Part one - Sorran
Sorran
cursed his bad luck. After centuries of peace, a war had to break out
in his lifetime. And this wasn't the kind of war the Covenant was used
to -- a rebellion, or a species to be absolved into their empire. The
humans were smart, ruthless, and mighty warriors. Whilst the may use
old technology, it was effective. Many a Covenant soldier had died at
the hands of a crude human projectile.
The High Council had
realised the threat these humans posed to the Covenant, and so every
battle worthy Sangheili had been drafted into the Covenant. Sorran
missed the days as a scribe in the Great Library of High Charity. A job
usually reserved for the Prophets, it had taken much study on his part
to finally be accepted into the library. And now all this.
Sorran
looked down at the Plasma Rifle he held within a long hand with
disgust. He'd never a fired a weapon in his life, never expressed a
desire to do so. Yet here he was now, garbed in the traditional blue
armour of a Sangheili Elite minor. He looked into a puddle at his feet,
and was surprised by how warrior-like he looked.
Then again,
every Sangheili was like that. Even before the days of the Covenant,
theirs had been a militaristic society. Little had changed. Sorran
looked every part the noble Sangheili he was supposed to be -- a little
over eight foot tall, with narrow eyes and sharp teeth upon his
mandibles. He resented that.
He brought up a hand to admire the
way his energy shield flared ever so slightly as the patter of heavy
rain fall bounced off it. At least that was a bonus of being a
Sangheili in this war, Sorran mused as he looked over at a huddle of
Grunts, desperately trying to gather what little warmth they could from
the small, flickering fire. One Grunt was getting a little too close to
the flames...
"Careful there!" Sorran called over, "Methane is a flammable gas, and your mask is a little too close to that flame Unggoy."
The
five diminutive figures instantly all drew away from the fire, suddenly
eyeing it as if were a deadly predator. A few moments later however,
they shrugged and drew up to the flame again, in just as much of a
precarious position as before. Sorran sighed, and turned away. He
walked over to his superior, a Sangheili Major, who had been observing
the Grunts with amusement.
"You waste your words on them my
brother; Unggoy are notorious for being extremely dim witted." The
Major remarked, crossing his arms smugly.
"Perhaps. Yet they are
under our command, and we should strive to keep them safe, no matter
how futile the endeavour may be." Sorran replied, disliking the way the
crimson coloured Sangheili talked about them as if they were dogs.
The major cocked his head to one side, and looked at Sorran in an evaluating manner.
"I
don't think I've seen you around these parts before brother. Are you
new?" The major asked, as if he personally knew every Sangheili which
roamed the outpost. Which, Sorran thought, he probably did.
"Yes,
I'm new. Until a few weeks ago, I was a scribe in the Great Library of
High Charity. Suddenly, I'm drafted and sent out here. My name's
Sorran." He said, holding out a hand. The major looked uncertain for a
moment, then grabbed Sorran's hand in a firm grip and shook it, once.
"Zharn."
The major said simply. Sorran assumed it was the major's name. "So, the
Great Library. You must not have seen much combat action there." It was
a statement, no a question.
Sorran nodded in agreement.
"That's right. I've never fired a weapon in my life. Never planned to."
Zharn smiled.
"Well
then, we shall have to remedy that. We can't have the Unngoy
outstripping you in combat. But for now, we shall eat, and we shall
talk. Now tell me, is High Charity truly as wondrous as they claim it
is? I have always wished to visit."
"Ah, it is a truly wondrous
sight Zharn. I am not usually a very religious person; I believe in the
Great Journey, don't get me wrong. To suggest otherwise would be
blasphemy. But I prefer the solid facts my scrolls give me. Yet when I
behold the Forerunner Dreadnought in the morning as I walk though the
holy city, it makes me want to get down on my knees and pray." Sorran
replied eagerly, glad that they both had a point of interest.
"I
was once going to embark upon a pilgrimage to High Charity once." Zharn
remarked, staring into the Unngoy's fire in the distance. The rain
echoed, distorting his words. "But my father fell ill, and so I had to
tend to him back on Sangheilios. He died, soon after. The Covenant
didn't give me much time to grieve though. I was called back into duty
a day afterwards."
Sorran hesitated a moment, then placed a consoling hand upon Zharn's shoulder.
"I'm
sorry for you loss." The Sangheili Minor said. "I too know what's it's
like to lose a family member to an illness. My dear sister, Forerunners
preserve her soul, died but a year back."
Zharn grunted, and shook off his hand.
"Let
us dispel these melancholy thoughts brother. Come, we should eat. I
hear the Kig-yar have been cooking up a stew. I'd better be there to
make sure an offensive Unggoy doesn't become part of it. "
Sorran
laughed at what he thought to be a joke, and followed after the Major.
Zharn didn't laugh. Perhaps he wasn't joking after all.
"This one has forgotten whether it's heatsink is over capacity. It wonders whether the criminal scum considers itself fortunate" ~ Blasto, the only Hanar Spectre.