On White Sands

[Jak Skirata]

On white sands the Chai La Armory made their home. The great dunes of Mandalore, a stark reminder of a time when Mandalore reached too far into the Galaxy and was too weak to defend itself from the greater Republic. His bes'uliik shifted impatiently atop a shallow cliff as Davin scanned the white sea for any sign of the elusive group of smiths. With a smirk he patted the heavy hull of the droid.

"Shhhh....Calm."

 

[Jak Skirata]

The wind whipped past, its sound muffled by the helmet he wore. So many particles filled the air that his air filter was having trouble. Another thing to fix in the future. As his brother's, no, his bes'uliik jetted through the air a glimmer caught his eye, or rather the heavy, resonating sound of beskar against beskar. It was a familiar sound that brought him found memories of trips up the river to the Skirata homestead where their grandfather made small things of the impervious metal.

He and Gilamar were young then.

The droid, catching his eye movement pivoted slowly, slowing down to turn. Was he ready to do this? After this moment, would he stay with his brothers and sisters? He needed to find that out for himself.


The sound of jet engines grew fainter as the duo descended at the mouth of a cave, the sound louder than ever. He was willing to pay a large amount of credits for this. But favors like this hardly amounted to credit values. Dismounting the bulky droid, his feet sunk unexpectedly into the white sand. He trudged through to the mouth of the cave, his bes'uliik opting to hover using its repulsors over its giant, unwieldy claws.

 

[Jak Skirata]

It was cool inside the cave. Pressing a finger to the side of his helmet he activated the flashlight that would illuminate his path to the end of the smallish cave. A heavy door, he could only assume was beskar, stood between him and the heavy twang of the ancient metal. The way they did things was very archaic.

He had sent Chai La his request weeks before, or rather Field Marshal Willamina did for him. He had a few days ago received a handwritten letter telling him that his piece would be ready, and so he had come. Raising a hand to knock a peephole shook and slid open, a pair of old, glossy white eyes peered through back at him.

The old man grunted and the door slid open with ease. At once the heat of the forge flooded the cave. Davin's breath was taken away by the sheer size of the inner chamber he now stood in. A single forge was its centerpiece with tunnels leading every which way. Master forged beskar'gam hung along the walls and bantha leather stood on large metal racks, ready to be made into masterpieces. It truly was a master's forge.

 

[Jak Skirata]

The smith was a large man, easily two heads taller than Davin in armor. His hair was white as the sands he called his home and his huge arms sported a nice white coat to match.

"What do you want," his booming voice echoed off the cave walls as he picked up his hammer again and began pounding. "I am very busy man." Closing the door behind him Davin removed his helmet.

<You know what I came here for. Its that right there.> he pointed to the disassembled parts of a bev'kal sitting near the forge. The old man grunted, his milky eyes focused on the fires of the forge. Then he remembered...the man was blind.

"That is not ready, poodoo," his entire body shook with the force he brought down on the white hot beskar.

 

[Jak Skirata]

<What do you mean its not ready? Its..right there.> The old man set his hammer down and looked straight into the visor of Davin. "You want use crap, fine, take it. Not my fault it break on you."

He grimaced. What was this old man talking about. Surely even his worst was better than most beskar smiths he knew. He sighed. <How long until its finished?> The old smith whom had since gotten back to work lifted up three fingers. <Three hours?> He shook his head, <Days?> he was beginning to get worried. Again, he shook his head.

"Months."

 

[Jak Skirata]

<I got a letter saying it was ready and to come in a weeks time, so here I am!>

"Cuy ogir'olar." This old man was begining to get on his nerves.

Clang! Clang! Clang!

Reaching out with the Force he took the pieces from the table and tossed them into a burlap sack. The sound took the old man's attention from whatever it was he was creating. He grunted, acknowledging Davin's decision.

"That blade fit you well. Made in haste, it may yet snap under pressure. Maybe you snap first. We'll see. If you need new blade, come back in three months, it will be ready."

 

[Jak Skirata]

Clang! Clang! Clang!

Davin turned his back on the old man, overwhelming confusion and frustration at the old man and his strange ways coming off of him in waves. This stopped the old man's work. He lifted his head to stare at the back of Davin's armor.

"Wait," He stood, reaching out to him. "Let me see your Heart of Fire."

"How did you-" The old man raised his hand.

"A Heart of Fire speaks to those willing to hear!" He half chuckled half grunted as he made his way over to Davin. Was this old man really crazy? Reaching into his utility belt he procured the bright red crystal from Kiffar.

"Why do you-"

"Shh, udesiir," he grabbed the red orb from Davin's hand, a smile coming to his face. "Mmm...Mmmmm...A great many warrior touch this stone. Passed down many, many times yes?"

 

[Jak Skirata]

The memories of Gilamar Skirata, Davin Skirata, Silva Skirata and the great clans of Kiffar from which their mother came from flooded into the old man, his eyes dancing a brilliant red.

He handed the stone back to Davin who was even more confused than ever. With a renewed vigor the old man stripped the burlap sack from Davin. "I reforge this now, you stay." He didn't leave enough time for Davin to respond.

 

[Jak Skirata]

Clang! Clang! Clang!

The fire of the Forge roared as the old man laughed joyously as he worked Davin's beskar. The hiss and thick steam from the hot metal meeting the cool liquid for the first time filled the room. With his helmet removed Davin sat on a nearby bench, watching the spectacle. Sparks flew and the flames danced as the master smith worked.

If Davin had been paying attention, he would have felt the overwhelming sadness coming from the old man, and the tears running down his cheeks as he laughed and worked.

 

[Jak Skirata]

Hours passed by, and Davin had fallen asleep. When the forging had stopped the old man walked over to him, the weapon fully assembled. Still groggy from his untimely nap he ran a gloved hand through his thick, black hair and yawned.

"It is done."

Three simple words, brought suspicion to Davin's eyes. "How did you assemble this? Are you-"

"Shhh, it will be our little secret." The old man winked, dropping the saberstaff, bev'kal hybrid into Davin's hands. "Be swift young warrior. And crack some skulls!"

A grateful smirk made its way onto Davin's face as the two locked arms.

"Aye."

 

[Jak Skirata]

By the time the two had finished talking and discussing how the weapon worked it was long into the night and cold. He shivered as his Bes'uliik hovered over the great White Sea.

"Why did I think it was a good idea to leave?" He asked, half expecting a response. Of course not.

On his belt, the Heart of Fire burned with a new passion.