Eggs, Tea, Honey... From Sulon!? Really mom?

[Mishka Larraq]

As a girl that grew up (and still lived) on a farm, Mishka was more than familiar with getting sent off to the neighbors or to a nearby market for one thing or another. Usually at her mother's request. But with Mandalore in ruins and most of the neighbors dead... Mishka's errands usually involved a shuttle these days. Usually a round trip took Mishka the better part of a day. This time though, her mother had clearly lost her mind.

Mishka wondered as she read the shopping list her mother had given her. She ended up needing space-google to discover that her mother was sending her to the other side of the galaxy. Aaaaall the way across the freaking galaxy. Even booking the fastest available transport, it took Mishka nearly a week to reach Sullust. Three hours to find a shuttle to take her to the agro-moon. Another hour to find an airspeeder willing to take her to the right spaceport-city, and another four hours of wandering through city streets looking for some sort of bar or another... In a city where nobody spoke Mandoa and almost no one could understand her thick Mandalorian accent.

But at last, and with very little patience left, Mishka found her way to the front door of an old, warn down-looking building that had clearly once been part of a factory. A slight ware to the dirt path showed what must be the door used by customers. Not seeing a bell, Mishka walked through the front door and into what she immediately recognized as the storefront of a local forge, possibly also a tannery. Not seeing an attendant, but hearing a faint bell sound when she walked in, Mishka quietly browsed the display items, dragging behind her a small traveling bag on two wheels. All of the items were of expert craftsmanship and, more surprisingly, all imbued with the force in one manner or another. The room reeked of the light side. It was like walking into a room with far too much incense.

In spite of the alignment, Mishka marveled at the items and tried to guess the use of some. Quietly, Mishka closed her eyes and reached out to some of the items with senses beyond the organic, exploring the feel of items made by Jetii hands. It was not the Manda she felt in them, but the unnatural, unbalance known to the Jetii as the light side. A corruption of the Manda.

[member="Gabriel Sionoma"]

 

[Mishka Larraq]

Rings. Necklaces. Earrings. Was that a tiara? Jewelery and trinkets of every sort lined the display shelves. Fine, dainty things for men and woman alike. Here and there the odd watch, compass, or other semi-mechanical trinket found its way onto the shelves. All things that Mishka's family never made. Theirs was a more utilitarian specialization... With their more recent creations incorporating mystical metals and crystals they barely understood for the sake of added power and lethality. These... Mishka sensed healing properties, mental clarity, enhancements to attention and focus, inner strength... And each unbalanced in Mishka's mind, subtilty pulling towards the "light side" that so many Jetii cling to.

A drawer drew Mishka's attention from the trinkets and jewelry. Within, an assortment of raw crystals, gems, metals, and woods called quietly to her. Each unfamiliar to Mishka and Holding a unique mystical property that she couldn't quite identify. Mishka was clueless as to the effects these objects could produce and even more clueless as to the specific steps needed to harvest said effects. Maybe one day she would learn. Or... Maybe these were just Jetii trinkets and not worth her time, no matter the craftsmanship.

Opening her eyes, Mishka turned from the displays and faced the aura that approached her. Light sided. Jetii. An older man. The owner of the shop?

"Su'cuy Jetii." Mishka said as the man came into view. "Gar ganyc?" she asked.

[member="Gabriel Sionoma"]

("Hello Jedi. Are you the owner?")

 

[Gabriel Sionoma]

The inherent appearance of the workshop was changing. Not only as he started to garner attention from an ever growing selection of clients, but also because his income had substantially increased in the recent months. A certain product manufacturer desired to use the Marshals name for a vessel, offering him 1/7 of the royalties provided from all sales. Such commerce gave him a substantial advantage in a market that often demanded return of sales. He had no need for such and thus, he was free to expand throughout Baron's Hed, of Sulon, as much or as little as he desired. Inevitably, from his workshop, many such utilities would extend. Ceramic crafting and homemade cutlery, a growing furniture sales department, and even a weekly farmers market. That was likely where he would be found, selling samples of honey and mead. Or, in other cases, one might find actual produce or meat that he had butchered himself.

His mind drifted to the bovine heart he had once cooked on a stormy night. Such a night that brought even stormier thoughts. The sort that might bring to despair the more freshly wounded. But with time for scars to heal over and callous, he was content with the way things had gone.

Nevertheless, it was one of the few days he spent in the outwardly progressing shop. He did his best to not keep too many of his more valuable wares on display, though drawers and displays did have the occasional trinket, rink, dagger, or incomplete piece of armor. He fancied himself a jack of all trades, continually thriving to better himself in all idle tasks he could conjure. Though he couldn't deny a certain modicum of pride in his craftsmanship, both under his hammer and resulting from a learned green thumb.

Walking over to the woman who seemed intent on investigating his wares with a particular tactile fascination, he smirked at her question. He knew very little mandalorian, despite being the father to one - an unfortunate circumstance, better forgotten. But it was always easy to pick up the word Su'cuy and Jetti. It was a common misconception towards his presence, as he was often a beacon of the lightside. An artifact of his transfer, his choice was entirely removed on the matter, though he couldn't deny his leaning. "You mistake me...I am no Jedi." He remembered the words of [member="Avalore Eden"], reconciling the confusion that rested within his heart. Despite what preferences he had, he had never received any formal training from the Academy. He lived beyond their tenants. The only dogma he held to heart was the sort bound in ethics and morals, strengthened by his own sense of self. "Can you speak basic...or should I get a translator?" Hands, dirty from the furnace and nails coated in soot, dug into the breast pocket of his hide apron. Pulling out the device, he showed it, assuming his words were lost on the woman.

[member="Mishka Larraq"]

 

[Mishka Larraq]

Mishka recognized the dirt and soot on the older man's hands for what it was. The mark of a hard day's work with hammer, chisel, anvil, and flame. It was a look that she wore more often than her current appearance. "I can speak basic." Mishka said in a very thick Mandalorian accent. "If you can understand it.". She added with a nod towards the translator, indicating that she wouldn't hold it against the man to rely on the device.

"Are you the owner of this shop?" Mishka asked as she settled the rolling suitcase on its end and let go of the handle, a friendly smile lighting up her face as she added- "Mr. Not-jedi. I am looking for a-" she paused, pulling a crumpled paper note from a pouch at her waist. "Mr. [member="Gabriel Sionoma"]." Mishka read aloud before returning the paper to it's pouch. As the man responded with his name, Mishka held out her hand to shake that of the older man. "My name is Mishka." She said in what she hoped sounded polite, in spite of her thick accent. "And I came a very long way to meet with you."

 

[Gabriel Sionoma]

He pocketed the translator as she began to speak, diction thick with mandalorian accent. It required a certain focus but he had heard far worse. "Aye, I can understand just fine I believe. And yes, I am the owner of the shop."

"One of the owners!" The old gypsy woman, hunch of back, walked out of the ceramic section, waving a stick of wood - laced with metal - at the smith. He waved his hand, smiling, as he was always being corrected on that account. While he was the primary craftsman of the smithing shop, he left ceramics to the older woman and her more capable hands.

Shaking the womans hand, he offered a warm smile, not often accustomed to people being so forward. His eyes drifted to the rolling suitcase before lifting back to the Mando. "Gabe is fine." He stated, somewhat persistent in his disregard of titling with anything resembling a "Mr." He worked for a living, after all. "Well, Mishka. A pleasure to meet you." He retracted his hands, calloused and dirty fingers finding the inner threshold between apron and shirt. It was a more convenient method of keeping his hands out of the way without crossing them entirely. Eyes looking out towards the window, he nodded. "Its a day for traveling, just as any other. But I'm curious what persuaded you to journey such a long distance."

He wasn't naive, far from it. Sensing was potentially his strongest ability, built upon the foundation often constructed in the imbuement process. Looking towards the woman, he felt a certain balance between light and dark, the hint of force sensitivity forever imprinting her being.

[member="Mishka Larraq"]​

 

[Mishka Larraq]

Eyes looking out towards the window, he nodded. "Its a day for traveling, just as any other. But I'm curious what persuaded you to journey such a long distance."

"My mother." Mishka replied flatly with a matter of fact honesty that any adult, parent or otherwise, could identify with. "Actually..." Mishka began again, absently brushing her hair out of her face with her left hand. "I'm not sure how closely you track events on the other side of the galaxy, but Mandalore... Isn't what it used to be." Mishka said, pausing for a moment as she struggled to find the right words, a subtle sense of loss well hidden behind a face accustomed to acting tough.

"And, well, there are some things that just can't be found on Mandalore anymore." She said in a tone that betrayed her as having only recently come to terms with these facts. "One of which being medicinal tea... Which I know you don't make. But... you're one of the last suppliers of Ankarras wood we know of. It's made out of leaf clippings... And... We hear good things about your honey." Mishka said in a rambling way, occasionally butchering a word or two. "We'd need a steady supply... Enough for weekly use by about 20-30 people. Which... We can trade for.". Mishka added after a moment of listening to Mr. Gabe, motioning towards her rolling briefcase as she finished.

 

[Gabriel Sionoma]

"Well, you're off to the right foot..." He stated with a peculiar air of certainty. While she may have been rambling, he was intent on discerning the nature of the request. "We, here on Sulon, prefer bartering and trading over direct exchange of goods for services or products. Consider it an artifact of the requirement for import of water. Some droughts last longer than others."

"We do supply Ankarres wood...though I've never had thoughts towards transferring it to some form of teat. It is, of course, a logical derivative of the potent wood." Scratching his beard, he smirked. "Adding honey with that, quite a substantial request for such on a weekly basis. A few comments...seeing as though I am far removed from Mandalore in it's current form..."

He held up his index finger. "One: The Honey is catered towards those of the light. In many ways, it prevents usage of the darkside. Two: I can't and wont supply to enemies of the Alliance. Three: What sort of things can you trade?" He was a smith and gardener, first and foremost. Given his weak attachment to Mandalorian culture, he had always desired the opportunity to learn to smith Beskar. He wondered if that sort of thing was on the table.

[member="Mishka Larraq"]

 

[Mishka Larraq]

"Oh. Uuuh." Mishka began, worried that she was already screwing this up. "We don't need the actual wood. Just... Dried and crushed up leaves. And the honey... We just need a few drops per cup. For sweetener and to enhance the tea." She explained. Or, tried to explain anyway. Between her thick accent, rambling speech, and butchered or forgotten words, she was likely near unintelligible. "And... Most of the family only has one cup a week or less... Some drink more... We use it to help with minor injuries and exposure accidents." She added, continuing to ramble, nervous that she would screw up this deal.

"Very few members of the clan are Vod'runi." Mishka said, pausing for a moment as she realized she had used a Mandoa word [member="Gabriel Sionoma"] was probably not familiar with the word. "You call them... Force sensitive yes? It is a very rare thing in my clan. And House Larraq tends to matters on Manda'yaim. Unless the Alliance comes to Mandalore looking for a fight, they are no enemies of ours." She added before taking a deep breath. "And as for trade... We have... New things. Metals you might find... Interesting." As she spoke, she knelt down and laid her traveling bag flat, unzipping it to reveal a small leather chest roughly sized to contain a musical instrument or large datapad. Sitting next to the box, a thin Mandalorian helmet matching Mishka's armor stared silently up at her. With a repetitive ease, Mishka donned her helmet, briefly revealing a stack of folded lady-things that it had been resting upon.

Only once the helmet had been dawned did Mishka touch the box. Tentatively, Mishka lifted the box from there traveling bag and stood, absently closing the bag's lid with her elbow as she gingerly walked the box to the nearest empty counter. A practiced eye might recognize the box as being made of Terentatek leather, a material House Larraq traded for with Clan Rekali. Box resting on the counter, Mishka turned her visor towards Mr. Gabe and said quietly, "We call it Soul-Steel." She said as she opened the lid. A flood of memories and emotions flowed from the small box. Fear and panic filled the room, the memories of millions of lives lost in a single moment, the fear of a galaxy watching in horror as a world's death was broadcast in their living rooms. The fear of orphans and slaves and tyrants alike trembling as rocks descended upon them from the void above. The soul of Dromund Kaas condensed and amplified into metal form. Within the box, three large daggers glowed with an inner light. One red, one blue, and one yellow.

"The blades are called Chaab'kad." Mishka said with a quiet reverence for her own work. "Fear Blades." She explained in basic. "And they are the most powerful weapons I've ever forged."

 

[Gabriel Sionoma]

​He winced as she opened the box, grimacing as he fought the urge to reach out and touch the object. The material within the chest was touched with the force but beyond that, it was imprinted with memories, absent restraint. He could sense the similarities between this imbument and his own, of the Jal Shey nature, but this felt raw and amplified almost beyond utility. But perhaps it was simply the nature of the thing, to affect force users in such a way.

​His eyes drew to the helmet that she had donned, trying his best to discern the material. And while he couldn't find proper footing, he managed several hypothetical conclusions. He assumed, in some way, the helmet helped to dull the ache and pain that ran from blades. Gabe absentmindedly twirled the annulum ignis on his middle finger, bringing to mind thoughts of children running in the snow. And the smell of fire, the sound of crackling wood in hearth.

​Narrowing his eyes, he nodded. "They are an impressive thing. Tell me of them and this...soul steel. Tell me why the happy winters of Arkania, in my mind, have been replaced with the desolate winters of Dromund Kaas." At one time, he resided within the body of the Wrath. One whom often visited the world, who relished in the notions of genocide and destruction. And for some reason, even without touching the blades, Gabe felt immersed in the powers of pychometry.

​Above anything else, sensing and imbuement were his passions. And now they refracted something dark against his flesh. He could not use the darkside but he could understand when it's shadow loomed overhead.

​[member="Mishka Larraq"]

 

[Mishka Larraq]

"Why?" Mishka repeated, taring her gaze and attention from the blades and turning her visor towards [member="Gabriel Sionoma"], the fullness of his question only then dawning on her. "We have no idea." she said as she turned her gaze once more upon the blades.

"We made it by accident." Mishka explained with a hint of a smile hidden behind her visor. "A few years ago, when the Mando'ade first started running low on Beskar... Craftsmen began experimenting with other metals. Using the skills and techniques used to forge Beskar upon common ores. We made Mandalorian Steel that way. Some say the metal is nearly as valuable as Phrik in parts of the galaxy... But it is made entirely without exotic metals."

"Soul-Steel though... Was made when the Mando'ade still ruled Dromund Kaas. Instead of drilling for ore, someone had began harvesting meteor fragments from when my bro- The Slayer of Dromund Kaas had destroyed the Sith..." Mishka said, getting lost in the story and quickly trying to gloss over her slip up. "Not knowing where it came from, we tried to make Mandalorian Steel with the ore." Mishka explained. "We later asked a Jedi what had happened... He explained to us what a Force Nexus was, and that the way Mando'ade craft Beskar must be somewhat similar to how ancient Jedi made Imbued Blades... I think he was most surprised when we told him the metal was made by... Ungifted hands. Apparently, it is unheard of. Especially with such potent results" Mishka continued to explain in what she hoped was not a horrible butchering of galactic basic as she reached her hand towards the top-most blade. Absently, she tapped on her helmet with her left gauntlet. She had noticed Mr. Gabe staring at it when she had turned towards him. "I had to build a force-mask into my helmet." She explained. A split second later, it dawned on her that Mr. Gabe was probably at the edge of his tolerance for such things.

She didn't interact with many other... Gifted people.

Taking a deep breath, Mishka steeled herself against the coming onslaught and removed her helmet. Fear washed over her as familiar voices echoed through her mind. With an unsteady practice, Mishka focused her senses upon the gem built into the pommel of her sword. The fear lessened and the voices grew distant, but the room still felt claustrophobic and oppressive. With a smile, she offered the helmet to Mr. Gabe. "You should probably put this on. You won't like what comes next without it." She explained, hoping the older not-Jedi would not take offense to her not thinking to... Warn or prepare him before opening the box.

Waiting a moment for Mr. Gabe to don the helmet or otherwise prepare himself, Mishka then reached an armored gauntlet towards the box and wrapped tense fingers gingerly around a Terentatek leather grip of the top most blade before carefully pulling it from the box. Mishka made a point to not touch the metal itself, but the oppressive aura of fear spiked for her anyway. Worried about Mr. Gabe, Mishka went so far as to hover her left hand over the blade itself, protecting anything from accidentally bumping into it as she twisted and displayed it before the older Craftsman.

"Touching the metal causes an even more potent effect." Mishka said as she held the blade before Mr. Gabe. "Any form of shock causes a... Discharge. Of... More than just emotion." Mishka said, losing herself in the glow of the blade for a moment as her attention upon her crystal lapsed.

Taking a deep breath, Mishka readied herself to throw the large dagger. The young Mando'ad glanced about the room, eventually spotting a thick wooden pillar well behind the counter that looked non-load baring. With a nod towards the pillar, indicating that Mr. Gabe should watch, Mishka took up a stance for maximum strength and tossed the blade as quick as she could at the pillar. An arc of light trailed behind the blade as it soared through the air, though it was quickly overshadowed by a blinding flash of light as the blade struck the wood. A wave of fear pulsed over Mishka, her knees went weak, and a jet of flame shot out of either side of the pillar as the blade sank to the hilt upon the wood, instantly turning a large area of the pillar black. Pinpricks of red light danced through the wood as the now-charred wood began to cool.

It had -almost- caught fire.

"So... Red makes fire." She said with a coy smile as she tried to read Mr. Gabe's response through the helmet.

As Mr. Gabe responded, Mishka's hand reached towards the blue-glowing dagger.

 

[Gabriel Sionoma]

He wasn't a fan of the concept of donning items that he hadn't crafted. Perhaps that was an artifact of his self taught form of craftsmanship or the fact that he was often given extensive time to sense and feel his way through imbued articles, but something about wearing a helmet that wasn't his own made him uncomortable. It could be tailored to impede his mind, or tailored to cause direct harm. Any number of issues could arise from it and as far as he could remember, it would not be the first time that a son or daughter of Mandalore had come to his door. Seeking bounty in his likeness, for the sins of his brother, he felt a certain suspicion overcome him. But it was soothed as he caressed the ring once more, twirling it on his middle finger.

Grabbing the helmet with both hands, he took a deep breath and pulled it down over his head. Instantly, the feeling that pooled from the items wer muffled. Like hearing sound under water, even the presence of his ring fell to the wayside. His braided hair cushioned against the material but also afforded and awkward and uncomfortable fit.

"You craft with a material...from which the origins aren't entirely known. You must know the dangers of such things. Particularly for those who can sense it...the distraction is apparent."

He barely got the words out before Mishka motioned for him to watch. It was a particularly unremarkable target for which she aimed, though it went without saying that he cared for the appearance and stability of his shop. He watched as the dagger penetrated, eyes slowly growing wide, as the flames licked out from the wound and curled around the column. A burn, not unlike an underground coal fire, built ruin through the column as the presence of the flames grew and died in due time. Stepping forward, he approached the column before placing a hand against the wood.

"These weapons are born for the purpose of destruction...as most weapons are. But the darkside courses through them, twisting and enhancing the ability." The Galactic Alliance had, at one time, been so distinctly against the darkside that items such as these would have likely been forsaken. But with the inclusion of recent allies into the folds of the Alliance, such dogma had been lost and the words of Omai were silenced. If Gabe were to have anything to do with this weapons, he would need something besides this helmet. To stifle the memories that were inherent within. "I must confess...from an almost entirely academic perspective, these are interesting items indeed." He looked back as Mishka was moving to the next blade.

[member="Mishka Larraq"]

 

[Mishka Larraq]

"You craft with a material...from which the origins aren't entirely known. You must know the dangers of such things. Particularly for those who can sense it...the distraction is apparent."

"It comes from a lifetime of... Ritual and tradition. For most smiths, all that is needed is a Force Mask, Terentatek leather gloves, and a great deal of intuition and muscle memory." Mishka said with a bit of honesty and a bit of pride fighting against the oppressive fear that still stifled the room. With a smile, Mishka added, "Towards the end, it gets a bit more interesting. The metal starts fighting back as you hammer it. For me though... And other Vod'runi- or... Sensitives? We must wear a great deal of protection and try to focus on... Other things.". She said as she tapped the pommel of her sword with her left index finger. In particular, the yellow crystal gem that had been worked into the sword.

"These weapons are born for the purpose of destruction...as most weapons are. But the darkside courses through them, twisting and enhancing the ability."

"I must confess...from an almost entirely academic perspective, these are interesting items indeed."

"I hear it makes interesting shields and armor too." Mishka said with a smile. "For those who don't want the weight of Beskar'gam anyway."

Picking up the next blade, Mishka felt a sickening increase of fear and anxiety welling within her as she touched it, in spite of the protective leather upon the handle. "Blue makes... Lightning." Mishka said, verbally stumbling as she forgot the word for electricity. Holding up the blade for [member="Gabriel Sionoma"] to see it as she spoke, Mishka gently flicked the blade with her left hand. A small arc of electricity arced around Mishka's gauntlet and through her entire arm, forcing her muscles in her left arm to spasm and clench involuntarily. With a nod of her head, Mishka indicated that Mr. Gabe should move away from the pillar.

Way away.

No. Further.

You're wearing a metal helmet, get back damn it.

<I hope everything over there is grounded.> Mishka thought as she chucked the blade at the same pillar, this time aiming much closer to the floor. Again, light trailed through the air in the wake of the blade, quickly to be overshadowed by the brilliant flash of light as the blade impacted the pillar. Thick tendrils of blue-white light spider-webbed across the floor. A much thicker arc-flash of plasma ripped through the wood and air between the two blades, the pulse of energy from the second dagger causing the first to discharge again, albeit with much less intensity than when it had first impacted the pillar. The cumulative​ spike of emotion from the two reactions shook Mishka's knees and twisted her gut. In the distance, the screams of children echoed through her mind. "Today is a day for glory." Echoed a familiar voice somewhere within her mind.

Mishka's left hand gripped the hilt of her sword firmly as she shut the world out for a moment, focusing all of her attention upon the yellow crystal.

Taking a step back, Mishka gestured towards the remaining blade in the box, inviting Mr. Gabe to throw the last blade. "Yellow... Well, you will see. Aim at the center. Between the two blades." Mishka struggled to explain as she took another step back and continued to grip the yellow Ponite Adegan Crystal she had worked into her personal armament.

(OOC: if you do it, the blade will shatter the pillar as it creates a kinetic explosion from within the pillar, which will cause secondary reactions from the other two blades. And again as they all fall to the floor and clatter a bit.)

 

[Gabriel Sionoma]

He was a sensitive being when set upon the right mood. But as he had shown in the streets of Skor, he had a mind that most mentalists couldn't hope to break. Even as Matsu Xiangu tried for years to bypass the defenses he erected, it was a simple thing made of ice and steel. It was only when the gates were opened, when he forcibly put himself into a position of introspection, did such things truly cause him to falter. And now, as he stood in the workshop and listened, the chains to those gates were being retracted. Nerves and thoughts turning into solid impenetrable things.

Likely assisted by the helmet that now rested on his head.

As he stepped away, he watched the blade hit near the ground and all the action that occurred thereafter. His eyes trailed along the pathway of the arcs from pommel to pommel, the way the energy further activated the first blade. While it did nothing more to the pillar, the superficial affects were clear in the destructive possibilities. He looked towards the ceiling to see if there was any bowing in the material. With nothing found, he looked around the pillar to see Elzeban nearly unmoved by the action that was taking place. He laughed inwardly as he knew the woman was snooping and watching, ever the curious creature.

"Ritual and practices...to build a weapon from a material with no history." He stated it without question and almost absentmindedly. It was more thought than question as his own curious laid out a different perspective. One that wouldn't allow him to smith without first diving into the origins. His hands and abilities with psychometry might make it a bit easier than for others.

He turned and approached the last blade, eyes drifting towards the woman as she stepped away. They had come this far for the demonstration, why not take it to the end. As his hands wrapped around the leather hilt, he felt the muffled tones of an eternity. Lives smothered into ruin on the backdrop of dark and deep skies, storms filling open celestial maws only to then spill out years of ice and desolation. A chill transpired from leather to flesh as goose bumps raised on his skin.

Hesitating before the toss, he launched the blade with a deadly accuracy. As it struck against the pillar, the wooden column growled before bowing outward. Like solid wood turned into stretchable woven basket, life breathed in the wood as it seemed to take in air. Energy trailed across the stretched board as lightning arched in the form of skittering legs extending out from the contact point on the floor. And flames licked out from above, like a tongue wiping over the already charred remains of the beam. And as if stuck in an elemental confluence, the pillar could take no more and exploded outward. He saw Elzeban duck behind the counter at the sound of it and as debris neared him and Mishka, they struck against an invisible barrier.

The weapons fell to the ground, one punching into the floor, the other two clattering about before coming to a stop. They discharged small bits of energy that paled in comparison to the original throw.

"I would like to study these objects." He stated with almost no tone, as if the surprise of the power was still washing over him.

[member="Mishka Larraq"]​

 

[Mishka Larraq]

The fear and anxiety that radiated from within herself evaporated into relief at Mr. Gabe's words. Mishka had been absolutely sure that she was going to screw this up somehow. "You can keep these three... And the box." Mishka said, trying to suppress a slight smile and adding the last bit after her brain cought up with her mouth and remembered that the man likely didn't have a safe place to store the Chaab'kad. "On the house." Mishka said as well, hoping it would help build good graces with the man.

"These are the three types we know how to make. If you want more, we can make plates, bars... Whatever you need really. Blades and arrowheads are common. But they really make great swords and spears." Mishka explained as she tried to guess the exchange value between Soul-Steel, medicinal tea leaves, and enchanted honey. As usual, her accent was thick and she occasionally butchered a word, pronouncing it wrong or saying an entirely different word by mistake. Taking a deep breath, Mishka decided to go ahead and play her trump card. Mr. Gabe seemed interested, but he may very well not have any interest in enough regular shipment of Soul-Steel to keep sending her clan what they needed.


"There is... Something else we make." Mishka said tentatively, unsure if she was playing her hand too early. Likewise, unsure of how the product would compare in Mr. Gabe's eyes. "It is very new. Not as... Violent as Soul-Steel. But also very special." She said, hoping that she was building the older man's interest in what she was trying to sell.

Reverently, Mishka detached her sword and scabbard and approached [member="Gabriel Sionoma"]. As she neared him, Mishka held the conjoined pair out, nodding for him to take and examine her blade. The scabbard he would likely recognize as hand-forged Beskar and of a high level of craftsmanship. What he may or may not be able to tell, was that the interior of the scabbard was lined with Terentatek leather. The pommel, handle, and hilt would reveal themselves to be Beskar with electrum/Beskar alloyed ornamentation. The blade though... would reveal itself to be a strange, crystalized form of Beskar that glowed with an inward light not entirely different than Soul-Steel. There would be no assault of negative emotions or painful memories. But Mr. Gabe and Mishka both would feel a presence (non-sentient) and a welcome from the blade. Neither Light nor Dark, the blade recognized the neutrality of Gabriel as being similar to it's own.

"I call it Bes'manda." Mishka said, smiling at the blade and subconsciously projecting her own welcome back at it.

 

[Gabriel Sionoma]

​He looked down at the box and over towards the items. With a slight expression of the force, the items were lifted from ground and swiftly carried back over to the box for which they arrived. As he shut the box, he looked towards Mishka with an expression that might display his confusion. He was normally the one to give gifts, not receive them. The gesture set him off kilter and he was left almost without words. "Thank you Mishka... " He placed his hand on the box, not to show ownership, but more to express gratitude. " That means a lot to me. I have no doubt that these make formidable weapons...but I am handicapped in my mental close mindedness towards the force. Consider it a..." He smiled. " ...cost for gaining mastership. "

​Truth be told, the flow of soulsteel for honey and leaves would have been enough. But the fact that Mishka had any more only convinced Gabe of one thing: he needed to get out more. He was confined to Sulon and what flowed through Baron's Hed. And it was becoming quite clear that there was far more to the universe and to crafting then what he could even imagine. There was a sort of cross pollination that needed to happen, for him to gain enduring experience in his art form.

​Taking the offered weapon and scabbard in hand, he inspected the scabbard first. He was in fact aware of the materials that were used here. Beskar on the outside, Terentatek on the inside. His thumb pressed against the interior, denoting the void of alchemy that could be filled to harden the leather. Setting the scabbard down, he offhandedly made comment. "These are both of superb quality. I have not had the opportunity to work with Beskar and my supply of Terentatek is quite limited...though I enjoy the hue of electrum for offsetting meteorite..." He paused as the hilt rested in his left hand, his right hand palm resting on the flat of the blade. Immediately he noticed a particular distinction in the grain.

​It felt like metal in all ways but the grooves. In his practices of Jal Shey, he often visualizes such in a manner to allow proper imbuement. Not only did this visualization occur, but it did so almost immediately. "On Arkania, back when I was much younger...the scientist were working on processes that revolved around copying genetic code...living material...and forcing metal to take that form and determine what value there might be. This metal is analogous to that process, but forced to envelope and graft to crystal. " He paused as he ran his hand down the flat of the blade. "The transition is seamless." He looked away from the blade and towards Mishka. "I would be amenable to a fluid exchange of goods. "

​[member="Mishka Larraq"]​