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Thread: A Lesson in Regret

  1. #21
    Jensen had once heard it described that life was a series of disappointments made only bearable by intermittent victories. It wasn't exactly something he had taken to heart, nor even attributed to his own beliefs, but in the here and now, the apprentice Knight could see how someone might be willing to offer such a blanket statement. He didn't fault the lieutenant for delivering the less-than-desired news, however. Though, it did mean Jensen had to keep up his little facade for longer than he would have preferred.

    The partial smile he had forced upon himself remained in place as Jensen turned from the closed door and it's two guards back to the Governor. There was something about the other two that was directly involving her, the Force granted him that much, also enough to make the realization that it wasn't mere respectful adoration. Anything more than that, however, was an utter loss. A lack of basic understanding that his mentor found infuriating at times, no doubt. Not exactly one that Jensen saw as a weakness, just a quirk, one he was more than capable of making up for in other areas.

    "Ah, I'm afraid I must apologize, Governor. Had I known that we were not quite expected so swiftly, I would have chosen my words more carefully. Or, at the very least, not set such a brisk pace on our way here."

    Jensen was tempted to push the envelope, to perhaps add an additional comment about having limited himself more of her pleasant company, but no - that would have been a phrase too far, a tiptoe over a professionalism that even he wasn't quite willing to make. Even if it may have been worth it, just to study the subtle changes in expression and aura from the two officers. As if to further discourage any such antics, the cadet caught site of Commander Jibral and his associate approaching in the edge of his vision. Shame, really, it might have been fun to see just how far he could try this false personality.

  2. #22
    When Sophia became Moff of Loranor, she knew there would be sacrifices; gone were the days when she could do as she pleased, when she pleased, with whom she pleased; the days of mingling in dubious, but colourful, social circles, of romantic flings with musicians and holonet stars, of unearthing tombed treasures, and of bloody brawls in cages - these were all things that she did, but what Sophia had not anticipated was having to sacrifice who she was. Being governor meant that there was a piece of Sophia Rübezahl that she no longer owned, it belonged to the people, instead, be they high-brow intellectuals, military commanders, desperate scraping socialites, or creditless mandolin-players. In the presence of the people, her time was no longer her own. So as much as she wanted to continue a private conversation with the charming young Imperial Knight, duty called:

    "Not at all, cadet. As it happens, your timing is most fortunate."

    She advanced a step, placing herself before the officers. The lieutenant was tall, a handsome young man, who looked like he had been built to meet some impossible Imperial specification with his broad shoulders, his square jaw and barrel chest. The sergeant, on the other hand, was dark, lean, and had a hint of mischief in his eyes. She had met a thousand of their sort before. Inside, she wilted, longing for the chance to discuss the cadet's training, life at the Citadel, and all the mysteries of the Force, and chided herself for not having the courage to bring it up beforehand.

    "One relishes the opportunity to meet the Empire's finest." The smile came easily, as did the sentiment. While her heart ached for the strange and the new, Sophia was nothing if not a patriot, and even if she went on to meet a billion more lieutenants and sergeants over the course of her career, her appreciation of their service would go undiminished. The Empire was a sacrifice they made together.

    "What is your name, lieutenant?"

  3. #23
    Jeryd was very careful, as the conversation unfolded between Cadet Par'Vizal and the governor, not to show what he was thinking. Because what was he thinking? The Red Knight's smile drew to mind memories of the weird kid in school who used to balance a slug on his upper lip and pretend it was a moustache - there was something quite unnerving about it. And the talking! Where in the galaxy did that come from? Jeryd had him down as the strange reticent sort who favoured droids over people, and yet, there he was, showering the governor in words like he'd just swallowed a whole dictionary. Surely, Wyll had noticed it, too. Force freaks keep getting weirder and weirder. Thankfully, the governor intervened with a welcome distraction.

    "Redsun, ma'am," he answered. His voice lacked the charm of Par'Vizal's curious affectation, or the levity of Wyll's banter, instead it betrayed the firm sophistication of a man made in the Imperial army. "Jeryd Redsun. And this is Sergeant Wyllas Kador of the 506th Shrike Batallion."

    "A pleasure, ma'am." Wyll was making his voice sound deeper, and stood like he had a pole up his arse, "The lieutenant and I are both avid fans of your work. It's a happy accident that we have crossed paths, today."

    "Indeed. But then, Cadet Par'Vizal has quite a reputation for coming early." He offered the Red Knight a nod of respect, "It is one of your defining traits, sir."

  4. #24
    He'd learned enough of the subtleties of communication to know some sort of jab was being made at him rather than any form of sincere if not misguided compliment. How easy it would have been to allow the comment to nettle at him, to try to weave under his skin... But likewise, it would have been all too easy to retort, perhaps not verbally but there were other ways of silencing such rudeness. Alas, he'd been told to behave, and considering exactly who was on the other side of the closed door, it truly was the most prudent course of action.

    "Well, like any Knight - or Imperial officer for that matter - worth their salt, I do try and make an effort to arrive when I intend to - When I am expected. Anything less risks inconveniencing others."

    How Jensen managed to remain civil, pleasant even in the banter was beyond him. It wasn't quite award-worthy, but it certainly deserved some sort of accolade. Perhaps that was why his attention shifted back towards Moff Rübezahl, though more likely it was a less than subtle way of derailing the lieutenant's quip. Still, he did hope it didn't come off as petty. Had he wanted that, the cadet would have utilized less taxing means.

    "Wouldn't you agree, Governor?"

  5. #25
    "I quite agree. It is as my father likes to say: punctuality is the best first impression."

    There was a moment, just a fraction of a second, when Sophia feared her gag reflex was about to kick in. Summoning the wisdom of dear old dad was an exercise in self-abuse, but it was in truth the only pertinent offering in her arsenal. In the short but telling exchange between the lieutenant and the cadet, Sophia picked up on wavelengths that were perhaps not meant for her ears. For an avid fan, the lieutenant had a peculiar way of showing it, with such unwarranted crudeness. And while Jensen's response betrayed a sweet sort of naivety, he was still on the defensive and had made of her a dubious ally, in the process. Yes, Sophia had been around enough egotistical men in her time to know a pissing contest when she saw one. And, if it was a question of taking sides between a crass meathead like Redsun, or the unusual gentlemen emerging in young Par'Vizal, she'd take unusual over crass every time.

    "But then, that is my father speaking. When it comes to making a strong first impression, I believe good manners and decency are paramount. An Imperial officer is, first and foremost, a gentleman. Wouldn't you agree, Lieutenant Redsun?"

    "Yes, ma'am," he said, eyes forward, at rigid attention.

    And there he went, retreating into his military schooling, just like she knew he would. Now for her other so-called fan:

    "The downside of being early, of course, is small talk. Filling the void with vacuous chatter for the sake of making noise. It is the recourse of the primitive, and we are not primates, are we, Sergeant Kador?"

    "No, ma'am."

    There. That was the children taken care of. Force knows she could do with an adult or two, right about now.

  6. #26
    Lúka's life was defined by simple pleasures. He was not a man who indulged in luxuries, or surrounded himself with the fineries that his status within the Empire might afford, but rather one who sought to enjoy the small satisfactions that his life already naturally held. The pleasure of good company. The satisfaction of his righteous duties. The subtle thrill of a coat that swooshed just the right amount as you walked at just the right speed.

    In this moment, however, Lúka denied himself the latter in order to focus on the former, moderating his pace to enjoy the company of Doctor Xivelle just that small amount longer. She was a remarkable and fascinating woman, intelligent and insightful, whose captivating eyes and voice like music made the experience of conversation a joy, and whose subtle smiles and rare, delicate laughter were luxuries in and of themselves. Lúka felt grateful that the Imperial Knights had chosen to uplift the research of people like Anastasia Xivelle, cultivating the slow but progressive erosion of the mystery and mysticism that surrounded the Force. For too long, Jedi and Sith alike had hoarded the knowledge, possessing miraculous gifts that were denied to the rest of the galaxy. Anastasia sought to bring an end to that, extending that gift to others beyond the scope of random chance. The potential benefits to society were plain to see, even in the smallest of examples: the Jedi had always regarded themselves as warriors and protectors, never even contemplating the way that their gifts could improve the lives of others; but imagine a society where Force healers attended to the sick, where empaths worked as therapists to nurture victims through trauma, where the Living Force could serve as a boon to agriculture, or feats of civil engineering could be achieved in a fraction of the time as Force Wielders aided in the construction of schools and hospitals. The galaxy would always need Knights to protect it, yes, but it was foolish to hoard the Force so jealously: it was like the Guardians of the Whills described it, the Force of Others, not something that any one or group had the right to consider itself the sole custodian of, especially not when the criteria for their access to it was little more than surmountable biology.

    Happily, and eagerly, the Knight would have spent hours speaking with the Doctor, hanging off every word as she described her research, her theories, her hopes and dreams for a better and brighter tomorrow. It was a world that Lúka craved, a reality that the galaxy deserved after these last decades of relative darkness. Perhaps under Chancellor Tarkin, and with the contributions of brilliant minds like Anastasia Xivelle, they could finally move past the shadows of Separatism, and unite the galaxy in common purpose to achieve that utopian future.

    Alas, circumstances conspired to prevent Lúka from indulging that particular impulse. The emotions of his Apprentice loomed like the forming of storm clouds on an ocean horizon, and they were not alone, either, backlit by the twin sunsets of the two soldiers' obvious admiration and attraction towards the island silhouette that was Governor Rübezahl. The Knight's lips curved into a subtle smile, his posture shifting slightly to lean an iota closer to Doctor Xivelle, and offer her a whispered insight.

    "Heads up, Doc: looks as if the Governess has herself some gentlemen admirers. Ten credits says the Sergeant says something to embarrass himself before the end of our briefing."

  7. #27
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    The Doctor was first and foremost a scientist. It allowed her to contemplate the different scenarios that might have lead to different results, sometimes following through with an experiment if the idea warranted it, but often times just enough curiosity was sated with the little mind games that she never felt the need to fully peruse the options. Right now, she was wondering just what her life would look like had she experienced the company of the Commander Jibral before she had Parrus had ever become close. An idle fancy, a guilty one too in how it edged next to a line she might consider betrayal to her fiancé; though not as guilty as it may have been had Parrus not crossed that line first. It was ages ago, she reminded herself. Young love. Mistakes made and forgiven; or at least should have been, could have been, if not for that tiny voice within that whispered doubts each and every time she was away from Coruscant.

    Ah, but now was not the time for such things to darken her mood. There was business to attend to and impressions to be made and - if even for only a brief moment - the most amusing of all, a bet to be made that Anastasia was fairly certain she could not have won. Not with how it appeared that there was something that had already taken place between the Governess as the trio of young men.

    "I'm afraid he may already have," Ana whispered back. "But if you're saying he would be so foolish as to do it again..."

    She leaned away from him as they approached to better reflect the air that they should have rather than their little conspiracy against their allies. A glance back to Lúka was given, her mouth forming the words You're on.

    The Doctor granted him one last smile before she turned her attention towards the others, the most influential of which at the very least.

    "Governess, it's an honor to have you among us." The pleasantry exchanged, she cast one last glance at the Knight before her eyes settled upon the two officers. "Well, since we are all here, shall we, then? I would hate to keep The General waiting."

  8. #28
    * * *

    The General's attention barely shifted as the doorway behind him opened, admitting the six arrivals he had summoned. There was no need to engage his eyes in seeking out who they were: even if they had not been expected, there was little that transpired within the room that escaped his attuned senses. His focus remained where it had been, studying the small assortment of relics and artifacts that had been transferred here to the Deliverance. It was an indulgence, perhaps, to go to such lengths to adorn a space that would only be occupied temporarily. Yet, it was a measure that the General deemed important, most comfortable when he found himself surrounded by history. He had explained as much to his former apprentice, when Lúka Jibral had once inquired. What use did an Imperial Knight have for the assorted trinkets, tokens, and talismans that comprised his personal connection? The General had explained that it was among his fellow relics that Inyos Aamoran felt most at home. They had been words uttered with jest, and with a subtle smile that had carved through the tightly trimmed facial hair that adorned his jaw, and yet the sentiment was true. Reminders of the past were important, he had also explained, to help one comprehend the true nature of one's place in history.

    He waited for the doors to close before he turned, taking his time as the ponderous motion completed to study each of the arrivals in turn. An odd assortment. Two Knights and a Doctor; two soldiers and a Governor. Half representing the arbiters of Imperial mysticism; half representing the might of the Imperial military. A fitting ensemble for the task that lay ahead.

    General Aamoran's hand passed across a sensor on his desk, the air of the room shifting and shimmering, the existing dimness making way for the flickering blue shapes of a holographic projection. He moved through the field wordlessly, perhaps inadvertently or perhaps by design echoing the course that the Deliverance had followed, departing from Coruscant beside the galactic core and heading rimward towards the Tion Cluster. He came to a halt, a hand extending to grasp hold of one of the stars within the Cluster; the starfield faded in response, and as Inyos drew the star system from its position and then let his hand unfurl, it expanded to fill the chamber, the rest of the galaxy disappearing from view and notice.

    Four simple Aurebesh characters floated beneath the orb of one particular planet. Inyos peered through its oceans and continents, focusing on Lúka Jibral's apprentice - the General's grandpadawan, as the General's daughter had taken to calling him.

    "Cadet Par'Vizal."

    The General's voice was soft, yet commanding, managing to subtly demand a concise response while at the same time serving as a warning against extraneous comment.

    "This is the planet Voss. Tell me what you know of it."

  9. #29
    The Cadet took no pride or pleasure in being the one that The General asked the information of. Jensen wasn't exactly one to flaunt the knowledge he had gained from many - far too many, as some may accounted - days spent doing nothing but reading. However, Par'Vizal didn't exactly shy away from the moments where he was asked to share what he had learned, either. It was a fine line to walk, and while the Cadet may have thought he was doing so quite well, there were plenty of others that he had come to learn thought of him as nothing more than an insufferable know-it-all.

    "It is a terrestrial planet, known primarily for it's mining resources," The Cadet began, leaving the obvious statement of it's location unspoken as the star chart before them more than illustrated that for the others within the room. "It is currently a site for new industry and development, some speculate the planet is poised to rival it's neighbor, Lianna, in such matters."

    He could have gone on, stating Voss' orbital position - Three, the number of moons - One, it's rotation period, it's orbital period... But such were extraneous to the discussion, not pertinent at the time. Jensen briefly considered the collected bodies within the room, of what information he held was meant to be released, of what was best kept unspoken.

    "It was home to an - either reptilian or amphibian - race known as the Gormak," He paused and moved his steadfast gaze upon the display to beyond it, to glance towards The General to ensure he should continue. There was no hint given that he should stop speaking, and so the Cadet continued.

    "It was also - if rumor is to be believed - the once-home of the Voss Mystics, their Shrine of Healing, and their Tower of Prophecy. But evidence of such a race is by most accounts sparse, questionable, considered by the natives to be mythology rather than truth. Though, there have been some archaeological findings to suggest otherwise."

    It was a place to stop, before his commanded expose on the planet turned to further information regarding the Voss people. If the instruction had not been so precise, Jensen would have continued. But that was not his place, at least not without permission granted to continue.

  10. #30
    The smallest of smiles formed on General Aamoran's features, directed mostly towards Commander Jibral with a momentary glance.

    "It seems you do not share your mentor's aversion for historical studies," Inyos commented, the note of respect and appreciation in his voice subtle, but evident.

    The General's attention shifted, rising to include the rest of the assembled group.

    "Cadet Par'Vizal is indeed correct. Voss is indeed believed to be the once-home, as he eloquently puts it, of the Voss Mystics. According to legend, they were once members of the native Gormak species, affected by interactions with ancient Sith and Jedi to become powerful Force Wielders, particularly adept in the arts of healing and prophecy. Accounts from nearly four thousand years ago describe an entire culture built upon the premise of prophecy and predestination, where the precognition of these Voss Mystics was treated as immutable law. Whatever fate the Mystics foresaw for you, it was your legal, social, and religious obligation to ensure that events unfolded exactly as described."

    He regarded the six figures before him, his eyes scrutinising each of his assets in turn, as if to gauge their level of interest, engagement, and attention. His own thoughts on the matter remained illusive, his expression and manner cool but not cold, restrained perhaps by formality, or propriety, rather than any sense of unfeeling detachment. He stood smartly, but comfortably, as if everything about his situation and circumstance was undeniably his default resting state. In a way it was: missions such as this were as close to the ways of the old Jedi Order as the Imperial Knights ever got, and though the Order might have fallen, Inyos Aamoran did not. His loyalty had been absolute, a Knight loyal to the galaxy of people he was sworn to protect, no matter which moniker the governments and powers-that-be chose to ascribe to him.

    "As Jensen also stated -" The use of the Cadet's name, a more personal form of address, was deliberately and strategically deployed. "- some archaeological findings seem to indicate that the Voss Mystics were more than mere myth. In fact, there is evidence to suggest that the Voss Mystics were very real. Emperor Palpatine certainly seemed to believe so. Among the aspects of his vast collection of occult artefacts and relics that we have been able to locate and recover since his death, are items and accounts that portray the Voss Mystics as having been instrumental during the Great Galactic War, expanding their prophetic capabilities to foretell the fate of the entire galaxy. The Emperor certainly believed that the evidence he had obtained constituted real proof that the Mystics existed, and went to significant lengths to keep such knowledge secret."

    That statement was left to hang in the air. Even seven years after his demise at the Battle of Endor, speaking ill of Emperor Palpatine openly carried a certain stigma with it.

    "Our task is to confirm the voracity of Emperor Palpatine's information, so that the Senate can make an informed decision regarding these revelations. Why us, you may be wondering?"

    He gestured to the star map floating between them.

    "Voss resides within the Tion Cluster. Though the ruling houses are still loyal to the Empire, they stand apart from us, an Imperial bastion within the territory of the Alliance of Free Planets. Roughly -" He glanced at the chrono on his wrist. "- three minutes ago, the Deliverance crossed the boarder into Free Planets space. Assuming we dodge any Alliance patrols that stand between the Empire and Tion, we will arrive within an hour. Once there, we will each have tasks to perform, to investigate the information that Palpatine once hoarded."

    The General's mouth drew into a thin line.

    "Perhaps it goes without saying, but we cannot allow the secrets of the Mystics to fall into the hands of the Alliance. Yet, we are but one ship, behind enemy lines, at least an hour from the nearest reinforcements." His eyes shifted to the younger of the two women. "Governor. I am led to believe by Senator Rübezahl that your dealings with the corporations on Loronar and Byblos might be beneficial in dealing with local interest groups. Tell me, how would you characterise your relationship with Santhe and Sienar?"

  11. #31
    "Healthy."

    Sophia's answer came without hesitation, not from practice, but with a quiet certainty. The general's plan was taking shape, as was her place within it, confirming her private suspicions. It was an odd gathering of professionals, and aboard a military vessel, her own presence was more peculiar than most. She was, of course, no stranger to the military, but until now, her role had been ornamental at best. The Voss Mystics, she repeated to herself, and at once the old passion rekindled, but only for a second. She remembered herself, and more importantly, the company she kept: it would not do for the resident politician to become weak at the knees at the prospect of scrambling around ancient ruins, searching for the Shrine of Healing, or the Tower of Prophecy. There was a reason places like that existed in children's stories. She shrugged off her childish enthusiasm, and waded confidently into murkier waters.

    "Loronar is a seat of Imperial business and commerce. I have cultivated relationships with each of the significant parties, including Achilles Sienar-Santhe, himself. The soil is fertile, so to speak. And there is opportunity on Voss, which can be exploited to our advantage."

  12. #32
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    "But what help could they give if it came to that?"

    The instant the question actually left her lips Anastasia firmly believed her lack of knowledge and expertise in such things would have been better left unsaid. She was not of a military mind, nor business. There was a connection The General was naturally aiming for, a confirmation that the Governor may have given, but it was illusive to the scientist. If she could un-speak, she would have.

    The stories of the Voss Mystics were not utterly unfamiliar to her, but such as was the way of most tales of Force users, she had always taken them as grains of truth greatly exaggerated through spiritualism and time. Even the Shrine of Healing - a site that Anastasia could only begin to dream of the possibilities for - seemed little more than fantasy. Now though? With the emphasis The General placed upon it?

    Her mouth ran dry as she attempted to better explain her reasoning, only a civilian of the government for which the others were representatives of, the outlier, the consultant, the specialist. But for what? What part did she and her research play here? Doctor Xivelle knew there was something, an importance she had not yet been made aware of, that much was certain. But in the meanwhile she felt as if she made a fool of herself, something she desperately sought to mend.

    "There is a difference between willingness and ability. It's not as if they could deploy a fleet of their own creations to come when beckoned, could they?"

    The Doctor cast a glance, not towards The General, but to his once-student. She could not say why it was she looked so readily to Commander Jibral for her answers, but if nothing else she didn't feel the same sense of intimidation as she did from the senior Force user.

  13. #33
    Lúka saw and sensed the discomfort as Doctor Xivelle spoke, and was quick to offer a swift and gentle response, before anyone else had the opportunity to.

    "Even at the best of times, the Tion Cluster is a disputed region. The borders have been redrawn too many times to count across the millennia, but under the Empire at least, the Cluster was split into three key sectors, more or less along political lines: the Cronese Mandate, the Tion Hegemony, and the Allied Tion Sector. Broadly speaking, the Cronese are aristocrats by virtue of material and mineral wealth, the Tionese are struggling socialists eeking out a living in the rubble of what remains of a once greater Tion Hegemony, who have skirmished and civil warred for as long as they possessed ships. The wealthy families of Allied Tion however, like Santhe and Sienar, are rich because of industry, exports, and their affinity for the Republic and the Empire. Those old alliances are the origin of their power and status, and the reciprocal loyalty runs deep."

    The Commander hesitated, taking a moment to carefully ensure that his words remained an answer, rather than a lecture. It was a bad habit, he supposed, one he had acquired in the classrooms at the Citadel, helping to train and educate the next generation of Knights. He could feel the amusement and pride that came from Inyos, mirrored by mild annoyance within himself: he was turning into his Master, inheriting the General's propensity for being verbose rather than succinct, when it came to imparting knowledge. It had frustrated him immensely as a Padawan, and yet when Lúka had accepted his appointment as instructor, he had heard his Master's old words echo in his mind almost every lesson.

    Do not ask a question, unless you are prepared to listen to the full answer.


    "Under the Empire, Santhe has grown rich off Sienar's military contracts. Every TIE Fighter and heavy cruiser built anywhere in the galaxy lines Santhe's pockets with credits. While those contracts persist, the Tion Cluster's isolation separates those families from a significant portion of their wealth, and from the Imperials whose intimidating support would have held any political rivals at bay. If Santhe and Sienar had not already boasted a sizeable private armada - which they did - to safeguard their holdings and discourage rival houses from moving against them, paranoia would certainly have forced their hand. Anything produced by Sienar Fleet Systems since the signing of the Treaty until now has likely remained in the hands of Santhe, Sienar, or their allies; and were the Alliance to invade and provoke a war, they stand to lose far more than anyone else."

    His eyes glanced momentarily to the General, and back to the Doctor. A small, covert smile was offered in her direction, obscured from the others at least in part by the distraction of the holographic projection that surrounded them.

  14. #34
    With the Commander given the rare opportunity to provide the verbose weight of an explanation, the General was afforded the chance to underscore it with more succinct words of his own. They were not quite as soft or diplomatic as Commander Jibral's words had been, but they were certainly not harsh, and carried with them the fingerprint of the General's infinite patience and calm.

    "In other words, Doctor Xivelle: could they? Perhaps not a fleet, but whatever forces they could deploy to Voss would surely be sufficient that any arrival by the Alliance would require an act of aggression, that would constitute an act of war. It is one thing for the Alliance to annex an undefended backwater on the fringes of the Tion Cluster; another thing entirely for them to carve their way through Sienar Fleet Systems to do so. Our hope is that Santhe and Sienar can provide us with enough of a deterrant to hold the Alliance at bay until reinforcements from the Empire could feasibly arrive. If not?"

    His attention shifted, abandoning the Doctor in favour of the uniformed officer opposite, silently observing for the briefing thus far.

    "If it comes down to it, Lieutenant, I trust that you and your men can manage to safeguard an archaeological site from a few unruly rebels -"

    The General's eyes expanded their gaze, a subtle gesture that encompassed himself, the Commander, and the Cadet.

    "- with a little assistance, of course."

  15. #35
    "Dorn Company is ready and able." Jeryd fired up at once, "And we excel at pest control. Just say the word, sir."

    The words had taken shape not in his head, not on his lips, but from within his chest. Had he held his tongue another moment, they would have certainly punched holes through his rib cage just to make themselves known. It didn't take much to ignite his zeal, but the general had done something that spoke deeply to Jeryd's Imperial heart, vindicating his beliefs, and, in one effortless gesture, swept aside any scrap of legitimacy to which the Alliance laid claim. He hadn't called them soldiers, he hadn't called them an army, he'd called them 'rebels,' because that was all they were. With one word, this strange commanding... Force wizard had earned for himself no small measure of affection from the young patriot.

    As for the others? He wasn't so sure. It was a briefing, as typical as any other, he supposed, but the nature of the company somehow managed to change the focus of the mission, or at least coloured it in shades of mysticism and fantasy that were at odds with his own traditional palette. Towers of Prophecy? Shrines of Healing? Those were the fancies of story-tellers and priests, and not for a soldier's ears. Perhaps he was being unfair to his less conventional comrades in the room, but they brought it upon themselves.

    From a tactical standpoint, the rest was fascinating to say the least. How Sophia Rübezahl fitted into the puzzle was a mystery that haunted Wyll and Jeryd, both. When the general revealed her place in his machinations, it was impossible to not be impressed. It was a smart tactical move, pulling on the strings of Santhe and Sienar through her, to corner the Alliance into self-destruction. They had an hour, he said. No time to waste, then.

    "By your leave, sir, I would like to brief my men."

  16. #36
    The General offered the Lieutenant a curt nod.

    "Keep it brief," he acknowledged, and despite the gravity of the situation, a small smile - aimed at his former apprentice - tugged at the corner of his mouth in recognition of the dubious humour. It faded, but didn't entirely disappear, just present enough to soften the harshness of his stoic features, transforming him for a moment from the Imperial General into the Jedi Master that Lúka Jibral had long known.

    Inyos reached behind him, extending the Force towards the base unit from which he had activated his holoprojected map. A small bead, floating atop a small note on the unit, hurtled free and into Inyos' waiting hand. As the projection died, and the room dimmed, the bead was tucked into the pocket of the General's uniform, and a moment was taken to smooth the front of the unimaginatively designed garments. The action seemed to fracture the illusion of Jedihood that had briefly descended, a stark reminder of their circumstances, and of the government they all served. The mask of the General settled into place once more.

    "As I said, we do not have much time. You each have an hour: spend it wisely."

    The hand reached for the desk once more, the waiting lightsaber hurling itself across the distance, caught and then attached to the General's belt. His eyes sought out Commander Jibral.

    "If you have need of me, I will be on the bridge. Dismissed."

    * * *

  17. #37
    Cadet Par'Vizal watched as the others departed the room; first The General, next the Lieutenant - clearly eager to get on with his own tasks - followed by the two women. It was worth noting, and caused the apprentice's eyes to narrow just in the slightest, in how the Doctor cast one last appreciative glance towards Jensen's mentor. The student didn't dare follow that thinly veiled calling of Lorelei to see how the teacher reacted; the fact it occurred alone shameful enough for the two of them. Perhaps the Cadet was reading too much into the action, perhaps it was meant as a simple gesture of gratitude for earlier enlightenment, or maybe it was nothing more than a glance back to two subjects - the elder in particular, closest to the Doctor's age - whose lives were so entwined in the things she studied. That was his burden, however, to attempt to decipher the knowledge that others could grasp so readily, the struggle was probably to blame for why the Cadet always seemed to follow the assumption that painted others in the worst light. Not an admirable trait, though sadly one that more often proved itself correct rather than lacking. Such was the way of sentient creatures, always letting you down unless you had no positive expectations in the first place.

    He waited for Master Jibral to make the first movement and smoothly took step behind at first, and then at his mentor's side as they left the Tactical Suite empty once more. The Cadet considered holding his tongue of the question that continued to ask itself over and over again in his mind. It would do no good, however. The tumult it caused would be easily sensed and if anything he would simply be called out on that as opposed to simply asking and resolving them both of it.

    "Voss," Jensen broached the subject. "A rather dangerous expedition, I see The General is taking no chances. I would never have thought of bringing in Governor Rübezahl, I had wondered at her presence here but now..."

    His head nodded, just slightly as in agreement with himself as he left the understanding unsaid, the implication of his oft-spoken words of needing to learn more not needing voice at this time. It wasn't the question needing answering after all, though he had needed to speak that he wasn't entirely incapable of such comprehension, otherwise his next words might seem overly impertinent. Perhaps they still were anyway.

    "I just wish I could comprehend why it is that The General sought to bring Doctor Xivelle here, to involve her in such a task. What purpose does she serve here?"
    Last edited by Jensen Par'Vizal; Sep 4th, 2018 at 04:30:21 AM.

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