Alright, let's give this one a shot. This is more of an expansion chapter, showing significantly more detail about the universe. Not much, but some. You know how I am, an absolute asshat.
And just a quick snipe, I fully endorse anyone writing a Witcher story. Witcher 3 is quite possibly the greatest fantasy adventure game, not necessarily in the RPG aspect but whatevs, ever created. I certainly consider it so. And if you have the time and the inclination, you absolutely should read the Andrez Sapkowski books that created the Witcher-verse, they are fantastic.
Shepard grabbed a hold of the ledge, hauling his waterlogged self onto one of the lower sitting areas on the shores of the Presidium lake. There were a few civilians nearby, all staring wildly at him. Not that the witcher could find it in himself to blame them. They had just witnessed him slay a Kayran by cutting its head open, sealing two grenades in its head and blowing it to hell. They had also watched both Shepard and the monster, appear from beneath the lake's surface with a great splash and no indication of where they might have come from.
The viper eyed man paid them no heed regardless, as he instead finally pulled all of himself from the waters and laid out on the metal deck of the Presidium. Deep and heavy breaths panted their way through the monster hunter's mouth as he spread his arms and legs and gazed up at the fabricated sky of the Presidium.
Shepard preferred no sky to fake ones, as his enhanced vision, akin to that of an eagle looking through binoculars, was able to easily pick out all of the flaws. The clouds were atrociously thin, and the blue sky was clearly a holographic screen while the sun was a little too yellow to be real.
Even worse were the sounds. The witcher could, if it was quiet enough, literally hear the lice on another person's head if they stood close enough to touch with the tip of Grey Wolf. Sure there was the sound of people, but the sounds of nature were absent, and it left the mutated man, someone who spent the vast majority of his life in nature, either stalking or baiting some monster, with a sense of emptiness. He had actually purchased one of those ridiculous 'Sounds of Nature' tracks to help him sleep when he was on a space station or on his own personal ship. Otherwise he preferred wide open skies, even if they weren't blue, had clouds, or their sun was the wrong color.
The Wolf wiggled on the ground, feeling water squelch and flow through his undersuit. He was going to have to drain that out, and chances were good that it wasn't the relatively clean waters of the lake next to him, but the smelly, rancid, putrid waters of the sewer. If the witcher had to guess, he'd say there were at least seven different colors of urine touching his skin at that exact moment.
Shepard finally gathered himself and sat up, taking in the sight of a gathered crowd of observers, all watching him with great interest. Well, they'd certainly get a show.
The butcher's hooks he kept at his waist, also came with about fifty meters of tightly wound carbon filament cable capable of suspending an entire fiend all by itself. Stripping his armor off, even peeling the undersuit down to his waist, the witcher anchored the tiny winch attached to the waist of his armor to a bench that must have been previously occupied, grabbed both butcher hooks, and dove into the lake. After all, proof of a kill was everything to a witcher, and every autopsy he could perform would only help him and his fellow witchers on future contracts.
In the blue waters of the lake, Shepard realized that the water was not terribly clean, and at the lake bottom there was more than several years' worth of trash and sediment that had been built up, and in the water itself was riddled with debris floating at various depths. Honestly, the witcher didn't know what was more toxic, the Kayran's blood, or the ever more popular drink, Rock Troll.
Speaking of the monster, the giant cephalopod corpse was slowly oozing black blood as its oily mucus slipped off and rose to the surface. The massive wounds weren't regenerating, so Shepard felt fairly secure in his assessment of the beast. That it was dead.
This was further reinforced by the fact it didn't react in the slightest as he plunged the first hook into the soft, squishy flesh at the head, nor did it move when the witcher inserted the second one deep inside the mouth filled with razor sharp teeth.
Making sure the hooks were secure, the Wolf felt his lungs begin to beg for air, rose to the surface. Upon breaking the surface, Shepard could see that his little crowd had only grown while he was beneath the surface. Camera drones were floating about too, and the witcher could hear sirens and see the flashing lights already. Hopefully one of them had the turian sergeant Vakarian in it, so he could get some of his tools. A sword was a hard weapon to perform surgery with.
A flick of his omnitool, and the tiny winch on his belt began pulling at the huge corpse at the bottom of the lake. The motor wasn't terribly powerful, it was mostly intended to assist him with pulling himself up, or any tool or small trophy he normally couldn't climb with. Fortunately, it didn't have to pull all by itself, as Shepard put his pair of gauntlets back on and grabbed the carbon filament line.
As soon as he started pulling, pain exploded along his ribs. Damn relict must have squeezed him pretty hard. The adrenaline and then the cool waters had reduced the pain at first, and the Swallow still in his blood probably healed what had likely been a lethal wound before he had experienced the mortal consequences. Witcher potions had come a long way since they were first brewed more than a millennia ago. The ingredients required were ultimately the same, but it was the brewing techniques, helped by advances in chemistry, and the concentration of the ingredients that helped potion's like Swallow and Thunderbolt last for hours instead of minutes.
It also helped that the mutations were much better than they were those thousand plus years ago, back when only three in ten children survived the Trial of the Grasses. Now a days, ninety nine in a hundred boys survived, though the batches never get that large. Shepard's own group had only been him and three others, all of them had survived the mutagens, though the pain from the process wasn't something he'd ever wish upon any others, and he still wanted to vomit at the sight of a Sad Albert.
It was the Trial of the Medallion that had culled his group. Drowners nabbing one of the seventeen year olds, and a foglet tricked another one into running into a trap. Surprisingly, the rock trolls were the least dangerous. The ogroids had been weary of the young adults at first, but Shepard's classmate, Artur, had reminded him that rock trolls were capable of reason. Killing them wasn't always necessary, and often wasn't a smart choice.
Turns out that had been one of the tests involved in the Trial. With nothing but a short silver dagger, their signs, and rags for armor, they weren't likely to be able to kill trolls, so they'd have to find a different way, just as they would while on the Path. Shepard would never claim that he fought to protect monsters from humans just as much as to protect humans from monsters, but there were more than a few instances in his Path that he had been found a way to let monsters and humans, even aliens one time, live in peace.
The pain in his ribs quickly faded away as the Swallow finished its work at fixing his ribs. Good thing too, as no one from the gathered throng seemed willing to help him with the other line.
Or they weren't, until Sergeant Vakarian appeared from the crowd, grabbing the other line and pulling with him, the motor making their job easier and holding the corpse when they moved their hands.
"Got my case?"
The turian didn't even pause, "It's on the bench."
Shepard just grunted in acknowledgement, focusing on the line as the surface began to ripple. The corpse emerged to the gasps of the assembled, some even began to applause, though there were others who were murmuring in shock and horror. Whether they thought he was a hero or a killer who had just murdered an 'innocent' creature.
Regardless of misinformed naturalists who believed the Kayran needed any sort of protection, the witcher pulled the corpse right up to the side of the landing, locked the winch in place so it could hold the beast there, and turned to the turian, "Thanks for that. You think you and your boys can keep the area clear while I perform an autopsy on this thing?"
The C-Sec operative blinked twice, "Uh, I don't know, I'd have to ask…"
"Alright everyone, back up! Give the man some space!" a dark plated turian started barking to the crowd, "Officers, lets get a line up, twenty meters from the shore!"
Vakarian looked as sheepish as turians managed to get as he turned back to the witcher, "Yes, we can."
Shepard simply cocked an eyebrow before going over to his Witcher's Cache, popping it open and grabbing a tiny vial of White Honey. The auto injector of his right gauntlet wouldn't work without the powerpack on the chest armor, fortunately, witcher potions were still able to be ingested orally.
After breaking the glass vial and downing the tincture, the Wolf grabbed the silver scalpel and sample tubes before turning back to the corpse. The body was being held up by the cables, and the Kayran had just enough buoyancy for the witcher to leap atop the deceased cephalopod, not particularly relishing the feel of the slimy flesh beneath his bare feet.
First things first, collect a sample of poisonous mucus, just in case there was any variation between this particular strain to the typical venom of a typical Kayran. Not to mention its many uses in various potions and decoctions.
Someone was close, closer than the line of C-Sec officers would allow. Viper eyes looked up from their work to find that salarian that had been following him earlier approaching the corpse and the witcher perched atop it.
Shepard chose to ignore him for the time being, simply allowing the older amphibian to stare as he dug through what was left of the brain, looking for the pineal gland as that was where he could find a concentrated solution of the Kayran's mutagen. The mutagen would be essential in determining if the species was undergoing any sort of evolution or if this particular one may have been mutated. To the Wolf's knowledge, while Kayran's typically grew quite quickly, they still took months to grow as large as this one, and someone definitely should've noticed it beforehand.
"Excuse me!" was he really trying this?
The salarian stepped closer, Shepard still not paying even the slightest bit of attention to him as he pulled a few lobes of brain out and finally revealing the pineal gland.
"Searching for specific parts…" the guy was talking, to the witcher or to himself Wolf had no idea, but viper eyes remained focused on their task as the silver scalpel carefully cut around the delicate organ.
"Food? No, still human in sense of taste. For unique blood chemistry? Possible, creature capable of devouring levo and dextro," the frog man took a deep breath, probably because he was speaking as quickly as possible, "Could be useful. Studying creature? Unlikely, warrior, not scholar, and no credits in study."
Shepard rolled his eyes as he cut the pineal gland over the sample tube, green liquid slowly oozing out and filling the glass container. Another sample down, even as the salarian continued to babble to himself, now moving on to various equipment he was using, even going so far as to walking closer to his carefully laid out pistols and sword.
"Sword, silver- No, no, Yes! Silver alloy, possibly depleted uranium? No, titanium? No, edge would never hold, tungsten? No, same problem as depleted uranium, too heavy…"
The witcher had stopped listening at this point as he noticed something odd on the pineal gland he was holding. There was a growth on it… actually, there were growths all over the brain. Looking closer, the monster slayer realized they were tumors. All of them were small and wouldn't have impacted the creature much, but they were still there, and very much significant. The only real question was whether or not it was body wide and not localized to the brain.
Hopping off the corpse, Shepard brushed past the elderly amphibian as he was still trying to figure out the composition of Grey Wolf and gripped the blade with both hands. The silver/dimeritium blade, made by the elvish master swordsmith Eibhear Hattori for each witcher that passed the Trial of the Sword, easily cut into the deceased relict's flesh, hacking out a sizable chunk. The crowd's murmuring increased three fold as he did so, but Wolf couldn't find it in himself to care for their opinion. Just so long as C-Sec paid up in the end.
"Yep," the witcher nodded as he inspected the cold flesh, "Tumors. Damn thing had cancer."
"Cancer? Radiation? No, reactors are shielded, water pipes below radiation line."
Shepard really didn't want to hear the rant continue, so came up with the correct solution, "Element zero. Causes the same kind of tumors in humans and elves if they aren't treated for exposure."
"Yes… yes… Sewers exposed to mass effect fields to control flow, creature broke containment fields, suffered exposures…"
"Accelerated its growth and regeneration," Wolf finished, severing a tumor, throwing it in a case, and headed back to his Cache.
He quickly loaded the samples into the case and grabbed one last blue vial. Shepard popped the top and tossed the liquid onto the corpse before waggling his fingers, a wave of flame hitting the cadaver and igniting the blue liquid, quickly consuming the body.
"Interesting, why destroy the corpse? Disease control? No, filters handle any contaminant. Limiting general knowledge of creature? Ensuring usefulness? Plausible, witchers work for money, wouldn't get paid as much if everyone knew how to fight creatures…"
"Kayran was a mutant. Could regenerate from nearly anything I did to it. Nothing says it couldn't have eventually put itself back together. Best to not take any chances."
Water boiled as the chemically propelled fire continued to vaporize the corpse, almost none of it left at this point. Shepard closed the Cache and walked up to Vakarian who was standing next to a C-Sec patrol car, "Let's go, I'm done here."
The blue face painted turian looked to the dark plated one who was clearly in charge, the commander giving his assent, "Bring him by HQ, we'll have his payment arranged by then and we can debrief him there."
…
Shepard walked up the ramp into his personal transport five hundred thousand credits richer. The ship he owned was fairly typical of a witcher, essentially just a souped up dropship. FTL capable, an upgraded fusion reactor, thirty percent more mass, mostly just living space, and twin thirty millimeter cannons for taking down griffins, draconids, and the occasional pirate dropship.
The old craft was a retired turian model he had bought in a Volus shipyard after a contract for a leshen on a salarian colony had netted him a hundred thousand credits. It was barely spaceworthy at the time, but the volus merchant was kind enough to throw in an upsized mass effect core capable of FTL if the witcher took care of a group of pirates waylaying material transports out in the system's asteroid belt.
Ever since then, Wolf had been upgrading the vessel, adding on space, upgrading the reactor and the engines, installing the weapons, even some rudimentary kinetic barriers, though they weren't capable of taking on much damage. Shepard would be the first to admit it wasn't necessarily pleasing to the eye, the additions were a slightly different color than the original body, and there were dents and scratches across the surface, but both wings were straight and level, the life support worked, and it could survive escape velocity and reentry all while keeping everything inside relatively safe and unharmed.
The ramp led directly into what had originally been a troop bay, but was now half cargo space, half hydroponics bay where the walls were lined with various weapons and tools and a couple of weapons lockers were shoved into one corner near a bench. Various plants and herbs sat on one end, under a jury rigged lighting system, hastily glued together plastic pipes feeding each pot water at a steady pace before exiting and passing through the water recycler.
The other side of the little bay was taken up by a few crates containing food, parts for the ship, and weapons and hardware picked up on any contracts he would take on pirate bases or merc companies that he would sell to scrap companies or even the occasional gunshop. Speaking of which, he had a crate full of old assault rifles to sell. Probably would have to take them to a scrap shop as they were old enough to have been used in the Krogan Rebellions, still, credits never hurt anyone.
Shepard laid out his armor on a stand and set it in the middle of the room, over the sole drain in the cargo area. He was going to have to clean the pieces thoroughly as more than a few particulate nasties from the sewage still clung to the crooks and crannies. First things first, however, he needed a shower himself.
Throwing his weapons on the workbench, the dark haired witcher stepped through the door at the front of the cargo bay and into the cockpit where a ladder awaited to whisk the monster hunter to the living quarters of the vessel. The sleeping quarters, essentially just a bed, a desk with a computer terminal, and bathroom. Trophies from previous hunts hung on the wall, a forktail skull, a chort's horns, a Blood Pack warlord's battered and bloodstained breastplate.
What was most interesting to Wolf however, was the shower tucked away in the corner of the bathroom, and the bed afterwards. It had been a long day.
…
A young woman with red hair stood on a hill side overlooking Beauclair. There was a look of contentedness on her face as she looked down on the beautiful capital of Toussaint. Then she looked back at him, a smile breaking out across her face.
"Uncle Jon! You were right, Toussaint is incredible!"
Shepard could feel a smile break out across his face, "I take it you're enjoying your time baby girl?"
Green eyes rolled hard as he approached, then wrapped him up in a powerful embrace, his witcher armor clanking against her N7 armor.
"I was until you called me that stupid nickname."
The witcher smiled as he held onto the young woman, his sensitive nose picking up the smell of sweat, blood, and ash on her crimson locks.
"You're the only family I got," he said as they parted, there was a sharp pain in his arm, "I have to take advantage of it."
Dirt streaked across her face as her smile turned wry, "Is that why you're always getting me things?"
The coppery taste of blood was on his tongue as he replied, "Spoiling is just as rewarding as being spoiled."
There was a great boom in the sky as something entered the atmosphere, "Well stick to that, and avoid the nicknames!"
The glow of fires framed the young woman's face as he laughed, "C'mon baby girl. Have pity on an old witcher such as myself."
The sounds of gunfire and screams of the dying filled the air, "You're not old."
"Eighty eight! About sixty years older than you baby girl," in the background, Beauclair exploded as a great red beam struck the palace, leveling the entire mountain the city was built upon.
"Sixty two, you old geezer," she laughed as a massive ship dropped from the sky, landing on the fireball that used to be Beauclair. Moans filled the air as shambling blue bodies began climbing the hillside, closing in on the two of them.
Once more they embraced as the young woman whispered into his chest, right next to his wolf's head medallion, "I love you uncle Jon."
"I love you too, baby girl."
The great wall of dust, smoke, and heat struck them at the same time the cybernetic corpses reached them…
Shepard jolted awake, sweat clinging to his skin as the sheets fell away from him.
"Damn witcher juice…" Wolf grumbled as he threw the sheets off his body and stepped over to the drawers holding his comfort clothes, "never have a good sleep after knocking one down."
…
Your famous.
Viper eyes narrowed as they regarded the message on the orange interface of his omnitool. Aria T'loak had just messaged him, updating him on what was apparently his new celebrity status. The Pirate Queen had even gone so far as to include a video link.
The witcher flicked his wrist and sent the video file to a nearby display on the wall, overriding the rifle schematic that had been there before. As the screen prepared to play, Shepard grabbed his pipe sweep and one of his two multipurpose pistols.
On the screen, an elven woman appeared, the graphics around her indicating that she was on some sort of news station on the Citadel. The logo on the corner read Citadel News Now, and the headline beneath her read, Monster on Presidium; Witcher Saves the Day.
"Oh boy," Shepard mumbled to himself. This wasn't good.
"This morning, a peaceful day on the Presidium was interrupted, violently, when a creature known as a Kayran, erupted from the waters of the Lake."
Amateur video of the cephalopod breaking through the water, a certain witcher clutched in its tentacles, replaced the blonde she-elf's face, "Kayran's are large, squid or octopus like creatures, and are as dangerous as monsters come, and are not restricted to the water's edge for their hunting. Such creatures have been known to take down entire battalions of soldiers. Needless to say, anyone nearby would have had a very bad day."
The video shifted to the blonde elf's face again, this time with a smile on her face, "Fortunately for the people on the Presidium, C-Sec was aware of its presence in the sewers, and had hired help in the form of a witcher."
The video changed again to show more amateur footage, of Shepard himself standing on the bridge, sword in hand as the Kayran towered over him. The footage then jumped to a more distant shot of him plunging Grey Wolf into the beast's head. Likely wanting to keep the more gruesome, up close view from the eyes of the innocent.
"C-Sec has not released the wither's name, or the bounty for Kayran, but one thing is certain, the Citadel owes its safety to this man."
Then the worst possible thing that could happen, did. A close up picture of Wolf's scarred, ugly mug appeared on the screen, in excruciating detail. Anyone who saw that picture would be able to recognize him immediately. It was bad enough that people recognized him as a reviled and hated witcher, now there was going to be attention given by people who thought he was some sort of hero.
His arm beeped in a bid to gain his attention. It worked, and Shepard saw yet another message from T'loak. Still as sexy as ever on that mugshot.
The witcher smirked at that. He had been with his fair share of women in his eighty three years, even other asari once he and his homeworld had been introduced to the galaxy at large. But never had Wolf come across a woman as voracious as the Pirate Queen. He still remembered his last night at Omega, when Aria had invited him into her bed, and then found himself cuffed to it, as the thousand year old matriarch ravished him.
This time, the warrior/mage/rifleman/medic/scholar bothered to tap out a reply.
You're the only one who thinks that.
It didn't take long for his omnitool to light up with her reply.
Please, I've got maidens shaking their ass on stage keeping their eyes open for the next time you swing through. Like they've got a shot.
The witcher quickly responded.
I hadn't noticed, maybe I'll stop and take a look around the next time I come through Afterlife.
The holographic interface flashed again.
That ass is mine, witcher. For as long as you live.
That was his Aria, burning desire and a frosty demeanor all wrapped up in a purple skinned beauty.
Their relationship, if you could call it that, was, for the most part, purely physical, and likely not exclusive, though Shepard could never be sure, as he didn't exactly have the time, nor the resources, to stalk the Pirate Queen of Omega.
Not that it mattered ultimately. The Path didn't exactly allow time for romantic entanglements, only the occasional physical ones. As such, the current arrangement worked just fine.
The witcher turned back to his sidearm, inspecting the weapon casing for anymore traces of sewer slime or moisture in general. In some respects, these pistols were more important to his career as a monster hunter than his sword. The hand cannons could fire any registered ammoblock, be modified in hundreds of different ways, and most importantly to a witcher, the had a secondary, much wider, barrel for firing .45 caliber silver slugs.
Some Schools had tried simply using silver ammo blocks and firing shavings in the same fashion as the standard mass accelerator rounds but found the results to be severely lacking. In order to magnetically propel silver through the barrel, the silver had to be put in an alloy with iron, nickel or cobalt. The resulting effect was a reduction in muzzle velocity and an erratic flight path as the shavings didn't have the speed to make up for a lack in aerodynamics.
Then there was the fact that the alloys didn't have the same effect on monsters as pure silver did. A man firing the standard silver slugs could take down a pack of drowners with ease, provided his aim was true, but using the iron/silver alloy, one man would struggle to take down a single necrophage before his weapon overheated. In fact, the silver shavings were so ineffective, it was better to use standard munitions against Post-Conjunction creatures than silver ammoblocks.
That was why the School of the Wolf, School of the Bear, and the School of the Griffin all used pure silver slugs with chemical propellant. They had difficulty penetrating armored monsters, or creatures with thick hides like a Kayran, but for human or smaller sized creatures, like necrophages, lycans, small ogroids, and even some flying creatures like griffins or cockatrices the weapons were superb. To the point where Shepard rarely had to draw his sword if he was hunting down small groups of necrophages, or a lonely nekker.
Of course nothing would ever convince him to abandon Grey Wolf altogether. The sword was still by far the most effective weapon he had against the larger monsters. Fiends and chorts are too powerful to be taken down by the limited ammunition he carried. Forktails, wyverns, slyzards, and basilisks have thick, hard scales that minimized any damage bullets could really do. And anyone facing a shaelmar or arachas, or leshen, or golem could just go ahead and forget their gun while they were running away, because it would be about as effective as a bottle of water against a rampaging forest fire.
Modern technology combined with over a thousand years experience forging swords allowed Master Hattori to craft each witcher a blade so fine that it easily could qualify as a piece of art. Such a life would be a waste for one of these swords, however, and an insult to the master elven smith who had crafted it. It was a weapon, to be used and used well. Shepard remembered what Eibhear had told him and Artur when they had been presented with their swords.
Not so long ago, witchers carried two swords. Silver for magical beasts, steel for all else, but as Geralt of Rivia once told me, so long ago, both swords were for monsters. This one is no different.
As Shepard ran the wetstone over the edge, carefully maintaining the fine edge, he looked over the brilliant sheen for any signs of stress, cracks, or bending. There was none, of course. But there wasn't a single witcher alive that didn't look over his sword after every single fight. Besides, more than a few times after a massive fight Shepard had had to take Grey Wolf back to Master Hattori for repairs.
Not this time, fortunately. Hattori held to the witcher's code, and did naught for free.
With his weapons checked, and armor cleaned, Shepard finally set upon plans for what to do with his half million credits. He could upgrade his arsenal. The School of the Bear had recently come out with a heavy ballistic weapons system, capable of tracking shuttles and slyzards alike. They were abhorrently expensive, and not fully tested, but Shepard, like most witchers, wasn't just a warrior, or a scholar, or mage, or healer, he was also a competent engineer. He had, after all, overhauled his personal vessel himself, and had modded his own pistols and rifle with custom, self built parts. Figuring out the kinks on a missile launcher shouldn't be too terribly difficult provided the basic science behind the device was sound.
He'd have to talk to Jared, a giant beast of a man, from the School of the Bear, and look into it.
His ship could always use an overhaul. Most of the systems running the vessel were outdated, even by quarian standards. That'd be quite the stay though, and likely require an extra set of hands. The life support system needed new oxygen recyclers and new heating coils. The weapons needed new targeting hardware, and software but the old controller couldn't handle the updated software. It did, after all, predate the Quarian Exile.
He could always update the weapons systems themselves, get a five kilogram main cannon. He had the spare power for it, but it would require some structural rebuild, hence the second set of hands. New barriers wouldn't be a bad thing. The ones he had now couldn't stand up fighter fire for more than a few shots.
The more he thought about this, the more Shepard realized that it would be more akin to taking the damn thing to dry dock and having it completely overhauled by an entire crew of iron workers and technicians. But if he did that, he'd likely only be able to afford one or two enhancements, while doing it himself and grabbing some quarian on their Pilgrimage would let him pay for all of them, and probably have enough left over to by one of those specialized missile launchers from Jared.
There was one option still on the table, he could just take the credits to Illium, and waste them all on women and booze. Old Master Garth might not approve, but the old witcher wasn't there to tell him no.
But… there was no way he'd go through with it… Instead, Wolf simply opened up various screens to various parts shops around the Citadel. First thing was life support, then barriers. Then he'd see what was left over.
Actually, first thing, Shepard opened up a site showing all unclassified manifests of ships coming into the Citadel from the past month through next week. First thing was to find some help.
…
Kara'Tiil nar Moreh couldn't believe it. She had been on her Pilgramage for two months, and it still amazed her. Her father and mother had warned her, but she had been somewhat skeptical. Why would everyone choose to actively hate her just because she was a quarian? It wasn't logical, and a wasted effort. Hating her didn't make her disappear, it didn't make her any more honest, in fact it had the opposite effect. She had stolen for the first time in her life yesterday, just to feed herself.
She had hopes of being a biologist at some point, helping Admiral Xen find away to fix or at least start fixing their species devastated immune system. For that reason, she was looking for a Pilgrimage gift along those lines. Some new medical technology, or study and research on various disease resistant species. Unfortunately, even the small furry animals the humans had introduced hated her. How could she study anything if they refused to do anything but snap and bark at her everytime she was near?
At least the really short and really hairy humans were always nice to her. Even so nice as to let her stay with them, for a short while, but they were harassed every moment by their turian and asari neighbors just for their act of kindness. Kara couldn't blame them for kicking her out after that, just her being there was putting them in danger, and they could have been much less kind about the way they did it.
As she crouched down on the bunk she had managed to grab at the shelter and finished off the last of the dextro paste she had stolen the day before, the young quarian looked at the other occupants of the shelter. It was quite the mixed bag. Some were turians who had seen heavy engagements in their time with Hierarchy Navy and had suffered extremely for it, unable to reintegrate back into society with their families and friends.
There were, of course, salarians and asari there, though extremely few in number, but what truly caught her eye, were the humans. They looked so much like quarians in the face that it was a little unsettling at first. It was like looking into some sort of sick joke of a quarian face. The eyes were miscolored and slightly misshapen, their jaws were too thick and wide, and their ears stuck out from their head like some sort of hideous tumor. Honestly, humans looked just like quarians, really ugly ones.
Though who was she to judge? No one would ever see her face anyway, so did it really matter if she thought they were ugly? Maybe if they could see her face, they would think she was ugly, maybe she was ugly. Who was she to say bioluminescent silver eyes were anymore or less attractive than brown ones, or blue, or yellow.
Actually, those yellow eyes were very striking, but not because of the color. The pupils, they were like a reptile's! Thin, vertical slits that gazed over the room, making those caught under their predatory stare squirm uncomfortably. Then they settled on her, a spear of ice shooting through her back in fear of that cold and calculating look.
Kara had to force herself to look the human over as he started closer. He seemed big, for a human male. Tall as some turians, with broad shoulders that looked like she could lay on and a narrow waist that gave him a menacing silhouette. Add on some thick black armor with silvery metal studs sticking out, a medallion around his neck in the shape of a snarling beast, and the handle to some sort of weapon sticking over his shoulder, and Tali was quite sure she didn't want to talk to this man.
What she wanted, and what she was going to get, were two different things, however, as the scarred human zeroed in on her.
"Kara'Tiil?"
Oh Keelah, his voice was not in the least bit reassuring, and was every bit as cold as his lizard eyes.
"I didn't do it!"
One dark eyebrow cocked high, she wasn't sure what that meant for a human, "I'm sure, but whatever 'it' is, that's not why I'm here."
Kara was confused. This man was clearly a thug, a criminal of some sort. She thought the turian vendor she had stolen the dextro paste from had hired him to teach her a lesson. Or that maybe someone thought she stole something else, or had wronged them in some fashion, or maybe they just thought she needed a lesson taught.
"Oh."
The furry faced human lowered himself to look her in the eye as she was sitting, "I'm doing an overhaul on several systems of my vessel. I need an extra set of experienced hands. I've got two thousand credits and a place to sleep for a week."
She wasn't an engineer! She was a biologist! And a good one! Granted, she likely knew more about vessel maintenance than most of the dockworkers on the Citadel, she had lived an three hundred year vessel for the vast majority of her life after all, and had, like all quarian children, spent a large portion of her childhood fixing broken and rundown machinery so that the Fleet could make use of them.
"I can't…"
Kara's stomach protested, loudly, much to the man's apparent amusement, though one could never tell from looking at his face, "I'll throw in all the nutrient paste you can eat."
Bosh'tet had her. She was helpless on her own, barely capable of feeding herself. She needed money, shelter, food, and protection, and he could provide all four in spades, if the two giant hand cannons under his shoulders were anything to go by.
She nodded finally, conceding to the situation she was in. Truthfully, were she any other Pilgrim, she would have jumped for joy. Easy credits and the ability work on alien technology. Tech from a brand new species no less! There was a serious possibility she could find a suitable Pilgrimage Gift doing this, not in the field she was looking for, probably, but it wasn't like there was a whole lot expected of her by others anyway. Just herself.
Just as she was getting up from the bunk to go with the ugly human, three C-Sec officers walked into the shelter, two turians and one human, and made a beeline for her. This wasn't going to be good.
"You, quarian, stay where you are, you're under arrest!" the lead turian barked.
Great, bosh'tet's really are serious about catching dangerous thieves who stole nearly a full five credits worth of food.
"What for?" the human asked, standing directly between her and the officers. What he was doing there, Kara wasn't sure, but she was fairly sure that he must be as dumb as he was ugly. C-Sec was an authoritarian military force masquerading as a police department. It was corrupt, with many higher level officers doing as they pleased, taking bribes from criminals, and arresting anyone they didn't like. That didn't mean these officers in particular were corrupt or overly zealous, but getting any officer upset is a good way to end up on the bad side of everyone inside the organization.
"She's a quarian, a vagrant and a criminal. She's coming with us, an you'd be wise to step aside."
The large human's head turned slightly, Kara assumed he was looking each officer in the eyes, though it was difficult to tell from her vantage point behind him. Suddenly, his hand shot up, fingers waggling, and a bright white light flashed, and a hazy cloud came over all three officer's heads.
"I think you'll find her quite innocent."
"Yes…" the second turian mumbled, "Innocent."
"I think you'll leave her alone from now on," the human continued.
This time it was the human that spoke, "Won't so much as look at her…"
"Then I think you'll go back to your homes, and thank your lucky stars you ran into a very, patient, witcher."
Witcher? What was a witcher?
"Many thanks, master witcher."
The three officers walked out, stiffly and strangely, as though they weren't entirely there. Everyone in the shelter watched them walk out, and then focused back on the ugly human, who stared back, a fierce gaze in his viper eyes, daring anyone to speak up, to react in any fashion.
"Let's go, girl."
Kara made a note to do some research on witchers.
…
After doing her part of research during what little free time she had, Kara wasn't sure if she should be terrified of this Shepard, or hate him, or love him, or find him irresistibly sexy. Okay, the last conclusion wasn't reached based on extranet research, just the fact that he liked to work without a shirt on. Which was unnecessary and unsafe, and certainly not something she was going to object to.
Currently, they were crammed inside what was essentially just a closet where the power regulators for the aft barriers were located, and Kara had a visor full of delicious, sweaty abs as she tuned the regulator while Shepard simulated various stresses the barriers might undergo.
"Alright, simulating rapid impacts…" the witcher rasped in that husky voice that suited his scarred body so well. There was this pink one that ran just over his belly button and cut down the side of his stomach, highlighting the muscles popping out of his skin and the single blue blood vessel running down from the tip of the scar and tracing down into his pants…
"Kara?"
A bead of sweat caressed one of his powerful pectorals and slid down between the two savory columns of…
"Kara!?"
"CALIBRATING!" a three fingered hand tapped at the omnitool on her wrist. Thankfully her purple visor covered her quickly reddening face. Just four days ago she had thought of him as ugly, and he wasn't handsome in the fashion she was used to. Quarian men had fair faces, almost feminine by human standards, with hair only at the top of their heads, and it was rare for any of the nomadic people to have scars, mostly because any wound that punctured their skin, also punctured their suit and subjected them to thousands of deadly contaminants that could kill them in hours. But she found that it took no time at all to redefine her standards of beauty when faced with the man before and above her.
She'd also have to redefine a lot of other standards she had because of him. Like thoughts on ancient fairytales told to children by their parents. Tales like the Man in the Reflection, or the vengeful spirits that would haunt old sections of the liveships. Not to even mention the stories of ancient beasts that would appear on Rannoch to take vengeance on evil people.
She had to reevaluate them, because to these humans, they were real, and in fact, were real to everyone now. Magic was spreading, influencing every habited planet within the Terminus already, and the estimated population of the fantastical and mythical beasts the humans had brought with them was exploding, seemingly thriving in what should be a hostile and unwelcoming galaxy.
In fact, the only thing doing better than these beasts, were the humans. In thirty galactic standard years, they had as many colonies under their control as the quarian's did at the height of their powers, a place that took them four hundred years to get to. And when she said humans, she was sure to mentally omit the 'Elder' races. Ninety five percent of the Alliance's population was human, and they were quickly changing that number. Elves, dwarves, halflings, they all lived longer than humans, Keelah, the elves lived longer than asari! But it was the humans that were achieving great things.
More importantly to her immediate situation, however, was the existence of these witchers. One source told Kara that witchers were hideous, horrible things. Lower than the creatures they hunted down with impunity. That men like Shepard were killers, cold and calculating, totally devoid of feeling and compassion. Liars, cheaters, covetous creatures that cared only for the money they could make collecting lives.
The young woman had certainly seen how cold he was. The man hadn't so much as smiled once in the past four days. He didn't laugh at jokes, he didn't get angry at the various racist comments she heard directed at him, he didn't even seem to care for the desperate state of some of the station's inhabitants they passed who were somewhat less than well off. He didn't seem to care for anything at all.
But that was in direct contradiction to his actions. He had put a lot of effort into this vessel, when he likely could have just bought a nicer, newer ship. It seemed he was at least sentimental about it. There were the trophies in his quarters, and the various mementos that could be found around the ship. Kara had also took a peak at his contacts list in the ships communications logs. The witcher had dozens of people under the category; friends. Heartless creatures didn't name people friends, did they?
"Done," Kara said as she deactivated her omnitool and closed the panel door. Standing up, however, proved to be slightly more difficult as her visor got a much closer look at the human's perfectly imperfect skin, leaving a sweaty imprint of the post pubescent quarian female's overactive sex drive.
The suit quickly cleared the sweat, thanks to the automatic cleaning systems of the suit, but it was having a much harder time between her thighs. Kara hated being nineteen, it was torture being trapped in this suit, unable to act upon any of her desires. It was one of the reasons she was so determined to find a way for her, and all quarians to escape.
"Thanks, kid," the witcher said as he squeezed out into the cargo hold.
Kara followed him out, always surprised a little bit to find the space so familiar to her. It was old, run down, just like the Migrant Fleet, just like her family's little apartment on the Moreh, though the plants were unfamiliar, and the weapons and tools on the walls were a definite departure from home.
Shepard leaned his muscular frame over the computer terminal on the work bench, then pulled back, an orange card in his hand, "Two thousand credits, as promised. Plus a little something, for putting up with me."
She smiled behind her mask, and subconsciously leaned in a little closer towards the 'ugly' human, "It was nothing… Thank you. You've been kinder than most to me."
He had kind eyes, Kara realized. They were cold, and fierce, but they were exceedingly kind as they regarded her, "Don't tell anyone. People think they can cheat a nice person."
Nar Moreh giggled a little before asking the witcher, "What's next for you?"
He took a deep breath as he looked towards a screen displaying the names of several worlds, a person next to those worlds, as well as some minor details about some sort of contract, "Got five jobs lined up. Slyzards in Bekkenstein, apparently they have a fairly large patriarch causing trouble for them."
The screen showed some sort of pale skinned creature with large wings, no eyes, and fire spewing from its mouth.
"Then someone was dumb enough to try and use a cyclops as heavy labor on a mining colony, one contract for necrophages on a pirate outpost. Turian military wiped out the pirates, stacked the bodies outside, then found the pirates had been hoarding ghouls, scurvers, even a grave hag. Now they can't get anywhere near the base without destroying it."
The witcher, tragically, put a shirt on, before continuing with his summary, "Then there's murders in Elysium. Corpses ripped apart and chewed up, sounds like a lycan, then… Eden Prime is fully adapted, and ready to get rid of their terraforming leshen."
That was when the answer to her question hit her. The question about how she was to study species without being in danger of getting torn to pieces.
"What do you do with the bodies?"
Viper eyes blinked at the question, "Usually perform autopsies, if the body is in good enough shape."
That was perfect! This provided all the access to unique specimens she needed! This was an unparalleled opportunity, and to think, four days ago she was ready to reject it outright.
"Take me with you!"
The dark haired human shook his head rapidly, "What?"
"Take me with you! I've studied biology, I can help you perform autopsies, and judging by the state of your ship, I'm a better engineer than you, I can help maintain your ship! Perform repairs while you're on missions! Buy supplies you need, anything, but I need this, please!"
"Why?"
"I need it… to be accepted back into the Fleet. It is a part of my people's traditions. I'm on a Pilgrimage, and need a Gift to be accepted by a new captain, and since the ship and captain I wish to serve under are a little more demanding than most, I need a good one."
He looked somewhat skeptical still, "This is dangerous, besides, what do you want from me?"
Kara held out her hands in pleading, "Not you, the creatures you're hunting! They have fantastical properties, I want to learn about them. See if any of them can be adapted to help my people, please, let me come with you. You're my best option."
Shepard crossed two well defined arms across his broad chest, bringing one hand up to scratch his beard, "Well, I suppose I need to know one last thing…"
"What? Name it!"
"Where are you gonna sleep?"
…
Saren Arterius poured another shot of turian brandy. The Spectre looked around the bar, nothing but good turians, and one human who looked so average, it was unsettling. It had been twenty seven years to the day his brother Desolas had died, slain by one of those so called 'witchers'. That was why he was in this little bar on this little space station, to drink to his brother's memory.
Fucking humans, they were going to be the death of the galaxy, and everyone was just letting it happen. The Council stroked their newfound pets and their so called 'benefits'. Magic… Charlatanism is what it was! There was nothing special about those savage creatures, only their propensity for breeding and feeding.
Something had to be done. Those monsters of theirs were running amok, multiplying throughout the galaxy almost as fast as a colony of vorcha left alone with sex pills, and they thought they could get away with it, feign ignorance. Saren knew that it was no coincidence that humans were becoming radically more powerful, even as the monsters grew ever more plentiful. It was all a scam, a farce, a façade, to make the Council, and the galaxy at large, dependent upon the humans and their witchers.
The turian could see the future, the Alliance standing above a broken and beaten galaxy, imposing their will with their army of mutated freaks. Keeping them all docile with their ferocious creatures. None others could see it, not even the Turian Councilor Sparatus, who had called him paranoid over the whole thing. That human ambassador, Regis, he was poisoning the Councilors mind with his colorful speech. The gray furred human was sickening for Saren to so much as be around, but Sparatus, Tevos, and Valern all delighted in his company, as did nearly everyone else who spoke with the bastard.
Now Saren preferred to spend his time in the galaxy's little crossroads, a place where choices were made. He just needed to make the right one.
"You're absolutely right."
The gray plated turian looked up sharply at the voice, finding the strangley unremarkable human sitting across the table from him, "But is the right decision in the bottom of that bottle?"
The Spectre looked down at the blue bottle of brandy in his left hand, then back up at the human.
"You've the look of a man who knows what he wants, but doesn't know how to get it."
"Get out of here little human," the turian growled, subvocals making a very aggressive rumble.
The exceedingly normal human tutted at the Spectre, "Now that's not very polite, especially when I know of something that can give you exactly what you wish for."
Blue eyes narrowed as they looked down at the shaven headed human's brown eyes, "What is it?"
"Oh, but that's not how this works!" the man smiled, and Saren felt unsettled as the perfectly straight teeth glinted in the low light of the bar, "First, you ask for my help."
Maybe it was the booze, maybe it was desperation at the seemingly unsolvable human problem, but whatever it was, the turian found himself acquiescing to the human's request, "I need help."
"What do you wish for?"
"I wish for the power to ensure turian dominance for the next fifty thousand years. I wish to stand knee deep in the blood of humanity, and I wish to stand over the broken hope of all magic."
The human steepled his fingers together, the grin deepening and becoming more unsettling, "Are you sure this is what you wish for?"
Saren sneered, "It's all I've ever wanted."
"Done!"
The turian's omnitool pinged, a set of coordinates appearing on the display. When the Spectre looked back up to the human, he was set upon quite the feeling of alarm, as the exceedingly average human, was nowhere to be found.
Instead, there was a simple document lying on the table, his words imprinted upon it, and his name signed underneath, right next to another name.
Gaunter O'Dimm
Oh Shiiit!
Don't know how I feel about this chapter but, whatever. Let me know what you guys think. The support has been overwhelming and I really appreciate it, even though it kind of set the standard a little high for future chapters.
One quick question, what do you think about Aria? Is that too much for a lowly witcher? Or is it the perfect match? I'm kind of trying to draw parallels between this story, and the books. Familiar relationships and bonds that help make sense of the world I'm trying to meld together.
Thanks for reading, and drop a review please!