The Post-Freedom "A'den" -dum

[Darlyn Excron]

Freedom had prices to pay. Some, immediate. Quick to be paid, and slow to recover. Some debts, though, were slow to be paid off, so slow the cost was left to be told after the incursion of debt. Such a price would, quite amusingly, be paid soon enough, by the man currently seated once again in the office of Minister of Justice. Chasin City wasn't, per say, ruined, but the reconstruction efforts would be well under way. Darlyn, while considerably important in maintaining a sense of stability whilst the nation itself struggled to come to grips with all to have passed, was coming to treasure the small time he had to himself. Between this, his beloved daughter, and sleep... there was little time to the finer quiet moments.

Such as buffing out scuffs on armor, with a nice bottle of whiskey to pass the time.

He didn't wear Mandalorian armor often, in fact he found it incredibly unnecessary. Truth be told, he didn't truly know it was a poor life decision, if one wished to continue having a mouth full of teeth and a life left to live. The suit he had in his office, which was having its last bits cleaned and cared for now by him, had only been worn of necessity, as he had nothing else more capable and suitable to march to war. Though that was of little consequence to him, once more it was to be stated he had little knowledge and care to learn at the present. Unnecessary. What he had to focus on was the slow, repetitive actions.



When at last the suit was fully cleaned and cared for, and set up at its place behind him, he happily took a great drink of his bottle. The alcohol dulled everything, concern for the situation, the sense of pain still ringing in his head, the soreness of his ribs and flesh. It had been some time, perhaps, since his fight to free his home. Long enough that the bruises on his face had settled, and he'd been able to acclimate to the pain the Force kept from his consciousness. Perhaps it was actually the Force that was keeping him mobile, considering how aching his body was. A lack of safety concerns was finally beginning to wear the man's luck concerning his antics, at least it felt as such.

Eventually he received a call, and he could only groan as he answered it. More people, more work. Well, he'd promised a weekend camping with Shoden, to celebrate the return home. If he wanted to keep that promise, he had best get to work. Now then, something about meeting someone important at the palace landing zone, which he grumpily made his way towards. Black robes, with the wonderfully hastily sewn commenori flag sewn over obvious sith insignia, if they expected a standard welcome they were in for quite the shocker. Darlyn rarely if ever appeared, normal, for lack of a better term, for his position.

Something [member="Yasha Cadera"] would learn quite soon, if the many rumours of the man didn't reach her ear first. Though considering his pace she might die of boredom before he would arrive, bottle in hand.

 

[Yasha Cadera]

The doors opened by her adopted father [member="Gray Raxis"], gave the young Mand’alor the ballast to reach out once in Mandalore’s need, and now was the time to repay it.

Now that Commenor was once more in independent hands, the Infernal and her wolf fang fleet came to the Commenori space ladened with supplies for the rebuilding effort. Permission granted to venture down, Yasha sat in her shuttle from the Never Again Super Star Destroyer reading reports from the planets in Mandalorian Space. Where [member="Darlyn Excron"] hovered around his whiskey bottle, dressed in pilfered robes, Yasha maintained her impeccable armoured appearance.

The shuttle landed, hatchway opening to reveal six Death Watch Guard in their matte black beskar’gam, Clan Cadera heraldry emblazoned in tan and red upon them.

“Mand’alor the Infernal desires to repay the Commenor Systems Alliance for previous kindness by replenishing the relief efforts of your government...” Yasha’s grey cloak flowed around her gold and black draped shoulders.

“... Minister Darlyn Excron, you sh-are you... drunk?”

 

[Darlyn Excron]

"Drunk? Not yet. It takes more than one bottle to get me properly inebriated. If I was drunk do you think I'd be working?" No formalities, no bows or signs of general respect. Just plain speak, as though they were simply two people meeting on the streets. Darlyn never really fit into the archetype of a politician, it was no small wonder he wasn't fired. [member="Lady Kay"] must have a soft spot for him. "Actually considering there's no one fit to take my place I suppose I still would be. Well there goes the escape plan."

He gave the front of his robes a tug, somehow managing to straighten them out now that he knew exactly who was here. Not simply someone 'important' but someone he'd put on the same level as Kay, government wise. Tippy top, that was to say. Well, far be it from him be rude, casual or not. "Well then, I'd offer you a tour before we got down to business, be overly courteous and suck up to you, but it seems most of the tour is somewhere between 'blown to hell' and 'blown to smithereens'. And I hate sucking up to people."

"Seeing as Kay is probably who you wanted to meet, and more than a little swamped at the moment, I suppose I could try to entertain you for a while. My office?" He didn't really have an idea what he was doing. [member="Yasha Cadera"] should be picking up on that. Then again Darlyn was also rambling, so he was doing a good job wasting time too.

 

[Yasha Cadera]

“As I know nothing of you, I would know nothing of your intoxication levels versus your work ethic… Minister Excron.” Under her helmet, Yasha’s eyebrow rose, the wolf-helm tilting to the side as she took a further look at this curious and unkempt being. “Remind me to give Aunt Kay some advisors.”

Yasha watched the robes straighten, then turned to glance at her six armed guards. Tuulu's buy’ce bobbed from side to side rapidly, the others going between quirks to the side and one even a hand to the back of their own head.

“We came to offer you construction droids, raw building materials, relief packs and pre-fab buildings to alleviate the blows… I assumed [member="Lady Kay"] would not mind me… popping by with such things… oh, I’m sure your office is one heck of a thing to see.” Glancing back once again, Yasha shrugged her people forward, to varying degrees of armour-clad dismay.

Who was this guy?

She didn’t know whether to laugh at him or offer him a pillow, blanket and swift chop to the back of the neck for nap time.

“Lead the way, Minister.”

[member="Darlyn Excron"]

 

[Darlyn Excron]

"I can hear you ya know." Obvious mock hurt practically coated the words he gave her. "You know I didn't have to get out of my chair to meet you personally. I could've sent an officer to greet you, but noooo. And all I get is such hurtful words. If only I cared." He chuckled at the end, when he stopped the mock hurt in his voice. Clearly he was amusing himself with [member="Yasha Cadera"] regardless of if she joined in the merriment. Why he was keeping the joking demeanor going the entire time, who knew. This was supposed to be a serious meeting right?

He motioned her to follow as he turned on his heels, taking that last sweet drink of Whiskey from the bottle. Well that was disappointing, he must've drank most of it on the way there. Or was it already mostly empty? He contemplated it a moment as he tossed the bottle aside, miraculously landing in the trash bin being used by the staff to clear rubble and wreckage waste. Or you know, fell short then bounced back up while still in the air. Because he was a Forcie. Yeah probably that last one.

"I'm sure Kay will appreciate it. I'll just keep you busy until she's free." When they did get to his office, he opened it calmly and made his way to his desk. The room, contrary to expectation no doubt, was immaculate despite the damage elsewhere. Completely cleaned, everything in its place. The armor stands behind his desk, the weapon rack on the wall with a truly disgusting amount of firearms, the tea cabinet and alcohol cabinets on the side opposite, and two lightsabers on his desk. He had another, the tricksaber, inside his robe, which was calmly placed next to its others. A bottle of brandy was freed from the cabinet and floated over, was uncorked, and he took a drink as he sat down.

"Now then, whatever to do while we wait for Kay..."

 

[Yasha Cadera]

“Would the officer have bathed, first?” Yasha asked in jest, wrinkling her nose under her helmet. “Perhaps laundered their borrowed robes? Your attempt at chivalry is noted. Now then, where shall my people begin unloading the supplies?”

The mockery was rampant with this one. Whatever [member="Lady Kay"] saw in [member="Darlyn Excron"], it wasn’t his sense of decorum. What was she to think, that he was playing with her? Were her relations with Commenor so terrible after the Sith invasion that she ought to dump the supplies and go?

Was Kay testing her? With a…. force witch?

Yasha sent a message through her HUD to her guards, a simple bidding system to pick how many pieces of trash the man had in his wreck of an office. Sure, it could have been more couth to wait the man out, especially after Commenor’s destruction of better days.

The office was impeccable.

Nothing out of place… except a suit of Mandalorian armour emblazoned with… no.

The Mandalorians in the room visibly bristled, as the eight foot tall Mand’alor grabbed Darlyn by the throat and threw him forcibly onto his own desk.

“Is that beskar’gam a trophy of your kill, or are you a cultural moron!?” Yasha bellowed.

Priest. Clan Priest… Yasha knew that armour, the small rekr symbol below the Clan heraldry… Merik Priest… the man she pulled from the wreckage of MandalMotors, who’s half-naked body lied in a gangle-limbed pile with his wife and children after Death Watch took over Manda’yaim.

Crush gaunt covered fist clutching the man’s neck, Yasha grimaced in her ‘gam.

“Did you fething kill him for it!? How did you get his armour!?”

 

[Darlyn Excron]

Instinct took over, almost immediately, as the gauntlet grabbed him by the throat. His heart, his body was like a raging storm, barely contained at any given moment. And that storm felt threatened, angry, and lashed at the woman. For a time, to look at him was to look at what seemed pure white, a light near blinding. But this sudden flash would fade, as the lightning died down quickly to an electric blue, which seemed to coat every inch of the room in his raging soul. Though, evidently as he held a hand back, he was trying to reign it in before something blew up, or got electrocuted.

"I don't know about you but I find it particularly difficult to speak with your hand damn near crushing my throat. IF you want an answer that isn't garbled I would suggest you let go." Of course he was speaking, more or less fine as it was. But he did have something of a point, it was hard to speak with a hand to his throat. Each word had to be thought carefully as he spoke, so not to mess up the wording past her fingers. Not to mention his anger, which was tied near directly to the intensity of the storm, was not being helped by the sudden violence. Not that he was upset of course, he always loved a bit of fisticuffs or blasting things apart. No He just, would rather have known that in advance before it came to it.

Maybe [member="Lady Kay"] was rubbing off on him.

"Either way, I really would let go. I'd hate for Kay to get hurt in all this. And if you're going to insist on killing me without letting me know why I really would like to die with my weapons in hand."

[member="Yasha Cadera"]

 

[Yasha Cadera]

The overabundance of light seared Yasha’s genetically light-sensitive eyes, in the milliseconds before her HUD cut the artificially designed feed. Yasha’s scream of pain cessated as her HUD shut down optics from the burst of light. Her guards raised their blaster rifles, but did not strike without permission, as they never would.

"You bring Mand'alor into an office, where a suit of a dead vod's armour is propped up like a trophy and wonder what's going on?! Do you know nothing of my people at all!?" Underneath her mask, Yasha blinked furiously, increasing her grip on [member="Darlyn Excron"]’s throat. She yanked his neck up and slammed him back down on the table. [member="Lady Kay"] would rightfully intervene, if the Death Watch guards did not stand by the door.

“Did you kill Merik Priest!?” Yasha yanked her hand off Darlyn’s throat and hovered over him, unleashing one of her wrist-secured katar blades and placing it instead near his throat. “That Beskar’gam, I know it. It’s Clan Priest, it’s Merik’s, I served with him. So help me if you had a hand in his murder I will end you so quickly your weapons won’t taste my blood.

WHERE DID YOU GET HIS ARMOUR!?”

 

[Darlyn Excron]

"I. Don't. Murder." The sentence was said carefully, clearly. Precicesly. And surprisingly clearly, considering his body was raging in pain from the slamming onto the desk, again, and the fact his throat felt, even if it wasn't actually, crushed rather thoroughly. But the words, they came out fine now that the woman was so polite as to stop strangling him (as choking would be from inside the throat). "And if it happened on your planet I can damn well assure you I did nothing of the sort. The name you're shouting at me means nothing to me, I don't know who you are speaking of. I don't know who he is, I don't know what happened to him, I barely know who you are. But once more I feel it's worth saying, I do not murder."

He didn't betray a hint of fear at the fact this monster of a woman was, rather efficiently, beating him down onto his desk while he did little if anything to fight back. And even that was out of reflex, rather than intent. Still, the fact remained he was staring unblinkingly right back at her, roughly where he thought her eyes were. It was hard to judge from his position. "And I obtained it from who I understood as the owner. Auction. So if anyone's likely to be your killer, it's whoever the seller was, or who they got it from. So if you'd be so kind as to remove the little dagger at my throat, I'd like to sit up."

[member="Yasha Cadera"]

 

[Yasha Cadera]

“He wasn’t on Mandalore, he died helping your people rescue Jaster’s slaves and never returned!” Yasha coughed out an incredulous tsk, roughly pushing herself away from the downed Minister. She inspected the marks on the armour, the proud pauldrons and chest plate with faded, etched Clan Priest upon them. Of course this Arueti wouldn’t know what he’d done.

He wouldn’t know the debt he owed to Merik’s children, taking the beskar, which by right should have been forged into their ‘gam, so their deceased father was never forgotten. That his memory lived on.

“Auction…” To know her battle-brother died so indignantly, and that his second skin was sold… bundled up for the highest bidder was to feel once more the cruelty and ignorance of the outsiders.

Aruetiise… they would never understand. How could they? Manda did not call them by name. The Manda would not know [member="Darlyn Excron"] as part of the collective oversoul, when he faded, likely violently, from this galaxy.

The eight foot tall Hell Wolf of Mandalore vibrated in abject rage as she towered over the scene.

“You will give us every name you remember. Every appearance, every inch of the ones, who sold Priest’s armour. They must be destroyed. You inadvertently committed an act, that to us is akin to grave robbery and the most terrible disrespect to his family, who remember his name in his prayers. It would be better for you to have his rotting body nailed to your wall.” Sheathing the katar, Yasha grimaced under her buy’ce and glared between Darlyn and the armour.

“This has been recently worn. Are you wearing it? It was not made for you, there must be chafing, or discomfort in some of the plates. He was… shorter than you, if I recall… being as tall as I am, it is hard to remember how short you human males get. You mentioned [member="Lady Kay"] in a familial manner… is she family or employer?”

 

[Darlyn Excron]

Finally able to sit up, Darlyn rubbed his throat a bit to wipe away the soreness before speaking. That had been mildly unpleasant... "Couldn't tell you if I wanted to. Professional, didn't meet me in person, anonymous seller. I figured it better to take it off their hands before some first order or sith motherkarker got their hands on it. Seeing as they weren't being particular on who got it. They'd have probably melted it down and made an actual trophy out of it. Or paperweight. Or toilet seat, knowing some of them." He got off his desk slowly, realizing quite thoroughly that his body was begging him to stop moving. Though, really, he wouldn't let anyone have the satisfaction of beating him down.

Then the comment on the suit chafing, admittedly a problem. How best to comment on it, considering the situation. "I was marching to war. I wasn't going to do that without something suitable, and even though I've had these robes for years I doubt they were gonna stop a blaster. If you need to take it back, be my guest. I'd just need to be pointed towards a suitable replacement war suit." That seemed acceptable to his perspective.

By the Force he needed a drink. "I suppose family by proxy. Caedyn and Loreena are as much my niece and nephew as can be. Don't really know what to call Kay besides friend. Who happens to sign my checks. I suppose she's closer than the word usually means, but that's beside the point."

[member="Yasha Cadera"]

 

[Yasha Cadera]

Flippant and vague. That’s what the Aruetiise were, flippant and unfeeling, dragging their cultures before the bleeding, wounded Mandalorians they hired to kill so their sons and daughters didn’t know war.

[member="Darlyn Excron"]’s attitude, seemingly matched the grievous danger of trusting his kind at all. A growl echoed from Yasha’s throat and she punched him square in the jaw.

“Melting it down is what you’re supposed to do to a dead vode’s beskar’gam!” Yasha flung one hand up and let it land on her thigh with a dull clang.

“Mandalorians earn their beskar’gam through Verd’goten… trials of danger and wit, which proves them dedicated and worthy to Manda. It is a religious rite for us to wear our second skin. No proper Goran would make an aruetii true beskar’gam without being shunned.” Yasha continued checking over the armour, loosening straps, checking joint-locks and plates. Merik Priest’s Beskar’gam saw better days when Yasha knew him, lugging his gigantic body on her childish back…

“… I was eight years old, when I saved Merik’s life… he’d shot the Liberator’s goon behind me, the one who tried to… well… we all shot vode in those days. Another soldier pegged him. Triple shot in the gut through the chink in the plate. He crumpled like paper…” The voice echoing out of the wolf-helm was wistful, as distant as old soldiers talking over their foreign wars. Her fingers drifted along a patch on the armourweave. Was that all that was left of the destruction of MandalMotors?

“My tomahawk flung from my hand into her thigh. I sprinted over wreckage and bodies, yanked it out of her thigh and used it to climb her body as she fell backward…

… I hacked her head off her neck and returned to my battle-brother, too young to know first aid. All I knew was getting him out… so I put him on my shoulders and crawled through blood and wreck and… Ra saw me. The Undying bent down and picked Merik up, took my bloodstained face in his hands and said, ‘ad’ika, come. You will stay by my side.’ I never left his side, how could I? Mand’alor the Undying kept me close. Trained and educated me. Fed me from his own plate, when I was too cold and hungry to be alone. Merik… we lost track. His son, Garon and I were… well, we fought on the same squad in the war. A sniper…”

The story died away, as quickly as memory faded and the Infernal stood in Darlyn’s office in silence. Darlyn explained his relationship with the Arenais family, and his necessity for the armour.

What would Merik have done?

Yasha’s hand brushed against one of the beskads on her thigh. He’d thrown it and she found it in the rubble. Kept it… a piece of their Rekr Squad. Hadn’t [member="Lady Kay"] talked of Darlyn in the past? Didn’t Loreena speak fondly of him?

“You cannot in any way shape or form wear this armour the way it is. It fits you ill and you’re wearing a dead man’s family on your shoulders and chest.” The Infernal barked a few orders in Mando’a, and the guards scrambled. Two of the guards grabbed the armour with a near sacred hold, and began carrying it out.

“Your beskar’gam has the wrong aliit, Excron. It will be made right. As you are member of the Arenais family, it makes you a member of mine. That is, Clan Raxis and Clan Cadera. Get up. The shuttle awaits, we have to get you properly fitted. My Goran is aboard the Infernal, which… well, is in the sky. It won’t take long, come now before I carry you. By the end of this, your ‘gam will suit you best.”

Yasha offered him a hand, and the glare of her wolf-helm.

“Come. We shall fix this.”

 

[Darlyn Excron]

No good deed, as the saying goes... Fine then.

The punch sent his damaged body reeling, though for all the force behind it the man actually found relief in the punch. For a moment his skull and ribs hurt less, and just for a moment he could almost sigh in relief. The pain came back, of course, but that only dulled her punch to a mere buzzing against his jaw. Seemed she hadn't hit quite hard enough, if you were to ask him. He listened quietly to what she said, enlightening him on some of the aspects he was ignorant of. All the while he straightened his stance, and fixed his clothes so as to remain somewhat presentable.

Of course some of it went over his head, even as he tried to make it an analog to something he valued. His lightsaber, his blaster. Things that meant almost all the world to him. But even then, he didn't hold them to the same tier. The lightsaber perhaps, it was something he himself had scavenged, scraped together. But he'd be more impressed than upset if someone managed to take it, and use it. Different values it seemed. He understood the story, though. That at least made sense to him, in his mind. More violent than his life to be sure but, seemed to be not too entirely disimilar to some events in his own. Granted, she liked the one who picked her up..

He finally managed to listen to the end, and heard the words, offer more like, of the Mand'alor [member="Yasha Cadera"]. Well, frankly he was expecting to be shot at. So that was quite an improvement, though he always expected to be shot. He took a moment, and moved over to his desk, clearly activating a recording device. "Shoden, sweetheart. If you're listening I'm a bit busy for a bit. Feel free to grab takeout until I'm back... and don't touch the sweets." He nodded to himself as he shut it off, and grabbed from the ground where it lay what looked like, honestly, a hunk of scrap parts vaguely shaped like a lightsaber, and his charric hand cannon from the weapon rack. Evidently he would refuse to leave the room without a gun and his saber.

"Right then. Regardless of if I take the thing into this room or not, you're going to.." He was interrupted by a cough, finally, for the first time in this conversation. Took him long enough. ".. make me earn the karking thing before I wear it. Hand outs don't sit well with me, more fun to earn the nice things in life." Finally he turned to Yasha again, and held his arm out back to take hers. "Any problems with that?"

 

[Yasha Cadera]

The other Mandalorians carried out their business without pause. If Mand’alor demanded the armour be moved, then that was what would be.

“Shoden… a lover or a child?” Yasha asked, watching this curious loudmouth of a man linger in his own thoughts. “I suppose an arueti man wouldn’t dare tell his lover what she could eat. How old is she?”

A single parent? Surely if [member="Darlyn Excron"] had a significant other to care for the child, likely a girl for the use of ‘sweetheart’, he would have added the information to them.

“Mine are five and three.” The twinge of warmth may have been a trick of the buy’ce’s audio projectors, or maybe the idea of a father wanting to care for their child which caused Yasha to open up that minuscule amount.

She walked through the halls toward the shuttle without aplomb, nothing but the desire to get the task done. Yasha stopped before the shuttle and looked the now armed man over.

“Earn it?!” A boisterous laugh bellowed out of her, as she balled her fist and punched him in the shoulder. “Make you kill a sarlaac if you like… by Manda, you think I’d give you beskar’gam without the obligatory trials? Balmy! He’s balmy if he thinks he ain’t earning it, eh boys!?”

The guards burst out in laughter, all trotting up the hatchway while the Pilot took stock.

“Oh I’m putting you through a trial fit for a Queen. Handle it if you dare.” Once aboard the shuttle, Yasha touched upon the controls for her wolf-helm and retracted it feather-like to her shoulders. What met Darlyn was the pretty face of a young woman with olive skin and raven black hair braided in a crown braid atop her head. Black painted lips pursed in mirth, marred only by a crescent shaped scar from right upper lip to her cheekbone. Her right eye was blotched with yellowed bruising, and splashes of purple.

“Goran Dib will be ready for you, when we arrive. A few minutes at most until we get there. Tihaar?” Yasha produced a flask from her side pouch, and popping the top, first took a swig for herself before passing it to Darlyn.

 

[Darlyn Excron]

"Child. I adopted her quite a while back, she's seventeen I think. And still jobless. Her birthday is coming up, I'm just hoping she gets a job to make use of her talents." There was no real possibility of hiding the adoration in his voice. Shoden, now there was someone he loved more than all the world. "Only reason I didn't make her get to work earlier is she was doing something just as useful in my eyes. Hiding, tracking. Learning to shoot and fight. The girl had more to learn than I cared to leave empty, you know?" Maybe it didn't compare to killing someone at age eight, but then again she'd helped to free a planet. So it roughly evens out in the end.

He followed, and when [member="Yasha Cadera"] punched him in the shoulder (after he lamented for a brief moment his neglect to his own health), he actually cracked a grin. That, was much more like it. "Maybe I should phrase it better. I don't want you holding back because I'm Kay's friend or Loreena's uncle or anything like that. That would be downright insulting, and I'd have to do it again. And that time I'd probably go overboard, like killing a terentatek or two with a pen knife just to make a point." Hopefully she understood exactly what he meant there by overboard. Terentateks were monstrous beasts, even to non force users. To force users, ehhh, bit more terrifying.

He didn't seem to really respond in much a way to the face reveal of Yasha, frankly she was more or less what he expected. Bit prettier honestly, but that wasn't really too far out of the realm of reality. Scar was a nice touch though. When she passed him the drink, he took the bottle and gave a half sniff, just to be sure. Oh the sweet aroma... "I'd never refuse a good drink." The stern voice that had been so carefully explaining everything was replaced almost immediately by a much friendlier tone. Way to a man's heart.. he took a swig of the drink, pausing a moment as he let the drink settle in him before handing the flask back. "I may need to get another alcohol cabinet." IT was half muttered.

While they were waiting, he considered sharing a story of his own. Ultimately, he was neither drunk enough nor in a particularly sharing mood. So it would wait until whatever Yasha had planned was concluded.

 

[Yasha Cadera]

“Child, at seventeen?” Yasha blinked, her face a wealth of confusion. “Is she a long-lived being, that her childhood is so long? We Mandalorians become adults at thirteen. I was expected to step into my position in the Undying’s government at twelve, and to have my first child by twenty. I have known nothing else but service to the vode since. What sort of education have you given her for a job? Where do her talents lie?”

Curious aruetiise, who could allow their young to sleep so long in the balm of childhood. Were they so capable of peace that they could allow teenagers a life without military service? It was as strange as seeing [member="Loreena Arenais"] as a wide eyed and beautiful girl, barely into the battles of her life.

“On the contrary, I will be harder on you for offering to give you emblems of my own Clan. Only the strongest are worthy of Raxis and Cadera.” Yasha smirked on the left side of her mouth, “Many Mando’ade take to wilderness with nothing but their wits, hunt krayt dragons or large beasts, some assassinate a target without being caught. My verd’goten was conquering Dathomir. The Mando’ade would eventually follow me as they did Ra… might as well get them used to it. Ember Rekali pitched me into the Netherworld for seven years to ‘make good’ on that… I won’t be taking you to Hell… although it might be a worthy tradition, I have no desire to go back… how are you for infiltrating a Sith blood cult and ending the threat of murder?”

The Infernal Star Carrier loomed in the shuttle’s viewport, engulfing the tiny ship whole into one of the massive hangars. The pilot flew them deeper into the hangar bay, down a hazardously small corridor into a private berth designed for the Mand’alor’s personal use. Another ship, larger and defter in design perched on its’ landing gear, guarded by Death Watch in their matte black beskar’gam.

“Tihaar is terribly hard to find outside the vode. We drink far too much of the stuff. Once you earn your 'gam, you should come sup at my Tihaar Hall in the Sundari Palace. The drinks flow and the food is simple, but filling. All vode are welcome at my table. Especially when they get into a brawl or two.” Yasha winked with her good eye, and strode out of the shuttle with no less oblige. “Come. Dib is waiting… she’s a lot less patient now than she was six months ago.”

Yasha and the guards led on, through coiling corridors and junctions in the maze-like battleship, until the sounds of a hammer on metal thundered through the hall. Condensation matted Yasha’s armour, the forge several degrees hotter than the surrounding corridors. The hammer struck down, sparks flying.

And struck, and struck.

“Better have a gor’ram decent reason for hoofin’ Priest’s ‘gam off on a Commenori, Yash’ika. Fethin’ rugrats bringin’ me down.” [member="Ginnie Dib"] pulled the buy’ce from her head, her coffee-like skin glowing with the light and sweat of the forge.

“That him? He’s a stringbean! Kad, Yash! Kad above below an… ah. I get it. Hey, settle the ad'ike for me? Cryin' for an hour second I let go.” Ginnie pressed her gloved hands upon her heavy leather apron to straighten it. Then, a curious thing… the hammer struck again of its’ own accord. Ingots veered from bins along the wall, the fire stoked with its’ giant bellows. Electronic soldering irons continued working of their own accord, piecing together circuitry components.

“Be nice, Gin’ika. He’s my Aunt’s family. Makes him our family, eh? Aruetii as he is?” Yasha cooed at the bassinet sequestered off to the side, two little babies swaddled up. She picked up a fidgeting infant and cuddled her to her chest, then leaned against the wall. The Infernal continued to cluck and coo, humming strains of lullabies for Ginnie’s newborn children. A stool moved itself to [member="Darlyn Excron"]’s side.

“Yeah…. family. Sit! Sit. Tell me what kinda environments you’ll be in with the ‘gam. This an every day wear Mando special, or a ceremonial shindig, or tac-team once in a while heavy fire aide?” Ginnie’s forge continued to move around her, alive with the dance of her telekinetic mastery.

 

[Darlyn Excron]

"Legally not an adult. Child is more, relation than mindset. Besides the point, it took more than a little while to figure her talents at lockpicking and snooping. Different cultures, different timelines. Believe you me, she doesn't seem a child outside of her heart. Still averse to the idea of shooting someone thoroughly dead, but that's fine. Peaceful planet under normal conditions, simply wasn't needed. Now, she'll learn." Very statement of fact, but even so. It may be different for the mandalorians, but that was how it stood. Though if she thought Shoden had been sheltered her entire life, that would be quite the mistake. Even with the cultural differences, it was readily apparent that Darlyn was hardly like the others in the palace after all.

"I'll have to take you up on that drink, assuming things go well. And if you're asking if I like bringing justice to Sith well, that's about my third favorite thing to do." He followed behind closely, paying attention to everything. Detailing the route taken, the way things were set up, and everything within the forge upon arrival. He couldn't help a small chuckle at the way everyone spoke, taking a seat on the stool as it was brought over to him. Was he expected to be surprised? The man shot lightning from his fingertips for fun. He'd be more surprised if everyone started doing a stupid dance than this.

Then the question of where it would be worn. Well, wasn't that a question. He placed his elbow on his knee, and rested his chin on the fist a moment, thinking. "Well, I never intended to use it beyond when I expected to march into a warzone, or have it come to me. Of course in light of, recent events, I think it's safe to say I'm more than expecting war to come every day. Now as to environments, well, Comenor has forests, deserts, urban cities..." He tilted his head a bit, as if a thought came to his head. "I seem to recall some of my, less friendly acquaintances having all sorts of worlds. I suppose you could say I would expect to be wearing it quite often, just about anywhere. Unless I'm trying to be sneaky deaky like, probably best to wear something else then."

He just can't help himself.

[member="Yasha Cadera"]

 

[Yasha Cadera]

“A seventeen year old and yet to make her first kill? You spoil her, [member="Darlyn Excron"]! What luxury she must live!” There was no hint of mockery in the Infernal’s comment, nor was there the idea that Yasha could fathom a world, where children didn’t go to war as she did. To think that Commenor was as he said, a peaceful planet with ‘normal’ conditions was to think upon how unnatural her education and childhood years had been.

Maybe it was okay to harbour a secret small amount of jealousy.

“Then I know your Verd’goten. There is a Sith Blood Cult, who continue to survive, despite us hunting down and slaughtering their members. I’ve narrowed down their location to a fringe world in our space. An abandoned space station. Prove yourself in battle against them, destroy their alchemical objects and end the threat, and you will have earned not only your armour, but a blow against the ones who first let the Sith pass into Commenor’s space in the first place.”

Yasha continued to rock the infant and coo, nuzzling her nose in the small child’s cheek. [member="Ginnie Dib"]’s daughter cooed back, and with a mighty infant yawn, settled in for a nap.

Ginnie, on the other hand, raised her eyebrow and cocked her head to the side as she listened to Darlyn say any and every location he’d use the ‘gam.

“So, in war, in forest, in desert, in city, in space, in hill and dale, and not when you’re sneaking… you know I can mod the ‘gam to buck sensor pick-up. And with a proper fit, it’s all but silent. Okay, so you need a better armourweave undersuit than this. It’s antique in comparison to what we have now.

Silicar would do better. Thankfully, Clan Raxis gives silicar out like water to us Goran’e. It’s temp control, kinetic diffusion, works like butter on a skillet. Doesn’t self-repair, though. That’ll come later.” Items and materials flung around Ginnie’s body and veered around work tables, as she with expert fingers, splayed the beskar’gam apart.

She stopped and held to the breastplate, a glaze over her eyes. “Yash, you were a terrifying child. Just saying? I’m glad your kids haven’t turned out like you.”

Yasha shrugged. “Fair. I was a throat-ripping monster.”

The Kiffar nodded and looked to Darlyn. “This ‘gam’s seen enough battle to get you through near anything… including rabid eight year olds, seriously Yash!? You bit him!? Why didn’t you use your beskad, gosh! Psychometry’s almost not worth it, but dayum.

Yeah. It’ll serve. Anything else you want on it? Any sort of weapons you fancy more often? Webbing in the back for your shottie, maybe that hand canon on your side? Lightsaber loop, beskad webbing... throw a couple of Sovereign Specific capsules in the buy'ce for you, if you get wounded all you'd have to do is trigger one, and inhale hard. Heal you up from the inside.”

 

[Darlyn Excron]

"I'll get to keep my weapons for that I assume. At least one, I've been meaning to give it a proper field test anyways." He chuckled a bit, before listening to [member="Ginnie Dib"]'s response to his statements. "I suppose it would be more clear to say if I'm opting to wear thick protective plates rather than a designated suit with far more a purposeful design, I'm not gonna be able to help myself. A door is going to be kicked in, and someone's gonna get beaten to death with their own arm or something. As for weapons.." He paused, and actually began counting on his fingers to keep track of all his handguns. "Eight pistols... the shottie, three lightsabers, assorted thermal detonators... is it really that low? I ought to go shopping again..." He mumbled to no one in particular, at least the last line, before he looked back up at the Mandalorians.

"Well there's this hand cannon, my blaster, and what did he call it, Kyr'am Vutyc?" He actually happened to have, still, the little holo image of the absurd pistol in his pocket to show them both. "I just know he translated it to me as 'The Death Special' and told me not to fire the thing with one hand. Then I usually have a pair of sabers. Those five, six i suppose now, are what I usually leave home with. So a place to put them, plus a few 'nades, would be absolutely perfect far as I can see. Beyond that I'm no expert on armour, and would leave the rest to you. I've little doubt you know more than I when it comes to such subjects."

Antique she'd said. He couldn't help but gently place his free hand in such a way to run a thumb over the worst of his recovering wounds. That would explain much.

[member="Yasha Cadera"]

 

[Yasha Cadera]

“Of course. How would you eliminate them without being armed?” Yasha cocked her head to the side, watching [member="Lady Kay"]’s curious ‘cousin’ at his leisure. He spoke of weapons like women mentioned shoes, a curiously familiar state for the Mandalorians to experience.

“Eight pistols? This guy ever heard of ammo packs?” Ginnie glared at Yasha, who set the infant girl down and picked up the fussing boy-child.

“Aruetiise-made pistols, Gin’ika.” Yasha smirked, winking at [member="Darlyn Excron"].

“Dang straight. Eight pistols. Two Mando’ad pistols’re all a body needs… paper thin, I bet you! All them Aruetiise designs are paper thin! They fail! They fail, Yash.”

“Don’t convince me, convince the Aruetii!” Yasha laughed and snuggled the boy up, kissing his pudgy cheeks with black painted lips. “Your Buir is feisty today. Has Rhae not visited in a while?”

Ginnie grabbed a hammer out of thin air, and slammed it down on a red hot ingot, fashioning it to the shape of the breastplate Darlyn’s purchased armour fit. Yasha peeked at the holo, as Ginnie inspected it.

“Kyr’am Vutyc… right. So load compensators in the armature to ease the recoil. You’d best still listen, it’s not worth giving your shoulder out in battle. Plenty of combat webbing for the rest of the gear, grenades, the lot. That’s no issue. The issue is weight. If you’re lugging eight pistols, three lightsabers and kit around, plus the armour, you’re going to gas out. I can make the plates thin, but they won’t protect you near as much.”

“Put the pistol webs on the legs? That’d take pressure off his torso.” Yasha quipped, letting the little infant boy grip her pinky finger. “Lightsaber hooks on the belt, like yours?”

“Yeah, that’d work fine. Could fit them thigh-side and strap some to the stomach plate. But if you want Mandalorian advice, less pistols, more ammo packs. Trust your gear. You can only hold two at a time.” Ginnie held out her hand, and a lightsaber zoomed into it. The hilt, if one could call it thus, was melted beskar formed by diminutive hands, as if playing in clay then firing the sculpture in sand.

“Watch out for the lava on the blade if you ignite it. Barab ingot. Followed me everywhere, that saber… I need to get working here, refitting the ‘gam. Better believe I know more. Beskar is my life. Shoo! Shoo, shoo! Take me a day. I got your scans by walking in the door, so peck off.”

“We’ve been told.” Yasha laughed, nodding Darlyn away from the forge sans-babies in her arms. “Gin’ika’s the best… when it comes to unorthodox gam. She’ll do right by you. Just as I want to do right by Commenor.”