Dominion Sunsworn Pact | Dominion of Thyrsus | NIO

[IMPCOM]

E M P I R E _ R I S I N G
S U N S W O R N _ P A C T
New Imperial Order and The Thyrsian Hierarchy​

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T H Y R S U S
I L L U M I N A T E

Thyrsus. The land of the endless horizon, the rightful and reclaimed home of the Thyrsian people. A people of great strength which has come from great plight and now have risen to great prominence. Nestled in strategic position between the three Galactic powers of the Galactic Alliance, Silver Jedi Concord and the New Imperial Order, its vow of sovereign neutrality comes under threat as tensions reach the shattering point.

Having been brothers in blood and strife in defiance of the Sith, the New Imperial Order arrives to welcoming arms to make its case.

OBJECTIVE I //: MANY MEN WISH DEATH UPON ME | THE FEAST OF BLADES

The Feast of Blades. A time honored tradition of the Thyrsian Sun Guard to honor those who have fallen in battle but what once begun as a coveted ritual has become more commercialized, with its partaking participants expanding to any and all who deem themselves worthy of the trial of blood. The gates to the arena are opened and a free-for-all tournament begins to great revelry, involving those valiant souls who seek to prove their worth on the bloodied sands of Thyrsus.

Lurch into the fray and prove your worth against the Galaxy's mightiest warriors and most cunning fighters.

OBJECTIVE II //: REFLECTION | THE THYRSIAN HIGH COUNCIL

While the Thyrsian and New Imperial peoples fraternize in cordiality, in the planet's capital much more important business is due to be conducted. Prior to the full and fiery onset of the Third Imperial Civil War, Irveric Tavlar bid against Carnifex and the Sith Empire for the services of the Sun Guard and in spite of unlikely odds, the Thyrsian and New Imperial marched into battle side by side and managed to conquer the throne world of the Sith Empire.

But LT-137 and his mercenaries agreed under the terms that the New Imperial Order, should it survive its clash with the Sith, vow to protect and retain the sovereignty of the Thyrsian people so that the future does not bring to Thyrsus the ills of the past.

It was now time to make due on this promise. With his retinue of Imperial High Command, the Sovereign Imperator travels to meet with the Thyrsian High Council to solidify the relationship between the Order and the Hierarchy. Too, must the ethnic conflict between Thyrsian and Echani as the Prince in-exile Errant makes his case known.

OBJECTIVE III //: OPERATION : STARGAZER | THREATENED UNITY

As the New Imperial Order and Thyrsian Hierarchy discuss terms for a peaceful integration of Thyrsus into the True Empire, a sect of the Hierarchy comprised of former Sunguard and other Thyrsian nationalists with the aim of violently opposing any Imperial presence on Thyrsus.

However, this sect of the Thyrsians also adheres to the warrior rituals of the Shadow Guard, an off shoot of the Sun Guard who abide by Dark Side and Sith traditions.

With a common enemy afoot, a task force of the New Imperial Order and Thyrsian Sun Guard have embarked on rooting out and destroying the Shadow Guard compound to ensure peace on Thyrsus under the New Imperial Order.

OBJECTIVE //: BYOO

Whatever gets you to post, chief.

// SETPIECES //:
> Thyrsus, Home of the Thyrsian People

 

[Caarlyle Rausgeber]

Objective II
Location: Thyrsian High Council Chamber
Fellow Council Members: Errant | Irveric Tavlar

The Thrysians relationship with violence was an infamous one in the Grand Admiral's oh so Dosuunian view. Savage. Brutal. Mercenaries. The sort of traits which typically did make one... Look down on these peoples. With a certain scorn and spectre of superiority. And yet, Carlyle sensed opportunity on the golden planet. Of course he understood that the Sovereign Imperator had his own agenda here. A promise he kept, given he was a man of honour. But Rausgeber felt there was a great deal of potential here to exploit. And not necessarily that of the Thrysian Sun Guard.

The Grand Admiral strode into the Thrysian High Council. He offered a low bow, along with his subordinate secretaries to the council. While he did believe them perhaps savage, they had a certain charm. Even usefulness that the officer intended to exploit. Within the banks of the datapads he had sequested away was planning. Planning for an end to the Echani race. Not to say that the Echani were to be exterminated mind you. Or to be destroyed by the dominant Thrysian faction. But rather, immigrated. Perhaps even forcefully. For their own good of course.

The Grand Admiral moved to his seat on the council table. Of course they would need a place to stay. And what better than the ever expanding industrial and agricultural cities of Prefsbelt IV. Even if they were not to be treated as the many ex-Sith Imperials now labouring in the mines and foundries, the fires of industry must constantly be stoked with that of fresh hands. The sector under Rausgeber's control was already shaping up to fulfill about fifteen percent of the New Imperial Order's armaments orders, while containing but four percent of the total Order's industry. And Carlyle intended fully now, to exploit that fact. And extend it, especially given the newly grafted prestige of heading the New Imperial Navy.

But he would not present this case yet. Not until all were seated. In the interim, he produced a cigar, and lit it. This conference would certainly be fascinating to watch.

 

[Konrad Bolter]

T Y R A N T
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
66th ARMORED COMPANY 'HELL'S HAMMERS'
XT-62 | MBTb 'Cataphracht'

FAR FROM ANY ROAD​

There was no easier cruising than the dunes of Thyrsus. It was an enchanting world. It reminded Konrad a great deal of home, the savannahs of Archais. Even if the dynamics were altered in some manner, the struggle of the Thyrsian and the Archaisan were much of the same. At least in the same hatred he bore for the perfidious Arkanian could he draw the parallels to the Echani.

Even if the XT-62 sported a solid air conditioning system, on worlds like these, he preferred the open air. Bolter's upper body up and out of the command hatch, a locally patterned cloth wrap tucked around his face and under his helmet with his goggles fastened against his eyes, all to ward against the heat and sunshine beating down unto them. It was an Imperial Hammer's tradition when venturing outside of temperate climates, to acquire the local means of warding off the elements. Thyrians weren't so much as 'aliens' and thus using their adaptations was of little issue to Bolter, even if he wasn't all too abrasive to non human means of warding the extremes. After all, he didn't live there, they knew it better.

<"Nothing but wide, open road, clear landscape...save for the palms here and there. This is country. None too different than Archais, maybe a bit warmer."> Bolter remarked. He clutched ahold of his marcobinoculars, glancing to the black and silver New Imperial flag fluttering in the cool breeze of their pass before looking forward, pass the outlying village enveloped in the green oasis they were passing through.

<"Break from the column, establish a keil. Aurek group up front. We're closing in soon enough."> Bolter commanded, lowering himself a bit in the command hatch as he narrowed his eyes.

Just after he'd raised his alarm, the violent crack and thud of a plasma railgun sounded out and rung the bell of the Cataphract ahead of him.

<"Target direction negative thirty five degrees. Charge to AP."> A 'Sarissa' pattern no doubt. A nasty vehicle, all the Thyrsian makes were.

<"Target spotted.">

<"Load. Fire.">

 

[Onansi of Thyrsus]

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For years, the Thyrsians had been inactive on the galactic stage. After LT-137 's own crusade to free their people from the hand of the Echani, the planet had fallen silent. Trade was maintained, but moves hadn't been made. They had been content with their newfound peace and freedom. Without the ever looming gaze of the Echani above them, their shared foe was gone. Rising dissent rose.

For Onansi sought blood.

Countless generations of bloodshed had left his people weak, the name of their infamous warriors forgotten until the Supreme Sun Guardian had fashioned them anew. But with Thyrsus' freedom, also came its stagnation. Would they truly remain peaceful with their oppressors? To allow them to hide within the bosom of the Silver Jedi? The same Silver Jedi that had allowed his people to suffer for decades? And when the moment came for the Thyrsians to free themselves of their trapping bonds, they stepped in to act as mediators.

The shift to a hatred of Jedi hadn't taken long.

In the days leading up to this one, Onansi had been sure to remind his peers. His own followers needed no reminder, for they died, and bled alongside him across battlefields that he was certain the New Order wouldn't soon forget. For had it not been for the Sun Guards on Bastion, would the New Imperials been capable of holding for as long as they did?

Stood amongst a throng of his dark skinned brethren, for a people that had once been slaves, they stood tall, proud. Fitting for their status as once infamous warriors and soldiers for hire. The New Imperials were arriving, and the High Council began to take up their seats, of which Onansi maneuvered to his own after parting.

Under Onansi's guiding hand the Sun Guards reputation was maintained. For that reason alone much of his counterparts saw him as the vessel for their voice. Or, they were too scared to threaten his authority. For while Onansi loved his planet, and his people, he was not above trickery and lying to get what he wanted. Even as they would speak today, many of his opposition were offered up for the New Order.

Anti-Imperialists, Separatists. The name didn't matter. They were obstacles that he wanted gone, and the Empire would remove them before the day was done, he was certain of that.

Host, he may have been, but the Force Dead Warlord did not greet the New Imperials when they entered. Save for the nod of his head, he lounged back into his chair, the digits of his large hands splayed out, lightly drumming across the table. Onansi's mind was already made up. The title of Moff, Warlord, it suited him. And the events of Dantooine had played out in such a way that a nearby neighbor had inadvertently been brought into sight once again.

 

[Irveric Tavlar]

I M P E R A T O R
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
THYRSUS
Caarlyle Rausgeber | LT-137 | Onansi of Thyrsus | Errant | @Rurikmyselfpossibly

​

A promise made. A promise delivered. Before the true onset of the Third Imperial Civil War, Irveric Tavlar and LT-137 had made a pact. The Thyrsian Golden Company would fight side by side with the New Imperial Order in their war against the Sith and in return, the New Imperial Order would guarantee the sovereignty of the Thyrsian people over their worlds and perhaps, the entirety of the Six Sisters sector of worlds as a whole.

The New Imperial Order's reach had now extended its reach and projection of power to be able to take Thyrsus into its borders, making Amon's gamble rightfully placed when he was deemed to decide the fate of his people in siding with the New Order or the decrepit Sith. He chose wisely and Irveric would make sure of it that the Thyrsians knew how highly valued they would be as a fiefdom within their realm.

As soon as the Thyrsian delegation entered, Irveric was quick to offer his hand in respectful greeting before speaking up.

"It is a testament to the bond of blood our people have established in our existential struggle that we are now able to meet under these circumstances." Irveric admitted, sitting adjacent to the Thyrsian leadership.

"The New Imperial Order made a promise, between myself and the Supreme Sun Guardian LT-137 . That in return for their valiance in the face of the Sith, that the True Empire would ensure the protection and the sovereignty of Thyrsus. We are now in a position where we are fully able to make due on this promise and welcome Thyrsus as a member world of the New Order...but certainly, there are terms, concerns and ambitions of the Hierarchy which we may mutually work toward here. That is what we are here to discuss." Irveric states, beginning the meeting in full.

 

[LT-137]

THE THYRSIAN HIERARCHY
THYRSUS - HIGH COUNCIL CHAMBER

​

The crusade was over, and the enemies that occupied Thyrsus were dead. In many ways, Khonsu knew that his time as the Supreme Sun Guardian was numbered. Many within the Sun Guard ranks were pleased with what they achieved, seeking nothing more than rest upon their laurels and rebuilding their sundered society. Yet, some bore a more youthful temperament. Through their inexperience and inflamed passions, they believed that it was the Echani’s turn to bleed and suffer as they had. To Khonsu, such notions were childishly narrow-minded. What would such reckless cruelty prove? They had learned their lesson thrice over and even suffered the humiliation of having the Sun Guard invade their homeworld, only to raise their colours soon after.​

But, such concerns were starting to become less and less important. Khonsu had lived his entire life by the will of others or by carving out his survival each day at the tip of a blade. His fight was over. It was time for someone else to take the Sun guard into the future. Initially, Khonsu believed that Théodoro would’ve been the man to step up to the plate and carry his fellow brothers and sisters forward. Yet, the man's fiery bloodlust kept holding the warrior back, causing Khonsu to look for someone else. It would’ve been foolish to bequeath his hard-fought and earned mantle to someone hot-headed and unprepared for the trials of command, as it would’ve led the Sun Guard into ruin once more.​

After everything he had fought for, it would have been heartbreaking to see all that effort go to waste.​

Thus, Khonsu’s eyes fell upon a warrior whose rise through the ranks mirrored his own. While his views regarding the Jedi and Echani were questionable, the Thyrsian Warlord couldn’t deny their charisma nor potential. Perhaps this… Onansi would prove to be a worthy successor in due course. But, the matters of succession and the future would be dealt with on another day. Today was the Feast of Blades. While marginally commercialized by the influx of outsiders and foreigners, the people of Nicaea couldn’t refuse the chance to impress their visitors with the wonders stolen from the depths of the dunes.​

In truth, Khonsu cared little for the Feast this year. His reserved seat within the arena was vacant and likely given to some other dignitary to compensate for the packed stands. Instead, the Thyrsian Warlord was seated at the High Council table, with his fellow Clan Chieftains, waiting for the New Order and their Imperial representatives to arrive. When that moment came, and the first of the New-Imperial delegation entered, Khonsu greeted them warmly. His gestures were simplistic, conveying a sense of gratitude, but also allowed the man to gaze into the eyes of those that filed into the ornately-wrought chamber. He would gain their measure, not only by the way they moved to take their seats; but through how they responded to his salutations as well.​

There was one amongst the New-Imperial party that seemed to believe himself superior in a sense. The man’s uniform denoted his rank as an Imperial Grand Admiral. Khonsu’s lips peeled back into a smile as he watched the man take his seat. From the way he walked and the way he produced and subsequently lit a cigar - the Thyrsian Warlord knew that this man was arrogant beyond reproach. Hell, the man likely thought of his people as nothing more than savages. Yet, at least with a savage, their intentions are honest and true. The same couldn’t be said about the Imperials and their kind, always scheming and seeking new ways to stab their betters in the back.​

“Admiral,” Khonsu began. “I’m afraid smoking is not permitted within these chambers. Please put it out, or step outside.”​

His smile remained as he spoke, but flecks of authority spiced his every syllable. ​

It was then that his gaze turned towards the recently arrived Imperator. Khonsu had not seen the man for some time, and while his appearance was ornate in an Imperial fashion, the man seemed haggard. Like a great weight was resting upon his shoulders, and that sleep itself had become a nearly forgotten mistress. The lines on his face were more profound, and there was something else that lingered behind his fiery eye. Yet, such details were unimportant and expected in a fashion. He was waging war against the Sith and their crumbling Empire, and it was evidently taking its toll on those who led the charge.​

“The High Council welcomes you to Thyrsus, Imperator,” Khonsu continued after the Imperator had spoken. It wasn’t long after their pact was made that the Thyrsian Warlord had informed the Council of his decision. Some were against the possibilities of joining the New Order or honouring the agreement, as that would make their list of enemies grow ever larger in the long run. Others were keen on keeping Khonsu’s word as their own, simply because of the pact’s opportunities.​

“As my goal and ambitions are to ensure our world’s sovereignty within the sphere of New-Imperial influence, I would invite my brothers and sisters of the High Council to give voice to their state of affairs before I speak again. And as this is a mutual arrangement, I’m certain that there are terms and conditions for us as well, so this would be the perfect chance for us to exchange details.” ​

-~-~-

| Irveric Tavlar | Caarlyle Rausgeber | Onansi of Thyrsus | Errant | Rurik Fel | @Others​

​

 

[Hans Rennagen]

The Feast of Blades
Sword, Shield, Outfit
Opponent(s): OPEN

​

"Is their anything else I can help you with, Sir Knight?" the Thyrsian girl attending him asked politely as she handed him his polished vibrosword.

"No, thank you." Hans replied as he looked over the blade. It was a beautiful piece of work, and he was eager to wield it for the Sun Guard. In honour of Thyrsian-Imperial friendship, Hans had been among the Imperials who'd volunteered to enter the grand blood-bath that was the Feast of Blades. He had the honour of representing the strength of the Force Corps in front of the Thyrsian masses. He felt far from representative, to say the least.

He had traded in his Imperial Knight battle armour for regular clothes: a white cotton shirt, pants and boots of Bantha leather. He'd traded in his lightsaber and his personal shield for a set of armaments produced by the Thyrsians themselves. Without the high-tech comfort of his armour, Hans felt vulnerable. He was vulnerable, but this was a test of a true warrior who was only as strong as his own body and mind.

He stood from the bench he sat on, picking up his buckler and fastening it tightly to his forearm. The back room was bustling with other fighters, some who knew each other and bantered joyously, and some outsiders like Hans. All of them were connected by a constant flow of servants helping to prepare the fighters.

Slowly but surely the fighters trickled out of the many gates of the arena. Hans covered his eyes as he stepped into the burning sunshine, reflecting off the golden sand.

He stayed close to the outer ring of the arena. There was fighting in every part. Great warriors had been fighting here all throughout the morning, taking down any green warriors who might stray to close to them in the chaos.

Hans kept his sword and shield high, ready for any who might try and spill his blood in the sand...

 

[FN-999]

POST: I
EQUIPMENT: In signature, minus helmet & pauldron
OPPONENTS: Hans Rennagen | OPEN TO OPPONENTS

THE FEAST OF BLADES

Today, the captain found himself in a gladiator's arena.
​

The fight was a pleasant reprieve from the numerous campaigns of recent days, most notably the critical defense of Bastion. Here, in this arena, FN-999 could let out all his stress and simply fight for the thrill of fighting.

After Bastion, he had been given brief leave, and his company had been deposited on the planet of Thyrsus. Leaving his company in the hands of his 2IC lieutenant, FN-999 had signed up for the arena duels, leaving the rest of the 19th to take a well-earned drink.

Now, the captain stood as one of many contenders on the outskirts of the vast arena. Tens of thousands of onlookers cheered on as still more fighters emerged, each with their own specialties. For FN-999, it was his swordsmanship, honed by over a decade as a riot trooper. He unsheathed his electric greatsword, burying its tip deep into the sandy ground below. Then, he activated its electric circuits, instantly electrifying the blade and the adjacent air. The heat combined with the harsh sunlight overhead caused him to sweat underneath his armor and atop his rarely seen buzz cut of dirt brown hair, his adrenaline continuing to build.

Scanning his competition, FN-999 prepared to charge or intercept.

​

 

[Errant]

New Imperial Order
Thyrsus - High Council Chamber

LT-137 | Onansi of Thyrsus | Irveric Tavlar | Caarlyle Rausgeber

Dozens of thyrsians, if not hundreds of them, lined the city streets leading to the High Council's chosen meeting grounds. They watched most of the New Imperial delegation with open admiration. Stories had found their way home to the desert planet. Stories of heroism, of legendary battles, where brave men and women gave their lives to eradicate the craven Sith Empire. Side by side, they bled for a brighter future, one free of the Crimson Shadow. Stormtrooper and Sunguard. Brothers in arms. A pact forged by not one but two legends of the modern era. None had foreseen the devastating defeat delivered to the Sith Empire.

Well, none other than the Sovereign-Imperator and Supreme Sunguard.

Once the Imperator and his ensemble passed by, all eyes turned to face the trailing form of Errant, Crestfallen of the Imperial Knights. Their elation faded away, replaced by open resentment towards the echani—generations of pain wrought by his kinfolk still fresh in their minds. If not for Khonsu Amon, the thyrsian people would still be bound in chains and forced into servitude by the baleful matriarchy that dominated Eshan. The very same matriarchy the crowned-prince intended on tearing to pieces. Still, these people could not know that. For the first time in eight years, one of the accursed echani walked amongst them. And they hated him for it.

Errant thought nothing of their protests. He understood their anger, for he walked a similar path. His disgust in the Sith Empire carried him to war. It inspired him to lift his dreaded blade and cut them down in droves. Though he faced exile by the New Empire for his crimes, he did not stop. A legacy born of not one but two masters demanded the Albino destroy the Sith Brotherhood or die in the process. His fate was sealed the moment he took up the ardent saber to follow in his father's footsteps. There was no turning back.

Even as they pelted him with rocks and rotten fruits, Errant kept his solemn gaze locked on the back of the Sovereign-Imperator. He climbed the steps behind the New Imperial delegation and crossed the threshold in silence. The hate-filled shouts disappeared alongside the heavy shroud of uneasiness that blanketed the crowd. Only his goal stood before him now.

He said nothing as he strode into the room, even as his gaze swept over each of the councilors present. All the echani offered was a nod of his own before taking his seat.

 

[Areyon]

A R E Y O N
OBJECTIVE 1
Gear: Two-sided Vibroblade

The arena was a warrior's playground, an area to get lost in the lust of battle. So long had it been since Areyon had touched anything similar to an arena, but it was good to touch familiar ground again. He had always been a warrior, even before his tenure as an Imperial Knight, so arena combat came naturally.

The Omega Guard looked at his reflection on the polished blade of his assigned weapon. Ever since he dawned his armor, he never removed it in non-practical situations. He never removed his helmet either, not in any respects to some religion but because his helmet represented the face of the NIO and nothing else. He was to be known for nothing more. But he stared at his long, untrimmed, brown hair and his scruffy brown beard. He noticed now that he had failed to keep up with standard grooming regulations. A problem that would have to fixed at a later time.

The underside of the arena held many competitors waiting for battle. They, like Areyon, wished to lose themselves in the thrill of combat only to gain a great relief of stress after a hard day's fight. He kept his mouth to himself, however. He was in no mood to talk to anyone, his mind was being mentally prepared for the possible encounters. A warning came from above everyone that the arena was to open, and Areyon readied his weapon. The gates were opened wide and the fighters moved outwards and spread all over the arena floor.

The fighting did not take long to ensue. Combatants all around the arena were battling each other fiercely. Areyon did not have a scrapping partner to go against, but surely he would find someone. He held up his vibroblade in a defensive position and stood his ground inside of the arena.

The only goal here was to survive.

COMBATANTS: Hans Rennagen | FN-999 | Open

 

[Arjant Clevenger]

H I E R O P H A N T
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
THYRSUS
111th ASSAULT-CF ‘PATRIOTS’
CHAKRAM

Back to getting his hands dirty from whatever wetwork there had to be done. Not behind a desk or wasting his time in the negotiations between the Imperator’s delegation and the Thyrsians, but actually be in a scenario where blood was spilled and bodies spread out on the earth. Something he made a living out of and was able to progress his career where he now stood. Did he have the subordinates to carry out his will? He did, yes. Ultimately, however, he learned time ago that if he wanted something done, it’s best to do it himself.

His operations were far too delicate to allow his lieutenants to take point. Especially on the matter it revolved around on Thyrsus. He wasn’t just here to neutralize a threat that dared to compromise the presence of the New Imperials, but he sought for something else on this mission.

Knock out two birds with one stone.

“Sir! We’re not alone, it looks like the 66th are near our position.”

“The Hell’s Hammers?”

“Yes, sir. That’s the one.”

“Bloody hell,” and he did not say that out of praise. Legendary the unit was, but he was concerned of them being a factor that could setback his schemes.

“Let’s hope they don’t live too much to their name. We’ll have our forces conjoin with the 66th. I’ll see how heavy their metal is.”

And he hoped it wasn’t too heavy for his taste.

Konrad Bolter​

 

[Enlil]

T H Y R S U S
H I G H • C O U N C I L • C H A M B E R

​

Matters of State were the ones that called him away from Ketaris.

While his people needed him most of all, there were assurances that had to be made for the collective good. If the New Imperial Order were to fall defunct, Ketaris itself would suffer. As the borders fanned further out through space, Enlil gained more distance between their enemies and his people.

More important still was a peace that begged brokerage. The people of Thyrsus long standing hatred toward the Echani was a problem that would inevitably become prominent for the Imperium if not dealt with. Thyrsus' joining meant that the duress of its peoples would be added to Tavlar's burdens.

Yet, within their own ranks, an unexpected answer lurked.

That was what the Sovereign Imperator iterated to Enlil. It was another bargaining chip to add to their already impressive retinue. Though he did not know the details, the presence of Errant was enough to tell the King that the Blackguard was somehow involved in this elaborate dance.

He opted for finery and gilded, jeweled antiquities in a fashion that honored the Sun Guard's traditions. Their Solar centric religious system, while archaic and diluted to virtually nothing by a war ravaged cynicism echoed Enlil's own culture. Where the stark contrast lay in that they had martyred their faith in favor of self-destination and warfare, he held firm to his conservatism. Law, Order, and the Human Condition were the only constants he needed.

When Khonsu Amon greeted Tavlar, Enlil flanked the Imperator with the rest of the entourage. He took his seat in silence as well, his hands folded and elbows prominent on the table as he surveyed the features of the dark skinned warrior.

There was no call for his voice- yet.

Irveric Tavlar | LT-137 | Errant | Onansi of Thyrsus | Caarlyle Rausgeber​

 

[Caarlyle Rausgeber]

Objective II
Location: Thyrsian High Council Chamber
Fellow Council Members: Enlil | Irveric Tavlar | Errant
Thyrisian Members: LT-137 | Onansi of Thyrsus

​

Rausgeber rose with the Sovereign Imperator's arrival, a show of whom his allegiance stood with, or perhaps more accurately with whom the reigns of the Grand Admiral lay with. The officer sat, along with his aides as Tavlar listed the virtues of the alliance between Sun and Iron. Their pact and devotion. It was rather droll in Carlyle's opinion. This was the stuff of warriors. Brutes and what have you. And while Carlyle in his own right, stood as one of them, a soldier, he felt a certain superiority to them. They were grunts. They revelled in the brutality of their acts. He far preferred to deal devastation from afar. It was comfortable that way. Lacked that brooding intimacy. But his complex manifested in other nefarious ways. He had cheated death. He had defied the odds. He had truly been tested by fates cruelty and lead his people to salvation. On a distant world where they now thrived. Even if it were at the beck and call of the likes of Tavlar.

Nonetheless, with the speech finished, and Tavlar having affirmed Thyrsus status, the Grand Admiral gave a curt nod. Chewing on his cigar. The call to him to extinguish it however, caught him off guard. Eyes widened, and his cheeks flushed red as the legendary Khonsu Amon addressed him. Not out of courtesy, or friendliness, but with a demand. Delivered with a smile or not, the Grand Admiral knew he could not afford to offend. Particularly when he had much to offer. Rausgeber pulled the cigar from between his lips, "My sincerest, apologies." His voice betrayed no sense of the bluster his face betrayed, "I intended no disrespect. To either your council, or yourself milord." A hand raised, and he clicked his fingers. Wordlessly, one of his aides produced from a briefcase, a metal ashtray, to which Carlyle snuffed out the cigar. He was keen to show respect to the furnishings of his host.

With the Thrysians speech completed, and Tavlar open to suggestions, Carlyle felt it was time to perhaps unveil his own solution. Standing tall above the council, he opened, "If I may for but a moment, take the floor," Carlyle began, his eyes darting across the room. Eyeing those before him, "The issue I think we find most pressing is the dispute between the Echani and Thyrisians. One incompatible with the ideals of our Empire. So, it should be that issue which we tackle as of critical import."

"I understand that this world, and its peoples have held a great... Rift. A tension born of blood and race that has festered and simmered." His eyes drifted to the Prince-In-Exile and then the Supreme Sun Guard. "If we are to be brothers in arms, and equals. If Thrysus is to today embark on a new era of peace and prosperity with the Empire, than today this cultural rift must be resolved. It is unacceptable for a member state like this system, to struggle with such base incivility." He paused, and waited to read the room. "I speak on I believe the entirety of the Sovereign Imperator's council when I say this, that we wish for an amicable and peaceful resolution to these ethnic tensions." Carlyle paused again, "But that means that to accommodate all groups, all options should be kept open to resolve this crisis."

The Grand Admiral then reached to a black case, emblazoned with the Prefsbelt logo on it, "Even today, on a day of victory where we meet together as allies and friends, I note that his majesty," A hand gestured to the Echani knight sat at the same table, "A hero to our Empire was booed." Rausgeber paused again, "For no reason, but his race. Not creed or choice." He then opened it, revealing datapads, "The hatred of the Echani, and their treatment here, is anathematic to the ideal of a productive imperial citizenry," He gestured to his aides, who now began passing around the datapads. Also emblazoned with the same logos.

"Which is why today, I propose a solution." Activating the pads would show schematics, plans and pictures for a city. A grand city. Multiple of them. With already planned boulevards, housing and infrastructure. Industry, parks and military facilities. All housed snugly in and around sloping mountains. "I believe that to an ethnic conflict as this, the solution is resettlement for the Echani, off world." he paused, and looked down at Prince Errant. There was a blankness in Carlyle's eyes. A clinical apathy. This was not personal. This was to curry favour with the new allies in the form of the Sun Guard. "And that cities be erected on Prefsbelt IV, to house this population. And be able to live amicably. Away from the conflict and derision of this world. To fulfil their fullest potential as equals."

 

[Halketh]

DEPRIVED
Enter The Vulture
OBJ II | Thyrsian High Council Chamber
CAST | Irveric Tavlar Enlil Caarlyle Rausgeber
Errant LT-137 Onansi of Thyrsus

_

​

Pulling up the flank of the informal, New Imperial procession lurked the heavily shrouded Warlord of Carlac, who, as it just so happened, was currently sweating his entire ass off. Far be him from one to break character, even on the arid, heated planet that was such foil to the world he called home and ruled over with an icy fist. Of course, he had been warned in the briefing days prior about the climate upon his inquiry, yet in his stubbornness, he refused to plan his attire accordingly. Layers of snowy white trimmed in gold cloaked his frame, concealing its extent beneath asymmetrical cuts of triangles and elongated rectangles. A half cloak swung over his right shoulder, concealing the injuries he was still naturally recovering from, the same that left him with something of a limp as he ushered himself and his apprentice up the steps on the heels of the others. The golden trim of his mask flared in the sunlight, despite the shroud of his hood, and it was enough to make him groan rather politely beneath his breath.​

"I told you to dress lighter, genius." The voice of his apprentice cast into his mind as the uniformed rattataki on his left snickered a note under that of the idle conversation exchanged between the others.​

"Listen, I cannot be expected to sacrifice my aesthetic preferences for comfort." The High Warlord of Carlac responded without missing a beat, allowing his mental tone to reflect his apathy towards his own situation. ​

"One: you're blind? And two.... the old 'bleed for fashion' excuse? It's okay Master Kezec, you look like a fabulous wet cat after it clawed itself out of a pool." ​

Her hyperbole went unappreciated and was merely acknowledged with a quiet, indignant snort, "I may be blind, but those around us are not."​

The Vulture pushed a muffled sigh through his nose and rested his injured hand and arm against his ribs, securing the lax limb by tucking a thumb into his waist-wrap as they delved into the unfamiliar and rather unremarkable space. The blind man naturally didn't take the time to absorb his surroundings, not beyond the sounds of different textures beneath the boots he stepped with, and the gentle hum of The Force as it moved around and through those it could touch. There was a fizzling presence within it, something shameful, and diminished. It was unfamiliar to him, in how it seemed hesitant almost. Halketh twisted his head slightly as he fixed his masked face on the back of the gossamer crowned Knight in front of him. ​

Shame.​

How curious. ​

One could tell much about a man not by what he was proud of, but what brought him shame.​

Mayhaps it would be revealed in time. ​

The snowy Warlord traipsed around to the side of the table his familiars had claimed and he tucked himself into a chair, making silent acknowledgment of the Thrysian Warlord's words about smoking. ​

Noted; don't blaze it in the council meeting.​

Cassiy stood behind Halketh's chair at parade rest, neatly tucking her folded hands against the small of her back in the claim of her position and vigilant duty to ensure her Master didn't doze off insidiously. And to... take mental notes of the inner-workings of these dealings and politics. She was his heir, more or less, after all. ​

As the meeting ramped up and voices were cast from each side, The Vulture ruminated over what was proposed, nodding vaguely on occasion when someone struck a chord he resonated with. His head remained fixed forward rather than bounce back and forth as the verbal tennis warm-ups ensued- his neck could only grow so tired beneath the weight of societal courtesy, a sacrifice he was most unwilling to bear given his weary bones. ​

The Admiral's words carried the weight of some object being handed off to him and he seized it with a hand, tapping at it as he ascertained what it was. Oh, a datapad, yes this is very useful. Highly useful to the blind one in the room. He cleared his throat as he casually handed it back over his shoulder, giving it to his apprentice to follow along with. He returned to his forward lean with his hidden lips pursed into a thin line in the Admiral's direction. The man sounded different and for a moment, Halketh pondered why. Not that it was born from ire... or anything like that... not at all. But rather the man sounded far more fleshy as he delivered his strategic propositions this time around. ​

The Vulture admired his devotion to his objectivity, even if only for a fleeting moment. There was a lot to be said about a man who would spit in an ally's face to gain favor with political associates. Halketh wasn't sure what exactly that said that he cared for, but it said a lot. ​

Psychoanalysis would have to wait, as the Lord of Ice spoke up: "One must be careful creating divisions and climates for them when he speaks of equals." His hands flattened against the table before him as he leaned back in his rather cryptic delivery- the right was heavily bandaged and quivering, "While your plan is remarkable," he gestured to the woman holding the datapad behind him and allowed a pause for the puzzle pieces to be put together, "I believe we should explore all of the potential solutions before resorting to relocation. These cycles cannot be broken by moving the turning pieces elsewhere, it only turns one problem into two on a much grander scale with threads of fate inevitably intertwined." ​

Of course, the prophet on the council would drop the f-word.​

 

[Noel Strasza]

P A C E Y O U R S E L F F O R M E
THE THYRSIAN HIERARCHY PROUDLY PRESENTS:
THE FEAST OF BLADES
STARRING MAJOR NOEL "DEADER" STRASZA
the N E W I M P E R I A L W A R M A C H I N E
WITH APPEARANCES BY Hans Rennagen , FN-999, and Areyon

​

The taste of blood is what spurred on the vibrant fires of fight within her augmented frame. Whose blood was it? She didn't know. Where the other New Imperial forces hung back as the caged prison riot ensued, Major Strasza had lunged forward with the first of them, diving into the fray with the eagerness of a starving dog presented with a wounded animal. They could rock and lean against the wall all they wanted, that was no form of fight she was interested in. The blade extending out from beneath her left palm resonated with a frequency that charged her mock-bones with excitement that was only matched in equal parts as she parried and staved off another side-swipe aimed to splinter her hide apart. These Thyrsians were a strong lot. She admired that. ​

The cyborg torqued herself around, narrowly avoiding the upward cleave of another blade and she bounced on her toes, red eyes darting between the two foes she faced. It seemed a temporary alliance had been forged against her best interest. How annoying. Yet, her instincts were quick to dial in her artificial thoughts, triggering the reflexive swipe she made with the outer edge of her armguard, deflecting the forceful lunge that put the business end of another blade in her direction. She pivoted about, bringing her free hand forward with a wicked arc, slamming a fist into the helmet of the one too close for comfort. The warrior was sent reeling, staggering and swaying backward as he struggled to maintain his footing in the wake of such a rattling blow. ​

This would lessen the pressure on her, but at a cost. Her flank sensors cried in alarm, a mere half-second before she felt a pressure split up her back. She'd been hit. She twisted herself around, disconnecting the tip of the cleaving edge from her frame, and dismissed the HUD alerts tallying up the damage. The landing system at the base of her implanted spine had been damaged, but thankfully, the gyroscope had remained functional. Too close for comfort, the Major rallied herself and dove for the one wielding the blade stained with her blood. He parried. He countered. Every rapid, almost unnatural swing and swipe the cyborg took at him, the man countered with unparalleled expertise. ​

He was good.​

And clearly, he'd done this before.​

"You're pretty good-" Strasza grunted into the narrow space pinned between them as their blades hummed against one another, crackling with electrical sparks that splattered against their helmets. ​

The man was silent.​

How rude.​

A plated shin whipped forward as she cast her weight back, slamming the steely toe of her boot into the soft muscle of the warrior's inner thigh. It was enough for him to lose his focus and she pressed on him, managing to clip his chest with a deep, horizontal swipe. He threw himself away from her and returned to en garde before she could cut him any deeper, but the damage was done. Blood oozed down his chest through the split in his armor, trickling down onto the sands below as her own splattered a weak trail at her heels. ​

The grip on his blade shifted as his lagging heel did too. He was preparing to move. Strasza brought herself to en garde, both arms lifted with her singular blade stretching out between her position and her opposition's. A flexing of her palm saw the extended augmentation pivot and twist about, moving to slide into the socket lining the length of her forearm and trail the edge off of her elbow- a much more defensive positioning. She had to tread carefully around this Thyrsian. ​

Once more he charged and she countered, bringing both arms up in cross to tank the hit with the edge of her sword bared, gritting her mismatched teeth beneath the force of such an impact. Feth he was strong. Major grimaced with the crackling of something in her lower back under the strain; there went the gyroscope. ​

Her HUD wailed alarm as it distorted and she found herself dizzy almost immediately, losing her sobered balance as the world seemed to churn. Oh now, this was going to be interesting. She shook her head, twisting her heels into the shifting earth to keep her balance. All she had to do was reorient her horizon line- just as soon as this absolute powerhouse of a man would stop giving her a run for her money. ​

The commando dared a gamble, twisting her shoulders and hips in the same direction and she shoved forward, thrusting her weight at the man to throw his balance. Given the effort she required to stave off his strength before, she lacked it when it came to throwing him. He was merely staggered a few feet.​

It was breathing room, at least.​

Blood pooled in the sand around them, absorbed into the hungry earth as quickly as it could spill.​

It was a good day.​

 

[Onansi of Thyrsus]

View attachment 461

Irveric Tavlar , Caarlyle Rausgeber , Enlil , Halketh , Errant , LT-137
​

Onansi's withering gaze lingered on the Echani when he entered the High Council's Chamber. The drumming of his fingers stopped, he shifted in his seat, suddenly straight backed, and the briefest of glances given to the knife at his waist. The first Echani he had seen in person, in years. Followed him, he did the entirety of his process as he took a seat at the table. Only when the Supreme Sun Guard spoke again, did his gaze shift.

At the prodding by Khonsu, Onansi couldn't help but to raise a hand to cover the snicker that fell from his lips. They may had shared different views on the future of Thyrsus, one for peace, or one for war, but they shared a similar dislike for the Grand Admiral. One who would enter into their chambers and tell them how to feel. Emotive as ever, Onansi's head shook slowly, eyes all throughout the chamber to his supporters. Younger warriors and leaders, not all leaders of their own clans as he was, but followers nonetheless.

"You are, uh, mistaken in a few things." Onansi's drumming fingers resumed. "There is no Echani population on Thyrsus. You are... Eight years too late to capitalize on my people's suffering." Pausing, Onansi gave a look about the room. "Is the New Order's War upon the Sith not as my people's own against the Echani? Your Imperator fought for his home against the Darkness, whose existence alone is enough to hold the Galaxy hostage. And when he did, the Silver Jedi rose to stop him. When we took our home back from the Echani, our own Darkness, the Silver Jedi once more... Rose to stop us." At later points, it was true, but the Silver Jedi's protection of oppressors continued.

"To claim we should... Forget our pain, or to put it aside is akin to suggesting you, the Imperials of the New Order, should not have resumed the war with the Sith, and to end all hostilities immediately."

The Grand Admiral was a fool. A selfish one at that, they could all see it, and he was as slimy as the Imperials of old.

"A foolish notion, isn't it?" To further punctuate that, he sucked his teeth, the created sound, almost like a high-pitched whine. Disrespectful, and dismissive. That's how the would be Warlord would treat the Grand Admiral. "This is a Free Thyrsus. And Outsiders, while welcome, will not assume to decide what happens on this planet. Whatever plans you brought... Forget them."

"Your war with the Sith will continue, as will mine against the Echani. The Silver Jedi got in the way of the War with the Sith. I cannot, in good faith, pledge myself, or the people that put their faith in my leadership, in an entity that will not deliver retribution to those that have wronged them."

With Eshan protected by the Silver Concord, an Imperial war with the Silvers meant a war with Eshan. And in his minds eye, he could see the white devils worlds burning already.

 

[Julian Qar]

[Brain Waves]
THE FEAST OF BLADES
[the anxious doctor]
Currently Watching: Noel Strasza | Hans Rennagen | FN-999 | Areyon

He wasn’t supposed to be there...well, he sort of just invited himself to the festivities for reasons he’d rather keep private.​

​

Julian watched like a hawk from the sidelines, his hand clutched tightly against his utility belt, a twitchy thumb pushed, and pulled at the flap of one of the various little bags, open - close - open - close. He was anxiously watching the bout unfold, yet he tried his hardest not to let those around him notice. That only lasted so long.​

​

“She’s going to be fine.” The voice of his assistant would call him harshly back into the arena, Tally merely scoffed pretending as though he was unbothered by the ordeal. “Ooof...there goes..another.” He ushered his head forward, being polite not to point as he watched a man fall to his knees. Julian could see with his only lens the crimson at his feet from another combatant’s strike that started to pool and cascade like a heavy waterfall, “Mmm...major vessel hit with that amount of blood loss, it wi-- do you think others brought medics or...this is just a mere fight to the death? You know whoever makes it out alive kinda thing?” ​

​

“I have no idea, Doctor Kaiser,” Hazel answered dryly, they were there to make sure Julian didn’t throw himself into the pit with his lack of knowledge and experience in sword fighting. And also to lend a hand attending to the wounded that decided to participate. Babysitting the boss seemed to take priority as they watched and sometimes flinched at the display. ​

​

“Mhmm...okay.” Julian simply nodded, keeping his eye trained on a particular combatant whose display was breathtaking in more ways than one. Clearly, this was his first arena fight, and the sweat beading from his brow, those thumbs flipping at the flaps of his belt and his foot thumping against the ground were a sheer indicator of that. ​

​

“You ca- I just replaced that!” The doctor caught his lifted vocals, shaking his head, blond locks swaying from side to side with each movement. Julian sighed harshly, lifting his left sleeve to display the onyx tinted metallic forearm. The glow of the newly implanted unit flickered red with warning signs and as erratic lines displayed a heartbeat under a name. 122 bpm and rising. The newly replaced landing unit was clearly shot and would once again need to be replaced in yet another grueling procedure. “It’s just the unit, Hazel. We-we’ll just replace it with another. It's fine, we're fine, Everything is fine.” The medic huffed out, focusing on the solution rather than the problem as he shifted his posture some to now focus on the hem of his cloak. The doctor was dripping in ivory and white cloth robes, two symbols graced the left panel of his cloak, the iron wings of the Carliac corps, and of course that signature red cross that would either be a target or a symbol of hope depending who you ask. ​

​

The two medics watched silently, one by open bodies would fall before them from fatigue, injury, or other. Julian kept his hands occupied still, his mock heart seemed to race far quicker than when he’d ever stepped foot in the line of fire to tend to the wounded. It was a good thing his internal HUD had been ripped out months prior or else he’d be reeling with the overwhelming signs of his anxiety. “She’s staggering. Do you see that?” This time his finger would point towards The Major as he caught those nimble feet shift and wobble slightly from the strike. “It’s the gyroscope.” Julian groaned, touching metal to flesh as he wiped his face, yet another anxious tick. “Relax Doctor Kaiser, it’s The Major, you know she’ll be fine,” Hazel called out trying to distract him from all the nitpicking he was doing while placing a hand on their boss’s tense organic shoulder. “Right...right, she’ll be fine.” He trailed his vision back down to the flickering unit, 135 bpm and rising. “She’ll be fine.”​

 

[LT-137]

THE THYRSIAN HIERARCHY
THYRSUS - HIGH COUNCIL CHAMBER

​

Khonsu’s smile remained as Onansi verbally berated the Grand Admiral for his foolish notion of resettlement. The Echani that held Thyrsus within their grasp were dead, trapped within the system’s bounds and butchered like the cowards they were. He half-expected the Admiral and his Delegation to spend their transit brushing up on Thyrsian Customs and History, rather than plotting something nefarious. There was nothing to be said as the Admiral extinguished their cigar in a newly produced ashtray. He did as demanded and took Onansi’s words in due course.

While impressive on its own - Khonsu’s attention was starting to stray. However, what made his focus return was that an Echani noble was apart of the New-Imperial Delegation. Could it be that this wayward Princeling sought to remove his people from the Thyrsian system in the hopes of acclimatizing them to Imperial rule? It was a shame that they had come too late. Naught was left of the Echani Compact and their followers but sand-scoured bones and rotting meat.

“Sadly,” Khonsu began, “As my brother has said so eloquently, there no Echani left on Thyrsus anymore. Save for those that have come with you. Our people are two-sides of the same coin and have endured thousands of years of warfare with one another. While the youth of our world are taught the horrors of the past, our Elders still awaken in the middle of the night. The evils of the past still haunt their dreams."

The Warlord’s smile faded at that point, as his eyes drifted down towards his once-shackled wrists.​

“The Echani occupation has left our populace scarred. If the Echani still lived on Thyrsus and our fight was still ongoing, it would take much more than resettlement to sate the bloodlust that burns between our two peoples. But, should you wish to leave with their remains, you are welcome to take them and do what you wish.” A soft chuckle came from the Sun Guard’s mouth, but it was a sound wholly devoid of any mirth. “You may have to fight the birds for the right to those bones, however.”

Khonsu’s eyes returned to the Echani seated at the table. Hero of the Empire as he might’ve been, there were embers of hatred that still burned within his breast for this man. Had he been a younger man, and the scars from his shackles were still fresh - the Thyrsian Warlord would’ve strangled this Hero without a second thought. But, growing old had tempered the fires of his youth. Instead of an inhuman, demonized creature, Khonsu saw a mistreated man, stained by rotten fruit and bruised by thrown rocks. Had this man been a party to the sanctioned oppression, they would’ve been counted amongst the slain. He was simply hated because of his species and nothing else.

If the Warlord’s heart hadn’t turned to stone, there would’ve been a flicker of pity.​

“I offer my sincerest apologies, Princeling, for your welcome in the streets of my city. As the Admiral has stated, you are a Hero of the Empire and deserve better. But, the circumstances of your birth and our people’s history has a way of… complicating matters.” He smiled then. It wasn’t the warm gesture that greeted the New-Imperial delegation initially, but rather a thin-lipped display of respect. The man came alone to Thyrus and knew that something like this would happen. This Princeling had stones, and Khonsu respected that. “If you wish it, we have some spare garments and scented ointments for you to change into. But, if you wish to stew in the aroma of rotten fruit, I will not force this hospitality on you.”

-~-~-

| Irveric Tavlar | Caarlyle Rausgeber | Onansi of Thyrsus | Errant | Rurik Fel | Halketh | Enlil | @Others
​

:// Notable Possessions:

• Khonsu's Second Skin; Anti-Force Biosuit.​

 

[DECEASED Erskine Barran]

BLUE-HEART BATTALION

OBJECTIVE IV: - BYOO

TAGS: Rika Hiro

Refuelling on Thyrsus, (and barracking there, awaiting their next run of deployment-orders) commissioning repairs on the vehicles they'd be using for their next run of deployments, the Blue-Heart Battalion would make therapeutic use of their time on Thyrsian soil as they waited; the flight-crew would be basking in the sunlight atop the ship on the first day, taking in the panoramic, jaw-dropping views of the ancient-city's land until the night's chill got them deciding to join the Blue-Hearts in barracking locally, realizing they'd also be as solitary as their Galidraani acquaintances until the deployment-orders came through. Being passively-stationed on an NIO-affiliated planet would give the survivors of Bastion plenty time to unwind as the transport pilots took to the sprawling megalopolis, and it's oldest historic districts.

The 2nd Battalion's definitions of,"Unwinding", differed to a wild array of variations at their barrack-accommodations in the first few days; a strange mixture of methods, from old to new, that ranged from simply sleeping for extensive periods of time, with some sleeping as long as two entire days before waking up again, to seeking exhaustion by working themselves to their limits and beyond in the fort's gymnasium-building. However, unlike their non-com subordinates, Barran, Shugg and Gowrie (due to their administrative-positions and the duties their positions entailed) would have work to do in it's abundance. Despite the endless paperwork and the compiling of troop-action reports for Brigade-HQ's appraisal, Lord Erskine didn't begrudge his adjutants their chance to unwind with agreeable finishing-hours on the table, remembering well that the previous campaigns had left harsher marks on Shugg and Gowrie than they had on himself.

However, the Lord-Major's boredom would be shot down in flames at the end of his fifth working day, and just minutes after dismissing his subordinates for the day's shift. The light of the evening was slowly dimming, but everything in the Lord-Major's spacious makeshift-office was still lit quite well under the circumstances, making the Lord-Major's task of repairing his blaster-pistol's holster with needle & thread, strengthening the belt-strap's hold on the holster itself before moving on to clean and oil the custom blaster-pistol that usually rested within it. Once he finished his tasks, Barran was in the process of putting his pistol in the top-drawer of his desk when he looked up to find a cold-eyed woman standing at the other side of it, standing still like a statue, watching as Erskine's hands slowly slid the top-drawer shut from a seated disadvantage.

'Something's telling me this visit is on state business, and not one I've been waiting for. So, how may I be of help?'
​

​

 

[Enlil]

T H Y R S U S
H I G H • C O U N C I L • C H A M B E R

​

"If I may, Grand Admiral," the King placed a hand on the table, gently tapping it in the direction of Rausgeber. At Helgard, the man assumed control of the Fleet situation because it was his area of expertise. Now their roles were reversed, and it was Enlil's turn to relieve the other man. "The long standing histories of both races, and subsequent cultural traditions, as well as any enmity born of them must be respected in order to broker a stable Empire and the transition toward it."

His gaze flashed toward Anasi and Khonsu as he dipped his head only slightly, but with emeritus respect. "This is a warrior culture, one that has time and again bled and sacrificed for our cause. Now again, rather than turning their blades on us, they have opened their capital and accepted us for talks. They could as easily have made us bleed in recompense for their losses. But we have given them our word; and so, we shall honor it."

Contractual Law, verbal or otherwise, was still Law. One's word was binding; because if they did not keep their word, honesty fell apart. Without honesty, there was no trust. Without trust, chaos broke through even the strongest bonds.

"This is a Covenant as old as the New Order. We will not forget our allies; and yet, where an ancient grudge yet stands, the dawn of a new day peeks through on the horizon." His fingers danced gently over the tabletop, and he slowly, rhythmically turned his hand palm upward like a blade through water to regard Khonsu Amon. "We respect your war, and will gladly endeavor to fight alongside you in it. However, a war for its own sake is not something we would ever agree to. Simply to end an entire race goes against the grain of cultivating a better Galaxy. Hatred begets only hatred. If there is an avenue that leads to peace, will you not seek it?"

He knew better than to believe these people would simply halt their fighting. They had to be presented with an option that was better for their people, something that would propel their society forward. More importantly, they had to know that the New Imperials would keep their word, and that the Sun Guard would be allowed to continue to fight.

War was their trade moreso than anything.

"Would you not rather bury the old strife with your pale enemy and seek out more worthy opponents across the stars? With the union of your system to the Empire, the Iron Sun will gain a blaze that assuredly will burn all who oppose us. Thyrsus will become a brilliant sun, lighting the way through darkness."

LT-137 | Onansi of Thyrsus | Caarlyle Rausgeber | Errant | Irveric Tavlar | Halketh | Rurik Fel