Obscured Hangar Kuroshin Castle Kyataru
Muz stepped off of the open maw of the Fallen Spear to hard deck plating, the sound of rushing water drowning out most of the sound of the hangar, carved into the cliffside below the ancestral castle. He stopped, tilting his head to take in his surroundings. The last several months had seen him galloping around Brotherhood space, finding little time to return home. He breathed deeply, letting his senses expand as he closed his eyes. Points of brightness flared against his mind, others of his bloodline on this world, pursuing familial matters.
Sanjuro was closest, up in the rebuilt castle, working with the governor of the nearby town. Further out, Manji stalked deer, the tension in his bowstring as strong as his focus. Beyond the mountains, over the sea, he could feel Shikyo, out in a small boat among the islands he so loved. Muz drew his senses back, exhaling slowly. Kojiro would arrive soon, and the work would begin. He nodded once at the Nihilgenia approaching the ship to do their work before stepping away.
In a normal day, he would have taken the old stair. The spiral that forefathers had built to reach the caves deep below the castle, beyond even the waterfall-obscured cave he now stood. He appreciated the exercise, relished in the chance to press himself down so many hundreds of meters. But today? The lifts would suffice. He’d want to save his energy, his focus for the work at hand. The doors slid closed behind him and the crate he had brought along. The Beskar was light enough, string enough, but it had a resonant frequency that irritated his finer senses. They were capable of so much more.
The whirring of the turbolift finally stopped, and the doors opened. The dim cave ahead was lit only by the light of the lift itself. Torches lined the walls every so often, the metal wrought in the old style. Muz smiled as he stepped off, into the darkness. A fick of his wrist, a twist of the mind. The fine filaments at the edges vibrated themselves into friction and then ignition. The way was clear, down in the rough stone.
The opening was broad enough, the furnace fuelled by the heart of Kyataru itself. The thermal vent caged by antique steels and perfectionist’s craft. The anvils and tools, stood still in time, the dust of decades upon them. He crossed his arms in front of him, taking stock of the situation. Oshima knew he was down here, the Majordomo would leave them to their work uninterrupted. Muz let his mind open the crate, exposing the rare metals, stones, crystals, and herbs that the process would take. The crystalline tome tucked to the side would whisper to them of anything that they might not have memorized as they went. Muz shrugged off his warcoat, hanging the long leather and armorweave garment on hooks that lined the cave wall. It was hotter down here, and once the work began, even more so.
But all so worth it.
There it was. He could feel the youngest of them arrive. Kojiro. This was not just armor that he was here to forge. It was something deeper, more important than that.
The journey had been long, much longer than Kojiro had imagined it to be. But part of him wondered if it was less to do with the destination and more to do with his own crooked soul. He’d been travelling for months now, perhaps years, trying to find his place and everytime he thought he had discovered something which spoke to him and gave him an identity. It slipped from his fingers. The young man, well not so young anymore he realised as he stepped down from the entrance to his ship. He clenched the unfamiliar fist, another product of rituals gone wrong.
He’d left his helmet on the ship, after all he was home and something about leaving it behind gave him room to breathe. But as he began to walk away a gentle tapping made him turn on his heel.
Lilith didn’t say a word, but as he looked down he noticed she’d carried his helm in her arms. He hasn’t wanted to bring her here, but she rightly pointed out maybe her own summoning Magicks could help give life to whatever he was here to create. So he had relented and thus here she was.
“Right let’s go,” Kojiro began his walk. Home for the first time in forever it felt like.
How strange it was.
The fire poured heat into the workshop, the grate of the forge carved from the bedrock itself to look like the maw of an ancient dragon. Muz stopped, staring as it glowed. Hundreds of generations, thousands of swords, a million arrowheads had been brought to life here, in the fiery breath of the Keibatsu’s Dragon.
His mind wandered to his father’s sword. The curve of lethal steel, the alchemy of how they had used the old craft to temper the edge but not the spine creating patterns in the steel that looked like rolling clouds. The volcanic ash that they used, he had gone to great trouble to acquire. Just in case they needed it.
The footsteps grew closer, and he lifted one of the hammers with his hand. Testing the weight, he flipped it and tapped it against one of the larger anvils. There were more modern methods, cleaner, less work. He’d seen them before. Even the Mandalorians, steeped as they were in tradition, made use of far more technology and far less sweat.
And that, Muz felt, surrendered some of the magic.
No, they would melt the ingots themselves, blend the metals in the old ways. Fire and sweat, working it the way that their forefathers intended. Hammer out the ingots, to form the steel with muscle and heart.
The path was clear. After they crafted the plates, to carve the runes themselves, pouring their will into it, carried into the metal with the esoteric compounds and exotic ingredients accumulated over the past twenty years. The ancient alchemic manuals were there in case their memories flickered, down deep in the dark heart of Kuroshin.
Muz turned back to the crates he had set on the workbench, setting the hammer back in the slot where it had laid for however many years. He pulled the ingots out, alloys and raw ores from corners of the galaxy that his forefathers wouldn’t have even seen in the night sky. He lay them out next to each other, feeling the breath of the dragon behind him. The warmth felt like home, like the ancestors were watching him, approving of how far they had come, and what he knew would come next.
Leena hovered near the entrance to the forge, her silhouette vague beyond the waves of heat that glimmered in the air. She stepped toward the lift, engaging with the two that stepped off, before one peeled away, moving down the dim corridor toward him. Kojiro kept his pace steady as he moved into the forge proper, a quick look over his shoulder at the women that waited behind for their part in the process.
The techweaver’s art would help with more advanced functionality, adding bleeding edge functionality to the ancient artistry. The nightsister would add another level to Koji’s work, deep and chthonic magic woven atop. They had tested the layering some time ago on a blade, to make sure that the essences would not counter each other or make some sort of wicked side effect. The arte was more than just lightning and rage, and none knew that better than they did.
Muz looked up at him as he finished stacking the elements for the crucible, a half smile on his lips.
Now the work could begin.
Kojiro had removed his armour, and now remained in his undershirt as he hefted the materials and equipment to their proper places. He’d found comfort since coming home, and felt little need to wear the shell that had protected him. Though, he mused as the thoughts flooded his head, he could exactly work on it if it was worn.
He looked over towards Lilly who had perched herself on one of the boxes, eyes closed and muttering. Flicks of green flame danced around her fingers and across her limbs and not for the first time he was reminded of how alien the Force was when it came through her. A sense of…. jealousy, perhaps, entered his mind as he thought of the mysteries he’d never unlock. She’d promised him, once she knew how, she would enhance him like the older mothers had done before with worthy Night Brothers but until then he’d just watch her with both amusements and awe.
Muz stood nearby and Leena was hovering about as Kojiro put the last item into place and moved over to the Forge controls, flicking several switches and listening as the device thrummed into life.
“Feels weird, removing aspects of the past to forge something new. On a place I haven’t had the chance to call home for some time,” a low chuckle escaped his lips. “Feels good though. Almost better than therapy I’m sure.”
The ingots placed in the broad crucible, Muz sprinkled the powder over top. The rare earths, herbs and ground elements would stabilize the resulting alloy, and give their alchemic processes something to latch on to once the armor was formed. He slipped the long handled tongs over the container, nodding to Kojiro to attend to the other handle. He joined him, lifting together as they placed the crucible in the mouth of the dragon, the furnace belching fire as a response.
They stepped back from the heat, Muz turning toward the case, retrieving a pair of silvered cups, intricate carvings across the outsides. Cool water from the spring beneath the castle poured from a similarly carved pitcher, the quiet clink of ice drawing their attention from the slowly melting metals. Muz finally responded to the man.
“Alchaka.” The old forms still held a lot of power, and that form of meditation, couched in movement, in work, the art of creation, was no exception. Muz raised the cup for a moment before letting the cold water flow into his mouth, letting it cool him. He leaned forward, watching the contents glow and bubble. A long spike, the metal dark and clean, went into the crucible, stirring a top that had formed a sort of skin over the rest back into rest of the metal. Soon.
Muz moved from the furnace, setting the stir into a pot of water at the side, a plume of steam rising. The old hardened molds had stood along the other edge of the room for generations, the rectangular voids for fresh ingots. He selected one, and brought it back toward the work. Pouring the alloy would be first. Then the long and arduous work of folding the metal over and over until it had the precise number of layers could begin. After that, hammering the ingots out until they were the right shape, calculated by measurements of their own bodies. They were to fit like second skins, after all.
He motioned for Koji to hold the mold as he retrieved the crucible, the glowing metal within bubbling with ferocity as he tilted it into the mold. Small flames danced along the edges, where the metal found something that it could burn, something it could consume. He watched as the ingot formed, a long tail included to serve as it’s own handle for when they would fold it over itself so many times. Koji nodded, watching the metal change color and solidify before tilting the mold on it’s side, the dense metal clanging to the anvil with a ringing sound.
Muz handed him a set of fire gloves, the material keeping the heat from sensitive flesh. Sparks flew as the first of a thousand hammers clanged, beating the metal into something new. Something stronger.
Each strike of the hammer on near molten beskar sent shivers up Kojiro’s arm. The sparks from each strike danced into the sky as the hammer struck, reforging, remaking. When the sparks hit their apex they drifted lazily for a second and rested on the gloves before vanishing from existence. He’d always marveled at the simplicity of hitting things hard with a hammer for them to take new shapes, had done it himself many times to many things. Mostly people, especially since joining the brotherhood and Sadow. A sad smile flicked across his lips and he shook his head to clear the thought as his next hammer blow struck the anvil instead of the metal.
Muz raised an eyebrow and looked at the younger man with a slight hint of curiosity and another of concern in his eyes. He didn’t say anything, probably didn’t need to as he worked the forge.
It’s been no secret the struggles of the last few years. Been no secret any of it.
As the hammer struck the worked on metal again he refocused his attentions on his craft. Moulding and shaping the piece.
Well maybe, just maybe going forward he’d be like this craft. Changeable for the better.
Hours passed in the deep, the ringing of steel against steel the sound of creation. They folded the metals into each other, then beat them out into the needed plates. Forming them by force of muscle and will, they slowly began to take shape. Quenched in no small amount of sweat, the plates steamed as they cooled on workbenches older than they were.
Muz went for the fine tools next, a mortar and pestele grinding the crystals and herbs together to make a viscous paint. A set of chisels arrayed before him, he began the detailed work. Runes of ancient power, the symbols learned from a lifetime of studying Sith Alchemy and Krath Sorcery picked out and traced together in miniscule detail. Deep impressions carved into the steel, tiny ribbons pulling away in damascene patterned steel from the edge of the blade. Smoothing the curves with great care, he worked slowly, deliberately. The markings would be hardly noticable by those who knew what to look for, but that was a choice. The point was not ostentatious displays of wealth, power, station. The point was the work itself, the duty of armor.
Koji finished the last of the small plates, the knuckles of the gauntlets finally finished. He wiped the sweat off of his brow with a rag, moving to observe the Lion in his work. Quick hands picked up the mortar and pestle, continuing to grind the paste, mixing the tinctures and elements, keeping them smoothly emulsified for the application. He glanced around the kit, eyes settling on the brushes. The tools were of dark wood, several fine hairs affixed to the end by means of a silver collar. This was indeed detail work. Muz caught his eye for a moment, drawing the former Nihilgenia’s attention to what he was doing.
A few steps later, Koji could see what he had carved in. The symbols of the spheres, calling the potency of the universe into the very metal itself, traced the rolled edges of the breastplate. They rolled artfully together, the fine lines exposing the layers of the steel if you could focus your eyes closely enough. He drew his fingers along the path, the lines wrapping together into an arcane seal at the very front, coiled together under the talons of the Dragon of the Keibatsu. Muz waited for the recognition to bloom in his brother’s eyes. Even if he didn’t follow all of the arte, he could certainly understand this.
Handing the plate to him, he nodded at the paint in the mortar and pestle, inviting him to continue the work, as he started the next bit of carving. Like all too many things, and still never enough, they would manage this together, as a family.
Kojiro had moved himself to the floor, the tools arrayed around him. He had never been an artist but he knew enough to get by and follow his brother’s lead. As he worked his eyes barely moved from the piece of armour he worked on, the edge of his tongue sticking out between his teeth as he concentrated. A soft curse escaped his lips as he misstroked and sent the brush a little to far down.
“It’s fine, you’re doing well.” A voice flittered into his ear as Lilly say beside him. She reached out the Sacred Mother wiped away the error with a piece of treated cloth. “Nothing worth doing is easy”
Kojiro chuckled without humour and looked over to his brother who was working away, carving the next piece, and sighed. He watched next as Lilith moved a small package from around her and handed it to the young Keibatsu. He raised an eyebrow and opened it.
Two almost identical tusks sat in the package, both had been intricately carved and stood about the length of his forearm.
“What’s this?”
“Oh, baby tusks from my Rancor. Kept them for sentimental value. Thought they’d look nice on the armour,” she looked at his confused expression and a flint of sadness passed, replaced by the usual hard exterior. “Hey if you don’t want the…”
“No no, thank you.”
The detail was exquisite. The scene almost seemed to move and he was sure small notes of witch fire danced between the lines. The art was certainly better than anything he could do and a sigh escaped his lips once more before returning to the work.
If everything was easy. Nothing would be worth doing.
Two piles. Muz stood, wiping sweat from a pale brow as he looked at the plates, set in an approximation of how they would be assembled. Two distinct piles, from the same batch of metal, the same work. The dark plates differed in their runes, the designs in subtle ways, one set feeling more refined and polished, the other more aggressive somehow. The plates seemed like it yearned for the first of many dents from combat. Muz smiled, cracking his back as he stretched. So like the two of them it was.
The strapping was likely the easiest step, and it was all but complete. Rivets driven into the plates, attached to wide bands of treated leather or into hinges with the other plates. It wasn’t a glamorous task, but a needed one that took a lot of care to ensure that the work was comfortable. Useful. Protective as possible. Still, they tried to make it work, pressing even more symbols into the leather, sealing the blessings in the ancient ways with dyes.
Koji stood, the blood rushing from the sudden movement. He set down the tools, the pigment seeming to lumenesce on the brush. Was it a trick of the light, or something else? Koji’s eyebrow went up, turning toward the eldest. Muz merely nodded. Their arms ached, their eyes sore and strained. Had it been eight hours? Twelve? A day? Beneath the mountain, there was no way of telling how long they had been working already.
They both turned in unison, looking at the result with a long breath. The physical part was done. Next was the arcane, then the technological.
Kojiro had stopped trying to be artistic about half way through and most of the rest of his armour was flourished with symbols long gone, emblems of the Nightsisters, the Mandalorians, Sadow, the Sith, ancient cultures he’d come across on his exploration. They all swirled and merged into one another and it would take a trained eye, or some clued into their history and culture to identify all the man had seen in his travels. As he looked at the armour he realised it may not be pretty, but it was him. A unity of all that had come before. He walked towards his set and ran his fingers across the plates. Feeling the etching against his fingertips. They stopped at two indents, one in the breastplate above where the heart would be and another in the centre of the helm. Gem sockets and Kojiro looked back towards Lilly who sat perched, needle and thread dancing across cloth.
She had produced two small crystals that seemed to dance with more witch fire. Taken from the depths of Dathomir she claimed they were similar to those used by Force users to light their swords but weren’t the same exactly. When placed in their sockets they would cause the armour to dance with fire, or so she said. They fed on raw emotions and turned it into some form of flickering light show. Kojiro had no idea what she meant but he appreciated them none the less.
The garment she worked on his was to act as a surcoat for the armour and once again he admired the woman that sat before him.
He watched as Leena toddled over with her tools, and box of components. Muz and her exchanged a few glances before approaching the armour and getting to work. The crafting was fine to a point. But he’d never mastered the intricate levels of technology that was about to go into them.
Instead whilst they worked on that aspect Kojiro turned to another box that he’d brought from the ship and opened it. Revealing his old light saber. A weapon he hadnt used in a long while.
Two black crystals sat beside the weapon and he ran a hand through his beard.
“Well guess my next step is this”
The scent of solder and the squeak of bolts filled the air as the Twi'lek worked. She installed the components deftly, quick hands making light work of the electronics. A linkage to their weapons, their ships, their helmets. The interface could be selected to connect with VASIC, directing power from the fusion cores as they might need in the field. Muz stepped closer to her as she worked, lifting a completed bracer and resting it on his right arm. Snapping it closed, he felt as the mag seal activated, snug, but comfortable.
He let his eyes trace the lines of their work, seeing through the metal and the etching into the pattern below. The alchemy that punctuated the song of the steel, a symphony in the Force. He let his senses roll through the piece, his mind testing it from all angles at once. The alchemy would resist even lightsaber blades, if they somehow managed to descent through his own maelstrom of defenses. A smile crept up his face as he turned to Kojiro, watching his eyes as they locked onto the completed parts of his own kit. Kojiro would wear his metal skin far more often than he would, the man seemingly always seeking out the most dangerous situations possible.
Muz paused, letting his mind slip back All the things he found that he could only learn on the battlefield swirled in his head, the tuition paid in blood and sweat. How many years had he spent cleaning carbon dust off of his face, smeared with the detritus of war, now all seemed so far away. Now, it seemed his presense on the field of battle was a statement in and of itself, encouraging allies to fight harder, frightening lesser opponents and encouraging the strongest enemies to come and try their luck, to test their fate. The Lion rarely had to unsheath his claws, but when he did…
“We’re almost done here, Otouto.”
Kojiro watched Lilith walk towards the armours pulling two crystals from a pouch at her waist and slotting two crystals into the settings on the chest plate and helm. A few moments after green witch fire danced across from her hand into both gems respectively and the armour seemed to pulsate as veins danced across it. Kojiro watched fascinated and flexed his own hand, a spark of green energy danced from his fingerprints, a trick he’d picked up and been taught by the Nightsister Mother. Against the rules but she didn’t seem to care, what good are rules when a population is dead after all.
He stood then and made his way to the armour stands. By his left side his new lightsaber was almost building itself via his Telekinesis.
“Looks good,” running his hand across the set. “Needs some extra adornments but that can be added later.”
Kojiro knew what still needed to be done, harvesting the right materials from certain animals to outfit it and keep him warm. But that would come later. He closed his eyes and felt like he could almost hear the Dathomir Crystals sing to him, promising him power and all manners of things. He ignored them for now and turned his head to his brother.
“I missed this. Feeling free and unrestrained. Too much adventuring and finding oneself has it’s burdens.” He reached upto his neck and took a small pendant from around it. Milk teeth set in a gem Hun from it. Taken from the two pups he had raised from birth.
“Perhaps it’s time to stop wandering and reclaim my identity.” He reached out to the armour and ran a hand across the faceplate. “And this, well this is but the start. The Keibatsu need to rise again to our old prominence. Especially with the clan floundering. It’s upto us to take the reigns.”
Stepping back from the armour he moved over to the table where his finished lightsaber had settled. It ignited with a flourish of black plasma. This felt right. This felt like where he was always meant to be.
“Now, I’m going to need new pets.”
Black eyes watched the black blade ignite, the newly sourced crystals a boon that even he took advantage of. An eyebrow went up as he removed the new bracer, setting it along with the rest of the kit. How long had they been here? Below the weight of time, beneath the rock of Kuroshin, there was no day, no night, and time seemed ephemeral. It was by intent. The work was the metric that they operated under, the completion of the alchemy their only timeframe.
Something gnawed at him. Kojiro was right. The clan was suffering. While so many things seemed to be going right, there was a distinct lack of new acolytes flowing from the Academy. Perhaps it was time to rely on that apparatus less and on their own strength more. He paused, eyes unfocusing as he thought it through, plans unfolding in his mind, contingencies branching out like lightning seeking the ground. What he knew was coming, what he had forseen, would take a deft hand to counter. It would take a revitalized clan to handle. There was yet an option.
“Thoughts?”
Muz turned his head toward Kojiro. “I’ll contact DarkHawk.” The last proconsul had stepped down recently, and fate seemed to favor that course of action. Pivoting on his heel, he looked at the three of them. “But first…”
Rally the banners. We feast.