-Editing in Ch. 1-5 into one big post here for the convienence of new readers-
Chapter 1 - Brutish Tendancies
Arterus ducked low, a grenade flying over his head and into another brute behind him. It stuck into his flesh with a clink against the armor, the fellow clansman screaming in fury and jumping over the lines with a feriouscious growl that was so known. The grenade suddenly exploded when he was over the line no more than a second, his armor dislocating and shooting everywhere as small pieces of shrapnel. The brutes flesh was close behind, flinging everwhere as bullets and spikes flung everywhere on the battlefield.
A shrill sound rung throughout the air as shells dripped down from the sky, crashing into the mud and sending foliage everywhere--and sometimes Jiralhanae flesh with it. Arterus looked over the trench that he lay in--the one he thought in every battle to be his final resting place--no mans land curling out in front of him inbetween him and the opposing brute encampment. The firing seemed to temporarily cease, Arterus and his fellow clansman took no time to wait.
They jumped out of their trenches, Arterus grabbing his spiker and crawling out. They charged forward throughout the blaze of re-erupting fire from their bretheren. In a matter of seconds they were in the opposing encampment--staring death in the eyes. Arterus lept in, firing madly as he did so; a spike penetrating another brute through the neck and another through the groin; him only to be shot in the hearth seconds later. Arterus was then quickly gripped from behind by another, he quickly gripped the head behind him and flung it forward into the wall of the trench wall. Taking up his spiker, he released the entire clip in angst at this one.
The firing ceased shortly afterwards, all the brutes surviving--the Glangorn Clan--raised their weapons and fists high as they scrame out. The leader of the pack, Barthius, began to shoot in the air and growl. He stood up on the top of the trench, taking up a young brute from the opposing clan with him. Raising this young lad in the air, Barthius quite literally, tore his head off and threw the body down. No sooner, the head was on a pike.
The Glangorns took no time to begin looting their enemies. This was a custom after defeating another tribe, take their weapons and food rations--you would need them the next time a fellow clan attacked you more than anything. This was the daily life for a Brute on Doriac, live or die. Some of the older brutes can recall a time of enlightenment, of higher intelligence over this mindless civil warfare and brutal killing--but the younger--the majority--can not. Nor would they care. They only care about blood and honor, killing their fellow Jiralhanae out of some childish rage.
Arterus stood up and walked out, cracking his neck as a chuckle escaped his lips. Helping a fellow clansman and quite possibly his best friend, Martkus, out of the bloody pit. They both slapped the opposing shoulder and continued to laugh, a wry grin covering their faces as they celebrated their victory. Victory used very loosely. "Good fight, brother" Arterus bloated out, smiling approvingly of his friends performance--it was his first battle. "I will further continue spilling the blood of those whom expatriate themselves from our customs! Gods help us!" A few other brutes raised their hands and roared in agreement.
The sound of a horn rung out throughout the plane, all the brutes gathering and running off. It was time for dinner, as they jumped into the trenches again. Not to kill their fellow Jiralhane. But to feast upon them.
<<Pardon for the shortness of this. I have a bad knack for starting a story--once it gets started I tend to write much more descriptive and long segments. Chapter 2 will be coming later>>
Chapter 2 - The Clan
This was the life on Doriac. You live and die by your clan--mere names decided your fate. The weak would perish--they were too soft to fight for their life, and therefore, they did not deserve it. Millions of Jiralhanae have died in these civil wars--and the intelligence of a race has also diminished into brutish tendancies and cannabilistic, instinctive monstrosities. There was no remorse in this world. It was, quite literally, living in a world without reason. It was a world of animals. A world of failure.
Arterus walked through the camp, blood stained his clothes as he made his way to his tent. To his left, a brute walking up to another female brute, tossing a head at her. She caught it as tears began to seep from her eyes, leaning over and holding the decapitated head in her head--it was her son. This was normal, and it was no sight for Arterus; however for Martkus it was. His only reaction was a personal frown however, any sign of weakness meant instant death--a sign of treason essentially to show remorse.
They entered Arterus' hut, curled up thick leather from the beasts of the land--held up by a hardened wood frame. Tee-pee like. A fire was already crackling from the wood in the middle. The flames cackling with glee as remains of the enemies' flesh was tossed on it, roasting upon the flames--it quickly being engulfed. It was not to be eaten--it was a sacrifice. Both of them got onto their knees and began to pray to their gods, the flesh withering away into black rubble.
About half an hour later, when the flesh was completely withered away they stood. Nodding to each other, both of them walked out of the tent to the outside--everyone else was finishing their personal ceremonies as well. Most of their armor already off and weapons put away--along with Arterus and Martkus. This was not strange, unlike to those of other worlds, to walk in nude in these plains. They -were- covered in fur which, afterall, covered any obscenities.
They gathered in the middle, Barthius walking up onto a platform and raising his hands. The entire congregation of Jiralhanae erupted into a roaring warcry. "Today our lives are defined more by death, and we prove our dominance in these lands--no one dares oppose us. We will move out within in the week--and we will conquer this entire side of the Continent!" The entire congregation roared again in approval, Barthius motioning his hands down for them to calm.
As soon as it was quiet, Barthius spoke again. "However, we must purge ourselves of the weak--a treason. One who refuses to fight, one who speaks heathen words of supposed peace--for my friends, we make peace through war! Not lying down our weapons and honor like he proposes. Do you want to refute your honor? Do you want THEM to win?" A roaring "No" escaped from the crowd, Barthius motioning for some guards to bring the prisoner up.
Four brutes moved up, what looked like halbeards in their hands--a pure ceremonial weapon--all holding the bloodied brute in their hands. They threw him down at the feet of Barthius, a sly grin on the Chieftan's face. Gripping the Brutes head, he lifted him up onto his knees and faced him to the crowd. The brute rose his hand to the crowd, soft words of pleading came from his mouth. They only laughed, they laughed at his misery--his death. To them it was but a mere game almost.
Barthius took a spiker's bladed edge and ran it down the brutes' back harshly--gashing him open. Reaching inside, he tore out one of the mans ribs and quite literally stabbed him to death with it. He reached down after the brutal martyr of his pacifist, an idea unknown to the Jiralhanae, now and forever, and threw him into the crowd. The congregation beginning to feast upon him like savages. Him all but bone within the hour--however most walked away back to their tents happily.
As they were about to sleep, the ground shook. Everyone rushed outside, looking up--a rupture in the sky. A blue sphere filled the sky, as ships exited and into the atmosphere of this planet. Their faces confused, not sure what to do or what this was--however they instantly bowed down--a sign from the gods they thought--maybe even their very arrival. Dozens of ships litter the sky, Spirits and Phantoms diving from the sky and flying down to the surface.
The Covenant has arrived.
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Chapter 3 - The Covenant
The phantoms swarmed over the sky--seeming to block out the very suns that lit their world. Landing in all places and in all direction, not a single brutes' eyes were averted from this spectacle. Slowly starting to gather in one spot, all this species--bloodied and battered--seemed to forget their wars. They forgot their quite useless hate, this new race--these supposed gods to some--were coming. A phantom floated over the Glangorns' encampment; Sangheili descending from its mystical blue aura.
These new creatures--ones unknown to the Jiralhanae--along with other smaller and stranger ones descended from the sky. Almost at once, without a word, an unspoken alliance ever Jiralhanae on this planet--on Doisac--seemed to unite. One of the elites raised its weapon and fired off at the brutes in the clan, them quickly reacting with their own devastating weaponry--metal and plasma shearing over the plain.
It was soon all out war, however it would not last long. Arterus ran forward at an elite in the melee, easily out-powering it and literally using it to beat another elite to death. Grunts running up and blowing themselves up in the fray, brute flesh flying in all directions. Barthius pushed brutes aside and ran up in full armor, literally punching his way viciously through the horde of elites--killing everything in his path.
The Sangheili were not used to the extreme gravity of this planet--the initial force of the Brutes completely overpowering them and ultimately defeating them. However, this was no match. Machines fell from the sky, weird machines with blue aura surrounding them--seeming to deflect whatever the Brutes threw at them. They, the Jiralhanae, came together and fought this new threat. War machines rampaging through the forests and plains--made of crudely configured metal shooting in any other direction--ramming through anything in its path.
Eventually, this defense became all but futile--the overpowering technology of the Covenant and their sheer numbers crushing the Jiralhanae resistance in a matter of days. Many were taken as prisoner--in fact all of them were--only temporarily though. As they were almost completely consumed up into these weird purple machines and into the cruisers in the sky--thinking their death was imminent--if only they knew.
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Arterus was fighting through the fray of elites, all he could and will forever remember was at one point tearing someone apart--literally--and then seeing black. Waking up--in some unknown time later in a strange room--only it wasn't a room--it was a ship. He sat up, looking around curiously as many of these strange beasts held their weapons at him from a distance--obviously scared to get into a melee brawl with this beast--loud growls escaping Arterus' mouth.
"Where am I?!" his voice roared out, seeming to shake the very metal that held the phantom together as it flew up. Other Brutes surround him, looking up at him--quite surprised at Arterus' audacity. He stood up, yelling louder, "Who the *** are you?! What do you want from us! Tell me damnit!" The elites did not respond, looking at him curiously and shrugging, keeping their guns poised. Arterus sat back down and became silent, growling in discontent--the same growl escaping his brethren. The same 'brethren' whom he would have killed only a day before.
They arrived on the ship, elites waiting along with hunters and jackals patrolling the rafters. They held their beam rifles poised--these new weapons not known to the Jiralhanae--at least THESE ones. This type of technology was known to their ancestors--but they were long but dust into the ground at this point. The brutes--walking out by the thousands onto many ships swarmed into the bays, the cruisers turning and flying off. Only a few remain on Doisac--little to none.
The old way of life is gone. The new is coming--and to them--it's their executions. To the Covenant--it's assimilation.
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Chapter 4 - Assimilation
The massive ships flew throughout space, dozens of these massive edifices of metal and elegance unknown to the Jiralhanae. The curious eyes looked out from the plasma shield that encased them inside, looking around the insides of these cell-rooms with wandering eyes. Some went crazy and erupted into their brutish rage, ramming headfirst into the plasma shields repeatedly. A few causing contusions, leading to their inevitable coma and death.
Arterus was sitting idly in the corner of his cell, Martkus next to him. They were both praying to themselves, a strange taste in their mouth--one of idleness and tameness. That's exactly what they were. Tamed. At least at this point they were; many elites standing guard outside--more than one would expect. They seemed almost scared of Arterus and his other beasts of men, a few screaming out furiously still in his cell. It got to the point where one of the Elites guarding the door shut down the plasma shield--bad mistake.
The brute--Cestrius--that was flipping out ran out and gored the elite. Ramming full speed into the Sangheli, head crashing against his stomach and sending him back a few meters right off the edge of the twisting path. The elite soon meeting his impending death, however, that was far from the end of it. All the brutes in the cell rose up and watched silently--it was an odd spectacle--why were they not helping their brethren? This was not right, at least to Arterus.
Cestrius gripped the second elite guarding the door and flung him to the ground, before a shot could even be fired off from his plasma rifle, a few other Jackals on the rafters firing down at him. He took it, stumbling back into a wall and continuing to charge. He ran like a mad football player through a crowd of elites and jackals trying to stop this beast. Cestrius managing to ram through--and knock off the edge--almost five more elites in no particular order.
His uprising was stopped just as quickly as it started however. A jackal from afar fired off its beam rifle, striking Cestrius through the heart and making him fall to his knees. Another elite walked up and gripped him by the throat, lifting him slightly in his grip and throwing him back down--sending an entire burst of plasma rifle energy into his face. The shield holding Arterus closing up again--they knew their place.
Soon they, the ships, entered the atmosphere of another planet. One unknown to them, one much too small to even be a planet--almost moon like but made of steel. As the ships orbited this small moon-like sphere of metal, all the brutes were hastily transported into Spirits and Phantoms alike. Mostly with no resistance at this point--what was the point? Arterus was picked up from his cell, along with the five others remaining and guided up the pathway.
They reached the top, floating into these mystical purple flying machines--the aura itself lifting him. This was his first conscious experience of this, and it was almost magical to him. He stood in a corner of the Phantom, watching the other brutes converse amongst themselves--the Elites laughing among each other at their own jokes--most likely at the brutes in some fashion.
As they were lifted off of the Phantoms, almost all the brutes were gathered into a giant congregation in the hundreds of thousands. All on a giant, open plain--many phantoms and banshees patrolling the sky to quell any uprising. Arterus looked about, he was alone at this point--Martkus and anyone else he knew was gone in the mist of the crowd--he was among his people; just as far as he knew, they were not his people--at least on Doisac. This was new.
As the last of the brutes were lifted onto the ground, a voice rung out through the sky. All throughout the congregation altar's arose throughout in the hundreds--maybe even thousands as large holograms of three prophets lit up in full figure. All three rose their hands and proclaimed to the Jiralhane, "Welcome, brethren." Brethren? This word confused every single brute in the fields---many words escaping lips of curiosity--sometimes even rage.
One of the Prophets continued, "We apologize for your rather rough expulsion from your planet--but we have been watching you. You are a STRONG race" his fist clenched at the word strong, his eyes closing as his head tilted down. A soft sigh escaped from the prophets mouth, his face arising again--almost looking at these beasts if it were not for the hologram. "We need you, and your kind to become stronger than -ever- before. The Forerunners have commanded it---the creators of all---demand it."
This caused less of an uproar than one would have thought--this mention of the Forerunners. The brutes yelled out, almost comically in unison, "Who are the Forerunners?" The prophet obviously heard their demanding question, all of them as laughter escaped from them--almost like teenagers snickering at an inside joke. After regaining composure briefly afterwards, they spoke again, "The creators of the rings of course. The creators of most, your forefathers. They are the way to the Great Journey, they are the true path."
The brutes took this willingly--including Arterus--whom was watching them at this strange machine. How were they speaking--but not there? How could they make figures of themselves in such intricate lights? These thoughts flew through every single Jiralhanae's mind--they wanted to know, badly. The Prophets smiled again, "Do you accept my offer, my dear Jiralhanae?" he said in an unctuous manner--his attempts at cajoling an entire race was obviously working.
The entire congregation of brutes--every single voice--erupted into one word.
"Yes."
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Chapter 5 - All teched up
*Six Months Later*
Arterus stood confidently in his new bunk-room. He was poised upright, one chosen to be a brute chieftan in his race. He was to lead dozens of his brethren into battle, into glory, and into their inevitable death. However, the latter was unknown to him--and to others. Stepping outside of the bunks, he gave a small glance about--the usual motions were occuring. Jackals patrolling the rafters with their beam rifles ready, giving a friendly--almost curt nod to Arterus as he exited his quarters.
Walking off up the pathway, he passed many other brutes--of all ranks and armor--all giving him the same nod of respect. This was a new feeling for Arterus--he liked it. It was a soothing thought in his mind, the Jiralhanae all together in one unified, glorious, wrecking ball. Arriving the top of the pathway, a large circular platform was atop this giant edifice of a spiraled pathway of dorms. A grav-lift, as he has learned to call it along with others, awaits--giving a blue glow.
Two elites nodded to him, standing at attention and pounding their chest once, bowing their head in the process. Arterus merely winced and nodded back--he was not accustomed to such respect--only a year ago he was but a lowly, trench fighter on Doisac--and part of him misses that. Another part, can never go back to that life. He liked it like this.
The grav lift launched him into the air, going quickly in the air and past many floors of unexplored turf on the cruiser. He finally stopped at the top, being suspended temporarily in midair and gently planted a few meters forward onto his feet at the edge of the platform. Stepping down, he slid on his helmet and approached other Jiralhanae of his same rank--the other Chieftans. This consisted of Martkus as well, who stood up and gave Arterus a brief pat on the shoulder before motioning him to sit.
They both did sit, about fourty chieftans overall were sitting there. Along with a Prophet, the Prophet of Regret, whom spoke solemnly to an elite, "Show them." The elite in gray armor nodded and walked over, he took out a handle and pressed--soemthing--and what looked like pure energy from the gods exited from this, in the fashion of a blade. The chieftans, every one of them were taken back--almost in shock of this new equipment. "You will be introduced into your glory days again--you will gain the technology and intelligence only surpassed by the very Forerunners themselves."
The brutes looked amongst themselves and talked, Arterus speaking to Martkus. "These new weapons they show us...they are fancy but hardly reliable. They are...flimsy...break too easy no?" Martkus nodded in response--almost every brute in the room uttering similar grievances of these "advanced" weapons. It was not long until the Brutes began to configure their own weapons after these demonstrations, the Covenant's previous weapons were not for them---they were meant for a sophisticated warfare. The brutes were no sophisticated. They were brutal killing machines.
Such advanced weapons were created in short time as well, along with advanced versions of Covenant weaponry by these great, intelligent--and more importantly heinous minds. Weapons that could manipulate the very forces that hold every being down onto his feet, and slam with incredible speeds. Plasma bolts are twice the speed of a normal elite plasma rifle, and viscious spikes that would tear through the very flesh in cold metal.
Some weapons these brutes accepted, shoulder mounted launchers that shot pure plasma exploding shells at enemies. The brutes liked this--very much--lots of carnage, no? The chieftans were specifically given a hammer, a large one--the hammer that could manipulate gravity itself as spoken before.
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Arterus took his hammer from the rack and slung it over his armored shoulder, walking off. He stomped down the hall in full armor, a shield lightly eminating around him and covering his body--light silver. However hardly noticed, the hulking beast of flesh and metal-clad armor trudging slowly towards you was much more distracting than his energy shield. These were new weapons, new ways to kill--much more deadly ones, ones that any enemy had to fear.
Arterus and Martkus gave one last pat on the shoulder before walking off from each other in the hall. Arterus walked out to the bay, many phantoms taking up and flying off. He trudged forward, many Brute-Minors and other foot soldiers followed him into the awaiting Spirit that was to transport them. Banshees patrolled the skies, and voices rung through the intercoms of the cruiser--of all cruisers.
"These heathens shall face righteous fire!"
It was time for war.
Aloysius:
-Less than half a of percent of players have the General rank on Xbox Live.
How is the General rank fair again?
Halo Fanboys. The next most annoying thing next to Jonas Brothers fanboys.