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View character profile for: Arkady 'Sunlion' Crylic
The beginning of the End
- A reflective commentary on the fall of the UBC and the furrow of destruction plowed through the field of the galaxy by the rampaging Armada. -
excerpt from the field journals of Arkady 'Sunlion' Crylic during the Bloodshed Uprising to his fellow Bedouin Cartographers.
"The mood amongst the ranks of The Armada was mixed after a decade long conflict. A conflict they had not been created for but had surpassed everyones expectations and even fears.
Jubilant for their recent achievements. The pirate nation had taken on the might of the High Council, the de facto rulers of the Galaxy for as long as most people could remember, and they had emerged victorious. They had crushed the mighty GDF and the final battle was approaching
However many were feeling apprehensive as the Council of Elders' end game approached. Rumours and conspiracies started to spread like wildfire, divisions within the ranks like never before seen in the history of the pirate flotilla.
The Council of Elders backed by their Ascendants kept the propaganda flowing, reaping the rewards of their successful plans amongst some quarters that still believe it was everyone's destiny in the Armada to be the new rulers of the Galaxy.
Others knew better and started flocking and rally around those that seem the most displeased with the new path the Armada was taking. The Archangels. Their exploits since the fleet moved from the outer rims towards the centre had made them legend. Tales of heroism and courage in the face of overwhelming odds, breaking system as they flew in swift wings of destruction. The simple mention of the Archangels had been enough for enemies to surrender whole fleets and systems.
Battle lines were being drawn. The Council was moving to silence the raising faction of the Archangels and would have done so already if Councillor Twilight had not reminded the other members that the once pathfinders could still play an important role in the fall of the High Council, and that the Armada still needed all able bodies for the War.
She bought Nomad and the others precious time. But the sword of Damocles hanged over their heads.
Most Armadans were bone weary. Too many battles had been fought since the fall of the UBank. Too many precious lives lost in the pursuit of a dream that was not their own. Never had been.
Sure most Armadans had once craved respect and power. But they had achieved that already. No one would ever forget that The Armada, once no more than a bogeyman to the systems and races of the inner rims, had cleaved a scar through the stars, given the High Council a bloody nose and were a few precious steps away from reaching whatever power the Elder Council wished to claim at the Centre and from the Atlas. A scar that would likely never heal.
And for many that was enough. They had accumulated untold wealth and resources in this decade long campaign, the space reavers would be immortalised forever, inspiring fear and awe in all future generations to come. They would pass into the realm of legend.
And now they wanted to enjoy their spoils. They wanted to go whoring and drinking. dancing and singing mighty songs of the battles of when the Armada brought the Galaxy to its knees. But one could only do that if one was alive.
The Armada and the High Council forces skirmished everywhere they met. Another huge battle was coming, this one only five systems away from the Galactic Core. Scouts returned to the Armada telling tales that the forces awaiting them there were some of the largest and most advanced they had ever encountered. That the High Council had been saving itself for one final showdown.
The Council of Elders argued that the Armada was a powerful hammer that would break the High Council against the anvil that was the Atlas. And even if they no longer had the numbers they once did at the start of the Bloodshed Uprising, those who were alive now, were the meanest, leanest, most skilful and luckiest fighters that had ever lived in the ancient history of the Armada.
The bloodthirsty, the savage and the lustful rejoiced for the congress of violence to come. Many others despaired, some planned to run like many had done recently.
But then news arrived that took the fleet by storm.
Archangel Nomad, the many-blooded, breaker of men, who carried his enemies on his self inflicted scars, flanked by Ahl the keeper of forbidden lore and death and Shingen the destroyer of the Protectors of the Abyss, rode to war at the head of a Sentinel Army. The Armada gained new breath.
The end was here. They were coming, for ill or for good. To crushing defeat or crowing glory. Death was coming..."