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​