Private Dire Luck

[Ijaat Mereel]

Location: Gardius, in Aurelian City at the personal forge of Ijaat Mereel
​

Like some ancient mural, Ijaat stood stripped of his armor, working the controls of the forge. An apron, long discarded in the heat, sat to the side over an armless chair of battered durasteel, long since mostly stripped to silver bare metal with flecks of red paint. The equipment was a hodge podge of thrown-together solutions and purpose made, with a mix of new and old age across that spectrum. His armor stood on a stand that might have once been a coat rack, off to the side. Age might weigh heavy on his features, but still the corded muscles of the Iron Father worked tirelessly to shape the legacy and legends of his people.

Metal yellow-hot in the tongs before him, he held it to the anvil and began to shape the knife he had in mind. Technically, with the gifts from The Quartermaster and technology from Kestri and the Enclave, he could have had the machines in his shop do this simple of a task, and most couldn't have told it apart from his other works. Self-learning AI and advanced tech were that good on that Forge they found in the icy heart of the Enclave.

A sound at the front of the building, just barely visible, told him someone had entered. But if they had, the guards had let him in. And if not, well... A gleaming-hot knife of beskar to their face would change their mind. Picking up a different hammer, he hefted it before beginning the steady rhythm of taps and slaps to move and shape the metal, focused seemingly solely on it as his senses expanded into the piece, altering the very molecular structure to make it lighter, the edge monomolecular even. Not for the first time, he thanked his benefactor for the gift of the Force in his work, knowing he owed Ashin Cardé Varanin a very large debt many times over.

Koda Fett

 

[Koda Fett]

His armoured frame strolled into the realm of the Iron Father, a name famed from all the Mandalorian conflicts - scarce few came to Fett's mind in the moment; either Ijaat, Strider, Ordo. Time claimed most of the old breed, whether the latter two still remained it was not for Koda to remark. His ties to the Mandalorians had been severed beneath Mantis, that infamous Red Coronation ensured the loss of lives and more. Rumours that it had been the first call for the end had once found Koda, but once more it was not for him to comment on.

Even as Mandalore had been set aflame and enslaved by the Sith Empire, Fett chose to maintain his distance from those that he failed to connect to. If cast out by them or by himself, none could be so certain now. Neither had it much mattered. Yet still, arms and armaments had been a vital tool for any Mandalorian, even if the man had come as a Bounty Hunter before all else.

"Ijaat Mereel," the infamous underworld name said in a bid to announce himself, and to confirm it was in fact the Iron Father. He never once stood before him, face to face, visor to visor.

Ijaat Mereel

 

[Ijaat Mereel]

The head cocked to the side, helmet having been laid with armor. A finely trimmed beard of shock-white matched the military cut of hair on Ijaat's head. He knew of Koda, heard his name whispered. Not many walked away like he did, and a man of principle like that would find a staunch ally in the aged smith. But even then, Koda was greeted with a glowing metal spike pointed at his chest before Ijaat retracted the brand and smiled, champing down and puffing on his ever present cigarra before nodding to his visitor. Clan Fett was also always welcome on Mereel grounds in his mind. But armor could be stolen, voices and even Force auras faked. So he maintained a gruff bark of a voice and his hand drifted to easy reach of the murder-knife in the small of his back along his belt. Even forging, he was better armed than most soldiers. Career killers were usually paranoid as well.

"Might be. Who's asking?"

Koda Fett

 

[Koda Fett]

He shifted forwards, slowly. His footfalls had come in a manner best said to be deliberate, some amount of caution followed them in case of an unfortunate incident had been unavoidable. His armoured had been beaten, scorched, the raw materials beneath had shone from the sections in which his colours had been torn from the armour - truth be told, Fett had enjoyed it more for that, it said more than any other boastful remark ever needed to. Jedi, Sith, Mandalorians and more, yet here he stood still as the rest rot for the worms.

"I am Koda Fett," he answered, "I had come to see your stock."

Ijaat Mereel

 

[Ijaat Mereel]

"The hour is long indeed if you've shown up to my forge. Strange how fate turns... I trust you know, wearing that armor but walking away like you did... You're in for one of my very best lectures on leaving the mando'ade. Doom. Gloom. Loneliness. Loss of one's fated soul. All that and more. "

Pulling the cigarra from his teeth, he ground it out and sat down the glowing half-knife on the anvil, and extended a hand to Koda in openness, a sign of accepting his patronage. Koda may have walked away, and other smiths may turn him down, but Ijaat never would. Not after all he had seen and been through. A man had many paths to tread, and Ijaat wouldn't begrudge Koda time in the wilderness.

"But your name is known. I can either fix.... that...." and so saying he gestured with a wince to the state of Koda's gear. "Or I can make new. The choice is yours. Payment isn't just credits. I want you to run a few jobs with our people. The Enclave. The Sons of Mandalore with the New Imperial Order... Whoever, wherever. Touch roots and remember. If you can do that, and still walk away after, I'll be satisfied. But our people have changed since the insanity of Yasha."

Turning, he walked from the forge to a from cut out of the side of it, filled with rack upon rack of every sort of weapon and armor prototype one could think of. Some that Koda might not even recognize, others he undoubtedly would.

"Take a look. Don't be bashful"

Koda Fett

 

[Koda Fett]

The Enclave, the Sons of Mandalore, the Death Hands. It all remained the same, Fett considered, an endless series of a torn sect unable to reconcile for even a moment. The Mandalorian Empire may be lost, turned to ashes, yet the same issues that had been rife within it continued on. Had the Mando’ade not abandoned sense and reason once a child had been allowed to seat the throne in Sundari and refuse contest of their claim? It was no wonder that the Sith burned it all, murdered the Mandalorians still foolish enough to stay on the surface.

Had the survivors and descendants been much different? Likely not.

“It should make no difference if I am there or not,” the man confessed, “It all moves on the same, I am of no aid to them - Enclave or Sons, I am but one man.”

He remembered all the nonsense. Those that said he had been more than most men, able to do more, achieve more. Not for others, it turned out. Only himself.

He sighed softly, next.

“My armour is my own,” Fett said proudly, “I only wish for maintenance on the armour, but I may browse the rest.”

His frame turned across to the armaments mounted, eyes beneath the beskar scanned across them. He envied the Mandalorians secretly, able to have such arms readily available to them. Fees for such elsewhere had been able to bankrupt a man, and Ijaat’s creations - if found on the black market - had been much the same.

“You said my name is known,” his modulated voice broke his silence, “I’m unsure if that is to you or to the Mando’ade, if it is good or bad?”

His head turned back to Ijaat.

Ijaat Mereel

 

[Ijaat Mereel]

"To me. I don't speak for the whole of our people. No one does, thankfully. We are fractious but strong, as it should be."

Watching as Koda eyed the veritable armory before them, he smiled faintly, reaching over to grasp a stoneware cup of kaff, which he gulped despite the steam curling up from it in still rapid ribbons. Black as the soot of his forge, he sighed in contentment. Whether the sigh was at the taste, or at the moment, it would be up to an onlooker's judgement.

"You stand on principles, your own ethics and honor. That is something that, above all else, I can respect greatly. As to being just one man... One man can be a symbol, an ideal. Something a younger warrior sees, looks up to, and emulates. Take it from an old warrior. One man is often far more deadly than ten, in the right circumstances."

Pulling out a tool roll, he motioned to an empty table.

"Get the kit off, if you please. I'll look it over. If the integrity is intact, I will repair it only. But I won't risk my craft-name or your life over sentimentality either. If it's best to remake it, you'll know."

Koda Fett

 

[Koda Fett]

His visor continued to scan across the armory that lay out ahead of him, the vast collection of tools that served various uses had been remarkable in their own right - Ijaat had an impressive collection, to say the least, and much more could be said for his forge-work. The Iron Father, a name rightly earned. Even if, still, Fett remained hesitant to surrender his armour to someone else for maintenance with the potential for replacement.

"Said ethics and honour had been the cause for the Red Coronation," the flashes of memories rushed back to him, the enclosed area in Sundari set aflame and torn asunder as the mountains of corpses rose - so much beskar, such a costly bloodbath. "But that lot is lost now, either scattered or killed by the Sith."

For a moment, Koda offered a look to the Iron Father as if the old man had the answer to that.

He continued on afterwards.

"But if that is the cost for this, then fine. I'll contract myself out to them," not as if there are beskar-smiths commonly out there.

His armour had been reached for, the metal removed from his frame and set before Ijaat. It had seen a lot, admittedly, between all the scorch marks, the scratches, the dents, the cuts. But the electronical components within had been the troublesome aspects, fried and so internal systems had trouble in their operations. Fixable, at least, but not by Koda. Expertise in maintance, yes, but not in this. It was far above his level of skill.

"It's mostly the internal systems," Fett said in his undersuit, the helmet still over his face for there had been nothing wrong with it. "Shielding, mostly."

Ijaat Mereel

 

[Ijaat Mereel]

Theme

"A lot of this needs replaced wholesale. There's not a fix for charred silicone. How it's maintained it's integrity only the Manda knows. You've got the luck of a Corellian to even be standing here. But I'll get to work, sit... Need any food or drink?"

Turning, he grabbed a component from a black pelican-like case on the shelf and slipped on goggles, grabbing a soldering iron and pulling wires from a half-melted PCB within the armor and beginning to remove the old one with surprising gentleness despite the reputation most blacksmith's would have from others not of the craft. Whereas most smiths started out with blunt and almost violent skill, the true artisans eventually turned to deft touch and working with the steel, not trying to make it submit. This, as Marasun had said when teaching him Force Imbuement, was the riddle of steel. Willpower was the answer, and how it was applied to the riddle was individualistic for each craftsman, as he worked, he hummed and tapped a foot, and still spoke to Koda.

"Try the second rack to your right. Third from the left side. Middle row. It's a DE-10 with Chiss influence. A charric in true pistol form. I adapted the internals so it isn't so unwieldingly big. It might suit your taste. While I fix your armor, we'll find you something to leave here with new. Fett is a name that Mereel owes much and more to. This is free, done by honor. But I want you to see that men like us, the unyielding ones... These new kids need to see and be near us. To learn the ways of the Mandalorian right, even with their own spin, so that by the time their successors come, we have a chance at a future you and I both hope for, I think. But we'll never see it. That's the price for our people, self-sacrifice."

Koda Fett

 

[Koda Fett]

"I must be hard to kill, then." Fett said, faint humour to his modulated voice. It was no secret, and neither was it that a lot of his items had suffered as much in all their bouts. Jedi, Sith, and all else came for him as much as he sent himself after them. Bounties busied a man of Koda's nature, never one to be idle, and his life needed a source of income most others can hardly dream of. He was the number one for a reason, the favoured aid of so many.

He shifted across to see all the armaments, each one found his visor yet it was the DE-10 that held his attention as Ijaat furthered on the details. Since the destruction of Csilla, Chiss influence was to become a rare collectible held by the richest men; it was to feel as if a diservice to take that from him.

"You owe me not so much as a cent." He turned back over to see the smith, "You can take credits, and I can aid the Enclave. But I am no teacher, role model even less. Neither am I to alter that so someone can model themselves after a false me, too."

Ijaat Mereel

 

[Ijaat Mereel]

His reply was short, almost curt, and proceeded by a snort at the first of the words, but became almost kind by the end.

"If you wanted to be it, you wouldn't be worthy to be it. Nor would I be fixing your armor. Paradox of the worthy, it's a basic thing taught in schools.

Picking up a cigarra from the bench, he lit it off a welding torch and coughed a bit as he inhaled and sat down with a jewelers magnifier over his eyes, tweaking solder joints and who knows what else. Wreathed in blue-grey smoke and his helmet next to him, he looked almost like a painting from a museum on Mandalore or the like.

"Besides... Your family has saved mine, and vice versa, dozens of times, from the first time Jaster saved Jango and Jango avenged the murder of Jaster and on down. And I owe the Fett Clan personally as well for their help in my own clean slate. Consider it a gift of esteem, from an old has been. You want the paint restored on this?"

Koda Fett

 

[Koda Fett]

His familial ties had been shattered, the connections once there are no more than memories.

"No," Fett answered, all the worn features had been almost sentimental for the man; most collected memories in other mediums, Koda elected to form them in all the scars his armour had suffered in his career. From the first mark on the street scum to fearsome Jedi and Sith, each scuff on the iron had told a tale of its own. He liked it like that, even if some memories had been best forgotten.

He continued to roam the haul of firearms, a back and forth to see a more favourable blaster or tool, and his voice in time interrupted his own silence;

"You said for me to teach them. What value to them do you think I have, that I should, or even could, teach anyone?"

Ijaat Mereel

 

[Ijaat Mereel]

"It'll soon enough be bare iron, but the craftsmanship is good. It'll have a certain look.

Sucking in air, he chose to answer the younger as he began closing one internal pocket and moving to the next. The tip of his tongue stuck out between his teeth in concentration as he fiddled with a switch before speaking.

"You have survived. That alone, to our kind, is a lesson worth passing on. And whether you see it or no, you have walked the third edge of the knife, the path of the Mandalorian, with pride and honor better than most. They get too caught up in causes and crusades too easily. You can show them restraint.. They need that."

Koda Fett

 

[Koda Fett]

Restraint.

It had been favoured by clients, those that wished their intended to survive the ordeal. He often returned them beaten, broken, but no more or less than the demands of those whom wielded the credits and issued the contract. Of all Ijaat had claimed Fett to be, one that held onto restraint was the most accurate of them all. He refrained from their wars, their notions of a future, and no matter all the boons it offered there was an issue with it all. It disconnected him, so much so that all the Iron Father had mentioned was unknown to him. He trusted Ijaat, in the end, a scarce few able to have that said about them.

Trusted by Koda Fett; unsure if that said positive or negative things about them.

"I'll serve how I can, but I need payment from these contracts - the kindness of my addled heart does not rearm me. You talk of their causes and crusades, that's another matter entirely. Politics, not my forte."

Ijaat Mereel

 

[Ijaat Mereel]

"Charity is up to you. If you can get paid, get paid. Show them how to rise above, as you have. That you can fight a conflict without passion or taking a side. Being the other, that voice or being apart, is key to the true strength of the Mandalorian warrior. Remind enough of them that, we might see a real change."

Clamping shut the last bit of electronics, he grabbed a few things from his shelf to his left and began slotting and wiring.

"Some of this is too old to fix. Other bits need upgrading to keep up with the arms race, so it doesn't degrade too fast. A few upgrades, and your shielding will be able to shrug off charric rounds practically. And will take your average blaster bolt without complaint. Just watch slugthrowers, only so much I can add to that, the kinetic force is too great without a full re-work."

Reaching to his thigh, he pulled up a traditional triangular bladed knife, a kal knife, and slipped it to Koda as he began sealing the armor.

"Keep that. Consider it a gift, with no reason or binding to it. It'll pierce even beskar if used right, and it's an old supercommando tradition in our House to carry one. You were one of the examples that brought me back from the brink of my madness kid. That iron will of yours. You earned that blade."

Koda Fett

 

[Koda Fett]

He reached out and secured the blade, then observed it. Fett examined the fine artwork that it was, the beskar carved into certain serrated lines, even marvelled at the knife - it was rare those of this kind entered his hands, let alone for himself to use in future conflicts. It was odd to recieve it, in truth, for all the tales mentioned a fearless man to be feared in his countless collected bounties - considered mad to seek the Jedi and the Sith, or so Genet had him believe. It was rare to hear them, rarer still to hear one that had him fill a role other than villain.

So often had Fett been the bad man in another's tale of loss and torment.

He nodded as he took the blade.

"You did that, no one else removed that madness. If it was there."

Fett found it difficult to accept appreciation, it seemed.

"I'm only a simple man that went about his business."

Ijaat Mereel

 

[Ijaat Mereel]

"And we need 'simple men' going about their business more than speeches or governments. I happily serve the Enclave because they gave me a home and redemption. But that's my personal choice. Show them how to stand alone, but walk together when needed. You knew how, and I can't believe you've forgotten it. Men like you and I never forget."

Closing up the armor, he nodded to it, as he reached over and dropped the stunningly simple yet deadly charric on top.

"Consider it a gift from a friend if nothing else, and owe me a favor for the gun if you want. The knife is because I like to think had my son Darius lived, he'd be like you. Now... Before you go, a drink? I make my own tihaar, if you can stomach the native spirits."

Koda Fett

Theme

 

[Koda Fett]

He motioned over towards the armour, towards the charric, and observed the latter as it found itself in his hands.

"I think I best leave," Fett said, he was one of the busier men truth be told. "Some client in the core, not the kind to wait and I'm late as is."

He reached for his armour, freshly fixed, and reattached it to his form as the blaster fell into his holster. "I owe you a drink on our next meet."

Ijaat Mereel