Well, considering that this thread hasn't seen much traffic for some reason, I'll just post the continuation of the story in my post, several posts above this one.
Also, the story finally has a name.
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An age crimson and verdant
A Mass Effect / Dragonstar crossover
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Prologue (continuation: parts 3, 4, 5 and 6)
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Six hectic hours of work and the most Tylithe colony had to show for it was a series of barricades in the streets and something that might be called an armed mob, if Nalia were feeling particularly charitable, which she wasnÆt.
Twenty commandoes, pulled from training one system over. Two frigates, one of which had to make do without a captain, given that Nalia had seniority in the entire star system. Five hundred law enforcement officers with some training, as much as the lax standards of a fringe colony could enforce, but not soldiers by any measure of the world. Fifteen hundred volunteers forming a militia unit, miners and farmers, barely able to hold a gun let alone to fight a proper battle. Thirty vehicle, a mix of law enforcement vehicles with light weapons and civilian ones refitted with whatever weapons could be found, running half on hope that the reinforced hulls designed for TylitheÆs harsh environment and itÆs frequent dust storms, would be able to stand up to military-grade firepower. Five refitted aircars with crude weapons bolted on their hulls.
It wasnÆt a force capable of driving away a determined attack by Batarian pirates, let alone a proper military like the one which was undoubtedly coming.
But it was all Tylithe had.
Barricades, improvised weapons and hope.
Nalia knew better than to believe it would be enough, but she kept up appearances. Held a proper speech to the assembled militia, one sheÆd borrowed from her first commanding officer, four hundred years ago. She smiled and promised them victory, safety for their families and children. She lied through her teeth as she told them everything would be fine.
If what she had seen from the Illithid was any indication, it wasnÆt going to be. She was sending her rag-tag militia to fight the equivalent of Turian shock troops. It wasnÆt going to be fine, it was going to be a massacre.
She turned to address the Illithid emissary, standing in the colonyÆs administration building, flanked by the other two, neither of whom had spoken or done anything except follow Zahz around. The emissaryÆs assistance had been, in spite of his disturbing demeanour and manner of communication, invaluable. Pointing out likely landing sites, specifying tactics and strategies the Dragon EmpireÆs armies tended to employ.
It wasnÆt enough to grant victory, but it might bloody them a bit. Goddess willing, it might even allow the militia to hold the Empire off until reinforcements arrived.
The Asari officer had gotten more comfortable with speaking to the Illithid, not at ease by any measure of the word, but relatively comfortable, ôCitadel reinforcements are on the way, but theyÆll be here in ten days. Can your people help?ö
The reply from ZahzÆs ævoiceÆ was immediate and, something Nalia was eternally grateful for, had stopped causing headaches, <Yes. We will not.>
The Asari blinked in confusion, ôWhat?ö
The alien cocked itÆs head, eyes narrowed, giving the distinct impression of a parent impatient with itÆs childÆs antics, <Should we come to your aid, the Dragons will stop at nothing to exterminate your worlds, your ships, your race. You must hold out alone.>
NaliaÆs reply was an irritated growl, angry and borderline accusatory, ôWe canÆt win. WeÆve got two frigates and two thousand soldiers if we count the militia. TheyÆre going to run roughshod over the colony.ö
If it had been bothered by NaliaÆs tone, Zahz didnÆt show it, <This colony will fall. Your fleets, if numerous enough, will give the Empire pause. Show strength too great to be subdued easily and the Dragons will let you live.>
The Asari frowned, ôAnd your people?ö
The alien spent a long moment watching the displays filling the improvised command centre for the colonyÆs defence before finally addressing the commander, <I watch for the Illithid. Should you remain standing and free, we will aid you. Teach you the magic to counter that of the Dragons.>
Nalia blinked once, twice, before hesitantly addressing the Illithid, questioning, ôI think I misunderstood you. I swear you said magic. Did you mean science or technology, perhaps?ö
There was a flash of, something, irritation, perhaps, in the ævoiceÆ as it replied, <Magic was meant. The DragonsÆ technology and science should not be beyond you. Their sorceries are.>
The Asari commander was tempted to throw her arms up, but settled for leaning on a console heavily, reigning in the disbelief in her voice, ôYou donÆt seriously expect me to believe they have magic.ö
<Believe it, do not believe it. It makes no difference, magic exists. You will see.> There was a smooth, rolling motion of the IllithidÆs shoulders, almost a shrug, but not quite, <When the Legions come, you will see and you will believe, Nalia.>
It started as a spark, floating in mid-air, growing brighter by the second. A spark that blossomed into an orb of light, unmoving and steady. In seconds, a dozen rifles were pointed at it, only the IllithidÆs calm wave of the hand preventing a shooting incident.
The orb became a line, stretching upward and downward until it was almost touching the ceiling of the improvised command centre. The line expanded, growing wider until it was a pool of light wide enough for two Asari to walk through it side-by-side.
Finally the light faded, revealing a vision of a starless sky illuminated by a dying red star, barren dusty plains and a city in the distance, lit up by faint, ghostly lights. A dozen cloaked figures in a semi-circle facing the gateway, for it could be nothing else. A single Illithid, clad in elaborate robes quite different from the reasonably practical armour worn by the emissaries on Tylithe, but, in some ways, similar; the same twists and turns of fabric that made the AsariÆs eyes water.
Any doubt of itÆs nature as a portal vanished when wind began blowing through the circle, brown dust carried by it and bringing a smell of burning vegetation and, disturbingly, blood.
The Illithid was impossible to read conventionally, but the way itÆs eyes crinkled in a way that Nalia could only interpret as smug superiority mixed with a bit of humour, <The time has come.> As it stood before the portal, it spoke one last time, <We will speak your pleas to your Council and carry the warning of the coming Dragons and their slaves. Should you prove resourceful enough to survive, there will be a position of respect and honour waiting for you among the Illithid.>
It took a single step through, appearing instantly on the other side and before the other, richly dressed Illithid. ZahzÆs two escorts followed quickly and the moment the second of them stepped through, the portal vanished, leaving only the scents and a scattering of dust as any evidence anything had happened at all.
Nalia ruthlessly crushed the urge to laugh for it wouldÆve driven morale down. After all, the urge wasnÆt to laugh at some joke, but the panicked, insane laugh of someone who just had their view of the universe turned upside-down in a moment.
Magic indeed.
(scene)
There were two Asari frigates defending Tylithe, somewhat older models relegated to patrol duties in the far reaches of Citadel space. More than enough to ward off any but the best equipped slaver or pirate force that might get ideas about attacking Asari colonies.
Their crews has prepared the ships for combat as best they could, stocking up on fuel reserves and discharging static electricity in TylitheÆs atmosphere, using the opportunity to dump the excess heat for maximum combat endurance. They were as ready for combat as they could be.
Then the incoming enemies rendered all preparations moot.
There was no flash, no event, no indication of motion, no radiation. One moment there was empty space and the next the enemy was there.
Heavy frigates, roughly twice the size of the Asari ones, escorting a cruiser in wedge formation. By the time the defenders managed to process their arrival, the enemy was moving, making a hard burn for Tylithe accelerating at a rate that shouldÆve been impossible for ships without mass effect cores.
The attack force, all different designs, colours and shapes looked ludicrous, more akin to a pirate force from the Terminus than the military force of an Empire that, if the Illithid were to be believed, could stand against the Citadel races as an equal.
Then the defenders opened fire and those rag-tag ships, without mass effect fields or element zero emissions, took the firepower of two frigates and kept going, shields glowing brightly. More firepower was poured, main cannons, GARDIAN lasers, even the missiles the frigates had at their disposal.
It was intended as a demonstration, as the attacking vessels calmly took the incoming fire, advancing inexorably, letting their enemies taste despair as their fire proved ineffective.
Then they fired back. In an instant Lenaris had her hull was ripped open from stem to stern, venting atmosphere and corpses of her crew, the rents in her structure glowing brightly with the heat of enemy weapons. Her sister, Sarine, lasted for thirty seconds, her commander, more experienced than the hastily promoted first officer of the Lenaris managed to put the small frigate into evasive, SarineÆs pilot having sufficient skill to dodge the first barrage. A swarm of missiles were taken down by the frigateÆs GARDIAN defence lasers, followed by a second barrage which did little more than graze the smaller ship, ravaging the armour plating, saving the ship at the cost of their integrity.
The attacking vessels had been caught off-guard by the nimbleness of their opponent, capable of making tighter turns than their own vessels could hope to make. It didnÆt last long.
The Imperial vessels had crews forged in the fires of Imperial aggression in the Outlands, honed to a fine edge by combat against pirates and independent powers unwilling to submit to the Dragon Throne. They adapted, quickly, quicker than SarineÆs commander had hoped.
The fourth barrage didnÆt miss, not sufficiently. The cruiserÆs main laser battery tore into and through the small frigateÆs hull, ripping itÆs way across the width of the ship.
When the beam faded, SarineÆs engines went one way, the rest of itÆs hull another. After a moment, the hulk began launching escape pods, sending most into the colonyÆs atmosphere, towards the relative safety of the colony.
Their victory complete, the attacking ships settled into orbit, weapons tracking the colony but remaining silent for the time being. One of their number, a destroyer, an ugly, crude-looking thing of black metal and right angles, took a moment to reduce the two rapidly cooling pieces of what had once been Sarine, a proud frigate of the Asari Republics, to several hundred with three well-placed shots of itÆs plasma cannons before returning to itÆs assigned position.
The attackers didnÆt have to wait long. Barely an hour after their arrival, another of their number joined them. Large, easily the length of the cruiser, but far blockier. A brick more than a starship, looking more like a converted cargo ship than a vessel of war, but fighting in space wasnÆt itÆs purpose à that was for the fleet.
Lord High Marshal Tionel Hakram was a vessel of the Imperial Legions, built for one purpose and one purpose alone: to carry the legionnaires of the Empire to battle, to conquer for the Dragon Throne. And conquer they would.
Hundreds of shuttles departed the Legion shipÆs hangar bays, small and large, carrying soldiers, tanks, walkers and joined by dozens of heavily armed fighters as escorts and fire support.
They hit the atmosphere at full speed in an effort to, if not avoid them, then to at least minimize casualties from anti-air defences. Defences the small colony simply didnÆt have.
(scene)
The shuttle heaved, shook and buckled like a wild beast as it dropped through the atmosphere at full burn. Dozens of soldiers, tightly packed, sat waiting, kept in place by crash webbing and though they were being tossed about within the webbingÆs confines, there was no trace of hesitation, fear or motion sickness on their faces.
After all, they were veterans of the EmpireÆs Outlands campaigns. The 212th Coreward Frontier Legion, a unit with a storied and rich history, of conquests and victories for the Dragon Throne, of worlds set ablaze, armies brought low and nations crushed in the name of galactic civilization. It would have been an insult to the LegionÆs honours were the soldiers to demonstrate any sign of weakness, so they didnÆt.
At least, not in the presence of Lord Captain Zayd, the heavy, scarred orc officer that had been with the Legion longer than most soldiers present had been alive.
The officer in his bulky, heavy power armour didnÆt show any trace of weakness, not even bothering to sit down or strap in, stalking down the aisles seemingly ignorant of the shuttleÆs motion, his eyes, one natural and one an artificial replacement, scanning the soldiers of the platoon.
The shout, ôOne minute!ö coming from the cockpit ahead, was almost a sign.
Finishing up his inspection and seemingly satisfied with what he saw, the Lord Captain took his place right before the boarding ramp, glaring darkly at the soldiers present before him.
The weathered orcÆs voice was a hollow growl, a past injury never properly healed, by choice probably, ôAll right, listen up, you pukes.ö Even before, the soldiers had kept their attention focused on their commanding officer, but now they made sure to keep their eyes locked on him and their mouths shut, ôIntel claims this Oulander colony was taken by the squids, which means itÆs gonna get nasty down there. So, stay alert and if you see a squidface, for FatherÆs sake, shoot it.ö
Conflict with the mind flayers was rare, had been rare since the first days of the Star League, when but a single ship tore through the various nascent empires of known space. Small pockets and random raids by small ships emerging from the Dead Zone, the vast ominous nebula stretching over the EmpireÆs domains. Though the vessels of the Empire could now fight the flayers as equals, ground combat remained a nightmare for the troops.
A few of the veterans nodded in support of their commander, the older, battle-scarred soldiers that still remembered the last time the Legion had been forced to engage a mind flayer colony, a primitive remnant of their empire on a primitive world in the Outlands slated for integration into the Dragon Empire. Dead comrades piled high in the tight, twisting corridors of the colony and the memory of the psychic assault of the elder brain as it tried to break the minds of the Imperial Legion, a task at which it proved far too successful.
ôStandard rules apply, if it looks hostile, you godsdamned shoot it. If it looks like itÆs considering being hostile, you godsdamned shoot it. If it looks like a squid, you godsdamned shoot it.ö Almost superfluously he added, ôIf it doesnÆt look like any of the above, then you take it to the landing zone, might even save a few of the poor bastards down there.ö
The officer took the opportunity to reposition, barely squeezing his power armoured bulk into the aisles between the seats, zeroing in on several recruits clustered together watching their commanding officer with wide, fearful eyes. Typical dwarves, short, stout and magnificently bearded, the Lord Captain towered over them. For the recruits the past week had been hell, singled out and put down by their commander until a proper sense of terror had been instilled in them whenever the man merely walked into the room.
The only reason Gali, the shortest of the three, didnÆt whimper in terror is because Lord Captain Zayd had terrorized them until such instincts were fully buried. After all, making a sound would only lead to worse punishments.
They truly did fear their commanding officer more than any enemy, they would rather charge an Illithid nest than consider turning away from battle with the orc behind them.
And all was as it should be.
ôAnd if any of you even consider breaking the regs on my watch, I will godsdamned send you to the Reaper myself.ö The orc took a moment to glare at the rest of his soldiers, growling, ôI donÆt care what slimeball of a world spawned you or what rules you lived by in whichever savageÆs band of brigands you served in, but you are legionnaires and you will behave as such.ö The Lord Captain got close enough for the soldiers in question to smell his breath, an unpleasant experience if one were to judge by their expressions, ôIs that clear, you pukes?ö
The shout was a unanimous and thundering, ôSir, yes, sir!ö
Seemingly satisfied, the weathered orc growled as he returned to his place at the boarding ramp, ôGood. Final equipment check.ö
The intercom crackled briefly to life, only long enough for a single sentence to come through from the cockpit, a blaring alarm coming through with the pilotÆs voice, ôLanding in ten seconds!ö
ôYou heard the man. Get ready.ö Picking up the heavy bulk of a laser cannon from the deck and shouldering it without any seeming effort, Zayd rose his right fist high, clenched tightly, ôNow, letÆs go send some squids to the Reaper, because we are the 212th!ö
Sixty clenched fists rose as one, ôThe ReaperÆs right hand!ö
A wide, toothy smile showing the Lord CaptainÆs so very sharp teeth, ôDamn right we are.ö
(scene)
Legionnaire Gali Godlinsson clutched his blaster rifle so tightly his knuckles were white under his combat armour. None of it was quite like that young dwarf imagined it, coming upon the EmpireÆs iron enclave in the port city of Marhenos. Six months ago, his mind had conjured images of starships and strange worlds unlike anything heÆd seen, of travelling the galaxy as a respected soldier of the Empire and, perhaps, coming home someday to rub it in that heÆd made it among the stars and they still thought a pick was an adequate mining tool.
Six months of training and two weeks under Lord Captain Zayd thoroughly disabused him of such lofty notions. Life in the Legion was hard, dirty and cramped, the starships were ugly, beat-down, cramped and looked more like a fortress than his old hold had, the strange new worlds came with strange new dangers including winds that stripped flesh from bone and air that could melt oneÆs face off, all without counting the habits of local wild-life that seemingly involved attempting to eat the faces of legionnaires.
It had been a thoroughly miserable time and heÆd come to deeply regret his choice a seeming eternity ago. Gali Godlinsson wasnÆt cut out to be a fighter, as his father had repeatedly told him. Perhaps he shouldÆve listened and become an accountant or an architect, heÆd always been good with numbers, but that path was closed. To turn back was treason. Treason was punishable by hanging or firing squad, depending on the officerÆs mood. Gali had even heard that some formations still practiced beheadings, though he wasnÆt as sure that the rumours of quarterings were true.
So, here he was, GodlinÆs younger son, clad in the panoply of an Imperial legionnaire, running down the boarding ramp of a beat-up old assault shuttle, alongside sixty screaming maniacs, screaming himself, right into the teeth of a barricade whose defenders were spraying slugs at the landing site.
A coruscating blue bolt struck a soldier to GaliÆs left, Master Legionnaire Liegia of Lidesh, a nice, smiling human who spent her free time tutoring the recruits on weapon maintenance, something most of them hadnÆt had the first clue about, being born on worlds where a crossbow was advanced tech. Her armour twisted and warped, the metal itself cracking loudly enough to be heard even over the din of battle. The human managed to get off a brief, gurgled scream that sprayed blood all over her helmetÆs visor, before collapsing only to be trod over by the advancing mass of troops.
Gali didnÆt slow down, spraying the barricade with laser fire, visible only by the effects on the target and the slight shimmer of heat in the air. It was a course of action repeated by the entire force bearing down on the barricade, all targeting the casters on the barricade, hoping to eliminate them before they managed to retreat to cause more grief to the invading troops later.
A well placed fireball could do just as much damage as an artillery strike and was much easier to deploy from ambush.
A missile screamed past the formation, shattering the barricade and reducing the buildings next to it into so much rubble and shrapnel, a fighter blasting overhead at full speed.
The fire died down, the defenders dead or retreating further into the tightly-packed streets of pre-fab shelters and buildings, giving the Imperial troops time to regroup.
GaliÆs shoulders slumped in relief as his Sargeant-at-Arms, Hailama, no last name, a massive human that looked like he had more than a few drops of ogre blood in his veins, barked out new orders for the squad. Construction and guard detail for the battalionÆs field hospital. It was, from GaliÆs experience, long, hard, back-breaking work with double-shifts and little rest.
But Judge help him, Gali was grateful. After having experienced a mere fifteen minutes of true war, he was quite certain he didnÆt want to do so ever again.
Any if there is, well, the (currently in planning) future scene should eliminate any doubt.
