Ruusan Rumblings

[Julius Sedaire]

Reserves. They were something Ostanes hadn't tapped since the staff he always carried was made. And really, it was done over such a long period it wasn't this acute, this draining. A footstep towards the anvil saw him stumble, but remain standing. The staff firmly grasped in his hand, he drew on knowledge from not Obeah, but himself. He had mastered crystallurgy in order to bind Obeah, and now he called on that art deeply. Wielding the force like a lance, or at least that is how he pictured it in his mind, he funneled all the energy in the shielded circle through the staff, making himself a conduit and connector, a rushing torrent of life and death both. How long he could safely sustain this, he didn't want to and couldn't know. But he would do so as long as needed.

Arms flashed dramatically, rising like a conductor calling an end to his magnum opus, and he slammed the staff to the ground. Pressure erupted from it, the staff vibrating and humming faintly in his hands, almost he expected to see cracks in it. But hjarna stone held, strong and true. The power released was immense, beyond even the forces of the staff, which was merely a binding, and not a creation. The release of that energy whirled from one hand in a rushing pulse of light down his left arm and through curled and the splayed fingers to erupt towards the dull, crude crystals. The wind whistled, almost eerie and haunting, groaning sighs held on it as if from a graveyard. Ostanes had studied Force Walk, and had trapped souls willing and unwilling to his minds bend. Now he released them, burnt up their essence to power his last movements in desperate bid for power.

The crystals begin to flicker and hum, rising from the table as the energy solidified into seperate beams of light, each begin to smolder, scale sloughing off of them as if a drake shedding scales before it arose in might to rule the skies against all comers. As each finger moved in a last unsteady directors cue, the lights move like marionette strings. Precision application of unimaginable strain, to focus the sudden rush of power. Behind him, the Ithorian stood with head bowed, waiting, seemingly in standing meditation. Somehow, this encouraged the mage, and he continued to slice off the scale, cutting exacting facets within and without of the gem. If each face were just so it would make the gun take less energy to achieve more of the desire result.

Eventually his hand dropped, and four crystals cut to the envy of any jewelrymaker lay where the lumps of crude matter were. Ostanes nodded to Draco and then the gems, beyond words at the moment.

[member="Draco Vereen"]

 

[Laira Darkhold]

The Force churned and cracked, thunder rumbling through the cavern in the bowels of the Valley of the Jedi, and then there was calm as the alchemist produced the clean cut gems. Draco's energy was drained from him, his skin slightly pale and qualmish, a cold sweat on his brow, fatigue setting into his muscles and mind. Draco exhaled, feeling the chanting cease from the choir outside the circle, the Thaumaturge quiet and exhausted. The runes that had been drawn at the beginning in the ritual burnt away, destroyed by some dark inner flame that had errupted from the blood during the ritual. Hours had passed, though it had seemed much shorter to the Mandalorian, and the wind that had swept through the cavern was gone, the air still, the Sith Hounds sitting quiet, waiting for instructions.

The Mandalorian sighed deeply, tired from the ordeal, and although they were not done with crafting of the weapon, the pair were done with the part that required their full concentration and the level of power they had accessed to fabricate such a creation. The gems lay on the anvil, the pieces of each revolver sat cool in the mold waiting for the smith's hands to true them and polish them quietly over the next several ours on the belts and with small utensils. The struggle of crafting was over, but not the deed itself.

Draco jutted his chin out, motioning to an onlooker to approach with a pair of chairs, mildly cushioned and comfortable. Deep in the Valley of the Jedi the pair would recover quicker than outside, and given that the smith had only to tinker for the next hour or so before he could polish and complete the weapons the pair had no reason not to sit comfortably and recuperate, shooting the breeze if they felt so inclined. Draco did not feel up for much conversation at the moment, his mind exhausted from the strains and stresses of crafting, birthing Dark Side fire and pouring all of his focus and strength into the crystal and metal they pair had shaped.

The Mandalorian collapsed into the chair with a slight grin, taking up the small screws and springs with a set of beskar files. The metal was strong, but until the final touch was completed, they would not be nigh indestructible. They would be mildly workable, albeit difficult, even for the smith. Small tools, minor clippings of flashing, filing away mold lines. Simple work done to each piece slowly and methodically, done by the calloused hands of a man who worked in a forge for years under several masters of the profession. Part of the Mandalorian regretted incorporating himself so much, as he had never intended to do so. He had always intended to work on custom equipment more than the production models he currently sold. Simple musings of a quiet man as his hands worked.

"So, Ostanes. Are you pleased with what has been done so far?" The Mandalorian checked each piece, rolling them over in his hands as he talked for the first time in several minutes. Each crystal sat on the anvil quietly, though the Mandalorian could feel their power. Soon it would be devoted to the cylinders, infusing them with their power, but for now they were dormant just sitting. Once all the filing and polishing was done, the Mandalorian would set the gems in the cylinder, set them permanently within the metal, and construct the weapon. Then all the pair had to do was channel the Force into them once and empower the aur diamonds within the imbued cylinder and they would be ready to fire for the first time.

[member="Ostanes"]

 

[Julius Sedaire]

The Alchemist sat without prompting when the chairs were brought, his staff sagging then rolling out of his hand to rest on the ground next to him. Tendrils and crackles of raw energy still popped and shot from his fingertips. Signs and symptoms of over-doing and over-working himself. But as his mind felt each piece, slowly and carefully, he nodded to Draco's question with a satisfied smirk and smile. Each gun was ready. More than ready, really. Blacksmith or no, his companion made an admirable gunsmith, and he watched the man work silently, nodding and drawing in a yawn. Obeah rattled in his mind, urging him to go on, to do something, maddened by the sudden lack of energy to consume and grow upon. At this moment he muted the rambling voice rather forcefully, sagging again at the sudden loss of connection.

Whatever had become, whatever had been done, Obeah was soundly stuffed in a little box and made quiet even in the lesser state that Ostanes was. Tired eyes looked over at the gems, and the smile grew, nodding in satisfaction. Crystallurgy was a rarer and rarer talent these days, but it paid in such dividends he did not regret it being his hallmark. It's applications transcended such traditional markers like biological and inorganic, if the practitioner had but the mind to see. Much of the Arcane was laden in rules, but many of those rules were made and developed to be broken really, none of them or few really were immutable. They were ways to focus the mind,to train it so to minimize risk during the enchantment and the casting. Ways to achieve something like what a Jedi or Sith would do without the ceremony, but with less risk.

Stretching, rolling, he nodded to his uplifted tuk'ata, and they came forward. Not in as servile a pose as before, but still they came. Today, in their culture, they gained great standing by aiding him. They would be less apt to follow him unquestioningly, and he had little to no reason to fight it. In a way, they had earned it. [member="Seydon of Arda"] and Rave would probably grin at that. [member="Dissero"] might even rub at his chin in that wise-man-of-the-stars way... And @Vallik? His first Master had been brief in being around from the shi'ido, but even the Mad Fringer might nod in approval. To gain, something of equal value must be lost. A might gain was his today, in many ways. This new found spine and spirit of his constant companions was an acceptable part of the price to be paid.

Standing, he drew a completed pistol Draco had set aside, and with the dregs of his reserves, drew to him the bullets made, and the Ithorian stepped forth to offer the cylinder in opened cask. Ostanes had a penchant for finely decorate old things, and the scrollwork Draco had done was quite attractive. But further still, thanks to Seydon, he liked the more archaic weaponry. So a flick of the wrist, and a quick inward snap and the cylinder was loaded, a single bullet in the chamber, and spun to live fire, the hammer cocked back. But he waited, looking, the temptation to end himself calling. What would happen if Obeah was loosed somewhere like Ruusan? Who alive could predict that hell? Instead, right as he began to agree, a bodyguard stepped forward, baring it's chest with tribal tattooing, and nodded to Ostanes. No words were said.

Bowing his head deep in return, the Thamaturge drew on the Talisman of Concentration he wore, on the staff next to his foot, on the Valleys' energy, and the Ithorian put a soft hand on his shoulder and another out towards the assembled weapon. In a haze of light that grew to a pulsing halo and then a blinding flash, the weapon was charged. He placed the barrel of it on the shoulder of the companion, and realized it was one of the first two to come forward and serve him, the one whose name meant roughly 'Shield Lord' or 'Lord Shield', Ostanes was never sure with their dialect. The faithful guard grabbed the gun as Ostanes fired, jerking the barrel over his heart, as the shot echoed with a loud, booming retort. The tuk'ata fell, the light leaving his eyes, and the mage watched in mute fascination.

He had intended to wound the servant, but the death-blow would more effectively demonstrate things for the gun. Here, freshly forged and drawing on such a powerful Nexus, the sentient guardian of the MAge regressed before their eyes, the spell of Alchemy slowly being unraveled. The mage knelt, and did the one thing he had seen the others do when another guard had been slain. Fingertips in his companions blood, he drew a rune over the eyelids as he closed them, and chanted a keening thing vaguely like Ancient Sith. It was their death song, and from their positions, the others rattled weapons and fists against chest in approval.

Ostanes met Dracos' eyes and looked to the other intended for Draco, and nodded as he rose and drew himself up.

"A fine gun, and a deadly weapon..Let us see what cost the Fates take from you for yours, shall we? I feel it is more than energy we pay today"

[member="Draco Vereen"]

 

[Laira Darkhold]

Draco cleaned up one of the small pieces of the revolver in his hand, quietly putting the pieces together, the energy surrounding the revolver condensing. Each piece was alchemically altered, its magnetic polarity altered, its density increased, their durability vastly enhanced throughout the process. Once permanently fused with the gemstone the pair had crafted for the focus, the Force energy would empower the weapon and they were complete. Already the witch and his Ithorian assistant had infused one of the revolvers, finishing the long process.

"Well, we have poured a small fortune into this project already, and my people and I have put countless man hours in gathering components and resources." The Mandalorian spun the cylinder, ensuring it was secure in its proper place. The engraving in each revolver wasn't terribly fancy, and each one was a finely polished black, the iron having been blackened by the Dark Side fires they were forged in. A small red gem was buried in the middle of cylinder, practically invisible after having been set within the iron. Polished veshok wood with a sith rune burned into it made for the grip,

The Mandalorian concentrated upon the focal point of the weapon, the red gem that radiated power and focus. As he poured what energy he had into the gem he could feel the Dark Side flowing through him. He was not devoted to the Dark Side, nor to the Light, but he could channel both if the situation called for it. The Mandalorian worked hard to keep from allowing his emotions to control him, though they often effected him more than a man would be willing to admit openly, but he maintained a level of clarity not everyone enjoyed. With that clarity, he filled the power of the aur diamonds embedded within the cylinder with the power of the Dark Side, feeling it radiating around him as it poured through the weapon, bleeding through the cylinder and into the weapon, solidifying its presence int he Force.

"It is a good weapon, unfortunately, there is always a cost to creating such things my friend." The smith placed a single bullet in the chamber and spun it, hearing the cylinder click as it turned until the round was aligned with the barrel. The hammer was pulled back and the warrior spun the weapon around on his finger feeling the balance of it. He knew what the weapon could do, but he had personally never seen it. Testing it would prove its worth, but likely result in the death of one of their allies. While the Thaumaturge may have been willing to sacrifice his servants for such a test, the Mandalorian was not. "It will see service soon enough. I believe the Valley of the Jedi has been tainted enough by our presence however. It is probably time we make our leave."

Tools and utensils could be gathered by a number of loader droids, evidence cleaned up, the area left in pristine condition. The idea was to leave the place as they had found it, so that others might find whatever guidance they sought from this place.

[member="Ostanes"]