IRONFANG OF THE COLD MOON / COLDMOON

*The name Ironfang of the Cold Moon was once myth. In ancient Gaelic lore, Rí Gealaí Fuar—the King of the Cold Moon—ruled endurance, winter, and vengeance. His hounds were oath-bound spirits unleashed when clans were betrayed and justice failed.

That legend should have stayed buried.

During the collapse of Messer-era black sites in the Nyx system, a UEE recovery task force uncovered a sealed cryo-vault containing hybridized wreckage: Vanduul alloys fused with pre-Imperial artifacts and outlawed cultural research labeled Project Cold Moon. The project sought to engineer deep-space crews bound by clan psychology—loyalty over law, pack over protocol.

The task force never returned intact. Ships vanished. Crews reported wingmen fighting after confirmed destruction, phantom contacts, and enemy vessels boarded by pilots who should have been dead. A recurring symbol appeared scorched into hulls and armor: an iron fang beneath a frozen crescent.

The survivors did not disband.

Veterans abandoned by command, smugglers burned by corporations, explorers who learned the void punishes solitude—they reclaimed the name and reforged it. What began as myth became doctrine.

Ironfang of the Cold Moon emerged as a clan operating along the fringe systems—Nyx, Pyro, Vega—flying together when others fractured, enforcing loyalty where law failed. Neither corporation nor army, Ironfang endures as a pack that remembers betrayal, honors bonds, and hunts as one beneath the Cold Moon.
MANIFESTO

We are IronFang.

The verse is unforgiving. Corporations will spend you. Empires will forget you. When systems fail and comms go dark, all that matters is who answers your call.

IronFang answers.

We believe loyalty outweighs profit, and the pack survives longer than the lone pilot. Skill is respected. Experience is honoured. Ego is corrected. We do not demand perfection—we demand commitment.

Under the Cold Moon, every member is bound by oath, not rank. Veterans guide the pack. New pilots are forged, not discarded. We fight, haul, explore, salvage, and raid where risk is real and teamwork matters.

Once you wear the fang, you are never abandoned. Once you betray the pack, you are never forgotten.

We endure losses. We remember names. We fly when others log out and stand the line when odds turn cruel. Our reputation is earned in action, not claimed in words.

Under iron, we are forged. Under the Cold Moon, we endure. In the long night of the stars, we hunt together.