This was a first attempt at writing a background snippet for my DND (Starfinder) character.
I am not a warrior. If given the chance for fight or flight, I’ll choose to flee every time I get.
But I do know what I am.
I’m a mother.
Not in the sense that I’ve given birth, much as it breaks my heart. I was two weeks away from meeting my son when they tore him out of me.
His father was heir apparent to the throne of one of the kingdoms of the Fortress. My son was to be the prince next in line, and eventually king. His conception was hard fought, since our species had never mixed before. After years of trying, we used technology to help conceive.
My mother was the only other human on the planet, understand. Besides myself. She fled there as a refugee, and her curiosities as a human made her interesting to the king. She became a servant in the palace. I grew up best friends with the boy would became the man I’d marry. I truly loved him.
So when the Elandra-Mei attacked, I wanted nothing more than to stay by his side. He ordered me to safety, pulled an antique blaster off the wall, then bought me time to run. I was just confirmed pregnant days before.
I floated through the space between systems – the Drift – for months, pregnant, thinking of nothing but avenging my husband.
I should have taken my gift of mercy and run. But that memory of him rushing toward the battle – with nothing but that antique, then his blood-curdling, life-ending scream a couple minutes later – kept surfacing.
It wasn’t fair. None of it. How could I bring our son into the world knowing I’d left his father to die alone?
The Starstone called to me, beckoning me to safety, but the desire to make things right would not ebb.
The Elandra-Mei found me on the first planet I landed on. They must have recognized my royal tattoo on my wrist: a tan swirl that reaches down to my first knuckle and up halfway to my elbow.
I didn’t know it, not right away, but they sent bounty hunters after me. I did what I always do – I ran – but they caught me within hours. I could only watch in terror as a rat-man, whose name I later learned was Cheeks, was ordered to kill me.
This Cheeks defied his commanding officers to buy my freedom, but it was short-lived. I was nearly full-term at that point, and I could barely stand, much less run a marathon.
More bounty hunters found me at the station before I could leave the planet. I thought they would kill me right there. I’ve spent many nights wishing they had.
I’m a survivor.
I have no concept of time from the next few memories. I remember them slicing me open like a roast and pulling my son from me. Even if I could, they stopped me from fighting back with branding irons into each of my shoulders. I could only scream.
Looking back, I couldn’t tell you when or how I got most of my scars. Only that it came from that time at the mercy of the Elandra-Mei. Now most of my skin is covered with long sleeves, high collars, and gloves.
There is one thing I do remember from that time: McKenna. I didn’t understand much of what they said to each other, and committed even less to memory. But I remembered that name. After I escaped, I cherished it. Recited it to my ceiling at night. Channeled all my hatred toward that one name.
Maybe I am a warrior.
I went from living with the love of my life in a palace to torn apart, adrift as a refugee in only months. Fearing my past might find me again, I go by Lydia here, at Absalom Station. But there are few who ask.
My time with Cheeks, though brief, taught me how vital it was to work with others. I couldn’t survive on my own. Couldn’t get my revenge on my own.
I needed a team.
I needed the Starfinders.