Ashin Varanin
Professional Enabler
Oren Beorn walked through the dust of the dead, a heavy shotgun in his hands. He'd borrowed the triple-barrelled monstrosity from Cousin Alec, and the ammunition from the cousins in R&D. Oren rarely favoured weapons like this, but when it came to cracking a sealed and forgotten vault, few things would do so more effectively than the new PBOL ammunition coupled with his Vahlan inclinations. That, at least, was the theory, and the theory was worth a test run -- worth occupying the consigliere for the week necessary to reach Erida. Because only Oren, of all the Rekali Clansmen outside the core family, could have a prayer against what might be inside. So it was said, at least, and Oren didn't ascribe to false humility.
This was a dead world, its population slaughtered by Force Drain, a confluence of rogue Sith, a good half decade back. Shortly thereafter, the One Sith had come in for a brief tenure, less than a year. They'd built a temple, but what use is a throne with no subjects? And now Erida's claimants had left the fold of the One, and Erida itself was abandoned. Such was its natural fate, forgotten in the Unknown Regions, remote beyond remoteness.
The plas-bonded ostrine granules made the shotgun shells cool to his touch as he loaded up, scrutinizing the sealed door. He touched the lapel comm of his robe collar. "Ferro, this is Oren. I've reached the site. Anything on long-range?"
"Negative, consigliere."
"Beginning test." He sucked his teeth and nestled the Bloodstripe's stock into his shoulder.
This was a dead world, its population slaughtered by Force Drain, a confluence of rogue Sith, a good half decade back. Shortly thereafter, the One Sith had come in for a brief tenure, less than a year. They'd built a temple, but what use is a throne with no subjects? And now Erida's claimants had left the fold of the One, and Erida itself was abandoned. Such was its natural fate, forgotten in the Unknown Regions, remote beyond remoteness.
The plas-bonded ostrine granules made the shotgun shells cool to his touch as he loaded up, scrutinizing the sealed door. He touched the lapel comm of his robe collar. "Ferro, this is Oren. I've reached the site. Anything on long-range?"
"Negative, consigliere."
"Beginning test." He sucked his teeth and nestled the Bloodstripe's stock into his shoulder.