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Requested By :

Espacole and Spork

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It took nearly a month to pass from one end of the galaxy to another, which, to Pyrrha, was as astounding as ever. Even slowed as they were, avoiding active pirate routes in the Terminus and stopping to refuel and resupply at a small Alliance outpost in the region, the sheer scale of travel was still amazing to her. It could take as long to cross Mistral, and twice that to cross the vast stretch of land between Vale and Vacuo, and those were mere continents. So infinitely small in size, by comparison, that she couldn't even conjure up the numbers to express the scale. And even with everything else she was aware of - from literal gods to literal monsters - it still stole her breath.

And Pyrrha hoped the wonder of it all never, ever died.

Even if the world was as broken as Tuchanka…

"This is the Homeworld?" Grunt rumbled as he stepped out of the shuttle, with Pyrrha, Mordin and Zaeed forming up in a line behind him. He looked up and around the sheltered shuttle pad, at the rubble and ruins, and growled lowly. "This is the land of the old Warlords? The ancient cradle of our greatest warriors and warlords? It's… Rubble."

"Spoken like an off-worlder." A Krogan working on an engine laid along the edge of the wide landing rumbled without looking. "Where are you from, whelp?"

"A bloodline that would make your fetid self pale." Grunt snarled, turning as the other, older Krogan threw down his welder and shot up, teeth bared. Grunt rumbled a laugh and brought his fists up, "Come, then, and I'll show you-"

"Grunt." She shot between them and laid a palm on his chest and the young Krogan flicked her a look, scowling but backing down when she shook her head. Turning back to the other irritated Krogan, she sighed and said, "I apologize. He's… Not been well."

"A Human controls you?" The Krogan boomed, laughing and shaking his head as he lumbered forward and swung an arm to the side, trying to bat her away so he could get to Grunt again. "What kind of weakling-"

As soon as his arm struck her, she ducked, palm his breastplate as she slid by. Then she frowned and reached out with her Semblance, tugging him back hard enough to surprise him, and then threw him to the side, into the old railing that ringed most of the landing pad. It gave way under his weight and he collapsed over it, onto the rubble. He snarled, pushing up on the rough pile of stone with one hand and reaching for a gun on his waist with the other, and Milo flicked out, extending down into his face threateningly.

"I've learned a lot about your people, Krogan." Pyrrha sighed tiredly to affect the part her studies had told her to play among the Krogan, "I've had to. I command one. Please, consider whether or not you want this fight. Before I have to beat you down and leave you here, insulted."

"You think you can beat me?"

"I've fought and beaten stronger than you." She answered, "Proper Battlemasters. Not… Whoever, and whatever, you are, here."

"And you expect me to just-"

"Nikos!" A voice bellowed, silencing the Krogan whose head jerked around and to the side at the sound, eyes widening and mouth snapping shut. Pyrrha turned, too, as a white-armored Krogan, scarred and scowling darkly, stormed towards them. At his approach, she stepped back, resting her spear against the ground as he turned to appraise the Krogan in the rubble and turned back to ask, "What is the meaning of this?"

"I was only acting in Grunt's defense." She answered, "He made to attack first."

"Your whelp shouldn't have spoken up, Human." The white-armored Krogan growled, shaking his great head and turning to the other. "But you should be better than rising to the ignorant insults of a young Krogan, too, Garlak. Now get back to work."

"Hmph." Garlak snarled, pulling himself up onto the pad and stalking away to get back to work.

"I'm sorry about that." Pyrrha sighed once Garlak had left and the other Krogan had turned to her. "Grunt… Hasn't been in the best head-space, lately. Which is why we're even here in the first part, mostly."

"He's ill?" The white-armored Krogan rumbled, curious as he turned and waved Grunt forward. Pyrrha stepped to the side and turned to pay him a nod and he did, growling as the older Krogan stepped close and took a long, deep smell of him and hummed. "Open your mouth."

"What?"

"Open your mouth." He repeated, "You came here for help, so let me help, whelp."

"Hrrng." Grunt growled, flicking Pyrrha a look and then sighing when she smiled apologetically and nodded.

"Hmph." The older Krogan growled, turning his head to either side and then turning to Pyrrha and grunting. "Are you his… Companion?"

"She is my Battlemaster." Grunt stepped in, "Pyrrha Nikos."

"I know her name, whelp, it was on the manifest." He snapped, shaking his head and waving Grunt off. "You should both know not to call you by that, though. Only Krogan who have passed the Rite of Passage. At least, not while you're in Urdnot territory. Other Clans may be less traditional in that regard, but we are not."

"We'll refrain, then." Pyrrha said, smiling thinly and bowing her head in a polite greeting. "You know my name, but I'll introduce myself regardless. Pyrrha Nikos. An honor to meet you, Sir?"

"Urdnot Ankrat." Ankrat grunted, pounding a fist against his breastplate in his own overtly-polite greeting. "Ambassador of Clan Urdnot. Or, well, one of them, anyways. The Chieftain ordered me to come meet you to prevent… Well, what happened."

"I suppose we were just a bit… Quick, on that account, unfortunately."

"Mhm." Ankrat nodded, "Regardless, he's perfectly healthy. But how old is he?"

"He is?" She blinked, shaking the question off and grimacing. "Um, he's…"

"I'm four months old or so." Grunt grumbled, chuffing when Ankrat recoiled. Quietly, almost anxiously, he explained, "I wasn't… Born. I was grown, by Warlord Okeer, with genetics distilled from the Ancient Warlords."

"Grown…?" Ankrat murmured, "You're a clone, then?"

"No." He shook his head, "I am not a clone of anyone. Okeer mixed his genetics in with the Ancient Warlords. Shiagur, Kore, Nial and more. I was… Distilled from this. Not cloned. Genetically, I'm no different from any newborn. My mother was just made of glass."

"Okeer would be the type to stoop to such vile methods of conception just to have a child…"

"I am not his child." Grunt growled, "I am his weapon."

"Against?"

"The Genophage." He answered, "I am immune."

"Impossible." Ankrat grunted, "If he could cure us, then he would have come to us. And been hailed a great hero for it, too."

"Cure requires fresh gestation." Mordin stepped in to offer, fishing a small data-pad out of a pocket and holding it out, smiling until the Krogan snatched it away. Clasping his hands behind his waist and standing safely between Grunt and Pyrrha, he explained, "Not a 'cure'. Rather, 'curated adaptation'. Purely artificial but likely hereditary. Apparent goal."

"Incredible if true." Ankrat murmured, skimming over the data-pad and then sliding it into an armored compartment on his thigh. "Regardless, he's healthy. He just needs to attend the Rite."

"Why is it so important?"

"Krogan, particularly young ones like him, want to buck up against every damn thing they can. Itchin' for a good fight. To prove themselves." Ankrat explained, crossing his arms and chuckling. "Rite of Passage lets 'em have that. And where they can be seen, too. Lets the Clan understand who they're offering a place, and lets the young Krogan earn the place and test their limits, all at the same time. You get permission to put him through it, he should get himself under control."

"He'll calm down, then?"

"Fuck, no." The Krogan laughed, voice booming around the wide, rubble-strewn room. "He's just being a Krogan. Goal's focus, not to neuter him."

"I see…" Well, as long as he was calmed enough to control himself, Pyrrha would be more than happy to accept it. But, more importantly, she asked, "He'd be a part of your clan then? Presuming he passed this… Rite, I mean."

"He'd be offered the chance, yes." Ankrat nodded, "But he wouldn't be bound unless he chose to be. The Rite is to admit warriors and adults into the Clan. To earn their service with a welcoming hand. Chaining them down would go against that entirely."

"That makes sense." She nodded, "How do we undertake this Rite then?"

"Come with me." He said, "I'll show you to the Shaman. If he permits it, I'll notify the Chieftain while your whelp is taken to the testing grounds."

"Alright." Pyrrha nodded, "After you, then."

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The Shaman was housed in the ruin of a taller building, cloths, chains and rusted chimes hanging across every spot open to the air, overlooking the mostly-underground compound that housed Clan Urdnot. Once upon a time, it had been several rooms, separated by walls that now lay in low, ruined piles of dull rubble adorned by candles and lanterns alike. Especially around the central stairway, where larger urns smoked a heady, harsh incense. The ceiling overhead was the same concrete as everywhere else, cracked and broken in places, but painted with murals of warriors fighting beasts, each other, and aliens she did and didn't recognize. Even Geth, too, surrounding a red-armored figure in a corner who beat and blasted at them heroically.

"Our Chieftain." Pyrrha heard as heavy steps approached her group from behind. She turned to find a Krogan swaddled in thick grey robes, face hidden bar for his eyes and nose, and the Shaman cocked his head, eyeing Mordin as he paced along, taking the murals in with interest. "You would bring a Slarian here? Brave of you."

"You mean Tuchanka, or…?"

"This place is holy because it is Tuchanka itself." The Shaman scoffed, shaking his great head and turning to stalk away as if that answered her question. He paced over to a corner beside one of the cloth and chain outer walls, where the Krogan settled onto rubble shaped roughly into the shape of a seat. The Krogan fell onto it with a sigh and gestured for them to sit on any of the loose piles of rubble that were nearby, like those scattered throughout the wide room, and said, "Sit."

"Will stand." Mordin hummed, "If permissible. Murals… Fascinating recounting of events."

"Do what you want." The Krogan grunted, "But touch anything and I feed you to the Varren."

"Understood." Mordin nodded, padding away quietly to look everything over while the rest of them found workable seats to settle onto.

"Fuckin'... Rocks." Zaeed grumbled, trying and failing to get comfortable on his pile and frowning deeply. "Can't even get a goddamn cushion in here?"

"Tuchanka is a cold, harsh, hard place." The Shaman chuckled, "Those who speak for her must be willing to live with what she offers in all things. Ours is a way of blood, pain and dedication merely to exist as we are. We Shamans exemplify this. If you can't withstand it, then begone."

"Oh fuck you."

"Hah." The Shaman chuckled, "At least your party is amusing… Nikos, was it?"

"Yes, Sir." She nodded respectfully, crossing her legs under her and settling her hands in her lap. "And, um, thank you for seeing us. And, um, tolerating Mordin."

"From what Ankrat said, you are worth the insult of tolerating your alien presence." The Shaman shrugged, "Now, let us be brief. You wish to undergo the Rite, whelp? You wish for a chance to join the greatness that is, and will be, Clan Urdnot?"

For a long moment, long enough for Pyrrha to turned in concern, the young Krogan was quiet. Finally, he stood with a grunt and paced over to one of the curtains, pulling it aside enough to peer outside at the dozens of Krogan working below. Some she'd seen had been clearing rubble while others worked on mending, or tearing down, walls. Still more had been sat up on a raised dais, arguing amongst themselves while others worked in another corner, butchering massive insects in the open air and frying their pieces a few feet away.

'Brutal' was a word that had come to mind, and it still matched well enough.

"I would belong to… This?" He rumbled, "This… Mess?"

"You would." The Shaman nodded, seemingly unoffended by the description. Which deflated the apology Pyrrha had already been stammering, earning a low chuckle from the Krogan Shaman. "And you would help, in whatever way you find best, in restoring Urdnot to the glory it seeks. Glory that the Chieftain is working us towards even now. The work you see is expansion. Urdnot is in an ascendancy. Joining it now chances bringing only further glory to yourself, whelp."

"Hmph…" Grunt rumbled, dropping the curtain and turning to look over at Pyrrha. "Should I?"

"That's up to you." She smiled, "Is this what you want?"

"...Yes." He nodded, "It is."

"Then-"

"What manner of insanity is this." A loud, snarling voice cut her off. Pyrrha turned and stood as three more Krogan stormed towards them from the stairs, each dressed in white armor highlighted in blue lights. The bare-headed one shook his head as he reached them, Pyrrha stepping away so he could regard Grunt with an eye and speak to the Shaman. "Surely, you will not allow this… Thing to the join true Krogan here, Shaman."

"Gatatog Uvenk." The Shaman introduced with a sigh, "Representative of Clan-"

"Chieftain." Uvenk snapped, "Of Clan Gatatog."

"A small ally of Clan Urdnot." The Shaman went on, undeterred, "Which you are here, offering to submit to Clan Urdnot. To avoid them simply seizing what you call yours."

"My purpose is irrelevant." Uvenk snapped, gesturing at Pyrrha and then Mordin with a snarl. "You would entertain this thing and invite aliens here? How dare you!"

"How dare I?" The Shaman scoffed, "I am Shaman of Urdnot. You are no one, here. Less than no one."

"I will take this to the Chieftain, then." Uvenk snapped, pointing a long finger at Grunt who snarled in response, only kept back by a hand Pyrrha held out, warning him down. Laughing, the Krogan demanded, "What, the vat-baby is afraid of one pathetic, sniveling, frail little Human? Pathetic. In birth, in inception, and in existence at all! When I kill you, it will be a mercy. You would-"

Her shield bounced off his chest with enough force to shove him back and she caught it as she stepped forward and scowled, blood boiling in her veins. Months of anger, suppressed and kept down, rushed forth as the Krogan's words sank deeper. His insults bit down harder. She wanted to kill Grunt? Over her dead body!

"You can insult me all you like." She snapped, "But do not insult my friends. And do not try my patience, or you will find it burns short. And hot."

"The Human thinks to try me?" He scoffed, "To attack me?"

At a wave of his hand, one of his Krogan surged forward, fist coming around for her face. Pyrrha let it land, staggering to the side and then straightening and smiling, unharmed. Which seemed to surprise the Krogan who flinched back, giving her the space she needed to step in, extending her spear between his legs and behind a knee and driving her Aura-backed shoulder into him, Semblance tagging in as she made contact and throwing him on to his back. Uvenk's eyes widened and she turned, driving her spear in towards his eye and halting it mere inches away, Semblance helping her catch it in time to make her point all the more obvious.

"I have experience with Krogan." She snapped, "You all won't be the first I've fought. And you won't be the last, either."

"You're willing to risk that?"

"I'm a Huntress." She countered, "My life is spent risking myself against bigger enemies than me. Or you, for the matter. Test me or back down. Your call."

"You dare…" Uvenk rumbled, eyes narrowing as his other guard stepped to the side, reaching for his shotgun. Mordin was on his other side before he could, pressing his Carnifex into the side of his head while Zaeed circled around, rifle aimed at the other Krogan as it stood.

"Ha!" The Shaman barked a laugh, startling them all and drawing their eyes to him. The old Krogan chortled even further, gesturing at Pyrrha with a hand. "This alien understands! Better than you, Uvenk. So weak willed as to run off, quad left behind, to whine to the Chieftain! But she understands and strikes! If your Krogan is half the Krogan you are, Pyrrha Nikos, he will be twice what Uvenk already is! Ha!"

"I… Withdraw my protests." Uvenk snarled, backing up a step and turning with a parting, "We will settle this elsewhere, Human."

She watched him go and sighed wearily as the anger bled out of her. Turing, she blinked as Zaeed clapped her upside the head, laughing, "Stupid git. Trying to start a goddamn firefight inside a Krogan camp? I'm too old for your shit, but still too young to fuckin' die."

"S-Sorry…" She murmured, "I don't know where that came from, I just… I'm tired of being pushed around, I suppose."

"You need not explain yourself to me." The Shaman laughed, fishing a small coin out of a pocket in his robe and turning, holding it out for Grunt to take. When he did, the Shaman explained, "You have my blessing to join Clan Urdnot, Grunt. Or to try to, at least. And, if I may speak freely, a damn fine Battlemaster, too."

"Yeah." He smiled, "I do."

Pyrrha returned the smile and asked, "So what now?"

"We head to the trucks." The Shaman grunted, "I will show you the way, and observe your trial. Feel free to visit our armory as well, and prepare yourselves."

"We can go with him?"

"A Krogan is only as good as his own strength and his krantt." The Shaman explained, "You, evidently, are his. He is free to take you, so long as you agree."

"I do."

"Same." Zaeed grumbled, "Though I gotta be the dumbest motherfucker to volunteer for this shit…"

"You just care about the Battlemaster." Grunt offered, "There's no shame in it, even if it is… Soft."

"Fuck you."

"Why, Grunt, are you saying you don't care about me?" The Krogan growled and Pyrrha chuckled as Mordin shuffled his feet anxiously. Furrowing her brows, she asked, "Mordin? What's wrong?"

"Have… Something to look into, first." He answered, "Can not come. Personal mater, hope you understand."

"What 'personal matter' could a Salarian have here, on Tuchanka?" The Shaman grumbled, sighing when Mordin only pursed his lips. "Fine, fine, but you fuck around and we eat your liver. While you watch. Clear?"

"Quite." Mordin nodded, turning and padding away without another word.

"An odd on, your Salarian." The Shaman grunted, "Anyway, come. I'll show you to our armsman and the merchant, see what you might could use. Then, on to Initiation. And my but it should be an intriguing one, too…"

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