Category: Fanworks

Fruit from Palaven

The hum of the engines was giving Garrus a hell of a headache.

It hadn’t bothered him before Donnelly and his crew installed the silly torque compensator into the guiding of the starboard cannon. Either there was a loose panel on the compensator, or the tech team hadn’t returned the panels in proper positions, and now there was a sickening resonance with one of the lower frequencies of the FTL core. Garrus had demanded that the engineering crew come back and reassemble the entire thing, but Donnelly wouldn’t hear of it. Literally. Garrus brought him in and told him what to listen to, where to put his hand to feel the vibration. He even produced the spectrum of acoustic waves present in the battery, with the offending peak clearly visible — and positioned just outside the range audible by humans. Donnelly shrugged and suggested they take the question to Miranda, but Garrus said no. He’d rather stand it for a couple days. Eventually he’d learn to filter it out.

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Rural Witchcraft

Travelers are advised to negotiate the roads between fortified towns only when necessary and as quickly as possible, avoiding at all costs the hospitality of the indigenous Breton populace. Outside the influence of urban sorcerocrats, fear and superstition reign unchallenged and the deplorable mockery of Imperial presence will sooner get you into trouble with the Covens than save you from their curses.

Tales of crops ruined due to rain falling skywards and of witches eating the hearts of unfaithful men out of their chest at night are probably exaggerations, of course. During the day, the hardworking women of rural communities do not appear any more, nor any less inclined towards the abuse of magic than Breton women elsewhere. It is only at night, when the watchful Eye of Magnus is closed, that the signs of unsanctioned witchcraft can be descried, as the chimneys grow alight and shadows rise in macabre dance.

Sinister customs developed around the dark power of the night. A man who seeks to ruin his neighbor should but leave a jug of water out in the evening, and will find it turned to vinegar in the morning; a drop suffices to poison a dog, and a thimble fells a cow. If a young woman wants her future children to be gifted in magic, she must brave a lonely hill at night and let the wind spirits enter her body, after which she will no longer be considered a virgin even if untouched by man. For a blessing of health, one needs to bake a wax cake with two holes at midnight, and for a blessing of manhood, one needs to relieve himself through the keyhole an hour before sunrise, without spilling a drop in the house. It is said that General Lavidius, who at one time commanded Fort Wavemoth, made an overly enthusiastic attempt to perform this ritual, and could not extract his swollen limb from the keyhole for three whole days, during which the natives gathered in crowds to laugh at the typical example of Imperial ambitions and their likely ends.


Notes

Submitted to Temple Zero.

First Round of Fics

The not-as-trivial-as-you’d-expect task of pulling together my various fanfics begins with some of the oldest, and some of the newest:

Ghost in the Machine – my nanowrimo 2011 novel that is being posted weekly on FFN, and beginning with this weekend, here as well. This is a Mass Effect AU that retells the events of the first game under the assumption that Nihlus Kryik, the original Spectre of ME, didn’t die on Eden Prime.

A Hidden Place – one of my favorite works. Nihlus would like to know more about his secretive mentor. But asking Saren personal questions simply doesn’t cut it.

The Candidate – probably my best. Nihlus is near the end of his training with Saren when they are sent to evaluate potential Spectre candidates. Garrus is one of them and he is determined to leave an impression despite his father’s wishes. A sharp-edged triangle forms and cuts deep. Rated M[ature] for hot slash and serious heart-breaking potential.

The Black Khajiit – an Elder Scrolls fable written for Temple Zero in 2009. Damn, that makes me feel old.

Jauffre’s Testimony – one of my zillion interconnected, half-baked, Elder Scrolls fics, possibly dating back to 2007 or 2008. Jauffre speaks to Martin about his reluctance to search for the Heir before hearing the Emperor’s last words.

Well. That’s all for now, folks.

Jauffre’s Testimony

It was the year before the Imperial Simulacrum; 3E 388. I was but a lad of fifteen, presented to the court life only months before; but I was to the Emperor’s liking, and he enjoyed having me around his own sons. Prince Gelldal was eleven, prince Enman ten, and prince Ebel eight. We were quick to become friends, and my “official duty” was to make sure the young princes were up to no mischief.

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Nine

Chapter 9 of Ghost in the Machine


Saren froze in mid-motion, listening. He was in his room – a small chamber near the bridge, divided from Sovereign’s “main artery” by a thin, improvised door. Benezia was moving about on the bridge. Pacing to and fro. Then she stilled, and he resumed the inspection, manipulating the camera remotely from the workstation and observing the feed on the screen. Two mirrors would have done a much better job, but he had none. Asking Benezia to lend him hers would have invited too many questions. He didn’t want her to see him like this. He didn’t want her to know about his strange thoughts, strange suspicions. All he wanted was five minutes of peace to see what the hell was that thing on his back, but apparently it was too much to ask for. Always someone watching. Always someone listening.

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