Cities of Steel

From the journals of Rupert Ordo, the Mandalorian Piper of Lament Evening of Surgosh the 28th, 601 AR I am a traveller. I call no land my home, and my sore feet have crossed planets the length of this galaxy. I earn my coin in battle and move constantly from one field of strife to another. I have only a few spare hours between to note my thoughts and to rest and recover my strength. Though Mandalorian born I have no living family and few ties to that people. I must confess I feel more comfortable anywhere but Mandalore, as those skies remind me of tragedies I have tried to forget. Now I sit in one of many cantinas in western Ziost, City of Walls. It is a maze city where the view is choked on all sides by mighty bulwarks rising to the sky. How many bloody wars have unfolded beyond these great gates? How many bullets and lasers have torn human flesh to purchase another few parsecs of space? It was here that our ancestors forged the enormous colossals, the giant war machines which fought off the J-Droid invaders. Many look no further back than that as if our history began in those days. Their narrow view ignores the deeper roots of the people of this region. For an era long beyond reckoning mandalorians roamed the galaxy in wild and savage tribes, incapable of recording their deeds. Mandalore, our Creator, left us in this state to test our strength. After a time we caught His eye when we put forward the rudiments of culture. The first priests rose, chosen by The Lawgiver to bind us together, and taught us law. Some call it a gift and others a curse. Mandalore was our first and eldest god, the Shaper of Man, and our form resembles Him that made us.

I am a tale-spinner. I chronicle man's endless appetites for destruction and strife, and his search to redeem bloodshed through heroics, in song and melody. Some distinguish between fact and legend, but I insist the two are inseparable. That Mandalore once strode the galaxy is a fact to me as solid as the count of those who fell at the Bandomeer Massacre. Mandalore's priests shaped our earliest villages and farming communities into true towns and cities. Some of our buildings today stand on the bones of ancient structures. Take this city, for example. I do not visit it often. I find it oppressive and over-crowded, but even a simple tale-spinner from Mandalore can recognize Ziost as one of the grandest and eldest of man's works still standing. One can walk through these ancient streets and mark the entire course of our history brick by brick. Still, these accomplishments—great cities, statues of ancient kings, libraries with marbled floors—pale before man's inexhaustible thirst for war. In the ancient Warlord Era our communities fought endless battles. I am inclined to believe it was Mandalore's will, for he saw strength as an essential quality in both ruler and ruled. The Twins were mortals who transcended their flesh to become gods. They cut their own paths in a time that considered free thinking blasphemy, and they stood above the teeming masses as intellectual giants. They left their footprints across the outer rim and drew billions of followers to learn from their example. We always speak of Mazda before his sister, as her legacy is as dark as his is bright, but their destinies were joined. One need not be a theologian to appreciate the rich complexity of the philosophies arising in their wake. Their ideas shook the foundations of civilization.

Even in the face of vast cycles of history, some events are so significant they forever change the shape of the world. The rise of the Twins was one such moment. Many consider their arrival the birth of modern thought. They see it as the first attempt to discern the world by, philosophy rather than blind obedience to the priest caste. These two great figures shattered the way mandalorians saw their place in the universe among its peoples. Mazda taught there was more to life than battle and blind obedience to law. He claimed a good man must think of others before himself. Thousands followed his example and looked inward for answers. Mazda said that leading a good life required the will to promote the well-being of others, to right injustice, to fight honourably in war, and leave a noble legacy to the next generation. Mazda was a warrior-philosopher such as the world has yet to see again. No wonder his religion spread faster than the priests of the old ways could contain it. Nor do I forget the darkly beautiful Thea. Selfish as her brother was selfless and as fascinated by the darkness as he the light, Thea did not heed her brother but paved her own path. She felt true power came from placing the one before the many and compromising nothing in the pursuit of individual strength and power. She taught that a person should not allow morality to limit his or her freedom. Thea delved into forgotten occult lore and profane secrets. She ascended by freeing her mind from the shackles of conscience. Priests describe Thea as depraved as her brother was enlightened, and she transformed into the dark mirror of her brother, a goddess of temptation, indulgence, dark magic, and deception. The rise of these gods marked the beginning of the Thousand Cities Era.

Like a stained-glass window fallen from its casing to shatter on the ground, the map of the outer rim fractured. City-states of various sizes arose, each with its own warlord or petty king. Cantina-born treaties and back-alley allegiances lasted only long enough to muster the men for countless murderous excursions. Bloody raids to pillage our neighbours extended beyond our own species. We battled trandoshans and wookies, and we foolishly encroached on the ancient, secluded lands ruled by the Hutt Kajidiics and the inscrutable J-Droids. Our efforts resulted in defeat after bloody defeat. The Hutts would not budge from lines drawn in the stars of the east, and every force sent into J-Space simply vanished. Though the warfare never ceased, the fractured map began to consolidate as strong leaders seized the lands of their rivals and brought more people under their heels. Bespin expanded. Onderon rose and Hapes consumed it. The mid rim unified. The vast Corporate Sector stretched from the north to consume the Tiss'sharl, Zygerrian, Vaynai, and Ziostian peoples. Bothuwai experienced a flowering of thought and reason including the construction of the Archcourt Cathedral in the Sancteum. Bothan engineers invented the grav drive and began to realize its potential. Ships fuelled by star-dust plied the hyperlanes without concern for stars or supernova. Among my ancestors the captains of Clan Ordo formed an armada stronger than the galaxy had ever seen, and a thousand ships spread across the galaxy from rim to rim. Who can say what heights we might have reached had we been able to capitalize on these achievements? Such was not to be. From across the stars came a nightmare given form in a silent fleet of dreadnoughts drifting through the ancient Gates that hung in the skies.

The arrival of the J-Droids would eclipse even the ascension of the Twins and leave an indelible stain across our history. The Primes arrived with a rapacious hunger for slaughter and enslavement. They seemed almost human, but proved more cruel and calculating than our ancestors. Where we were warlike, the J-Droids embraced slaughter and cruelty with complete enthusiasm. The Mandalorian Armada flew to meet the Primes ship to ship, but they sent our proud vessels to the black and spawned the Field of a Thousand Souls. Countless troop carriers spilled cold drones onto the planets of the Outer Rim. The once-warring tribes and towns of the Thousand Cities fought valiantly together for the first time, but the disorganized resistance failed to stop them. The Primes consorted with dark powers. They boasted fell abilities and wielded weapons terrible beyond reckoning. In that time we had not invented the singularity drive or the colossal, nor had we any Jedi among us. Mandalorian war priests and battle chaplains of Mazda brought the power of their gods and fought as best they could, but we were undone. The J-Droids pacified us through rivers of our own blood although it took nearly two centuries. The Primes did not seek to destroy the organics. No. They subjugated and enslaved us instead. Camps of starving men and women lashed on by whip and the threat of torture pounded out the fine roads we still use today. Thousands of torn hands erected the fortresses and towers of our conquerors. Our forefathers died realizing the vision that the Primes sculpted of our primal clay, and much of that blood-soaked durasteel foundation holds up our world. Ziost alone held them at bay, but only their towering walls kept the Ziosians safe. The Ziosian armies were defeated every time they flew from their walls to test the droids. For four centuries the Primes occupied our lands uncontested, crushed us underfoot, extinguished generations of progress, and plunged us into a dark period best forgotten.

Neither quick nor easy, our eventual defiance and overthrow of the J-Droids proved a painful and excruciating process that consumed us for two hundred years. My poet's soul finds it somehow fitting that just as it took two hundred years to pacify us, we required two hundred more to break the chains binding us. After six centuries of abuse, a rising tide of resentment swept up our ancestors and put fire back in their eyes. The spark of resistance returned to their spirits, yet spirit alone was not enough. Every rebellion requires weapons and a cost paid in blood. The dark goddess Thea played a part by giving us our first taste of The Force with the "Gift of Sorcery". From this one spark of formerly forbidden power the Rebellion sustained itself and innovated new weapons even after suffering setback and defeat. Once the blaze of rebellion ignited no efforts by the Primes, no matter how brutal their reprisals, could extinguish this slim hope of eventual freedom. The rebels earned key victories not by simple courage but by the inventive application of new skills and lore combined with engineering principles predating the J-Droids. The Force alone was too blunt an instrument. The tyrants had their own technology and fiendish weapons to tear a man's soul from his flesh. We invented the cloaking device from technology developed when survivors of the Battle of the Hundred Jedi fled west, but stealth alone could not turn the J-Droids aside. It was the effort of other inventors to integrate the new science with old principles of engineering, such as the fusion engine, which provided the key. These brilliant minds conceived the first colossal as a fusion-driven, war-ready construct of gears and durasteel standing fifty feet tall or more. It only remained to find the means to build these steel monsters without detection at a time when the Primes still controlled so much of the region. Man's commitment and resourcefulness so impressed the Hutts in the east that they pledged their aid. They would not fight directly, but their assistance with supplies and labour brought the colossals from a dream on an engineer's drafting table to a towering reality. This heralded a new age, which has touched every corner of our lives since.

We earned small gains in earlier great battles by freeing Bonadan and later Tund, but our situation remained tenuous until the colossals strode from the bowels of Ziost to march on J-Droid worlds. The greatest gains of the Rebellion came in a few short years once we unleashed the giant constructs. J systems toppled as every giant footstep pushed the black-hearted invaders west. They fled by ship, but did not go quietly. The Primes razed cities as they retreated, poisoned seas, glassed continents, and defiled the lands in an act called the 'Scourge'. We rediscovered what it meant to govern ourselves when the leaders of the victorious armies, called the 'Council of Hundred', met in Socorrro, City of Ghosts. This council hammered out the new Free Cities on their political anvils. Deliberations lasted for weeks. Blood is thick, and these hard-nosed men came from lineages once longtime enemies. The negotiations resulted in the Socorro Treaties that drew the borderlines for the newly formed territories and created the sectors we know today.

Midmorning, Gungeus the 24th, 602 AR The known galaxy stretches from the solar-storm-ridden Raioballo sector and the secret confines of Hutt space to the long, unending darkness of the unknown regions in the west. The dark systems of the cybernetic J1 Dominion sprawl across the Gordian Reach and form the north eastern edge of the outer rim, while corridors of savage, densely-packed star fields, inhabited by the territorial J5 Imperium, cap this realm in the core. The last four centuries have known much strife with no end in sight: wars waged and peace shattered, Primes elevated and torn down, old regimes devoured and new ones born, borders bent and rewritten, and entire systems acquired by ruse, poison, or blade. The J3 homeland of the Maw lies nestled in a tiny zone of stability between clustered black holes, which prevent the encroachment of the Hutts. The Maw has sealed off its borders for decades, and what we know is mostly rumour and fabrication. Foolish trespassers who venture into the maze of gravity wells uninvited never return. A long shadow of superstition extends from their borders, and some whisper of dark machinations growing within. Kashyyyk is the forest planet of wookies and the duds welcomed into their cities. Wookies are honourable, stoic, and robust people boasting a culture that has changed little in thousands of years. They pride themselves on their mastery as foresters, but do not believe foolish rumours that wookies live only in tree houses. They have erected tremendous stations with vaulted halls and towers that scrape the sky, and their industrious nature is one we could do worse than emulate. Wookie-folk trace their heritage back to the original thirteen founder clans and appear to revere the clan fathers as gods. As mandalorian priests once ruled by the dictates of the 'True Law' the wookies obey the 'Codex' which serves as both a holy text and a summary of their confusing laws. Wookies, unlike Hutts, enjoy the company of mankind. They trade large quantities of food and timber in exchange for manufactured technology, mined goods and other materials difficult to find in their forest homeland. Every passing generation pays greater mind to happenings abroad, and many venture out to make their fortunes.

Evening of Ceeleus the 10th, 602 AR Today I pen a few words on the smaller systems often overlooked by the great powers: Saleucami and Mandalore. The tiny Saleucami sector boasts a bevy of nobles consumed by politics and trade arrangements. Mandalore, the land of my birth, brings me both happiness and sorrow in equal measure. Saleucami sits nestled at the easternmost corner of the outer rim betwixt the Centrality, the Hutts, the Dominion, and the Metalorn Protectorate. Their northern border has been in constant flux since the Socorro Treaties as border wars with the Dominion provoke adjustments bought in in blood. Saleucami has seen dictators come and go, but their last passed without a clear heir. Now they flounder leaderless. Profusion, not lack, of progeny caused the confusion. A wave of assassinations and backstabbing followed before the governorship fell to their wicked and self-serving prime minister. Saleucami relies on its alliance with the Union and lets its army wither. As a man who has seen a lifetime of bloodshed I consider this foolish. The Union has its own borders to look to, and the prime minister is no friend of J-Droids. When I speak of Mandalore I like to compare my homeland to a walnut: a tough exterior, difficult to crack, with nourishing meat at its centre. My land is a moody realm of foggy bogs, wet marshes, and difficult farmland and lacks the resources of some great systems. Land-owning clans maintain themselves on herds of cattle and horses aloof from the masses struggling to put food on the table. We are a tough people not easily discomfited. We find diversion in song, gambling, or ale rather than dwelling on life's inequities. Mandalore's orbital stations are a spacer's paradise, and we boast the best pilots of the mid rim. Space has brought a bounty of riches the peat bogs lack, but she is a harsh mistress filled with pirates and other hazards. The mandalorian navy is counted a peer among the powers of the galaxy. Our army does not have similar acclaim, but make no mistake those men are tough as trandoshans and have courage to spare. Talk to the men serving at Taanab or the fortresses watching the Confederacy and you will find soldiers the equal of any. Despite our resolve, however, Mandalore lacks for modern weapons and engineering to contest with our neighbours. Confederate System Lords often come snapping at mandalorian heels like a wolf after a famished deer, but we have held. We lost territory in the old border wars but gave as good as we got. Many dead Primes underestimated our border guard. I hope my people can maintain its neutrality in the days ahead and stand apart from larger wars, but I fear the rabid northern beast will come to consume us.

Day of Markus, Evening of Thandus the 3rd, 602 AR Every year if possible I return to Thustra on the Day of Markus. I look north and consider the rugged and cruel droids who dominate the expanse called the Confederacy. Here at Thustra the mandalorians beat them back in 305 AR. From these walls our tired soldiers witnessed the ascension of Markus to join Mazda. He sacrificed his life to buy time for reinforcements to reach the city and proved that the few can defend against the many if courage holds. I will not deceive. I loathe the descendants of the J3 and find in them little to praise. Such droids ruined my family, and the blood they have spilled in their unrelenting thirst for conquest spots the pages of history. I prize truth and scorn those guilty of overblown rhetoric, so I will restrain my natural loathing and attempt to write of the northerners with what measure of fairness they warrant. Without question the droids of the J3 are tough, irascible, weathered, and proud. They learned well from those ancient days when man endured their cruelty through strength. The north keeps deep and ancient customs derived from when barbaric warlords roamed and ruled the systems with their pompous, golden Primes. The J3 take pleasure in mocking Mazda's message, purporting to heeded select words of the old philosopher-warrior. They laud his advice on nobility in battle and ignore his condemnation of rampant aggression. If one is to understand these steel-eyed northerners consider that much of the Confederacy is shrouded in plasma storms five months out of the year. Solar winds cleave moons in half, and sudden gravitational anomalies sweep in so fast that entire fleets have vanished in mere seconds. Many are never seen again. Only the strong survive in such a harsh place. The Confederate military personifies this strength with huge mechs thundering along next to hard drones and primes armed to the teeth with blade and gun.

Perhaps in such an unforgiving place the concept of freedom becomes meaningless. The Confederacy has mass produced drones since the time of the old empire. Every Prime serves the 'Cause' for at least one period of service. Their mastery of durable machinery is nearly the equal of their southern rival. Even I who loathe them will admit there are many Confederates as shrewd and cunning as they are implacable. The Old Faith, a branch of droid worship, is stronger in the north than anywhere outside the J5 Imperium. Atheists form the majority, but not an overwhelming one as in the Union, Dominion, and Federations. Pious or not, however, they love their kind above all. The J3 are as patriotic a people as you will ever find, and it is part of what makes them obnoxious to outsiders. The Confederacy has never rested comfortably with their losses since the Rebellion, for they remember the glory of their old J3 Empire. Every generation a new imperialist rises from their nobility to declare the time ripe for border wars to 'reclaim' lands 'stolen' in past generations from their rightful inhabitants. It is unfortunate the old northern warlords do not remember they once had their own pride separate from the Confederacy. Now they are all alike in their blind devotion to the rebirth of the old empire and heedless of the consequences of their warlike savagery. The Confederacy's strongest adversary remains the Union. They are known for coming to the aid of their J2 allies and even supporting Mandalore in a few wars over the centuries. Three post-Rebellion wars have erupted between the Union and the Confederacy, but this gives no sense of the state of constant tension and animosity simmering in times of 'peace'. Every few years bring battle between the two sides along the borders. There is no word in the J3 root language for 'surrender,' but they have a dozen synonyms for 'vengeance'.

Afternoon of Curten the 11th, 602 AR At the centre of the inhabited galaxy lies the J4 Union, and I often find myself here for one reason or another. Of all the great J powers, the Union emerged strongest and wealthiest from the Rebellion. It united the diverse and powerful Primes of the ancient forge worlds of the core, the sweeping mid rim farming worlds, and the heart of the deep core Tython combined with the expansion region and its wily colonists. The Union has no lack of iron, gold, timber, food, gems, quarries, or any other resource a modern power requires. Coming as I do from the poorer lands of Mandalore, I view these people as overly fortunate and know they do not appreciate the advantages given them by dint of birth. The Union's technology is superb and improving every day, yet it is their mechanical engineering that gives them the edge. Their mechs boast inventive armaments and bow to the will of their Primes. The Union's borders touch all of the true super powers: the Dominion to the northeast, the Confederacy to the north, and Hutt space in the east. The Unknown Regions made up their entire western border until the Civil War. The end of that war resulted in the J5 Imperium becoming their newest western neighbour and enemy. I have mixed feelings about the Union. They are far better than Confederates, and Mandalore has reason to appreciate their support, but they enjoy putting their head into the bear's mouth and riling up enemies with little concern to the future. I wonder if the rivalry between the Confederacy and the Union will consume all lesser nations in a funerary pyre. Would it not be better if these two powers focused on the threat of the Dominion in the northeast? It is my opinion that the Union has been short sighted about the enemy off their eastern border. Furthermore, every Union president since the Civil War has also ignored tensions with the Imperium. Each has left that problem as an inheritance to his successor. The Union endured tragedy in recent times when the current president, J4-L 3T0 'the Younger', ousted his older brother J4-V NTR, 'the Elder'. V NTR, a paranoid tyrant, managed to escape but recently returned from the Unknown Regions with strange allies. He attempted to seize Corellia, but the system's defenders pushed him back into the dark of space. It has never been easy to lead the Union. Still, I feel little pity as many of their rulers have purchased their sorrows with coin of their own minting.

Early Morning, Ordesh the 15th, 602 AR I am not a comfortable guest here in Coruscant, and they watch me with mistrust. Still, a mercenary can find employment here, and I have friends among the alleyways. From my room's balcony I overlook a solemn procession in the street below. It is impossible not to be reminded of the strength of faith in this place. Faith is the tie that binds here. For years historians and politicians both have pretended the Imperium was not a sovereign power of its own because the agreements that ended the Civil War left them tentatively beholden to the Union. That is a farce, and most admit the Imperium is the youngest J superpower. The tale of the Union Civil War is for a different time. Suffice to say this religious schism opened a wound that has never healed. Any who delude themselves by thinking the Imperium is a part of the Union have not seen the battle lines along the Corellian Run or the periodic clashes of fire, lightning, and plasma. The Core divided after the Civil War to create the Imperium and placed two nations where one had stood before. It put bitter enemies at close proximity like a powder keg waiting for the right spark. The rest of the Imperium stretches west and south into the super-dense and resource-poor Deep Core adjacent to the dangerous Unknown Regions. The J5 practice a strict form of worship and believe endless punishment awaits them upon destruction if they do not obey their Creator. Priestesses instil a terror of the clergy from an early age, and they teach the people to obey without question and to expect punishment and torture for expressing the slightest doubt. Nowhere except the Imperium are the Old Gods of the J obeyed exclusively and unflinchingly hearkening back to the time of the priest-kings of old. There are J-Droids abroad who, eager to return to the old ways, occasionally send aid to the Imperium. I have heard of secret factories and armouries along with tremendous hidden weapons stashes to arm the entire region at a moment's notice. When the Hierarch gives the call, I hope the Union is ready for war. No man should underestimate the resolve of these fanatics. They care not if they are outnumbered or out-gunned and will fight to the last in the name of their uncompromising god. I intend not to be here when that day comes.

Somewhere off the Gordian Reach, late 602 AR I write from the quarters of a northbound transport crossing the dark black on a perilous journey. From the cockpit I have seen the slender station called Hell's Hook above the distant moon of the gas giant once called Yavin—now a fell outpost of the J1. Few outsiders, myself included, have walked the black soil of their forge worlds amidst the undying hordes and cybernetic constructs that call this place home. A course so close to it now invites our destruction. I only hope our captain knows what he is doing. The feverish and malignant systems off of northern Union space are also named the Dominion, the Nightmare Empire. Raxus is its capital, and I fear that place more than the hellish wilds of Vendaxa. There Lord J1-T 0RK landed to claim the systems as His own. He is the father of all J1, and He rules without question. T 0RK's ancient power has ground entire towns to dust, and thousands feel the lash of His Prime generals. Still more fail to escape the call to war even in death. The J1 fly from their distant home in search of plunder and spill millions of bloodthirsty pirates, marauders, and light and heavy mechs onto the planets of the Mid Rim. Some slaves end up forcibly enlisted in their armies as cybernetic thralls fused with technology. Through twisted science Lord T 0RK boasts an eternal army that grows with each victory.

Dawn of Corun the 19th, 603 AR I look out over the chaotic mess of systems that is Wild Space and wonder that any willingly make their homes in its fierce expanse. I avoid this region as a general rule but felt compelled to visit the small mining settlement of Bakura at the fringes of this bleak expanse. Wild Space is like an empty and dust-filled wasteland in skies. Beyond the vast spaces between systems out on the galaxy's edge lies the vast expanse of the Unknown Regions. If one discounts the Confederate stronghold of Ilum, the only settlement this far out is this mining planet controlled by the independent J1 System Lord of J1-T R0N. The workers of Bakura make a perilous living digging strategic and rare metallic ores from the mountains ringing the marshes and have learned to stay out of that void to the west. In recent times one man of note has flown in the face of such danger. V NTR, 'the Exile' was hurled into the west while piloting an imperfect solar sail ship intended to soar beyond conventional hyperspace speeds and vanished in 594. Inexplicably he returned in 603 AR and brought terrifying allies never seen before in the east: the Jorg. I know little about these Jorg except that they are powerful warriors with a cruel temperament. The Jorg march to battle alongside great robotic beasts and wield their own energy beams and cannons. Jorg beasts and warriors bested the Union's Corellian garrison when the Elder's invasion force attacked. Some claim Corellia received aid through direct divine intervention from the very hand of Mazda. I wonder what the appearance of these new invaders heralds and whether it presages the decent of another dark era to test man's strength. We know the Exile survived the battle of Corellia, and I expect his tale is not ended. At times like this I am glad to be but a simple mercenary and leave the fates of systems in sager hands. They say L 3T0 does not rest easily. I for one do not envy the the responsibility he bears.

Dusk of Obiesh the 1st, 603 AR Mankind is a destructive lot, and war is always around us. I hear the echo of ship cannons not far from my balcony in Bespin. I find it strange that I no longer flinch at the sound. Where once soldiers wielded sword and spear they now launch plasma shot from massive cannons and deadly rounds from gauss guns while engineers put their skills to work arming huge, volatile mechs. We stand in the uneasy calm before the storm. Our finest hours have often come in the tumult of battle. I have found that the galaxy's—maybe even the universe's as a whole—heartfire is stoked by the wars and skirmishes around and within it. War has become my meat and drink. As the storm comes I feel a stirring in my soul like drums calling soldiers to the line in morning fog. Each of us must choose a side, raise a weapon, and lift our banner to join in the strife to come. Better to fall in heroic charge than to waste away nursing sullen regrets. We who fight will sign our names on the pages of eternity with our blood. If I should live I will tell tales of glory and triumph that endures even past the shroud of death.