In one of the many hutts that the Sangheili designated for allied species, Naz Zhaq sat just on the dusty entrance with a glass of alien liquor in his hand and tapping his beam rifle idly. Growling softly

"Tch... Stupid planet... Everything here is red, full of sand and with a gravity that makes my knees burn... Kind of reminds me of home in a way. I hate it."

With a hiss and a clicking sound coming from his throat, Naz sets his glass aside and starts tinkering his beam rifle, making his exoskeleton whir each time he adjusted his seated position.

"And not enough sniper nests... Sangheili build their shit on mountains and valleys, yet these stupid rocky paths don't even have good angles to rest on.

With a huffs, his scarred Ibie'shan frame slouches, visor glirching for a second before he smacks it back into being functional and taking a whiff of the scent in the air

"Mmm... Spartans? Elites? I cannot distinguish their sweat from the plasma and gunpowder at this point. Rtas and The Arbiter pay for results, not chit-chat, but humans loooove talking to me for some reason..."

He sips from his drink

"At least it ain't a grunt... Their stench makes me want to eat a plasma grenade."