Reptilian eyes darted back and forth, orange irises shifting and shrinking, attempting to take in the rapid difference of lighting within the central chamber. Lowering his crest slightly, Captain Py'rqird shook his head back and forth, feathers shaking and gold rings clanking.

It had been a mere twelve turns since the blessed passengers had taken the weapons of the Old Ones children and left the chamber. Although the Captain had suspected that they would be driven back by the weight of guards that surrounded the group or, more likely, the sheer number of priests and media that flocked to the base of the chamber tower, the majority of the reporters had moved away from the towers following the increased presence of guards, towards his downed ship.

Recent reports from his own skink commanders had identified another presence within the lake they had submerged the ship within, a set of bizarre creatures from the depths, pink in colour with grasping tentacles.

Already, his brethren of lesser spawns had driven them away, pointed spears and snarling teeth doing greater work than any 'modern' weapon.
Thankfully, a younger spawnling, born under the eye of Sun God Chotec and coloured fiery orange, like the majority of skinks serving within the Lizardmen's grand armada, was quick witted and fast acting, sending many an order out to prevent the many slower spawns from consuming the strangely coloured, miniature krakens.

Other reports, flashing along the many sensors and communication devices linked into his skin-suit; fed him information about his ship, wires running tight along his skin and glowing orange runes floating before his eyes.

Even as Py'qird listened and sent orders away to his soldiers, his continued to listen to the bizarre mixture of chirps, croaks and whistles that echoed from the three figures standing on the platform before him.

Tela stood deep within the shadows of the Council Chamber, watching the Councilors bicker and debate what to do with the strange new creatures that had arrived through unknown means.

Already, the debate was tense within the awnings that surrounded the Council platform, hundreds of senators, diplomats and assistants arguing over how to react to the sudden arrival of multiple species.

Her omnitool buzzed, hundreds of streams flaring before her, a multitude of colours spinning to form a intricate web of information before her. Documents from the Salarian ambassador, letters forming as he wrote them, danced before her, a multitude of detailed information highlighting the councilors reactions and the actions of the Dalatrasse's representative.

A smirk appeared on Tela's face.

Rival families are always so informative.

Shifting her hand through the air, another stream appeared, the rapid notes of the an Elcor V.I., recording certain notes and reactions of those around it, uploading them to the central Ambassador's hub and forwarding them to the Elcor Homeworld for review.
A majority of them focused on the newer aliens, notes appearing rapidly, each forming after a brief statement from the Elcor Ambassador himself.

Some detailed the shape and size of the newer creatures, numerous references to possible genetic differences and similarities. Many focused on the stance of them, noting the larger creatures hunched body shape and unresponsiveness, along with the constant shifting and moving of the smaller creatures.

Another hand wave, another set of notes shining on Tela's omnitool. Again and again, she moved through the various reports coming in from the many people within the Chamber.

Many a report from the various minor Asari Republic Ambassador's shifted through, some informative, highlighting unique information and opinions on how to react, others containing bias drivel about the appearance of these new aliens.

A Batarian representative noting the size and strength of the Lizard-like creatures, a Volus Clan merchant looking enviously at the collection of strange and undoubtedly expensive metals that were bounded to the aliens flesh.

A small blue flash, and a recognizable symbol flared up, slowly blinking in the corner of her reports.

"Bau."

"Vasir."

A pregnant pause followed.

"I assume you understand the situation?"

"I was there Bau. I'd like to think I understood what was going on"

A slight humph came through the speakers.

"Exactly. New request has come through. You are required back at mission station as soon as available."

"And the Council debriefing?"

"Waved till the end of debate over actions involving downed space craft."

"Understood. Just don't leave me to deal with this by myself Bau. I already have enough to deal with, thanks to that lanky Matriarch."

"Matriarch? Referring to the taller creature, one you melded with, correct? Debriefing updated, now will contain additional support for ciphering information."

Tela groaned.

"Also, any information at current on individual species? Tall and short figures."

Hand still moving across her Omnitool, Tela responded angrily.

"They're old Bau. Old enough to make one of the Republic's upper council look like a bunch of Matron. Hell, being inside that things mind was like entering one of those abandoned Volus temples. Dark, dank, and full of things I still don't quite comprehend."

She continued, overriding Bau's response.

"And Bau. Be careful around them. And if it comes to subduing them, go for Krogan+ settings."

A reflexive breath echoed over the line.

"Understood."

Tela sighed, before returning her attention to cataloguing the numerous feeds being linked into her omnitool.

Garrus slowly walked along the metal halls, arms resting easy and talons lightly clacking along the floor. Almost an hour after the sighting of that brand new ship, and the calamity that followed, both he and Sharaia had been kicked out of the communications booth for the professionals to take control.

To be fair to the Executor, he'd made the right call, especially with the sheer number of reports and calls they were getting; a pair of beat cops on punishment duty really weren't fit for managing that lot.

So here he was, walking the lake beat around Zakera Ward, and managing the Hanar sections. Already, he'd seen the Hanar pack up their few shadier businesses, and scarper straight through the lake kinetic fields and out of his jurisdiction.

Turning slightly, he raised a claw and ran his finger along the lightly shimmering field, watching as his claw pierced the thin membrane of energy and sinking into the lake. The fields were more than a few centuries old, dating back to the original arrival of the Hanar and their desire to utilize the lakes in ways no other race could have.

All along the street, he could see Hanar of various ages passing between the lake water supply and the business streets, the fluorescent, natural bio-luminescent of the Hanar covering the underground halls with a multitude of rippling colours.
A chorus of tiny ephyra, young hanar lacking the longer limbs of their older family members and looking very much like a pink ball of jelly with stubs in place of limbs, floated behind the parish leaders, each bouncing up and down in eagerness and flashing in chorus to the low pulses sent out by the elder leading them away into the Lake.

Already, in the course of his beat, Garrus had logged a group of duct rats spacing out on something illegal for pick up, floundering around in the back alleyways and mumbling about the pretty colours.

Continuing to move forward, he passed between the vertical hall ways up the many slanting steps, watching the many civilians floating about easily through the usage of their gravitational fields, acting like they were still within the water of their homeworld.

A rough coughing followed by a loud snarl, attracted Garrus attention, prompting him to look over the vertical balconies, picking out an empty alleyway into the walls. Tapping his visor, his right eye was shifted in colour, the screen shifting away from the constant stream of C-Sec information to an investigate mode, numerous smaller circles flaring and the darkness of the alleyway fading into a brighter, duller orange colour.

A Quarian, female by her body shape, was standing front of an older Batarian, haggling over something by the looks of it. The Batarian, wearing a simple one-piece body suit, was coughing harshly, waving away the younger quarian.
As the coughs petered off, the Batarian waved away the Quarian, before sending something across from his omnitool, before stepping out of the alleyway and descending lightly, utilizing the same gravity belts that the Hanar used, to sink to a lower level and disappear into the crowds.

Something is wrong here.
Garrus made to intercept the Quarian, watching as she kept checking her omnitool.
A set of flashing lights and the waving tentacles of a Hanar put a stop to him, leaving him to watch as the Quarian faded into the crowd as the Batarian had done minutes before.

"Please sir, we require your assistance. There has been a panic amongst the Enkindler's flocks due to the presence of an unknown being."

"Look sir, I'm confined to the dry street beat, but I can get you in contact with the wet street officers."

The Hanar proceeded to ramble about a sighting of some unknown beast, a large creature that had terrified a smaller church out in the lakes. Garrus listened, and relayed the information to Zakera Lake Security.

At least he wasn't working the communications.

To say that the SPECTRE quarters where badly furnished, lacking in any style or substance, and smelled of various fluids that reminded Tela of a few bad operations out in the Terminus, wouldn't be untrue. Not to say that the quarters were bad, per say, they just lacked any kind of charm to their interiors.

Sure, some would claim that the endless streams of information darting around the walls, the continued glow of hundreds of computers embedded into the various bits of furniture or the handy holographic interfaces that would seamlessly appear with a wave of her hand, allowing Tela to shift information from one screen to another, or enlarge the projection to encompass the majority of the room, certainly applied a feeling of futuristic charm to the room, but they were mainly Salarians or Vorcha, and they died off so quickly that she almost always discarded their opinions anyway.

Standing in the middle of this reinforced room, Tela continued to sweep her arms in broad gestures, fingers dancing through the endless streams of information, pulling away what could be valuable, possible clues to previously unsolved cases and, in one slightly embarrassing case, recent movie reviews for later perusal during the brief down time.

A light ping, and the holographic interfaces fizzled out, leaving Tela's slightly dazzled eyes to readjust in the darkness.

She knew what was coming next.

A small flare of light, and a stylized projection of a blank face appeared in the middle of her room, grey lines flaring outwards in spiraling patterns. All around the room, bland lines of grey spun and twisted, shifting and highlighting the numerous right angles, circles spinning and patterns changing. All of this branching out from a blank tri-faced symbol, three split lines filled with jagged spikes between them.

A deep voice reverberated, almost like a whisper, before Tela.

"Operative Vasir."

"Shadow Broker. What now?"

"Information regarding the Patavig case has come to light. Usual price."

A slight wave of her hand, and a two hundred million credits shifted hands, straight out of the Council Funds.

"Anything else?"

"Recent conflict along smuggling route thirty three. Operative Jahl For's current operation. Shipments eighty nine through ninety six are sealed, the rest is available for seizure."

"Understood. I'll tell her and set up the transfer."

"A pleasure miss Vasir. Please give my regards to your fellows and the Council."

Tela gritted her teeth slightly, bloodshot eyes tightening, before nodding. She moved to cut the call, before an electrical spark jumped up her arm, singeing her armor, ceasing her movement.

"Oh, and one last point of order Miss Vasir. The new arrivals."

"Council's orders. Two billion to keep it wrapped up. They don't want anything to go wrong, both at a public and private level."

"And access to the files?"

"Three billion."

Her omnitool flared with light, a billion credits funneled straight into the private Council reserves, set up for SPECTRE usage.

"Acceptable. Give my best wishes to miss Satha."

Tela's room sunk into darkness.

A scant few seconds later, the massive door unlocked itself, laboriously shifting numerous gears and counterweights, pulling itself apart. Three people stood outside, a pair of guards, fully armored and trained Vorcha by their rigid stance and diminutive height, while a single Asari stood between them, armed in dark blue armor, similar to those worn by Thessian Commandoes.

"Vasir."

Satha turned and began to walk away, and the reluctant Tela joined her.

Of course they would choose the Asterian witch for her to meld with.

The massive door swung closed as the pair of Asari marched away, the Vorcha guards quietly marching behind.

Remaining seated, Felix continued to slowly drink his garishly coloured drink, legs pulled up on a bizarrely shaped stool that he knew was not designed for human, or anyone who wanted to move their limbs at a decent speed after a long period of time.

Gotrek on the other hand, seemed to be enjoying himself, for the given level of enjoyable that the Troll Slayer could possibly manage. He continued to knock back the pink booze, disregarding any notions of genetic incompatibility or the idea that it might be poisoned.

They'd have to be a particularly dumb bastard of they wanted to get away with poisoning a Slayer at any rate.

Centuries of travel, especially in the company of such a renowned hero among the Dwarves, had given Felix an interesting insight into the mind of a Dwarf, specifically those seeking a glorious death. And one key point was: Don't try and cheat them out of an honourable death.

A grim thought, made all the blacker by his own experiences with the naïve or unknowing crossed his mind.

Of course, they've never met a Slayer, have they?

In the back of the bar, near the entrance and across a dance floor filled with numerous aliens shaking various parts of their anatomy that he was sure that, in some circles, would be considered sexy, a group of malformed Lizardmen stomped in.

He turned back to his drink, intent on ignoring the problem for as long as possible. Once again, past experience was filling in the gaps for him, memories from millennia past.

A young man, hired by an old friend of an acquaintance, punching people whenever they needed to be quiet and hadn't quite realized that the decision for them to go sleep was about to be made for them by someone else. Usually, someone that knew a lot more about kicking the hell out of drunkards than they knew about fighting drunk.

A stray though, a dark haired girl with full lips and an innocent smile, wandered through his thoughts. He never did find out what had happened to her, did he?

Slowly, over the repetitive beat of the blaring music, he could hear the low thump of trouble approaching.

Looking down into his drink, watching it, surprisingly enough, sparkling in the shifting lights, he remembered. It was how these places operated, wasn't it?

Time moves on, society changes and new ideas crop up. But nothing ever really changed. From the corner of his eye, he could see a smaller group of presumably female aliens, dressed in low greens and blues, leading drunk patrons away into the back rooms. Across, the bar seats that had been occupied since he and Gotrek had arrived, the regulars supporting their favorite haunt.

Beyond them, up against the wall on high chairs were the new kids, the ones that moved from club to club, looking for booze.

Behind him, he heard the thumping cease, and a low tension fill the room.

And then there were the troublemakers. Usually they came in two forms, the rich kids, out on the town to experience the "lowlife" and thought that safety in numbers would see them through. And the fighters, the ones that lead to barkeeps taking down their prize stock and pressing the small button underneath the bar that would call for aid.

A growl, lower than a Kroxigor's. Felix downed his drink before glancing at Gotrek, two eyes meeting one. A brief nod, before returning to his last few drinks.

Wiping his mouth, Felix swiveled in his chair, and adopted an open manner. Teeth together, lips firm but smiling. Shoulders loose and arms free of obstruction.

"Good evening gentlemen. How can I help you?"

The response was a mixture of roars and growls, the low reverberation coming from the bizarre aliens lower throat. He could see the lower jowls shaking in movement.

It jabbed a fist at him, before motioning to the door. The few similar creatures around it began to crow, an unknown joke at Felix's expense.

It jabbed at him again, arm punching into his chest. The few patrons who'd been uncaring at the pair sitting beside them had subtly moved away.

Sighing, Felix motioned at the bartender, another drink sliding across the counter. Turning it to Gotrek, he raised it slightly, his friend returning the gesture with the pair he held in his own meaty hands.

Downing the glass a pair of gulps, head raised back, Felix kicked out the legs of his chair, careful not to tangle himself, sling it from beneath his legs into the stomach of the alien, knocking the leader off balance, only for Gotrek to smack his massive fist into the lowered jaw of the alien, sending it staggering backwards.

Tossing his now empty glass at the stunned group, the pair moved forward, fists clenched.

Dzz'kr'tzz slowly swam within the murky depths, his tail turning side to side. Even as he swam, his mind continued to churn out information and facts, helped by the skin suit providing various holographic screens with information spiking and changing before him.

He continued to lazily drift in the currents, ignorant of his surroundings. Slowly, the currents carried him, mind working and turning; doing exactly what it was designed to do, trying to understand the strange machine they had unearthed, as per the Temple's orders.

To think. To adapt. To serve.

It came as a surprise then, when a blinding light carved through the darkness, the glare causing his eyes to shrink and redact rapidly, rendering him temporarily immobile. That was all it took.

A series of hooks, curved things, wrapped around his body, a tight net constricting him. A series of small devices, cruel things with twisting drills, drilled into his suit, sharp jolts of electricity rendering his suit dead.

A sharp blow to his body followed. Again and again, till he finally settled into unconsciousness.

The Mission Station was, as claimed by many, the heart of the SPECTRE operations on not only the Citadel, but also the entirety of the known galaxy.

A briefing room, designed to hold numerous sections in which information could be provided rapidly, plans drawn, and agents dispatched in mere moments.

Instead of being a simple rectangular room, it was a sphere of multiple levels, filled with thousands of moving plates and rooms cut into the circle, each holding numerous dancing lights.

Of course, it required operators. Hundreds of Vorcha, one of the carefully guarded secrets of the SPECTREs, manned various stations around the room, smaller screens splitting and shifting, information shared between all of them.

They could never leave, rest quarters locked directly below the Station, the only home they'd ever known. The worked for the Council, and when they died, their ashes were added to the vaults, a section only a handful ever got to see while alive.

They ran and moved and processed, thousands of data-streams, trillions of messages, all of it working together to create a tangled web of politics and international peace.

And if the Vorcha were the ones to compile and display this mess, then it was the SPECTRE operatives who had to cut out the certain messes that got to tangled, the pulsing centers of cancerous power that could threaten the galaxy's stability.

Obviously then, the introduction of a group of new species, with a remarkable form of Faster-Than-Light transportation that just so happened to make the various sensors practically cack themselves attempting to record the information provided, was very interesting indeed. Already, the Vorcha sorted and shifted and slowly they formed a new web, a brand new ball of problems that was slowly linking its way into the old.

It was into this mess that Tela entered, following along behind another operative.

Satha strode over to a smaller section of the rows of working Vorcha, watching as they shifted and spoke, each Vorcha equipped with the traditional grey uniform and color bars, in this case, green-purple-white, and marked with a smaller set of stars in deep purple.

All of the Vorcha were part of the separate teams, each assigned to certain operatives or SPECTRE teams. The bland grey uniform, which had once been explained away as representing the greater neutrality of the Citadel co-operation, was lined with the unique colors marking out the individual teams.

Certain operatives also applied a set decal from their own history, something for the information crews to hold as a symbol of unity. In some cases, in regards to Krogan and Asari operators, their symbols had been in use for centuries.

Satha looked over her shoulder as she walked.

"Briefing room 2. Five minutes to compile."

Nodding, Tela moved away. Inside however, she was feeling the pressure mount. Briefing Room 2 was the most important room inside this mess of information and Vorcha.

Whenever something that directly related to Council interests, to the extent that it could lead to major problems for one or more members of the Council, it was briefed in Briefing Room 2.

Usually, this meant the introduction of new races, the formation of new and actually dangerous governments and the possibility of major armed conflict involving a Citadel partner species.

The only thing that could be worse was Briefing Room 1, reserved for Councilors and emergency SPECTRE command, during times of possible destruction of the Citadel itself.

Striding past the banks of monitors, she stepped up on to a smaller platform, still in thought as it shifted her to a higher level. She moved forward, eyes lining on the crew of Vorcha wearing the stripe of blue-white-orange, her own crew. A smaller symbol, the traditional six lines of SPECTRE induction, was marked along the forearms of their uniforms.

Leaning forward, she opened a channel to her crew.

"Lets get to work."

Captain Pyr'qird stood inside the tower of governance, remaining with the few crewmembers that he had arrived with. Already he had seen to the priest's desires, allowing him to establish a portable shire to the gods within their lodgings.

He, and the pair of Saurus warriors accompanying them, had donated their blood to the consecration of the shire in the eyes of the Old Ones, as was the norm. Much to his surprise, the guards posted to the doors of their quarters appeared to be disgusted with the practice, unlike many of the warm bloods on the Gods Gift.

He quietly filed that knowledge away, allowing the priest to continue his work unobstructed by any interruptions.

Turning to the massive screen before him, the edges flickering with numerous runes of a different language, he considered the room they where in.

Four corners and two sections, it wasn't exactly decorated by the average standards of Luto Pillians, but compared to the singular rooms of Lizardmen who could afford rooms to themselves, it lacked any of the major items of significance. Then again, the majority of the Lizardmen lived in the standard barracks layout of the Temple Cities.

Scuttling in a simple loop, the captain continued to think on his current position. Judging by the fact that both he and his fellow crewmen of import where being held in what he assumed was protective custody, but still allowed him remote connection to his ship, he assumed that these new aliens were at least somewhat friendly.

His skin suit began to glow, more information being linked to the captain. Slowly, he watched as more information came through, unhurried and unpanicked, explaining the disappearance of the head researcher about his ship.

Turning to the pair of saurian bodyguards standing completely still, he tapped lightly at the holograph wrapped around his arms, sending a jolt of energy into their bodies, waking them from their semi-slumber.

Tails whipping back and forth, the captain stood in front the door, eyes looking up at the taller guards stationed inside, but no less fierce for the height difference.

"We must talk to your leaders."

Kariaus stood stock still, years of training in both the compulsorily military service of her people and offered by C-Sec having taught her how to hold her body still.

Across from her, she was locked in a staring contest, with the much larger Krogan-like alien, its form unmoving and its chest barely moving in time with massive breaths. The tinted visor she wore blocked it from having direct eye contact with the massive alien, just as its fully sealed helmet prevented her from seeing its eyes.

Shifting her view, but keeping her head locked in place, her eyes roamed across the smaller, rapidly moving alien, its body taunt and twitching. It scuttled and spun in a rough circle, claws clicking along the metal floor.
Across the room, curled before a horrific shire, tainted with the blood of all the aliens before him, she watched the other smaller alien bend itself in half before the shrine, tail flicking back and forth behind it.

Slowly, it drew a knife across the closed palm of its hand, droplets of murky blood dripping down the small-stacked tower, staining the collected feathers and charms that had been placed around it.

Resisting the urge to shake her head, she watched as the previously pacing alien stopped, multiple holographic screens appearing around her arms, high screeches and growls passing through.

Tightening the grip on her rifle, she watched the pair of hulking guards opposite her and her partner begin to move, massive tails whipping back and forth, claws tightening around their staves.

Marching forth, the alien in command stood before her, before issuing what she believed was a question of sorts. Unable to understand, she glanced slightly at her partner, silently asking for his input.

The alien asked again, the pair of massive guards behind it stepping forward, the heavy drum racks built into their armour clanking as shots rolled into place, and blades began to hum softly, a flicker of energy dancing across the edge.

The alien commander asked once again.

Lifting an arm to her helmet in order to at least look like she was doing something, she began to call for assistance.

"This is room 32 guard requesting support. Believe new species is asking for assistance, repeat, requesting support."

Now all she could hope for was that it arrived in time.

As the first pseudo-lizardmen began to right itself, gut pulsing rapidly to rapidly suck in air to it's damaged lungs, Felix acted. Dodging around the giant monster of a being, he shifted over to the smaller secondary partners following it. On the left, another false lizardman, a half grown crest peaking out from between it's hooded hump, while a pair of dark eyes sat above a relatively cavernous maw. As someone who could technically be counted as an individual with information on what defines a 'cavernous maw', Felix was quick enough to deduce that getting nipped by something with that many teeth would most likely hurt, and more than likely, require a few stitches.

On the right, the secondary alien was strangely armoured, it's own flesh making up a series of flanged plates sticking out of it's face, a pair of floundering mandibles flapping wildly as it tried to react to the rapid change of pace. While lacking the elongated crests of some of the other alien's he had seen before, it was certainly taller, with a serious amount of reach to it's lanky arms.

Which to prioritize.

A loud roar sounded from behind him, the scaly beast meeting the unfortunate result of a Slayer who was not nearly drunk enough to be dealing with trials and tribulations of an entirely new series of idiots thinking that they were hard enough to have a go at them. Dancing to the left, he managed to get his legs out from beneath the now falling, the sheer iron-weighted mass of Gotrek bringing it down to the ground.

The big one then.

in a single stride, Felix closed the gape between him and the larger false lizardman with the undeveloped crest, drawing his arms up into a loose fighting pose. Before the alien could even react, his punched forward with a sharp jab, colliding with the boney crest and reverberating with the alien's thick skull. Another pair of jabs, again, to the head of the alien, managed to knock it out of it's stunned response, causing it to roar in anger and step forward into his body space, raising it's clothed arms in an attempt to grab him. Bouncing backwards, Felix responded by trying to go for a solid blow to the gut, fists clenched and swung together.

The only response he got from this move was a sudden, throbbing pain shooting along his wrists and the knowledge that he was now in resonable grabbing range of the now rather enraged alien. A pair of thick, meaty arms wrapped around his shoulders, pulling him closer into the alien, smashing his face into the pallid, undeveloped crest while it's jaw snapped at his chest. The world began to spin, the multitude of colours taking on a rainbow mixture, shapes and people drawing together to form bizarre, alien formation before he was flung clear, passing over the thundering noise and flaring pulses of light and crashing down into another table, running his face into a series of easily breakable glasses.

Pulling himself up, running his hand across his face and through the now openly bleeding cuts lining his face, Felix took in the situation as it had developed in the past few seconds, his back pushed against the silvery wall and lower body dangling off the table. Gotrek had already downed his first opponent, filth encrusted foot pressing down into its cracked face, his muscled arms shaking with strength as he pressed against Felix's original attacker, pushing back against it's attempts to heave him off their collapsed leader.

Across from the dwarf, the few other members of the pseudo-lizardman's clique were still in the process of trying to take in the situation, the surprise of seeing their leader taken down so casually most likely having stunned them into inaction. The second alien of note, the one with the boney plates was trying to get around Gotrek, attempting to flank him and get some solid hits in along his tattooed body.

Pushing himself forward, Felix muttered his brief apologies to the occupants of the table he had just crashed through, only to get an armoured knuckle rapping on his thigh. Glancing to his left, a heavily scarred face meet his own. It was another of the false lizardmen, but much older in age, face heavily scarred and weathered with age, looking like a figure cut from solid granite. Running down it's crimson crest, a trio of crusted scars running the length across the right side of it's ugly maw were twisted, a horrific version of a smile marring it's face. Raising it's crimson armoured fist, it jabbed beneath it's right eye, the trio of pointed fingers before opening them and making a tearing motion, nodding to the plated alien.

"Thanks."

Pushing himself off the table top, he bounded forward towards the plated alien, catching it with a heavy punch to left of it's head, presumably disorientating it before punching into it's chest, a series of rapid punches raining down along it's chest and striking beneath it's under arm. As it stepped backwards, he step inside it's guard, catching it's lower arm and swinging it around with his own body mass, replicating the move that had previously sent him flying, using the momentum to sent the plated alien back into the few remaining stragglers who were hanging around behind the main fight, those aliens who had suddenly become a lot less inclined to take part now that their leader had been rendered a drooling mess on the floor by Gotrek's opening attack.

Darting backwards, Felix moved to the left of Gotrek, taking up his traditional position when it came to the pair going into combat before falling into a ready stance, arms raised in front of him and fists clenched, waiting for their opponents to attack. It wasn't really a surprise when the group of aliens floundered, on the edge of routing, the regular roughhousing that they were so use to having backfired on them completely.

Gotrek growled.

They ran, dragging away their fellow friends, a few of them hauling up their leader, pushing past those patrons still milling about the entrance roughly shoved out of the way as they raced out. A brief minute passed, then another, before the music began to pump back in and the regular patrons began to resume their regular nightly activities, grinding ad dancing away.

Turning away, Gotrek took his place at the bar again, sitting next to his embedded axe, signalling the barkeep for another drink, even one as garish as those previously neon pink ones he had been downing before hand. Felix on the other hand, picked up his own chair, the one he had thrown at the beginning of the fight, dusting it off and sitting down again, before making the same motion as Gotrek.

As he swirled the alcohol around in the long-stemmed glass, Felix pondered to himself, ignoring Gotrek's ill-mannered quest to get drunk off these alien beverages.

I wonder if the Captain has had any such issues?

Many often assume that the Council Chambers are the literal center of the means of galactic policy, where individuals of the many numerous species that make up the universe battle each other through cunning games of verbose and witty dialogue, each pushing for their own beliefs and ideologies, fighting for their species, their people or simply themselves.

From the adoption of new species into the Citadel polity, arguments over what is right within the purview of the multitude of morals and ethics between species, calls to war and pleas for peace, many simply assume that this open forum, surrounded by hundreds of diplomats and thousands of constantly streaming cameras, is where every political piece pushed by the variety of governments that make up Citadel space is debated.

In all honest, those people are relatively naive to assume that any major government, let alone a trio of the three greatest powers in the known galaxy, would be so open about their movements in the field of political combat. When policy is proposed, it is on the Council's terms. When calls to action in the depths of space are made, it is on the Council's terms. And when there are demands to be made of any species, it is on the Council's terms.

In fact, when any diplomat makes their way to present their case towards the Council, the result has most likely already been decided on weeks, perhaps months, before hand, with the shifting angles and focuses of political intrigue simply adding the further minor details to anything major to be pushed through.

Only in the rarest of cases will anything nearing an undecided vote be put forth before the Council, and in the recorded memories of the many Citadel archivists, a scant few exist within living memory. Only two currently reside in living memory, the first would be the decision to uplift the Krogan and the second would be the restrictions to be placed on the creation of Artificial Intelligences following the Morning War between the Geth and the Quarians.

However, when the true 'nitty-gritty' of discussing rapid developments between species polities was very much sorted in the lower levels of the presidium, within sight of the Council's tower or at least based in it's lower levels, at the various buildings established to support diplomatic meetings between species and governments. It was in such a building that the current 'leader' of the crash-landed species where housed, and one of the major head-aches for every member currently on the Council.

For Councilor Tevos, it was another issue piled atop her desk (which was figuratively collapsing under the weight of work currently being passed through). Already embroiled in trying to meditate a digital war of words between two separate republics, she was torn between pushing for maintaining a hold on the minor colony of Agessia, and allow them to remain independent, or allow for the democratic vote by Cyone to send a separate colony state to said planet in order to begin their own mining operations. For now, the knowledge of a new alien species, one that had crashed into the center of Asari governance, was one adequately able to silence both parties, which is something she was eternally grateful for.

However, for Councilor Valern, that matter was much simpler in it's entirety. The ruling Daltrasses had made their decisions, assassins had been dispatched and thieves inserted, and for now, the ruling matriarchal lines had come to a single agreement. A new species, with a new set of technological means, required investigation, assessment and, ultimately, a means of defeat. As such, those Lines who were on hand had opened co-operation with the overarching STG units, and were in the process of experimenting, decrypting and practically stealing whatever bits and pieces they could without being noticed.

Of course, there was the issue of allowing the ship damaged during the incident to dock along one of the few minor stations surrounding the Citadel. The Line of Linron had suffered a setback with their single frigate, 132nd of the Salarian Union, and as a relatively minor family, where in dispute with the Omoro Line Daltrassess in regards to being issued repairs from their dock. Already, the Linron Daltrasses where aware that 'blood was in the water', so to speak, with the damage to their singular frigate being a massive change in their political favour within the every shifting game that was Salarian politics.

Unfortunately, with Tevos forced to stay her hand in regards to the matter due to her own species politics, and Valern operating the covert operations in regards to study, the burden of actually sorting the established mess of first contact was Sparatus. Now, while a consummate politician, and an even greater cynic, he was forced to take an overbearing hand in dealing with the C-Sec forces patrolling the lake region, issuing orders left and right to keep every individual involved 'happy', so to speak.

He was a Turian. They didn't have to be happy, they didn't have to be pleased, they had to shut up, sit down, and do their duty to the greater whole. Something that was coming up more frequently in regards to his arguments with the Hanar Illuminated Primaries, with their objection to allowing joint efforts in control over the lake district, their centuries of continued semi-isolation from the rest of the Citadel playing a nasty role in the current proceedings.

"Counclior?" The subtle blue glow pulsed in the corner of his screen, drawing his thoughts away from his matters of conflict. Shifting slightly in his chair, Sparatus leant forward, talons clicking on the minor flashing sign, allowing the call through. The screen shifted to the outer corridor of the new alien's current area of confinement, a fully armoured Turian facing him.

Not one to lie, to himself at least, Sparatus knew well enough that the 'diplomatic lodgings' in the Citadel Tower they'd handed over to their guests was little more than a means of containing them. At the very least, if minor skirmishes did occur, they could use those same diplomats as a credit chip to calm things down.

"Go ahead."

"Sir, it appears that the leader is becoming agitated. From what we can get out of his gestures, it looks like it wants to talk."

Leaning forward, he began to sift over the files sent from the analysts still working fervently to try and come up with a means of open communication. Till Spectre Vasir completed her report, they were all he had to go on in this situation.

"Give me a moment."

"Sir."

Closing the call, he briefly went over what he had gathered. A religion that used blood as a means of worship. A figure, most likely a religious patron, traveling in the company of their leader. Massive soldiers that seemed fairly deadly and remarkably well-trained. A disparity between figures, most likely one of two results; a bizarre series of evolutionary jumps or pure genetic manipulation. More than a single species on board, although the knowledge that those two figures had already disappeared into the underbelly of the Wards was disconcerting.

"Captain."

"Sir."

"Ready a guard supplement and a series of translators. I'm on my way down there now."

/Bretonnia/modern;history

Article
Bretonnia; from the past to today

Following centuries beneath a feudal system, the current lands of Bretonnia has undergone many changes over the past few centuries, such as the past uprisings among the lower classes and the numerous wars against Albionese invaders, along with various crusades to the islands of Albion itself. The first, and many historians would argue, tipping point within Bretonnian society came through the invasion from Albion during 2681 IC, following the actions of the Dark Emissaries in tainting and stealing a series of Ogham Stones on the Isle of Wights.

A group of armored giants, combined with now legendary leader MacLeon of the Greor Clan and his series of unified tribes, descended on the Northern territories of Bretonnia (specifically the provinces of Lyonesse and L'Anguille), sacking them in an attempt to recover the lost Ogham Stones and causing an uproar among the upper classes of Bretonnia of the time, prompting a crusade back into Albion under the divine blessing of the Lady of the Lake. The result of this was a series of conflicts that continued for almost a thousand years, as various raids and attempted settlements occurred in both nations. Only during times of major Chaos incursions into the Old World, did either group set aside any major hatred of the other, and focused on defeating the invading Chaos raiders from Norsca.

The end result of this conflict was that the traditional feudal system was irrevocably damaged. Thanks to the loss of so many noble families, the growing unified nature of both the Albionese men and giants, and increasing conflict with the slowly expanding forest of Athel Loren, a major uprising was almost inevitable.
By 3267 IC, various peasants rose up against their lords and attempted to overthrow the entire system through the deposition of the various Nobles, and replace them with a system fairer to the people, such as a similar system to the Elector Counts within the Reikland Empire to the East of Bretonnia.

Instead of being crushed like previous uprisings, the sheer moment of the angry lower classes, combined with the extremely low number of mounted members of nobility, lead to the current Fay Enchantress encouraging the King to listen to the demands of the peasantry. The king refused, leading to a major civil war within Bretonnia, between various nobles and the lower classes.

The end of this came during 3572 IC, when the Wild Wood of Athel Loren expanded rapidly, engulfing the southern section of the province of Parravon and effectively eliminating the central bastion of the peasant rebellion. Rapidly, the Wild Wood expanded over a massive section of territory, prompting both the Ulthan Kingship and the Reikland Empire to investigate the causes behind said growth. Due to the actions of the Treemen Coeddil and Drycha, along with their numerous Beastmen servants, the rebirth of Orion had been delayed for several seasons, and forcing the Athelian Elves to retreat back to hidden areas within the Grey Mountains.

Attempting to mount an attack, each separate force that had divided into the kingdoms of Bretonnia made separate attempts to halt the spread of the forests, and each where unsuccessful. Later attempts by both Ulthanese and Reikland forces failed to prevent the spread, while the amassed forces of the Dwarven fortress of Garben resorted to the ancient runes carved into their home to ward away the encroaching dryads and Beastmen.

Salvation came through the actions of the fabled Green Knight, whose return lead to the unification of the scattered Bretonnian peoples and the coronation of a brand new king, creating a new kingdom of Bretonnia under the rule of the legendary King Gilles the Second, whose first action was to retake the coast lands conquered by Albionese forces in the North of Bretonnia, and reconstituting the noble families of the land. Said reconstitution bore remarkable similarity to the previous idea of Grail Knights, although the restriction that all must be from Noble Families was lifted.

As one, the forces of Bretonnia, combined with additional allies from the Reikland Empire, Ogre Kingdoms representatives, Tiliean, Albionese, Estalian mercenaries and Athelian rangers proceeded to push deep into the heart of Athel Loren, burning a long and dangerously thin line to the heart of the previous Elven kingdom that had inhabited the heart of the forest. There, a major battle was fought, culminating in the awakening of King Orion, whose legendary purge of the forests was bloody and terrible, cutting down massive swaths of Beastmen, and awakening those loyal to him in their massive orgy of destruction.

This had a major consequence however, as once the great king of Spring rampaged towards the boundaries of the forest, he did not stop, marching straight into the retreating forces of the severely weakened Bretonnian army. Hundreds died at the whooping treemen and bloodthirsty elves, until the legendary Green Knight rode forth, equipped in archaic armor that resembled the ancient plate-mail worn by traditional knights of Bretonnia. A clash of swords, and the Green Knight taunted Orion, drawing him deeper back into his forest, leading away the mighty horde of Treemen and Dyrads.
A year later, following an almost endless summer, the Green Knight returned to the acting parliament of Bretonnia, and announced his victory. Following this, he retreated, magical means shielding the military forces of Bretonnia from following.

Following this fantastic reunification of the Kingdom, Bretonnia flourished, rising from a place traditionally thought of as a country filled with constant infighting and death to a major political power within the Old World. Almost a century later, in 3682 IC, the Bretonnia joined with the newly established 'Alliance' of the Reikland Empire, Kislev, The Estalian and Tilean republics and Albion in order to protect their own interests against the growing power of the reunified Araby and the well-equiped armies of Norsca.

Following the last major Chaos incursion of 3892 IC, the Alliance expanded to included various parts of Norsca following the military disarmament of the region, and began to included embassies overseas with the various other political organizations, culminating in the signing of the Lustrian Accords in 4041 IC, which established the Systems Alliance in accordance with the wishes of both the Lustrian Temple Prophecies and the Ind-Ogrein Treaty.