12TH POST
MARKWOOD MARSHES, SPIREWATCH FOREST,
CANTHAR PROVINCE, PANATHA (EARLY-SPRING 877 ABY)
'Then why don't you do us all a favour and stay dead, huh?'
Seemingly thinking the Woad was trying to make it personal, or as a means to garner sympathy for the devil, the Sith-Pureblood responded in the way that best suited such behaviours, tapping into the powers of his people as the Mawite had just moments before. And as he used the force to rip a tree-bark (along with all the branches that adorned it at the time) from it's roots, the force felt in it's trajectory shocked the Bloodhound as he ducked under the Outcast's attempt to use his powers to take the Warlord's head off with it, and as the Hellions' Captain sprang forth from atop it, the glowing red of the lightsabre illuminated the gold eyes in a strange golden hue more - illuminating a forewarning of the true threat he had become since Mustafar
'You think I fear the Nether? You think my stint in there was something harrowing?'
From a vault from above, to a low, stomach-aiming lunge with sickeningly-quick agility, that which Barran had to work doggedly to keep up with, though the Woad didn't mind that Katis worked the pace for a while. Hoping for the jaw-clenched barrage of sword-strikes to run out of steam, but the Sith-Pureblood was barely breaking a warmup sweat, made of a sterner essence than a vast majority of his ilk; though this was easily attributed to the Human also, seen possessing strength, speed and ferocity beyond the means of most of his race. Such likes were always considered something more than most humanoids in their own right, but as for the clans and bloodlines that Thomas and Jas were born from, the anomalous stories surrounding them were telling enough to reveal exactly what sort of rivalry was forming, intensifying with each and every clash.
'Just face it, parasite. You're nothing. You were always nothing and you will continue to be nothing. I should have ripped your spine from your back when I had the chance, just so I or nobody else have to listen to your profound words.'
Only one could be the strongest warrior, only one could lay claim to the title of the most powerful Duellist-Darksider in the Galaxy, and only one could walk away in the end.
This was a rivalry of all-time greats, a feud of titans.
'You should hope that your father never learns of your return, Mawite. Because I can't begin to imagine just what kind of disappointment he or anyone else must feel upon seeing such a worthless waste of breath. Such a pathetic excuse to a proud bloodline.'
The Pureblood was making it personal, but the Woad was feeling rather receptive to it, like the latter was taking it as his cue to draw motivation from it, like he was supposed to draw strength from the insults and to walk through them. Just as Barran had with Katis in their previous fights, ever-seeking the psychological advantage in every fight Thomas engaged in, Jas would once more reveal even more signs of the full alignment in the rivalry between them; becoming the perfect duelling matchup, the first formation of it's kind and almost fifteen years in the making. The Mawite would feel this both in the power of the Hellion's attempt to overpower him and in his own strength of resistance to it, but in the moment they met in perfect counter-magnetism, their curiosities would be cut short by the most unexpected of distractions
'Spindly....'
Barran's comrade, and soon-to-be Magnar, was tumbling downhill from one of the nearest rises, and it looked to the Warlord that his loyal subordinate was in dire need of help.
'Is the Maw just the Galaxy's collection of society's rejects or do you actually serve some kind of purpose for the rest of us?'
After all the previous chiding tirades, even after digging as deep as the inescapable family ties with Clan Barran, the wrath of the Outcast was taken well in stride, though only until that moment. Katis had crossed the line, as implying that the Bloodhound had any say in his journey (and especially that which he endured in his struggle between realms of existence) was in no way seen as correct or honest in the Woad's perspective, seen as descending to the worst of his insults in the hopes it could crack through the newly-patient shell of the Warlord.
'At least my kind had a purpose. Why the hell were you even given the gift of life?'
But before the Warlord could respond, they both felt the gathering collective presence of malevolent souls, much like those that Thomas had been sensing for weeks since his arrival on Panatha, but it seemed like these were a lesser to those he had been fearful of encountering. Even at a distance, the foes they'd be facing were noticed easily, and when Jas pondered aloud
,'... What is that?', close enough to be heard in his mutterings as his golden eyes made contact with the blue-irises of the Bloodhound, he steadily backed away from his Mawite opponent in sudden disgust. Backpedalling slowly, gripping his lightsabre with both hands as a sneer of clear revulsion creeped up to his lips, it was obvious that the Sith-Pureblood believed this ambush an endeavour of the Woad's design, though they'd both learn soon enough how wrong such an assumption would be.
'Just how little of a spine do you have, Barran?'
And before they knew it, the materializing forms in the mist charged screaming into view, first hurling forth a torrent of shrieking, gurgling and roars of all grotesque design, then a deathly stench like no other - warning of the vile, stomach-turning reality of the trio's predicament.
'Spindly, on me! MOVE IT!!!!'
Two were running up behind Thomas, but in his ability to sense them, pivoted round in a weighty backhand slash with his Aethysian Romphaia, beheading both fiends with one strike before he finally turned to address Jas properly. Yelling over the rising crescendo of undead rage, the Bloodhound exclaimed
,'Safe to say we're in this mess together now, Jas! Looks like our fight's off for this one!', shrugging in plain sight to express similar confusions to those of the Outcast's own.
'LONG TIME NO SEE, BARRAN!!!!'
A growl of disgust in recognition then escaped Barran's throat, preceding a reply of
,'SHOULD'VE STAYED IN THE NETHER, DEANE!!!! YOU DON'T BELONG HERE!!!!', stating his intent with lasting, unmistakable finality, making his choice once and for all. Deane had been the Woad's adjutant in their company, both reported in their first lives as having exemplary records with Tal's very own Fighting First Brigade, though the Northern Galidraani necromancer had also served Thomas faithfully in death, so the surprise of seeing his old friend's new capabilities certainly served to drive the dread deep into the farthest depths of the Bloodhound's soul. Though it did little to dissuade anyone, the Woad still roared
,'WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS?!?! WHY ARE YOU HERE?!?!?!', in a furious, pressing demand for answers, enraged that his former subordinate would even sink so low as to raise the dead this way.
'THE DEAD WHOM WE CONJURE AT WILL - LET IT BE KNOWN THAT THESE ARE THE WAGES OF FAILURE!!!! A PERSONAL GIFT FROM THE LOST BRIGADE!!!!'
And like clockwork, the necromancer's makings sprang forth in putrid, forthy-mouthed, staggered and ragged unison, all spoiling for bloody chunks of sinew and flesh in their mindless advance towards the trio. Screaming their lungs out as Ardana, Jas and Thomas drew closer towards the center of the marshy clearing, the undead war-fodder cared little for anything but the hunt, driven into frenzy by their ravenous, single-minded compulsion to feed on raw,
humanoid meat.
'FIGHT ME LIKE A MAN, DEANE!!!! FIIIIIIIIGHT MEEEEEEEEEE!!!!'
Without any time to prepare or continue in his challenges for the Dunwaller, Barran (along with Katis and Vorco at his back) was left with no other option but to slash, punch, stab and stomp through everything in his fight for survival, resigned to letting the Netherworlder wake up from within himself. Tearing his coat from his shoulders, the scarred back and torso would be bared for all the undead predators to see, but the blue of the Bloodhound's irises would be denied to them, snatched away in the Woad's fury as he roared
,'AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAATH-BREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEITH!!!!', beating his left pectoral like a wild beast for all his former comrades to see. The trio had eventually gotten into the swing of their efforts, but there was no way of knowing if it would be enough in the end, especially not with the perpetual stream of undead warriors showing no signs of letting up any time soon.
Made even worse by the fact the necromancer was initiating a demoralising, loudly-roared chant of their Netherworld creed, such that was only known to brothers (or former-brothers) of the Lost Brigade.
'DAMNED SOULS THOUGH WE MAY BE-'
'GODS WE WILL BECOME!!!!'
'GODS WE WILL BECOME!!!!'
'GODS WE WILL BECOME!!!!'
'GODS WE WILL BECOME!!!!'
'GODS WE WILL BECOME!!!!'
'GODS WE WILL BECOME!!!!'
'GODS WE WILL BECOME!!!!'
'GODS WE WILL BECOME!!!!'
Jasper Kai'el
/
Ishani Dinn
