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Opening Session – Dungeons & Dragons aboard the Normandy SR-2
Commander Jex Shepard had cleared the conference table with military precision, sealed the doors, and slapped a hand-lettered sign on the exterior panel that read: “SECRET STRATEGY MEETING. DO NOT DISTURB (Unless You're Bringing Snacks).”
Inside, the lighting was dimmed to a cozy glow, the chairs were rearranged around the conference table, and someone—probably Tali—had lit a lavender-scented candle “for ambiance.” Around the table sat chaos incarnate, select members of the Normandy crew in various states of tabletop immersion, mischief, and barely-contained giggling.
James Vega had claimed the seat nearest the stack of protein bars and was aggressively scribbling on his character sheet. He’d rolled up a Tiefling Fighter named Iron Bull, and despite repeated protests from Jex, he refused to rename it.
“You know that name is taken, right?” Jex reminded him again, arms crossed and already weary.
“Iron Bull doesn’t care, Loco,” Vega said proudly. “Iron Bull rages with heart.”
Beside him, Garrus Vakarian was the picture of methodical preparation. His character, the Aasimar Paladin of Vengeance known as Sir Archangelus Darksbane, had an inventory that included both a silvered longsword and laminated index cards. Each one was color-coded and tabbed with annotations. He hadn’t smiled once. He was deep in character.
Ashley Williams leaned back in her chair, balancing a mechanical pencil on her upper lip. Her Half-Elven Bard, Elariel Starwind, had already delivered a dramatic battle haiku before they'd finished character introductions. She’d annotated her spell list with “stage direction notes,” and it was clear she was taking this very seriously—and having a blast.
Tali’Zorah sat curled up in her chair, character sheet scrawled in bright purple ink with doodles in the margins. Her Elven Sorcerer, Zorahastra of the Shimmering Spires, was a chaos engine of Wild Magic surges, and she seemed perfectly content with that. Her dice sparkled. Literally.
Steve Cortez, with the posture of a man born for flair, was playing Captain Valerio Quickstep, a Human Swashbuckler Rogue whose stats included “+5 Dramatic Entrances” and “Fluent in Flirtation.” He wore a towel across his shoulders like a cape and sipped from a mug labeled Chaotic Good Vibes Only.
And at the head of the table, naturally, sat Jex Shepard—game master, chaos wrangler, and biotic badass turned exasperated narrative god. He wore a mismatched Alliance hoodie and a ridiculous cloak draped over one shoulder. He cleared his throat and adopted his DM voice, which sounded halfway between Shakespearean stage actor and a man three espresso shots past reason.
“You awaken in the Soggy Wyvern Tavern. The air reeks of ale, ambition, and someone’s regret from three towns over. A bard’s playing a tune suspiciously like ‘Don’t Fear the Reaper’ on a lute with one string.”
Tali tilted her head, perfectly deadpan behind her visor. “I cast Fireball.”
Garrus looked up, scandalized. “Already? We’re still at the intro! What possible threat is there?”
“They gave me warm water for my tea.”
Ashley snorted. “She’s roleplaying alright.”
Jex sighed, resigned to the chaos. “Roll damage.”
Tali rolled. Her dice sang with doom.
“The tavern is now a crater,” Jex announced. “The surviving townsfolk name the smoldering ruin Zorahastra’s Folly.”
The group burst into laughter, which barely had time to die down before Steve leaned forward, steepling his fingers in character.
“Valerio Quickstep seduces the tavern owner's distraught niece with a rakish wink and a stolen bottle of wine. Natural 20.”
Jex blinked. “She swoons, confesses her love, and gives you a map to the hidden treasure, a +1 dagger, and her favorite pastry recipe.”
“IRON BULL FLIPS THE TABLE. RAGE MODE!” Vega roared.
Ashley looked over her notes. “You’re not a barbarian, James.”
“I RAGE EMOTIONALLY… with MAYHEM!!!”
Garrus tapped his sheet with one talon. “Sir Archangelus Darksbane delivers a righteous speech to the townsfolk, rallying them under the banner of JUSTICE.”
“Roll Persuasion,” Jex said, leaning back.
Garrus rolled. He frowned. “Four.”
Jex nodded solemnly. “A child throws a tomato at your radiant helm.”
Garrus didn’t even flinch. “This is exactly like Omega.”
Later that evening, when the chaos had briefly lulled, Jex and Garrus attempted to introduce a mysterious new NPC.
“Vellius the Handsome, Traveler of the Midnight Wastes,” Jex announced dramatically, describing him as a rugged wanderer with piercing eyes and an air of weary, noble mystery.
It didn’t last two seconds. Ashley leaned forward, narrowing her eyes.
“He’s wearing leather pants, Skipper. Leather.”
Tali leaned over to Steve, mock whispering. “And he rides a biotic-powered unicorn? Really?”
Steve leaned back, arms crossed. “Can I seduce him?”
Jex, smirking: “Roll high.”
***
Session Two—Chaos Magic Wins
The conference room lights were dimmed once again, the sign on the door replaced with an even more dramatic warning: “Cursed Glade Encounter in Progress. Do Not Disturb. (Seriously, we’re rolling.)”
The atmosphere was set—thanks to Ashley playing ambient forest sounds from her omni-tool and Vega spreading out a battlefield grid covered in hastily drawn trees, glittery dice, and what appeared to be a protein bar labeled “Mysterious Log.”
Commander Jex Shepard stood at the head of the table, already cloaked in his ridiculous DM garb—a hoodie halfway unzipped beneath his battered theater cape. His voice dropped low and serious, his hands sweeping out to draw them into the scene.
“Sir Archangelus Darksbane, you charge valiantly into the cursed glade atop your noble steed—Valorion Thunderhoof, Paladin mount of legend. But as you rear back your sword to strike…”
He turned dramatically toward Tali, pointing with mock severity. “Zorahastra, your Wild Magic surges. Roll on the table.”
Tali clapped her hands excitedly, leaning forward with unholy glee. “Ooh, I love this part!”
The table quieted as her sparkly d20 clattered across the mat, bouncing with malicious cheer.
Jex leaned over to read the result, then winced—grinning the whole time. “Your chaotic magic misfires and—ohhh, nooo. Your sorcery hits Archangelus’s mount… transforming it into a very confused frog wearing tiny golden horseshoes.”
Garrus threw a d4 at Tali and protested, “This is a war crime.”
Tali clutched her faceplate with both hands, shoulders shaking with laughter. “I didn’t mean to! It was the dice!”
Garrus folded his arms, completely deadpan. “You turned my divine steed into an amphibian. You’re a bad girlfriend.”
“Oh please,” Tali said, waving him off. “You’re still wearing armor that gives you resistance to emotional damage.”
Steve didn’t even look up from his sheet. “Don’t give him ideas for his next calibration excuse.”
Vega, now leaning sideways over the table like he was watching a reality drama unfold, slapped his knee. “Bro got frogged by love.”
Ashley lifted her drink in a toast, switching into bard mode instantly. “To the tragic tale of Sir Archangelus and his squishy noble frog.”
Laughter echoed around the room. Jex, ever the ringmaster of chaos, leaned back in his chair and pushed his dice aside like a proud stage director.
“Zorahastra, you now have a frog familiar named Sir Croaksalot. He’s very judgmental and keeps trying to leap onto Archangelus’s shoulder.”
Garrus stared at his sheet as though considering writing it in blood. “I’m putting this in the relationship contract.”
Tali snorted. “You’ll have to roll for that.”
***
Session Three—Captain Sugarblade
The gang converted the mess hall into a makeshift tabletop battlefield. A section of the table was covered with a hastily flattened star chart turned dungeon map. Garrus’s sniper-scope was now doubling as a laser pointer for enemy movement, and someone had shoved a crate of medigel beneath the table to simulate “cavern depth.”
At the head of it all sat Commander Jex Shepard, donning a cloak that looked suspiciously like it had been stolen from Liara’s quarters and repurposed into a Dungeon Master cape.
He raised his hand solemnly. “You stand at the precipice of a haunted fortress, forged in the blood of dragon princes and cursed by the screams of a thousand damned spirits,” he intoned with grave drama. “The air reeks of brimstone and hubris.”
“Like Vega’s bunk,” Garrus muttered.
Vega threw a cheese ball at him. “Hey!”
Shepard smirked. “Inside, a treasure lies hidden—a blade that sings, bleeds, and occasionally flirts. Its name... is Banterfang.”
Ashley leaned forward, brow arched. “Please tell me it doesn’t actually talk.”
“It does,” Jex said, rolling a die behind his screen. “In innuendos.”
“Oh Keelah, I love this game.” Tali giggled.
“Alright, I’m casting Tides of Chaos before we go in,” she added brightly.
Shepard lifted a brow. “You sure?”
Tali’s character, Zorahastra of the Shimmering Spires, was already infamous for causing chaos at inconvenient times.
“Absolutely,” she declared.
She rolled. Then blinked. Jex grinned. A surge of arcane magic sparked from the mystical weave. “You spontaneously cast Fireball. Centered... on Sir Archangelus.”
“WHAT?!” Garrus reeled back. “That’s it. Zorahastra is officially a menace.”
Tali gasped. “I swear I didn’t mean to! Wild magic is unpredictable!”
“Oh really?” Garrus crossed his arms. “Because I’m starting to think you're a terrible girlfriend!”
“Apologize to Elariel,” Ashley deadpanned. “She took collateral damage and her hair is on fire.”
Garrus sighed, reaching for his character sheet. “Fine. I’ll use Lay on Hands.”
“Hot,” Steve muttered.
Ashley raised a brow. “Is that for my character or for him?”
“Yes,” Steve replied.
Jex rubbed his temples, biting back a laugh. “Okay. The smoke clears. Everyone is slightly singed. Captain Quickstep... what do you do?”
Steve’s d20 clattered across the table, landing with a proud natural 20. Before Shepard could even react, Steve leaned in and dropped his voice an octave.
“I leap onto the scorched battlement, my cloak billowing, and shout—‘Feast your eyes on the blade of Quickstep!’”
“Then I flourish my rapier. I smirk. I wink. I strut.”
Shepard stared at the die in disbelief. Then at Steve. Then back at the die.
"...Okay. Fine. The treasure chest quivers."
Everyone froze.
"Quivers?" Garrus echoed, eye ridge twitching.
Shepard nodded slowly. “Quivers. Seductively.”
Tali choked on her dextro-chai tea.
Ashley narrowed her eyes. “Wait. It’s a mimic, isn’t it?”
Steve blinked. “A what now?”
Shepard rolled behind the screen. “The treasure chest sprouts a long, fleshy tongue. It moans in appreciation of your swagger. The mimic... is weirdly into it.”
Vega, from across the mess hall, nearly spit out his protein bar. “Bro, I knew something was off about that chest.”
Tali was doubled over with laughter. “Keelah, the mimic’s into roleplay.”
Garrus leaned back in his chair, arms folded. “So what now, Shepard? Is Steve gonna romance a shapeshifting dungeon monster?”
Ashley didn’t even look up. “I mean, have you seen the man's pretty eyes? I'd open for him too.”
Vega rushed back to the table, “Esteban, stop trying to steal my woman!” He rolled a d20. “19 plus 10. 29 to deliver a punch to the woman-stealing rogue!”
Jex eyed Steve’s character sheet, but knowing with a roll that high, the hit was inevitable. “Roll damage.”
Vega rolled a d6. “Take 6 points of punch damage.”
“Ouch!” Steve threw his hands up. “I was trying to be dramatic! Not start a cross-species affair with furniture or steal your girlfriend!”
Ashley gave them all a look deadly enough to kill. “Who said I was anyone’s girlfriend?”
Shepard grinned wickedly. “Too late. The mimic is now emotionally attached. It follows you everywhere, calling you ‘Captain Sugarblade.’”
Steve dropped his head to the table with a groan.
“And if you leave it behind,” Jex added, “you will break its tiny wooden heart.”
***
Session Four – The Murder Ferret
The conference room had been completely repurposed—again. The polished table was buried under layers of datapads, crumpled snack wrappers, mismatched dice, and a makeshift initiative tracker that Steve had charmingly labeled "Order of Doom."
Someone (probably Garrus) had actually drawn a tactical cave map across two napkins. Someone else (definitely Vega) had spilled protein powder across half of it. And in the center of it all, Jex Shepard stood in full Game Master Supreme mode—hoodie sleeves rolled up, cape askew, and the fire of overly-caffeinated narrative power in his eyes.
Shepard stated in a dramatic DM voice, “As the shadowy cultist chants the final verse, summoning the Demon Prince of Dust and Regret, the cave trembles. Lava bubbles from the cracks. Initiative... has been rolled!”
Garrus didn’t miss a beat. His character sheet for Sir Archangelus Darksbane was pristine, his dice stacked by size, his voice righteous as hell. “I stride forward and smite the nearest cultist—IN THE NAME OF THE SPIRITS WHO NEVER SHUT UP IN MY HEAD!”
Ashley, halfway through chewing a dried fruit bar, raised a hand and spoke in perfect bardic cadence. “I back him up with an inspiring ballad about vengeance and high-speed aerial maneuvers. Also, there’s a lot of lute.”
Steve leaned on one elbow, flipping his d20 in the air with the easy grace of a rogue who’d read the entire Player’s Handbook just to flirt better. “Captain Valerio Quickstep vaults off a stalagmite, flips over Archangelus’s head, and lands behind the cultist. Then he whispers, ‘Your end has arrived, darling,’ and stabs him dramatically.”
James Vega shoved a handful of trail mix into his mouth and gave a one-shouldered shrug. “Why is everyone so extra? I punch him. With my sword.”
Then came the pause. Tali straightened up in her chair, fingers poised over her glitter-dusted character sheet. Her voice was full of glee. “My turn! I summon… my familiar.”
The table went silent. Jex leaned forward, curious and suspicious. His DM eyebrow twitched.
“What does the summoning look like?”
Tali’s visor reflected a rainbow of flickering light as she spoke with dramatic flair. “A burst of purple light… glittery, like crushed eezo… and then out of the swirling mist—”
She paused, letting tension build. And with a dramatic whisper, she revealed, “Chatika vas Paus appears.”
Garrus leaned back, squinting. “...What the hell is that?”
“She’s a raccoon. Biotically enhanced. With a toolbelt. And optics.”
Steve tilted his head. “You gave your familiar gear?”
Tali’s glowing eyes blinked as she replied innocently, “Raccoons are natural engineers. She has a tiny omni-tool.”
Ashley nearly snorted tea out of her nose. “Please tell me it makes bwoop noises.”
Cheerfully Tali beamed, “It chirps in ancient Quarian… I mean, Elven code! And she wears little scrap-armor made from thresher claw plates.”
Vega gave a skeptical grunt. “She better do more than accessorize.”
Behind his screen, Jex rolled a handful of dice. His eyes widened slightly. Then he smirked. “She pounces. Roll to attack.”
Tali didn’t even hesitate. The die flew from her hand. She rolled with glee, “Natural 20.”
The table erupted. Gasps, shouted disbelief, and one muffled “no way” from Vega filled the room.
Jex grinned, “Chatika lunges onto the cultist’s face, claws flashing, omni-tool flaring. His screams echo across the cavern walls as she hacks his nerves and slashes through his hood. It is… absolutely savage.”
Tali giggles, “Go for the optics, Chatika.”
Garrus leaned back slowly, hands up. “I take back everything I said about familiars. That was horrifying. In a good way.”
Steve stared in mock horror, “I am so glad she’s on our side.”
Vega narrowed his eyes, “I’m still calling her Murder Ferret.”
Later, in Shepard’s private DM log:
“Tali may have broken the balance with that raccoon. Vega refuses to sleep without one eye open. Garrus now wants a calibrated horse. Steve is sketching Chatika in a bandolier. I may have created a monster. It’s beautiful.”
***
Session Five – The Calibrated Steed
The table was smaller this time—repurposed in Shepard’s personal quarters. The long galactic night hummed softly outside the cabin's window, the stars scattered like dice across the void. The lighting was low, cozy. A half-eaten plate of snacks sat dangerously close to someone’s dice tray, and the aroma of strong coffee and vaguely synthetic popcorn lingered in the air.
Shepard sat cross-legged at the end of the table, DM screen tilted slightly, posture relaxed but eyes sharp. His battered campaign notes were strewn across the bed behind him, and his hoodie sleeves were pushed up like he was preparing to sculpt fate with raw narration.
The characters—their characters—stood victorious atop a crumbling obsidian ridge. Lava glowed beneath them like a heartbeat, veins of molten light casting dramatic shadows across the imagined battlefield. It was a moment of earned silence. A hard-fought reprieve.
Until Garrus cleared his throat. Confidently he declares, “Sir Archangelus Darksbane raises his glaive to the heavens and summons forth… his mount.”
Jex’s head slowly lifted above the DM screen, eyebrows arched. He didn’t even need to say anything yet—his expression did all the work. Dryly, he rebuked, “You haven’t unlocked another mount yet, Sir Archangelus.”
Garrus scoffed and leaned back in his chair, arms crossed like the very notion was offensive. “Please. I’m a vengeance paladin with style modifiers. If Tali gets a raccoon with an omni-tool, I get another mount to replace the one she turned into a frog.”
Across the table, Tali adjusted her dice tray with smug precision. Sweetly she crooned, “Chatika has a certificate from the Citadel Zoological Authority. She’s licensed.”
Steve, half-reclined on a stack of pillows on Jex’s bed and sketching in his datapad, didn’t even look up. "I think she just issued a burn."
Jex sighed the sigh of a man who’d lost control of the narrative somewhere around Session Two and hadn’t bothered to get it back. He shuffled through a few sheets with theatrical reluctance. He rolled his blue eyes, “Fine. Describe it.”
Garrus leaned in dramatically, voice dropping an octave, as if auditioning for the lead role in a turian opera. “From the smoke and fire below rises… Equinox the Calibrated, a jet-black war stallion with glowing blue eyes and thruster hooves. Each step echoes with the sound of vengeance and sniper fire.”
Vega blinked. “You summoned a space horse with calibrated hooves?”
Garrus coolly explained, “They auto-adjust to uneven terrain.”
Ashley nearly choked on her drink. “That horse’s ass is going to have better aim than half the marines I trained.”
Tali’s deadpan couldn’t have been more spot on. “Does it also come with auto-targeting and a coated tactical tail?”
Garrus beamed proudly, “Yes. The tail swishes to divine righteousness. And it can deflect arrows.”
Jex pinched the bridge of his nose, then rolled a die behind the screen. A long pause. Then he looked up and said, exasperated, “...You know what? Nat 20. Equinox arrives.”
There was a thunderclap, somewhere in their minds. A gust of phantom wind. The imaginary scent of ozone and destiny filled the room.
“You all behold as a massive stallion materializes—its coat shimmering like starlight, hooves aflame with biotic propulsion, eyes glowing with the cold fire of tactical wisdom. It rears on its hind legs and neighs with vengeance unbound.”
Garrus, clearly enjoying himself far too much, mimed a dignified mounting motion.
Shepard narrated, “Sir Archangelus climbs astride it with all the exaggerated grace of an Aasimar who once tried salsa dancing with his armor still on.”
Steve looked up from his sketchpad with a theatrical sigh. “I’m gonna have to draw this, aren’t I?”
Shepard clutches his ribs, barely holding it together, “Oh, absolutely.”
Chatika vas Paus, perched on Tali’s shoulder, let out a menacing little squeak, her omni-tool casting a faint light across the cabin wall. “Bzzt chirp growl…”
Garrus patted the neck of his imaginary steed, nodding solemnly. “Fear not, Chatika. Equinox will carry our party to destiny.”
Vega leaned forward, looking deeply offended. “Okay, where’s my badass thing? I want a ride too!”
Tali tilted her head, voice dry as dust. “You already named yourself Iron Bull, James. What more do you want—rocket horns?”
Shepard pointed at him without looking up, trying to suppress a laugh, “Don’t give him ideas.”
The room dissolved into laughter again, the walls of the Normandy’s commander’s quarters echoing with the sounds of warriors, rogues, sorcerers, and friends. And beyond the Normandy’s hull, the stars spun on. But for tonight, their galaxy was a battlefield of lava, laughter, and ludicrously customized space horses.
***
Later, in Shepard’s GM Notes:
Chatika has now claimed a saddle. Garrus insists Equinox has its own theme song. Vega is trying to homebrew a pet varren with missile pods. I’ve lost control of this campaign and I’ve never been happier.
***
Session Six – The Musical Chairs of Destiny
It had been a long night in Commander Jex Shepard’s Citadel apartment. The aftermath of their imaginary campaign through the Blasted Peaks of Doomtop Ridge still lingered in the air like the scent of victory snacks and poor decision-making.
The crew had spread out across the floor and furniture, cozy among blankets, datapads, and mugs of coffee or something far stronger, depending on the level of emotional damage sustained by their characters. The holographic display glowed faintly in the background, illuminating the next scenario like an ominous spotlight from an improv stage.
Jex Shepard sat at the center of it all, curled up with one leg propped under him, his battered DM screen perched between him and the madness. His voice was low, ominous, and laced with barely-suppressed laughter. “After a long campaign through the Blasted Peaks of Doomtop Ridge, our intrepid adventurers find respite in a tavern suspiciously named... The Chaotic Goat.”
A collective groan went around the group.
“The interior is dim, lit only by a hearth that burns purple for no good reason. A bard in the corner is playing a flute made of bones and spite. A sign above the bar reads: ‘Welcome to the Musical Chairs of Destiny. Sit if you dare.’”
Ashley raised her eyebrows, already suspicious and as Elariel Starwind said, “Ugh. This is obviously cursed. I roll Arcana.”
Shepard gave her a nod, “Roll it.”
Dice clattered. Ashley proclaimed as she added her roll, “Seventeen.”
“You detect ancient enchantments... and also pettiness.”
Laughter erupted.
Vega rolled his eyes and spoke the famous last words that any adventurer could spout, “Yo, this is just a dumb game, right? What’s the worst thing that could happen?”
Before anyone could stop him, he dramatically sat in the nearest chair.
The DM smiled evilly, barely restraining a laugh, “The moment you sit down, the chair sprouts legs and runs across the tavern, crashing into a wall and dumping you into a barrel of expired ale. You smell like someone lit a krogan bar fight on fire.”
The Aasimar Paladin, Sir Archangelus Darksbane, rubbed his chin, “That’s a vivid image. I choose to stand.” After a moment, he exclaims, “I shall detect evil!”
Jex rolled a d20 behind his DM screen, pursed his lips, and replied, “None detected, but they do scream ‘chaotic petty’ with a hint of fuckery.”
Intrigued, Captain Valerio Quickstep raised a sculptured brow, “I inspect the chairs for traps.”
“All chairs are cursed. And smug about it,” Jex replied.
Tali tapped her character sheet and raised a hand like a student in chaos school. “I want to cast Mage Hand to tip one over before I sit.”
“As your spectral hand touches the chair, it yells ‘NO TOUCHY!’ in Elven. The tavern’s ceiling opens slightly to dump glitter on you.”
Tali slumped in her seat. “Chatika vas Paus is offended and begins clawing the glitter off. With judgment.”
The others lost it. Vega was still sputtering in mock offense from his place in the proverbial barrel.
Shepard grinned once more, “The music picks up. Faster now. The chairs begin to dance in a circle on their own. A voice cackles: ‘LAST ONE SITTING WINS A MYSTERY PRIZE. OR A CURSE. PROBABLY BOTH.’”
The Iron Bull climbed out of ale barrel and rushed forward, “I am so in.”
AND THUS, THE GAME BEGAN.
The music blared—a chaotic, tinkling piano melody as if it came roaring straight out of the Wild West. The chairs spun in erratic orbits, scraping against the tavern floor like they were possessed. Elariel vaulted over the table with theatrical grace and landed in a velvet-cushioned monstrosity like a bardic champion. Sir Archangelus strode forward, determined to claim a seat—only for Equinox the Calibrated to clip the leg of his chosen chair with a divine hoof out of spite, knocking it over. The dashing Captain Valerio darted toward a high-backed armchair covered in glowing runes, only to watch it teleport to the ceiling just as he lunged. Zorahastra reached for one—and it sprouted knives.
Shepard flashed not-so sympathetic eyes at her, “You get stabbed. Emotionally. Take 12 points of psychic damage.”
And then Iron Bull, not one for subtlety, launched himself in a glorious belly flop onto the last available chair. He crowed triumphantly, “I WIN!”
The music screeched to a halt. The air went still. “Iron Bull, your chair sprouts wings and lifts off into the air. You are now hovering over the tavern with no way down. Everyone hears a booming voice...”
“CONGRATULATIONS. YOU ARE THE MUSICAL CHAIR CHAMPION.”
“YOUR PRIZE IS... SUSPICIOUS INVISIBILITY.”
There was a few seconds of silence. Then Shepard continued, “You vanish. No one can see or hear you.”
A disgruntled look crossed his face, “How long does this last?”
Another grin from the DM, “Until someone wins the next round.”
The others burst into full-blown laughter. Steve shook his head, deadpan. “Better get comfortable, ‘Champion.’”
As they cackled around the apartment, Shepard wiped tears of laughter from his eyes and crossed something off his notes under the heading “MAYHEM PROTOCOL – CHAIR EDITION.”
And in the background, from Tali’s shoulder, Chatika vas Paus gave a soft mechanical hiss of disapproval as glitter fell like judgment.
***
Session Notes from Shepard’s DM log:
- Vega is invisible for the next 1d4 sessions.
- Garrus is now suspicious of all furniture.
- Chatika has begun stealing silverware.
- The tavern is 100% getting revisited.
***
Session Seven—Chika-chika-cha
(DM notes: Vega Still Cursed, Everyone Else Still Laughing)
The next D&D session turned the Normandy’s shuttle bay into an unusually lively spot for a warship. It typically only saw this much traffic during mandatory training time at the shooting range or when shuttles exited or made their return back to the ship during missions, which happened frequently nowadays. The Reaper War had made certain of that.
Shepard chose this location for this session because he needed the extra space. For his players, he provided comfortable seating. All it had taken was a short jump to the Citadel to pick up the couches and table. As such, Tali happily curled up on one of the couches with her datapad, Garrus was calibrating a holographic game board for next session, and Steve and Ashley were engaged in a whispered debate about whether or not Captain Valerio Quickstep should have stolen the cursed eggplant from the goblin jester's garden last session.
Shepard strolled in, arms crossed, smug grin already locked and loaded.
A pillow suddenly flew across the room and nailed him in the side of the face.
“OW! Vega!” Jex yelled, rubbing his jaw. “You’re supposed to be invisible, not annoying!”
“I’m invisible, not inaudible, jackass!” came Vega’s voice from somewhere near the snack table Shepard had also set up. “And for the record, I won that round fair and square!”
“You belly-flopped onto a possessed chair while shouting YOLO,” Garrus pointed out without looking up. “I’ve seen better form from drunk Elcor.”
“Not to mention,” Ashley added, sipping her coffee, “you got turned invisible and are now haunted by a tambourine that only you can hear.”
The faint chika-chika-cha of an ominous tambourine echoed through the shuttle bay, courtesy of Ashley’s omni-tool.
“IT FOLLOWS ME EVERYWHERE!” Vega shouted. “I HEAR IT IN MY SLEEP!”
“Silly bosh’tet!” Tali giggled behind her visor. “Perhaps you should embrace it. Maybe you are destined to become the Invisible Tambourine Bard.”
“Don’t give him ideas,” Steve muttered. “We already have one bard, and she nearly seduced the cave dragon last week.”
Ashley smirked, rubbing her manicured nails against her Alliance hoodie then blew on them confidently. “What can I say? Elariel Starwind has standards.”
“I still say we could’ve used the dragon as a mount,” Garrus muttered.
“You try climbing a dragon in full plate,” Jex said. “Remember the moral of the story about Sir Pevil the Foolhardy. Never meddle in the affairs of dragons, for you are crunchy and taste good with wasabi.”
A second pillow flew through the air and hit Jex in the back of the head.
“I hate all of you,” came Vega’s voice again. “And someone please tell EDI to stop calling me ‘Specter of the Bay.’”
EDI’s voice chimed in helpfully, “Noted, Specter of the Bay. Shall I update your crew file to reflect this title permanently?”
“EDI, no—”
“Confirmed.”
Jex stretched and let out a long, exaggerated sigh. “Anyway… we return to the Goblin King’s Labyrinth of Existential Woe. Any last requests before I begin?”
“You could un-curse Mr. Vega,” Steve offered, only half-serious.
“Tempting,” Jex replied, already rolling dice for the next bit of chaos. “But I’m pretty sure the tambourine’s grown attached. Just like the mimic, Captain Sugarblade.”
The tambourine chika-chika’d mournfully.
“It’s watching me sleep, guys,” Vega whispered.
“Shouldn’t have failed that WIS save,” Ashley said, smirking over her character sheet. “You did challenge it to a percussion duel. With your face.”
“It lured me in with rhythm. That’s entrapment.”
“I warned you not to touch anything that sparkled!” Tali added, gesturing wildly with her dice. “Zorahastra specifically said, ‘That is not a festive trinket, it is a gateway to madness.’ But nooo—”
“You also said that about the soup ladle two towns ago,” Garrus muttered, flipping through his pristine notes. “Which turned out to be just a soup ladle.”
“A possessed soup ladle,” Tali corrected.
Jex grinned, spinning a d20 between his fingers. “Alright, children of dice and drama. Focus up. The Goblin King’s Labyrinth unfolds before you like a particularly hostile IKEA showroom. Moss-covered walls twist in geometric defiance of logic. Every passage smells faintly of despair and popcorn.”
“Are we sure the popcorn isn’t another mimic?” Steve leaned forward, brow arched. “Because Captain Quickstep would like to steal it. Stealth check?”
“You want to steal the concept of sadness-snacks from an interdimensional maze god?” Jex asked.
“I once stole a noble’s pants during a duel,” Steve replied smoothly. “I’m confident.”
Jex sighed like a man with too much plot and not enough common sense at the table. “Fine. Roll for stealth.”
Steve flicked the die with theatrical flair, letting it bounce off his character mini and spin dramatically.
“Natural 20,” he said, grinning as the others groaned.
Jex stared at the die, then narrowed his eyes. “You don’t just steal the popcorn. You steal its emotional baggage. You now carry the unresolved longing of the Goblin King’s childhood dreams in your pocket.”
“Perfect,” Steve said, writing existential corn in the margins of his sheet. “Captain Quickstep will season his next monologue with regret.”
Ashley leaned back in her chair, arms crossed. “Can we please get back to the main quest? I have a performance to give at the Festival of Tenfold Stars, and the mayor’s son specifically asked for a recitation of ‘The Blade and the Belladonna.’”
“Which you wrote,” Garrus muttered.
“Which I channeled from the divine muse of storytelling,” Ashley shot back, flipping her notebook open to reveal a lovingly illustrated scene of Elariel surrounded by swooning peasants. One even bore a striking resemblance to Kaidan. Possibly on purpose.
“Zorahastra casts Detect Snark,” Tali said, pointing a finger across the table. “It’s a 1st-level spell.”
Jex banged the table gently with his DM screen. “Okay, chaos goblins. Let’s review: You’ve recovered the Amulet of Spiteful Yearning—”
“That was in the soup,” Garrus noted.
“—yes, thank you, and now you stand at the threshold of the Goblin King’s inner sanctum. The air is thick with illusion magic and the scent of Axe body spray. You hear the faint thump of dungeon synth. And, just beyond the door, something… stirs.”
“What kind of door?” Vega asked warily.
Jex raised an eyebrow. “An ominous one. With a skull-shaped knocker and eyes that follow you.”
Vega squinted. “Is the knocker cursed?”
“No,” Jex said. Then he paused. “Probably.”
Vega leaned back with a groan. “Iron Bull’s gonna die from tetanus, isn’t he?”
“Only if the tambourine doesn’t kill him first,” Steve whispered. The tambourine chika-chika’d again, more cheerfully this time.
Jex leaned in over the DM screen, voice dropping into his best gravelly narrator impression. “As you push open the heavy, rune-etched door, a blast of heat and distortion washes over you. Inside, the Goblin King awaits—seated upon a throne made entirely of glittering skulls and empty fast food wrappers. His eyes glow with contempt. His mullet flows with malevolence. And in one clawed hand, he holds the Crown of Never-Gonna-Give-You-Up.”
Garrus didn’t even blink. He stood slowly, straightening his spine like he was addressing the Hierarchy’s High Command. “Sir Archangelus Darksbane unsheathes his blade—Vigilance of Final Dawn,” he clarified, “and raises it skyward. I say: ‘You who defile honor and harmony with your twisted labyrinthine mockery—face the judgment of the Justicar’s Flame!’”
There was a pause. “Roll for dramatic effect,” Jex said.
Garrus rolled. “...Eighteen.”
Everyone at the table nodded in grudging respect. “Okay that was hot,” Steve muttered. “I didn’t think I was into lawful righteous types but here we are.”
Ashley fanned herself with her sheet. “Sir Archangelus has some serious main-character energy right now.”
“Zorahastra would like to cast Mage Armor,” Tali announced, “and also maybe… Wild Magic Surge just for fun.”
“You don’t need to—” Jex started.
“I’m choosing to,” she said sweetly, rolling the d20.
There was a collective intake of breath. “...One.”
Jex blinked. “You rolled a natural one on the surge?”
“Oh no,” Ashley whispered and dropped her head into her hands.
“Zorahastra explodes in a burst of chaotic magic,” Jex narrated. “Everyone roll a d100. Now.”
Dice clattered. Groans and laughter followed.
“Fifty-seven,” Vega said.
“Four,” Ashley muttered.
“Ninety-one,” Steve winced.
“Seventy-six,” Garrus reported calmly.
Tali looked up, sheepish. “...Twenty.”
Jex consulted his massive Wild Magic table, then began assigning fates:
“Vega, your character is now surrounded by a swarm of spectral ducks that honk every time you try to speak.”
“Steve, you’re under the Reverse Gravity effect and are now pinned to the ceiling.”
“Ashley, congratulations—you are now glowing like a disco ball. Stealth is impossible.”
“Garrus… oh that’s delightful. Sir Archangelus has grown radiant wings and cannot stop floating one foot off the ground while glowing with divine light.”
Garrus simply nodded. “As it should be.”
“And Tali…” Jex grinned. “Zorahastra’s hair turns into living pink fire. It sings lullabies in Elvish.”
“Keelah, I love it,” Tali said, clutching her dice. “She looks awesome.”
“And now,” Jex declared, raising his hands, “the Goblin King rises from his throne. He twirls a glittering keytar and snarls: ‘You dare disturb my domain? I was in the middle of composing a ballad of betrayal!’”
He rolled behind the screen. “Roll for initiative.”
Jex tapped the battle map. “Alright. Initiative is set. The Goblin King gets a 22. He goes first.”
“Of course he does,” Vega grumbled. A spectral duck honked in agreement.
Jex stood dramatically. “With a screech like a hair metal album cover, the Goblin King slams down on his glowing keytar. Power chords echo across the chamber, summoning—” he rolled dice behind the screen, “—four enchanted backup dancers. They slide in from trapdoors, cloaked in sequins and necrotic energy. They begin performing synchronized interpretive dance. It’s hypnotic. Constitution saves, everyone.”
Dice flew.
“Seventeen,” Garrus said confidently.
“Natural one,” Steve said flatly. “Captain Quickstep is riveted.”
Ashley stared at her dice. “I got a 2. I am the rave.”
“Thirteen,” Vega offered. “Iron Bull can’t look away but pretends not to care.”
“Eighteen!” Tali shouted. “Zorahastra covers her eyes with her flaming hair.”
Jex adjusted his notes, eyes gleaming. “Ashley and Steve—you are now under the effects of Compelled Boogie. Your next turn must be spent performing an elaborate dance solo.”
Steve placed a hand over his heart. “Captain Quickstep bows deeply to the rhythm.”
Ashley flipped her notebook open. “Elariel will tap into her bardic soul and break out a combo of jazz hands and battlefield ballet. I roll for flourish.”
Vega cracked his knuckles. “Enough of this sparkle nonsense. Iron Bull charges.”
“Do you… yell anything?”
“Hell Yeah I Do!” Vega leaned forward. “‘WHO’S READY TO GET DROP-KICKED INTO NEXT SESSION?’”
“Roll to attack.”
Dice hit the table. “Nineteen!”
“Describe it,” Jex said, grinning.
“Iron Bull swings his greatsword—a flaming two-hander named Chorizo Cleaver—and aims for the Goblin King’s ridiculous headband. If it hits, I want the headband to explode in a shower of glitter and lost dreams.”
“It does hit,” Jex said, barely holding back laughter. “You cleave the headband in two. The Goblin King screeches like a Spotify algorithm rejecting his playlist. He is now vulnerable to emotional damage.”
Garrus tapped his sheet. “Sir Archangelus Darksbane raises Vigilance of Final Dawn and charges forward midair, wings ablaze, declaring: ‘By the shining light of reckoning, I shall smite thee!’”
Jex nodded reverently. “Roll your smite.”
Garrus rolled, calm and precise.
“Natural 20.”
“OHHHHHHH!” The whole table erupted. Even the tambourine honked.
“Your sword connects in a radiant arc of justice,” Jex declared, “sundering the Goblin King’s sequin armor. He is staggered, glittered, and emotionally compromised.”
Steve, upside down on the ceiling, raised a hand. “Captain Quickstep uses the momentum of his boogie to spring off a ceiling tile, triple backflip through a fog cloud, land behind the Goblin King and whisper, ‘You dropped this,’ before stabbing with his rapier.”
“Roll it.”
Steve rolled. “Twenty-one.”
“You stab the Goblin King in the metaphysical ego,” Jex announced. “He lets out a soul-crushing wail as the keytar fizzles. His dancers falter. One of them starts crying in autotune.”
Tali perked up. “Zorahastra casts Chaos Bolt. Flavor text: ‘For the glory of the Shimmering Spires, and because I haven’t blown anything up in five minutes!’”
“Roll it.”
“Sixteen. And it’s acid damage.”
“Perfect. You hit the Goblin King right in the platform boots. They melt. He falls. He screams ‘I REGRET NOTHING!’ and disintegrates into confetti and unresolved daddy issues.”
The table went silent. Then Vega spoke. “Is the tambourine… still alive?”
Jex rolled a single die behind the screen. Slowly, he looked up. “It hops twice. Then turns toward you. Chika-chika.”
Ashley whispered, “Oh no. It has been imprinted.”
Jex grinned. “Chika-chika.”
The throne room was silent now, save for the faint flutter of confetti and the emotional sniffling of one remaining backup dancer trying to moonwalk out of the room.
Jex leaned back in his chair, eyes scanning the map like a smug warlock. “Congratulations, heroes. The Goblin King is no more. His reign of glitter and gatekeeping has ended. The labyrinth quakes… and the vault doors creak open.”
“LOOT?” Ashley perked up immediately.
“Oh yes,” Jex said ominously. “You find… the Goblin King’s Hoard of Wondrously Questionable Treasures.”
“I CAST DETECT SPARKLY!” Tali shouted, already reaching for her dice.
“Not a spell,” Garrus muttered.
“It is now,” she replied.
“MAYHEM!” Vega roared, jumping out of his seat and nearly knocking over his chair. “Iron Bull rolls to body-check the vault door and dive into the gold like a Krogan Scrooge McDuck!”
“Roll Athletics.”
“TWENTY-TWO.”
“You somersault into the hoard. You find: 1) a flaming banjo of summoning; 2) a cursed belt that gives you +2 strength but only while yodeling; and 3) a scroll labeled ‘DO NOT READ. WILL SUMMON MOM.’”
“Mine,” Vega said, grabbing his pencil. “All mine.”
Steve lifted an eyebrow. “Captain Quickstep loots with finesse, not force. I’m looking for rare gems, forged invitations, scandalous letters—basically, rogue candy.”
Jex rolled. “You find: a diamond tiara that whispers compliments, a bottle of champagne labeled ‘For When You’re Right and Everyone Else is Wrong,’ and an ancient note written in Infernal that just says ‘Oops.’”
Steve nodded. “Perfect. I wear the tiara.”
Ashley crossed her arms. “Elariel searches for magical instruments. Specifically ones that don’t insult me when I miss a note.”
“You find a sentient lute that sighs dramatically whenever you play it,” Jex said.
Ashley stared. “...I name it Emo-sharp.”
Tali cackled. “Zorahastra claims any and all amulets, robes, weird glowing rocks, and definitely that mysterious jar of screaming bees.”
“Roll Arcana.”
“...Eight.”
“You are now wearing the bees. They hum softly in harmony. You think they like you.”
Garrus, ever serious, tapped his notes. “Sir Archangelus Darksbane surveys the hoard only for relics of divine origin. I ignore worldly temptations.”
“You find a +3 Holy Symbol of Vengeance… carved from pure obsidian and inlaid with sapphires. It glows when you smite hypocrites.”
“I name it Consequencius.” Garrus said, without a trace of irony.
Vega blinked. “Wait wait wait—you just looted a rock of righteous judgment and I got a yodeling belt?”
“You chose this,” Steve said, sipping from an imaginary goblet.
Ashley strummed Emo-sharp, who groaned in minor key. “Honestly, we all chose this.”
Tali clutched her jar of bees. “I regret nothing.”
Jex closed his notes with a dramatic flap. “And thus ends the reign of the Goblin King… and begins the next chapter in your chaotic descent into fame, fortune, and possibly felony. But for tonight—you rest. The hoard is yours. The tambourine is watching.”
Chika-chika.
Vega stared at it. It stared back. He whispered, “We need to kill it.”
Steve, tiara shining, leaned back. “Too late. It’s party loot now.”
The table fell quiet, save for the soft click of dice being gathered and the occasional chika-chika from the accursed tambourine now perched ominously beside Vega’s water bottle.
Jex slowly peeled off his DM cape, which had somehow become tangled in his chair. “And that… is a wrap. Session end. You survived the Goblin King’s Labyrinth of Existential Woe, and more importantly, each other.”
Garrus leaned back, exhaling. “Sir Archangelus Darksbane will now retire to his floating cathedral to reflect on righteous violence and the ethical implications of sequins.”
Ashley wiped her eyes, laughing. “I can’t believe we fought interpretive dancers and I’m glowing like a rave poster. Again.”
Tali was still cradling her bee jar. “I liked this better than calibrating the engine core. The chaos was controlled.” She paused. “Well, mostly.”
Steve was lounging across his chair like a pirate king, tiara still perfectly askew. “Captain Quickstep requests we do this again. Preferably somewhere with less glitter-based trauma.”
Vega eyed the tambourine like it might bite. “Iron Bull says... MAYHEM.”
They all laughed. Then the moment hung—just a second too long.
The soft blue flicker of the comms panel activated on the far wall. EDI’s voice cut through the cozy chaos. “Commander Shepard, we’ve received an urgent priority signal from Admiral Hackett. Something’s happening in the Voyager Cluster.”
Silence fell like a curtain. Jex stood slowly, the weight of command settling over his shoulders like armor. “Alright,” he said, voice shifting back into the one they all knew. The real one. “That’s the end of tonight’s session.”
He looked at them—his crew, his family. The bard, the paladin, the chaos sorcerer, the rogue, the fighter. All heroes in their own way.
“Back to reality,” he said gently. “Let’s get to work.”
Chairs scraped. Character sheets were tucked away. Dice were packed with ritual reverence.
But before the last one left, Vega paused at the door and turned back.
“I’m bringing Chorizo Cleaver into the field,” he said. “Mentally. Spiritually. Emotionally.”
Jex smirked. “Just don’t yodel.”
“No promises.”
The door hissed open. The war waited.
The others had already filed out—some to their bunks, others to their stations, carrying with them echoes of laughter and the scent of questionable snacks. Jex was alone, gathering character sheets with the same care he gave to squad reports.
He didn’t look up when Steve’s footsteps paused at the threshold.
“Thanks for tonight,” Steve said softly, voice stripped of bravado. “It’s... it’s been a long week. You gave us something else to carry for a little while.”
Jex looked up, one brow arched. “Something other than the fate of the galaxy?”
Steve smiled, small and real. “Yeah. Something better.”
He hesitated, then stepped closer. “You’re a damn good DM, Jex.”
Jex gave him a crooked grin. “Don’t tell Joker. He’ll demand I run a campaign where he’s the main character. Again.”
Steve chuckled. “Too late. I’m already drafting the flyer.”
Then he leaned in, brushed a light kiss to Jex’s cheek—brief, grounding, gone in a breath—and turned to go.
“Captain Quickstep bids thee goodnight,” he said with a wink.
Jex whispered as the door slid shut, “And may his cape always billow dramatically.”
***
Three days later.
Lt. Cortez dropped the shuttle into low orbit over Binthu. Reaper stragglers clustered like tumors across the suspected Cerberus facility’s exoskeleton. Fire bloomed in the distance. Marines were dropping fast. The call had come from an Alliance Marine sergeant: too many hostiles, not enough reinforcements.
Commander Jex Shepard vaulted over the smoking husk of a fuel tank, his biotic corona snarling around him like a storm barely leashed. His barrier shimmered with volatile light, the air rippling in his wake. In one fluid motion, he zeroed in on the Brute charging the front line and vanished in a blink of blue light.
He reappeared mid-air—slammed into the monstrosity with a biotic charge that hit like a comet.
The impact was cataclysmic.
The Brute’s carapace exoskeleton cracked like glass, its roar choked off as it was launched backward—into another Brute. The second creature barely had time to register what hit it before they both went down in a tangled heap of bone, metal, and sheer Newtonian justice.
The shockwave buckled nearby scaffolding. The ground trembled. Ashes scattered in the updraft like sparks from a forge, and in the center of it all stood Shepard—glowing, chest heaving, blue radiance arcing over his skin like the ghost of a nova.
One of the marines muttered, awestruck over the comm, “...holy hell.”
Another more distant voice, “Was that a fucking bank shot?”
Jex cracked his neck and raised his hand, biotics already gathering for the next target.
“Keep moving,” he said. “We’re just getting started.”
Behind him, Tali ducked under enemy fire and shouted into her comm, “Vega, right flank! There are more big ones on their way! Garrus—on me!”
Ashley skidded to a halt next to Shepard, panting, a Reaper husk disintegrating at her feet.
He turned to ask for status—
But Ashley Williams threw a grenade, raised her M-99 Saber above her head, and screamed at the top of her lungs, “MAYHEEEEEM!”
There was a moment of stunned silence in the squad comms.
“Did… did she just—?” Garrus started.
“I’m sorry, who rolled a barbarian?” Tali cackled.
Vega’s voice crackled in, wheezing with laughter, “Loco, I love this crew.”
Shepard just smiled. For a moment, through smoke and gunfire, the echoes of laughter and dice rolled again. The war was far from over. But the party was still going strong.
Another biotic charge straight into a devastating, ground pounding nova. Another couple Brutes hit the ground in a heap, twitching once before going still. Smoke curled from the crater left behind.
Commander Jex Shepard stood at the center of the wreckage, glowing like a war god dragged out of mythology and handed a mission brief. Behind cover, Ashley blinked, then muttered, “I’m just saying, if someone doesn’t carve that into a wall somewhere, I will.”
Tali peeked over a piece of shattered bulkhead. “Remind me never to make him angry.”
“You already did,” Vega said, ducking between shots. “That one time you hacked his music playlist.”
“It was for science!”
Steve’s voice came through the comms, half breathless, half worshipful. “Remind me why he’s not leading every charge personally? That was like watching a supernova uppercut a nightmare.”
A brief pause.
Then Garrus chimed in, perfectly deadpan, “Show-off.”
Ashley barked a laugh. “Please. If you tried that, your spine would eject in protest.”
“I don’t need biotics,” Garrus replied, already lining up a shot with calm precision. “I’ve got a sniper rifle, steady hands, and a disapproving glare sharp enough to pierce armor.”
Tali ducked behind cover with a grin. “Still not as flashy.”
Garrus fired. A husk went down mid-sprint. “Flashy doesn’t win wars.”
Steve chimed in over comms, “But damn if it doesn’t make them look good.”
Jex’s voice crackled in, cool and composed. “You’re all just jealous I make explosions fashionable.”
“I prefer strategic,” Garrus said. “Less glowing. More breathing.”
“And less concussive shockwaves,” Ashley added, adjusting her grip on her assault rifle. “The last one singed my eyelashes.”
“That was not in the field report,” Jex deadpanned.
Tali snorted. “She left it in the comment section.”
More gunfire sparked around them, but the mood had shifted. The squad was focused again. Energized.
Because Commander Jex Shepard didn’t just lead them—he inspired them. With biotic fury, unshakable presence, and just enough sarcasm to make war feel like something they might actually survive.
At least, for today.