Hammer and Anvil

[Warmaster Nyâsh]

It was good to return to Mustafar, he wasn´t there for half a year. Several cases and duties required more attention than expected and prolonged his stay on Bastion. Now it was going straight back to his beloved forge between the heat and steam of the vulcanic moon. Though before that there was a delivery to pick up. Irdorathus sent a transmission with a list of required materials, several minerals and ores were not there anymore in sufficient amounts, only standard stuff, but nevertheless lacking.

Darth Grond decided to break on Metalorn to get these products. During the years he had established several connections to several miners and manufactorers. Metalorn was a pile of pollution and industry, like hives the large factories were stretching across and especially beneath the ground, deep canyons tearing apart the surface were looking like honeycumbs for the numerous mines dig deep into the planets crust.

While having several large spaceports for the heavy industry to ship and transport their goods, the planet also had smaller trade hubs which were managed by cartels of smallers mining corperations. Grond was not interested to buy minerals in the masses to build a star destroyer, therefore he went to one of the smaller trading outposts. It was like a secret special location for people of certain knowledge. Not even considered one of the minor trade hubs, this outpost was for private customers and people who preferred quality rather than quantity.

Miners, refiners and forgers alike were living here and the heat of several furnaces as well as the smoke of them could be smelled and sensed in the entire outpost. The area itself consisted of roughly three dozen buildings, most of them houses of the locals, several forges, even some for rent and of course a cantina and a market. It was no outlaw post, it was simply for artists rather than industrials. People knew each other and they knew their customers. The Sith lord was one of the older customers already, visiting this place since his youth. He was not spreading fear and dread here, but visited this place as part of an elite of forgers and smiths in the known galaxy and he was respected and welcomed for that.

The Thronebreaker was landing outside the village, swirling up the grey dust of the planet. Grond was ordering one of his servants to prepare the repulsor-barrow for transporting the materials ...

[member="Voph"]​

 

[Kyyrk]

Spoiler: Music

[youtube]https://youtu.be/5BD81eOm8Hw[/youtube]

Not far away, Voph sat amidst the small workshop that had been prepared for him. He'd managed to scrap together enough money to begin work on what might be his greatest, and perhaps last, work. Decades of thought, design, and preparation had been lovingly devoted to this. A work he almost thought he'd never be able to witness. The original blueprints had been lost to time, but that was of no concern to him. Voph worked tirelessly for days, and many of the locals began to question if he ever slept.

He didn't. Not this time. He never felt more alive...more whole than when he was within the forge. Even now, the ring of a hammer could be heard in his mind, the sound becoming embedded in his memory. He sighed quietly. All this work, for something that could have been created long ago. Should have been created long ago. But, that was of no matter. It was almost done. Just one thing left to do. And so Voph sat in front of his new suit of armor, gleaming in the red light of the fires, etching runes into the plate-work. A story, a song, of the hero and tyrant he had once been. Might he become so again? Perhaps. He was certainly free to walk that path. He finished the final verse, and brushed the loose shavings aside. It was ready.

That was when he heard the rumbling. A ship was landing. Big one. Voph sighed quietly. Where one went, another was sure to follow. Voph stood, and sighed deeply. He put his hand against the chestplate of the armor, at the end of the final verse. He felt the Force converge around him. His eyes might have closed, if he had eyes, as he allowed himself to commune with the force. "To right the wrongs of the past. To wander the galaxy until my day has come. To seek my place among the stars. I name you." He felt the Force channel itself down his arm and into the armor. When he removed his hand, another word had joined the final verse. A name. His name. Sitdrisa'yr. Pilgrim. He smiled quietly at the notion. Not a new moniker. But now more fitting than ever.

He stepped around to the back of the armor, and shed his apron and working tunic, revealing the black body glove underneath. He turned, and began pulling the armor off the display, and onto his person, one piece at a time. It felt...comforting to him. To be clad in armor once more. An image of the first time he donned his old Sith Reaver armor entered his head. What a fond and distant memory that was. He pulled the helmet down over his head, sighing in satisfaction as he heard the snap-hiss of the seal engaging. He turned, and stretched out his hand to call upon the force once more.

His lightsaber, laying on a table forgotten for these last few days, flew across the room to his hand, fitting snugly into the armored grip. He studied it for a moment, turning the blade over in his hands. The very same blade he'd used for so long. So many lives taken. So many saved. He hung it from the hook at his hip, and turned, the half-skirt about his legs shifting with the movement. It was time to step outside and meet this newcomer. Surely a being such as this would be looking for him...

[member="Grond"]

 

[Warmaster Nyâsh]

The Sith was preparing to leave the ship, getting the Money required to pay for the order he had placed in advance. He heard his servant leaving the ship through the lowered ramp already with the repulsor-barrow.

As he was readying a pack of credits in a little box, he felt the strong Force nearby. Surprised by this strong presence he looked up from his work and turned towards the door, frowning. What was this? Or rather, who was this? Stretching out with his senses he catched the glimpse of a strong Force presence in the village. It was dark, but yet not evil, the smell of aeons upon it. Grond´s puls was increasing, he felt the start of adrenaline running through his veins, preparing for an encounter.

Grabbing his helmet from the seat nearby he marched with clanking boots out of the ship. With a quick gesture he ordered his servant to move to the traders in the village, giving him the box with the money and then turning his attention away from the hooded figure again. A metalic clicking was echoing through his helmet when it connected with the rest of his suit. A few seconds of loading and his screen was online, the area was portrayed with distances, objects and more. He was usually shutting down most of it.

Scanning the area with his helmet sensors, he spotted a figure leaving one of the forges-for-rent. The presence hit his senses like a storm and he did not need the improved vision of his helmet to see that this guy was a Miraluka. A Force sensitive, the source of the disturbance felt earlier. His blood was running faster, his heart beat increased.

Grond musters the Person. Armored, a lightsaber, apparently old. He had the taste of darkness, but only slightly. A dark Jedi or Sith? Here? He said to himself that continuing the inner monologue wouldn´t do the trick at all. With large, cracking but calm steps he approached the individual. The winds finding its way into his cape and letting it fly from his back. Without actually noticing or deciding it, he had Angruin in his hand.

Stopping roughly fifteen meters in front of the man, he mustered him again. Noticing the excellent work of forged steel he was wearing, freshly made.

"Who are you, Smith?"

[member="Voph"]​

 

[Kyyrk]

Voph stood in the street, facing down the Sith that had emerged from the ship. There was a soft hissing noise, as the filters pushed air in and out of his helmet. Voph's lightsaber hung from his waist, in contrast to the Sith that had drawn his weapon the moment he laid eyes on Voph. His arms folded across his chest as he sat immobile, staring at the Sith Lord. Impressive armor to be sure, but nothing Voph hadn't seen before. As he had no need to turn his head to study the Sith, he allowed his visor to lock with the Sith's own gaze, and hold it.

"I am little more than a pilgrim. Not master nor servant." He...sounded bored. In fact, he seemed thoroughly unimpressed with the Sith before him. Heavy armor, increased height, blade at the ready but not activated... If a fight were to happen, this would certainly not be an opponent to underestimate. A battle of strength against strength. At least...If Voph decided to abandon all reason. He felt a familiar tingle in the back of his mind, and allowed the wave of darkness to wash over him, a pit of rage forming in his gut. And just like that, it was gone. Voph would need to maintain a level head if the individual were to attack. "In eons past, it was considered rude to demand an individual's name on public grounds. As it was to speak with weapons drawn."

Voph unfolded his arms, gesturing to the lightsaber in the man's hand. His left hand traveled to rest at the small of his back, and his right rested on his right thigh, right next to his own lightsaber. "If you mean to speak, then stow your weapon, and let us speak. If you mean to fight, do not waste words, and let us fight. I have other matters to tend to."

[member="Grond"]

 

[Warmaster Nyâsh]

Grond was hearing the words of the Miraluka and weighed its content for a moment. Who was this? He did not doubt the words the stranger was speaking but it was the things he was not saying which sparked his caution.

"Rudeness has developed. In both directions."

With a metallic click noise his lightsaber was attached with the magnetic clip at his thigh. Grond was curious who this individual was, actually there was a fight raging inside him. His education and duty demanded to imprison or eviscerate this individual, but his bond with this location as well as the interest for this man and his presumed forging skills were matching the first.

Folding his arms behind his back, beneath his moving cape, he started to walk, not towards the blind one, but to the side, keeping the distance. By keeping his view on the near-human his instincts rated this one to be very dangerous, very self-confident and straight to the point. Grond wanted to know more, they could always fight, but right now he actually wanted to talk.

"You are a pilgrim, I see. I am here for trade, to buy materials for my work." Grond´s voice echoed deep and distorted through the helmet. "You are, obviously, a Force user and not a weak one. What brings you here? Your pilgrimage?"

[member="Voph"]​

 

[Kyyrk]

Voph's right hand moved to the small of his back as [member="Grond"] stowed his weapon, both hands now clasped at the small of his back. He turned, walking the opposite direction, mirroring the Sith. He still allowed no emotion to seep into his voice, or stance. He stood tall...proud. Almost disdainful in his appraisal of the Sith. As if the being was little more than an inconvenience for him. "I am pleased to see the Sith have not changed in my absence. What brings me to this planet is my business. Given the Sith hold no authority here....I fail to see how it is yours."

Voph's brow knit together as he walked, focusing intently on this Sith. His armor clearly marked him as a warrior. And one that had not emerged until he did. Whoever this individual was, Voph suspected he was not here simply for materials. A small smile crept onto his face, however. Voph was beginning to remember how fun it was to antagonize Sith. After all he was answering the man's questions. Wasn't his fault that they likely were not the answers the Sith desired or expected...

 

[Warmaster Nyâsh]

Noticing the body language and tone of this individual, Grond should most likely becoming more impatient and agressive, typical for Sith. But he wasn´t. He was still more curious about this individual than hostile. The armor was fine work and spotting the runes on it, most likely enchanted with the Force or alchemy of some sorts. Dark or Light doesn´t matter here. Grond could forge the most balanced weapons, the most durable and light armors, but his Force understanding was limited and enchanting had never been on his learning schedule. Yet.

Grond stopped where he stood. They moved in half a circle now. Not at all considering the following movement, he was rising both his hands to the side of his helmet, the noise of the unsealing sounding like a small steam engine. With a swift movement Grond stood there, the helmet in his armpit and looking at the Miraluka with his very own eyes. One could see the Dark side in him, but there was also ... honesty?

Even more unusual and actually stupid, at least by what his inner voice was telling him, the tall Sith slightly, but meaningful bowed his head. "My name is Varro, I am not here for you, who-ever you are. Who made your armor? I am a forger, a smith as well and I would like to learn the individual who made it."

[member="Voph"]​

 

[Kyyrk]

Voph watched with interest as the human removed his helmet, and yet made no move to remove his own. He chuckled quietly, yet it was still loud enough for [member="Grond"] to hear. "You speak, and yet you do not know what you speak of." Voph spread his arms wide, as if presenting the armor to the man, still circling around him. The runes on the chest, the name, glowed faintly as the Force surged around Voph. And yet...the rest of the armor failed to resonate with the force. Almost a display of power. There was no alchemy or trickery. Just sheets of metal, same as any other suit.

"Long have the ancients held their traditions. Long have the Sith claimed and conquered. No regard for their own, trusting blindly in the tools of others. The greatest warriors fight not with swords, but with minds. The minds to devise their own path, and craft the tools of destruction that send them on their way. There is strength to be had in knowing the flaws of your crutch." Voph gestured to the man across from him, this Varro, before folding his arms neatly behind his back again. "You seek the forger of my armor. The Sitdrisa'yr." He spoke the Mandalorian word with a startling correctness, almost like a name. Or title. "And yet you have not come for me. Riddles and paradoxes will serve you ill...Varro."

 

[Warmaster Nyâsh]

This Miraluka was challenging Grond´s patience and neutrality. Insulting Grond was one thing, insulting the Sith was one thing as well, but insulting Grond´s art and skill, was something he could not bear easily. The expression on his face darkened, but he kept the tone of neutrality.

"Save your history lesson for someone who wants to hear it and swallow your arrogance down where it belongs, Miraluka. Neither this world, nor this star and especially not myself is turning or moving for your presence or absence. A random coincident brought us together here and now you, as well as myself, are considering if this is worth the trouble. I am not here for a fight. Yet."

Grond had no intent to fight here and now, he had a cargo to pick up and an order to finish. This man, this Darksider, what he for sure was, would have to wait. For certain this one was an exile or even a traitor, the way he was talking it appeared that he was either some noble prick or some grandpa of some old blindling.

"You can continue to speak with your ranted language or start speaking like someone who actually fits into this time and ... place. There is only business and craft in this outpost, at least for me. I have sworn it a long time ago and will keep my oath. So now it appears that I have to repeat your very own question: Do you want to fight or speak? This is a good place for the latter. Or turn and leave, but be aware that we will meet again, for one or the other reasoning."

[member="Voph"]​

 

[Kyyrk]

Voph grinned widely beneath his helmet. He spoke, almost in a chiding voice. "Such open hostility, Varro. I have answered every question you have asked. It is not my fault you are dissatisfied with the answers. Or...too simple to understand them." He took another couple steps, before pausing, turning his helmet to stare at the man. Highly irritable, typical of the Sith. His helmet turned to survey the buildings around him. "I came to this world to finish what I had started. To prepare for the day when the forces of balance sought me out."

His helmet locked back on to the Sith and his body turned with it, arms falling down to his sides, but poised and ready for a conflict. "You seek the creator. You have found him. You seek my purpose, you have seen it. You seek my name." Voph paused, reaching up to remove his helmet. He continued to speak, his modulated voice giving way to a clear, deep bass. As his helmet was lifted, a simple metal crest was revealed across his eyes, clearly designed to fit under his helmet in the event it must be removed. His face carried the weight of a hundred lifetimes, and yet appeared to be quite young, save for the silver-black hair growing on his head. "I have held many. Slave. Servant. Master. Lord..." Voph tossed his helmet aside, calling his lightsaber to his right hand, but not igniting the blade. "I am Darth Voph, of the Octarchy Covenant. My art is mine, and mine alone. There is much you can not, or will not understand." He raised the lightsaber to point directly at [member="Grond"] but still did not activate it. He turned to a side stance, prepared for combat. "Words do not hold meaning in the realm of war. Nor in describing it. You may turn, and leave this place, and I shall wish you no malice. Or you may accept my challenge. And discover the secrets of my art. The choice is yours...Lord Varro."

 

[Warmaster Nyâsh]

The only movement on Grond was the cape which was slightly moving in the wind. He had no facial expression, not for the new insults nor for this seemingly, or rather purposed, great revealing. At least the movements inside the Sith came to an end. There was no conflict anymore about what to do with this arrogant wannabe Sith.

"You think too high of yourself, Voph. Considering that I haven´t heard of your little covenant simply supports the idea of your absolute meaninglessness in this our current galaxy."

Mustering the man for another moment. "We will meet again, I assure you that. I will leave you and this place now. Our next meeting is not in the far future."

With the helmet in his armpit, Grond starts to walk, directly towards his ship with one hand behind his back. He was fully aware of the challenge presented at him, but he was equally decisive about ignoring it. Here. One does not break an oath to fulfill another, justice cannot work this way. This Miraluka, Voph or Darth Voph, either a traitors or some little poser was an insult to the Sith Empire and its rule.

Darth Grond wouldn´t give this man an advantage, he was ready to throw away his helmet and to grab his second lightsaber which was attached to the back of his belt, beneath the cape, his hand was directly above it.

[member="Voph"]​

 

[Kyyrk]

Voph watched the Sith retreat, unmoving. After a second, he dropped his arm, stepping back to watch as Grond retreated. "Yes," Voph muttered to himself, "We will meet again. You will not be able to resist..." Voph turned, and clipped the lightsaber back to his belt, before reaching out to recall his discarded helmet. As it landed in his hands, he pulled it back over his head. He walked down the street away from Grond, back towards his own waiting ship.

He couldn't help but smile at Grond's observation that he'd never heard of the Octarchy. Just another mark that Voph was a man out of time. The smile faded, however. Voph couldn't say he was surprised at the simple-mindedness of the Sith. And yet, it still bothered him that such ideologies persisted, even thousands of years later. They would certainly meet again. If only because Voph suspected Grond would not be the kind to let things go. He was a warrior. Blood and victory was the only thing he knew. He would learn, in time. Voph had won over more stubborn creatures than he. It just took time.

[member="Grond"]

 

[Warmaster Nyâsh]

Grond did not expect the man to attack him, while he was some form of liar, traitors or idiot, he appeared to have at least some sense of honour and stick to his word. with clanking boots he entered the ship of himself, the servant had arrived during the conversation. Soon the engines were heating up again and they were leaving.

The stay was not intended to be only of this short duration. The Darth wanted to speak with several of the traders and merchants as well as some forgers, but this was an unpleasant interruption. They would head directly for Mustafar now to deliver the materials and finish the orders placed.

The vibration of the ship was indicating that the ship was rising into the air and heading off the planet.

Grond was seating himself at the communication console and contacted his operation centre on Bastion, sending a detailed message about what happened an a simple order.

[member="Voph"]​