Softspoken
Jedi Temple
Naboo
Jace was an enigma to most, annoying to others, and ultimately a victim of his own machinations and lack of desire to be understood. However, there were some constants about him: he was a fighter, he liked to practice, he liked to train, he liked fancy shampoos, and he was a fan of creating things.
So, there he was, deep in the bowels of the Jedi temple, Shiraya's temple, in the forge. Where normally, lightsabers, armor was made for the Jedi. But he was there, hammering away. He wasn't making a lightsaber. He wasn't making armor. He was making something that most Jedi had not encountered, trained with, or prepared for:
A dead blade.
He was going to create a sword, able to be used by either two hands or one, to deflect lightsabers and to defend himself. He'd trained for so long with one, a Sith sword albeit, that it felt alien sometimes to use a lightsaber. But he felt the need to create, the need to design, to have imperfections worked through. He worked up himself in the past few days, and the recent meeting of the Jedi stirred something in him. Action, or perhaps frustration. But either way, his idle hands demanded work.
He clenched his muscles, the room quite warm with the forge going. His body dripped sweat, his well-formed physique raising the hammer again. He slammed it on the straight piece of metal. He wanted the blade to be simple- not a single edge, but dual edged like the swords of old. A crossguard to protect his hands. Flat enough for stabbing, but thick enough to block the blade and to apply pressure with his hands. It needed to be heavy, but not too heavy. It needed to have weight, to counteract lightsaber's weightlessness.
It needed to be made.
It needed to be his.
And it needed to be done right.