Dominion A GARDEN WORLD || ME Dominion of Empty Hex

Aether Verd · Oct 23, 2025

A GARDEN WORLD
"When refugees vanish, there is Chaos."

GAILLARDIA
Outer Rim Territories

The planet had not existed a month ago.

Now it hung before them, vast and alive, a sphere of greens and golds that shimmered against the black sea of the Outer Rim. Where charts had once shown nothing but empty space, there now turned a world so impossibly fertile that even the Haal’cyon’s scanners strained to capture it. The Mandalorian Star Corps had seen many strange things beyond the borders of known space, but never a birth of a world.

Gaillardia was the name whispered by the few transmissions that reached Mandalore. A haven, a sanctuary, a paradise that had risen from nowhere and promised peace to all who sought it. Thousands were said to have gone there, refugees fleeing the burning Core, those weary of war and empire alike. Yet none of their vessels had ever crossed Mandalorian sensors. No transponders. No ion trails. No signatures at all. It was as though they had vanished from the stars and reappeared upon the surface of this ghostly world.

The mission was simple on paper, though few believed it would remain so for long. The Mandalorian Empire would make planetfall, conduct atmospheric and geologic studies, confirm the presence of any settlements, and recover whatever evidence explained Gaillardia’s sudden appearance. Two task groups were deployed for the effort.

The first would land in the mountain range northeast of the equator, where orbital scans had detected what appeared to be the remnants of a city. Structures of modern design stood half-buried beneath vines and soil, their materials weathered as though centuries had passed. Yet the lines of their architecture spoke of an age far more recent. The second would establish ground operations at the edge of a wide plain where signs of an active colony had been confirmed. Prefabricated buildings, power grids, cultivated soil, everything about the site suggested life, order, and routine. But even from orbit, the absence of movement had been striking. No lights flickering in windows. No thermal traces. No life detected.

The Haal’cyon was the first to break the clouds, its hull glowing against the violet sky. Dozens of other Mandalorian vessels followed in formation, cutting through the upper atmosphere in gleaming arcs. Below them stretched a paradise of forests and riverlands untouched by scar or flame. The air shimmered with color, and the land seemed to breathe beneath its canopy.

Landing Zone Alpha, the colony site, came into view first, a ring of alloy walls rising from a field of gold-green grass, its perimeter sealed by a humming energy barrier. Within, the square outlines of modular housing dotted the terrain, laid out in precise rows. Each building was identical, built of the same quick-assembly materials favored by refugee convoys fleeing the Core. Every piece of equipment was in place, yet nothing stirred.

Landing Zone Beta, the mountain range, was more troubling still. The city there should have been a ruin, yet the design of its towers and domes was unmistakably modern. Reinforced alloys, glass composites, refined support arches, technology belonging to this century, not the last. And yet the stone around those foundations had begun to swallow them, as though time itself had grown impatient.

The first scans confirmed what every Mandalorian already suspected: the air was clean, rich, and perfectly breathable. No toxins, no radiation, no signs of planetary instability. On the surface, Gaillardia was flawless. But there was something beneath the readings that no sensor could identify, a frequency buried deep within the planet’s electromagnetic field, faint and rhythmic, like a pulse too slow to belong to anything living.

The Mandalorian Star Corps had come to find the truth. And on this beautiful, silent world, the truth was waiting for them.

LANDING ZONE ALPHA
The Colony Site: Where Life Forgot to Live

The valley was still when the ships descended. The colony walls gleamed beneath the pale light, their alloy panels faintly humming with power. Nothing moved inside the perimeter, yet the faint energy field that crowned the walls rippled as the Mandalorians approached, as if the planet itself were aware of their arrival. Wind carried no scent of life, and even their comms felt weighted by static. Every few minutes, the signal between Alpha and the mountain teams broke, the interference whispering their own voices back to them. Beneath it all, the sensors caught a faint pulse rising from the soil, slow and rhythmic, matching the beat of a human heart.

POINTS OF INTEREST:

The Perimeter Shield
The wall surrounding the colony stands intact, its emitters glowing with a dull amber light. The shield still functions despite the power grid being cold. When touched, the barrier ripples outward in perfect rings before fading. Those who linger nearby claim to hear faint tones shifting in response to speech, like the hum is echoing their voices. Attempts to disable or reroute the field always result in a sudden flicker of the sun overhead, as though the planet itself blinks.

The Habitation Grid
Beyond the barrier lies a maze of prefabricated cube-shaped dwellings arranged in symmetrical rows. Every door is unlocked. Tables are set for meals that remain fresh, untouched by rot. Holo-lamps hum quietly even though their power cores are depleted. The air inside is sterile, still, and unnaturally preserved. A repeating phrase flickers across every data terminal: Awaiting Directive. The silence presses in on anyone who speaks here, softening the sound of their words until it feels like the colony itself is listening.

The Central Spire
At the heart of the colony stands a tall spire that serves as both power relay and communications tower. Its metal surface vibrates with residual energy, though no generator can be found. Inside, the air grows warmer with every step upward. The walls hum faintly with static, and for a moment, some hear whispers woven into it. The main terminal loops a visual feed of a distant starfield. Coordinates flash briefly before the screen resets, but the readings do not match any known region of space. Occasionally, the starfield flickers and reveals a symbol etched in light, one seen in ancient Mandalorian texts about the Force.

LANDING ZONE BETA
The Mountain Ruins: Where Time Forgot Its Shape

Far above the plains, the mountain range breathed in mist. The ruins clung to the cliffs like old scars, their surfaces half-swallowed by moss and stone. From orbit, they looked ancient. From the ground, their materials gleamed with the sheen of modern manufacture. The air crackled faintly with electromagnetic interference that distorted the horizon, and the sky itself seemed to shimmer between shades as though reality struggled to decide the time of day. The rhythmic pulse beneath the soil was stronger here, deep and patient, echoing through every piece of metal the Mandalorians carried.

POINTS OF INTEREST:

The Hanging Plaza
A vast stone plaza stretches between the cliffs, serving as both landing ground and bridge. Its surface is cracked and overgrown, but when sunlight hits the ground, thin veins of light race across it in geometric patterns before vanishing. Samples taken from the material suggest it is both centuries old and freshly forged, defying every geological test. When night falls, the same patterns glow faintly, synchronized to the same pulse felt across the planet.

The Mirror Hall
One of the towers overlooking the plaza remains intact, its interior lined with mirrored panels that distort and delay reflections. Anyone entering the structure finds that their reflection lags slightly behind their movements. If multiple people enter, their reflections sometimes continue to move after they have stopped. The deeper one travels inside, the more intense the lag becomes until reflections begin to act independently altogether. Occasionally, the panels flash with the reflection of faces that do not belong to anyone present.

The Glass Cathedral
At the highest point of the ruins stands a structure built entirely from translucent material fused together by intense heat. The light that filters through the walls moves in a steady rhythm, tracing glowing lines that resemble runes or circuitry. Inside, sound carries strangely, as if the air itself vibrates with memory. When shadows shift across the walls, those who remain still for too long report hearing laughter, footsteps, or whispers from another time. The symbols that appear on the floor briefly form a phrase before fading: They are not gone. They are changed.

Inez

Sidonia

Maur

Perseus

Elira Verd
@Viera

Nando

Tin
@Serra Toss

Kassandra Beskar'ad

Liorra

Conrad

Reshim

Red Mobius

Suleiman Lok
@Kyrida Verd

CT-312

Nephthys Nardithi-Verd

Hanna

Vyse de Valorous
@Varuun Rekaal

Aren D'Shade · Oct 23, 2025

The Haal'cyon descended steadily through Gaillardia's violet-hued clouds, the colony sprawling below in precise, quiet symmetry. Aren's fingers moved over her datapad with practiced precision, parsing the energy readings streaming from the perimeter shield and habitation grid. The emitters hummed faintly, glowing a dull amber even though the colony's power cores appeared offline. Every pulse, every subtle fluctuation, registered on her pad—patterned, deliberate, as if the colony itself were aware of their presence.

Around her, Mandalorian Star Corps operatives moved with disciplined efficiency, scanning the outer perimeter and setting deployable sensors. Aren's voice cut through the quiet hum of the ship's landing gear, calm and authoritative. "Check the emitters' output," she instructed, pointing to the panels of her datapad. "Record the energy ripple patterns and trace the source of that sub-surface pulse. Keep all comms clean—do not broadcast beyond the immediate perimeter."

Her team acknowledged the orders, moving with practiced synchronicity. Aren continued scanning, lips pressed thin as she compared live readings to orbital scans. "Doors are unlocked," she said, noting the oddity. "Holo-lamps are active despite depleted cores. Record everything—nothing here behaves as it should. If the colony is waiting, we need to know what it's waiting for."

The faint ripple of the perimeter shield shifted subtly as she approached, and she paused, tapping her datapad to log the response. "It isn't abandoned," she murmured, voice low and precise. "It's… waiting. And it knows we're here."

Every measurement, every anomaly, was meticulously logged. The Mandalorian team continued their sweep under her direction, and Aren felt the familiar pulse of anticipation in her chest. Gaillardia had appeared suddenly, perfectly, and every reading reinforced the same unsettling truth: the colony, this world, was deliberate, aware, and waiting to reveal its secrets.

Arden Priest · Oct 23, 2025

WARBAND REBUILDER

TAGS: @OPEN

The dropship ramp hissed open, letting in mountain air sharp enough to bite. Frost streamed from the edges of Arden's armor as he stepped down, his boots grinding into the stone. The cold didn't bother him; it never had. This air carried the same clean sting as Rothana's high ridges, making it feel, for a moment, almost like home.

He moved in sync with the rest of the Warband, unstrapping crates from the hold and hauling them across the cracked plaza. The ground shimmered faintly beneath their steps, light rippling out and dying like breath on glass. Nobody spoke about it. The Rally Masters had been clear: secure the site first, and ask questions later.

"Arden, relay that sensor array to the western ridge," a voice barked over his comms. He gave a silent nod, slinging the heavy case across his back. The air distorted slightly around the cliff edges; static crawled along his visor. He tried to tune it out, focusing on the physical task and anything solid to anchor him.

At the ridge, he set the array down, his boots slipping on stone slick with mist. Below, the valley stretched like a dream. Forests breathed in waves, and the ruins glowed half-alive with light that wasn't sunlight. He crouched, locking the tripod into place, feeling the faint hum of power through the metal. The pulse again. Slow, patient, and deep.

When he rose, his HUD flickered. For an instant, the reflection in his visor wasn't his own. It was the same armor, but older somehow, scarred and scorched. He blinked, and it was gone.

"Beta-One, report status," came the command.

"Array deployed," he answered, his voice steady. "Signal clean. No movement."

"Good. Establish uplink and fall back to the plaza." He obeyed without question. As he passed the mirror-faced tower, he caught his reflection again. It lingered this time, a half-second behind. When he turned away, it didn't.

Sidonia · Oct 23, 2025

Gaillardia, Outer Rim Territories

The planet wasn’t supposed to be there.

Sidonia stood near the viewport of the dropship as it cut through the upper clouds, her gloved hand resting on the bulkhead for balance. Below, Gaillardia stretched out in impossible color, green fields, gold rivers, skies too soft to belong to the Outer Rim. It looked alive, vibrant… perfect. And that, more than anything, unsettled her.

Planets didn’t just appear. Worlds didn’t rise out of nothing. Yet here it was, spinning quietly in the void like it had been waiting for someone to notice.

She’d seen her share of strange things in her years with the Mandalorian Star Corps, but this; this felt different. The scanners had picked up a rhythm under the surface, slow and steady, like a heartbeat buried in the soil. Ever since then, that same pulse seemed to echo faintly in her chest, too.

The Warden of Thule, cloak heavy with the scent of dust and ozone, watched the clouds break as the dropship began its descent. A soft tremor ran through the hull. Her team said nothing, but she could feel their unease. The silence outside felt thick, as though the air itself was listening.

“Landing coordinates locked,” her pilot said over comms. “No life signs. Power readings, but… faint.”

Sidonia nodded, her voice low but steady.

“Bring us in. Let’s see what kind of paradise forgets how to live.”

The dropship touched down on a field of gold-green grass that rippled in the wind. Beyond the clearing stood a colony of silent structures, shelters lined in perfect rows, a barrier still glowing weakly around the perimeter. Tables set for meals. Lights still flickering. But not a single living soul.

As the ramp lowered, Sidonia stepped out first. The air was clean, warm. Too warm. Her visor displayed no toxins, no radiation, nothing at all that should have kept people away. And yet, everything in her instincts told her that they weren’t alone.

Her hand brushed against the hilt of her blade as she scanned the horizon. The faint hum beneath her boots pulsed once, slow and deliberate, as if the world itself had just taken a breath.

Sidonia’s voice cut through the static.

“Secure the site. No assumptions, no shortcuts.”

The others moved to obey, their boots crunching softly against the grass. She lingered a moment longer, gaze fixed on the silent spire rising in the colony’s heart.

Aether Verd · Friday at 12:05 PM

Assets: Beskar'gam | Basilisk
Darksaber | Resolute Dawn

GAILLARDIA - PLAINS

The Kom’rk descended through the violet clouds like a blade through silk. Its wings folded as it came to rest upon a ridge overlooking the silent valley below. The hum of the engines faded into the whispering wind, and the Mand’alor emerged. His armor gleamed beneath the alien light, charcoal and crimson reflecting the untouched green below.

Aether Verd stepped forward until the ridge met the void. He knelt, resting one arm across his knee, and lowered his visor’s rangefinder to study the colony that stretched beneath him. A perfect grid. Rows of homes that waited for families who were not there. Power signatures flickered faintly across his HUD, whispering of a system that still lived despite the silence.

He lingered there, watching the valley breathe. Below, Aren and the Nite Owls moved with precision, charting readings along the colony’s edge. To the east, Sidonia’s dropships broke through the clouds, their descent leaving trails of gold light across the sky. The Warden of Thule had arrived.

Behind him, his Supercommandos waited in disciplined silence. Jetpacks hummed faintly, rifles angled to the ground, every warrior ready to strike at a word from their Mand’alor.

He tapped his comm and waited for the interference to clear before speaking.

“Aren,” he said, his tone calm but thoughtful. “Have you found a way through that shield without tearing it down?” He continued, eyes fixed on the colony. “Several of our troops are carrying field disruptors. They could potentially phase through the barrier if we push power to their emitters. But...I will not risk it until we know what we’re dealing with. That shield was built for a reason, and I will not be the fool who destroys a world’s last defense before knowing what it guards.”

His gaze shifted to the horizon where Sidonia’s formation spread out across the plains. “Warden,” he called across the comm, voice low, measured, and certain. “Aren’s scans picked up a pulse beneath the surface. You should be feeling it by now. What do you see on your end? Does it move like a current, or something alive?”

The question hung in the air. Even through his visor, he could feel the faint tremor beneath the soil, slow and patient, like a heartbeat that did not belong to any living thing.

He rose, the motion deliberate, and the Supercommandos closed in around him. Together they began the descent toward the valley floor, armor catching the light as they moved in formation. The ridge behind them vanished into the mist, and ahead lay the waiting silence of Gaillardia.

Whatever truth this world held, Aether Verd intended to meet it face to face.

Aren D'Shade ,

Sidonia + Open

Dren Saxon · Friday at 12:25 PM

GAILLARDIA

If this place could be called a plaza, it was a strange one. The stones beneath Dren Saxon’s boots shimmered faintly in the mist, alive with veins of light that rippled and vanished like breath against cold glass. Every edge of the ruin seemed caught between centuries, its alloys too refined to belong to the past, its decay too thorough to belong to the present. The mountains around them loomed vast and unsteady, their peaks wreathed in mist that pulsed faintly to the same rhythm echoing beneath the ground.

Dren stood among the Rally Masters, the crimson of his pauldrons dimmed by the pallid glow of the hologram between them. The map flickered as though alive, its contours shifting, its lines bending to some unseen current below. There, beneath the grid, a cluster of red veins pulsed with soft, deliberate rhythm. The holographic projection trembled with each pulse, the same vibration they felt through the soles of their boots.

The Gogi’s voice broke the silence, steady and deliberate. “Sensors will tell us what we already know,” he said. “Something moves beneath us, and no readout will make sense of it. Once the arrays are set, we should take a team into the ruins. See what stirs below the stone.”

He turned his gaze toward the towers that loomed beyond the mist, their mirrored faces distorted by the shimmer of the air. “Machines can measure the unknown,” he added, his tone firm, “but they cannot understand it. We must see it with our own eyes.”

One of the Rally Masters gave a curt nod, fingers flying across his wrist console before opening comms to the wider channel. “Attention.” he said. “We are forming a small team for immediate field reconnaissance. Three volunteers to accompany Gogi Saxon into the ruins. Repeat, three volunteers.”

The hologram flickered again, the crimson lines deepening as though the world itself had heard. Dren watched the pulse settle into a slower rhythm, steady and patient, then glanced toward the shadowed arches that marked the city’s heart. The silence around them was not absence; it was expectation.

He adjusted the fur mantle at his collar, the faint hum of his armor resonating with the pulse beneath the plaza. “The world moves,” he said quietly, more to himself than the others. “Let us see if it remembers how to speak.”

Arden Priest + Open

Nephthys Nardithi-Verd · Friday at 1:12 PM

Aren D'Shade |

Sidonia |

Aether Verd

Gaillardia - Plains
Exiting the Kom'rk..

"I don't like this,"

Aether Verd 's sister started griping at him the moment her foot hit the landing. "How did I let you convince me to do this? What are we even here for, really?" Her tone dropped, "This void is creepy. I bet its a terrarium. Some beastie wants us to stay here and once we are comfortable, and our population grows, they let out their pet dinosaurs to feast upon us. That pulse you hear could be just the sound wave that keeps out the predators." She gazed around at the stillness of the vacant land inside the firmament. "Maybe there is no more people, because something likely already ate a hole through the barrier." Her eyes flashed wildly for a moment, a reflection of her current feeling, 'You just wait and see.' "Let's just pray this doesn't end with my saying, 'I told you so!'"

She stormed past the Alor and walked out front of the accompanying troops. It's going to be a long, long day…and whose fault IS that?!

Aren D'Shade · Friday at 10:27 PM

Aren crouched slightly over her datapad as the dropship settled onto the gold-green grass, eyes flicking between live sensor feeds and the quiet rows of structures before her. The colony hummed faintly beneath her fingertips, the energy readings pulsing in slow, deliberate rhythms that almost felt alive. Every system responded subtly to her scans, as if aware of her presence.

She glanced briefly toward Sidonia and the Warden of Thule's teams, noting their methodical deployment. Their precision and discipline mirrored her own focus, but her concern remained with the anomalies. "The shield is active," she reported softly into her comm, voice even and measured. "It isn't overpowered, just… responsive. Any attempt to force entry will trigger a defensive reaction, though I don't detect weapons within the barrier. It's like it's waiting… aware of our proximity."

Moving closer to one of the emitters along the perimeter, she tapped her datapad and linked it to the field. Tiny fluctuations responded immediately to her adjustments, tracing arcs of energy across the holographic map on her pad. "The sub-surface rhythm is consistent, almost like a heartbeat—but artificial. It's deliberate, slow, and precise. I cannot determine its source without further analysis, but it extends across the entire colony."

She looked up at Aether Verd's formation on the ridge and tapped her comm again. "Mand'alor, any attempt to phase field disruptors through could interfere with the pulse. I recommend containment and observation first. Let me continue scanning from here; I can map the energy flows and identify points of interest without compromising the shield."

Pausing, she added with quiet authority, "Whatever constructed this colony—its systems, the barrier, and that pulse—was designed to be intact. There is intention behind every signal, every alignment. We should proceed carefully."

Even as the Mandalorians descended toward the valley floor, Aren's attention remained divided between her datapad and the larger picture. Every anomaly, every flicker of energy, demanded patience and precision. The colony was a puzzle, silent but alive, and she would unravel it methodically before any decisions were made about entry or interaction.

Aether Verd

Sidonia

Arden Priest · Friday at 11:43 PM

WARBAND REBUILDER

TAGS:

Dren Saxon | OPEN

Arden moved through the mist, the ridge vanishing into pale shadow behind him. The array's low hum still resonated in his chest, a steady pulse echoing up through the metal deck underfoot. Static whispered in his comms, clearing just in time for the Rally Master's order.

"Three volunteers to accompany Gogi Saxon into the ruins."

He didn't hesitate. A quick tap on his wrist console sent his acknowledgment: Beta-One confirming for the team. Duty was paramount; no words or ceremony were needed.

The plaza came into view through the haze, veins of light flaring softly under his boots. The Warband moved like ghosts between the supply crates and sensor rigs, the air thick with unspoken tension. Arden passed them without slowing, heading toward the shadowed arches where the towers began to rise. The closer he got, the heavier the air felt, as if gravity itself was thickening around the ancient ruins.

At the entrance, Gogi Saxon waited among the others. Arden raised a fist to his chest. "Su cuy'gar," he said, the greeting steady despite the strange weight in his throat.

The ground beneath them thrummed again. Arden's hand dropped to the stock of his rifle, an action born purely out of instinct. He glanced toward the mirrored towers beyond, their surfaces flickering between reflection and something deeper, something that felt almost like a watchful eye.

"This feels off, Sir," he said quietly, turning his helmet toward the older warrior. "It's not exactly hostile, but the world feels half-asleep and listening." He paused, scanning the broken skyline. "What does the Star Corps expect to find here? A city swallowed by time doesn't just build itself again."

A stronger pulse rolled through the stone beneath his boots, as though the planet had consciously taken a breath. He steadied himself, grip tightening around the rifle stock. The ruins loomed ahead, silent and waiting, and Arden couldn't shake the feeling that they weren't just exploring; they were being invited in.

Adelle Bastiel · Saturday at 1:10 AM

Tags:

Arden Priest |

Dren Saxon | Open

She felt it in the air. The dropships had rumbled through the atmosphere to Landing Zone Beta, up in the mountains, and it had been the faintest echo of a blip from a cardiac monitor, a dissonant hum in the floorboards. When they landed, Adelle moved with the others, unloading equipment with military efficiency. The sunlight glanced off the only tower still intact overlooking the plaza and set fire to a glass building higher up. But where its rays hit the ground of the plaza, she saw gilded threads travel along fractal lines before fading from view. Too irregular to be machinery.

Adelle took a moment from off-loading supply crates to press a gloved hand against the stonework, stretching out her senses through the Force. For a few of her own heartbeats, she felt nothing. Then something pulsed, a vibration in her beskar'gam that almost seemed to breathe. Adelle yanked her hand away.

"Oh I don't like that at all," she muttered. Adelle returned most of her focus back to off-loading, trying not to pay too much attention to how much the flickers of light in the stone seemed so much like veins. But she could not ignore the rhythmic pulse felt through the soles of her boots that reminded her of a heartbeat.

One of the Rally Masters spoke through the comms.

Dren Saxon said:
“Attention.” he said. “We are forming a small team for immediate field reconnaissance. Three volunteers to accompany Gogi Saxon into the ruins. Repeat, three volunteers.”

Adelle stood and strode over to where Gogi Saxon waited, as another warrior approached.

"Adelle Skirata, reporting," she said.

Arden Priest said:
"This feels off, Sir," he said quietly, turning his helmet toward the older warrior. "It's not exactly hostile, but the world feels half-asleep and listening." He paused, scanning the broken skyline. "What does the Star Corps expect to find here? A city swallowed by time doesn't just build itself again."

"Was it swallowed by time?" Adelle asked softly. "Or did the planet consume it?"

Vaux Gred · Saturday at 1:21 PM

Landing Site Beta

Adelle Bastiel

Arden Priest

Dren Saxon
Vaux turned her now modified GF-4 Stinger as she landed after the dropship. Yes, it would've made more sense for her to ride the dropship, but she perfered the fighter. V-1 rod in one of the wings as he let out a low, Binary whistle. "I know. Mig said this might be more important though. Plus been a while since we've been out on this kinda run. Less... ugh.... I don't even want to think about that spy mission. Let's just land and let the techies do their thing." Vaux touched down, quickly holstering her custom cartrige revolver, loaded with slug rounds. She had thought about adding some modified flechette rounds from the Rims, but she liked the heavier shot. She did open a storage hatch though, pulling out a new CRC-01 and a belt of particle cartridges for it. Better safe than sorry.

She walked out, V-1 following behind and getting there in time to hear Saxon's comment about machines. She smirked under her helmet, slinging the rifle over the shoulder. "Depends on the machine, Saxon." She said, patting V-1's head disc. It wasn't like her clans view of droids was some big secret afterall. V-series droids were even made to be more independant than others. She looked at Arden as he noted something felt off... and admittedly she couldn't blame him. It did seem off, and she'd learned to trust others' guts as much as her own. She then looked over with the discussion of what a place like this was doing here, and took a breath. "I mean, we found the Artemis in pretty rough shape, but she was out in the black waiting for some care. Not unheard of sadly, but always a mystery."

She started to open a crate to help off load when she heard the call for volenteers, turning around and quickly tapping her comm to be sure she would be heard. "Vaux Gred. Ready and willing."

Runi Kuryida · Saturday at 3:42 PM

Runi had strode away from the group as they'd setup instrumentation to record and analyze the surround. They didn't need the Warmaster of the Knights hovering over them like an overprotective mother hen. There were things she could do in the meantime that might supplement their efforts.

The Shaman crouched down over the barren ground. Her hazel eyes slowly panned across the mountain range and the paradoxically existing city nested within them. What was was not, and what was might not yet be. The corners of her lips turned downward for a moment. Idyllic, but empty. Gaillardia was a snare. A lure to draw them in, but for what purpose? Whose benefit?

She reached down to draw up a handful of the planet's soil and slowly rub it between her palms. Something returned to them, but was it by the grace of the Manda or in spite of it? Sometimes worlds went missing for good reason, and their return was not always something to cheer.

Then there was the 'pulse.' Likely connected.

A quiet sigh escaped the Shaman as her eyes turned back up toward the half-enveloped structures.

Moments later Runi drew near the command post that'd been set up. She stopped a short distance back and watched as brave Mandalorians strode forward to volunteer to join a scouting party. "Gogi Saxon." The Shaman closed the distance to join the group conspiring to brave the dark. "Where will you begin your search?" He was an experienced commander, so she wouldn't question his preparations. If he required anything of her or the Empire in general, she expected he would ask if of her. Otherwise, Runi wanted some estimation toward his strategy in the event the worst case occurred. It would be helpful if any followed in their wake where their feet would tread.

Dren Saxon |

Arden Priest |

Adelle Bastiel |

Vaux Gred

Sidonia · Sunday at 10:43 PM

The dropships broke through the violet clouds, engines roaring as they cut toward the valley below. Sidonia stood at the edge of the ramp, coat whipping in the wind, eyes narrowed against the stormlight. The surface of Gaillardia stretched beneath her...too still, too clean. It looked like a world waiting to wake up.

The hum in the air grew stronger as her boots hit the ground. It wasn’t just vibration, it was rhythm. A pulse that ran through the soil like a heartbeat buried deep beneath the planet’s skin.

“Keep formation,” she ordered, voice light but commanding over the comms. “No wandering. If this place looks too perfect, it’s because someone wanted it that way.”

Her soldiers spread out, black-and-silver armor cutting sharp lines against the green and gold of the valley. They moved fast, scanning, marking readings, securing the perimeter. Every motion was efficient, drilled, disciplined. The way she demanded it.

“Ground’s active,” one of them reported. “Energy pattern’s repeating; no heat signatures, no movement topside.”

Sidonia crouched, brushing her gloved fingers through the soil until she found metal. Beneath the thin crust of earth, it shimmered faintly. She straightened, eyes narrowing. “That’s not natural. This world was made. or remade, for something.”

She keyed her comm, voice steady. “Lord Verd, I’m reading the pulse you mentioned. It’s too consistent to be organic. Feels like a containment field or a failsafe system. If you hit it too hard, it might react.”

There was a pause, the hum beneath her boots deepening; steady, patient, almost aware. Her jaw tightened.

“I’ve seen this kind of defense before,” she said. “A system designed to protect whatever’s below. And it doesn’t care who triggers it.”

Her squad leader approached, holding up a scanner. “The pulse just spiked. It’s syncing with our emissions.”

Sidonia’s tone hardened. “Kill all active signals. Go dark...now.”

Within seconds, the valley fell silent again, broken only by the whisper of wind and the distant hiss of engines cooling on the ridge. The soldiers froze in their positions, rifles lowered but ready.

She looked toward the shimmer of the shield in the distance, its faint glow pulsing in rhythm with the tremor underfoot.

“If that barrier’s alive, we’ll treat it like a predator,” she said quietly. “Test its boundaries. Find its reaction. Then decide whether to break it or turn it to our use.”

Her gaze lifted to the ridge where Aether’s forces were descending. “I’ll start pushing a probe into the outer grid. If it strikes back, we’ll learn something.”

Her tone dropped lower, calm but edged with something dangerous. “And if it doesn’t, then we’ll find out what it’s hiding.”

She gestured once, and her soldiers moved; silent and precise, shadows cutting through the mist.

Sidonia lingered for a moment, watching the pulse flare faintly beneath the surface. A ruthless kind of focus settled in her eyes. She didn’t fear the unknown. She intended to master it.

“Let’s get to work,” she said, stepping forward into the valley as the hum began to rise again. the sound of something waking far below.

Aether Verd .

Aren D'Shade

Tyr Mereel · Sunday at 11:36 PM

Objective: II
Location: Gaillardia

Arden Priest |

Dren Saxon |

Adelle Bastiel |

Runi Kuryida |

Vaux Gred

The dropship drifted along the spine of the mountain like a hunting hawk, repulsors trimmed low to keep its silhouette lost against the ridgeline. Tyr stayed posted behind the gunner frame, visor tilted downward through the swirling veil of wind-thrown snow. Below him, other dropships landed, beskar-clad soldiers coming from the doors. From this height, they looked less like warriors and more like iron fragments. His jaw tightened behind the helmet. The mountain wasn’t an enemy you could shoot, only outlast.

He swept the ridge with a slow, disciplined scan, sightline drifting across choke points, overhangs, blind pockets of rock that would make perfect nests for ambush predators, human or otherwise. No movement, no shimmer of glass, no stray heat bloom. Just terrain, waiting. The kind that punished either complacency or fear. The wind battered the hull again, a muted vibration through his braced stance; Tyr compensated instinctively, tracking the infantry beneath as they moved.

The pilot nudged them forward along a parallel glide path, keeping the dropship just far enough back to watch them from multiple angles. Tyr tagged micro-markers across his HUD, potential fallbacks, fallback anchors, secondary advance corridors, not because he was uncertain the vode could push through, but because a good overwatch never assumed a straight fight or a straight route. The higher he looked along the ridgewall, the lonelier the ascent appeared, like the mountain was stripping away noise and ego the higher they climbed. Some battles didn’t begin with contact; they began with distance.

Eenia Vahn · Monday at 1:51 PM

		
TAG:
			 
		Arden Priest
  |  
			 
		Dren Saxon
  |  
			 
		Adelle Bastiel
  |  
			 
		Runi Kuryida
  |  
			 
		Vaux Gred
  |  
			 
		Tyr Mereel
Wearing: [X]

To find herself within the company of Mandalorians was not something that Eenia had ever thought would happen again. In this lifetime or the next. There had been such conflict with her older sister, and said sister's clan, that it had bled the natural curiosity right from the depth of the blonde's soul. Not an easy feat, which only made her question herself as to why she had so willingly stepped into this place, this role, once again.

Everything happens for a reason...

Words she not only swore by, but lived by anymore. Not that it made a lick of difference now, even if she didn't. Word had reached her about this place, this planet that was not supposed to exist, and that ever eager curiosity bubbled up and pushed all past thoughts of feuds and loss away. 

The area around thrummed with such energy, it was impossible to ignore. A steady rhythm, a pulse that mimicked that which thumped within the veins of living creatures. Or, perhaps it didn't mimic at all. Eenia crouched and reached her hands to touch the ground on either side of her feet. The pulse wasn't as potent this way as she figured it would be, yet she had felt it sure as could be through her feet as she had moved about. Still, the tips of her fingers pressed more, her eyes closed...and then she focused on voices instead.

A sigh parted Nia's lips, but she rose back to her unimpressive height and rounded to return to the command post, not that she had gone far to begin with. There was a slight tilt of her head as she listened, exploration? That made the light brows over ocean green eyes lift. "I'd like to go along," there was no demand or forcefulness to her tone, but genuine desire to be apart of this was present. "Never know when a Healer will come in handy, after all."

​

Aether Verd · Tuesday at 2:59 AM

Assets: Beskar'gam | Basilisk
Darksaber | Resolute Dawn

GAILLARDIA - PLAINS

For a long moment, Aether Verd said nothing. The wind carried his sister’s frustration through the open air, her voice sharp against the hum of the valley. He listened, eyes still on the horizon where the emerald fields met the violet clouds. Beneath his boots, the soil thrummed faintly, that same slow rhythm pulsing up from the ground, patient and deliberate.

Nephthys’ words were half complaint and half instinct. He could not fault her for either.

“The truth is,” he said finally, his voice deep and even through the vocoder, “you’re right to feel uneasy.” He stepped forward, lowering his gaze toward the silent colony below. “This world shouldn’t exist. It appeared from nothing, close enough to touch Mandalorian space. If something dangerous is happening here, we can’t turn away and hope it stays quiet. Whatever this is, it’s too near to ignore.”

He turned slightly, gloved hand reaching out as she strode past. His palm found her shoulder and held it, firm but steady. “You want to go home,” he said, the faintest warmth threading through his tone. “Then help me find the truth faster. Use what you know, use what you’re good at. The sooner we understand this place, the sooner we’re done with it.” He gave her shoulder a confident squeeze before letting go. “Until then, I’ll need your eyes sharp.”

He watched her stride ahead, a spark of fond exasperation behind his visor, before turning his attention back to the shield. Aren’s voice came through the comms, calm and measured as always. Her report was thorough, her reasoning precise. As she spoke of resonance, response, and the pulse that seemed almost alive, Aether’s arms folded across his chest. His head tilted slightly as the faint amber shimmer of the barrier caught the light.

When she finished, he responded with quiet curiosity. “Aren, you might call this a long shot,” he said, “but if the shield reacts to our presence... then maybe it can do more than react. Maybe it can listen.” He studied the faint ripple of energy as it moved across the barrier’s surface. “If it knows we’re here, perhaps it can tell us why. Not through words, but through response. Pattern. Rhythm. Try reaching out, see if it answers. Even a flicker could tell us something about the pulse.”

He paused, his voice taking on that low, authoritative rhythm that made men listen. “You said it feels deliberate. Let’s find out just how deliberate it is.”

Moments later, Sidonia’s voice joined the channel, her tone cool and commanding, every word measured like the strike of a blade. Her assessment echoed Aren’s, though her instincts leaned toward caution and control. Aether listened in silence until she mentioned the probe. The pulse beneath the soil was rising again, faint but discernible through his armor’s sensors.

“Warden,” he answered, his tone calm but firm, “you’re right to test it, but do so gently. If that barrier is aware, we don’t want it thinking we’re here to tear it apart. A probe is one thing, an assault is another. Let it see our curiosity, not aggression.”

The wind shifted around him as the valley began to stir with faint motes of light. The hum grew louder, steady and rhythmic, as though the world itself acknowledged their presence. Aether’s gaze lingered on the colony’s heart, where the spire shimmered faintly beneath the sky.

“Proceed.” he said at last. “Carefully. Let’s see if this world knows it’s being watched.”

Nephthys Nardithi-Verd ,

Aren D'Shade ,

Sidonia + Open

Dren Saxon · Tuesday at 3:24 AM

GAILLARDIA

Mist curled along the plaza stones as the volunteers drew in, their silhouettes sharpening against the pale glow of the hologram. The map throbbed with crimson veins beneath the grid, each pulse steady, each flare a reminder that the mountain was listening. Dren Saxon folded his hands behind his back and regarded the first to arrive with a soldier’s measured gaze. Arden Priest stood ready, the hum of the arrays still clinging to his armor like a low drumbeat.

“Your instincts serve you.” Dren said, voice even and unhurried. “It feels wrong, and it should. My thought...is that this is a residual of the Planeshift Calamity, a slow echo that took its time to surface. What the Corps requires is simple. We confirm whether this world threatens Mandalore, and we learn what became of the refugees who came here. Those answers are our priority.”

Adelle Skirata approached next. Dren gave her a brief nod, the kind offered to a professional who had already proved her mettle. He did not chase her question down the slope of speculation; the ruins would answer soon enough.

The comm in his vambrace flicked alive with a crisp acknowledgement. Vaux Gred, ready and willing. Dren lifted his wrist slightly toward his helm and spoke into the channel. “Vaux Gred, your presence is noted. Welcome to the expedition.”

Bootsteps drew near, steady and sure. The Warmaster returned from her circuit of the perimeter, and the Gogi straightened with the old salute of his house, fist thumping once against his chest. “Warmaster.” he said, meeting her gaze. “I had intended to begin with the cathedral. Given our numbers, we can divide the task. One team to the Glass Cathedral, one to what we are calling the Mirror Hall.”

Another arrival closed the circle, a healer who offered her craft without flourish. Dren inclined his helm toward her. “Your talents are welcome. Stay close to your lead and call anything you do not like the look of.”

His hands returned to the edge of the table. He swept the hologram with a final glance, then raised his voice so that those in the plaza and those on the net would hear the shape of the plan. “Assignments follow. Arden, Adelle, Vaux, you are the Cathedral team. Warmaster, if you will take point, Tyr and Eenia will accompany you into the Mirror Hall.” He let the pulses underfoot count a calm measure before he continued. “Rules of engagement are strict. Remain on comms at all times, share your sensor feeds without delay, and if hostiles present, you defend yourselves and disengage. We regroup rather than vanish in a place that does not belong to what we know.”

Dren straightened from the table and set his shoulders to the cold. The plaza lights ran in thin threads beneath the stone, answering the mountain’s slow rhythm. “If there are no objections,” he said, each word precise, “move to your targets. We begin.”

Eenia Vahn + Open

Arden Priest · Tuesday at 1:17 PM

WARBAND REBUILDER

TAGS: Cathedral Team:

Adelle Bastiel |

Vaux Gred
Indirect:

Dren Saxon |

Runi Kuryida |

Tyr Mereel |

Eenia Vahn

Arden gave a quick nod and tapped his comm. "Cathedral Team moving," he reported, his voice steady. He slung his rifle across his back and started the long climb. Boots crunched on the frost-laced stone as the mist retreated, leaving behind a pale, unearthly glow. The path snaked upward through the ruins, past walls half-swallowed by glassy growths that shimmered like frozen fire.

The rhythmic vibration underfoot grew more intense the higher they ascended. It wasn't simple noise; it was a steady pulse, as if the mountain itself was keeping time with their steps.

When the cathedral appeared, Arden slowed. It didn't look constructed; the structure seemed to have grown from the rock, a spire of translucent crystal fused into flowing shapes that caught every flicker of light. The air around it shimmered, distorting both sound and distance. Inside, faint lines of luminescence crawled across the walls like circuitry, pulsing in waves that echoed the ground's deep heartbeat.

"Cathedral Team on site," he murmured into the comms. "Structure intact. Unknown energy signatures, rhythmic. No visible movement."

He stepped through the archway first, hand resting ready on his sidearm. The air inside was still yet heavy, humming just below the level of sound. Every breath they took echoed too long. Standing motionless, Arden felt the hum begin to coalesce, forming shifting patterns of almost-words that vibrated deep in his body.

Arden crouched by one of the glowing seams, tracing the outline with a gloved finger. There was no heat or radiation; just light and the steady pulse. Then, laughter, faint and sudden. It came from everywhere at once. It was soft, fleeting, and gone the moment he turned his head.

He quickly straightened, his hand instinctively moving toward his weapon, though his survival instinct told him it would be useless. "Copy, Command," he said, forcing his voice level. "Cathedral interior active. Sound distortion confirmed. Proceeding deeper." The light along the floor shifted as they moved, the lines weaving into new shapes that briefly pulsed before vanishing, leaving only a whisper that flowed through the air like an exhalation: They are not gone.

Aren D'Shade · Tuesday at 6:18 PM

Aren's voice came over the comms steady and low, the datapad reflected in the visor of her crewmates as she leaned close to the nearest emitter and watched the readouts tick.

"Mand'alor, I understand," she said. "I'll proceed the way you suggested with curiosity, not force."

She tapped the pad, fingers moving with practiced precision as she linked her diagnostics to the perimeter field. On the holo-map, the shield's emitters lit in a ring; traces of the subsurface pulse overlapped like a second, slower grid.

"First: containment. Keep all active emissions off-grid except for the probe channel. I don't want background noise masking a response or causing that pulse to spike. Sidonia, if your teams can go dark and maintain visual posts, do so. No sensor sweeps beyond immediate watch points until we see how the field reacts."

Her thumb flicked a series of low-power scripts across the pad. "I'm going to attempt a patterned handshake, nothing invasive. Low-energy, narrowband pulses that mirror the rhythm we're reading. If the field answers, it should be via modulation or phase shift, not a full-power response. Any aggressive probing could elicit a defensive reaction from whatever is generating that heartbeat."

She glanced up, voice tightening fractionally with the weight of the unknown. "If you authorize a physical probe, it must be passive and hardened: insulated housings, minimal power signature, and a one-way data uplink only. Send it slowly. Let it sit on the outer fringe of the field and listen for at least a full cycle of that subterranean rhythm before you attempt any deeper penetration."

Her datapad traced a tentative path along the emitter array. "I'll map reaction thresholds as I send the handshake. Expect localized flickers where the timing aligns; I'll flag them in real time. If the shield's response appears coordinated, that indicates central control — the spire or a buried node. If it's diffuse, it may be a distributed lattice. Either way, we don't brute-force it. We learn from what it tells us."

She paused, fingers still on the pad, then added, quieter: "If anything spikes—power, thermal, or electromagnetic—pull everything back and seal the perimeter. No heroics. We don't know what 'alive' looks like here beyond a pulse and a pattern."

Aren keyed a small log entry and sent the first low-energy sequence. On her screen, the field blinked, and she watched, all concentration, for the planet to answer.

"Starting handshake now. I'll update with every modulation. Keep channels local only."

It had been a long time since Aren had felt woven into something greater than herself, not as a weapon or a strategist but as part of a whole. The Mandalorians moved with the unspoken rhythm of kinship, and somewhere amid their trust and wordless coordination, she felt a quiet warmth she hadn't realized she'd been missing. Family. The word carried more weight now than it ever had.

Aether Verd

Sidonia

Nephthys Nardithi-Verd · 2025-10-29T13:56:19-0400

Aren D'Shade | Sidonia | Aether Verd

Gaillardia - Plains
Looking Around..

Her brother is right, the threat is real and too close to home. Her memory of their purpose seems to decay when she becomes nervous, and she voices her panic aloud. She can't seem to remember those finer details about the importance of the mission. She tends to lean a bit on the nervous side, with PTSD over her past abduction and brainwashing done to her by the Ashlan Cruisade awakened like a familiar monster. The Ashlan Crusade's treatment of the children and murder of their infidel parents, led Nephthys to black out where she came into a violent sinister application of her true power and she burnt down the entire religious fortress and the fanatical leaders, rescuing the other abducted children in her wake of vengeance.

When Aether told her to simply do what she does well, she became silent and introspective, wondering what exactly is it that she does well. Her lack of revelation always confounds her, believing it can't just be that she once discovered a propensity to be a Firestarter.

She can hear their screaming inside her head, like the many times she has heard them before. Are they echoes from her personal past, or are these of hauntings which happened upon the soil where she now stands?

What if the dome projects farce images rather thn abandoned buildings? What if the dome is actually concealing the true visual of things hiding inside of it? Maybe monsters are lie in waiting inside there! She attempted to visually pierce the shimmering shield, instead of reaching out with her intuitive mind.

Listening to her brother speak, she knew no others to be worthy of the burdensome title he bore. She is typically fretful and she knows it. Truly every trial seems to make her stomach churn! She is not the best fighter. Their predicaments tend to set her every nerve on end, but Aether just seems to know how to soothe her fears enough to get her to see her responsibility and step up to the plate for her family. 'Family is worth whatever comes.'

A step ahead on the path leading towards the city, Nephthys stopped walking and awaited for those a step behind to meet up with her. She knew that Mandalorians cannot survive on their own, but must rely on one another. She felt sorry for her original outburst but knew there shall always be another yet to come.

Her expression dropped to a look she often owed

Aether Verd ; 'sorry.'

Dominion A GARDEN WORLD || ME Dominion of Empty Hex

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