Jubilation

- 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. -

"After the massive victory over the GDF consolidated forces, The Armada main fleet appeared to disappear for a few cycles. Later I would find that it was in fact hidden amongst the dark and unexplored nebula of the Tempest sector. This account from comes from directly from the mouth of a deserter, I chanced upon in the artificial domes on Glaux Prime rust plains.

The intergalactic cloud of dust, hydrogen, helium and ionised gases was vast in size, hundreds of light years across. These materials had over the millennia condensed and clumped together into dense and opaque matter, perfect to hide a force the size of the pirate fleet. The perfect camouflage.
Those with the knowledge knew one day stars would be born here in this forgotten corner of the galaxy.

The beast that was the marauding flotilla was slumbering, like a pride of lions after a kill. However life aboard its vessels was far from quiet.
The Bloodborn Elders had ordered a wide R&R for its crews except for those vessels in immediate need of repair.
All ship captains were ordered to allow its crew the time to celebrate their most recent victory and enjoy their many spoils of recent battles.
Casks of homemade grog were brought forward and made available to the crews. Rations were doubled and the regimented life of the Armadans was suspended for a few precious days. Even those prisoners attached to the gargantuan cannons of the capital vessels were give a few tots of liquor.

The mood aboard most vessels was boisterous, exciting and a bit dangerous. Drink, food, fist fights and blood duels everywhere you looked. The celebration of flesh also emerged among the massive population of the Armada prone to all types excesses by nature.
When you lived your life like these pirates did, a brutal existence in the ether, never knowing when or how it could end, you lived every second of your waking days as if it was your last.
Especially in times like these. Speeches and toasts were hastily made by drunken Captains, exalting the Council of Elders and their bold plans and its flawless execution, especially the tactics employed against the GDF at the Silence System.

Ascendants walked among the lower rank and file, promising untold glories and as living examples that anyone could rise through the ranks of the corsair society and reap untold rewards.
For hundreds and hundreds, if not thousands of cycles they had been the scourge of the outer rims, but now like a sharp and well honed cutlass they had cleaved a path towards the galactic core and seemingly nothing or anyone could stop them getting what they wanted. They had crushed the might of the High Council. They would forever be remembered as those who brought the GDF to its knees.

The crews were jubilant. Questions like
"When do we jump again? Who falls under our might next? What is really at the centre of the galaxy? Is the Atlas real?"
Celebrations continued into the for days, each ship a pocket of life standing tall in defiance against the cold harsh void of space. They were beacons. They shone. They were unconquerable belief made flesh. Breakers of men and empires.

However not all joined in those celebrations. Many had lost partners, sons and daughters, loved ones in the recent battles. Many mourned the dead and performed what little gestures people did to grieve their fallen... Words spoken, tears shed and memories revisited...
A father and mother huddled in the dark comforting each other over the death of a boy not yet old enough to shave. A seasoned black finger shoulder woman, poured her focus into repairing engines trying to forget her husband would never hold her again. Two young ones wandering the corridors of their vessel not sure what life held in store for them now that their parents were dead. For very tale of joy there was one of sorrow...

And among these, a few raised different sort of questions in whispered and ushed tones. Until a few years ago the Elders had never shown any interest in the centre of the Galaxy and always appeared content to plunder their hunting grounds of old in a cyclical manner. That had been the Armadan way of life. They had been pirates, not conquerors. Plunderers yes, but not soldiers. And this was war appeared to be far from its conclusion.

No one was really sure when it had happened but steadily and surely the eyes of the Bloodborn Elders started drifting towards a new goal. And now embolden by their victories the Ascendants, the mouth pieces of the Elders roamed the decks with a new discourse.
"The centre brothers and sisters. Reach the centre and we will be masters of the Galaxy. Nay the Universe."

Sometimes all you needed to start a blaze is a small spark. One that can ignite an inferno."

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