Sitting in the corner of a small outbuilding, Erril once again cursed his frail sephi heritage. As he sat with his head cocked back at an awkward angle, holding a dirty rag to his bleeding nostril, he couldn’t help but feel a small pang frustration at how his body had rebelled against him on this dying world. Most Jedi had enough self-discipline to maintain reasonable health and fitness, but he knew he had always been among the most disciplined in honing his physical body into the tool he needed it to be. On the world they’d inhabited until just two years ago, he’d enjoyed even greater heights of vitality and strength as life in the wilderness had become once more a first nature to him. And now here he sat, his cells suffering the slow progress of barely-managed tibanna poisoning while others of his brethren who’d spent less than half the lifetime energy he had on physical discipline went about their days not necessarily comfortable, but not constantly wheezing, pausing to wait out spells of light-headedness, or managing minor nose bleeds either.
Erril indulged in a rare sip of bitterness while he waited for his bleeding nostril to clot.
It was nearly two years now since that wild heart of light and surged back into itself, come fully back to life and cast them backward through space until they had fallen short of some better mark on this dying boneyard of a carbonite mine. There was so little they could do here compared to the plentiful land on the Nexus world – no way for them to thrive, despite their best efforts. Some of those who would have been their best hope weren’t here, anyway…
The withering Jedi sighed and tossed his rag back on the workbench. Leaning his head back into the corner, he sat on his little cobbled-together folding stool and cited the names of each Jedi who’d been misplaced in the final transition. Starting with the three nearest to him.
Mission…
Kaytren…
Caysen…
Jaden...
Vesh...
Tormund...
There were over a dozen souls who hadn’t arrived on this world with them. He didn’t know if he pitied them or envied them, but their absence was felt either way. He sat quietly, staring at the dull grey ceiling of the metal outbuilding until a solitary tear rolled out the corner of his eye across his temple. He brushed it away self-consciously, and made himself get up, though he slowed himself before he rose too quickly and caused his nose-bleed to return.
He’d been idle too long. On the Nexus world the occasional few days to take a break from the overarching task and meditate had been welcome – indeed it had been some of the most beneficial time he had spent in reflection and ponderance in several years – but here, any time he had to himself where there was no task at hand was only time for his clinical senses to kick in and realize that this planet was slowly slipping a knife between his ribs. Erril had begun trekking back from the little outbuilding where he usually went to feel feeble in peace, and was about to resume searching for something useful to do when the pensive mood slowly overcame him, and his feet slowly ground to a halt again.
Erril’s grey eyes wandered across the landscape, taking in the craggy surfaces. The planet practically sweat carbonite. Were he to have discovered this place under more favorable circumstances, he would have been fascinated by the abundance of carbon here, but there was nothing he could do with the discovery as things were…
Or could he?
Erril stooped slowly and scooped a handful of the raw, unforgiving soil into his weathered hand and examined it. The flakey consistency was noticeable even here, away from the main dig sites. The base minerals that combined into carbonite permeated the entire surface beyond long term sustainability of humanoid life – he suspected it was why the facility had been abandoned – but the fact could not be denied that the one resource was still incredibly abundant. Even now they were in the midst of recovering the facility’s carbon freezing units in hopes of making a mass exodus possible. But he’d bowed out of that. The manual labor was, unfortunately, becoming too taxing for him.
The abundance of carbon presented other opportunities as well, though, and the sudden prospect of doing something purposeful – even if not overly useful to anyone else – was too much for Erril to pass up. He turned on his heel and marched back to his little outbuilding sanctuary where he began drawing up from memory a series of schematics and formulae he hadn’t needed in nearly a dozen years. An hour or so later, the visibly diminished Jedi marched out of his outbuilding and began scouring other storage facilities for supplies on the list in his head. He didn’t need much, just the proper containment unit to house the materials – he could do the rest himself. The Force had been and remained his ally, in the quiet times, the desperate, and now the desperately uncertain. The more he thought about it, the more it made sense. He didn’t know what would be waiting for them around the next corner whether or not they were able to pull off the carbon freezing plan, but he knew it had a very high chance of being more immediately dangerous than this slow death of carbon dust.
Before the day was over, Erril had gathered up the essential components to build and reinforce a kiln, and scavenged the bits of circuitry he might need, as well as a length of dura-carbide pipe he could shape to his needs. That night, for the first time since having bowed out of the fabrication work crews, Erril laid down and felt a small sense of relish as he thought of the coming day. He listened to the various patterns of breathing and snoring to which he’d grown accustomed over the last decade, and felt satisfied, knowing he’d soon have the means to truly stand in their midst as a protector once more. Soon, he’d have a flaming sword once more.
The Penultimate
- Erril Winterhold
- Posts: 76
- Joined: Wed Jan 01, 2020 7:22 pm
The Penultimate
The Force is my ally, in the quiet times and the trials. The Force is my ally. I will not falter.
- Erril Winterhold
- Posts: 76
- Joined: Wed Jan 01, 2020 7:22 pm
Re: The Penultimate
Dawn was a strange thing on a planet with a de-saturated oxygen atmosphere. Somewhere on the planet there was still something creating enough oxygen that they could breathe, but it didn’t make much more than that. There was very little for the sun to illuminate, leaving the sky a dull, almost translucent shade of murky blue during the day. The stars were still visible, the darkness of night never truly faded even in the direct sunlight, and growing plants was all the more difficult. But Erril wasn’t worried about that today. He collected a respirator and marched straight to the nearest quarry where the more substantial pieces of carbonite components had been mined both in the past and during the last couple of months. There was plenty of premium carbon grade material just lying around now, and he collected two handfuls of it, dumping them into an improvised gunny sack.
Erril knew that the process of making synth crystals had been frowned on at several different points in the order’s history for several different reasons. They were usually volatile, hateful, and cruel points of focus for lightsabers built with the sole intent of slaughtering innocents. But he knew the process in and of itself held no darkness. He also knew how to reinforce and modify a standard smelting kiln so that it would function as a geological compressor, as long as he could maintain several portions of the function himself using the Force. And therein lay the promise of a wholesome creation. Sith initiates spent the duration of the crystal’s formation in a state of meditation, guiding the formation of the crystals and imbuing them with their malicious intentions. Jedi with the knowledge to create such crystals had built crystals ready and willing to channel the light of their wielders – how much more so a Jedi who had touched the very heart of the Light, and come away imbued with its rays? Erril knew what he needed to do, and he knew how he would do it.
Because so much of the compression kiln’s design was intended to rely on his power, the construction took only a couple of days. Erril spent his time in the outbuilding tinkering on the kiln using mostly his grasp of telekinesis – and reflecting ruefully on how hypocritical he now stood in the light of ideals he’d spouted in his youth on the use of the Force for mundane tasks.
“What are you working on?” came a voice in the doorway late the second afternoon.
Erril glanced up from his work and found a pair of familiar red eyes – absent any pupils for points of reference – regarding him closely.
“A side project,” he replied, turning away from Lylia with a pleased smile. “I had a thought a couple of days ago and I couldn’t get it out of my head.”
“It looks like you’re building a diamond kiln.” The chiss observed, stepping into the outbuilding as Erril resumed his tinkering. “Planning to return home with a pocketful of riches?”
“Not exactly.”
“I can only think of one other use for a diamond kiln.” Lylia ran her hand idly along the top of the mechanism even as it shifted to Erril’s will beneath her touch.
“Go on.”
“Well, there’s a long and rich tradition among the Sith that we won’t talk about, but I am aware that many of the earliest Jedi of our lineage used kilns like these to source their lightsabers… before worlds like Ilum and Jenruax fell back into Republic hands.”
“Mhm?”
“So I can only logically conclude – based on that and my knowledge of your obsessive habits – that you’re building a lightsaber out of scrap.”
“Really nice scraps though. I mean this is premium dura-carbide even by today's standards.”
“Master Horn’s ghost will be pleased.” Lylia teased.
“Of all the things I’ve tried in the construction process, this is the one thing I haven’t.” Erril explained. “And after what we’ve been through the last ten years… I just feel like my soul is in the right place to try it. I know exactly what needs to be done.”
“What, exactly?”
“I’m going to forge it the way we healed the Nexus.”
“With Light?”
Erril nodded. “And heat and pressure of course. But can you imagine? A crystal bathed in the light of the Living Force from the very moment of it’s birth, and shaped for the heart of a Jedi’s sword. It could be magnificent. And we’re in such a carbon rich environment, it just makes sense. If I’m patient, this could be the most perfect lightsaber crystal ever.”
“Awfully lofty aspirations.” Lylia said dryly.
Erril merely shrugged. “What are we if we don’t aspire?”
A gentle smile replaced the dry smirk splitting Lylia’s features. “How are you feeling?”
The withering sephi reflected the smile up at his comparatively hearty chiss companion, nodding his understanding. “Better.”
“Well then, I suppose I ought to leave you be. The doctor’s finally found his medicine.”
The parting comment pleased Erril immensely, and he agreed completely. He never felt better than when he had something to work toward. And so he forged ahead. By the time the day was over, the kiln was ready. He laid down on the floor of the outbuilding and slept beside it, stilling his mind and body for the effort to come. He knew it would be taxing, but it was better that wasting his energy on manual labor where he could only get mediocre returns for his investment. This would be a true accomplishment, but he would need his strength. And so he slept.
Erril knew that the process of making synth crystals had been frowned on at several different points in the order’s history for several different reasons. They were usually volatile, hateful, and cruel points of focus for lightsabers built with the sole intent of slaughtering innocents. But he knew the process in and of itself held no darkness. He also knew how to reinforce and modify a standard smelting kiln so that it would function as a geological compressor, as long as he could maintain several portions of the function himself using the Force. And therein lay the promise of a wholesome creation. Sith initiates spent the duration of the crystal’s formation in a state of meditation, guiding the formation of the crystals and imbuing them with their malicious intentions. Jedi with the knowledge to create such crystals had built crystals ready and willing to channel the light of their wielders – how much more so a Jedi who had touched the very heart of the Light, and come away imbued with its rays? Erril knew what he needed to do, and he knew how he would do it.
Because so much of the compression kiln’s design was intended to rely on his power, the construction took only a couple of days. Erril spent his time in the outbuilding tinkering on the kiln using mostly his grasp of telekinesis – and reflecting ruefully on how hypocritical he now stood in the light of ideals he’d spouted in his youth on the use of the Force for mundane tasks.
“What are you working on?” came a voice in the doorway late the second afternoon.
Erril glanced up from his work and found a pair of familiar red eyes – absent any pupils for points of reference – regarding him closely.
“A side project,” he replied, turning away from Lylia with a pleased smile. “I had a thought a couple of days ago and I couldn’t get it out of my head.”
“It looks like you’re building a diamond kiln.” The chiss observed, stepping into the outbuilding as Erril resumed his tinkering. “Planning to return home with a pocketful of riches?”
“Not exactly.”
“I can only think of one other use for a diamond kiln.” Lylia ran her hand idly along the top of the mechanism even as it shifted to Erril’s will beneath her touch.
“Go on.”
“Well, there’s a long and rich tradition among the Sith that we won’t talk about, but I am aware that many of the earliest Jedi of our lineage used kilns like these to source their lightsabers… before worlds like Ilum and Jenruax fell back into Republic hands.”
“Mhm?”
“So I can only logically conclude – based on that and my knowledge of your obsessive habits – that you’re building a lightsaber out of scrap.”
“Really nice scraps though. I mean this is premium dura-carbide even by today's standards.”
“Master Horn’s ghost will be pleased.” Lylia teased.
“Of all the things I’ve tried in the construction process, this is the one thing I haven’t.” Erril explained. “And after what we’ve been through the last ten years… I just feel like my soul is in the right place to try it. I know exactly what needs to be done.”
“What, exactly?”
“I’m going to forge it the way we healed the Nexus.”
“With Light?”
Erril nodded. “And heat and pressure of course. But can you imagine? A crystal bathed in the light of the Living Force from the very moment of it’s birth, and shaped for the heart of a Jedi’s sword. It could be magnificent. And we’re in such a carbon rich environment, it just makes sense. If I’m patient, this could be the most perfect lightsaber crystal ever.”
“Awfully lofty aspirations.” Lylia said dryly.
Erril merely shrugged. “What are we if we don’t aspire?”
A gentle smile replaced the dry smirk splitting Lylia’s features. “How are you feeling?”
The withering sephi reflected the smile up at his comparatively hearty chiss companion, nodding his understanding. “Better.”
“Well then, I suppose I ought to leave you be. The doctor’s finally found his medicine.”
The parting comment pleased Erril immensely, and he agreed completely. He never felt better than when he had something to work toward. And so he forged ahead. By the time the day was over, the kiln was ready. He laid down on the floor of the outbuilding and slept beside it, stilling his mind and body for the effort to come. He knew it would be taxing, but it was better that wasting his energy on manual labor where he could only get mediocre returns for his investment. This would be a true accomplishment, but he would need his strength. And so he slept.
The Force is my ally, in the quiet times and the trials. The Force is my ally. I will not falter.
- Erril Winterhold
- Posts: 76
- Joined: Wed Jan 01, 2020 7:22 pm
Re: The Penultimate
The next day, Erril slipped into the main common area just long enough to eat a few bites of the bland food they’d managed to cultivate, and stuff another item or two in his pockets, then he was back out to his little sanctuary, and loading the carbon ore into his kiln. He ate the last few bites of his food rather thoughtlessly and he planned his course in his head, and then moved over and shut the door of the outbuilding, closing himself into complete darkness with the cold kiln.
In the black, Erril paced carefully to the center of the room before the kiln, and settled onto his heels. Deep within his soul there was a place he’d found – a place each of the Jedi on the Nexus had found before the end – where the light took its roots most deeply. He grasped those roots, urging them to grow longer and summoned them to rise up and be known. The darkness within the outbuilding was purged by a brilliant, vital white light that surged to life from the Jedi on the ground and filled every corner with it’s rays, then slowly resolved into a single, intense beam that all but obscured the kiln with it’s power. The Jedi took a deep breath, and spread the arms of his mind to grasp other threads of the Force – familiar old friends by comparison, who had been his companions through many hardships, and many quiet times. Telekinetic vibrations filled the air until it shuddered with a continuous, low rumble like stones on a mill. The pressure-plate mechanisms in the kiln locked into place, and immediately began exerting continental pressure on the carbon ore in the kiln. Erril’s finely tuned ears heard the ore crumble into a single pulped mass even through the reinforced hull of the kiln. Next came the heat. The last of the three threads which would weave the crystal together wound around the kiln, and began to infuse it’s belly with heat that started as a low glow, and rose, and rose, until it reached near volcanic temperatures within the tiny confined space of the kiln’s inner chamber.
Erril held the threads of the Force steady for a moment, making certain that each of them was stable, and then he bound them together, braiding the different fibers of energy into a single process that he could focus on with all his mind and with all his strength. All through the hours of the day, the sephi Jedi continued his imbuing vigil, exerting the pressures of continental strain on a roughly square foot container of carbon mineral ore, and saturating it with the Light of the Force from deep within himself. At the end of the first day, he had planned to take a brief rest – had even built pins into the kiln that would allow him to rest while the extreme pressure was maintained – but when the moment came, he pressed on. He hadn’t felt so energized in over a year.
On through the night, and into the next day Erril continued, ignoring all thoughts of the world and the galaxy and the universe outside the space between him and his kiln. By the beginning of the second night, Erril could feel the presence of mass forming at the center of the kiln. He could sense the carbon molecules beginning to coalesce and crystalize, but that was only half of what was taking place. The brilliant illumination of the Force that flowed through Erril like a lens was beginning to saturate into the mass as well, but it was still only a superficial impression. He needed to give it shape.
This was the moment Erril had been waiting for, and as night settled on the second day of his efforts, the true task began. Many Sith throughout history, and even a fair number of Jedi, had taken this moment in the process to begin imbuing the forming crystal with their own nature – their thoughts, their principles, their hopes and aspirations however dark or light – and slowly shaping the crystal into an expression of themselves. For one thing, Erril had already poured more of himself into this creation in two days than most initiates did in their entire shaping process; the crystal was already almost psychometrically fused with his identity after the amount of energy he had exerted on it up to this point. But that wasn’t really the point. This crystal would be his creation, but it wasn’t meant to be an expression of himself, per se.
Erril had been afforded an opportunity that he suspected very few force wielders of either persuasion had been afforded throughout time. He’d spent an entire decade of his life living in proximity to and learning to understand, heal, and care for a Nexus in the Force – a heart of pure, wild Light which embodied the very core of the Force at its most whole. It was a perfect expression of the Force in balance, especially after they had repaired the taint that had harmed it, and he had witnessed it – he had experienced it – in its unbridled power and beauty in the last moments before he had been cast back across space. Even now as his meditative coursing took him back to that moment, it was as if a brand had been pressed into his mind. The impression was there, as clear as day. He knew the shape of the Nexus, and that was to be the shape of the crystal which was slowly forming under his tending now.
Through the second night, and the third day. Erril shed purpose and form through the Light he cast on the kiln, letting the shape of the Light Nexus impress itself into the forming carbon crystal, and determine what were to be the channels through which the Force would flow whenever it touched it. At the center of the kiln, amidst the tiny manifestation of titanic pressure and volcanic heat, Erril was forging a microcosmic recreation of the Nexus.
In the black, Erril paced carefully to the center of the room before the kiln, and settled onto his heels. Deep within his soul there was a place he’d found – a place each of the Jedi on the Nexus had found before the end – where the light took its roots most deeply. He grasped those roots, urging them to grow longer and summoned them to rise up and be known. The darkness within the outbuilding was purged by a brilliant, vital white light that surged to life from the Jedi on the ground and filled every corner with it’s rays, then slowly resolved into a single, intense beam that all but obscured the kiln with it’s power. The Jedi took a deep breath, and spread the arms of his mind to grasp other threads of the Force – familiar old friends by comparison, who had been his companions through many hardships, and many quiet times. Telekinetic vibrations filled the air until it shuddered with a continuous, low rumble like stones on a mill. The pressure-plate mechanisms in the kiln locked into place, and immediately began exerting continental pressure on the carbon ore in the kiln. Erril’s finely tuned ears heard the ore crumble into a single pulped mass even through the reinforced hull of the kiln. Next came the heat. The last of the three threads which would weave the crystal together wound around the kiln, and began to infuse it’s belly with heat that started as a low glow, and rose, and rose, until it reached near volcanic temperatures within the tiny confined space of the kiln’s inner chamber.
Erril held the threads of the Force steady for a moment, making certain that each of them was stable, and then he bound them together, braiding the different fibers of energy into a single process that he could focus on with all his mind and with all his strength. All through the hours of the day, the sephi Jedi continued his imbuing vigil, exerting the pressures of continental strain on a roughly square foot container of carbon mineral ore, and saturating it with the Light of the Force from deep within himself. At the end of the first day, he had planned to take a brief rest – had even built pins into the kiln that would allow him to rest while the extreme pressure was maintained – but when the moment came, he pressed on. He hadn’t felt so energized in over a year.
On through the night, and into the next day Erril continued, ignoring all thoughts of the world and the galaxy and the universe outside the space between him and his kiln. By the beginning of the second night, Erril could feel the presence of mass forming at the center of the kiln. He could sense the carbon molecules beginning to coalesce and crystalize, but that was only half of what was taking place. The brilliant illumination of the Force that flowed through Erril like a lens was beginning to saturate into the mass as well, but it was still only a superficial impression. He needed to give it shape.
This was the moment Erril had been waiting for, and as night settled on the second day of his efforts, the true task began. Many Sith throughout history, and even a fair number of Jedi, had taken this moment in the process to begin imbuing the forming crystal with their own nature – their thoughts, their principles, their hopes and aspirations however dark or light – and slowly shaping the crystal into an expression of themselves. For one thing, Erril had already poured more of himself into this creation in two days than most initiates did in their entire shaping process; the crystal was already almost psychometrically fused with his identity after the amount of energy he had exerted on it up to this point. But that wasn’t really the point. This crystal would be his creation, but it wasn’t meant to be an expression of himself, per se.
Erril had been afforded an opportunity that he suspected very few force wielders of either persuasion had been afforded throughout time. He’d spent an entire decade of his life living in proximity to and learning to understand, heal, and care for a Nexus in the Force – a heart of pure, wild Light which embodied the very core of the Force at its most whole. It was a perfect expression of the Force in balance, especially after they had repaired the taint that had harmed it, and he had witnessed it – he had experienced it – in its unbridled power and beauty in the last moments before he had been cast back across space. Even now as his meditative coursing took him back to that moment, it was as if a brand had been pressed into his mind. The impression was there, as clear as day. He knew the shape of the Nexus, and that was to be the shape of the crystal which was slowly forming under his tending now.
Through the second night, and the third day. Erril shed purpose and form through the Light he cast on the kiln, letting the shape of the Light Nexus impress itself into the forming carbon crystal, and determine what were to be the channels through which the Force would flow whenever it touched it. At the center of the kiln, amidst the tiny manifestation of titanic pressure and volcanic heat, Erril was forging a microcosmic recreation of the Nexus.
The Force is my ally, in the quiet times and the trials. The Force is my ally. I will not falter.
- Erril Winterhold
- Posts: 76
- Joined: Wed Jan 01, 2020 7:22 pm
Re: The Penultimate
On into the third night Erril labored, his mind and soul denying his body the onset of fatigue as he allowed the Living Force to flow through him into the kiln. He could feel the crystal beginning to take substantial shape, now. He didn’t know what that shape was, but he knew it was occurring because as he pressed on, he could sense his own impressions being reflected back to him through the Force. The shape of the nexus was beginning to take root. Through the fourth day he pushed on, the brilliance of the Light that flowed through him denying the creeping fingers as they attempted to pry his focus away. In the end, it was not the onset of weariness that ended the process, but the forming mass itself.
During an uncertain hour of the fourth night, as Erril’s vigil continued and he willed the forming crystal to embody the nature of the Force, it happened. Something shifted. Not physically – the kiln’s design was sound. It was something in the Force as it flowed into the crystalline shape. Erril’s attention was so focused on pressing the shape of the Nexus into the fibers of the mass’s existence that he almost didn’t realize when a perfect, momentary flash of that same shape broke through his pressure and glowed back at him. It illuminated his being for that brief instant in exactly the way the Nexus had in the final effort, as it had pulsed back to life and showered them in the Light. And then that same spark of wild energy broke outward from the kiln, blinding his mental third eye for a single second that caused his precise concentration to shift, and the titanic strain of heat and pressure shifted upward, causing a crack to form across the top of the kiln’s reinforced casing. The whole kiln folded in on itself like an egg shell, fire and light and heat burst explosively in all directions, and Erril tumbled out of the air amidst the cacophony, crashing into the ground and the black embrace of unconsciousness.
A terrified scream filled the night air. Others joined it. They belonged to children.
A malevolent darkness pursued them down and foreboding path, which ended with no turn. No escape.
Ethereal hands of blackness reached from the shadows to clutch it’s victims.
A child emerged from the others, fearful and brave, to place herself between her companions and the coming dark. Delicate horns circled down around her ears like those of a ram ready to charge, and she shrunk not away from the hands that reached for her.
Her mind was made up.
A sudden breath filled Erril’s lungs, and his eyes opened. The interior of the outbuilding was illuminated by the still near-molten slag that had once been the inner workings of his kiln. He breathed heavily, not even noticing that they were the deepest breaths his body had managed in over and year, and rolled up onto his knees. The heat of the broken mechanism waned under his insistence, and he fumbled up onto the table for a pair of tongs, which he used to prod desperately at the slag. Only a few pieces were overturned before he found what he was looking for – a chunk of porous white lava rock, composed of the leftover minerals from the ore he had set in the kiln some four days ago.
Sweat dripped from Erril’s brow as he lifted the chunk of rock in the tongs and slapped it against a clear section of the floor. The lava rock survived two blows against the hard surface beyond it yielded its integrity and shattered. Erril’s heart stopped. There, in the midst of the broken pieces, lay a crystal. He tossed the tongs aside and crawled close, picking it up with his bare fingers. It was warm, but not hot.
The crystal could have been made of glass for all Erril knew. Its shape was perfect – a twelve-sided polygonal shape without flaw. The crystal had no color save the dim illumination of the hot slag, so Erril waved his hand and caused the door to sling open. Dull blue daylight streamed into the outbuilding, and still the crystal remained clear as glass. As the first direct ray of sunlight caught it, Erril’s eyes spied the prismatic effect split the light onto the dark walls of the room. Only it wasn’t prismatic – blue and purple fractals sprayed across the wall with the undiluted sunlight, and no more. The Jedi’s keen grey eyes marveled at the effect, and strayed back to the crystal. The spark which he had sensed for such a brief moment the night before was no longer there, but its impression was there still in the Force, indelibly etched into the object’s presence.
Erril rose slowly, his body finally acknowledging the strain and fatigue it had been denied during the deep state of meditation, and he made his way off to the main building in search of food and water. The crystal dropped safely into his pocket. Other Jedi in the hall eyed him curiously, but they didn’t ask, and he didn’t tell – he exchanged a knowing glance with Lylia, but no more. Surely numerous others had sensed what had occurred during the last few days, if not the actual spark of Light that had signaled the crystal’s completion. He didn’t need to explain it to them. It was his own labor, and his own soul that had been poured into the recreation of the wild beauty he’d witnessed.
During an uncertain hour of the fourth night, as Erril’s vigil continued and he willed the forming crystal to embody the nature of the Force, it happened. Something shifted. Not physically – the kiln’s design was sound. It was something in the Force as it flowed into the crystalline shape. Erril’s attention was so focused on pressing the shape of the Nexus into the fibers of the mass’s existence that he almost didn’t realize when a perfect, momentary flash of that same shape broke through his pressure and glowed back at him. It illuminated his being for that brief instant in exactly the way the Nexus had in the final effort, as it had pulsed back to life and showered them in the Light. And then that same spark of wild energy broke outward from the kiln, blinding his mental third eye for a single second that caused his precise concentration to shift, and the titanic strain of heat and pressure shifted upward, causing a crack to form across the top of the kiln’s reinforced casing. The whole kiln folded in on itself like an egg shell, fire and light and heat burst explosively in all directions, and Erril tumbled out of the air amidst the cacophony, crashing into the ground and the black embrace of unconsciousness.
A terrified scream filled the night air. Others joined it. They belonged to children.
A malevolent darkness pursued them down and foreboding path, which ended with no turn. No escape.
Ethereal hands of blackness reached from the shadows to clutch it’s victims.
A child emerged from the others, fearful and brave, to place herself between her companions and the coming dark. Delicate horns circled down around her ears like those of a ram ready to charge, and she shrunk not away from the hands that reached for her.
Her mind was made up.
A sudden breath filled Erril’s lungs, and his eyes opened. The interior of the outbuilding was illuminated by the still near-molten slag that had once been the inner workings of his kiln. He breathed heavily, not even noticing that they were the deepest breaths his body had managed in over and year, and rolled up onto his knees. The heat of the broken mechanism waned under his insistence, and he fumbled up onto the table for a pair of tongs, which he used to prod desperately at the slag. Only a few pieces were overturned before he found what he was looking for – a chunk of porous white lava rock, composed of the leftover minerals from the ore he had set in the kiln some four days ago.
Sweat dripped from Erril’s brow as he lifted the chunk of rock in the tongs and slapped it against a clear section of the floor. The lava rock survived two blows against the hard surface beyond it yielded its integrity and shattered. Erril’s heart stopped. There, in the midst of the broken pieces, lay a crystal. He tossed the tongs aside and crawled close, picking it up with his bare fingers. It was warm, but not hot.
The crystal could have been made of glass for all Erril knew. Its shape was perfect – a twelve-sided polygonal shape without flaw. The crystal had no color save the dim illumination of the hot slag, so Erril waved his hand and caused the door to sling open. Dull blue daylight streamed into the outbuilding, and still the crystal remained clear as glass. As the first direct ray of sunlight caught it, Erril’s eyes spied the prismatic effect split the light onto the dark walls of the room. Only it wasn’t prismatic – blue and purple fractals sprayed across the wall with the undiluted sunlight, and no more. The Jedi’s keen grey eyes marveled at the effect, and strayed back to the crystal. The spark which he had sensed for such a brief moment the night before was no longer there, but its impression was there still in the Force, indelibly etched into the object’s presence.
Erril rose slowly, his body finally acknowledging the strain and fatigue it had been denied during the deep state of meditation, and he made his way off to the main building in search of food and water. The crystal dropped safely into his pocket. Other Jedi in the hall eyed him curiously, but they didn’t ask, and he didn’t tell – he exchanged a knowing glance with Lylia, but no more. Surely numerous others had sensed what had occurred during the last few days, if not the actual spark of Light that had signaled the crystal’s completion. He didn’t need to explain it to them. It was his own labor, and his own soul that had been poured into the recreation of the wild beauty he’d witnessed.
The Force is my ally, in the quiet times and the trials. The Force is my ally. I will not falter.
- Erril Winterhold
- Posts: 76
- Joined: Wed Jan 01, 2020 7:22 pm
Re: The Penultimate
The creation of the lightsaber took only a few hours, once he managed to find all the parts from the various corners the explosion had scattered them to. Erril had built so many lightsabers in his life, and assisted in the creation of so many more, than the process was second nature to him at this point. His hands didn’t touch the pieces during a single moment of the assembly process. He knew one day when he was truly old and could no longer lead the life of a young man, this knowledge would be his gift to future generations – Erril was a careful keeper of saberlore. But this, this was his masterpiece. This was the penultimate creation of his labor. Even now, Erril knew that he would never feel compelled to make another lightsaber. What would be the point? Perhaps one day if he were given the opportunity, he might create a hilt to more appropriately reflect the beauty of the gem at it’s core, but that was all. Anything else he could find or imagine would only be a mockery of what he had created this day.
The hilt was a plain thing, devoid of ornamentation and all but the simplest bits of galvanized texturing to make it a combat-worthy weapon. In some ways, the hilt reflected the soul of their current circumstances the same way the crystal within reflected the Nexus. He found it a fitting irony, if one he intended to rectify.
At last the lightsaber was complete, and it settled into his waiting hands. It was still one of Erril’s uniquely created weapons, and featured no outward activation switch, but as his mind brushed the hilt’s internal trigger with just the barest suggestion of motion, a deep baritone snap-hiss filled the room.
The blade was pure white.
As Erril inspected the racing stream of plasma he shifted the angle of it to look closer. The motion caused a gentle crackle of blue and purple static to trace up and down the blade’s length. Marveling, he gave the blade a gentle wrist-flicking motion, and the phenomenon manifested again. He remembered in that moment the blade of his master – the purple blade of Jray Hirius who had taught him the ways of the force. And his own blade, the icy blue edge that had accompanied him through journeys unnumbered. Perhaps, even as the blade itself reflected the nature of the Force, the smaller ripples across it’s face reflected the culmination of the one who had created it. The glowing shaft was extinguished, and a quiet smile spread across Erril’s face. It was fitting, and it was finished.
Two weeks after the lightsaber’s completion, Erril stepped hesitantly into the carbon freeze chamber. He’d used the rest of his idle time to craft a couple of other odd instruments that would accompany him into the carbonite just in case he found himself in unwelcoming company when he awoke, but the lightsaber gave him the greatest peace of mind. He could be what he needed to be, and do what he needed to do, now that he was whole again. The Force was in his weapon, and the Force was his ally – in the dangerous times to be sure, but now even in this especially quiet time of his life, he would carry a small piece of it by his side.
As the vapor gates opened and the unfamiliar cold sensation began to wash over the tired Jedi, he pictured the faces of his family, grasped the sword at his side, and prayed to the Light for a miracle
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The hilt was a plain thing, devoid of ornamentation and all but the simplest bits of galvanized texturing to make it a combat-worthy weapon. In some ways, the hilt reflected the soul of their current circumstances the same way the crystal within reflected the Nexus. He found it a fitting irony, if one he intended to rectify.
At last the lightsaber was complete, and it settled into his waiting hands. It was still one of Erril’s uniquely created weapons, and featured no outward activation switch, but as his mind brushed the hilt’s internal trigger with just the barest suggestion of motion, a deep baritone snap-hiss filled the room.
The blade was pure white.
As Erril inspected the racing stream of plasma he shifted the angle of it to look closer. The motion caused a gentle crackle of blue and purple static to trace up and down the blade’s length. Marveling, he gave the blade a gentle wrist-flicking motion, and the phenomenon manifested again. He remembered in that moment the blade of his master – the purple blade of Jray Hirius who had taught him the ways of the force. And his own blade, the icy blue edge that had accompanied him through journeys unnumbered. Perhaps, even as the blade itself reflected the nature of the Force, the smaller ripples across it’s face reflected the culmination of the one who had created it. The glowing shaft was extinguished, and a quiet smile spread across Erril’s face. It was fitting, and it was finished.
Two weeks after the lightsaber’s completion, Erril stepped hesitantly into the carbon freeze chamber. He’d used the rest of his idle time to craft a couple of other odd instruments that would accompany him into the carbonite just in case he found himself in unwelcoming company when he awoke, but the lightsaber gave him the greatest peace of mind. He could be what he needed to be, and do what he needed to do, now that he was whole again. The Force was in his weapon, and the Force was his ally – in the dangerous times to be sure, but now even in this especially quiet time of his life, he would carry a small piece of it by his side.
As the vapor gates opened and the unfamiliar cold sensation began to wash over the tired Jedi, he pictured the faces of his family, grasped the sword at his side, and prayed to the Light for a miracle
**********************************
Erril Winterhold wrote: ↑Mon Jan 13, 2020 3:37 pmConiferous trees loomed all around, dark and foreboding, but somehow comforting and warm as well, in their heavy presence…
The Force is my ally, in the quiet times and the trials. The Force is my ally. I will not falter.