“I’m The Doctor. I’m from the planet Gallifrey, in the constellation of Kasterborous.”
It’s very impressive when they say it so bold and loud, of course, but anyone with half a grasp on what’s important in this universe, indeed in all universes, could tell you that The Doctor is far from the most important or momentous thing to emerge from the constellation of Kasterborous. Seventeen suns, home to Gallifrey, ancestral home of the Time Lords, and too to Karn, adopted home of the Sisterhood. The people of this star system hold great power, and they guard the secrets of that power with the iron grip of withered fingers.
But there are secrets that sit deeper. Secrets that roam the vast expanses of nothing between the stars, secrets that bear the scars of wounds made by forgotten generations. Monuments to hubris and shame that have no fixed point on a star-map, and can only be found when the seeker shares that same failed hope in their hearts. A planet without a sun, small and dense and barren, unnoticed and constantly moving.
On this planet, there is a valley, wider end-to-end than the geography that is supposed to hold it. Nothing grows here, but the twisted roots of trees that planted themselves inverse to hide from the devastation on the surface. No atmosphere exists to protect the it from the scouring song of celestial winds, aging the dirt of the planet and cracking it like corpse-flesh. From time to time, dark pulsing clouds will twist out of nothingness, dragging tumorous shadows across the sky. This is not a hospitable world.
Except you were presented with The Invitation.
You’re coming to the end of your time in the Academy on Gallifrey. Soon, you will be invested with the full status of Time Lady, as well as all the responsibility that comes with it. The storied halls of academia, the many swiveling eyes in the Matrix, the raw data and information of history, it all smells of nothing but stuffy bureaucracy and stagnation. You are well aware of the policy of non-interference, of neutral observation. All that power, and the Time Lords do nothing with it.
One morning, you find a letter. The envelope smells like the first rain that ever fell on a planet after it formed and the atmosphere cooled enough to produce it. The patience of nature’s grace, working century through century, to culminate in that bright, earthy smell. Petrichor. The Invitation. Inside, a time ring, and coordinates.
Now, arriving with The Invitation, instead of the disaster-blasted landscape that this forgotten world was once doomed to, there is a cobbled path, winding slowly and lazily up towards a house of immense size, shining white and multi-storied under the gleam of a sun you know should not exist up there. Towers reach up, terraces expand out, windows sparkle invitingly.
The door is open for you, as you were Invited, although it swings gently in a summer breeze, and on the freshly painted wood, there is nailed a note. It reads as follows:
“Looks like you’ve made it a little early, which is unusual. We’re very diligent about timeslots. No matter. We’re just happy you made it. We’ve taken note of your performance in the Academy, and we believe that you have certain qualities that make you a tremendous fit for our organization. I’m sure you have a lot of questions. I can’t promise that all of them will be answered, but I can promise that you will find more value here with us, making a difference, than you will wearing a big collar on Gallifrey and never doing anything but watching the universe work its way, without you.
Consider this your formal invitation to the Aesthetic Preservation Initiative. We look forward to meeting with you.”
You wake up.
There is a letter on your desk. It smells bright, and earthy.
AND THAT’S THE SPIN-OFF BABY
For further context, The Aesthetic Preservation Initiative is a BIG secret society dedicated to maintaining and preserving the unique beauty of the universe, objective of morals or ethics. They reside in The Oldest House (yes I ripped that off Control), a TARDIS-like structure existing within five looped seconds of time on an otherwise entirely barren planet.
Myth arc is that the Time Lords screwed this planet with their first temporal experiments, and the planet is the home of vast reefs of coral; it is also placed in an exactly perfect position to be constantly blasted by a particularly friendly Time Wind, meaning the coral itself became sentient and was able to grow itself out and across Time. This coral, along with Omega and Rassilon’s temporal engineering, would become the Hearts of the first TARDISes, including The Doctor’s antique Type-40. And the planet was devastated. The Oldest House is all that remains, The Mother of TARDISes.
And basically we just do adventures around the universe stealing art, saving the monsters instead of defeating them, and having big old arcs about what the Initiative is really up to.
Also sub-plot about Rassilon sterilizing the Tharils without their knowledge. A lot of dealing with the fallout from the Time War, actually.
