Private In Beskar Clad

[Jenn Kryze]

Beskar'gam
​

| Location | Owl's Rest, on the coastline
| Objective | A new beginning, marked in beskar

Ever since Clan Kryze's departure from the Mandalorian Enclave, they lived in exile - as pariahs, some might even say, constantly moving about from one uncharted world to the next in the Unknown Regions, those remote and uninhabited locations serving the Alor's purposes well. Although some still grumbled under their breath, the proud warriors followed her into the great unknown nonetheless, taking to heart her warning that they would need to find themselves prepared for their new existence before they could find a suitable world. It was progress, in a way; rather than taking them into the furthest reaches of unexplored space to settle down, the wise Owl had shown her ability to be convinced to adopt a different course and sworn that they would, one day soon, return to find a new home for the Clan.

Before such a joyous occasion would come to pass, however, Clan Kryze had to learn how to become self-sufficient once more! After yet another particularly calm and measured speech on how complacent they had become as soldiers of the Enclave in which she pointed out how their every need was being tended to, allowing them to pursue war in all of its forms, her people seemed to finally awake to the truth of the situation. The industrial and economic powerhouse that once supported them was left behind with the Enclave, and they were now left with the realization that everything hinged from them. Nobody else would clothe them, feed them, or provide them shelter. And this newfound responsibility left some of them uncomfortable.

Their society was an inherently martial one. Might makes right all but ruled the Clans throughout the ages: to challenge Alor or Mand'alor in single combat was the most straightforward path to seizing power, after all, and Jenn was an exception to that rule. She took the mantle of Alor and cast it upon her shoulders, rather than seizing it for herself from the grasp of another, and she made no secret of her combat skills. Or, more precisely, how several warriors among the Clan could surely beat her in a duel if they so wished. Those who followed her did so for wisdom, not might.

Varys, naturally, seemed to take to this new existence well: where some of her peers struggled to find a new role in life, often fighting over which of them was talented enough to become a hunter, she was somewhat unique thanks to her knowledge of farming, marking her as a shining example to the rest of the Clan. Oh, those who despised her only found more reason to resent her, to be sure, but some were beginning to show the slightest touch of respect towards her, recognizing her talent and treating her accordingly. When they came to ask her how they might best tend to the fields, they did so as a student would to a teacher.

The sun was setting on the horizon when a messenger came to find the Alor's cherished daughter in the fields, clad in the blue-and-white of the Clan.

"Hey, Varys!" greeted Karrys, her mother's favorite pilot. The blonde gave her a grin - and a playful little punch against the shoulder. Ever the daredevil of an ace pilot, she proved to be remarkably relaxed when not given the task of flying a dropship. Unbothered by the young warrior's origins, she frowned when a party of returning hunters stopped talking as they came near, giving them the stink-eye as they passed by. An achievement, given the fact they wore helmets. "Fuck are you all looking at, uh?"

Just as it seemed that things might escalate into a fight, the rest of the unlikely farmhands turned towards the commotion, letting their tools drop by the side and glaring at the hunting party, who wisely retreated soon after. Karrys spat behind them.

"Don't worry about them", she assured as she turned back towards the younger Mandalorian. "They're just jealous because they're motherless bastards and you're not. Anyway, your mom wants you in the Forge! Said she's got something to talk to you about." A snicker escaped her at that, visibly amused by her own words, and she hurried off to tend to her next task.

As expected, the Clan's Forge had been set up along the coastline, where Jenn (and the smiths under her command) could work in peace and solitude, the sound of the waves crashing against the shore providing a peaceful reminder of the raw power of the natural world around them. But, by the time Varys would arrive at the (admittedly humble!) open-air structure, none of the other smiths were present. There was only Jenn, sitting on a crate with her helmet resting at her side and her shoulderpads missing. And when her beloved daughter came into view, she lowered the bottle of water she had been holding, and gave her child a truly beaming smile.

"Hello, Var'ika", came her tender greeting. "How was your day?"

​

Varys Amun ​

 

[Varys Amun]

Varys was tilling a patch of soil ready for planting when she heard someone call her name. She straightened up with a grunt and stretched her back. She had been working tirelessly the past few days, setting up a small permaculture farm to feed the clan. It was a practice with which Varys was familiar, but with the added challenge of a coastal environment and unfamiliar flora. As a result, Varys had spent long days gathering the right plants and seeds from the surrounding hills, mapping out farm plots by the creek bank, and labouring in the hot sun.Her nights she spent scrolling through holonet pages to plan the next day's work, before collapsing into an exhausted sleep. Varys had made plenty of mistakes, and had the cuts, bruises and rashes to show for it. But, there was no denying they were making progress, and given a bit of time, their work would be rewarded.

It was a welcome distraction from Varys' shame and lingering anger since her confrontation with Jenn. Better still, she was good at farming. She knew what she was doing and nobody could deny it no matter how much they hated her, because they needed to eat. And that felt very, very good.

Still, her time at Owl's Rest hadn't been without it's troubles.

"Karrys!" Varys called out in reply, waving the woman over.

"Hey, Varys!"

"Don't bother me if you're not here to pull weeds." said Varys. She grinned as the woman punched her playfully across the shoulderplate. Karrys was one of the few people at the camp she liked, one of the few who didn't treat her like dirt.

"Fuck are you all looking at, uh?"

As they turned to leave, Varys felt eyes on her and looked up to see a returning hunting party, full of the Clan's most restless, short-tempered vod, slowing to stare at her. Yes, Varys was affording some respect by some in the clan. But just as many resented her, and what she represented. After all, it couldn't be a coincidence that the Alor had adopted the traitor girl and then immediately turned to abandon the Enclave, could it?

The fight had almost ensued because Varys, emboldened by having Karrys by her side, had reached down, retrieved a rock from the sandy soil, and hurled it at the helmeted head of a hunter she didn't particularly like. Luckily, Karrys and the rest of the farmers knew well enough that without Varys to help them, they would miss the window of the planting season. So, they'd defended her, some out of begrudging respect and others out of pragmatism, and she'd avoided a beating yet again.

Truth was, Varys was toeing the line. Nobody had yet been foolish enough to lay a hand on her, but she was itching for a fight. But, she knew if she got into something serious that word would get back to the Alor, and that would not end well for anyone.

So, as they walked away, Varys did her best to quickly move on from the encounter.

"So, when am I getting a go on that Jetpack?" Varys asked with false cheeriness.

"Wayii. Maybe when the Netherworld freezes over, verd'ika. I've seen you on those kites when you walk off where you think nobody can see you. You can barely hold on."

"Tch. Like you could do better."

"Careful. I'll take you up on that bet."

They drew up to the forge and Karrys grew more serious.

"Later, though. I'll leave you to your Buir."

Varys nodded and waved goodbye to Karrys as she hurried off.

Varys stopped just outside the forge and bowed her head to greet the Alor.

"Hello, Var'ika. How was your day?"

"Good, Buir." said Varys. "We have finished planting the northern fields and-" She trailed off, remembering she was supposed to be angry with Jenn. "Um. It was good."

An uncomfortable silence stretched a few moments before she went on.

"What did you need me for?"

Jenn Kryze

 

[Jenn Kryze]

​

| Location | Owl's Rest, Coastline Forge
| Objective | A new legacy

"I'm proud of you, Var'ika", came Jenn's voice as she stood up and walked on over to the young Mandalorian, resting her hands on her shoulders, practically beaming down at her. "More than you will ever know."

A moment passed, the silence between them not quite as uncomfortable as before. The see breeze caressed them both as they stood face to face, and for the first time in weeks, Jenn felt at peace. More than anything, she wanted to embrace her daughter, to hold her close, to tell her that everything would be alright - but she had a different message to deliver, and so her smile vanished, and she seemed to struggle with her words, if for but a moment.

"I realize now that there is a hard truth one must face as a parent." It practically ripped her heart out of her chest to even admit it, but there was no going back now. Varys deserved the truth, and she deserved love and respect as well. "Youthfulness makes one adventurous at heart, more often than not, and I can see it in you, ad'ika. You will always long for something else, for something more." There was no reproach in her voice, not even a hint of anger: distressed as she was by that realization, Varys' mother stood firm, the hands she kept on her shoulder seemingly present to ground herself in the moment as well.

"There will come a time where you will long to see the world, Varys, and to do so on your own terms. I was... so very afraid, when I realized that much - of what might happen to you. But I am not Lyka, and I will not chain you, no matter how distraught I may be at the thought of losing you. You are akin to a beautiful little bluebird, and to keep you in a gilded cage is a crime unto nature itself."

That was when she turned towards the forge thoughtfully... and parted from her child slipping on a pair of thick leather gauntlets, clearly meant for smithing. This was a side of her hardly ever seen by most: after all, a smith's work was done away from most, if only out of a concern for noise. A smith with a lust for glory was often regarded as someone with a bad habit, unfit for the path of the Kayatr'ade among the Mandalorian Enclave. Free as she was from the brigands who pretended to be a bastion of Mandalorian culture, Jenn held on to the training imparted unto her in her many years among them. A lever was pulled, and then, slowly, inexorably, the forge roared to life...

As the fire of life itself returned to the forge, the Alor presented her child with a monumental item.

Her own helmet. A Y-visor staring right into Varys' eyes, just as her mother did.

"This was worn by my mother, and her mother before her, going back for eleven centuries. Clan Kryze forged, carried, and maintained it. It is now yours, my child. The first piece of your suit of armor, forged of beskar I reclaimed in my adventures... and reclaimed from my pauldrons. That I may always protect you, wherever you are."

There was so much care, so much fondness, so much love in her voice...

​

Varys Amun ​

 

[Varys Amun]

At the Alor's invitation, Varys approached the forge. She felt the intense heat through her ceremonial armour. The roar of the flames was like a heartbeat that drove the machinery, as if the were a great slumbering beast, and Jenn its handler. Even from a distance, Varys feared the orange tongues would leap out and consume her. But Jenn stood steady, so Varys did too.

"I'm proud of you, Var'ika"

Varys inclined her head respectfully, ears burning.

It is now yours, my child. The first piece of your suit of armor, forged of beskar I reclaimed in my adventures... and reclaimed from my pauldrons. That I may always protect you, wherever you are."

Varys was stunned. She regarded the helm with reverence. It was breathtaking, clearly the work of a skilled hand, and more than a touch of love. And now it was hers to wear. A Mando'ad's helmet, like the rest of their armour, was their identity, and now this helm made up a part of her that had been sorely missing, that she would carry with her until her death. Such was the way of the resol'nare.

"This is for me?" Varys asked. "I don't understand. I have done nothing but disappoint you." It was true. Yet since their confrontation the Alor has been relentlessly kind, endlessly understanding, even in the face of Varys' disrespect, her downright insubordination. If at been Lyka, Varys did not doubt she would have received a lashing.

I don't deserve this. I don't deserve this. I don't deserve this.

"Thank you, Buir. This means a lot"

And it did. Her beskar'gam was the ticket to the rest of her life. No longer would she be stuck between adiik and vode. It was as Jenn said. She was free to be whatever she wished. All she needed now was an idea of what to actually do with herself. The prospect was daunting, but exciting too. When she had left Varys had thought she'd wanted to redeem her clan.

Now, she wasn't so sure. Maybe that was a legacy best tossed aside. She had shouldered the burden of her name for years already. Privately, she knew her family was beyond saving. Would it be so bad to be a Kryze, through and through?

No, not yet. It was tempting to turn from her past. But she could not give up before she had tried. Varys would learn to fight, to survive, to lead. Then, she would return, and give her family a chance to redeem themselves. Maybe, it was fantasy. Still, she had to try.

"Now that I have this. I must learn to use it, defend my clan like a true verd. You will help me?"

Varys had always been scrappy. She had defended herself from the sons and daughters of rival clans on Dantooine, even fought off a raiding party of slavers who thought her family farm a target. But she had never worn the beskar'gam, never trained with beskad nor a blaster heavier than a hunting rifle. If Varys was to grow into the redeemer of her clan she so wanted to be, she would need to train.

Jenn Kryze ​

 

[Jenn Kryze]

​

| Location | Owl's Rest, Coastline Forge
| Objective | A new legacy

The sound of the waves crashing against the nearby shore made for a rather peculiar backdrop when combined with the roaring of the forge: rarely could one appreciate the raw, savage majesty of the ocean meeting the bold roar of civilization without one seeking to overtake the other. Although she very much sought to keep her gentle gaze locked onto her daughter, the Forgemistress circled around the hearth of the forge instead until mother and child stood opposite from one another. Slowly, calmly, she took a small, rectangular slab of hallowed beskar from a small container at her side, adding it to a heavy steel box attached to a long metal staff, then another, laying them down at the bottom one after the other until the entire surface was covered. Moving her hands to take a hold of the long haft, she brought the box over the roaring hearth between them, her eyes very much fixated on her work, even as she spoke to her beloved child. The helmet may have been her own, a relic older than most things in the galaxy- but the time had come to forge the rest of her armor.

The helmet was ancient. But the rest of Varys Amun's beskar'gam would be forged by her adoptive mother. A new legacy.

"You have done no such thing, Var'ika", spoke the siren as her eyes shifted from grey to blue, that sing-song voice of hers so very full of beauty, power, and meaning. The blue flames of the forge's fire only made her appear all the more otherworldly as she slowly laid the recipient to rest within the center of the forge's hearth, carefully removing the staff's twin hooks from it and drawing it back. Watching as the beskar obtained from her own pauldrons as well as from her days as a smith of the Enclave slowly began to melt under the intense heat.

A captivating sight to many, may they be smiths themselves or not. No wonder the armorsmiths of the Mando'ade were regarded as other cultures might look upon a priest of their faith.

"You deserve this, my child", she continued, her voice calm, and soothing. "I will teach you to use this armor, yes. In time, it will become as natural as a second skin for you to wear, as it does for me - and as it was for many, many years. I swore an oath, a long time ago, to never let another rest their gaze upon my visage for as long as I lived."

An oath she had broken, evidently enough. There was a lesson to be learned, there. Was the legacy of Clan Amun not built upon a broken oath to their people?

Jenn tapped a few of the buttons on the holo-projector to her side, the antiquated device struggling for a moment - before projecting a three dimensional view of the schematics she would be working on. A peer at what Varys' armor would be like: something as elegant as it was simplistic. Evidence that Jenn had been planning this out thoroughly.

With but a pull of a lever, the raging flames were calmed, and Jenn set about the task of ensuring that the molten beskar may grow hard enough for her to work on, quiet as she focused on her craft. It was not long before she pushed a button, a makeshift gravity tether pulling the now-solid beskar from the container, allowing her to grab it with her magnetic tongs and bring it over to a nearby anvil.

​

Varys Amun ​

 

[Varys Amun]

"You have done no such thing, Var'ika",

Varys fought her discomfort. She did not like when Jenn's eyes turned that shade of blue. It felt as if the air carried a charge. And worse, Varys was noticing that when it happened, she felt her turbulent emotions quieten.

"I wish you wouldn't do that to me."

Varys had long suspected that Jenn had some connection to the Manda that allowed her to hold sway over her clan. But, the thought that it might be used on Varys herself made her skin crawl. No. She thought to herself. I will not be pacified.

Still, Varys' cheeks burned with embarassment at having said anything. She hoped Jenn would not be too hurt by it.

Even in the forge, the Alor seemed to work with an almost mystical touch. This was no surprise though, the forgemasters of the Mandoade were guardians of ancient techniques and recipes. Such knowledge begets a certain flair.

The acrid scents of the forge made her head spin, and the roar of the machinery left her ears ringing, yet Varys was mesmerised watching her adoptive mother work. She blinked. Time to focus. This was a great privilege and she was here to do than gawk, and even more importantly, there were wounds that needed healing. Varys' eyes fixed on a spot just over the Alor's shoulder, and she spoke aloud what had been hanging heavy in her mind.

"Ni ceta, Buir. I am sorry I went against you in front of your allies, and the clan. You are my Buir, and the Alor. I was selfish, but I won't hurt you again. I have faith in you, Buir."

Varys hoped that would be enough to make the woman understand. Jenn had held her head high since the fateful counsel on the shore, but Varys knew she had crossed a shameful line. She owed Jenn her life and her future, and it time to put her head down and demonstrate her loyalty.

The woman continued to work and Varys felt herself becoming a passenger in the process. That would not do if this was to be her beskar'gam. Better for a warrior to have a hand in the creation of her second skin. Varys stepped forward to grab a hammer, but was startled as she did so by a gust of wind that swept across the forge and sent sparks skittering across her feet. She stepped back to where she was.

"How do I help, Buir? Varys asked tentatively. "I require some instruction."

Jenn Kryze ​

 

[Jenn Kryze]

​

| Location | Owl's Rest, Coastline Forge
| Objective | Forge a new legacy

With her helmet gone and bequeathed unto her daughter, Jenn found herself well and truly unable to mask her reaction to Varys' words. Confusion twisted her features at first, brows furrowed and eyes filled with a wordless question - before realization washed over her, and with it, the burning touch of shame. Just as her beloved child found herself embarrassed, so too did she find herself at a loss for words, working silently on what was to be her daughter's breastplate. Awkward as things may be, there was no denying Jenn's title of Forgemistress as she took hold of her magnetic hammer, giving firm, yet controlled blows against the beskar beneath. With each motions she made, the very legacy of their people was made all the more tangible, raising from myths and legends into reality before Varys' eyes.

"I never mean to", answered the matriarch at last, her voice betraying a moment of vulnerability - even as she struggled to control herself, and break out of the pleasant, sing-song intonation. "I am Ersansyr, Var'ika - have been ever since I was captured by the Sith. I was young and reckless, thought myself capable of taking on those vile creatures by myself, and I paid the price for it. I spent... Manda only knows how long inside of an observation tank. Helpless, as my very essence was twisted by one of their alchemists, for no other reason than dark curiosity on their part." Even now, years after the fact, the Alor found herself shuddering at the recollection, reminded of the dimly-lit laboratory she was kept in - or perhaps calling it a crypt might be more apt, given how the Sith responsible for her torment muddled the line between science and occultism.

"I am not ashamed of what I am", she declared a little more firmly, turning to look at her daughter with determination. "It was imposed upon me, a greater violation than I ever thought possible- but I rose above the circumstances of my transformation, and I took control of my fate once more. I rarely ever mean to use my siren song, Varys, and I am... truly sorry, that I did just now." The careful strikes of her hammer came to a stop, then, as she turned her full attention towards the young woman at her side as she apologized for defying her, practically tripping over herself trying to help. Calmly putting her tools down, she brought her hands to rest against her cherished child's shoulders, trying her best to ground her in the moment.

"Nayc, ad'ika. There is no selfishness in what you did, Varys. You spoke truly, refused to let loyalty cloud your thoughts and prevent you from voicing your concerns. I never want you to quiet your thoughts for my sake." And with that, she took a hold of the hammer once more... only to hand it over to her daughter, before moving behind her to put a hand on her wrist, correcting her grasp and adjusting her stance so that she may not hunch over and hurt her back.

"The closer you move your hand to the base of the handle, the more strength you will apply. The further up you go, however, the more precision you gain. It's all about finding the right spot for the task at hand. This is to be your breastplate, and it must be just as light, or heavy, as you want it to be. The harder you strike, the lighter it will be in the end, spreading the beskar around - we can cut off the excess spill from the sides and reuse it."

​

Varys Amun ​

 

[Varys Amun]

Immediately, Varys wished she had never said anything. Jenn's discomfort was palpable, and Varys stood rooted in place, the muscles in her legs and cored tensed as she willed herself to disappear. Gradually, Varys' shame was tempered by curiosity, listening to the Alor explain herself, providing context to the strange acts and feats she had witnessed from the fiery haired woman.

"I am not ashamed of what I am. It was imposed upon me, a greater violation than I ever thought possible- but I rose above the circumstances of my transformation, and I took control of my fate once more. I rarely ever mean to use my siren song, Varys, and I am... truly sorry, that I did just now."

Varys nodded thoughtfully. She felt an echo of herself in Jenn. Where moments ago alienation and distance from the woman's abilities, Varys now felt a sort of kinship to her.

"We are both products of the Sith, in a way." said Varys. "But we are more than that. Won't let it define us."

Varys leant against Jenn's breastplate, grateful for the feeling of her steady hands on her shoulders.

"Thank you for telling me. It is alright now I understand it." Varys hated being in the dark, but now she had heard from Jenn she understood the woman could not change her nature any more than Varys could grow wings and fly away. Now she knew, she would accept the Alor for the woman she was, and the things that she did.

Varys let the Alor guide the hammer in her hand. The tool intimidated her, and the forge roared with fearsome heat. But she tried to ignore it and focus on the words of instruction. She breathed in deep and raised the hammer.

Smack.

Her strike was a bit off, and she felt the handle jarring in her hand. She grimaced and raised it again.

Smack.

Straight and true. The beskar plate spread out. Varys leaned in, the heat feeling like it would melt her visor as she inspected the thickness. Not quite right. Varys imagined herself soaring about on a kite, ducking and wheeling about Dar'Jetii attackers. Maybe even one day donning a jetpack. It would have to be lighter.

Smack. Smack. Smack.

Perfect. Varys grit her teeth, enjoying the burn of her muscles, the violent kinetic blows as she beat the metal into submission. With Jenn watching behind her, lending her strength, Varys struck the beskar with all the force she could muster, pouring her frustration and hurt into precise strikes. Using that frightful energy to craft the armour that would be her future. After a few minutes it was done. The metal was thin enough. Shaped inexpertly to fit the mould. Varys stepped back and looked to Jenn.

"Is it alright? Good enough?"

Jenn Kryze​