Vampiretwilight
NecroKnight@BCTheEntity@Jamesyco@ShwiggityShwah@Lady Selune@BangoSkank
Two months beyond the south-eastern boundaries of the Segementum Tempestus...
Rudyard Falcon-Cook, most recent and most youthful of the Falcon-Cook traders, could not believe what was happening; even as the slowly flashing glare illuminated himself and his entire bridge with the Hellish crimson of the Steels warning lights, his bright blue eyes looking down again at the... the what? Artefact? Idol? Prized art piece? The item held loosely in one of his hands, nothing more than a geometrically shaped 'statuette' of pure bleached bone, which had appeared otherwise to hold little signifiance to anyone.
They had been 'on the run' as it were for almost two days now, the vessel that had pursued them from their latest exploratory venture - a four day trip down to a rather dead looking planet, the remains of ruined buildings being the only things left of interest - not seeming to take the hint to just leave them alone.
Fire had been exchanged, a blow to the engines of the Praetorian Steel slowing them down even as teams worked around the clock to repair the damage done, the unknown attacker having backed off but seemingly sustaining little to no damage in return.
It helped not a jot that they were nearly a months travel, through realspace at least, away from any Imperial help or at least known Imperial-alligned planets or sectors.
"Choir-Master Tecca," he queried through an vox channel open to the bubble containing the astropathic choir of the ship, one pale hand going up to run itself through his deep brown hair in frustration, "has there been any responses to our astropathic messages? Would it be possible to send another?"
They had been attempting to summon help for some time now, and the Trader suspected the blindfolded Astropath Transcendent was beginning to get a little annoyed with him and his interruptions.
Rudyard turned to the seemingly young man standing down in the section below the control throne, though he knew better than to take him at first glance, Isaiah Hussian not unknown to him or his family.
"What do you think, 'Captain'? This isn't like any Imperial ship I've ever seen before. Do you think we can even stop it from blowing us apart?"
"You, Laeveyla?" He questioned, glancing over to a more shadowed area of the bridge where he knew his families 'retained' Aeldari would be watching, probably mocking him and all his species internally, "this is not one of your kin, as far as I can tell."
Lastly he opened a vox-channel to the crews working on the engine, but one in particular, "Priest Hierophox, how long will it take to get our engine fully functioning again? I wish to be far away from here before we are blown into space debris, if you please."
For the moment the unidentified ship was simply trailing them, possibly to observe them and how they would react to an attack, but Rudyard knew this would not last forever and time was not on their side.
Two months beyond the south-eastern boundaries of the Segementum Tempestus...
Rudyard Falcon-Cook, most recent and most youthful of the Falcon-Cook traders, could not believe what was happening; even as the slowly flashing glare illuminated himself and his entire bridge with the Hellish crimson of the Steels warning lights, his bright blue eyes looking down again at the... the what? Artefact? Idol? Prized art piece? The item held loosely in one of his hands, nothing more than a geometrically shaped 'statuette' of pure bleached bone, which had appeared otherwise to hold little signifiance to anyone.
They had been 'on the run' as it were for almost two days now, the vessel that had pursued them from their latest exploratory venture - a four day trip down to a rather dead looking planet, the remains of ruined buildings being the only things left of interest - not seeming to take the hint to just leave them alone.
Fire had been exchanged, a blow to the engines of the Praetorian Steel slowing them down even as teams worked around the clock to repair the damage done, the unknown attacker having backed off but seemingly sustaining little to no damage in return.
It helped not a jot that they were nearly a months travel, through realspace at least, away from any Imperial help or at least known Imperial-alligned planets or sectors.
"Choir-Master Tecca," he queried through an vox channel open to the bubble containing the astropathic choir of the ship, one pale hand going up to run itself through his deep brown hair in frustration, "has there been any responses to our astropathic messages? Would it be possible to send another?"
They had been attempting to summon help for some time now, and the Trader suspected the blindfolded Astropath Transcendent was beginning to get a little annoyed with him and his interruptions.
Rudyard turned to the seemingly young man standing down in the section below the control throne, though he knew better than to take him at first glance, Isaiah Hussian not unknown to him or his family.
"What do you think, 'Captain'? This isn't like any Imperial ship I've ever seen before. Do you think we can even stop it from blowing us apart?"
"You, Laeveyla?" He questioned, glancing over to a more shadowed area of the bridge where he knew his families 'retained' Aeldari would be watching, probably mocking him and all his species internally, "this is not one of your kin, as far as I can tell."
Lastly he opened a vox-channel to the crews working on the engine, but one in particular, "Priest Hierophox, how long will it take to get our engine fully functioning again? I wish to be far away from here before we are blown into space debris, if you please."
For the moment the unidentified ship was simply trailing them, possibly to observe them and how they would react to an attack, but Rudyard knew this would not last forever and time was not on their side.
