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26-04-2023, 09:45 PM
Preparations:
Paper, the figure thought, paper he was familiar with… Or so he believed as poured over the old manuscripts, the details, guides, and instructions which hid within the secrets he’d need. Secrets which even his untrained eyes began to unravel. He muttered a throaty prayer of relief at finding that one crumpled mass that detailed the overall components of the blade-to-be. How they fit together, and most importantly… What they were… He had no misgivings over just how clueless he was as he stared blankly at the foreign words, images and objects; and so in what even he considered a move of cowardice, he’d begin with probably the only thing he knew how to do. His people were primitive, yes. But they weren’t below the wonders of metal-working. In stoney crags, they had carved out moulds. Heated weak metals over roaring fires and poured those brilliant orange contents to form crude tools and ornaments… And so, he set out to find what this Empire uses to melt its metals… It would take some time. Adamant at first to find some log-burning device, he scoured the workspace for wood or charcoal which fired the furnaces of home. But when neither could be found, he began to press buttons, twist dials… Only to press them again or twist them back as they began making loud noises and doing things he didn’t quite understand… Yet, after a gruelling ten minutes of prodding or poking, he found what needed to be found. The forge hissing to life and producing that dazzling blue flame... He had never seen a fire burn blue before, but it would not be the first time this Empire taught him; and so with that light flickering, he began to scramble and clamber for the moulds he had found in his hunt for fuel… And laid out what would be first, that which all would be contained within… The hilt.
The Foundations:
Measurements had never been the man’s strong suit. There was little need for numbers in triple digits in the barren waste he was raised in… It was rare to ever have a hundred of something. But here he was pouring over that schematic, that mould. Seeing many numbers; numbers which perhaps would have confused him but a few months before. But he had paid attention to his tutelage and so those foreign-looking symbols revealed themselves to him, gave their meaning unto him. He knew how much of the small silvery rod would be needed… But it was so exact, how would he go about attaining such a thing? So precisely? The thought crossed his mind simply to hack a lump off with his vibroblade, but he knew how specifics dominated this Empire. Dogmatism ruled the day, in ideology… And it seemed too, in materia…
Once more he began scrounging through the workshop, he knew the means of measuring the weight of the metal would be in here somewhere, and so upon each contraption, he’d place that silvery stick. Seeing if anything would bleep, hiss or boop at him… Some did, most didn’t… Metallic plates, light-screens, gears, gizmos, things larger, things, smaller, things somewhere in between; No, no, no, no, NO. He was never one who fell quickly to frustration, his people had taught him the virtue of patience… But waiting for a beast to rear from its den was not something HE could control, it was nature’s clock ticking… Calming, inevitable… This? No, this was HIS failure. No, this EMPIRE’s failure. His Master playing a very cruel game.. The man began to move with impatience, annoyance, practically throwing that rod of duraplast at each and everything he could yank out of each and every drawer. He did not know how long had passed, but he felt on the edge of eternity and as he violently pulled forth whatever a ‘gyroscopic spanner’ was… He began mashing it rather pathetically against that silvery cylinder. And with each useless clank, he felt that deep burning feeling he had been suppressing; rush to the surface. His arm moved as quick as his tongue. “STRǠDA!” his accented words erupted through the forge as that ‘spanner’ was launched far off into the air, clattering distantly against something he couldn’t care less about…
The man slumped down, body seething with rage, spirit tainted with that first pang of failure… He hated how anger took him so quickly these days. How something he had spent years letting fester, restraining at the threat of death… Was now becoming him, defining him… Something which months ago he had sworn to never let another see in him… To never be that petty child who throws tantrums at things that upset or confuse… Yet here he was, letting those emotions rule him. Becoming the thing he so hated… While these thoughts were bleak they were at least… Sobering. The anger passed, he needed only to remind himself that these feelings were the test... That, like anything which stood between him and what the Force demanded of him… It needed to be quashed…
And so, he returned to work. One thing after the next, after the next. It was gruelling, painful, but eventually; almost embarrassingly close to the forge, would he find what he looked for. The man did not jump for joy, no, he was past feeling joy... And so without celebration did he slowly but surely weigh the duraplast and whittle away… Piece by piece until the numbers on the scales resembled the numbers on that crumpled piece of paper. Only then did he carefully take the lumps and scrapings and deliver them to that still-roaring flame… Batting them into the melting pot before sitting and waiting for them to heat… It was in this time he’d move to plan what was to come… The magnetic stabilising ring; focusing and primary crystals… Diatium power cell and conductor. He knew he alone could not make these things. The rest? Perhaps… But these things he knew, or hoped, were in that vibroblade sat so crudely atop the counter, the last thing he must dismantle… But next? Next was that yellowy one. “Vonium.” Thet Echani called it, ‘conductive’, whatever that means… He felt the pressure mounting, the concern at just how little he really knew… A concern which lay heavy on his mind as he took that bubbling orange liquid and poured its steaming contents into the mould of the two hilt halves which lay in front of him…
The Mortar:
“Conductive.” Such a strange word, he thought. ‘Con’ he knew was some sort of lie, a trick. ‘Duct’ was that which brought the wind and air into the metal rooms of these strange men... But together? Lying wind-breathers? He knew many in this Empire who were lying wind-breathers, but a part of him doubted these golden rods were once scoundrels, people… Even if he knew it wasn’t beyond the ones above him, to try to do something so horrific to a person.
But while their origins were still in question, their future was undeniable. The schematic thankfully showed the colours of its parts… And while he didn’t know many things, colours? These were not new to him. Cycling field energizers, blade energy channel, primary crystal mounts and energy chamber.. Yes, they looked golden enough. So he set out finding their mould, their schematics, rummaging through the sheets he had found before; and thankfully too did the moulds make themselves present rather quickly as the Rattataki found some reward for his hours of frustrated prior searching. Again, the process was similar. He really -was- learning, and the man did break a brief smile as he whittled down that rod until the numbers on the scale read the same as the numbers of the schematic… And then he poured them into that heating unit and turned the hot-making knob until the numbers found a mirror in the piece of paper he was reading from. Easy, the man thought as he watched the weaker metal turn to a glowing orange stream before pouring it into the given moulds…
Pride was not something the Rattataki dabbled in often, overconfidence even less so. But he felt an air of ease, the beginnings of mastery as he began to smelt and mould the smaller, more refined details. The knobs for the blade-length-and-power adjustment, the emitter shroud, the tuning flange, belt ring… All small parts are necessary for the whole. There was truth in this, the craft reminding the man of those early years which defined him. When he was but the ring belt or the small yet not insignificant emitter shroud. He didn’t really know what the last one did, but did he need to as long as it did its job without conflict or protest?... He felt a sudden uneasiness. He knew he had to weld these together at some point, but in this was he through some far-reaching metaphor becoming what he hated? Is this what the Dark One saw… Felt? All those beneath her, objects, to be forced into cooperation for the betterment of the whole?... For her? If something broke, it would have to be replaced or repaired. Was the fiery tool which straightened a bent blade the same as this Empire’s purifier’s who claim to fix those who do not act as they are meant to act?... Yes, he supposed… But… Was his destiny too not to be one of these tools?.. The Empire, Slavers, all he hated were the broken components of the whole, which was this galaxy… And he would have to one day be the one to fix those components, replace them.. Destroy them?... No, you can’t destroy them. The machine won’t work if you simply destroy them… The uneasiness would turn to a brief pang of dread… Would -he- have to replace the broken components? Would -he- have to become what he hates?... But this dread did not linger long. The metaphor had outstayed its welcome… For perhaps, the man thought. Perhaps it’s better if the galaxy is allowed to break...
The Bricks
These thoughts occupied him as he laid out all that he had made before him. The metal he had been provided was no more, and so he assumed the final stage was all that awaited. With delicate motions did he move to try and pry apart the hilt of the blade which had served him well. Finally, finding a use for that ‘gyroscopic spanner’ which he awkwardly had to recover, as it was able to loosen some of the strange niggly metal things which held the weapon together. Slowly opening the hilt, he was immediately hit by the complexity. Strange coloured bits of plastic string attached to strange rods and even stranger etched boards which flashed and buzzed at random intervals… All these things combined looked incredibly daunting… But as he knew, if you separate a redjacket from the swarm, it’s far less intimidating. And so, the man promptly reached to the now incredibly busy-looking worktop, grabbed the first small-looking prying implement and dug it straight into-. “TRAKAK!-” The man blurted out, frantically pulling away his hand and shaking it violently as the surge of energy forced his fingers to twitch and cease… The pain was intense, though fleeting, the shock was more impactful… Hissing, he peered at his still-trembling hand before easing towards the schematics once more… Some of the words he still struggled with and he couldn’t see anything along the lines of ‘burning pain’... So he gritted his teeth and VERY cautiously resumed, with a different tool this time. Again, he leered that thing close, closer… Managing just to grip the underside of one of the rods before- Again the man erupted backwards, muttering expletives as he violently shook his already sore hand. “IUWIZ!- MOÓERZ!-” He grunted, kicking firmly at the toolbox in an outburst of frustration only to cry out once more as his toe crumpled beneath the pressure. Then, hopping on one foot and frantically shaking one hand… The man collapsed backwards, landing with a firm grunt, a sigh and a sore arse alongside his now-throbbing hand and toe…
Slowly regaining his composure, he rose… Groaning, rubbing his sore rear… Thinking… Deciding to do this the smart way instead of the hard way… Returning to that schematic regarding the vibroblade’s internal components… He couldn’t help but notice that diagram in the corner. With what looked like gloves fused at the fingers and a strangely slanted Z… The man huffed, reaching down to the drawer he’d previously seen those things stuffed into the back of, and tried once more now donning the strange new attire...
From there, he felt like he was on the journey back home. Piece after piece was pulled from one blade and into the other. The old giving life to the new. There was some frustration with the strange fire-torch which sent up sparks and burnt his face… But in donning his boney mask he was able to ward off most of them as piece was fused to piece… Link, to link, brother to sister… Object, to object.
He could see the light filtering through the large glassy expanse of the window to his side as he took that final step backwards. The dull yellow rays of the morning sun reflecting calmly off the shiny cylinder he had spent what felt like a lifetime perfecting… He peered at the room around him. Looking like it had been attacked by a pack of trogodiles with drawers flung open, tools laid on every surface… Schematics crumpled and strewn… He felt a buzz of accomplishment. But below that, he felt… Disheartened. His vibroblade had been dissected completely… But nowhere inside did he find those crystals, nowhere inside did he find the last pieces to this puzzle…
Slumping back, feeling the fatigue in his muscles, the weight in his eyes… He watched that sun slowly rise over the canopy of the world below, glinting ever so beautifully off those dew-laced tree-tops. He had never been one to savour the sun, not like his sister anyway… So far away… Yet as he closed his eyes he could see her smile as she always smiled to see another dawn. He could feel her smiling at him… For she must know in her heart, as he did… That one day they would be sat side-by-side again, bathed in the pinks of Rattatak’s morning… Family… Friends…
He moved a hand down to his belt, pulling free his short blade. Easing up towards the hilt, he pressed the knife’s tip forwards, making but a small incision before… Pausing. The name, her name… “Izasi” in his mind, on his lips… But something stirred… No… She was not a memory, she is out there. He won’t mark this blade like he would mark a grave… No. This blade is what would free her. This blade is what would save her… And so he would write the name of he, she spoke of all those cycles ago… When the chains were new, and the pain was fresh… A children’s story, but one his sister had always insisted was real... She spoke she knew this man, how he gave kindness when all others gave pain… How he destroyed the evil ones, broke the chains of the innocent… Sacrificed himself, so that she may live... A hero, if only to the two of them. A hero, to that young boy who now stood a man… It was curious, he thought. How these stories had shaped him. It had been many moons since last he thought of the one he hoped one day to become. A force for freedom, a force for good. Resilient, fearless…
And so, the man eased forwards, fingers trembling as he carefully scratched and engraved into that metal...
“HIRAK”.
Paper, the figure thought, paper he was familiar with… Or so he believed as poured over the old manuscripts, the details, guides, and instructions which hid within the secrets he’d need. Secrets which even his untrained eyes began to unravel. He muttered a throaty prayer of relief at finding that one crumpled mass that detailed the overall components of the blade-to-be. How they fit together, and most importantly… What they were… He had no misgivings over just how clueless he was as he stared blankly at the foreign words, images and objects; and so in what even he considered a move of cowardice, he’d begin with probably the only thing he knew how to do. His people were primitive, yes. But they weren’t below the wonders of metal-working. In stoney crags, they had carved out moulds. Heated weak metals over roaring fires and poured those brilliant orange contents to form crude tools and ornaments… And so, he set out to find what this Empire uses to melt its metals… It would take some time. Adamant at first to find some log-burning device, he scoured the workspace for wood or charcoal which fired the furnaces of home. But when neither could be found, he began to press buttons, twist dials… Only to press them again or twist them back as they began making loud noises and doing things he didn’t quite understand… Yet, after a gruelling ten minutes of prodding or poking, he found what needed to be found. The forge hissing to life and producing that dazzling blue flame... He had never seen a fire burn blue before, but it would not be the first time this Empire taught him; and so with that light flickering, he began to scramble and clamber for the moulds he had found in his hunt for fuel… And laid out what would be first, that which all would be contained within… The hilt.
The Foundations:
Measurements had never been the man’s strong suit. There was little need for numbers in triple digits in the barren waste he was raised in… It was rare to ever have a hundred of something. But here he was pouring over that schematic, that mould. Seeing many numbers; numbers which perhaps would have confused him but a few months before. But he had paid attention to his tutelage and so those foreign-looking symbols revealed themselves to him, gave their meaning unto him. He knew how much of the small silvery rod would be needed… But it was so exact, how would he go about attaining such a thing? So precisely? The thought crossed his mind simply to hack a lump off with his vibroblade, but he knew how specifics dominated this Empire. Dogmatism ruled the day, in ideology… And it seemed too, in materia…
Once more he began scrounging through the workshop, he knew the means of measuring the weight of the metal would be in here somewhere, and so upon each contraption, he’d place that silvery stick. Seeing if anything would bleep, hiss or boop at him… Some did, most didn’t… Metallic plates, light-screens, gears, gizmos, things larger, things, smaller, things somewhere in between; No, no, no, no, NO. He was never one who fell quickly to frustration, his people had taught him the virtue of patience… But waiting for a beast to rear from its den was not something HE could control, it was nature’s clock ticking… Calming, inevitable… This? No, this was HIS failure. No, this EMPIRE’s failure. His Master playing a very cruel game.. The man began to move with impatience, annoyance, practically throwing that rod of duraplast at each and everything he could yank out of each and every drawer. He did not know how long had passed, but he felt on the edge of eternity and as he violently pulled forth whatever a ‘gyroscopic spanner’ was… He began mashing it rather pathetically against that silvery cylinder. And with each useless clank, he felt that deep burning feeling he had been suppressing; rush to the surface. His arm moved as quick as his tongue. “STRǠDA!” his accented words erupted through the forge as that ‘spanner’ was launched far off into the air, clattering distantly against something he couldn’t care less about…
The man slumped down, body seething with rage, spirit tainted with that first pang of failure… He hated how anger took him so quickly these days. How something he had spent years letting fester, restraining at the threat of death… Was now becoming him, defining him… Something which months ago he had sworn to never let another see in him… To never be that petty child who throws tantrums at things that upset or confuse… Yet here he was, letting those emotions rule him. Becoming the thing he so hated… While these thoughts were bleak they were at least… Sobering. The anger passed, he needed only to remind himself that these feelings were the test... That, like anything which stood between him and what the Force demanded of him… It needed to be quashed…
And so, he returned to work. One thing after the next, after the next. It was gruelling, painful, but eventually; almost embarrassingly close to the forge, would he find what he looked for. The man did not jump for joy, no, he was past feeling joy... And so without celebration did he slowly but surely weigh the duraplast and whittle away… Piece by piece until the numbers on the scales resembled the numbers on that crumpled piece of paper. Only then did he carefully take the lumps and scrapings and deliver them to that still-roaring flame… Batting them into the melting pot before sitting and waiting for them to heat… It was in this time he’d move to plan what was to come… The magnetic stabilising ring; focusing and primary crystals… Diatium power cell and conductor. He knew he alone could not make these things. The rest? Perhaps… But these things he knew, or hoped, were in that vibroblade sat so crudely atop the counter, the last thing he must dismantle… But next? Next was that yellowy one. “Vonium.” Thet Echani called it, ‘conductive’, whatever that means… He felt the pressure mounting, the concern at just how little he really knew… A concern which lay heavy on his mind as he took that bubbling orange liquid and poured its steaming contents into the mould of the two hilt halves which lay in front of him…
The Mortar:
“Conductive.” Such a strange word, he thought. ‘Con’ he knew was some sort of lie, a trick. ‘Duct’ was that which brought the wind and air into the metal rooms of these strange men... But together? Lying wind-breathers? He knew many in this Empire who were lying wind-breathers, but a part of him doubted these golden rods were once scoundrels, people… Even if he knew it wasn’t beyond the ones above him, to try to do something so horrific to a person.
But while their origins were still in question, their future was undeniable. The schematic thankfully showed the colours of its parts… And while he didn’t know many things, colours? These were not new to him. Cycling field energizers, blade energy channel, primary crystal mounts and energy chamber.. Yes, they looked golden enough. So he set out finding their mould, their schematics, rummaging through the sheets he had found before; and thankfully too did the moulds make themselves present rather quickly as the Rattataki found some reward for his hours of frustrated prior searching. Again, the process was similar. He really -was- learning, and the man did break a brief smile as he whittled down that rod until the numbers on the scale read the same as the numbers of the schematic… And then he poured them into that heating unit and turned the hot-making knob until the numbers found a mirror in the piece of paper he was reading from. Easy, the man thought as he watched the weaker metal turn to a glowing orange stream before pouring it into the given moulds…
Pride was not something the Rattataki dabbled in often, overconfidence even less so. But he felt an air of ease, the beginnings of mastery as he began to smelt and mould the smaller, more refined details. The knobs for the blade-length-and-power adjustment, the emitter shroud, the tuning flange, belt ring… All small parts are necessary for the whole. There was truth in this, the craft reminding the man of those early years which defined him. When he was but the ring belt or the small yet not insignificant emitter shroud. He didn’t really know what the last one did, but did he need to as long as it did its job without conflict or protest?... He felt a sudden uneasiness. He knew he had to weld these together at some point, but in this was he through some far-reaching metaphor becoming what he hated? Is this what the Dark One saw… Felt? All those beneath her, objects, to be forced into cooperation for the betterment of the whole?... For her? If something broke, it would have to be replaced or repaired. Was the fiery tool which straightened a bent blade the same as this Empire’s purifier’s who claim to fix those who do not act as they are meant to act?... Yes, he supposed… But… Was his destiny too not to be one of these tools?.. The Empire, Slavers, all he hated were the broken components of the whole, which was this galaxy… And he would have to one day be the one to fix those components, replace them.. Destroy them?... No, you can’t destroy them. The machine won’t work if you simply destroy them… The uneasiness would turn to a brief pang of dread… Would -he- have to replace the broken components? Would -he- have to become what he hates?... But this dread did not linger long. The metaphor had outstayed its welcome… For perhaps, the man thought. Perhaps it’s better if the galaxy is allowed to break...
The Bricks
These thoughts occupied him as he laid out all that he had made before him. The metal he had been provided was no more, and so he assumed the final stage was all that awaited. With delicate motions did he move to try and pry apart the hilt of the blade which had served him well. Finally, finding a use for that ‘gyroscopic spanner’ which he awkwardly had to recover, as it was able to loosen some of the strange niggly metal things which held the weapon together. Slowly opening the hilt, he was immediately hit by the complexity. Strange coloured bits of plastic string attached to strange rods and even stranger etched boards which flashed and buzzed at random intervals… All these things combined looked incredibly daunting… But as he knew, if you separate a redjacket from the swarm, it’s far less intimidating. And so, the man promptly reached to the now incredibly busy-looking worktop, grabbed the first small-looking prying implement and dug it straight into-. “TRAKAK!-” The man blurted out, frantically pulling away his hand and shaking it violently as the surge of energy forced his fingers to twitch and cease… The pain was intense, though fleeting, the shock was more impactful… Hissing, he peered at his still-trembling hand before easing towards the schematics once more… Some of the words he still struggled with and he couldn’t see anything along the lines of ‘burning pain’... So he gritted his teeth and VERY cautiously resumed, with a different tool this time. Again, he leered that thing close, closer… Managing just to grip the underside of one of the rods before- Again the man erupted backwards, muttering expletives as he violently shook his already sore hand. “IUWIZ!- MOÓERZ!-” He grunted, kicking firmly at the toolbox in an outburst of frustration only to cry out once more as his toe crumpled beneath the pressure. Then, hopping on one foot and frantically shaking one hand… The man collapsed backwards, landing with a firm grunt, a sigh and a sore arse alongside his now-throbbing hand and toe…
Slowly regaining his composure, he rose… Groaning, rubbing his sore rear… Thinking… Deciding to do this the smart way instead of the hard way… Returning to that schematic regarding the vibroblade’s internal components… He couldn’t help but notice that diagram in the corner. With what looked like gloves fused at the fingers and a strangely slanted Z… The man huffed, reaching down to the drawer he’d previously seen those things stuffed into the back of, and tried once more now donning the strange new attire...
From there, he felt like he was on the journey back home. Piece after piece was pulled from one blade and into the other. The old giving life to the new. There was some frustration with the strange fire-torch which sent up sparks and burnt his face… But in donning his boney mask he was able to ward off most of them as piece was fused to piece… Link, to link, brother to sister… Object, to object.
He could see the light filtering through the large glassy expanse of the window to his side as he took that final step backwards. The dull yellow rays of the morning sun reflecting calmly off the shiny cylinder he had spent what felt like a lifetime perfecting… He peered at the room around him. Looking like it had been attacked by a pack of trogodiles with drawers flung open, tools laid on every surface… Schematics crumpled and strewn… He felt a buzz of accomplishment. But below that, he felt… Disheartened. His vibroblade had been dissected completely… But nowhere inside did he find those crystals, nowhere inside did he find the last pieces to this puzzle…
Slumping back, feeling the fatigue in his muscles, the weight in his eyes… He watched that sun slowly rise over the canopy of the world below, glinting ever so beautifully off those dew-laced tree-tops. He had never been one to savour the sun, not like his sister anyway… So far away… Yet as he closed his eyes he could see her smile as she always smiled to see another dawn. He could feel her smiling at him… For she must know in her heart, as he did… That one day they would be sat side-by-side again, bathed in the pinks of Rattatak’s morning… Family… Friends…
He moved a hand down to his belt, pulling free his short blade. Easing up towards the hilt, he pressed the knife’s tip forwards, making but a small incision before… Pausing. The name, her name… “Izasi” in his mind, on his lips… But something stirred… No… She was not a memory, she is out there. He won’t mark this blade like he would mark a grave… No. This blade is what would free her. This blade is what would save her… And so he would write the name of he, she spoke of all those cycles ago… When the chains were new, and the pain was fresh… A children’s story, but one his sister had always insisted was real... She spoke she knew this man, how he gave kindness when all others gave pain… How he destroyed the evil ones, broke the chains of the innocent… Sacrificed himself, so that she may live... A hero, if only to the two of them. A hero, to that young boy who now stood a man… It was curious, he thought. How these stories had shaped him. It had been many moons since last he thought of the one he hoped one day to become. A force for freedom, a force for good. Resilient, fearless…
And so, the man eased forwards, fingers trembling as he carefully scratched and engraved into that metal...
“HIRAK”.
