Master of the Forge (Meira)

[Dutch]

One week before the Sacking of Gargon...

Her boots would clang loudly as she marched down the center of Par'jila's ship bay. The massive energy shield that kept out the vacuum of space shed its blue glow over everything. It gave Mandalore's silver armor an ethereal sheen as she moved closer and closer to where the shield stood. A loud clang sounded from the very last bay on the left, a large tool chest soon being flung from it. Seemed Skira wasn't taking too kindly to whatever it was Ari had gotten into. As she turned into Skira's private bay she witnessed the war droid slamming a clawed fist against a wall, the below of a wounded gundark rumbling from it.

"What exactly did you do to tick my droid off Weyland?"

Mandalore's voice would crackle through her helm's comm. The woman's lower set of hands perched upon her hips disapprovingly, the upper set only exaggerating it further by crossing beneath her chest. She approached Skira confidently, purring words in her native Mando'a to soothe the beast. Mandalorians did not place restraining bolts on their basilisks. It was taboo in the past, and with their resurgence Mandalore swore to uphold that. They were more than just war droids, they were trusted and loyal companions.

Now at Skira her upper hands lifted to stroke the nose of the basilisk, the lower two reattaching a couple wires that were unplugged. Other than that it didn't seem as if Ari had done anything to offend the beast. Mandalore's helm turned to look up at Ari, eyes almost perceivable through the black visor.

"Or is she just being fussy again?"

[Meira]

"It's just a quick scan, see?"

Ari felt ridiculous. He stood, jumpsuit opened and tied around his waist. The white undershirt he wore was covered in grease, but that was par for the course. What made him feel ridiculous was how he was waving a scanner around his head to demonstrate to a massive war droid that it wasn't going to bite or explode or whatever.

Skira was still for a few moments, Ari had to crane his neck backward to look into her visual sensors. The droid had no sense of personal space, but he couldn't back down. Skira growled, but Ari held his ground. Skira lurched closer, but he did not flinch away. With a huff and the grudging chuff of a nexu, Skira relented, settling down her massive frame and lifting her tail to expose the aft sensor cluster.

Ari circled carefully as the droid grumbled. Skira lifted her head slightly as he left her field of vision, but settled after a moment of his silence. Seizing the moment, Ari set down the scanner he had never intended to use and lifted a probe. It was a terrible trick, but the last time he'd used the probe, her wing gears twitched for an hour. There was nothing for it though; he had to clear all her systems. Luckily, or perhaps not so luckily, the probe had a mobile processor. He clipped this to his jumpsuit and then, in one swift movement, connected the probe and jumped onto Skira's tail.

As expected, the droid was none too pleased with Ari's deception. She immediately launched upward, spinning around to face her abuser, only to find empty space. It took a miniscule fraction of a second to Skira to realize where he was, and what ensued was a rodeo the likes of which Ari had never seen before.

"YEEEEEEEHAAAAAAAAAW!" he cried, holding tight to the droid's tail as he waited for the probe to finish its check. When it beeped, Ari disconnected and aimed his dismount for a pile of rubber hosing that was left over from Skira's reconstruction. He landed hard, but had to bounce back to his feet to dodge the tool chest as it was swept sideways and then out of the bay.

"Hey!" he yelled, again squaring up against the droid. She swung, but the arc was too high, even for a tall man such as Ari, and connected with the wall above his head rather than him.

"What exactly did you do to tick my droid off Weyland?"

Both Ari and Skira turned, caught off guard by the new voice. No one had come this far down the line of bays in a while, and for good reason. Momentarily at a loss for words, Ari just pointed at the droid, as if to say she started it. He then watched as Skira's entire demeanor changed under Mandalore's cooing words. Ari huffed and mumbled "kiss ass" under his breath at the droid.

"She's not too keen on being poked and prodded." he said, moving to his computer terminal. "But who can blame her?" Ari connected the probe's processor to the computer and began to upload the data. It only took a moment for a beep to sound and a readout of Skira's systems to appear on the screen. One by one, lines of code were highlighted and then a moment later flashed green, down and down the list. After clearing the last line, the terminal issued three quick tones.

"Good news is," he said with a smile as he leaned against his work bench, "she is good as new."

[Dutch]

"Better than new."

She replied, eyes momentarily glancing back to Skira to admire the sheen of the armor that matched hers. Mandalore gave another pat to her basilisk before turning away from the sliver clad droid. Her steps lead to the terminal Ari had just been at, keying the page to the top. Slowly she tabbed through the coding, personally noting Skira's status. He knew his work, that much was clear to Cyar'ika. Even using modern tech and software, Ari had managed to still use the base coding from Skira's original incarnation. She really was a testament to the lasting pride of Mandalorian culture. What better mother for the new generation of war droids. Finally reaching the end of the report, she pulled the hardlink wire from her gauntlet's terminal. It would be clicked into Ari's before she downloaded the file to her suits comp. Afterwards she keyed the file to be deleted from the terminal.

"You understand, if you have further need for the file you simply need to ask for it."

Mandalore shifted to stand next to Ari, gracefully sliding up to sit on his work bench. Her lower set of hands would grip the edge of the bench, the other unsnapping the clasps that connected her helm to her armor. With a hiss of depressurization Mandalore would pull the helm off, her long dark hair cascading out after to fall over her armor. The helm would be set to the side opposite of her from Ari. The woman would turn impossibly blue eyes up to him, her chin gesturing to Skira. The war droid had situated itself to sit before the two, like an obedient hound before Mandalore.

"Your readouts tell me she's ready for combat now. Again your timing and work ethic have opened new... opportunities for our crusade." The look in Mandalore's ice blue eyes showed a fervor barely contained. She could feel her pulse quicken at her hopes coming true. Skira would indeed make quite the statement when spearheading their conquest. An artifact of the past, now here to aid their future. Mandalore would pause another moment before turning to gaze out the bay to the stars through the shield.

"You know we move to meet with Bralor and the rest of our fleet over Jaemus. There we have gathered the largest force of our people in recent memory, kept secret thanks to our allies in the Sith. Granted by the only Darth I hold any respect for..." Cyar started, mind wandering briefly to the meeting with Renata on Jaemus several weeks ago. What a woman...

"... You'll have to excuse me. You would understand if you met her. She has given us a great opportunity though." Cyar'ika flashed a clever grin, a pointed canine giving away her race's canine roots. "Greater than even she realizes." She would continue, smile widening to reveal her other pointed canine. "Would you like to do this again?" Mandalore would ask, her head tilting towards Skira as she did.

[Meira]

Ari smiled at his leader's assessment. He'd always been somewhat susceptible to pride. And he was proud of Skira. What he and a number of mechanics under his guidance had managed to do was nothing short of resurrecting the dead. To have been given the opportunity to be part of that, let alone lead it, was a great honor. He'd written to Brinn about it, though he couldn't tell her exactly what it was that he was doing. "It's big." he'd told her, and that she would know soon enough. His old friend had tried to get more out of him, but he always circled back to that statement. After a few failed attempts, Brinn resigned to simply congratulating him and letting him know of the not so big things she was doing training new recruits.

As Mandalore moved to the terminal, Ari watched. A small part of him was wary that she was taking the data away, but her reassurance that all he needed to do was ask for it helped somewhat. As she sat and removed her helmet, Ari reminded himself that Skira was not, would never be, his. He was reminded of the only other time she had removed her helmet in his presence.

They'd been working non-stop for weeks repairing and restoring Skira. At the time, the droid had no name, and the crew had little hope of success. Ari had been more frustrated than he could ever remember and had displayed rare moments of shameful outrage. He'd even broken one of his favorite hydrospaners after throwing it against a wall. But through grit and sheer determination, they'd reached the critical point of activating the droid. No one really knew what would happen, so they'd placed the droid in an isolation bay with thick walls and strong locks. He had stood in a control room along with Mandalore and a select few members of his crew. The droid, only a pile of parts and wires and deactivated weaponry was connected to a number of feeds which would allow Ari to control her start up processes remotely. When all was ready, he activated the ancient battle mount.

The droid had been twitchy at first, jolting up on its six legs only to have two falter, then recover. It staggered about the bay, at random by all observable accounts. It was like watching an animal learning to walk for the first time. The computer terminals were going haywire as data streamed in. Certain processors locked up and failed as incompatible data was forced through them. The droid issued an ear splitting scream and it took a moment for it to be understood as a recording of some kind of beast. It jumped and threw itself against the walls and too late, Ari saw Mandalore approaching the door into the bay. He cried out for her to stop, but she did not hesitate as she stepped into the large open space with the massive droid. Ari stood in shock as he watched her approach the droid. It reared up, issuing another roar, but Mandalore did not back down. His hand hovered over the kill switch, ready to stop the droid should it try to attack, but the two beings within the bay seemed entranced by each other.

When her upper set of hands reached up and began to remove her helmet, Ari turned to his men and ordered them out. He knew Mandalore guarded her identity, and would have left as well but could not. As her hair fell from confinement, Ari found himself trying to avert his gaze. Unafraid, she'd reached out one of her hands toward the droid, but right before touching it, there was a spark and then a near deafening gear grinding sound, and the droid slumped. It had been another week until they were able to start her up again.

Since then, Mandalore had bonded with the droid and named it. Few others could even approach, for fear of being tossed across the room. Ari and Skira had developed an understanding of sorts, enough at least for him to finish her restoration.

Now, as she complimented his work, Ari still found himself averting his gaze. But when his hazel eyes did connect with her blue ones, he recognized the driving fire of all their people. That fire had him standing a bit straighter as she spoke to him. Ari had the privilege of knowing her predecessor, and that man had the same fire kindling within his massive frame, even as his body failed him. Ari supposed that was what truly made a Mandalore. Skill, ruthlessness, and cunning were all fine and good, but the fire was essential.

At the mention of the Sith, Ari did not flinch but seemed to shift. Like many of their people, Ari was wary of those who wielded the so called Force. It was not a fear, exactly, but a respectful distrust of the unknown. In his work, Ari dealt in the solid, the tangible. Mysticism was a subtlety wasted on him. The way Mandalore spoke of this... Darth, only made it seem all the more like smoke and mirrors. But he was not a man for political alliances and galactic strategy. He supposed that was another essential quality for Mandalore. All the more reason he didn't envy the job.

"Would you like to do this again?"

Mandalore's words brought him out of his musings and the man looked up at the smiling woman. He hesitated for a moment, then reflected her smile with his own. Moving quickly -and eliciting a sudden jerk from the relaxed droid- Ari passed over to another terminal. He typed away for a moment, and then a projector on the table flickered to life, projecting a beam of light into the air directly above it. After a few more clicks, three dimentional forms began to appear in the space. Ari gestured toward the various basilisk schematics.

"Yes ma'am." he grinned.

[Dutch]

Curiously she watched Ari stride to his personal terminal. The excitement the man felt was clear with his wide smile and shining eyes. As the display was booted up, her eyes widened at the sheer number of schematics and digital models Ari had been creating. Mandalore slid off the work bench, her boots thudded lightly on the deck. Leaving her helm behind she slowly approached the nearest floating model. A single hand lifted to cup around the bottom of it, the tiny war droid bucking defiantly in her palm.

"Oh Weyland... you've been busy." She whispered, pride swelling at the work her son of Mando'a had done. Mandalore stepped to the terminal next to Ari, the same tiny holo basilisk still perched in her hand. Two free hands keyed in the command to expand on the file she held. The tiny models blinked away, quickly replaced by a larger version of the schematic Mandalore had been holding. With a grinding mechanical huff Skira rose to her feet, a wary nexu's growl now sounding as the droid examined the holo. The holo basilisk was maybe a meter shorter than the silver Skira. Visibly less armed than Mandalore's steed, she made note of its great propulsion capabilities. The holo panel of information floated just in front of the projection.

"You have logged a lot of time on this file." Mandalore stated, stepping to the front of the holo. "Every Mandalorian child grows up hearing tales of these droids. Dreaming of riding one down through the atmosphere, wading through the thick of battle invincible to the average man... And yet here we stand, about to gift them back to our people."

Mandalore could not stop beaming up at the droids, looking from Skira to the yet constructed holo droid. Her droid eventually lost interest, rumbling as it settled back down. Cyar'ika chuckled at her droid's haughtiness, turning her gaze back to Ari. "Here you stand, about to forge a basilisk of your own."

Purposefully Mandalore stepped over to the man, head tilted back to look the much taller man in the eyes. "Clans Ordo and Jendri have both gifted me with their preserved basilisk chassis. As of right now, material enough for one more." Cyar raised her eyebrows at the man, her tone suggestive.

"That is, after we take Gargon."

[Meira]

Ari, again, couldn't help the swell of pride he felt in his chest as Mandalore neared the holoprojections of what could only be described as his obsession. Though he was not born into the Mandalorian culture, Ari was brought into it at an early age. He spoke Mando'a with only a miniscule accent, and had been told all the stories of ancient conquest and glory. Wei, his father, was rarely the one to tell these stories, having become Mandalorian as an adult. But the community on Shogun that had brought the family in and accepted them made up for whatever faults might have existed. So, yes, Ari grew up with games of Basilisk invasions and battles.

That same pride, however, faded to embarrassment when Mandalore studied one schematic in particular. She was right, of course. Ari had favored that model in particular. He would be lying if he said he didn't have himself in mind while designing it. Such an idea, however, was presumptuous and Ari dared not voice such a thing. There were plenty of others far more deserving of a Basilisk, and even more who could put one to deadly use. Ari's greatest strengths lied behind the lines of battle.

Mandalore mused, reflecting his thoughts of the old stories told around dinner tables and before bed. Ari smiled at the shared thought. It was one aspect of being a Mandalorian for which he was particularly proud. He and Mandalore were two very different beings, yet central aspects to their identity were largely the same. It mattered not who, or what a being was, only that they subscribed to the same sense of honor, independence, and bravery that made up the core of a Mandalorian.

Skira settled back down and Ari turned his head, admiring the work -his own, his crew's, and the men and women he'd never know- that went into her creation. He was proud to know that he would be part of returning this symbol to his people. He was about to voice his gratitude for the opportunity when Mandalore spoke a sentence that had him suddenly turning his eyes back to her. She'd stepped closer, looking up at him with that expression that seemed to already know his mind. Had she really said what he thought she said?

As if to confirm, Mandalore detailed plans for the next few Basilisk droids and Ari was almost shaking his head in disbelief. Why him?

"Ma'am..." he began, but seemed unable to go any further. He chuckled, mostly at himself but partially at the situation which seemed so absurd to him. "I'm sure there are others who would come before me." he said, but his heart was doing flips at the idea. Against his will, his eyes glanced toward the schematic he favored. "I'm just a quartermaster."

[Dutch]

"No Mandalorian is 'just' anything, Weyland." Mandalore would reply, her tone suddenly sharp. A hand would lift to prod a gloved finger into his gut, driving her point with another prod. "I know you weren't born Mandalorian, but neither was I. Our people took us in, gave us purpose, gave us life."

"This is not the work of just a quartermaster. That is your role, that is not who you are. The best part about being Mandalorian: is that as long as we prove we can do a role, we can pursue it." She said as she gestured with two hands to the holo of his project. Cyar would step back with her head held defiantly. With two hands on her hips and the others crossed over her abdomen she would stare Ari down.

"That is how I took the role of Mandalore. Yet that is not who I am. The Reclaimer our people call me, that is who I am. Someone who wants to see her people succeed, to see them return to our roots. Would you have guessed that someone like me could take a role previously held by a man near double my height and triple my killing ability?" She asked, eyebrows raised in question. "Yet I've taken the role of Mandalore, and bear it all the same. Just as you will, as Master of the Forge."

[Meira]

Her words, the sharp edge on the blade of her voice, cut into Ari like a hot knife through uj cake. He could feel his ears redden with embarrassment at the rebuke. Her finger, jabbing into his stomach, did not hurt him physically, but his pride stung. For all the height and weight he had on this woman, he still felt like a child before her defiant gaze.

"Yes ma'am." he managed, straightening himself back up.

She continued to speak, her voice and words like a speech for all the vod aboard the ship, but the message was solely for him. He nodded his head, accepting her message as best as he could. Inside, he still felt as if there were others more likely to put such a droid to better use but this was Mandalore, after all. Who was he to tell her no?

"Just as you will, as Master of the Forge."

Again, Ari found his jaw dropping in disbelief. But his reaction was cast, literally, in the shadow of the Basilisk which had been at rest beside them. Skira drew up to her full height unnervingly fast, looming over the two Mandalorians. She looked first to her bonded master, as if seeking affirmation of what she had heard. Finding the calm confidence of a Mandalore who had not stuttered, Skira turned then to Ari and stepped forward.

Still reeling at the thought, Ari had not noticed the droid's advance and was therefore surprised when the photoreceptors were suddenly right in front of his face. With a start, Ari stepped back from the droid, but Skira merely made a lowe rumble and lowered herself farther. Ari could not identify the species from which that sound had come, nor could he really understand what the droid was doing. For all intents and purposes, it seemed as if she was bowing. But that couldn't be right.

Master of the Forge. As any true Mandalorian smith would know, that title had not been in use for generations. This was largely due to the fact that the Mandalorians themselves had not been united to the degree of such a title in just as long. They'd only recently regained true Mandalore leaders, and the title of Master of the Forge could only be bestowed by Mandalore himself. Or herself, in this case.

In ancient times, the Master of the Forge was the highest ranking smith, most skilled of all his peers and armorer to Mandalore. Over time, however, such skill could be boasted by many and the title became something of a badge of honor as a close confidant of Mandalore, but little more. That is, until the acquisition of the Basilisk war droids. When these were brought into the Mandalorian war culture, the Master of the Forge was entrusted with the highest knowledge of the machines, the only one who truly knew all of their secrets and intricacies. In the history of the title, members of Ari's own Clan Vizsla had borne it more than any other clan. It would be fitting that the title should return on the shoulders of another.

Skira, having completed her gesture, returned to her own attentions, leaving Ari facing Mandalore once again. Ari swiftly stood to attention, saluting. "It is a great honor, ma'am." he said. "I hope I am able to prove myself worthy of it."

[Dutch]

Mandalore silently watched as Skira payed Ari her respects. There was only a handful of Mandalorians the basilisk had done that for, literally four others that she could think of. The droid moved around to settle behind her as Ari saluted, the woman slightly raising her head in pride.

"It is a great honor, ma'am. I hope I am able to prove myself worthy of it."

"You'll be given that exact chance, Weyland."

She would step over to the holo terminal that Ari had used before, once more pulling the cable to plug into it. Keying in a quick command, the holo-basilisk fizzed out to be replaced with an orbiting planet. Crossed with many mountain ranges, lush jungles and winding oceans covered the land. Mandalore keyed in another command, several yellow blips now glowing over the globe.

"Gargon..." Mandalore started, unhooking the computer cable before striding to the planet. She stood next to Ari, one hand pointing to each of the yellow blips as the holo rotated. "These represent each spaceport on the planet. Teams of our people have been infiltrating each over the past several weeks. All at once we will disable their communications and escape plan."

Cyar would gesture to the largest blip, hugging the edge of an ocean. "It will make attacking the planet easier, but none of that matters unless we take this city. The capital, Talusport, holds the records of every mine on the planet in its capitol tower."

Mandalore would look up at Ari, one hand reaching out to rest at his forearm. "Get me that tower, and you'll have the resources to bring basilisks back from extinction. I want you with my personal platoon to take that tower." Her grip would affirm on his arm, almost tugging at it to make her point. "Earn your position, Weyland."