M E A T B A G
Freedom must be won by blood.
Set before the events of the falling hammer, and the sundering of the Mandalorian Empire.
[OOC Thread.] [Thyrsus.]
The day began like any other.
A warbling shriek resonated from beyond the durasteel wall, rising in intensity until the sound couldn't be ignored. Yet, this one seemed different and transpired earlier than the appointed hour. Ever since word had come of the rising spread of nationalism, especially from beyond the edges of the sector, drills like these were frequent. Who knew when those exiled miscreants would return one day, claiming what once belonged to their ancestors?
Thus, the Compact decreed a constant state of readiness. The fleet they had gathered beneath their banner was spread throughout the system, ensuring that no hostile warship could slip their net. Entire regiments of infantry were mustered, armed, and drilled to perfection. Even Battlestations, such as the one the man awoke within, found themselves anchored at key junctions amongst the stars. Every possible preparation that could be thought of was made. Should these once-exiled and errant scions of Thyrsus return to their world - the Echani Compact would be waiting with weapons in hand.
At least, that is what the man wished to believe. Despite the censorship and propaganda that filled the entirety of the Six Sisters with misguided patriotism, snippets from the universe beyond their borders always found a way to trickle in.
The Golden Company, they were called.
His Great-Grandmatron often spoke of how she stood in observance of the Sun Guard's banishment from their homeworld. Her old war stories often bored him as a child, for they were jumbled by age and never coincided with the printed fiction the academies published. She prided herself on the cruelty that the Compact pressed upon the Desertborn, for in her indoctrinated eyes - they were lesser creatures.
Nothing more than rebellious slaves, and were subsequently treated as such.
However, the one thing her old tales had in common was that those who stood against the collective will of the Compact were banished, forced to die far away from the twinned stars they called home. They hoped that the Sun Guard would have perished, taking the last vestiges of their misbegotten culture with them. The Echani believed that our Victory over the Scions of Thyrsus broke the endless cycle of hatred, forever changing the destiny of those twinned people.
They couldn't have been more wrong.
When the Sun Guard returned, they did so with a swift vengeance that took the Six Sisters by surprise. They didn't fade into history as the Echani wanted. Instead, like a virulent plague, they spread across the stars. The fires of vengeance found themselves sparking anew, as reports of entire flotillas of gilded warships - bearing the Twin Suns - bore down upon the Echani homeworld of Eshan. There were even claims of a Thyrsian Flag being planted before the Ruins of the Palace.
If only his Great-Grandmother were alive to hear that story. She'd undoubtedly die balking at the thought.
With his mind aflame with visions of the past, flavoured by the stories of his ancestors, the man strode onto the command deck of his battle station. The all too familiar sound of the watching being called to order sounded in the distance, whilst his second in command snapped to attention.
"Commander on deck!"
Before anyone could rise and pay their duty-bound respects, the man issued a single order that kept everyone tied to their seats. This was yet another tedious drill, after all. It wouldn't do for his command staff to tear their eyes away from their assigned posts, should the worst come to pass.
"As much as I appreciate your dedication, Major, we can afford to be lax today."
"But, Sir!" She began.
"No," the man stated plainly, interrupting her before she could cite a list of protocols back at her detailing how they should be nothing more than mindless soldiers, rigidly adhering to the military scripture of their ancestors. "I understand that this is your first deep-space posting, but you will not overrule my authority aboard my Battlestation, nor while I'm still capable of commanding my crew effectively."
"And definitely," the Commander said, as he ensconced himself within his command throne. "Not before I've had my Spice Caf."
She became visibly flustered, as it usually did whenever the man lorded his position over hers. Yet, the woman offered no protest.
Until an alert from a nearby terminal caught her attention.
"Sir, we've lost connection to the early warning grid near Almera."
Accepting an ivory saucer and steaming mug from a nearby attendant, the Commander cocked a quizzical brow.
"The satellite stations we've placed there are almost centuries old. We've received several notifications regarding that sector's unreliability. Besides, our friends in the Confederacy would've been sure to notify us if there was anything out of sorts on their sensors."
The Major paused for a moment, taking in her commanding officer's words.
"Yes, Sir. You're right. I'm.."
"Overzealous?" He finished. "Who wouldn't be in your position? Not only is this your first time aboard a Battlestation, but this the first time anyone within the Compact has heard of the Thyrsian Exiles for decades."
The woman nodded in acknowledgement, knowing that the man was right.
"Besides, if this Golden Company were smart - they would've attacked us by now. They refused to do so, out of fear of the Almera Accord, or don't have the manpower to see their erstwhile dreams become a reality." His words paused for a fleeting moment, as his lips gently caressed the rim of the steaming ivory mug. "The galaxy has turned a blind eye to the fate of the Thyrsian people time and again. It's their barbaric nature. We've enslaved them, yes, but in so doing such a cruel thing - We've saved them from their primal nature."
"History, as it always has been, is on our side."
It was then, as the man began to take a sip that the warning sirens returned - this time louder than they've ever been. He spat out what spiced caffeine was pooling against his tongue, nearly drenching the very attendant that brought the man his drink. His reaction set off a wave of panic, as the entirety of the command deck was swaddled in the crimson lights signalling battle stations. The station's sensors detected a massive cronau radiation surge near their position, which was often coupled by the sudden arrival of a starship from the dimensional depths of hyperspace.
An unscheduled arrival, the Commander thought at first, before his eyes bore witness to a massive wedge-shaped vessel situated before them. The sloping edges were coated in shimmering gold, whilst the darkened metal beneath seemed to reek of malice given metallic form. His sleep-deprived eyes found themselves drawn to a sigil emblazoned across the battleship's hull - one that he believed that he'd never see in his lifetime.
The Twin Crimson Suns of Thyrsus.
"That's…" the Commander began, dropping the ivory mug and saucer as he rose. "The Guerdon."
His eyes widened, as the austere warship opened fire - casting centuries of hatred and vengeance out into the void. Those very eyes would never close again, for the opening salvo tore through the battle station's defences and bore into the very heart of the deep-space installation.
The Commander, his second-in-command, and the entirety of the station's Command Crew was instantaneously vaporized as a solarized lance of plasma speared through the station's central nerve cluster.
His last thought, as his atoms turned to stellar dust, was that the Golden Company has returned to reclaim what their ancestors lost.
The Crusade began in silence.
Swathes of early warning stations were taken by the blade, or outright destroyed before they were capable of sending out their alerts. One flotilla after another trickled into the Sector, entirely unnoticed by the Echani and their allied subordinates. They were blinded and found themselves lulled into a false sense of security. Though they had heard whispers of the Golden Company, rising from the ashes of their past defeat, they didn’t consider those errant Thyrsians a threat.
They were nothing more than barking dogs, leashed to a sinking ship.
History was on the side of the Echani, and the Galaxy cared little for the pleas of desperate people. Yet, their hubris would become their downfall. The armed forces of the Compact stretched themselves too thin, whilst trying to spread their influence over the entire Sector. Sure, they had friends in high places, but in the end - that fact mattered little. Influence couldn’t stem the tide of a disgruntled barbarian, nor the proverbial wave of gilded warships that followed in his wake.
What defences the Echani Compact sought to prepare were easily swept aside, as the Guerdon spilled back onto the skeins of reality. Entire battle stations were reduced to molten slag, and stellar dust as the battleship’s primary batteries opened up, stitching the stars with spears of ochre light. It wasn’t long after their debut in the Sector, that the chaos became widespread. That whatever remained of the Compact’s armed forces found themselves under attack by a Thyrsian Armada intent on retaking their homeworld.
The influence and tenuous wisps of power that the Compact spent centuries building in the shadows, was smashed aside within hours. Systems that once proclaimed loyalty to the renegade faction of Echani were notably silent when the organization’s High Command sought to rally their devastated forces. They feared the terrible wrath of the Desertborn and dared not involve themselves in this crusade - lest the forces of retribution turn their menacing gaze onto them.
As nearly half a day passed, the first warships of the Golden Company entered the boundaries of their homeworld. For the first time in countless years, there was a sense of pride that raged through their collective warrior hearts. Even those who weren’t sired from Thyrsian bloodlines found themselves joining their comrade’s joyous roars. This was their collective moment, and untold glory awaited them all amongst the rolling dunes.
The tides of history would change.
No longer could their destiny, nor very culture, be squandered at the capricious whims of the Echani.
A new era awaits the desert-world of Thyrsus, and Khonsu would be the one to usher his people towards this new and glorious epoch.
With spear in hand, Khonsu roused himself from the aqueous confines of the jiggling high-density impact-gel. His gilded armour was slick with the lingering reminders of its protective embrace, as mere moments before, the Thyrsian Warlord leapt out of a gunship circling the Capital City. The aerial defence grid, situated at various points throughout the entirety of the Thyrsian settlement, was impressive.Especially when compared to their ageing early warning and deep-space installations.
It would’ve been suicide for any drop ship to touch down on the surface whilst those rotary cannons were still firing. While the Golden Company’s technology was superb and acclaimed to be the best in the Galaxy, there were limits on how much firepower their defences could withstand before failing utterly. They were few in number, and it would’ve been extremely foolish to order his transports to disgorge their precious cargo under such heavy fire.
Thus, the Supreme Sun Guardian himself - along with a handful of volunteers - took to the field to take out those anti-aerial emplacements.
When his projected deflector screen activated, filling his helmet with the subtle scent of recycled and burnt ozone, Khonsu was momentarily stunned. This was Thyrsus. The man spent what seemed like the entirety of his childhood staring at the world that birthed him through a starship’s viewport, or as a flickering holo-image projected by an ageing display. There was a time that he even believed liberating the homeworld was an event he’d never live to see, as those that would come after him would have the honour.
Yet, here, he stood.
Khonsu snapped back into reality as the projected barrier flared as several plasma bolts struck the surface and were subsequently reflected back from whence they came. He needed to move, as he was out in the open and wasting time. Every moment that he tarried meant that the Echani could receive reinforcements from their allies situated throughout the sector. While doubtful, it was a possibility the man was forced to entertain.
So, with malicious relish and an ecstatic grin peeling his lips back, the Thyrsian Warlord surged towards his first objective. His gifted spear thrummed with plasmatic fury as it carved into his sand-swept surroundings and the Echani soldiers that populated them. The man wasn’t alone, either.
Torian Pierce - the man who would be censured for his misdeeds during the Battle of Bogden - surged alongside his Commander. The massive axe betwixt his fingers shrieking in personified fury as it chewed through whatever opposition dared to stand in his way.
Amit Nykoan, too, fought back to back with Lucius Varad as they stormed from one entrenched fortification to the next. Their mastery over the connecting threads of the Force allowed them to dominate the battlefield, as they pulped the flesh of their would-be assailants and tossed whatever armoured units that trundled onto the battlefield into the air with relative ease.
The former of this powerful duo grunted with effort and felt trickles of blood dripping down his nostrils, whilst the latter filled the war-torn streets with barking laughter.
Other souls of note spread out through the streets of the Capital City and even more that awaited the signal in the heavens above. All were eager for combat, as such would be expected of a martial culture. Yet, none would dare defy the command of their Supreme Sun Guardian. At least, not within sight of his innermost circle. There were those impatient souls that took the fight to the Echani situated on Thyrsus’ sole moon - seeking to devastate their vast military complex located there. While others threw themselves aboard whatever remained of the Compact’s naval forces, or the glittering skyhook that dominated the skies above the Capital City.
In the end, the entirety of the Golden Company worked towards a singular goal. The total and unquestioned eradication of the Echani who dared to enslave their world.
Though the gilded mercenaries were perceived and portrayed as conquerors, the people saw friendly and familiar faces laying their lives on the line for their collective future. The Compact expected their cruelty to drive the Thyrsian people to fight their wayward kin - but instead - it galvanized them in a way that wasn’t expected. Clad in the tribal vestments of their respective Clans, hundreds and thousands of Thyrsian Citizens violently rose up against their former masters, slaughtering them without remorse. They spent their entire lives believing they were nothing, but the arrival of the Golden Company had shown them otherwise. Their wayward kin showed them that such cruelty and adversity only made them stronger and that it was foolish of them to willingly accept such a meek fate.
Their gilded comrades in arms reignited the warrior’s heart that beat within their collective breasts.
Khonsu roared, as he saw his people rally to his banner. He shouted wordlessly as his spear impaled one Echani after another. He kept shouting until his voice was hoarse. It wasn’t until he reached a tiered plaza, situated before one of the many emplacements that dotted the entirety of the Capital City, that the Thyrsian Warlord halted his relentless advance. His lips were dry, and his throat even more so. Yet, despite the haggard sensations that gripped his mouth, Khonsu turned towards those that followed him - and the people that joined him.
“Follow me,” the man croaked. “For the Sun Guard!”
“For Thyrsus!”
“For Freedom!”
His words were echoed by the roaring coterie, and soon after cast towards the heavens, where they spread out into the stars. History was in the making, and today - Thyrsus would finally be free.
| @The Golden Company | @The Echani Compact |
