Becoming a Beast

[Laira Darkhold]

Mandalore, Sundari

Beskar. It was the sacred metal of the Mandalorians, more than just valuable, it actually meant something. The care that went into crafting it, unique to them. So unique in fact, that the process, with only a few alterations had caused the creation of two other metals. Mandalorian Steel, Euk'gar, the little Iron easier and cheaper to craft, much more abundant than Beskar itself, but with all the sacred traditions and honorable professions of beskar. And Voidsteel, Tra'kar, the Force Dead metal only very recently created by several master smiths for the newly crowned Mand'alor.

It was odd seeing the sacred mineral pulled from the rock of Mandalore like any other material, processed in mass, and forged by hundreds of smiths and thousands of laborers. It had been a long time since Draco had done that, related to the forging of an armies worth of beskar'gam and the creation of Tra'kar in the early days.

It would be like that again soon.

The Harvester, one of three currently being assembled outside of the city rumbled restlessly. Just a machine, it felt as though it had a mind of its own, a hunger to tear apart the earth and pull apart the crust of Mandalore, hunger to tear from the highest mountain down to the very mantle.

A crusade demanded machines of war. Machines of war demanded machines of Industry work harder than they had in years.

OOC: Come in, do something with anyone about Mining/Forging Beskar.

 

[Matreya]

Valashu, via merited rights of being Shev'la Kyr'am of the Kop'ad Beroya, as well as acting Owner of the Crusader aligned Merr-Sonn Inc, stood in his Archer Suit, gear strapped in place, mask on his nose, arms folded tightly against his broad chest. The Harvester was active in the background, while Valashu listened over the noise to the words spoken in the Mando tongues. Luckily for him he had long ago, in his own universe, learned the languages they spoke. There was of course differences, it would be impossible to imagine it the exact same in both places. But the differences were miniscule enough that he slid by as non naturally born Mandalorian.

"Very well Trovska, I will offer the payment as well. It isn't a matter that needs to escalate. I am Vod, have completely converted who I am to the betterment of the Mandalorian people. Why would I wish to make issues that needn't be there to begin with?"

 

[Ra Vizsla]

S U N D A R I​

Ra stood alongside Draco.

He watched the Harvester tear into the earth, mining deep into the planet as it begun to dig up metal. The Iron Wolf sat in deep thought, wondering what projects Draco was thinking of utilizing this new mining mission for. Obviously the ore had to be smelted, first. They would likely take it to the foundries east of Sundari, they were the closest. But then again, Draco knew more about the process of mining ore than he did. It was a very delicate procedure and Ra hadn't quite done it or witnessed it himself, in all his days in this Galaxy. But sweet, sweet Mandalore - her bosom was constantly in upheaval of new metal and ore for the Mandalorians to use. Thankfully, most of the planet was too harsh for settlers, forcing the Mandalorians to live in bio-domes due to the ever sprawling desert. This led to Mandalore herself being ripe for extensive mining operations.

And they were indeed extensive.

Ra turned, addressing the Alor of Clan Vereen.

"So... how does this Harvester work?"

[member="Valashu Elahad"] [member="Draco Vereen"]

 

[Laira Darkhold]

Draco patted the metal machine as the Mand'alor spoke. "The Harvester is a mining walker the size of a Mythosaur." He breathed deeply, the subtle scent of Mandalore's air that passed through his helmet's filtration system filled his nostrils. "She uses a mining laser tuned to be wide spread, large area of effect, but it doesn't do a lot of damage. It burns away dust, dirt, sand, and mud, leaving only rock and ores behind gouging deep into the planet's crust. Then an army of mining droids will descend into the shaft and break pieces apart, tear the rock into smaller pieces which are brought up by carts, tractor beams, even by hand if need be." The machine took time to get assembled, and was slow and ponderous when it moved, but it cut days, or weeks off a mining project.

"Those rocks are processed and separated aboard the Harvester, using water jets to knock off any left over dirt or sand, and shifted into beskar and the other metals in the ground, like common iron and gold. The waste is ejected out the back, but little goes to waste these days. We will ship the beskar to the forges east of here once we have enough to get started, the iron and other metals will be processed in Sundari herself. The superior grade mundane irons will be used to make Mandalorian Steel, the poorer grades will be sold on the galactic market, shipped to a neutral party or a corporate ally. The waste will be packaged and sent to a manufacturing ship to fuel its Molecular Furnace and churn out usable materials. Mandalore is a sweet mother, and we do not waste her gifts. Even the dirt will condense again and settle."

It was unfortunate that Mandalore was so burnt and ruined, centuries of warfare, numerous nuclear wars fought with the intention of annihilating her children. But they had survived it all and come this far. To survive was to endure, and prosper, or so the saying went. They had gone from a single planet, barely able to defend their own homes to an empire spanning three regions in less than a millennia. They held ground in the Core, and stood as a beacon of prosperity now. One day, Mandalore herself would be rebuilt, turned into the shining jewel she had been long ago. One day soon.

[member="Ra Vizsla"]

 

[Alkor Centaris]

The last time Alkor was anywhere near Manda'yaim, he knew nothing about their culture other than how it revered warfare and that they all wore armor.

He did not know the name of the wookie who let him leave with Mandalorian Iron, or exactly what the weight of that mineral truly meant. As he gained understanding of what his new family believed, the things they did, and the importance of beskar, Alkor finally respected that they had done him a great honor. He held his buy'ce under one arm as he watched the hungering machine rock the earth outside Sundari, truly appreciating the efforts of Mandalorian Engineering for the first time. Corellia was different- everything they crafted was capable of combat, but it was intended for flying. Mando crafts were made for war with the added bonus of flight.

Smithing was inherent to their culture, and the ability to make armor vaunted as a precious skill. He tilted his head and listened as [member="Draco Vereen"] and [member="Ra Vizsla"] talked about the functionality of the harvester. He had been a warrior bred and piloting was in his blood, but Alkor knew nothing about this sort of thing. He saw the machine as it rent the dirt and cleaved into powerful metal with its focused technology, but his thoughts turned to slaughter.

It was almost the same. The light ripped through flesh and left death behind, no differently from how this machine tore apart the ground. Draco was a man who loved this world. He was someone who sought to give back, the way that the planet had continued to give to its people for countless eons. Alkor heard those words and understood. While these men were warriors, they fought to protect something precious. Failing that, they would destroy all those who dared to harm the things they cared for.

In that light, Alkor understood. He had always been a destroyer. It might be all he would ever amount to.

But the former Dark Jedi Master sought to understand, and to be more like his kinsmen. They cared deeply for this life that had been given to them.

He watched in silence from behind the two. Their conversation was one between leaders of the people, and he was hardly even one of the people. Alkor looked over the machine and considered what drove it forward. What gave it power, and what life culminated from its efforts? What place would he take among the people who wore that armor? Would he one day wear beskar'gam of his own, or would he have to continue wearing this loaner from Zef?

The least he could do, though?

Contribute to making Mandalore great again.

 

[Ardgal Raxis]

For every battle of the warrior is with confused noise, and garments rolled in blood.​

-2 Nephi 19:5​

​

Ardgal pulled the hood covering his face from the hot sun of the Mandalore System. By his left side was Prometheus, and by the other stood Virgil. Both were officers in the Raxis Alpha Company. For generations they had been separated from the Mandolorians, and now that Ardgal was their general and their leader, he was bound to lead them once more to the promised land, back to who they were before their years of wandering. They had forgotten, or almost so, what it meant to be Mandolorians, and now they were searching for what it meant.

Now, my best beloved brethren, since God hath taken away our stains, and our swords have become bright, then let us stain our swords no more with the blood of our brethren.​

Alma 24:12​

The general hadn't intended to bring his whole army here, they were needed else where. For now, Virgil and Prometheus would be of assistance, not only in the mining operation, but also what was so much greater--recovering what it meant to be a Mandolorian.

​

He strode across the hot sands and with his two officers began to help complete the assembly of the Harvester. He looked to Prometheus as they all three moved to pick up a support strut, "Event he greatest warrior, the strongest leader is not above the work of his men. He should not be too proud to do their labor. Or work beside them."

It was his job to pass along the wisdom Ordo had given him before he had died. He had to raise up someone to take his place. Someone worthy.


Prometheus nodded and quirked a thin smile, 'Yes, sir. I will remember that."

[member="Valashu Elahad"] [member="Ra Vizsla"] [member="Draco Vereen"] [member="Alkor Centaris"]

 

[Rekali the Hutt]

Beskar. One of the most durable substances in the galaxy, found on only a couple worlds, coveted by many a bounty hunter, Jedi, or Sith. The businessman in him wanted to smuggle it, sell it to the highest bidder and make a fortune, but the Mandalorian in him wouldn't allow it. Beskar was called Mandalorian Iron for a reason. It was part of their culture. Their best smiths were judged on how to bend it, their best warriors were given it's armor as a show of respect, their best starfighters were coated in it to wreak havoc in the starlanes. Rekali the Hutt honored his ancestors, on both sides of the family, so no business would be done today, none that wasn't simply his own.

It had taken some time, but after the raid on Loronar Shipyards he had gained respect. After answering the call of one of the Cuir Rekr he garnered even more, and now with a true crusade on the horizon he was given a privilege, to make his own beskar'gam, or iron skin. Make was a bit of a misnomer of course, as the Beskarsmiths would take care of the physical creation, but he had certain liberties and duties to carry out himself. The smiths had never made armor for a Hutt before, and more than a few refused to take part in making the suit, so Rekali was called upon to make the blueprints and designs for it, while the smiths would take care of the manufacturing. There was also gathering the materials necessary, which Rekali the Hutt had done, aside from the essential Beskar.

So Rekali the Hutt found himself working aboard a Harvester walker, helping with the processing of materials. It was mundane work sure, but it also beat using a jackhammer a kilometer deep into the underground. He'd work to process enough for his armor, as well as another twenty-five percent or so, to do his duty not only to himself, but also to his Vod. Word had it that the Mand'alor himself had commissioned a special project that required a great deal of Beskar, and Rekali the Hutt had no problem doing his duty. Though he wondered if it'd be a turkey's armor this time or a boar's. Had to move all around the prospective dinner plate for mounts of course.

 

[Bendak Orden]

SUNDARI​

THE MINES​

​

When war was put on hold and conquest took a small break, it was every Mandalorian's duty to work. Whether it was on a farm or in an office, the gears of empire couldn't turn without honest and hard labour. When the opportunity arose, the mountain of a man that was Bendak preferred to turn his chiseled jawline towards mining. The empire ran on beskar, it was a huge economic boon and a vital military asset. Not only that, but it held massive cultural connotations and was as important to a true Mandalorian as a sacred family heirloom. To be involved in its harvesting and production was both honourable and humbling.

Demand had slowly and surely evicted actual miners armed with hand tools out of the mines in favor of colossal, and mostly automated, mining machines. However, no matter what bureaucracy dictated, one could not completely stomp out tradition. A small mine embedded in a natural cave system lay off the beaten track with many small veins of beskar lining its carvernous depths. It was within this mine that Bendak worked, striking the earth with his own pickaxe.

This metal would be harvested by hand for personal projects, a mine filled with metal separate from the needs of empire.

Sweat dripped off the massive man as he struck a beskar vein over and over again. Hard work yielded deserved fruits, which Bendak collected from the rocky floor and hefted into a leather bag slung around his shoulder.

This mandalorian iron would be his.

 

[Titan]

Just Outside Sundari; Mandalore

Titan watched as the harvestor rumbled and operated. He was here with Mand'alor and a few Alor's and other warriors. It was a pleasent experience, all Titan had to do in order to get the Beskar was help out durig any complications, it was a very easy job, but now that Titan had thought that, things would probably go drasstically wrong. That was just the way Titan's luck worked.

 

[4ND-R0]

Mirdala's Kom'rk-class ship landed just beyond the outskirts of the mines. She had a purpose to coming to the mines of Sundari. She made her pet anooba stay inside the starfighter that served as her personal vessel. For the longest time, she wanted to pay respects her late father, the man who adopted her from the criminal Lower City of Taris, and raised her on Myrkr. While she wore armor that was indeed forged with her family, it was not true beskar'gam. Her father, Cassius Betna, was not of the main line of the clan. A distant cousin, who did not have much true claim to any wealth outside of his bounties. Thus, in place of expensive beskar, her armor was forged from durasteel. Of which she was fine for many years. It was not until recently, however, that she felt that this fact alone made her feel dar'manda. She promised herself to one day reforge her armor from true beskar, and vowing the oath to the ancestral spirit of her father.

As she got closer, she recognized two figures immediately. [member="Ra Vizsla"], the Mandalore himself, and one of his best men, [member="Draco Vereen"] . She bowed her helmeted head as a sign of respect. "Darasuum kote at Mand'alor, Ra Vizsla << Eternal glory to the Mandalore, Ra Vizsla>>." She said, "Bal at vumte Aliit Vereen <And to the noble Clan Vereen>." Both of these men were figures of great respect, and did not wish offense to either party. With this, she continued a little further, looking for a pick or a mining laser she could use to mine her ore. She did notice the impressive machine the Vereen clansman was near, a titan that rivaled the mythosaurs of old. But she stood her distance away, no wanting to detract from anyone else's purpose but her own.

(Post 1 of 30 for development of Beskar armor)

 

[Laira Darkhold]

The Old man sat in the command chair of the first Harvester, the massive walker beginning the long process of burning away the waste for the army of droids and miners to make their way into the gouge on Mandalore. For centuries the planet had been mined and every few centuries they would run out of the known veins of the mineral and then a few centuries later, they would find more in the hidden places of the world. Manda'yaim always provided for her children. Condcordia and Echoy'la had provided some of the war material the Mandalorians began building and harnessing.

Crusades, the Old Man grumped in his chair. They resulted in fanaticism and terror, but, likely not on their side. Likely their enemies would shrivel up and become spiteful, hateful, and seek vengeance. The Homefront would be in serious danger soon enough if the armies did not push all who opposed them back beyond their borders. The fleet above Manda'yaim was no longer under Rach's direct control, but most of the customs, all stop, all scanned before entry to the system was still going on. With the attack on the station and the square off with the Mandalorian Empire at the time, some luxuries had to be sacrificed. If it pissed people off to have to wait and remain safe distances from other ships when they entered until they could be scanned and confirmed, so be it.

The mining laser depowered, the big walker shifted, as though it had just finished a deep exhale. "Alright, send the minions to start digging. Activate tractor beams." Despite all their love for Mandalore, enough that they wouldn't let Draco strip it with Argent-class Dreadnoughts, they still enjoyed mining beskar in mass. Every new war needed a new wave of beskar plated somethings to combat the enemy. These days, Force User disdain was popular, and so it was likely that they would like Basilisks, big beskar plated walkers with sonic cannons, and the like. Despite his own distaste for the Force, and his uneasiness about it, the thought of his family members with an affinity for the Force as Mandalorians first and foremost.

 

[Ra Vizsla]

[member="Mirdala Betna"] [member="Rach Vizla"] [member="Titan Kryze"] [member="Bendak Orden"] [member="Rekali the Hutt"] [member="Ardgal Raxis"] [member="Alkor Centaris"] [member="Draco Vereen"] [member="Vilaz Munin"]

Ra turned to regard the others that had joined them, silently listening to Draco's speech about the harvester. It was a wonderful work of Mandalorian ingenuity - he wondered who had designed the concept for it. It had been nearly a hundred years since the Iron Wolf had even stepped foot on Mandalore, and last time he had the Galaxy was still rebuilding from the Gulag plague. They didn't have these harvesters, or if they did - he hadn't seen them. Nor had he been in the position to witness it like he was now.

But ever since becoming Mand'alor, Ra had been granted so much more access to information about the Clans. More than he ever dreamed of.

And now, here he was. But his mind wasn't of these thoughts. His mind turned to the others.

The goliath Iron Wolf nodded to [member="Mirdala Betna"].

"And to you, young Betna."

His eyes fell upon [member="Alkor Centaris"] . He looked back down to the Harvester and then back up to Alkor.

"A vicious death, it would be, falling down there. I don't think it would be very pleasant." He grew very serious, pointing at the Harvester.

"Would it, Shukalar?"

A massive slap on the back to Draco to push him dangerously close to the ledge of where they stood.

Ra erupted in laughter, looking back at the others for validation and to join in laughing.

He wasn't very good at jokes.

 

[Laira Darkhold]

The workers around the Harvester continued working on it diligently. The massive metal beasts took almost a full day for a full crew to assemble from its parts, legs and other appendages, all secured and locked in. Once that was done, an hour long start up sequence was required to get them moving and working. They were not beasts of war, but they were monsters of industry, and thus they were equally important to the new crusade. The Gods of War would look down and see the first steps being taken to pull the Mandalorian people back into the galaxy. Mand'alor Vizsla wanted to ensure the trend of mobility and the gathering of strength continued.

"Vicious?" Draco said to the Mand'alor, "No, just wasteful." He was a solid man, but the slap did shove him forward. Jump Packs were a safety, and his own skills he trusted, not like a Starfighter or Starship. Relying on others to see one's self through a battle wasn't something Draco liked. He liked his own skill and ability controlling whether he lived or died.

The big Mandalorian laughed heartily as he watched the other Machine roar to life and begin carving the next mining shaft out for them to excavate. Lots and lots of beskar.

"We will use as much as we can here to create new mounts for war, and then once we have enough to get started, the dregs will come in behind us to continue the work. No reason to keep our warriors attention here when there are so many other things that need to be done." And so many other things that need to be built. The Mandalorian enjoyed building and smithing, but this was a job too large for him to take such a personal interest in the crafting and production like that. He could provide workers, machines, foundries, smithies though.

[member="Ra Vizsla"]

 

[Alkor Centaris]

His dark eyes watched as [member="Ra Vizsla"] spoke, then followed his movements to [member="Draco Vereen"] as he launched the man forward with a powerful, albeit friendly slap to the back. Irony on that level was considered dangerous to most denizens of the universe, unfriendly even. Alkor had grown up differently from most people though. He gave a quick snort that indicated he found a level of humor in the act, but no other laughter came from the Corellian. "Dangerous," Alkor agreed as he took a step forward and eyed the abyss of iron below. "But the the best things don't come without a price tag. No guts, no glory."

Alkor lacked the profound understanding of the Iron that others did, but as he watched the earth churn beneath the harvester he gained respect for the lifestyle that sprang up around these efforts. Smiths would take the byproducts and smelt iron, steel, and other metal for weapons, armor, and sale on different markets just like Draco had indicated earlier. That meant money to pour back into the planet. It meant a means to fix a broken ecosystem, and to finance new homes and foster crops. It meant a better life for the Mandalorian people, and a reason for the scattered to return home.

Home.

It remained a foreign concept to Alkor, but to all these people it was a reason to fight. He needed no more than that. Draco mentioned mounts of war, and Alkor took a glance in his direction. What did he mean by that? His eyes remained transfixed for a moment longer on the world's viscera as it rippled and shifted, then moved up curiously toward the two men as they spoke about matters of state. Or whatever this was.

Centaris folded his arms and cupped his chin thoughtfully. His gaze shifted to the horizon and glassed over. "Strange," he murmured, "I don't think I've ever seen a mining apparatus on this scale, even on the old Kessel projects." It did not occur to him that those mythical facilities were lost at some point around the time of the Gulag Plague, or that people might only have seen remnants of them ripped apart by time. "And nothing that could rend Beskar," he mused. "Mandalorian ingenuity is truly something."

With a sigh, Alkor closed his eyes. After they finished, he would talk to Draco or one of the others about helping him with a suit of armor.

 

[Rekali the Hutt]

Somewhat inefficiently the Hutt continued to process through the metal, sorting out the Beskar from all of the impurities. Everything that wasn't well, dirt, was sorted out to differing areas of the Harvester, to be put to better use in the future. War was coming, and a nation needed many things to enter war. It needed troops, it needed weapons, it needed ships, it needed medical supplies, food, fuel, methods to transport each of those safely. Which all boiled down to credits. No mandalorian would refuse the call for battle if she or he was needed, but how did a nation equip all of those bodies, and keep them going? Such was the efficiency of the Harvester, and why every part of Mandalore that was taken was used, because the Mandalorians could afford no less. Because the planet Mandalore herself deserved no less.

Elsewhere the Mand'alor and one of his Cuir Rekr toured the facility, learning and preparing for the fight. Their words carried weight. Lives and futures hung in the balance of their decisions. As did his, on a much lesser scale. Rekali the Hutt may have controlled his criminals, but he was no leader of nations. Not yet could influence even be compared to such responsibility. But his time would come.

His time would come.

 

[Ardgal Raxis]

Ardgal with his men moved the heavy support beam into place along one of the walker's legs. With his men the three of them managed to push it upright and hold it into place as one of the mechanics worked around them to screw it into place.

"Hey, mister," a droid said trundling up, "Give those rivets to the guy with the grey overalls up there. I can't climb laters," it motioned to its treads, "Obvious reasons."

"I've got it sir," offered Virgil.

Ardgal held up his hand and took the bag of rivets, swinging them over his shoulder. He smirked and shook his head, 'I am just another worker here, remember?"

Virgil offered a sheepish smile, "Right, sir. Of course."

"Go over and see if you can help those men over there by screwing in a few bolts. I know your handy enough with hydrospanners."

"Yes sir, of course, sir."

Ardgal began climbing up the bare bones latter composed of interlocking supports of one of the durasteel plates. Part of him wished he had brought his rocket boots to speed this along, but a good warrior was always training, keeping himself fresh so he wouldn't have to rely on his tech. An offhanded event could always break one part out or render it useless--you had to be ready to fight in your underwear as his dad had always said. Hand over hand he climbed up to where the welder was perched with his pneumatic hammer. Ardgal tossed the bag of rivets next to him. The man looked at Ardgal, "Huh, oh. Thanks. You new around here?"

"You could say that, yes."

"Welcome aboard, ner vod."

"Thanks, ner vod," Ardgal said with a grin before lowering himself back down.

[member="Rekali the Hutt"]
[member="Alkor Centaris"]
[member="Draco Vereen"]
[member="Ra Vizsla"]
[member="Rach Vizla"]
[member="Titan Kryze"]
[member="Bendak Orden"]
[member="Valashu Elahad"]

 

[Vilaz Munin]

The deserts of Sundari were cruel, harsh, and dangerous for anyone as its temperatures were hectic for anyone to withstand; however, within was a treasure that only existed on Concordia, Echoy'la, Tra'shebs, and here on Mandalore. A treasure that the Warriors of Mandalore protected as well as its secrets. That treasure was known as Mandalorian Iron and it was a metal that many sought for as well as how to forge it into any shape, color, or size. Obtaining the iron was no problem, it was knowing how to forge it was a problem and those secrets were protected by beskar smiths which were all of Mandalorian heritage. Secrets that were passed along to those seemed fit and trusted to bare and never used for one's own greed.

A pickaxe, held by the hands of the Akaan, impacted upon the vein rich of beskar. The Munin had plans to craft the iron into a suit of armor, but he was also here to help out with whatever project the Mand'alor and the Shukalar had in mind. He could be standings with Ra and Draco and supervise synthetic and organic workers mining the beskar out of the eart of Mandalore; however, he was a working man and didn't really enjoy doing nothing.

Another impact struck on the vein as Vilaz kept and continued the rhythm he was at.

[member="Ardgal Raxis"] [member="Alkor Centaris"] [member="Draco Vereen"] [member="Ra Vizsla"] [member="Rach Vizla"] [member="Mirdala Betna"] [member="Titan Kryze"] [member="Bendak Orden"] [member="Valashu Elahad"] [member="Rekali the Hutt"]

 

[Ra Vizsla]

[member="Mirdala Betna"] [member="Rach Vizla"] [member="Titan Kryze"] [member="Bendak Orden"] [member="Rekali the Hutt"] [member="Ardgal Raxis"] [member="Alkor Centaris"] [member="Draco Vereen"] [member="Vilaz Munin"]

Ra cleared his throat after the joke wasn't very funny among the others and continued to look down at the Harvester.

It was yet another technological achievement of the Mandalorians. It was sometimes difficult the grasp of the grandiosity of the people he now led in war.

Ra turned to look at the others. He saw Vilaz in the far distance, toiling away in the mines with the others.

His eyes turned back to Draco.

"How far down does the harvester go?" He asked, leaning on the railing. "And what do we do with the mine once it is depleted?"

 

[Ardgal Raxis]

His boots hit the fine sands of the desert, stirring up the small cloud. His mind drifted to the last time he had been on world. He was only a child of 7, the moment had been fleeting, just a week long stay as they refilled, restocked and had a rare moment of rearmoring. Growing among traveling Mercinaries had its positives; he had a chance to learn on the go and see the galaxy. On the downside, there was chicken one day and feathers the next. And he never got to really learn his motherland.

But still, maybe it was in his DNA, or perhaps it was in the legends that surrounded this world but he felt like this was more home than any other world he had set foot in, and he had seen many. Even in the desolate parts he could feel a sense of closeness, a sense of purpose, clarity and fruitfulness. He could go for that.

The general spotted Virgil near one of the struts talking to a young woman. Under the mud and the grease she looked pretty in a comely way. Her shoulders were broad, strong clearly well built. He could see how he took a fancy to her. He would grant the young lad a moment. He was a hard worker and only 17, there would be plenty of opportunities for him to work here. A few free moments with a chance to meet Miss Right wouldn't kill anyone here.

"Looks like Virgil is already fitting in pretty well," Prometheus commented, offering his general a bottle of water.

Ardgal winked before taking a pull from the bottle. "Why don't you try your luck some time? There are plenty of young ladies on Mandalore for you both."

"Maybe later. Besides your one to talk," Prometheus added as they walked back to the pile of constructing materials.

"I work best undistracted by women," Ardgal replied hoisting a hydrolic pump as long as a man.

"Understood, sir," agreed Prometheus grabbing another.

 

[4ND-R0]

Mirdala looked in awe at the great machine that the Mand'alor had been overseeing. She heard it roar to life, and it gave her a slight tingle. If that beast had been organic, she would have had relished in the thrill of hunting it. She nevertheless chose to ignore it for now. She looked about the mine and managed to find a spare pick. She walked over to a nearby spot, nearby the Munin man, feeling that it would be safer in numbers if there was some sort of mining accident. She also pulled up a repulsorlift minecart so that she could move her load once she mined enough. She removed her helmet, setting it nearby. She swung her pick. Ting! The sound was somewhat satisfying. Another hit, another contact. The beat kept going until she got one nugget. It was a start. She tossed it into her cart and continued her work.

The work was monotonous, though, feeling like it was too silent and boring aside from machinery and picks. So, she began to hum a song. A familiar song, if anyone had known the Pyrrhic joy of having the company of drunk Mandalorians in their midst. Naasad'guur mhi – Mhi n'ulu. As she hummed, she struck to the beat of the old Mando'a drinking song, the pick becoming almost an instrument of its own right.

(2 of 30)