Okay, this will be the thread for the FAWTL MASS EFFECT Play By Post game! This is my first Play by Post game that I am running, although I have played in PBP games myself in the past. They all fell apart some time ago- I will be using what I learned there to keep this one from falling apart as well!
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Okay, a day after N7 day, but we're finally gettng underway!
Reposting stuff for those following along and so that things are a bit easier for those playing- everything will be in one place.
State of the galaxy:
It has been eight years since Commander Shepherd saved organic life by destroying the Reapers and bringing a lasting peace to the galaxy.
Recovery has been a long, rough road. While the mass effect relays have been repaired, there are tight restrictions on travel to avoid strain upon them.
Of all the races directly attacked by the reapers, only humanity is recovering with any real speed, and that is primarily due to sexual reproductive issues unique to the race. With many of the "reaper babies" just starting elementary school, the future looks bright for humans, as the planet Earth has only recently physically recovered from the invasion. With just about every human on and off planet a combat veteran, the Systems Alliance sank all of its efforts into reconstruction. As a result, for the first time in living memory non-combat MOS(primarily construction) greatly outnumbered frontline infantry. While this isn't a bad thing, it has allowed for the rise of a number of new semi-private military and mercenary forces. While the Arcturus First Volunteers, Eden Prime Pitchforks and Zhu's Hope Thorians and a few others are part of the Alliance in all but name, others are not. Perhaps the vest example of this is Exogeni, which now has Exo-Sec. Of greatest concern are the Sons of Shepard- a mercenary outfit that is starting to turn into a gang composed of anti-Cerebus fantatics that seem to be hunting down any and all even tangentally related to the disgraced organization. A counter-movement, called Tartarus, has risen to oppose them, and the conflict between these organizations has started to spread to human colonies.
While the turians have survived the conflict, they are far from thriving. While the construction battalions work to return life to Palaven and Taetrus, the fact that turians can neither eat bullets nor live in cannons is often repeated by the purple robed Valluvien Priests, who have become a common sight on the latter planet and have a toehold on the former. While they make no overt moves to disrupt the hierarchy, their pacifistic doctrine, which encourages the "healing of the spirits" of both planets through dedicated reconstruction -even if this means never leaving the civilian caste- makes the Turian Hierarchy nervous. Already 10 to 12% of turian of educational age on the world have foregone the traditional third step of turian education and have focused on architecture and engineering as Valluvien acolytes, and this is enough to alter the miltary readiness of the planet. Still, the speed at which the Valluvien acolytes have reconstructed major parts of their world is astonishing to even jaded eyes, although their works lack the distinctive turian military aire. Taetrus has begun to heal while Palaven has merely scabbed over in comparison.
On Thessia, reconstruction continues apace, but an old religious movement is making waves there as well. Worship of the goddess Athame has bloomed among younger asari, and an organization known as the Vessels of Athame- an odd combination of private librarians, cultural researchers, museum curators and fertility cultists- has formed. It encourages asari to mate freely and carry children to term even in their matriarch stage of their lives to help the population return to its former levels. These children would be raised at their nunneries and steeped in the ways of their people. While their missionaries are welcome in just about every human colony they visit, they are something of an embarrassment to many asari, who, although they feel the loss of life and culture on Thessia heavily, cannot quite get past the combination of exploitation of unflattering stereotypes and the parallels to the monasteries of the ardat-yakshi. Still, the movement has the backing of several asari matriarchs, at least one of whom has offered a daughter to be raised by the movement.
The Quarians are undertaking the joyous but heavy burden of retaking their home planet. Without the geth to aid them(many have been turned into monuments on the planet), the going has been slow and confusing as the technologically-oriented race has little experience with agriculture and terrestrial construction. Add to that the fact that it will take at least two full generations for the race to re-acclimate to the planet and one has a recipe for if not disaster, then discomfort. The Admiralty Board is doing everything they can to resettle the population on the surface, but even the few colonies they have set up have a clustered, chaotic feel- they have no idea what to do with so much physical space- and at least two liveships have simply permanently moored themselves upon the planet. Still, the average quarian is happy to be back home.
However, not all quarians have made it back as of yet. There are some trapped by poverty on backwater planets or ill luck in general, mired in poor health that makes travel unlikely or difficult, some that just don't believe the stories of a free Rannoch, or are simply too deeply entrenched into their traditional nomadic lifestyle to settle down just yet. It is these Quarians who are the unfortunate victims of a strange resurgence of bigotry, as many feel that now that the Quarian homeworld is free, all should go there with all haste, and view those who have not with an even greater degree of suspicion than ever experienced before- one that is, sadly, mirrored by quarians who have. A quarian who is not actively making their way home is an oddity both within and without. Are they sick or up to no good? Or both?
The Krogan are probably the only race happier than the Quarians. With the end of the genophage, they have a new lease on life, and krogan from all over the galaxy are flocking to Tuchanka for a chance to mate. As powerful as Clan Urdnot has become, the race is making a major turn towards matriarchal leadership, as a set number of krogran from each clan must petition the female clans directly for mating opportunities. There are q small amount of clans that find this disagreeable, and as the female clans have established sacred Hallows within their grounds to forswear violence within their territory, many eager krogan from rival clans meet with "accidents" and ambushes from rivals while en route to be evaluated by the females. Already scores of krogan have been born, and it is enough to make even the most depressed krogan smile. However the inherent aggression of the krogan- along with mathematical projections of even conservative population booms- have some worried. While this may not happen for generations, eventually Tuchanka will not be big enough for the krogan socially, and the race will have to create colonies elsewhere. With the council in disarray, there are some who feel that the old colonies that were the site of the major battles of the rebellions would be best place to ensure a safety valve for their people, reasoning that as long as they do not build warships the old agreements will be upheld. There are others who feel that this would start war anew with the salarians and the turians- Palaven or no, the turians can never truly be trusted...can they? Although the females continue to call for cautious growth, and clan urdnot keeps an eye on overzealous clans trying to stir up trouble, but there are still little pyjaks out there whose future for the krogan looks too much like the not-so halcyon past.
The only council race to be comparatively lightly touched by the reaper war, Salarians either throw themselves headlong into cutting edge construction and repair work, shake their heads while looking at the troubles of the galaxy and saying "I told you so": The humans are still dealing with cerberus. The asari have turned to an ancient cult to lure hormonal species into mating with them. The turians don't know how to balance their militaristic tendencies against their need for repairs. The Krogan slowly but steadily rebuilding their numbers. Usually, they find a way to grouse while aiding their fellows: Salarians have become an increasingly common sight as far away as earth as everyone finds themselves in need of the technology that makes reconstruction efforts flow smoothly. Only on Tuchanka are salarians truly unwelcome, but distrust towards the race is starting to grow as in other areas as the fact that salarians moreso than turians are responsible for the genophage and the fact that they suffered the least at the hands of the reapers while simultaneously putting forth the least effort in resisting them begins to merge with horrifying conclusions in the minds of the less logical races of the galaxy.
The citadel has been repaired, but the council itself lies in ruin. With three of the four major races of the citadel bleeding from near-loss of their home worlds, various understudies and aides took their places here as they saw to concerns at home. The salarian dalatrass appointed to the Council in the days of the Reaper War retired in disgrace when Shephard saved the universe, and her replacement was largely as lost as her peers. What was once the most important place in the universe was rapidly becoming a secondary concern in the face of reconstruction. Not wanting to end their careers in obscurity and eager to show that the council's word still held weight, an improptu election was held and the hanar were elected to be the next race to have a seat on the council. This has had an unintended effect as, perhaps through kismet, an unparralleled number of hanar were already clamoring to move to the citadel as it was the last public sighting of the last Prothean. It is largely hanar credits that bankrolled the physical reconstruction of the citadel in advance of this election, and afterwards the labor of the drell that brought it to being. C-Sec and the Citadel Defense Force have swollen with Drell applicants, which has rattled the old guard among C-Sec, as many of their newest recruits have been identified as "persons of interest" in certain crimes. This bias is absent in the CDF, which is an organization some see as adrift without Commander Shephard, whom it was created to assist. Instead, it has become of great use to Spectre agents, who still answer to the council and do what they can to protect the council and all its' member races, even as the council begins what looks like a long, slow decline into obscurity.
On the other side of the galaxy, omega remains firmly in the hands of Aria, who is confident that she has finally rooted out the last elements of Cerberus within the station. She adamantly maintains Omega as neutral ground no matter what else seems to be going on, and there aee those who have headed to it for the stable government she offers. However the neutrality of the station is endangered by claim the dozens upon dozens of Batarians take refuge there, the station being the closest thing they have to a home as they have lost their homeworld and colonies as they can practice their more eyebrow raising cultural beliefs without interference. The batarian name for the station in face translates to "second home" and while only the most foolish do not respect aria as queen, there is a growing continent that sees her as a background noise. Eclipse and blue Suns have been contracted by aria to deal with any delusional batarian upstarts, but there is a disturbing rumor that a batarian expatriot seeks to court her in an official sense...
During the Reaper War, for the first time in galactic civilization, all eyes were on earth, as Commander Shepard, the first human Spectre, stood with shoulder to shoulder with all of the spacefaring races of the galaxy to fight the Reapers.
But our story starts a mile and a half away from the spot that organic life triumphed over synthetic. On a desolated avenue, in a hastlily constructed shelter made to spare the lives of those who could not fight themselves, a quarian had an entire cache of disinfected water and fruit to himself as he knew he had only to keep low and quiet and he would avoid attention. But when he saw a mother and child just barely staying ahead of a group of husks, he gave up his spot and got their attention, directing his them to safety while drawing the husks on a wild chase. Running out of breath and options the quarian lucked out when he came upon what looked to be another safe haven. It looked a bit different from the last one he was at, as it seemed a beam from one of the Reaper's massive ships had already gutted the building above it, but the long staircase leading down to the shelter looked strangely pristine. Going down stairs, he noticed the door at the end bore the undeniable symbol of Cerebus- and seemed to be in possession of an ancient dna-based lock that called for a drop of blood. Lacking human blood and setting off a bizarre alarm when he attempts to force the lock out of desperation, the quarian made ready to make a stand, but his omni tool informed him that he was in an area that radiated a unique stealth field akin to the one used by the military. When the husks pass him by without seeing him, the quarian knows he has found something of incredible significance. Sending a generic distress signal after the husks pass, he waits for quite some time before a rear-line Alliance team arrives to investigate- and discovers one of the darkest Cerebus secrets ever discovered- those of the Illusive Children. A host of genetically engineered biotic kids raised deep underground on a diet of nutrient paste and cerebus propaganda. The Alliance was horriified by what they discovered, and saved the kids from life as Cerebus super-soldiers. But as they began the long road to recovery, the alarm the quarian triggered called out to similiar devices throughout the galaxy, each staggered to go off at different times.
A few years later, on New Canton, a similar device triggered, alerting what remained of the now-underground agency that a similar safehouse was in danger. Not wanting another secret to fall into the hands of the alliance, as the bulk of the so-called Illusive Children were now working with or had become part of the Alliance's Biotic Company, this safe house was slated for destruction. However, an enterprising Salarian intercepted the signal, and was able to give everyone enough warning to not just evacuate but saved the structure itself. While the ensuing investigation revealed little more than bins of nutripaste and disused lab equipment, the salarian was still the hero of the day to the humans, who were as overflowing with gratitude as his own people were with disappointment.
Finally, on distant Illium, another signal goes off, this one noticed by a young intelligence officer of Asari heritage. While it too leads to nothing more than an unnecessary day of work for a retired war hero that underscores the depths to which a planet that was once known for it's government-free trade opportunities has changed to a collection of robber barons(one would be surprised how much one can make selling old nutripaste), it was enough to pique the interest of at least one sentient in the know. Not long after the false alarm on Illium, the quarian, one of the children he rescued, the salarian, the intelligence officer, and the veteran are invited to the citadel, the space station that was once the most important place in the galaxy now fallen to a secondary role as the various races focus upon rebuilding what they lost to the Reapers, to meet with none other than the still-famous consort, whom they are told wishes to reward them for their heroic actions...
The Citadel.
Once, it was the most important place in the galaxy.
Perhaps one day, it will be again.
As your transport arrives through the mass effect relay- a once commonplace thing become rare, as travel through the relays is tightly regulated by not just by C-Def but regional governments- it seems to hang in space as an afterthought, an ornament a week after holiday.
Or, to be more precise, eight years.
Traffic is light, but getting through customs takes time- weapons on the citadel are less of a rarity than in times past, and each of yours are examined thoroughly by the trio of no-nonsense drell C-Sec officers, who seem to not just catalogue them but appraise them privately, giving you a nod of approval for your choice of sidearm...as well as a throwaway comment that the abilities of their race combined with the restrictions on travel via relay give C-Sec a considerable leg up in the area of ballistic forensics, with most alerts of shots fired being investigated to completion within 24 hours.
After that cryptic warning, you are not so much escorted out of customs as you are abandoned at the exit of C-Sec HQ. You have just over an hour before you are to see the elusive and mysterious Consort, and the Citadel yawns open before you...
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No matter from whence you hail or even if you have been to the Citadel before, the sight of so many races side by side as if it were nothing is both awe-inspiring and humbling to all but the most hardened of bigots. Despite its seeming demotion in the eyes of galactic reconstruction, the Citadel is still the place to be for many. Security is tight as a result, with many C-Sec officers standing watch in pairs in all of the expected places, but they are content to watch and let organics go about their business in peace. And from where you are standing, there is a lot of business to be seen, if not directly engaged in. Advertisements for Dark Star Lounge feature prominently in the cylindrical near-3D ad-pylons nearby, as well as numerous other entertainments to be had on the Silversun Strip. But that's not all there is to be seen here. A pair of asari wearing colors that stand out against their blue skin are smiling patiently and seem to be offering some type of omni-tool based placard to any who pass. A group of surprisingly-poorly dressed youths gawk at them from afar- the young men among them, at least. On the other side of the walkway, a figure that has to be a turian in purple robes is talking to a human, who seems to be sporting one of the myriad of Onyx-knock off armors that skyrocketed in popularity after the Reaper War was won. These seem to be the only groups who are comfotably settled in this area, with everyone else either noting an ad that grabs their attention putting the location for it in their omni-tool or simply heading towards a predetermined destination.
Unfortunately, the stares of the young men go from eager to wholeheartedly excited whispers as you speak to the pair of asari, who smile invitingly as you approach. One of them steps forward to greet you.
Hello! My name is Mavaya, and I am here representing the Vessels of Athame. Have you heard of our organization?
Her partner smiles slightly less radiantly and does not give her name, she is distracted as she preparing her omni-tool to send you their advertisement.
The omnitool trills as the data crosses over and Mavaya's smile seems all the brighter for your frown.
I'm afraid we have little to do with the Protheans, but we do offer an opportunity to do something similar to what that great ancient race did for all of us, if the hanar are to be believed. The Vessels of Athame are an organization that seeks to stem the losses of so much life and culture on Thessia during the Reaper War. As I'm sure you are already aware, the devestation of the planet was near total, and the asari people are in need of help rebuilding not just mundane population centers, but the very domicles of our souls....
At that, one of the youths lets out an immature whooping cheer, followed by the excited laughter and giggles of his fellows. Mavaya's glance towards the excited youths to the side is one filled with patience, but her eyebrow twitches in frustration
*sigh* Please look over the information in private when you have time. There is a way to contact us via omni-tool if you are interested in helping Thessia heal and the asari people renew. Thank you.
Hestia offers the asari a pained smile. How interesting. There is not much I can do alone to help, but I can spread the word. Starting very locally. If you will excuse me.
Stalking to the gawking yokels, she stands between them and the asari, hissing softly at them, furious. What is wrong with you? These aren't women, they are aliens. Aliens asking for human assistance, and all you do is act like animals. Have you no pride? You make us all look bad! Idiots! She glares fiercely.
the kids wither and scatter slowly, too intimidated by the admonishment to even offer a comeback. The asari, not sure of what you said but grateful for the results, wave their thanks as they greet a krogan, who approaches after you leave.
Wending ones way through the citadel isn't that hard. Signs are everywhere, and as long as one doesn't mind being assertive, cutting through a crowd takes but a moment. Fresh from an impromptu exotic snack and conversation with missionaries, you arrive at your destination- the chambers of the Consort. A pair of well dressed turians stand by the door, allowing a humans woman and an Asari through without a glance, but grow more vigilant at your approach. One of them grumbles as he puts up his hand, Hold on folks. Consort has a private function today. Are you on the list?
The skeptical look on the face of his partner betrays the doubt he feels, but the turian before you remains professional, wary, and weary- he has been likely repeating that line all day.
The other turian's omni-tool flares to life and a surprised expression comes over his face.
Voice print recognized , the device states in a milky smooth female voice. Welcome, Gir'Rimas nar Mesa. The consort has been waiting eagerly for your arrival.
He steps to the side and gestures for you to come in, while the original offers a quizzical look to the remaining individuals.