2nd post
North Marna, Koros District, (8km outside Cinnegar)
Marna Valley, Empress Teta (Early-875 ABY)
'Camp Crucible's made this far too easy, brothers. Far too easy indeed.'
All their high-gravity training, every last laboured breath in constructing both the base-camp and the training-camp on Mar'Zambul would pay dividends in the next phase of the Shriven One's infiltration-attempt, with same easily being said for all three of his savage subordinates. With each stride their paces widened, dug into the ground beneath with more aggressiveness, and increased the overall pace of their advance, punctuated only by the Woad's occasional halt signals at the head of the four-man tactical column.
'Yup, the air's almost like soup here. Enough that our lungs are loving every second of it, or at least loving it long enough to cover serious distances before it affects us in any notable fashion.... Mar'Zambul has definitely changed us, Shriven. And definitely to our immense benefit.'
The latest of which being long enough that it prompted the others into shuffling up to his spot at the front of the line, all checking their arcs of fire whilst they discussed the next course of action, all sitting stationary as they cycled through the lenses of their scope-sights; uneventful though their approach had been, no risks could be taken just yet, and especially not when OPFOR reinforcements would increase for as long as they kept fighting. Knife or sword kills would take priority, but with their silencers attached, there was room to snipe potential threats of discovery, as any and all defensive elements on the ground had the capability of raising the alarm for an entire plaza, town or district if the need arose. However, the need hadn't arose, and no such knife kills would occur along the way either, giving Thomas all the reason to finally let out a sigh before chiming in with,
'I feel it as well.... Not quite so noticeable on Exegol, or Rhigar for that matter, but here? An entirely different story.', whilst making one last scanning sweep of the approach to the sprawling suburbs of Cinnegar's outskirts.
'Don't get complacent though, power and strength mean nothing to well-placed disruptor shots. Enemy territory remains so if their banners continue to fly at full-mast, and if this is so, our work isn't done here.... I'll always despise complacency, for it suits us not.'
'Especially not here of all places, brothers.', Rook said, eyeing up an enemy patrol trying to keep their heads below a distant ridgeline to the west, almost a mile out by estimated measurement through the long-distance lens on his scope. Thomas would turn his arc of fire to his right to see what his most-outspoken subordinate was looking at, as usually Rook would have much and more to say on the nuts and bolts of the operation, but having little and less to offer on the matter, it was obvious to the Shriven One that something had caught the attention of his right flank. Feeling Barran's shoulder shunting into his own as he knelt to check on the situation, Rook then pointed straight ahead with a slight elevation as he muttered,
'Skyline straight ahead, north/south ridge - heads are bobbing on a northward advance. Tactical column.', before leaning back to give his eyes a little break from the glow and sustained far-seeing strain.
'Seen, though they appear to be veering off at a westerly twist at the front.... Just as well, looks like two platoons or more. Alarms would be raised in a heartbeat, which means we'll be leaving these bobbing heads alone - no sneaky pot-shots for this lot sadly.'
The four Scar Hounds would chuckle between each other for a moment or two, all whilst Dreamer held the left flank for Ghoul to briefly hold the Shriven One's position, something of a subtle increase in cohesion that would prove useful in the dark. Seeing the newest addition performing well under pressure was helping ease tensions greatly also, for Ghoul's lack of experience had worried the others enough to train him so strictly in the first place, but seeing the fluidity and savvy confidence in the way he moved was proving to be a blessing for their collective peace of mind, though only the Shriven One knew that this newfound fluidity of movement was owed in part to drug use. Rare was such an addiction, not only made functional through the more-difficult aspects of Spice enthrallment, but made more effective as a warrior for making use of it in such situations, though Thomas knew for himself that this discretely excessive attachment would come back to haunt Ghoul someday.
'You know what? We're moving in, and we're moving in now. I don't think we'll ever get a better window of opportunity.... Lets go.'
THE LIVING ARTEFACT: A WOAD ON EMPRESS TETA - PART 3
Senate Row, Northern Suburbs,
Cinnegar, Empress Teta (Early-875 ABY)
'Well, looks like we don't need to worry about standing out any more. Everyone appears quite preoccupied with their own troubles tonight - devices on yet?'
A city set ablaze by war, a setting not too dissimilar to the one the Maw made for themselves on Noris.
Their way in, if the living artefact's little clique were careful enough, was wide open and likely to remain uneventful until they reached the Mawite end of the main battle-line, fortunately set in south-facing collective advance at the time, though Barran had no way of knowing this for sure. All they could do was keep going as they were before, covering every flank as they delved deeper into Cinnegar's embattled interior, and though the Shriven One disliked it greatly, he continued to acquiesce to Dreamer's plan. It had held them in good stead so far, and being ever so superstitious as any Barran would in his shoes, Thomas was in no mood to tempt fate, and certainly not whilst a well-forged greatsword was still in the process of being delivered into the Mongrel's hands. Much larger than the sword at his waist, the Shriven One was resigned to carrying across his back with a quick-stitched leathern sash attached to the scabbard, and annoying though some of movements had become, Barran knew he wouldn't need to deal with it for long - the only problem was the fact it put his sneaking capabilities at risk.
'Not yet, biggest risks of interception always appear within operation-perimeters. Another couple miles an' we'll be within safe signalling distance with the rearguard, its then that we open comms. Safest way at the moment, don't want to draw fire that might flank our comrades, not here anyways.'
And with that, they were off again, bearing southwards in silence, offering brief halts for hand-signals and warnings alike, as it was slowly but surely beginning to get a little busier as the small clique proceeded. However, at the crossroads that marked the halfway-point of their approach, a small beleaguered detachment of enemy riflemen noticed Dreamer's form in the shadows hand immediately began shooting in his direction, shooting at a position that was otherwise better-covered by debris than they had hoped. But with the obscured positions of Dreamer's still uncompromised at the time, the responding counter would ultimately prove fatal for the skittish locals, picked off one by one as the four Mawites worked around them from constantly shifting firing-positions, utilising every possible nook and cranny against the isolated GA riflemen as the small clique flanked and steadily veered their way around to go further south.
I don't think they're alone, but their colleagues can't punish what they can't see in the dark.
It took little more than three minutes to act and eliminate their opponents, and though they were outnumbered by a contingent almost three times their number, Barran's four-man team were able to prevail with calmer temperaments and complete lack of fear for enemies who expressed clear tells of such from the offset. Playthings from the offset, and all they needed to survive it were level heads and stifled desperation, and perhaps a little unit cohesion may have helped them before the final moments, but not even that could've held the Shriven One's little clique off for long.
War isn't for everyone, and certainly not for soldiers of the core worlds.... We push on.
And certainly not for long enough to hold out for reinforcements, even if any were expected to show up at the time.
'Ghoul, listen up. Now I know you don't want to hear this right now, but we'll definitely need you at your best from here on. Don't let distractions ruin it for ya now, brother.... We're counting on you now.'
With his back turned, the youngest member of the group offered a thumbs-up without even so much as dropping his gaze away from the scope, muttering,
'Copy that, I'll be alert for a good while yet so no worries there.', with a slow backpedalling cadence that routinely bumped against the Shriven One's back to confirm that was actually still keeping up. The pace was increasing, but only for the fact they could hear artillery wreaking havoc behind them, and none were comfortable tempting fate by assuming a stray shell wouldn't obliterate them where they stood. Although they were most-definitely stronger than most foes they'd seen or encountered on the planet's surface by then, the strictness of their training and the sheer elasticity of their four-man cohesion were working overtime to keep them from making such needless mistakes on the move.
'Alright, we're not far off now-'
Mind fuzzy, like white noise from ear to ear, ringing at a sickeningly-high tinnitus pitch, such that only meant one thing, telepathic communication, such that the Shriven One hadn't received in almost two years. Hoping it was his darling Rebirth, the loving voice that kept him fighting beyond all hope, Barran found himself feeling something akin to giddy excitement, anticipating another visitation by a deity that infatuated him. Like every syllable was a loving caress, like a soothing, healing kiss on agonizing scar-tissue, Thomas longed to hear Rebirth's voice again, longing for his,
"Morrigan", to return again. So light, so playful that beautiful voice sounded, so great was the calming effect with which Rebirth's dulcet spoken tones in his mind, it was almost too unbearable for the Woad to think it could be happening again so soon.
But it wasn't her, nor was it the two voices who often joined the voice of Rebirth either.
Watch out for him until I get there! If anything goes wrong if he is injured, you won't live the day to become the new warlord, Shriven One. I'm going to kill you before this happens!
Audibly growling, and loud enough that all three of his subordinates stopped in their tracks and drew nearer in the spirit of curiosity coupled with caution, but in not being able to hear what was being seared into the Shriven One's mind, they could only assume the Woad had seen something. But in noting that the next stretch of urban landscape revealed no such threats that warranted such aggravation, Barran's subordinates would bite down on their confusion as they waited for the final word from Thomas, kneeling with north, east and west well-covered in a highly-vigilant state of collective stationary tension. Yet Thomas was still choosing to keep his lips pursed, and quite rightly so, especially after hearing what else Mercy had to say on the matter of his master, sentiments that further tied him to the fate of the tormentor in his mind - further bonding the Woad to a future he was quite willing to embrace already.
And if you tell anyone about this command… in that case you will be dead as well!
'Brothers, we need to pick up the pace.... Draw your swords, we're going in loud this time.'
Boisterous hooting, chanting and shoulder slapping ensued, and though it seemed like they still had a long way to go, Barran's little clique had advanced farther than they initially believed, and were soon to close the rest of the distance without interruption. Then, as soon as all the Beskar swords were drawn singing from their scabbards, the Shriven One exclaimed,
'Every target a tally - every league a stride to complete the cycle!', sprinting off ahead of the others with his Romphaia shining violently in the pretty, fiery light of Cinnegar's burning streets. Some foes would be encountered in the advance, though once more consisting of beleaguered local militias and affiliated infantry-detachments bearing Galactic Alliance insignia, all eliminated by quick and effectively quiet means in the struggle every time. No answer could be found for swordsmen who used the shadows and their own aggression so well, not if the fear was too much to keep a defender from snatching his rifle-trigger to their comrades' detriment, skittishly wasting shots as the Shriven One's subordinates closed the distance around them.
Shai Maji
with an anger that could only come from a parent. He again lifted his blade, both hands gripping the hilt as it hovered overhead. The whistling birds came, but he kept still. Only moving his foot forward. Around him rubble raised, pelting forward towards the whistling birds sent to target him.
Valery Noble
took the initiative.
