I've just read up to part 8 and I'm loving the parallels between Sorran and Jul (the Elite in Glasslands), which is surprising since you wrote this years ago. Well written!! [Edited on 03.08.2012 5:14 AM PST]

I know that feel. Read Memoirs and Insurrection all in one day. Just get ready for a 3 month wait in between chapters. [quote][b]Posted by:[/b] InvasionImminent Just read all of the chapters in a single day, and I must say that this is one of the most captivating 'novels' I've ever read. The characters are well-made and have a lot of thought put into each one. The plot is genius and I love how it all ties up. And after playing Halo, I can't look at the covenant the same way. I have to look at them as people. [/quote]

Just read all of the chapters in a single day, and I must say that this is one of the most captivating 'novels' I've ever read. The characters are well-made and have a lot of thought put into each one. The plot is genius and I love how it all ties up. And after playing Halo, I can't look at the covenant the same way. I have to look at them as people.

He can't for obvious reasons [quote][b]Posted by:[/b] stupid0g You should publish insurrection [/quote]

You should publish insurrection

It didn't. Pel was crawling towards the entrance, Grymar'ee fired a warning shot and it sent him rolling onto his back. [quote][b]Posted by:[/b] krnlcheese Wow, I can't believe I didn't think about that, but how did it throw Pel into a wall? [quote][b]Posted by:[/b] me123456789 [quote][b]Posted by:[/b] krnlcheese I'm confused as to what the emerald blast was can someone clarify for me. Nice chapter Wolvers.[/quote] A Plasma pistol shot.[/quote][/quote] I don't know what the last part's number will be, and I probably won't be doing Memoirs II again; this will in all likelihood by my last fan fiction. [quote][b]Posted by:[/b] stupid0g Nice! Keep it coming! You have lots of fans. Also I'm beginning to understand what everyone else was sayin about those cliffhangers... It makes meh need moar!!! What is planned to be the last parts number? Also after this can you take up memiors of an ODST 2 agian?[/quote] [Edited on 03.07.2012 12:36 AM PST]

Wow, I can't believe I didn't think about that, but how did it throw Pel into a wall? [quote][b]Posted by:[/b] me123456789 [quote][b]Posted by:[/b] krnlcheese I'm confused as to what the emerald blast was can someone clarify for me. Nice chapter Wolvers.[/quote] A Plasma pistol shot.[/quote]

Nice! Keep it coming! You have lots of fans. Also I'm beginning to understand what everyone else was sayin about those cliffhangers... It makes meh need moar!!! What is planned to be the last parts number? Also after this can you take up memiors of an ODST 2 agian? [Edited on 03.06.2012 9:29 PM PST]

[quote][b]Posted by:[/b] krnlcheese I'm confused as to what the emerald blast was can someone clarify for me. Nice chapter Wolvers.[/quote] A Plasma pistol shot.

I'm confused as to what the emerald blast was can someone clarify for me. Nice chapter Wolvers.

It keeps getting better and better! I'm impressed.

"Enough!" another voice suddenly interrupted, laced with power, strength and authority. Pel turned his head towards its source and saw the Sangheili who had been brought by Thierr'ee remove his helmet, and cast it down to the floor. Pel recognised the heavy brow, angular cheeks and iron eyes immediately. In Thierr'ee, all Pel saw was irritation. "Hold your tongue, traitor, lest I turn my attention on you," Zharn barked angrily, moving to strike Imperial Admiral Grymar'ee down into submission. What happened next was a blur. One second Thierr'ee was reaching out a hand, and the next it had been grabbed and used as a level to throw him across the room; at the same time, Grymar'ee had somehow disarmed Thierr'ee of both his pistol and rifle, and held them both aloft now; the former at Pel, the latter at his former gaoler. "Arrogance, Thierr'ee," Grymar'ee began to speak, looking at him with contempt. "You reek of it. Did you really think a young fleetmaster barely ripped from his mothers' tits such as yourself had bested I, an Imperial Admiral of sixty years and victor of countless battles? The Domilekgolo itself, who dwarfed [i]cruisers[/i] in its magnitude, bowed in submission at my feet after I vanquished the armies and fleets of the lekgolo. Even at my weakest I could still cut through you like a cake." "Your surrendering... your cowardice... it was all an act?" Thierr'ee sought to ratify what he already knew as he crawled to his feet and stood, breathing laboured. Pel began to edge away slowly, crawling towards the doorway in a desperate bid to escape whilst the door were busy with each other. "I needed your help to get in here," Grymar'ee affirmed. "The easiest way to do that was to have you think me your prisoner. Now..." Pel saw the emerald blast hit the ground beside him and heard it a fraction of a second later. It seared the ground and sent him sprawling onto his back; his eyes were confronted by the scarred and enraged face of the Imperial Admiral, whose hand enclosed Pel's neck like a claw. "Tell me, Ossoona. Where are you holding my daughter?" [Edited on 03.06.2012 2:41 PM PST]

"You won't," Ahkrin warned, taking a step forward. Sorran had already anticipated this response, and had drawn out his rifle. It froze Ahkrin in his tracks. "Don't you even... just don't, Ahkrin," Sorran whispered, his voice choked. "You can't hope to understand." "You think I've never loved?" Ahkrin demanded angrily. Sorran shook his head. "I do not think you have the capacity," he retorted. "To love is to trust, and that is one thing you can never do. You always have the strings within reach, never pass them to anyone else; you don't know what love is, and you never will." Ahkrin was dumbstruck; those words had felt like a knife carving his skin, because he knew there was truth in them no matter how much he told himself otherwise. Regret flashed across Sorran's face for a second, but it was quickly replaced again with determination. He brought out a gleaming object of purple from his pocket, and threw it at Ahkrin's feet; his startled reflection mirrored within its spider-web a thousand times. "If you want to go with Jeann'ee and try to speak with the Oracle, then be my guest. That crystal holds everything Restraint knew about the journey and all the rest; you're welcome to its responsibilities. It is not my concern anymore, all I want is Savara." With that, Sorran backed away a few steps and then broke into a sprint, heading in the opposite direction towards the Janjur Qom district, to his certain death. [i]I will not follow him to it,[/i] Ahkrin vowed bitterly, scraping up the violet crystal from the ground and stalking away back towards Jeann'ee's den. [i]There is far more at stake here.[/i] * Pel was taken unawares, to his chagrin. So wrapped had he been in his obsessive trawling of field reports and security footage across High Charity that he'd not even noticed his door-guards been taken out. Now he paid the price, neck held at the point of a hungry knife. He looked down at it, trying to keep his throat as steady as possible as he spoke. "Thierr'ee," he guessed. Even in the position he was, he could not help but smirk slightly at his accuracy when he heard an impressed grunt from the wielder of the knife. "Would that your ears were so sharp as your logic," the fleetmaster said, moving into Pel's view as he circled around, the knife he held carving a razor-thin burning thread in his neck; he did not flinch, only continued to stare Thierr'ee in the eyes; stones reflected in the marble. "You should not have spread your web so thin." "Ah, but so many routes that can be taken to the prey," Pel threw the metaphor back at him, slowly drawing back from the knife and sitting down at his desk, arms sat in his lap amicably. He saw in the corner of the room another Sangheili, helmed in oblique and silent as could be, watching; his body language suggested he was uncomfortable in the situation, almost reluctant. Pel made note of it. "I care not for this bandying of words," Thierr'ee suddenly growled, a muscular arm shooting out and catching Pel by the neck, throwing him back onto the desk; the hard-light chair morphed around his falling body, catching him in its soft embrace. "You put a death warrant on me. Why?" "You were shrewd enough to make it this far; you tell me, pretend-fleetmaster." He saw eyes narrow, and for a moment almost expected another display of force. Pel did not consider himself in any serious danger though; he'd read Thierr'ee's psychological report. The man was a craven, reluctant to kill and constantly fearing he'd make mistakes or errors without Descol'ee by him. The analysis proved true as Thierr'ee drew back, pacing the small room Pel had made his home for the past few days, shooting glances every so often at the other Sangheili in the room; he was not trusted. Another mental note. "The hierarchs are doing something. A cover up, or murder. They spun a fake story about an infection and then again about human infiltration to mask whatever it is they are doing... or rather, what you do on their behalf. I'm guessing the hierarchs merely chose the closest fleet to High Charity to blockade the city, but for some reason I'm a problem and they realised it too late. How close am I?" [i]More than just a sword, then,[/i] Pel observed, surprised; in examinations, Thierr'ee had never displayed any keen aptitude for thought or reasoning, and had always been one to allow his hearts free reign with his brain having little input. It seemed that had changed. "None too far off the mark, but you fail to grasp the magnitude of what is happening here. Leave now, fleetmaster. Run back to your ship, leave this system and go back to playing war. If you do this I swear you will be left alone." "Playing war? You casually blaspheme without considering your words; I have seen horrors untold in our 'playing' with the humans -- a coward Ossoona would never understand--" "Yes, yes," Pel murmured tiredly, dismissing the fleetmaster's anger with a wave of his hand. "The holy war with the humans is paramount, you're all heroes, blah blah blah. I may not understand war as you do, but right now you are in [i]my[/i] element and I am offering you a rope; it would be wise to grasp it before you sink any further." "And what of Ahkrin?" Thierr'ee pressed. The honey that Pel had been pouring out of his mouth soured a little, leaving behind a bitter taste. He adopted a look of bewilderment for a few moments, then laughed. "That petty assassin? He's nothing to us, I believe he left for Sanghelios some time ago. No doubt drinking and whoring." Thierr'ee's brow furrowed, and the man looked around the room slowly, mulling over what Pel had told him. The other Sangheili whom Thierr'ee had brought with him stood still sullenly in the corner, arms folded and foot tapping the floor impatiently. Again Pel wondered who he was. "Sanghelios, truly?" Pel smiled. He had him. "I am many things, fleetmaster, but I do not lie. I stake it on my house's honour." That was the finisher. Thierr'ee was a noble, honourable man; he would not for a second think that anyone would dare risk the reputation of their birth-house, not even in the face of death. Pel tensed his body, ready to pounce on the fleetmaster as soon as he let his guard down. "Then I pity your house for lending its name to such a craven wretch," Zharn suddenly breathed, striding forward and striking Pel across the jaw hard with the blunt edge of his rifle. The world exploded in a flurry of pain, stars and comets shooting before his eyes as a dull throbbing battered away at his cheek. When the tears had fled and the agony faded, he found himself launched against the wall of his office, a scalding-hot tip of the charged rifle jammed into his bare neck. Pel screamed without restraint. After a few moments the rifle's tip was moved away a few inches; the unbearable heat remained, but it was manageable. Pel forced himself to look up at Zharn, who suddenly seemed about ten feet tall. He wasn't built for field work, prophets be damned. "Why?" he demanded, very aware of how much he sounded like a petulant child. He struggled for composure, and eventually found it. "You just burned your last bridge, Thierr'ee. See how the logs fall into the rapids below." "Ahkrin loathes Sanghelios!" Zharn shouted, the words taking a few seconds to register. "His entire family was executed on its soil. He'd never go there to drink and whore, just as I would never go to the place of my father's murder again. Now, tell me what you've done with him before I rip your lying tongue out." To illustrate his point, he brought up his knife and held it in the air. It snatched the light and warped it into something immeasurably dark. Pel stared at it for a few seconds, before finally finding his voice and painfully conscious of how his tongue composed the words he spoke. "I don't know where he is, Thierr'ee. If I did, he'd be dead already. Why, you are about to ask? Because he involved himself in matters he shouldn't be involved with, just like you. Now the hierarchs want his head, and if I don't deliver it they'll have mine instead." Pel had been telling himself otherwise for the past few days, but he knew it was true. He left out the fact that Sorran was alive; Thierr'ee couldn't know everything, after all. "Tell your men to stand down," Thierr'ee commanded, authority vested in the sharp edge of his blade. Pel spread his hands helplessly, shifting uncomfortably under the weight of the fleetmaster. "It would make no difference. The hierarchs have their Jiralhanae out in force, against my recommendation," he explained, unable to keep the sully out of his voice. "I have failed in my task, and I will pay the price. I first thought you my replacement, sent to arrest or kill me." "My hearts bleed," Thierr'ee droned sarcastically, throwing Pel down to his knees aggressively. "I will save your replacement the trouble."

* "Thierr'ee's fleet is still up there," one of the guards made small talk to another, glancing at the ceiling nervously. The other grunted. "It poses no threat to our plans, so long as that charlatan of a fleetmaster does not learn of the true face of operations here," the second guard assured, kicking his foot against the wall abstractly; some guard, to leave his back exposed to danger. "Why do you think the hierarchs are so hellbent on apprehending this... this [i]librarian[/i] and some stripped-name criminal?" the first guard quizzed of his colleague. Zharn peered at them both around the corner, taking little notice of what they were saying. He glared back at Grymar'ee, giving him a stare which read 'I'll kill you if you do anything.' "Who knows why the hierarchs do anything?" number two replied, seeming uncomfortable to discuss the subject. "It is not for us to speculate." "I don't think even the Ossoona knows," the first continued, oppressive in his speech. Zharn heard an audible sigh from the second guard. "And if not even he, right arm of the prophets, is privy to such information, then for us to speak of it will no doubt earn us the cold embrace of irons. Let us just stand here as we are paid to do, my friend." "What a waste of time this is," the first guard lamented, staring up at the leaking ceiling; a steady drip of water fell through the breaks in solid stone, a pool building up on the floor. A mass of tiny flies gathered about the stagnant water; first-stage Yan'me, perhaps. "It is good money," the second argued. Zharn was taking advantage of their distraction, swinging around the corner with his weak camouflage engaged. Had the two guards been paying attention they'd notice the distortion straight away, but busied as they were in their conversations, they did not see. "We didn't become mercenaries for money, brother," the first guard countered. "If that was our goal, we could have followed out our father's wishes and joined the army as officers and be trapped behind desks until we were old and greying like he. We took up this mantle for adventure, and there is very little of it in here." The second guard seemed to have grown tired of his blood-brother's talk, for then he suddenly turned around and found himself staring at a very clear haze in the air. The Sangheili brought up his weapon with a startled cry, but already it had been wrested from his grip; Zharn delivered a sharp blow to the neck with his other hand, and the second guard fell into the puddle of fouled water. Before the first guard could even register Zharn's active camouflage being deactivated, he already found himself rushed against the wall; an arm pressed in the guard's neck, a knee dealt a heavy blow to his abdomen and a blow to the base of the head sent the man's brain smacking against his skull. He dropped with a muffled cry. Zharn turned to find Grymar'ee holding a knife in his hand, preparing to slit the second guard's throat. "Stop!" Zharn whispered harshly, drawing the Imperial Admiral's attention with the sudden appearance of his plasma pistol. Grymar'ee turned his head. "It's just a knife, Thierr'ee. Not even sharp enough to penetrate your shielding; I just thought I'd help clear up after your... impressive show." "It is not the weapon I am concerned about, it is what you are going to do with it. Leave them be." Grymar'ee stared with dull eyes up at him for a moment, before chuckling arrogantly and letting the guard's head fall back to the ground in an unconscious daze. "You are a strong warrior, but you are too soft. It will be your undoing one day," Grymar'ee lectured, falling back into line in front of Zharn. "If there comes a day where mercy brings my end, then it will be a world I will gladly leave behind. For a man who might not live to see the end of this day, you certainly know not how to keep your mouth shut." "What is an Imperial Admiral, but a politician for the military?" Grymar'ee asked in rhetoric, looking down at the path that lay before them. "I know the layout of this temple. It is likely the Ossoona will be located in the clergyman's quarters; is are the most private and comfortable room in the building. We are not far from it." Zharn nodded, grateful for Grymar'ee's direction despite what the man had done. It had been a good move to bring him along, even though one of the motivations for doing so he hadn't revealed to Orpheus was that he was concerned if the Imperial Admiral was left with the Jiralhanae, the former would end up in the latter's stomach. Grymar'ee had killed many innocent Jiralhanae, and Zharn had seen how Orpheus' eyes were awash with cold rage at that. "Help me hide the bodies and be gentle about it. Then we carry on. If you carry on being a help as you have been, then when this is over I will help you find your daughter. But after that, you go into exile." "That is fair," Grymar'ee agreed reluctantly. "So long as I can say my piece to Savara. Truth be told, I grow weary of the affairs of the Covenant. I am too old; my values too traditional." [i]He's certainly been considering what he has done,[/i] Zharn mused as they shifted the unconscious guards so they would be out of sight. [i]Exile might be too kind a punishment for him, but in light of who's father he is it is the most I can do.[/i] "Still, let us not get too far ahead of ourselves," Zharn murmured. "There is still a strong chance our heads will end up on spikes." * Ahkrin tackled the invisible runner to the ground, holding whoever lay beneath the illusionary veil in a deadly vice. One flick of his wrist and whoever it was would die. "These last words had better make me reconsider killing you," Ahkrin breathed in the camouflaged Sangheili's ear. A few moments later he heard a wheezed reply. "It's... me," Sorran's voice emerged despite the mouthful of street he was currently being subjected to. Ahkrin drew back from his 'prey' instantly and helped Sorran up to his feet. The active camouflage fell away like a robe dropped to the ground, the gold-red of Sorran's honour guard armour shining in the embryo of early dawn. "What do you think you are playing at, boy?" Ahkrin demanded, painfully aware of how much younger than he Sorran was when he said that last word. "You take off from safety without so much as a word spoken to me, then-- you're hurt. What happened?" "A Jiralhanae patrol," Sorran muttered distractedly. "One broke off from the pack; I killed him, but listen--" "You killed a Jiralhanae?" Ahkrin queried, smiling despite himself with pride. "You certainly have changed, young scholar. But even so, you can't just go wandering off alone with all the Covenant arrayed against us--" "Jajab's dead," Sorran interrupted with a croak, his eyes moist as he spoke. Ahkrin frowned for a few seconds, then the memory hit him. "Restraint's unggoy?" Ahkrin quizzed, and saw fire flare in his friend's sad eyes. "He was no-one's 'unggoy!'" Sorran snapped, clenching his fists. "He was a person with a name, hopes, dreams, family--" "Yes, you're right," Ahkrin apologised before Sorran could rev his tirade into full gear. "That was inconsiderate of me to say, I'm sorry for your loss. How did he...?" And so Sorran explained the message he had received from Jajab, how he'd been lured out to the middle of the lake and given the fatal news regarding Savara and her imprisonment by Pel. At the end of it all, Ahkrin threw his hands up in the air with exasperation. He lost himself in thought, considering what he'd just been told. "Listen to me now, Sorran. I know I said to you we'd find Savara and flee the station with her, but I had no idea Pel had her. You want to rescue her; I would feel the same in your position, but that is exactly what Pel wants." "I intend to oblige him," Sorran vowed, cracking his knuckles together. He blazed with foolish passion and intensity. "If we go to find Savara, they will stop us, and they will execute us!" Ahkrin attempted to batter through to Sorran's love-struck brain. "Leave her, for now at least. This is the perfect time for us to infiltrate the dreadnought. The last thing in the world they'll expect is for us to--" "I care not about dreadnoughts or oracles," Sorran snapped back angrily, looking as though he could believe what Ahkrin was saying. "The woman I love is being held hostage, by a madman no less. I'm going to the Janjur Qom district, with or without you."

* Sorran had just finished clearing the water from his ears when he heard them, and not a moment too soon. He quickly ducked out of the street and pressed himself against the wall of a building, seeking safety in the shadows. The patrol turned the corner a few seconds later and fanned out; Jiralhanae, let loose from their chain. Pel would never have sanctioned their use, the man was as Sangheili-purist as they came. It seemed the hierarchs were having a direct hand in matters now. The pack of Jiralhanae were fanned out, staring suspiciously through demon-red eyes at the windows of buildings, canines bared and salivating as they passed through the streets; the switching off of lights heralded their coming. "Remain indoors!" one of them growled harshly, his voice amplified through artificial means. "By the authority of the holy prophets, we are dealing with an internal threat to this station's security. No harm will come to you if you comply. Step outside and your safety cannot be guaranteed." [i]A thinly veiled threat if I've ever heard one,[/i] Sorran thought, holding his breath as the brutish patrol passed by his hiding place; some wore the angular helm of the 'stalker,' a lone red eye in the middle of the Jiralhanae forehead sweeping the dark. Thankfully, they didn't even glance in his direction, carrying straight on in their search. He wasn't going to waste any time waiting for them to find him. As soon as they'd passed a reasonable distance, he slid out from his hiding place and scuttled down the streets. Sunlight was beginning to spill onto the solar-pavement; stretches of grav-strips began to assemble themselves atop each other like a layered cake, reaching from as far down as inches from the hard surface of the ground and stacking up to twice the height of the buildings. Usually transport would be hurtling along the grav-strips in battalions, commuters heading to work or mass. But not a single roar of a thruster could he hear, no matter how hard he strained to. High Charity was a sleeping beast. Sorran could not even begin to think of the damage to the economy and structure of the station the blanketing curfew was causing, and all just to detain himself and Ahkrin. He didn't doubt the hierarchs would scuttle parts of the city just to stop them if needs be. Madness. He checked the time. Dawn would take another seven hours to complete its awakening in this slow orbit and then Jeann'ee operation would begin. After that, he had no idea what would happen. If he was going to rescue Savara, he didn't have long. It would be suicide to go in alone, though. Even with the best in cloaking technology, to get into the Janjur Qom district undetected would require skill he did not possess. Thank the gods for Ahkrin, then. Sorran was violently wrenched away from his musings as footsteps sounded just around the corner. Remembering what his brothers and Hem had taught him, he melted into the shadow of a building and waited with bated breath. A few moments later, the prowling Jiralhanae rounded the corner and walk strode straight past him; the red beam embedded within its helm swept the area ahead wildly, the beast's claws fully extended; Sorran could practically smell the pheremones and adrenaline drip from the Jiralhanae as it pursued the scent it had picked up somehow. Jiralhanae could be dogmatic when they picked up the trail of their prey, even to the extent of leaving the pack's safety, as seemed to be the case here. Sorran moved up behind him, crouched and minimising the noise he made as his feet padded through the artificial turf of someone's small garden. With a deadly whisper he drew out his knife and prepared to drive it into the Jiralhanae's turned neck. [i]Snap![/i] The branch broke under his foot, clean in two. Sorran cursed himself for not having noticed it, but couldn't berate himself for long. The Jiralhanae stalker turned sharply, a feral gasp shot out into the cold and recognition flashed in the eyes which hung beneath the rim of its helm. The stalker brought up its gun, a monstrous work encapsulated by a nexus of blades, each stained with reds and purples and greens and blues. The Jiralhanae roared defiantly. Sorran moved into action before it could do so again. He launched his right leg up at the left hand of the Jiralhanae, sending the barbaric weapon spiralling out of its hand; the blades of the weapon burrowed into a nearby wall. The stalker glanced at it for a second, growling with rage. It charged, taking Sorran by surprise. He felt the full weight of the Jiralhanae smash into him, nearly ending the fight there and then. Somehow he managed to maintain his balance, although found himself several metres from where he had been and every bone in his body ached. Before Sorran could clear the concussion from his sight, he heard the Jiralhanae growl and charge again. He acted on instinct, taking a graceful leap to the side and firing out an arm. His hand caught the rushing Jiralhanae by the throat as it lumbered as fast as a speeding ghost, and Sorran felt his arm threaten to snap in that split second. He managed to spin and turn the stalker's own weight against it, slamming the back of its head down onto the ground. Sorran leapt onto the Jiralhanae, burrowing a screaming arm into the impossibly thick neck and fighting to manipulate the writhing mass of muscle and strength into a lock. Finally he had the Jiralhanae pinned to the floor; it thrashed and kicked and Sorran's joints and ligaments shrieked in protest, but he held tight even as his hand stretched to his belt, reaching. He drove his hand down to the hulking chest of the brute. The Jiralhanae made one final effort and managed to throw Sorran off, sending him hurtling to the ground where he rolled again and again. Sorran dimly looked up and saw the Jiralhanae tower over him, victory raging about its dilated eyes. It brought up a hand, prepared to bring it crashing down. Then the Jiralhanae realised what was embedded in its chest, and screamed with terror. The beast clawed at the energy sword in panic, dismembering its fingers in the process; they fell to the floor with heavy thuds, sizzling. The Jiralhanae followed soon after, going down with a final gargle as blood gushed from its throat like a geyser. Sorran slowly brought himself up to his feet, reaching into the pouch on his side and drawing out a small syringe. He jabbed the healing-agent into the artery hidden beneath his bloody thigh, relief washing over him like sunshine as the cool liquid littered with medical-nanites fell through his system. He stumbled at first, then began to walk with more confidence towards the charred corpse of the Jiralhanae; the stench of its meat hung in the air, and Sorran fought to keep down bile. He grabbed the hilt of his sword and his index finger instinctively found the rune he searched for; immediately the plasma of the weapon retracted, and the cold blue glow fled. He sat then for several minutes by the dead Jiralhanae, knowing he should have ran in case another had heard the roars. As the adrenaline faded from his system, he reached down over the body and pulled away the fearsome mask of the stalker from the Jiralhanae's head. Sorran saw then not an enemy or a monster, but a person. The Jiralhanae's eyes were plastered with the fear that only those moments from death could ever know, blood staining his jaw and tears dry around his eyes. His face was death. "May you find your journey," Sorran uttered sadly over the corpse, aware of the irony as he spoke the words. He let the energy sword hang again from his waist, and walked away from the body of the Jiralhanae. The last of his kind he had killed had been on Eridanus II. Back then their kind had seemed so unstoppable, and Sorran had remembered the intense fear he'd felt even as he'd moved to stab... he struggled for the name. Hestaphus. Yes, that had been it. Even when about to stab Hestaphus in cold blood to save the human child the Jiralhanae threatened, every brain cell Sorran owned had been telling him not to; not out of logic or honour, but fear. Now when he thought of a hostile Jiralhanae, he just thought of another potential body at his feet. Hem had turned him into a killer, and Sorran somewhat resented that. But had he not, Sorran would be the one with terror in dead eyes stained with tears and blood coating his jaw like a layer of horrific stubble. For that, he thanked Hem, wherever his mentor was now. He hoped Hem had not hated him as he died, and knew he would never be at peace with that worry. And now Jajab dead, too. He swore then before whatever gods were watching from their aloof place in the heavens that their sacrifices would not be in vain. Somehow and some way, he and Ahkrin would triumph over the adversity and escape High Charity to return another day and change the worlds. But as grand a motivation as that was, if Savara died he knew even it would cease to hold meaning for him. Engaging his active camouflage, Sorran swiftly followed the streets and headed in the direction of Jeann'ee's home in pursuit of Ahkrin. A Jiralhanae Sorran might be able to kill, but he knew he stood no chance against all the might of Pel's battalions alone.

A few of the Sangheili looked up from their past-times as they saw Zharn and Grymar'ee approaching, but most didn't even bother. One man lazily put aside his drink and ambled towards them casually, weapon held carelessly at his side. [i]We could probably fight our way in if needs be,[/i] Zharn mused, disgusted with the complete lack of professionalism amongst the men, even if they were just mercenaries. The merc heading towards them held out a hand. "What do you want?" he asked interrogatively, slanted eyes staring up at them suspiciously. His voiced reeked of the lower caste. Zharn cleared his throat and opened his throat to speak, but was interrupted before he had the chance. "Is that any kind of way to speak to your superiors?" Grymar'ee barked at them sharply, so much command in his voice that even Zharn nearly leapt to attention. "I don't care if you're a fleetmaster or a scum-of-this-galaxy merc, when a superior officer approaches you stand ready regardless of position! You think we're paying you to drink and gamble?" All of the men loosely assembled outside the entrance fell into order, hastily thrown salutes hailing them and backs straight as an arrow. Their 'speaker' coughed into his fist. "Sorry, sir," he muttered, abashed. "We are not accustom to jobs being run in a military fashion, my boys were just--" Grymar'ee stalked forward and loomed over the smaller merc leader with his considerable stature, mandibles opening with menace. "They are most certainly not your 'boys' when they are on our payroll, commander!" the Imperial Admiral shouted down at the man. Zharn looked around with paranoia, worried Grymar'ee was going to attract attention to them. Contrary to this however, most other guards in the locale had slyly shuffled away, not wanting to cross whoever was giving these poor fellows a bollocking. "Understood, sir. Forgive me," the merc leader pleaded, eyes now downcast. Grymar'ee growled for a few moments, before pushing the man back into his comrades. "You are fortunate I have a meeting, or I would not think twice about lashing you for your insubordination," he leered at them, sighing with disappointment. "I will have to mention this to the Ossoona, of course." Fear suddenly gripped the ranks, and they all looked towards their leader for help, who seemed to resent his position as he subserviently raised a weak protest. "I swear on the rings this won't happen again, sir. There's no need to bother the Ossoona with a matter as trivial as this." Grymar'ee seemed as though he were about to erupt in anger again, and the leader drew back fearfully. Finally consideration passed his eyes, and he nodded aggressively, grabbing the merc leader by the base of his chin. "Make sure it doesn't," the Imperial Admiral breathed, his words carrying with them the promise of death. He let the man go and moved towards the door; he didn't even have to ask for one of the guards to open it. Grymar'ee turned to Zharn. "Come!" Zharn sneered derisively at the mercenaries as he walked past, and didn't have to fake much of it. He loathed their kind; no honour, no morals, coin was their conscience. "Impressive," he murmured to Grymar'ee as they both entered the inside of the building and the doors closed behind them. A narrow hallway stretched out before them, a few metal panels all that kept the ugly rock of the San 'Shyuum from being stepped upon. "If there's one thing an Imperial Admiral must possess, it is a voice which could make even the hierarchs reconsider a decision," Grymar'ee explained, demeanour meek again as he saw Zharn's weapon back in sight and pressed into the small of his back. "Well you may shout down at me as much as you please, it will not stop me discharging a round into you if you make even the slightest--" "Yes, I understand the arrangement we have, Thierr'ee... if there is one good thing about these Janjur Qom ruins, they are easy to navigate; San 'Shyuum architects were hardly the most complex of artisans. We will find Pel easy enough, and then you can get us both killed." "Just get walking, Grymar'ee. I intend to survive this encounter and if you play your cards right, so will you." * "Report," Pel ordered, his voice strained from the shouting of orders for some hours now. He was usually the sort to take a hands-off approach to leadership and trust in his men to carry out his will, but not in this case. His very neck was on the line, with Truth holding a blade above it. "We found no body other than what was left of the Unggoy, sir. But it's a deep lake, maybe--" "No," Pel interrupted wearily, raising a shaking hand to stop the hologram of his tacticians officer mid-sentence. He could faintly hear the gentle lapping of the lake behind the man, and saw a pillar of ebbing smoke rising in the distance. "If you haven't found a body by now then they escaped. I did not anticipate that the Unggoy would find a way to subvert the transmitter, the blame is on me." The officer seemed relieved to hear it, but quickly masked the sigh that was about to release from his mouth for fear it would be the last he made. He saluted sharply. "It's probable the asset told the target of the hostage we have," the Sangheili nervously continued, as though he were afraid Pel could kill him from where he sat in the Temple of the Rings. "He could be on the way." "Sorran and Ahkrin's biological prints have been weaved into our sensors," Pel affirmed to the officer, manipulating the view of the holodrone at the scene of the lake and taking a closer look at its misty waters. "If they come here, we'll know." The faintest rivets of dawn were beginning to break the horizon of High Charity; he'd petitioned for the station's axis to be shifted so they'd have a few more hours of night to work with, but the hierarchs had refused on the basis that it would push the suspicions of the people too far. A day operation it would be, then. "Affirmative," the officer understood. "We'll continue our search for their hiding place in the meantime." "I doubt you'll have much success," Pel disagreed. "Descol'ee has more criminal contacts than almost anyone on this station. If we want to find them, it'd take a large-scale deployment of the army to conduct simultaneous raids on every syndicate on High Charity; out of the question, of course. We wait for them to show themselves." "And if they don't?" the officer asked. Pel looked coldly at the man, shutting the hologram system down. He stalked over to his command-table and stared down at the masses of information piled on it through dark hoods. If they didn't come to him, then they wouldn't be the only ones trying to flee the station.

"Things change," Ahkrin replied sharply. "You seem to have done well enough." "The years have been kind. But I've never worked with anyone as good as you, not in all my years since. I'm looking forward to our little mission tomorrow." "I didn't invite you, so don't act like this is my choice," Ahkrin hissed angrily. "Getting to the--" he noticed a few others walking by, and held his tongue a few moments. They nodded their heads in Jeann'ee direction reverently. Once he was sure they were out of range, he continued: "Getting to the Dreadnought will be hard enough without you lumbering along with us too." "Tell me exactly why you need to go there without lying and I'll stay put," Jeann'ee stated, his big smile saying louder he knew Ahkrin wasn't about to do that. "Sorran isn't suited for what you do. He nearly killed your men before when he saw some of your... [i]dealings.[/i]" He spoke the word with a guilty derision. "I empathise with him. I don't like the direction your businesses have taken." "If you're referring to the child trafficking, nor I," Jeann'ee confessed. "I try to make their lives as easy as I can, and take care when selecting who can buy. That is more than others would were I not the one holding monopolisation on the practice." "The devil without horns is still the devil," Ahkrin retorted harshly. "I am hardly best suited the dictate right and wrong to you, but you must draw a line." "Ah, but where to find ink? Your friend Sorran seems to serve you well." Ahkrin frowned, slowing his pace for a few seconds. "Sorran isn't my conscience, Jeann'ee. He's a friend. You make it sound as if I use him to tell me what is black and white." "A useful skill in a world drenched in grey. We could argue moral semantics all night, Ahkrin, and were this any other time I would do so happily. But I need to talk to you about tomorrow." They passed a table where a gambling game was taking place. Kig-yar were almost exclusively hunched around it, squawking and plumes all raised as they examined their opponents. Even in a quick glance, Ahkrin saw five individuals who were cheating in some way or form. "What of tomorrow? You said you had a plan to get us in," Ahkrin deadpanned. Jeann'ee nodded vigorously. "I do, worry not. Getting out... it will be harder. Once the staff realise there has been a breach, they'll come for us. You know how many lekgolo roam around that ship? Almost enough to make a Mglekgolo as tall." "Escape is my speciality," Ahkrin told the other Sangheili without a hint of irony. "Opportunities have a habit or revealing themselves only during the infiltration. I'll come up with something." "It'd be a lot easier if you'd tell me our objective." "You'll see that soon enough. I'm going to Sorran's quarters, we need to talk. I'll see you at dawn." "Sorran? He left a few hours ago." Ahkrin felt his hearts not so much skip as leap a few beats. He turned on Jeann'ee, brimstone welled up in his eyes. "Left where?" "I don't know. He left out the eastern passage, told a guard he was running an errand for you, made a few threats on your behalf until he was finally allowed by. I of course assumed you knew. Don't tell me your moral compass is in need of one of its own--" Ahkrin pushed away from Jeann'ee and began a light jog which gained momentum, as he hurtled past startled passers-by on his way to the eastern door. * A single blow to the base of the neck was all it took to drop the lone advance guard around the Janjur Qom district. The mercenary types were all the same; they wore intimidating armour and carried themselves confidently, but when thrown into a real situation they were useless. "Status," Zharn demanded as he dragged his prey into the shadows. The ugly ruins of the San 'Shyuum homeworld loomed over him, juxtaposing in an unpleasant way with the smooth decor of High Charity. San 'Shyuum appreciated beauty, but their architectural design before the Covenant had been awful. Rusted metallic spikes seemed randomly grafted on to collapsed concrete blocks, streets had no sense of order to them as if the planner had closed his eyes as he drew the city's plans; the San 'Shyuum called the area one of heritage and great religious value, but all Zharn saw was a derelict site which marred the otherwise ubiquitous luminance of the holy city. "They haven't noticed either of you yet," Orpheus rumbled over the private line. Zharn glanced to his left and stared with dislike at Imperial Admiral Grymar'ee, who seemed to have adopted a submissive attitude. The man had had numerous opportunities to call out during the infiltration, but had held his tongue. Probably because he wanted to keep it. "You know I would bring you with me if I could, Orpheus, but you would stand out," Zharn apologised to his friend yet again, before turning on the traitor. "You'd better not be lying about those access codes, Grymar'ee." "I know them," the Imperial Admiral assured him, stripping the guard he had neutralised of armour and donning it himself. "I am concerned, fleetmaster. Pel said I would hear from my daughter three hours ago. Threats are not my only motivation now." "Yeah, you're a real hero," Zharn droned sarcastically, motioning to him with a pistol to head to the energy barrier's controls. Grymar'ee squared his shoulders and stalked off towards the console, carrying himself with a stooped bearing. "Many would say so," Grymar'ee replied distractedly as he focused on the monitor embedded by the shield barrier and began working. "I've had Arbiters themselves kneel out of respect in my presence." "Hardly great judges of characters, for they too have sinned. You need not bludgeon me with your accomplishments, I am well versed in them. You were a case study at the officer's academy... I admired you." That seemed to give the Imperial Admiral pause. He turned his head ever so slightly as if to say something, but thought twice and returned back to the task at hand. "There," he finally finished, drawing back from the console. He sounded relieved as the barrier faltered, opening the way into the district-proper. Answers stretched out before them like a road, and there were no turns. "Act like we belong," Zharn murmured to Grymar'ee as they walked through the gate. He noticed a few snipers watching them from a rooftop, and nodded curtly in their direction. They returned the gesture, before looking away. "I'm not inept, fleetmaster. I [i]am[/i] an Imperial Admiral, you know," Grymar'ee protested, a tinge of annoyance colouring his voice. He wore a pistol strapped to his side, but it was only for show; the battery had been depleted before Zharn gave it to him. "Being born into power does not make one strong," Zharn droned tiredly. He'd had to put up with men like Grymar'ee all his working life, aristocrats who wore their positions like they were a right. They almost universally loathed officers 'from the rank' such as he. "Nor does beating an insane man in a duel," Grymar'ee retorted, and laughed slightly when Zharn seemed surprised. "I know how you won your title, Thierr'ee. It was no small thing beating a man so skilled with the blade as Xatan'ee, but it doesn't make you a leader." [i]He doesn't know how right he is,[/i] Zharn thought inwardly, shadow shrouding his eyes as he walked along, downcast. He'd reconciled with the fact that his besting of Xatan'ee had been a false one, but the knowledge still burned like a mark of shame. Crude Forerunner runes were carved into the walls of this ruined Janjur Qom city, their design sharp and unseemly. The San 'Shyuum had had no respect for the articles of their lords, until the Sangheili had shown them the proper way to worship and revere. The dead ground cracked with age, supports all that were holding up the remains of buildings. Zharn always wondered why the San 'Shyuum clung so to the ruins of their now-gone homeworld; so few of them ever came here, and any potential Forerunner artefacts had been stripped from the land long before their first contact with his people. Only the old temple of the sacred rings ahead remained in decent condition, and even it was falling to pieces. Still, it seemed to be the place where most of Pel's men gathered around; a large number were sat down, playing games of logic or drinking. Most telling that they were not military. "That looks like their base of operations," Zharn murmured quietly to Grymar'ee, who grunted in affirmation. "I've brought you this far, Thierr'ee. Why do you keep me still?" "Because I don't trust you not to run to the nearest guard and highlight my presence. You're staying in reach of my knife-arm, Grymar'ee. One move and I'll sink a blade so soundly into your back that hardly a drop of blood will escape. Besides, I might need your access codes." The Imperial Admiral didn't reply, but seemed to accept the ultimatum. For such a high-ranking man, he was a very timid one and easily threatened. "How are we getting in the temple, then?" he asked, back to business. Zharn studied the entrance for a few moments, looked at their uniformed selves and shrugged. "We'll walk straight in," he said, moving to head towards the guards outside the main entrance. Grymar'ee blinked for a few moments, before following after him.

"Sorran? Thank the gods you're alive; it is I," he heard the surprisingly reassuring voice of the old Unggoy harken back to him. A breath that Sorran had not known he was holding let loose. "Come closer." Hesitation gripped Sorran then, and he did not move his oars. "What's with the cloak and dagger, Jajab? Who put you up to this?" he called back, exchanging an oar for a rifle and letting it hang down the side of the boat; its heated tip gently skimmed the surface of the water, veiling its blue shine in steam. "... it's Savara, Sorran. They have her. It hurts my voice to shout; I swear to you on all whose lives I hold dear that it is safe, for now." [i]Savara![/i] was the only word in that sentence Sorran registered. Disregarding all concern for his own well-being, he quickly rowed towards Jajab's boat, knowing somewhere in the back of his mind that it was foolish. At last he saw Jajab clearly, the light around his boat creating a bubble in the fog. He looked at Sorran with wide, fear-filled eyes, but seemed glad to see him. Sorran was too busy staring at Jajab's coat to return the look, or rather what lay beneath it. "Is that a--" he asked in a barely constrained voice, wondering if those words would be his last. Jajab glanced down and nodded. "A bomb, yes." "I can see that," Sorran spoke slowly, irrationally worried that if he spoke loudly he'd disturb the current peace of the explosive device. "Why did you tell me it's safe?" "It is, for now," Jajab assured him. "That's why I had you come out here; all this water interferes with the transmitter embedded within the bomb. It won't take long before they realise what's happened and come for me, though; I was about to leave when you arrived." "What about Savara, Jajab? What do you mean [i]they[/i] have her?" Sorran suddenly demanded, still keeping a wary few metres between their two boats. "Pel and his accomplices, Sorran. He's an Ossoona. He's the traitor." "We know," Sorran replied, stressed. Jajab frowned. "[i]We?[/i] Then, Hem yet lives too?" "What?" Sorran muttered abstractly, torn out of his concern for Savara. "No, Jajab. No. Hem's dead. Pel killed him. I'm sorry." "... what a sad end for such a noble man," Jajab remarked, sighing. "But at least you still live. So who is this other you referred to." [i]I can hardly tell him I'm friends with the man who murdered Restraint. Not yet, at least.[/i] "Ahkrin, a good friend of mine. He knows our plight, and is helping. I trust him with my life, you have nothing to fear," he explained in half-truths. "If only that were true," Jajab remarked sadly. "They're holed in in the Janjur Qom district, Sorran. They gave me directions to give to you, on a holodrone." "How kind," Sorran muttered, deftly catching the small orb of silver Jajab threw across the waters. "No doubt they expect me to bring over the data and myself and Ahkrin. I hardly expect they'll let us walk out alive." "It's unlikely," Jajab agreed, sweat trickling down his brow. He kept glancing out all around him, as far as he could see through the fog. "Just leave her, Sorran. There's no getting her back now. Leave this station, go into hiding, and never come back." "Oh, you would want that, wouldn't you?" Sorran retorted with derision, red flashing before his eyes. "For us all to just leave this behind and spend the rest of our lives in the dark, afraid of our own shadows! I can't do that Jajab. If you want to leave High Charity without us, then fine. Just don't expect us to follow after you." There was a small silence between them then, before a sad little smirk ran up Jajab's wizened face. He shook his head. "You misunderstand me, Sorran. I did not mean that I should go with you. I was telling you to go, I don't want you to throw your life away on a suicide mission. But I was wrong to say that, you're right. Save her, Sorran. Save her, and then run away." Sorran didn't understand what the small Unggoy meant. Waves were beginning to toss and turn about the lake. "What will you do?" he asked, confused. Jajab merely answered by reaching into the folds of his robes. He drew out a small plasma pistol; Sorran brought up his rifle, thinking betrayal. Jajab stared at it for a few moments, before bringing up his own gun and pointing it under his chin. "Leave, Sorran. Don't look back," Jajab told him through tears, the green of the pistol illuminating the Unggoy's tiny face in a ghostly way, throwing ephemerality into ever line of age and the tears that welled within them. "What are you doing?" Sorran demanded, preparing to jump across to the other boat and stop Jajab. He was stopped by a small hand, the tiny palm and a resolute shake of the head freezing his legs in place. "I can't remove this bomb, and they would never do it. This will buy you some time; they'll see the explosion even through the fog, and think you dead." "No!" Sorran protested. "You can't kill yourself, you're all that's left. Hem's dead, Restraint's dead; I need you." "I've never been needed, Sorran," Jajab replied gently. "That's why whenever I ran, no one noticed. But I found out that if you always run from what life throws at you, then all you have left is survival. Sometimes to truly live... you must die." "We've got time, Jajab. We'll figure out a way to get that bomb off you; we've got Restraint's Huragok. He can--" "We're already out of time, Sorran. If you don't leave soon it'll be too late," Jajab disagreed, looking down at the water. "What do you mean?" Sorran questioned, following Jajab's gaze. A single finger pointed at the teller. "There's no wind, but yet waves rage across this lake; it's them," Jajab explained to him softly. It was then Sorran heard the distant screeching of a banshee. His eyes met with Jajab, and they exchanged a nod. "I'll remember you," Sorran promised through a suddenly-constricted throat. "My children will hear stories of your bravery, and all the worlds when the truth comes to light." "Go!" Jajab snapped back, hand gripping the hilt of the pistol tighter. "And good luck." Sorran couldn't bring himself to say anything more. He looked at his oars and realised a boat would be too easy to track. Instead he clambered to the edge of the boat, and with a deft stroke flew into the water. He carried on swimming, away from the boats, away from the approaching Banshee, away from Jajab and the last living tie to what had been his world for so long now. After a good minute seconds of frantic swimming, he saw a flash of light from the water behind him, heard the muffled sound of the explosion, and felt the surge of heat race past him. He carried on swimming for a few moments, before finally succumbing to the desire for air and the need to know what happened. His head broke through the surface. A smoking billiard was all that remained a few hundred metres away, a rising pillar of smoke all that remained of Jajab. In the distance he saw the lights of the Banshee, flying in by the flames and wreckage once and then pulling away, in the other direction. Sorran couldn't tell if he was crying as he pulled his way back to shore, but it felt like over the past few days he'd shed enough tears to fill the lake he now swam in. [i]No deeper. I'm coming for you, Savara.[/i] * The dust stood thicker than stone, mounds piled up across the cellar and drinking the drips of water which fell from a cracked ceiling. Light seemed to have given up on the room, the only struggle against the darkness emanating from the source of smoke Ahkrin was systematically inhaling and exhaling. It was a new and seldom-adopted custom amongst the Covenant, gleaned from humans. They claimed it was stress-relieving; Ahkrin felt nothing but a dirty feeling pervading his lungs. Ahkrin knew who was approaching from behind even before he heard the footsteps. He casually flicked the remains of what he had been smoking into a dim corner of the cellar, turning around and acknowledged Jeann'ee's presence. "You claim to hate the Covenant so much," Ahkrin spoke first before he could be spoken to, wafting away the ghost of smoke which lingered still. "Yet you retain the 'ee' suffix on your name reserved for members of its army. Quite the antitheses." "Chalk it down to a peculiarity," Jeann'ee answered without answering. "I was raised in the military, it is as deep a part of me as my hatred for what it stands for." Ahkrin wished he hadn't thrown the smoke-stick away; something to break the tension would have been nice. "You obviously didn't come down here to gaze at my alarmingly good looks. What is it?" Jeann'ee smiled sardonically, motioning for Ahkrin to follow him. This little display of authority didn't escape him, and he didn't appreciate it. As a guest however, he had no choice. "What happened with you, Ahkrin?" Jeann'ee asked softly as they ascended the hard-light staircase that served as a gate to seal the darkness of the cellar away. "One day I hear you just upped and left, joined the army and became the Covenant's own little grim reaper bit­ch. My partner in crime, vanished."

It's been a fair while, sorry about that. You're probably all playing ME3 (you should be!) but here's a small chapter for you anyway; thanks for reading and don't fear the reaper. Enjoy! [b]Part 37 - Daggers in a cloak[/b] "How could you do this, Imperial Admiral? You're supposed to protect these people, and yet you choke the lives that have been placed in your hands," Zharn asked of Grymar'ee as they walked along through the all-too silent streets, the gentle aftermath of an earlier storm all that played behind their voices. "Morality... it's all a matter of perception, fleetmaster," Grymar'ee answered in haggard tones, plodding alone with a hunched back some five metres ahead of them. They'd patched the man's leg up hastily, and although he still made a satisfactory whimper of pain when he put pressure on it, he could walk. Orpheus flanked his side and Zharn his rear, like they were keeping a herd of wild animals in line. "It's the one thing the poor and common can afford that men of power such as we cannot." "A line has to be drawn somewhere," Zharn persisted angrily. "Your daughter could have been amongst those dead!" "I tried to have her brought to me before this began, but... she's stubborn and resourceful, like her father," Grymar'ee answered quickly, and uncertainly, as if he were not accustomed to speaking of his personal life with others. "One of my conditions before accepting this mission was that she be kept safe. I am told she is in protective custody until I come for her." "What makes you think she wants to see you? She hasn't for the better part of a decade," Zharn cut ruthlessly. The Imperial Admiral's back hunched even further. "Savara and I haven't always... seen eye to eye, but I am her family. I'm all she has, and she's all I have. That's a bond that can't be broken." "Family's a privilege, not a right. You've got to be there for them, otherwise it's just biology." "What do [i]you[/i] know of family, Thierr'ee?" Grymar'ee suddenly barked from up front. Orpheus tensed as if expecting a moment of foolishness from the restrained Imperial Admiral. "I knew of your father; he was a fool to challenge the orders of the San 'Shyuum. It seems the son has not learnt from the father's mistakes--" "I don't need your tongue to lead us," Zharn spoke coldly, and didn't raise his voice. "One more word of ill about my father and you lose it." He meant it, too. Grymar'ee promptly shut up, and continued his walk in silence. Orpheus looked him over, before wordlessly falling back and joining with Zharn. "Why have you spared this traitor?" the Jiralhanae asked him, not accusing but simply wanting an explanation. Zharn looked to check they'd be out of ear-shot, and leant over to Orpheus conspiratorially. "I know his daughter," he began. "You remember me telling you of Sorran?" "Your friend," Orpheus affirmed, thankfully neglecting the morbid details. "What of him?" "He was... intimate with Grymar'ee daughter. I can't kill her father, it'd crush her no matter what the Imperial Admiral's done. Sorran wouldn't want that." "You're suggesting we let this murderer go because your friend had sex with his daughter?" Orpheus demanded, the respect gone now. "They loved each other," Zharn protested weakly. "Sorran wasn't just my friend, Orpheus. He was my brother, like Ahkrin. When a Sangheili becomes your brother, you don't just look after him. You look after everything he cares for too." Rain fell, seeming to concentrate into a dense shroud around Grymar'ee. Orpheus stared through the veil for a few moments, he canines protuding from his lips in an almost feral way. "I will... respect your wishes," Orpheus finally conceded. "But what do you suggest we do with him? You say he operated on the wishes of the hierarchs, or at the very least the sanctum. Even were he not, it's our word against an Imperial Admiral's." "... we'll deal with that when it comes," Zharn decided, uneasy himself. "My primary concern right now is exposing and putting an end to this vile affair, and avoiding the executioner's block." "It seems we're always running from death, my friend," Orpheus observed sadly. "Does it?" Zharn answered with mock surprise. "I was under the impression we keep rushing towards it." * Sorran clambered across the artificial beach of Lake Charity, straining to see through the heavy mist. Petrichor stained the air, the lake being gently stirred by the soft gyration of High Charity. Sangheilios' moon cast its glow down upon the water, beams of light refracted off its shimmering surface. [i]There![/i] he saw with a sigh of relief, seeing the small diminutive silhouette of Jajab carved into the fog. He doubled his pace, raising his hand in greeting. "Jajab! It's good to--" he began to speak, and just as suddenly stopped. It wasn't Jajab he saw by the waters; rather, his clothing supported by the branch of a tree, a transponder wrapped around the wood's 'neck.' [i]What is this?[/i] he wondered, approaching the loose hanging of clothes tentatively. A flash of white hung amidst the black of Jajab's overcoat; paper, hanging from a piece of thread. Such an antiquated means of communication, that alone told Sorran that something was wrong. Black runes were hastily scrawled onto the paper. He reached out and took it, noting that it was bone-dry. There had been a storm not two hours ago. The message was recent. Sorran looked at it, his scholar's mind automatically deciphering the Unggoy language. [i]Middle of the lake. Boat by the pier,[/i] was all it read, followed by a signing of Jajab's name. It was almost certainly the elderly Unggoy's handwriting, which made Sorran ignore his better judgement and look down to the pier indicated in the note. Sure enough, a boat was moored by it; a cheap, wooden thing lacking even a basic gravity-defier. It bobbed up and down in the lake slowly, a pair of paddles submerged in a pool of mist. Sorran looked out to the middle of the lake, but his eyes could not pierce the thick shrouding of fog which smothered the air. For a few moments, indecision plagued him. This had all the markings of a trap, and had Ahkrin been here he would have said the same thing and no doubt fire out several shots at the middle of the lake just to be safe before leaving. That was Ahkrin's reaction to everything, though. Paranoia was a tool his trade. Curiosity was a tool of Sorran's. "Nothing ventured..." Sorran murmured under his breath, before slowly heading on down to the wooden boat. He made sure his plasma rifle was in quick reach, with the safety off. Rot had infested the boat; it was clear the vessel had been left moored at the edge of the lake for some time. Studying it closely, it even seemed human in design; possibly a spoil of war long forgotten. Sorran gingerly clambered into it, feeling the delicate planks of wood sagging under his weight. He hoped the lake was not too deep. Sorran had never rowed a boat before; naval transport was something rarely used outside of kig-yar culture, a species whose sea-trade still thrived on their homeworld Eayrn due to bad atmospheric conditions rendering air transport unfeasible. But for most of the rest of the Covenant, their feet seldom touched water -- the skies were the only ocean they needed. Even so, he understood the principle behind it. After a few minutes fumbling around, he managed to push himself away from the pier and set off towards the centre of the lake, the wooden bow slicing its way through the fog, ripples rising and fading away into mist. He saw dark shapes move under the water, and hoped that whatever creatures lurked below were docile. It would be a shameful end to be swallowed by a fish after everything he'd been through. After what must have been nearly half an hour, finally Sorran could make a shape out in the distance. A small light illuminated the silhouette of the other boat. He could dimly see a small figure on the boat, a smudge of shadow amongst the grey. "Jajab?" he called out loudly, his mouth moist with dew and lips numb with cold. "Is that you?" [Edited on 03.06.2012 2:32 PM PST]

[CHAPTER 37 ON NEXT PAGE] [Edited on 03.06.2012 2:30 PM PST]

Oh, ok sorry... Mabie after this you can work on memiors? Again, this is a great story and you are a remarkable writer!

I read every comment posted in this thread and consider them all; I just don't reply to them all when I don't have anything useful to say. I'm still writing, it's coming together but it's slow going. I'm sorry if it's taking a while, but I'm not exactly getting paid to do this and so I can only write it when I have the time to spare and even then only when I feel a creative spark. Yes, Memoirs II is discontinued. I barely have the time for this, never mind another fan fiction. There used to be a time where I could write three at once, but those days are past.

ETA for part 37??? Hmm... Its been a while since the last part came out, even if it's not finished, at least post updates and stuff. It looks as if your not even writing it or reading this anymore, just sayin, please post updates and stuff! Also it's a really great story, I have been reading some of your others and their all great, especially the later ones! Ps. Is memiors of an ODST 2 discontinued? [Edited on 03.05.2012 10:47 PM PST]

[quote][b]Posted by:[/b] X Proj3ct K1ler [quote][b]Posted by:[/b] Fridge Gnome Wolver said he would write more after [insert british term here][/quote] Very specific[/quote] "Sixth term today" this might be an american term too, but I'm an anti-social homeschooler so I wouldn't know.

[quote][b]Posted by:[/b] Fridge Gnome Wolver said he would write more after [insert british term here][/quote] Very specific

Wolver said he would write more after [insert british term here]