Prologue
I don't quite remember dying.
A strange statement, I know; almost a contradictory one in and of itself. I remember my childhood, born and raised in Auckland, New Zealand. I remember school, forgetting my shoes and walking home barefoot, right up through my university studies, always wearing shoes of course…I'd learned better by then. I remember my first job, my career in engineering, and I remember it all with greater clarity now than I ever had before my death. Above all it is the certainty that I bit the big one.
And here we are once more, the crux of the matter. I died. And I live again.
Now I remember another childhood, this one different in every way. Digging into stone in the depths of the under-city, searching for ores. The rumbling voice of Dukun Brol as he brought legends to life through his fireside stories of Vaul's eternal watch, of Dragk who presided over the long-halls of Kruban, and of the twelve trials of Uzin, he who was vengeance. I remember the cave-in that killed my mother and my clutch siblings. I remember learning to survive alone in this world that stubbornly remained alien to me. One life lived and one in progress, but no knowledge of what happened during the transition.
Practically, it wouldn't make sense to dwell on that time, I was here now after all, looking back only makes it harder to move forward, and I already found it hard to unlearn habits from my first life. But then again, there was also a good reason to think back.
I look down at my thick, three digit hands. Years of ore mining and stone laying had left them with hard scaled patches, reminiscent of calluses, my claws were dull and stumpy, worn away as fast as they grew.
The hands of a Krogan. My hands. The universe is a cosmic joke, and I am the punchline.
I don't have to turn my head to gaze out the window, my wide set eyes are able to encompass it completely in my 240 degree vision. My nose can accurately pick out and identify a dozen different odors on the slight wind currents, my tongue flicks to the roof of my mouth in reflex, I can taste another two. My hearing was sharper than my previous life, but the cacophony of the under-city made it impossible to pick out anything in particular from this high up.
I was born again into the Mass Effect universe. Geth, Collectors, Reapers; I get to deal with them all…Eventually? You see, there is one slight hiccup with even that...I'm early, enough that the Krogan have barely begun making computers, that the twin cities of Karaa are home to a Million Krogan, that the idea of the Atomic bomb has not yet entered into the mind of the most blood drunk member of our race.
So if my memory serves, somewhere in the ballpark of 2000 years BC and over 4000 years earlier than the games I knew so well.
The Universe was a bad cosmic joke, dropping the punchline so early.
A tap on my crest brought me back to the present. The sharp gaze of the older Dukun and the tilt of his wide skull conveyed his lack of patience with my inattentiveness. His kind were analogous to witch doctors and shamans, some such as Dukun Brol filled the role of historian and wise-man, others like the Dukun here practiced more medicine... Such as it was.
I didn't flinch as he jabbed a thick needle into the size of my neck, flinching was not as strong a reflex with Krogan, but I did suppress the human urge to curl my lip in disgust as he popped it into his mouth. A race that didn't fear sickness had very different ideas about what constituted 'healthy'.
"Hmm" He rumbled, experienced eyes flicking over my face. "This is the third time this year."
I sighed by way of reply. I already knew what the diagnosis would be, even if it did take me two episodes to figure it out. Another thing it turns out I was early for, the Blood Rage was apparently not considered a normal thing yet. And of course I have it.
"You have fight in your blood still." He continued. "And there is no pain from any of these injuries."
I tilted my head to the side, stretching the bloody skin of my neck. He was right, even once I got control of myself, there was no pain from any of the deep gouges.
"In any other time, I would think them days old." He said, something approaching sympathy in his gaze now. "The healing energy runs very thick, there is only one cause for this. You have the blood thirst in you."
'So that's what they call it now." I couldn't help thinking to myself.
"What does this mean for me?"
The Dukun moved over to the organized chaos that was his shelving system, and plucked out a pouch. "Fortunately, yours would seem a mild case, there are those who can exert no control at all. Chewing these will calm you, you can also boil it and make tonic should you prefer. Whichever you think easier to take when needed."
"Oh." I huffed, surprised at the simple solution. "That's easy then…Is there anything I should know about these?"
"No, it is simple enough." He said, pulling an inscribed wooden piece from the pouch and tapping at the writing. "I've made some instructions here, any market should have them, they've a number of uses. The only problem is taking them in a pinch, i wouldn't recommend dosing regularly or you'll build a tolerance."
I think I just got prescribed space weed.
"Can it be burned?"
"Yes, it is used for incense quite often." He nodded to himself. "Not usually here in the under-city though."
Definitely just got prescribed space weed.
"My thanks." I grunted, fishing in a pouch at my waist before pulling a translucent stone the size of my claw.
"A few of these is enough to cover every visit you've made, both for medicine and for tutelage. Yet you continue to offer them most visits." The Dukun observed, scratching lightly at the crystal's surface.
I gave a bashful grimace that was completely unnatural on a Krogan face. "I value what you offer. Can't have you withering away on me." It was mostly true, Krogan in general do not value the practice of medicine as much as they should.
He gave a short laugh that sounded like stones being ground together as he shooed me towards his door. "Keep yourself safe whelp, and keep all this to yourself. There's enough idiots around who will try to goad you into rage if they knew."
I don't quite understand why they'd want to do that but I'm not about to ignore the advice of a grumpy 800 year old witch doctor. I offer a final nod before stepping out of his 'clinic' and into the stuffy air of the Karaa under-city.
This was my life now. Living a fever dream in a universe thousands of years removed from anything remotely familiar, only a couple scientific breakthroughs away from nuclear annihilation. Hell, I might even be around to see it. I drummed my three clawed fingers on the stone ledge, contemplating it all. It could be worse I suppose, this new life of mine as a near immortal space lizard.
I could have woken up in the year 40k…Maybe I'll hold off dying again, wouldn't want to tempt fate.
A/N
A short Prologue for an old idea finally taking form. The lore leaves much of the Krogan 'golden age' to the imagination and I'm excited to explore it. Criticism welcomed of course.
There will be some deviations where I believe Bioware has contradicted itself in canon, or where it serves my purposes. Much of my inspiration comes from an author called LogicalPremise. I would recommend checking them out.
