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Mass Effect: Association (PG-15, RPG Thread)

Discussion in 'Role-Playing Games' started by storymasterb, Nov 1, 2016.

  1. storymasterb

    storymasterb Knight of RPGs

    Domitian Occisor (turian Soldier [Havoc]) – storymasterb
    Melanie Summers (human Sentinel [Bastion]) - storymasterb
    Hailot Brask (krogan Soldier) - Griff4815
    Keelo'Zannen nar Rayya (quarian Infiltrator) - Griff4815
    Erinle Primeven Nee Colasti Lerudo Stele Cogwedg (salarian Engineer) - Tundra_Wolfmane
    Jason "Askari" Askance (human Infiltrator) - Tundra_Wolfmane
    Veska "Kalros" Jahara (krogan Adept [Shaman]) - Solsabre
    Roshiovis Ehredeus (turian Engineer) - Clewt

    This should help you imagine Domitian's voice.

    I'll ask for a Discussion Thread after posting this so we can have somewhere to discuss and ask relevant question. In the meantime, here we go.

    Mass Effect: Association

    In 2183, the Citadel was attacked by the geth. Their onslaught was immense and repelled only at terrible cost to the galaxy's fleets and the herculean efforts of the human Commander Shepard, who slew the geth's leader, a renegade Spectre. A few months later, Commander Shepard was lost, their ship destroyed by an unknown assailant and the Commander declared MIA. The galaxy mourns even now.

    It is 2184. You have received a mysterious communication from the Elkoss Combine, a volus-run conglomerate. An item of value to them has been stolen in a raid on one of their facilities in the lawless Terminus Systems, and they have approached you in recognition of skills you possess which they believe will help in the stolen item's retrieval. You will be part of a team assembled for this sole purpose and provided a ship and crew, the communication informs you. All that is asked is that you tell no one of its existence or the mission on which you are embarking, with a handsome advance fee given in exchange for your cooperation in that matter.

    If you accept these terms and wish to help retrieve the item, you are to come to the Perdition bar on Omega at the given date and time. There, you will meet the rest of the team and receive further instruction.


    The sounds and smells of Omega engulfed Domitian as he stepped from the shuttle, a bag at his back secured by straps across his chest so his arms were free. His rifle was in its compact form at his hip, slightly awkward to walk with, but accessible if he needed it. He didn't expect anyone to dare try attacking a turian so obviously capable of fighting, but across the universe there were more than enough people with a death wish that he felt it best to be prepared. And especially on Omega.

    Moans of pleasure filled the air as much as screams of pain and death. The place reeked of corruption and decadence, a wretched hive of scum and villainy that was a dark mirror of the shining Citadel. There was no law here but that of crime lords. Nothing was truly forbidden on Omega, so long as you were strong enough to defeat those who would insist, often in deadly terms, that it was prohibited. All manner of species mingled in these dark streets, humans, asari, turians, salarians and more, even the rare odd quarian.

    "Looking for a good time, handsome?" a sultry voice purred. Domitian regarded the speaker, a scantily-clad asari whose outfit and tone left no illusions about her intentions.

    "Sadly, perhaps another time," he replied in his deadpan manner. "I am here on this wonderfully rancid station for business rather than pleasure."

    She pouted. "Such a shame. Oh the fun I was going to have with you."

    Domitian chuckled. "Perhaps 'fun' will come on the next shuttle." With that, he stalked away. That was what he did, he stalked like he wanted to drag an omni-blade through the throat of the first person to just look at him the wrong way.

    A human boy carefully reached for Domitian's bag from behind, only to be stopped abruptly by the blazing red of the turian's omni-blade at his throat. The crowd parted, half unnerved and half anticipating bloodshed.

    "I-I-I-sorry!" the boy wailed.

    "You will have to improve if you wish to steal from me," Domitian said smugly, withdrawing his blade. "Were you even trying to remain undetected? Bother someone else, child. I am not here to provide entertainment for the sordid patrons of Omega." Nodding desperately, the boy vanished into the crowd and Domitian continued on his way with a noticeable gap in the crowd around him.

    Perhaps some fool would try to rob him at gunpoint on the way to Perdition. He could use the exercise after two days in transit, cooped up in a shuttle with the dregs of the universe.


    She knew Perdition.

    It wasn't far from her home in the slums of Omega and so Melanie hadn't had far to walk. Even so, two people had tried to shiv her for her possessions in that time, and both had ended up with heads slammed forcefully into a wall by a biotic throw.

    Her belongings in the bag slung over her shoulder were light, just spare clothes, toiletries and a few meagre possessions she didn't want to leave behind. She wore her armor, because doing otherwise would probably be considered suicidal in this place, and her pistol was at her hip.

    Melanie stood in the doorway of the bar for a moment, regarding the dirty neon sign that proclaimed its name. She could hear the music pounding from within, along with more unsavoury sounds. But she was used to the latter from years on Omega, and she pushed her way into Perdition without hesitation.

    The interior was dark and grimy as bars on Omega tended to be, at least in these districts. Neon lights only barely lit the place, perhaps out of cheapness, perhaps to illuminate only the asari who cavorted and gyrated on a stage that occupied one wall. The bar took up another, manned by a human and two asari. Glancing at them Melanie knew they were armed, even if the fact that this was Omega hadn't already prepared her for that. Patrons of all manner of species occupied the bar, and she couldn't tell if any were members of the team she had apparently been chosen for. If they were here, she wasn't sure how to find them.

    The door opened behind her. "Kindly refrain from standing in the door gawping," a smooth, deadpan voice said from behind her. "The asari over there certainly are a sight to behold, but if you wish to ogle, do so without obstructing me."

    She whirled and moved in one motion, seeing a turian standing and looking at her with an air of perpetual smug amusement. He wore all black, though his face was bare to expose grey skin and red markings. His eyes were dark, gleaming with that smugness, and he had a pack of some kind at his back. She noted the compact weapon at his hip. He was definitely military of some kind, his manner spoke of drilling so harsh that it had become second nature.

    "Are you a xenophile, or are you merely easily distracted?" the turian sneered. "Either way, I have business to attend to, so get out of my way, human."

    "Business?" she echoed.

    The turian gave a look of contempt. "Oh, are you merely a simpleton? That explains so much."

    Bristling at his manner, Melanie glared at him. "I'm here on business too, so pipe down. I'm not trying to hold you up."

    "What manner of business might a frail thing like you have in such a dismal environment?" he drawled. "Were you about to relieve yourself of your attire and join the asari? I fear you would be rather upstaged if so, though perhaps some soul might take pity on your miserable attempts to compete."

    "Oh please," she snapped. "Go get yourself a drink and can it. Unless that banter of yours is just compensating for something?"

    She had expected anger at that, but the turian just gave a mocking chuckle. "How childish. But if you are not here to put your body against an asari's and see which is preferred by the lowest common denominator of the galaxy, what business could you possibly have in such a place?"

    "Business I'm not obliged to share with you," Melanie said, turning away and striding towards the bar.

    "Business with the Elkoss Combine, perchance?"

    She stopped, froze for a moment, then looked at him. This turian? Really? Would someone so abrasive and obviously military have been picked for a retrieval mission?

    "Perhaps," she replied. "It's just business offering a generous reward. I'm sure you understand."

    "Oh believe me, I do," he hissed. "I am Domitian Occisor, scourge of Cocytus VII, dreaded by criminal gangs across dozens of systems. And you are?"

    "Melanie Summers," she replied. "Unimpressed."

    Domitian's mandibles twitched and she couldn't tell if he was amused or otherwise until he spoke. "I'm sure that this will be a delightful partnership. Perhaps we ought to purchase refreshment in case our business partners are less punctual."

    She almost wanted to punch him, his smugness was so chaffing. "What were you thinking? Perhaps a ryncol?"

    "If you wish to start a drinking contest, I will happily defeat your pitiful constitution on another occasion," Domitian retorted. "For now, however, I will spare you the indignity of alcohol poisoning before the eyes of our partners."

    Melanie rolled her eyes. "Perhaps if you weren't such a smug ass, you wouldn't act like everything was a competition. I was trying to make conversation."

    "Oh, I see," he mocked. "Well, I am Domitian Occisor, wanted for multiple gangland murders and a plethora of counts of grievous maiming. I exist to fight and kill, and to exchange repartee with the frankly disappointing denizens of this universe of ours."

    "Jesus Christ," she muttered. "I need a drink."

    "Well, go and get one," the turian laughed. "Unless you want me to hold your hand across the floor?"

    Shooting him a sharp look, Melanie strode off on her own and hoped that someone less abrasive would appear by the time she had got her drink.

    (Basically just post your characters arriving at Perdition and meeting Melanie and Domitian. Feel free to have some more around that for character bits or the like.)
  2. Griff4815

    Griff4815 No. 1 Grovyle Fan

    ”What do I see? …I see the spirit of Tuchanka. I see the once-great planet of a once-great species. I don’t look at what is. I look at what used to be, and what could be. …What I see here… is hope for tomorrow. What I see is hope for Tuchanka…


    Hailot Brask sat up from an extra large bed.

    It wasn’t his bed. He didn’t have a bed. Given how often he moved around from station to station, planet to planet, system to system, he didn’t see the point. He didn’t want to pay the rent for a fixed address that he barely ever used. He rented some cheap office space on Omega, but that was it. All he needed for contact information was his encrypted email server that he had on his datapad. That was how he got all of his work-related information and requests from clients. A fixed address was too much trouble - too much risk of his past knocking on his door with a shotgun.

    The nearly seven and a half foot tall krogan stood up beside the bed, the soft, linen sheets sliding off the rough scales of his thighs. His tall, imposing, reptilian body was that of beige scales and a couple hundred kilos of heavy bone and pure muscle. As he stood to his reptilian feet, he stretched, causing several bones to pop. His sharp, green eyes narrowed in response to the ceiling light, which reflected dully off of the deep, blue crest on his forehead.

    He stood in a hotel room. It was a fairly nice one, by Omega’s standards. The hotel had many decadent suites that the wealthy residents and guests of Omega liked to use when they had business – professional or personal – to attend to. It certainly beat slumming it.

    The bed was large and comfortable. The décor was sleek and modernist in style. On the bedside table was a large tray of room service food. It had been mostly devoured, but there were still scraps of cheese, pits of fruits, sprigs of herbs, and a few morsels of fish with dabs of a blue condiment. Beside the tray were a small, rectangular bottle of krogan whiskey, a bottle of nice, asari wine, and two glasses with traces of alcohol resting at their nadir.

    The aroma of a wonderful night lingered heavy in the warm room.

    The krogan pulled on his undergarments and began to walk over to his clothes and armour, which were strewn haphazardly across the floor. As he bent over to pick them up, he received a wolf-whistle from the bed.

    “Leaving already, Brask?” a satisfied female voice asked him. “Not even time for breakfast?”

    Hailot Brask stood up straight and looked over his shoulder with a charming grin. Lying in the large hotel bed was a half-naked human woman with pale brown skin, dark hair, and a playful smirk. She lay in bed with one hand behind her head and the bed sheets just barely covering her body.

    Brask turned around and folded his arms. “Sorry, Aleira. I’d love to stay, but I’ve gotta meet with a client. It can’t be champagne and late nights all the time, even on Omega,” he casually responded, his voice gruff and a deep baritone. “I’m probably headed planet-side, so I doubt I’ll be back for awhile.”

    “Pity. Next time we’re both on Omega, I’ll be sure to give you a call,” Aleira stated, smiling mischievously. “I’m not sure I can go back to humans after last night.”

    Brask chuckled as he pulled on his black and blue Duelist armour and slowly got himself into the suit. “Well, naturally. I’m just that good,” he boasted good-naturedly. He smirked and winked at his one-time bed partner. “Hey, next time, you should invite the friend you were with at the bar. I love putting turian males in their place.”

    “Tempting, but he’s no fun,” the female human responded.

    “I think that’s every turian,” Brask deadpanned.

    He finished collecting his clothes and equipment in a large shoulder-bag that was nearly as big as him. He slung it over one shoulder. Over his other shoulder he placed his trusty shotgun, and he fastened his Duelist pistol to his hip for easy access.

    Aleira chuckled. “Bye, Brask. I had a great night,” she said to him, sitting up in bed. “I’ll pay for the room.”

    “Thanks, Aleira,” Brask replied, nodding at her before heading over to the door. “I’ll see you around.”

    With those words, Brask walked out of the hotel room and made his way down the hallway. The reptilian alien stopped in front of an elevator and waited for it to arrive on his floor.

    It seemed to take forever.

    This gave him the opportunity to think about his next job. “Meet the rest of the team at Perdition, huh…? I don’t normally like to work in a team, but that fat paycheck is just too good to pass up. Volus are usually good for it too… Still, it sounds like it’s gonna be a long trip. I think I’ve got everything I need,” he mused.

    After a minute, the elevator doors opened up. Brask walked forwards into an elevator with steel floors and walls, except for the opposite wall which was made of glass, giving him a scenic look (if it could be called that) of the asteroid station of Omega. The city was dark and grimy, lit only by gaudy neon lights. It was a cesspool of crime, underhanded dealings, and lawlessness. To Brask, it was familiar territory.

    “The Blood Pack are operating efficiently here,” Brask breathed to himself as the elevator made its slow descent. “Looks like Garm’s still charge. Not like he can even die.”

    The hulking krogan grunted and smiled. “Omega… The land of opportunity.”


    Keelo’Zannen nar Rayya walked meekly down the dark, shady, Omega street. The quarian’s lithe body was tense and his heart beat quickly inside his enviro-suit.

    He was used to dark passages lit only by signs and lamps from living on board the Migrant Fleet. He was also used to shady neighbourhoods, courtesy of Tayseri Ward on the Citadel. However, Omega was on a whole other level. Keelo had never set foot on Omega before, and he was not used to dealing with its type of inhabitants. The amount of dirty looks he received, the aliens walking too close to him for comfort, the occasional glimpses of weapons or cash or drugs…

    Keelo increased his walking speed. He had a feeling that there weren’t many quarians around Omega. Especially not many nervous, skittish ones who were obviously out of their element. If anybody looked like a mark, he did. He pulled forwards his dark green veil slightly in order to make himself seem less conspicuous.

    To his relief, he could see the neon sign that advertised the name Perdition. The bar was just down the street from him. He decided to increase his stride so that he could get there as quickly as possible. However, in his haste, he accidentally brushed shoulders with a tall batarian who was walking towards him.

    The batarian wheeled around and glared at Keelo dangerously. “Watch it, suit rat,” he growled.

    Keelo winced and didn’t dare to turn around. “S-Sorry,” he simply replied, quickly continuing on his way.

    To his relief, it didn’t appear that the batarian wanted any trouble. Perhaps it was because of the visible pistol that Keelo wore at the back of his waist, or maybe he just had better things to do than pick a fight with him. Either way, Keelo reached the entrance of Perdition without any further incident.

    Just as the quarian began to enter the bar, a large body brushed by him. He froze, thinking that it might be the batarian after all. For a split second, he was relieved, but that relief quickly turned to fear when he saw the large, hulking body of a krogan cut in front of him and walk inside the bar.

    The krogan stopped and glanced over his shoulder at Keelo. The blue-crested krogan then grinned as he observed the intimidated quarian, as if he was used to that reaction. Or maybe he was making fun of him.

    “You’re new to Omega,” the krogan guessed with an amused, almost-dismissive smirk.

    Keelo swallowed. “…Is it that obvious?” he sheepishly asked.

    “Painfully. It’s like you’re asking to be robbed at gunpoint,” the krogan responded. The large, intimidating alien scoffed and shook his head. He continued inside, not giving the quarian another glance. “Get inside before your mask fogs up.”

    Keelo obeyed and followed him in without question. He felt safer being in the company of a krogan who didn’t want to tear him apart. “W-What’s your name?” he nervously asked him.

    “Hailot Brask,” he responded dismissively, walking up to the bar.

    “Nice to meet you, Hailot. My name is—“

    Brask took a seat at the bar counter and turned to Keelo with a deadpan expression. “One, don’t care. Two, Hailot’s my clan name. Brask is my given name. How the hell are you still alive, kid?” he asked apathetically, his deep voice reverberating.

    Keelo winced and placed his palms against his mask with embarrassment. “Oh, keelah. I am s-s-so sorry. ‘B-Brask’. I must look so foolish. I d-didn’t mean to cause you any offence. Please forgive me,” he stammered out in apology.

    Brask rolled his eyes and turned forwards, deciding to ignore the quarian. He glanced around the bar for the team that he was supposed to meet.

    The krogan scanned the bar carefully as he ordered a shot from the bartender. His emerald eyes landed on a turian in black armour who was standing with an irate-looking human. He sized the turian up, watching his demeanour and noticing the weapons and equipment on him. He was an experienced fighter; he knew that much. Brask had a feeling that he might be one of the others called by Elkoss Combine for their job.

    “Hey, turian!” Brask spoke up, staring at the turian with a standoffish grin. He hated turians and he didn’t mind if they knew it. “…Drink?” he offered.
    Last edited: Dec 13, 2016
  3. storymasterb

    storymasterb Knight of RPGs

    (wiki has a page with all the drinks in the ME universe we know of, if people want to look up any of the ones I mention or have a character order something of their own)

    If he had had eyebrows, Domitian might have raised one when the krogan called out to him. The turian took the newcomer in. Krogan were krogan, generally, brutish, surly, and spoiling for a fight. But rarely did they have purpose. The genophage had rotted them. Faced with the prospect of extinction, the krogan largely chose to waste away the years as mercenaries. He had only met one with any vision, and even then only in brief passing. All the others were the same. They glutted themselves with violence and sex, gorged themselves with money and excitement, but there was no greater cause behind it.

    It was so pathetic. With their race's demise looming ever-closer, the krogan had chosen to burn out in an orgy of hedonism.

    But he supposed it wouldn't do to pick apart the character of the krogan race in what was supposed to be a cordial gathering. Even if the krogan's hostility was plain to see.

    "Ah," he sighed. "A drinking partner of merit." He caught the look that Melanie shot him and chuckled. "What did you have in mind, krogan? The human there suggested ryncol, but she seems frail and unsuited to the finer liquors of the galaxy. Perhaps burukh or horosk would be to your taste?"

    He crossed the room to Brask, remaining standing. "Oh, and while we discuss what refreshment is best for the occasion, do tell me, what brings you to this..." He regarded a gyrating asari for a moment while pondering. "This delightfully decadent little place. Oh, and is that quarian your associate, or is he a stray who followed you off the shuttle?" He indicated Keelo with a sharp gesture.


    Perdition's music was beginning to bore into Melanie's skull as she ordered her drink from one of the asari bartenders. She might have known the place, but many factors kept her away normally, discomfort about the 'entertainment' that was constantly present, distrust of such a seedy bar and the fact that whoever had put the soundtrack together was either incompetent or had a vendetta against Perdition.

    The asari handed her a glass of elasa and was paid with several chips of material. Even a place as lawless as Omega used credits, but Melanie never paid for anything electronically if she could help it. Not since she had run away from the Systems Alliance and Citadel Space. But then again, physical transactions were more normal here. Electronic ones were too traceable, and for the crowd that frequented Omega, being traceable was a major disadvantage.

    She took a sip of her drink and frowned a little. The asari who had served her looked at her as though expecting protest, but Melanie gave none. She hadn't expected genuine elassa of course. Not from a place as shady as this. She'd only had the genuine article once or twice from rare shipments received from Citadel Space.

    Whatever this was, it made a spirited attempt to be the asari drink, but fell far short. It was too bitter and nowhere near sweet enough and it burned her throat a little as it went down. It wasn't bad though. Flawed imitation it might be, but she almost felt like its creator could market it as its own product.

    That is, assuming they hadn't already done so and Perdition's staff hadn't just mislabelled the drink.

    She sat on a stool and looked around, taking in the crowd. She stole glances at the asari who poledanced on the stage against the opposite wall, but always looked away after a moment, intimidated by the performance. It wasn't the asari so much as discomfort with such openly sexual behaviour. Sometimes in the beginning she'd had to do what the asari were doing and even more, not out of choice, but out of raw desperation. Were they the same, or were they happy to show themselves off like that, she wondered with another sip of her drink. She didn't know, but given the atmosphere of Perdition, she wouldn't be surprised by the former.

    Her gaze fell on the quarian who had come in with the krogan who was now exchanging words with Domitian. He was clearly new to Omega. Everything about him said 'hello, naive newcomer here, please come rob/stab/do worse to me!' and she wondered what he was doing there.


    "Really?" she murmured, and drank more not-elassa. First a turian who seemed to try to encourage you to punch him with every sentence and now a quarian who had probably come on a shuttle right out of Citadel Space from just how out of place he seemed.

    "Just like me."

    She got up and crossed the bar, weaving around some surly batarians who looked like they sincerely wanted to break their glasses and shiv her with a shard, but were aware of her powers enough to restrain themselves. She stopped by the quarian and offered what she hoped he would take as a friendly, welcoming smile.

    "I'm Melanie," she said. "You look a bit lost. Are you okay?"
  4. It would never change.

    The basest instinct of every single race could be seen quite easily in the floating vessel called Omega. Volus greed was obvious, of course, and world renowned. Then there was the lust that every single asari seemed to invite. Krogran rage was common, and so was turian pride, both often coming at odds with...bloody results. Even the salarians’ endless pursuit of knowledge could be thought of as gluttonous, never ending, never satisfied, and always looking for that one more inkling of information no matter the cost. And what was possibly the worst was human nature that could encompass all such vices all at once!

    And yet… It all interested him. Jason “Askari” Askance was a human that found the many layers laid upon it and buried underneath it interesting and worth observation. There was never just one reason. There was always more to it than meets the eye.

    For example, the asari currently dancing on the stage in a rather…revealing outfit wasn’t only dancing for the ‘business’ that it would attract. Or at least not the usual kind that was related to such an occupation. More than once, he had learned that she had kindly ‘escorted’ a less than suspecting man (or woman - asari attracted all kinds, after all) that wouldn’t be seen walking the creaking floors of Perdition ever after. He didn’t know how much she made, or why, but he assumed it involves the occasional vulnerable glance she would make to an unseen face amongst her many fans.

    She also made for a reliable informant, so long as the money was worth the price.

    Unfortunately, there was nothing she could tell Ask about a job that a certain company was recruiting for. At least nothing about the job he was interested in. It had taken a few more chips to keep her from asking too much, but it was a small price to pay for secrecy.

    And so, by the entrance, he waited. And most importantly, he listened. Patiently.

    Then he heard the words he was waiting for.

    "Business with the Elkoss Combine, perchance?”

    A quick glance up showed him an ebony-armored turian and a small yet scarred woman. Domitian Occisor and Melanie Summers, he heard them call themselves. The former’s body language told Ask quite a bit of his character. The way he carried himself and stood tall, looking down at everyone in both the literal and metaphorical senses. The wildness in his movements that he seemed to radiate and rein it all at the same time. The latter, on the other hand…he had seen her many times before on Omega, although they had never had the chance to personally meet each other. At the very least, he knew that her looks belied her abilities - she survived Omega, after all.

    He was content with simply observing them for now. It would help with how he would act around each of them. This would be a team job, after all. It wouldn’t be the first time he worked with other hired hands, and he knew if the job was going to go smoothly, then he would have to know how to make the job go as smoothly as possible.

    And then came the krogan and the quarian. The first one wasn’t unusual, but the second one was. Quarians were a rare sight in Omega, and this one had an…innocent air about him. Naïve. He certainly didn’t act like someone that was supposed to be there - which begged the question as to why. It took Ask a mere moment to come to the conclusion.

    He watched as they spoke, before the krogan - Hailot Brask, he heard - went spoke to the Domitian. A drink, he heard him say. It sounded more like a challenge to Ask’s ears.

    The infiltrator-slash-sniper turned his attention back to the quarian as Melanie walked towards him. Perhaps she came to the same conclusion that he did.

    But before they even started, a loud bang rattled the room. For most of Omega, this was normal. When you have people as lawless as the ones they called their own, it wouldn’t be a surprise for a gunfight or two to ensue. Of course, explosions were a lot rarer but not unheard of.

    This one was oddly close, though. Jason could feel the wall behind him vibrate.

    “Well, I tried to tell you not to press that button!” a loud and rapid voice exclaimed rather indignantly from outside Perdition.

    Curiosity brought Ask’s face close to the entrance, and he found himself looking at a salarian looking down at a man passed out on the ground, one Ask knew had a reputation for pickpocketing the unaware. Other people also seemed to be staring at the commotion. Or perhaps it was the state of the man, whose whole upper body along with a part of his face and legs were covered in what looked like ice.

    “If you’re going to thieve, you should very well know what you’re thieving!” he said, sounding genuinely annoyed at the frozen man’s ignorance than having stolen from his person. “Let this be a lesson to you all!” he then said, gesturing to everyone looking on before turning to the entrance to Perdition.

    “Now where was I?” he wondered for a moment before acquiring the ‘aha’ expression that all salarians have down to a tee. “Ah, yes!”

    Ask watched as the amphibious alien walked past him, stopping a meter away and surveying the bar, as if searching. Then he spoke. “Excuse me! If I may have your attention!” he called out. “I am searching for a certain group that have been hired by the El-mmmph!”

    Jason’s hand had found itself covering the salarian’s mouth. He did have to get on his tiptoes - salarians were annoyingly tall. “Hey, that’s supposed to be confidential information, remember?” Ask whispered into his ear. Or where Jason thought his ear was.

    The salarian blinked and nodded in understanding before Jason let his hand from his mouth. “Well, that went far more efficiently than I thought it would be,” he said as if he hadn’t just about did the one thing that their client had told them to do. “You may call me Stele or Cogwedg,” he introduced himself in a rather quick manner.

    Askari let out a small resigned sigh as the salarian turned to him, along with the others that he had identified as his future teammates. He had wanted to keep observing for a little longer.

    “Just call me Askari,” he said, giving out his mercenary name, momentarily wondering if any of them would recognize it, unlikely as it was.
  5. Griff4815

    Griff4815 No. 1 Grovyle Fan

    Keelo stood uncomfortably beside Brask and the bar counter. The brusque, daunting krogan was ignoring him now, and he had since invited over an equally intimidating turian who held himself with a confidence far exceeding any that Keelo could muster.

    The quarian backed right away from the two. He knew enough to know that krogans and turians tended not to get along. He didn’t want to be in the splash zone in the two ended up butting heads – probably literally, from what he had heard of krogans.

    Instead, he glanced around the bar in an attempt to locate his fellow team members. It was in this moment that he noticed a female human approaching him. At first, he was a bit nervous, but a wave of relief washed over him when she offered him an alleviating smile.

    "I'm Melanie," she said. "You look a bit lost. Are you okay?"

    Keelo smiled, although he was certain that she wouldn’t be able to see it behind his mask in this dimly-lit bar. “Um, yes, thank you. This is my first time here on Omega, admittedly. I am here for a job and I am supposed to meet my team of co-workers here at Perdition,” he responded sheepishly. “My name is Keelo’Zannen nar Rayya. It is an honour to meet you, Melanie.”

    The quarian looked around the bar, but he couldn’t tell if anybody present was suppose to be his teammate or not. It was hard for him to find out because he wasn’t able to mention the fact that he was hired by Elkoss Combine for a secret mission. “…I don’t suppose you happen to know anybody here who said that they are here for similar reasons?” he asked Melanie.


    Brask smirked deeper when he saw the turian accepting his challenge. He watched with narrowed eyes as the turian began walking over to him.

    "What did you have in mind, krogan? The human there suggested ryncol, but she seems frail and unsuited to the finer liquors of the galaxy. Perhaps burukh or horosk would be to your taste?" he suggested.

    "Oh, and while we discuss what refreshment is best for the occasion, do tell me, what brings you to this..." He regarded a gyrating asari for a moment while pondering. "This delightfully decadent little place. Oh, and is that quarian your associate, or is he a stray who followed you off the shuttle?" He indicated Keelo with a sharp gesture.

    The krogan let out an amused chuckle. “Ryncol? If you want to literally puke your guts up in the Perdition toilets, be my guest. Just don’t ask me to hand you the paper towels,” he dismissively responded. He turned back to the bartender and nodded. “Get me some burukh,” he said to the bartender before glancing back at the turian. “Feel free to get some horosk. I don’t want you using your dextro amino acids as an excuse for why you can’t hold your liquor.”

    “As for what I’m doing here… I’m here for work,” Brask answered bluntly. He glanced at the backpack and weapons on Domitian’s person. “And I get the feeling that you’re here for the same reason.”

    “…And regarding the quarian, yeah, I don’t know him. He followed me in like a lost baby varren,” the krogan explained.

    Before Brask could get his drink, a loud explosion burst outside of the bar. Acting on his honed, combat-trained instincts, Brask hopped off the barstool and placed his large hand on the grip of his holstered pistol. A few tense moments passed before Brask began to relax, concluding that whatever it was was no threat to him.

    He watched as a salarian entered the bar in a less-than-subtle way and made an announcement that piqued Brask’s interest.

    “Excuse me! If I may have your attention!” he called out. “I am searching for a certain group that have been hired by the El-mmmph!”

    He watched as a human muffled the salarian’s mouth. However, the salarian had already said enough to make Brask realise that he was with them.

    Brask turned to the turian next to him. “Looks like they’re with us,” he noted matter-of-factly.
    Last edited: Nov 4, 2016
  6. storymasterb

    storymasterb Knight of RPGs

    Melanie thumbed in the direction of Domitian.

    "I know what you're talking about, and at least you have a better memory than him," she chuckled. "He was shooting his mouth off about it earlier. Whole bar probably heard him. He and I are both in with you, at a guess, unless two different employers both chose Perdition as a meeting place at the same time. Which is unlikely."

    She rarely met quarians, she reflected. It was rare enough to encounter one outside the Migrant Fleet, usually only younger ones on their Pilgramage, and very very few came to Omega. What was there for them in such a place, after all? She had only met one or two of Keelo's kind in her life, isolated from aliens by her parents and Cerberus when younger, then she just hadn't seen many quarians on Omega at all.

    "Stick by me," she said after a moment. "Omega's not safe for anyone, but least of all you right now. You stick out like a sore thumb and there are plenty who'd shiv you for the credits in your wallet or worse." She glanced around the bar, catching a few unhealthy-looking stares aimed in their direction, though several of the offenders stopped when they realised that she'd noticed. Some because they respected her to lay off someone she'd taken a shine to, and others because a biotic throw into a wall was not the sort of experience they were there for.

    There was a loud BANG from outside, making Melanie jump and swear. Her pistol was in her hand, ready in case anything burst in, but after a moment all that was revealed was a salarian who strode in like he had absolutely no idea how dangerous Omega could be.

    And then he started speaking.

    “Excuse me! If I may have your attention!” he called out. “I am searching for a certain group that have been hired by the El-mmmph!”

    His remaining words were covered by a human's hand over his mouth. Melanie had noticed the human in question in a few of her glances around, but hadn't paid much mind to him. Regardless, she had heard enough. The salarian was with them too.

    "Seems like we have another business partner," she noted to Keelo, nodding in the salarian's direction. "We've got quite a crew, haven't we? You, me, a krogan and turian who'll probably shiv one another before the day's over," she gestured at Domitian and Brask, "that salarian and who knows else. Wonder what we're wanted for."


    "Oh, believe me, it was the girl's idea," Domitian sneered. "I couldn't tell if she was posturing or simply naive. I imagine the former, the naive don't survive long on Omega."

    "I wouldn't dream of it. So long as you find no excuses for your inability to hold your liquor, krogan."

    "Naturally, or the prostitute who hailed me the second I arrived on this station would be earning her pay at this moment," the turian joked. "Do I dare presume that a certain group of volus requested your service? For reasons I cannot fathom, the girl and I were apparently both selected."

    “…And regarding the quarian, yeah, I don’t know him. He followed me in like a lost baby varren,” the krogan explained.

    "It would seem that he has found a mother," the soldier noted, with a look of bemused amusement at Melanie and Keelo. "Perhaps she pities him, he has been dismally misled into an environment he is plainly unsuited for. It's a miracle he made it here without a knife through his suit." He chuckled to himself, then regarded one of the asari bartenders. "Your finest horosk, or whatever miserable equivalent you can muster in a place like this."

    She shot him a look, but bustled away regardless.

    An explosion sounded outside the bar and while Domitian remained glacially calm, his right hand tightened into a fist and he was prepared to unsheathe his omni-blades should danger present itself. But when a salarian stumbled in, asking about the El- before being cut off by a human who had been beneath notice, and then nothing else happened, he relaxed his grip. The bartenders were shooting the salarian filthy looks as the asari he had ordered from bustled over with his drink.

    "I cannot tell if we are being assembled for a serious mission or to star in the next of those Blasto films," Domitian laughed. "It seems you are the only warrior among our number, and I the only soldier. What could they possibly want with a bunch as meagre as them?" He looked over Melanie, Keelo, the salarian and the second human in turn. "I wonder if our little fellowship is assembled, or if any more odd choices are waiting to present themselves." He rose, taking his drink in hand. "Regardless, if the salarian was so willing to declare our employer for all to hear, we might as well be good partners and introduce ourselves."

    Without waiting for Brask's response, he strode across the room. The crowd parted around him, like his presence was a physical force.

    "I see more of this merry band of ours have appeared," he deadpanned at Melanie. "What next? A hanar soldier?"

    Melanie just rolled her eyes. "I don't think that they'd want a bunch of trigger-happy jarheads for this kind of work."

    Domitian feigned insult. "You wound me, little girl. Do you suggest that I am undisciplined?"

    "Unprofessional," she snapped. "You apparently forgot our instructions."

    "Instructions that hindered our ability to identify one another," the turian answered. "Rules which hinder me are broken." He clenched a fist as if to illustrate the point.

    "Aren't you a cheerful one," Melanie muttered. "What do you want, Domitian? I thought you and that krogan were having a fun time insulting one another."

    "I thought it polite to introduce myself," he said. "Ah, yes, indeed. I am Domitian Occisor." He regarded each of the others in turn. "Do try to stay out of my way on this little endeavour, and we will have few problems."

    "Doubtful," the biotic spat under her breath, earning herself an amused look from Domitian. "I'm Melanie Summers." She looked at the others as Domitian had. "Who are you all? I guess we're all going to be together for some time, so might want to get introduced to one another, right?"
  7. Clewt

    Clewt Member

    Metal utensils clinked against dishware, and cups steamed by their respective owners. Two mugs of coffee were refilled by a passing waitress while the one of Turian tea remained nearly full. The plate that sat beside it looked equally untouched.

    With the planets sun still not even visible, the interior of this colony’s little diner felt chilly and empty at this ungodly hour. The owner busied himself with first shift prep while his only customers sat together quietly.

    “Rosh.. I haven’t seen you touch your food..” A youthful voice drew the attention of his companions. The dark plated Turian tilted his head at the fork that had been shove in his face. Vibrant green irises stared him down as if he were a child who refused his vegetables.
    A rough hand slapped the back of the head those eyes belonged to. The young man flinched and put his fork down.

    “Eat your own breakfast, Marcus.” Graveled vocals chastised. Rosh let out a deep trill in amusement, but the feeling faded rapidly.
    Marcus ruffled his own short copper hair where he had been smacked. He shot his partner an annoyed look before returning his focus to his half eaten meal.

    “He’s right though..” From across the table, the older man spoke softly this time. When his silver gaze would not leave Rosh, the Turian finally gave up on silence.

    “I think I have grown... tired of the taste.” He admitted while poking at the food he had ordered over an hour ago.

    “Well this is the longest you have ever stayed here.” Marcus pointed out while scraping up the last remnants of synth-eggs and toast.

    “You’ve barely left the colony in nearly two years... A trip away might do you some good..”
    The redhead finished up and took a swig of coffee, “Right, Dresden?”
    Not getting an immediate response, he glanced to his partner. The older man rubbed his scruff-covered chin.

    Rosh looked at the two humans in uniform, understanding the concern, but not willing to accept it fully.
    Before the moment dragged into something uncomfortable, Dresden picked up his plate and presented it to Marcus.
    “Take that back, would you.” It was not a request.

    After a quick glance between his two older companions, the redhead took the dish and added it to his own. Pushing his seat back, he flashed his Turian friend a smile before leaving.

    Rosh wrapped bare talons around his now-chilled tea and chose to look at it instead of the man before him.

    “Sell the house yet?” Dresden asked quietly. The Turian only shook his head.
    “There’s nothing left here but ghosts, Kid.” The term of endearment still tugged at Rosh’s mandibles and he could not help the small smile.

    “Stop Parenting..” He almost added ‘Oldman’ to that, but the human only had two years on him.

    “Sixteen years too late for that.” Whether Dresden had referred to his oldest child or how long he had known the Turian, Rosh could not tell. Either way the statement lightened both their moods.

    After a beat, Dresden seemed to come to a decision and reached for his bag to pull out a datapad. Sliding it across the table, Rosh watched it come to a stop near his cup.
    “I don’t think news of my retirement has spread very far.” Dresden began, “It looks like a simple crash and grab. Retrieval type work. I know your cases here have dried up...”

    Rosh did not look at the information, only listened.

    “The money looks nice. Five years ago I would have jumped on it, but after saving up from my past contracts I don’t really need it.” Stretching back in his seat, Dresden groaned as joints popped and muscles pulled. Settling back forward, he leaned in.
    “Plus, if my wife found out, my past would be the least of my problems.” The graying officer chuckled, and Rosh could not help but smirk.

    The Turian watched as he stood up and readied to leave.

    “Whatever you decide... Stay safe.” Grabbing his bag from the floor, Dresden gave the Turian a final nod.

    Rosh heard him call after Marcus, and watched as he nabbed the young man by his collar. Having shoved a fresh pastry in his mouth, the Redhead just grinned and waved goodbye before being dragged out the door.

    The restaurant grew quiet even though the first rays of sunlight had started to show through its few windows. Rosh flicked his gaze to the datapad. Resting his hand on it, the soft glow of its screen illuminated his palm.

    The sudden jostle of the shuttles interior jerked Rosh to consciousness causing pale violet eyes to shoot open. He immediately recognized the familiar sensation of a ship docking and relaxed. Lifting his heavy head from his makeshift pillow he had shoved in the corner, the Turian dragged his mind out of its groggy state.

    He vaguely heard the automated announcement for arrival. Not paying any mind to the other passengers, Rosh pulled his pack around to his front. Opening it just enough, he shoved the small red jacket he had balled up, back inside. Standing up, he stretched out his sore legs the best he could in his armor and took in a long breath. ‘Eh... that’s a familiar scent... and not a pleasant one.’
    Mandibles pulled tight to his face, he grimaced. He much preferred working on planets than in stations. After a quick shake, Rosh reached down to pick up his helmet. He put it on without hesitation before reaching for his pack next. Ensuring everything remained where it should be and he had all his belongings, Rosh made his way off the shuttle.

    Cases that brought Rosh to Omega had only ended in either dead-ends or death. Just the atmosphere alone made him unconsciously check for his sidearm.
    Years of exposure had made Rosh grow accustom to the worst sentient beings had to offer. This place really had nothing left or new that could surprise him, however he still could not help the apprehension that crept into his chest.

    After several minutes of walking, Rosh pulled up his Omni-tool to check his destination. Its ice-blue light gave his dull black armor a new shade of color, but his face remained hidden behind the black visor. Now reoriented, he quickly made his way to the rendezvous. Not too long after, he spotted the location.

    First impression, unimpressed. Of course, what could he have expected from a place called Perdition; a bar no less. A slight sense of disappointment and suspicion followed. Why a company would choose such an establishment for a meeting made the job already feel off.

    Standing below the signs light, Rosh stared at the entryway for a moment. He could just turn back. He had files upon files of cases he could look into. Granted, most of them were cold and leads practically nonexistent, but it felt like a good excuse. His dwindling finances ended the internal argument.

    The Turian shrugged off his indecision and walked forward. Pushing the door open, he took in the forming crowd of varied customers.
    Last edited: Nov 5, 2016
  8. Solsabre

    Solsabre The Reforged Soul

    She arrived two days early to Omega, the cesspool of the galaxy.

    An unremarkable-looking black and gray armor krogan departed from the shuttle lines amongst the resident filth. The journey from the docks to the meeting destination, in a few days time, proceed with careful precision and watchful wide set eyes. A stealthy krogan was an oxymoron, built like a tank and usually just as loud. However, one could blend in with care if they knew how. The dull and scruffy armor belied the slightly smaller stature of the armor’s occupant. The krogan fell in step behind a loud group of mercenaries passing by; close enough to appear as through part of the group, but just enough steps behind to garner only a few glances. Usually by the time the first member threw a glance at the krogan, she’d already chosen a new path to break off to. A careful dance of constant vigilance.

    A necessity in order for one to live as long as she did.

    Sidestepping into a quieter alleyway for a reprieve, the krogan scanned the shadows slowly. The armored hand gestured silently, beckoning and holding a single credit visible. A small asari child scuttled forward hesitant. The krogan activated her omnitool, the sudden light startling the child in the dark alley. The name of the krogan’s destination ‘Perdition’ appeared on the holographic display. The asari child seemed to understand the krogan’s silent inquiry, rattling off directions to the seedy bar, her eyes fixated on the offered credit. The credit dropped and quickly disappeared into the small hands. The krogan raised a gloved hand above the child’s head, who cringed in fear and prepared to run off. However, the hand merely patted the asari’s smooth and ridged head. A kind, if potentially dangerous, gesture for the krogan were there witnesses, but one she couldn’t help then.

    They parted ways, likely to never cross paths again. The krogan followed the child’s directions to Perdition with little trouble, except for having to hiss and growl menacingly at a batarian passing too closely into her personal space. Entering the dimly lit establishment, she made a beeline for a seat near the end of the bar, waiting a few minutes to gain the bartender’s attention for a drink. For the next two days, she visited the bar for a few hours, choosing a different spot to sit, but ordering the same drink. Two days to familiarize herself with the bar’s routes and exits, learning the regular patrons, and establishing herself as part of the regular scene.

    In between visits, she holed herself up in a shady inn in a room without a window. A welcoming trap with no escape if ambushed in the room to most sensible scumbag. However, the krogan preferred it that way, any danger could only approached from one direction. An empty canister laid in the path of the swinging door to be knock over. The noise would distract any intruders momentarily and alert her to their presence while she slept. Sleeping with her back to the wall towards the door and pistol in lap helped with her reaction time. Plus, blowing a hole through the wall was an option for her at the very least. Such habits saved herself life many times over the centuries.

    The second day on her visit, she spied several vorcha, a half dozen at least, at the edges of her field of vision tailing behind her. She lured the vorcha into a dead end, deceiving them into thinking they’d cornered the lone krogan.

    Calmly, the krogan faced the visible weapons pointing her direction. The first round of gunfire discharged only to be halted by the telltale swirling blue of biotic energy. As realization dawned on the vorcha, the krogan released a shockwave of biotic energy towards the center of the group, scattering them. The explosion killed two immediately and threw the rest further back. The krogan charged forward in their disarray, unloading her fast-firing M-27 Scimitar into three more vorcha. A heavy weight jumped on her back. The krogan immediately threw her back against a metal dumpster, crushing the assailant. Another armed vorcha nearby fired and drained the remaining barrier surrounding her. Orienting herself, the krogan lunged toward him (or her) and grabbed the vorcha below its chin, snapping the alien’s neck. The armored krogan faced the two still living vorcha. Battle lust raged in her blood, eating at her vision. Blue energy swarming the krogan’s form menacingly, crackling angrily in the atmosphere.

    The chosen codename ‘Kalros’ was not for show.

    The surviving vorcha stumbled back frighten, no longer confident in taking down their target. Being smart for a change, the attackers scurried away like rodent filth. Kalros stood there silently, permitting their escape. Slow deliberate breaths vented through the helmet for several seconds and the biotic energy dispersed to nothing.

    Those two would spend rumors of a biotic krogan in the area and hopefully discourage any further harassment at least until she left with her new teammates. Of course, such rumors might also attract the wrong kind of attention, but that was another reason for choosing the remote location to hide the spectacular visuals effects of biotic abilities. Less witnesses around to support the vorchas’ claims.

    The armored krogan pulled a rag from her discarded bag to wipe away the blood from the suit as best she could and tossed it aside. She returned to her room for the rest of the evening.


    The following evening, the black and gray armor krogan casually walked Perdition and took a seat at a side booth, blending into the dark corner. The asari dancers enticed the nearby patrons, ignoring the krogan, since previous attempts days before were rebuffed to their dismay and their alluring words met with a silent stare. From her position, a view of the entryway laid cleared.

    The krogan sat and waited, a near empty glass rested on the table. The first clue of the gathering team resulted from an encounter between a petite human female and militaristic cut and dry turian. Their words didn’t reach the audios of her helmet, but the human was stiff and guarded. If anything the gutsy human reminded her of Ashlynn, a recent human orphan at the monastery. The turian appeared relaxed and casual, but her experienced eyes saw a spring-loaded weapon ready to rip loose into those in close proximity. The turian immediately put a sour taste in her mouth.

    A short while later, a large krogan with equally large bag arrived and engaged the turian with an obvious challenge. Kalros narrowed her unseen blue eyes dangerously. She’d known the chances of being the only krogan on this mission was unlikely, but one could still hope. A suited figure caught her attention than, eyes widening in slight surprise. A nervous quarian fidgeted uncertain in the open space of the bar. The watchful krogan felt a deep throb in her gut, before brushing the feeling aside. Now was not the time, beside the human female seemed to be watching out for the misplaced quarian.

    She watched the loosely gathered group contemplating. A explosion rattled the bar, alarming many patrons from their perverse diversions. A high-ranged and odd voice reached into the bar, quickly assuring the bar goers it wasn’t their business. The voice belonged to a salarian now barging inside and announced in a voice so loud that even she could understand clearly. The sour taste in her mouth returned.

    Excuse me! If I may have your attention!” he called out. “I am searching for a certain group that have been hired by the El-mmmph!”

    A human male she hadn’t noticed yet, muffled the forgetful salarian from finishing his statement. The new arrivals closed the distance to the four others at the bar. Kalros grabbed her duffel and left her seat. A twinge of pain shot through her scarred right shoulder while throwing the bag over it. The confrontation yesterday left a few bruises.

    Nearer, she caught several of their names. "Who are you all? I guess we're all going to be together for some time, so might want to get introduced to one another, right?"

    The black and gray armored krogan came up behind the human female, dropping the duffel deliberately with more force than necessary to draw the group’s attention, and took a seat at the bar.

    “Kalros,” a clipped monotone voice echoed from the helmet. She spared them only a side glance in greeting. Gesturing to the bartender, “Ryncol blend,” the neutral tone order. The asari bartender turned away to retrieve the noxious drink accustomed to the monotone voice from the last few days.

    Jahara needed something potent to wash out the sour taste of having to work with a turian, salarian, *and* another krogan for an undetermined length of time. Besides, she like ryncol anyway.
    Last edited: Nov 6, 2016
  9. And before he knew it, the group was coming together.

    After letting the salarian go, he observed the turian walk on by. He listened as he introduced himself once more to the quarian - Keelo, he believed he overheard - and the salarian - Stele or Cogwedj, he said to call him. Probably to Ask himself as well, if Domitian didn’t know he was listening in.

    "Do try to stay out of my way on this little endeavour, and we will have few problems."

    Yep, that was what Ask was expecting.

    “As long as you don’t place us in your way, of course,” Cogwedj said as-a-matter-of-factly, although Ask couldn’t hear or see any malice in his voice or his body language. He didn’t hear Melanie mutter under her breath, but Jason definitely did. She was pretty spunky.

    “I’m Melanie Summers. Who are you all? I guess we're all going to be together for some time, so might want to get introduced to one another, right?” she then said.

    Ask assumed that they didn’t hear him the first time he introduced himself, although he supposed it was because he was talking more to Cog than anyone else. He rubbed the back of his head, feeling a slight awkwardness of having to introduce himself a second time.

    Cog, however, had no such qualms. “Ah, yes, full name is Erinle Primeven Nee Colasti Lerudo Stele Cogwedg,” he said, making a quick nod of his head. The rapidness of his speech made it almost hard for Ask to catch all of it. He also wondered if he missed a word. “For efficiency, call me Stele, Cogwedj, or simply Cog.”

    He then turned to the krogan, Brask. “Fascinating. I have never met krogan in person. Tell me, is it true that you have-“

    Whatever he was about to say was drowned out by the loud thud nearby. Ask had seen from his peripheral that a figure was walking towards them. He hadn’t expected for the figure to suddenly drop a bag loud enough to catch their attention. “Kalros”, the krogan, for that was what the figure was, then said with a voice that was too augmented to discern the gender. The krogan then went and ordered a drink, obviously content with just giving them a name - or what Ask assumed was a name.

    He sighed and shook his head. They had two krogans, one anti-social and the other seemingly itching for a fight, and a turian that had an obvious problem with cooperating with other people. Then they had an inexperienced quarian and an…eccentric salarian. So far, it looked like the only one that was cooperative and capable was Melanie, so he turned to her. And Domitian and Keelo as well, he supposed.

    “You can call me Askari,” he said, smiling a bit. “If you know of me, that’s good. If not, I’m a sniper for hire with a side of information gathering. Please take care of me,” he added, nodding politely.

    Cog, meanwhile, had gone and knelt at the duffel bag, looking mighty curious. He didn’t want to be between a salarian and anything that piqued one’s interest, so he simply called out to the krogan that owned it.

    “Kalros, was it? You might want to stop him from touching that!”
  10. Griff4815

    Griff4815 No. 1 Grovyle Fan

    Brask grunted dismissively in response to the turian's comments. As they exchanged veiled barbs, Brask was sizing the turian up. He seemed smug and extremely sure of himself. However, while he definitely seemed arrogant, it didn't seem like it was an inflated sense of self-worth. To Brask, he seemed just confident enough to be able to back up his words with action. Looking at the turian, he had high-end weapons and armour, both of which had enough wear and tear to tell Brask that he had seen his share of action and lived to tell about it.

    Brask didn't like the turian, and he didn't respect him. However, he acknowledged that he shouldn't underestimate him.

    Brask watched as turian walked away from him and towards the swiftly assembling group. When he was gone, the corners of his mouth morphed into a scowl.

    Two humans, a quarian, a turian, and a salarian... And upon finishing that thought, a second turian, one with blue skin and metallic-hued plating, walked into the bar. It was starting to sound like the beginning of a bad joke.

    Brask grunted irritably. Turians and salarians... the causes of the Genophage. The biological weapon that doomed his species. The weapon that made his race almost completely infertile. The weapon that made them resort to their current way of life.

    He closed his bright, emerald eyes and breathed calmly. It was fine. He worked with turians and salarians before in the past. As long as they stayed out of his way and didn't piss him off, he could do this job without any problems. He was a professional.

    Brask lugged the giant bag that leaned against the bar counter up and over his shoulder again. He began to walk over to the group, his confident, intense gait making himself known, if his sheer size didn't already. He grabbed his flaming glass of buruhk before he walked over. He blew off the blue flames that danced along the surface of the liquid and then poured the intensely hot and bitter drink into his maw. He felt like he needed a drink for this.

    He watched the turian who he had been talking to introduce himself. Domitian Occisor. The name rang a bell.

    "Who are you all? I guess we're all going to be together for some time, so might want to get introduced to one another, right?" the female human who identified as Melanie Summers asked.

    "Hailot Brask," the large krogan spoke in a deep, brusque voice. "Now that it's out in the open, yeah, I was hired by a volus."

    Before he could say anything else, Brask heard a large thud behind Melanie. He turned and was surprised to see a fellow krogan sitting at the bar nearby. Somehow, Brask hadn't noticed the krogan in full armour when he had entered the bar. They must have been off to the side or something when he came in. It was usually pretty easy to spot a krogan in a bar setting.

    Brask turned to face the other krogan fully, wanting to take a closer look.

    Brask's eyes narrowed, watching suspiciously as the fellow member of his species ordered a ryncol. The krogan seemed a bit smaller in stature than he was. And they seemed to be using some kind of voice modifier with their helmet. He couldn't get a good look at the other krogan because they were dressed head-to-toe in concealing black armour. Even more revealing was the fact that they didn't mention a clan name. The krogan seemed to be one who didn't want their identity revealed. His curiosity piqued, Brask wondered why.

    "What 'Kalros'?" he asked the other krogan bluntly, wondering exactly what clan the krogan hailed from and whether he needed to hate them or not.

    It was then that he noticed the salarian - Cog, he guessed he'd call him. He had started to say something to him earlier before becoming distracted by Kalros. Now, he was snooping around Kalros' bag like a curious pyjak toying with a krogan landmine. If Kalros was anything like Brask, they might be tempted to rip the salarian in half right there.

    "Damn salarians... Always poking and prodding at things. They should learn to leave things alone before they make more shitty messes." Brask scoffed. "But I guess it's in their DNA to be obnoxiously curious, so there's no helping it. Just gotta make the message loud and clear with the butt-end of a shotgun."

    Brask narrowed his eyes and shook his head, fully expecting the logical conclusion of a pyjak poking a mine. Losing a teammate before the mission even started wouldn't be a great start. Brask took a large glug from his drink and eyed Kalros, more interested in gauging the other krogan's reaction to both himself and Cog.


    Keelo watched as the other assembled group members began to introduce themselves. They were a diverse bunch it seemed like. Keelo was somewhat excited to be working with so many different species. However, he was also intimidated by some of them. Domitian and Brask both gave off an aura of danger. Others, such as Kalros and Askari seemed mysterious. Stele, Cogwedj, or Cog (Keelo was still trying to determine which would be the most polite form of address) just seemed... eccentric.

    At the present time, he felt most comfortable with Melanie. She seemed like a nice and caring sort. He appreciated that she took the time to talk to him and ask how he was. He very much doubted that anybody else would.

    As such, he stuck close to her as the crowd of individuals gathered. "Um, my name is Keelo'Zannen nar Rayya," he introduced himself awkwardly, his voice echoing slightly through his mask's filter. "Just call me Keelo. I hope that we can all work well together."

    Deciding to leave his introduction at that, he took a step back. The quarian turned his head when he heard the sound of Perdition's doors opening again. His curiosity was piqued when he saw a turian with a large backpack, just like most of the others present did. The blue-skinned turian looked around the bar. This made Keelo wonder if he was with them.

    He decided to approach the newly arrived turian despite his initial uncertainty. "Greetings. Are you, by some chance, here to meet our team as well?" he questioned. "If so, my name is Keelo. We are just getting acquainted now."
    Last edited: Nov 6, 2016
  11. storymasterb

    storymasterb Knight of RPGs

    More appeared, both from outside and from further in the gloom of Perdition. A second turian arrived and was met by Domitian's smug stare. A grey and black-armored krogan approached them and announced their presence with the heavy thump of a dropped duffel bag and a clearly synthesised voice announcing their name as "Kalros". Melanie looked the latter over, but was unable to discern anything through the thick armor.

    Domitian snapped his gaze back to the salarian and gave a little chuckle. "And why would I do such a thing? Combat is enjoyable; I would hardly jeopardise my entertainment by filling it with weaklings I need to shelter."

    Melanie wanted to massage her temples in frustration, but her hand was occupied with her drink, so she took a deep sip of elasa instead. Domitian had got his drink too, she noticed. Then the other human present turned to her.

    "I haven't heard of you, sorry," she said with an apologetic smile. "But I'll do my best to keep you safe." She was now trying to ascertain the group's talents. She had her biotic abilities and tech, she would be highly surprised if Domitian had any skills beyond filling people with bullets, Askari was a sniper, that salarian was probably a tech expert of some sort judging by the explosion she had heard right before he arrived. Everyone else was a mystery so far, especially the armored krogan.

    Askari's voice snapped her from those thoughts and she followed his gaze to see Cog moving to interfere with Kalros' bag. She quickly checked her own just in case. She doubted the salarian had tampered with it, she'd been alert enough to that, but it always paid to be careful on Omega. It was fine, no one had somehow stolen its contents.

    "It's rude to touch someone else's stuff without asking," she called to the salarian. "Pull that on the wrong person and you'll get yourself killed."

    The bar's patrons were eyeing the group up, she realised, probably out of curiosity, but some were probably calculating their chances of making off with their assorted gear and belongings. Judging by the number who returned to their drinks, they didn't like those odds.

    "That makes a few of us," she said, with a pointed look at Domitian.


    The group had gathered, another krogan and a turian joining them. Eight in total, Domitian counted. A small team, but presumably formidable. No matter how he might mock the others, he knew that the Elkoss Combine had probably done their homework correctly and found individuals they considered suitable.

    That didn't mean he had to fit like a perfect puzzle piece into this jigsaw of a squad they'd put together, of course.

    He regarded the others. Melanie seemed frail, but even through his mocking jabs he knew she was strong in some manner. She wouldn't have survived here otherwise, and her scars were clear, an unfilled finger in her left glove, marks across her face. And she hadn't just submitted to his barbs, she had deadpanned right back. Perhaps she could be amusing.

    Of the two krogan, Kalros intrigued him more. It wasn't often that a krogan would hide themselves so, particularly the voice he could tell was synthesised. Oh, what secret could Kalros possibly be hiding to conceal themself like that?

    Askari's name had caught his attention briefly, it was one he had encountered in passing before. Aside from that, the human had been beneath notice: literally. Until he had gagged the salarian, Domitian had passed him over as just another patron.

    The salarian, Cog was his name apparently, seemed like too many of his kind. He probably needed to be kept watched and away from anything too explosive, otherwise the mission was likely to end in a fireball of his making.

    The quarian, Keelo, seemed so meek and demure that he had almost certainly come straight from the Citadel or the Migrant Fleet. Domitian wanted to jab at him verbally and pick apart just what he was doing there, but Melanie was stood resolutely near him and besides, an enigma had presented himself for inspection.

    The second turian present had done nothing so far but walk in, so Domitian turned his attention to the other member of his species, unconcerned by Keelo approaching the newcomer. "You. I am Domitian Occisor. What is your name, and what brings you to this wonderfully grimy little establishment?"
    Last edited: Nov 6, 2016
  12. Clewt

    Clewt Member

    Roshiovis' Voice = Jeremy Irons... pretty much.

    The dark-armored Turian leisurely walked further into the bar and pulled off his helmet. With his large backpack still slung over one shoulder, he let the weight of it slouch his posture. He tucked his thumb between the strap and his chest.

    The older alien felt no need to speak up until the one running the show presented themselves. Rosh did find himself rather amused by crowd that had gathered. This definitely looked to be the largest amount of people he would ever work with to date. With the exception of law enforcement teams, however that really did not count. He still worked primarily alone.
    He listened, taking in all the exchanges and introductions. He already started mentally compiling notes, but what struck him as odd was the lack of employer.


    Rosh’s train of thought came to screeching halt. He unconsciously tensed, his gaze immediately jerking to the seated Krogan. The name struck him with a sense of nostalgia, but he had no clear memories for why.
    Gradually his attention realigned with the others, mainly the human who had reintroduced himself and the far too curious Salarian

    A small ache forming near Rosh’s lower spine insisted he put the extra weight down. Just as he started letting the pack slip from his back, he noticed the only Quarian moving towards him.

    "Greetings. Are you, by some chance, here to meet our team as well?" he questioned. "If so, my name is Keelo. We are just getting acquainted now."

    Resting the bag on the floor, Rosh straightened to his full height.
    “Likewise, and it would appear so.” The Turian bowed his dark head respectfully, his low voice resonated with a calm tone.
    Just as he prepared to properly introduce himself, Rosh heard another voice interject.

    "You. I am Domitian Occisor. What is your name, and what brings you to this wonderfully grimy little establishment?"

    Resting his gaze on the speaker, he easily fell into a well practiced, neutral expression.

    “Roshiovis Ehredeus , Retrieval job… usually people. This time it’s merchandise.” Curt and to the point, he returned his full attention back to the hidden face before him.

    “And Rosh is preferred.. Very few call me by my given name.” His tone relaxed as did his face.
    Most of his past jobs involving Quarians had ended sadly. He felt grateful he would be working with one and not searching for them, for a change.
  13. Solsabre

    Solsabre The Reforged Soul

    Jahara sipped her ryncol through a narrow gap in her helmet. The noxious acid slid pleasantly down her throat with a fiery burn. The armored krogan listened with half an ear as the team continued with their introductions. She was bothered by the obtuse male krogan.

    "What 'Kalros'?" he asked the other krogan bluntly, wondering exactly what clan the krogan hailed from and whether he needed to hate them or not.

    “Simply Kalros, and it means exactly what it is you're asking.” Jahara stressed, expecting the krogan, Brask, to get the implication of no clan name. “The reasons not being relevant to our mission.” She added by way to end discussion. The male krogan could get over it if he didn’t like her reasonable explanation.

    Cog, meanwhile, had gone and knelt at the duffel bag, looking mighty curious. He didn’t want to be between a salarian and anything that piqued one’s interest, so he simply called out to the krogan that owned it.

    “Kalros, was it? You might want to stop him from touching that!”

    Jahara heard Askari call out over the group. She turned swiftly to the side to indeed see an overly curious salarian poking around her duffel. Furious, the armored krogan stomped up behind the salarian, grabbed him roughly by the shoulder to spin him around and lifted the lizard man face-to-face by the collar of his uniform.

    “Keep your hands out of places they don't belong, pyjak!” The danger in her voice managing to reflect even in the synthesized tone. The exact same words she'd use on some children she's caught in the act of trouble. Honestly, she nearly barked a laugh out loud from the mental comparison, lessening her disdain for the salarian. A margin anyway.

    Jahara released her grip on the salarian’s clothes, leaving him to drop the rest of the way to the floor. Either he’d land on his feet or drop into a heap. Either way she didn’t care. It wasn’t that far to the ground. She nodded to the human male, Askari, in acknowledgement of the warning.

    The female krogan returned to her seat at the bar with duffel closer in hand and resumed partaking of her drink. There really wasn’t anything else to do until they met with the volus representative.

    “Likewise, and it would appear so.”

    Jahara’s head jerked up abruptly at the painfully familiar voice, startled.

    “Roshiovis Ehredeus , Retrieval job… usually people. This time it’s merchandise.”

    She glanced over her shoulder sharply at the latest arrival, heedless of those noticing her odd behavior towards the newest turian. A dull ache stirred her hearts.

    Last edited: Nov 8, 2016
  14. Griff4815

    Griff4815 No. 1 Grovyle Fan

    Brask narrowed his green eyes at Kalros. He assumed that the krogan had taken the Rite of Passage to join a clan to begin with. No self-respecting krogan didn't join a clan. After all, on Tuchanka, there was safety in numbers. That meant that Kalros' clan was probably wiped out. He assumed it was through clan warfare; massacres of entire clans wasn't unheard of. Perhaps Kalros escaped and kept their identity hidden in order to survive.

    The blue-crested krogan then watched as Kalros grabbed Cog and gave him thorough warning off. Not as violent as Brask expected. He noticed that this krogan had decent self-control.

    When Kalros dropped Cog to the ground, he turned and looked at the lanky alien as well. "You can stay the hell away from my stuff too, salarian," Brask warned him. "I'll do a hell of a lot worse than that."

    Turning away from the salarian, he went and took his seat back at the bar to finish his burukh before it got cold.

    As he did, he glanced over at Kalros, who was sitting nearby. "Clanless, huh?" he thought to himself. He wanted to ask Kalros about that later. It was clear that the armoured krogan didn't want to talk about it now. "Must just travel and take mercenary work. ...Can't blame him, I guess. Beats staying around on Tuchanka..." His eyes hardened and he glared into his empty glass.

    Brask looked up at the asari bartender. "Another," he said to her brusquely.

    It seemed like Elkoss Combine hired quite a diverse group for this mission. They all had different skill sets, he assumed. Brask knew exactly what he was good at: shooting people.


    Keelo briskly side-stepped when Domitian walked over to the other turian and asked him more or less the same thing that Keelo had asked. Keelo didn't dare to say anything, frankly because Domitian intimidated him. The green-suited quarian watched as the turian addressed the both of them.

    Keelo felt a bit relieved. Roshiovis seemed professional, but not cold or brimming with violent intensity like Domitian did. Keelo offered a small smile behind his translucent mask.

    "Very well. Rosh, it is a pleasure to meet you," Keelo responded politely. "It seems like we have a diverse team. It is an honour to be working with so many different species. With the combination of all of our different backgrounds and skills, I think that we could be very effective for this job," he suggested, looking at both Rosh and Domitian.

    Keelo looked around at the other members of their group. If they were going to be working together, he felt that it would be important to make social bonds with them. If he learned anything from growing up on the Flotilla, it was with cooperation was necessary for survival. It is important to place your faith in others and have them place their faith in you. He believed that the same would be true for this mission. However, it began to be clear that not everybody felt the same way.

    Domitian had expressed not wanting to work with them, and the two krogan, Kalros and Brask, seemed particularly unapproachable as well. He felt like he should try to make an effort with them. He didn't want to judge them based on their species - he had personally been on the receiving end of that way more than he would have liked - however, he wasn't particularly brave enough to try right now. He was still trying to get comfortable in this hostile environment with these strangers who he didn't know. He figured he would try later, after they started to get comfortable in their new job. Things were still tense and uncertain, after all.

    "Anyways... I am going to check the mail on my datapad to see if there have been any developments concerning our employer. Delays and such," Keelo explained, going and taking his flat, rectangular, holographic datapad from out of his bag.
    Last edited: Nov 8, 2016
  15. "It's rude to touch someone else's stuff without asking," Cog heard a voice say. Most likely the human female, judging by the quality and pitch. "Pull that on the wrong person and you'll get yourself killed."

    “Odd thing to say,” Cog said as he laid his hand on the duffel bag. “This Omega. Leave anything on ground, open for scavenging. As long as-“

    Before he could even finish his sentence, he felt himself get turned around roughly and pulled up by his collar. And suddenly he was floating - or at the very let, his feet were not touching the ground. It was an unusual feeling. Much more so by the sudden face-to-face with the helmeted and masked face of the krogan that owned the bag he had been thinking of putting his sticky fingers through.

    “Keep your hands out of places they don't belong, pyjak!”

    Cog merely blinked. He had to keep deliberately keep himself from shooting the krogan in the gut with his Carnifex - which he had reflexively pulled out and pointed from his hip holster. It would not do to preemptively reduce their numbers before the mission started after all.

    “Very well,” the salarian said as he was dropped, landing on his feet. It wasn’t that high a distance from his feet to the ground. He reholstered his sidearm.

    "You can stay the hell away from my stuff too, salarian," he then heard the other krogan call out to him. "I'll do a hell of a lot worse than that."

    “Hm. Similar responses from all krogans. Unsurprising,” the amphibious alien then said, sounding as if he’d definitely gone through this before - and he definitely had.

    Jason took note as the salarian dusted himself off nonchalantly. It was a wonder that he had survived this long in a place like Omega. Which either spoke testament about his skill. Or luck. Either way, both would be useful if this was as difficult a mission as he thought it would be.

    He did wonder what kind of mission warranted such a large squad. He saw more movement appear in the peripheral of his vision and saw Keelo about to bring out a rather expensive looking piece of gadgetry. He had to smile a bit at his innocence - he would definitely need watching. He was quite certain Melanie would be able to protect him if need be, but it would never hurt to enlighten him a bit more.

    He quickly walked over and placed his hand on Keelo’s wrist and lowered his wrist back into his bag. “You really shouldn’t show anyone where you hide your things,” he told the quarian with a small, albeit unreadable, smile. “Especially ones that have value in being…taken apart and sold in pieces.”

    At his periphery, he thought he saw Cogwedg or Cog or Stele or whatever he wanted to be called look in interest at the glimpse of a mechanical object. Yes, he would definitely need to be watched.

    “But I do understand,” he added, looking around with a scrutinizing eye. “The more we stay here, the more we get unwanted attention as a large group. If secrecy is the aim, then we should be getting the details soon.”
  16. storymasterb

    storymasterb Knight of RPGs

    Likely not a combatant then, Domitian mused.

    "Ah, yes, merchandise," he replied with an airquotes gesture. "Vapid corporate-speak. I wonder what the 'merchandise' is. I doubt that expense has been spared when assembling this team, suggesting that whatever it is is valuable." There was a glint of interest in his eyes. "Perhaps we will have to interrogate whatever representative is sent to meet us about this subject." He regarded Roshiovis. "It seems that we are quite different... Rosh. Quite different indeed." He gave a wry chuckle and turned to the rest of the group, seeing Cog be disciplined by Kalros.

    "You are fortunate, salarian," he said once the scolding ended. "In some cultures, theft is punished by the removal of the hands." He activated one omni-blade and held it up, not caring how the other patrons tensed, then deactivated it. "I hope my meaning is clear and that I will not find unfortunate fingers rummaging through my belongings." He too wondered how the salarian had survived beneath his display of force, but then the salarians were a resourceful species. Doubtless Cog had skills which had contributed to continued survival, even if common sense appeared glaring in its absence.

    He turned to Melanie and found her looking at him with half disapproval, half a smirk. "And what do you have to say, little girl?"

    "For one thing, stop calling me 'little girl'," she replied. "Second, please don't threaten a team member with mutilation again. And third, for someone who was trading insults with Brask five minutes ago, you and he aren't that different."

    Domitian chuckled. "You compare me to one so unsophisticated? How blind you are."

    "Just because you talk fancy doesn't mean you aren't prickly and arrogant," Melanie said, meeting his glare. He admired the spirit he saw. If nothing else, she had determination, doubtless how she had survived on this station. Omega was lawless, but with chaos came determination. It was a ladder the strong could climb and it was clear she had grabbed the rungs and pulled herself out of the depths.

    This line of conversation no longer had his interest, however. "I wonder when our employers are planning on collecting us," he mused aloud. "I doubt their plan was to have us drink ourselves into unconsciousness here." He looked around the bar, wondering if perhaps Elkoss' representative lurked among the patrons, watching them. One of the asari cavorting on the stage caught his gaze and gave him a come hither gesture, but he chuckled and shook his head. Melanie followed his eyes and he noticed her twitch of discomfort at the half-naked aliens. "What's wrong? Are your sensibilities offended by such a display?"

    "They can do whatever they like," Melanie replied.

    "Oh, come now, I wasn't questioning their performance," he said. "Merely your reaction. Do you find them repulsive, perhaps?"

    "It's nothing," she retorted. He was about to question her further, but his omni-tool chimed, as did what he presumed was hers.


    Was she going to have to stop this group from killing one another?

    Melanie thought on that subject as Cog was tossed away by Kalros, and she downed the last of her not-elassa before sighing. Domitian still had the air of 'punch me, I dare you' and she still sincerely wanted to indulge. Brask was probably going to fight the black-armored turian at some point, Cog was either going to blow them all up or be attacked by one of the aforementioned for messing with their stuff. Domitian's show of intimidation only cemented that thought. It was like that turian only knew two ways to communicate: barbed conversation and violent gestures. Neither helped foster a cooperative group.

    At least she had some sane people on side, she thought, turning her gaze to Askari, Keelo, Rosh, and Kalros. Actually, that was the majority of her group. Askari and Kalros seemed mysterious, the latter especially so with all-concealing armor and a synthesised voice, but they also seemed calm enough. Keelo was naive and inexperienced as far as she could tell, but he also seemed good and kind. And Rosh, little as she knew, hadn't yet insulted anyone or threatened them, so hopefully he was sensible and not like Domitian.

    One short conversation with Domitian later, she heard the chime of her omni-tool and activated it with a gesture. Domitian did the same and the holographic displays lit, hers blue, the turian's red. Naturally, she thought with a little amused smile. Around them, everyone else received messages on whatever device they had on their person.

    There was a message that she opened with a move of her fingers.

    It was from the Elkoss Combine, of course. She checked the coordinates attached, which opened in a discreet map, or as discreet as a map could be when part of an omni-tool's holographic display.

    "It seems we were being surveyed," Domitian mused, and she nodded. She had thought that this might have been the reason to send them to a place like Perdition. To check who had accepted the offer, and to observe their interaction.

    "We should head out," she said. "Not just because they say to, but I think we're attracting enough attention."

    "You say that as though it's a bad thing," the turian chuckled, his mandibles twitching in what she had surmised was the 'amused' manner. "We might find some entertainment."

    "Your idea of entertainment is very different from mine," she muttered, and turned to the others. They had all read the message too, she guessed, or at least hoped. "Let's move."


    Once all business in Perdition was concluded, the group moved out, if loosely due to the various personalities involved and their likes and dislikes of each other. Even spread out, they were clearly a group moving through Omega's crowds towards one destination, and faces in the crowd watched them with interest.

    The destination they were heading for was at the station's edge. There were parts of Omega that had fallen into disrepair for various reasons, occupied by criminal gangs plotting the overthrow of greater powers, or by unfortunate residents pushed out by relentless gang conflicts. Others too made this their home, including those who practised atrocities that were too much for even the denizens of lawless Omega.

    Suffice to say, Melanie rarely found herself in such a part of the station.

    The crowds were left behind as they made their way through rusting doors and corridors. The streets fell into ruin, marked with bullet marks and in places blood stains. Things moved just out of sight and Melanie was on edge, her fingers on her pistol. Why in the hell had the Elkoss Combine asked to meet them out here?

    Industrial ruin rose around them, spars of metal broken by battle and time, the refuse of decades of corruption coating the ground. She caught sight of syringes discarded, broken signs that had once adorned the buildings, crates smashed in years ago and looted of everything.

    "They can't be serious," she muttered to herself.

    "And what's this?"

    A figure arose from a ruin in front of them, a krogan in old armor that was a painting of scars. He wielded a shotgun that had also clearly seen better days.

    Melanie drew her pistol.

    The krogan chuckled and silhouettes slunk out of the buildings. There were two more krogan, but also about a dozen vorcha. They all wore the same insignia of a pair of crossed fang-like daggers.

    "Night Fangs?" Melanie said. "I thought you were wiped out by the Blue Suns years ago."

    The shotgun-wielding krogan chuckled. "Thought. We're still alive down here, wretched as it is. I'm sure you'll happily 'donate' your weapons and armor to the revival of the Night Fangs."

    Domitian scoffed. "Oh, please."

    "We don't want any trouble. We're just passing through," Melanie said, knowing that it was hopeless, but maybe if she kept them talking an opportunity would present itself.

    The krogan leader shook his head and laughed, amused. "You humans, always trying to talk your way out. Not gonna work. Here's what happens. Either you give us your stuff and maybe we'll let you run along, or you keep being dim and we take what we want-"

    "I have no time for this foolishness," Domitian snapped, and in an instant he rocketed through the air and his blades were drawn. Before Melanie could fully comprehend what he had done, the blades ripped into a vorcha's face, and the turian stood as the gang member fell.

    The vorcha fell and Domitian was in motion. His assault rifle was drawn and unfurled, spraying a second vorcha with bullets. The turian was dancing, propelled by jets attached to his armor. He raced across the ruined street in bounds, evading the gunfire that came his way.

    Gunfire roared towards the group and Melanie's shield sparked as the bullets impacted. "We've got to fight!" she cried, and focused on a vorcha who charged her with two knives in hand. He was frozen, grabbed by her biotic power and then hurled aside as her pistol came up to return fire on the attackers.

    Domitian laughed as he met the lead Night Fangs krogan, his shields taking a full burst of the shotgun and wailing in his ears as they were almost depleted instantly. The krogan clubbed at the turian with a bayonet on his shotgun's barrel, but Domitian took the blow with an omni-blade parry and raked his second blade against his adversary's shields.

    "Oh, what fun!" the turian exclaimed, his eyes alight with excitement.
  17. Askari found it rather ironic that the moment he told the quarian to hide his valuables was the moment the Elkoss Combine decided to contact them. Still, instead of retracting his suggestion, and as well a gesture of good will, he offered to let Keelo read from his own Omni-tool.

    Not that there was much to read. It was short and concise, mentioning only the number of their group and their next step. And only that. No other information. Just yet another place to head for. It rang alarm signals in Ask’s head, but he didn’t let his misgivings show. Besides, he had already accepted the mission by being there. He had a reputation to keep.

    And if nothing else, it seemed interesting.

    If he had known what awaited them, then he might have changed his mind. Maybe. Night Fangs weren’t particularly a notable bunch, especially when it comes to mercenary groups found in Omega.

    Still, he really didn’t want to waste any ammo when it didn’t involve the job they were supposed to be on, so when he saw Domitian rush forward, the first thing he did was grab Keelo - he still wasn’t sure how the quarian would carry himself in a real fight, and it wouldn’t do to lose a teammate before the job even started - and pulled him and himself behind a large storage crate nearby.

    “I hope you don’t mind,” Ask said, looking over the corner, noticing how most of the fire were concentrated in the ones in the thick of the fight - particularly on Domitian. He had already unholstered and unfurled his Predator. “I’m not much of a front-line merc, and it didn’t look like you were either.”

    His eyes scanned the field, taking note of where everyone was. With a quick motion, he turned and aimed his gun, quickly firing a one - two - and three rounds right onto the arm, then leg, and then the torso of a vorcha that was too distracted with trying to overpower Melanie with his companions. It wouldn’t kill the vorcha Night Fang, but it would definitely give the human biotic enough time to finish him off herself.

    He quickly hid himself again before he could garner more attention, glancing at Keelo to see what he was doing. “Besides, I couldn’t help noticing you had a sniper rifle, too,” he added with a small grin.


    Stele wondered what it was with krogans today.

    While he was aware that most, if not all, krogans held a grudge against salarians due to their involvement with the genophage, it wasn’t as if he went out of his way to remind them. He hadn’t even gone near the krogan Night Fang’s gear, and yet the hostile mercenary had decided to isolate him out of all the rest to go after.

    “I said sit still!” the krogan growled out as he fired round after round at the quick engineer.

    “Unwise. Would get shot and injured. Inefficient and unnecessary,” he told the krogan. He wasn’t shooting back, although it wasn’t out of any form of altruism. His Carnifex was jammed. Again. “Malfunctioning at the-“

    “Shut up and become pyjak feed!” the krogan roared as he drew close.

    A step. Then a blast.

    The krogan was sent backwards, unaware of the rolling sphere that the salarian had thrown his way. His large body fell onto a vorcha, the whine of his depleted shields and damaged armor showing the power of Cog’s incendiary bomb. Along with that was the whirring of a machine.

    Both the Night Fang mercenaries stood up, only for the vorcha to fall once more, never to rise back up again. as two powerful rounds of metal embedded themselves into his chest.

    “Malfunction repaired,” Cog said as he aimed his Carnifex at the krogan. “Nothing personal,” the salarian said as he finally joined his comrades in the gunfight.


    OOC: Just to keep track...
    Night Fangs - #defeated/#total
    Krogans - 0/3
    Vorcha - 3/12
  18. Griff4815

    Griff4815 No. 1 Grovyle Fan

    Keelo looked up with surprise. "Oh... Yes, you're right. Thank you," he sheepishly responded.

    “But I do understand,” he added, looking around with a scrutinizing eye. “The more we stay here, the more we get unwanted attention as a large group. If secrecy is the aim, then we should be getting the details soon.”

    Keelo was about to nod when he heard the beeping of his omni-tool. "Oh, speaking of which..." he said, activating the omni-tool on his wrist

    The young quarian quickly read the message from Elkoss Combine. "To these coordinates... That seems like an odd area to meet, doesn't it?" he mused.


    Brask walked down the grotty Omega street. He knew Omega pretty well after having worked here many times, especially as part of the Blood Pack.

    He knew that this part of Omega wasn't the sort of place that one would meet company representatives. It didn't feel right. He was suspicious and uneasy.

    His keen, battle-hardened eyes darted back and forth as the group proceeded down the dark street. He allowed his bag of supplies to rest against his humped back while he carried his Tornado shotgun loosely in his hands. His instincts were acting in overdrive. Were they being set up?

    It was then that he heard a pair of heavy footsteps approaching from in front of them. A krogan's by the sound of it. Brask sneered when he saw a krogan in shabby armour walk out of a ruined building. He immediately sensed hostility, which only amplified when two more krogan and a dozen vorcha began emerging from the shadowy buildings.

    "Thought. We're still alive down here, wretched as it is. I'm sure you'll happily 'donate' your weapons and armor to the revival of the Night Fangs," the krogan leader threatened.

    Brask cocked his shotgun and brought it up to aim down its sight. "I don't believe in charity," he responded.

    His finger rested loosely on the trigger of his shotgun. He was near the front of the group with Melanie and Domitian, so he needed to be able to act at a moment's notice. Brask was ready to fill this guy's mouth with buckshot.

    However, as the krogan continued threatening them, Domitian suddenly acted. He dashed forwards with his jetpack and drove his omni-blade into a vorcha's face.

    Brask worked both with and against turians, and that typically wouldn't be their first move in a fight. Charging forwards recklessly was more of a krogan thing. The aggressive move fleetingly interested him, but he didn't dwell on it. He couldn't afford to.

    He immediately followed suit. He charged forwards and fired his shotgun into the gathered mercenary team. His first shot parted into a multi-shot, riddling one of the vorcha with bullets.

    Brask charged towards the group, focusing on one of the other two krogan. As the enemy krogan aimed his assault rifle at him, Brask fortified his Duelist armour. The foucault currents surged through the armour, altering the magnetic field of his armour and fortifying it. When the krogan opened fire with Brask's chest, the bullets slammed against his armour, hitting an invisible current that hardened his armour and caused the bullets to ricochet off onto the nearby street and buildings.

    As Brask stormed the group, he purged the currents and forced their charge into his gauntlets, powering them up immensely. He barrelled into the mercenaries, performing a mighty backhand into a nearby vorcha, who was hastily aiming his pistol at Brask. The side of his gauntlet impacted the vorcha's face with tonnes of pressure. He felt the vorcha's skull give way and the comparatively small alien's head jerked sideways with a sickening crack.

    Brask merely grinned as adrenaline pumped through his body, even as one bullet whizzed by his face. He unloaded buckshot into the enemy krogan's chest. Unfortunately, this krogan was also armoured, and it only caused him to stagger backwards from the powerful blow.

    However, the move caused a break in the mercenary's fire, allowing Brask to close the distance. Brask ran forwards and slammed the butt of his shotgun across the krogan's snout.

    The krogan staggered to the side and lurched forwards momentarily, allowing a glob of orange blood to trickle out of his mouth. The mercenary then looked at Brask with a glare of rage. Blood rage, in fact.

    The Night Fangs krogan snarled and lunged at Brask with adrenaline and intent to kill. Too close to accurately fire his assault rifle, he took Brask's example and used his rifle as a club. He jumped at Brask and swung the butt of his club downwards.

    Acting quickly, Brask brought his shotgun up and blocked the swing with the metal side of his weapon before it could hit his face. He then kicked the krogan in the gut and sent him backwards before following it up with a blast from his shotgun.

    "Haha!" Brask laughed, adrenaline and excitement lacing his deep voice. "You don't think I've fought a blood-enraged krogan before?! Just try me!" he challenged.


    Keelo gasped when the fight broke out and Askari suddenly pulled him behind a storage crate. He had been tense when the imposing group of mercenaries suddenly started threatening them, but he didn't expect a fight to break out that quickly.

    "I-It's fine," Keelo hastily responded, trying to gather his bearings. "I'm not. I'm not even a mercenary," he found himself admitting.

    The quarian took a calming breath and removed his Reaper sniper rifle from his back. The rifle was still in its compact mode, but he quickly extended the butt and barrel of the weapon and flicked the safety off.

    “Besides, I couldn’t help noticing you had a sniper rifle, too,” he added with a small grin.

    Keelo nodded at him. "I do have some experience with this... I think that I should find a different position. Two snipers in the same spot would be ill-advised," he responded to Askari.

    He quickly looked around the street from their cover. On the opposite side of the street was a large, metal column that helped to support the ceiling of this part of the station. That would work well enough.

    Keelo turned to Askari. "Cover me, please," he said to him. Keelo began pressing holographic buttons on his wrist-mounted omni-tool. Suddenly, his entire body became transparent. He activated his tactical cloak, which allowed Keelo's body to warp the light around him so that he reflected his surrounding environment.

    After a deep breath, the quarian dashed out from the cover of the box and over to the thick, steel support. He ducked when two of the vorcha began firing their rifles down the street towards their group.

    The quarian sprinted over to the large column of cover and hid behind it, taking in short, rapid breaths. After a few moments of making sure that he wasn't drawing fire, Keelo kneeled down and peeked out from behind the steel column. He placed the butt of his Reaper sniper rifle against his shoulder blade and then gazed down the scope.

    Keelo remembered his shooting training from his father. Long, shallow breaths. Prepare for the recoil. Don't squeeze the trigger too hard.

    He got a vorcha in his crosshairs... The fearsome, lanky alien was unloading his gun at Keelo's fellow teammates. He took aim and the aiming reticles hovered over the vorcha's head. Keelo frowned and adjusted his aim downwards. He fired, pulling him out of his tactical cloak. The bullet tore through the vorcha's right shoulder, crippling his arm and forcing him to drop his weapon in pain.

    Keelo exhaled and retreated behind the column. He knew that he shouldn't be pulling his punches. During the Citadel attack, he didn't hold back against the geth. Despite the quarians' history with the geth, Keelo didn't deem their lives worth less than any other living being. They were artificial intelligence after all. However, he didn't want to kill if he could help it. These Black Fang mercenaries were no more than petty thugs. He hoped that they would just be able to scare them off without having to massacre all of them.

    Keelo knew that this was a fight, and that that was naive. He didn't want to be responsible for one of his teammates dying. He decided that he would try to act as support for his team, picking off the enemy where he could in order to keep his team safe. If he had to kill then he very well might have to, but if it could be avoided, he would prefer to do that.

    The quarian glanced back around the steel support and raised his rifle once again. He initially aimed at the krogan that Domitian was fighting, but that duel was too hectic for him to make a safe shot. The same was true for the krogan who Brask was fighting.

    "Come on..." Keelo breathed as he looked around for other targets. "I need a clear shot..."
    Last edited: Nov 10, 2016
  19. storymasterb

    storymasterb Knight of RPGs

    Melanie's shields wailed as gunfire threatened to shatter them. Focusing and trying to ward off the tendrils of pain worming into her cranium, she raised a mass effect field between her and the bullets, bolstering her defense. She returned fire with her pistol, trying to maintain her barrier at the same time.

    "Not now," she muttered to herself as pain threatened to split her skull. One of her bullets caught a vorcha in the neck and the alien went down gasping for breath.

    Another of the vorcha came as though trying to avenge its fallen comrades, brandishing vicious-looking spiked knuckledusters. Melanie clenched a fist and it froze mid-swing of the fist, held in stasis. The pain grew as she struggled to focus. Maintaining two powers at once was draining and hard to maintain. She knew she couldn't keep it up for long.

    She aimed her pistol at the vorcha's face. It didn't respond, frozen in that grimace of fury. If it weren't for the Night Fangs trying to kill them, she might've hesitated. The younger Melanie would have.

    She fired and blood sprayed. The vorcha fell like a marionette with slashed strings. The strain on her body lessened, but the pain still clawed at her head. Seven vorcha down. Five to go, and three krogan. She had heard a sniper rifle's crack and a glance confirmed that Keelo had taken position. She hadn't pegged him as a sniper, but it made some sense. Domitian still duelled the lead krogan, red omni-blades against a crude bayonet. Everyone else fought and it was clear that the Night Fangs had severely underestimated the group.

    That didn't mean that they were safe. Even if the Night Fangs were crushed, they could easily take one of the group with them.

    She snapped off some more shots towards the remaining vorcha, then ducked into cover to drop her barrier and refresh her focus.


    Domitian laughed as his blades met the krogan's. The superheated edges met jagged metal, sending tremors up his arm with each impact. His shields were long shattered, but the danger only made him more alive. He already bled from a shallow wound to the face where the krogan had overpowered his guard.

    "You're good," the krogan jeered. "Pretty damn good."

    "The same cannot be said for you," Domitian mocked. His jump-jets fired and propelled him aside, letting the krogan's bayonet cut the air where he had just been. An instant later, one of Domitian's blades ripped across his face, burning the krogan's flesh with a white-hot tip.

    The krogan growled, then laughed. "Cut for a cut. Don't get too cocky."

    "I do not plan to." Domitian jump-jetted back, spraying his opponent with short bursts from his assault rifle, then jetted to the side to dodge a burst of the shotgun. The turian raced forwards, stabbing with his crimson blades, and the krogan took the blows on his armor.

    The krogan's fist came down like a hammer, but Domitian side-stepped the blow, then used his jets to ram his opponent back and slam the krogan into a wall. The alien groaned and grabbed Domitian by the face, fingers crushing into skin. Domitian answered with a sharp jab to the gut that got him free, then a jet-boosted kick to escape his opponent's reach.

    "Think you've got what it takes to put a krogan down?" the Night Fangs leader jeered.

    "I have before," Domitian answered. "Your species are rightfully known for endurance, if nothing else of merit. But you are hardly insurmountable."

    The krogan laughed and charged, blasting with his shotgun. Domitian brought up an arm to guard his face, feeling the impacts on his armor, then coming around. The bayonet fell, but Domitian blocked the blade with his own, then swiftly grabbed the shotgun and twisted it from his opponent's grip with a jet-boosted spin.

    The shotgun was tossed away, and Domitian's blade spun round into his opponent's forehead, just below the head crest. Orange fluid leaked from the wound as the krogan roared.

    "Oh, I have become very good at killing your sort," Domitian sneered, withdrawing the blade and bringing up his assault rifle.

    The krogan's fist slammed into the turian and crushed him back as the raging krogan charged. Domitian reeled back from the blows, dodging each clawing lunge for his face and retaliating with skilled jabs from his blades and bursts from his rifle. As much as he laughed and felt alive, he knew that a blood raging krogan was not a foe to trifle with. But while rage might have been a hell of an anaesthetic, Domitian had his own answer.

    He splayed his left hand's fingers and keyed a code on the air, causing his omni-tool to flash for a moment. Stimulants flooded his system, drowning out the stinging of the cut on his face and making his heart beat faster. Domitian sped up to meet his opponent's pace, fuelled by the drugs and his own love for battle. Each hammer-like blow that fell was dodged or deflected enough to reduce the damage, though Domitian's armor chipped and a stray blow crushed into his face.

    He loved every second, every blow that came perilously close to breaking his skull.

    Domitian's laughter rang out as he danced on the edge of death, relishing every passing instant and almost sad he would have to end it soon.
  20. Clewt

    Clewt Member

    Rosh watched the Quarian, Keelo, with some curiosity before the crimson marked Turian spoke up again.

    ""Ah, yes, merchandise," he replied with an airquotes gesture. "Vapid corporate-speak. I wonder what the 'merchandise' is. I doubt that expense has been spared when assembling this team, suggesting that whatever it is is valuable." There was a glint of interest in his eyes. "Perhaps we will have to interrogate whatever representative is sent to meet us about this subject." He regarded Roshiovis. "It seems that we are quite different... Rosh. Quite different indeed." He gave a wry chuckle and turned to the rest of the group, seeing Cog be disciplined by Kalros."

    Pale violet eyes rested on Domitian’s back blankly when he moved to face away. Rosh knew very well this job centered a rather lucrative objective. In the past, the term merchandise had been used for many things, around him, including slaves. He had taken this job warily, and in hopes that it would be legitimate.

    As far as differences in team mates… Rosh almost felt amused by the other Turians comment. Rarely had he found himself agreeable with the majority of his own species.
    A product of him upbringing.

    The Turian rolled his shoulders, agitation rising briefly.
    For a few moments he let his gaze skitter across the group, committing to memory overheard names and displays of personality traits.
    He stayed on the Krogan still enjoying his drink, the only one who had not given up much about themselves.
    Realizing his stare was being matched, he quickly looked away.

    ‘Don’t stare at the annoyed Krogan. No need to start a challenge and get pounded into the floor, Rosh.’

    Hearing a message coming through, he felt marginally grateful for the save as everyone looked distracted by it.

    ‘Moving out, huh..’

    Bending down, Rosh snagged the sling of his bag and hauled it back over his shoulder.
    Twisting around, he waited for everyone else to file out before replacing his helmet and following at his own pace.


    Bringing up the rear of the group, Rosh kept at a leisure walk. He did not give much thought to their destination. However, the farther they traveled the more he could feel a pressure building, a sense of being observed, perhaps.

    The dark armored Turian turned a full 360, taking in everything around them. He did not spot anything too alarming; merely shadows and decay.
    Attributing it to the usual discomfort he felt while here, Rosh focused back on the main group.

    By the time he caught up to the now-stopped little caravan, those mere shadows had started to move. Glancing towards the front, he spotted why.
    Rosh caught the tail end of an exchange before watching the other Turian throw himself into a fight.
    Catching on to the situation, Rosh let his shoulders slump and his head tilt from annoyance. ‘This was supposed to be an easy job.’

    With surprising quickness, Rosh side stepped as a rather injured Vorcha came flying by him. While leaving the main combat area, he eyed where each of his newly-dubbed teammates had positioned themselves. Hearing the familiar sound of a sniper rifle, he spotted the only one that remained stationary.

    With hasty long strides and a fluid twist, Rosh made himself flush with the same cover Keelo had chosen. He dropped his extra load on the ground right next to the Quarian.

    “Watch this for a moment, please.” the Turian spoke up just loud enough to be heard over all the commotion.

    “Stay safe.” He quipped with a quick nod and took off in the direction of the few gang members left.

    Finding one of the Vorcha’s who had taken to pulling potshots from behind cover, Rosh took his time flanking. No hesitation, he surged forward, wrapping an arm around its neck and knocking the rifle from its hands. He leaned his head in, keeping the alien in a firm grip.

    “You have two choices, scamper away.. or death.” Rosh spoke low, his helmet intensifying his voices natural dual-tone. The Vorcha snarled at him.
    The glint of a blade, muscles jerked, and the sound of a cracking neck followed. Unwinding his arms from around the corpse, Rosh moved to acquire another target without glancing at the crumpled body.
    Last edited: Nov 12, 2016

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