LibriumArcana.Games

Bastion station itself began almost immediately after the war as an idea - that all sapient species in the galaxy should have a hand in creating and maintaining their galactic center. And so, quarians, asari, humans, turians, drell, elcor, even volus and krogans contributed to the materials and design. Though functional now, it wouldn't be complete for a number of years - even so, it already appeared to be a small, glittering jewel in the Menvra system, orbiting the single inner planet Toran as it orbited its yellow-orange star.

Today was the day that the Normandy was arriving to pick up the candidates at Bastion Station, but beyond that, the day on the station was much like any other day - save the heightened security on the station, which some wondered at.

The populace had been abuzz about the Spectre candidacy trials, a first in the history of the Spectres, ever since partial vids surfaced of Shepard recently lambasting the Council - at length, a few months ago - for how they were handling potential Spectre recruitment. An oft-repeated quote from her speech to the Council was "Yes - they must be exemplary soldiers, but they have to play well with others. The days of the lone-wolf Spectre are over."

However, it seemed most in the fields of journalism and politics had different ideas of what precisely that meant, and it didn't help matters that Council sessions were not open to the general public. However, Shepard herself appeared to mostly ignore the furor, much in the same way as she mostly ignored the movie loosely made about her exploits that was released shortly after the Reaper War.

There was a small, though curious crowd near the docking bays, mostly asking questions as to why travel had suddenly been restricted for the past few hours, but B-Sec offered no real explanation, much to the annoyance of a few onlookers. Both Emily Wong and Khalisah al-Jilani were present, along with their cameras, though at the moment only Ms. al-Jilani's was on.

She was currently interviewing a man ranting loudly about how aliens had led the galaxy into decadence and decay, and only by allowing humans to be recognized as the superior form of life could these problems be solved. His rantings were mostly being ignored by the others gathered, with some measure of success.

At precisely 1300, a few people's personal omnitools buzzed with the same message: "Please proceed to meet the Normandy at docking bay 48."

Bastion Transit Hub

Kalis Maraka preferred the Citadel. At least for the docking bays. The Citadel was already built, there was plenty to do, lots of places to grab a bite to eat before catching a shuttle or returning to one's ship. Bastion, it was just getting started. Only a smattering of places to eat, and none really close the the Transit Hub. And unlike the Citadel, view screens hadn't fully been installed yet. Here, with the Transit Hub waiting area attached to B-Sec, there was few things to entertain. Here, he just had his omni-tool and enjoying the spectacle of reporters yelling questions at the B-Sec officers about why all the increased security today. He took a bite of some dried meat from Palaven and tapped his foot, waiting.

The Turian let his sharp eyes wander over the crowd. He was seated in the waiting area, a large rucksack next to him, his armor on his tall, lean frame. One less thing to carry in an already overcrowded bag. Undergarments, some physical fitness garb, toiletries, a couple pairs of civilian clothes, a data tablet, Hierarchy Utility Fatigues, two pairs of boots, a disassembled pistol and assault rifle in a locked case. He looked like hundreds and thousands of other Turian soldiers, marines and fleeters that passed through daily. To a non-Turian, he would just be another blue blooded alien. Nothing special visually about him. To those who knew a bit about the Heirarchy, they might guess him to be a marine or soldier, his armor scratched and dinged and lacking the shine of newly issued gear. To those that knew Turian Hierarchy unit insignias, they could tell he was HSOG. Hierarchy Special Operations Group. A designation that could have dozens of different meanings. After all, HSOG encompassed everything from commandos to intelligence agents to specialty pilotes and drone operators. And anyone who had served alongside HSOG could tell you, that the tiny emblem on his upper right shoulder meant Kalis Maraka was part of the Cabal. The Turian Biotics command. Scary creatures who lacked true spirits and killed their foes and claimed the fallen's for themselves. At least, that's what some people said.

It also meant that he was often placed in situations that forced him to rise to the challenge. None more so than that fateful night over a year ago, at Grameria Heights. Holding the line, knee deep in fallen husks and dead scions, well, it ensured he got noticed by HSOG command. And when the Hierarchy asked around for suggestions for the SpecTRe Candidates, Maraka was on a high place of a very short list. A war hero, a defender of innocents. A consummate Turian warrior. A chance to remove the stain of dishonor the last Turian biotic had left on the SpecTRes, the Cabal and his fellow species.

Kalis sighed and tilted his head, cracking his neck and groaning in delight as he did so. His eyes drifted close, hoping to cat- And there was the beep of his omni-tool. The biotic looked down and with a grin that spread his mandibles stood, his clawed and gloved hands reaching down to grab his ruck, throwing it on over his back, the straps over his shoulders, the magnetic clamps on the bag attaching to his armor. With that, the Thracian native began his march towards destiny. And doing his level best to not look like he was a SpecTRe candidate. He may be honored, but that didn't mean he enjoyed the press.

At that moment in time, Emily Wong checked her wrist, smiled, and began walking toward the docking bay doors. Upon seeing her, the other reporter present, Khalisah al-Jilani, couldn't resist asking snidely, "Where do you think you're going, Wong?"

Emily turned around, and smiled brightly. "Well, apparently a reporter was given an invitation to the ship," she replied, cheerily. "Take care, Khalisah!"

"Oh, no you don't, Wong!" Khalisah snarled. "I know what kind of ship is docked there, my sources have just now informed me! What's going on here? I demand an explanation, Wong!"

"I think you know whose ship it is," Emily replied, calmly, with a gentle smile. "And I have an invitation to board. Do you?"

Khalisah paled at the thought, though said nothing, her mouth opening and closing without a sound.

"Take care, Khalisah!" Emily smiled with a wave, before walking again toward the doors, the guards at either side examining her ID, and nodding before letting her through.

Looking furious, she turned around, and saw Kalis. "Excuse me! Excuse me!", she called, running over to him. "Khalisah al-Jilani, Westerlund News. Do you have time for a few questions? Of course you do. Why are you being allowed to board that ship out there?"

Adrenaline. Surely the place stunk of it as they walked to the docking ring. A simple scan showed the air heavy with it. The Geth had agreed the time had come to contribute to the civilized galaxy, and this mobile platform was ideal. Smaller than a Prime, more densely armoured than a Trooper, it was ideal. It's insides had required modification to fit on the thousand-plus runtimes needed, but that was a minor concern. The Geth scanned as it was now in full view. More adrenaline. Also fear. Logical: Biological units had rarely encountered non-Heretic mobile platforms. It's 'face' flaps adjusted simply. This platform and it's programs had been designed to be nominated. No one was surprised when it was. Now it was far away. Only FTL comms allowed it to contact other Geth, but it could form an internal consensus. It was agreed this was optimal for this mission.

SirNitram wrote:Adrenaline. Surely the place stunk of it as they walked to the docking ring. A simple scan showed the air heavy with it. The Geth had agreed the time had come to contribute to the civilized galaxy, and this mobile platform was ideal. Smaller than a Prime, more densely armoured than a Trooper, it was ideal. It's insides had required modification to fit on the thousand-plus runtimes needed, but that was a minor concern. The Geth scanned as it was now in full view. More adrenaline. Also fear. Logical: Biological units had rarely encountered non-Heretic mobile platforms. It's 'face' flaps adjusted simply. This platform and it's programs had been designed to be nominated. No one was surprised when it was. Now it was far away. Only FTL comms allowed it to contact other Geth, but it could form an internal consensus. It was agreed this was optimal for this mission.

The crowd shrank away from the geth platform as it walked toward the docking bay, most whispering to themselves as they did. Khalisah al-Jilani's camera immediately spun around to shine its single eye on the geth platform. "A geth!", she exclaimed. "What is a geth going here? Why aren't people outraged at this?"

The crowd began murmuring to themselves.

rhoenix wrote:Looking furious, she turned around, and saw Kalis. "Excuse me! Excuse me!", he called, running over to him. "Khalisah al-Jilani, Westerlund News. Do you have time for a few questions? Of course you do. Why are you being allowed to board that ship out there?"

Apperently, his level best wasn't good enough. The Turian sighed and turned towards the human. "Which ship, Ma'am? There are at least fifteen ships docked down this route. Some shuttles, a couple passenger liners and two Hierarchy Troop Transports. You'll have to be more specific." The biotic answered and watched as she was distracted by the geth platform. And with that, the Turian swiftly made his escape down the hallway, showing his ID to the guards and getting waved through.

As al-Jilani attempted to extract an interview from a turian, Mikhail quietly stepped around the impromptu media scrum and entered the ship.

Illium
Eternity
After Hours

“So there I was, bellied down on a balcony overlooking what I thought would be a good shooter’s nest. I got into position early, figured I’d keep an overwatch on things, swoop in if need be, yadda yadda, all very dramatic if anyone’d been watching.”

Iona paused to take a drink from a shotglass half-filled with something remarkably green, to the point of subtle radiance. She was dressed in what looked to the untrained eye to be a typical asari dress, snug-fitted, high-collared, this one colored in blue and white. A trained eye, like those of either of the only two people left in the bar after hours, would easily note the discrete modifications, the concealed slits to free up mobility, the network of just-too-thick segments that spoke of a concealed shield network. It was, in short, the kind of dress designed to let a combat veteran feel safe enough to relax when outside of battle armour.

She held the mouthful for a moment, then swallowed it down and began coughing immediately. When she finally managed to straighten up a few seconds later, she came face to face with a grinning Aethyta, who simply inclined her head at Iona’s arched eyebrow and said, “It’s Krogan.”

“...It would be, wouldn’t it,” came Iona’s reply, answered by an even wider grin from the bartender. “Anyway, where was I. Balcony, bellied down, swoop, yeah, that. Sitting still, unlit room, night outside, I had my stealth field running, so I was the next best thing to invisible. You can imagine I had a bad moment when I heard the door open behind me. Here I am, face down on the ground, pointed away from someone behind me, and I’m not even holding a gun.. Greeaat. So I hold still, hope whoever it is doesn’t know where I am.” Again she paused, looking down at the identical shotglass there, this one with something purple and murky in it. She looked up with a mock-suspicious expression and asked, “Is that one Krogan too?”

“Nope.”

“...What, worse? Do the Geth even have mixed drinks?”

It took a good while for Aethyta to stop laughing after that. Finally, grinning broadly, she shook her head back and forth and managed a single word, “Salarian.”

“Oooh, haven’t had any of that since the last time I raided Dad’s ‘secret cabinet.’” Tossing the shot back, she sighed and nodded again, “Muuch better. Strange, come to think of it. Every race’s drinks reflect them. Krogan, feels like a battlemaster’s running around your throat, shotgun included. Salarian, just sorta sneaks up and slithers down your throat when you’re not paying attention.” She paused for a few seconds, frowning, then shrugged, “Okay, maybe not every drink. I don’t think Batarian whiskey actually enslaves you, unless it’s been spiked.”

“I don’t know about that, Batarian stuff can be pretty addictive...” came the wry reply from across the bar, answered by a snort from Iona.

“I’ll give you that much, on the condition that you don’t make me try it. Anyway, he didn’t shoot me right off, which...okay, I had full shields, but it would have been a pretty piss-poor way to start a fight. So I heard someone walking around behind me, getting closer. Every other step is heavy, I could tell he was carrying something heavy. Next thing I know, he’s in my peripheral vision, Turian, carrying a really mean bastard of a sniper rifle. It was still folded up, and he wasn’t toting a sidearm, so I figured he wasn’t there hunting me. Anyway, he started to lie down, less than a hand’s width from me, and I realized that he was a better shot that I’d expected. He wasn’t there looking for me, he was going to use my lookout nest as his shooter’s perch, rather than any of the closer points I was watching out for.”

Iona grinned, caught up in the story and spurning another drink for the moment, “So I’m holding my breath, perfectly still, while the assassin I was looking for is, literally, at a kissing distance from me. Once he got settled, got the rifle set up and was looking down the scope, he was mine, but by this point I was grinning like a maniac, had to have some fun with it. You never have a chance like this again. So anyway, I just reached over and snapped on the safety. Of course on most modern rifles, that’s also the compression toggle. Damned rifle folded up in his hands out of nowhere, and he was staring down the scope, so he couldn’t even see the motion-blur through my stealth field.”

She glanced down, then back up with an appreciative smile at the sight of that same murky Salarian liquor in a waiting glass. After downing it, she continued on with mounting enthusiasm, “And then I just waited. He hadn’t seen me, had no idea anyone was there, just that his rifle’d folded up while he was trying to use it. So he deployed it again, sighted down the scope, and settled in to wait for his target. I gave it a few minutes, then safetied the weapon again. By this point, he was getting pissed. He called the poor thing all manner of names, hit it a few times, which can’t have done the optics any good, and then set up again. By now, of course, the poor guy was totally convinced he was dealing with defective hardware, and he was actually making quite a racket. When I did it to him one more time, he started banging the rifle against the balcony railing. Percussive maintenance at its finest.”

“A few minutes later,” an actual giggle rose up from the tipsy figure, “One of the building security guards knocked on the door. At which point I knocked the sniper out before anyone could get hurt, got off the floor before I could end up facing any awkward questions as to why I was lying down next to an assassin, and left him in the custody of the local police. To this day, he thinks a faulty weapon blew his assassination attempt, at least as far as I know.”

The pair shared a long laugh, finally broken by Aethyta with a shake of her head, “I’ve missed you, Iona. You really should visit more often; maybe I should arrange to have you shot now and again, give you a reason to come home.”

“If you must, but no anti-tank missiles. Once is quite enough for that.”

“Deal. I really should be closing up, though...Drell for the road?”

Iona fixed the thick, black liquid with a dubious expression, finally glancing up at the bartender, “What’s that one do, kill you instantly?”

Bastion Docks
Urdnot Tallos bulled his way through the few people milling around near the docks looking for a interesting show and proceeded towards the docking bay doors, hoping to avoid the xenophobic reporter.

Agent Fisher wrote:Apperently, his level best wasn't good enough. The Turian sighed and turned towards the human. "Which ship, Ma'am? There are at least fifteen ships docked down this route. Some shuttles, a couple passenger liners and two Hierarchy Troop Transports. You'll have to be more specific." The biotic answered and watched as she was distracted by the geth platform. And with that, the Turian swiftly made his escape down the hallway, showing his ID to the guards and getting waved through.

Cynical Cat wrote:As al-Jilani attempted to extract an interview from a turian, Mikhail quietly stepped around the impromptu media scrum and entered the ship.

As the two slipped past the media gauntlet and through the doors, both Kalis and Mikhail found themselves walking in silence toward docking bay 42. The walk was quiet, compared to the circus of the crowd outside - and once they'd walked out of the other set of doors, they beheld the ship whose name was known throughout the galaxy - the Normandy, which currently looked like a mostly-sated hunting hawk.

The second surprise was when the two looked at the area near the airlock to the ship, where they saw a rachni brood warrior, standing quietly near the doors, evidently waiting for the others. Rachni brood warriors weren't exceptionally well-known, but this one seemed larger than one would expect. However, there was no intimidating air about the brood warrior - just a sense of calm, despite his eight glowing blue eyes looking at both of them.

Both Kalis and Mikhail felt it at the same time - a very light mental contact, with undertones of what sounded like a cello being played behind the words, with calm colors of blue and green emphasizing the notes. "I sing greens and blues to you, fellow singers. Are you also here to join Truth-Singer's chorus?"

JD196 wrote:Bastion Docks
Urdnot Tallos bulled his way through the few people milling around near the docks looking for a interesting show and proceeded towards the docking bay doors, hoping to avoid the xenophobic reporter.

Due to the commotion of there being a geth near the docking bay, a full-grown krogan walking past the crowd only barely registered in most people's minds. He emerged into the silence of the inner docking ring, and walked out of the other doors to behold the Normandy, which almost seemed to demand one's attention.

After a moment, Tallos also noticed the turian, human, and the rachni brood warrior standing near the ship.

Bastion Docks

Sol'Amon Nar'Tolshek strolled nonchalantly through the crowds, his black and green envirosuit barely reflecting light, though the silver tattoos running over his legs, arms, and chest all glowed softly every now and then when hit just right. Quickly sliding through the rippling crowd like a lion through wild grass, he learned that apparently a Geth was somewhere in the hangar, more than likely the center of attention judging from the fact that the entire group was muttering about it under their breath.

Like most Quarians, the AI made his spine tingle, but unlike most of his race he saw no reason to hate them for past sins. His people had thrown the first punch and they'd lost, a simple situation, though losing their planet and their immune systems was a high price. Adjusting his bag on his shoulder, he grinned at the fact that he'd brought his essentials, envirosuit tools, and a t-shirt he'd found in a human novelty shop reading 'It's cool, I got this.' that showed a anime'd out Quarian holding a giant wrench on his shoulder. Human's had some great art.

Slipping out of the crowd into a small open space, his golden eyes slightly widened behind his green visor as he glanced to his left. The Geth was standing right next to him, looking to his right Sol realized that he'd stepped right into the human reporters camera angle. Realizing his customized black and green armor would cause him be much easier for aliens to pick out of a group of Quarians he sighed before slamming his palm into the front of his helm in an oddly human/asari gesture for annoyance.

"Ugh, I should've followed the Krogan...."

Soleimon Berserker wrote:Bastion Docks

Sol'Amon Nar'Tolshek strolled nonchalantly through the crowds, his black and green envirosuit barely reflecting light, though the silver tattoos running over his legs, arms, and chest all glowed softly every now and then when hit just right. Quickly sliding through the rippling crowd like a lion through wild grass, he learned that apparently a Geth was somewhere in the hangar, more than likely the center of attention judging from the fact that the entire group was muttering about it under their breath.

Like most Quarians, the AI made his spine tingle, but unlike most of his race he saw no reason to hate them for past sins. His people had thrown the first punch and they'd lost, a simple situation, though losing their planet and their immune systems was a high price. Adjusting his bag on his shoulder, he grinned at the fact that he'd brought his essentials, envirosuit tools, and a t-shirt he'd found in a human novelty shop reading 'It's cool, I got this.' that showed a anime'd out Quarian holding a giant wrench on his shoulder. Human's had some great art.

Slipping out of the crowd into a small open space, his golden eyes slightly widened behind his green visor as he glanced to his left. The Geth was standing right next to him, looking to his right Sol realized that he'd stepped right into the human reporters camera angle. Realizing his customized black and green armor would cause him be much easier for aliens to pick out of a group of Quarians he sighed before slamming his palm into the front of his helm in an oddly human/asari gesture for annoyance.

"Ugh, I should've followed the Krogan...."

Upon seeing the green and black-suited quarian, Khalisah al-Jilani looked relieved, and began walking briskly toward him. "It took you quite long enough, I've been calling my office for the past fifteen minutes," she said, haughtily. "Are you going to fix the audio on my camera, or do I have to complain to the office again?"

Tilting his head to the side in confusion for a moment, Sol quickly realized that the human reporter thought he was some Quarian repairman from her station. Eyes narrowing the young man was on the verge of slamming her with a classic Omega style insult but then he had a better idea. Surreptitiously motioning to the Geth unit to hurry up and get to the hangar while he had the reporter busy, he walked toward Al-Jilani, his normal appearance of broad shouldered Alpha male confidence suddenly missing.

Wringing his hands together nervously the Quarian bowed his head slightly as he spoke, his normal melodic accent a bit worried. "I'm sorry ma'am, the crowd was kind of hard to get through. Please, don't call this in."

Grabbing the camera out of the air as if it were the easiest thing in the world he quickly popped open the hatch at the top of the small bot, though since reporters cameras are designed to avoid collision with anything in a disaster area his grab wouldn't have succeeded if he wasn't a soldier with battle honed reflexes, anyone who'd been in the military would notice that.

Pulling a tool from the pack on his shoulder the Quarian biotic swiftly adjusted a bit of the hardware, fixing the sound, but disabling the camera's lens. Letting it go, the camera floated back up to it's previous position, light shining as brightly as ever but filming nothing. Grinning mischievously behind his mask, Sol kept his voice worried as he spoke, "There you go ma'am, good as new. I'll just be on my way now, you seem pretty busy."

And without further ado, the Quarian jogged up and through the docking bay doors, his melodically accented laughter beginning only after he stepped through.

"Yes," replied Mikhail, restraining the reflex to quick draw his pistol and place a tight burst of three tox rounds into Rachni's skull. The creature was big, primitive looking, and close. Easy, he thought. He's not an enemy. He just looks like a hideous, mindless alien predator. "I am Mikhail Jager."

Cynical Cat wrote:"Yes," replied Mikhail, restraining the reflex to quick draw his pistol and place a tight burst of three tox rounds into Rachni's skull. The creature was big, primitive looking, and close. Easy, he thought. He's not an enemy. He just looks like a hideous, mindless alien predator. "I am Mikhail Jager."

The large brood-warrior looked at Mikhail unblinkingly for a moment. The large creature had remained motionless as Mikhail sorted his thoughts, and then nodded once in return after Mikhail spoke.

The brood warrior's voice was softer, and Mikhail got the impression that the brood warrior was speaking only to him. "I sing greens and blues to learn your name, Mikhail Jager," the rachni replied with the same light mental contact. For a split-second, there was an image of a snow-covered mountainside, with winds carrying icy shards whipping fiercely around the peaks as the brood warrior spoke Mikhail's name.

The brood warrior continued without a pause. "I am Sings-to-the-Stars. I too am here to see if Truth-Singer finds me worthy to join the chorus of the Spectre hive."

Soleimon Berserker wrote:Tilting his head to the side in confusion for a moment, Sol quickly realized that the human reporter thought he was some Quarian repairman from her station. Eyes narrowing the young man was on the verge of slamming her with a classic Omega style insult but then he had a better idea. Surreptitiously motioning to the Geth unit to hurry up and get to the hangar while he had the reporter busy, he walked toward Al-Jilani, his normal appearance of broad shouldered Alpha male confidence suddenly missing.

Wringing his hands together nervously the Quarian bowed his head slightly as he spoke, his normal melodic accent a bit worried. "I'm sorry ma'am, the crowd was kind of hard to get through. Please, don't call this in."

Grabbing the camera out of the air as if it were the easiest thing in the world he quickly popped open the hatch at the top of the small bot, though since reporters cameras are designed to avoid collision with anything in a disaster area his grab wouldn't have succeeded if he wasn't a soldier with battle honed reflexes, anyone who'd been in the military would notice that.

Pulling a tool from the pack on his shoulder the Quarian biotic swiftly adjusted a bit of the hardware, fixing the sound, but disabling the camera's lens. Letting it go, the camera floated back up to it's previous position, light shining as brightly as ever but filming nothing. Grinning mischievously behind his mask, Sol kept his voice worried as he spoke, "There you go ma'am, good as new. I'll just be on my way now, you seem pretty busy."

And without further ado, the Quarian jogged up and through the docking bay doors, his melodically accented laughter beginning only after he stepped through.

The young quarian almost made it through the doors before shouts of offended female outrage reached him, prompting him to hurry.

It was a short walk from there to the other side of this docking bay, and once he emerged from the doors, he beheld the turian, human, and brood warrior waiting outside the ship, and the guards standing by the entrance of the ship looking entirely unphased by the whole situation.

Slowing his jog down to a stunned walk, Sol'Amon cleared his throat before glancing between the other three men and the brood warrior. Judging from the letter he'd recieved, each one of these people had to have received a similar bit of mail, making them some of the deadliest and most talented people on the battlefield in the galaxy. Thinking the rachni definitely looked like he deserved that nom de guerre, Sol nodded his head to all the others in the room, including the guards. Each and every one of the people in the room could easily be a co-worker if they performed well in the test, best to make a good first impression.

"Umm....So you guys get any interesting mail lately?" Sol's smile could be heard behind his mask.

Kalis felt and heard the song in his mind, his eyes locked onto the brood warrior. He had to clamp down on his instincts to toss a throw or shockwave at the rachni. Until the Reaper War, popular culture was the rachni were bugs that were out to overrun the galaxy, a mindless swarm. Spirits, his favorite movie growing up had been The Bug War. He still had the soundtrack on his omni-tool, one song in particular was a great song to zone out to before a battle, 'Good Day to Die'.

His eyes drifted over the brood warrior, and then to the human that had walked in with him. Before he could respond in hello, a Krogan and Quarian entered. Kalis nodded to both of them and then looked back to the rachni.

"Kalis Maraka." He said in greeting.

Agent Fisher wrote:Kalis felt and heard the song in his mind, his eyes locked onto the brood warrior. He had to clamp down on his instincts to toss a throw or shockwave at the rachni. Until the Reaper War, popular culture was the rachni were bugs that were out to overrun the galaxy, a mindless swarm. Spirits, his favorite movie growing up had been The Bug War. He still had the soundtrack on his omni-tool, one song in particular was a great song to zone out to before a battle, 'Good Day to Die'.

His eyes drifted over the brood warrior, and then to the human that had walked in with him. Before he could respond in hello, a Krogan and Quarian entered. Kalis nodded to both of them and then looked back to the rachni.

"Kalis Maraka." He said in greeting.

The large brood warrior looked directly at him unblinkingly again, and nodded once. When the brood warrior's mental voice touched Kalis' mind again, it was softer - as if the brood warrior were only addressing him. "I am honored to meet you, Kalis Maraka," the rachni replied.

For a split second, as Kalis heard the rachni speak his name, he got a mental image of spires of rock jutting outward from a large sea of molten lava, flowing and churning like water over sharp rapids.

"I am Sings-to-the-Stars," the brood warrior continued, without interruption. "I am also here to see if I am worthy to join my voice to Truth-Singer's chorus of the Spectres."

Soleimon Berserker wrote:Slowing his jog down to a stunned walk, Sol'Amon cleared his throat before glancing between the other three men and the brood warrior. Judging from the letter he'd recieved, each one of these people had to have received a similar bit of mail, making them some of the deadliest and most talented people on the battlefield in the galaxy. Thinking the rachni definitely looked like he deserved that nom de guerre, Sol nodded his head to all the others in the room, including the guards. Each and every one of the people in the room could easily be a co-worker if they performed well in the test, best to make a good first impression.

"Umm....So you guys get any interesting mail lately?" Sol's smile could be heard behind his mask.

The large rachni brood warrior turned its head to look directly at the quarian, and was silent for a moment before speaking. "I sing greens and blues to you. Are you also here to prove the worthiness of your song for the Spectre hive?"

The others present would note that the rachni's voice was slightly louder, and that everyone of the small gathered group of people had probably heard it too.

Sol'Amon's already wide gold eyes widened even more as he felt the biotic touch of the Rachni in his mind, his own biotics reacted as though he'd touched a bolt of lightning, a current of almost pure energy, while for most people he'd feel a rock, fur, possibly the feeling of something sharp, dull, hot, or cold. Being stuck in an envirosuit didn't give him much of a catalog of feelings to reference.

Nodding slowly the Quarian calmed quickly as the rachni's feeling projected through the slight mental contact, calm and gentle at the moment, though that much biotic power still amazed him. Shaking himself to break out of the reverie, Sol finally spoke, "If you mean am I meant to attend the Spectre try-outs then yes, i'm sorry if I don't get your meaning to clearly."

The Quarian walked over to lean on the wall next to the rachni, the brood warrior's girth causing the 6'3 broad shouldered Quarian teenager look like a child. Looking over at the others in the room Sol quirked his head to the side for a moment.

"So....anyone have an idea of how many more we're waiting for?"

As if on cue, a somewhat strange retinue appeared from the doors. A tall, well-built turian male was walking slowly, with a human woman to his left holding onto his free arm tightly, and a young human boy to his right. Both woman and boy were looking around with wide eyes at the sights that greeted them - the large rachni brood warrior, the krogan, the other turian, the human, the quarian... and the now-legendary Normandy berthed a short distance away.

The turian male spoke softly with the human woman for a few moments, before gently leaning down to touch his forehead to hers. When he pulled back to look at the others gathered, it was as if a mask fell over his face, showing nothing but cold eyes.

He turned back once to the human woman and boy, and spoke a few soft words that were too quiet for the others to hear. Afterwards, the woman led the boy over to the side, putting her arms around him protectively - much to the boy's annoyance.

"Wow, what are you?" the boy asked in wonder, as he looked at the rachni brood warrior.

Everyone around felt both calm and joy coming from the rachni, echoing to the biotics gathered as gentle shades of blue and green, but they heard no words.

"That's so cool! I was born on a station too, so I know what you mean about the stars," the boy exclaimed in delight, earning him a warning glance from his mother, now looking very worried.

The taller turian seemed to be looking around, a dark look on his face, as if he were looking for and anticipating threats.

The Geth were tired of being stared at. It followed the others who had appeared to be part of the grouping and moved closer. "'Mail'. We received no paper containing dried fluids or carbon trails." The most terrifying creature, to many, stated. "We were requested." A long moment of observing the Ranchi. "We welcome you. Your mode of speech remains outside categorization at this time."

SirNitram wrote:The Geth were tired of being stared at. It followed the others who had appeared to be part of the grouping and moved closer. "'Mail'. We received no paper containing dried fluids or carbon trails." The most terrifying creature, to many, stated. "We were requested." A long moment of observing the Ranchi. "We welcome you. Your mode of speech remains outside categorization at this time."

The rachni turned to look directly at the geth platform that had walked up, and gave a nod of respect once in return. Accompanying the gesture was his mental voice, the colors behind it seemed muted, almost regretful in tone. "I have no song that you can hear - but, I sing greens and blues of welcome to you as well."

From the utter lack of response from the geth platform at the rachni's mental words, it became obvious that while the rachni could hear the geth's vocalizations, the geth could not hear the rachni's song in return.