Ruusan Rumblings

[Laira Darkhold]

Draco's ship slipped through the blackness of space towards the planet most Jedi and Sith had heard of. Ruusan loomed ahead of him as he made his way to the Force Nexus at the heart of the Valley of the Jedi. For now, the forge he carried in the cargo bay was cold, with the labor droids waiting in the hold to unload it at the heart so that Draco could work within the Nexus often regarded as the most powerful focal point of the Force in existence. Given what Draco was set to do, it was more a field trip than a necessity for the work he was doing.

A small black box covered in nullification resin sat beside him as the ship made its approach, flanked by a flight of Ra'gr-class fighters. Draco hardly paid attention to the fighters as he gathered himself for the project. He had never meditated within the valley before and was looking forward to the trip for that reason, though not only that reason. He also had a project set aside to complete, and his mind relaxed best when he was at work. Unless of course he was with Faith, but then he was focused, calm, not really a meditative state for him, but it was relaxing and he enjoyed that time more than anything else in the wide universe.

The ship broke into the atmosphere as it made its final approach to the Valley of the Jedi. Electrical disturbances and the nature of the valley would prevent the ship from landing in it, but perhaps they could get close enough to it to make the wait for the setup less. At least that. But while there were setting up his Forge, Draco has something to occupy his time.

 

[Laira Darkhold]

The ship landed and the hiss of repulsors taking the weight, the pressure within the vessel equaling the pressure of the planet's atmosphere at just above sea level. Boarding ramps and cargo bays opened, and Draco walked out of the corvette to look out over the Valley. The power here was immense, and Draco was well aware his abilities were greatly amplified within the heart of the Nexus, if he were to call upon such limitless power. It was dangerous to do so, but it held benefits to working in such a place.

"Have the forge and work benches moved into the heart. We won't be leaving them here, but I am sure my guest and I will need everything set up to work on our little side project." Speaking of that Draco's mind wandered. He still needed to contact the Alchemist from AEI to let him know the temporary workshop was being erected even now. "Bring me a holo-communicator when you are able." He called to a droid that was passing by, which quickly wandered aboard the ship and returned with the device.

As Draco slowly paced around the entrance to the Valley, he nudged the buttons on the device, little by little typing out a message while he let his presence seep out into the Force, the overwhelming power of the Valley of the Jedi doing well to hide him even though he wasn't attempting to be stealthy.

::Ostanes. Recently I've set up a temporary workshop on Ruusan to work on a project we had discussed earlier via holo-mail. When you are able to attend, your expertise in the field of Alchemy and Force Imbuement would be most beneficial. -Draco Vereen::

The warlord pocketed the device as he stalked into the ominous valley, feeling the power, the history there. He was certainly no master with Sith Alchemy, but well trained, experienced even. That he was. Plus, he knew some spells that could be of use. During his Sith days he enjoyed binding smoke demons into his creations. That might be very, very useful given what the pair was trying to construct.

[member="Ostanes"]

 

[Julius Sedaire]

Receiving the message, the Alchemist smirked and nodded, sending a quick reply.

:I will make the trip at the soonest I may. Do let me know if any specialized equipment or materials are needed.:

Standing, he pulled the shimmering white silk robe around him, grasping the mask of Moridin in his hand and affixing it to his face. Hands covered in white silk trimmed in silver piping and embroidered with concentric and geometric designs across the hands. The same designs and others flowed across his robes and hood, which he pulled up and covered his face with. His identity entirely concealed, he had become a recently well known face in Akure. With Ostanes moving to the position of Vice President, his guise for controlling Research and Development was the Man in White.

Stepping forward, he waved to an attendant, and commanded them to ready his ship as he grabbed his personal belongings. Lightsaber and other objects like his grimoire, the Korribanite sand he still had, and trinkets and the like put into his marauder's bag. The staff he prized was gripped firmly in his left hand, and he nodded confidently as he stepped from the room. His robes swished lightly in the wake of his passing as he walked, scanning the halls and considering.

[member="Draco Vereen"]

 

[Laira Darkhold]

Good, Ostanes would be coming and offering his unique brand of intelligence, creativity, and refined skill to assist with their project. No doubt the alchemist would have a price, the last student of Rave Merril most likely would want one of his own, as well as a sword like the one Draco carried, perhaps one slightly altered and upgraded.

The droids continued, some manual, biological assistance was required to guide the droids on their journey to the center of the powerful Force Nexus. Sometimes an alchemical savant like Ostanes would need the assistance of something incredibly powerful and the Valley of the Jedi could aid in that, the nearly inexhaustible, nearly limitless power of the valley ready at the finger tips of the creator.

Where Draco came in was raw power. What he lacked in skill compared to the specialized Witch, he did his best to make up for in brute force. The forge and workshop being set up at this focal point of the Force would allow the pair to work above their normal optimum abilities. Given the scale of what they were attempting to accomplish, they would need the help.

Draco sat, a small case full of tiny red crystals and metallic ore gathered from a number of planets in his travels. Mephite and Lignan ores were normally very hard to find, and the last of the Lignan ore Draco had in his possession was being used on this particular project. The Force churned around him as he sat waiting for Ostanes to arrive.

[member="Ostanes"]

 

[Julius Sedaire]

Stepping off the shuttle, Ostanes merely smiled coldly as he waved the uplifted tu'kata to stay with the ship. They had been constant companions for him since wresting control of Akure. But this would be personal, and business at the same time. Not a small amount of his library was from Draco, copies of holocrons and datacrons from the great auction. So he would show trust in the man, for though his list was short, the Dragon of Mandalore made it. He carried with him his marauders' bag, the thing stuffed with a mind boggling amount of kit really. Korribanite Sand, various crystals from Qixoni to plain Adegan to a precious package of Aur Diamonds. Poisons. Fangs, bones, tendons... It was a macabre little assortment.

Recognizing him, he was ferried to the Commanders' side quite easily and eventually he nodded to Draco, smiling. The look at the guards sent them away. No spell, no twist of the Force to compel them. Such had became the aura of unease around him since his binding of Obeah that certain minds were happy to leave his presence. And though they still maintained eye sight, anything the two said now should be quite unable to be heard. A moments hesitation as a gloved hand twisted on the smooth obsidian haft of his staff, a symbol of his power and ability as sure as any Jedi might bear their robes and lightsaber.

"Draco, it has been too long... I had been waiting for this call... Are you sure you wish to do this? The depths we will go for these things to be made... They will not be pleasant... And the consequences could be lasting and unforeseen. Nothing is free in my craft, but you know this."

[member="Draco Vereen"]

 

[Laira Darkhold]

Draco smiled at the being making its way towards him from the shuttle. AEI and ArmaTech had made a number of deals and collaborations in the past, mostly masterminded by these two individuals meeting now. They had shared several Holocrons, swapped datacrons of information, and had worked with each other enough to have a basic working relationship.

The man from AEI's Board of Directors was a specialist in Sith Alchemy and Force Imbuement. While Draco was able to do those things, he relied on immense power and temporary empowerment to brute force his way to success. Where as Ostanes was highly skilled, fine tuned, and refined. The differences were noted, and with luck the pair would be more than capable as a team.

It was for that reason Draco had brought Lignan Crystals and Lignan Ore for the pair to draw power from, the Gauntlet of Hod Ha'ran for himself, to enhance his abilities and draw his great power through the artifact. "Yes I am aware there is a cost to things like this." Draco had prepared a liter of his own blood, and was prepared to provide more should he need to.

"I also brought a pair of toys you may want to look over. The first is my copy of what I know from the Holocron of Naga Sadow, specifically the information on Sith Alchemy. The Second, is the Gauntlet of Hod Ha'ran. I think both will be very useful for this, and the knowledge locked within both may benefit us." He had two other things he had paid attention to. The Glove of Darth Vader, which he had studied extensively, and the Ravening, an artifact he was too afraid of to show off to someone that might have the ability to replicate the weapon.

[member="Ostanes"]

 

[Julius Sedaire]

His associate was hiding things. Wasn't anything mentalistic or Force made... Just a master of subterfuge noticing subtle ticks. But whatever it was, Draco was good enough at hiding things... No one was going to notice it. But for the moment, the Thamaturge let the issue go. Mayhaps it was a scuffle over a woman, or some such. The things certain people did for 'love' perplexed him truly. So when he could not understand such, he ascribed their actions to that. Shaking his head, he nodded.

"Lord Sadows' work will be... Most helpful in my studies, to be sure... And a few notes of his may shed some light for what we are set to do here... Yes, they just might... As well, I have a rather extensive library I have brought copies of... Though... One of those I will not open save at great need. Even the copy is not to be toyed with, even in separate pieces. Now, last we spoke, you mentioned several things, have you decided on the particulars?"

As he spoked, the AEI ship left atmo, and Ostanes removed the mask. Behind him stood only his two ever-present quosaarai guards, both more than devoted to him. Fanatically so. And a hooded figure they marched up, which oddly resisted not at all. The presence that roiled at from him was sickeningly dark, and much more than before, particularly standing on Ruusan as he was. Ancient, old, and instead of rage of many Siths it was insidious, cold, and rotted.. Overly sweet and cloying, like rotted meat in the sun... Something entirely wrong...The staff in his hand pulsed, in time with his heartbeat, a steady nimbus of unlight. His eyes were utterly yellow-orange, corruption showing in the aging of his appearance despite his shi'ido abilities, which not even Draco knew of. Only [member="Seydon of Arda"] knew of that...

"For myself, I have ideas... But the final piece of mine will require something.... Special.....This Ithorian here behind us is a Master of several abilities... But most curiously, of Force Light... He will help me make my part.. For the joint work between the two of us will create something he believes can ultimately redeem me...And if not, it can stop what I am becoming..."

[member="Draco Vereen"]

 

[Laira Darkhold]

Draco could feel the cold, wet, wrong sensation from the man, from the things about him. What else was there to expect from an alchemist of Akure Executive, the brain child of Rave Merrill. No doubt that woman had created some things that were hardly right or belonging in the Universe during her time. The Datacron wasn't much special, copied from his memories of Naga Sadow's holocron, which while certainly abundant in information, he most lacked full understanding of everything that was embedded within it. To have someone assist him and help explain the finer points of this type of crafting would be most beneficial.

"It's hardly comprehensive in its detailing of his Holocron, but it is better than most people have access to." He handed the datacron over to the man before him, eyeing the robed figure for a moment. "As you probably know, I'm not a specialist in crafting. I rely on the assistance of a Force Nexus, things to boost my considerable strength and power, and the help of others on occasion to push beyond the rudimentary creations." Draco wasn't ashamed he wasn't particularly skilled at everything. No one could 'Master' every art they came across, and few acquired a prodigious list of 'Mastered' abilities. To discover new and fascinating abilities and teachings, and to take to them in earnest, that was about all Draco could do.

"I say that because I will be relying on your strong understanding of the art, and your skills to see this project of ours done. If you or in need of someone who has mastered Force Light, I will trust your judgement on the matter. It is not as though I am devoted to the Dark Side. Alchemy is just the only arts I know well enough to achieve the things I wish to." Draco would gladly learn Jal Shey Imbuement, or any list of Force crafting abilities. The anvil being hefted by the droids and carried into the Valley might be a curious thing for the Thaumaturge, crafted of a mysterious metal and imbued with the energies of a far off planet once said to be the birth place of the Jedi. The Planet had been largely corrupted by the One Sith, but not everything was ruined, even the simplistic Force Aura around the anvil wasn't corrupted or tainted. It simply was.

On Draco's work-belt that he was brought there were a number of hammers and tools, crafted of Beskar and of euk'gar. They were simple craftsmen's tools for any smith or metal worker, but they held a meaning for Draco, and a hammer of black Hjarna stone with a veshok wood haft beside an old beskar one that looked as though it had seen many days in the forge and against the anvil. A small box within the belt radiated dark power, containing a handful of Lignan Crystals the Mandalorian used to increase his powers during forging, as well as a simplistic, yet still very useful Talisman of Concentration.

"I'm ready when you are."

[member="Ostanes"]

 

[Julius Sedaire]

The anvil radiated... Not power... Not as the Sorcerer knew and understood it, but something different... Wisdom, grace, calm.. For a moment, the influence of Obeah was completely pushed back just by the feel of it. Not by the power of it, but by the calm, centered and determined aura of it, allowing him just the microsecond he needed. Shaking his head, Ostanes nodded and walked about a bit, looking. When he felt confident, he suddenly stopped, turned, and began dragging his staff along the platform. Using it as an anchor, bits of Sith Fire licked down its length, scorching a roughly fifteen foot diameter circle. There was a clear stab of the butt of the staff to its' center, indicating where the anvil should go. In his element, he commanded and others obeyed.

"Comprehensive or not... Knowledge is power, Draco. We must guard and use it well. And I don't so much need the fine Ithorian here.... I just need him to give over his knowledge... Crystallurgy is rather... Dangerous... In this regard... I will be taking a sentient crystal and melding it to his mind, and lifting the knowledge... He is sedated. Once he agreed to help, thinking I meant I would be destroying Akure, I sedated him rather easily. He is in twilight... The knowledge will be removed, and the crystal will function almost like a generator... The secondary object passes through it, and it imbues said object with Force Light... To catastrophic results for the target, if they are of the Dark Side..."

Smiling, he began to trace the circle, red sand sprinkling out precisely along the scorch circle marks, but several breaks in the lines, for attendants to pass through. And next to the anvil wrought iron, dark and gleaming, instruments were set up. Massive braziers flanking it, a table with various tools behind it... None of this were required, per say. But a great secret he had found was the more foci a sorcerer and alchemist used in ritual, the less raw power things took. He had the power, and training to do so without. But this way? This way he could do much, much more, with less. So the resultant creation would be.... Immense in power.... Or so he hoped... Today he would step above even the "Masters" of his craft, and into the spotlight few had claimed.

"Now.... I cannot promise what I do will make sense... But we begin to set ritual space now. Specific foci... They lessen the amount of raw power needed... So we will be able to do even more this way... I will use your abilities, which are more than useful, in combination with my staff and the limited nexus it has. For you? Focus on the raw ability of Ruusan... It will be a series of pipes we build, connecting to the staff, with which my mind will access, direct, and weave. You may see things, hear things... But once it is started, we do not stop it... Consequences are dire then. Remain within the circle once it is sealed as well, or your death is all but guaranteed. Does this make sense, thus far?"

[member="Draco Vereen"]

 

[Laira Darkhold]

The heavy lifter droids did as commanded and placed the mysterious anvil down as directed. The anvil itself was not an artifact of immense power, or any power for that matter. It had an aura about it, but beyond that aura, only the mysterious material made it in the least bit fascinating to the Smith. To the Witch, well, its aura was likely fascinating enough to draw attention. Draco's own tools were more for crafting than specifically empowering anything, for that he would needed to do as instructed in order to make anything the Thaumaturge had in mind.

The sedated Ithorian wasn't a distraction for the Mandalorian, who despite his abilities wasn't devoted to either sect of the Force. He supported the Force itself, and the Force supported him, aided him in battle, and was a willing and ready tool for a plethora of situations. Beyond that, it simply existed. The Force existed to be used to the will of those strong enough to influence it, and it served only the strong. So too did the Ithorian, willingly or unwillingly. "Sounds like you've put a lot of thought and effort into the concept. Drain knowledge isn't my forte, but, I can help as needed."

Draco pulled the small box containing the talisman from the pouch on his belt and slipped the necklace over his neck. While for now, it was little more than decorative once they began he would be able to tap into the talisman to refine his precision, reduce the waste of his power and strength during the long process. The crystals in the other small container would provide temporary boosts in his strength as required by the ritual and instructions of the Witch, and the power of Ruusan radiated, providing an immense amount of energy for a proper conduit. The gauntlet of Hod Har'an worn on his left hand would act like a focal point for all of this, flooding all the power and energy the Mandalorian was channeling through the crystal embedded in the palm of the gauntlet and into the creation.

"I understand. I'm ready." The Mandalorian's mental defenses solidified, like the bricks of an ancient fortress suddenly being pulled together and reformed. If there was danger in this ritual, hearing, and seeing visions, illusions, and other things, Draco would be prepared to see through them, the storm grey eyes of the warrior glinting with flecks of blue as the Force filled him, the infinite web of energy being pulled into the Dragon, fueling the fires that burned deep within. The landscape became ghastly, as though peering through a veil, colors seeping from the landscape, the Force swirled around the ritual circle.

Iron ore was sat into the circle, unrefined, unpurified, unsmelted. They would be doing these processes through the Force. One did not earn the moniker Dragon of Mandalore without breathing a little fire.

[member="Ostanes"]

 

[Julius Sedaire]

Nodding, Ostanes gave specific directions for what he needed next, and the materials were brought in. Some in fine silk bags, other in roughspun cloth sacks. Taking them, he began erecting them here and there, the positioning and order apparently not random, though it may appear to Draco as such. Now and again he would chant in Paecian, or Ancient Sith, or languages yet still. The words and voice seemed to change with each little 'totem' erected. A spear of shrunken heads and animal parts or other more feral things were put up for the Dathomirian part of his ritual. and he then sealed the circle in further Korribanite sand, the sealed parts blackening and flickering in flame that eventually spread 'round the ring yet never consumed the sand, just blackened it.

To the next step, he walked, his hand dripping blood in a seemingly random pattern as he wandered. Beautifully carved onyx idols, in the shape of bull rancors, were placed to the four cardinal directions, and within them they seemed to glow. He could not, by himself, make Watchers yet. But this was an amalgam of basic protection rites and his study of them. The intent was they would ring the circle to keep out outsiders, and on command or intrusion, explode rather violently, killing all those within it to stop the ritual, and to keep any outsiders from obtaining the specialized equipment and knowledge within. Finally the thamaturge turned to Draco and pointed to the anvil, and then to his staff in his own hand, where sticky wet runes in smoking blood appeared.

"Slice your hand with a blade of your own make, if you have it. Not enough to bleed out, and a fingertip is fine. Pull the Force to you, and draw the runes on my staff on the anvil and a hammer. Be sure to add a drop of blood to anything else important you will use for the smithing. These will imbue the tools with the energy of the ritual... In a way... It will make them better focal points for wielding our energy through in the coming rites. Once this is done, we will begin on the Fire. Watch that you do not bleed over much.... We will need much of the crimson vitae before things are done here..."

[member="Draco Vereen"]

 

[Laira Darkhold]

Draco did as instructed. He had worked with enough alchemy to know that blood was a common component in forging and imbuing items with power. Its why he had prepared a liter of his own blood prior to the Thaumaturge's arrival. More wouldn't hurt, the human body had much of it, and the Force could be used to assist his bodily functions if need be. With a small cut on his index and middle fingers, he began marking the runes on the Anvil with his blood.

The Mandalorian didn't understand the meaning to all these runes he was marking. He could sense to ill-intent and thus continued as instructed. The Anvil thrummed with energy, though it itself was nothing exceptionally powerful, it was an interesting artifact of long lost metallurgical masteries. Alone, it was nothing remarkable, barely lightsaber resistant, though it did act as a kind of focus for the Force during the forging process. Something that might prove beneficial for the duo working to craft the weapons they had discussed. A quartet of pistols designed and fabricated by the duo.

Blood dripped off the hjarna stone hammer as the runes he duplicated were marked across the forging hammer of onyx black stone and dark wood. It took time, but slowly the runes took form, the blood hot to the touch after he had marked them on the Anvil and hammer. Then he began working on the staff, and he could feel the oddness, the power within the staff. He presumed it was similar to the gauntlet on his left hand, a focus of his power, designed to amplify and refine his abilities as well as provide something else to the Alchemist. His own weapon he would using to amplify his raw power, it could absorb many types of energy, including Force Power, and so he would likely be using a Lightsaber, held by the blade to boost his abilities for a short time, when the optimum amount of power was needed, he would go all out, amplifying his abilities into a storm, likened unto a hurricane. It was difficult, not something he could do in combat, but in forging, he could boost to fearsome levels for short periods of time.

"We are ready."

[member="Ostanes"]

 

[Julius Sedaire]

"No... We are never ready... But we may begin....Mine will be empowered first, in case things go wrong... Focus on serenity, on balance, on ease of mind... Master Chadoen Kahl, step forward, please..."

Eyes opened from closed as he was chanting and listening to Draco. The wind, for a cliched moment, howled and whipped at them. Ostanes raised his staff as is began to pulse rapidly, like some strobe light at a seedy cantina. Faster and faster until the flash was indistinguishable from constant light except for a headache if one looked at it for two long. First white, then grey, then a weird purple almost black, a miasma like mist eeking out from the focusing tool of the mage and flowing into him. He had, from [member="Dissero"], briefly studied things like @Valiks "Annullment" and other things. And from his study and creation of [member="Seydon of Arda"]'s crossbow, learned what he needed for his..As the Ithorian stepped forward, Ostanes would meet him at the anvil.

Arms raised, the staff hovering in air, it followed him to the anvil as if of its' own accord, slowly spinning. His venomous yellow eyes glowed almost like magma now, and he spoke in hushed tones to the Ithorian, who nodded as his hood was removed. Sad eyes gazed at the beautiful solari crystal carved into a gun cylinder, but the sadness seemed.... Balanced... As if he understood what the price paid would enable through it's cost. It would harm him, severely. May even unhinge his mind. But as he had said to Ostanes before, there was a great wrongness in him. And, he sat down a Velokron that the Thamaturge had let him borrow and went to work on imbuing the crystal with the Force and working various Jal Shey and Ithorian places on it. The darkness in the area seemed to roil wholly inside of Ostanes or the staff.

"We will wait until the Master has imbued the cylinder.... Then we will transfer the knowledge as the catalyst to the spell. Drain Knowledge done this way is... Risky... It may break his mind permanately, or even kill him. But he has consented willingly, and that will keep the dark side at bay so long as we contain our auras. This gun must be as pure as we can make it."

 

[Laira Darkhold]

Well, that was one of the many benefits to refusing to align with one side of the Force or another. There were detriments, and not being wholly devoted to the Dark Side had cost the Mandalorian a measure of his power, stripped him of some of his more fantastic, flashy abilities. But the balance he found now, the steadiness that the Force provided made him strong, physically, mentally, emotionally. Draco was by no means the same man he had been before his fall to the Dark Side.

The nexus of power in the Valley of the Jedi was neither Light nor Dark. It simply was, infused with the powers and strength of a great many Jedi and Sith alike, all dead by the same hands, all bound here for centuries by the same spells and powers, all unified in their purpose. The strength here did not radiate hatred or wrongness, only the Thaumaturge did. Draco didn't know why the alchemist radiate such, uneasiness, and neither did he rightfully care. It was a simple musing. The Ithorian however was quite the reverse. He radiated calm and serenity. Why was he helping the Dark Sider and the Mandalorian, both out for their own gain, both out for nothing more than personal profit? Why would an Ithorian of significant presence in the Force bother to help them?

Because it was in his nature to help. The Mandalorian, despite his past was not evil nor selfish. He had sacrificed for others, and the weapon he sought was not evil nor did it promote the continuance of evil or darkness. The weapons being forged in the depths of the Valley of the Jedi today were not so wrong or evil. They were tools, able to spread light or darkness to the corners of the galaxy at the whims of their wielders. Perhaps it was this, and the thought of willing self sacrifice that drew the Ithorian to help today. That this action would change the Thaumaturge and lead him from his dark path.

Draco's own aura and power was still light, having to refrain from drawing on the several artifacts and crystals he had brought with him. During the actual forging of the weapons they would be needed, the fires the metal would be shaped in would be born of his strength, and each blow of hjarna stone hammer against force-imbued steel anvil would ring out solely on his own strength. But this? This was beyond the abilities of the Mandalorian. For this he relied on the strength and wisdom of others.

The small diamonds floating around the Ithorian whirled in the air, orbiting in front of the being's hands, spinning on their own axis, much like the way a planet spun while it orbited a star. A small bright light appeared between the six stones and the Ithorian continued, wind howling, skies roiling. The blood markings on the ground, on the anvil, everywhere burned hot, steam rising from them, slight glows of embers appearing in the runes. It took time to complete such a complex ritual, however, time seemed to flow by like a slug on the ground inside the circle. Draco's own perceptions were very fine tuned, and he could tell that it felt as though the wind ripped through the air and lightning crackled from the skies, it was likely that some time, some hours had already passed since the beginning of the ritual.

[member="Ostanes"]

 

[Julius Sedaire]

Eventually, the Ithorian reached out to touch the cylinder, tracing lines of either runes or letters on it. Gently, lovingly and tenderly, as if a reverent parent seeing a child for the first time. Upsetting enough, Ostanes could now feel the Light pouring off the device in the center. Even looking too closely at the thing burned his eyes and made him squint, and it wasn't per se even glowing. In the Force, echoing and humming, it was pure. Virgin and untouched crystal suffused with the Light of the Force.... And not in a way to be weaponized off the immediate time. But when triggered right, it would transfer a tiny fraction of the Light of the Force inside it to the Aur diamond type bullets he intended to have for it.

Each tip would have barely a sliver in it, but it was able to hold enough. Whatever it hit that was of the darkside, or tainted and warped by it, would experience unimaginable pain. And a weakening of the spells and sorcery that twisted them to their dark purpose. Just the presence of the gun, when done, would likely repel and turn aside the influence of Obeah... And if [member="Seydon of Arda"] could not find him long enough after the true descent into darkness of his symbiotic partner began, then there was the option of ending himself to finally escape the beasts' clutches. Even the thought sent the spirit into a mild rage, and the lightning cracked again, branching red and yellow this time.

The Ithorian covered the cylinder in a white linen cloth and put it in a box Ostanes recognized as made of Ankarres wood, to help keep the power of the thing pristine. It was just long enough to fit a finished gun too, most likely. Steeping forward, he bowed his head in respect to the ancient master and gestured for Draco to take a place next to him as he raised his hands. Chanting began to roll out of him in a jarring, gravelly cadence that was almost painful to the ears. It seemed like hornets buzzing and hissing almost, as if his voice were not his own. Much of the language was Ancient Sith, or at least sounded like it. But here and there was spoke a word that had a constant wrong, or a vowel shifted in pronunciation and stress, just said different and odd.

[member="Draco Vereen"]

 

[Laira Darkhold]

Somethings were meant to exist, and some were not. From the way the Force roiled and curled in the most holy of places in the galaxy, the way the presences within the cave coiled and jerked away from the light emanating from the Ithorian Master, Draco could tell that one of those things that should not be was in the room. He had suffered much the same fate once in his life, he understood how it granted great power and knowledge but at a cost greater than one could imagine.

The chanting spurred out from the Thaumaturge and the Forge-master brought out his own hammer, rapping it against the anvil for the first time, a loud metallic ring echoing throughout the cavern. The cool metal bar sat, unforged, unshaped in his tongs as the warrior glared into it, his eyes burning from the wind of the chanting. A small basin sat beside the anvil, but no forge, no hot fire burned nearby.

The Force churned like a storm preparing to hit a shoreline, and wreathed around the warrior's armored finger as black flames spouted from the metal bar. Slowly the metal heated, glowing hot beneath the dark fires that burned around it. And the hammer fell once, denting the glowing metal, sending sparks and scale from the bar as it began to take shape. And again the hammer fell, the ringing of hammer on metal on anvil continued as the forgemaster began the long and arduous process of shaping the metal by hand.

Time seemed to drag by the pair within the circle, eat stroke of the hammer seemed to fall with impossible slowness, but the blows that rained upon metal seemed to do their work. The lade waited for the metal to finish, for the dark energy that burned around it to engulf the metal bar and infuse it with the energy that churned around the pair as they crafted. As the metal quenched the distinct smell of burning flesh filled the air, the blood from the quench burning off the glowing metal as it quickly returned to forging heat through the force.

While gunsmithing revolved mostly around machining, to properly forge and alter the weapons, they first had to be forged and shaped, folded with the Force to create a smooth power imbuement. This was easily the most ambitious build the Mandalorian had attempted, and without the aid of the Thaumaturge or the Ithorian, it would not have been remotely possible to complete.

A weapon is only as good or as evil as the man who wields it.

[member="Ostanes"]

 

[Julius Sedaire]

The brawnier of the two knew what he was doing, that much was clear. It was also clear he was the blunt and brute force of the project, and Ostanes was more the elegant conductor. Draco the harooming bass and Ostanes the silent flick of the conductors' baton. But together, the two wove a symphony of power from the Force, both being bent and bending the will of the immense energies in the Valley they stood in. Still burning in his mind, he could feel the presence of the imbued cylinder, but now was the time to motion forward the burly qo'saarai tuk'ata who stood just outside the circle, who began joining hands and chanting. Force Sensitives amongst the uplifted Sith Hounds were not unheard of, and he now began to match his cadence against that of the hounds, weaving with them if it could be said of words.

The qo'saarai werre adept at guarding and protecting tombs, and their traditions beginning to evolved centered on that really. How their workings worked, was something despite his addiction to knowledge and the maddening sway of Obeah growing, Ostanes left to them. Some might say it was the last vestige of decency the addled sorcerer possesses, but they wouldn't know him well if that. He liked to think it was a way of letting their power mature before he took it under his wings to learn and soar higher from it. Regardless, they possessed a singular penchant for wards, shields, and their like. And a steady talent for illusions as well.

Rave would be quite amused he surmised, that they to a one seemed to lack any interest in Alchemy. Regardless, they now were hidden from sight of any, and the energy once leaking out was being bottled and doubled back in, funneled into the hammer and iron that Draco hammered. The iron began to bend and fold quicker, though it grew no hotter, and in his mind he could feel it's presence begin to bloom, a sickening thing like oil spreading across a page, the iron itself blackening. It was a minor presence, but it was the first indicator that the fine tuning and fiddly work was nigh at hand and ready to begin, and the Thamaturge allowed himself a thin, satisfied smile as he nodded in satisfaction and called the staff holding Obeah to his hand easily, and watched Draco finishing his current task.

Now we labor in earnest

[member="Draco Vereen"]

 

[Laira Darkhold]

The iron rang hot, the blackened fires born of the Force blooming around the iron seeping away, the black smear of a presence in the iron pressing at the edges of his mind. Knocking the scale from the iron, the Mandalorian, turned the bar over on the anvil, feeling the Force press through the ancient metal that had seen the forging of so many weapons and shields across millennia. The Force Imbued anvil added little to the forging, if anything, but Draco, having pilfered the anvil from Vur Tepe enjoyed using it on projects like this if for sentiment alone.

The metal cooled quickly in the basin of blood, smoke and steam rising from the basin and the smell of burning flesh joining the chanting in the air, the swirling mass of wind, smoke, dust, and voices. The runes across the ground and the anvil glowed hot, despite having been drawn in blood and no heat or fire having been added to them, and the cacophony of noises and sounds swept through the circle as the Force lurched in the Valley of the Jedi.

At the instruction of the master alchemist, the Mandalorian had shaped the metal, contorting the Force to his will with the assistance of several artifacts and crystals. The Gauntlet of Hod Ha'ran on his left hand, the Talisman of Concentration around his neck, the lignan crystals he used on occasion as the situation required, the Mandalorian was able to surge his abilities to great heights, even if his control and his refined touch was lacking, with the guidance of the Thaumaturge, as well as the added power from the fellow master of the Force and his choir of Sith Hounds was more than enough. In a place like Valley of the Jedi, where the two were aided by the nearly infinite power of the strongest Nexus of Force energy in the galaxy, the creation being born from their minds would be frightening to behold.

The lade began spinning, carving out small slivers of the metal, radiating a darkness all its own now slowly, but surely. The shavings were collected and a flash of fire and heat appeared in the container, the slivers liquidating and forming into a puddle beneath the lade as it turned, slowly carving out the barrels of the weapons as the pair worked. The heat from the Force fire licked upwards, and as it touched the barrels they blackened but did not welt or melt in the slightest. Even as Draco's armored hands ran over them, they were different from when they began, the iron taking on new strength and power as each minute passed. The closer the lade was to completing, the longer and longer it took for the lade to cut out the smooth bore.

Molds flared, waiting to receive the liquid metal waiting in the container, yearning through the Force as each piece of the revolvers waited to be formed in the molds and trued by the smith. All the while the cylinder sat waiting in the box, waiting to receive the final blessings of the smith and the alchemist, twin demigods of the forge.

[member="Ostanes"]

 

[Julius Sedaire]

The liquid metal received his attention next from his power. This metal would need to be enhanced, strengthened, empowered. But he wanted to maintain steering clear of the Dark Side where he could. The most neutrality he could muster would be from now on, excepting when needed. Reaching into his maurauders bag, he grabbed into one pouch and rifled. He came up with a small satchel and smiled a thin, cold grin that reached nowhere near his eyes. Whatever sorcery made this bag he didn't quite understand, yet, but it was quite powerful. If a little random and hard to comprehend. But regardless, he had the powdered kyber shards now at the least. So little weight, and such little heft, but however little they seemed the power they would gather when added would be minor overall, but invaluable.

A hand lofted out over the workspace, careful not to interfere with the lade or his counterpart, and began to sift the powdered kyber shards out of his hands and across the workspace. Each grain of the powder settled and flared with light, alternately a dim black-light or a glaring blaze of white, bright as the sun. Noticeably the language for him had changed to Paecian, the cant of Dathomirian sorcery. A few other items came out of the pouch, powdered as well. Vornskr brain and other parts of the animal, dried and powdered, were drifted across the workings. Imbuing them such would make it so their purpose, one to destroy Physical life, and the other to harm the spiritual energy of the Dark Side and it's twistings.

A parallell between the singular focus, sense, and hunting instinct of the Vornskr would cement Ostanes' intent as he burned his will into the metals one at a time. Buoyed by Obeah, Draco, and the Valley, the Alchemist finally opened up. His magic was no longer Dark, Light or anything but a mass of twisted Grey. Burning, pulsing waves of power were rocking off him, his eyes burning like magma. The shield of his friends, the tuk'ata his mentor had aided, or rather a subsequent generation now grateful out of loyalty rather than bound by necessity and force, held the power. For him, the job would be done out of desire to help a friend they saw as wounded. With the shield relaying the raw power of the shi'ido back into things, it was becoming a pressure cooker of the Force.

Soon, once the power built to a crescendo, his magnum opus would be complete... He would use the control Draco prized to funnel every ounce of power into the devices. Sweat beaded on his brow, a vein standing in his forehead. Tendons strained and distended in his neck as he fought and wrestled to maintain control. Obeah screamed in his mind, but not against what he did, curiously enough. The beast did so as if cheering on a favored actor or athlete in a deadly contest to the end. Somehow, his hand pulled back from the tremoring grasp of his hand. Power still crackled raw around his hand... Had he been of the Moross Crusade type, or Draco, he might have been regarded as a God of those people, with the power he wielded here... And he shuddered to think of the might Obeah would gather from being connected to such a nexus.

"Do finish your task as quickly as you may... I am beginning to strain...."

[member="Draco Vereen"]

 

[Laira Darkhold]

The Mandalorian heard the instructions from the alchemist as the wind swept across the circle within the cavern, his voice caught by the wind and heard as though distant with the turmoil of the Force as it roared around them and fused into the hot, blackened metal. The Mandalorian heard, and he hastened his pace, but there were somethings that simply required time. Perhaps he struck the metal upon the anvil once too many times, perhaps the lade took a few minutes too long, and they would experience great pain in the crafting of this piece. He had judged it to consume all they could handle, but his judgement of the Alchemist could not be precise. For how could one gauge the skill and endurance of someone they did not know intimately.

The liquid metal in the container was poured into the mold and the hjarna stone hammer lashed out against the mold as each piece was poured and cast. Every screw, every spring, every single piece of the revolver was being molded expertly, crafted from iron fold and infused with the power of the Force, the Force replacing as many things as possible in the crafting. It was how Draco knew how to craft such a piece. One could not empower something through the Force without using the Force in its creation. The mold smoked as blood was poured gently over it, tempering the metal within, cooling it with a touch of the viscus liquid. Each piece needed to be quickly examined and trued by the smith's hands and tools before he could move to the final step of completing the process of forging. But, that was not as important as ensuring the power of the Force found itself into the construction of the revolvers.

Aur diamonds, infused with the power of the Light Side, aur diamonds empowered by the Dark Side, both sitting comfortable, locked within the cylinder of the pistol crafted separately, but just as strong, just as much effort put into its construction. The final piece of the puzzle, the last thing the two needed this immense level of power and strain to see to, was the casting of the focal point. A small pouch opened, four mephite crystals and four qixoni crystals dropped from the small leather bag, dropping against the anvil with small rings against the strange metal.

"It is the last thing we will need you at your apex for. The final workings, truing of the pieces, the final casting of the revolver can be done easily without all the pomp and circumstance. The cylinder needs its focus, its fulcrum of power and strength. These crystals must be fused into one, not two halves, but one whole." The Mandalorian held the first pair, the pair of red crystals, visually not so different but polar opposites in their presence. The wrongness he felt from the Thaumaturge surged, and the smith knew what must be done.

The crystals ground, splintered in his hands beneath his grasp, cracking and fracturing into a dust with small pieces of each remaining, poured into a small vial of a mixture of the pair's blood. Four times the Mandalorian saw to this, each time the vial was left in a stand on the anvil, the mixture swirling beneath the heat of the black fires that consumed them. Fires burst from the vials and smoke rose, ash fell all around them, all the while the chanting, the chorus of words of dark meaning and power swam around the smith and the alchemist.

Time seemed to drag on slowly, and for a moment, Draco suspected he had misjudged his own strength, feeling it begin to fail him well before the fires inside the vials had died away, even with all the help he had brought for himself. The vials glowed red with heat, then yellow, then white as the fires burned their hottest around the glass waiting for the crystals to take form.

Draco gasped, feeling the last vestiges of his own power approaching, until finally the glass shattered leaving four lumps upon the anvil, lumps of ash, charcoal, dried and cooked blood, and four crystals glowing with power buried within them. He felt his concentration beginning to slip away. "There is only the cutting of the crystals to be done, and then it is a simple construction of the parts. We are close."

[member="Ostanes"]