Intelligent Design

[Darth Metus]

Clan Rekali had the right idea.

His niece, had the right idea.

It was one thing to walk around with the ability to sling Magick in one's pocket. It was another thing to have said abilities ever-present and active. During their last meeting, Isley saw firsthand the rune-covered armors of his distant kin – and while the situation was far from ideal, the notion stuck. Isley filed it under "areas to explore" in his mind...and now that opportunity presented itself to do just that.

Aboard Little Sundari, the largest of Echoy'la's Sky-stations, had Isley set up a relatively modest Forge. It was not of the same caliber as the one destroyed on Krant, nor did it hold a candle to the one on Aza'Zoth. But for now, it would suffice. It was here that the man who had given up his claim decided to spend some much needed time alone. Just him, the fire, and his thoughts. At the moment, he busied himself with the creation of a new beskar'gam – from scratch.

Thus far, the helm had already been created for the most part. All that remained was the introduction of runes to the metal's surface. Now, Isley had a flair for the artistic when it came to his creations, he did not settle for merely engraving something. Rather, he dipped a fine-tipped brush in a base and began to carefully plot out a design. The runes would be carefully introduced to the pattern: discreetly becoming a powerful part of the overall design. At a glance, the armor would be beautiful...but that was just the beginning.

 

[Mór-rioghain]

Have patience her mother said, she would tell him when the time was right. This way said how many years ago?No. She was done waiting. Done watching her father from a distance. It was this annoyance that led the girl to seek out her half sister to find their father's location. Once given a set location, she would make her way towards his forge, Hazel hues burning with annoyance.


Muttering to herself about the weakness of her mother, the fear she felt at Isley Verd finding out he had yet another spawn he wasn't made aware of. She scoffed lightly, obviously her father hadn't skinned her mother alive when he found out about his other siblings ?What made her mother think he would when he met her?Was it because of her tedious little problem and her not being socialized?Mayhaps that is what worried her mother, that Mór-ríoghain's father would blame how she turned her on her mother.


Pushing those thoughts away, it wasn't very long before she found herself stepping inside of the forge and making a bee-line straight for him. Reaching out she would tap him on the shoulder lightly, a very blunt action for one that didn't know she was his kin quite yet. "For one so in tune with the force you sure are dense when it comes to me father... I mean, I've been around you lurking for the past weeks and nothing. Mother said to wait that she would tell you but we both know how that goes. Eighteen years later and you still don't know.."

[member="Isley Verd"]

 

[Darth Metus]

The rapid clack of heels meeting the relatively crude floor was enough to cease Isley's process. Painting a pattern of this scope was something that required absolute concentration, for if he messed up a line the entire piece would look abysmal. The Mandalorian released a huff of frustration at the interruption, distinctly recalling that he had asked not to be disturbed. His second, Nehemiah, had a handle on keeping the nation from burning down while he spent a few hours alone. Yet despite this, it seemed as though he would be bothered nonetheless.

The brush was set down and Isley half-turned, just in time for him to be nudged by a fiery young lady. Lofting a brow, the Mandalorian heard what she had to say...chewed them over...and found his lips parting ever so slightly in disbelief. Not again. Not. The. Kark. Again.

"You're kidding me, right?" he spat, making the assumption that "mother" meant Izevel. "Is this how it's going to be every other month, 'oh by the way here's your other daughter' ?" The frustration was paramount...but that didn't mean take it out on the girl. Izevel would be addressed. Later. For now. Isley reeled in the angst and patted the stool beside him.

"Come on...sit with me."

 

[Vesphira So'Kil]

.

 

[Mór-rioghain]

She glanced at the stool then back to him again. Yes, she could sit but should a vision come on and she not be ready that would be a mess explaining it to her father. Glancing back and forth between the two. Sighing softly, she went to plop down next to him, soon turning to face him so that she might study him intently for a few moments before speaking softly, her words coming quickly.

"Don't blame mother. She had to fix how she toyed with Miss Lilith's head before taking me out of hiding.."



Turning eerie Hazel hues on him, she would drift off some where her eyes, seeming to look right through him to somewhere else before she would blink and smile at him, her expression one of the cat that caught the cannery.


"Well, I know where my short fuse comes from. You. You hear things you don't like and then get all Ima rip your head off of you don't tread carefully "


[member="Isley Verd"]

 

[Darth Metus]

"I do blame your mother, actually."

The Mandalorian was surprisingly blunt when it came to that particular topic. First Runi, then Nyx, Never, and now Mo? She had kept an entire generation of his children far, far away from him. Yes, he had been poor father material in those days...but he wasn't alone. He was a Mandalorian, and his standing was much better then than it was at present. His children would have been protected. No harm would have come to them. And at the very least, the current strain would not be there.

Isley picked up the brush.

"She scattered you and your siblings instead of bringing you all to me. I would have protected you. I would have gotten my head outta my ass for you. That's what parents do."

Again, blunt. The Mandalorian returned the bristles to the base and resumed adorning the helm. Once this was complete, the piece would be submerged in a light acid, thereby making the design permanent.

"Well...the important thing is that you're here now. We've the rest of our lives, right?"

Reaching out, Isley picked up one of the bracers that had been freshly heat-treated.

"Here. Let's see if you take after me in more than one area." He then proceeded to explain the pattern he was going for, in brief, and tilted the helm so that she could see. It wasn't the most...heartwarming of bonding exercises, but it was what he knew.

Hopefully, she didn't make a mess.

 

[Mór-rioghain]

Her eye actually twitched in annoyance before she reached out and grasped the bracer, picking up a brush, she would hum softly, her hands moving with a practiced grace. How did she come to learn to paint so well?When one killed things so that she might study the splatter of blood against the ground and then used the excess blood to paint various works of art within their sanctuary they tended to improve over time and with various practice sessions.


Glancing at her father from the corner of her eye, she would study him for a few long moments before setting the brush down and showing her father.

"Is this satisfactory?"Mór-ríoghain would ask after placing the brush down and then moving to reach out to grab the second bracer. She would show the old man's sloppy job up.


[member="Isley Verd"]

 

[Darth Metus]

It seemed as though his youngest child was satisfied with taking the bracer, as evidenced by the humming which occurred a few moments later. That was...a start at least. Isley permitted himself a half-smile before returning to his helm. His lips moved in a slow, methodical incantation – matching the pace of his strokes. This would provide the intended affect, one which revolved around the bolstering of his own abilities. It wouldn't be of the caliber of the Soulsaber or anything absurd like that, but it would be a step up from the norm.

Once the design upon the helm was finished, Isley arose with it in hand. He was careful not to splatter any of the base with his movements before carefully lowering the piece into the waiting vat. Seconds rolled by and he plucked the helm out...flawless.

Then his child spoke, and Isley saw the beauty of her own design.

"Whoa. You're a natural."

He grinned: a toothy smile brimming with pride.

[member="Mór-rioghain"]