Chapter Three--First Encounter of the Third Kind
Well, sorry about the delay folks, but its finals season up where I'm at, so things are going a little more slowly than usual. Hopefully, once there done with, the updates will become more regular.
As always, my heartfelt thanks to those who take the time to read this story, and to those of you who have reviewed, I hope that I have answered your questions properly.
Lawyers- see previous disclaimers.
That said, here's the third chapter.
Chapter Three--First Encounter of the Third Kind
Bruenor sighed to himself and hugged his cloak just a little tighter around his body. Dawn was approaching quickly enough. He sat with his back to the merry fire that was crackling in the center of the camp. Around them was the evidence, what little there was, of the golem's activities. By now, it had been reduced to boot prints in the snow and scattered rocks with the occasional piece of charred yeti fur. The blood was gone, consumed by predators looking to squeeze a few extra nutrients out of the snow. The Dwarf king reached behind him and grabbed the poker he had over the fire. On it was a small bit of jerky that he'd been warming back up.
He bit into the smoked meat with relish. The meat was tough and dry, but it made for excellent taste. He would have to thank Rumblebelly for it. If there was one thing that overweight Halfling could do right, it was cook.
He kept his eyes roaming over the surroundings, his axe and shield close to his side. There was some rustling from behind him, and he turned to see Wulfgar getting up out of his tent. Bruenor nodded to the young plainsman, and motioned for him to have a seat. Aegis-Fang gripped loosely in his hand, Wulfgar did so.
"Morning to you, Bruenor," he said, and then motioned to the jerky. "Got any of that to split?"
"Sure, lad." The Dwarf ripped the hunk of meat in half. "Think we'll find it today?" He pointed out towards the mountains and the rocky peaks.
"Never know," Wulfgar shrugged. "We might, we might not. Rognar said it headed north east from here, though, back towards where the fireball came down. There's only so far it could be."
"Rather strange behavior from a golem though, don't you think?" Bruenor reached for a canteen and took a swig of Dwarven ale, just enough to warm his insides, as his water was still thawing out from the previous night. "I mean, what could it want with a deer and a Yeti's body?"
"The ways of wizards will always be a mystery to me, old friend," The human shook his head. "The deer I could understand. Wizards must eat too, and perhaps there was nothing about to threaten its master, so it was sent off to hunt. The Yeti makes less sense, but their fur can be used as a shield against the cold."
"I suppose," Bruenor mumbled. There was still something about this that didn't make sense, like how come a wizard powerful enough to make something like that didn't just conjure up his own food and use that to feast upon, rather than risk damage to such a valuable piece of work.
Of course, given the destruction that it appeared to be capable of, the term "risk" was a loose one, very much subject to interpretation.
He supposed that they would find out soon enough.
The Dwarf king and his friends were not the only ones searching for clues to the newest mystery of Faerun, though. Some miles away from them, steadily closing in on where the phenomenon had been seen, was a cloaked figure. It would have been difficult to tell anything about the person at first glance, aside form the fact that it was about five and a half feet tall, and clad in a combination of white and gray leather equipment. A long cloak, white on one side, gray on the other, flowed behind it. It appeared to be human, but there was something different about it steps, like it was unnaturally graceful. It paused for a moment and moved towards a hill a few hundred meters away.
Upon reaching the top of it, the figure reached into its belt, and drew out a telescope. Eyes that shone a faint red were visible for a moment, before it stared down the length of the device. It gasped a moment later, the tone of voice revealing it as a female.
"Hells…" she breathed.
Before her eyes, faintly visible in the distance, was a massive scar across the landscape, like some God had come down and extracted vengeance upon the land for an offense. But what had caused it? The canyon seemed to widen out towards the end, similar to the end of a sewing needle, but she could not see what was inside of it.
She'd just have to get closer. She had a mission to complete after all.
Plus, where there were mighty magicks, one could usually expect to find mighty treasure.
"Never seen anything like this before," Bruenor muttered to himself.
"Nor I," Wulfgar knelt down and placed his fore and middle fingers into the tracks before them. "They are similar to a wagon's, but these indentations…" He pointed to the depressions left in the center and edges of the marks
"Like someone worked the wheels so they could grip better," Alicia muttered, moving further back into her robe. The chill was clearly starting to get to her. "Curious though, where are the animal tracks? What was pulling it?"
Everyone remained silent. They had no effective answer for that, aside from magic. Still, this was a golem, the chance of it using arcane equipment were pretty high, given that it already carried a wand.
"Well, on the bright side, it should be pretty easy to track our quarry now. Just follow the trail o' breadcrumbs back to where they come from." Bruenor chuckled, rubbing some snow from his beard. "Weapons out and at the ready, just in case we bump into this thing and it's not friendly."
Olthick and Mortar nodded in unison, and readied war hammer and sword respectively. Then they were off again, hot in pursuit of the creature. With any luck, they would be able to reach its location before nightfall.
"Tracking additional movement," Cortana said over the commline, "this one's bigger--a small group."
John quietly acknowledged her as he welded another pipe onto its mountings. It wasn't very big, only about six inches around, but it would do for now. In the distance, he could see the Dawn's crater. Their timing had been good so far, more than two hundred meters of the pipeline was completed, thanks to the large amounts of now unnecessary piping that they were cannibalizing. Of course, planning on how to get here had been a little difficult. Cortana had had the best solution though, and it had been decided that the pipeline would empty into a reservoir that had been constructed from a few prefab living quarters, and then could be carried back by vehicle or manpower to the small refinery they had onboard. Somewhat inefficient, but it beat the hell out of having to drill through the Dawn's three meters of Titanium-A armor plating just to get inside.
"What about the single ping we had earlier?" Johnson asked. "How close are these new ones to it, and what's going on?"
"The newer group is closing faster on our location, probably exercising less caution or stealth. As for distance, there's about half a kilometer between the two, and given the timing difference, and direction of arrival, I don't think they're working together." Cortana said. "I've got a UAV almost on top of them now, feedback should be obtainable in just a few seconds."
John thought about the information he was being given. Two groups were currently aware of the location of them and the ship. It was to be expected of course, considering the commotion that they'd probably made on the way down. He also pondered other possibilities, like if the two groups did not like each other. That might explain why the lone ping was trying to stay away from the others.
"Feedback acquired, sending visual package."
As soon as Cortana's voice died away, an image appeared in the upper left corner of the Spartan's helmet, painted onto his visor. The UAV was about three hundred meters off the ground, its camera zooming in to where it could see the details about the individual groups. It focused on the individual first, which the Master Chief believed to be a scout. He couldn't make out any distinguishing features about the individual, aside from the fact that its movements were measured and cautious, slipping between one rocky crag and the next, trying to keep from moving out in the open as much as possible. Someone who didn't want to be detected.
The drone zoomed out after a few seconds, and flew over to the other group. For a brief second, the cyborg stopped his welding, and so did Johnson.
What they saw had to be one of the weirdest assortments of people in the history of their race. There was one man, obviously of the same stock as the young hunter that John had encountered a few days ago, but the others were somewhat out of place. A woman clad only in some furs and raven colored robe, and then… three very short people.
Very short people, who seemed to be armored out of the wazoo, as Sam would have said, were he still alive. There were also a number of weapons on them.
"Cortana?" he asked.
"Scanning… biometrical and physical analysis indicates that these things are similar to humans, but not the same. Muscle density's off, and their internal body temperature's higher, especially around the eyes. It's like they've got more blood flowing to them. I'd wager they have good night vision."
"What about the scout?" the Spartan put his curiosity aside for a moment, and went back to welding.
"I'm… I'm not sure." Was the reply over the radio.
John gave no outward sign of acknowledgement, indeed, any outsider would have thought he didn't hear her. Inside of his helmet, as he finished welding the seal, he raised an eyebrow. "Care to elaborate on that?"
"Well, it's got a humanoid build, as you might imagine, and it's a mammal, definitely got a bit of human biology… but aside from that…" she sighed, and he could imagine her holographic form rubbing her forehead. "The life form has a tail, and what appears to be a pair of vestigial horns, it's also apparently a female."
"Can you show me?" He asked, moving on to the next pipe. Johnson kept working too, but the Spartan could tell that the sergeant was somewhat distracted by all this.
A rough diagram of the scout appeared on his visor. Not much that he could see that made it different from humans, but the tail was there. It looked like it was about two and a half feet long, and judging by the number of bones the X-ray scans had given it, apparently semi-prehensile. The Spartan didn't know what else to make of it, but he logged it away in the back of his mind.
"Looks like they're closing in on each other. The solo trooper seems to be aware of the other group's presence, and is actively attempting to evade them, but the other gang isn't aware of her yet." Cortana said. "This could be trouble, Chief."
"I agree," Commander Keyes said from the bridge, where she was currently trying to assess the best means of accessing the uranium deposits that were nearby. "Chief, take a Mongoose and head out there, see if you can make a first contact, and if you have to, mitigate between the two. Johnson, you go with him. I want both of you armed, just in case."
"Yes ma'am," the Spartan said, placing down his torch and turning to the Sangehili working a little ways away from them. "Orna, think you can hold down the fort here?"
"It would be my honor, Spartan," the Elite spread his upper mandibles in a smile.
"I'd move quickly, Chief," Cortana said. "The Drone's showing that the larger group is stopping, and turning right towards the scout. I don't know how they did it, but I think they're on to her."
By the time the construct had finished, Johnson and the cyborg were already tearing down the landing bay. Within seconds they had armed themselves up, and were heading out.
"I can sense something near," Alicia said, pausing suddenly in her steps.
"Our quarry?" Bruenor asked, his hand tightening its grip on his mithril axe. The Dwarf king began to listen for any sign of the approaching creature.
"No, this is something else… it's making my skin crawl just a bit," the woman paused and placed a hand to her temple. "I sense the taint of the lower planes… faint, but there."
"Demonic or devilish?" Wulfgar asked. His hands were instantly at his war hammer. He remembered all too well Drizzt's tale of his battle with Errtu. Creatures of that nature would be difficult to defeat, to say the least. The Ten Towns had considered the Balor a far greater threat than the rest of Kessel's army combined, despite the fact that he was one and the rest of the Orcs, goblins, and giants had numbered in the thousands.
"Devilish, by the feeling," the mage looked out towards the mountain in the distance. "It's coming from the base of that peak."
"Be ready for it," the Dwarf king growled, drawing its weapon. "If that golem's a rogue instrument, we don't want the fiend getting its hands on it, 'cause there's no telling what it might do, and if their allies, well, we might as well face them down now."
"I do not think we face a full devil," Alicia shook her head as they started off towards the peak. "The sensation I get is too subtle for that. I suspect that we are dealing with a creature of the Nine Hells, but the blood feels like it's been weakened or diluted."
"Half breed, possibly," Bruenor muttered, before he motioned the party onward.
It took them only a few minutes to arrive at the base of the peak. Bruenor raised his mithril shield, the symbol of his clan, a foaming ale-mug, stood out emblazoned upon it, its golden light shinning up towards the peak, as if daring the creature to show itself. He started to move up the rocks, his gait surprisingly nimble for one so heavily armored. It was the result of more than a century of living in, under and upon the rocks of this end of the world. He knew the stone as one might know his brother, or his son, and could tell at the merest glance which routes were safe and which ones hazardous. The Dwarf's keen eyes were staring around at the rocky crags before him. He could sense it too, now. The old warrior's instincts were rising up inside of him, and he growled as he waited for his prey.
He saw a flick of motion off to one side, and heard a pebble fall, but he simply smiled. Far too obvious—a diversion like that—at least to the likes of him. He was tempted to call out a boast, but instead worked his way around in the opposite direction of the one where the sound came from. He imagined the frustration of his quarry as he neared, any moment now, it was going to have to bolt. He climbed up on top of a rock and looked at the area before him. Stones and snow patches lay out before him, but no sign of the creature.
Then an idea occurred to him, and he started to stare at the snow patches and the rocks a little more carefully. His eyes spent a minute or two roaming over them, until he noticed one, about twenty feet away that was moving faintly. So, this half-breed was cleverer than he had given it credit for. It came prepared.
"Game's over, hellspawn, I can see you hiding under that cloak," he growled. Stepping forward and brandishing his weapons.
He was amazed by what happened next. The "snow patch" exploded upwards, revealing a thinly built individual. Bruenor caught a glimpse of a dark gray tunic, and on the center of it, what appeared to be the faint outline of an eye. He also spotted two blades, one long and one short, hanging from its—her-- waist.
She didn't stick around to chat, whoever she was. Instead, she bolted upwards, gracefully springing from rock to rock and flanking around the Dwarf king. He lunged outward with the flat side of his axe, not wanting to permanently harm her until he could get some answers. The half-breed, however, just jumped up along the face of a rock, ran along its surface for a few feet, and leapt again, landing on top of another bolder before springing down the sides of the mountain base.
"Head's up!" Bruenor cried. "Coming down the northern slope!"
Wulfgar and the Dwarven bodyguards were standing at the bottom, waiting for her, but she simply jumped over their reach, came down behind them, rolled, and took off running like the Abyss was on her heals.
She did not get far, though. Alicia was hastily casting a spell, and before the half-breed had made it more than twenty meters, she suddenly froze in mid stride, suspended helplessly.
"Nice trick," Wulfgar said as he came up next to her, "how long will that hold?"
"Against a creature with Baazettu blood in it? I'm not sure. Best secure whatever information you need quickly." The mage shrugged.
"First let's find out who our guest is," Bruenor grumbled as he made his way down the rocks and marched up besides the girl. Wulfgar yanked the hood back and took a step away, making a symbol to Tempus while he was at it.
The creature was indeed a half breed, a Tiefling to be precise. Not as powerful or as cunning as a pure half devil, but descended from one nonetheless. She looked to be in her early twenties, the Dwarf reckoned, and had a close cropped mane of fiery hair, complete with the typical horns of her kind, and a slight series of markings just below her hairline. The pointed ears and red eyes completed the picture, and marked her for what she was. Still, the Dwarf had to admit that she'd been clever. The hood would hide her horns and most of her face, and her tail could also be concealed if she was careful enough.
"Looks like we've found ourselves a rogue," Bruenor rubbed his chin, looking up at the young woman. "What's your name girl, and your business here?"
"I could ask you the same," she growled. There was a slight pitch to her tone that made it hard to take her seriously, but Bruenor could see fires smoldering in her eyes.
"That is true, but we happen to have a bit of a numbers advantage over you," Alicia said, drawing up close, "and I just happen to have some holy water on me. We could loosen your tongue in a different manner, if you want."
"I don't think that'll be necessary, Mage," Bruenor looked towards the human and shook his head. "I'd wager you're probably here for the same reason we are." He leaned in closer to the suspended hellspawn, and smirked. "Tell me, girl, where did you get that tunic?"
"What's it to you?" She glared down at him, her eyes speaking with the desire to get out of this situation and turn the tables on him.
In her mind, she was struggling not to panic. This was bringing back some very unpleasant memories.
"Because that happens to be a tunic marked with the symbol of Neverwinter, and the means by which you came by it will determine whether or not I let you go, or send you back where you came from." He brandished his axe. Neverwinter was a large metropolis about four hundred miles to the south, one of his clan's primary trading partners.
"All I can say is that I've come by it fairly and within the bounds of the law." She could feel her fingers starting to get some movement to them again. That was good, she'd break out of this soon, just needed another minute.
"Your name?" Bruenor asked, arching an eyebrow. "You see, I happen to have friends in high places at that city, and ways that I can check on you. I'm certain Lord Nasher doesn't have many of your kind under his employ, he makes a habit of not dealing with Infernals and their ilk."
"I've already said all I'm going to say," she growled.
"I'm not going to ask politely again, girl. Your name?" Bruenor crossed his arms over his barreled chest.
She growled but hung her head. "Neeshka," she muttered.
Alicia arched her eyebrow, while Mortar cocked his head to the side. "Bless you," he said.
The Tiefling glared in his direction, clearly not amused. Still, she could feel the spell starting to weaken. Just a few more seconds.
However, before she could try to force the spell to release its grip on her, she heard something. It was a high pitched noise that sounded like a combination of a growl and a whine. Her hellish lineage had blessed her with a few things, good eyesight among them, and she saw it before the others." It came up over a hill about half a mile away. It was clearly some kind of machine, moving fast on four strange wheels that gripped the ground as no wheel rightly should have. She could see two things on its back, but couldn't make them out at this distance.
As it quickly moved in, though, she saw clearly enough what they carried. Neeshka took a deep breath and tried to blink a few times to make certain what she was seeing was correct. The two objects that she saw were soldiers—living or not, she did not know—and though she couldn't quite make out the nature of the tubular devices that they had strapped to their armor, she could tell quite clearly that they were weapons of some sort.
They pulled up to where they were only a hundred or so feet off, and both dismounted. Neeshka felt the spell release her, and nearly stumbled to the ground. The others were not paying attention to her, and she knew that she could easily make a break for it. However, that small part of her mind that had kept her alive for all the years of living on Neverwinter's streets and its back alleys told her to wait. The solders' craft, for one thing, could move far faster than she could run. She might get a chance to use one of her scrolls to get back home, but Lord Nasher would not be pleased to get a report as incomplete as what she had now. He was already being extremely lenient with her, and she had no desire to get chucked into an eight by ten cell for the next few decades.
The green one, which she could simply not believe the size of, moved a few steps ahead of its black armored comrade. The gold plated face moved back and forth over them, and she felt eyes that she could not see boring into her, reading her. At last, the soldier pointed towards the Barbarian of the group, and spoke a series of words that the Tiefling found that she could not understand.
The group looked around at each other, and the big one shrugged before responding.
"I am sorry, I do not understand what you are saying." He shook his head as he spoke to try and convey the meaning.
The soldier paused, cocked its head to one side, and then said something else. Neeshka couldn't make it out, but it clearly sounded like it was a different language, harsher, more robust. All it got him was a look from the Barbarian. Another language after that, and then another, and another. The black armored one joined in as well, but still nothing came of it. She wondered what in the world was going on here. What kind of thing would not know Common in this day and age? It was clearly smart enough to know several languages, and none of them sounded like curses, or any arcane or infernal language that she knew of, for that matter.
Neeshka carefully reached down to her pouch to pull out a ring that the Many Starred Cloaks had given her, one that was supposed to aid in the understanding of languages. Before her hand had moved more than two inches, though, the soldier reacted. It was a green blur as it reached down to the black object on its legs, yanked it off, and had it pointed straight at her. All of it had taken a fraction of an instant, and she had scarcely even seen it move.
Again it spoke, and again she could not make out a single word, but the faint gesturing of its head was indication enough for the girl. She pulled her hand back away from the pouch, and then shifted it to where the soldier could see it better.
"Look," she said in a soft, slow tone. "I know you can't understand me, but I'm not getting anything dangerous." She tried to open it again. The weapon was raised up a little higher, but she sensed that it would not attack unless attacked first. It was probably just lost and confused.
She opened up the pouch, searched around for the ring, felt it, and placed it on her finger. "Can you understand me?" she asked, hoping that she might get a better reaction out of it.
The black armored one said something, and to her frustration, Neeshka found that she couldn't make out a word of what was being said.
"That a ring of translation or something?" the Dwarf asked.
"Yep," she nodded to him. "Supposed to work on any language born of Faerun, the hells, or the heavens."
"So what does that make this thing's language?" the Barbarian gave her a weird look.
"Rather obviously, 'none of the above,'" she rolled her eyes at his inability to get her initial meaning. "Whatever, or wherever, this thing is from, it's nowhere around here."
The Master Chief for his part, was equally baffled. What was so important about that ring? The inability to communicate was equally irritating. He'd tried English, French, German, Chinese, Russian, and Spanish with these people, while Johnson had chipped in with a few contributions of his own, including, of all things, Latin and some surprisingly well toned Old English. Nothing seemed to be working.
"Have you managed to analyze anything?" John muttered, shutting of his external speakers.
"The language they're using bares some resemblance to an old Scandinavian dialect, or something similar. It's not much, but give me a moment and I can try to make some connections," Cortana said.
Then he heard a beeping noise. The UAV was attracting additional movement.
"Cortana?" The Spartan asked.
"Give me a second, moving the drone into position."
The Spartan kept one eye on the native group before him, while the other one drifted up to watch the feed from the UAV. They crossed the snow and ice covered landscape rapidly, and before long, was zooming in on a large group of objects. He couldn't make out much at the range that the drone was at, just that they were large, fast, and the contrast between hot and cold objects seemed to indicate that they were well armed.
They were also headed for the Dawn, though it looked like they were going to have to pass by here first.
"My, aren't we popular these days." Cortana seemed amused.
The Master Chief said nothing, but the drone was now close enough that he could start to make out features on the new group. Were he not so used to seeing strange things and places, he might have been alarmed by what he saw. The drone switched back over to the visible spectrum, and he did arch an eyebrow. The new group was composed of gray skinned, vaguely humanoid creatures, heavily armed with wicked looking axes and spears. Crude plate armor covered most of their torsos, but their arms were bare. Their faces had a look to them that resembled a cross between a boar and an ape, augmented by the tusks sticking out of their lower jaws.
And they were riding wolves.
Very, very big wolves.
"This place keeps getting weirder by the day! First abominable snowmen, then short guys, a girl with a tail and horns sticking out of her head, and now this?" Johnson sighed in disbelief. "Orders, Chief? They don't look particularly friendly."
"Take up a sniping position among the rocks. They don't look friendly to me either, but assume nothing. They may just be a patrol or something, coming to check on the hole we made in the ground." The Spartan moved closer to the rocks, and left himself partially exposed so that the humanoids would see him, but that he could still duck back and return fire in quick order if they proved to be hostile. He had to admit though, that was awfully big for a patrol. Still, better safe than sorry.
Bruenor scratched at the side of his head as he saw the black armored golem suddenly reach up behind it and pull the enormous device off its back. It looked almost like an odd shaped wizard's staff that ended like the butt end of a crossbow. It quickly put the other such device that it held (a smaller object with a heavy, well defined forward grip, and a pair of rods running down its length) away. Then it took off, rushing up the slope of the rocks, moving in a manner of a being that was well trained in such actions and was in good physical condition. Once it reached a large overhang, it lay down flat, and from his vantage point, the Dwarf king could see little. The green one did the same, returning the shorter, wand like device to its hip and reaching for the larger one on its back.
"You think they know something we don't?" Wulfgar asked, leaning down close to his mentor.
"I don't know." The Dwarf shrugged. "Let's head up and get a better look," he said, gesturing to where the black one had gone.
Bruenor and his two body guards were up quickly enough, with Neeshka coming up right on their heels. Wulfgar and Alicia however, took more time, being less sure of the rocks. Still, it took no more than a few minutes for them to get up there.
Neeshka frowned as she stared around at the landscape. She could see nothing out of the ordinary. But the two soldiers were so alert, like they knew that something was coming.
The black one grumbled something to her, staring over at the group. She couldn't tell what it had said, but it sounded rather irritated. She looked at the weapon that it held, the massive tube at the end, flared out slightly, the way that the soldier was orienting it and had braced it against the ground.
She realized that whatever was coming was off that direction, and that even these things, likely so far from their home that it wasn't even funny, believed it a possible threat did not bode well with her.
She took out her telescope again, and scanned the horizon. Even from this height, it took her a little while to see what was coming their way. It was hard to make out at first, but as the blob drew closer she started to make out individuals among it, and then quickly felt dread pool in her stomach. She turned to look down at the Dwarf leader.
"Orcs," she hissed.
"What? How many?" he sputtered, going red in the face.
"Can't quite tell, let's just say 'lots.' And all of them are mounted," she said.
Bruenor frowned. The Dire Wolves upon which they were likely riding could not only match the pace of a warhorse, but were excellent climbers as well. This place wouldn't make for a good defense, not with their backs to the wall. Running was out of the question, too. Or rather, at least trying to flee outright.
The Dwarf king looked around, trying to find someway to change the odds. Then he spotted it. Another outcropping of rock, about two thousand feet away. It was narrower, would require that the Orcs and their wolves come at them no more than a few at the time. The question is, would they be able to get that far, climb the rocks, and get set up before their foes were upon them? Well, there was only one way to find out.
"To that ledge, come on!" he shouted, gesturing to the location.
The others fell in beside him, even the Tiefling, who pulled out a short bow as they descended the rocks.
"Up, or down, make up your minds!" Alicia said as she nearly stumbled down one of the boulders.
As he hit the snow, Bruenor ran for all he could muster from his little legs. If they got caught in the open like this, by mounted opposition, they were done for.
"Something's got them spooked," John muttered to himself, double-checking the sights and scope on his BR-55. "Think they know something we don't?"
"The girl with the tail yanked out a telescope and started staring off where those Hell's Angels wannabees are coming from," Johnson replied. "Can't say that I'm too upset they're gone, though. They were blowing my cover."
The Master Chief had a sinking feeling that this was going to end in a shootout. From what he could gather, they were dealing with two very hostile groups here, and the ones that he had just met were badly outmatched if that were the case. He zoomed in on them to track their progress, and noticed where they were headed. They were attempting to set up a secure, defensible perimeter apparently. The Spartan cocked his head, and then looked back over towards the approaching group of humanoids.
They were too close. The fleeing group would never make it, not with those small ones slowing them down.
The milliseconds began to tick by, and the Spartan's mind raced, weighing potential actions, reactions, causes and effects. Eventually, his mind settled on the one option that he knew would be the ultimate choice: to act, or not to act.
"Sierra-117 to Dawn, requesting air support. Incoming fourth party appears hostile," the Spartan said.
"Are you sure, Chief?" it was Keyes. "I don't want to start a war if we can help it."
"Yes ma'am, second and third parties have banded together, despite their apparent dislike for each other, and are currently breaking for better cover. Suspect high probability of violent outcome." He saw the first one of the riders come up over a small ridge. He spotted the moving group immediately, raised his peculiar, double headed axe, and gave out a loud roar.
"Roger that." The commline crackled for a moment. "Arbiter, meet me in the Pelican bay, the Chief's calling in the cavalry."
"Understood, commander," the Elite replied. "I'll be there in a minute."
The Chief watched as the humanoids drew closer to the fleeing group, and made his decision. "Johnson, weapons free."
Johnson's sign of acknowledgement was the unique double shockwave of the S02M Oracle that he held. Through the scope of his battle rifle, the cyborg watched as one of the beings just seemed to fly apart, dissolving into a rapidly expanding mist of blood, bones, and flesh. Another half second passed, and they were inside of six hundred meters, the maximum range of a BR-55. He squeezed the trigger, and felt the faint kick of the rifle against his armored shoulder. The ammo counter in his upper left HUD decreased by one and a moment later, the one he'd sighted up coughed up black colored blood and stared stupidly down at itself, no doubt curious as to where the twelve inch wide hole in its chest had come from. The Spartan wondered if it had even felt the ten-millimeter, depleted uranium round as it passed through.
It slumped off its mount, but not before two more of its brothers had joined it in death. The Spartan did not relent, and fired again and again, targeting both the riders and their mounts. But there were a lot of them—he counted over two hundred, easily—and while they were confused by the sudden and unexpected flank attack, they did not break, but kept on charging towards the group out on the ice covered tundra. Was it possible that they were unaware that he and Johnson were the ones killing them?
Up above, the ODST fired again, catching two of the creatures dead-on as they were lining up. Both of them dissolved into blood clouds as the fourteen and a half millimeter slug tore through them and kept going. Then his battle rifle clicked empty. John reached down and released the empty magazine with his right thumb, while his left had had already grabbed a fresh one. A fraction of a second later, he slammed it into the rifle, cycled a round into the chamber, and fired a double tap. It hit one of the wolves square in its center mass, and blew the beast wide open. It went down in a tumble, flipping over and spreading its guts and blood over the snowy ground like the stroke of an artist's paintbrush.
But there were too many, and the Spartan simply couldn't kill them fast enough to stop them from making it to the other group. He needed an autocannon, or something similar.
Johnson fired twice in rapid succession, splattering a large humanoid and its mount. "Empty! Reloading."
The Chief slipped his third magazine into the rifle, and noticed that they had finally managed to get some of the humanoids to branch off towards where he and Johnson were. But the number was small, dealt with easily enough. "Forget them," he growled, "focus on the main body."
As before, Johnson's only response was the loud booming of his sniper rifle.
Neeshka looked to see the horde come charging towards them. They weren't going to make it. Frowning grimly to herself, she nocked an arrow in her bow, drew it back, and fired into the advancing mass of Orcs. The shot was well aimed despite the fact that she was running, and sank deep into the arm of one of the lead chargers. It snarled, and she could see it reach up and tear the arrow out. Then there was a flash of red from their ranks, and one of the Orcs on the flanking edges of the wave just… disintegrated. A pair of loud booms reached her sensitive ears a moment later, causing her to wince.
She instinctively looked back to where they had left the other two soldiers. She couldn't figure out why in the world they weren't running. Granted, they weren't from this neck of the woods, but just about every plane of existence knew of Orcs and what they meant.
She couldn't make out the details, but as the Tiefling fired again, more Orcs started to fall to some invisible force. They ignored it, though, and kept coming. She fired twice more into their ranks as they vied to see who would be the first to spill blood. One she caught in the throat, the other shot went low, into the shoulder of the dire wolf. The beast howled in pain, but kept coming regardless, its eyes seeming to scream murder for her.
The Orcs were within a hundred paces of them as they reached the base of the outcropping. The wizard starting going up first while the rest covered her, Bruenor ordering everyone into a defensive circle that would back up the mountain. As soon as she got up, Alicia started chanting the words to a spell, though what kind Neeshka could not exactly tell. She fired twice more, and then slung her bow and drew her blades.
The large Barbarian gave out a roar and sent his warhammer flying end over end. The Orc that was closest took it straight in the chest, and was blasted right back into the one behind him. The still living rider and mount went down in a tangled heap to be trampled by the ones behind it. The mighty weapon reappeared in its owners hand just in time for him to smash in the chest of another wolf. As before, the dead mount went down, with its rider getting tangled up in the harness.
Bruenor leaped backwards as a wolf overextended itself, and countered with a furious cleave that split its skull straight in half. He raised his shield to ward the next series of attacks just as a fireball descended into the ranks of those behind them. The sphere exploded, setting all within thirty feet aflame and causing panic in Orc ranks as the wolves bucked about, trying to put themselves out, but only succeeded in throwing their riders or putting their fellows to fire as well.
Something was bothering Neeshka, though. Though the ranks pressed in around them, it was as if the Orcs were holding back, waiting for something. A spear came in towards her, and she narrowly dodged it, lashing out with her longsword taking the end of it off at it passed by. The rider's mount pressed in, and in a deftly quick move, she shoved her shorter weapon up to the hilt in its maw. The edge was sharp, honed by killing dwemores, and pierced the bone with ease. The blade poked out of the top of the brute's skull for a moment, before it fell to the ground.
Another one of those weird booms reached her ear, and several of the Orcs twitched about in their saddles, before they broke and headed for the other outcropping, where the two soldiers had been left.
A bolt of lightning struck through the ranks of their enemies, but still they did not waver, still they pressed the attack. The Tiefling was confused, her mind trying to figure out what was going on as best she could while still dodging blows and trying to keep the wolves at back. Orc war parties didn't come out to the middle of nowhere without reason, and if they were interested in the fireball, why this focus on them? Why not decide to just leave them be and head for the prize?
The thought was derailed as she had to duck an axe blow aimed at separating her head from her shoulders. She gutted the Orc for its trouble, leaping forward and stabbing her shorter blade right into its heart, parrying another strike with its longer twin.
Then she saw one of their ranks, larger than the rest, rise up. Its skin was paler in hue, its muscles more knotted… a half ogre. It raised its double bladed axe high and let out a war cry. The Tiefling narrowed her crimson eyes, while her tail twitched in agitation. It lowered the blade, pointed straight at Bruenor and roared again. This time, though, the roar was cut off in mid cry. A curious blue object, burning as if on fire, landed squarely in its open mouth. There was a moment of confusion from all parties, and then with a high pitched beep, it exploded.
The Tiefling's world turned white, and her eyes burned from the flash. Whatever just happened did sow confusion into the ranks of the opposition though, as they started whirling about just in time to watch another object drop in among them. This one was brown, and resembled a large pine cone.
The HP-9 frag grenade detonated a half second later, turning every Orc and wolf within ten meters of it into something more commonly associated with a slaughterhouse. Blinking away the lights in her eyes, the Tiefling found the source of the commotion.
The Spartan had eighteen shots left, and then his rifle was dry. There were simply too many to handle from here, and it was clear to him that there was no way for the group to survive until Keyes arrived with a Pelican, not unless a distraction was provided.
He noticed something strange with the robed girl's hands, and suddenly a blast of fire shot out from it and detonated. The Spartan froze for a millisecond, and then shook it off. There would be time for questions later, provided that they all made it through this, and he figured out how to talk with them.
"Johnson!" he barked, ripping off his SMG and the few clips he was carrying for it, before tossing them up to the ODST.
The Helljumper got what the Chief wanted, and pulled the P90 off of his back, along with a few boxes of shells. Both were lobbed down to the Spartan, who hastily secured the ammo around his abdomen, and took off towards the battle.
Johnson kept up the pressure, firing off his sniper rifle and butchering more of the strange humanoids.
The Master Chief blitzed past the group that had broken off towards their position, catching all of the brutes by surprise as they wheeled their mounts around, no doubt thinking to try and squash him between the rest of the force and themselves. The meters between them closed in a blur. Five hundred… four… three… two hundred… one hundred. He could see a large brute rising up from the pack, bigger than its fellows, possibly a leader. It raised a chilling war call and brandished its weapon.
John saw an opportunity. He reached for his grenade bandolier, and yanked out a plasma grenade. One push of the arming button, and the device burst into blue fire. The cyborg reared back and threw the device like a baseball. He'd been aiming for its face, but the creature opened its mouth to scream again, and the grenade found the invitation well enough. Were the situation not so serious, the Spartan might have laughed.
The small grenade detonated a moment later, unleashing hell. Everything within five meters of the device was instantly vaporized, with many further out howling and burning in the wake of the intense heat. Still others were scorched and found their lungs seared by the steam blast that came from the snow and ice being heated so quickly. Water did expand roughly a thousand times upon conversion from liquid to gas, after all.
He primed a frag grenade, and tossed it as well, hoping to stir up more confusion among his foes.
It worked, taking the attention of several of them away from the besieged group and putting it on himself.
He was fifty meters away, well inside of the lethal range of the P90. He leveled the weapon, sighted up the closest one, and fired. The scattergun boomed, kicked, and sent a spray of supersonic uranium at the brute and its wolf. The rider dissolved into a cloud of bloody giblets, while the front part of the mount suffered a similar fate. Then he targeted the next closest, and fired.
Ten shots left.
He kept shooting, each blast taking down a rider and mount, but still they closed. They were a persistent bunch, he gave them that. Fanatical, almost. It reminded him a lot of the Covenant.
He fired off the last shell, and then lobbed a grenade. The explosion killed a good dozen, sending body parts and chunks of what the Spartan assumed were once organs splattering across the landscape. He ripped open the lid to one of his ammo canisters, and yanked open a handful of shells. He had to hurry, the ones from behind would be closing in right now. He could already see faint blips on his motion sensor. Three shells were loaded. Not enough to kill them all, and he didn't want to waste a grenade, or have to go hand to hand if he could help it. Six shells, they were too close.
A blast from Johnson came up from behind, ripping two of them to pieces and continuing into the ranks of the larger group. That left eight of them. The Spartan leveled his shotgun, and fired. The results were the same as always. Two more pairs fell in less than a second. Then he twisted and dove out of the way. One wolf anticipated this maneuver, and moved to intercept. What it had miscalculated, though, was the speed at which its foe would move. The cyborg was back on his feet in a flash, and caught the wolf around the throat as it came sailing in. Ducking beneath the clumsily made swing of its rider, he yanked his left arm out. The bones of the enormous canine snapped and broke under the force imparted on them, killing it instantly. He let go, and the momentum ensured that it sailed some distance away, rolling over and over again and crushing its rider in the process.
The brutes that wheeled about to face him were too slow, and presented perfect profile shots for him. They never even had time to scream.
Another boom from Johnson, and another group of them became so much fertilizer.
"That was the last round, Chief, I'm all out of long range death right now," Johnson growled. "I'm taking the Mongoose and moving into flanking position, I'll try strafing their lines."
"Commander, initial native parties are going to be overwhelmed soon," John said as another ball of flame flew from the hands of the robed girl. "ETA?"
"ETA is forty five, keep your head down, we're coming in hot and loud," Keyes responded.
"Advised, ma'am, friendlies in the combat zone," the Spartan lobbed a second plasma grenade into the midst of the brutes. It stuck to the back of one of the riders, who pawed around with it for a moment or two before the device went off. Blue hot fire leapt up, slaying dozens of them and causing more chaos. He suspected that at least two thirds of the initial force was lying in pools of their own blood, had been reduced to little more than that, or were currently floating around on the air currents. Still, they persisted.
There was a whine a few seconds later, Johnson tore up on the Mongoose, the SMG he was holding firing short, quick bursts into the ranks of the brutes. The caseless rounds tore great gapping holes in the creatures, and a solid dozen wheeled about to face the ODST. He could hear Johnson snort as he turned away and led them off on a chase, firing back over his shoulder as they cleared the distance.
Amongst the melee, Neeshka realized that they were getting help from the soldiers, but knew that it wasn't going to be enough. These Orcs were disturbing in their dedication to eradicating them, for what purpose she could only guess. She'd battled more than her fair share of the things, but had never heard of them being this ferocious, this mindlessly one-tracked in their determination to take out a target. They should have broken long ago, her mind kept insisting.
But, as she lopped the head off of a wolf that got too close, the rational part of her brain kept telling that little voice that some part of the game had changed, and not for the better.
"Tempos!" she heard the barbarian, Wulfgar, gasp. It was not from pain, but from surprise. He'd been able to retreat higher up into the rocks than she had, perhaps he had seen something that she hadn't.
Another blast ripped through the Orcish ranks, and more booms, these ones lower and more robust, came from where the green armored one fought, somewhere she could no longer see due to the pressing throng. The blasts were getting closer though, and more and more of the riders had to turn to engage the threat that it represented. She snarled and deftly leaped over the swing of a pole axe, coming down and lopping off the head of the weapon with her longsword, driving her shorter one into the neck of its mount. The Dire Wolf went down with a yelp.
To her side, Bruenor took a slash across the face, just above the cheek guards of his helmet. The blow was light and shallow, but it did send a great deal of blood spilling down his face, which only seemed to add to his ferocity.
It was bound to happen eventually, she supposed. One too many attackers managed to coordinate on her as she was trying to step back, further up the hill. A hole opened up in her guard and a Dire Wolf took advantage of it. It lunged forward, and she felt its teeth close around her right arm. It punctured her tunic, and her leather armor, and yanked hard to the left and right.
Pain and agony surged through her, and she barely managed to bite back a scream as her longsword fell from nerveless hands. She brought its shorter twin up, though, and stabbed it straight through the head.
It let go of her at once, and she fell to the ground. Groggy with pain, she barely managed to dodge a strike meant to cleave her head in half. Instead, it bit deep into her side.
So, this was how it ended…
She faintly heard blasts of the soldier's strange weapon, and noticed that one of the Dwarfs, the one closest to her, also went down as a spear caught him in the shoulder, punching clean through it and out the other side. Something heavy landed in front of her, blocking out the sun. It was the soldier. The weapon it held boomed, and kicked backwards, and the Orc nearest to him erupted into a mass of gore and fragmented plate armor. Its mount lashed out, and only a blur registered the soldier's movement. The wolf slumped to the ground at the same time that the weapon went off again, she faintly noticed that a few small bits of its head were left, the rest of it missing somewhere, and that the solder's boot was now stained red and gray.
An Orc stabbed at him with a spear and others jumped in, trying to bury him under their numbers. Their nightmarish foe simply blurred to one side, ripped the spear from the Orc's grasp, shoved it back into him with enough force to send the beast flying into the rider the next rank back. The Dire Wolf got a quick death as well, its skull smashed into pulp by the butt of the strange weapon.
Something warm touched her cheek, and she realized that it was her own blood. She was surprised that she hadn't died yet. Blood loss like this was supposed to kill quickly, right?
An earth shattering roar suddenly filled the Tiefling's sensitive ears, so that even as she lay in a pool of her own life, she wanted to curl up. For a second she feared that her nightmares were coming true, and that her heritage had damned her to the Hells. She heard the Orcs screaming, finally panicking and breaking, and wished that she knew what had caused it. Something blotted out the sun, flying by, and more loud roars, these ones higher in pitch, reached her.
The Master Chief swore as he spared a glance to the wounded girl beneath him. Those wounds were fatal if not treated. "Cortana, we've got at least one critically wounded trooper here!" he barked as he reloaded his shotgun, only managing to slide three shells into place before he was forced to dodge a series of spear thrusts, axe swipes, and lunging bites from the wolves. They were more cautious now, though, wary of him, especially given the viciousness of his counter attacks.
He kicked out, catching one wolf between the lower jaw, crushing its skull and flipping it over, much to the irritation and pain of its rider.
Graced by Spartan Time, he got plenty of satisfaction out of what came next. There was no sound to warn of its approach, no flash to give heed to it. The creatures all along their encircling ranks, suddenly began to splatter and fly apart. He even saw a brief glimpse of what was responsible for it, a glorious little piece of uranium, seventy millimeters wide, zipping past at hypersonic speeds.
That did cause them to panic. They broke ranks, and he took full advantage of it, reloading in a flash and gunning them down with impunity. In slow motion, he saw one of them gesture to the sky and bark out something in a harsh tongue that grated on his ears. The Pelican zoomed overhead a moment later, its back doors open.
Orna Fullsamee was there, manning a thirty millimeter gattling gun. The Sangehili opened fire, spraying death and chaos into what semblance of discipline they had left.
"Johnson, get back here now!" the Master Chief said, blasting another brute to pieces from thirty meters away.
"Already on my way back," the Helljumper announced.
Sure enough, he cleared a ridge a few seconds later. John couldn't help but notice that there was nothing behind him. He fired again, and the pellets of his shotgun cut another rider down and tore fist sized hunks of flesh out of its mount's flanks.
They were flanking around the Pelican, trying to get out of the way of Orna's murderous autocannon fire. The Elite, however, was not so easily evaded. In a flash, he had disconnected the weapon from its ammo feed mount, hooked it up to large, backpack like device, slipped that over his shoulders and then took the weapon off its tripod mounting. He hopped out of the back of the drop ship, twisting and firing off shots in short bursts. The fist sized rounds were massacring what was left of the attack force.
Keyes was backing the Pelican up and lining it up with the ground. Johnson was in first, racing up the short plank with the Mongoose, before hopping off it and rushing back out towards John.
"Load up, evac, evac!" he shouted to the ones that could still stand, hoping they got the meanings, gesturing over his shoulder with his thumb just in case.
They seemed to get the message clear enough, and went dashing off towards it.
John slung the shotgun over his shoulder and leaned down, carefully picking up the horned girl. She still groaned in pain and her eyes widened a bit. He jogged towards the Pelican and moved up the ramp, before setting her down on the padded bench and getting a better look of her wounds.
Outside, Orna still fired off into the distance, slaughtering all he could see.
"Biofoam!" The Spartan twisted to Johnson, who quickly produced a vial of the stuff. He shook it up, twisted the end to reveal the small needle and plunger, and squired the white substance into the gash along the girl's side. The self sealing medical foam went to work as soon as it touched blood, staunching the bleeding from there.
Her arm was another matter. It was mangled beyond all logical repair, and twitched weakly as the nerves died. Only tendons and a few stray bits of muscle connected it to the rest of her body. She would need a new one, provided she could survive long enough to make the four minute trip back to the Dawn, and the two minute run to medibay. And all of that was moot if they couldn't get more blood into her. She'd lost a lot.
"Cortana, think you can synthesize alien blood?" he asked.
"Depends, can you get me a sample?" her tone was neutral, though a faint trace of worry was detectible to those who knew her well.
"Hard not to."
"That bad?"
Chief didn't respond, merely reached into his supply pouch, pulled out a small tube always carried, and then made a dash up to the cockpit, just as Orna pilled into the back.
The Pelican rose into the air and shot off into the distance, leaving nothing but a bloodstained smear of earth behind it.
John moved into the cockpit, hardly sparing a glance at the other native behind him. Johnson and Orna were trying to keep the girl steady, and piling on emergency blankets to prevent shock from setting in.
The Master Chief took the vial, and inserted it into a slot in the Pelican's control console. It was a standard thing of late. Marines, ODSTs, and Spartans all had their DNA on file, capable of being withdrawn and used for anything from blood synthesizing to flash cloning of replacement organs and limbs.
UNSC civilians, however, did not have that luxury, and extracting wounded ones from combat zones had gotten dicey. With logistics strained by the war with the Covenant, adding everyone to the database was just unfeasible, so the UNSC went for the next best thing, a data port adaptation for their drop ships and transports. The blood would be inserted into the computer, then read by an A.I., who could read out the entire code in a matter of moments.
"Analyzing," Cortana muttered. "DNA scanned, synthesizing in progress. Anything else?"
"Start cloning a right arm, I don't think we can save the one she's got."
"Roger that," she paused for a half second. "She's lucky, and peculiar, you know. Her DNA is… well, disturbingly similar in nature to a human's, just a few genes that don't match up properly."
"Really?" The Chief cocked his head. "Hold that thought till we get her secure."
He moved back into the transport area, and looked at the others. All were sporting wounds, one of the smaller warriors a nasty stab through the shoulder, but a little biofoam would patch that up nicely. The horned girl was their priority at the moment.
"Come on trooper, stay awake!" Johnson growled, thumping her lightly upside the head. She hissed at him, barring canines far sharper than any human the Chief had seen before. Still, that was good. Anger was an excellent motivator for survival.
The minutes passed quickly, and as the Pelican landed he picked the girl up, bloodied blankets and all, and headed off for the medibay. Inwardly he sighed. His sixth day on this world, and already he'd kicked off a war.
Back on the icy tundra, the half dozen or so Orcs that had survived regrouped.
"Who is leader now?" one asked, scratching the back of its head.
Accusations and denials quickly began to fly around, no one wanting that position. Finally, they decided on lots, and as luck would have it, one by the name of Jardoz was chosen. The Orc cowered in fear and struggled to maintain control of his bowels as he contemplated the remainder of his, he was quite certain, brief time upon this plane.
The Spider Cleric was not going to be happy about this.
&
Well, hope everyone liked that bit, and that no one was put off by the violence.
As always, critiques and feedback are appreciated, as it's the only way that I'm going to get better at this. In the meanwhile, hope everyone has a great day.
