Ripples in the Stream

A D&D / Shadowrun / Mass Effect crossover by Vyrexuviel

Disclaimer: The author of this story does not, in any way, derive any profit from the story. D&D, Shadowrun and Mass Effect are the property of their respective copyright holders. Jorukaia and other unfamiliar characters in this story, however, are mine.

Things hadn't always been this bad. Crime had been increasing recently, and growing more and more organized. For most people, this wouldn't really have been a problem, as that same organization meant that random petty crime, the kind that most people notice, had actually gone down. Detective Chellick, however, had a duty to notice. Which is why he was here, actually. Chora's Den wasn't exactly his scene, but, duty called. He sipped his drink, not a particularly good one, but also one without any actual alcohol in it. Jenna, his deep-cover informant currently working as a bartender, was careful to keep her boss supplied with drinks that wouldn't dull his edge. He hadn't needed it yet, but...

The two krogan over at the entrance to the back room were getting heated. One of them wanted in, the other wanted him out. The former was big, even for a krogan, red crest with a scarred face that had clearly seen a lot of action. He stood with quiet assurance while the other kept shifting, not something that most krogan live long enough to acquire. The other was a bouncer, paid well, and clearly not about to let the oldster in. He wasn't quite close enough to hear what they were arguing about, over the pulsing rhythm of the music, but he saw-

His eyes widened a bit as a figure became visible through the shifting crowd. No mistaking that long, sinuous tail, no other known species had that. The horns were also a dead giveaway as the escapee glanced almost amusedly at the turian who had just bounced off her. Chellick dropped his left hand under the table, activating his omnitool by rote and keeping the holographic interface from showing.

"Dispatch."

"Chellick here. I have eyes on that escaped prisoner." He kept his voice low, but still audible over the music. It wouldn't do for him to be noticed, not this close to the payoff.

"Confirm. You've spotted the escaped... ahh, Darastrix?" The dispatcher's voice had gone both quite a bit more interested and slightly louder. Must be a slow day at the office.

"Yes, she's in Chora's Den. Not sure why- hold on." The woman's gaze had locked on something, and Chellick followed it as best he could. Almost across the club from where he was sitting was the old human, Harkin. He'd been cashiered from C-Sec recently, and was evidently drowning his sorrows. Talking to him was a figure in Alliance armor. Her helmet was off, but her brown hair, something that always fascinated him, was up in a bun, and she was clearly rather annoyed at Harkin. She had just turned, and spotted the darastrix.

This could be trouble. "There might be an incident in progress. I'll keep you informed," Chellick kept his comm open as he watched. Even as the human opened her mouth to say something, the darastrix merely tilted her head in acknowledgment and moved through the crowd. Chellick lost visual on her, and evidently so did the human, as she started to stalk forward.

When the human started looking around, though, Chellick got worried. "Just lost contact. Send a squad here for a spot-check?"

"They already sent a high-threat response unit, Detective. I'd get out of there quietly if I were you."

Chellick was hardly one to disobey orders.

It had been a long day. A long, hard, tiring day, and it wasn't over yet. He had always been able to keep that disconnect, keep his inner thoughts from showing. It made him a hell of a con-man in his youth, and now he could negotiate with the movers and shakers in the galaxy without letting on what he was thinking, even to beings ten times his age. Even so, his hands shook the tiniest bit as he poured himself some bourbon, the amber liquid splashing into the tumbler.

Shadow Broker, or Saren. Fuck both of them, he was Fist, he'd do his own thing. Or so he'd thought at the time. When a prize that juicy drops into your lap, you don't question where it came from, you don't look for strings. You grab, and cut the strings later. Except these were more like steel cables. Now he's got a Broker-hired merc on his ass, and Saren promising vague rewards for his cooperation. Not good.

"Nice place."

His heart nearly stopped as he whipped around. He'd been alone, damn it, his security was tight, it had to be, to deal with exactly this sort of shit!

The woman lounging on his sofa, though... She was something else. His mind blanked a bit as he saw the tail snaking sinuously as she stretched. She was looking around, apparently somewhat impressed as she sat on his sofa. He'd gotten that thing used, sure, but he'd tested it, it was genuine leather.

No armor, no visible weapons. And in that outfit she wasn't concealing much. He relaxed, but only a trifle. She had been able to get past his security, after all. She turned slightly, her gaze meeting his, and an inexplicable shiver ran down his spine. He didn't let it show, though.

He never did.

"Thanks. I decorated myself." He took a sip of his bourbon. "Mind telling me how you got past my security? I don't think I forgot to lock the door."

A faint smile touched her lips. She shifted, sitting up more fully now, and crossing her legs. Damn her, but she had good ones. "Oh, this and that." That smile was mocking, had to be. 'Bitch.'

"I see," the man said, his voice betraying nothing of what he thought of the woman, or the situation he was in. He glanced at her, swirling the aged spirit in his tumbler as he made a few, deliberately smooth steps towards the couch. "And what business would you have with me?" He took another sip, being careful not to drink too much now. "I assume this is business, right?"

"Quite, Mr. Fist. I do assume that that is your preferred title?" She gave a slight nod at his own and went on, "I propose a trade. Information for a service. You give me a small, trifling bit of data, and I offer you a service you won't find anywhere else in the galaxy."

He held in a snort, moving a bit easier towards his chair now. Pausing at the edge of his desk, he turned back to the woman, a small, sardonic smile on his face. "Is that so?" He swirled the bourbon once more, and set the tumbler on the desk. "You know, a Salarian came here last week offering much the same?" Fist took the final steps towards his chair, and sat down, rotating so he was facing the invader. Steepling his fingers in what was universally considered the business pose, he considered the woman's words. On the unlikely chance she was telling the truth, perhaps he could use her. Fist was in severe need of prime services, caught between Saren and the Shadow Broker as he was. And if she wasn't-well, he had people who could deal with her. "Let's see if your offer is better than his."

The woman's smile widened, a glitter in her eyes as she shifted and leaned forward. Her eyes seemed to glow softly as she murmured, "I can get you out from between the rock and the hard place you've stuck yourself, Fist. I can give you a head start. Give you time to grab whatever funds you have, whatever assets you can liquidate, quietly, and flee before they notice. I can give you the most precious gift of all."

Her eyes seemed to glitter like rubies in the dark, "Time."

She squirmed slightly, adjusting her position, and moving her long tail from her left side to her right. "All I ask in return, is just a bit of data. The location and time of a certain meeting that I'm sure you're aware of." She leaned back in her seat again, eyes still on his. It was quite eerie, how they never seem to blink.

Fist made a humming sound, his left hand moving down to rest on his legs, brushing against a small, easily concealable button under the desk. With his right hand, the man took his tumbler and once more had a small sip, setting it down right after it. "That's all well and good, lady, but data's expensive, and I don't give it on assumptions."

"Then how about a demonstration?" She gave that faint, mocking smile again, and something seemed to shift. 'Did she slouch down?' A downward glance, however, showed no sign of the long, sinuous tail, and a glance up at her face showed no horns. A third glance in rapid succession, and Fist wasn't sitting across from a woman of unknown race who somehow got into his office, he was sitting across from an asari, fairly tall for the species, with a scar across her nose, deep-purple eyes and vivid blue skin, still wearing the same, tight outfit she had been before, even down to the annoyingly mocking smile.

"I trust that this is sufficient to prove myself?" Even her voice has changed, lighter and less resonant than when she was in that... other body.

Fist blinked. He tried to remember what kind of technology could make such a convincing hologram, but shook his head before long. It wouldn't do to try and figure out what she had-Fist had never been a very technologically-inclined person. He dealt with people and deals, and had others do the rest for him. 'Probably one of them Salarian crazies. Bet she doesn't even look like that,' thought the human, cynically. 'Still, who is this? Knows about Saren and the Shadow Broker... .'

He brought his left hand to a drawer, opening it as quietly as he could, the hand resting on top of a modified Karpov pistol. He glanced slightly at it, suppressing a wince at how much the thing had cost him. Still, it was useful for the few times he had to intimidate or...deal with pests. The Karpov line was, after all, famous for excessive firepower.
"Was that supposed to impress me?" He asked, his tone deliberately mocking. "Unless you can turn into someone, I'll take cloaking any day."

"Ohh, so you want something challenging." She gave that damnable smile, "Mmm, alright..." Those deep-purple eyes closed for just a moment, the asari seeming to blur around the edges. A moment or two later when they opened again, Fist found himself staring at a very... odd sight. The figure was still wearing the same leather-leggings and halter top as before, and it looked very fucking strange when wrapped around his own body.

His own voice, with the same half-smirk in it he knew so well, murmured, "I take it this might do?"

Fist suddenly choked on his own spit, violently coughing at the almost hellish sight in front of him. Seeing himself in those clothes, wearing that smirk was not anywhere near his list of things he wanted to do. After a few moments, he massaged his now sore throat with his right hand, caught between closing his eyes and never opening them again, and glaring at the very familiar and very strange sight in front of him.

"Jesus, woman, change back. Change back!" he said between clenched teeth, and half-closed eyes.

Her snicker was clearly audible, but she changed back to her native state, or at least, he assumed it was her native state, in no more, or less, time than she had taken previously. "I take it you believe me now?"

She leaned forward again, eyes fixed on his. "With the right outfit, I can do a very convincing job of being you, Mr. Fist. So convincing, in fact, that all your enemies will be focused on me, allowing you, with a suitable disguise, to get away clean, with all your hard-earned cred and whatever intel might buy you a safe place to rebuild."

"Yeah, yeah, laugh it up..." The implied 'bitch' following that was audible, even though he hadn't actually said it.

She lifted a hand at him, "I'm not offering you protection, I'm offering you a chance at surviving your enemies' wrath, that's all. I believe that that might be worth the price I asked?"

This time, Fist drank all the remaining bourbon in his tumbler with almost intense desperation, swallowing it all in one go. He coughed one last time, and slammed the tumbler back on the desk, cracking the top slightly. Eyes slightly watering, he looked back to the now-presentable woman.
"And what's stopping you from just bolting when I do that, huh?" He asked, his voice hoarse.

"That would violate the terms of our agreement, Mr. Fist," she clucked her tongue at the very thought of such an idea. "You're a businessman, surely you know that repeat business is the greater part of profit. Once I've faked your sufficiently public and undeniable death, I would assume that a man like you would have a great deal of use for someone with my... Abilities..."

Fist hummed again, this time considering things more seriously. It was very possible that the woman could be trying to fuck him over-with her ability, she could be working for any of the multiple parties he'd aggravated in the past. Unfortunately, Fist couldn't exactly pass the offered chance up. As things were, he was either dead or ruined. "Just the meeting data, right?" He asked, his left hand coming up from where it rested on the pistol, his hands now steepled once again.

She gave that faint smile again, those glowing-red eyes boring into his own, "Yes, just the meeting data."

"When are you gonna blink, bitch? Jesus..." he murmured quietly. Fist brought up his terminal, the slight orange haze casting shadows at his face. With the expertise of a man who worked with a terminal for the better part of many years, he found the information needed. He could have just told her, but experience taught him never to reveal information out loud. Not only was it bad for business, it also invited unknowns to listen in to his conversations. "Got it right here. I would hurry if I were you-it's scheduled to start in a few minutes. What's your contact?"

Her brows rose fractionally, "An OSD would be preferable, but if you insist..." Her eyes went distracted for a moment, the familiar orange hologram appearing about her left hand, and her long fingers dancing quickly through it. After a moment, a local device ping appeared on his screen, the woman's omnitool attempting to set up a secure line with his terminal.

Fist raised a hand, stalling the request while he checked on the connection. Opening his usual batch of security co-routines, made specifically for him from a now dead Salarian contact, he allowed the codes to run until they finished. Satisfied with the amount of security, he finally accepted the line, immediately linking the meeting data to the woman's omni-tool.

She gave a faint nod, her eyes flickering momentarily. "Ahh. I see. Quite soon, then." She smiled faintly over at him, "I suppose this is genuine?"

He shrugged, eying the mini-corridor that led to his bar wistfully. "As genuine as can be, considering."

"Then I take you at your name's word, Mr. Fist." Something about her voice had gone different. Not menacing, but a bit playful.

"...what?" Asked the man, now confused, considering what her words meant. "You know what, nevermind. Just...hurry. You want the girl's data, you need to get to her before the others do." Said that, the man got up from behind his desk, fingers blazing across his omni-tool as he pinged as many trusted contacts as he could. "And while you do that, Tails, I've got a bottle with my name on it."

She didn't reply with words, merely gave him a wide, toothy smile. Far too toothy, he realized, just before the lights went out.

He checked his rifle for the seventh time since they got off the aircar. Fist wasn't one to lie down under pressure. If anything, pushing him was liable to drive him into a frenzy. He'd seen the type before, had to deal with them personally, in fact. That particular type usually never developed the self-restraint necessary to rise any higher than gang-leader or thug. Most of them never got even that far, but Fist was smarter than your average hot-head. He knew his own faults and used them to his advantage, which was why he'd not been caught before, and why he ran a fairly extensive, if rather sparse, informants net on the Citadel. You wanted to know things on Bachjret Ward, you went to Fist. The fact that the man also had Shadow Broker connections also meant that he had friends in unlikely places.

Which is why Garrus was checking his rifle again. No one knew how much firepower Fist's men had access to, after all. Or what sort of training, for that matter.

"We're here." He looked up as the big krogan stepped around another corner. Ah yes, there was the sign for Chora's Den, an outline of a reclining asari on a wedge-shape reminiscent of a divan. Garrus had come here himself a few times, mostly on duty rather than off, but he'd also met this pretty girl that he'd chatted with a few times. Before he'd had to put a bullet through her brain.

He'd gotten transferred out of undercover ops and a month's leave after that one. It'd been his first kill, and someone he'd gotten fairly close to.

Wrex paused, "Something's not right here."

The other member of their trio, barely, already had her assault rifle out, though pointed low, "How can you tell? It looks the same as last time." Gunnery Sergeant Ashley Williams was tense around aliens, and right now, she was the only one of her species in the group. She hung several places away, off to one side when she could, or behind Garrus, which he did not like, when she couldn't. She'd re-donned her helmet for this.

"It's quiet."

Garrus's mandibles flexed in a slight smile, "Too quiet?" He had to hand it to the humans, they did know how to put together a good holo-movie.

"Yeah. Normally you can hear the music even out here." The big krogan shifted, head cocked slightly, then rolled his broad shoulders and glanced over at the turian, "Hope you're as good a shot as they say you are."

Garrus didn't have much of a chance to reply, as the huge armored beast lumbered forwards, towards where a pair of krogan loitered on either side of the doors. He slowed, gazing intently at them, "I'm going in. You won't stop me this time."

'This time?' wondered Garrus, but the other krogan just shrugged. "Orders changed. Boss left you a message in his office. Go on in." He reached to the panel beside the door and thumped it with his fist. The door slid open invitingly on a completely empty outer chamber, no pulse-pounding music, no dancers, no clients, no barmaids.

"Your boss is losing money by shutting the place down like this," Garrus murmured.

The krogan merely shrugged as Wrex stepped inside, shotgun in hand, "Boss said to close up early, get all the clients out, then send the rest of the staff home. We're just here until you all go in. Then we go home too. The doors will lock on their own once you come out."

He turned to his buddy, "C'mon, Garoka, the fights are on tonight." Both krogan levered themselves into a brisk walk, chatting about which fighter they wanted to put their respective money on.

Ash watched them go, then shot Garrus a clearly bewildered look. He shrugged and stepped through the door himself, "How is it, Wrex?"

"Empty." The big krogan sounded disgusted. 'Well, he probably had been looking forward to shooting his way through a whole horde of guards,' Garrus mused. "Nothing worth a bullet." He scuffed the ground with one boot, giving a low growl as he stomped over to the inner door.

The other two followed, it's never good to get in front of an angry krogan. That door too opened at Wrex's approach. This place was getting eerie. It had always been jumping, in Garrus's experience, pulse-pounding beats, the chatter of conversation, clink of drinks, but now...

He whirled, snapped his gun up and aimed in one fluid motion, but lowered it ruefully as Ash very carefully set a bottle back on the counter. Her other hand spread so Garrus could see she didn't have a gun. 'Damn. Need to calm down, Vakarian.'

"Sorry."

"Yeeeah." The human gave him a doubtful look, and she slipped through the door after the Krogan battlemaster, leaving Garrus alone in the outer office. He heaved a sigh and followed.

"Ahh, it's good of you to come." The voice of Fist came from the life-sized image on his main screen, which took up one wall of his smallish office. "I'm sorry I couldn't greet you in person, but you know how it is, things keep popping up. I do hope those lunks on guard duty didn't give you too much hassle, I tried to impress on them that they needn't try and defend this place at the cost of their lives."

'Weird, I hadn't thought that Fist cared about who he got killed.' Garrus glanced about, but the place seemed quite neat, clean, almost too clean.

"In the mean time, do make yourselves at home. I think there's a bottle of good Taetrus 2033 brandy in the tantalus, and of course, wine for the lady." He gave a faintly mocking nod to the room.

"Just what is all this?" the marine was clearly not in the drinking mood.

The hologram flickered ever so faintly. Garrus's eyes narrowed at the man in the hologram. 'An interactive message?'

"All this, as you say, is something of an apology. I'm sorry I couldn't meet you in person, but you know how busy I am." Fist gave an engaging, regretful smile. "Other business called me away." Another faint flicker crossed over his face, which shifted position ever so slightly.

Garrus nodded to himself, 'Definitely interactive. It's responding to what we say. Let's see if we can cut to the chase.'

"What is it you want to tell us, Fist?"

Another of those faint flickers. "I have a gift for you. All three of you in fact. For you, Mr Vakarian," the hologram paused a moment, a rueful smile on his face, "I'm going to assume you are, in fact, Detective Garrus Vakarian, C-Sec. If you aren't, please forgive the misuse of the name." He shifted his stance slightly, "The gift for you, Mr Vakarian, is complete files on a wide number of criminal enterprises set up on the Citadel. Complete notes, as I had some hand in setting them up, and as such, I know where all the numbers were tweaked to add up nicely, not to mention where the bodies are buried. Well, most of them."

Garrus's mandibles quirked. Quite apart from that being a very nice find for any officer, there was also something very odd with this man. Fist was always tightfisted, when it came to money, information, or power. He'd never give something like that away, not unless he was almost lethally intoxicated, or had something massive in store. And then there was the faintly ironic tone he had placed on the 'I' in that statement...

But the hologram was already moving on, "To Ms Williams, I'm afraid I don't have quite as much to offer, though I do believe that the selection of armor and weapon upgrades you will find in the wall safe will be an adequate gift. And, of course, the bottle of Serrice Ice Brandy you'll find in the cooler behind the desk. Do give my regards to Karin, will you?" The ironic gleam in his eye was clearly puzzling to the marine, but she was already moving to the safe, finding it unlocked.

"To you, Battlemaster Urdnot Wrex, your own present is to be found in the closet." The hologram's head motioned towards the large door to its left, "Do be careful with it, it's quite fragile. You wouldn't want to break your toy before you had a good time with it, no?"

"Why are you doing this?" Garrus glared at the hologram. 'Damn slippery fish, playing a trick on us like this but not having the plates to do it in person.'

"Because you three deserve them of course, for your outstanding service and the time and effort you've spent in getting this far." The damned man gave a grin, then flickered a bit as Wrex opened the closet.

Whatever he, Garrus and Ashley were expecting, it was not having a stiff corpse fall out on the krogan's chestplate. To his credit, the battlemaster didn't flinch at the unexpected thud, though he did look down in surprise. The corpse was headless, Garrus could see as Wrex pushed it off him to let it fall to the carpet. A raggedness to the skin and flesh indicated that it had been severed with many blades slicing at once, and the way the bones of the stump were...

He had to swallow hard as something thudded and rolled out of the closet. Wrex's eye followed it, and the krogan was already grinning as he squatted down to pick it up. He was chuckling outright as he rose and turned, showing it to the other two.

"But, if he... Then how...?" Williams' words mirrored his own as Garrus's gaze turned from Fist's head, held in Wrex's claws, to the man himself, grinning at them from the holographic wall-panel.

"I suppose some explanation is in order..." Fist gave a devilish grin, and something shifted. Garrus's eyes widened and he started immediately checking the computer system, trying to find where this message had been recorded, to make sure he got a copy before whoever did this erased it.

"You see," horns grew from the man's temples, "I'm not," his eyes darkened and shifted, going first purple then red, "actually," his face had changed shape and darkened still more, "Fist."

The face that stared out of the hologram now was one very familiar to Officer Vakarian. He'd been briefed on her escape yesterday, just hours after it happened, and now, here she was, having taken down a local crime-boss. His eyes strayed from her to the head still held in Wrex's grip.

"The body is proof, Mr Urdnot. I believe it would be more than adequate for satisfying your employer, no?" Her tone was light, almost laughing. Wrex merely grinned back at her.

That ruby gaze shifted to him, damned eerie how she could do that. "The crimes for which Fist kept files are all documented on his computer terminal. I guess because he didn't trust his ability to secure his own omnitool, and wanted to keep it in a place where he knew his files would be safe. The machine isn't wireless, and the encryption is top-notch, but I believe the password I've written on the piece of paper beneath it should work to get you in. As to the brandy, Ms Williams," the scarlet gaze shifted again, and Ashley glared back, "Do indeed give Karin my regards, and tell her I'm sorry to have scared her when first we met."

She grinned about at the three of them, then snapped her fingers and rolled her eyes, "Oh, yes, and because I'm a good soul, the data on the quarian you three were gearing up to beat out of Fist is on the OSD on the table," she gave a cheeky grin, "I'll see you again later, though you might not recognize me. Erei mu grind ontzos." She grinned wickedly, then vanished as the message ended, with just that cryptic phrase left behind.

Garrus heaved a sigh. 'This was not something I signed up for.'

Tali's day had gone to shit with all the speed of a Relay transit. One moment, she was about to buy herself safety, passage back to the Flotilla, and a place on any ship in the Fleet. The next, she'd been slapped in manacles. Sneaky turian bosh'tet hadn't even meant to play her along, he'd just walked up, acted as if he was the Shadow Broker's agent, and the instant she confirmed she was the girl he was looking for, like the most naive idiot, he'd nodded and clamped the damned manacles on!

She'd managed to get away only once in that initial scramble, but now they had her in a tight grip as they moved towards the edge of the roof. They probably weren't going to throw her off the edge. If they wanted her dead, they had far faster means of doing that. No, they probably wanted to make certain she hadn't given the data to anyone else yet, and take it off her themselves.

She was about three paces from the fire escape exit when she realized the turian to her left had stopped holding her arm tightly and now there was a spray of something wet, hot and sticky on the right side of her face-plate.

She wasn't really conscious of much else. One moment there had been ten of Saren's thugs on the roof, the next, eight of them were down with lethal wounds. One had had his head sheared off entirely, another's chestplate had been chopped open from one shoulder to the opposite hip. And a new figure had appeared. She moved with a stunning speed, whirling and glittering as she moved through the guards with a grace that was eerie for its silence as much as the vicious fury she unleashed.

One guard had managed to get his gun up and fire at her before she had hurled her long knife at him with enough force to skewer his right shoulder to the metaplast wall next to the fire escape. He cried out and dropped his gun as that arm went limp with the tendons severed, while she merely stared at the by-now terrified tenth guard.

She couldn't quite suppress a faint smirk as the last uninjured guard fouled himself and fled, dropping his weapons in his panicky haste. She always felt good after a kill, and it had been so long since she'd let herself enjoy her base urges.

The soft swearing off to one side drew her mind back from the pleasurable haze, and she shook her head once to rid herself of the last lingering traces. She stepped over to the pinned turian, who was glaring at her as he tried to work her dagger free of his shoulder. He hadn't succumbed to the pain, meaning he was stronger of will than most, but no matter his strength of mind, everyone broke at some point.

She reached out and pulled his hand from the hilt with negligent ease, but instead of pulling her blade free, she gripped it and twisted slightly, forcing a cry of pain from his clenched mandibles.

"I didn't get a chance to tell your young friend, so you'll have to be my messenger."

He snarled at her, eyes squinted nearly shut in the pain, and tried to lash out at her with a kick. She merely sidestepped it, giving him credit for at least trying. "When Saren hears of this, he'll gut you."

"Many have tried. They're all dead now." She gave the long knife another twist for good measure, making him almost whimper as he felt the edge of her blade shave little slivers of bone.

"Now be a good boy and tell your master this from me." She gave a soft little smile, knowing it betrayed a bit of her satiation with the bloodshed, and not giving a damn. "Tell Saren... Tell Nazara. The Darastrix hunts them. Remember that." With an almost gentle pressure, she pulled her weapon free with a vicious twist, letting a gout of dark-blue blood flow from his wound as the turian crumpled to the rooftop.

She stood for a moment, staring down at the fallen man as he fumbled at his belt with his one working hand, evidently aiming for medigel. She gave a soft tsking sound and lightly kicked the side of his head before squatting down to apply the medigel herself to the now-unconscious turian.

A soft sound off to one side snapped her head around, eyes blazing, teeth bared and her blade back in hand.

Tali was ready to wake up. This had to be a nightmare, one of the bloody ones she'd had after the accident. There was no way that much blood was real, no way, please, oh Keelah let this be a dream. In her incipient panic, she whimpered, and her breath caught as the, the thing snapped around and all but hissed at her. She cringed back against the side of one of the air recirculation units, but the woman had given a contrite nod, rising slowly to her feet as her tail swayed behind her.

"You're Tali'Zora vas- no, nar Rayya, correct?"

Tali blinked under her faceplate, gulped and tried to slow her breathing like the councilor had taught. "Y-Yes, I-I am Tali'Zorah. T-To whom do I have the honor of speaking?" The formal phrasing was something of a balm to her frazzled spirit.

The woman's lips quirked slightly and she gave a slight bow of her horned head, "I am known as Jorukaia. I am sorry to have given you distress." Her words were gentle, almost soft. Later, Tali would liken them to the soft syllables of a conman, attempting to charm the mark out of their hard-earned money.

"It.. It was good of you to intervene..." Tali swallowed, trying to look at the woman's face. By some quirk of combat, only a faint dappling of turian blood had gotten on one cheek, though the rest of her was splashed and splattered in blood, both turian and human. 'Don't look Tali, don't look or you'll remember too much.'

She already did, hearing her mother's voice, screaming at Tali to get away from that-

She shut the door on that memory, shivering faintly. The woman had seemed to pick up on her distress, and gestured. Somehow, the blood of combat seemed to evaporate away from her, or maybe Tali had just been seeing things to see it splattered so liberally over her.

"These weren't the only ones sent to make sure you got to Saren, Ms. Zorah. Saren's other men will be up momentarily, so I suggest we be somewhere else in rapid order."

A fresh coldness gripped the young quarian's gut, "How? The only routes down off this building are by the inner stairs and the fire escape!"

The horned figure nodded, "And Saren's men hold both ways out, and have at least one hover-van coming in." Her eyes flicked past Tali, to the left, where a soft whine was coming closer. "We have to go. Now."

Tali whimpered. She couldn't help it, old enough for a pilgrimage or not, she was just a scared little girl in far too deep over her head. "What do we do?"

"I can get us away, but you'll have to trust me, Tali." By now, the woman had not only cleaned herself, but stood with a confidence that was almost offensive.

She dithered in her mind. On the one hand, she did not want to have to deal with what Saren's men had planned for her. On the other hand, she didn't particularly want to spend much time with this woman who so casually slaughtered eight men in moments.

"A-Alright..."

Sorry for the long wait, guys, work got me in its grip and I kept rolling Nat-1s on my grapple checks.

I've done some serious editing of the previous couple of chapters, so I suggest rereading them (or the whole fic) to get a better sense of what happened.

This bit has been in production since before Christmas, I had hoped to get it out by then, or at least by New Years Day, but obviously that didn't happen. I hope the exposition, exploration, and the first ripples are enough for you. ^^

A note about language: Jorukaia speaks several D&D languages, including Undercommon, Elven (similar enough to Sperethiel from Shadowrun to be interchangeable, though with an accent), as well as both High and Low Draconic. I'll be using D&D Draconic for High Draconic, as it was never meant to be spoken by humanoid throats, and as such is nigh-unpronounceable. Low Draconic, however, is a bastardized form of High Draconic speakable by lesser races, and bears a striking resemblance to Skyrim Draconic because I actually found a translator for that while doing research. Shoutouts to the guys at Thuum (d0t) Org for their excellent work!