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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[Her]

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"Vūm is a non-profit organisation which serves as an investment fund that selectively and financially backs exclusive clientele, individuals or other organisations for the purpose of influencing politics, commerce and policies within galactic powers located in the Outer Rim and Mid Rim systems."
-- A description of the peculiar organisation colloquially known to a few as Vūm.

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Tags: Vark Kur | Ronhar Tane | The Lord of Hunger

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Equipment:

• SANTHE-1 ' Vigilance ' "Transmitter"

~

' The End of the Beginning '
A story set in the Mahporeem Imperial Remnant, set in " Secure The Scrap " .

~

We have traversed the star ways for only a brief time compared to those who followed Bane. But look at what we have accomplished in our wake since Ayra begun our work.

When the Rule of Two became aware of the tiny, insignificant world of Mahporeem, it had been dismissed as a place of interest for the Sith. After all it held none of the qualities or attributes that these Sith Lords were looking for when they searched for the outliers or places of influence that can assist in their machinations. Therefore, when they had petitioned to join the Imperial Confederation, the Sith had made no attempt to broker the agreements which aligned Mahporeem to the Deschart (and later the Sularen-von Strauss) administrations, nor had they tried gain leverage or influence with it's triumvirate government.

There were a variety of reasons for this initial overview of Mahporeem and it's people.

The Imperial Remnants based on this peculiar stain, found somewhere in the Outer Rim Systems on the edges of the fallen Empire of the Lost, held no military assets that could be considered worthy of their time or effort to procure capital (whether monetarily, economically or politically) that would allow them leverage and control over who or what they attacked with it. By comparison the Imperial Sector Authority (although bloodied and damaged by the aftermath of the Sartinaynian Crisis) possessed a litany of technologies and talent that would prove valuable in the efforts to dismantle the Sith vassal state found in the Thandon Star Cluster and so much effort had been expended to secure leverage with what was left of the Liann regime leftover from the days of Emperor Kilran's rule instead of the Mahporeem Imperial Remnant.

To the likes of Her there also were no resources on Mahporeem (save for an absurd amount of scrap metals and other junk) that could be used as a basis to procure influence with other third parties who could be sold too in exchange for a variety of things that were useful to their cause; and at a first glance there appeared to be no individuals aligned to the planet that could be moulded or converted to serve the paradigms that the Rule of Two wished to impose upon the Outer Rim. No talent, no economic viability, no military, and no politics that were worthy of note or consideration.

It's insignificance to the Banites was tangible to say the least.

They were of no consequences to them.

Inconsequential.

Project Tion changed everything.

It was a clandestine project founded by a prominent member of Karl von Strauss's ' Commission for the Establishment of Civilian Interests ' above the oceanic world of Minntooine: a former Imperial stronghold of the Empire of the Lost. Although Mahporeem were considered to be too weak economically, politically and militarily to be a worthwhile venture for the enigmatic Her they are, at the very least (for lack of better terms), good "cannon-fodder" that were easily co-opted into the incursions into Thandon. So, Captain Tane had been brought into the fold of the project as the one-time nascent Imperial Confederation sought to stoke the tenets of the New Order across the Outer Rim Territories.

Although the Imperial incursions (centred primarily in the Dostra system) failed to yield victory there was still something of note which changed Her's mind about the junkyard planet. Mahporeem had been a valuable contributor to the project and it's efforts to the eliminate the Sith vassal state after all. There was talent there which had been initially, wrongfully ignored and it's contributions spoke more than what words could. They had killed a lot of Sith and that was a commodity that the Rule of Two took into consideration beyond everything else.

After Brosi, Her found themselves incarcerated within a cellblock located in the hidden Shiraya's Sanctuary. Yet, from all the way on Naboo, the enigma extended their palm outwards to reach Mahporeem itself. Sat in a meditative pose in the centre of their cell under Jedi guards Her begun the work and Vūm was the vehicle that would carry them to pastures anew amid the junk and fog. . .

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[Ronhar Tane]

CAPTAIN RONHAR TANE, TK-3301
CORROX CENTRAL, MAHPOREEM
OBJECTIVE II: CORROX CENTRAL

Ronhar honestly couldn't even remember the last time he was able to attend a podrace.

Podracing was, after all, only one of the most popular pastimes on Mahporeem, and something nearly every citizen of the planet enjoyed watching or participating in, despite the inherent danger of such a fast paced sport. Though the Imperial authorities had been less than thrilled about allowing such a sport to happen under their purview, the credits that the races brought and the entertainment value they provided to the people and aliens of the Imperial Remnant more than outweighed the negatives of having them in the first place, so on they went unabated.

It was here in the Mahporeenian Podracing Circuit than Ronhar found himself, looking out onto the Podracing track from his VIP Suite. The Imperial Remnant had rewarded Ronhar for his efforts in bringing Mahporeem onto the galactic stage by granting him a leave of absence and permission to use the VIP Suites to view the races currently going on at the moment, the Mahporeenian Invitational. Of course, there was another reason that the Imperial Remnant had allowed Ronhar use of the suites, that being that they wanted him to meet with Commander Laphisto and new promoted Colonel Saltare Dothon to discuss the future of the planet and their relationships going forward. Ronhar had already profusely apologized to Prystill Oasay for being unable to meet with her in the morning, and assured her they would have time to be with one another before the day's end. Honestly, he would have loved to have taken her here to the suite, and hopefully he would be able to do so sometime again in the future.

For now, however, Ronhar pulled out his comlink, sending a message to both Laphisto and Saltare Dothon .

"Colonel Dothon, Commander Laphisto, please meet me in VIP Suite 017B. I'm sending you the coordinates now. You've both already been given clearance to enter, and security is aware of who you are and who you represent. Refreshments will be provided upon your arrival, so no need to buy and food or drink before you enter. See you both soon."

If the subtext of Ronhar's comment hadn't been clear, he was basically telling both men to get here as soon as they possibility could. Though he was enjoying the races, and was sure to enjoy the company of Dothon and Laphisto, the sooner he concluded his meeting, the sooner he could see Pry, which of course he wanted to do as quickly as humanly possible.

As Ronhar waited for his guests to arrive, he glanced out the transparisteel window of the VIP Suite, just in time to see a number of podracers come screaming down the track. The race had just barely begun, but it was already proving as exciting as any other. The podracers remained visible for just a few seconds before they disappeared into one of the circuit's numerous tunnels, though the crowd was still able to follow their progress on the massive jumbotron that dominated the center of the track. It was interesting to Ronhar, as a podracer himself, just how precarious the leader's position was in this race. Clearly ahead of the others, at the very top of their game, yer vulnerable enough to come crashing down onto the track at any given moment...
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Spoiler: Ronhar's Loadout

• Comlink
• Imperial Field Armor
• Ion Slicer Vibroknife
• SE-26p Heavy Blaster Pistol
• ABC - Aerosolized Bacta Cannisters

TAGS:
Saltare Dothon
Prystill Oasay
Laphisto
OPEN

 

[John Mahporeem]

[WARNING! WARNING! WARNING!]

[ATTENTION TO ANYONE WORKNG OBJECTIVE III!]

[BE ADVISED: SENSORS HAVE PICKED UP INCREASED ACTIVITY WITHIN THE VARIOUS SCARPYARDS AND JUNKYARDS OF MAHPOREEM!]

[CAUTION IS ADVISED!]

[THE FOLLOWING HOSTILE ELEMENTS HAVE BEEN CONFIRMED AS BEING CURRENTLY PRESENT:]

[Bands of Junktrooper deserters]
[Mahporeem Militia and other criminal elements]
[Roving Junk Droids of various makes, models and sizes]
[Hostile wildlife, including Corellian Hounds, Diangoa, Steelpeckers and Junkbeasts]
[As of yet unidentified threats lurking deeper within...]

[USE OF LETHAL FORCE HAS BEEN AUTHORIZED. DISPOSE OF THE INTERLOPERS WITH EXTREME PREJUDICE.]

[GLORY TO MAHPOREEM! GLORY TO THE EMPIRE!]

TAGS:
Prystill Oasay
Kael Varnok
Her
The Lord of Hunger
Novac Lyrikal
joseph kav
OPEN

 

[The Lord of Hunger]

LOCATION: Mahporeem scrap yards
OBJECTIVE: Find some useful stuff
IMPORTANT LINKS: Sword #1 | Sword #2 | Armor | Jewel | Ring | Necklace | Gauntlet | DIII Gluttoneria | The guards | KRONOS
TAG: Her | Ronhar Tane

It must've been quite the sight to any of the Mahporeem natives, to have a streak of black lightning thunder down from the heavens upon part of the immense scrap fields which covered a large part of the planet, tearing open the very fabric of space and time through the abominable use of the force, allowing a toxic-looking black miasma charged with the same energy as the downpouring lightning to form into a large, portal of sorts, through which droids began to swarm over the fields, setting up a perimeter as a large portion of their numbers began to scan the piece of the scrap field placed within their perimeter.

Alongside these droids though, a man of considerable stature and strange allure passed through the darkness of the portal as well, flanked by a handful of terrifying, tall droids draped in bloodred cloaks and armed to the proverbial teeth. One of the droids who had arrived earlier immediately ran up to this man and saluted him, before beginning to explain they have managed to utilize the systems aboard the Gluttoneria high in orbit to intercept communications and extrapolate the coordinations of any of the assets present on Mahporeem.

"it looks like my dear Amalia is still keeping a close watch on all our pawns and assets from upon her Ersteel Throne on Corvus," The man's eyes, vibrant with hues of crimson and gold, brightened behind the dark shades her wore, tilting his head towards one of the tall droids flanking him and whispering a few inaudible words, before turning towards the droid who had approached him. "Have the Ceres' continue sweeping the field within the perimeter we've set up...report any findings to me. We need any reactor cores we can find... I do not care about the age, model or material...as long as there is enough contained radiation, we may have some further use for these items. Any other interesting finds, report them directly to me."

His eyes turned to the side, a flicker within the force could be felt, a presence he hadn't felt in a while, but which he unmistakenbly recognized, even if they were thousands of lightyears apart, the Lord of Hunger would be hard pressed to ignore the very whiff of chaos the presence within the force like Her had, the distinct aroma of treason and despair. "To think I'd find this presence on this planet of all places..."

"Milord...our sensors are picking up approaching vehicles..."

The Lord of Hunger looked down at the droid and smiled, moving his hand forwards. "Have the Arbalest's tighten the perimeter and hold the line... continue your job as I have commanded."

First the presence of the little rat and now this... whether they'd be related, I will see to my own goals for now... woe upon those who disturb my great work


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[Novac Lyrikal]

"hey can one of you get me a light!" novac called out to his nearby droids. he'd found what seemed like a old u wing buried under a thick layer of random junk. one of his droids rand over and handed him a small light . novac was hanging from the opening at the top, about half his tail anchoring him to the "ground" so he didmnt fall in.

the ship was slightly tilted forward and was fairly empty expect for a few random piles of junk and "oh! hello there little ones." it was 2 steelpeckers huddled together, must have been sleeping. novac dropped down into the space and approached slowly. "well aren't you two cute. sorry for waking you up."

he slowly put his top right hand out to try and pet one, it almost immediately tryed to peck him but novac moved his hand at the last second. "hey, rude. well actually no thats fair i'd be annoyed to if i was you. some random giant snake man comes in while your sleeping and shines a light on you waking you up. yea makes sense you'd be a little annoyed hehe, sorry." CLANG novac instantly turned to face the opening he came from CLANG novac quickly pulled himself out. CLANK one of his droids fell next to him. novac looked to where the droid was and saw a large "pack" of junk droids, mostly four legged animal shaped brute junk droids. "well well well what have we here?" novacs interest was peaked. these droids where all unique even among eachother. everyone different from the other. i want them on my ship was all novac could think.

 

[Laphisto]

Getting the message from Ronhar Tane Laphisto raised a brow before letting out a small rumbling chuckle. Pushing himself up from his seat, he followed the coordinates through the crowded stadium halls while the roar of podracers echoed overhead. Every few moments the entire structure shook from engines screaming across the track, the crowd erupting whenever someone nearly lost control.

Honestly, he could see why people enjoyed it. By the time he reached the secured VIP section, security was already expecting him. A quick glance over his clearance was all it took before the doors opened and Laphisto stepped into Suite 017B.

Golden eyes settled briefly on Ronhar before drifting toward the race outside the transparisteel window. "You picked an interesting place for diplomacy," he mused, another racer screaming past outside. "Though I suppose if negotiations go poorly, most people will assume the explosion came from the track." he gave a small chuckle at his own joke. his arms crossed over his chest before he dipped a head down towards him " I actualy got to meet an assosiate of yours some time ago on bastion . well before its collapse anyways"

 

[Saltare Dothon]

​

Saltare watched the racers shoot past the viewing platform again, the air that followed them whipping loose clothing and food items off the tables of those nearest to the track.

A small ping from Saltare's comm-unit drew his attention from the race as he activated the message.

"Colonel Dothon, Commander Laphisto, please meet me in VIP Suite 017B. I'm sending you the coordinates now. You've both already been given clearance to enter, and security is aware of who you are and who you represent. Refreshments will be provided upon your arrival, so no need to buy and food or drink before you enter. See you both soon."

Saltare closed the message off and downed his electrolyte drink. While he wasn't extremely familiar with Ronhar, he represented Mahporeem, and Saltare needed to secure Mahporeem's industrial capability for Inferno. Straightening his uniform, Saltare walked out of the viewing area and towards the stairs that led to the VIP suites.

Several flights later, Saltare approached the VIP suite 017B. He stopped as security checked him over and then ushered him into the suite. With a soft hiss, the doors opened, light spilling onto Saltare's face as he saw just how much better the view was from up here.

Saltare noticed Tane as he entered, already in conversation with another individual he had never met.

" Ronhar Tane , good to see you, we have a few things to talk about," Saltare said by way of greeting, snagging a few mildly alcoholic drinks from the VIP suite's bar as he walked over to the two individuals, "Saltare Dothon, Colonel of Inferno Squadron," Saltare said to Laphisto , nodding his head and holding out the extra drinks to the two men.

 

[joseph kav]

sorry im late whats going on

 

[Prystill Oasay]

Objective: CORROX CENTRAL
Location: Corrox, Mahporeem
Outfit: Imperial Officer’s Uniform
Tags: OPEN | Ronhar Tane | Saltare Dothon | Laphisto

Prystill slowed near the edge of one of Corrox Central’s elevated promenades, maroon eyes sweeping across the gathering below. Delegates. Officers. Traders. Representatives from worlds she barely recognized. The station felt less like a city and more like a pressure chamber—politics, commerce, and ambition all compressed into one place.

And unlike during the Conference, she wasn’t standing there feeling entirely out of her depth. Not comfortable. Not yet. But steadier. MX-4X walked beside her with its usual uneven mechanical gait, the patched protocol plating catching the overhead light in mismatched tones of bronze and dull silver. One of its photoreceptors flickered briefly before stabilizing.

“Your elevated heart rate suggests anticipation,” Max observed.

Prystill folded her hands behind her back. “Or irritation.”

“Statistically, the distinction is often negligible.”

She snorted softly despite herself. Ahead, several members of the visiting crowd clustered around one of the public displays cycling through Mahporeem’s expansion efforts and trade initiatives. Military personnel moved nearby in small groups, some polished, some clearly unused to formal postings. Prystill’s eyes lingered briefly on an Imperial officer standing near the edge of the crowd.

Not isolated. But not fully engaged either. Watching. Max noticed immediately. The droid leaned slightly closer as if delivering classified intelligence despite standing in the middle of an open concourse. “Preliminary profile available,” it said quietly. “Imperial-affiliated. Probable junior command position. Uniform wear suggests recent field deployment rather than ceremonial assignment.”

Prystill kept her gaze forward. “That’s a lot from scuffed boots.”

“The left shoulder seam was repaired by hand rather than quartermaster replacement. Budget-conscious or operationally strained command structure. Additionally, the subject has scanned exits six times in the last thirty-two seconds.”

“Paranoid?”

“Alive,” Max corrected. That earned another faint smile from her. The droid continued. “Behavioral recommendation: approach through professional curiosity rather than ideological alignment. Imperial personnel respond favorably to competence and clarity.”

“You make them sound easy.”

“I did not say pleasant.”

Prystill exhaled quietly, rolling one shoulder before straightening her uniform. Her commission still felt strange on her frame. New. Unsettled. Something she had earned too quickly to fully believe in yet. But if she wanted to grow into it, hiding in the crowd would not help. “Anything else?” she asked.

MX-4X paused. “Yes.” Prystill glanced sideways. “You are staring too intensely again.”

Her eyes narrowed slightly. “I’m assessing.”

“You appear moments away from interrogating the man.”

“…Right.”

“Try looking approximately twelve percent less confrontational.” Prystill adjusted her expression with visible reluctance. “There,” Max said. “Now you merely appear dangerous instead of actively hostile.” When Prystill insisted that Max be programmed with a sense of humor she did not think it would always be sarcasm focused upon her.

“Your encouragement is inspiring,” Prystill responded, rolling her eyes. She knew that she did not appear dangerous in the least, even in a military dress uniform.

“It is one of my core functions.”

Prystill shook her head faintly before finally stepping forward through the crowd, posture composed, movements deliberate. Not charging this time. Not trying to dominate the space around her. Learning it. Using it. Behind her, MX-4X followed with mechanical precision.

“Diplomatic engagement initialized,” the droid announced helpfully.

Prystill muttered under her breath, “You make me sound like a military operation.”

“You were issued a commission,” Max replied. “Technically, it is.”

 

[Vark Kur]

VOID TOLL

The warning klaxons rolled across the scrap fields in waves of distorted static, echoing from rusted tower-speakers half-swallowed by the endless junk heaps. Vark barely looked up.

A bent durasteel panel screeched as he shoved it aside with both hands, sending a small avalanche of scrap skittering down the slope beside him. Beneath it sat the skeletal remains of some ancient transport engine, split open like a carcass on an autopsy table. Most of the valuable internals had long since been stripped.

Most. The scavenger crouched low, one knee grinding into oily grit while his sharp eyes combed over the exposed machinery. Wires. Burned relays. Cracked couplings. Then—There. A compact regulator node tucked deep beneath a collapsed manifold.

“Mm.” Vark’s grin sharpened. “Now you survived better than the rest.”

The loudspeakers crackled again overhead.

[USE OF LETHAL FORCE HAS BEEN AUTHORIZED.]

A nearby worker muttered a nervous curse. Another started hurriedly checking the charge pack on their rifle.

Vark only snorted softly through his nose. “Whole planet finally starts sounding honest.” His gloved hand disappeared elbow-deep into the engine housing, fingers working deftly through the cramped machinery until something gave with a satisfying click. The regulator came free in his grasp, slick with black coolant residue but otherwise pristine.

Definitely valuable. Definitely not going onto any official inventory sheet. He slipped it into a satchel already growing heavier beneath his coat just as the atmosphere around the junkyard shifted. Not emotionally. Physically.

The hairs along the back of Vark’s neck rose. Then came the lightning. Black. Wrong. It tore across the distant skyline like reality itself had been ripped open over the scrap fields. A thunderous crack rolled moments later, vibrating through the mountains of metal beneath his boots. Workers shouted somewhere beyond the wreckage maze. Engines revved. Someone screamed orders.

Vark slowly rose from his crouch, squinting toward the distant disturbance through drifting curtains of ash and industrial fog. “Well…” he muttered. “That can’t be good for business.”

Shapes moved in the far distance. Droids. Organized ones. Not scavenger junkers or half-mad patrol constructs. These moved with purpose. Which meant somebody important had arrived. Which also meant opportunity. And danger. Usually together.

A low metallic screech suddenly split the air nearby. Vark spun, instinctively pulling the compact blaster from beneath his coat just as a malformed junk droid hauled itself over the ridge of scrap above him. Four mismatched limbs clawed for purchase against the metal slope, its body assembled from at least six different chassis types welded together by crude salvage work. One glowing photoreceptor flickered erratically.

Another shape followed it. Then another. “Ah.” Vark sighed. “There’s the local hospitality.”

The first junk droid lunged. Vark fired once. The bolt punched clean through its optical housing, sending the construct tumbling backward into the debris pile behind it. The others kept coming, metal limbs shrieking against steel as they scrambled downward toward him.

Rather than retreat, Vark grinned. Because if the junk droids were active here…

…then something deeper in the heap was worth protecting. And that meant valuable salvage.

He holstered the blaster mid-stride and darted sideways through a narrow canyon of stacked wreckage, moving with practiced familiarity through the unstable terrain while the droids clattered after him.

“C’mon then,” he called back with mocking cheer, olive eyes gleaming beneath the haze. “Lead me to the good stuff.”

Vark “Grease-Fang” Kur
• Location: Scrapyards of Mahporeem
• Objective 3: Secure the Scrap
• Company: OPEN | Her | The Lord of Hunger | Novac Lyrikal | John Mahporeem

 

[Ronhar Tane]

CAPTAIN RONHAR TANE, TK-3301
CORROX CENTRAL, MAHPOREEM
OBJECTIVE II: CORROX CENTRAL

Laphisto was the first to arrive at the VIP Suite, and Ronhar was genuinely relieved to see him safe and healthy. That nasty business on Aurora Station had pushed Ronhar and his men to their limits, and that hadn't had time to properly extract Laphisto from the plague infested space station. The fact that he had gotten out under his own power was greatly reassuring, and despite the collapse of the Diarchy, he seemed to be in good spirits, or at least as much as one could be given everything that had transpired.

"You picked an interesting place for diplomacy, though I suppose if negotiations go poorly, most people will assume the explosion came from the track. I actually got to meet an associate of yours some time ago on bastion...well before its collapse anyways", Laphisto noted with perhaps just the slightest hint of bitterness in his voice, though Ronhar certainly couldn't fault him for feeling that way. Ronhar simply shrugged at the statement that he made.

"I thought you could use a change of pace. Something to help keep your mind off things. Not sure if they really had Podraces back in the Diarchy, but I can assure you the ones here on Mahporeem are some of the most exciting that you'll ever watch. Why don't you take a seat?", Ronhar suggested as the two men settled in and began making small talk.

A few minutes later, Saltare Dothon arrived, his hands full of alcoholic as he made his way to them.

"Ronhar Tane, good to see you, we have a few things to talk about", he said to Ronhar as he looked over the alien commander next to him. "Saltare Dothon, Colonel of Inferno Squadron", he said as he introduced himself to Laphisto .

"Colonel Dothon, glad to see that you could make it", Ronhar replied as he went to shake his hand. "My sincere congratulations on your most recent promotion. "You're much smarter than I am, considering you actually accepted yours", Ronhar remarked without any malice or bitterness. It was true what he said, the Imperial Remnnat had offered him a promotion higher than his current rank, but he had turned it down for the time being, as he had been worried that a higher rank would mean less time out in the field fighting amongst his men, something that had caused a massive fight between him and Prystill Oasay when Ronhar had told her what he had done. It had taken more than a few gifts and an absurd amount of apologies for him to get Pry to forgive him, but he honestly couldn't blame her for reacting the way that she did. If he had been in her position, he probably would have done the exact same thing.

But that was now all in the past, and he had managed to get back into Pry's good graces, though he somehow doubted that that would be the end of the conversation about that topic between he and Pry. Regardless, Ronhar shook of the negative thoughts about what such a conversation might bring and instead turned back to Saltare Dothon and Laphisto .

"Now, gentlemen, as I understand it you both have concerns given everything that's transpired over the last couple of weeks. Totally understandable, and it is my wish to clarify any concerns that you two might still have. Now, what is it that's troubling you? What do you both want to talk about?"
​

---

---

---

Spoiler: Ronhar's Loadout

• Comlink
• Imperial Field Armor
• Ion Slicer Vibroknife
• SE-26p Heavy Blaster Pistol
• ABC - Aerosolized Bacta Cannisters

TAGS:
Saltare Dothon
Laphisto
OPEN

 

[Teckla Tane]

​

Quasesitorum Operational Record

Objective: I: TACTICAL TRAINING
Location: Nolloth Training Zone, Mahporeem
Equipment: See Bio
Tags: Ronhar Tane | OPEN
Dialogue Key:
”Galactic Basic”
<<Telepathic Communication>>

​

The transports came in low through the industrial haze of Mahporeem, their engines growling against the cloud cover as they descended toward the unfinished outskirts of Nolloth. Below them, prefab structures and half-completed streets stretched across the landscape in rigid geometric lines, waiting for settlers that had not yet arrived. For now, the skeletal town belonged to soldiers instead.

Perfect.

Teckla Tane stood at the forward viewport of the lead dropship with her hands clasped behind her back, expression unreadable beneath the crimson glow of tactical holodisplays. The Quasesitorum officer’s dark red-and-charcoal armor reflected faintly in the transparisteel as atmospheric turbulence rattled through the hull.

War games. The phrase still felt strangely light for what these exercises represented. Most military organizations treated training as routine. Repetition. Doctrine. Predictability. The Quasesitorum did not have that luxury. Every engagement was a lesson carved into flesh and steel. Every battlefield another equation in the endless effort to impose order upon a galaxy determined to descend into madness.

Mahporeem intrigued her because it understood that. Or at least Ronhar Tane did. The memory of Lianna flickered through her thoughts unbidden—the chaos of battle, blasterfire cutting through ruined corridors while Sith and Mandalorian forces tore into one another with savage intensity. Amid that disorder she had encountered Captain Ronhar Tane. Probably no relation, despite the shared surname. The galaxy was too large for that sort of coincidence to matter.

Still, she had remembered him. More importantly, she had remembered how Mahporeem’s forces fought. Adaptable. Improvised. Brutally practical. There was value in studying that. And so Teckla had accepted the invitation.

“Final descent in thirty seconds,” the pilot announced.

Teckla gave a single nod before turning away from the viewport. Behind her, Quasesitorum troopers sat in disciplined silence inside the troop bay, crimson optics and visor displays glowing dimly beneath the transport lighting. Unlike the loud militarism of many Imperial remnants, the Quasesitorum carried themselves with eerie restraint. No boasting. No ritualized chants. No grand speeches. Only focus.

A holotable near the center of the compartment displayed shifting tactical overlays of Nolloth. Simulated objectives. Defensive hardpoints. Kill-zones. Movement corridors. Teckla studied them for a final moment before speaking.

“Remember,” she said evenly, her voice carrying effortlessly through the compartment. “This is an exercise. Treat it accordingly.”

A pause. “Meaning your opponents will attempt to teach you something before they kill you.” A few helmets tilted slightly toward her. “Do not waste the opportunity.”

The transport shuddered as landing gear deployed. Outside, another sound rolled overhead. Fast. Teckla’s gaze shifted upward as four starfighters screamed through the cloud layer in perfect formation before splitting apart above the training grounds. Sleek. Aggressive. Angular silhouettes painted in muted dark reds and iron gray. Experimental infiltrator fighters recently transferred into Quasesitorum service for evaluation.

Untested. Which made them valuable. Which also made them dangerous.

“Ascendant Flight beginning combat air patrol,” a distorted comms voice crackled through the transport. “Sensor suites are operational. We’ll begin electronic disruption runs once the exercise starts.”

“Understood,” Teckla replied calmly.

The ramp slammed downward moments later. Cold industrial wind swept into the compartment carrying the scent of fuel, rain, and distant machinery. Teckla stepped onto Mahporeem soil first. Boots striking duracrete with measured precision.

Behind her, Quasesitorum forces began unloading equipment and vehicles in disciplined silence while the experimental fighters carved crimson contrails across the skies above Nolloth.

For Teckla, this was not merely training. It was observation. Assessment. Preparation. Because the galaxy had become increasingly unstable, and every organized force worth respecting would eventually become either ally, obstacle… or target. Mahporeem was now being evaluated. So were her own troops.

Spoiler: ”QUASESITORUM FORCES”

• Ground Forces
  • 2x Assault Squads
  • 1x Heavy Support Unit
  • 4x Precision Rifle Teams
  • 2x Recon Elements
  • 1x Mobile Command & Sensor Vehicle
  • 2x Heavy Assault Speeders
  • 1x Field Medicae & Recovery Team
• Air Support
  • 1 squadron (12) QSV-2 “Ordinant Pike” Interceptor
  • QSV-6 "Justicar" Boarding Shuttle x 4

 

[Saltare Dothon]

INFERNO SQUAD

TAGS: Laphisto Ronhar Tane

---

"I don't know if I would say smarter, Tane," Saltare chuckled as he replied, "You know as well as I do that means more paperwork and less ground work. Something I'm not cut out for."

Saltare sipped on the beverage, the bite of the alcohol making him suck air through his teeth, "Phew. That hits hard," he said as he downed the rest of the drink, placing the glass on a nearby table.

"If our esteemed friend here won't mind," Saltare nodded toward Laphisto , "I'll be quick."

Saltare stepped forward and handed Ronhar a sealed dataslate. The device gave only a dull pulse of blue light before returning to black, its contents locked behind biometric encryption keyed solely to Tane himself.

"It's no mystery that the Empire finds itself in turmoil," Saltare said evenly, his gaze shifting briefly around the room before settling back on the Captain. "The Confederation fractures, warlords carve their own kingdoms from the ashes, and men who once swore themselves to the same banner now weigh loyalty against survival."

His tone remained calm, measured, not accusatory, but cautious.

"I did not come here as a politician. Truthfully, I have little patience for politics. I came because I have fought beside Mahporeem forces on half a dozen worlds and watched your people bleed beneath the same Imperial standard as my own."

Saltare motioned toward the dataslate resting in Ronhar's hand.

"The information on that slate was recovered during our latest operation on Kolene. It's valuable enough to give Inferno, and Mahporeem, a leg up over any other unit we've been operating against," His eyes narrowed slightly. "Inferno lacks the infrastructure to produce it at scale while our forces remain scattered in retreat. Mahporeem does not."

A brief silence followed before he continued.

"So I came here to understand where Mahporeem stands while the galaxy tears itself apart. Whether you intend to weather the storm alone… or whether you still believe the Imperial cause is worth preserving."

Saltare folded his arms across his chest, sighing as he continued.

"Aid Inferno in this endeavor, and we will remember it. Not as a transaction, but as proof that there are still those within the Remnant who understand that an Empire survives only so long as its loyalists remain united."

His eyes briefly flicked toward the other man in the room, just long enough to acknowledge the uncertainty surrounding him without openly challenging it.

"The Galaxy is in turmoil, Captain. Inferno stands ready to restore order, as we always have. I ask you if the Remnant will help our cause, and in return, Inferno will be in your debt."