Star Wars Roleplay: Chaos

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Terminus.

The Verd Estate, Mandalore

Ever since the reunion of Isley with his younger brother, Oron, a new desire had been placed within his heart. Where once the Mandalorian did not care about the mantle of Aliit'Buir, he now embraced it whole-heartedly. However, there were a small mountain of responsibilities that came with being the leader of an entire Clan...and first amongst them was providing them a place to call home. As such, Isley had funneled his personal funds into the restoration of the estate his Clan once occupied regularly. It was his hope that this change would be a shining beacon that could bring some of his kin out of the woodwork.

And it did.

Although it took some time, cousins and other extended family began to make their way home. Yet, the most surprising arrival was one that the Clan regarded as a Hermit. She was also one of Isley's favorite people in the entire Galaxy...and not because of her skill in forging beskar'gam. At the instant of her arrival, Isley was currently occupied with organizing the Study of the Estate. He was notified by a cousin passing by, who had a look of extreme surprise on her face, that her mother had arrived.

Her mother. His aunt Teras Verd.

In that instant, everything was dropped and Isley found himself sprinting off like a child after a birthday present.
 
After practically knocking over half of the Clan in order to reach the front door, Isley "skidded" to a halt just a few paces shy of the entrance. There he stood, panting and grinning, as the woman who had been a second mother to him strode in. She was shorter than him by at least a head, yet had the build and demeanor of one that could take one a giant with little issue. Her complexion was the same, deep brown that his sire had; and her hair was styled into rows of thick dreadlocks. (Isley wasn't ripping off his aunt's style or anything, no sir.) Although she seemed as strong as ever, it was apparent that age was getting to her. Silver worked its way into her hair, wrinkles assaulted her face, and tags had popped up under her eyes.

But at the end of the day, this was Isley's beloved aunt.

Stepping forward, the Mandalorian practically threw his arms around her and was met with the same iron embrace that almost choked the air out of his lungs. Yep, she was getting old, but that didn't mean chit when it came to her strength. "Look at you Is'ika, finally stepping up and being a Man." she said, placing a kiss upon his cheek before allowing him to breathe. "I'm doing my best auntie." he began, "There's so much to be done..."

Teras reached up and placed a hand upon her nephew's shoulder, smiling with such pride that it practically bled from her...but that was until her fingers touched Durasteel instead of Beskar. A disapproving twitch of her lips happened before she reached up...and seized his ear. "Yes there is my dear nephew. Like why you are wearing this of all things? Where is the beskar'gam I made you?"

Isley had uppercut a Sith Lord. Isley had faced down hordes of Sithspawn, enemies, and even the wrath of a God...Yet it was his aunt that finally made him feel like a kid. "Ow. OW. It got stolen! I was on the run and some karkers stole my ship! My beskar'gam was inside the ship." he said, hoping to Manda that she would release his ear.

A dissatisfied sigh escaped Teras as she relinquished her grip. "You idiot. Now you're just a walking, talking can of meat. One wrong lightsaber slice and I'm down a nephew." she seethed. "By Manda boy, you're lucky I'm here now. You walking around in Durasteel is an embarrassment. I'll make you yet another beskar'gam, but this time you're paying me. And no objections, you're getting out of this claptrap today."

This wasn't the sort of thing one could say no to.

"I...I'll...I'll go bring the Speeder around."
 
Following that exchange, the Mandalorian first had to whip out his datapad and transfer a small fortune into his aunt's personal account. Shaping Beskar was no easy task, nor was Beskar something that folks could come by with relative ease. As such, the occupation of Beskar Smith was both honored and highly paid. Teras usually did work for her nephew for free, but in light of his irresponsibility, he was paying full price...plus a tip. A really big tip. After payment, Isley brought around the two-seated Speeder and then took his place in the passenger side.

Teras driving was a bad idea, but you don't argue with a Mandalorian of her caliber. You just don't. As such, Isley had no choice but to hang on for dear life.

They were headed to Teras' personal residence, as the Verd Estate currently lacked a suitable Forge. Isley fully intended on rectifying that particular short coming, as he desperately needed a reliable place to practice his Alchemy. That said, the Hermit's residence was the closest place that could accommodate this particular commission; and Teras honestly preferred working out of her own shop. Before departing, of course, Isley had to dive upstairs and procure the fun gadgets and trinkets that were to be installed upon the armor.

This caused Teras to roll her eyes and make the standard "Why can't you just have normal beskar'gam?" remark.

It did not take long to arrive at Teras' residence, which Isley thanked Manda for. After parking and getting out, the two made their way to the Forge that was immediately adjacent to the small cottage. Once inside, Isley was greeted with the familiar smell of heated beskar...and a wall of heat that made him sweat. "Take off the tin can, gotta get your measurements." said Teras, immediately moving to procure, literally, a length of rope with knots in it.

"You still haven't upgraded to basic technology?" said Isley as he obediently stripped down to his bodyglove and boots. "When it comes to working Beskar, I prefer to stick to the old ways: the ways of our ancestors. The way it was meant to be done. Now come here." Sure, old fashioned meant that the armor pieces wouldn't be laser precise, but it also meant that each piece would have the efforts of the smith literally hammered in.

Isley liked that immensely.
 
Having reduced himself to simply his Bodyglove, Isley then stepped forward so that his aunt may measure him accordingly. She began by wrapping the rope around his head at various angles, followed by jotting down the results of said measurements upon the wall...with chalk. This process was then repeated for the totality of Isley's body and was undertaken in complete silence. The Mandalorian had nothing to say because he was smart enough not to distract someone trying to memorize numbers and measurements. The Hermit had nothing to say because she was working.

When this was all said and done, Teras stepped back from her nephew and casually tossed the rope down upon the nearest table. Measurements were complete, next came the design part of the program. "So, are you wanting yet another Modern design?" she inquired, the bias in her voice evident. Isley was about to open his mouth and affirm this particular question, but then considered something... "I've always had a Modern design, so I'm not sure. What sort of design would you suggest?"

One could see the effort made by Teras not to let her bias respond to the question.

"Well, first, I'd ask how you fight. You use the Force and all that hoopla, so I wager you use a lightsaber and such yes? Are you quick on your feet? Or are you slow and strong?" she inquired. Isley honestly had to ponder this for a moment, because at times he toed the line between both extremes. "Well...I don't use my saber often, but I prefer putting power behind my blows more often than not. I rely upon my jetpack for mobility the most so it's not like I'm running around the majority of the time." Teras nodded...and succumbed to her bias.

"Well, I suggest an older style, like the Mandalores of the past. Heavy, yet almost complete protection. And the aesthetic is breathtaking. Fitting for an Aliit'Buir." she said. Lofting a brow, Isley couldn't help but humor his aunt. "Fitting for an Aliit'Buir you say? Well, I might consider it then. But what will my fellow Vod say if I'm running around in an armor similar to that of a former Mandalore?"

"The armor doesn't make the Mandalorian." she said. "So long as you aren't using your aesthetic to assert dominion over your fellows, I don't think anyone would care."

Eh. Why not?

"You're the expert auntie, and you know how I prefer my armor. As long as it keeps me alive, I'll leave aesthetic up to you."

Obviously Teras didn't get that answer often, judging from her grin.
 
The next step in the design process was drafting, which Teras began by procuring her famed notebook and pencil. She was, by no stretch of the imagination, an exceptional artist; but she could get a concept on paper fine enough. As one does not simply begin hammering away at beskar with no idea as to how large of plates to create, this step was almost as crucial as the measurements. Seating herself upon the table, she then motioned for Isley to take a seat beside her before setting about sketching.

Obediently, Isley parked his posterior upon the Resinwood and leaned his back against the wall. He then peered over his aunt's shoulder and watched the drafting process intently. Her pencil danced swiftly across the page, constructing the concept she had in her head; and Isley was not daft enough to disturb her. However, she soon broke the silence by asking an important question.

"What sort of weird chit are you having me put into this beskar'gam?" she inquired, not looking up from the paper. "I have another Taozin Amulet and a pair of special bodygloves that I'd like to be used." he said in response, motioning at the duffle bag he had brought along. Teras grimanced. She recalled working with the slimy, Taozin nodule before and was not eager to repeat the laborious process. Now she needed to know why; as last time she didn't ask.

"And why do you need a slimy karking thing in the middle of your armor?"

"Because it prevents dar'jetii from shattering it with the Force. I'd rather not have another beskar'gam reduced to pieces in the middle of a war zone."

That was...a legitimate concern. Beskar'gam was made to be durable but it was not immune to the offenses of the Force by any stretch of the imagination. Teras nodded...before asking yet another question. "Wait. You said two bodygloves. What, are you going to layer them?" she asked, confused. "No, I was planning on cutting down the second one so that I could line my helmet, boots, and gloves with the material. It's specifically treated to resist telekinetics."

Now she understood. Isley was preparing for squaring off against all sorts of enemies: especially those bloody dar'jetii that once attempted to seize Manda'yaim herself. "Fair enough. I'll get the Taozin Amulet in place like last time. You, since you're doing nothing but spectating, will handle cannibalizing your bodyglove."

"Yes auntie."
 
When the draft was complete, Teras leaned forward and released a satisfied sigh. The concept was unlike anything that Isley had ever seen...and it screamed heavy. However, he had worn beskar'gam since he was a teenager and was confident that he could bear the weight of this new suit of armor. The next step in the design process revolved around mathematics, for Teras still needed precision when making the plates. As such, she procured the sole electronic device in her Forge in order to crunch the numbers: a Calculator.

Flipping the page, she began to run through formulas and numbers at a blinding pace. Isley was never a mathematical genius, so this was the part where he simply took the opportunity to stare intently at the wall. Silence ruled once more as the minutes rolled by, until Teras filled the void of conversation with something Isley didn't want to talk about. "I didn't see you at Raki's funeral. Were you too busy to say goodbye to your father?" she asked.

Isley had to tread lightly here. He despised his father with a passion that burned brighter than an overheated Forge...but that was still his aunt's sibling. She wasn't going to let him speak ill of her brother, especially now that he was dead. "I told you that I was on the run. That didn't come to an end until very recently." he said, attempting to keep his tone even. Teras scoffed aloud, seeing through his bull the instant it left his lips. "You may think me daft, but I wasn't born yesterday Is'ika. I listen to the comms. I hear the operations. You've had plenty of time to show up in the recent conquests, so I doubt you were running that hard."

With a sigh, the Mandalorian then attempted to quell the conversation altogether. "You wouldn't understand, auntie." he said simply. "I know you hate him, but he's your Father. He helped make you boy." she said, briefly looking up from her calculations. Isley had to bite back a string of vile comments, but instead went with: "There's nothing I can do about it now."

"Yes there is." she retorted. "I kept his ashes. You can be the one to scatter them. Make your peace with the dead."

"Why should I? He was barely responsible for me, so why should I be responsible for his remains?"

"You're beginning to sound like a whiny child Is'ika." Teras spat, tearing off a piece of the calculation paper. Holding it for him to take she added: "You are our Aliit'Buir. You are our example, next to the Mandalore. This is the burden you willingly took on, Son of Raki. Now take this, cut up your special bodyglove, and when we are done here today you are leaving with your father's remains. Am I clear?"

"...Yes auntie."
 
There was no point in being miserable about it, so Isley set his mind upon the work at hand. Rising from the table, he made his way over to the duffle bag and procured the first of the two Terentatek Bodygloves. It was promptly laid upon the table and the Mandalorian began to read the measurements. Teras' design called for precise strips of the material that could be grouped together fit the various pieces of armor accordingly. Simple enough in scope, even a caveman could do it.

As such, Isley reached across the table and procured himself one of his aunt's knives. This was not going to be an easy process, as the material was alchemically hardened...but it was what it was. The struggle began immediately as Teras made her way over to the Forge. She, as always, had several sheets of beskar at the ready; but first the Forge itself needed to be awakened. Reaching for the nearest shelf, she first sprinkled a special "salt". This, she claimed, would allow the Forge to heat up quicker than without them.

Isley was skeptical of course but kept his opinions to himself. That, and he was too busy trying to cut what felt like concrete with a knife.

Teras then ignited the Forge itself and fed it fresh air via the bellows hooked up to its underbelly. Each pull of a rope brought heat and light into the room, which caused both parties to sweat. As the minutes rolled by, the Forge eventually began to heat up to appropriate levels. This prompted Teras to deposit the several sheets of beskar upon the coals in order to get them to temperature. She, of course, flipped the sheets every so often so that they could get even exposure to the heat, but for now it was a glorified waiting game.
 
As Isley continued to make slow progress in the matter of cannibalizing the bodyglove, Teras moved onto the next step in the Forging process. Now that the metal was heated enough, she could now cut out the appropriate pieces. Normally, a modern smith would have a machine that could punch out the various plates, but Teras preferred to do it the old fashioned way. Returning briefly to the table, she procured what appeared to be scissors with excessively long handles. She then, with the skill of a lifetime backing her, worked her way into the first piece of beskar.

Obviously nothing would be wasted from each sheet. All would simply be melted down and reshaped into new sheets or contributed to smaller pieces in the beskar'gam. For the most part, the initial shaping of the plates took part in silence; as both Isley and Teras were absorbed totally in their work. However, it was Teras once again that broke the silence. "So, I hear you've stopped trying to dance in the realm of the Gods." she said simply. This confused Isley immensely, for he was not attuned to the old religion as she was.

"I...beg your pardon?" Confusion ruled his expression as he spoke, prompting him to look at his aunt for clarification. "Rumor has it that you were cloning children at one point, but now you've stopped." she said flatly. Oh. She was referring to that. "Yeah. Things with Phoebe fell through and, well, I've only caused them misery by making them as I did. That and I was blessed with one of my own."

"Idiot." she breathed. "The creation of life is the realm of the Gods alone. Never try your hand at it again, lest worse things happen than misery." Isley said nothing in response to this for a moment. As an alchemist, toying with life was something he had the power to do; yet he didn't. He focused solely upon the creation of artifacts and whatnot. Even so, her mandate carried such conviction that it surprised him. "So you're a firm believer in the Old Gods then?" he asked.

There was silence.
 
Isley was smart enough not to press his aunt for an answer; not because she had anything to hide, but because she was fiddling around with ridiculously hot beskar. One wrong move would require medical attention and possibly the conclusion to a long time of shaping beskar in a Forge. As such, the Mandalorian did not take the sudden quiet personally, but instead continued working through the bodyglove. He was making progress, having successfully created a few strips, but he was not yet finished. Not by a long shot. The struggle continued, complete with cramping hands and scratches on the table.

In the meantime, Teras had moved onto one of the more crucial steps in the construction of the armor: reinforcing the plates. The beskar had been given its basic form by cutting, but now came the time to ensure that the metal could take a beating. Thus, the Hermit briefly ventured to the table to procure her hammer and tongs before returning to the Forge. One after another, the plates were hammered, re-heated, hammered, and then placed into water in order to strengthen. This process occurred at a tireless pace, which surprised Isley immensely. He though that her age would have at least slowed her down a little...but not at all.

"To answer your question Is'ika, yes, I do worship the Old Gods. I keep my beliefs to myself because some see the old ways as an affront to the present. They see bowing to something above the Sole Ruler as blasphemy. I abide by the Resol'nare to the letter, but when I perish I want my place in the ever after. So I worship, diligently." she said, pausing the rhythm of her hammer to speak.

Isley had never really believed in anything outside of the Resol'nare. He didn't see the Force as a religious object like the Jedi or Sith. He didn't really think about what came after death. Sure, the word Dar'manda came into play at times...but outside of that, Isley was a "life-minded" individual. Yet, the rampage of Akala made him think about the afterlife...it made him wary of the Blood Wastes; for maybe that was where he would be damned for eternity. "Can you teach me about the Old Ways?" he inquired, fully expecting an interrogation as to why.

But there wasn't one. There was only the steady beat of Teras' hammer upon the beskar plates.
 
For the most part, the rest of the construction process continued in silence. Isley busied himself finishing the strips just as Teras busied herself finishing the beskar plating. When it was all said and done, the final step in the process was initial assembly; and after that the two could aesthetically customize the armor as they saw fit. Wiping sweat from his brow, Isley stood tall and once again became subject to his aunt. She moved the recently cooled plates of beskar onto his person, tentatively building the new beskar'gam piece by piece.

It took some doing, and the assurance that the final product would have a release of some sort to make getting undressed something less than a chore, but at the end of the day Isley had a new Beskar'gam. Beaming like a child on his birthday, Isley took a moment to thank his aunt with a hug, who then responded with her indestructible vice grip once more. Gratitude was afforded and the pieces were then removed from Isley just as quickly as they had been put there. They were then laid out on the table, in addition to the Taozin Amulet, the Bodyglove, and the Lining that Isley had made.

"I can finish this myself Is'ika. I want the finished product to be...a surprise. Go, take your father with you and make your peace with him. When you return, your armor will be ready...and then we can talk about what I believe."

With that said, Isley obediently went into the cottage and procured his father's remains from the small "shrine" that it stood upon. The shrine consisted of a small end table riddled with pictures and a memorial candle of sorts. It felt strange to pick up the urn that held the remains of his sire, and to contemplate talking to them, but it was what it was. Isley took a moment to poke his head out into the Forge before departing, informing his aunt of his intentions. "I'm not going to scatter his remains, not just yet. I'm going to bring him home. I'm sure he'd have wanted to stay at the Estate he practically built as the clan is restored."

"I'm sure that's what he would have wanted too. He hated my house."

With peals of laughter sounding in his wake, Isley left to go make peace with the one he called Father.
 

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