Gogi [Open to Mandos and Tourists]

[Gilamar Skirata]

https://soundcloud.com/dukeandhisbadda/trust-in-orga?in=justin-jeffries-1/sets/muse​

How long had it been since he'd been to the Oyu'baat for just a drink? For the last few years it had been a place to meet, usually in response to a threat. It had been battered during the cataclysm and stayed open throughout the Civil War. In the aftermath the ancient building now stood with one of the best views of the new Kelita Lake in all of Keldabe and its patrons had returned. Including Gil.

Being clad head to toe in a re-forged suit of dark beskar'gam would have been an interesting choice for the old man, but instead he opted for a more modest look. A breastplate made of two solid plates of beskar with an iron-heart keeping them joined and flexible in the center, light gauntlets and knee pads were all he wore over his clothes and under a bantha leather jacket. His boots clacked on the veshok wood floor as he made his way to the bar where a Togrutan bartender waited with her arms crossed in front of her chest.

"Well if it isn't Gil Skirata, in the flesh. I was beginning to think you'd forgotten about me."

"Heh, don't flatter yourself. I'm meeting Strider." The woman clicked her teeth and began pouring the Gogi a pint of the dark ale the old man loved so much.

"I didn't order anything,"

"I know what you like," she said with a shrug and walked off to talk to some other patrons.

 

[Strider Garon]

Strider walked into the Oyuu'baat, still amazed on how the reconstruction of keldabe's iconic drinking hole replicated almost every inch of what was lost in the cataclysm. He was grateful for it as he walked down the wooden stairs, his old wrinkled hand holding the wooden rail. Once at the bottom he could see his old friend at the bar that was centralized in the middle of the tavern. It had been some time since he had laid eyes on him and even longer since he actually sat down and drank with him. Gilamar Skirata and Strider Garon had been life long friends, since the days of their youth. Grew up cutting their teeth and spilling the same blood in the same sand across the galaxy. Hell, when the mandalorians chose Gilamar has their sole ruler, it was Strider who was his right hand and most loyal and trusted field marshal. To say there was history between the two was modest at the very least. The only other mandalorian that Strider had a close as bond with was his very own brother, Garrus Garon.

Strider walked towards the bar, he wore his old worn and battered beskar'gam that the red wheat leaf of clan Garon upon it. His helmet was mag locked to his belt so his salt and peppered black mane was only tamed by a cloth red headband. Strider was the shorter of the two, but much stockier with more defined grizzled features and scars. They both were in their seventies, which was a rare age to reach in a warrior culture. Evidence of such was when one looked around in tavern they were the only silver-backs long in tooth in this very establishment.

Strider nodded to the Togruta and she gave him a death glare before pouring a cup of Tihaar for the old man. She did not miss the company of Strider, though she was not a mother of one of his many bastards, she was one of his conquests that have been sourly ended. "Never sleep with the bartender, Gil, the service is never the same afterwards!"

He reached out to grip forearms with Gil "Su cuy'gar ner'vod!"

[member="Gilamar Skirata"]

 

[Alkor Centaris]

He finished tinkering with designs early for a change and decided to come out of reclusion for a drink. Keldabe was more of a haunt in recent times than it was a cultural hub for their people, but there were those who remembered a time before Sundari. The Kelita was a beautiful, shimmering reminder of Mandalorian ingenuity, and when he left his shop nestled along the riverbed, moonlight shimmered on the surface as it ran smoothly along, as it had in times before the cataclysm.

Their people could rebuild, even from ash. It was a chilling reminder not to mess with Mando'ade. They will come back, stronger and wiser than before, and they will always remember what was done to them. Alkor pushed open the doors that led into the Oyu'baat with his helmet clipped to his waist.

Everything continued as normal, older men drinking at the bar while younger, more boisterous boys and girls bickered, bantered, and brawled throughout the famous tapcaf. He took a spot near the edge of the bar and ordered a drink when the bartender happened past.

He let the black ale stick to the back of his tongue and savored the spice flavor that lingered there.

Alkor watched the low flame behind the bar, reminded of the forge and his work from the previous hours. It was hard not to focus on work, especially when he had deadlines to meet. He ordered another drink as the first drowned in his throat.

The day was over. He needed to relax at some point. [member="Keira Verd"] was always telling him so.

 

[Gilamar Skirata]

That brought a chuckle out of the old man as he stood to greet his old friend. Gil took the greeting and gripped Strider's forearm with a nod, mouth full of drink still.

"Su cuy'gar, old friend." He paused before sitting down and smirked, "I feel like you say that about bartenders no matter where we go." The old man plopped back into his bar stool and lifted his mug to his lips. The Oyu'baat was a lively place nowadays. While it had always been a place of gathering he wondered if the view over Lake Kelita now made people come more often. With these thoughts and more rattling in his head he reached out and grabbed a handful of warra nuts.

They tasted like they'd been there for a long while, but the salted, green nuts were free so he couldn't much complain.

"Have you been helping Preliat's pup around? Been hearing plans to reunite the Mandalore Sector," he said casually. "Hear she's not out of her palace much," he said with a heavy dose of sarcasm. He wasn't sure how such the tiny vicious ward of Ra Viszla had turned into a young Mandalorian queen in less than two years but he tended not to address the hypocrisy of the old Death Watch now. She'd kept her word, to him at least, and allowed him and much of his clan to resettle at their leisure. She'd left Kyrimorut and other House Skirata settlements and lands alone and had been a driving force in the revitalization of Mandalore.

But he still had a sneaking suspicion that they weren't being told everything.

[member="Strider Garon"]

 

[Alkor Centaris]

Netra'gal was one of the few drinks Alkor took slowly. It was an experience unlike most ales in the Galaxy: rich, dark, and almost like a wine in how fortified the alcoholic content was. None of that stopped him from enjoying it in excess. Liquor and spirits had long kept him from the pit of despair, and even without crippling depression, his alcoholism had not evaporated.

A long life of hard times and cold blood always seemed to catch up with people. When [member="Kaine Australis"] approached, Alkor managed a half smile. "Su'cuy," he acknowledged the older man with his fast-dwindling sobriety. Hopefully it would be gone before dusk faded. "Been busy lately. Taking orders, filling orders- you'd think I was doing weapons work for Mandos or something."

He genuinely grinned.

"Work's been real good for us weapons types of late, from what I can tell. How are things on Myrkr?"