#feyaash chapter pregame

[swtorstarbound]

Feyaash: Pre-game Prelude, age 12

Timeline Placement: Feyaash is twelve here.

A/N: These are snippets of life we see during the storylines. Some will be directly taken from the game and fluffed out, others are completely new.

**Spoilers**

None

**End Spoilers**

Synopsis: A peak into Feyaash’s life in childhood.

Warnings: Mild injuries. A child training for combat.

Word Count: 637

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The harsh sun or Korriban bled over the red dusty land, though the ever-present chill stays. She can feel the prickle of the cold despite the physical training she has been swinging over and over. She grits her teeth, still not being able to do the maneuver properly, despite having been working on it since the previous day.

“Again, Feyaash.” Her father calls out from his perch under the awning. Breakfast was set out in front of him, and he slowly eats and sips his tea as he watched her. The smell of the steaming hot blood sausage cuts through the dusty air, and her stomach rumbles.

Taking the stance again, Feyaash brings the single training sword in a harsh arc in front of her, letting out a harsh “AH!” as she does so. The momentum brings her stumbling forward- like it was supposed to. The end of her shout pitches into a half shriek as she missteps and rolls onto her ankle. She hits the ground with a heavy thud, red Korriban dust puffing into the air around her. Her head and face connect with the ground with a thwack that echoes through her skull and immediately brings a dull headache as her teeth snap together from the impact.

Feyaash lets out a soft groan in pain, but even through that the soft chink of her father setting his stoneware cup on the table cuts through the otherwise silent morning. His burning orange-yellow eyes bore into her from where he sits, as he watches to see what she will do. His right chin-tendril softly curls around the left. Slowly, Feyaash pulls herself to her knees and she gently rotates her ankle. Her eyes water slightly from the pain and pushes her hands to either side of her, pushing off the ground to stand again.

Her ashy, dark red skin was deeper in color than even the Korribani dust. Her own chin spurs burn with pain, and looking down shows her the red-black blood of her people staining the dust even darker. Keeping the momentum to get off the ground, she staggers a little as her weight rests on the sore ankle, but stepping forward as a test reveals that it is nothing she hasn’t felt before- and the pain is of no serious injury. She stands there for a moment, head bowed in embarrassment. Her father says nothing. Taking several deep breaths, she allows the pain, anger, and humiliation to burn through her thoughts, even as she latches onto them and twists them into stubborn determination.

She leans down to pick up her training blade again. Still no words from either her or her father are spoken, but she corrects her stance. There is a soft scraping noise of stone on stone as her father resumes drinking his tea. Feyaash lunches into the attack again, pulling on the pain to stand strong as she correctly finishes the slash. A sparking ripple pushes out from her blade in an arc as she slices through the air. Sweat beads on her skin at the effort, and makes the scrapes on her face burn. After no comments were forthcoming, she relaxes her stance and finally fully looks at her father.

He beckons her forward, and she complies. Kneeling in front of him, sword across her knees, she looks up at his face. “Good.” he compliments, “You have done well, daughter. That drive, making your emotions into a driving passion, but not succumbing to them. Through passion…”

“I gain strength. I understand now, Father.” She followed up on his drawn out silence, and he inclines his head in agreement. Taking another drink, he gestures to the table in front of him.

“Join me.” Her stomach rumbles in hunger, and she rushes to put her sword away and clean her face.