Your gateway to endless inspiration
I live close to the center of the City, mostly for practical reasons. Any attackers would work inwards and therefore I would have time to pack before and grab a few people before I head into the sewers that are also under my house. Plus, all the best shops are here. However, this also means that I'm almost directly under the Traveler and it attracts the crazies like moths to a flame. As such, there is a temple to it just a few blocks away.
I've never put much stock in worshiping the Traveler. It never asked us to pray to it nor responded to prayers, so why should we. Furthermore, if it was really a god, it wouldn't need our help or praise. Did it kill Crota? Oryx? Guall? Did it beat back the Darkness another dozen times to rebuild the City? No. We did.
Even if it did ask us to pray, should we? It certainly isn't working out for the Hive or the Vex. All they did was join a magic pyramid scheme. "You work hard and give us 99% of what you make and die for us. We will sit here and watch, maybe doing something when we are all about to die." Even their "gods" aren't really gods. I've personally killed two and have the bits to prove it. The Black Heart and Xol went down with enough bullets and I assume the Traveler would too.
Therefore, the only manner of Theism ascribe to Maltheism. Everything that claims to be or looks to be a god is either incompetent or evil. The only good one needed an army and it's own heroic sacrifice to save fraction of one of the numerous species it tried to help. The rest are omnicidal bastards. So, screw the gods, we are better off without them.
...
"Did you really have to tell off those missionaries quite so severely?"
"Yew, the only reason I did it was because you vetoed dropping water balloons on them from the roof."
"Because that would have been cruel and childish. Anyway, you could have just said no to a donation."
"That's what I told them last time and they came right back the next day."
"They were from a different temple!"
"Oh, well now I feel a bit guilty."
A warlock stands in his friend's apartment, dreading having to ask for his advice. Although his friend is less academically inclined, he is no less passionate in his work. Asking him for advice will inevitably lead to a two hour lecture including several charts, but what must be done must be done. Apparently, these thoughts dragged out long enough for the silence to become awkward, so the titan takes the initiative and breaks the ice.
"So Ash, what brings you here? Usually you just call when you want to chat, so it must be important."
"Well, you know that I never got a Recluse."
"Really, I could have sworn you had one by now."
"Nope. Furthermore, no amount of bribery will get anyone with one to give me theirs. I can hold my own in the Crucible, but not well enough to convince Shaxx that I deserve his ultimate weapon. So Buloke, what I'm asking is can you give me some tips on the Crucible."
With this the Striker's eyes literally spark with excitement. He sprints out of the room only to return several seconds later with a corkboard covered in in pictures, thumbtacks, and enough red yarn to knit a sweater.
"I'm so glad that you finally asked! The current meta is quite complicated, so I'll start with the basics. You are going to want to bring a shotgun. There are a couple choices, but I prefer the Last Man Standing for its perks. You see..."
As Buloke begins his rant, Ash finally starts to realize what it is like to be on the other end of one of his manic speeches about his research. Although he is grateful to his friend, both for so easily agreeing to help him and for so frequently listening when he got in a similar state, as the lesson just finishes with the shotgun tips at around the half hour mark, a part of him begins to regret every decision that he has ever made.
"That gun had better be as good as they say it is," he mutters internally.
Guardians have a tendency to hoard. I think it has something to do with whatever the Traveler did with our brains when it brought us back to make sure at least most of us would help people instead of just wandering off. But as a side effect, we tend to take things we like and guard them too.
We all have things we store away, myself included. There are always a few dozen guns and bits of armour that are rattling around in our vaults that we tell ourselves will come in handy one day. All those ghost shells, mods, shaders, and shiny bits that we gather by the hundreds. We regularly spend enough glimmer to feed a family for months to buy things from vendors, put it in the pile, and promptly forget. And it's not just physical things we hoard. We love hoarding power.
Everyone loves power, be it physical or status. The Vanguad and the factions all cling desperately to positions. We all grind for that next arbitrary rank in crucible. We want more numbers. Bigger numbers and better numbers than our friends. It's more subtle than the physical hoarding, but it's still there.
I think that's why Guall's attack hit us so hard. Sure it killed people, but everything does that. But for a bit, we lost everything we guarded. Our guns, our gear, our ships and sparrows. Our ranks, our power, our people. Even our Light. For a while, we were guardians of nothing.
"What is taking so long? I just asked you to get me a gun out of my bag and it's been like five minutes" asks a warlock as he rounds to face his friend. The friend in question sits waist deep in a pile of guns, synths, and assorted items, looking both annoyed and confused as they begin to speak.
"How are you doing this? I have been shaking this bag for the last four minutes straight and it never stops spitting out garbage. Is it bottomless or something? Does it contain a portal to the guns and garbage dimension?"
"Oh yeah, it's that bag. Well I have two theories. The first I like to call the Big Bag Theory. I think that I have used so much magic around that bag that some has seeped into its very being over time. It just kept concentrating until it created a pocket dimension with everything I have ever put in contained. No matter how much you take out, there will always be more. Haven't you noticed that some of the things you have pulled out are duplicates of things that you already took out? It must be locked in a quantum state where everything inside both exists and doesn't until you take it out, making it technically limitless."
"Wow, really?"
"Alternatively, I could have told Yew to hide in there and keep transmatting random junk from my vault in as you emptied it out. You know, just to fuck with you. But isn't the magic bag theory more fun?"
The titan glowers at their friend as muffled laughter can be heard from the inside of the very much mundane bag.
The topic of the Nine can be a touchy subject for some guardians. I mean, they are invisible magical planets that have an unknown amount of power and goals alien to our own. At least with the Hive gods we know we can kill them with enough concentrated firepower. We can't even hurt the Nine unless we are willing to remove all life from the solar system then blow up a few planets.
This especially annoys the Vanguard, the control freaks that they are. If the strategy of "throw teams of six at a problem until it stops breathing" followed by "steal everything shiny that's not nailed down" fails to resolve the issue, then they try to use bureaucracy. They try to keep us from associating too much with them. "Don't talk about classified information around Xur or the Emissary" this and "Don't trust trust the Drifter" that. I'm pretty sure they are the ones who got the Trials shut down too, but that's a conspiracy theory at best. Not that it matters anyway, considering they're probably omniscient.
Personally, I think that having them around is in our best interest. Aside from the fact that I support peace and friendship with anyone not actively trying to murder us at this point, from a utilitarian perspective, they need us more than we need them. If we die, they die. If they die, nothing happens to us. Of course, they are working on that and I wish them the best of luck, but for now our interests are required to align. And considering every other species that we've encountered has actively tried to murder us all upon first contact, that makes us practically best friends.
Two friends sit talking on top of a skyscraper that just reaches well above the clouds. Below them sprawls a gleaming metropolis that extends as far as the eye can see. The sky is clear and bright, without a hint of smog or rain. Overall, it is a beautiful day on Venus.
"You ever feel like something is missing?"
"What do you you mean? We literally have everything. Ever since the Traveler showed up a few millennia ago, things have just gotten better and better. We colonized every planet in the system and a few beyond, we solved scarcity, and now no one has to work anymore if they don't want to. Hell, we even cured death a while back. I mean, there was that thing with those evil pyramid things a few decades ago, but we sorted them out pretty quickly, with all the warning the Traveler gave us and all the time we had to prepare. What could possibly be wrong?"
"I don't know. It all just feels anticlimactic, you know?"
...
Simulation #540608849333807 Results:
Processing Power Required For Simulation: High
Paracausal Interference: Extreme
Accuracy: Within Acceptable Range
Premise: Golden Age collapse averted via failure of Darkness to locate Traveler before overwhelming force was accumulated.
Outcome: Convergence rendered unobtainable before heat death of the universe due to excessive presence of Light based paracausal interference and high level of human technological progress.
Timeline Deemed Nonviable
Simulation #540608849333807 Terminated
"You ever notice that the best weapons are the ones you make yourself?"
"What do you mean?"
"Well not to insult SUROS, their weapons are fine, but they don't hold a candle to the stuff the Black Armory lets you make. Also, magic doesn't come premade. Thorn, Deathbringer, Bad Juju, we had to put those without more than vague guidance. Anytime we want something good, we have to forge it ourselves."
"Well, you know what they say. If you want it done right, commit the necessary atrocities yourself."
"You know that isn't what they say, right?"
"Ugh, I've been translating too much Hive lore."
While I can appreciate the work that they do to protect the Last City, I honestly cannot stand the Praxic Order. At their best, they are warriors of the Light that honestly do what they think will stop the Darkness, even if they go about it like zealots. At their worst, they can act like thugs, going out of their way to intimidate anyone who tries to study the Darkness into abandoning their work and threatening to kill them otherwise. Most of them are better than that and there are a few who I even respect, but the sight of them gives me a headache. While their goal seems noble, they fail to see the subtleties.
Take their stance on guardians using the Thorn. They heavily discourage its use and sometimes go as far as to trail users in case they are Shadows of Yor. At the same time, the promote the use of Lumina and its reproduction. One is decried as a tool of Darkness and the other hailed as a weapon of the Light. As a proud owner of both, I can tell you that they are practically the same weapon. Sure, one is white and the other a dark black, but they both steal the life energy of their victims to empower themselves. The only difference is in how the stolen essence is redistributed. Do they honestly think that the health it restores comes from nowhere?
Of course, that is just a microcosm of my issue with their ideals. If we are to save ourselves, we need all of the power we can get, even if the source is impure. Attempting to ban the use of Darkness in service of the Light holds us back. I've seen Fallen squadrons break and flee from watching one of their comrades break into ashes as a single bullet wound eats them from the inside out. Sure, a bullet from a Thorn kills worse, but because of it I've had to kill less. It is a display of danger, unlike the Lumina, which displays beauty before function. No one avoids a rosebush because of its beauty. They are careful because behind every delicate rose is a thorn to keep it safe. As guardians, we cannot afford to be the innocent roses, free of guilt or pain. That we leave to the civilians of the city so that we may one day join them. For now, we must bear the burden of the thorns, inflicting harm on any threats, no matter how we must do it and no matter how it may leave us broken. When we succeed, then there will be time to heal. But for now, we must be thorns.
A concerned guardian stands in the doorway of their friend's study. Inside, a frazzled looking warlock is scrawling notes with handwriting almost as indecipherable as the Hive language they are studying. The glow of the runes cast a green light on the face of the exo, forming shadowy bags under his eyes. He looks up from his work as his friend begins to speak.
"Ash, you look terrible. When was the last time you took a day off? No, forget that, when was the last time you even slept?"
"Does dying count as sleeping?"
"No."
"In that case, I don't know. I think it was Thursday."
"Today is Wednesday."
From beneath a pile of scrolls, a muffled voice joins the conversation.
"First of all, it wasn't even a Thursday this month. Secondly, could someone please help me out here."
Surprised by the voice of his ghost, the warlock quickly unearths his buried ghost. Now freed, the bemused companion floats up to hover above her guardian's shoulder.
"Sorry Yew. I was wondering where you had gone. How did you end up under there anyway?"
"I fell asleep. Honestly, it's a miracle you haven't collapse yet. The only rest you have gotten in the past week was the time one of your expirements killed you and even that was only for the few seconds until I could resurrect you."
"Technically, exos don't have to sleep. Nor do we have to take days off."
Finally shaken out of their shocked stupor by that statement, the titan calmly walks into the room and proceeds to throw the warlock over their shoulder. They protest weakly as they are carted off before they fall silent. Ignoring their protestations, the titan explains what is going to happen to happen, making it clear that their cargo has no choice in the matter.
"That does it, you are taking a day off. No! You are taking a week off. You may not physically have to sleep, but it is terrible for you mentally. Not to mention the effect that prolonged exposure to all this Hive stuff must be having on you. Don't bother trying to argue, I won't take no for an...
Aaaannd he fell asleep."
You know, it's funny. Before the Golden Age and the Collapse, we used to look up at the Moon with a sense of wonder and fascination. My past life even had the pattern of the dark side engraved into the metal of my back, along with a few stars. It was always a source of serenity, a nightlight to brighten the dark. It was our beacon in the dark that outshone any star out in the inky black. But now the dark has taken it from us.
Now, when I look the Moon, I feel a twinge of fear take hold. It feels like there is a gun leveled at my head that could be fired at any moment. The Hive crawl all over its surface and through its caverns, desecrating it with their filthy rituals and larvae. They swarm like bees, ready to sting at any moment, needing no provocation or reasoning other than the chance to spread their grasp and slaughter the innocent. At the center of it all, there is the queen. They are just one being, damaged and trapped, but still they have spread their Nightmares everywhere. They are just the first of many to come.
From my room in the City, I can't see any of them, but I know they are there. Every time I look at it, I remember how powerless I was against just one of those Pyramids and imagine how many more their are. I can still feel the brush against my mind and body as the Nightmares drew close and the ship possessed my ghost. My best friend was taken from me and all I could do to get her back was follow the instructions her puppeteer gave. It toyed with me and I couldn't do anything.
I used to love the dark side of the Moon because I could never see it. Now I love it because I don't have to.
Humanity stands like a young sapling in an old forest. We have so much potential to grow large and prosper. We were on our way even before the Traveler ushered in the Golden Age. With just a little room and a bit of time, we could have been something great. But it was not to be, because we started our journey late. We were not in some bright clearing or field. No, we exist in the long shadow of the old races. The Hive came and blotted out our Light with their Darkness. It was so easy too, for they have enjoyed the benefits of maturity and age for billions of years before our little star even began to form, let alone our race. So, here in the shade of the old and the Darkness, we are left with two choices.
We can allow ourselves to wilt away into dust and rot, just a minor footnote in the logs of the Hive. It would be so easy. If we just stopped fighting, they would gladly wipe us without a shred of hesitation or remorse. If we were lucky, some of us might be taken by the Cabal as oddities or a new client race. Maybe some would survive the purge for a time, huddled together in the cold until nature runs its course or they find themselves at the end of a scout's gun. Our spark would go out and be forgotten in the shade. However, we have never chosen the easy path.
In order for a sapling to prosper, the old growth must be cut away. The old trees must be chopped away and cut down to size. Only then can the light pierce through the dark. Only then can the weak and the young begin to grow.
So take up your Light and your guns and wield them like an axe. Cut and cut and cut until the rivers run brown with the sap of the old trees. Cut until the Dark is no more than an old story that we tell our children. Cut until there is nothing left between you and the Sky. Today they may cast a long shadow, but tomorrow they will cast a shadow no longer.
In a cluttered study tucked away deep in the Last City, an exo bangs his head on the table. The slight force imbalances several stacks of notes and books, sending a cascade of work into the floor. Nearby, a ghost floats, watching with mild amusement. Still with their head down, the exo mutters to his ghost.
"Yew, do we have any more ideas on how to break the curse on the Dreaming City."
"Well, there was the one about singlehandedly killing Dûl Incaru while empowered with a massive quantity of Light."
"Didn't we decide not to try because it was likely a trap or trick to waste our time in addition to being nearly impossible?"
"Yes, but I only mention it because someone reportedly just did it. It apparently took weeks of constant work and preparation. Quite impressive."
The exo's head shoots up in surprise, looking hopefully at his ghost.
"Really?! Did it work? Please tell me it did"
"No. Furthermore, there seem to be reports from guardians about hearing strange laughter and experiencing memory loss following the attempt."
Wordlessly, the exo stands and walks to one of the many displays flowing through the room. While the rest are cluttered with notes, this one has just two words and numerous tallies. One side reads "Guardians" and lies empty. The other side reads "Savathûn" and has far too many tallies for comfort. With a sigh, he adds one more to the count. The ghost snickers.
"Should I even ask why you have a screwdriver in you head?"
"Ok, so you know how exos can have the same base body but different colored eyes? Well, I think it might be a setting I can manually adjust and I want a new look."
"Then buy some shaders. All you are going to do is blind yourself."
"No I'm not, and even if I did you could just revive me good as new.
There, I think I got it. Let's see, red, orange, white..."
"Black?"
"No, I blinded myself. I'll just turn it back... and its stuck."
"I told you."
"You did. Now just reset me before I fall off the Tower."
"In a bit. It's funny to watch you stumble. I'll be back one have learned your lesson. In the meantime, enjoy your new look."
"Hilarious Yew...
You still there, Yew?
Well, she's gone."
"Look, it's a shooting star! Make a wish."
"I thought that the Vanguard told us all not to do that anymore, after the Ahamkara kept using it to secretly grant Guardians wishes against their will."
"Don't worry about that. They were all killed in the Great Hunt, remember? It is completely safe now."
"Fine, I suppose you are right. What should I wish for?"
"It really doesn't matter. Just think of a wish and think hard about it."
"Ok.
...There, I made a wish. Is it just me, or are your gauntlets a bit shinier? And do you hear that quite, raspy laughter?"
"Hehe. I'm sure your just imagining things."
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Wow, that was the last one. Thanks to @destcember for the great prompts and thanks to everyone for reading! Happy New Years.
Of all the places that I have been, perhaps the one that awed me the most my first time being there was Mara Sov's throne world, specifically the Queen's Court. It was such a beautiful sight, looking out past the edge of the universe and seeing. I stood there for as long as I could, until Mara started less than subtly suggesting that I should leave. It isn't just her Court that is beautiful. While I was Dûl Incaru, what I saw of the rest of her throne world looked like it would be almost as awe inspiring as her Court once the damage Oryx did is repaired. If we ever manage to end all of the wars we are fighting, maybe I will be able to find myself a place with such a view. Perhaps a little home on Pluto, without any light pollution to obscure my view. Or, if I can master enough kinds of magic, I could carve myself out a bit of the ascendant plane. Hell, even the Drifter managed to get himself a slice to store his Taken monsters in, as small and ramshackle as it may be. Yeah, I think I'll look into that. Surely all that killing that I have had to do recently must be good for something.
Honestly, I think that humanity is cursed. Not the kind of curse that the Dreaming City is facing, mind you. No, I am referring to something much more subtle and intangible. At least in the Dreaming City, we know its source and can eventually find a solution. The curse that I'm talking about is more of a string of bad luck. A sort of twisting of fate that has landed us all in an almost impossibly bad situation. Just think about it. In only a few centuries, we went from several billion to just a few million people. We went from fully covering our planet and beginning to extend outward to a single city. We are now fighting at least four wars, depending on how you count, and are at war with every single alien species that we have encountered. The only being that has not tried to kill us is the Traveler, and it is currently more or less in a coma and it was the one that attracted most of our problems. In addition to all of the perpetual wars that we are fighting, a new, potentially world ending catastrophe pops up every every few months. One of our enemies suddenly has a new, stronger, more ruthless leader; or gains a new source of power; or one of their previously unknown plans, years in the making, is about to come to fruition. It has happened at least half a dozen times just since I was revived a few years ago and I assume it will keep happening indefinitely. Despite everything, I am still hopeful. I believe that we will break the curse on the Dreaming City, and then we will break the curse on humanity. And if we fail, then at least we can die trying.
I was born three times in my life. Once of flesh, once of iron, and once of Light.
My first birth was of flesh. This is the one that I know least about. I know that I was born a human boy, with parents and a family. I likely had a home. All of that is gone now. I cannot remember anyone or anything from that time, not even the way I looked.
My second birth was of iron. Taken from my human body and turned into and exo. I cannot be sure why I did it or how, but I think it was a choice that I made of my own free will. If I did choose it, it would have been to extend my life or to improve myself. That seems like what I would have done, if I were the same person then as I am now, which I am not entirely sure of.
My last birth was of Light. Revived as a guardian to serve humanity and live my third life. Thankfully, this life at least I can remember. Though my life ends almost daily, it never truly does, thanks to the power of the Light and my ghost. Since it is the one that I live now, it is the one that matters most, but if I were given a choice, I would learn all I could about my other two lives.
So, I was born three times. Born, reborn, reborn. Human, Exo, Guardian. Flesh born, Ironborn, Lightborn.
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Sorry for the brevity and below average quality. I had an extremely busy day today and didn't have much free time to work on this.
There are a quite a few voices in my head. Most of them are my fault and can be suppressed. The whispers of worms, ahamkara, my conscience. All have easy solutions, but there is one that I can hardly hear. It whispers, quietly but insistently, in the very back part of my mind. I can almost never hear it, like a fly in another room. It gets quiter the further away from the City I get, but I know it's still there. But sometimes, when I die or am in the very center of the City, I can just make out the voice. It whisper so many things. PROTECT THEM. FIGHT FOR ME. GROW STRONGER. DON'T QUESTION. FORGET. OBEY. It isn't like the other voices either. They all seem to come from without, but this one emanates from within. Is it why I can't remember my past? I don't think that I should ask anyone about this.
Every time I sleep I have the same dream. I doesn't matter if I take a five minute nap or sleep for twelve hours, I dream of this and nothing else. I am standing in the a field of purple millet, stretching as far as I can see. There is a cool breeze at my back, pushing me forward. Behind me is the setting sun. In front of me is a tower, reaching up above the clouds. It is not The Tower, but is somehow just as familiar, even though I have no memory of ever being here while awake. I have to walk towards the tower, because the dream will never end otherwise. I have tried standing still, walking away, and even having Yew wake me up as soon as I fall asleep, but I only wake up once I walk into the tower. After a few minutes of walking, I reach a clearing. Across from me, the ornate doors of the tower stand, both imposing and inviting. But between myself and the doors, there is a massive yew tree, glowing slightly from within. Beneath the shade of its branches, there is a wooden table, two chairs, and a chess board, set just as I left it last time, white for me and black for her. Sitting across the table, reading a book and waiting for me, is the ahamkara Ephialtes. I have never seen her reading the same book twice and I have never found or heard of any of the books while awake, but she assures me they are all real. She doesn't always look the same, but across all her forms she retains her startlingly purple eyes and slightly too sharp teeth. Sometimes we talk, sometimes we play, but always she tries to strike a deal. Usually I refuse, but on a rare occasion, we can come to an agreement. Once we are done or I get tired of talking, I walk through the tower doors and wake up. I used to dream of other things, but I traded that away in our first deal. Hers were the strongest of the bones that I had collected, her whispers invading every waking thought while I was anywhere nearby. But, she was too knowledgeable and powerful, so it would have been an unbearable loss to rid myself of her. So I made her a deal. She would no longer whisper to me without consent and would use her power to suppress the whispers from the rest of my collection, and in return, she could inhabit my dreams, negotiating with me every night, and I wouldn't put her bones inside a silver lined safe and drop it into the Mariana Trench. She agreed and now I dream of this and nothing else. It isn't all bad. My old dreams were not that great and Ephialtes isn't bad company, if a bit manipulative. Enjoy your dreams, if you can. Sweet dreams.
It took me all year, but I've managed to find the perfect Dawning gift for everyone and today is the day I give them all out. I start in the Tower and work outward. For Ikora, I got a new bond. I had an amazing tailor in the City modify one of Cayde's old capes that I found in one of his caches. For Amanda, I got a new set of wrenches and engine that I salvaged from a Fallen skiff. For Banshee, I got a new gun repair kit and several interesting Dark Age guns from the Drifter. I gave the Drifter a few pieces of the Vex's Black Heart that I have been saving to research, since he is so interested in the Darkness, and a few cookies. I just met Ada recently, so all I could think to get her was as many of the pages from her book as I could reclaim from the Scourge Syndicate. I had gotten Eris a new wrap for eyes, but I guess that it will have to wait until I find her.
From there, I went out into the rest of the system. For Devrim, I got an assortment of rare teas from the City and the Reef. For Asher, I got him a sleeve for his human arm and metal polish mixed with a slight anaesthetic for his Vex arm. I also got him the core of Panoptes, which I managed to take before the simulation collapsed. Hopefully it will help with his research on a cure for his corruption. For the Spider, I found a number of the most ancient and interesting human artifacts that I could find and an intact ghost shell that I bought off the black market in the City. For Mithrax, I got the mantle of a Kell, in hopes that he will grow into it. I got Petra a fance eyepatch, a brand new knife, and panoramic picture of Mara's throne world. For Mara, and as a favor to Lord Shaxx, I brought her the bow that Shaxx bought her and his note, I found her several books of Shakespeare, including a new copy of the Tempest, and gave her my personal promise to do everything within my power to protect her reborn brother.
Finally, and most importantly, I made a brand new shell for Yew. That one was probably the most difficult one of all. To make sure that it would be a surprise, I convinced her to go on several tedious errands, taking messages for me all across the City and Tower. While she was gone, I payed Ada a small fortune in Glimmer, Shards, and favors in order to forge a nearly indistructable shell shielded by fine Black Armory metal. Then, I convinced Tess to help me make the shell aesthetically perfect and suited to Yew's tastes. It was more than worth all of the effort and cost to see her expression and happiness when I gave it to her.
I love the Dawning.
Praise the Sun. A gentle caress for friends. A warm, healing fire, cauterizing wounds, mending bones, and regrowing wounds. A searing flame to foes. Burning away the dark undergrowth, allowing new growth to flourish. Wielded by the benevolent protectors, the kindly healers, and those who want to burn away their foes.
Praise the Arc. The crackle of thunder is the only warning you will get before you dissolve into static and the smell of ozone. Bright and crackling, it stands at the eye of the storm, laughing as the wind whips and the rain lashes. With blades, bolts, and crackling fists it moves through the battlefield. Wielded by the restless, lovers of natural chaos, and those charged with emotions.
Praise the Void. The darkness between stars. The cold embrace of oblivion granted to those who dare to stand between it and its goal. The whispers that tell of forbidden secrets, the flicker of forgotten knowledge at the corners of your mind. With a cackle, it discovers that which it has searching for, be it the last scrap of information to solve a great mystery or a huddle foe, terrified of what they know is about to happen. Wielded by the dedicated scholars, the half mad holders of dangerous secrets, and those who stalk the night.
Praise the Light. The source of the each of the prismatic colors, Solar, Arc, and Void. The shining glimmer within the Dark. The last bastion of warmth against the cold night. It is the brilliant radiance that shines withing every guardians. But be wary, as the road to Hell is paved with good intentions, and those who stare to long into the Light often look away to find themselves having become become fanatics or knights templar. And do not put down your guard, for wherever the Light goes, it is always followed by the Dark, as the Day is followed by the Night.
I've noticed that anyone who gives themselves a title of royalty, no matter their title or race, always seem to end of mad or dead. There are examples from every faction and species. The Eliksni have the Kells for royalty. As far as I know, they are all dead. Hopefully Variks and Mithrax will do better. The Cabal have have Emperor Calus, dethroned and probably more than a little mad, and Dominus Ghaul, dead at our hands. The Hive have the Osmium King, lost to the madness of the worms; King Oryx, Prince Crota, Prince Nokris, and the worm god Xol, all dead at our hands; and the worm god Akka, killed by their servant Oryx. The Vex have their pseudo-god the Black Heart, killed by us. Most of the Iron Lords have died horribly. The Hunter Vanguards have a terrible survival rate. Even the Awoken have had royalty follow the pattern, with Queen Mara Sov dying and Prince Uldren Sov both going mad and dying, though death seems to have been a bit more lenient for them. So, you should probably never take a title, as you are almost guaranteed to be a victim of madness, regicide, deicide, or some combination of the the three, probably by one of us guardians. Personally, I plan to follow my own advice and never get roped into ruling anyone.
The Drifter walks a fine line, a tightrope made of the sharpest razor wire. On one side lies the forces of the Light, with the forces of the Vanguard and the Man with the Golden Gun ready to strike if they suspect that he has gone too far. On the other, the forces of the Dark, ready to consume him or break his mind if he makes a mistake. If he wavers, he will fall to one side or the other. Too late to stop or turn back, he walks on, hoping to eventually reach his goal. He uses the the Dark to fight the Dark, using Guardians to kill the enemies of humanity and collect the Motes of Dark that fall from their corpses. His menagerie of constructed monsters and summoned horrors slaver to consume, accepting motes in lieu of consuming a guardian's light to turn their path of slaughter where the Drifter directs. But I've noticed however many motes he uses to conduct his games, there are always far more collected than used. I don't know what he plans for them, but I want in. I understand that it may take more than the Light to beat the Dark. So I work with the Eliksni and bargain with the Ahamkara. And I do his bounties, and earn the ranks, and bank the motes. I use weapons of the Dark Age and forged a new Weapon of Sorrow. I will earn his trust, even if it puts me on Malphur's list. Because I believe that the Drifter's Gambit will pay off, and when it does, I want to have been a part of it.
"Hey Ash."
"Yes?"
"I've been meaning to ask you. Where did you get that Fallen mantle that you're always wearing?"
"Oh, I got it from a high stakes on a Fallen Captain."
"Come on, you can't leave me with that. Tell me the whole story."
"Fine, but you have to promise not to tell anyone about this, alright?"
"I promise."
"So do you remember a while back when I helped an Eliksni Captain named Mithrax fight of a Hive Knight and he left me the reactor he was going after as thanks?"
"I do."
"I felt bad about taking the reactor that he needed so badly, so I search around and managed to find an alternative one. It wasn't nearly as good, but it was enough to get myself in his good graces. Since then, whenever I have fought any Eliksni and found extra either on them, I take it to Mithrax and his crew. I have managed to bring quite a lot. He has grown somewhat since we first met, probably from that extra either, and as thanks for my help, he gave me this mantle that he outgrew."
" ...You know that if the Vanguard found out about this, they would probably call it treason, right?"
"I do. That's why I said it is a gamble."
I've never been sure if we could trust Rasputin. I'm not like Zavala, thinking that we should just abandon attempting to gain his help completely, but he does seem erratic. He helped us to fight off Xol on Mars, but that was more out of self interest. He has abandoned us so many times in the past, despite his reason for creation being to help us. Where was he during the the Collapse and the Dark Age, when he could have been fighting off the Eliksni or helping us rebuild? Where was he during the Taken War, when he could have been helping us fight off Oryx? Where was he during the Red War, when the last bastion of humanity was being destroyed and the Light being snuffed out? I want to trust him, I really do, but where was he? Where was my Warmind?
One of the hardest parts of being a guardian is finding a worthy weapon to use. Personally, there are only three sources that I trust for consistent quality. The first is Ikelos and Rasputin. They consistently produce high quality weapons with devastating power, but at the cost of being a massive pain to obtain. Among my favorite of their work are the Sleeper Stimulant and the IKELOS_SG_v1.0.1. The second source that I trust is the Drifter and his old, possibly Darkness infused guns. His ancient Dark Age weapons have a brutality that the Vanguard just isn't willing to produce. It took me a long time to get him to hand over his best stock, especially the Breakneck and Malfeasance. The final source is a new addition to my list, Ada-1 and her Black Armory. I haven't managed to get much from her yet, but everything that I have convinced her to give me has been a piece of art, beautiful and deadly. So, if you're in the market for a new weapon, go with one of these three. You won't regret it.
"Are you sure now is the time to be dancing?"
"I'm sure."
"Because you are surrounded by Hive."
"Yes Yew, I know that."
"Then why are you dancing?"
"Because I am completely out of ammo, grenades, melee abilities, rifts, and health and we are in a Darkness Zone, so you can't revive me here. I have 30 more seconds until I can use my super and the only thing I could think to do to stall was dance. If I stop now, they will kill us both. So, that is why I'm dancing"
"Oh, well I suppose dancing is what to do."
People often long for past days. The days before the Collapse, back in the Golden Age. And it makes sense, considering how hectic things have been recently. But for me, past days have never been what I longed for. I can't remember my past, so all I have to long for is the future. And I do believe that the future will be better than the past, even better than the Golden Age. Though we have lost much since then, we have gained much too. We are more diverse than we were, having gained the Awoken, the Ghosts, and hopefully someday the Fallen too. We are more unified than ever before, being joined into one by tragedy. We know we are not alone, that there are others besides ourselves and the Traveller. If we fight for it, the future will be better than the past. So long not for past days and instead work towards future days. May our second Golden Age far outshine our first.
A lone guardian falls to the ground, finally succumbing to their numerous wounds, inflicted by the Red Legion invaders. The ground around them is carpeted with the bodies of their fallen foes, having taken down dozens before falling to the endless tide. Though they still live, they are unable to so much as lift their head, weakened as they are from their wounds and the loss of their Light. A Cabal Gladiator approaches, flanked by several Legionnaires, moving confidently now that their prey is weak. The guardian can only watch as the Gladiator approaches, hoping that their resistance has bought the civilians they were protecting enough time to escape. The Gladiator chuckles as it saunters up to the guardian, raising its sword to strike the final blow. But before the sword can fall, the Gladiators helmet and head are crushed by a massive chunk of debris, thrown from above. As the body of their comrade crumples to the ground, the Legionairs look up in shock, only to suffer a similar fate. From the roofs, a number of citizens look on, satisfied with their grim work. From an alleyway, two more emerge, each gently slinging one of the Guardian's arms over their shoulders and carrying them away. Just as the Guardain had guarded them, now they would guard the Guardian.
The best weapons are forged in battle. Guns are a good example of this principle. The Whisper of the Worm is the remnants of a dead god, left to us to feed it in the manner of the Sword Logic after we were able to kill three enemies of the past, revived to fight us once again. Also exemplary are the weapons offered by the Black Armory. Every weapon they produce is a lethal work of art, all because of their delicate calibrations from data gathered through combat. But the best proof of all is guardians. Sure, you could train a guardian in peacetime, without any practical combat, but something would be lost. Battle forges a guardian, hardening us to the trials that we face while fighting. The pain of bullets ripping into your body. The searing burn of a grenade or rocket hitting just at your feet. The icy grip of death, albeit temporary. Without battle to harden us, when the time comes, we would break.