Heeey, it hasn't been a year! Cool.
To my reviewers-
New Universe Returns-I'm not sure yet if I'm gonna include the Didact and forerunner stuff. Still, Freedom Guard's whole Naaru-Forerunner connection was pretty creative; maybe it's not a bad idea.
SPARTAN-626- I was thinking about something like that(the Chief getting a sword to rival Frostmourne). Again, not positive that I'm going to have it in there, but it's certainly a nice idea. I might. And while I've never played Hellgate London, I looked at that sword and I gotta say, it does look pretty damn sweet.
Anyway. CHAPTER AWAAAAAAAAAAAAYYYYYYYY
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"Hey, Chief. Nap time's over. Wakey Wakey."
The Chief opened his eyes to the sight of Cortana sitting on the control panel that his feet were resting on. Glad that his momentary dozing off wasn't interrupted by anything (namely any more overgrown lizards trying to eat him), he got up and made his way to the back of the Pelican, confident that Cortana could land it on her own.
"Alright, so first we have to lock up the Dawn, and move everything important to its more secure rooms. Can't leave our toys lying around the gigantic hole in the ship, after all. Then, I guess you can get some grub. Oh, and make sure that you take off your armor and check that you don't have any spare holes in you."
"I'm fine." The Chief grunted as he stepped out from the Pelican's troop bay and into the Hangar of the Dawn.
"Don't give me that, John. You're a tough guy, I'll admit, but being a hardass isn't much protection against high explosives, plasma, and that little fall you took on your way back to Earth." The Chief was tempted to tell her that, in fact, being a hardass was the only reason that he was still alive, but quickly thought better of it. He was stubborn. When it came to things like this, however, she was even more so. The Chief gave a small sigh before heading towards the opened sections of the Dawn, thinking about what the two had learned from the tower's library.
As soon as their conversation with Alexastrasza had ended, Cortana had told-no, ordered-him to head down there as fast as possible. He couldn't blame her, though; he was just as curious as she was. Because Cortana was obviously faster than reading at him (being able to go through a page in about a second), he simply held the books out in front of him and turned the pages regularly. He knew that it probably looked odd to the librarian-who he had discovered was another dragon taking the disguise of one of those 'blood elves' that Alexastrasza had mentioned. She appeared quite a bit like a human, save for the fact that she was a bit shorter and had some damn big ears. Regardless, he was glad that Cortana was with him; the library was big. Even going at Cortana's frantic pace, it had taken them around an hour to get through what his companion had deemed an acceptable amount of books.
Oh, but it was worth it.
Dates, names, places, events... it had felt like they knew everything. Alexastrasza wasn't exaggerating when she had said that the Horde and Alliance had some history, though most of it was less than friendly. The first, second, and third wars, the Burning Legion, Ragnaros...Cortana had told him so much new information, it seemed almost surreal. Perhaps most important, however, was what they had learned about their enemy, the Lich King; that he was the former king Arthas Menethil, corrupted by a sword. The Chief didn't understand how a hunk of metal could change a person from a paragon of virtue into an enemy of all life, but then again, he was in a world with dragons and magic. Someone could have told him that the sky was green, and it wouldn't have seemed any less plausible than some of the things he had already seen.
As he moved some crates back into the heart of the Dawn, the Chief pondered what all of this meant for them. They had pledged their service to Alexastrasza, and while the Chief was confident both that her cause was the right one and that he and Cortana could handle whatever the dragon threw at them, he still had an odd feeling in his gut. Perhaps it was nothing. Then again, his gut had saved his life on more than one occasion.
Putting aside these thoughts, the Chief finished moving the crates, weapons, and other assorted items into the Dawn, and proceeded towards the mess hall. He wondered how much food was left in the dispensers; he knew that he may need to start hunting if their supplies got low.
Choosing the first item that appeared on the menu, he picked up the tray that the machine spat out and left for the crew quarters. He honestly didn't care what meal he got. Despite how long they had been around, MREs- or rather, all military food in general- still tasted the same (that is to say, somewhere between sawdust and a dead rat). Hunting was beginning to seem like a better and better option.
Arriving at one of the officer's rooms, the Chief put the tray down on the cot and took his helmet off. It almost seemed rude, to use someone else's room, but he reminded himself that the previous occupant was either dead, and hence probably wouldn't care, or the Chief had saved their life, and would want to repay him. Or at least, that was his justification, as he looked in the mirror above the room's sink.
His brown hair had grown out a bit too far for his liking, and he had more than a little bit of fur on his face, interrupted only by two scars-a small vertical one to the right of his lip that he got during his training, and a larger, diagonal one on the same side received from a brute that managed to catch him with his helmet off and almost cut his throat with the blade of a spike rifle. Because of that event, John had made it a point to almost always wear the helmet.
Although he and the other SPARTANS technically had bodies of those in their mid-twenties due to both their augmentations and the age-slowing effects of cryo-sleep, he guessed that the effects of war on his face might be an indicator of his true age- somewhere in his forties. Deciding to eat and clean himself up first, the supersoldier looked around for a razor and some shaving cream. Just as he found them in a cabinet, Cortana's voice came over the ship-wide announcement system.
"Chief, I just launched three of the ship's remaining UAVs. I decided to keep one above the Dawn to monitor the area, and to send one to that Valiance Keep place that Alexastrasza talked about and one to Warsong Hold." That place. Along with history books, the Chief and Cortana also found a few atlases and things of the like. Most were outdated, but a few included relatively new settlements, such as the Horde's main base of operations in the Borean Tundra- Warsong Hold.
"It shouldn't take them long to get to where I sent them- an hour or two, tops. I'll send another one out when you go on a mission to give you some eyes in the sky."
With a clean face and full stomach, the Chief began the arduous task of removing his armor, deactivating the magnetic clamps of one piece at a time.
"Anyway, I was thinking about this whole magic thing, and while we learned a lot from that tower's library, I still want to get my hands on something magical that I can actually examine back in the ship. Remember how I said that some mages use staffs to help them cast spells and whatnot? If you could get me one of those, that would be dandy." The Chief frowned, wondering how he could obtain one. Knowing this, Cortana continued.
"And by 'get', I mean you're probably going to have to pry it from some poor dead guy's hands. Assuming that you're going up against mages, which I'd bet you will."
Wondering why he wasn't surprised, John took off the main breastplate of his MJOLNIR. This was one reason why he never enjoyed being out his armor- despite how effective it was in battle, it was a bitch to put it on and take it off. Usually, a group of engineers assisted in the process just to get it done in a reasonable amount of time.
After he finally removed the last of his armor, the Chief quickly stripped out of the bodysuit underneath, leaving him wearing navy boxer-shorts. Damning himself for forgetting a pair of clothes, the he went over to the mirror and examined his injuries. Although his armor had prevented the majority of freezer burn-a side effect of going into cryo-sleep- he still noticed a few parts of his skin reddened. A large bandage also covered most of his right shoulder, which had been severely burned when a grunt had managed to hit him with an overcharged plasma pistol shot when his shields were down. Though it didn't cause that much pain now, he didn't want to take the bandage off; when he had examined it on his way to the Ark, it looked like someone had jammed a blowtorch against his shoulder and stopped only when it resembled a severely overcooked slab of meat. However, neither were that concerning to him. The only thing that he thought might have posed a problem was the severe bruising he sustained during his fall from the Forerunner Dreadnaught. Though his method of getting to Earth was certainly quick, taking a fall from several kilometers up with nothing but his armor and a hunk of metal for protection left him with massive bruises on his back and a few broken bones. Thankfully, neither were that life-threatening for him. Painful, oh yes, but not life-threatening.
Content with his state, the Chief began to put his armor back on.
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Hayard knew that he couldn't afford to doze off like he had been for the past several days. Sleeping in was nice. Getting absolutely smashed every night was nice. Flirting with attractive women was nice. Running out of money because he was a lazy bastard, however...
Plus he was going to have to pay for a dinner for two tonight.
Sighing, he got up out of bed. More mercenary work, he supposed. Ever since he arrived in Valiance Keep, that was pretty much all he had been doing- someone wanted something dead, and they were willing to pay. Most of the time, it had just been one of some kind of creature native to Northrend. The continent certainly had some diverse wildlife; pity that almost all of it wanted to kill him. Nerubians, Scourge, Naga, even a few Kvaldir, Oh, he hated those guys.
His room was a mess. Although he knew that the sensible thing to do would probably be keeping it clean, Hayard at least had a rough idea of where everything was. Plus, when he came back after a long day of fighting, the last thing that he wanted to worry about was keeping his room tidy; actually, the only thing he wanted to worry about was falling face-first into his bed. He managed to find his mail armor, its various pieces strewn about the room in random places. After putting it on, he made his way to the chest sitting across from his bed. There, he kept his sword and dagger, but not his rifle. The thing was too long to fit in the box, so he instead propped it up carefully against the wall. It was about the only thing in the room that he actually tried to keep track of, given that he had spent seemingly more gold buying it than the entire treasury of Stormwind contained. Still, the thing was certainly worth the money; not only did hit like a damn horse (and kick like one), but it was practically the cutting edge of long-range, hand-held weaponry. Or at least, that's what the salesman had told him. Still, the rifle sure did perform adequately.
When he left the comfort of the inn, the man was momentarily blinded by the sun. Apparently, even the dismally cold Northrend had some days of decent weather. As he continued to ponder the weather of the continent that he had the misfortune of setting foot on, Hayard saw something that made him both elated and nervous as all hell.
Her.
The Draenei that he had so bluntly (and successfully!) hit on last night. When he had seen her last, she was wearing simple clothes; most people did when they were at the inn. Now, however, the woman had donned a brilliant white robe with golden linings, making her look even more stunning in his eyes. After he came out of his stupor, Hayard realized that she was most likely a priestess. He had only limited experience with Draenei, but he remembered hearing from one of his comrades here at the Keep that most were champions of the Light, some becoming priests and priestesses, and others paladins and...paladesses, he guessed. Regardless, she hadn't seen him yet, instead focusing on the Keep's message board. The board was where most of the freelancers in the keep, himself included, received their work-it almost always had some combat-related jobs available. Tracking down something, defending against something, or just otherwise killing something.
Deciding to approach her, Hayard took a step forward. Before he could get far, however, a large hand grabbed his arm and turned him around. He turned his gaze downwards and immediately found the face of Brukut.
"Aye, laddy! I never got the chance to say, that was some damn fine drinkin' ye did last night!" The short little man chuckled heartily. No one was this happy in the morning unless they had a few drinks in them. Then again, Hayard wasn't sure if there had been a moment in his life in which he'd seen Brukut without some alcohol in him.
"Yeah, I gotta admit, stuff was pretty damn strong. I gotta say though, I didn't do it just for the money..." As he finished his sentence, Hayard turned his head slightly to look at the beauty behind him, who was thankfully still examining the board. Seeing who Hayard was looking at, the dwarf chuckled yet again, but brought his voice down a bit.
"Thought I saw you givin' her looks. And I guess that explains why you had that dopey ol' grin on your face after you got knocked flat on yer arse." Hayard turned around and eyed his friend angrily.
"Hey, I may have been...mildly effected by that stuff, but I was not on my ass."
"Oi, yer right laddy. You wasn't on yer arse. You was almost on the floor."
Rolling his eyes, Hayard lightly punched him in the shoulder.
"Yeah, well if you'll excuse me, the master of romance has a veritable goddess to seduce."
Although he turned around before he could see Brukut's reaction, Hayard heard him almost lose it as he walked away, sounding like he was going to laugh himself into unconsciousness (which he had done at least once before). Ignoring him, the human walked up behind the object of his affections.
Alright, Hayard. Confident. Be confident.
Hearing someone behind her, the Draenei turned around to examine the disturbance. Seeing who it was, she faced him with another stupefying smile. Hayard did his best to return it before speaking.
"And just what are you doing here, young lady?" She gave a slight chuckle in response.
"Exactly what you are, I'd imagine. Normally I'd be content to stay here and heal the wounded, but there seems to be a bit of a shortage lately. A good thing, no doubt, but it means I need to find something else to support myself."
"Yeah, I know what you mean. If it were up to me, I'd spend seventy percent of the time sleeping and twenty percent drinking." Again, she laughed. He wasn't sure if he looked like an idiot or not, but if he did, at least she was getting a kick out of it.
"And the other ten percent?"
Oh god oh god oh god why am I so damn stupid?
Having to think quickly to make up for his lapse in mathematical prowess, Hayard said the first thing that came to his mind.
"Flirting with beautiful women, of course." Despite having no idea where his response came from, the man complimented his flirtation with what he hoped was a decent smile.
The draenei immediately turned a shade of blue even darker than what he had seen last night, and giggled. Maybe in order to distract him from how flustered she was, she spoke.
"Although I am confident in my medical abilities, I'm afraid that my combat knowledge is somewhat limited. You, on the other hand..." She left the sentence unfinished and instead nodded towards the rifle on his back.
"...you look noticeably more suited for this line of work. Perhaps we could work together, hmm?" Yes, technically she had asked, but her offer was next to impossible to turn down.
"Sure! Let's see what's on the menu today..."
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After finishing his meal and determining that his injuries were (probably) not going to have him keel over at any moment, the Chief had decided to head over to the armory and take stock of their munitions. He and Cortana had realized that, if they were going to get their feet wet in this world, they would need either a way to manufacture ammunition or alternative weapons. When the Chief brought up the fact that the Dawn had been loaded with enough ammo for a large contingent of marines, his companion responded by pointing out that he used a hell of a lot more than the average grunt, and that while their stores would hold out for at least some time, they should probably start looking for something else to use. While the Chief said that he could simply use his brute strength and perhaps his combat knife when he was going up against lesser enemies, Cortana seemed to disagree.
"Chief, we both know now what this world has to offer now-stuff that would put anything from Earth to shame. If you can't use guns, how exactly do you plan on taking out something like a tauren? Those things weigh nearly as much as you do. A knife and your fists probably aren't going to cut it."
"Alright. What do you have in mind?"
"Well, we are in a medieval world. The people here no doubt have a whole bunch of different kinds of melee weapons. Specifically, though, I was thinking about maybe a gigantic sword or battleaxe- you know, something with a little oomph behind it."
Although he didn't like the idea, something heavy-duty would indeed be his preference. There was one small thing he wanted of his new weaponry, however.
"Two."
"What?" Cortana asked, tilting her head.
"One sword would be a waste for the guy who can bench press a truck." Cortana laughed.
"Alright, I guess you have a point. Twogigantic swords, then. As for obtaining them... well, I know you probably won't like it, Chief, but we're going to have to make contact with the races of this world at some point. Except for, you know, the ones that are three stories tall and have wings. And if we're going to go somewhere like a major city-or even a place like that 'Valiance Keep'- there's no harm in, you know, buying what we need."
Thinking that shopping for weaponry would be the only kind of shopping that he might enjoy, the Chief nodded.
"The only problem would be getting the money. My hope is that this Alexastrasza might give us a little something in that vein for helping her. If she doesn't, then I guess we could always go find some evil bastards to liberate of their cash. And possibly their lives."
Nodding again, the Chief decided that UNSC equipment would have to be his primary armament until bought some new weapons. With this in mind, he took a few more two-round tubes for his rocket launcher and grabbed an M6G Magnum. It was smaller than a rifle, sure, but that was somewhat counteracted by the fact that he had M225-SAP-HE ammunition. There weren't many things that could take an armor-piercing, exploding .50 caliber round. If they could, they generally couldn't take the seven more in the magazine.
Content with his selection, the Chief exited the armory.
"Well, big man, first day on the job. The new one, anyway. You ready to leave?"
The Chief simply marched off towards the hangar, confident that his first mission would be, if nothing else, interesting.
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So I brought back Hayard. I don't know why I like hunters so damn much; especially ones with guns. And yes, I do plan on having him and the Chief meet. Then again, I planned to write chapter 8 in less than a year, and we know how THAT turned out.
Bye!
