Dervish

The Elder Scrolls: Fruits of Contention - Chapter 1 (Completed)

Do'Karth is like St. Mary the Sue.

@gcold

Oshi-

On the other side of the coin, it's hard for me to choose a Virtue for Dax. He's got some patience, some diligence, some temperance, some chastity.

However, his Sin is definitely Wrath. Most of his skill and world view is based upon the anger he has.

---

<Snipped quote by Dervish>
Prideful S.O.B.

@POOHEAD189

See, I was thinking wrath or pride because he enjoys fighting and hurting his enemies, but he still knows when to stop himself and he's kind of a pacifist to some degree, or pride because if you squint he's definitely much more at peace with what he his grown into rather than who he used to be, but he's way more on the humble side and doesn't really assert himself unless he needs to.

Wut do

The Elder Scrolls: Fruits of Contention - Chapter 1 (Completed)

DK's virtue would be Patience; the description is pretty bang on!

I can't really peg him for one of the seven deadly sins because he tiptoes in some of them but it doesn't fit the classical definition.

The Elder Scrolls: Fruits of Contention - Chapter 1 (Completed)

@Dervish This is just for you

@MacabreFox

You're goddamn right. ;D

Mass Effect: Underworld

((DISREGARD I SUCK DINKUS))

The Elder Scrolls: Fruits of Contention - Chapter 1 (Completed)

@Dervish

We'll bang, okay?

@MiddleEarthRoze

The Elder Scrolls: Fruits of Contention - Chapter 1 (Completed)

In addition, he offers cuddles (and other intimate services) as a trained Dibellan clergy, at a bargain price.

@gcold

The most famous Dibellan priest right here:

The Elder Scrolls: Fruits of Contention - Chapter 1 (Completed)

LET'S GET READY TO RUUUUUMBLE!

The Elder Scrolls: Fruits of Contention - Chapter 1 (Completed)

A Leif on the Wind

Foxey and I wrote this!

No sooner did the Kyne’s Tear dock did Do’Karth disembark at the earliest possible moment that the ramp was secured and the ropes knotted about the cleats to keep the ship anchored to the dock, being one of the first to leave the ship when cleared. Part of his motivation was to get off of the hated seas as soon as physically permissible, but also that there was a good chance that Daelin’s outfit had returned before the ship, and with it Sevine. His heart raced with uncertainty; until he saw her with his own eyes, there was this lingering fear and doubt that consumed him that he would never see her again. The war had already cost so much, and after Valen’s passing and that of the prisoner, mortality was heavy on Do’Karth’s mind. The Khajiit needed to find Sevine safe; no other outcome was tolerable.

It didn’t take long for confirmation of Daelin’s return to make the rounds, and there was talk about a siege at an inn and Daelin’s burns, but it was enough to know that they had returned. Elated somewhat, Do’Karth walked about Dawnstar, trying to see if he could catch sight of Sevine. Knowing her, she wouldn’t go somewhere too hard for him to find. Conspicuously absent was the ginger giant that was his good friend; Jorwen was usually one of the easiest people to pick out from a crowd, and a part of Do’Karth felt the man was probably resting off the journey and spending a few quiet moments with Halla.

When the Khajiit could not find Sevine in town, his heart began to sink, and he feared the worst when he saw Leif taking off in a hurry towards the outskirts of the town. Feeling that the man likely knew something he did not, Do’Karth followed, keeping a distance as to not provoke a confrontation. Soon, he caught sight of a tent, and a familiar set of crimson locks from beyond the flaps.

It’s her. he realized, elated. His feet almost failed to move with his will, his relief was so profound. This quickly became soured when he heard the commotion and Leif’s body posture suddenly get rigid; it was clear things did not go as he pleased. Hurrying to catch up in case things became violent, Leif turned suddenly as if to leave and looked immediately disgusted to see Do’Karth.

A finger jabbed into the Khajiit’s chest.

“How dare you.”

Do’Karth’s eyes narrowed, his ears pulling back. “Do’Karth cares not for what you think you’re implying, Leif Raven-Stone.” he said, swatting the hand away with the heel of his hand. “This one has done nothing to you.”

Sevine scrambled to her feet as best as she could, sensing that something might happen if these two were allowed to continue their verbal dispute. Personally, she didn’t want to see Leif, and his obsessive attitude over her had put her in a foul mood. She had the idea to put him to the ground herself and beat some sense into him.

“I beg to differ.” In his eyes, a storm brewed, a tempest on the verge of releasing a torrent of fury, “You have taken the one person I cherished most, and you have done it through your deceitful nature as a Khajiit. You are the same as all Khajiit.” He said, pushing Do’Karth in the chest.

“Leif!” Sevine lumbered towards him unsteadily, “Get the hell out of here. I won’t have any fighting over your delusional notions.” She grabbed him by the wrist, yanking him back from Do’Karth.

“How can you say that? That I am the delusional one? Take a good look at yourself. And it’s all because of this damned cat.” He reclaimed his arm and turned back to Do’Karth, “LOOK. Look at her!” His voice climbed an octave as he turned to shouting, “If you so much as cared for her, you lying bastard, you wouldn’t have left her alone! She could have died. And you didn’t give a shit. You weren’t around to protect her. You weren’t around to help her. No, you tucked your tail between your legs and submitted to Ashav’s orders. You didn’t protest, you didn’t ask for a change, you let this happen. You don’t care about her.”

“Leif, I swear to Mara, if you don’t get the hell out of here, I’ll deal with you myself.” She raised her own voice. Damn it to Oblivion! She never felt more helpless than in a time like this, not being at her physical peak skewed her ability to defend herself.

“No.” He turned to glance at her, “No. Someone has to defend your honor. And this mewling cat won’t care to do it. Unless he actually has a backbone.” Leif pushed Do’Karth again.

“Sevine does not need anyone to defend her honour! She is a warrior, we all know the risks!” Do’Karth spat back, stepping forward after the shove. “It was not Do’Karth’s decision to separate with her, but perhaps if you were not so selfish in demanding the world cater to your whims and greed you would realize that we are fighting a war and need to listen to our orders or we’re all dead!”

The Khajiit stepped to the side, attempting to prevent Leif from being between Sevine and himself. “All you have done is act like a child since Sevine and this one chose each other, and this one has attempted to give you space and respect that you were hurt, but do not dare call Do’Karth’s love for Sevine and her well being into question.” he stated, his voice edging on a growl. “This one cares for her like nothing else in his life, and a part of that is knowing that she was her own person before this one arrived. She is a warrior long before Do’Karth came into her life, and this one will not shield her from that part of her life. It is who she is, and it is her calling. She is not to be controlled by the likes of you, a man who claims women like trophies! You only care for her because she is the one woman you could never have and it has driven you to madness!” The Khajiit was shouting now, fists clenched. “She has requested you leave. She does not want you here. Go, now.”

A glob of saliva flew from between his lips and struck Do’Karth’s chest, Leif squared his shoulders in defense, “There you go again, you mangy cat. Do you hear how he speaks his honey-coated lies? I will not go.” He declared, his hands curled into fists as he raised them up, ready to fight. “Fight me cat. On her honor, fight me. Show me the type of a man you truly are, if you are a man at all.”

“More so than you.” Do’Karth replied pointedly. “You wish to solve with fists what your mouth cannot. It is always someone else’s fault, never your own. How do you live with yourself?” He adopted a wide stance, a fist gently guided into an open palm. “This is not something you can hope to win. Walk. Away.”

Sevine’s head spun with anger, how dare he do this! If it weren’t for Do’Karth in her way, she would’ve handled Leif herself, cracked ribs or no. Her stomach twisted in a series of intricate knots as she watched the unfolding scenario. “Leif. Just leave. Please. You’re only going to get hurt.” But her words fell on deaf ears.

“You are not from our land, you do not know our customs, leech. I will not turn my back and run.” With one fist, he lobbed it at Do’Karth’s gut.

Do’Karth’s fist moved down to deflect the blow, bringing it down and out to the side, the momentum away from his body while his open hand came up in a flash and chopped towards Leif’s exposed neck, a hard strike that wasn’t with the violent intent that Do’Karth would have usually put into a fight. Usually, he would seek to end things as quickly and painfully as possible to discourage further violence. He simply needed Leif to come to his senses.

Hopefully.

Stepping back into a slender profile, an open palm closest to Leif facing towards him while a clawed hand curved behind him like a scorpion’s tail. Do’Karth squatted somewhat, giving his muscles a lot of potential energy to spring out and react as need be. “As you do not know Do’Karth’s. You are clumsy, you telegraph your every move. Your anger makes you weak.”

The strike to his neck left him on one knee, blinking away the stars that danced before his eyes. He shook his head to clear them away and staggered to his feet, his upper lip curling into a snarl. “The audacity you have.” He growled. While he set himself in a defensive stance, Leif surveyed the situation. How could he best Do’Karth? By attacking him unexpectedly, that’s how. Several seconds passed before Leif lunged at Do’Karth, his arms wrapping around his waist and pulling him down to the ground. Sevine cleared the area, giving them a wide berth to fight. She could call for help, but what good would that do? Leif would never learn to leave her alone if Do’Karth didn’t teach him a lesson. She watched from a distance, her hands over her mouth. With Do’Karth beneath him, a hand curled around his ear giving it a hard yank while he drove a fist into his face.

The pain was agonizing; having one’s ear yanked was hardly sporting, and it more or less made Do’Karth’s mind up when it came to the question of holding back. Another strike across his muzzle brought the taste of blood to the back of his throat, and Do’Karth forced his rising anger down. Pain is weakness leaving the body… pain is weakness leaving- he chanted mentally, extending his claws on his hand, and as Leif brought his fist up once more, Do’Karth jabbed all four of his fingers tightly together up into the man’s exposed armpit, tearing into the exposed flesh. Taking advantage of the moment that he’d bought himself from the fist, Do’Karth brought the heel of his other hand up into Leif’s throat, ideally stunning him and forcing him to choke. Having bought himself some room, Do’Karth grabbed into Leif’s shirt and pulled him back, enough for Do’Karth to get the weight off of him and break free, scrambling to his feet once more. Standing with more of a wide stance, the Khajiit prepared to dodge incase Leif leapt up into a tackle.

White-hot pain scorched his underarm from the Khajiit’s claws while the palm to his throat forced him to release his hold on Do’Karth. Now that he had the upper hand on him, Leif found himself being tossed to the side. He lay on his back, one hand clutching at his throat while the other put pressure on the wound in his armpit. When he regained the ability to breathe, albeit, still painful, he rolled to his knees. He glowered at Do’Karth, of all things he happened to overlook, he forgot that Khajiit’s had miniature daggers equipped to the end of their fingertips.

“Leif, I’m telling you, you’d better stop before you get hurt.” Sevine warned, seeing a chance to talk some sense into him.

“Shut up! This is between Do’Karth and I.” He shouted as he hoisted himself to his feet. As he did so, he spotted a metal tankard that belonged to her. He snatched it up, and in a second hurled it at Do’Karth’s head. The Khajiit couldn’t react to being assaulted by more than one object, or so he believed. As the tankard sailed through the air, it’s trajectory aimed for his head, Leif lunged forward, one leg slipping behind the cat’s ankle as his hand grabbed the budi to prevent him from going anywhere, while the other leg drove itself towards his groin.

The tankard was easy enough to dodge; it was expected the moment Leif grabbed for it. The grapple came immediately afterwards, and before Do’Karth could break Leif’s grip, he knew what was coming. Do’Karth had been in his share of dirty fights before. His duel a decade prior against Daro’Sahana came to mind; she would have done anything to dismantle Do’Karth completely.

Leif was no Dara’Sahana.

Managing to squeeze his thighs together enough to slow the momentum of the knee down, Do’Karth nevertheless took the hit, but he’d been conditioned against pain in more than one way. The lessened blow didn’t have the impact Leif was hoping for, and instead of staggering Do’Karth, he was rewarded with a headbutt into the temple for his troubles. Bringing both of his arms down against Leif’s wrists to break the Nord’s grip, Do’Karth closed in, unleashing a flurry of pointed clawed jabs into various places along his shoulder joint, chest, and abdomen, claws puncturing skin and tearing muscle tissue along the way. Using his bent knee as a leverage point, Do’Karth planted his one foot firmly against the knee and brought the other into a high kick, striking under the man’s jaw. Like any good cat, Do’Karth landed on his feet and brought some distance, preparing for Leif to grapple and charge again.

Daro’Sahana was defeated by not allowing her to escape. If he grasps you once more, do not let him leave standing. he thought to himself.

“Pathetic. Do’Karth thought you were a warrior.” Do’Karth taunted, scorn oozing from his voice as if rebuking a stubborn pupil instead of a jealous lover.

Crimson liquid painted his billowing tunic, the blow to his jaw left him stunned, and one on knee while the headbutt had him seeing stars again. His chest heaved from a mixture of pain and anger. Do’Karth became the symbol for everything he felt on the inside, the sorrow, jealousy, and anger, he was the physical embodiment on which he could take out his frustration. All the while, Sevine watched from the sidelines, her hands clasped together in worry. Do’Karth held his ground without trouble, yet it was the unexpected attacks from Leif that worried her. If he wanted, Do’Karth could kill Leif, and the last thing she wanted to see was his blood spilled on the ground. She felt torn, but she said nothing.

When he regained his strength, Leif got to his feet, the ground swaying before him. The adrenaline coursing through his veins slowed him down, it made his body heavy like lead. But he would not give up. Not to a cat. While he wanted to say something in return to Do’Karth’s comment, he couldn’t think of anything on the spot. He settled for a grunt. Sweat soaked through the thin fabric of his tunic, it clung to his muscled torso, while his chest heaved with each breath. He had all but ran out of ideas on how to get the cat back to the ground. He had used distractions, tackling, a kick to the groin, there was but one option left. Full on assault, no holding back.

He let loose a roar that tore through the air as he charged Do’Karth, he closed the distance between them in seconds. His fists were flying as he struck at Do’Karth, his rage kept the fire burning in him. All of the hurt he held inside were in those punches. The Khajiit was quicker and either dodged or deflected all but two of his blows. One connected to his ribs, and the other in the chin. Yet Leif continued until his arms tired out. He sprang on Do’Karth with surprising agility, one hand pinned his wrist to the ground while the other recoiled back to strike him.

The Khajiit twisted in the grip, bringing his legs around to grapple Leif’s arm like he was climbing a rope and he forced the man to his back, twisting the arm in his grip while pushing against the man’s torso with his leg, stretching the arm to its natural flexibility limits. Hearing something pop, Do’Karth wasted no time releasing Leif, kicking him in the face with the flat of his foot. “Yield, or this one will start to break you. Every blow will be a new broken limb. How do you plan on fighting if you can’t even take a shit without asking for help?” Do’Karth stated ruefully, wiping an armful of blood from his bleeding mouth.

He gritted his teeth as Do’Karth pulled his arm out of the socket, amongst all the other wounds on his body, this one sent him over the edge. The kick to the face set off a nosebleed, bloodying his lips and teeth. As he lay in the dirt, somewhere deep inside him, he realized something. Part of him had hoped that Sevine would separate the two of them, plead to Do’Karth to stop, but she did not. Did she want him to be beaten this way? Did she truly hate him enough to allow this fight? Roze’s words came dancing back into the forefront of his mind, ”She doesn’t owe you her love.”, and that he realized, was the truth. He had forgotten their conversation after fearing that Sevine had died in assault on Nightgate. His old feelings had resurfaced, and because of his own self-ignorance, he found himself in this situation. While his pride was strong, his body was weak, he couldn’t keep fighting even if he wanted to. As he considered his options, he thought of throwing dirt into Do’Karth’s face, but what good would that do? The Khajiit had bested him. With a painful sigh, he nodded his head in consent. “I yield.”

Stepping back and placing his fist against his hand as he had done at the start of their duel, Do’Karth bowed to his fallen adversary, the fight having left his eyes. “It is done. Find a healer.” he said, stopping short of advising Leif to meditate on the day’s events. What good would that do. Instead, Do’Karth, bloodied but still very much mobile, walked towards Sevine, his old injury in his leg beginning to throb. He knelt before her with a pained grunt, looking up at her with apologetic eyes. “Do’Karth is sorry for what had transpired. He had tried to avoid this. Would it be too much to ask for your forgiveness?” He asked.

Without another blow from Do’Karth, he pushed himself to his feet. His eyes locked with Sevine, shocked to see the Khajiit kneeling before her. She glanced at him for but a fraction of a second before returning her attention to Do’Karth. He watched as she placed her hands on his shoulders and kissed his forehead, just like what he always wanted for himself. He turned away, disgusted with himself, and made the slow walk back into town.

“My love.” She dropped to her knees and embraced Do’Karth, “You do not need my forgiveness, you have done nothing wrong.” All she wanted in life was in right there in her arms, the man she loved was alive and well. And so, she kissed him.

Letting the kiss linger, feeling the doubts and fears wash off of him like a wave purifying a stone, Do’Karth pulled Sevine into a tight embrace, determined to never leave her again without a fight.

Mass Effect: Underworld

A collab between Birb and I.

As a collection of Alliance troops started to clear the tunnel and rescue the failing squadron that was Katabasis, Sicaria lowered her weapon and let them take care of whatever was left in the now sealed off chamber. With little else to do now, she took her captive scientist by the arm and started heading towards the light. There was probably something incredibly symbolic about this action, she disregarded it as a few injuries made themselves known now that the adrenaline was wearing off. "Ugh, can't believe I didn't notice that earlier..." Though she couldn't quite see it, she could feel some kind of wound on her right arm start to pulse.

While she surfaced, she tossed the Cerberus woman into the hands of a couple marines before removing the makeshift mask that had arguably saved her life. She brought the strip of cloth down from her face before turning it over and finding it caked with a mixture of various colors of blood and a consistent earthy brown the whole thing over. "Shit, I'm gonna be coughing this up for a week." She chucked to herself slightly, which broke into a fit of coughing with a small brownish cloud getting pushed out of her mouth with each hack. On top of that, an amount of phlegm was sent out and onto the ground along with the last one in a series of around eight. Following this, she started to pat down her armor to remove whatever grime had accumulated on it from the explosions, including a quick wipe of the hands across her face to show off her tattoos again.

The sound of a pressure seal breaking emerged from Sicaria's flank, and into view walked a now familiar krogan, battered and bloodied armour dominating his frame and his helmet in hand. It was the first time any of Katabasis would see his face. "I don't know what you're complaining about, I'm fine." he said cheekily, inhaling the relatively clean London air with a deep lungful and letting out an exaggerated sigh. "Hell of a fight. Been too long since I've been in a scrap like that. You?" he asked.

Everything happened in such a blur leading up to this moment. It felt like it had only been minutes ago when the team had reestablished the line after blowing the charges, and now they were relieved by local authorities and Systems Alliance troops that had been stationed semi-permanently in the city since the war. The entire team looked weary; it was quite the unexpected first assignment, no one had expected to see the Reapers again. It had been quite a few months before his own sweeps had unearthed anything. How in the hell did Cerberus wrangle up over two thousand Husks? It would be a rather interesting after-action report, to say the least.

The Turian looked up in time to see one of the Krogan pass by, already taking his helmet off and bearing a few new scars from the conflict they had just muscled through. She had to roll her eyes at the first comment he made, though she pulled back her left mandible in a smirk at the second one. "Last time I got sent into a hellhole like that was that conquest to take back Earth. I would've liked a couple years before reliving that, but, well, here we are." She visibly splayed both the appendages on the side of her face in the equivalent of a shrug before checking her wounded arm. Quite the gash had been opened up in the top of it, probably from when the Infiltration Team had been retreating and a husk had made a grab at her. Turns out it made contact after all. "Wouldn't have any medi-gel on you, by chance?" She gave the Krogan a look that suggested a general lack of urgency for the circumstances.

"'fraid not. I tend to just let my regeneration do the dirty work, others don't usually factor into it. Hang on, I've got something." he said, breaking off to stomp towards a pair of humans wearing paramedic fatigues. While Sicaria was out out earshot, the startled body expressions of the heavily armed and armoured krogan bearing down on the much smaller humans was unmistakable. A few moments later, he returned with a package in hand, offering it over. "Turns out they were going to make the rounds anyways. I guess I just sped things up." he said with a shrug. An empty thermal clip made its way loose from between his armour plating on his arm, it certainly accounted for the burning smell that had been persistent since he took his helmet off. He looked at Sicaria with a somewhat piqued interest. "I fought here in the last few months of the war, for another Specter, as a matter of fact. You and I both know what would have happened if those freaks got out of the tunnels and to the surface."

Sicaria took the gel and nodded her thanks to the Krogan, breaking open the package and slathering some of the cool material on her arm. The bleeding stopped within seconds thanks to it, and she tied off what was left of the medicine in the bag before setting it down. At this point, she noticed the burning smell and the clip that had found its way out of his armor. "...I''m not gonna ask how that got caught in there." She found curb to take a seat on while she listened to the Krogan speak, and let her long legs spill out into the barren street while Anderson was getting in position to address the team. "I was in Vancouver for about two weeks... I'm sure the city was beautiful before the Reapers showed up, but I was surprised that most of the buildings were left standing. It was like they were trying to preserve most of them. But yeah, lotta people would've died if we didn't go down there."

The krogan shrugged, a largely immobile object in a suddenly dynamic environment as bodies fluttered about. "Honestly, everywhere I've lived for any length of time has been destroyed by war. Tuchanka, Anhur, Earth. It all starts to look the same after a while, only difference is the Reapers didn't tend to flatten cities when there was harvesting to be done." he replied to the turian, following the violet lines of her facial tattoos that crossed her carapace. Beside them, Anderson was rounding the team up for a debriefing. "Oh, this will be good." he said, offering a hand to help Sicaria to her feet.

The two joined the others as the Spectres began their speech, the human of the two taking the lead. The standard expected ground was covered, 24 hours to get shit squared away and say goodbye to Earth, this was the last chance to back out, be at the designated coordinates or be left out. Rykarn was only half listening; he was already committed to the mission and didn't have anything worth mentioning to deal with before going off on a potentially dangerous and certainly exciting assignment with the Spectres, who always seemed to find the interesting jobs on account of an utter lack of red tape and accountability. As a krogan, it spelled out a good time.

Less so was the news that the explosion, the one Rykarn had a direct hand in setting off, collapsed an apartment building and potentially killed 11 people. The krogan didn't really react past a slow blink, his amber eyes not betraying any emotion past the usual reptilian-like stare that made all krogan look about as friendly as being held up by a shotgun. It was a damn shame, of course. You don't go through the most deadly and genocidal war in galactic history and expect to die a year later via violent building collapse, but this was on Cerberus. If the Husks got out, things would have been a lot worse, especially since it could be days, if not weeks, before all of the monsters were accounted for. Katabasis were, supposedly, professional soldiers and mercenaries and they'd barely survived the onslaught. Some elderly woman crossing the street wouldn't fare as well trying to get away from the Husks. Or school yards full of children. Anything, really. The really annoying thing about the Reapers' thralls were that they never tired, and seemed to be endless in number. It's why Rykarn was rather fond of explosions. Even if they weren't fully disabled, it was a lot harder to chew your ankles off if you only had one arm to pull yourself along and half a torso.

Even if everyone had been in the building at the time, and if Rykarn knew it, he still would have triggered the explosion. A handful of casualties was the price of a war that didn't have a firm ending date, considering the enemy they faced. As far as Rykarn was concerned, the war probably wouldn't be over until every last Husk was exterminated from the galaxy. Who knew when that would be?

Partinax and Anderson dismissed everyone to go file their report. It certainly killed the spoils of victory.

"Uplifting." he grunted to the turian next to him.

Sicaria had grabbed the Krogan's hand when he offered it, standing back up at the protest of her sore legs. While she had done it for most of her life, there was something about running through a horde of husks that made someone unusually fatigued. "Thanks..." In step with her companion, she joined the others in listening to the Spectres.

For her, there wasn't much shock, Turian culture often demanded sacrifices for the greater good. It was bad enough that civilians had to die, let alone a child, but that's how it was. Just another psychological scar on an already marred mind. Without much ceremony, the two Spectres left to finish their business.

"Something like that... hey, I never got your name. Mine's Sicaria." The Turian crossed her arms and shifted her weight to her left leg, head turning to get a better look at the Krogan beside her. He certainly wasn't ancient, or frankly that old by their standards, though numerous scars coated what she could see that wasn't obstructed by armor. He had been through hell and back like all of them, it seemed.

The large crested head nodded curtly. "Rykarn of Clan Ravanor. I've found with aliens, I need to specify that's my clan name and not my first name. Apparently there's some confusion, or ignorance about krogan no matter where you go." he grinned tersely. "At least it's not a salarian name; pretty sure they name their kids down to the street they were born on and what the mother was eating when she popped out a clutch of eggs."

The distinctive sound of a Turian chuckle followed Rykarn's generalization about Salarians, even though she didn't exactly see it the same way. She did understand that line of thought, though. "Didn't you have half a generation of females named after a certain Salarian biologist?" A mandible was pulled in a smirk once again, though she quickly let it fall back into cover the side of her mouth.

The krogan grunted in exasperation. "Don't remind me. Go to Tuchanka any time in the next decade, and anything adolescent is probably going to be named after that guy. You might be able to convince some people you're clairvoyant if you guess right.", he shook his head, looking at where the emergency crews were working at excavating the collapsed building. "You know, I spent the last year rebuilding this stupid city. Never thought I'd be the one trashing it again. I feel obligated to help."

Sicaria nodded in response, shifting her weight between legs once again. "Yeah, we probably should help out. Make up for the kid we killed, at the very least." Without waiting for a cue, she started off in the direction of the wrecked building, finally remembering to deactivate her tech armor while she went. "Not sure if anyone's brought it up yet, but I wanna thank your people for saving Palaven. None of my higher-ups will admit it, but you really pulled our asses out of the fire." She stated, her hands finding their ways to the top of her head while she walked.

Rykarn walked in pace, eyes darting about has they walked towards the blinking emergency lights and sirens. Situational awareness was something that became hardwired into someone after literal decades of conflict; it wasn't something you just turned off. When Sicaria thanked the krogan, and in extension Rykarn, for their part in liberating Palaven, that caught him off guard. He wasn't used to being thanked for much, and a turian expressing sincere gratitude for help, unprompted no less, was most unexpected. "Your people helped us cure the genophage, it bought a lot of goodwill." the krogan replied, a single eye looking back at Sicaria.

"I'm not like a lot of krogan and blame turians who are alive for unleashing that nightmare on my people, but some of my kin are. You might have been desperate for help to help us do that before we helped you, but it did a lot to build our trust. We were free, for the first time in centuries, and believe me, krogan love killing monsters and being celebrated for it. Killing rachni all over again made me feel connected to my ancestors." Rykarn let out a low, rumbling chuckle, bemused at the connection he'd long ago made as he unleashed hell on Ravagers. "I never expected I'd ever step foot on the turian homeworld, let alone fight alongside your people, but it turns out we both are really good at fighting. All these years being pitted against each other, hell, look at what we did when we were aiming the same way. I respect you turians; you gave us krogan a second chance and you ate your pride enough to ask us for help, no matter the cost. Mighty praise coming from a species renown for considering the inhalation of an entire company a victory if the bad guy dies first." he said, smashing his fist into an open palm. "We even smashed moons, actual moons! Into your colonies and that just made you fight harder. Made me curious about humans, though. Relay 314 incident and the new kid on the block gives you a bloody nose."

At the mention of a bloody nose, Sicaria unconsciously scratched some dried blood from her upper lip, though let out a short laugh otherwise. "Yeah, we underestimated humanity. They're tougher than we thought, whole thing shouldn't've happened." She sighed happily, almost as if she was reliving a fond memory while talking about their first contact with Humans. "You're right about that, though. You hit us, we hit back harder. And it just keeps going until someone's either knocked out or dead on the floor." With a smirk returning, she looked up at the night sky while she walked. After a short moment of silence, jabbed two fingers of her right hand up towards the emptiness overhead. "Reapers learned that the hard way."

"They're dead. We ain't. Superior species, my ass. Only thing that made them worth anything was the billions of lives they harvested. I wouldn't feel bad about the humans taking a hit and dishing one back harder; it was a human that united the galaxy and personally killed off the Reapers. Who would have thought? Been around the galaxy less than four decades and they're the ones that fix everything." Rykarn said, following Sicaria's gesture upwards. It was hard to make out any stars in the glowing noise of the city lights drowned out the sky beyond, but the gesture got the point across. "So, what do you think happens now? Humans have the Citadel parked at their doorstep and they've been pushing their way up the food chain like, well, we tried to. Won't be long until the entire galaxy's back to shooting at each other."

"Now? Now, everyone else gets back to living while we pick up the dirty work." The Turian looked back down as she started to descend into the sizable crater they had managed to create not even an hour ago. Up close, the building they had taken down was still crumbling slowly, bits of dust and rubble falling from what was left standing. She had to hand it to them, Humans could build solid structures, but it would be a matter of time until the last standing walls were bulldozed and replaced. "Doesn't really matter where the Citadel is, though. It was considered Asari space until the Salarians found it. Even then, they ended up with equal influence, not much of a reason for it to change now."

The building looked like an entrapment and deadly hazard if Rykarn had ever seen one. It would be terribly ironic if this was what did him in after everything he'd been through to cause the collapse. "Oh, it matters. Imagine if the Citadel was in the Terminus Systems, or even the Traverse. Everything would start to gravitate around those regions, and all of the bullcrap that comes with it." Rykarn said, shaking his head. "Used to be the Citadel was parked right next door to the original Council races' territory. Everyone had to go to them. Now it's stuck in the Sol system with a few relay jumps through human space to get to it. Add that with the fact that it was humans that saved the Citadel when Sovereign attacked, delaying the Reaper invasion for a few years, and that it was the humans that united the galaxy to crush the Reapers... well, you'd be ignorant to think that someone's not going to try to take advantage of that. Just wait until talks about relocating the station come up. The smiles hide the knives, is all I'm saying."

Sicaria took a moment to think before responding, carefully taking steps towards the rescue team that was already on site. Things were already bad enough here, and she didn't wanna be responsible for destabilizing what foundation there was left. The distinct flanging on her voice broke the silence after a long moment. "Never heard that before, but you've got a point. Humans do have the greatest influence on what's left of the galaxy, but if everyone ends up looking out for themselves like you say, the Council vote's still gonna be three to one." Her mandibles stretched again as the pair got closer to where excavations were taking place. "Yeah, Asari would want it put back for historical reasons, Salarians to take a tactical advantage away. We'd go for it either out of spite since our Councilor was alive during Relay 314, or for the same reason as Salarians. Humans are the only ones that directly benefit from the Citadel being this close, no one else will allow it."

"Of course not, but that doesn't mean everyone's going to play by the rules. Call me paranoid, but being cast as the galaxy's villain for centuries gives us krogan a rather pessimistic outlook on galactic affairs." Rykarn said, zeroing in on an officer who looked like they were coordinating the rescue efforts. "I mean, I'm fine with passing that particular torch off to someone else for a while." he said, approaching the officer. who was going through some blueprints on a table, a pistol and a thermos holding both ends open. Rykarn was surprised; people actually kept paper copies of things still?

The man looked up. "Can I help you?"

"No. But we can help you. I can lift things that you'd need heavy equipment to do, and you don't run the risk of trashing tens of thousands of credits worth of gear if the rubble shifts on me. My companion is equally prepared to lend a hand." The krogan said.

"Mhmm, I'm light enough to not disturb anything and I can get in those hard to reach places. I have some light biotics if they're needed, by the way." Taking a short moment to pause, she sat down on the remains of a block that had gone into the whole of the building. She then leaned forward and clasped her hands together, looking up at the Human that was in charge. "So do we know where the last eleven are? Or are we taking shots in the dark at this point?"

"Shots in the dark, I'm afraid. Different floors, different sides of the buildings. They could be anywhere." The man said, resigned. "Look, I'm not supposed to let just anyone on the site, it's dangerous... but the emergency crews are spread thin. I want to say yes, but..."

Rykarn dug into a compartment on his armour and produced an identification chit. "Official enough? I've been here on contract since the war ended to assist in rebuilding after the war. This is a part of that contract." the krogan said. The officer took the chit, looked it over, and looked visibly relieved.

"Well, at least you know the risks. Go on, then, but please, for the love of god, be careful." the officer said, gesturing towards the entryway in the hastily erected barricade. Rykarn lead Sicaria through and soon enough, they were standing on what was more or less the side of the building. The whole thing looked like the ground tried to swallow it and choked. He gestured at the opposite corner. "There's some loose shit over there that doesn't look too busy. I'd say that's a good place to start."

Now even closer to the site of destruction, Sicaria let out a low whistle in both admiration and guilt. "We really fucked up... but yeah, let's get to work on this. With any luck, they're all holed up in an apartment that didn't collapse in on itself." The Turian cracked her knuckles before heading for the corner indicated by Rykarn, her arms turning a pleasant purple while she started to ready some controlled biotics. She wasn't the strongest with them, but she had the control expected of a Cabal.

Once close enough, she started to clear away and relocate layers of rubble, watching closely for signs of a coming collapse or human-shaped figures. Whichever came first, really.

The duo worked for over half-an hour before speaking again when Rykarn paused moving his pile of rubble by hand without sign of a casualty, just a few picture frames and a pulverized couch thus far. He became curious about Sicaria's biotics; it was rare for a turian to have them. "So, biotics. Don't turians segregate biotics from society? You're one of the few I've ever seen." he said, hurling a torso-sized chunk of wall towards the perimeter of the ruin with a crash.

Just as Sicaria was starting to feel the strain of extended biotic usage on her, Rykarn finally broke the silence. She perked up noticably now that she had someone to talk to, and the slowly growing feelings of fatigue faded just as quick as that had come. "The Heirarchy does for military purposes, but beyond that, no. And you don't really see many since Cabals are essentially the Turian equivalent to Asari Justicars, or Krogan Shamans. Rarely leave our own space, usually keep to ourselves, all that."

She paused a moment as the next layer of wreckage was cleared away, and a pair of boots showed themselves. With a triumphant smirk, she turned to the Krogan that was close by. "You could call me an exception, in that regard. I like getting to know people on more... intimate, levels." She turned away and rushed towards the pair of footwear that was half-buried, then began to carefully push rubble to the side with her clawed hands.

"Oh? That why you're hanging around me? And here I thought you were just in it to help make amends." Rykarn replied, grinning as he followed along to see what Sicaria found. "I guess we'll found out soon enough of those are still attached to their owners." he remarked, taking a knee to help the turian clear away the crap that covered the boots and their potential owner.

It took a few breathless moments of pulling debris away by hand, but soon enough a body that was connected to the boots was uncovered. The Human was caked in a thick layer of dust and dirt, though from gentle rising and falling of his chest, he was in better shape than most. "Stay right here, I'll be back with a couple medics." With a light pat on Rykarn's shoulder, she was off and running for the command post.

Not even five minutes later, she was back with the promised paramedics. While the pair set to work, the Turian took the chance to rest for a moment by crouching down beside the Krogan. "Don't know about you, but I need some sleep after this." She paused in the line of dialog, dialog, mouth hanging open with a sigh. "If I don't have any new nightmares from this, that is."

Rykarn let out a deep, slow chuckle. "There'll be time to sleep on the bloody ship. I intend to claim what's left on my bar tab. Hell, I'll even be nice and buy you a round or three. Nothing like getting inebriated and tearing up a bar as a send off for a planet. I'm banned from drinking in..." he drummed his fingers. "Fifteen establishment! Want to make it sixteen? Besides, you can't get nightmares if you don't sleep. Makes sense to me."

"Heh, I wouldn't mind getting plastered after this. I'll take you up on that offer, if you can find anything that won't make me sick right away, that is." Sicaria set her hands on her knees and pushed herself up to stand, her omni-tool flashing to life about halfway up. Without much thought, she looked down and noticed she had a list of messages piled up, all from the same person: Vetia.

She silently cursed at herself for not checking sooner, though under the circumstances, it would've made sense for her not to. Well... what's a few more hours of radio silence? "Ready whenever you are, Rykarn." She spun around on her right foot to face him, awaiting his movement.

"We saved one person. Totally makes up for bringing their house down on their head." he replied with a shrug. "I know just the place, and it ain't far from here." he said, navigating his way down the rubble. Moments later, they were out in the streets again, more rescue workers arriving as they were departing, and heading down the street.

True to his word, within the next fifteen minutes, a familiar building loomed in front of them, the double wooden doors, while old-style and perhaps a bit tacky, were inviting to certain sensibilities. The man puking into a trashcan, the very same one Rykarn had deposited his assailant from earlier, was less inviting. "Welcome to Regent Park Pub. It's one of the first things us city restoration types got up and running after the war because nothing makes a person want to drink away their problems like galactic genocide. There's a few turian regulars, so don't worry about the menu." he said, leading Sicaria through the doors into the dimly lit establishment, most of the illumination coming from several large vid screens, and to the bar, where Rykarn handed the barkeep his ID. A frothy beer was soon deposited infront of him.

The krogan grunted. "And there goes my ration limit. Think the Spectres will sponsor an open bar on the ship, or are we stuck eating freeze dried paste for weeks at a time?" he said, tossing the drink back in a single gulp.

Sicaria followed her Krogan companion into the pub, not really paying attention to him for a brief moment. Even if it had been recently rebuilt, it still felt as musty as it probably was three-hundred years ago, though this wasn't an unwelcome feeling. Up on the vid screens was what anyone would expect of an establishment like this; sporting events, galactic news, and not much else.

She clued back into the conversation as she sat down at the bar, handing over her ID a short second after Rykarn had. In return, she recieved an oddly colored beverage that would clearly have a similar effect as Ryncol on a Human. "You've had to ration alcohol planetside? There's too much of the stuff on the Citadel, clubs can't sell enough of it." Wanting to make the first drink of the night last awhile, she took and experimental sip of hers.

"Kind of. Supply is always hit and miss, the rations were more for the workers. One a day, as long as you show your card. I took a new job, so I'm cut off from the perks of unfucking a city. So you've been living on the Citadel, then? I always found there to be something... off about that place, and I don't mean the fact it was a Reaper death trap in disguise." Rykarn said, his second drink, this one smelling strongly enough to be confused with medical disinfectant, sliding up. "Everything on the station just feels fake, and some of those wards are less pleasant than some corners of Omega. I like the air planetside, the weather. I also like the idea of not paying for a room only to have the entire thing rearranged by a Keeper when you're sleeping. I hate those things."

Taking a much smaller drink this time around, he looked at the turian square on, leaning against the bar. "So, what is it about you that makes Spectres feel you're special compared to all the other suckers currently looking for work who know what end of a gun is the dangerous end?" he asked.

The Turian paused for a second, eyes flicking to the left corner to watch the Krogan turn to her while she sipped her drink. She set it down as he finished asking his question, taking a moment to come up with a valid response. "Honestly, I don't know. I'm technically still wanted by the Hierarchy for desertion, maybe it has to do with that." She drummed on the counter with her left hand for a brief second, trying to think deeper in the matter. "I'm a weak biotic by comparison, might be my record during the Invasion that pulled me into this. Spent most of it in close quarters with the Reapers, clearing buildings and tunnels. I think the term Humans use is a tunnel mouse, or something like that."

"Tunnel rat. Heard that term thrown around a lot when I was clearing out the metro from Husks the past few months" Rykarn confirmed with a couple short nods. "I'm sure you had your reasons for deserting. Just proves you're one of the few turians who aren't a tightass. So, what exactly did you do during the war?" Rykarn asked, resting both elbows on the bar counter. "When the war broke out, I returned to Tuchanka to find my brother. Figured if the world's gonna end, might as well be doing it with my own people. I joined my brother's krantt and fought the Reapers there until the genophage was cured, and since you turians helped us out, I'd return the favour so I volunteered to go fight on Palaven, and then off here to London. Been here ever since, worked with a Spectre during the war. Guess he put in a good word for me. That's the long and short of why I'm here, ass deep in Husk corpses and wondering how long it'll be before the asari gets us all killed." he concluded, his tone bemused.

Sicaria listened to Rykarn's story in silence, nodding and occasionally taking sips of her drink. When he finished his tale, she intertwined her fingers and let her hands drop onto the bar. "Can't say I moved around that much overall, but I was on vacation in the Caribbean when this started. I swear, my heart never beat so fast in my life, but I got off world and went straight for Palaven. I got stationed in Cipritine and I got one order: Hold the city. If we found a tunnel they'd carved out to get behind our lines, I went in with two others to clear it. Someone always died down there, lost some good friends... then you got sent in and our capital's still in one piece after all that. With Palaven locked down, I got sent to Vacouver for a couple weeks, and it was pretty much the same thing there. Just with buildings." She looked down into her half-finished beverage, falling totally silent while she remembered the faces of those that died beside her.

Rykarn held up his glass. "To the ones we lost along the way." he toasted, downing the drink. Considering how strong it was, he didn't react much. It was probably an indication of both the strength of what krogan brewed on Tuchanka and how undiscriminating they were when it came to what they consumed. "Sorry about your friends. I've lost a lot of people along the way, too, but I guess it's different for krogan. We've existed for so long with the genophage that most of us gave up on hope for a future, and death's about as common as Aralah rising and setting each day. None of us expect to die of old age... there's some debate whether or not that's even possible for us. Some krogan have been around since the Krogan Rebellions, to give you an idea. We're built to last, but it doesn't mean we do." he said, pulling a bowl of crunchy stale peanuts towards him.

"So, I fully expect to die violently and wouldn't have it any other way. Rather not have my four hearts slowly give out or some shit. I don't really know how you non-krogan or asari aliens get anything done in the short lives you have. I'd be a senior citizen if I were a turian, but I'm still in the early stretch of centuries of being in my prime. Plenty of time to work things out... I probably won't even remember this whole Reaper ordeal in a century or two."

"To those we lost along the way." She threw her head back and downed the rest of her drink in a couple gulps, the glass getting set on the counter immediately afterwards with a distinct, empty clack. "And I swear, if you somehow forget all this happened, my spirit will be there to smack the memories back into you." Rather than speak in a light-hearted tone, she seemed deathly serious now. She leaned forward and waved the bartender over, who promptly replaced her drink.

"Y'know when I said I was gonna get plastered I meant it, right?"

"Do you remember what happened when you were 12? How about twenty years from now?" Rykarn asked rhetorically. "To be blunt, the war just put other planets on a similar playing field as Tuchanka has been on since we made the goddamn atomic bomb. Ever since I hatched, all I've known is war-torn hellscapes and survival. Our population never grew, it only decreased. Krogan were always killing each other, and most would be mothers never had a single egg hatch. There were literally hundreds of eggs in my clutch; only my brother and I hatched. If I do remember the Reaper war in a few hundred years out of the countless wars to come, it'll be because the genophage ended." he said, signalling for another glass. "Guess that's up to you to make an impression that lasts longer than any of you turians are going to be alive, huh? Maybe leave me a tape. I like movies."

"But that's hundreds of years from now, why worry about it? What matters now is you fulfill your duty for the greater good and drink with me until my credit account hurts." He grinned, holding his glass out to cheers.

"I will say Rykarn, you make a good point. I'll make sure to leave you a momento before I die." Without much more to say, the odd pair of a Turian and Krogan clinked glasses. "Cheers."

Mass Effect: Borealis

Clinical Precision and Messy Memories

Drono Loyalty Mission Prologue

Tanya, Hanger Bay…

The call over the intercom erupted suddenly, startling Tanya as she was cleaning one of her paint brushes off in the water pot. Already going off of entirely too little sleep thanks to a combination of alcohol and a series of reoccurring nightmare, the engineer counted her blessings that she wasn’t applying brush to canvas when Drono boomed over the intercom. Considering how seldom it was used for anything serious, since most people just crossed the short distance to speak with people directly, about as serious of a use as the intercom got was to announce meals for the most part.

Catching Serena’s eye, who was busy behind Old Nancy running some diagnostics, the two women shared a look conveying that neither were entirely certain what the hell was going on. Drono wasn’t an angry guy, so this did not bode well. Scaling the ladder to head up to the bridge, Tanya wondered exactly what the hell was about to go down.

Settling against a wall near Tonka and Dex, she listened to Drono go over his less-than-ideal circumstances and Tanya felt she was way under-caffeinated for this, so much so that she realized she was still holding onto the same paint brush as earlier and was idly twirling it like a drumstick between her fingers. There wasn’t really much she had to add; she’d never fought against Eclipse before, but she’d be able to chew into tech without much of an issue. The lack of intel concerning Drono’s proposition was a bit concerning, however.

”Look, Drono…” she began, trying to pick her words carefully. ”We all want to fix you, and you know we’re on board for getting you the help you need, but you’re in a lot of pain, do you actually have an idea of how we’re going to do this? It’s a huge risk going in half-cocked, and nobody’s going to be able to help you if we all get killed. Eclipse is one of the big kids on the block; we aren’t going to be able to match them in a straight-on firefight if it turns out there’s more than two of them. They’ve the manpower and finances that we could only dream about… I mean, look at this heap of ship that we call home. I can’t even hang up a picture without worrying about causing a hull breach. How do we know the thugs aren’t just plainclothes Eclipse so they don’t draw attention?”

Tonka jetted a thumb towards Tanya. ”I’m with her. As fun as it is watching us all bumble around like a bunch of inbred pyjaks who’ve been eating nothing but fermented fruits, I’d rather our colossal fuck-ups be something we walk away from. After Virmire, this team needs a win, or I don’t see us lasting out there because the galaxy will chew us apart and shit us out with a thought. We can’t afford to have Eclipse know who the hell we are. Couldn’t we just sneak you into the clinic and run a diversion if they start getting nosey?”