Private As Above, So Below

[Domina Prime]

​

ARK OF HA'RANGIR

I've Always Been A Misfit, I Don't Hide My Religion
I'm Probably Going To Hell Cause I Told The Gods I'm A Witness

Riven​

The iron-forged halls of the Ark hummed with a living reverence. Towering statues of beskar loomed over The Mandalorian Warpriest, each likeness carved in tribute to her kith and kin, each inscription telling of glories etched into eternity. The walls themselves bore the sagas of her people. Battles, betrayals, and triumphs engraved so deeply into the metal that even fire could not erase them.

Dimas many eyes drifted from one scene to another, drinking in the weight of legacy around her. She had birthed something beautiful here, something rare in an age when her people were scattered to the void, divided by countless crusades and fading into memory. Yet on this Ark, amid iron, fire, and prayer, the air itself felt transformed.

It felt holy.

This was her answer to division, her offering to an age-old bond that every true blade-bearer of Ha'rangir carried in their soul. Engineers moved swiftly across the cathedral-ship's veins, adjusting, refining, whispering devotion through their labors. Above the world of Ambria, a relatively unguarded territory, the radiant Star Ark loomed, a steel shadow of war and worship. Below, cargoes of plunder, caches of weapons, stockpiles of resources, tribute torn from the Alliance in fire and blood awaited retrieval.

Payment, she mused, for the empire's divine work. The thought of a Mandalorian Mercenary Empire brought an indulgent chitter to her lips, the notion tickling her predatory senses with its audacity.

But her reverie was broken by the sound of boots upon the beskar floors. A voice called from behind, steady and deferential.

"We're ready for the first test of Ha'rangir's Hook, Warpriest Prime. You are needed in the logistics chamber."

Domina inclined her head in silent acknowledgment, her cloak of violet shifting like smoke as she turned. Duty called, and she would answer. The Ark's systems were to be tested, her vision weighed in the balance. The retrieval of the spoils from Ambria's surface would prove the strength of its colossal, enhanced tractor-beam lattice. A failure here would not merely be technical, it would be sacrilege. To falter was to fail her kin, to fail her god.

Such things could not, would not, come to pass.

The logistics chamber was alive with voices and motion, a storm of purpose. Star Corps of Mandalore barked reports across the arrays, hands dancing across consoles linked to the Iron Heart Core. Lights flared in rhythm with the Ark's awakening, a cathedral of machine and prayer brought to life.

Dima strode forward, pulling away her mask as she reached the broad viewing port. The planet stretched beneath her, a pale jewel waiting to be plucked. With a satisfied chitter, she dropped herself into the command chair, the very image of languid menace. Boots crossed upon the dais, she tugged a cigar from her cloak, sparking it to life with a snap of claw and inhaling deeply.

Shimmering smoke of blue and violet rolled from her lips as her grin widened into something wicked and hungry. She flicked her claw forward in lazy command.

"Steady as she goes, boys. Our efforts are tested on this day~"

The great lattice of tractor-beam arrays began to hum, threads of power weaving into a vast invisible net. Domina sat back, eyes alight with unholy satisfaction, savoring the tension of the moment. She exhaled another curling plume of smoke, waiting like a predator for the first strike, her anticipation sharpened to a blade's edge.

The Ark would not fail her. It could not.

 

[Riven]

Tags - Domina Prime

The planet of Ambria held little significance for many, naught but an arid hot wasteland, perhaps some Dark Lord or two died there once but who was counting? For one short and pale elf the planet was something different; opportunity. A few rumors, anonymous tips, and sheer chance had led her to believe that the planet held a stockpile of weapons, resources, general equipment, all belonging to the Mandalorian Empire. As far as the elf was concerned it was an entirely unguarded secret stockpile, and eventually after days of searching she had found it.

Riven always appreciated the tools and gear of Mandalorians, she found them to be reliable and efficient and typically in the form of weaponry she preferred; she could always use another decent pistol after all. Maybe a wrist-mounted flamer? The possibilities were endless.

Steadily she had started to shift through the stockpile as she meandered about it, freely able to peruse and take whatever she felt like so long as she could carry it. She had come without her personal droid and signature rifle as combat wasn't to be expected, all she had was her own pistol strapped to a thigh and a vibroknife, just in case other scavengers had found the treasure before her.

Her expression held a sense of excitement and glee; a rare look for the otherwise distant and cold woman as she picked up a blaster rifle, glancing over it and then just tossing it aside as she reached for a second. She was entirely unknown to the looming threat above that had come to reclaim its buried plunder...

The sensation was light at first, perhaps the barest hint of something that felt like static in the air around her as strands of silver hair started to lift, and then she noticed dust and pebbles rising from the ground. Her crimson gaze glanced around searchingly as she expected some kind of dust storm was perhaps approaching but that mistaken belief was quickly rectified as she started to piles of gear steadily rising in the air.

When the tractor beam shunted into its full strength she suddenly found herself lifted from the safety of the ground with a yelp of surprise. Her hand reached out to grab at anything sturdy to keep herself from ascending as it caught the strap of some weapon, only for the rifle to be lifted up with her as she released it. It was already too late, the ground was out of her reach and she was ascending heavensward; towards what? She didn't know, but the entire stockpile of plunder was being pulled into the sky with her.

 

[Domina Prime]

​

ARK OF HA'RANGIR

I've Always Been A Misfit, I Don't Hide My Religion
I'm Probably Going To Hell Cause I Told The Gods I'm A Witness

Riven ​

The hum of The Ark's reactor filled the room like a heartbeat, steady and deep. Domina leaned back in her command seat, one of her four arms gesturing lazily toward the engineers. "Alright, my little heretics, let's see what this old beast can do. Begin power-up sequence for the main tractor array. And for Ha'rangirs's sake, someone keep an eye on the stabilizers this time."

The crew obeyed, hands gliding across control panels as warning lights flickered from amber to green. The entire chamber seemed to breathe as energy coursed through the massive conduits above. Dima's eyes narrowed, lips curling in that familiar sardonic smirk as she exhaled a slow plume of smoke.

"Steady... steady..." she murmured, the words like a prayer. The air grew tense, almost reverent. Every Mandalorian present stood still enough to hear the faint click of metal fingers against the console. The Ark's systems rumbled, then-

THOOM!

The ground itself shuddered as the tractor array came alive. Through the viewport, massive supply crates and cargo pods began to rise from the surface below, tearing free from the gravity well of the planet as though the gods themselves reached down to pluck their offerings.

Dima shot up from her chair, eyes wide with disbelief and delight. "Ha! Look at it! Look at her!" she barked, storming toward the control dais. Her claws slammed down onto the shoulders of her brothers and sisters as they worked the controls, dials twisting and levers snapping into place under her manic energy.

"By the gods~," she breathed, a grin splitting her face as the displays filled with telemetry. The rising cargo trail glowing bright against the atmosphere. "Look at that symmetry. Look at that grace!"

And then, like an explosion of pure joy, she threw back her head and laughed, a booming, victorious sound that filled the bridge.

"PRAISE BE! IT KARKING WORKED! I KNEW THE LONG DAYS IN THE FORGE WERE WORTH IT!" she roared, grabbing three Mandos in her many arms and pulling them into a bone-crushing embrace. She spun them around with manic glee, armor clanging against armor as they shouted and laughed in disbelief.

The Ark roared to life above them, its belly alight with divine purpose as it drew its bounty home.

But amid the celebration, a lone monitor in the corner began to flash crimson. A quiet alarm, easily drowned beneath the shouts of triumph.

UNIDENTIFIED MASS DETECTED.
TRACTOR FIELD CAPTURE – NON-CARGO OBJECT.

The red warning pulsed brighter, unnoticed, as Dima whirled with a manic grin.

"Tonight, brothers and sisters," she declared, "We feast!"

And somewhere below, something screamed through the clouds as it was dragged skyward into Ha'rangir's waiting jaws.

Was probably just a bird, right?

 

[Riven]

Tags - Domina Prime

The panic of ascending into the sky was setting in and the Assassin had to think fast; a part of her presumed that maybe enough atmosphere was being pulled up and locked into the well of gravity that she'd be fine, but the other part of her didn't want to take any chances. As she continued to ascend she glanced around herself at the stockpile of crates, weapons, pods, and more being lifted with her.

Sharp crimson eyes spotted a large cargo pod, tightly sealed, coming up with her and so she reached out her hand to try and catch it. She missed the first swing of her arm as she tried once more with a grunt and managed to clasp it. With a tug she pulled herself towards the pod as she reached around for an opening, hoping the pod was vacuum sealed.

The drop beneath her had long since become fatal as she felt the air growing colder, her hands scrambling along the pod before she found a lever that she pulled. She was in luck as the cargo pod hissed as it opened, its contents already being pulled up into the tractor beam's gravity well, they seemed like cold-stored medical supplies.

It was a pity she seemed to have found a refrigerated container but she didn't exactly have the time to be picky. Her hand reached to pull and throw any other supplies within the pod out of it to make space for herself and then she positioned herself inside.

Crimson eyes stared up towards what was pulling her into the sky now and she could see it, a vast colossal station the size of a moon. Her eyes widened at the sight as the skies grew darker with the nearing void of space.

Her hand reached up to grip the door of the pod as she slammed it shut on herself, sealing the air within as all turned to darkness. She was thankful that at the very least she wouldn't have to spend too long in the pod as she could already feel that cold surrounding her.

 

[Domina Prime]

​

ARK OF HA'RANGIR

I've Always Been A Misfit, I Don't Hide My Religion
I'm Probably Going To Hell Cause I Told The Gods I'm A Witness

Riven ​

The room erupted in thunderous cheers as the final readings stabilized across the holo-displays. Power arcs raced along conduits like captured lightning, and the great hum of the Tractor Array reverberated through every bolt and panel of The Ark's bones.

Dima was incandescent with joy.

"Ha! You see!? You see! I told you the gods bless the bold!"

Before anyone could protest, the towering Warpriest was already wrapping her four arms around the nearest engineers and officers, crushing them in iron embraces that rattled armor plates. She lifted one poor technician entirely off the ground in her excitement, laughing like a thunderstorm given voice.

Then, with a swift flourish, she tore Gjallerhorn from her hip, yanked her mask free, and pressed the mouth of the relic to her lips, not to drink, but to sound.

The bellow that followed split the heavens.

A low, roaring tremor of mythic resonance rolled through the city-ship's spires, shaking chandeliers, fluttering banners, and sending flocks of mechanized avians scattering from the cathedral roofs. To those across The Ark, the sound was unmistakable:

The Test was a success. The Ark lived.

For the first time in an age, the heart of House Prime's divine fortress sang.

With laughter still bubbling in her throat, Dima stormed out of the control tower, boots striking the deck in a rhythm that echoed command and satisfaction alike. Her cape of woven beskar chain fanned behind her like the wing of a descending god as she made her way down. Through spiraling corridors, past roaring forges, through the arteries of faith that fed the Iron Citadel.

Her destination: the grand receiving arrays below the city's underbelly — where the tractor beams delivered their spoils from the surface below.

The air was thick with the tang of ozone and the hiss of cooling machinery. Crates upon crates of materiel sat suspended in the half-light, weapons, medical stockpiles, salvaged starship hulls, ore, and treasure.

"Report," Dima said, voice smooth but heavy with expectation as she folded her arms behind her back.

One of the technicians nearly jumped to attention, helmet slightly askew.

"Uh- everything seems to have gotten caught in the beam, Grand Warpriest. But... scanners say some crates are registering empty. Their contents went missing mid-ascent, but the containers still came through."

Dima's brow arched beneath her helmet. The subtle tilt of a predator scenting something strange in the air.

"Loose items," she mused aloud, tone almost musical. "Independent of their containers?"

The tech nodded, nervous.

"Hmm."

A hum escaped her throat, almost a purr. Then her hand came down hard on his shoulder.

"Then inspect them all."

He froze. "A-all of them? There's like...there's hundreds, thousands of-"

Her laughter boomed like cannonfire.

"Then you best get fething started, hm?" she barked, smacking his back hard enough to make him stumble. Her grin was audible even behind the modulator's hiss.

She turned and began striding between the rows of floating cargo, her claws brushing across the frozen surfaces of containers as though they were relics to be blessed. Her many eyes flicked from signature to signature on her wrist display, searching for anomalies.

That's when one of the crates gave off a thud.

A deep, muffled sound, not the hiss of pressure equalizing or the groan of metal settling, but something alive.

Her head cocked.

The technicians froze, looking to her for instruction.

Dima didn't speak, she simply drew a mace from her hip.

She approached the sealed crate, slow and deliberate, boots scraping against the metal grating. The scent of coolant and sterilized air wafted from its seams.

When she finally spoke, her voice was low, velvet-soft, dangerous in its calm.

"Either one of you left a womp rat in the cryo stock again..."

A clawed hand reached down, gripping the manual release lever.

"...or we've caught ourselves something far more interesting."

With a hiss, the pod door cracked open and steam poured out, curling like ghostly breath around Dima's boots.

Her eyes glowed in the mist.

And within, shivering but alive, a shadowed figure stirred among the medical crates. A stowaway, dragged from the surface below into the belly of the gods.

Dima's grin widened beneath her mask.

"Well now..." she purred, lowering her mace just enough to meet their gaze. "And what strange offering do the stars bring me this day?"

 

[Riven]

Tags - Domina Prime

The cold was getting to the short elf as the tractor beam pulled the container she hid within up into the colossal city-station. It was with a dull thud that she felt the force of motion finally halt as she remained silent for a moment and tried her best to listen. The container was air-tight, thankfully, but it was growing ever colder and she couldn't hear anything outside of it.

With any luck she had just been dumped into some vacant cargo hold... In the dark of the pod she moved her hand about in search for any kind of seam or latch that she could use to open the cold coffin she found herself in, but to her dismay she couldn't find anything. A light sensation of panic came over her; she didn't know how much oxygen was within the pod. She tried to curl herself up as much as she could within the tight space in order to give herself the room she needed to kick against the door of the container.

It didn't budge.

This would have been a very silly way for her to die... Though better than dying because a tractor beam pulled you up into the void of space out of nowhere at least.

Her hand blindly reached down on her own person in search for her pocket and from it she pulled out a small container of cigarettes. She pulled one of the sticks from the box before placing it between her lips and sighing softly. She wouldn't light it though; that'd be an awful idea within an air-tight container... Instead she merely kept it between her soft lips in a bid to ease her concern as she chewed lightly on the filter.

But just before she started to ponder her situation further she heard something against the outside of the container itself... Crimson eyes widened slightly as she reached another hand to where she kept her knife; she might need it if whoever were to open her hiding place was immediately hostile.

With a hiss did the sealed pod open to reveal the short elf, shaken by the cold she had trapped herself in as the light stung at her sensitive crimson eyes. She winced before her vision cleared and she was able to regard the figure that was looming over her, eyes glowing in the mist. Was she friend or foe? Riven typically didn't like waiting for the answer to such a question...

Slowly she sat herself up as a hand brushed through her ashen hair and another reached into a pocket for a lighter. In a casual nonchalant fashion did she bring the flame to the cigarette between her lips as she lit the end and drew in a breath of smoke, exhaling the cloud of tobacco with a sigh. She seemed so very much at ease but her thoughts were anywhere but calm.

For Dima the short elf might've caused some brief confusion within the Force; she was unreadable, a void. No thoughts to be gleaned, no actions to be divined, she was by all accounts as empty as the pod she arrived in when it came to the Force. It gave her a much needed edge in situations like this.

A hand reached to the cigarette between her lips as her crimson eyes steadily shifted up to meet the mask of the alien before her and without warning that cigarette was flicked from between fingers and right up towards her face. At almost the same instant she lifted her legs and aimed to shunt both her feet hard against Dima to try and push her back. Riven needed space, not just to get out of the pod but to make sure it wasn't just shut on her immediately...

 

[Domina Prime]

​

ARK OF HA'RANGIR

I've Always Been A Misfit, I Don't Hide My Religion
I'm Probably Going To Hell Cause I Told The Gods I'm A Witness

Riven​

The hiss of decompressing air filled the cargo hold like a serpent's breath, the mist curling around the towering silhouette that stood before the newly opened pod.

Dima blinked. Once. Twice.

Inside was not the glitter of treasure or the gleam of captured arms, but a tiny, shivering...girl. Pale as moonlight, cigarette between her lips, sitting amid frostbitten crates like a corpse that had forgotten to die.

The warpriest tilted her head so hard that her neck plates audibly clicked, her five eyes narrowing. She turned to the crew standing behind her.
"...There's a girl in the box," she said flatly.

One of the Mandos peered around her arm. "A...what?"

"A girl," Dima repeated, voice echoing through her modulated mask. "Not treasure. Not relics. Not even a hydraulic coil. Just-"

She gestured dramatically toward the pod, "...a smoking gremlin!"

The elf met her gaze, struck her lighter, and inhaled calmly, as if she hadn't just been abducted by a tractor beam into a flying city-fortress.

For one quiet moment, both stared at each other. Then the cigarette flicked.

The ember smacked dead against Dima's mask with a faint ping, leaving a tiny scorch mark right between the lenses.

Then came the kick.

Boots slammed against Dima's legs, splattering grime and coolant up her immaculate ceremonial gown. She stumbled a half-step, blinked, looked down...and froze.

Her voice rose in a strangled shriek that rattled the whole bay:

"OH. MY. GODS. EW WHAT THE KARK!?"

She lifted her skirts high like a noblewoman spotting a rat, revealing plated greaves that clinked against the deck. "I JUST got this dress tailored for the Dathomir communion and you- YOU RUINED IT!"

The onlookers wisely began backing away.

Dima's tail lashed in fury, scales rattling like an angry serpent. Then, faster than a whip, it coiled around the girl's ankle and yanked, hoisting her upside down with an undignified squeak.

The elf would swing helplessly as Dima leaned close, voice dropping to a hiss.

"What's the big idea, huh? You lost or somethin'? You think I'm some kinda taxi service for smugglers and stowaways?"

She jabbed a claw toward her stained gown. "LOOK WHAT YOU DID TO MY DRESS!"

The girl just scowled at her.

Dima stared, then reached out, plucked the cigarette from her, and without breaking eye contact, drew in a long drag herself. Smoke poured from her nostrils as she exhaled, eyes glowing faintly in the haze.

"...Huh," she said, voice muffled but thoughtful. "Not bad."

Then, with a sulking groan, she shoved the cigarette back between the elf's lips. "You now owe me a new dress. And boots. Fancy ones. With gold stitching."

She started stomping off, still carrying the stowaway by the ankle like an angry mother dragging her child through a market.

"C'mon, gremlin. We're gonna have a nice, long chat about trespassing, tractor beams, and laundry expenses."

 

[Riven]

Tags - Domina Prime

Perhaps Riven had expected a much more unkindly welcome, at least a couple blasters aimed at her, maybe a vibroblade if she was unlucky. But the reaction she got from kicking at Dima seemed to take her off-guard for a moment. No retaliation? Just complaints? It gave her pause, at least long enough for Dima's tail to wrap around her ankle and promptly yank her out of her hiding place with a yelp of surprise.

The short pale elf found herself hanging upside down for the second time in recent memory as her ashen hair fell towards the ground. She squirmed in the hold of the tail as she swung back and forth like some small creature caught in a snare. But still, besides being held up like the catch of the day only complaints were levied at her. Complaints and a cigarette.

Crimson eyes glared back towards Dima's masked face as she seemed to calm in her struggling and swaying, that grip on her ankle appeared too tight for her to squirm out of and so she felt the need to at least conserve her energy for now. She did still have her sidearm and knife but... She didn't appear to be in any immediate danger so perhaps it was in her best interest to just play along for now.

Dima started to walk off, the short elf easily held far above ground by that tail as she was carried like some sort of nuisance that appeared on her doorstep. ...Which she kind of was. Riven remained silent for the time being, she had no idea who she was dealing with after all, and not even who these people were aligned with.

 

[Domina Prime]

​

ARK OF HA'RANGIR

I've Always Been A Misfit, I Don't Hide My Religion
I'm Probably Going To Hell Cause I Told The Gods I'm A Witness

Riven​

Oh, she was fuming.

The audacity of the little stowaway had tested her patience more than any Sith warlord or Jedi zealot ever had. Dima stalked through the gilded corridors of the Iron Citadel, the pale elf dangling upside down from her tail like a wayward child caught stealing sweets. The Warpriest's claws clicked against the floor, her armor humming with restrained fury while her lower arms fussed uselessly with her soiled garments.

"I cannot believe this!" she barked, glaring down at the splattered mess on her violet silks. "Do you have any idea how hard it is to get mud stains out of temple silk? I was supposed to lead service today! Service!"

Every few steps she'd pause just to groan in exaggerated despair, glaring at the poor elf like the entire galaxy had personally wronged her. The onlookers wisely kept their distance, murmuring prayers under their breath as Warpriest Prime stormed through the halls dragging some unfortunate soul behind her like a petulant goddess throwing a tantrum.

She stopped suddenly. Eyes narrowing, mandibles twitching. Then, with an annoyed flick of her tail, she let the girl drop to the ground. The elf hit the floor with a soft thud, barely enough to hurt, but enough to get her attention.

"Stand up." Dima's voice came sharp, commanding. She reached down, grasped the smaller creature's wrist with a clawed hand, and hoisted her effortlessly to her feet. "You're going to fix this," she continued matter-of-factly, already dragging the bewildered stowaway forward again. "You're going to clean this muck off my armor, help me pick something suitable, and maybe, maybe, I'll let you live long enough to see the gift shop."

The elf stared daggers at her, though her wide eyes darted across the shining corridors as if to memorize them for an escape. The Citadel itself seemed to bend around Dima's stride, the air thick with prayer smoke, the walls lined with relics and scripture carved into pure beskar.

Wherever she walked, the faithful moved aside, kneeling or saluting as the Primearch passed, her frustration echoing like a storm through sacred halls.

When they reached her private chambers, Dima threw the great doors open with a swing of her tail and a grunt, the golden fixtures shuddering against the impact.

"Inside," she ordered.

The Warpriest's domain was both shrine and armory, towering marble statues of Mandalore's saints stood watch over weapon racks of mythic design, and silken banners embroidered with runes of Ha'rangir's blessing swayed from the vaulted ceiling. At the far wall sat her grand wardrobe: a fortress of finery.

With a sigh that was far too dramatic for a creature of her stature, Dima approached and threw open the twin doors, revealing rows upon rows of armor and garments. Shades of obsidian, silver, and purple. Endless variations of the same regal motif.

She stood there for a long moment, mandibles twitching beneath her mask.

"...Don't look at me like that," she muttered, side-eyeing the elf. "I like purple."

Her tone softened for only a heartbeat before snapping back into imperious command. "Now then," she said, hands on her hips, tail curling behind her like a whip ready to strike. "Come here, girl. Help a lady out of this armor. I need a new set before the sermon begins."

Dima's head tilted slowly, her violet eyes narrowing through the glow of her visor. The subtle rumble of her chest plate filled the room like distant thunder.

"I wasn't asking, little one," she purred, extending a clawed finger and curling it toward herself. "Come. Help your Warpriest look divine again."

And with that, she turned slightly,her silhouette caught in the soft light of the chamber's halo fire, waiting with a smirk that was equal parts menace and mischief.

She wasn't going to hurt the girl. Not yet.

But she was going to make damn sure she learned what it meant to trespass in the House of Prime.