Kathause Family Estate on Chandrila - Liedran's Room
Weeks After The Battle of Foerost
Emptiness…
That was all she felt beyond her scarred wrist, from the skeletal frame of a metal hand that extended from the end of her sleeve.
Liedran turned the prosthetic over, the back of the hand facing her thigh as she watched... She watched miniaturized servos making sudden and slight adjustments to comply with the signals jolting down her nerves. She watched panels retracting and adjusting to cover gaps between the prosthetic’s “knuckles,” until she couldn’t watch anymore. The admiral’s eyes suddenly tightened and sealed together. A headache began to form as she blocked off her mind, fought a flood of memories and sensations begging to be heard.
CLANG.
Delicate porcelain screamed the scream of hundreds as a rapid clattering began to fill her room, pieces of a shattered vase colliding with the hard wall then the polished floors, dancing like a crackling flame.
Then the cacophony faded into silence, and in Liedran’s sudden moment of weakness, her thoughts swirled into vivid images: She saw a column of metal, driven through crackling bulkheads into the other end of a wide room. There were familiar screams, wailing until they were finally cut short by sounds of thumps and tearing flesh. All the while, a voice in the back of her mind shouted, harshly, mockingly. Foerost! Foerost! Fo-
The void that had once been her right hand suddenly became a flurry of pain, then emptiness once again.
“Keep it together…”
After Foerost, that disastrous engagement with the Brotherhood’s forces, the admiral found herself forced into a long period of leave– three days of which she'd spent in a coma, with an extra week spent in recovery. As she waited for the smoking debris of the 74th Flotilla to be collected and salvaged, the nightmare-plagued wandering of Liedran’s mind guided her back to Chandrila, for the home she’d left so many years ago. That was when it all began… was it? The day was fresh in her mind, the day grief for the loss of her brother turned to bitter vengeance and sparked Liedran’s enlistment, the day the first droplet of paint touched the tortuous canvas of her life. It was the day her life ended, the day a promising young girl was swallowed in the flames of hell.
“Auntie? Is everything okay?” Liedran saw a small crack open up between the doors to her room. A sapphire eye peeked through, before a full human shape began to take form– a young woman, delicately holding an ornamented tray in her hands. As light peered through the room’s curtains and set on the figure, Liedran quickly recognized her niece– Idielah, Callag’s daughter. “I heard a…” suddenly, the woman’s eyes fell on the shattered vase.
“It’s nothing,” Liedran replied quickly, wearing the same despondent frown she had when she first arrived at the Kathause estate, “Where’s your father?”
“Kitchen. He wanted me to bring… these… to you,” there was a soothing sparkle in Idielah’s eyes, in spite of the concerned face she wore, as she set the tray on the table by Liedran’s bed. Drawing from its elaborately painted surface, she placed a cup of tea in the elder Kathause’s hand. “Dad’s worried about you, you know…” Idielah said, and yet again, her eyes glanced toward the vase.
“I know…” Liedran nodded, weakly.
Silence. Liedran’s eyes turned away from her niece’s as she began to stand, sidestepping the table and the tray of tea to proceed for the wall. Her arms crossed and she shivered a little at the sight of the porcelain fragments mere inches from her feet. “Idielah, could you get a cleaner droid?”
“Alright.” Now Idielah stood, wearing a faint and regretful smile as she proceeded for the door. She paused halfway through, turning around. “You think you could come downstairs for dinner some time? It wouldn't be for long. I just want to catch up.”
Upon meeting Liedran’s sad smile and nod, Idielah finally left the room, drawing the door to a gentle close. In the silence that followed, the admiral buried her face in her hands, wincing as the cold metal of her prosthetic touched her skin, scowling at herself with a mixture of regret and loathing as the loneliness seeped in. She just had to push people away, did she? She’d left her family all those years ago, let her own niece grow up without an aunt. She needed a massacre to finally drive her to Chandrila, and now that she was finally back…
Liedran was seconds away from throwing something else into the wall when a high-pitched squeal sounded from her minicomputer. By instinct, the admiral leaped up and hurried to watch the monitor, soon reading the bright crimson words: “PRIORITY ALERT.” Her hand swiped across the screen, tapping in a recognition code to let the display collapse into blackness, then light up again with a shaky view of a fiery battlespace. Dominating the canvas was a twisted, terrible shape, eclipsing the shapes of the Mawite battlecruisers beside it.
The view began to collapse horizontally, giving way for a sudden volley of reports on a scrolling sidebar.
Tython - Under Siege.
Mawite superweapon identified.
Casualties…
She turned away before the screen could update further, once again shutting her eyes. Liedran’s back hit the wall and she fell to the ground, scowling, snarling.
A hurried roll of footsteps echoed from beyond the halls before the doors flew open.
Weeks After The Battle of Foerost
Emptiness…
That was all she felt beyond her scarred wrist, from the skeletal frame of a metal hand that extended from the end of her sleeve.
Liedran turned the prosthetic over, the back of the hand facing her thigh as she watched... She watched miniaturized servos making sudden and slight adjustments to comply with the signals jolting down her nerves. She watched panels retracting and adjusting to cover gaps between the prosthetic’s “knuckles,” until she couldn’t watch anymore. The admiral’s eyes suddenly tightened and sealed together. A headache began to form as she blocked off her mind, fought a flood of memories and sensations begging to be heard.
CLANG.
Delicate porcelain screamed the scream of hundreds as a rapid clattering began to fill her room, pieces of a shattered vase colliding with the hard wall then the polished floors, dancing like a crackling flame.
Then the cacophony faded into silence, and in Liedran’s sudden moment of weakness, her thoughts swirled into vivid images: She saw a column of metal, driven through crackling bulkheads into the other end of a wide room. There were familiar screams, wailing until they were finally cut short by sounds of thumps and tearing flesh. All the while, a voice in the back of her mind shouted, harshly, mockingly. Foerost! Foerost! Fo-
The void that had once been her right hand suddenly became a flurry of pain, then emptiness once again.
“Keep it together…”
After Foerost, that disastrous engagement with the Brotherhood’s forces, the admiral found herself forced into a long period of leave– three days of which she'd spent in a coma, with an extra week spent in recovery. As she waited for the smoking debris of the 74th Flotilla to be collected and salvaged, the nightmare-plagued wandering of Liedran’s mind guided her back to Chandrila, for the home she’d left so many years ago. That was when it all began… was it? The day was fresh in her mind, the day grief for the loss of her brother turned to bitter vengeance and sparked Liedran’s enlistment, the day the first droplet of paint touched the tortuous canvas of her life. It was the day her life ended, the day a promising young girl was swallowed in the flames of hell.
“Auntie? Is everything okay?” Liedran saw a small crack open up between the doors to her room. A sapphire eye peeked through, before a full human shape began to take form– a young woman, delicately holding an ornamented tray in her hands. As light peered through the room’s curtains and set on the figure, Liedran quickly recognized her niece– Idielah, Callag’s daughter. “I heard a…” suddenly, the woman’s eyes fell on the shattered vase.
“It’s nothing,” Liedran replied quickly, wearing the same despondent frown she had when she first arrived at the Kathause estate, “Where’s your father?”
“Kitchen. He wanted me to bring… these… to you,” there was a soothing sparkle in Idielah’s eyes, in spite of the concerned face she wore, as she set the tray on the table by Liedran’s bed. Drawing from its elaborately painted surface, she placed a cup of tea in the elder Kathause’s hand. “Dad’s worried about you, you know…” Idielah said, and yet again, her eyes glanced toward the vase.
“I know…” Liedran nodded, weakly.
Silence. Liedran’s eyes turned away from her niece’s as she began to stand, sidestepping the table and the tray of tea to proceed for the wall. Her arms crossed and she shivered a little at the sight of the porcelain fragments mere inches from her feet. “Idielah, could you get a cleaner droid?”
“Alright.” Now Idielah stood, wearing a faint and regretful smile as she proceeded for the door. She paused halfway through, turning around. “You think you could come downstairs for dinner some time? It wouldn't be for long. I just want to catch up.”
Upon meeting Liedran’s sad smile and nod, Idielah finally left the room, drawing the door to a gentle close. In the silence that followed, the admiral buried her face in her hands, wincing as the cold metal of her prosthetic touched her skin, scowling at herself with a mixture of regret and loathing as the loneliness seeped in. She just had to push people away, did she? She’d left her family all those years ago, let her own niece grow up without an aunt. She needed a massacre to finally drive her to Chandrila, and now that she was finally back…
Liedran was seconds away from throwing something else into the wall when a high-pitched squeal sounded from her minicomputer. By instinct, the admiral leaped up and hurried to watch the monitor, soon reading the bright crimson words: “PRIORITY ALERT.” Her hand swiped across the screen, tapping in a recognition code to let the display collapse into blackness, then light up again with a shaky view of a fiery battlespace. Dominating the canvas was a twisted, terrible shape, eclipsing the shapes of the Mawite battlecruisers beside it.
The view began to collapse horizontally, giving way for a sudden volley of reports on a scrolling sidebar.
Tython - Under Siege.
Mawite superweapon identified.
Casualties…
She turned away before the screen could update further, once again shutting her eyes. Liedran’s back hit the wall and she fell to the ground, scowling, snarling.
A hurried roll of footsteps echoed from beyond the halls before the doors flew open.
