Not Ordo
Just under the upper hand.
The winter winds were not something he had always been able to enjoy but as of late with his wife gone he had retired to the icy forest of this frozen world. He had been through much in the galaxy, he was a great man in the eyes of some, and a monster in others, but here, here he was just the smith who lived in the woods. He had come here one dark night and landed his ship deep in the mountains. The valley and snow made sure it remained hidden. He wrung his hands as the heavy Bantha skins hung around his shoulders. He was here to find peace, a peace he had lost in the wars and fighting of the tempestuous galaxy. He loved the people he once led, but if he grew dark as he had been doing his leadership would one day become tyranny, and that he could never accept.
He walked to his makeshift forge and set out his tools. Hammer, anvil, tongs and more. His grey-green eyes closed and he let his mind clear. His hand went beneath the skins and pulled out his old lightsaber.
snap-hiss
The burnished yellow blade sprang to life and lit the growing darkness of twilight. How many times had he avoided using the blaster can opener. He had used it of course more than he cared to admit, but it had never been more than a tool, just like his master had taught him. Lightsabers, blasters, swords, hydrospanners. all tools for different jobs. knowing which tool was best for what job was half of the work, maybe even more than half. Would he fight a great beast or something of the like with the weapon now? No, he had a much better use for the life taking blade. He plunged it into the dead coals of the forge in mere seconds the frozen coals of the forge were lit and glowing. He set the saber down on the bench with the other tools and began pumping his bellows. The heat and roar were a comfort in the darkness of both the night and his mind. He had told no one he had come here. He had told no one why he had left, but with his dear wife where he couldn't reach her he didn't know where he would rather be. Minutes passed and then an hour of getting the coals to the right temperature. Then with a thick scarred hand he lifted the solid Durasteel bar and plunged it into the hot embrace of the waiting coals. He knew that being strong in the force was nothing but another skill, and all skills left unused grow weak.
"Pressure makes gems, Ease makes decay." he told the heavy bar as he watched it slowly grow hot.
Soon the bar was glowing and he shrugged the skins off. He tossed the coverings onto a small log stool and stretched his scar covered back. His thick sun tanned body was riddled with scars from everything from blaster burns to lightwhips and it would likely be marred by more before his life was through. He wrapped his wrist with a wide thick cloth to support his wrist and picked up his beskar hammer. The hammer had been a gift from an old friend a long time ago now, before he had passed away, as was the beskar anvil. The hammer and anvil, were a perfect metaphor in his mind for his life. The Hammer struck and the Anvil bore the blows. It had always been knowing which one to be when that he had trouble learning.
He hefted the glowing bar with a heavy glove that he had for just this purpose and lay it on top of the anvil. Once again eyes closed and he inhaled deeply as he opened himself to the force. He had not been trained in this art, he had been taught to be a weapon, but all things must grow. He embraced the force within him and strengthened his arm and also focused on the bar. He pushed the force into both the arm and the bar, then with a steady hand the hammer swung.
CHING
The hammer struck, the anvil bore and the bar slowly took shape....
He walked to his makeshift forge and set out his tools. Hammer, anvil, tongs and more. His grey-green eyes closed and he let his mind clear. His hand went beneath the skins and pulled out his old lightsaber.
snap-hiss
The burnished yellow blade sprang to life and lit the growing darkness of twilight. How many times had he avoided using the blaster can opener. He had used it of course more than he cared to admit, but it had never been more than a tool, just like his master had taught him. Lightsabers, blasters, swords, hydrospanners. all tools for different jobs. knowing which tool was best for what job was half of the work, maybe even more than half. Would he fight a great beast or something of the like with the weapon now? No, he had a much better use for the life taking blade. He plunged it into the dead coals of the forge in mere seconds the frozen coals of the forge were lit and glowing. He set the saber down on the bench with the other tools and began pumping his bellows. The heat and roar were a comfort in the darkness of both the night and his mind. He had told no one he had come here. He had told no one why he had left, but with his dear wife where he couldn't reach her he didn't know where he would rather be. Minutes passed and then an hour of getting the coals to the right temperature. Then with a thick scarred hand he lifted the solid Durasteel bar and plunged it into the hot embrace of the waiting coals. He knew that being strong in the force was nothing but another skill, and all skills left unused grow weak.
"Pressure makes gems, Ease makes decay." he told the heavy bar as he watched it slowly grow hot.
Soon the bar was glowing and he shrugged the skins off. He tossed the coverings onto a small log stool and stretched his scar covered back. His thick sun tanned body was riddled with scars from everything from blaster burns to lightwhips and it would likely be marred by more before his life was through. He wrapped his wrist with a wide thick cloth to support his wrist and picked up his beskar hammer. The hammer had been a gift from an old friend a long time ago now, before he had passed away, as was the beskar anvil. The hammer and anvil, were a perfect metaphor in his mind for his life. The Hammer struck and the Anvil bore the blows. It had always been knowing which one to be when that he had trouble learning.
He hefted the glowing bar with a heavy glove that he had for just this purpose and lay it on top of the anvil. Once again eyes closed and he inhaled deeply as he opened himself to the force. He had not been trained in this art, he had been taught to be a weapon, but all things must grow. He embraced the force within him and strengthened his arm and also focused on the bar. He pushed the force into both the arm and the bar, then with a steady hand the hammer swung.
CHING
The hammer struck, the anvil bore and the bar slowly took shape....