Public Forum of Falling Stars - Open to all

[The Council of Five]

“Be welcome, Skyborne. Be named, and known.”

The Forum of Falling Stars once welcomed starfaring vessels from long-lost times—when this world still charted paths by constellations no longer seen. Now, under the skies of a new galaxy, the plaza opens again.

A pulse from the Tower of the Covenant flared through the stormbreak. A beacon of Darkness flared through the Force, ancient but unmistakably Rakatan. An omen of arrival, staved off by a bubble in the force surrounding the city of Safeld, protecting those at the base of the Tower from the dark energies sent from the beacon.

The Sky-Sent people came.

The plaza swells with song and speculation. Concordian recorders chant diplomatic invocations. Solarborn children leave starlilies at the feet of your ships. Mireborn warriors watch solemnly from atop crumbling landing pylons. Cholerkin fire-walkers light braziers in ritualized ceremony. Wyrdkin flutes keen in the shadows, bidding the spirits to witness this moment.

The crowd parts.

You are seen as sky-sent.
Not envoys. Not strangers.
But omens.

☼ CHOOSE YOUR PATH ☼

➤ Commune with the Concordians – Visit the Towerline Registry, where a Concordian Anchor may register your arrival. Explore the Heartlandian culture of rationality, ceremony, and restraint. Speak with the Council of Five, representatives from each of the Condoriah's venerable empires.

➤ Walk the Verdant Thread – Accompany a Wyrdkin guide into the sacred grove adjoining the plaza, where living garments and spirit-beasts coexist. Expect whispers from the wild... and visions from the Godsblood crystals of Melanchite.

➤ Witness the Rager’s Rites – Observe a Mireborn Titan armoring ritual near the cracked drop-pads. These scarred giants speak little, but honor strength. Your presence may earn respect… or regret.

➤ Attend a Solar Conclave – Be honored as an avatar before a Solarborn temple circle. Their priests may ask to divine your “constellation of origin”.

➤ Trade with the Ash-Binders – Enter the Cholerkin kiln-circle, where crimson-veined blood-etched alchemists offer Godsblood-infused relics. The price is not likely to be credits…

➤ Just... explore – Wander the plaza. Sample dishes imbued with Sanguinite steam. Hear local gossip. Join children pretending to be you. Interact with any locals you wish—everyone has something to say about the sky-sent visitors.

This thread is open to all characters, all story types: diplomats, traders, mystics, explorers, crash-landers, or curious adventurers. Whether you come in peace or mischief, you will be seen.

OOC/LFG thread
Declaration of Emergency

Interested parties tags: Valery Noble Anneliese Kaohal Azurine Varek Everest Vale Casaana Laphisto Matthew of Valendale

 

[Anneliese Kaohal]

Mis-post. Please disregard.

 

[The Council of Five]

⚖ Erian Talgrave ⚖
Anchor of the Silent Circle – Heartlands

The air shimmered above the plaza.
Not from heat—though the great forum stones still breathed out the day’s light—but from the density of belief. It rippled like invisible flame, drawn not from physics but prophecy. And Erian Talgrave stood at the center of it, a fixed point in a world turning faster than any of them could see.

He watched from beneath the high shade of the amphorline columns, arms folded neatly over his ceremonial robe. His uniform was pale and ordered, trimmed with pale anchor crystals and heartland geometry. His expression was not cold, but immovable—as if shaped not from flesh but carved deliberation. His gaze moved slowly, mathematically, taking in the factions now converging in layered pageantry upon the ancient starport square.

They came draped in color, smoke, and fear.

The Solarborn priests were already singing beneath the western arch. Their voices, ethereal and harmonic, wove like silk between the wind-chimes strung with Melanchite crystals. One of them had declared a Sky-Sent child will be a “second constellation-borne heir.” Another had already painted their own brow with sun-paste and begged prophecy for a name to arrive to them.

To the north, the Cholerkin fires rose. Flame-tenders from the Vulkhaar embers lit the ground with braided ash and offered blood-etched charms to passing strangers. Every one of them kept an eye on the sky—half in reverence, half in dread. The Tolling had always brought sacrifice.

A group of Mireborn Ragers circled the plaza’s cracked central dais. They did not kneel, or sing, or light lamps. But they carved. Quietly, rhythmically, each pressed sharpened obsidian and Sanguinite against their skin. Not as martyrdom—no, never that. But as offering. As tradition. One young titan carved the likeness of a ship’s wing into his own collarbone.

In the shade of a withered arch, Wyrdkin whispered to saplings. One held a braid of living root-moss in trembling hands, preparing to offer it to an offworlder like a sacrament. A child draped in leaf-veil wept openly and called the newcomers “Ghosts of the Green Star,” though none knew what that meant.

Erian said nothing for a long while. He simply catalogued.

The Tower’s Tolling had never heralded peace. It rang only when fate split. History, when measured by Condorian scripture, was not a line—but a series of wounds. Each pulse of that spire had marked an incision: an era end, a war begun, a god lost or found.

And now? It had tolled for the arrival of them.

Outsiders. Sky-Sent. Envoys from a galaxy that knew nothing of the Godsblood. Of the Unification Wars. Of what it meant to have your sun unmake your place in the cosmos. The people did not know how to not see meaning in their arrival. And so, they made myths. They contorted fear into ritual, and ritual into devotion.

Erian understood. He felt no shame in their superstition. But he also did not share it.

He did not kneel. He did not weep. He had stood in the shadow of the Tower, overlooking the forum when it flared. He felt nothing, as always, except the silence that made others tremble. He had walked among their gods and never heard their whispers. But he knew people. And he knew what desperation masked beneath reverence.

Condoriah was not welcoming the offworlders out of charity.
They were courting them. Desperately. Hungrily.

And if the Sky-Sent deemed their world unworthy—if they mocked the chants, rejected the offerings, or declared allegiance to a single banner—then the fragile unity they held might shatter like overdrawn crystal.

The Tower had tolled. The strangers had come.
Now came the trial none of them could prepare for: Judgment.

Erian inhaled.
He turned from the edge of the pillar’s shade, stepped out into the plaza, and approached the nearest cluster of visitors with open hands.

“On behalf of the Council,” he said, voice as even as a tuning fork, “I greet you in peace. May your presence be as enduring as the stars that bore you.”

And behind his eyes, behind the calm, behind the diplomatic poise.

He counted how many eyes turned toward him not with curiosity… but with hope.

And how many turned with fear.

OPEN​

 

[Serina Calis]

"First impressions, Lady Calis..."

Tag - The Council of Five



There was something sacred about how the storm parted.

Not sacred in the reverent, weak-willed sense. Not in the way of temples or sermons or the desperate silence of prayer. No—this was the sacred geometry of dominion, of unseen patterns snapping into place, of a cosmic predator's jaws yawning wide.

The beacon's pulse seared through the veil like a thorn through flesh. Serina felt it brush the edges of her senses—a flavor she hadn't tasted since the ruins of Rakata Prime. Ancient... but not dead. The Force trembled in that signal, coiled and convulsing like a thing trying to be born.

She let the darkness wash over her. Let it test her.

It recoiled.

Inside the shuttle, light was a suggestion more than a presence. The cabin was wrapped in a sheath of matte obsidian plating, designed to devour reflection. Serina sat without motion, but not in stillness. She anchored the room, every flicker of illumination bending toward the crimson veins pulsing through her armor's carapace. Her cloak slithered across the seat like a living shadow. A mask of composure—but beneath it, she was already moving pieces.

This world didn't need liberating.

It needed interpretation.

"They still call them omens?" Her voice curled like smoke, low, melodious, but edged in something surgical.

"Yes, my Lady," the pilot replied from the forward compartment—male, grizzled, voice flanged by age and cybernetic implants. "They chant it like a prophecy. 'The sky shall weep fire, and from it shall fall the hands that shape us.' It's poetic. Stupid. Dangerous."

Serina arched a brow without turning. "Poetry is propaganda dressed for a festival. And prophecy… is simply memory left to rot."

He smirked. "Rot makes good fertilizer."

"Indeed," she said with glacial satisfaction. "Which is why I've come to till the soil."

The pilot let out a dry, scarred chuckle, adjusting a series of runic dials on the control console. "You planning to play god again, Lady Calis?"

"No," Serina answered, voice tightening to a needlepoint. "I'm going to play inevitability." She stood. "The moment they named us omens, they surrendered their future to interpretation. All I need to do is define what it means."

Outside, the planet swelled in the viewport—ochre clouds pierced by spires, rings of debris circling like votive halos. The city of Safeld gleamed dimly at the edge of a broken plateau, a cradle of old technologies and frightened faiths. The Tower of the Covenant rose at its heart like a blade through the chest of history.

And yet, she felt the ward there. A resistance. Something... keeping the rot out.

Temporarily.

"Brace for low-atmosphere entry," the pilot warned. "Scans show pre-industrial energy sources below, but the pulse fried half our comms. We'll come in blind. Want me to prep a show of force?"

Serina stared down at the world as if already judging it unworthy.

"No need," she said, turning toward the drop-ramp. The mercenaries behind her straightened instantly, expressions neutral but minds boiling with fear, awe, and something darker. She felt their devotion—and fed on it.

"Let them sing. Let them kneel. Let them hope."

The ramp hissed open with a serpentine sigh.

"And then let them see what fell from the stars."

The shuttle banked, plunging down into the atmosphere like a knife descending toward soft flesh.

The Solarborn were about to have a visitor.

 

[Shan]

Tag: The Council of Five

Considering Shan's interest in learning about new cultures in the Galaxy, it was no surprise that he had joined to come and visit Condoriah. Apparently they sought aid, and well if it was in the form of medical expertise, Shan was lend his hand in any way he could. He had seen plenty from the sky as he arrived. The plaza was of course an interesting sight, but what had interested Shan the most was the sight of the grove, near the Plaza. Seeing nature existing with civilisation was always something that the Mirialan had always seen as intriguing. It came from being raised on Nar Shaddaa were greenery had always been a rare sight for him. Of course, he had grown accustomed to it now, but that still didn't mean he didn't find it impressive.

For now, he climbed out of his interceptor, brushing down his robes as he took in the sights. He wasn't sure if his presence would be enduring but he had hoped to make a good first impression as Shan debated how to introduce himself. Should he open his arms wide as if he was some larger than life personality or just give a simple bow? Hm...It was best for him to stay true to himself as he folded his arms along his front and gave Erian a short bow. Respectfulness and manners was two key parts of Shan's personality as a whole.

"It is a pleasure to have arrived here. I am Jedi Knight, Shan Pavond. Your planet was gorgeous to look at from above and I must say it is beautiful to see from the surface as well. If I may, can I request to be taken to the Glade I saw whilst landing? I am always interested in seeing new flora and fauna I've never came across in my travels."

With that, Shan raised his head from his bow and kept a small smile on his face. He could have stayed here and worked on fostering a relationship with the Council, but diplomacy wasn't exactly Shan's forte. It wasn't that he was rude or impolite, but in fact he believed he was the opposite. Shan was more than happy to try and appease people, which meant that if it ever came to fostering any deals or connections, it would likely not be to his benefit. So he just played to what he was good at. Learning. Education.

 

[The Council of Five]

☼ Ophelia Englehardt ☼
Speaker of Starlight – Doriah

Ophelia Englehardt stood atop the weathered parapets of the northern watchtower, her gaze fixed upon the horizon where the storm-laden skies began to part. The ancient starport, long since repurposed into the Forum of Falling Stars, lay quiet beneath her, its stones echoing with the memories of arrivals past.

The air was thick with anticipation, and the smoke of censers, wafting a perfumed mixture of Phlegmite and Sanguinite to balance the humours of this meeting. Vitality and Stillness. The wind carried smoke that stirred the soul and whispered of destinies entwined. Ophelia's fingers brushed against the cool stone, her touch gentle, reverent. She had seen this moment in her visions—a ship descending from the heavens, carrying a presence both choleric and melancholic.

As the vessel broke through the cloud cover, its silhouette stark against the twilight, Ophelia felt a resonance deep within her being. The Force sang a song of sorrow and ambition, of power cloaked in elegance. She had asked the storms above for guidance, and they told her of the skyborne who approached, the name they bore: Serina Calis.

Ophelia's lips curved into a serene smile. She bore no fear, no trepidation. The dichotomy of light and dark held little sway over her perceptions. To her, the Force was a tapestry of infinite hues, each thread essential to the whole. That she should meet one of such different temperament was a good omen for the balance of Condoriah.

Turning from the parapet, she descended the spiral staircase, her robes whispering against the stone. The time had come to meet the embodiment of her vision, to welcome the one who walked the path between stars and shadows.

In the courtyard below, the wind carried the scent of impending rain, mingling with the earthy aroma of ancient stones. Ophelia stood poised, a figure of calm amidst the gathering storm, ready to greet Lady Calis with the grace and dignity befitting both their stations.

Serina Calis​

 

[The Council of Five]

⚖ Erian Talgrave ⚖
Anchor of the Silent Circle – Heartlands

"It is a pleasure to have arrived here. I am Jedi Knight, Shan Pavond. Your planet was gorgeous to look at from above and I must say it is beautiful to see from the surface as well. If I may, can I request to be taken to the Glade I saw whilst landing? I am always interested in seeing new flora and fauna I've never came across in my travels."

To Erian's slight relief, the first Sky-Sent visitor spoke neither haughtily nor cluelessly - a green being of curiosity. An odd appearing fellow, he was. Markings of coloration that didn't seem to be carved like those of the Cholerkin and Mireborn, and coloration even, though the hues were similar to that of the Wyrdkin.

The Anchorborn Concordian greeted this 'Jedi Knight' with a customary bow, a finger of his left handed touched Erian's own chest, just above the heart, and forehead before extending it in welcome.

"Greetings, Star-made knight. The Wyrdkin would be pleased to receive you."

Erian stepped aside with the fluid precision of his people, his pale robes catching the light of the flamebraziers as if dusted in frost.

"Follow the vine-binders to the East glade. They have already begun the Offering Path."

Even before he finished, the wyrd-singers were moving—barefoot, robed in mossgrown threads, their skin luminous with faint bioluminescent tracing. A dozen of them, all shapes and ages, emerged from the shadow-thickets edging the forum with a rustle like wind through paper leaves. One cradled a small lichen-beast in her arms, its leafy horns twitching with delight at Shan’s presence.

They whispered among themselves in hush-tones, unable to contain their awe. Not of his blade, nor his title—but of what he must mean. The stories they had rehearsed since the Tower's Tolling burst now like seedpods in bloom.

“Sky-rooted…”
“His shadow carries seed-light…”
“His voice will name the hollow moons…”

The Jedi was quickly ringed in leaf-petals and trailing wind-chimes. One of the guides offered him a carved staff of spiritwood—not as a weapon, but as a walking aid for the Glade Paths, which they explained were grown, not built.

As they departed, Erian observed silently. This was no mere gesture of hospitality. It was a cultural test, wrapped in reverence. The Wyrdkin believed they were inviting him into their story.

❖ Hisaki Godo ❖
Whisper of the Verdant Memory – Ferran

Beyond the plaza, the world shifted.

Flora grew stranger, intelligent in its sprawl. Tree trunks bent protectively around the stone walkways. Pale vines with translucent fronds curled in the air like reaching fingers. Light filtered down in filtered hues of violet and teal, shaped by spores that hung in the air like constellations. Keening and faint laughter could be heard amongst the sounds of chirping and croaking fauna.

And at the end of the winding moss-paths, the Glade of Hisaki Godo awaited.

A circle of living pillars surrounded a still pond whose surface shimmered with mirrored constellation - those the sky above Condoriah no longer held. Root-shrines clustered like altars, pulsing faintly with deep indigo Melanchite crystals. The matriarch stood at its center. Long, vine-black hair streaked with bronze, and skin the color of deep soil. The air became tinged with bittersweet nostalgia, of melancholy.

The bioluminescent markings that affected the people also affected the wildlife and plan life, shining like glowing crystalline structures just under the surface of the skin, glowing within sap just behind the cracks of bark or in the veins of leaves. Trills of small avian creatures came to sudden harmonies only to dissipate back into clashing birdsong moments later.

The Elder Wyrdkin turned slowly to greet the Jedi, her gaze stern but not unkind. Uncertain but without fear.

"You approach the as the Solarborn have foretold," she said, her voice the low music of roots shifting beneath stone.

"But not in the way we feared."

And the grove held its breath.

Shan Pavond | others accompanying to the Grove​

 

[Matthew of Valendale]

​

Wearing: Sunstar Trinkets
Ship: The Exonertor

TAGS: The Council of Five ​

The skies above Condoriah shimmered faintly, a heatless halo around the midday sun. Then the first shadow fell with a broad and unmistakable gliding in silence over the plaza of Safeld. It was a Draconis. Then another. And another still. There were four in total that seemed to fly in formation.

They came gliding down in an elegant spiral allowing the beauty and majestic image of these massive creatures cloaked in wings of embered leather and starlight scales, descending from the upper atmosphere in coordinated silence. Their riders sat tall, clad in light armor kissed by sunfire, bearing the proud sigils of the Sunstar Order.

Among the lot were four young men. Matthew's squires, each one distinct in bearing. Raphael, the eldest, rode foremost among them, his blond hair streaked with soft pink at the tips. His armor bore faint accents of rose-gold, and he carried himself with a calm poise that bordered on regal.

Matteo, followed in a sweeping curve, his burgundy-red hair blazing like a flare under the sun. He leaned slightly forward in the saddle, eyes scanning with focus, more scout than showman.

Severin, the third was a blonde rode close to Matteo's flank, fingers tapping against his reins with a rhythm that matched his dragon's breath.

And finally Elias, the youngest glided in last. His ink black hair whipped behind him as he beamed with barely-contained awe. Though his armor was the least worn, his Draconis trusted him enough to let him guide their descent without correction.

Together they formed a living crescent as their mounts touched down in sequence, each dragon coiling in an almost respectful stillness. Their arrival was coordinated in ceremony.

Only then did the Exonertor descend. It emerged behind them like a second sun, casting a gentle gleam across the plaza. Its engines purred softly, not disturbing the hush the riders had earned. When the ramp lowered, a final figure stepped into view. A towering man with long white wings that held an odd reflective prismatic sheen, and a silver draconis following him in tow, rather than mounted upon Crystal's back.

He was Clad in radiant copper and pale-gold ceremonial decorative sun themed pieces, the Seneschal of the Sunstar Order descended slowly from his ship, a long crimson cloak embroidered in gold swaying in his wake.

He convened with the four young squires as they dismounted, speaking with each in turn as their dragons settled behind them. The plaza still buzzed with quiet awe from their arrival, but Matthew wasted no further time on ceremony. There was work to be done, and impressions to make.

Together, they approached the Towerline Registry.

With the Order officially recorded, he turned to his squires and assigned them their roles without fanfare. Each was dispatched to a different part of the forum, sent to learn, to listen, and to carry the Sunstar's respect into every corner of the gathering.

Then, as the four young knights dispersed into the heart of Condoriah, Matthew set out, ready to meet the Council of Five.

“On behalf of the Council,” he said, voice as even as a tuning fork, “I greet you in peace. May your presence be as enduring as the stars that bore you.”

Matthew led with hands bare and posture open, presenting a sun-medallion etched with the solar system's alignment of his home system and the sigil of the Sunstar Order. "For your archives," he said calmly, offering the token with both hands. "Let this stand as the Sunstar's greeting to your world."

​

 

[Shan]

Tag: The Council of Five

Heh. Star-Made Knight? Shan liked the sound of that. His achievements had been made in the stars after all. A small little grin spread across his face, as he took in the movements of Erian's bow for a moment. It was different to the one that Shan was used to perform, but he decided to dedicate it to memory. It would be important to remember perhaps if he wanted to be respectful to anyone else he met here.

With that however, his attention was brought to the wyrd-singers, raising an eyberow at their appearance, out of surprise mostly. The lack of shoes made sense, if what he was slowly beginning to understand about them was true. If they wanted to be connected to nature, shoes were only an extra barrier between yourself and the ground beneath you. He lowered his head to them gently, taking the staff. He wasn't that old to require a staff for walking yet, but it seemed it would be rude of him to disrespect their kindness and deny himself off the walking aid. Though...he was curious as to what they meant by his shadow carrying seed-light...Hm...

The path was interesting to say the least. With the way it had grown and twisted around various structures. A sign of harmony it appeared to Shan as he nodded slowly, taking more and more of the sights in. The bioluminesence reminded him that he should bring Zaiya Ceti here next time, so that she could see these sights. But of course, he needed to make sure it was safe for his padawan before he brought her anywhere mysterious.

As he came to see the Elder Wyrdkin, Shan bowed down once more, though this time he attempted to imitate the bow he had seen from Erian. Respect and manners went a long way when it came to trying to learn about people. He might not fully understand their culture or how they act yet, but he could at the very least show that he was making an effort to learn and understand.

"...If you feared that I'd bring some form of destruction with me, don't worry. I am a healer and scholar. Not a fighter nor destroyer. I offer my services in any way I can, to those who are in need."

With that, he stood up straight once more, keeping the small smile on his face. This was making for a nice trip so far and whilst he was enjoying it, he was still trying his best not to let his guard down.

 

[The Council of Five]

⚖ Erian Talgrave ⚖
Anchor of the Silent Circle – Heartlands

Their descent was choreographed like ritual.

Even as the dragons made no sound, the people filled the silence. Whisper-prayers. Chorus fragments. Half-remembered lines from the Solarborn star hymns. Someone in the upper terraces wept.

Erian Talgrave watched with outward stillness and inward tension. He did not blink as the first beast passed over him—massive, gleaming, disciplined. He did not stir when the second drew shadow across the Towerline registry. But he noted everything.

He noted the sudden kneeling of Wyrdkin elders as if the creatures confirmed a forest myth. He noted the salutes from a nearby Mireborn envoy who murmured something about the “Burning Covenant of Spears.” He noted the Solarborn youth who fainted outright.

And he noted that none of this had been in the protocol draft.

The dragons landed in silence. The ship that followed—sun-haloed and slow—was no less dramatic than the living beasts that had preceded it. And then the man emerged. Prismatic wings. Perfect formation. Paladins in every detail but name.

A full pageantry of faith, descending into a plaza already shaking under the weight of meaning.

The representative from the Concordian Towerline did not smile. But he stepped forward the moment the registration was complete, intercepting the Sunstar Seneschal with diplomatic grace.

Erian bowed—not deeply, but precisely. His voice, when it came, was the hum of a tuning fork in still water.

“Your arrival has struck deep chords in our citizens, Seneschal Valendale.”

He accepted the medallion with gloved hands, inspecting its craftsmanship with sincere interest before securing it in a sealed ledger-pouch carried by a silent Tower scribe.

“It will be placed in the Concordian Archive under formal designation. Offered in peace; It will be seen.”

He took a half-step closer, his tone dropping a fraction—not to menace, but to confide.

“Understand, however… the Tower’s Tolling marks disruption, not stability. You arrive amid prophecy.”

Erian’s eyes scanned the crowd. Already, a Mireborn boy was drawing a dragon’s wing into his grief-carvings. Solarborn priests were lighting flame-petals and murmuring of astral rebirths. A Cholerkin pilgrim had begun drawing blood into her palm.

“Each culture here,” Erian continued quietly, “believes it is your approval they must win. And if one thinks they’ve lost it, they may not wait to be told so.”

He met Matthew’s gaze now—calm, but unblinking.

“You are welcome here, and watched with wonder. But even wonders cast shadows. Tread with care.”

He stepped back precisely one pace, nodded to the still-glowing sigil the man had gifted, and gestured to the Path leading towards the ancient structure, the Tower the Covenant, a symbol of a pact long since forgotten.

“The Council of Five have split to guide their people for this momentous occasion - but I may speak in their place until quiet returns to the tower. Shall we walk?"

The more fervent the crowd grew with each arrival, the more weary Talgrave seemed to grow.

Matthew of Valendale | OPEN for those accompanying the Concordians.​

 

[The Council of Five]

❖ Hisaki Godo ❖
Whisper of the Verdant Memory – Ferran

The Jedi’s gentle assurance echoed like warm rain upon a parched glade.

And for a moment, silence bloomed—broken only by a young Wyrdkin’s sudden, audible sob. A girl no older than thirteen seasons wept into her sleeve, bioluminescent tears tracing her cheeks in soft spirals. Another, no more than a boy, dropped to his knees in the moss and whispered, “He is the green sun returned.”

From the gathering ring of onlookers, a young woman stepped forth. Her shoulders trembled, but she bore her burden with ceremony: a living garland woven of breathvine and violet storm petals. It shimmered faintly with condensed Melanchite crust.

She bowed low, offering the garland to Shan.

“For your throat, Star-Made Knight,” she said in a tremulous voice, “so that your words might root safely in the grove.”

Then came another—a slender youth bearing a beast. The child looked to the elder for permission to approach. With a nod, the sapling-like child approached Knight Pavond.

The beast was small, perhaps the size of a calf, but strange of build—one of the native Lomirae, four-legged and semi-aquatic with leaflike ears and a moss-covered back. It whimpered as it was brought forth, its ribs visible through its luminous hide, breath wheezing with a rasp that made the grove wince.

“Please,” the child murmured, holding the creature close, “its bond to me is dimming. Please.”

The beast’s mossy tendrils fluttered weakly toward the Jedi, reaching for warmth.

From her place at the root-altar, Hisaki said nothing.

Her expression was unreadable. Eyes shadowed beneath the drape of vineblack hair. The only movement was the soft twitch of her ears—listening not to sound, but to Force-weight. To what was felt rather than heard.

And when she did speak, her words were quieter than before, but heavier.

“Do not forget yourselves,” she said, addressing the grove.

“Not all star-borne lights bring growth. Once, we welcomed Z’haglion—breaker of rivers, binder of sky. He came amongst the other gods. Planted the Tower for us to commune... and fed it with our blood.”

She stepped slowly to the side, trailing fingers along the beast’s back as it shivered in the child's arms.

“Even now, you praise a stranger while Ulfang Vulkhaar’s name still lingers in our western winds, on the lips of the Cholerkin of Arakhan. He too was a sky-omen, born in prophecy, soaked in ruin.”

She turned her gaze back to Shan.

“If you will heal, then heal. If you will help, then help. But do not wear our worship like armor, lest you become what the last gods became." As if to give context to her words she brushed a finger along the Melanchite-encrusted garland. The younger Wyrdkin spoke in chorus of hushed murmers, "Godsblood". All that remains of an era of long supposed deities.

She stepped aside, granting space.

“We will watch, Star-Made. And we will remember.”

The sick Lomirae let out a low, aching moan.

Shan​

​

​

 

[Matthew of Valendale]

TAGS: The Council of Five ​

Matthew inclined his head in respectful acknowledgment, his posture unshaken by the fervor around them. The wind caught the edge of his cloak, but he stood like stone beneath it.

"When others see prophecy in your shadow, even your silence can become dangerous." he said softly. "And no greater danger than to forget that we are flesh before we are fire."

His gaze followed the echoing ripple of belief that now swelled across the plaza at a brief glance, the incense, the carvings, the blood, the prayer.

He continued, not apologetic, but clear.

"I am no god, nor my squires saints. "

He met Erian's eyes, for a moment or two.

"I've not come to fulfill prophecy; But we will tread carefully. As guests should."

A brief smile touch his expression, "If the Council permits it, I will walk and listen. There is much I hope to discuss."

He glanced briefly at the crowd,

"But not everyone who gathers here today comes from the same lands… nor with the same intent. My world, Centerra, lies not far in the dark between stars, but even still, distance isn't always measured in light."

He softened his tone, gaze returning to Erian.

"I will not ask your people to see through my eyes. Only that I be allowed to see through theirs, so that I may understand. "

 

[Serina Calis]

"First impressions, Lady Calis..."

Tag - The Council of Five



The shuttle touched down with a growl that shook dust from the ancient stones. Its hull hissed with cooling systems and dark energy both—the exhalation of something that had traveled far, not just across stars, but through intentions.

The boarding ramp lowered.

She emerged.

No fanfare. No heralds.

Just the sound of her boots striking the stone, precise and echoing. Serina Calis descended alone before the guards even moved, their presence implied rather than shown. Her cloak whispered like a drawn blade behind her. Her armor caught the last fractured rays of twilight, each pulse of crimson light along her breastplate timed to her breath—controlled, measured, inevitable.

She did not look around.

She did not need to.

Ophelia stood as if woven from stillness itself, like a priestess of moments untouched by war or ambition. Serina regarded her for exactly as long as it took to determine three things:
—She had seen something.
—She would not kneel.
—She thought this was balance.

That amused her.

Serina halted a single pace away. Her presence fell like a velvet garrote, luxurious and suffocating.

She inclined her head by a fraction—exactly enough to acknowledge Ophelia's role. No more.

And then, with a voice smooth as obsidian:

"You saw me."

A beat. Her gaze did not waver.

"Good."

 

[Shan]

Tag: The Council of Five

Shan raised his hands almost defensively as he heard the tears and saw the boy whisper into the moss, causing Shan to shake his head for a moment, a small frown spreading across his face. He had began to be taught to take pride in his achievements...but this was different. They weren't praising him on what he had done. They were praising him on who they thought he was. Someone he wasn't.

"I am no sun, I'm sorry to disappoint you. I am just a man."

With that, he turned his attention towards one who offered the Garland to him. He held his hand out to take it carefully, examining it to get a better look at it. He could feel the connection to the Force in it...but he knew better than to wear something made out of materials he didn't quite understand. Before he could ask the question however, the child and their beast approached and it was like a switch had flicked for Shan.

He wasn't Shan the Jedi Knight, here to learn and discover. No. In this precise moment, he was Shan the healer, the doctor as he dropped down carefully to his knees. The Elder was saying something but that wasn't important to Shan either. What was important was aiding the creature as much as he could. Holding his hand out towards the creature carefully, Shan let the Force flow through him and towards the creature. In the past, the act could have exhausted him, for he used to push too much of himself too hard when it came to the act...but now, he knew how to pace himself. Once the healing was done, he finally stood, turning his attention towards the Elder.

"I apologise. I ignored most of what you had said, because of the creature's condition. I heard some of what you said however, and I will assure you, I will not be like those who came previously. I am just a simple man who wants to help where he can. I have never been much of a fighter. I make up for that which how much I heal and protect."

Even now, Shan wasn't fully back to being the respectful and casual Knight. No, he was still being clinical. Polite all the same, but surgical. It took him a small while to get out of the Doctor headspace

 

[The Council of Five]

⚖ Erian Talgrave ⚖
Anchor of the Silent Circle – Heartlands

"But not everyone who gathers here today comes from the same lands… nor with the same intent..."

"The same can be said of the land-sent visitors. Even among my own people."

A nod and step confirmed permission, the grand entryway to the tower was a broad arch large enough starships could fly through two abreast. The interior had a brutalist framework that had been gilded and decorated over the ages.

"To see through our eyes you must understand the other kin are not as objectively minded as you or I. They see things through allegory, patterns of history and through visions shaped by energies unseen. Energies my kin, the people of the Heartlands, are relatively blind to. The Solarborn of Doriah, to the north, boast the greatest connection for seeing through the currents of time. My kin are more rooted in the world around us, though perhaps less literally than the Wyrdkin of Ferran to the East."

Erian halted briefly near a stabilizing pylon, a large rhombic crystal inset into a powered altar. Phlegmite.

"Do you feel that?" Erian asked. The closer he brought Matthew of Valendale to the pylon, the further away the Force felt. Not that it was gone or dispersed, but diluted - a stain saturated with so much water it was barely noticeable. It brought a feeling of calm, composure, if slightly hollow.

"That stillness is what my kin are gifted with, and what we hope to cultivate. Not out of a desire to remove turbulence, but because of this very Tower. Every Tolling brings changes, some more physical, some emotional, and all are tumultuous, out of balance. If we had not spent generations developing our stability, for ourselves and the others here... I shudder to think of it. Look no further than the Cholerkin, who's ancestors embraced such things."

Erian began to move on, briefly apologizing, "that was out of turn - when things were at their worst, the Cholerkin were instrumental in breaking our chains. Tell me of your constellation, Seneschal Valendale, from which of these new skyward symbols we've yet to chart do you hail, this Centerra?"

Matthew of Valendale​

 

[The Council of Five]

☼ Ophelia Englehardt ☼
Speaker of Starlight – Doriah

The wind tugged gently at the beadwork of her sleeves. It carried dust and omen, ash and pollen. She did not blink.

Ophelia had waited in stillness not because she feared what would come, but because she had already lived this moment in waking dreams—seen it traced in the pattern of spilled incense, heard it in the quiet pitch of Melanchite chimes the moment the Tower tolled.

She had seen Serina Calis long before the ship’s descent.

Not in face, nor armor, but in presence. A silhouette in stormlight. A flame that shed no warmth.

The Sith’s words hung in the air between them, still vibrating like a plucked string.

"You saw me."

"Good."

Ophelia tilted her head gently—just enough to signal agreement, but not deference. Her white-gold braids shimmered in the dying light like threads from some other sky.

“You were not hidden,” she replied softly, her voice like gentle rainfall on a warm summer evening. “The Tower marks its own.”

There was no fear in her voice. No challenge either. Merely observation, delivered with the calm certainty of a woman who’d watched stars die in silence.

She raised one hand—not to gesture, not to ward, but simply to feel.

Serina’s presence was like pressure against the lungs, a cold heat that threatened to consume meaning itself. But Ophelia had stood within solar flares of prophecy. Her skin had brushed against visions of worlds unmade. This... was simply a familiar tension.

“You’ve come at a moment our myths call a fracture,” she said at last, eyes still locked with Serina’s. “And the people... the people already seek meaning in your shadow.”

A pause, then the faintest smile.

“They will wonder if you are calamity. Or cure.”

She stepped aside—not in submission, but in invitation. The path beyond her led into the dusk-lit corridor of carved starlight that arched toward the Council’s lesser chamber—unused for centuries, until today.

“Come,” Ophelia said. “A message was left for you. Before we knew your name, before we were known as Solarborn, before we knew your name."

Inside the corridor there were no crowds. No ceremonial guards, no acolytes bearing incense or banners. Just the shifting hush of the air fluting through the structure and the soft brushing of starlight robes as Ophelia walked.

Only the Solarborn sentinels remained—silent as statues, stationed far enough to avoid interference, yet close enough to be reminders: not as a show of Force, except maybe that there was not a balance here - it was overly swayed by the light that even the Solarborn could see the impending collapse.

The absence of witnesses was no accident.

There were truths that even prophecy hesitated to voice aloud.

Should the sith follow, Ophelia led Serina through a cloistered corridor lined with engraved star maps and eclipsed suns—etched not in celebration, but as record. The deeper they walked, the more history pooled around them, thick with the dust of centuries and incense long since turned to ash.

They reached a door of stone, not locked but weighted. Its surface bore no sigils, only a circle—intersected by five slashes and a jagged spiral that cut through their heart.

With one hand, Ophelia pressed her palm to its surface.

The stone parted.

The chamber within was domed and cold. Lit only by fractured crystal veins pulsing weakly along the floor like slumbering arteries. The air smelled of old, oxidized metal dust, and parchment.

Along the circular walls spiraled a mural—carved into black stone, accented with gold-inlaid Rakatan glyphs. Most were eroded, lost to time or willful scouring. But their meaning endured.

Monstrous shapes with humanoid torsos and gaping, mawed heads. Some walked upright. Others crawled on too many limbs. They were tethered by chains of light to a tower—a stylized version of the very Tower that now loomed above the Forum.

Where the chains snapped, whole cities burned.

At the mural’s base, a phrase in ancient Rakatan survived, its glyphs scarred but legible to those who knew the tongue:

Should the [condition] be met, the [Contingency] awakens.

In the center of the chamber rested an altar. Low. Plain.

Atop it sat a shattered Sith Holocron, its core splintered and crystalline edges dulled. Faint runes of suppression spiraled around it—Solarborn etchings, long-faded, designed to hold what it once contained. Now it was inert.

And yet the air around it thrummed with warning.

Ophelia stepped aside and said nothing. She gestured toward the chamber with an open palm—offering not guidance, but choice.

She watched Serina with the stillness of one watching a storm pass over sea-glass.

If Serina spoke, Ophelia would listen. But if she did not… then the silence would speak for them both.

In this place, prophecy bowed to memory.

And memory never lied.

"The text here is foreign to us, none among the kin can decipher the script, with no translations to build a Lexicon from. It was left for one who is not us, who would arrive with the Tolling, who would come from a broken and unfamiliar sky. Who would decipher and give meaning. One who has visited death and returned, one who has been unmade and reforged."

"I knew not your name until the Tower Tolled, but I knew you. And I was meant to bring you here."

Serina Calis​

 

[The Council of Five]

☽ Hisaki Godo ☽
Whisper of the Verdant Memory

The creature’s breath steadied.

Slow. Gentle. A near-silent exhale curled with faint moss-mist as the Lomirae’s ribs relaxed beneath Shan’s touch. A flicker of soft bioluminescence returned to the leaflike growths along its back, pulsing once in synchrony with the boy who held it.

Gasps rippled through the gathered Wyrdkin—not loud, not wild, but reverent. A few sank to their knees. Others simply bowed their heads, placing palms to soil in quiet gratitude.

Hisaki did not move at first. Her eyes remained half-lidded, trained not on the healed beast, nor on the crowd, but on Shan himself.

Not in suspicion.

But in calibration.

A long breath escaped her lips. Then, she finally stepped down from the root-altar. Her mosswoven robe rustled gently behind her as she approached.

“You say you are not the sun..." she murmured, but trailed off. This knight had treated the creature as if he himself were made of Sanguinite. He had given of his own vitality to heal the child's beast bond.

She knelt beside the creature, her long fingers brushing over its now-steady flank. The boy who had brought it was still weeping, this time in relief. Hisaki touched his shoulder briefly, then stood.

Turning to Shan, she offered him back the garland, if not to be worn then to be kept.

“Then let it rest in your satchel,” she said softly. “As a sign not of what we think you are but of what you did. That is a root we can tend together.”

The grove remained quiet.

Then, the elder Wyrdkin stepped to one side and gestured to the deeper paths that twined behind the glade—toward vinebound meditation rings, bioluminescent pools, and memory-altars older than the Tower’s last tolling.

She retrieved the stick from Shan, a formality no longer necessary.

"You are welcome here, Shan of the Stars. You are welcome among the groves and vines and among all the wyrd things of Ferran. Keep gentle your heart and let none seek you as prey nor sting you from fear, may Petilla provide what fruit she can spare."

As the Matriarch spoke, there was a rumbling, as if the very roots heard her words and carried her blessing to the jungles beyond Safeld. The trees and ferns rustled from an unseen wind, and bioluminescent spores cascaded to light the grove.

A moment of revered silence. Then Hisaki nodded and returned to a curved trunk to sit as the Wyrdkin youths, now given permission to approach, began to assail Shan with questions and observations, bringing various plants and critters to show the newcomer.

Shan​

 

[Matthew of Valendale]

TAGS: The Council of Five ​

"In my experience, an open mind is far rarer than a loud voice."

He said it softly, letting the weight of it settle in the stillness the pylon offered. Though he listened to Erian without interruption, Matthew made no effort to counter, only to understand. "I do feel that yes... " He weighed the words as a knight might weigh a blade.

When the question came, he turned fully to face the Concordian diplomat.

"Centerra lies within the Unknown Regions, though Condoriah is one of our closest neighbors, by sky, if not by step."

From the folds of his cloak, Matthew produced a small, smooth device, oval and metallic, shaped like a burnished sunstone. With a tap of his thumb, it activated, humming faintly as it cast a luminous projection into the space between them.

A galaxy bloomed into the air, unfurling like a living star-map: spiral arms of light twinkled with motes of gold, deep blue, and pale violet. A web of starlines shimmered faintly between systems like threads of woven glass. Pinprick suns drifted slowly in impossible silence, some pulsing gently, others dimmed as if distant or long faded.

He rotated a small dial on the device, and the map adjusted. A section zoomed inward, stars folding in on themselves, until a tiny, glowing point blinked gently, Condoriah.

"This is where we are now... your world."

Another adjustment, and the map panned outward with a low chime. Just to the galactic 'left' another light blinked into view, Centerra, brighter but surrounded by delicate rings of golden script in Sunstar glyphs. It hovered just off to the outer edge the galactic, nestled like a flame in a cradle.

"And this… is my home." He paused, the lights reflecting faintly in his azure colored eyes.

"A large cosmic event occurred recently, something far-reaching. The stellar routes have changed. Some orbits have shifted. Some barriers between regions have... thinned. You may now lie within reach of those who, until now, could not even see your sky."

He looked back to Erian.

"There are hundreds, perhaps thousands of other worlds, each with their own peoples, creeds, and paths. Many have the ability to cross between stars in hours. And not all come in peace... People are scrambling to re-map the stars since things have moved. You may get much more attention. "

The projection slowly rotated above them, casting soft light over the plaza stones, refracting in the facets of the nearby crystal pylon.

"I don't mean to bring fear," Matthew said gently. "But when a star appears on foreign maps, others will notice. Some will seek knowledge. Others... opportunity. And not all will understand what they find here."

He folded the device closed the stars fading like embers. He offered the object over.

"These are delicate times for your people. I offer only this... solidarity. I will not speak over your people, but if you believe my words may help, then I am at your service. My home resides in a nebula that is difficult for off worlds to navigate and holds some form of protection and obscurity from prying eyes. Very few scholars on my world know how to craft vessels like the one you saw that brought me here. It is a diplomatic envoy filled with luxuries and artistic expression gathered from the many cultures of my world as I am tasked by the Lord Protector to learn more about the greater galaxy. The majority of the peoples of my home do not know of the greater galaxy... such knowledge is mainly shared between scholars and is presently of little interest or importance to the common folk. "

A pause.

"The kinds of wars that exist between systems are not something I imagine your world has had cause to prepare for. But they're not the only danger. Sometimes, it is the slow, quiet erosion of sovereignty that does more harm than fire."

 

[The Council of Five]

⚖ Erian Talgrave ⚖
Anchor of the Silent Circle – Heartlands

The holographic starscapes flickered against his pale eyes, but Erian did not blink.

He stood as still as the pylon beneath the weight of revelation—galactic arms unfurling around him like a snare, an ocean. His breath was steady, but his hands had clasped behind his back a little too tightly.

Millions of worlds. Hours between them. Fire and diplomacy. Obscurity and war.

The Concordian Anchor had been raised to chart the silence of Condoriah, to regulate mediation between peoples who shared the same sun and still found reasons to spill blood. His was a calling of balance, not awe. But this... this was beyond anything prepared for in Council edicts or Anchorborn meditation halls.

Still, he would not shirk his duty.

He did not take the device immediately. Instead, his gaze drifted to the last faint gleam of the holographic Condoriah—a solitary ember in a spiraled ocean of light.

He let silence settle.

And then, softly:

“What you have shown me...” He paused, choosing his words like stones across a riverbed. “...it is too much for most to hold. But hiding it would be worse.”

He finally accepted the device and turned it over once in his hand, studying the smooth casing. It looked simple. Unthreatening.

But it contained a universe.

He met Matthew’s gaze. Calm, analytical, but with the faintest fracture of weariness behind the eyes.

“The Council will need time. But I suspect we have less of it than we would wish. Others will come.”

He stepped aside, gesturing for Matthew to walk with him, away from the crystal pylon and into the shaded promenade beyond.

“Let us walk, Seneschal of the Sunstar. If war has not yet arrived, then perhaps we may still weave understanding before sovereignty becomes an echo.”

He did not smile.

But neither did he falter.

Matthew of Valendale | OPEN​

 

[Pinacia Stark]

It would have been easy to get lost in the frenzy of the crowd as the vessel doors slid open.

Pinacia had watched people throw themselves to the ground, force necklaces and wreaths onto the necks of the small medical team that unboarded with her, and crowd excitedly around all of them, a swarm of hands and pointing fingers and wide eyes.

If she were built of lesser stuff - if she lacked the laser-eyed focus that was sometimes demanded of medical professionals and scientists - she would be awash in the various smells of new body odors and the constant hum of voices on all sides.

But she remained focused on her task, keeping her eyes down while she carefully set out a line of sterile trays and tubing, her hands squeezed into purple gloves that had been imperceptibly misted by a disinfectant as soon as she opened the pack.

"We will just take a sample of your blood with this," she said to the pale-skinned man sitting in the flimsy chair that had been hastily set up near the exam tables.

She held up a small, thin syringe, which she pressed to his faintly bronze forearm, just as his head turned to see what she was doing. His golden-colored irises, set off by shocking white hair, looked up to study her eyes, perhaps attempting to see if she meant well or not.

The syringe very briefly, very rapidly filled with a blood sample, and she withdrew from his arm.

"There. We are all done…" She paused in her assessment, her eyebrows drawing together in a way that conveyed sudden fascination and surprise.

His blood…it gleamed with a bioluminescent sheen she had never seen before, and it was the same gold as his eyes.

She tipped the tube this way and that a little, to see how it coagulated and continued to glow inside its container, before she slipped it into a tray.

At his quizzical look, she folded her hands at her abdomen and looked down at him.

"It's….getting to know you. On a ….molecular level. We can learn a lot about your people, just from your blood," she offered as an explanation. She hoped that she was not simplifying things too much for him.

"And if there are people here…with ailments, injuries…we can learn how to treat them. That is what the Galactic Alliance hopes, anyway."

She watched another technician nearby go in for a second attempt at sticking a very narrow, elderly woman with white-blonde hair, and raised her eyebrows when her blood came out just as luminous as the young man before her.

“Curious….” she said to herself.

The Council of Five

​