Character
The world of Horuz exhaled dust.
A muted bronze sky stretched overhead, heavy with storms that had raged for centuries, unbroken, unrelenting. Beneath it, the remnants of an old Imperial installation sprawled across a jagged plateau, metal and stone twisted into grotesque shapes by neglect and time. Towering spires had fallen like titans in their sleep, their ribs jutting skyward as if trying to claw back the stars. The air was thick, tasting of old ozone and the faint, metallic tang of rust.
Rynar Solde's boots crunched over sand and shattered decking as he advanced, every step deliberate beneath the weight of his armor. The Beskar plates glinted faintly under the dull sky, scorched and scratched in places from past expeditions. His helmet's visor adjusted automatically, cycling through low-light, thermal, and particle scans, mapping the ruin with a precision that left nothing to chance. Every shadow, every glint, every uneven tile was cataloged silently in the HUD.
He paused at a collapsed doorway. Metal groaned softly under his touch. His gloved hands traced the worn sigils etched into the frame — ancient Imperial glyphs, blurred by centuries of sandstorms and decay. The silence was profound, but not comforting. It pressed against him like a weight, the kind that made every instinct scream for caution.
His mind flickered momentarily, unwanted, to someone far away. The thought lingered, fleeting, before he shoved it aside. Focus. Survival first. Memories were luxuries Horuz would not afford him.
Stepping through the doorway, he entered a vast chamber that had once served as a storage hub, now a graveyard of ancient technology. Databanks, their screens cracked and lifeless, jutted from the walls like tombstones. Piles of Imperial rations, long desiccated and useless, lay strewn across the floor. Rusted weapons, their casings corroded to orange dust, peeked from beneath collapsed support beams. Rynar's visor caught the faint gleam of a small, partially buried holocube — too faint to identify from a distance, but enough to pique curiosity.
He crouched, scanning. The multispectrum detector hummed softly as it swept the chamber. Electromagnetic signatures were weak, scattered, inconsistent — ancient systems that might still harbor power if he could find the source. Every beep, every faint pulse, told him something had survived the centuries. Something beyond the ruin itself.
Rynar's hand moved instinctively to his sidearm, not drawing it yet, just a prepared measure. His other hand brushed over the floor, over sand and shards of metal. Each fragment, each crack in the stone, spoke to him in a language he'd long learned to read. Collapsed staircases hinted at higher levels, unseen chambers. Bent conduits suggested former security systems that might still hum with residual energy.
The air shifted as he advanced further into the chamber. A faint glimmer caught the corner of his visor — subtle, almost imperceptible, like a reflection that shouldn't exist in a place with no active lights. He stopped. Scanner up, eyes narrowing behind the visor. The signal was faint but real: something beneath the debris, buried yet alive, waiting to be uncovered.
Every instinct Rynar had built over years of navigating forgotten, dangerous ruins screamed at him. The quiet wasn't emptiness; it was anticipation. The walls seemed to press closer, or maybe it was the oppressive history settling in his chest. He adjusted his pack, checked the seals on his armor once more, and stepped forward with measured precision.
The chamber's ceiling was jagged, broken in places, allowing pale, filtered light to catch dust motes swirling like miniature galaxies in the still air. He paused at the edge of the debris pile, fingers hovering near his scanner controls, ready to dig, ready to expose whatever had survived here.
Horuz was dead. Its storms unending, its cities long vanished. Yet here, in this forgotten chamber, the whisper of old power lingered — a secret waiting for someone patient enough to uncover it.
Rynar exhaled slowly. The weight of history pressed around him, heavy but not oppressive. This was why he came here. Not for glory, not for reward. For knowledge. For discovery. And for the certainty that, even in a galaxy that had long moved on, some things were never meant to be forgotten.
Rynar Solde moved deeper into the ruin. Dust swirled, the walls groaned under centuries of neglect, and the faint light glinted off something hidden in the debris. He inhaled through his filters, tightened his grip on his scanner, and whispered softly to himself:
"Let's see what Horuz has been hiding… and what's still worth remembering."
Varlo Finnall
Diarch Reign
A muted bronze sky stretched overhead, heavy with storms that had raged for centuries, unbroken, unrelenting. Beneath it, the remnants of an old Imperial installation sprawled across a jagged plateau, metal and stone twisted into grotesque shapes by neglect and time. Towering spires had fallen like titans in their sleep, their ribs jutting skyward as if trying to claw back the stars. The air was thick, tasting of old ozone and the faint, metallic tang of rust.
Rynar Solde's boots crunched over sand and shattered decking as he advanced, every step deliberate beneath the weight of his armor. The Beskar plates glinted faintly under the dull sky, scorched and scratched in places from past expeditions. His helmet's visor adjusted automatically, cycling through low-light, thermal, and particle scans, mapping the ruin with a precision that left nothing to chance. Every shadow, every glint, every uneven tile was cataloged silently in the HUD.
He paused at a collapsed doorway. Metal groaned softly under his touch. His gloved hands traced the worn sigils etched into the frame — ancient Imperial glyphs, blurred by centuries of sandstorms and decay. The silence was profound, but not comforting. It pressed against him like a weight, the kind that made every instinct scream for caution.
His mind flickered momentarily, unwanted, to someone far away. The thought lingered, fleeting, before he shoved it aside. Focus. Survival first. Memories were luxuries Horuz would not afford him.
Stepping through the doorway, he entered a vast chamber that had once served as a storage hub, now a graveyard of ancient technology. Databanks, their screens cracked and lifeless, jutted from the walls like tombstones. Piles of Imperial rations, long desiccated and useless, lay strewn across the floor. Rusted weapons, their casings corroded to orange dust, peeked from beneath collapsed support beams. Rynar's visor caught the faint gleam of a small, partially buried holocube — too faint to identify from a distance, but enough to pique curiosity.
He crouched, scanning. The multispectrum detector hummed softly as it swept the chamber. Electromagnetic signatures were weak, scattered, inconsistent — ancient systems that might still harbor power if he could find the source. Every beep, every faint pulse, told him something had survived the centuries. Something beyond the ruin itself.
Rynar's hand moved instinctively to his sidearm, not drawing it yet, just a prepared measure. His other hand brushed over the floor, over sand and shards of metal. Each fragment, each crack in the stone, spoke to him in a language he'd long learned to read. Collapsed staircases hinted at higher levels, unseen chambers. Bent conduits suggested former security systems that might still hum with residual energy.
The air shifted as he advanced further into the chamber. A faint glimmer caught the corner of his visor — subtle, almost imperceptible, like a reflection that shouldn't exist in a place with no active lights. He stopped. Scanner up, eyes narrowing behind the visor. The signal was faint but real: something beneath the debris, buried yet alive, waiting to be uncovered.
Every instinct Rynar had built over years of navigating forgotten, dangerous ruins screamed at him. The quiet wasn't emptiness; it was anticipation. The walls seemed to press closer, or maybe it was the oppressive history settling in his chest. He adjusted his pack, checked the seals on his armor once more, and stepped forward with measured precision.
The chamber's ceiling was jagged, broken in places, allowing pale, filtered light to catch dust motes swirling like miniature galaxies in the still air. He paused at the edge of the debris pile, fingers hovering near his scanner controls, ready to dig, ready to expose whatever had survived here.
Horuz was dead. Its storms unending, its cities long vanished. Yet here, in this forgotten chamber, the whisper of old power lingered — a secret waiting for someone patient enough to uncover it.
Rynar exhaled slowly. The weight of history pressed around him, heavy but not oppressive. This was why he came here. Not for glory, not for reward. For knowledge. For discovery. And for the certainty that, even in a galaxy that had long moved on, some things were never meant to be forgotten.
Rynar Solde moved deeper into the ruin. Dust swirled, the walls groaned under centuries of neglect, and the faint light glinted off something hidden in the debris. He inhaled through his filters, tightened his grip on his scanner, and whispered softly to himself:
"Let's see what Horuz has been hiding… and what's still worth remembering."
Varlo Finnall
Diarch Reign
