1st post
THE WESTERN PIER-FRONT, CORAL COAST,
CINNAGAR, EMPRESS TETA (SUMMER OF 877 ABY)
<"Brethren in Spilled Blood, Bringers of the Great Change, hear my voice!">
Of all the warriors of the Maw who had gathered before the majesty of the Scar Hounds' very own Reverend-Mother, the majority who turned up for the speech were loyal to the power of Rhigar and Mar'Zambul, yet all who were present were devoted to the same faith that glued them all together, regardless of the growing number of sects and cults resting beneath the original tri-theistic tree. All would show face to draw strength from a living wonder, finding the will to fight on after their collective failure to conquer and destroy Tython together, with all searching for that same aggression that instilled fear in the hearts of all who dared oppose them as they marched on the Galaxy at large. All would listen together, kneeling on all fours with their faces looking to the floor in complete proskynesis to the Three Avatars, all embracing their fates together.
All but the Bloodhound, and the Tribal Matriarch - for none could know the salvation they found in the swords they would wield that night.
<”Not so long ago, Maw achieved a huge victory over Empress Teta. All this won the liking of the Avatars. Tython was a mixed success, and the losing of the Dark Voice, or other leaders, was a test. A test on the part of the Avatars because they feel that your faith has weakened in your direction. The Dark Three will bring the Galaxy to come, you have to believe in it, you have to give your blood and your life for it. For the victory. It is our job to bring the future the Dark Three wants. You don't have to be afraid! You are all familiar with the teachings of the Sculpture of the Hidden Maw. You do not have to be afraid of impending death, as this serves the purpose of the Avatars. And those who lose their lives during their service will go to paradise, to the Dark Three's side, where they can experience all of the Galaxy to come's wonders, before us, before everyone.
Darth Solipsis
hasn't left us either, but he watching over us from there, next to our gods, how we continue what the Avatars and he want.“>
Reminded of the highs and lows, the words would stir the crowd in ways they never knew was needed so badly, though as Barran knelt with the flat of his Romphaia's blade resting on the rim of his Brodie-Helm, (set solemnly in prayer to Rebirth and the spirit of his mentor) he would look out to see for a moment, thinking on the sword he forged for his mentor as Y'sanne's words continued to cut deeper with every passing second. Even the setting sun seemed to be feeling the same pain, fading into the cloudy grey with what seemed to be no hope of return, and as the Bloodhound looked out to the horizon, even he would agree it looked like a big ball of fire was just melting into the ocean - symbolically bidding the world one final farewell.
Yet Barran knew it wasn't the sun itself that would die and return a changed orb, as the one-eyed Woad had endured this process before it, but rather, it would be far more likely that a healthy sun would return the next day to find the entire face of the planet (and all who remained to scurry or chase others across it) had changed in it's absence, as it had so suddenly before. However, despite how wrapped up he was in the past and the uncertain future at the time, the symbolic nature of this musing wasn't lost on Thomas either, a stark reminder of the intensity of the turning tide and of how intense it was the last time it turned against him.
<”That is why we need to fight today better and more fierceful than ever. The Avatars are hungry, it’s time to feed them with the souls of our enemies and show that we are able to carry on the legacy of the former Dark Voice, which is now also the legacy of Darth Mori. And we, all of us, will never let down our gods, who will smile at us today and in the future for our results what we are going to achieve today!.“>
The Heathen-Priestess was right after all, but the Warlord was more steadfast in his beliefs than ever, assured that the fresh focus on theocratic zealotry (and on their training in the high-gravity madness of Mar'Zambul) would be enough for his subordinates to weather the storm, enough that the strongest marauders among them could survive long enough to realise their true potential. For as long as Mercy and the Tri-Lunar clique were willing to reap the whirlwind of the gusts they had sown on Tython, as much stronger responses would be expected in retaliation for their daring attempt to destroy it, though the consideration of how far they had come (and all they had survived already) would provide further assurance they could survive for the long run, long enough that the Mongrel's children could perhaps know what it meant to taste true freedom.
'Here at the Empress Teta I asked him to be my husband shortly after you handed the sword to him…'
~=Let it fuel you, Mercy.... Let it bring out the Mercy I saw after Tython.=~
~=The fury in the eyes of that Mercy alone is a force to be reckoned with.=~
Though sadly a true freedom Barran knew he was much too cursed to see them enjoy, fated to die before he could ever get a chance to embrace the wonders of the thereafter, the miracle of a quiet, peaceful completed cycle. It couldn't be anything more than a hopeful dream, but even in the honest assessment of his chances, that dream was enough for the Bloodhound - enough to fight like a rabid dog until the bitter end.
'I will go back to the command tent, from where I will provide you with data during the fight…'
Gladdened of her presence, more so than before, and made more apparent with the sword Kala'myr had brought with her; the Matriarch was beginning to earn reverence, and in being honest with the Warlord on the Taskmaster's intentions, was beginning to earn the Bloodhound's begrudging respect. Besides the eventual, though bloody accord between them, the sword itself had contributed in this matter, as this was no ordinary sword, this blade was that which was forged for the Mongrel - a rallying standard for all who would draw courage and strength from it's presence on Empress Teta.
<”Paint the streets and the planet red with their blood, and make the Dark Three hunger subside with the souls that you have sent to them. Now go children of the Maw, martyrdom and paradise await everyone! WAR! DEATH! REBIRTH!“>
Tapping the sword against the front rim of his helmet, the one-eyed Woad whispered,
'For War, my hand guides this blade to strike first.', inhaling shakily through his nostrils and exhaling with a shudder as he let the grief strengthen his mind, his heart and his soul for the fight ahead. Then just after another moment or two in complete silence, letting the wind and the ocean waves take precedence in blissful peace as his perfect state of fighting flow was gathering within the focus, the Bloodhound dropped the Romphaia forward and continued,
'For Death, I offer my life's blood with absolute conviction.', closing his eyelid as the flat of the sword sank into the sand in front of his knees. It was clear that nothing else in the world mattered to Barran at that point, leaning his head down until the helmet clinked against the flat of the blade for the second time, savouring the moment of tranquillity as the first droplets of summer rain began to make their way to the shoreline.
Then, as his head and torso rose to stand, the Bloodhound grabbed the long, leathern grip as he concluded,
'For Rebirth, I stand - and tread the path - with no doubts or fear in my heart.... Come what may, I endure it all for the Dark Three.', with a low outward swipe that sung against the rainy westward gusts. Looking out to sea once more, Barran then switched hands from his adopted low guard for a surreptitious upward slash at the air, biting against the rising intensity of the storm as it sprayed ocean saltwater and droplets of rain his way, sheathing as soon as he was sure of his control over the gravity disparity. Light though everything was on Empress Teta in comparison to Mar'Zambul, overcooking his lot with careless commitment to full-strength strikes, as likely as it was for someone like Thomas, would become a problem in the event he started to get carried away.
Careless fingers lose grip, careless fingers throw swords away at the most pivotal moments of a Scar Hound's lighter-gravity fight.
The subtleties will guide my hands...
I will dance my opponent's dance.
SHRIVEN NO MORE III: MORE REVELATION, MORE PAIN - PART 1
THE WESTERN PIER-FRONT, CORAL COAST,
CINNAGAR, EMPRESS TETA (SUMMER OF 877 ABY)
Quiet enough. Though we'll see how that goes after-
Turning around to look on his handiwork, the Bloodhound chuckled to see the obvious outline of the Scar Hound skull carved into the sands of the Coral Coast, and largely enough that several GADF and NJO vessels would spot it in the latter halves of their dropship-descent. However, despite the obvious
,"Come at me!", signal to any and all who would catch a glimpse, this particular offering was for one in particular, hoping very much to fight one of the very few Jedi to survive a fight with his mentor, the Atrisian. The one who was there when the great-sword was presented to Barran's Warlord, the one who braced, endured and threw everything back, the last of her kind to live and tell the tale.
The new Warlord was confident in his ability to fight Force-wielding powers, but of all the opponents he could have picked after his scrap with the Sith Pureblood on Mt. Geran, the one-eyed Woad knew the speed and agility of the Atrisian was on different level entirely; a particular quickness that could only be gained from specific training, that which may have contrasted completely to the training-philosophy that Thomas had been thriving on. But he knew for a fact, and especially in studying the reports on her duel with the Mongrel, that neither speed nor agility would be the issue, it was the precision that Barran knew he needed to watch out for. This was no ordinary Jedi, and despite the Bloodhound's gluttonous propensity for eating up punishment, chances to exert dominance in pain-threshold would be few and far between this time.
Attacking in a storm - they're adapting.
Learning to wield terror.
Smirking under his gasmask, Thomas would find at least some appreciation for the Core-Worlders' newfound resolve, seeing the Galactic Alliance still had teeth enough still to confidently stand toe-to-toe with the Maw, an aggression akin to that of the experienced mercenaries the Scar Hounds had been fighting on Tython and Mustafar alike. The Jedi were all finally out for blood, and for the first time, the Bloodhound could feel it in his bones; the creeping realisation that divine retribution was seeking their ilk, the slow-building pressure of adrenaline, all readying Barran from head to toe for the worst. The sort of fear that his ilk sowed, as great and insurmountable as their efforts had been before, were expected to reap the terror of the onslaught that awaited them, though all would stand bravely in acceptance of the odds they would be facing.
For many among the Brotherhood's strongest tribes, this was inevitable, and the majorities within those tribes were relishing their next high-stakes salvo against the Core-Worlders, relishing the fact the battles would only get more destructive as time passed. Existential threats existed on all sides by then, and for as long as the Galaxy was adapting to the Maw's war on it's greatest factions, the strength of their enemies' attacks would serve as ever-greater means to reflect this fact. The Brotherhood of the Maw, though wild and untameable as they were, would have existential threats of their own to contend with for as long as they pushed out from the Unknown Regions.
And I'll leave my mark on every - last - one o' them!
