Once united by the Eternal Covenant. Now fractured by interpretation.
1. Order of the Unbroken Seal
"Contain. Forget. Endure."
The purists. They believe the whisper-metal must be sealed away completely—every vein, every fragment, every memory. Their memory-erasing blades remove not only the corrupted but the knowledge of the corrupted. A mercy, they claim.
Their own minds are labyrinths of forgetting. Knights stand vigil at posts they no longer remember, guarding threats they can't name, holding lines that stopped mattering centuries ago.
Base: The Unbroken Perimeter (moon)
Appearance: Stark white minimalist armor, featureless visors, blades that hum with erasure
Dread: They don't remember why they're fighting. They fight anyway.
2. Order of the Eternal Vigil
"Watch. Understand. Warn."
The prophets. They study the whisper-metal, believing foreknowledge is the only defense. Their seers gaze into madness and return with prophecies—useful, terrible, self-fulfilling.
They have seen the end of the war a thousand times. They have never seen a version where anyone wins. They watch anyway. They warn anyway. No one listens.
Base: The Azurean Jewel (planet)
Appearance: Crystalline armor with floating orbital drones, eyes replaced with whisper-metal implants that never blink
Dread: They know exactly how you'll die. They just won't tell you when.
3. Order of the Adamant Crown
"Judge. Punish. Correct."
The justiciars. They enforce the Covenant as supreme law—not just actions, but souls. Their lances pierce guilt itself. Their crowns crush their own skulls when they stray ("correction").
They are the most feared order. They are also the most wrong, though no one has survived telling them so.
Base: The Adamant Citadel (orbital)
Appearance: Pristine white-gold armor, soul-judging lances, crowns that slowly tighten
Dread: They judge everyone guilty. Including themselves. Especially themselves.
4. Order of the Silent Requiem
"Absorb. Contain. Atone."
The executioners. They take corruption into themselves—literally, physically—quarantining it within their own flesh to protect others. Their bodies are museums of mutation, galleries of growth, walking tombs.
They do not speak. They do not explain. They simply suffer, and hope it's enough.
Base: The Requiem's Garden (moon)
Appearance: Bloated modified armor barely containing cancerous growths, tendrils escaping from every seam, serene expressions
Dread: They carry your horrors so you don't have to. They never asked permission.