[quote][b]Posted by:[/b] risay_117 Just asking can you make a new pdf file for memmoirs of an odst Thanks[/quote]That's the only one not made by me :) Anyway, wolvers, this came at the worst possible time. I have an assignment to finish in one and a half hours and I've lost all my concentration again.

It was as he was pondering this enigma that he heard movement behind him. His sword ignited before it even left his belt, spinning around to meet the source of the disturbance. "I didn't expect to see you here." It was Hem, holding a person obscured in shadow. Before Sorran could get a good look at the detainee, Hem threw him into the corner of the room roughly. "Face the wall; look back, and all you'll see if my knife entering your throat," Hem barked at his captive. Looking at whoever Hem had taken prisoner, Sorran could see he was Sangheili; dressed in midnight, with knives, guns and a whole array of other weaponry adorning his person. His hood had been drawn up. "That's our assassin?" Sorran demanded, looking with anger at the back of the Sangheili. Hem nodded, his eyes staring morosely at the body of Restraint. Sorran could see the tears welling in his eyes. "Yes," Hem shook with anger, slowly moving forward and touching a hand against the High Councillor's still face. Sorran saw the other guard's hand move to a knife on his belt, and wondered if Hem would kill the assassin there and then. He was tempted to do the same thing himself. "Who is he?" Sorran asked softly, wondering the affiliation of the assassin; he didn't look like anyone from the relic, with his clothing and unorthodox tools. Hem seemed to tense for a moment. "... no-one," Hem murmured. Sorran could hear the assassin trying to speak, but all that came out were grunts and muffled cries; evidently the Sangheili had been gagged. "He will soon meet his maker, and be judged." "Don't take too long," Sorran cautioned. "It won't be long before the constabulary investigates the disturbances up here." "After I've dealt with this scum," Hem spoke venomously. "There's another issue upstairs. Our old friend Pel is an Ossoona. He's the one who lowered the manor's barrier." Another dagger driven into Sorran's hearts. He felt his knees go weak. [i]Pel? An Ossoona?[/i] "Then it is my fault," Sorran resigned, drained. "I was the one who brought Pel into this house." "He fooled us all," Hem argued. "Don't blame yourself; we will exact our revenge upon him soon. Wait outside, I will not take long dealing with this assassin." For a moment, Sorran hesitated. He couldn't quite place it, but something felt wrong. It was the way Hem was acting, he was sure of it. Guilty, almost as if he was lying about something. Whatever it was, it could wait. He nodded, and turned to leave the room, slipping the crystal into his pocket. Suddenly, he heard a bout of coughing from the corner of the room; seemingly the assassin had managed to somehow remove his gag. Sorran braced himself for pleas of mercy, curses upon their heads, fanatic cries before death. Instead, he heard something he'd thought he would never hear again. "Sorran! Sorran... could that really be you?" "Silence!" Hem shrieked maniacally, drawing out his knife. Sorran turned around, hearts in his mouth. He was in shock at what he'd just heard. Could the assassin really be--? "Stop!" Sorran shouted at his mentor as the honour guard moved into for the kill, approaching the assassin with blind, seething rage. He instinctively reacted as Hem's arm came bearing down upon the assassin, lunging for the killing arm. The knife stopped mere inches from the assassin's neck. Hem was still struggling to make it reach its target even now, and Sorran found himself having to force the honour guard's hand away. Eventually, the strength of youth prevailed, and in his rage Hem was unable to react as Sorran pushed him away, sending him flying onto the floor. Quickly, Sorran grabbed the assassin's shoulder and spun him around, throwing back his hood. Even though he'd suspected who the owner of the voice was, actually seeing the true identity of Restraint's assassin shocked him to the core. If anything, the assassin seemed even more surprised, as if he was staring at a ghost back from the dead. Which, in a respect, he was. "... Sorran?" Ahkrin croaked out, as if he didn't believe what he was seeing. "How can you be alive?" "Ahkrin," Sorran replied, feeling conflicted emotions rage within him like the storm that was violently surging outside. "You killed-- why did you?" "I thought you were dead," Ahkrin repeated lamely, apparently not hearing Sorran, still staring at him with a ghostly complexion and eyes as wide as the moon. "We all thought--" "It pains me to interrupt your reunion," Hem's voice spat to the left of them. Both Sangheili put aside their apoplexy to face the honour guard. "But that bastard killed Restraint." He held a plasma rifle in his hand, aimed at Ahkrin. [i]Hem knew who the assassin was, and would have killed him anyway! Even now, he still intends to.[/i] "Hem... it's Ahkrin," Sorran protested, realising that no matter what his friend had done or... why and [i]how[/i] he had gotten himself involved in all this, he was still his brother. "Put down the weapon." "Not a chance," Hem snapped back, rising to his feet. His index finger brushed impatiently on the trigger. "Move out of the way, Sorran." Not even realising what he was doing, Sorran found himself reaching for his own weapon. He drew out a plasma pistol from his belt, and before he knew it saw he'd aimed the barrel at Hem. This seemed to bring Hem partially back into reality, as the elder honour guard stared incredulously at Sorran. He could hear Ahkrin struggling to the right of him, as if trying to escape bonds. "If you move to pull that trigger, then gods help me Hem, I will shoot you where you stand," Sorran threatened, again shocked when he realised he would actually carry out that threat. Hem seemed just as surprised. "Sorran... I'm your mentor! Move aside!" Hem roared at him angrily. "Move, Sorran," Ahkrin told him softly. "I know not what exactly it is I have done, but I won't let you die for me. Not so soon after you have risen from the grave." Sorran ignored the voice, still staring down the one who had taught him to fight like a true Sangheili, some portion of his mind aghast at the surrealism of what was happening. "You may have honed my skills as Sangheili, Hem," Sorran spoke slowly, doing his best to talk the older guard down. "But along with Zharn, Ahkrin taught me what it means to [i]be[/i] Sangheili. We are brothers, no matter what he has done or why. If you kill him, then I will be forced to kill you too. Think of Kym, and Gilyi. Put the weapon down." ... ... Although there were only seconds between Sorran's speech and Hem's response, they seemed like hours; another crack of thunder sounded from outside, throwing a shade of the terrible scene onto the furthest wall. Finally, Hem spoke, his eyes narrowing. "You'll have to shoot me then, Sorran. For I too had a brother, and he lies dead at the hands of yours. I am sorry." Death swung his scythe, and the funeral bells rang. [Edited on 10.14.2011 1:53 PM PDT]

* As he had always done, Jajab ran. His legs did not carry him as easily as they once had. Not three miles from Restraint's manor did he begin to feel exhaustion sink in, his small stubby legs as jelly. He could see Phantoms and their ilk patrolling High Charity's artificial skies above, enforcing the lock-down. A lock-down no doubt imposed to assist with the capture and murder of Restraint and his accomplices. Including him. [i]Oh, Restraint,[/i] Jajab wailed sadly, once again looking at the chilling message he'd been calmly sent by the High Councillor a few hours before. 'Assassin in the manor; guards neutralised. It is too late for me. Run.' Jajab hadn't needed to be told twice. He'd leapt out of the kitchen window, leaving behind the life he'd so comfortably lived. He hadn't even had time to save the damn Huragok. With luck the poor thing would be kept out of this. This was all that blasted Sorran's fault. He'd been to one who'd galvanised Restraint; made him start defying the Prophets, urged them to bring about the High Councillor's demise quicker than they once had. ... no, that wasn't true. The Prophets had always wanted Restraint dead, and had always tried. It would seem they'd finally succeeded, barring some eleventh hour intervention from the Forerunners. How they'd lowered the barriers around the manor escaped Jajab. Such a feat could only be done from inside. Perhaps one of the guards had turned traitor-- The answer was obvious. [i]Pel.[/i] It had to be; Jajab hadn't trusted him from the moment he'd first laid eyes upon him. His doubts seemed to have held true. It wouldn't be long before the assassin discovered he wasn't in the manor. Then they'd come after him in full force. What could he, a lone Unggoy well past his prime do? A thought struck him. [i]Convalescence.[/i] The High Councillor had spoken with his former-physician the other day, at considerable length. When Jajab had asked about him, he'd been told very firmly by Restraint that Convalescence was one all their lives could be trusted with. It seemed that trust would soon be tested. Jajab knew where the minister was staying; he'd overheard the High Councillor telling an honour guard to accompany the elderly physician back there. If Convalescence was the man Restraint claimed him to be, then surely he would take in Jajab. Shelter him until Hem and Sorran returned from Sanghelios, and then they could work out a plan... [i]if[/i] they returned from Sanghelios. No, of course they would. Hem always returned, and always knew what to do. * "High Councillor!" Sorran breathed with relief as he saw a small figure huddled in blankets at the end of the room. On a table flickered three candles, throwing the room into an ephemeral glow. From speakers behind the chair Restraint was sat in, gentle music softly played. Restraint did not answer his call. Sorran tentatively walked closer, and with a grief-stricken cry discovered why. Lacing its way across the San 'Shyuum's wiry neck was a thin red line, almost like cotton thread. Flesh turned away from it, leaving a neat gash which had spilt blood onto the blankets and floor. It was dry, but caught the light of the candles. Sorran could dimly see a blurry reflection of himself in the gleaming crimson liquid. "Oh, Restraint," Sorran moaned softly, knowing even before he took the cold, stiff hand of the High Councillor that the man was dead. Eyes once so full of intelligence and character stared deadly at a potted planet by the wall. Sorran affectionately reached up to them, his fingers brushing the eyelids down over those empty holes. As his hand reached inside the blankets to move them away, he found they were still sodden with the wet of blood. His hand recoiled instantly, stained with the blood of a dear friend and mentor. The sight of Restraint's life dripping down his hand finally broke Sorran down, and he found himself crashing to his knees and taking the High Councillor's hand. "I'm sorry," he told the dead San 'Shyuum, tears dropping to the ground. "I was supposed to be your protector. I should have been--" His apology was cut off as something slipped out of Restraint's frail hand, dropping onto the floor. It fell through candlelight, before crashing down onto the carpet and sitting immobile. Sorran slowly reached down and picked the small object up; it was a tiny crystal, no larger than his eye, and inside shone a complex matrix of circuitry and flowing data. Almost as soon as he picked it up, it reacted to his touch. A sharp jab pricked his hand ever so slightly, drawing the tiniest prick of blood; the crystal seemed to absorb a drop. "Bio-print confirmed," the crystal suddenly spoke, almost prompting Sorran to drop it. Finally, he realised what he was holding; a bio-crystal. They had the capacity to hold data, and could be keyed not to reveal said data unless they came into contact with a very specific biological signature. "Sorran," it continued, and this type Sorran recognised the familiar tones of Restraint; strained by his illness, but undoubtedly him. "My time draws to an end. If you're listening to this, then you probably found the bio-crystal on my person. I'm glad it's you and not Hem. No doubt revenge against the Covenant is on his mind right now; his judgement is clouded. Whatever happens, you can't allow Hem to reveal what we know to the Covenant; we're not ready. He knows it, but won't accept it." Suddenly a torrent of images flooded Sorran's mind, and he realised the crystal was feeding him information; hypothetical situations which could arise from the truth being prematurely revealed to the Covenant. All included war of some sort, and mass death. The very collapse of the Covenant itself. "It's likely that whoever will kill me has also been tasked with destroying any evidence I've collected over the years. Fortunately, I had the foresight to digitise it all; everything I know is stored within that crystal you hold, Sorran. Not just truth on the Great Journey, but more; things I have not told even Hem. It's uniquely keyed to your biometric pattern, no other can access it." [i]Why me?[/i] Sorran wondered, looking inquisitively at the body of Restraint. Staring closely at his face, he could swear a smile small graced the body's lips, as if he'd died smirking. "You're probably wondering why you, and not Hem. Indeed, if Hem had picked up this crystal I would have requested he pass it on to you. It all ties in to the reason I rescued you from execution and made you one of my guard, Sorran. Yes, you're loyal, brave, intelligent, open-minded but most crucially, you're a scholar. You can piece the pieces inside that crystal together, and you'll create a bank of information that will one day be vital in saving everything we know. It's a heavy burden, I know. But there is no other the task can fall to... I can hear the assassin approaching, Sorran. It is time for me to draw my final breath. It is not defeat I face, but victory over my own failing body. I will die proudly, and free of pain. I'm proud of you, my son. Now run, away from High Charity. Then wait for the moment to reveal all. You will know it when it comes. Farewell." The blue light within the crystal faded, and it reverted back to its original translucent appearance. Sorran held it up speculatively to the candle light, admiring the complex technological wizardry contained within. He wondered how exactly he'd interface with such a seemingly lifeless thing. [i]I'll do you proud, High Councillor,[/i] Sorran vowed, standing up. He turned then to face Restraint, and this time fully drew back his blankets, wondering what to do with the body. To bring it with them would be impractical... but he couldn't just leave him here, huddled in a chair and lying in his own dried blood.

* Sorran crept through the stillness of Restraint's manor; the once welcoming aura of a home had become one of menace. The lights were out, leaving only the faint beams of a Sanghelios moon which shone onto High Charity to illuminate the way, helped by occasional flashes of thunder. [i]"I will find whoever has done this,"[/i] he remembered the words of Hem, b-blam!- with anger and blind hatred as he'd stood over the unconscious body of an honour guard; the man's spine seemed to be crumpled, as if it had been dealt a harsh, crippling blow. [i]"You search for Restraint, Jajab and the Huragok. Signal me if you encounter the assassins; don't engage them alone."[/i] The manor was a large one, with multiple stories and countless rooms, and now faced with the prospect of an assassin or dead body behind every door, it seemed impossibly vast. Sorran crept between rooms as quietly as possible, active camouflage systems engaged. The plasma rifle in his hand offered him some assurance, its iconic shape shrouded by a masking shimmer. As Sorran approached the library, he smelt a familiar stench. One he had been subjected to not a day ago on Sanghelios. Smoke. Closing his visor to prevent any particles from reaching his lungs, he threw open the door and immediately recoiled from the intense heat. Restraint's library was ablaze. Ancient bookcases which had survived centuries upon centuries had flames eating at them and the physical books and scrolls they housed. The scholar within Sorran despaired as he saw all the history burn. One of the last surviving scrolls from a famous philosopher turned to ash before his eyes; the words of the dead joined their creators. Putting up his shields, Sorran braced himself and began to wade through the fire. It snaked up his boots, held at bay by the flickering light encompassing him. Even so, the heat seared his eyes; tears streamed out of them, only to be dried instantly by the inferno. He made his way towards the small, hidden bookcase in the back of the room. The one which contained files, deciphered Forerunner texts, recounting of events and other evidence which, when piled together, alluded to the true nature of Halo. Said bookcase was the source of the fire. His hearts sank as he saw the cherry red glow from inside the storage unit, realising the truth was simply ash flying about him now. Thankfully, it was all backed up on the digital network. He prayed it too hadn't been destroyed. Before moving to leave the library before it collapsed down upon him, noticing his shielding was being devoured at a quickening rate, he noticed something out of the corner of his eye. His own, personal bookcase; dwarfed by the other towering behemoths, but full of books and other texts he had intended to read at some point -- he had found little time to do so. 'Paradise Lost.' The human epic was sat on a shelve above the various Covenant texts below, and the tower of fire climbing his bookcase had yet to reach it. Human texts were considered contraband throughout the Covenant, but that had never stopped Sorran reading them anyway. For a race of supposed barbarians, some of what they wrote was far more beautiful than anything even the greatest Covenant writer could achieve. He'd looted what seemed to be the fourth book from a human library on Eridanus II before everything had happened, drawn by the beauty of its cover. According to Restraint, it was one of the greatest pieces of human literature ever written, but he'd never found time to even start it. Without even knowing why he did it, Sorran reached out and slipped the book into the bag on his back. At least he'd save something from the library. With a forlorn look back, he pressed the fire-ventilation system on the wall and exited the room. Air was quickly sucked from the library, and the fires soon died. They left ignorance in their wake. [i]Someone's obviously tried to get rid of any evidence pertaining to the truth of the Journey,[/i] Sorran fretted. It was imperative that he find Restraint. Assassins or not, he had to risk it. "High Councillor!" he bellowed over the rain, his voice flying through the empty corridors and spilling into many rooms. "Restraint, can you hear me?" * [i]"Restraint, can you... me?"[/i] a voice dimly echoed from several stories below. Something about the voice sounded familiar to Ahkrin, but he couldn't hear it properly. "You've brought a friend," he stated to Hem. The elderly honour guard grunted noncommittally, his eyes seeming to hold an internal conflict. Ahkrin struck. Faster than the eye could blink, his arm spun around, a dagger in hand, and rushed to meet Hem. What happened next was a blur; Ahkrin felt resistance and thought for an elated second his knife had hit -- suddenly he realised his wrist had been seized by a terribly strong hand, and before he knew it he found his own weight used against him. He barely avoided careening down to the ground, rolling and managing to shakily end up on his feet. He looked up in time to see a foot crash into his face. When his concussion faded, he was pressed up against the wall painfully, arms almost popped out of their sockets as they were wrenched behind his back by Hem. "You killed Restraint," Hem spoke. It wasn't a question, not even a rhetoric one. It was the deadening statement of a man who had lost so much and had just discovered he's lost something else. "You, Ahkrin Descol'ee. Do the gods think this some kind of joke?" "Do I... know you?" Ahkrin ground out, trying to twist out of the honour guard's grip. Such an endeavour brought only more pain. "Not me," Hem answered without really answering, before loosening his grip a little. He still held Ahkrin in a tight vice, though. "Lead on to Restraint, Ahkrin. Try anything else and I will gut you now rather than later, regardless of who you are." [i]Who I am...?[/i] Ahkrin wondered, trying to think of a reason why this elderly stranger of an honour guard would refer to him as such. They were all marks; he knew none of them. Generally he did his best to keep away from the Covenant, its politicians and their guards. As his father had done. There was very little chance anyone on High Charity could know him by appearance alone. But that seemed to be the case. "You aren't worried about your friend?" Ahkrin asked slyly. "I am guessing he is the other honour guard we've been assigned to kill--" "I know it's only you, Ahkrin," Hem intoned, seeming to struggle to keep anger out of his voice. "To involve more people would make disposing of all the evidence more difficult for the hierarchs. If it's just you, it makes matters a whole lot easier. I'm guessing that was the job of Pel before I arrived." [I]... he speaks sense,[/i] Ahkrin realised, knowing he had been played for a fool. Perhaps the hierarchs [i]had[/i] ordered Pel to dispose of him after he'd infiltrated and killed Restraint. Then they'd turn him into a scapegoat; some lunatic who had disagreed with a policy of the High Councillor and taken it upon himself to murder him. [i]But why did the hierarchs want these people dead so badly?[/i] "What's going on here?" he demanded, curiosity once again besting his common sense. "This is more than simple heresy." "Oh, Ahkrin," Hem lamented with the souls of dead weeping behind his words. "If only it were simple heresy."

The honour guard considered Ahkrin's story for a few moments, before placing a foot on Pel's body and rolling him over. His chest rose and fell harshly. After a few moments, those ancient eyes widened. "That's no soldier, it's an Ossoona... someone I know. Where is Restraint?" Ahkrin thought back to that frail body of the man who had once commanded a galactic empire. The thought brought some convincing sadness into his expression. "The San 'Shyuum was High Councillor Restraint? Gods above," Ahkrin muttered with feigned-shock. "I saw him in the lounge, sir. He's dead. Why would an Ossoona want the High Councillor dead?" He saw the clouds glazing the honour guard's eyes let rain down, the tears trailing their way down almost-carved paths, as if many had fallen in the past. "Show me him," the honour guard commanded, voice trembling with emotion. Ahkrin felt a little sad for the guard as he nodded and turned away, keeping his hand near the sword hidden behind his cloak. [i]What now?[/i] he wondered, calculating. [i]Pel just tried to kill me... on the order of the hierarchs? No, surely not; they wouldn't dare. But even so...[/i] He glanced back at the honour guard, who had drawn out his blade. Ahkrin noticed he kept a sizable distance between them, and wondered with some worry if the guard suspected something. No, it was probably nothing. [i]The hierarchs told me there are two honour guards who partake of Restraint's heresy. This must be one of them. Perhaps he will lead me to the other.[/i] Ten minutes ago he had every intention to kill them both with no questions asked. But now, in light of Pel's betrayal and what he had read on Restraint's network... He needed answers. Might as well start with the most basic. "What's your name?" he asked the elderly guard softly. "... Hem," was the answer he received. No house name given, strangely. Something Ahkrin seldom did himself. Perhaps Hem too was ashamed or saddened by his house, for whatever reason. "Well met, Hem." "Well met, Ahkrin," Hem replied coldly. For a few moments, Ahkrin said nothing, only feeling that something was wrong. Then he realised what the problem was. Hem had addressed him by his real name. Ahkrin desperately reached for his knife. * They were an imposing sight, it had to be said. Three of the most powerful people in the galaxy, sitting in their thrones which resisted the pull of the earth. Each adopted an expression that conveyed well they were better than you, and fully aware of it. Long, curled fingers that could summon your death in an instant. "Noble hierarchs," Zharn ground out, sinking to one knee before the 'blessed' trio. Truth stared down at him for a few moments, before nodding at Mercy. Even in his chair, movement seemed almost painful for the most elderly hierarch. But Zharn knew that behind the aged skin, sagged eyes and shocking-white hair sat one of the greatest philosophical minds to grace the Covenant. "Rise," Mercy croaked out in an attempt at grandeur, and Zharn obeyed. He looked over Mercy's shoulder and saw Truth busying himself in the study of a datapad, seemingly trying to avoid his gaze. He knew exactly who Zharn was, then. "We know you hold no love for Truth," Mercy spoke then surprisingly. Zharn's eyes snapped back to Mercy, wondering if he was in trouble. A sad smile seemed to touch the elderly Prophet's lips. "Know that he feels regret at the death of your father. It was a necessary evil; the council was in uproar at the loss of the shield world--" "I know why my father died," Zharn interrupted with thinly veiled disdain. "It was twenty-four cycles ago. I have come to terms with what happened." "My brother Truth [i]did[/i] offer Zyn Thierr'ee the role of Arbiter," the arrogant tones of Regret slid in from the right; Zharn coldly turned to look at the 'warrior,' who was slowly carving a red apple with a small blade. "If he'd taken it, perhaps he would still be alive today." "To become Arbiter is to become Death itself," Zharn quoted from an old poem. "To become Arbiter," Regret argued back with anger, "is a great privilege, and one that you will not sully in [i]my[/i] presence--" "Enough," Truth finally spoke, silencing Regret with a deadly glance. "We did not come here to speak of the past. There is enough hardship in our present without visiting echoes of old. Like me or not, fleetmaster, you are an officer in our Covenant and therefore you will be speaking with me many times after this." "Fine," Zharn reluctantly accepted. "As I said before being spoken down to by Regret, I have long since put my father to rest. It is a new world we live in, now." "Indeed," Mercy agreed heartily, slapping the side of his chair to accentuate his words. "That is why we have summoned you here, Thierr'ee. You have no doubt seen the current lock-down on High Charity?" "I saw its existence on my way here," Zharn affirmed. "The constabulary are out in force." "We've told the public and much of the army it's due to a viral outbreak," Truth spoke in that smooth, honey-like voice of his. "That is a lie." "It seems our holy city has been infiltrated... by humans," Regret filled in. Zharn's blood lost much of its warmth. "We know not for sure, but can only surmise they stowed aboard one of our ships. A demon is among those who arrived." "Gods," Zharn uttered with shock. Humans had discovered High Charity? This was a catastrophe, if they were to transmit data on the city to the rest of their kind... "Where are they?" he demanded. "I will take my best men at once and stop them. I have killed a demon before, and I will do it again." "Admirable, fleetmaster," Truth replied. "But unnecessary. We are taking care of the matter." "Taking... care of the matter?" Zharn repeated dully. Truth spoke about the incident as if it were of no consequence. "Hierarchs, if they are able to escape with information on the station... gods, what if one of their Associated Intelligences bypass our defences? What if they transmit the co-ordinates of blessed Sanghelios?" "As I said, fleetmaster, we are taking care of the matter," Truth echoed firmly. "Yours is the only fleet orbiting High Charity at this moment; your job is to make sure not a single ship leaves this station, no matter who they claim to be. Can you do that?" "Well, yes--" Zharn flustered, confused. "But are you sure I cannot have some of my troops assist in the destruction of these humans?" "It is not a coordinated assault," Mercy assured Zharn softly. "They did not expect to find our capital city -- there are but a few of them, and we are taking every precaution. All you have to do is shoot down anything that tries to leave the station." "Even with proper IFF authorisation?" "Even then," Mercy nodded. "We will signal you when the matter is fully dealt with. Until then, tell none of what we have told you." "... is that all?" Zharn finally asked, still a little shaken. Truth nodded. "You are dismissed, fleetmaster," he spoke haughtily. "We will remember your assistance in this." With that, they turned away as one, whispering amongst themselves. Zharn saw a column of honour guards converge towards him, obviously intending to shepherd him out of the council chambers. "Wait!" he called back. "You summoned my... my special operations chief, Ahkrin Descol'ee, not two days ago. Is he caught up in all this too?" Truth turned his head over his shoulder, seeming to think for a few moments. Then he finally nodded. "He is instrumental to the quelling of this incident," the Prophet lectured. "Worry not, he should be safe. You will see him soon."

"... what truly happened at first contact with the humans?" Ahkrin asked, unable to help himself. Throwing caution to the wind, he continued anyway. "Restraint intended to bring them into our Covenant. Then suddenly Truth topples him and declares war upon them. What was he trying to conceal? What [i]is[/i] he trying to conceal?" A look of surprise crossed Pel's face then, as if he hadn't expected Ahkrin to read such material. He stepped back, shadow obscuring half of his face. "I wish," he seemed to mumble almost to himself. "That you had not read that. You had much promise, Ahkrin. You performed your task here admirably. But you couldn't resist taking a bite of the forbidden fruit, could you?" Rather than wonder at the Ossoona's use of a human term, Ahkrin had already realised the meaning behind Pel's words and reached down to his side. When he moved to bring his pistol up though, he found it already met by one of Pel's. "What are you doing?" Ahkrin demanded, just as a crack of thunder from outside sounded. The light leapt through the window behind Pel, illuminating his face briefly for a moment. Ahkrin saw regret, anger and resolution in there. "They say knowledge is power," Pel waxed on, ignoring Ahkrin as his fingers drummed against the side of his pistol. "But it's also the surest way to get you killed. Perhaps you know more than you've said, perhaps not. I can't take that chance. I do this for the future of our Covenant. Know that before you die." "Better men than you have said those words. If you haven't noticed, I'm still here. They're not-- [i]Crack![/i] the thunder sounded once more. This time, it was drowned out by a far more deadly sound. * [i]Convalescence... he's really dead.[/i] He'd been the one constant in Savara's life. Someone she could always depend on, turn to for help without being expected to give something in return. He'd never had an ulterior motive, no greed, not a selfish bone in his frail body. A healer, as his title denoted. A teacher. That's all he'd ever been, all he'd ever wanted to be. And in return, he'd been given death and an unceremonious burning. Not a trace of him remained; ash floating in the breeze. Tears trickled down her face, a feeling that was become too frequent. The chilling warmth, the sweet taste of loss. "Chin up, princess," her guard's voice taunted from outside the cell. "Save the tears for later; you will need them." His words dragged her back into the present, and she quickly wiped away her weakness, shakily standing up and facing the guard's sneering face defiantly. She held his gaze, until finally he shook his head and looked away, tightening his grip on the carbine he held. She still didn't understand why she was being held; no one would tell her anything. When she'd woken up, she'd found herself inside a rotten, decrepit old cell, the condition of which telling her instantly she wasn't being held in official, or public, custody. Savara had also felt a searing pain in her right arm, and found a burn mark there. Someone had stubbed a cigarette on her arm. Her clothes had also been torn, ripped. She had no idea what had happened whilst she was unconscious, and it terrified her. "Where's that Ossoona?" she demanded with as much dignity as she could muster, hoping her voice didn't waver too much. "That cowardly leech." "House call," the guard answered curtly, not turning to face her. Savara clenched her fists with frustration, drawing blood. It seeped down her palm, mixing with the dirt and dried blood of Convalescence. She looked at the conglomeration, and felt sick. "My father will see you all hang for this," she threatened. "No blindfolds. You'll look into my eyes as the life is choked from your worthless bodies." "Grymar'ee?" the guard asked, before laughing softly. "He's just another puppet, playing with his toy soldiers." "He's Imperial Admiral of the Covenant fleet--" Savara protested indignantly, wondering why she was defending her father. It was something about the guard's tone. "We [i]are[/i] the Covenant. Considerably further down Truth's right arm than your father. You" Whatever tirade he had been about to preach was silenced by the opening of a door to the right of him. Footsteps marched along the stone floor, entering her field of vision. She'd expected Pel, but they belonged to yet another faceless Sangheili; one of many guards. A white band on his shoulder indicated rank over the guard she'd been talking with. "You have been speaking to the prisoner?" 'white band' demanded, the question unnecessary. He knew already. The other guard coughed nervously. "She initiated contact, sir. I--" "You've been given strict orders!" white band barked, and although she couldn't see it Savara heard the sharp crack as the talkative guard was struck. He staggered back, clutching his side and caught her gaze; his eyes shot malice. "It won't happen again, sir," the guard apologised ruefully, wincing. White band seemed to consider the apology, before nodding. "If it does, I will kill you myself. Prepare the prisoner for transfer. It's time we get some answers." * [i]"Fleetmaster, the hierarchs wish to see you,"[/i] the communications officer's voice echoed in his ear, the words flowing into his blood and turning it to ice. Memories of Truth sentencing his father and many years later Sorran rose through the cracks. "The hierarchs?" he repeated blankly, staring without seeing out the observation window as his assault carrier was swallowed by the great maw of High Charity. Usually a hub of spacial activity, the station was eerily dead; few ships swarmed its exterior. The lock-down was in effect. [i]"... Yes, leader. Truth, Regret and Mer--"[/i] "I know who they are!" Zharn snapped back. "Did they say why they wanted to see me?" [i]"Just that they required your presence immediately. They seemed to be familiar with you, sir."[/i] A grey cloud passed over his eyes as he gathered up his ceremonial cloak and turned to make for the air-lock. "Yes," he murmured back. "They would be." * With a combination of a yell of pain and startled cry, Pel collapsed to the floor. His face smashed into the ground; jaw snapped, blood spurted. Unconscious. Standing in his place was an honour guard. [i]­Blast,[/i] Ahkrin thought, hearts still racing. The plasma burst had missed his head by mere inches, embedding itself in the computer behind him. Already the plasma had begun to eat into the chassis of the machine, devouring the circuitry and complex wiring beneath. Dimly he heard the Huragok in the corner utter a keeling cry at the loss of all that data. Ahkrin had more on his mind now. Somehow an honour guard had batted away the sedative he administered and, furthermore, managed to escape his bindings. Or not, he realised, as he peered closer at the new arrival. His armour seemed far more ornate than that of the standard rank-and-file guards he'd dealt with earlier. All that could be seen behind the beautiful helmet were a pair of eyes. Those eyes... they were so old, seemed to hold so much pain, loss, despondency. What poor, wretched creature could be the owner of such eyes? "Who are you?" the newly arrived guard rasped out, in a voice as pained as his gaze. Ahkrin was silent for a few moment, still staring into those terrible portals to an abyss. Another crack of thunder emanated from the artificial storm, and he tore himself away from them, thinking fast. There was a way out of this. "Kal Yuran'ee," he lied deftly, already formulating in his mind a biography for his fictional character; hometown, family, favourite colour, academy, career. "What are you doing here?" the honour guard demanded shrewdly. Ahkrin continued with his lie. "Was on an errand when suddenly the 'casts said High Charity was in lock-down; something about a potentially dangerous viral-outbreak on the station, I know not the specifics. I would have returned home, but the master said not to come back without the books he needed. So I decided to cut through this district to avoid the patrols so I could reach the clerk, see--" "I didn't ask for your life-story," the guard spoke coldly, stepping over the unconscious body of Pel. "Speak quickly." "O-of course, sir," Ahkrin quaked, a little proud of the anxiety he threw into his voice. "I saw an honour guard like yourself, sir lying down outside this manor, and found him bound and unconscious. Despite my instincts screaming at me otherwise, I entered and found that soldier in this room. He noticed my presence, and aimed his gun at me. Thank the Forerunners you arrived when you did, sir." [Edited on 10.14.2011 4:01 PM PDT]

* "My thanks," Ahkrin spoke softly to the quivering Huragok, in the idiosyncratic whistles and clicks of its kind. His hand was wrapped around the frail creature's neck; contrary to appearance, their skin was not moist. Instead, it felt rough and coarse, like the skin of snakes so commonly found on human colonies. In the dark of the data-hub room, its eyes glowed with an eerie bioluminescence. Ahkrin could see terror reflected in the Huragok's eyes, and a pang of guilt struck him. His death threats had performed their job, though. Restraint's Huragok had given him access to the system. It had taken long enough; countless ciphers, trick-locks and expulsion-matrices laced the late-High Councillor's computer system, ones that could not be broken easily without the knowledge of Restraint himself, which now sat in the main lounge dead along with the mind holding it. For a second, Ahkrin entertained the idea of killing the Huragok. It was the sensible thing to do; Forerunners know what it knew. But although on paper it seemed like a sound idea, when faced with the prospect of snuffing out the life of such an innocent, helpless creature-- [i]Hardly something you are adverse to,[/i] he reminded himself cynically. Still, there had been enough death today. No sense in dragging his damned soul even further towards hell. "Get in the corner, keep quiet," he snapped at the Huragok, with as much aggression as could be thrown into those inherently docile speech patterns. "If you try anything, I will rip open your gas bladder and leave you to deflate." Death, in other words. Worriedly, Ahkrin checked the time. Hours had passed since he'd killed the High Councillor, and although Restraint's Honour Guards would not awaken yet for some time, lingering at the site of an assassination seemed... sacrilegious to him, breaking every rule his fanatic mentors had drummed into his mind back in the cult. Mentors he'd later tracked down and killed, he thought with a small smile. What better way to renounce one's mistakes than eliminate their roots? Still, their teachings had kept him alive for many years. To break one of the most important, staying at the location of a contract... it felt alien to him. Any moment he expected someone to burst in and place him under arrest. Ahkrin disliked prison. Except that wouldn't happen, of course. Pel, acting as an arm of the Prophets, had managed to lock down the entirety of High Charity. Right now they were citing foreign contagion. Any reason to keep the public away from Ahkrin's work. Returning to the task at hand, Ahkrin drew out network-interfaces and placed them upon his palms. The soft purple light of the circular devices lit up, and automatically linked with Restraint's network. A holographic display leapt up before him, basking the room in an ephemeral glow. Suddenly he was overwhelmed by a torrent of digital files, which surrounded him in a three-dimensional cylinder. He stared at the names of a few. 'Record of Council meeting C245.35 23rd AoD.' 'Profiling: Vice Minister of Tranquillity C247.76 23rd AoD.' 'CLASSIFIED: re: Jiralhanae assessment C239.48 23rd AoD.' Ahkrin realised that he was looking at data from when Restraint was once a High Councillor; information Restraint should have handed to the Covenant after his succession. On a whim, he opened the Jiralhanae file. Nothing too interesting; surveillance footage of Jiralhanae carrying gas-operated weaponry, threat assessment, names of major cities. After a minute he closed the file; most of that 'classified' information was public domain now. 're: Motions for betterment in Unggoy rights C241.39 23rd AoD.' 'Battle report Fleetmaster Xytan'ee C244.11 23rd AoD.' Looking at all the files, perhaps for the first time Ahkrin felt the weight of what he had done press down on his shoulders. He'd assassinated a man who had once been one of the three most powerful people throughout all the Covenant. It was incredible to think that such a mighty politician who had been able to change the galaxy with a few words now sat dead, huddled in a blanket stained with his own blood. [i]Nothing lasts. Eventually even the greatest oaks bow to death like everything else,[/i] he thought solemnly. Then his train of reverie was broken by something very intriguing. 're: Minor Transgression's first contact C249.86 23rd AoD.' [i]C249.86...[/i] Ahkrin thought to himself. Mere weeks before the declaration of war against humanity had been instigated and the three hierarchs of Obligation, Tolerance and Restraint had stepped down. Unable to help himself, Ahkrin accessed the file. [quote]Dear Obligation and Tolerance, I've just received word that ship (designation: [i]Minor Transgression[/i]) sent a message to Vice Minister Tranquillity shortly before its destruction. Thanks to our operatives watching the Vice Minister on account of his recent suspicious activities, we were able to partially intercept the message (attached). Its contents are troubling, to say the least. It appears than Tranquillity has been employing vessels to scour the edges of Covenant controlled space in search of Forerunner artefacts; no doubt an attempt to win favour should he discover something of interest. [i]Minor Transgression[/i] has encountered something we didn't expect. According to the pre-self destruction message, the ship came into contact with a cargo ship whose profile did not match any ship in our Covenant. Driven by intrigue (and no doubt a little Kig-yar greed,) they proceeded to board said cargo ship and although empty, through it located another ship which had lifesigns within. Upon boarding, they encountered one person within. It was alien, and seemingly aggressive, nearly bludgeoning an Unggoy Deacon to death were it not for the interception of another crew member. They call themselves 'humans,' according to the report. Alas, we were unable to intercept the images sent to Tranquillity, but by the [i]Minor Transgression[/i] captain's description they seem physically capable; some six feet tall, muscular, bi-pedal and primate in nature. Worryingly, the 'human' ship seemed rather sophisticated, possessing a variation of impulse drives, and what appeared to be an AI -- this of course would make 'human' the most advanced species we have made first contact with since the Sangheili thousands of years ago. We know little of them, but they seem to have a colony someone in the 'Epsilon Eridani' system (star-points attached.) Were they to be inducted into our Covenant, they could bring with them much knowledge, and possibly even be another race to match the Sangheili and Jiralhanae, perhaps negating their rivalries. Yes, I am getting far beyond myself. It's wholly possible that 'human' population count might be incredibly small, or perhaps they are only technologically advanced with regards to their space-faring capabilities. Still, the Huragok aboard the [i]Minor Transgression[/i] did not discover any traces of Forerunner technology in their ship, implying that they managed to discover impulse-drive technology by themselves. Who in our Covenant can claim such a feat? I'm returning from my visit to Eayrn to confer with you both on this matter; it must be approached delicately. For all we know they could have their own collective of species akin to our Covenant. Their military might in particular is an unknown variable, and we do not want to dive into water without knowing how deep it is. For now, keep an eye on Tranquillity. He would not be so foolish as to use the Sangheili to his ends; he knows they are loyal to us. But the Vice Minister is a cunning individual underneath that ex-military bluster, and if he wants something badly enough he'll find a way. Let him not anger a sleeping giant. Yours faithfully, High Prophet of Restraint.[/quote] As Ahkrin finished reading, he felt his jaw weighing considerably more than it had. The implications of this message were disturbing. By all appearances, Restraint at least had fully intended to induct the humans into the Covenant. But of course that hadn't happened. Mere weeks after this message had been sent, the three former hierarchs resigned and were replaced by Fortitude, the Philologist Rumnt and Tranquillity. Truth, Mercy and Regret. Then war had been declared by them upon humanity. How had so much changed in just a few weeks? "Descol'ee," a voice sounded from behind him. "What are you doing? I don't remember asking you to access the house's network." Ahkrin turned around, and saw Pel staring at him with a weary, almost-disturbing smile. He hesitated at the command. "Ossoona," he began doubtfully. "I am finding out more about--" "It's none of your concern," Pel repeated, annoyance colouring his voice this time. "Whatever you've read or seen are simply the ramblings and fabrications of a heretic. Pay no heed to them."

* * * "Minister? What's wrong?" Convalescence turned to Savara, worry etched into his face like a rough carving into stone. Even in the dim light of the hostel room's lounge, Savara could see crystalline stains around his eyes. He'd been crying. "I--" Convalescence began shakily, almost as if he had to struggle to find his voice. A cloud seemed to pass over him, and the frailness was gone, hidden behind that strong veil Savara knew so well. "Nothing, my dear. I've just had some bad news today." "Is this something to do with your visit to high councillor Restraint?" Savara questioned perceptively, sitting next to the elderly minister with concern. His pupils dilated with surprise, and he sucked in his lower lip, thinking. Finally, he nodded slightly. "He-- he told me..." Convalescence croaked out, closing his eyes and breathing in deeply. Finally, a great sense of control seemed to take him over, and his eyes opened. "He has cancer. It's a terminal disease that can't be cured at this stage." "Oh," Savara realised, her hearts sinking. She didn't know Restraint, but knew that he was close friends with the minister, and knew what Convalescence was thinking about now. "Minister, it isn't your fault. You haven't been his physician for over a decade; you couldn't possibly--" "What?" the minister asked, looking at her but not seeming to see her, instead staring at the wall. He blinked a few times, and then shook his head. "No, no of course not." [i]He doesn't seem too guilty,[/i] Savara thought, remembering how distraught Convalescence had been when both former-hierarchs Obligation and Tolerance had passed away. She thought is suspicious. "Minister," she began in a soft voice. "What's the real reason for--" Whatever words she would have spoken were suddenly drowned out by the sound of gunfire coming from outside the window, short bursts accompanied by an orchestra of yells and gurgling cries of death. Her hearts quickened, and she looked at the minister. He'd turned as white as a sheet, but didn't seem surprised. Bidden by some stupid, suicidal curiosity, she rushed to the window. Laying in the street outside were about five honour guards, all of them dead or dying. Even by a cursory glance, she could tell they were beyond saving. One of them locked eyes with Savara, mouth widening as if trying to issue a warning. His hand stretched up, and just as quickly fell limp, collapsing onto the ice-cold road in a puddle of his blood, jet-black in the dark. After a few seconds, she realised she'd seen that honour guard before. He was the one who had rescued her from the bounty hunters the other day. [i]What is this?[/i] "We've got to go," Convalescence suddenly spoke from behind her, force and determination in his voice. Savara turned, not expecting such talk from the elderly Sangheili. Her shock was intensified as she saw the minister bring out from a fold in his robes a plasma pistol; safety deactivated. "W-what's going on?" Savara asked, more scared by the impossible sight of Convalescence, always the healer, the pacifist, the calm, bearing arms than she had been by the sight of the dead honour guards outside. "Who killed those men?" "There's no time," the minister barked at her sharply, in an authoritative tone she'd only ever heard before when in surgery with him. "We've got to get out of this building, into public. They won't do anything there..." "I don't understand," Savara protested even as Convalescence hobbled to the door. "Who won't do anything? Who killed those honour guards? Why were honour guards here?" Convalescence half-turned to her as his hand pressed against the door handle. It flashed as it recognised his signature, and began to swing open. "Restraint told me something when I went to see him," he began to explain. "Something terrible. The great journey is--" If conspiratorial words were about to come tumbling out of his mouth, they'd never get the chance. Whatever dangerous knowledge Convalescence had died along with his brain, as he fell back to the ground with a crystalline needle embedded in his forehead, splitting his skull and bringing forth a torrent of blood. A Sangheili stepped over him, garbed in armour of the blackest midnight. He held a needler pistol in his hand, missing a spine on its back. The Sangheili's eyes seemed to glaze over the corpse of Convalescence, and settled on Savara, who was pressed against the wall with fear. In the hallway outside she could see seven others, all armed and dressed in menacing armour. She could also see another body; that of the lodging's manager, a rose thorn protuding from her head too. "Well, Lady Grymar'ii," the Sangheili at the front spoke, moving towards her. He wasn't very large by Sangheili standards, but still encompassed her form considerably. "We came here to take you into protective custody and to insure an asset would perform his job properly... imagine our surprise when we found five of High Councillor Restraint's guard outside, seemingly guarding you. Can you tell me why that is, my dear?" "I don't--" Savara quivered out, still staring through tears at the lifeless body of Convalescence. He was dead. Gone. "I don't even know Restraint." "Of course," the Sangheili in midnight agreed sarcastically, stretching out a hand and running it down her side. She cringed at his touch, fighting an urge to lash out. "Such a pretty thing... it's a shame that we'll have to ruin that beauty, really. But, if you won't tell us the truth..." "There's no truth to tell!" she screamed at him, the shock Convalescence's death had brought giving away to panic. "Who are you?" From his person, the Sangheili brought out a small syringe, and tapped it to rid of air bubbles. Savara saw the liquid inside and knew what it was; she'd used the chemical enough times herself. An anaesthesia. "My name is Pel," the Sangheili informed her gravely, grabbing her arm tightly and ripping off her sleeve, exposing the bare skin. The tip of the needle grazed against it painfully. "But by tomorrow morning, I think you won't be terming me with any name quite so civilised." The famed primal instinct of the Sangheili engaged then, and, bearing claws, she struck Pel across the face, ripping off a considerable portion of the skin on his jaw off. He swore violently, spitting blood, but did not let go. Bringing up the back of his hand, he struck her back many times harder, and she saw stars. Through concussion, she saw the needle of the syringe bury itself in her vein. Saw the liquid pushed out of the container, into her bloodstream. [i]No![/i] was her last conscious thought, before the anaesthesia kicked in and send her crashing down to her knees. She smiled with deliria, chuckling her way into darkness.

He heard Orpheus before seeing him, the heavy footsteps pounding outside his room. Just as he heard the honour guards stationed outside immediately raise their staves and level them at the Jiralhanae; dark shapes through a murky pane of hard light. "Lay one finger on him and you shall all be incredibly sorry," Zharn warned the honour guards, having to raise his voice so they'd hear him. Instantaneously he heard the lowering of staves, and the begrudging growl of Orpheus. "Do we let it through, fleetmaster?" he heard an honour guard demand back, contempt seeping into his voice. "Yes," Zharn ground out angrily, resisting the powerful urge to shout at him. When he was in better health he'd reprimand the Sangheili for his rudeness. A few seconds later amidst some discontented mumbling, Orpheus was allowed into his infirmary room, and closed the door behind him. Seeing the dark shapes of honour guards outside the door pressing up to the hard light, Zharn made a gesture with his hand and the translucent barrier turned opaque, blocking sight and sound. "Always nice to know I'm welcome," Orpheus began, sitting down in a chair next to Zharn's bed. It sagged a little under his weight. "You are," Zharn assured him quickly. "You've saved my life now more times than I can count." "I think it was you who saved my life down there, Zharn. Killing a demon with a holy blade of the Forerunners; many are saying it is a sign from the gods that you are blessed." "Oh, please," Zharn remarked upon that with disgust, remembering how heads had inclined as he'd been carried up to the infirmary. "He was just a man; he didn't bleed black blood, nor was his skin like diamond. He died like any other human... he is dead, yes?" "His body is being prepared for departure to High Charity even now," Orpheus assured Zharn. "They plan to parade his corpse throughout the holy city, before throwing it into the fission-core of the holy Dreadnought as one final immolation. It will be transmitted to the humans; all of them. Their morale will be dealt a mighty blow." "I heard snatches of conversation from outside; something about a lock-down on High Charity?" "Apparently when extrapolating resources from a planet a strain of foreign viral matter may have escaped onto the station; the hierarchs assure us it is harmless, but they're putting the station in temporary quarantine just to make sure." "Good; such a thing should not touch our blessed Sangheilios." "Word is spreading that we are being sent in to prevent any ships leaving. I suspect that their reasoning is more akin to them wishing to have the Covenant's new demon-slayer in public eye." "Wonderful," Zharn muttered with dread. He hated ceremony, although it would be good to see Sanghelios again -- it had been far too long. "Perhaps if I'm fortunate another fleetmaster will kill two demons and I'll be left alone. I need time to think." "Of what?" Orpheus asked inquisitively. Zharn shook his head. "Something the demon said before he died. It is of no matter," he added hastily when he saw the Jiralhanae about to question him. Zharn did not think he was ready to tell anyone about what he had seen on Eridanus II; he was in fact worried that to do so would have him branded as a heretic. [i]I am not quite ready to join Sorran just yet.[/i] * * * It was odd that such a familiar sight could appear so hostile and alien. High Charity had once seemed so unremarkable; something he'd seen every day since childhood; his home, even when he'd discovered the truth of the Halo rings. Now, the holy station seemed to radiate hostility. Sorran could see every sharp, hard looking point marring its beauty, every defence turret and cannon embedded within the guardian-walls, each banshee as it danced in and out of the exterior pillars of the colossal mega-structure. "They've put the station into lock-down," Hem told Sorran quietly as he killed the thrusters of the Seraph, eliminating the heat-signature of the small vessel. "They're spinning some story about a foreign contaminant, but it's all lies. Truth and his stooges just want to make sure none of us escape their web." "Will we face trouble trying to get in?" Sorran asked worriedly. Hem thought for a few moments, finally deciding upon a shake of his world-weary head. "As far as the general Covenant knows right now, they're just trying to stop people leaving the quarantine, not enter it. With luck, those who know what they are truly hunting believe us to be dead amongst the ashes... for now." "Restraint--" Sorran began, fearing for the minister's life. He was cut off by a single gesture from Hem. "It would take at least a scarab to penetrate the shielding around the manor, Sorran, and I highly doubt even Truth would go that far. The only way to lower the barrier is from within, and I assure you we don't hold tea parties for Truth's inner circle." Sorran felt some relief at that, at least. But he still had a nagging feeling that something wasn't quite right, one he couldn't truly dispel. Ignoring it, he looked across at Hem. The Sangheili truly looked his years; every line in his skin seemed to bleed with age, every movement of his body a harrowing task. It was the eyes that were most chilling. They seemed to lack life, like a poor painting which hasn't managed to capture the soul made real. There was little emotion, or conscious thought, or hope; just cold, hard revenge cemented behind those stone-hard orbs of graphite. Hem didn't have many years left, and Sorran suspected the horrors he had seen today had reduced those years considerably. The other Sangheili wanted to reveal the truth to the Covenant, and Sorran had at first agreed. Now he was having reservations. At first, he had been motivated by grief and anger, like his mentor. But although he lamented the deaths of Kemyn and Ilia, and the losses of the survivors, he was not nearly as affected as Hem. Sorran could put aside the emotion and wish for revenge, and look at it objectively. To show the truth of the great journey right now could result in any number of possibilities, but the most likely was completely collapse of the Covenant, followed by civil war between species which no longer had any bond keeping their differences in the shadows. Such a war would result in the loss of billions, if not trillions of lives. No doubt the humans would take advantage of that weakness, and annihilate their hated foe whilst they were in turmoil. No, the more Sorran thought about it the more he was convinced this was a bad idea, motivated by Hem's wish to exact revenge upon the hierarchs and lack of care for what happens after. [i]It is not my place to worry. Restraint will talk sense into him.[/i]

I see quite an optimistic happy-go-lucky atmosphere about this story in the very beginning. Not much of that these days. I like to think that's my evolution as a writer coming into play. In all honesty, it's probably just me being a sadistic bastard. Enjoy! [b]Part 35 -- Blood runs thick, brotherhood runs thicker[/b] Earlier that day, Katoth'ee's training academy had seemed to glow with the promise of a strong future, one where Sorran would learn to protect everything and everyone he cared about. Now as he stared dully out of the viewing port of the Seraph through the heavy veil of grey rain, all he could see was another example of what could have been; yet one more to add to the list. "Oh, gods," a wail suddenly came to the right of Sorran as they began to initiate landing procedures, the Seraph's equilibrium-thrusters evaporating the falling rain around it -- a bubble in the ocean. Sorran looked to his left and so Kym, weeping now that she no longer had to keep up a strong appearance for the now-asleep Gilyi, who still didn't quite understand what was going on. He looked to the front at Hem, expecting the Sangheili to comfort his daughter, but all Sorran saw was whitening of his knuckles as he gripped the controls of the Seraph tighter, obviously unwilling to confront his grief along with Kym. Tentatively, Sorran reached out a hand and placed it upon her quivering shoulder. She wrenched her face from her hands; nails bitten down to the quick. Her eyes were stained with tears, making them sparkle in the dim-light of the Seraph. Sorran opened his mouth, but there were no words. How could you possibly quantify the bloody murder of a mother and only son into mere words? "Kemyn was due to go to the academy in a few months," Kym quaked out shakily, and Sorran could almost feel Hem's knuckles crack as they tightened even harder. "He wanted to go last year, but I would not let him. I said it was because he wasn't ready, but I was just being selfish and wanted him to stay home as long as--" "Kym," Sorran protested despondently, knowing where this was going. She ignored him. "If I-- if I had not been so selfish, then he wouldn't have been at home when-- when... all of it is my fault!" she finally screamed out, the flow of tears intensifying. Sorran now heard a few light sobs from Hem, too. He placed a hand on Kym's other shoulder, and managed to bring himself to face her. "It's not your fault at all," he told her forcefully, placing emphasis on every word. "Blame me. The assassins came because of what I know. It's my fault--" [i]Slap![/i] The blow stung, and Sorran placed a hand up to his cheek with surprise. Drops of purple welled where Kym had struck it with her hand. He looked at her. [i]Slap![/i] Another one, on his left cheek now. It hurt emotionally more than physically, and he did nothing. Kym rose her hand again. [i]Slap![/i] [i]Slap![/i] The sharp attacks continued for almost thirty seconds, with each one bringing more tears into Kym's eyes -- no relief. Finally she raised her hand once more-- And let it fall to her side, drained. Sorran looked at her uncertainly for a few seconds, wondering if she'd begin slapping him again. He knew he'd deserve it, and braced himself, screwing his eyes shut. Rather than a sharp blow, he felt a light crashing into him followed by slender arms wrapping around his back. He opened his eyes, looked down and found once more there were no words. Kym had collapsed into him, small head buried in his lightly covered shoulder as she cried away the pain; the tears soaked through the fabric of his lightly armoured vest, their bitter warmth spreading across his skin. With shaking hands, Sorran gently reached around and soothingly nestled the back of her head, holding her tightly and swaying. As the Seraph made its final descent, he realised he was crying too. * * * "You lost much blood, Fleetmaster," the physician rattled off, attention divided between looking down at the medical datapad he held and his patient lying down in a bed. "Quite candidly, it's a miracle you survived." "Is that a polite way of saying I am a stubborn bastard?" Zharn chuckled out hoarsely, adopting a grim smile. He couldn't move a single bone in his body; it was like his eyes were cameras, and he could see the world but not interface with it. "It's a polite way of saying you almost died," the physician stated sternly, not seeing the joke. To Zharn's surprise his doctor was not one of the 'San 'Shyuum; the one wearing the pristine-white robe of the physician was in fact a kig-yar; his red plumage neatly slid through a parting in the robe, standing up proudly and its colour like the setting sun. It was always difficult to tell a kig-yar's age, Zharn thought often he even had trouble distinguishing gender until they spoke, but if he remembered correctly a rigid and vibrant plumage indicated youth. "I had to splice your DNA with an amino acid modulator so your body would replace its plasma supplies quicker." Even though Zharn was sure the kig-yar was more than qualified, he couldn't help but feel a little uneasy as the avian-like being examined his tender skin to check bruising, claws designed for ripping apart prey pressing gently into his flesh. "I do not think it would have been such a terrible death," Zharn commented, trying not to think about the time he had seen a kig-yar rip apart a human's face with its bare hands and gouge itself on the mess within. He felt the claws move across his skin a little harder after he said that. "Sometimes I wonder why I even became a physician," the kig-yar sighed, making little notes on the datapad as he did so. "Most of my patients are Sangheili, and after I heal them I merely get anger for not letting them die the 'warrior's death.'" "I am grateful," Zharn amended hastily, not wishing the physician to think him rude. "When presented with life over death, I'll do my best to choose the former every time." "And yet you think it wise to pit yourself against demons," the kig-yar tutted with its idiosyncratic carnal clicks, before laughing harshly. "I have half a mind to refer you to the ship's psychiatrist, fleetmaster." "I'm perfectly sane. You would not understand my reasoning; your kind--" "Are pirates, scavengers, thieves, slavers murderers, cut-throats and all in all dirt beneath your feet; is that what you were going to say?" the kig-yar interrupted cuttingly, and even though he wouldn't have said quite that Zharn held most of those thoughts true. "I meant no offence," he apologised. The physician shrugged nonchalantly. "I've heard such words enough times in my life for them to hold no real hurt any longer, fleetmaster. Ever since the Covenant first found us, they've considered us scum; tolerated rather than accepted. I do not expect that to change." Zharn remained silent, unsure of what to say. There was an awkward silence for a few moments, before finally the kig-yar cleared his throat. "Well, all seems to be in order. You'll need to rest, fleetmaster. If you need anything, just call." With that, the kig-yar set down the data pad, clenched his scaly hands and then the claws on the end of his fingers recessed into his skin. Noting Zharn's outraged expression, he winked smartly before turning away.

Just asking can you make a new pdf file for memmoirs of an odst Thanks

man how will you add the great schism. Zharn and Orpheous what will happen. Will they die before that or no. And if they live what will happen will they stand together or will they turn on each other.

I'm not too fussed about grammatical perfection with this. If I'm writing a piece for my English course, or an original short story, then I'll be a bit more ruthless with my proof-reading. With this, I'm simply telling a story. Anything else can come later. Thanks for the feedback. * Chapter 35 is done; were I to carry on writing within it until I reached the point of Section II's conclusion, then it would end up being silly-long. So I've decided there will be 36 chapters before the conclusion to this part of the tale. 35 will release at some point tomorrow. It's a little shorter than 34 but only just, and could easily have been far longer had I not seen wisdom. ;) You'll hopefully enjoy it, I very much enjoyed writing it perhaps more than any other chapter thus far.

Grammar police. Great story, i really enjoy it. Yet there are grammar problems throughout. Not to be that guy, but it is high end writing with grammar mistakes. They shouldn't mix.

[quote][b]Posted by:[/b] AssaultCommand [quote][b]Posted by:[/b] OfTheBloodguard [quote][b]Posted by:[/b] Wolverfrog Stock up on the 'kerchiefs.[/quote]I guess I better bring out the violin.[/quote]They all die, then the story follows someone else entirely.[/quote]Do they die too? What an amazing way to end this story that would be. Kill about fifty characters across the span of the rest of the novel. I hope you're taking notes, Wolverfrog.

I became Legendary in the meantime. Altho I sometimes revert back to Heroic for some odd reason. Anyway, if you want to keep chatting, please PM or something, I don't want this thread locked.

Hi AssualtCommand. I've not seen you in a while.

[quote][b]Posted by:[/b] POMC S117 Owns Wow! The last time I read this it was at Chapter 24. I've been gone... a while. :) This is sounding just as amazing as Insurrection! [/quote]Welcome back, Pomcy

Wow! The last time I read this it was at Chapter 24. I've been gone... a while. :) This is sounding just as amazing as Insurrection!

[quote][b]Posted by:[/b] Wolverfrog Stock up on the 'kerchiefs.[/quote] D: I get the feeling that a lot of important characters are going to die...

[quote][b]Posted by:[/b] AssaultCommand [quote][b]Posted by:[/b] OfTheBloodguard [quote][b]Posted by:[/b] Wolverfrog Stock up on the 'kerchiefs.[/quote]I guess I better bring out the violin.[/quote]They all die, then the story follows someone else entirely.[/quote] No.

[quote][b]Posted by:[/b] OfTheBloodguard [quote][b]Posted by:[/b] Wolverfrog Stock up on the 'kerchiefs.[/quote]I guess I better bring out the violin.[/quote]They all die, then the story follows someone else entirely.

[quote][b]Posted by:[/b] Wolverfrog Stock up on the 'kerchiefs.[/quote]I guess I better bring out the violin.

You'd best stumble your way to the chapter links in the first post and catch up, then. ;) Chapter 35's coming along nicely; still a while from completion, but I'm well into it. Stock up on the 'kerchiefs.

Woah, it's sure been a while since I stumbled around these parts.

[quote][b]Posted by:[/b] me123456789 I told you people still cared about this wolvers.[/quote] Duh.