Ask Lothal Stray Cat Blues

[Dalair Solus]

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

 

[Arthos Vizsla]

Lothal was a soft planet but Arthos couldn’t bring himself to really hate it for that – it wasn’t the fault of the locals that they had been coddled by their leadership. That they had sold them out to the FWA and the Jedi for protection or that they had been dragged this way and that, politically speaking, by being associated with such a mercurial senator.

A failing of democracy, to Arthos, was that the leaders never had to prove anything beyond the fact that they could lie in a manner more compelling than their opposition.

It was the sight of his bloodying, however. Where he had proven himself to be a worthy addition to the Crusade and a true Mandalorian even in the eyes of his own clan. Wandering the fields, he knew where the forger had touched down so he made his way there on foot rather than by ship as something of a ritual.

But mainly because he wanted to walk through the grass.

Reaching the ship, he held up a hand in greeting to the droid that stood watch and called out to the armorer as he approached.

“Vod!” he called out in greeting as he dragged a small net of armour behind him, “This is the Sky Forge, yes? Sorry but I… Do I need an appointment?”

He had been bloodied in battle… but he was still a nervous young man by nature. It was to be expected that it didn’t go away completely after just one invasion.

@Mr. Teatime

 

[Dalair Solus]

The droid's photoreceptors turned to take in the approaching man and the bag of armour he dragged along. It wondered if this guy was going to get yelled at for it or not. Either way, Arthos was confirmed to be a Mandalorian and was waved on forward, a message silently sent to the armorer's helmet.

Dalair himself appeared at the top of the ship's ramp, a long barrel detached from kind of rifle held in the grip of magnetic tongs. "You do not," he said after a moment, the eyes behind his visor having taken the time to look over the man's attire and the net of stuff jangling around behind him. It was in a pile, but Dalair could see two problems. One was that it was being dragged around in the first place.

Two, it was haphazard as fuck. He didn't even see a cuirass in the mix. Was this kind flying around with a blast vest? "Come on up," he added and stepped away from the ramp deeper into the ship. It was clear a large section of a partitioning wall had been cut out to make more room for a good half of the cargo bay to be converted into a forgemaster's workshop. Arrays of tools and labeled crates of parts took up space of their own. Obviously the Sky Forge wasn't going to be used for proper freight work any time soon.

The first thing Dalair did was return to a workbench. Atop it lay a disassembled Amban phase-pulse rifle that'd been damaged through use in close quarters. He gestured toward a free chair by a different metal table and then reattached the barrel he'd finished repairing. "What needs doing?" Dalair asked in the middle of his work, clearly intending to finish before he paid Arthos full attention.

This was a common occurrence to people visiting his forge. Dalair didn't pause the work he was doing when someone else showed up.

@Nefieslab

 

[Arthos Vizsla]

Getting a suspicious look from the droid was a little bit odd but he knew that working with a forger would mean putting up with some odd quirks. They could afford to be weird and wonderful when they were so integral to the war effort and cultural identity of the Mandalorian people. Didn’t mean he didn’t kind of give the droid a wide berth.

The last few times he had encountered droids he had gotten involved in hand-to-hand combat with them and it had hurt each time. Even if he had won both times, it was something he was hoping to avoid making into a habit or trend.

“I brought some material from foes I killed.” He explained the durasteel he had collected in the netting, “Some of the other vod said something about bringing my own materials… I’ve only got a little beskar though.”

He tapped his helmet and his pauldron – even if it was incredibly obvious even at a glance what parts of his armour was beskar and which was not. Arthos was hardly the most covered Mandalorian when it came to armor, let alone beskar.

“… full rework.” He admitted what he needed with a flush to his cheeks as he admitted that his beskar’gam, his skin, was insufficient, “I was thinking of a cuirass of either durasteel or beskar – keep my legs mostly free?”

It probably wasn’t supposed to be a question but he was uncertain if he was making the right call when it came to his new armor. Clan Vizsla had hardly given him much choice in selecting which hand-me-downs they could have.

@Mr. Teatime

 

[Dalair Solus]

A few clitter-clacks later and the rifle's barrel was re-attached to the rest of it, at which point Dal looked up again from what he'd been doing. His visor dipped to take in the net full of mixed bits and pieces, some of which was undoubtedly taken from the local defense forces and who knows what else. Of course, material was material.

Dalair put down the half-fixed rifle and walked right up to the taller Mandalorian, looking over the stuff he was currently wearing with a critical eye. A knuckle tapped twice against the flak vest, as if to confirm it actually had something solid in it. "Agreed. Full rework," he said with a definitive dryness. "Vambraces are barely armour gauge." Yes, that was what he was judging over the vest. The vambraces.

"Need your measurements first," Dal added, turning back around to retrieve the tools for doing so. His left hand came up and pointed to an unoccupied workbench. "Materials over there." Simple tailor's tape was the armorer's measuring tool of choice and what he returned with neatly coiled in his hand. "If that's what you normally wear under the armour, keep it on." The implication being he'd obviously need to take off the rest of the armour.

"Any notable takedowns?" The tone of curiosity was mild, but genuine. There was always room for armour decoration.

@Nefieslab

 

[Arthos Vizsla]

To Arthos’ embarrassment and to the Armorer’s surprise, the flak jacket was filled with some pieces of metal but even a casual rap of the knuckles would be able to confirm that the armour inserts were thinner than they probably should have been. One was actually rather deformed from an old blaster bolt hit, only still in the jacket because it was literally impossible to remove it because of how it had broken slightly in place.

Underneath his helmet his cheeks flushed as the armorer all but ignored the flak jacket as armour and, instead, focused on the vambraces. A childish part of him wanted to tell the armorer that not all of them could be given lots of precious metals to work with because they weren’t all worth that level of investment.

“… they’ve served me well.” He muttered in response, turning his bucket to look to the side for a moment, “Suppose they might need some help in keeping my alive though.”

He was more than happy with his vambraces but… the same could not even begin to be said for the remainder of his armor. The Flak Jacket was, even at the best of times, kind of itchy and ill-fitting – neither of which helped in terms of protection and it had really kind of dug into his shoulders when he had been using the jetpack.

Not to mention a full rework would be because… because he had earned it.

Because he was a full Mandalorian who had participated in a true battle in a true crusade. That he was worthy of his armour should no longer be in doubt.

Carrying the materials over to the workbench, Arthos lifted the heavy metals with barely a grunt before he drew a vibroknife and placed it on the workbench as well, within easy reach. Though the armorer was another Mandalorian, Arthos had been told to be cautious when removing his armour – even just to take measurements. Leaving himself in his under armour, he grimaced a little bit as it showed its age as well.

“A ranger captured alive and brought into the Clan, here on Lothal.” He admitted, quietly more proud of that than the other, “Mandillan Jaguar.”

The giant jaguar had been… less fun.

@Mr. Teatime

 

[Dalair Solus]

The armorer appeared to pay little mind to the other Mandalorian's commentary. Perrsonally he felt handing out something that hardly counted as armour even by a Core worlds legal definition was incredibly insulting but he also wasn't here to judge how some other clan handled gearing up their members. Arthos had brought materials, some of which would go on to make armour for others, and that was all that really mattered here.

Dalair measured quickly with his tailor's tape, taking no notes but instead memorizing the numbers, although the man was obviously not in a rush about his task. "A grown foundling?" he asked, more to himself than to the man who'd shown up for armour. "Tell me of it."

Frankly he had much less interest in the jaguar and didn't particularly keep that fact subtle. That Arthos also placed his weaponry in easy reach didn't bother him either. The Vizla wasn't the first, nor the last, to keep arms nearby. Mandalorians had grown cautious over time through rivalry and strife.

Dalair left Arthos when the measurements were done and got to assessing the materials themselves, a sketchpad appearing from a drawer. Rough drawings of designs were rapidly scribbled on the white surface.

@Nefieslab

 

[Arthos Vizsla]

It was only as the forger was getting his measurements did Arthos actually relax a little bit – it was something he didn’t do very often around people who were not of his clan but smiths were different. They were so integral to the Mandalorian experience that they were often treated as spiritual leaders when the clan’s own leadership was less than stellar.

Still, his helmet remained on even as he stood in his undersuit as the measurements were taken.

It was probably going to be a theme that people were very interested in the person he had decided was worthy of joining his clan as his vod. Tilting his head to one side slightly, Arthos considered it for a moment.

“He tried to kill me – he failed but I admired his bravery.”

It was the first reason why he had considered Bak-Ru as an acceptable foundling but he knew it wasn’t what people expected.

“I wanted to give him a chance to be someone beyond a pawn of the Jetii or the politicians.” He admitted quietly, “… he’s roughly my age but I’ll be a buir to him, show him the Way like my buir never did for me. What’s so wrong with that?”

He breathed out before tapping the side of his helmet where it had discoloured slightly from the attack he had taken head-on.

“Are you set up for beskar polishing? My foundling left a mark.”

@Mr. Teatime