A/N: So the new Legion expansion for World of Warcraft is coming out very soon, in about four weeks time, and damn, I'm just excited to try out the full game(Though I wish it won't be too focused on solely fighting demons).
So please enjoy reading, and hail to the future of Warcraft!
Guest: I don't even know who or what Doom is, but I'm still glad you like my story. Thanks.
Chapter nine: A new stranger
Celebrations were always the best times of the year; friends visiting you from afar, all work and studies temporarily suspended to make way for the upcoming festivities, it was no different from the celebration of his life.
More specifically, it was his birthday.
A family of four gathered around a large table filled with wrapped presents and snacks, a large cake slathered in chocolate frosting and garnished with tiny peaks of snow white whipped cream at the centre.
On top of the cake were three large candles and one small one, indicating his current age of thirty-one years. In the very centre of the cake was a solid chocolate slab, the white frosting on it spelling the following sentence: Happy birthday Tobuscus.
For the man whose friends cheekily called him by such a nickname, it was a happy day. Even though his current job career did not involve so much stress as others did, he still cherished such festive days when he could just forget about all his troubles in life and enjoy himself to the fullest.
All around him, his friends, family members and relatives all shouted joyfully, "Happy birthday!"
He could only laugh heartily in such a situation.
Sadly to say, all things good never lasted long, and the dream came to an abrupt end when he awoke in his own home on a comfy bed, the bed itself a little too soft for his own liking. Instead of his bedtime pajamas, he was still in his casual clothing, which seemed a little worse for the wear.
Slowly opening his eyes, he could see that his bedroom was lit far brighter than normal, a rhythmic, mechanincal beeping constantly bothering his ears as he turned to see a monitor screen showing his heartbeat.
Wait, I don't remember being hospitalised, the man thought to himself as he scanned his surroundings, seeing a large crystal at the ceiling illuminating the room, Hold on, how the hell is that crystal giving so much light?
"Ah, I see that you are awake," A silvery, song-like voice boomed from beside him, causing 'Tobuscus' to turn his head to see a golden-blonde haired Elf standing next to him, garbed in a scarlet robe with pieces of armor protecting his vital organs and carrying a long staff in his hand, his eyes glowing an emerald green.
Immediately, upon seeing the Elven Priest, 'Tobuscus' immediately lost all sense of rational thought and began screaming in an incredibly unmanly way, pointing a finger at the Elf as if he was looking at a ghost.
This only served to confuse the Priest as he tilted his head sideways, wondering just what caused the patient to go into shock, despite his elegant appearance. Any attempt to calm him through words made no difference as the unmanly screaming forced him to cover his ears, lest he suffer from impaired hearing.
The doors leading into the medical bay then parted to reveal a large Elf who was slightly taller than the Elven priest, wearing ornate silver armor in place of his customary black, alien symbols adorning the right side of his face.
The screaming had caused Amarthathor to be incredibly irritated, despite the victory they had scored against the Heretic Geth, so he took out a steel box in his hands, and after opening the lid, used a pair of chopsticks to take out a cooked squid tentacle that looked extremely charred and was covered in a white, viscous substance.
Taking advantage of the fact that 'Tobuscus' was too busy screaming in shock to notice his presense, he quickly stuffed the suspicious-looking tentacle in his mouth and forcefully clamped it shut, making him chew on it.
'Tobuscus' regretted not paying more attention to the surroundings; curling his face in disgust, he unceremoniously spat out the horrible-tasting tentacle onto the floor, though remnants of the wicked flavor still remained on his tongue.
"Yucks! What the hell did you put into my mouth!?" The patient ranted in an American accent, his face still wrinkling in disgust.
Nonchantly shrugging, Amarthathor coolly answered, "Dried squid tentacles dressed in yogurt. And that was for screaming like a little girl."
Upon hearing him point that out, his cheeks flushed in embarassment, realising his rather uncalled-for behaviour. After quickly apologising for his outburst, he was then given a quick explaination on how he ended up in where he was now.
"So basically, you don't even know how I got there in the first place?" 'Tobuscus' asked, to which the two nodded, much to his frustration, "Great, now I know this isn't a dream."
"Dream or not, you are away from whatever place you come from, and you will have to answer some questions we have for you," Amarthathor pointed out, his expression becoming serious.
Upon sensing the change of mood, 'Tobuscus' immediately reigned in any further queries or enquiries he had and decided to leave them for later.
Sitting down on a chair next to 'Tobuscus', Amarthathor poured some tea he had stored in an intricately decorated vacuum flask into the topmost cover which served as a cup, taking the time to savour the sweet, refreshing taste in small sips.
After what seemed like the fourth sip, the Dragonkin then asked, "So what is your name, exactly? You cannot expect me to call you 'Tobuscus', yes?"
At first, 'Tobuscus' seemed rather confused as to how he knew that name, then realised that the printed name on his T-shirt was visible for all of them to see, mentally scolding himself for being so unattentive to not take notice of such a blatant fact.
"You got that right," The man agreed, extending out a hand, "My name's Toby, Toby Turner."
"I am Amarthathor Sardothien, leader of the Silver Knights of Ethrandir," The Dragonkin introduced himself, choosing to withold his real identity for the time being as he shook the now-christened Toby's hand.
"I am Meleath Lightfall, a Priest of the Holy Light," The Blood Elf politely bowed with a warm smile.
Meleath was something of a prodigy among his fellow acolytes, always astounding his teachers by accomplishing difficult feats of light magic without much training needed, which admittedly made more than a few of his juniors and seniors jealous of him.
When he became a full-fledged priest, however, instead of succeeding the previous archbishop of the Order of priests he was serving in, he chose to devote his time to explore the fields of science, mainly weapons engineering and biotechnology.
It surprised many of his colleagues and friends, considering that priests of the Coalition never studied more than basic sciences and never the more advanced fields, but when asked, he admitted, much to some of his seniors' chagrin, that he had a love for science since his father was a knowledgeable scientist.
"Now that introductions are over," Amarthathor said, "I believe we need you to answer a few questions."
"After ending up in the middle of nowhere, heck yeah, I'll answer whatever question you have," Toby affirmed, smiling despite the situation he was in.
IIOII
"Oh my God," Toby moaned for the umpteenth time, "So you're saying I ended up here because of some sort of 'temporal displacement?'"
"I am afraid so, Toby," Amarthathor said, symphatising with the distraught man before him, "Right now, the time continuum is incredibly unstable and fluctuations are becoming increasingly unpredictable and more dangerous, so trying to send you back would be a death sentence."
"But when did this start happening, your m-I mean, Amarthathor?" Meleath inquired, correcting himself in order to keep Amarthathor's secret safe. "As far as I know, the Bronze Dragonflight have reported the same thing in recent years, but this is the first time it has done such a thing."
"If I knew, I would have told you, and perhaps the Bronze Dragonflight would have as well," Amarthathor sighed heavily, sipping on his favourite tea.
From what Toby had heard from Amarthathor and Meleath, his being here was caused by what could only be described as a result of the time continuum becoming too unstable, bringing him and another person from their homes to this galaxy.
And as Amarthathor said, he knew the right spell to allow Toby to return to his distant home, but the unstable time continuum posed a grave danger to them if they tried doing so, and so Toby Turner was condemned to be trapped in a galaxy full of aliens and dangers until the UAP could find a way to calm the raging storm, and restore the natural flow of the time continuum.
As for further inquiries to Toby's home, he explained that where he lived, the technology was fairly primitive in comparison to those of the different races and factions that existed here; even the Citadel Council had more advanced tech than his home planet.
What they did not half-expect, was that his home planet was also called Earth, just like those of the Systems Alliance and Terran Dominion.
"Wait, there's the guys from Starcraft and Mass Effect here?" Toby blurted out, confusing the duo who was questioning him. "Oh, sorry, random thought that crossed my mind."
Mentally berating himself for letting his mouth run wild, Toby prepared himself for more questions and enquiries that would be made by Amarthathor and Meleath, when an Elven soldier – not of the same species as Meleath – walked into the room and passed Amarthathor a brown coloured bag that looked incredibly familiar to him, realising that it was his backpack.
"Hey! That's my bag!" Toby exclaimed, almost reaching for it out of instinct.
Handing it back to Toby, Amarthathor allowed the Elven soldier to excuse himself as he left the room, while Toby rummaged through his bag to find anything of importance to him.
Whilst shifting through his bag's contents, he unknowingly pulled one thin box with a cover of a lone man directing a green magical beam at what Amarthathor recognised as the rift, though it was only through watching a historical reenactment of the rise of the Inquisition on television.
Realising that the box was in plain view, Toby quickly tried to hide the box inside his bag, earning a suspecting look from the Emperor.
"So would you mind telling me what is so valuble inside the bag?" Amarthathor asked, taking another sip of his tea.
At first, Toby wanted to hide the painful truth from both of them, lest he risk jeopardizing his current position with them, but given the frightening gaze that Amarthathor's unnaturally golden amber eyes directed at him, he relented and reluctantly pulled out five thin boxes made of plastic.
Giving them to the duo, he let them scrutinuze every last detail of every box; the pictures at the front and back of them, the titles inscribed on the covers, whatever could give an adequate explaination to his earlier behaviour.
At first, both could not help but wonder why was Toby so dodgy about the video game boxes – that they recognised through the few times they visited the game shops scattered throughout Dominion and Alliance.
When Amarthathor looked at the same box with the picture of the man standing below the rift, his eyes were glued to the title 'Dragon Age: Inquisition'.
For a moment, he looked like he had seen a ghost, and he turned to look at the back of the box, seeing depictions of the many companions that had accompanied his grandfather in his quest to seal the breach, though the actors in many of the historical reennactment dramas he watched never looked identical to the ones shown on the box.
In fact, the man who was supposedly the Inquisitor wore completely different armor than his grandfather, and he was a Human, rather than a Dragonkin.
Meleath looked equally shocked when he inspected the box labeled with the title 'World of Warcraft: Warlords of Draenor'. On the front was an accurate depiction of the warlord Gromash Hellscream, while depictions of a few people of other races at the back were visible to his widening emerald eyes.
So many questions formed in their head, the number of answers far too few to even start solving half of them, but they kept asking themselves one important question: How did Toby's people even know about all they know?
Finishing their inspection of the video game boxes, they both directed a stern glare at the query before them, the man flinching under their gazes as he prepared himself for the harsh berating and anger outbursts from the duo.
"I want you to answer me this," Amarthathor said, his voice carrying a core of iron, "What has this game, Dragon Age, shown you?"
Hesitant to answer at first, and partially confused at Amarthathor's earlier expression when he saw the Dragon Age video game box, he reluctantly answered under the Emperor's withering glare, "Pretty much the Inquisition fighting the group of guys called the Venatori and sealing the breach, and the Fifth Blight, and-"
"Keep it short and simple," The Dragonkin interrupted him impatiently.
Gulping in fear, he continued, "And the Dalish Elves, and the Chantry, and all the other stuff."
Levelling his eyes with his, Amarthathor then asked, "Anything else?"
Shaking his head wordlessly, Toby could only wait for his inevitable days in prison as he would be relentlessly questioned by countless others in this universe, desperately wishing that he was back at home, filming his usual silly videos and uploading them on the internet.
After contemplating whatever Toby could guess, Amarthathor once again leveled his eyes with Toby's, his expression solemn and sad, a stark crontrast to his earlier sterness that bordered on the edge of his emotional restraint.
The Emperor then asked, "Tell me, did it tell you anything about the Dragonkin of the continent?"
Genuinely confused, Toby only shook his head.
It was then Meleath's turn to ask his questions.
"Toby, yes?" He inquired, to which their query nodded, "Can you tell me how much of Azeroth do you know about?"
Toby then let out a breath he did not know was holding; compared to the terrifying aura of Amarthathor, Meleath was gentler in comparison, seeing Toby's confused state and allowing him to calm his nerves before speaking.
The man then proceeded to tell him everything he knew from the game 'Warcraft'; he was not well versed in the world's history, since he was never one to explore the lore, but he certainly was up-to-date with everything that happened during the time when the old Alliance and Horde barely kept themselves from killing each other.
From the time of the invasion of the Burning Legion from the Dark Portal, to the advent of the Undead Scourge and the Lich King, and even the Iron Horde's attack on Azeroth, he knew all of the events that happened, though he certainly did not know about the arrival of the Master Chief and Green Dragon.
When Toby heard of the two being on Azeroth, his confusion only became worse by the minute, which was only aleviated by the explaination that both their ships experienced a malfunction in their FTL drives, causing them to randomly teleport to the world.
He did not know of the Green Dragon, but he certainly had knowledge of the Master Chief, which prompted Amarthathor to ask Toby to listen carefully.
"Prepare yourself for a long lesson in our history," The Emperor informed Toby, "There is much you should know."
IIOII
Several Dragons, all in either a magical disguise or in their true bronze-scaled forms, gathered in one huge hall decorated with all sorts of magical artefacts and devices that radiated the power to alter time.
The hall itself was majestic, tall pillars of bronze or gold held up a tall ceiling that allocated more than enough space for Dragons to move around, the place eerily silent save the roaring of a few young Dragons and the endless ticking of nearby clocks. The ceiling itself had a large opening in it, a huge tunnel being the entrance to the main timeline.
At one end of the hall stood a lone Dragon, adpoting the form of a High Elven man whose regal bearing was in plain sight for all to see as he sat on a large throne of bronze, ancient alphabets and inscriptions dotting both of it's armrests.
"My Lord Anachronos," A Gnomish woman with white hair in a beautiful violet robe addressed the Dragon on the throne, "Our Thedosian allies report that yet another person has been displaced from his own world."
Rubbing his head in irritation, Anachronos then asked, "And what of the state of the different timelines, Chromie?"
Equally distressed by the recent events, Chromie replied, "It's no good; the time continuum's only worsening by the minute, and it's taking a lot of power to just try and maintain it's stability."
Cursing vehemently in his own language for several seconds, Anachronos then said, "You may go, Chromie, and keep me informed on any further developments. The rest of you may leave too."
Nodding, Chromie then transformed into her Dragon form and flew off along with the others present, leaving Anachronos alone with his own thoughts as he comprehended the real cause of the instability of all the timelines.
Someone was directly intefering with the time continuum's stability, of that he was certain; no other cause would be directly responsible for the cataclysmic changes in timelines that would eventually sunder time itself, if this was not rectified soon enough.
Many people would think that by altering a main event in the timeline to avert certain disaster would be incredibly simple, and not result in a catastrophie afterwards. Unfortunately, it was not so simple as many would speculate.
The river of time itself was never set in stone, always fickle and prone to split into many branches should an alteration in it's intended course occur; should there be too many alterations, it would result in several random timelines merging with the main timeline, causing a complete collapse in the stability of time.
Though he had no doubt that the Infinite Dragonflight would be responsible for throwing the balance of time into chaos, he also suspected that all this was due to the machinations of a few radical Bronze dragons within the flight.
As for the origins of the Infinite Dragonflight, not many mortals knew about them, but those who did knew they were former Bronze dragons that descended into chronic madness, their mentality of having complete control over time hacing deranged them into power-hungry devils thirsting for more power.
Ever since his father had become mortal, his ascension as the Bronze aspect had been rather smooth, with only the task of maintaining the timelines' stability to tirelessly oversee throughout his immortal life. At least, from an outside perspective.
It was true, for the most part; there were minor fluctuations in the time continuum for the past millennium, but they were nothing too serious that warranted a high state of alert.
For the past two centuries, however, they had begun growing more and more unstable, the fluctuations increasing in intensity and frequency, worrying all four Dragonflights within the Coalition.
Within the UAP, other than a few trusted officials within the Dominion, and the Protoss, Zerg, Thedosians and Azerothians, absolutely no one else outside the inner circle had ever received news of such a danger; allowing the information to spread like wildfire was tantamount to destabalising the fragile galactic peace that lasted for several days following First Contact with the Citadel Council.
Rouge slaver rebels and mercenary bands frequently harassed UAP patrols following the conquest of Omega, though they were forced to cut back on the frequency of attacks given the limited number of ships at their disposal, and the huge gap in technology.
One such example of a fanatical Bronze was Kairozdormu, who was responsible for drastically altering the timeline and causing the invasion of Azeroth by the Iron Horde.
Though he was inevitably dispatched by a team of four, consisting of the famed Archmage Khadgar – former apprentice of the late Medivh, and leader of the Human Expedition through the Dark Portal to the sundered world of Draenor – and Chromie, along with the Master Chief and Green Dragon, the damage to the timeline had been done, due to a Temporal Lock that set the events in stone.
Anachronos sighed heavily; the timeline's stability had to be restored soon, or they would soon be beset by endless temporal displacements all across the galaxy.
IIOII
Toby walked along the brightly-lit corridors of the Vengeful Sword, glowing runes dotting the walls wherever he went. Without much else to do, he settled for exploring the large ship's interior.
Given that the corridors were surprisingly organised and less confusing than expected, it made Toby's exploration much easier, allowing him to find his way back sometimes.
As he walked along, he passed by a large, transparent glass pane revealing a huge training arena, where soldiers of all races and units would train in their respective skills, whether it be marksmanship with a bow or rifle, the arts of magic, or even down-to-earth basic melee combat.
Most sparred against each other in pairs or groups of three in practice matches, several instructors on standby to correct whatever mistakes they made in their training.
Among them was a single Quarian, garbed in exotic armor fashioned by his own kin wielding a large Quarian equivalent of a zweihander in a rather awkward fashion, struggling with the weight of his weapon and new armor.
As the Quarian was not wearing a mask, Toby could not tell whether he was a Quarian in the first place, as the Mass Effect games he played at home never even showed the true face of one, even when Rannoch was reclaimed in one of them as part of the main storyline.
From the history lesson Amarthathor and Meleath gave him, Rannoch was reclaimed two years earlier than what the game showed, mainly because of the UAP's intervention and an unexpected attack on the migrant fleet that nearly caused the species' extinction.
Large beads of sweat trickled down the Quarian's forehead, a few drops reaching his mouth as he tasted the salty water staining his tongue, hefting the huge sword in an offensive stance against the Dwarven warrior before him.
Having barely managed to keep up with the Dwarf's surprising agility despite his heavy armor, he sluggishly swung his sword in a wide arc overhead, clumsilly leaving himself wide open to his opponent who smirked when he saw the Quarian's posture.
With barely any effort, he rolled out of the trajectory of the huge sword and knocked him to the ground with a bash of his shield, controlling his strength to avoid accidentally injuring his sparring partner.
Uninterested in watching the sparring any further, Toby went on to find the ship's armory, where a blacksmith would outfit him with weapons and armor of choice; he had initially objected to even arming himself, explaining that he was not a soldier, but when confronted with the Dragonkin's reasoning that he would have to fight to survive sooner or later, he reluctantly agreed, regretting his choice.
Paying close attention to any sign that may guide him to the armory, he did not notice the Dark Elven man before him, and collided with him in short order.
Having the air taken out of him, he dropped to the cold metal floor with a thump, his attention span slightly dazed momentarily.
"Forgive my listlessness, I did not see you approaching," The Dark Elf apologized, extending a hand to the man before him.
Toby would have apologized, but he simply decided to accept his apology and took the hand, rubbing his bum as he stood up from where he fell.
"Could you be the new Human that was found on Haestrom, perhaps?" The Dark Elf inquired, bringing Toby's attention to him.
The Dark Elf himself had rather slender features, his long silvery hair tied in a long ponytail that dropped past his shoulders. Tribal patterns and sigils dotted his left arm as crimson tatoos, extending all the way to his wrist that was partially covered by his worst-long gloves.
His outfit was that of a simple blacksmith; a dark, sleeveless indigo skinsuit hugging his slightly masculine figure and showing the muscles underneath, an assortment of different smithing hammers attached to a belt on his waist.
Inspecting the man before him through his chocolate brown orbs, he nodded and then introduced himself, "I am Delsaran Fendithas, this ship's head blacksmith."
Extending a hand towards Toby, the permed man shook it with a smile, happy that he did not have to travel much further to find his quarry.
"My name's Toby, Toby Turner," The youtuber mutually did the same, still smiling despite all that happened to him.
Without further chatter, Delsaran beckoned for Toby to follow him to the armory; for him, it was just another day at the forge, making quality goods for all warriors regardless of social status.
IIOII
"Woah..." Was all Toby could mutter as he set foot in the armory, astounded by the huge array of weapons and vehicles shown before him.
Every single thing a soldier needed, from the most basic of pistols to the most immaculate of blades, everything was being shown on multiple weapon racks that were optimised to use whatever space was avaliable, though their craftsmanship never lost their lustre.
Across the hangar bays, dozens of fighter craft were being tirelessly maintained by countless crews of engineers who inspected every nook and crany of the fighter craft, whilst looking at other vehicles that passed off as tanks, and other sorts of armored vehicles by Toby's standards. And this was only the Thedosian section of the ship, he was informed.
As captivating as it was though, he knew he had to follow Delsaran to his workshop to get his new armor and weapons. The sooner he settled this the better. He was also not particularly fond of getting lost, on a personal note.
The ambience of the place was rather silent, apart from the loud – sometimes excited – chatter between some of the personnel and loud clanking of mechanical parts being refitted onto the various fighter craft or armored vehicles.
Most paid him no mind or curtly nodded at him as they passed by him when he waved to them, going along their daily duties in the ship.
The workshop itself was rather isolated from the main part of the armory, the ambience a lot less noisy save the loud clanging of hammers on red hot pieces of metal, the various blacksmiths of different races beating and banging them into shape.
Small forges powered by electricity churned out heated metal by the tonne, allowing them to devote more time to adding finer details and patterns that would show off their veteran craftsmanship.
Like most personnel in the hangar, they either paid him no mind or simply nodded at him as he entered, focusing on their work before them.
Delsaran eventually reached his own workstation that was slightly larger compared to the others, with a sole Orc manning it with him.
"How is the forge, Zorri?" Delsaran asked, wearing a plain white apron he took from a nearby clothes rack.
The Orc turned to face Delsaran and his new charge, eyeing the Human in a manner that suspiciously looked disdainful. Scoffing, he said, "So we are to arm this milk-drinker for battle?"
Toby looked rather offended at the jab Zorri directed at him, but when Delsaran heard those words, he only smiled.
"Perhaps this milk-drinker shall become a fine warrior in the future," He suggested, making the Orc look at him in a rather quizzical manner.
"You're suggesting that this puny city boy can become a real warrior?" Zorri asked, who only received an incredibly disarming and downright terrifying smile from the Dark Elf before him, making his blood run cold.
Sighing in defeat, he conceded to Delsaran, but not before directing a stern glare at the 'milk-drinker' before him.
"If I find that you have wasted my time forging you armor and weapons, I will be very cross with you," Zorri warned before moving to take a few metal ingots from the nearby crate.
"Ah, I forgot to tell you," Delsaran mentioned, "That is Zorri Rockhammer, my apprentice in training."
Zorri only grunted in response, not looking away from the crate of metal ingots.
"Now that we are here, let us hear your order," Delsaran said, twirling a hammer in his hand, "And what kind of armor or weapon you need is entirely your choice to make."
Toby could only gulp in uncertainty; he had never worn armor before, much less asked for a set to be made for him, and he never even used a weapon – neither a real one or a fake – in his entire life.
But he did hear the Dark Elven blacksmith say that he could decide what qualities his armor would have, and he could do the same thing with his weapon of choice; he sometimes wished he had the capability to cast magic like so many magi in the UAP, and perhaps the tale of 'Wizard Tobuscus' could come to life.
Maybe, he could start right here, add a few new things to his Wizard character – which was sadly not a true one – and rebirth a new Wizard, one who was far more awesome and impressive.
Having thought carefully about his needs, he then told Delsaran his order.
"I'd like my armor to be light, and with as little ornamentation as possible. As for my weapon, just make it something that's light and easy to use, but I don't want something like a dagger or something."
Taking note of every single detail in his order, Delsaran nodded and started getting to work, hammering a red hot metal ingot into shape as he began making Toby's desired armor.
"And one more thing," Toby said, though Delsaran never strayed his eyes from his work, "Where can I get a new cloak or cape or something?"
Placing the hot metal ingot back into the forge, he then told Toby, "For that, you will have to wait until we reach a UAP colony; right now, our next destination is an isolated Heretic Geth station situated just beyond the Perseus Veil."
Toby huffed in disappointment, having to wait for another few days to get his purple cloak.
"Man, I wish this ship had a resident tailor for such a thing," Toby commented, causing Delsaran to chuckle slightly.
"Cloth is not one of the best materials to protect the body, is it?" Delsaran stated, his smile fading as he concentrated on his work, hammering the metal ingot into a shape reminiscent of a sword, "Come back tomorrow, just before lunchtime; I will have your things ready by then."
Toby thanked the Dark Elf, before he went to find the dining hall; it was near lunchtime, and he hated going through the rest of the day on an empty stomach.
In a rather empty room, Meleath and Amarthathor stared out a window into the blackness of space, countless stars spanning the entire length of the void as the Normandy flew alongside them in the distance, it's small frame being dwarfed by it's much larger counterpart.
"Is it really wise to involve that boy in a war that was very well not his?" Meleath questioned, not bothering with any titles or formalities in this moment.
"He will be dragged into this war, sooner or later, and I cannot send him back yet, not with the current state of the time continuum," Amarthathor countered, his eyes carrying heavy sorrow.
He knew that Toby would not want to be a part of a suicide mission, as that boy was not a soldier at heart, and he had a home to go back to, but he did not want to risk yet another temporal displacement forcing him from his home yet again, so the best option was to eliminate the cause of it's instability, and ensure it never happened again.
He hated sending him to his death, but at the same time he could not bear to leave him defenseless and at the hands of the Burning Legion, or any of the UAP's enemies at all.
His mind then drifted to the time when he watched the bright beam of the Gauntlet fire, killing his Father and leaving his mother heartbroken. Only a few years after the end of the Eternal war, she had commited suicide by drinking poisoned wine, effectively orphaning her three children.
His eyes stung at the memories, and all he could see was his mother's tearful face as she lay motionless before his very eyes, a sad smile gracing her lips at the thought of reuniting with her beloved husband.
Blinking away his tears, he left Meleath alone in the room without saying anything else, the Blood Elven Priest mulling over the mysterious things going on in his head.
IIOII
In a cold, dimly lit part of the Normandy, a Blood Elf lay still and motionless, the only audible sound being his rhythmic breathing as he meditated with his eyes closed, the scent of aromatic candles filling his senses as he attempted to achieve inner peace.
Meditating in such a serene mood, he was only brought out of his tranquil state when he heard footsteps approaching his spot, his emerald glowing eyes seeing Commander Shepard enter the room.
"Have a few minutes to talk?" Shepard asked, to which he wordlessly nodded and got up from his meditative position.
Placing the candles on a nearby table, he took out a chair for Shepard to sit on, the Spectre appreciating his hospitality as she sat down, waiting for him as he went to get a boiling kettle from a nearby induction stove.
"Please wait while I get a cup of tea for you, Commander," Welearis said, leaving Shepard with some time to think to herself.
After about a half a minute, Welearis returned with a tea set consisting of an artistically decorated teapot adorned with alphabets of the Blood Elf's native tongue, the two teacups filled to the brim with brownish tea.
Taking a small sip of the tea, she slowly savoured the taste and found the strong flavour to be unusually refreshing, the warm sweetness permeating her body and allowing her to feel pure bliss for a few moments.
"That was some good tea you made," Shepard commented as Welearis enjoyed his drink in the same manner as the Spectre did.
"It is, isn't it?" The Blood Elf said, "Honeymint tea, a popular favourite amongst many in the UAP for tea breaks or meals."
They continued drinking their tea in silence, the long silence beffiting of the calm mood that only served to enhance the flavour of the tea more as they forgot about all their troubles in this moment, though it was not a romantic moment, to the casual observer's disappointment.
Setting down her half-full teacup, she then asked, "So mind telling me about how monks usually fight?"
Smiling at her question, Welearis was more than happy to indulge her curiosity.
"Monks are our equivalent of what your kind would call martial artists, or 'kung fu' experts as some would say," He patiently explained, channeling jade green energy into his arm, "Like them, we make use of channeling out this inner energy called 'chi' into our strikes and make them lethally dangerous, a mere fist or kick becoming able to smash through bones and flesh, and train ourselves to be strong, yet agile fighters akin to rouges."
Shepard nodded, "And I'm wondering how do you UAP guys maintain so much tradition even with advancing technology."
Welearis only smiled in return, saying, "Truthfully, even though we recognise the power of technology, blades and magic are some of many things we cannot bear to forget; it is akin to forgetting a part of our identity, our soul and pride. As for the bows, that is something most Thedosians or some of us Azerothians still use, for tradition's sake."
"And, admittedly, it is also because some of us still cannot get used to the recoil of firearms, causing some rather... hilarious and unwanted incidents," Welearis mentioned, causing Shepard to chuckle slightly.
"So how's everything in the UAP? Anything new?" The Spectre inquired.
Welearis only shrugged, "Other than the massive Asari protests at Turian embassies in their space, and the huge increase in merchant traffic at Omega, I can confidently say there is nothing else of interest, though only time will tell."
After a rather entertaining talk with Shepard, even though he was equally happy with meditating in silence, the Spectre then proceeded to leave Welearis alone, though not before answering his question.
"May I ask why did you wish to chat with me?"
She only replied, "Because I prefer knowing those under my command more closely, and I hate wasting my free time doing nothing but sit on my ass and watching TV."
Laughing heartily, almost shedding tears of joy, he wiped his eyes and commented, "You know, you are the first Alliance soldier to actually amuse me to this extent."
"I have a bad habit of doing such things," Shepard smiled unrepentantly, before leaving Welearis alone, heading to another part of the Normandy, namely the training area where two of her new teammates were sparring with each other with almost the whole crew witnessing the match.
The whole room was spacious enough to fit a few dozen people, allowing Chapter Master Angelos to eye the practice match with scrutiny, trying to gauge the capabilities of the fighters on the arena below the spectator seats.
The Protoss were present, along with the two Turians and Tali herself, and Legion as well – surprisingly – and most of the Cerberus crew personnel who had temporarily stopped their work to watch the spectacle.
When she leaned over the railing, she could see Venia expertly parrying Grunt's attacks with her shield or rolling around them, banging her sword and shield together as she taunted the Krogan with a mischevious smile, causing him to roar in annoyance.
"Come at me, Grunt!" Venia shouted, banging her shield once more, "Show me what you got!"
Raising his hammer, he swung it overhead down onto Venia, missing her by inches as she dodged it yet again, posing for a decisive strike.
This time, the Krogan was forced on the defensive as Venia began battering Grunt with a flurry of precise strikes aimed for his vital organs, though she was visibly holding back, given her characteristic insane strength and agility.
Even though the Dragonkin was holding back, though, Grunt seemed to be fairing well under the assault, deftly blocking the blade with the haft of his hammer and letting the head rest on the floor to allow for easier blocking.
However, the assault was rather relentless on Venia's part, causing the Krogan much difficulty in maintaining his defense.
For a moment, it looked like the Krogan would wither under the endless assault, as Venia had incredible stamina fuelling her attacks, but then he managed to exploit an opportunity that presented itself before his eyes.
He ducked under a horizontal swing from the Dragonkin's sword, then positioned the bottom of the haft in front of his body, then thrust it foward, knocking a little bit of air out of the Dragonkin as she staggered backwards slightly, the hit having landed directly on her solar plexis.
As she recovered, she could only smile at the Krogan who smirked trumphantly in return.
"Not bad, I see," Venia commented as she readjusted her stance, "Not bad at all."
If Grunt was a disciplined warrior, he would have taken it as a compliment and fought harder.
Unfortunately, he let those words go to his head, and then made a daring move that cost him dearly. He ran straight for Venia, ready to collide his body on hers, when she deftly moved out of the way, flashing him a smirk of her own that made the Krogan's eyes widen in realization.
Charging with full momentum, he stupidly allowed himself to be subject to inertia as he was unable to stop himself from colliding with the wall, and then falling on his back in a daze as he began mumbling incoherent language from his mouth.
The sight was comical for all to see, even Shepard was laughing slightly at the dazed Krogan; the poor man would be hopelessly embarassed in front of all his teammates and fellow Krogan kinsmen for days to come; Gabriel was not laughing at all somehow, though no one paid it any mind.
"That's it for today, then," Venia said as she sheathed her sword, carrying Grunt on her shoulder in an incredible display of strength, "You can all go back to work now."
Some grumbled complaints about the fight being too short, but they all nonetheless dispersed from the arena and went back to their stations.
Since she had nothing better to do before they reached the Heretic station – by request of Legion, who chose to volunteer itself for the mission – in less than a day's time, she settled for inspecting her new armor and weapons provided to her by Cerberus; she was unsure if the UAP would trust her with their technology so easily, and she felt more comfortable using tech she was familiar with anyway.
If she had paid more attention, though, she would have noticed a mischeviously smiling woman cloaking herself with an invisibility field as she snuck around the ship, disappearing from sight.
IIOII
In an isolated part of Turian space, a Turian scientist could only wait with a mixture of trepidation and uncertainty as he waited for the efforts of the Hierarchy's new project to bear fruit.
Days of research and technological advancements have all led to this moment. If this project were to be successful after all the blood, sweat and tears spilled, it would mark not just a technology milestone for the Hierarchy as a whole, but also a historical and social one as well, something that would permanently change Turian society.
Of course, the rigid Asari would definitely come knocking on their doorstep and protest such a thing, saying that it was all sorts of bad things, calling it heresy, abomination, whatever they wished to name it.
But it did not matter; none of it mattered at all. The only thing that mattered was whether this whole project was fruitful at all.
He would soon receive an answer, when a projector on the table lit up brightly, blue pixels of light morphing into the shape of a Turian avatar.
This was it. This was what the Hierarchy had been waiting for, the creation of its first ever Artificial Intelligence. If it were a success, it would pave the way to more Turian being created for future use in both civil life and military wars.
The Turian AI before him was modeled after a Blackwatch operative, slim-fit black armor covering his body, though he had no need of such a thing, with an extra white sash draped across its torso.
Gulping in uncertainty, he straightened himself as the AI asked The Question in a monotonous, synthetic voice that nearly sent the scientist running.
"Who am I?" It asked.
"You are Tarkus," The scientist said, barely keeping his raging emotions out of his voice, "You are an AI created to serve the Hierarchy onboard its newest ship, the Indomitable Light, and work to operate all of it's systems at full capacity."
For a moment, the AI stayed eerily silent, almost making the Turian reconsider going through with this project.
Then, the new AI's voice changed to that of a pleasant male Turian voice, any sort of subharmonics absent in every syllable.
"Seems like a new opportunity to excel, and to serve my creators," It mused, a Turian equivalent of a smile gracing its mandibles, "Where do I start?"
Upon hearing those words, the scientist went into a near hysterical fit of laughter, releasing whatever fear was still in his heart.
The project had finally paid off.
The AI was alive, and it was friendly. No, he was friendly.
A/N: Hooray for the Hierarchy's new AI! This will certainly turn a few Asari heads and cause quite an upheval, but truthfully, I just like messing with a social order that's just incredibly rigid, at least just in a fictional universe.
So this chapter is a little short compared to most, because things have a bit hectic for me, but I will make sure I update as best as I can for you guys!
So until then, this is Ebanu8.
No slaver shall live after being slain like the cowards they are!