Prologue Part 2
The Forgotten Veteran
Jorgal Tarok, a name that once spurred fear in krogan younglings and respect from krogan warriors. The krogan that vanquished an army of batarian slavers on his own. The krogan who led a group of some of the greatest krogan warriors from clan Jorgal in defense of their territory during the famous Weyrloc offensive. During his prime, he was considered a legend, a true force of nature...but no more.
100 years ago
Tarok stood before Jorgal Glovenk, the current leader of clan Jorgal. Surrounding him are his former comrades in arms, some his students, some soldiers that were under his command, some were krogan he could once even considered to be friends. Now, however, they glared at him with more hatred than he had even seen while fighting clan Weyrloc, screams for blood to be spilled from his throat poured from their mouths. Glovenk raised his hand and the room reluctantly fell to silence. The ancient leader simply looked to Tarok with his one remaining eye, the other having been forcibly torn out in a battle too ancient for anyone but him to remember and began to speak.
"Jorgal Tarok, do you know why you are here?" Tarok stared at the ground in front of him, barely acknowledging his leader's inquiry. Glovenk didn't tolerate this show of disrespect. With a speed seemingly impossible of a creature of his age, he jumped from his throne and headbutted Tarok to the ground, putting his dagger to his throat. "I asked you a question boy." Had this been any other krogan, Tarok would have felt compelled to tear them limb from limb, but Glovenk was the one krogan he respected above all else.
Tarok looked his leader in the eye and finally spoke, "We all know why I'm here, Glovenk."
Glovenk was satisfied with his answer, "...indeed. Nonetheless, speak your charges." Taking his dagger from Tarok's throat, Glovenk lumbered back to his throne, allowing Tarok to stand.
"I am charged with...neglecting my duties, resulting in the deaths of my men and many others." Tarok spoke these charges as if he were speaking of another krogan, though, at this point, he felt like he was.
Glovenk stared at him, obviously deep in thought, then said, "Do you deny these charges, boy?"
Tarok again looked at the ground, as if he knew that would be his next destination, before giving his answer. "...no."
The room erupted in an uproar, the ancient Tuchankan soil rising in a fine dust from the roars and stomping of his former clanmates-turned-perscutors.
"SEVER HIS HEAD!"
"NO, FEED HIM TO A THRESHER MAW!"
"TEAR OFF HIS QUAD AND MAKE HIM EAT IT!"
"SCREW ALL THAT, JUST LET US TEAR HIM APART OURSELVES!"
Glovenk rose from his seat calmly before giving a primal roar at the top of his lungs, silencing everything and everyone. When the room had calmed, he slowly approached he who he once considered his most prized warrior. He removed his dagger from it's sheath, clear signs of dried blood pointed to enemies he felt the need to keep on his knife as a sort of trophy. He stood before Tarok, his eyes locked on his own, Tarok not even attempting to take a defensive stance, preparing to take the punishment he was sure to get. Glovenk raised his knife above his head and with one quick, clean swipe, his punishment was given.
Tarok stood silent for a moment, then he brought his hand to his brow, wiping his own blood away from the gash expertly carved into it. It was a perfect, straight line between his eyes, not deep enough to kill him, but deep enough to leave a permanent scar. Every krogan knew what this scar meant, it was a sign...of exile. Glovenk replaced his knife into it's sheath. "You have disgraced your clan, and betrayed your warriors. If you were any other krogan, I would have torn you apart myself. But your reputation among other krogan clans leaves me only one honorable punishment that won't embarrass us further: exile. From this point forward, you are banished from this clan. I care not where you go or what you do, but you are not to show your face here again, if you do, you will beg me to kill you when my punishment for you is being dealt. You have until midnight to gather whatever you need and go...may the ancients have mercy upon you."
Though no one was particularly happy with this punishment, no one dared speak up for fear of Glovenk's wrath. All the krogans could do is leave their former hero to rot in exile. Glovenk turned to leave the room, but gave Tarok one last glance before exiting, the other krogans following in his wake, leaving only Tarok, who stood in the same spot he had occupied throughout his sentencing, never moving an inch. He gave off no emotion, not sadness, not anger, not confusion, he just stood there, staring up into the sky with his red, reptilian eyes. He knew it had to happen, he just contemplated his form brothers in arms, and how they were so quick to turn against him. Finally, he turned his back to Glovenk's throne and began to walk to his home, where he would collect his weapons and enough money to get him off world, for Tuchanka held no more for him. Everything had been taken from him, more than most would ever know.
Present day
"Excuse me sir, sir?" This shook Tarok from his slumber, his eyes sensitive to the light inside the ship. The human stewardess was being overly polite again, he hated that. If she wanted him to wake up, he would respect her more if she'd do more than ask him to "excuse her"; he never understood humans, and in his mind, he probably never wanted to.
"What?" He answered.
"We...um, we've arrived at our destination sir, the other passengers have already left." She was clearly intimidated, but kept her calm, polite demeanor in order.
"And?"
"And...I thought you might...well, maybe you'd want to...get off the ship?" Tarok took this moment to get up out of his seat, his size overshadowing the puny human female. She took a step back, now more intimidated than her training had prepared her for.
Tarok took the small case from the chair next to him said, "Thanks."
After walking past the stewardess towards the exit door, he caught a quick sigh of relief from the human, and rolled his eyes. If he had wanted to kill her, she wouldn't have had time to speak, he didn't blame her for not understanding this, but he did find it annoying, especially when every stewardess of every flight he'd taken, whether it be asari, human, salarian, turian, whatever, seemed to react the same way. I'm surrounded by idiots. He thought, before exiting the ship. The sight of the city caught his eye for a second; he'd heard stories from several human mercs he'd worked with over the years, most of the against his will, about this city. "The biggest city on Earth, except for New York, maybe", he'd heard one time from a particularly talkative merc. The skyline was typical of most cities he'd gone too, except for the ugly tower of stone that stuck out like a "sore thumb", he'd heard that expression too, he didn't understand it, not that he understood anything humans said most of the time.
He didn't have time to admire the sights, however, as he had a job to do. Since his exile from his clan, he'd gone the route most krogan took after the genophage hit, he became a merc for hire. He took any job he could find, many that not even other krogan would take, mostly to look for a challenge to take his mind off of his disgrace or perhaps even find as honorable a death as he could find. This was just another job to him, albeit a boring one in his eyes. He'd been hired to assassinate a human loan shark, Lucas Chamberlain, who apparently crossed the wrong people. He was pretty low on the criminal food chain, but Tarok was getting paid a large amount to kill him, so he could care less if he was a varren or pyjak.
Tarok hailed a cab and ordered it to take him to where he found out Chamberlain had taken up temporary residence, the Buckingham Terrace Hotel. Apparently, Chamberlain used some of his ill-gotten credits to rent out the last few floors of Hotel for a huge party he was throwing. The scum hired blue suns for protection, though according to Tarok's source, he specifically ordered only human mercs, showing that he was clearly a xenophobe, that'd make things difficult. From what Tarok had heard, aliens weren't too uncommon on Earth, but still, a krogan was sure to stick out among a crowd of predominantly human party goers and guards. It wasn't going to be too hard for Tarok, all he'd have to do is storm in, guns blazing, catching the guards off guard and killing Chamberlain before reinforcements could get there.
As the cab sped through the London skyway, Tarok took a moment to look out at a strange sight that caught his eye. A large metal wheel not too far away from the stone tower he had noticed earlier. It looked about as old as the tower itself, yet still kept in good condition. It clearly showed ancient design, being a simple network of metal tubes and beams, supported by a stand that seemed to double as an engine system to spin the wheel around. He could see some humans sitting in cars on the wheel, apparently enjoying being slowly risen and lowered on the wheel. Tarok could only shake his head at them, how humans could enjoy simply being raised and lowered on a giant metal wheel escaped him.
The cab console beeped, signally to Tarok that he was about to arrive at the hotel. He glanced out the front windshield, seeing the words "Buckingham Terrace" displayed on a giant screen near the center of the very tall structure. Tarok raised an eyebrow in curiosity. What the hell's a "Buckingham"? Some kind of animal? He quickly shook his head of the question, not wanting it to irritate him and also not wanting to look like an idiotic tourist by asking someone. The cab slowly descended towards the landing pad halfway up the building. Tarok exited the cab and took his metal case from the trunk of the car. As he entered the hotel, he could already see several humans staring at him from afar. He paid them no mind and made his way to the check in desk. He dreaded this part.
Approaching the desk, he braced himself for one the most irritating things in the galaxy, a talkative human. He might intimidate the human enough to keep him as quiet as possible, but he was guessing not. He wasn't that lucky. Tarok put his case down next to him and stared at the human behind the counter. Much like the stewardess on the transport ship, he forced a polite smile even though he was clearly intimidated. "Uh, checking in sir?" No genius, I've just been walking around the hotel for a week without a single one of you humans noticing me. Idiot.
"Yeah."
"Very well, name please."
"Korta" Having gained a reputation as a merc in the Terminus Systems, Tarok didn't want to take chances on anyone recognizing his name.
The desk clerk looked at him as if expecting more. "Korta...?"
"Just Korta. Is there a problem?" Tarok was growing more irritated by the second, and made no effort to hide it.
"Oh, um, no sir. I just...thought maybe you had another...I'll just check the computer here." The clerk tapped frantically on the holographic keyboard. "Ah, there we are Mr. Korta. Your room is number 2567. Here's your keycard for the room. Will you need any assist-"
"No." Tarok grabbed the card from the desk, picked up his case and walked away, again hearing a sigh of relief as he left.
After spending a couple of minutes trying to find his room, he finally managed to locate it. He entered the room, placing his case on the table in front of the window and opening it, revealing his pistol, the same pistol he'd carried for the last 200 years. Though considered obsolete by most standards, Tarok considered this pistol as the most dangerous in the galaxy. He'd carried this pistol into some of his most proud and cherished memories and battles. Thinking of them brought him a sense of pride for a second, only to be then overshadowed by the memories attached to the orange scar now permanently a part of his blue crest. He closed the case, not needing the pistol until the party Chamberlain would hold the next day; trying to get to him beforehand would be nearly impossible until the masses of VIPs arrived to distract his guards.
Tarok stared out the window of his room, gazing at the numerous skyscrapers and buildings, including the wheel from earlier. He had to admit, he understood how humans could be so awestruck with this city, it's scale was massive, but he was unimpressed. All he wanted was to kill his target and move on to the next job, the next distraction. He emitted a low growl, contemplating to himself. Another job to help a broken warrior forget his past days of glory and current days of shame. Perfect. However, something...doesn't feel right. My gut tells me that this job is gonna go horribly wrong. And not surprising...ha, I don't care.
Another part down. I hope you guys are enjoying this so far, if not, then there's absolutely nothing I can do about it. ;) Also, don't be afraid to give me a review. However, if you have criticism, please, keep it constructive. Thanks.
