StarDestroyer.Net BBS

Been working on this story for a few months now, and the guys over at SB.com thought it might be well received here. Not sure myself, but, here's to hoping. For those of you wondering, the story is the result of a caffeine binge and a discussion among friends that lead to this unlikely scenario, that being what happens when you take military science fiction (Halo) and cross it with high fantasy (DnD). Please note that a few liberties were taken with the status of some of the characters.

Hope you all enjoy it.

Halo: Finishing the Fight

--
Prologue- Arrival

--


“Well, that could have gone better.”

No one thought to answer the owner of the voice, a glowing, blue white figure coming up out of a data port. The three figures that were in front of her were too busy trying to assess the situation that they now found themselves in. The Dawn was battered, its engines down, and they were adrift… well, wherever the hell they were now. Still, they weren’t dead, that had to count for something.

“Cortana, report,” Commander Miranda Keyes said from up in the bridge.

“Structural integrity stable, as is the reactor. The engines were damaged by the Halo firing and our little adventure afterwards. Weapon systems are out of sync, but reparable with what we have onboard. The only problem is that I think the portal didn’t take us home… or, for that matter, anywhere near it.”

“What do you mean?”

Cortana turned to face the source of the iron hard voice. A man that she had come to care for and respect in the months that they had worked together: Spartan-117. John. “What I mean, Chief, is that I don’t recognize any, and I mean, any, of the star patterns that the sensors are picking up.” She paused and flicked a strand of hair out of her eyes. “I don’t know where we are.”

The cyborg said nothing, but Cortana detected a massive spike in neural activity. He was thinking.

The Chief’s mind raced over the possible implications of this. If the portal had malfunctioned, not sent the Dawn back to Earth like it was supposed to, what might have happened? Perhaps the firing of the Halo ring had caused it to malfunction. If that was the case, where were they? Near another Forerunner shield-world? Perhaps they could land there and find a way to get a signal to the UNSC.

At the same time, another part of his mind was attempting to calculate possible exit vectors for their ship, and how long it would take for a ship to reach them. If it was any significant distance, then finding a safe landing area was a priority.

The cyborg continued to let his thoughts race along.

“Spartan, what are your thoughts on the situation?”

John turned to face the only non human member of the group. Orna Fullsamee, Arbiter of the Sangehili, looked at him, the four mandibles that formed his mouth clicking together at seemingly random intervals. It was a sign of agitation among the Orna’s kind. The Elite’s four fingered hands were clenching open and shut, perhaps trying to rid himself of the massive overload of adrenaline that came with their escape from Halo.

Halo… Guilty Spark. John remembered his last few moments with the A.I.

--


“You are Forerunner, the inheritor of all that they left behind,” the floating machine’s single eye glowed a vibrant blue. He seemed almost sad. “Remember this well, Reclaimers. An entire galaxy had to be wiped clean of life because of the Flood. There is too much at stake for the knowledge of your forefathers… of… never mind. You cannot allow history to repeat itself again!”

“Set this thing off and let’s get out of here!” Johnson growled. “We can catch up on Humanity’s newfound history later.”

“No.” Guilty Spark shook himself back and forth in the air, suddenly looking down at the ground. “Halo is incomplete. A few more days and it would be ready to fire without complications, but you are right… we scarcely have a few more minutes.” He looked back up at the three soldiers. “There is too great a risk for me to leave. The Installation will shake itself apart under its own power… and the damage to the Ark would be catastrophic. If I stay behind I can monitor and contain the situations as they arise. Besides…” he trailed off for a moment. “I cannot bear the thought of losing yet another installation under my control.”

John nodded, and moved forward. Within moments, Cortana had linked into Halo’s control systems, and inserted the activation index. The station began to glow and pulse.

“One last thing, Reclaimer,” Spark said. He moved over as the Chief put Cortana back into the slot at the base of his neck. “I want you to take the data caches I have stored inside of myself. A slot suddenly opened on the side of the A.I. “Study it, there is much information on it that will aid your rebuilding.”

The Spartan nodded and took it. Then the room started to rumble and a beam of light, blindingly bright, shot up from the depths of the installation. The firing sequence was beginning. They couldn’t stay here. They had to leave.

“Godspeed, Tinkerbell…” Sergeant Johnson snapped to a salute, before he dashed out of the room. Chief and Orna fast on his heels.

--

The Spartan didn’t know what to make of the little A.I. He was an enigma. Half the time, on the first Halo, he’d been trying to kill him and Cortana to get the activation index back. Other times he had thrown every Sentinel drone he could in-between them and the ravenous Flood. He felt an ache inside of himself, like when he had lost a brother or a sister on the battlefield.

He shook his head. There would be time to remember the sacrifices of the fallen later. For now, they had to make sure they didn’t join their ranks.

“Cortana, is there anywhere nearby where we could land?” Keyes asked.

“Scans of the initial area within the next few billion klicks indicate that we might be in luck,” she gave a faint smile. “There’s an Earth-type planet just a little ways away. I read an oxygen/nitrogen-type atmosphere, continents, oceans, the works. I don’t want to try and calc the odds that that thing conveniently dumped us in front of a habitable planet, but right now, I’m not complaining.”

“How long will it take to get there?”

“No more than a few hours, Commander. I’ve already dispatched an emergency signal, so the fleet will know where we are when… if, they ever get it.” She put her hand to her forehead. “Giving the engines ten percent power. That’s all I can risk.”

“What about our equipment,” Johnson said. The man was tapping the front of his ODST helmet with a great deal of agitation.

“Well, the armories survived intact, so weapons and ammo won’t be a problem, We’ve also got a Longsword, two Pelican dropships, a pair of Scorpion tanks, a Rhino, an Avenger, some warthogs, and a good dozen Mongooses onboard.”

“Thank God for small miracles,” he said. “If you guys don’t mind, I’m going to have a smoke.”

John looked up at Orna, who crossed his arms and stared back at him. “It is amazing how calm your sergeant can be under duress.” Then he clacked his lower mandibles. “I never truly had the chance to apologize, Spartan. For what I did… for what our Covenant did to your kind. Blinded by our delusions…”

“Save your apologies,” the Chief started to walk off. “Words are meaningless. Prove your sincerity with your actions. When the time comes, get your people to help rebuild what you tore apart.”

The Arbiter said nothing as the cyborg walked away. Then he nodded his head.

Unknown to any of them, however, was just how quickly their world, their reality, was about to get thrown for a loop.

--


Bruenor Battlehammer exhaled slowly. Around him, the night was crisp, and bitterly cold. The sky was clear, though, and the stars twinkled in all their glory. A fresh carpet of snow lay upon the Dale and Ten Towns, a testimate of the blizzard that had just passed through.

Much had changed in the past few months. Akar Kessel’s bungled attempt to take them over, the Barbarians suddenly siding up with them against that common threat, and the discovery of his ancient home of Mithril Hall. With all that had happened, this period of calm was driving the Dwarf king out of his mind with boredom.

He leaned back against the entrance to the tunnel. Drizzt was away somewhere, probably heading to Silvery Moon again. The Lady Alustriel had just allowed access to the city for him, and the Drow had been all too eager to set off, to see the wonders of a city where his heritage would not haunt him. Wulfgar was back helping his people to survive. The Barbarians had still not recovered from the disastrous attack on Ten Towns six years ago, and the battle with Kessel’s goblins and Orcs had only further weakened their ranks. The coming winter would not be an easy one for them to survive.

“Out here again, Father?”

Bruenor turned and saw his daughter, Cattie-brie, standing at the entrance. The human girl wore her usual smile beneath the furs that she was wrapped up in.

“Bored out of my skull. I’m almost wishing those goblins would come back for another round,” His gruff accent distorted his words.

Cattie planted a kiss on top of her father’s head, causing his skin to suddenly match her hair. The Dwarf sputtered and mumbled, glaring up at her. The glare melted after a second girl.

“I’m starting to act like one of those bloody Humans…” He got a good natured punch for his comment. “Girl, you will be the end of my sanity yet.”

“Oh, Father, you’ll never change.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing…” he trailed off and glanced up at her again. Then he sighed and returned to watching the stars. The Dwarf king did a double take a second later, though.

Was it just him, or was one of the stars getting brighter?

He squinted and stared out at it. Then he looked over to his daughter.

“I see it too,” she nodded fervently.

It wasn’t just getting brighter, the Dwarf noticed, it was moving. It cut across the night sky like it was a shooting star, only a hundred times larger. The other stars winked out and night became day as it blasted across his field of view. He knew it had to be miles off, but even from where he was standing, he felt the air temperature rise. His furs and armor suddenly felt uncomfortable and he started to sweat. The snow near his feet seemed to loosen and melt slightly.

Then it was gone. He watched it as best he could. It went just over the horizon, past the Spine mountains, and then there was a tremendous flash.

A shockwave seemed to hit then, a blast of air that almost deafened him and blew him and Cattie-brie off of their feet.

“What in the Nine Hells was that?” His daughter exclaimed as she pulled herself back together.

Bruenor could only shrug his shoulders. Still, there was the possibility that it might be dangerous. “Tell Olthick and Mortar to get up here, we’re heading out to see what that thing was.”

“Are you sure it’s safe?” Cattie asked.

“Don’t question me, girl, just go get them. This reeks of some wizard…”

--

For hundreds of miles around, the inhabitants of Faerun bore witness to the fireball. In Ten Towns, Regis found himself shaken out of his bed from the light and the blast. Out on the frozen plains, the Barbarians saw it, as did the few goblinoids that dared to stick their heads out of their caves.

None could comprehend the changes that would come, what that fireball would herald.

Chapter One- Welcome to the Neighborhood.



“Status report?” Keyes said, rubbing her forehead.

“Ship armor and hull integrity still solid,” Cortana said, “shutting down the main reactor now. Auxiliaries still running, auto-cannons still online, attempting sensor scans of the surrounding area,” Cortana said.

“Everyone okay?” Johnson barked.

“Green,” the Chief said, though Johnson knew that his friend had to be uncomfortable. The acceleration seat that he was strapped into had been designed with a normal human in mind… not a half ton walking tank. The ODST didn’t even want to think about how the Arbiter had to feel right now.

“I am alive, though I must admit that I’ve had better landings,” Orna said, hoping out of his seat. His cloven, hoofed feet clacked against the deck and he reached up behind his head to rub his neck painfully.

“Data assembled,” Cortana said. “We’ve come down right where we wanted to. Damage to the surrounding environment is near catastrophic, and we’ve torn a twenty kilometer canyon through the ground, but we avoided population centers. Collateral damage should be almost non-existent.”

“Well, we’re down, any ideas or suggestions?” Keyes looked around.

“Ma’am, I’d recommend that we shut down all non-essential power to maintain our fuel. Minimum life support only,” John said. Getting up out of his seat and stretching slightly.

“Chief’s right,” Cortana looked around at the flesh and blood beings before her. “We’ve got remote sensors that can be set up around the ship to spot incoming trouble. As for the auto-turrets, no need to keep them powered up unless we need them.

“With your permission ma’am, I’d like to take a Mongoose and go scout, take some of those scanners with me,” the Spartan saluted.

“Permission granted. Johnson, Arbiter, go help him load up. Cortana, you and I are going to stay here and see if there’s anything more we can analyze about this world.”

--

The Spartan looked around himself as he shot out of a side landing bay. His Mongoose hit the ground and its tires caught on the ice, propelling him forward. The stars, unknown, never before seen by Human eyes blinked before him. His eyes moved down to the area around where the Forward unto Dawn had come down. The trench it had torn through the ground was more than a hundred meters deep, and pools of still cooling liquid rock mixed with water, putting steam up into the air that refroze and crystallized as it cleared the ship’s vicinity. Water tried to form into ice, creating a myriad of beautiful artificial sculptures around him.

John wasted no more time on the scenery, though. He had a mission to accomplish. He was to head forty klicks out and set up the perimeter of the base. He could have taken one of the Pelicans, but this would be more discrete. Something had troubled him. On the way down, Cortana had picked up large population readings, several hundred million life-forms, mostly clustered around the central regions of the planet, with more underneath the surface and into the crust. There was, however, almost zero indication of industrialization. No power grids, no visible mechanized plants… nothing. It was entirely possible that this planet had not yet reached that stage of its growth. If so, there was no need to risk scaring the locals any more than they probably already had.

The Mongoose clawed its way up the sides of the newly formed canyon, clinging to the walls like a spider. Once he was up over the top, the cyborg gunned the throttle and shot off. His speedometer hit sixty… eighty… one hundred and twenty… one hundred and seventy. A pulse of adrenaline spiked through the soldier, and he focused on world around him. It moved slowly despite his speed… Spartan Time. He kept the headlight of the vehicle off, though. Over snow, on a night like this, it would be seen for kilometers. His own, built in night vision would suffice for the moment.

The two dozen sensors that he was to place were magnetically attached to the back of the ATV, and he wore a BR-55 rifle across his back, with a M6D pistol strapped to his right hip. Several grenades were secured by an ammo bandolier he had slung across his chest and across his back, just above his supply belt, was a large knife. Fondly nicknamed “Helljumper Toothpicks” by the ODSTs that used them, it was a twelve inch long monster, doubled bladed and curved slightly at the tip. He wasn’t expecting trouble, but only a fool went in unprepared.

At the speed it was going, it only took him a few minutes to reach the outlying point of his destination. He looked around. The tundra was clear and flat for miles. He brought the ATV to a halt, jumped off, grabbed a sensor, and quickly prepared to deploy it. The machine was automated, all he had to do was press the button. The machine scanned his armor, registered him as an authorized user, and then shot into the ground. A small auger on its base activated and it drilled itself down into the snow and semi-frozen dirt. In mere seconds it was at a depth of ten meters—deep enough that nothing should be able to bother it. Nodding to himself, the Spartan covered it back up, and then moved on. He had a lot of ground to cover, and he was looking forward to a little luxury R&R when this mission was over: five hours of uninterrupted sleep, a hot meal, and maybe even a shower.

--

Casius banged his gavel on the table of the Ten Towns council chamber in a futile attempt to bring about some order. No one seemed to want to listen, though. The other council members were shaking fists and hurling curses at each other. This pre-dawn meeting was getting them nowhere fast.

“Another glorious day in the life of a councilor, ey, friend?”

Casius looked down to see Regis sitting next to him. The tiny Hafling was barely half his human compatriots’ size, but Regis had always carried himself well in the chamber… though part of that was doubtlessly that ruby pendant he wore around his neck, capable of charming and enspelling those who looked into its depths. He noticed that it was absent today. Since the secret was out, it seemed that he was using it less and less often. Still, the human found himself wishing for it right now… if only so that Regis would use it to quiet this place down so he could hear himself think.

The doors burst open and in walked Cattie-Brie, flanked by a quartet of heavily armed Dwarves.

“Silence!” one of them bellowed, smashing the butt of a massive battle axe into the floor.

It got the desired result. Everyone stopped shouting and looked at the fiery haired woman.

“That’s better, my lords,” she gave a coy bow. “I understand that everyone is troubled by the events of last night—“

“Troubled is not the word, lady Battlehammer,” Kemp of Targos sneered at her. “The other towns are in a virtual panic.” He placed heavy emphasis on the word “other.” While Kemp was a seasoned fighter, being the leader of the second largest town in the region had gone to his head, and he constantly reminded others of their inferiority, he also had little in the way of diplomatic skills. “The war with Kessel bled us dry, if this is another trick by one of the wizards at Luskan, we’re finished.”

“Since when have wizards been able to hurl fireballs the size of mountains?” Regis spoke up, glaring over at Kemp. “That fireball was not crafted by the hands of a mortal wizard, I can assure you. I’ve seen wizards… been around more of them in my lifetime than the rest of you in this room combined.”

“Kessel erased half of my town with a single blast from his tower,” Kemp began.

“Using an arcane artifact powerful enough to bend a Balor to its will!” Regis cut him off with a gesture. “On his own, he was nothing… Gods be praised.”

“An artifact that was never recovered,” Casius stated. “It’s entirely possible that someone could have found that crystal again, or that it might have been something not of the Material Plane. Perhaps another Baalor, or a Pit Fiend.”

“Those are possibilities,” Regis muttered.

“My father has already set out with two of our best soldiers to investigate the area where the fireball landed.” Cattie-Brie held up her hand to stem the argument that she knew was coming. “He suspects that he’ll be back with your answers inside of two weeks.”

“Ah, yes, your charming father,” Kemp grumbled. “Why isn’t he sending that black skinned rat to fetch us some answers? Isn’t that usually who you go scrambling too?”

“That black skinned rat, as you call him,” Casius spoke up, “has saved all of our lives more times than we can count, so I would ask that you show him a little more respect, Kemp. As for Drizzt, he has currently departed for a temporary stay in Silverymoon.”

“Indeed,” Cattie-Brie crossed her arms and looked over to the Targos councilor, “I suspect he wanted to find out what it was like where people would actually be grateful to him for saving their worthless hides.”

Kemp’s face went red as his temper flared up. He leapt to his feet, and reached for a small sword he was wearing. The Dwarven guards just growled, though, unimpressed by the human. They brandished their axes, swords, and hammers menacingly. Kemp was momentarily cowed, realizing that the prospect of facing five seasoned warriors with a small blade and no armor was probably not the most conductive towards his continued breathing.

Fortunately, though, the meeting soon turned to its usual subject: arguments over who owned what portion of the three lakes that the towns surrounded. Cattie-Brie and Regis just exchanged a glance with one another and sighed. Life seemed to be getting back to normal.

--


The Master Chief planted the last of the probes in the ground and smiled faintly. Mission accomplished. Dawn had just crested the horizon, and the perimeter was now secure. There was nothing else to be done but to head back.

The cyborg decided to take one last look around the area. He switched his suit over to thermal viewing, and gazed around the landscape. It was icy cold, the lot of it, just as it always had been.

He had almost completed his scan when he noticed something. A blob of heat, barely more than a speck. He zoomed his visor in, the built in binoculars going to thirty two X in a matter of milliseconds. Despite himself, the Spartan’s jaw dropped. He switched back to normal vision and blinked, once, twice, three times.

There was no mistaking it… he was looking at a reindeer.

“Sierra-117 to Dawn,” he growled into a commline.

“Dawn here, go ahead 117,” Cortana’s voice was coy, as usual.

“Uploading visual package, I think you and the commander are going to want to see this.” Even as he spoke, more of the small deer started moving into his field of view.

His suit’s data recordings were bundled off in a flash, received, decrypted, and analyzed by Cortana in a matter of nanoseconds.

“Chief… am I seeing what I think I’m seeing?” The A.I. sounded flabbergasted. It was a tone that John was not used to hearing from her.

“I’m not sure.” he shrugged.

It was true, this place was a lot like Earth, but what were the odds that whatever proto-evolutionary form that the thing might have come from would have come up to be exactly like the ones on Earth? Something wasn’t adding up, and the cyborg didn’t like it.

“Cortana, can you confirm what we’re seeing here?” Commander Keyes said.

“Well, it’s warm-blooded, and appears superficially similar to the ones we’re familiar with. I’d need a full DNA scan to determine more…” she trailed off, and the Master Chief suddenly had a sinking feeling he knew where this conversation was heading. Chief, bring one of those back, I’d like to study it,” He could practically feel the codes racing across Cortana’s surface as she brought herself up to full speed.

“Besides, we could use the meat to boost our rations,” Johnson said. “Eating cold MREs till the fleet shows up to pull us out of here is not something I particularly look forward too.”

Chief found himself in silent agreement with Johnson. Besides, information was power, for whatever it was worth. He thought about the best approach for a few moments. His weapons were both too powerful for such a purpose. The rifles rounds were as large as his thumb, his pistols even larger—and explosive to boot. With a sigh, he drew his knife from its sheath and started towards them.

--

Meanwhile, a few hundred miles away, in the town of Silverymoon, a certain dark elf was hustling about in his chambers. The mages in and around Silverymoon were abuzz about a fireball that had come screaming down near Ten Towns the previous night. Information was scarce, but those from the Hosttower in Luskan had stated that had been massive, nearly the size of a mountain. The Drow knew there were only a few such creatures that could cause such a calamity, and fewer still of those would be on friendly terms with mortals.

“Scimitars, check,” he belted Twinkle and Icingdeath on, before slinging on a bow and quiver, his bed roll and supply pack. “Supplies, rations, check.” He instinctively felt at his pocket to his right, making certain that the onyx figurine inside of it was secure. He breathed a sigh of relief when it was. Guenhwyvar was his closest friend, and he was always paranoid about leaving the panther behind somehow.

“Favorite companion, check.”

“Leaving already?”

Drizzt turned to see a young human standing in the shadows of the doorway. Dove Falconhand, the younger sister of Lady Alustriel and a fellow ranger stood there. She had her arms crossed and looked somewhat upset.

“My apologies to you, Lady Falconhand, but I fear that I must return to my home. The calamity that came from the skies last night must have come down near there.” He hastily pocketed a few more supplies, minor potions and the like, before double checking all the straps and harnesses. “Though the Ten Towns have not always been kind to me, my duty is to them. I have to make sure they’re safe.” Her face fell further, and a kind smile came to the ranger’s face. “However, you have my word that I shall return once I am free. I haven’t forgotten your promise to give me a tour of the city.” He bowed again, and started to move.

“Head for the stables then,” Dove said, resigning herself. “My elder sister has seen to it that a special mount be provided to hasten your journey back to Icewind Dale.”

Drizzt nodded, and hastily made his way down from the keep where he had been staying. It tore at him bitterly to have to leave this wondrous city so quickly. The myriad of architecture from all over the world was a sight to behold, to say nothing of the people! Elves, Dwarves, and Humans all mixed and mingled with each other, with Half Orcs, hybrids of all sorts as well. He had even laid eyes on a Kobold merchant, cheerily selling his wares in the streets.

And their treatment of him… nowhere had he seen the hate filled glares, fear filled eyes, or the loathing that had hounded him ever since he had come to the surface world. For the first time since Bruenor had taken him in, and Regis accepted him as a friend, he felt like he actually was seen for who he was, and not what his skin, ears, and eyes painted him as.

Such a shame to have to leave this sanctuary and return to the Dale. Kemp of Targos was still threatening to put a blade in his gut if he even so much as looked at him again.

Still the Dwarves and more recently, the Barbarians were his friends and allies, and he was not going to leave them to themselves with what had just happened.

The Drow headed out to the stables, where one of the guards greeted him with a salute.

“This way if you will, Sir,” he gestured the dark elf along. “The Lady has a special gift for you.”

They turned the corner, and Drizzt found his mouth going slack in disbelief. It was no ordinary steed that stood before him. Standing nearly seven feet at the shoulder, the massive black horse seemed to fade in and out of the material plane. An arcane mount, one that would not tire and could ride on for days, weeks, if the rider chose to do so. With something like this, Drizzt knew that he could be back inside of the Dale’s reach within a week.

With grace that was beyond human, Drizzt leaped up into the saddle. A word of command, and the ethereal steed shot off.

For better or worse, he was going back home.

--


The Spartan moved as slowly as he dared. The lack of a proper ranged weapon was grating on his nerves. It was just like hunting Covenant, he reminded himself, only these creatures were less intelligent. He tried to remember what he could about the stalking of wild animals from Chief Mendez’s training. They reacted to sudden movement, so slow, even steps were the best. They were also color blind, which helped him greatly, and also relied mostly on scent to detect cunning predators. His suit prevented that from reaching them, so as long as he made no sudden moves and focused on his objective, it should be possible to do what he was trying here.

“Chief, Status?” Cortana asked.

“Fifty meters and closing. Trying not to spook them. I need a better weapon for this, though,” he growled. His eyes narrowed, and he slowly looked around himself, making certain that there was nothing else but him and the caribou herd. Most predators were instinctual, and would probably be smart enough to realize that the Spartan was a more ferocious animal than they were, and not try to tangle with him. Still, one could never be certain. Assumptions were the death of a soldier, more often than not.

He was within thirty meters now. His motion sensors were staring to pick up fain traces from the herd’s travels. Here was where it was going to get tricky. He took a slow step, wishing he had a sniper’s net to drag over himself. Something like that would aid immensely.

He looked around again and cursed his surroundings. The nooks and crannies that the mountains made meant that keeping a line of sight with the surrounding area was a difficult task at best. The reindeer were in a small V shaped area that curved around the slope of one of the peaks.

Grumbling to himself again, he took another step, and then paused. The hackles on the back of his neck stood up. Soldier’s instinct was kicking in. He wasn’t alone. He scanned around with infrared again, certain that it had to be close wherever it was. Nothing, nothing that he could see. He opened his ears even more. There was the grunting of the deer as they searched for grass and roots among the rocks. The trees were devoid of anything except birds, which were silent…

Silent birds?

The Spartan tightened his grip on his knife. There was something very much amiss here. He resisted the urge to twist as he heard rocks clatter from up above. He slowly looked up and scanned the peaks. He saw a faint heat dot at the far end of one, no larger than a human head, maybe a hundred meters distant. He zoomed in on it, and watched as it moved. It turned out to be a hand, a hand that appeared to have prominent claws. A head joined it, and the Spartan watched as a creature crawled around the peak.

Now this one was definitely not from the Earth he knew. He returned his sight to normal, and saw that it possessed a shaggy white coat, perfect for blending in with the winter landscape. Claws, and fangs, combined with a vaguely gorilla-ish appearance made it remind him of a Brute. He was instantly on alert. That thing couldn’t be anything but a predator.

Then he watched as seven more joined the original. There were eight of them, moving in towards the deer, spreading out and preparing to encircle them. An ambush. So, they were smart enough for pack level hunting tactics. He made sure that his recorder was working, and glanced back at the deer. The creatures were sniffing the wind. They sensed that something was wrong… but the… predators, were downwind, there was no way to smell them.

The Chief knew that trouble was brewing, and that if he wanted to get Cortana’s sample, he needed to be swift, before those things scattered the herd. Tightening his grip on his knife, the Spartan went for broke. He dashed in, faster than any normal human could have moved. The caribou spotted him, and a warning grunt was issued to the herd. But the one closest to him never had a chance. Cobra quick, the Spartan crossed the thirty meter distance in the blink of an eye. His knife lashed out, its blade, which had been honed by a laser to be virtually monomolecular, slashed across the throat and jugular, sending bright red blood across the snow. The creature tried to thrash for a moment or two while it bled out, but John was well clear of its strikes. The reindeer gurgled and then slumped to the ground. Grunting, he moved to hoist it and leave before the creatures could become a problem.

They snarled as they saw what he had done, and the eight of them bolted forward. John understood. They were looking for an easy kill, in this case, one where the kill had already been made for them. He could move with the deer fast enough to get to his Mongoose, but could he secure it quickly enough?

He brandished the knife. They were smart enough to hunt in packs, and had just seen what he could do; maybe they would be smart enough to leave him alone.

They spread out as they rushed in, several moving to try and flank him.

“Apparently not,” the Chief muttered out loud.

In a single, fluid move he drew his pistol with his left hand and sighted up the closest creature. He pulled the trigger, and the M6D kicked against his palm. Time started to slow as he entered combat, his foes appearing to move like they were wading through thick mud. The first round penetrated his target at chest level. A blossom of crimson had started to form in the split second before the explosive payload of the powerful, fifty caliber round detonated. There was a flash, a boom, and the upper half of the thing was virtually erased from existence. Blood splattered everywhere, covering some of its comrades. If they noticed, they didn’t seem to care.

He sighted up another one, and gunned it down. The round penetrated its side, right above where the forth rib was. The Chief was graced with a look of its internals as the round blew a basket-ball sized chunk of its body out. He had time for one more shot before they were upon him. He twisted and fired to the side at one of the ones attempting to flank him. The bullet hit it in the hip, next to the femoral artery. The ensuing blast blew the leg apart, and the creature went down with a howl that echoed through the mountains.

Then they were upon him. He tightened the grip on the knife again, and kept an eye both on the three at his front and on his motion sensor for the two behind him. The beasts didn’t know that he had eyes in the back of his head. They’d strike there first, if he didn’t turn to acknowledge the threat.

Sure enough, the creature lashed out at him, trying to get those claws into his back. The Spartan leapt, four and a half meters straight up, more than twice his own height. The predator was dumbfounded as to where its prey had gone and neatly stumbled forward into the trap.

Tundra Yeti’s were powerful creatures, strong enough to rip a man in half, and their bones were sturdy, especially the neck, which had to hold up such a large skull. Those vertebrae were not, however, designed to hold up to the five hundred kilograms of power armor, iron-dense bone and rock hard flesh of an irritated cyborg coming down on it in a split second. The vertebrae became so much dust under John’s right foot, while his left shattered what had once been its spine and left a deep impression of his boot in its corpse.

The four others were not disturbed by their fellow’s death, and the two from the sides pressed home at once.

--


Unknown to the Spartan, or to the Yeti’s that were fighting him, was that they were not as alone as they thought. Just a few hundred meters away was a young boy, scarcely into the latter half of his teenage years. Rognar, son of Elthiliak, he was called, a member of the tribe of the Elk. It had once been the largest of the twelve barbarian tribes, but their assault on Ten Towns when he had been just a lad, a raid that claimed his father’s life, and the war with Kessel had made it to where it only had a few score capable warriors left. It had still been better off than other tribes, which had almost been utterly wiped out and forced to incorporate into larger ones for survival.

The coming of winter’s hardest period was upon them soon, and the meat stores were running low. Every hand was needed to bring in game before the next blizzard hit. That was why he was out here now. Armed with a bow and a spear, wrapped in wolf furs to keep the cold at bay, he struggled to find the game he sought. Behind him was a small sleigh to help him carry whatever he might find back. There were caribou tracks before him, but the boy was not certain if he would find them. He had heard their cry a few minutes earlier, and knew that another hunter had found them. Still, he had to try.

He was shocked when a loud roar echoed through the canyon a few moments later. The call was easily recognizable: a Tundra Yeti, some of the most ferocious predators at this end of the world. This one however, sounded like it was in pain. Roars of rage testified that there were others.

The boy knew that it might be another hunter, or perhaps someone from the Towns. He didn’t much care for those people, the way they always looked down on his kind, but they tended to be wealthy, and some pieces of silver, copper, or perhaps even gold could go along way in securing stores for the winter.

He hurried up over the top of the rocky ledge, and sure enough, about a hundred feet off, he saw a quartet of Yetis. However, what surprised him more was that there were four more, one lying on the ground in a pool of its own blood, its leg missing, and another one that appeared to have had its neck broken, and two more that… well, he wasn’t exactly certain what in the Nine Hells had happened to those two.

Then he saw what had done it. It looked like a man to the boy… an enormous man, larger than even his people, and clad in a suit of armor the Gods themselves would envy. Then he took another look. Was it really a man? The affairs of late had taught him enough about wizards. He had been told tales of constructs by Wulfgar, golems, they were called. Massive beasts of flesh or steel, created to do their master’s bidding. Infused with powerful magicks, they were supernaturally tough and strong. It would explain the man’s size, and there were some things about that armor that didn’t make sense to the young lad. There was a gold colored plate across the front, that completely hid whatever face might be back there. How might a man see through something like that?

He moved in closer, trying to get a better idea, and knowing that he might have to help, for all the good his spear would do him against those numbers. It would take a well placed thrust with plenty of power behind it to fell a Yeti, and even then, it sometimes took a while. He had only planned to find one or two, not a full pack.

The armored figure snapped its head towards him for a split second, and one of the Yetis took that time to strike.

The sight that followed, Rognar knew he would carry with him to the afterlife.

The Yeti lunged, its claws outstretched to maul its victim. The other creature seemed to blur and flow, then. The swipe finished, and connected with nothing but air. Rognar blinked, the thing… for he now knew that it could be no man, simply wasn’t there anymore. The Yeti suddenly screamed in agony and clutched at its back before falling to its knees and slumping to the ground. Blood went everywhere, and Rognar knew that the golem, or whatever it was, had severed the spinal cord with the strike.

The next Yeti lunged blindly at the thing. The knife weaved and dove while the creature blurred into action again. It took a few moments for Rognar to sort out what had happened, for there was a split second howl of agony, swiftly silenced, and then the Yeti’s head seemed to crumple and come apart like an over-ripe melon struck by an axe. It was then he realized that the armor clad thing had in the course of less than a second, sliced through its arm, made a cut through its chest, and then spun around and kicked the beast upside the head.

The final two acted as one, lunging in from either side. The golem was once again nothing more than a faint blur through the air. The monster vaulted over the first Yeti, and the knife it was carrying lashed out. The blow neatly severed the neck, leaving the head hanging on by just the few forward tendons. It collapsed in a heap, but the final member of the pack just kept running regardless, as it landed, the golem lashed out again, and a powerful stroke that came down across the creature’s side, dove into its groin and left a shower of blood. In the same motion the green armored being spun around and ducked, sweeping the Yeti’s legs out from underneath it. Pitching forward from its own momentum, the Yeti’s last sight was of a knife blade coming up to meet it.

The Yeti that had had its leg torn off, and the one with the severed spinal cord were still alive, and were pitifully trying to crawl away from their prey-turned-predator. The creature observed them for a second, before it walked up, bent down, and buried the knife into the back of the first’s head. It shuddered for a moment and then died. The one with a missing leg continued to howl and snarl at its foe. Rognar saw the golem cock its head to one side, then it raised something, he couldn’t quite make out what. The Yeti’s upper torso suddenly flew apart and a loud bang reached his ears.

His eyes widened for a moment. A golem that knew magic? Wulfgar had never spoken of something like that. Further, what mage would dare to create a servant of that power? What if he should lose control of it?

Then it turned and stared right at him. Fear clutched at the boy’s bowels; for while he knew something of the ways of wizards and golems, he knew not how they commanded their constructs. Might it attack him next, thinking him an obstacle?

The Master Chief, for his part, was utterly dumbfounded by what he was seeing. He kept changing his vision modes, zooming in, examining the boy’s face. His eyes and his mind conflicted with one another, logic and reasoning arguing back and forth and for the second time that morning, his jaw dropped just a bit.

“What… the….” Cortana began as the visual package was unloaded back at the Dawn.

“Hell…” Johnson finished. “Is that…?”

“Attempting a scan,” Cortana said. “Biometrics, body temp, all I’m missing is a DNA sample… that’s a human.”

The lad hesitantly brandished the spear towards the Chief. The Spartan knew that it didn’t have a chance of hurting him, but he understood by the waver in the end of the weapon, and the look on his face that the boy was scared of him. He got that reaction a lot, even from those he was protecting. In this apparently medieval aged world, who knew what kind of demon the boy might be mistaking him for?

“Should I attempt first contact?” he asked.

“Negative, get back here with those samples. We’ve logged your position and we’re dispatching a UAV,” Keyes said. “Besides, you need rest, the mission clock says it’s been more than seventy hours since you got anything vaguely resembling sleep.”

“Not the first time, ma’am. Med stims will keep me good for another ten hours.” John responded.

“Negative, Chief, I want you fresh and ready in case something comes along. Now load up that deer and one of those… things, and get back here.”

“Yes ma’am.”

The Spartan looked over the corpses, trying to find the one that appeared to be the most intact. Finally, he settled on the one that he’d paralyzed. It seemed the least damaged.

He shook the blood from his knife, sheathed it, and grabbed the two carcasses. Then he trekked back to the Mongoose, pausing just long enough to secure them before tearing off back to the Dawn.

Rognar, once he was sure the creature was gone, moved in as quickly as he could. He needed proof of his story. That thing might be a threat to his people, and if so, they would need to be ready. Besides, though it was greasy and tough, Yeti meat was still meat.

I was wondering when you would post this here. Which reminds me, I have to go check out SB to catch up on the new(er) chapters.

As someone who's been following this for a long time... yeah, you had nothing to worry about, considering what Murazor (over at SB) said has been posted here. If it's full of victory and awesome... that's good enough for me.

In effect, welcome to SDN, and keep it coming. (For example, that update that was supposed to be due yesterday...)

Regrettably, I am having writers block over the last 3 or so pages that I want to get done, and I've been distracted by a law school assignment that's been kicking my rear all semester. As it stands, I must now go attempt to do a CREAC statement, and pray that this time, I'm interpreting the six cases I've got properly.

Ye've no' got Catti-brie's Accent righ'! E'ery time I read her, I wasna shure t'was her!


Otherwise, pretty good.

LadyTevar wrote:Ye've no' got Catti-brie's Accent righ'! E'ery time I read her, I wasna shure t'was her!

*looks up from CREAC assignment*

Ah, tis my secret shame, my lady. I can't do an accent right to save my life.

Aratech wrote:

LadyTevar wrote:Ye've no' got Catti-brie's Accent righ'! E'ery time I read her, I wasna shure t'was her!

*looks up from CREAC assignment*

Ah, tis my secret shame, my lady. I can't do an accent right to save my life.

I can, if you want the help.

LadyTevar wrote:

Aratech wrote:

LadyTevar wrote:Ye've no' got Catti-brie's Accent righ'! E'ery time I read her, I wasna shure t'was her!

*looks up from CREAC assignment*

Ah, tis my secret shame, my lady. I can't do an accent right to save my life.

I can, if you want the help.

It would be most appreciated, ma'am. What would you like for me to do?

This is not bad, so far, but I do have a couple of small issues.

First, mongooses (mongeese?) are not that fast, not even in kilometers per hour, especially not across bad terrain.

And second, the battle rifle fires about an eight and a half millimeter round (I don't have the exact size handy) which is just about what you'd want for something the size of a caribou. The three round burst might be a little much, but it would at least insure a quick, if not instant, kill. The situation seems to be contrived just to have the Chief get into a knife-fight with a wild animal.

Otherwise, pretty good, keep it up.

Aratech wrote:It would be most appreciated, ma'am. What would you like for me to do?

PM me with what you'll be wanting her to say

Umm, is the rest of the story coming? I looked at the SB thread, but I don't have the time to read through 80-odd pages.

Sorry, things have been hell lately as school has picked up. I'm going to upload a few chapters over the weekend, after I PM some things to Lady Tevar regarding Dwarf accents and the like.

So sorry everyone.

PhilosopherOfSorts wrote:This is not bad, so far, but I do have a couple of small issues.

First, mongooses (mongeese?) are not that fast, not even in kilometers per hour, especially not across bad terrain.

And second, the battle rifle fires about an eight and a half millimeter round (I don't have the exact size handy) which is just about what you'd want for something the size of a caribou. The three round burst might be a little much, but it would at least insure a quick, if not instant, kill. The situation seems to be contrived just to have the Chief get into a knife-fight with a wild animal.

Otherwise, pretty good, keep it up.

The BR fires a 9.5x40mm round according to Halopedia.

I knew it was something large and weird like that, I was just off by a millimeter. I think my point stands, though, as the much smaller (than a caribou) white-tail deer is known to sometimes take several rounds of 30-06 before dying.

Off to a great start i'd say. Then again, i'm a sucker for the 'high tech meets primitive' type of fiction. Just remember that in this case, with the whole magic is really real thing, that the 'primitives' will be giving their new neighbors a few shocks of their own.

Now please post more and soon!

Buzzard wrote:Off to a great start i'd say. Then again, i'm a sucker for the 'high tech meets primitive' type of fiction. Just remember that in this case, with the whole magic is really real thing, that the 'primitives' will be giving their new neighbors a few shocks of their own.

Don't worry, Aratech's been dealing with magic in this story, though last time I checked the real heavy-hitters of Faerun haven't brought their firepower to bear on the Halo characters yet. I haven't been keeping up with the story, not wanting to wade through 80+ pages of SB.com commentary, including the occassional story debate. Though Mith's attempt to argue that a wizard could teleport onto an escape-velocity-capable fighter that is juking and spinning at full speed because they can teleport to any location on an orbiting and rotating planet was rather hilarious.....

Hi Aratech - I have seen the SB thread on this - now 90+ pages. I also don't want to wade through all that, but I am interested in the story. What pages of the SB thread contain actual story chapters? Will you be posting them in this thread soon?

Will be posting as soon as I can figure out some technical problems I keep having, and I shrug off the work I need to make up. I came down with a mini-flu bug over the weekend, complete with lucid dreaming that for reasons I have yet to figure out, took place in a steampunk type fantasy world with guest appearances by Predator war teams and the cast of Dilbert.

In the meantime, though you should be able to use this page to help you out. http://forum.spacebattles.com/showthrea ... 01&page=13\

The index for the story is at page 313, though, granted, the story is in need of some minor revisions. And I'm really worried about chapter's sixteen and seventeen being really, really over the top.

You may also wish to have a look at the last page of the story thread, as Atlan had some cover art commissioned for the story. It's quite well done, if I do say so myself.

Aratech wrote: You may also wish to have a look at the last page of the story thread, as Atlan had some cover art commissioned for the story. It's quite well done, if I do say so myself.

The artwork Aratech is speaking of is here:

SB just issued a new rule closing down any thread with more than a hundred pages, so Aratech had to start a new thread. This one has links to the story posts in the first page.

http://forum.spacebattles.com/showthread.php?t=140935