Act 0

 

The Hunt for Captian GreyHawk

 

A small, slightly rusted, definitly old and damaged ship was docked near the bustling bazzar within the space station. People of all races and backgrounds move throughout the station, some drunk, some not. Either running their businesses, loutering around, or getting themselves where they needed to go.

 

A young scoundrel looking man named Solomond rushes into the ship and down the hall into the recreation room where at least someone would be, he approaches the table where his crewmates sat and slammed down a wanted poster on the table. One with the face of a grinning scoundrel beneath it was a bounty for 1,000,000 credits. Enough to fix up the old ship they flew and then some.

 

“This is Captian Greyhawk. Rumor has it he is on this space station!” He looks each of them in the eye. “What do you think? The pay is good... but it could be dangerous. Greyhawk has trained killers in his crew.” Solomond knows they had to fix the ship but clearly was unsure about the dangers ahead.

 

This would be far more dangerous than the battle against Captain Raya and her goons on the ice planet of Voth, or their treatcherous encounter against the dread pirate Barl in the ancient ruins of the jungle planet of Gors-bash, and definitly more deadly then their space battle with the Federation Leader Zod and his massive war ship, Primrose, of which the crew barely survived but left their craft heavily damaged.

Edited June 25, 20187 yr by HeartOfFerria

Solomond laughed. “It certainly is gonna hurt. I wouldnt lie to you my friend” he holds up his torch gun. “It will definitly be quick. Fire and flesh is what im best with. Well that and people.... to an extent.... specifically people that sell things..... like information...... or booze...” he kept trailing on. “Anyways yes itll be quick and yes ill let you take some pain meds.. you will definitly need it. Do you think the bullet is still in there? “

 

 

The room in the ship remains deftly quiet

Tibarn chuckled darkly, ripping off his torn jacket and shirt so that Solomond would have better access to his wound.  "You're an awful people person, Solomond.  They only sell you things because they feel sorry that you're so awful."  He winced as pain lanced up his neck, as in punishment for his terrible joke.

"Well, be quick about it.  Let's just get this over with.  I wanna live, so I'll just grit my teeth and bear whatever you've got comin' for me."  Upon Solomond's question the brunet circled his shoulder around and shrugged.  "I think it was a clean shot, thankfully.  Granted I don't get shot often to say for sure, but I'm pretty sure that the bullet made its exit."

As he awaited Solomond's fiery wrath he tried to think of Adamina's lovely plumage, and how he would love to stroke those lovely feathers . . . at least once before she killed him.  There was a time that he wanted to stroke Eclaire's furry kitty ears, too, but she didn't take particularly kindly to it.  He long since stopped wishing for it.