Approaching Lothal, the Ca'tra Guroa burned through the atmosphere toward a wide stretch of grassy plains. The blades wafted to-and-fro from the freighter's passage overhead, the sight of meadows drawing its pilot's gaze to sweep over it all. He'd never seen such things on Mandalore itself, although he knew all the stories. It was nice to see.
The vessel approached the plains, dipping down toward a suitably flat spot. Dalair thought Mandalore might have had towns and farmhouses in places like this long ago before it all burned. He hadn't joined the fighting in the cities for the crusade. Armorers would answer the call to waar, but he wasn't in-system when the new Mand'alor was chosen, nor was he asked to join them on the front lines. He had other duties to attend to with the coming of war.
Instead, he was here to work. Ca'tra Guroa touched down in the grasslands. Those warriors who needed repairs to their armour, or any other service he could provide, were welcome to approach the vessel. They would know, for that is the purpose of the Sky Forge.
Barely a few moments after landing the forge itself was lit and Dalair began to work, wearing his Guroa'gam. Even without a client or caller, he was always working. He knew there was a list of those who needed things done, but until one of them arrived, he'd keep on hammering away. By the boarding ramp, a clearly scrap-refurbished protocol droid kept an eye out in the meantime, fiddling with a few blades of grass.
@Nefieslab