The autumn space breeze howled through the rigging of the pirate sloop One-Armed Shoemaker. On deck the crew raced furiously to adjust sails under the tyrannical bellowing of their unpleasantly bald-headed captain (who I heard smells terrible).
A second pirate sloop commanded by captain Kelshall bore alongside the Shoemaker as it sliced through the vacuum waves toward their mutual quarry. Just beyond them lay the prize they sought; a heavily armed Astarte warship.
Though the massive command ship outclassed the small vessels they did not slow their approach. The two sloops were merely the advance element of a larger pirate fleet and their purpose was singular: pin down the prey until the bulk of the fleet arrived to finish the job.
As the cutthroats pulled alongside they launched their tackle hooks into the Astarte’s mammoth gunwales and lit it up with 150mm Autocannons and nuclear warhead tipped rocket propelled grenades. Amazingly the huge vessel held firm under their terrible onslaught?
The Astarte’s own weapon systems activated but its long-range cannon were ineffective against the vastly more maneuverable sloops. As the behemoth angrily spun the remainder of the pirate fleet arrived and promptly delivered napalm death unto its pitiful seaman.
Although pirates are known for their discretion in ransoming a defeated foe they were content to watch this vessel burn. Much to their surprise a ‘Meditation’ medium armor repairer, whatever that is, was hoisted from the smoking wreck. This set the mates to rejoicing and much rum was consumed in celebration. To the west the setting sun slipped over the horizon.
Thus began another night of piracy on the high…space…seas.
Three Years of Reavers
22 hours ago