Work In Progress The Mawsworn Legion

[Thomas Barran]

"Come and sip from the cup of destruction." - Genghis Khan

OOC Info​

Intent: To codify a PvP legion to increase,"Horrors of War", immersion for friend and foe alike.
Image credits: Banner - N/A [AI-generated]
Image credits: Iconography - Darth Solipsis
The Mongrel
Ingrid L'lerim
Role: Independent/Allied Legion
Permissions: N/A [Ref. Iconography Credits]
Links: Articles - Legion of the Maw (RECRUITING NOW)
Links: Threads - Awaiting first deployment [TBD]

General Info​

Unit Name: The Mawsworn Legion
Affiliation: The Mawsworn Khanate
The Galactic Empire
Darth Solipsis
Keilara Kala'myr
Shannic Wulf

Classification: Auxiliary Legion

Description: This legion was never supposed to exist.... All the rival tribes who jostle and jockey for prominence seem to rest, unshifting, beneath the far-reaching umbrella of Khanate dominion, feeling this so acutely (and for so long-) that this pressure to thrive has carried on into the ranks of the Khan's new army. Bringing enmities, disdain and axes to grind, bringing all the loyalties formed by this discord into the makings of another trench-fighting menace.... And yet, for all the odds their superiors face in marshalling the many, this legion persists.

This legion was never supposed to exist.... But for all the factions from whom the broken, the abandoned, and the jaded depart as the Galaxy's wars progress, from all the kingdoms and crusades from whom the others fled, the difference in ideology never seems to get in the way when the fight comes to these newly-dubbed,"Keshigs". Even when faced with the wars and atrocities of yesteryear, even when faced with the names of the worlds their comrades left behind, whether in haste or angered, fighting retreat, enemies greater, enemies unseen will always suffice for more than the stale, dusty loathings of days bygone.... The outsiders have divides to cross within their own ranks, yet this legion persists.

This legion was never supposed to exist.... Barran's Darkhans, having served during the reign of his predecessor, share a vast wealth of near-death experiences, stemming as far back as the early years of the Second Hyperspace War. Yet they would deploy for their Khan without complaint, and have; often for so long without Imperial assistance that the Marauders around them adapted, evolving their methods and policies by wily, seemingly-irreverent means over the years... This legion does not function like a conventional standing army, and still, despite their nomadic raider mindset - this legion persists.

Combat Info​

Unit Size: Tier 1 & 2 - 6500 [Medium]
Unit Availability: Uncommon
Unit Experience: Trained [Militant Culture]
Combat Function: Spearpoint Shock-Assault/Marine Raiders

Equipment (Starships): Devoted - Crucifix II-Class Destroyers
Equipment (Starships): Plundered - pending OOC permissions

Equipment (Aircraft): Devoted - Darkshear-Class Swarm Fighters
Doomsayer-Class Fighter-Bombers
Equipment (Aircraft): Plundered - pending OOC permissions

Equipment (Vehicles): Devoted - Mawite War Skiffs
SHT-26 "Bedevil" Heavy War Bikes
Equipment (Vehicles): Plundered - pending OOC permissions

Equipment (Combat Armour): Devoted - SHT-07 "Hound" Combat Armour
Equipment (Combat Armour): Plundered - pending OOC permissions

Equipment (Weaponry): Devoted - [COMING SOON]
Equipment (Weaponry): Plundered -

Droids: Devoted - Razorghasts
SHT-66 "Malm-hrið" Heavy Battle Droids
SHT-30 "Beetle" Heavy Support Units
Droids: Plundered - pending OOC permissions

Beasts (Burden): [COMING SOON]
Beasts (Cavalry):
Beasts (Battle):
Beasts (Entity):

Strengths/Weaknesses​

Ferocity: Since their first attack on the Galaxy, the Mawsworn have proven themselves as true adversaries on every rung of the Brotherhood's hierarchy, and since the Scar Hounds' ascension to dominance, the culture it since became has only grown more fierce with the passing decades. All the veterans, all their sons and daughters, and all the Galaxy around them remember their natural affinity for the trenches, the quickness to learn and exploit the horrors they find on any given battlefront, a telling sign of the things that drive the archetypal Marauder's psyche; though fortunately for the mad in-the-making, the Darkhans have their means of giving such madness a chance to focus, further-amplifying the effect of that common ferality in combat.

Cunning: Amid the near-unbroken chain of junkyard-engineering tradition, their kleptomaniacal habits and the (more than warranted-) destructive reputation, the Legion's collective irreverence still finds a way to enact an intuitive sort of survivalist pluck; born free from reliance on all that brings comfort and relief to their enemies, as more oft than not these things have held their predecessors back in the wars of yesteryear, holding back that nomadic attunement to all the planets they conquer. This often defined their chances of prevailing as Marauders before, and now, doubly so, and for as long as the ground, the flora and fauna retain potential as weapons of war, the Khan's Legion will always find ways to use them against their adversaries.

Mobility: As it is with every organised product of a roving nomadic horde, the Khan's Legion also retain strategic compulsions from the battle doctrines of their native culture, making it even more difficult to bog them down with conventional entanglements, and the Darkhans have every intention of amplifying that mobility to the undying chagrin of their opposition. For example, the first three Brigades specifically include the warbeasts of their kinfolk in their arrays, along with all the best speeders and repulsorlift vehicles the horde ever produced or plundered, every suitable mode of transport is considered with nomadic recruits in mind.

Experience: For the young and the eager, all they ever seem to know,"Was passed down from our parents."; and though such statements may seem like an innocuous phenomenon at the surface, the Legion's veterans are wise enough to contradict such a dismissive notion, ever-surrounded by reminders that the younger Keshigs retain entirely different attributes and habits to children born in times of prosperity. After all, the new generation of Keshig are the progeny of warriors, born in the wake of the Galaxy's most recent Hyperspace War; the Darkhans can see they retain inherited compulsions to fight like their forebears, just like all the Galaxy's youth in the early years of the Tenth Century, a permeation to which the veterans will always allude in considerations of stronger enemies in turn.

Criminality: Not at all aided by the,"Salvage", doctrine that strips a battlefield of all it's abandoned and damaged vehicles, even less by a Khan the Heathen Priesthood dubbed as their Saint of Rogues and Outlaws, there remains an unaddressed temptation for looting, for the torture and murder of captives, such that presents distinct vulnerabilities in the Keshigs' overall combat-effectiveness. Even the veterans can see it, often warning,"Through the lens of a sniper-scope, lapses of judgement are often indistinguishable from hesitation.", but even the Darkhans know the rewards always have a way of outweighing their corresponding risks, all knowingly perpetuating an unending prevalence of widespread lawlessness in combat.

Mulishness: The proverbial Red Mist stubbornly remains a double-edged sword in early-10th Century warfare,"Ringing", particularly true for the Mawsworn in the heat of the heaviest clashes, still notorious for their manic propensity to hear nothing but white-noise whenever adrenal responses take hold, thus presenting the Darkhans with more than enough potential challenges going forward. Even without the frenzy of battle factored into the potential dangers of authority, the Darkhans still need to rely on more than their wit on familiar territory, wholly expected in a meritocracy built on a foundation of strength, and the premise that boasts,"Only the strongest fight for the Legion".

Technology: When faced against the armies of the Galaxy's most-advanced civilisations, the disadvantages are most apparent in the Khanate's long-standing use of obsolete assets in their applied loadouts and ordnance arsenals, still bereft of advancement in sectors like the medical/pharmaceutical, engineering, agricultural and factory-production industries. The fact,"They get by.", is cause enough for concern, but if the Khanate continue to dither and delay plans to construct permanent facilities, the armour and firepower of their foes will be the least of the Legion's worries, and the Mawsworn, more than most, ought know the true lethality of attrition in wartime.

Isolationism: For as long as the Maw have toiled to assist their allies on the ground, the Mawsworn have suffered betrayal throughout their struggle for survival, bearing the brunt of Civilisation's parasitic oppression on every perceivable level, and to each a reason, all are plausible catalysts for circumstances much worse than insular regression. Miracles alone seem to have kept the Khan from attacking his allies thusfar, but despite the constant (yet prudent-) warnings to be cautious around the Keshigs, the Dark Voice's return has since reinvigorated a dormant hope for a path to reconciliation, slow and steady though that process will be.

Active Contingents
Tier-1
(Elite Echelon)

1st Mawsworn Auxilia
"Rogues"

​

War-Chief: Rook Darkhan "The Zealot" [NPC]
Aides: Mastiff "Savrip Soul" [NPC]
Diarm Gorm "Slicer" [NPC]

Demographics: Veteran Marauders (50%)
Scav Kings (25%)
Veteran Imperial Troopers (15%)
Cirihut Warriors (10%)

Doctrine: Shock-Assaults/Offensive Breakthroughs
Watchword: Impact
Availability: Limited
Personnel: 2,500+
Accolades: "Retinue of the Khan's Champion"
"Retinue of the Archon-Elect"
"Mawsworn Elite"

Description: Of all the first three Auxilia brigades, it is highly likely that the 1st Mawsworn will seek to inflict the most destruction on opposing defensive lines, expected to punch through anything that dares to hold ground against them, thus earning their collective right to call themselves,"Rogues". Making the issue of defensive and offensive responses into a nail-biting struggle for supremacy of momentum, for any and all who assume to retain advantages in firepower and personnel-numbers, and judging by the arrays of which the Arkanian War-Chief intends to bring every time, it would appear that Rook Darkhan is even willing to implement warbeasts to gain ground in the struggle.

2nd Mawsworn Auxilia
"Nomads"

Warchief: Dreamer Darkhan "The Mystic" [NPC]
Aides: Farnum Kallson "Dustborn" [NPC]
Irr'waniim'Capaq'thi "Fetters" [NPC]

Demographics: Veteran Marauders (20%)
Jagan-Jin Rough Riders (20%)
Onderonian Nomads (20%)
Bogaranth Cavalry (15%)
War-Skiff Marauders (15%)
Veteran Scout Troopers (10%)

Doctrine: Skirmishing/Light Cavalry
Watchword: Mobility
Availability: Limited
Personnel: 1,500+
Accolades: "Blessed by the Wind"
"Tribal Elite"

Description: Dreamer's host (comprised of all the best warriors from the realm of Mawsworn hit-and-run tactics) aims to achieve more than just feigned-retreat ambushes, sensing his peers' need for a strong relief-force, a punishing hammer for overextending adversaries. Coincidentally granting the 2nd Mawsworn with a unique, competitive opportunity, and the Renegade-Chiss already relishes the chance to keep score of successful breakthroughs with his Arkanian friend, though this will never, in any way, shape or form, deter the Nomads from their primary function as a skirmishing/harrying collective.

Tier-2
(Peerage Echelon)

3rd Mawsworn Auxilia
"Scavengers"

Warchief: Ghoul Darkan "The Preacher" [NPC]
Aides: Brennus of the Red Sands "Ratchet" [NPC]
Zarral Miyatri "Breaker" [NPC]

Demographics: Veteran Imperial Troopers (25%)
Veteran Marauders (25%)
Liberated Convicts (25%)
Reindoctrinated Stragglers (20%)
Heathen Priests (5%)

Doctrine: Frontline Support/Warrior Reform
Watchword: Salvage
Availability: High
Personnel: 2,500+
Accolades: "Shields of the Faith"
"Blessed by the Dark Three"

Description: If the 3rd Mawsworn can drag abandoned ordnance to safety and rig it to work, (and in short order at that) they most-certainly will; and in the heat of battle, the faithful are very likely to use it against their enemies, caring little and less as to whether it belonged to friend or foe before. Granted, rarer examples are always sent to the landing-zones with any other plunder they find, but such examples are seldom left to collect dust for too long, and for as long as repentant wanderers exist to utilise the weapons of their enemies, the tools for the Keshig's job remain firmly within reach.

 

[Thomas Barran]

"If an incompetent chieftain is removed, seldom do we appoint his highest-ranking subordinate to take his place." - Attila the Hun

History of the Legion
"WAR, DEATH, REBIRTH!!!!" - the Mawsworn Motto

Beginnings
I
​

The story begins with two convicted street thugs,"Freed", in 863 ABY by a Warlord they called The Mongrel, and the only things these hoodlums had in common was the fact they shared a jail cell, similarities in their listed charges, and the fact they answered to the same shot-caller - right up until the moment he was beheaded before their very eyes.

The same man who slaughtered the lost-causes around them, breaking in to find a wealth of wild-eyed, blood-covered survivors among the corpses, just so happened to be the progenitor of a Marauder tribe, operating under the authority of the Dark Voice, Darth Solipsis . But unbeknownst to this tribal Warlord, a deep hatred of civilisation was already firmly gripping the hearts of these fledgling Marauder-Aspirants, burning with a loathing disdain for cultures who cowed and knelt to the power of cultural rot, the worlds and peoples from whom they fled to survive.

All they needed was a nudge, just one well-placed shunt in the right direction.

In it's first showing of supreme violence, the Brotherhood of the Maw would deploy many (if not, all-) of the tribes who resided in the Unknown Regions for combat; and the tribe to whom the two captives would belong was none other than the Scar Hounds, the most-eager of all to tread the snow on Csilla, the most-eager of all to witness it's destruction. This was when the two youths were given their first callsigns, and on the eve of this battle, it appeared quite fitting indeed to name them Biter and Gouger. Reminiscent of their initial reactions to the Mawite hands of liberation, with some recalling how they struggled against their captors all the way to their new home on Mar'Zambul, it only made sense that such ferocious nicknames would be gifted on the night before history was changed forever.

Another of their sort would be gifted with a similar ilk of nickname before that night on Csilla, but neither Biter nor Gouger would meet that fellow until years later, and for as long as the woven threads of fate burned too hot for any of the Scar Hounds to approach, the curious would always find themselves steered toward their natural, beaten paths. Not that the youths would lack their fare share of fateful moments in the Maw's war on the Galaxy, as there would be swathes upon swathes of memories yet to be internalised, with many of which to be lived out in the doomed mountains of Csilla.

The year was 865 ABY, and the feral youths had become men by the time the fateful fight commenced in the snowy, windswept plateaus of the Chiss' homeworld, a world of which young Gouger especially despised, acutely, landing the former-hoodlum decidedly in favour of the planet's destruction. Willing, in his heart, to set all his traumatic memories ablaze; just so happening to be born of Cheunh-speaking, blue-skinned nobility, a clan of the world's high-society, people who callously cast him to the same winds that lashed at the flanks of his new masters. This made for quite the surprise in the mind of the Mongrel when he summoned young Gouger for questioning, as the Marauders had been feeling uneasy since Csilla was first stated as an official, legitimate target, though only until the truth started spilling out.

None could have foreseen the truth, none could have foreseen the living, breathing source of their resolve.

That same, empathetic rage they felt would be remembered well in the fight for Csilla, and even though their first large-scale offensive was arrayed against a New-Imperial contingent, the tribe's progenitor wisely reminded raiders on every rung that only the callous, only the,"Civilised", lived on the planet's surface in it's last days. A society so decadent, so apathetic that the concept of exiling children became synonymous with pest-control, a,"People", so vile that their lower-rungs made money rounding-up and selling children like Gouger into slavery, thus were doomed to annihilation long before the Brotherhood approached it's pale, icy surface.

It was enough that early gains had been made against their New-Imperial opposition, but the battle would go on to unfold in a tidal motion, back and forth with each new surge of aggression; and yet by the end, the fight had escalated to such an extreme that their New-Imperial adversaries called for a parley, to meet the plucky raiders who were holding their own against an entire armoured brigade. In any other predicament, all were right in their confidence that the Mongrel probably would have refused, but there was something untold about these strong adversaries with strong accents, and the Warlord was also fighting through the debilitating pain of his wounds near the end of their confrontation.

Their commanding officer, however, brash and boisterous though he was - showed grace and respect in admitting he was none other than DECEASED Aron Gowrie.

Assigned to the Mongrel's bodyguard detail, it was Biter who made the grander impression in the resulting fight, and when the New-Imperials arrived with medical equipment, the white-eyed youth would have his rifle pointed at the opposing commander throughout the parley. But fortunately for both youths, and their hidden other, all the nearest raiders would be within sight or earshot of all that transpired next; enough mutual-respect had been gained that both sides were relishing to fight each other again, and in begrudging acceptance of Galidraani medical care, the Warlord quickly learned that fate had more in mind than a quiet, rattling gasp for doomed Csillan air.

Ending a blizzard-covered night of madness in a strangely-ceremonious conclusion, met with a conceding New-Imperial brigade who disappeared into the darkness, and back toward the comfort of the Galactic Alliance's far-frontiers; yet there would be more resting on the shoulders of the Scar Hounds, and none more than their wounded Warlord, weighed down with thoughts of spirituality and fate from a mostly-secular perspective. At the time, all there was for Marauders was the fury of the fight, and with plenty among them already accepting cybernetic replacements for limbs lost in combat, the Mongrel's own journey of enhancement would help to compartmentalise matters of faith for a while.

Beginnings
II
​

On the day he finally bested Erskine Barran's forces, the Mongrel had survived in duelling encounters against multiple battle-commanders, coordinating multiple strategic successes on multiple battlefronts, and before long, the Warlord would make a personal point of continuing his progress. The year was 868 ABY, and for the first time ever, the Scar Hounds' boots had just stepped on Nirauan's surface; and just under three years after the Unknown Regions burst into life from the Maw, all the surviving Marauders had become a growing force to be reckoned with, already in possession of vital battle-experience by the time their boots made first-contact with the cobbled streets of New Carannia.

Finally carving a vicious wound across the Jewel of Defiance.

Biter and Gouger had become Marauders of growing reputation by the time they played their part in the assault on New Carannia, bestowed with the callsigns,"Rook", and,"Dreamer", at differing moments in the first campaigns. The former for his understanding of the ways in which each fight ebbed and flowed, almost as if the most-violent encounters could be viewed from a Dejarik-player's perspective in the white irises of the Arkanian, the latter, for his innate ability to think outside the box, often found thinking to himself in the moments prior to actions their opposition never predicted.

The young warriors would go on to keep their newfound monikers, but it was in the Hand of Thrawn's shadow where Rook and Dreamer truly earned their new names, proving the great merit of their presence on Nirauan; and their achievement would be made known in the result of their fight against the Empire's Lord-General, an encounter that cemented their place among the higher echelons of Marauder authority, as it was their leader's ears that would be the most receptive of all to end-result. If it had been against any other frontline commander of great repute, all the Scar Hounds knew the Mongrel would give it praise of lesser intensity, but for the fact it was one of two great rivals to the Warlord, the auspice of cunning would be felt from the moment they disengaged.

Like Colonel Gowrie, the Lord-General was also of Goidelic birth, and like commander of the Wildcats, DECEASED Erskine Barran had also locked horns with the Warlord, both as strategists, and both as sword-wielding duellists. Ample cause to take action with their newly-anointed battle autonomy, and on that day of days, Rook would reunite with Dreamer to do exactly that, facing the Stormchaser head-on in an unforgettable fight for survival. A clash in which the old Woad lost his arm, the outcome of a bite from a reanimated corpse, held in place just long enough for the undead soldier to sink it's teeth as deep as possible, a spur-of-the-moment decision that broke the defence of the city's Myrmidon Quarter.

The old Stormchaser would never be the same again, and for that matter - nor would his assailants.

It was in the following assault on the Myrmidon Fort (and all throughout it's preceding breakthrough) that Rook & Dreamer would encounter the mysterious third youth, watching on as his hulking, animalistic fury took their ball and ran with it, though it wasn't until after their shortlived victory that the fated first encounter transpired. Introducing himself as,"Nail", to his contemporaneous peers, they immediately recognised the Mongrel's naming-convention; reserved solely for one particular group of Aspirants, such that specifically placed him among those who survived the Warlord's prison raid in 863 ABY, marking the young Human behemoth as a friend from the very moment his callsign was uttered.

The trio would go on to fight together on Csaus in 870 ABY, but for all the damage they inflicted Barran's IMPAF array, fate would part Nail from Rook and Dreamer once more, though neither the Arkanian nor the Chiss would know why until some years later. Assuming for so long that this had been ordained by the Warlord's high-command, and for reasons that escaped them, as it was not the Mongrel's inner-circle who were responsible, but rather, the callous actions of their greatest adversaries that split them apart. Their human contemporary had been wounded, coincidentally incurred in a skirmish with New-Imperial troopers, reportedly losing all his limbs in an attempt to evade the spread of a detonating airburst-rocket.

The inseparable would remain separated, though not forever, their destinies would intertwine again, just not as Nail was. The healers and Heathen chaplains would not allow disturbances to their work, nor would the Mongrel, but for entirely differing reasons, as it just so happened that their Warlord was not completely heartless. It served Rook and Dreamer little and less to see their seemingly-invincible friend like that, and if their friend was to awake and see their reaction, their Warlord understood enough to know that the behemoth's soul would seek death before ever seeing the results of his perseverence.

The Warlord would not allow it, and with him - nor would the healing hands of time.

Dreams
I
​

Having fought so long in secular attachment to the worldly, frighteningly-lifelike realms of war, it was only a matter of time before the Scar Hound were, once again, assailed by notions of spiritual nature in the latter months of 872 ABY; first of all being Dreamer, the Mongrel, and Keilara Kala'myr , (and on the same night at that-) and though they wisely kept their own counsel on the matter, it would not be long before others began to speak up about their,"Dreaming Visions". Speaking out on notions the Marauders would have scoffed at before, and especially in the earliest assaults on the Galaxy, but knowing the strange energy that guided their enemies' actions, it would not take long for their Warlord to evolve in his understanding of the words his opponents spoke of fate, of destined paths that led them to him.

There would be no avoiding the creeping realisation after that, and with the shared vision considered, it's content would hit with an impact much harder than the hoaky, spiritual language of their adversaries. Although the Mongrel was naturally hesitant to further-explore this matter, holding off on his curiosity until the earlier months of 873 ABY, his hand was forced when it became apparent that the same vision had projected within the dreams of multiple Mawsworn allies, prompting open-permissions to discuss this prophetic event at length.

From the tip of each spire had flown the flag of the New-Imperial Order, tattered and burning. Far beneath this grim spectacle, at the base of the spires, the black sands of this dead planet had churned like the sea, and frrom deep within these sands had emerged a terrible beast, a leonine creature dripping with azure blood. In its mouth it carried its own flayed hide, impaled on the jagged points of its hideous teeth. It had roared, and the spires all around it had shattered, sending the burning flags tumbling down into a great abyss.

The shamans had all agreed - this was a powerful omen.

With the right interpretations, (and the mystics required to pinpoint the location of note) all the gathered, curious masses would agree to learn the truth of their dreams, the Warlord finally agreed to lead a search-party; departing Mar'Zambul for the planet of Durace, skirting the far-edges of the Unknown Regions, and all to retrieve a resurrected Goidel on it's stormy, mountainous surface. Most were oblivious to the fact the Blue-Lion was more than the Woad-Macushla's tribal symbol, unaware of this Woad's significance to the Mongrel's most-fervent duelling rival, and though the search-party were blindly stabbing in the dark to uncover the truth they sought, some were already catching the uncanny scent of auspice in the air.

As they accompanied their Warlord on the way there, all that Rook and Dreamer would learn was the risks they would be braving as soon as their ships descended beneath Durace's stratosphere, having already retained their own views on the weather this,"Omen of Durace", would catalyse as he crossed through the Rift. But for all the assumptions made on who or what they were fated to uncover, everyone who was there to see it (and for all their varying extremes of excited bluster) would be left utterly gobsmacked by the insanity, the power, the fury they found.

​

The first ones to locate the Omen's whereabouts were, coincidentally, none other than Rook and Dreamer, but despite their supposed good luck, the former of whom would soon bear the misfortune of having the madman's hands around his throat. Sensing the unnatural strength of his assailant, but seeing the hidden truth in the screamer's eyes most of all, it was then that Rook understood what the fuss was about, though his cautious fear persisted enough that he kept the business-end of his pistol firmly pressed against the Goidel's skull. Yet fortunately for all involved, the Warlord would show up with his seach-party - and just in time to turn the manic Woad's attention away from the muzzle of the Arkanian's slug-pistol.

​

Discerning the complications on first inspection, Rook could see for himself that multiple symptoms were driving this individual's duress, along with the fact another soul was inhabiting the one into which the Warlord was soon to see for himself; besides the mid-swing onset of amnesia, and the power that threatened to overcome his mind at any given moment, a clear trauma was also a main factor in the difficulties this Goidel would be facing in his second life. But for all the risks their tribe was expected to encounter, their Warlord still saw an unparalleled potential in this broken, tormented man, yet none would know what else the Mongrel was seeing, as there was something else lingering in his confused, brow-furrowed curiosity at the time.

And the Mongrel was not the only one with this look of recognition written across his face, far from it - but Marauders of Rook's, Dreamer's and Nail's ilk would need to learn the truth on their own.

In absence (or perhaps, omittence-) of a name, the Mongrel then recruited,"The Shriven One", to join the Scar Hounds, to become the Warlord's smoking gun, his one weapon to wield against the greatest of his New-Imperial adversaries. Though as for the two young Marauders chosen to protect the Ace up their leader's sleeve, many would see the justified apprehension in their eyes, glowing with glowering contempt toward their own, bowing acquiescence to this order; viewed upon as the first, and harshest of it's sort, but despite their jaw-clenched emotional response, the Mongrel retained enough foresight to see they would thank him for it someday.

They only wished to stay on campaign, to continue fighting alongside their Brethren, to bear witness to the Wonders of the Mongrel in combat, even if only for a little while longer. But the order would be heeded all the same, sending them aboard a Doomsayer with the unconscious Omen over Dreamer's shoulder, jumping on a long, arduous route to Mar'Zambul. The fact it had been nearly ten years (and to the exact day-) since the Mongrel first broke Rook and Dreamer out of prison, ten years since the very day their fates were decided by the Scar Hounds - was not lost on them either.

Dreams
II
​

It was mere months after the Rift event when the Shriven One was coherent enough to learn from his new protectors, but despite the issues with memories of his previous life, visions of other sorts would assail him as Rook and Dreamer watched over him. Believing these visions to reveal a curse, manifesting afterimages that it bound itself to the sword that dubbed him on Durace, and in the process of recounting these dreams to his bright-eyed protectors, the resurrected Woad found himself surprised by the immediate, yet-sincere acquiescence to the truths of prophecy.

After all, prophecy had guided them all as far as Durace to find him - and there was no way of telling how much the Avatars were trying to reveal.

​

Thus drawing the Shriven One to the one place on Mar'Zambul that beheld an abundance of the base-metal he needed, as it was in the revelation itself that the Woad revealed his intent to forge a sword, a blade designed to avert such a catastrophic outcome for the tribe, strong enough to withstand all deathly pressures. All the Marauders around the amnesiac Goidel agreed that Beskar would outperform the strength of Durasteel, and that somewhere within the planet's Plunder Scrapyards (somewhere deep within the sheer expanse of collected junk and spare-parts the Scar Hounds had collected by then) the Shriven One would surely find enough raw materials to work with.

​

It was during this scrapyard soujourn when word would reach them about Rhigar, and judging by the urgency of the matter, it was very likely that their growing security-detail would need to handle it; but despite the fact their leader was too far away to handle it personally, along with the realisation that they would need to handle it as immediately as their Doomsayers could handle, the Woad's protectors would find themselves relieved to learn that he had found exactly what he needed. Just in time to mobilise and marshall the meagre firepower they possessed for the impending struggle, and though it was against a small-scale operation, these unaffiliated raiders would not give up the planet willingly, for all intents and purposes,"Squatting", with all the obstinance expected of pirates native to the Unknown Regions.

It was there, on Rhigar's frozen surface, where the Woad would forge his mentor's blade, it was there where his mind would find a new level of focus. But when they finally overcame these squatting raiders, the true depth of their depravity would be uncovered, and just in time for a lunar event of which none present were aware would happen, sealing their captain's fate when his actions were laid bare for all the Scar Hounds to see. The following moments, though the Shriven One would know it at the time, would mark a vital change in the Marauders' overall attitudes; though as for whether it would be to his blessing or detriment, hidden though this change would remain forevermore, relied entirely on how this amnesiac responded.

For those sorts of criminals they were wise to avoid in prison, for the defilers, the cannibals and sadists of irredeemable extreme, those of whom who were most-deserving of Moon-Children thralldom, only the harshest punishments sufficed. Marked in their need to act quickly as the planet's three moons began to draw nearer to an expected eclipse, it seemed as though the Woad would never take the leap, but when his demeanour suddenly darkened, all the attending Scar Hounds would almost-immediately relish the prospect of pleasing the Avatars. Yet despite all their imagined outcomes for the unaffiliated captain, all would find themselves utterly shocked by the Shriven One's chosen method, knowing there was something else guiding this motion to gift,"The Squatter-in-Chief", with a Blood-Eagle.

Finally, something more than a burden - no longer just an amnesiated mess to clean up.

​

Near the site of the captain's execution, the Trilunar Eclipse would slowly unravel to reveal the site that would become the Shriven One's forge, and despite the clear need for renovation, it was quite clear to this Woad that the makings of the planet's Sacred City would begin there. Everything they were supposed to endeavour correctly had been completed successfully, and the Moons War, Death and Rebirth alike had rewarded them by pointing to the place where a new future would be wrought with strength, vigor and ferocity.

The Woad would not step out from his sacred forge until the first month of 874 ABY, and with more than just a well-honed greatsword to show for it, so when the Warlord had finally summoned his Shriven prospect, there would be multiple swords finished and sheathed for use in combat already. Not only would the leader retain his blade to fight fate, but Rook and Dreamer would also receive swords of the same quality, made from the same Beskar slabs the Woad used for the Warlord's new duelling weapon, (and for the one the Woad forged for himself) making the two young Marauders feel all the safer in their return to the Maw's war on the Galaxy.

It was then, in the burning, crumbling streets of war-torn Cinnegar, when the young Marauders finally found it in themselves to respect the Shriven One, recognised as legitimate leadership potential for the first time, but in a way that neither Rook nor Dreamer could ever have expected. First, in his quickness to coordinate squad movements efficiently, though the first few minutes were spent trying to remember particular tac-signals, next would be in the visible calm shown in combat as GADF Marines failed an ambush attempt on their approach, a major relief to those with prior apprehension towards those who believed his early deployment was ill-advised.

And yet, such was not all that brought smiles to the Marauders' faces, as it would turn out that the Shriven One was the gift that kept on giving, the greatest reward was still yet to be found.

Dreams
EPILOGUE
​

It was a shaky start, and all just to be sure he was hand-signalling properly on certain commands, but as soon as he remembered the right hand-signal for,"Ambush", the successes started (and from there, only ever seemed-) to add up, further-amplified by the Shriven One's ferocity in the first combat engagements. A welcome change of pace, if ever there was one in the Galaxy, only to find themselves gaining momentum with every pace they ambled towards the Scar Hounds' static line; but when they were met with a halt in demand of identifying markings, tattoos and the line, the Marauders on second-line sentry duty brought them a little further forward, bringing the Shriven One's party to a checkpoint coordinates by a face they had not seen since 870 ABY.

Without knowing, and without even giving so much as a single thought to those he was likely to encounter on the way, the Woad had just reuinited the Chiss and the Arkanian with their old friend, surprising them greatly with the visible truth of why Nail had vanished so suddenly. Learning of his agonizing, debilitating ordeal from the moment of wounding injury, following it through the process of recovery and cybernetic construction, all the way up to the moment he saw them approach, the hulking madman spared no detail in the recountings of his time away from the Feral-Aspirant generation.

And together, the clique would afford the cybernetic behemoth his due moment of silent, surviving tribute. A wordless consideration for Nail's enduring flame.

Finally, the behemoth had returned, and for all the pain and dismay he suffered to make it so far, nothing would stop him from staying on the right track, that one path that kept him from seeking the solace of death. But Nail was not alone, as it was during his time at the healers' mercy when he encountered a fourth Feral Aspirant, though this one was definitely of second-generation age, and in a worse baseline condition than most in his intake-grouping. Yet after keeping his young Atrisian friend by his side for so long already, it was only a matter of time before the small clique encountered young Ghoul in Nail's protective keeping, seeing that same fire their behemoth had seen in the recovering Spice addict's eyes, consequently earning the loyal youth a lifelong place among the Shriven One's collective.

The ensemble would be fully-formed by the time the Shriven One finally reached the Mongrel, found observing the work of his warbeasts near the main contact-line, and when their Warlord finally turned to see them, he stopped to take it all in. Seeing another generation of Scar Hounds in the making, seeing that a future existed for the tribe, the Warlord would experience a new surge of inner-strength, a reminder of everything for which he fought so savagely. Doubled in intensity when the Woad finally presented the Mongrel with his new sword, and not just in response to the fact everyone suddenly knelt to let the Shriven One present it properly, as it was clear that fates and destined outcomes had been (and would be-) challenged when the Woad set out to forge this blade.

Promise wrought, Promise fulfilled.

After that day, the Mongrel would go on to make a concerted point of training, teaching and leading this new collective personally, stepping into his role as their mentor for the sake of their long-term survival, an experience of which the budding Trilunar Clique would remember fondly in later life. Not only for the gains in warfighting proficiency, and not only for the insights on how matters of prophecy shaped their journey, but also in the amplified camaraderie from their time together, finding their reasons to believe in each other - and every part as much as they believed the Great Cycle could be set into motion once more.

Awakenings
I​

In his declaration of his successor, the Mongrel's smoking gun would adopt a fitting name to suit his newfound status, thus the Shriven One (with his Warlord's blessing) became the Bloodhound, just in time to lead the Scar Hounds' on the Mongrel's behalf. An entire tribal collective, taking up parts of the battlefront on Tython against Hellion PMC, IMPAF and multiple GADF contingents, marking the Woad's greatest responsibility by then; but for all the odds that stacked against them, the Trilunar Clique would rise to the occasion, holding their own with guile and ferocity until the order was given to withdraw.

It was just before the last month of 876 ABY, and throughout that fated day, the Trilunars managed to engage in artillery duels, tank-battles and a slew of infantry entanglements before the day was done, seeing tears in reality, moons from other dimensions and entities that defied all esoteric description as the battle progressed. Strengthened by blood-offerings to Darth Solipsis , given feral, adrenal reserves of fighting strength by the Dark Voice's,"Hâsk Jiaasen", ritual, it was little wonder as to how they managed to overpower so many contingents across their static-line, made all the more impressive by the fact they were tapping into that madness without losing their minds to it.

But when the battle was finally fizzling out to it's last angry potshots, word came through on the Scar Hounds' open comm-link channels - the worst news of all for Mawsworn Marauders to bear.

Not only had the Dark Voice perished in his struggle against the Light, but the Mongrel had also died in single combat that day, leaving behind a successor who he knew to be the son of the man who bested him; leaving behind a son and a daughter, though fortunately to one the others trusted, thus Keilara Kala'myr 's ascension to Tribal Matriarch, at the time, was viewed as the sole blessing to come from Tython. Leading the Bloodhound's friends on a rollercoaster from despair to distrust, then to sudden protective instincts, whiplash would accompany their traumas as the Trilunars were brought through the ringer emotionally, and all as if by the unexpected click of thumb and index-finger.

The Woad's dreaming vision, proven true though it was, seemed only to nudge the Warlord to another, differing deathly fate, leaving Thomas Barran in his grief to admit,"Same outcome, different sword.", dutifully accepting ownership to wield it in the Mongrel's stead. The Bloodhound, in turn, would work to prove his worth to the Tribe of his mentor, and though it would take time for the Darkhans to find the same trust they previously had in their friend, they would soon find other reasons to respect their new, mostly-untested Warlord. For such a near-reviled leader, only a baptism of fire would suffice, and with the Brotherhood of the Maw, the Bloodhound would beget the beginnings of an extensive fight for the Scar Hounds' survival in the long run.

The Woad was compelled to utilise the brilliance in his blood, to endure punishments untold for the sake of his Marauders, and all whilst recovering from the physical agonies of learning who he was before; revealed by none other than the Tribal Matriarch, the most distrusting of all at the time, understandably still unable to reconcile with son of the man who murdered the love of her life. But with newly-shuffled allegience came newly-uncovered strife, that which had been bubbling beneath the surface years before the Bloodhound ascended to prominence, back when entities like Tu'teggacha seemed like obscure, distant stories of legend.

The new Warlord, however, took to the endeavour without a single word uttered in protest, thus the Secret War began in earnest, all whilst continuing to fight their part in the Second Great Hyperspace War.

​

The entirety of 877 ABY would be a long series of trials for the tribe, and the one-eyed Woad's resilience would feel it most-acutely, as the recollections of his first life would assail him near-incessantly in the first months of that year. Marking a crippling first foray toward prevail through both wars, yet the Scar Hounds would bear witness as the Bloodhound fought through the pain, fighting, against Hellion PMC's Jas Katis on Mustafar; having fought just months before on Tython, the second encounter unfolded at a much-higher intensity, resulting in a contrastingly-destructive clash that ended inconclusively.

The Trilunars would not be present for this battle between budding rivals, as they were tending to the Mongrel's Mausoleum on Mar'Zambul at the time, but after seeing the state of their mentor's successor after the fact, they knew there would be more than just their wars to consider. Thus the newly-dubbed Darkhans, against their distrustful instincts, worked to keep their only-remaining lifeline safe, protecting their new Warlord as they would the tomb of the man who freed them. But for all the Scar Hounds' efforts to heal Barran's injuries, (internal and external alike) the Dark Voice's successor, Mori, would call upon the Tribe, in it's entirety, to aid in Empress Teta's defence against a sudden, dominant GADF counteroffensive.

Barran's friends would find themselves preoccupied on Cinnegar's battlefront, holding the Mawsworn right flank whilst Thomas accepted the coordinating Jedi's offer to duel, a fight of which very few expected their Warlord to win; and without support, or covering sharpshooters, the doubters would be right to count out the Bloodhound's chances of winning. Against Ishida Ashina, the Bloodhound stood no chance, and though the one-eyed Woad had outlasted many of those unlucky enough to fight the Atrisian before, Barran would find himself run through at the chest by the blessed sword of his opponent. Only just surviving by divine intervention - and the begrudging sympathy of the Matriarch who found him bleeding out on the sand.

​

As far as the Bloodhound believed, there was no deeper low to where his soul could sink, but for all the Marauders he was bleeding himself dry to protect, these bodily sacrifices were assuring the Scar Hounds' long-term survival. Although it was difficult for the Warlord to believe he was making a difference, lying on the Tetan sand, weeping blood-dyed tears as his chest wound sent blood trailing toward the sea, he was too broken to see that these trials were all too similar to those his mentor had suffered for the Tribe's sake, earning trust and admiration through means that once inspired the Trilunars he trained and tutored.

Awakenings
II​

Again Lord Mori called on the Scar Hounds, and again they deployed, and for the third time that year, the Tribe would set out to defy the ever-improving proficiency of their enemies. Such was the way of war, all beligerents would learn from the strife, and continue to learn from the experience of bloodletting their enemies, drawing an abundance of methods and strategies around their encounters with the most-dangerous of their adversaries. But fortunately for the Warlord, the forests around Canthar were dense, ancient, and an extreme of swampy that surprised many of the planet's attackers, perfect conditions to dig in and test the endurance and patience of the Tribe's enemies, granting a still-recovering Barran a first-time copportunity to command the Marauders as a conventional strategist.

The Bloodhound's only concern were the potential complications that went with having every beligerent working to destroy this ancestral homeworld of the Epicanthix, and with every known faction implementing plans on the ground that day, the Warlord would be wise not to commit too many resources to this fight for the trees. It was then that the Scar Hounds began to scratch a recent, heart-aching itch, dragging and carrying their incapacitated Woad hither and yon to oversee a reinvigorated tradition, unleashing of the Mongrel's warbeasts - for the first time since their first fight for Empress Teta.

The Hutts also (and to the great, suspecting surprise of the Bloodhound) extended an olive branch in the first exchanges of fire, and though it came at a cost that sickened the Warlord for years after the fact - this would mark the opening of the door to the Galaxy's criminal underworld.

​

Meanwhile, the High-Priestess of their faith was overseeing something else entirely, and with the great power she wielded, even the lowliest Aspirants could guess that Y'sanne Stradd was aiding the cause with magnitudinous, otherworldly bombast. Fully aware of the Lost Legion's plan to drag the Bloodhound back to the Nether, and more willing than most to drive fear into the hearts of the Maw's enemies, the warfighters assumptions were proven right when she opened the Rift to bring horrors of her own into Realspace.

It was enough to keep the Scar Hounds locked in for every tidal ebb and flow of their fight, but when Panatha's impending implosion neared, something else happened, a development of which only a few around Barran were expecting. Both Mercy and Thomas had been waiting for the first aggressive play of the Ebruchized, trapped in hypervigilant anticipation of an attack from Tu'teggacha, and for as long as the Shi'iDo Fleshtakers remained a threat, the Matriarch would never let her guard down. Unfortunately, this readiness would not be enough that day, and when Mercy telepathically informed Thomas of her capture, he rightly, and instantly believed this to be true.

But for all that this change of circumstances would threaten to shatter Tribal morale, the Scar Hounds would not buckle under pressure, and especially not the Darkhans, recognizing the fortuitous opportunity in the ambush they were forced to endure at the hands of the Ebruchi's bloodthirsty denizens. Believing the Dark Three had brought them to this moment in time, both to test their fighting mettle, and to break the curse of dismay; and much to the great hubris of their brazen adversaries, the Darkhans had been prepared for suchlike situations, finding themselves feeling quite thankful for the Mongrel's mentorship as they unsheathed their Shriven-Forged blades.

By the time the Darkhans were finished, they would have the freedom to torture the surviving Shi'iDo for information, and just as suspected - the Ebruchi was taking Mercy to Exegol.

The deeds of the Darkhans that day would live on in tales, songs and history among the Scar Hounds, and every Tribe who rode into battle with them, but when their Marauder fleet finally embarked on their pursuit of the Mawsworn renegades, it was only then that everyone realised the danger they were approaching. Even their leader had incurred untold risks that day, though he would never know how close he came to an assassination attempt, as there were some deaths among the Scar Hounds that could not be explained beyond the precision of the damage inflicted upon them, a matter that would remain unexplained forevermore.

Barran would need to be more careful after that, and with him, so too would his ever-improving Darkhans. Ever-aware that even a mystery could poise in wait for error, as stranger things had, and would happen in this uncanny Galaxy.

The year's cloud was finally meeting it's silver lining, though that had only occurred in the final weeks of 877 ABY, assuring that chip on the shoulder of every Marauder serving with the Bloodhound, for none would allow themselves to forget the traumas of Tython, and none would allow their Matriarch's abducation to stand unanswered. Rook Darkhan would duly name his sword,"Vengeance", as his thoughts drifted to the plight of the Tribal Matriach, thinking of his impending masterpiece whilst Panatha exploded behind their fleet, his tapestry of blood for their rivals' treachery.

Battered, bloodied, and furious, the Tribe found themselves smiling, happy to bring about the turn of a new year, unexpectedly welccoming the arrival of 878 ABY as a fresh start for the Scar Hounds. This sudden shift meant everything to the Bloodhound's battle-hardened warriors, tearfully sighing with relief that the worst year of their lives was over, though their enemies could only guess as to what this meant for their chances of surviving the next (and last) battle of the Secret War; a resurgent horde of Scar Hounds had been galvanised, and when the Darkhans eventually landed on Exegol's surface, no other Mawsworn contingent would be present to interrupt the Bloodhound's rescue operation.

After piling up a tower of skulls in a tower, namely the skulls of every Hardliner who dared ambush them on Panatha, the Darkhans commenced their attack on the denizens of Tu'teggacha; fighting their way through a massive contingent of Ebruchized thralls, enduring as they hacked, slashed and stabbed at a seemingly-endless stream of reinforcements to reach their Tribal Matriarch, it would become apparent before long that their tentacled rival had no intention of keeping this up for long. Fortunately the brave Darkhans, however, Mercy's timely escape had thrown her captors into a frenzied confusion, scattering resources hither and yon in search of their hostage, consequently failing in their manhunt when the Matriarch sprinted behind the defensive barrier of the Bloodhound's best warriors.

The Secret War had been won, and with Mercy's immediate safety assured - so too was her prolongued survival.

Awakenings
III​

Something about that deployment felt different, and not just in the lack of allied support for Tu'teggacha's attack, but also in the atmosphere among the people living on Exegol at the time, almost as if the curse of destruction was beginning to fester over it's surface. Another mystery of hair-raising extreme, but one of which that could be solved with diligent observance, prompting the Warlord's decision to keep the rescue operation's camera-droids in place, beholden to transmission whilst the Tribal flotilla supervised the feeds en route to Mar'Zambul.

Death was marching on the beating heart of the Maw itself, though Rebirth was guiding the Marauders home, sending them to reconcile with War atop Mt. Cerberus - their homeworld's tallest mountain.

Nothing of note had occurred in the time it had taken to return home, but when construction finally began on Fort Wrath's foundations, all the Trilunars' comm devices would buzz and whirr with notification-alerts, a mark of severe urgency of which none took for granted by then. It wasn't until they began opening their messages that they realised it was Exegol after all, and after reaping the benefits of their Darkhans' collective gut-instinct, the transmission feed had been recording all the first attacks in the absence of the Scar Hounds' presence, and the droids were continuing to provide footage of this sudden planetary assault in real-time.

The leading spearthrust on the surface appeared to be endeavoured by the Galactic Alliance, though it would not be long before the Khan's warriors saw the arrival of Imperial, Ashlan and even Eternal contingents, though these were more-closely knit, opening a separate front on the Brotherhood's last defences. It became apparent then that this planetary assault was something more, something altogether more catastrophic than the clash they assumed it was before, and judging by the severity of firepower arrayed across Exegol's upper orbital sphere, the Galaxy's opposing civilisations wished to doom the planet to Csilla's untimely fate.

Thus ended the reign of Mori, perishing with the capital planet of the realm.

​

Freed henceforth from obligation to the Will of the Sith'ari, and though it left a void in the hearts of all who suffered this lack of centralising leadership, the Darkhans would find themselves feeling lost for a time, but this would not stop them from trying to find new purpose in this lethargic, aimless autonomy. But much to the great chagrin of the entire Tribal collective, Mar'Zambul would only receive a year's worth of reprieve before a new boogie-man appeared on the horizon, and in the first season of 879 ABY, a Swarm of unaffiliated raiders had begun to gather with the intention of,"Achieving what Solipsis could not".

This (despite the Scar Hounds' differences with other Mawites before the end) would not be allowed to stand, but in their weakened state, the Warlord knew the Tribe would be safer playing along, though only until he saw an opportunity to exploit sudden weaknesses. The fact this,"Swarm", had never once affiliated with the Brotherhood of the Maw, uncanny though it was, still felt like an affront to those Scar Hounds who survived the worst days of the Second Hyperspace War, and a callous slap to the entombed faces of all who lost their lives in the attempt. So the Marauders, much like their Warlord, would bide their time, playing along for the assault on Nirauan whilst they made their murderous designs on their illegitimate overlords.

Yet fortunately for the Scar Hounds, greed and spite was guiding the decisions of those coercing them into action, and in noting rivalries between the Swarm's most-prominent leaders, had remained silent to the ill-advised decision to split their grand fleet in two. Making full use of the cluelessness and hubris of the Swarm, (along with the mettle of wartorn, well-tested Imperial planets) the Tribe could more-easily feign commitment along the way, dancing the dance until the Warlord finally applied his surreptitious sleight-of-hand to lethal effect.

For all that the Darkhans had suffered through, for all that the grief inflicted upon them before they departed for Nirauan, from the Swarm to the very Empire they were attacking, all would be reciprocated tenfold. They knew that vengeance was passing into Trilunar hands, and the Warlords' tomb-guardians could feel it, rushing through their veins like adrenaline, setting hairs standing on end as they bore witness to the Bloodhound's magnum opus. The Darkhans knew they would deploy to their part of the static-line without loyalty to the other raiders, gleefully aware (and to the last Aspirant) that they would turn on the ones holding their leash by the end of 880 ABY.

And if not by that point, then surely within the span of a few weeks after that. After all, neither New Carannia nor Ravelin were easy nuts to crack, not by any stretch of the Swarm's imagination.

​

For the Bait, the Darkhans would see their new Warlord leading from the front against a strong contingent of Tuath-born Troopers and Highland Brotherhood operators, watching on as the one-eyed Woad leaped out to face Aron Gowrie in single-combat, slaying him with a strike perfected from the signature technique of the Mongrel. Thus with the Kellas dead and defeated, the Bloodhound could finally make his way to the Hand of Thrawn, to defeat his brother once and for all; and though word later filtered through that the same brother, Michael Barran, had survived by the skin of his teeth, this was victory enough to mark the Swarm's defeat over Nirauan an auspice for the Scar Hounds.

But for the Switch, no what-ifs would remain by the end of the assault on Bastion, and though the second battle began very much like it's supposedly-unsuccessful predecessor, it surely would not end that way. Not by any stretch of the imagination, but even when the Scar Hounds pushed the Imperial left-flank into a controlled rout, all serving with the Bloodhound would know the fated signal was fast-approaching, though that attack would not be signalled until Barran finally slew his father. This the Tribe knew was dependant on the survival of their new leader, still being tested for his loyalty to the cause at the time, but when the one-eyed Woad stepped out from Fortress Imperator's gate with arms outspread, its was then that the over-committed Swarm met with a bloody, slaughterous demise.

By the time the Scar Hounds were done, neither the Swarm nor the Empire remained, and by the time the sun creeped over the horizon the next day, no banners but the Golden Skull standard were flying. The Maw had finally overcome their greatest rivals, and though the Galactic Alliance persisted in their defiance, this Mawsworn remnant could finally stand proudly over the ashes of their making; but unlike other conquerors, the Khan to be, the one with the Maw's legacy in his grasp, made the fateful choice to return home, forsaking a new capital-planet for the sacred mountains of Mar'Zambul.

Awakenings
EPILOGUE​

As the Darkhans looked acrossed the ruined, rubble-covered streets of Ravelin, at a complete loss as to what to do next, it was clear to all that none had considered planning for the event they somehow prevailed in the greatest gamble of all, all the Trilunar Clique could do was collapse on the spot. The year was 881 ABY, and the Scar Hounds were on the verge of growing beyond the Maw's predicted lifespan, but all they could do was stare aimlessly into the skies above, lounging with backs to the very ground for which they fought just hours before. Nothing else of note would happen throughout the next day, or at least, nothing until the attending Rough Riders' captain, one Kaidou of the Toluid Ulus, finally got a chance to break bread with the victorious Warlord.

However, there would be more to the nomads' visit, as it was not just the Darkhans who had seen the Bloodhound's duels on Nirauan, the raiders of Tiantang had been fortunate enough to see it all within binocular distance. Since then, in the Hand of Thrawn's shadow, Kaidou's retinue had been requesting an audience with their Warlord, and by the time they had won, there was nothing stopping the Toluid Ulusar from seeing his new leader. Kaidou was a welcome presence before, and with the right level of persistence, his presence was finally welcomed among the fold for the second time - attending on oathbound behalf of his aging father.

Presenting a solid-gold, oval-shaped seal, denoting authority and business of Arrultai Khan, one of which everyone recognised specifically as Prince Kaidou's very own,"Tiangtūn Tamḡā", the Toluid Ulusar would make the necessity of this meeting clear and present from the offset. Having never presented his father's seal before, it would be clear that Barran's undivided attention was needed, but when Kaidou finally revealed Tiantang's collective intention to name him Bloodhound Khan, the Toluid saw that his new leader would need time to consider this offer. But much to everyone's great surprise, the one-eyed Woad eventually accepted, just as the nomadic retinue were concluding the meeting. To the Great Khan of the Maw, this was a sign of his obligation to the movement's prolonged survival, but to the Toluids, this cemented the conservation of the culture that raised them.

To Prince Kaidou, and his father, Arrultai Khan, but their home-planet most of all, the Woad's nomadic ascension was everything and more.

​

The celebrations would be grand when they finally embarked on their journey home, but when their flotillas finally split off, it was only then that the emptiness began to set in, like voids were widening in the souls of the victorious. The Darkhans would feel this dread acutely, like a fear of facing the rift within, turning away in the hope it didn't drag them down to it's lowest depths; these things, as the Trilunar elite learned years before, were usually better-handled in privacy, away from prying, judgemental eyes. Trauma was a threat that many warriors dismissed in the midst of a conflict, but every time they were forced to dwell on their feats, losses and near-death predicaments, there was no way to avoid the dangers of compartmentalisation, no means of decompressing the mind for the sake of one's will to live on.

For that, Nail and Ghoul would sojourn, and tend the ancient tombs, on Tiantang, seemingly turning against the usual ways of Marauderdom, though this was only the assumption of low-ranked Aspirants, privy to little more than the surface-level trivia. There was more to the journey that would forge the Darkhans they aspired to become, much alike that on which Rook and Dreamer embarked to Rhigar, reconnecting with something deeper than most could imagine at the time, a true return to the ways that ascended them. However, Bloodhound Khan would be slow to leave Bastion's pock-marked surface, left alone with just one Doomsayer star-fighter, left alone with the planet's wandering ghosts.

The collective would not see each other again until 883 ABY, commencing a gathering atop the summit of Mount Cerberus, within the halls of Fort Wrath's completed structure, and with it, a yearly tradition was established. Beyond that, nothing else of note would happen for decades, except for the fact some started families, administering governance on the worlds that remained in their power at the time; though this would mark a slowing, a steady-weakening path of nomadic calm, remaining strong only on the plains they traveled, and the unsuspecting flotillas that dared travel too close to Mawsworn Remnant parsecs.

This continued through almost eighteen years of slow, steady personnel/warbeast replenishment, lulling themselves into a false sense of security as the next Aspirant generations learned at a steady, safe pace, but like with all things in the Galaxy, no victor's reprieve was designed to last forever either. The only upsides from this slow descent into hubris were in cultural, doctrinal and factory-production sectors, but without them, the Mawsworn Khanate may have struggled for identity, for new strategy of higher-mobility, and their means of deployment in the wars of the future.

A necessity of which there were no discernible means of avoiding.

Tribulations
I​

The year was 898 ABY, and the Mawsworn Khanate were finally pushing beyond familiar parsecs again, desiring, for the first time in nearly eighteen years, to learn what befell the Galaxy in their absence. Drawing strength from the Tribes, and their access to near-endless reserves of plundered creations, Bloodhound Khan's place on Mar'Zambul would remain secure for years after the Age of Strife ended, though it was not until Barran grew curious about the Galaxy that the hubris became apparent. Pushing out past Csilla for the first time since the last weeks of 880 ABY, it would become obvious before long that the Galaxy had been looking for the one-eyed Woad since the fall of Bastion, and by the time the Khan's ship was boarded by bounty-hunters, the Trilunars would not be quick enough to counter such a surgical operation in time.

Bloodhound Khan had been arrested, and the Darkhans had just failed their leader for the first time, forced then to formulate a plan whilst they searched every possible archive for Barran's file, though they were clearly unaware of the lengths to which they would need to leap in order to retrieve him. It was not until they tracked down the data-trail of the Daru Collective (a Mandalorian company affiliated exclusively with the Galactic Alliance) when puzzle-pieces began to fit together, but when a new, Dark Imperial realm brought evidence of the Khan's whereabouts to Mar'Zambul, the Trilunar Clique were then able to pinpoint the Bloodhound's exact location.

Thus the Darkhans utilised their autonomy to recognise the Dark Empire as an ally, but when they found out that the Dark Voice had returned from the Nether, back from the realm of the dead, it became apparent they would act beyond their authority to proceed any further in diplomacy. Yet despite the sudden pause in integration, the great Solipsis would not need to wait for long, for his denizens had played their part in hurrying toward reaching higher-echelon requirements, though the Maw would be needed to play their part from the offset. Including a risky raid on Coruscant, but after learning of the Bloodhound's incarcerated presence on the surface, the Darkhans were more than willing to pull their weight, ready to reap benefits from the most-wondrous of coincidences.

Embarking, and with Imperials of all people, to free a prominent Moff - on the off-chance it aided their attempt to liberate the Great Khan of the Maw.

When their combined taskforce finally approached the Deep Core, the timeline had passed enough to reach the first weeks of 900 ABY, late in the hour of their targeted, collective arrival. All endeavoured at a hyperjump's pace for the orbital sphere, a jump of which the Maw had made in the first offensives of the Second Hyperspace War, and coincidentally, so too had the more-experienced elements among their newfound allies. Yet the mystical power of so-called coincidence, obscure and intangible though it often proved to be, was not done with the Tribes of Mar'Zambul; and for as long as their Khan remained an unpredictable factor, never one for accepting adversarial slights, the Trilunars could never anticipate what was transpiring within the walls of the prison that held him.

When the first dropships landed, no situation-reports would be needed, the prison's besiegers would be able to hear the prison's riot-alarms from all five LZ perimeters quite easily; and so, by the time the allied contingent broke in through the prison's outer fortifications, it would surprise them little to find out it was more than just a regular jailhouse riot, and by a contrastingly-extreme margin. Someone was breaking out, and judging by the fact every sector seemed to ring out it's desperate siren, deduction could only draw to one particular conclusion; this was a prison uprising, and with both Dark-Imperial prisoners secured on arrival, only one suspect remained.

Their Khan had not weakened in the clutches of the Jedi, and in his process of becoming the leader they needed, the Bloodhound had further-evolved in captivity.

Barran had turned the entire prison on it's warden, and with convicts spilling out with the Khan's name on their lips, there could be no doubt that the Bloodhound had uncannily chosen his night many months in advance, a revelation that shocked his,"Saviours", to their cores. All the greatest threats to the planet's public safety (or rather, all the greatest threats the Senate managed to incarcerate at the time) had been liberated from their cell-blocks, but in complete disdain for the prospect of unleashing their rage on Coruscant, they had chosen to follow the Mawsworn to their landing-zones instead, gladly resolving to go wherever their Khan went from there.

Unfortunately for these newfound followers of the Bloodhound, however, where they were going next, not even their new masters were excited about it, far from it. But for all that the Khan and all his Trilunars protested their circumstances, the only real response from destiny would be the reminder that the Maw had jumped deep behind enemy territory, advancing into a cordon from where only deathly struggles could assure their escape. However, much to the Khan's credit, his first stop en route to the next battle would be Onderon, overthrowing a Warlord of the Beastrider clans to bring the Tribe into the Mawsworn fold, a recruitment resource from whom the Khanate still draws.

Better prepared than most for the next battle, the Maw were ready to wreak havoc once more, and rightly so; for the next planet they were to invade, (and properly) and much to the Bloodhound's great chagrin, the main Dark-Imperial advance would converge, once more, on Empress Teta. Slated in and working to take Cinnegar's streets by storm with the Khanate in tow, and though they would go on to achieve victory that day, many an experienced Marauder would not live to see it, as the struggle would be endeavoured against a newly-desperate, experienced new generation of soldiers. But to make matters worse, perishing with them would be none other than Nail Darkhan - fated to perish under the heat of a thousand suns.

In the same way the Bloodhound had been slain in his first life, so too would Nail be forced to embrace that same, frightening firepower of an orbital-bombardment beam, dying in the effort to save his subordinates from the blast. An end befitting a hero, but the hulking cyborg was something more than that, thus all joy in a Dark-Imperial victory evaporated in the hearts of the Mawsworn; drying like ashes in their mouths, leaving nought but sourness behind as the most-bitter of aftertastes, a feeling that would follow the Darkhans home to Mar'Zambul.

A feeling that would continue to follow them, even after their struggle for the streets of Cinnegar.

Nail would be entombed at the base of a hillock near Goshen, the city his mentor built from it's war-camp foundations, a tomb of which would protect the Tribes forevermore, marking the hulking Darkhan as talismanic, in death, as he was in life. A small consolation for the great void that was left in the cyborg's wake, but the other Darkhans would not take this small blessing for granted, for the remaining three were fully aware they would need it for the next great endeavour, and fully aware they had used up a fair portion of their good fortune to escape the Deep Core. Worth the risks in their minds, and not only for Nail's funerary needs, but also in the effort to recruit from the Tribes once again, replacing experienced Marauders with warriors cut from an entirely-different cloth.

Tribulations
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First was a battle for Tython's moon of Bogan, and though they were fortunate enough not to fight for the planet's familiar, haunting surface, they would be faced against the military might of the GADF to traumatizing extreme; an affair of constant backpedalling, a fighting retreat of which they knew, deep down, would become something of a trend before long. Throwing everything they had at the Corellian advance, even throwing in relics from Rurik Fel's era, inflicted from little to no effect, it all seemed to amount to the same, delayed rout in the end. However, infuriated though the Mawsworn were after the fact, the Khan would be nearing ecstasy, gleeful in noting the Tribal army's clear leap in operational cohesion, for it was that which the Bloodhound would need most in the next offensive.

Much to everyone's consternation, however, the next planet would be Coruscant.

Everyone trapped within the Corellian Cordon knew they would need to stage a planetary-assault eventually, and for all the Dark-Imperials expanding out from Carlac, fully-aware that Coruscant was needed to assure the realm's legitimacy over the Deep Core. Prompting a coordinated offensive push that would be aligned between contingents in the first weeks of 901 ABY, culminating on the ground to make a collective northern push for the Senate Building; but even after nearing the point of victory, and even with the Maw in tow with a near-peerage collective holding the line, the GADF would, once again, push forward in a counteroffensive rush reminiscent of the previous century.

A sudden, vicious turn of fate from which the Khanate were forced to adapt, and even with the aid of Cirihut Warriors, Scav Kings and Tiantang Rough Riders in tow, the fact they were forced to endeavour rearguard actions was enough to tell of the odds they faced in retreat. Battles of those sorts always yielded the heroes of the future, but for the three Keshig-Leaders who ascended the Darkhans' lesser, near-peerage expectations, the outcome would prove to earn it's disastrous reputation all the same, as the Darkhans who led the rearguard actions would go on to seek out their Khan.

It was then that their luck, along with that of the Bloodhound, had run out - and to an abrupt, brick-walling extreme.

As the night was darkening around them, they would suddenly find their path blocked by a lone Force-Wielder en route to the Khan's last-known location, and by none other than Michael Barran, by then ascended to the title of Lord Imperator. The first to stand against the Tattered Regent (and willingly so) would be Dreamer, though he would be brought to the brink of death, and just as he was on the verge of tapping into hidden, instinctive power from within his soul, with the same turn of events coincidentally befalling Rook in the minutes following his friend's defeat. However, the two heroes who stepped forth in their defence would fare a little better, two Keshig-Leaders in the making, dubbed,"Dustborn", and,"Savrip Soul", as according to Tribal naming convetion, though the old Woad eventually decided he was done playing with his food.

The heroes would be awakened nearly five months later by healers, overseen by those who found them bleeding out, with Ardana Vorco, Y'sanne Stradd and Mercy closely monitoring the interaction, it was only then that the wounded would learn of the battle's true outcome. Still processing the fact they had been comatose in Bacta for so long, (along with the fact they had somehow survived their terrifying encounter with the Khan's brother) they would then be bombarded with information pertaining to the Bloodhound's capture and incarceration, only to be saturated with the report on how the small search-party were located and exfiltrated to the Ark.

All suspicions would be confirmed when the wounded Darkhans admitted who attacked them on that fateful night, and when both Ghoul and Ratchet, a hero of the Scav Kings, had found them, the same nemesis would likely have gone with the same intent harboured toward the Khan; a revelation that infuriated everyone else in the room, but for their effort in, at least, trying to reach the Bloodhound, were given a chance to redeem their reputations. A tough undertaking for anyone to consider, and though some would have been too proud, or too cowed to ask for help, Rook would show his quality in bracing for condemnation, requesting help from Vorco at his lowest, weakest point.

Fortunately, the Darkhans would learn that Vorco's love for Barran was stronger than her disdain toward failure.

​

Thus precipitating the formation of a new Mawsworn concept, one such that modernised with their enemies, and like all the lesser concepts before them, even the barebones basics would be enough to give the Galaxy's civilisations a collective headache. Vorco's insight (culminating in almost forty years of personal warfighting experience) would prove second-to-none in the first months, and after being pushed on the right tracks, all three remaining Darkhans would begin to consider aides to serve them, as all three were on their own paths to glory in fates shaped by the Magnarra's influence, to stand as heroes in their own shadows - walking within their own, individualised trajectories.

As others had to fight the Maw, the Darkhans would form a legion of devoted brigades, thus the Mawswon legion was established, a centralising utilisation of every Tribal resource. All contributing to a culmination of three entirely-differing warfighting philosophies, with more likely to add to the array in the near-future, and when word came through of Dark-Imperial plans to rescue Marlon Sularen for the second time, the Khanate's high-command structure knew the Bloodhound was likely incarcerated in the same prison at the time.

Waiting to escape his own way, and with another large quantity of effective recruits in tow.

Recent Events
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