Faction The Wild Calls [RNR]

[Phillip Slate]

Tags: Isla Reingard Michael Angellus

"Go ahead and check the wreckage if you want! It wasn't much of a priority for me."

Phillip called out towards Michael as he continued to work on making some raised sleeping platforms, thinking over Isla's comment for a moment. He did scare easily. It wasn't something he had ever thought about but it was true. He'd get too focused and too blind to his surroundings. It could be something for him to work on. Getting focused on the details was good for an Artist. Not so good for a Warrior. Even if he didn't want to be a Warrior.

He was very much someone who wore his heart on his sleeve...so when Isla mentioned having visions about someone coughing blood, he froze. It obviously disturbed him for a moment, not because it was creepy or strange. It made him worried for people as he glanced over towards the "wounded" Masters. They'd be fine more than likely. If anyone would get sick and start coughing blood, it'd be one of the Padawans...but Isla didn't think it was this time so he could afford himself to relax.

"Do you...get them a lot? These visions? They might be weird to say out loud...but it helps to talk about things. I don't have visions...but I talk to myself when I work on my hobbies."

Okay. The comment about knowing his name did come off as creepy for Phillip as he froze once more, turning his attention over towards the younger girl in thought. He didn't glare at her, or squint his eyes. It was more...a look of confusion. The Force worked in strange ways and he still had yet to fully understand it all.

"Well...Pleased to meet you Isla. And I mean it. I'm not saying it to be nice."

Because he had done that plenty in the past. Said it was nice to meet people who's names he'd never remember. People he met with his family, or people he met at balls. But Isla? She seemed like a name he'd remember.

"I'm from Moenia. Was that an actual question? Or did you already know?"

A small smile flickered on his face. Was it a joke? An honest question? He didn't know himself. It was strange honestly. With most of the other Padawans, Phillip felt like he was the odd one out, the strange one, even if it was mostly from a lack of self confidence. So it was...nice to talk to someone else who was strange.

 

[Seth Denko]

NABOO - WILDERNESS

Seth gave a small nod as Michael laid out the plan — water first. Smart. Basic. But critical.

“Yeah, I’m with you,” he said, boots crunching quietly as he walked alongside. “Without a clean source nearby, everything else we’re building back at camp starts feeling temporary real fast. You go long enough without water, and it doesn’t matter how nice the shelter is — people start dropping.”

He glanced toward Yasima as she made her observations, catching the way she used the Force without fanfare — that big stick sliding into her grip like it had always been meant for her. The way she measured light and time with a glance, casual but practiced. There was something vibrant about her. Something that reminded him of people who didn’t just survive tough places, but thrived in them.

“Moving water’s sounds good," he agreed. “We should watch for tracks and such. No sense setting up near a watering hole if it’s also bath time for a beast."

Her smirk made him chuckle — an easy, honest sound — and when she called his name, he dipped his head slightly, that same crooked grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Yeah, Seth. Nailed it,” he replied. “Nice to meet you, Yasima.”

He gave a casual glance back toward the firepit where camp had started to take shape. Phillip and Isla were still at it — he could hear their voices faintly, Isla’s soft and offbeat, Phillip’s thoughtful in return. It sounded… steady. Like they’d figured out a rhythm already. Good. That meant one less thing to worry about.

The Masters were talking now, too. Denko — Abel, he reminded himself, Dad — stood with another man Seth didn’t know. They looked cut from the same kind of cloth. Worn, but not frayed. He caught a glimpse of a woman off to the side as well, standing still in the golden fringe of the woods like the trees themselves had invited her. Didn’t look like a Padawan. Didn’t feel like one either.

Then — just off the treeline — someone else. Broad-shouldered, relaxed posture, but watching everything. Not hostile. Just... measured. Seth tracked the figure’s stance for a moment, then raised a hand and waved him over.

“Hey,” he called, just loud enough to bridge the distance without turning every head. “You scoping things out or waiting for an invite? We’re headed toward the river, looking for clean water and maybe supplies. Plenty of room if you’re up for the hike — or if you’d rather hold things down here, that’s cool too.”

He offered the man a small nod, then turned back toward Michael and Yasima, falling into step again. Before they moved too far, he lifted a hand and gave Phillip a thumbs-up.

“Appreciate the greenlight,” he called. “We’ll scope the wreckage on the way to the tower.”

And with that, he let the forest take him. Not quite sure if he belonged here yet — but walking anyway.​

Michael Angellus , Balun Dashiell , Alina Grayson , Phillip Slate , Yasima Zyntra , Isla Reingard , Lorn Reingard​

 

[Abel Denko]

Abel let out a quiet chuckle, low and worn in his chest. Lorn’s dry humor had always landed with the kind of weight that lingered—like rain on old stone.

“Yeah,” he muttered, eyes flicking sideways. “Reminds me of when the Knights Obsidian used to camp in these hills. Back when Naboo’s worst problems were cultists in the swamps and Imperials sneaking through trade routes. Back when we thought that was complicated.”

He shook his head, a small smile ghosting across his face. It didn’t last—but the comfort behind it stayed longer than expected. The fire crackled behind them. The wind was shifting.

For a moment, Abel didn’t say anything. He just watched the kids—the Padawans—settle into their tasks. Not perfectly. Not cleanly. But with effort. Intent. He felt it in his chest like a memory returning home. A rhythm he hadn’t realized he missed.

“Been a long time since I stood in a place like this,” he said, quiet now. “With good people, doing something that matters. Feels like breathing again. Still—”

His voice dipped, low with the weight of lived things.

“—feels like it matters more now. 'Cause the next storm’s always coming. Might not wear Sith robes or Imperial colors next time, but it’ll come. And they need to be ready when it does.”

He took a breath. Let the silence settle before adding, “I was raised on Nar Shaddaa. ‘Lesson plans’ out there were real simple: stay alive, don’t get caught, never trust a quiet alley.” His fingers flexed once at his side. “You learn fast when exposure means death. These kids? They need that edge—without the scars if we can help it.”

That was the line they were walking. Let them stumble here, now, in the mud and the dark, so maybe they didn’t have to bleed later.

Abel’s gaze shifted—drawn by something just beyond the flame's reach. A new figure at the edge of the clearing. Not a threat. Too composed. Too still. Like she belonged here before she even stepped into view.

He raised a hand in greeting, casual and open, then motioned her over.

“Afternoon,” he said, voice carrying just enough. “No need to linger in the shadows unless you’re practicing something.”

When she drew closer, he nodded once in introduction, thumb hooked loosely at his belt.

“Name’s Abel Denko. Jedi Master, Order of Shiraya.” He thumbed toward Lorn with a wry grin. “And this old man’s one too. Don’t let the frown fool you—he’s only crusty on the outside.”

He didn’t press her for a name. Just offered a seat by the fire. Because sometimes the first lesson wasn’t survival or strength. Sometimes, it was simply learning where you could set your burdens down.

Lorn Reingard + Alina Grayson​

 

[Alina Grayson]

Alina stood in the treeline, the filtered sunlight catching on the white and gold trim of her robes as the leaves whispered softly around her. She hadn't meant to interrupt not yet. Observation had its own purpose. It let her feel the rhythm of things, the threads of movement and emotion that wove quietly between the people gathered here.

Seth's awareness hadn't surprised her. That kind of instinct couldn't be taught. She caught the gesture of his wave, and though she didn't move at first, her expression softened just slightly.

Then Abel spoke.

His voice was clear enough to reach her, and when her gaze found his, there was a flicker of something unspoken recognition, perhaps. Not of the face, but of the way he carried himself. A quiet burden worn with grace. That was something she understood.

She stepped forward at last.

The leaves gave way gently as she moved, never quite disturbing the peace of the glade. She approached with measured poise, not as one demanding attention, but as one returning to where she was always meant to be.

"Not practicing," she replied softly, her voice calm, but firm enough to carry. "Just listening."

Her eyes shifted between Abel and Lorn, then to the younger ones moving about the edges of the camp. "There's much to be heard in moments like this. Before the real lessons begin."

She offered Abel Denko a respectful nod, not quite a bow. "Alina Grayson. Let's go with unaffiliated for now. Not a Jedi, but aligned with them at least." she offered a warm smile before turning to Lorn Reingard also giving a gentle nod of her blonde head.

She glanced toward the trail where the others had gone ahead. "I ran into one of your Padawan's a while back. Aiden Porte he recommended I pay a visit to Naboo.."

TAG: Abel Denko | Lorn Reingard

 

[Balun Dashiell]

The Wild Calls | Royal Naboo Republic.
Inventory: Spacer Apparel, Lightsaber, Basic Field Kit.
Tags: Abel Denko , Phillip Slate , Yasima Zyntra , Lorn Reingard ,
Isla Reingard , Alina Grayson , Michael Angellus

Then — just off the treeline — someone else. Broad-shouldered, relaxed posture, but watching everything. Not hostile. Just... measured. Seth tracked the figure’s stance for a moment, then raised a hand and waved him over.

“Hey,” he called, just loud enough to bridge the distance without turning every head. “You scoping things out or waiting for an invite? We’re headed toward the river, looking for clean water and maybe supplies. Plenty of room if you’re up for the hike — or if you’d rather hold things down here, that’s cool too.”

Balun lifted his head as Seth Denko addressed him, the sound of Seth's voice drawing his attention. Truthfully, he had been lingering on the outskirts, waiting for a moment to step in without interrupting. With a subtle raise of his hand in return greeting, he took the invitation for what it was and began moving toward the group.

He had been briefed on the survival exercise beforehand, the details sent via data transmission, but no names had been attached—no faces to match them with. Standing here now, among a group of unfamiliar Force-users, Balun felt very much the outsider. That's what he was, after all: new to the Royal Naboo Republic, and newer still to the Order of Shiraya.

"Guilty as charged," he said with a faint grin once within earshot, his voice casual but sincere. "I didn't want to intrude. I got word of the outing through official channels, but I wasn't sure if anyone here was expecting me." His eyes drifted briefly across the group, not yet able to place names to faces. "It's still early days for me. I've just recently aligned with the Naboo Republic, so I'll admit—I'm feeling a bit out of my depth," he confessed, though he wasn't referring to the exercise itself, but rather the sense of uncertainty that came with being the newest addition to an already-established order.

He glanced skyward, then gestured with a thumb over his shoulder toward the camp in progress. "If I might offer a thought—if it hasn't already been mentioned, you may want to keep an eye on the weather. Wind can knock out tents that aren't shielded against natural cover, and open fire cooking gets miserable in the rain." His tone was cautious, not wanting to overstep, and the slight smile that followed showed it.

His gaze then shifted toward one of the others, Yasima Zyntra , who had spoken moments ago about water sources. He didn't yet know her name, but he offered a small nod of acknowledgment. "She's right. Water draws wildlife, and not always the friendly kind. But it also means food, if you know what to look for. The same goes for the plants. If anyone's got knowledge of the local flora, we might be able to supplement our supplies with what we find." He paused, rubbing the back of his neck lightly.

"Speech".
'Thought'.​

 

[Michael Angellus]

​

Journal Entry:
.

I did not want to take a leadership role, but others were starting to agree more with what I was saying. It was important to keep all involved here, we stand together, or we fall separately.

If we have three, maybe four hours, we should get moving. Crouching beside a half-buried piece of hull, I decided to just go. There are four of us now, so we can “team” this. We find water, and we make visible directionals with whatever debris we can carry. Then we get back before dark.

One thing that I learned from my dad is that out here, when you feel cool air flowing, running water isn’t far away. It was not a deluge of wind, but the air felt “clean” in one direction, cleaner than others.

So here is what I propose. One of us keep our eyes forward, pathfinding and looking for water. One of us mark our path—cutting on the bark every five trees. Double mark if we split, one watch for predators, and one making directionals? Was a simple enough plan, but it was everyone’s call, not just mine.

Ultimately I could watch my own back, but having others do so made it easier to look forward as I moved. One of the biggest issues with “terrors out there” is many times they are out in front of you.

Abel Denko | Phillip Slate | Yasima Zyntra | Balun Dashiell | Isla Reingard |

 

[Isla Reingard]

​

Isla returned with the branch tucked under one arm, a few wide leaves folded neatly into her satchel. She moved with a quiet efficiency, like someone rearranging thoughts rather than supplies. When Phillip asked about the visions, she didn't answer right away - just crouched beside the fire again and began setting the base of the lean-to. Her fingers worked the rope with practiced ease, looping it over the branch and tying a knot that looked too clean for someone her age to know instinctively.

Then, as if the question had been simmering in her mind the whole time, she said, "I get them often."

She didn't look up, her voice even and thoughtful. "Some are just flashes. Some are longer. Most don't make sense. Not at first."

She tugged the rope tighter and tilted her head, watching how the frame swayed slightly in the breeze.

"People always think it means I know things. Like I can answer questions or tell them their fate." She gave a small shake of her head. "I can't. I don't control it. I don't get to ask it questions."

Finally, she turned her eyes to Phillip again, and there was a strange mix of gentleness and tired honesty in her gaze.

"I don't know everything about you. Or anyone. Just... glimpses. Little pieces. They change. I could see something happen a hundred times and it might never come to pass. Or it might. Or something worse."

Then, when he asked if she already knew he was from Moenia, she blinked - and then, surprisingly, she laughed. Not a loud one, but a soft, sudden puff of amusement, like the idea genuinely caught her off guard.

"No. I didn't know that," she said, lips tugging into the barest smirk.

She stood again and adjusted the frame, careful and quiet, before glancing back at him with a little more lightness in her tone.

She paused, then added as an afterthought, "Moenia's nice"

Her brow furrowed, as if tasting a memory that wasn't hers.

"I think I saw it in a vision once. Fog rolling in across the lakes. A girl in the water, looking for something she dropped. Or maybe trying to forget something."

A shrug. "Hard to tell."

She crouched again to stack the leaves over the lean-to frame, sealing out the worst of the wind. Her hands moved automatically, but her thoughts clearly hadn't drifted far.

"You're easy to talk to," she said simply. "That's rare."

Phillip Slate​

 

[Lorn Reingard]

​

Lorn's arms folded across his chest, he listened to Abel speak with that same quiet focus he gave everything, never interrupting.

When Abel mentioned Nar Shaddaa, Lorn nodded once, slow. "Explains the edge," he murmured. "Makes sense. That place doesn't leave much room for softness."

The words carried no judgment - just understanding. Familiarity.

"I grew up on a world far from here. You learn early that the cold doesn't care about your excuses." His gaze flicked back to the campfire. "And neither does the galaxy. But like you said - if they learn it here, with bark burns and bruised egos, they might not have to learn it on a field full of bodies."

Before he could say more, the shift in the distance tugged at his awareness again - the ripple of calm that preceded presence. His eyes tracked toward the treeline just in time to see her emerge.

He straightened a little as she approached, that quiet habit of wariness that never quite left a soldier's bones - even when peace was the goal.

She was composed. Measured. And familiar with the rhythm of silence in a way that earned his respect.

When she introduced herself, Lorn gave a small nod of acknowledgment, then added, "Lorn Reingard. Jedi Knight. Shirayan Order."

His tone was plain, but not unfriendly.

At the mention of Aiden Porte, Lorn's brow twitched, a tiny flicker of amusement ghosting across his face. Of course.

"Aiden," he said, with a breath that might've passed for a quiet laugh. "Shiraya knows that boy's got a gravity to him. Women, wisdom, wanderers - they all seem to orbit him sooner or later."

His gaze softened a little, but the next words came with a tempered humility.

"Can't take credit for the man he's becoming. His father raised him, and his Master shaped most of the foundation. I'm just here to sand off the rough edges. Show him how to hold the weight when it gets heavy."

He gestured loosely toward the camp, where the students still worked in knots and pairs, crafting what would eventually look like survival.

"This-" he said, "-helps."

Then he tilted his head slightly, studying Alina not with suspicion, but with quiet curiosity. A small pause passed before he asked, simply:

"And you? Where are you from?"

Abel Denko | Alina Grayson​

 

[Phillip Slate]

Tags: Isla Reingard

"I don't get why people would want to know their Fate. If something good happens to them...the surprise will be ruined. If something bad happens? They'll be dreading every day until it happens. It sounds like...how knowledge can be a curse sometimes."

The fire looked like it was going to be able to last through any rain, or at least Isla was doing plenty of good work preparing it. Phillip stepped back from his work on making the beds for a moment, taking look around in thought. Trying to make a hammock would be interesting come to think of it, but it would probably not be the best of ideas to leave "wounded" people in a hammock. It wasn't steady or safe. Maybe he could incorporate it when he made the sleeping area for the Padawans. Now, he was going to work on making a fence with sticks and leaves to protect against the wind.

"Moenia can be nice. It's nice to visit. Not so much to live. Too much...pressure on your shoulders."

He was speaking from experience with that. Being raised in a city of artists made Phillip feel like he had to be an artist like his family. Phillip knew it could be worse but that didn't matter to him. Things could also be better for him. At the very least he had family. That was more than most people and he wouldn't give them up for much. Even if he did have a habit of complaining about them to everyone he could.

Though then Isla said something that caught the lad off guard. He was easy to talk to. Phillip looked up from his work, tilting his head in confusion. That was twice now he's had people tell him that it was at least somewhat nice to talk to him. It was a surprise to be sure, but a welcome one as he nodded to himself.

"I'm not sure why. I've always thought I'm terrible to talk to. I can ramble sometimes. Mostly about the stuff I like. Art."

There were plenty of ramblings and stories Phillip could go on about with art. He liked to think he was different to the art snobs he hated though. Phillip liked to try and see the beauty in all forms of art. As he returned to work, Phillip gave Isla a quick glance alongside a smile.

"The same goes for you though. You're...fun to talk to. Makes me feel like I can get along with people."

 

[Abel Denko]

Abel let Lorn’s words hang in the air for a moment, the quiet between them familiar and unforced.

“Yeah,” he murmured, gaze still on the Padawans, “this helps.”

The fire popped behind them—wood splitting with the kind of sharp report that reminded him of old battlefields, old training grounds, old lives. He shifted slightly, crossing his arms as he looked over at Lorn.

“Funny, though. You spend half your life fighting so the next bunch doesn’t have to, and the other half praying they learn enough from you before the fighting starts again.” He huffed a dry breath, more reflection than complaint. “Half the time I don’t know if I’m teaching them how to survive… or just showing them how to carry the weight of the ones who don’t.”

It was the kind of thing he’d only say to Lorn. Someone who knew what it meant to carry that same weight.

He was about to say more when Alina Grayson entered the picture.

The Force didn’t scream danger, didn’t twist or recoil. No trace of Darkness pressed against his senses—no venom coiled beneath the surface. What he felt instead was balance. Control. Like a well-tempered blade. But that didn’t mean he dropped his guard.

No Darkness didn’t mean no danger.

These woods weren’t just full of Knights and Masters—they were full of Padawans. Young ones with open hearts and unguarded minds. And she was still a stranger.

Still, Abel’s posture remained casual, thumb still hooked at his belt. He nodded once at her introduction, filing the name away as she moved closer.

“Unaffiliated, huh?” he echoed, tone light but not flippant. “That’s a rare thread to walk these days. Makes you a guest worth listening to, at the very least.”

He motioned again to the fireside, voice carrying a welcome beneath the caution.

“Most folks who show up unannounced either need something or know something. Either way, I don’t mind hearing it—so long as you’re fine with honesty in return.”

Abel glanced sideways at Lorn, then back to Alina.

“And anyone Aiden Porte recommends tends to come with some kind of story,” he added with a small smile. “Mans' got a strange talent for finding people right before they find themselves.”

He let that settle, the weight of his gaze not unkind—but keen.

Tag: Lorn Reingard + Alina Grayson

 

[Alina Grayson]

Alina met Lorn's gaze without hesitation, the question hanging in the space between them. She took a breath not out of discomfort, but out of respect for the weight of what was being asked.

"Konstatin," she answered calmly. "In what used to be the Azure Imperium. I have no idea what's come of it mind you." She left it at that. The name alone carried its weight, especially to those who understood what had happened there. No need to recount the fall just the truth that she'd walked away from it. If they pressed she would answer but that life was well behind her.

"I was trained by the Church of Light. Disciplined, structured, and very sure of its own authority. Their version of the Force was absolute." Her gaze drifted to the treeline. "I learned early that certainty without compassion turns into something else."

She brought her focus back to them. "I left. Since then, I've worked where I'm needed. No banners. No doctrine."

Abel's words carried caution, but not hostility. She nodded once, acknowledging it for what it was.

At the mention of Aiden, her expression shifted just slightly more thoughtful than previous as she recounted their meeting..

"We crossed paths during a Rakghoul containment operation on Karlinus. I was already on-site, helping coordinate evac for a district that hadn't made the official priority list." She said it without pride or criticism just fact. "Aiden came in with a Naboo unit, and from the moment things went sideways, he acted with clarity. Trusted his instincts."

She gave a small nod, the gesture concise. "We held the line together. Got people out who wouldn't have made it otherwise. He's good in a fight and compassionate with people." she looked over at Lorn "Well whoever is responsible for him, they did a good job.."

Her eyes met Abel's, then Lorn's, calm and forthright. "As for why I am here, well that's simple Aiden prompted a thought. He said if I ever got tired of wandering and wanted to put down some roots I should check out Naboo." she shrugged non-chalantly.

Finally, she lowered herself beside the fire, settling with quiet ease.

"The question isn't so much am I tired of wandering... Though maybe I am.."

A beat passed as she listened to Abel. Then, evenly:

"I don't trade in half-truths. If you have questions, I'll answer them. But know I am no threat to you or your students, or your people."

TAG: Abel Denko | Lorn Reingard

 

[Isla Reingard]

​

Isla didn't answer right away. She pressed the last leaf flat against the branch and gave it a final, decisive pat, like sealing an envelope or folding the corner of a thought. Then she sat back on her heels, brushing her hands off against her trousers, even though there wasn't much dirt to show for it.

"You don't seem terrible to talk to." she said mildly. "If you were, I think I'd be somewhere else by now."

Her tone wasn't teasing, exactly - it was just plainspoken, the way someone might state the weather or the shape of a tree. She glanced sideways at Phillip, one brow lifting ever so slightly, like she was squinting at something just under the surface.

"You said you like art."

She picked up a small stick, twirling it slowly between her fingers, not looking at him just yet.

"What kind?" she asked. "Do you paint, or carve, or...?" Her voice softened, curious without being prying. "Do you make things people can hold? Or things they only look at?"

Then she paused, catching herself before she said more.

"…Or is that a weird question?"

She glanced over at him then, like she might need to calibrate whether she was making sense - or just talking in circles again.

Phillip Slate​

 

[Lorn Reingard]

​

Lorn's eyes lingered on Alina as she spoke - not watching her, but listening. The kind of listening that didn't just take in words, but measured their weight, their shape, how they sat in the space between speaker and listener.

Konstatin. Azure Imperium.

He didn't know the details. Not really. But that was the kind of thing he didn't press. Some scars didn't need re-opening. They were evident enough in the way someone carried themselves.

What she said about the Church of Light, though - that rang louder. Certainty without compassion. He'd seen what that became too often. Had stood across from it on too many fields. Worn versions of it himself, in younger, more righteous years.

He glanced toward the fire as she sat, his voice quiet but steady.

"Naboo's a good place to start over."

He didn't pitch it like a salesman. Just laid it down, like a stone on a path.

"It's slower. Quieter. Not soft - don't let the lakes and palace spires fool you - but it's got heart. People look after each other. And when the work's done, there's still time to breathe."

A small twitch of a smile curved the corner of his mouth, faint but sincere.

"I was half-broken when I got here. Still wearing my last war like a second skin. Couldn't sleep. Couldn't stop bracing for the next order."

He gestured loosely around them.

"Now I teach kids how to tie knots and build shelters before a storm. That's not nothing."

His eyes flicked to Abel then, not as a challenge, but a quiet question passed between comrades.

"What about you? Would you say the same?"

There was a steady honesty in his voice - because Lorn already knew the answer mattered. Not just to Alina. Maybe to all of them.

He didn't press. Just let it sit there like a stone beside hers.

Abel Denko | Alina Grayson​

 

[Phillip Slate]

Tags: Isla Reingard

He didn't seem terrible to talk to? It was strange to hear that. Even stranger to think about. Maybe it was just himself that was holding him back in that case. He believed he was terrible to talk to, when no-one else did. Was it an excuse? To stop himself from having to talk to people? His mind was spiralling in thoughts until Isla's next question snapped him out of his thoughts.

"Painting is my main focus. Nearly everyone in my family has some degree of skill in painting. Though I've...somewhat dabbled in sculpting. Mostly with clay. It's the easiest to move."

It was also one of the easiest to go wrong in his experience. But that wasn't something he needed to mention. He waited a moment before telling Isla if it was a weird question or not, focusing on using the mud and dirt around them to reinforce the barrier he was making to protect the sleeping area from the wind.

"It's not weird. Don't worry. I've also started working on poetry as well. It's an...easier way to get my thoughts out I've realised. Using rhyme and ears to turn worries and fears helps to fill my mind with cheers."

Phillip couldn't help but smirk at his small attempt at rhyming. It wasn't as good as he'd normally like. He'd often spend an age debating over the words to use in a poem, whereas that had just been what he had made in a few seconds.

 

[Isla Reingard]

​

Isla hummed thoughtfully at Phillip's rhyme, the tiniest smile flickering at the corners of her mouth like a match struck but not quite catching.

"That was awful," she said gently, with something like admiration hiding behind the words. "But in a good way. Like a baby animal trying to walk. It made me smile."

She pushed a loose lock of hair behind her ear and leaned back on her hands, letting the stretch ease through her shoulders as she glanced over at what Phillip was working on. He was meticulous, careful - not the kind of careful that came from fear, but the kind that came from wanting something to be right. That felt important.

"You should make something for me sometime," she said, as if it were the most casual request in the world. "A sculpture or a painting. Or a terrible poem, if that's what your soul demands."

The stick in her hand twirled once more between her fingers before she stuck it upright into the dirt like a tiny flagpole and moved to start layering more leaves into a windbreak.

"I never got to do stuff like that growing up," she said after a beat. "Everything was... strict. Controlled. Structured. Obedience. The visions were enough of a distraction, so anything messy or creative wasn't exactly encouraged."

She didn't sound bitter. Just factual. Like she was describing someone else's childhood and not her own.

"I think maybe I'd like to try, though," she added, glancing at him again with a spark of curiosity in her gaze. "You could teach me, if you want."

A beat passed.

"Not the rhyming though. You're on your own with that."

Phillip Slate​

 

[Phillip Slate]

Tags: Isla Reingard

"Well. If it made you smile, it did its job. Art is meant to make people feel things. Happiness. Sadness. Anger. All of that. If something I manage to make causes any of those emotions, then I can be somewhat happy in my skills."

He couldn't help but grin to himself as Phillip checked over to make sure the wounded shelter was capable to stand by itself, giving a few firm nods. It would stand. Now he had to work on making the sleeping shelter for the Padawans...Whilst he was originally excited about his hammock idea, the more he thought about it, with rain potentially on the way, it would be better to make a shelter protected from the wind instead.

So that's what he went to work on doing. It wouldn't be as carefully constructed as the wounded shelter, but as long as it could stand up to the elements, Phillip would be proud! A grin still on his face...up until Isla asked him to make her something. That was also new. He was used to offering to make stuff for people...but he was not used to being asked himself.

"Oh. Well...What do you like? The Sun? Mountains? Moons? It can help give me an idea of something to make you. If you've asked for it, I want it to be something personal. Not just a generic painting of a sunrise."

It would give him something to put his head to back when he was back at his room. Whilst he had been on the search for the perfect view to paint, it was always nice to have things to distract his mind. It helped him to practice his skills.

"I'm always up to teach you, if you want. Not sure if I'd be a good teacher. Time is the best teacher."

It might have been rich coming from Phillip. Most of his skill came from self-teaching. He had too much pride to get help from his family for it. Phillip wanted to make his own path in life, without their aid. Either way, he turned his attention back to his work. It was strange though. He couldn't remember the last time he had talked this much. It was...nice.

 

[Yasima Zyntra]

Location: Forests of Naboo
Gear: basic field rations, a waterskin, a coil of rope, flint and tinder, Knife made by father
Tag: Seth Denko Michael Angellus Balun Dashiell

​

There were four of them now, that should make things fairly simple, various skills that could shore up other weaknesses.

"Cool, I can pathfind if you want." She pulled out her machete and marked the first tree, deep enough to see but light enough that in time the mark would fade back to nature. She hacked away through some undergrowth making to the direction where a she could feel the air like her compatriot suggested. "The moss that is mostly green but looked like it has been singed with a blow torch always grows on the north of the trees, that's how Tay taught me to navigate here." she pointed out, waving her sword at a pair of trees with moss on one side. "There is a similar moss that grows all round the tree but it doesn't have the dry brown tops on its longer fronds" she had definitely been caught out herself by that one.

She was working her way down a gentle slope where she could feel a light breeze, she felt like there should be water at the bottom. There was signs of animals around too, a large coil of faeces was just next to the track. "Herbivore... I think?" she said looking at it. That was one skill she had not enjoyed learning about, some hunters would pick it up far too casually for her tastes. But it was an important thing to do so she had learned it.

"So you're teaching Tay to fly right?" she said to Seth Denko "Have fun, I tried convincing her a while back but, y'know." she gave a teenage shrug of non-commitment before planting her blade in the next tree. "She thinks you're cute, you know." there was a wicked smirk on Yasima's face after dropping her master in it.

​

 

[Seth Denko]

NABOO - WILDERNESS

Seth gave a small, appreciative nod as Balun joined them, the man’s voice steady but honest. There was something familiar in it — that feeling of walking into an established rhythm and trying not to step on anyone’s toes.

“I get that,” he said, voice low and even as they moved. “I’ve only been with the Order and the Navy a little while myself. Still figuring it all out, but…” He glanced back in the direction of the camp, where voices still carried lightly on the wind. “It’s starting to feel like home. One step at a time.”

He gave a short chuckle at the comment about the weather. “Good call, too. Rain’ll turn that fire pit into a mud bath fast. I’ll make sure we mention it when we get back.”

Then Michael laid out the plan — clear, simple, built for teamwork. Seth liked that. No ego, just roles.

“Works for me,” he said. “I can handle the markers. Not much of a scout or predator-spotter, but I can count to five and cut bark.” A faint grin tugged at his face as he unsheathed his own blade — nothing fancy, just sharp and reliable.

He fell in step behind Yasima, giving her enough room to pathfind. Every few trees, he counted off softly to himself: “One, two, three,” scrape — the blade etched a clean cut into the bark. “One, two, three,” scrape. Steady rhythm. Easy to follow back if needed.

Then Yasima spoke — casually, like she was just swapping stories on a walk, machete in hand, pointing out moss and animal signs with that same practiced ease.

"Herbivore, huh?” he echoed, eyes scanning the path ahead. “That’s the kind of thing I still have to look up when no one’s looking.”

Then came the pivot.

“So you’re teaching Tay to fly, right?”

Seth nodded, smile flickering in. “Yeah. She’s sharp — real sharp. Picks things up fast. Just needs the reps and a little patience, and… well, she’ll be better than me in no time.”

“She thinks you’re cute, you know.”

He stopped just short of the next tree. Blinked.

“Oh,” he said.

The next few seconds were quiet — save for a faint birdcall in the distance and the rustle of leaves. Then he cleared his throat, half-chuckled, and rubbed at the back of his neck with his free hand.

“I… uh. I don’t know what to do with that information,” he admitted, awkward but honest. After all, women like that were way out of his league. “Guess I’ll just… keep cutting trees and try not to trip over my own boots.”

He moved forward again, a little red in the ears, counting under his breath. “One, two, three…” scrape.​

Balun Dashiell , Michael Angellus , Yasima Zyntra​

 

[Abel Denko]

Abel’s gaze held steady as Alina spoke — calm, grounded, precise. There wasn’t any pretense to her words. No dramatics, no sidestepping. Just the facts, laid out plain and steady like someone who’d walked through fire and didn’t feel the need to prove it.

The mention of the Azure Imperium and the Church of Light stirred something in the back of his mind — old intelligence briefings, passing mentions in reports, maybe even a name or two from a list of losses. It all rang a bell, but the notes were smudged by time and distance. He didn’t press. Some things were better left remembered by those who lived them.

“I appreciate the clarity,” Abel said, voice low but sincere. “And if I came off sharp earlier—” he gave a small shake of his head, brow creasing lightly “—I apologize. Wasn’t meant as offense.”

He let out a breath, glancing toward the treeline where the younger ones had gone.

“I’m protective of the next generation. Probably too much. Not just as a Master… but as a father. We’ve all seen what happens when the wrong kind of people get close to kids like ours.”

His attention returned to the fire, to Alina, to Lorn.

“But Lorn’s right. Naboo’s a good place to start over. It’s quiet, but not stagnant. Still enough hustle in the cities to keep your hands busy. But out here—” he gestured to the clearing, to the trees and sky and rising smoke “—out here you remember what breathing’s supposed to feel like.”

A pause, then something softer beneath his voice. A memory brushing close.

“After the Calamity, I nearly walked away. Thought about going back to Nar Shaddaa. Figured if everything was broken anyway, maybe the best I could do was return to the shadows and make a few monsters disappear. Felt like brute strength was the only thing I had left.”

He leaned back slightly, the weight of that time still there—but dulled, like a scar long since healed.

“But Naboo…” he said slowly, “reminded me that building something better is harder than tearing down what’s broken. And a lot more important. Helping these kids grow into something stronger, steadier than we were? That’s real power. That’s a legacy.”

Abel offered a small, genuine smile — not a performance, but a quiet sign of respect.

“So if you’re thinking about staying… well. You wouldn’t be the first soul Aiden dragged in from the storm and pointed toward something steadier.”

He didn’t ask again. He didn’t need to. The fire would keep burning whether she stayed a while or kept walking — but something in him hoped she’d stay.

Tag: Alina Grayson , Lorn Reingard

 

[Alina Grayson]

Alina listened, and for once, she didn't measure the silence before replying.

She just let it be.

Lorn's words were simple, but they rang true. Naboo was slower. Quieter. And maybe that was why she hadn't dismissed Aiden's invitation out of hand. In a galaxy filled with noise, the stillness here had said more than any transmission.

"I can see that," she said softly, eyes drifting toward the fire as it cracked again, warmth radiating outward towards her "There's something about this place… it doesn't demand anything from you right away. It just lets you breathe. That's rarer than it should be."

She didn't say it outright, but there was something in her voice that spoke of long roads behind her of too many nights in too many places that never felt like hers. Konstatin had never offered stillness. Only certainty. And when that certainty shattered, there was nothing left to fall back on.

So she'd kept moving.

Abel's words earned her full attention his honesty catching her off-guard for just a breath. Not because of what he said, but because of the way he said it. No façade. No posture. Just truth, plain and offered without condition. She inclined her head slightly at his apology not as acceptance, but as a quiet acknowledgment that it wasn't needed, though appreciated.

"I understand," she replied. "Caution is warranted. And protecting what's growing here? That's worth being sharp over."

Her gaze lingered on the fire for a moment longer. When she spoke again, it was quieter, more to the flames than the men beside her.

"I've spent most of my life walking away from places. From people. Not because I wanted to… but because staying meant becoming something I couldn't justify. It's easier to disappear when you're always in motion."

Her voice didn't falter, but there was something in it now an echo of weariness not quite masked.

"But here? I'm not bracing for the next betrayal. I'm not preparing to cut ties the moment I'm needed elsewhere. That's new."

She let the quiet settle again, then looked back to them both masters, yes, but more than that. Survivors. Builders.

"If there's a place for me here, I'll stay."

Her lips curled into the faintest smile dry, but sincere.

"And if Aiden's made a habit of dragging people in from the storm, I suppose it's only fair I do my part now that I'm out of it."

TAG: Abel Denko | Lorn Reingard