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post #3 of (permalink) Old 03-13-13, 08:30 PM Thread Starter
chilledmonkeybrains's Avatar
Join Date: Sep 2012
Location: Deepest, darkest Buckinghamshire...
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Igo Dimitar walked down the short flight of steps that led from the cramped confines of the bridge, to the even more confined space of the navigator’s chamber. As he entered the dimly-lit compartment, Dimitar called out.

“Vlados. I would speak with you.”

For a moment there was silence. But then a metallic click as of a bolt sliding back in its housing, followed by the hiss of released pressure. A dark sarcophagus set into the opposite wall opened slowly, to reveal the shrivelled remains of an incredibly ancient man. Its skin was wrinkled and pallid. A mask, connected by a series of cables and tubes, covered its face entirely. Then it spoke.

“As I would speak with you, captain,” the navigator rasped thinly. “The vessel we are docked with smells of death. A chill runs through its hull and I can feel the echoes of ten thousand years spent lost in the empyrean.” The corpse-like figure seemed to regard Dimitar with an uncompromising stare from behind that cold mask before continuing.

“I warned you not to follow the translation ripple. We should retract the docking umbilical and leave immediately.” Vlados, despite his appearance, sounded desperate.

“We are going nowhere,” was Dimitar’s simple, terse response. He leant back against a metal pillar and folded his arms across his chest.

“But captain, if –,“ he was cut short by Dimitar’s interruption.

“Calm yourself, Vlados. We have discovered an ancient vessel that could contain untold treasures, not to mention the ship itself being a magnificent prize. This is just the sort of find that will take my career to heights previously only imagined.” He closed his eyes and smiled inwardly at the glorious visions playing across his mind’s eye.

“Given time, I might even make it the flagship of my new fleet.”

“This is folly, my captain. You are blinded by visions of your own glory, when all I see are visions of terrible portent. Yet you are not gifted with the sight. I say again: we must leave. Now.”

I luv da smell of fried dwarf in da mornin'

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