Good Ol' Scoundrel
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"]
"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"]