#Khyl 'Voramai

[borealtwilight]

4, 13, 19, and 25 for Khyl for the Soft OC asks :3

4) I think it’s gotta be forehead kisses. Well, on the giving side of things, that is XP For receiving, though, I think he’d be intrigued by hand kisses

13) *wibbles hand* Sorta? It depends, I suppose. He can be something of a softie, but I don’t know how far I’d go as to call him a romantic.

19) Look. It’s probably the fact that he’s weirdly into humans. That’s, uh. That’s not something that Sangheili do

25) Of course he’d cuddle his dearest Grace. I couldn’t say much for his feelings on other SOs, but Grace? She needs the hugs. And he is, of course, the big spoon, seeing as he’s a giant, long-limbed space lizard :B

Would he admit he’s the big spoon? Proudly

from: this ask list

[coyotedraws]

Portrait comm for @borealtwilight of her Sangheili Blademaster, Khyl 'Voramai~

[coyotescribbles]

The Warlord’s Daughter #17

It didn't take long at all for the girl to bundle herself into a blanket nest and fall silent. Khyl wasn't sure if she was asleep, however, or simply being quiet - and after what had happened the last time he'd disturbed her, he wasn't terribly keen on doing so again. His hand still smarted from the first bite.

Who knew that puny, underdeveloped little omnivore jaws could exert such force?

So he'd let her be, and had simply called up the room's holographic interface and settled back to take care of the mundane task of filing post-combat reports.

It was all quite routine: his account of the discovery of the human outposts, the action taken regarding them, a judiciously-edited rundown of what little they'd gleaned from the wreckage, all neatly organized and copied to the handful of authorities he was beholden to. It was so formulaic that he could almost do it in his sleep.

Sleep. He sighed wistfully, thinking of the comfort of his bed, and how very close by and tempting it was, particularly after the day he'd had. But he had work to do yet, and hours to go before he could rest.

It took an hour to finish filing his reports, and another two to fill out all the related peripheral forms - all the while silently cursing those nitpicking bloody San'shyuum bureaucrats to the deepest, darkest hell. It was almost insulting, the amount of information that was required in the aftermath of a cleansing. It ought to be sufficient, he thought, to just tell them that a den of humans had been rooted out and destroyed, but High Charity's many thousands of petty and significant Ministers and overseers disagreed...

And so the tedious busywork continued.

By the time he'd finished his reporting, his quarters had settled back into total silence. If he listened closely, he could hear the faint sound of the girl's breathing; it was slow and even, and he was finally confident that she'd slipped back into sleep. That suited him just fine.

Reasonably certain now that the most difficult part of this ordeal was over, Khyl closed out his workstation and rose from the lounge to retrieve the borrowed medical tool. Then, after one last glance towards the corner proved that the Demon-child had not stirred, he quietly turned to leave his quarters.

[tal--writes]

“—cut that Spartan down as it fled for safety. It was a fine shot, if I do say so myself!”

Khyl ’Voramai stepped into the room that served as a mess, and his ears were met with the boastful gloating of another Field Marshal, one fist raised in the air in triumph. He met the gaze of the other warrior that the Field Marshal was conversing with, one of his own Sangheili by the name of L’noro. The young, brash navigations officer rolled his eyes, before nodding in deference to his superior, and breaking himself off from the conversation.

“Repairs on the Destroyer’s Invocation are complete, and she will be ready to join the other ships that are glassing the planet’s surface.” he reported. 

Khyl uttered a noise of satisfaction in the back of his throat. “Excellent. See to it that my ship is ready and waiting. I must meet with Fleetmaster ’Utaralee.... something about Rho ’Barutamee being indisposed.” ’Voramai’s words were spoken in a hushed whisper, and L’noro’s eyes widened with surprise. 

“There are rumors that ’Barutamee’s supercarrier was destroyed!” he hissed.

“I intend to find out.” Khyl answered grimly, and nodded to L’noro as the navigations officer went on his way. He then strode toward the other Field Marshal, alone now, and still looking very much full of himself. “What feat do you claim to have accomplished, Field Marshal....” He allowed his words to hang, an indicator that he expected a name to be given.

“Xul ’Konaree, second in command of the Devoted Sentries.” The shorter Sangheili stood up straighter, and shifted his gaze upward to look Khyl in the eye. “I have accomplished something that many of our brothers have been unable to, over the course of this long war. I have successfully killed a Spartan.”

Khyl closed his mandibles with a quiet clack; a gesture of dismissal. Thus far, he was unimpressed with ’Konaree’s cocky attitude, and the fact that he was trying to impress the other warriors around him. “What of it, ’Konaree?” He deliberately addressed the other Field Marshal by his surname, to show that Xul had not earned his respect.

“A shot from a Phantom, using a needle rifle. Pinged the human right in the helm as it was running for safety. It was in the city they call New Alexandria; glassing had just begun, and the few humans left were going to hide. I was lucky enough to chance upon an open plaza, and my luck would have it that a group of their armoured warriors were trying to take shelter.” Xul’s eyes gleamed. “Fleetmaster ’Utaralee was most impressed by my skill.”

A sniper’s shot. Pathetic. Khyl ’Voramai could do better than that.

“Pah! You acted like a cowardly Kig-Yar. Shooting a Spartan from afar with a needle rifle?” The taller Field Marshal shook his head, disgusted. “You act so proud of your work, but you’re a Zealot, not a Ranger, and not a Jackal Sniper. You have brought shame to our order! I can only imagine how the other Devoted Sentries would agree with me, and I am no longer of their ranks.”

’Konaree sneered at him.

“And you think you can do better?” He stabbed a finger toward Khyl’s chestplate. “Tell me, brother,” the word dripped from his jaws with sarcasm and venom, “How would you kill a Spartan and do the Zealot Order proud?”

“With the twin blades of my sword.” The hilt of the very weapon was now held in a curled fist, which Khyl shook at ’Konaree, as a thinly-veiled threat. The other Field Marshal took a half step back, and his head lowered a fraction. “That is how I have felled not one, not two, but three of the Demons. And I did not stoop to the rank of a lowly Kig-Yar to do so. I made the Zealot Order more proud than you ever could hope to, with that kill under your belt. I hope you feel shame until the end of your days.”

The doors to the room swished open, and both Field Marshals turned their heads to see who entered. Fortunately, it was Fleetmaster Kantar ’Utaralee himself, and he spared the warriors a look of suspicion. That halted any further conversation, as they spun around to bow their heads in respect to their superior. “Is there a problem here?” he queried, his voice rumbling threateningly.

“Simply a debate on how honourable Field Marshal ’Konaree’s actions were, in eliminating a Spartan. There is no trouble, Fleetmaster, of that I assure you.” Khyl said, his tone respectful. He was lucky that he had decided to replace his Energy Sword back on the armour plating of his thigh; if he’d still held it when Kantar had entered the room, he would have been forced to enter combat, as a weapon drawn demanded blood.

“Hmph. Field Marshal ’Konaree, you are dismissed. Go back to your meal. Field Marshal ’Voramai, follow me to the bridge. We have much to discuss.” The Fleetmaster swept out of the mess, and Khyl followed alongside. Halfway down the hall, they were joined by Khusze ’Voliree, Khyl’s trusted second-in-command, and likewise a member of the Zealot order.

“Rumours have it that Supreme Commander ’Barutamee’s supercarrier was destroyed, along with the corvette belonging to General Ardo ’Moretumee. Are they true, Fleetmaster?” Khyl questioned.

“True?” Khusze spoke up without being addressed, something he was not known for doing. “I was there myself, Field Marshal. I saw the whole damned thing, with my own eyes. I was headed out on patrol from the Long Night of Solace herself, in my Banshee. There was a human ship — one of their heavy frigates, I believe — as well as a dropship known as a Pelican, and a handful of fighters that are an equal match to our Seraphs, the ones you don’t see often; could be that they are experimental, or classified, or both. 

Anyway, the frigate distracted the corvette Ardent Prayer, as she was headed back to the Solace on a fuelling run, and the humans boarded her, captured her as their own. Shipmaster ’Moretumee was most likely killed in the process. I didn’t see much more than that, as by the time the human fighters began to board, I hid my Banshee in among some asteroids. By the time I came out, the three warships were gone, and our relief fleet was arriving, and they picked me up.”

The Fleetmaster was unoffended or unperturbed by the fact that Khusze had spoken out of turn. Instead, his expression was grave, and there was a pensive look in his eyes that ’Voramai had not noticed earlier.

“Reports say that the humans used the Slipspace drive of their frigate as a makeshift bomb, and that the Ardent Prayer was a trap. She was sent automatically on the fuelling run, and once within range of the Long Night of Solace, the drive was detonated, and both warships were destroyed. The Supreme Commander was likely killed in the ensuing explosion, or when pieces of the supercarrier crashed down to the surface of the planet Reach. And I believe the human frigate was annihilated some time during the humans’ harassment of the Prayer, by the corvette herself.” he admitted solemnly.

“And you are now command of what remains of the Fleet of Valiant Prudence, correct?” the Field Marshal asked.

Kantar dipped his head in a nod. “That is so. And while ordinarily, as the order of things would go, Xul ’Konaree would be my second-in-command, there is something about him that does not sit well with me. While his skill as a sniper impresses me — the fact that he managed to kill a Spartan with a shot to the head is rather astounding — he is far too vainglorious for my liking.”

“Troubling, Fleetmaster.” Khusze offered, and Khyl murmured agreement.

“Indeed it is.” ’Utaralee stopped once they had reached the bridge, and pivoted to face the Field Marshal. “Which is why I have come to you, Khyl. You are a skilled warrior, having proven yourself in battle again and again. Added to that, but you are a former member of the Devoted Sentries. While they may murmur dissent at the fact that you chose to leave, which is dishonourable... They would trust you, perhaps more than ’Konaree. At least, the majority of them would.”

Khyl drew his head back, mandibles hanging slack in shock. “You are not suggesting what I think you are?”

“I want you to be my second-in-command, Field Marshal.” The Fleetmaster looked him dead in the eye as he spoke, which was easier than it had been for Xul, given that Fleetmaster and Field Marshal were nearly the same height. “I trust your judgement, your skill, your blade. And your warship is one of the biggest left in this fleet. It would bolster the ranks greatly to have someone like you to watch over them, down there on the ground.”

’Voramai touched his fist against his chestplate, bowing his head deeply. “It would be my honour, Fleetmaster, to lead and to serve directly under you.” he replied humbly. When he looked up again, Kantar’s four jaws had curled into a smile.

“I look forward to it.”

[bxttle-cry]

Comms were down.

Khyl ’Voramai had stepped into that Forerunner portal, expecting to be thrust out of an adjacent gate, elsewhere on the abandoned human colony he and his warriors had set up camp. But instead, he’d found himself somewhere else entirely. And he had no way to call for help. It wasn’t as though there was a loss of signal; there was no static, no nothing. Like his communications link was dead.

Which meant all the Field Marshal had with him were his armour, his twin energy daggers, his energy sword, three plasma grenades, and the half-empty needle rifle upon his back. That was.... a small arsenal, and he had been able to make do with less. But he had no ration packs, no transport, no communication uplink.

And that caused frustration to bubble up within his chest.

The Sangheili raised a fist to the sky, and gave a great shout in his native tongue. With luck, anyone nearby would be able to hear him. With luck, someone would help him.

|| pinging @chainxdancer!

[ycvng-gcns]

[ Khyl ’Voramai tag drop ]

[borealtwilight]

according to @antsyserpentine​, khyl ’voramai (my bastard warlord sangheili) is a skank (affectionate).

sighs deeply.

he is. absolutely a skank. i cannot refute this. you win, sammy.

[borealtwilight]

🎫 for Arty, 🎫 for Khyl, and 🎫🎫 for your choice ouo

Artemis: I think Arty's gonna struggle for. Quite some time, after discovering that she's a clone of John-117. Not just with her identity and how she feels about the fact that, well, she's even less human than a group of people who are already seen as non-human by those around them, by dint of the fact that she wasn't, y'know, created naturally, but rather, grown in a lab. Identity issues aren't a new thing for her by this point.

But also... Well, how the hell is she supposed to tell a man she doesn't know all that well "hey, guess what, I'm kind of your sister/daughter/genetic copy"? It will be an absolute dilemma. She can't lie for shit and John's gonna figure out that something is up with his Smol Buddy, sooner or later XD

Khyl: Being interested in and ( surprisingly ) respectful of humanity as a whole ( despite also enjoying murdering them. stupid space gecko ), has lead Khyl to be intrigued by human foods. Specifically, noodles. He wonders how humans manage to eat the damn things without choking on them, and despite knowing that he absolutely would choke on them, would like to try them someday.

Idiot.

Helios: Learning about the fact that she has not one but two older brothers, who are both Spartan-IIIs like herself, will be a very interesting time for her. Aside from the fact that, on paper ( Hunter’s the one who discovers himself and his siblings’ birth records, thanks to the help of a certain redhead, his former teammate ), not a single one of them shares the same surname ( Ares was born Ares Khaiyan, Hunter was Hunter Lorccán, and Helios herself was originally Talitha Marrok, but named herself Helios due to ~trauma~ ), all three siblings have enough years between them to span across all generations of Spartan-IIIs, with Ares being from Alpha Company, Hunter from Beta Company, and Helios herself is a Gamma.

Safe to say her family is larger and messier than she was expecting.

Marek: If COLD MOON hadn’t forced him to be Offed, it’s absolutely safe to say that he would have wound up devoted to Artemis to the point where he would have followed her to the ends of the galaxy and back again. It’s not necessarily out of love, per se ( although I do wonder if their relationship would Exist or not had he lived ); rather, he sees Artemis as a figure who is, for all intents and purposes, absolutely worth standing by.

[borealtwilight]

🥊 for Khyl, Arty, and Hunter :3

Khyl: He very much enjoys killing. Has turned it into an art form, of sorts. It's something rather too satisfactory, I think. He's not particularly bloodthirsty, by any means, but he absolutely delights in dealing death.

As for what he hates doing? Paperwork or politics. One of the two. It's so dreadfully boring, according to him.

Artemis: She loves marksmanship. Whether it be practicing at the range, or utilizing her skills for real out in the field, it's relaxing. When she wields a sniper rifle of some kind, she feels like she's performing at her highest possible ability. She feels free.

Something she hates doing is having to work with UNSC personnel who are resentful of the Spartans. It's difficult work, and she wishes she could make them understand that her people never had a say in becoming what they were... But she can't tell them that, and they can't wear her boots.

Hunter: He loves rock climbing. Mind, he doesn't always go about it in the right sort of way ( equipment and all ).... But skipping across a steep hillside in MJOLNIR armour counts, right? Right???

As for what he hates, it'd have to be fighting Yanme'e ( or Buggers / Drones ). He can't stand the little fuckers, and doesn't have the patience to deal with them. They just annoy the living daylights out of him; "Why do they have the ability to fly and shoot? Not cool."

[borealtwilight]

🥵💪👀👂 for OC asks

🥵: Is Khyl seen as attractive to others? Well, if you've got an interest in seven foot plus tall, lizard-adjacent aliens? Sure. Bonus points for him being a brooding asshole with tendencies to be a gentleman!

💪: Arty's most attractive physical attribute would have to be her legs. Not just her thighs... her calves are shaped nicely, and you can't ignore her glutes, either. My girl's built for speed... very *chef kiss* right there

👀: ( I guess it's technically already co-answered here for Ashala akjsfhsdkjf )

👂: Artemis has a relatively husky voice... so yeah, I'd say it's pretty attractive XP

[borealtwilight]

OC tag game

Saw this post floating around a few times so decided to inflict it on the homies :P

Fave OC: Y’all know that’s Artemis-B312

Newest OC: I think that honour goes to Revan-B312 HAHA

Oldest OC: Artemis-B312

Meanest OC: Tysze ’Relkam. He’s a Sangheili Executioner, for crying out loud XD

Softest OC: Once again, that honour goes to Artemis

Most aloof/standoffish OC: Probably Ares-A205. Homeboy’s very much anti-people

Dumbest (affectionate) OC: Hunter-B170 LMAO

Smartest OC: That’s... difficult to say. Many of my blorbos are varying levels of stupidly intelligent because they’re Spartans and high intelligence is kinda part of their whole deal, and I can’t really say for certain that I can judge who is the smartest of them all

Horniest OC: .....SIGH. Khyl ’Voramai

OC you’d bang: IDK, none? I think some of my OCs are personally attractive, sure, but I’m not so certain about boning them

OC you’d be best friends with IRL: If any of them... Maybe Merikh-121 or Vastrtunos Anari. I would want one of them to be my dad friend

no-pressure tagging casually inflicting this upon: @dancing-coyote, @infinityactual, @hermitmoss, @voiceofthetraveler

[borealtwilight]

✨ my OTP list ✨

swtor / star wars:

ashala vex / malavai quinn ( alt: tyûkshâsotasha vex / malavai quinn; jedi ashala au )

vhaethra taloran / arcann tirall

thas’absi’nthe / theron shan

kitalo’riah’lariv / lord scourge**

commander fox / ke’na leson

artemis katona / carter harkness ( swtor AU because That happened )

halo / rvb: 

artemis-b312 / carter-a259

artemis-b312 / gabriel thorne

artemis-b312 / epsilon-church**

artemis-012 / thomas lasky**

jerome-092 / grace hendricks 

khyl ’voramai / grace hendricks

khyl ’voramai / t’kali ’kovam

khyl ’voramai / ina ’savam*

khyl ’voramai / talia-b271**

hunter-b170 / jeanette-b315

ashala-094 / malavai quinn ( halo AU )

revan-b312 / tha’ze yvo ’suromai

( *NB: while ina ’savam is deceased in khyl’s backstory, i will still accept asks for them, on the basis of “what ifs” and things like that )

( ** denotes crackship / silly ship / “haha what if” ship )

[coyotescribbles]

The Warlord’s Daughter #16

Jeanette very much doubted that, but she offered up no further argument... and he didn't press the issue further.

Somehow, that struck her as odd. He was so much larger and far stronger than she was, he had the armor and the weapons, he had every advantage except speed - and a fine lot of good that did her in a place like this. He could have very easily forced her to cooperate, just like her handlers and the facility's doctors always had; instead, he allowed her to refuse and withdraw. Maybe she'd just grown too accustomed to being dragged about, ordered this way and that and punished harshly for disobeying or even just hesitating, but... it didn't quite sit right with her.

She just couldn't puzzle out why a Covenant soldier - an obviously high-ranking one, at that - would be showing her that sort of kindness.

And she was also too afraid to ask.

Soundlessly, she scooted away until she could retreat back into the meager shelter of the corner; from there, she could hear the soft rattling of armor as the Elite stood, followed by his heavy footsteps as he crossed the room. Jeanette didn't even dare peek out to see what he might have been doing.

She could only stare down at her hands, bloodied but now unmarred by injury, and wonder.

He could have killed her half a dozen times over by now. He should have killed her. There was no reason for her to still be alive. Everything about this situation was wrong. Everything she'd ever learned screamed at her that this was wrong, but what could she even do?

What do you want to do, Jeanette?

She didn't even know the answer to her own question. Her mind reeled and churned and trying to make sense of everything only made her head ache even more and she didn't know.

With a thin whine, she dropped her head to her hands and tangled her fingers in her short hair as she took several slow, deep breaths. She wanted to berate herself for her fearfulness, but it was so much harder to push the panic back now, so much harder to keep her thoughts focused when her entire world had just been upended.

For the third time in the span of one day.

The return of the Elite's footsteps yanked her back to alertness. This time, she did look up as he approached, just as he laid a neat bundle at the end of the bench nearest her, in easy reach. He lingered for just a moment before falling back again, just a step, as if waiting to see what she would do.

Jeanette eyed first him, then the bundle... then slowly reached out to take it. Most of it was obviously blanket - one that made the one from the facility look like a threadbare towel by comparison - but when two smaller objects started to slide off the top, she scrambled to catch them, and then stopped for a moment to examine what she now held.

One was a sealed container of water, that much was obvious. The other was a surprisingly heavy square, about half again as thick as her palm and wrapped in some kind of thin foil. There was writing printed on one side, but she obviously couldn't read it, so she just looked questioningly at the Elite.

"It is only a ration bar," he said reassuringly, with an expression that she read as a half-smile; "don't worry, they're safe for humans."

"...How would you know?" She asked, wrinkling her nose.

"A fair question. One I don't believe you would care to hear the answer to."

His tone was gentle, but that couldn't hide the implications of his words. Looking down at the bar, Jeanette picked at a corner of the wrapper and frowned. "You fed them to prisoners."

"Very astute of you, little one." He moved to sit on the bench, closer to the far end than to her, as if he didn't want to crowd her or make her feel cornered, but near enough to easily observe her. "Though I was not the one who fed them. That responsibility fell to others."

She chewed her lower lip. "They taught us that the Covenant does not take prisoners."

"It has always been a rare, but unpleasant necessity. One dictated by the Hierarchs."

At that, she thought back to the Covenant prisoners that ONI had always seemed to be holding. The ones she'd seen picked apart in videos taken in sterile labs. The ones they'd interrogated at other facilities.

The ones they'd set her against on the live-fire ranges to test and sharpen her skills, even before her augmentations.

She understood.

She recoiled, anyway, because one act of cruelty didn't diminish another. Setting the food and water aside, she scooped the still-folded blanket up and buried her face in the thick material.

"But you are not a prisoner," he continued quietly, "that has not changed. Your well-being is my responsibility. You have nothing to fear from me, little one, you have my word."

How many people, she wondered bitterly, had said those same four words to her, only to go back on them later? But she swallowed the resentment; it wouldn't do her any good here, now.

"...Jeanette," she said after a moment, her voice muffled by the blanket; she lifted her head just a bit, enough to speak clearly. "My name - my name is Jeanette."

"Such an interesting name, Jeanette." He slurred the "j" into a soft "z" the same way she did; it was slightly disorienting to hear from an alien mouth. "I’ve not heard one like it before. I am Blademaster Khyl 'Voramai, and it is an honor to make your acquaintance."

Somehow, she couldn’t bring herself to believe that, either.

[coyotescribbles]

The Warlord’s Daughter #14

The silence that followed was shortly broken by a quiet clicking sound, followed by a deep, soft rumble and the shifting of armor plates brushing against one another.

"Ah, there's the fear under all that ferocity," the Elite's voice was low and sympathetic, but... it lacked the mocking tone she'd expected; "that's all right. It's only to be expected, after everything you've gone through."

"Everything you put me through," she snarled back without looking up.

"Was I the one who shut you up in that little cell and left you all alone in the dark? Who put you in the untenable position of either clawing your way free, or suffocating?" The questions were pointed, but gentle; it caught her off-guard. "No, it was not. I apologize for my Zealots' carelessness, however, and my own, as well as for my part in alarming you."

He was lying. He was lying and Jeanette was sure of it... and yet...

And yet he sounded so sincere.

But so had the ONI agent who’d collected her from the orphanage. So had the instructors at Currahee. Many people in her short life had sounded sincere, only to prove themselves liars.

She resisted the urge to look up, though, and just curled in on herself even more tightly, until the tension made her shoulders ache and tremble. All she wanted was for him to go away, for all of this to go away, for it all to be just another anesthesia nightmare.

But it wasn't. She knew it wasn't; this was no more a nightmare than the facility had been, or Onyx before that. And just as Onyx had been unspeakably worse than home, and the facility had been unbearably worse than Onyx, she was sure this would be even worse, and dreaded the horrors she knew awaited her in this new hell. Once again, she thought back to the bits and pieces of stories she'd heard traded between facility staff, of Elites rounding up civilians and then turning starved Grunts on them, or of Jackals and Brutes eating soldiers alive. She didn't think that Elites ate people, themselves, but she also wasn't terribly keen on finding out.

For a long stretch of time, it was quiet. Neither of them moved, or spoke, each just waited - but for what, she wasn't sure.

Finally, tentatively, she spoke up, still hiding her face. "Did they... did they really leave me?"

"I do not know," the Elite replied after a moment. "One ship was shot down while fleeing, but another was still moored when we made our approach. Someone may have intended to retrieve you, but their escape was... poorly executed. Perhaps it is for the best that it was terminated - you would have perished, otherwise."

Would that have really been so bad? Jeanette wondered.

"Don't pretend that you were meaning to rescue me," she muttered, "I know you weren't."

"No, that was not our intention. But when I learned that one of humanity's greatest warriors was garrisoned there, well... let's just say my curiosity got the better of me. Imagine my surprise when I found not a fearsome armored foe... but a young, frightened child..."

Finally, Jeanette lifted her head just enough to look at him, briefly meeting his gaze.

-a pair of nightmarish eyes watching her, slit-pupiled and emerald green and staring hungrily-

Recoiling again, she shook her head sharply, trying to push the dream from her memory. Then, with a resigned sigh, she begrudgingly held her left hand out, palm up.

"There we are..." he rumbled softly, coaxing her out of her corner; her hand was so ridiculously small compared to his own that it was almost comical, and she would have laughed if the situation were anything other than what it was. Instead, she pointedly looked away, fixing her gaze on the floor as she tucked her legs underneath her... and waited.

[coyotescribbles]

The Warlord’s Daughter #12

"Surely you can't be serious?" Khyl asked incredulously; Xal just waved a dismissive hand.

"I am quite serious," he replied. "Of course, how you go about it is entirely up to you..."

Khyl blinked twice, bewildered - and then he realized what, exactly, the Shipmaster was hinting at.

It's a cover story.

A convenient lie he could tell anyone who questioned him, that would no doubt mollify all but the most persistent of questioners.  As for those... well, a blade was a sure silencer.

With a thoughtful sound, he sat back and carefully regarded his friend for a long moment. It was compelling, this idea he'd been given. If he could perhaps stow the girl in a safe place for a few years, let her grow just a bit more... He could present the Hierarchs with a fully-fledged Spartan. One that might indeed be loyal, and of use to them, or not, but it would no longer be his concern at that point.

"I think you may be on to something, Xal," Khyl finally conceded; "you have my thanks."

"Think nothing of it. Now," the Shipmaster cocked his head and regarded him with a keen eye; "what do you plan to do with the child?"

He hesitated, lapsing into thought once more. There was a place he could potentially leave her, that would be reasonably safe, if only...

"Whispering Trees." He answered. "I know someone there who shouldn't require much convincing to look after her."

"Oh?"

"She is... an old friend, and already mother to a child not much older than this one. I don't believe she will turn the girl away."

"And the Kaidon? And the rest of the Keep? What of them?"

"I will deal with them," Khyl replied evenly, letting the unspoken implication hang in the air: Either they will accept my explanation, or they will die.

"I see. We've a plan, then." Xal clasped his hands and nodded slowly. "It will be some time before I can return you to your home, but I'm certain that the wait will be tolerable for you. In the meantime, I will... quietly disseminate the most pertinent information regarding the situation to the crew."

"Are you sure that's wise?"

"I've not gotten this far in life by being a fool or a weakling." Xal seemed almost taken aback, lifting his head and snorting derisively. "Besides, it's not as if you'll be able to keep your new charge hidden in your quarters for the next few months. It would be better if she was allowed some freedom of movement, no?"

"I... suppose you are correct. My apologies."

"Your apology is accepted." There was a hint of humor to the old Shipmaster's voice. "Now, I believe you have a young charge to see to. You are dismissed, Blademaster."

Khyl would have preferred to stay and talk the matter over further, but Xal was right; he'd left the young Spartan alone in his quarters too long already as it was, he realized with a growing sense of dismay. There was no telling what she'd gotten into, or what she might have destroyed - and there was plenty she could have damaged if she'd seen fit.

So he rose to his feet, giving the Shipmaster a deferential bow before departing.

After a brief detour, Khyl returned to his quarters, with dread lingering in his gut. That dread was only reinforced when Nigatu lowered his head slightly to address him.

"Your human," he rumbled, "attempted to escape."

"Did she," Khyl replied dryly. "I take it she did not get far?"

"Not far at all."

Then it was Egiri's turn to speak up. "She retreated back inside on seeing us," he added, "I believe we startled her."

Well, at least she's not running at large somewhere on the ship. "And have you heard anything since?"

"Nothing, Blademaster."

"I see. Thank you." Khyl inclined his head to each of the brothers in turn, and then proceeded inside...

...Where everything was just as he'd left it. Had he not been told that the girl had been out and about, he never would have been the wiser. A quick look into his bedroom further solidified the fact that, yes, everything was as it should be, and then...

Quietly, he set the bundle he carried on the table and approached the corner where the girl had previously tucked herself away, finding her still curled there. She lay on her side, knees drawn up near her chest and head resting on one folded arm, and she seemed to be rather deeply asleep. He was almost loathe to disturb her, but he needed to see to the injuries she'd incurred in her escape attempt, and ensure that she ate something; she could sleep again afterward, if she so chose.

Very carefully, he reached out to nudge her awake.

[coyotescribbles]

The Warlord’s Daughter #15

Only a moment later, she felt a stinging sensation, followed by the slightest pinch; she almost yanked her hand back, but bit her lip and resisted the urge.

It took her a moment to work up the courage to look over, and when she did, she saw the Elite pressing the blunt end of some kind of tool to her cuts. To her it looked like little more than a bulky, oversized stylus, except the tip was glassy and glowed a soft blue and, as he slowly traced it along the length of the wound, it... healed it. Soft tissue knit back together seamlessly in its wake, leaving no trace of the injury that had been there only moments before.

It didn’t even leave a scar.

"...What is that?" Jeanette asked quietly.

"Hm? Ah, this." He didn't look up from his work as he answered her. "This is a piece of Forerunner medical technology, rather useful for wounds that are troublesome, but not serious enough to warrant taking up the automated surgical suite."

She shuddered, the phrase "automated surgical suite" sending chills down her spine as she wondered just how much more ONI would have put her through if they'd had such a thing at their disposal. It certainly sounded like exactly the kind of wicked implement they would make use of.

"Are you a doctor, too, then?"

He snorted, sounding almost amused again. "Far from it. No, this device is simple to use; even an Unggoy could operate it."

Well, she had no idea what an "Unggoy" was, and "Forerunner" was only vaguely familiar to her, but she wasn't terribly interested in asking for clarification. She settled for watching quietly as he finished mending her left hand, and then beckoned for her right - which she held out with slightly less reluctance, this time. The cuts in that hand were deeper and uglier, and stung more intensely as he cleaned them with a carefulness that belied his size... but they closed up just as easily and as painlessly as the cuts in her left hand had.

When he released her, she took a moment to examine her palms, curling and uncurling her fingers experimentally. There wasn't even the smallest twinge; it was as if she'd never been hurt at all.

"..." Resting her hands on her knees, Jeanette looked away uncertainly. "I - thank you."

"It is what I said I would do, is it not?" He once more sounded amused. "Do you have any other injuries?"

She only shook her head in response; the headache still lingered, but she didn't think that his stylus could do anything for that, no matter how advanced and shiny it was. Then, with a sigh, she shifted her weight to the side and rested against the bench, fixing the Elite with a wary, unwavering gaze. He leaned in a bit closer, studying her curiously once more; the scrutiny made the back of her neck prickle, and her expression turned icy as her entire body tensed.

But when he reached out to her, it was only to lightly trace the pad of his thumb along one of the angry red surgical scars that seamed her arms.

"What of these?" He asked. Jeanette just flinched away, wrapping her arms around herself defensively.

"They are only scars," she replied quickly, "they are old."

"Old? They don't look particularly old to me."

"I don't want to talk about it."

"I see..."