Young Blood, Old Hand

[Gray Raxis]

Gray had been approached by a member of House Mereel. He had been promoted to Rally Master by the United Clans, and it seems this allowed him to get his own set of iron skin made just for him. He had heard that term before from his father. It was one of the ways that Mandalorians referred to beskar armor. It was a tradition for a Mandalorian to make his or her own armor with their clan, but he was the only current member of his own clan and he lacked knowledge in the shaping of beskar or molding of armor. He was given some directions to someone who could help him with his problem, and he had no reason to decline it.

Gray found himself on Keldabe as per the instructions given to him. He had heard of House Mereel's ability to work with beskar and it made him curious who he might be meeting. What made it odder was that he was meeting this person on an island on the planet. People who were out on isolated islands tended to be the type seeking something. It could be peace or knowledge or wisedom, but it was always something impossible to obtain by normal means. He pondered on this as a ship took him to the island. He eventually got dropped off on the shore of the one he was suppose to go to. After he got off, he stretched his muscles. It was a habit of his that he had picked up at some forgotten time. When he finished, he went about searching for this mysterious person he was meant to meet up with.

[member="Ijaat Mereel"]

 

[Julius Sedaire]

Ijaat was certainly not typical for the Mandalorians. For one thing, he looked old... His age wasn't that great in truth really. But his face and body bore the scars of the years he had seen. And the mass amounts of tihaar and cigarras didn't really help his case. Health wasn't that great either, if he were honest. However, he still maintained his eye and reflexes as best as he could. For this afternoon he was eyeing a set of coconuts a goodly distance from him, a holster around his hip with a pair of DE-10's in them. A beach chair sat nearby, with a bottle of whiskey shoved in a bucket of ice, and he wiggled his fingers, a bit, flexing them.

Suddenly, his arm jerked and he pulled the guns from the holsters, about the time [member="Gray Raxis"] walked ashore. The bark of the pistol was loud and deep, green bolts of energy flying from the barrels as his arms crossed and he spun, taking each target in time. Quick-step was the name of the game, and each shot was placed with deadly accuracy. He was hardly a marksman with a long rifle, but he was deadly with a pair of pistols, and he proved it now. Ten shots, five from each, and ten smoldering chunks of dead fruit. Spinning them quickly, with a bit of a flourish for no-one that he knew of.

Suddenly hearing Gray, he turned and dropped his pistols into the holsters, and smiled as he saw the young man.

"Welcome! Given my man brought you here, I assume you are the new Rally Master, Gray of Clan Raxis? I heard your clan has no Smiths... House Mereel has many, and I am it's Aliit'buir. I am also, without exaggeration or bragging, one of the best smiths of beskar for our people. I have asked you here to offer you that service. So that you might further your clan and yourself. We need promising young warriors."

[member="Gray Raxis"]