Public The End of the Beginning: Mahporeem's First Ever Faction Thread!

[Ronhar Tane]

The reconstruction of the planet Mahporeem remains as agonizingly slow as it ever was.

With the failure of the Great Corrox Conference, Mahporeem's plans for regional and eventual galactic domination have been pushed back, as the planet struggles to deal with its evert growing population of refugees and dwindling organic resources. Nonetheless, the Imperial Remnant can wait no longer, and has revamped its efforts to stabilize the planet, its resources and its people through a variety of different means. Victport Graras, one of the ruling members of Mahporeem's planetary triumvirate, has put out an open call for outside involvement on the planet, opening up Mahporeem's normally tightly controlled borders to anyone wishing to assist the Imperial Remnant.

After all, the more allies and friends that Mahporeem can get, the better it will be for the planet in the long run!

And so, with security pulled back and military presence visibly reduced, the Mahporeem Imperial Remnant seeks to attract ever more visitors to it, though whether or not having such lax security controls is a mistake or not remains to be seen...

[OBJECTIVE I: TACTICAL TRAINING]
[PvP]
As Mahporeem has struggled to deal with the ever increasing amount of refugees arriving on the planet, it has begun to create new towns and settlements for these people and aliens to settle in. One of these settlements, a town called "Nolloth", currently remains under construction, devoid of anyone or anything that might make it a functioning settlement. Here, the Imperial Remnant has invited advisors, spectators and participants from other worlds to engage in wargames against the forces of Mahporeem, though those choosing to participate in the exercise may choose to do so under the banner of the Imperial Remnant if they so wish. Regardless, this exercise will provide those participating in it the perfect opportunity to sharpen their combat skills...or to settle some old scores!

[OBJECTIVE II: CORROX CENTRAL]
[SOCIAL]
Exciting news! Today is race day in Corrox as the Mahporeem Podracing Circuit begins the start of racing season with the Mahporeenian Invitational. Here, guests and spectators can mingle amongst the crowd, watching as the racers complete against one another for fame and glory, while also choosing to bet on the outcomes of the races themselves. For those not into Podracing, Corrox hosts a variety of different stores, restaurants and entertainment venues for patrons to partake. Eat, drink, socialize or spectate: the choice is entirely yours here in Corrox! Just remember: dueling or fighting outside of any officially sanctioned venues is STRICTLY PROHIBITED under Mahporeenian law, and attempting to do so will lead to immediate imprisonment or expulsion from the planet itself!

[OBJECTIVE III: SECURE THE SCRAP]
[PvE]
After nearly a decade since its last audit, the Mahporeem Imperial Remnant is once again seeking to begin the gargantuan task of organizing and cataloging the ENTIRETY of its sprawling planetary scrap and salvage yards. Considering that much of the planet is quite literally littered in junk, this is something much easier said than done. Though the Imperial Remnant has contracted thousands of workers to begin this process, it has become abundantly clear that more help is desperately needed. As such, the Imperial Remnant has authorized outside parties to assist in the cataloging process, allowing them to keep a portion of anything that find within the scrapyards once they have completed their surveys. This presents an opportunity for those willing to get their hands dirty to acquire all manners of rare and valuable items, though doing so will certainly be a challenge. If the Mahporeem Militia or roving Junk Droids fail to get you first, the environmental dangers and hazards just might!

OOC Note: Hello everyone! Welcome to my first ever faction thread! This is open to anyone from the Mahporeem Imperial Remnant and Imperial Confederation, though anyone is welcome to join if they'd like! Hope to see you there! Also sorry about the third objective image, can't seem to get it the same size as the other two. Shoutout to A Phoenix for creating the objective banners!

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[Vark Kur]

VOID TOLL

The scrap fields of Mahporeem didn’t sleep—they groaned. Metal shifted in slow, settling sighs beneath the weight of decades. Hull plates rasped against one another like old beasts grinding their teeth, cables snapped somewhere deep in the heaps with sharp, echoing cracks, and the wind… the wind threaded through it all like a whispering thief, carrying the scent of oxidized steel, coolant leaks, and something faintly electrical that prickled at the tongue.

Vark Kur breathed it in like perfume. Boots crunched over a scatter of fractured plating as he picked his way through the assigned sector, a datapad loosely clutched in one gloved hand. The thing already bore a dozen half-hearted entries—serial fragments, partial classifications, a few deliberately vague notes. Enough to look like work. Enough that if someone checked, it wouldn’t raise immediate suspicion. Not enough to matter.

A long, thin grin tugged at one side of his mouth as he paused beside the exposed ribbing of a gutted freighter. One eye—sharp, restless—tracked the movement of the other workers in the distance. The other lingered on the wreck itself, not for what it was, but for what it could still be. Or what it could be worth.

“Secure the scrap,” he muttered under his breath, voice low and amused. “Right. Secure it from who, exactly?”

His gaze dipped, catching a glint half-buried beneath a drift of scorched plating. Not just shine—clean shine. Intentional. Surviving where everything else had been stripped, burned, or picked apart. Now that was interesting. Vark crouched, brushing aside debris with deliberate care rather than haste. Fingers traced along the exposed edge of a compact component—dense, intact, and humming faintly with dormant potential. Not military-grade, but not junk either. Something modular. Something adaptable.

Something the Void’s Toll would find very worth the trouble. His grin widened, slower this time. “Misfiled,” he murmured, already shifting his body to block the find from casual view. One hand tapped at the datapad, logging something suitably boring—structural scrap, low priority, to be processed later.

Later, of course, meaning never. A quick glance over his shoulder. Workers still distant. No immediate eyes. Good. The component vanished beneath his coat with practiced ease, movement smooth enough to be mistaken for nothing more than adjusting a tool belt. By the time he stood again, Vark Kur was just another laborer among many—cataloging, sorting, contributing. Helping.

He started walking again, pace unhurried, posture loose, as though he didn’t have a care in the galaxy. But his eyes kept moving. Always moving. Because somewhere in this graveyard of forgotten ships, there were pieces waiting to be found. And Vark Kur had every intention of making sure the best of them never made it onto anyone else’s inventory.

Vark “Grease-Fang” Kur
• Location: Scrapyards of Mahporeem
• Objective 3: Secure the Scrap
• Company: OPEN

 

[Prystill Oasay]

Objective: CORROX CENTRAL
Location: Corrox, Mahporeem
Outfit: Imperial Officer’s Uniform
Tags: OPEN

Corrox Central was alive in a way that Prystill Oasay was still learning to navigate. Not just crowded—but layered. Voices stacked over one another in a dozen dialects, traders calling out wares with rehearsed charm, dignitaries speaking in careful tones just loud enough to be overheard, and somewhere beneath it all the constant mechanical hum of a world trying to prove it mattered. It was overwhelming if you let it be. So she didn’t.

Prystill moved at a measured pace through the thoroughfare, posture straighter than it had been weeks ago, chin lifted just enough to suggest confidence rather than defiance. The difference was subtle—but intentional. Her boots struck the polished surface with quiet certainty, a far cry from the uneven cadence she had carried during the Conference. She remembered that day. Too innocent. Too Imperial. Too… honest, in the wrong ways.

Her jaw tightened slightly at the memory, though the expression never fully surfaced. Growth, she reminded herself, wasn’t about erasing who she was—it was about refining it. Channeling it. Basic training had helped more than she expected. Not just the drills or the discipline, but the clarity. Orders. Structure. Consequence. The galaxy made more sense when viewed through that lens. And now, with a commission to her name, she wasn’t just another voice in the crowd—she was someone expected to act. That expectation sat comfortably on her shoulders.

“Your pacing has improved by approximately fourteen percent compared to your previous public appearance,” came a smooth, modulated voice at her side.

Prystill didn’t look over immediately. “Fourteen?”

“Fourteen-point-three,” the droid corrected.

Now she glanced sideways, lips twitching faintly. The protocol unit walking beside her was… a piece of work. Literally. Mismatched plating, a slightly elongated chassis that gave it a taller silhouette than most of its kind, and photoreceptors that flickered just a fraction out of sync if you looked too closely. It had been introduced to her as a salvaged asset. She had renamed it within minutes.

“Don’t let it go to your head, Max,” she said quietly.

“Designation MX-4X,” the droid replied without missing a beat. “Though I acknowledge and accept the colloquial abbreviation.”

“Of course you do.”

MX-4X—Max—tilted its head a precise two degrees as they continued walking. “It is my function to assist in your continued development within public and diplomatic environments. May I suggest a slight reduction in your observable tension?”

“I’m not tense.”

“You have clenched your jaw three times in the last minute.”

Prystill exhaled slowly through her nose, forcing her expression to smooth. “…Noted.”

They passed a cluster of offworld merchants, their attire a vibrant contrast to the more structured uniforms of local security. Prystill’s gaze lingered just long enough to catalog details—weapon placements, body language, exits. Training again. Always training now. But she didn’t stare. Didn’t linger. Didn’t challenge.

That had been the mistake before—meeting everything head-on like it was something to conquer. Corrox wasn’t a battlefield. Not here. Not in the open. Here, it was a game. And she was learning the rules.

“Your current trajectory will place you within proximity of several notable delegates from the recent Conference,” Max informed her. “Would you like to initiate engagement?”

Prystill considered that. A few weeks ago, she would have said yes without hesitation—charged in, said something sharp, made her presence known whether it was welcome or not. Now? Her eyes moved across the crowd again, slower this time. Measuring. Choosing.

“…No,” she said after a moment. “Not yet.”

“A strategic delay?”

“A smart one.”

Max inclined its head. “Progress acknowledged.”

Prystill allowed herself the faintest hint of a smile at that. She wasn’t here to repeat her mistakes. She was here to outgrow them. And Corrox Central—with all its noise, politics, and watching eyes—was the perfect place to start.

 

[Laphisto]

Laphisto had come to the event at the personal invitation of Ronhar Tane himself, and for one of the few friends the old lizard had managed to acquire over the years, he had been more than willing to accept. Their clash during that training exercise months prior still lingered fresh in his mind. The man had made an impression then, not simply because of his skill, but because few people could stand toe to toe with Laphisto and leave him genuinely entertained by the encounter afterward.

Back then, the Diarchy and the Imperial Confederation had still stood strong, their banners hanging proudly over worlds that now only existed as memories and fractured remnants. Time had moved quickly since those days, dragging the galaxy along with it whether people wished it or not. Yet for a brief moment here, beneath the noise of engines and the roar of cheering crowds, the weight of all of it seemed distant.

Truthfully, he had not expected a podrace of all things to become the highlight of his visit. It was loud, reckless, and dangerously close to catastrophic at every turn, which perhaps explained exactly why he found himself enjoying it as much as he did. The scent of fuel hung heavy in the air while repulsor engines screamed overhead, vibrations rattling through the ground beneath his boots as racers tore across the track at suicidal speeds.

Though more than anything, he found himself curious if he would eventually cross paths with Ronhar himself. The galaxy had a strange habit of throwing people together when least expected. Until then, Laphisto simply wandered through the event at his own pace, broad shoulders cutting through the crowds as golden eyes drifted from vendor stalls to racers to drunken spectators. Perhaps the day would bring familiar faces. Perhaps new ones. Either way, he intended to enjoy himself while the opportunity lasted.

 

[Novac Lyrikal]

the junkyard. this wasnt just A junkyard, it was THE junkyard. novac just stood there for a second, eyes closed, breathing in the smells. opening his eyes and looking at the large area he had to himself with all 4 hands on his "hip" smiling. this is gonna be a good day he thought to himself. turning around to face his bb-22 droids with a clap of his 4 hands, "ok everyone, we got a lot to go through and a lot of time to do so now dont forget, if you find anything i might like come get me. no one's around to know and my ships right there so. welp lets get to it." he said pointing to his morat. today his droids where programmed to update the datapad but "miss" a few things perhaps. they where allowed to keep some of what they found but that would probably be after imperials take it. besides novac would put whatever it was to better use..probably. he was a jedi after all, wait can jedi steal? he thought, eh its probably fine, no one needs to know anyway. he and the droids started to sort and list everything, not really finding anything worth taking, yet. he could have sworn he heard something move a few times in the last 5 minutes, eh probably nothing.

 

[Saltare Dothon]

Saltare had never been to the industrial stronghold of the Mahporeem. He had served alongside several members of the Remnant throughout The Imperial Confederations campaigns, but that was all. He now stood amongst one of the strangest things a person like him could be in: a social party.

His blood-red uniform carried a new marking on the shoulders that few would recognize. His medals and ribbons were proudly displayed across his uniform, showing his experience and the campaigns he had fought in. The Inferno Squadron pin was clipped onto his collar at the neck at 45 degrees, displaying his loyalty to his squad. A gold twisted cord came from under his right armpit, over his right shoulder, under the epaulet, and back to the armpit. A signal, to those who would recognize it, that he had completed the highest training within the Special Forces of the Empire. Training that altered the mind and body to better fit into their new roles.

The high-pitched squeal of engines turned his gaze as he watched Podracers come screaming past the observation decks. Saltare looked at the large Jumbotron in the social area, which was following the Podracers around the track. It was the easiest way to keep an eye on the racers, as they were moving too fast to follow with his own eyes at times.

Around him, Saltare heard the cheering and booing of the patrons watching the races. Bets were placed on racers for all manner of things, but Saltare did not take part.

He was here for other reasons, to see where his once allies stood on the galactic scale. Ronhar Tane and his fellow members of the Remnant stood strong on their own world, their industrial output not harmed by the fall of the Confederation. Saltare wondered where their allegiance was now, and he was here to find out.

First, by talking to the members around him and figuring out their states of mind. Secondly, and if time permitted, by the tactical training which was occurring on Nolloth, on another part of Mahporeem. Saltare would like to see who showed up for that and to determine their tactics. Potential allies or enemies: it was always a good idea to see the ground tactics of those he may be working with or against in the future.

But for now, he watched the races, sipping on an electrolyte drink to stay hydrated under his thick uniform.

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