Time progresses in an unrelenting march.
What once was luxurious and opulent is no more then a heap of forgotten scrap.
Lives made and lost. Once renowned now abandoned.
Entropy cannot be reversed. The universe endlessly spirals inwards.
In the end. All will be One or All will be None.
The Universe will tear itself apart or condense into one massive singularity.
Those who fail to escape lost forever within the bowels of the beast.
That however, is not the story we are here to tell.
We are here to tell a story of pirates.
Said pirates may or may not actually get around to preforming piratey acts. But we can't say they didn't try!
Roll To Space Pirate: MKIV : A Pair of Boots, A Cutlass, and a Parrot.
An ancient ship glides into port. The docking bay of the nigh abandoned station shuddering and hissing as the airlock latches on. An ages old, half mad AI jolts into awareness.
It's happening again.A wayward mutant from a planet of maniacs sits in the corner of a relatively empty bar. Tinkering with their weapon.
They feel an odd pull on their mind. A promise of shiny tools and weaponry.A cyborgial centaur of the eight legged variety stands near the bar. They aren't entirely sure how they got here.
Their presence is required.A temporally unhinged psion strides through a hallway of the nigh derelict starbase. They freeze midstep.
Something isn't Right. The Timelines Agree.A drone flickers online, a storage crate demolished.
The s̰̟̮͙͇͖e͞r̖̬͉͎̲̰͜v͏̳̻ice of the Dead is required.A white suited anomaly sits at the bar. It recognizes the call.
Proper payment will be provided.A living rock stands in the corner. Recently fired from its last crew. Something intrudes upon pondering.
Your ancestor is unavailable. The descendant is required.A spatially displaced psion stumbles into the bar. They appear very confused.
Something is wrong. Something wants in. The Bear is not pleased.A number of kittens tumble around the docking bay. One of them looks up as it hears the hissing of the airlock.
Images of food and warmth force their way into the Groupmind.An assassin unwanted. Brought to the station by the winds of fate.
We offer Strength.An agent of an isolationist government sits upon a stool. Sipping at alcohol incapable of causing inebriation. Listening for items of note. Something worms its way inside. They feel a tug.
Something of interest soon to come.
OOC Thread.
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Topic: Roll To Space Pirate: MKIV IC : A Pair of Boots, A Cutlass, and a Parrot. (Read 1636 times)