Public Forum of Falling Stars - Open to all

[Tel Ahren]

"And despite what some of the Solarborn may think, I am not just made of scars and silence. Keep this if you like...We anticipated more hearthlings among the Sky-Sent."

Tel raised an eyebrow again at what she pulled out from behind herself and passed his way. A clear children's toy, although—as expected—it was rather large for any children of normal near-human size. Paddleball, except the size of a smashball racquet. Nonetheless, he accepted the gift graciously...even if it had left him wondering whether Sasha had guessed his age correctly, or in the absence of knowledge of what species he was or what that may have meant, defaulted to what she had grown up around and assumed that his size meant that he was a youngling.

Or hearthling.

If she only knew how long his species could live, she wasn't terribly far off...

"Why do I get the feeling that if I'd answered impolitely you'd have tried to spank me with this?" he asked after a moment, cracking a small smirk. If she was going to tease him and make her jokes, he'd joke back. "But thank you." At least the jokes left him less concerned that one of them might go carving his name into their own skin. Sure, she'd said it wasn't something done lightly, but nothing about this entire collision of cultures seemed to be happening lightly...though he wasn't going to risk it any further by mentioning that, as far as he was aware, he had no kin.

Probably for the best to identify himself with some group, though, lest he risk a sudden adoption while planetside. "Some...mindful independence is something the Jedi have done well to foster, especially among my crop of initiates and Padawans," he explained. "Some are more mindful than others about it, of course, but there's only so much that can be done with the state of the galaxy. There isn't necessarily a master for every apprentice, and even when we do get paired up we're encouraged to seek our own path so long as we don't stray too far from anyone that can watch over or guide us."

He pointed with a nod in the direction of the grove where he'd seen Shan go walking earlier. "That's not to say I'm entirely alone—that green one I mentioned, Master Shan, is one I know. There are bound to be others around the place. But we can't just sit around waiting for someone to grab our arms or noses and pull us along, tell us where to go—and we don't always have someone else to stay at our side once we've decided what we're going to do, or stumbled into something, whatever the case may be."

Of course, as he was saying it, he got the feeling that another pair of eyes had settled on the back of his head, and not from the Mireborn or the other locals in the plaza.

"I figure, a place like this...so long as I don't make a fool of myself or insult any of you I'm probably doing alright, and if it somehow became absolutely necessary—or if I did manage to do the exact thing I'd rather avoid—I could probably keep myself in one piece long enough to run to Shan for help."

The Council of Five Braze

 

[The Council of Five]

❖ Hisaki Godo ❖
Whisper of the Verdant Memory – Ferran

Shan

The small sculpture of mud rose from Shan’s fingers with a childlike grace—humble, earnest, but it did not draw awe. One of the elder Wyrdkin tilted his head, squinting at it as if uncertain whether it was meant to be a gift or a jest. Another gave a polite grunt.

Then, with slow effort and deep breath, the oldest among them placed his callused palm to the moss. Vines slithered upward, twisted into arcs, and unfurled into leaf-carved struts. Within moments, a wide-limbed dome of wood and woven fronds took shape over the stone ring—living, breathing shelter cradled by the grove itself.

They did not boast of it... Too much. The elder have a satisfied smile. They did want to make an impression on the Sky-Sent, after all.

As the maiden cooks sang beyond the glade, mixing herbs, flesh, and root, the elder circle fell to its ritual. The pipe was passed. Each crushed their dried root and melanchite into the shared bowl, stirring it with a sliver of blackwood, and inhaled the smoke in reverent silence.

When Shan declined the drink, no one spoke against it—but a ripple of restrained breath passed through them. The sting of cultural refusal, lightly felt. Yet when the pipe reached him, it was offered with a gentle nod, no less than to a kin.

Hisaki watched him from where she sat, legs crossed, eyes half-lidded under the gentle shelter of the new-grown canopy.

"You tend to others instead of letting yourself bloom.”

She exhaled through her nose. “You are not the first I have seen fall into that trap.”

As the pipe returned to her hand, she did not inhale immediately. She looked into the bowl, into the embers and bitter-sweet smoke, and said softly:

“Pietro… he carved his sorrows onto stone and flesh, but never into words. He fought beside Isidoro Vulkhaar, burned through Ulfang’s war-born spawn, and helped bring an end to the storms. He wore a heart too big for his chest, but he never knew how to rest.”

She finally brought the pipe to her lips.

“He died still thinking he had to earn his place at the fire.”

The melanchite whispered to her, the memory-laced smoke curling around her head. For a time, she was quiet. The crystals resonated, a somber feeling surrounding an exchange, memories given to the grove, and memories shared. Memories of those who communed before, memories of the plants themselves, soaking in the sun. Memories of the Melanchite, simply existing, observing the world vicariously through the Wyrdkin as it shares the memories of Wyrdkin from ages past.

After a time, she turned to Shan, voice gentle but sharpened by truth:

“Do not be so kind that you disappear, Just Man. Even trees need their to sink their roots to drink.”

Outside the vine gazebo, the stew’s scent began to curl through the air—warm, rich, and spiced with the songs of those who prepared it. The feast would still take time.

 

[Laphisto]

Laphisto listened as the others spoke, offering no interruption only a quiet, measured stillness. When the Anchor's question finally settled like a blade between them, Laphisto's gaze shifted not to Erian, not at first, but out across the courtyard. There, in the golden light, a few of the younger Lilaste soldiers had started to drift drawn by the scent of warm bread, the shimmer of threadgrass garlands, the easy music and gentleness of the plaza. One private stood with a Solarborn child offering a carved blossom. Another lingered near a group singing a landfall hymn.

It didn't last long. A nearby sergeant approached with silent, precise authority and tapped a gauntlet to the edge of his helmet. That was all it took. The men fell back into formation with quiet nods and lowered heads. Laphisto gave a small, dry chuckle. He turned back to Erian, reaching to his side. With practiced ease, he unclipped the LO-22S sidearm from its holster. He removed the magazine, ejected the Aetherium Power Cell, and racked the slide to clear the chamber catching the slug mid-air. The weapon's inner workings gave a soft mechanical clack. All three components cell, slug, magazine he handed to Iandre Athlea , without looking, trusting her implicitly. Then he offered the empty pistol to[ The Council of Five ] Erian Talgrave, grip-first.

"This is what my people carry," he said plainly. "A hybrid sidearm. Fires slug rounds or compressed Tibanna bolts. It gives us flexibility. Some targets need one. Some need the other. Some feed on energy, others ignore it." He paused a moment before continuing, voice calm. "We've outfitted our men to handle both. That's not meant as a display. It's the reality of the galaxy we fight in." He motioned subtly toward the gunships, still unloading crates of rations and medical supplies. "We have surplus armor. Enough to outfit five battalions. Rated for both conventional kinetic and energy weapons. Built to keep people alive our own or others." Then his tone sharpened, though not in anger just weight. "The wars that rage across the stars don't always come wearing black banners. Some come with contracts. Smiles. Handshakes." He folded his arms lightly. "There are four major powers that matter, now." He raised a hand, fingers ticking off with each name.

"The Galactic Alliance. Democratic. Bureaucratic. Protective in principle, but slow to move when threats rise on the edge, boggled by Democracy."

"The Royal Naboo Republic. Monarchy. Peaceful, insular. They don't reach far, but they hold what they have."

"The Sith Order. Ruthless. Their strength comes through infighting, conquest, and fear. They believe in power and take it."

"The Diarchy. The faction I serve. We act when others won't. We step in when others falter. If a planet's rulers abuse their people, the Diarchy removes them. Sometimes with diplomacy. Sometimes with force."

He looked directly to Erian now. "None of us are clean. But the Diarchy doesn't lie about what it is." A pause. "Your world is off the charts. That's protection for now. But every flare from your Tower, every word that spreads about the 'Sky-Sent'... it draws attention. You're not hidden anymore. And when fleets or syndicates or corporations come, they won't all come with welcome in mind." His voice slowed slightly. "There are megacorps in this galaxy that will sell you air if you let them and lease it back at double cost."

And then, without warningit hit. A memory not his. But as real as breath. He saw a Rakata standing before him arms outstretched, offering a pulsing Fire Tear. He felt the weight of it in his claw, saw the darkness of Saurav'ix's scales, the acceptance of a gift meant to bind the world to servitude. He watched as he, through the eyes of Saurav'ix drained the Tear, not to save, but to consume. The power flooded him, molten, screaming, hollow. Laphisto staggered, a hand shooting up to brace his temple, breath catching in his throat. The plaza blurred. The noise of celebration became distant. He grit his teeth. Straightened. Exhaled. and then as quickly as it came it passed. with a clearing of his throat he straightened himself upright "my apologies, where were we?"

Matthew of Valendale

 

[The Council of Five]

⚖ Erian Talgrave ⚖
Anchor of the Silent Circle – Heartlands

Laphisto Matthew of Valendale Iandre Athlea

Erian turned the object over in his hands slowly, with the same solemnity a monk might grant a relic. The device was cold at first touch—sleek, alien, but clearly meant for function more than reverence.

A quiet sound escaped him. Contemplation.

"This is a weapon?"

His voice was calm, the edge of age-softened doubt giving it texture. He held the Goo Grappler out slightly, peering down the length of it, then passed it between his palms again. There was nothing wild in his gesture, but something more methodical.

"I had thought it might be akin to the Cholerkin line-pulse staves," he mused, recalling the blood-burned beams of light from the war of Arakhan. Weapons now limited in use to rites of judgment and battlefield law enforcement. "But this—this binds. Not burns."

He returned the weapon to Matthew with two hands and a bow of his head.

Then his eyes flicked, briefly, to the hilts hanging at the Jedi’s side.

"I recognize that shape," he said quietly. "Not from sight, but sensation. Some among our people shape blades with Godsblood cores—infused with the humours, each aligned to their bearer’s soul and struggle. But yours... these crystals are unfamiliar to me."

His hand fell to his side, and from beneath his cloak, he withdrew a, ceremonial shortspear. Its haft was of pale lacquered bonewood wrapped in black silk and pinned with polished stone. At its head, seated in a housing of bronze and silver, was a dull, pale, slightly green-veined crystal: Phlegmite. With a click of the trigger-staff’s collar, a beam of pale white erupted, humming, but terrifyingly still. The air fell flat around it.

Even the whisper of the wind through the plaza quieted.

Erian spoke as over the silence it created.

"This is a Towerline Spear. A tool of our Council’s Anchorborn, forged for ritual and defense. Its crystal suppresses all Force disturbances in its radius—be they prophetic, destructive, or healing. The blade is similar to as you've described. It was made to make peace... through the quieting of storm and fury alike."

He deactivated it gently. The blade vanished with no sound. Only a return of breath, as though reality had remembered itself again.

Erian glanced between Laphisto and Matthew, nodding to Iandre without pressing her further. Her silence was noted—but not condemned. He recognized the steel behind it.

"You speak of horrors, and I hear your words, but I would know more."

His hand returned to the shaft of the shortspear back to the thigh-holster of his armor.

"There is no one among the Five who remembers the Unification Wars more clearly than I. When my brothers fell at Arakhan’s gates, I swore I would never again be caught unaware. That vow has not aged kindly—but it has endured."

He looked out toward the great plaza, where gifts and garlands still exchanged hands between his people and the visitors.

"Our kin do not know your stars. They do not know your machines, your wars, or your treaties. They see only the Sky-Sent, and what they see, they revere."

His tone lowered.

"But I see responsibility. I see the choice ahead: to preserve their hope, or to prepare for the grief of its loss."

He turned fully now, facing both representatives. His tone was respectful, but firm.

"I will not accept nor refuse your offers—not alone. That right lies with the Council. But I thank you for speaking plainly. For naming the dangers, not dressing them in promise."

Erian inclined his head to both men, lingering slightly longer with Matthew as if weighing something older, more symbolic.

"Let us continue this dialogue not as emissaries alone, but as people. When the sun lowers, we share a fire. Your apprentice, your soldiers, your squires—they are welcome as guests. No pledges, no conditions."

A pause.

"And if you would permit, I would ask more of your star-wars. Of your machines. Not to mimic them. But to know what it is we must weather."

He stepped back, but his gaze never fell. He stood as he always had—as Condoriah's steady spine.

 

[Serina Calis]

"First impressions, Lady Calis..."

Tag - The Council of Five



The silence that followed was not empty.

It rippled—alive with tension, meaning, the unspoken weight of millennia pressing down through stone and memory. Serina stood as still as the mural behind her, yet every inch of her presence moved. Not physically, but metaphysically. As though reality itself was learning to make space for her.

She listened.

Truly listened.

To Ophelia's words. To the caution beneath the courtesy. To the ghosts murmuring through old walls. To the mural's narrative, etched by desperate hands, trying to warn those who would come next. She let it all wash over her like a tide—one that could be read, mapped, redirected. Influence, after all, began with acknowledgment.

Serina turned her gaze from the broken holocron, now dimly reflecting the pulsing veins of the floor, and faced Ophelia. The other woman stood cloaked in grace, all composed lines and spiritual weight, like a candle that refused to gutter even in the breath of a coming storm.

Serina offered a faint smile. Sincere in appearance, careful in design.

"Then I will not pretend to be the first."

She said it with gentleness, a touch of regret—like a queen accepting the crown of a realm already scarred.

"Nor will I refute what came before me. I hear your warning. I honor it." Her hand slowly lifted—not to touch, but to indicate the mural behind them, the grim procession of chained monsters and ruined cities. "To deny this would be to blind myself in a room full of fire."

She took a few steps toward Ophelia now, deliberately slow, closing the distance not with dominance, but confidence. Her voice dropped slightly, taking on a warmer, more private tone. As if the chamber were theirs alone.

"You are wise to recall the Z'haglion. To remember how the Tower responded. And if I am the question, then I am grateful you are the one who watches. You do not worship. You do not kneel. You observe. And in a galaxy drowning in reaction, that is… precious."

She paused, letting that word sink in. Precious. Rare. Valued.

Then, with a subtle shift in tone:

"But what those others lacked was not power. Or vision. It was patience. They arrived to conquer, not to understand. To claim, not to listen. Their ends were built into their beginnings."

Her hand curled lightly at her side, the crimson hue of her gauntlet catching a glint of starlight from the broken crystal veins.

"But I am not them."

She let that declaration hang—not as challenge, but as promise. One the room itself seemed to breathe around.

"You say the Tower remembers wickedness. I believe it also remembers possibility. Perhaps it tolls not to warn of what will come, but to offer a chance that it might not. That something different has arrived. Someone who knows how to read silence as well as song."

She allowed a moment of reflection, then approached the altar once more. Not to claim it. Not yet.

"You said the Heart sent the Demi-Beasts to tear down the false gods." Her voice was curious now, almost wistful. "But what if the Tower didn't send them to destroy, but to clear the ground? What if its purpose was not vengeance… but preparation?"

She turned back toward Ophelia with a look not of arrogance, but of hopeful speculation—a shared question between two thinkers, two guardians of knowledge, not adversaries.

"I don't seek dominion over your skies, Ophelia." She stepped closer, lowering her voice, sincerity bleeding through like candlelight. "I seek to walk among them. To understand them. And in time… perhaps help them rise. Not under my rule—but through my guidance."

A beat passed.

"Because I do not believe your people were ever meant to serve gods. I believe you were meant to become them."

The words carried a dangerous elegance, masked as encouragement. A seed dressed as truth. A prophecy wrapped in flattery.

She inclined her head then, mirroring Ophelia's earlier gesture—a respectful dip, shallow and deliberate.

"You were right not to chain me. And I will not break what you've preserved. I will walk the length of this world with care. With eyes open. With intention."

She let her hand rest lightly—just lightly—on the edge of the altar. Not to activate. Not to claim. Simply to make contact. A gesture of accord.

"And should the Tower toll again… let it do so not in mourning. But in welcome."

Then she smiled. A real one, or at least, it passed for real. One that said: We understand each other. For now.

And in the background, unseen, the broken holocron hummed. Just once.

A sound no louder than a breath.

But unmistakable.

 

[The Council of Five]

⛨ Sasha Vopiscus ⛨
Breaker of Shields – Bodnar

Tel Ahren Braze


Sasha blinked once, then threw her head back and roared with laughter—an unfiltered, full-throated thing that turned a few heads in the plaza and scattered a nearby flock of crystal-winged birds into the air. The paddleball racket was taken from her enormous hands as she wiped the corner of her eye with a knuckle.

“Krixas, boy—you are much too young for spanking.”

She grinned down at him, voice lowering conspiratorially. “That’s an adult business, small Jedi. And not something to joke about when you're still clearly in your hatchling years.” She reached over to give the paddle a little waggle., clearly teasing him. “Now take this and behave.”

Her voice softened into something more fond. “But you're quick with words. I like that.”

She listened then, to his explanation about the Jedi—about independence and seeking one's own path. Her brow furrowed at times, though not in anger. When he mentioned initiates without Masters, she let out a slow hum through her nose.

“Hrm. That sounds similar to the Cholerkin way” Her tone had grown a little flinty. “In Arakhan, when a child’s skin has barely thickened, they’re cast out. Hunted, sometimes, by their own kin. Told to start a new clan or die alone in the sands.” Her voice dropped, rough with old disdain. “A cruel way to grow. Makes warriors, yes. But also cowards who think cruelty is the same as strength.”

Then her tone snapped back to something lighter as she tilted her head toward the grove.

“But you mentioned the green one—Shan, yes?” Her smirk curled into something wicked. “Ah. The poor man may never make it out of the trees.”

She cupped one hand to the side of her mouth and whispered loud enough for the boy to catch it:
“The Wyrdkin women have... reputations.”

Sasha chuckled as if remembering some long-ago misadventure. “We joke, of course—mostly. But you see, a man walks into wilds and doesn’t walk back out until dawn, guided by Wyrdkin?” She gave Tel a playful nudge with the back of two fingers. “That’s not a rescue, That’s a honeymoon.”
Another bark of laughter. “And if you don’t see him tomorrow, it means he’s either very happy or halfway to Ferran already with flowers braided in his hair.”

The warrior sat back slightly, watching the boy with a glint of amusement in her eye.

“We Mireborn might be the 'brutes' with skin like stone—but it’s the Wyrdkin maidens you ought to fear. Beautiful, clever, determined. Our menfolk used to say they’d rather face a Dorian sea-serpent than a Wyrdkin in love.”

She paused, her smile still sharp but the edge dulled a little by something gentler beneath it.
“Still. You’re doing fine. Polite. Observant. And wise enough to know mind your surroundings.”

Her tone softened again, maternal now.

“That’ll carry you far here. Just don’t let that independence of yours take you too far from your kin.”

She tapped the paddleball toy lightly against his shoulder, not hard enough to hurt, but enough to ruffle his robes.

“And if you wander off into the glade, make sure you stick to the paths if you want to keep that independence of yours.”
She grinned wide.

 

[Shan]

Tag: The Council of Five

"Huh...Interesting. You can promote growth through the use of the Force, yet my healing seems like a gift to you..."

The more logical aspect of Shan was coming out as he watched the shelter being made. If they Wyrdkin expected him to be embarrassed by being shown up, he was very much the opposite. If anything he was amazed as he rubbed his chin in thought. It was strange with how he viewed his healing. He viewed it as nuturing and promoting the growth of cells to repair themselves through the use of the Force and his own energy. So from that, it should have been logical that a species that used Force similarly would have been the same. Maybe it was something they hadn't thought about. There was a small voice in the back of his head that was worried that this would ruin his value to the Wyrdkin. That they wouldn't be as interested in them if he helped them figure out how to heal themselves...but he was more interested in teaching than being seen as someone important.

"Have you not tried to use this on your sick? Focus on the roots of the sickness infesting them, and then encouraging their body to fight against it?"

With that, he turned his attention towards the song, leaning back for a moment as he took the pipe at the very least. He had already refused one of their customs, and was not going to refuse another. Though he wasn't sure if it was a good thing that he was already being treated as a member of the Wyrdkin. He did feel somewhat at home here. Shan never felt much attachment to the Mirialan, thanks to his useless excuse of a father who had hated their people. He could remember the day that his mother had given him his Mirialan tattoos, and his father came in angrier than a rancor jabbed with a stun batton. It wasn't a memory he wanted to be focused on right now.

Then as Hisaki spoke, Shan realised she had read him like a book. His jaw tensed for a moment as the Mirialan debated over his words. It wasn't something he would deny. Shan knew he was a hypocrite, and he'd admit it. Instead he listened to her story first as Shan turned his attention towards his hands, linking his hands together in thought.

"...This is how I need to be. I need to be useful in what ways I can be. I'm not a competent fighter. I'm not a Guardian like some of my fellow Jedi are. I can teach. I can heal. But every moment I take to rest, someone else is getting hurt."

His gaze darkened as he stared down at his knuckles, his fingers slowly tightening around each other more and more, as the green flesh slowly started to turn paler as his grip hardened around his hands.

"I failed people in the last battle I was in. I promised them I'd protect them and they died. I failed myself. I had promised myself since I was a child that I would never take a life. And I did in that battle. In frustration. In anger. I can't make up for that. It broke a part of me. I try not to think about it. I try to focus on my work."

It was a heavy weight that had rested on Shan's shoulders. The lives that had been lost that weighed on his shoulders, that made every step feel like he was stuck in quicksand. It was why he loved working with the Padawans. They were the future. They helped distract him from the weight. It was also why when he thought they were in trouble, he'd go to extremes to help them. His time as a Padawan was the best time of his life, and he wanted to make sure it was the same for the other Padawans he came across.

 

[Tel Ahren]

"Don't get carried too far...and yet here you are giving me reason to think I shouldn't go run for his help if I should need it."

Poor Shan, indeed. He was a quiet, kindly Knight that Tel feared would strain himself trying to avoid bringing a Wyrdkin wife back to Tython. If they were half so determined and a quarter so open as Sasha made them sound, then the Mirialan's usually way of going about the universe might find him entangled faster than he could figure out how to untie the snare. "Lucky for me, at least, that we don't cast people out. Not unless they should do something absolutely heinous...and most of those sort have already left on their own by the time anyone would think to send them away. Otherwise, there are still more who choose to be Jedi than are raised into it, I think. It's more welcoming than it is anything else."

He scratched absentmindedly at one cheek.

"As for the rest—I'll get back with some of you about that in a century or so. Anzat may grow to size fast, but...well, the Wyrdkin will just have to wait." He was already well aware that he was barely more than a child for his own species. The mind and body grew at a normal rate, akin to most other humanoids, certainly; by Alliance standards, he was nearly an adult. Legally. Given that he'd been raised more or less to a human standard, as well, he knew that—for the most part—he was in much the same boat as a nearing-18-standard-years Coruscanti human would be.

But full maturity came much later. By that point many, if not most of those he knew now would be gone. A sobering thought among many he had to contend with.

"Still, though, I think I'd take the sea serpent too."

The Council of Five Braze

 

[Iandre Athlea]

Iandre felt as if nothing good would come of this conversation with Erian. When Matthew answered and displayed his weapons, she curled her lip slightly. What he said was true and accurate, though, and for that, he had started to gain some respect. She wondered to herself what side he was on, if any. As he had not directed any action to her, all the Padawan did was observe.

Focusing on her Master as he moved, she accepted the components of his weapon. She held them easily in her hands and listened as he spoke. When she had awoken, she had no idea what her future would be. This man was helping to forge the former Jedi into something better and stronger. As Laphisto trusted her, she also trusted him. They were here to protect and assist, and Iandre would support that. It was what she was used to in her previous life.

Offering to aid Laphisto as he struggled to remain standing, she used the Force. She wasn't going to allow him to fall and stumble during this encounter. Once he was stabilized, she released her hold on the Force and returned her attention to Erian.

She lowered her eyebrows at Erian's words and didn't like the thought of the Force being suppressed around her. She had been in that position before. A place that was dead, and the Force did not flow. Reflexively relaxing when the weapon was put away, she returned his nod and kept her silence for now.

His attention moved to the plaza, and her gaze followed his. Something in what he was saying touched her, much like when she listened to Laphisto. He was comfortable speaking with Erian; maybe she should be as well. Listening to Erian, it became clear she would have another opportunity to speak, and she most likely would take it.

Matthew of Valendale Laphisto The Council of Five

 

[The Council of Five]

⚖ Erian Talgrave ⚖
Anchor of the Silent Circle – Heartlands

Matthew of Valendale Iandre Athlea Laphisto

Erian accepted the sidearm with the same deliberate care he’d give to the other weapon, like it was an unfamiliar tool. He turned it over, tested the balance, noted the heft.

“A simple enough mechanism,” he said, more to himself than anyone else. “Kinetic slug or energy bolt—versatility makes sense.”

He offered the weapon back without hesitation.

“We’ve seen similar, if less refined. Crude powder-burners. Compressed plasma in unstable cells. And we’ve seen what you described—detonations that leave no remains, only scorched foundation and ash.”

He glanced toward Iandre now, offering a small, measured nod.

“Your silence has not gone unnoticed—and it’s appreciated. I understand discipline when I see it. You’re here to listen first. I respect that.”

His voice softened—almost apologetic.

“I sensed your discomfort earlier, when I activated the spear. It wasn’t meant to unnerve. The Phlegmite crystal deadens fluctuations in the Force. Most of us don’t feel it directly, but I’ll be mindful of that.”

Turning toward Laphisto, Erian shifted his stance—more square, a little closer. He didn’t raise his voice or lower his gaze. He simply met the man as an equal.

“Your descriptions of these powers—the Alliance, the Sith, the Diarchy… I don’t claim to understand their politics so quickly, But I can guess at the consequences of them. When strong people disagree, weaker people pay the cost.”

A brief pause.

“You’ve laid out your position cleanly. No embellishments. I can work with that.”

Then, watching Laphisto struggle momentarily under the weight of whatever vision or memory had struck him, Erian didn’t crowd him or react with alarm. But he did observe.

"That wasn’t a lapse in focus,” he said evenly. He'd seen that reaction in Solarborn Oracles. “You saw something. A memory? A... flash?”

He let the question hang—not pressing, but honest.

Then, more broadly, to both Laphisto and Iandre:

“I don’t have the authority to make decisions on behalf of Condoriah alone. That’s the whole Council’s duty. But I’ve lived long enough to know when to take someone seriously—and when someone’s walking a line I need to understand better.”

He looked out toward the plaza, watching as food was shared, garlands exchanged, and people mingled in unfamiliar—but not unfriendly—ways.

“You’ve brought your forces. You’ve made your case. And you’ve shown restraint. That counts for something.”

His voice was calm, level.

“So let’s sit down later. Talk without ceremony. No weapons on the table, no speeches. Just facts. Because if even half of what you’ve warned me about is true, I need to know more. How you fight. Why. What happens to those who don’t.”

Another nod. Clear. Respectful.

"You’re both welcome at the evening fire. It's not purely ceremony, it’s how we learn who we’re dealing with.”

Erian turned, spear once again tucked like a walking staff under his arm.

“And if your vision was a warning… I want to hear it when you’re ready.”

 

[The Council of Five]

☼ Ophelia Englehardt ☼
Speaker of Starlight – Doriah

Serina Calis

Ophelia did not move when Serina spoke. Not when the words turned soft. Not when they dripped with reverent intention. And not when that final, fateful smile passed between them like a ribbon drawn taut across a blade.

She merely listened.

As she always did.

And when Serina's hand came to rest—just lightly—upon the altar, Ophelia exhaled a single breath. A breath that did not tremble.

Then the holocron stirred.

A sound as soft as breath through crystal. Not a cry. Not a warning. A listening sound.

Ophelia tilted her head slightly.

Her gaze returned to Serina. In her eyes was only awareness. Only poise.

“You speak with care. Each word set like a stepstone."

She stepped forward just enough that her voice no longer echoed, but lived in the space between them.

“You honor what came before, you say. I hope that proves true. The others who came before... they failed not because they sought power—but because they thought they were entitled to it.”

She looked past Serina briefly, her gaze resting on the mural. The chains. The beasts. The fire.

“You are right about one thing. The Tower may remember possibility. But possibility is not promise. It is a seed. Left untended, it becomes rot.”

Then, with subtle precision, Ophelia turned back. Her voice gentled, but gained clarity in its softness.

“As for your final words...”

She hesitated—just long enough to ensure they were not lost.

“We were not meant to become gods, Serina.”

She lifted her chin slightly.

“We are meant to outlast them.”

The room was quiet again. No song. No hum. Only the ancient pulse of a world waking to its place in the stars.

And still, Ophelia did not banish her.

Instead, she offered something rare.

“If you would walk with care, then let your next step be among the Oracles of Llynno. Come to the Divine Observatory in the Holy City when the stars are highest. We will not ask questions there, but seek answers.”

She stepped back, just slightly, rejoining the periphery of the chamber where her presence always felt more like witness than warden.

“You’ve shown me intention. If the stars wish to show more... I will be watching.”

 

[The Council of Five]

⛨ Sasha Vopiscus ⛨
Breaker of Shields – Bodnar

Tel Ahren Braze


Sasha snorted so hard at Tel’s first jab that her shoulders shook. She slapped her thigh once, the deep rumble of her laughter echoing off the nearby plaza stone.

“Don’t run to Shan for help, then. I’ll just carry you myself. Under one arm. Like a bull-calf.”

She smirked, flexing one thick arm as if showing off the cradle he’d inevitably end up in. “Mireborn strength isn’t just for cracking bone—it’s for hauling foolish young men out of the pits they've dug themselves into.”

Her grin softened as she nodded toward the Grove, where Shan had vanished not long ago.

“Poor Shan,” she sighed theatrically. “it sounds like the Wyrdkin’ll adore him. If they don’t try to keep him, they’ll at least name a tree after him. Maybe a glade depending on how many he...’”

She chuckled again, shaking her head.

Then her gaze turned back to Tel, a little more focused as he described the Jedi’s ways—of choosing their paths, of being welcomed rather than born into it.

“A welcome that doesn’t come from blood or clan… that’s not weakness,” she said thoughtfully, “but it is lonely. No lineage. No fire-circle to speak your name when you’re gone. No little ones bearing your mark.”

She didn’t say it to wound. It was observation, not condemnation.

“It sounds like your people forge themselves in their own shadows.”

The mood shifted again when Tel mentioned his kind’s long lives—and how, by their standard, he was barely grown.

She gave him a long, considering look.

“So you’re telling me I’d still be waiting on your beard and full name long after my back’s gone to gravel and my spear’s passed to a grandcub.” She exhaled, a sound like tired laughter.

Then her voice lowered, less joking now.

“That’s a heavy way to live. Watching the world age around you while you stay the same.”

But she wouldn’t let the moment hang too long. Not when a joke could lift it.

“Still,” she said with a slow smile, “a sea serpent, at least, dies quick. Wyrdkin though...” She clicked her tongue.

She jabbed him lightly with a knuckle, just shy of playful bruising. She leaned back, the light catching the edge of her shoulder guard. A little more relaxed now.

“For what it’s worth, I think you’d survive both the serpent and the Wyrdkin. Buuut I’d still bet on the serpent.”

 

[The Council of Five]

❖ Hisaki Godo ❖
Whisper of the Verdant Memory – Ferran

Shan

The grove did not react with gasps or stares.

It reacted with stillness.

Not the stillness of discomfort, but of reverence. The fire-pits hissed softly in their circles, the cooking songs faltered, then quieted, leaving only the gentle crackle of flame and the chorus of insects in the trees. Even the wind through the boughs seemed to hush itself.

The pipe—half-burned, still warm—was passed back to Shan in silence. No one urged him. No one judged him.

And then, softly, Hisaki spoke.

“You see your healing as a gift,” she began, “and ours as the same method. But we do not push. We do not channel from ourselves. We listen. Growth comes when it wills. Decay, too.”

She watched the last embers curl upward from her pipe, their slow spiral reflected in her eyes.

“You will healing. You drive it forward. That is powerful. But power always feeds from something. We lose little when we shape vines or coax roots… but when you coax flesh? That takes from you. You pay for every scar you mend.”

A pause. Then her voice softened further.

“You say you cannot rest. That to do so is to fail. But even the strongest root drinks in season. It must sleep in frost. Drop its leaves. Or it rots beneath the burden of winter.”

There was no rebuke in her tone. Only perspective, offered like bread.

One of the elders—wrapped in cloth dyed with dusk-pollen—lifted his head.

“You call what you did a failure. That you broke a vow.”
He shook his head. “A vow kept unconditionally through all things, is a cage. What you broke was a shell. Something old, something rigid. Even if it has set your humours out of balance."

Another elder added, his voice like dry bark:

“The wind breaks through old trees, yes. But it also clears space for seeds.”

And then, without fanfare, a soft set of footsteps approached. The same young Wyrdkin girl from before—the one who had asked the elder—now cradled a small wooden bowl in both hands. She said nothing, only set it gently beside Shan.

The water within shimmered faintly—not clear, but tinged gold with sap. Floating on the surface were petals from the bloomroot tree, each one a shade of pale violet.

Hisaki’s voice returned, quieter now. Meant only for him.

“Springwater from the Thorneheart. It’s used in rites of... It is for for those who have lost something. Or someone. Or part of themselves.”

She leaned in slightly, not intruding, but sharing space.

“You think your worth is in what you give. But we see it in what you’ve kept. Your gentleness. Your grief. Your will to continue.”

The fire crackled.

A memory resonates through the Melanchite of the grove.

Do not be so kind that you disappear, Shan.

And then the crystals were silent once more. The memory recorded to the trees, as the trees offered their memories to the Jedi.

 

[Matthew of Valendale]

"Let us continue this dialogue not as emissaries alone, but as people. When the sun lowers, we share a fire. Your apprentice, your soldiers, your squires—they are welcome as guests. No pledges, no conditions."

A pause.

"And if you would permit, I would ask more of your star-wars. Of your machines. Not to mimic them. But to know what it is we must weather."

"You’re both welcome at the evening fire. It's not purely ceremony, it’s how we learn who we’re dealing with.”

"The Sith Order. Ruthless. Their strength comes through infighting, conquest, and fear. They believe in power and take it."

"The Diarchy. The faction I serve. We act when others won't. We step in when others falter. If a planet's rulers abuse their people, the Diarchy removes them. Sometimes with diplomacy. Sometimes with force."

TAGS: The Council of Five Laphisto Iandre Athlea ​

He offered a soft nod in reply, falling quiet as he listened. He looked at the man who, in nearly the same breath, expressed his views on the Sith and then spoke of fealty to a group led by self-proclaimed Sith. He was uncertain what to make of such a contradiction, but a look of concern colored his features at the strangeness that followed.

"We can speak plainly. You've made your stance clear several times, and I understand it. In turn, I would invite you and an entorage to partake in a truly otherworldly experience."

 

[Tel Ahren]

Just shy of bruising. She knew her own strength, at least, but she also wasn't afraid to show it. He resisted the urge to rub where she'd jabbed at his shoulder, sparing one more glance in the direction he'd watched Shan walk off in. "Survival is one thing, but if either enjoy these jokes as much as you seem to then I may still find myself consumed."

Speaking of consumption—he couldn't really resist the smell of the buns in front of them any longer. Steamed, seasoned, probably just cooled down enough not to burn himself trying to eat if he was to take one. No clue what meat was in it, or what the rest of it was. "Mireborn recipe that some of the locals to the city know, or just Mireborn sized?" he asked, gesturing down to the pair of buns.

She may have said that none went hungry in the heartlands, but she also knew he'd already eaten something. With himself as the guest...he wasn't going to dig in until it was clear that the meal had started and it was time for him to do so.

"And, while we're all here on Condoriah—anything I ought to keep an eye out for? Events, sights, dangers other than opportunistic Wyrdkin and sea serpents?"

The Council of Five Braze

 

[Shan]

Tag: The Council of Five

"I don't...manipulate power. I ask for it. I don't command the Force, nor do I control it. It is...a friend, who's aid I ask for. And in return, I help to keep it clean. To cure any corruption that threatens it. I may pay for every scar I heal, but I also pay for every one I don't heal. They weigh on my shoulders. The people I fail, the people I help. I try to remember them all the time. I am...naive in a way. I believe I can hold vast amounts of weight on my shoulders."

Even when he knew he couldn't. That the weight was far too much for him. But he had to hold it. Because if it wasn't for him, then who would hold the weight? Other Jedi? They had bigger problems than him. They were willing to rush into battle to protect the Alliance, to protect the innocent, whereas Shan always thought about other ways. How to redeem the enemies of the Alliance....He couldn't bring himself to hate them. Not anymore. He used to hate the Mandalorians, but many people had proved him wrong...and now he hoped he could prove people wrong.

"...My master when I was a student is known as the Shield of the Jedi. He's my role model. I want to be like him. He's...the best father figure I've had in my life. But even I know he'd want me to take a rest. To relax. But...I don't know how to...Even as a child, I was always healing. Throwing myself into danger."

A solemn chuckle escaped his mouth at that. He remembered the nights he'd limp home, being the battered and bruised one after trying to help the victims of swoop gang related battles. It was a fond memory now, though it hadn't always been...

He was snapped out of his thoughts however as the somewhat familiar Wyrdkin returned, offering a bowl towards Shan. Yet he didn't drink it, not straight away at least. He reached his hand out towards her carefully, taking her hand in his own for a moment. As caring and empathetic as he tried to be, Shan knew he had cut himself off from actually feeling people...

"...Thank you. For your kindness that you're showing me, even though I don't know your name."

There had been a lot he had lost that he hadn't faced. He had locked it away instead. His mother's kidnapping. His father's attempts at killing him. The deaths that were on his hands. All of it was something that he had locked away, to deal with later. For now, he gently released the Wyrdkin's hand and lifted up the bowl instead to take a sip from it.

 

[The Council of Five]

✠ Kaelith ✠
Voice of the Hollow Star – Arakhan

Braze

Kaelith did not appear from the crowd—he stepped out from behind a statue’s shadow, as if he had always been there.

His voice was like obsidian grinding on stone: quiet, but sharp enough to cut.

“If you intended to hide, you’re doing a poor job of it.”

He stood just behind Braze’s line of sight, arms folded across his dark ceremonial cuirass, robes trimmed in molten brass thread. The sigil of Vulkhaar’s Ash gleamed faintly against his chestplate—red etched over black.

Kaelith didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t need to this close to the Jedi.

“Watching a youth without his knowing. Tailing while cloaked in plain sight. And the red cords?”
His gaze raked over Braze, appraising rather than judging.
“Bold choice for someone trying not to be noticed.”

He stepped forward slowly, his presence in the force concealed - muddied as he took advantage of the Concordians protective Phlegmatic pylons for obscuring the unseen sense.

“If you came to guard him, you’ve already failed. If you came to test him, you’ve done it without consent.”

A beat.

“And if you came to spy… then I'm the wrong one to do that near.”

Kaelith’s eyes didn’t glow with choler. They burned low—like coals that had never fully gone out.

“The boy holds his own. He listens, speaks with care. That earns respect among the Mireborn.”

He looked past Braze, to where Tel laughed under the sun beside Sasha Vopiscus.

Now his voice dropped, lower, colder.

“I don’t abide voyeurs. If you mean to protect him, do so openly. Or leave the shadows to those who know how to use them.”

 

[Braze]

TAGS: The Council of Five

He had been watching Tel from a distance for some time, observing the various ways people were behaving. He was taking mental notes on a plethora of things... Then, there was a critiquing voice.

Braze simply looked over at the man, letting his green gaze travel from his boots up to his face once more.

"You talk a lot for someone who's trying to be intimidating."

​

 

[Reina Daival]

Location: Concordia
Tags: The Council of Five
Lightsaber - Pequod
Leg - Anchor

Reina had stood and watched as everyone ventured off on their own. There were plenty of familiar connections she could sense so far. Most of them being Jedi she had noticed or seen in her travels, but there was one specific sensation she could feel in the Force that had made Reina freeze up. She was here. Somewhere. Reina wasn't ready to see her again. Not yet at least as she reached down to fiddle with the hilt of Pequod, frowning down at the Lightsaber in thought. Where should she go in this case?

The Grove was immediately off her list of choices. She didn't like trees. Nor plants. It wasn't that she was opposed to Nature, no. Far from it in fact. It was just...she didn't like dry nature. Arboreal. She preferred the aquatic or the polar. It was what felt the most natural to her at the end of the day and she didn't want to go out of her element on a strange planet that she wasn't used to. She hated doing it on planets she was used to at the end of the day as she looked around the landing pad, looking like a fish out of water as she sighed to herself.

Why couldn't she be more like Everest? The Echani was confident. Friendly. Social. Everything Reina wasn't. Being friendly just felt...off to Reina. Trying to smile at people felt wrong. She didn't hate talking to people, at least not anymore. She just hated having to change how she spoke. She was blunt. Direct. It's why she was worried about walking off somewhere by herself. What if she was rude and caused some kind of incident? What if she didn't understand stuff?

A long exasperated sigh escaped her lips as she finally lifted her eyes from the ground to look around once more. Where was something big and hard to hit when you needed it? For now, she started to walk, a small limp as she still needed to get used to her new leg. It wasn't exactly brand new now, but it was still strange. The lack of sensation she felt from it was surreal. Sure, she could have got a prosthesis that still had feeling in it, but if she wanted to use it as a weapon, it was better to dull the feelings from it as much as she could. But at the same time, she couldn't help but wondered if it made her connection to life even duller...

​

 

[The Council of Five]

✠ Kaelith ✠
Voice of the Hollow Star – Arakhan

Braze

Kaelith stopped mid-step.

Slowly, deliberately, he turned back to face Braze to get a closer look. No flicker of annoyance, no sharp intake of breath. Just an exhale that sounded more like boredom than threat.

“It seems you are a child. I seem to have overestimated the transgression.”

A quiet, final glance up and down Braze’s posture—the cords, the cloak, the shadow stance.

“You’re not worth that much effort.”

Then he turned his back to the younger Knight entirely, his voice fading as he walked away.

“Next time you tail someone, dress for the hunt.”

And just like that, Kaelith was gone—already moving through the crowd, no interest in the games of Sky-Sent children.