The Warded Sect REDUX

[Spartan 999]

Prison Sector, High Charity
Several cycles after the Battle of Refuge, 2547

In unison, a duo of Honor Guards marched down the hallways heading in a very specific direction.

The solitary confinement wing.

As it so happened, there was a section in that wing where only one person was being held. Not quite a prisoner, but not exactly free either. Two days that dark, bare cell had been occupied. Quite a few more days loomed ahead for the occupant within, at least for the foreseeable future. But the time was passed in peaceful silence and meditation, not senseless pacing and futile raging at the Prophets. Such things were unproductive and unbecoming, besides.

Two Honor Guards stood tall and steadfast on either side of the cell's doors, energy staves planted firmly on the floor and held securely in their hands. As one, their heads turned to face the duo marching their way. Their curious gazes followed the other two until they came to a halt several meters in front of the door, butts of their energy staves thudding slightly when the two set them against the floor.

“It is not yet time for the changing of the guard,” the one on the left of the newcomers grunted. “State your business.”

“The Prophets demand the prisoner's presence,” one of the new Honor Guards stated.

“Why were we not notified of this?,” the sentry on the right muttered. His grip on his stave tightened ever so slightly.

“Do you question the demands of the Prophets?,” said the second newcomer sharply.

“No. But we follow the order of command from the Prophet of-”

The two newcomer Honor Guards blurred into motion, staves sweeping around to knock the sentries' staves aside so they could go for the simultaneous coup de grace. The two guards' corpses thudded to the floor, holes burned into their throats thanks to the energy knives wielded by their murderers.

One of the two pressed a couple glyphs on the holographic display next to the door, causing it to unlock and slide open.

The cell wasn't terrible large, and its single occupant clad only in an undersuit sat in a kneeling position in the center of the floor facing the opposite direction of the door.

“Sorsa 'Xirsasai,” one of the false Honor Guards said as he stepped into the room. “You have been summoned by the Prophets to answer for your transgressions.”

The large Sangheili's breathing was so slow, measured, and shallow, he could've been sleeping.

...He...was awake...right?

The false Honor Guard looked back at his comrade, who just gave a helpless click of his mandibles for a shrug. He returned his gaze to Sorsa and cautiously stepped towards the unarmored Zealot, energy stave at the ready. Not immediately impaling the prisoner was against his better judgment, but if they could pull the plan off-

Sorsa became a blur of motion. He batted aside the stave and delivered a trio of rapid-fire punches to the false Honor Guard's head and neck area, momentarily stunning him and causing his shields to flare brightly.

The second false Honor Guard was quick to react, energy stave lowered as he charged in. Sorsa sidestepped the polearm and forced first assassin's stave down to cleave the second's in half. The second was lucky enough to move out of the way so he didn't lose a hand or arm, but he did receive a hoof to the face that sent him stumbling back.

Sorsa delivered a few more crushing blows to the first before fully wrenching the energy stave away and clotheslining him with the haft. He turned and flung it at the second assassin, but the other Sangheili whirled away and let the stave's head sink into the wall. The second assassin drew his energy sword, activated it, and rushed his target.

The Zealot had spat a dart concealed in his mouth into his waiting grasp, then backpedaled and threw it at the assassin. His aim was true, and without a second to spare, the dart impacted the second assassin's leg, causing him to stumble as his shields flared. He stumbled, attempting to regain his balance-

Too late. Sorsa was there, rushing in to wrap his arms around the assassin's sword arm. He gave a quick, vicious push to the underside of the other Sangheili's elbow as he wrenched his arms, snapping the joint with a horrid crunch.

“Gahgk!” The second assassin flinched in pain, and his grip on the energy sword weakened to practically nothing. Still, he had the presence of mind to active the energy knife mounted on the back of his other hand and stab at his target. Even though he was desperate and half-blinded by pain, his strikes were skilled and precise.

Sadly, it wasn't enough. The Zealot batted aside the first two jabs, then lifted the false Honor Guard's broken arm to take the blow for him. Plasma sizzled through armor and flesh, causing the assassin's mandibles to splay wide and tremble in soundless agony. The sword, still active, dropped from his hand.

For the coup de grace, Sorsa grabbed the sword as it fell in a sideways grip, spun to jab behind his back at the second assassin's own back, twin prongs sinking into the base of his spine. He quickly withdrew the sword, whirled, and neatly severed the assassin's arms below the elbows...just in time to spring out of the way of the first assassin's energy sword as it slashed at him.

The second assassin slumped to the floor, unconscious from sheer pain. That left just the first to deal with.

To his credit, the first assassin fought unhesitatingly. Even against a superior warrior such as Sorsa, he didn't falter or let fear or doubt cloud his actions. That being said, bravery and persistence can only take him so far. In the end, he lost a hand and a leg and wound up writhing in agony on the floor.

Sorsa stood there with an energy sword in each hand, only slightly winded as he loomed over the two.

Once he made sure they were stripped of their weapons, he knelt over the first assassin and pointedly held a deactivated energy sword close to his face. The other Sangheili's mandibles were clenched as he stared up into the scarred visage of his target, unable to look away from those piercing crimson eyes. He didn't see a raw, fiery anger in them, oh no. This was a refined, cold fury. These were the eyes of someone who had broken better men than he.

“Assassin,” rumbled Sorsa. “I suggest you speak. Swiftly.”


Later...


An explosion sounded within one of the cells in solitary confinement, but no alarms rang out in that nearly-empty wing. Several hours would pass before the bodies were found. One of them, mostly-vaporized by the subsequent detonation of a few plasma grenades on the highest-yield setting, had worn no armor, or so it looked. So, naturally, this was believed to be the remains of the member of Reticent Lance who had been imprisoned in the cell. At least that was the theory until analysis was conducted on the remains, but with the sheer damage that the radiation and plasma had done to them, it would take a while to recover useable DNA or evidence if they could at all.

Since the security system had been sabotaged and there was more than one corpse (or remains of a corpse) wearing Honor Guard armor, it was deduced that an assassin had infiltrated the prison and slain Sorsa 'Xirsasai. The battle had obviously been fierce and ended with an explosive conclusion, but apart from questioning any possible witnesses about the assassin in question, there weren't many leads to investigate.

In the meantime, an Honor Guard had subtly exited the prison sector and departed for areas unknown...



Market 35-H, High Charity

A hooded Sangheili slouched before a terminal amidst the noisy marketplace. It was the most popular time to purchase food, which meant the market was bustling with throngs of people of many races. That suited him just fine.

Still, his mandibles twitched in mild frustration as he searched through records on the massive station. Til and R'ha were right out. Fria was on deployment, and though he double-checked to make sure, she was indeed on the front lines somewhere else. Searching for other names, names he could trust, turned up similar results. Legra. Ziin Sha'toree. The other survivors of Intervention. Just to name a few. None of them were available, mostly because they weren't actually on High Charity.

...Wait. There...could be someone. They hadn't spoken in a while, but...it was worth a shot.

Shoulders still hunched and knees still bent to conceal his true height and size, Sorsa tapped another name into the console: Llau 'Medomai.

He stilled, eyes widening a bit in surprise. Special Operations Officer Llau 'Medomai was currently off-duty and available for messaging. And she was on High Charity.

Teeth bared in a wide grin, Sorsa brought out his stolen comm device and composed a message.

>THE HERO OF FAITHFUL SENTINEL CALLS FOR AID<

Attached with the message was a set of coordinates to a tea house.

[Llau]

Special Operations Officer Llau 'Medomai quietly stood on a small bridge, over-looking a small pond. It was a serene place she enjoyed visiting on High Charity after a long, but successful mission with her creche. Her creche...each of them have earned her respect, and vise-versa throughout their time together. So much so, they were like a family to her. Each of them were honorable warriors, and would die for her, as she would die for them. She gazed intently down at the small stream as it calmly flowed into the pond, while she start contemplating about her time in the Covenant, and of the war with the Humans. She then wondered of home, and when she would finally return to Faithful Sentinel whenever this war finally ends. Unfortunately, she knew how it will probably end, giving the fact that the Prophets have yet to invite the Humans to join them. She's fought and killed so many of them, but knew they have proven themselves in battle. It was a shame the Prophets wanted to wipe out the human race, but she wondered why. She hoped to find out one day of the reason. There had to be a reason for their destruction. She wasn't comfortable about destroying a whole race of sentient species, even if the reason seemed justified. She slowly shook her head in disappointment. What the Prophets were doing wasn't honorable in her eyes, and it always angered her to the core on how she couldn't speak out against their actions without being branded as a 'heretic'. Heretic...it was a terrible word for those who wanted to speak out against the Prophets, and to leave due to their own reasons. 

She growled a little, shoulders slumping somewhat. She was in a difficult position, but she wouldn't let it get the best of her. No sense on dwelling on her issues with the Prophets. When she overheard her comm device beeping to alert her of a message, she blinked as her eyes shifted down to the pocket of her civilian clothes she wore since she was off-duty. She wasn't expecting anyone to message her today, but perhaps one of her companions decided to send her a message to ask what she was doing.

"Hmm." She quietly pulled the comm device out of the pocket of her black-colored robe to read what was sent to her. "The Hero of Faithful Sentinel calls for aid..." she whispered. Her hand slowly reached behind her neck to feel the scar that was her reminder of the Heretic Uprising that happened when she was a teenager. A scar that she hid with a scarf or a hood whenever she was off-duty. It wasn't about honor to her that she kept it hidden, but of the anguish of being betrayed by a close friend, no matter if it brought the reminder of Sorsa saving her from certain death.

"Sorsa..." She trailed off again when she whispered his name. If it wasn't for him and his Lance, she wouldn't be alive. It's been a while, but now he needed her help. She sighed a little, reading the message again, and then the attached coordinates to the tea house where they were going to meet.

Glancing down to her right hip, she made sure she was armed with her energy sword she preferred to keep with her at all times, and before she left the garden to head to the tea house, she sent a reply to Sorsa.

>ON MY WAY, MY FRIEND. WILL ARRIVE SHORTLY TO HELP ANY WAY I CAN.<

[Spartan 999]

Ten Moons Tea House
20 Minutes Later

Disguising himself in Muram or another desert-dwelling clan's garb made for a convenient disguise. The hood, cloak, and scarf around his mouth rendered him all but unidentifiable. Switching to a Muram dialect and a higher-pitched voice when speaking with the master of the tea house helped, too.

Sorsa made his way to one of the smaller, more secluded tables in the back of the second floor. The shadows, dim lighting, and seating for two made it a rather intimate spot. Or claustrophobic, if one was sitting across from a dangerous Jiralhanae assassin. One of his mandibles twitched slightly in amusement at that memory. He took a seat with the wall to his back, which allowed him to view most of the rest of the establishment and peer a little out of the windows.

The house's master knew he was waiting for a friend, so the elderly Sangheili refrained from asking for Sorsa's order for the moment.

As for the Zealot himself, he just sat there and waited patiently for the arrival of his long-time friend and comrade.

[Llau]

Ten Moons Tea House
25 minutes later

She calmly entered the tea house finally, and glanced around. It was rather busy with other Covenant races sitting about, mostly other Sangheili and Kig-Yar drinking tea; either alone or with someone else. Of course, none of them looked like her friend. She approached the house's master. "Excuse me," she spoke, "I am here to meet with someone. He is rather taller than most here, and he's expecting my arrival."

"Oh?" The elderly Sangheili carefully eyed her, and nodded. "I see...he is upstairs on the second floor."

"Thank you," she replied.

Llau bounded silently up the stairs to the second floor; a habit she won't ever stop doing. Looked around the dimly lit room, and found Sorsa sitting in the back where the more secluded tables were located. She stood there for a moment, almost didn't recognize him, considering he looked like a Muram, or some other desert-dweller. She nervously clicked her mandibles and briefly rubbed her hands together before dropping her hands to her sides and casually walked over, and stood by the table for a moment. Giving him a friendly nod, she hesitated, but eventually sat down in the empty seat across from him.

"A good disguise, my friend," She caught herself staring at him longer than she should, and quickly shifted her eyes around the dimly-lit spot before clearing her throat, and shifted nervously in her seat. She smiled a little. "It's been a long time...I hope you are well."

[Spartan 999]

Ten Moons Tea House
Hello, is it me you're looking for...?

Sorsa spotted a female Sangheili enter, speak with the house's master, and bound up the stairs. The gracefulness of her lithe form was familiar to him, and the fact that he didn't hear her hoofsteps further showed that it was she. His mandibles parted in a smile as he caught a glimpse of her face and subtly beckoned her over after a momentary pause.

Llau approached the table, allowing him to get a better look at her. She looked a little older, a little more mature...but the years and toils of warfare hadn't put much of a dent in her appearance. And judging by the way she moved--when it wasn't nervous and semi-awkward, that is--she'd only become more skilled.

Excellent.

Shortly after she came to a stop, he returned Llau's friendly nod by inclining his own head in acknowledgment of both her existence as a friend and her praise for his outfit. When she hesitated, he gestured to the other seat directly across from himself. Sorsa then tugged his scarf down, revealing most of the rest of his face in addition to his smile.

“I have been better,” he replied in a wry tone. “I'm glad to see you again after so long, Llau 'Medomai.” He took the opportunity to say her name after going years without uttering it. “I only wish our meeting could be under better circumstances.”

The house's master walked over to their table. His slow, measured steps were the only thing that prevented his aged legs from shuffling across the floor. “I see your friend has arrived without issue.” There was just a hint of emphasis on the word 'friend', and the elderly Sangheili gave Sorsa a knowing look. “May I ask what you desire?,” he inquired of them.

Sorsa easily switched to the Muram accent and higher voice as he partly looked at the house's master. “A cup of h'an'dor tea, please.” If he realized what the elderly Sangheili meant, he didn't show it.

After taking Llau's order, the house's master gave them a low bow. He straightened, and his gaze lingered on Llau before another knowing look was briefly given to Sorsa. He turned and moved off, slowly descended the stairs, and went to brew some fresh tea.

[Llau]

Ten Moons Tea House


Llau smiled warmly, nodding a little. "It's good to see you too, Sorsa 'Xirasai." She quietly spoke, but only loud enough for him to hear her. "I wish it was as well. When I received your message, I could only think to help you with your troubles." She looked down for a few moments, hiding her worry for him, but also listened to the slow steps of the elderly Sangheili.

She gazed up at Sorsa, and then up at the master who commented about her finding him, but quickly looked down when she heard the emphasis on the word 'friend'. She covered her mouth to cough and clear her throat a little at the remark about her, as the elder then asked them what they would like to have.

Once it was her turn to order, she quickly looked up. "I would like a cup of Ti'syu'kyan tea, please." She breathed in a sigh, smiling a little at the thought of the tea she grew up on while living on Faithful Sentinel. The wonderful aroma of mixed spices and herbs always relaxed her. She returned her gaze onto Sorsa, and quietly waited for the house's master to leave them to make their tea. Once the elder returned to the first floor, she leaned over a little.

"What's wrong, Sorsa?"

[Spartan 999]

Ten Moons Tea House

Sorsa, too, waited for the elderly Sangheili to walk away. When Llau leaned closer and asked about what had happened, he leaned closer in turn, arms resting on the table to prop him up.

“The sect I help lead, the Sect of Lamenting Consecration, was sent to a human world to recover a Forerunner artifact,” he murmured in a low voice. “The humans destroyed the artifact before we could bring it to safety. Add that to the supercarrier that was lost...” Sorsa shook his head slowly. “...A trial is underway to determine whether our actions, our failure to protect the artifact, deem us as Heretics.” And they both knew what happened to those convicted of heresy all too well.

The Zealot casually and smoothly adjusted his hood as another customer walked past. The movement looked perfectly natural, really. “I was imprisoned while my brothers are tried. Two assassins came for me--Muram Hassisians. They slew my cell's guards, but I killed them and faked my own death.” Hence the disguising garments, if being on trial for heresy wasn't enough. “I learned they were sent by a high-ranking officer who is...none too pleased with Lamenting Consecration's failure to protect the artifact.”

[Llau]

Ten Moons Tea House

Listening intently to what happened, she looked rather concerned, but more so for him than the Forerunner Artifact and the super-carrier that was lost. It was unfortunate that mistakes were made during the mission some how; mistakes can usually never be avoided, even when one is careful, but there were others who wouldn't see how she sees things. Which is why she always kept reminding herself to never make mistakes, in fear of backlash; more so in part that she was a female, and the backlash would be worse for her if she failed any of her missions. Putting the Sect on trial, and then even thinking their failure to protect the artifact was heresy? To her, that was going too far because she knew Sorsa would never do anything that was against the Covenant, nor anything on purpose, such as letting the artifact to be destroyed by anyone, such as the humans To her, he was completely loyal, and his actions, including saving her many years ago, proved that.

Llau frowned somewhat as he continued, glancing a little as another patron walked passed them, but then returned her attention back to Sorsa after he adjusted his hood before continuing. She soon tilted her head, suddenly even more interested and concerned than before when he mentioned to her about the Muram assassins who killed Sorsa's cell guards. She chuckled a little when he told her he killed the assassins before faking his own death. She didn't seem surprise that he dealt with the two assassins, but was a little surprised that he faked his own death, but understood that he had a very good reason in doing so.

She narrowed her eyes. "Hmmm. Who is this Officer?" she asked, wondering if she knew who this officer was.

[Huka]

The High Council Chamber
High Charity, the Holy City of the Covenant Imperial Theocracy


“Very well, Field Master.” Truth said after the restoration of the recessed trial, “You have persuaded the Council to keep the lives of you and your fellow Zealots, but your sect require more...it require the passion and righteous powers of the Covenant once more before its sad fall.”

Til bowed his head some in a nod, “I agree, Sire.”

A ghost of a smirk appeared on the Hierarch's face, “I am glad you do. A simple sect isn't enough to herald the demands of the Covenant anymore. More is needed, assets to augment its power and a real Fleet to command space as much as the ground.”

Hope brimmed up into the Sangheili's eyes, lifting it up enough to see the triumvirate again while the Council around them was eerily silent and watchful in boiling judgment, before Regret made a floating forward, “Since your previous commander have been temporarily incapacitated by the traitorous Jiralhanae...” He said with noticeable emphasis and glance at his fellows, then pointed a finger at Til with a certain smile that was both proud and devious in one, “We've agreed to gift you with the rank of Field Marshal.”

The Field Master...or rather, Field Marshal unconsciously took a full step back that was halted by a nearby Honor Guard and eyes were wide in a mix of awe and horror. Never in all of his life time would he think to be the practical antithesis of the common Muram place in the Sangheili military; a forward master of all ground operations. Then again, he crossed that path before long time ago as General. However, the horror came crashing like a gravity well when it gave Til the victimizing spot as a representative of the Covenant military, his clan's competence and worse of all, an avatar of the Prophets' vicious might. He was deeper into the Covenant political webs now and it strangled his throat like a energy garrote.

It took a full rook to gain composure before stepping back fully onto the platform.

A single swallow that sounded more louder to him than the waterfalls of a mountain and voice crackled once to speak before returning proper.

Truth speak with a false look of concern, “Are you prepared to handle such responsibility?” Til took quick account to that and knew immediately to say anything else was a trap, “Yes, Generous Hierarches. I will not fail my Lords nor fellow marchers to the Great Journey at the cost of my life and honor.” He said with a firm commander's voice, refusing to break face to the three.

“Good, you do your warriors' name proudly as its commanding officer.” The foremost of the Prophets said. That reminded Til...

“What of my sect now, Holy Ones?”

“Pardon?”

“Are my soldiers being treated properly and respectfully, due to their perceived failings being unjust?” The new Muram Field Marshal asked with evident concern.

“They should...but if they aren't, we will make personal concern that the aggressors are taken care of.” Truth said with a seemingly-genuine wording but something in his voice make Til question for the briefest of moments, keeping it to himself naturally.

“Very well, if you have further objections,” Truth said, looking at Til with a slightly stern look but the Sangheili didn't have anything else to say, before continuing, “The Reticent Lance is hereby disbanded on accords of their recent failure to recover their assigned artifact; Field Marshal R'ha Ze'ta Kaz’ar Je'at 'Katolai will be kept here for recovery till he is active again to serve the Council as a fellow councilor and officer of internal defenses. Field Master Sorsa Ra’shi Kaz’ar Ra'ha Je'at 'Xirsasai will serve as the Council's personal...operative and you...Field Marshal Til Ra’shi Kaz’ar Ze'ta Je'at 'Murami will serve as our sword to the Humans, you will serve us with the Bondage of Sacrificial Honor branded onto your flesh until death and if you fail, you and all of your Sect will be sacrificed without trial as demand of the Council and its represented Covenant. This trial is hereby over.”

“Inquisitors, please take our new Field Marshal to the Weapons Master for proper fitting.” The Prophet of Regret instructed with a smug look on his face to this personal victory, to whom Til might never know before he was grabbed by a pair of his escorts and taken for the door, seeing a few unsatisfied faces amongst the council on either side, including a familiar face...one that gave Til a bad taste since the crash on the uncharted insect-dominated world. One in gilded armor and eyes poised like vipers; Battle Priest Yinji Ra'ha 'Toree.

::Now::

The Forge of Imminent Allegiance, Workshop of the Higher Call, High Charity

Despite the overall good ending to a terrible trial, Til still felt utterly defeated and exhausted as his evolved instincts whispered and brushed its ghastly fingers along the back of his aching muscles. He could feel every burning lapse of his healing lungs, each knot tightening and shuttering in his gut and his composure was starting to show it;

His brows knitted in deep thought, his broad shoulders were low, claws twitched as if ready to slit a throat and pupils widened to take in every lighted detail around him.

Something was wrong...so very wrong…

Jerking his head suddenly in a twitch, enough to make one of his looser scales pop out of place like a loose tooth, Til looked to one of his escorts, “When will my comrade be free from his cell?”

The Inquisitor-a short and alert fellow-didn’t answer at first and that caused the soon-to-be Field Marshal halt immediately with his Spirit-charmed eye glaring at the curious agent in grand irritation of not getting an immediate answer (more out of established etiquette on the battlefield) and anxiety from his experiences. “When?” He asked again, this time with a more firm direction to it.

Despite position and the recent accusations, the questioned Sangheili answered professionally and truthfully, “When all of your proceedings are done.” Immediately, Til lifted his bound arms to grant them attention, “And the meaning of these…?”

“Precaution by our orders.” He answered fluidly as if possessing all of the answers. The Muram almost questioned ‘who’ but that would just waste both of their time and Til felt he had to leave as soon as possible. His best tactic was to wait it out. After a mandible’s flick of acceptance and moving forward again, the Inquisitor seemed satisfied and kept closer. Glancing around, there were few aware folk of the accused heretic’s presence; few San’Shyuum of lower ranks and pompous Sangheili aristocrats naturally born on High Charity that believes themselves above the clans of Sanghelios and other colonies.

They didn’t even look twice at the escorted group, for the exception of one younger male who looked bewildered at the large Field Master whose skin was starting to recover from decade-past wounds, marked with exotic tattoos of some pagan clan, and the single good eye scared him off with a simple glare. Grunting out through his nose, Til continued onto the welcoming tower.

Several rooks of striding along halls and descending deeper and deeper into the depths, the memory of Muram’s dry summers came to Til’s mind from the familiar heat. At the very foundations, they found themselves stepping into a circular forge, the loud clangs of anvils from hammers, the hisses of metal falling in water, the melodic hoots of Huragok working with Sangheili forgemen dressed in harnesses and helmets that insulated their temperatures and live in these environment.

There waiting for them were seven Ascetics dressed in condemning white armor that looked as pale and ghastly as their lives. Without no material possession or ambition but to serve as the preservers of Sangheili purity and honor...under San’Shyuum doctrine.

Til glanced over each one’s individual difference and lingered a bit longer on the one holding a long brand of chains around his arms and shoulders, menacingly swaying the weighted ends side to side.

“Step forth...Til Kaz’ar Ra’shi Je’ta ‘Muramai…” The elder commanded with a deep, rumbling voice from the confinement of his helm. The Zealot kept his gaze upon him as he took one theatrical step after another until they were just a good arm-length away each other.

“You have proven yourself countless times as a true warrior of the Covenant. From the moment of your rise from the Shaleel War College to your selfless conviction against our eternal enemies; Heretics that strived to halt our march to the Threshold. Yet, even that is not enough. The Gods have tested you time and time again, bringing you your ultimate challenge; the humans who stand in your way in the name of their immunate glory, this time their favor have become morbid,” The elder paused a moment to allow the weight of his words sink before continuing, “...you will be branded for your lance’s failings to our Seers. I take no pleasure in this unique punishment. You must restore your honor before your peers with the heads of our foes. Will you take this brand and make your final stand?”

Til stepped once more and stood as tall as his back allowed, “I will take this bondage. I will hold my brothers upon my shoulders. I will stand firm before the weights of failings and turn it all into victory. I will hold my head and blade high to light the path. Reticence will be all that remains for the heretics, humans or otherwise. Fire will cleases, I will crunch over their glassed world and pray for a better world without this blood to shed. When the Great Journey comes, may I be judged for all I have done, good or ill…for I am Til Je’ta Kaz’ar Ze’ta Ra’shi ‘Muramai.”

The Ascetic nodded in silent approval and opened his arms in reverence, “May the Gods give you the purity and strength of your ancestors since the moment of their gracing upon our world eons past!”

With that, two of his comrades come over to unlock the hardlight cuffs at last and gripped at the beginnings of Til’s jumpsuit before tearing it asunder with their strength along. The rips and tears sounded with the drums of hammers and anvil, the hiss of molten metals and water, the shouts of the forgemen as they instruct and command in the smokes until he was naked before his fellows.

Resting his hands on his sides in surrender to his fate, scales of smooth underside and more ragged evolution, bleached of his electrical wounds with tree-like marking along his back that matched perfected with his clannish tattoos. Eyes suddenly heavy as if meeting with Death’s cruel approach, but could almost welcome its pale company. Walking slowly to the parting semicircle until standing before scolding hot waters that was painful to even look at.

The Elder’s hand rested upon his shoulder as it did before...a long, long time. Before this war. Before the Heretic Uprising, he was stepping from the halls of his war college, graduated from its teachings and so youthful. Eyes whole and gleaming in excitement of life presented before him like jewels crafted from the finest crafter. Muscles toned and not yet tasted of true war. Void of the ache and pains as his body do now. Lungs inhaling deep and fruitful. This isn’t their first meeting.

Slowly, Til fell onto his knees and bowed his head in surrender. The holder of his chain stepped beside him, hands encased in protective armor as they dipped into the water with the chains.

“The fire of the cleansing comes upon all who sins to the demand of the Gods and their chosen seers. We who are chosen to battle our enemies without a waver of hesitation or fear must remain as pure. Each failing is like a growing boulder over the ages, like armor poorly crafted, like a body fallen to sloth.


The fire brims upon these sanctified chains, to grip and burn the flesh of the condemned. To remind them of their ancient duty since their forefathers. Since the beginning of our holy Covenant.


To punish for their failure...and to purify their flesh of it all.


To rekindle the flame underneath that is his soul.


Prepare thyself to endure pains of wrongs and serve thy Covenant once more.


Never to forget or all is forsaken…”

In the end of these words, the chains were surfaced to reveal their wicked metal links burning hot. The Ascetic looked down to his victim and waited when another hand gripped onto Til’s opposite shoulder. Then, the coiling.

Started with the arms-from behind the wrists and along to the shoulders, avoiding the underarms. The pain was every bit as mind-maddening and scolding as Her shocking stings. It took along Til’s willpower to not roar out as his flesh hissed and screamed to retreat when the coiling chains, feeling them tighten slowly before pulling away from the shuddering limbs.

Jaws tight and breathing ragging, making the suffocating air more apparent and boggling. When he thought to relax, the chain unexpectedly wrapped around his neck, coiled around his waist and hip. A pair of wide rings wrapped tight onto his wrists followed suit in the middle of this explosion of burning pains. For that split second he thought these punishing bands was doing so on their own accord. Muscles tightened, eyes wide as saucers, and maw opened into a silent scream as his body joined.

His fingers tightened till they cut into his palms and for a moment, there was nothing but blackness and the distorted sounds of the forge. Blinking once, Til saw himself looking at an amused Tibur still clad in his armor as Arbiter, standing over him. Even in death, his last role stalked his soul.

Then he blinked again and was looking at curling smokes of the heat strangling the air. Rolling his head from his shoulder, every fiber of his being ached and begged for him to keep from moving...but he had to. He didn’t want to look weak here. He’ll do that in his own time.

Carefully moving his fingers to make sure he could feel them, his recovering sight looked down his arms, staring at the winding scars running to a pair of thick rings on his forearms.Enough to not hinder his wrists’ circulations and movement for combat. Wincing, Til tried to move, but his neck and torso was numb of this recent scarification. His body was nothing but scars and memories now. It was a story on its own. His legs were the only things not damaged thankfully.

Slowly controlling his pained breath, Til felt the same hands squeezing over his shoulders to let him know he wasn’t alone before carefully lifting him up onto his feet. His skin felt tight and on the edge of splitting apart if he moved the wrong way. Then turned around to face his punisher, who nodded in approval of the ritual.

“It is done, Field Marshal. You have suffered the branding and now suited to wear your rank. Gel will be applied to your wounds in the medical chamber of this tower and your armor will be crafted upon accordance to your personal fashion and combat expertise. Until we meet again...’Muramai.” The Ascetic said, his voice wavering a touch on the speaking of Til’s clan name before walking away.

When he was moved again by the guidance of his handlers, Til felt his legs weakening some from the pain but they sympathetically held him to their walk. Turning his head slightly, the branded Sangheili looked to find it was the Inquisitor and suddenly in the midst of his wariness, he almost thought he saw one of the Forgers looking at him. Short yet lean. There yet not like a ghost before returning to his work with the moisture running along his scaled neck.

 The appliances made by the Healer was soothing and before the new Field Marshal could comprehend, he slept a quick rest to recuperate.

[Spartan 999]

Ten Moons Tea House

“Yinji 'Toree,” Sorsa stated. “A well-known Battle Priest with a seat on the Council. Given that knowledge, plus what little else the Hassisian told me, I know 'Toree is somewhere on High Charity.” He paused and made a small gesture with his finger, indicating that the house's master was en route.

The elderly Sangheili held a tray in both hands as he methodically ascended the stairs to the second floor. Again, he moved with slow, measured steps. Upon reaching Sorsa and Llau's table, he reverently set a cup of fresh tea before either of them. Pleasant-smelling steam wafted up from the cups, and Sorsa's nostrils flared as he inhaled the scent of his tea.

“Please, enjoy.” The house's master bowed low once more.

“You have our thanks,” said Sorsa in his coupled Muram accent and higher-pitched voice as he inclined his head.

Eyes sparkling just a little, the elderly Sangheili's gaze briefly swept over the two before he turned and ambled back towards the stairs.

[Llau]

Ten Moons Tea House

"Yinji 'Toree..." Llau repeated the name in a low voice. She knew him, just like everyone else did, but she didn't care for him.

She sat quietly when Sorsa gestured with his finger, to tell her the house's master was returning over to them. She then waited patiently as the elderly Sangheili set the cup of tea they ordered down onto the table in front of them. Smiling, she breathed in the aroma of the steam rising from out of her tea. She closed her eyes, and for a few moments, imagined herself sitting in the gardens of her keep, and drinking the tea. Everything was good when she thought of home.

"Thank you," she said to the house's master.

She sipped at her tea, and once no one was around them, she continued to respond to Sorsa.

"Hmm...it would make sense for him to be somewhere here, yes. Easier for his assassins to report back to him when they finished with their contract." A quiet scoff. "Yinji should have known who he was dealing with, no?" A small smile as she gazed at Sorsa.

[Faclan]

Kael Gel - T'vaoan Champion
High Charity 'streets'
The charmiest of future Commodores.

As the two lovey dovey lovebirds enjoyed their warm tea in the quiet nice teahouse a familiar voice, for one of them at least, would filter in through the windows from the outside streets.

"Repeat again!" A dull whap. "What you just said!"

"Mistress Gel! It meant nothing! It was a joke!"

"A JOKE!?" A louder whap accompanied by a scream. "You thought you could joke about those criminal scum pillaging and raiding shores and sinking ships just because it feeds some petty urge they have!?"

"Mistress please! I know Gel is strong enough to stop them!"

There was a pause as Kael seemed to consider this before she spoke up again.

"Do you think we are their only target? Not all the smaller nests that we are trying to protect from their slimy clutches?" Debatable but Gel has said in the past they were dedicated to try to protect others from the vile Sisterhood. "All the ones without the technology or skll to combat them? And you joke about their deaths and struggles to just making a living! Get out of here!"

A final whap and a 'yes Mistress right away' before the outside quieted down again. Seems one of Llaus vocal friends were about today! And in such a great mood.


(Hope thats alright both, since I think we were allowed to change the thread a bit from the first time we did this. Pre-Roh Kael wasn't good at taking jokes.)

[Spartan 999]

Ten Moons Tea House

Sorsa kept his ears open and eyes peeled to the sounds and sights of those around, both in the tea house and outside. Some passing guards made him withdraw a little into his corner, but they strode right past the house's doors. He even heard the angry, shrill voice of a belligerent female Kig-Yar outside, but he didn't make much of it since he didn't recognize the voice's owner. For the most part, he focused on Llau as he took a sip of tea. She definitely enjoyed her own tea, which he knew to be a popular brew on her homeworld of Faithful Sentinel, and it seemed like she still liked it after all these years.

He listened to her words and nodded. “Indeed, though 'Toree also remains close while the Council judges my brothers.” Sorsa bared his teeth in a broad grin. “He knew he was dealing with an unarmed, unarmored, imprisoned Sangheili facing two highly-skilled Hassisians. Truly, he should have known better than to send those assassins to such an obvious death.”

Mandibles twitching in a silent chuckle, Sorsa quickly calmed and took another sip before continuing. “...Right now, I don't know where 'Toree is. His location isn't divulged to just anyone who would like to meet him. However, I do know the location of one of 'Toree's closest and most zealous supporters, a General named Kerz 'Laktasee. He is in a military base not too far from here. If I interrogate him, I will learn 'Toree's location.”

He nodded at Llau. “That is where you come in. I may not necessarily need support, but if a surprise jeopardizes my 'mission'...” Sorsa shook his head. “I am unwilling to risk it. Having a trusted ally there will be crucial if anything goes terribly awry. The fate of myself and my brothers rests upon hunting down 'Toree and eliminating the Hassisians he hired.”

[Llau]

Ten Moons Tea House

After speaking, she took a moment to think about what she was hearing from outside. Her brows furrowed a little, and glanced around somewhat before looking back at him when Sorsa replied to her. I know that voice, she thought. Kael. Another friend of hers, and one who she trusted just as much as Sorsa. Kael would do them good be perfect if she could convince her to join them on this important mission.

"Sorsa, I am honored that you want me to help you with this," she firmly responded. "I will help you with this hunt. Truly." A pause. "If you need more than just me...I have someone in mind who can help us." She tilted her head curiously. "Do you know Kael Gel? She is a good friend of mine, who I've done a few missions with during my time in Special Operations. If you trust me, then you can trust her."

[Faclan]

Kael Gel - T'vaoan Champion
High Charity 'streets'
Now what?

It was much quieter after the little scum had skittered away with a stinging face. And it made Kael feel better to remind those around that even though this wasn't Eayn those in power were to be respected. The scum clearly knew of her but for some reason thought that because this was the Split Faces and Lazy Thrones home that he could try and sass her. He would remember better for next time

But now there was nothing left to do really. Kael was flanked by two of her Commandos, Tal and Vesa (Pela recovering from some injuries she sustained while training), and had just been walking around to get some air and see some of the locations of this 'holy city'. On the whole she wasn't that impressed. It looked just like any other city really just in a different color. Eh. Kael herself was in her out n about clothing with her needle pistol at her thigh, no real armor but both Gel blades on and of course carrying her tac-pad. Her two Commandos still wore their armor from the waist down but had more cool vests on over their chests and also carried their sidearms and melee weapons.

The Champion however still didn't see anything that would fix her boredom. There was a Jelly tea house next door but she wasn't in the mood for sitting around and not doing anything. She was agitated now. She wanted to get out and do something...Maybe go target shooting that could be something.

Tal and Vesa just stood dutifully behind Kael as she ponder, on the lookout for anything untoward and otherwise alert.

[Spartan 999]

Ten Moons Tea House

Sorsa inclined his head during the pause and took the opportunity to say, “Thank you, Llau.” However, her further line of inquiry surprised him. Not much, but he was taken aback slightly and canted his head a little in puzzlement and intrigue. When the name was spoken, he filtered back through his memories in an attempt to see if it was familiar to him.

“Kael Gel...,” he muttered to himself. Kig-Yar, by the sound of it. Female too, as Llau had confirmed. Overall...vaguely familiar. “I may have heard the name, but I haven't met her specifically.” Sorsa sighed and clicked his mandibles in a resigned shrug. “...If you trust her, then she shall prove an asset. I assume you have some way to contact her?”

[Llau]

Ten Moons Tea House


Llau nodded. "I do have a way of contacting her," She moved out of the booth to stand. "If she's still outside of the tea house, it will make my life much easier." She chuckled lightly, and gazed down at him. "I will return shortly...hopefully with Kael by my side."

She respectfully bowed slightly toward him before heading downstairs to leave the tea house. Once outside, she peered around carefully, looking to see where Kael was, and hopefully the T'vaoan was near by; otherwise, she would have to contact her on the data-pad, and wait. She didn't really want to wait, but thankfully, she didn't have to look far at all. Clicking her mandibles, she grinned a little, and headed over to the corner of the tea house.

"Kael," she approached her friend and stopped in front of her and the other two Kig-Yar who were with her. "You look deathly bored. I may have something for you to do that will combat your boredom and make you happy," she went on, "We cannot speak out here though. We need to talk upstairs in the tea house. I have a very good friend inside who needs my help, but both of us will be thankful for your assistance."

[Faclan]

Kael Gel - T'vaoan Champion
Tea House
Something!

As the female Jelly approached their Champion Tal and Vesa would move forward slightly to be either side of her, ready to spring into action if the other female became agressive. The Energy sword handle wasn't lost to them! But them moving made Kael stop looking around and snap forward, with a big smile soon on her face as she gave a little flick of the head and the two Commandos backed up.

"Llau!" She returned happily, stepping forward with arms spread to hug the bigger alien - getting a few odd looks from passerbys before Kael stepped back. "I am, I don't understand how you and your people survive in this place. All there is is sermons and scripture! Barely even any Kig-Yar establishments where you can get a hard drink and a fight!" It was then revealed that they couldn't speak here. Understandable if it was something exciting, wouldn't want the fun police to crack down on them. So she just nodded and gave another flick of her head and followed Llau with her Commandos in toe.

"Alright, I trust your friend knows how to have fun here." She added more quietly once they were inside. "And if not I'm sure we could find something."

[Huka]

The Workshop of High Calling’s Medical Room
The Biting of the Serpent’s Tail


Til was phasing in and out of conscious as he sat on the slightly indented medical table, shoulders heavy and upper body slowly wavering in his nudity. Eyes closed somewhat as if drugged with the seething pain despite the appliance of the Aquir gel, perhaps the Covenant’s best invention in the Muramai’s personal input. Without it, Sangheili would probably being one of the least populated in the empire. He never did understand the healer’s taboo sometimes.


Then his ears caught the sound of the door opening, lifting his head up to see one of the forgemen. The short one and two others trailing at his flanks. Despite his numbed aches, the Field Marshal could sense the malice in their appearance and after a swift checking, confirmed they were Muram. He knew better to think they were real workers here and when the leading male opened his jaws to reveal the distinctive marking of scarring in the throat, Til let out a soft growl.


“Brothers of the Hunt…” He mused in their clan's tongue, drained and sad to see this, “What have they done to call you to kill one of your own in unproven heresies?”


The leader looked just as sympathetic to the situation, lifting his hands enough to start gesturing, The demand of our blade for the safety of the clan.


Anger brew at that simple answer, simple but flooded with more details that another wouldn’t catch easily. For the safety of the clan meant that someone of high power, military or political, had the Disciples of the Mute Hunter as their daggers, goading them enough to hunt the Grand Hunter of the clan in threat of their clan. Til couldn’t ask on who, that was against their honor and he knew this isn’t of their own easy doing. They all would kill a honorable brother for the safety of the clan. Selfless loyalty to all than just one.


Til nodded once, “Thank you.” The assassin nodded once before suddenly lunging as quick as a sand viper, energy katar already blazing in a hearts’ beat.

[Llau]

Ten Moons Tea House

The Sangheili returned the hug and stepped back as Kael responded to her about this area of High Charity.  "I am, I don't understand how you and your people survive in this place. All there is is sermons and scripture! Barely even any Kig-Yar establishments where you can get a hard drink and a fight!" 

She chuckled, grinning, as she mused, "I'm glad to see you haven't changed, Kael." 

She soon ushered the T'vaoan inside the tea house.

"Alright, I trust your friend knows how to have fun here." She added more quietly once they were inside. "And if not I'm sure we could find something."

"Oh, we do have something," Llau glanced at her, looking rather serious. "Follow me." She walked up the stairs, with the three Kig-Yar behind her. Once they were on the second floor, she paused, turned to her friend, and whispered, "Your guards can stay up here, but we would like to only discuss this privately with you." 

Llau then continued to head back toward where Sorsa was sitting, grabbed another chair from an empty table for Kael, and set it down at the table before introducing her and Sorsa to each other. 

"Sorsa. This is Kael. Kael. This is Sorsa..." she then leaned closer to Kael, and whispered, "He is the one who saved me from being beheaded by those Heretics many years ago." 

[Spartan 999]

Ten Moons Tea House

Sorsa blinked up at Llau, the only sign of surprise that Kael was evidently right outside or had just been. What a coincidence. Regardless, he nodded gratefully despite whatever wariness he felt about the Kig-Yar. “I look forward to your return.”

After the Special Operator departed, he took occasional, sparing sips of his tea. He'd almost finished it by the time he spotted Llau and a few Kig-Yar walk in. Leaving the obvious guards behind, the two females approached his small corner table. He didn't rise for Kael, and instead clasped his hands on the table as he looked into the T'vaoan's eyes and inclined his head once in acknowledgment after Llau introduced them.

“I have been told you are a friend and ally of Llau's,” Sorsa rumbled, voice low so as to not carry. “So it is a pleasure to meet you, Kael Gel.”

[Faclan]

Kael Gel - T'vaoan Champion
Tea House upstairs!
Party time?

The two Commandos looked about ready to head over anyway despite Llau's request but at a wave from Kael they nodded and remained where they were. Moving to not block the stairs but keep an eye on it all nice and quiet. The three T'vaoan getting a lot of weird looks being as geared as they were compared to the normal comfortable clothing of the other occupants but most seemed to be happy to just look down and let it pass.

On the inside it did look nice and peaceful, but Kael didn't care. Llau was here and had something fun to do! It probably involved some kind of pain brought down to someone who deserved it, perfect! When introduced to the...male - she confirmed as she dipped her beak in reply and got a better look at the figure, she got more excited. A party then! Threes a good size for a party or a small strike force. And her Commandos would just seal the deal!

"Likewise Mate," she said, not speaking the name out loud as it seemed as though he was trying to remain hidden she took the offered seat and settled down. Calming down both not to appear to eager to do anything but also to not draw more attention than she already had. Hopefully it would look like a meeting now and not a trio of troublemakers prepping for trouble.

[Huka]

Medical Room of the Workshop

The Inquisitors stepped into the room after hearing from a worker about a scuffle, they came to a startling scene; three bodies were splayed about in the room, blood painting the floor and on the medical table was Til, tightening a cloth around his bicep from a salved gash with little more than a stoic sneer. Rolling and testing his arm, the Zealot appeared satisfied with his work before stepping off the table. His powerful muscles pressing against his white-brown scales while his overlapping spined scales wrapped around his back like reptilian armor. The tattoos and new branding looked as vivid as ever, never mind the cold look in his good eye. “You’ve failed.”

While one kept his attention on the silent Zealot in growing contempt, the other looked down at the bodies; all workers of the Forge but one thing did catch his attention, they had similar prominent hide as Til. Two of the three were killed by surgical work of a medical blade while the closest to ‘Muramai’s feet had a snapped neck and broken limbs.

“What do you-?” The senior was about to question before the Zealot snapped as if catching a poor excuse of a soldier in his ranks, fists clenched and muscles tightened as he took on dominating step forward that caused the other to step back unconsciously, “You’ve failed in keeping your charges alive, Inquisitor. Are you new to guard status or are you apart of this?” The Muram hissed venom as he gestured a hand to the dead corpses of his clansmen.

Til bore his sight down into the Inquisitor’s eye with his mandibles tense as if daring him to speak the wrong words and risk having his face bitten off by those twitching tusks.

“We...just gotten reports of your comrade’s cell being destroyed by an explosive. Five bodies; two of the Honor Guard, two unidentifiable corpses in a grenade-burnt cell...some of the guards suggest it is...” The Inquisitor started, forcing himself to look at the vivid Zealot and speak, “Sorsa ‘Xirsasai by the size.”

Til continued his death stare for a moment longer before it was obvious he was already aware of this particular development. “I’ve heard of that and more,” he answered, flexing his fingers and relaxed very slowly. “Quickly, I need some proper armor and equipment before we continue. Even the dead have ears. it is time to right both of our disrespect.”

The Inquisitor looked down at the bodies once and back to the Zealot, giving an agreeing nod. Til would have killed him if he didn't.

It didn’t take long to find either, the boon of being in one of High Charity’s most prominent arsenal smiths, and three Special Operatives stepped out with jet-black harnesses and appropriate weapons for their coming goals.

[Llau]

(Finally about to post in this. x.x Sorry for the lateness!)

Ten Moons Tea House

Llau nodded at the two as she sat down afterward, and sighed a little. She sat there for a few moments, seemingly focusing her mind on what was to begin for the three of them, and what could happen to them if they were caught. Well, she didn't plan on it, and will do everything she possibly could in order to not allow anything bad to happen to Sorsa, to Kael, and herself. She tapped her fingertips on the table once she finished her moment with her own thoughts, and looked up toward Sorsa. She gave him a nod, silently telling him that she was ready to begin planning with him and Kael.

[Spartan 999]

Ten Moons Tea House

Sorsa glanced at Llau and shared her nod. “...There is a military base not too far from here,” he began, crimson eyes flicking to focus on Kael. “The commander in charge there is a General named Kerz 'Laktasee. I wish to converse with him.” He clasped his hands on the table. “Your aid could prove valuable; after all, I know just how distracting a group of Kig-Yar are when they become...rowdy. Especially when a fair sum of money is involved.”

[Faclan]

Kael Gel - T'vaoan Champion
Tea House upstairs!
Dats racist, and true.

Listening intently to Sorsa as he started on the very brief briefing Kael just nodded, mmming quietly as she considered the info. It wasn't much to go on, and if things went well she wouldn't be dealing with this Kerz as that would likely but what the two Jellies here would be doing. And although it was pretty racist assuming that allll Kigs would get squawky over money Kael couldn't deny it was true. It was good to know the vices of those around so one could try and exploit it. Though it would depend on what this base was like. Though considering they were in Charity it was probably more like an outpost. Though Kael would have to ask, which she was going too, since she wasn't super familiar with HC and for all she knew there could be a massive base just around the corner.

"Understood, though some more information about the facility and its troops would be helpful. Does it have a Kig-Yar detachment of any breed let alone any T'vaoans? Don't want anyone to think anything untoward too early for myself and my Commandos sticking out like a sore thumb. And I'm not a soldier of it, if there are guards it will add problems trying to enter." Still speaking all quiet. "If there is an Unggoy or a Kig sentry that needs to be removed to get us in I am fine going that route but it seems like you have a plan and know the location. It would be foolish for me to not ask now and go in blind or ask when the plan is set in motion."

Her Commandos nodding at an elderly female Jelly as she walked up the stairs with a steaming tea cup. The female gasping at this and quickly moving off, muttering about 'what the world had come too to have those in here'.

[Huka]

Lower District, Shipyard Assembly 22-E
High Charity


From the forge towards one of the many gathering hubs for the Covenant's replenishing choirs, a lightning-quick gondola glided on a rope of hardlight and internally pressurized to keep comfort for the Unggoy operator and his small passengers. The fear was thick in the air, but the diminutive crustacean alien kept his beady black eyes on the rather automated path. His duty was only to make sure the transmit made it to and from its destinations while regulating speeds and documenting said-passengers. However, Special Operatives were a whole another level of tension.

The black hands of the Covenant command's scary doctrines, quiet death personalized in stories of disappearing possible heretics - whether they were or not - and executioners of the alien hoomans that threaten the Covenant's Great Journey.

Even with his back turned, he could almost feel one of them staring a targeting mark. They didn't speak to him or amongst themselves. They had no reason to. They only wanted to head for a shipyard and demanded no word. As far as the operator was concerned, his lips were sealed. It felt like units were passing, but it truly only rooks at best. The massive shipyard's platform is drawing closer, hovering over the toxic cloud of plasma and automatic arms building all sorts of crafts with a few equip Huragoks hovering idly to their endless duties.

Finally, the gondola swept to the locking bay with a quiet grace. The sound of metal clicking into place by magnetism, the side doors hissed open to allow exit. Without a word, two of the trio stepped. The operator quickly noticed. If he was a Jiralhanae, he would be sweating pearls right now. The shadow creeping over. A subtle, yet raggedly creeping, breath huffed under that shaped helmet. Finally, the sound of material fell next to the operator. Into his payment bowl, twenty credits. More than what he usually get and certainly from one of these uppity Sangheili. 

Limbs were stiff and a breath only escaped when the Unggoy saw the last operative step off in a quick yet aggressive stride that looked natural as it was projected. Joining his comrades in their subtle wait, resumed a synched walk. Shaky hands reached up to touch the console, the heat was seemingly intense here because waves just passed his peripheral vision. Doors closing again and gondola pulling away, the operator thanked the Gods and the Pillars of Fire that it was over.

Shnk.