Private Do You Wanna Build A Blaster

[Gwyneira Vizsla]

D A Y - J O B​

Gwyneira Krayt continued to work in the cargo hold of her ship, The Tauntaun. She was fixing some screws on her cybernetic leg as she leaned back in her seat, casually having her feet up on her desk. She currently wore a tight, low pink tank top and some tight, black shorts. Yes, it was cold outside in Kestri, but inside the Tauntaun it was cozy warm. She was waiting, however, for a guest. In her ship, her home, her workshop, her castle, she was making business. Another Mandalorian, a fellow vod, wanted a custom made rifle. Of course, Gwyn was happy to oblige. She was sure he was coming half an hour from now. When that time drew close, she would change into her beskar'gam.

Her cargo bay was practically flooded with her art. She spray painted on every wall, adding bright colors to the once bland walls of the freighter's trunk. Pictures of places, symbols, people, and objects also were plastered along the walls. It was her familiar environment. The Tauntaun was truly her own.

Of course, Gwyn had lost track of time. Unbeknownst to her, her patron was right outside her ship about to come in.

Volo Dragr

 

[Volo Dragr]

B L A S T E R
Gwyneira Vizsla

Volo was many things. A hunter... a leader... a Mandalorian. A warrior. A survivor. If there was one thing he wasn't, though, it was acclimatised to the cold of Kestri. He'd spent nearly his entire life on the tropical jungle of a planet called Rishi, he'd grown up in humidity and sunshine. Subtle warmth and clinging heat. The temperature was hardly ever eased by his tribe's dress code, either. Thick, armoured garments and iron plates did not breath well.

One might think that Kestri would be a respite, a relief, especially considering his long, arduous stint in the Netherworld. Chaos was cold, the part of it he had been dragged to, atleast... supposing there was a difference in climate. Even so, as long as he had been there, he was not prepared for Kestri. Chaos wasn't a natural cold. It was cold because of the absence of heat. It wasn't chilling. It wasn't natural.

Truth is, nothing was a respite for Volo. Every bone in his body ached, every joint burnt with the slightest movement; He had to steel himself as he brought his left hand up, slamming it three times upon the ramp of the ship before him. The man withheld a colourful swear or two as the pain shot through his arm, not unakin to gripping a live power cable.

With the same hand he then reached for his belt, flicking open a leather pouch and pulling his Anti-Security Blade free. He flicked the frequency up, and pointed it at the ramp controls; Were he younger, he might've whispered a silent prayer for it to work as he reached forth, pressing the button he hoped would lower the ramp.

When the ramp did lower, however, be it from his actions or the gunsmith he'd arranged to meet, the black-cloaked figure would waste no time in ascending the ramp into the cargo hold.

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[Gwyneira Vizsla]

O H - N O​

She was just finished working on the leg and putting her tools aside when suddenly - the door to the cargo hold flung open. She gasped, looking over as her client just waltzed in! Well. This was embarrassing. Gwyneira was pretty much in nighttime clothes and in an awkward position. Yet, the worst part was that her cybernetic leg was exposed and visible.

She scrambled out of her reclined chair. Hastily standing to her feet, her pale face was burning extra crimson. "Oh! You're here early! Why-"

Her astromech cut in through the speakers, announcing what time it actually was.

Well. Gwyneira was kriffed. "WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL ME, YOU USELESS ASTROMECH!" She looked back to her guest and nervously chuckled, "Uh, I had refreshments in my kitchen - uh - berightback!"

She darted out of the cargo hold and into the lounge where the small kitchen was, as well as her Beskar'gam. She hurriedly pulled her Mandalorian armor on and grabbed her platter of blue milk and organic cookies. Yes, organic. She was trying to eat better. For someone precious she lost...

She emerged to the cargo hold with the goodies, her Beskar'gam covering everything but her face. "Sorry about that! I get so absorbed into projects. But onto business, please. You were hoping for a blaster?"

Volo Dragr

 

[Volo Dragr]

W H A T
Gwyneira Vizsla

Were it not for the pitch-black visor, and the metal surrounding it, the very obviously college-educated gunsmith standing before Volo might have heard his very singular, very bewildered, blink. There was... alot to unpack in the brief few moments the scene before him had lasted, and Volo was ready to process approximately none of it.

As his potential contractor made a hasty retreat further into the halls of the ship, for the first time in months, Volo Skaigh felt something; Something he thought he'd lost a long time ago. On Panatha. He felt amused. Grounded. The depth of reality, in some small amount, seemed restored to him; The black and white, the him versus the world, versus the Sith, versus everything not at his side... it cracked. Beneath his visor he cracked a smile, a tired and weary smile, but a smile.

When the woman, a member of the Krayt Clan, no doubt, reappeared... Volo offered her a slow, understanding nod. He seemed to focus for a minute, as if he was remembering how to move his vocal chords, before a sound emerged. His voice, gruffer and raspier than usual, had a tone of subtle understanding to it.

"No need to apologise."

The man made a simple, slow movement, raising his left hand and pointing at the cybernetic leg, now covered by beskar'gam. He then raised his right arm, pulling back the sleeve of the cloak. Where his arm should be, there was a stump. Just below the elbow, the bodyglove's bloodied sleeve tied around it.

"I know the feeling."

He lowered his arm, the cloak's sleeve falling back in place as he approached the table she had been sat at a moment prior; With his good hand, he began flicking open the leather pockets of his belt, seemingly searching through them. He started by taking out the empty capsules of his survival rations, his scramblers, his descramblers, a small pile of thin-sliced jerky wrapped in leather... two opisthoglyphous snake fangs... a lightsaber, an obviously old, customised blaster pistol... a few odd tools...

Finally, a roughly quintuple-folded square of paper which, when unravelled, seemed to be a blueprint for a rifle. Shortly followed the blueprint was a somewhat hefty, if moderately sized, leather pouch of coin-shaped items. The odd man turned his back, cleaning up the light mess he'd made and packing up everything save for the pistol, fangs and lightsaber hilt.

"Hoping is one way to put it. You like to tinker?"

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[Gwyneira Vizsla]

O H . . .​

The girl could not help but frown sympathetically as he revealed his own stub of an arm. Still, she did not respond as he unpacked many odds and ends, including a karabasting lightsaber and some blueprints. When he asked her if she enjoyed tinkering, she smiled a bit.

"Yes. I love working with any kind of machinery, really."

She looked over to a hefty rifle leaning against the wall. She extended her hand and, with the Force, called it towards her. She held it pridefully, extending it towards the Mandalorian.

"I reverse engineered a Charric blaster pistol, managed to make this baby as a result. The Devastating Chill."

The large sniper rifle was wonderfully designed. Perfectly crafted with every detail and part cared for. Not only did the rifle look good, but it worked well. A trained eye could tell that this was a top notch design. As she held showed him sniper rifle, Gwyn hoped it would impress him enough and assure him he came to the right person.

She nodded to him, "Just one of my many custom blasters thus far. I can easily make whatever design you want on your blueprints." She motioned to his blueprints, "Of course, I need to know what you want me to make and stuff. Oh!" She pointed to the lightsaber, "Do those lightsaber scraps include a kyber crystal? That would be a valid form of payment for me."

Tinkerer indeed. She already was plotting the potential of another lightsaber...

Volo Dragr

 

[Volo Dragr]

T A K E I T
Gwyneira Vizsla

The personality of Volo Skaigh was... difficult to work out, at best. On one hand, a devout follower of The Way; on the other an emotionally detached man who was physically incapable of caring less. Yet... he returned her sympathy with a look that seemed to convey some sense of optimism, hidden as it was behind his helmet.

He was reassured, to say the least, by her response. Buying local was always better, for the economy and quality. Still... he was not quite prepared for the beauty of a rifle presented to him. A beast of a weapon, it's aesthetic alone seemed to impress the strange man; Whatever thoughts he may have had on her use of... The Force, as he seemed to remember it being called... were obscured by his fixation on the rifle.

Volo's head turned, pivoting as his eyes seemed to scan along the sniper's length, slowing near the muzzle and outright stopping on the grip and stock. The man raised his head, pitch-black visor fixed on the young smith's eyes. He gave a simple, meaningful nod of approval; the same nod of approval most fathers reserved for genuine appreciation and acknowledgement of achievement.

"Then I've come to the right place. Are you familiar with Verpine Weaponry?" In a single movement, he picked up the blueprints and handed them to... "What did you say your name was, ner vod?" He could hardly blame the smith for not introducing herself properly. Volo could hardly say he'd done any better himself...

Of course, the lightsaber came into question. He'd been well prepared to have to use it to barter, still... it was odd that the focus was the crystal, not the weapon itself. Still, Volo could hardly judge a fellow tinkerer. He took the blade in his good hand, tossing it to the smith, "I'm guessing you know how to make one?"

As if on cue, whether by touch or acknowledgement, the hilt seemed to come to life. Not literally, but metaphorically, as if the crystal had been... asleep. The crystal bore all the marks of bleeding, the trademark servitude and emotional whirlwind built up within; Yet, there was not a single cry of pain nor of suffering, it was more akin to a... humming chorus, calling out to be used, to strike out corruption. A blade of dark justice.

Similarly, the humming seemed to reverberate against the Mandalorian himself, not something he seemed bothered by and certainly not a proper connection. Something diluted, an echo of what may have once been. The figure himself seemed to ebb and pulse with the Force, yet it was... wrong. Ancient and powerful, but twisted. Corrupted. Wrong. Both hidden and empowered by the ignorance of the man bearing it.

Perhaps more revolting was a unique, directed signature coming from one of his pockets. Something... worse. Something far, far worse. Another bleeding crystal... yet if a crystal would normally beg for an end to the pain of bleeding, this one seemed to hunger, to spit and scream for more, to burn with pure fury and rage... It seemed not to be corrupted by the Dark Side, moreover... born of it. It too was old. Older than the crystal in the lightsaber, and it clung to the man before her. A pure and strong connection, as if it had bound itself to him by mere presence.

It's presence inarguably and invariably far, far worse than simply being in the presence of any Sith. Simply knowing that the crystal existed was...

Not unlike staring into the Heart of the Dark Side itself.

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[Gwyneira Vizsla]

CHIT! - HOTH! - KRIFF! - KARK! - KARABAST!​

Well...

... Wow...

She was slammed into with one of the most terrifying feelings in her life. The Dark Side, inflicting wrath and justice upon the causes of pain, rang out. But worse than that, deeper than that. Her heartrate accelerated, her eyes widened. Her own eyes burned corrupted orange from the sheer presence of this abominable terror. She panted, turning the lightsaber off as soon as it had turned on and casting it towards the floor, "Get that away from me!"

Strange, that someone so tempted by the dark side was terrified of this. She dropped her rifle and darted to the other side of the room, panting as she lifted her hands and activated the plasma shield of her vambrace. "Where in the Manda forsaken galaxy did you get that thing!"

She pulled her shield in front of her in defense, struggling to process still, "Turn it off! And get it out of my ship!"

Really, was she scared of it? It was strange. Bizarre, that she was unafraid of the emotion and power spewing, spitting from the crystals. She was moreso afraid of the damage that came with it. The corruption, the madness, and the monstrosity of it. The power itself? It was tempting. Tempting. The feeling of harnessing rage and turning it into the power capable of destroying anyone and anything that got in the way. Demolished planets, sapped life, and controlled everything perfectly. It was tempting, a yearning so potent and raw that she found herself starving for a taste. Yet, she could not ignore that deep seeded darkness, the evil that could spawn from such power. The crazy madness, the lack of remorse or humanity. The thing she was the most terrified of, sensing those crystals so clearly... was the dark mirror of what she could potentially become.

Volo Dragr

 

[Volo Dragr]

R E G R E T
Gwyneira Vizsla

Though he did not feel the dread, the pure and unrelenting Evil, that radiated from the crystals he had in his possession... Volo felt their affect upon the world. He saw the terror it inspired in the young weaponsmith before him... for the first time in many months, he felt an emotion beyond anger, beyond hatred, beyond the need to survive...

Though not beyond pain. No, this hurt in another way, a deep, digging feeling in his gut. A pain no weapon nor poison nor illness could ever inflict, no, greater than a rot in the bone, in the flesh... this was a pain inflicted by the mind, by emotion. A pain he had rarely felt. A pain he had no reason to feel, for there had never been a moment in his life where he felt remorse, felt guilt.

Volo Skaigh killed to survive. He killed mindless beasts. He did not torment his fellow Vod, that was not His Way; It was not The Way. He outstretched his one remaining hand, ready to pull the weapon back to him- And yet he didn't. It did not move. That was normal. Things did not move unless they were touched.

What wasn't normal was the floating sniper rifle, seeming to defy all laws of gravity. Held inches from the floor, it began to rise, floating as if carried by the wind itself. It certainly was not the first time Skaigh had done such an act, though it was still new to him. Sorcery taught to him by a demon wearing red, in the Netherworld. Curiously, it did not feel wrong to enact his will over nature, over gravity... it simply felt... odd. It was not a feeling that Volo intended to grow accustomed to.

Even so, he flexed his hand, willing the rifle to float cautiously over towards its owner; It began to rotate, muzzle pointing up as the stock faced the ground, slowly lowering to rest upon it as the stranger relinquished his grip. He turned his sights to the lightsaber, laying on the ground, contemplating for a minute as he moved his hand, as if to pull it to him... but he didn't. The room was instead filled with the sudden sound of metal bending, twisting, crumpling... and then a crystal crackling, cracking... shattering. The lightsaber hilt sparked red from the crystal chamber, but it did not last.

Then the Mandalorian lowered his hand, the tattered and ancient hilt now a mess of scrap metal and circuitry on the hangar floor. He sighed, the presence of the crystal fading even now; Somewhere in that series of events, the shawl that had covered his head and masked his face in shadow fell back- And so this one weaponsmith, this one teenager, was the first sentient being in over four decades to see his face.

"Udesii," The man raised his hand, as if to accentuate the point whilst he bowed his head, "Sorry, wasn't trying to scare you- There a way I can apologise properly?" He lowered his hand, looking back up at her, golden eyes staring at her; they almost seemed to be too lively to belong to the old and damaged man standing across the room from her.

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[Gwyneira Vizsla]

The girl paused, confused, as he apologized in such a formal, sincere manner. Her heart was still pounding, even after the crystal was destroyed. Was he not Force Sensitive to even sense the crystal? Then why had he levitated the rifle? Her long, white hair was trickled with sweat beads as she gulped. He looked at her with bright and vibrant eyes. What did all of this mean? Something was going on that she did not understand, but was it her place to know?

She sighed, finally relaxing as the panic of the crystal dissipated. She looked to him and smiled weakly, "It's alright, you had no idea I'm sensitive to Force signatures."

She tested her legs, shaking them, before moving along. Her cybernetic leg still felt like a foreign implant, as much as it acted like a real leg. With a bit of awkwardness to her step, she gulped one more time as she walked over to her bench, "What kind of blaster were you hoping for?"

Her eyes briefly darted to his missing arm before turning back to some holopads and pulling up blueprints, "Perhaps a versatile heavy pistol?"

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[Volo Dragr]

R E L I G I O N
Gwyneira Vizsla

Though the weathered warrior had not been able to feel the crystals, save for the faintest of echoes, it was clear by his look that he seemed to understand, to empathise with her- He offered a slight, weary smile, dropping his hand back down to his side.

"Ignorance ain't an excuse- I should've known nothing from Dar'yaim [1] would be... well, anything good." Even as he spoke, he cast his gaze down to the floor, to the blood-red shards that collected in a small pile around the crushed hilt of the lightsaber. Curiously, it seemed that the evil did not... entirely disappear. There was a lingering aura of the Netherrealms twisted nature... but also a deeper corruption, something truly evil buried deep down in his soul. Dormant.

He let out a short sigh of relief, letting his mind ease. Either he was oblivious to whatever evil lurked within, or it was harmless. The mans eyes lingered on the girls' limb, but only momentarily, his gaze following to her bench. As she posed her question, he raised a hand; the blueprints he'd laid down earlier floating gently through the air and onto the table. "A rifle. Verpine Shatter Gun, if you've heard of them? Got some ideas down. Folding stock, beskar outer layer, telescopic barrel... bayonet slot."

Volo offered only a brief description, mentally steeling himself as he took a slow step forward, moving over towards the smith and positioning himself to the side; out of the way. When he finally stopped, he let out another sigh under his breath, a sigh of pain that carried a wind of anger on it. Anger at the shoddy cybernetics he had to make do with. Still, he made no great deal of it,

"Can you do it?

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[Gwyneira Vizsla]

C O N F I D E N C E​

Gwyneira looked down at the blueprints, pushing her long hair behind her ear as she looked everything over. She knew about verpine rifles from her buir, Kranak Vizsla. In fact, he had asked her to fix his verpine rifle when they first met. A small, nostalgic smile crossed her face as she gazed at the blueprints, tearing up a bit. She hastily closed her eyes and forced the tears back, lifting her head. She opened her eyes, turning to the client behind her. She smirked, "Absolutely!"

She turned towards him completely, leaning against the desk. "Consider it done."

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