Post by Huka on Dec 14, 2013 19:30:09 GMT -6
Prologue
Her dark crimson robe, trimmed with golden thread, fluttered softly in the hot breeze, the soft brown-scaled woman looked upon the rolling dunes with bronze eyes. She’ve looked at the actual sea occasionally and enjoyed to compare the dune’s rolling appearance to frozen waves, every liquid particle seared and crystallized into sand. Sniffing softly, the maiden could inhale the scent of cooking meats and made berry-juice over the constant smell of the desert. Gazing down to the sectioned city of houses below the keep’s fierce visage, she could see the wine-makers moving towards the base of the mountain to begin harvesting the cave-vines for their berries and gather water for their descendants, the small bands of loosely-robed guards led by hardened keep sentinels making stoic patrols around to keep the peace, and perhaps her favorite sight; children playing in the safeness of the city. Today was a freedom of martial training an they took every opportunity to live their age.
Sighing softly with a slight twitch of her lower mandibles, the maiden slipped one of her clawed hands from its sleeve and played with a childhood trinket: a beaded bracelet with a halved glass coin in the center that she absent-mindedly twirled around.
The Muram woman looked to the western horizon, peering to the savannah in the far distance, just barely seen from behind the sandy hills but the Covenant-constructed summit could be seen. The empire’s rule was, and always, felt on every corner of Sanghelios. In servitude to the Writ of Union for many centuries, the San’Shyuum made sure no one forgot who they served overall.
However, the maiden had little care for the Empire and its religious crusades; all that mattered was the ones who were fighting for these wars. There were very few females of the Sangheili who did care. The males were the truly indoctrinated ones and few recognized it. As she thought about that, the woman looked down to her coin and slowly runs a thumb along the broken half.
“My lady Rha.” A voice called gently. Turning her head to look over to the standing sentinel; a strong soldier clad in properly-wrapped robes of sand-white that covered from legs to neck, loose pants kept around his waist with a triple-wrapped sash, and the only real armor he wore was the inscribed plated armor on his arms, chest, and legs. Finished by the hallmark of the Keep Sentinels; a full-faced helmed mask in honor of the Paragon Tibur.
“Yes Rasam?” The maiden asked with a respectful tilt of her head, recognizing her usual escort. “Are you ready for your usual duties or would you like some more time? “ He asked but Rha waved her hand dramatically, “I am ready, Rasam. Please take me to the Kaidon.”
Bowing his crested head, the Sentinel took a few steps back from the arched doorway, allowing the woman to follow after as she pulled her beaked hood over her head. “How are you this morning, Rasam?” She asked, beginning the social conversation of the day as they walked down the wide hall of the keep, lined with far-parted sentinels that stood like armed statues.
“It goes well, milady.” He answered, walking with a trained stride of meaningful yet readied steps. “And you?” “Same.” Rha replied, sliding her hands into either sleeve to complete her look. “Was just enjoying a fine morning as usual, almost nothing works my mood more.”
“Almost?” Rasam questioned, tilting his head till his yellow eye could be seen through his visor, “Isn’t today the usual date of the Great Hunter’s return, along with a few other soldiers of the clan?” The woman felt her body warm up, particularly in the cheeks to the mention of her lover. “Mmm seems so.” She simply said nonchalantly. The Sentinel chuckled softly, looking forward again.
“I’ve seen your sons today, quarrelling on what tales he will tell this time.” He said. The maiden jerked her head dismissively, “What boy doesn’t enjoy an uncle’s tales of war?” “True.” The elite guard agreed with a slight nod.
Coming around a smooth corner, the chandeliers swung slowly to a strong breeze from the high windows, disturbing the hanging beads and charms to click against each other, bringing a soft melody to the keep.
“Do you know of today’s festivities?” Rasam asked with a soft hint of an anxious child, making the keep maiden chuckle, “Don’t know and would tell you, Conquerer of Tables.” She teased before patting the guard’s iron-tight stomach, making him instinctively rub it. “Why bring back such a memory, Maiden?” He grumbled.
“What better way to beat a male than humiliate him infront of his peers.” Rha lectured matter-of-factly. “You, Rha ‘Muram, would make a cruel strategist on the battlefield.” Rasam mused and the maiden made a flex of her mandibles in the relations of a smile.
Finally, they came to the massive doors depicting the twin Helian Hawks, talons intertwined in the center over the onxy portals. The residing guards bowed their heads and pulled the doors open to reveal the council chambers.
Inside was a large octagonal chamber, spanning several meters into the air, truthfully a spire in the heart of this room. The morning light beaming through velvet curtains of silk fabric that hid the stretched windows, bellowing gently to the wind like water. Armored guards took each corner in stoic rigidness with spears in hand and eyes forward. The walls etched in stories and depictions of mythological beasts that resembled the Muram and their absorbed households. In the center was the avian crest of the clan, its wings spread and arched in flight with its fiery tail-feathers in similar moment.
In a semi-circle sat wide-placed seats of power; the Twelve Seats of House Elders and over the Helian Tilum-Hawk’s sharp-beaked head was a humble seat with amber-glass decorations with its outer sides and a homely quill. While the Elders’ seats had crests of their personal town-keeps; from the twin crescent-moons trapping a star, resembling the former Triam Clan, to the stylized tusked head of the Badland beast to the former Naruk Clan, the throne had the rising hawk with the Forerunner symbol of Suffering Fortitude on the breast.
Each of the representing clansmen sat on their seats, dressed in different robes and their ages legit for their appropriate rank. Some had more Muram blood than others but they were all of the same clan and allegiance in heart. Resting on the throne with a clawed hand clenched to his naginata, made from the mountain’s very ore with a beautiful dark golden shine to it, decorated with feathers and dangling bones, the Kaidon himself looked at the opened door with stern bronze eyes with a hint of peace to them underneath his crested helm.
“Good ‘morrow, Handmaiden and Guardmaster Rasam.” He greeted with a slight bow of his head. In return, the two dutiful servants bowed deep in respect of their clan leader, “Good ‘morrow, Honorable Kaidon and council.” They answered ceremoniously as one.
The councilmembers gave their approval and respect with a bow of their own heads. “As you both are aware of, several of our kinsmen are returning from the frontlines for a fair recuperation, and that requires a fine feast to celebrate their short return from war.” He said with a click of excitement on his part.
“Yes, Kaidon.” They answered again. Rasam stepped forward first and saluted, “I will have the guard prime and ready for any disturbances, reaction and punishment will act as swift and precise as our blades.” The Kaidon nodded in approval and looked to Rha.
“The sisters will make sure the festivities are prime and ready on schedule as always, Kaidon. When our warriors leave again, they will leave rested and eager for glory.”
“Good, good. Make sure it continued that way, dear sister. Your proceedings have always brought cheer to the men’s hearts and I have full confidence in your abilities. Both of you.” The Clan Leader said, while in a close and familiar matter-due to the fact that he’ve watched over them since they were children-his words had a veiled danger to them. The full confidence of a Kaidon demanded excellence of high caliber, anything less will be damaging to one’s prestige and respect.
When that was given, the air was suddenly assaulted by a powerful bellow that rang throughout Muram from the distance. No one asked what it was, because they already knew. All of Muram knew for ages; it was the Horn of the Summit…the warriors’ chariots have returned from the battlefield!
