Thicc Boi Sanctuary

[Voices of The Deep]

OOC INFORMATION​

• Intent: To create a divine armament not for the battlefield, but for the royal courts & crowns~
• Image Source: The Avengers [X] | Hellboy [X]
• Canon Link: Battle Meditation [X] | Force Illusion [X] | Darkshear [X] | Force Drain [X]
• Permissions: N/A
• Primary Source: N/A

PRODUCTION INFORMATION
​

• Manufacterer: Domina Prime [X]
• Affiliation: House Prime [X]
• Market Status: Closed-Market
• Model: Króna | The Sovereign Scepter
• Modularity: No
• Production: Unique (2)
• Material: Azure Blackstone [X] | Ha'rangirite [X]
• Classification: Force Imbued Royal Scepter-spear
• Size: Average
• Weight: Average

SPECIAL ATTRIBUTES​

Forged in the holy-forge of House Prime and shaped beneath chants meant for queens, kings, and the silver-tongued architects of power, the Sovereign Serpent Scepter is one of the most elegant and insidious creations in the Divine Armament series.

Unlike the brute engines of war that define many Mandalorian relics, this weapon is crafted for rulers, courtiers, tacticians, and those who know that dominion is not always taken by the sword~ but by the whispered word, the illusion, the manipulation, and the control of minds and hearts. Its shaft of the Scepters alloy gleams with regal menace, and its tri-bladed crown cradles a luminous Ha'rangrite heartstone that pulses like a serpent's eye.

Though designed as a royal accessory. Worn, displayed, or used subtly in court, the scepter is no ornament. Its carved runes amplify a wielder's mind-based force abilities to dizzying heights, allowing them to fracture thoughts, twist perceptions, and generate loyal phantasms to act in their stead. When the blades touch flesh or soul, the Ha'rangrite heartstone drinks deep, siphoning away the victim's connection to the Force in a slow, cold drain. A ruler wielding it commands not just armies, but belief itself.

With a deliberate twist of the grip, the shaft extends, becoming a full-length ceremonial spear, its crown splitting open to produce a crackling lance of Darkshear energy. Whether in a throne room, a battlefield, or the shadows of political intrigue, Hyrmfjǫrðr ensures its wielder reigns supreme.

​

• Ha'rangrite Tri-Crown Heartstone: At the scepter's apex lies a heartstone set within three elegantly curved blades, forming a crown-like spearhead. This heartstone functions as a psychic generator, dramatically enhancing the wielder's telepathic projection, mind illusions, emotional influence, and mental infiltration. When the blades pierce flesh or armor, they serve as conduits, siphoning the Force directly into the stone. This drained energy is then stored until the wielder commands it to erupt in a tense, needle-thin beam of destructive Darkshear that can pierce armor and melt durasteel.

• Runes of Serpent: Glyphscript runes spiral down the shaft, each representing a different branch of mental mastery. Illusion, doppelganger projection, dream-walking, forced empathy, emotional compulsion, and memory intrusion. These runes do not replace the wielder's skill but as a conduit can magnify it, allowing weaker Force sensitives to wield terrifying dominion and allowing masters to reshape perception itself. The scepter subtly synchronizes with its wielder's mental cadence, responding to their subconscious intentions.

• Royal Tongue Amplifier: When held during speech, the heartstone subtly projects the wielder's emotional frequency outward, enhancing charisma, fear projection, confidence, and rhetorical impact. It is not mind control, but the whisper of a god on the wind behind one's words.

• Dual-Form Construction: The scepter can shift between its regal court-length and a full-length ceremonial war-spear. In spear form, the blades rotate and lock, enabling drill-like thrusts and Darkshear discharge. Despite its elegance, it is a fully functional battlefield weapon capable of impaling through armor or shields.

INTRINSIC STRENGTHS​

Master of Minds: The Sovereign Scepter dramatically enhances the wielder's psychic Force powers. Illusions become more vivid, doppelgangers more tangible, emotional influence more intoxicating, and mental invasions more precise. In the hands of a skilled telepath, the scepter can turn a battlefield into a hall of mirrors or reduce a throne room to a stage where only the wielder's script plays.

Force Drain Catalyst: The tri-bladed crown acts as a mouthpiece for the heartstone, allowing the weapon to drain Force essence through physical contact. This stolen energy fuels the wielder's mental abilities or can be stored and unleashed as a devastating beam of Darkshear. Its draining nature makes it particularly effective against Jedi, Sith, and Force-sensitive beasts.

Regal Authority: Beyond combat, the scepter reinforces leadership. Troops feel steadier, allies feel anchored, and subordinates fall naturally into line around the wielder. The scepter conveys presence, spiritual, political, and psychological, making it a true symbol of dominion and royal right.

Court & War Weapon: Its ability to shift from a sleek court scepter to an extending spear grants it versatility. In close-quarters, it is a graceful parrying tool; in open combat, it becomes a thrusting, drilling pike of Ha'rangrite-charged destruction.

DESIGN FLAWS​

Mental Harmony: The scepter bonds with the wielder's mind. If they are unstable, panicking, or mentally fragmented, the weapon becomes chaotic, illusions flicker, projections distort, and Darkshear blasts misfire. It is a serpent of the psyche; the wielder's mental discipline determines whether it coils obediently or bites.

Devour: Though its ability to drain the Force is powerful, overuse can overwhelm the wielder's nervous system with raw energy. If too much is taken too quickly, it can cause psychic backlash, emotional numbness, migraines, hallucinations, or temporary sensory distortion. The heartstone hungers, but it also judges those who feed it recklessly.

Brutal Conquest: Unlike many Mandalorian weapons, the scepter is not built for breaking shields, crushing armor, or blasting foes apart. It is most effective in intellectual combat, psychological warfare, and precise power engagements. Against immense physical threats, rancors, large droids, or artillery, even in spear form it may be outmatched.

Nullwake Stasis: When in the presence of ysalamiri fields, void stone, or other Force-nullifying phenomena, the heartstone becomes inert. Its amplification and illusions collapse instantly, its stored energy cannot be released, and the weapon becomes little more than a ceremonial spear. The psychological aura also falters, leaving the wielder's presence less commanding.

WHISPERS IN THE DARK​

The King-Serpent Scepter, Króna was born not from war, but from Dima Prime's reluctant respect for a battlefield she had never sought but could no longer ignore: the realm of silver tongues, masks, veiled threats, and crown-games where blades are rarely drawn, yet blood spills all the same. For all her contempt of "courtly venom," even she knew that to dismiss politics entirely was to misunderstand war in one of its oldest, most insidious incarnations. If the battlefield was sacred, then every arena of conflict—be it mud, ash, or throne room—deserved a proper weapon. And so, in the sanctum of her sacred forge, she shaped not a sword for warriors, but a scepter for kings and queens who battled through whispers rather than steel.

She began with a Ha'rangirite shard carved from the same seam that birthed the hearts of her greatest armaments—volatile in nature, yet perfect for focus, magnification, and dominance when set into a trinity crown of blackened blades. The metal shaft was forged of azure-blackstone alloy, repeatedly quenched in ichor-filled crucibles and tempering wells laced with Nightsister spell-ink. Each ritual cycle shifted the resonance of the core, attuning it not to physical violence, but to sovereignty, influence, coercion, and the labyrinthine dance of rule. Dima's hammer strokes were deliberate and ceremonial, each one a vow of respect to a battlefield she had yet to master—but fully intended to.

The scepter's head took shape like the fanged crown of an ancient serpent deity: three blades bent inward around the Ha'rangirite stone, each tip designed not for slashing, but for piercing the will. Upon completion, she carved into its length a spiraling chain of runes—glyphscript sigils of mind shard, projection, perception-fracture, force-drain, and enthrallment—an arsenal of invisible edges for those who must win battles without ever drawing blood. When awakened, the scepter becomes a royal spear of immaculate menace: the shaft elongates, the stone hums with caged destruction, and its wielder commands a presence that can bend rooms, crowds, and even armies.

Though Dima herself had little interest in thrones, she understood the sacredness of leadership—and the tragedies of those unprepared to wield it. So she forged this armament for monarchs and heirs who must walk a battlefield where every ally might be an enemy, every compliment a trap, and every truth a blade. It was not made for the righteous, but for the capable—those whose rule could either uplift their people or plunge them into ruin.

In her doctrine, if a warrior can wield a sword, then a ruler should wield something far more dangerous: a weapon that tests the soul, amplifies the mind, and condemns its bearer either to sovereignty or to the deadly isolation that comes with the crown. And thus the King-Serpent was born—an armament not of conquest, but of dominion, deceit, and the heavy toll of command.

Spoiler

"Touch the Azure Bloom, and you'll never stop burning."

OOC INFORMATION
​

Intent: To design a highly exotic and signature metal for Force Sensitive Mandalorians & Warpriest to utilize in their smithcraft~
Image Source: Tangled [X] | Hectorian [X] Qur [X] A R [X]
Canon Link: Soul Gem [X] | Ghostfire Crystal [X] | Blackwing Crystal [X]
Permissions: Ark of Ha'rangir [X] | Starfang [X] | Warpriest Beskar'gam [X]
Primary Source: N/A

PRODUCTION INFORMATION
​

Manufacterer: Domina Prime [X]
Affiliation: House Prime [X] | Mandalorian Empire [X]
Market Status: Closed-Market
Model: The Iron Bloom
Modularity: No
Production: Semi Unique
Material: Exotic Ore & Mineral
Classification: Force Imbued Flowerstone
Size: Varies
Weight: Heavy

SPECIAL ATTRIBUTES
"It grows best where death lingers. Perhaps it feeds on souls."​

In the ancient sagas of forgemasters lost to time, whose signatures upon steel were oaths and vows in and of themselves, there are whispers of minerals that defied their inert nature. Forge worlds spoke of plundered cores, of cracked moons and conquered worlds yielding metals of divine luster. From these, chapels were cast, crucibles kindled, and gods themselves were worshiped through the song of the hammer.

But most of these treasures were lifeless things, obedient to the flame and the hand.

Azure Blackstone is not among them.

A relic of cataclysm and rebirth, Azure Blackstone was born during the apocalyptic fallout of Strixa Prime, when an unstable Force Nexus tore open the planet's mantle and poured its malignant essence into the very earth. The result was a mineral that lives, a stone that sings, breathes, and feeds upon the energies of life and death alike.

Smooth and reflective as obsidian, Azure Blackstone is capable of transmuting and consuming any mineral or ore it touches, spreading like wildfire through the veins of a planet. When left unchecked, it grows into spiked fields of metallic thorns, iron flowers splitting worlds from within, leaving entire regions as oceans of jagged blue glass.

To many Mandalorians, it is a weed of the gods, a divine infection that punishes weakness and rewards only mastery. To others, it is sacred: a test of dominion over the very bones of creation.

​

Flower Ore of Thorns: like a heartbeat, reflecting their emotions and will through subtle movements and shimmering light. The stronger the connection to the Force, the more violently it reacts, sometimes growing in uncontrolled bursts, other times forming shapes of eerie precision. It is believed to whisper in the night, its vibrations forming echoes of voices long buried in the planet's core. To master it is to wrestle with a living god of metal.

Viral Transmutation: Once exposed to air, energy, or organic contact, the stone begins to grow exponentially. It infects and converts any mineral substrate, iron, rock, even beskar, into more of itself. The process creates sprawling crystalline fields of reflective blue thorns, capable of engulfing entire landscapes if left unchecked. The growth can be halted only through deprivation of energy or complete vitrification. Many worlds bear scars where Azure Blackstone once bloomed, their crusts split apart like rotted fruit.

Force Reactive Core: Under the influence of the Force, Azure Blackstone undergoes a brilliant transformation, from black mirror to radiant azure flame. This reaction releases immense thermal and kinetic energy, making it both a weapon and a power source. Jedi and Sith who have encountered it describe the sensation as standing in the presence of a hungry god, a consciousness that listens, tempts, and amplifies. When channeled properly, it can serve as a reservoir for Force energy, allowing for feats of creation or destruction far beyond natural limits.

Forgemasters Bane: To work with Azure Blackstone is an ordeal reserved for the mad or the divine. The ore resists all known plasma, radiation, and heat, defying even the hottest forges. Only through hybrid techniques, infusing cold fusion containment fields, Force bonding, and Mandalorian smelting rites, can it be shaped without detonating or growing uncontrollably. Its temperamental nature makes it a perfect mirror to the warrior's soul; any hesitation or impurity of purpose will result in catastrophic failure.

Catalyst of The Deep: When stabilized and crystalized, Azure Blackstone becomes a near-limitless energy source, rivaling even kyber in potency. Some of the oldest Mandalorian relics are rumored to bear fragments of it, crownstones, reactor hearts, and the keystones of their starforts. It can amplify weaponry, armor, and even living beings attuned to it. Yet, every use carries a cost. The stone hungers; each spark of brilliance it grants demands equal sacrifice in will, body, or soul.

INTRINSIC STRENGTHS
"When it takes root, the world screams."​

Indestructible and Eternal: Azure Blackstone is a mineral that defies the very concept of entropy. Plasma blades hiss against it in futility; explosive charges bloom across its surface like dying suns and leave not even a scar. It does not melt, it refuses. Even under the breath of orbital fire or within the heart of a star, it endures. Fragments of the mineral have been known to drift through the void for millennia, tumbling through the deep black like seeds of oblivion, only to survive planetary reentry intact. To shatter it is not to destroy it, but to multiply it, each splinter growing back into new, thorned monuments of iron. The galaxy itself must bend around it; Azure Blackstone is not undone. It simply waits.

Reactive Power Source: When contained, stabilized, and refined through hybrid Mandalorian-Force engineering, the stone becomes an engine of divine potency. Its crystalline lattice drinks energy like blood, storing thermal, kinetic, and spiritual power until called upon. One shard could power a castle-ship for years; an entire vein could light the hulls of a thousand fleets. The ancients spoke of reactors built around it, silent, humming shrines where energy pooled like holy water. But the power it offers is no gift freely given: it hums with hunger, demanding focus, faith, and iron will. Those who have gazed into a reactor core of Azure Blackstone swear they saw galaxies turning inside it, stars dying and being born within a single pulse.

Force Amplification & Communion: The Force does not flow through Azure Blackstone. It climbs it. The mineral acts as both conduit and crucible, amplifying Force energy to near-unbearable magnitudes. It reacts not only to the wielder's will, but to their emotions, rage, sorrow, devotion, all given form through the stone's radiant transformation. When ignited by the Force, it glows from within, veins of cobalt light coursing like rivers beneath its obsidian skin. To the sensitive, it feels alive, whispering, tempting, testing. Some Mandalorian zealots of Clan Prime believe this communion to be a dialogue with Ha'rangir himself, a conversation with the divine through the bones of the galaxy. It does not obey. It judges.

Adaptive & Regenerative Nature: The Blackstone remembers. When damaged or shattered, its crystalline structure reforms itself over time, reshaping into its original geometry as though guided by memory. This regeneration can occur even in vacuum, drawing on ambient energy from nearby systems to rebuild. Pieces separated by vast distances have been observed resonating at identical frequencies, suggesting a shared consciousness, an echo of a single will dispersed across many bodies. Ancient records tell of weapons destroyed in battle only to be found whole again decades later, their wounds healed, their edges keener than before. This adaptability makes the Blackstone eternal in another sense, it does not merely endure, it learns.

Symbol of Divine Favor: To possess even a sliver of Azure Blackstone is to claim mastery over the living earth. Clan Prime treats such a feat as sacred, for the ore does not submit easily, it must be dominated, tamed through ritual, faith, and force. Only those whose wills burn hotter than the forge may shape it without perishing. Those who succeed are said to be chosen by Ha'rangir, marked as divine instruments of conquest. Their weapons glow with celestial fire, their armor thrums with a heartbeat not their own. The ore is both trophy and trial: a reflection of the Prime's philosophy that true strength is born not in creation, but in the act of conquering creation itself.

DESIGN FLAWS
"Touch not the thorn, for it knows the heat of the hand."​

Unstable and Temperamental: Azure Blackstone is not a passive tool, it is a volatile presence. Its affinity to the Force renders it hypersensitive to emotion and intent. A craftsman's doubt, a warrior's rage, even the whisper of fear can trigger catastrophic instability. When its resonance falters, its energy implodes inward, then erupts outward in a violent explosion of blue fire and molten glass. Entire foundries have been swallowed in an instant, their forges replaced by smoking craters of radiant thorns. Controlling it is akin to holding a star in your hands, it will either burn you clean or consume you whole. The line between mastery and martyrdom is razor-thin.

Infectious Proliferation: The greatest danger of Azure Blackstone is not its power, but its will to spread. Once rooted in stone or metal, it grows endlessly, converting its surroundings into mirror-black spires. Within months, it can devour an entire complex; within years, a planet's crust. Worlds afflicted by it suffer a slow, agonizing death, their cores impaled by crystalline veins until the surface fractures and blooms into seas of azure glass. The only method of eradication is total annihilation: planetary vitrification or orbital bombardment until nothing remains. To the unprepared, a single shard is enough to turn paradise into a cemetery of iron thorns.

Impossible to Forge by Conventional Means: To work Azure Blackstone in a traditional forge is a fool's errand. It rejects flame, ignores heat, and defies plasma cutters. Even beskar, when mixed with it, often warps or combusts. Only by combining advanced cold fusion techniques with Force bonding can it be coaxed into shape. Forgemasters must commune with it, aligning their heartbeat to its pulse, or risk violent backlash. The result is that few in the galaxy possess the means or knowledge to shape it, those who can are revered, feared, or both. Their forges are half foundry, half cathedral, where every blow of the hammer is a prayer against oblivion.

Psychic Resonance & Corruption: The stone remembers the screams of Strixa Prime. Those who work it too long begin to hear echoes of those who perished in its birth, whispers, shadows, sometimes even visions of blue fire and molten oceans. These manifestations grow stronger the longer one remains in proximity. Some hear laughter, others weeping. A few even claim to see faces within the stone, staring back. Extended contact erodes the mind, slowly aligning it to the mineral's alien rhythm. The Blackstone does not merely change the world, it changes the soul that shapes it, until craftsman and creation are one.

The Hunger: Every act of creation, every spark drawn from the Blackstone, demands tribute. The stone feeds not only on energy, but on essence, draining the life force, willpower, or sanity of its wielder. Weapons forged from it often bond parasitically to their users, growing brighter as their hosts grow paler. In time, some wielders report feeling hollow, as if their own spirit has been leeched into the ore. The Mandalorians of House Prime consider this a holy bargain: to bleed for power is the natural order of things. But to those unprepared for its appetite, the Blackstone is no gift, it is a slow, exquisite consumption.

THE ROOT OF RUIN​

In the aftermath of the cataclysm that consumed Strixa Prime, few believed anything could survive the planetary death throes of a Force Nexus imploding. Oceans boiled, skies burned, and the crust of the world split apart like an overburdened forge. What remained was a scar on the galaxy, a silent, drifting ruin caught between dimensions of light and shadow. From this devastation, however, came an unthinkable byproduct: crystalline growths that shone with impossible color, radiant blue veins gleaming through obsidian stone. The first miners who set foot upon Strixa's corpse called it Azure Blackstone. Those same miners never left. Their ships were found half-buried beneath new roots of that living ore, their hulls pierced through by glassy thorns.

When the first samples reached Mandalorian space, the reaction was one of awe and horror in equal measure. To the forgemasters of House Prime, it was a revelation, a material that breathed. To the Iron Priests and Warpriests of the faith, it was an omen. The metal sang beneath the hammer like a living heart, vibrating with power that seemed both divine and hostile. In its reflection, they saw the face of their god Ha'rangir, smiling. For this reason, it was not simply categorized as ore, but as a Relic Mineral, believed to be a direct manifestation of the god's will through molten creation. The decree was made: no world may mine Azure Blackstone unsanctioned, and no forgemaster may touch it without ritual, sanction, and sacrifice.

Through the centuries that followed, the Iron Clergy of House Prime built great forge-vaults beneath the stars, sealed monasteries and floating foundries devoted entirely to the study and containment of the Blackstone. These vaults became known as The Crucibles of Silence, for the artisans who entered them did not speak. Their minds were devoted to the hum of the stone, listening to its strange vibrations, recording every pulse and frequency as if deciphering divine scripture. Each vein was catalogued, each shard locked within transparent containment spires, surrounded by sigils and warding runes. The Warpriests stood guard as eternal wardens, treating the ore not as a resource, but as a prisoner that could never be freed.

Despite such precautions, the Blackstone's hunger could not be fully restrained. Across centuries, rare fragments broke free of containment, finding their way into the galaxy. Asteroid impacts, smuggler caches, and reckless scholars brought small shards into contact with planetary crusts. The result was always the same: black crystal blooming from the soil like alien flora, splitting rock, swallowing foundations. On barren moons, the phenomenon became known as the Bloom of Thorns, jagged forests of glass erupting overnight, growing higher with each passing sunrise. Worlds that failed to burn the infection in time became lifeless and impaled, their atmospheres shimmering with the faint blue glow of poison light.

Those rare and catastrophic blooms made the Mandalorians the de facto custodians of the material's secret. To outsiders, Azure Blackstone became myth, a whispered curse from the old forge-worlds, a bedtime horror told to apprentices about the dangers of greed. But within the Mandalorian Empire, it became a point of pride. The Warpriests saw in it a reflection of themselves: unruly, indomitable, ever-growing through violence. The Iron Clergy of Prime learned to graft the ore's crystalline structure into select weapons, using trace amounts within Starfangs and relic armor to grant them unnatural resilience and power. Yet, such weapons are not forged, they are tamed. To err once in their creation is to watch the forge explode into sapphire flame.

Over time, special containment methods were perfected. The ore was encased in rune-sealed crucibles of tempered beskar and cooled within fields of null gravity to prevent spontaneous growth. The largest deposits were stored aboard The Iron Citadel, a worldship that now functions as both a shrine and prison for the Blackstone. Within its core lies a living chamber, a pulsating bloom of the ore itself, chained in place by Force-null cages and humming reactors that bleed off its excess energy. It is said the Citadel's crew live in perpetual twilight, for the light of the Blackstone never dims, painting every hall in eerie cerulean glow. None enter the heart of the forge without sanction from the Warpriests themselves.

Even now, the Mandalorians of House Prime guard the secret of Azure Blackstone with zealous vigilance. To some, it is the greatest weapon the galaxy has ever known; to others, a sleeping god that must never be awoken. Rumors persist of splinters of the ore drifting through space, seeded like stars, falling into planetary atmospheres like comets, what the ancients called The Bloomfall. Wherever these shards land, they root. They grow. They whisper. They wait for the song of the hammer to call them home once more.

And so, the Iron Creed remains etched in every forge where the Blackstone is stored;

"The gods gave it teeth. The fools gave it soil. The wise gave it chains~"​

 

[Voices of The Deep]

OOC INFORMATION​

• Intent: To design an exotic shield barrier based on the conjuring of Divine Armaments forged by Prime
• Image Source: Einarr's Journey [X] | Final Fantasy Versus [X] | Beginning After The End [X]
• Canon Link: Ichor Sword [X] | Spell of Conjuring [X] | Force Barrier [X]
• Permissions: N/A
• Primary Source:

PRODUCTION INFORMATION
​

• Manufacterer: Domina Prime [X]
• Affiliation: House Prime [X] Nightsisters of Dathomir
• Market Status: Closed-Market
• Model: Celestial Crown of Blades
• Modularity: No
• Production: Unique
• Material: Alchemized Azure Blackstone & Ha'rangirite
• Classification: Sickle & Dagger
• Size: Small
• Weight: Weightless

SPECIAL ATTRIBUTES​

Forged in the crucible of twin faiths, Mandalorian glyphcraft and Nightsister ichor-sorcery, The Twins stand as one of Dimas most intimate creations. Crafted as a personal offering to her cherished Nightsisters whom she considers kith & kin, these weapons are less "armaments" like her previous creations and more ritual embodiments of their bond. One blade is the curved sickle Umbral Caress, shaped like a crescent moon carved from starless night, its edge humming with lunar gravity and dream-sorcery. The other, Vesperneedle, is a perfectly straight, impossibly thin dagger sharpened to a molecular vapor at its tip, a weapon of precision, prophecy, and inevitable endings.

Together, the blades balance each other in a mirrored duality: shadow and starlight, dream and death, tide and stillness, witch and warrior. When in the hands of a skilled witch, they become not merely tools of battle, but extensions of their will, a whispering duet of sacred violence.

​

Nightsister Shadow-Phasing: The Crescent Sickle can partially dissolve into shadowstuff, slipping between the material and the immaterial in seamless phasing.

• Allows the sickle to pass harmlessly through armor, then solidify inside a target.
• Can "mute" its presence, becoming invisible in dim light or deep shadow.
• Grants the wielder the ability to cut things normally immune to physical blades — illusions, memories, bindings, tethered spirits.
• Works exceptionally well for ritual work, circle-carving, severing of curses, opening night-roads.
• When thrown, it leaves a crescent rift of shadow that lingers for several seconds like a rent in reality.

Lunar Pull: Umbral Caress bends local gravity when swung, slicing the air with a shallow gravitational "tide."

• Pulls enemies off-balance or subtly bends trajectories of incoming attacks.
• Can pull thrown weapons back toward the wielder in a moonlike orbit.
• Extremely useful for crowd control or creating openings in duels.
• Can create micro-slingshot effects with projectiles.
• At full power, generates a half-second crescent wave of crushing force.

Molecular Edge of Inevitable Fate: The dagger is honed to a single-molecule tip stabilized by witch-binding and Mandalorian metallurgical miracles.

• Cuts without resistance: armor, metal, even matter stabilized by the Force.
• Leaves wounds that cannot be naturally closed — they "refuse" to knit unless magically healed.
• Draws a single drop of ichor or blood on contact, no matter how gentle the touch.
• Can sever "threads" of fate, luck, or enchantment when used in ritual.
• In a duel, it is the ultimate finishing strike — quiet, precise, unstoppable.

Duet Convergance: When both blades are used in tandem or crossed in ritual, they synchronize, Domina intended them to never be strongest alone, but perfect together.

• Their edges ignite with black-moon witchfire, harmless to those bonded but agonizing to foes.
• A temporary shield of crescent-shaped wards forms around Vytal.
• Allows for mirage-stepping: brief afterimages, flickers of position, shadow-doubles.
• In a ritual setting, creates a stabilized "night well" of ichor energy for spellcasting.
• Perfect balance of assault and defense, the Sisters' creed embodied.

INTRINSIC STRENGTHS​

Ritualistic Twin Blades: Both blades respond to ichor, blood, chants, and lunar phases. They amplify Nightsister spellwork, stabilize wild magicks, and can carve ritual sigils into any surface, including air, shadow, or a living spirit. Their presence alone elevates Witch spellcasting potency, acting like a tuning fork for their will. They do not usurp ones power; they harmonize with it.

Lunar Gravity Bending: The twins manipulate faint gravitational shifts that assist the wielder subtly rather than dramatically. A hook of the crescent blade can pull an enemy a half-step closer or encourage a projectile to veer just off-center, while the dagger can lighten the wielder's wrist at the moment of a parry or thrust. This gives the blades an uncanny "inevitability" in combat, as though openings reveal themselves or opponents misjudge their footing without understanding why. Though minor in magnitude, these shifts create a profound tactical advantage for a skilled wielder and make the blades feel preternaturally responsive.

Absorption & Amplification: With Blackstone at their heart, the Moon-Tide Twins can siphon off stray kinetic or mystical energy, storing it within their cores. Over the course of a prolonged fight, this allows the blades to grow hotter, sharper, and more resonant, turning endurance battles in the wielder's favor. When released intentionally, this stored energy can burst outward in a crescent shockwave from the sickle or a hyper-focused pulse from the dagger, each capable of staggering opponents or cleaving through wards. The longer the blades remain in motion, the more potent they become, making them devastating in drawn-out duels.

Witchrune Synergy: Nightsister magick flows naturally through the Moon-Tide Twins, amplifying spells cast in their vicinity. Enchantments woven through the blades make ichor manipulation easier, sigil-casting more stable, and spirit-binding rituals more efficient. When a spell is cast mid-combat, the blades glow with suspended moonlight that enhances the potency of the magick without draining additional energy from the witch. This synergy also allows illusions, bindings, or curses cast with the twins to take on sharper clarity and stronger adhesion, turning them into ideal ritual implements as much as battlefield weapons.

DESIGN FLAWS​

One Never Without The other: Because the Moon-Tide Twins draw metaphysical equilibrium from each other, extended separation causes their enchantments to falter. The sickle may grow heavier and sluggish without its counterpart's balancing presence, while the dagger becomes overly light and prone to slipping out of alignment with the wielder's intent. Their resonance weakens, reducing their gravitational effects to nearly nothing and dulling their predictive combat rhythm. The blades can still function independently, but their combat advantages diminish significantly when used apart from each other for too long.

Ritual Maintenance: The blades' lunar alloys must be routinely bathed in moonwater or witch-brew elixirs to maintain their supernatural sharpness and resonance. Neglecting this causes the enchantments to dim, their edges losing the shimmering crescent sheen that marks their awakened state. After prolonged neglect, their gravitational influence destabilizes, sometimes warping unpredictably in ways that can hinder the wielder more than the enemy. The twins are not disposable weapons, they demand attention, reverence, and ritual upkeep to remain at full potency.


Heretical Nullification: When exposed to Force-nullification fields, ysalamiri bubbles, or anti-mystic dampening zones, the Moon-Tide Twins become stripped of all their supernatural properties. Their gravitational bends collapse instantly, causing the wielder to feel a sudden and jarring weight shift as their rhythm breaks. The dual-current flow-state vanishes, the blades no longer guide or enhance movement, and their resonance dims to silence. In these moments, the blades are still masterfully forged weapons, but no different from mundane steel, leaving their wielder abruptly cut off from the advantages they've grown accustomed to.

In The Dark Of The Night​

The Moon-Tide Twins were born in the twilight years following Prime's awakening to the Force, when her path, once forged purely in wrath and steel, became entangled with the oldest magicks of Dathomir. It was during this era that she first forged kinship with the Nightsisters, having survived the harrowing ritual that bound the phantom Mandalorian witch haunting her war-axe into her own body. The ritual had nearly torn her apart, body and soul, yet in the aftermath she emerged as something new: not simply a Mandalorian warpriest, but a vessel capable of bearing spirits, a bridge between iron and ichor, between clan and coven. The sisters who had overseen the rite, originally wary of the armored outsider, came to see in her both strength and vulnerability, two things the Nightsisters valued deeply when found in balance.

Among them, Nightmother Vytal Noctura was the first to extend true kinship, intrigued by the paradox of a battle-saint who bore a ghost in her bones and whose faith shone like a star even while steeped in shadow. Their friendship grew in quiet moments between rites, in shared rituals beneath the twin moons, and in long discussions of destiny, power, and the strange, overlapping poetry of witchcraft and Mandalorian creed. It was in these nights that Dima began to understand the Nightsisters not as the "other" she had been warned of, but as family bound not by blood, but by choice and shared suffering. These bonds became the foundation of what she would later craft, a tribute not born of obligation, but of genuine love and respect.

Seeking to honor the sisters who had healed her, guided her, and accepted her, Dima set to work creating a new divine armament, one that carried the essence of Dathomir as much as that of House Prime. She drew upon the Blackstone forges aboard her reclaimed Ark and infused them with gifts brought from Dathomir's swamps: moonwater, ichor-resin, ritual ash, and bone-dust etched with sigils of the Fanged Goddess. Under the watchful gaze of Vytal and the chanting of the coven, she shaped the first blade, a crescent sickle mirroring the waxing moon, and then its counterpart, a dagger tapered so fine it seemed made of distilled starlight. During their forging, the spirit bound inside Dima stirred, whispering old Mandalorian glyphs that she carved into the blades' spines, merging ancient clancraft with the witchcraft of her newfound kin.

When the forging fires dimmed and the last ritual seal cooled, the Moon-Tide Twins emerged shimmering with silver-blue light, humming softly as though alive. They were not weapons crafted for war alone, but a living testament to union, between sisterhood and martial faith, between moon and forge, between Dima and the coven that had embraced her. As she presented them to Vytal as a gift, the Nightmother recognized their deeper truth: these were not just tools of battle, but a declaration of devotion, a sign that Dima's heart had expanded to hold more than the creed she was born into. The Moon-Tide Twins became a permanent symbol of the bond between Domina Prime and the Nightsisters, a sacred reminder that even a god-forged warrior may craft with tenderness, and that some weapons are born not of rage, but of love.

Spoiler

"How Many Times Can A Culture Be Divided?"

OUT OF CHARACTER INFORMATION​

• Intent: To create a Ancient House of Ha'rangir dedicated to the will of the gods~
• Image Source: Dragon Age Inquisition [X] | Einarr's Journey [X] Pinterest [X] 40K [X] Arcane [X]
• Canon Link: N/A
• Permissions: N/A
• Primary Source: N/A

OVERVIEW INFORMATION

"This Fire Thirst For Sweet Songs of Steel & Carnage~"​

• Organization Name: The Inheritors | House Prime
• Classification: Lost Mandalorian House
• Affiliation: Domina Prime [X] | Mandalorian Empire [X]
• Organization Symbol: Sun With Eye & Sword

Description: Clan Prime is a primal hymn to the blood-soaked roots of Mandalorian culture, a clan born of the smoldering forge fires that once burned in the Age of the Warrior Poets. Where others have diluted their heritage with gadgets, jetpacks, and the empty proclamations of "honor" spoken through static-laden comm channels, House Prime stands unyielding. They do not adorn themselves with frivolous trinkets or rely on the cowardice of technological crutches. Instead, they turn their gaze inward, to the ancient bond of blade and soul, forging their identity from the crucible of war itself. To wield a sword in Clan Prime is not merely to carry a weapon, it is to bear a piece of their gods' legacy, a shard of destiny carved into the stars.

For the Inheritors of Ha'rangir, the sword is more than steel; it is sacred. Every blade is given a name, as alive and storied as its wielder, for to the Inheritors, a sword holds the fate of both life and death in its edge. The act of battle is a prayer, and every stroke of their weapon is a line of holy scripture written in blood.

They are the last echoes of a time when warriors measured their lives not in credits or victories, but in the purity of their deaths. To inherit the Mandalorian way is to accept the curse and blessing of the blade, a destiny of sacrifice, fury, and transcendent glory. To die in battle, unyielding and unafraid, is not merely fate; it is the holiest of callings.

These zealots embrace war not as a means to an end but as an end unto itself. To them, life is only justified by the struggle it endures and the blood it spills. Where modern Mandalorians speak of honor with hollow voices, Those under the banner of Prime carves it into their flesh with the scars of battle. They do not kneel to reason, nor do they bargain for peace. They live for the radiance of chaos and the sweet annihilation of worthy foes, casting morality aside as a weakness for the untested and untrue. Their place in Mandalorian culture is one of brutal clarity, a mirror held up to the diluted hearts of their kin, reflecting what was lost in the twilight of their ancient age.

In the eyes of House Prime, the galaxy has forgotten its roots. It has traded steel for circuits, courage for cunning, and destiny for convenience. But the Inheritors remember. They remember the age-old bonds of the Warrior Poets, the songs of blades clashing under starless skies, and the glory of a life lived on the edge of destruction. They are the sacred keepers of Mandalore's original sin and ultimate purpose, reminding all who cross their path that the destiny of the blade is not one of safety or salvation, it is one of fire, blood, and the eternal dance with death.

GEOGRAPHICAL INFORMATION ​

• Headquarters: The Iron Citadel [X]
• Domain: The Ark of Ha'rangir, the legendary cityship of HousePrime, is a marvel of ancient engineering and spiritual devotion. A moon-sized colossus drifting through the cosmic void, it stands as both a sanctuary and a citadel. Its exterior gleams with layers of blackened durasteel and Mandalorian iron, etched with runes of the old gods and adorned with reliefs depicting the saga of the Inheritors. Solar arrays unfurl like wings to drink in the light of distant stars, fueling the vast power grid that sustains its countless halls, hangars, and forges. Within its armored husk lie temples devoted to Ha'rangir, their altars lit by the fires of eternal conflict. From the lowliest apprentice to the mightiest Primarch, all who dwell upon The Ark live and breathe the divine mandate of war.
  
  It serves not just as a refuge but as the beating heart of House Prime & The Inheritors culture and conquest. Here, young warriors undergo rites of passage within sprawling arenas where the clash of steel resounds like hymns. The ship's vast chambers are filled with foundries that birth weapons destined to carve legends, and its archives hold the preserved chants of warrior poets long past. For Mandalorians across the galaxy, even those who have strayed from the old ways, The Ark is a symbol of unity and unyielding strength. Yet, it is no haven for the weak. The Iron Monastery accepts only those who prove themselves worthy in the eyes of the Inheritors, those who embrace the ancient bond of blade and blood. As it drifts silently through the void, its presence alone incites both awe and terror, a wandering leviathan from a bygone age.
• Notable Assets: The Ark | The Gjallerhorn

S O C I A L

D O G M A

H I E R A R C H Y​

The Inheritors of House Prime adhere to a simple hierarchy designed to reflect their creed of strength, cunning, and devotion to the Destroyer God. Each rank serves a vital role in their divine mission, ensuring that every soul within the guild embodies their primal destiny, whether through mastery of the sword, the forge, or the arcane.

The Primarchs
Triumvirate of the Divine Aspects​

At the summit of House Prime stand the Primarchs, paragons who embody the sacred trinity of Vision, Might, and Guile. They are living avatars of Kad Ha'rangir's philosophy, blending strategic genius, raw physical prowess, and cunning magecraft into unstoppable forces of nature. Each Primarch wields power and authority beyond reproach, commanding their fleets and armies with primal precision.

Vision: The seer who foresees the ebb and flow of battle, crafting strategies that ensure victory. Their plans are labyrinthine, their foresight unrivaled.

Might: The unyielding titan who crushes all before them with strength alone. The battlefield quakes beneath their presence, and their enemies know despair.

Guile: The shadowed tactician who bends the will of others to serve the clan's ends. Masters of deception, they orchestrate chaos and turn weakness into advantage.

Together, the Primarchs represent the ideal balance of Mandalorian strength, guiding the clan as both warriors and spiritual leaders.

The Wild Hunt
Horsemen of the Apocalypse
​

Legends among the Mandalorians and terrors to the galaxy at large, The Wild Hunt are the elite champions of House Prime, handpicked by the Primarchs themselves. These warriors are not just masters of their craft; they are the living embodiment of Ha'rangir's dream.

Each member of the Wild Hunt is chosen for their unparalleled prowess, their unbreakable will, and their fanatical devotion. To the Inheritors, they are sacred warriors. To their enemies, they are heralds of doom, riding into battle as avatars of death and chaos.

The Four Horsemen: Each champion represents an apocalyptic force. War, Famine, Pestilence, and Death. Their deeds and wargear reflecting these primal archetypes.

Terror Across the Stars: Riding upon starships adorned with the spoils of countless victories, they lead assaults on entire planets, leaving ruin and despair in their wake.

Among the Inheritors, the Wild Hunt is both a rank and an ideal. To be chosen is the highest honor, and to fail in their presence is to be unworthy of Ha'rangir's grace.

The Lords of Iron & Emberborn
Steel & Soulflame​

Beneath the Primarchs are the two great pillars of Clan Prime's martial might: the Lords of Iron and the Emberborn, each revered for their mastery of their chosen paths.

Lords of Iron: These are warriors who, despite lacking the gift of the Force, embody Mandalorian martial prowess. Their discipline, skill, and unwavering devotion to the art of war make them legendary. Clad in enchanted armor and wielding bespoke weapons imbued with the Force by their Emberborn brethren, the Lords of Iron are unrelenting engines of destruction.

Emberborn: Mystics of the arcane, the Emberborn are Clan Prime's answer to the Jedi and Sith. Whether born with the Force or molded by the clan's trials, they command powers of fire, shadow, and raw energy. Their role is dual: to unleash devastating sorcery in battle and to imbue the clan's wargear with divine essence, forging the tools of Ha'rangir's will.

Together, the Lords of Iron and Emberborn form the vanguard and spiritual backbone of the Inheritors, leading the charge with divine ferocity.

Beastmasters
Tamers of Chaos​

Below the martial elite are the Beastmasters, warriors who have tamed the feral creatures of the galaxy and turned them into instruments of war. Riding colossal beasts or commanding swarms of vicious creatures, they bring chaos to the battlefield. Beastmasters are both warriors and shamans, understanding the primal language of nature and bending it to their will. Their mounts are symbols of the Destroyer God's raw, untamed power.

Role: To harness and weaponize the wild, unleashing destruction alongside their trained beasts.

Creatures: From rancors and mythosaurs to swarms of voracious insectoid horrors, Beastmasters are never alone on the battlefield.

Forgeborn
Architects of War​

The Forgeborn are the artisans and engineers of House Prime, the architects of its war machine. While they may lack the martial prowess of their brethren, their role is no less critical. They forge the enchanted blades, impenetrable armor, and starships that fuel the clan's campaigns. Guided by the Emberborn's mystic teachings, their craftsmanship transcends the mundane, creating weapons and tools that are legends in their own right.

Role: To create, repair, and innovate, ensuring the clan's warriors are armed with the finest gear in the galaxy.

Creations: Beskar-forged armor, mythic weapons, and warships adorned with runes of power.

Warpriest
Keepers of the Eternal Pyre ​

Sitting above the Children of Cinders but below the Forgeborn, the warpriest wardens are the educators, priests, and mentors of House Prime. These seasoned warriors and mystics are veterans who have served Ha'rangir faithfully, earning a place as stewards of the next generation. Though their role is not as celebrated as the Iron Lords or Emberborn, their contributions are vital, for they ensure that the flame of the Inheritors burns ever brighter in the hearts of the clan's youth.

The Warpriest are tasked with guiding the Children of Cinders through the trials of battle and faith. They oversee rigorous training regimens, teach sacred warfare tactics, and instill the principles of Ha'rangir into the impressionable minds of new recruits. Acting as both spiritual guides and tactical instructors, they bridge the gap between the raw potential of foundlings and the honed excellence required to rise in the ranks of House Prime.

Educators of War: Warpriest teach everything from the ancient art of the blade to starship combat, siege tactics, and the philosophy of war.

Finders of Potential: They work closely with the Emberborn and Iron Lords to identify promising recruits, selecting squires and apprentices for the higher echelons of the clan.

Mentors of Faith: Acting as priests of Kad Ha'rangir, they lead rituals of devotion and teach the sacred lore of the Destroyer God, ensuring every foundling understands their divine purpose.

Iron Aspiarants
Children of Cinders​

At the base of the hierarchy are the Children of Cinders, the foundlings and initiates of House Prime. These young warriors-in-training are given no mercy and no guarantees. Through trials of fire, blood, and steel, they must prove their worth and discover their place within the clans. Each is a spark waiting to ignite, their future dictated by the paths they carve for themselves.

Role: To undergo relentless trials and forge their destiny, whether as warriors, mystics, craftsmen, or beastmasters.

Path: Only through bloodshed and perseverance can a Child of Cinders rise to prominence within the clan.

The hierarchy of Clan Prime reflects their belief in a primal, meritocratic order. Each tier of warriors, mystics, and artisans serves a purpose, united by their shared devotion to Kad Ha'rangir's dream. From the Primarchs' divine vision to the Children of Cinders' raw potential, every member of Clan Prime embodies the unyielding spirit of the Mandalorian way.

M E M B E R S H I P​

The Trials of the Inheritors

Membership in Clan Prime is not granted lightly; it is earned through fire, fury, and the unyielding desire to carve one's destiny in the stars. This enigmatic house does not accept the weak, the timid, or the indecisive. Only those who embody the untamed potential for violence and the hunger for purpose are chosen to join their crusade of endless war. The methods by which they recruit are as varied and brutal as the clan itself, reflecting their belief that greatness arises only through conflict.

The Seers of the Flame

The Seers of the Flame are mystical oracles, diviners of potential, and keepers of Ha'rangir's will. They scour the galaxy's most broken places, war-torn battlefields, crumbling slums, slave camps, and primitive tribes. Seeking out individuals who possess what they call "the ember within." These embers may take many forms: an unbroken spirit in a world of despair, a child wielding a blade with feral tenacity, or a condemned criminal whose heart burns with defiance even in chains. To these chosen few, the Seers offer a chance at power, purpose, and immortality through the blade. They promise not peace or salvation but the glory of inscribing one's name upon the galaxy through destruction and bloodshed.

Acts of Fury and Accords of Vengeance

Clan Prime is not above creating its own recruits through calculated acts of terror. Whole villages, cities, and even planetary sectors have felt the wrath of the Inheritors, their inhabitants left orphaned and hollowed by the flames of war. To the survivors, the clan extends a grim invitation: join us, and we shall teach you to wield the blade that avenges your loss. Among these are the young orphans, who grow up in the shadow of their captors, training ceaselessly with a singular desire—to one day challenge and kill the very Primarch who destroyed their family. This cycle of vengeance is no weakness to Clan Prime; it is a holy fulfillment of destiny. For to die by the blade of a worthy successor is the greatest honor an Inheritor can hope for.

Redeeming the Disillusioned

Clan Prime's call is not limited to the oppressed and the broken. They lure the disillusioned from all walks of life: wandering Jedi who have grown weary of the Order's platitudes, Sith who see only weakness in their current path, and even farmers and artisans who dream of something greater. To these souls, Clan Prime offers liberation from their doubts and failures. "You were not made to serve in silence," they whisper, "but to claim the stars themselves with your fury." These converts are tested mercilessly—forced to prove that their desire for transcendence outweighs their fear of destruction.

The Trials of War

Beyond recruitment, every potential member must endure The Trials of War, a harrowing initiation that forces the aspirant to abandon their old identity and embrace the eternal cycle of destruction. ​

• The Trial of Fire: Survive a deadly crucible against overwhelming odds, often pitted against other aspirants in a fight to the death.​
• The Trial of the Blade: Forge one's first weapon in the fires of the Starforts, giving it a name that symbolizes the wielder's destiny.​
• The Trial of Devotion: Prove loyalty by executing a final act of severance from the past, be it renouncing one's faith, slaying a former ally, or sacrificing something irreplaceable.​

A Destiny Embraced

Membership in Clan Prime is not just a rite of passage; it is a covenant with Ha'rangir and the ancient bonds of the Manda. Each Inheritor understands that to live by the sword is to die by it, and they embrace this destiny with fervor. For the blade does not discriminate, it merely fulfills its purpose. And for those who take up the sword of House Prime, that purpose is divine. To fall in battle is to ascend; to rise again is to burn brighter. The path of the Inheritor is not one of peace or survival but one of eternal glory through the fires of destruction.

C L I M A T E​

To be a member of House Prime and The Inheritors is to live every moment as if it were etched into the stars by fate itself, burning with the unquenchable fire of divine purpose. Among the Inheritors, life is not measured by years or possessions but by the weight of one's deeds and the blood spilled to carve their name into the endless expanse of the galaxy. The air aboard their warships hums with the chants of warrior poets and the ceaseless clamor of forges, crafting weapons as holy as any relic. Every member of House Prime carries the mantle of their ancestors, bearing the ancient bond of sword and soul that ties them to the Destroyer God, Ha'rangir. Their devotion is absolute, their camaraderie forged in shared purpose and bloodshed. They are not a family bound by affection but a brotherhood of the blade, united by the singular goal of glorifying war and death in their purest forms.

Wandering the galaxy as an Inheritor of Prime is to walk a path of perpetual conflict in a universe that has forgotten its primal truths. While the Sith terrorize and the Jedi lord over their fragile domains, the warriors of Prime see both as hollow pretenders to power, their philosophies steeped in fear and stagnation. The Inheritors scoff at the diluted practices of other Mandalorians, who have abandoned the blade for gadgets and explosive firepower, trading honor for convenience. For Prime, every battle is sacred, every death a step closer to the eternal halls of the Allfathers Oversoul. They move through the galaxy like a storm, scornful of diplomacy and mercy, reveling in the terror their name inspires. To be Prime is to embrace a brutal existence where pain, glory, and death are indistinguishable, a cycle as eternal as the stars themselves.

R E P U T A T I O N​

The name "Prime" was once a whisper among the Mandalorian sagas, a ghostly echo of an age so distant it seemed more myth than memory. Children of Mandalore were lulled to sleep with tales of the Inheritors of Ha'rangir, warrior-poets who wielded blades like extensions of their souls and embraced a destiny of blood and fire. But as the galaxy shifted into eras of technology, politics, and pragmatism, the name was smothered beneath centuries of ash, relegated to the forgotten pages of fairytales. Yet, like all things forged in the fires of the Manda, Prime could not truly die. With the rise of Domina Prime, the clan has burst back into the galaxy's consciousness, a terrible star flaring anew in the night sky.

Prime carries with it the weight of ancient terror. To the galaxy at large, they are anachronistic savages, a clan that eschews the conveniences of modern warfare to revel in the raw, primal ecstasy of close combat. Yet for all their supposed primitiveness, there is no denying the devastating precision of their assaults or the unshakable fanaticism of their warriors. Sith Lords who once sneered at the mention of Mandalorians have found themselves locked in mortal combat against Inheritors wielding radiant blades, their savage oaths echoing across war-torn worlds. Jedi, burdened by their creed of peace, look upon House Prime with a mixture of horror and morbid fascination, for in the Inheritors they see an unyielding conviction that mirrors their own, stripped of all restraint.

Among the Mandalorian diaspora, the return of House Prime has ignited fierce debate. To some, they are the embodiment of everything Mandalorians were meant to be: warriors bound by honor, tradition, and the call of the blade. They are seen as a holy reminder of the age-old bonds that tie Mandalorians to the stars, a throwback to an era of true strength before jetpacks and gadgets diluted the purity of battle. To others, however, Prime represents a dangerous fanaticism, a clan so consumed by their zeal for destruction that they threaten to undo everything the Mandalorians have built since the days of the Crusades. These Mandalorians see the Inheritors as relics of a darker time, unfit for the modern age, their uncompromising ways as much a curse as a legacy.

To the galaxy's rulers, House Prime is a nightmare dressed in archaic armor, a living testament to the untamed fury that lurks in the hearts of all sentients. Yet even their enemies cannot deny the savage majesty of the clan. There is a grim poetry in their methods, a beauty to their devotion that inspires both awe and dread. Sith and Jedi alike study their resurgence with wary curiosity, seeing in the Inheritors a reflection of their own struggles with destiny and power. Prime is a paradox: primitive yet unstoppable, savage yet elegant, cursed yet gloriously free. And as their name reverberates through the galaxy once more, it becomes clear that they are not simply warriors, they are a storm. A storm that heralds not the end, but the return of an ancient cycle of death and rebirth.

C U R I O S​

To the warriors of House Prime, the forge is not merely a place of craft, it is a sanctum of rebirth. Every member of the House is expected to forge their own weapons and armor by hand, shaping raw metal into living extensions of their will. These arms are known collectively as Divine Armaments, sacred relics that bear both name and personality, said to whisper their intent in the midst of battle. No two Mandalorians of Prime share the same visage or silhouette, for each suit of armor is a reflection of the soul encased within.

Their plates are adorned with runic engravings, sigils of devotion, and fragments of scripture dedicated to Ha'rangir, the Destroyer God. Some etch their triumphs and sins across their cuirasses; others hang totems, bones, or shards of the worlds they've conquered. Masks and helmets vary in form and design, some terrifyingly expressionless, others carved with the snarling visages of beasts. The result is a host of living myths: warriors who resemble saints, demons, and ghosts of old Mandalore's bloodstained dawn.

A warrior's armor is fed through ritual maintenance, cleansed in oil, flame, and blood before every campaign. When a warrior falls, their gear is not buried with them but reforged and reborn, the metal retaining a fragment of its previous bearer's spirit. Thus, the lineage of iron and flesh continues, each generation inheriting more than steel, they inherit memory.

To outsiders, the appearance of House Prime's legions upon the field of war is a vision of divine chaos, a thousand different shapes and colors, united by purpose but divided by expression. Where most Mandalorian hosts march in uniform precision, the warriors of Prime move like a storm of relics, radiant, dreadful, and eternal. Each piece of gear sings its own hymn of destruction, yet together they form a choir that only the gods themselves could hear.

R U L E S​

Forged in the fires of conflict and consecrated by the Destroyer God Ha'rangir, these ten pillars guide the Inheritors of House Prime in their fanatical quest to perpetuate war and chaos. These are the immutable laws of their ancient creed, carved into their hearts and blades alike.

1. By the Blade We Rise, By the Blade We Fall
The sword is the sacred symbol of fate. It carves our paths in the stars and marks the moment of our death. Live by it, and meet your end with honor, for the blade is both a weapon and a covenant with the gods.

2. Woe To The Worthy
Strength is the only law. If you can take it, it is yours; if you cannot hold it, you do not deserve it. Power belongs to those with the will to wield it and the strength to keep it.

3. Glory Is Found in Strife
War is the purest form of existence. Peace is the enemy of the soul, a lie whispered by cowards. Glory, honor, and eternity are won through blood and battle alone.

4. Honor the Old Gods with Fire and Fury
Ha'rangir demands destruction, not for greed or vengeance, but for the sake of chaos itself. Each war ignites the heavens in his name, and every slain foe is a sacrifice to his eternal dream.

5. Age Old Bond
Your destiny is written in the stars, forged in iron and fire before you were born. Embrace it, for no blade or prayer can alter the course the gods have set.

6. True Inheritors
To wear the armor of the Mandalorian is to accept the ancient bond of destruction. We are the heirs of the Old Ways, bound to carry the dreams of our forebears and the chaos they unleashed.

7. Honor Thy Kith & Kin
To turn ones heart and ones blade against a brother or a sister is, in the end, weakness...a sickness that pollutes the soul of many Mandalorians. Regardless of the path of power one may walk, kin make us stronger.

8. The Cycle Is Eternal
Creation and destruction are inseparable. Every world burned is another foundation for the future. Embrace the endless cycle and be the instrument of its turning.

9. Courage Above All
To fear death is to betray your purpose. Meet every battle with defiance and every foe with valor. A warrior who shrinks from their fate is no warrior at all.

10. The Flame Must Be Stoked
Chaos is not self-sustaining; it must be fed. Conquer, destroy, and rebuild, for stagnation is death. The fire of Kad Ha'rangir must never be allowed to dim, for in its light lies the destiny of all Mandalorians.


These tenets are not mere rules but sacred edicts, etched into the lives of every Inheritor of House Prime. To live by them is to embody the glorious chaos of Ha'rangir's dream, and to forsake them is to invite eternal scorn and damnation.

G O A L S​

House Prime exists as an unrelenting force of nature, driven not by morality, empathy, or sentimental ideals but by an ancient, primal mandate: to burn away the unworthy and glorify the chaos of war. Their purpose is not merely conquest but the perpetuation of conflict as an act of divine and existential worship. War, to them, is not a means to an end but the end itself, a sacred and joyous affirmation of their Ironbound destiny.

House Prime's warriors are driven by three interwoven promises:


1. Plunder: The spoils of war, wealth, resources, and captives are symbols of their divine favor. The more they seize, the more their status within the House and the galaxy grows.

2. Pleasure: Battle itself is a transcendent experience, a divine ecstasy where pain, fear, and triumph intermingle. Their hedonism is a celebration of life's fleeting nature and a rejection of stagnation. When not at war however, the pleasures of the senses and flesh are never off the table.

3. Power: True power lies not in ruling but in the ability to destroy. House Prime's warriors take pride in the terror they inspire, wielding their strength as both a weapon and a message: There is only one rule in this galactic jungle. Devour, or be devoured~


The Inheritors of Clan Prime operate with singular zeal and primal focus, their goals a reflection of their ironclad creed and unyielding commitment to the chaos of the stars. Their plans of action serve to perpetuate the dream of Kad Ha'rangir and forge an eternal legacy of blood, steel, and fire.

I. Seize the Chains of the Underworld​

The galaxy's criminal underbelly is a furnace of opportunity, and House Prime seeks to stoke its fires. By overthrowing the Hutt Cartels and other underworld syndicates, the Inheritors aim to dominate the slave and drug trades, not for greed but as a means to fuel their war machine. Slaves become conscripts; narcotics and contraband are tools to sow discord and weaken enemy resolve. To the Inheritors, the scum of the galaxy are but embers waiting to be fanned into flames of destruction.

Objective: Establish dominance over black markets, enslaving those who resist and drafting the rest into their growing warfleet.

Outcome: A resource pipeline of bodies, weapons, and wealth to empower their campaigns of chaos.

II. Duelists of Destiny​

Clan Prime reveres strength above all, and few represent the apex of power more than Force users. The Sith and Jedi, for all their philosophies, embody the glorious potential of worthy adversaries. Unlike other Mandalorians who scorn the mystic arcane and view both Jedi and Sith with near equal disdain due to historical transgressions, House Prime actively seeks battle against these mighty foes, not out of hatred but as a sacrament to their Destroyer God. To cross blades with a Force-wielding enemy is to test one's destiny against the stars themselves.

Objective: Seek and engage Force users, particularly Jedi and Sith, in ritual combat to prove the strength of Mandalore's heirs.

Outcome: The greatest of foes are slain in battle, their weapons and relics claimed, their deaths offerings to Kad Ha'rangir.

III. Rekindle the Flames of Mandalorian Culture​

Where other Mandalorian clans have fallen to stagnation and the trappings of modernity, The Inheritors seeks to restore the primal core of their heritage. They launch expeditions to recover lost knowledge, ancient relics, and forgotten traditions of the Mandalorian warrior poets. House Prime gather all who possess the spark of the old ways, be they slaves, prisoners, or the oppressed. And mold them into living instruments of Mandalorian revival.

Objective: Revitalize Mandalorian culture by preserving its lost elements, indoctrinating new recruits, and forging a stronger, unified future.

Outcome: A resurgence of Mandalorian identity that stands unshaken against the galaxy's tides of decay and compromise.

IV. Forge Artifacts of Eternal Chaos ​

Creation and destruction are twin flames in the hearts of House Prime. They revere craftsmanship as a holy act, forging armor, weapons, and wargear that embody the primal passion of their people. From armor etched with saga-runes to weapons imbued with arcane properties, these creations are as much art as they are instruments of death. By blending Mandalorian engineering with the mysticism of the Force, they create tools that transcend the mundane.

Objective: Master the art of war-smithing, producing mythic weapons and gear that elevate battle into ritual.

Outcome: Weapons that inspire terror and awe, becoming symbols of House Prime's divine purpose.

V. Assimilate and Conquer ​

The Inheritors understands that the strength of the sword lies not only in its sharpness but in the will behind it. They conquer dwindling or lost civilizations and adopt their technologies, cultures, and strengths into the clan's tapestry. In this way, they ensure that no worthy element of the galaxy's past is truly lost. Their conquests leave ruin in their wake, but they also carry the seeds of rebirth, as every conquered people becomes part of the Inheritors' eternal cycle.

Objective: Absorb the knowledge and resources of fallen civilizations, incorporating their strengths while destroying their weaknesses.

Outcome: A diverse and unstoppable war machine that honors the sword's destiny to both destroy and create.

These goals are not mere ambitions; they are the essence of The Inheritors existence. Each act, whether of war, creation, or conquest, serves their divine mandate to perpetuate chaos and embody the glorious cycle of destruction and renewal. For in the eternal flame of conflict, the Inheritors find their purpose, their power, and their destiny.

PREACHING TO THE CHIOR

Chapter I. The Dawning Wars

Long before the Mandalorian crusades became songs sung across the Outer Rim, before the rise and fall of countless empires, there was House Prime, Argued to be one of the First Houses, the flame from which many claimed descent. Their origins are tangled in myth as much as memory. Some chronicles name them as the chosen disciples of Ha'rangir, born from the crucible of a dying star. Others claim they were forged from the exiled clans who sought war without end, an ancient sect of zealots who rejected Mand'alor's unification, believing peace to be the greatest heresy of all.

House Prime thrived in an era when Mandalorians were less a people and more a cataclysm. Their fleets burned across the stars, laying waste to worlds in rituals of devotion to their god of destruction. To them, war was sacred, an offering, not an act. Their earliest known fortress-monastery, The Forge of Kal'Haarn, orbited a dead world stripped bare by orbital bombardment. From there, the Primarchs ruled: war-priests clad in gilded beskar, their words carrying the weight of scripture and command.

It was said that when House Prime went to war, suns dimmed. Their warships bore runes of prayer and fire, and their warriors descended upon planets like the heralds of the apocalypse. Yet their devotion, like all obsessions, led them into conflict even with their own kin. During the War of the Nine Masks, House Prime was exiled from Mandalorian space, condemned as heretics for worshipping Ha'rangir not as a god of renewal, but as a destroyer eternal.

Chapter II. The Silence Between Stars

Banished from the galactic stage, House Prime vanished into legend. Their fleets, those vast Starforts and castle-ships were said to drift into the black between systems, feeding upon dying suns. Millennia passed, and they became little more than a myth among Mandalorians: the ghost clans, the Iron Pilgrims, or the Nameless Forge.

Yet they did not die. In the abyssal voids of uncharted space, House Prime endured. Entire generations were born and died within the hollow bellies of their fleets. They built great nomadic city-ships like The Ark, their moon-sized flagship and spiritual heart, which wandered the dark like a celestial temple. Within its illuminated halls, they preserved the Old Creed, unbroken, unsoftened, unswayed by modernity.

They did not forget the galaxy that had turned its back on them. In their scripture, the galaxy was a forge that had gone cold, and they, the fire that would rekindle it through war. They became more than Mandalorians. They became a religion. Their leaders were no longer generals, but Primarchs, spiritual conquerors who saw every battle as divine liturgy.


Chapter III. The Reclamation of the Void

Their return began in whispers, ghost fleets sighted in the Unknown Regions, derelict systems stripped of life, and asteroids carved into temples bearing the sigil of the serpent and the sun. The galaxy dismissed it as legend until the Oblivion Wars, when fragments of their armadas appeared once more, striking from the dark without warning.

At first, the modern Mandalorians thought them pretenders. Then they saw the old banners, black iron, crimson suns, and the symbol of the ouroboros wreathed in flame, and they understood. The First House had returned.

Their reemergence was not a conquest but a pilgrimage of fire. Worlds that had forgotten war were made to remember. They seized shattered asteroid belts, reforged their fleets, and rebuilt their networks. Out of the tangled wreckage of forgotten empires, they reasserted their dominion over the Asteroid Fields of Obliterated Worlds, carving new fortresses from planetary remnants. The galaxy, so long lulled into complacency, once again whispered the name Prime.

Chapter IV. The Age of the Burning Crown

In the modern age, House Prime stands as both relic and revelation. Their return has shattered the delicate order of the Outer Rim, as they march not for territory, but for testament. Their doctrine declares that every generation must prove worthy of survival through conflict, through creation, through conquest.

The Primarchs command fleets that are equal parts temple and war machine. Each warrior of the House bears a Divine Armament, a hand-forged relic of faith and fury. Each fleet carries the memory of worlds undone and rebuilt in the name of divine struggle. Their voices echo through the holonet once more, reciting the same words that once heralded the Mandalorian Crusades:

"How many time can a culture be divided?"

Their reappearance in galactic consciousness has thrown Mandalorian society into turmoil. Some see them as saviors, returning to restore the ancient ways. Others curse them as fanatics, a resurrection of the worst impulses of Mandalore's past. But House Prime cares little for either. They are the flame that refuses to die, the war-song that cannot be silenced.

For in their creed, all things return to the fire. Flesh, faith, and stars alike.​

 

[Voices of The Deep]

I HEAR THIS VOICE KEEP ASKING ME
IS THIS MY BLOOD OR IS IT BLASHEMY
​

Domina Prime was not born into the Mandalorian creed, she was discovered, a feral anomaly contained within the bowels of the TITAN Research Vessel. To the scientists who held her there, she was a specimen to be probed, quantified, and broken apart. But Mandalorians saw something else when they shattered her enclosure: potential. The Enclave took her in as a foundling, though at first she failed every expectation placed upon her. Jetpacks bucked her from the sky. Firearms rattled out of her grasp. Ships she piloted became wreckage. On the battlefield she was a snarling creature more than a disciplined warrior, a danger to others as much as to her enemies. Those early years marked her as an outsider wearing borrowed armor, a beast dragged into civilization and expected to thrive.

Yet within that wild heart, something ancient stirred. Domina clung fiercely to the old legends of Mandalore, the Destroyer God Ha'rangir, the great hunt, the cosmic forge of struggle. Where others saw myth, she heard a voice. The divine took root in her like kindling meeting flame, and when she finally accepted the spirit that haunted her cursed axe, allowing the phantom's essence to fuse with her once Force-dead flesh, her transformation ignited. Power surged. Purpose crystallized. And a new prophet rose in beskar.

Dima found what had been abandoned: the lost Arks, drifting sanctuaries of Mandalorian heritage. Through them she revived a religion long dismissed as primitive fanaticism, and the people followed. Today she stands not as a frightened foundling, but as Grand Warpriest of Mandalore, Alor of House Prime, and the personal executioner of Mandalore Aether Verd. She commands the City-Arks, presides over the War College and the Divine Forge, unlocks forbidden relics in the Lost Vaults of Furyia, and oversees the Coliseum where champions are reborn. Her authority does not stem from politics, it is forged from revelation, battle, and undeniable strength.

Domina embodies the Mandalorian resurgence with terrifying clarity. She is the bridge between beast and priest, war and worship, myth and military conquest. Redemption through fire defines her philosophy: weakness must be burned away, evolution forced beneath the hammer of adversity. She believes that only through blood, struggle, and faith can a warrior be worthy of divine attention. In her presence, the ancient gods of Mandalore are not metaphors, they are commanders, and she is their thunder.

Once mocked as the "Menace of Mandalore," she is now its sacred executioner, beloved by zealots, feared by enemies, and respected by every soul who understands the language of power. Domina Prime does not merely lead armies into battle; she leads a rebirth. Through her, the Mandalorians do not just return to the galaxy's stage, they arrive as a prophecy, sharpened into a dream shaped blade.

FULL CHARACTER BREAKDOWN​

RP Advertisement

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Wargear

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Relationships

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  SEEK POWER & FIRE, ALL ELSE FOLLOWS
  ​
  Fiery and fearless, she thrives in the heart of conflict where steel sings and warriors are tested. When she's not leading crusades or drilling the faithful into perfect synchronicity, she indulges in the adrenaline of combat rites, the craft of holy weaponry, and the thrill of the hunt beneath alien skies. She revels in war-chants, starborne voyages, and the sacred art of turning chaos into conquest. Every moment is sharpened, another chance to honor the Destroyer God through victory, valor, and the joyous roar of battle.
  
  Relic Recovery & Cultural Reclamation: Expeditions to locate, reclaim, or authenticate Mandalorian relics and sacred texts. Prestige, pay, and ceremonial recognition await successful recoveries.
  
  Conscripts & Converts: New blood to be initiated into the Faith of The Manda. Taking on special prospects in the same manner sith & jedi take on padawans & apprentices.
  
  Strategic Contracts & Mercenary Commissions: Short- and long-term warbands hired for escort, siege, and stabilization operations. Competitive pay, clear chains of command, and the Warpriest's blessing for loyal veterans.
  
  Investors & Patrons of the Iron Citadel: Funding partnerships for shipyards, armories, and public works aboard the Ark. Investors receive trade privileges, honors, and seats at festival rites.
  
  Research & Artifact Study: Scholars, forgers, and artifactologists invited to study recovered relics and improve our war-tech. Access to the Iron Cathedral's libraries and workshops for contributors.
  
  Grand Games, Festivals & Public Spectacle: Organizers, performers, and promoters to design blood-sports, pageants, and rites that bind hearts to the Ark. Fame and favor for creators of unforgettable spectacle.
  
  Diplomatic Overtures & Conditional Alliances: Envoys and negotiators welcome to propose alliances, trade accords, or mutual aid. Terms considered by Domina herself when they honor Ha'rangir's code.
  
  Salvage, Logistics & Resource Retrieval: Crews to extract caches, escort supply convoys, and manage reclaimed wealth. Reliable crews are rewarded with contracts and communal standing.
  
  Covert Ops & Intelligence Exchanges: Information brokers and stealth teams may propose trade in secrets or sabotage, discretion required; rewards scale with danger and usefulness.
  
  Joint Ventures in Arms & Industry: Blacksmiths, weaponsmiths, and industrial entrepreneurs invited to co-develop armaments and castle-ship tech under Ark patronage.
  
  The Iron Crucible: For those with rivalries to settle or a hunger for worthy combat, the Ark's dueling grounds are ever open. Ritual combat is sacred, spectacle is divine, and Domina herself takes pride in seeing enemies, allies, and strangers alike clash blades beneath Ha'rangir's gaze. A grand spectacle for the gods, and for those daring enough to step into the circle.
  
  A Test of Faith: The Ark does not fear opposition, it welcomes it. Infiltrators, thieves, raiders, and would-be conquerors are an inevitability, and their attempts to breach Mandalorian halls only feed the legend. Whether to steal coveted technology, sack the vaults, or sow chaos at the Cathedral's doors, such efforts are not only expected but embraced. For those who wage war must, in turn, endure it.
  
  Sermons & Service: Fellow Mandalorians are encouraged to gather within the Ark's halls for religious rites, forge-bonding, and battle planning. These sermons are as much about devotion as they are about trading ideas, passions, and strategies among brothers and sisters of steel.
  
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  DIVINE FORGE OF FAITH & FURY
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  The Iron Citadel | Ark of Ha'rangir [X]
  
  Grásiða | The Glyphscript Anvil [X]
  
  Stjörnuskagi | Cosmic Starfang [X]
  
  Khovesk | That Which Frees From Consciousness [X]
  
  Mythosaur Axe of Furyia | Crown of The Inheritor [X]
  
  Beskar'gam of The Warpriest [X]
  
  Warden-Type Beskar'gam [X]
  
  The Gjallerhorn | Chalice of The Gods [X]
  
  Azure Blackstone | Bloom of Thorns [X]
  
  Ha'rangirite | The Divine Engine [X]
  
  Iron Eidolon | Battlecruiser [X]
  
  Daemon | Carrier [X]
  
  Lunarfang | Star Destroyer [X]
  
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  I WANNA SHOW YOU SOMETHING BEAUTIFUL
  ​

  Aether Verd	Manda'lore, named his Executioner	"I think he's into me...yeah, he's totally into me."
  Darth Carnifex	Surrogate father, brought Dima from the nether	"Dad still won't smoke with me he's SO lame~"
  Srina Talon	Pretty Empress who hired us, hope to work with her again.	"I kidnapped her hairdresser. Don't tell her!"
  Diarch Rellik	Prospect of Primes design, a worthy rival.	"Again shall our blades clash, when he's ready!"
  Jorryn Fordyce	Sponsor of House Prime & Perhaps more	"Call anytime darling, i can't say no to you."
  Darth Morta	Angry Little Red, rival and prospect of Prime.	"Mean and vicious little thing. I like it, call me~"
  Darth Tormenta	Sith Pirate Queen & Potential Consort	"Kitten killed a mythic beast for my love...hot"
  Vren Rook	OLD ASS MAN, also former mando dad.	"I swear cheats at cards, old man robbed me!"
  Jenn Kryze	Enclave Sister, beloved beskar baddie	"Think she's still mad at me for killing the queen"
  Korda Veydran	Lost Ember of Mandalore	"Poor lost boy, must show him The Way~"
  Ko Vuto	First Arch Nemesis, Jedi Goodboy	"Ko, Ko baby, when will you call me back?"
  Lysander von Ascania	Punching Bag & Prospect of Prime	"Until we duel again, sweet little one."
  Diodoros	Hot hunk of a gladiator Dima fangirls over.	"One way or another, he WILL be mine~"
  Aiden Porte	Jedi she hasn't tried to fight. They talk religion~	"He still needs bigger biceps but he's fun to talk to."
  Vytal Noctura	Witch Queen, Fellow sister, emotional anchor.	"Sure hope she doesn't figure out my axe is cursed~"
  Adelle Bastiel	Foundling of The Ark, Aspirant of The Way~	"Stick with me, i'll show you the love of god~"
  Romul Saxon	Big boss of The Enclave, Dimas first Warmaster~	"Oh just wait till he sees how much i've grown."
  Darth Virelia	Temptress & Seductress of Mandalorians	"Lovely as you are, there is only one true god. And it is not you~"
  Riven	Gremlin & Ruiner of Warpriest Finery.	"She'll be working off her debt for a LONG time~"
  Acier Moonbound	Sweet lil baby boy nephew	"Kid is in desperate need of a lovelife. To Zeltros!"
  Ashin Cardé Varanin	Sith Ghost Dima stole a Mace from.	"And no, i will not give it back."
  Runi Kuryida	Shaman of Mandalore, Mentor of The Warpriest	"NO, i don't have a cursed axe...anymore."
  Braze	Terrorist of The Ark	"He is small, he is mean, and absolutely evil."
  Adonis Angelis IV	That's a whole lot of beef. Dima likes beef.	"I'm still waiting for that date~"
  Talohn Atar	Original Adopter of Foundling Dima	"KITTY!"
  Zlova Rue	Sith Mom of The Enclave	"I stole some of her outfits. And she never found out who it was~"

  
  

 

[Leona Vi'dreya]

Hear Me Roar Template​

 

[Amethyst Sovereign]

Royal Decree Template​

 

[Shego Striga]

"If war could wear finery, it would wear this."

OUT OF CHARACTER INFORMATION​

• Intent: To Create A fashionable Armorset for formal events
• Image Source: AI Generated
• Canon Link: Mandalorian Armor [X]
• Permissions: N/A
• Primary Source: Verd Beskar'gam [X]

PRODUCTION INFORMATION​

• Manufacturer: Mandalorian Beskarsmiths [X] MandalTech [X]
• Affiliation: Mandalorian Empire [X]
• Market Status: Closed-Market
• Model: Warden-type Beskar'gam
• Modularity: Yes
• Production: Minor Production
• Material: Beskar [X] Shell Spider Silk [X]​
• Classification: Lightweight Formal Armor
• Weight: Average

RESISTANCES
​

• Kinetic: High​
• Energy: High​
• The Force: Low​
• Weather (Cold): Average​
• Lightsaber: Very High​
• Sonic: Low​
• Ion/EMP: Low​
• Acid: Low​

SPECIAL FEATURES​

Unlike the thunderous beskar'gam that carries Mandalorians into the storm of battle, The Vestments of Iron was not forged for war,
but for dominion of the heart and spirit.

It is the formal wear of Mandalorians, worn by those in need of finer threads when standing before the galaxy's eyes. It is proof that a warrior need not always draw blood to command respect.

Each ensemble is a living work of art, flowing silks of sun-threaded fibers interwoven with fine shell spidersilk weave, dyed in deep crimsons, obsidian blacks, and azure blues that shimmer faintly under light. The armor plates, minimal yet ornate. Bear the sigils of clans and insignias etched in liquid silver or gold.

The attire is light enough to move as if weightless, yet carries the soul of Mandalore's forge.

When the light catches it, one can see faint starfire glinting beneath its surface, as though it still remembers the heat of the forge that birthed it.

During galas, councils, and political rites, the vestments stands as the visual embodiment of Mandalorian grace, heritage, and divine wrath restrained.

It is the whisper of the forge, quiet but ever burning.

• HELM:
  
  • Slave Circuitry:
    
    • Any Imperial Small Craft
  • Heads-Up-Display (HUD)
  • Integrated Scramble Key
  • Integrated Jamming Array
  • Rangefinder
  • Macrobinocular Viewplate
  • Rebreather
  • Encrypted Comlink
  • Sensors:
    
    • Audio & Visual
    • Radiation
    • Surveillance
    • Life-form
    • Infrared
    • Force
    • Droid
• ARMOR:
  
  • Combat De-Ionizer
• VAMBRACE (LEFT):
  
  • Integrated Holoprojector
  • Anti-Security Blade
  • Retractable Wrist Blade
• VAMBRACE (RIGHT):
  
  • ZX-Miniature Flame Projector
• WAIST:
  
  • Quickdraw Holster (1)

INTRINSIC STRENGTHS​

• Symbol of Dominion: The wearer of the vestments commands reverence. To appear in such regalia is to bear the authority of an empire's heritage; it is as much weaponized elegance as it is faith-made-fabric.

• Defensive Grace: Despite its ceremonial nature, the shellsilk weave and kinetic guards grant respectable protection against light arms and physical aggression, making it suitable for diplomatic gatherings that may turn hostile.

• Cultural Resonance: When worn, the attire amplifies the wearer's presence. Boosting morale & confidence among kith & kin when the eyes of the galactic stage are upon them.

• Versatile Adaptability: Able to be stylized to any individual, the vestments serves as a personal testament, each piece uniquely forged and inscribed, ensuring no two Mandalorians ever wear the same design.

DESIGN FLAWS​

• Not Built for War: The vestments of iron are a statement of power, not traditional warfare. As such, the typical arsenal found on modern beskar'gam is lacking here. Wearers are capable of defending themselves, but not conquest as per the norm.

• Delicate Maintenance: While the presence of a combat de-ionizer may mitigate some electronic risk, direct assault by EMP or Ion weaponry may render the armor's onboard systems inert

• Symbolic Burden: To wear the garbs is to represent not just oneself, but Mandalore. Any act of dishonor while wearing it is seen as a spiritual crime against the legacy of their kith & kin.

• Restrained Mobility: While fluid and elegant, the armor restricts heavy combat movements. It is designed for controlled gestures, ceremonial dances, and speeches, not war.

PILGRAMAGE OF IRON & ICHOR ​

The Regalia of Iron was born from ashes and memory.

In the centuries following the destruction of Mandalore, when the children of the Creed scattered across the stars, their armor became their home. Yet, as the faithless spread and the warrior's purpose dimmed, there arose a question within the forges of The Ark: What do Mandalorians wear when they no longer fight, but rule?

The answer came from few, The Warpriest of Ha'rangir, who decreed that even in times of peace, the flame must burn bright.

Upon rediscovering the lost Forges of Furyia, artisans and witch-smiths labored side by side to create garments worthy of the empire's rebirth. They merged old beskar with the mystic weaves of shellsilk, producing fabric that shimmered like solar fire and flowed like molten steel.

Thus was born The Warden-Type Beskar'gam, a symbol not of conquest, but of resurrection.

To wear it is to stand at the meeting point between past and future, between destruction and creation. It embodies what it means to be Mandalorian reborn. Not merely a warrior, but a ruler, a prophet, and a living reminder that civilization and savagery are two faces of the same divine truth.

And so, when the Inheritors stand beneath foreign suns in their flowing Regalia, they do not appear as guests of the galaxy, but as its rightful heirs.

Spoiler

Relax Darling, I'm A Doctor~

OUT OF CHARACTER INFORMATION​

• Intent: To design an effective and practical cybernetic tool to assist in Lab Work or The Field. Both hammer and a scalpel~
• Image Source: Sony Animation; Into The Spiderverse
• Canon Link: N/A
• Permissions: N/A
• Primary Source:

PRODUCTION INFORMATION​

• Manufacterer: Shego Striga
• Affiliation: Black Sun Syndicate
• Market Status: Closed-Market
• Model: B.A.S.I.L.I.S.K | Biomorphic Aerial System Integrated Logistics & Integrated Skirmish Kinetics
• Modularity: Yes
• Production: Unique
• Material: Songsteel or something idfk​
• Classification: Hovercraft
• Size: Variable
• Weight: 100lbs

TECHNICAL SPECIFICATIONS ​

• Classification: Repulsorlift Craft
• Role: Personal Weapons Platform
• Size: Small
• Weight: Light
• Armaments: Very High
• Defenses: High
• Maneuverability Rating: Very High
• Speed Rating: Extreme
• Propulsion: Repulsorlift & Thrusters
• Minimum Crew: I
• Optimal Crew: I
• Passenger Capacity: None
• Cargo Capacity: None

SPECIAL FEATURES
​

• Dual Configuration Design :: The heart of the design. The system seamlessly switches between two mechanical states: A slim, serpent-sleek hoverboard glider optimized for speed and stealth. It hovers close to the ground or skims through air currents, using smaller repulsorlift nodes and stabilizers. Its frame is lightweight, balanced for fluid aerial maneuvers and sharp turns. It lacks obvious weapon ports, presenting the illusion of a harmless personal transport. And then, there is COMBAT MODE, The plates expand outward, wings unfold, and reinforced structural elements lock into place. Weapon compartments open like serpentine scales, revealing hidden firepower. Defensive shielding nodes extend, creating a protective barrier around Shego as the machine becomes less a vehicle and more a flying war machine.

• Integrated Pilot Assistance: With Shego's compromised health, the system isn't just a vehicle. It's a prosthetic. Micro-gyros in the board stabilize her balance and counteract her limp, while neural-link feedback compensates for her slower reflexes. In effect, the glider flies for her, augmenting her weakened body in the air.

• Adaptive Shielding: Travel Mode projects minimal shielding to preserve power, focusing on cloaking and agility. Combat Mode deploys broad, layered barriers strong enough to absorb blaster fire or even light ordnance. Shield harmonics can be tuned manually from Shego's wrist controls.

INTRINSIC STRENGTHS​

Versatility Across Scenarios :: Few systems allow for both high-speed infiltration and heavy battlefield presence in one platform. The Ouroboros lets Shego perform everything from solo recon runs to full-on assaults, all without ever dismounting.

City Superiority :: The vehicle thrives in dense urban and industrial environments. Where starfighters require space, the Ouroboros weaves through cramped skylanes, alleys, and docking bays with ease. Against grounded security forces, it's a predator loose in the cage.

Stealth Layering :: In Travel Mode, its reduced power draw makes it far harder to track on scanners than most vehicles. Its slim frame and low emissions allow it to blend into civilian skylanes undetected.

TEST :: The tendrils can extend far beyond their compact resting length, giving her a reach of several meters. This lets her scale walls, swing across open spaces, or snatch objects (or people) at a distance. They function almost like extra legs, granting her mobility that her weakened body otherwise wouldn't allow.

TEST :: The arms are constructed from specialized alloys resistant to corrosive chemicals, radiation, and extreme temperatures. Shego can deploy them in environments that would instantly destroy standard equipment—lava flows, nuclear spill zones, toxic gas chambers—making her indispensable in scenarios where few others could survive, much less operate.

DESIGN FLAWS​

Transition Vulnerability :: The shift between Travel and Active Mode, while fast, leaves the system briefly vulnerable—armor panels unlocked, shielding low, and thrusters realigning. Caught mid-shift, the Ouroboros risks catastrophic failure.

Power Drain :: Active Mode is a ravenous beast. Its shields, weapons, and expanded thrusters drain its energy cells at alarming rates. Without external resupply, Shego only has a few minutes of full combat endurance before needing to disengage.

Maintenance Nightmare :: The sheer complexity of servo-alloy joints, retracting panels, and power conduits means downtime for even small repairs. Field maintenance is nearly impossible, requiring Shego's personal hand or her most trusted assistants.

High Combat Visibility :: The moment it deploys its full armament, stealth becomes impossible. Its glowing green serpent-lights and energy signatures paint a massive target in the sky.

Over Reliant :: Because it compensates for her illness, Shego is dangerously dependent on the system. If damaged or stolen, she's left exposed in ways she'd prefer no one discover.

LAB DOCUMENTATION​

The Ouroboros Flight System was not born from scratch—it's the culmination of three legacies.

First, Shego's mother, a medical technologist, pioneered modular robotic tools for surgery and patient recovery. Her designs emphasized adaptability: arms and frames that could shift seamlessly from delicate suturing to emergency triage. This principle of one frame, many forms was later seized upon by miners of Strixa.

Second, the industrial Strixa miners adapted the principle to create rugged hover platforms, using modular gliders that could carry both personnel and equipment into dangerous shafts. They added heavier alloys and safety shielding, turning a medical innovation into a laborer's lifeline. These gliders became part of everyday life until the Collapse reduced them to scavenged wreckage.

Finally, Shego herself, inheriting pieces of both traditions, twisted them further. She grafted weaponry, serpent aesthetics, and shielding nodes into the miner's glider, designing for war rather than work. To her, it was both nostalgia and necessity: a relic of her past, reforged to carry her into battle.

The Ouroboros is thus tragic—what began as a device to heal and support life became a terror-engine of survival. It reflects Shego's duality: one half clinging to youth and freedom in the playful hoverboard, the other resigned to monstrosity in the war-machine.

Where once a mother saved lives with shifting alloys, her daughter now threatens them with the same brilliance.

​