Aaaaaath-BREEEEEEEIIIIITH!!!!'

 

[Melinda Bloodscrawl]

Melinda continued firing even after St. Thomas Barran unleashed his Ice Wave at the Missiles. But she couldn't stop moving. She took the initiative, even as her nanites continued glitching between fragments of her fight with his father and now. His cackle reminded her of his father's. She exploded the falling, disabled missiles in such a tactical way that it damaged a few of the shuttles nearby, making them try to pull back and circle back for what looked like an all out strafing run from five different angles.

And Melinda still didn't fully understand her programming conflict.

Her heavy rifle sent a spray to another cockpit, killing the pilot as the sheer extreme rate of fire chewed right through the transparisteel and shielding, and he plummeted with his shuttle to the ground. She ran towards another shuttle, firing down one of its launch tubes as it tried to fire another missile. The explosion ripped the shuttle in half but this time, some Mandalorians were able to bail out via their jetpacks and rushed her down, forcing her to drop her weapon and rush towards them.

Her reflexes and predictive algorithms allowed her to dodge their blade gauntlets as they landed, and baseball-slide under the belches of their wrist mounted flamethrowers, ramming her fist into one's mid section and ripping his jetpack off, slamming it brutally into the helmet of another (GLORY KILL!!!!).

The remainder surrounded her but she was already tracking their attack moves, hands shooting out and snapping his neck as he started to throw a punch, somersaulting behind another and pulling out his Class D Disruptor Pistol, crushing it as the morality protocols of House Bloodscrawl strictly forbade the use of Disruptors, especially anything in Class D Category.

Nathan Bloodscrawl had lost his first wife in a way that had destroyed her very soul. He tried to not be a Hypocrite where it counted.

She launched a punch right at his jetpack, cracking it and sending him screaming as it activated and spun out of control into her last opponent, killing them both as they were flung into a rock. Melinda grabbed the plasma grenades of one of the dead Mandalorians still relatively intact, and sprinted towards two of the shuttles, hurling the grenades with super human strength after arming them, downing one but not destroying it, forcing it to land, while the other's armor just barely managed to withstand the blast.

Melinda HURLED herself through the cockpit of the downed shuttle, her mass cracking the transparisteel, her fists and legs slamming into the weak points of the survivors armor, her blows expertly timed and calculated so as to offer as little chance to retaliate as possible.

There was a reason Erskine was only one of a handful of people who could boast of surviving an Advanced Model 1 at close range on their own terms. They were probably one of Laertia Io's finest creations. The Nuetralizer Race, for better or worse, were her legacy.

Of Ripping. And Tearing. Until it is Done.

(Cutaway of 2016 Doomslayer sitting in an elegant chair by a fireplace giving a thumbs up)

Meanwhile on the stealth ship in orbit, Melissa surveyed the readings on her datapad that they were getting back from the surface on her younger sister's nanites.

"These readings...these are only possible if Melinda wasn't truly a blank biot when her mass was first acquired. She wasn't blank...just...over written..." Melissa whispered as she stared at the reports.

"Comms Officer Wilson, get me a secure line to Vera Mina ..." Melissa ordered on the bridge. "This is a serious issue we've encountered...and call my brother..."

Meanwhile on the surface, Melissa had just got done killing the shuttle survivors when she kicked open a hatch and downed one of the shuttles she had damaged by firing the stolen chaingun from the shuttle she had crashed as well as her EFR blaster, destroying the cockpit of another.

Two left.

"THIS IS ONE HELL OF A LOVE LETTER!" she shouted to Thomas as she focused on backing him up for the remaining shuttles...firing at them relentlessly...

 

[St. Thomas Barran]

BLOODHOUND KHAN

Tags
Melinda Bloodscrawl

[THEME]

OMEN OF DURACE
5​

VALLEY OF THE DEAD,
DURACE, THE UNKNOWN REGIONS (902 ABY)

'HA!!!! No truer statement has ever been made in this Galaxy!'
​

Of the gunships that dared break from their formation, lurching forward, as if by compulsion, none would survive the encounter, nor would anyone aboard them at the time. For none would think to consider feats beyond their comprehension, nor would they deign to consider a showing of the true paradigm of power in the 10th Century, for how could they?

The extremes of excellence in realms of Technology - and Ethereality.... Who among them could ever have foreseen these behemoths over the sight of distant, scurrying blips in their mapping holographics?

Fett's bounty hunters should have known better, but hubris was still it's own medium of formidable power in this Galaxy.

The remaining gunships were still launching missiles at will, but enough distance had been reduced between them to mount a decent counteroffensive strike, and with just two gunships left by the time his new acquaintance found a way to punch through the wall of live ordnance, Thomas would find a nerdy appreciation for the stopping-power of Melinda's weaponry. Yet even as he saw further progress through the effort of darting between rocket-trajectories, Barran still had no idea of his history with this technology from the receiving end, seemingly forgotten without reminder as he exclaimed,'Nice! I like that cover - lets make it worth our time!', nearly catalysing another migraine of first-life memories.

'COGAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAADH!!!!'
​

The Promise, the famed spectral blade of the Scar Hounds tribe, began to glow red-hot beyond the hilt, hearing her call to Mother War. Barran's grasp around the grip then loosened as he let the balancing counterweight drop the blade down, sliding the grip down until the lower-palm caught the pommel, and with every fiber and sinew he could devote to the task, the Bloodhound sent a sharp-edged, burning Force Wave careening downrange with help from the spiritual power of his mentor's Greatsword. Even the unfortunate pilot knew there would be no surviving such an attack, and especially not head-on, but in the sudden quickness of the Goidel's attack, the only choice that remained was the honourable decision to give the last ship a fighting chance.

But there would be no pulling away to minimize the damage on the last-remaining ship, the burning shrapnel would pepper it's hull despite the attempt to avert it, only chance would keep it aloft in the wake of the exploding catastrophe. Primed for a finishing blow, and the unlikely duo could see it in focused clarity, prompting the one-eyed Woad to proffer,'If you're callin' dibs on that one.... S'all yours for the finisher.', as he stepped aside to give his new acquaintance a chance to decide for herself.

'We can talk when this one's downed.'

 

[Melinda Bloodscrawl]

When St. Thomas Barran hefted the great sword, Melinda blinked, more data recovered from the depths of her atomic scale circuitry as she blasted away at their enemies.

An old man flinging back ghost like attacks from arms turned to swords. A nano-droid, desperately trying to adjust to seemingly impossible dexterity and footwork and tactics. He hadn't been just fighting her. He had been teaching her that day.

And with that lesson learned had come others. Had come questioning of purpose.

And then...blankness. Then had come new purpose. To be a sister to a mentally wounded man shattered by war and his own murder and mutilation. Then his own resurrection.

Erskine Barran had taught her more than her own mother ever had.

Melinda fought past the memory cascade to remain on task as Thomas offered the honor of the final kill after the force wave of his sword took out one of the two ships and badly damaged the last one.

Melinda obliged, and she made a running leap towards the faltering shuttle, her repulsor tech activating as she went sailing through the air with her dual-wielded weapons, blasting brutally into the top of the remaining gunship in pure overkill, killing the occupants inside, reliving when the army of the Nuetralizers had been in its prime, when their had been only the next battle, no matter how many they lost, as long as they fought beside their mother.

She leapt off it as it careened into the ground, dropping the stolen weapon but keeping her EFR blaster. Her database said cool people don't look at explosions (I'm not joking, her database LITERALLY said that) so she didn't look at it as it exploded, instead calmly keeping her focus on Barran.

"Great Khan, my mission is to protect you." she said simply, sensory feedback glitching and replacing Thomas with Erskine momentarily.

"I doubt that's the last we shall see of these assassins. There may even be more on this world. We should find cover. We are too exposed..." she advised, hiding deeply confused emotions as she waited for him to respond.

 

[St. Thomas Barran]

BLOODHOUND KHAN

Tags
Melinda Bloodscrawl

[THEME]

OMEN OF DURACE
6​

VALLEY OF THE DEAD,
DURACE, THE UNKNOWN REGIONS (902 ABY)

'We have options though.... Jus' a case of,"Right-Choice, Right-Place, Right-Time.", from here.'
​

The first outward gaze would look to the skies above, looking in search of the Ark specifically, but the cloud-coverage hid it's pyramidal form, drawing the one-eyed Woad's focus northward for a brief moment. Even going so far as to mutter,'Polar-North.... Best place to bring it through Durace's orbit without disturbing the planet's equatorial axis, but-', in an outward brainstorming manner, though it would register as a clear monologue from a third party, not that the mad Goidel ever considered how insane such behavioural habits appeared in the eyes of his contemporaries.

'Surely there's a way to make our task easier afore we make for the tundra.... There's safety in the snowdrifts, but I know there's a way to make everything easier - a few, even.'

The second outward gaze after that, as much as his heart sank at the thought of it, was a saddened glance in the general direction of the place where he was resurrected, replaced moments later by a wrathful shudder. Again muttering, though the latest outburst was far more compulsive than those that preceded it, Barran turned his posture westward as he continued,'A Forest of Broken Glass.... Wonderful.', sheathing the Promise before his boots marched him back toward the site of his,"Square One", resurrection. It was then the Bloodhound turned a considerate glance to Melinda, sheepishly smirking as he concluded,'My apologies, Melinda. My manners usually adhere to a higher decorum than that, even as a leader of my - uh - specific sort. However, I may have a solution to our current safety concerns.', remembering perceptions of the rudeness of trailing off mid-conversation.

'Right this way.... The storms can cover our approach.'

 

[Melinda Bloodscrawl]

In Orbit...


"And you're certain the data feed back you're getting is accurate?" The hologram depicting Vera Mina asked Melissa Bloodscrawl .

"I'm positive. Vera...how exactly did you acquire our bodies?" Melissa asked.

"It was a raid on a House Io vessel conducted by Clan Li-Ves soldier biots. It was a storage place for blank Nuetralizer bodies..." Vera answered crossly, clearly fuming at the revelation.

"Those damned techs...they assured me that every model brought to me had not been overwritten. That they were all blank..." Vera said.

Melissa folded her arms, their conversation private in her Captain's quarters.

"Evidently they aren't as good at analyzing nanotech...those file fragments...they were deep in her atomic processors... Advanced Model 1's are evidently much more resilient than we thought..."

Even as she said it, she started to wonder if she herself or Meleena Bloodscrawl were truly blanks. Or if they had simply been overwritten as well.

"Is Melinda stable?" Vera asked.

"For the moment but her programming algorithms are showing odd spikes." Melissa answered. "We can't pull her. She's in too deep."

Vera sighed, heavily pregnant with Nathan's child.

"Keep monitoring her. I have to call Nate..." Vera said, cutting communication...

Melissa sighed, heading back to the bridge to continue monitoring Melinda...


On the surface...


Melinda was silent watching St. Thomas Barran as he talked to himself, her databases recording more of his psychology with each passing moment.

There was madness, and remnants of an older upbringing. He even apologized for his strange behavior.

"No harm done, Great Khan." Melinda assured.

When he suggested going into the snowy wastes, Melinda paused, tilted her head as she analyzed the probabilities.

"A sound strategem..." she replied, following him into the snow storm.


Five minutes later....

Melinda was silent as she followed Thomas, not because she had nothing to say, but because she was afraid of what she could say.

Hey system registered the cold yet she felt no discomfort. She was normally incapable of feeling pain, though she understood it as a concept.

This planet was a place of battle, and it wasn't long before she came across the old remains of a Type 70 Tank, rusted over and inoperable, it's barrel dislodged from the turret. It creeped her out because there was no sign of any other military vehicles, or even signs of bodies. It was just an abandoned tank, out in the middle of nowhere...

Melinda immediately hopped on it, tore open the still sealed hatch with superhuman strength and looked inside for anything useful. All she found was a belt of three old plasma grenades that she wasn't even sure worked. There was no skeleton. No signs of a fight...

Melinda, slowly coming to grips with the fact her memory had suffered an attempted erasure by House Io (And knowing only Laertia Io could have given such an order), finally decided to say something.

"I was assigned to protect you...but there are...things I don't understand..." she began hesitantly, offering him one of the grenades.

"These Mawite Gods...War, Death, Rebirth... what's their interest in ending the universe?" she asked.

 

[St. Thomas Barran]

BLOODHOUND KHAN

Tags
Melinda Bloodscrawl

[THEME]

OMEN OF DURACE
7​

VALLEY OF THE DEAD,
DURACE, THE UNKNOWN REGIONS (902 ABY)

'Heh.... Good question, though it stems from a common misconception. Surface-level perception, so to speak.'
​

Silently, though-politely refusing the offer of a grenade, (exactly as one would nonchalantly refuse a free cigarra-) Barran couldn't help but feel a little tempted for a moment or two, though his eyes had drifted toward the design form of the Type 70 main battle-tank, likely taken from the frontlines on Panatha before the planet's destruction. A disquieting reminder carrying a relevance that wasn't lost on the one-eyed Woad in these moments, though he was gladdened all the same, and not only for the handy aid in staying on track with the general flow of the conversation, but also in helping bring some balance to the Mawite perspective.

The very first of Melinda's serious questions, commendable and rightly-asked though it was, had been the most obscure of those which Thomas was expecting; near-unexpected, though only on account it seemed like a query that would be pondered at greater length, to be expected upon finding latter comfort in genuine curiosity. After all, they were walking through one of the planet's many plunder scrapyards on the way to a place she did not know, and like his protector, Durace brought out that same curiosity in the mind of the Khan in turn.

'Once upon a time, the Brotherhood agreed that many planets were too far-gone for Nature's reclamation, that the mere stench of civilisation was enough to consider a planet beyond repair. But the Khanate, these days? I speak with all sincerity in stating the Mawsworn are altogether more conservative about such things now, only agreeing on a very select few.... A very-reasonable few.'

Thoughts would flash back to megalopolis planets like Coruscant, Muunilinst and a planet all agreed upon until recently - Empress Teta. The greatest thorn of all that still barbed fleshy Mawsworn flanks in the Tenth Century ABY.

The Bloodhound had suffered much to overcome for the sake of the Brotherhood, and later for the Dark Empire, even nearing death for the cause at the hands of Ishida Ashina , in one of many repeated attempts to wrest the streets of Cinnegar from the grasp of the Galactic Alliance. Even after the eventual victory, the Khanate (that which the Mawsworn had become by then) saw nothing to gloat about, seeing for themselves that civilisation itself had blighted the planet too much for Nature to reclaim it; by then sensing a stomach-churning need to abandon Empress Teta to destruction, watching with disdain as the smoke was still clearing, a very-particular sensation that many felt was similar to the despair of incarceration.

A jailing cordon of which the Khan himself so desperately wished to escape.

'Everything that remains unconquered in the Galaxy, it ought to be considered as Mawsworn, and in turn, everything that would be considered Mawsworn would realistically belong to Nature. Thus every planetary infection can be, an' should be reclaimed by flora an' fauna, snatched from the jaws of parasitic greed - belonging to none but the trees in the end.... War, Death, Rebirth.'

 

[Raymond J. Senée]

RACHAT EN COURS

-[THEME]-

DANCING WITH REDEMPTION II: ERRANT HEART
1​

FOB: Delta, Gilead Lunar Station,
Nuruodo, Nirauan's Moon (902 ABY)

'Serval! What are you doing out here?'
​

Gazing into the starry night sky overhead, Raymond was found in quite the goofy predicament when he finally snapped out of his telepathic trance, though nothing promising had been found in the latest of Force-related stupors, seen in the the way Senée's wild-eyed gaze met that of his equally-mad colleague. Câble was in no mood for Ocelot's personal project that night, nor was he tolerable of mood shifts in the camp, and when the Yinchorri growled,'Don't you start with that, Goidel! The last thing we need now is our residental bulldozer flying off the leash, now spill it!', the young Tuath would understand there would be no room or margin for error this time.

'Fine.... Damnit.... Well, we jus' lost the Daru Collective. All o' them.'

The veteran Master Sergeant, despite his disdain for the hubris of Daru's bounty hunters, was unable to avoid the implications of Fett's defeat, knowing the finer points of the assassination attempt. Even the Goidel had a clear picture of the Mandalorian's process before they departed, and though Les Chacals were many parsecs away from Durace's outer orbit at the time, having strong Force-Wielders in their ranks would certainly keep the unit's conventional soldiers in the loop every step of the way, though none would wish to know about the impending calamity until all was finally said and done.

Câble least of all.

'Don't act like you didn't warn them, Errant. Best thing you can do now is shrug it off and move the feth on, we both know it was a waste of time from the start - Fett never once intended to see the training through.... They served their purpose, and to top it all off, left it to you to clean up your own mess after all.'

As the Wild Child shrugged it off, taking his ultimate task in stride, he inwardly reminded himself the revenge he was seeking was still too far out of reach at the time, joining his superior on the short march back to headquarters in a wordless act of acquiescence whilst weighing the right words to explain why it hurt his soul so much. Thinking on the conversations they shared together, and certainly a few of the gunfights and chases on which they spent much of their effort in equalling exertion, considering the difficult coversations as much as the amiable sort when Raymond finally replied,'If it had been any other Bounty Hunter in the Galaxy, I probably would've shrugged it off without thinking, honestly. But it was Fett who set me on the straight an' narrow, steerin' me away from life as a drug smuggler.', and quite dejectedly at that.

'It is for that reason alone that I owed Daru a fighting chance against Barran.... An' he squandered it.'

 

[Ersethy]

Wearing: Darkspawn Raiments

Armed With: Dauntless Blade


The Flesh that took the form of a Dark Side Witch named Ersethy, animated by a fragment of the darkness itself, found it genuinely enjoyed teaching and instructing others in the ways of the Maw. The odd thing about the abomination was that if you went to it genuinely seeking to become immersed in the Dark Side, it would do it's absolute best to guide you on that path. Acolytes that had feared the possibility of an indiscriminate butcher had been caught off guard at how much leeway the flesh was willing to give them if their pursuit of the darkness and the Dark Three was sincere.

And if you were a worshipper of her...the Flesh would show considerable patience.

Ersethy sat on a Throne on a dead world that had once been used by her ancient worshippers, now used by her modern ones. In the open and in secret, they paid tribute to her and spread her doctrine of cruelty for its own sake, and in turn she would grant them a sort of pseudo immortality, small favors or prophecy.

Her ritual Raiments, a sparking black gown that pulsed with the darkness, bearing the likeness of a yovshin swordsman, twinkled in the twilight of sunset as one of her worshippers, a teenage boy stepped up and knelt at her feet, presenting a vambrace of black metal that pulsed with the Dark Side.

Breath caught in the flesh's pale throat and she floated it over to herself with telekinesis.

"A most powerful artifact..." Ersethy proclaimed. "You have done well...tell me, young worshipper...what is it you seek?"

The teenager hesitated a moment.

Ersethy tilted her head. "There is no need to be nervous. A tribute like this is worthy of compensation equal to its value."

"I wish to see the face of the Darkness that powers you..." the boy said finally...

Ersethy raised an eyebrow. "And why do you wish this?"

"Because I would devote myself to the goals of that darkness for eternity." the boy answered.

Ersethy blinked.

"To look upon my true face threatens eternal madness. Are you prepared for such a fate?" Ersethy asked sincerely.

"Yes." he answered, this time without hesitation.

Ersethy nodded. "As you wish...gaze upon me..."

Ersethy's face began to bubble and warp disgustingly as it peeled back from the head revealing a pearly white skull covered in wriggling maggots and moving shadows that looked like flames, her eyes two disgusting orbs of rotting yellow.

"Is ThIS wHaT YOu WOulD lEaVE tHE WORld bEHind FOr?" The Darkness behind Ersethy's peeled away face asked patiently, noting with interest that the boy had not gone insane.

The boy nodded.

"sO bE iT..."

The flesh flowed back over the skull, reforming Ersethy's face.

The Sorceress held out it's hand and the hand detached, changing pigmentation as it grew into a full fledged copy of one of her core personalities, Ymira (See Bio), her body morphed to look like it had barbie doll anatomy as it conjured a copy of her raiment with dark magic, wearing it immediately.

"This small fragment of me will prove useful in the start of your journey. You shall follow it's instructions as though they are my own, because they are." Ersethy explained. "May the darkness guide you."

The boy followed a smirking Ymira to began a life of insane butchery...

Ersethy permitted several more minutes of active worship before dismissing its followers, deciding to meditate.

As it meditated on both knees, it received a vision of St. Thomas Barran on Durace. He was in immense danger.

The Darkness powering Ersethy's flesh would not hesitate. The Great Khan must be protected.

She took some captives off of her ship, mutilating them in unspeakable ways to create a Dark Side powered wormhole to Durace, by making a gate arch from their bodies.

They were still alive, it should be noted.

Ersethy then transmitted messages to two of his oldest supporters. Rook an old but deadly man and veteran of the Maw and Dreamer, a Chiss. Portals would open at their respective locations to follow her to Durace, where she would be waiting for them patiently at the Forest of Broken Glass.

The messages simply read as such:

The Great Khan is hunted and at Durace. If you would save him, jump into the portal that I, Ersethy, have opened near you.

Ersethy would give these two warriors a grace period of five minutes to accept before leaving to pursue Thomas...and butcher his attackers...

 

[St. Thomas Barran]

BLOODHOUND KHAN

Tags
Melinda Bloodscrawl

[DARKHANS THEME]

OMEN OF DURACE
DARKHANS 1​

THE REBIRTH SHRINE, ABOARD THE ARK,
ORBITING DURACE, THE UNKNOWN REGIONS (902 ABY)

'Ah, so it would seem our Khan needs assistance after all.... Dreamer, ready up! Ghoul, the Ark is yours until we return!'​

'Yes, Archon!'
'Yes, Archon!'

Clipping the scabbard of his Khan's Vengeance to his utility belt, the Order of the Darkhan's Archon-elect took a moment to gaze upon the sudden materialisation of a portal with his glowing white irises, muttering,'Rift-adjacent, perhaps?', in a curiously uttered ponderance. Not that Rook would be left to ponder for long, as Dreamer was already shoulder-shunting his Arkanian friend into the ethereal doorway by the time he was done mumbling to himself, already waiting with his Rhigaran Moon unsheathed in anticipation at the time, and growing quite eager to return to the planet he once prophesied about.

'See ya soon, Ghoul. Keep your head on a swivel for now.'

What appeared to most Marauders as slights always appeared to the human Darkhan as the usual fare between the Khanate's killer duo, as not even the usual shade between them seemed to matter, especially not in the consideration that they (along with the undead soldiers they utilised to great effect that day) were directly responsible for the irreversible wound to Erskine Barran's left arm during the First Siege of New Carannia. No small feat, as not even the Mongrel could lay claim to such acts that consequently led to the prompt, agonizing self-amputation of said-arm to escape infection, a stroke of strategic brilliance that gave rise to their prominence within the Warlord's growing tribe.

A feat among many that gave Ghoul Darkhan reason to believe there was nothing to worry about, that the duo had known how to motivate each other from the start, and long before they ever envisioned the resurrection of Erskine's firstborn son.

MOMENTS LATER...

'Hnng! I'm gonna take that out on the next attacker I find, Dreamer! Ya better be watching when I do!'​

After landing with an aggravating thud on the cold ground of Durace, Rook would be slow to notice that they weren't alone, too busy growling out the aggravating pain in his ribcage to sense the powerful presence (and the shadowy silhouette-) of Lady Ersethy, though Dreamer, on the other hand, received something of a jumpscare for the advantageous chance to land on both feet. 'Rook, get up! Protocols to consider.', the scarred Chiss warned before sheathing his cutlass for the sake of the Khan's newest addition to the Court of Magnars, placing hand over heart as he proferred,'Ulusarra, we're here to help.... And we know where our Khan is headed.', and bowing head in respect to rank and status alike.

'Back to the place we saw when the Scar Hounds shared the same dream, Ulusarra. The birthplace of the Flayed Blue-Lion.'

Knowing there was a potential scar of the Rift where Thomas had been resurrected, the Khanate's entire roster of Marauders had often pondered on whether the scar could be opened once more, and even moreso when the great Y'sanne Stradd became the High-Priestess of their faith; but by the point of 902 ABY, in the wake of Ersethy's ascension to Magnardom, the possibilities seemed to triple in likelihood. The only potential downside to such an endeavour was the presence of the Lost Legion, likely still biding their time in the Netherworld, and for as long as their countering, powerful elements remained ambitious in their need to,"Bring Barran home, for the last time.", all the Bloodhound's dreams would be snatched away by the same dead souls who once revered him.

A choice for which the Khan had prepared for a long time already.

 

[Melinda Bloodscrawl]

Melinda visibly raised an eyebrow at the reply St. Thomas Barran gave.

That was NOT AT ALL an answer she had been expecting.

"Most people's experience with the Maw ended in death, torture, and slavery...or something worse..." Melinda commented quietly.

"How can civilization as a concept be considered so awful, so intolerable, that the only solution is to raze it to the ground? What do the Dark Three have against society?" she questioned sincerely, his mindset and outlook utterly alien to her.

Melinda herself would not exist without the advances that civilization produced. She couldn't believe that everything her family was fighting for was somehow evil.

"And if The Mawsworn truly believe all this...why partner with the Sith? They're everything The Mawsworn should hate on steroids..." she added, completely and utterly confused.

"A lot of the people attacked on worlds like Coruscant were innocent. Civilization was all they ever new...how can it all be evil?" Melinda asked, genuinely trying to comprehend the worldview of Erskine's son.

What did you see? What was it that broke you into this line of thinking? Melinda thought to herself. She wasn't sure what to make of Thomas at this point. He seemed to sincerely believe this...

 

[St. Thomas Barran]

BLOODHOUND KHAN

Tags
Melinda Bloodscrawl

[SNOW THEME]

OMEN OF DURACE
8​

RHAND'S REST, FROST VALLEY,
DURACE, THE UNKNOWN REGIONS (902 ABY)

'All those are pertinent queries, yet all have been lessons to the sceptical.... So I'll work to argue my case, and in good faith at that.'
​

The snowstorms were particularly heavy on the lower plateaus of Rhand's rest, but soon enough the unlikely duo would pass over to near even closer to Barran's intended location, though this served little to dissuade the Khan from preoccupying their minds on something other than the frozen view over Frost Valley. Consequently helping Thomas to clear his mind, and enough that he could focus more-exclusively on the intrigue behind his protector's response, better-devoted to the process of reading between the lines of the questions put forth.

'Though as for where t'start, should I,"Take it from the top.", as the expression goes? Or should I - uh - tackle the issues as according to variant severity?'

​

Placing his arm outward to present a proverbial, pre-access barrier, the one-eyed Woad was still facing forward, looking out to the snow-covered landscape ahead when he admitted,'Melinda, I don't mind answering those questions. Even with questions of my own to ponder, but here's the thing-', prefacing the point he was making as the blizzard's envelopment continued to swarm it's embrace around them. To some, this would seem like the planet's way of killing them off, but in light of those attacks of corporeal intent, it would not be long before the duo realised that the planet was shrouding their presence.

Protecting them from the scanners and the eyes of attackers who would surely be on high-alert by then, acting as if Nature itself favoured their survival.

'There's more to the Mawsworn, and it still rests beyond the comprehension of our enemies.... An' there's more to you, like there's something within that you've left unasked, yet it would serve to ponder for your sake as much as mine. I can sense that, by the way. An' with much more than the senses we're born with.... There's more in the sinaptic energy behind your eyes, an' I see it everywhere I go.'

But then the Khan's demeanour began to soften, and like the frozen white droplets that shrouded their very passage, even his posture began to shown show a relenting sort of calm. Acquiescing to the very spirit of transparency, fully-aware that doing so meant digging up old traumas, the Bloodhound had accepted the running theme of his visit at face value, assuring safe conduct on a threshold many believed was much too dangerous to cross. The old Woad was showing a level of patience for which he was not known, and though his mind was becoming increasingly distracted with thoughts of the place they were approaching, it would be made clear that not all was as it seemed, and especially not from external, adversarial perspectives.

'I know that look almost too well.... Though it differs slightly to the looks I see on those who want to know more, much like the duality of those who found the site of my resurrection.... All pondering where, and what I had been before that moment, all dying to know what the Woad had seen beyond the vale - it was the strangest, most telling contrast of curiosity.'

Barran could not help but feel a sense of disgust toward the people who gazed upon him with unabashed curiosity, but he knew that Melinda was a different case entirely, as unlike the opportunistic, sadistic eyes that never changed, this individual's gaze would border on incredulity in contrast. Barran knew it to indicate only that his protector was still sane, seeking only to affirm his goals in the presence of one with eyes to see for herself, cutting out the preachiness as best as he could; to make comprehensive sense of that which was perceived as madness, to mark an outline of all that would be known by the Maw's enemies in due course, a detailing for which no time was ever devoted before.

'But to satisfy that need for an answer, I've lived two lives - living as entirely different people, in entirely different times.... An' the things I've seen in both those lives are still worse than all the horrors of the Nether, an' to make matters worse - I know there's so much more that Civilisation has got to give on the matter. Honestly, its staggering, makes it easier to answer questions like those you put forth before.'

The Khan began to walk through the snow again, trying his utmost to keep his mind from pondering the worst of all that Civilisation had inflicted on the Galaxy, the rivers of blood spilled in the name of peace, love, and even in the name of life itself. Demons of men committing genocide, only to be lionized as heroes, rising to prominence with hope wielded as their superweapon, and all to conquer monsters of greater magnitude. Children raised to sing to the deaths of their victims in blood-covered uniforms, to dance on the corpses of fallen braves in acts of malicious irreverence, toying with death in ways that had no right to be committed with such an air of infantilism.

It was all flooding back, but Barran still, to his merit, tried his best to keep the worst from spilling out.

'Speaking of which, I'll let you dictate the flow of that line-of-questioning, you choose first, an' you choose the second an' the last.'

 

[Melinda Bloodscrawl]

Melinda stared at St. Thomas Barran as he gave his response, offering to take it from the top.

Melinda thought a moment as they walked through the snowdrifts. She suspected the drift and natural conditions of the planet were interfering with attempts to track them. But it would not last. It couldn't. With the effort they had thrown out so far to kill Thomas, she knew a little snow wasn't going to stop them. They would hunt him until they succeeded or they were killed...

"I would appreciate it if you took it from the top...I believe that would be the most... efficient..." Melinda replied almost hesitantly, still pondering the answer of having lived two different lives. "In my own way...though not anywhere near like yours...I have lived two different lives myself...I don't fully remember the first life..."

The penny dropped.

"I will be honest with you, because you are trying to be honest with me..." Melinda trailed as they walked. She was smart enough to figure out what the data Fragments meant. And while it didn't change her primary programming, it gave new context to her identity.

"When I was young, in my first life, I... I fought your father in single combat...I was under a different flag then..." Melinda confessed. "I lost."

That was as far as she would get into it for now. No doubt he would learn more as more people tried to kill them.

"I will do my best to comprehend... don't simplify your explanation for my sake. I will either get it or I will not. It's just...it's a difficult concept to grasp, thinking about civilization in such a way. I have always approached life believing advanced society was for the best, in spite of its drawbacks. I've never actually encountered someone up close who believed as you do... always from afar..." she added