"Hello, and welcome aboard the Troubador!"
The brassy, metallic voice rang out like a trumpet in the otherwise silent embarkation chamber. As one might expect from the ship that proclaimed itself the Finest Travelling Theater in the Galaxy™, the room was a study in gaudy opulence, a monument to the monumental success of the theatre troop that ran it.
The floor, which our intrepid explorers would find themselves resting on, was covered in thick, obscenely plush carpeting, colored a deep maroon. The room was large, easily thirty meters to a side, and four meters tall. The walls were old school plaster, painted white, and kept sparkling clean. Crown molding, gilded rather than painted, hid the seams where they connected with the ceiling.
The ceiling appeared to be a mural at a glance, but a closer look would reveal that it was an intricately layered hologram that subtly moved as one's perspective changed. It displayed a scene from a popular drama from the Golden Age of Taris, in which the protagonist, a prince out for revenge for his murdered father, killed his uncle and his dead girlfriend's brother, before succumbing to poison himself. Not, perhaps, the cheeriest scene, but it was famous, and replicated in exquisite detail.
The walls were lined with paintings and tapestries depicting other famous scenes from well known plays. To a collector with a keen eye, it was a veritable treasure trove, as many of the works were originals from famous artists that any proper museum would commit heinous crimes for the privilege of adding to their collection. Closer inspection would reveal the walls were carefully protected by an energy shield that gave them a comfortable six inch's separation from the grubby hands of tourists.
There were no traditional ticket booths. One could only board if they already had a ticket, so the Troubadour's owners had decided to cut them out entirely. Instead, the embarkation room funneled its occupants to a large set of double doors on the opposite end. Though the doors appeared to be made of wood, they were in actuality military grade blast doors covered in a thin veneer. They were intended to be a security measure against pirates, and were thoroughly locked.
"I've got to tell you, guys, I sure am glad to see your happy smiling faces," the brassy voice continued with impossible cheer. It appeared to be coming from a perfectly round silver orb, floating in the air above the waking adventurers. As it spoke, a hologram coalesced around it, giving the droid the appearance of a painfully handsome human male, dressed in nothing but a white toga.
"It really was swell of you to answer our distress beacon. A friend in need is a friend indeed, and boy, we're in need of some good friends right now. So if you're all done with your naps, follow me and we'll head into the ship proper. The survivors have gathered near the main stage, and they're going to be awful happy you guys showed up."
The toga-clad hologram smiled beatifically, arms outstretched, welcoming.
"My name is Mercutio, and I'll be your guide. Feel free to take a moment to get your bearings, but remember folks, time's a wasting."
Everyone in the party had their own reasons for being there, but they had one thing in common: out of the blue, they had received a cry for help. Meet the shuttle on Rishi, it'll pick you up and bring you to our ship. We're trapped and running out of time. We've credits and treasures and you're welcome to whatever you can take, just please, for the love the Force, get us out of here.
Shortly after the shuttle took off, they had been rendered unconscious by means unknown. They would awaken in the on the floor of the embarkation chamber, bereft of weapons and with splitting headaches.
"Sorry about your weapons, guys" their holographic guide continued. "Unfortunately, the Troubadour has a strict no weapons policy. Your gear will be returned when you leave."
[member="Lady Kay"]
[member="Travis Caalgen"]
[member="Dass Tallav"]
[member="Kyle Raymus"]
[member="Cacak Tarn"]
[member="Lark"]
[member="Lily Kuhn"]
The brassy, metallic voice rang out like a trumpet in the otherwise silent embarkation chamber. As one might expect from the ship that proclaimed itself the Finest Travelling Theater in the Galaxy™, the room was a study in gaudy opulence, a monument to the monumental success of the theatre troop that ran it.
The floor, which our intrepid explorers would find themselves resting on, was covered in thick, obscenely plush carpeting, colored a deep maroon. The room was large, easily thirty meters to a side, and four meters tall. The walls were old school plaster, painted white, and kept sparkling clean. Crown molding, gilded rather than painted, hid the seams where they connected with the ceiling.
The ceiling appeared to be a mural at a glance, but a closer look would reveal that it was an intricately layered hologram that subtly moved as one's perspective changed. It displayed a scene from a popular drama from the Golden Age of Taris, in which the protagonist, a prince out for revenge for his murdered father, killed his uncle and his dead girlfriend's brother, before succumbing to poison himself. Not, perhaps, the cheeriest scene, but it was famous, and replicated in exquisite detail.
The walls were lined with paintings and tapestries depicting other famous scenes from well known plays. To a collector with a keen eye, it was a veritable treasure trove, as many of the works were originals from famous artists that any proper museum would commit heinous crimes for the privilege of adding to their collection. Closer inspection would reveal the walls were carefully protected by an energy shield that gave them a comfortable six inch's separation from the grubby hands of tourists.
There were no traditional ticket booths. One could only board if they already had a ticket, so the Troubadour's owners had decided to cut them out entirely. Instead, the embarkation room funneled its occupants to a large set of double doors on the opposite end. Though the doors appeared to be made of wood, they were in actuality military grade blast doors covered in a thin veneer. They were intended to be a security measure against pirates, and were thoroughly locked.
"I've got to tell you, guys, I sure am glad to see your happy smiling faces," the brassy voice continued with impossible cheer. It appeared to be coming from a perfectly round silver orb, floating in the air above the waking adventurers. As it spoke, a hologram coalesced around it, giving the droid the appearance of a painfully handsome human male, dressed in nothing but a white toga.
"It really was swell of you to answer our distress beacon. A friend in need is a friend indeed, and boy, we're in need of some good friends right now. So if you're all done with your naps, follow me and we'll head into the ship proper. The survivors have gathered near the main stage, and they're going to be awful happy you guys showed up."
The toga-clad hologram smiled beatifically, arms outstretched, welcoming.
"My name is Mercutio, and I'll be your guide. Feel free to take a moment to get your bearings, but remember folks, time's a wasting."
Everyone in the party had their own reasons for being there, but they had one thing in common: out of the blue, they had received a cry for help. Meet the shuttle on Rishi, it'll pick you up and bring you to our ship. We're trapped and running out of time. We've credits and treasures and you're welcome to whatever you can take, just please, for the love the Force, get us out of here.
Shortly after the shuttle took off, they had been rendered unconscious by means unknown. They would awaken in the on the floor of the embarkation chamber, bereft of weapons and with splitting headaches.
"Sorry about your weapons, guys" their holographic guide continued. "Unfortunately, the Troubadour has a strict no weapons policy. Your gear will be returned when you leave."
[member="Lady Kay"]
[member="Travis Caalgen"]
[member="Dass Tallav"]
[member="Kyle Raymus"]
[member="Cacak Tarn"]
[member="Lark"]
[member="Lily Kuhn"]