A Krogan Misplaced : Chapter 9
-The Imperial Palace-Khar'shan-Throne Room-
The throne was a deceptively small thing. In stark contrast to almost the entire room around it, which was covered in mural glorifying the Dark Gods, various dented and well used pieces of weaponry or armour, and the personal crafts pieces of all the Emperor's prior, the throne itself was a rather dull and simple looking chair, appearing from the outside to be carved from a smooth if oddly coloured piece of rock.
Admiral Kai'Uthan Racek was, on a deeply personal level, fascinated as to how the first Emperor managed to shape the bones of a hundred kings into the throne. But personal fascination in the work of a man several thousand years dead was something useless, and Kai'Uthan had long ago learnt that useless things should never be kept around if it could be avoided.
What was of great importance however, was the being sitting on the throne in question.
The Imperial caste rarely reached particularly notable heights. Perhaps it was the result of so little intermingling with those outside it, or perhaps it was one of the numerous genetic enchantments applied to them over the generations. Either way, if he hadn't known exactly who the Batarian on the throne was, then he might have considered challenging him for his weakness.
The Emperors were many things, but they were not, weak in any way shape or form. Kai'Uthan had obtained some of the rare vid-footage of an attempted killing of an Emperor past, and watched as the equally slim Batarian tore his attacker apart, before plucking out and eating the eyes of his foe like some delectable foodstuff as the limbless wreck struggled on the ground.
Few things scared the Admiral of forty years, but what the Emperor would do to him if even the thought of treason entered his mind was one of them.
The figure on the throne raised its slim and sickly albino arm. The colour of the Imperial house, also of the entire castes skin. At the proffered invitation, Kai'Uthan raised his lower pair of eyes, leaving the upper pair pointed very firmly towards the ground. He could see the Emperors rows of jet black teeth quiver as the monarch considered what words the Dark Gods demanded he speak. Kai'Uthan waited silently as the living voice of the Darks Gods mused over the report handed to him not five minutes ago.
Finally, with the rasping whisper of a voice rarely used, the all highest spoke. The language of the court sounding archaic and regal to Kai'Uthan's hearing.
"Low servant of the endless sea, your report details many things that interest our high thoughts. We accept your supplication of you and all your house with swift obedience."
Kai"Uthan bowed once more from his position kneeling on the floor of the throne room, his upper pair of eyes almost touching the floor as he spoke, trying to remember the nuances and required tones of court, for one mistake could mean his death.
"Greatest and most prudent high one, master of masters, holy and undisputed messenger of the Dark Gods, we do submit ourselves to your highness in reverence for your eternal and unwavering wisdom. We apologise for interfering in your most precious time, yet it had come to our attention that several fleet movements were not as they should have been. We suspect that heretics are attempting to usurp your most rightful and earned place as messenger."
He didn't know what he had been expecting, Kai'Uthan's golden skin, a mark of his High caste, was dark in fear as the being on the throne considered his words. The armoured Batarians at the rooms side, ceremonial armour and arms of the Imperial guard at the ready, seemed to be a lot more dangerous now that Kai thought about it.
Finally, the Emperor's mouth closed and the jet black teeth over it flexed. Kai was confused at the obvious display of mirth, then he thought about the possibilities, and felt his heart almost stop.
The fang filled mouth opened once again, as the Emperor spoke.
"Low servant of endless sea... we believe you may be due a...sudden promotion."
-Thessia-Serrice-Unnamed office building-
The dimly lit room was, perhaps in stark contrast to the beings inside of it, a reminder of the new. It had been constructed in the recent population boom three hundred years prior following the curing of "Pel's Syndrome" by the house of T'Rome. The sudden boom still in the memories of most inside the structure was a fond memory.
What had followed...was most decidedly not.
The asari inside were all clearly matriarchs, their elongated crests highlighted by a variety of tattoos, facepaints and the occasional cybernetic implant. The twelve who had gathered were some of the most respected clanless in the entirety of the Republics. Businesswomen, successful inventors, even a noted archaeologist who specialised in Prothean studies.
All of them were gathered into a single room, for a single purpose. A purpose which could, if successful, be the crowning achievement for all of them. And yet they had to do so in secrecy. The piece of, astonishingly, actual paper, covered the length of the table, and was inscribed with the series of demands that if published could change the entire history of the asari people.
Demand 1: The end of discrimination as a whole against the clanless of the asari republics, including the placements and promotions of fleet captains, business contracts and important personalities.
Demand 2: The Elevation of a "Circle of Clanless" to the equal rank of the Circles of clans and the Thirty Families. The Council would be selected from amidst the Matriarchs of Clanless origin, provided they fit a set of criteria
Demand 3: The end to restrictions on the Immigration, Emigration and changing of social status that the Clanless had been previously subjected to.
Demand 4: The investigation into the suspicious deaths of several notable Clanless matriarchs, stretching as far back as the Krogan Rebellions
Demand 5: The removal of the Thirty Families's immunity to investigation by the Justicar order without prior knowledge.
Five demands, simple demands, which when published across every major news site and talk show would wreak merry havoc upon the framework of asari society, but would enable the Clanless to feel as equals. If it worked, hence the meeting they were at, one of three final ones before action would be taken.
Matriarch Illai Y'thune glanced around at her fellow idealists. The declaration of the document was almost at hand, and now they just had to ensure that things went smoothly. Turning her head to her right, she addressed Teka Jaanae the fellow leader of the little group she had gathered.
"Teka, are we still on schedule for the grand event?"
Her fellow matriarch nodded, the purple tattoos highlighting the pebbled pale blue skin which defined the woman.
"I've talked to the Devir woman, all she knows is that we have something..."special" planned to be announced in a few months."
Nine of the other ten asari in the room made Siari gestures of affirmation, their smiles showing the excitement they felt at years of planning finally coming to fruition. But one amongst them had a distinct frown on her face.
Ythone Dantius tapped the table lightly, causing it to shudder as it reacted to the biotics surging through the metal. Illai stretched out a hand to indicate she should speak.
The oldest Matriarch in the group glanced around the room before she spoke, her thousand cycles of life showing on her weathered face, and in her weary voice.
"That was a foolish decision, letting the Thirty have any indication that we are planning anything at all is like jeering at the Olan before turning your back on it, they may pay attention to your dealings now, and that means they may pay attention to all, of us."
As the old Matriarch glanced around at her fellow Clanless, she found, no doubt to her surprise if her face was anything to go bye, that all the other Matriarchs were looking at her with a mixture of scorn and amusement.
As the elderly Matriarch opened her mouth to no doubt speak her mind on the subject, with Illai about to intervene before things got out of hand, the entire room froze.
It took Illai less than a few seconds to identify the effects of stasis, which was of no help to her at all.
For she could see the door open, and the black armoured figure with a warp sword enter the room.
-Tuchanka-Ruins of the temple of Kalros the Everliving-
The krogan who entered the shrine was even at first glance very, very old. The most obvious indicator of his age was his enormous hump, which had grown so high that he was forced to almost bend forwards just to accommodate it. The dusty plate he possessed, riddle with symbols in a language long forgotten even to most krogan, and large enough that most krogan women would consider it a fair indicator of the potency of his genes, was another.
But the one true thing which set the krogan apart from the rest were the clothes he wore. Decorated in symbols and old korogorish script, the robes of the shaman indicated that he was, at least in the eyes of the ancestors, enlightened.
Once, perhaps he'd had a name. He couldn't remember it for the life of him, he hadn't used it in nearly seven thousand years after all, a casualty to the sacred neutrality that a shaman had to possess, for none of them could claim allegiance to a clan. As he walked through the decrepit archways of krogankinds largest and most magnificent temple, a shrine to all that was sacred, he felt the memories reach for him. Yet he dismissed all but the important ones as he walked with purpose towards his goal. For the decision about to take place in the temple shouldn't be tainted by those long dead.
A thousand generations of krogan had come and gone before his eyes. He'd pulled the wailing pups from their mothers, naming them as was custom and ensuring that they were strong, and ensuring those who weren't lived long enough to become strong. But for the past thousand years his job had been aching on both his hearts.
The genophage, that cursed thing, had turned the job of a shaman from one to be revered and respected, to one which was feared, and reviled. For what krogan wanted to put to rest in the next realm thousands, upon tens of thousands, upon hundreds of thousands, of tiny little corpses.
He had needed to change the rituals, to entomb them with sharpened rocks and sticks as "weapons" and what little food and wealth he could spare as "gifts". By all his ancestors and those who guarded the next realm, he hoped his gifts had been enough, the singing to distract them actually standardised, instead of being tailored to allow them to sneak past individually. He didn't want to think about what would have happened if his efforts weren't enough. If they couldn't get passed Kalros the everliving.
The Shaman took a right turn through the narrow series of passageways which led to his destination, the heavy bag he carried a testament to his strength which he still retained even millennia after his brother had crippled him in combat, and exiled him to the order of shaman. The leg had taken almost a century to regrow after all.
When he reached the room he was after, the shaman gave a small sigh of despair, he had after all, hoped that the day would never come.
The bones were piled to the rooms almost invisible ceiling, the corpses of uncounted krogan, resting in peace alongside each other, heedless of clan or krannt. These were adults of course, the bones of the uncounted pups rested almost in three seperate rooms, each bigger than the one he was in. No, the bones he viewed were in most cases krogan he had met, befriended, fought with. Raised.
It somehow made it worse.
Giving a low keen of sorrow, the shaman knelt on the ground, placing his bag in front of him. Unzipping it, he reached in with one claw and brought out the single polished stone, it was the size of a ripe klixen grub, and on it was engraved a single name.
The shaman reach a claw into the bag again, pulling out the boys first weapon, an old Graal Spikethrower, which was covered in engraved flowers and other such philosophical nonsense the boy had gotten up to in his youth.
For a final time, the shaman reached in, before pulling out a pair of rare blood emeralds, the veins of orange striking through the gems core.
The shaman placed the gems alongside the Graal, before grabbing the stone in both hands and turning the name to face him. The engraved name saying more than he could. Urdnot Wrex. Looking downcast at the stone, the shaman spoke the first thing which came to mind.
"You foolish boy."
Gazing up at the pyramid of krogan bones, the shaman of clan Urdnot spoke. Perhaps to himself, perhaps to the sprits of those present.
"I know you can hear me boy, the spirits of your ancestors haven't failed me yet when it comes to communing with those gone to beyond that veil. You were our best hope, the only one of your fathers moronic spawn to show his brilliance. You could have led us to greatness, I always thought you'd return after you calmed down. I knew it might take a few centuries, by Kalros I was willing to wait a thousand years if you'd stop thinking about yourself and grew up,"
Giving a small glance to the gifts at his knees, the shaman of Urdnot spoke again. His voice showing what little emotion a shaman was permitted.
"We're doomed now boy, none of the others have your spark, nobody else, most certainly not your foolish brother, can see what you saw. They weren't willing to change, to adapt... Why didn't you come back you foolish child."
The Urdnot shaman carefully inserted the stone into the midst of the many skeletons of warriors past, followed by the Graal, with the two blood-emeralds being placed in afterwards. Then he covered the stone in the bones of the long fallen, careful to leave not a piece showing, for he had already sung the songs for a day and a night.
"May you find something better beyond, little pyjak. Whatever we felt in life, know that your grandsires brother misses you in death."
As the Urdnot shaman raised himself to his feet, a inkling of an idea formed in his head. If nobody was willing to make the changes Wrex had sought after, perhaps he could do something about that.
By the time he had left the temple altogether, that inkling had turned into a persistent thought. Wreav was no different to the previous succession of idiots who'd ruled Urdnot, his brother included. He wouldn't ensure the survival of the krogan, somebody had to.
By the time he arrived back at the Urdnot clan proper, he had made a decision.
The next day, the clan stood in shock as the Shaman challenged Wreav for leadership of Clan Urdnot.
AUTHORS NOTES
Whoop whoop! I'm feeling in a writing mood!
And uhh, this was literally cooked up in two hours. If you guys spot any spelling mistakes (There are going to be a few) please tell me so I can fix them.