Ashin Varanin
Professional Enabler
The Razorhawk fit her like a glove, the kind that the fanatical Jedi of the Pius Dea era had used on recalcitrant Padawans. It crushed her wounds. Too loose and her slim frame would slip right out of the Razorhawk's uncompromising, compassionless frame at a hundred klicks an hour, two hundred metres above the ground. Drogheda's sun didn't compromise either, not this far into the badlands where Silk had its refit yard and atmo flight test range. She'd taken an open-top speeder out here from the yard, a Silk-9 with the Razorhawk in the truck bed. Her security detail made a loose half-klick perimeter, and two Silk employees -- both qualified instructors -- wore Razorhawks as well. On a different schedule from her, they met her here.