You're standing on what could only be called the bridge of a ship. Not some kind of battleship or aircraft carrier, it's much smaller than that. Much more confined. Exposed pipes running along the walls, rounded bulkheads designed to resist stressing. Nothing terribly refined about the place. The lights are red, a rather bright sort of red, and light the space very well without seeming to. It's giving you a headache, honestly, but thankfully it diminishes as your eyes adjust.
The first thing that pops to mind is a submarine. It feels very like the command center of some sort of small attack sub. But the tightness to the exterior hull is very different than what you might expect in a boat several hundred feet beneath the water. Especially uncharacteristic are the massive windows at the front. Windows under water would be ludicrous. Windows in space, however, make for some spectacular views.
This is not a ship of exploration. The spartan interior would attest to that. Neither is it a ship of advanced war-making, as the scarcity of advanced equipment would suggest. It is a ship cobbled together with skill, ingenuity and love. It is a ship crewed by hired guns that know no allegiances, and lack a something as simple as a moral compass. It's engines are designed for speed and maneuverability, it's hull for protection, it's interior for function, and it's weapons for shock. There are no sophisticated interstellar drives. Rather, this ship is folded from star to star at the hands of what could almost be seen as magic. It's a transport when it needs to be, a weapon when it wants to be, an instrument of compassion when it's paid to be, and a home to it's caretakers.
This ship is almost alive. Her wires are her nervous system, her hull is her skin, her guns are her arms, her engines her legs, and her crew are her heart. You are an outsider here, but there's something inside you that desires the consistency of this creature.
Welcome to ECLIPSE.
The first thing that pops to mind is a submarine. It feels very like the command center of some sort of small attack sub. But the tightness to the exterior hull is very different than what you might expect in a boat several hundred feet beneath the water. Especially uncharacteristic are the massive windows at the front. Windows under water would be ludicrous. Windows in space, however, make for some spectacular views.
This is not a ship of exploration. The spartan interior would attest to that. Neither is it a ship of advanced war-making, as the scarcity of advanced equipment would suggest. It is a ship cobbled together with skill, ingenuity and love. It is a ship crewed by hired guns that know no allegiances, and lack a something as simple as a moral compass. It's engines are designed for speed and maneuverability, it's hull for protection, it's interior for function, and it's weapons for shock. There are no sophisticated interstellar drives. Rather, this ship is folded from star to star at the hands of what could almost be seen as magic. It's a transport when it needs to be, a weapon when it wants to be, an instrument of compassion when it's paid to be, and a home to it's caretakers.
This ship is almost alive. Her wires are her nervous system, her hull is her skin, her guns are her arms, her engines her legs, and her crew are her heart. You are an outsider here, but there's something inside you that desires the consistency of this creature.
Welcome to ECLIPSE.
How the heck did I get here? Last I remember, I was at my computer.
ReplyDelete