Hammer and Tongs [ Blades/Aka'liit ]

[Darth Metus]

D X U N​

Mandalorian Outpost​

New and Old collided on Dxun.

A divine contrast existed in the form of the Outpost's Forge. You see, among the ranks of the Aka'liit stood Mandalorians of many walks. Some held an almost religious reverence for the ancient methods - preferring to work fabled beskar without the usage of modern equipment. Conversely, there stood a generation who had no qualms with modern techniques. As such, in the interest of serving all needs, the Outpost did not select a single method to equip. Rather, it accommodated both in tandem. Side-by-side did the ancient and modern stand - two workspaces within arm's reach of one another. However odd it may have looked to an average soul, this arrangement worked.

And speaking of odd, the Forge was currently empty.

At this hour, several hands would have descended upon the equipment. Some would have wanted to make adjustments or repairs to their armor before the next engagement. Others would want to tinker or create. Yet this day, a standing order had been issued by the Mand'alor himself. This day, the Blades of Mandalore would have their time to work the Forge in peace. The congregation dedicated to protecting their liege had little time to spare as of late - how could they? In the wake of Mandalore's near destruction, there were plenty of souls who hungered for the Sole Ruler's blood...or mantle. It, then, fell upon their shoulders to prevent the untimely demise of their culture's foundation.

For, in the past, the Mandalorians survived without Mandalore.

But without a Mand'alor, the people crumbled.

As such, for a single day, the Blades' momentous responsibility would be shelved. For a single day, they would have the time to Forge their weapons, repair their armor, and ready themselves for whatever laid in waiting. This was their chance to prepare - and by the gods above they would seize it.

[member="Tyra Gozen"], [member="Jagen Wren"], [member="Xander Carrick"], [member="Malok"], [member="Odion Kryze"]​

 

[Garza]

Blade of Mandalore. Warmaster of Manda'lor. The two titles killed me to know I had them. I shouldn't be the one doing this. It should be my son. He should be the one rallying these people. He worked hard to get where he was with the Crusaders. I supported him for going to do what he thought was right. But when that turned to rage, when that turned to him being trained by Isley in the darker side of the force, I don't know, I didn't know how I should handle it. I know I should have been there from the beginning. I know I should have done more to see my own kids to grow up and to become the young adults they are.

Now, they are gone, and I miss them so much. My wife is back at home. Taking her time away from the Silver Jedi. Taking her time away from all the bloodshed. Even a Doctor and a Herbalist such as herself could possibly see a little too much for her to handle.

It was this passion that I needed to carry with me. As I Jedi, I shouldn't have these feelings. Yet I did. Because they strengthened me to become better. They allowed me to see what I could do to protect those I cared for. If fighting for Manda'lor once more was to be my calling, then so be it. Even as his right hand man. Or even a blade that he could use. Given one day to finish any forging I wished, I set out to reclaim what was mine. I set out to recreate, to reform my strength and my resolve.

Holding the hammer I had used for so many years within my grasp, I gently sat it down on the nightstand. Stood up in simple "work clothing" of a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, I left my room, and headed for the forge. Making my way through various places I needed to be, I reached the Forge. Only the Blades were allowed to be here. And only for this one day. And I would use every moment of it.

As I said when speaking to my brethren, Blood, sweat, and tears will be a part of us in every waking moment.

Today is no different.

[member="The Faithful"], [member="Tyra Gozen"], [member="Jagen Wren"], [member="Malok"], [member="Odion Kryze"],

 

[Jagen Wren]

Jagen was surprised when he had been chosen as the Second Blade of Mandalore, the Master of Makashi. His mission was to protect one of the only things holding together the Mandalorians, Mand'alor himself. But yes, he was indeed surprised; Jagen had spent a good portion of his life working as a pirate around the Galaxy from the Tingle Arm to the Rishi Maze, he hadn't stepped foot on Mandalore in over a decade. Maybe it was because he was already skilled with a beskad, maybe it was his versatility, either way he was determined to carry out his duties.

He was hunched over an anvil, hammering away at a long piece of pure beskar, Mandalorian Iron in the tongue of a common man. He was constructing his blade, a blade that wasn't produced in bulk by blacksmiths, one that was exclusive to him and his style of fighting. Jagen had read up on the Way of the Ysalamir, noting how adding a curved hilt to the saber would allow more precise movements and wristwork, a key aspect of Form II. He was so ensconced in his work that he didn't notice his fellow bladesmen enter the force that had been reserved for them that day.

[member="The Faithful"] | [member="Tyra Gozen"] | [member="Mór-rioghain"] | [member="Malok"] [member="Valkyr"] | [member="Cabur Aranar"]