To build a better mousetrap...

[Julius Sedaire]

​

Ijaat looked out the window of the spaceship as he landed. Dantooine was a place he admittedly hadn't visited much. But it fit his needs. Ever since crafting the saber he now wore almost at all times on his hip, he had realized even in the peak shape he was working back into, he would not be a match for Jedi or Sith except on his best day and their worse. He needed a way to get the edge, before he let himself loose to wage war like he once had. The best he could offer now-a-days was inevitably a little slower than before, his reactions just a hairs breadth slowed by age.

That is why he had decided to come to this backwater world out here in the Outer Rim. A friend of a friend of an associate had told him of a Force user here who made things. Could enhance things. Not like Sith Alchemy, using the Dark Side, but somehow similar, using the Light Side of the Force. Many of the things this guy made could speed your minds clarity, hone your reflexes. And that was what he needed. Physically he was more than a match for these Sith tooling around now-a-days. And he was only becoming more so. But he lacked the preternatural reflexes his youth brought that allowed him to match their kind.

Stepping off the dock of the transport as it hissed open it' ramps, Ijaat was acutely aware and grateful his armor was store in a rucksack on his back. The saber was safely wrapped in bantha hide on top of it. Only the crushgauntlets he had made, concealed in layers of wound wraps of coarse linen, were even remotely close to openly displayed. Covert had been his idea. He wasn't explicitly trying to conceal his identity, but he was trying to keep from screaming it, such as wearing the beskar'gam of a Journeyman Protector would have.

Otherwise he looked like a vagabond, maybe from a desert or arid climate, with a wrap around his face and a cloak over his pack with the hood pulled down over his face to hide the distinctive shade of amber-brown eyes and jet black hair, the slightly hooked nose and his trademark crescent moon scar. He rented a speeder bike at a nearby shop, not making a show of going for the best model, but making sure he wouldn't have to worry about it breaking down.

Swinging into the seat, he gunned the engine as soon as he was clear of town, heading to the coordinates he had gained from his contact. The Jedi, or whatever he called himself, would know to be expecting him, but hopefully didn't know exactly who he was. And if he did... Well that would be dealt with. For now, he tried to keep his mind clear, focused on the bike as he kept the throttle near red-lined and swooped in on his destination.

Arriving, he let the bike idle down to a low whine before turning it off and securing it, walking up to what he assumed was the main door of the place and knocking, perhaps more forcefully than he intended, but that happened with crushgauntlets.

[member="Shule Windspeaker"]

​

 

[Ashin Varanin]

[member="Ijaat Akun"]

The Dantooine enclave had two doors, one northeast and one southeast, both visible from the standard path of approach. By chance, and by dint of aesthetics -- one was a little deeper-set than the other -- Ijaat had chosen the door that led to the second story, which included visitors' quarters, a disused council chamber, landing pad access and a round central hall. That hall would be the first thing he saw as the door was opened by a youngish man in need of a haircut. Shule was well aware of the impression he and his tumbledown enclave offered. More than one student and more than one potential customer had preemptively weeded him- or her-self out of the pool by thinking too little of the battered old facility and its burlap-clad young housemaster. But Ijaat would note the well-used, slightly curved sabre at Shule's belt, the mended cuts in his old robes, and the scars on his hands. Early thirties or not, Shule had been around the block.

A test of perception, in its way. Ijaat wasn't the only one who picked his associates carefully.

Shule took in the crushgaunts and the part-concealed face with a sleepy blink, leaning against the door. "Welcome to the Dantooine Enclave. Can I help you?"

 

[Julius Sedaire]

Ijaat noted the callouses first off. And the sleepy look. The way the man moved didn't match the way he looked at all. The callous were in the right place for a swordsman too. Just on the curve and pad of the thumb and opposite on the forefinger and a little bit on the palm side of each of the knuckles, the closer to the thumb the more pronounced. He noted too that, though the garment was worn, it was patched and well mended. So it wasn't lack of resources. It was a lack of need to bedeck oneself with excess. And the Mandalorian smith liked that.

"Name is Ijaat.. I was told by a friend of mine that I could find someone here useful for a crafting endeavor I have... Able to influence and imbue beskar, specifically in a sword form"

The middle aged forger smiled, doffing his hood back to show his features, the scar and all. His eyes meet Shule's levelly, even relaxed they still gave off the keen impression of a hawk observing it's prey. His hair, a little windblown, was still close cropped and parted to the side almost like a holo-news anchors. He wasn't deadly looking, impressively brawny and big.. In fact, he could stand to loose a handful of pounds still by the extra bit of paunch around his gut. But he walked and stood with a deceptive ease. Anyone would see that even his resting pose was a readied stance for a boxer, hands light and placed to the sides, feet at his shoulders. It wasn't a stance of challenge, but of acceptance, and readiness.

Smiling, he struck out a hand, offering it to the man to shake as he spoke again. The accent, too, of Concord Dawn, would be unmistakable on his lips to anyone who had heard it before. Ijaat was sure he had came to the right place, and so was hiding nothing. A show of trust, so to speak.

"Hoping I cam to the right place"

[member="Shule Windspeaker"]

 

[Ashin Varanin]

[member="Ijaat Akun"]

Shule considered himself a good judge of character -- in general, his Jedi abilities tended toward the Sense discipline -- but it still took him a moment before he shook the offered crushgaunt. When it didn't result in the loss of a hand, he opened the door the rest of the way.

"You did, Ijaat. I think so, anyway."

As Shule ushered the beskarsmith into the Dantooine enclave, Ijaat would notice a handful of Jedi students, some busy, others interested. None approached him. Then there were Ithorians and Mon Calamari, all middle-aged or older, all wearing armor of the Jal Shey mentor pattern; they murmured greetings. "My friends and I know a couple of things that might be useful, though if you're looking for anything as blatant and flexible as alchemy, you'll probably leave disappointed. We can't make a Force-imbued blade with a non-Force-user, and your blade's already forged regardless. For an existing weapon, the Jal Shey may be able to help."

An Ithorian gronked ponderously. "Jal Shey products equal rules. Limits good judgment. Nirvana." His translator unit sparked unhelpfully.

"Master Chodo's right; Jal Shey crafting has specific principles and effects, all what you might call reasonable benefits, all to do with mental clarity. Some enhance perception, some improve meditation, some calm others or improve resistance to Dark Side mentalism. I suspect we could even induce a state of flow -- emptines -- if it wouldn't be too much of a crutch."

Gronk, gronk. "Metal-creator, hard-hands. Why sword and for whom?"

 

[Julius Sedaire]

The Ithorian and it's question caused him to pause for a moment, and he reached up, subconsciously adjusting the bundle under his cloak with a faint tink of metal on metal from his gauntlets gripping the pommel. He had noticed Shule hesitate when shaking his hand, and had to fight a grin. The man was observant. No one at the space port had recognized what lay under the wraps around his arms. But this Jedi had easily done so.

A feeling came to him then that he might want to be honest in the presence of this man. Not that he was ever duplicitous very often, but he sense even 'enhancing' or 'flavoring' the truth might be disastrous. Though it might also end, if he responded to the Ithorian, in him being dismissed in short order and sent away. His goals were not terribly in keeping with the Jedi code and such.

Fingers wrapped around his chin, tapping at it as he turned to eye the Ithorian, deciding to address his question. Absently he regarded his face as his fingers had tapped at it, and ruefully remembered he hadn't shaved this morning. Looks were not his strong suit this trip, he probably looked like a scruffy vagabond.

"I can not really say why a sword... I've never thought of it... It's the weapon that's always been at hand on my home. It's a device made for one purpose, and one purpose only in the end: to kill your opponent. It can't be used for wood, like an axe.. Nor for hunting, like a spear. Or even for eating and skinning and utility like a knife. I tried for years to not kill, to hide the war like impulse and nature in my heart, thinking I was some beast unfit to live after the things I had done... And I realized I was human still... The sword is a symbol of me.. A wise man once said "It is better to be violent, if there is violence in our hearts, than to put on the cloak of nonviolence to cover impotence"... And despite my efforts, there is still a storm in my heart. But it is not for random blood shed, as it once was. I desire to fight so that others, ranging from folk like you to children too young to even walk, might build a better world. One I may not ever be able to be a part of, but can still help bring about. It's my only chance at redemption now, this blade."

Eyeing the Jedi who let him in to drive the last few sentences home, he turned his gaze back to the Ithorian and nodded. He always got philosophical around Ithorians. Something about how they spoke woke it in him. Usually he wouldn't ramble on and speak so much at once... But he felt, if he were here asking them to do a favor such as he was, they were owed an explanation. And so he spoke a little more before falling silent.

"I don't need it to be ever sharp, or super naturally hard or glowing with the power of the Force. I need it to help me see in battle, feel the ebb and flow of combat, to resist their tricks and read their movements. Force wielders have a leg up on me naturally from their reflexes and their sabers. Beskar evens the saber field... Now I need to be able to feel the pace of combat and fight almost like they do."

[member="Shule Windspeaker"]

 

[Ashin Varanin]

[member="Ijaat Akun"]

The Ithorian made no visible response that translated into humanoid mannerisms, but Shule caught his assent and knew that Mentor Chodo knew he'd caught it, just as he knew that the Ithorian had caught his own certainty that Ijaat had told the truth in full. He and Chodo shared a look that probably came off as something like inscrutable.

"I think we can help you."

The Ithorian gribbled gently. "Perceive. Resist. Clarity."

Shule nodded. "The Jal Shey commonly make things to enhance perception, resist Dark Side mind tricks, and clear the mind. The last element may give us the most room to work. We can make your sword help you handle distractions, but I think we can go farther. When I was a young man practicing lightsabre forms, my first master, a man who called himself Southstar, caught me doing enough back-to-back forms that all the motions transitioned naturally into each other. 'Now you're starting to learn,' he said. I'd hit a state of flow for the first time, emptiness, straight-line connections between cause and effect. Eventually I learned to do it on purpose, and I'm fairly sure we could make your sword facilitate that state, so long as you don't feel it would be a crutch."

 

[Julius Sedaire]

[member="Shule Windspeaker"]

Ijaat nodded and reached up behind him, drawing out the rag wrapped sword and unbundling it. Supple blue-grey leather coated it all, from the studded sword belt with the carved buckle to the gleaming electrum chape at the tip of the scabbard and locket on the throat of it. With a permission seeking glance, Ijaat drew the sword, spinning it in his hands to offer it to Shule pommel first. The blade gleamed from a fresh polish, the folding of the beskar and the bold hamon across the edge throwing an almost frosty glow to the steel.

Overall it was obvious that Ijaat was attached to the thing by how he nearly glowed with pride as his eyes gazed on it. And he seemed to handle it almost like a mother might her first child, cradling the scabbard in the crook of his arm as he waited for Shule to take it from him.

"This is kyr'vhetine... The harvester... And it would be an honor, not a crutch, to allow you folk to to work on it, and to finish what I started in the forges"

 

[Jorus Merrill]

[member="Ijaat Akun"]

Not all the enclave's passers-by were Jedi students or Jal Shey. One, other than Ijaat, was a spacer with a sword. He didn't know the sword that well; it had been made for him, without his knowledge, as the final gift of someone he'd cared for. The curved handle and the bell hilt fit his hand; the long thin blade was quick enough to strike that it felt natural to him. But his background was in knives, and fighting sticks to some extent. He'd no more owned a lightsabre than he'd ever worn brown robes, and a sword was a whole other animal on top of that. Long blades in general were outside his experience, at least when it came to using them; he'd avoided plenty. Frankly, apart from knives, the closest thing he'd ever used consistently had been his beskar shotgun, the one he'd given to Mrrew for saving his life on the Absolution, and swinging that thing around like a bludgeon was a far cry from a cavalry sword like this.

He'd come to the Dantooine enclave because he needed to be sure the thing had no surprises, no accidents waiting to happen. His sister, the sword's smith, had been an alchemist of serious power, well entrenched in the dark side. But the Jal Shey and Windspeaker had looked it over, delved it thoroughly, and pronounced it clean.

Almost a pity. He'd wanted to hang it on a wall, keep it shiny, keep it out of his hands. Because the archaic sword demanded something from him: a personal, close-range engagement with the Forces Of Evil. He'd always preferred to handle them with guns, grappling, and starships, avoiding the standard range of personal combat in this day and age: the long blade. He'd always avoided speaking that language, fighting those fights, just as he'd avoided the iconography of the Jedi. The sword required that he step up on their terms, not on his, and he didn't much like that.

Across the atrium, Windspeaker and an Ithorian took another sword from a rag-wrapped man; its rasp in the sheath had caught Jorus' attention. Hand resting on the bell hilt, he noted how the other visitor handled the weapon, and the intensity of the locals' interest. Once they'd left, he ambled up to Ijaat.

"Nice blade," he said, indicating the departing Jal Shey with his chin. "I had to bring mine in to get it checked for Dark Side -- thought I'd be the only one who'd think to bring a sword to the Jal Shey."

 

[Julius Sedaire]

Nodding, Ijaat turned to regard the other, raising an eyebrow but smiling all the same as he watched the Jal Shey retreat with his sword. Letting the thing go, truthfully, made him almost as nervous as the first time he had let his son leave the family stead to accept a bounty on his own. It was nerve wracking to let something he had spent so much time and personal effort on just walk out with someone he barely knew. But he had to begin to trust, to believe. If he didn't, he knew where he'd end up, and he didn't want that.

"Aye... I think they were surprised, to be sure. But I would sooner cut off my hand than let anything of mine be forged by the Sith or the Dark Side. Too much experience with them to trust it... I'm Ijaat... Nice blade yourself... Old time cavalry saber... Know how to use it yet?"

Smiling, the Mandalorian stood in such a way the rags parted, revealing the beskar'gam undenearth the rags. The paint was chipped, sun faded, but the olive drabish green still shone proudly with the yellow, and the helmet at his hip peeked up with it's visor scar and white jaig eyes. If Jorus knew anything about Mandalorians, he'd know the man had seen... Well hell, most everything in his short years, with those golden eyes looking the spacer up and down appraisingly, oddly enough taking a bit of time to obviously stare at his hands.

"I mean no offense, but given how you walk and your hands, either you are new to the blade or are very vain and have rejuv treatments on your hands. You walk like a dangerous man, but not quite yet like the thing belongs to you, though it might someday."

[member="Jorus Merrill"]

 

[Jorus Merrill]

[member="Ijaat Akun"]

"No offense taken. I'm Jorus Merrill, captain of the Gypsymoth. I'm a pilot by trade; in a fight, I use a knife or a gun, sometimes a club. Long blades...I've never had much luck with them." He grimaced faintly, and was quietly amazed that the expression wasn't more pronounced. At least it didn't feel pronounced. "My sister is -- my sister was a smith, and a good one. Good with swords. She made me this without telling me, left it for me before she...killed herself."

It took him a moment to continue -- his mind just didn't want to get in gear. "So I figured the least I could do was learn how to use it. Dantooine enclave's known for sabre work, and I was out this way anyway."

 

[Julius Sedaire]

Ijaat nodded helpfully, glancing a moment at the saber, then at Jorus, then back, speaking as he eyed the blade. His words were almost unfocused, and he nodded slightly as he did, rubbing at his chin in thought and concentration. Here he let his professional side take over, the Smith and the Blaemaster both speaking unrestrained and raw, and with a force to his voice that was absent previous. It was as if he came alive a bit, despite going to sleep as well.

"It is a good blade... I'm not sure how used to actual swords a Jedi is.. I've studied some of their forms for my own benefit, you see... Their blades are weightless, except in the hilt. Lends itself to a lot of different wrist movements, and means you can achieve more force by using lesser muscles in your wrist and shoulder, rather than counting on your hips and such for power and force like a proper sword requires. The training is still good, and worth it to take, but overall you'll have habits to unlearn and ones you you that you will need to develop. Nothing major though, and you could do worse... If you're going to study from saber jockeys, Form V is a good bet...

Yours is interesting, that blade... It will be a little slower on recovery, due to the assumed weight and broad shape, but that same weight and shape will give it a lot of power in the stroke. A proper downward slash should cleave a skull down to the axial vertebrae with that sort of blade. You'll want to work your footwork a lot, if you're not using it mounted. Stay out of reach, lunge in, slash, step back and recover safely in range, things like that. I'm not terribly familiar with that exact type, but what little i've used it, that seems to be the best way."

Folding his hands before him, Ijaat smiled, nodding as if to himself as he passed an odd card to Jorus. It said nothing, other than a set of oddly specific coodinates somewhere in mandalorian space. But it was a quite heavy stock of paper, cream and rich feeling to the touch, the lettering actually golden ink. The back of it had nothing on it but mando'a read Beskar'yaim... The Iron Home, in basic.

"And of course, should you ever be in Mandalore's neighbhor and wish a few drills, punch those into a shuttle or speeder, or something small... I'm a bit of a homebody, given I lack a ship of my own. Hell, the trip here was probably expensive enough I could have bought one. But just as you're ignorant of swords, my ignorance is ships. Never shown how to fly one, and got no idea what to look for to buy one...I'd be happy to go a few rounds and see how the Jedi have trained you, Captain.If your sister saw fit to give you such a thing before her death, it'd be a crime to not show you how to use it."

[member="Jorus Merrill"]

 

[Jorus Merrill]

[member="Ijaat Akun"]

He might have active or reserve commissions in various navies, a history on the Jedi Council, and a mega-hyperlane named after his daughter, but his lack of formal education was pretty comprehensive, and so he was never sure where to put his eyes when being taught something that didn't involve staring out a starship's bow viewport. He kept his focus on the sword until Ijaat offered him the business card, which he slipped into the pocket of faded black trousers. Each outside seam was marked by a long dashed stripe of dull gold -- the Corellian bloodstripe, second class. He'd earned it just outside Coronet by kicking down a door and arresting a Sith Lord at her own wedding, while under the guns of two hundred droidekas. Not long after, he'd nutshotted a Sith Emperor with a beskar gunstock.

But for all that he'd accomplished in his thirty-something years, the whole long-blade scene that seemed to define the galaxy still made him feel like a boy, and always had. Not on the sense of playfulness and adventure, but in the sense of insufficiency and anxiety. He had enough experience and talent with ships, grappling and such that he could correct for his own mistakes in those arenas, but his acquisition of competence had made his skillset's deficiencies all the more jarring and intimidating.

And he just didn't have the time to plug the gaps. He had a life -- a wife, three jobs, a kid. He didn't have time to devote his life to learning this. Not even if he replaced the time he'd given to his relationship with his sister, which hadn't been nearly enough. But he listened to Ijaat, and kept the card. "Thank you," he said, and meant it. He gestured off the way Shule and the Ithorian had gone. "What're they doing to your blade?"

 

[Julius Sedaire]

Here Ijaat shrugged a bit, gauntleted hands thudding heavily as he gripped at his belt, then looked in alarm at the little eating knife at his belt his hand had been on. The duasteel handle, an integral blade, was now gnarled and twisted as if he had melted or shaped clay to fit his hand. Still not used to the strength of crushgauntlets, he grinned sheepishly at the display of nerves.

"If all goes well, they'll be doing their thing to help keep my mind clear and focused, at the heart of it.. A Jedi or a Sith submerged in the Force moves faster than I can. No regular way around it... That blade, once were done with it here, should let me time my movements and counters and strikes so efficiently I will in effect be moving even faster than they can because my reaction processing will be faster. And even fractions of a second are precious in a duel."

Looking down at his hands and the ruined knife, he grinned, flexing his fingers a bit as if they were stiff.

"Though to tell the truth, I may need to learn a bit more boxing than I currently know... These gauntlets are more than I imagined."

[member="Jorus Merrill"]

 

[Jorus Merrill]

[member="Ijaat Akun"]

Jorus shrugged. "I've shockboxed, which is about as close as you can get to boxing with a pair of those on your hands. Easier to pick up than shooting well-"

He looked up sharply as the Ithorian shuffled back in, carrying Ijaat's sword, though the Jal Shey had only been gone for a matter of minutes. Jorus wasn't much for Force senses, but the sword felt different, very subtly so. The Ithorian gronked volubly, and the battered translation unit whirred to obliging life. "Seeds planted. Nurture with good soul. Strong sap flows as the garden grows. Do not over-water."

 

[Julius Sedaire]

Ijaat took the blade in his hands, and went immediately into a series of movements, his face a screwed mask of concentration. At first there seemed to be only a sort of hyper-focus. It was easier and quicker to move, but nothing amazing. However, he kept at it, the blade whirring masterfully in his hands from guard to guard, strike to strike. His eyes went almost slack, as something did seem to begin to form in his mind. Moves ahead of where he actually was in movement, he now seemed to see the flow of his steps better.

There was no thinking now, no need to visualize one form or strike leading to the next. Even though, with decades of time in with the blade the decision took him barely fractions of a second, even that was cut further, and indeed the blade fairly hummed and sang through the air as the armored mandalorian whirled, rag-cloak fluttering and snapping. There was almost an artistry and dance like quality, and indeed even a genuine, serene smile crept on his face as he finally stopped with an abrupt motion, the blade sliding home with a hiss into the scabbard as he bowed thankfully to the Ithorian.

"I will water it sparingly, only when the need is great, my friend... Thank you, for this gift..."

Smiling to Jorus, he rattled the blade in it's scabbard.

"Don't suppose you're heading anywhere near Mandalore? I can pay for a ride back. Those passenger freighters get antsy with me about.."

[member="Jorus Merrill"]

 

[Jorus Merrill]

[member="Ijaat Akun"]

"Not a problem." Jorus hiked a thumb in the direction of the hangar doors, behind which rested a flying brick of a YV-929. "The Gypsymoth's parked right through there. I'll be sticking around here for a couple days tops, and I've got some spare berths. Don't mind the Kushiban -- Miktik's a little too friendly, but he's good people. And, uh..." He glanced at the departing Ithorian, a pacifist like pretty much all Ithorians. Frankly, he was amazed the Jal Shey had agreed to work on the sword at all. Shule's influence, maybe.

"...and don't mind the crates marked 'Tenloss.' My friends and I run some guns to resistance groups in Sith territory. Nothing you need to worry about, just stock on hand, bound for a place that needs them. I'm not paranoid about the stuff; poke around if you like."

 

[Julius Sedaire]

With that, Ijaat merely grinned, eyeing the suddenly nervous smuggler, but shook his head.

"We will get along just fine then.. I tend to kill any Sith I see. Or do my best to ruin their day. It's why I came here for this sword. Might be why they agreed to work on it... They murdered three children and a wife of mine... Way I figure, that means I owe them a few more deaths yet before my own card is punched. So if that is your business, and you ever need muscle, or a particularly nasty bit of weaponry or armor, you got it."

Ijaat strode towards the deck, saber in hand, and smiled, whistling a merry tune and walking a little straighter. Things would even out. They always did. And he had the ability to make them do so now.

[member="Jorus Merrill"]