Faction O A T H B O U N D [ME]

[Domina Prime]

​

I HEAR THIS VOICE KEEP ASKING ME
IS THIS MY BLOOD OR IS IT BLASPHEMY?

Ranna Sejast | Adonis Angelis IV | Aether Verd ​

The call for aid came too late.

From the heart of the Mandalorian Empire, Domina Prime had been overseeing the birth of a wonder! The forging of a great monastery starfort, a cathedral of steel and light that would drift between the stars as both reliquary and war-banner. A moving fortress-monastery, capable of interstellar travel, meant to be the blazing heart of her people's faith and a propaganda engine to turn whole systems toward the glory of Kad Ha'rangir.

Yet even as her vision took form, the outer reaches had burned.

A fading star, pale and sickly, lit the broken bones of an outpost where Mandalorian kith and kin had stood their watch. Now only the cinders remained. The station's hull was gutted, twisted open to the void, its corridors slick with soot and the silence of the dead. Corpses drifted where life had been- Mandalorians stripped of their sacred iron, their armor stolen from their very hides, their naked flesh left to freeze and rot beneath the cruel light of the stars.

Domina's tail lashed in fury as her vessel drifted into the ruins. She watched from the bridge as her conscripts stormed the station's landing bays, breach charges cracking open the last sealed bulkheads. Screams echoed in the metal corridors as scavenger stragglers were flushed out and Mandalorian enforcers made their work quick and bloody.

In the far distance, beyond the jagged teeth of an asteroid field, Sith raiders fled- ships scarred, scattering into the abyss after Mandalorian steel had chased them out. Their shadows winked out of sight, leaving only smoldering wreckage, the dead…and prisoners.

What remained of those left behind during the pushback- soldiers, mercenaries, Sith dregs and acolytes who have sullied their task now captured-were dragged into the Iron Court, or what little remained of it. There, beneath a broken dome, Domina stood above the ruin of a fallen clansman, her claws closing tight around the haft of her cursed axe. She gazed down at his lifeless form, stripped bare, denied his honor, his steel now plunder for another.

The Iron Court lay in ruin, half-collapsed walls bleeding sparks into the void beyond. Fire licked the shattered ribs of the outpost, casting long shadows that writhed like phantoms across the stone. Prisoners knelt in the rubble, stripped of their arms and dignity, ringed by the cold barrels of Prime's enforcers.

Domina paced before them, four arms folding and unfolding, her long tail rattling in agitation. Each step echoed like a hammer striking an anvil, deliberate and inexorable. Her voice carried with it the weight of scripture, a voice at once calm and thunderous- half hymn, half curse.

The kneeling captives twitched at every line. Some muttered sayings of their own, looking to the force in this desperate moments...others bit down on screams as her shadow loomed over them, a living totem of their undoing. Domina halted, claws flexing as she recited another verse, her tone shifting from solemn to venomous. The Warwitch inhaled, her mask whirring faintly as her mandibles clicked with restrained agitation. Her voice rang out, harsh and sonorous, quoting from the oldest warchants of her creed:

Steel sings truer than any scripture.
And blood, spilled upon stone, is the only ink the gods will ever read~​

She mused patiently as her five eyes shifted beneath her gleaming Mandalorian Mask. "Your war, your raid, your slaughter here- it is a prayer. And i just can't tell ya how GLAD i am to have received it."

At last she stopped. With deliberate slowness she reached up and removed the wide, jagged hat that crowned her brow. Her upper arm tucked it beneath her side, her other hands folding behind her back in a posture of ritual calm. Then she leaned forward, her masked gaze boring down into the kneeling wretches.

Her voice lowered, now steady, patient, and far more terrifying than wrath.

"Understand this, little godlings…" She chittered softly, the sound rattling like steel chains dragged across stone. "I am not angry. Anger is small. Anger is for those who have not tasted the sweetness of His Light. No...I am, if anything...amused."

Her mandibles curled into a grin beneath the mask.

"After all- how could one claim mastery of war, if they could not expect war to be visited upon them in turn? This is the cycle. The wheel. The unending hymn of fire and steel all that sermon nonsense, But in truth, Prime respects the audacity. The sheer boldness of the stroke you made here. This...was no coward's work but uhhhhhhh...hmmm"

She let the faintest pause linger, savoring their confusion.

"But surely..." her tail coiled like a serpent behind her, "You must know what comes next? Had you caught the eye of another, they might curse you. Rage at you. Call for vengeance. But you've gone and done it~"

Domina leaned in close, her breath hissing, claws idly tracing the blood-carved runes of her axe. The ancient steel shivered with a dim, hungry light.

"…you now have my full, undivided attention. And there is no prayer, no god, and no galaxy vast enough to hide you from that."

The runes on the axe pulsed faintly as though answering her touch. Within, the bound Soul Sister whispered across her mind—silken, venomous, eager.

"Yes... let them see. Let them feel. Let their last thoughts be the terror of your truth."

Domina inhaled the phantom's words like incense, her mandibles twitching. Slowly, she raised the axe into the torchlight, letting the prisoners see their reflections in the edge.

The sermon was finished.
The reckoning was about to begin.

"GREISHA! Send out the call...~" She barked to one of her subordinates who slammed their fist to their chestplate and returned to the ship to prepare a message for those who would answer the call.

 

[Adonis Angelis IV]

Mandalorian Knight of House Angelis | Risen Son of Vaal | Vanguard of the Manda

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Adonis answered the call as soon as it was sent, but by the time he arrived, it was already too late. The floating metal structure hanging in space bore fresh wounds from battle, its hull scarred and broken. The full extent of the damage wouldn't be clear until he made contact. Power still flickered through its veins, and the sensors read life aboard. That meant one thing- he would be making a hot entrance, head on a swivel for any raiders still alive inside.

An attack on one Mandalorian was an attack on all. That was their way. The response would always be swift, violent, and final. Even if Adonis was the only Mandalorian breathing aboard that station, he would make certain no other perpetrators left it alive, or he would die trying. That was why he was chosen for missions like this. That was why he was known for getting jobs done.

His craft descended into one of the hangars, lights above flickering as the repulsors settled. The bay hadn't taken a direct hit, but it was still torn up from the wider strike. Whatever hit this place had hit hard, like a nuke. The Mandalorian straightened to his full height, six foot eight in his armor, his helmet's antenna nearly clipping the hangar door as he stepped down the ramp. His boots struck the durasteel heavy and loud. Stealth was not his purpose here. He wanted them to know he was hunting.

Slung across his back was a heavy repeater rifle that made his silhouette even more imposing. At his belt, his lightsaber rested, a large hilt bracketed by two beskar guards, made for both offense and defense. A tactical shotgun rode his opposite hip, looking almost small in his arsenal. Across his lower back, sheathed beneath the repeater, sat his sword, horizontal and ready.

The deeper he went into the station, the clearer it became that he was not alone. The corridors funneled him toward the sound of activity. At last, he reached what looked like the remains of a hall, now shattered and broken. Inside, a voice boomed from behind rubble, filtered, angry, commanding. That was enough to draw him in without masking his presence.

And then he saw her.

Adonis had seen aliens, beasts, even the undead, but nothing compared to this. She was magnificent. Every glance revealed something new, something sharper, something deadlier. Even if she was his enemy, he knew then he would relish the fight. She stood nearly at his height in armor, taller still without it.

Around her, a host of followers watched with reverence. At her feet, prisoners knelt, but they weren't Mandalorian, which was a good sign. Adonis stepped forward into the Iron Court, voice cutting through the tension.

"Su cuy'gar, vod."

He waited. If she was Mandalorian, she would answer. If not, he would enjoy killing them all.

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TAG: Domina Prime ​

 

[Domina Prime]

You who I pray to, I desolate too
Hum a hymn to, Scylla I swim to
Watch a whirlpool spin and jump into

You know you make me wanna run away
Kingdom come, you make me wanna stay

Magnify you, sanctify you
Glorify you, make me wanna die too

Aether Verd | Adonis Angelis IV | Ranna Sejast | Runi Kuryida​

The prisoners barked and spat curses at her feet. Shackled knees pressed to shattered stone, their voices carried venom even in defeat. One, his lips split and eyes swollen from earlier resistance, snarled loudest:

"Filthy voidspawn, YOUR GOD IS A SHAM COMPARED TO WILL OF THE FORCE! AND YOUR PATHETIC CULTURE IS DOOMED TO FALL!"

The insult cracked like a whip across the ruined court. At once, one of Domina's armored warriors raised his blaster and drew back the stock to smash the Sith across the back of the skull.

But before the blow could land, Domina lifted a single clawed hand- Calm, deliberate. The Mandalorian froze in place. Her head tilted with eerie slowness, leaning far to one side, the horned silhouette of her helm casting a long shadow across the kneeling prisoners.

They glared back at her. Some biting their tongues bloody. Others lifting their chins with false bravado.

Domina crouched, her tail coiling forward like a serpent. The barbed tip traced a thin line across the jaw of the bold acolyte who had spoken, just enough to break skin and draw a bead of crimson. She whistled a low, predatory tune and her words rasped from behind the mask:

"The Destroyer God does not number the slain. He does not weigh the piles of corpses, nor count the tears of widows. He listens for one thing only~" she let the tail prick his chin again, "The FURY in the last breath of the defiant."

The prisoner's lip trembled, whether from pain or stubborn rage she did not care. She stood again, towering, her upper arms folded serenely while her lower pair flexed and coiled with the haft of her axe.

And then-

The thunderous hiss of engines above. Dust fell from cracked arches as a drop shuttle cut through the dark and descended with brutal grace. Domina's great ears twitched and swiveled, catching the changing pitch. She smiled beneath the mask.

The shuttle landed with a resounding hiss of hydraulics. From its maw emerged a giant! Ivory steel, broad as a war statue, crowned in the familiar helm of their bloodline. A towering Mandalorian strode into the court, nearly matching Domina's own alien height.

"Su cuy'gar, vod~" the warrior rumbled, voice heavy as stone.

Domina's tail rattled in amusement. She rose to her full height to greet him, shoulders rolling back and opening her four arms wide as if inviting Adonis Angelis IV into an embrace with a proud flourish.

"COUSIN! You are just in time! Just look at the feast our god has bestowed upon us~" Her tone dripped with theatrical mockery. "Lots of slithering snakes in our lawn brother. Think it might be time to cut the grass yes?"

She slipped closer with impish boldness, one of her upper arms snaking around his shoulder in false intimacy as her lower claws flexed on her axe. She leaned in like a mischievous younger kin, her mask tilting toward the prisoners.

"Our god has no temple of stone, little Sithlings," she hissed, voice sharp and gleeful. "Only the battlefield. That is our shrine. That is our scripture. That is where prayers are answered in blood! Your blood, to be specific~"

She chittered and jabbed her cousin in the side with a playful nudge, her tone twisting into delighted cackle as she gestured for him to speak.

"Tell them, cousin. Tell them the weight of Ha'rangir's divine law..."

The air was heavy with menace- half ritual, half mockery. As the Warwitch of Prime pressed the prisoners beneath her words like insects pinned to an altar.

 

[Runi Kuryida]

A low, but feminine voice grew nearer the chamber as the song that was nearly a dirge was sung, "Chaaj'yc jaon Gar Cerar taylir. At katimarapr sruce'ne bal limu'ra ruug'la." Far over the Iron Mountain hold. To dungeons deep and caverns old.

The skull of a wild beast shrouded the Shaman's face from view as the armored figure stepped into view. Their head pivoted aside to look at those on their feet and on their knees alike. "Ha'rangir." Runi echoed the name. She let it breathe and resonate around them. "Was not one for Law."

"A curious collection you have," the black-feather cloaked figure turned to step into the room without the skull moving an inch. "What will you do with them? There are many ways to extract blood." The hooked beak of the skull slowly panned down the line of captives before Dima. Deep dockets hid the eyes of the Shaman as they scrutinized the defiant and terrified creatures.

Then her attention turned to Adonis Angelis IV , to whom the skull nodded slightly in silent greeting to the man's presence. A bold response for him to plunge into the wake of destruction -- to aid the survivors or crush criminals. Not everyone would welcome the responsibility so freely.

Domina Prime | Adonis Angelis IV​

 

[Nando]

O A T H B O U N D ​

Iron Court, Ruined Outpost
Tags: Domina Prime Adonis Angelis IV Runi Kuryida
Forgotten things are displayed like this

The sight struck deeper than memory could reach.
Clan Vevut’tal had burned seven centuries past—
but the ache is here anew.

No faces left in his mind.
No names could he mourn.
Only the echo of something he had once loved, now lost beyond recall.

Like a dirge half-forgotten.
A hall burned to smoke.
Voices without faces,
kin without names…
I remember him nothing.
And still it hurts.

Heavy boots carried him into the shattered Iron Court, each step ringing against stone and steel. He loomed in silence, a hemophagic giant in Beskar, his blackened plate and baroque silver filigree drinking in the firelight. His visor’s glow fixed upon the kneeling prisoners, then upon the corpses of Mandalorians stripped bare of their sacred iron.

His heart lurched, fangs aching in restraint, the Sangnir hunger urging him to let the war-form rise. He forced it down.

Outwardly, he was naught but a late arrival, a massive, ancient figure who was too late to save his kin. A nod of grim recognition was sent to the Warwitch and the Vanguard and the silent shadow at their side, masked by the buy'ce.

Inwardly, words clawed at him,
a half-formed poem that could never be spoken:

Let the void remember what I cannot.
Write their names in stars I cannot read.
If I cannot recall my kin,
let their silence be my scripture.

He said nothing for the time being. History, like poetry, seemed to rhyme.
His silence was his prayer.

 

[Adonis Angelis IV]

Mandalorian Knight of House Angelis | Risen Son of Vaal | Vanguard of the Manda

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Out of the two ways their meeting could have gone, Adonis was glad it had been an embrace and not a challenge. The Warwitch was an interesting find- alien in form, but unmistakably Mandalorian in creed. That was enough to lower his guard. Whatever had happened here, he was certain this warrior was tied directly to it.

He listened as she preached, her words cutting sharp into the kneeling prisoners. Every Mandalorian dressed the mission in their own scripture, and this was not the first time Adonis had seen captives bent to conversion at the barrel of a gun. Yet he doubted these Sith would ever see freedom again. Still, he indulged Prime's bravado; he had always been a sucker for theatrics. When she drew him into the embrace, he echoed her energy with a low rumble of amusement.

"Time to cut the grass, indeed, sister."

His gaze fell on the prisoners. The Sith seemed small now, broken in chains, nothing like the larger-than-life monsters in the stories of his youth. Before he could speak further, a familiar presence stirred the air, Runi. Even with her face hidden behind the beast-skull mask, he felt her power and knew it could be none other. A smile tugged at his mouth, these Sith were more doomed than they could possibly imagine.

"Olarom, Warmaster," he greeted, dipping his head in respect. Next, Adonis swept his eyes over the ruin, then between the three figures who now stood with him as Nando arrived, silent and powerful as always. Adonis's tone hardened, cutting through the smoke and silence.

"First things first- what happened here?" The wreckage told its own tale, but he wanted the truth spoken. To his eye, the station was past evacuation, closer to salvage and vengeance. Still, survivors might remain, and he would see them pulled from the rubble.

Only then did his focus return to the prisoners. He could feel the Dark Side radiating off them, like rot leaking through stone. The question burned in his mind: why had they chosen this place? What were they after?

Whatever the answer, Adonis knew one thing, he would take it from them, even if it had to be pried from their cold, dead hands.

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TAG: Domina Prime Nando Runi Kuryida ​

 

[Ranna Sejast]

Ranna shifted against the bulkhead, her rifle cradled in the deep crimson arms of her armor. She'd come for the alarm, and stayed for the show, and the revenge. She didn't see the profit in this though. Better to just kill the prisoners or take them away to their fates. Grandstanding about gods and temples just wasn't her thing. But, as she was learning, being a Mandalorian took all types as the frenetic alien was aptly demonstrating with her enthusiastic gestures and speech. Ranna had heard of Dima before, but seeing her in person was something else, and she watched curiously.

Other personalities were making themselves known as well. A tall woman wearing a skull mask and singing in Mandalorian and advocating death. Which Ranna was fine with. Opposite a man in hulking white armor that made him look more war droid. Though she was interested to see him out of hit, his shoulders must have been broad and muscled. 'Cut the grass,' she smiled behind the visor of her helmet, appreciating the pragmaticism. Sith might be knocked off balance, but nobody living by survival of the fittest and backstabbing would stay subdued for long and quietly wait for death.

Among the ruins she felt alienated from the strangeness of this religion, it wasn't for her, but the people here were. They were her adopted people now, and even if she didn't fully understand them, she accepted them and would have their back, same as they'd have hers. Ranna would stick around, assist with the retribution, and maybe the rebuilding. The Writ of Iron demanded payment, she could only extend charity so far.

Domina Prime Adonis Angelis IV Nando Runi Kuryida