The sound of his own name made him stop in his tracks, caught completely off-guard. He’d never expected the Primarch to call him by his given name. Especially not considering the kind of noise he was making, complaining about this whole thing.
Garrus turned slowly, his expression clearly one of puzzlement and bewilderment, mixed with the fury that had not yet gone from his eyes. The war was over, the Reapers were history and still he could not catch a damn break. For over four years he had fought this war, long before any of them had even believed Shepard. For over four years he had traipsed across the galaxy, ran errands for the Alliance and the Council and all manner of politicians, put his neck on the line more than warranted, sometimes even for menial and unnecessary “missions.”
And just when he had thought it was over, even considering how miserable and lonely he was given Shepard’s condition, they dropped this on him?
Thank you very much for your accomplishments and role in ending the war, Vakarian, please help yourself to more responsibilities, we’re sure your shoulders can hold the weight. Yes, of course, you have more than proven your worth. What do you mean you don’t want them? Well, that’s too bad, you’re gonna have to take them anyway.
Fuck that. Fuck that to the other side of the terminus systems. Fuck it through the damn Omega-4 Relay thrice over. He’d rather face another thresher maw on foot.
And still, he had no choice. High Command had made its decision, and High Command he would obey. Mostly. Not without a fight first, though.
He listened to Victus, if only barely, and it infuriated him. It infuriated him because Victus was right. He knew what it was like to be pulled from the place you’re supposed to be, with no say on the matter. He damned fucking knew, and Garrus had been the one to break the news to him, together with Shepard.
His mind was reeling, and he swallowed hard, fingers curling into fists as he stood straight and looked Victus in the eye. ”Yeah, well, at least it’s your middle years, Sir.” He scoffed, subvocals laced with unconcealed bitterness. “I am barely thirty, I just helped end a war I’ve been fighting far longer than any of you, and how do they thank me? With a damned desk job as a politician, no less!” He was raising his voice, he knew. He didn’t quite care.
“Why, it’s perfect! This was exactly how I planned to spend the better part of my life!” He was pacing again. Victus’ last words, however, made him turn on the Primarch, his expression ferocious.
"I’ve earned that much? I’ve earned that much?!” He was almost hysterical, beside himself with anger and frustration and a number of other feelings he couldn’t quite place, as he painfully punctuated each word to drive the point home. This was a joke, and a really distasteful one, at that. “Do you know what I think I’ve earned, Primarch? A damned break, that’s what. One you people are denying me because you are completely incapable of holding the damn galaxy together without Shepard around to keep you all on a leash and help you play nice with the other races. So now her role falls to me, because you damn well know I’m as capable as she is of calling bullshit and building ‘diplomatic’ bridges.” He stopped pacing again. He was agitated, his breathing shallow, his heart beating fast in his chest. He could hear the blood rushing in his ears, and he knew he was completely justified in his behavior.
If he had overstepped the line —which he probably had,— he really did not care.
It sure as hell wasn’t a tirade that Victus was used to hearing. Who’d dare to challenge the Primarch of Palaven like this? It wasn’t arrogance, not exactly. He was simply a man accustomed to obedience, to commands and dictates being carried out along the natural hierarchy. Harmonious. Sensible. Orderly. …Vakarian was none of those things.
He’d caught the look of puzzlement that had crossed Garrus’ face, withering the rage, even if only for a moment. And why should Adrien not call him that? Vakarian was a peer, now, and one whom he respected immensely. While he might not have approved of this tantrum, he did not fully begrudge the ex C-Sec officer his right to have it. The whole operation had been handled poorly; the vote went out of his hands. High Command demanded a new Primarch, and Garrrus’ name had come up. When asked on his recommendation, Victus had not lied.
–They would find none better.
And yet, Adrien had known, even as the Primarchy came to a consensus, that he was sealing the young war hero into his own tomb. It was the turian way to make sacrifices. He had lost his own son to the galaxy’s conflicts. He had made his own, in turn. And now the Hierarchy demanded the same of Vakarian – and hell if he wouldn’t answer the call. He didn’t have a choice. That did not mean, however, that Victus would not try to lend a hand, if he could. Already he was working to petition the council to allow Garrus time. It was what he needed. What he deserved.
{ And Victus could not deny that he was being calculating about it – offer himself as an
ally in all this; fight for Garrus’ right to be relieved of duty, if only for a little while.
He’d come back, eventually. An uneventful life was not in the man’s blood. }
The old general slowly raised himself up with a private sigh, pads of his talons barely grazing the surface of his desk, his shoulders taut like bowstrings, yet they remained stooped. He cast an even glance to Garrus from beneath the dark ridges of his browplates, not yet standing at his full height.
He knew, even if Vakarian did not – or did not care – that it was precisely these qualities that so endeared the younger turian to him. It was a damned strength, of character and of spirit, that animated the newest Primarch even now. He might have stepped neatly (hell, leaped) over the boundary of professionalism, but Victus keenly understood the need driving Vakarian forward. The anger, the motivation to escape the cage that had so effectively sprung up around him. Adrien had felt the same.
He stood, wordless, until Garrus had said his peace. He paid no heed to the spitting vitriol, the accusations flung at him, slights both real and imagined. "What do you think Shepard would say about you, right now?” He asked his question quietly. There was no need to raise his voice. What he’d done would sting well enough.
To be quite honest, I think of myself as rather approachable and lenient regarding roleplays. Here are some guidelines, which can and will be updated as I see fit. Additionally, I would recommend that you read this page for a brief introduction to the mun.
Theme made by me. Do not steal.
For the moment, the automatic assumption is that all roleplays take place at any point after the Tuchanka: Bomb mission. This can change if otherwise specified. Alternatively, interactions may take place on the Citadel, the Normandy’s war room, various embassies, etc.
Ｆｏｒ ａｎ abridged ｈｉｓｔｏｒｙ， ｓｅｅ ｈｅｒｅ．
A C C E S S I N G || R E C O R D S
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_»Logged in. welcome, guest
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Public Access Terminal. View file: Primarch Adrien Victus
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Primarch Adrien Victus
[ Galactic standard years: 61 ]
[ Weight: not on record ]
[ Height: 203 cm ]
[ Gender: male ]
Wife: Calpurnia Victus [deceased]
Son: Tarquin Victus [deceased]
_»Personal history:
Segment under recalibration
Born 2125 on the planet Palaven. Neither records nor facial tattooing indicate that Victus was birthed in any Cipritine hospitals or clinics. [Redacted] Although on file, personal history has been removed from public record upon the Primarch’s request, citing his preference for privacy. Applications to view these files must be submitted to the Ministry of Home Affairs and undergo an approval process, as per section 12.41.83.
_»Medical profile:
Enjoying an extended, quality-enhanced lifespan similar to the 150-year average expected by the human species, Victus’ sixty-one years does not hold him back from engaging in active conflict. A diligent and seasoned veteran, he submits himself to a sustained and rigorous routine to maintain his carefully conditioned physical fitness and battle-readiness.
The Global Assessment of Functioning considers psychological, social, and occupational functioning on a hypothetical continuum of mental health illness. Primarch Victus’ mental health profile on this scale scores low relative to healthy individuals. Testing found indications of high levels of stress, anxiety, and depression present and modifying behavioral patterns. [Redacted]
_»Military hallmarks:
The name Victus has upheld a decorated military legacy since the Unification War. Adrien has continued that tradition, from the early away missions that earned him his first stripes in the legionnaire to his blisteringly successful strategies that led to a field promotion from colonel to brigadier general during the Relay 314 Incident. The general’s savvy, perceptiveness and brutal precision allowed him to excel in his military career. His meteoric rise through the meritocracy has been further propelled by sheer determination and resounding fortitude. If the art of war were a symphony, he would be its composer.
Victus’ practiced ability to command manifests in his passion and skill for tactical manipulation. It has been argued, mainly from turian high command, that the general’s unorthodox methods are reckless and impulsive, when really they are carefully calculated and have provided innovative strategies. Though the ethics behind his adroit mind have been put into question, no one can deny the effectiveness of his decisions on the battlefield.
In both training exercises and trial-by-fire on the mortar-scarred battlefield, Victus led his command to thwart hostiles with exacting skill and canny foresight. One of Victus’ most recent and notable victories exemplifies his martial intellect. During a brief war waged on Taetrus in 2185, Victus permitted a salarian spy ring to throw their outfits against turian separatists that the general was sent to eliminate, holding his men back until the skirmishers had decimated each others’ forces. This tactic earned him some criticism for the risky and ethically unsound strategy. However, Victus argued that he conserved more of his men and resources with this method and steadfastly maintained that he regretted none of his choices.
Indeed, the general sees little shame in being an opportunist in regards to warfare. Flank the enemy unseen; let them weary themselves and exhaust their resources; then, move in for the kill — swift, effective, and crushingly brutal. Vae victis. His modus operandi may cause many to question the general’s methods and how he thinks, but the general’s sole focus is loyalty and honor to his soldiers and his people.
In 2186, Victus served on Menae in an organized effort to hold back the Reaper forces. It was during this conflict that his predecessor, Primarch Fedorian, was killed when his shuttle was shot down by the enemy. According to his impressive rank in the meritocracy and the Hierarchy’s stringent succession protocol, Adrien Victus was to inherit the mantle of Primarch of Palaven. Like the ideal of the quintessential turian he had both managed to defy and epitomize, he quelled his regret and hesitation, stepping forward to assume his new role. Yet, Victus vowed he would fight to his dying breath to stop the Reapers.
{ Victory…at any cost. }
_»Personality profile:
In his youth, Victus was a more open, impulsive turian. The instigator of conflicts more often than not, he earned little favor with his elders until he learned to marshal himself and others with a cool mind and far-seeing prudence. His fire may have been tempered, but even curbed flames maintain their wildness — and can bite and scar and sear just as hot. Indeed, the fire still simmers in his belly. He is slow to anger, but he rages as bitingly as Palaven’s scorched summers when provoked.
General Victus is older than the average soldier, having reached a position in life that draws from both experience and a steadfast, unwavering demeanor. He is resolved in his actions and rarely acts as he did in his tempestuous and unbridled youth — which varied from idiotic dares to downright recklessness. Victus is someone who comes across as stern and abrupt in his commands, but with a sense of care and underlining compassion as well which has sparked admiration in the soldiers he treats as equals.
War is in his blood, and his soldiers are more than just anonymous weapons; they are his brother-in-arms. Victus’ allegiances are such that he would gladly fight and die standing beside you, a trait for which he has gained recognition and garnered adoration and loyalty from those he fought alongside. To lose a man under his watch is a personal loss that is not shown, but felt, and kept with him throughout his life. Ask the general to list the servicemen and women that have given their lives for the Hierarchy under his command, and he will answer is precise and unswerving detail. A soldier to the marrow, his very being calls for him to be unyielding in his decisions and to accept the loss which war brings without remorse — the greatest of honors for his people is to be remembered, and Victus makes sure to remember them all. His dead, his many dead, are never forgotten.
“The strategist in me admires their brutality. The turian in me knows I’m watching the destruction of fifteen thousand years of civilization. My civilization.”
Primarch Victus is a somber and silent individual when alone. He is an entity who spends his days putting forth all his time and energy into others, only to then find himself at a loss of what to do when it is just him; restless and agitated if he can not find something to occupy his thoughts with. Such things are maddening in a sense, the ever-present silence drowning him, only to be overwhelmed with past transgressions and memories he does not care to recollect. This troublesome rumination was a non-issue when he was still a soldier, when there was no time for sitting, no time for recollecting or waiting or bureaucracy and answering diplomatic transmissions for hours on end.
Victus is utterly obdurate, which time has proven to be both his strength and his weakness. The suddenness of being thrust into a position that the turian general thought would never come during his lifetime had abruptly shattered his world, and placed the battle-forged leader into an entirely different environment from what he was used to — one that he must adapt to and shape to suit his purposes — like any other war-ravaged zone.
_»Current status:
Following the death of Primarch Fedorian and Victus’ subsequent appointment in his stead, he has remained Primarch of Palaven. He has no remaining family left in this fractured galaxy, and continues to throw himself into ensuring the rebuilding of his homeworld and upholding relations with the Hierarchy’s allies [while keeping careful watch on its enemies].
Yet, even though it was not something he personally ever wished to be tasked with, Adrien dutifully accepted the position and made sure to serve diligently in his new rank for the good of his race. He lives by the unspoken code he always has: emotions and desires are trivial vis-a-vis the needs of the many, which far outweigh the needs of himself or his loved ones.
Victus has been forced to employ many methods appropriate for his new position, mowing down diplomats with both mind games and his stubborn resolve, offering peace where previously there had been hostility, and utilizing tactics that he has found to be invaluable within his new position — unusual methods and skills now implemented and used to gain tactical advantage over politicians.
However, a void has begun to open within the battle-hardened warrior. While his schedule is always busy following the Reaper War, the old general has been left with little to fight for. For an individual bred and raised on war, on action, there is now far too much time where he is left with just himself and his thoughts. However, Victus refuses to let this interfere with his responsibilities; his duty and loyalty belong to his people ‘til the day he dies… Victus prays that the Spirits will grant that it is at least with a rifle grasped in his talons rather than in an office.
_»Session Inactivity Notice. Time expired. Logging out …
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