Behind the Vizsla T-Visor II

[Zef Halo]

Grim followed the droids that had brought the cargo of beskar plates from House Verd's furnace' to here - Clan Vizla's Forge. That was because he had not yet found the secret to smelting the ore correctly. The secret guarded by beskarsmiths with their lives. If one did not have that secret their efforts in beskar, unless it was already smelted, would be void as it would be too heavy and unconvenient to forge items with. He'd ordered enough for a month ahead as he planned on making Vizsla great again.

"Alright, put those labelled 'T' here on the worktable. The rest you know where. Down at the basement." The Aliit'buir of Clan Vizsla gestured to the heavy lifting droids.

The Mandalorian then went to grab a bottle of his favorite Mandalorian black ale and taking a gulp from it, he sat down infront of the worktable where the plates were, contemplating on the design of the armor. The wearer was yet to arrive. Not the friendliest people of Clan Vizsla, as well. Yet, she was his brother's widow and he, more or less, felt responsible.

[member="Triss"]

 

[Triss]

Cling. Clang. Cling. Clang.

The sound of heavy lifting droids dragging spare parts to the elevator echoed through the Forge of Vizsla. A pair of amber-coloured eyes glared at the ceiling, then followed the sound of the escalator descenting into the basement. With a hiss, the door slid open and crates filled with mechanical parts and chips for robots tumbled into the room, as droids clumsily pushed them towards the storage room. Triss frowned, but turned the stove off and hurried to help and stash away the supplies. Cursing in several languages including fluent Huttese, the one-armed woman barely managed to stack everything Grim had ordered onto the shelves. He was like a hamster sometimes, gathering every single piece of junk he could find. Judging by the amount of goods he had purchased, the merchant undoubtedly had given him one of his special discounts.

Upon disposing of the incoming merchandise, Triss made her way back to the stove to finish the nerf stew she was preparing. A impish smile crossed her lips as an entire chilli pepper was tossed inside the pot, which would effectively make the meal really spicy, yet still delicious.

Aye,real Mandalorians like their stew hot, like their steel.

A platefull of the stew was carried upstairs, together with some bread and placed on the table infront of the Aliit'buir of clan Vizsla. Triss was the designated cook of their mercenary group; Grim had grown to like her cuisine. It was intended for men; with loads of meat, carbas and occasional serving of vegetables. Nutriotious, high in proteins and fats, it was the true food of the champions. As always, Triss barely resisted the urge to throw the sizzling hot contents of the plate right into Vizsla's face.

"I already told you." she voiced in a cranky tone - "Don't need no beskar armor, my boy does. For his six-teenth birthday."
A spoon was placed next to Grim's plate, together with two other spoons and plates on the other side of the working table, where usually Vrim and his father sat. For over two years, Triss had placed the cutlery there, day after day, should the two return. And for over two years, Grim had watched her do that, wordlessly, as if she wasn't setting up a table for ghosts.

[member="Grim Vizsla"]

 

[Zef Halo]

The smell of Triss' food penerated even the heavy smell of the forge itself and Grim turned with a smile to the upcoming tray of food. He had to fill his stomach up if he wanted to do this job for a day. Yet, if he ate too much he might as well fall asleep rather do any work, so the Vizsla had to control his desire to devour everything as quickly as possibly. The only way Grim could do that was to have his mind wander elsewhere and as such he focused on the plates that had just arrived. Well made as always. Mandalorians were renown for their smithing skills.

"Don't need no beskar armor, my boy does. For his six-teenth birthday."

Grim gazed at the plates continuosly but his mind had turned to Triss' words and what she had been doing. He always thought he'd get used to her insanity with the loss of Grim's brother and his son but that was not the case. The Aliit'buir of Clan Vizsla seemed never to be able to fully comprehend the effect of the loss of his brother and Grim's nephew had upon the widow across him. She still thought they were alive, somewhere.

It had been two years since Grim's brother and nephew had gone missing and presumed dead. It was not an easy information to swallow but death was an everyday occurence to the Mandalorians, perhaps that is why Grim had remained so unmovable unlike Triss who had definitely moved.

"You got any ideas of where that girl Nikole is ? She said she'd come by, see what all this beskarsmithing was all about. Make a Vizsla outta her." Grim swiftly changed the topic as he sat down on the chair and began eating the tasty food infront of him. Fully enjoying its spicy taste.


[member="Triss"] [member="Nikole Dorstar"]

 

[Triss]

Triss was not a Mandalorian by birth, nor was she raised in that tradition. The death of two people who were her only family in the universe was not something she could just accept. She couldn't move on. To what, anyway? The truth was, Triss never discussed the disappearance of his brother with Grim directly. Just two years of passive agression, resentment and...hope. At first, she wanted to claw his eyes out for allowing Vrim to follow his father on the mission. Seeing the older Vizsla unphased by Vuk's fate made her angry and sad at the same time. Didn't he care? Why was she still looking for them, while Grim had given up a long time ago? Emotions boiled inside of her, like a pit of lava waiting to erupt. Not quite yet, though.

"She be late. Message came while you were back in the shops." the woman reported as she sat across the table, eyeing the beskar that had arrived for the sole purpose of smiting her an armor worthy of a Vizsla.

"The clan elders came by, too." she added sourly - "Told them you were off-world."
His leadership of clan Vizsla was still very much contested. Grim would need to confront them eventually and seal his position somehow. Very few Mandalorians listened to reason; leader were forged in wars, not debated out in the senate. It was not a democracy, but survival of the fittest.
"They weren't convinced."

The woman sniffed and leaned back in the chair, crossing arms at chest. The mechanical prosthetic replacement creaked a bit, as she forgot to oil the hinges in the morning.
"Better make me that armor then, for when they come next." she added, knowing it was only a matter of time before a band of Vizslas appeared at their doorstep in full gear, ready to call Grim's leadership in question.

[member="Nikole Dorstar"] [member="Grim Vizsla"]

 

[Nyx]

Kark. Of course she was late.
The former Republic commando cursed softly to herself as she made her way to the Vizsla Clan forge, her old Republic armor near scrap on her body, secured with bits of cloth around her. It had fallen apart soon after she left the Republic, but she was fond of it. For eight years, she had fought in it, had watched her friends die while wearing it, their blood forever staining it, even long after it had been polished. There were some scars that could never heal, but Nikole hoped that perhaps her new cause could help in that department.
After her desertion, Nikole had been empty, soulless. Everything she had ever worked for, everything she had fought for, had gone up in flames. In one fell swoop, the One Sith finally drove the point home for her: the Republic was dying. It was nothing but a dying ember of a once bright flame, a lost cause. It was all for nothing.
So she left. Fled to the edges of the galaxy, and tried to drink her problems away. Funny thing is, she happened to meet a Mandalorian in a cantina, there. And now she was on Kal Atorn, about to watch a man she had only met once before forge the strongest armor anyone ever knew of. She'd been in worse places.

As she entered the forge, she spotted [member="Triss"] and [member="Grim Vizsla"], in conversation. Sort of.
Nikole slowly approached, the former Commando nodding to them.
"Excuse my tardiness, Grim. Had a bit of trouble finding this place."
She turned to the woman, trying her best to look friendly, something she had never been good at.
"Hello. I'm Nikole." She stuck out her hand, unsure if the woman would accept the gesture or not. She was never good at this social chit.