Private Chance gathering at Dusk

[Xerothan Valekorr]

Tags: Victor Blackheart Balun Dashiell Pari Sylune
Location: Coruscant, Jedi Temple, Upper Levels, Balcony

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The Temple terrace spanned wide and high — an open-air platform of polished stone and inlaid durasteel, suspended on the uppermost level of the Jedi Temple like a tranquil ledge between the galaxy and the stars. It was a sacred space known to few beyond the Order: part meditation garden, part training floor, and wholly serene. Carved plinths and smooth benches traced the edges, and silent fountains cast soft ripples into still pools reflecting the Coruscanti skyline.

The city stretched endlessly below, its towers veiled in hues of deep lavender and molten gold. It was dusk, and the sun's last light slipped between skyscrapers like a whispered farewell. The sky above held a liminal glow — not fully day, not yet night — and in that hour, Master Xerothan Valekorr stood alone near the balustrade, reading quietly from a slim, flickering datapad held in one gloved hand.

Her presence, as always, was quiet yet undeniable. Cloaked in layered Jedi robes of midnight blue and muted charcoal, her silhouette blended into the darkening light — a living shadow tempered by silver. At her hip hung a beautifully crafted lightsaber: polished and austere, its hilt gleaming with soft Serrano silver, too elegant for ornament, too refined for vanity. She did not fidget, did not move more than necessary. Even standing still, she seemed in motion — like a slow current beneath placid water.

Around her, Padawans sparred in hushed rhythm. A Knight knelt in meditation beneath the open sky. The city buzzed far below, but here there was only quiet breath and the faint chime of metal against stone. Xerothan did not interfere. She only observed — as she often did — her golden-yellow eyes unreadable in the fading light, as though they were waiting for nightfall to speak their truth.

The datapad flickered once more. Her gloved thumb slid across its surface, reviewing encrypted data from a recent Outer Rim recovery mission — a ruin cataloged, an artifact sealed. At least, that's what the Council had been told. No one questioned why she preferred to read these reports alone, during the hours when light and shadow could no longer be told apart.

The sun dipped below the horizon. The blade at her hip caught the last of it — a brief gleam of pure silver light, before the darkness claimed it.

 

[Victor Blackheart]

It was only a couple of days ago that he had joined the ranks as a Padawan on Tython, and now already he had found himself on Coruscant. And he hated every moment of it.

Victor was used to forests, grass, and long fields from Tython and Eshan, but this....the city that never sleeps, the constant buzzing of droids, ships, and people, annoyed him beyond belief.

He could hardly sleep in place like this, but at least he knew he wouldn't be here for much longer since he was selected for apprenticeship under a Jedi Master Missar who lived on a planet far away from here. Being unable to mediate in peace as he had hoped, he slowly made his way towards the balcony of the temple. He would put his black cloak over his head and make his way out of the room. His white hair would be visible to anyone who.

He would offer a gentle nod to the fellow Jedi before looking down upon the sprawling city below. While he hated it, he could not deny the certain beauty of this mechanical marvel. The entire world is moving constantly, no hills, no forests, no nothing, only mechanics and wounds of old wars.

Tags: Balun Dashiell , Pari Sylune , Xerothan Valekorr

 

[Xerothan Valekorr]

Tags: Victor Blackheart Pari Sylune Balun Dashiell Emery Lloren Malcolm Ironmaster
Location: Coruscant, Jedi Temple, Upper Levels, Balcony

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As the dim, amber light from the aged datapad washed over Xerothan Valekorr's angular features, its flickering glow reflected a mosaic of information — encrypted reports, half-deciphered glyphs, and forgotten teachings collected from ancient, dust-laden archives and the hollow remains of temples long abandoned by both Jedi and Sith. Her gaze slowly lifted from the screen, unblinking, and passed over the terrace that stretched wide beneath the twilight sky. Around her, Jedi trained with rhythmic precision, young initiates meditated in quiet alcoves shaded by imported flora, and Temple residents meandered through in casual motion. To her, they blurred into the scenery — indistinct shapes beneath the filtered light of dusk.

But one figure fractured the rhythm.

A young man stood draped in a cloak so dark it seemed to absorb the ambient glow of the city. He moved like a shadow with weight — too rigid, too self-contained. There was something unsettled about him, like a note out of harmony in an otherwise tranquil song. His presence rippled through the Force, not loud, but sharp — soaked in unease, frustration, and an unspoken hunger for something not offered here. At first, Xerothan considered letting him vanish into the crowds — his choice to remain unseen felt like a sacred deflection. And yet, her senses lingered on that pulse of dissonance. Curious. Familiar. Useful. With silent deliberation, she deactivated the datapad and clipped it to her belt, its light extinguished with a soft click.

She moved toward him with the fluid grace of someone who was never truly still, her steps soundless across the polished stone. "Greetings, Padawan," she said, her voice smooth and composed, yet imbued with a sincerity that felt both comforting and precise — like the edge of a blade hidden in velvet. The soft folds of her midnight-and-obsidian robes rippled faintly in the evening breeze, clinging close to her tall form as if shadows themselves did not want to let her go. Only her pale white hair, hands, and dark blue face remained clearly visible beneath the gentle cascade of starlight above and the endless circuitry of Coruscant's towers below.

"I sense you are troubled," she continued, pausing just far enough to allow him to retreat — if he chose. "Would you speak of it?" Her tone was patient, almost inviting, as though she were placing a quiet wager on the moment's potential. Her yellow eyes, bright and piercing in the dusk, scanned him slowly — not just seeing, but measuring, like a cartographer tracing the contours of an unseen landscape hidden just beneath the surface of his skin.

 

[Malcolm Ironmaster]

Tags: Balun Dashiell , Pari Sylune , Xerothan Valekorr , Victor Blackheart

Master Malcolm Aramis Ironmaster had arrived on Coruscant only hours earlier, on his way to visit family on Chandrila. He'd recently been on Batuu, exploring the ancient Jedi Temple in Peka to aid the Silver Jedi Order in restoring the temple to its former glory and establish a presence of the Silver Jedi Concord there. But the backwater planet on the edge of Wild Space was a far cry from the hustle and bustle of the planet-city of Coruscant or the serenity of his native Chandrila. It was good to get back to civilization for a time before visiting home and continuing on into the space of the High Republic to check in with Silver Jedi temples in the Slice, formerly the domain of the Silver Jedi Concord.

Malcolm was clad in his traveling vestments - grey tunic and trousers, brown boots and belt, and blue tabards and cloak. An ornate saber hilt hung from his belt, along with an antique E-851 blaster pistol in a holster, and a leather wide-brimmed hat with a plume in the hatband sat upon his head.