The Heart of the Forge (PM For Invite)

[Julius Sedaire]

​

There were few in the Galaxy who understood metallurgy as well as he himself did really. The unique abilities of alloys, or laminated and forgewelding materials... The smelting of entirely new classes of raw class to work with and from. As he waited for his guest, the newly christened Forge Lord of the Dreadguard and their Legions mused about where his road had taken him. Far, far from his little island in the seas of Mandalore, or even from the comfort of his lumbering forge-ship which stood above Mustafar in fixed orbit, awaiting his return to wander the Hyper Lanes again. Though, truth be told, the demands of such a bleeding edge force as the one Rook was assembling was such he wasn't sure when that would be.

Truth be told in actuality, he wasn't sure even his mind was up to it. There were limits to his knowledge and ability to bend the ores of earth and sky to his will. And in a world where dark forces bent and plyed the very laws of those domains at a whim, he had to wonder just what exactly was he to do so that, he could make his soldiers match and exceed those forces. For that is what was needed, what his Lord called him to do for his brothers and sisters. The Alliance, the Galaxy, needed soldiers to keep those who would bring darkness at bay.

So far, he had answered the call quite stunningly. The Architects had technology mankind, or almost any race, hadn't dreamt of in many ways. Blendings of biology and technology that would stun the Yuzzhan Vong. Nothing that was Galaxy altering, to be sure, like the secret to Ang Tii hyper-drives or whatever have you. And much of it, truthfully, was beyond his ability to understand and render fully yet. He had the understandings of where they were now, and the knowledge of where the Architects technological levels were. But there were scan few bridges in between that would lead him to link over the gaps.

In hopes that something could be reached, Ijaat had called out to an old ally of the Dreadguard that several of the older iterations had told stories of. A man he knew only through story and reputation, a man named [member="Isley Verd"] . Alchemist, Force User, apprentice of the Galaxy famed [member="Rave Merrill"] ... WIth the knowledge of the Architects boiled into his brain, stored in the cybernetic enhancements [member="Rook"] had granted him to better manage the magnitudes of knowledge, and assisted by a restored Geoff... With the abilities of a Master Alchemist who knew the other side of things... With all of that, perhaps there was a hope for the Galaxy, for his brothers and sisters.

And so he waited, in the steam wreathed, magma powered depths of his personal forge on the volcano ridden planet, his massive form draped in leather and wool soaked in flame-retardant oils. The old clothes of a Mandalorian beskarsmith wrapping the form of a monster so deadly and dark those he sought to save, those he loved beyond reason and recall, would revile him and exile him from their lives when they learned what it was that he had become. And he accepted that, readily and gladly, as a price needed to pay. With a foot tapping, the smith sketched idly across flimsi-paper bound in a book on the slab-table in front of him, his mind whirring with thoughts he needed to get out, so he could think clearly when his guest arrived.

 

[Darth Metus]

Dreadguard.

A word devised by the brave ambitions of a man once young. In those days, the Galaxy had been rattled to the core by the resurgence of Darkness. In those days, the southern nation He swore to protect was in dire need of defense. It was in the face of this reality did a younger Isley act: twisting creation itself to form a legion of warriors. Together they rapidly expanded the southern borders, struck fear into the hearts and minds of their enemies, and momentarily provided peace of mind to many.

But, nothing lasts forever.

Quite a large span of time had passed since that era...and so much had transpired. The young man who once dabbled in the Darkness had now immersed himself in its depths. He was...no Sith...but rather an entity that sought to defy literal gods. He was but a man, twice victimized by Akala herself, who swore never again to be pressed underneath thumbs divine. That is what had drove him. That is what had pushed him into the reputation held at present.

He was an Alchemist. A damn good one at that.

Now, given how things had concluded between the former Mandalorian and the original Dreadguard, Isley was quite surprised to receive a missive. It was a simple request for a meeting, signed by one titled: "Forge Lord of the Dread Legion." While the mere thought of the former organization returned a bad taste in his mouth, sheer curiosity compelled him to do more than ignore the transmission. The now-aged man wanted to see what had become of the unit he had crafted so long ago...and thus, the meeting was accepted.

A normal man would have felt his arrival.

It was as if the winds of autumn had sunken their fangs into the Forge. The vibrant light...the perpetual warmth...all dimmed in response to his coming. Isley Verd was many things, but foremost amongst them was Hungry. His appetite was a literal void these days, and any ambience would do. Thus did a chill sweep over the appointed place of meeting, heralding the arrival of the Alchemist himself.

"A fitting Forge for a Lord of your status."

Coming to a halt a respectable distance away, the Alchemist placed a hand upon his sternum. A polite inclination of the head was given, briefly, before he folded his arms. Besides that simple gesture of greeting, no further introductions had to be made. The missive provided Isley all he needed to know for the moment, and obviously Ijaat had done his homework. Now was the time to get right down to it.

"What is it that you, and by extension the new and improved Dreadguard need of me?"

[member="Ijaat Akun"]

 

[Julius Sedaire]

There had been notice of his approach, if only because Ijaat had felt the temperature of the surrounding area drop perceptibly. The forge, which he supposed at some point would likely have a name, was always blistering hot and full of steam. Though most might not notice the change in the air and the magma flow, the Forge Lord had. This place was where he lived practically, unless deployed to war for whatever reason or need. And so he looked the man that stood before he, greeting him, and nodding solemnly as the graphite scriber was lain in the spine of the book like a marker and he shut it gently, the faded and battered covers crossed in Mando'a bearing his name blazoned on it.

"What do I need of you? "

Here the smith smiled, crossing arms across a chest swollen by science and arcane secrets to an impossible size, muscles rippling even under the cloth and leather, power that would have been easily a source of envy in the toil of a forge day in and day out. And a source of both stories and twisted horror at the carnage they wrought in their wake. There was really little reason to stand on ceremony and niceness. This was a case born of convenience and need, and there was no pretense otherwise with Isley. Something he valued, really, for a number of reasons. The list of reasons grew by the day, by the battle and by each death of his Dreadguard. Isley may have created them, but with the cursed science of the Architects, he had perfected and distilled them in this newest iteration.

"Your abilities, particularly the ones that pertain to warping the laws of metallurgy and science, the create things that shouldn't be, and couldn't be done by a man like me. I can make things that are miraculous to behold, but they are still bound by the laws of this realm.... You though, you play with those laws like a Corellian might play pazaak. I wouldn't be standing here... You wouldn't have been called here... If those abilities weren't of such a caliber that I thought there were few to no other who could do better... But there has been another development... "

Gesturing, the Forge Lord smiled as a holo-projector built into the slab desk flicked into life and spawned a screen sectioned into eight tiles, four along the top, four along the bottom. Each tiled remained for a scant few seconds, before being replaced by a new image, moving from left to right, and top to bottom in a steady sequence. What they displayed was, frankly, to most mind boggling and impossible. Ship schematics, weaponry, cybernetics... Scientific and mathematical theorems that challenged the 'laws' of the physical realm and it's preconceptions. Eventually, they would begin to cycle through the same images as they started with, an obvious pre-selected display of schemata. Those who were familiar, as he now was after Yag'dhul, with the science of the Architects, or even just them in general, would recognize the technology as theirs.

"In the heart of an Architect ship, I linked minds with the being that serves as a database for their culture. I.... Downloaded..... The contents of that beings 'brain' ... Into an Artificial Intelligence whose mind was linked with my own... It's a tangled affair...I can not tell how much I got from the being... And some of it is incomprehensible, really.

My A.I. is working on translating and cohereing it into usable data. I was severed from my link by the Monitor...Before it cut my ties, I glimpsed even its' mind, and caught a glimmer of understanding from it about that entire race... What I saw... Altered me... I have not been the same ever since. Those displays are decoded information gleaned from my time inside the ship....

But why that involves you, or the Dreadguard?

I found the secrets in there, the plans those beasts had for making their next generation. And I wiped them from their memory. I didn't just copy their jibber on it... I took it and burned it from their very cores. Warriors of such potentiate they possess real chance to not only launch a conquest, but obtain a victory in the war against the would be Emperors of this Galaxy, the Sith... Warriors who can give those who live and breathe here a chance at self-determination again. I know you used to believe in such a cause... I'm here to tell you it has come again, from the very ashes of the fire you stoked... And it needs you to succeed... My knowledge is incomplete, limited by my ability and understanding. With yours, the gap between my designs and theirs can be bridged and overcome. As an offer, the knowledge of theirs, is given to you as it is revealed and translated. As well as a Lordship in the Legion, and access to the fruits of our conquest. "

With the speech done, he fell silent, eyeing the Alchemist before him, and waiting for the coming response.

[member="Isley Verd"]

 

[Darth Metus]

A mere appetizer.

Although it possessed a rather distinct flavor...one most likely born of the metals and steam in close proximity...the consumption of Heat was not satisfactory. As always, the Alchemist found himself staving off a rather voracious appetite: one that demanded an ever-constant feast to satisfy. More often than not, Isley simply allowed his Hunger to browse at will, but not this time. It would have been rude to...indulge...in the buffet of magma underneath their feet.

After all, one did not simply waltz into another's home and devour their livelihood.

But there was nothing wrong with enjoying the aroma, yes? Although hardly enough to satisfy the growing...addiction...the Alchemist found himself momentarily reveling in the "scent". It was...a uniform aroma that teased the senses. It circulated the room without end. However, surprisingly enough, it was not deterred by the presence of the Forge Lord. In fact, it seemed as though the Force did not see fit to grant this mammoth of a man with a scent at all. At this fact did a small smile begin to form.

Force Dead.

It seemed as though the defining feature of the Dreadguard had remained intact over the years. This was a good thing for those on their good side, but a terrible thing for those on the receiving end. Alas, the time to entertain such thoughts quickly passed, for the towering being began to speak. His words were full of mutual respect and a hint of personal pride; this much was evident. But they also made a request of the Alchemist that saw his smile...dim...ever so slightly. For a moment, he simply nodded along and listened to the man's words in full...then, he looked to the screens.

The data...made minimal sense at a glance...but it was promising to say the least. If his development team had the cha-

No. hissed the darkest depths of his soul. No amount of data in the world is worth opening your back for another dagger. This man speaks of what you once upheld? What you bled for? He knows nothing of your suffering. He knows nothing of your betrayal...yet has the gall to ask you to stand among the Dreadguard?

This doesn't concern you Metus. Silence.

Oh but it does. All they want is to use you. All they want is to see masterpieces born of your efforts. When they have that, they will discard you. They will betray you. Remember Concord. Remember Norongachi.

Silence. Never will I be foolish enough to forget. Never will I fully expose my back to them. But. This could be a prime opportunity...

You are a foo-

Isley had heard enough. He shut out the voice of his Burden and looked Ijaat square in the eye. "I am intrigued, but you must understand my...hesitation...in offering any assistance to the Dreadguard. I was burned once, you see, and I would rather die than allow it to happen again. So, before I agree to anything, I make this demand:"

"An oath. Pledge upon your life that I will not be marred by betrayal again...and that if I am, you will personally accept the full weight of my wrath."

[member="Ijaat Akun"]