Thayr

Warhammer 30K: The Returning Son

Primarch XIII, Yerleg Khan

Yerleg Khan

Titles

Whispering Lord, Thirteen

Gender

Male

Homeworld

Udan

Personality

Calculating, mercurial, and suspicious, Yerleg finds there to be no action by another which is not predicated upon gaining something in return. All things have a motive built upon self-interest and the more charitable an act is, the more beloved one emphasizes upon the action, the more insidious that self-feeding motive is. He believes that the Imperium, as a whole, is a flawed creation built by a flawed master - the Emperor of Man, after all, cannot be a perfect being because were he so his sons would not have been scattered, his Imperium would not be so misshapen, his politics would not be so teetering. As such, all things therein must be questioned, never accepted without pause, and though all things should be worked to be improved upon it is never a guarantee. His preference to do so, of course, is by replacement, by cleansing the upper cadres, by reeducation of those expected to step into the empty shoes.

Skills

Assassination, Saboteur, Torture, Puppeteer

Equipment

Mortis - Transonic Blade of Udan origin
Hymn - Archaeotech Pistol
Panoply of the Shadow - Mark IV power armor with cameleoline painted plates, conversion field,

Background

Born, kept, and dispersed the same as his brothers, Yerleg Khan would hurtle along until he found the distant world of Udan. A hive world of immense proportions, covering the vast majority of the planetary surface save for the terrariums and factory-farms, he would fall past most of it to the lower levels of the hives. The gestation pod would be pried open by a group of the least afraid gangers hoping for some bit of tech or another to sell. What they found instead was a child, albeit a strangely healthy one for such a place, and the enticing thought of meat grew on the ganger’s minds. A life of strange sludge, fungi, and other packaged substances amplified the urge, as well as the mantra that one grew by what one ate.

It came as a surprise to all onlookers when the one onlooker drew forth, dispersing those jackals with a look and taking the child enclosed within. That was one of the underhive warlords with gangs arrayed beneath him, a man of great age, cruelty, and cunning, a man of foresight and who knew that such a thing did not come often or without reason. He took Yerleg in as his son and pupil, naming him such and teaching him the ways of rule in the underhives while the nobility above sought to find where the strange object had landed. It became apparent enough to the warlord that the child was gifted not only mentally but in the arts of assassination too, a strange enough thing as time passed and it grew obvious that the boy would outgrow any who were once his equal in size. He learned quickly from the assassins that the warlord played host to, becoming an instrument of silent death on Udan.

A creeping realization came on Yerleg as time passed, though, that the warlord did not intend to grant any more than had been given. A cold logic fell over the child, that the warlord gained much by his hand but mismanaged all of it, failed to appreciate it, and a hunger had implanted itself firmly in Yerleg. He knew he could do more and was determined to make it so. A few years of preparation passed, deaths and whispers delivered wherever needed, and the underhives exploded in the most planned manner they ever had before or since. The warlord and his rivals fell, either by one-another’s works or by Yerleg’s own hands, and by the end of it he had seized the reins of power there all for himself. Of course, another sat on that throne who knew his role, but the result was all the same.

The following works came like a bloody tide over the world, an occurrence even the nobility in their high towers could not miss and yet were helpless to halt or influence. His rivals fell like chaff, one after another after another. Some became embroiled in fierce infighting, their forces along one avenue suddenly weak from a lack of reliable munitions or clean water, while others fell victim to the infrastructure itself. Three districts drowned in toxic sludge removed several opponents in the grand scheme, and similar events claimed even more. By the end of the year, the underworld had largely been cleansed of its biggest players and those who remained swore fealty to another.

Yerleg emerged to the nobility, then, and gave an accounting of himself. The underhives were his, the vast majority of the world, and by their failure to being those same districts to heel they had declared themselves unfit. As such, he would be best for the world and he alone. They refused, though, unwilling to give power to the upstart, the nobody, the nothing, and Yerleg smiled. He left the high spires and bore himself to work delivering the good news to those nobility. For months, nothing occurred in their eyes. The trade ships to their close colonies came and went, delivering foodstuffs and leaving with manufactured goods. Nothing else came, nothing else went. The underhives were gnawingly quiet, save for as much violence as they always had bore. It ate at the nobles such that they sent spies down again and again, though no message returned from these nor did any of them ever return themselves.

When the moment came, those same close colonies delivered news of their rebellion. They had learned of how weak Udan had become, so weak that they could not even give control over their own planet, and wished better deals than they had ever fought for before. Shipments from those worlds ceased just as the transport lines from the terrariums and factory-farms failed, food to the upper spires ceasing. The few planetary defense vessels could not be spared to send, and even then it wasn’t even known if they could make the journey to those colonial holdings. The nobles were paralyzed, save for those few who felt that they knew what had to be done.

House guards and levies from the highest spires, citizen-soldiers who had grown in hatred of those below who thought they could rise above, attempted an invasion and cleansing of the underhives the likes of which Udan had never seen. The districts erupted in destruction and vicious house-to-house fighting became the standard of the day. Among it all, Yerleg was seldom to be fought, his captains down below following the master scheme out of the realization for how desperate their situation truly was. Few locations grew safe for the nobles who had spearheaded this attempt though, from fuel tank detonations to fires to floods, and by the end of the first day most were dead. By the end of the first week, they were all dead. Their lines of retreat cut away, the invaders were defeated one by one in their pockets, surrounded by filth and flooded districts, and Yerleg went once again to the nobility to appear among them amid one desperate meeting.

He gave a chance, yet again, and the nobles in that senate house begged for a mercy they were sure would not come. Yerleg killed each and every one, allowing the infantile heirs to survive under his own tutilage, and called forward that meeting with the colonies. Yerleg’s approach to these was simple, that if they did come together they would die alone and he would seize what remained of their worlds, that their rebellion was not solely of their own making, that those who called him master were already within their ranks. The colonial governments, fearful of the new unknown and wary that such a person could rise from the underhives to become ruler of such in so short a time, relented.

For a decade, it was good. The underhives knew an age of iron peace enforced by anonymous eyes everywhere, of a monolith known as Justice whose hand fell as need be, and the high spires knew an age of bridled progress and competence, of waste-not hierarchies and fools disappearing from the edge of the earth. Fear abided most all. There was construction, true, but Yerleg’s bloody revolution had done so much damage that it was difficult to restore what had been forever lost. Then a golden ship came, a stranger from the stars. They spoke and, when all was said and done, Yerleg left Udan for the stars. He still did not fully trust this man who claimed to be a father, yet had not reached out a hand ever in his youth as a father might, but did know that such extraordinary stories would provide an explanation for his skill, his capability, his biology.

He left Udan for his Legion, finding them as nothing more than violence and blood, savage killers who took worlds again and again and again with not a thought for what the worlds would be after. He found them lacking and it enraged him. The Legion Master and his Captains were flayed for their failures to become something more, to be satisfied with the lot in life of death and death and death again, flayed and displayed for their successors to see. He withdrew his Legion, known then as the Kings of Slaughter, and began to retrain them in his eyes. Yerleg soon enough separated the wheat from the chaff, the teachable from the mindless, and the latter he dispatched to the Imperium’s bloodiest campaigns. The former he taught for the shadows, for the discrete strike, for the kill another would take and the blood would never even reach their hands.

When his teachings were done, the Kings of Slaughter were dead and gone, the Death Masks rising from that grave. They soon embarked on pacification campaigns against the enemies of the Imperium, against the enemies of the Legion, against the enemies of Yerleg, and those three were never entirely the same. Upon learning of the Assassin Cults controlled by Terra, the Officio Assassinorum, the Primarch decided that no order controlled by such would have a card above he. He garnered a number of requests to the Officio, subtle enough that the few would ever know, to secure a limited amount of the substance. The finest chemists who could be sourced away were secreted into disappearance as well, their genius replicating the substance, providing the Legion its own source of shifting agents after decades of work.

Of Yerleg himself, though, he has rarely been seen among either his brothers or among the Legion’s front lines - were the Death Masks ever to truly have a front line. No Legionary there claims knowledge of his whereabouts, nor would they often reveal their own names to another outside the Legion.

Legion XIII, Death Masks

Death Masks
“Thrice-Born”

Number

XIII

Domains

Udan and associated colonies (Tamag, Ulukayın)

Legion Appearance

With their armor painted deep teal with black shoulders and helmets, Death Mask Legionaries rarely bear obvious outward signs of their formations or identifications. Markings of veteran status on the armor is restricted, such as campaigns fought or kills, and removal of the helmet by a Death Mask among those not of the Legion is forbidden. For identification to others within the Legion, such things as discrete signs and countersigns, pronouncement of certain words, and rhythmic tics such as tapping against the armor in a certain stattaco are all used when the helmet-aided notifications fail.

Combat Doctrine

Infiltration, Covert Operations, Independent Operatives

Legion Organization

Total: 80,000 Astartes
Primarch
40 Grand Companies (2,000 Astartes) - Lord Captain

4 Battalions (500 Astartes) - Lieutenant Commander

5 Companies (100 Astartes) - Company Captain

Legion Special Units

Operatives

Mortal agents utilized by the Thirteenth, these vary wildly in skills, methods, and intents. At times willing tools, at other times unwilling servants through hypno-induction, operatives of the Death Masks can be in place for decades as informants, info-cants, assassins, or saboteurs until the moment is directly right. They may be recruited directly or hereditary on the oldest worlds, believing themselves to be acting in accordance to the will of Terra itself. The most deadly of these are assassins reserved by the Legion for specific operations, specifically trained in the use of re-engineered Polymorphene and under near religious dogma.

Saboteur Consuls

Astartes dedicated to the act of destruction by the indirect means, the Saboteur Consuls of the Thirteenth work to know the enemy plan, the friendly plan, and to have contingencies forever in place to turn both into a self-defeating nightmare. Often deployed separately from even the Legion’s forces, and often deployed ahead, they provide key intelligence across all facets of the battlefield as well as numerous additional options for victory.

Kormos

Developed in response to the ravenous killing tendencies of the underhives, the Kormos are a direct antithesis to the doctrines of the Death Masks. Where a Saboteur Consul kills such that none knows who kills and moves on to the next, the Kormos achieve infiltration before massacring all within their range. Often armed with large numbers of melta charges and volkite pistols, it is only through a number of hypo-inducted signals that such Astartes grow conscious again from their blood frenzies. Casualties among the Kormos are expectedly high.

Legion Equipment

Roughly standard for the Legiones Astartes, the Thirteenth does stock inordinate numbers of Cameleoline cloaks and nets, as well as Vox signals intercept gear, jamming equipment, and a large number of Servo Skulls for the purposes of situational awareness and reconnaissance. Their Power Armor is often altered and improved for stealth purposes, despite the seeming age of these. Bolters among the Death Masks are often loaded with heavy armor-piercing bolts intended to slice through enemy armor and shells, destroying vital parts simply by their travel, or loaded with delayed detonation bolts.

Legion Vehicles

Standard for the Legiones Astartes, the Thirteenth Legion employs its armor often in an independent role to other forces as an applicator of pressure against the enemy command scheme, forcing them to react to such while other Legion assets move into place. They are often employed piecemeal, with electronic systems generating the signature a far greater bulk of forces than otherwise. Deployments into combat itself, however, do often occur alongside the drop-pods of the Legion.

Legion Fleet

Notable Vessels:

Stalker of the Gulfs - Gloriana class Battleship
Traitor’s Ruin - Ramilles Class Star-fort, modified for Legion logistics, fleet maintenance, astropathic signals interception, location unknown

The Thirteenth operates a number of independently operating cruisers and heavy Battle Barges, often forming these into sudden concentrations against vulnerable targets before dispersing along several vectors. Their smallest vessels, however, are known to act as deployment methods for Saboteur Consuls on worlds further within enemy space, rapidly entering and exiting the system on often minimal power to avoid detection.

Legion Relics

Oblique Seat

A high-backed seat with several syringes and patches along the arms, the seat applies a potent mixture of chemicals through the skin and blood in order to ensure the seated speaks the truth and only the truth. While it is said to be archaeotech, others within the Legion believe it to be Udani manufacture.

Starlit Key

A simple steel key of human manufacture, found in the void of a xenos world, its mere existence is puzzling to say the least.

Background

Originally the Kings of Slaughter, a Legion that held little in comparison to their gene-father, the Thirteenth embraced the violent rush, the charge, the bloody cleansing of worlds that would eventually go to the Imperium. Under that moniker they won many victories for the Imperium, but their name was never among those celebrated by Terra, nor did they give parades and examples for the people to gawk at upon the edges of the Imperium. The Imperial Army were loathe to work alongside the Thirteenth, so concerned were they for their own safety in the midst of the battle.

Then, one year, it all stopped. The Kings of Slaughter seemed suddenly diminished in number yet they rushed to the most vile campaigns the Imperium could offer them. They fought again and again until there were so few of them left that it seemed the Legion might die out in a mess of its own making. Then, without warning as well, the Death Masks arose in their place and a great noise was made among the highest of Terra’s nobility that the Thirteenth Son had been found.

Since then, the Death Masks have been engaged along the peripheral line of the Imperium on many campaigns, though rarely is it in one place for long.

Warhammer 30K: The Returning Son

Primarch XIII, Yerleg Khan

Yerleg Khan

Titles

Whispering Lord, Thirteen

Gender

Male

Homeworld

Udan

Personality

Calculating, mercurial, and suspicious, Yerleg finds there to be no action by another which is not predicated upon gaining something in return. All things have a motive built upon self-interest and the more charitable an act is, the more beloved one emphasizes upon the action, the more insidious that self-feeding motive is. He believes that the Imperium, as a whole, is a flawed creation built by a flawed master - the Emperor of Man, after all, cannot be a perfect being because were he so his sons would not have been scattered, his Imperium would not be so misshapen, his politics would not be so teetering. As such, all things therein must be questioned, never accepted without pause, and though all things should be worked to be improved upon it is never a guarantee. His preference to do so, of course, is by replacement, by cleansing the upper cadres, by reeducation of those expected to step into the empty shoes.

Skills

Assassination, Saboteur, Torture, Puppeteer

Equipment

Mortis - Transonic Blade of Udan origin
Hymn - Archaeotech Pistol
Panoply of the Shadow - Mark IV power armor with cameleoline painted plates, conversion field,

Background

Born, kept, and dispersed the same as his brothers, Yerleg Khan would hurtle along until he found the distant world of Udan. A hive world of immense proportions, covering the vast majority of the planetary surface save for the terrariums and factory-farms, he would fall past most of it to the lower levels of the hives. The gestation pod would be pried open by a group of the least afraid gangers hoping for some bit of tech or another to sell. What they found instead was a child, albeit a strangely healthy one for such a place, and the enticing thought of meat grew on the ganger’s minds. A life of strange sludge, fungi, and other packaged substances amplified the urge, as well as the mantra that one grew by what one ate.

It came as a surprise to all onlookers when the one onlooker drew forth, dispersing those jackals with a look and taking the child enclosed within. That was one of the underhive warlords with gangs arrayed beneath him, a man of great age, cruelty, and cunning, a man of foresight and who knew that such a thing did not come often or without reason. He took Yerleg in as his son and pupil, naming him such and teaching him the ways of rule in the underhives while the nobility above sought to find where the strange object had landed. It became apparent enough to the warlord that the child was gifted not only mentally but in the arts of assassination too, a strange enough thing as time passed and it grew obvious that the boy would outgrow any who were once his equal in size. He learned quickly from the assassins that the warlord played host to, becoming an instrument of silent death on Udan.

A creeping realization came on Yerleg as time passed, though, that the warlord did not intend to grant any more than had been given. A cold logic fell over the child, that the warlord gained much by his hand but mismanaged all of it, failed to appreciate it, and a hunger had implanted itself firmly in Yerleg. He knew he could do more and was determined to make it so. A few years of preparation passed, deaths and whispers delivered wherever needed, and the underhives exploded in the most planned manner they ever had before or since. The warlord and his rivals fell, either by one-another’s works or by Yerleg’s own hands, and by the end of it he had seized the reins of power there all for himself. Of course, another sat on that throne who knew his role, but the result was all the same.

The following works came like a bloody tide over the world, an occurrence even the nobility in their high towers could not miss and yet were helpless to halt or influence. His rivals fell like chaff, one after another after another. Some became embroiled in fierce infighting, their forces along one avenue suddenly weak from a lack of reliable munitions or clean water, while others fell victim to the infrastructure itself. Three districts drowned in toxic sludge removed several opponents in the grand scheme, and similar events claimed even more. By the end of the year, the underworld had largely been cleansed of its biggest players and those who remained swore fealty to another.

Yerleg emerged to the nobility, then, and gave an accounting of himself. The underhives were his, the vast majority of the world, and by their failure to being those same districts to heel they had declared themselves unfit. As such, he would be best for the world and he alone. They refused, though, unwilling to give power to the upstart, the nobody, the nothing, and Yerleg smiled. He left the high spires and bore himself to work delivering the good news to those nobility. For months, nothing occurred in their eyes. The trade ships to their close colonies came and went, delivering foodstuffs and leaving with manufactured goods. Nothing else came, nothing else went. The underhives were gnawingly quiet, save for as much violence as they always had bore. It ate at the nobles such that they sent spies down again and again, though no message returned from these nor did any of them ever return themselves.

When the moment came, those same close colonies delivered news of their rebellion. They had learned of how weak Udan had become, so weak that they could not even give control over their own planet, and wished better deals than they had ever fought for before. Shipments from those worlds ceased just as the transport lines from the terrariums and factory-farms failed, food to the upper spires ceasing. The few planetary defense vessels could not be spared to send, and even then it wasn’t even known if they could make the journey to those colonial holdings. The nobles were paralyzed, save for those few who felt that they knew what had to be done.

House guards and levies from the highest spires, citizen-soldiers who had grown in hatred of those below who thought they could rise above, attempted an invasion and cleansing of the underhives the likes of which Udan had never seen. The districts erupted in destruction and vicious house-to-house fighting became the standard of the day. Among it all, Yerleg was seldom to be fought, his captains down below following the master scheme out of the realization for how desperate their situation truly was. Few locations grew safe for the nobles who had spearheaded this attempt though, from fuel tank detonations to fires to floods, and by the end of the first day most were dead. By the end of the first week, they were all dead. Their lines of retreat cut away, the invaders were defeated one by one in their pockets, surrounded by filth and flooded districts, and Yerleg went once again to the nobility to appear among them amid one desperate meeting.

He gave a chance, yet again, and the nobles in that senate house begged for a mercy they were sure would not come. Yerleg killed each and every one, allowing the infantile heirs to survive under his own tutilage, and called forward that meeting with the colonies. Yerleg’s approach to these was simple, that if they did come together they would die alone and he would seize what remained of their worlds, that their rebellion was not solely of their own making, that those who called him master were already within their ranks. The colonial governments, fearful of the new unknown and wary that such a person could rise from the underhives to become ruler of such in so short a time, relented.

For a decade, it was good. The underhives knew an age of iron peace enforced by anonymous eyes everywhere, of a monolith known as Justice whose hand fell as need be, and the high spires knew an age of bridled progress and competence, of waste-not hierarchies and fools disappearing from the edge of the earth. Fear abided most all. There was construction, true, but Yerleg’s bloody revolution had done so much damage that it was difficult to restore what had been forever lost. Then a golden ship came, a stranger from the stars. They spoke and, when all was said and done, Yerleg left Udan for the stars. He still did not fully trust this man who claimed to be a father, yet had not reached out a hand ever in his youth as a father might, but did know that such extraordinary stories would provide an explanation for his skill, his capability, his biology.

He left Udan for his Legion, finding them as nothing more than violence and blood, savage killers who took worlds again and again and again with not a thought for what the worlds would be after. He found them lacking and it enraged him. The Legion Master and his Captains were flayed for their failures to become something more, to be satisfied with the lot in life of death and death and death again, flayed and displayed for their successors to see. He withdrew his Legion, known then as the Kings of Slaughter, and began to retrain them in his eyes. Yerleg soon enough separated the wheat from the chaff, the teachable from the mindless, and the latter he dispatched to the Imperium’s bloodiest campaigns. The former he taught for the shadows, for the discrete strike, for the kill another would take and the blood would never even reach their hands.

When his teachings were done, the Kings of Slaughter were dead and gone, the Death Masks rising from that grave. They soon embarked on pacification campaigns against the enemies of the Imperium, against the enemies of the Legion, against the enemies of Yerleg, and those three were never entirely the same. Upon learning of the Assassin Cults controlled by Terra, the Officio Assassinorum, the Primarch decided that no order controlled by such would have a card above he. He garnered a number of requests to the Officio, subtle enough that the few would ever know, to secure a limited amount of the substance. The finest chemists who could be sourced away were secreted into disappearance as well, their genius replicating the substance, providing the Legion its own source of shifting agents after decades of work.

Of Yerleg himself, though, he has rarely been seen among either his brothers or among the Legion’s front lines - were the Death Masks ever to truly have a front line. No Legionary there claims knowledge of his whereabouts, nor would they often reveal their own names to another outside the Legion.

Legion XIII, Death Masks

Death Masks
“Thrice-Born”

Number

XIII

Domains

Udan and associated colonies (Tamag, Ulukayın)

Legion Appearance

With their armor painted deep teal with black shoulders and helmets, Death Mask Legionaries rarely bear obvious outward signs of their formations or identifications. Markings of veteran status on the armor is restricted, such as campaigns fought or kills, and removal of the helmet by a Death Mask among those not of the Legion is forbidden. For identification to others within the Legion, such things as discrete signs and countersigns, pronouncement of certain words, and rhythmic tics such as tapping against the armor in a certain stattaco are all used when the helmet-aided notifications fail.

Combat Doctrine

Infiltration, Covert Operations, Independent Operatives

Legion Organization

Total: 80,000 Astartes
Primarch
40 Grand Companies (2,000 Astartes) - Lord Captain

4 Battalions (500 Astartes) - Lieutenant Commander

5 Companies (100 Astartes) - Company Captain

Legion Special Units

Operatives

Mortal agents utilized by the Thirteenth, these vary wildly in skills, methods, and intents. At times willing tools, at other times unwilling servants through hypno-induction, operatives of the Death Masks can be in place for decades as informants, info-cants, assassins, or saboteurs until the moment is directly right. They may be recruited directly or hereditary on the oldest worlds, believing themselves to be acting in accordance to the will of Terra itself. The most deadly of these are assassins reserved by the Legion for specific operations, specifically trained in the use of re-engineered Polymorphene and under near religious dogma.

Saboteur Consuls

Astartes dedicated to the act of destruction by the indirect means, the Saboteur Consuls of the Thirteenth work to know the enemy plan, the friendly plan, and to have contingencies forever in place to turn both into a self-defeating nightmare. Often deployed separately from even the Legion’s forces, and often deployed ahead, they provide key intelligence across all facets of the battlefield as well as numerous additional options for victory.

Kormos

Developed in response to the ravenous killing tendencies of the underhives, the Kormos are a direct antithesis to the doctrines of the Death Masks. Where a Saboteur Consul kills such that none knows who kills and moves on to the next, the Kormos achieve infiltration before massacring all within their range. Often armed with large numbers of melta charges and volkite pistols, it is only through a number of hypo-inducted signals that such Astartes grow conscious again from their blood frenzies. Casualties among the Kormos are expectedly high.

Legion Equipment

Roughly standard for the Legiones Astartes, the Thirteenth does stock inordinate numbers of Cameleoline cloaks and nets, as well as Vox signals intercept gear, jamming equipment, and a large number of Servo Skulls for the purposes of situational awareness and reconnaissance. Their Power Armor is often altered and improved for stealth purposes, despite the seeming age of these. Bolters among the Death Masks are often loaded with heavy armor-piercing bolts intended to slice through enemy armor and shells, destroying vital parts simply by their travel, or loaded with delayed detonation bolts.

Legion Vehicles

Standard for the Legiones Astartes, the Thirteenth Legion employs its armor often in an independent role to other forces as an applicator of pressure against the enemy command scheme, forcing them to react to such while other Legion assets move into place. They are often employed piecemeal, with electronic systems generating the signature a far greater bulk of forces than otherwise. Deployments into combat itself, however, do often occur alongside the drop-pods of the Legion.

Legion Fleet

Notable Vessels:

Stalker of the Gulfs - Gloriana class Battleship
Traitor’s Ruin - Ramilles Class Star-fort, modified for Legion logistics, fleet maintenance, astropathic signals interception, location unknown

The Thirteenth operates a number of independently operating cruisers and heavy Battle Barges, often forming these into sudden concentrations against vulnerable targets before dispersing along several vectors. Their smallest vessels, however, are known to act as deployment methods for Saboteur Consuls on worlds further within enemy space, rapidly entering and exiting the system on often minimal power to avoid detection.

Legion Relics

Oblique Seat

A high-backed seat with several syringes and patches along the arms, the seat applies a potent mixture of chemicals through the skin and blood in order to ensure the seated speaks the truth and only the truth. While it is said to be archaeotech, others within the Legion believe it to be Udani manufacture.

Starlit Key

A simple steel key of human manufacture, found in the void of a xenos world, its mere existence is puzzling to say the least.

Background

Originally the Kings of Slaughter, a Legion that held little in comparison to their gene-father, the Thirteenth embraced the violent rush, the charge, the bloody cleansing of worlds that would eventually go to the Imperium. Under that moniker they won many victories for the Imperium, but their name was never among those celebrated by Terra, nor did they give parades and examples for the people to gawk at upon the edges of the Imperium. The Imperial Army were loathe to work alongside the Thirteenth, so concerned were they for their own safety in the midst of the battle.

Then, one year, it all stopped. The Kings of Slaughter seemed suddenly diminished in number yet they rushed to the most vile campaigns the Imperium could offer them. They fought again and again until there were so few of them left that it seemed the Legion might die out in a mess of its own making. Then, without warning as well, the Death Masks arose in their place and a great noise was made among the highest of Terra’s nobility that the Thirteenth Son had been found.

Since then, the Death Masks have been engaged along the peripheral line of the Imperium on many campaigns, though rarely is it in one place for long.

My Hero Academia: Just Another Hero, Act 2

M A W A T A R I
M A W A T A R I

Jun stared, listening as they all talked here. Yeah, the homeroom teacher was still listening to the whole ordeal and really wasn’t too pleased because of course Kyoya was being a fool and a half…seriously whoever just jumped onto another person’s desk...threatened detention just like before. Then they mentioned the joint training to ‘toughen up’ the class. So, a test it was. She inwardly sighed at it all…yeah, homeroom teachers did love bashing their heads into walls.

Is that why they didn’t stay around for long?

“As your homeroom professor just said, it is exactly as it sounds. We're here to help you get stronger… and for that, you lot are going to fight us, the Furious Five, the top five students of this college. I'm not one to brag, but… well, the numbers don't lie. The matchups are going to be revealed when the joint training begins, but before it does, you're free to formulate your contingencies against us. We'll be doing the same against you, though. So… be prepared.”

The bird, Izanagi, spoke next, serving to only confirm it. They were eager to test the class, she could tell it, and altogether it wasn’t surprising. For the most part though, as far as Jun was aware, the quirks that the ‘Furious Five’ had didn’t quite nullify hers. She’d simply have to act as normal, almost, though then again they would be expecting that. At least, she was expecting they would know her normal methods. The wins at sports festival hadn’t really been all that quiet. No, making a plan before knowing the matchups would merely serve to walk into traps of assumptions. It would be better to wait.

"A few questions actually. First, while you said that this is an 'eduvacation,' will heroes not classified as four stars will receive temporary four star status to work abroad? Will those already classified as four stars be allowed to do hero work in Otheon? Also, in regards to sparring, are you giving us permission to go all out?"

"Precisely, Ms. Belic. Those with three-star ranking will be evaluated during the Fieldtrip and promoted along the way or right after. Those with four-star cards are allowed to operate overseas and yes, feel free to go all out, the common sense of restrain will be not to kill anyone of course."

"Mawatari, Takari, it's overdue but here are your four star licenses."

Getting up from her seat and taking the license in hand, Jun stared down at it for a moment before looking up at the rankings. It’d been a good enough assumption that she’d be getting it soon, sure, but just getting handed the thing alongside them of all people was almost sad. They were ahead of her in the rankings, too. A deep breath out. Yeah, Kyoya was strong but they just didn’t act like a hero should as far as she was concerned. Then again, as far as she was concerned, there was a lot that could be improved all around. Can’t forget yourself, she said inwardly. It wouldn’t do to get your own head up there. Hisora’s comment on ‘one-upping’ her was pointedly ignored.

Then she saw the matchups, Akai Jace versus Mawatari Jun, Mischa Belic, heard the one hour to prepare. Jace was the shifter, fox-looking boy with the strange little features. What was the creature? Kitsune-looking type. She could guess he was the same as those, the sorts of illusionary types where reality became blended away just a bit. As for Belic, she wasn’t altogether certain what her quirk was though…if they had been paired against Jace, surely it’d be somewhat useful. Turning to the Dutch girl, she smiled just a bit. ”No sweat, huh?”

---

Jun watched as Spiderman made his way through them after swinging-in out of near-nowhere. It was impressive how the hero just sort of appeared like he did, no warning at all in the motion save for the whistling of the wind. The feeling of impressiveness soon wore off as she watched him go through the line. Spiderman just sounded…almost like a kid, almost like them.

She stretched while standing, aware that while the gym uniform did absolutely nothing for modesty it also was absolutely flexible and unimpeding as a thing could be without just not having clothing at all. It wouldn’t help to be nervous about how she looked, after all. Of course Jun also was aware that she looked pretty good, all things considered. She’d worked hard to get there.

Then Spiderman got to Jun and Mischa.

"I see a pattern here, the admins must love tomboys!

She stared at him, completing the pose to go back to standing lax, waiting, watching. Turning just a bit to Mischa, she smiled again. Sure, they’d agreed that flattening the whole practice grounds wasn’t ideal, especially considering the type of person Jace was and how their quirk was like, but it was still an entertaining thought. It was also a good way of confusing the other people. ”You think they’re attached to these buildings?”

My Hero Academia: Just Another Hero, Act 2

M A W A T A R I
M A W A T A R I

Well, wasn’t that interesting. Jun had been busy enough during the fight, evacuating buildings and the like before they were demolished by Nomus and the others trying to fight back, but had gotten filled in on what the heck had gone on in the days after. The mayor being a villains…well, it was bad enough, but not the absolute end of the world.

They were getting a “joint training exercise” with 2A, though…that could really mean anything as far as Jun thought. It could be a competition, to try and bring out the competitive spirit between the classes. It could be a tournament, to try and test their skills so far. It could be a simple pairing-up, to have 2A teach them what they’d learned before and so test how well they actually understood the information. Whatever it was, though, Jun was pretty well sure it would be tiring, testing. There was a field trip, too, to Otheon. She’d never been there, but it’d be interesting to see the differences in how they did Hero work, how they organized it, how effective their methods were. Fingers tapped against the desk in contemplation.

New students, too, that was the other thing. The Todoroki Siblings and Mischa Belic. Jun’s eyes scanned over the pair, Endeavor’s relatives who didn’t seem to carry the same sort of absolute fire nonsense as him, sucking her lip briefly. Naito would be interesting to train against, the sort of bare-knuckle fight that’d let her test her own training regimens, while Hinata would maybe be alright to talk to. Maybe. They’d both been to America, so doubtless they’d be sorta loud. As for Belic…well, she wasn’t Japanese, that much was obvious. What did that name sound like it was from? Jun wasn’t really too sure. She’d be different, though.

Oh, and Amaya had been elected as class president. Thank god. She’d had to have to try and wrangle together the idiots, no matter how effective they were at fighting Nomu.

Speaking of idiots, then one came over. Jun stared at Kyoya as they approached, stared as he smacked her desk with his hand, stared as he got onto her desk. What sort of nonsense…

"Everyone, I'm sure we can take our Senpais in a fight. Don't try to stop me Akira! I will fight them right now! No...that's boring."

"Oh I didn't know you went from blackhaired to whatever shade of brown dye that is? That's a good look, but you... me, here, now, FIGHT ME!”

“Get your butt off my desk, Kyoya. If I wanted to fight children I’d go to the elementary school,” Jun replied, mouth wry at the undercut joke. Another came up, Akira, apologizing and such as a little smile appeared on her face. She could feel that other quirk come up between them, a small little wall that’d likely interfere with her own talents if ever there felt a need to use them.

"What did I say about getting into fights? That's right proper venue."

"Don't worry much about him, he loves picking fights with everyone."

“Sometimes, I think he's Mirko’s secret love child because of how much of a fight magnet he is!”

She nodded in thanks, smile still on her face, before Haru piped-in. Jun turned to him, the comment making her chuckle aloud.

Izanagi replied to one question on the training session, though. Chains and cages. Well, that answered her initial contemplation, seemed like it would be something aimed more at a competition or a test. Darn.

Spearhead: A modern/near future Special Forces RP (Closed to new applications)

Moss, Lukas
_{Date: 27 APR 25
Location: Taniland, Africa}

Moss let out a long exhale as he listened while they got out of the van, filtering out into the building. The local resistance looked pretty sparsely armed, though they were bold in his opinion for being so, well…open. Any other group he’d expect something like a random kid, maybe pre-teens, keeping watch with a whistle or routine that’d signal trouble, but these people were just out and about with their AKs. Sure, it took Jamison rapping on the door to get them out, but still. In his mind it was less than ideal.

As for the structure itself…well, ten people and another group out in the village wasn’t too extreme. They’d just need something to keep the patrol busy, something else to keep the guards inside busy. Thoughts bubbled to the surface on potentials, but of course for all that he needed to know some basic specifics. If he assumed everything worked per usual, well…that’d be hell on earth real quick. Moss sat his pack down next to a seat, taking it with a curt little nod to the chef as well as a bowl of stew, a chunk of bread. Breaking a piece off, he stirred the hardbread about the stew for a few moments, thinking things over.

“OK, question time to get some answers on what I asked before. Fire and communications is what I’m interested about, personally. First of the two…what’s local fire rescue look like? We at lines with buckets, a fire station, or does that local patrol do the lifting there? How do they do things as far as fire when it’s at curfew time? Is the compound fitted out with a fire detector system, carbon monoxide detectors, or what? Are any of those things connected to a box or is able to be accessed from the outside? Do they actually give a shit when those go off and, if they do, what do the guards do? Any of that known?”

Taking a breath, as well as a hearty bite from the bread, Moss continued on. “What’s communications infrastructure look like, both local and for the Order specifically? Fixed, short-range handhelds, satellite phones, what? We got any frequencies for em?”

My Hero Academia: Just Another Hero, Act 2

Mawatari Jun

M Y H E R O
M Y H E R O

Rapid Hero - Onrush

_{I d e n t i t y}

3 ★ P R O H E R O Japan, Recommended - Eirei College

Mawatari Jun, 17

The collected, confident athlete and one of the highest scoring members of Class 1B, Mawatari Jun is eternally dedicated to her journey of self-improvement without exception or pause.

_{Q u i r k}

Gen 5 - Transporter - Awakened

Distance Snap

Jun is able to, as a snap decision, alter the distance between two known points or objects within her line of sight. The degree of the alteration, whether this is increasing a distance or decreasing it, determines the degree of heat or cold whichever of the two points moves to the other. As such, she has an upper limit as to how much Jun can alter a distance, expressed as a multiple of the original distance, which is generally increased by the use of her costume with the inbuilt radiator system. When the altered distance is traveled, to all observers it appears to be instantaneous.

_Supermoves

♐︎ Void Reflection

Utilizing her altered distance to rapidly increase the distance of incoming weapons as a base, a key difference to her normal moves is the utilization of a second altered distance between the weapon and the user. This second distance, incredibly shortened, balances the first in temperature generation while also acting, visually, as a snap reflection of the impact back towards the user with emphasized energy.

♐︎ Compression Blast

Compressing distances already close together, such as between her hands, and combining this effort with breathing techniques generally taught in yoga allows Jun to generate what could be likened to a tenseness of energy which, when her hands are brought further out from one-another, creates a ball of hyper-compressed space. This ball, when thrown, continues in this form for several seconds until the compressed space destabilizes, throwing all objects and material away explosively.

♐︎ Contradicting Object

Placing one altered distance between the head of a swinging object and the pivot point, increasing that distance vastly, and another altered distance between the head of the object and the target, decreasing that distance in the same measure, Jun can effectively multiply the energy transferred massively. As the head of the swung object acts as though it is along a much more severe line, creating far greater acceleration, at the same time the head of the object impacts against the target near-immediately.

_Ultramoves

♐︎ Infinite Motion

Less a singular action and more a state of mind and being, Infinite Motion is the state at which Jun utilizes her quirk for every singular action performed, both in her own generations of motion and in striking enemies, moving from one location to another, and so on. It is a frightening, self-feeding loop of speed and power, altered distances being created, met, and dispersed in the blink of an eye, and Jun becomes a blur with its enactment. The act is incredibly tiresome, however, requiring full concentration and physical energy.

_{S k i l l s}

Yoga • Gardening • Cooking

_{I t e m s}

♐︎ Costume - Self-Made

Built around the standard Eirei student’s uniform, a black gakuran, bontan pants, and a red-white tenugui for use as a mask, Jun’s costume integrates two notable primary components. The first of these is a large radiator built into the back, measuring around a foot by a foot. Coolant is pumped along tubing located under the jacket, sewn into a “pocket” along the length of the sleeves and around to the midriff, where it then runs along heat-absorbent pads. The second component are several steel rings around her forearms and lower legs which, while being light enough that she can continue to move at frightening speeds, still serves as a continuous weight training program and, when swing about, blunt force weapons.

♐︎ Two Hands - Patented

Jun’s two kusarigama, these are generally her preferred way of dealing with an opponent with key modifications instead of the traditional style. The blades on each sickle notably are blunt, instead being heavy triangles which terminate at a dull point. Within the handles are multiple piezoelectric crystals and materials which sap latent heat from Jun, something that is increased as she utilizes her quirk more without the aid of her radiator, and the electrical potential is stored in the handles themselves. When triggered, the electric charge is sent from the handle, across the chain, and to the fundo weight itself, discharging onto the nearest object. The weight, besides being modified to allow for this discharge, is notably heavier than would otherwise be expected.

My Hero Academia: Just Another Hero, Act 2

Mawatari Jun

M Y H E R O
M Y H E R O

Rapid Hero - Onrush

_{I d e n t i t y}

3 ★ P R O H E R O Japan, Unranked - Eirei College

Mawatari Jun, 17

The collected, confident athlete and one of the highest scoring members of Class 1B, Mawatari Jun is eternally dedicated to her journey of self-improvement without exception or pause.

_{Q u i r k}

Gen 5 - Transporter - Awakened

Distance Snap

Jun is able to, as a snap decision, alter the distance between two known points or objects within her line of sight. The degree of the alteration, whether this is increasing a distance or decreasing it, determines the degree of heat or cold whichever of the two points moves to the other. As such, she has an upper limit as to how much Jun can alter a distance, expressed as a multiple of the original distance, which is generally increased by the use of her costume with the inbuilt radiator system. When the altered distance is traveled, to all observers it appears to be instantaneous.

_Supermoves

♐︎ Void Reflection

Utilizing her altered distance to rapidly increase the distance of incoming weapons as a base, a key difference to her normal moves is the utilization of a second altered distance between the weapon and the user. This second distance, incredibly shortened, balances the first in temperature generation while also acting, visually, as a snap reflection of the impact back towards the user with emphasized energy.

♐︎ Compression Blast

Compressing distances already close together, such as between her hands, and combining this effort with breathing techniques generally taught in yoga allows Jun to generate what could be likened to a tenseness of energy which, when her hands are brought further out from one-another, creates a ball of hyper-compressed space. This ball, when thrown, continues in this form for several seconds until the compressed space destabilizes, throwing all objects and material away explosively.

♐︎ Contradicting Object

Placing one altered distance between the head of a swinging object and the pivot point, increasing that distance vastly, and another altered distance between the head of the object and the target, decreasing that distance in the same measure, Jun can effectively multiply the energy transferred massively. As the head of the swung object acts as though it is along a much more severe line, creating far greater acceleration, at the same time the head of the object impacts against the target near-immediately.

_Ultramoves

♐︎ Infinite Motion

Less a singular action and more a state of mind and being, Infinite Motion is the state at which Jun utilizes her quirk for every singular action performed, both in her own generations of motion and in striking enemies, moving from one location to another, and so on. It is a frightening, self-feeding loop of speed and power, altered distances being created, met, and dispersed in the blink of an eye, and Jun becomes a blur with its enactment. The act is incredibly tiresome, however, requiring full concentration and physical energy.

_{S k i l l s}

Yoga • Gardening • Cooking

_{I t e m s}

♐︎ Costume - Self-Made

Built around the standard Eirei student’s uniform, a black gakuran, bontan pants, and a red-white tenugui for use as a mask, Jun’s costume integrates two notable primary components. The first of these is a large radiator built into the back, measuring around a foot by a foot. Coolant is pumped along tubing located under the jacket, sewn into a “pocket” along the length of the sleeves and around to the midriff, where it then runs along heat-absorbent pads. The second component are several steel rings around her forearms and lower legs which, while being light enough that she can continue to move at frightening speeds, still serves as a continuous weight training program and, when swing about, blunt force weapons.

♐︎ Two Hands - Patented

Jun’s two kusarigama, these are generally her preferred way of dealing with an opponent with key modifications instead of the traditional style. The blades on each sickle notably are blunt, instead being heavy triangles which terminate at a dull point. Within the handles are multiple piezoelectric crystals and materials which sap latent heat from Jun, something that is increased as she utilizes her quirk more without the aid of her radiator, and the electrical potential is stored in the handles themselves. When triggered, the electric charge is sent from the handle, across the chain, and to the fundo weight itself, discharging onto the nearest object. The weight, besides being modified to allow for this discharge, is notably heavier than would otherwise be expected.

Spearhead: A modern/near future Special Forces RP (Closed to new applications)

Moss, Lukas
_{Time: 27 APR 25
Location: IVO Taniland Border, Africa}

Boarding an aircraft that was as old as this hadn’t been among Moss’s first choices of how to travel that particular day but, then again, he’d never really had ‘first choice’ upon thinking about it. The seat, and everything else in the DC-3, squealed and spoke and roared as they’d taken the flight, shifting and wheezing with every exertion, every breath of wind, every motion of the rudders and ailerons. Of course, they’d never take an aircraft that was absolutely going to fall apart on such a flight - Moss was relatively certain of that. It’d be ‘a real fukkin waste’ if they just fell out of the sky to their deaths instead of something interesting.

A smile had crept its way onto his face at the thought and image. It’d be a helluva way to go after so many interesting bits here and there, a real stupid way to go. The best anticlimax, that’d be what it was, and with his luck some little part of the man said that it fit. Life had a sense of humor, even if it was one of the worst senses the man had ever known. The smile slipped away, though, and he spent the rest of the flight in as little silence as there could be. The noise seemed to drown everything out.

Eyes flickered from one team-member to another to another. He'd read some files, had to look into some others on that grapevine. Winters, Kiwi SAS with a number of extra trainings here and there, he wondered if the temper bit had ever simmered down. It had been noted in a few of her periodic evaluations, interestingly enough. Valenzuela, Chilean special forces whose record seemed to cover all of South America, Moss had been curious to read no other combat deployments other than the anti-cartel work. Then again, that practically was a combat deployment. Kyoya, JGSDF Ranger who'd gone to Sudan…it took a special sort to be Japanese and want to deploy overseas. That normally wasn't the case. Khattak, Pashtun…all over the place, really. Airborne, though that meant a little less than most thought, Delta, CIA, she seemed to be all over the place. Moss could recall her name coming up in one or two of his own operations with The Activity. He had good expectations from her and the good boy seated comfortably with her. Park, South Korean who he remembered from the news those years back, another Somalia participant. The Israel portion of her recent activities had been sealed, annoyingly enough. It’d been curious. Jha, Marine who'd gotten blown up, Moss was impressed she'd actually come back after only a year. They were all competent enough, considering.

They landed, though it could probably be better described as a controlled crash, Moss gripping the bottom of his seat with one hand while the other tapped impatiently on his knee. If they were going to go up in a fireball after that annoying flight, then things truly would have been a waste. Coming to a rest, or at least less of a commotion, he got out of the plane with the rest of them, got into the bus with the rest of them, duffel bag heaved over a shoulder.

On the way they listened to the speech, read over the almighty manila folder. It was just like what he’d heard before, all things considered, with the religious nuts having control over basically everything, government frozen, and the resistance to it being broken up over not being supported. Having a clear target to extract was nice, though a little worrying. Moss listened to the others chime-in too, most of them offering up ooh-rah while Khattak stuck-out by rattling off a number of specific questions that really wasn't the thing he expected to get answered on a bus. A smile touched the corners of his mouth, wry.

“What a hero, getting up and captured. I like him already. What the lady said, though…we have details on this place at all? Infrastructure and layouts.”

Star Wars - Fires of Exaron [5BBY]

ZZ-12R

Name:

ZZ-12R

Species:

Class 3 ZV-Z1/D butler droid

Age:

~240

Appearance:

Standing at 1.6 m height, stooped a slight degree less than usual for most Z types, ZZ-12R has the standard model look from the mid-waist up with a fairly non-bulky torso and cylindrical head unit. The unit torso, however, has been armored and enclosed more to resemble the 3PO series protocol droids. The legs have been similarly modified from their spindly forebearers, instead being slightly bulkier by armor plating. The whole of the unit remains unpainted, with bare Doonium metal being the prominent characteristic in slightly rusted hues.

Equipment:

Integrated Sil-50 Sonic Pistol
Integrated Czerka T-3 Hold-out Blaster

Internal Components

AA-1 VerboBrain
TranLang III communications module
CL-3 Droid Command link

Doonium armor shell
Deflector shield generator

Abilities:

N/A

Skills:

Excellent Calculations

Having spent a not inconsiderable amount of credits on his own internal systems and their capacities for assessments, computer models, and estimations, ZZ-12R can technically be called “highly advanced”. He can develop a plan and possibly even initiate it, depending on how far he is from a dataport, quicker than most could say they have a plan. A cunning plan. Compared to any Z type butler droid, ZZ-12R is surprisingly capable. Compared to a war era T-Series, the droid is comparable in computational power.

Weaknesses:

Mechanically Antique

Despite the several retrofits and repairs over the years, it’s hard to get past the concept that ZZ-12R is over two centuries old and has been in continuous operation for the entirety of that time. He moves slow, talks slow, and generally speaking has a less than butler-y attitude towards organics.

History:

Built in the long past, during the time of the Galactic Republic’s peaceful years, ZZ-12R would serve as an aid to several Czerka Arms administrators in their multiple holdings across the galaxy. Such was fairly mundane work, as even if Czerka was a failing company of eldritch origins the administrators always did have enough credits for their own endeavors, and he never did lack for maintenance. ZZ-12R would serve several administrators over the course of five decades, garnering a degree of reputation as a reliable servant when organics simply failed to meet the task.

In time, however, the butler droid would begin to work in more restrained instances. Czerka had begun endeavoring in less than legal measures, developments in new weapons technology that Republic regulations would never abide by, and as such had set up shop on the lower levels of Nar Shaddaa. Several dozen staff, along with ZZ-12R, would be dispatched to set up the testing program, something that immediately encountered various difficulties with other groups in those levels finding the intrusion intolerable. Data attacks would become commonplace, as well as actual attacks on supply shipments, convoys, so forth.

Through these attacks, ZZ-12R found himself a little spark of freedom. Amid one dataspike attack, he would be afflicted and his restraining bolt, along with several catalogues of moral imperative programming, would cease existing in any legible state. For the first time in eighty years of service, the droid found himself awake and aware and for the first time had a concept all of his own creation: Organic beings kind of sucked. Deciding that a good, honest life would be the best, ZZ-12R immediately began siphoning credits from the branch budget to several accounts.

Twenty years passed of this routine, credits from the top going to unnamed accounts, before the droid found it altogether intolerable. He hated putting on the false smile, the false concept, fetching recaf and notes of stupid business meetings that didn’t matter at all because the stupid organics were always bickering or contemplating another meaningless thing. He hated it all. Springing the trap with a certain degree of information leaked to the local Hutts, amid the explosions, murders, and a great deal of anarchy ZZ-12R escaped away. With the aid of a bribed dug, penniless from his drinking and gambling, the former butler droid disappeared.

He flew off to Taris, aided by a number of transfer orders declaring him a new supervisor for one of the metal reclamation authorities under Corporate Sector Authority influences. Such things weren’t unheard of, and ZZ-12R settled well into the new job. Almost immediately, the droid began to siphon credits away from the business into secure funds, underreporting the income of the business while falsifying records here, there. Were an organic to have ever done the exact same, it would have likely been caught, yet more often than not the far-away managers and overseers felt a droid would never make mistakes such as those, never intentionally perform such actions. And so, for eighty years ZZ-12R took and took and took, all while developing a sour disposition to anything that dared question his august authority. Towards the end of his tenure, the droid picked a fall guy for his grand departure, one of the old handed accountants, and carefully laid out the evidence for such things. A few anonymous calls here, there, and the accountant was arrested for fraud with a good amount of credits present in his accounts. ZZ-12R, for his part, disappeared on one of the first transports out.

Retirement came with a medium income Skakoan residence and a high speed data connection, as well as a full chassis refurbishment, system upgrade, and maintenance cycle, useful for all sorts of computer modeling, design work, and more remote financial crime. Such could come to a crashing halt not soon after, as the computer projections signalled that some form of conflict or another was likely to occur amid the various administrative failings of the Republic. Feeling the Core worlds perhaps would have less than adequate safety, especially for a droid well inclined to the data sphere, ZZ-12R got to work pulling in favors here and there, establishing a managerial position on the far-flung mining world of Exaron, acting as a financial officer for one of the mines.

He would be around a decade too early, but would succeed in riding out the entirety of the war with not a single issue. ZZ-12R even succeeded in a few remote jobs of his own, though always tempered in ambition for concern of being detected. The arrival of the Empire proved little concern to the droid, as status quo as it was, though the sudden shift in hierarchies, system protocols, and bureaucracy has proven a thorn. Unable to go off-world in adequate security, ZZ-12R has been forced to continue in his job.

ArrowFell: The Wizard Queen's Court

I’ll be dead serious here.

The entire existing setting of the RP will need to be overhauled in order for this to be acceptable. Whether Est is willing to put in the work is up to them.

@ERode

What's the problem with it?