A crimson red gauntlet tightened it's grip around the chisel as a bejeweled emerald visor reflected carved, ivory muscles.

Enshrined in pilgrimage attire, despite still wearing the gauntlets and helmet of his original costume, the Mando'ade toiled away quietly in the recesses of his ship. Only the loud punching of metal against stone, followed by the methodical ringing of hammer against metal, could be heard. Inspiration had taken the creature, divinity had taken his hands. An occasional grunt would permeate the silence, as Mandalorian-forged blood and sinew and muscle retched against cold and immutable stone. In the dim environment of the vessel's storage compartment, the helmeted visor seemed to play light tricks on the silent walls, catching the smallest trickles of dust as the man tirelessly pushed deeper into the marble. The work seemed near finished, the work always seemed near finished.

Ra's massive shoulders moving downward in his contest with the stone replica revealed the source of the dim light in the compartment behind him. A muted stream of the HoloNews channel, abuzz with Isley Verd's face. Long time champion of the Confederacy, consciously stepping away from public eye. Further conspiracies were immediately displayed on screen as the monitor displayed images of Isley walking with a plethora of random women and waving to crowds, and immediately upping the ante following by questioning his close relations with those of Sith descendance. Throughout the embattled broadcast, despite the constant ebb and flow of whether to paint the man as villain or hero, his face continued to appear. The solemn stern expression. The political guile. The edges of his mouth leaving question for whether he was fighting a smile.

Pausing the monitor, the exiled Mandalorian stood from his dais to contemplate the screen and Isley's face, and then stare back at the marbled replica of his image. He never understood his own fascination with Isley, but he knew why it had to be Isley. Almost every Mand'alorian knew the story. Of a leader who was careful as he was measured, a man who never shied from standing up for his beliefs. A conflicted man, but an honest one. And one Ra heralded as the only living Mand'alorian ever to measure against his previous incarnation. Silent trims of hyperspace raced against the opening windows of the vessel, as a blaring alarm began to echo throughout the chamber, violently pulling Ra from his enchanted trance. The Mandalorian had reached his next port call, and the time allotted to his hobby of sculpting was now reaching it's end.

Slowly and cathartically tracing his hand against the jawline of the statue,
he afforded himself one last long moment of pause
before retreating to the cockpit.​