Destcember Day 21: High Stakes

Destcember Day #6:

For Every Rose A Thorn

While I can appreciate the work that they do to protect the Last City, I honestly cannot stand the Praxic Order. At their best, they are warriors of the Light that honestly do what they think will stop the Darkness, even if they go about it like zealots. At their worst, they can act like thugs, going out of their way to intimidate anyone who tries to study the Darkness into abandoning their work and threatening to kill them otherwise. Most of them are better than that and there are a few who I even respect, but the sight of them gives me a headache. While their goal seems noble, they fail to see the subtleties.

Take their stance on guardians using the Thorn. They heavily discourage its use and sometimes go as far as to trail users in case they are Shadows of Yor. At the same time, the promote the use of Lumina and its reproduction. One is decried as a tool of Darkness and the other hailed as a weapon of the Light. As a proud owner of both, I can tell you that they are practically the same weapon. Sure, one is white and the other a dark black, but they both steal the life energy of their victims to empower themselves. The only difference is in how the stolen essence is redistributed. Do they honestly think that the health it restores comes from nowhere?

Of course, that is just a microcosm of my issue with their ideals. If we are to save ourselves, we need all of the power we can get, even if the source is impure. Attempting to ban the use of Darkness in service of the Light holds us back. I've seen Fallen squadrons break and flee from watching one of their comrades break into ashes as a single bullet wound eats them from the inside out. Sure, a bullet from a Thorn kills worse, but because of it I've had to kill less. It is a display of danger, unlike the Lumina, which displays beauty before function. No one avoids a rosebush because of its beauty. They are careful because behind every delicate rose is a thorn to keep it safe. As guardians, we cannot afford to be the innocent roses, free of guilt or pain. That we leave to the civilians of the city so that we may one day join them. For now, we must bear the burden of the thorns, inflicting harm on any threats, no matter how we must do it and no matter how it may leave us broken. When we succeed, then there will be time to heal. But for now, we must be thorns.

Destcember Day #4: The Dark Side of the Moon

You know, it's funny. Before the Golden Age and the Collapse, we used to look up at the Moon with a sense of wonder and fascination. My past life even had the pattern of the dark side engraved into the metal of my back, along with a few stars. It was always a source of serenity, a nightlight to brighten the dark. It was our beacon in the dark that outshone any star out in the inky black. But now the dark has taken it from us.

Now, when I look the Moon, I feel a twinge of fear take hold. It feels like there is a gun leveled at my head that could be fired at any moment. The Hive crawl all over its surface and through its caverns, desecrating it with their filthy rituals and larvae. They swarm like bees, ready to sting at any moment, needing no provocation or reasoning other than the chance to spread their grasp and slaughter the innocent. At the center of it all, there is the queen. They are just one being, damaged and trapped, but still they have spread their Nightmares everywhere. They are just the first of many to come.

From my room in the City, I can't see any of them, but I know they are there. Every time I look at it, I remember how powerless I was against just one of those Pyramids and imagine how many more their are. I can still feel the brush against my mind and body as the Nightmares drew close and the ship possessed my ghost. My best friend was taken from me and all I could do to get her back was follow the instructions her puppeteer gave. It toyed with me and I couldn't do anything.

I used to love the dark side of the Moon because I could never see it. Now I love it because I don't have to.

Destcember Day 20: Where Is My Warmind

I've never been sure if we could trust Rasputin. I'm not like Zavala, thinking that we should just abandon attempting to gain his help completely, but he does seem erratic. He helped us to fight off Xol on Mars, but that was more out of self interest. He has abandoned us so many times in the past, despite his reason for creation being to help us. Where was he during the the Collapse and the Dark Age, when he could have been fighting off the Eliksni or helping us rebuild? Where was he during the Taken War, when he could have been helping us fight off Oryx? Where was he during the Red War, when the last bastion of humanity was being destroyed and the Light being snuffed out? I want to trust him, I really do, but where was he? Where was my Warmind?

Our Revenge for Cayde Killing Spree Now Has a 0% Success Rate

Seriously, we didn't hurt anyone we wanted to in the long term, and actually made things a little worse for ourselves. All of the Scorn and Scorn Barons can just be revived by the Fanatic. We actually helped Riven, because killing her freed her and let her grant the Last Wish, cursing the Dreaming City. And Uldren was revived as a Guardian, which is an improvement on his old condition. So yeah, we killed 10 people to avenge Cayde, but the death toll now sits at zero.

Don't get me wrong though, I love the story. I'm glad that Uldren got revived and that Pulled Pork finally found his Guardian.

Destcember Day 24: Praise the Sun, Arc, and Void

Praise the Sun. A gentle caress for friends. A warm, healing fire, cauterizing wounds, mending bones, and regrowing wounds. A searing flame to foes. Burning away the dark undergrowth, allowing new growth to flourish. Wielded by the benevolent protectors, the kindly healers, and those who want to burn away their foes.

Praise the Arc. The crackle of thunder is the only warning you will get before you dissolve into static and the smell of ozone. Bright and crackling, it stands at the eye of the storm, laughing as the wind whips and the rain lashes. With blades, bolts, and crackling fists it moves through the battlefield. Wielded by the restless, lovers of natural chaos, and those charged with emotions.

Praise the Void. The darkness between stars. The cold embrace of oblivion granted to those who dare to stand between it and its goal. The whispers that tell of forbidden secrets, the flicker of forgotten knowledge at the corners of your mind. With a cackle, it discovers that which it has searching for, be it the last scrap of information to solve a great mystery or a huddle foe, terrified of what they know is about to happen. Wielded by the dedicated scholars, the half mad holders of dangerous secrets, and those who stalk the night.

Praise the Light. The source of the each of the prismatic colors, Solar, Arc, and Void. The shining glimmer within the Dark. The last bastion of warmth against the cold night. It is the brilliant radiance that shines withing every guardians. But be wary, as the road to Hell is paved with good intentions, and those who stare to long into the Light often look away to find themselves having become become fanatics or knights templar. And do not put down your guard, for wherever the Light goes, it is always followed by the Dark, as the Day is followed by the Night.

Destcember Day 12: Let It Snow

"I love the snow, don't you, Yew?"

"It is a nice change of pace."

"It reminds me of the day that you found me, back in Old Russia."

"Yes, it was in the middle of a blizzard. I had to tunnel down through five feet of snow to reach your body."

"And then, after you revived me, it took me an hour to dig myself out. At least I didn't have to worry about freezing or suffocating, being an exo and all."

"That was quite a relief. I was worried that I would have to revive you several more times before you could reach the surface."

"Then, after I had finally dug myself out, I ran straight into a pack of Eliksni hunters."

"I did have to revive you several times at that point."

"After I managed to fight them off, I had to trek miles to find that broken down ship. It was nice to get to know you, though... That was a long day."

"Indeed."

"Why do I like the snow again?

"I do not know."

Destcember Day 28: Ironborn

I was born three times in my life. Once of flesh, once of iron, and once of Light.

My first birth was of flesh. This is the one that I know least about. I know that I was born a human boy, with parents and a family. I likely had a home. All of that is gone now. I cannot remember anyone or anything from that time, not even the way I looked.

My second birth was of iron. Taken from my human body and turned into and exo. I cannot be sure why I did it or how, but I think it was a choice that I made of my own free will. If I did choose it, it would have been to extend my life or to improve myself. That seems like what I would have done, if I were the same person then as I am now, which I am not entirely sure of.

My last birth was of Light. Revived as a guardian to serve humanity and live my third life. Thankfully, this life at least I can remember. Though my life ends almost daily, it never truly does, thanks to the power of the Light and my ghost. Since it is the one that I live now, it is the one that matters most, but if I were given a choice, I would learn all I could about my other two lives.

So, I was born three times. Born, reborn, reborn. Human, Exo, Guardian. Flesh born, Ironborn, Lightborn.

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Sorry for the brevity and below average quality. I had an extremely busy day today and didn't have much free time to work on this.

Destcember Day 22: Drifter's Gambit

The Drifter walks a fine line, a tightrope made of the sharpest razor wire. On one side lies the forces of the Light, with the forces of the Vanguard and the Man with the Golden Gun ready to strike if they suspect that he has gone too far. On the other, the forces of the Dark, ready to consume him or break his mind if he makes a mistake. If he wavers, he will fall to one side or the other. Too late to stop or turn back, he walks on, hoping to eventually reach his goal. He uses the the Dark to fight the Dark, using Guardians to kill the enemies of humanity and collect the Motes of Dark that fall from their corpses. His menagerie of constructed monsters and summoned horrors slaver to consume, accepting motes in lieu of consuming a guardian's light to turn their path of slaughter where the Drifter directs. But I've noticed however many motes he uses to conduct his games, there are always far more collected than used. I don't know what he plans for them, but I want in. I understand that it may take more than the Light to beat the Dark. So I work with the Eliksni and bargain with the Ahamkara. And I do his bounties, and earn the ranks, and bank the motes. I use weapons of the Dark Age and forged a new Weapon of Sorrow. I will earn his trust, even if it puts me on Malphur's list. Because I believe that the Drifter's Gambit will pay off, and when it does, I want to have been a part of it.

Fireteam member, helping to drag a heavily traqulized Royal Beast back from the Pleasure Gardens to my ship:

"So why are we doing this? It would have been easier just to kill it and take the loot"

My Warlock:

"I need it for... ... ... psionics research."

*whispering to the dog* "Good boy. New Pet."

Destcember Day 15: Forged In Battle

The best weapons are forged in battle. Guns are a good example of this principle. The Whisper of the Worm is the remnants of a dead god, left to us to feed it in the manner of the Sword Logic after we were able to kill three enemies of the past, revived to fight us once again. Also exemplary are the weapons offered by the Black Armory. Every weapon they produce is a lethal work of art, all because of their delicate calibrations from data gathered through combat. But the best proof of all is guardians. Sure, you could train a guardian in peacetime, without any practical combat, but something would be lost. Battle forges a guardian, hardening us to the trials that we face while fighting. The pain of bullets ripping into your body. The searing burn of a grenade or rocket hitting just at your feet. The icy grip of death, albeit temporary. Without battle to harden us, when the time comes, we would break.