Private Vanishing Peasant Syndrome

[Jogon]

Corazona von Ascania ​

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The surface of the obelisk split suddenly, a network of fissures erupting from nowhere. There was a great deal of darkness lodged in that small totem, but there was considerably more strength in a seasoned Jedi Knight. It shuddered again, then exploded suddenly in a shower of tiny shards and a gust of sickly, purplish smoke. It rushed past Cora and up the stairs of the dungeon... The Dark Side unleashed.​

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It ran into someone not far up the stairs. Probably the servants. There was a crash as they dropped their platters and booked it for the other side of the mansion.​

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The totem's spell remained for a short time afterward. Under its pall, it was hard to tell exactly, how much time passed. But eventually it dissipated, and the prisoners began to regain their senses.​

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"Who are you? What's going on?"​

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"What's happening?"​

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"Mom?"​

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"Where am I? It's cold..."​

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There was another voice, but far deeper, and coming from behind Cora. "That was a bad idea, Jedi."​

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Jogon's lightsaber snapped to life and he stepped into the cellar. He looked scuffed up, and bits of leaves and twigs still clung to him. But there was no mistaking the fury in his eyes.​

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"What a fucking mess."​

 

[Corazona von Ascania]

The totem cracked, splintered, and quivered-

-and then shattered.

With it came a gust of smog, a rancid, lavender ichor that rushed past Cora, through her as she raised an arm to shield herself from the hail of tiny shards. She wavered on her feet, stifling a bout of nausea as the concentrated Dark influence rushed up the cellar staircase.

A loud clattering was heard on the floor above, and Cora dry heaved into a corner while the prisoners began to rouse.

Jogon's voice, low and rough like gravel, sounded from behind her. It was the hiss of his lightsaber that had her turning on her heel, wiping the saliva from her lips against the back of her hand.

"I don't believe you're in any position to judge, Sith." She snapped. Which, really, she wasn't either. The hostages were awake, some sort of cloud of malevolent energy was on the loose, and Jogon was standing staunchly in her way between the two.

And he looked very unhappy.

Cora glanced to the side - the basement was tight, but the prisoners were in proper cells, which would hopefully provide them a measure of protection.

The blue blade of her lightsaber thrummed to life and suddenly she was upon Jogon, leaping forward with her weapon held aloft, aiming to arc downward upon the Dashade.

 

[Jogon]

Corazona von Ascania

Jogon scowled at Cora's words, then brought his blade up to parry her own when she lunged at him. Fine. Good. Enough of this charade. For a minute, he had been worried an endless dialogue of blatant lies and effete scoffs would carry on over the course of several days... Ending either in her departure (unlikely), Jogon growing bored enough to kill himself (also unlikely but more probable), or a short duel (happening now).​

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What a relief to be ahead of schedule. The prisoners were hollering now, rattling the bars, screaming in confusion and fear. A good Sith might have stayed and fed on it, but this jig was up. Didn't matter if he won. Word would get out and Nyvlt would be toast. Not that he needed the extra juice anyway... ​

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The hulking dashade immediately yielded ground to Cora, retreating back up the stairs, barely deflecting her strikes. He looked clumsy in that tight corridor; wrong-footed and reeling. But that might have been part of the plan.​

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At the top of the stairs, when she struck again, he locked her blade to his rather than retreat further. He then attempted to force it up, and away, to make room for a nasty kick right into her stomach... To send her right back down those brutal, crude stone stairs.​

 

[Corazona von Ascania]

Cora pressed the Sith forward, driving him up the narrow staircase. It almost looked funny, the sight of a tiny, angry woman pushing back the hulking figure of Jogon. Like a bee attacking a very large dog.

A spark of pride fluttered in her chest, which was immediately followed by the Dashade meeting her blade with his own, forcing it away, and kicking her in the abdomen.

Cora's body lurched, letting out something between a strangled cough and a wheeze. Pain blossomed in her stomach as she flailed, using both hands to grip her lightsaber and dig its plasma blade against the stone wall in order to stop the momentum of her fall before it could become deadly.

Hanging from the hilt of her saber, her shoulders screamed in pain. Now at the bottom of the stairwell, Jogon had gained the literal high ground.

Cora's attention landed on the barrels of wine, stacked three high, lined against the wall for storage. Killing her saber, she clipped it to her belt, and telekinetically lifted one of the casks.

With a yell of exertion, she hurled the barrel up the stairs. The sound of sloshing liquid and the assault to her stomach had her nauseous, and she clamped a hand over her mouth.

 

[Jogon]

Corazona von Ascania

Jogon's cruel, self-satisfied laughter hounded Cora all the way down the stairs. He didn't even wait until she had reached the bottom – he shuffled through the threshold and shut the door. It was time to go. All of this was Nyvlt's problem now. He reached out to the side of the doorframe, looking for the usual control panel to seal it off, lock it down...​

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...There wasn't anything there. Jogon's hand hovered dumbly over the spot. He furrowed his brow in mild confusion. Every other planet he'd ever been to, there was a control panel for the door. Eventually his eyes settled on what passed for the locking mechanism: a rusty little latch, barely the size of a human's finger.​

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Frowning, Jogon slid it into place. It made a small, sad click. "I fucking hate this planet."​

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Another reason to hate Ukatis almost immediately revealed itself: directly through the door he had just closed. The wine barrel smashed straight through the flimsy wood and into Jogon, exploding in a glorious shower of oak splinters and red wine. ​

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It managed to knock him off his feet, but the true damage was to his dignity. Tasted like the glass he had with dinner. Jogon wiped his face and quickly rolled to his feet, where he attempted to reactivate his lightsaber... But it only produced a few sparks. Wine in the emitter.​

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He snarled through bared teeth. Couldn't fight like this. Didn't want to fight like this... And that meant it was time to adjust his plan accordingly.​

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Jogon turned and took off at a brisk jog back to his starship, leaving a trail of wine-scented footprints in the estate's carpeting as he went.​