[Center][b]Edmund Andamar - Rogue Trader[/b]

[@Erezrim][@Jeddaven][@POOHEAD189][@BangoSkank][/center]


[i]Boarding, in this situation?[/i] Edmund looked over his already bloodied warriors with a keen eye, and knew in his heart that - as battered and bruised as they already were - they truly would follow whatever command he gave them... including throwing away their lives in the cramped and damned corridors of a Chaotic raiding vessel.

One minute... two... three... four...

Time moved slowly for the Rogue Trader as he considered all his options, his ship having flung itself alone back into the wide-ranging depths of realspace, no sign of their escorts forthcoming. Not for the immediate moment at least. That left them at quite the disadvantage, or at least it [i]would have[/i] had not the [i]Purpose[/i] been built how it was and for situations just like this one.

"Master of Vox, send a distress call through whatever confirmed Imperial channels you can. Even if we stop one vessel, we shall need reinforcements. Mister Kurg, I should like you to bring us into boarding range, a full throated burst of our plasma and macro batteries once we are close enough, I think... give them a bit of a wake up."

Tyg Kurg, old by mortal standards but still as sharp as ever in mind and body, gave a swift salute and set about processing targeting vectors and weapon ranges with lesser members of the bridge crew.

Making sure his sword belt was secure, and his sidearm slotted neatly into its holster, Edmund straightened out and gave a smile to his retinue.

"Shall we proceed to the torpedo tubes?"


[hr]


By the time their footsteps were clanging along the walkways of the ship once more, the lower deck crews had already slotted boarding torpedoes into a number of specially crafted mechanisms. Just one more thing that his father had thought of, the old bastard.

All around was organised chaos - Andamarian Marine contingents gathering into cutters and gunships, prepared and ready to follow their leader in his do-or-die flight and fight, members of the tech-priesthood blessing torpedoes and vehicles all with sacred chants and holy (frankly foul-smelling) unguents, and all the while the [i]Purpose[/i] itself was turning to bring it's batteries to bear on their defiled and corrupted enemy.

"We await the firing of our guns," Edmund explained as he strapped himself tightly into the small conical interior of the six-man torpedo, larger than regular munitions and even standard-pattern boarding machinery, "with the God-Emperor's blessing it should create a hole in their shields - if not tearing them completely asunder - large enough for ourselves and our support to follow our path. We shall be penetrating the [i]Idolator[/i]-class as close to its bridge as possible, taking command and Emperor-willing diverting it away from the pilgrim vessel." He gave a small shrug in his restraints, "not much of a plan, and I can not promise every one of us a safe return... but there it is."

With a shuddering of the entire ship signalling the firing of the broadsides, smaller tremors indicative of lower-level fire being returned at the Traders spaceborne home, Edmund counted silently down in his head. Another broadside came not soon after the first, the interior lights of the torpedo throwing everything into a nice shade of crimson, and the auto-gravity stabilisers initiating themselves to stop those within from internally pulverising themselves.

"Here we go."