Riders on the Storm

[Azrael]

MANDAL MOTORS

Keldabe, Mandalore


Filled with history and purpose, and yet haunted by the hanging memories from the years spent designing, planning and creating marvelous wonders; the office of the late Gilamar Skirata seemed to resonate with the life he gave this company. The engineer had done more for the company in the last few decades than had been done in a great while. The bearded man Azrael had called Buir breathed life into this vast enterprise and expanded it beyond the regions of Mandalore - constructing ties with other companies, becoming the forerunner for some of the newer Mandalorian upstarts. Most of what he left behind were still here, still in their proper place - things very familiar to Azrael as he had worked side by side with the man constructing fleets, repairing ships, and expanding their reach. Now standing as Mand'alor, taking to the role of filling Gil's catare as it were. A daunting task in his own speculation, but something he was determined not to run a foul with. He would continue that legacy and make it his own to at some point pass down.

Having a few moments to root through some of the leftover files in Gil's office, Azrael was currently seated in a work leather backed chair at the metal topped desk strewn about with tools of the trade. His beskar'gam traded in for a more urban garb, cloth and leather with the default engineer apron on. A stack of flimsi blueprints and drawings from the older man, ideas he had collected over time but never had put into practice. Thus far he'd found a few odds and ends that he wasn't even aware Gil had dreamed up. Azrael was a salvager by trade, and while he had learned a great deal about the ins and outs of the engineering profession, he wasn't nearly to the caliber that Gilamar had been or many of the other great engineers of the Mando'ade. They knew how to create, where Azrael knew how to make things work, even when they shouldn't. There was a history here - a veritable litany of projects that were want to be started, but put off in favor of others.

A few of the rough blueprints caught the half-blood's eye as he sorted through them, sliding a few into view, and flipping on an overhead light with an absent minded action. The light flickered on before bathing the charts and ideas in pale blue rays. Digits of flesh traced the outline of the ideas sketched out, admiring the craftsmanship already. A curious smirk touched his face before lifting up a flimsi pen from the cup left of center. A few more lines were added in, concepts really that would add to the overall appeal. He had come here looking for a new project, a new direction that might warrant his attention rather than the day to day of the factory. He had to keep an eye on it, but he wanted to have a project of his own to work on as well. Gil always had one, and working with his hands already cleared Azrael's mind, and helped him focus. The responsibility of the vode would not be an easy one to bear, and he needed some metal escape now and again. Three designs, and one in-particular that he wanted to make specifically for his tastes came together on three different flimsi blueprints which he quickly mounted to the back-lit board over the desk, letting the light shine through the translucent paper like documents. Now all he needed was an engineer.

[member="Ginnie Ordo"]

 

[Ginnie Dib]

Called for. Little Ginnie Ordo had been called for, someone said. The girl spiffed and shined her armour, kissed her Daddy and Mommy goodbye and even washed her Tuk'ata puppy Wembley and made sure his brand new copper link collar was as shiny as her Beskar'gam.

This was it, she thought. This was the day Ginnie faced the Mand'alor. She would march in there in her finest armour and she would beg for projects she could get her hands on, missions she could throw into. . . anything to expunge the regret and horror of her father killing Gilamar Skirata. Ginnie would ensure that none of her Aliit was Dar'manda, not like her birth brother [member="Isley Verd"] had been before Gilamar took pity on him. The child had seen what Dar'manda and Dar'jetti did to a Mandalorian. She lived the harrowing reproach and the flinches in a room full of Mandos. After [member="Azrael"]'s 'crowning' as the Mand'alor the child became even more grievously aware of the tentative position of Clan Ordo in the view of the other Clans.

She would redeem them and she would learn as she grew until the day she found a way to heal her father and have him whole again. Mirjahaal. Peace and wellbeing. A state in which the child had never grown. She'd faced sith hounds, zombies, slave armies and Sith Lords. She'd been taken prisoner by a legend and made to re-forge her fallen brother's armour in another man's image and rescued a Field Marshall for his pregnant lover. The girl had tamed a Sith Hound for her own pet, created her own beskar forge out of the rock of a mountain cave and taken her first steps in the alchemical road. None of those things prepared her for facing the Mand'alor and begging for one horrible act to be forgotten by a people who never forget. A knock came to the door of the office, and a half pint Mandalorian not five feet tall but dressed in armour stood at the threshold. "Oya Mand'alor."

Ginnie saw the flimsi in his hand and cocked her head to the side, "Droids? What do you need that much power store in a flightless droid for, Mand'alor? I mean! I . . . " Her shoulders rocketed up to her buy'ce, she stamped her foot and saluted. "Initiate Ginnie Ordo, Sir!"

Maybe she would have sounded more brave if her knees weren't shaking quite so much.

 

[Azrael]

From the first Taung who had risen in power over four thousand years ago, to the day in question, the Mandalorians had been a progressive people that still held fast to their roots. While they adopted new technology and changed with the times, there were also primitive hut like homes known as vheh'yaim strewn about the landscape of Keldabe and other settlement cities on Mand'yaim. From the very finest in besk'ar plated star fighters to the sometimes crude but always effective bone clubs that the first settlers had fashioned from the bones of the mythical Mythosaur creatures they had dominated in order to survive on this planet - there was a dichotomy that spoke volumes about their culture. They could both use and adapt to any change in technology, but it also wasn't needed to do what they did best. One of the first staples of their creed however had been in these war droids cited in Mando'a as Bes'uliik or 'Iron Beast' - a semi-sentient combat droid that had been 'liberated' from a planet back when the first Mandalorians had conquered that world and took the spoils of war. Since then they had refined the purposes, and created versions of them specific for their own uses. Now there were three new incarnations that had Azrael interested in crafting.

Standing before the desk, with the three sheets of flimsi back-lit detailing a rough outline of the various departures from the normal mounts, Azrael's arms crossed in front of his chest. Digits of flesh stroked his stubble ridden chin, while the bionic fingers kept hold of a few more off-shoots he wasn't as pleased with than the ones he admired at the moment. The rapping at the office's door frame drew his attention with an arched brow to slowly draw his gray eyed gaze from the blueprints and towards the young Mandalorian who had showed up in her own custom beskar'gam. Azrael kept his posture, denoting his thoughtful appraisal of the young girl's armor - clearly with hallmarks to it's maker - a vod he knew well. He was aware of Ginnie's history, and especially who had adopted her once Isley had fell off the Galaxy radar. He still had no idea where that man went, but he had seen the aftermath of his departure first hand. Dating the man's half-sister was a clear indication of that track record. A smirk touched the half-blood's face as Ginnie voiced her opinion - almost auto-correcting her tongue in gear that Mand'alor might be irked by that question. The smirk though moved into a smile of warmth, one that was quite calming and full of reassurance.

"Oloram verd'ika." Azrael said with an affectionate tone, while he turned his posture, releasing the cross of his arms and motioning towards one of the stools before the office desk. "Vor'e par olorare." A phrase to not only show his gratitude at her arrival, but also to let her know he was honored by her presence, and she didn't need to be frightened about her tongue, or what she might say. Azrael was quite young for being Mand'alor, and though he had the support of the Mando'ade, he personally hadn't changed in his mannerisms towards the vode. Drawing his frame onto one of the stools, pressing his booted heels against the metal rungs, he laid the other flimsi onto the desk and shifted his vision towards the young soldier in his company. "I heard that you are quite the engineer - and I'm in need of one, someone with a fresh outlook to breathe new life into these." Azrael offered, gesturing to the drawings hanging on the back-lit board. "These are however not just droids - they're a symbol. Well before you or I were even a thought in the Galaxy, the vode have been riding these down into battle." The half-blood explained, unsure at exactly how much knowledge Ginnie had about the war droids. She was a born and raised Mandalorian, where as Azrael had been adopted into the vode far later in his life than Ginnie was old. "And..." He paused for a moment. "..they can fly, and often do." Azrael had flown several already, most notably at the battle of Teta, which still left a very sour taste in his mouth. "These are some of the sketches that A'lor Gilamar had drawn up when he was working in this very office. It's time they saw more than the bottom shelf - and I'm hoping you'll help me see that dream become reality."

At her age, Azrael had been neck deep in the scrap yards of Ord Mantell - wading through pieces and parts of technology on every level. He'd torn apart fighters, resurrected some rudimentary speeders, and scrapped just about every late model of both Republic and Imperial design, and anything in between. The metallic cap on his bionic shoulder was actually from Ord Mantell itself, as a constant reminder and memento of what had caused him to start this life. Age wasn't an issue for Azrael, he didn't seen a thirteen year old girl - he saw a bright eyed and fresh faced Mandalorian who would bring new concepts and probably even better ideas than he could dream up as a former junker. Engineers fashioned the living - where salvagers only resurrected the dead.

[member="Ginnie Ordo"]

 

[Ginnie Dib]

"Ori'vor'e Mand'alor."

The Tuk'ata puppy scratched behind his ear with his hind leg, bending the growing head to get that one tricky spot. Oh yeah, that was it. Wembley bent down and put his snout on Ginnie's armour, the girl still didn't move. The Mand'alor was smiling and warm, he stood with the confidence of his title and his Clan behind him and Ginnie felt tinier. Smaller. "Yes, my Daddy's teaching me. I can smith Beskar, too! I can be useful."

'Verd'ika'.

If she could sink further in the armour, the girl would have tried. Ginnie hadn't a clue that [member="Azrael"] had dated her half-sister Devorah, nor any clue beyond the fears of a child and the present experience of the Mand'alor smiling down at her calling for her with honour. He needed an engineer, he needed a kid with skills and he didn't seem to care that she'd slunk off with her head down in case of a problem in the vode. The chance the girl had wanted was in front of her feet. It helped her knees stop shaking a little.

"Those don't. They won't I mean. Not well, not unless you want the Mando'ade to practice their faith and bravery. The engines aren't in the right spot. Put a rider in Beskar'gam or heck, Beskar'kandar and they'll spin around in corkscrew circles unless they've got a crush gaunt grip. Won't they? Don't you want the engines to flow from here?" The girl's crush gaunt pointed to a spot further in the middle of the droid's bodywork. "Compensate for the heavier Beskar armour, without having to throw more into repulsor lift power? Could add another gun or two if you made the engine flow more efficiently. If those are flying droids, they should be easy to fly. Like Uncle Ket's speeder bike was."

The little Verd-turned-Ordo had returned from her latest experience being kidnapped by the legendary Sith Lord [member="Ket Van-Derveld"] with the hollow stink of dar'jetti flowing through her veins. Oh how she feared it. Between her secret studies in Sith Alchemy and the terrors of a little abandoned girl, Ginnie was a walking testament to the possibility of a failed father. Could this new Mand'alor break through the beskar shell of the little lost goran'ika and bring that camaraderie and ease to a child of Mandalore?

Ginnie motioned her hand at her Sith Hound and the creature trotted over to a corner of the office, walked around in a circle then plunked down with a happy deflating sigh. Its ears kept up on the noise, one eye open but the miniature (yet growing) monster snuggled into itself for its' nap. She brought her hands up to her Buy'ce and snapped the latches and with a hiss, the helmet came off. Ginnie's chocolate skin was mottled from her throat to her ears - or more rightly where her ears should have been. Her braided hair pulled back in a ponytail, the burn damage from her childhood was as visible as the bright pink of her armour's coating. She looked up at Azrael with her brown eyes wide and hopeful, the hope crashed as she glanced around. "This is Gilamar Skirata's office." The statement said was made real in her mind. Her Daddy had killed the man who should still have been leading the Clans through this and other places.

"You want me to help you engineer the Mand'alor's unfinished projects? Aay'han. Can . . . can I see the flimsi's gedet'ye, Alor? What do you want to get out of these designs? Umm . . . I might be wrong about the whole flying thing on that one. Why is there that empty spot in the undercarriage? What did the Mand'alor want to fill that in?"

 

[Azrael]

First impressions said a lot about a person, even more about a Mandalorian. They were defined by their actions, their bravery, and their spirit to be one of the Manda's chosen. Azrael had been defined in that bar fight on Ord Mantell - at least to both Kila and Ordo who had saved him from being killed in retaliation of his act of revenge. Even before that, he had proved to himself that he was made of something stronger than was generally thought by those that had watched him grow up. What you did in those first few moments counted and weighed against or for the Mandalorians - and was often the indelible impression that would not be shaken in the course of your life. Ginnie's reaction to him, this office, his plans, and her own role in what had happened in the last few months was decidedly not the first impression written into Azrael's memory. When he first encountered the girl, it was but a brief and glancing gaze as he greeted Ordo aboard the ship heading towards the Galaxy neighboring their own - but that hadn't warranted anything specific. His memory of her first impression was in Mandal Motors Great Hall where she showed unflinching loyalty, bravery, and valor. She may just be budding into a teenager, but the girl was, as the Mandalorians would say, mandokarla. There were a lot of things that Ginnie didn't know about the Mand'alor, and what his connections and ties with both of the clans that the girl was part of - and he was certain that as they worked together several of those bits and pieces of history would soon come to light.

"It's true, most Bes'uliik are more difficult to ride into battle in flight. While their speed is great, the handling and control takes experience and training to be able to rightly control." Azrael concurred with the Kiffar pulling out the engine sketches that had been drawn up in tandem, it seemed, with the droid frame itself. "I've become accustomed to their slower movements, but I believe these designs can hold some merit in how to better stabilize the grav thrusts, and repulsors in order to make lift and turning more efficient." His index digit tapped on the jet design turbines that were worked into the diagram. "These designs though are mostly shell exterior - the cavities are empty because it was the body frame he was working on." The half-blood recanted as he plucked the drawings down from the back-lit board and placed them onto the table before him.

The gentle hiss of a breach in the beskar'gam seal drew his pair of gray eyes towards Ginnie's face. The scars that lined her throat and missing ears were a testament to what the girl had already lived through. Azrael carried his own host of reminders, nothing more notable than the complete lack of his left arm replaced by the bionic implant. His head canted to the side for the moment as her Sith puppy obeyed the silent command and made it's bed in the corner of the office to hunker down and nap. The creature reminded him of the Strill that many Mando'ade had as loyal pets, and also used for the thrilling shatual hunts that were often a highlight of many boasting stories in a pub scene. While Ginnie wasn't aware of what Azrael knew about the girl, there were a lot of things he was also unaware of in her life. The recent capture, the Sith alchemy, and even the struggle she was inwardly having about her place here in the Mando'ade had escaped his attention and notice. He couldn't fault her though for any of her feelings - the last few months had been very hard on all of the Mandalorians. So many of the faithful pillars of the culture had fallen in one way or another. Though most had come back through a combination of cloned bodies, dark sorcery, and advanced medical care, the losses still hurt and left their marks.

"This is where I put together my beskar'gam. It took a few weeks to get everything set after forging. Gilamar was instrumental in its design and function." A glance around in slow panoramic movements drew in the breadth of the office, reliving the memories as both bitter and sweet from the time spent working on that project. So much had happened in this office to shape the rest of his life in the Mando'ade, it was a second home to the half blood. He had his own place on Keldabe, and a few other spots in the Galaxy - but he truly felt right when he was here in this office - even with the ghostly memories haunting him. "A lot of memories in this place, and I plan to have many more here." Righting his attention to the young girl seated on the stool - and accepting her request with a simple nod. The stack of flimsis were set before Ginnie showing the rough sketched out detail that went into the various components. Three different sets of different unique designs that were warranted for the creation.

"Ideally we're looking at an atmospheric version that'd be far easier to fly." He noted pointing to the design that included a scorpion like tail at the aft. "Then there's this one that we can put a sealed dome onto, for space use. Right now we don't have any that fit that category, and they could be very handy as an alternative to starfighters." The larger droid with several grav thrusters littered around the wings and arms for precise movement in a friction-less environment. "This last one is a personal pet project. A'lor had his own Bes'uliik, and I'd like to continue that tradition with a custom one for myself, and incorporate it to my beskar'gam if possible."

[member="Ginnie Ordo"]

 

[Ginnie Dib]

To Ginnie the idea of belonging somehow to two clans was unconscionable. Stricken with the disasters of her childhood, the abandonment of her father, the ostracized years where no one talked to her, no one helped her but [member="Isley Verd"] had broken what little she had of her child-like faith. The galaxy was a cold and unfeeling place filled with desperate measures and terrifying times, and the thirteen year old Mando'ad rose to the challenge of the galaxy by staking a claim on what was hers. [member="Ordo"] be Ar'klim, [member="Rianna be Ar'klim"] were her parents. Mommy Rianna and Daddy Ordo didn't ignore her nor did they look down on her because she was deaf and small. They loved her with a passion Ginnie could feel in her bones, and it was that parental adoration which had salvaged her from falling to her missing brother's dar'jetti nature. Ordo and Rianna had saved her from making the myriad mistakes of the Verd clan and that process was by no means done. Every child needed love, security and boundaries in which to grow.

[member="Azrael"] would learn in time that being the Father of all the Mandalorians, he had to master the art of security, confidence and personal growth. A Mandalorian following The Call was a being of Duty and judgement, a Mando'ad gladly went to battle for those that he or she loved. "That makes sense then. Why would we want them to be hard for the Mando'ade to use? If we follow the designs on the tail, the stability will help a whole bunch. Want to weaponize the tail, too? We could add electro stingers, bolt guns or a blaster sequencer."

The girl took out a stylus and grabbed a spare sheet of flimsi and started drawing out matching machinery for the scorpion as Azrael talked. Her stylus halted and she looked around the room again. The ghost of Gilamar called out with his silence and in that lack of being Ginnie shivered. Her brow furrowed and the Tuk'ata raised his yet unmighty head. Wembley padded over to Ginnie and began to lick the girl's cheek until Ginnie smiled meekly and pushed him away. "Weeembleeeey, stoooop."

Flipping from the exterior to the inner mechanics, Ginnie added a support strut and a malleable undercarriage to give stability without adding weight. With the salvaged weight, the option of adding another gun or two was possible and Ginnie glanced up at the Mand'alor with a strained concern on her face. "Mand'alor. . . did you bring me to Gilamar Skirata's office to punish me for what my Daddy did? 'Cause if this is penance I'll do it double-time. I'll do plenty of it, no complaining. Anything to cleanse my Daddy's memory, you know? I just . . . I just wanna know if this is making up for Empress Teta. And . . and Isley. Did you bring me here so I could clean up the taint of dar'manda around my life? 'Cause I can take it, I can handle atonement for my vod. If it makes it easier on everyone, I can do whatever you need until my Daddy's name holds honour again."

Her lips mashed together until they turned into pale lines. She couldn't look up at Azrael, but she could hold on to the next set of flimsi. "Should be fairly simple to make this one space worthy. What material were you planning on using for the canopy? Transparisteel? Glassteel? Acrylic polymers can be sturdy and easily repairable, but they don't stand up to heat as well. Not unless we really work it. Also, unless the wings do something they're not necessary in space. No need for aerodynamics an all that. Are the wings platforms for more gun batteries?"

The third one was magnificent. Ginnie stared at the design for a long while, picturing the Mand'alor riding his war droid into battle for the Clans. Reaching into her creativity, she started scrawling protocols for shifting the internal programming in the Mand'alor's armour. "One handed operation ok for you? For yours?"

 

[Azrael]

The idea of equality among the Mandalorians was a notion that while Azrael had accepted with virtual certainty, he hadn't grown up with. There were very few cultures, species, or positions of employ where that trait was a founding principle, and it was a sorely needed one in the Galaxy. The armies of the factions hosted ranks, positions of authority, and a stringent hierarchy that were in place for good reason and purpose - however it often overshadowed judgement and teaching prowess. Mandalorians knew that no matter how young, how old, how dedicated, or how removed - every vod was both teacher and student. The oldest could learn from the fresh faces, and the young would draw from the experience of the veterans. This was not a militia, but a family that had outlived most every nation, faction, and governmental body in the Galaxy time and time again. He would not let the advice and the clear intelligence of a young girl fall by the wayside. He'd held fast to the notion that he could learn from everyone when he arrived on Mand'yaim, and it was a lesson he took to heart time and time again. Azrael was not infallible; far from it, and the half-blood understood the gravity of that in his shouldered responsibility. He could not lead a people if he would not listen to them. Nor would he dare entertain such a laser-brain train of thought.

"With the default arsenal in place, the addition of stingers would be well suited." A surveying look over the flimsi diagram, his bionic digit tapped on the tail indicating a course of movement. "If the droid gets in range, the tail could flip below or above and shock the aru'e, stunning or paralyzing them." Azrael offered a nod as the train of thought was certainly on track with his notions for the design. "The Mirshir'e." He added in, already christening the droid's Mando'a title for the vode. A thoughtful tongue in cheek pause was given, going through some facts and figures in his head of the right length and striking power that the weapon would have, while also using it for flight stability. It would be a complicated but worthwhile build that he was looking forward to being a part of. While lost in the conceptual design phase, his eyes shifted locking their gray hue onto the Sith pet that had padded over to affectionately lap it's tongue across the girl's skin. The tell tale smirk touched the Mand'alor's face as he admired the beast. While it certainly didn't have the appearance of a domesticated beast - neither did the Mandalorians beloved Strill. Having so little to do with Force sensitive beings, all he took the animal for was face value, and the fact that it was rather devoted to the miniature Mandalorian before him. His own questions about her four legged companion though were shifted as his attention narrowed to the questions that Ginnie had seemed to release from a bottled up state.

"Ad'ika." His voice was softer, warmer than he'd already been at the end of her speaking, even after she had gone back into the flimsi to ask technical questions. His hand of flesh moving forward to pause her stylus movements and rest on her hand gently. "You are kotep and dral, but you have nothing to fear from the errors of other vode. I would never think to lay the burden of your allit on your shoulders or anyone else's." A calm and peaceable smile rested on the half=blood's face as he gently took her crushgaunt covered hand in his gentle grip. "You are here on your merit alone Ginnie - and as for this location, you shouldn't be afraid or ashamed to be here. This is just an office after the day is done. It may hold memories for me, but it is my hope that after this project it will hold memories for you that are just as pleasant." Another smile offered to break through whatever dismal thoughts she had locked in her mind. "Let me show you something." Azrael offered before sliding from the stool and moving towards a shelf, pushing some materials aside. Tucked in the back was a small wooden box with a clasp and lock - aged apparently from the worn wooden planks of it's construction. Taking care to bring it out, he turned and moved to place it on the desk before her. A simple flick of the clasp and the box opened. The interior held a few keepsakes, most notable of which were some holo-recording chips, a portable emitter, and two letters that had been folded and slid into envelopes.

"I found both of these after Empress Teta. One is from A'lor, and the other from my Ori'vod, and your Buir." Azrael explained allowing Ginnie to search the contents and look through the letters if she wished. "The recordings indicated that they had programmed a fail safe should they fall in battle, to alert me to these letters." He'd already read them a dozen times, and found a great bit of strength in their words - though they had been brief, they were certainly cherished. "Ordo did not commit anything on his own volition. He was poisoned by the Dark Lord of the Sith, and his mind was warped into something unnatural. He is still my Ori'vod - and you should be proud to have him as your Buir." One of the holo-recording chips was actually a conversation he had with Isley while they were investigating an old and forgotten weapons cache that Palaptine had run hundreds of years ago. "I know of Isley's fall and his return, we were close once before he vanished in the black. He had the heart of the Mandalorians in him, but he didn't always walk the path." A small shrug was offered as his gray eyes shifted to lock onto her own. "I do not see you as a product of any of these circumstances. You are my sister, Ginnie Ordo, and you stand on your own merit." His hand moved, resting on her shoulder, proud of the young woman she was becoming. "Gar taldin ni jaonyc; gar sa buir, ori'wadaas'la." A gentle pat to her shoulder was given as he turned back towards the designs.

"Now let's get started here." Azrael admonished turning his attention to the space worthy design. "Best to stick with more traditional materials for the cockpit - either crystasteel or plexalloy for the ports. Atmospheric pressure and being shot at need a lot of stopping power to protect the Mando'ade and their shebs." A smirk touched his face before moving towards the wings she asked about. "Most of the propulsion is stored in the wings themselves, but they also add extra protection for the rider. I know from personal experience that they are a life saver when you're surrounded." He knew they had saved the life of Anastasia on Teta, and kept her out of being scorched by plumes of fire from a heavy armored royal guard. "We can get to mine a bit later - I think these two will need a good bit of focus to start production on." He paused for a moment and then shifted to the side, resting his elbow on the table, and jutting a single digit her way. "I heard you're apprenticing at one of the forges?" He asked, concerning the besk'ar element they'd need.

[member="Ginnie Ordo"]

 

[Ginnie Dib]

"I like it. I really like it. The tail as a stunner and the name is awesome. If we tie in a separate motor-based generator in the tail, we can keep the power supply separate and keep the stunner from soaking up the engine's lift power or other weapons. Even if the Mirshir'e gets shot down, it could still use the tail. What do you think, Alor?"

Ginnie looked up at Azrael with eyes near filled with salt water. She sniffled and hiccupped as he held her hand, not quite brave enough to look him in the eye. Tough and powerful Mando'ade didn't cry. She took off her crush gaunts and held her father's letter between her fingers.

"I am proud of my Buir! He didn't have to love me or make me his kid, but he did it. He brought me home and gave me a family! I didn't have any family but Isley and he abandoned me just like the rest of Clan Verd. My mother died trying to save me and when she did? My birth father wouldn't even look at me. He stopped teaching me, stopped buying me clothes and shunned me from my brothers and sisters. He threw me away 'cause I was useless. I was nine when I got shown the door. If it wasn't for Daddy Ordo, I'd be dead. I'm gonna stick up for my Aliit Ordo till the day I'm cold as an asteroid." Her eyes poured over the letter, reading the message in a constant cycle of childish desire to find a word or three just for her. Would she find it? She didn't know, but she knew Azrael calling her his vod felt like a key unlocking the padlock on a bunch of chains around her heart. Ginnie breathed easier. She stumbled over to the Mand'alor and threw her arms around him: a kid hoping for the narrow field of trust which still survived after years of neglect Ordo had begun to right. She buried her face into his stomach and shivered against the pent-up, frustrated tears.

"Mom ([member="Rianna be Ar'klim"]) brought Daddy's body back to the Ranch. He was still alive when he got there, we. . . we got to . . . " Ginnie's lip wobbled and she rubbed her cheek with her crush gaunt. "I could feel the Dark Lord and some other Dark presence were in Daddy's head. It felt like this bunch of black ink and it reached for me when I was saying my goodbye and drying Daddy's dying eyes. I still can't get the feeling of the ink off my fingers. When I helped rescue Field Marshal Mantis, it helped my fire burn the prison down. It's scary. Isley had the Dark Lord's voice in his head. . . then Daddy. Now I can hear someone like him talking in the Forge fires and I don't want him there. Mommy doesn't understand, she's a Jedi she never struggled with things like this."

When [member="Azrael"] asked about her Forge training, the child perked up. She looked up at him and put the letter down, sniffling and rubbing her face until she could look at the flimsi's again. There was work to do, Little Forge Girl! The Forge was vastly becoming her favourite place. The crafting and building of materials in myriad ways, the constructive use of her fires meant worlds to her. It had been a way of connecting with her Buir and in that connection she'd found the strength to temper her fears.

"My Daddy taught me." Ginnie said quietly. [member="Ordo"] had been a Master Craftsman when it came to Beskar and what else could he do with his scared new ad'ika to help her acclimatize to life on the Ordo Ranch? Weaponry, the Resol'nare, Ordo had been diligent and dedicated in all of Ginnie's training. "We used to spend all day in the Forge. He'd get me helping him repair Beskar'gam and then he gave me projects on my own. After all day in the Forge, we'd wash up and go in for dinner. Mama'd help me with my homework and if I did real good, I'd get to make popcorn and curl up on the couch beside Buir for holo-shows. I got my tools at Daddy's Forge on the Ranch. I'm gonna be a Mastercraftsgirl someday."

Nevermind that Ordo was still teaching his daughter every day, or that the girl had built her own Forge in relative secret on Ziost. Ginnie knew better than to reveal her parents' secret or her own, even to the Mand'alor. "I already made some small things like besk'ad, forearm bracers and [member="Aditya Amadis"] hired me to craft Field Marshal [member="Preliat Mantis"] ' prosthetic leg with beskar plates re-forged from his Rally Master beskar'gam. I'm working on beskar'gam for Aditya with the rest of the Beskar we had left over. Field Marshal Mantis told me to make it for her. . . but I don't think he likes me much. I can work a forge like nobody's business!"

Ginnie lit fire in her hand with concentration and a short exhale. The fire went from red to yellow, frothing into a milky white. It danced between the girl's fingers, forming into the shape of one of the war droids. "I can bend metal with my hands if needs be, too. S'how I learned to control the exacting needs of the beskar smithy. Crystasteel would be great for the canopies. Easier to add and stronger than the plexalloy. Sure, I've smithed beskar, desh, terenthium, duraplast, durasteel, got a piece of Phrik once but that's taking a bit more for me to work with. How thick are we talking about for the Beskar hull plates? How much carbon do you want to add into the Beskar alloy? I'd suggest a 5% mix of Ciridium and Duraplast to the Beskar. Maybe more if we need to lighten them up but keep the defensive capabilities of the war droids. How much Beskar Ore do we have coming from the Concordia mines?"