Resonance in the Lattice
LOCATION: Low-Rent Hangar Deck // Docking Berth 19 // The Ring of Kafrene
MISSION: First Encounter with Jedi - Recruitment Hook
FACTION: The Silver Jedi, THR, or other active Jedi Order
TRACKING:
Seo Linn
Matsu Ike
================================================================================
The rhythmic, industrial pulse of the Ring of Kafrene was a deafening chaos of grinding gears and plasma torches, but inside the dim, oil-slicked corridor of Docking Berth 19, the atmosphere shifted to a peculiar, deliberate beat. It wasn't a standard mechanical signal. For anyone accustomed to the invisible currents of the Force who happened to be navigating the lower port decks looking for a shipwright, the audio cue was impossible to ignore. From the open boarding ramp of a battered, mismatched Ghtroc 720 freighter named the Fool's Errand, a heavy metallic thud rang out, cutting straight through the loud blare of local swing music and the sharp hiss of distant atmospheric vents. Three fast, manual strikes with a fine chisel, followed immediately by a heavy, long-delayed compression blow from a pneumatic sledge. The cadence didn't match the frantic, rushed speed of a traditional smithy shop. It was slow. Measured. It perfectly mimicked the precise, rhythmic breathing patterns of someone seemingly in a trance.
Stepping past the Threshold of the airlock, the pristine interior of the ship's central hold shattered the illusion of the rusted hull outside. The air smelled of clean, multi-stage alpine oxygen, superheated ozone, and the deep, rich aroma of steeping star-leaf tea.
Inside, there was no massive, heavily armored industrial master smith standing over the anvil. Instead, the lone figure in the center of the foundry was a young Pantoran woman, looking no older than her mid-20s. She moved with a fluid, and athletic economy of motion which appeared completely out of balance with the intensity of her work. Her calm cerulean blue skin glistened under the amber fire of a partially-enclosed induction blast furnace, and her short, styled cream-colored hair rested pristinely along the borders of her slightly sweaty face. A heavy, heat-resistant apron was slung over an industrial tank top, exposing a deceptively powerful, lean musculature forged by a lifetime of swinging her hammer.
The smith was working on something volatile. Across her bare arms and shoulders, a complex personal tapestry of golden-yellow achievement tattoos and stylized, jagged ancient glyphs glinted sharply in the firelight. As she focused, her amber eyes naturally shifted into the near-infrared spectrum, glowing with a soft luminescence as she watched the molecular heat signatures bleed across the superheated billet of Phrik-Laminanium.
For a witness standing quietly in the shadows of the ramp, the scene defied normal manufacturing physics. A raw, massive, and entirely unrefined ripple of concentrated intent seemed to radiate directly through her. She was locked in intense flow state, extending from her arms, down the grip of her fingers and around the handles of her tools. It was as though a subtle, yet powerful invisible telekinetic pressure was clamping down on the molten metal, between her hammer blows seeming to somehow steady the atomic bonds themselves. Floating 3D holographic wireframes projected by an advanced lab AI named SAMI spun slowly above her workbench, slightly morphing as she manipulated the steel, and flashing analytical warnings while the concerned whining of an E-B loader droid grumbled in the background about power spikes on the auxiliary reactor grid.
With a final, ringing blow from her pneumatic hammer, the process was locked. As her intense stare softened, Olarra pulled the glowing blade form from the anvil, inspecting the piece with the eyes of a seasoned smith before lowering it carefully into a hydro-glycol cooling sink. As the liquid bubbled and steamed, Olarra could finally let out the sharp, ragged gasp that had been held back in her chest as her self-taught endurance trance slipped, leaving her hands tremoring at the return of the intense physical strain her focus helped her postpone.
She wiped the sweat from her brow with the back of her forearm, turning with an exhausted gaze toward the shadows of her airlock. As she became reconnected with her immediate surroundings, she spotted the outline of a cloaked traveler standing quietly near the threshold, her look of fatigue instantly transitioned into a her usual bright, free-spirited grin. Completely unaware that her frantic concentration had just broadcasted a profound energetic wave into the surrounding corridor, one that anyone attuned to the Force would easily have detected. Olarra gave her usual greeting for new customers as she reached for her favorite polished obsidian and green jadeite cups sitting on her dark wood desk. Removing the heated kettle from its warmer, she poured two steaming, rich cup of tea, the smooth alpine aroma instantly cutting through the lingering tang of hot metal.
"Welcome to Malachor Forgeworks! I'm Olarra, I run the place. What brings you in today stranger?" Olarra chuckled softly, her hair swaying as she gave her leather gloves a quick pull to tighten them against her wrists. Her eyes inspected the traveler with a curious scan. "Apologies for not hearing you come in, friend! I hope you weren't wandering the lower decks for too long before you found me. Would you like to join me in a cup of tea or did you just climb up my ramp to watch the furnace?"
MISSION: First Encounter with Jedi - Recruitment Hook
FACTION: The Silver Jedi, THR, or other active Jedi Order
TRACKING:
Seo Linn
Matsu Ike
================================================================================
The rhythmic, industrial pulse of the Ring of Kafrene was a deafening chaos of grinding gears and plasma torches, but inside the dim, oil-slicked corridor of Docking Berth 19, the atmosphere shifted to a peculiar, deliberate beat. It wasn't a standard mechanical signal. For anyone accustomed to the invisible currents of the Force who happened to be navigating the lower port decks looking for a shipwright, the audio cue was impossible to ignore. From the open boarding ramp of a battered, mismatched Ghtroc 720 freighter named the Fool's Errand, a heavy metallic thud rang out, cutting straight through the loud blare of local swing music and the sharp hiss of distant atmospheric vents. Three fast, manual strikes with a fine chisel, followed immediately by a heavy, long-delayed compression blow from a pneumatic sledge. The cadence didn't match the frantic, rushed speed of a traditional smithy shop. It was slow. Measured. It perfectly mimicked the precise, rhythmic breathing patterns of someone seemingly in a trance.
Stepping past the Threshold of the airlock, the pristine interior of the ship's central hold shattered the illusion of the rusted hull outside. The air smelled of clean, multi-stage alpine oxygen, superheated ozone, and the deep, rich aroma of steeping star-leaf tea.
Inside, there was no massive, heavily armored industrial master smith standing over the anvil. Instead, the lone figure in the center of the foundry was a young Pantoran woman, looking no older than her mid-20s. She moved with a fluid, and athletic economy of motion which appeared completely out of balance with the intensity of her work. Her calm cerulean blue skin glistened under the amber fire of a partially-enclosed induction blast furnace, and her short, styled cream-colored hair rested pristinely along the borders of her slightly sweaty face. A heavy, heat-resistant apron was slung over an industrial tank top, exposing a deceptively powerful, lean musculature forged by a lifetime of swinging her hammer.
The smith was working on something volatile. Across her bare arms and shoulders, a complex personal tapestry of golden-yellow achievement tattoos and stylized, jagged ancient glyphs glinted sharply in the firelight. As she focused, her amber eyes naturally shifted into the near-infrared spectrum, glowing with a soft luminescence as she watched the molecular heat signatures bleed across the superheated billet of Phrik-Laminanium.
For a witness standing quietly in the shadows of the ramp, the scene defied normal manufacturing physics. A raw, massive, and entirely unrefined ripple of concentrated intent seemed to radiate directly through her. She was locked in intense flow state, extending from her arms, down the grip of her fingers and around the handles of her tools. It was as though a subtle, yet powerful invisible telekinetic pressure was clamping down on the molten metal, between her hammer blows seeming to somehow steady the atomic bonds themselves. Floating 3D holographic wireframes projected by an advanced lab AI named SAMI spun slowly above her workbench, slightly morphing as she manipulated the steel, and flashing analytical warnings while the concerned whining of an E-B loader droid grumbled in the background about power spikes on the auxiliary reactor grid.
With a final, ringing blow from her pneumatic hammer, the process was locked. As her intense stare softened, Olarra pulled the glowing blade form from the anvil, inspecting the piece with the eyes of a seasoned smith before lowering it carefully into a hydro-glycol cooling sink. As the liquid bubbled and steamed, Olarra could finally let out the sharp, ragged gasp that had been held back in her chest as her self-taught endurance trance slipped, leaving her hands tremoring at the return of the intense physical strain her focus helped her postpone.
She wiped the sweat from her brow with the back of her forearm, turning with an exhausted gaze toward the shadows of her airlock. As she became reconnected with her immediate surroundings, she spotted the outline of a cloaked traveler standing quietly near the threshold, her look of fatigue instantly transitioned into a her usual bright, free-spirited grin. Completely unaware that her frantic concentration had just broadcasted a profound energetic wave into the surrounding corridor, one that anyone attuned to the Force would easily have detected. Olarra gave her usual greeting for new customers as she reached for her favorite polished obsidian and green jadeite cups sitting on her dark wood desk. Removing the heated kettle from its warmer, she poured two steaming, rich cup of tea, the smooth alpine aroma instantly cutting through the lingering tang of hot metal.
"Welcome to Malachor Forgeworks! I'm Olarra, I run the place. What brings you in today stranger?" Olarra chuckled softly, her hair swaying as she gave her leather gloves a quick pull to tighten them against her wrists. Her eyes inspected the traveler with a curious scan. "Apologies for not hearing you come in, friend! I hope you weren't wandering the lower decks for too long before you found me. Would you like to join me in a cup of tea or did you just climb up my ramp to watch the furnace?"
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