For countless years, the dreaded bone-bag king of Twerp Island had brought fear to the people of... some planet or other. Matrim couldn't remember the
name. It wasn't important, anyway. What was important was that Ugbolt, brave and noble (if somewhat smelly) leader of the BSP had despatched him,
Matrim Nox, to end the foul king's reign of terror!
And so the noble ship, Black Bottom, swept across the churning seas. This, in truth, was probably a bad idea; Corellian Corvettes aren't made for ocean voyages, and the salty water was playing hell with the engines. He wasn't entirely sure about the sails someone had rigged up on the upper bulkheads, either, but Ugbolt had said for him to sail to Twerp Island.
"Arr, matey," he called out from the helm, glancing around shiftily.
"That's right, cap'n," answered a crewman, "I spy something beginning with 'R'."
Frowning, Matrim puzzled upon the dilemma. He'd signed up for the booty and the pillaging, not the thought-intensive mindgames. But he couldn't back down now; the honour of the Corsairs was at stake. "Rancor," he ventured at long last, gesturing at the towering creature as it swam past the viewport, wearing a swimcap that mightwell have begun life as a tent.
Alas, he was given no time to celebrate his glorious victory, for at that precise moment the ship shuddered and jolted, toppling crewmen over their councils in a dramatic display of special affects and slo-mo cinematics. And, as the crew pulled themselves to their feet, they cast their gazes as one toward the Rodian at the sensor console, who, for his part, peered back through inch thick spectacles and uttered the infamous words; "Land ho... umm... probably."
Matrim had to admit, making him the sensor operator had probably been a bad idea. Still, the BSP equal opportunities charter was very specific about such things. "Bloody PC brigade," the bearded pirate captain muttered. He'd never thought much of the newest pirate clan, but he hadn't expected such treacherous edicts.
Muttering and grumbling, the pirates assembled on the beach around their grounded craft. Many swished cutlasses heroically through the air. Others screamed quite unheroically as other enthusiastic crewmates lopped off their ears. From far above, seagulls watched with some puzzlement. But that was only natural; seagulls were stupid creatures, only vaguely smarter than the average stormtrooper. They were, however, better shots, as many of them were quick to prove.
"Bloody birds," grumbled Matrim, tugging his jacket over his head as the bombardment continued, "Not like this is even the poop deck." Still grumbling, the bearded one lead his brave men - and women, for the equal opportunities charter was clear on that, too - toward the towering mountain of doom that occupied the center of the isle.
Except...
"Not much of a mountain of doom, is it?" he called to his first mate as they drew close, "More... a hill of mild peril."
A cave at the base of the mount... of the hill granted access. It would, Matrim thought, have been slightly more impressive if it had gone more than a metre before opening into a somewhat cramped hall. But there, at the heart of the hall, sat the dread king of bones, enthroned upon the terrible throne of terror. Which, in all truth, looked more like a rickety wooden chair that'd been stolen from a supply cupboard. "Yarr!" called Matrim, hefting his cutlass and ignoring the abrupt scream from beside him, "Your reign of terror ends here!"
It was, he thought, a good line. The sort of line that you'd find in the better class of holo adventure. But the king just grinned out from beneath his crown. Of course, considering his head was a skull, he didn't have much choice, but still...
"I said," Matrim continued irritably, "Yarr, your reign of terror... look, are you even listening to me?"
Stalking forward, the brave pirate prodded the dread king with his cutlass. Instantly, the bone king of terror collapsed in on himself and dissolved into a pile of dust. Seconds later, his crown - which, Matrim couldn't help but notice, was apparently made of tinfoil - bounced off the pirate's foot.
"I've got a bad feeling about this, lads - aye, and lasses, sorry," he murmured, then paused as a truly terrifying thought struck him; "Did anyone remember to lock the minibar before we left?"
And so the noble ship, Black Bottom, swept across the churning seas. This, in truth, was probably a bad idea; Corellian Corvettes aren't made for ocean voyages, and the salty water was playing hell with the engines. He wasn't entirely sure about the sails someone had rigged up on the upper bulkheads, either, but Ugbolt had said for him to sail to Twerp Island.
"Arr, matey," he called out from the helm, glancing around shiftily.
"That's right, cap'n," answered a crewman, "I spy something beginning with 'R'."
Frowning, Matrim puzzled upon the dilemma. He'd signed up for the booty and the pillaging, not the thought-intensive mindgames. But he couldn't back down now; the honour of the Corsairs was at stake. "Rancor," he ventured at long last, gesturing at the towering creature as it swam past the viewport, wearing a swimcap that mightwell have begun life as a tent.
Alas, he was given no time to celebrate his glorious victory, for at that precise moment the ship shuddered and jolted, toppling crewmen over their councils in a dramatic display of special affects and slo-mo cinematics. And, as the crew pulled themselves to their feet, they cast their gazes as one toward the Rodian at the sensor console, who, for his part, peered back through inch thick spectacles and uttered the infamous words; "Land ho... umm... probably."
Matrim had to admit, making him the sensor operator had probably been a bad idea. Still, the BSP equal opportunities charter was very specific about such things. "Bloody PC brigade," the bearded pirate captain muttered. He'd never thought much of the newest pirate clan, but he hadn't expected such treacherous edicts.
Muttering and grumbling, the pirates assembled on the beach around their grounded craft. Many swished cutlasses heroically through the air. Others screamed quite unheroically as other enthusiastic crewmates lopped off their ears. From far above, seagulls watched with some puzzlement. But that was only natural; seagulls were stupid creatures, only vaguely smarter than the average stormtrooper. They were, however, better shots, as many of them were quick to prove.
"Bloody birds," grumbled Matrim, tugging his jacket over his head as the bombardment continued, "Not like this is even the poop deck." Still grumbling, the bearded one lead his brave men - and women, for the equal opportunities charter was clear on that, too - toward the towering mountain of doom that occupied the center of the isle.
Except...
"Not much of a mountain of doom, is it?" he called to his first mate as they drew close, "More... a hill of mild peril."
A cave at the base of the mount... of the hill granted access. It would, Matrim thought, have been slightly more impressive if it had gone more than a metre before opening into a somewhat cramped hall. But there, at the heart of the hall, sat the dread king of bones, enthroned upon the terrible throne of terror. Which, in all truth, looked more like a rickety wooden chair that'd been stolen from a supply cupboard. "Yarr!" called Matrim, hefting his cutlass and ignoring the abrupt scream from beside him, "Your reign of terror ends here!"
It was, he thought, a good line. The sort of line that you'd find in the better class of holo adventure. But the king just grinned out from beneath his crown. Of course, considering his head was a skull, he didn't have much choice, but still...
"I said," Matrim continued irritably, "Yarr, your reign of terror... look, are you even listening to me?"
Stalking forward, the brave pirate prodded the dread king with his cutlass. Instantly, the bone king of terror collapsed in on himself and dissolved into a pile of dust. Seconds later, his crown - which, Matrim couldn't help but notice, was apparently made of tinfoil - bounced off the pirate's foot.
"I've got a bad feeling about this, lads - aye, and lasses, sorry," he murmured, then paused as a truly terrifying thought struck him; "Did anyone remember to lock the minibar before we left?"
