Faction The Gods Have A Plan For Us

[Warpriest Prime]

​

ARK OF HA'RANGIR

Adelle Bastiel | Mig Gred | Kaela Voss | Korda Veydran | Siv Kryze | Adonis Angelis IV | Harlok Farr

O P E N
​

The Ark had been quiet for too long.

Not truly quiet, of course. A cityship of its magnitude never knew silence. The forges still roared deep within its iron foundations. The distilleries still belched their fragrant offerings into the monastery districts. The Academy of The Gods rang with steel, fists, and shouted instruction. The Church remained open at all hours, its braziers burning before ancient idols while priests whispered scripture beneath the vaulted ceilings. In all honesty very little seems to have changed...

But for Dima, the galaxy had become strangely distant.

Nearly a year.

Nearly a karkin' year without a proper battle.

The thought alone made something beneath her scales itch uncomfortably.

For months she had wandered with The Ark through deep space, following fragments of old Mandalorian history scattered across forgotten worlds. The expedition had recovered in its time away what seemed like mountains of ore, forgotten armories, abandoned shipyards, armor caches and weapons stockpiles left behind by generations of Mandalorians who had vanished into the galaxy's long history.

Prisoners had been taken. Resources reclaimed. Enemies had occasionally discovered that leaving their valuables unattended was a remarkably poor strategic decision. And beneath it all had been the secret.

Furyia's Treasure Vaults.

Ancient Mandalorian stockpiles hidden deep within the cores of worlds, concealed for generations behind riddles, ruined records and fragments of proof. What had once been little more than a whispered legend now had evidence behind it. Enough evidence to bring The Ark home.

And so the great monastery cityship returned to Mandalorian space.

The Motherland waited ahead.

Dima emerged from the Grand Forge with the smell of hot metal still clinging to her robes and armor. She had spent so much of her time there lately that some of the Forgeborn had begun joking that the Warpriest might eventually fuse with the machinery. Others had found her more frequently within the Church, tending the divine armaments, reciting scripture, or simply sitting beneath the gaze of the old gods while allowing her mind to wander.

When she wasn't there, she could usually be found in the gladiatorial coliseum.

Watching, Training, occasionally volunteering someone else for a demonstration.

The war had been absent.

The work had not.

Dima stepped onto the great balcony overlooking the Ark's central city as Mandalore's distant presence appeared across the viewport. Her enormous tail swayed lazily behind her while her four hands gathered the Gjallerhorn.

She raised the sacred horn and blew.

BWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM.

The sound rolled through The Ark.

Every forge answered with a thunderous roar as workers prepared for unloading. Bells rang through the monastery districts. Clergymen emerged from chapels. Dockmasters began shouting orders. Carrier ships awakened from their berths as the Ark's enormous docking systems began preparing for the exchange.

"WAKE UP, MANDALORE!" Dima's voice boomed through the city's communication network, accompanied by a delighted chitter. "Mama Prime is HOME baby!"

The complex process began immediately.

Mountains of ore.
Crates of recovered beskar.
Ancient weapons.
Armor.
Ship components.
Recovered technology.
Fuel.
Food.
Captured resources.
And refined Ha'rangrite

And countless relics that had been gathered during the expedition began moving toward the massive transport elevators leading down toward Mandalore. The Ark was serving its glorious purpose in giving back to the culture.

And Dima? She had paperwork.

Sooooooo much paperwork.

The moment she entered the Gran Spire at the center of the monastery district, the Warpriest was attacked by an entirely different kind of enemy.

"Prime! These are the revised manifests!"

"Prime, the Forge wants approval on the distribution schedule!"

"Prime, three clans are disputing the allocation of the recovered-"

"Prime, there is a decree from-"

"Prime!"

"Prime!"

"PRIME!"

Dima stopped and nearly whined into her mask, her five eyes slowly closed as all four hands rose...And dragged down her face.

"What did i do to deserve this torment?"

She could fight armies. She could wrestle monsters. She could march through enemy fortresses beneath a storm of blasterfire.

But bureaucracy?

Bureaucracy had no honor.

No sporting spirit.

No throat to bite.

She looked beyond the swarm of clerks and scribes toward the enormous windows of the Gran Spire.

Outside, The Ark's carrier vessels loomed over Mandalore like a fleet of iron giants. Smaller ships rose from the planet below to meet them, weaving between the Ark's immense docking structures. The sight was almost overwhelming.

Mandalore was receiving its wandering daughter.

Its lost weapons.

Its forgotten wealth.

Its reclaimed history.

And soon, its new generation.

Prospects who had spent months within the Ark's War College would descend to the Motherworld carrying everything they had learned. In their place would come young rooks from Mandalore, hungry for knowledge, hungry for purpose, hungry to discover what awaited beyond their world's skies.

Dima watched them.

And something strange stirred within her.

Purpose.

Not the old purpose.

Not merely the hunger for battle.

Not destruction for destruction's sake.

Something larger.

The Ark had begun as a refuge.

Then a monastery.

Then a fortress.

Now it was becoming something else.

A forge for an entire people.

A place where weapons were made, warriors trained, faith preserved, children raised, knowledge gathered, and forgotten Mandalorian treasures dragged screaming from the depths of history and returned to their rightful heirs.

Dima slowly smiled.

The teeth along her cheeks clicked together.

Perhaps this was what all those battles had been preparing her for.

Not simply to destroy.

To build something worthy of what she had destroyed for.

She turned away from the window and looked toward the waiting clerks.

Her smile widened.

"Alright."

Four claws clapped together once.

"Let's get this empire fed."

The clerks blinked.

Dima reached for another stack of documents.

Then paused.

"...But if any of you brought me tax forms, I am personally throwing you out of an airlock where Mandalore herself can catch you~"

A nervous silence followed.

One scribe quietly hid a datapad behind his back.

Dima's five eyes narrowed.

"...Atta boy."

And somewhere beneath the ancient halls of the Ark, the forges roared louder.

The Church bells answered.

The Gjallerhorn still hummed faintly from its awakening call.

Warpriest Prime had returned to Mandalore.

The Mandalore's Executioner.

The Iron Clergy's high priestess.

God's little menace.

And, increasingly, something far more dangerous than the monster who had once wandered the galaxy looking for something to kill.

She was becoming a builder.

A keeper.

A leader.

A woman with something worth protecting, and somehow, that evolution felt far more intoxicating than blood ever had. And with a rising of her chalice she purred in delicious delight.

"Hail...to the one true god~"

 

[Korda Veydran]

The forge had always been easier for Korda than people. Metal did not ask questions or care about his past, his scars, his clan, or the ghosts that followed him from one battlefield to the next. It simply needed heat, pressure, and a steady hand.

That was precisely where he had intended to remain for the next several hours.
Korda Veydran stood within the forge, still clad in his full Mandalorian armor. The heavy plates bore the scars of a life that had seen considerably more combat than they had any right to survive, while the crimson krayt skull of Clan Veydran sat proudly upon his chest along side the jaig eyes. He had been working on several new plates for a personal project, with the smell of heated metal and forge smoke hanging heavily around him.

Oro, meanwhile, had decided that Korda's left arm belonged to her.
The fluffy hognose had wrapped herself comfortably around his forearm, her small body curled against the armor as though he had personally commissioned the gauntlet to serve as her perch. Korda had long since stopped trying to convince her otherwise.

Three flasks hung from his belt, each filled for a different purpose. He had already made enough progress into the stronger one that the heat of the forge was beginning to feel considerably more pleasant than it had any right to.
Korda lifted the flask and took a long drink.
Then came the horn.

Its deep sound rolled across the settlement, unmistakable even over the ringing of metal and the roar of the forge. Korda stopped with his hammer suspended above the half-finished plate and listened.

There was only one person whose return could be announced with a sound like that.
A quiet chuckle escaped him.
"Well... about damn time."
A year.
Nearly an entire year since she had departed, and nearly as long since Korda had last seen her.
Dima.

The name carried a strange weight within him. Grand Warpriest. Servant of the gods. A woman Korda had never quite been able to regard as merely another Mandalorian. In his mind, Dima occupied something much closer to the divine. Not a god herself, but someone touched by them, someone chosen by powers greater than either of them.

Especially by the Destroyer.
And now she had returned.
Korda glanced toward the forge entrance with the beginnings of a crooked grin.
He could already imagine what awaited her: reports, requests, forms, questions, and an entire mountain of bureaucratic garbage dumped at the feet of a woman who had apparently thought she could return to Mandalore without immediately being buried beneath administrative nonsense.

He snorted.
"Poor woman."
Oro shifted around his arm.
Korda glanced down at her. "Don't look at me like that."
The snake offered no response, which Korda had come to interpret as disagreement.

He set his hammer aside. The project could wait.
After securing the unfinished plates and wiping the worst of the forge residue from his gauntlets, Korda began asking around. It did not take long before someone pointed him toward Dima's location.

He thanked them and started walking.
His pace was initially confident and purposeful, but the closer he came, the quieter he became. The flask at his hip suddenly seemed considerably more useful.

He pulled it free and took another swallow.
The stuff was strong enough to put heat into the blood of a man who had spent half his life treating explosions as workplace hazards. Korda lowered the flask and stared ahead.

"...Shit."
There was no battlefield ahead of him. No enemy. No ambush. No impossible objective.
Just Dima.
Somehow, that was worse.
Eventually, he found her.

Korda stopped several meters away and did not announce himself. He simply stood there, seven feet of scarred Mandalorian armor with broad shoulders, crimson clan markings, and his helmet hanging from his belt.

Oro had abandoned his arm sometime during the walk and curled herself comfortably inside the helmet, her little head barely visible from within the dark interior.

Korda's red eyes remained fixed upon Dima.
For perhaps the first time in a very long time, the Unyielding looked uncertain.
The absurdity of it almost made him laugh.
He was an uncle now.
He had a thirteen-year-old niece.
Korda had survived that.

He could handle awkward conversations, questions he absolutely did not know how to answer, and the peculiar chaos of having a teenager suddenly become part of his life. He could stand there and act like he knew what he was doing while internally wondering what in the nine hells an uncle was actually supposed to do.

Yet somehow, standing several meters away from the Grand Warpriest had him more unsettled than any of it.
I can deal with a thirteen-year-old girl.
His eyes remained on Dima.

I can survive that.
A faint crease formed between his brows.
But I can't even walk up to a Warpriest.

The realization was so ridiculous that Korda nearly laughed aloud.
He could walk into gunfire without hesitation. He could face down monsters and stare death in the face with a joke ready for the occasion. He could kill for his clan without blinking.

Yet standing before Dima after an entire year apart felt entirely different.
Korda slowly inhaled before letting the breath leave through his nose. His fingers tightened slightly around the flask as he watched her.

He wanted to approach. He wanted to hear her voice again and know where she had been, what she had seen, and why she had returned. Still, some part of him remained rooted where he stood, as though approaching too quickly might somehow shatter the moment.

His gaze softened, and the faintest smile touched his face.
"Kad Ha'rangir..."
The words were little more than a murmur.
"You really did bring her back."

For once, Korda did not immediately move. He simply watched her, helmet hanging from his belt, Oro curled within it, three flasks weighing against his hip, and the smell of forge smoke still clinging to his armor.
For all the things Korda Veydran had faced without hesitation, approaching someone he considered sacred had somehow become the most difficult.

Tags: Warpriest Prime @open

 

[Harlok Farr]

The Dead Reckoning settled into the Ark's docking bay with a familiar groan of aging engines. Harlok Farr stepped down the ramp, his eyes immediately drawn to the enormous vessel around him. He'd heard the stories.

The Grand Warpriest. Domina Prime. The woman who had dragged half-forgotten pieces of Mandalorian history out of the galaxy and built something greater from them.

The forges roared somewhere deep within its immense structure. Bells echoed through the monastery districts. Workers moved mountains of supplies through the docking facilities while warriors and students passed between them. The place had the unmistakable feeling of something that had grown beyond its original purpose.

Harlok found himself slowing as he passed one of the training areas, watching a group of young Mandalorians practicing beneath the supervision of their instructors. He felt guarded. It was not that he hated the Ark or her inhabitants. It felt overwhelmingly like a treasure that he had sought nearly his whole life.

Farr and his crew approached cautiously toward the Amazonian, feral Warpriestess. They were a rugged band of Mandos, dressed in a style more befitting of pirates than anything else. There came a chuckl from under Harlok's helm.

"Look what the kriffing tooka dragged home." He folded his arms, looking toward Dima. "Warpriest of Kad, I am Harlok Farr. My crew and I represent part of Clan Farr."

His T-shaped visor remained calm as it looked at the alien woman. A warm feeling grew in his chest, as he felt that this would mark the start of a profound friendship.

"I wish to offer our skills in service to the Old Gods of Mandalore." He speaks with a confident swagger.

Warpriest Prime | Korda Veydran​

 

[Mig Gred]

Mig took a breath as R10 flew the Echo’s Light into the large forge ship’s hanger. He hadn’t gotten the chance to meet Dima often, but now… well he could swing by. The Kad was in orbit after all. The man would calmly walk off the ship though, not sure what to expect, but he figured it would at least be interesting.

He was definitely in for a treat though. Hearing the forges. Everyone moving and doing their job. It was nice to see.

As he walk up he noticed a few others there already, but just chuckled a bit, pulling off his helmet. “Well looks like our resident archeologist has found her way home.” He said, just seeming happy to see an old ship return from a long journey.

Warpriest Prime Korda Veydran Harlok Farr

 

[Adonis Angelis IV]

News as fortuitous as the arrival of the Warpriestess was scarce these days. It seemed the entire galaxy was caught in a war that didn't involve the Mandalorians, yet everywhere they turned they found themselves in the middle of it. That's why, as soon as the Ark made its presence known, Adonis jumped at the chance to visit. The Warden had missed Dima over the last while she had been gone, she had missed much of what he had made for himself. When she left, he had been just a pup, nipping at the craps of what honor the Mandalorian Empire had to offer.

Now she would find him a much different man. His size and stature would remain the same, but there was a darkness there now, a raw feeling that wasn't there before. Adonis Angelis IV had learned the price of leadership the hard way, and he figured Warpriest Prime was clever enough to pick up on it. Still, all the pressure of the galaxy wouldn't be enough to keep a smile off of his face.

His personal transport shipped him to the Ark as quickly as possible.

Once on board, Adonis made his way to the one place he knew he could find her. He just needed to remember if he could remember where the Forge was. It had been a while since he had been aboard Prime's home-base.

The Ark certainly hadn't gotten any smaller in absence. If anything, the entire thing felt more alive than he remembered. Warriors and workers moved past him in both directions, hauling crates of weapons, ore, armor, and whatever other treasures Dima had managed to drag back from the forgotten corners of the galaxy. Adonis stopped one of them long enough to ask where he could find the Warpriestess.

Apparently, the forge had been the right idea. Just a little too late.

He was pointed instead toward the Grand Spire, and by the time Adonis finally found his way there, he could hear the commotion before he ever saw its source. Clerks, manifests, distribution schedules, allocation disputes. The sort of enemies no amount of beskar or skill with a blade could save you from. A grin slowly spread across his face.

"Oh, Dima..."

There was something wonderfully satisfying about discovering that while he had been learning the burdens of leadership, the Gods had apparently decided she deserved the same punishment.

Adonis followed the noise until he finally caught sight of her, only to discover that he wasn't the first to have the idea. Korda Veydran , Harlok Farr , and Mig Gred had already gathered nearby.

The Warden folded his arms across his chest.

"I leave you alone for one year and you come back with an entire karking civilization."

​

 

[Warpriest Prime]

ARK OF HA'RANGIR

Adelle Bastiel | Mig Gred | Kaela Voss | Korda Veydran | Siv Kryze | Adonis Angelis IV | Harlok Farr

O P E N
​

Dima sat behind her desk.

And suffered.

All four of her arms moved with practiced, almost unnatural efficiency as she worked through the mountain of paperwork piled before her. One hand signed decrees. Another stamped the official mark of the Ark upon requisition forms. A third sorted manifests into their appropriate piles while the fourth scrawled annotations across a particularly offensive-looking stack of bureaucratic nonsense.

Her movements were seamless.

Mechanical.

The work of a creature who had spent far too much time being forced to learn administration.

All five of her eyes steadily examined each document before it was filed away, her expression becoming progressively more agitated with every page.

She sighed deeply.

Then again.

Then took another sip from her chalice, the warm Tihaar did very little to improve her mood as for nearly a year, Dima had wandered the stars.

She had crawled through forgotten ruins, reclaimed ancient Mandalorian stockpiles, recovered weapons and armor, negotiated for ore and shipyards, secured prisoners and riches, and chased rumors concerning treasures buried so deeply within worlds that they had become little more than legends.

She had fought.

She had forged.

She had prayed.

She had explored. And now that she had finally returned to Mandalorian space, the first great challenge awaiting her was apparently...

Paperwork.

Dima's upper right eye twitched. "Who invented bureaucracy?" She stamped another document. "May Ha'rangir judge them." Another signature. "And if they're already dead..."

Stamp.

"...may he bring them back so I can kill them myself."

She took another drink.

Her tail slowly thumped against the floor as she groaned in boredom. After several more agonizing minutes, Dima finally stopped writing. One of her hands reached beneath the desk and retrieved a small encrypted data projection. The device hummed faintly in her clawed palm.

She had prepared it days ago.
A recorded message.
Something far too delicate to trust to open communications.

Dima stared at it for a moment before extending it toward the nearest Scribe.

"Scribe!"

The poor cleric practically appeared at attention.

"Take this, and deliver it to our beloved Mandalore. Top priority. No stops. The King is expecting it~"

The Scribe immediately accepted the encrypted projection with both hands.

Dima's expression became more serious.

"Have Aether Verd hail me immediately when able to debrief."

There was no irritation in her voice this time.

Aether was a busy man.

Mand'alor. Emperor. King.

Dima could hardly expect him to be sitting around waiting for every report his subjects decided to throw onto his desk.

But something told her he would want to know what the Ark had discovered during its pilgrimage.

And that conversation could come in time.

First, the city needed to restock.

Restabilize.

Reconnect.

Dima leaned back in her chair and took another drink.

Then the doors behind the Scribe swung open.

Her five eyes shifted toward them.

The messenger had barely disappeared from sight when Dima noticed the gathering beyond her chambers.

A small crowd.

Some familiar.

Some not.

Dima's brow rose.

"...Well."

She lifted one hand.

Then another.

Then all four.

The scribes and clergymen immediately understood.

Away.

Without saying a word, Dima dismissed them from her sight.

They scattered with the speed of people who had learned that when Prime silently waved them away, there was probably a reason.

Dima watched the first stranger enter.

A Mandalorian.

Confident.

Broad-shouldered.

And entirely unfamiliar.

He introduced himself with a swagger that immediately caught her attention.

"Warpriest of Kad, I am Harlok Farr My crew and I represent part of Clan Farr. I wish to offer our skills in service to the Old Gods of Mandalore."

Dima stared at him.

For approximately two seconds.

Then her grin split across her face.

She slammed one hand against her desk.

"OH GOODY karkin GUMDROPS!"

The chair scraped backward as the enormous xeno shot upright, four arms spreading wide while a delighted, almost feral laugh escaped her throat.

"Welcome, brother, to gods glorious city in the stars!"

She stepped around the desk, claws clicking against the floor.

"You strike me as a nomad sailing the cosmic sea..."

Her claws swept through her snowy mane as she looked him over.

"...would I be right in assuming this?"

There was something almost predatory in the way her five eyes studied him.

Not hostile.

Interested.

Very interested.

"Your timing couldn't be more impeccable."

Dima stepped closer.

"We may be needing your talents soon enough."

Her grin widened.

"Come, come, come, come."

She slapped him firmly on the shoulder.

"Share a drink with Prime. I'll explain soon~"

Dima turned toward the open doors, already looking beyond him.

And there they were.

More familiar faces.

Korda Veydran stood nearby, watching keenly.

Mig Gred had even shown up.

Dima's ears immediately fluttered with delight.

Her tail gave an unmistakable little wag.

"Well, well..."

But then another voice came from beside her.

A deep, familiar voice.

"Oh Dima. I leave you alone for one year and you come back with an entire karking civilization."

Dima slowly turned.

Adonis stood there in his massive ivory armor.

Her grin became innocent.

Far too innocent.

She fluttered her eyelids.

Then folded all four arms behind her back.

"Who? Me?"

She stepped out of her office, taking the opportunity to escape the mountain of paperwork waiting behind her.

"The city has been welcoming its kin, oh brother mine."

She gave him a gentle nudge with one arm.

"Returning them home was always part of the plan...promise!"

Her eyes swept across the gathering.

"...but who am I to deny those who wish to stay and call The Ark home?"

Her smile softened.

Because that was the truth.

Dima had left the Ark seeking remnants of a dead civilization.

She had returned to find living ones choosing to build something there.

Not refugees.

Not merely pilgrims.

Kin.

Dima looked around at them all.

Then her expression slowly changed.

The playful glimmer returned.

She leaned forward.

All four arms gestured for everyone to come closer.

"Say..."

Her voice dropped conspiratorially.

"You guys wanna see somethin' cool?"

Her eyes narrowed.

"Classified above top secret, of course. All that nonsense."

She glanced around dramatically.

"But I can trust y'all, right?"

A beat.

Her grin became positively wicked.

"You ARE my kin, yes?"

She gave them an exaggeratedly suspicious look.

"I mean..."

Her claws gestured toward the gathering.

"You all DID come all the way up here just to see lil' ol' menacing me~"

The Warpriest's ears perked.

Her tail swished.

And for the first time since returning home, Dima looked considerably more excited than exhausted.

Because whatever business awaited her with Mandalore...

Whatever mountain of paperwork still waited on that desk...

Those things could wait.

For now, her family had come to see her.

And Prime had something very, very interesting to show them.

 

[Korda Veydran]

Korda had remained quiet throughout the exchange, his attention moving between Dima and the others gathered around her. He watched Harlok introduce himself, listened to Adonis tease her about returning with an entire civilization, and simply observed as Dima dismissed the gathered scribes and invited them closer.

That was enough to make him finally move.
Korda took a slow breath before stepping forward, the motion deliberate and almost instinctive. A soldier answering a command.
His helmet remained secured against his belt, Oro curled comfortably within it, her little head barely visible from the opening. The three flasks at Korda's waist clinked softly as he approached, the faint scent of forge smoke and strong liquor still clinging to his armor.

His red eyes settled upon Dima.
For a moment, he simply looked at her.
Then a small, genuine smile crossed his scarred face.
"It is good to see you back, Warpriest."

His voice retained the roughness of a man who had spent the better part of the day working beside a forge, but there was genuine warmth beneath it. He inclined his head respectfully.

"A year is a long time."
His gaze briefly moved across the Ark before returning to her.
"But the Destroyer brought you back."
There was something almost reverent in the way he said it.
"Seems Kad Ha'rangir wasn't finished with you yet."

A quiet chuckle escaped him as his eyes briefly drifted toward the paperwork Dima had abandoned.
"Though I suppose the gods have a strange sense of humor. Give you an entire civilization to rebuild, then bury you beneath enough paperwork to make a warrior beg for death."

Korda shook his head with an amused breath.
When Dima invited them to see whatever she had brought back, Korda's posture shifted. His shoulders squared and his attention settled entirely upon her, falling naturally into the stance of a soldier preparing to listen.

"I'm willing to see it."
He stepped forward another pace.

Then, just as he was settling into place, something seemed to cross his mind.
"Oh."
His eyes flicked briefly downward toward the armor covering his chest before returning to Dima.
"I've been working on something in the forge."

There was a moment of consideration.
"I've got the schematics mostly figured out, but..."
Korda gave a small shrug.
"I might want your thoughts on it. Could probably use some improvements."

He seemed to realize only after saying it that he had just brought up his project without meaning to.
"After."
A faint smile returned to his face.
"Once you've shown us what you wanted us to see."

His attention returned fully to Dima.
"For now..."
Korda gave another respectful nod.
"Lead the way, Warpriest."

Tags: Warpriest Prime Adonis Angelis IV Harlok Farr Mig Gred