Star Wars Roleplay: Chaos

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I got my toes in the water...

From-the-beach-in-the-Adonara-Lembata-island-area-smoldering-volcano.jpg
Location: Beskar'yaim​

There were things in life one had to admit as they aged, really. Just sometimes, it took a lot to make one admit it. Ijaat had been all over the damned Galaxy trying to find his place in it. Chasing dreams, chasing causes, chasing things every which way but the way they needed to be it seemed. In the end, it took coming home to realize what needed done.

He was retiring.

There was fire in him still, sure...Lots of it, but it didn't burn as hot as it once did in his youth. And the fuel for it was a lot less present now than it was back then. Plus he just didn't seem to care to get excited over the same things anymore, and trying to force it was beginning to make him look ridiculous. Regardless of the specifics, he just wasn't up to the challenge. Chasing glory was a young mans game, and he was fast approaching... No, be honest here, he was long past being able to call himself young.

Now... As to what exactly he would do? Well he was getting a grand start on it just right now, as it were. Currently he was sitting under a nice sturdy umbrella attached to a comfy chair, toes dangling just past where the tide rolled in. A bottle of NN182 from Whyren's sat uncorked in ice. Beskar cubes, molecullary ionised in such a way to work for the purpose, served as whiskey 'stones' in a rock glass cut from fine crystal ware, the origins of which he wasn't too sure on. But the whiskey filling the glass reminded of the man he had gotten it from, and he thought of [member="Arrbi Betna"], with no little regret.

No one would know where he was, though those that knew him would know where to check to find him. And they might. Gotal'veman still had facilities and a mine here, but the island was big, and he was living as a pretty simple hermit. Age and strife had changed his features beyond what most would know as him anyhow. So he sipped the whiskey slowly, and watched as anonymous couriers took loaded up belongings elsewhere, with specific destinations in mind, or otherwise to hide them away. Maybe some young pup, hungry for a name like he used to be, would find them and bring them back to light.

Or maybe he had far too high an opinion of his reach, and his influence, and they would rust away. Either or.

Still... His mind ran through the list. Making sure he hadn't missed any.

To [member="Gilamar Skirata"], a man he had often wanted to shove out an airlock or down the magma-cone of Beskar'yaim herself, he had sent the family copy of the Supercommando Codex. A reliable enough Force Master with skill in psychometry had told him once it was easily as old as Jaster Mereel and the True Mandalorians, and had as high a likelyhood of being the original as to make it impossible to tell truth from family legend. It contained notes from Ijaat's father in the margins, ramblings on where relics of the Mando'ade might have been hidden away. Gil would appreciate it, and despite his personal grievances with the man, he was orirami'kad, and the book belonged to such.

To [member="Arrbi Betna"], he sent a bottle from the case of Whyren's the man had traded him. As well as a deed to 20% of the beskar mining capabilities of this island, and other facilities that Gotal'veman owned. That should see Clan Betna never ran out of beskar for any purpose, really, and that they would have sizable income to assist themselves if need be.

To [member="Jorus Merrill"] ? The man had been a friend, and the Underground a good source of business to him. But the two were never close...Not like brothers, though perhaps he liked Jorus the most out of any he knew... The production rights and schematics to the two verpine models, both the pistol and rifle, would be given over to him, to distribute as he saw fit, with the intent of aid to the Underground.

A more personal touch was sent to Jorus in the form of a bottle of the NN182, a set of the same ionised beskar 'whiskey stones', and a finely crafted, if traditional and ornate, Corellian dueling saber made of Corellian Bloodsteel. It was more symbol, than weapon really, but was balanced and made to sing in the hand. And was perhaps a pointed reminder to Jorus of many things, whatever he took it as. Probably the last weapon of war Ijaat would ever forge, if he had his way. Inlaid on the blade in the purest beskar Ijaat could smelt, was a simple phrase that should speak volumes about what the smith was thinking when making the blade: Doaba ol'val tru. Where the Mandalorian had learned Old Corellian, well Jorus would probably never know..

To [member="Alec Rekali"], he sent simply his beloved Chis'cati Vamci - the hammer home. A ship hulled in beskar and packed to the brim with all the joys and advances any creator could want. Awaiting whoever might try to wake the ship up to pilot her, or awaken the forge within her, was Geoffery. Ijaat had copied most of the AI's data into his cybernetics, and had put the program to sleep within the vessel. Whoever Alec gave it to would inherit arguably the galaxy's most in-depth knowledge of metallurgy, including the lifeswork of the top beskarsmith known to the mando'ade, and the ship to do just about anything they wanted to with that knowledge. Manda, Geoffery had even downloaded shaper protocols and more whilst they were studying his own biot. But he trusted Alec to give her away to the right person, or hide her somewhere safe.

[member="Ember Rekali"] - One that he handn't met in person, not except in the rare battle or passing by when he lived on Yavin IV. However, no Mandalorian alive didn't know of Ember. Nor of the pain he had experienced when his last child was murdered. So to him, he sent his personal crushgauntlets (more a symbol of remorse and sympathy), and his dinu'ul. The last gift to Ember pained him, but what was the point of retiring, if you held on to the past? Wrapped in a silk woven from the very iron sands of his island, a unique application of the microionisation and other techs he had developed to make essentially sand-silk from beskar sand, was Jatharesa. An ancient Alchemized sword, made on Tython at the outbreak of the Force Wars. Ember would appreciate the symbolism of the trio, he hoped. Whether he used them, or gave them as prizes, the sentiment was given.

To [member="Anija Betna"] went something perhaps more than he could ever really put a price on. It was her that had helped bring him back into the Mandalorian peoples, and probably knew him best besides a a scarce few others. Not that the smith was a complex man, really. He could do little to repay that debt, and so in the end, he had sent her an honest to goodness magnum opus of his craft. A lock box of veshok wood, which when opened contained datacrons, books, and more besides. Everything from treatsies on Atrisian swordplay and Matukai techniques to the sum total of his beskar techniques, including even his theories that Geoff hadn't been privy to. Hell, even his custom and signature hammer and tong designs were notated in there. A lasting cultural legacy to his people, if ever he were to make one.

To [member="Isley Verd"]? What could he send to the man who had come to his forge already a master, and toiled as an apprentice or slave to learn forgiveness and honor? Who had, perhaps of anyone, shown him that his time in the sun was drawing to a close. And, if he were honest, had shown him that what you created within others was infinitely more lasting than what you created without? To most, it would be a simple thing, really, and almost odd. But to anyone who had ever been trained at a forge, the gesture would probably make the most hardened smith just nod ad grunt, and turn back to the anvil, no words to be said in the moment. To Isley, the former Dar'Manda, he sent his tools. Perhaps the largest shipment of assorted goods to be known. Specialist hammers and tongs for shaping the various rare and complex ores. Vises, grips, posts, quench tanks. All of it was emptied from his personal chambers and organized and shipped.

But the true test was the oiled tool roll wrapped inside a magnificent apron made of force-altered hide. What the hide was, his father had always been non-descript about, jokingly calling it mythosaur hide. And maybe it was. It was sturdy, and utterly impervious to heat, damage, and kept the wearer cool both homeostatically speaking, and mentally. The toll within contained a set of hjarna-stone headed forging hammers, all gleaming with beskar hafts and wedges folded by his own hand. His crowning achievement, the first set of tools he had ever made as a master smith. Placed atop them in a rough oil-soaked cloth was a simple makers mark, worn from decades of use, bearing Ijaats symbol. And next to that, one the same with a take on Clan Verd's sigil. And with them, was a wholly different hammer, a battered old strikers maul Isley might remember well. He hadn't bothered to dress it up, or fix the faces of it's striking plane or such. Just a simple tag attached to the haft of it reading, written in a cramped and angular hand:

Haat, Ijaa, Haa'it. Seek the Timediver's Daughter when you truly feel ready. If you are, she'll know what is next..

In his mind, Isley had done him proud... The man was a master now, in full truth. And more than redeemed.

[member="Vilaz Munin"] was another he didn't always see eye-to-eye with. But one that he respected, and even liked, after their time in the Protectors together. To him he sent the warden cloak that he had fashioned into a poncho/sarepa, and wrapped within it was both a set of ionite and ostrine gar'marev, and a bottle of the NN182. Hopefully the sometimes crude and rude mandalorian appreciated such a fine vintage. As well was included a box of positively rare and nigh unheard of cigarra's from a now defunct producer once stationed on Corellia itself, before the breaking. None other than a 50 box of the legendary Double Coronet City Cigarras themselves, with a book of matches from a rather infamous Nar Shaddian night club, and a beskar made zippo-lighter.

To [member="Darth Vulkan"], whom he knew as Draco Verren... To his counterpart, successor, or in truth the one who had truly risen to prominence in a galactic scale, he sent a simple smith's hammer, a general all purpose one. This one however, was simple only in design, being hafted in veshok wood, and a head of pure black hjarna stone with Clan Vereen's sigil engraved on it, a lavish gift. And if Draco thought of it, a mind bender as to how the older smith had somehow managed to mark and shape hjarna stone. Contained was a more basic set of principles on metallurgy and beskar shaping, to Ijaat's mind, which would still put Draco years ahead of almost anyone else. As well as a deed awaiting just his own signature to fully cede over control of product, schematics, R&D and everything else in Gotal'Veman to the man, provided 15% of the income yearly was set into a slush fund for Ijaats 'infirmity and old age expenses'. And because he had personally seen the man wield a mace with terrifying efficiency, Josoranrar was included to the Aliit'buir, a terrifying power hammer of Ijaat's own make and design.

The other bits and pieces he sent out, across the way here and there to find their homes. He kept in a footlocker under his bed in the beach hut he now lived in a few things only. He had made enough enemies not to be stupid in his old age. Dangling from his Bodo Baas gunbelt still hung one of the twin DE-10's(the other in a nightstand drawer), and the Haymaker sonic shotgun in the back scabbard hooked to it, with his old kyr'vhetine saber attached. All of that rolled up inside a set of mandalorian military dress uniform done in forest green trimmed in gold, done up with medal ribbons and other memoirs. Thanks to Selvaris, he didn't need armor anymore, really.

As the last courier left, he puffed of a cigarra of his own making, grown right from small fields on this very island, tilled and known only to himself. He would enjoy, in a few moments, caff ground from a Sullustan bean he had transplanted into the volcanic soil nearby, and then maybe some more of this fine whiskey, as the gifts and notes of regret and farewell fast made their way out into the galaxy, Ijaat smeared a bit of white sunblock on his nose and leaned black, flicking down sunglasses over his eyes and smiling, dressed only in tropical themed swim trunks as he contemplated when to take his first nap of the day. Or maybe he'd go fishing... He had made a set of beskar rod and reel, complete with mono-filament beskar fishing lining, before he had sold the high tech stuff off... Because why not? No, nap first, then fishing... But before any of that, another glass of Whyren's, and to finish his smoke... Manda but retirement was shaping up to be demanding on his time!

OOC Note: Check my bio under my avatar. All his things are listed there. If I haven't named an item specifically as being given out or kept, and you wanted it, shoot me a PM and let me know. We can work out a little something. If I gave you something, and you would like to respond here with your characters reaction, I wouldn't say no to getting to read it. Otherwise, Ijaat is *officially* retired and living the high life, so... So long folks, see you on another face maybe!
 
Ijaat Akun said:
To Anija Betna went something perhaps more than he could ever really put a price on. It was her that had helped bring him back into the Mandalorian peoples, and probably knew him best besides a a scarce few others. Not that the smith was a complex man, really. He could do little to repay that debt, and so in the end, he had sent her an honest to goodness magnum opus of his craft. A lock box of veshok wood, which when opened contained datacrons, books, and more besides. Everything from treatsies on Atrisian swordplay and Matukai techniques to the sum total of his beskar techniques, including even his theories that Geoff hadn't been privy to. Hell, even his custom and signature hammer and tong designs were notated in there. A lasting cultural legacy to his people, if ever he were to make one.

The sun streamed through the windows of her office inside the MandalHypernautics offices on Mandalore. She'd spent a lot of time here following the Battle of Roche. And rightfully so. She'd wanted to improve upon several items, most notably the armor she was designing for [member="Mirshko Betna"]. It would be a combination of several systems. Some from MandalHype, and some from ArmaTech. Among others. Most notably, she was including a version of ANNE, but more tailored to Mirshko's needs. Seeing as MIrshko wasn't an engineer in the sense Anija was.

As she sat there staring at the rotating hologram, and occasionally fine-tuning parts here and there, she was disturbed by the comm on her desk. A frown crossed her face. She wasn't expecting an appointment or any visitors. her unspoken question was answered a few seconds later by her secretary. "Ma'am, a courier is here. Says he's got a personal delivery for you from one Alor Mereel." Those two words stopped Anija mid-thought. Mereel. Ijaat. She'd not seen him much since the time Arrbi had fought Azrael for the title of Mand'alor. And to hear from him now was odd. Something must be up.

She knew he'd withdrawn from involvement in most Mandalorian offensives, content to spend time creating or relaxing. So she found the timing rather odd. Letting out a breath, she said, "Let him in.." A pause, and then, "Right away, Ma'am," came from her secretary. A few seconds later, a messenger dressed in rather unassuming clothing entered her office, pulling behind him a rather large box on a hover trolley. The box that it held was made of solid veshok wood. And the fittings on it were burnished Beskar. her eyes widened for a moment before she looked to the courier.

He just shrugged. "I don't know what's inside. I was only paid to deliver it from one Ijaat Akun to one Anija Betna." She nodded then. "Very well. Thank you..." He nodded and turned to set the box on a sidetable carefully before departing the way he had come. When he'd gone, she moved towards the table and reached out a hand to touch the smooth Veshok wood. It had been polished to a high sheen, and the Beskar fittings glinted dully under the lighting in her office. A deep breath, and she hesitantly moved her fingers towards the latch.

The latch itself was rather interesting. Most were keyed with some sort of electronic key, or a combination. Not this one. When she looked closer at the mechanism, she laughed slightly. Instead of either of those, it was a fingerprint scanner. Shaking her head at the notion, she just grinned and pressed her thumb to the scanner after a moment. After a second or so, there was a muted click as the lock disengaged.
 

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