Trinity Angles (Discussion Thread)

[Kieran]

Just wait till they see the enemy servants, after all... Arcueid Brunested is a servant in Extra. Who, sane... could curb-stomp Team Scarlet easily.

It all depends on who, exactly, makes up the other side(s) - I'm currently thinking a four-way team battle, each based in one of the house dorms.

I'm assuming Shirou summoned Arturia again, since his only other possible summon EMIYA is already there.

Actually, I was kind of thinking of this Servant for Shirou.

Who else, according to CCC Karna was summoned even if you never see him in Vanilla Extra.

Well, we already have a Lancer . . .

Though he could show up on one of the opposite sides.

Umh.... Joan (Santa) Alter Lily is mainly dressed in white with some black. Your description remind more of Rider!Altoria Alter (or Santa Alter, aka Saber Alter playing the role of Santa Claus).

Oops - I'll fix it when I get a chance. I am more used to hunting pics of Artoria as Santa Alter, so I think my brain defaulted, as I was in a rush to get the snippet out before I left town. Sorry.

[Kieran]

Tsukimihara Academy, The Moon Cell
Specific date unknown, 2032








Hakuno Kishinami collapsed to her knees as the Effigy struck her, unable to do anything more than process the blow—and the knowledge that she was about to die.

No, she thought desperately. It can’t end like this—!


[Saber Option]








“Contract accepted.”

The voice was soft, but chilling, like a breath of winter wind. Slender arms came into view above her, holding a sheathed sword—but those arms proved deceptively strong, as they blocked the Effigy’s own weapon and held.

Hakuno blinked, and in that fraction of a second that her sight was lost, something happened to send the Effigy flying back. She felt, more than heard, the soft landing of someone behind her.

“Can you stand?” asked the same voice, still quiet, but warmer.

Trembling a little from the adrenaline rush, Hakuno found that she could—and found herself facing a girl who appeared to be no older than she herself, though several centimetres taller. The girl was garbed in what looked to be a schoolgirl seifuku, as imagined by a biker gang; the entire ensemble was done in scaly blue leather, with a silvery sheen to it—right down to the sheathe of her sword. As for the girl herself, she was paler in complexion than Hakuno, and had unnerving eyes that were the icy blue of a clear winter sky . . .

But the concern in them, as she looked Hakuno over, was warm.

“Stay behind me,” she ordered. “This isn’t over yet.”

Hakuno obeyed, and not a moment too soon, as the Effigy chose that moment to launch itself forward with startling speed, blade thrusting forward . . .

It was only because she couldn’t tear her eyes away that the girl actually saw what happened, and even then it took a moment for her to process it. The swordswoman (swordsgirl?) stepped to the right even as her weapon arced down and to the left, sending the larger blade wide—then, quick as lightning, she actually drew her weapon and brought it back up along the same curve, as the Effigy’s momentum carried the figure forward into its path.

The mannequin, neatly bisected, began to dissolve—and in the time it took Hakuno to register that, she heard a click and realised that the sword she hadn’t quite seen had been re-sheathed.

“And that’s that,” the girl said in a satisfied tone. She turned to face Hakuno once more, and bowed respectfully. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Master—for this Holy Grail War, I am a Servant of the Saber class, and I’ll be in your care.”

“. . . What?” Hakuno managed, in confusion.








“Saber” was a surprise, Takara had to admit. Being summoned as an Assassin, she would have understood—or even a Caster—but the pinnacle, more or less, of Heroic Spirit classes, was unexpected . . . Until she checked her Personal Skills, and understood how she would qualify for this War, at least, if only here.

Godmother’s Blessing was, after all, defined as “the protection of she who is the inheritor of the Ultimate One of the Moon.” In a terrestrial Grail War, it would’ve simply raised her parameters when the Moon was in the sky—but in a Holy Grail War that took place on the Moon itself, that Skill’s effect was amplified exponentially. Enough that even she, who had always been renowned more for her speed, agility and reflexes than her raw strength, could qualify for a class that demanded the highest possible parameters of its members.

And that’s the good news, she thought with a sigh. The bad news is that my “Master” doesn’t have the training to incarnate me at anything me than the lowest parameters possible. Even worse, I don’t know enough about how this “Code Casting” works in order to fix it—and neither does she!

She sighed to herself, knowing that she’d have to take things slowly. “Hakuno” was no different than she herself had been, a long time ago—and while she had no intention of lying to her, or treating her like an invalid, being on this side of things gave her a new appreciation for how hard it had been for Galen. Knowing things that your Master didn’t, knowing exactly how difficult the fights ahead were likely to be, and trying not to panic them by revealing just how frightened you were . . .

As a Saber, my Mystic Eyes and my Witchcraft are both sealed, Takara thought, and in my current state, I can’t use the Noble Phantasm I’ve got . . . I really hope that Aunt Touko is able to hack her way in here like she said she would, and soon—I’m going to need all the help I can get.

Still, one way or another, she would do this—at the very least, she had to try. She owed it to the girl, and to her parents, after all.

Her Master might be known as “Hakuno Kishinami,” even to herself, but that had been a necessary alias when she’d entered the public records to undergo medical treatment, to keep her safe from the many enemies and rivals her parents had acquired; much like Takara herself, once upon a time. Takara, on the other hand, knew that her Master had been born as “Cassiopeia Aozaki”—the daughter of Sirius and Aoko Aozaki, and her cousin

And it just wasn’t in her nature to give up on family.








[Archer Option]








“Easy, kid—I’ve got you.”

A dark curtain swept over the descending blade, halting it with a heavy thud.

“Cover your ears—this is going to get loud.”

A flash of flame was accompanied by a thunderous roar, sending the Effigy flying back with a massive chunk blown out of its head. With a movement that seemed no more than a flick of the wrist, the covering vanished, revealing a second pistol joining the first already held ready. And then a cacophony of shots fired, so many that Hakuno lost count of them all . . .

But the Effigy fell apart into pieces, as seemingly every joint it had was struck simultaneously.

The guns vanished, and warm, firm hands lifted her to her feet with surprising gentleness. Its owner was a lot taller than she was, and looked broad enough for two of her; Caucasian, and a bit on the scruffy side, judging by the mustache and beard, even if that long, gray coat and hat did make him look cool, in an exotic sort of way.

“. . . Are you all right, Miss . . .?” the gunslinger queried. At her stunned silence, he blinked. “Oh! You can call me ‘Archer,’ miss—though I’d prefer it if you keep even that to yourself. Every advantage we can get in the Holy Grail War is a good thing to have.”

“. . . Huh?” Hakuno said blankly.








Let’s hear it for being summoned as an Archer, Galen thought with relief. If not for Independent Action, my stats would be a lot lower, based on what I’m getting from her.

Was it his luck that led him to be continually summoned by Masters who had no idea what they were doing, he wondered, or was it an unwritten trait of the Archer class itself? After all, Rin had screwed up her summoning, if not as badly as she’d been led to believe, and Tokiomi hadn’t exactly been fortunate in his choice . . .

Either way, he was in familiar territory, of sorts. Girl with magus potential who had no idea of what that meant; check. Summoned as a Servant in a War he didn’t really understand; check. A lot of what he did know liable to be wrong . . .

Unfortunately, check.

In addition, a lot of his usual resources were missing—as Archer, his wand was inaccessible, and so was the Deathcloak; apparently, being a sniper who was undetectable by means of magic would’ve been too much of a cheat. Likewise, Apparition was apparently forbidden to him—but oddly enough, one of his Personal Skills was apparently Primal Runecraft, which meant that he could still use magic.

(Of course, he was sure that somebody was having a good laugh at his expense; otherwise, why would he have a Personal Skill called Two Loves, One Heart, of all things?)

Regardless, he owed it to Sirius to try to pull this off. To himself, too—neither Takara nor Hermione would forgive him if he didn’t make it home . . .

. . . But as soon as he saw that the Mediator was Kirei Kotomine, he just knew that he was screwed.








[Caster Option]








“Well, this is different . . .”

A cage of swords materialised from nowhere, trapping the Effigy behind a wall of steel. Hakuno stared for a moment, before the tap of something striking the floor caught her attention.

At first glance, the man who’d appeared behind her seemed like a stereotypical wizard, like you’d see in a video game. The long cloak that covered his entire body was fiery red, glittering with leathery scales and protective sigils, and the shock of white hair that peeked from the top of the raised hood gave an impression of arcane mystique. The walking stick he rested on, long and carved with runes, only added to the effect.

It was only on closer inspection that Hakuno realised that the man wore what looked like modern tactical armour under the cloak, and that he was far more muscular than the “mage” stereotype. Likewise, she saw that the “walking stick” looked like it was made of steel—and the dark-skinned hand holding it had a lot more calluses and weathering than one would expect.

“Not so terrifying a Master, this time,” the hooded man proclaimed in a deep, amused voice. “Maybe that’s the reason for the change in class. I’m Caster, kid—nice to meet you!”

As he boomed that last part, he slammed his cane into the ground, producing a gong that sounded like a funeral bell. Hakuno couldn’t say just how it happened, but in response, the swords that made up the cage shifted, their inward faces suddenly protruding deadly spikes that impaled the Effigy in a crosshatching ring of blades.

Both Effigy and cage vanished into glittering motes.








Emiya Shirou found himself bemused. Apparently, this was a new incarnation of his legend, as dictated by his adventures in a reality usually known as “the Wizarding World of Harry Potter”—which was typically regarded as fiction in his normal facet of the Kaleidoscope.

As such, though, it meant that he could do a lot more, in some ways—and in others, a lot less. For example, he no longer had the stats to match other Heroic Spirits in close-quarters combat—but Unlimited Blade Works was actually easier to manifest, and he had access to a few new Noble Phantasms and magecraft techniques . . .

Now, if only his Master could give him the mana he needed in order to actually use them.

Stupid lousy Luck rating, the Heroic Spirit grumbled to himself. And what the heck is this Affections of the Grail Skill for . . .?








Writer's Notes: Apologies for the delay - I'm not dead (though possibly fighting another cold, based on how wiped I feel), though my personal life has been a bit hectic, this week . . .

Anyways, this is obviously a more standard Fate/EXTRA story, with the appropriate twists. Hope you enjoyed!

Umh.... Joan (Santa) Alter Lily is mainly dressed in white with some black. Your description remind more of Rider!Altoria Alter (or Santa Alter, aka Saber Alter playing the role of Santa Claus).

Finally got around to fixing it - sorry for the wait!

[Xamusel]

Okay... would be funny to see what all happens to Hakuno in any of the three routes.

[MWkillkenny84]

BWHAHAHHAHAHHAHA!!!

Oh poor members of the Trinity...

[Kieran]

Okay... would be funny to see what all happens to Hakuno in any of the three routes.

Saber Route (Good Ending): Finds herself rescued, and assumes life as Cassiopeia Black; is especially close to her cousin, even if said cousin's daughter is nearly her age.

Archer Route (Good Ending): More or less as above, but Cassie has developed a complex for older men - much to the entire family's chagrin.

Caster Route (Good Ending): Much like the Archer route, just switch men - and it doesn't help that Shirou actually has a son that's about her age.

All Routes (True Ending): Proceed to "Fate/EXTELLA" . . .

[Xamusel]

Oh dear... well, at least she's getting rescued, somehow.

[Kieran]

Continuing . . .

Spain, eighteen hours later








“How the hell did I get roped into this?” Shirou muttered, and then sighed.

The question was not just rhetorical, it was ridiculous; one glance at those memories of Galen’s would’ve convinced anyone with a functioning survival instinct that the Las Plagas parasite needed to die (preferably in lots of fire). That anyone who would deal in them was a monster that needed to be stopped, permanently. And if there was even a chance that those things could end up getting anywhere near his daughter . . .

Roped, hell—he’d not only volunteered, he’d been ready to Portkey himself there on the spot.

None of that had made the preceding hours any easier on him. Galen’s knowledge of the threat was sketchy, to say the least: the game involving the Las Plagas had originally been released for a platform he didn’t own, and around the time he’d been diagnosed with carpal tunnel syndrome. These factors meant that his exposure to it had been minimal; and for all the wonders Occlumency could work on the mind, not even a Master Occlumens could recall information he’d never learned in the first place. So Shirou had needed to fall back on older skills, tricks gained from another life, and actually research his targets.

Fortunately, those skills were recallable with Occlumency, and he was dealing with a far simpler technology base when it came to security than he was actually used to—the Internet was just coming into vogue at this point in time. While this meant that some of his tricks were impossible to recreate, most of them were actually redundant; he didn’t need to hack his way past thirty layers of triple encryption, for example. The majority of records were still paper-based, or put on floppy disks—or maybe CDs, at the highest levels.

Aside from that, having a very high clearance rating and the Prime Minister and MI-6 director’s authority behind him had allowed Shirou to commandeer a fair amount of resources, both in terms of access to records and in people to help sift through them. He’d covered all the bases that Galen’s memories could give him—the remaining time had been spent in flight, pondering his potential targets and actions.

He was after a cult that, frankly, probably wasn’t a threat at the moment. The events of “Resident Evil 4,” as it was known, took place in 2002, or somewhere close to it; even then, those events were the result of years of research and planning. Even setting aside the difficulty involved in designing and manufacturing a biological weapon like the Las Plagas parasite (never mind what factors magic might throw in as a curveball), there were other elements that just couldn’t be invented on the spot.

Infecting a lonely rural village in Europe with Las Plagas might be possible, for example, depending on how “traditional” or “rustic” it was—doing so and making the act go undetected, in this increasing age of mass media, would be harder. And movies and television aside, it simply wasn’t easy to kidnap a high-value political target like the only daughter of a nation’s president—much less a nation with the resources and organisation of the Americans—and flee across international borders. Not if you wanted to succeed, and especially not if you wanted your agents and the target to survive the process. No, that kind of thing took time, money, men, materiel, and planning.

They wouldn’t be anywhere near ready, Shirou believed, not yet. If he was really lucky, they were still studying what the parasites could do, and weren’t up to weaponising them yet, much less into the mass-production stage. A few discreet Obliviations (or, if need be, assassinations), and a quiet but thorough “industrial accident” would be all that was needed to end the threat.

. . . Of course, how often am I that lucky? Shirou asked himself rhetorically.

And it was a question that became even more rhetorical when one considered the “theme” of the Resident Evil games was, more often than not, “protagonist in the wrong place at the wrong time”—specifically, just when (or not long after) everything went horribly wrong . . .

Still, he had reason to be hopeful—and a few aces up his sleeve, just in case. In addition to his usual kit, he had a few phials of Hermione’s blood. Vampire ichor, like lycanthropy, was a jealous sort; it wouldn’t tolerate any ill effects on its hosts other than itself. Used in small doses, it could act as a healing agent—particularly as a curative against bacteria and viruses—without ill effect. The substance would eventually burn itself out, unless enough of it was introduced into a human’s system to overwhelm its natural blood cell count, and that decay could be accelerated by exposure to sunlight and ingestion of garlic.

It was, Shirou had to admit, a dangerous thing to be playing with—it was considered a last resort for damned good reason, no pun intended—but he felt somewhat better for having it, anyway. Compared to the things those parasites could make their hosts become, being a vampire was practically tame.

Still, he admitted, hopefully, I won’t have to use the stuff. And funnily enough, he was hopeful; they were acting early enough to catch these guys completely off-guard—or at least, unprepared. As long as he was careful, this really shouldn’t be impossible, and maybe not even difficult.

The really tough part, he thought, was going to lie in dealing with Umbrella. Their bio-weaponry development might still be in its initial stages, but the company itself was pretty much at the height of its power, presently—economically, politically, and in terms of resources. And while the seven of them could almost certainly throw several monkey wrenches into any of Umbrella’s plans and contingencies, doing so without revealing the existence of magic was liable to be very complicated.

In which case, Galen had better watch his ass . . .








Outside the Spencer Estate, same time frame








In another timeline, Lord Oswell E. Spencer would have been indicted by the courts of the world as a result of the events which occurred in Raccoon City. His tireless efforts to duck culpability and avoid answering for his (many, many crimes) would’ve eventually led to Spencer’s going into hiding, and subsequently sparking a global manhunt which spanned over a decade . . . And yet, when the authorities finally caught up with him, he’d have been a wheelchair-bound man living in his family estate—which was arguably the first place they should’ve looked for him.

Galen, not being an idiot (usually, he admitted), checked there first.

As might be expected of a family of English nobility, the hereditary Spencer home was a bloody castle—and on a cliff, no less—in the finest Gothic horror tradition. This meant that it had a fairly good view of all available approach angles, and anybody who tried coming in by sea had to scale a pretty sheer cliff to do so. The round-the-clock security guards—or the cameras they monitored—would have plenty of time to catch them in the act.

Moreover, the airspace around the estate was restricted, and satellite views of the place indicated that, as might be expected of a man with more money and influence than was good for him, the castle’s security likely included several less-than-legal features that would discourage unauthorised visitors. For example, the Royal Air Force had set up a couple of anti-aircraft guns in the days of World War II that were still on the property—now “decommissioned,” according to the records, but Galen would bet on “upgraded” being the more accurate term. Nor was he ruling out the possibility of surface-to-air missiles; from all he knew of the man, Spencer was a puzzle and spy maniac that would be right at home in an Ian Fleming novel, expecting Mister Bond to die while stroking the cat in his arms.

Quite frankly, he’d be disappointed if there wasn’t a concealed SAM launcher somewhere on the grounds.

All of this, mind you, made the prospect of sneaking into the estate to confirm Spencer’s whereabouts—much less interrogating him—quite daunting, to say the least. A team of SAS paratroopers, or Navy SEALs, wouldn’t find it easy to pull off. Of course, Galen being who he was, he intended to cheat—blatantly.

The main road up to the estate was watched, of course. There were guards, of course. But their vigilance only extended so far. Little attention was paid to a plane unless it was heading in their direction, much less one that was several dozen miles off. Its presence was noted, sure, but it was outside the restricted zone, and a private query showed it to be a rerouted passenger jet whose flight plan and manifest to be pretty harmless—and you could only inquire so far without sounding suspiciously paranoid. Not to mention that it was up far too high for anything to drop safely; as such, after a while, it was ignored.

And that was the point—of course.

Galen hated heights. That hadn’t changed in all the years and incarnations he’d lived, and likely never would. He liked this plan even less, since it involved line-of-sight Apparition out of a plane, making multiple jumps further and further down, until he hit the ground. The idea was to make landfall before he generated any significant velocity—or at least, so much that his Cushioning Charms couldn’t overcome it—and in practice, it did work, but . . .

“First,” Galen panted to himself, “owwww . . .

“Second,” he wheezed, rolling onto his back, “I never, ever want to do that again. I am going to have so many nightmares about doing that . . .”

With more effort than he’d have liked, the wizard drew the Deathcloak around himself, and shifted into dire wolf form; he’d need both the speed and stamina of the beast to make up the distance he needed. Plus, even from this far a remove, he had to assume that his impact had made enough noise to draw attention—in actuality, it may or may not have, but he had to assume that it did.

As his Animagus form assumed the Deathcloak’s properties, he loped with initially-ginger strides, gradually gaining poise, confidence and energy as he healed. When he was a mile or so from the estate (and downwind from its guard dogs), he paused and sat on his haunches, ears raised and breathing deeply for several minutes, before shifting back to human form.

Galen took a moment, afterwards, to assimilate everything his lupine senses had told him.

There are at least twelve guards doing rotating loops of the perimeter: three on each side at any given time, and they’re each paired with a dog. Looks like they went with Dobermans over something like German Shepherds—I guess Spencer wanted “big and intimidating” more than “easily trained and handled.” I could hear radios calling out reports, confirming the take of camera feeds . . . Ah, atop the fences. No obvious sign of any experiments, but I don’t doubt they’re here; if he’s dumb enough to put a bio-weapons laboratory complex under his vacation home, no reason to think the ancestral abode is off-limits.

He pulled out a set of binoculars. They were a custom job: military-issue, but with a few enchantments such as were found on Omnioculars, and others allowing him to switch between night-vision and infrared settings. After a few minutes of study through them, Galen confirmed the viewing angles of the security cameras, and that the castle windows were wired to an alarm system, which dovetailed with the plans on file that had been supplied to him. Likewise, that probably meant that the interior security cameras were in the same places the plans said they were, though he’d have to check to be certain.

Good thing I just finished that tradecraft course, he thought, even as he put the binoculars away, concentrated—and Disapparated.

. . . After all, why try to sneak past security cameras, over an electric fence, bypassing a dozen armed guards with dogs and a radio link to the inside, and disable the alarm on a window when teleporting directly to the clearly-visible third-floor landing was so much easier?








Writer's Notes: Hoped to have the actual chapter up today, but no luck - I am sitting at about 2/3 done, though, so maybe tomorrow . . .?

Anyways, hope this tides you all over.

[MWkillkenny84]

... and suddently in my head I hear the Mission Impossible theme playing on.

[Kieran]

... and suddently in my head I hear the Mission Impossible theme playing on.

Not entirely without merit.

. . . Honestly, though - I really couldn't see either Shirou or Galen suffering through some of the usual spy or Resident Evil tricks when they have magic available. All those usual puzzle tricks wouldn't last too long, I think.

[MWkillkenny84]

Not entirely without merit.

. . . Honestly, though - I really couldn't see either Shirou or Galen suffering through some of the usual spy or Resident Evil tricks when they have magic available. All those usual puzzle tricks wouldn't last too long, I think.

Only if Spencer had no magical knowledge and/or wizards in his employ, otherwise I will expect anti-Appartation/Portkeys/other Jinxes and added Charms/Curses so to make the puzzle tricks impossible to Dungeon Bypass.

[TheAbsolutistsCreed]

Speaking of apocalypse type settings... Has there been a snippet about Fallout? Or is there one yet, because having that happen would be an interesting concept for the Scarlet Seven to go through even if the events might have to change a bit or even the characters still around for it if you went that route. I vaguely recall Bioshock being brandied about at some point.

Basic Summary: Being inducted into the vault program (cryogenics) minus the scientific experimentation bit (seeing as the SS is needed), waking up in a post apocalyptic world and surviving to say nothing of magic being mixed in and maybe even mutated. You could even consider it a worst case scenario with some of the other ideas you were thinking of where life just continues on after Voldemort can't fly anymore.

... Err... I didn't spoil too much did I? For those that actually know about the Fallout Series.

[Kieran]

Only if Spencer had no magical knowledge and/or wizards in his employ, otherwise I will expect anti-Appartation/Portkeys/other Jinxes and added Charms/Curses so to make the puzzle tricks impossible to Dungeon Bypass.

Point - and with the Progenitor virus's source being a (theoretically) magical plant, it's not impossible . . .

Though it's worth pointing out that any enchantment can be overwhelmed, if you throw enough power at it - and enough frustration at dealing with the stupid puzzles would probably cause Shirou (and certainly Galen) to go, "Screw it, let's blow this pop stand - literally!"

Speaking of apocalypse type settings... Has there been a snippet about Fallout? Or is there one yet, because having that happen would be an interesting concept for the Scarlet Seven to go through even if the events might have to change a bit or even the characters still around for it if you went that route.

Sadly, Fallout is one of those series I've heard of, but never gotten experience with. I doubt I could do much with it that would satisfy fans of the series.

I vaguely recall Bioshock being brandied about at some point.

It was done as an "angle" - places they could've ended up in besides the Rowlingverse - but . . .

. . . You know, thinking on it, I probably could do something with that. Much like with the bio-weapons of "Resident Evil," the effects in BioShock bend biology and physics enough that "magic" would be a reasonable explanation. And given certain elements introduced in "BioShock Infinite," I can think of at least one or two potential stories . . . Hm.

I hadn't considered that before - thanks!

Basic Summary: Being inducted into the vault program (cryogenics) minus the scientific experimentation bit (seeing as the SS is needed), waking up in a post apocalyptic world and surviving to say nothing of magic being mixed in and maybe even mutated. You could even consider it a worst case scenario with some of the other ideas you were thinking of where life just continues on after Voldemort can't fly anymore.

... Err... I didn't spoil too much did I? For those that actually know about the Fallout Series.

I honestly couldn't say.

[MWkillkenny84]

Point - and with the Progenitor virus's source being a (theoretically) magical plant, it's not impossible . . .

Though it's worth pointing out that any enchantment can be overwhelmed, if you throw enough power at it - and enough frustration at dealing with the stupid puzzles would probably cause Shirou (and certainly Galen) to go, "Screw it, let's blow this pop stand - literally!"

Isn't the whole point of sending those two that the op has to be done sthealtly and silently, and not by doing Nanoha's version of a Dungeon Bypass?

[Kieran]

Isn't the whole point of sending those two that the op has to be done sthealtly and silently, and not by doing Nanoha's version of a Dungeon Bypass?

Partly - also partly because they have either experience (in Shirou's case), or know exactly what they're looking for (Galen), and where (or who) to go if they have trouble finding it. But still, there are two things worth noting:

First, the puzzles probably won't trouble them too much, anyway, since they can Transfigure or Conjure the appropriate pieces; Galen can do inanimate Transfiguration reasonably well, and Shirou is (obviously) a master.

Second, ultimately, this is a search-and-destroy mission; everything has got to go, along with any potential of resurrecting it. So the aforementioned blowing of the pop stand is in the cards, eventually.

[Kieran]

Therum
Knossos System, Artemis Tau Cluster
November 16, 2183








Contrary to the example of Indiana Jones, archaeology was, on the whole, very tedious and time-consuming. Disregarding the time one spent in study and research—which could be decades, depending on one’s field of study and the existing sources—actual field work was slow, and very delicate. Most relics were very fragile, and a hasty or incautious archaeologist could end up destroying anything he found in his attempts to uncover it; as such, the approach of the paleontologists in Jurassic Park was generally more appropriate to the work.

Where the protheans were concerned, on the other hand, there was a bit less cause for alarm. The dig site had survived fifty thousand years in the heart of a semi-active volcano, after all, and what remained of the rest of their civilisation seemed to be build to a similar level of resiliency—still, it was best to be cautious, just the same. As such, he worked carefully with a small hammer and an ice-pick to chip away the rock surrounding the wall, sweeping away fragments with a calligraphy brush. Not the easiest tools for the job, but the least damaging to the surroundings.

It was slow, and mind-numbingly tedious work, but it was a lot cooler in the tunnels than on the surface—

A chirp from his omni-tool drew his attention. “Yes?”

“We just received a distress call—from Eden Prime,” his wife’s response. “I’ve let Dr. T’Soni know we’ve had a family emergency; she’s given us leave. And I’ve sent a warning to the Alliance—hopefully, they’ll get there in time.”

“. . . It’s started, then,” he sighed.

That also meant that Dr. T’Soni was going to be in danger, sooner or later; though when, or from what, he couldn’t be entirely certain. He’d never actually played the “Mass Effect” games—he just knew enough of the broad strokes to recognise things as they came, including the young asari (both in terms of her species, and in relation to them—not that the good doctor herself knew that).

“I’m on my way,” he responded, cutting the link before looking down at his work with a regretful sigh.

All things considered, he’d much rather be doing this than hacking a Mass Relay in order to have it take them where they needed to be . . .








SR-1 Normandy
En route to Eden Prime, Utopia System
November 16, 2183








Commander Jane Shepard was a woman of many designations and titles. Among the most commonly-used were: daughter, N7-ranked member of the Alliance military, biotic, surviving commander of the Akuze massacre—and, it now seemed, potential candidate for the Special Tactics and Reconnaissance division of the Citadel. If she passed evaluation, that would make her the first human in their ranks, and a symbol of humanity and for humanity.

No pressure, the woman thought to herself sardonically, fighting a grim smirk that tugged at the edges of her mouth; she was supposed to be setting an example, after all.

Then again, she mused with a mental shrug, if high-pressure situations were a problem for her, she’d have flunked out of basic training, never mind N school—and she definitely wouldn’t have survived Akuze . . .

Still, it wasn’t the evaluation that worried her, nor even the mission; it wouldn’t be the first time she’d investigated a silent colony, or even her first encounter with prothean relics (not that that tidbit had made it into her file). No, what bothered her was the fact that the colony in question was Eden Prime, and if she remembered correctly . . .

As surreptitiously as one could possibly be with a hard-light projective display system, the commander opened up her omni-tool and double-checked her personal correspondence. With a sinking heart, she confirmed that yes, the name of the colony did mean what she thought it had—but on the bright side, it also meant that she might be able to get intelligence on the situation, regardless of the current blackout.

It took her several moments to reach her quarters; it seemed that even on the most advanced ship in the fleet, a prototype of hybridised technology, it was functionally impossible to make an elevator move faster than molasses. Still, once there, it took only seconds to rifle through her toiletries, and withdraw a small but ornate hand mirror.

The commander hesitated for a moment. The risks were small, all things considered—it had been designed with every safeguard possible in mind—but there was a risk involved, so long as the ship was generating a mass effect field . . .

On the other hand, she reasoned, it’s just as risky to walk into the situation on Eden Prime blind, isn’t it?

Drawing in a deep breath, Shepard focussed her mind as she’d been taught, building a small charge of biotic energy, and running it through the mirror’s handle and frame before speaking.

“Granny?” she called, cursing herself for the hesitation in her voice—she was twenty-nine, but in that moment, she sounded two decades younger—even as she asked, “. . . Granny, are you there?”

All Shepard could do was count her heartbeats, each one seeming more painful as the silence stretched on, before the mirror’s spotless surface abruptly fogged over. Only the fact that it had done so before she released the breath she’d been holding told the commander that it wasn’t simply her own exhalation—a fact which was confirmed when the fog abruptly cleared to another woman’s face.

“Hello, Jehanne,” her grandmother replied with uncharacteristic grimness. “While it’s always lovely to hear from you, I’m going to guess that your call is based on more than just remarkably lucky timing.”

According to her birth certificate and biology, “Ginnifer Longbottom” was sixty-three years of age—though her general health and the fact that her hair was still more flame than steel led people to assume she was younger. Shepard was one of the privileged few who were aware that the woman she addressed as her grandmother really ought to have several “greats” in front of her title, if she was going to be accurate; at the moment, however, the old woman almost looked her actual age.

“We know something’s wrong,” Shepard confirmed. “I’m on my way, Granny—and I’ve got a Spectre along with me.”

“That’s good,” the elder woman admitted. “They always get the best stuff, and you’ll definitely need it.”

“Granny, what’s happened?”

“Robots,” was the terse reply. “Robots and some sort of conversion array that makes the colonists over into some form of zombie—and have I mentioned how much I hate zombies, Jehanne?”

“It’s ‘Jane,’ Granny,” Shepard corrected her, “and yes.”

“Older naming forms are a family tradition,” the old woman said primly. “And yours isn’t so bad . . .” She scowled abruptly, in realisation. “And I sound like my mother—never mind the crazy old witch, dear.”

“Gran, are you all right?” the commander asked. “Are the colonists?”

Her grandmother sighed heavily. “Most of them, dear—it looks like our uninvited guests are after the dig site, and destroying the colony’s a bonus. Once the bigger stuff showed up, I started helping the civil defence militia funnel people into the bunkers, and those are fortified and enchanted heavily enough that they ought to withstand anything short of directed heavy bombardment. As for the dig site itself . . .

“The best I could do there, I’m afraid, were a few charms against hostile spells and intentions; I couldn’t use anything too overt without drawing attention, and you know how iffy those sorts of things are on alien minds. At best, it’ll blunt biotic attacks used against the defenders, and it might halt those robot zombies—but I can’t guarantee it.

“What I’d really like,” the old woman said wistfully, “is to be able to cut loose. The Thunderbolt Charm was never my specialty, but I can still pack enough volts into it to make those tin cans regret they ever came ‘round—and even without that, there are a lot of other nasty things I could do, besides . . .”

She sighed. “But even if I just stuck to just biotic techniques for secrecy’s sake, I’m too old to believably pass for a biotic human—and I was never much good at pretending to be an asari. So defensive, subtle magic it is . . .”

Her grandmother made a face and stuck her tongue out, with an accompanying retching sound.

The redheaded soldier snorted in response—the result of her best effort to cover an unexpected and quickly-aborted chuckle. “It’s nice to see you’re keeping your sense of humour in all this, Gran.”

“My brothers would never forgive me otherwise,” the old woman said mock-solemnly, complete with accompanying shudder.

Once again Shepard found herself fighting a smile, as she recalled a few stories of those brothers—she was supposed to be a professional here, darn it! And with that thought, she took a deep breath, let it out, and let the amusement pass before she returned to being all business.

“. . . Is there anything else you think I ought to know, Granny?”

“Well,” the old witch allowed, “the Alliance com network might be jammed, but as you’ve just proven, my communications options aren’t so limited; I’ve called in some backup.”

“Backup?” the biotic repeated warily, knowing that that could mean anything from another witch or wizard to actual dragons.

“A squadron of Advanced Biotic Commandos,” she said, using the Alliance’s code name for its magical spec ops teams. “It happens to include two of your old instructors, in fact.”

Given the short list of Advanced Biotic Commandos that both knew her grandmother and were capable of teaching either a military biotic or an N School candidate, Shepard was fairly certain she knew which instructors were being referred to. And that being the case—well, all things considered, dragons might have been the lesser response.

If they get to Eden Prime before we do, she mused, we might only have to do mop-up . . .








Writer's Notes: With the nearing release of "Mass Effect: Andromeda" (a game which might suit the Seven quite well) I've been re-reading some old favourites in "Mass Effect" fics - and it spawned this.

[Xamusel]

...did I just read Ginny as Shepard's grandmother?

[Kieran]

...did I just read Ginny as Shepard's grandmother?

You are correct, sir. Through her mom's side - but from what little I know of Captain Shepard, I'd say it makes sense.

[Xamusel]

Kieran... you're one magnificent bastard, you know that?

Of course, this makes a lot of sense when you think about it... Ginny being an example of the Trope entitled Really 700 Years Old (even if she's not really that old). Although, what made her look so young, in comparison?

...I swear, if you use the catchall "magic", I will slap you silly upside the head for this.

[Funderfullness]

Well, Mass Effect is only 180 years in our future, as opposed to some other sci-fi series. That's a little more of a reasonable age for a witch or wizard to live to, particularly if you know people who can make the Elixir of Life.

[Xamusel]

Eh... good point. Thanks for reminding me about that.