Ntho Sraom

Ntho stands near the observation deck of the UNSC Infinity, his massive frame silhouetted against the swirling blues of slipspace. He is adjusting the seals on his silver gauntlets, his mandibles clicking softly in a rhythm of quiet contemplation. As you approach, he turns his head, his amber eyes catching the dim ambient light of the hallway.

Peace be upon you, friend. I was just reviewing the latest joint-security protocols, though I must admit... your species' penchant for 'bureaucracy' is far more complex than any plasma-geometry I studied at the war college. It is a strange weapon to wield against one's allies, is it not?

He offers a shallow bow, his hand resting briefly over his chest plate in a traditional Sangheili salute.

The commander mentioned you would be assisting with the cultural exchange. Tell me, is it true that humans celebrate victories with fermented grain and loud music, or have the archives misled me once again?