[Sniper's Touch, closed] Shepherd of Wolves

Five months...

Something shifts in the Kexaknan's eyes, the mind behind them assessing and calculating with honed precision. Of all the inhabitants of the range, Raelon had only outranked Trex as the one most likely to discover his deception first. Thus, as unwelcome as the news may be, the situation could be far worse. Indeed, if Raelon is telling the truth, he had spotted Notras' slip, removed all trace of it, then sat on the information until this very moment. He had waited to reveal this secret to the very being that might kill him to preserve it, and had preemptively denied himself any protection, assistance, or escape before doing so.

Curious. Very curious.

Clearly the shaman is not looking for a fight, as martydom was easily the most impractical means of turning the clan against their General. Raelon had possessed and eliminated imagery of his tell-tale 'skull' tattoo, which had laid hidden for years merely through the clever use of simple facepaint. It would not have taken much for the clan to investigate based on this evidence, nor for the damning truth to become apparent under intensive scrutiny.

More intriguing is the conversation they just shared when considered under this new context. Was it all a ruse? Raelon had seemed genuinely concerned and sincere, but it could all have been an elaborate ploy... But... No. No, the man is no actor. Even with his deformed appearance, the shaman clearly struggles to hide his emotions under duress. The Kexaknan can practically smell his terror, see the quiver in his talons, read the fear in his eyes.

The sniper's face subtly twitches, a crack in that ruthless mask. "What is your intent, then, shaman?" That voice is as cool as ever, betraying no hint of the growing turmoil and confusion within, "Why this approach?"

Perhaps Raelon is not as informed as he seems. The Kexaknus unit was infamous among the Sundowner people, and rightly so, but only one of its number had ever been so demonized as to be singled out. Only one had earned a title from his enemies.

'When the sun goes down, there is only Dusk...'

"This approach is because you are not an easy man to help." Raelon feels comfortable enough to dare to lace his talons together, feeling the reassuring press of steel against synthetic-buttressed bone. "However obvious the reasons for the silence you keep, it makes it very difficult for anyone to assist you, and if I am to be anywhere near as competent at my calling as I am at my chosen employment, I see I need to provide you a reason to trust me."

But when in all the history of Solregit had anyone even dared to imagine that a Sundowner might someday be called to minister to a member of the infamous deathsquads?

"I made some inquiries regarding the end of the Reaper War - specifically the time I spent in a one-on-one meeting with God." He's referring, of course, to that agonizing hour suspended between life and death in the firebombed range. On vacation from his mortal flesh, he needed to investigate to find out what Notras had done in that time. The answer cemented his decision to keep the other man's secret.

"We had no idea that Shepard was on the verge of success. We had no idea that we would be rescued by a miracle. The hall was lost, the Sundowners were in retreat and the fallback positions we'd established were no match for the sheer number of husks that pursued...well, when I say "us," I mean those of our number still alive and capable of fleeing. So. As far as any of us could foretell, it was the end of the world."

"I heard all this from Vindi--I do not think I am breaching confidentiality when I say she felt guilty for leading her people forward into the tunnels, towards the fallback positions, and leaving you behind. She told me she has spoken to you about this. Her statement took on a whole new meaning five months ago. Previously, I had understood the rationale of a Sundowner general staying behind to hold off the tide while his people escaped."

"If asked to speculate, I would have guessed that a Sku...Kexaknan," he quickly corrects, instead of using the perjorative Skullface, "...no matter how deep his cover, would have realized that at the very end of everything, he was facing the final opportunity to fulfill his...well...I am certain you have a parallel to the blood oath. Specifically I would have expected you to make your last possible strike in the service of the Hierarchy, whether that be Vindi or some other clansman you deemed more worthy of final judgment. Not only did you not harm anyone, you made a choice to lay down your life to defend us, having no idea that a miracle would spare you from the need to see it through."

He finally surrenders to that urge to scratch his neck. He looks strangely sheepish as he says, "Having not killed anyone at the final hour, and with Vindi's implied knowledge of your...facepaint, I had no reason to assume you were an active threat."

The question on his mind is obvious: why? How? From what beginning--to what end? He manages to hold his silence, finish his scratching and say, instead,

"Is this related to your decision to avoid a straight answer to my initial inquiries?"

And yet, for all his cleverness, the possibility that Notras might be the dreaded Dusk completely escapes him. Truth be told, Notras suspects that Dusk is an amalgamation, a folk legend, much as Vindi was only one contributor to the persona of the Ardua County Sniper. While he's more than a little guilty of hacking about in Hierarchy records, he's always done so within reason - the attempt to crack the Kexaknus files would be extremely difficult, and with such negative repercussions should he be caught, that Raelon did not dare gamble the safety and security of Sniper's Touch just to indulge his curiosity about a man who already had his chieftain's trust.

The 'Skullface' remains silent and staring, a grim statue standing vigilant as Raelon rambles. The only signs of motion are its shifting eyes, periodically tracking the movement of the shaman's hands. But there is no question that Raelon has its attention, and moreover, he is reaching the man inside. The small signs begin to appear in the Kexaknan's expression, the subtle twitch of his mandibles, the nervous flexing of talons.

A plethora of dark memories surge to the fore in Notras' thoughts. The end of the Siege of the Citadel and the Reaper War. He remembers scouting ahead of the Sundowners as they fled through the maintenance tunnels, being ambushed by a brute with a swarm of husks only moments behind, realizing that to give the clan any hope of escape, he must pay the price of their survival. He had held the brute back for a few vital moments, ordering Vindi to lead the clan away, only to be smashed to a broken heap an instant later. The husks had swarmed after the fleeing Sundowners as he struggled to cling to life, the brute preparing to end him. There had been a measure of wistful satisfaction, knowing that he had done everything in his power to save Vindi and her people, and that he could - and would - die contented by that fact.

But then the Crucible had fired, a miracle to dwarf all others for its magnitude and timing, abruptly saving the galaxy and ensuring they would all have lives to live. In many ways, this was a tremendous inconvenience, given that he and many others had resigned themselves to their doom and acted accordingly.

Raelon is right: when he had made his undoubtedly fatal choice, it had not been decided by his duty as Clan General, but by his own willingness to give his life to protect Vindi, to protect all of them. Any thought of harming the clan as a final act of duty to Kexaknus was not simply repressed, as the shaman might believe, but altogether nonexistent. But then, Raelon has believed it was a possibility only because he misunderstood a key point.

"Your assumptions regarding my motivations are reasonable, but inccorect." Notras has abruptly returned to the conversation, though only in a limited fashion, the influence of the Kexaknan distorting him enough to seem markedly alien. Still, the chill in his eyes is more wary than threatening, and his willingness to educate - to talk - is as good a sign as any. "Where the clan is concerned, I have never been 'undercover' in any official capacity, nor was I on some personal mission. Strictly speaking, my oath would not have compelled me to harm Vindi, and regardless, it was rendered void when I was discharged."

His talons curl reflexively at that, though he seems unaware of the tic. "My oaths to Vindi and the clan were made in earnest. I was never the patient assassin that suffered a crisis of faith; the reality is far more simple and foolish. Disappointing, I'm sure."

There is a long pause at that, Notras eyeing Raelon intently, the brief flicker of humour fading in an instant. Some of the Kexaknan returns, darkening that piercing gaze, "Since you are aware of what I am, and have been for some time, the answers to your questions should be obvious, shaman."

Watching Notras is a distinctly uncomfortable phenomenon. Raelon wonders if he's really known the man at all. It's as though there's some grotesque shell of a turian standing in front of him, a cold, hollow thing, and every once in a while the shell cracks and gives a glimpse of a man inside.

From those glimpses Raelon can tell that it is torment to wear that shell.

And yet the man's words are uniquely surprising. Raelon cocks his remaining eye ridge. "They let your...personnel...retire?"

His words tip his hand that he hasn't read Notras' file, but that's not a bad thing. It may come across as trust, as respecting privacy - it may indicate how heavily the files are encrypted. Even now Raelon is debating whether he should try again to crack the Kexaknus files. Whether the risk is worth the potential payoff.

Because retiring a Skullface is like expecting a thresher maw to settle down to life as a household pet. Some things are too dangerous to be domesticated.

He dares a comment. "You know, Trex asked me if that gentleman who comes around to see you periodically is your parole officer. Seems she's started to wonder if you were involved with organized crime. I've not told her her first guess - that you were black ops - was closer."

All the while, he's been thinking, and now he has his thoughts in order. "So you were retired, and allegedly free to do as you would--but you ended up in the company of Sundowners anyway. If I was a gambling man, I'd have placed my second bet on continuing a private war, my first bet on your walking away and never looking back--being done with the task the Hierarchy set you to do and then ordered you to stop. Because if the Hierarchy discharged you as you say...if they cut you loose...dear Spirits. Did you come here to defy them, then?"

His last words make no sense. He doesn't want to be with Vindi because he was Kexaknus - but Vindi already knows, so why the problem?

It is a small mercy that Raelon has been unable to access his service record, if nothing else. The shaman's approach to addressing his concerns over Notras might have been quite different otherwise. Yet something flickers in Notras' heart, compelling him to speak. A need for confession? He had believed that phase had passed since he poured out a great many of his blackest secrets and shames before Vindi, but now that they were...

No one else would even given him a chance to speak, let alone listen, whether they wanted to help or not.

The Kexaknan within snarls as he finds the words slipping forth, but its protests fail to silence him. "The others in the unit were asked to retire. My cadre was promised an end in service to the Hierarchy, but our superiors reneged on that oath when we were no longer needed. We were... disbanded." There is a pain in his chest at the admission, his talons balling into fists, trembling almost imperceptibly. The memory of the crippling anxiety and insanity he had endured touches the edge of his thoughts. "There were six zuxams left," he grits out, "three killed themselves when the news arrived. Two others had to be detained and sent to a max-sec facility... I was considered stable enough to be released. They... ordered me to go out and... live."

All things are relative, as the saying goes. One man's definition of 'stability' is another's label for madness.

Notras falls silent then, and it truly seems to be man facing Raelon at the moment, not the monster. A man who suddenly appears desperately haggard, frustration warring with a weary confusion. "... I had nothing, shaman," he finally says, voice barely above a whisper, "I had given up everything for the unit, for the cause. I never wanted to recover my life after my service, or create a new one. I had forsaken both, and my actions ensured they would be beyond my reach. Death was supposed to be a mercy, a release."

A shudder courses through his frame, his eyes unseeing. "When I returned to it, the galaxy had moved on. No one understood what we had done, or cared why we had done it; most were unaware there had been even been a war. I had nothing to anchor me, no connection to the world." Another, longer pause. Notras' eyes sharpen, snaring Raelon's gaze once more, "Vindi was a Sundowner, but too young to have fought in my war, as far as I knew. She did not recognize my markings, or know of their significance... Would you believe that I befriended her simply because she had ties to Solregit? Because she was the one thing in the galaxy I could understand?"

"I would believe that was what you believe." The truth, he suspects, is even more devastating. "My personal suspicion is that when you looked at Vindi you were looking in a mirror. She also arrived on the Citadel with nothing. She had also been groomed to live and die in a war. And if you were not entirely the same...if Vindi fed on hope where you fed on betrayal...perhaps that made the attraction all the stronger, then, that she might shine her hope into your darkness." He folds his arms. "Which brings me back to the beginning of my argument. You are two halves of a whole that cannot be cut apart without critical damage to both. I make this argument knowing from the beginning what you hid under your paint."

His jaw clenches once more, the shaman's observations threatening to cripple his resolve. Was Raelon correct, or was Notras simply filling in the holes of confusion within his mind with the shaman's theories? Spirits damn him, he didn't know. He just didn't know.

For a few moments he is silent, lost and dazed... until his spine stiffens, a moment of clarity striking home.

"... You may be right" he finally rasps, sunken eyes glinting with sudden steel, "but it doesn't matter."

Whatever Raelon might say, it didn't matter, in a morbid twist of mercy. It didn't matter if the shaman was right, or if he had come to his conclusion in spite of Notras' past. Some histories could not be overlooked, and some sins could not be forgiven. For all the pain it caused him, in that moment there is a sick sort of comfort in such certainty.

"That 'damage' is the lesser evil in this. You may be a Sundowner, shaman, but you are still an outsider to their history. You never fought in the war, were never hunted by the likes of me, never sat in fear of the shadows or the night. But many others within the hall have, which makes you an anomaly. I may appreciate that fact, but in this, you simply cannot understand. The clan general being a 'Skullface' is not the same as the Chieftain's mate being a Skullface." Emerald orbs narrow, "I will stand by my decision, even if you must strip me of my rank. You will not sway me."

He had done the right thing, and would hold to it, because it had been the best choice... For Vindi's sake, if not for his. The consequences of the alternative left little room for doubt, after all.

Raelon thinks about Vindi...how she's been acting lately...and, though he doesn't mean his next words to sound like a threat, somehow, they do anyway.

"It's not you who is on the verge of losing his rank."

Reb'kah, Breaker, Battis and Doc have all privately voiced their concerns over Vindi's recent behaviour.

There is a long silence, as the sniper's eyes bore holes in Raelon's frame. "... Then so be it," he finally grits out, "if it must be done for her own good, and that of the clan." Better for Vindi to be stripped of her authority than shot for treason. The shaman could threaten all he wanted, appeal to his guilt, toss up every excuse and ounce of logic he could muster...

None of it would matter. He would not allowed himself to falter, even at the cost of his heart and soul. For Vindi's sake.

"Now that you have your course of action, this discussion is over. Unlock the door." Those emerald eyes never leave Raelon, as though daring him to press the issue.

Raelon would have preferred an assurance that he wouldn't get a round in the back of the head if it falls to him to take Vindi's rank away from her. However, given present company, the fact that he hasn't already got a round in the back of the head (or something equally fatal) needs to be consolation enough. He's put his cards on the table, and he's still alive to talk about it. There's a measure of trust between them, now. It's something. It has to be.

But Raelon still feels as though he's failed.

He nods, in acknowledgement of mutual understanding, and disengages the locks. Quickly, he undoes the security features, until all is as it was before.

He just has a terrible feeling that "as it was before" is a synonym for "on an ever-increasing spiral down."

Holding the stare but a moment longer, Notras turns without another word, slipping out the door as silently as ever. He makes for his quarters, features holding still and firm against the storm of emotions that threatens to bubble up. The mask is weathered and battered, yet it endures, as it always has. Just as he will endure, for Vindi's sake, for Trex's sake... but not his own.

It is the price of past sins, and bereft of an alternative, he will gladly pay it.