Transcript from a psychiatric interview conducted by Dr. Diane Warren upon LT. Shepard's return from Akuze.
I was 16 when the slavers attacked Mindoir, and my life changed forever.
Sort of. I may have been a punk-ass teenager, but I had grown up listening to my old man's stories about his career as an Alliance marine. He embellished a lot, as Mom was always quick to point out in that vaguely amused tone of hers that never failed to get me and Pops smiling, but the important bits were all there. Honor. Duty. Self improvement. Self worth. Think every extranet clichÚ regarding military enlistment possible, and they were all present in those stories.
And I loved it. Even the bullshit, especially the bullshit. Those stories were an escape for me from a life of farming drudgery out there in the ass-end of nowhere. Mindoir may be a human colony, but it ainÆt no Eden Prime. My folks were some of the first colonists there; hell, I was born on the ship that was taking us there in the first place. We might have been one of the latest wave of human colonies, complete with all the latest and greatest gadgets and such to stay in contact with the rest of the ôcivilizedö galaxy, but we were still a dinky human colony located on the edges of the Traverse.
So yeah, embellished or not my old man's stories were a way to get away from it all. I think that may have been why he bullshitted so much in the first place. He knew I wasn't gonna settle for being a settler, a farmer, so he made damn sure that the only attractive option was Alliance Military instead of catching the first shuttle into the Terminus, and hooking up with the wrong sort of people.
Not that I would have even if we hadn't been raided; I was raised by good people, to be just as good as they were. I'd like to think I've lived up to their memories, their expectations. Too bad I wont know for certain.
It was 2170 when the colony was hit. Slavers. Batterians. Bunch of black-eyed, four-eyed, worthless, sons of bitches not even worth scrapping the shit on my boot-heel off of. I try to keep an open mind about such things, Momma Shepard didn't raise me to be a racist fucker like those Terra Firma or Cerberus wacknuts, but I've yet to meet a battarian that wasn't a scum-sucking pile of filth.
Irrational hatred? Maybe, but how would you feel watching your whole world burned to the ground as some alien fucker got his jollies off making you watch as his boys took turns with the girls that you'd known your entire life, while the cooling corpses of your parents and neighbors were being piled into easily burnable piles in the background.
Yeah, I thought so.
I got him back though, I got him good.
Caleston Rift, Balor System, Patholon
Like all quarians, Shala'Raan knew from a young age that ships were the lifeblood of the Migrant Fleet. Without the many hundreds of vessels that supported the last 17 million quarians in the galaxy, her people would become as extinct as the rachni. Some might be able to survive for a generation or two û for what was the Pilgrimage if not a test of one's survival skills away from the Fleet û but they would most certainly be the last.
The majority of her people's much vaunted ability with technology originated from this one simple truth. Without the constant work of the many, many repair teams the Fleet would have died long before her birth. Yet while she too understand the value of such abilities, and made certain to be more proficient than most, Shala'Raan applied herself differently than many of her people; instead of specializing in simply fixing the many ships of the Migrant Fleet, the quarian focused all of her efforts on acquiring them.
She believed that her people not only could expand, but needed to. There was more to their existence than just sustaining; the long held dream of her people, to defeat the geth and retake the home world, would be unattainable without growth.
With more quarians, more ships would be needed. With more ships, more resources could be acquired. With more resources, better technology could be researched. With better technology, stronger weapons and armor could be created. With strong weapons and armor, better technology, more ships, and more quarian bodies to use all of the above, the geth could be defeated.
With the geth gone, they could return home.
Many criticized her before her Pilgrimage for these thoughts. ôWhy expand?ö They said. ôWe cannot grow, otherwise our supplies will run out before we can adapt!ö They exclaimed. ôShips do not appear out of nothing! How would you get them without money?ö They asked. ôYou are a fool to think this, a fool, or an idiot!ö They stated.
Shala'Raan took at all in stride, every criticism of her beliefs, every insult of her person. She never lashed back, instead accepting the vitriol of her people in quiet as she grew older.
Then she went on her Pilgrimage, and returned with two Turian frigates as her gift with the stipulation of captaincy of one of the vessels if it was accepted.
It was, and Shala'Raan vas Tonbay nar Rayya became the youngest captain in the history of the Migrant Fleet.
------------
I've been on a ME kick recently, and I've been upset with some bits and pieces of the games. Nothing to ruin my enjoyment of them, but the limitations of the medium, and my own biases in regards to dialogue and character interactions, have made me want to write. And read, so if people don't mind reccing some good ME fics it would be appreciated. <3
Also, a quality map of the ME 'verse would be appreciated. I spent about an hour trying to figure out where the hell the Tonbay should be located for story purposes, and most of it was spent trying to find a goddamn map. Someone should get on this, seriously.
Current title is something of a placeholder, though it is appropriate...
I was 16 when the slavers attacked Mindoir, and my life changed forever.
Sort of. I may have been a punk-ass teenager, but I had grown up listening to my old man's stories about his career as an Alliance marine. He embellished a lot, as Mom was always quick to point out in that vaguely amused tone of hers that never failed to get me and Pops smiling, but the important bits were all there. Honor. Duty. Self improvement. Self worth. Think every extranet clichÚ regarding military enlistment possible, and they were all present in those stories.
And I loved it. Even the bullshit, especially the bullshit. Those stories were an escape for me from a life of farming drudgery out there in the ass-end of nowhere. Mindoir may be a human colony, but it ainÆt no Eden Prime. My folks were some of the first colonists there; hell, I was born on the ship that was taking us there in the first place. We might have been one of the latest wave of human colonies, complete with all the latest and greatest gadgets and such to stay in contact with the rest of the ôcivilizedö galaxy, but we were still a dinky human colony located on the edges of the Traverse.
So yeah, embellished or not my old man's stories were a way to get away from it all. I think that may have been why he bullshitted so much in the first place. He knew I wasn't gonna settle for being a settler, a farmer, so he made damn sure that the only attractive option was Alliance Military instead of catching the first shuttle into the Terminus, and hooking up with the wrong sort of people.
Not that I would have even if we hadn't been raided; I was raised by good people, to be just as good as they were. I'd like to think I've lived up to their memories, their expectations. Too bad I wont know for certain.
It was 2170 when the colony was hit. Slavers. Batterians. Bunch of black-eyed, four-eyed, worthless, sons of bitches not even worth scrapping the shit on my boot-heel off of. I try to keep an open mind about such things, Momma Shepard didn't raise me to be a racist fucker like those Terra Firma or Cerberus wacknuts, but I've yet to meet a battarian that wasn't a scum-sucking pile of filth.
Irrational hatred? Maybe, but how would you feel watching your whole world burned to the ground as some alien fucker got his jollies off making you watch as his boys took turns with the girls that you'd known your entire life, while the cooling corpses of your parents and neighbors were being piled into easily burnable piles in the background.
Yeah, I thought so.
I got him back though, I got him good.
Caleston Rift, Balor System, Patholon
Like all quarians, Shala'Raan knew from a young age that ships were the lifeblood of the Migrant Fleet. Without the many hundreds of vessels that supported the last 17 million quarians in the galaxy, her people would become as extinct as the rachni. Some might be able to survive for a generation or two û for what was the Pilgrimage if not a test of one's survival skills away from the Fleet û but they would most certainly be the last.
The majority of her people's much vaunted ability with technology originated from this one simple truth. Without the constant work of the many, many repair teams the Fleet would have died long before her birth. Yet while she too understand the value of such abilities, and made certain to be more proficient than most, Shala'Raan applied herself differently than many of her people; instead of specializing in simply fixing the many ships of the Migrant Fleet, the quarian focused all of her efforts on acquiring them.
She believed that her people not only could expand, but needed to. There was more to their existence than just sustaining; the long held dream of her people, to defeat the geth and retake the home world, would be unattainable without growth.
With more quarians, more ships would be needed. With more ships, more resources could be acquired. With more resources, better technology could be researched. With better technology, stronger weapons and armor could be created. With strong weapons and armor, better technology, more ships, and more quarian bodies to use all of the above, the geth could be defeated.
With the geth gone, they could return home.
Many criticized her before her Pilgrimage for these thoughts. ôWhy expand?ö They said. ôWe cannot grow, otherwise our supplies will run out before we can adapt!ö They exclaimed. ôShips do not appear out of nothing! How would you get them without money?ö They asked. ôYou are a fool to think this, a fool, or an idiot!ö They stated.
Shala'Raan took at all in stride, every criticism of her beliefs, every insult of her person. She never lashed back, instead accepting the vitriol of her people in quiet as she grew older.
Then she went on her Pilgrimage, and returned with two Turian frigates as her gift with the stipulation of captaincy of one of the vessels if it was accepted.
It was, and Shala'Raan vas Tonbay nar Rayya became the youngest captain in the history of the Migrant Fleet.
------------
I've been on a ME kick recently, and I've been upset with some bits and pieces of the games. Nothing to ruin my enjoyment of them, but the limitations of the medium, and my own biases in regards to dialogue and character interactions, have made me want to write. And read, so if people don't mind reccing some good ME fics it would be appreciated. <3
Also, a quality map of the ME 'verse would be appreciated. I spent about an hour trying to figure out where the hell the Tonbay should be located for story purposes, and most of it was spent trying to find a goddamn map. Someone should get on this, seriously.
Current title is something of a placeholder, though it is appropriate...
