From Dreams Come Reality

[Boethiah]

The sweet scent of autumn found itself encompassing the world of Bastion, the city of Ravelin was busier with each passing day as The Primeval grew in power and projected its influence across the deep, mysterious abyss of Wild Space. White dots scattered across the titian evening sky glinted off of the Imperial Palace, its silhouette towering atop a hill in the center of the ramparts. In this very palace the Host Lord of The Primeval, Witch-Queen of Bastion, and High Exemplar of the Bleeding Sun sat alone in the reticent amenity of her private chambers.

From the open balcony, the scenery of Ravelin was available for all who wished it; a light breeze found its way inside the room. Daylight faded from orange to a supple blue horizon. Anja was tired, her eyes began to close when a gentle touch knocked against her door. Her lids folded back and two pale orbs examined the closed door.

Rising from her lounge, Anja’s bare feet touched the chilly floor, silent footsteps took her to the door; a single hand went out to pull it open. On the other side a cloaked figure no taller than Anja stood without a single reaction to the Host Lord who stood in front of him. No bow, nor acknowledgement of power was given.

Clouded by the shadow of his hood, the man’s face as nearly indistinguishable from eyes to the tip of his nose, only his neck, chin, and lips were clearly visible. A faint smirk forged from his two dull lips, “you are the one who summoned me, yes?” He spoke with a throaty voice.

 

[Boethiah]

Anja’s loose, dark hair hung to the side of her brows and fell off the back of her shoulders; not a look of surprise was expressed. Without a word the woman stepped aside to allow the man entry into her room. Standing to the right of the door, she watched as the shrouded foreigner trudged into the room with an invisible burden weighing down on his every step. He walked to the point where he stood in a glancing distance of the moon through the balcony. The warm air grew cooler but was still comfortable enough for thin layers.

He turned to her, “you have the materials I’ve requested, correct? I have heard Bastion contained a generous amount… It is required.” A foul tone radiated from his voice, a sound of disappointment in the thought of her not following through.

The woman nodded, “I have what we need to continue,” she responded with basic, unmistakable words.

Somewhere on Bastion miners were working hard to produce Phrik ore from the many veins found in the hills and canyons. It was a rare metal so regardless of their industry it was manufactured in relatively small amounts, making it unfeasible for mass-production. The quantities that do exist are still enough for specialized equipment. Weapons, armour, perhaps even vehicles and starships; assuming their production was limited of course. Phrik was a highly sought after metal and capable of withstanding a rather considerable amount of stress from high energy weapons such as lightsabers, and kinetic ones such as slugthrowers and perhaps even crushgaunts.

 

[Boethiah]

The man’s smirk faded into a frown before returning to a rather pompous grin, “then we must begin immediately,” he asserted rather gleefully. Dropping the hood revealed the face of a middle-aged near-human of a species unknown to her. His bald head revealed many scars and healing wounds. He went to leave the room, a hand of his gestured for Anja to follow.

Without hesitation to the woman followed him at a short distance, the two wandered the halls of the palace which was quiet throughout the night. Guards stood watch at every corner, none turned their eyes upon the Host Lord who strode by them with her companion. The two finally went through one of the many entranceways and into the large gardens which surrounded the complex.

From here he lead her to a specific area just above the dungeons and still well within range of the main structure. Here a small structure stood in the open. It was a forge, clearly, the burning fires glowed brilliantly in a fiery light that drowned out the surrounding darkness. For the man who found her was once the Palace’s smith. An expert in forging precious metals into masterful creations, from beskar to phrik and cortosis to songsteel he had not lacked in the art. It was a talent passed down from smith-to-smith since the time of the Fel Dynasty who used their craft to support the Imperial Knights who defended their Emperor from the harm of enemies and the threat of the darkside.

Now under The Primeval their art was still practiced, this time in service to zealots; the forgemaster’s spirit was corrupted by their witches. He didn’t serve willingly until they changed him and now he is nothing but their slave, a twisted manifestation of Sargon’s will.

 

[Boethiah]

Walking up the steps and to the forge, the man stopped once more and turned to face her, his hands eagerly gestured for her to join him. Anja’s eyes scanned the forge, she had never actually been to this part of the palace for rarely did she wander. Now that she was here her curiosity begged a look at every detail she could notice before her still bare feet walked up the steps, following behind him.

As she stopped face-to-face he nodded to her as if answering an unsaid question. “Yes, yes, now the ore… Where is it?” He asked anxiously, waiting to start the fires and craft a fine weapon indeed.

Her pale eyes looked to his brown, tired ones. “It’ll be here soon,” she replied.

He nodded again, this time less noticiably and more slowly than before. “Of course… I’ll just get things started, then.” He wandered over to the forge fires, fueling the flames and making them bright and impossibly hot. In the mines not too far from here an airspeeder left, on board was enough ore for one creation.

 

[Boethiah]

The forgemaster continued to prepare for several minutes, time passed and finally things were in order. Anja stayed still and watched quietly at every action took. For many this was a boring process but to her it was an essential part of creation, much like what he was doing so did Sargon when he created Nogras.

Hovering above was the airspeeder from the mines, the craft found its way below and landed in a snug opening within the gardens before powering down. From the vehicle’s exit came two humanoids carrying the small crate and inside the box was refined, unforged Phrik ready to be turned into something useful.

Anja and the smith watched as the two placed the container down in the center of the forge before heading back to the airspeeder and leaving the palace for their station elsewhere. The man approached the crate, taking off the lid and revealing the precious contents within. A giddy smile crossed his face as his puppy-like eyes set themselves upon the metal. His boney hands reached out and grabbed the materials, taking them to the forge and beginning the process of turning them into something better.

 

[Boethiah]

Anja stood without a word as the master went to work, still she observed him and didn’t miss an act as time continued to go by. By now the blue sky was a pure black, glistening with stars and distant worlds above. Insects chirped and amphibians croaked from within the Palace walls where they made their homes in the maintained gardens.

When things were ready, “now!” he exclaimed.

Anja began to channel the force into the forge, allowing her power to escape her body as she concentrated on the flaming creation.

Finally the hot, oozing liquid was poured into an elongated mould. The metal cooled enough where it was solid before being placed on the anvil, Anja took the hammer and began to hammer the blade into shape. When she finished it was placed into the water where it steamed and hissed as it became room temperature. After she removed it from the water the smith began the process again, reforging it once until it was perfect.

Then it was sharpened, made into a blade, properly crafted and kept whilst it was soft before being cooled again. The specialized forge was one of the few capable of facilitating the techniques for forging Phrik into anything. Even Anja could not grasp how the task was done, truly he was a master and his art was unlike any other.

She released her connection from the force, nearly feeling very light as the weight was lifted.

 

[Boethiah]

The last touches were made and blade was nearly ready…

He turned to Anja, “this next part you must undertake alone… I’ve left out the instructions,” he gestured to the olden tome. From there he walked off, presumably to his own chambers where he’d sleep for the rest of the night before continuing his work again at dawn.

Anja walked up to the tome, placing her hand on the forged blade as she opened the passage. The Umbaran saw very well in the darkness and could read from its contents without interference from the night. Taking from her pocket she revealed the reverie crystal, inserting it into the hilt of her blade.

Grabbing the sword she wandered off into the darkness, finding a particularly natural ledge that faced the city as dawn crept upon the night. There she sat with blade in lap, meditating and bringing out the innermost reserves of her power. It was like falling into the sea, surrounded by liquid that grew in pressure as she sank deeper into the abyss. Her mind was lost in itself, her spirit became confused at first until it found serenity inside the depths of her existence. Here there was no pain, no emotion; it was all nothing but the source of her magicks.

 

[Boethiah]

As she continued to meditate, Anja found herself immersed into an existence where the blade, the crystal, and herself were one entity. She felt the phrik as if it was her body, and the crystal as if it was her mind, and she herself held it all together with consciousness and control. The metal of the blade began to grip around the crystal, becoming one as the woman’s force signature was imbued into the weapon itself.

In essence the blade was becoming part of her, an extension of her will, a truly romanticized and poetic description of what a blade is to a warrior. Yet that was not on the forefront of her mind, it simply was, and she felt her blade become something more… Something greater and powerful.

This process continued and she fell into a greater state of connection. For a moment she felt another presence, thinking someone was nearby but it was too familiar… It was herself. Then she realized she mistook the blade for herself, allowing her to realize how much went into the process and truly whoever wrote that tome must’ve been a powerful sorcerer.

 

[Boethiah]

Final steps and measures… She felt her connection was at a climax, still in her meditation the blade began to glow faintly with energy as the force emitted as light from the Phrik. The connection between the witch and the weapon was at a point where she no longer could sense it, only herself. Her eyes opened and looked down at the glowing sword.

The sun rose behind her, the glow faded until it looked like nothing more than an ordinary blade. Droplets of water fell and landed on its steely surface. At first Anja thought it had began to ran, she looked up at the ceiling of the forge. Her hand raised and touched her forehead which was soaking in sweat. A light smile came to her lips, she began to feel exhausted from the time consuming process.

For a moment she rested before slowly rising to her feet with blade in hand and wandering back to the palace gates. Upon arrival she entered and wandered back through the halls, her steps were softer and slower than usual from how much of her energy had been drained during the process.

 

[Boethiah]

Anja awoke after a long rest, by the way the light entered her room she guessed it was at least midday. Pulling the silky sheets aside she rose from her bed and yawned at the start of the day. For the first time in months she slept well without a nightmare or twisted dream, the blade she had forged earlier was laid out on a small drawer.

She approached the weapon of her own making--with the help of the forgemaster--and drew it in a stance. Swinging left and right, up and down she gathered a feel for its weight and reach. It reminded her much of her vibroblade except instead of the weapon’s hum she found a silent glow. It wasn’t a particularly visible blow, either, it was there and she could see it but at the same time it seemed to be all in her head.

Then she felt it… The blade didn’t just have her signature, it had her power too… Not entirely, but lightly it had taken from her through the reverie crystal the essence of her magicks. The powers in store she didn’t need to guess, she simply understood by holding it and focusing on her energies flowing into the crystal. She could etch her powers of manipulation into a being, should she concentrate. After all it was an extension of herself.

She could allow her abilities to flow through the weapon in a limited sense. The thought intrigued her greatly as she realized the further potential of such a weapon, she wondered why the Jedi gave up such a technique so long ago? Perhaps there was a burden to all of this she had yet to realize. Or maybe it was her mistake to assume the same outcome could not be achieved through a lightsaber.

Either way she had her weapon and she knew its strengths well.