Me, Before The Allegiance Quest:

Destcember Day 27: Voices In My Head

There are a quite a few voices in my head. Most of them are my fault and can be suppressed. The whispers of worms, ahamkara, my conscience. All have easy solutions, but there is one that I can hardly hear. It whispers, quietly but insistently, in the very back part of my mind. I can almost never hear it, like a fly in another room. It gets quiter the further away from the City I get, but I know it's still there. But sometimes, when I die or am in the very center of the City, I can just make out the voice. It whisper so many things. PROTECT THEM. FIGHT FOR ME. GROW STRONGER. DON'T QUESTION. FORGET. OBEY. It isn't like the other voices either. They all seem to come from without, but this one emanates from within. Is it why I can't remember my past? I don't think that I should ask anyone about this.

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.

Imagine if

Uldren somehow manages to make it to the Tower without remembering/being told who he is. When he appears, every guardian stops what they were doing and then they slowly file out until only Lord Shaxx is left. "They want to see you in the Crucible, Guardian."

I know it will never happen, probably because it would be a nightmare to program and balance, but I want a flamethrower. Just imagine it. Finally being able to literally kill all of those creepy thralls and screebs. Seeing the home of the enemy burn down around you. Looking at your Ghost worry as the fire glints off your wide eyes and wolfish smile. In conclusion, fire good.

Destcember Day #5: A Day Off

A concerned guardian stands in the doorway of their friend's study. Inside, a frazzled looking warlock is scrawling notes with handwriting almost as indecipherable as the Hive language they are studying. The glow of the runes cast a green light on the face of the exo, forming shadowy bags under his eyes. He looks up from his work as his friend begins to speak.

"Ash, you look terrible. When was the last time you took a day off? No, forget that, when was the last time you even slept?"

"Does dying count as sleeping?"

"No."

"In that case, I don't know. I think it was Thursday."

"Today is Wednesday."

From beneath a pile of scrolls, a muffled voice joins the conversation.

"First of all, it wasn't even a Thursday this month. Secondly, could someone please help me out here."

Surprised by the voice of his ghost, the warlock quickly unearths his buried ghost. Now freed, the bemused companion floats up to hover above her guardian's shoulder.

"Sorry Yew. I was wondering where you had gone. How did you end up under there anyway?"

"I fell asleep. Honestly, it's a miracle you haven't collapse yet. The only rest you have gotten in the past week was the time one of your expirements killed you and even that was only for the few seconds until I could resurrect you."

"Technically, exos don't have to sleep. Nor do we have to take days off."

Finally shaken out of their shocked stupor by that statement, the titan calmly walks into the room and proceeds to throw the warlock over their shoulder. They protest weakly as they are carted off before they fall silent. Ignoring their protestations, the titan explains what is going to happen to happen, making it clear that their cargo has no choice in the matter.

"That does it, you are taking a day off. No! You are taking a week off. You may not physically have to sleep, but it is terrible for you mentally. Not to mention the effect that prolonged exposure to all this Hive stuff must be having on you. Don't bother trying to argue, I won't take no for an...

Aaaannd he fell asleep."

Destcember Day #10: The Big Bag Theory

"What is taking so long? I just asked you to get me a gun out of my bag and it's been like five minutes" asks a warlock as he rounds to face his friend. The friend in question sits waist deep in a pile of guns, synths, and assorted items, looking both annoyed and confused as they begin to speak.

"How are you doing this? I have been shaking this bag for the last four minutes straight and it never stops spitting out garbage. Is it bottomless or something? Does it contain a portal to the guns and garbage dimension?"

"Oh yeah, it's that bag. Well I have two theories. The first I like to call the Big Bag Theory. I think that I have used so much magic around that bag that some has seeped into its very being over time. It just kept concentrating until it created a pocket dimension with everything I have ever put in contained. No matter how much you take out, there will always be more. Haven't you noticed that some of the things you have pulled out are duplicates of things that you already took out? It must be locked in a quantum state where everything inside both exists and doesn't until you take it out, making it technically limitless."

"Wow, really?"

"Alternatively, I could have told Yew to hide in there and keep transmatting random junk from my vault in as you emptied it out. You know, just to fuck with you. But isn't the magic bag theory more fun?"

The titan glowers at their friend as muffled laughter can be heard from the inside of the very much mundane bag.

Attention those of you invading in Gambit:

Please use Roaming Supers more often. I have played at least 50 matches without getting a single kill for Light vs Light progress. I still need 7 more and at this rate I will never be a Dredgen.

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.

_____________________________________________

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.

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 16: Who Guards The Guardians?

A lone guardian falls to the ground, finally succumbing to their numerous wounds, inflicted by the Red Legion invaders. The ground around them is carpeted with the bodies of their fallen foes, having taken down dozens before falling to the endless tide. Though they still live, they are unable to so much as lift their head, weakened as they are from their wounds and the loss of their Light. A Cabal Gladiator approaches, flanked by several Legionnaires, moving confidently now that their prey is weak. The guardian can only watch as the Gladiator approaches, hoping that their resistance has bought the civilians they were protecting enough time to escape. The Gladiator chuckles as it saunters up to the guardian, raising its sword to strike the final blow. But before the sword can fall, the Gladiators helmet and head are crushed by a massive chunk of debris, thrown from above. As the body of their comrade crumples to the ground, the Legionairs look up in shock, only to suffer a similar fate. From the roofs, a number of citizens look on, satisfied with their grim work. From an alleyway, two more emerge, each gently slinging one of the Guardian's arms over their shoulders and carrying them away. Just as the Guardain had guarded them, now they would guard the Guardian.