Halo: True Sangheili (Prologue and Part One)
Posted By: Wolverfrog<Wolverfrog49@Hotmail.com>
Date: 11 August 2009, 8:45 pm
My first ever Covenant fan fiction, so it may not seem too brilliant. But I'd love feedback, especially since I'm unsure about writing like this.
Edict of the Most High Prophet of Truth, 9th Age of Reclamation.
By the authority of the noble Prophets of Truth, Regret, and Mercy.
Henceforth, any and all battle worthy Sangheili are to be transferred from any idle posts in High Charity and/or upon any Covenant held world/ship into the active combat. Those amongst the excused are the Honour Guard, the Councillors, and the mentally ill, physically unfit, and the old. Female Sangheili are, as always, prohibited from taking part in any military action.
Any Sangheili engaged in a guard post, other than the Honour Guard, will be replaced by the Jiralhanae until such a time as the High Council deems otherwise. Any Jiralhanae in question of where they now stand shall direct all enquiries to Tartarus, Chieftain of the Jirahanae.
Failure to adhere to this edict will result in death. No exceptions. These are trying times, my brothers. The Human infidels persist in resisting the might of the Covenant. Rest assured, this 'war' as some are calling it, will be over soon -- to be forgotten and dismissed as an insignificant event in Covenant history.
PART ONE - SORRAN
Sorran cursed his bad luck. After centuries of peace, a war had to break out in his lifetime. And this wasn't the kind of war the Covenant was used to -- a rebellion, or a species to be absolved into their empire. The humans were smart, ruthless, and mighty warriors. Whilst the may use old technology, it was effective. Many a Covenant soldier had died at the hands of a crude human projectile.
The High Council had realised the threat these humans posed to the Covenant, and so every battle worthy Sangheili had been drafted into the Covenant. Sorran missed the days as a scribe in the Great Library of High Charity. A job usually reserved for the Prophets, it had taken much study on his part to finally be accepted into the library. And now all this.
Sorran looked down at the Plasma Rifle he held within a long hand with disgust. He'd never a fired a weapon in his life, never expressed a desire to do so. Yet here he was now, garbed in the traditional blue armour of a Sangheili Elite minor. He looked into a puddle at his feet, and was surprised by how warrior-like he looked.
Then again, every Sangheili was like that. Even before the days of the Covenant, theirs had been a militaristic society. Little had changed. Sorran looked every part the noble Sangheili he was supposed to be -- a little over eight foot tall, with narrow eyes and sharp teeth upon his mandibles. He resented that.
He brought up a hand to admire the way his energy shield flared ever so slightly as the patter of heavy rain fall bounced off it. At least that was a bonus of being a Sangheili in this war, Sorran mused as he looked over at a huddle of Grunts, desperately trying to gather what little warmth they could from the small, flickering fire. One Grunt was getting a little too close to the flames...
"Careful there!" Sorran called over, "Methane is a flammable gas, and your mask is a little too close to that flame Unggoy."
The five diminutive figures instantly all drew away from the fire, suddenly eyeing it as if were a deadly predator. A few moments later however, they shrugged and drew up to the flame again, in just as much of a precarious position as before. Sorran sighed, and turned away. He walked over to his superior, a Sangheili Major, who had been observing the Grunts with amusement.
"You waste your words on them my brother; Unggoy are notorious for being extremely dim witted." The Major remarked, crossing his arms smugly.
"Perhaps. Yet they are under our command, and we should strive to keep them safe, no matter how futile the endeavour may be." Sorran replied, disliking the way the crimson coloured Sangheili talked about them as if they were dogs.
The major cocked his head to one side, and looked at Sorran in an evaluating manner.
"I don't think I've seen you around these parts before brother. Are you new?" The major asked, as if he personally knew every Sangheili which roamed the outpost. Which, Sorran thought, he probably did.
"Yes, I'm new. Until a few weeks ago, I was a scribe in the Great Library of High Charity. Suddenly, I'm drafted and sent out here. My name's Sorran." He said, holding out a hand. The major looked uncertain for a moment, then grabbed Sorran's hand in a firm grip and shook it, once.
"Zharn." The major said simply. Sorran assumed it was the major's name. "So, the Great Library. You must not have seen much combat action there." It was a statement, no a question.
Sorran nodded in agreement.
"That's right. I've never fired a weapon in my life. Never planned to."
"Well then, we shall have to remedy that. We can't have the Unngoy outstripping you in combat. But for now, we shall eat, and we shall talk. Now tell me, is High Charity truly as wondrous as they claim it is? I have always wished to visit."
"Ah, it is a truly wondrous sight Zharn. I am not usually a very religious person; I believe in the Great Journey, don't get me wrong. To suggest otherwise would be blasphemy. But I prefer the solid facts my scrolls give me. Yet when I behold the Forerunner Dreadnought in the morning as I walk though the holy city, it makes me want to get down on my knees and pray." Sorran replied eagerly, glad that they both had a point of interest.
"I was once going to embark upon a pilgrimage to High Charity once." Zharn remarked, staring into the Unngoy's fire in the distance. The rain echoed, distorting his words. "But my father fell ill, and so I had to tend to him back on Sangheilios. He died, soon after. The Covenant didn't give me much time to grieve though. I was called back into duty a day afterwards."
Sorran hesitated a moment, then placed a consoling hand upon Zharn's shoulder.
"I'm sorry for you loss." The Sangheili Minor said. "I too know what's it's like to lose a family member to an illness. My dear sister, Forerunners preserve her soul, died but a year back."
Zharn grunted, and shook off his hand.
"Let us dispel these melancholy thoughts brother. Come, we should eat. I hear the Kig-yar have been cooking up a stew. I'd better be there to make sure an offensive Unggoy doesn't become part of it. "
Sorran laughed at what he thought to be a joke, and followed after the Major. Zharn didn't laugh. Perhaps he wasn't joking after all.