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wlw-lovestruck-fiction · 3 years

Note

Mc being super drunk and dragging Cecelia to dance with her. At first Cecelia is worried about MC but ends up having fun dancing with her and enjoys her flirty drunk personality. At the end of the night, MC sinks into Cecelia’s embrace as they slow dance

Written by: @evoedbd

The Saloon was alive. The throbbing heartbeat of the sleepy little town, Wisp Willow. As the sun sulked, and the moon reigned, the Saloon roused. Even the most straight laced of folk came in from the unforgiving cold, lured in by the smell of fine food, of cigar smoke and leather. Of a home away from the homes many had left for their new start out in the Devil’s Backbone. People sat in clusters around their tables, laughter and chatter floating on a tide of wistful piano notes or a swish of Ada’s skirts. Some danced to the jolly jigs, kicking their heels and trying not to entomb their spurs in the floorboards in their drunken staggering. The sound of boots across the floor only added a beat, an intimacy to the din. Din which flittered by those seated around a table in the corner, just to the left of the door. The table with the greatest vantage point.

An odd bunch they were, none looking like another. No rhyme or reason as to why they��d be seated together, let alone throwing coin with laughter and barbs of their own. Yet not one person in that Saloon, dead drunk or stone cold sober, would deny how intimate the table was. How comfortable they were with one another. They shared the type of security come from risking life and limb together, they did. The Wardens. Nobody knew just what they did or who they were, precisely, only that even the Sherrif made way for them. That made folks antsy round them. It was safer to avoid that type of crowd when possible. Less complications that way. Thus, nobody paid them heed, offering the perfect place to relax and unwind for the unusual crowd.

“Who knew all it takes is a few drinks to make the Moonlit Outlaw play like crap?” At the table, Nathan Cayde’s voice cut above the din, the lilt of his voice strutting through the sound of the upbeat piano.

That earned a huff from Roslyn Arosi, the forementioned Moonlit Outlaw.

Nathan’s earnest glee radiated from him, almost as if he were a cool breeze in the harsh frontier desert. With his lively, deep blue eyes glimmering like a mirage, lips peeled into a good-natured smile. It never ceased to amaze her how he could smile like this, as if his actions weren’t a one-way ticket to disappointment on a bad hoss. Least he wasn’t some yellow belly, the way he gigged up to the table of cheats, seers and demons. Perhaps his ghastly status was enough to earn him some reprise, yet it wasn’t bout to save his dignity. A fact proven by the cackle which came from the impish woman across the table the moment Nathan’s money collided with the wood.

He shook his head, drawing Roslyn’s attention. His wavy locks, one many might be long to cut to lessen such a beautiful man, proved aptly distracting to The Moonlit Outlaw. Lord’s mercy, was it wrong to want to run her fingers through those fine hairs? To see if the beginnings of curls felt as smooth as they looked? It wasn’t like she was fixing for his bed, nor pressed for fine company in said regard, but watching those locks bounce with every tilt of his head, or the broody fix of his chapped lips, roused a curiosity in her drunken state. She watched the ends bounce round his jawline, contrasting the harsh line of his beard. A beard better suited to the Ace-High parts of town, a dab too neat for the rougher parts, but by the devil’s charm did it gruff up Nathan’s otherwise baby like face. For all his chiseled jawline, the grizzled gauntness to his cheeks and heavier brows, his petite little nose added this aspect of utter adorability to the man, enough that the moonlit outlaw found herself fixing to bop it… or maybe poke it? A little pinch to the adorable button?

She settled for a sloppy poke to his cheek, which earned a chorus of amused laughter. Even Roslyn laughed, though, she wasn’t quite sure why. It felt good to laugh with friends, to let go, even with Fiona sitting across the table like a predatory cat ready to devour the mice. Roslyn swore she could almost see a tail swishing, though that might have also been the alcohol flooding her veins.

“Come on, Roslyn. Show us some spark.” If Nathan’s voice had been a strut, Fiona’s goading words were a skip. A teasing, coy swish of skirts and mysterious smile to match the Seer’s very nature. Keen, golden brown eyes twinkled; their brightness only intensified by the smudged, dark eyeshadow. Fiona made no effort to hide her borderline sadistic mirth as she sized up the table, lording her knowledge over them with taps of her armored fingers against the backs of her cards and a subtle glint of teeth in an overly satisfied smirk, added to a subtle downturn of a pointed chin to her collar; a demure little jest between those at the table. The almost childish image of braids peeping from beneath her hood added to long with the tufts of an unevenly cut fringe, didn’t detract from the spooky allure. Here she was, optimism and mischief, cheekiness and mysterious magnetism set upon an undercurrent of a mournful disconnect, all wrapped into a woman strutting a line between adorable and sexy with an element of spook that set many hearts fluttering. Of course, butterflies did nothing to soften the downright wicked grin as Fiona continued tapping, a subtle reminder to all that the only other human at the table held the future in her palms. Was savoring her victory, toying with everyone there like an adolescent cat having found a wayward old mouse.

“She’s saving it for her bed tonight.” Sascha purred, the wicked upturn of his lips leaving nothing to speculation when it came to the meaning of his words. As always, his voice was almost liquid sex, a dose of lust accompanying his crude observation. Roslyn could almost feel heated breath across her ear, the seduction in the words translated directly to her soul, drawing out every memory of what could follow. His little trick radiated through the room, had women shuffling awkwardly in their seats, men clearing their throats just a tad too loudly as they tugged at their neck ties. Even the pianist stuttered, a key pressed a tad too roughly, slipped off.

A mood killer if ever there was one. Roslyn flinched, hand tipping for the briefest moment. Enough for Sascha to get a glance of her cards, she wagered.

Sascha Orosco looked far too pleased with himself as he slouched back in his chair, fixing the table with one of his feline grins. An expression designed to be kissed away, hard and demanding. All lust and unquenched heat. A devil’s snare if ever there was one. Not that a jawline stronger than a king’s military didn’t help, nor those high cheekbones, sharp enough to cut yourself on. He was the type of man momma told you not to run off with, the type who promised to leave you ruined by the time he burned through you… but being burned was too much a thrill to ignore.

“A chance to play to the gallery? I’d love to” The witch retorted, words slurring together a little. She had to pretend not to notice the ripple of concern travel throughout the group. The guilt briefly illuminating Sascha’s magenta eyes. Darn it all, she hadn’t meant to find herself so deep in cups, hells bells, she’d even partaken of less than her usual amount. She never should have listened to Sascha, have branched from her usual poisons. She may be a woman of many, many vices, but her vices were all kept rightly in check. If not by her own efforts, then by her partner’s. When working alongside the Desert Rose of the Devil’s Backbone, one learned quickly to keep their wits about them.

Her lips twitched. She was always aware of the regal vampire’s presence. The untamed beauty. A queen of the night, much like the Queen’s in a few hands. It was easy to imagine Cecelia’s face upon those cards, fangs and bloodied butterflies, sharpness nipping at the fingers touching her, or a blow to Nathan’s boots. His grunt was enough for Roslyn’s magic to spark, to bring about the drunken images of dancing numbers, of beating hearts and digging spades. Effortless. A breath. A laugh at the startled faces of her competitors, except Fiona. The mystic was too busy smiling like a cat who’d just lapped up the last of the cream.

“Ahhh.” The seer began, her voice amazingly bored. A dexterous flick of her wrist had her cards spraying across the table, a pair of aces hiding amongst them, to land directly in front of a grumbling Nathan.

“Well… I fold.” Fiona’s casual surrender was delivered with a perfectly innocent shrug. Roslyn’s eyes narrowed. Even sunken to the ocean floor, she could read that something was… off? It wasn’t her hood. Perhaps pantihose? No, somehow Fiona didn’t seem the sort to be reactive to that kind of thing. Or rather, not reactive in this way… With her dress being so short, wouldn’t everyone know if she was taking command of her nethers?

“Say what now?” Nathan gaped; his eyes fixed on her cards for a split second before shifting back to her face.

“I thought you were using your gifts to win, not buy all my expensive drinks.” Roslyn’s barb was met with a chuckle from the table, along with another innocent gesture from Fiona… Roslyn wasn’t buying the act. Not for a single second. Not even with Fiona’s money.

“You’re an absolutely delightful drunk, Miss Arosi. A worthy cause to lose a days payment to. I fold.” Sascha purred, his charm laid on thick, complete with a playful wink as he laid his cards down. Roslyn couldn’t relax, couldn’t focus, couldn’t think. Her eyes shifted between smirks, between sly grins exchanged around the table, all the way to Nathan’s grouchy huff.

“You’re not the ones who have to manhandle her and her little demon. I fold.”

“Hold on now!” Roslyn began, hand sliding across the table as she tried to right herself, intent on giving the cowboy a piece of her mind. It failed of course, given the room begun to swim, her chair tilted, until she surrendered to gravity and allowed herself to fall, full bodied onto the table.

“I’m the one roostered one, not Enzo.”

“If I don’t copper my bets, this game will last hours… besides, I foresee you’re going to be busy.” Fiona continued to tease, lifting a hand to dramatically touch the space between her eyes. She acted up the gig, Cheshire smile fixated so firmly in place Roslyn doubted when a herd of mustangs could drag it down. Sascha straightened before she could retort, his eyes shifting to the door, brightening with rich amusement and a deep seeded satisfaction, his need for lust sated for the moment.

“I foresee five foot ten. A rather fetching jawline. A smile sharper than moonlight on a starless night-”

“Cecelia!” Roslyn realized out loud, jerking up in her chair. She didn’t even hear Sascha, nor the table. There was a serenity to the presence approaching her, like the moment one went underwater in a cool, refreshing lake… followed by the hyperawareness of every droplet of water running across one’s skin when they surfaced; the jitters assaulting her in full swing. Those pesky nerves marched down her arms, lifting the hairs in places many might say hairs had no place rising. The moment before lightning sizzled in her veins, even as the breath of calm approached her from behind.

Instinctively, Roslyn turned to that presence, letting her gaze fall upon the Desert Rose.

“I didn’t even get to the marble bust-”

“Have some respect for the woman. She’s your boss!” Nathan’s scolding served as a timely interruption for Sascha’s playful leering. The Demon’s brows ceased wiggling, flicking for a breath before he commented offhandedly.

“I forgot I was drinking with a prude apparition.”

“I’ll give you an apparition.” Nathan grumbled, reaching for his bottle. Bottle? That was a good idea! Her mouth was quite dry after all, her head empty. Where was Roslyn’s drink again? Blindly, she groped around the table for it, only to find the welcoming rasp of well-loved wood.

“Judging by the gleam in your eye, Sascha, Roslyn’s providing quite a soaked feast.” Fiona’s words drew Roslyn’s attention. Damn it, the Seer’s golden eyes had too knowing a glint to them, a cat who’d gotten the cream, complete with a little milk moustache. Sascha wasn’t much better. The Incubas was practically preening as he leaned back in his chair, lazy, Cheshire smirk forming across her unfairly attractive lips.

“Half the patrons are. The Desert rose makes quite an entrance.”

That she did. Even across the room, Cecelia cut an intimidating figure. A blade through the night, straight to Roslyn’s gut. Goddess, Mother of Night, was Cecelia able to make an entrance. Demons strutted, Fiona kind of skipped, Nathan had this floatiness to him. But Cecelia… Cecelia redefined reality. The world existed only to be a backdrop to the Supernatural perfection of every step, smoother than any criminal could hope to be, the perfect predatory stalk reimagined into casual yet purposeful strides… So many conflictions that SHOULDN’T work, but Lord did they work for Cecelia Visconti.

Roslyn was stuck watching, breath catching at each stride, at the flex of those impossibly strong legs clad in form fitting charcoal black trousers. The casual confidence in those strides, the power of those legs… Roslyn had ridden horses with less. The smallest part of sense in her brain warned her to look away, her sluggish body thought that meant down. Straight to the vine engravings across Cecelia’s boots, gold gleaming across chocolate straps, which in turn bound midnight leather… it was a miracle that Roslyn did not collapse to her knees, that she could fight the urge to press her lips to those vines in devotion. Why else did such a perfect being exist if not to be worshipped?

“They damned well better be respectful about their thirsts. Cecelia could rightfully have their heads.” Nathan’s continued griping bought Roslyn a moment of clarity. The entire table could hear the underlying, unspoken threat to Nathan’s statement. That if Cecelia did not claim the heads, that Roslyn might have a collection of balls to kick down the streets. An image which had said Witch snorting before taking another healthy swig of her booze.

“Doubtful she’ll notice when Roslyn’s half seas over. She’ll soak up all of Cece’s attention.” The way Fiona practically purred the last word left very little to the imagination.

“She does seem to have partaken of too much alcohol.” The unmistakable voice of Cecelia Visconti echoed in Roslyn’s ears, serenading her mind in an untouched vault of time for sober her to process later on. This was accompanied by a grounding touch to her far shoulder, the tips of Cecelia’s claws prickling through Roslyn’s cottons. The Witch surrendered to baser instincts, shuddering with delight as she leaned back into the Vampire, head resting against the Immortal’s lace covered shoulder, and downright shamelessly admired Cecelia’s visage.

Cecelia was a beauty unlike any Roslyn had seen. The Vampire was every inch as regal as the Princesses from the worn fairytales tucked away in Roslyn’s rucksack. She was also the mysterious seductive huntress from the penny dreadfuls hiding beneath Roslyn’s pillows. Her lips were fine, bathed in midnight red which stood starkly from skin the delicate shades of fallen snow. Her pale complexion blended the cut of her jaw into the graceful heights of her cheekbones. The faintest dappling of blush concealed that supernatural perfection, blending Cecelia with the land of the mortal living. Even across the room, the deep greens and greys of her garb seemed unable to dull the glorious mane of chestnut, the luxurious hair hanging down below her shoulders… all lost to the devil’s snare of winter greys. Gentle eyes made to appear angular by an overly generous portion of eyeliner and smokey red eyeshadow.

“Or perhaps of a more potent variety. Tricks of an Incubas, perhaps?” Cecelia’s comment was accompanied by an accusatory brow arched in Sascha’s direction. Despite the inconvenience, Cecelia somehow seemed amused, fit to saw the Incubus. A mental game where she was steadily tightening a noose around the Incubus’ throat as she smiled. An undisguised trap she practically dared Sascha to sacrifice himself to, for what she might do if he didn’t simply acknowledge the corn. It seemed Sascha was not willing to take the risk, given his simple response.

“I would be amiss not to slake a lady’s thirst.”

“Slake?” Nathan demanded, laughter dancing beneath his tones.

“More like you aimed to drown her. She’s as full as a tick!”

At the confessions, at her victory, Cecelia seemed to preen. A quiet, subtle shift to how she held her head. She’d had her blood, albeit metaphoric, and was sated for the moment. The quiet tinge of smugness remained as she gathered her chair, and proceeded to ignore how the wood screeched as she dragged it across the floorboards. Even as she gathered her own chair, she never jostled her shoulder, never disrupted Roslyn’s drunken obsession. If anything, the Vampire seemed to encourage it, given the playful flicker of a wink she offered Roslyn once she finally managed to claim her seat.

It was unfair how such a simple expression could have Roslyn’s cheeks flushing with more than the warmth of her booze. How Cecelia’s quiet intensity could shake the Witch’s very foundations, until she had to look down like a blushing maiden. Of course, that meant she was face to bust with Cecelia. Hells Bells, she just wanted a fair shake at seeming like she had a control on her libido.

But how was it a fair shake when said bust was concealed only by see intricately decorated, rose vined lace which left the sharpness of her collarbones exposed like the worst kept, sexiest secret this side of the Devil’s Backbone? Roslyn’s cheeks flushed at the realization that it was not merely the lace panels of her grey button up, but Cecelia’s lacy undergarments that added to the teasing vision. It was only running into the hard edge of grey across the swell of Cecelia’s forementioned bust that broke Roslyn out of her thoughts, and mercifully tore her from the teasing of the black corset defining Cecelia’s boddice.

“Not to worry, miss Visconti, I’ve left a particular thirst for your enjoyment.” The Incubus commented, his pointed gaze fixed out on Roslyn and her current occupation. The entire table shuffled, gazes anywhere but where Roslyn’s was. That didn’t make sense to the drunken Witch. Cecelia was stunning, why ignore that? It wasn’t like Cecelia was hid- oh… Leering wasn’t becoming. But it was Cecelia! Innocently, Roslyn’s gaze rose, meeting Cecelia’s. Amusement twinkled there, the gleam of waves in oceans far deeper than anybody could comprehend. Whatever darkness swum in those depths were known to the depths alone, much like Cecelia’s thoughts. Much like her pains. It may have been the booze talking, or the heat of Cecelia’s gaze, but Roslyn was willing to drown in those depths if only to take a droplet of the pain from Cecelia’s lonesome.

“It seems this Witchling is drawn to things both deadly and beautiful.” Sascha’s words fell un unhearing ears.

“Cecelia, lovely, dance with me!” Roslyn was urging, sacrificing her place of comfort to spring to her feet. She lurched, held only by Cecelia’s gentle arm around her waist. The Witch fell, sprawling into Cecelia’s arms with nothing more than an excited giggle. The vampire’s chest heaved with suppressed laughter, even as those talons came to brush some of Roslyn’s hair away from a clammy forehead. There was such a tenderness to Cecelia’s innocent gesture, something that stole the breath from Roslyn’s chest even as Cecelia’s lower voice came.

“Oh Witchling, I doubt your feet would hold you to these tunes.”

“Don’t worry, Cece,” Fiona began, that mischievous grin coming back tenfold.

“I foresee the music is about to change.”

For a brief moment, Roslyn and Cecelia stared at the seer, both processing her words. The Saloon had fallen quieter, the makeshift dancefloor abandoned as the melancholy notes of the piano rung. It was as if the patrons dared not speak over the beauty, the story each note wove through their ears.

“I suspect this is more foreplaned than foreseen.” The note of skepticism within Cecelia’s voice had the table smiling. Even the lord of disapproval himself seemed to find something endearing about the antics. A series of shared glances and grins launched a silent debate, who would take the fall and who would claim credit. A blink, a shuffle of the cards, a twitch of a brow. The quirk of lips, then a glance towards Kellen. Finally, it was the brave little Seer who spoke up.

“I see the jig is up. Would you deny us our entertainment, Cece?” Fiona wheedled, her eyes large and brimming with their innocence, a display of her deceptive talents. Nathan didn’t even try to put on a puppy face, instead tipping his head in an effort to hide behind his hair. Sasha’s attempt at a convincing face looked more suited to a brothel. Then, there was Kellen.

Concern on his face was… it didn’t belong. The demon’s exotic face was practically carved to express disapproval. From his low set brow resting over the most worn, blazing eyes of literal hellfire, he gauntness to his cheeks which led into the sharp angle of his jaw. Hells Bells, even his lips were the damn poutiest Roslyn had ever laid eyes on. His face was young enough to be brotherly, yet the transition from dark black to frosty white along each tussle of hair gave the salt and pepper look of a father. Double doses of disapproval and disappointment, nuff to drag one’s stomach out their pucker and their heart into their gut. Heck, if his regality didn’t drown you, his dapper stylings were able to remind everyone that he was better. That he was far further refined than any mortal clutching at the nature of sophistication he had in the toes of his boot, nevermind his whole visage.

Why was he concerned now, of all times, for her? They clashed, so violently. He was due process, whereas she was chaos. She was the one who’d swept into town off of theft from murderers, and in turn pocketed their finest Ranger as her partner in, well, law. Criminally amazing law. Right, so she and Visconti also chaffed each other at first, yet how they’d come together as a team was leaving the other Wardens in the dust. They were better, she’d admit that while sloshed. They got things done, they helped PEOPLE as people instead of objectives. Instead of seeing that, Kellan seemed more disturbed that his Ranger was straying from the rigidness he’d shackled her in. Shackled to save… Mother night, it was fucked up. What he’d sacrificed and endured as punishment for revering life.

Cecelia. That was their common ground. Kellan might have been the man to have raised Cecelia, but he was not the one to draw her from her shell. He wasn’t what Roslyn was to the vampire. His presence was order, was the reminder of Cecelia’s indirect imprisonment. Roslyn was chaos. The freedom. Kellan was the ground, where Roslyn was the sky. Cecelia needed both, but for so long she’d been kept on the ground due to the hurricanes in her life. Roslyn refused to lose Cecelia to those hurricanes, just as she refused to accept that Cecelia should never use her wings. Yet, if she were Kellan, she doubted she could let go any easier than he. Kellan was Cecelia’s childhood, when she needed him. Roslyn was Cecelia’s true stride into adulthood, her testing of the shackles the Ward had groomed her to praise. Of all the nights, this was the one where Roslyn was the direction everyone needed Cecelia to step. The fact she lingered… this was way too heavy for her drunken mind to wrangle.

Cecelia’s loud sigh signaled her surrender.

“I suppose a dance in an innocent enough request.”

The table broke into cheers, all save Kellan taking up the encouraging chant.

“Dance. Dance, dance, dance.”

Kellan’s lips merely twitched into an approving line, a sip of his drink concealing the encouraging nod he sent Roslyn’s way. Somehow, her drunken mind latched onto the sense of victory, the acceptable and belonging of a family she’d never truly had. It was enough to make her smile, to lean closer to the cool body she’d been warming. Cecelia, for her credit, remained composed. Quite a feat, given she had a lap full of drunken Witch and a table chanting for her to make a public spectacle of herself right in front of the man who’d raised her. How she was so composed, Roslyn had no idea, only that this was not the night she’d envisioned. She needed to see that youth that immortality had preserved in Cecelia for so long. Needed to see those cheeks flush and that stoic veneer crack.

“Come on, lovely, I know several dances that don’t need any music.” The Witch purred, squirming, wiggling her rump deeper into the cave of Cecelia’s body until she could safely turn. Still, Cecelia barely seemed phased, watched with those gorgeous eyes. What Roslyn wouldn’t do to see the disguise fall way. To see the blood moon of the Visconti vampire. If even for a blink. With two fingers, pointer and middle, Roslyn stroked from the hinge of the jaw, a teasing touch that whispered across chilled flesh and fell from Cecelia’s pointed chin. As if she might wipe away the illusion, to see those terrifying depths. Was it even a case of willingness to drown anymore? Or had it become desire?

“You seem bereft of what little propriety you usually possess, little Witchling.” Cecelia’s response was delivered quietly, the tone relaxed, almost indifferent, save for the smallest catches. What such a tone did not possess was what urged Roslyn to push harder. Dared her, even. Then, there was Cecelia’s hand, lifted to catch hers. The Vampire prevented Roslyn’s second pass at a touch, yet those talons caught the Vampire’s earlobe, tugging it lightly even as she guided Roslyn’s hand down. All Roslyn could do was stare, lose herself in the depths of Cecelia’s eyes once more. Hunting. This was a hunt, the thrill running down Roslyn’s spine. Cecelia, the perfect prey, thus far… but how could a mere mortal hunt immorality? Unless… said immortal was playing the game.

That drew the most unholy of smirks to Roslyn’s face, even as she worked to throw one of her legs over Cecelia’s. Her legs hung, toes swinging, weight supported by nothing save the vampire. Flying and grounded. Earth and sky. Roslyn was the prey, with a hunter gracious enough to allow her dignity. All it would take is one movement, one moment where Cecelia lost herself or lost her patience, and Roslyn would bear the cost. She was so close to the fire, playing with an inferno. She had Cecelia between her thighs, more power than the most expensive stallion from any estate in the east. If Cecelia bucked… The Witch wanted that. She wanted Cecelia to buck, wanted the Vampire to lose her patience, to cling with more than the gentle hands against the curve of her waist.

“You could bereft me of far more, darling.” She purred, letting the huskiness of alcohol sink her voice into the sinful satiny tones. In a motion as smooth as silk, for a drunk at least, Roslyn slunk her arms around Cecelia’s neck, fingers weaving into the vampire’s glorious locks even as she rocked herself closer, leaving no space between herself and Cecelia. She had to cling with her thighs, squeeze the Vampire so she could lift herself out of the chair, to look down at her huntress. The Witch could only swallow, licking her lips before leaning close enough that her next words were only for the Vampire’s delicate ears.

“Then…” The Witch let her breath brush the shell of Cecelia’s ear, the tease of the corner of her mouth adding in as she let her words become heated. The filthiest things, every dark desire, her deepest secrets painted in the most scandalous of tones she could muster. Requests, nay, demands that would have demons blushing. That HAD demons blushing.

“HAH!” Fiona laughed in absolute awe; eyes blown wide. Roslyn’s met hers, the Witch giving that unholy smirk to the Seer for a split second before even Fiona found herself overwhelmed on Cecelia’s behalf.

“Oh hells… please stop.” Nathan groaned desperately, face flushed, eyes haunted. He had to avert his gaze when Roslyn’s teeth closed around Cecelia’s ear.

“Oh, please do continue. This is delightful… is she truly that flexible?” Sascha barked with glee, a glimmer of a demonic tongue brushing across his lower lip. The Incubus fed, eyes seeming to glow as he took in such a potent meal before him, only encouraged by the appearance of little horns peeking from beneath the table.

“According to the Lady’s Arms patrons? My mistress is the most flexible human they’ll ever meet!” Enzo declared almost proudly, earning a few tensed chuckles at the implications of such a statement. Roslyn was far too drunk to care. Lost in alcohol and power, in the game she so desperately needed to win, but so desperately wished to lose. Was there anything but victory from such a game? Something so pure could never be a loss, not for her, not for how the flames were licking up her spine. She could feel it, Cecelia’s composure cracking. It came in the pricks of talons. In the occasional flex between her thighs, something she answered with another dirty line expressing her appreciation. How close could she dance to this fire before it consumed her? It seemed she was never going to find out given the look of horror on Kellan’s face as he finally, FINALLY, spoke up. Given his discomfort, she couldn’t help but silently query if his voice was the only thing rising.

“Cecelia! For the seven layers of hells and every bell that might ring, shut Arosi up! Those of us with fine hearing don’t wish to hear such-”

“I’m sure I can find something to occu-”

Cecelia never let Roslyn finish. Cecelia’s hand came to her jaw, cradling it sweetly even as the pad of her thumb fell tenderly across the Witch’s lips. All it took was a single talon, pressed ever so tenderly to Roslyn’s lips for the Witch to still, to surrender. The moment Roslyn did, Cecelia gently slid her thumb away, caressing the line of Roslyn’s lip then the swell of her cheek, a gesture which stilled Roslyn’s heart.

“Quiet now, Witchling. I’ll give you your desired dance if you cease haunting our ghost. Your brazen attempts to make me blush are for naught.” The Vampire urged, corners of her lips twitching, teasing the smile Roslyn was so devoted to drawing out. The table, the Saloon, the world. Everything in existence needed to see the radiance. Such a small expression, something so simple and true, such beauty it could chase the darkness of evil from the comforting shadows of night.

“Give me an hour.” The Witch said, giving a sloppy waggle of her brows. That did it. Cecelia cracked, lips quirking up into the fondest smirk Roslyn had ever laid eyes on.

“You would be asleep within ten ticks, much less an hour.” Cecelia’s comment was delivered on a smile. Forever gentle hands gathered beneath the Witch’s thighs, holding them steady before Cecelia merely stood up, baring the weight as if it were that of a feather instead of an entire being. For a second, Roslyn simply indulged, smiling peacefully as she leaned her forehead into Cecelia’s collar. She was warmer, warmed by her contact with Roslyn, yet still refreshingly cool, enough that Roslyn could feel her body drooping into the relaxation, a realm of half consciousness and safety. Then Cecelia wasn’t holding her. Falling. She yelped, clawing at Cecelia.

“Careful!” The Vampire was equally as quick. One hand caught beneath her thigh, encouraging the leg around her waist even as the vamp’s other arm wrapped around her torso. Again, she was weightless, held aloft by Cecelia’s strength. Again, she was entangled with the Vampire, wrapped around her, poised to climb her like a tree if only she had the courage and lack of… Oh no. She absolutely had the lack of propriety down. Drunken misbehaviour. The brattiness, in public, complete with the clinging. The wicked gleam in Cecelia’s eye as she led Roslyn to the makeshift dancefloor… The Witch’s cheeks flushed, leading her to curse her complexion. There was no way anybody was going to miss her blushing, nor her previous antics. Hells, she was never going to live this down, not if the smirk upon Cecelia’s face was any indication.

“I won’t dance if it proves a danger to you.” The warning was given light heartedly, a soft, intimate whisper as Cecelia drew Roslyn in close. Already, it was apparent the Witch barely had her feet, yet as always Cecelia was there to ground her. To be the very ground she stood upon. Without a blink, Cecelia had Roslyn standing on her feet, had her held impossibly close.

“How else are we meant to celebrate the date you were born?”

The innocent question punched the air from Cecelia’s immortal lungs. Mother night, it tore her back hundreds of years. Back to when the day held meaning. To memories of a time before Kellan. Before the Ward. Where the ballrooms were alive, where she… The answer was so close, yet so far. So very, very far from Cecelia’s grasp. All she could do was sigh, was close her eyes and lean her cool forehead to Roslyn’s clammy one with a solitary observation.

“You know.”

“Of course I know. It’s important to know that about your family!” Roslyn’s earnest statement lured Cecelia’s eyes open, the impact of the unspoken acknowledgement a gift unlike any she’d received in her long life. She smiled, not one of her above mortality, tragic smiles, but a true smile, complete with a glimmer of fang. It was a smile which shook Roslyn to the core. Upon Cecelia’s feet, Roslyn finally stood at even height, their faces aligned. It was effortless, to lose herself in the beauty of Cecelia’s face so close to her own. To feel how their breath mingled in the tiniest of spaces between their lips. With a flush unattributed to alcohol, the Witch babbled on.

“It took a lot of magic though. And Kellan.” The conclusion of Roslyn’s explanation only proved her dedication. For Roslyn to willingly have sought out Kellan, to have chosen to confide in him, even for Cecelia… It went beyond Roslyn’s appreciation for him as someone in Cecelia’s life, or as her boss.

“It is alarming is that you, of all of us, got him to the table.” She noted. An absolutely monumental understatement. Their conflict went beyond Kellan’s hazing a tenderfoot approach to Roslyn as a member of the team. Truth be told, Cecelia had half expected Roslyn to give Kellan a bad plum in leu of an apple when Kellan declared the trials. Their tensions even went further than Roslyn thinking Kellan a ten-cent man, and he finding the Witch to be a bag of nails. It was her. Roslyn’s issues had only grown worse once she knew precisely what Kellan’s role had been in Cecelia’s upbringing.

Just as his hostility towards Roslyn had only increased once he recognised her connection to Cecelia. The temptation she could become, had become. What she was only proved to be the icing on one very hostile cake. The fact that they were beginning to bury the hatchet, instead of simply co-exist was just another priceless gift.

“I wanted you to have fun, and instead lost myself in my cup trying to flavour my blood before you even arrived. I was going to let you bite me so we could watch the sunrise. Sascha suggested some different drinks… I ruined your surprise! I’m going to be grouchier than a bear with a sore head come morning.” Roslyn deflated, squeezing her hand just that little tighter on Cecelia’s bicep.

“Then it seems we will both be hiding from the sun.” Cecelia sighed, unable to conceal her smile as she leaned back. The tickle of Roslyn’s hair against her nose was the smallest of prices to pay to deliver the gentlest kiss to the Witch’s forehead. A gesture which had Roslyn smiling too, creeping from the melancholy that had been nipping at her heels.

“You’ll be a…” Cecelia trailed off, mischief brewing in her stormy eyes. As she continued in a sing song voice.

“What is it you called me? An adorable, grumpy little muffin?”

“You were all pouty! an’ to think, here I was tryin’ ta be nice to ya.” The Witch laughed, shaking her head a little at the gall Cecelia had to throw her own words back at her. That was a low blow. Totally uncalled for… adorable too. A little kitten mewling.

“I sincerely appreciate the sentiment, little delinquent.“ Cecelia crooned in return. Roslyn shrugged, unable to focus on anything but the gentle curve of Cecelia’s lips. The hint of fangs behind the midnight red curtain. Mindlessly, Roslyn tipped her head forwards, playfully nuzzling the Vampire’s jaw before her ear once more settled over Cecelia’s shoulder, forehead nestled into the safety of Cecelia’s neck. There, tucked away in the scoop of Cecelia’s body, swaying in slow circles to the sweetest notes of a steady piano, Roslyn yawned, her smile shifted into contentment. Cecelia sighed too, tilting her head so that she could rest her cheek to Roslyn’s temple. Together, they swayed, enraptured by one another, lost on the tide of the piano’s melody. Cecelia, drowning in the orchestra of Roslyn’s heartbeat. Of her soul. All of which fell secondary to the sweetest whisper, like the touch of wind across the desert on a still night.

"Happy Birthday, Lady Cecelia Visconti.”

“Thank you.”

Cecelia’s response was honest. Sincere. Spoken from the heart. Even drunk, Roslyn could see it in her eyes. How gentle they were, soft, with a droopiness to them. For once, it was not Cecelia trying to appear harsher, nor watching for danger. There it was. The chasm in the veneer Roslyn had so desperately desired, mere millimetres from her face. Overwhelming, like how the Sun’s light drowned the moon out every day, but still the moon shone, as did every star. Only, they were within Cecelia’s eyes. Mother Night, they were in Cecelia’s eyes. Roslyn could only smile, even with her cheek rested to Cecelia’s lace covered shoulder, giggling at the tickle of Cecelia’s hair in conflict with the scratchiness of the lace.

“So,” Roslyn begun, her smile only growing as she saw Cecelia tilt her chin that little bit closer, as if trying to connect their gazes once more.

“are you ready to tell me how old you really are?”

Cecelia cracked. Her warm, rich laughter vibrated in her chest, disrupting Roslyn’s resting place. When faced with such a thing, what else could be done but to giggle along, to bathe in a moment where the weight of the world was not upon their shoulders? Where they could be young, drunk and ditzy without it leading to the cost of lives. Where the Ward had no power to punish Cecelia, or leverage her life against Kellan. Where, they could just be. Roslyn laughed too, turning her head so that she could playfully try to sneak a kiss through the lace over Cecelia’s collar. Whether it was the pressure, the heat of her mouth or the wet of her kiss, Cecelia seemed to feel something. Her chest swelled, and for one glistening moment, they were completely still. A snapshot in time.

“Oh my darling Witch, you still have not learned it is rude to query a woman’s age.”

#answered #anonymous #lovestruck #women of lovestruck #cecelia visconti #cecelia x mc #wicked lawless love #fluff #fluffy #touching thursday

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kaile-hultner · 5 years

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Dialogues With A Dreg, Part Four

Spoilers for Destiny and Destiny 2 ahead.

Hello, Guardian.

Let’s drop the allegory for a while. I don’t think it was working to begin with, and I prefer to speak plainly instead of in prose.

I love the game you serve as the protagonist in, at least mechanically. Part of the reason I’ve put nearly a thousand hours in piloting you around and clicking on enemy heads is because I’m chasing that satisfying “pop” when something’s brain explodes after I get them with a linear fusion rifle. I guess it’s better than being addicted to drugs or alcohol or video games with gambling mechan- oh shit god dammit wait, fuck, there’s Eververse here, I forgot.

Anyway, Destiny 2 has my full buy-in when it comes to gameplay, as I think it’s grabbed many folks in its three-year lifespan. I’m not as big a fan of the many modes to choose from in the game, and I think the story – when looked at holistically – is more-or-less a wash. But one aspect I can’t ignore is one I’ve tried to reason out in these Dialogues: Bungie, the game’s developer, wants me to live at least part-time in this world, and there are certain ramifications that come with that.

I first noticed these ramifications during the Faction Rallies in D2Y1, when it asked me to pick a faction and fuck shit up across the solar system. I picked what I thought was the coolest-looking faction, a group of (it turned out) thanatonautic, neoliberal warmongers calling themselves Future War Cult. They basically killed themselves over and over to see the future, and as a result they want Guardians everywhere to become absolute war machines. But as far as I could see, they were a “better” option than the other two factions: Dead Orbit, who just wanted to get the fuck out of the solar system and away from the Traveler, our slumbering charge, and New Monarchy.

New Monarchy is the MAGA hat gang of Destiny 2. They want to keep humanity safe by locking them inside the Last City, forming an eternal Guardian-led kingdom, and ruling with an iron fist. Yeesh.

In my first Faction Rally, I fought hard for FWC. I liked the gear they were giving me, not to mention the guns I could earn from them. They had an aesthetic I liked, and the story of thanatonautics is interesting enough for me to want to know more about how all that worked. But I didn’t like the insistence that we “reclaim” the far-flung reaches of the solar system, as if they belonged to us inherently. I didn’t like the ramping-up, constant drumbeat for war they were throwing out. Even if Lakshmi-2, FWC’s leader, seemed like the eye of a hurricane – calm, yet clearly still dangerous – the hurricane she was the center of was starting to irk me.

I’m sorry to say I didn’t drop FWC in subsequent Rallies, even if I wasn’t as enthusiastic about them as I was initially. If I could pick again, though, I know now I’d pick Dead Orbit. They had it the most right, plus Peter Stormare plays Arach Jalaal, the faction’s leader, which is just cool.

But the winner of pretty much every rally was New Monarchy. I couldn’t see the appeal, even if you stripped the clear trump-ass bullshit away. But a LOT of other Destiny 2 players fought for them, and they were the victors constantly. Bungie took the Faction Rally away in D2Y2, but it basically put me on an inexorable thought track to where we are today.

Simply put, I think the world that Destiny 2 is advocating for is at best a fascist one. At worst, we’re talking about reinstating the divine right of kings. Not only does mortal humanity lose in this bargain, but every other living creature inhabiting our solar system suffers for it as well.

Now, Guardian, I can see that this is an unwelcome statement to hear. I get it. After spending the entire five years of your existence thanklessly putting around the solar system and killing gargantuan, god-level threats to humanity and life itself, watching some nerdy, doughy writer cast aspersions on everything you do probably extends past irritation and into wishing you could shoulder-charge me into Glimmer particles. But I want to be clear: yours isn’t the only video game world – or even the only sci-fi world in general – that does this. As Nic Reuben (the original Destiny 2 fascism warner) put it in his 2017 post on the subject, Bungie writers are “blindly following a set of culturally encoded science-fantasy tropes”:

“‘True leaders are born. It’s genetic. The right to rule is inherited.’ Any time you play as a really, really ridiculously good looking person killing mobs of ugly things for a vaguely defined reason, you’re witnessing this kind of ideology first hand.”

One thing I would like to point out, though, before we continue: Guardian, I know you personally. I’ve fought as you across the stars. I know you don’t inherently want to rule over anything. You are intentionally a blank slate, you never voice your own desires except for that one time when a possessed Awoken prince killed your best ramen bud, and I want to believe that the only thing you want — which is the only thing I want — is to race Sparrows on Mars. But the version of you I play as is not the only version of you that exists. There are over a million of you. And aside from that million iterations of you that exist in this game world, there are others who absolutely want to rule. It’s high time to interrogate this world.

Fantasy Space Fascism: The Game

In his book Against the Fascist Creep, freelance journalist and Portland State Ph.D candidate Alexander Reid Ross defines fascism as “an ideology that draws on old, ancient, and even arcane myths of racial, cultural, ethnic, and national origins to develop a plan for the ‘new man.'” He continues:

“Fascism is also mythopoetic insofar as its ideological system does not only seek to create new myths but also to create a kind of mythical reality (ed. emphasis mine), or an everyday life that stems from myth rather than fact. Fascists hope to produce a new kind of rationale envisioning a common destiny that can replace modern civilization. The person with authority is the one who can interpret these myths into real-world strategy through a sacralized process that defines and delimits the seen and the unseen, the thinkable and the unthinkable.

“That which is most commonly encouraged through fascism is producerism, which augments working-class militancy against the ‘owner class’ by focusing instead on the difference between ‘parasites’ (typically Jews, speculators, technocrats, and immigrants) and the productive workers and elites of the nation. In this way, fascism can be both functionally cross class and ideologically anticlass, desiring a classless society based on a ‘natural hierarchy’ of deserving elites and disciplined workers. By destroying parasites and deploying some variant of racial, national, or ethnocentric socialism, fascists promise to create an ideal state or suprastate – a spiritual entity more than a modern nation-state, closer to the unitary sovereignty of the empire than political systems of messy compromises and divisions of power.”

Ross, A. R. (2017). Against the Fascist Creep. AK Press.

The Destiny franchise begins with you, a freshly-reborn Guardian, shooting and punching your way through a hive of vaguely-arachnid aliens your Ghost companion calls “Fallen.” You find a decrepit jumpship deep in the heart of the Old Russia Cosmodrome, which your Ghost fires up and uses to take you to the “last safe city on Earth,” a walled metropolis underneath the Traveler. You first meet with the Vanguard triumvirate, Titan Commander Zavala, Warlock Ikora, and Hunter Cayde-6, and then, after completing some tasks for them, you are granted an audience with the Speaker (voiced by Bill Nighy):

“THE SPEAKER: There was a time when we were much more powerful. But that was long ago. Until it wakes and finds its voice, I am the one who speaks for The Traveler.

“You must have no end of questions, Guardian. In its dying breath, The Traveler created the Ghosts to seek out those who can wield its Light as a weapon—Guardians—to protect us and do what the Traveler itself no longer can.

“GUARDIAN: What happened to it?

“THE SPEAKER: I could tell you of the great battle centuries ago, how the Traveler was crippled. I could tell you of the power of The Darkness, its ancient enemy. There are many tales told throughout the City to frighten children. Lately, those tales have stopped. Now… the children are frightened anyway. The Darkness is coming back. We will not survive it this time.

“GHOST: Its armies surround us. The Fallen are just the beginning.

“GUARDIAN: What can I do?

“THE SPEAKER: You must push back the Darkness. Guardians are fighting on Earth and beyond. Join them. Your Ghost will guide you. I only hope he chose wisely.”

Bungie. Destiny. Activision Entertainment, 2015.

This introduction to the world of Destiny is… shockingly reductive. Even playing the campaign when this happens, my first thoughts were, “wait so we’re not even smart or good enough to hear the children’s scary stories about the history of this world? what the fuck?” But over the course of years, we find out more and more about the so-called Golden Age of Humanity, the tools humans built with implied assistance from the Traveler, the various rich families and corporate megaliths that consolidated power over people across the solar system in the years and decades leading to the arrival of the Darkness and the ensuing Collapse.

Not only that, we start to get a pretty clear image of what life was like immediately following the Collapse. Humanity was almost driven to extinction, and the people left alive after this apocalypse soon wished they were dead. The Traveler “defeated” the Darkness but in the process put itself into something similar to an emergency reboot mode. It deployed the Ghosts, who resurrected people who could, as the Speaker put it, “wield its Light as a weapon,” but the first of these “Risen” were nothing short of horrific. They used their Ghosts’ regeneration and resurrection powers to become regional warlords, subjugating what few mortal people remained, draining the desolate wastes of what few resources they had, and basically sealing the deal on the “Dark Age” brought on by the Collapse. It wasn’t until the advent of the Iron Lords that these warlords were defeated and the “age of Guardians” could begin, but even the Iron Lords did some pretty heinous shit – like use a whole town of mortals as bait to lure in a band of warlords on the run.

But when it comes to creating a mythical reality, the Speaker has his formula down pat. Don’t get too bogged down with details, paint the conflict in stark good vs. evil, literal “Light vs. Darkness” broad strokes, and mythologize the actions of Guardians (but most importantly, our Guardian). And oh, what fodder for mythology we are.

By the end of the first campaign, we’re the hero who severed the connection between the Hive, the Vex and the Traveler and tore out the heart of the Black Garden. By the end of The Taken King, we’ve slain a god-king. In the Rise of Iron expansion, we stop the spread of a virulent nanoparticle with murderous intent called SIVA in its tracks, using nothing but our fists. In Destiny 2, we become the Hero of the Red War, the one who put an end to a Vex plot to sterilize all worlds, and who killed a Hive Worm God. We avenge our fallen Hunter Vanguard, we kill a Taken Ahamkara. We are the hub on which the spokes of history are turning.

In terms of video game power fantasies, I really truly can’t imagine a better-feeling one. It’s basically pure uncut dopamine being transmitted directly to the pleasure centers of the brain, one Herculean feat at a time. And if we were the only Guardian, if we were not part of a larger world, if everything around us was in a vacuum, I don’t know if I would be writing this article. But Bungie has been very clear about wanting to make a world where our actions do materially affect our surroundings. As such, we are essentially a walking propaganda tool for the Consensus, a pseudo-democratic government over the Last City, consisting of faction leaders, the Vanguard and the (now-presumed-dead, hasn’t been replaced) Speaker.

The Consensus wants badly to declare the advent of the New Golden Age, a time in which Humanity can finally emerge from under the shadow of the Traveler to pick up where it left off prior to the Collapse. The problem we supposedly face is the never-ending onslaught of Enemies. Four alien species showed up on our doorstep after the Collapse, all seeking to finish us off (according to the Speaker): the Fallen, the Cabal, the Hive/Taken, and the Vex.

Of the four-ish races of enemy, only one can said to be truly, deeply “evil” in the sense the Speaker intends: the Hive and Taken, led by Taken King Oryx and his sisters Sivu Arath and Savathun, the only force in the galaxy more fascist than the Guardians. The Vex are a race of machines whose only focus is on making more of themselves, a threat similar to SIVA. The other two alien forces, the Fallen and the Cabal, are certainly antagonistic toward Guardians but our initial reasons for fighting them are, frankly, butt-ass stupid. Basically, we fight them because they’re there. They have the audacity to land on planets that “belong to us” and scavenge resources from them. Until the Red Legion showed up on Earth, we basically only ever fought Cabal on Mars, and there’s really no reason as to why.

The Fallen, or Eliksni, on the other hand, end up coming off more as the tragic victims of our flippantly rampant genocidaire practices than actual “enemies.” They’re probably the weakest alien species we come up against. Their backstory involves them living in peace under the Traveler before their entire society was caught up in a Collapse-like “Whirlwind” and destroyed. Rather than give them Guardians, like it did with us, the Traveler instead just up and peaced out, leaving the Eliksni for dead against the maelstrom of the Darkness. The surviving “Fallen” got in their skiffs and desperately chased the Traveler across the heavens, stratifying the remnants of their society into “houses” and developing religious devotion to machines like Servitors in the process.

They tried to take the Traveler back at the Battle of the Five Fronts and Twilight Gap, and lost. Their armies were shattered, and we’ve been nonchalantly killing them en masse ever since. They are the “parasites” our Guardian must exterminate, along with the Hive, Cabal, and Vex. When we make friends with, or even simply allies with, a Fallen (like Variks the Loyal, Mithrax the Forsaken, or the Spider), it is made clear almost immediately that this 100 percent doesn’t change the relationship we have with the Fallen as a group. Variks is absolutely subservient to Mara Sov and the Awoken. Mithrax wants to create an Eliksni House that bows down to Guardians and Humanity for being “better stewards” of the Traveler than the Eliksni was. The Spider makes it clear that he only wants to grow his crime syndicate, but that we can help him out if we want. Never once does the Vanguard or the Consensus reach out to these allies and try to broker peace. And in-game, we simply don’t have an option but to fire on and kill Eliksni in droves. Kill or be “killed,” right?

When it comes to Humanity itself, while we never get a chance to actually leave the Tower and walk through the streets of the Last City, there are at least hints as to the deep class stratification at work here. You can’t get much more on-the-nose than an ivory tower of immortal beings overlooking an enclosed human race. Guardians atop humanity, the Speaker above the Vanguard over the Consensus over the people, and you, the very fulcrum on which history pivots, functionally over everything else. But in the mythical reality of this game, it’s really the Traveler über Alles, and humanity underneath the Traveler has become a wonderful, diverse melting pot without class, without fear. An ideal state where the walls keep Darkness at bay and humanity can discover the joys of tonkotsu ramen yet again.

A Light Story Vs. Lore Steeped in Darkness

Destiny has a reputation, unfairly earned, for being an okay game with a bad story, or at best a nonexistent one. The story isn’t really all that bad, it’s just poorly implemented up front, and I think my willingness to engage with the game’s world to the extent that I have is a testament to how powerful and evocative some of the beats in Destiny’s writing truly are. If we dissect the game we can separate the writing of the “story” from the writing of the “lore,” and in watching the plot develop over the past few years, we can see a gradual unification of these two areas start to occur.

This is helped greatly by third-party resources like Ishtar Collective, and by mechanical decisions Bungie made in D2Y2. Adding the lore back into the game with Forsaken was a good idea; choosing to fully integrate the lore into the world starting with Season of the Forge was a great one.

A side-effect of this lore-plot unification is a dismantling-in-real-time of some of the game’s most beloved and widely-spread legends, like the legend of Shin Malphur and Dredgen Yor. Even our personal legend is challenged in this way, and it’s a really neat way that Bungie writers new and old are critically engaging with their work. But it also really throws into stark relief some of the issues I’ve laid out in this article so far.

Take, for example, the lore book “Stolen Intelligence.”

Presented to us as intercepted secret Vanguard transmissions, “Stolen Intelligence” shows us exactly what the Vanguard really thinks of our actions, and what their goals really are. It was part of Season of the Drifter, which overall had a “trust no one” vibe to it, but some of the entries here are BLEAK, y’all.

Here’s an excerpt from the first entry, titled “Outliers.”

“Fallen armed forces continue to fall back from active fronts across Terra. Factions of House Dusk remain active in the European Dead Zone. Throughout the rest of the globe, refugee attack incidents have dropped by more than 70 percent since the conclusion of the Red War – largely attributable to depressed Fallen and human populations rather than any significant change in interspecies relations.

[…]

“The recent trending emergence of so-called “crime syndicates” (cf. report #004-FALLEN-SIV) is emblematic of the continuing destructuralization of Fallen society. Likely an artifact of multi-generational colonization of human strongholds, this agent believes that because these syndicates have no relation to indigenous Fallen culture, young Fallen are appropriating and imitating human mythology in absence of a strong cultural heritage of their own.

[…]

“VIP #3987, another former confederate of the Awoken, is a lesser-known personality known as Mithrax. Scattered field reports suggest that like #1121, #3987 styles himself a Kell of the so-called “House Light,” an otherwise unknown House apparently founded by #3987 himself. We have secondhand accounts that Mithrax has engaged in allied operations with Guardians in the field, though we have not as yet been able to corroborate these accounts with any degree of veracity. This agent is inclined to treat these reports with a healthy degree of skepticism until otherwise confirmed, as they may be propaganda from Fallen sympathizers in the Old Russian and Red War Guardian cohorts. We have requested intelligence records from the Awoken which may further clarify the matter.

“In addition, whatever the findings of said intelligence records may be, it should be stressed that one or two sympathetic outliers cannot be relied upon to erase the wrongs of past centuries, nor should their good-faith efforts to correct the sins of their forbears be taken as sufficient symbolic reparation.

[…]

“We have come too far to pull our punches now.”

Bungie. Destiny 2: Forsaken – Season of the Drifter. Lore Book: Stolen Intelligence. Outliers. Activision Entertainment, 2019.

Here’s another piece of “Stolen Intelligence,” about our relationship with Cabal Emperor Calus:

“Related to the above, #3801’s aggressive propaganda campaign appears to have been successful. Despite #3801’s recent inactivity, sentiment polls captured in the Tower at regular intervals over the last several months indicate that he has successfully swayed a significant percentage of the Red War cohort to believe that he may be a potential ally. Given our history with the Cabal as well as the events of the Red War itself, this is shocking and perhaps attributable to a case of mass traumatic bonding.

“It is my strong recommendation that the Vanguard pursue a reeducation curriculum before #3801 invites any Guardians of the City to defect to his service, a possibility which we have documented in multiple previous reports.”

Bungie. Destiny 2: Forsaken – Season of the Drifter. Lore Book: Stolen Intelligence. Passivity. Activision Entertainment, 2019.

Other entries detail the efforts of the Vanguard from keeping ostensible “conspiracy theories” from being published in the Cryptarchy’s journals; show the apparent oddity of mortal-Guardian “integrated neighborhoods;” and discuss the ongoing surveillance of the Drifter, a rogue Lightbearer who has survived since the early Dark Ages and who uses Darkness-aligned technology to run a PVEVP game called “Gambit”.

There are many other stories like these, scattered throughout the lore. Stories of Cryptarchy students being banished for making fun of New Monarchy’s leaders, of Guardians messing with Hive technology being burned alive and killed fully by the Praxic Order for their crimes of experimentation. Stories like these wouldn’t happen – couldn’t happen! – to our Guardian, because they’re too important, but are seemingly everyday occurrences to less consequential members of this society. In the real world, we’d call that an increasingly oppressive police state. In Destiny 2, it’s just flavor text.

There was a degree of narrative complexity added to Season of the Drifter that hadn’t been in the game prior. The entire season was essentially boiled down to “which side are you on, the Drifter’s or the Vanguard’s,” and in our path to make a choice, we heard from various bit players in our world. The Drifter told us his story in greater detail than perhaps we needed (and how much of it is true is debatable), but his story is also the story of a less morally-pure Guardian class. Everyone from the warlords to the Iron Lords did heinous shit to humanity while the Drifter watched, and it hardened him. The Praxic Warlock Aunor goes all in on her adherence to the City’s propaganda and ideology, trying to show us how untrustworthy the Drifter is. She ends up revealing more of her order’s goals than perhaps was wise.

This narrative complexity is nice, but it still betrays the game in a fundamental way. We now have the documents. We know what Guardians are actually about, and how they’re not exactly shining beacons of unwavering good like the Speaker would have had us believe. Regardless of declining Fallen activity, of a shift in Fallen culture, of actual living Fallen who want to ally with Guardians, the Vanguard is still adamantly pursuing “extirpation,” which is a fancy way of saying genocide (I’m not kidding, it literally means “root out and destroy completely”). We know the Vanguard and the Praxic Order have a hard-on for exile, reeducation and information suppression.

On top of everything, the narrative complexity was not met with any kind of mechanical complexity. Even with proof that the Vanguard wants to kill every Eliksni in the system, conscientious objectors don’t get to opt out. The narrative path that forks between the Drifter and Aunor converges again by the end of the quest. The “conspiracy theorist” that has been trying to publish paper after paper detailing exactly how the Nine worked with Dominus Ghaul to sneak his fleet into City airspace undetected was proven right by lore WE FIND IN THE GAME, but that doesn’t change our combat relationship with the Cabal remnants anywhere in the system, and homeboy still gets his papers rejected.

Ikora and Zavala, our remaining Vanguard members, insist repeatedly that Guardians are not a warfighting force, that the Vanguard and the Consensus is not an authoritarian organization. But everything we do says otherwise.

“A peace born from violence is no peace at all.”

Guardians do not get to choose their paths in the world of Destiny 2. The paths laid out before them lead to a life of warfare, of pain, of endless murder. Ostensibly, they are agents of good, trying to beat back the forces of evil, but if you look too close you see that really they’re just a bunch of indiscriminate killers with a mandate from the Orb God. Desperate to get out from under the heels of warlords, the Guardians created a fascist society, and adding insult to injury they pretend it’s a democratic, free one. Killing the Fallen is genocide, but you can literally never stop killing them because the game won’t let you. The only right way to play at that point is to turn off your console and go outside.

Destiny 2 isn’t the only video game to fall into this trap. As Nic Reuben said in the follow-up piece to his first story on how Destiny 2 is fascist, “I’m not saying Destiny is propaganda, just reliant on some of the same narrative tricks that make propaganda so powerful. At the same time, I don’t think that it’s too much of a stretch to say that games like Call of Duty make certain assumptions about what is justifiable, righteous slaughter and what is terrorism. Replace modern military hardware with future tech, replace terrorists with alien races that have traits synonymous with cartoon portrayals of traditionally marginalized social groups, and you’re effectively playing through the worst aspects of Call of Duty with a new coat of a paint.”

There is one glimmer of hope in the game. One sliver of lore that gives us pause and helps make the game bearable in its current state. It comes in the form of Lady Efrideet, former Iron Banner handler, youngest member of the Iron Lords, and a Guardian in self-exile from the City, the Vanguard, and its fascist dogma.

Lady Efrideet is one of the most fearsome Hunters in the Destiny universe. She is known as one of the best marksmen, if not the best one. She is impossibly strong, having once thrown Lord Saladin bodily off a mountain into a Fallen Spider Walker, destroying it. And she is also one of the only named pacifist Guardians who isn’t a member of the Cryptarchy. Her story is the story of the fall of the Iron Lords, as well as the beginning of the SIVA crisis, many years before our Guardian’s rise is documented.

But it isn’t SIVA or the Iron Lords that we’re interested in. Instead, we know that after SIVA was sealed away, Efrideet snuck away from Earth. She saw the deaths of everyone she knew and her will to fight was shattered. If this was the result of fighting for the Traveler, she didn’t want any part in it. So she took to the stars. In doing so, she ended up in the far reaches of the solar system, beyond even where we currently roam. It turns out, a small enclave of other Lightbearers, hesitant or unwilling to use their powers to kill, had also fled to this part of the system and had established a colony. It’s there that Efrideet resides, and it’s there I’d like to go.

Unfortunately, our Guardian is too “important” to the vast tidal forces at work in the Destiny universe for us to be able to leave for the outer reaches whenever we want. Because we are the hub on which the wheel of history turns, and there is no escaping that now, if ever we could. We are death, the flattening of a complex and intricate universe into one of simple shapes, the sword logic in a human/Awoken/Exo body. We are needed for the plans of the Nine/Mara Sov/Hive Queen Savathun to come to fruition. When or if the Darkness ever does come back, we will be the force that faces it and, win or lose, shape our future afterward.

Sometimes it’s nice having a video game place your character on a linear track. Games like Half-Life or Titanfall present to us simple choices in otherwise-complex story environments: progress, or die. Our characters are not immortal, but they have help from the technologies around us, are tenacious, are resourceful, are quick to adapt to changing situations. In Destiny, we simply exist. We can’t truly die. Even when it comes to the rules of the game, our immense “paracausality” causes us to shrug Darkness Zones off as mere inconveniences where other Guardians have died their final deaths. Because we are necessary. The Vanguard and Consensus need us to justify their horrific fascist policies. The great forces at work in the background need us to work as a pawn. Even Bungie itself needs us, powerful, trapped beings with a sense of right and wrong but no agency to actually act on those ethics, to continue its game.

I haven’t preordered Shadowkeep yet. For once I’m glad we’re not focusing on the Fallen or the Cabal. Going to the Moon means we’ll pretty much just be dealing with Hive, to say nothing of the unreal Nightmares we’re supposed to face. But I’m still undecided as to whether I even want to order Shadowkeep in the first place. If Lady Efrideet can go to the edge of known space and live peacefully with other pacifist Guardians, maybe I can put my controller down and step away, once and for all. It would be nice to have the extra space on my Xbox One’s hard drive. Other games exist to be played, and having the time and energy to do so would help me here, with No Escape.

But even then. I’m not expressing agency as a Guardian, but rather as the person who controls you, Guardian. While I go off to play other games, you sit and wait in stasis. Even if I don’t play, there are a million iterations of you willing to commit genocide daily for cheap rewards (shoutouts to the sixtieth Edge Transit drop in my inventory this month alone). Sure, it’s just a game. But this is what having a dynamic world means in practice. There are consequences to your actions. There always have been.

There is no reason why Humanity couldn’t share the Traveler’s gifts with, at the very least, the Eliksni. There is no reason why we couldn’t just ignore the Cabal in a state of mutually assured destruction, given how small a faction the Red Legion was relative to the Cabal army’s full size. Of the two remaining enemies, the Vex are less evil than they are simply a thing that wants the universe to be like it, and that’s threatening to diverse life throughout the universe, not just Humanity. The Hive/Taken are the true enemies in the game, but even they are directed, pawn-like, by their Worm Gods.

There is, likewise, no reason why the Risen had to organize in the fascist context they did. They could have created a society in which everyone could come and go freely, where ideas and actions could be given and received absent interference, where a true “golden age” could have sprung up naturally simply by living together harmoniously and using the Light the Traveler gave them to create, rather than destroy.

But that’s not how this story shakes out.

#destiny #destiny 2 #video games #antifascism

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404botnotfound · 5 years

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Come, oh bearer mine, and show them that even a rose can be deadly.

SERIES: Destiny WORD COUNT: 8,410 SHIP: N/A CHARACTERS: kel, luke, cayde-6, lord shaxx, eris morn, ikora, zavala

He should have been there.

It’s a thought that’s plagued him ever since Luke had returned alone from the Dreadnaught, both of the teammates that had gone with him missing. He’d been frantic and shaking, a far cry from the endlessly optimistic and unapologetically cheerful guardian everyone in the tower knew him for.

It had taken time for them to get him to even speak of what had happened, explain why he was alone—Kel had thought that maybe it was simply a case of the team uncovering something that they desperately needed backup on and Gil had taken the risk of being down one team member to send Luke for that backup.

But it was worse.

They’d been overrun. Whether it had been due to the simple fact they were intruding on Oryx’s turf or that Quinn—font of light herself, so different and enigmatic than her fellows, that she was—had been with them and had drawn the attention of the Taken King, they didn’t know. They’d been boxed in, cornered, and swarmed; first by the Hive and then by Oryx’s Taken.

Luke, somewhat lost in what had happened, had speculated that the assumption that Oryx had taken interest in the tower’s resident anomaly was the correct one—the Taken had immediately zeroed in on her once they’d appeared, attempting to cut her off from them.

They’d pushed, and pushed, and pushed, but they’d begun to run low on ammo and strength.

And now Luke was all that was left.

Quinn, ripped through a portal into another plane of existence and presumably lost to them forever. Gil had sacrificed himself to give Luke enough of an opening to flee and seek help or to simply alert the Vanguard of the mission failure and loss.

It was probably the latter, Kel thinks bitterly. Luke’s ghost, Gibson, had solemnly confirmed that Gil’s light signature had been erased entirely. Quinn’s signature was faint but still there—but too far out of reach for them to help her inasmuch as any of them could figure out.

The Ascendant Plane was a vast expanse of void and they could spend an eternity searching for her within it, but without a point of entry and something to home in on her, it would be ultimately fruitless and a waste of resources to try and search for her. Just pulling an Ascendant soul from one of Oryx’s soldiers and hopping into the void after her wasn’t good enough; with how many guardians they had already lost trying to find Oryx’s throne world and failing, I wasn’t a risk they could take.

Even Cayde had admitted it, pain evident in the utter lack of his usual affable attitude as he did so.

And so it was that Kel was down two teammates, the loss stinging far more than anyone around him could understand. None of them knew of the phantoms that plagued him. None of them knew that this was a loss that only added to the number of ghosts haunting his steps.

A memorial is held.

It’s a short affair because even with as well-known and respected as Gil was among his fellow guardians, even with as quickly as Quinn had wormed her way into their hearts—they’re in the middle of a war on four fronts and they don’t have the time or resources to spare.

It’s rare that any lost guardian winds up with a memorial service, but Gil was tantamount to a hero within City walls, having fought at the sides of the Vanguard members hundreds of years past. Defending the walls as they were built and holding off the siege of the Fallen at Six Fronts, saving lives at the battle of Twilight Gap, respected mentor alongside Shaxx to newly risen guardians for many, many years.

He was one of the best guardians the City probably ever had or will have, and as a result a decently large crowd gathers to show their respect.

He was gruff and abrasive, but loved and respected.

Yet still only moments after saying their solemn farewells, Cayde and Ikora are already leaving the plaza discussing the next step in the war against the Taken King. Zavala paces a few steps ahead of them, looking a fair bit more solemn than usual, as they all retreat for the Vanguard hall.

Kel’s fairly certain Cayde is trying to find some way to rescue Quinn on the side of his work, but Kel had heard of Toland the Shattered, and he doesn’t hold out hope.

The loss hurts them all, but the Vanguard has already moved on and before long Kel is the only one left standing in the plaza, for the first time in centuries feeling the prickling sensation of being overwhelmed by the mere presence of others.

None of them have time to mourn. To truly mourn. Humanity has clung to the tails of survival for thousands of years, and mourning the loss of a single guardian was a luxury they couldn’t afford. Not even for Gil, and certainly not for one that had only been a presence for under a decade.

Kel leaves the City.

He vanishes because he’s tired of the condolences from the older guardians that knew him as the hero that always fought at Gil’s side, at his friend’s side, and the apartment the team shared is too quiet with both him and Quinn gone and with Luke as withdrawn as he’s become.

The silence is driving him mad and it’s a feeling he’s unfamiliar with. Silence had been his balm for so long that Kel couldn’t begin to pinpoint the place in time that he’d grown fond of having a team at his back—at hearing Quinn and Luke’s cheerful laughter and jokes as they checked off another victory for Fireteam Ward, at Gil’s fond looks when he thought no one was looking, at how his ghosts were silenced when he sat down in quiet solidarity with Quinn who struggled to hear her ghosts.

He leaves for the wilds and it’s the first time he’s been on his own for nearly two centuries. Kel can’t decide if he hates the sudden isolation or the fact that Gil had convinced him to be part of a team in the first place more.

In the first week he skirts the plaguelands, takes down half a dozen groups of Fallen holed up just within its borders. He feels empty. Nothing.

In the second he tears a bloody path through the Cosmodrome, clearing out Rasputin’s bunker (just in case) and wreaking havoc on the forces of Hive as pure vengeance for what they’d wrought on his team. Still, nothing.

By the third week he hesitantly makes his way to the final battleground of Twilight Gap, the memories of fighting by his old friend’s side and the few, rare laughs Kel had ever had after being resurrected making him want to raze the entire memorial to the ground. He doesn’t have the raw power of a Titan or the capability for devastation like a Warlock, so he makes do with firing a few rockets at the creaking and rusted artillery and watches them tumble down the cliffs with a numb disinterest.

Echo stopped trying to speak with him after the first week, instead opting to ping messages onto his heads-up display whenever Luke tried to contact him or the Vanguard attempted to deliver updates or request missions he was in the area for. Cayde confirms Kel’s theory that he’d been researching for the purpose of hunting Quinn by sending him updates on said research.

He’s not feeling particularly endeared to the Vanguard these days and he disregards both the updates and the assignments. Quinn was gone just as assuredly as Gil was gone and he wasn’t about to get his hopes up.

He’d had enough loss. In both of his lives.

He had no reason to return to the City. None.

Uncharted territory is where he finds himself by the end of the third week, somewhere across the sea as he sought even more distance from the place he’d so foolishly called home for the last few hundred years. He doesn’t have a clue what he’s looking for or why he’s looking for it, but there’s an indescribable pull that’s carving his path as he treks through the ravines and forests by foot.

He wonders if it’s a Hunter instinct or just a Kel instinct—or something else entirely.

He comes upon a swathe of ruins nearly reclaimed by nature, evidence of a post-Collapse civilization making itself known in the form of ancient buildings rebuilt with scrap and anything the people back then could pull together for shelter. It was empty, a ghost town with some kind of dangerous heaviness settled thick enough to choke over it.

Something happened here. Something tantamount to cataclysmic that had nothing to do with the onset of the Collapse. Something final.

He can see a pair of massive Hive seeds, one crashed through an old, rotting building and another cracking up through what remains of a paved street. Only a pair, and he can’t see any telltale signs of the Hive repurposing the area for their own gain—just an isolated group, then, lingering to feed on the remaining light and darkness trapped within the energy of the place before they moved on.

A pair of Knights notice him.

Kel stands there as they roar and open fire on him, the glow of the heated weapons the Hive used reflecting in his visor as they paint a violent slash of color through the air towards him.

He considers not moving. He truly does—considers not moving, ordering his ghost to abandon him and to head back to the tower without him.

She chirps at him in alarm, as vocal as she’s been in weeks.

Kel knows that’s not how it works. He’s seen the ghost shells, broken and forlorn, scattered along the coasts and ruins of pre-Collapse civilization. Their light had run out before they could find their guardian, or they’d been attacked and damaged by the monsters that saw the little creatures as a light-filled treat to feast on. Or they’d simply given up.

He may feel like one of those broken and empty shells, but he won’t suffer Echo the same fate. She was perhaps the one thing he thought he had left that he wouldn’t forsake like that.

Kel dives, feels the heat of the bolts of Hive fire boil the air where he’d been standing seconds ago; he wonders if his cloak, already ripped and worn from hundreds of years of battle and survival, had been singed by the close call. Whirling into action his auto rifle coughs out bullets as fast as he can aim and pull the trigger.

His shields drop far enough that he’s forced to seek cover, slipping under a broken garage door and into one of the ramshackle buildings lining the ruined street. The Knights and Thrall howl for his blood and light, seeking him as he slips away from them.

He finds a place to recuperate, eyes slipping to the indicator Echo provides for him for the status of his shields as he reloads. Once it blinks and disappears he leaves the building, sweeping the new street slowly and carefully. He can still hear the Hive somewhere around the corner, unaware of his presence.

Good—he can flank them.

As his eyes sweep the other direction he freezes, taking in the sight of a body slumped there before him. Bones, nothing but dust and rags, and Kel would have mistaken it for any poor soul lost when this settlement had been overrun or abandoned—but Echo makes a noise of surprise, telling him that there’s the faintest signature of light emanating from these bones.

Light that felt…different.

Next to the body rests a gun. Revolver. Custom. It looks like it had been warped, swallowed alive by something dark and vile and spat back out; black and sharp and sickly green, and though it must have been abandoned for decades if not longer and was partially covered by growing weeds and grass it looks as though it had been sitting there for just a few days.

It pulses with dark green light almost eagerly. Almost like it had been waiting for him to stumble upon it and it was happy he was here. And there, again, was the pull he had been feeling. The pull that had led him here.

Shouldering his rifle Kel kneels and digs the handgun out from the weeds grasping at it, wrapping his fingers around the grip of the handgun and hefting it lightly to test its balance.

Echo makes a noise of disapproval as though telling him to leave it.

Kel looks up from the body before him and sees a little girl with blonde curls and a pink dress standing on the opposite side of the street staring at him with unblinking, bright blue eyes. He goes rigid. When he blinks, the little girl vanishes.

His grip tightens on the handgun and he brushes the unbidden vision aside at the same time something whispers in his head.

My name is Thorn, oh bearer mine I will bring ruin to those who wronged you.

This, too, he brushes aside; it isn’t the first time he’s dealt with whispers and shadows in the back of his mind and vision, and he knows this is no different. A lot is on his mind and he hasn’t been sleeping well.

Just hallucinations. Nothing more.

Shaking his head, Kel turns away from the sun-bleached bones of the poor soul whose name he’ll never know.

When he returns to finish off the Hive still clawing at the door he’d vanished through the bullets that bite through their chitinous forms comes from a vile handgun that purrs at the back of his mind, pleased with the carnage and the way the Hive corrode and collapse under the gun’s fire.

He feels ill.

It’s the first thing he’s felt since his brother in arms died.

When he returns to the tower, Kel thinks he shouldn’t have come back at all.

He has no idea what even drove him to come back, but the way people greet him with concern and ask him how he’s doing as though he weren’t just an empty shell who remembers too much feels too much hurts too much, or greet him as though nothing has changed, it grates on his already frayed nerves. As though his best friend isn’t dead, as though he cares for their idle chatter and words.

When he blinks stonily at them, knowing they can’t see his eyes, he stares until they get uncomfortable and turn away. He sees the little blonde girl with curls and a pretty dress staring back at him when they move out of the way.

They don’t see her. It’s been hundreds of years since he has.

Kel makes his way to the Vanguard hall, feels Eris Morn’s three stolen eyes burn into his back and Shaxx’s sharp gaze follow him as he passes, and when he moves down the steps towards the Vanguard’s war table all three members stop to stare at him.

He doesn’t bother to address it, though he feels his skin crawl with frustration at the response.

Moving to stand in front of Cayde—why was he still here, if he was so sure Quinn was still alive? Why wasn’t he actually doing anything? It’s been a month, is she dead?—as though the wary, concerned looks from the other two weren’t making a deep anger he hasn’t felt in years stir inside him.

“Been gone a long time, guardian,” Cayde drawls, one hand still resting idly on his maps and papers spread in front of him. Kel supposes that when you’re on the brink of extinction and fighting an impossible war, a month could be considered a long time. “What’d you find?”

Everyone knows about the Dare. Everyone knows how Cayde-6 became Hunter Vanguard.

Andal Brask had been a good man.

The whispering and aggravation at the back of his mind quiets with relief that Cayde, at least, seems to understand the desire to avoid speaking of the dead and lost. “Mapped out some territory.” Kel replies evenly; in his periphery he can see the way Zavala shifts in irritation.

No ventures into dark zones without fireteams. Ever.

Cayde however steps to one side and gestures to the archaic map he has spread across the table. “Show me.”

So Kel does, pointing to parts of the map and indicating where he found a Fallen Ketch docked, or Hive seeds—that old city in the dark zone he had combed through. Explains what he saw and what he thinks of it, what might be going on or whether it was worth looking into further.

He does this not because it’s his duty to but because something pulled him back to the City just as it had pulled him away, and without the friend that had been helping to guide him for centuries Kel has fallen back into that old Hunter habit of following the paths that call to him. He’s not sure what it was or why, so for now he’s simply going through the familiar motions he’d gotten used to while working as part of a fireteam even though it no longer felt like he had one.

When he finally looks up from the map, done with recounting his travels, he freezes as his eyes land once more on the little girl, standing on the other side of the table and seemingly standing on her toes to try and reach up for Ikora’s ghost.

“Was that all you found?” Cayde asks. Kel hears the caution in it, the double meaning, and understands Cayde’s intent for asking it.

The little girl looks towards the entrance of the hall and Kel follows her gaze. Standing there is Luke, halfway down the steps and staring at him. Kel’s fingers twitch in search for the handgun he’d found.

He blinks. The little girl vanishes. “Yes. That was all I found.”

Without waiting for confirmation, Kel turns away from the table and heads for the stairs at a pace that could just barely be considered a rush, his shoulder bumping against Luke’s roughly and nearly knocking the Warlock off-balance.

Luke tries to say something to him as he leaves, but the whispering is back and Luke’s voice is lost somewhere in the red-hot static boiling in Kel’s veins. He’s close to the burning fire of a Golden Gun let loose and Kel knows that if he doesn’t leave the hall behind, that Golden Gun will be turned on Luke.

Much as something dark and hateful clamors for that exact thing, Kel doesn’t want it.

Maybe if he says it enough he’ll convince himself.

It’s as he reaches the steps to ascend into the plaza that Eris finally decides to insert herself in his way, stopping him and sidestepping to block him every time he tries to move around her. “You found one.”

“I found a few ‘ones’ while out there.” Kel replies, irritated. Another step to the side, blocked again by the woman warped by darkness and Hive, teetering somewhere between the Dark and the Light and leaving his skin crawling—something he’s never felt in her presence before. “Be more specific or get out of my way.”

“It’s whispering to you.” She says, her gauze-covered eyes glowing through the thin fabric and dripping with ichor focused intently on his face as though she could catch his own eyes through his visor. And maybe she could. “I can hear it, too. Where did you find it?”

Shaxx is watching the exchange from further back in the hall.

Kel doesn’t answer, still blocked from moving forward, and he’s tempted to shove her aside as he had done with Luke; he hasn’t felt this openly aggressive in a long time but he’s falling back into it easily as though he’d never stopped.

It felt good. It takes all his willpower to ignore the urge.

“A sorrowful weapon, bleak and dripping with carnage and hate. What does it promise you? Does it promise you vengeance? Purpose? Freedom? They are all lies. You will find no true answers from its treacherous mouth, guardian.” Her voice is thick with spite and venom, growing thicker with every word, and it occurs to Kel that he’s never heard Eris so emotive before.

Ironic, considering his own behavior.

The little girl is back, pouting up at her with furrowed brows.

I promise you solace, oh bearer mine. I promise you certainty.

His lips twitch. More hallucinations. He’ll feel better once he’s gotten some rest—that’s all he needs.

“It speaks to you now,” Eris breathes, her fingers curling around the gently glowing soul stone she carries and her lips pull back in a feral snarl, “do not listen to it! It is hungry and it lies.”

I promise you vindication. I promise you vengeance. All that exists struggles to exist. Blade versus flesh. Blade versus eternity. You know this. You have seen it. You have suffered it. In death and in Life.

My name is Thorn, and I promise you the power to continue existing.

Kel’s skin crawls with illness again, and something soot-blackened and dark and full of sickeningly sweet comfort curls claws around his thoughts; he gives in to his urge and finally pushes past Eris Morn with her haunting call following his rapidly retreating form.

“Do not lose yourself, guardian! Your light yet burns!”

He enters the Crucible at Shaxx’s insistence. He represents no faction, plays with those far from lacking in skill; game of choice is Rumble. He still doesn’t feel like playing as part of a team, not when what was left of his was the one responsible for the other half being lost.

Shaxx says it’ll clear his head, get his mind focused forward instead of stuck in the past. Stuck on events that couldn’t be changed.

He indulges in his old friend’s suggestion, not because he thinks it’ll clear his head (it won’t) but because a deep, darkened part of his soul craves the mind-numbing violence he’s dirtied his boots with for centuries, craves the ability to let loose, put his anger and emptiness outward rather than holding it in for a change.

He wants blood. Wants to see the light bleed from his peers as he shows them how far from his level they are, to prove to them and himself that if he had been on that mission in the Dreadnaught—

He shakes his head and steps around a corner with his auto rifle at the ready, firing a hail of bullets into the back of an unprepared Warlock. The Warlock’s ghost blinks at him balefully, facets spreading around the glowing orb of light that represented the creature’s light and life as it works on reviving its guardian.

The only reason Kel doesn’t glare back at it is because he’s at the top of the scoreboard and doesn’t have the time nor the care.

He’s leaps and bounds ahead of the other participants and on a killstreak, much to Shaxx’s delight, and it’s likely why the other participants seemed to have abandoned their crosshairs being aimed at each other and instead pointed them all in his direction.

He didn’t mind. It just gave him more chance to prove his skill.

He normally didn’t enjoy the Crucible, caring only for its ability to hone team coordination and personal skill—but now, now he was enjoying it. He can’t point to what changed, but he can’t say it was a bad one.

It was…thrilling, he supposed. It made him feel alive.

He ducks under a natural archway in the Venusian landscape, glancing at the radar in his HUD.

He sees the flash of red on his radar a split second too late; something solid slams into his side and he just barely catches himself before it throws him from his feet and knocks him prone. His rifle isn’t so lucky—it goes flying out of his hands, sliding to a halt a few yards away.

The Titan that had slammed into him gives him no time to recover, closing the small distance his shoulder charge had created and snapping an elbow into Kel’s helmet before he can block it. The strike leaves a nasty ringing in his ears and this finally throws him off-balance and his knee brushes the ground.

Kel tips over and rolls with the motion away from the Titan, ignoring the vertigo the action causes. He hears a shotgun round rip through the air, lodging into the course gravel of the landscape he’d just vacated.

He bounds away from the Titan, using a pulse of his light to propel himself further with a jump—another shotgun blast shatters his shields and Echo beeps a sharp warning at him as he retreats.

Somewhere in the scattered rocks and Vex monoliths in the arena he loses the Titan and he circles back around to where he’d dropped his rifle with Echo’s assistance; the Titan had the same idea as soon as he’d lost sight of him, apparently, and Kel is forced to duck back under cover when he appears in sight, booted feet planting firmly on the ground right next to the rifle.

He was waiting.

Kel’s shields had recovered, but that shotgun had a quick firing rate and it would bite through them faster than he’d be able to grab his gun and take the Titan down. The moment he got within range, if the first shot didn’t knock him out of the running the second would, and Kel would still have to aim and fire.

Point blank range or not, rifles didn’t have the same kind of close-range stopping power.

He needed to think of something fast. It wouldn’t be long before the other combatants caught up to them and joined the fray, and Kel didn’t hold out hope that they’d end their grudge and go after each other rather than eliminate the one in first place and then return to the regular slaughter.

The handgun he’d found. It was still in his inventory—

He grimaces. No, he’s got a solar-fueled grenade ready and a throwing knife still on his belt, he could make use of those.

But—

Fingers twitching, Kel orders Echo to summon the hand cannon, spins out of cover, and takes aim.

The first shot knocks out most of the Titan’s shields, and something sick and corrosive eats away at the rest before he even fires a second time; Kel frowns. When he fires again the shot snaps through the Titan’s helmet and he drops like a stone, the heavy thud drowned out by Shaxx calling an end to the match.

He thought there’d been at least another minute left on the timer and he frowns at the empty HUD on his visor. Had he reached the point cap? Why was the Titan’s ghost not visible and working on a revive?

His ghost is quiet.

He’s won either way and he decides it doesn’t matter much. Leisurely and with a heavy exhale he moves to retrieve his auto rifle; considering it for a moment, he glances at the jagged thorn of a weapon in his other hand. Echo chirps her disapproval in his ear, but obediently stows the rifle and transmats a holster onto his thigh for the hand cannon.

Kel returns to the tower to see if there are any open bounties on the board in the plaza. He may as well go out and do his duty to the City while he got used to the new weapon.

He’d been wrong—the match had helped him feel better.

You are strong. The rest are weak. You need to show them. This is the way it should be. This is the way it is.

The whispers are getting louder. Clearer. More insistent. Something about this one in particular gives him pause, but when he tries to grasp the cause it slips through his fingers like sand. He dismisses it, thumbing the grip of the gun holstered on his thigh.

He’s been dealing with the hallucinations for hundreds of years. They’d gotten worse after Demi’s death. They were worse now, after losing Gil. He knows what to expect.

They’ll fade with time. They always do.

When Kel approaches the war room a few days later it’s much louder than he ever remembers it being; their voices are at a volume that he can hear, indistinct and muffled, as far back as the stairs Eris liked to hover by.

Her typical haunt is devoid of her heavy presence.

Shaxx, too, is absent from his usual spot in the Vanguard hall, the space conspicuously and unnervingly empty with the large Titan and his even larger energy gone.

Kel’s footsteps pause momentarily when he catches Arcite, Shaxx’s quartermaster frame, staring at him. He stares back wordlessly until the frame returns to work, muttering in displeasure at whatever messages it’s receiving from the various factions invested in the upcoming Crucible season.

And then he notices the war room’s doors are closed.

It’s an unfamiliar sight—Kel can only recall one time in his hundreds of years of undeath that those doors had ever closed: the crisis on the moon. Humanity’s first contact and war with the Hive, and the First Fireteam to have descended into the Hellmouth. The Vanguard had always adopted an open-door policy from its formation to the modern day, and he wonders what kind of cataclysm must have occurred to force them to close their doors to discuss it.

Did the new war with the Taken warrant such a closed-door meeting?

Kel resumes his walk to the door and pauses just before it, the voices beyond still muffled but more distinct now.

“—he’s not fit for active duty. Is that what you’re saying, Shaxx?” Zavala asks.

Shaxx’s voice, easily the loudest in the room as was the norm for the Titan, answers with a kind of fury Kel hasn’t heard in many years. “I’m saying he’s not fit to be within the City walls, much less on active duty or participating with either the skilled or the under-trained in my Crucible.”

“May I remind you, Lord Shaxx, that you are the one that invited him to participate in that match in the first place.” Ikora says calmly.

“I don’t need to be reminded!” Shaxx responds, the statement punctuated by what sounds like a fist slamming down onto a solid surface. “Had I any idea that he had a weapon that could cause true death, I never would have! Do you think I would ever willingly invite another Red Death incident?”

There’s a heavy beat of silence and Kel’s frown deepens; he remembers the incident well. Everyone had heard of it. Everyone had talked about it. A small massacre caused by a gun prototype found in the wild whose designs had immediately been confiscated and destroyed.

“Don’t think that’s what Ikora was saying, Shaxx,” he hears Cayde’s voice, a parallel to Ikora’s in its even calm—rare, for the typically aloof and jovial hunter, “none of us want a repeat of that.”

“So what is it you’re suggesting, Shaxx? Banishment is a heavy punishment, and what happened could have been an accident.” Zavala, again, now sounding uneasy.

No one had been banished from the City since Osiris—and he, as far as Kel was aware, was one of only two in the history of the City that had ever suffered such a punishment. It was far from a light punishment to consider.

Who the hell was the subject of their conversation?

The next voice that speaks up catches Kel off guard and sends a wave of anger roiling through him, his fists clenching at his sides. “Why is banishment even on the table? He’s just—he’s just messed up from what happened, right? He couldn’t have meant it.” Within the same sentence Luke’s tone wavers between desperately upset to insistent. “He just needs time—”

“To kill more guardians?” Shaxx demands, voice rising another level in volume. “Absolutely not. I will not have more deaths in my Crucible, and I refuse to simply ignore a threat to guardians outside of it either.”

Zavala’s responding tone is sharp and unyielding, a reminder to Shaxx that though he was a valued voice to the Vanguard he wasn’t in a place to state what he just had. “This isn’t a decision for you to make on your own, Lord Shaxx. It will be brought to the Consensus, and it’s why we’re having this discussion in the first place.”

Something is purring at the back of his mind again and Kel glances down at the hand cannon strapped to his thigh. If he believed in weapons with personalities (just tools. Just dead things. just like guardians.) then he might have believed it enjoyed all this heightened emotion.

Whether or not Shaxx intended to respond to Zavala’s warning, Cayde interrupts them both—Kel wonders if it’s to attempt to diffuse the argument before it grew violent. “You said he was usin’ a new gun, Shaxx.” His voice is again eerily calm and even. It’s rare that Cayde was the level-headed one out of the three. “What did it look like?”

“Hand cannon.” Shaxx huffs, either cowed by Zavala or sufficiently distracted by the topic change. “Black and green. Sharp ridges along the barrel, glowing between the seams. It looked sick. Vile. Like the Darkness itself spat it out.”

Kel realizes, then, that they’re talking about him.

“You got a recording of it?”

“I did.”

“Show me.”

Silence follows and Kel twitches impatiently, agitated.

Eyes are on his back again; when he turns around, Arcite’s glowing, unblinking eyes are once again burning holes into him. It’s only because he doesn’t want to alert the people inside the war room to his presence that he doesn’t demand the frame minds its own business.

Bristling, Kel ignores it.

“What is that?” Ikora breathes, so quiet Kel almost misses it.

“Thorn,” Is Cayde’s simple, assured response. His voice is so caustic that it shocks him—he’s never heard the Exo sound so full of raw hatred.

“You can’t be serious, Cayde,” Ikora says. “Dredgen Yor vanished centuries ago—no one knows what happened to him, what are the chances that the fabled weapon none of us could ever confirm even existed shows up in the hands of one of our own?”

He knows that name. Like with the Red Death incident, every guardian does—but unlike Red Death, no one knew the story behind the hushed way it was mentioned, only that it was as feared as any of the enemies they faced in the wilds.

“Tell me, Ikora,” Cayde replies, “where did the fables come from? That gun’s as real as the one that killed its owner and the man that wields it. And that—that is Thorn. That’s the gun that killed Pahanin and Jaren Ward. The one that killed dozens more guardians before ‘em.”

Zavala sounds unconvinced. “And you know this for a fact?”

“I do.”

“And you never brought this anonymous guardian up or the connection of Pahanin’s and Jared Ward’s disappearances to us why?”

“Ain’t a guardian, just a man with a Golden Gun.” Cayde corrects Ikora, clearly unconcerned with either her or Zavala’s skepticism. “And the man likes his privacy, doesn’t want anything to do with our politics. It doesn’t matter. What matters is Thorn’s on our doorstep, a guardian killer, in the hands of a troubled guardian that ain’t thinkin’ clearly.”

The whispering at the back of Kel’s head intensifies, almost a hissing. He finds his lips pulling back in a snarl; he wasn’t troubled, and the gun he had found was just that—a gun. What vile deeds may or may not have been performed with it didn’t change the fact that it was nothing but a tool.

“Hunger…it is hungry. It has been so long and he is so angry…” Eris mutters from somewhere within; he has to lean forward to hear her clearly.

His snarl turns into a sneer; Eris Morn saw evil in everything, and he doesn’t find it hard to believe that she’s simply projecting her losses onto everything she can. Damn the truth, the Hive had warped her and her thoughts, twisted her into something that straddled the line between the Light and the Dark.

How the Vanguard could see her opinion as credible was beyond him.

But a stray thought occurs to him and briefly stifles his building anger—hadn’t she lost her friends and allies in the Hellmouth? Hadn’t she suffered the same painful loss he had?

“So we force him to turn it over and we destroy it.” Zavala says after a heavy pause as they all considered Eris’s words. “And we take him off active duty until his head is cleared.”

Static washes through his thoughts and swats aside the thought that gave him pause, replacing it with that same wash of tidal rage. His fists curl even tighter and he feels his light spark with electricity rather than warm flame for the first time in centuries.

The whispers, the hissing, the hallucinations crescendo into a near roar between his ears, insistent and angry. He feels fingers wrap around his palm and looks down.

The little girl with blonde curls and bright, open blue eyes stares up at him. Her mouth doesn’t move but he can hear her speaking to him, the voice so familiar but distant from his memories. Indistinct, but clear enough that he knows it’s her.

They don’t understand, oh father mine. You are strong. That guardian was weak. This universe eats the weak. You could make them understand. All of them. Do you understand?

He should be afraid. He should be terrified. He killed someone, whether intentionally or not. He killed a fellow guardian when there were already such a small number of them compared to the innumerable enemies they faced.

Deep down, he feels that terror mixing with the anger and the ill feeling that had overcome him when he first found the weapon.

A dark undercurrent accompanies his long-lost daughter’s voice when she wordlessly speaks again.

Teach them, oh father mine. Start with the one who wronged you.

Everything else is drowned out by the roaring in his mind, a cold grasp of fury urging him to finally step forward and shove the doors to the war room open.

Shaxx is next to Ikora, both closest to the doors, and Zavala is on the other end of the long table. Eris is apart from the group, halfway between Cayde and Zavala. Cayde stands in his usual place in front of his maps and in the middle of the table.

Luke is next to him.

All eyes are on Kel. Wary, guarded, surprised—and in Cayde’s case, uncharacteristically empty.

His movements careful and measured, Kel moves down the steps towards them and if he realizes that his little girl’s fingers have become the solid grip of a black hand cannon, he doesn’t acknowledge it. “My head is cleared.” He snaps. “If anyone needs to be taken off active duty, it’s him.”

If Kel had been there instead of Luke, Gil would still be there. Quinn wouldn’t be gone. Luke wasn’t fit to be in the field, on a team, responsible for the lives of his fellow guardians. Gil had taken him under his wing and now Gil was dead.

Luke blinks at the open aggression Kel willingly displays, eyebrows lifting in confusion. “…Me?”

Though his eyes are settled rigidly on Luke, Kel is aware that everyone’s attention is on him. Save for Cayde, who has turned away from him and is leaning with his palms flat on the table and eyes focused but unseeing on the maps under them, everyone in the room is ready to intervene, ready to stop him.

From what?

Shaxx’s fury would make anyone else buckle under the weight of it, but not Kel. He knows Shaxx, has known him for hundreds of years, and though he’s not fool enough to underestimate the Titan nor holds any belief that he could square off against him in a fair fight Kel isn’t afraid of the man.

He doesn’t fear anyone in this room—fears utterly nothing he can recall.

He had been there during the Collapse a lifetime ago. Nothing had frightened him since.

Luke shifts uncomfortably under Kel’s malevolent, heavy stare, shuffling slightly back and away from him even though Kel stops several feet away. Then he freezes and recognition dawns in his eyes, followed by pain and resignation. “Kel, if this is about Gil—”

His shoulder twitches as though he were going to draw up his gun and fire. Right into Luke’s skull. It would only take two shots. Just two. “Don’t.”

“I did what I could! He told me to r—”

Kel disappears in a blink and reappears right next to Luke, ozone tinting the air in the room from the crackle of arc energy; he spins and wraps his fingers around Luke’s throat, forcing him back against the surface of the table and cutting off his protest.

Thorn snaps up from where it had rested uneasily at his hip, barrel settling firmly against the Warlock’s forehead.

He doesn’t flinch when the sound of weapons readying around the room reaches his ears. Neither Cayde nor Eris has moved, but everyone else now had a gun trained on him.

“You ran, right? You’re a coward that let him die.” His voice is frigid. The green light under Thorn’s twisted frame pulses as though eager.

“There was an army of Taken, Kel. They took Quinn, I couldn’t—”

He pulls the hammer back on his hand cannon with a click that firmly and finally silences his teammate.

Cayde speaks up, then, calm despite the scene occurring right next to him. “Eris, that thing’s evil I take it?”

Her responds is a plagued, dreadful moan. “Fingers in my brain.”

“Right.” Cayde moves so fast, then, that Kel doesn’t even see it happen; his head tips to one side when the barrel of Cayde’s Ace of Spades is pressed to the side of his helmet. When the Exo speaks again, eyes unwavering from Kel, it’s directed to the others in the hall. “Rest of you ‘cept for Eris, leave for just a minute. And yes, Zavala, that means you.”

No one moves immediately. Ikora is the first to nod in acceptance and turn to leave, Zavala following after. Shaxx takes the longest to abide the request but he goes as well, shutting the war room’s doors behind him.

Cayde waits for a beat before speaking again. “Let him go, guardian.”

Kel doesn’t take his eyes off Luke. “No.” His finger is on the trigger. The whispering has grown into a hum, some kind of dreadfully beautiful melody, one that calls for him to finish it—to let it consume the light of the traitor standing in front of him.

The urge gnaws at the gray matter of his brain, the undead cells of his body given new life by the Traveler. It burns through his every nerve and his fingers are curled so tightly around the gun’s grip that it’s nearly painful.

He is weak. You are strong. Show them the law and the Logic. Show them the truth.

He wants to. Kel wants to. Luke had left Gil to die—Gil, the man that had considered the young Warlock something of a son, the man Kel had considered his closest friend and brother in arms for hundreds of years. It was Luke’s fault that Gil was dead, Luke’s fault that Quinn was gone. The loss of Demi had been decades ago, around the same time Luke had joined the team, and Kel knows it must have been his fault, too.

Their team had shrunk from five to two. It was his fault.

Wasn’t it?

It was only fair. Put a bullet in his skull. Vengeance. Vindication. Not just for Demi and Quinn and Gil, but also for the wife and daughter Kel shouldn’t even remember. For the rebirth he had never asked for and the war he never wanted to fight.

If he did, Cayde wouldn’t hesitate to put him down. He knew this; rare as it was, Cayde was every bit the leader Zavala and Ikora were, no matter how much he denied it and claimed he wasn’t cut out for the station he’d fallen into. He knew when to be merciful, and he knew exactly when to show no mercy.

Echo wouldn’t be allowed to revive him—she’d be stopped if she tried to. It would be a true death, one Kel wouldn’t be able to come back from just like the Titan he had unwittingly killed in the Crucible, just like Luke should he pull the trigger.

Death upon death upon death.

His blood chills as he finally recognizes the hum at the back of his mind, the words indistinct through the roaring of whispers and demands and promises but no less familiar in their finality.

It was a lure to release—to freedom from an endless existence of nothing but loss and pain, from an existence he had never asked for and a return to the peaceful silence of death and to the ghosts had he left behind in his first life. Freedom from the Traveler’s war and the losing, hopeless battle they’d all been forced into fighting.

But it wasn’t a hopeless fight. Though it seemed that way so often that it was hard to see otherwise, there was a difference between a lost cause and a hopeless one, and the difference was in keeping that hope alive long enough to turn to the tide.

Gil wouldn’t have ordered Luke to flee the battle if he didn’t think there was a chance to turn that tide. Kel knew his friend too well to think that he didn’t.

He knew the difference. Why had it taken Kel so long to see the difference himself?

He feels a phantom tug on the hem of his cloak, sees the little girl in the edge of his vision, and he grits his teeth. The hand holding Thorn suddenly begins to shake, nearly imperceptibly. Was it from rage? Or was he more afraid than he was willing to admit to himself?

“You aren’t the first guardian to lose a partner, hunter.” Cayde’s voice is still calm and even but filled with the kind of tranquil fury that the Hunter Vanguard hid behind jokes and good humor. A calculated coldness that only a handful of other guardians that knew him had ever seen or heard.

He hears the click of Cayde dropping the hammer on Ace, just as Kel had moments ago. “Last chance. Put it down.”

Kel doesn’t move, and it takes him a long moment to get any words out. “Is Quinn still alive?” He asks. His jaw grinds and he tells himself to focus on something else, anything else, other than the scratching in his skull telling him how much easier it would be to just pull the trigger and finish it. It’s not his own.

The ghost wearing his daughter’s face was no hallucination anymore. It was a gun, and it was hungry.

If the question catches Cayde off guard it doesn’t show. “I know she is.”

He still doesn’t move. Kel stares at Luke for one, two, three heartbeats; Luke stares back and it’s the solemn acceptance in his face that eventually breaks the spell Kel could now see being cast. Luke blamed himself for the team’s loss.

Finally he drops Thorn to his side and steps back, releasing Luke from his hold.

Cayde lowers his gun as well but doesn’t holster it. His gaze is unblinking. “Gimme the gun, guardian. So that we can get you back out there.” He says, a little bit more of his usual warmth back in his voice.

Kel ignores him and instead turns to Eris. Surprisingly, she’s looking back like she had expected him to. “Is there a way to shut it up?” He asks.

“Sever the bond.” She says, but as he turns away she adds: “Hive magic warped that weapon, and it has been soaked in countless deaths and drank the light of many. It will never be clean. Never be silenced. And you will listen to it.”

He stares at her, and it takes him a moment to understand what she truly meant—not that should he hold onto the weapon it’ll eventually take full hold of him, but that if he ever underestimated it, it would succeed in dragging him into the same kind of end Dredgen Yor must have suffered.

He looks at Cayde, then, both of them quiet in light of Eris’s words. Cayde seems to pick up on the fact that Kel had no intention of turning the gun over, finally holstering Ace and stepping back.

Kel briefly considers asking Eris if the gun could be destroyed as Zavala had suggested earlier but he decides against it. He won’t take that risk, not with knowing how quickly and easily Thorn had gotten into his head, even considering how poorly he responded to Gil’s death.

Even now, he could hear it howling in rage at his denial of it. Hear it demanding that he pull the trigger, finish the job, let it consume the light of Luke and Eris and Cayde and feed whatever dark magic powered it.

One thing was for certain: he couldn’t trust himself within the City’s walls so long as he held onto it.

He mutes his helmet comms long enough to tell Echo to ready his ship for transmat, and then he holsters Thorn back into place on his thigh, meeting Cayde’s gaze and ignoring Luke’s confused stare. “Contact me when you plan to get her back.” He says.

The engines of his ship roar as it flies over the tower and Echo transmats him into its confines before he hears Cayde’s response.

He leaves the City behind again—this time, somehow, with an even heavier heart than before.

#v: destiny #c: kel #c: luke #ch: cayde 6 #ch: eris morn #ch: ikora rey #ch: zavala #ch: shaxx

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faeratil · 6 years

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Faeratil Samuels - A Destiny Fanfic (part 2)

@morticia-4 this one is a little longer and probably one of my favorite parts

I’ve been here for six months. Ikora, my mentor, has been getting on my nerves about being exactly like her. I’m a Warlock, apparently, and she says I’m her most promising protege even though there are thousands of others under her wing. I’d almost rather be a Titan and work with Zavala except that I have more opportunity to do what I love under Ikora’s wing.

I do research and tactical planning for the Vanguard like I had done in the army. I used to study an alien race that we had only ever speculated after sending probes to other planets and seeing strange robotic creatures with fan-shaped heads and odd-looking stomachs. In that time, we hadn’t learned much more than that they had portals and were much more technologically advanced (one of my probes had wandered through a portal on Venus and reappeared on the radar in an unknown sector of the galaxy map; and then they shot it…) Imagine my surprise when Ikora told me they were called “Vex” and they’ve already sent teams out to study and fight them for years starting with whoever the mysterious ‘Osiris’ was.

I found a box full of books about Osiris and the Vex hidden in the Tower Hangar, and have been reading through them in my spare time to try and figure out how close our predictions were back in the 2250’s. A lot of the books on Osiris have pages missing or are blacked out, and Ikora doesn’t like to talk about him that much. Today, I’ve been reading a journal about the Vex by someone named Pahanin. He’s mentioned another Guardian that extensively studied the Vex called Asher Mir, or something like that. I’ll have to ask Ikora about him later if she’ll actually answer.

“Fae, Fae, Fae!” I hear across the hallway, pulling my attention from Pahanin’s journal. It’s my friend Kadi 55-30. She’s an AI in training at the post office. I don’t know if it’s a glitch or the result of her many reboots, but she tends to say things three times.

I wave her over to my perch looking over the Last City. “Hey, Kadi,” I say as she sits down next to me. We usually spend our breaks hanging out and gossiping about the other guardians.

“Have you met Cayde-6? Cayde-6? Cayde-6?” Kadi asks me out of the blue.

“The Hunter Vanguard?” I ask.

“Yes, yes, yes!”

“I’ve heard of him, but Ikora and Zavala usually take up most of my time. Why do you ask? Do you like him?”

Kadi stutters a bit before answering. “No! But I think you would, you would, you would.” I laugh at the idea that Kadi is trying to set me up. “It’s true,” she says, the tone of her voice showing her embarrassment but still determined.

I stop laughing and give her a small smile. “Kadi, I know you want me to find a guy to make me happy. It’s just… Samuels. His death may have been centuries ago, but as far as I remember, it was only six months ago that I last saw him… He was my husband. I… I don’t even have the ring anymore…”

“Sorry, sorry, sorry…” Kadi says quietly.

“FAE!” I hear a man’s voice yell, almost scaring me off my perch. A big, tall guardian with a white crest and a Viking helmet walks toward us. “I am Lord Shaxx, guardian! I am the Crucible Vanguard, and Ikora has told me all about you! What do you say? The next match is in fifteen minutes!”

I stare at Shaxx, trying not to laugh. Kadi’s giggling. “I don’t know,” I start. “I’d have to ask Ikora if she needs me for a lesson today.”

“Shaxx,” Ikora says, coming up behind him, “I need Faeratil to practice her Void skills today. Her vortexes are weak.”

I know I’m not the greatest Voidwalker, but her words upset me. I look at Shaxx and say, “Keep me posted on the Crucible?”

“YES!” he booms. “I can’t wait to see you perform, guardian. Fight forever!”

Ikora turns to me. “Faeratil, come with me. You still have work to do.” I look at Kadi and make a face before following Ikora to the usual training room.

***

“Focus, Faeratil! You’re sloppy!” Ikora yells at me. We’ve been practicing for five hours, and I am ready to quit. “You have mastered being a Sunbreaker and a Stormcaller, so what is your problem with being a Voidwalker? You haven’t even created a nova bomb yet outside of your journey inside the wall. Was that a fluke? Are you really just a failure?”

I hurl vortex grenades at the dummies, getting more and more worked up with every insult she hurls at me. I watch her from the corner of my eye as she walks closer. She gets right up next to my ear and whispers, “I don’t know how you were a lieutenant at 24. You can’t tell me it was for skill. And your husband? The Traveler didn’t choose him, but I’d bet he’d make a better guardian than you. What did he see in you?”

I can feel more power growing inside me as I get angrier and angrier. Ikora is still at my ear. “How did you get him to fall for you? A liar? A weak woman who pretends to be a good leader? Was it a threat? Did you pay him? Oh, I know. He’s weaker than you and you just wanted a charity case. I’ll bet he never really loved you.”

I whip around and glare at Ikora. Void energy is pulsing through my body like it’s my own blood.

“Your husband never loved you,” she says with a snide smile.

“Shut up!” I scream, releasing all of the pent up energy in a nova bomb that engulfs the entire room, knocking Ikora through the wall. The bomb explodes into the two training rooms on either side. When the energy subsides, I’m standing in a pile of rubble staring at Ikora on her back.

“Oh. My. God. You beat Ikora? This is the greatest day ever!” an Exo male says walking in to what’s left of the room. He looks like a Hunter. He comes over to me and puts his arm around my shoulders. “How did you do it? Was it fun? How much power do you think it was? I’ve gotta tell Zavala about this.”

I stare at him, notice the horn on his head. It suits him, for an Exo. “Who are you, if you don’t mind me asking?” I say, moving out from under his arm. “Oh, right. We haven’t met. Cayde-6, Hunter Vanguard. I’m guessing you’re Fae?” So this is Cayde-6.

“Faeratil Samuels. But, yes. Fae,” I say, reaching out my hand for a handshake.

“Good to meet you. I’m going to call you Faerie though. Let’s go tell Zavala!” Cayde says, grabbing my hand and pulling me out of the rubble toward the Titan training rooms.

***

“Harder, guardian. Discipline and focus are your tools,” Zavala says to the Titan he’s training. Cayde keeps trying to get his attention and tell him about my nova bomb.

I climb on the nearest railing and start circling the room trying not to touch the floor. Zavala’s student keeps stealing glances and breaking focus. Cayde starts to laugh, so I see how far I can walk on my hands before Zavala stops the lesson short.

He turns to me. “Fae, how many times have I told you to stop climbing the railings?” I hop onto the table and take a quick bow before assuming a perch atop Zavala’s chair. He lets out a sigh and turns to Cayde. “I see you finally found Fae. Have you corrupted her focus for recklessness yet?”

“What? No!” Cayde defends. “I heard a big boom when I was trying to find Ikora and then she blew up and it was awesome!”

Zavala turns to me for clarification. “It wasn’t on purpose,” I say so quietly that I’m not sure he hears me.

“What happened, Fae?” Zavala says, stepping up to me.

“I… I lost control and—“

“She threw a nova bomb at Ikora and destroyed three training rooms! Oh. Now that I think of it, I wonder if Ikora’s okay,” Cayde interrupts.

Zavala rubs his eyes in exasperation. “You threw one of the most deadly attacks at Ikora and then just left?”

“It wasn’t my fault!” I shout, jumping onto the table above him. “She was talking shit about my… about Samuels, and the energy just burst through me. I didn’t mean to destroy everything around me. And if she’s hurt badly, I’ll help take care of it.”

Zavala backs off a bit and Cayde slowly comes to stand by me. “If she was slandering someone so important to you, I do not blame you, guardian,” Zavala says. “However, if Ikora is hurt, I will hold you responsible for taking care of her recovery.”

He walks toward the door and, before leaving, turns to Cayde. “I hope if I leave Fae in your hands you can help her?” Zavala leaves and Cayde offers me a hand to get down.

“So… Wanna drink?” Cayde asks.

“I didn’t know Exos could drink.”

“I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeve. How ‘bout it? No offense, but you look like you could use it.”

I give him a weak smile and agree.

***

About 3 bottles of whiskey later

“So why are you stuck here?” I ask Cayde, my words slurring from the alcohol.

“I lost a bet. My lucky pants weren’t so lucky and now I’m stuck with Kiora and Valaza and paperwork,” he replies, messing up the Vanguards’ names. I think he may have fried a circuit to get drunk with me, but I’m glad for someone to talk to so I don’t ask him if he’s okay.

“You know, Cayde, your horn is really beautiful,” I blurt out leaning closer to him and laughing. “Beautiful, beautiful horn.” I tap his horn and lean over to kiss it, but instead end up falling off my stool.

Cayde and I can’t stop laughing. He tries to help me up but ends up falling on top of me. “Bartender! My woman friend and I need help up. And maybe an escort home for her,” Cayde yells at the first person he sees. “Where do you live, Faerie?” he asks, patting my forehead.

“Russia, I think,” I say, but my head is too foggy to remember anything else. Cayde pushes himself up and pulls me into his arms to carry me like a baby. “Faerie, you can come over tonight,” he says softly, stumbling out of the bar and towards his place. I smile and curl into his chest before I pass out.

#destiny warlock #destiny #cayde 6 #my oc is married to cayde in my au #fanfic #fanfiction #faeratil samuels

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arrogance-is-my-middlename · 6 years

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A New Sun

A short thing on Osiris and the loss of Light

Silence between the two of them wasn’t uncommon, nor particularly unwelcome, but this one was so much… heavier. Panoptes had shifted focus, just for an instant, and there was a reality branch that had processing power boosted—a clear indication that something in the real world had shifted. Osiris didn’t know what it was that caused it (when was the last time he had been aware of anything outside the Forest?), but if Panoptes cared then Osiris cared.

Whilst the Vex Mind never had mastered the trick of simulating Light (“How could anyone simulate something as great as me?” Sagira had jeered), he got around that by using combat data from thousands of encounters with Guardians, especially the Vault of Glass, to approximate as best as he could. It was clever and not entirely pointless, but there was enough of a percent error caused by the simple unpredictability of Guardians. Beings of paracausality are particularly frustrating like that. The gift of deciding one’s own fate cannot be overstated, and Osiris knows the instant the Vex learn to bind the Light and its Guardians to the rules of fate, all is lost. The burst of processing power to a seemingly innocuous reality branch is, for this very reason, a cause for concern.

“Panoptes will be there,” Sagira warns. “An effort like this won’t be easily abandoned. We can’t face him directly.”

“Then we won’t,” Osiris replies dismissively. “I’ve sent one of my echoes to investigate.”

“Echoes can be traced.”

“Which is why the message of whatever is found will be handed off to many echoes. Panoptes is not omniscient, if he was this game of hide and seek would’ve been lost long ago.”

Sagira grumbles more about how she doesn’t like it, but in the end Osiris wins the argument (as he always does).

xxxxx

It turns out that her worries were baseless however. The reality branch comes to life before the echoes of Osiris can even reach it, and for the first time in centuries, Osiris feels fear.

The light leaving him is violent, visceral and profound in ways too painful for true comprehension. He feels every molecule of his being forcefully cut away from the Light, as the node of power that has always been so very bright inside him is stamped out mercilessly. Sagira’s screams of pain are the only thing that keeps him conscious and moving, so he cradles his fallen companion and takes shelter in the deepest corner of the Forest he can find. Panoptes has put so little effort and processing power into this small branch that Osiris can see the objects and lifeforms literally load into being as he stumbles forward. It’s almost laughable, really, but the way Sagira shudders in his hand sobers him.

xxxxx

“It’s the Cabal,” an echo tells him later. “The Red Legion descended on the City and caged the traveler. Panoptes is simulating Guardians without light now.” Osiris feels rage (or is it despair?) but Sagira tells the echo to monitor Panoptes “just in case”.

“What does it matter? The Vex stayed their hand because they could not defeat the Light. Now there is no Light at all.”

Sagira tilts her frame forward, almost challengingly. “Nothing is lost forever, Osiris. I can—I can feel the Light. It’s still there. Someone has it.”

xxxxx

She’s right. Osiris doesn’t fully understand how she knew, but Sagira was right, and he cannot help but smile at the clear frustration that Panoptes cannot properly simulate just one single Guardian. Because that Guardian has the Light, they are paracausal, and for Osiris, that is enough. He is patient, he tells himself. He can wait and watch on the sidelines, just this once. Panoptes maintains this almost accurate simulation to adjust accordingly to what shifts in reality, and Osiris is a silent and unknown attendee to the spectacle.

Months pass. The Guardian is impressive, in their own way, but Osiris is… confused. He has theories on how the Guardian got their Light back (Panoptes himself creates several simulations, all different, but they don’t end quite right and it always opens up inaccurate reality paths), but the aged Warlock cannot figure out why it is this Guardian. They are neither the strongest nor smartest, and if Osiris is being honest, their biggest claim to fame is simply being the one with the job handed to them. Osiris is not a humble man, but he’s no fool either. There were so many other better candidates, stronger candidates, Guardians who were so absurdly close to the light that they hurt to look at. Shin Malphur, who was born and not revived, Ana Bray who was so full of Light that she leaked wells of it at Twilight Gap. Any member of the Vanguard would have been wise; Ikora effortlessly flowed between Arc and Void with little hesitance and struggle and who had been beyond terrifying when she ran Crucible runs with the Invective ever present in her hands, Cayde 6 who (Osiris loathed to admit this) had amassed more powerful weaponry than any other living Guardian simply because he was that good, and Zavala, who was strong enough for the ever-taciturn Saladin to take on as a pupil alongside only one other. Speaking of, Osiris had to admit that even Shaxx would’ve been a wise choice. Though if it had to be a Titan, Osiris would’ve wanted it to be Saint 14 who—no, he forced himself not to think about that. Osiris knew where Saint had went. Osiris had not let himself follow his brother the Titan, not when the research was this important.

“They’re making progress,” Sagira notes.

Osiris adjusts his position and frowns as the simulation plays out in front of him. “They found Ikora on Io, managed to even drag her back.”

Sagira spins her tines, something Osiris has come to realize is an expression of quiet excitement. “They can’t lose now, not with Ikora back.” Osiris agrees, but he doesn’t vocalize it.

And then…

The attack. Ghaul dissolves and the Traveler explodes in order to escape its cage and Osiris wonders if maybe the once-dead God Machine is every bit as angry as the Guardians are when they retake their torn apart City. He speculates and he muses until he isn’t because Sagira is screaming again but this time it’s elation and joy and he feels the Light reconnect with his synapses and Osiris feels true strength that he hasn’t felt in months flow back into him in a rush. In a fit of curiosity and relief he lets the Light fill him, ready to embrace the Song of the Sun he had once so powerfully drawn upon, but this time it’s different and Osiris realizes that he is no Sunsinger, not anymore.

What was once uncontrolled and wild Solar Light that had filled him to the brim and spilled out so spectacularly that death shrank away in fear, was now concentrated and centered around rage and need. Osiris still felt himself float off the ground as he had once did as a Sunsinger, but this time he felt the Light coalesce and form the Dawnblade in his hand and he knew that the time of endless praise and raw power had been shaken off. Now he wielded Light as a weapon and with strength to not just chase away the Darkness but to cut it down. He lets the blade fade from his finger tips and the sun fire cool and recede. The stripping of the Light had fundamentally changed the army of faithful undead that called themselves Guardians, and this sword was just a symbol of that change. As Sagira whooped and chattered in pure unfiltered joy, Osiris felt himself wonder, for once without apprehension and dread, what could possibly happen next.

Tumblr is a bitch to format on and I’m making an AO3 account for this very reason. Until the account gets approved I’ll keep posting here. Come yell at me about Destiny 2 in the meantime.

#my writing #destiny 2 #destiny the game #destiny2 #osiris #sagira #panoptes #fanfiction

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typewriterbot · 6 years

Text

power struggle

Last City politics are a messy thing. ira does his best to wade through it all

(all of this is speculation and how i see the city being run)

When asked about the politics of the Last City Ira’s face scrunched up, like he was preparing for a blow to the head.

You almost backed away, but he sighed and let his shoulders drop. He waved you over, taking your arm to make you sit down next to him as he cleared a spot on a library bench. His Ghost transmatted a tablet into one hand and a stylus into the other. “This is more for me than for you,” he said, and opened a blank document.

Ira breathed deeply through his nose and wrote out Consensus in cursive at the top of the document. “I don’t know how much you know. I arrived in the City after the Faction War, around the time of Twilight Gap actually, but knowing how everything started is just as important in understanding the present.” You nodded. That was a very Warlock thing of him to say, as if the gold and black robes he wore didn’t give it away when you first saw him.

“So, the Faction Wars ended with the forming of the Consensus. The governing body is headed by the Speaker, or, was headed by the Speaker.” His jaw clicked shut, and your jaw clenched. A second passed. “The Vanguard has taken his place for now in order to keep some sense of balance, but that brings in its own problems. The Vanguard has its own political allegiances within Guardians, the Titan Orders, Warlock Orders, Cayde has his Shadowsmiths, and Ikora has her Hidden, but I digress. Those don’t affect the City as much as the Factions themselves.” On the document, Ira wrote Vanguard + Guardians off to the side and circled them. A sphere of influence that was held outside the inner workings of the City.

You smashed down the desire to ask about that set of politics. You only wanted to know about the Factions and the City, no need to take up more time than what you’ve already asked for.

Below Consensus Ira wrote Dead Orbit, FWC, and New Monarchy. To the left of those, he wrote Concordant. Before you could even ask why the Concordant was written down he explained, “Before Lysander’s exile, this was the Faction that allowed Guardians to have some say in how the City was ran. This was back when Guardians and Civilians intermingled more often than not. It’s changing now, because of Hawthorne and the clans, but after the Concordant, Guardians didn’t really have anything to do with the Consensus.”

And that made sense. When was the last time you had heard of Guardians meddling in City politics. They were kept separate. Between Guardians having a skewed sense of time, there were plenty of people who simply didn’t think that Guardians should have any say in how the City was ran when they had so little to do with it. It seemed unfair, but when Guardians got to live in a Tower, allowed to come and go as they pleased but civilians could not, it made sense. You nodded, and Ira continued.

“Future War Cult became part of the Consensus, and granted access into the Tower. They’re the most military in nature, given the whole war aspect of their title. They have... allies, like Crux/Lomar who are really into rocket launchers and making very big, very loud explosions-” a thought passed through your head, a Crucible match from years ago where a Guardian with a Gjallarhorn managed to wipe out most of the opposing team with one rocket, and you grimaced; yes, Crux/Lomar did like their explosions “-but the reverse of that is that they don’t have many. The Red War shifted this, but FWC still has a ridiculous amount of secrets. Ikora probably knows the most about them, but to the average civilian, hell, to the average Guardian, the War Cult is another faction that’s really into weapons and waging war.” Ira lowered his voice, making you lean closer as he said, “Between you and me, I almost agree with them. The Light will always attract the Darkness, and vice versa, but that doesn’t mean war is all there is to life. Don’t spread that around, by the way. I don’t need people thinking I’m the next Ulan-Tan. Nor do we need the Symmetry to rise to anymore power. Not right now, at least.”

Before you could ask what the Symmetry was, Ira moved on.

A line was drawn underneath FWC, connecting it to Crux/Lomar. Then, he wrote Omolon and connected it to FWC too. A foundry that makes questionable and often times dangerous weapons paired with a faction obsessed with war was plausible. “Omolon is a bit more open with their allegiances,” Ira explained. “Crux/Lomar isn’t. Foundries are a bit more loose with who they back, more quiet too, but still important.”

Now there were the foundries to worry about? No wonder Ira looked like he was about to get hit when you asked him.

“Moving on, Dead Orbit’s main focus is on leaving Earth, which, okay, it’s fair, but between the Vanguard and the rest of the Consensus that’s just not possible for them. Short of a battle in space there’s no real power to stop Dead Orbit from leaving, so most everything is stopped in the Consensus. Here’s what sets them apart from FWC and New Monarchy: they’re open and honest with their intents.” Ira had written the foundry Nadir underneath Dead Orbit and connected the two. “Dead Orbit has this thing, Book of Departures they call it, about what an Arach should do and be like. One tenant is to avoid isolation. Arachs aren’t the happiest bunch around, but at least they have a support network, which is more than the FWC’s Inner Circle. And before you ask, I don’t know who’s part of the Inner Circle.”

You close your mouth.

“That leaves New Monarchy. They’re unpopular because they know every law forward and back and have the funds from private donations to pursue legal action. Between FWC’s questionable ways of obtaining information and Dead Orbit’s general nihilism, New Monarchy has a tough time finding ways to sway the people. Where Dead Orbit wants to use Golden Age vaults to escape Earth, New Monarchy wants to use them to bring back the Golden Age. Therein lies the problem. A little hard to bring back the past. Humanity will never get that back.” Ira sighed, rubbed his jaw, and looked at you. “Their dedication to the City isn’t wrong, but how they go about it is. Executor Hideo is known for trying to have private conversations with Zavala about taking over as a sort of head of state for the City. Dead Orbit and FWC, and Cayde now that I think about it, pretty much go out of their way to make sure those rarely happen. Not that I think Zavala will ever say yes, but it’s the meaning behind the actions that matter, not just the words.”

Ira wrote down Suros and Veist, and connected them to New Monarchy before chuckling. “New Monarchy is pretty obsessed with how things look. Their executors are pretty much told to spend lavishly and dress to impress. Why do you think Hideo’s little hangout in the Bazaar is so nice looking compared to the others? The lavish lifestyle is meant to draw people in, and, like I said, they’re not above being persuasive.”

You glance at the tablet screen, then at Ira. If that was the base of the Consensus, then what more could there be? A battle of ideologies was happening! How many people really knew what was going on with the factions? How much history and how many lies were swept under the rug because of the Consensus watching its own backs?

Ira laughed under his breath, and pointed at you with his stylus. “I know that look. People get that look a lot when I do my best to explain the Consensus.” You try not to blush at that. You couldn’t have been making that obvious of a face, could you?

“Here’s the thing. All the little things that fall under infrastructure are taken care of by the citizens of the cities and district managers. Those are completely out of the Consensus’s hands. Past talks of financing, the Consensus is mostly focused on the direction the City takes.” Underneath where Ira had written the faction names and several foundries, he wrote the City large and circled it. “Laws are slow to pass, but one of the most obvious ones are that no civilian is allowed to leave the City. That didn’t stop many of them, but it was still illegal. With Hawthorne in the City, lobbying for more civilians to be part of the decision making process, she’s pretty much thrown a wrench into how the Consensus will run things now. She’s pushing for independence where the Consensus is very dependent on all three factions and the Vanguard to balance each other. Right now I can’t say where the City’s politics will go, but things will be different.”

How, you ask.

“By learning their language, and barrelling through it. Shaxx is known for it. He argued against going to Luna, the Consensus didn’t listen, and look what happened. He won’t hold it against them, but he knows to take everything they say with a grain of salt.” Ira wrote down a few texts in the margin of the document and tapped at the titles with his stylus. “Look those up. Read them carefully. Remember, the Consensus is still just a bunch of people who would rather argue that find common ground. If it takes a little shouting, don’t be afraid to do that. They’ll listen, one way or another. And if they don’t, try and stay alive long enough to say I told you so.”

You memorized the books Ira had written down. He stood up, and bowed at the waist. “If you ever need my help, just send my Ghost a message, and I’ll do my best.” He straightened up, shoulders squared, and left you behind on the library bench.

Well, that was informative. Now it’s time to get to work.

#scrap #bara ocs #fireteam bara #want some word vomit and vague ideas about how the city runs #well here u go

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thefirstknife · 11 months

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THOUGHTS

My thoughts are that I am insane right now!!!!!!!!

I was in a raid when this happened and then just like a few friends alerted us to come see the channel and we straight up did not believe them. TFS teaser THIS EARLY?? And then they also ofc said "Cayde is there" so we were convinced that they're messing with us.

But then we watched it and like, Cayde being there is the least of my concerns tbh. THE ENVIRONMENT???? It's the other side of the portal! It means we go through at some point in the next two seasons! This was expected of course, but I didn't think we would see anything about it until the actual campaign, definitely not this early. Like, seeing what it looks like on the other side is a huge teaser. I genuinely did not think we'll see a single glimpse before TFS, not even maybe during reveals and trailers later.

But Cayde being there is actually also important. He's not looking right! He has a weird glow on his eyes and other places, including the way Ace of Spades looks; some sort of weird gashes of light-ish tint, almost Taken in nature? But brighter. Kinda reminds me of the way time rifts look on Mars.

The fact that he has Ace in the first place is also suspect; we have Ace. Like, that was very much a huge plot. He can't have it back, not broken up like this, unless some truly WILD shit goes down in the next two seasons and YW like... dies or something. This, alongside the weird lights on him and the gun, seems to be indicating that he's not real. Like, he's obviously him and he is corporeal in some form and he speaks the same and knows who he is, but I think he's a memory that Ikora can access. (more under for length)

Which ties into the place they're at. Me and others have speculated before that what lies on the other side of the portal is the original garden from Unveiling, or some sort of a similar place outside of space and time. This can be neatly tied in with what we know about the Darkness and what has been the most important plot thread since Lightfall: Darkness is memory, emotions, psychic. It's history and time. I've spoken a lot about this recently. Lore has been focusing on it as well, most notably with Inspiral lore book from the raid that showed us two different ancient species that were capable of using the Darkness to access the collective consciousness and the memory of their civilisation, but this has also been brought up before, for example with the Psions who communicate in a psychic way and have an ancient religion that allowed them to contact their ancestors.

This is also heavily reiterated this season with Ahsa who has a similar power, as well as the Pyramid ships, the portal and the Veil who can all affect people's consciousness and give them access to their memories. One particular interesting bit is the ship from this season called Akashic Revelation. In it, we see the Titan, Joxer, making an attempt to pass through the portal. As he gets near, he goes through a massive whiplash of spacetime distortion and ends up having flashes of memories of his life before being a Guardian. The memories continue as he passes through, but we know what happens to him later. He is found outside, bent and broken, fused with his ship and dead. But the portal triggered a flash of memories of his past. Not only that, but the name of the ship is important as well: it refers to something called akashic records, an occult concept of there existing a compendium of everything that ever happened in the universe: all of past, present, future, all memories, events, emotions and people. Joxer seemingly accessed it as he touched and passed through the portal. This is absolutely a wild word to use here, given what we know of the Veil being the "mind and memory of the universe" and everything else I've mentioned.

What I'm trying to say is that the best way to tease about us gaining access to the source of the history of the universe is by showing Ikora speaking to a dead character who only exists as an imprint in the history of the universe. The potential here, if we're on the right track is huge. Not only is this super exciting on its own (a connection to everything that ever happened!), but it also brings the potential that other dead characters might also appear in some shape or form, to help us or tell us more.

It's also wild that this is a teaser. Meaning this is the least spoilery they could get and it's already so wild that it's making me lose my mind. I would definitely advise people not to expect Cayde (or other dead characters) to suddenly "come back" in the sense they expect them to. I don't think he or anyone else will be properly "alive." So in that sense, I don't think he's "back" the way people may think. He'll obviously have a presence in the story, and that makes sense if the story is focused on Ikora. Ikora has never truly recovered from his death and if there was a memory she would access (consciously or not), it would probably be his. She has already involuntarily accessed him as a nightmare.

But given how much we're focusing on the psychic aspects of the Darkness, including right now in this season which is pretty much all about the psychic bond between an ancient creature that has the power to show people visions of the past and the future and Sloane, a bond we have to strengthen to learn more about what's coming and what our enemy really is... The fact that the whole campaign and post-campaign and all lore and quests were focused on explaining the metaphysical properties of Darkness and its connection to the mind, the psychic, the consciousness, the emotions and the mind of the entire universe... Well. It's building up to something. And us being able to communicate with people long dead is not only useful, but might be necessary to understand how to defeat our enemy.

All of this is ofc purely wild speculation. It's way too early to say anything conclusive, outside of just trying to gauge which aspects of the lore Bungie wants us to pay attention to and which aspects of the lore are being focused on. The Veil and the memory of the universe seems to be this year's theme leading us into the Final Shape so for now, that's the direction to go into.

Full reveal will be on 22nd of August, which is the start of the next season. We'll definitely know more then, especially since Deep will be done and most of the new Ligthfall quest audio logs will likely be done too. Until then, I know people will go into wild directions and speculation, mostly because it's Cayde. In the same way that I advise people not to think that he'll suddenly be alive, I'd also ask people not to be too negative about what may happen because we literally don't know. Cayde's presence is not an indicator of either good or bad. I'd also like for people to focus more on the actual important background stuff rather than zero in on a single character, but I know that won't happen lmao.

In a way, I wish Cayde didn't overshadow the completely insane scene of Ikora sitting in a garden-like place on the other side of the portal that nobody has been able to go through before (and those that tried suffered violent deaths after being having visions of everything that ever happened). Because to me, that's the true teaser here. I can't wait to find out more and I'll definitely be looking at the upcoming lore from Deep in a different light. Things are building up and I hope people will pay attention to the background stuff that's been going on about the Veil, memory, history and consciousness.

#destiny 2 #destiny 2 spoilers #season of the deep #season of the deep spoilers #the final shape #cayde-6 #ikora #the veil #lore vibing #long post #long ass ramble about 50 seconds of a teaser #but i know what the major takeaway will be and i want to mention some of this stuff before people hype themselves into oblivion #about cayde being alive somehow. which is like. i'm 99% sure he's a memory in the fabric of the universe as everyone else is #if that's wrong then it's wrong in such a spectacular plot twist way that i am genuinely at the edge of my seat to find out #i definitely would've loved if ikora was more of a focus though. she should be #i feel like this is such a huge tease to drop this early but then again they KNOW what hype it will generate #ask

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themothyards · 7 years

Text

Destiny 2 Reveal Stream: Notes

Here are my notes from the reveal stream, with some concluding thoughts at the end. All of this information is available from the Bungie reveal stream, and is not speculation unless marked as such:

Story:

In the beginning of Destiny 2, the Last City has fallen. Dominus Ghaul, leader of the Cabal Red Legion, has laid waste to the Tower and to the City itself, and his legions have torn our home apart.

The reveal trailer shows us fighting through the tower in the first campaign mission, called “Homecoming,” in which we battle alongside the Vanguard until Amanda Holliday deposits us atop some kind of Cabal ship, where we attempt to face down the bad guy.

Unfortunately, we fail, and Dominus Ghaul succeeds in deploying some sort of device that places the Traveler in a cage, instantly draining the Guardians of Light, and causing us to lose our powers. We cannot go back to the Tower.

In response, the Vanguard scatters. Ikora has fled to Io out of anger, Zavala is on Titan healing and having an existential crisis - “Are we Guardians even without the Light?”, and Cayde-6, in attempting to play the hero, has gotten himself into trouble on Nessus. Apparently, the Speaker has disappeared. More on these new worlds below.

In the campaign, we will have to track down and collect the Vanguard, as well as fight the new Red Legion enemy, led by Dominus Ghaul. Dominus Ghaul believes that he, based on his past experiences (which were not elaborated upon), is most worthy of the Traveler’s blessing, and does not understand why Humanity was chosen. He has come to Earth to prove his worthiness, and sees humanity as being in his way. He is not a “psychopath” bent on genocide. Luke Smith described him as “Having his stuff together,” and “Like Alan Rickman in Die Hard.”

Destiny 2 is a game about loss, and transitions into an experience about recovery and reclaiming what is ours.

Classes:

Shown classes remain the same: Hunter, Warlock, and Titan. Nova Bombs, Defender Bubbles, and Golden Guns were shown but not remarked upon. However, new Super abilities were showcased:

Titan Sentinel: A Titan with a voidlight shield that can be used to block damage, thrown at enemies, or used in melee combat. There also appeared to be some new kind of Striker Titan Dash and a different sort of ‘Ice Wall,’ neither of which were discussed.

Hunter Arcstrider: A Hunter with a staff of arclight that focuses on acrobatic melee combat.

Warlock Dawnblade: A Warlock with a sword made of solar light that can be used in melee combat or to fling ranged attacks. Warlocks also appeared to be able to place some sort of buff zone beneath them, one of which “empowered” the player.

These look pretty awesome.

Weapons:

Weapon loadouts have been revamped to give players more flexibility. Weapons are now divided into three categories:

Kinetic

Energy

Power

New weapons:

A variety of new weapons were shown. In addition to hand cannons, sniper rifles, shotguns, pulse rifles, and shotguns, we saw:

A type of SMG

Grenade launchers

Minigun-like machine guns

A type of fast-firing rocket launcher

I assume we will learn more about this in the coming days. It appears that weapons such as hand cannons occupy the kinetic slot, but I would like to see more information about how these slots will work.

Worlds:

Destiny 2 features four playable worlds:

Earth: The European Dead Zone is now the location of Destiny’s largest playable area, and this is the zone where Humanity flees and attempts to rebuild after the Cabal attack. This camp was founded by Hawthorne, who features in the D2 Preorder, and who once left the City to live in the Wilds.

Titan: Titan, Saturn’s largest moon, is covered with a Methane ocean with 40 ft waves, and features a human utopia, a relic of the Golden Age, sinking into ocean. There is no landmass on Titan.

Io: A sulfuric moon of Jupiter, Io is the last place the Traveler touched before it appeared on Earth. Io is a sacred place to the Guardians, and to Warlocks in particular. In the trailer, there appear to be the remnants of some kind of civilization.

Nessus: A centaur, or type of icy minor planet. The Vex have transformed Nessus into a machine world, and it now features native vegetation, large canyons, and plateaus based on tepui, a type of South American highland plateau.

Quests

Destiny 2 has revamped the map system. Now, players will be able to use an area map to navigate and discover locations and events. These include:

PatrolsAmbient enoucntersCollectable materialsAdventures*Treasure maps*Public events with treasures*Lost sectors*

*denotes a seemingly new feature

Destiny 2 will emphasize the sense of exploration that players experience. For example, players will be able to discover and unlock secret, hidden dungeons, which will contain both loot and bosses. There appear to be many, many secrets to discover.

Furthermore, there will be more interaction with NPC’s, resulting in numerous side-quests and further adventures.

Map:

Destiny 2 features a revamped map system that players will use to uncover and navigate the new areas. Waypoints, such as those corresponding to the activities listed above, will show up on this map. It will also show WHERE and WHEN public events will take place.

In addition, players will no longer have to ‘go to orbit’ to navigate to new locations. The world navigation system will now be usable from anywhere.

Co-operative:

Co-operative play was heavily emphasized by all presenters. Bungie attempted to strike a balance between easy matchmaking and ensuring that all players are comfortable with the strangers they are matched with. The notable new features are:

Clans: Clans will no receive official, in-game support. These will offer rosters, tools for fireteam building, custom banners, and shared clan experience and progression. Achievements, whether done solo or in a group, will benefit your clan.

Guided Games: Guided games are a new way for solo players to find a fireteam without joining a clan and while being able to ensure they have a positive experience. Solo players will be able to see a brief summary of clan information, as well as the activity proposed, and will then be able to join the clan for that single activitiy without committing to the clan. Guided games will open up your party to more players, in case one of your fireteam members must drop out of the activity.

Crucible: The Crucible has been revamped for 4v4 combat across all game modes. There will also be a new attack/defend mode called “Countdown.” I assume we will learn more in the coming days.

PC Gamers:

In partnership with Blizzard, Destiny 2 for PC will be available exclusively through Blizzard’s Battle.Net.

Other Notes:

“More cinematics than ever.”

There will be a new raid.

There will be new strikes. The strike played at the reveal is called “The Inverted Spire.” You will traverse Red Legion territory to a Vex Stronghold, where you will fight a 3-stage boss.

There will be more quests and story missions

There may (SPECULATION: ENTIRELY UNCONFIRMED) be new vehicles.

There will be “More to do than any game we’ve ever made at Bungie.”

Main takeaways

Community, community, community. Destiny 2 was referred to several times by different people as “A world I want to be in, where I can always find people to play with if I want to.” Bungie appears to be focused on making all of D2′s content accessible to more players. This, to me, is a great thing.

Exploration: the words “Open World” were not used, and from the gameplay demo of “Homecoming,” that mission at least appeared quite linear. That’s not to say the rest of the game will be that way, and if the new map system is any indication, we can look forward to a lot more exploration.

I, personally, cannot wait to see the new worlds. It seems like Bungie has done a lot of work to make each location feel unique.

Gameplay-wise, it sounds as though Bungie has learned from D1, and is looking for ways to make D2 more engrossing and meaningful for all kinds of players. If the new strikes have harder, more involved boss fights, it sounds as though we can expect more than the bullet-sponge boss fights that dominated D1.

The revamped weapons system also sounds great, and I can’t wait to hear more about it.

I am unsure about the Crucible being reworked for 4v4. Reference was made to it being “For PvP Players,” although what that means remains to be seen.

And, most importantly: Throwing Knives return.

#destiny 2 spoilers #destiny spoilers #destiny 2 #destiny #bungie's destiny #destiny 2 reveal #destiny 2 information #destiny the game #destiny community

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haldenlith · 5 years

Text

Thoughts on the Black Armory leak/spoiler

Now that I'm well rested and over the initial hype shock, I can pretend to be an intellectual.

First, I'm heavily out of the loop on anything that has happened in Destiny after October 10. I only found out about this via getting curious when someone went "oh man, that new guardian leak though." I had very little idea there was even a new DLC coming out. Cons of having only phone internet, and limited phone internet at that. So, yes, all crazy curious speculation, as I don't know what's happened so far, story wise.

Anyway, major leaked spoilers ahead. Don't read on if you want to learn on your own when it actually releases. Seriously. I'm trying to be good here.

Okay? Okay.

But yes, I'm both excited and curious about how we're going to find out everyone's favorite Awoken asshole has been raised. Will it be a quest? Will we find him before Petra does? It's a toss up. On one hand, he's right there in the Dreaming City, and Pulled Pork (I'm fairly certain that's Pulled Pork) doesn't have an easy way of getting him to the Tower without help, which would most easily come from Petra. There's also the fact that there's basically a neverending war going on versus The Taken. Logically, Petra and her corsairs should be monitoring the area, and would likely know if the good prince is up and about. On the flip side, it's possible, with all the chaos, that a small detail like that could get missed, and in one of our trips to The Dreaming City, we find Uldren.

Or we find him randomly on the Tangled Shore. It's possible.

Of course, then there's the case of his memory. I would assume the wipe still happens, even if he's only been dead maybe two months. That said, Ana Bray got most of her memories back somehow, starting with only a tiny hint (her name badge) and going from there, so it is extremely possible Uldren will get part of his memory back, or at least have context to why people react how they do to him. He's WAY too famous and notorious to be able to not be reminded of who he was. All other guardians who know of their past only had small clues to use. He's waking up in a city he helped create, in a part of space he was the prince of, in clothing that bears his sister's sigil, and during a time when his villainous exploits are still fresh in people's minds.

There's no way for the past to stay buried with him. I doubt he'll get a choice. I imagine he'll be reminded he's Uldren, by multiple people.

Which makes me curious to how things will play out in The Tower. In my fic, it's way down the timeline, and in ten years, tensions have cooled. The actual canon? Basically the next damn day, for all intents and purposes. I see there being a great deal of very interesting reactions, and a deepening of the divide between Ikora and Zavala.

This leads to another thing that people have been speculating: the next Hunter Vanguard. In Cayde's Last Will, we hear a message for any Hunter that kills him, stating that his "dare" is that any Hunter who kills him gets all of his stuff, including the job of Hunter Vanguard. It's argued that it doesn't apply, since Uldren was neither a Hunter nor even a Guardian, and we ultimately got Cayde's stuff (since we killed Uldren), but... Zavala has a voice line where he says he stands by the Vanguard Dare and will not be looking for a replacement for Cayde.

Cayde never said you had to be a Hunter at the time of his death. It's fairly obvious Uldren will be a Hunter, given how he fights in the lore and his general design. It'd make sense, too, given that, now with Cayde-6 gone, we need a new snarky rogue with a "unique" perspective. Uldren's a tactician, he's something of a survivalist, able to rough it out in the wild (as suggested with the Distributary lore bits)... He is really quite the perfect fit for the job, and comes in as a neutral party, given that he hasn't been there since the beginning. I'd be surprised if he isn't the new Hunter Vanguard. They've set it up rather well.

I hope my internet grid is back up and running by the time that bit comes out. Since it's a leak, I doubt it'll be a part of the initial wave of Black Armory.

#destiny 2 #black armory #spoilers #uldren spoilers #i'm trying to tag this appropriately so to not spoil people

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jsmulligan · 7 years

Text

Challenge Accepted

“Maybe he's just waiting for the right competition, sir. Perhaps you should make a more... direct request.”

The words, spoken by Titan Claney Beamard on his way to the Hall of Guardians had rung in Lord Shaxx's ears for a while now. The Crucible Handler had long been trying to get his former brother-in-arms Commander Zavala to take on other Guardians in the Crucible, to show the newer generation how the real legends handled their business. Zavala had turned him down every time. Claney had said the words in an off-hand manner as he passed by, but the seeds had found fertile ground and grown roots.

Of course, Shaxx knew he had to wait for the right moment. There always seemed to be a new crisis, and recent events had not been any different. The Transmission epidemic had hit the Tower and then SIVA has reared its ugly head. Now, however, things were beginning to slow. The Devil Splicers were being pushed back into whatever hole they had crawled out of. Things were calmer than they had been in a number of years. The time had come to make his move. If he waited much longer, who knew what minion of the Darkness would come crashing through and consume Zavala's attention again. So, Lord Shaxx strode into the Vanguard's war-room and threw down the proverbial gauntlet.

“Shaxx? What can we do for you?” Ikora Rey, Warlock Vanguard greeted him as he entered.

“I've come to speak with Zavala.”

The Awoken Titan Vanguard turned his gaze to Shaxx then. At one time, the two men had been as close as brothers. Both trained under the legendary Lord Saladin, former Titan Vanguard and last of the fabled Iron Lords. Something had split the two, something neither of them would admit to. There was a lot of whispered speculation among the Guardian ranks, with the most popular theory being Shaxx's aggressive action during the Battle of Twilight Gap. Others thought it was related to the Great Disaster, where Shaxx had become the voice of caution while Zavala agreed to the attack. Regardless of the reason, the two men rarely spoke to each other these days.

“Is there some sort of problem?” Zavala asked.

“No,” Shaxx replied, “other than the fact that you have continued to turn down my request that you participate in Crucible matches.”

“This again?” Zavala shook his head. “I've told you, Shaxx, I'm not going to battle Guardians in the Crucible. It would be a waste of time.”

“Yes, you have. And that's why I'm presenting a different challenge,” Shaxx told him. “Claney helped give me the idea. I want to challenge you directly. In a private match. The two of us pitted against each other would show them more than you wiping the floor with a group of Guardians could anyway. I want you to fight me, Zavala.”

Ikora Rey, quirked an eyebrow in surprise, a response tantamount to anyone else gasping in shock. The Hunter Vanguard, Cayde-6, had a much more verbal reaction.

“Oh my. This Tower finally got interesting.”

“You do realize that Claney's latest great idea was to crash his own ship on top of himself?” the Titan Vanguard responded dryly.

“He felt it was the only way to get the job done, and it worked.” Shaxx retorted. “That is exactly what I'm doing here. I've wanted to get you into the Crucible for years, to show the new Guardians what they could be capable of if they hone their Light. You've refused every time. So I'm taking matters into my own hands now. You and me, one on one in a private Crucible match.”

“I have more important things to do than play childish games, Shaxx.”

“Well, actually,” Cayde-6 chimed in, “you don't. Not right now anyway. The Guardians have things pretty much handled.”

“I don't recall asking for your help, Cayde,” Zavala warned.

“That's what's so great about me,” the Hunter Vanguard replied. “I don't need to be asked, I just help.”

“Especially when not asked,” Ikora muttered under her breath, just loud enough for the Exo to hear.

“Ikora, you wound me,” Cayde said, clasping his hands to his chest.

“The answer is no,” Zavala stated finally. “I would appreciate it if you would not bring this up again.”

Shaxx stood staring across the table at the other Titan, his annoyance palpable. His hands clenched into fists, then relaxed. He took in a deep breath as if he was about to say something, and then let it out.

“Fine,” he spat eventually, and then turned to leave.

“I'll do it.”

Shaxx spun around to see Cayde leaning with one hand on the table, the other twirling a hand-cannon around his index finger. His face was turned three-quarters of the way away from the big man, optics tilted up toward the ceiling as if studying something in the corner. Ikora and Zavala were both openly staring at the Exo.

“What?” Shaxx asked.

“I said,” Cayde began, his gaze drifting to look directly at Shaxx's helmet, “I will do it. If the big, blue boy scout here won't, I'll take you on. Provided you let me choose the match type. We could even put a friendly wager on it.”

“But I didn't issue the challenge to you,” Shaxx intoned as if speaking to a child.

“True, true. But one Vanguard is as good as another, right? I mean, we both hang around in here all day. We're both bald. Sure, I'm a lot better looking than him, but... come on.” Cayde gestured as if to indicate that the last statement would be a given regardless of who he was discussing.

Ikora just shook her head at that. Shaxx mulled it over for a moment.

“What match type did you have in mind?” the Titan asked finally.

“Rift.”

“Absolutely not.”

Cayde feigned a gasp, “Did you hear that, Ikora? Shaxx is afraid of a challenge.”

“What did you just say?”

“I said,” Cayde leaned forward, laying it on extra thick, “that Lord Shaxx, Crucible Handler, hero of the Battle of Twilight Gap, is afraid. Of me.”

“I'm afraid of no one. Least of all you, Cayde,” Shaxx gave a derisive snort.

“Prove me wrong then,” Cayde continued, pressing his luck.

Shaxx stood silent, so Cayde kept talking. Like he always did.

“If you're worried about who will call the match while you're busy, Eris will do it.” He looked past Shaxx to yell in the direction of Crota's Bane, who turned at the sound of her name, “Won't you, Eris?”

“What?” she called back.

“See, she'll do it.”

“This is a waste of my time,” the Titan shook his head.

“I knew it,” Cayde said with a theatrical exhale, “Shaxx is afraid of me. Too scared to accept the challenge. What are Guardians coming to these days, Ikora?”

Shaxx's voice dropped to a register that neither Cayde nor Ikora had ever heard before. “You should be more careful of your words, Hunter. You're on. I'll see you in the Crucible.”

The large Titan whirled on his heels and stalked out of the room, shoulders set in determination. Cayde tried to shake of a chill that went up his no-longer existent spine.

“Well, glad that is settled,” Cayde-6 remarked.

“You do realize that he is going to kill you, right?” Ikora asked, the ghost of a smile on her lips.

“Oh yeah. Probably a lot,” Cayde admitted before regaining his bravado. “But don't worry, I've got a trick or two up my sleeve. I've got this.”

…

The match was set for the very next day with Bannerfall as the chosen location. Much to everyone's surprise, Cayde somehow managed to cajole Eris into calling the match. Every single viewer across the system was tuned to witness the unprecedented sight of these two figures battling it out. The two men met briefly before the match was set to begin.

“So, did you think about my other idea?” Cayde asked. “About putting a wager on this?”

“I can't believe I'm even considering this,” Shaxx sighed. “What did you want to wager?”

“Oh, I've got a pretty good idea, but I want to keep it a secret for now,” Cayde said with a wink.

“Not that you'll win,” Shaxx responded. “I accept. I hope you enjoy Crucible clean-up detail, you'll be on it for a while after this.”

“Hey, anything to get out of the Tower,” came the retort.

The two went their separate ways then to make final preparations. Wagers were coming in from the Tower and the City, with Shaxx the heavy favorite among Titans, Warlocks, and civilians. The Hunters leaned much more heavily toward their representative.

Bannerfall is a location set in one of the many abandoned Towers that used to make up the fortifications of the Last City. This particular Tower was the location of a major battle in the Faction Wars as well, where New Monarchy had finally put an end to Concordant's uprising. It was a map with large, open areas, but also many small corridors that lead through the structure that a Rift runner could use to skirt around defenders.

The countdown began, and the two men transmatted into the arena.

“Team designations are unnecessary in this situation,” Eris intoned. “We present to you Lord Shaxx and The Fool.”

“You know I can hear you, right, Eris?” Cayde asked.

“Yes,” she replied calmly.

“Oh.”

“Fights as if your very soul depended on it! Run as if the dark forces of Oryx himself were behind you breathing vile incantations upon your necks!�� Eris called out, and the match began.

In Rift, the orb did not appear immediately, giving both sides the opportunity to get in position and battle each other for control of the spawn point. Cayde skulked around the outside edge of the map, cutting through a hallway and approaching the courtyard from the open end. He figured Shaxx would expect him to approach from a direction with more cover. He figured wrong.

A flurry of rounds from a scout rifle slammed home in quick succession, scoring the first kill of the match.

“Lord Shaxx records first blood. The Fool trails,” Eris reported.

Cayde dropped back into play just as the first orb materialized. The Hunter Vanguard began to sprint as soon as his feet touched the ground. He heard the report that Shaxx was now the runner and pushed himself to go faster. The respawn zones were directly behind the rifts, so Cayde knew Shaxx would have to take a round-about path to try to score. He hoped the Titan would expect Cayde to try to play defense and that he could catch him off guard by being aggressive.

This time, Cayde guessed right. Shaxx had opted to try to follow the same path Cayde had taken after the initial spawn. It was not a bad idea, but it gave Cayde time to close the gap and take Shaxx down from behind.

“The Fool stops the runner. Darkness descends as the spark is lost. Lord Shaxx still leads due to distance covered as the runner.”

That gave Cayde-6 the opportunity to get into position to grab the next spark, but Shaxx stopped him before he was able to detonate. The rest of the match continued much in that same way. The Hunter's speed gave him the advantage over the bigger Titan, so Shaxx seemed to focus more of his energy scoring points by getting kills. Cayde managed several long carries before Shaxx dropped him, which kept the points very close leading up to the final minutes of the match.

Once more the spark spawned, and once more Cayde grabbed it and ran. He sprinted through a doorway and cut through the C control zone, trying to make his way quickly to the rift. Shaxx attempted to go through the upper level of the building and cut him off. Cayde appeared and Shaxx opened fire, scoring several hits. The next shot would score another kill, but Cayde suddenly dropped to his knees, sliding across the floor and causing the final round to sail over his head. He vanished from view, and Shaxx could no longer stop him from reaching his goal.

Detonation. Cayde took the lead with less than a minute left. Shaxx cursed himself for missing and turned to wait for the next spark. He would have to grab it and score a detonation to win.

The big man crouched and waited, keeping an eye out for the Hunter. A red blip crossed through his motion tracker, and he knew Cayde was running to get in position to cut him off. Seconds ticked by and it started to feel like the spark would fail to respawn before time ran out on him. Finally, the spark flashed into existence, and Shaxx scooped it up.

He took a step toward the A control zone, and there was Cayde. Somehow he had made it completely around the map and appeared in the doorway. It was almost impossible, but there was no time to consider that now. Shaxx cut to the right, having to take the more open route.

Shaxx took several steps and jumped. Channeling his Light, he propelled himself forward. Titans were capable of using their Lift ability in quick micro-bursts to push themselves forward at great speeds. The maneuver was colloquially referred to as “Titan Skating”. A Titan skilled at this could actually outrun any other Guardian, and Shaxx was very, very good. He was closing rapidly on the rift, painfully aware of the seconds ticking by, when he heard something that filled him with dread. A Golden Gun activation.

Desperation forced Shaxx to push himself harder than he ever had. He would never live down a loss in his Crucible. Especially not to Cayde. He had to make it. He was going to make it.

He did not make it.

Fire bloomed in his chest at a shot from Cayde's Golden Gun tore through him. Shaxx burned away to nothing, the spark dropping to the floor. The timer clicked to zero.

“The Fool... won...“Eris was stunned.

Across the system, jaws hung open in shock while Hunters cheered their Vanguard's victory and the credits they were going to be getting because of it. Shaxx's Ghost resurrected him in the staging area, and Cayde transmatted in next to him.

“Good match,” Shaxx grudgingly admitted, holding out his hand. Cayde shook it.

“You too,” the Hunter replied. “And now, about our wager.”

Shaxx stiffened, letting go of the Hunter's hand.

“Oh, don't worry about it, big man. It won't be too bad, I promise. You know that large field just outside the City?”

“Yes.”

“Meet me there tomorrow. I've got a surprise for you.”

This is part of a series of One Shot stories I’ve been posting on fanfiction.net, thought I would post one or two here as well. This is my take on what lead t othe new Shaxx 1 and 2 Grimoire cards.

#Destiny #fanfic #Cayde-6 #Lord Shaxx #Destiny the game #fanfiction #Tales We'll Tell

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