Thicc Boi Sanctuary

[Voices of The Deep]

OOC INFORMATION​

Intent: To design an effective bio-weapon to be utilized in small or large scale scenarios
Image Source: Fate\Grand Order [X] | Tangled [X]
Canon Link: Drill Spike [X] | Power Lance [X] | Spell of Conjuring [X] | Ichor Sword [X]
Permissions: Ark of Ha'rangir [X] | Starfang [X]
Primary Source: N/A

PRODUCTION INFORMATION
​

Manufacterer: Domina Prime [X]
Affiliation: House Prime [X] | Mandalorian Empire [X]
Market Status: Closed-Market
Model: Háskorn | The Crownsplitter
Modularity: No
Production: Unique (2)
Material: Azure Blackstone [X] | Ha'rangirite [X]
Classification: Enchanted Power Lance
Size: Large (6-8ft)
Weight: Heavy

SPECIAL ATTRIBUTES​

Forged from flawless azure blackstone, alchemically refined under the rites of the Iron Clergy and tempered within the void-ritual pits of the Dathomir, the Sovereign Thronepiercer is an executioner's lance of terrifying proportions. Nearly twice the height of a standard Mandalorian and burdened with dense weight, its spiral-shaped head resembles a divine auger meant to carve through creation itself. The shaft is reinforced with spun blackstone fibers and bound in Glyphscript runes, pulsing softly with blue-white radiance when gripped by Domina's four hands. Though monstrously heavy, she wields it with the ceremonious ease of a saint lifting a censer. When dormant, the lance disassembles its essence into her Crown of Spectral Blades, where it slumbers as a glyph until summoned again.

Though a spear by design, the lance possesses a shifting internal density due to its Ha'rangirite heart. When Domina wills it, the crystalline core subtly alters the weapon's mass distribution, allowing it to temporarily grow denser and heavier, transforming its shaft and head into a massive crushing bludgeon. In this form, the lance becomes capable of shattering fortifications or knocking aside armored foes with catastrophic force. This metamorphic density shift works in tandem with the Azure Blackstone's inherent resilience, ensuring the weapon never fractures, even when delivering impact forces that would reduce lesser arms to scrap.

​

Ha'rangirite Drillspiral Impalement: The weapon's head is shaped as an enormous helical drill, capable of rotating at transonic speeds when Domina channels her will through its Prime-script runes. Upon impact, it does not simply pierce, it bores through armor, stone, metal bulkheads, and even corrupted Force-grown biomass with horrifying efficiency. The rotation creates a harmonic resonance that unravels molecular cohesion, allowing it to penetrate hulls that conventional war-gear cannot even scratch. This makes the lance a nightmare for fortifications and a terror on the battlefield, where one charge can split a heavy walker or breach the walls of a vault in a single shattering strike.

Blackstone Mass-Shift Core: At the heart of the lance rests a core of stabilized azure blackstone that can drastically alter its density at Domina's command. This allows her to switch the weapon's weight from "merely colossal" to "meteorically devastating." In its heavy-state, each swing becomes a pulverizing blow capable of cracking dura-crete slabs or sending shockwaves that rattle starship corridors. In its lighter state, the lance becomes maneuverable enough for mounted combat and rapid spinning thrusts, allowing Domina to maintain full battlefield agility despite the weapon's enormous size.

Spectral Javelin Projection: When returned to her Crown of Spectral Blades, Domina may fire the lance as a javelin of pure destructive force, summoning its physical form mid-flight. This creates the effect of an instant, hyper-velocity projectile that detonates on impact. The force is comparable to a starfighter's mass-driver slug, making it ideal for ship-to-ship hull cracking, knight-breaking charges, or annihilating shield generators. The projectile can be recalled instantly, reconstituting itself in her hands or returning to the Crown to await the next summoning.

Warmount Synchronization Rite: The lance is bonded through ancient rituals to Domina's warmount, allowing the beast to channel its momentum, fury, and kinetic output directly into the weapon. In mounted charges, the Crownsplitter becomes an unstoppable avalanche of mass and speed, capable of skewering armored lines or demolishing heavy infantry formations in a single thunderous pass. The weapon's resonance harmonizes with the rhythm of the mount's gait, stabilizing Domina's aim even during high-velocity charges across hazardous terrain.

Brimstone Club Function: Though forged for thrusting and drilling, the Impaler is equally lethal when used as an improvised war-club. Its reinforced shaft and counterweighted haft allow Domina to deliver crushing sweeps capable of folding steel plating or sweeping aside entire squads with brute force. The spiked drill-head adds tremendous inertia to her swings, transforming each movement into a bone-shattering arc of force that can reduce obstacles, or foes, to shards. The weapon's versatility ensures it remains deadly even when impalement is impractical.

INTRINSIC STRENGTHS​

Thornbloom Overdrive: Embedded deep within the lance's core, the refined Ha'rangirite acts as a micro-reactor of divine energy, capable of entering a state known as Heart-Fire Overdrive. When triggered, intentionally or through emotional extremes, the core floods the lance with radiant blue fire, dramatically increasing its kinetic drilling speed and enhancing the explosive force of its Azure Blackstone splintering. This temporary overdrive allows Domina to bypass substances normally resistant to piercing weapons, including reinforced starship bulkheads and beskar alloys. The radiance coats the weapon in a shimmering corona of force-infused plasma, guiding its trajectory like an arrow drawn by the will of Ha'rangir Himself. However, its use is taxing, draining the lance's reserve for later engagements.

Blackstone Spiral: The lance's structure, forged from stabilized Azure Blackstone, grants it the ability known as Resonant Tunneling, an esoteric reaction where the Blackstone's crystalline lattice vibrates at a frequency that forcibly separates molecular bonds upon repeated impact. With each consecutive strike delivered to a single point, the lance destabilizes the target's internal structure, allowing it to burrow through obstacles that are otherwise impenetrable. This makes the weapon devastating against armor plating, shield generators, and even geological barriers such as bedrock or ice shelves. In close quarters, the effect manifests as a deepening "hunger" within the lance, drawing its tip deeper into the material as though the Blackstone itself yearns to bite and dig.

Spectral Artillery Javelin: Because the lance is etched with Domina's royal blade-glyphs, it can be summoned as a spectral javelin from her armament lexicon, manifesting momentarily as an ethereal spear of blue flame before solidifying mid-flight. This hybridized state, half physical, half phantom, lets the lance be hurled at extreme velocities with little regard for conventional ballistics. Upon impact, the ethereal body collapses into Blackstone spikes that erupt from the contact point, turning a single projectile into a widespread cascade of jagged crystalline shrapnel. Even when thrown, it remains tethered to her lexicon, allowing instantaneous recall or re-materialization for follow-up attacks.

DESIGN FLAWS​

Massive Size & Cumbersome Ground Use: Without Domina's immense physical strength or additional limbs, the lance is effectively unusable. Even with her advantages, the weapon is unwieldy in confined spaces, tight corridors, or environments where large sweeping motions are obstructed. While devastating on open battlefields, it becomes a liability in cramped quarters where smaller blades outperform it.

Requires Momentum for Maximum Impalement: Despite its immense power, the spiral-drill penetration is drastically more effective when used in charges or thrusts backed by significant momentum. Stationary usage, or attempts to drill without proper force behind the strike, result in reduced breakthrough potential. Domina can compensate with strength, but even she cannot fully replace the physics of high-speed impact.

Recall Delay After Javelin Projection: Though powerful, the spectral javelin attack requires a brief stabilization period before the lance can be summoned again. During this interval, typically only a few seconds, but critical in fast-paced combat, Domina is momentarily deprived of her largest and longest-reaching weapon. Enemies who exploit this window may force her into close quarters where the lance is less practical.

Nullwake Stasis: When subjected to a Force-nullifying field, whether created through Void Stone, ysalamiri, anti-Force dampeners, or Null Zones, the lance undergoes a catastrophic suppression of its paranormal qualities. The Ha'rangirite core, robbed of the Force currents that keep it "awake," dims instantly, its radiant hum collapsing into a dull, inert stone. Simultaneously, the Azure Blackstone frame loses its predatory "hunger," ceasing all internal resonance and halting any growth of crystalline splinters. The weapon's structural integrity remains intact, but all supernatural properties, including its drilling spin, resonant tunneling, summoning tether, and density shift become nonfunctional. If forced violently within the null field, the lance risks entering static shocklock, a state in which its crystalline components vibrate dangerously, threatening to fracture or implode if the field persists too long. Outside the field, it requires a brief ritual pulse or direct Force-touch to rekindle its Ha'rangirite heart and stabilize its matrix before full function returns.

THE CROWNSPLITTING THORN​

The Crownsplitter Lance began not as a weapon of war, but as a sacred industrial tool—an orbital breaching drill used by early Ha'rangrite forge-monks to bore into dead star fragments and harvest Blackstone veins. The first prototypes were long, spiraled pylons wrapped around a vibrating Ha'rangrite core, designed to grind through materials that conventional cutters could not touch. When Domina Prime first witnessed the drill's catastrophic bite, shearing through meteor crust and drinking the heat of its own friction, she saw not a miner's implement, but the heart of a battlefield instrument worthy of her Warmount and her divine crusade. Under her order, the Iron Clergy set about transforming the drill into something far more terrible, reforging its purpose while respecting its brutal lineage.

What emerged was the earliest ancestor of the Lance: a spiraled jousting spear meant for aerial shock cavalry. Its rotational channels were refined into impact-guiding flutes, its Ha'rangrite core stabilized into a pulsing energy spine, and the Blackstone casing reworked to harden rather than erode under stress. Mounted upon her dragon Warmount, the weapon functioned as a living artillery spike, capable of delivering drilling, kinetic, and energy penetration in a single devastating pass. Fortifications, anti-air towers, and even shielded walkers fell to the spiraled wrath of this proto-lance as Dima turned every dive into a catastrophic breach. But as the wars of Clan Prime escalated, she demanded more versatility: a weapon that could serve not only in the sky, but anywhere she willed violence to be done.

Through countless reforgings, the drill evolved into a hybridized battlefield lance, a spear, a projectile, and a siege instrument in one. Blackstone's resistance to sorcery and its hunger for stray metaphysical energy made it ideal for channeling the Ha'rangrite core's wrath, and the Iron Clergy began experimenting with gravitic caging, recoil dampeners, and tether systems. Soon, Dima could launch the weapon like a ballistic javelin, call it back in a spinning arc, supercharge it with heat siphoned from her Warmount, or drive it point-first through starship hulls. The spiraled design persisted, no longer to drill rock, but to shred armor, distort shielding, and twist Force constructs into useless filaments.

By the time it joined her crown of spectral blades, the Lance had become something far beyond its humble industrial origins. A relic that embodied Clan Prime's creed of repurposing creation for destruction. It remained a symbol of evolution through war: a drill turned spear, a spear turned artillery round, an artillery round turned divine implement. In the hands of Domina Prime, it was both history and prophecy made manifest, a spiraled shard of a broken star that remembered what it once was, but gloried in what it had become.

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]

DIVINE HALO OF THE ETERNAL FORGE

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]
• Market Status: Closed-Market
• Model: Celestial Crown of Blades
• Modularity: No
• Production: Unique
• Material: Alchemized Azure Blackstone & Ha'rangirite
• Classification: Glyphscript Shieldblade Lexicon
• Size: Average
• Weight: Average

SPECIAL ATTRIBUTES
"Blades without hands, yet every one held by her will."​

The Celestial Crown of Divine Armaments is not a weapon in the traditional sense, it is a manifestation of faith, will, and craftsmanship converging into a single divine phenomenon. Born from the runic lexicon etched into every weapon Dima Prime has ever forged, this power does not reside in a single hilt or artifact, but rather across an entire pantheon of steel bound to her will. The symbols, when invoked through the sacred rites of Mandalorian Glyphscript & Nightsister ichorcraft, form a radiant shield of spectral armaments that orbit their mistress in divine choreography. These blades, glowing with the faint azure luminescence of the Force and beskar memory, are both shield and spear, an echo of every weapon she has ever loved, built, and sacrificed to The Cause. Each sword sings its own silent hymn, a fragment of the whole, their unity forming an extremely powerful barrier that moves with her thought and breath.

When called upon, the Holy Halo ignites into existence, a crown of phantom steel encircling her in a fluid, orbiting wall. Blasters and sabers alike crash against the spectral edges, scattering like light through crystal. At a command, the barrier can fracture into dozens of streaking blades that hurtle toward her foes, each a spectral missile of divine precision. Upon impact, the runes flare brilliantly, dissolving the blade into smoke and returning it to the vault's lexicon, ready to be summoned anew. It is a dance of faith and fury, a miracle of motion and intent, born of the belief that steel remembers its maker, and will always return when called.

​

Runic Synchronization Network: Each blade ever forged by Prime bears the same embedded rune, the anchor of the Spectral Crowns creation. These sigils connect across metaphysical space, forming a tether between her and her vault of divine armaments. Through this connection, she can call upon her creations, forming them into the Crowns phantom array or summoning a specific blade directly to hand.

• The link functions across any distance, as the runes act as sympathetic conduits bound by will and blood.
• Should a blade be lost or destroyed, its essence still remains within the Crowns lexicon.
• The connection is instantaneous, though summoning large armaments or rare weapons requires a longer invocation.
• The runes shimmer with faint blue light when resonating, visible only through the visor's fifth eye.
• Each activation briefly strengthens the tether between Prime and her arsenal, increasing the Crown's stability.

Shieldblade Array: When activated defensively, the crown of blades manifests a swirling vortex of ghostly blades, each rotating in gravitational rhythm to form a near-impenetrable shell. The ethereal steel deflects kinetic and plasma-based attacks, cutting through bolts mid-flight or dispersing saber energy upon contact. The formation responds to her instincts, turning with her gaze and pulse.

• Each blade emits a minor energy field, harmonizing into a collective ward of cutting resonance.
• The array can shift shape, forming domes, walls, or rotating halos depending on Prime's intent.
• As damage accumulates, the crowns blades can flicker, dispersing blades momentarily before reforming.
• The field cannot protect from concussive or area-based Force attacks, as it's designed to cut, not absorb.
• The more blades in motion, the more energy is required to maintain the construct, limiting duration.

Spectral Blade Barrage: The Crowns offensive form is a thing of terrifying beauty. At a flick of her wrist or command of her voice, the blades detach and launch forward with blinding velocity, cutting through armor, stone, or even shields before dissolving. The weapons vanish upon impact, returning instantly to their dormant rune state.

• Capable of both focused single strikes or devastating volleys of phantom blades.
• Each launched weapon is guided by the will of its maker, allowing impossible trajectories and mid-air corrections.
• Projectiles leave behind trails of blue flame, marking their path in the air like streaks of celestial fire.
• Overuse causes a delay in recall, leaving Prime temporarily without access to the blades.
• The more she exerts control over trajectory and number, the more the blades strain her focus and stamina.

Glyphscript Convergence: When one blade is selected and drawn from the spectral blades, it manifests as solid steel, retaining all the divine enhancements of its physical counterpart. The Halo collapses around her, channeling its energy into the chosen weapon, creating a feedback loop of runic resonance.

• Once the weapon is returned, it reconstitutes itself around her form.
• In this mode, the Halo becomes a focusing array, amplifying her precision and strength.
• Overuse of the convergence ritual can fracture the runic network, requiring full recalibration of the vault's sigils.
• The effect cannot be maintained indefinitely; once the energy fades, the summoned weapon returns to spirit form.

INTRINSIC STRENGTHS
"One gesture, and the sky filled with spectral blades."​

Oversoul of Sacred Blades: When summoned, the Phantom Blades coalesce into a living constellation of armaments, an "Oversoul" born from Domina Prime's will and faith. Each blade, once forged, carries a memory of blood and craft; together, they form a single sentient shield that moves as though guided by instinct. The Oversoul reacts in harmony with its mistress's body and emotions, shifting its formation dynamically to intercept blaster fire, redirect sabers, and absorb kinetic impact. The more attuned Domina becomes to her runes and to the rhythm of battle, the more responsive and seamless this ghostly defense becomes. It is not merely a barrier of metal and light, but a communion of every weapon she has ever wrought, bound by the covenant of creation and war.

Manifest Arsenal: The ability to manifest and dematerialize any blade in her vault grants Domina a divine adaptability in combat. With a thought, she may pluck any armament from her spectral halo and wield it in corporeal form, or dismiss it back into the ether as swiftly as it came. This constant interchange between form and spirit allows her to change weapons on the fly, swords to axes, spears to sabers. Shifting her fighting style fluidly as the battle demands. To her enemies, it appears as though she is armed by the will of the gods themselves, conjuring new forms of death from the void with every heartbeat. To her allies, it is a living reminder of her mastery over both craft and chaos.

Glyphscript Aegis: The shield of phantom blades acts as more than mere protection, it carries the spiritual resonance of Mandalorian glyphscript and Nightsister ichor sorcery. Each rune glows faintly as it intercepts attacks, converting physical and energy-based assaults into kinetic discharge that disperses through the spectral lattice. The effect is a mesmerizing storm of glowing symbols and streaks of phantom metal, a barrier that hums like a sacred choir. While its power depends heavily on Domina's focus and vitality, the Runic Aegis provides a perfect blend of elegance and lethality, an expression of both faith and fury.

Living Art of War: Every use of the Phantom Blades strengthens their bond to Domina and the lexicon from which they are born. When wielded often, they begin to react to her subconscious will, circling her even before she consciously commands them, or aligning themselves to her stance in anticipation of a strike. Over years of devotion, this turns the collection into a living archive of her battles, a crowned halo forged of memory and myth. To witness her wield it is to see living art in motion: a symphony of blades singing their devotion to the creed of war and creation.

DESIGN FLAWS
"Blades sing where tongues dare not."​

Runic Overload: The Phantom Blades rely on an incredibly delicate balance of ichor energy, rune synchronization, and the focus of their wielder's mind. When summoned in great numbers or maintained for prolonged periods, the strain upon Domina's concentration grows immense. Should her focus waver, or her emotions spiral into rage or grief, the Oversoul of blades can fracture. The result is chaos: the runes desynchronize, blades flicker out of form or lash unpredictably, and the spectral barrier can collapse entirely. At its worst, this overload may even cause backlashes of energy that sear her armor's rune channels, requiring hours or days of restoration before the relics may be summoned again.

Essence Drain: Each manifestation of a blade draws upon the user's spiritual and physical stamina. Though the drain is subtle at first, prolonged combat turns the summoning into a slow siphon, leeching away Domina's energy and focus. The Oversoul feeds on her intent, her hatred, devotion, and discipline, and if overused, it begins to consume more than she can sustain. In dire circumstances, overexertion of the Phantom Blades can lead to complete physical collapse or spiritual exhaustion, leaving her defenseless and unable to recall even a single weapon.

Failsafe Protocol: As with all advanced Mandalorian glyphcraft, the Phantom Blades possess an emergency failsafe protocol engineered by Prime's runesmiths. Through a sequence of resonant tones and targeted cryogenic bursts, the spectral field can be destabilized and the rune network temporarily frozen. Once frozen, a precise vibration pattern, often delivered via high-frequency soundwave, can shatter the projection entirely, forcing the blades to dissipate back into their lexicon. This protocol is kept as a defensive contingency to prevent the runaway manifestation of rogue blades or corrupted ichor surges, though in enemy hands, such knowledge could prove catastrophic to the user.

Heretical Nullification: When subjected to a Force-nullification field, whether from voidstone, ysalamiri presence, or other means, the Phantom Blades lose all spiritual resonance and cohesion. The runes etched into each weapon's lexicon go dark, silencing the hum of ichor that sustains their spectral life. The blades fall inert, their forms flickering into nothingness as the link between physical vault and spiritual Oversoul collapses. Without the influence of the Force or ichor energy, Domina's arsenal becomes little more than dormant echoes trapped in the void between worlds. Recovery requires the nullification field to dissipate and a lengthy re-attunement process to restore synchronization to the runes and spirit-song that binds them.

"You cannot kill her. You'd have to slay every blade she ever made."​

The origin of the Phantom Blades traces back to the reawakening of the Ark of Ha'rangir, during the final years of the Black Crusade of the Starforges. In that age, when the void between worlds was thick with ruin and silence, Furyia Prime sought to preserve the legacy of Mandalorian creation, the artistry of war, the poetry of steel. What began as a study of Nightsister ichorcraft and Mandalorian Glyphscript became something far greater: the Oversoul of Sacred Blades, a spectral arsenal born from the fusion of witchcraft, smithing, and divine will. Each blade was first forged in the physical realm, tempered in the sacred forges of House Prime's monastery ship, and then bound by blood and breath into the lexicon of divine armaments, its true home existing between the physical and metaphysical.

It is said the first experiments took place beneath the Amber Vaults, where the forge-shrines hum with eternal flame. There, under the guidance of the ancient Warpriests of House Prime and with the whispers of the phantom Furyia Prime, Dima discovered the method of "runic echoing" the ability to link a blade's spiritual resonance to its physical twin through an ichor-bound rune. Using a mixture of Mandalchemy, sigilwork, and ichor crystallization, she inscribed runes of summoning and reflection upon every weapon she forged. The more blades she created, the denser the web of resonance became, until the air around her forge sang with unseen echoes of steel. When at last she spoke the Invocation of Binding, the forge itself became alive with spectral light. The blades stirred, lifting from their perches, forming a ring of ghostly metal around their maker, each one humming in reverence to the will that birthed them.

The process that followed was nothing short of divine refinement. The Warpriests dubbed the collection The Oversoul Armaments, for though each weapon possessed an identity of its own, its balance, history, and name, they acted together as a single sentient host. Through a complex web of glyphscript that connected runes within each armament to their mirrored sigils carved into the armory vaults, the Oversoul learned to respond instinctively to Prime's will. A gesture would summon them. A breath would command their formation. A whisper of focus could send them darting through the air like arrows of light. This was not mere sorcery or craftsmanship, it was communion. The forging of a bond between the creator and her creations so deep that the blades began to recognize her thoughts before they were spoken.

To outsiders, it was witchcraft. To Mandalorians, it was heresy wrapped in beauty. Yet none could deny its potency. In the heat of war, when the enemies of House Prime descended upon the scattered fortress-fleets, Domina Prime strode to battle clad not in armor alone, but in a halo of living blades. The phantom weapons revolved around her in celestial formation, intercepting bolts, cutting through foes, and shielding her kin in a radiant storm of azure steel. Where the Jedi summoned light, she summoned memory, each sword and axe a record of the wars fought in the name of their creed. Witnesses claimed that when she raised her hand, the air itself shimmered with runic light, and the hum of her arsenal sang the hymns of a thousand forges.

The Phantom Blades became more than a weapon, they became a symbol of Mandalorian resurrection, a manifestation of the creed's eternal truth: that war and art are one. Pilgrims from across the fleet came to witness their summoning, offering blades of their own in hopes of having them sanctified and added to the lexicon. Over decades, the collection grew, each new weapon absorbed into the Oversoul through ritual binding, expanding its reach and consciousness. It is said that the oldest of these blades whisper still, speaking in the ancient tongue of the Taung, recounting sagas of creation and destruction to those who dare to listen.

Yet the forging of miracles often demands the sacrifice of certainty. The Phantom Blades are known to act upon emotion as much as command, flickering with agitation when their mistress's faith wavers, or surging forward when her wrath ignites. Some Warpriests claim they possess fragments of the souls of those whose weapons were offered to the lexicon, bound eternally to serve in spirit. Others insist the blades have become a reflection of Prime herself, her will, her fury, her devotion made manifest.

Today, the Oversoul rests dormant within the Vaults of the Sunforged Cathedral aboard The Arks, sealed by Prime's hand and awaiting her summons. When war calls and the creed demands blood, the runes shall awaken once more, and the blades will sing their hymn of holy purpose through the stars. For as long as Mandalorians remember their faith, and as long as iron still answers to fire, the Phantom Blades of Prime will remain the shining proof that creation and destruction are but two edges of the same sacred sword.

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
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  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.

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