Je'gan Olra'en
Jan 17th, 2004, 08:36:58 AM
The time had finally come, and what was more his Master approved of it. Palpatine's bones, Southstar had told him to do it before he'd ever seriously considered the notion. It gave Je'gan heart; perhaps he was close to completing his initial training, and being granted the title of Sith Knight. Serve that
blasted-arrogant Rivin right, and no mistake.
So he set out one morning bright and early, light streaming from his bedside window, to gather up what he would need to construct his own lightsaber. He hummed tunelessly to himself from beneath the hood of his favourite black cloak, coughing now and again at the dust from vigorous training that the droids who cleaned the palace hadn't yet gotten to. He was cheerful enough to give them the benefit of the doubt: it was still early, after all.
The first place he visited was the library, his old haunt of happier days. Datapad in hand, he began to riffle through the section on weaponry until a thin volume on the technicalities of lightsaber construction popped out into his grip. He sat down on a small round stool used to reach the top shelves, and took extensive notes on an old-model datapad. By this time the library had actually opened. The head librarian, an old Adept, had shuffled through, opening curtains and rearranging displays. Je'gan had caught his amused cough at the site of him sitting there studying, but other than that had payed the man no mind. Despite himself he was finding the details interesting.
He had briefly considered sketching out a design or guideline, but the book warned against that; the design, it repeated, would come to him as he built it. He shrugged and crumpled the flimsiplast, then tossed it into a small trash receptacle behind him. There was a handly list of materials in the appendix, which he copied into his datapad. Je'gan flipped halfheartedly through the book again and replaced it on the shelf. He nodded to the old Adept and left the now-lit library. The corridor loomed ahead of him, and reviewing his knowledge of the Palace's layout he took his first steps. He had a general idea of where storage rooms could be found, but other than that, no clue. For all he knew they could contain Holocrons or vehicles rather than electronic parts.
The first door he tried in a section that bore 'Storage' signs was locked and guarded by ysalamiri; anything in there, he shouldn't be looking for. The second was the correct one. Its shelves contained power cells, phase amplifiers, beam projectors, electric doodads beyond description, racks of glittering jewels that were probably worth several hundred thousand creds, and that was just the wall devoted to that sort of thing. He didn't have the slightest clue what eighty percent of the stuff on the other shelves was for-almost definitely not the construction of one's first lightsaber.
Humming again, he called up the list and read 'power cell', with a numeral range beside it. Minimum storage and output capacities, he recalled, as well as tentative maximums. His free hand began to pick through the selection available. A vertically-ridged one caught his eye, as did an odd conical sample and one that would make a rounded pommel. These he shifted to the side for later inspection. Next was an energy projector with a specific aperture and input range. All the ones he could see were pretty much identical, so shrugging and trusting to the Force he closed his eyes and picked one at random.
"'Charge modulator.'" These, based on some half-remembered diagrams in the book, were small cubes with several wires sticking out. Where-
Ah. Behind the jewels. They were a uniform lot as well, so he selected randomly and continued on through the long, long list until he hit focusing crystal. This was where choice really came into it. At least a hundred sat on the shelf before him, each in a little open box and each a different colour and shape. Granted, most of them were in shades of red, but there was enough variety to keep him guessing.
He decided to narrow it down by general colour. Each one was usually indicative of it's user's mood or personality, and that might help as a rough guide. Purple was tossed first, as well as a solitary pink gem.
A few whitish crystals, then-he certainly wasn't feeling particularly pure, or interested in irony. Black-no. He was tired of the deadness of it, and if he'd wanted black he would have cannibalized Kurai. Yellow-also no. Well, probably not. It would stay on the list.
Ah, the archetypes. Here was blue, there green, and everywhere red. Most of the greens he didn't think too much of, but here and there were samples with a particularly nice glint and clarity. He carefully removed three of the small boxes and put them to the side. Blue...hmm. Not too dark, not dark at all by any means. There were a few very nice ones that were quite light, and he put these by the chosen greens.
The reds existed in both the greatest numbers and the greatest variety. Here were opaque jewels so dark as to be almost black, there were choices completely translucent with only the barest hint of crimson. Orange, russet, brown, true red, blood...all sorts of colours, too. Any of them would do in a pinch, but he found himself drawn to a clear, bright sample that seemed almost to glow. He returned to the yellows now. After seeing the reds and blues and greens, though, they didn't look terribly great.
Nine jewels had been removed in total, standing off to the side for closer inspection. Three green, five blue, one red. They all drew him like a moth to a flame, but he had to pick one, just one. Two at the very most. He'd gone the multi-phase route with Kurai, though, and that didn't appeal to him, nor did the notion of learning the lightstaff. It would have to be just one.
He hadn't heard the door open, but suddenly there was somebody else in the room, somebody he didn't recognize. A boy not too much younger than himself, he bore the look of someone who'd offered his life to the Dark Side and had it spat mangled back at him. This one, Je'gan instinctively knew, would never amount to much.
"Those were all made," he said somberly. "Your selection, I mean."
"Made...how?" Je'gan asked the boy warily, although he had a decent idea of what he was going to hear.
"With a molecular furnace. The glint you seem to like comes from the forger's anger while he meditates."
Je'gan began to display interest. "Is there-"
"There's an old one six doors to the left that you could use."
Je'gan glanced back at the rack of jewels, contemplating the extra effort. He turned to thank the boy, but somehow or other he had disappeared. Frowning, he replaced the nine, bundled up all the machinery, and headed down the hall until he had counted six doors.
The door opened easily; the only thing in there was a potbellied cylinder in rough shape. Excitement bubbled up in him as he strode forward, circled it critically, and activated it. A loud beep and a series of barely intelligible messages emitted from a speaker near the keypad; it needed raw materials. He looked around. The room appeared bare. How much raw material would he require? The computer had said something to that effect-it hadn't sounded like very much. Shrugging, he took off his boots and threw them into the receptacle, relishing the feel of black stone on his feet. The machine beeped again, and whirred. It looked like it now had enough.
He sat down and began to meditate. Vaguely he wondered how long this would take. The boots had been leather, from a carbon-based life-form. His limited knowledge of chemistry hinted that it would probably cough up a diamond. A brief vision of cobwebs spun over his lifeless body passed as he surrendered to the Dark Side.
The furnace began to hum, and he stretched out his mind to the transformation taking place inside it. The raw material had already been broken down, almost to a molecular level, and now the thick particle soup was beginning to come together under the furnace's titanic forces. What had the boy said? Something important about the forging process... But no, it was gone. All that remained for him was to try and do what he vaguely recalled Southstar saying; that a lightsaber was an extension of one's body.
Very well. He would make this jewel a part of him.
He began to treat it like another mind, using many of the same techniques he'd learned from Oolana Taine. It was simple, but it could receive images and feelings, and these he began to pump into it.
First-his family, and their deaths. Something didn't seem quite right about the tinge of positive emotion that escaped along with the sorrow, but he let it slide.
His acceptance into the Palace. A memory filled with greed, and with ambition. These would be useful.
His first encounters with the Sith Witch Kasajian, the closest thing to a nemesis he possessed. His last encounter, getting his arm dislocated then shattered rapid-fire, but taking down a Vore in the process. Plenty of Sithly emotion there.
Fighting Dust, and Capashen. Losing potentials here and there. Conflict, tied up with Zatania Duvall. He was coming to realize that his life was made up of violence and little else.
Older memories now. Winning Sector in Teras Kasi, and then in fencing the next day. He'd thought his heart would burst from the pride.
And back to recent. Fighting Xel-Naga, winning the good will of Kes'la Bardo. Fighting on the side of Jedi Master Satine Capashen, against Darksiders. Fighting the Sith Lord Gav Mortis. The frustration of having his every move anticipated by a Lorrdian Jedi apprentice.
Frustration...the day he'd been declared too Jedi-like to be a proper Sith, and booted off Corellia.
And from that to Ceres. This one he'd waited on, building up his strength so he wouldn't make his first mistake over again and let positive emotion enter the crystal.
Betraying Ceres. Ah, this was safer ground. Much safer. Anger, violence, fear, sorrow, loss...
Going on that mission with Southstar. Fear and anger. Murder. Guilt.
He began to wrap up, tossing in his encounters with Rivin and Zereth Lancer for good measure. Once he was sure that he'd done his best, he opened his eyes and found that the cycle was complete. The furnace sat inert-long inert-and inside was a perfect jewel. He couldn't see a thing beside it's shape, though, and popped the hatch to see it closer.
An indrawn breath rattled his ribs for what felt like the first time. He coughed dust in and out. This room, it seemed, was rarely cleaned up. It couldn't distract him from his new prize, though. Smoky blue and quite bright, it had that shine he'd liked in the other gems. Not a flaw in sight, either, whether by eye or by the Force. He tossed it into the air, caught it, and put it in his pocket.
He'd ordered a droid to supply his room with food periodically, and notified Southstar that he wouldn't be coming to train for about a month. That month was the minimum projected time for a first lightsaber, according to a couple of books that had crossed his path. Lucky it was that his room was right beside a 'fresher-he wouldn't have to take much time off to satisfy his body's needs. Bare minutes per day. He wondered how long he could go without sleep. The mattress off his bunk had been rolled up and shoved into a corner. The rest of the bunk had been disassembled and piled beside it. It might be useful for raw materials, since he had nothing special in mind for the structural components of the handle.
Dust danced in the light before him as he sat cross-legged in the middle of the floor, and laid the components out around himself. The datapad was dead centre, displaying both his notes and a basic schematic.
*** *** ***
Three days and sleepless nights later, Je'gan stumbled out to the 'fresher, massaging his numbed legs.
At least he wasn't hungry. The droid had done as ordered. This was a good thing: he doubted that he'd have had the strength to eat in the nearest lunchroom. Suffused in the Force he might be, but fatigue was beginning to growl at him.
He'd assembled the components, more or less, according to the schematics. That was the easy part. Now he had to place them just so in the casing that had been part of a bedpost in an earlier incarnation, or it and he would vanish in a rather spectacular explosion. Just so. There wasn't a millimeter's or a degree's tolerance.
Yawning hugely, the Sithling surveyed his unshaven and utterly haggard face in a mirror. He filled his mouth with water and spat into the sink, then wiped his face on the shoulder of his tunic. The floors that had once been refreshingly cool were now numbing, and had forced him to put on socks.
He leaned against the door for a moment, then stumbled out into the hall. Someone tried to greet him; he mumbled something in Francais and ducked inside his room, anxious to get back to possibly the most exacting task of his life.
*** *** ***
The days began to pass more and more quickly. He reached the one-month mark and missed it entirely. The connections from blade projector to focusing crystal seemed far more interesting.
A knock or two sounded at his door in the middle of the fifth week, but he didn't answer. The finishing touches were coming together. He was almost ready to close the casing on his creation.
On day forty, he crawled to the 'fresher and emptied his stomach. The toll this level of focus had taken on his body was incredible. Nevertheless, he felt quite invigorated as the last of breakfast passed his lips for the second time. He'd just finished his weapon. Sleep, that elusive and fickle ally, had only come to him on twenty-five nights out of thirty-nine, but he was exultant enough to head down to the training grounds, bearing the precious cylinder, for a first test.
It didn't blow up. In fact, it functioned perfectly, and satisfied, Je'gan Olra'en went back to his room for a long, long nap.
blasted-arrogant Rivin right, and no mistake.
So he set out one morning bright and early, light streaming from his bedside window, to gather up what he would need to construct his own lightsaber. He hummed tunelessly to himself from beneath the hood of his favourite black cloak, coughing now and again at the dust from vigorous training that the droids who cleaned the palace hadn't yet gotten to. He was cheerful enough to give them the benefit of the doubt: it was still early, after all.
The first place he visited was the library, his old haunt of happier days. Datapad in hand, he began to riffle through the section on weaponry until a thin volume on the technicalities of lightsaber construction popped out into his grip. He sat down on a small round stool used to reach the top shelves, and took extensive notes on an old-model datapad. By this time the library had actually opened. The head librarian, an old Adept, had shuffled through, opening curtains and rearranging displays. Je'gan had caught his amused cough at the site of him sitting there studying, but other than that had payed the man no mind. Despite himself he was finding the details interesting.
He had briefly considered sketching out a design or guideline, but the book warned against that; the design, it repeated, would come to him as he built it. He shrugged and crumpled the flimsiplast, then tossed it into a small trash receptacle behind him. There was a handly list of materials in the appendix, which he copied into his datapad. Je'gan flipped halfheartedly through the book again and replaced it on the shelf. He nodded to the old Adept and left the now-lit library. The corridor loomed ahead of him, and reviewing his knowledge of the Palace's layout he took his first steps. He had a general idea of where storage rooms could be found, but other than that, no clue. For all he knew they could contain Holocrons or vehicles rather than electronic parts.
The first door he tried in a section that bore 'Storage' signs was locked and guarded by ysalamiri; anything in there, he shouldn't be looking for. The second was the correct one. Its shelves contained power cells, phase amplifiers, beam projectors, electric doodads beyond description, racks of glittering jewels that were probably worth several hundred thousand creds, and that was just the wall devoted to that sort of thing. He didn't have the slightest clue what eighty percent of the stuff on the other shelves was for-almost definitely not the construction of one's first lightsaber.
Humming again, he called up the list and read 'power cell', with a numeral range beside it. Minimum storage and output capacities, he recalled, as well as tentative maximums. His free hand began to pick through the selection available. A vertically-ridged one caught his eye, as did an odd conical sample and one that would make a rounded pommel. These he shifted to the side for later inspection. Next was an energy projector with a specific aperture and input range. All the ones he could see were pretty much identical, so shrugging and trusting to the Force he closed his eyes and picked one at random.
"'Charge modulator.'" These, based on some half-remembered diagrams in the book, were small cubes with several wires sticking out. Where-
Ah. Behind the jewels. They were a uniform lot as well, so he selected randomly and continued on through the long, long list until he hit focusing crystal. This was where choice really came into it. At least a hundred sat on the shelf before him, each in a little open box and each a different colour and shape. Granted, most of them were in shades of red, but there was enough variety to keep him guessing.
He decided to narrow it down by general colour. Each one was usually indicative of it's user's mood or personality, and that might help as a rough guide. Purple was tossed first, as well as a solitary pink gem.
A few whitish crystals, then-he certainly wasn't feeling particularly pure, or interested in irony. Black-no. He was tired of the deadness of it, and if he'd wanted black he would have cannibalized Kurai. Yellow-also no. Well, probably not. It would stay on the list.
Ah, the archetypes. Here was blue, there green, and everywhere red. Most of the greens he didn't think too much of, but here and there were samples with a particularly nice glint and clarity. He carefully removed three of the small boxes and put them to the side. Blue...hmm. Not too dark, not dark at all by any means. There were a few very nice ones that were quite light, and he put these by the chosen greens.
The reds existed in both the greatest numbers and the greatest variety. Here were opaque jewels so dark as to be almost black, there were choices completely translucent with only the barest hint of crimson. Orange, russet, brown, true red, blood...all sorts of colours, too. Any of them would do in a pinch, but he found himself drawn to a clear, bright sample that seemed almost to glow. He returned to the yellows now. After seeing the reds and blues and greens, though, they didn't look terribly great.
Nine jewels had been removed in total, standing off to the side for closer inspection. Three green, five blue, one red. They all drew him like a moth to a flame, but he had to pick one, just one. Two at the very most. He'd gone the multi-phase route with Kurai, though, and that didn't appeal to him, nor did the notion of learning the lightstaff. It would have to be just one.
He hadn't heard the door open, but suddenly there was somebody else in the room, somebody he didn't recognize. A boy not too much younger than himself, he bore the look of someone who'd offered his life to the Dark Side and had it spat mangled back at him. This one, Je'gan instinctively knew, would never amount to much.
"Those were all made," he said somberly. "Your selection, I mean."
"Made...how?" Je'gan asked the boy warily, although he had a decent idea of what he was going to hear.
"With a molecular furnace. The glint you seem to like comes from the forger's anger while he meditates."
Je'gan began to display interest. "Is there-"
"There's an old one six doors to the left that you could use."
Je'gan glanced back at the rack of jewels, contemplating the extra effort. He turned to thank the boy, but somehow or other he had disappeared. Frowning, he replaced the nine, bundled up all the machinery, and headed down the hall until he had counted six doors.
The door opened easily; the only thing in there was a potbellied cylinder in rough shape. Excitement bubbled up in him as he strode forward, circled it critically, and activated it. A loud beep and a series of barely intelligible messages emitted from a speaker near the keypad; it needed raw materials. He looked around. The room appeared bare. How much raw material would he require? The computer had said something to that effect-it hadn't sounded like very much. Shrugging, he took off his boots and threw them into the receptacle, relishing the feel of black stone on his feet. The machine beeped again, and whirred. It looked like it now had enough.
He sat down and began to meditate. Vaguely he wondered how long this would take. The boots had been leather, from a carbon-based life-form. His limited knowledge of chemistry hinted that it would probably cough up a diamond. A brief vision of cobwebs spun over his lifeless body passed as he surrendered to the Dark Side.
The furnace began to hum, and he stretched out his mind to the transformation taking place inside it. The raw material had already been broken down, almost to a molecular level, and now the thick particle soup was beginning to come together under the furnace's titanic forces. What had the boy said? Something important about the forging process... But no, it was gone. All that remained for him was to try and do what he vaguely recalled Southstar saying; that a lightsaber was an extension of one's body.
Very well. He would make this jewel a part of him.
He began to treat it like another mind, using many of the same techniques he'd learned from Oolana Taine. It was simple, but it could receive images and feelings, and these he began to pump into it.
First-his family, and their deaths. Something didn't seem quite right about the tinge of positive emotion that escaped along with the sorrow, but he let it slide.
His acceptance into the Palace. A memory filled with greed, and with ambition. These would be useful.
His first encounters with the Sith Witch Kasajian, the closest thing to a nemesis he possessed. His last encounter, getting his arm dislocated then shattered rapid-fire, but taking down a Vore in the process. Plenty of Sithly emotion there.
Fighting Dust, and Capashen. Losing potentials here and there. Conflict, tied up with Zatania Duvall. He was coming to realize that his life was made up of violence and little else.
Older memories now. Winning Sector in Teras Kasi, and then in fencing the next day. He'd thought his heart would burst from the pride.
And back to recent. Fighting Xel-Naga, winning the good will of Kes'la Bardo. Fighting on the side of Jedi Master Satine Capashen, against Darksiders. Fighting the Sith Lord Gav Mortis. The frustration of having his every move anticipated by a Lorrdian Jedi apprentice.
Frustration...the day he'd been declared too Jedi-like to be a proper Sith, and booted off Corellia.
And from that to Ceres. This one he'd waited on, building up his strength so he wouldn't make his first mistake over again and let positive emotion enter the crystal.
Betraying Ceres. Ah, this was safer ground. Much safer. Anger, violence, fear, sorrow, loss...
Going on that mission with Southstar. Fear and anger. Murder. Guilt.
He began to wrap up, tossing in his encounters with Rivin and Zereth Lancer for good measure. Once he was sure that he'd done his best, he opened his eyes and found that the cycle was complete. The furnace sat inert-long inert-and inside was a perfect jewel. He couldn't see a thing beside it's shape, though, and popped the hatch to see it closer.
An indrawn breath rattled his ribs for what felt like the first time. He coughed dust in and out. This room, it seemed, was rarely cleaned up. It couldn't distract him from his new prize, though. Smoky blue and quite bright, it had that shine he'd liked in the other gems. Not a flaw in sight, either, whether by eye or by the Force. He tossed it into the air, caught it, and put it in his pocket.
He'd ordered a droid to supply his room with food periodically, and notified Southstar that he wouldn't be coming to train for about a month. That month was the minimum projected time for a first lightsaber, according to a couple of books that had crossed his path. Lucky it was that his room was right beside a 'fresher-he wouldn't have to take much time off to satisfy his body's needs. Bare minutes per day. He wondered how long he could go without sleep. The mattress off his bunk had been rolled up and shoved into a corner. The rest of the bunk had been disassembled and piled beside it. It might be useful for raw materials, since he had nothing special in mind for the structural components of the handle.
Dust danced in the light before him as he sat cross-legged in the middle of the floor, and laid the components out around himself. The datapad was dead centre, displaying both his notes and a basic schematic.
*** *** ***
Three days and sleepless nights later, Je'gan stumbled out to the 'fresher, massaging his numbed legs.
At least he wasn't hungry. The droid had done as ordered. This was a good thing: he doubted that he'd have had the strength to eat in the nearest lunchroom. Suffused in the Force he might be, but fatigue was beginning to growl at him.
He'd assembled the components, more or less, according to the schematics. That was the easy part. Now he had to place them just so in the casing that had been part of a bedpost in an earlier incarnation, or it and he would vanish in a rather spectacular explosion. Just so. There wasn't a millimeter's or a degree's tolerance.
Yawning hugely, the Sithling surveyed his unshaven and utterly haggard face in a mirror. He filled his mouth with water and spat into the sink, then wiped his face on the shoulder of his tunic. The floors that had once been refreshingly cool were now numbing, and had forced him to put on socks.
He leaned against the door for a moment, then stumbled out into the hall. Someone tried to greet him; he mumbled something in Francais and ducked inside his room, anxious to get back to possibly the most exacting task of his life.
*** *** ***
The days began to pass more and more quickly. He reached the one-month mark and missed it entirely. The connections from blade projector to focusing crystal seemed far more interesting.
A knock or two sounded at his door in the middle of the fifth week, but he didn't answer. The finishing touches were coming together. He was almost ready to close the casing on his creation.
On day forty, he crawled to the 'fresher and emptied his stomach. The toll this level of focus had taken on his body was incredible. Nevertheless, he felt quite invigorated as the last of breakfast passed his lips for the second time. He'd just finished his weapon. Sleep, that elusive and fickle ally, had only come to him on twenty-five nights out of thirty-nine, but he was exultant enough to head down to the training grounds, bearing the precious cylinder, for a first test.
It didn't blow up. In fact, it functioned perfectly, and satisfied, Je'gan Olra'en went back to his room for a long, long nap.