The Gallery
This topic has moved here: Subject: [Novel] True Sangheili (Part 35 available!) ~ 14th October
  • Subject: [Novel] True Sangheili (Part 35 available!) ~ 14th October
Subject: [Novel] True Sangheili (Part 35 available!) ~ 14th October

­

The chapters may take longer to receive, but they get better every time. Keep up the good work Wolvers!

  • 12.17.2011 8:43 PM PDT

In all seriousness you should compile these into an eBook and independently publish it. That is assuming it doesn't infringe and copyrights.

  • 12.17.2011 9:54 PM PDT

No u


Posted by: insaneAssass1n9
In all seriousness you should compile these into an eBook and independently publish it. That is assuming it doesn't infringe and copyrights.
You realize is owned by 343i and publishing a novel about Halo would be infringing on copyrights, right?

  • 12.17.2011 9:55 PM PDT


Posted by: Doctor Jensen

Posted by: insaneAssass1n9
In all seriousness you should compile these into an eBook and independently publish it. That is assuming it doesn't infringe and copyrights.
You realize is owned by 343i and publishing a novel about Halo would be infringing on copyrights, right?
I do realize, that is why I said that. I was really just trying to imply that he was a very good writer, and should think about pursuing it further.

  • 12.17.2011 10:50 PM PDT

What a sniper can kill within a 1000 ft radius? A lot...

InsaneAssasin, have you seen the PDF at all?
PDF should work on most e-reading devicables

[Edited on 12.18.2011 3:06 PM PST]

  • 12.18.2011 3:05 PM PDT


Posted by: Sniper king
InsaneAssasin, have you seen the PDF at all?
PDF should work on most e-reading devicables
Oh, thanks i didn't see it, my eyes must have missed the link.

  • 12.18.2011 3:48 PM PDT

I keel u!

Side note: I can't find a link to the PDF of memoirs of an odst anywhere and the main thread seems to be majorly re-edited... What's up with that??

True sangheili is getting better and better also!

  • 12.20.2011 7:46 AM PDT

I'm not sure what happened to the Memoirs thread. I think it's an issue due to the thread originally being in the Halo 3 forum when I started in in 2008 before being moved to the Gallery. Sometimes when I'd post a new chapter the banner at the top would be of the Halo 3 forum.

I found a copy of the PDF on my PSP, I'll try upload it when I've got some time. It's not very good though, don't expect much.

  • 12.20.2011 7:53 AM PDT

I meant the actual story isn't very good.

:P

  • 12.21.2011 8:32 AM PDT

I keel u!

Actually I liked it when I read it a while ago. And now I can't find it anywhere...

  • 12.22.2011 10:31 AM PDT

Here you go.

Bask in the mediocrity. Let me know if the link works.

  • 12.22.2011 11:16 AM PDT


Posted by: Wolverfrog
Here you go.

Bask in the mediocrity. Let me know if the link works.
Quite a long read.

  • 12.22.2011 12:51 PM PDT

-Not an Elite Roleplayer, i fancy the name, Deal with it.-

Random Information : Ahkrin means courage in the dragon language from skyrim.

This pleases me.

  • 12.24.2011 10:03 AM PDT

only the best game ever.
~Sur Squishy
XBL: D a r k s t a r
PSN: darkstarrr
Minecraft: The_Dark_Star

Forum Rules | Terms of Use | Code of Conduct

Will we be seeing a part 36 available in the near future, or is this it? One of the longest stories I have read in this forum. (I just finished it yesterday after reading bit by bit over last few weeks.)

  • 12.24.2011 12:51 PM PDT


Posted by: blade246
Will we be seeing a part 36 available in the near future, or is this it? One of the longest stories I have read in this forum. (I just finished it yesterday after reading bit by bit over last few weeks.)


I'll be putting up part 36 tomorrow when I get a few moments. There's going to be a part 37 a few weeks after incidentally; it's just too long to be one chapter. That'll be the end of book two. Book three will resume some time after and will conclude the story.

  • 12.24.2011 2:18 PM PDT

only the best game ever.
~Sur Squishy
XBL: D a r k s t a r
PSN: darkstarrr
Minecraft: The_Dark_Star

Forum Rules | Terms of Use | Code of Conduct

Posted by: Wolverfrog
I'll be putting up part 36 tomorrow when I get a few moments. There's going to be a part 37 a few weeks after incidentally; it's just too long to be one chapter. That'll be the end of book two. Book three will resume some time after and will conclude the story.

I looks forward to it! ;)

  • 12.24.2011 2:29 PM PDT

Why hello there.

Microwave ovens are quite large.

WORT, WORT,WORT!

-NUMS!

Weeks not months, right Wolvers? ; )

  • 12.24.2011 3:00 PM PDT

Most of part 37 is already written.

  • 12.24.2011 3:13 PM PDT

"I believe that the sound of racking the pump of a shotgun is universally recognized as ‘kiss your ass goodbye’."
— Unknown Marine

Yay Christmas present from wolvers

  • 12.24.2011 11:32 PM PDT

Merry Christmas, everyone. I don't expect anyone to find time to read this today, but I'll put it out anyway. Forgive any slight errors in grammar or... sense, I haven't proof-read as much as usual (which is in itself petty) because, well, Christmas-dinner is nearly ready.

*

Chapter 36 -- For whom the bell tolls, for whom hell calls

Emerald flew through the air and time seemed to slow down. Lightning shone through the window, emerald catching its glow within and reflecting a panorama of death back. Smaller shards scattered through the air, snatched by the drops of rain that fell through the window in the ceiling.

Gem screamed as it spiralled, a blood-chilling, deadly scream coloured with death's voice. Finally, it met resistance. Stalled for a few moments, pushing hard against the body it had met. At last, it burrowed its way through the flesh and blood, carving through a heart as it clawed its way to the other side.

From the hole left in its wake, life bled. Emerald crashed into the wall of the room, and shattered into a million pieces. Sparks discharged into the night, every fatal shred of green fading into ephemerality.

Not an emerald, but a burst of plasma. Thrown by the man standing in the door, a satisfied grin all that could be seen through the darkness.

"I always did think you a blustering fool," Pel spat with venom at the one he had just shot, brandishing his plasma pistol about maniacally. "Now you die like one. The two of you will follow soon."

With that, the Ossoona fled the doorway and vanished into the midnight. Neither Sorran or Ahkrin gave chase, or answered him. Their stunned eyes were focused on the body lying on the floor, whose eyes stared without seeing at the ceiling, limp fingers clutching at the life-stealing wound wrought by the plasma burst. Jaw open, a wordless scream buried in the throat.

Immobile. Dead.

Hem.

*

All of Sanghelios loomed before Zharn as he stared out at his homeworld. For the first time he saw the planet; really saw it. Stripped away the grandeur in his mind, took away the honour, the history, the culture he knew thrived down there.

He saw a rock, then. A great orb hanging in the dark of space, shrouded by clouds and littered with ocean and continent. Like Harvest. Like Madrigal. Like Hat Yai... and most recently on his own orders, Eridanus II.

If they could be so easily glassed with just a spoken word, an order; turned into a sculpture capturing only the faintest traces of what had once been, then what made Sanghelios so special? Zharn knew that High Charity alone could annihilate half the planet if it reinstalled the dreadnought's weapons.

The humans too had their world-wreckers. Zharn had seen the craters on some of their worlds wrought by the testing of their MAC rounds, their nuclear weapons. They were primitive devices, but then even a rock can defeat one armed with a gun in the right circumstances.

Which is why they could never be allowed to find Sanghelios with their fleets. Which is why Zharn was driving himself insane worrying about the purported demon and ODSTs loose in the holy city right now.

"Any word?" he asked his communications officer, taking care to be sly with his demands. He had been instructed by the hierarchs to not breathe a word of what was truly happening in High Charity to anyone.

"No contact from the station, leader. Not a single ship has attempted to break quarantine, either."

Zharn pondered upon that for a few moments, before nodding.

"Keep watch. I shan't be long," he told his bridge crew, throwing on his ceremonial overcoat and flying out from the command and control centre. He activated his communications pad, opened a private channel.

"Orpheus," he hailed. The Jiralhanae took a few moments to respond.

"Zharn," Orpheus finally spoke in his impossibly deep voice. "What ails you?"

"I am beside myself waiting for the bureaucrats and charlatans down there to update us on the situation. The hierarchs forbid me sending troops down there... I am not a trooper, however, and neither are you."

"I don't think Truth would appreciate that little technicality," Orpheus warned him.

"You say that as if it should deter me. Will you come down to the holy city with me? I want to see with my own eyes the true state of affairs."

"I think you are mad, fleetmaster," Orpheus replied, and for a second Zharn's hearts plummeted with disappointment. "But mad or not, I am sworn to you. And I must concede, I am a little curious myself as to what is happening on High Charity."

"Is that your roundabout way of saying 'yes'?" Zharn asked with a wry smile, turning a corridor and rolling his eyes as a cohort of Sangheili who had been busying themselves with other matters leapt to attention.

"I'll meet you in the hanger, Zharn," Orpheus answered with an air of resignation, before disconnecting the line.

Although he had yet to mention it to his Jiralhanae friend, Zharn had an ulterior motive for wanting to see High Charity. On Eridanus II, the demon had showed him something that had shook his faith to the core. Heretical humans, or at least their familiars, could earn a response from Forerunner technology.

Something not even the Holy Prophet of Truth himself could do. This all-too-quickly imposed quarantine by Sanghelios, the tale of the humans who had so easily infiltrated the holy city, Ahkrin's disappearance; perhaps he was being paranoid, but Zharn felt something greater was at work.

Always trust your instinct, for it is not tainted by the poison of the heart or mind, his late sire had once lectured him and the other children in Rolum, back when he had not known the man's true identity.

Zharn had rarely found his father wrong on the matter.

*

It was a stench Jajab knew well. He'd smelt it many times on the battlefield, and many times since then. The cloying aroma of blood, just past the door.

Swallowing his fear, he gently edged his way through the heavy wooden doors of the hotel into the cold and dark corridor. Doors loomed over him to the left and right, each holding the possibility of danger. His attention was drawn by the body at the far end of the corridor, however; a kig-yar dressed in formal attire, her thin neck snapped.

His tiny heart pumping with terror, Jajab approached the body against his better judgement. The floorboards creaked under his weight, painfully audible in the eerie silence. He strained, but could hear no movement nor voices. He seemed to be alone.

The kig-yar's orb-like eyes were wide with surprise, long tongue lolling out from her mouth lamely. A single needle rose from the centre of her forehead, neatly positioned beneath the soft mane which flowed down her back. Had it not been for the pool of neon purple staining her soft facial features, he might have mistaken the needle for another quill in her plumage.

Jajab had thought the lack of people in order around the hotel suspicious; the Covenant must have made sure the area was vacated before moving in. No doubt the kig-yar on the floor had refused to leave, and she'd earned death for her trouble.

His worst fears were confirmed when he entered through the only open door and saw Convalescence in a similar state, a deadly spire rising from his head as well. Whoever had made these killings had been professionals.

"Lords," he whispered, ice blossoming throughout the room as he stared at the clinical chaos. He took one step into the room--

"Don't move," a gruff voice spoke suddenly even as Jajab felt the cold barrel of a weapon press into the back of his neck.

He complied.

  • 12.25.2011 8:44 AM PDT

*

"Hem..." Sorran whispered, finally snapped out of his stupor. He swept down to cradle his dead mentor in his arms, staring through tears at those lifeless eyes. For what seemed like the seventh time in just as many days, his armour was stained with blood.

"He's dead, Sorran," Ahkrin's voice droned clinically, the only word holding emotion his name. Sorran looked up at the stealth Sangheili, standing in the doorway with his arms folded, framed by the lightning of outside's storm. "We should go."

Perhaps it was Hem's death, perhaps it was his anger at Ahkrin for galvanising all this tragedy, even if unwittingly. Perhaps it was simply raw emotion. Whatever the cause, Sorran snapped. Ahkrin was caught completely by surprise as his friend stood up and in one deft motion smashed a fist into his face, catching his arm as he fell back and using it to levy him into the wall.

This wasn't the bumbling Sorran he knew. Ahkrin tried to bring an arm around to push Sorran back, but found it in a lock.

"Why?" Sorran bellowed in his ear, and Ahkrin could almost feel the rage in his voice. "What possessed you to do this, Ahkrin!"

"I don't understand what has happened here," was all Ahkrin answered with. "How can you be alive?"

Their dance started once more as Sorran dragged Ahkrin from the wall and threw him to the floor, hesitating for a moment before kicking him in the ribs. Ahkrin rolled near Hem, whose lifeless gaze accused.

"I'm asking the questions!" Sorran roared, standing over Ahkrin with a knife, who worried for a second that his friend might succumb to his rage and bring it down. "Are you a tool of the Prophets now, who killed your family, Zharn's father and--"

He'd been about to say 'me,' Ahkrin knew. Sorran for the first time looked at Ahkrin and saw not the man who had ruined the Covenant's best chance at freedom and peace, but his friend. The knife clattered to the ground, hilt facing the heavens.

"You know none of what is happening, do you?" Sorran asked as he stepped back and allowed Ahkrin space to stand up. His knuckles were torn where his skin had met bone.

"I was told Restraint was a heretic," Ahkrin spoke lamely, like a child who has acted without knowing all the facts. "Everything I saw supported that claim."

"We are heretics," Sorran laughed bitingly, kicking the ground. "The great journey is a lie. I am trying to bring down the Covenant."

Even now, Sorran saw Ahkrin's pupils dilate at that and his fists unconsciously clench. The indoctrination of a life-time was hard to resist; all Sangheili children were taught that to blaspheme was to deal all of one's kind a blow of shame.

"You can't be serious," Ahkrin croaked out. "Then... Truth was right about you. By all rights I should kill you too."

"But you won't." Sorran knew. "Not just because I'm your friend, but because you are who you are. Ahkrin, the curious bastard who can't leave well enough alone."

"Whatever questions you and I have, they can wait. Pel knows we're here, knows who we are to each other, and he'll be reporting to the hierarchs any moment now. We must leave."

"... true. But where can we go? High Charity is in lock-down."

Ahkrin looked sideways, and then at the curious brand he had inscribed on his wrist. Sorran had never gotten around to asking what it meant.

"I know some people in the underground who owe me favours, from a past life. It won't be a permanent haven, but will give us a sanctuary from where we can plan our next move."

"What about Hem?"

"We burn this place to the ground," Ahkrin continued, in his element now. "Fire always leaves some confusion, and we need all the confusion we can get. I know this isn't what you want to hear--"

"He has family on Sanghelios, Ahkrin. A daughter and grandchild. He'd have wanted me to look after them."

"We'll deal with all that later... for now, put aside any grief and misgivings and focus on our survival."

"Fine. But the Huragok comes with us," Sorran spoke forcibly, looking down at the crystal in his left hand that was Restraint's final legacy. "We'll need him."

*

The interrogator asked his question for what seemed like the millionth time. Through the blinding pain his words seemed distant, like he was shouting at her against wind and rain. But she knew what he was asking, what he'd been asking for hours or days or weeks now. Time didn't hold any meaning in the dark cell they were in; time was based around sunlight. There was no sun here.

"I don't-- I don't know why Restraint--" she repeated that same response, slurring through a bloodied and swollen jaw. Being struck the first few times had terrified her, but now it seemed almost as normal as breathing. More blood flew; it didn't matter at this point.

Dimly she felt her jaw seized by a powerful grip, claws digging into her battered skin. Eyes rolled back in the head; more pain, screaming. Forcing her to snap back into this terrible reality.

"High Councillor Restraint is a heretic who conspires to bring down the entire Covenant!" her interrogator roared. "Whatever lies he has fed you, whatever promises they're all the words of a heretic. Tell me who else knows and this will all be over."

"Know what!" she screeched back, struggling against the binds. Wrists seared as they met plasma, ankles burnt. The smell of burning flesh was in the air. Gods, she was so hungry.

Knife appeared now, a familiar sight. Not a magnetic coil in sight; just metal stained violet.

"If you don't tell me--"

Bam! the door sounded. It was hidden behind a stone wall, but she knew it was ancient simply because Covenant doors didn't slam; they had to be in the ruins of the Prophets' old world grated to the station for such archaic technology to be present on High Charity. Ruins that were off limit to all but the hierarchs and their most trusted. Who were these people?

Another man strode in. She recognised this one, a chill freezing her spine and snapping her out of the pain-drunken haze. Despite all that had already been done, fear coiled around her.

Pel looked down at her, eyes widening a little. Then he looked up at the interrogator, who for the first time in aeons had gone silent.

"What in the Prophets' name are you doing?" Pel demanded, his voice colder than the room they were in.

Her interrogator shook, and looked down at the knife in his hand as if worried it might soon find its way in his chest.

"I thought-- I've been interrogating her for information on Restraint, Osoona. Isn't that what we took her for?"

"She knows nothing, you idiot!" Pel bellowed, and the knife clattered to the ground. "We'll put an end to this now. Give me your gun."

For a moment her interrogator hesitated, perhaps sensing another meaning behind his words. He stepped back.

"Sir" he stuttered, nearly hyperventilating. Pel's face stormed over even more.

"Your gun, now!" he demanded once more, hand outstretched. After a few seconds the plasma rifle changed hands, and Pel's hand seemed to sink into it as if his arm weren't complete without a way to kill someone. He looked over at her, brought up the weapon.

A volley emptied into the interrogator, painting the wall. Pel didn't even spare a second glance, throwing the rifle to the ground with disgust. A small group of kig-yar scuttled in, removing the body between them. One's tongue hung ravenously from its mouth as it moved out, canines showing pieces of rotten flesh between them.

Despite herself, she shuddered. Pel waited until they'd left before pulling up a chair and taking a seat next to her, a smile on his face. For all she knew that could be the smile he greeted a wife and clan-children with back home. For all she knew it could be the smile he wore when throwing hundreds out of an airlock.

"I am so terribly sorry for what has been done to you, Lady Grymar'ee," the Ossoona began in a honeyed voice, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder and making a wincing sound as he pulled back the rag covering it, seeing the burn marks underneath. "Had I been here, you would have been treated with more respect."

Reaching over to the small terminal embedded in the wall, he touched a few runes. With a emancipating hiss the restraints binding her slid away. Savara immediately threw herself off the table she'd been bound to and made a run for the door, panting as she limped and then crawled her way to freedom.

"It's quite locked," Pel informed her in the same way an adult might tell a child a radiator is hot. Savara looked back hatefully, noticing the rifle still on the floor but a few metres away. She quickly clawed her way towards it, wrapping her hands around and and shakily rising to her feet. Pel made no attempt to move.

"Heavy, isn't it?" he observed slyly as she struggled to bring the weapon up. It was. "I don't think you'll do it. You're a healer, not a killer. If you pull that trigger, there's no going--"

Savara screamed as her finger pulled back on the rifle's release, letting loose a round of plasma... or so she expected. Pel visibly flinched, but nothing happened. After a moment he was himself again, wearing a lazy smile but shock still playing about his eyes.

  • 12.25.2011 8:45 AM PDT

"It's bio-coded," he explained, seeming a little sad as he did, almost like he was sorry to offer her hope and then take it away. But of course he wasn't really. "Still, I'm surprised. I didn't think you capable of killing someone so coldly. Just like father, I see."

Savara sank to her knees, all the strength that had momentarily gripped her fading away. Tears sprang into her eyes, and for the first time in years she wished her father was with her.

"My father knows I'm on High Charity. He'll come for me--"

"He's already on High Charity," Pel answered lazily. "Far too occupied with duties to concern himself with you, his little embarrassment. I don't think he's even so much as uttered your name since stepping onto the grid--"

"What do you want? You said I know nothing, why am I still here?" she demanded through sobs, looking up at the impassive face of Pel.

"High Councillor Restraint has been assassinated," Pel explained. "Not because of heresy or anything like that he just knew too much."

This more than anything before frightened Savara. Not because Restraint was dead or because he knew something important enough that whoever these people were would kill a High Councillor, but because he was telling her this. People didn't tell the living their darkest secrets.

"What does that have to do with me? I've never even met Restraint!"

"No. But your lover has, and then some."

The temperature of the room dropped a few degrees. For a moment Savara stopped worrying about herself.

"... Sorran?" she whispered. Pel nodded, that pretentious grin still plastered across his face. Anger filled her with adrenaline. "Sorran's dead, you sick bastard!"

"Unless he's died in the past hour, I don't think so," Pel chuckled, rising to his feet. All the pain vanished as bewilderment flew about the room. Suddenly Pel wasn't a torturer or kidnapper or evil; he was hope.

"What do you mean?" she demanded, hearts sinking when she saw him leaving the room. "I've visited his grave, he's dead!"

"You're a smart girl," was all the answer she received. Pel turned around for a second and threw an object at her knees. "Figure it out."

The door closed behind him. Tears returned and so did the pain, nearly sending Savara to unconsciousness. She willed herself to stay awake fearing she'd never open her eyes again if she didn't, and looked at the object Pel had thrown her.

An Arum. Figure it out.

*

They'd spent ten whole minutes in silence, just walking along in the rain with the Huragok dutifully following them like a loyal pup. Ahkrin finally broke the quiet.

"Quite a tale."

An understatement if there had ever been one. As soon as they'd left the manor, Sorran had launched into his story. How he'd cheated death, the secret of the Halos, everything that happened since Ahkrin and Zharn had thought him dead.

"You don't believe me," Sorran stated.

"I believe you're alive," Ahkrin retorted, that thought still strange to him. It had been so long since he'd put grief for Sorran's death behind him, and unlike Zharn he'd fully dealt with it by now. Sorran was dead and he'd accepted that.

Except the only person who'd died was the scholar. From the ashes had risen a warrior, and as Ahkrin looked across he saw how his friend has changed; he no longer walked with a slouch, carried himself with a self-confident air as if believing that he could handle anything that threw itself at him.

As alien a thought it seemed, Ahkrin believed he could too. But although this Sorran was different to the one he'd known, it was still Sorran. Still his voice, his appearance, still that brilliant academic brain that Ahkrin envied.

"Every time I mention the Halo array being a weapon of mass destruction your fists clench as if you want to strangle me, Ahkrin."

"They do not," Ahkrin protested, looking down at his hands. Clenched. "... Oh."

"Once we're safe I'll show you proof. Zharn too."

"... Zharn's a fleetmaster now, Sorran," Ahkrin told him. "A lot of things have changed since--"

"I know," Sorran replied smartly. "I've been keeping tabs on the two of you. Well, as best as I could from High Charity."

"This is too much, Sorran. You being alive, being an honour guard, saying all these... things. Why you?"

"Restraint trusts-- trusted me. The future of the Covenant is quite literally in my hands."

"So you'll be the one to make the tower come toppling down," Ahkrin smiled satirically. "Well, let's say what you think is the truth is the truth. What then? The Covenant will splinter, civil war would be inevitable. We're all warriors, Sorran. We don't have scientists or engineers or scholars--"

Sorran raised a brow at that. Ahkrin threw his hands up in the air.

"You know what I speak of! Offer a Sangheili a blade or a book and almost anyone would choose the blade."

"We'll prepare for that day and deal with it when it comes," Sorran assured Ahkrin in that confident way that unnerved him; Sorran wasn't confident. He was bumbling, naïve and needed Ahkrin or Zharn to hold his hand. That's why they'd befriended him in the first place the poor kid wouldn't have lasted a week on his own. But now...

"To be candid, Sorran, I don't care. Right now we need to get off this station."

"Savara too," Sorran interjected, gravity sweeping over him. Ahkrin stopped.

"She's here?" he asked. "Well, that complicates things. Does she know you're--" still alive. Ahkrin still couldn't bring himself to say it, was afraid that if he did then it was curse the blessing and it'd all be taken away.

"I'm dead to her," Sorran lamented, suddenly bringing a hand up to his face. It was hard to tell in the downpour, but Ahkrin could swear he was crying. He reached out a hand, and let it fall upon Sorran's shoulder. Personally he'd never quite understood why touch assured some people, but he appreciated its effect.

"Sorran... you knew her for less than a month. I know you were all ready to propose marriage to her after that time and she would have accepted, but... it's been a long time. If you show yourself to her now, it wouldn't be fair."

"Fair?" Sorran demanded, anger colouring his voice once more. "Do not speak to me of fair, Ahkrin. What I have seen, what I have heard and done in the past few months; no man should have to bear such burdens. But Restraint chose me, and Hem is dead."

And with that, the reminder of Hem's death came crashing down on him once more. For a moment Ahkrin thought Sorran would sink to the ground in despair. Still thinking in terms of the old Sorran. This new one walked onwards, head downcast but still resolute.

"I know why you grieve so," Ahkrin spoke softly, throwing sympathy and kindness into his voice. "Not just because he's dead, but because he died with his weapon pointed at you. Died when he might have pulled the trigger. You think he died hating you."

"He did," Sorran muttered bitterly, and even through the rain Ahkrin could see the hot tears breaking through the cold-downpour. "He was my mentor, rescued me from execution and treated me like a son. But even after all he did, when it came to a choice between you and he, I picked you."

"Do you regret it?"

Rain fell, a crack of thunder in the sky. They turned another street corner, finding themselves progressively in the seedier sections of the station. A homeless kig-yar stirred in the corner, too weak to even beg. Sorran reached to his side and dropped a few golden coins by the kig-yar's feet.

Ahkrin knew then that his friend hadn't changed so much as he had thought. On the exterior, perhaps. Inside though, he was still that kind, generous soul who personified all the traits Ahkrin wished he could have. What the humans would call being humane. As if they were the only ones who could show compassion.

"I don't regret it," Sorran finally spoke, words heavy. "You're my brothers, and that runs thicker than anything else. I am just thankful I was not the one to pull the trigger in the end... death does not sit well on my conscience."

Glad to hear it, Ahkrin thought with an inward smile, also finding solace in the realisation that he would do the same for his brothers. Perhaps he wasn't so heartless after all. At least, not when he was around Sorran or Zharn.

"Still, we'll never know if you would have pulled the trigger. I don't think you would have; you're not like me, Sorran. That's what I like about you.

"You didn't tell me what you know about the humans, Sorran," Ahkrin suddenly uttered, back on track. "When I asked you about what I'd found in Restraint's systems before, why the Covenant is so eager to see them extinct. You went quiet and changed the subject. Don't try to deceive me, Sorran I'm still the master of that field."

That same paleness took hold of Sorran, confirming Ahkrin's worst suspicions. The war with humanity was a farce, for whatever reason. He knows how many humans I've killed. Hundreds... thousands. He's worried that if he tells me all that's been for wrong reasons, that I'll be disgusted with myself.

He wasn't far from the truth. Despite his curiosity, Ahkrin chose to let the subject lie for now. He clapped his hands dismissively, rubbing away the cold.

"We're nearly there. These people aren't exactly... they're not very nice people, Sorran. But they owe me, and they'll honour that. Just let me do the talking and don't do anything rash."

"Why would I?"

"Because you're a better man than I."

*

  • 12.25.2011 8:46 AM PDT

Well this has all gone just terribly, Pel thought angrily as he paced up and down the room, glancing every few seconds at the inert holographic display on nearby. The hierarchs certainly took their time. Truth was the only one Pel respected; the other two were just his stooges. He'd seen Truth openly strike Regret in the past, and Mercy was just a dithering old man who happened to know more than he should.

Whatever their secret was, Pel didn't know the specifics and he didn't want to know. It involved the great journey, that much he was sure of. But all he needed to be certain of was that the hierarchs held the Covenant together, and were doing a good job wiping out the bastard humans.

Oh, how he'd hated playing the role of human sympathiser to first gain the attention of one of Restraint's guards. That whole thing had been elaborately staged, of course. Except for the honour guard who had come to arrest him, that unfortunate soul wasn't supposed to die. It was of no matter. He'd been in. Learned everything.

Or so he'd thought. How did the true identity of Sorran slip by me? The hierarchs would have his head for this, when they found out. It seemed the gods had decided to play a very cruel trick on them all. The assassin the hierarchs chose to assassinate Restraint, one of Sorran's sworn brothers.

At least they'd been thrown one bone, in the form of that delicate little flower currently going at the Arum he'd thrown her. He could see her on the monitor next to the holographic display. She reminded him of his daughter. That troubled him. He shouldn't have killed the interrogator, he knew it. But when he'd seen how sorely the man had beaten that girl... well, it was nice to know that he still had some honour at least. Or maybe it was just him clinging to the memory of his own little girl.

Not the time. Sorran and Ahkrin were a dangerous pair. The assassin especially; Pel still heard legends about him floating around High Charity, even so long after he'd left that life. Pel was a good warrior unlike most others holding his rank, but he knew that in a fight he'd be out-matched against Ahkrin. Sorran was no push-over either.

But the latter had a weakness; Savara. And Sorran's weakness was Ahkrin's weakness. The bait had been set, all that remained was to wait for them to come into their trap. This could still be recovered. High Charity was still in lock-down, thank the gods. Their fake story about a demon let loose on the city had seemingly fooled whatever fleetmaster the prophets had chosen to blockade High Charity, the rest of the people believing in the quarantine lie.

So gullible were the Covenant. Thousands of years' worth indoctrination did that. Even Pel felt its effects at times, so deeply instilled into Covenant consciousness faith was.

It was in the middle of this thought that the holographic display leapt to life. Pel swung to face it, dusting a bit of dirt from his armour. He was painfully aware of the bruise on his head from where Hem had struck him.

"Ossoona," Truth's treacle-like voice greeted. "Restraint's manor is on fire; I didn't order that, who started it?"

Not me. Pel looked sideways, wondering how best to tell the bad news.

"High Councillor Restraint is dead, noble Prophet," Pel reported, deciding to begin with the good news. Whatever satisfied smile was creeping up Truth's scheming face died with his next words. "But one of his honour guards survived."

"Incompetent fool," Truth insulted casually, like one might comment on the weather. "I trust our assassin is in pursuit?"

Oh, this wasn't going to go down well.

"That's the thing, hierarch," Pel coughed anxiously, his fingers fidgeting behind his back. "The honour guard is more than we thought he was. Sorran. The one you sentenced to death some months back. Restraint evidently faked the death in his cell, and"

"By the rings," Truth gasped, one of the only times Pel had actually seen the hierarch look genuinely shocked. "Descol'ee... he's--"

"One of Sorran's closest friends, yes," Pel winced out. "I was... caught unawares. They escaped. With the data you wanted destroyed. Must have burnt down the manor afterwards."

"You'd better have a plan," Truth grit out, and Pel could see the fire in his eyes.

"We have someone Sorran wants," he hastily explained. "We'll put out word that we have her, and they'll be drawn here. I will see this done, hierarchs. Leave everything to me."

"... I'll have Tartarus search with his Jiralhanae," Truth decided after a few moments.

"No!" Pel shouted, perhaps a bit louder than he should have. Truth's eyebrow raised, that mere gesture striking him with fear. "I mean; this is a delicate operation, noble Prophet. Jiralhanae are all well and good when you need a door breaking down, but subterfuge is hardly their strong point."

"Judging by the mess you've made, I'd say it's hardly yours either," Truth ground out through ice. Pel flinched. "But I will abide by your wishes for now... I feel like there's something else. Sorran, you say? Tell me, does he have any other... brothers?" The San 'Shyuum spoke the word like he found it laughable.

"Just one," Pel answered, puzzled. "The recently appointed Fleetmaster Thierr'ee--"

He stopped as he saw the effect that name had on the hierarch, who suddenly looked out of a window. Through the camera Pel could see the fleet hanging in the sky, brought in by--

"Oh, please no," he begged of the gods, knowing his worst fear to be true. "Truth; the fleetmaster of that blockade. It's not...?"

Truth was already reaching for a terminal on a nearby desk, bony fingers deftly pressing runes.

"This is the High Prophet of Truth. Fleetmaster Thierr'ee is to be relieved of command and thrown in a cell immediately until further notice."

A few seconds of hanging silence. Then, static and white noise.

"Communication to the fleet is blocked," Truth realised. "On Regret's orders, the damned fool! And they have strict orders to shoot any ship down. What cruel fate that two of our most important pieces in this game are playing for the other side."

"So long as they keep jamming communications, we have nothing to worry about," Pel assured, talking to himself more than anyone. "There's no way for Sorran or Ahkrin to contact Thierr'ee. The plan still stands, we wait for them to come to us."

"Yes," Truth muttered absently. "I will endeavour to make contact with Thierr'ee fleet. Keep me updated. If you let them slip through the net, Ossoona, there were be severe consequences. You'll wish you'd died with your daughter at Chi Ceti."

The holographic image of the hierarch shut down maliciously, leaving Pel alone in the dark room. He wiped his eyes, and cleared his head of all turmoil.

The next few hours are key. Now, to deal with that Unggoy of Restraint's I found... perhaps he can be put to good use.

*

  • 12.25.2011 8:48 AM PDT