Private Forge and Flame

[Acier Moonbound]

Location: Roon

Equipment:
Field Gear | Tic | Cybernetic Arm

Aether had told him about the Arks, vast, wandering city-ships forged from scripture and beskar, reborn under the banner of faith. Not myths anymore, but living monuments to a creed reforged in fire. Each was said to house temples, forges, and legions of the faithful led by the Warpriests of Ha'rangir.

The information stayed with Ace. Longer than he'd expected. He wasn't sure if it was faith, fascination, or fatigue that brought him here, but Roon's quiet had its own kind of gravity. He'd come to Roon to recover, to let his body and the machine threaded through it settle into some uneasy truce, but quiet never held him long. If this world stood at the center of the Mandalorian resurgence, then there was no better place to understand what his brother was building.

And if he wanted to understand the Arks, or the Destroyer God whose name they sang, there was one person worth asking.

Dima Prime. Aether and other Mandalorians had mentioned her often enough, the Grand Warpriest, Alor of House Prime, the woman who'd turned ancient myth into marching orders. Ace had also heard less formal stories: about her sermons that bled into battlefields, her duels fought half in prayer, and all the other kinds of "nonsense" that were worthy of stories in their own right. None of it sounded boring.

So he'd sent word ahead and come to meet her himself.

Tic chirped twice on his shoulder, head canting. The little BD's photoreceptor flickered as he pushed a short-range scan through the air. Ace tapped the droid's casing once and rolled his left wrist. Matte metallic plates along the prosthetic forearm flexed and settled, the faint hum of its servos swallowed by wind and the distant throb of engines knifing through the atmosphere.

"Easy, boy." He said, tone even, meant to reassure the droid.

Domina Prime​

 

[Domina Prime]

​

ᚺᛖᛁᛚ ᛊᛖ ᚺᛁᚾ ᛖᛁᚾᛁ ᛊᚨᚾᛁ ᚷᚢᚦ
Ark of Ha'rangir

Acier Moonbound​

When the Iron Eidolon broke atmosphere, the heavens themselves seemed to recoil. Clouds split apart in radiant defiance as the ship's hull, blackened beskar traced with molten scripture drifted into view like a divine omen. Its hull bore the sigils of House Prime, gilded in auric flame, proclaiming to all that the Grand Warpriest had come to Roon not in secrecy, but in ceremony. The engines exhaled like titans, shaking the jungle below as the cruiser descended in full, unapologetic grandeur.

The ramp fell open with a hiss of pressurized air, and the procession began. Missionaries in radiant robes descended first, carrying banners woven with bloodgold thread and the runic language of Ha'rangir's faithful. Behind them marched the Iron Clergy, half-priests, half-soldiers, bearing relics, censers, and the heavy chest of tribute meant for the meeting.

Then she appeared.

Dima Prime, Grand Warpriest of House Prime, strode down the ramp as if it were the spine of a slain god. Violet silks clung to her plated form, shifting with each predatory step; her mask hung at her hip like a relic of conquest, and a fat cigar burned lazily between her fanged lips. Smoke coiled around her horns, crowning her in a haze of incense and arrogance.

"Where, where is he?" she purred, her voice rolling like molten glass through the still air. "Where is my darling boy~?"

One of the priests stumbled beneath the chest's weight and she swatted him aside with the flick of her tail, sending him spinning with an undignified grunt. "Careful, my lamb! You carry divinity's dowry, not scrap metal!" she laughed, plucking the cigar from her lips to exhale a perfect ring of smoke before returning it with a self-satisfied hum.

A guard, trying his best to keep composure, murmured something about the young man's tardiness.

"Nonsense, darling, nonsense!" Dima barked, gesturing dramatically with a clawed hand. "First impressions are everything! He must see glory before he hears faith, splendor before scripture! We shall baptize his eyes before his soul!"

The Iron Clergy murmured approval, though whether in reverence or exhaustion none could tell. Dima spun toward one of her priests, scooping the poor woman into her arms as if she were nothing more than a doll. "Can you feel it, my sweet? The hum in the air, the trembling of the earth, it is the pulse of conversion!"

She laughed a low, velvety sound, and released her captive, who stumbled back into formation. The ornate chest was set down with a metallic thud at the ramp's edge, its locks gleaming with runes of ward and wealth. Dima looked over the assembled faithful and the empty horizon beyond, her grin full of wicked amusement.

"Oh, my darlings," she cooed, tail swaying lazily behind her. "By the time he arrives, he will not know whether he has come to meet a priest or a princess prophet."

And with that, she turned her gaze toward the sky, where the faint hum of a distant ship began to build, a sound she welcomed like the promise of entertainment.

 

[Acier Moonbound]

Location: Roon

Equipment:
Field Gear | Tic | Cybernetic Arm

A low tremor ran through the stone beneath his boots.. The forges below the fortress dimmed for a heartbeat, their smoke pushed sideways by the pressure wave of something vast descending from orbit. When the Iron Eidolon broke through the cloudline, the jungle below it rumbled like rippling water.

Ace stood alone, a dark shape against the firelight. The air smelled of ozone, incense, and the sharp tang of hot metal. It wasn't quiet but every sound seemed to bend around the descending vessel, caught between awe and warning.

When the ramp hissed open, the silence broke like glass. The missionaries came first, radiant in gold-threaded robes, followed by the Iron Clergy in heavy procession, their steps deliberate, synchronized. Smoke and ash curled at their heels. And then... her.

Dima Prime descended the ramp like an omen. Taller than any soldier he'd ever met, violet skin lit by the flare of her engines, beskar gleaming beneath silks the color of bruised flame. The cigar between her lips burned, and her grin was all arrogance and ease, the kind that didn't need to be earned. The mountain wind caught her tail as she moved, scales flickering with phosphorescent blue.

Ace found himself stilling without realizing it. He had seen Twi'leks, Togruta, Besalisk, species that bent anatomy into a dozen shapes... but never this. She wasn't alien in the way most were; she was foreign to logic itself. The Force hummed around her like a living pulse, not loud but constant, the sort of rhythm that made lesser instincts remember reverence.

Tic tilted his head on Ace's shoulder, emitting a curious chirp. Ace's eyes flicked sideways. "I... have no idea."

He let the procession settle before walking forward. The light of the ship caught briefly on the metal of his prosthetic arm, then faded as he drew to a stop a few meters from her.

"Grand Warpriest." He said evenly, voice carrying across the heat shimmer between them. "Aether said you'd make an impression. He didn't mention the parade." He added, tone easing into something between wry and respectful.

Tic gave a quiet trill. Ace's hand rose absently to still him, his attention never leaving her.

"I came to learn." He said at last. "About the Arks. About Ha'rangir. About whatever really... I've been out of touch with our heritage."

His gaze lingered, curious but unflinching. "Figured it was time to really understand what my brother's building."

Domina Prime ​