Howl, Oh Hound of War!

[Darth Metus]

The Storm was coming.

And only a fool would not prepare. When faced with a typhoon, the wise man fortifies his home as best he can. Day and night, he stacks the sand and boards the windows. He hordes supplies and makes offerings to the gods. The wise man prepares...and eventually survives.

Such was the notion of the Warmaster. With every dream, he was plagued with wretched visions. With every day, the terror seeped cold into his very bones. Something wicked was coming, and it was time that he prepared. He did not know the nature of this unknown calamity: if it was a being, a nation, or the gods themselves. What he did know was that his people needed to be ready. Thus had Isley begun to rally the Hunters, training them in the hopes of weathering the coming Storm. They would become the best that he had to offer against this foe: one of the best chances the Mandalorians had of surviving.

And as his hand guided their days, an oddity made itself known. The Hunters, one and all, were touched by the Force. All...save one. Yet despite this fact, the bold man fell in with the warriors just the same. Without complaint, he tackled their challenges and made up for his lack of sensitivity with grit and strength alone.

The Warmaster noticed.

And thus was [member="Cabur Aranar"] summoned.

Isley awaited his fellow Mandalorian from within the confines of the Mygeeto War Forge. Towering walls of iron would bid the warrior welcome; with an automatic door being his way of entrance. Crossing the threshold would introduce a symphony of thunder to his ears: for countless machines worked endlessly all about. A sweltering wall would wash over him, for metal was being heated, shaped, and cooled throughout. This was where the Crusaders' war machine was born. This was where the Warmaster would speak with the young Aranar.

Isley, himself, busied himself over an anvil. A mighty hammer crashed down within his grasp, colliding with a white-hot bar of metal. Sparks flew as the shaping began, and with each second a rhythm took place. Beat. Beat. A pause to inspect. Repeat. The Mandalorian did not know how long he had been working on this piece, at this pace, and had not ceased in quite some time. However, the arrival of the young warrior would prompt the first actual break.

"Approach."

His voice was gruff and dry: a direct result of working within the Forge.

"What drives you to train with the Hunters so? Have you something to prove?"

The question, while blunt, was meant to deduce the warrior's character. Was he but a man over confident in his skills? Did he have an anti-Force wielder sentiment like so many of their people? Or...was there something else motivating the young Aranar.

C: 466, T: 1,209

 

[Atlas Kane]

The Warrior had been summoned by the Warmaster and the call would be answered.

As the Valkyri stood before the heart of the war machine the automatic doors opened, letting the hot air crash against the Warrior's skin. The heat was almost unbearable, especially to the Valkyri's heat sensitive nature, but Cabur was no weak willed man. He stepped inside the large facility and heard what must have been hundreds of machines creating the Mandalorians' instruments of war. It was impressive and intimidating in a way. He was only used to small forges back on Midvinter, run by small groups of smiths that created small batches of weapons with fairly primitive tools, but to see production like this on such a scale for himself was a first; Not even his clan had facilities like this one and Cabur thought of them as being very advanced when it came to weapon and armour creation. The sheer intensity of the heat he felt as he proceeded further inside was almost overwhelming. He could still barely stand the climates of desert planets whilst in an artificially cooled suit of armour, but this was a new level of heat.

The Mandalorian spotted the Warmaster and came closer, stopping a good distance from the Mandalorian so as to not interrupt his work, merely watching him hammer away at some piece of metal for a while. It reminded him of the smiths on Midvinter, physical labour, simple tools, scorching heat; The ancient way. It was a familiar feeling and sight, the rhythmic strikes of the hammer upon iron allowing Cabur to drift off into memories of his childhood. Then the Warmaster spoke, prompting him to come closer. Breaking out of his daze the warrior shook his head and walked a few steps closer, listening to the Warmasters question.

"While the warriors of Mandalore have always been the greatest, those who could wield the Force always had that advantage over those who could not. I wish to train so that I may match and surpass them, to grow stronger as a warrior. I have trained with those who cannot wield the Force, I have learned much from them, now I wish to turn my attention to those who can wield the Force, to learn their tactics, their behaviour, to be able to think like they do so that I gain a new perspective whilst on the battlefield." The Valkyri answered.

[member="Isley Verd"]