In a Galaxy Far, Far Away...

The Birth of a Legend

In the shadowed corners of the galaxy, where hope flickered like dying stars, Torrin Beltalz carved his name into legend with blood and beskar. Born on the industrial wasteland of Kessel's forgotten moon, Torrin was nothing more than a scavenger's son with dreams too big for his circumstances. The Force, that mystical energy that flowed through all living things, barely whispered to him—yet he refused to accept the silence.

While the galaxy burned under Imperial rule and Jedi Masters fell to Order 66, Torrin began his obsessive quest. In the black markets of Nar Shaddaa, he traded salvaged hyperdrive components for a lightsaber emitter torn from a fallen Padawan's weapon. On the desert world of Jakku, he bartered water rations for focusing crystals cracked but not broken. From the depths of Coruscant's underworld to the outer rim's forgotten outposts, piece by piece, Torrin assembled what would become the ScrapTec Lightsaber.

The hilt was a patchwork of pain and perseverance—Mandalorian beskar housing, Naboo power cells, a grip wrapped in leather from his father's mining gloves. It was ugly by Jedi standards, but it was his. When the weapon finally hummed to life in his calloused hands, its crimson blade casting shadows across his weathered face, Torrin Beltalz knew he had transcended his humble origins.

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The Hunt Begins

But a lightsaber without proper training is merely an elegant weapon in clumsy hands. Torrin needed a teacher, and in the age of the Empire, surviving Jedi were rarer than coaxium crystals. His search led him through cantinas filled with Imperial spies, through asteroid fields where refugees huddled in fear, through the ruins of Jedi temples picked clean by scavengers.

It was on Soren, a backwater planet beyond the Tatooine system, where desperation met opportunity. Hidden in the planet's crystal caves lived Keph Jorun, a former Jedi Knight whose mind had been shattered by witnessing the massacre of younglings at the Temple. Half-mad but still powerful, Keph lived like a hermit, speaking to phantoms of his fallen comrades.

Torrin found him during a sandstorm that had driven even the native dewback herders to shelter. The old Jedi sensed the crude lightsaber immediately, his yellowed eyes focusing with sudden clarity for the first time in years.

"You carry the weapon of my people," Keph whispered, his voice like wind through broken glass. "But you are no Jedi."

"No," Torrin replied, setting down a bag of credits that represented months of bounty work. "But I can be something else. Something the galaxy needs."

For three months, in those crystal caverns that sang with the Force, the broken Jedi taught the determined bounty hunter. Not the way of peace that had failed his Order, but the way of survival. How to read an opponent's intentions through micro-expressions. How to channel raw emotion into devastating strikes. How to make the lightsaber sing with deadly purpose.

When Torrin emerged from those caves, Keph Jorun was found days later, finally at peace, his body dissolved into the Force he had served so faithfully. The last gift of a dying Order had been passed on.

The Grey Blade Rises

The galaxy's underworld soon learned to fear the name Torrin Beltalz. His targets weren't just common criminals—they were war profiteers who sold children into slavery, corrupt Imperial officers who tortured innocents for sport, crime lords who built empires on suffering. Each hunt was personal. Each kill was justice served by a blade that hummed with righteous fury.

But Torrin's methods were brutal, untempered by Jedi restraint. Survivors spoke in terrified whispers of a figure who moved like shadow, whose lightsaber carved through durasteel doors and deflected blaster bolts with impossible precision. Some called him a rogue Jedi. Others whispered he was something far more dangerous—a Force user bound by no code save his own moral compass.

The stories reached Imperial ears, and soon Torrin found himself hunted by the very regime whose criminals he pursued. ISB agents tracked him across three sectors. Inquisitors arrived to investigate reports of lightsaber activity. But Torrin had learned from the best—he vanished like smoke, always one step ahead, always striking where least expected.

The CODA Connection

It was during a job on Ryloth that fate introduced Torrin to his destiny. His target was a Twi'lek crime boss who trafficked in stolen Jedi artifacts. But when Torrin infiltrated the compound, he found something unexpected—another wielder of the ancient weapons.

Barok was his name, though few knew if it was his given name or chosen title. A human of indeterminate age, his skin bore the ritual scars of a dozen worlds, and his eyes held the weight of impossible choices. He had been a Jedi Shadow before Order 66, one of those secretive guardians who walked the line between light and dark to protect the Republic from threats too dangerous for conventional Jedi.

Unlike Keph, Barok had not broken under the weight of the Purge. He had adapted, become something new—a guardian without a temple, a protector without a code save the one written in his scarred heart.

"You fight like a Jedi," Barok observed as they stood over the crime boss's body, "but you feel like something else entirely."

"I am what the galaxy made me," Torrin replied, deactivating his ScrapTec saber.

Barok smiled then, a expression both sad and proud. "Then perhaps it's time you carried a weapon worthy of what you've become."

The CODA lightsaber was unlike anything Torrin had ever seen. Forged from Mandalorian beskar and cortosis, inlaid with precious metals from a dozen worlds, it was as beautiful as it was deadly. But its true marvel lay in its composition—the exotic metals used in its construction rendered it nearly invisible to Imperial sensors, allowing its bearer to pass through checkpoints undetected.

"I took this from a Sith apprentice on Malachor," Barok explained, pressing the weapon into Torrin's hands. "It deserves to serve the light, even if that light burns with a different flame than the Jedi once knew."

The Legend of the Grey Blade

For three years, Torrin Beltalz terrorized the galaxy's criminal underworld. With the ScrapTec in his right hand and the CODA in his left, he became a figure of legend and nightmare. The dual sabers became his signature—the crude, brutal ScrapTec for enemies who deserved no mercy, the elegant CODA for those rare foes worthy of a clean death.

Pirates learned to avoid systems where the Grey Blade hunted. Slavers hired entire armies for protection that never proved enough. Even the Empire began to fear this lone warrior who struck without warning and vanished without trace.

But legends, like stars, burn brightest before they die.

On Drinn, homeworld of an insectoid species known for their crystalline cities and pacifist ways, Torrin made his final stand. An Imperial Moff had established a secret laboratory there, experimenting on the native population to create Force-sensitive super soldiers. It was the kind of atrocity that demanded the Grey Blade's attention.

The assault was perfect—Torrin infiltrated the facility, freed the prisoners, and confronted the Moff in his private chambers. But as he struck the killing blow with his ScrapTec saber, Imperial reinforcements arrived. In the chaos of battle, as he fought his way to freedom with the CODA spinning in deadly arcs, the ScrapTec was damaged beyond repair by an experimental weapon.

Torrin escaped that night, but he left behind more than just a lightsaber. The ScrapTec had been his first step into a larger world, the crude weapon that had carried him from scavenger to legend. Its loss marked the end of one chapter and the beginning of another.

Some say Torrin Beltalz still walks the galaxy's shadows, the CODA his only companion now. Others believe he found peace at last, his mission complete. But the weapons he carried, the legend he built, and the hope he represented live on.

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Own a Piece of Legend

The ScrapTec with master chassis—heft and beauty united in nearly two-handed perfection. Designed by our partners at Solo Sabers, with gold and brass-looking chassis parts expertly crafted by Goth3D, and finally installed by Korbanth Sabers. Limited to just 5 units, these are artifacts of a legend that will never be repeated.

The CODA saber—elegant, deadly, and chromed with gold and black detailing that speaks to its noble origins. Shorter than its brutal companion, but no less magnificent in the hands of one who understands its purpose.

Together, they represent the duality of justice—the brutal necessity of the ScrapTec and the elegant precision of the CODA. In your hands, they can make you The Grey Blade, guardian of the innocent, hunter of the wicked.

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Don't let your destiny slip away—these are once-in-a-lifetime saber hilts, no longer available anywhere else in the galaxy. Your collection doesn't just want these weapons; it needs them. Feel the weight of legend in your hands. Become the warrior the galaxy needs.

The Force flows through all things. Let it flow through you.