You Can Blane It All On Me

[Marcus Itera]

You Can Blane It All On Me​

[member="Blane Nightfall"]​

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Holdan's Forge, Concordia​

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It had been far too long since Marcus had laid eyes upon the visage of good ol' Holdan. He was one of the first Mandalorians he'd met, back when the Dreadguard was still in service to the Galactic Republic, back when both the Republic and the Clans were on equal footing about what to do with the Sith. They'd fought alongside one another, both clad in armors that bore the heritage of the Mando'a culture and it was a kinship born in the fires of war.

Marcus had saved Holdan that day. It wasn't anything heroic; no diving in front of bullets, no jumping on top of frag grenades. The older man had simply been wounded and the Dreadguard lugged him to the rear so a medical droid could start patching up the scorch mark that a crimson lightsaber had left across his torso. Holdan still bore that flaming scar today, and wore it as a reminder to never show those bastards any mercy.

"How's it coming along, ner vod?" Marcus clapped the ironworker on the shoulder, sweat beading upon his brow. "Almost done yet or are you going to tell me to feth off and quit asking?"

The old Mandalorian was hammering down onto the beskar iron, searing hot flames turning almost white as they bayed across the flanks of the ore. It superheated and molded just the way he wanted it to. "This time I really am almost done. Now just sit down and leave me be. I don't feel like falling face first into my own damn forge."

Marcus grinned and shifted to take a seat on the far side of the workshop, glancing at throes of beskade, custom beskar'gam, and a plethora of other useful equipment. He'd spent his life creating these masterpieces and his returned favor to Marcus wasn't going to be anything but.

"What ever happened to that little blue woman you always talk to? Is she not around anymore?" The beskarsmith inquired over the roar of fire and the clash of metal upon metal.

"I've still got her with me." Marcus tapped the earpiece he always wore when not clad in armor. "I think she's having a little quiet time right now. Reading, studying, learning whatever she can."

"Smart girl. If only she was Mando'ade."

The former Dreadguard shifted in his seat, popping his neck. "I do have one guest coming along, though. He should be arriving any minute now; an old friend of mine who's got a way with armor and the like. I wanted him to drop by and take a look at some real armor, maybe even appraise it."

"My work is always the best." Holdan's voice had a prideful edge to it now.

 

[Blane Nightfall]

Blane scratched his head looking around, it wasn't the best place for him but it was a nice place. He wasn't far from Marcus and wasn't planning to be late, so he walked to his location rather casually still having the famous Dasy with him... Some would wonder if they ever get separated. He didn't had many weapons nor his armor, this time he only had his DC-17 and a knife, a bad move? Possibly but he was not in enemy territory.

When he arrived he would cross his arms laying against the wall with his left shoulder "So...What have you got here, Marc?" He asked with a smirk, it was one of those days when one would rather enjoy the beauty of the world and smile, he mourned enough after all.

[member="Marcus Itera"]

 

[Marcus Itera]

Just as he'd expected, his old compatriot arrived just as Holdan was finishing most of the armor. The beskar'kandar had all but been crafted into a work of art solely created for Marcus himself and all that needed to be finished were the bracers that would lock in place once he donned his crushgaunts.

The Dreadguard rose when Blane entered, noting the man's tendency to keep himself armed at all times. He could bet that this man slept with a rifle cradled in his arms and probably even unclogged the 'fresher with a bayonet. Whatever the case was, he was glad he could call upon his expertise and experience on a whim. Marcus approached him with a small grin and offered his hand.

"Been quite a while, Blane. How've you been?" The two men shook hands very briefly before he turned to set his eyes upon Holdan's smoldering furnace, with him set before it. "This is my good friend Holdan Kendeth. He's the one forging my armor today and I told him you had an eye for these sorts of things."

The beskarsmith dragged an arm across his forehead, smearing soot and sweat across his visage. "And I told Mar'ika here that my stuff is nothing but the best. Pure perfection if you ask me."

"Oh, no doubt," Marcus replied wryly.

[member="Blane Nightfall"]

 

[Placeholder 0133]

The ship arrived some moments ago. Marcus had spent enough time twiddling his thumbs. The man had taken to life as a mercenary; he fancied himself a Mandalorian. These were things Alex could respect, but there were more important things to be dealt with. The alliance was not in the best of states - it needed Marcus. More importantly, Alex needed his brothers at his side. The things that he was about to do would be considered heinous by many; his brothers' loyalty and understanding would be something he absolutely needed in the coming days.

[member="Ylvaris Desman"] had joined him on the trip to Concordia. When the ship settled down, Alex pushed up to his feet, and clipped his helmet to his belt. Armored fingers ran through his short black hair as he tried to find the words he would need to sway Marcus. It wouldn't take much, but preparation still helped.

"If he doesn't have Ujj cake ready for us, you can shoot him. Just in the leg, but you can," Alex quipped as he strolled down the landing ramp toward the forge.

"Pappy, make something of yourself!" He called out through a wide grin, "What's all this?" He gestured to the forge and general going-ons.

[member="Marcus Itera"]

 

[Darth Eversor]

"You know I've never had, Ujj cake before, right? You talk about it all the time but I keep telling you I don't care about cake. Ugh." Kelghast walked on [member="Alexander Ontonas"]' right side with his helmet still on his head. "Kelly, how come you never take your helmet off? I don't think your brothers have even seen your face to be honest. At least I don't recall it ever happening."

"Because it's none of your business? You know what I look like, idiot. Go away and gather statistics or fetch me files on battle reports. Right now I'm in the mood to figure out which rifles on the market have the best stopping power, same for sidearms." "Fine, poodoo head. Be an obnoxious jerk again." A series of beeping noises signified the AI signing itself into a different mode that wouldn't interfere with Kelghast's personal time with his former Dread Guard comrades. The commando stopped as Alexander questioned the forge, looking around. He had some degree of respect for these people and their history, but with how things were going politically didn't exactly make the Mandalorians look like diamonds. "Oi Marcus! Make me a back-scratcher in there would you? This gear isn't exactly the easiest thing to feel yourself through." Kelghast grinned underneath his helmet, the blue glow of the HUD illuminating the veteran's face as his eyes darted around, taking in the scenery.

It was good to be reunited.

[member="Marcus Itera"]

 

[Marcus Itera]

Holdan took his time with these last steps, ensuring that each plate was layered perfectly and that the suit's power armor liner fit just right. The old beskarsmith was a great warrior and an even better craftsman, so Marcus assumed whatever he was doing was completely necessary for the development of something he'd sweat and bleed in. Spending your time cooped up in a suit of armor tended to make you feel a little differently too; much more isolated, much less vulnerable, and sometimes it was a bit too uncomfortable.

However while the man was finishing his work and Blane busied himself with strolling about his workplace, a pair of all-too familiar figures strode into the forge. Two men clad in armor from the olden days strode forth until they stood before Marcus. The Supercommando flashed them a cheeky grin and stepped forward to give each of them a brotherly hug, slapping their armored hide with affection.

He stepped back and looked them from top to bottom. "Oh nothing really, just trying to get myself a nice set of plates to hide behind in a fight. Holdan's one of the best and he owed me a favor, so I figured I'd collect on it while I could. What brings you fellas here?"

"Ask if Yuri or Stanley is here, please. I wanna catch up."

"I will in a sec." He replied before smirking at Kelghasts comment, "Holdan! My boy here says he wants a beskar backscratcher!"

The beskarsmith grunted something profane and cocked his soot-caked head around. "I'd rather make him a proper beskad to stab himself with!"

[member="Ylvaris Desman"], [member="Alexander Ontonas"]

 

[Placeholder 0133]

"I'll make it for you when we get back to Sullust. You'll love it, I promise." The commander snickered as they strolled up to the forge. Ylvaris had not been around as long as Marcus and himself; the man had not yet experienced all the things their old life had to offer. Alex mentally marked such for later - Ujj cake was important. You couldn't fight effectively without stuffing yourself with baked good beforehand, after all.

He threw his arms around the former Republic soldier and returned the brief embrace, chuckling as they pulled away. "Seems like a nice guy. Maybe he can pretty up my ship." Blue eyes shifted to Khelgast. "It's time you got back into the swing of things Marcus," they swept back to Pappy, "We need you again."

His smile shifted into something more solemn. He was asking Marcus to come back to the war; something they had all earned quite a break from. Unfortunately the situation back in alliance pace was deteriorating rapidly. They would need to act quickly to save all that had been built; else the Sith would have their way and the galaxy would fall further under their control.

"And that armor...Beskar? Never expected that from you."

[member="Marcus Itera"], [member="Ylvaris Desman"]

 

[Darth Eversor]

"The Sith need to learn a thing or two, I swear. One moment you're lounging and actually get to sleep for once, next thing you know you're behind cover taking pot shots. Their Stormtroopers still suck by the way, they need to feed those things. Their bones break too easy." Kelghast was taking the situation at hand with a light heart, no sense in getting riled up and making poor choices in a haze. The will to defend and eradicate was still just as bold and stone solid as his brothers. Any slug or bolt expended was to protect their lives, even if that meant going against authority. No order or request could sway the veteran to not care for some of the only family he had left.

"Beskad, huh? You sure it wouldn't be shoved up something? Like your arse perchance?"

The former Dreadguard chuckled with little regard given to whatever consequence he may have brought upon himself. Fear was something not in the personality or mind of the soldier, especially not with what he had gone through. What all the Dreadguard had gone through. Kelghast was ready to fight any day against the Sith or whatever was stupid enough to mess with him or his brothers. This time was no different, he knew the routine and how the Imperial forces liked to play.

Dirty.

"Yeah, Marcus. You getting too soft now? I bet your sag more than a Hutt's multiple chins."

Keeping the hope alive, the hope for a better future.

[member="Alexander Ontonas"], [member="Marcus Itera"]

 

[Marcus Itera]

That was what he thought they were here for; him. They always were. Granted, they were his brothers, thick and thin, but they bore bad news on several occasions. It was much better coming from them rather than some quippy Lieutenant or old Sergeant coming to try and get him back into the fight. He'd already spent most of his life stealing lives from the Sith because they had stolen three from him, and they were cherished memories that he would never get back. Ever.

But this time it wasn't just about the Sith. It was about internal Alliance affairs, the matters of the Republic and their emerging socialist state, and the greater galaxy as a whole. Things were going awry in all the wrong ways and there was nothing more the Supercommando wanted to do than lay down his arms and try to take up a normal life, maybe even make another attempt at having a family.

There was a solemness in his gaze that even he couldn't explain. Marcus turned away from his brothers and rubbed at the scruff lining his jaw. "I know," he murmured, "I know what you came for, and I've been waiting for this moment to happen for a while now. I don't know all the exact details but a few little birds are keeping me informed as to what's happening.

"But if you guys think this is the real deal, if this cause really is as noble as you make it out to be... I guess we'll campaign across the galaxy once again."

The Ori'ramikad flashed a small smile before smirking at Kelghast's consistently raunchy humour. It was nice to have that woefully optimistic and comical fellow around; he always pulled you out of the darkest depths when you needed it the most.

"Here... we go."

Holdan had been dutifully applying the finishing touches to the beskar'gam as they talked. Now, it was a full suit of armor hanging on a small pauldron. The helmet sat upon the top, shining a dull glint atop beskar'kandar and the whole nine yards of craftsmanship. Marcus hadn't asked for anything special, just the basics along with a few little electronic and technological add-ons that he'd stumbled across in his years of operating for the Republic and the Alliance.

"What do you boys think?"

"It looks outstanding, Holdan. Thank you."

[member="Ylvaris Desman"], [member="Alexander Ontonas"]

 

[Placeholder 0133]

Noble?

No. This was bloody, violent work. There was nothing noble about the things Alex did these days. Sure, the alliance was the prettiest thing in the moral toilet, but it was still osik either way. It was stable enough now, and the soldier would be lying if he claimed a lack of fondness for it, but things could go off kilter quite easily. Alex just wanted insurance that it could be set back on track a few moments later. The fact that such required the near-constant presence of his brothers was just a bonus.

"Figured you'd opt for it. This merc business never really seemed your shtick, Marcus," the commander snickered as he folded his arms over his chest. Blue eyes studied the armor that Marcus presented. It wasn't his style, though he had learned of his origins with the Viszla clan somewhat recently. Still, the whole Mando outlook was a bit far fetched for Alex.

That didn't mean he was going to keep himself from being happy for his family.

"Consider me charmed. How much you charging 'ol Pappy here?"

[member="Marcus Itera"], [member="Ylvaris Desman"]

 

[Darth Eversor]

"Eh, never was a fan of the T-visor model helmets. Little too narrow. Otherwise I'd say you look pretty." Kelghast left it at pretty just to mess with Marcus and weird out the other two gentlemen. His face contorted into a satisfied grin as he was awaiting the realization of the carefully constructed joke. The former Dreadguard made an even more profound realization earlier in the day and it was that being too focused on the negative of death and loss only led to a hell built by the self and nothing else. War came easy to these folk, but it wasn't because they wanted it to. It had to or else Kelghast and his kin would be no more resilient than the next grunt. Now was the time to prove their medal to the galaxy once again.

More blood to dirty the hands of the labored, for their brow would be beaded with sweat and their eyes fixated by the flash of muzzles and the distant cacophony of bombs and orbital offense. On the ground they are feared as machines, but in the hearts of the people they protect, they are saints. Saints do not don the armor of selflessness nor do they wield the breath of judgement and its venomous bite. The repetition of mechanical spite deafens and subdues the guilt for a moment before more blood stains the halo of the pure.

There was nothing pure in the galaxy anymore. All that was good has been infected and now festers with rot and time. Is there still something left to salvage? Or is war a constant that shall never cease or halt?

[member="Alexander Ontonas"], [member="Marcus Itera"]