Junction THE TRINITY AFFAIR | TSC & THR Junction of Commenor and New Plympto

[Verity Stuyveris]

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Verity smirked at the threat. If she ran, she was sure she could get somewhere beyond Mercy's reach by the time the woman tore down the turbolift doors. Not a hundred percent sure, no. Eighty, maybe. Good enough odds. Verity kept herself in shape, spent time on the treadmill in the Senate gym and in her flat. She was no slouch. She had some strength, a lot of stamina.

But the truth was, as uncomfortable as this situation was, being present with a Sith Lord who didn't seem, immediately, inclined to separate her head from her neck was preferable to prowling a dark ship crawling with Mercy's peasant underlings who would not hesitate to do so. And besides, if Republic forces were able to apprehend this walking crime against humanity, if Verity ran now, it would mean not being in the photographs.

Unacceptable.

She stopped at an emergency station and popped open the little plastic door. Verity was pleased to see roughly the same kit she would have found on one of Stuyveris Staryards' own products: a light she clipped to her shoulder, a medkit she tucked into a pocket, and a loaded flare gun and some flares. The former she slid into the waistband of her trousers -- carefully -- once she was sure the safety was on, then made sure her blazer more than hid it, and the latter she tucked into a free pocket.

"Keep your shirt on," Verity called back the way she came, her voice echoing off the walls so that it arrived distant and muffled, but unmistakable, back to The Big Woman™. She ducked under a pipe, clambered over a housing of some kind, and found herself in the turbolift shaft. As she suspected, there was a release handle on each of the doors. She went to the one Mercy had been standing near, crouched, and pulled the release. With some effort and a slight creak, the handle gave, and the door latches released, allowing them to settle ajar.

"Well, don't just stand there," she quipped, snapping impatiently. "Places to be."

Mercy​

 

[Sibylla Abrantes]

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The Trinity Affair: Objective One
Interacting with: Lorn Reingard
Eventually: Acier Moonbound
Open for any TSC characters to interrupt at any time!

Chandrila had always preferred diplomacy to fleets.

In that way, they were not unlike Naboo.

Sibylla stood with her hands loosely folded before her; the white and gold Nabooian diplomatic robes she wore had been chosen deliberately for their formality as much as for their neutral diplomatic tone. And while she was no Interim Queen or Senator, she was the Voice of Naboo nonetheless, so it had made sense for her to attend.

Chandrila's political structure bore a striking resemblance to Naboo's own delicate balance between elected governance and noble houses. The traditionalist bloc within Chandrila's displaced aristocracy still carried tremendous influence over the government-in-exile, and the Royal Assembly had felt that a Nabooian voice familiar with that dynamic might serve as an effective advisor during negotiations.

However, the recent turbulence in Corellia, Moorja, and several other systems had made one thing abundantly clear -- Sibylla was no longer permitted to travel without proper protection. Not only had Naboo assigned a contingent of Royal Guard to accompany her, but on this occasion, they had also insisted upon something more.

The Sword of Shiraya himself.

Sibylla privately thought the measure a touch excessive, but with Bastila unable to accompany her on this mission, the Order had sent another in her stead. It just so happened that Bastila's master was none other than Lorn Reingard , which made the formal introductions aboard the Trinity somewhat awkward.

For the sake of diplomacy, they had both been forced to pretend they were strangers.

It had been… mildly absurd to say the least.

By the time the Trinity was underway, Sibylla had excused her guards to leave her office and set guard outside, as she wanted to have a quiet conversation with Jedi Knight Reingard.

As soon as they were alone, those hazel eyes drifted toward the bearded Jedi, both delicate brown brows lifting with clear amusement as the true identity of the man who had been assisting her with the clandestine information gathering through Ace finally revealed itself.

"The Sword of Shiraya, is it?" she asked rather bluntly, setting her datapad down upon the table.

"I must confess, I had not expected the Order's most formidable blade to be wandering about Yavin Four unattended." A faint, knowing smile tugged at the corner of her lips. "Especially not a member of the Council."

To say she was curious would have been an understatement.

Whatever answer he might have given, however, never came. The lights flickered once overhead, then again before suddenly plunging the room into darkness.

Sibylla froze for only a fraction of a second, her breath drawing slowly into her lungs as instinct shot through every sense. Somewhere beyond the office walls came the distant metallic slam of blast doors locking into place.

From the pit of her belly, a knot twisted even as her eyes adjusted slowly to the faint spill of emergency starlight from the viewport.

"Well..." Sibylla murmured at last, the slightest edge in her voice as she did her best to try and remain despite the tension that had crept into her chest.

Those kohl-lined eyes slid toward the shadowed outline of the Jedi.

"I suppose," she continued lightly, though the wry note in her voice betrayed her suspicion, "that it would be rather optimistic of me to assume this is merely a harmless power failure… would it not?"

 

[Dominique Vexx]

Dominique didn't turn her head as her eyes slid slowly in Lysander von Ascania 's direction as he stood from his chair and spoke in defense of the Covenant. As she'd entered the room expecting to be speaking to friendly parties, her lilac glareshades were translucent, which left her golden eyes visible as he'd spoken. Not a twitch marred the expression beneath him despite what was said.

When he concluded, Dominique spared a moment to look back to the Chandrila representative. When they weren't instantly forthcoming, she slowly adjusted her stance to better face the one that had engaged. "Dominique Vexx, Chancellor of the High Republic. Before we engage in matters of State, might I know the reason for your presence aboard this ship? Negotiating the reintegration of a government in exile in the wake of those 'realities' you spoke of, or concerned third party ansswering their desperate cry for help?" A Sith spokesman stood right there -- having been lounging comfortably by the time she entered -- and sought to play off presence circumstances as happenstance?

"The answer to your question is simple: people wish to govern themselves without threat of mystic powers, weapons of mass destruction, or at the end of a lightsaber. As to the manner in which we collectively address those challenges that come up on our many worlds, that we can discuss at length if you're willing to accept my earlier statement as an axiom."

Point Emissary of the Covenant was it? So they had some measure of diplomatic channel after all? To think the High Republic was having such difficulty getting a solid response to their request to meet if that were so. Dominique hoped present circumstances weren't their response.

 

[Mykel Dawson]

___________________________________________________________________​

Objective 1
Allies: Republic
Enemies: Sith
Directly Engaging: OPEN
Equipment: Jedi Robes (Includes Armorweave Bodyglove), Lightwhip, Shatter Pistol

Not again.

That was the thought that ran through Mykel's head as a Sith Knight now wailed on him with a double-bladed lightsaber.

He had gotten his first nasty experience with a Sith jumping him on Moorja, nearly taken down by the assassin and his legion of mentally enslaved thralls. However, he had managed to get his own licks in at Tython with a little subterfuge of his own. But now it was back to being ambushed again on the Trinity.

This couldn't keep happening. Republic Intelligence needed to get it together.

When the Sith had finally sprung their trap, he had thrown himself in front of a team of Republic Naval Engineers who had just disembarked from the Republic's ship with the technomancer to check in on the sputtering systems of Chandrilian cruiser. Republic soldiers were a tantalizing target, but a Jedi even more so. Within the darkness, his brilliant azure blade drew in the hateful Sith like a moth to flame.

The Sith was a hurricane of movement, the double-blade rotating continuously in vicious combinations that tore into Mykel's defenses. The Consular had adopted a more passive Soresu stance, keeping his blade close to his body as he barely managed to parry each strike in turn. Occasionally he tried to throw out a counterstrike of his own, but each attack was made in vain as the Sith easily swatted his blade aside. The Sith would then launch into another punishing combination. Each exchange pushed Mykel farther back down the corridor. He stumbled. He panted. His arms trembled beneath the strain.

Finally the Sith pulled back, breaking the assault and twirling his hilt playfully in one hand like a cheerleader's baton.

"I feel your fear, boy. Why don't you just surrender now? You have potential, being wasted among these dullards."

"Never! I'll never betray the Republic," He stammered, heaving for air during the brief respite. "I'll never give up on my friends!"

"Then you will die here, welp. Such a waste. At least try to make your end worthy."

Mykel sensed that engineers had finally cleared the corridor as he had ordered. Good. This farce could finally end.

"For Democracy!" Mykel roared as he rushed forward with an apparent resurgence of courage.

Mykel tried to seize the initiative, hammering on the Sith with a far more aggressive stance. His blade came down in rapid strikes meant to batter through the Sith's guard. Yet the Dark Sider still batted him away as easily as before, almost lazily now, clearly toying with him. The Sith's counters came half heartedly, almost inviting the Jedi to press harder. It all felt deliberate, as if he was luring the Jedi into a trap.

But the trap was Mykel's to set.

He lunged forward again, appearing to commit to a thrust aimed at the Sith's gut during a brief opening in the rotation of the blade. The Sith Knight was clearly prepared, subtly shifting his weapon into optimal position to cleave through the Jedi's arms or torso the moment he struck. However at the last second, instead of flying forward, he suddenly juked right out of the arc of the Sith's looming hang blade without any apparent shift in posture. At the same instant his blade shot forward, twisting around the Sith's hilt and then his forearms as it unfurled into its snaking whip form.

The lightwhip could not cut through the Sith's armor plating and weave, but it could burn and bite something fierce. The startled Sith involuntary released his grip on hilt from the pain. It was then that Mykel surged forward, reeling the disarmed Sith with toward him as he simultaneously telekinetically plucked the falling lightsaber mid-air with his free hand and used it to deliver the decapitating strike.

Both the smoking helmeted head and its corpse came tumbling to the ground with dull clanking as Mykel deactivated his lightwhip and crumpled the enemy lightsaber with an implosion of telekinesis, crimson blades hissing out of existence. He let the ruined hilt drop to the floor with the remains of its master, the cracked ruby crystals bleating in the Force like a stuck pig.

The Knight could finally drop his act as the foolhardy greenhorn, expression now void like the dark corridor before him. Not too long ago, he really had been that innocent Padawan. But all the fighting and killing was becoming as rote as those basic Soresu katas he had just ran through. He didn't like what he was becoming in these wars against the Sith, even if it was what victory required.

He pulled up his hood with a gloved hand while melting into the darkness, embracing its shadowy grasp as he finally retreated to reconnect with the engineers.

There was still work to do, and now a delegation to save.

 

[Lorn Reingard]

Tags: Sibylla Abrantes | Acier Moonbound​

"Just Lorn," he said.

He drifted around the office as he spoke, picking up a small ornament from a shelf and setting it down again. Anything to keep his hands busy. The title she used felt heavy in the room.

Sword of Shiraya. It sounded like someone else. Someone polished and ceremonial. Not him.

When she questioned him about wandering around Yavin Four unattended, he finally turned to face her. "You said it yourself, my lady. I am a formidable blade. I do not need a babysitter."The words came out quiet and flat. He did not explain further. No point. Any Order loved titles and reputations. Lorn preferred anonymity. Guard duty for Naboo nobility had never been part of his life plan. Bastila had smiled politely when she asked him to take the assignment. That should have been warning enough.

Then the lights flickered. Once. Twice. Darkness swallowed the room.

Lorn's irritation vanished in an instant. His eyes closed as the distant clang of blast doors echoed through the ship. He reached outward through the Force, letting the currents settle around him. Sibylla's presence surfaced first. Uneasy. Tight with controlled composure. Beneath it was something older. A memory of pain that never quite faded. The scar over her eye, he thought. Some sort of trauma in her past. A recent past if he had to guess. The last time he saw her, she did not have that scar.

He pushed further. Across the Trinity, fear rippled through the Force like a storm front. Crew members. Passengers. Panic spreading through the ship. And then something else. A single presence cutting through the noise. Focused. Moving.

"Hmph."

Lorn stepped toward the door, letting her comment hang unanswered. The presence outside was dark. He placed a hand against the door. Through the metal he heard the scuffle. A muffled shout. Then the wet thud of a body hitting the floor. Another.

Lorn stepped back. His hand settled on the hilt at his belt just as the door slid open. A red blade flared to life in the dark. Lorn's ignited a heartbeat later. Yellow light filled the doorway as the two sabers crashed together. The Sith struck fast, driving forward with heavy blows meant to overwhelm. Lorn gave ground once, turning the strike aside with a small rotation of his wrist. Sparks scattered across the floor.

The Rodian pressed again, slashing low. Lorn pivoted. The crimson blade passed inches from his robes. His counter came quick and controlled, forcing the attacker back into the hallway. The Sith lunged in frustration. That was the mistake.

Lorn slipped inside the swing. One clean arc of yellow light cut through the air, decapitating him. Silence followed. The Rodian's body collapsed at the threshold. Lorn stood still for a moment, his saber humming softly in the dark hallway. The glow illuminated the fallen guards nearby.

"Hmph."

He deactivated the blade. The sudden darkness returned. Lorn bent down, grabbed the Rodian's head by one of the ridges, and tossed it casually into the corridor beside the body. It landed near the other fallen guards. He wiped his hand on his trousers and walked back inside.

"Sorry," he said, lowering himself into a chair like they had merely been interrupted mid-conversation.

The door remained open behind him. Across the room, he noticed the look on Sibylla's face. Concern. Confusion. Right. She could not feel what he felt. He leaned back slightly, listening to the approaching ripple in the Force.

"Oh," Lorn added after a moment. "Your friend is almost here."

 

[Liana Organa]

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Gram Arranda - Vestra Tane​

Alderaan was not the only world living in fear of Sith occupation. When a Chandrilan vessel unexpectedly entered their system, hailing any who might listen with an SOS, the Alderaanians were among those to answer the call. What these delegates found on board, however, was more than they had bargained for.

The Sith, in the flesh. Until today Liana had only known them as boogeymen, recounted through tales told by her mother in confidence. Now they were here. In Alderaanian space no less. Was this the first step in a grander plan? Liana's thoughts filled with all kinds of hypothetical nightmares. This was what she and Gram had been fighting to prevent all along.

"WARNING: VIOLENCE DETECTED!!! LOCKDOWN IS NOW IN EFFECT. PLEASE REMAIN CALM. SECURITY WILL BE WITH YOU SHORTLY. IN THE MEANTIME, ENJOY THE CLASSIC SOUNDS OF BOBOLO BAKER'S ALL-BITH BAND."

As fate would have it, both side would be forced to play nice for the time being. One Sith made for a fine example of the sudden change in circumstances, collapsing to the ground incapacitated the moment he got aggressive. It would work in the Republic's favor for now, but as for what would happen when the lockdown ended? Liana preferred not to think about that.

One Sith in particular seemed to take note of the Alderaanians. Her gaze settled on them like a predator whose prey it could not reach. This woman would have already butchered them both if she could. The junior diplomat swallowed thickly, unable to think straight in the moment. Yet this Sith saw fit to kill the time with small talk. It was a simple, yet stupefying display of the differences in their confidence and power. All at once Liana was struck by the reality of their situation: The Sith operated on a whole other playing field from her. Their rules, their code of conduct if even there was one, had no place for stuffy politicians and snotty princesses. They were a midday snack for villains like these.

Suddenly, Liana wished she had decided to continue Jedi training all these years. "…Hobbies?" She repeated, the question finally registering in her stunned mind, "…Who are you?"