Keepin Corellia Weird
Ijaat had spent hours pouring over the schematics. This was a project, to be sure... The plating, the firing systems. It was as marvelous as any blade or chest plate he had ever made. There was a certain artistry in it's curves and angles. The tracks would be heavy, but damned if they would take a few explosions and keep tracking. This Larraq at Mandal Hypernautics was a brilliant designer if this was his work as the name on the paper said. And he had sent out the call for skilled beskar smiths. And Ijaat accepted it at once, sending a resume of his prior work.
But this was more than he could do on his own. That much he knew. It was time, for once in his life, to step out of his little hiding spots and take center stage. So he had held nothing back on his missive. He had included spectral analysis on custom alloys, reports on in depth studies of beskar, pictures and statistics of various things he had forged... From swords to the grand beskar'kandar and even family heirlooms for various affluent clans of Mandalore. Larraq would know him, if not by name then by some of his works. And it should be enough. If Ijaat was honest to himself, he /needed/ for Larraq to award him the contract. War was not enough to keep him sane. He needed to shape, to create. He needed to exist outside himself for a time.
No one knew beskar like he did, it was something he was truly beginning to believe. The teachings his father had passed on, the study and experimentation. He could shape this metal like putty on a potters wheel. And, with that in mind, the man suited up in sooted, spark holed jumpsuit of jet black, and a thick leather apron with welder's gloves tucked behind it. Around his waist belted a loop belt holding various tongs and hammers, the one's he particularly liked. They weren't his good hammers, the beskar alloy ones, but they were his workhorses, his durasteel pony's as he called them. Around the breast of the apron, riding in a few fitted pockets rested micrometers, calipers and more. The tools to quality control and check his work.
Slowly, step by step, Ijaat put on the tools of his true trade. Amber eyes went from laughing and joking at thoughts of the past to a serious, frame of minds as he tucked a welding mask at the small of his back and stretched. He slipped on a simple dagger and his trusted DE-10 at his left thigh, covered under the smithing apron. Quickly he ran fingers trough black-brown hair and tried to tame the tousled mop, with little success.
But he walked across the complexes anyway, turning a few heads at his dress, and eventually arrived to the location he had agreed to meet Larraq at. He just hoped the man had seen his request for an apprentice to help him oversee operations and found one suitable.
[member="Captain Larraq"] [member="Ginnie Ordo"]
But this was more than he could do on his own. That much he knew. It was time, for once in his life, to step out of his little hiding spots and take center stage. So he had held nothing back on his missive. He had included spectral analysis on custom alloys, reports on in depth studies of beskar, pictures and statistics of various things he had forged... From swords to the grand beskar'kandar and even family heirlooms for various affluent clans of Mandalore. Larraq would know him, if not by name then by some of his works. And it should be enough. If Ijaat was honest to himself, he /needed/ for Larraq to award him the contract. War was not enough to keep him sane. He needed to shape, to create. He needed to exist outside himself for a time.
No one knew beskar like he did, it was something he was truly beginning to believe. The teachings his father had passed on, the study and experimentation. He could shape this metal like putty on a potters wheel. And, with that in mind, the man suited up in sooted, spark holed jumpsuit of jet black, and a thick leather apron with welder's gloves tucked behind it. Around his waist belted a loop belt holding various tongs and hammers, the one's he particularly liked. They weren't his good hammers, the beskar alloy ones, but they were his workhorses, his durasteel pony's as he called them. Around the breast of the apron, riding in a few fitted pockets rested micrometers, calipers and more. The tools to quality control and check his work.
Slowly, step by step, Ijaat put on the tools of his true trade. Amber eyes went from laughing and joking at thoughts of the past to a serious, frame of minds as he tucked a welding mask at the small of his back and stretched. He slipped on a simple dagger and his trusted DE-10 at his left thigh, covered under the smithing apron. Quickly he ran fingers trough black-brown hair and tried to tame the tousled mop, with little success.
But he walked across the complexes anyway, turning a few heads at his dress, and eventually arrived to the location he had agreed to meet Larraq at. He just hoped the man had seen his request for an apprentice to help him oversee operations and found one suitable.
[member="Captain Larraq"] [member="Ginnie Ordo"]