11-17-2017, 10:20 AM
The Jackal and Ibis Public House
(//Order personnel and invited guests only)
The walk from the hangar bay of the Sekhet-Aaru to the pub seems ordinary enough, passing through a few small, pipe and cable-laden service corridors and heavily reinforced bulkhead doors that mark each section of the ship, a couple of minutes of clanking over the anti-slip, industrial steel grating, the way illuminated by small, flashing lights beneath it. An automated, armed checkpoint stands before the penultimate door through which one has to pass, scanning both for infested and any personal arms which are required to be handed in to be stored safely until their owners come to claim them as they leave.
Through the door is a tiny, bare room reminiscent of an airlock, barely large enough to squeeze in four or five people. The airlock seals and a yellow, rotating hazard light activates. Over the course of a minute, the background hums and clatters of the ship fade away until the space is completely silent. An indicator light on the wall turns from red to green and there's a pneumatic hiss as the final door opens.
The hum of the ship dies away upon entry of what appears to be a traditional Bretonian pub, panelled in dark wood with a bar that appears to be well stocked with craft ales and other beverages, crisps and other knick-knacks, as well as small menus advertising pub fare, pies, fish and chips and the like. Everything appears to be free. The atmosphere is subdued but pleasant with patrons, mostly Order personnel but a fair few from different walks of life chatting away over their drinks, playing cards and relaxing. A snooker table sits ready for play on the other side of the room. Perhaps more remarkable is the sunlight that is streaming through the windows, beaming from a sun that sits in a clear summer's sky high above the pub's beer garden. Indeed, the building, for it is somehow a building rather than a room on the ship, appears to be situated along the main road running through a quaint little rural village, like something you would find on Planet Cambridge.
The upper floor of the pub houses several guest rooms as well as a tidy private function room with windows that look out over the back and the surrounding fields towards a stark range of hills in the distance.
(//Order personnel and invited guests only)
![[+]](/forums/images/collapse_collapsed.png "[+]")
Guest ListThe walk from the hangar bay of the Sekhet-Aaru to the pub seems ordinary enough, passing through a few small, pipe and cable-laden service corridors and heavily reinforced bulkhead doors that mark each section of the ship, a couple of minutes of clanking over the anti-slip, industrial steel grating, the way illuminated by small, flashing lights beneath it. An automated, armed checkpoint stands before the penultimate door through which one has to pass, scanning both for infested and any personal arms which are required to be handed in to be stored safely until their owners come to claim them as they leave.
Through the door is a tiny, bare room reminiscent of an airlock, barely large enough to squeeze in four or five people. The airlock seals and a yellow, rotating hazard light activates. Over the course of a minute, the background hums and clatters of the ship fade away until the space is completely silent. An indicator light on the wall turns from red to green and there's a pneumatic hiss as the final door opens.
The hum of the ship dies away upon entry of what appears to be a traditional Bretonian pub, panelled in dark wood with a bar that appears to be well stocked with craft ales and other beverages, crisps and other knick-knacks, as well as small menus advertising pub fare, pies, fish and chips and the like. Everything appears to be free. The atmosphere is subdued but pleasant with patrons, mostly Order personnel but a fair few from different walks of life chatting away over their drinks, playing cards and relaxing. A snooker table sits ready for play on the other side of the room. Perhaps more remarkable is the sunlight that is streaming through the windows, beaming from a sun that sits in a clear summer's sky high above the pub's beer garden. Indeed, the building, for it is somehow a building rather than a room on the ship, appears to be situated along the main road running through a quaint little rural village, like something you would find on Planet Cambridge.
The upper floor of the pub houses several guest rooms as well as a tidy private function room with windows that look out over the back and the surrounding fields towards a stark range of hills in the distance.