Gotal'urir haar Jag'Kyramud (Solo)

[Shaw McKeller]

The beskar was gathered and the materials present. He'd managed to rent out a forge for the day and purchased the materials he needed. It was strange living nowadays. Before, he'd he had all he things he needed for fighting at his fingertips. He simply required it and it was done or made or brought to him. A new weapon? They either made him one or had one in the armory. Armor repairs? They had smiths to do it for him. Medical needs? Deathwatch doctors.

Now, he had only what money he had managed to bring with him along with the personal belongings he'd carried into his defection. He did everything himself now, which wasn't bad, it was just odd. He wasn't used to this sort of thing, but he was glad his youth had made him do so before. He had to rely on it now.

For now, he worked the bellows and smelted the beskar ore he'd collected earlier. The smith that had rented out the forge thought it was for armor, but McKeller knew that wasn't the case. This was for a new weapon. One to replace the axe he'd lost on Concordia.

This one, however, would be a bit different...

 

[Shaw McKeller]

As the ore melted and the impurities of the ore itself burned off or slagged away, McKeller slowly poured the metal into the casting he'd made earlier. It was a huge thing. Easily approaching seven feet long and nearly eight inches wide, the cast could only be one thing: a blade.

The blade itself would be massive and deadly, usable only by those who could physically lift the thing. Namely, McKeller. The huge Mando let the liquid beskar pour into the casting and fill the mold completely. As the molten metal set, Shaw pulled from his belt pouch a pair of crystals and held them in his hands.

One was blue. An Ilum crystal taken from the lightsaber of a Jedi Master Shaw had defeated in his youth. The Jedi was faster and more agile, but Shaw's armor and aggression had kept him alive and ultimately allowed him to kill the Force user. The second was red. An artificial crystal taken from the lightsaber of a Sith Lord, defeated nearly a decade ago. Shaw had killed the man with a sweeping blow of his axe, cutting the Sith in two. The Force user had attempted to block but had forgotten something very important: Inertia. A heavy, beskar axe as difficult to stop with a lightsaber, something that the Sith hadn't quite understood until it was too late.

McKeller moved to the cast and carefully placed both crystals at two different points in the casting. At this point, the Mandalorian began meditating quietly and opened himself up to the Force and, more specifically, how the Force affected himself, the blade, and the crystals he'd placed within the liquid metal.

 

[Shaw McKeller]

Now came fire and steel. Now came hammer and tong. Now came the sweat and work.

Stripped to the waist, McKeller pulled the cast beskar from the mold with the tongs. As an afterthought, he brought the hammer down upon the mold itself, shattering the vessel into shards and pieces. He would succeed or he would fail. There would be no other attempts. This was to be his own test of himself.

He took to the metal then as the shards of the mold covered the floor. Shaw kept his focus on the Force, working half from experience and half from the Force. He let the power resonate within and without. He let it tie himself to the crystals and to the metal itself. He would forge a blade that only he could truly use and wield.

Hammer met iron in the brutal, staccato orchestra of metal on metal. Shaw found his rhythm and kept the pace. Hammering the blade into shape while maintaining his focus on the Force. He remained mindful of the blade, of the metal, of the crystals within. No matter where or how he folded the metal, he kept both gems stationary within the massive blade through the Force, all the while imbuing them with his presence.

This was only the beginning.

 

[Shaw McKeller]

The blade was folded, refolded, and folded again. Sixteen times the metal was hammered out and reforged, but the crystals never moved. The Force sang in the air to those who could feel it and flowed through man, iron, and crystals. Slowly, the work was paying off.

The blade was taking shape. The blade itself was wide and broad, terminating in a shortened point. At the hilt formed the tang. While not as wide as the blade, McKeller reinforced it and focused upon it with the Force. It would hold the blade intact and withstand even the mightiest of blows, given or received. The Mando worked the blade over once more, focusing even harder on the Force until the blade and air nearly chimed in his mind.

It wouldn't be long now..

 

[Shaw McKeller]

He was nearly finished with the task at hand. The blade sang in the Force to him and the Crystals pulsed with the rhythm of his hammer on the iron. He worked a blood channel into the blade and prepared the tang for the hilt to come later.

Once done, he turned and held the blade aloft with the tongs. He looked the metal over once, twice, to make sure all was in order. The blade still sang in the Force to him and he could feel himself within the metal. Nodding once, he suddenly brought the weapon down and into the huge trough of oil beside him. The liquid boiled and steamed as the heat bled off the beskar iron. When the boiling died down, McKeller pulled the blade from the trough.

It wasn't complete, but the hardest portion of the task was over. Now came the final touches. He was one with the blade and the blade was one with him, but it still lacked some of is more... interesting personality traits.

 

[Shaw McKeller]

He then etched the blade with intricate design and old Mando'a. The words simply described the blade, giving the blade a name: Jag'Kyramud. The Man-Slayer.

Once done, he worked the blade over and sharpened the edges and point, giving the weapon a cutting and hacking edge. This was no sword to slice through armor or cleanly slice limbs and heads from bodies. No, this was a warrior's blade. A blade to rend the enemy limb from limb and break apart armor with brutal strikes. Despite this, McKeller knew the blade would cut. It was now Force imbued. Between that, the weight of the blade, and his strength, he could modulate his focus upon the blade. In doing so, he knew he could alternate between a shattering blow to send his enemies flying to a cutting slash that could penetrate all but the toughest of armor. He doubted he could slice through beskar plating, but he felt with a solid blow and his focus on the blade, he could cut a deep enough gash to matter. Beskar was only nearly impervious. It wasn't indestructible.

From there, he only needed to work on the hilt...

 

[Shaw McKeller]

From a table nearby, Shaw pulled a huge bone. The femur of a Rancor. A very specific Rancor, in fact. The very one that had mauled his hip and left the massive amount of scar tissue there.

He very carefully took the femur and split it straight down the middle. He then cleaned the bone and prepped it to fit to the hilt. Once done, he fitted the bone and readjusted, making sure the fit was perfect and seamless. Finally, he stepped back, his work done for the moment.

The hilt was of polished Rancor bone and the blade showed both its maker and name. There was only one or two things left to do to the blade before it was done. With this in mind, McKeller got to work...

 

[Shaw McKeller]

A pouch on the same table the Rancor bone had been set on was dumped out, scattering sharp teeth on the tabletop. Rancor teeth from the same creature as before.

McKeller carefully set them into the hilt and pommel to adorn the sword as yet another tribute to his personality. A strange mix of brutal efficiency and macabre trophy taking. It was the Mando way.

Once done, he looked the blade over once more and inspected the weapon. Nodding once, he moved to another table and went to work once more. Slowly, he began to enamel the blade. Filling etchings with color and giving the blade life and beauty. It was a brutal weapon of war adorned with tribal-esque features, but that was no reason not to give the blade a stark beauty of its own. Reds and blues and yellows mixed and danced together as he worked. More time went by as he gave the blade color and ornament. It was less labor intensive than the rest of his labors, but it required focus and stamina all the same.

Eventually, the enameling was complete and Shaw looked upon the blade in the light of the workshop. Now, all that was left was to see his work in all of its finality...

 

[Shaw McKeller]

McKeller held the blade up in the light in his right hand, the massive blade glistening in the glowlamps set into the ceiling. The finished blade was nearly seven feet in length and the length of a hand wide. It was heavy, very heavy, but still able to be used. At least, by McKeller or an equally strong being.

The blade was Force imbued and ornately decorated. From the polished Rancor bone and teeth that adorned the hilt to the etchings and enameling on the blade itself, it was a masterpiece of lethal, brutal artwork. Within the metal were a pair of crystals, each imbued and aligned to the Force. Specifically, McKeller's presence in the Force.

Now, it was time to test the blade. Focusing inwards, McKeller let himself feel out from his core. He felt the weight of the blade in his hand and how it sang to him in the Force. He could feel every inch of the beskar and could feel the twin, crystal hearts of the giant sword beat in time and rhythm, still carrying the hammer's tune and song within.

Slowly, Shaw opened his eyes and smiled at what he saw. The blade, from the hilt all the way down the the point, glowed blue in the Force. This was an unanticipated, but highly pleasing side effect of his work.

He was so caught up in his work, he didn't even notice the door opening behind him.

 

[Shaw McKeller]

At the voice of person behind him, McKeller spun around suddenly, sword still in hand. What he saw was the smith he'd rented the forge from and the light of morning behind him. Rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly, Shaw realized he'd been so absorbed he'd lost complete track of time. He'd been working non-stop since yesterday morning, apparently.

"Er... sorry," he said after a moment. "I'll clean up. Got a little carried away. I'll pay the extra fees, no worries."

The smith stared at McKeller and the giant blade a moment longer and then shook his head. He left out the door he'd come in and closed it behind him. McKeller set the sword down, still a little sheepish at his loss of time, and pulled out the last thing he needed.

He pulled on his tunic and put on top of this a leather harness. The thing was made of Rancor hide and featured two powerful electromagnets on the back. Wordlessly, Shaw picked up the sword and carefully brought it around and onto his back where the twin magnets activated and clamped the sword in place.

Satisfied that everything was finished and with the reassuring heavy weight of the sword on his back, McKeller turned to start cleaning up. It was to be a glorious day, he felt...