More than small talk.

[Darth Rixas]

The smell and weight of the lawns was a gravity that he could flow into, with the strange, uncharacteristic peace that Oron had begun to notice came with foreplanning. A smile sneaked into the corner of his mouth as he rubbed his shaggy-haired head and pushed open the door to a beskar Forge. He watched the frame of a woman with a heart too strong to allow it's owner the displeasure of fading strength- and spirit for that matter.

"Oron you're damned late!"

"I'm sorry Aunt Verd! I had a hang up.."

Oron's voice trailed into the distance. It was morning's light, and he despised being up quite this early but even so, it went without saying that he couldn't function if he hadn't smoked a deathstick on the way over.

"I can smell the poison on you." She turned away from the forge, bearing her deep gaze into his crimson orbs. "It weakens your body, your mind, and your connection to the Force. All tools you need to serve your clan."

"I understand. I'll quit someday." As if he hadn't said that before.

A slight shake of her head dismissed the topic and she turned back to the Forge.

"I've looked over your design and started on it, despite your tardiness. Take a look." She said nodding towards the table.

 

[Darth Rixas]

Following her aim, he walked to the table, looking over a pair of gray pauldrons. They were beautiful before his eyes, not only in shape but also in elegance- design. She'd even included the miscellaneous emblems into the outer plate, something Oron was sure was a time-consuming addition. He appreciated her craftmanship, even if he'd yet to compliment her talent.

He knocked against the plates with his bare knuckles, feeling the near-impervious material against his skin. It's hardiness giving him an inexplainable anxiety as he would have to wait patiently for the remaining pieces to be forged.

"Your skill truly is unmatched, Aunt Verd." Oron placed the pauldron back on the table next to the remaining piece.

Moving to a wall on the far side of the room, his head inclined slightly as he dropped back, leaning against the wall whilst his arms folded across his chest.

"I know." Minutes passed before either of the two spoke. There was only the sound of the Forge to fill the silence between the two. "Need I explain the symbolism of this suit, Oron?"

 

[Darth Rixas]

"No."

Mandalorian armor was the most recognizable symbol of the culture. The distinctive full-body armor worn by it's warriors and soldiers had been seen, recorded, and documented throughout galactic history. Beskar'gam. Iron Skin. Either moniker was known to be central to the Mandalorian way of life, and the wearing of armor was one of the Resol'nare's six tenets. In an age where the community was as expansive as ever, garnering beings from numerous origins and religions, the identifiable armor not only provided protection to the body but also to the spirit. Although there was no longer a set standard for the appearance of the armor of today's Mandalorian culture, most still included a T-visor at the very least.

"Alright then."

Despite the noisey atmosphere, Aunt Verd could feel and hear the conviction in Oron's tone. Regardless of the singular word given to her original question, his tightened posture combined with his racing heartbeat were tell-tale signs for the seasoned Mandalorian to sense the racing thoughts of the young man's mind. He'd answered her without saying any more than he'd needed to, and knowing the personality of the young Verd, she gave his retort a pass. But only this time.

"I believe you.

 

[Darth Rixas]

Hours passed as the two continued to exchange small talk and war stories. She'd produced two more pieces to Oron during this period, one being his breast plate the other his buy'ce.

Oron's tongue tasted his lips as he allowed Aunt Verd another period of silence to concentrate on the task at hand. But as he pursed his lips a pair of her acolytes entered the Forging area to assist her with the Forging process.

"My endurance isn't what it once was." She said smiling at Oron. Looking at his gaze, she guessed he was wary of the newcomer's shaky hands. "Don't worry, Oron. I've been training them for years now. Your suit will come as precisely as you've requested...Meanwhile, I want to ask you a question."

Waving a hand, Oron looked away from her to the acolytes who'd taken over the Forge, apparently picking up where she'd left off.

"Ask away, Auntie."

"What are you, Tyrone and Isley hoping to gain with this conquest you've embarked upon with this rising faction of yours?"

A moment of silence passed between the two before Oron replied with heavy breaths and almost empty eyes.

"We seek to end the greatest threats to our culture, and once done, from the ashes of our waged wars we intend to build upon our own world." His neck slightly bent then, a quick, uncontrollable twitch had rolled through his upper torso as his breath seemingly added more weight to itself by the second as his gaze became more wild with each passing moment. A smile steadily splitting his mocha features, "And while we still carry the victories of the United Clans with us, we are aware that it is not a goal easily obtained." Another pause as he pushed himself away from the wall, standing between Aunt Verd and the furnace. His frame illuminated by the light with the hellish corona of a demon. The barest hints of the war glow of torchlight from the halls beyond seemed to flow towards him as his swelling grip of the Force increased. "Conquest bares a heavy price, but the fruits of success can be..." His last word was whispered, "Breathtaking."

 

[Darth Rixas]

Moving away from him, Aunt Verd found a place to sit, looking up at her with eyes full of wary caution- yet lines of genuine sympathy could be see all around her visage.

"I see you are still consumed by the darkness of your past."

Clink, Clink, Clink!

The hammering of acolytes began to fill the room as they shaped materials into plates and shapes.

"If you're in such a dark place I can only imagine the state of your brothers." She paused then, looking towards her acolytes, ensuring her trainees were following her offered etiquette and techniques. Satisfied with their movements, she turned her attention back to Oron.

"You are the youngest of the three, so you will have the hardest time finding your place but during your journey you can't become lost in your usage of the Force. It is a tool and nothing more. If you allow it to possess and provoke you, you may find yourself straying away from the Resol'nare. Away from the Mandalorian way. We cannot lose you to the galaxy. To the Sith."

"Tch!" Oron scoffed as his posture loosened. His breath normalized as his features softened. "I would never go back to them. They could never understand me, nor any of us for that matter. War are our only plane of equal footing."

"You would do best to remember such things, Oron." Aunt Verd then turned away from him to tend to her Acolytes. "You should get some rest. When you wake up in the morning, we'll be nearly finished.

"You're staying up all night?"

"Hilarious." She said sarcastically flat. " Castle and Loruk will do just fine in continuing through the night. I know your schedule is tight these days.

"Ok." Oron said as he moved to the halls, searching for a vacant room. Once done, he rolled onto one of the bunks and drifted into the hardy pull of his abysmal dreams.

 

[Darth Rixas]

Clank, Clank, Clank!

The banging of hammers awoke him at the next day's first light. Blinking, he tightly rubbed his eyes as he moved to the edge of his bunk and slowly stood. A stretch here and there and Oron was moving down the halls. Entering the Forging area, he blinked in surprise to see a set of armor on one of the various workbenches. A grin crossed his face and turned to see Aunt Verd step away from a furnace.

"Surprised?" She began. "We started up the remaining furnaces and Castle and Frank along with another acolyte of mine worked to push out your pieces so that you could be along your way today." She said proudly.

"I haven't been this happy in a long time, Aunt Verd." There were many things to do. Many things to get done, and this would only hasten his efforts.

"Well, if I could put a smile on that grim face of yours for only a few moments, it was worth the time."

"I appreciate it." Oron said as he eyed the pieces, lined out on the bench.

"Well, go ahead, try it on."

 

[Darth Rixas]

He approached the bench, and took another step, slowly circling the armor with a devilish grin. He moved, trailing his bare fingers on the beskar plates as he circled the workbench, eying the plates as he felt the grooves of the designs of his torso-piece. So intricate, and well crafted, it was truly a blessing to have the services of Aunt Verd extended to him although it took months for the appointment to finally be met. But such things were of the past and were of no consequence now. His Eukgar'gam had kept him alive and his Beskar'gam would do so in even greater capacities.

Dismantling his Eukgar'gam, he stood in only armorweave as he began to piece the armor to himself. Starting with the boots he slid them onto his feet before grabbing the shin plates and strapping them to his legs. Next the thigh plates, which proved to be more comfortable than he predicted although they came at the expense of protection to his inner legs.

He followed suit with his bracers and with a quick glance, saw that everyone in the immediate vicinity had halted their conversations and turned their attention to him. Hefting the breastplate he lifted it over his shoulders. Twisting his torso, he found himself very happy with the fit. It didn't need to be tightened, nor loosened. Perfect. Next he donned his pauldrons, hooking them into sliders on the shoulders of his breastplate. Special cut grooves would see that no matter how he twisted, turned, or jumped they remained still. Perfect for his acrobatic combat preference. Lastly he grabbed his buy'ce, and slid it over his head to keep the grin of his features from the onlookers.

 

[Darth Rixas]

"It's perfect."

He said through the voice filter. "I'll be making some modifications to it, but for now it will do just fine. "

"I'm sure." Aunt Verd replied.

"Well, how much do I owe you?"

"900,000 credits." She said, painting a seriously stoic expression to her face.

"R-really?"

It wasn't like Oron couldn't afford it, but...the price!

"No, I'm joking, ha!"

"Oh...ha." He never was one for his Aunt's humor. Nonetheless, he appreciated her sense of humor.

"I'll leave you something though. I couldn't possibly just walk outta here."

Lifting her hands in defeat, she replied, "Ok, ok. If you must, but you must know I don't need it." A smile crossed her features then as Oron removed his helmet and placed it on the table. "I suspect you'll be making your final additions to it?" Oron nodded. "Alright, I'll leave you to it. Everything you need is here. When you are finished, I will inspect it- make sure its up to par." And with that she turned to leave.

 

[Darth Rixas]

Staring at his buy'ce he realized there wasn't much more he wanted done to it. He understood the strength in gadgets and additional tech, but with the Force, he needed only a few holsters for his pistols. Eventually, along with the assistance of a droid he decided on installing a relatively simple HUD for his buyce, along with a comlink and about an hour's worth of oxygen along with sealing the suit against the vacuum of space.

Additonal time was taken out to then paint the pieces. He went with crimson, one of the main colors of his Clan. After the paint dried, he attached a battle-skirt to the waist, clamps on the breastplate for a cape, and finally a hood. Although the pieces were separate, the black cloth tied together well, accomplishing Oron's goal of shrouding his suit as well as adding his own sense of style and ambiguity to it.

Donning the what-he-believed to be his finished armor, he over-looked what he could and before he could call out to her, Aunt Verd strolled back into the room.

 

[Darth Rixas]

With his attachments fully in place, the droid rolled away to leave the two alone. Handing her his buy'ce she proceeded to check the software of the HUD. A nod of approval followed. Next she asked him to take off the armor for further inspection after complimenting the heightened aesthetic. Although unorthodox, she seemed to at least appreciate the paint and the glow of the t-visor of the buy'ce. Something that wasn't present last time she'd seen him.

Watching her through the lengthy process, he'd hoped everything went fine and he hadn't compromised anything. After a while, she'd handed back each piece after inspecting them. He'd guess that if she handed it back it was fine. And so she offered piece after piece until finally it'd come down to his buy'ce once more. She slid the helmet over her head, and played with a few options in the HUD's software before removing it and handing it over.

"Congratulations. You've got yourself a set of armor. Wear it well, and represent us with vigor and pride."

Accepting the helmet, Oron slid it on, pulling the hood over the buyce, leaving only the glowing T-visor visible.

"I will."