Post by Huka on Feb 23, 2018 5:56:49 GMT -6
"I am sorry." The old Kig-yar says, placing the reason of the brothers' summons and greatest fear. There on the other side of the table, presented by their uncle's most well-known ally beside that of the Xirsas assassin was a familiar helmet. Avian of shape with its carved eyes staring, the former crest of its commanding presence crushed with scars raking the once beautiful gilded finish. Their eyes stared at the clear implications, but moreso...there was no urn that held his ashes for returning to Muram.
The larger of the twins, Maru Il 'Muramai, stared at the helmet with a profane mating of horror, fury, sorrow and utter defeat. The decorated swordsman had a curled fist on the table, eyes casting down and surrendered a momentary grief while his pallid armoured form shuddered to hold the righteous anguish. Scarred of cheek and brow from his creche's campaigns against scattered human colonies and the few dwelling of dissents, he felt an utter disgrace for the fallen hero before him. Like his brother, over three deca-rotations of age, he has served his Covenant to the best of his abilities and more. Last he personally spoke to Field Marshal 'Muramai was...he couldn't even remember with the events wrapping at his own attention. Training, fighting, surviving. The weight of the pain was gripping his hearts more than the deaths of several units in his own force.
In all of this, he was speechless or risk losing himself. However, his brother wasn't as devastated.
Holding a sad composure, Laka "Muramai - as Shipmaster Chur'R-Suf noticed - was almost a spitting image of his uncle. From the fiercely keen violet eyes to the pale hide under darker scales. His mandibles were taut, a sign of restraint. His tall form wasn't as compact as his brothers but had a deadly lean to it. Perfect under his folds of dark-hued robes from his own personal affairs not involved in the Human extermination. Forcing his sight from the helmet to look upon the aged Kig-yar who was clinging to life himself. "Who did this?" A steady voice questioned, oozing of deadly intent. Suf looked at the two a moment, shuffling back into his seat while reclaiming a long ornated pipe he collected from a guard before they were dismissed.
"Daemons...and Heretics, nephews of my friend." Suf answered with a dry, drained voice. His eyes haunted to the fact still. Field Marshal Til 'Muramai, that same quiet Minor that he has served and taught about this big, bad galaxy so many rotations ago, was dead. His Sangheili was dead, just like that.
To be called a friend by a Kig-yar was no small matter. The avian species were a paranoid folk with their politics and own particular position in the Covenant. The friendship forged between Iin Suf and Til 'Muramai was one of constant trial and open bond that few shared. "He was performing a mission of 'holiest' bout to atone himself. He was gone...so far gone." The pain in his voice was evidence, even in the alien tongue. "He tried so hard to appease the Prophets, even to sacrifice his well-being for the clan and the damned legion." The old shipmaster flexed his powerful beak in a toothy sneer as he tapped his pipe on the chair-arm in disdain.
"I don't know the complete details, not even the Jirahanae chieftain that helped command the legion with him. Garatus."
Laka made a subtle gesture with his upper left jaw. He've heard of his uncle's legion. Everyone knew of the Cursed Army. One that has crushed many enemies but it always lost its ships and many of its warriors to one elusive enemy. One that has escaped their grasp time and time again. Enough to drive the Muram's greatest hunter mad, it seems. Whatever they were facing, truly their nemesis was one of unnatural skill and cunning...or bewitched.
"Show us."
The larger of the twins, Maru Il 'Muramai, stared at the helmet with a profane mating of horror, fury, sorrow and utter defeat. The decorated swordsman had a curled fist on the table, eyes casting down and surrendered a momentary grief while his pallid armoured form shuddered to hold the righteous anguish. Scarred of cheek and brow from his creche's campaigns against scattered human colonies and the few dwelling of dissents, he felt an utter disgrace for the fallen hero before him. Like his brother, over three deca-rotations of age, he has served his Covenant to the best of his abilities and more. Last he personally spoke to Field Marshal 'Muramai was...he couldn't even remember with the events wrapping at his own attention. Training, fighting, surviving. The weight of the pain was gripping his hearts more than the deaths of several units in his own force.
In all of this, he was speechless or risk losing himself. However, his brother wasn't as devastated.
Holding a sad composure, Laka "Muramai - as Shipmaster Chur'R-Suf noticed - was almost a spitting image of his uncle. From the fiercely keen violet eyes to the pale hide under darker scales. His mandibles were taut, a sign of restraint. His tall form wasn't as compact as his brothers but had a deadly lean to it. Perfect under his folds of dark-hued robes from his own personal affairs not involved in the Human extermination. Forcing his sight from the helmet to look upon the aged Kig-yar who was clinging to life himself. "Who did this?" A steady voice questioned, oozing of deadly intent. Suf looked at the two a moment, shuffling back into his seat while reclaiming a long ornated pipe he collected from a guard before they were dismissed.
"Daemons...and Heretics, nephews of my friend." Suf answered with a dry, drained voice. His eyes haunted to the fact still. Field Marshal Til 'Muramai, that same quiet Minor that he has served and taught about this big, bad galaxy so many rotations ago, was dead. His Sangheili was dead, just like that.
To be called a friend by a Kig-yar was no small matter. The avian species were a paranoid folk with their politics and own particular position in the Covenant. The friendship forged between Iin Suf and Til 'Muramai was one of constant trial and open bond that few shared. "He was performing a mission of 'holiest' bout to atone himself. He was gone...so far gone." The pain in his voice was evidence, even in the alien tongue. "He tried so hard to appease the Prophets, even to sacrifice his well-being for the clan and the damned legion." The old shipmaster flexed his powerful beak in a toothy sneer as he tapped his pipe on the chair-arm in disdain.
"I don't know the complete details, not even the Jirahanae chieftain that helped command the legion with him. Garatus."
Laka made a subtle gesture with his upper left jaw. He've heard of his uncle's legion. Everyone knew of the Cursed Army. One that has crushed many enemies but it always lost its ships and many of its warriors to one elusive enemy. One that has escaped their grasp time and time again. Enough to drive the Muram's greatest hunter mad, it seems. Whatever they were facing, truly their nemesis was one of unnatural skill and cunning...or bewitched.
"Show us."
