Terror

THIS PAGE IS A WORK IN PROGRESS. Sections may be incomplete, contain placeholder content, or be revised without notice as this holocron continues to be developed.

Terror
Production Information
Manufacturer	Corellian Engineering Corporation
Class	Executor-class
Type	Star Destroyer
Cost	109,400,435 credits
Length	12,800 meters
Hyperdrive Rating	1
Technical Specifications
Shielding	35,000
Hull	40,000
Usage Information
Crew
Passengers	12,000
Cargo Capacity	275,000 tons
Affiliation	Galactic Empire
Commander	Darth Chaakat
Status	Active
Assignment	Regional Government

The Terror is an Executor-class Star Destroyer serving as the flagship of Grand Moff Nah`utal, Governor of the Emerald Region. Assigned to regional flag duty rather than front-line fleet action, she functions as much as a seat of administration as a warship — hosting sector governance, tactical coordination, and the Grand Moff's personal quarters under one hull. Her size affords a degree of self-sufficiency uncommon even among capital ships, with hangar, detention, and medical facilities scaled to support extended independent operation. She is, in practice, less a single vessel than a mobile extension of the Region itself.

Service Record — A Fleet Held in Reserve

No Data on File

Interior Layout — By Deck

Deck 3 — Command Tower

Houses the bridge only. No additional rooms are recorded for this deck.

Deck 2 — Officer Country

Diplomatic Reception Hall — The largest room on the deck opens straight off the main corridor, its high ceiling and polished floor deliberately built to impress before a single word is exchanged. A long table sits near the far wall for formal signings, flanked by seating arranged to keep visiting dignitaries facing the room's Imperial standard rather than each other. Soft, even lighting replaces the utilitarian glow found elsewhere on the deck, and a raised dais near the entrance gives the Grand Moff a clear vantage over anyone received here. Guards posted discreetly at the door are the only visible security, everything else kept well out of a visitor's sight. It is the one room aboard the Terror built entirely for someone else's benefit — right up until the moment it isn't.

War Room / Tactical Command Center (hub) — The double-wide chamber is dominated by a raised holotable that projects a slowly rotating display of the Emerald Region, fleet icons drifting across it in near-real time. Data slates and status boards line the walls, feeding updates from every ship currently answering to the Terror. A ring of officer stations surrounds the table, each angled toward the Grand Moff's position at its head. Three sealed doors lead off from the room, each opening onto a smaller space built to support what happens at the table. Nothing said here reaches the rest of the ship unless the Grand Moff decides it should.

Fleet Operations Alcove — Through one of the war room's doors sits a cramped, console-lined space dedicated to tracking the logistics behind the holotable's clean fleet icons — fuel reserves, repair schedules, and supply convoys en route across the region. A duty officer stationed here feeds updated figures directly into the main display without ever needing to interrupt a briefing in progress. The walls are bare except for scrolling manifests and a single chronometer synced to fleet-wide movement orders. It's a room built for constant, quiet upkeep rather than dramatic decisions. When the war room's picture of the fleet looks effortless, it's because this room is doing the work behind it.

Secure Communications Alcove — Another door opens onto a narrow, shielded room built around a single encrypted holo-transceiver, its housing lined with dampening plating to keep transmissions from bleeding into the rest of the ship's comm traffic. Orders drafted at the tactical table are relayed to fleet commanders from this alcove and nowhere else, ensuring nothing sensitive passes through a general channel. A lone signals officer mans the station, cleared to hear directives before anyone they're addressed to. The room holds no other furniture — just the transceiver, a chair, and a locked log of every transmission sent. It exists so that what's decided in the war room reaches the fleet exactly as intended, and no other way.

Threat Assessment Alcove — A third door off the war room opens onto a dim, sensor-lined chamber where incoming contact reports, reconnaissance feeds, and hostile fleet tracking are cross-checked before ever reaching the holotable. Banks of scanner readouts line the walls, manned by analysts who flag anything worth interrupting a briefing for. Unlike the open display in the war room itself, nothing here is shown until it's been verified — false contacts and unconfirmed sightings stay in this room, not the main picture. A single secure feed links the alcove directly to the Terror's sensor arrays, bypassing the ship's general tracking network entirely. It's the filter that keeps the Grand Moff's tactical picture accurate, and keeps rumor from ever reaching the table.

Officer's Wardroom (hub) — Long dining tables run the length of the room, polished to a mirror shine and set beneath the muted glow of recessed lighting that keeps the space comfortable rather than clinical. It's where the Terror's officers actually mix — junior lieutenants trade shifts at the same tables as department heads, if only for the length of a meal. A sideboard along one wall holds the day's service settings, replenished quietly between shifts without disrupting conversation. Four doors lead off from the room, each serving a different need the main hall isn't built for. On a ship this size, it's the closest thing the officer corps has to common ground.

Galley / Pantry — Behind the sideboard, a compact galley handles everything the wardroom's tables actually run on — ration stores, prep counters, and a rotation of duty cooks working through meal after meal on a fixed schedule. Shelving lines every open wall, stacked tight with preserved goods pulled from deeper cargo holds as needed. The room stays warm and faintly loud, full of the low hum of equipment that never quite shuts down between shifts. Nothing here is meant to be seen by the officers eating just beyond the door. It's unglamorous work that keeps the wardroom running without anyone out front giving it a second thought.

Private Dining Room — A smaller, quieter room branches off the wardroom for meals that call for fewer witnesses — a visiting regional governor, a promotion dinner, or a conversation better held away from the main hall. A single round table seats a handful of officers at most, set with finer service than what the main wardroom uses day to day. Soundproofing in the walls keeps whatever's discussed here from carrying. It's used sparingly, which is part of what makes an invitation to it mean something. Rank alone doesn't get an officer through this door — the occasion does.

Officers' Lounge — Past a second door sits a more relaxed space, furnished with low seating, a sabacc table, and a shelf of well-worn holochess sets that have clearly seen years of use. Off-duty officers drift in and out here more than they do the wardroom proper, since nobody's expected to keep up appearances over a card game. The lighting is warmer and dimmer than the rest of the deck, deliberately built for unwinding rather than working. Conversation here tends to drift away from duty rosters and toward everything else. It's the nearest thing to downtime the officer corps gets aboard a ship this size.

Trophy Room / Commendation Hall — The wardroom's fourth door opens onto a narrow gallery lined with unit citations, campaign banners, and salvaged mementos from engagements the Terror's officers served in before and after joining her crew. Glass cases hold smaller relics — a cracked helmet plate, a recovered rank insignia, a chunk of hull plating from some past battle worth remembering. Nothing here is maintained for outsiders; it's a private accounting of the ship's history, kept by the people who lived it. Officers passing through tend to slow down without quite meaning to. It's less a museum than a reminder of what the uniform has already cost.

Signals Intelligence (hub) — Rows of intercept stations fill the room, each officer hunched over a scrolling wall of raw transmissions pulled from every frequency the Terror's arrays can reach. A large central display collates flagged intercepts into a single priority feed, updated the moment anything worth escalating comes through. The air carries a constant low murmur of overlapping audio, filtered and cross-checked before anything reaches a human ear directly. Three doors lead off the floor, each handling a stage of intelligence work too specialized for the open room. Little of what happens here ever gets discussed outside it.

Intercept Array Control — One door opens onto a compact control room dedicated to steering and tuning the ship's external sensor and antenna arrays, extending or narrowing their reach depending on what fleet command wants monitored. A bank of alignment consoles lets technicians retask individual arrays without disrupting the rest of the intercept floor's ongoing work. Status lights track which arrays are active, which are recalibrating, and which have gone quiet for reasons still being diagnosed. It's a maintenance-heavy room, more concerned with keeping the ears open than with what they're hearing. Nothing gets intercepted at all if this room isn't doing its job first.

Cryptography Lab — Behind a second door sits a windowless lab lined with dedicated processing hardware, humming through layers of encryption pulled from the day's more sensitive intercepts. Analysts here work in shifts against transmissions that the main floor couldn't crack in real time, some sitting unresolved for days before yielding anything. Locked terminals keep partially broken ciphers from being accessed outside the room, even by other signals staff. The work is slow and mostly silent, punctuated by the occasional confirmation chime when something finally opens up. What comes out of this room often matters more than everything else the floor intercepts combined.

Linguistics & Analysis Room — The third door leads to a smaller room where decoded intercepts go once they're no longer encrypted but still far from understood — translated, contextualized, and checked against known dialects, codewords, and unit slang from across the region. A handful of specialists cross-reference each transmission against a growing library of prior intercepts, looking for patterns the raw text wouldn't show on its own. Notes and annotated transcripts cover every worksurface, more paperwork than technology by comparison to the rest of the wing. It's the last stop before an intercept becomes something worth putting in front of the Grand Moff. Without it, decrypted signals are just words without meaning.

Medical Bay (existing, unmodified) — Rows of bacta tanks line the far wall, each one housing a submerged patient suspended in the thick, faintly glowing healing gel, breather masks feeding oxygen while damaged tissue knits back together over hours or days. A central triage station handles the steady trickle of minor injuries that don't warrant a tank, staffed by a duty medic working through cuts, burns, and the occasional training-related fracture. Diagnostic beds sit along the opposite wall, each wired into a monitor bank that a physician can check from across the room without needing to hover over every patient personally. Storage cabinets hold surgical kits and medications, restocked from the ship's broader supply chain on a fixed schedule. It's one of the few rooms on the Terror where rank matters less than how badly someone's hurt.

Deck 1 — Operations & Crew

Detention Block (hub) — Prisoners brought aboard the Terror pass through this room first — a stark processing floor with a single check-in desk, a scanner arch, and restraint stations bolted to the deck at even intervals. A duty officer logs every intake here, cross-referencing identification against fleet-wide watch alerts before anyone is moved further in. The lighting is flat and unflattering by design, stripped of anything that might soften the room's purpose. Five doors branch off from this floor, each leading to a different stage of what happens to someone brought through the entrance. Nobody passes through this room twice without something about their situation having changed.

Holding Cellblock — Through the first door, a row of standard cells lines a narrow corridor, each fronted by a transparent containment field rather than solid bars, letting guards observe every occupant at a glance. Prisoners here are typically short-term — awaiting transfer, sentencing, or release — and the cells reflect that, spare but not deliberately punishing. A single guard station at the corridor's end monitors the whole row from a bank of status readouts. Meals and basic necessities are passed through a sealed slot rather than an opened door. It's the block's most routine space, which is exactly why it sees the most traffic.

Isolation Cell — A second door leads to a single reinforced cell set apart from the rest of the block, built for prisoners considered too dangerous, too valuable, or too disruptive to hold anywhere else. The containment field here runs on a redundant power loop, backed up twice over in case of failure. No observation window faces the corridor — only a single monitor feed routed directly to the guard station. Sound dampening in the walls keeps whatever happens inside from reaching anyone outside it. It's used rarely, and everyone assigned to the block knows exactly why when it is.

Interrogation Chamber — Behind the third door sits a bare room built around a single fixed chair and a table with nothing on it but a data slate for recording. The lighting can be adjusted from the observation side, along with the temperature, though neither control gets much use unless the situation calls for it. A one-way viewing pane lets a second officer watch without being seen, taking notes the interrogator sometimes never sees themselves. Nothing about the room is comfortable, and nothing about it is meant to be. Whoever sits in that chair generally already knows why.

Evidence & Effects Lockup — The fourth door opens onto a narrow room of numbered lockers, each holding whatever personal effects, confiscated weapons, or physical evidence came in with a given prisoner. Every locker is logged against the intake record from the processing floor, cross-checked whenever something is added or removed. Shelving along the back wall holds larger seized items too big for the lockers themselves. Access requires two separate authorizations, logged independently of each other. Nothing leaves this room without a paper trail longer than the item itself.

Guard Ready Room — The fifth door leads to a small break and equipment room where the block's security detail suits up, stows gear, and rotates through shifts without ever leaving the block unsupervised. Wall racks hold restraint kits and sidearms issued at the start of each shift and returned at its end. A shared table and a few chairs give off-duty guards somewhere to sit that isn't within sight of a cell. A duty roster posted by the door tracks who's covering which section of the block at any given hour. It's the least remarkable room in the block, and the one that keeps all the others running properly.

Brig — A short row of holding cells sits between two secured doors, one leading toward the crew quarters and the other opening onto the main corridor, letting duty officers bring someone in without cutting through the rest of the ship either way. Each cell uses the same transparent containment field as the larger Detention Block, simple enough that no dedicated guard has to be posted around the clock. A small desk near the corridor-side door holds the shift log, tracking who's been brought in and for what, usually nothing more serious than insubordination or a drunken brawl after hours. There's no interrogation gear and no processing station — anyone facing real charges gets moved to the Detention Block instead. It's built for quick, short-term discipline, not confinement, which is exactly why it needs a door on either end.

Records & Archives — Rows of secured data terminals line the walls, each holding a slice of the Terror's operational history — service logs, requisition records, and disciplinary files going back years. A librarian-clerk works from a central desk, the only person aboard authorized to pull records without a standing request logged first. Two doors sit on opposite sides of the room, letting officers in from the main corridor while keeping a second, quieter route open for anyone who'd rather not be seen requesting a particular file. Shelving along the back wall holds hard-copy originals too sensitive to digitize fully. It's a room that sees a steady trickle of visitors rather than a rush, each one there for a reason they don't always explain.

Dueling Salon — An open floor with reinforced flooring and scorch-dulled walls gives officers and duelists room to spar without damaging anything that matters, the space wired for lightsaber-safe lighting that won't wash out a blade's glow. Padded benches line one side for those waiting their turn or watching a match unfold. Two doors, placed on opposite walls, let traffic move through without a queue forming at a single entrance, useful when more than one match is drawing a crowd. A rack near the door holds training remotes and practice blades for anyone without their own. It's less formal than the Grand Moff's private training alcove, and busier for exactly that reason.

JTF Briefing Room — A long table dominates the room, its surface doubling as a display for mission maps, personnel rosters, and objective overlays pulled up before a Joint Task Force deployment. Chairs line both sides, enough for a full strike team to sit through a briefing without anyone standing at the back. Two doors serve the room, one opening toward the hangar-bound lift for teams heading straight to deployment, the other toward the rest of the deck for planning staff coming from elsewhere. A secure terminal in the corner keeps mission files locked down until the briefing officially starts. It's a room built for the short, focused stretch of time between a mission being planned and a team walking out the door.

Death Trooper Combat Simulation Chamber — Kept separate from the rest of the ship's training spaces, this sealed chamber runs live-fire and stealth exercises under lighting conditions the crew elsewhere never sees — deep shadow, flickering emergency red, total blackout on rotation. Reconfigurable barriers shift between drills, turning the same floor into a boarding corridor, an urban ambush site, or an open kill zone depending on what's being rehearsed. Access is restricted even by the standards of the rest of the ship, logged separately from the general armory and training rosters. The squad that trains here answers only loosely to the chain of command everyone else follows, and the room reflects that isolation. Few aboard the Terror know exactly what happens behind its door, and fewer are inclined to ask.

Naval Marine Drill Deck — A wide, brightly lit floor supports the more conventional side of shipboard defense training — boarding drills, close-quarters formations, and repel-boarder exercises run against mock intruders using stun-rated gear. Squad leaders cycle troops through timed courses meant to mirror the corridors and choke points of the Terror itself, so a response feels familiar before it's ever needed for real. Equipment racks along the walls hold standard-issue blasters and riot shields, restocked and checked between sessions by the armory. Unlike the Death Troopers' sealed chamber, this deck sees regular traffic and open scheduling, treated as routine upkeep rather than something to keep quiet. It's where the bulk of the Terror's onboard security actually gets built, one repetitive drill at a time.

Marine Garrison — Row after row of bunks fill the space in tight, efficient blocks, each one assigned to a Navy Marine on standing readiness to respond the moment general quarters is called. Weapon lockers sit built into the foot of every bunk, keeping a sidearm and basic gear within arm's reach rather than routed through the main armory during an emergency. A duty board near the entrance tracks who's on active rotation, who's stood down, and who's due to relieve the current shift. The lighting stays dimmed during off-hours but can be snapped to full brightness ship-wide in seconds, along with a klaxon that clears the bunks in under a minute. Unlike the crew quarters elsewhere on the ship, nobody stationed here unpacks much — everything about the room is built around leaving it in a hurry.

Base — Hangar & Utility

Hangar Bay — A cavernous open deck runs the width of this section of the ship, its far wall replaced entirely by a shimmering deflector shield curtain that holds pressurized air inside while starfighters and shuttles pass straight through without ever cycling an airlock. Rows of TIE fighters sit docked along magnetic clamps overhead, freeing the deck below for shuttles, cargo transports, and boarding craft to come and go. Ground crews in color-coded vests move constantly between docked ships, running fuel lines and diagnostic checks under the watch of a control booth overlooking the whole bay. Blast doors line the inner wall, ready to seal the bay off from the rest of the ship in seconds if the shield curtain ever fails. It's the loudest, busiest space aboard the Terror, and the one most exposed to whatever's waiting outside.

Armory (hub) — The main floor is lined with locked weapon racks and inventory terminals, every blaster and vibroblade logged against a serial number the moment it's checked in or out. A reinforced counter runs along one wall, manned around the clock by whoever's holding the duty roster that shift. Overhead lighting stays bright and even, deliberately harsh enough to make it easy to spot a missing item at a glance. Six doors lead off the floor, each dedicated to a different category of gear too specialized or too dangerous to keep in the open racks. Nothing leaves this deck without passing through here first, one way or another.

Small Arms Vault — The first door opens onto tight rows of shelving holding blaster pistols and rifles by the hundred, sorted by model and charge status rather than by unit. A recharging rack along the back wall keeps power cells topped off between issues, humming faintly at all hours. Each weapon's last maintenance check is logged on a tag clipped to its rack slot, checked against records before anything goes out the door. It's the busiest of the armory's side rooms simply because it's the one everyone needs something from eventually. Restocking it is a near-constant, low-priority task that never quite finishes.

Heavy Weapons Locker — Behind the second door sit the larger ordnance pieces — repeating blasters, portable cannons, and the mounts needed to deploy them — secured in individually keyed cages rather than open shelving. Access here requires a second signature beyond the standard issue log, logged separately from the small arms traffic next door. The room stays noticeably cooler, its cooling systems tuned to the heat these weapons generate in storage. Few requisitions come through in a given week, and each one gets noticed when it does. It's built for capability the ship hopes it rarely has to use.

Body Armor & Equipment Storage — The third door leads to row after row of fitted armor plating, helmets, and tactical webbing hung on frames sized to match standard trooper builds. A fitting station near the entrance lets quartermasters make quick adjustments before gear goes out for a deployment. Spare visors, seals, and clasps fill smaller bins along the walls, replaced constantly as older gear wears through. The room smells faintly of the sealant used to patch minor damage between uses. It's less about weapons and more about keeping the people who carry them intact.

Ordnance & Explosives Bay — Set apart behind blast-rated doors, this room holds grenades, demolition charges, and detonators in individually shielded containment cases, spaced deliberately far apart along the walls. Entry requires two separate authorizations logged at the armory counter before either door will open. Environmental sensors monitor temperature and vibration constantly, tied to an alarm that reaches the bridge directly if anything reads wrong. Nobody lingers in this room longer than a transaction requires. It's the one space in the armory where caution outweighs convenience every time.

Weapons Maintenance & Repair Bay — Past the fifth door, a cluttered workbench-lined room handles everything from routine cleaning to full weapon overhauls, staffed by a rotating handful of armory technicians. Diagnostic rigs test charge output and barrel alignment on anything flagged as underperforming out on the floor. Spare parts fill labeled bins within arm's reach of every bench, organized more by habit than by any strict system. The air carries a faint tang of solvent and scorched metal that never fully airs out. It's the room that keeps everything else in the armory actually usable rather than just present.

Quartermaster's Office / Issue Counter — The sixth door opens onto a small administrative office where the armory's quartermaster tracks inventory levels, requisition requests, and outstanding gear across the entire deck. A desk terminal displays real-time stock counts pulled from every room in the complex, flagging shortages before they become a problem out in the field. Requisition slates stack neatly in an in-tray, each one requiring a signature before anything moves. It's a quiet room compared to the rest of the armory, more paperwork than hardware. Everything the armory holds ultimately answers to whoever's sitting at this desk.

Engineering Control (hub) — A narrow room packed floor to ceiling with status boards, the space monitors everything from power distribution to hull integrity across the lower decks. A ladder set into the floor drops down to the crawlspace access below, used more by maintenance crews than by the officers who staff the console. Warning lights blink in slow, practiced patterns most of the crew has learned to read without thinking. Two doors lead off the room, each opening onto a system too critical to monitor remotely alone. It's a small space for how much of the ship ultimately answers to it.

Reactor Access — Through the first door, a heat-hazed chamber houses the access conduits leading down to the ship's main power core, the air noticeably warmer and thick with the low hum of contained energy. Engineers in insulated gear make periodic checks here, watching output gauges for the kind of fluctuation that never means anything good. Warning stenciling covers every surface, some of it faded from repeated exposure to the heat it's meant to caution against. Access is restricted to certified engineering staff, logged the same way weapons checkouts are in the armory. It's the room everyone hopes stays boring.

Life Support Systems Room — The second door opens onto a quieter space lined with filtration units and atmospheric processors, steadily cycling air and reclaimed water through the decks above. Gauges track oxygen levels and pressure ship-wide, flagging any compartment drifting outside safe tolerances before crew even notice. The room runs cooler than the rest of engineering, kept that way to protect the equipment rather than for comfort. A backup generator sits bolted in the corner, untouched except during scheduled tests. Nobody thinks about this room until something in it stops working.

Docking Port — A reinforced airlock sits at the hull's edge, built to mate with the docking clamp of an approaching shuttle, transport, or another capital ship rather than any kind of ramp meant for solid ground. A pressurized docking tube extends and seals against the visiting vessel's own hatch before the inner door ever cycles open, keeping the Terror's interior isolated from vacuum throughout the process. Status lights beside the hatch track seal integrity and atmospheric pressure on both sides, refusing to unlock until both read clean. A small control station nearby lets a duty officer verify a visiting ship's clearance before granting access, independent of whatever's happening in the hangar bay itself. It's the quieter, more formal counterpart to the hangar's shielded opening — used when a docking tube makes more sense than flying straight in.

Bridge Tower (external structure note, not an interior room) — Rising above the Terror's main hull at the stern, the bridge tower is the ship's most recognizable feature from the outside — a squared-off structure elevated well clear of the flight deck below, giving the command crew an unobstructed line of sight over the entire length of the ship. Twin domes crown the top of the tower, housing the shield generator and primary sensor array, both silhouetted against the stars whenever the Terror comes about. A row of reinforced viewports wraps the tower's forward face, angled to give the bridge crew inside a full view without exposing them to unnecessary risk. Turbolift shafts run the height of the tower's interior, the only way up from the decks below short of the emergency ladders sealed behind maintenance panels. It's built less for comfort than for visibility and survivability — the one part of the ship every enemy gunner is trained to aim for first.

Restricted Areas

A private wing off the officer's deck houses the Grand Moff's personal quarters, including his study, meditation chamber, sleeping quarters, and personal archive. Access is restricted to the Grand Moff alone; its contents are not part of the public record.

Notable Personnel

Grand Moff Draelor Decessus Nah'utal — Commanding Officer