Keepin Corellia Weird
Ijaat hadn't been at the bar in weeks, after the first month or so of rush business. The conversation with Theoden... What he had realized he was doing, how he was running from a duty that was as close to sacred as anything, shamed him. He had let his hired help run the business, and eventually in the last week or so, shut it down. Too many people who could easily connect the dots back to his past working for major arms and armor dealers had stopped in. Too many high ranking and influential vode. A testament, perhaps, to his cooking and brewing, but worrisome. One glance too many at him or his wall of remembrance, and his cover was blown all to heck.
The last few days had seen the Cantina deserted.... He had sent business elsewhere to other contacts, citing this or that reason but never officially closing... He had been obsessed after his conversation with Theoden... A man driven to a mission he had long since laid down.... In his private work-room laid dozens if not near hundreds of drafts for armor systems, alloys, plating developments and more. They covered the cramped room like a mad-man had transmuted into a tornado, som ancient dervish of legend, and began spewing out ideas suddenly.
Heavy armor, light armor, exotic melee weapons... Those and more littered the scattered papers in the first few hours and days of his work. Then he had quieted, like the eye of a hurricane. He had begun to calm, and focus his work. He had begun to remember what war was like, how he fought, and begun to design for himself... Heavy plates, designed to withstand lightsabers, massive impacts. Bold angles and lines that made the suit look like a knight of some yore ladened story.
Overall, he was basing his idea on the helmet of his buir, the custom buc'ye Ijaat himself had made for the aging man who had taught him everything. How to fight, when to fight, why to fight and more. The jaig eyes still shone proudly on the helmet, his father had earned them, and so had he. Eventually he'd wear it again. The colors still gleamed, copper-white-black, and still stuffed inside the helmet was an old red-brown sash with blaster burns and frays.
He pushed the buc'ye to the side as he turned back to the schematics he was working on... This was the tenth rendition of this design, remembering the wild attack style of a Sith he had fought once had caused him to re-do the ninth to be a little bit more protective and shielding. It wouldn't due to have history repeat itself.
~Overlapping angled segments.... Beskar studded greaves, heavy, thick plates with skivving and scalloping to allow better movement for the thickness of the plates, less open space... Yes... Yes.. That'll do...~
As he thought in his mind, the holo-projected screen in front of him whirred with changes, the paper long since ran out and his thinking have taken on more malleable forms of transition and design. This wouldn't be your typical beskar'gam... But it would be something that would stand out on the battle field... Something that would fit him like a second skin and make him a near titan like man in the fury of combat, in the thick of it like he liked to.
And when he made the sword to go with it... When he could find something that would let him stand up to those bloody sith and their ilk.... He would be something young mando'ade would speak of. Like they used to... Ijaat became so absorbed in the work he probably wouldn't have noticed if someone blew up the cantina around his little workshop/office.
[member="Anija Ordo"] [member="Nolan Detta"]
