Private Unknown Calling

[Phyress Vaelor]

The stars snapped back into existence in a violent shimmer of realspace, streaking from elongated lines into cold, distant pinpricks scattered across the void. The shuttle groaned around her as though it resented the transition—aged plating rattling, exposed wiring humming unevenly beneath patched panels. It was a relic. A survivor. Much like the one who piloted it.

Phyress Vaelor did not move at first. Her hands rested lightly on the controls, fingers still, listening—not to the ship, but to something deeper. The Force had not pulled her here in the way it once had when she was a Padawan, guided by certainty and doctrine. This was different. Subtler. A quiet insistence. A presence just beyond comprehension.

Ahead, a system turned slowly in the black. Pale light from its star kissed the fractured edges of distant debris and wandering rock. Somewhere within it lay Jomark—or near enough to matter. Her gaze lingered there.

"…Why?" The word barely left her lips, more breath than voice. There was no answer. Only that feeling again. Not danger. Not quite. Something… waiting.

The descent was rough. The shuttle protested every adjustment, its repulsors whining as they struggled to maintain a stable vector. Atmosphere clawed at the hull as she broke through cloud cover, the vessel shuddering like something alive and wounded. Below, the landscape stretched in muted tones—dense forest canopies broken by ancient clearings and forgotten structures, the world alive yet holding its breath.

Phyress guided the craft down with deliberate care. Precision—not instinct. That had been a lesson hard learned. The landing struts hit with a jarring thud, kicking up leaves and loose soil. For a moment, the ship simply sat there, engines winding down in uneven pulses before settling into silence. Stillness followed.

Real stillness. No chanting. No whispers in the dark. No eyes watching from beyond firelight. Just wind through trees.

The hatch opened with a reluctant hiss. Phyress stepped down slowly, bare feet meeting unfamiliar ground softened by fallen leaves. The air was different here—alive, layered, carrying the scent of growth and decay in equal measure. It pressed against her senses, not with corruption… but with memory.

Her robes shifted with the movement—once the structured garb of a Jedi Padawan, now something… altered. Reforged. Torn fabric layered and reworked into something asymmetrical, flowing, faintly revealing in places where function and instinct had overridden tradition. Threads of subtle green luminescence traced along her skin beneath it, the bioluminescent tattoos glowing faintly in response to the world around her.

To the Force around her. She paused just beyond the ramp. And felt it.

It wasn't behind her. Not above. Not below. It was ahead. Not a presence in the way she had known before—not a single mind, not a singular intent. It was broader. Diffuse. Like standing at the edge of something not yet formed. Not yet decided.

Her head tilted slightly, eyes narrowing as she tried to understand it. "…You're not here," she murmured softly. "Not yet." The realization settled in her chest with quiet weight. This wasn't something calling to her. This was something she was meant to intersect with. A future. Unwritten. Unclaimed. And somehow… aware.

Behind her, the shuttle creaked as its systems cooled, a broken thing that had still carried her across the void. Ahead of her, the galaxy waited. Phyress took another step forward, the faint glow beneath her skin pulsing once—steady, controlled. Whatever this was…She would meet it on her terms.

Location: Jomark • Objective: Unknown Calling • Company: @t’zarna khab

 

[T'zarna Khab]

Location: Western Coast, Kalish, Jomark
Objective: Make Contact
Tags: Phyress Vaelor

A remote fishing village, one that seemed to have died just a month ago. Boats no longer left in the morning, nor did they return in the night. It was as if all of the inhabitants of this humble community had vanished into thin air! What had replaced them was a group of silent watchers, actors taking the place of real people. There were whispers, things were just too perfect, too rehearsed and orderly. Plastic smiles and clinical gestures had replaced genuine hospitality.

This small village was calling to those around it, pulling them in with the facade of a welcoming community. This was T'zarna's hope. She would sift through the people of this planet, find those who might swell the ranks of her order. While others controlled the homeworld of Ossus, she would handle their new frontier of Jomark.

Ocean worlds were of little value to The Order, they had small populations, very few force sensitives for them to bring into the fold. However, Jomark was interesting in the fact that it had quite the history. A race of beings that predated human colonization of the planet, one lost to time. Perhaps there was something hidden on this world...

More interesting than the relics of past civilizations, were the relics falling from the sky! An energy called from the crash site, a spark in the force that was unmistakable. This was someone strong in the force, that was worth leaving the small village.

If the lost lamb was to be guided, it would be towards the dark. T'zarna walked through the village, drawing eyes because of her strange insectoid features. Few had seen her in person, even fewer could comprehend what she truly was. The force rumbled as she walked, like a cloud of thunder rolling over a peaceful meadow, indicating the passing of great rage and darkness.

 

[Phyress Vaelor]

The village did not greet her. It watched. Not with eyes—not at first—but with the subtle wrongness that clung to places too quiet for their own good. Nets hung slack between crooked posts, swaying faintly despite the absence of wind. Small boats knocked gently against the docks, hollow thuds echoing across the water like distant heartbeats. The scent of salt and decay lingered in the air, thick enough to taste.

Phyress Vaelor moved through it all like a shadow that had learned patience. Each step was deliberate. Measured. Not hunting. Not yet.

Her tattered, refashioned robes whispered softly against themselves as she passed between structures, the fabric shifting just ahead of her motion—subtle, attuned. The faint glow beneath her skin pulsed in slow rhythm, responding not to fear, but to awareness. The Force here was… tangled. Not dark in the way she had known. Not light, either.

Something older. Her gaze flicked to a doorway as she passed it—half-open, unmoving. Empty. Another building, the same. Signs of life remained, but only in fragments. A cup left on a table. A line half-cast and forgotten. The absence of people pressed harder than any presence could have.

“…You called,” she murmured under her breath, voice barely more than a thread in the stillness. No answer. But the feeling sharpened. Ahead.

She shifted direction without hesitation. The path narrowed as she moved deeper into the village, toward the edge where wood gave way to water. The docks stretched outward like skeletal fingers, reaching into the dark surface of the sea. The Force pulled there—not violently, but with quiet insistence.

Phyress slowed. Not from fear. From certainty. Her hand hovered near the hilt at her waist—not gripping, not drawing. Just… present. A reminder. A choice. The air changed as she stepped onto the worn planks of the dock. Cooler. Heavier. The faint creak beneath her boots carried farther than it should have, swallowed too slowly by the surrounding quiet.

And then—She stopped. She wasn’t alone. The realization came not from sight, but from the way the Force folded inward at a single point ahead of her. Not diffuse. Not uncertain. Focused. Waiting. Her head tilted slightly, eyes narrowing as she studied the figure at the far end of the dock.

T'zarna Khab.

So this was the source. Not what she expected. Good. Phyress did not approach immediately. Instead, she shifted her weight, stance relaxing just enough to signal she was not charging blindly into the unknown. Her robes settled around her, the faint threads of energy within them dimming to a near-invisible hum.

“You’re the one,” she said, her voice calm, steady—neither accusation nor greeting. A statement Her gaze held firm, studying, measuring—not just the figure before her, but the way the Force moved around them. “This… feeling.” A slight pause. Not hesitation. Consideration. “It doesn’t belong to you alone.”

Her hand lowered from her hilt completely now, resting at her side as she took a single step forward onto the dock. Not aggressive. Not submissive. Intentional. “…So why am I here?”

Location: Jomark • Objective: Unknown Calling • Company: T'zarna Khab