And What About Very Old Friends?

[Julius Sedaire]

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0V-WGwJJj58​

It had been a long time since Ijaat had seen his one-time apprentice and old friend. Even longer since he had been on Alderaan. But when you were going back to yourself, as he was trying to do, you shambled back to your roots. And the last time he had been whole and happy, Draco had been in his forge learning. So he had sent missive ahead to the now-retired Mandalorian and then left. There wasn't waiting for a receipt, his bones were too old for that nonsense pleasantry. So as the ship set down in a wash of engines, he looked out over the Mandalorian Enclave.

Stepping out, someone barked something, and a cocky grin bereft of a helmet but garbed in Mandalorian armor stepped forward and abruptly delivered a swing at his head with a power mace. The aging warrior, garbed simply in workman's clothes of roughspun brown trousers and an open-necked cotton tunic, a good bottle of tihaar, some stoneware glasses and a jug of netra'gal in a sack, ducked under the blow carrying nothing but a harmonica as well as a small gift oriented around forging. Chunk of kyber crystal from Vur Tepe and it's master forge room.

He did drop the harmonica, threw the bag of booze up into the air, dropped under the counter swing and drove a vicious uppercut into the younger man's gut, followed by a left cross, then a hammer blow to the back of the other's head, double-handed and over head. Smiling grimly, he caught the bag in one hand and stooped to pick up the harmonica and left the hot-blooded youngling groaning in the dirt.

Sitting down on a rustic looking chair outside the long house, he cracked open the jug of ale, poured into the stoneware, and nodded to a slack-jawed retainer as he took a sip.

"Go on then, fetch Draco. Tell him an old friend has come to call like he said he would. And let him know that idiot swung first and i'm too old to risk a broken bone. Getting fragile as I begin to age."

Nodding, the retainer ran off, and Ijaat began playing a bit woefully on the harmonica, waiting.

[member="Draco Vereen"]

 

[Laira Darkhold]

The enclave stuck out in the mountains didn't have a ton of the young folk running around anymore. Some had left to the Mandalorian Empire in hopes of finding the crusade and glory, but most had went into the Utegetu Nebula with their vode or on hunts and to seek mercenary work when Draco released them. There sat no Alor on a throne, and there had not since the Dragon had chosen his children over his clan. He had left it to the Jarls to appoint a new Chieftain, but they had decided against it, leaving the aging Gogi to continue to hold the title even if he rarely bothered with it.

Instead, the large man sat in a rocking chair on the back porch of the Longhouse along with several much older warriors, lounging in light armor and furs as they shared stories of the old days or talked about how the new regimes weren't as good as they used to be looking off into the distance, paved in snow capped peaks and evergreens peering beneath the sheet of snow.

A young warrior bolted through the door. "The Slayer is here like you said, Alor. He's looking for you."

"Just Ijaat." Draco said, a little somberly. Part of the old warrior had hoped it was just a prank, being played by a cruel hearted sith Isley had working for him. The last they had met was on Monastery, where Ijaat had confessed to his crimes. It had been the first and last time the two had spoke since the burning of Mandalore. There had been a time when Draco had wanted Ijaat dead, a time when Draco just wanted Ijaat to stand up and fight for what he had believed on that mountain. Then he had left it all to Isley to get justice, whether Mereel lived or died, that there would be justice in the eyes of the Manda.

And Ijaat yet lived, news when the message had arrived, but one Draco had nodded when he heard it. The Iron Father yet walked, and that only meant that Justice had been found, one way or another. The Older smith had given himself over to the mercy of the Mandalorian people, and their leaders had let him live, or he had beaten them, or however the circumstances that chapter was now closed.

Now was the chapter that followed, the reconiliation and moving forward. "Don't just stand there, bring him here." Draco muttered, repacking his pipe. The other elders stood and made their way inside why the young blood ran back into the longhouse to lead Ijaat Mereel out to the porch where the Dragon sat alone, admiring his treasures.

[member="Ijaat Mereel"]

 

[Julius Sedaire]

Someone came and got him shortly, and he took his time finishing the drink, packing everything back securely, and mosying of the front area he had been seated on. A group of elders his age were within. All met his eyes, and for a moment he stiffened, aching back straight and hand clenching in preparation. It was a gamble with his old pupil. Draco was a severe man, in his own way, and kept his own compass when it came to morality. The fact he was invited and welcomed to the enclave didn't mean much in regards to his safety or well being. It could have been a welcome to exact justice, though he suspected it was just as it appeared on the surface.

One by one, the warriors stepped aside, nodding to the aging Mereel, and he nodded, relaxing his fist and perhaps inclining his head more than strictly needed in terms of deference. He may have 'rank' over thee men, but his actions that earned him his title were such he couldn't assume such. Brown honey eyes were proud still, but with a touch of weary regret echoed in the heavy lines of his face and shocks of grey or white in his hair and the uncharacteristically shabby beard. But they were letting him pass through to their Alor. He was either viewed as beneath being a threat, or his debt paid, or both. Or, less likely in his mind, Draco had ordered them to let his own hand be the one to judge.

Stepping forward, he shoved a short cigarra into his mouth, and struck a match to light on the rough edged timber, burlap bag clenched under his arm as his heavy shod boots echoed off the porch and he nodded, exhaling a plume of blue-grey smoke from his nostrils as they flare, and stepped over to drop the bag to Draco's lap and take a chair next to him, sighing and taking in the well earned respite his friend had carved for himself. Tinges of sadness rolled off him as he remembered the destruction of his Clan and homestead. Somewhere out there, he could tell by his senses, roamed the ter'rekr pup he had adopted, likely hunting.

"Let my pup off his leash to roam and hunt, sorry I didn't warn you. He's young yet, won't eat much. Small game mostly... Ter'rekr at his age don't eat a ton. Got time to talk? Got something to tell you about, and a gift or two. Think I missed a few holidays..."



[member="Draco Vereen"]

 

[Laira Darkhold]

Draco nodded when Ijaat appeared on the back porch with him, looking back over his shoulder to eye the man a little. It was certainly his friend by the sense of the man, troubled but not different than he had been on Monastery. He drew from his pipe and breathed out a plume of deep smoke, his face still stern.

The burlap sack plopped into his lap and one eyebrow raised, but Draco picked the bag and placed it on the floor beside his chair. "I'm sure the pup will be fine. No worse than the wolf-cats and Manka cats that hunt out there from time to time. I got the time to talk, Gar'buir." Draco said, drawing on his pipe once more and holding the smoke in his lungs for a moment, "Wouldn't have been here otherwise."

"How are you?" The Mandalorian asked, turning his head to face his friend. An old friend, a former mentor. Someone he had swore not to become when he married his beloved wife and got his twins. Ijaat had known love once a long time ago and he had lost them. It was sore subject, a very difficult one to approach even for Draco and not one he planned on bringing up. Nonetheless, Ijaat was his friend, and deep down Draco agreed with his reasoning even if he stood strongly against his methods.

"How are you really?"

[member="Ijaat Mereel"]

 

[Julius Sedaire]

"Weary. Ready to sleep the long sleep, as the natives on Concord Dawn say. But I have duties here before I am granted that respite."

A long, slow drag on the cigarra chomped in the corner of his mouth, and a heavy sigh to exhale the smoke. Turning his gaze he met the look of Draco, and blinked a few times.

"Found Quintus. He wouldn't even answer the door, but he's alive. Data says Darius is too, and maybe even Aerin, though her fate was less than kind. I found that just before that gutless Verd coward failed to kill me and then turned back to whatever half-breed of Sith he is now. Manda curse his cowards' soul into the darkest corners of the Field as nothing more than a prop for carrion feeders to rest on..."

Rage filled his voice, and subconsciously he rubbed at where the scar would be on his right shoulder, right on the bridge of the shoulder to neck. At the very least, his other mentee had remembered the right way to be and do for a few moments. Fate, Manda, the Force... Somehow he had survived. Declining the full reconstruction of the damage to his body had been tempting, but laying there dead he had came to a resolution.

"Swore to a Fett as a retainer, though she lets the leash be long. Working on having something to give to Darius, if he'll come around. If not, well... I tried... Maybe find Aerin, and if the rumors are true... Grant her peace at last if I can... I am healing the old wounds to my mind, one at a time. A Neti on Utapau helped tremendously, and at some point I owe him a gift as well. But. First..."

Stretching a bit, he pulled a bit of felt wrapped around something and passed it to Draco, smiling at the roughly hammer or long knife shaped hunk.

"Thought it was kyber at first. That's Force Crystal, that is. Straight from the heart of Vur Tepe on Tython. Was a single hunk, but broke when I touched it. So I kept one half. That half is yours. I spent a long while there, and when I went back, I grabbed a few things. Now, that's yours. I know you still tinker, at the least, so no arguments. Make something of wonder, I think you and I both are done with things of petty power..."

Turning back, he nodded sideways like to indicate the bag next to his friend.

"Some good tihaar and netra'gal in that sack, and glasses for it. Some of my old vintages. If you've a taste anyway. If not, give it to your men as a gift from the last of Mereel. but beyond that... I've found a place, Draco. I think it's connected to the Crusades and the Mandalorian days on Kuar in the Core... It's a Forge connected to the Force so deeply I don't think I could destroy it, even with my gifts. Powerful place for the likes of us, and you can tell it was for more than war. Found old relics there. Curios, puzzle boxes. And swords and guns. A little of everything. But I'm going to need help restoring it. And I'd like to invite you to do that. I trust you. More than anyone else alive. More than my own self, really."

The cigarra burnt to the bitter, he ground it out and let it drop to the ground, watching as a tiger striped canine the size of a miniature horse trotted up, muzzle bloody, and plopped at Ijaat's feet without a word, resting muzzle on said feet. A smile crept to his face, and the aging smith knelt to scratch the things ears.

"I want to get it set back up, and I want to set up our old operation on it. And i'd prefer to spend my days there unless Talia calls on me. It's my intent to never draw another mando'ads blood or take their life unless absolutely needed. Spend my remaining time making, to replace all the taking. But I want you to see the place, and know you're welcome. And I could use your help. You up for one more little adventure, my young friend?"

[member="Draco Vereen"]

 

[Laira Darkhold]

Draco listened, he didn't say a word while his old mentor bore his soul for him to lay witness to. It wasn't often an old man would open up to another, not honestly. Even rarer for Ijaat and Draco to do so except for to their closest family members, and so when it did happen it meant something about the two. They were of the same vein of iron, crafted from the same raw ore even if they had been forged in different fires. He waited for Ijaat to speak his whole peace, smiling at the presence of the little striped canine-esque creature as it approached and flopped before the older warrior. It was always good to have a little company, even if only a pet.

"Quintus will come around eventually." There was little he could say about Darius and Aerin, he knew the names but had never met them. Only that Reverance had been one of the ones responsible for their disappearance, which only meant the old Mandalorian might not like what he found of them if he did. He'd seen the horrors before. "You need to take care of yourself. I don't want to see a stranger wearing an old friend's skin."

He drew from his pipe once more, musing about Isley and the former Warmaster's current status. Ijaat wasn't right or wrong about him, he did go back on his word about his affiliation with the Sith but he had also saw justice done. Perhaps it was the Force that stayed the hands that had held blades against the Iron Father, fate itself bending to keep a pivotal crux functioning. Stranger things had happened and passed into myth without any understanding about them.

Draco looked at the object handed to him, quietly viewing it and nodding to the back beside him grateful to have some proper whiskey in this place once again. "I'll drink later, work first. I've seen this stuff before. There's a hunk of it on Ruusan I used as an anvil with the Triumvirate let me work in the Valley of the Jedi. No idea what it does but its powerful and extremely difficult to shape. Had to make new tools from studying a Crystallurgy Holocron in order to mess with it at all without cracking it."

"As for your place," He sighed out the plume of bluish smoke, old bones weren't all that old. As much as Draco complained to Faith about his arthritis and joints, years spent exercising in heavy gravity left the warrior lean and taunt, covered in dense musculature and thick cords of sinew. A few painkillers on bad days was all it took to dull the pain. The big man rocked on his chair, turning to look back out over the mountains. "I love this planet, its the first place that's ever really felt like a home to me since I was a kid. Five years in Kessel, five on the move, four more on Mandalore and it was never my home. It was a place to put my back to rest, but I never felt about it like you did. It was just a place to me." He tapped the pipe against his arm, ashing the vessel as he sat up straighter. "But when I leave this place, I miss it and the people I leave behind. I want to come back as soon as I leave."

"Did you find a place like that, or just another fortification to buy time until you feel the call again?" Draco had felt the call, the need to wander and find adventure often in his youth. As he got older he had started saying it was his honor that required him to keep leaving, and then as he matured and truly became a man he called it duty. He enjoyed stretching his muscles and going about every now and again, but it never pulled him away for long.

[member="Ijaat Mereel"]

 

[Julius Sedaire]

"He might. Or he might not. It's a toss of dice.. Who knows."

For the moment, he was dodging the question on the place as he thought. Calloused hands reached down to pet the warm bulk of the creature at his feet. As if sensing it's masters' displeasure, it raised it's maned head and nudged at the hand in question, serious eyes regarding the old smith for a moment before they regarded his friend, and shook tufted head at Ijaat as if to say: Can you believe this guy?

Ter'rekr were noted as uncommonly intelligent, particularly when bonded. Likely was it sensed the dodging of the question, and Ijaat cleared his throat.

"It's home. Peaceful. Quiet. Almost like a graveyard, which is fitting. And what's more, with a bit of help, I'll be able to make about any damn thing I can dream of there. I feel quiet when I am at that place. It's a hall of warrior's and craftsmen. A place of creation, and the site of a great massacre."

And then he laughed softly.

"And there is a native pepper there that will sear your very soul..."

[member="Draco Vereen"]

 

[Laira Darkhold]

Draco smiled at the words of the old smith, nodding his head. "Alright," Draco said after a moment of thought, "I think I got one more in me, for you. Give me a day or so to get supplies in order, have some equipment readied to take with us. I know a few of the things you'll need and I can bankroll that for you." It was the least he could offer his former mentor.

The machinery and other things would have to come later, and Draco himself preferred to tinker with archaic tools and equipment, refraining from such things as powered hammers for smithing and forging. The only luxury he afforded himself where pedal operated bellows and grinding wheels so he didn't have to have someone help with the manual labor aspect, but every swing of the hammer he felt needed to come from him and have the strength of his own arm behind it.

He looked at the crystal and thought long and hard about what he could make from it. A hammer, unique in its creation for the delicate work and jewelcrafting? A dagger for his son to carry and remember where he comes from always? Or a set of rings for the family? Decisions would come later, for now he had other things to see to. "I'll foot the bill for everything you need with this place, I know you've some money lying around but the Mandalorian Empire still mails me dividends from Garos." He smiled wryly at the old smith as he stood from his rocking chair, "I still get fifteen percent of all its exports, and five percent from all Concordia's beskar, they haven't put a stop to the autopay. Might as well put it to good use rather than let it pile up."

The old smith had a small personal fortune, Draco had spent his youth being a dragon, acquiring wealth and piling it into vaults and banks. Great mounds for him to lay upon his treasures.

[member="Ijaat Mereel"]

 

[Julius Sedaire]

Once, a long time ago, Ijaat had given the man a set of hammers, a journal of his knowledge until that point, and other tools of a smith. It was his parting gift to say he couldn't teach him anymore. A very old way of making a man a journeyman. The mark of a Master Smith, in his opinion, was to turn and help others stand and become more. Just as, in truth, was the mark of a good man overall. Of course, Draco had settled down to the life he had lost so long ago, and though only just for him, he still remembered how some of his dull edges had been softened. They may have been rehoned since his family was scattered, but that didn't matter. For a moment, things had softened within him.

Reaching into his tunic, he pulled out a durasteel case that was battered but well taken care of and pulled off the top. Aromatics and bitters hit the wind, and he bit into the end of a cigarra and spit out the tip, then chomped it to his mouth. Closing the case, he struck another match and took a long drag with a relaxed sigh and contented look, just the least of a haunt to his eyes.

"You'll always be welcome there, no matter what. I'll see to it. It has some natural defenses. Force Users made it but they were Mando'ade near as I can tell. Has a guardian to prove yourself to. Most of the questioning has to do with self-worth and identity. So it may not be kind to old dogs like you or I. But I worry less about you than I do someone like me when I went through. And I've a list, partially, of what the place needs. It even had get up for blaster work, so that I might have you help me examine. Looks like they fused tech and the Force in that place...Fused it in a way i've never even heard of."

[member="Draco Vereen"]