Welcome to Réaltra Léarscáil

New message- received at 13:45 PM

From: Emma Bridges

Subject: Important! New find on R.W 2183- Cpt. Shepard's logs!

The planet you see in the attached image is known as Réaltra Léarscáil. It's the birthplace of many of the races we see around us today, as you well know! Humans, Krogans, Salarians, Asari, they all colonised worlds after inventing space travel on this very planet. But we both know why they chose to leave. Yes, the Reaper war of 2183-2186 occurred there, and the natives famously fought them off, despite heavy losses and huge damages to their homelands; or so history states. Whatever happened back then, it is a very interesting period, and I implore you to take a look at this book. We have several relics from the era, already, but we have just discovered some writings from the famous Captain Shepard: our probe discovered them just this morning, in fact. The book only details the attack of the first reaper, Sovereign, but I cannot possibly underplay its importance. Read through it, and analyse everything. It could change the history books! There are secrets in there that could derail galactic civilisation as we know it! Message me back when you've read through, and we'll decide what to do. I hope we find more of her books, who knows what we could discover?

Oh, I should warn you: Shepard is quite the character. It took me quite a while to get used to her storytelling style. She certainly jumps about a bit. Also, I hope her love for rum won't bring back your desire for the stuff, it was hard enough breaking the addiction the first time.

Speak soon!

-E.

Attachment:

I have to admit, military life never really appealed to me. And as far as I know- from several particularly damning reports- military life didn't like me much in return.

I suppose the true problems started after Akuze. Before then, it had only been a few minor issues. Disorderly conduct, disrespect to a superior officer, improper dress code, that sort of thing. What was I to do, really? My fellow soldiers were brutish morons, my commanding officer had one of the ships masts permanently wedged up his arse, and blue really isn't my colour.

But anyway, back to Akuze. I'd been placed on watch. Again. Sitting outside our camp, twiddling my thumbs, staring out at nothing. Yeah, it was really dark. I couldn't even see my hand in front of my face, and I flapped it around for at least five minutes. Probably more. Still, it all became very boring, very quickly. In fact, I was already bored before my illustrious commander had finished the first pompous sentence that would confine me to staring at nothing all night. He didn't like me very much. I think all the dislike stemmed from the time I stabbed him in the knee. By accident. OK, so I may have realised he wasn't an attacker a minute or so before he reached me, but it gave me a good opportunity to shriek and unsheath my sword. It was a not at all unpleasant bonus to see that I had accidentally on purpose lodged said weapon in his kneecap. I had an excuse ready, to boot. I think we could have worked past it, maintained a professional relationship, but I may have exacerbated matters when I rubbed salt on the wound instead of the medi-gel. Why the cook kept his supplies within the med-bay I will never know, but I'll always savour the shriek my wounded patient let out when I seasoned his wound. Oh, sorry, did I say savour? I meant remember. It was a tragic and mentally scarring incident.

No really.

I lasted about two hours before I cracked. I'd spent the time debating over those difficult questions in life, like why tomatos are classified as fruit, why we have big toes and whether I'd prefer to face an asari justicar or krogan battlemaster in combat. By the time I was hypothesising how many varren it would take to change a lightbulb, I was already on my feet and sneaking through the camp towards the ship. It wasn't far, we'd only scouted out a little bit over the past few days, preferring more thorough coverage to increased distance, so I reached our docked vessel within half an hour or so.

I should mention- if only to again demonstrate my disregard for rules and regulations- that drinking while on a mission is frowned upon by the alliance. By frowned upon, I mean that it's punishable by a disapproving glare and several strikes of the whip against ones unprotected back. I was bored, though, and I couldn't resist an unguarded store room full of delicious rum!

In retrospect, I may have had a little too much. But, in my defence, I can't actually remember if it was the booze that caused me to pass out or simple tiredness. Let's say it was exhaustion, as that's the exact answer I'd give at a military hearing.

When I roused myself, it was hot and sunny. Not as in your ideal holiday weather, either. I also had a splitting headache, but another few gulps of rum had me staggering across the ship deck, succesfully delaying the hangover for later. Oh, yes, it would be extremely painful, but I was still slightly drunk, and logic does not come easily to the inebriated. I tucked another bottle or two into my belt for easy access just in case it threatened to come back. Unfortunately, I had bigger things to worry about. Much bigger.

I had just reached the boarding ramp when I saw it. At first, I thought I was seeing things. But when the huge mass of flesh didn't vanish, even after I had rubbed my eyes with a shaking hand, I had to accept that it was, in fact, real.

Why do bad things happen to good people? Actually, belay that, why do bad things happen to me? Screw over someone else for a change, please.

But all the pleading in the world wouldn't help me. Fortunately, I had something nearby that would.

It took barely a minute to introduce the unaware thresher maw to a canonball, but the resulting crack of iron against flesh was certainly satisfying. Until I heard the sounds of flesh against wood and the deck exploded underneath me.

I'd like to say that I dodged, came out with a witty one-liner and drove my sword through the maw's face.

But all I managed was "urk!" before I was sent slamming into the main mast. My head was ringing, my back ached, and I was pretty sure I'd lost my gun, but on the bright side, I wasn't dead. Yet. The thresher maw looked fairly pissed off.

A loud splintering sound brought my attention to the mast behind me. A large crack ran along the beam from where my body had impacted against it, and it was swaying precariously. Staring between the approaching thresher maw and the half broken mast, a devious idea began to form. I managed to crawl to my feet- I had a broken rib or two, so it was a lot more difficult than it usually was-paused to casually throw up a fair bit of blood, and took cover behind the mast. Just in time, too, as the thresher maw decided to get in on the vomiting party and hurled an acidic stream from its gaping mouth. It managed to go exactly where I wanted it to go, and exactly where I didn't. Sure, the acid started to eat away at the wood of the mast, but it's rather hard to be ecstatic at your success when thresher maw vomit is also merrily gnawing away at any patch of bare skin it can reach.

Foregoing caution, I leaped- or more accurately, limped- into action, hacking away at the remaining support of the mast with my sword.

To my credit, the mast did fall. So my plan half succeeded. Ubfortunately, it fell the wrong way. I barely managed to roll aside before the mast crashed onto the deck and started sliding away. It took a few seconds for me to realise what that meant, but when I cottoned on, I couldn't help but grin. After gripping on firmly to the railing, of course.

Not a moment too soon, either. The extra weight on the stern caused the boat to tip up into the air. I was prepared, and could dangle by my fingertips in relative safety. The thresher maw wasn't. Gravity ripped it from its precarious perch and it was sent spiralling down onto the remnants of the main mast, lodged firmly in the seabed. I watched victoriously as it was skewered straight through the middle.

It's important to note that this was the first time the alliance had encountered thresher maws, and the name was only coined a few years after first contact. So, at the time, it was an entirely new entity, and the only reason I hadn't frozen in terror was a combination of sheer drunkenness and an innate fear of death. Powerful motivators. In light of our lack of knowledge on the maws, I could likely be forgiven for not knowing that the blood of a thresher maw is mildly acidic. I soon found out, though, when the splatters of blood coating the lower half of the ship started hissing, and the wooden hull started to dissolve. Delaying the inevitable would only put off pain for a few seconds, so I did the smart thing, and clung on to the railing as tightly as I could, gibbering slightly in fear. Undignified, yes, but it was well within my rights.

The fall was over surprisingly quickly. The agony of the impact wasn't. I heard the crack of my leg breaking as I hit the ground, the shallow water doing nothing to slow me down. Blood dripped down my arm- it had caught one of the maw's claws on the way down. My ribs were definitely broken, and weren't too pleased with the speed of my descent; they felt as if they were stabbing into my lung and, although I could still breathe, it was a little difficult. Every breath felt wet, for lack of a better word, and I could feel blood against my lips. Coughing didn't help, it just made my ribs stab into me, but it was a natural reaction to feeling a liquid pressing against my lungs.

Through hazy vision, I spied a familiar red container, split open slightly. Medi-gel!

Every movement spelled out pain, and adjusting to it came with several minutes of lying still, half passed out. I'm still not sure how long it took me to reach the container- hours maybe- but it was quite the marathon.

It was a relief to apply it. It wasn't a miracle cure, but as it coursed through my body, it slotted my ribs back in their right places, dulled the pain in my leg and removed most of the pressure from my lungs. Even the wound on my arm half sealed. Normally, medi-gel wasn't so potent, but I had an entire crate on my hands. Then again, we're normally restricted to five medi-gel in the field for a reason. As I made my way back to the camp, it felt like I was walking on air, everything seemed more vibrant, and I felt numb and detached. Probably a good thing, too, given what was waiting for me.

Everyone was dead. Killed by the same creatures I'd been attacked by. How could I tell? They'd managed to bring one of them down. It was three times the size of the monster I'd fought, and only its head and upper body were above the ground. Other craters remained, evidence that there were more of them. It'd be nice to say that I collected their dog togs, said a few words, but no. I could do nothing but fall down to the ground and laugh hysterically. Maybe it was the medi-gel messing with my head, but I couldn't quite get over the fact that the horrific battle I'd just endured had been against a baby thresher maw. It had been brutal. I didn't even want to imagine what my platoon had faced against several fully grown maws. So instead of confronting it, I left. I got picked up by a merchant vessel, and made my way back to Earth. Back home.

That was where the problems started. I wasn't disciplined. I wasn't discharged, I wasn't even given a warning. No, they congratulated me. Thanked me. Bent over backwards to reward me.

A better person might have stood up and made a speech, rejected their offerings, lauded the valour of their dead platoon while downplaying their own role. But me, I let it happen. Hell, I enjoyed the parties, the medals, the media attention. They called me the 'sole survivor', and I lapped it up. A two year break, with nothing but adoration flowing from everyone around me.

Then I had to go back to work. And things went downhill from there. My superiors, my squadmates, had unrealistic expectations. They'd put me on a pedestal. It was nice on at first, sure, but it quickly faded and turned to confusion and anger. Why? Well, they didn't expect their 'sole survivor' to have my personality. They didn't like my attitude, the way I disrespected the chain of command, the way I used my brains in a fight instead of charging in with guns blazing. The reports started getting worse. By the end of the year, they 'reassigned' me. They kicked me out of the squad, essentially, but they didn't want to make it official. It ended up working out better for me than for them, though.

They offered me access to the N7 program, taught at the International Training Academy on Earth. I decided to accept. Mainly out of vindictive spite against my former squadmates, but I was also honoured by the invitation. I passed with flying colours, too. I try not to think about my time there, it brings back the worst memories of Akuze that I've merely glossed over- and try to ignore, most of the time- but I can say that a lot of the program is devoted to surviving in hostile conditions with very little food or water. It was far too familiar, that's for sure.

Being ranked N7 fastracked me for a leadership position. I was pulled in as the first mate for a 'special project'. It would be a simple shakedown run, sure, but I was excited to discover that I would be serving aboard The Normandy, a ship that was co-designed by turians and humans. She was a beautiful vessel, and I looked forward to spending time with her on the open ocean, with no hostile combat situations on the horizon. Of course, things didn't quite turn out that way, but the peace was certainly nice while it lasted!

We were headed to Eden Prime. It was one of our most important island colonies; Earth got most of their sugar from several well maintained plantations, and it was also where we had discovered bananas. It wasn't just a trade hub, though: many left Earth to colonise Eden Prime, insisting that it had better views and superior air that did wonders for the lungs. Way I see it, a tree is a tree, no matter where you are. Then again, I was raised around ships. I guess if you spend all your life in one place, anywhere seems preferable. We never stayed in a port for much more than a month, and the sea is ever-changing. You're not stuck, because you always have a destination, you're always going somewhere. It gives you purpose, I guess.

Those thoughts were rolling round my head as I approached the helmsman and Kaidan Alenko- an old friend- from my quarters. On the way, I passed Nihlus, a turian Spectre who's presence rang alarm bells. You didn't send Spectre's on shakedown runs.

"Man, I hate that guy." Joker, the helmsman, said.

"Nihlus played you a compliment, so you hate him?"

"You remember to button up your flies on the way out of the bathroom? That's good. But I just sailed us around half the world and made it in damn good time. So that's incredible!"

He paused, tilting the wheel slightly.

"Besides, Spectre's are trouble. I don't like having him on board. Call me paranoid."

He was right. Spectre's are trouble. Had I known just how much, I may have thrown myself overboard then and there. Actually, who am I kidding? It led to the adventure of a lifetime, I just wish everyone wasn't out to end that lifetime with hot metal balls of death. But you can't always get what you want. If you could, I'd have an empire, an armada of ships and a few asari butlers to serve me rum every five minutes, and a salarian doctor to sort me out when I passed out from alcohol poisoning.

A/N: Hey everyone! Thanks for reading! So this is essentially Mass Effect, but piratey! Yay! I hope you enjoy it just as much as I enjoyed writing it!

A little confused as to how everything fits together? Why not ask? All PM's and reviews- s'long as they're not abusive or require spoilers, of course- will be answered!

A big thanks to inf3ctionz, who helped me come up with the idea and some of the opening plot points. Thanks buddy!

Stay tuned for the next part, and for our dear scientist's impressions on part one of Captain Shepard's logs! See you soon!