Practice RP-Til's Saga

[Huka]

Prologue: The Beginning of a Legend

The Saga begins many rotations ago into the late milestones of the 24th Age of Doubt, in a time before the clarity and unity that herald the Covenant now in its holy war against the Human species and their heresies. This terrible age yields our own heresies, born from impatience, hatred, and doubt. In the ruling of the Hierarches; the High Prophet of Restraint, the High Prophet of Tolerance, and the High Prophetess of Obligation, the Supreme Commander of the Fifth Fleet of Vigilant Faith defected from the Covenant in mad power and a corrupted vision of usurping the Prophets from their rightful place as the seers of the Great Journey. 

Young Minor Til 'Muramee, son of a unrecorded swordsman and regarded mistress of the Muram Keep, was put into the Advocate Lance in the Vn'mara Legion under the command of Field Master Iska 'Nbekee to assist in the re-occupation of the fallen world of Forsaken Transgressions. Here, he used his clan's innate skills to assist in the inevitable reclamation of the planet as apart of the vanguard. This is where everything started for...

-The Chronicler of the Muram Grand Library, Bloodline Scribe of Mistress Ak'liha 
 
Table of Contents:

I. The Deployment of Forsaken Transgression
 I. The Attack towards the Sentinel
 II. The Guardian of the Twin Dunes
 III. The Ruined Wall
 IV. Reclaimed Prize
 V. Ironclad Hold

II. Regretful Infiltration
 VI. Harness of the Enemy
 VII. Price of Trust
 VIII. Labor of Lies
 IX. First Betrayal
 X. Purification of Sin

III. Hateful Interlopers
 XI. Unwanted Invasion
 XII. Counter Invasion
 XIII. End the Meddler
 XIV. Battle of Asteroids
 XV. Unexpected Prize

IV. Command & Conquer
 XVI. Rain from the Heavens
 XVII. First the streets...
 XVIII.  ...Then the Roofs
 XXIV. Sacrifice of the Foolish
 XX. Duel of Victory

[Huka]

PART I: THE DEPLOYMENT OF FORSAKEN TRANSGRESSION

Chapter I: The Attack towards the Sentinel

The western continent of Forsaken Transgression was dominant by a merciless desert, dotted with mountains and platform-controlled pits created by the Covenant to collect the precious ores used to create the fierce hull of lower-class ships and weapon casings. This world, said in the libraries of High Charity to be have been condemned by the Forerunners as a breeding place of an ancient evil, was under the governorship of the Minister of Rectification until Ossoona have deduced that he have been assassinated by a lieutenant of the traitor Supreme Commander.

Minor Til and his lance have been deployed to the first succeed landing zone with Ultra commander Phju 'Salmutee and the Warrior Creche of Demanding Succession in the capture of a Covenant keep, an adoption of the Sangheili keep to serve a commanding front or station.

Objective: Fight and conquer the path to the Heretic keep (500+ words)

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45 units, First Cycle (Covenant military calendar-Til 'Muramee's personal journal, Milestone of Unity)/Aboard Covenant Spirit dropship Harbinger, en route to Landing Zone 1; Covenant mining colony Forsaken Transgression, Mid-rim of Covenant Imperial Space

 Standing in the right prong, clamped to the somewhat curved wall by a secure-harness, a Sangheili novice held his carbine close to his chest. His claws slowly caressing on its barrel, the young warrior was a splendid specimen of his species, from another point of view, he looked like a large individual bearing the lithe body and tusked mandibles of the Muram Spiritualists, but under his cyan combat harness and jet-black jumpsuit was defined muscles and flexible hooves that weren't as common in his desertborn clan. His green eyes stared forward in attention to the song of battle outside that sturdy hull, his lower mandibles clicked to each explosion of plasma. Tightening his grip on his weapon's muzzle, the large warrior towered over his subordinates, granted under his command via splendid records from his war college and his show of competence to his sect-commander; four Unggoy under his file and an auxiliary troop of four Kig-yar mercenaries led by a Major named Sufang.

 Feeling eyes on him, the Muram soldier angled his narrow slit of a pupil to see one of his Unggoy staring, who quickly corrected his eyesight with a nervous shift of his hooves. Silent, Til relaxed his posture and suddenly the pilot's voice came to the comms, "File leaders, we are approaching a combat zone. Prepare for battle on opening!" 

 With a flex of his mandibles, Til fixed his legs for a quick exit as his carbine was readied. Armed with that, a pair of plasma rifles that he managed to get from the cruiser's weapon locker, and a clan curveblade, he felt ready. He've hunted the relentless sand prowlers and the benemoth dune worms, he felt confident that he can survive this...

In three rooks, the pilot set the alarm and the doors opened to let the familiar winds of sands being picked up by the Spirit's repulsors. "Go in the name of the Prophets and the Great Journey!" He cried out and Til was the first to fearlessly jump out onto the warm sands that blissfully reminded him of home. His eyes quickly adjusted to the blinding light of the planet's sun and a sudden acceleration of his hearts spurred the Minor to flip to the side, barely missing a flying needle.  With a quick look, he aimed his carbine, narrowed his sight to the speck in the distance and fired.

 The radioactive projectile speared through the air and killed Til's would-be assassin with a nearly inaudible death cry. Chuckling shrilly in his throat, he glanced back to see the Unggoy finally land on the sands with the Kig-yar creeping forward in formation with their energy bucklers on and deflected projectiles, looking almost like an ancient Sangheili phalanx of one of the more mid-western clans, who had the ore to make plate armor and thick shields. 

 The other two recruit files who jumped from the Harbinger's other troop bay, Til kept a low stance with his carbine aimed for the Unggoy cannon fodder in the distance, wearing ragged armor and pitifully armed with plasma pistols, and from what he could see, antique bolt-pistols. Firing with calculated accuracy, he lifted a hand and saw a phantom swoop through the air, angling to the side and throw more sand into the troops' faces as plasma rained on the enemies' frontline. 

 Taking this time to properly observe his surroundings, he could see that the desert was vast and in the distance, jagged mountains and a few tall-tell structures of Covenant origins to help travelers locate easier. Looking infront of him, the Sangheili was happy to note that the targeted keep was not too far from the landing zone, just over a few dunes. 

 Finally the phantom's doors opened to let a Ultra jump from his ship with a glorious energy sword in one hand and plasma rifle blasting Unggoy before he even touched the ground. His pearl-white armor gleaming bright as Death in the sunlight with his helm-crest high, Commander Phju was followed by a honor guard of five Sangheili Majors, armored with plasma repeaters and at least one concussion rifle. 

 "To glory!" He roared from under his helmet and along the creche's comm channel before charging with his honor guard and creche behind him. Til roared as he sprinted forward and accurately fired his carbine, wounding or kill the Unggoy that dared to challenge this fine unit. Soon enough, they could see a half-dozen Shades manned by the numerous soldiers, while others stood in positions with barricades under the command of a few Sangheili in stolen combat harnesses, colored brown with white markings. 

 "Shades!" The Ultra alarmed before looking back at a couple lances, "Heavy operators, deal with them!" One of the Sangheili majors looked to their heavily-armored Unggoy who whined at handling fuel rod guns while being forced into this mad run. With a growl, the major snatched the weapon from the soldier and punished him with a quick shot of his plasma pistol to one of his methane tank's latches, making it more loose while burning the insubordinate's arm. Taking aim, the officer fired two whooping blasts of his newly-acquired weapon-followed by several others- to rain on the turrets before the charging force got into their range. 

 As molten pieces flew and scalded nearby Heretics while their commanders demanded a counterattack, the charge gained wind with the Ultra making a lunge to slice a front-line officer in half with his blade. As the warrior creche poured in, Til lept over a barricade and drop-kicked a Unggoy in the face, crushing its skull and mask as he passed over its crumbled body to battle a fellow Sangheili, whose battle scars told that he wasn't a novice like the graduate before him. However, Til was a graduate of Shaleel and he wasn't some lowly apprentice.

 The Heretic warrior roared with his mandibles splayed as he swung his plasma rifle like a makeshift club, a easy feint to which Til slid back, and in his spin, the soldier came around with a plasma pistol in hand, firing its emerald bolts. The minor instinctively tossed his carbine in front of the line of fire, letting it take the blunt of the shots and exploded into a lethal haze of radiation. "Clever, little-" The Heretic coughed out before a barrage of plasma bolts shot through and tore through him without a second breath, burning through armor and flesh. 


 Carefully coming around, Til walked with his twin plasma rifles in hand and cooling from their first kill. That first kill against a member of his own kind. Against a traitor of his people and religion. A satisfying feeling to say the least despite the regret of it. Lifting his head up to see the warrior creche ripped at the enemy with a zealous rage and determined urge to outdo one another, he found it abit entertaining. Reminded him of the gladiatorial sessions that he used to have with his class-mates. 


 Seeing his file, the Minor moved forward to join the battles as well with plasma flying and a roar of young bravado.
 

[Huka]

Chapter II: The Guardian of the Twin Dunes 

The Jagged Desert, a sea of sand and sharp mountains, was the battlefield. The bodies of Covenant warriors and Heretics fell and taken by the dunes, becoming apart of it...like all deserts and biomes, returning to the dust from once they came. The Warriors of Demanding Succession kept fighting and speared towards the deceivers' keep like a hot blade through wheat, coming to the last barricade. 

 The account spoke of Kig-yar mercenaries hired by the Heretics, equipped with beam rifles and carbines, took the lives of inspiring warriors on the twin dunes, but they weren't the real danger, in comparison to the militia-trained Heretics and their Unggoy slaves, no...the true danger was the titan that entered the battlefield.

Objective: Kill the Heretic Mgalekgolo (500+ words)

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45 units, First Cycle (Covenant military calendar-Til 'Muramee's personal journal, Milestone of Unity)/En route to Heretic Keep, Jagged Desert; Covenant mining colony Forsaken Transgression, Mid-rim of Covenant Imperial Space

Til charged with his creche, his powerful legs and hooves bringing into the front without difficulty. Unlike several others in the rear with the Unggoy, the Muram was evolved and born into a similar sea of sands and reaching dunes, and today his glory comes magnificently. Near the front with Phju and his vicious honor guard, the novice had his plasma rifles in hand, breathing fine in the moist-less air and eyes zeroed in on the two large dunes that seemed to serve as guardians for their destination.

Suddenly a zip passed by his head, making the Muram jerk to the side abit while the death cry of a fellow soldier entered his ears and he saw the Kig-yar starting to take aim on the summit of the diminutive mountains of sand. "Kig-yar snipers!" He warned his Ultra, who seemed unconcerned. "Marksmen, aim at the dunes!" Phju commanded through the creche's channel.

In retaliation, a dozen radioactive and beam shots speared through the air with hallmark cries. Most hit their marks and the heretics' support started to roll down their perches. Immediately the opposing snipers reacted with returning shots, Til could hear the injured grunts of a few Sangheili and squeaks of Unggoy but he kept charging. Not only to survive, but to avenge every death that was just inflicted, and apparently from Phju's rallying roar, so was he. Finally the dunes grew bigger in distance to show another crèche charging from the distance with a heavily armored Sangheili in the lead with a energy pike in his hands.

Til blinked, almost thinking he was seeing a mirror of their own charge, but he quickly put that aside as the opposing forces were on a hard collision with plasma trading amongst each other the tick they were in range. The young hunter's eyes locked with a Heretic, eyes clear and fierce like his own. Knowing the other sees him as well, the lock was made and their unspoken animosity stirred; two beliefs colliding for supremacy.

Blasting a couple others down to the sizzling sands with his plasma rifles, Til holstered them and the Heretic did the same with his needler. While another race would continue their charge without considering the other enemy or use more modern methods of combat, Sangheili to the core were honorable warriors in some form. This was no different, their war tactics born from thousands of rotations of evolution and chivalry. With a powerful roar from either side, they made their moves.

Til lept for a fierce fly-kick, a reckless move on its own in a battlefield, but he didn't hesitate. Something that the Heretic didn't quite expect and his helmed head was struck by a armored boot. His body flipped and crashed the ground heavily with a pained groan.

Chuckling deeply, Til flipped in mid-air, using another charging Sangheili as support before landing in a crouch, pulling his spine down on his knee. Crying out in pain and surprise, the Heretic didn't had much of a struggle as the surprisingly strong Muram grabbed the bottom of his splayed jaws while keeping the spasming body down after damaging his spine, and with a swift and rough movement, snapped his victim's neck in the span of five ticks. Blinking, the battle erupted in a mix of firefights and personal combat around him.

Amongst the chaotic sounds of roars, death cries, projectiles flying, and armored bodies clashing; Til pinpointed a vibrating growl behind him and from the booming sounds of stepped sand, it was big. With evolutionary instincts coiling his legs, or as his clan believe as the urgency of the Spirits, the Muram sprung to the side as air rushed over his body and something hit the tip of his boot, making him spiral more.

Using the harsh momentum, Til tumbled and crashed into a dueling pair. Shaking from the light dizziness to his sight, he looked ahead to see a lumbering beast approaching him. Each step booming and terrible, his eyes traced along the body of nearly black armor with intimidating spikes, two sets of gleaming eyes glaring at him with armored hands clenching. Eyes widened in disbelief, the Minor have seen it before. A Mgalekgolo.

With a bellowing roar, the titan of armor and squirming eels charged with a clear intent of crushing Til. Scrambling up, he just barely managed to escape in the incoming fist that crushed one of his fellow Heretics with a sickening crunch of bone and metal, such ease that it made Til both fearful and awed at the titan’s strength.

Getting up to his hooves, he unholstered a plasma rifle and his curveblade. The weapon wasn’t of the standard design of thrusting blade and undersided slash swoop, the Muram craftsmen made this hunting weapon a personal piece of their clan’s arsenal, to idolize the practice that make them what they are; with designs of fine and decorative waves to mimic the sand and precious water, the powerful steel was forged with a curved blade made with a flesh-cleaving slash, strong enough to decapitate a Sangheili warrior with one clean swipe, or in the hands of the Disciples of Hassi, slit throats and skin victims with the traditional handling or reverse-grip.

The latter was Til’s chosen grip as he stared at the recovering Mgalekgolo with his plasma rifle aimed, firing its azure bolts at the beast, only to be halted by shields. “By the Gods!’ He yelled and when the titan turned to confront him when other members of the creche started to react to its presence. More plasma flashed at it, lifting its massive clawed hands as if to protect its face, and started to charge at the closest lance. 

 Some managed to dodge, but others were crushed under foot. Swinging an arm, a soldier screamed in pain when one of its curved spikes sliced through shield and armor, and sent flying by a vicious back-hand. With a vibrating roar, the mgalekgolo lifted its boot up and stomped down hard enough to make the ground quake around it, making a few nearby soldiers stumble. 

 Til looked around for the Ultra, as if hoping he would join in the fray, but he saw Phju in a fierce duel with the Heretic commander. Each strike met by a blow or parry from each other and each miss meant the death of a soldier on the other side. Snapping his head back at the titan, his eyes looked at the dark armor until he saw its weakpoint. It couldn't move much without some opening in its armor. There was a noticeable patch of orange under its arms, around its neck, and the waist. 

 Clicking his mandibles, he knew he had one chance to make a difference in this battle, and this was it. Grabbing his plasma rifle and gripping his curveblade tight, the young Muram charged with all of the swiftness that his legs could carry him. Aiming his weapon, he fired a burst of azure plasma at the exposed hip while the mgalekgolo was distracted with crushing a unfortunate Unggoy between its hands.

 Orange blood sizzled as the beast roared in surprised pain as the superheat sliced through the corner of its armored form. Falling forward on a knee, the mgalekgolo's head angled to the direction of the attack and roared at Til before grabbing a cowering Kig-yar. With a squeeze of its guantlet, it threw the corpse at the sprinting Muram but it was merely dodged with a tumble forward.  When he was upright again, the titan was already up and moved to swing a powerful fist. 

 With little choice and quick movement, Til slouched forward and sprang through a sizeable gap under the Mgalekgolo's other arm, slicing its exposed eels with his blade as he passed. Screaming out, it grabbed at its wound as blood oozed and its body quivered as the collective pains. Landing roughly in the sand, Til closed his eyes and growled out. In no time, a Heretic roared as he moved to get the warrior while he was done with a blazing sword.

 Suddenly a hand grabbed the sword-arm from behind and when the swordsman looked to see who stopped him, a warrior of the creche lunged in and impaled his own curveblade through the distracted soldier's chest. Gasping out bloodied, the heretic was at the mercy of two Minors and one of the Ultra's Majors stepped forward with a warcry before blasting his concussion rifle without pause.

 The Mgalekgolo roared and screamed as the explosive bolts struck at its bleeding sides, bucking back as bits of its body flung, "No!" The Major chuckled with his mandibles flared before firing his final round and the bolt collided with the titan's head. With a final cry, its helm soared through the air with a short fountain of blood flying after it before its body slowly fell on its knees and finally chest. 

 Looking at the smoking barrel, the Major quickly looked down at Til who was staring at the ruined armor. "Good work, Minor." He said before reaching down to help him up, "What is your name?" 

 The young Minor was angry at losing the glory of killing the titan himself but he knew he probably couldn't have, that was just youthful ambition. When he heard the veteran's voice, he looked up and saw his hand, "Til 'Muramee." He replied as he grabbed the offered hand and got up. "Ah, a Spiritualist. Your Spirits have certainly saved this battle." The Major said with a respectful nod and clasped Til's forearm in greeting before letting go to curtly punch a charging Heretic unconscious with his left mandibles broken. Shaking his somewhat hurt hand, the veteran chuckled. "Come, let's finish this skirmish for our real prize."

 Til chuckled and curtly nodded, "Of course, sir."

[Huka]

Chapter III: The Ruined Wall

After defeating the Heretic's defense forces, the Demanding Succession finally came to the front gate of the former Keep of the Field Master Umja 'Fusumee, but the Heretics have supplemented its defense with a energy shield. Calling upon the power of a couple Wraith mortar tanks, they begin to hammer the shield with their powerful holy fire. However, the occupied keep still hold a formidable garrison, and opened its gates to let out lances of Unggoy and Sangheili forces with heavy armored support to destroy the wraiths. 


Objective: Defend the Wraiths while they destroy the enemy gate (+500 words)

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50 units, First Cycle (Covenant military calendar-Til 'Muramee's personal journal, Milestone of Unity)/ Heretic Keep, Jagged Desert; Covenant mining colony Forsaken Transgression, Mid-rim of Covenant Imperial Space

 Walking along the stated frontlines with his assigned lance behind him, Til stared at the impressive keep. While its walls were of Covenant design, he could see the heart of it was of Sangheilian architecture. His eyes traced over the obvious sight of the blue energy shield protecting it from the Covenant's forces, counting sixteen marksmen standing and waiting for the time of counterattack. However, thanks to the shield, they couldn't shoot out. 

 Ripping his eyes from them for a moment, the Minor watched as a Spirit flew into the area with a Wraith tank between its prongs, followed by another. Slowly positioning them on either side of the creche, the dropships drop them and additional forces to bolster the lost numbers. Clicking his mandibles, Til knew they were of the reserves, he could almost see the inexperience of his brethren. Youthful determination and bravado guide them. Going to the veterans, he could something else guiding them; a barely contained bloodlust born of pious zealotry to battle those who defy the Covenant's faith or just a urge to kill something in this unpredictable age. 

 Then he felt something touch his leg, looking down, Til found it was that Unggoy again. "What is it?" He asked with slight impatience. The orange-armored creature bowed his head, “Excellency, do you be-lieve we will take the keep?” He asked with anxiety.

Tilting his head abit at the question as if it was never crossed his mind, “Of course. We are warriors of the Covenant and we have the Gods on our side, Unggoy. What do they have?” he asked, gesturing to the keep. “Nothing but deceitful illusions and misguided hatred to the Enlightened, don’t let doubt enter your heart or they will surely win.”

The Unggoy shifted on his feet and taking the words for a moment before nodding, “Yes, Reeg understand that.” Til nodded approving, “Very good, now return to your leading Unggoy. I need you in position for battle for our survival.”

Jumping with admittedly heart-warming excitement, the small alien hurried back, “Reeg will survive.”

Looking at his combined force of Unggoy and Kig-yar, he was honored to lead such a unit at his rank, a rarity used for Major-favored. Til proved himself in the previous battle, his elite blood, and the commendations in the Shaleel War College, a prestigious school on a Sangheili educational colony called Resilient Tome; overall a particular reserve for seven rival colleges, ruling a continent for their training grounds with a space station to watch over their progress for the Covenant military and clans’ awareness.

When Til graduated as one of the best students, he was given a choice; join in the traditional Shaleel Gladiatorial Event to win a chance to become apart of the school’s Covenant patron sect or continue on with high recommendations to his branch. The Muram clansman chose the latter, to make his own merits on the field.

Once more musing upon himself, Til slowly walked to position with his carbine muzzle resting on his shoulder, eyes drifting around to the surrounding desert. The Kig-yar chattered amongst themselves while standing at the front of the hill, three in front with their shields up and two in between with recovered particle beam rifles. The Unggoy remained in the flank of them as grenadiers, which exploited their honed skills of their past-time game ‘Hunting Rock’.

Seeing the lances moving into positions, many of the Sangheili-centric units were ready and used as their frontlines with the Creche Master at the helm with a couple of his Sub-commanders with the others used to direct the support fire. This was common with his people, their traditions and honor-bred ways always keep the archaic ways in modern warfare.

When all stood in attention with plasma rifles  repeaters, and curveblades, a few energy swords amongst the front ranks from the aristocrat-born, the wraiths began to rain their plasma upon the keep's dome. A few of the wall snipers buckled in fright despite knowing they were temporarily protected. Soon enough the sound of a bellowing warhorn rippled in the air and the gates of their prize opened to release a sudden horde of crazed Unggoy ran out, screaming and cursing in their native language with their plasma grenades ablaze.

 A tactic used by the desperate and sadistic. Til didn't even look at his own snipers, "Control fire on the front!" He ordered and swift spears of particles whooshed through the air, sending blue blood splattering against comrades, blinding and confusing as bodies fell, engulfing themselves and others in explosions of chain-reactions of plasma. Charred body parts and gushes of plasma flung left and right as it was a celebration. A sick celebration that few clans still perform. The other members of the ranged support shared in the massacre, much to the allied Kig-yar's enjoyment.

 Til didn't move his carbine yet, he didn't see in need to in the senseless slaughter. The Kig-yar had the honor of the performing that. In three rooks, the front of the gate was practically glassed and blackened from the excessive plasma, charred parts sizzling here and there, few looked like actual remnants of a body.  In a mere rook, more Unggoy forces rushed out on all forces with horned helms on their heads and armored from head to toe.

Now that was unorthodox, their spiked harnesses reminded him of the Jiralhanae huntsmen's use of the poor creatures and their hounds, created to maim and gore their foes like wild boar. The tactic was effective enough for even some of the brutal Sangheilian clans to adopt them, much to many noble warriors' disgust. 

 Finally aiming, Til angled his muzzle to the front Charger's head, and fired twice. The first bolt sliced through one of it's forearm, making it tripped and flip over, subjected by the hundred of trampling feet, and the second bolt relieved another of its brain function. "Unggoy, rain our holy flares!" He commanded and with little hesitation, the lance started to catapult their burning grenades over their Kig-yar comrades' heads and down to the enemy below. 
 
 The other lances were similar but they couldn't slow the charge to which the Ultra and his swordsmen ducked as their rifle-bearing comrades fired at will, most firing full blasts, others bursts. The savage Chargers were being gunned down but no fear came to their hearts, only the yearning of goring their oppressors. A handful rushed through the hail and lunged at the swordsmen. One brash youth tried to swipe at one but it tackled as if he had the most precious thing in his possession, ramming its prime horn and two smaller ones into the screaming soldier's chest. The Ultra thrusted his sword out and kebab'ed one lunger while snatching another out of the air with a precise grab to the throat.

 Til couldn't tell of his commander's expression behind his helm but he knew it wasn't of anything beneficial before violently crushing its windpipe and tossing it into another. Keeping his attention on the rushing Unggoy, the flank was easily torn asunder by the combined carbine firing while the riflemen conserved their beam rifles. The Keep's shield flickered, starting to show signs of weakness but it still held strong. Just a few more rooks. 

[Huka]

Chapter IV: The Reclaimed Prize

After the Wraiths have hammered the keep’s shields through, the keep’s warriors charged and fought for their life and belief of a life of Sangheili supremacy. The warrior creche met the forces head-on, blades clashed and bodies fell. As the keep’s gate crumbled and crushed its defenders, Commander Phju ordered some of the lance officers, including Til to take the walls. A meager task but a vital one nonetheless.

Objective: Execute the Wall Defense Commander (+500 words)

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51 units, First Cycle (Covenant military calendar-Til 'Muramee's personal journal, Milestone of Unity)/ Heretic Keep, Jagged Desert; Covenant mining colony Forsaken Transgression, Mid-rim of Covenant Imperial Space


With a roar, Til parried a incoming war-blade with his own fanned curveblade, continuing his momentum with a spin, and sliced one of the swordsman’s exposed arteries on the side of his neck. Gasping and gripping at his wound, the Heretic hissed in pain, and tried to retaliate but the Minor slipped his weapon under his and impaled him through the stomach.

The caught foe gasped and twitched as the blade sinked in deeper. Personally not wanting him to suffer long, Til pulled forward abit before stabbing deeper, severing his spine. “Rest in peace.” He whispered before ripping his blade out.

Hearing another warcry, Til’s head craned quick to see another Sangheili charging. Grabbing the dead Heretic’s thoracic cage, he threw the body with a grunt. Unexpectedly, the swordsman jumped over it, but Til was quick. Pouncing like a prowler, he tackled the warrior out of midair, and slammed his head against the stone floor.

Dazed, the swordsman was left in the mercy of the Muram hunter as he splayed his taloned fingers and mercilessly sliced his throat open. Talons that could wound the hard-fleshed creatures of the Helian Desert, talons that could dig through its hot sands, talons that were evolved kill.

The Heretic gurgled terribly as his life ebbed from his gash and tried to stop the blood, looking in horror of the act. Til did so as well, he’ve never killed another with his talons, staring at the dripping blood. All noise dulled out, even that of Sufang’s voice. Time flew by him and suddenly something tackled him, immediately followed by the sound of a plasma bolt flying by his head.

A hiss of anger responded to this and a few more blasts of plasma. When Til got his sense back, he looked up to see Sufang over him with his plasma pistol outstretched to a dead Kig-yar. “Fool!” The experienced mercenary hissed and looked down at him, “Keep moving.”

While another Sangheili would have snapped his neck for that, Til had to admit that proud thought did cross the back of his mind, but he nodded and got up, grabbing a plasma rifle with his bloody hand. “The wall’s commanding officer is near!”Sufang alarmed, pointing to the lightly-armored Sangheili with a modified assault helmet and a quill rifle. The elite warrior slammed the butte of his rifle against another’s head once and then twice, knocking him over the ledge. Rolling back from a barrage of plasma bolts from a small file of Unggoy, he aimed his rifle, and the moment he was upright, fired a quill through the leading Unggoy’s tank and into the flanking ally’s leg. However the true splendid of his skill came when the spark of the penetrated tank combusted the methane, sending the whole file flying apart and off the wall like their leader.

Blinking, Til nodded once, before switching his curve-blade for his other rifle, knowing this would require some skill of firearms and mobility. “Provide me some firearm.” He instructed, getting full sense now and slowly got up. Sufang’s quills quivered before nodding, grabbing his needle rifle.

Tensing abit, Til closed his eyes, slowly inhaling the stale desert air, and prayed, “May the Speed of the Prowler guide me to the resolve of victory.” When he felt the caressing breeze over his exposed scales, the Sangheili opened his eyes and sprinted hard. His splayed hooves seeming to barely touch the floor as he sped around the curved wall, Til weaved around enemies or viciously attacked them with swings of his plasma rifles, all else were properly taken care of by Sufang.

Feeling the slice of the air brushing by his neck, he glanced over to see the Wall Commander noticed him now. Trying to run fast, Til was going fast enough to chase a running ramad’un, and that was a difficult feat for most. When he found he was in range, he aimed his rifles and fired at the commander in succession.

The marksman growled as a few bolts hit his armor and deftly moved between his own men to shield himself, using another’s shoulder like a tripod, and fired. Til just made it around the curved corner before a quill stabbed into his pauldron.

Growling out as the powerful projectile speared into the metal and through the flesh of his deltoid, the Minor continued his run, feeling adrenaline and rage course through his veins now. Holstering his rifles, Til grabbed the projectile and went some painful difficulty, ripped it out. What a wicked weapon!

A couple Kig-yar mercenaries with energy cutlasses tried to intercept him. A laughable attempt at best as Sufang’s carbine bolt killed one and in the distraction, Til nearly crushed the other underfoot. A swordsman however fared better. With his sword raised, he attempted to skewer ‘Muramee but his elbow came crashed into his exposed throat. As the body fell backward, the Minor snatched the steel sword from his grip, and spun in an arc to cut down another.

Slowing down his speed, Til continued his spin and caught another blade in mid-sweep. Without a thought, he swiftly stabbed his claimed quill into the swordsman’s throat and between his mandibles in a quick succession before throwing his body aside, catching a fourth rebel in the leg with a powerful kick. The crunch of bones was audible in both of their ears. Til had a ping of pity but it was instantly replaced with a dull fury. With a snarl, he backhanded the rebel from his sight and paid little mind to the scream as he fell to his end on the other side of the wall to the battle below, but Til’s concern was the Wall Commander, who had his rifle up and charging to fire.

He stared at the barrel and the elite sniper smiled cruelly, about to fire when a beam of green radiation sliced through his gun. In a chain-reaction, the weapon exploded and sent the Heretic flying back with his shields busted and dazed.
Growling out as the explosion splashed over his face, Til quickly covered it as his armor’s energy shields took the blunt of it. Quickly looking before the commander could recover, the Minor found him recovering as his own weak shields were disabled. Throwing the sword aside, Til stalked forward as his green eyes looked at the fallen soldier.

His hearts raced and mind buzzed, the Hunter knew he had his trophy. Primed and ready for the coup de grace…and Til wasn’t one to disappoint the Spirits. The moment his foe was up to his knees, the hunter swooped forward, and pierced through the back of the marksman’s neck like a miniature spear. Cutting through spine and throat, Til snapped the quill upward, and cleanly killed him. Grabbing the falling body by the face before it touched the floor, he ceremonious unsheathed his curveblade, “You’ve fought well, my enemy, and I will honor your skill and valor amongst others. May you find peace in a world beyond ours.”

With that, he slashed with all of his might, and cleaved the Commander’s head from his shoulders. Holding it by the back of the helmed skull, Til lift it high before the terrified remnants of the wall-troops, and unleashed a terrible trilling roar of triumph, prompting them to run in fear.

His first trophy on the field. The head of the Keep’s wall-garrison commander, a fine marksman and would have probably put up a better fight with a lesser warrior, but Til wasn’t no lesser in his rank. To him, this was an advanced war game. He hoped for better challenges.