Lucius
01-27-14, 12:24 PM
I’ve only been here since spring, and already I hate it. There is only so much mud, orc, and cheap beer a man can take on a mission. It’s not like I’ve even gotten anything out of it. I’m here for the Administrate. I’m here for Sei Orlouge and his militaristic career pipedream.
Okay, okay, maybe that’s not quite the truth.
I’m here to save the universe. Well, I’m here to save both universes (universae?) When the wormhole appeared in my own time, galaxy, and space, I was sceptical. It had happened before countless times and nobody flinched. It wasn’t until we looked into the anomalies that shit hit the fan. We were shrinking. Well, you were shrinking I guess. Your universe was getting further and further away and that meant time was going wrong.
If one shrinks whilst connected, the other will eventually go the way of the Prima Vista’s star drive and tear a hole in whatever run down clapped out space port it happens to be docked in at the time. Of course, the Administrate, the police of thought and decency had bigger concerns. They quite liked the solar systems arranged as they are. Furthermore, they quite like being in control of them as well.
This brings me back to why I’m sat here in this shithole. I think they call it Alerar’s ‘finest’, but I’m not convinced. There’s not enough drow here for it to be worth the trouble. Still, it’s the only place that let me in after dark so I guess I have to take my lot. I came looking for the cause. I came looking for the reason. I came looking and expecting something different to what I found.
“Absolutely fucking nothing,” was what I said to myself over and over. It made me feel good about failure, if such a thing were possible.
“What was that?” I heard the barkeep ask for the hundredth time. Didn’t he get it? I’m talking to myself. I’m wallowing in my own misery. “You ‘ad enough guv!”
This was how dwarves talked in the outlander quarter apparently. In my universe they had style. In my universe they were the progenitors of space empires and the charlatans of oligarch’s freighters. They were absolutely not inn keepers.
“No, I’m good. You’ll allow me another for the road?” slipped out my old adage. If anything was going to help me think up a plan to get home, sharpish, it was beer. It was pure unaltered piss in a battered tankard.
“Aye, agreed. One more,” the dwarf kindly ‘offered’. I don’t know why he bothered. If he wouldn’t serve me, I’d find a bar that would.
Unless of course, by some divine miracle, the answer to all my problems happened to just walk through the saloon doors and bump me off my seat into frivolous adventure. After getting shot, chased, and hounded through Salvar after starting a rebellion, I wasn’t counting my galactic mutant chickens.
Okay, okay, maybe that’s not quite the truth.
I’m here to save the universe. Well, I’m here to save both universes (universae?) When the wormhole appeared in my own time, galaxy, and space, I was sceptical. It had happened before countless times and nobody flinched. It wasn’t until we looked into the anomalies that shit hit the fan. We were shrinking. Well, you were shrinking I guess. Your universe was getting further and further away and that meant time was going wrong.
If one shrinks whilst connected, the other will eventually go the way of the Prima Vista’s star drive and tear a hole in whatever run down clapped out space port it happens to be docked in at the time. Of course, the Administrate, the police of thought and decency had bigger concerns. They quite liked the solar systems arranged as they are. Furthermore, they quite like being in control of them as well.
This brings me back to why I’m sat here in this shithole. I think they call it Alerar’s ‘finest’, but I’m not convinced. There’s not enough drow here for it to be worth the trouble. Still, it’s the only place that let me in after dark so I guess I have to take my lot. I came looking for the cause. I came looking for the reason. I came looking and expecting something different to what I found.
“Absolutely fucking nothing,” was what I said to myself over and over. It made me feel good about failure, if such a thing were possible.
“What was that?” I heard the barkeep ask for the hundredth time. Didn’t he get it? I’m talking to myself. I’m wallowing in my own misery. “You ‘ad enough guv!”
This was how dwarves talked in the outlander quarter apparently. In my universe they had style. In my universe they were the progenitors of space empires and the charlatans of oligarch’s freighters. They were absolutely not inn keepers.
“No, I’m good. You’ll allow me another for the road?” slipped out my old adage. If anything was going to help me think up a plan to get home, sharpish, it was beer. It was pure unaltered piss in a battered tankard.
“Aye, agreed. One more,” the dwarf kindly ‘offered’. I don’t know why he bothered. If he wouldn’t serve me, I’d find a bar that would.
Unless of course, by some divine miracle, the answer to all my problems happened to just walk through the saloon doors and bump me off my seat into frivolous adventure. After getting shot, chased, and hounded through Salvar after starting a rebellion, I wasn’t counting my galactic mutant chickens.