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Nomad stood behind Councillor Twilight's seat in the first official meeting of the new council in charge of the Armadan affairs.
His huge scarred arms crossed across his barrel chest. He wore the black and purple exosuit of the Archangels with three red slashes over his left shoulder symbolising he was now a húskarl to the new leader of the Rancour Hold.
In the cycles after the last battle with the High Council and the assassination of their members by Lilith and Nomad, and the mutiny against the Bloodborn Elders, The Armada had decided to take steps to ensure no single group of individuals ever decided on its future with the impunity the Elders had done before.
Many amongst the ranks still remembered the Elders with reverence and as great leaders. They had been ever present since the inception of The Armada in times now forgotten. They had shaped they history and their culture.
They had taken the pirate wandering flotilla state and tore the Galaxy apart in a conflict that would live in history forever. A ten year brutal campaign from the fringes of the galaxy to its Core.
The Bloodborn Elders had taken a horde of marauders and defeated the High Council and those forces loyal to them, but in those ten years it became clear they did not do so for the Armadans and their way of life, but because of their insatiable hunger for power. But they were not rulers or soldiers. Most Armadans wanted to roam free through the Stars. Answering to no laws not their own. Not wanting to settle any worlds. Taking what they could when they can.
The Armada would always thrived on scavenging and preying on traders, miners, convoys even civilisations or from anyone they could steal resources from.
Any ships intercepted by Armadan forces are assimilated into it and its crew and passengers are press-ganged into citizenship for life. The Armada also offers haven to all those escaping from the law and is constantly recruit pirates, assassins, brigands, smugglers and corsairs and those that lawful society deem unfit. And if to many they are evil incarnated to others they are saviours, freedom fighters, liberators.
The Armada will always free any slaves or Indentured sentient beings it comes across.
So they have as many supporters as they have enemies.
The Armada had always been divided into five Holds. Each Hold named after one of the five Elder vessels that all others centred around. Five vessels that hundreds if not thousands of cycles ago, had escaped a terrible conflict with an ancient enemy in the edges of the Galaxy.
These five vessels would eventually give rise to the piratical and scavenger society that today was The Armada.
Now a few months after the end of the Bloodshed Uprising and the coup against the Bloodborn Elders, led by one of their number, Councillor Twilight, each Hold was asked to elect a leader to represent them and the views of their crews in the new Bloodborn Council.
The Archangel looked at the assembled faces. Many of each he knew personally or by reputation.
The Rancour Hold did not even held elections or discussions over leadership. Support for Councillor Twilight was unanimous after her role in freeing the Armada from the crazy plans of the other Elders. She held it all together whilst the pirates came to terms with the fallout of the Bloodshed Uprising, the destruction of the Atlas nd their new place in the Galaxy. She was an Elder and some traditions still meant something in the Armada. There was no other option worth considering, especially with Nomad at her side. He had been a renowned member of the Armada a decade ago, but now after the war and the role he played in those events, he was a Name. The Void Reaver, they now called him.
The Juggernaut Hold was represented by Moda Wathu, the Albino. Last of the Ascendants. Moda was a tall wiry man with a thin frame. He was a legend amongst the ranks, one of the best strategist of the fleet, cunning and ruthless in equal measures. Countless raids and battles under his belt he was now in charge of the largest Hold of the Armada, the one carrying the vast majority of the rank and file brethren.
Moda and Nomad locked eyes. The Archangels and the Ascendants had always been rivals. And now here they were. The last of their kind.
Nomad looked over at the man representing the Omen Hold. He was the second in command. Ahl had been elected leader of the technological metalsmith vessels that were the bloodlife of the Armada. However the minute genius disliked people, much preferring to spend time among machines and his insane creations.
In his place stood Illsent, Master Artificer of the BlackFinger Lodge, the closest thing that the Armada had for religion after war.
The original Captain of the Remnant, Deka Turvanis, stood across from Councillor Twilight. An older woman with high cheek bones and short cropped grey hair. Her blood red tunic marked her as part of the now extinct Royal House of Turusqua, once masters of the Tyoer-Turlovvi Fringe. No Captain had more void battles under the Armada colours than her. Nomad nodded his head slightly at the woman in respect. She was now the leader of the Hold.
The Rising Sun Hold was represented by Coravan Seer, an ancient grizzly marauder, known throughout the fleet as the slayer of Arka Suyr, where thousands were rumoured to have died by his blades and blaster. Coravan was a legend among the brethren. Fearless and charismatic in equal measures. He kept taking swigs from a silver flash, grinning.
Councillor Twilight banged her quicksilver gauntlet on the table. The first session of the new Bloodborn Council was in session...