To Hone One's Craft

[Aeternus]

Snap-hiss. The unmistakeable sound of a lightsaber's ignition; a sound that had become as familiar to Karath Gaath as his own breathing. He held out the weapon in his right hand, gazed up at the blade. It bathed him in its vibrant blue light, contrasted all the more strongly against the pastel orange of the Coruscanti sunset to his left, itself diffused to a faint sepia by the automatically polarising window. These were the only lights at present in his artisanal workshop, a space that had been prepared for him shortly after his elevation to Knighthood and which he had very much made his own in his years here. Every tool had its place, every workstation its purpose, and the holoterminal in the corner was so deeply connected to the archives that he may as well have taken over a corner of the archive halls themselves.

The lightsaber in his hand was his own, a beautiful piece of craftsmanship that served as the surest symbol of his vocation. To look upon it in these moments of quiet introspection rarely failed to put a smile on his face. It was both the culmination of his technical skills and artistic vision, and an optimistic first step on his journey in this profession; it reminded him of how far he had come, and spurred him to keep going. Disassembling it to be cleaned, and reassembling it with the same reverent care, was a meditation all its own. In fact, Karath had come to prefer to do this in darkness, the better to allow his painstaking manipulations of the device to be guided by the careful touch of the Force. The Dragite crystal within was pure and brilliant in colour, cut to perfection for its purpose as the lightsaber's radiant heart.

Satisfied that all was as it should be, Karath finally allowed his focus to wander outwards, away from his work and into his surroundings. As if on cue, he became aware of an approaching presence - a visitor to his workshop! This was always an exciting time. Deactivating his saber and returning it to his belt, the Zabrak turned and waved a hand over the control panel beside the door, switching on the artificial light. Overhead, a dome-shaped sconce of frosted transparisteel glowed soothing white. Adjusting his robe to sit properly over his lightsaber, Karath awaited his visitor.

[Rugs]

The Jedi Temple’s halls felt almost unfamiliar, these days. Locke had once found that strange, during his early Knighthood. These days, it was something that simply was. Investigators were no strangers to prolonged absences from the Jedi Temple, and he’d been out for a particularly long stretch, as of late. Not counting a brief return to Coruscant right before the Archeri Crisis erupted, Locke had spent much of the past two years out of the Temple and away from Coruscant.

Traipsing around Hutt Space, mostly, and his recent promotion-of-sort from the Grandmaster to oversee Jedi operations the Cartels’ territory meant return trips to the Temple weren’t likely to be very frequent anytime soon.

Still, there were things to tend to at the Temple itself, even for an enterprising Investigator, and things back on Nar Shaddaa and Circumtore were stable enough for him to return for a few days. At least somewhere in this damn Galaxy is stable.

Bad business, the recent happenings between the Republic and Empire. The Galactic Court reached the right conclusion, in the end, but Locke couldn’t imagine the Sith were happy about it. What came next was anyone’s guess, but he had some damn good guesses.

Well, whatever would happen would happen. Force willing, the peace would hold.

For the time being, Locke concerned himself with his work--meetings with fellow Investigators, filing some reports in the flesh instead of by hologram or encoded message. Scintillating stuff.

But with that all done, and a few hours of the evening clear until some later obligations, Locke found himself wandering the Temple’s sacred halls, feeling like a Padawan off to explore its nooks and crannies.

Before he knew it, he’d found his way to an area where artisans and other crafty types tended to set up shop. The doors to one such shop opened up and he found himself staring at a tattooed Zabrak who seemed to be expecting him.

“Oh, uh, hey there,” Locke said, a bit awkwardly as he glanced around the shop. “Just made it back to the Temple and I found myself wandering and,” he motioned broadly with his hands, “here I am.” The walls were lined with workstations, themselves topped with neatly-arrayed tools — some of which Locke couldn’t begin to imagine how to use.

He laughed, as if at some unspoken joke and smiled, looking to the Zabrak to Knight to study him a moment. Locke didn’t recognize him, at least at first sight, but there were a lot of Jedi, and he was often away from them.

“I’ve always admired the work artisans do,” he said. “Never had a head for building things, or a hand for it, for that matter.”

“Name’s Locke, by the way.”

[Aeternus]

Sure enough, the door to the workshop sighed open to admit the coming visitor, though it quickly became apparent that he had not come here with any particular purpose. In the face of the man's awkward introduction, Karath maintained a cordial smile. Locke was the name, and he professed admiration for Karath's line of work, a sentiment that couldn't help but brighten the Zabrak's face.

"We all have our talents," he answered. "I'm sure you could tell stories that would boggle my mind just the same! Pleased to meet you, Locke. My name is Karath. Please, come in!" He lifted a hand to beckon Locke over the threshold. "Forgive me if I put you on the spot - I sensed your coming as I finished putting my lightsaber back together. Usually, my visitors are either coming at my invitation or seeking me out with questions."

He paused, studied Locke's face for a moment. There was a sort of weathered tiredness there; it was the look of a man who had journeyed far to make his way back here, back home. "You said you've just made it back to the Temple - can I ask where you've been?"

[Rugs]

“We do,” Locke agreed. “And our own magnificent lack thereof, in some cases.” He smiled wryly at Karath as he stepped into the shop, getting a better look at all the tools and doodads spread around it. Yes, he had no idea what most of them were, but he wasn’t an artisan, was he?

“And pardon my intruding,” he said as he came to stand before Karath. “I thought I’d gotten past the stage of wandering around the Temple like a damn tourist, but I here I am, doing it again.” He laughed to himself, his expression friendly and warm. “Never gets old, y’know? Especially when you’re away from it for a while. Still, I won’t keep you too long. I’m sure you’ve got actual work that needs seeing to.”

Ah yes, there was the question Karath posed. What had he been away doing? It was tempting to tell the Zabrak that was classified — Locke liked to trot the line out every now and again just to fish for reactions from his Jedi peers — but that’d be too close to rude after wandering into the artisan’s shop unannounced.

“Dealing with the Archeri and the mess they left in their passing,” he said, and it was enough of the truth that Locke didn’t feel bad about hiding the true nature of his work. It wasn’t that he had any reason to distrust Karath, or any Jedi, really — Investigator work demanded a degree of secrecy. “Things are still pretty bad out in Hutt Space. It’s going to take a long time to fix the damage that’s been done out there.”

“But,” Locke continued as he found an empty seat and settled into it, “I’m sure the last thing you want me doing in your shop is prattling on about all that depressing shit, and I’ve never had much of a chance to really pick an artisan’s brain. Tell me, what kind of work do you do in this shop?”

[Aeternus]

A couple seconds after Locke crossed the threshold into the workshop, the door slid shut behind him with a pneumatic hiss that had become a comforting sort of white noise to Karath, for all the time he spent here. He greeted his fellow's approach with another warm smile; he wore it on his sleeve that he was glad for this sort of company. Perhaps that said more about his solitary routine than he wished.

Locke gave his answer to the question put to him, and Karath pursed his lips and nodded in a sort of "aha" motion. He'd found it to be a universally understood sign of acknowledgement.

"I spent very little time on the front lines against the Archeri," he confessed. "Perhaps just enough to grasp the magnitude of the danger. I'm told I should count myself lucky for that." He said no more on the subject; Locke seemed eager to move past it, and Karath absolutely couldn't blame him. For talk to turn to the attention of his work, however, put a smile firmly back on Karath's face.

"Oh, do stop me if I start rambling - I could go on for hours," he laughed. He cast a quick eye about his workspace, neat as he always liked to keep it. "Artisans are few in number, and our disciplines are broad, but what brings us together is the idea that creativity can be a unique expression of the will of the Force. Some will work on sculptures or paintings, allowing the Force to guide them in bringing the piece together, bringing it to life, in a way they might not achieve on their own. But I've started my studies where most of us do - experiments in lightsaber craftsmanship. I often get Knights or older Padawans coming to me for advice in building or improving their weapons, but when it comes to from-scratch craftwork, I started with my own dual-phase saber."

As he spoke, he pulled aside his robe to set a hand on his saber. Unclipping it from his belt, he lifted it into Locke's view. The delicately etched blue plates seemed to sparkle in the light. "Acid-etched duralium-lanthanide alloy," he explained with a proud smile. "I wanted to test myself by working with new metals, but I needed something that could stand hard wear and tear. And this is just the beginning - there are examples of lightsabers with hilts of wood, even glass, just as functional as any other!"

[Rugs]

“Far as I see it, the less time you can spend on any kind of front lines, the better,” Locke groused, and for a fleeting moment, a sour note colored his voice. He loved the Republic dearly, despite its flaws and imperfections, and worked hard to bring its ideals of justice, of security and equality, to those places where they were sorely lacking. He’d fight for the Republic, whenever she called.

But war had a way of weighing on the soul. Archeri, Sith — it didn’t matter. Killing was killing.

He let the mood pass; as he said, he wasn’t here to bring uninvited thunderclouds into Karath’s immaculate workshop. Instead, he focused his attention on the Artisan, who was all too eager to launch into a basic overview of his work.

Locke suspected the young Jedi had barely scratched the surface of his obviously-expansive knowledge, but before Karath had finished, he was raising his hands with a chuckle. “It must be work you enjoy,” he said, laughing warmly at the Karath’s enthusiasm. “You know, if I’d been a half-brain smarter when I was younger, I might have come to seek help from the Artisans when I was a padawan. I’ve been graced with the crafting ability of a drunk ronto, and that’s on my best days.”

He retrieved his lightsaber from its place at his belt and held it out before Karath. It was simple, silver durasteel with a comfortable grip for one- or two-handed use. Its surface was clean, though showed signs of long, hard use in the years since its construction.

“First time I tried makin’ this thing didn’t go well,” Locke said. “Put the emitter matrix backwards, like an idiot. When I thought I was done, went to turn the thing on and, well...” Locke made an explosion noise with his mouth and used his hands to mimic the debris bursting out in all directions.

“Lucky I didn’t blow my damn arm off.” Locke shook his head. “Got it right the next time though, and somehow, I haven’t forgotten to put in in the right way since then, so learning experience, I guess.”

“But anyway,” he said, setting the lightsaber down, “I’m curious — what drew you to the Artisan’s path. We all have our callings. How’d you find yours?”