The *Vai'Djael*. In your tongue, the *Blood Fang*. It is a dagger no more than 18 cm long, with a double-edged tip. The edge of the blade is smoothly curved back, and sharp enough to cut flesh with ease; its spine, a mess of serrated teeth that rises to meet the barb formed by the rear edge of the tip. The *Vai'Djael* is a weapon of Rattataki design, every bit as brutal and savage as the planet and culture that birthed it.
I do not know whose hand hammered the metal, nor am I certain that it is unique in its design. It was forged long ago from a single mullinine ingot, likely brought to Rattatak by traders rather than mined from the planet's crust. The grip is carved from the bone of a beast slain by the very blade whose tang it now protects, a cycle that has been repeated numerous times throughout the history of my tribe.
Replacing the grip was symbolic of a "changing of the guard", if you will; each tribal leader would hunt down a predator in the surface wasteland as a final test to prove their worth, and craft a new handle from their kill. Despite the fact that I now wield the blade, I did not replace the grip. To explain the reason for this would be to divulge a piece of my own personal history, a privilege that I rarely bestow.
Before I left my home planet, I lived with one of the tribal elders. From a young age, he guided me, secretly training me in the use of what he considered sorcery. He taught me to use deception and guile to influence others and, if that failed, to mould their minds and shape their wills to suit my needs. I would not learn until I joined this Brotherhood that the power I wielded was the Force. But that is another tale, for another time... if it is to be told at all.
For years, I knew that my mentor had plans in store for me, plans borne of ambition and greed. He recognised that my powers were greater than his, and it was his intent to use me to secure his own position as tribal leader. I was to sway members of the Elder Council that he could not bribe or persuade, in preparation for his coup. But in a fit of impatience, he struck too early. To spare you the details of tribal politics, his actions sparked a civil war that deeply divided the tribe. A year of fighting severely weakened our tribe, and I was sent as an ambassador to the Loyalist council to negotiate an end to the conflict.
At this time, tensions were high and powerful emotions gripped the hearts of equally powerful leaders. As was tradition, the tribal leader held the *Vai'Djael* during the meeting. It was known to many that he felt personally responsible for the divide that plagued the tribe, but not even my mentor knew that I planned to use this inner turmoil against him. I brought his guilt to the forefront, coaxed his mind to dwell on it even as I spoke of ending hostilities to the council. As I discussed terms of a truce, I encouraged the tribal leader to think upon the deaths that the fighting had caused, guided him to the difficult questions that kept him awake night after night. And all the while, he caressed the dagger as one would a lover.
The timing was impeccable. As the council rose to adjourn for the day, the tribal leader's grief plateaued. His guilt, regret, and self-doubt guided the *Vai'Djael* from its sheathe at his waist and into his heart. As his blood began to pour from his chest, he looked at me knowingly, realising too late what I had done. For my part, I acted every bit as startled as the other councillors. In the confusion, I took the dagger from its victim's chest and left the building.
It was that day that I realised my mentor had nothing more to offer me. I had no desire to rule a tribe, and I knew that there were deeper mysteries to the sorcery that I had been trained to use. I knew this because the bloodied dagger I held in my hands pulsed with its own life, connected in some way to the act that had transpired. I could feel a force... *the* Force... emanating from the *Vai'Djael*. It was but a whisper that night, but like a glowing ember it can be fed and grow. And so, I left my tribe that very night. I soon found passage offworld, and eventually found myself within the Brotherhood.
In my time with the Dark Brotherhood, I have determined that this dagger, once a mere ceremonial weapon of my people, is an inadvertent product of Force Alchemy, marked by the Dark Side of the Force from the suicide that I worked my former tribal leader into committing. Its presence is so very weak, but with time and effort I have little doubt that I can strengthen it.