Post by Deleted on Feb 2, 2014 17:45:46 GMT -6
[WARNING: This post contains some brutal violence.]
Graal studied the ruins through the scope of the sniper rifle. Had they been within the lands belonging to his clan, he would have simply walked among them rather than looking at them. And since he was under orders not to initiate hostilities with the other clans, looking was all he could do.
“Beautiful,” he whispered to himself. He didn’t know why, but looking at the ancient ruins of his people made him feel good. He knew most of his race looked at them in despair, that they were symbols of a once-proud race brought low and one step closer to extinction with every passing day.
But where others saw despair, he saw hope. The krogan who had built those structures were long gone, but even now what they built had endured, and if there was one thing krogan knew, even more than fighting, it was to endure. And if those structures had endured, maybe his people could endure the hated genophage that had been inflicted on them, maybe someday it would even be cured.
Maybe that day would come, but he knew he would not be the one to bring it about. He was bigger and stronger than most krogan, so he knew what he had been born for: to fight, and he did it well. A change as big as the cure would have to be fought for, and that’s what he could do.
Maybe that’s why I joined Urdnot, he thought.
Wrex, the current clan chief, was doing a lot of things that many traditional-minded krogan questioned, such as creating a neutral ground for other clans to meet and focusing scientific efforts in crop genetics and medical improvements. The clan obeyed him—after all, he had actually killed a thresher maw when he conducted his Rite of Passage rather than just surviving for five minutes against it like most others did—but they still questioned him; most krogan were interested in immediate gains of power rather than working for a future that would probably never come.
Graal looked at what Wrex was doing and saw that he was planning a future for his people. Rumor had it Wrex was working on a cure for the genophage and was close to finding it, but Graal paid no attention to rumors; they were as numerous as pyjaks and twice as useless.
He shook his head to clear it of any more thoughts and switched his focus on another structure. He didn’t know what it was, but it was still standing.
Beautiful, he thought.
*****
The sound of approaching footsteps brought him back to the world, and it annoyed him. Outside of killing, looking at the structures was the only thing that made him feel good, and to be taken away from it bothered him. It almost made him want to kill the offending party. He hoped whoever approaching him was from another clan.
But the footsteps approached from behind him, so he knew whoever it was would be another member of his clan—no, there were two them, judging by the quantity of footfalls, unless the krogan approaching had been born with four legs instead of two.
“What?” he snarled, not bothering to hide his annoyance and not even bothering to look back.
“Chief wants to see you,” came the reply.
This surprised him. He turned around and saw two other krogan. He knew one of them—Brek, a fellow scout—but the other one was a stranger to him, so he only must have just joined the clan.
Graal didn’t ask why; it was enough to know Wrex wanted to see him. He collapsed the sniper rifle and placed it on its slot over his left shoulder, then started making his way back to the base.
“Why carry that thing?” the unknown krogan said to him. “I thought only squishies used those!”
He wasn’t sure if the insult was intentional or not, but it was out there. Among his kind, any non-krogan was often referred to as “squishy”, because they had soft bodies and were therefore weak.
And weakness was not tolerated among his kind.
He considered what form of retaliation to take, because any sort of challenge or insult that went unanswered was considered another sign of weakness. Several different options presented themselves to him, and they all looked good, but he needed time to consider them. He figured he’d reach a decision by the time he got back to the base, where there would be a lot more witnesses to his reprisal.
Fine, he thought. Let the little pile of pyjak dung let him think he’s won a victory.
He made his way back to the base, considering how best to exact his revenge.
*****
He entered the compound, and seen little had changed: Ratch the merchant at his shop, trying to figure out how to make a profit; the mechanic, cursing everyone who mistreated his tomkahs, the massive wheeled vehicles used for travel on his planet; and Fortack, the Lord High Researcher, grumbling about how his genius was being wasted on making things that didn’t explode.
He passed by the varren fighting pit, and could see a match was going on, unless the spectators had all gone crazy and were cheering a nonexistent fight. He knew he was in the minority, but he didn’t care much for it. Fighting should be to gain something or protect something valuable, not for…entertainment.
*****
He reached the chief’s throne room, and one of the two guards protecting it stepped forward, blocking him. “The chief said he did not wish to be disturbed,” he said.
“The chief summoned me,” Graal explained.
“He is not to be disturbed,” the other guard insisted.
He glared at them, trying to figure out which annoyed him the most, their arrogance or their stupidity. He noticed people guarding things often fell victim to swollen egos, that they had somehow become as important as whatever they were guarding, when in reality they were expendable piles of meat. And because they fell in love with that sense of importance, they would do anything to maintain the way the way things were, even if they were wrong.
But he also knew that Wrex was trying to build a future for his people, something not so violent, so he would give civility a chance.
“Then go tell the chief I am here,” he said. “If he doesn’t want to be disturbed, I’ll wait.”
“He said he doesn’t want to be disturbed,” the first one said stubbornly.
All right, I tried being civil...
“Fine, I’ll ask him,” he said. “Try to stop me if you can.”
With that he surged past them, entering the throne room.
*****
The throne room wasn’t all that impressive, just some empty space with some rubble at the far end organized into something resembling a throne. On it sat Wrex, the chief of Clan Urdnot, who seemed to be thinking about something—that is, until Graal entered with the two protesting guards in tow.
“About time you showed up,” he rumbled at Graal. To the guards he said, “You two, leave us. I am not to be disturbed. And this time I mean it!”
“Yes, Chief,” one of them said, and they hurried out.
“Idiots,” Wrex muttered after them, and then looked at Graal.
“I got a job offer from the Shadow Broker, a very powerful information broker,” he said, not wasting time with pleasantries. “I worked for him a few times. The jobs were good, with worthy foes and good pay. Listen,” he said. He tapped at his omnitool, and an electronically distorted voice filled the room.
“Wrex, I have a job that could use a good krogan. The adversaries are the Collectors. Send one warrior to Chora’s Den to meet with the human Esteban Bridges in one week’s time. Bridges will give the rest of the details. The pay will be…generous.”
*****
“Collectors…” Graal said musingly. “Like the ones Grunt fought.”
“Unless there’s another group out there calling themselves Collectors,” Wrex said. “There’s a ship that’s making a stop here in two hours to pick you up. Make sure you take care of your unfinished business.”
Only another krogan would be able to read the confusion that crossed Graal’s face.
Wrex’s eyes flicked to the sniper rifle, and Graal understood.
“I was already planning to deal with that,” Graal said. “I just wanted a big audience.”
Wrex smiled. It was a sight that made most non-krogan start looking for the nearest mass effect relay.
*****
It didn’t take him long to find the young one who had insulted him. He stood with several other young krogan, probably telling the story and probably exaggerating it, maybe even saying he made Graal cry. One of the listeners spotted him coming and told the young one, who turned to face him.
He reached the young one and the listeners bowed their heads in deference, but the young one didn’t, clearly assured of his own superiority. “What do you want?” he said arrogantly.
I’m going to enjoy this…
“Chief wanted me to give you a message,” Graal said.
“What is it?” the young one asked.
He charged the young one, wrapping him up in his arms, and slammed him into a wall, which groaned slightly in protest but held.
Yes, our ancestors really made these things to last…
He released the stunned krogan and slammed him into the ground, then raised his leg and brought it down on the young one’s elbow with all the power and mercilessness of a piston, pulverizing it.
The krogan screamed in pain and grabbed at a heavy pistol on his belt.
Graal caught the hand—an Executioner pistol, where did he get that?—pulled back his fist as far as he could and slammed it into the other elbow, only breaking it, but still some bone jutted through. He then fell onto the young one, straddling his chest.
“How did you ever pass the Rite?” he asked. “Don’t answer, I already know. You scurried and hid like some pyjak. I didn’t. I stood against it. I fought it. I wounded it! ME!”
He stood up and roared to the crowd of spectators, “I AM GRAAL OF URDNOT! TO CHALLENGE MY MEMBERSHIP IN THE CLAN IS TO CHALLENGE THE WORD OF THE SHAMAN AND THE CHIEF HIMSELF! DOES ANYONE ELSE CHALLENGE MY MEMBERSHIP IN THE CLAN?!”
Of course there weren’t, but he did notice several nods of approval from the crowd.
“Kill me,” the young one gasped. “Aren’t…you going…to kill me?”
He didn’t learn anything, the stupid pyjak…
“You’re not worth killing,” Graal said, delivering the final insult, and went off to find Ratch to get some heat sinks.
Graal studied the ruins through the scope of the sniper rifle. Had they been within the lands belonging to his clan, he would have simply walked among them rather than looking at them. And since he was under orders not to initiate hostilities with the other clans, looking was all he could do.
“Beautiful,” he whispered to himself. He didn’t know why, but looking at the ancient ruins of his people made him feel good. He knew most of his race looked at them in despair, that they were symbols of a once-proud race brought low and one step closer to extinction with every passing day.
But where others saw despair, he saw hope. The krogan who had built those structures were long gone, but even now what they built had endured, and if there was one thing krogan knew, even more than fighting, it was to endure. And if those structures had endured, maybe his people could endure the hated genophage that had been inflicted on them, maybe someday it would even be cured.
Maybe that day would come, but he knew he would not be the one to bring it about. He was bigger and stronger than most krogan, so he knew what he had been born for: to fight, and he did it well. A change as big as the cure would have to be fought for, and that’s what he could do.
Maybe that’s why I joined Urdnot, he thought.
Wrex, the current clan chief, was doing a lot of things that many traditional-minded krogan questioned, such as creating a neutral ground for other clans to meet and focusing scientific efforts in crop genetics and medical improvements. The clan obeyed him—after all, he had actually killed a thresher maw when he conducted his Rite of Passage rather than just surviving for five minutes against it like most others did—but they still questioned him; most krogan were interested in immediate gains of power rather than working for a future that would probably never come.
Graal looked at what Wrex was doing and saw that he was planning a future for his people. Rumor had it Wrex was working on a cure for the genophage and was close to finding it, but Graal paid no attention to rumors; they were as numerous as pyjaks and twice as useless.
He shook his head to clear it of any more thoughts and switched his focus on another structure. He didn’t know what it was, but it was still standing.
Beautiful, he thought.
*****
The sound of approaching footsteps brought him back to the world, and it annoyed him. Outside of killing, looking at the structures was the only thing that made him feel good, and to be taken away from it bothered him. It almost made him want to kill the offending party. He hoped whoever approaching him was from another clan.
But the footsteps approached from behind him, so he knew whoever it was would be another member of his clan—no, there were two them, judging by the quantity of footfalls, unless the krogan approaching had been born with four legs instead of two.
“What?” he snarled, not bothering to hide his annoyance and not even bothering to look back.
“Chief wants to see you,” came the reply.
This surprised him. He turned around and saw two other krogan. He knew one of them—Brek, a fellow scout—but the other one was a stranger to him, so he only must have just joined the clan.
Graal didn’t ask why; it was enough to know Wrex wanted to see him. He collapsed the sniper rifle and placed it on its slot over his left shoulder, then started making his way back to the base.
“Why carry that thing?” the unknown krogan said to him. “I thought only squishies used those!”
He wasn’t sure if the insult was intentional or not, but it was out there. Among his kind, any non-krogan was often referred to as “squishy”, because they had soft bodies and were therefore weak.
And weakness was not tolerated among his kind.
He considered what form of retaliation to take, because any sort of challenge or insult that went unanswered was considered another sign of weakness. Several different options presented themselves to him, and they all looked good, but he needed time to consider them. He figured he’d reach a decision by the time he got back to the base, where there would be a lot more witnesses to his reprisal.
Fine, he thought. Let the little pile of pyjak dung let him think he’s won a victory.
He made his way back to the base, considering how best to exact his revenge.
*****
He entered the compound, and seen little had changed: Ratch the merchant at his shop, trying to figure out how to make a profit; the mechanic, cursing everyone who mistreated his tomkahs, the massive wheeled vehicles used for travel on his planet; and Fortack, the Lord High Researcher, grumbling about how his genius was being wasted on making things that didn’t explode.
He passed by the varren fighting pit, and could see a match was going on, unless the spectators had all gone crazy and were cheering a nonexistent fight. He knew he was in the minority, but he didn’t care much for it. Fighting should be to gain something or protect something valuable, not for…entertainment.
*****
He reached the chief’s throne room, and one of the two guards protecting it stepped forward, blocking him. “The chief said he did not wish to be disturbed,” he said.
“The chief summoned me,” Graal explained.
“He is not to be disturbed,” the other guard insisted.
He glared at them, trying to figure out which annoyed him the most, their arrogance or their stupidity. He noticed people guarding things often fell victim to swollen egos, that they had somehow become as important as whatever they were guarding, when in reality they were expendable piles of meat. And because they fell in love with that sense of importance, they would do anything to maintain the way the way things were, even if they were wrong.
But he also knew that Wrex was trying to build a future for his people, something not so violent, so he would give civility a chance.
“Then go tell the chief I am here,” he said. “If he doesn’t want to be disturbed, I’ll wait.”
“He said he doesn’t want to be disturbed,” the first one said stubbornly.
All right, I tried being civil...
“Fine, I’ll ask him,” he said. “Try to stop me if you can.”
With that he surged past them, entering the throne room.
*****
The throne room wasn’t all that impressive, just some empty space with some rubble at the far end organized into something resembling a throne. On it sat Wrex, the chief of Clan Urdnot, who seemed to be thinking about something—that is, until Graal entered with the two protesting guards in tow.
“About time you showed up,” he rumbled at Graal. To the guards he said, “You two, leave us. I am not to be disturbed. And this time I mean it!”
“Yes, Chief,” one of them said, and they hurried out.
“Idiots,” Wrex muttered after them, and then looked at Graal.
“I got a job offer from the Shadow Broker, a very powerful information broker,” he said, not wasting time with pleasantries. “I worked for him a few times. The jobs were good, with worthy foes and good pay. Listen,” he said. He tapped at his omnitool, and an electronically distorted voice filled the room.
“Wrex, I have a job that could use a good krogan. The adversaries are the Collectors. Send one warrior to Chora’s Den to meet with the human Esteban Bridges in one week’s time. Bridges will give the rest of the details. The pay will be…generous.”
*****
“Collectors…” Graal said musingly. “Like the ones Grunt fought.”
“Unless there’s another group out there calling themselves Collectors,” Wrex said. “There’s a ship that’s making a stop here in two hours to pick you up. Make sure you take care of your unfinished business.”
Only another krogan would be able to read the confusion that crossed Graal’s face.
Wrex’s eyes flicked to the sniper rifle, and Graal understood.
“I was already planning to deal with that,” Graal said. “I just wanted a big audience.”
Wrex smiled. It was a sight that made most non-krogan start looking for the nearest mass effect relay.
*****
It didn’t take him long to find the young one who had insulted him. He stood with several other young krogan, probably telling the story and probably exaggerating it, maybe even saying he made Graal cry. One of the listeners spotted him coming and told the young one, who turned to face him.
He reached the young one and the listeners bowed their heads in deference, but the young one didn’t, clearly assured of his own superiority. “What do you want?” he said arrogantly.
I’m going to enjoy this…
“Chief wanted me to give you a message,” Graal said.
“What is it?” the young one asked.
He charged the young one, wrapping him up in his arms, and slammed him into a wall, which groaned slightly in protest but held.
Yes, our ancestors really made these things to last…
He released the stunned krogan and slammed him into the ground, then raised his leg and brought it down on the young one’s elbow with all the power and mercilessness of a piston, pulverizing it.
The krogan screamed in pain and grabbed at a heavy pistol on his belt.
Graal caught the hand—an Executioner pistol, where did he get that?—pulled back his fist as far as he could and slammed it into the other elbow, only breaking it, but still some bone jutted through. He then fell onto the young one, straddling his chest.
“How did you ever pass the Rite?” he asked. “Don’t answer, I already know. You scurried and hid like some pyjak. I didn’t. I stood against it. I fought it. I wounded it! ME!”
He stood up and roared to the crowd of spectators, “I AM GRAAL OF URDNOT! TO CHALLENGE MY MEMBERSHIP IN THE CLAN IS TO CHALLENGE THE WORD OF THE SHAMAN AND THE CHIEF HIMSELF! DOES ANYONE ELSE CHALLENGE MY MEMBERSHIP IN THE CLAN?!”
Of course there weren’t, but he did notice several nods of approval from the crowd.
“Kill me,” the young one gasped. “Aren’t…you going…to kill me?”
He didn’t learn anything, the stupid pyjak…
“You’re not worth killing,” Graal said, delivering the final insult, and went off to find Ratch to get some heat sinks.