Due to an almost pathological aversion to creating new threads, I think I'll borrow this one for the time being if that's quite all right.
Either way, the idea for this crossover started in the ME3 thread, following some comments about space magic and just shouting fuck it and adding proper magic. Thanks go primarily to kelenas, since:
A ) He helped refine most of the base ideas that went into this;
and B ) He did provide the necessary motivation, without which this would've ended up as a scrawled bit of text in one my notebooks
So, for the ignorant, this is a crossover between Mass Effect and Dragonstar (information about which, little as there may be since it's pretty obscure, can be found <a href='http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dragonstar' target='_blank' rel='nofollow'>here</a> if you like text or <a href='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_JdTU5Um6qRI/TU10peJ4l6I/AAAAAAAABMQ/pzMU_RE7SvQ/s1600/dragonstarposter.jpg' target='_blank' rel='nofollow'>here</a> in convenient pictoral form). In case you can't be bothered, Dragonstat is what happens when you give your standard D&D fantasy settings spaceships and laser guns, then cut them loose on an unsuspecting galaxy. Which is precisely what happens here.
Without further ado:
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No title yet - have been considering 'Where dragons roam' or 'Here be dragons'
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Prologue (parts 1 and 2)
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It was alien. Utterly and incomprehensibly alien. No Mass Effect field emissions, only a faint heat signature, no visible propulsion system It was enough to make any crew nervous, but the ship's appearance alone ... like something grown rather than built, twisted organic lines and alien growths, weapons arrays that appeared more akin to blisters on the skin of some creature than a proper weapons mount.
It was like some terrifying alien creature dragged from the darkest depths of the deepest oceans.
It was enough to reduce a crew of experienced Asari soldiers to panicked schoolgirls, half-disgusted and half-terrified by the implications.
Nalia Myrtys was, fortunately, made from sterner stuff. A veteran of two centuries both as a Commando and as a naval officer were more than enough for her to keep up a calm facade around her crew. But that was all it was, a facade. First contacts were notoriously difficult, bearing the potential for disaster each time. They were the domain of experienced and trained diplomats, not the military.
And these new aliens gave every indication that they were truly and utterly alien. A form of life completely foreign to the view of the universe of the Citadel Races, of any race that had developed Mass Effect technologies.
So, even as she calmly stood before the airlock, every bit the calm and collected officer, Nalia was nervous.
They hadn't communicated, there have been no discernible transmissions from the alien vessel, just a slow, deliberate approach with their weapons inactive. Not even a response to the Lenaris' hails, no indication that they could even receive the transmissions the Asari frigate had been emitting constantly since detecting them.
Just silence and an extended exterior docking cradle. Open and inviting. Repulsive, like some lengthy organic intestine rather than the product of a technological society.
And now they were about to meet, face-to-face. It was a terrifying prospect, that a single mistake, a single misstep would trigger a war, possibly even another Rachni War given the appearance of their ship.
None of the doubts or fears showed on Nalia's face as the airlock opened. She represented the Asari Republics, the entirety of the Citadel, she couldn't afford to appear like a terrified child, repulsed by everything she'd seen.
Three creatures stepped through the mist, a blast of warm, moist air washing over the Asari as the airlock finished opening. The breathing masks prevented any whiff of scent from reaching them, but something told Nalia that if she could smell it, she wouldn't enjoy it in the slightest.
She stepped forward to greet them, showing no fear or hesitation.
They were wrong. Tall and impossibly lean, arms too long for their bodies, grey moist skin that shone disturbingly under the lights. Tiny, beady, black eyes observed them, set deep into an alien face that gave just enough hint of Asari appearance for it to be truly disturbing. A tangled mess of writhing tentacles allowing only the barest glimpse of a sucker-like mouth. Space suits that seemed more like coral than metal or ceramic, with odd growths and protrusions with no discernible purpose. No masks, no helmets, no cover of any kind.
Then the centre one stepped forward and spoke, but not with words or sound.
It slammed into NaliaÆs mind, like long, thin, slimy fingers caressing it, not gently at all. The ævoiceÆ bore an aura that could only be described as cold and wet, a resonating thing with the barest hint of other voices in the background, just at the edge of perception whispering in an alien language.
The mere presence of it was enough to give the Asari officer the beginnings of a headache, <I am Zahz. We speak for the Illithid. We offer a hand of friendship to you, NaliaMyrtys; to the worlds of the Asari and the Citadel.>
The ævoiceÆ cut off suddenly, but the presence remained, probing and cold, the whispers a constant background noise.
Nalia took the momentÆs relief to look around. Given the wide-eyed stares the newcomers were receiving, theyÆd been speaking to all of the Asari present.
It was supposed to be impossible. Everything Citadel scientists knew said it wasn't possible.
And yet ...
It took a moment for the Asari officer to find her voice again, ôY-youÆre telepathic?ö
The ævoiceÆ, which she could only assume was from the one that called itself Zahz, resumed instantly, as did the headache, <Yes. We share thoughts and memories, we sing together, one great chorus in the void. We wish you to join our song. We wish to share our thoughts and our memories with the Citadel.>
The claim was followed by à glimpses for lack of a better word, for no word could possibly suffice. Images and thoughts, concepts, ideas and pure knowledge. Grand, alien cities on worlds lit by dying crimson stars. Vast archives older than Asari civilization. Knowledge of a hundred races, accumulated across countless millennia. Languages lost to time. Works of art saved from dead worlds. Secrets of growing, not building, but growing ships and buildings and entire cities. Whispers of psionics, more than simple telepathy, but power enough to move ships and alter the fabric of reality itself à
And just as Nalia saw the alienÆs thoughts, it saw hers. She remained dimly aware of what it saw. Thessia and the Citadel. The smells of the markets on Omega. Her first melding and a game she used to play with friends as a child. The voice of her teachers announcing her name as the finest cadet in her generation and the welling pride at the announcement à
Then it stopped and she found herself looking at ZahzÆs beady eyes as it considered her, seemingly seeing her for the first time.
There was something strange to the creatureÆs tone when it resumed, a glimpse of alien thoughts and alien ambitions, incomprehensible to Nalia, to any being not Illithid probably, <Your minds sing of such wonder. Roads not taken. Songs never imagined. We wish to join you. We wish you to join us.>
For a bare moment, the voices, the murmur in the back of ZahzÆs ævoiceÆ reached a crescendo, a half-choked scream of alarm and fear and terror, the barely audible voice split into a thousand, speaking in a hundred alien languages, shouting incoherently. Suddenly, as if a switch had been flipped, NaliaÆs headache was gone, as were the probing, alien, thoughts in her mind.
The lead Illithid, no, all of them were no longer paying attention. Their tiny eyes focused elsewhere, locked on a bare bulkhead, their expression indecipherable.
NaliaÆs question was hesitant, neutral so as not to upset a, so far, successful first contact situation, ôWhat?ö
<The slaves of the Dragons are here. Take your ship to your colony and muster your fleets.> The touch of the ævoiceÆ was lighter now, distracted and alarmed, no longer accompanied by the headache of previous interactions, <The Empire comes to exterminate us all.>
The barest hint of a memory. Metal warships and ultra-violet lasers lashing out. Grim, armoured figures marching through corridors, firing as they came. Illithid vessels vanishing into flame as they attempted to flee. Worlds being burned just because the Illithid once built homes there. Ruthless beings, so like Asari in appearance, cutting down Illithids with sword and laser fire, singing joyous hymns to their gods.
It terrified the Asari commander, the simple certainty of ZahzÆs claim. There was no grand-standing, no doubt. It was a statement of fact, casual and calm as if remarking that the sky was blue or that space is big.
The Empire was coming to kill them all. No debate, no discussion, no attempt at communication. For speaking with the Illithids, for being tainted by their mere presence, Lenaris would be destroyed and her crew exterminated out of hand. Nothing less would be acceptable.
The omni-toolÆs chirp of an incoming transmission sounded so very à final.
ôCommander, a ship just appeared on our sensors. Cruiser, unknown design.ö It was the sensor officerÆs, AeliaÆs, voice, highly alarmed, ôThey appear to be charging weapons!ö
(scene break)
As he marched on the bridge of his ship Captain Arehn Tyrell exchanged a polite nod with the shipÆs political officer, the slight Drow woman offering a respectful nod in return. This time there werenÆt any snide comments, irreverent smiles or provocations.
For all their differences, for all their disagreements, both were creatures of action. Hunters and predators, perhaps that was the reason for the mutual animosity, but there wasnÆt any now. No time for it, there was blood in the air and both could smell it.
There was a barely restrained blood-lust in the eyes of ISPDÆs Navathis Elmansara. There was a barely restrained blood-lust in the eyes of every officer, technician and legionnaire onboard the Alacris, including itÆs CaptainÆs.
As he took his place in the CaptainÆs seat, Arehn allowed himself a small. Small and sharp and so very eager, a hunterÆs smile.
For twelve days, they had played a game of hide and seek with the Mind Flayer raider that had struck at Taurida, leaving devastation, death and destroyed minds in their wake. For twelve days, they had hunted the enemy. For twelve days, they searched.
And now that the enemy had been found, the EmpireÆs vengeance would be swift, merciless and complete.
Arehn nodded to his XO, issuing a single order, ôAction stations.ö
The burly orc/human hybrid grinned widely even as he saluted his superior, ôYes, sir. Sound action stations. Intercom.ö Orag MindanosÆs voice echoed across the ship, dispassionate as a proper officerÆs voice should be, ôAll hands, report to your stations. Alacris is now at condition red, battlestations. Repeat. All hands, report to your stations. Alacris is now at condition red, battlestations. This is not a drill.ô
The alarm klaxon began to wail. There was no perceptible change on the bridge, of course, all stations were manned and ready at all times, but elsewhere on the ship the crew would be getting ready for combat.
Damage control teams assembling and moving to jump-off positions. Technicians running final checks on AlacrisÆs fighters even as pilots rushed to reach their ships. Legionnaires gearing up and setting up positions in case the battle reached the corridors of the Imperial cruiser à or those of the enemy vessel. Off-duty personnel rushing to get to their stations.
AlacrisÆ crew were highly trained professionals, kept at a fine edge of effectiveness by the patrols in the Outlands, by skirmishes with pirates, raiders and independent powers in the Outlands refusing the recognize the EmpireÆs authority.
Four and a half minutes after the announcement, Orag nodded to his Captain. The cruiser was ready for combat.
ôReady Starcaster. We have a raider to catch.ö It was theatre, but Arehn nevertheless raised a clenched fist, both battle cry and motivation for the crew, ôVengeance for Taurida.ö
Twenty raised fists joined the Captains, twenty voices speaking as one, ôFor Taurida!ö
No more needed to be said. There was no need to call for a teleport, the crew and Arehn had fought and bled together for ten years, they were veterans, all of them, familiar with each otherÆs instincts, reflexes and personalities.
There was no need to command a teleport. Navigator Kothik Lemar did it without prompting.
There was a flash of light as the teleport field expanded from the Starcaster, a momentary sensation of falling as the casterÆs gravity field shut down. A sensation of being crushed for the barest of moments, then expanding back into normal size.
Then the flash faded and everything returned to normal.
Not even a secondÆs transit.
Jump complete, Arahn barked out a, ôReport.ö
ôTwo contacts. One Flayer raider, positive ID for Taurida raider.ö The Lieutenant in charge of the shipÆs sensors reported immediately, ôOne unknown corvette, not Flayer. Nothing like it in warbook. ItÆs linked with the raider by an umbilical.ö A pause as she tapped the consoleÆs controls, ôHostiles are detaching, raider is turning to engage.ö
A holographic display sprang to life, taking up the entirety of the bridge, lines denoting distance and angle, text denoting the velocities and accelerations of the Alacris, the flayer vessel and the unknown, a warbook profile of the flayer raider with firing arcs prominently displayed in bright orange, symbols showing positions of hostile ships in red, windowed displays showing AlacrisÆ status, showing a close-up of the enemy vessels.
The flayer raider was immediately recognizable. Warped organic lines only the mind flayers didnÆt find utterly repulsive. Unique, different from other raiders encountered in shape, but identical in performance, weapons clearly marked. It had no chance at defeating the larger Imperial vessel and yet it still charged, interposing itself between the unknown and the AlacrisÆ guns.
The unknown was à alien. Almost elven in itÆs elegance, visible fusion torches and a glittering metal hull, certainly easier on the eyes than the Illithid vessel.
Arahn was hesitant for a moment, even if NavathisÆ voice softly whispered what he was thinking, ôThralls or victims. Nothing we can do for them at this point.ö
The moment passed and the Imperial Captain sighed heavily, and then ordered, ôLock targets and fire. Focus on the raider, I want them dead!ö
ôOne fried squid, coming right up.ö There was a grin in Lieutenant DethisÆ voice, ôDirect hits. TheyÆre trying to close.ö
It was difficult not to share that eagerness, ArahnÆs growled, ôFinish them off.ö Was all the encouragement the gunnery officer needed
ôGladly.ö DethisÆ voice dropped to an almost-whisper, still loud enough for the bridge crew to hear, ôThis is for Taurida, you sons of bitches.ö
AlacrisÆ deck didnÆt shudder or heave, there wasnÆt a surge in artificial gravity or any other indication that the shipÆs weapons were firing. Looking at the ship from outside, there wouldnÆt even be any visual sign.
The holographic display showed the invisible, ultra-violet beams connecting with the mind flayer vessel as purple lines, thicker where the AlacrisÆ nose-mounted heavy guns were firing, lighter and thinner for the secondaries.
The raider did, however, show every sign of being under attack. Gashes opened in the hull, edges white-hot from the laser fire, steam and fluids escaping the organic hull, itÆs tendrils writhing in agony. If it could have screamed, the flayer vessel would have.
And if they could hear it, the Imperials would have laughed.
Flashes on the display as AlacrisÆ lasers hit sensitive, explosive gear, ôReporting, direct hits. Secondary detonations.ö DethisÆ voice was smug, triumphant, ôSheÆs dead in the water, confirm one kill.ö
ôThe unknown is trying to run.ö It was a simple report, but enough to cut down on any momentary sense of elation at the destruction of an enemy ship in a proper battle
The unknown, no longer covered by the raiderÆs bulk, was indeed burning itÆs engines as hard as it could in an attempt to put distance between itself and the Imperial cruiser. A brief glance showed that they hadnÆt run far enough, a light-second.
ôDisable it.ö Turning briefly to the political officer, Arahn remarked on the worry they both felt, ôIf the flayers subverted an Outlander Empire àö
ôTarget locked, firing.ö The triumphant cry transformed into a curse, ôDammit! IÆve lost him, sensors!ö
The sensorsÆ officerÆs voice was hesitant,ôItÆs gone, IÆve got à an unknown FTL method. Unknown went FTL.ö
For someone who spoke little and softly, NavathisÆ voice was like the crack of a whip when she wanted it to and, this time, she did, ôTrack it!ö
ôOne moment, analysing.ö There was a shout in a language Arahn didnÆt recognize, but judging by the tone it was a good shout rather than a colourful curse, ôGot it! If theyÆre going in a straight line, itÆs a white dwarf star, two systems over. Ten light-years.ö
ôExcellent work.ö Arahn smiled as he leaned back in his seat, ôPut together a report on the unknown, I want it on my desk in an hour.ö After taking a moment to watch the dying flayer raider, spinning in place and leaking fluids like a wounded animal, the Captain ordered, ôAnd gunnery, finish that raider off.ö
ôGladly, sir.ö
It was oddly satisfying, watching the raider being carved up by AlacrisÆ weapons until it was in a dozen pieces, drifting apart in the void of space.
Dismissing the holo-display with a wave of the hand, Arahn rose to address the shipÆs mage, ôI want a report to command. Looks like weÆll need reinforcements.ö
Lieutenant Ingram Teecham nodded. A tall, weedy man with a pinched face that made him look older than he actually way, (name) was a perfect embodiment of a wizard the populace had in appearance, at least. In personality, the man was far more social and friendly than his dour appearance indicated, though, in ArahnÆs opinion, he tended to get a bit too professional and formal while on duty, a distinct difference from the crewÆs less formal behaviour developed by years away from the core worlds of the Empire.
It took barely a minute before Ingram straightened, ôSir, response from command.ö A subtle shift occurred, as the wizardÆs voice lost any trace of inflection, sounding more like a machine than a living being, ôReinforcements en route. Recon in force once additional ships have arrived, locate enemy outpost and determine defences. Engage if victory seems possible. Captain Tyrell to assume command of squadron. Communication ends.ö
ôGood.ö Turning to his second-in-command, Arahn issued his next order, even as he sat back down to wait for reinforcement to arrive, ôCommander Mindanos move crew to stand-by positions, I want combat readiness at a momentÆs notice.ö
ôYes, sir. Intercom.ö As the flashing lights went out OragÆs voice filled the corridors, ôAll hands, àö
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And that's all that's been written so far. I have other parts plotted out, some more sections are still stuck in the planning stage, but so far I'd like feedback and see if this is even worth bothering with further.