Chronicles of the Errai

[Karmotrine Dream]

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[21/07/827]

We did not expect this to be simple. We did not expect this to be so hard either.
The scale of the former fleet is staggering, and our hearts sank when we realised we had only ever seen a fraction of what the kith consisted of, let alone those who would man it all.
And now it's gone.

We do not mean to speak ill of the dead, suns forbid, no. It is no fault of their own, we think and hope. But it stands as fact that they are gone, and we are left with nothing; not a ship, nor a message, nor a sign. Lost, to the fathomless depths of the void.
And the losses are very much commensurate.

We set to work, nevertheless. To dwell overlong on such matters is to invite further misfortune.

First in the order of things, it was to ascertain the entity of the losses, and by our reckoning it will take a fraction of the former fleet to pay for the fallen's farewells; several tens of millions, then, to restore the baseline of those fleets, our former mining freighters. To speak nothing of the rest.
Tens of billions, conservatively estimated, would be the amount of our dues.
We have not a tenth of that, and we have nothing to draw it from in a befitting fashion. What work could we perform, when we have no tools, no men, no means to acquire them?

It is most unpleasant, painful even to think of, but our only choice appears to be what she spoke of - scrape by what we can, salvage what we cannot, and crucially, relinquish our ancient hold.

The palace of many memories, of triumphs shining and hardships bleak, of countless lives led. Its vast thoroughfares, the bustling markets lining the corridors, the promenades and the gardens-- this and more, it accompanied us all for so long as we have lived. It is our home.

And it will be no more.

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