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RP Rusted Gains

Commissar Farzi

Commissar Farzi

🎖️ Game Master
RP Date
YE 45.4
RP Location
Sandraker
Before the issuing of the bounty.

Space... the final frontier; a vast, near-infinite space; this was always a challenge for any who traversed this vast, open space. Of course, for the idiots attempting to wrangle their starships this was lost entirely on them.

"Get this ancestor's damned craft under control!" Roared the Knight-Captain, a big man by the name of Garrick-nearing thirty winters as the pilots attempted to level off the cutter. The slamdrive had deposited their ship a good thirty degrees upwards and to the left. “Leveling off!” He heard the sound of levers being pulled as they attempted to compensate for the sudden change in direction. “Sandraker-3 lightyears out!” The navigator called as they leveled out, “South by Southeast, bearing 1-2-5.” An acknowledged followed by the 'feel' of the vessel slowly swinging around; weighed down by its heavy cargo of salvage as they began their approach to the planet-several of the blocky areospace craft-the Corsair-as their scanners showed no hostiles...at least at the moment.

It didn't mean there wasn't anything lurking out there-last thing they needed was to run into a mishu cruiser in orbit.

“All quiet.” A nod, followed by an order of all ahead full as the vessel sped ahead, or at least as fast as a drunkard attempting to stumbled home. "So how'd you land this assignment anyways?" One of the squires inquired as they began their approach vector; their mission was a simple transportation one; deliver salvage, supplies, and passengers from Njord, "Coming up on my rotation-got another 2 months before I'm out." Garrick grunted in response-milk assignments weren't unheard of for those close to being at the end of their contracts to be given quieter jobs. "Not to mention the old boy isn't really suited to open war anymore." Being one of the first built, this particular craft-an older transport models skimmer known as the Void Runner-had been built upon the bones of an old system runner; the age of it's frame, combined with the brutal pace of operations over the last several years had left it a bit blunt in the blade. From what Garrick had gathered; the 'Runner was due to be retired after he left it. Shame-he'd been with it since it'd been built.


@HarperMadi
 
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Slamdrive signatures were not hard to follow, nor detect. Nor were the jump signatures appearing at the periphery of the Corsair's sensor range. Not quite Hyperspace folds, but not quite anything else. It didn't take much longer for the music to start cutting off comm traffic, flooding frequencies with hard bass and chaotic polka-esque rhythms.

This Corsair was too close to Sandraker for much escape, but too far for help to arrive immediately, and well within the territory of a Katamuran patrol. A very special patrol, whose commander had emotions for the Iron Company's Grandmaster, and showed it in displays of piracy and skill such as this.

Finally, above the ship and too close for comfort, a derelict pirate vessel was towed in by two skirmisher vessels and dropped directly in the Corsair's flight path as beam cutter fire sparked off the hull, attempting to disable engines as the thunk of mag boots on the outer hull sounded. Clean entry, highly skilled, and going for the Corsair's hold of salvage. The Company had dealt with this for long enough that they knew how this would go. The Senti pirates would board, steal excess food, water, and fuel, alongside the cargo, leaving the Company with just enough to get home. But the Senti knew the Company would fight them with spear and shotgun at every turn. Would this end in a stalemate or a true firefight was yet to be determined.
 
"What in the-" The knight captain growled in aggravation as the music started; he knew was this meant, "Alright, looks like we've got the orefiends inbound-get ready for boarders; activate encryption and get a laser transmission to our corsair-evasive maneuvers!" One of the pilots slammed the control system for the ion thruster-sending them full bore as their co-pilots made to compensate-the sudden and violent maneuver sent him back into his captain's chair as the nose of the craft was but micrometers away from impacting the top of the hull as the fighter made to evade-their own thusters sending them downwards in a violent, almost jarring elevator style drop. "Jammmers on-now! Change frequency numbers every 2.5 seconds; and get the damned fighters on the horn-gunners on that craft-NOW!" He roared as the crew made to comply, scrambling to their station as they compensated for the low gravity of the craft.

The Corsairs, following standard protocol, immediately moved at all possible speed, moving to rejoin their charge in an attempt to keep them covered. The gunners were made to bring their Helstroms, running the calculations necessary to fire upon the enemy ship even as the Corsair's own auto turrets began powering up to intercept any missiles fired at them.
 
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