Inside the house of lies and pretense
Who: Darth Vader and anyone lucky enough to happen upon him
When: Late afternoon, an hour and change after Vader's arrival
Where: The halls of the 1st floor
What: Vader storms about, trying to get a sense of this place and probably makes some more friends.
Darth Vader was not a happy man. This prison was a confusing tangle of rooms and corridors, arranged in no discernable pattern, and his attempts at mapping it out within his head had thus far proven frustratingly futile. He had discounted the clone's words about the rooms re-arranging themselves as mindless drivel, but he began to allow now that there might have been something to it. More and more, the fact that there must be some remarkably complex technology underlying this facade of prehistoric craftmanship asserted itself.
Coming about a corner that had, some ten minutes prior, he was certain, been a few feet from the entrance to some sort of eatery, he was deeply annoyed to find the wall now bare and featureless; indistinguishable from any other section of wall in this place.
He had had enough. Whatever technology was being employed in order to accomplish this, he would learn of it, and he would master it, that was all. Withdrawing his lightsaber from his belt and activating its blade, he set about the task of carving away a section of the wall in a large rectangular section, roughly - he guessed - where the door had previously been.
He had barely made his first incision three feet long, however, when he heard the sound of footsteps approaching from down the hall...
When: Late afternoon, an hour and change after Vader's arrival
Where: The halls of the 1st floor
What: Vader storms about, trying to get a sense of this place and probably makes some more friends.
Darth Vader was not a happy man. This prison was a confusing tangle of rooms and corridors, arranged in no discernable pattern, and his attempts at mapping it out within his head had thus far proven frustratingly futile. He had discounted the clone's words about the rooms re-arranging themselves as mindless drivel, but he began to allow now that there might have been something to it. More and more, the fact that there must be some remarkably complex technology underlying this facade of prehistoric craftmanship asserted itself.
Coming about a corner that had, some ten minutes prior, he was certain, been a few feet from the entrance to some sort of eatery, he was deeply annoyed to find the wall now bare and featureless; indistinguishable from any other section of wall in this place.
He had had enough. Whatever technology was being employed in order to accomplish this, he would learn of it, and he would master it, that was all. Withdrawing his lightsaber from his belt and activating its blade, he set about the task of carving away a section of the wall in a large rectangular section, roughly - he guessed - where the door had previously been.
He had barely made his first incision three feet long, however, when he heard the sound of footsteps approaching from down the hall...