Deviantart Showcase November 2016: ‘Exploring’

exploring_by_shalizeh-d8iyklf-1

In the bright and often garish and trivial world of Mass Effect fanart, Shalizeh’s beautiful painting both stands out … and sticks around, long after others are forgotten.  Here is no climactic moment, no, nor moment of passion or triumph.  It is a quiet moment.  The type of moment which could be easily forgotten in an hour’s time by some, but treasured forever by others.  It’s very quietness is part of its beauty.  Amidst the great deeds and high passions of the futuristic epic, the beauty and glory of the story world itself is sometimes overlooked – not by the story, to be sure, but by those who experience it.  But artwork like this pierces deeper into it, draws us further into that glory, than the story initially did itself, not only for it’s own beauty, but that it reminds us (or at any rate, reminds me) to do the same myself.  Paintings like this Explore the wonders of the story itself, just as the characters within it explore world.

And simply as a portrayal of the theme ‘exploration’ it is magnificent.  It is very wisely that Shalizeh has laced the bright world in mist, now revealing, now concealing in brightness the unknown world before them, now dropping it away into the shadow entirely.  Yet far from being a meaningless haze, the bright glimpses are sharp and clear behind their veils.  The closer one looks, the more real the distant hillsides seem to be.  A harsh world, true.  Not a world of men.  The living creatures hide behind their life-saving masks, not exposing their faces to the hostile wind which drifts the sand across their boots.  And yet a bright and glorious world all the same.  They do not stand huddled together, nor facing onward with dogged displeasure.  Wrex stares out across the valley.  Tali meanders almost dreamily towards the rising sun (for rising it looks as though it must be).  We cannot see what Shepard is looking at, but she gazes forward with her head held high, looking out on the vistas beyond out view.  It is not a world of men, but it doesn’t have to be.  Most of the universe is not.  For how many millennia have the sands drifted across that slope and never once been touched by a living foot till now?  How many times has that sun risen, and never once been seen by living eyes?

As one looks out into the valley and across the rugged foothills beyond, tracing their ridges and gullies up to the peaks and the bright sky beyond (and indeed, one could do this for a while) one notices numerous small imperfections almost, across the land and sky.  Is that a twin planet?  Or a moon?  Or is it much nearer, between us and the sky?  I don’t know whether it was intended or not – but when I gaze at the picture long enough I seem to be looking through a mask, as though I too were standing there on that alien hillside with them.  And I wonder whose eyes I looking through.

Though I don’t know whether this was meant or not, I find it a most pleasing way to look into the picture.  The only difficulty is that one then feels one should be able to turn one’s head.  And of course, one can’t.

In the blaze of the light one scarcely sees them at first, but above are the stars from which they came, still visible though the thin atmosphere in the low morning light.  Even in the brightness of the sunlight the vast cold heights of space seem very near.  And so they are.  In a short time, these explorers will be gone again, back into space.  And this distant valley will be as it was before.

In all, this is one of the richest and subtlest Mass Effect works it has been my pleasure to see.  Thank-you, Shalizeh, for sharing it with us.

Fan-art Criticism by Charlotte Ann Kent

The Song of the Shepard: Canto 2 ~ The Citadel

c2
⇐ Canto 1  ~ © Bioware  ~  Introduction
~ Stanza 1 · In the Med-bay ~

I hear the engine’s whirring baritone
The prim Doctor Chakwas’ languid tones
Softly stepping people, going to and fro
A hoarse, gentle voice, which sounds like Alenko.
Through the gripping miasma of black,
Light starts to glow, and I struggle back.
The Normandy’s left Eden Prime behind.
We’re coursing through vast star-fields of sunshine.
The Alliance relief force made it there
And we left the colony in their care.
This fearful matter calls us away.
Geth have not been seen in many a day,
And ‘Sarin’, that Turian, who murdered Nihlus,
Who fought with the Geth in their horrible violence
Appears to be Saren Arturius
Another Spectre – a collegue of Nihlus.
No other ‘Sarin’ would Nihlus welcome,
Or let him do what it seems he has done,
The witness described him quite reasonably
The Council must know of his treachery.
And what of the beacon? Our mission there?
It’s gone. Overloaded. Mere dust on the air.
The second voice was indeed Kaidan Alenko.
He’s standing nearby, his eyes wide, voice low.
‘I … got too close, let myself get submersed.
The chief and I thought you were dead at first.’
For a moment the loss of so great a find
Weighs it’s great failure over my mind.
But I remember the light on the vale
And I cannot consider my team to have failed.
I nod. ‘Thanks for getting me back to the ship.’
He nods back, a faint smile appears on his lip.
‘The chief’, Ashley Williams, has been transferred aboard.
With Jenkins lost, we need more hands on board.
Alenko spoke well to the Captain of her.
He’s right, she is a remarkable soldier.
The two weary and grieved marines carried me
Back through the port to the Normandy.
And she didn’t set foot back on Eden Prime.
Her unit is gone, they transferred her quick-time.

~ Stanza 2 · Close Council ~

Anderson shortly strides into the bay.
‘How is our XO, Doc? Is she up today?’
We hold council together, the Captain and I.
We speak of the raid, of the hand in the sky.
And he asks a terrible question of me.
‘The beacon, Commander – what did you see?’
I bow my head, I remember too well,
But … not well enough, it’s too strange to tell.
A tangle of horrors storms in my brain.
But not vague. Ice clear. It’s like I’m not sane.
‘I saw synthetics, and what seemed wraiths of men.
Slaughtering people … butchering them.’
The words seem so small and formless and cold
Sick, petty horrors, not the great force that rolled
Over all, wiping out, turning to black
All trace of the light – the world on the rack.
The Prothean beacons stored information
That’s what it gave me in terrible form.
A warning? Of what then? We do not know.
More like a record of war long ago.
Here, in the now, we have been attacked,
A senseless massacre, a pointless act.
What would the Geth want on Eden Prime?
They took not the beacon, and left no sign
Of interest in anything there but death,
And that with heedless, wanton, zealousness.
Yet they may indeed have read the beacon.
As I did unknowingly without seeking.
What good to them would monstrous visions be?
What good to anyone, such sights to see?
Anderson posits his theory to me.
Saren thinks men a blight on the galaxy.
This attack was an act of war.
He wants to kill men. And he will kill more.
With an army of Geth at his command,
No colony now is safe from his hand.
But still it’s that beacon that fills up my mind.
I can’t just dismiss it and put it behind.

~ Stanza 3 · The First Contact War ~

When first man left the Charon Relay
Forging forward into space
We sailed unfettered along the way
Exploring every place
And opening up all relays we found
Surging onward in leaps and bounds
In a gleeful, boundless race.
‘Til a Turian vessel found us at work
At an unknown fast shut relay
And in a moment foolishness
They did not bid us stay
Teach us the reasons, ask us never more
To open a door and let terror and war
Loose where our homeworlds lay.
Instead a rash captain called an attack.
Of course, we at once struck violently back.
In the stretches of space our starships clashed
Then on Shanxti colony the Turians lashed.
At the might of their coming the defence was unmanned.
They surrendered, they fell to Turian hands
Our reprisal was swift and fierce and hard
Every vessel from out of the yards
Every marine and every spaceman
Bore down on the fields of Shanxti again.
And the Alliance banner was raised once more
Over hills and homes ravaged by fire and war.
The Council stepped in and arbitrated
A treaty of piece, and peace was created.
Now my generation never saw
A time when the treaty was not law.
On the high Citadel our Embassy sits
Beside the great Council Hall.
It is their duty to listen to this.
They will hear of our folk and their fall.

~ Stanza 4 · The Lieutenant ~

The Med-bay opens to a central Hall,
Low ceilinged, warm-lit, and pleasant withal.
The Mess can be found there, and so can too
Many an off-duty band of the crew.
Alenko is there when I leave the bay.
As I go to pass by him, I hear him say:
‘I’m glad that you’re up and about now, Ma’am.’
So I turn aside to speak with the man.
The vision hangs like a sword o’er my head
And the fearful attack, the swarms of the dead…
I welcome the sight of the kind, open face,
The soft-spoken words as we two retrace
The strange path we tread but hours ago,
Speak of his friend left behind, and the foe,
Of our fathers who both served long years ago,
Talk shop, we’re biotics, and share what we know,
Speak, of this beautiful, perilous, dark, and aglow
Galaxy we’ve only started know.

~ Stanza 5 · Into the Serpent Nebula ~

The Normandy’s swift, far swifter than light.
On our own drive core we outpace in flight,
The beams of the stars, the Milkyway’s blaze
We leave them behind and fly past their rays.
She takes the final mass relay
But days from the battle, though so far away.
We burst on vista of lavender light.
The great Serpent Nebula’s glowing alight
With the blazing of stars in their infancy
Young starlets and white, old vapours and bright
Radiant purple transparency.
Wreathed in the mists of this wavering cloud
Floats a vast silver structure, ancient and proud.
From a huge central ring, five wings fly out
Long, smooth, and curved, revolving about.
We skim through the billows, plunge through the veils
Towards this, the Citadel, rich of old tales.
From the Bridge where I, with my ground team, stand,
Prepared to disembark, as soon as we land,
I see the vast arms sliding by, ships in flight,
And one mammoth vessel of beauty and might,
A fleck beside it, is the Normandy
A gnat beside a monarch of the sea.
‘Look at that monster!’
Williams cries
A light of delight shining bright in her eyes.
‘She’s the Ascension. Asari flagship.’
Alenko supplies. I hear Joker quip
Something about its guns and its size.
But I see she is graceful, like our fair allies.
Yet she’s nothing like so large, not nearly,
As was the dark shape which hung over the valley.

~ Stanza 6 · Aboard the Presidium ~

We dock aboard the Presidium Ring
And walk among trees and fountains that sing.
Its like a deep canyon; a lake runs below
And above, the young sun-stars shine white as snow.
Along leafy terraces and through lofty halls,
Anderson leads us three, past waterfalls.
Around us are Turians, fierce and tall
The froggy Salarians, lithe and small
Asari star-women, blue and fair
And aliens stranger – their sounds fill the air.
Through the bud in my ear their words filter through
In translated syllables lucid and true.
‘I can’t tell the aliens from the animals.’
Williams remarks in an undertone drawl.
I glance over annoyed at this discourtesy
But she looks back quite innocently.
Great monuments stand alongside the streams.
There many a hero of old wars gleams.
Krogans, rough hewn, and lovely Asari
Stand tall beside many an alien tree.
And one, a mass relay, stands all alone
In a bed of white flowers, just freshly blown.
Alenko seems to be struck by it somehow.
It’s only a statue, doesn’t work anyhow.
Yet he stops and listens – where I can hear naught
Neither can Williams. It’s mere steel fine-wrought.
Far up in an office, high o’er the lake,
Earth’s Ambassador, Udina, awaits;
A surly, beetle-browed, frustrated man
Grumbling as loudly as grumble he can.
He’s displeased with the Citadel Council.
He’s displeased at the sight of us three.
He’s displeased with the state of the hearings.
And he’s displeased especially with me.
The colony attacked, the beacon destroyed…
Pure, wretched disaster, quite unalloyed.
They were considering you for a Spectre, see?
Now what this will do to your candidacy-’
Spectres are the Council’s most elite agents;
“Special Tactics and Reconnaisance.”
No human has ever been named in their ranks
Despite the schemes of political think-tanks.
Yet Nihlus, it seems, put forward my name.
It was partly for this on our shakedown he came,
To look after the beacon, but study me too
The ranks of the Spectres have always been few.
No wonder Udina’s so wroth and so red.
The beacon is lost and that hope is sped.

~ Stanza 7 · The Council ~

In the domed Council courtyard of warm rosy hue
Dressed in Citadel Security blue
We meet a young Turian, bright-eyed and trim,
His name is Garrus Vakarian,
An investigator assigned to the case.
He speaks with fury of this blot on his race
nd expresses frustration he’s had no more time
To build a good case o’er this heinous crime.
‘Saren’s a Turian. Why so eager?’
‘For justice! He’s guilty. I see that quite clear!’
The Citadel Council is made up of three
Salarian, Turian, and Asari.
Each stands for their race in this ancient place
The political meeting ground of Milky-Way space.
The Ambassador’s fears prove justified.
The councillors list not to his diatribe
Against their great agent, their Spectre bold
Not on such evidence as we have told.
They regret the attack, but they will not blame him.
They call it a raid on the council-space rim.
Saren is not even present and there.
He attends as a hologram standing on air
And scoffs at the word of a single dock-worker
Especially such an obvious shirker.
The Citadel Council will not disavow.
They’ve had other false accusations ere now.

~ Stanza 8 · Searching for Leads ~

Initial dismissal stops not our case.
We reconnoitre and pick up the pace.
If we believe truly, and he has gone rogue,
There’ll be other matters wherein it is told.
From here on the Citadel we can well reach
Numerous networks and search for a breach
In Saren’s cover and catch him in speech,
When he slipped up, or when overreached.
Many leads we follow up, many trails of facts we search,
Through the record’s sordid tales, look for things that do not work,
Combing, combing, finding out, little tips and hints that lurk,
Digging, digging, turning up, making contacts in the murk.
We pick up the trail of a Quarian girl
Of whom a ‘Shadow Broker’ agent heard
She called on C-Sec shortly since
With a claim to have damning evidence
‘Gainst an unnamed spectre who had done ill
But the cop on duty wrote her off as a shill.
Following sightings and news reports
My team heads to a clinic, down in the wards.
It’s more like a space station here below,
Clean and bright still, but no sunlight like snow.
With slow plodding steps the Elcor move
On their four trunk-like limbs, while silent and smooth
The strange Hanar people glide by in the air
Like aerial jellyfish, and, here and there
We see in the passages straight human forms.
And sometimes a keeper, six-legged and forlorn.
No word do these speak, and they never look up
Just trudge along with steps oddly abrupt.
They call them the keepers, for they keep this place
Like a strange, taciturn, dwindled janitor race.

~ Stanza 9 · In the Clinic ~

The clinic seems to be closed at first
But the door is unlocked. The latch is burst.
Thus clearly invited, we slip inside
Soft down a hall, to a room low and wide.
A doctor struggles in a gunman’s grasp,
His voice shouts threats with the sound of a rasp
But not to her and not to us.
Another is here, beyond in the dusk.
The captor’s gun’s in the doctor’s face.
I hear her breathing loud with fear
I shout and he looks for a moment’s space.
A rifle cries out sharp and near.
‘Fancy seeing you here, Shepard.
Thanks for the distraction.’
The gunman falls to the floor of the ward.
And out steps Garrus Vakarian.
The doctor’s alright, just shaken and bruised,
The gunman had asked, and she had refused
To tell tales of a Quarian who’d sought help from her
But she’s glad to tell lawful investigators.
Vakarian’s too, is on the Quarian’s trail.
He cannot believe how bad C-Sec failed.
The doctor well remembers the girl,
A young thing; enviro-suit purple with swirls.
Her wounds were light, but she seemed in danger,
And asked the doctor of the Shadow Broker.
An odd question that, but the doctor knew
Of a nearby agent, who she sent her to,
A local bar owner, named Amos Fist.
We check on him through the agent we know.
Yes, Fist was, a while ago
But now a Spectre connection exists….
We go at once, the girl is in peril.
She’s gone straight to Saren and may well be killed.
With us comes eager Garrus Vakarian.
He’s done with C-Sec. But not done with Saren.

~ Stanza 10 · Battle in the Wards ~

Garrus knows where this ‘Fist’ can be found
And swift leads us thither, he knows well these grounds,
To seedier places, and dim lit halls,
Far from the sound of the bright waterfalls,
To a back-end nightclub, closed and locked.
He stops at the door, and briskly knocks.
Perhaps we four look too military.
Perhaps our approach is far too scary.
But rather than asking us what we want
Or pretending there’s nobody left at this haunt,
They throw open the doors and gunfire flies.
We have to take cover and dodge to the sides.
We demand to see Fist, but they do not heed.
We fear that they’ve done some dreadful misdeed.
Through the door, to the dance floor, and over the counters
We fight past the armed thugs and big Krogan bouncers.
Even the janitors stand in our path
But they choose to take our advice not our wrath.
Vakarian notes my tack with surprise
‘ “Get a new job”? Well! Smooth improvise.’
Deep in the dark of the back-room office,
We find the hiding miserable Fist,
He thinks his time’s up, expects only death,
And pleads out surrender in quaking breath.
‘We’re not here to kill you. Call off your thugs!’
He sends them off from his place on the rug.
The Quarian came here, not to long ago,
He set up a meeting for her to sell info,
But, she won’t meet the Broker’s men
Those waiting there are assassins of Saren.
With any luck, we’ll re-catch this guy later.
But time is short. The girl is in danger.
We take the swiftest path we can
And reach the appointed dark dead end.
We quietly creep along the way
Listening to movement some ways away.
A young voice speaks, high-pitched, somehow canned.
‘Where is the Shadow Broker?’
The voice demands.
The answer is low and we cannot hear.
‘No. The deal’s off.’
The young voice holds no fear.
But weapons are drawn and flash in the dark.
Vakarian’s bullet is right on the mark.
The skirmish is brief. The assassins are few.
They had not expected me and my crew.
The girl comports herself well, and holds her ground.
She’s used to handling herself from the sound.
But when they’re gone, she thanks us the same
Putting her own naivete to blame.
Tali Zorah Na’rayya’s her name when we ask.
Her face hides behind a dark purple mask.
She hears our story of Saren and strife
‘Why then, I can thank you for saving my life.’
She recently encountered a troupe of Geth
Took down several, and escaped the rest.
She salvaged data from one’s memory banks
It was partly burned out and mostly blank
But she found a recording worth digging for,
Proud gloating words, heard just days before.

~ Stanza 11 · The Reapers ~

The checks are all run, the voice test bears out
The data’s combed back, origins check out.
The speaker is Saren, the listener Geth
Recorded but hours past the colonist’s deaths.
‘Eden Prime was a major victory.’
– His voice is filled with a terrible glee –
‘We’re one step closer to finding it.
One step closer to the Conduit.’
Then another voice, mellow and deeper:
‘And closer to the return of the Reapers.’
Reapers? Her voice, so low and so smooth
Crawls through my nerves, and I cannot but choose
That a sharp deadly chill takes ahold in my breast.
It reminds me of something – but I can’t see the rest.
As far as Tali can tell from Geth lore
The ‘Reapers’ fought in an ancient war.
Great terrible beings, nature unknown,
Who wiped out the Protheans, left crumbled stone,
The long silent beacon looms in my mind
The complete devastation, end of the line….
What is this conduit? None of us know.
Nor have our networks an answer to show.
He was there for the beacon, I am sure now.
And he read it, as I did, and understood it somehow.

~ Stanza 12 · Spectre ~

Back to the Council, we take his foul words
It’s been substantiated. This time we’re heard.
But Saren ignores the formal summons
He breaks off contact. He is not coming.
In the Council’s great Presidium hall,
A airy bastion broad and tall,
Warm with bronze leaves, yet smelling of spring
Filled the voices of warblers that sing,
The Council pronounces judgement on Saren
Tried in absentia for crimes against humans,
For perjury, treason, and acts of war
He’s stripped of his status. His funding is torn,
And he is declared a fugitive.
But they don’t propose steps more punitive.
They won’t send out ships to take the rogue down.
Last heard, he was in much contested ground.
Oh, the political ramifications….
Udina can’t swerve their determination.
And they will not hear of this ‘Conduit’
They say that the ‘Reapers’ are clearly a myth
Which Saren is using to win Geth support
A self-dooming way to set-up rapports.
But the beacon-
No, they won’t hear of that.
The Protheans fought too, and that is that.
‘Send me.
I, as your agent, could take it on as a case.
And my ship can go silent in Terminus Space.’
A moment of quiet. Then the Asari
Look to her fellows, looks back to me.
And I am named the first Human Spectre.
The Council’s ‘right-hand’, galactic protector
And told to go out and hunt down the traitor.

~ Stanza 13 · The Merc ~

Garrus comes with us, to finish the mission,
Avenge the fallen, vanquish the villain.
The Normandy strike-team is very small
For stealth, not fighting, we three are all.
A Turian could be of great help here
So I take him on as an irregular.
I also take Tali, the Quarian girl
She’s on a pilgrimige, travelling the world.
She’s smart and she’s able, and she asked the favour,
Which – after her intel, – how could I not grant her?
Also, the Quarians know the Geth best
Her knowledge may help in the coming unrest.
Straight from the Council, to the Normandy I go,
With Garrus, Tali, Williams, and Alenko.
But on our way there a Krogan meets us,
A great monstrous hulk with a blunderbuss.
He’s taller than Garrus and broader by far.
His wide yellow face is criss-crossed with scars.
His huge head is capped with a horny red crown.
His great humped back looms in the background.
He calls me by name, in a deep gruff growl,
Transfixing me with his alien scowl.
He had a job. That bar owner, Fist.
He wasn’t re-captured, the C-Sec raid missed.
We left him with such a fear for his skin
That he’s fled this station which we are in.
‘That was my job! And you did it instead.’
The Krogan looms grimly over my head.
‘And so! … I’m transferring the credits to you.
I don’t accept funds for things I didn’t do.’
That was … unexpected. I let go my gun.
As I rather expect my crewmen have done.
The Krogan’s quite friendly, name’s Urdnot Wrex,
He cheerfully offers his gun for my project.
He knows that Saren’s been named an outlaw
I’ve just been named Spectre. Coincidence? Pshaw!
He knows what’s up. And he wants in on it.
That’s where the action is. It’s just his fit.
A great hulking merc who’ll switch on a whim?
I go to refuse. I wouldn’t take him!
But … I don’t know, I can’t send him away.
He stands there grinning a few feet away,
Big, ugly, uncouth, a dirty hit-man.
A mercenary’s a thing I can’t stand!
But each time I go to say those few words
My voice dries in my throat. They are never heard.
I reach out and take his huge horny hand
‘Welcome aboard, Wrex.’
And he joins the band.

~ Stanza 14 · Farewell to the Captain ~

The Captain stands by the Normandy dock
Waiting outside the open airlock.
Udina’s there also, haughty and pleased.
They have advice for me, possible leads
There’ve been more Geth sightings since the attack.
A far distant colony’s reported back,
With tales of metallic, agile men
Haunting the cliff banks, lurking the fens.
A private research station exists
Hid in Noveria’s icy mists.
Supervision is low, security tight,
And Saren has ties there, out of the light.
And the lonesome voice from the Geth’s record
The one who spoke that terrible word
Belongs to one ‘Matriarch Benezia’
Of the Asari intelligentsia.
A well known elder, ancient and wise.
She’s long travelled space to help and advise
Her scattered people and other folk too
She’s not known to hate humans, or ever bring rue.
She has one daughter, Liara T’Soni
A scholar of Prothean archaeology,
… Who might be of help for her speciality.
But also, family of his inner ring
Might have insight on what Saren’s planning,
ight even know where her mother is now.
Last heard she was headed to Artemis Tau,
To an unspecified Prothean ruin.
But though they are many, they aren’t common things.
Anderson speaks of these much to me
As though I were captain, instead of he.
‘But, Captain,’ I say, ‘aren’t you coming too?’
He shakes his black head and bids us adieu.
‘A Spectre needs their own command, Shepard.
The Normandy’s yours now. Take care of her.’
Somewhere up the line the call has been made,
And though he is always steady and staid,
His voice is regretful, his words become few.
He bids us goodbye, the best man of our crew.
We leave him behind, alone on the dock.
I raise my hand to him; close the airlock.

The Normandy glides back out into space,
Out into the burning lavender waste.
The Citadel flickers and fades away
Lost in the haze of the endless day
I turn my gaze away from the station,
Away from my captain, to the constellations.
‘Attention all hands! This is the Commander.
You know we’ve been sent to catch the rogue Spectre.
But it’s not merely to justly avenge
Far more than that on our mission depends.
He’s searching for something, the “Conduit”.
This only we know; he must not find it!
This isn’t just for our own sake; Humanity.
It may matter to all who live in this Galaxy.
… Take us in to the Relay now, Joker.
Show us what the Normandy has in her.’

 Mass Effect Poetry by Charlotte Ann Kent
   Canto 3 ⇒

The Song of the Shepard: Canto 1 ~ The Attack Upon Eden Prime

Unknown Threat by Orioto
© Bioware  –  Introduction
~ Stanza 1· The Departure of the SSV Normandy ~

Above the warmth of air we rise
Through the frosty turbulent skies
To where the blaze of heat and light
Clashes with black in the roofless heights.
Our ship is new, her lines are clean
The crew is eager to fly
Before us is Space, the seen and unseen
In the untold depths of the sky.
We leave Earth behind – we’re out past the moon.
We turn the ship’s prow from the Sun’s golden noon
And sail, sail away more fleet than a ray
Of that glorious, brilliant, ancient day.

We’re embarked on our vessel’s maiden flight,
Her first dive to the deep night’s sea.
A shakedown run for the young prototype,
The stealth frigate Normandy.
She’s set for a colony claimed by mankind
Renowned for its beauty, called Eden Prime.
I’ve worked on the moon and I’ve put by on Mars.
I’ve walked other planets, around distant stars
My boot has marked lands where no human has dwelt
I’ve trained among alien asteroid belts
From my youth starships have been my home.
And they still are now that I am grown.
For proudly I tread where my parents trod
An Alliance marine, before man, before God.
For ten years I’ve guarded and fought and served
And many have heard the name Rosamund Shepard.
But though I’ve seen much in my thirty-years time
I’ve never set foot on fair Eden Prime.

Pluto the frozen looms up and goes by,
We’ve dropped out of light speed. The Mass Relay’s nigh.
I tread the command deck up to the bridge.
The Relay’s ahead; it pulses, glows
A huge black curve and a whirligig
Spinning, spinning, juxtaposed
Across the speckled field of night
Swiftly drawing huger, near.
Work of an ancient massive might.
The stations call. ‘All go! We’re clear!’
And the Normandy dives to the light.

~ Stanza 2 · The Pilot, the Co-pilot, and the Council-Spectre ~

A billion miles from our former place
We come to rest in the calm of space.
Off the bow is sweet riot of black and light.
From the bow, gulfs of glory blaze clear to my sight.
The constellations are different from here.
Greater the bright Milky Way appears.
Far off there burns a sparkle of green,
Eden Prime reflecting an alien sun’s beams.
Joker, the pilot, leans back in his chair
With a smug little grin and a triumphant flair.
Beside me stands a tall grim Turian.
Nihlus he’s called, a rust faced alien,
A member of an allied race
And an agent of the Council of civilized space.
I’m accounted tall, for a daughter of men
But I stand barely up to his mandibled chin.
Armour sheathes his wasp-like waist
His face is covered in natural plates
Which are splashed with war-paint in bold white stripes
And jab back from his temples in sword-like spikes.
He reported to the captain while we were ashore.
But I’ve not been told why a Spectre’s on board.
He nods at the pilot magnanimously.
‘That was quite good for a relay leap.
It will please your captain.’
He turns and goes.
His footfalls fade to mere echoes,
Joker grumbles and mutters:
‘I hate that guy.’
And turns to the helm, his fuzzy face wry.
The co-pilot beside him, Lieutenant Alenko
(A marine like myself; dark-haired, sturdy fellow)
Glances up from his work from the second helm station.
‘Nihlus gave you a compliment, so … you hate him?’
I hear the two of them debating our guest,
Only half listening, my mind’s on our quest.
And my eyes are on the green sparkle ahead.
Though Joker has left what Nihlus said,
(That leap was “incredible” not just “good”)
And has now declared the guy’s up-to-no-good.
He doesn’t trust Turians or those agents the Spectres
And elaborates this in a portent projecture.
While Alenko counters we have no sound reason
To accuse the stern Nihlus of ill-will or treason.
(The Turians helped us design this new frigate.
And Citadel Council would of course ask to see it.)
Over the com, a deep voice is heard:
‘Commander Rosamund Shepard?’
I hear my Captain call my name,
Anderson, my father’s friend, of great and well won fame.
His voice is serious, almost grim
As he summons me down to speak with him.
I wonder aloud whence comes his gravity,
The source is more than I can see.
The pilot shrugs and resettles his hat.
‘Oh, Captain Anderson? He just sounds like that.’
Alenko half smiles, I hear him aver:
‘That’s just when he’s talking to you, Joker.’

~ Stanza 3 · Distress Call ~

Down in the com-room, Nihlus stands alone
A strange and fearsome figure, clothed in living bone.
He turns to greet me with words smooth and fair,
Hissing through his lipless mouth, in the quiet air.
Mere light pleasantries his speech seems to be,
Small inquiries and praise o’er the Eden Prime colony.
But his manner is probing, of what I can’t tell.
Not of that colony. I don’t know it well.
He turns to another; Elysium,
And the day when Batarian pirates had come.
It’s me that he’s probing. That day is well known.
I was there. I rallied resistance alone
And led colony’s folk in defence.
Til the Alliance sent reinforcements.
But what significance does the tale hold for Nihlus?
He is coolly but quite clearly curious.
As we converse he watches appraisingly.
I wonder, what must a Turian see?
I am called beautiful among my own race
Stalwart of bearing, fine-featured of face.
But to Nihlus, how shelless my pale skin must seem
How little beside him, and stocky, I deem.
How strange my soft curtain of short crimson hair
Must look to a head so horny and bare.
As we speak, firm steps sound down the corridor.
Captain David Anderson strides in the door.
His strong frame is tall, his brown face is dark.
On his blue uniform, bright medals spark.
A red stripe runs down to his wrist from his shoulder,
The uniform mark of an N7 soldier,
The toughest within the Alliance Fleet.
I too wear the stripe, though I’ve not yet his feats.
He tells me our shakedown run’s only a cover.
The SSV Normandy’s been sent to recover
An intact Prothean beacon from Eden Prime.
No greater discovery’s been made in our time.
‘Its big, Shepard, big. Most seen for many lives.
There’s been none bigger since the Mars archives.’
What this might do for our technology…’
Now Nihlus’s presence is clear to me.
The Protheans were an an alien race
Whose crumbling monuments are seen across space
The first humans found were those archives on Mars
Through them we learned how to fly to the stars
With the mass effect principle which draws on dark energy
By sending a calculate stream of electricity
Through element zero, a substance strange
Which seems to exist between the two planes.
And thus for a little, a lot is returned
And greatly less fuel does a ship have to burn
To accelerate up past the speed of light.
Thus the Protheans taught us FTL flight.
(This element’s a fair but a dangerous thing
Many have died from its touch.
And yet, when it imprints on young human cells
It teaches them that which it knows itself
Those that live can themselves do as much.
The mass effect principle in living form
Biotics they call them. Thus, was I born.)
Some Prothean relics in deep space lurk.
They say that the whole Relay system’s their work.
And built of the same massive workmanship
Is the great Citadel where the Council sits.
But rarely we find ought else intact.
A working com beacon? I’ve not heard of that.
Of course the Council sent out a Spectre
He’s here to protect it. It’s quite past conjecture.

Over the com speakers, Joker’s voice chimes.
‘Captain! Com-link from Eden Prime!’
On the opposite wall a screen lights up.
In the quiet room gunfire erupts.
A man is shouting they’re under attack.
He stumbles and falls and does not come back.
Now only sky can we see on the screen,
Red turbulent clouds like I’ve never seen.
And darkly through them, like a great fingered hand
There reaches a shape grasping out toward the land.
Nihlus, the captain, and I breathless watch
As it slides through the sky.
The signal is lost.
‘Well’ says Anderson, ‘this changes things.
Suit up, Commander! Let your feet grow wings.
I will summon Alenko and Jenkins.
Heaven and Earth – what was that thing?’

~ Stanza 4 · Colony Approach ~

Armoured in black, gloved, booted, and armed
I report to the bay to the sound of alarms.
Lieutenant Kaidan Alenko – he from the bridge,
In quiet stone green armour
And eager Rich Jenkins – worked-up just a smidge,
Swinging a rifle on his shoulder,
Are ready; two sturdy, bold Marines.
We three make a standard Alliance recon-team.
Jenkins once lived here, some years before
And scarce seems to believe that below there is war.
He’s anxious to get there and join in the fight
Yet he seems too buoyant, too sure its alright.
We’re coming in close for the door opens in.
The captain raises his voice o’er the wind,
Tells us where to find the beacon dig-site
And tells to get there, go not left nor right.
‘But what about survivors, Captain?’
Alenko’s rough voice calls the question.
‘That beacon is your top priority!
It must not fall to the hands of an enemy!
I’ve sent for help. It will here soon.
Get in. Stay low. And secure that beacon.
It’s probably the target. Understood?’
‘Yes, Sir!’ I say.
I know full well that should
A foe be the one to gain the new knowledge
All of our colonies would lose an edge.
‘Approaching the drop zone!’ Joker tells us.
‘Hey, Nihlus!’ calls Jenkins ‘You coming with us?’
Out of the shadows the Turian comes,
With a feline grace. He shoulders his gun.
‘I move faster alone.’ he says.
And is gone,
Empty and bare is the hatch he stood on.
The Normandy’s slowed and swooped down low.
My squad leaps out to the ground below.

~ Stanza 5 · Death in Eden Prime ~

She’s gone, and we stand in a vast and lovely land.
Below us stretch away rich rolling ploughed lands.
Behind us rough crags, red in the low light
Rise up crowned with leaves, to steep, lofty height.
A sharp distant bark of crackling gunfire
Shatters the evening, makes the calm scene a liar.
Our prototype stealth ship swooped quietly
Under the ridge, dropped us off in the valley
Away from the gaze of enemy eyes
And whatever that was looming large in the skies.
But just over the ridge, just out of our sight
Lies the colony centre, and a terrible fight.
Quickly we climb through bramble and tree.
I look to the skies, but no dark shape I see.
As we pass through a green and mossy dell
A large form moves, which I cannot see well.
It floats from the brush, a lumpish grey mass.
Two of us startle, but Jenkins laughs.
‘They call ‘em “gas-bags”. They aren’t any harm.’
I lower the gun I have raised in alarm.
He’s right, the thing ambles – or drifts – right by.
Scarcely noticing we three passers-by.
Still chuckling he trots ahead, to the next bend.
‘It’s clear.’
And he goes.
We hear the air rend.
We seize our weapons, break into a run,
Dash to the corner. But we see no one.
In the air, by a ledge, a tiny globe hovers
Dipping and whirring, behind follow others.
We let loose a volley of gunfire pale.
We lash and we hurl them across the steep vale,
With forces unleashed from our empty hands
In streams of blue light, fierce swift-streaking strands,
Seizing the drones in strong scintillating fields
Biting right through the shell of their shields.
For Alenko and I are biotics both
And we throw down the drones to the undergrowth.
Their blasts fly about us, some find a mark.
Hot plasma against my biotic field sparks.
Though I stagger beneath the force of the blow,
I am untouched, protected below.
When the last globe burns and falls to the ground.
We call out for Jenkins and look all around.

At the foot of the slope lies a silent form, grey
We reach for our omni-tools, run down, and assay
To render him aid. But he’s far and gone.
Red is the stony bank he lies on.
Alenko stares down at the man on the rock
His white face is filled with what seems to be shock.
I know that ere now he’s seen battle and war
But his voice has grown smaller than it was before.
‘He didn’t have time to put up his shields.
He hadn’t a chance!’
Life’s blood soaks the field.
‘Sometimes soldiers die. You have to go on.’
I seek to rouse him, we have to be gone.
He nods, mumbles ‘Yes, Ma’am’, and raises his head.
We stow our omni-tools and leave the dead.

~ Stanza 6 · The Gunnery-Chief ~

Onward, quickly, the dig-site is near.
Distant crashing and shouting and gunfire I hear.
Then close, through a thicket, harsh shots ring out.
Gleaming steel figures leap all about.
A lone human woman, swift, pink, and white,
Is running and shooting in outnumbered fight.
Without a word we abandon the path.
Through brambles and briars and boulders we crash.
Strange vining plants tangle round ankles and heads
Alenko rips free and plows on ahead.
For a moment I see him burning blue
Hear the crack of his gun, see his shots fire true.
See the light from his hands hurl the Geth to the cliffs
And then I’m beside him. The outcome is swift.
The lone woman turns to us, panting and worn,
Her tall form is straight, her armour is torn.
She thanks us in tones both martial and warm
Her face speaks of woes she’s had no time to mourn.
Her enemies scattered about on the ground,
Are robotic bipedals, lean as bloodhounds.
Those long curving heads … I recognize “Geth”.
I’ve never met one, but I know they bring death.
They’ve never been seen out in human space,
And why they’re here now in this quiet place…
I turn to the woman, her story is brief.
‘My name’s Ashley Williams, Gunnery-Chief.
My unit is dead, wiped out by the Geth.
They’re here coming after our beacon, I bet.
Well, I’m after it too! It’s just to the south.’
She’s calm and collected, I see she has nous.

~ Stanza 7 · The Prothean Dig Site ~

We three go on, to the lip of a dell,
A deep rounded hollow, it’s paths travelled well.
Down at the dig-site, the sun’s ray are gone
And the darkness of evening is quite far along.
The gleam and clang of a swift metal body
Slick sterilized white, shiny and gaudy,
And a Geth and more move in the shadow and stones.
The tread of their feet is like breaking of bones.
Alenko’s bright omnitool flashes,
Overloading their circuitry
His gleaming biotic force lashes
The Geth at velocity.
Williams is not a biotic
But boy can she handle a gun!
Deadly and sharp, far beyond quick
Quick and knows which way to run
My biotic warp fields crumble the Geth
Had they been alive, they would now know death.
Unliving, unbreathing, insensate steel!
They do not live so they can’t die … or feel.
We came on them swiftly from out of the dusk
We saw them plain, but they never saw us.
They fall in the twilight down on rugged stone
And we three marines are left here alone.
We look for the beacon, but see it not.
We spread out grimly and search through the spot.
‘It was here. Been moved. By us I hope.’
Williams calls out from low on the slope.
Nihlus calls me over the com.
He thinks it’s been moved and may not be gone,
But rather conveyed to the near-by space-port,
Prepared for the Normandy’s awaited report.
He says he’ll be waiting at a tram nearby,
Tells us to be ready, but doesn’t say why.

~ Stanza 8 · The Valley of the Shadow of Death ~

Back out of the hollow, into the sun,
We take the main path from the site at a run.
Around the bend and down an avenue
The valley and sky open up to our view.
‘What is that?!’
Hanging above the broad verdant vale
As big as the ridge where we stand on the trail
Gleaming and flashing long arms of black
Sending out lightning across its huge back
Is the distant dark shape I saw in the sky.
It looms o’er the world, all’s darkened thereby.
It’s fingers or tentacles reach toward the ground.
The air is filled with a terrible sound.
‘That is the biggest ship I’ve ever seen!’
Williams exclaims as we leave the ravine.
But is it a ship?
Alenko asked well.
It’s more like a creature.
Come up out of Hell.
Down the hillside out on the plain,
Buildings and roads cross o’er the terrain.
I see the tram station, like Nihlus said,
But I see no one living – yet many dead.
One gunshot rings out. One. Close at hand.
No answer follows. A car leaves the tram.
We start down the slope, I see movement below
Dim figures running, no loping – No …
I cannot believe what I’m seeing here.
My companions’ eyes have grown large with fear.
These are humans, were humans, are not anymore.
What devilry’s been here? What act of war…?
The things swarm up the hillside, blind objects thrown
Unnaturally, without will of their own,
Stumbling and lurching … and searching, I’m sure.
They crash into our cover, and we see what they’re for.

I call ‘Open fire!’ with pity and dread.
And the three of us mow down the horde of the dead.
We’ve no words to say. What can there be said?
But I stop, ere we go, to make sure that the dead
Are cold and mere corpses and not something worse.
It’s not. They were dead. It’s a tactic perverse.
The blackness hangs still in the sky like a curse.

~ Stanza 9 · Betrayed ~

We go on. Down the slope. To the station below.
Farther down into this valley of woe.
The station seems emptied of even the dead
Silent and lifeless, I hope some have fled!
‘Nihlus!’ I call.
My voices echoes unanswered.
The Spectre comes not, and says not a word.
But near the tram, a lone figure lies,
A Turian, armoured in familiar guise.
Alenko goes to him, but we’ve come too late.
He was shot from behind, close quarters. Checkmate.
What out-spectred a Spectre? So close yet no doubt?
‘Look there! Something’s moving!’ Williams calls out.
A man, living, breathing, has appeared near the rail.
There’s something yet living in this dreadful vale!
‘The other one killed him.’
Says he who’s alive.
‘Did you see what happened! How did you survive?’
‘Well I was sleeping, or, catching a nap
Where the boss couldn’t see me, back there in the gap.
When the real fighting started, well, I just stayed back.’
‘So you lived because you’re a coward and slack!’
Williams’ voice pierces the heavy red air.
The man shrinks away from the blaze of her stare.
I look at her, bearing the marks of her fight
Faced down alone, with her sole, single might.
And I think of the fellows that she’s left behind,
And I do not wonder her tone is unkind.
But I am just glad to see some have survived
If he has lived here, there’s many alive.
‘And what of the Turian, who has killed him?’
‘The other one; kinda tall, pale grey, and grim.
I think he knew him, he called him by name.
This one was all tense and ready to aim
Then he saw the other, and seemed to relax
Then they were talking and he turned his back.
He shot him, I don’t know, don’t ask me why.
Then he took off on the tram really spry.’
‘What name did he call him? What did you hear?’
‘Nihlus.’
‘The other.’
‘Oh, let me think here.
Saren, I think, no wait, I’m quite sure.
Saren Arc-something-or-other he were.
A really big fella, the colour of tin
With mean beady eyes, look out for him!’

~ Stanza 10 · Saren’s Command ~

We leave him and Nihlus and take the tram,
Out into the valley and over a dam,
Across broad green meadows and past walls of cream.
They said it was beautiful, it’s like a dream.
A dream and yet a nightmare beneath.
I see none of its folk but the Gunnery-Chief.
She stands beside me, stoic and grim,
No tears in her dark eyes or on her tanned skin.
Others live, surely, in hiding or flight
But I see no signs of still active fight.
And still in the clouds, broods the evil black thing
And through the air still, I hear that dull ring.
Far on the platform, I see white figures moving,
Not men, they’re Geth. I can’t tell what they’re doing.
Yet among them I see a lone living creature
It’s too far to make out specifics of feature
But he is Turian. That much is clear.
He strides right among them without hint of fear
And directs like a master or an overseer.
He’s gone before the tram comes near.
We give the Geth battle, those few who remain.
As we retake the platform I see in a drain,
A cylinder, blatantly out of place.
It’s little lights blink at a very fast pace.
I duck out of the firing, next to the drain.
An explosive, fit to light up the plain.
‘Lieutenant!’ I call.
Alenko ducks down.
I see that he sees what it is I have found.
‘Can you disarm it?’
He nods and takes over.
Williams and I stand by and give cover.
Whole precious moments slip by as he works.
Most Geth have pulled off, but still a few lurk
Near corners and ledges sniping at will.
I’m surprised that they’re hanging around here still.
‘Got it, Commander! This one’s disarmed.’
‘This one?!’
‘There’s four, synced together and armed.
We’ve got minutes to find them, we have to move now!
I’ve got leads on them, we’ll get them somehow.’

~ Stanza 11 · Battle of the Space Port ~

We run through deserted, sun-lit ramparts,
After the signal his omni-tool charts.
The beacon’s forgotten, or nearly so,
I guess it is now in the hands of the foe.
Yet the colony still can be partly saved,
There’s people alive here, where roads are paved.
And many more farther, out in the rural lands.
But these huge bombs will turn meadows to sands.
The plains, and the ridges, the sweet mossy dells
Infernos will crumble them into a hell.
We disarm two more, but we’re searching too long!
Then, on a causeway we’re running along
We see farther down, where the last bomb lies,
It’s little lights blinking like small evil eyes.
The Geth rise up from behind the bulwarks,
The heat of their bolts turns concrete to sparks.
We gain ground, too slowly, dodging cover to cover.
Enough! Lose this chance and we get no other!
I strengthen my barrier and charge down the road,
The two marines at my side.
We clash with the Geth. They crash and explode.
Our shields shudder but they stem the tide.
We drive our foes back and duck into cover
Right near the explosive, our strength near over.
Beside me stands Williams. We hold the Geth back,
Alenko’s crouched down and turned his green back
On the battle beside him, the fury and fire
Working as though he did not hear their ire.
His brown fingers flash and his omni-tool whirs.
Over his set brow his dark hair is stirred
By the wind that throws up the dust from the fray.
Hurls it in our eyes and throws it away.
Williams’ assault-rifle and my shotgun
Cry out like mad hounds in the fast sinking sun.
‘It’s done!’He leaps up, and hurls blue at the foe.
The moments tick by, but the bombs do not blow.
It’s the Geth that collapse, they fall, move no more.
Just then I notice, I don’t hear the roar.
The sky has grown clear. The blackness is gone.
It’s only the soft red of sunset – halcyon.

~ Stanza 12 · The Beacon ~

We head back through the space-port, searching the platforms
Though the beacon must surely have long since been borne
Away in the hands of the marauding Geth
Must surely now be in that black hulk of death.
And yet, on a deck, a tall pillar stands,
As if, untouched by enemy hands,
It sits unhurt, and waiting for us,
Humming and greenly luminous.
It is the beacon. Williams confirms it
But she is puzzled, it didn’t emit
A light or a sound when it was first found.
Before it sat quiet and still on the ground.
Like polar aurora, pulsing, singing
The light dances up its cone, emblazoning
Dark steel with flickering green, mesmerizing.
The sound seems to grow, a low murmuring.
I shrug, turn away, and open my com,
To call to the Captain that all is now calm.
Alenko still watches as I pass by,
Strong curiosity in his brown eyes.
The thing is lovely, strange, and old.
For this, he has fought and Jenkins lies cold.
I contact the ship, get Joker on-line,
Tell him the beacon still seems to be fine.
Movement catches my notice-
‘Alenko!’
He struggles as though in a strong under-tow.
It’s dragging him towards the glimmering beacon
Seizing him fiercely, he seems to be weakened.
Over the deck, towards the beacon, toward him
I dash and I shout, the light has grown dim.
His planted heels slip and his hands find no grip.
The humming grows louder. His booted feet trip.
I leap and I grasp him. The beacon grasps me.
A moment I wrangle, then hurl him free.
He falls safe to the deck, crumples down to the ground.
But the beacon still drags me, it twists me around.
Glimmering, shimmering – it won’t let go.
My feet leave the ground, I seem to be falling
Darkening, thundering – cruel shrieks of woe
Though them I hear my two comrades calling:
‘Shepard!’
He cries. She shouts:
‘Lieutenant! No!’
The sounds of their struggle fade from my ears.
Sights fill my eyes like the shooting of spears.
Fire and darkness. Silence and screams.
Foreign eyes sparkless. Death swarms in reams.
Shattering, blackening, gathering dark.
Light flickers feeble, crush of the spark.
Faltering, smouldering, perishing, gone.
Raging untrammelled. Dark steals the dawn.
Dimly I know that I’m still in the air
Above a space dock on an evening fair.
But this blast seems quite real, not like before.
I’m thrown to the deck and I know no more.

Canto 2 ~ The Citadel ⇒

eden_prime_by_celyntheraven-d7pxkfj-copy

Mass Effect Poetry by Charlotte Ann Kent

Deviantart Showcase – September 2016: ‘In the End…’

Planetaryjunction’s gorgeous render is not only one of the best ‘after the war’ pieces out there, it is – in my opinion – among the very loveliest works of Mass Effect fanart ever to be released on the internet.  The sweet subtlety of the light; its dusky shadows half concealing the ferns and their hands in the grass, the warm, soft, contented glow which suffuses and over-arches the whole image.  The simple, perfect composition of the two lovers amongst the leaves.  The beautiful treatment of the two characters themselves – there is none of the unwieldiness which so often plague such pieces; they look not only natural, but truly like themselves.  I see the quiet poise of Liara, and the relaxed self-possession of Shepard.

I think it a great pity that this is one of but two Mass Effect images that Planetaryjuction placed on deviantart.  The other ‘Wish me Luck’ is also a Shepard and Liara picture – a farewell on Ilium.

wish_me_luck____mass_effect__by_planetaryjunction-d4hkdys

This – though in my opinion far the inferior of the two – would in itself have placed Planetaryjuction in the very highest level of unofficial Mass Effect artists.  I’m sorry that these were the only we saw from him.  But!  I’m all for quality over quantity, and that certainly is the case here.

‘Wish me luck’ is taken from the middle of the Saga, with all the worst yet to come.  It seems to me that the uncertainty and the looming darkness are well conveyed in the cold color of the light and the distant, dark, separate nature of the surrounding structures.  The couple is pressed tight together, cut off from the hard, unfriendly world around them.

How different are the warm tones and the friendly closeness between the people and the world in ‘In the End…’.  Here the couple is not only relaxed in, but also a part of, the world around them.  Their fingers twine in the grass and the gentle leaves brush them.  The light does not come coldly from a distance, but surrounds and bathes both them and the friendly, embracing world.

It is titled, ‘In the End…’, and subtitled ‘My End’.  And that is exactly what it is.  Not only does the whole thing breathe of the content, the unafraid, the renewed life after the dark, the sweet maturity of the story that blossomed between these two … belonging on at the end.  But this is a particular end.  The end that belongs to one Shepard, an end that not all would choose – that not all could reach even if they did choose.

It seems to be a common fear that since the ‘end’ of the game cut off so soon – the story too was ended thus.  The artist himself seems to fear this, and from the manner in which he presented this one almost gathers he put it forward in quiet defiance of the inexcusable ending of such a story.  And he was quite right to do so.  To view that tale as simply over at the end is unthinkable. And yet …. even within the context of the game, the story does not truly ‘end’.  The game ends true – but it ends with a beginning.  And though we are not shown much of what it is that has begun, it may very well have been this.  It is no contradiction of the story, but rather a forging forward into it.  Since ‘Mass Effect’ did not tell us the specifics of the new it showed beginning, who but each of us individually may say what happened next … in our end.

And few endings could be more beautiful than this.
Fan-art criticism by Charlotte Ann Kent