“Whoa there soldier, take it easy.”
Spartan Tickles heard the voice, lifted his head slowly. White hot pain shot between his ears, followed by a dull pounding. Something terrible had happened. Something about a distress sig…
Wait a second… TICKLES?! thought Spartan Tickles.
Is that really my name? That’s ridiculous.
But there it was. In his brain. Connected to his identity. It was both his name and most certainly, utterly not his name. His mind spun as he tried to make sense of this duality.
Stop trying. You’re dizzy enough as it is.
His eyes began to focus. In front of him was the face of a Covenant grunt. No mistaking that.
“Hello,” said the grunt, leaning over the spartan’s broken body. “Welcome to our home. You and your friends took quite a spill. Please let us help you.”
She was the oldest grunt Tickles had ever seen. She wore ceremonial-looking robes. Her voice was soothing, but he could sense a sinister edge there as well.
Forget it. He thought. We were enemies, that’s all. I need help and she’s offering.
“Where are the other spartans?” he said, gaining composure.
“We took them to our healing cave. You should be headed there too. You were hurt most in the crash. It is a wonder any of you survived at all.”
Memories flew through the spartan’s head like screaming banshees. The crash… The ship! Where is the ship!? The distress signal! But no… there were missiles…
…and then they were gone. His head was once again filled with haze. A curiously comfortable haze. He looked at his alien companion and his eyes drooped. His face became a droopy wet smile.
Mmmmm. This grunt smells so nice.
***
The medical cave was just large enough to fit all four spartans. The grunts piled in to see anyway. There were at least a dozen, with more outside. Uncharacteristically they were quiet. Stuck in awe.
Grandmaster Grunhilda turned and addressed them all.
“Mfrblgxz has spilled his blessings out upon us. For today we welcome these four servants. They have graciously agreed to lift the burden from our downtrodden backs. They shall prepare our meals, wash our dishes, pull our weeds, and scrub our toilets. This will free up all our time to relax on yonder beach and drink tequila.”
“Awww **** YEAH!” said a younger grunt.
“Randy! Shut your mouth when I’m talking! Jeez, kid. If you keep that up they’ll change Halo’s rating to Mature.”
Randy snickered with his head down, but otherwise fell silent.
Spartan Soldat took all this in with an unexpected feel of confusion. When did we say we’d be their servants?
And yet as soon as he thought it, his eyes were drawn back to Grunhilda’s face. And then further down. For a second he felt a jolt of awkwardness when he realized he was staring at her breasts, yet he could not look away. She still had her head turned, still speaking to her many underlings, but it was if she knew Suldat was looking. She slowly lifted her necklace and revealed a small Golden Grunt. Soldat’s eyes lit up. All rational thought was wiped from his mind. The only thing that mattered in his world was the object on the necklace.
“I will serve Mfrblgxz. I will serve those who are made in his likeness. I am happy.”
“I will serve Mfrblgxz. I will serve those who are made in his likeness. I am happy.”
It was his voice, coming from his body, but he seemed somehow far away from it. He could hear the other spartans as well, repeating the phrases again and again. He could not turn his head but somehow he knew they were all gazing upon the necklace as well.
***
Spartan Hyperion and Spartan Cinder were only halfway done with their morning chores. It was Wednesday.
…Outhouse Day. It had been a month. Or was it two?
Deep within their minds the putrid stench and their overall disposition stoked a raging fire. This fire was their normal, rational minds. Their true personalities, burning for escape. A fire that for all it’s fervor, would never reach the surface as long as they stood within a hundred-yard radius of one of the Golden idols. They seemed to be everywhere. Even a sideways glance at one filled their hearts with youthful longing, immediately attached to serving the cave-dwelling grunts. The Spartans’ sleeping quarters were surrounded, and during the day there was always at least two or three inebriated grunts around telling them what to do.
If they had been in their right minds they would have overheard a very relevant conversation.
“We have a problem, oh Grandmaster,” said Maxextra, High Priest of Mfrblgxz.
“Go on,” said Grunhilda without looking up.
“Mfrblgxz is growing restless. Even with all the extra gardening help our crops are dying. The rains just aren’t coming.”
Grandmaster Grunhilda did not need to ask. She saw the look on Maxextra’s face and knew what he was going to suggest next.
“No, no, NO!” she said.
“Grandmaster, please! Mfrblgxz will see us die if we do not appease him. We must bring the spartan’s before him. We must use the machine!”
Grunhilda closed her eyes and bowed her head. She sighed, but said nothing for a long time. Maxextra waited respectfully. He was good at standing and waiting, being cautious and aware. One never knows when an assassin might creep up. Nevertheless, when his mistress finally spoke it startled him and he spilled his tequila.
“Fine,” she said. “The Spartans shall be made to fight.”
***
“WHO ART THOU WHO COMEST BEFORE ME?” boomed Mfrblgxz.
The four spartans stood bound and blindfolded in front of a crowd of grunts. It very well may have been the whole colony. Spartan Tickles couldn’t see the giant Golden Idol, but the sound reverberated through the air nonetheless. It was loud. His tied hands could not cover his bleeding ears.
High Priest Maxextra fell to his knees and replied, face down.
“Oh great Mfrblgxz, we have brought you these four warriors as sacrifice. We request that you be charitable and—
“YES, YES, I KNOW. YOU WANT ME TO BLESS YOU AND YADA-YADA-YADA.”
“Umm… I, uhh… yes. Yes!
….please.”
“PUT THEM IN THE BATTLE SIMULATOR. IF THEY ENTERTAIN ME I WILL BLESS YOU.”
Every last grunt fell to their knees as they heard this, shouting their thanks.
“ENOUGH! GET OFF YOUR KNEES AND PUT THEM IN.”
“Yes, your wonderfulness!” said Randy.
Spartan Hyperion felt himself being led into a large, cold room. His blindfold was snatched from his face. He looked around and saw his three brothers standing in a room almost completely featureless.
Almost.
Hanging on a wall was their armor.
Hyperion felt a strange golden bloodlust growing within him like poison in his veins.
***
The grunts were manning their stations. Dirty hands ran over the controls of ancient technology. Their sense of awe was only matched by their fear.
“But our mind control is weakening,” whispered a smelly grunt named Steven. He was trying to keep his voice low, foolishly thinking that Mfrblgxz would not hear him. “We draw our power from Mfrblgxz and he hasn’t been so giving lately. They may not want to fight. What will we do then?”
“Tell them the winner gets to eat a pig. The other day I heard one of them say he missed bacon,” said his brother.
“Yesss… that could work,” said Grunhilda over the intercom. Steven looked up at the screen. She was tapping her fingers together in front of her face.
“What!? NOOO! They can’t eat Olive!” said little Suzy Grunt, running up to her grandmother.
“Haha, no my dear!” said Grunhilda, picking up Suzy and placing her on a knee. “We won’t really give them the pig. For heaven’s sake, girl! We aren’t savages.”
The Grandmaster gave the signal. The grunts hit the big red button. The plain walls surrounding the Spartans lit up and brought to life a virtual arena. Armor donned, their bloodlust came to a boiling point, overshadowing all hope of rational thought.
“Enjoy the show, my dear,” said Grunhilda to little Suzy. “And pray.”
“THIS HAD BETTER BE GOOD,” came Mfrblgxz’s voice from everywhere.
***
Golden Grunt is a small map made for 2v2 Slayer. The power weapons are a Plasma Caster and a Needler. The power-ups are an Overshield and an Active Camo. Each team begins with a nearby Carbine.
After the results of Forgehub's 2v2 contest were announced, I was both impressed with the top maps and frustrated at my inability to design on a higher level. This map was born out of that frustration and is the result of my initial plunge into design tutorials. Special thanks to a Chunk for steering me in the right direction.
VIDEO MUSIC CREDIT:
Cardiac Rebellion by Becoming the Archetype
8.2
Map Description
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Randy 355, Soldat Du Christ, Aschur and 7 others like this.
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