Keepin Corellia Weird
Studying the control board, Ijaat put down the holo-reader he had in his hands. Truth be told, he had ceased reading it hours ago, but he didn't exactly need Geoff having more of a reason to plague him. His thoughts were his own now a days, mostly, and it was just like the AI had faded away to nothing, really. Now it was more and more often a part of him, like a split personality almost, but a dissociative one at best. At times he would think of needing to do something, and then he would glance at the chronometer on his wrist, and suddenly note that fifteen minutes had passed, he was in a separate room of the ship, and just how the kark did a spanner get in his hand and why was this access hatch open?
It was unnerving, and after various events with the Galactic Alliance, it was clear he needed time to settle his mind from Coruscant and sort things out. So he had sent missive ahead to the Rekali clan. He was moving his personal forge and office to Yavin IV, with their permission. Somewhere nice and isolated and deep in the country. Plans had been set out, and it would be small, at first. A sturdy house big enough for a man such as himself, a landing area cleared for his ship, and a building or two for forge work when he didn't feel like being cooped up on the ship. It was time he get back to the hammer and anvil for a quick moment, and perhaps there find the solution to his current conundrum.
Stretching as the ship began it's descent, Ijaat smiled as the patrol craft dropped from the hangar of his larger ship and towards the surface. Hailing frequencies and ID codes were broadcasted again, just to be sure. The ship finally touched down in the atmo, and with a hiss the landing ramp opened, and out strode the beskarsmith, clad in nothing so intricate as homespun tusken-cotton trousers in brown, and a sleeveless shirt of the same material in dingy off white which bore the scars and scorches of use in the forge.
Across his back was slung a large pack, the top of it containing a tooled and worked blacksmiths apron with a roll of tools just sticking out from inside it. Various woodworking tools stuck from it, and strapped to the side was a sword of surpassing beauty and age, a sword he long suspected the Force had brought him to find, in it's own funny way. Pacing off his distance, Ijaat sat down the pack and drew a heavy woodsman axe from it, shoving it through his belt as he pulled out a thermos and took the top of it off, filling it with stimcaff from the body of it, and sipping slowly as he gazed about.
Half the gaze was looking for anyone that might have shown up to welcome him, and the other half of his consciousness was sketching out a roughshod blueprint so he might know where to begin felling trees to form shop space from. Spying a broken cliff face, he smiled suddenly and nodded, pressing a control stud on the wand at his side. Maybe he would dwell within the face of this hill instead of having to fell any of the forest. It felt beautiful, even to one such as him who didn't really buy into such. Peaceful and serene, almost alive with sentience. Taking another sip of his drink, he pondered life and just what he would make here. He supposed, with his words at the Council, he might as well take the time to make a small training area as well, though that would need not so much cleared ground as just equipment and devices.
Tagging those who might have a reason to show. If you think you would have one but aren't tagged, PM me and we can arrange your presence if there's potential for the story.
[member="Shule Windspeaker"] [member="Alec Rekali"] [member="Samael Rekali"] [member="Elijah Rekali"]
[member="Shule Windspeaker"] [member="Alec Rekali"] [member="Samael Rekali"] [member="Elijah Rekali"]