Keepin Corellia Weird
Location: Space above Mandalore, Dry Dock/Shipyard
Ijaat was bone tired... No, tired as a dead strill, or even worse... It seemed like no matter how he slept, or what he did, he was always on the ragged edge. But time had made him realize that, with his deal with ArmaTech, he had been trying to run his company much like he always had when it was a custom armory dealer. Sadly, that was just not possible anymore really, or healthy. Things were advancing too fast, and so he had begun to hire more apprentices, begrudgingly admitting the old crop of them were more than capable of running their own divisions or projects on small scale now, after almost seven years, some of them even keeping the place afloat while he had disappeared into the Netherworld.So the time had came for Ijaat to return to his roots after the recent delegation of duties and projects. Rather than everything flowing through him, he would begin to work on the bleeding edge of personal armor and weapons, specifically with beskar and other high end materials. But to do that, to secure more mining contracts for more materials to work with and diversify with (not everyone was worthy of the Iron of Mandalore, after all) regards to who he could sell to, he needed something he had never really had a need for: a ship. And a rather special, unique ship. More so than the little patrol crafts he barely managed to not wreck all the time.
So he had searched first for the best ship minded person he knew, an old contact named Jorus.... But Jorus had seemed to be away, for weeks... So he had sought out the other underground contact he had in his books that might be able to help with ships of such a design. Coren Starchaser. He only knew the lad by reputation alone, but that was favorable enough he sat waiting in a dry-dock bay with a dataslate in hand, dressed in a casual workers set of clothes one might find on any blacksmith or factory worker, down to the leather apron rolled up in the small of the back.
Though, if one looked close enough, the leather apron was terentatek hide, cured to be unbelievably tough. His hammer at his hip, a heavy strikers maul, was carved hjarma stone with beskar banding and keying all about it, and the haft being carved and treated veshok wood. The clothes were cotton, true enough, but a fine count and blend of rare Tusken Cotton, that felt nearly as smooth as raw silk in its own way. The boots were rancor-hide with bone accents of the same animal, and an impossibly ancient sword rested on his left hip, it's presence alone seeming to cast an odd aura in the Force if any cast their senses around it.
For now, he waited, and hoped, that Coren would come.
[member="Coren Starchaser"]