Trial of Ascension [Open to Sun Guards, and the Sith Empire.]

[LT-137]

Colonies // Rachuk Sector // Commenor System.
Chasin City - Senate Steps.
Seven Hours after the Siege.

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When the encapsulating shield that once surrounded the sprawling metropolis of the Systems Alliance capital fell prey to sabotage and the subsequent artillery bombardment, Chasin City had fallen to the might of the Sith-Imperial Legion.

It wasn’t long after an accord was struck between the Empire and the Commenori, and their intergalactic government dissolved, that the Invaders staked their claim on the system. The occupying Imperial forces enforced their laws upon the populace and stamped out any resistance wherever it was found. For all intents and purposes - Commenor was placed under a new and tyrannical regime. Standing side-by-side with their Imperial comrades, the Sun Guard found their glory on the battlefield; crushing enemy fortifications beneath their gilded boots, and leaving nothing but ashen bones in their wake. Their naval assets fought alongside the orbiting Imperial Armada, reaping a bloody toll amongst the surviving warships that swore an oath of allegiance to the Commenori people. However, like their soldiers on the ground - those vessels too were put to the sword.

It was in that moment of triumph, that the Twisuns Praetor of the Golden Company - the overall commander of the detachment sworn to serve in this theatre - found himself beset by a greater enemy. There was little choice, and the man found himself issuing the order that would damn himself in the eyes of his compatriots. The Solvognen, marred by the fighting withdrawal of the Commenori navy, fled from battle and limped back towards Sith-Imperial controlled space.

As the word of his commander’s cowardice reached his ears upon the surface, Khonsu’s humours were enraged. It was the way of his people; Cowardice in the line of duty was an unforgivable sin. With Legate Lanius dispatched elsewhere in the sector, unable to deliver their craven commander towards his deserved fate, there was no-one to stop him from claiming what was rightfully his. This was his moment. The man wouldn’t allow it to slip from his grasp - lest another seek to deny him the future that was promised. Through his lessons with the Lord of Lies, and the subtle shifts of power that transpired behind the scenes, Khonsu was ready for a new mantle of responsibility.

This was what he was bred for, and what he trained for.​

When word of the Solvognen’s arrival back into the Commenor system spread through the Sun Guard like wildfire, those who rallied to Khonsu’s cause sought to drive those two men towards their inevitable confrontation. It was when the carbon-scored Corvette finally made planetfall, near the sundered Senate hall, that the Legate and his direct subordinate finally met face-to-face. The Twisuns Legate was merciless and denied the Praetor the chance to renounce his crimes. Instead, the craven wretch was dragged in chains through the outskirts of the Capital City, and carelessly thrown down the carbon-scored marble steps of the Senate building. That had brought a smile to the Legate’s darkened lips. He believed that such an arena was befitting his Trial of Ascension; a ritual born upon the Sands of Thyrsus that would seize his rightful position from one who was unworthy.

The Sun Guard under their collective command gathered before the Capitol building of the former Systems Alliance. They would watch on as their twinned commanders within the Officer Caste would duel one-another. Each man vying for power in their own right; one seeking the right to his life - and the other for his right to rule.

 

[LT-137]

When the Echani finally grew tired of the Thyrsian’s militant resistance to their occupation, a majority of the planet’s armed forces were dissolved and their highly trained operatives were sent into exile. It was an act that was meant to effectively hamper, and hopefully curb the desert world’s military capabilities by sending their best and brightest away, whilst indoctrinating the weak to be more amicable to the White-haired Devil’s reign. Twisuns Praetor Khalid Dysar was one of the first soldiers to be sent into the stars, forever denied the chance to see his homeworld again. The man was young then, and fresh out of the academy - before he was given a chance to enlist within the Sun Guard; who was also banished from their ancestral home. He grew up with the band of wayward mercenaries and adopted their ideals as his own - putting their practices of honour above all else.

It was the only way that they could restore their legacy, and eventually, garner the power required to triumphantly return to their world and reclaim it from the Daughters of Eshan.

However, in recent years - the organization went through a string of terrible leaders - who became complacent and didn’t seek to reclaim the proud history of the Sun Guard; nor their homeworld. They were content to sit back and revel in the spoils, as they carved out their fiefdoms amongst the stars. Such practices were utterly foreign and repulsive to the once, and future Praetor, but inevitably found himself giving in to the gluttonous behaviours of his gilded kindred. His once, and lean figure gave way to the rich delicacies he feasted on, whilst the men beneath his command supped on the scraps from his table. They were the ones that needed to be in fighting-shape, not him. Well, at least not anymore - since his duties were regulated aboard the command deck of the Thyrsian warship.

This path had led him towards becoming soft - something that was hidden beneath the highly mechanized aspects of his gilded power armour. Gone were the days of his martial prowess, and of the honour he held so dear, as he sat upon his laurels and feasted like the alleged warrior-king be believed himself to be. With able men like Khonsu and Lanius under his command, Khalid could leech off their glory and revel in their spoils - something that was afforded by his position within the Sun Guard. The way he saw it, was that the landscape of the battlefield merely changed and that he was better at it in comparison to his subordinates. Let them fight with blaster and blade; He would fight the wars of others with a stylus in hand and an ever-growing vocabulary.

Yet, the man had known his decadence would eventually come to haunt him. He just never expected that the rising ambitions of his Twisuns Legate, Khonsu Amon, to come to the fore and inevitably threaten his hold over his portion of the Golden Company. He brought that wretched whelp underneath his wings and taught him the Thyrsian way - of honour on the battlefield and of the intricacies of warfare. That man would’ve been nothing more than a worthless slave if it wasn’t for his foresight! How could he turn his back on the man that elevated him above his brothers-in-chains? What would’ve driven a spike in between them, so much so that a single act of supposed cowardice couldn’t be forgiven? It was as the Praetor was forcibly roused from his command throne, and dragged towards the Senate steps - that it dawned on him. They had been working in Sith space for an extended period of time, and Khonsu personally accepted nearly a dozen missions on behalf of the Empire.

It wasn’t hard to draw the lines from one point to the other. That former Thyrsian slave was corrupted by the ideals of the Sith - something that hadn’t happened since long before the darkness of the Gulag plague snuffed out the light of civilization. He was the cancer at the heart of the organization! It was through his overt grabs for power that good men were being thrown into the charnel-pits, or failing to complete their contracts within the allotted time frames. As his mind began to piece everything together, it was redirected towards the painful lessons of survival - as Khonsu gracelessly threw his former mentor down the Commenori senate steps - causing his impact gel to harden with every rolling impact. He cried out in pain, as his entire armoured form began to seize up - and snap under the pressure of striking the carbon-scored marble steps with awkwardly outstretched limbs.

When his rent and broken form reached the bottom of the stairs, Khalid looked towards his would-be killer with venom in his eyes. That man’s ambition would doom the Sun Guard if allowed to fester. He had to be stopped. He needed to be stopped for their culture to survive, and reclaim their rightful place amongst the stars.

Khonsu could barely stop himself from laughing, as his darkened eyes watched with glee as his former mentor painfully rolled down the marble steps. The Thyrsian’s lips were already curled into an insidious grin - and they stretched ever the wider as the Praetor’s journey concluded in a shower of sparking joints and rent armour plating. As the wounded warrior writhed in agony at the base of the Senate steps, the Twisuns Legate slowly withdrew his crystalline blade and followed after his quarry. He stalked down the flight of battle-worn stairs, and never once allowed for his gaze to depart from his prey. The blade was held loosely at his side, and it’s knapped surface caught the radiance of the setting sun; bathing his surroundings in a mixture of golden and fragmented hues of crimson light. Its edge was forged from a deadly poison that would cause the victim to roar in anguish with but a touch, however, should the blade rend flesh? Well, it was likely that they’d lose their ability to scream long before the blinding pain subsided.

The Legate’s steps were slow and measured, as he made his way towards the base of the battle-scarred staircase. He wanted to relish this moment and show his comrades how their faith was misplaced in their present Commander. If he rushed towards the broken Praetor, the moment would feel cheap in retrospect, and his invocation of the Trial would become akin to an ill-fitting suit; never truly resting in the depths of his memories. He needed to build the anticipation, much like how events transpired on Onderon, where he had hunted and subsequently slew a mighty Terentatek. The man wanted this event to be the first of many trials that would linger on in not only his memory but those of his men as well. They needed to be reminded of their oaths to the Sun Guard; and the consequences that came from breaking that sacred covenant. This wasn’t some bond that could be easily broken, and where the perpetrator escaped with their lives and flourished far beyond the reach of retribution. If you crossed the Scions of Thyrsus, they were culturally bound to the ideals of the Hunt and would track you down until they died, or their target’s skull was claimed.

While many civilized societies would consider that utterly barbaric in the grand scheme of things, they failed to see that it was what made Thyrsus stand apart from the pack. There was little corruption amongst their ruling castes, as it was forcibly ejected at the tip of a blade by those who were fed upon; save those that found themselves as slaves. To those that knew a great many things about the Thyrsian culture, it was often said that it was better to be slain at their hands than it was to be taken as chattel. Who knew what depravities these Desert-born warriors would impart upon their captives flesh; especially if they were considered exceedingly brutal by conventional standards. Some would doubtlessly endure what Khonsu’s commanding officer was put through - where they’d be dragged through the streets and summarily beaten to within an inch of their life. Others would be subjected to slightly kinder fates, but when it came to the Sun Guard? What Khalid Dysar underwent was almost a kindness with all things considered.

“Look upon this Cretin,” Khonsu boomed; allowing for the mechanical monotony of his armour to steal his words of their venomous tone. “See his failures as our Praetor and his failures as a Sun Guard.”

“He is the cancer that has been eating away at the core of our society,” the Twisuns Legate continued, taking yet another measured step down the marble stairs. His blade was still held loosely at his slide; barely missing the curved lip of every step as the man’s armoured form descended. “Through his misdeeds, Khalid Dysar has allowed for our contracted enemies to slip through our Paymaster’s fingers. He has purposefully poisoned us against one another and sought to throw our simmering rage against unworthy foes. Through his actions - the man’s become soft, weak, and unworthy of the title he now bears.”

Before the Twisuns Legate could speak further, One of the Centurion’s stepped forward and spat upon the fallen Khalid. “You dare break our sacred covenant and turned tail before the enemy? How dare you!” That man’s voice was joined by more and more of the Sun Guard; save those that once considered themselves loyal to their Praetor. Those that stalked forward to hawk a trail of spittle onto their crumbled commander took note of their comrade’s behaviour and began confronting them in a myriad of ways. Some drew their blades and clashed with one another, whilst others began beating each other to within an inch of their lives. There were some that sought to engage one another in a shouting match, which ceased soon after it begun when their voices were ravaged by their own design.

Unconcerned with how his subordinates sought to air their grievances, Khonsu carried on moving towards his prey - drinking in the details of his wounded form. His armour was rent and battered from the fall, and would impair his movements for a time as the impact gel sought to decrystallize. There were many gaps that he could exploit when the inevitable battle would begin, but the Sun Guard wanted the actual battle to end quickly - despite the build up. He wanted to claim his new position and be done with this gilded refuse, as there was little point in needlessly drawing out the Trial with a lengthy duel. “Stand, Khalid,” Khonsu commanded, seeking to infuse his words with every ounce of his newfound authority. While the man was yet to adorn the mantle of Praetor - the Sunborn Mercenary was born to have others do his bidding - even if they wanted too or not. What went unspoken, and unremembered, was that his words were laced with the barest hint of his telekinetic will - essentially forcing his Prey to rouse his broken form from the scorched earth to stand and face his second-in-command.

“Face your destiny.”​