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The High Charity by Tenebrous Proficient
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The High Charity (1-1)
Date: 26 December 2004, 7:18 PM
Records of the Last Days of the High Charity
Episode the First
Former Segment
The Kig-Yar's eyes darted back and forth, wide open and alert, despite the fact that Rago had severed the soldier's shield hand with his burning energy sword. He hated killing them, ever since he had been forced to betray his brothers out of a necessity of survival. The Covenant was right to have chosen this race; their ability to continuously scramble for their own existence on the battlefield was somehow honorable. But the Sangheili had no choice, wherever his thoughts did lie, it was to slaughter these Kig-Yar or to have his corpse desecrated by their cannibalism.
But Rago 'Tarkomee still felt pity; his honor forbade him to ignore it. He held the Kig-Yar down in a vice that matched steel, looking deep into its flitting pupils, at the same time dropping his sword. His shields crackled as the dying creature pummeled him with a few shots from a plasma pistol it had been holding. With one electric motion, Rago disarmed the Kig-Yar and wrestled the weapon into his own hand, still holding his enemy onto the ground. Rago's squad gathered and paused to watch, wondering what their leader was going to do. He was known for his... eccentricity, if those under him called it that.
Rago held the smoking pistol, as if to fire, and then put it up against the Kig-Yar's angular skull. He clicked his mandibles, and with his adamant hold unwavering, he forced the creature's hand upon the weapon. Rago clicked his mandibles again. For a moment, the Kig-Yar started to click and wail and he could tell that his victim was desperately trying to plead for his life in Sangheilish. Rago throttled him into the ground, stopped its protest. The Kig-Yar's eyes stopped darting, his beak closed, and he made a short nod. Rago held his enemy's fist onto the plasma pistol.
His victim charged the plasma pistol till the energy wash of the weapon seared his own flesh. The Kig-Yar screeched something in his own language, and then let go of the trigger.
"Kig-Yar are capable of honor." Rago growled, blood trickling down his shields. He grabbed his fallen sword, then stood and faced his squadron. They nodded in approval. Rago grunted, and then peered down in the twilight at the fallen warriors of the finished battle. He walked over their corpses and towards the door.
"Let's get back to the Hold." He told them, "You have five to pilfer any armaments and equipment that you can find, if you aren't back, we'll shut down without you."
***
The Hold was a medium-sized room with walls of unhewn, speckled orange stone, most of the area filled with Sangheili. A small pack of Unggoy socialized in a corner under the light of an atmosphere-lamp, set to methane. The group's two Lekgolo, Edebu and Udobo, sat in another corner of the Hold, checking each other's armor in a passive reverie. The two races waited until the Sangheili finished their daily feast so that they could fight over the scraps, as tradition called. It was likely, however, that some of the higher-ups would pass some larger portions over to the Lekgolo, a sign of respect to keep the walking artillery on their side.
The Sangheili ate only once a day, a tactic that removed the distraction of stopping to eat every few time units. These feasts were ravenous ordeals, pitting each warrior against another in a challenge to consume the most before all was gone. At the feasting table, all rank was removed, and to these soldiers, it was an exercise that would prepare them for war.
It was incredibly dishonorable, then, when Rago was called aside by a sharp wail. The Hold's doorway was open. The meal stopped as all the warriors turned to face the disturbance, weapons out in front of them. They saw only a white-armored Unggoy, limping through the gate into the center of the room. No one recognized the creature; all of their Unggoy were inexperienced conscripts, barely matching the breed that wore the ivory armor.
"Back to eating!" Rago growled to his squad, "You parasites get to eat more than I, and so I pronounce 'beware and heed your backs'." Although his brothers went back to the table, their mandibles greasy with blood, they all knew it was an incredibly bad omen to have one's major sit out from the daily feast. Superstition spelled either the death of their leader, or the massacre of the entire company.
Rago marched over to the mangy little white Unggoy, who took two wheezing breaths and began, "Master Sangheili, my name is Hrenghez, I come with a -" Rago interrupted with a click of his mandibles and turned his head, outright ignoring the strange visitor. He had other things on his mind.
"Who opened our door!" he yelled. The two Lekgolo didn't even look up, and Rago didn't even think of considering that they participated in this... treason. They knew the dangers of even unlocking the entrance. His eyes went instead to the Unggoy huddling under the lamp, weak and skeletal with their armor detached.
"Who opened the door!" he roared again, stepping towards the naked vermin. The beasts quickly singled out one of their own and pushed him towards the major. Rago lifted him up and out of the methane atmosphere.
"Never endanger us again, weakling. I should throw you upon the table; your kind does have a special flavor." Rago threw the choking slave back into the lamp-gas. Of course Rago had never eaten an Unggoy, nor had any Sangheili, he hoped. He believed disgraceful to eat those of the Covenant, for theirs was holy flesh. Some would argue against that principle. The minor Sangheili at the table now devoured the jalapippika sharks that they had wrestled out of an abandoned food nursery, not sentient flesh. It was a ruse, to hide their righteous civility from those who'd think it weakness. It was one of the many that kept the Unggoy host under their command.
"We protect your lives; you must give us the same respect." Rago turned now to all of his comrades, "We are all oath-takers of the Covenant, and that is how we work. Forget that again, and you will cease to be included in this pact." Rago then pressed his palm up against a nearby holo-panel, and the gate closed and pressure-locked itself.
"Honored one," Hrenghez continued, presuming the speech to have ended, "I have brought you news from the Syndicate. It is of urgent priority." The white Unggoy wheezed. He was fluent in Sangheilish, unlike many of the foot soldiers of his race. He must have climbed high in rank, for such talents. Hrenghez's armor was burnt in several places, and the low whine of a methane shortage alarm signified that he was taking his tank's last few breaths. He looked eagerly towards the methane-lamp, his eyes watering from sipping null atmosphere.
"The Syndicate?" Rago flexed his mandibles in confusion.
"All the information- " Hrenghez choked, " -is right here." He hefted a small data-projector under one arm.
"Yes, of course. Take your rest with the others, please." Rago nodded. The Unggoy dropped the device unceremoniously and dove for the atmosphere-lamp. The others quickly removed his armor and helped him breathe.
"Make this beast your new field master, he has earned the right." The Sangheili major ordered the Unggoy contingent. They squealed in approval.
- Continued on Intermediary Segment -
The High Charity <1-2>
Date: 3 January 2005, 2:31 AM
Records of the Last Days of the High Charity
Episode the First
Intermediary Segment
- Continued from the Former Segment -
The messenger's arrival had surprised Rago. His squadron of thirty-two had found sanctuary by delving into a well-armored structure they found in one of the religious districts of the High Charity. It was a Tranquility Bazaar, they had guessed, where citizens of the Covenant came to buy peace, silence, and all the hallucinogenic drinks and injections that came with. Rago 'Tarkomee had made an explicit order that all of the market's wares were not to be sampled; it would not improve their chances of survival. Why the Bazaar was so well fortified was unclear to Rago and his team, perhaps it had once been a temple in the earlier days of the High Charity. Whatever the reason, they were fortunate to have come across the building.
Rago's team had found a hidden cargo room in their searching, where some of the more potent and illegal substances had been kept. The door was very strong, and it could be easily defended. By some lucky coincidence, they found an unmolested fusion core, and installed it so that they could have their own electricity. Ever since the High Charity's Forerunner battery had disengaged itself and flew off into the void, the entire city had been out of power. It seemed no region had been immune to the black outs, the system malfunctions, the destruction that had followed when grav-lifts ceased to work. Buildings whose foundations were of manipulated gravity fell and shattered. It had plunged the already disordered city into further chaos.
Since then, the survivors led by Rago 'Tarkomee had lost nine soldiers: five Sangheili and four Unggoy. They had survived four skirmishes from the Prophet's Chosen, as their enemy called themselves, but Rago doubted it was the end. He knew that some of the Chosen, primarily the Kig-Yar who favored medicinal serenity, had also made their temporary homes in the Tranquility Bazaar.
Though nearly all of the Brutes, the accursed Jiralhanae so scorned by the Sangheili, had been taken with the Forerunner ship into some curious beyond, the Yanme'e and Kig-Yar's presence remained strong. Some of the more overzealous Prophets had stayed as well, eager to reclaim the High Charity from the insurgents. All of the escape ships had been exhausted, and there was no room for them to go. Likewise, the now condemned races of the Covenant had to stay as well, to fight or die. Those that refused to flee saw the ultimate reward, the High Charity; whoever stood victorious would take the great city for their own.
But while the Prophet's Chosen had regrouped into some kind of an organized force, the banished races had remained separated, without leadership. They were either hiding within the abandoned districts and lower scaffolding that stretched for miles underneath the actual city, or they fought to their deaths within the city. The sacred quarters Rago took refuge in were at least somewhat protected from the bloodbath that took thousands of new corpses every time unit. To go into the regular districts was to give up your life. And as for those that didn't, it was only a matter of time before the Chosen found and eliminated every pocket resistance.
That's what surprised Rago 'Tarkomee. He had not even suspected that he would find another rebel, but a rebel had found him! The mere presence of the white-armored Unggoy messenger... it preached unto him that there was some hope, someone else out there, an ally. How close were they? How powerful? He didn't know. But it was nevertheless important.
Rago took the data-projector and placed it in the middle of the room. He inserted his finger into a blinking depression and the machine lit up like a flare. After a few seconds, a foggy hologram appeared above it. It was a Sangheili, ceremonial black armor, large headdress, the uniform of the High Council. Rago had once memorized all of the members' names, but he had never been able to remember them.
The councilor stood there for a moment, and then began, waving his hands around for emphasis. He was elegant, authoritative and his figure demanded attention. He spoke in Sangheilish, but never before had the language commanded such respect. Such were his sayings:
"I have come to call three races together. Sangheili, mighty and foremost, our iron heart; Lekgolo, strong and loyal, warriors of no disrespect; Unggoy, faithful and serving, stewards of earned repute; we together stand in the most holy and grandiose cities of Covenant make. We remain as the courageous, the vigilant, those who have recognized that there is cowardice in the act to flee. It is our purpose to stay, and we stay so as to retake this construct and prove to the Prophet's our right in the Covenant. We will renew the Great Pact, the Sangheili and Prophet will sit in equality with one another, and we will make the Journey side by side, neither one greater." Rago was content as of yet, though the mentioned equality did have a radical element to it. However, it was a promotion, of not only he but his entire race, and he could not argue against it.
The councilor continued, "In these times of confusion, the ancient Syndicate has been reformed, and you will come to know of the intelligibility in which we will lead our most righteous warriors on this holy task of cleansing the High Charity. First, we must gather the dregs of our once glorious-"
The hologram wavered as the floor convulsed, a shockwave of artillery fire. Dust fell to the floor. The Sangheili minors, just finished of their repast, froze in the haunting suspicion of an attack.
"Fools!" Rago leapt into action. "Armor, now!" he roared, racing for his own helmet and weapons.
Too late, the ceiling exploded just over the feasting table. The Sangheili directly below fell, crushed to death underneath blackened stone. Those who could evade the explosion bolted towards scavenged weapons. The Unggoy conscripts quickly hoisted methane tanks on their backs. The only ones who were ready for the fight were Edebu and Udobo, who quickly positioned themselves under the newly-blasted fissure, releasing salvos of green fuel rod plasma into the void above. The larger one, Edebu, bellowed out a guttural remark, but Rago couldn't speak Kgolo. Armed with a plasma rifle, Rago himself marched under the shadow of the two Lekgolo warriors and peered up through the hole into the darkness of the High Charity.
"A Phantom!" Hrenghez translated at last, but Rago had already confirmed the threat. What couldn't be explained in such short mention was exactly what the Phantom was doing.
The singular Phantom held a Wraith in its gravity lift. Upside down, the Wraith artillery tank had the angle it needed to fire plasma mortar down onto their position. As the two machines dropped closer to the structure, the Wraith readied another shot. The two Lekgolo had inflicted serious damage on the Phantom; they were some of the best shots Rago had ever seen, coming from Lekgolo kind, it nearly disarmed the ship entirely. But it wasn't enough.
His enemy had outsmarted them. One Phantom didn't have enough concussive power to shatter six units of super-condensed rock, and a Wraith didn't have the maneuverability to get so high into the rooftops of the High Charity as to lay siege to their base. Together... well, now they had to evacuate their precious stronghold.
"Clear the room! Get to the lower levels!" Rago yelled. Scarlet fire from the Phantom showered into the room, and the smell of ozone became so strong Rago's eyes watered.
Rago's ragged group of survivors crowded around the door, and it took only seconds for the gateway to unlock itself and open, but it was too late. Behind them, a glistening ball of blue plasma mortar drifted through the gash in the ceiling and into their blessed Hold. Two Unggoy and another Sangheili were caught in the wave, and the rest without energy shields were seared by the heat until skin and scale smelled of cooked meat. The stone rooftop started crumbling; huge slabs tumbled onto the floor, some with such force they continued their path to the level below. Hrengez nearly fell into one of these fractures, when Udobo scooped him up. The door opened, and the remnants of Rago's squad escaped their sanctuary.
- Continued on the Latter Segment -
The High Charity <1-3>
Date: 3 January 2005, 2:56 AM
Records of the Last Days of the High Charity
Episode the First
Latter Segment
- Continued from the Intermediary Segment -
They sprinted in nearly single-file down the lightless corridor. Rago cursed at his inability to engage the enemy, when an Unggoy fell behind, nearly trampled by one of the Lekgolo brothers. Rago 'Tarkomee, last in line,
"Let's go!" Rago roared, last in line. The Unggoy's burden was a fuel rod cannon, and as the creature couldn't be trusted to keep up with the rest with the weapon in hand, Rago took it for himself. He lifted the gas-sucker on his feet and prodded him to get back in formation, but in the blackness of the hallway they had lost the main group.
Hurrying to regroup, Rago nearly carried the unarmed weakling of a creature as they sprinted to find their allies. Suddenly, they stepped into the middle of a battle field. He knew the sounds more than he wished to: the buzz of Yanme'e wings in the air, muffled methane explosions, the echoes of high-pitched Kig-Yar screeches upon metallic walls. Within plasma illuminated darkness, Rago 'Tarkomee's squadron had made their way behind several large pillars and were pummeling the enemy forces with as much destructive weaponry they could use at one time. Their two Lekgolo fighters had burned through entire rows of Kig-Yar shields, and the air was a-glow with plasma grenades. But as Rago jumped behind the columns for cover, he realized that the battle would be lost if they stayed. They didn't have enough warriors to match the mob that he heard behind them. Energy shields lit up the cavernous room like a river of fire, and the darting Yanme'e distorted the darkness like a windblown curtain. Whatever the number, Rago knew it would crush him and his fellow warriors if they stood their ground.
"Retreat! Retreat! Follow my lead!" Rago ordered over the angry clamor.
With their Lekgolo guarding the flank, green plasma mortar in the air, Rago charged deep into the darkness, struggling to remember their escape exit.
After what seemd an age of Unggoy sobbing, bloodthirsty wails, and the panting of tired, dying soldiers, Rago found it. All it was was a large hole in the floor. When he found it before, Rago had guessed that there was once a gravity lift here, but now there was no comforting assistance for the drop. He had remembered where it was, but he did not know what lie at its bottom. But, it was their only chance.
"Move, move, move!" Rago urged them, and his small army threw themselves down into the abyss, and he wouldn't ever know what would happen to them. Whether they died as cowards die, or survived to fight another day, Rago didn't know.
"Both of you get down there!" the valiant Sangheili roared at the two Lekgolo, his voice straining. They shook their plated heads. Rago saw that both were sustaining serious wounds, orange blood emptying out into the ground. They wouldn't make it.
"What would you have me do? Leave you here?!" Rago yelled.
Edebu pointed a blood-dripping hand to a barely visible hole in the ceiling nearly thirty units high, directly over the abyss that his squad had dropped into. The grav-lift must have covered more levels than this, including up to the rooftop. Above he could see the all-consuming darkness that stretched from the lowest levels of the city to the highest reaches of the High Charity's ceiling. He didn't need a translator to figure out what the two Lekgolo were trying to say. If before he had doubted their intelligence, Rago knew now that the Lekgolo were as smart as any Sangheili.
The two dying Lekgolo held each of Rago's legs, and with one echoing howl they threw him as hard they could towards the upward opening. As Rago sailed through the air, his limbs flapping, hopelessly trying to stabilize himself, he watched as plasma fire consumed the room below him. He couldn't think about the two giants dying, and instead glorified in their accuracy. They were good shots with plasma and Sangheili. They had launched him without error. He shot out of the building, and then fell two units onto the roof, his armor's force-shields breaking his fall.
The Phantom-Wraith combination loomed overhead. They were moving slowly down to the ground, picking up passengers. Rago 'Tarkomee didn't have enough time to observe them more closely. With the rest of his energy, carrying a heavy fuel rod cannon, he made a run for the edge of the roof. It was so far away... but he had to get there before the Phantom changed position.
His legs burned and his hoofs chipped, Rago swallowed his own blood and felt his lungs wither. The darkness illuminated by the bright lights of the Phantom, he found the edge of the roof and jumped down, falling another eight units to the second floor.
The Sangheili kept on running, through forests of columns and strange statues that he couldn't examine. The Phantom was so close, just past the next arch. Rago came to a skidding standstill at the edge of the roof, directly over the Phantom and its Wraith luggage. He paused for a moment to get his breath, but there just wasn't enough time. It was now or never.
Cannon sights on the Wraith. It was suspended in the air, immobile as its Phantom support lowered to the ground to pick up troops. Perfect. Rago squeezed the trigger, and a green cloud of destructive energy flew towards the mortar tank. However, the energy bolt flew by, missing it by barely a unit. He swiftly adjusted his aim and fired again, trying to keep his focus. The missile soared... A direct hit against the mortar's barrel! The Wraith rotated and desperately tried to get its crosshairs on its enemy, its glossy metal carapace battered and smoking. A swarm of Yanme'e erupted from the Phantom, their wings flitting as fast as they could manage to thwart the single warrior's attempt to destroy the tank.
With the insects coming onto his position, he knew he wouldn't have time to make it out. He would die on the rooftop, but as honor goes, it is better to take your enemies with you. Two more fuel rod blasts, one miss and a hit. The Wraith started to spark, its gravity engine started stuttering, and it looked like a giant and squeezed it with one hand. But it was still functioning. The tank couldn't take more than another fuel rod blast, Rago knew it. But, it was a long shot, and Rago wasn't good at long shots... but it had to work. He couldn't have come all this way without taking some sort of victory.
The fuel rod cannon had one last shot, and his last opportunity. Rago adjusted his aim and launched the missile. It sailed over the void, flying as if it would never stop... and then struck the tank head-on. The green plasma washed over the fuel tanks and the entire machine went off with an azure explosion. The blast mushroomed upward, and the Phantom, already smoking from prior fuel rod barrages, overheated and its grav-lift warped and melted. The disabled Phantom plummeted to the ground and crumpled like paper. The resulting detonation was twenty times that of the Wraith, and its blue flames licked up the surrounding Kig-Yar and hovering drones.
But Rago didn't see if his maneuver succeeded. The buzzing of insectile wings alerted him to the danger of the aerial Yanme'e. His plasma rifle out, he picked off one bug at a time. Six down, seven down, eight down... But he was outmatched. Bleeding, he tried to escape the swarm, but he knew it was for naught.
He clutched the plasma grenade to his chest and held it tight. The Yanme'e continued to circle around him, unaware of the weapon. The fire was cool at first, comforting even as it stuck to his armor. Rago 'Tarkomee watched the darkness of the High Charity. When the bomb exploded, just before he died, he thought he could see through the black. He could see the beautiful structures, the crystal waterworks that ran throughout, he saw the temples and statues of the great capital of the Covenant. He even thought he could see it as it was before, buildings all standing straight, light everywhere, peaceful citizens, like a river flowing through the passages of the High Charity.
Another hero passed on to the Glorious Beyond, as many would. During the Last Days heroes would rise, and more would fall, as was read in ancient Covenant prophecy. Unknown was, during the trials ahead, who would be the last creature standing to claim the role of the victor.
***
Amid the rubble, the projector still continued its message. The councilor continued his speech in his water-smooth voice. The holograph flickered on and off, but the auditory component had survived the damage.
"... We are the Syndicate... we are the True Covenant. We will take the High Charity for our own; clean out the treachery and blasphemy. Together... three races united... we will win this fight. No one will escape from this holy construct, we declare that this act is heresy. We are the city's saviors that will be spoken for ages in history. The Covenant depends solely on our vigilance... We are warriors of the holy capital, and no honor is greater. The real war will start soon, join our forces and you may survive, refuse and you will be purged by your dishonor. Only one will earn the High Charity."
End Episode
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