Huka's Creative Corner

[Huka]

Stories and ideas are just rolling through my head lately and it is getting abit annoying as well as distracting. So what better way to express than the legendary Sandbox. It is going to be full of things; Halo-related and not. Unfinished and hopefully finished! Just something...

Probably will work like Supercommando's thread and use this as a table of contents. Maybe one day I'll get fancy with this!

[Faclan]

Looking forward to it Huka

[Huka]

Cry of the Lamenting Spirits 

200 Units, Thirteenth Cycle of the Milestone of Grace [Human Military Calendar: December 10, 2547]

A little raek beetle crawled along the bark, its feathered antennae twitching and only a tick late to escape the swift jaws of a fleet-footed gashlakash, the lithe lizard trying to crunch the hard shell before a disturbing puff of acid bit at its tastebuds. Wiggling and spitting out the insect in the midst of scuttling away, the night moons reflecting the reflective green scales, only to be snatched by a bigger predator. The four claws rolled between their twin fingers and thumbs, uncaring about the little chirps of distress from the caught prey before one of opposable thumbs delivered a swift painless snap to the neck.

A gleaming jade visor watched its held blade slice the creature open from neck to grizzle. Thick pearls of sanguine turned into a steady flow full of deathly pheromones before the blade tip punctured a single gland that puffed out more. Nostrils cringing to the alien scent, the hunter tossed the body in his wanted spot on the forest floor below.

It took a quarter-rook before several spider-like beasts crawled in a savage hunger to the bloom of available meat, unaware of how much but more of the fact it was there. The hunter could easily distinguish them to be Demon-sized with spined bodies, multiple legs ending with powerful claws capable to scaling the thick giants that this planet called trees. Infernal eyes numbering the dozen lined across their nearly-unrecognizable heads under their powerful natural armor. Counting five in the collected group, individuals of competing territories meeting on neutral grounds and fighting each other with venomous fangs and lashing front legs as they hissed and gave out warning chirp-like calls.

Frontal hunter arachnids, not the type to spin webs for their prey.

Recent exploration lances classify them as ‘Ungolii’, or Ungol* singularly, in honor of their dead discoverer. Tonight, Til was hunting them for trophies and study. His trap was already set.

Pulling one of his dozen javelins from his quiver, each made from the mushroom-like tree’s many branches, he aimed his free arm out while keeping to his crouched posture. Heartbeats in frozen position, the Sangheili chosen his target and flung the sharp-ended projectile with all of his might. In the battlefield below between the territorial creatures, the weapon speared itself through one of the Ungolii’s vital abdomen, provoking a horrid shriek of agony as it sputtered in place with its wounder penetrator impaled into the ground. When it tried to raise from its dying bed, the creature accidentally pulled the shaft level that ejected barbed spines, sinking the traps deeper into its wounds. The other rivals were too involved in their own duels to handle the dying kindred.

Slowly emerging from his hiding spot-dressed in ranger combat harness painted in camouflage of the florae-Til pulled out another javelin and repeated his attack each time, killing or painfully maiming two more while the last pair was tumbling over each other deathly; one slowed from a broken limb and venomous wound while the other lost two of its ‘portant eyes from a facial bite. Both less likely to live soon.

Jumping from the sturdy branch, the Field Master let gravity sent him falling several meters for a would-be painfully landing before activating his antigravity pack slowed descent for a soft landing. While he normally restrained himself for more...regular harnesses and kept his weaponry as fair as possible with the aid of plasma or energy in honor of the hunt, Til knew better than allow the same for his survival capabilities. He’ve fought on this world once already and knew to be prepared on alien surface, especially with his high office in the military.

Looking around slowly from his defensible position, the hunt veteran swept his head for a quick examination at seeing his prey unable to do him any harm and constant vigilance for another hunting group which might be soon when the smell of carrion went downwind. Alien spores landing harmlessly over armor and battle-suit, Til made his approach.

Coming to one of the surviving archanids, ironically the first he struck, ‘Muramai could hear the painful sounds emitting from the beast and felt a ping of empathetic sorrow for his part in its pain. These species weren’t as mindlessly instinctive, almost like the Yanme’e in that regard. Slowly pulling out his practical curveblade, Til made a mumbling pray to the Ungol and the Spirits of the immediate forest, including the dead of valiant Covenant warriors that drifted to their alien death-ground due to the inability to return home bodily.

“Thank you for your veil of silence and protection, sanctified ones. This hunt have been bountiful to the progress of your Holy Covenant’s task to bless your tomb-world and understand it. May these coming spirits protect you from future harm and distress with their magnificent prowling prowess. Their venom will provide plenty in my endeavor.”

When the approached Ungol tried to make a valiant last strike to its wounder with the last ounce of strength, the Field Master effortlessly caught the falling fangs by their mandibles in one strong lift of his free arm and plunged his blade through its salivating maw with a lightning-fast motion, feeling its innards pierced by the Sangheilian blade and protrude its tip just past the armored back. One twist and it was over.

Breathing out through the mouth in final rite-symbolizing the prey’s death-before pulling his weapon out, Til checked his sensors one more time before moving to start carving his prize. Just then, a emergency mission scrolled over the top of his HUD: Unknown slipspace anomaly outside of defense warband grid detected...

“Hm?”

Looking up to the sky, countless embodiment of stars in the ocean of void answered his sight with one somewhat uncomfortably close moon resting to the height of this planet’s midnight. With a researched cycle of twenty daylight units and twelve night units, it would explain the plant dominance of the world. While he clearly couldn’t see any telltale rip of slipspace travel or anything of note, presumably outside of atmosphere or just not in his location, the Spirits whispered into Til’s ear and he was not pleased to believe them...

---

Ungol¹=Kadal Clan word for 'great poison'; reportedly the last words screamed by Reconnaissance Ranger Ord 'Kadalee before being dragged into a Ungoliin Nest in a paralyzed state

---

[Faclan]

Nice story ....even those I don't like these alien spider beings DX, and the Yanme'e would appreciate the somewhat back handed comment I think

[Huka]

The Battle of Spree 

The land was darkened under a ominous red sky, condemning all to the wrath unleashed upon the most loyal of the Master’s domains-the once poor town of Spree, now a hub of fine trading and passion to their appreciated lord. The sentries of Man and Minion didn’t know to the sky’s omen until it came too late in the form of Ruberian assassins scaling over the barricaded walls and slitting throats. Garbed in their desert cloaks and vital placing of armor mimicked in honor of their leader, they left no opposition unchallenged with serpentine lethality of blades and oil grenades.

When the death-cries were heard amongst the town-folk, it was already too late when Beholders hovered over the stationing infiltrators and finally the gates leading to the occupied hobbit town exploded with sheer force of a black flail, its spiked head crushing a member of Lord Greene’s court as he ran in warning of the castle being attacked and blocked off again!

Eyes of Mayor Archie and the Captain of the Guard looked in terror of the approaching benemoth lumbering into their home. A half-giant standing almost as tall of the destroyed gate itself! Clad in armor as black as the ash he wrought upon them all, decorated with arched spikes from helm to toe...harsh breaths ripping through the horned mask of a demon while his fingers pulled his weapon’s head back slow and ominously.

Kahn the Ebony Giant...

“Where is she?” He asked, each step quaking towards the gathered mayor while his guard was too terrified to even draw his sword.

“W-Who, g-good sir?” Archibald questioned with his fat fingers trying to wipe the pouring sweat from his rough palms, eyes wide and catching the dark skin visible between the gap of cuirass and helm. A Ruborian like himself and behind his terror-wrecked mind, he felt sorry for this half-giant’s mother.

However, this pleasantry only infuriated the man more as one boot stopped a small crater right infront of his prey and roared out to a near face-to-face encounter, “WHERE IS MY JEWEL!?”

It took all of his bravery not to cry under the aggressor’s leonine roar...never mind piss himself. “I-I don’t know what you mean, sir. We don’t know or have a Jewel here.” He said with his throat drying faster than a desert’s summer touch. Praying to every god he could think of that the legendary Ebony Giant didn’t crush him under his boot right then and there.

However, the giant tilted his head inquisitively as if tasting for a mouse’s crumb of lie to hit his buds. His brown eyes digging through Archie’s truthful eyes for the longest of a minute, Kahn snorted out and growled quietly, “They hide her from me. They hide her from Kahn...they took her from me and Kahn will take things from them in turn.”

Archie didn’t know who this ‘they’ were but he felt deep in his heart, he knew. Both Archie and Kahn took their sights to the Tower erected in the distance, imposing and radiating in untold maleficence with its toothed crown.

Then the giant’s voice whispered into the mayor’s ear, “And if you and your little town don’t want to burning to the ground like before, you will do as I command...”

A deep breath left Archie as a ironmailed fist pulled him up onto a pedestal of death and worse.

-
It has been a few days since the raiders’ quiet occupation, the bold defaces and threats towards the Lord’s leadership was crossing over the lands and even attempts to enter the barren lands of the past Overlord was met with sanguine-lapped silence. Until the fifth day, the beacon of the Mellow Hills’ Gate was lit.

Posted raiders sprung up from their seats and cautiously approached the stonehenge like wary cats, scimitars and spears gleaming dangerously at the glowing arcane gate. Suddenly a pulse of intense heat waved over the five, more sensed than felt, enough to make them wince back in growing terror of the being they waited on. He was coming, they knew but weren’t prepared for his Demons mingled in the bushes

The arid stench of forest and fleshy decay struck their noises hard, even through their scarves, when startling weight fallen upon the back flank’s shoulders and jagged knives pierced into the back of their unarmored necks. Savage hisses brought the raiders’ attention to behold halfling-sized creatures with large bat-like ears and fanged underbites wrapped in ragged cloth and elvish-styled armor, the smaller of the assassins wore earrings along its ears and bones of unknown victims dangling from his armor hissed venomous with a visible breath of noxious green.

“It’s a trap!” The leader cried out, “We must warn-” Only to have a pained gasp replace those words at the sound of a blade cutting air. Eyes wide and looking at his equally-frozen three comrades. Knees buckled and bodies fell with their heads rolling down hill. Life flashed before the Ruborian’s eyes, it was swift and meager before the void took him to a tempest of screams and wails as his body followed suit. The assassins beheld their Lord in his glory, crowned shadow covering them and the reddened sun gleaming off the bloodied blade that have so masterfully three men in one swing. All bowed before his greatness but he felt no care to acknowledge as the Song summoned more of their kindred to his side in the march to Spree.

[Huka]

Crash-Landing

There was darkness at first...then the awareness of pain ebbing with the throes of his hearts pulsing against his ear-buds over the muffle of crackling plasma coils and fallen technology. Til tried to open his eyes, or rather he did but his vision was returning to fuzzy shapes.

Unaware of his own groan, he moved his stiff body but the shaken muscles weren’t agreeing with the weight of his armor. The Muram veteran never quite liked the angular shaping and thickness of the harness, the latter was a welcoming annoyance in the number of times the humans have traded to end him with their armor-piercing assassinations.

“General ‘Muramai.” A gruff, impatient voice barked. The very tone made him wince with a subtle stab of fear in this vulnerability, more so as the heavy tremors approaching him. “General ‘Muramai, get up!”

The weight of the fallen spirit’s loosened metal finally lifted off of Til’s body, his muzzle no doubt staring dumbly at his rescuer-or executioner. The powerful body of a fellow Sangheili with unforgiving pale orange eyes sitting in pools of black, primal lower jaws hanging from age and numerous brawl accidents, and garbed in the ancient silvered armor of the Arbiters.

Withhold a groan to keep his dignity and capable appearance intact, Til rolled onto his side and carefully tried to master his body to stand but his overlord had no time for a Sangheilian warrior to relearn a hatchling’s lessons with a forceful snatch on his neck from his rough hand. “Get. Up! We have no time for your foolishness, General. They are coming and will not give a thought to devour you, Cousin.” The Arbiter scolded with a wrinkle of disgust.

Rolling an annoyed growl under his chest at the rough handling, Til shot a look of his jade green eyes when he felt his legs and broadened his shoulders slightly to let his superior know he wasn’t as submissive as the Zealots under him, nevermind capable. While a flash of malevolence appeared in those halos of dying suns, the Arbiter reminded his subordinate of his place with a firm buck of his arm that made the younger male stiff himself and appear as he should; tall, erect, and ready to battle for his honor and dignity.

Compared to the two, Til was just as tall as the indomitable Commander to the Covenant Fleet of Glorious Interdiction, both taller than the average Sangheili of the Valley-Strider lineage but the difference was that where the General was tall from Muram leanness with boon of husky Xirsas muscles, the Arbiter is of pure Moram power born from the direct lineage of Tiber the Storm himself. This kindred of clan history and blood (despite the intense rivalry) as well as above-average competence is the only thing keeping Til alive now instead of being left for the devils outside of this ruined ship.

“I am able, Mighty Arbiter.” General ‘Muramai finally said after a tension brewing in the air and the slight infectious scent of the former warlord’s adrenaline pheromones that played with the other’s sense. “Good.” Ripa said with a slight flare of his fang-filled mandibles and marched towards a sheet of hull that kept the outside world away. With one rise of a sharp-cloven boot, the brute effortlessly send it flying off with a extort of strength and vocal cry.

The disgusting light of the planet’s day hit Til’s eyes faster than he would like and felt the fell air brush on his naked pate...giving the general pause before realizing his helmet was still off, making a quick look about to find the large headdress pressed against the wall. The golden helm was scarred in multiple grazes and dent, etched with the ‘Ring of Uro’s Woes’ around its horn. Picking it up in one swift moment, the Muram general made sure it didn’t suffer anymore damage than the noticeable scratch over its left brow before slipping it over his head.

With the proximity, his war-contacts updated to the helmet’s stored systems and connect with the battlenet. With a quick check, Til was disappointed to only hear static as he stepped at the Arbiter’s flank to personally behold the glory of the Gods...defiled by the evil of the Flood.

“The Infection spores are severing my helmet’s connection with prime communications.” He reported while warily scanning the environment that was once beautiful and green like the inner core of the reliquary world corrupted by the disgusting presence of biomass that reached and devoured all it touched. The air was somewhat thick with unnatural decay.

“I’ve managed to gain connect with one of the purification lances before our landing, they are not too far but the Parasite is giving them a troubling time enough to not send aerial retrieval.” The Arbiter replied, pointing towards the east and started their trek for their possible salvation. “But be warned...”

“For what?” Til asked with a click of his mandibles’ tusks in a sign of curiosity, looking back somewhat to make sure the Converted weren’t around, claw twitching to grab one of his plasma rifles.

Ripa angled his eye towards the general with another annoyed sneer of contempt, “They’re Jiralhanae.”

Part II

The trek to the plotted direction was eeriely uneventful for the pair. The surface was like moving on mud and melted flesh...with the heart still pulsing very subtly. Til could even see the uneasiness slithering under the Arbiter’s skin but any, he kept it locked under a face of righteous disgust and stoic discipline. When he was about to speak, a unnatural chill ran along his spine so quick that he stood completely straight and erect like a prey suddenly sensing its hunter. Eyes wide and distant with his jaws firm.

The reaction made the Arbiter halt himself and look at the golden-armored veteran with intrigue, immediately recognizing it as Til ‘sensing the Spirits’. From his uncle’s teachings, this particular skill of the Muram were born from their unique attune to the Spirits of the ancestors from their first take into the Helian Desert but anyone else would call it a ‘prey reaction’, cementing the weakness that the Moram stubbornly shaven into a guidance of warriors.

“What is it?” He questioned and instantly following the General’s snapped head towards a peering mountainside, giving a straight direction at a ghoulish figure slipping out into a hole with rocks rolling downhill. “The Parasite.” he growled before a horrid shriek of the Damned offended their ears.

Ripa turned his plated head over to the opposite of Til’s piercing stare, more of the Parasite’s withered thralls crawled from their abyss and hiding places with tentacles whipping from orifices and weeping wounds. Former beasts of the land and converted soldiers of the Covenant itself. There was no reasoning, no higher purpose for these creatures. Only death and devilish feast onto the galaxy’s life. There was only one option that was both merciful and satisfying for the Arbiter.

In a flick of his wrists, basket-guarded hilts made from the same durable material of his baptized armor flipped into his fingers. Twin blades of superheated plasma flashed into the archaic-styled splay of ‘further kill-range’ with the ooze of ionized gases for a even deadlier effect of burning the internal organs when inhaled on each swing fortunate enough to miss as well as the factor of intimidation.

“Prepare for battle, General ‘Muramai.” He commanded and Til had his own energy sword drawn with a whip-like flick of his arm, branded of sand-yellow with its sleek shape longer and slender worthy of a duelist while handing one of his plasma rifles in his off-hand.

Another shriek, a horde of the Thralls came running like the Flood that the holy scriptures depicted. Death brought alive to test the Faithful...and right now, Til was really putting the will of Faith and training for a real test.