Calling All Pilots


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Game Description

Incoming to the Haroot

The vastness of space could be said to stretch out for an eternity; a finite of distance with small blips of celestial bodies which house the life of the universe. In one of these galaxies, long ago and far, far away a rebellion is taking place. It’s a small group of people, fighting for survival against a larger foe – against the Empire. It’s not an easy fight for them, constantly outnumbered and needing new recruits. There recruits were few, but they always needed more.

The shuttle traveled through the emptiness of space. It was a simple affair, filled with supplies and barely enough room to sit.

“We’re coming up on the Haroot, port side.” Said the voice through the intercom, the ship banking as it is said. The artificial gravity generators and movement of the stars gave away the change in course. Soon the ship came into view. A long and sleek looking vessel, at least it was at one time. Running lights lit it up in the vastness of space; one along the front of it reveals the name.

The ship has bulkheads spot welded on the outside and recent damage reveals holes that haven’t been fully patched. A couple shuttles were pulling ships in toward the hanger along the bottom front of the Haroot. They glided in space and carry them inside, swallowing them.

Soon the shuttle you are all in banks again to the left, then again as they came in on final. Dipping under the front and approaching the landing section the pilot was given. As the shuttle passes through the hanger deck, the two vessels hauled by the shuttles can be seen more closely. Both sustained damage, one had a line of scoring along the canopy that led to a hole. The shuttle passes it by too quickly, but it’s reasonable to think the pilot didn’t make it out in time.

“Welcome to your new home.” The voice came through once more, a small shudder as the ship finally touches down. “Report to your Squadron Commander, then go get settled in.” The second part was said without the assistance of an intercom.

The man stood in the passageway that led to the cockpit. His hands grip the bulkhead at the top of the door. A brown jacket adorns him with a rank insignia upon it, designating him as a 1st Lieutenant in the Naval Forces, “It’s a good ship, but a tough one. Good luck.” He moves toward some of the cargo, undoing the straps as you’re left to your own devices.

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