#aiat... I need more energy to do so

[xivu-arath]

I posted 9,519 times in 2021

643 posts created (7%)

8876 posts reblogged (93%)

For every post I created, I reblogged 13.8 posts.

I added 6,407 tags in 2021

#destiny - 2335 posts

#queue - 1680 posts

#gif - 670 posts

#the hive - 361 posts

#destiny ocs - 297 posts

#swtor - 267 posts

#osmium sorrows - 250 posts

#hollow knight - 201 posts

#pokemon - 181 posts

#legend of zelda - 165 posts

Longest Tag: 140 characters

#presage more like i can't appreciate the atmosphere because i have gotten lost behind my fireteam for the thirtieth time and am stressed and

My Top Posts in 2021

#5

the first part of something I’ve been working on for ages:

The Deep moves like the tides of the Fundament once did, with currents that are already dragging parts of Sol under, to consume inexorably unto a single crushing point. Xivu Arath does not follow it there, as her brother might have. Her will moves across a million battlefields, and her armies are entrenched in millions more. Her children carve her sigil into the crust of planets so that the oceans burn away in fury and the atmosphere sets itself alight. She fights, and triumphs, and forges weapons, and her worm is well sated.

But she also makes an echo, as quiet as she can permit herself to be, and traces a path amongst Sol’s besieged planets and the Deep’s steady pull. There, facing northward, is an entrance to her sister’s throne. The layers of secrets and wards guarding it tear loose, stitching themselves back together in her wake.

Savathûn is already waiting for her, a barely-there oilslick shimmering.

They fight, because she did not come all this way to not have a fight at the end of the journey. As is usual, she has the first victory, tearing Savathûn’s echo in half – and her sister has the last, as her finished spell renders the surrounding area broken down to its primordial elements.

Their meetings often go this way. Xivu suspects she treats the battle as a formality, rushing it so they can get to more serious matters than mere life and death. But she can feel her sister’s love for her in the power of the spell that killed her, and so does not mind terribly.

“This is sudden,” Savathûn says when they have both reformed their echoes. It is almost a rebuke; she means this is unplanned, there are important things you are interrupting here. Though of course she would claim every scheme of hers is important if pressed, no matter how petty.

“I know you have more plans in mind than there are stars in every sky of every surviving world, but they must be pretty terrible if all it takes is my showing up to ruin them,” she says. “Can’t I just drop in?”

The air drapes around Savathûn in heavy and obscuring coils, huffy but not yet offended. “You haven’t ruined anything, apart from my focus.”

“Yet.”

“Yet,” her sister allows.

Xivu grins.

80 notes • Posted 2021-07-19 23:31:49 GMT

#4

savathûn, queen of vandalism

savathûn has always been fond of scribbling in the margins of others’ work. untold millions of years ago, at the creation of the dreadnaught, she was dunking on her brother’s writing:

I will prepare for long voyages — [I am Savathûn, insidious] Into the war — [I graffiti this notice for you] Into the Deep — [These Books are full of lies!]

this sets the structure of her usual inscriptions to us, the readers, and it’s followed from the books of sorrow to the bungie blog post after fulfilling the requirements from truth to power. she even insists on further messing with calus once he’s enmeshed himself by taking the bait with the crown of sorrow - she finds the chronicon and writes in that, too:

[While this coward invents his histories and futures, I wait. These messages are my gift to you.]

but the chronicon is not the only set of lore entries that the psion scribes worked on. they also wrote up the lore for all the opulent gear that would be gifted to the shadow of earth, presumably, and there’s considerable back and forth between the underscribe shipal and the other scribes editing and overseeing their work. presumably future fanfic of calus’ new favourite person isn’t as distinguished a role as writing about calus himself, and shipal is clearly researching on the fly and making up things wholesale. the entire set is an Experience, hilarious and off-key and horrific in parts, but there is one piece of gear I want to focus on

nearly all these entries have only one editing note (if poor underscribe shipal is lucky, none at all!) but the opulent scholar hood has two, one from scribe shagac, as usual, and then this one:

+ Note from Scribe Savat: I see no reason for Scribe Shagac's harshness. I have closely studied the texts of the Sol System and of the Hive, and in my halls of learning Eris Morn's villainy is widely accepted. Therefore I deem this prediction's accuracy to be unimpeachable.

this is the only note from “savat”, and on my first read through I had glossed right over all of it because I was so used to the footnotes already. it has none of savathûn’s characteristic brackets, as she is matching the scribe notation - but of course, her phrasing actually insults both eris (the high coven took a vote and all agreed eris morn is highly problematic) and calus’ intentions in taking on a hive shadow. it’s a remarkably efficient burn and I’m proud of her

it also marks one of the first times that we see her deliberately blending in (after her appearance at the end of dust). this could perhaps be the beginning of the trend that gradually is becoming more prominent in recent lore - savathûn watching nearby, unseen, present in our spaces and always coming closer. to observe, to walk among us, to scheme, to interact...

and perhaps, to tell us to reverify our hive sources

86 notes • Posted 2021-05-29 16:06:37 GMT

#3

osiris and savathun theories are all old news. don’t even talk to me about them

the real theory of the hour/season/expansion/era is that the traveler is an egg. it hatched elsie’s fish, which is a baby harbinger, but will also eventually grow into the aphelion

harbingers eat ghosts which is why the fish is in hiding, as elsie is being polite and trying not to kill her allies. it all makes perfect sense, and I am not taking criticism at this time

(disclaimer: this is a silly post, I am Having Fun with Lore and I urge you to do the same)

89 notes • Posted 2021-08-17 16:37:24 GMT

#2

the tragedy of the hive, to me, is in the trap of the tautological loop and what comes from it. it is the worm eating the hive eating the worm eating the hive forever, the deliberate cutting away of self and meaning for the entire species, the osmium siblings bound to "follow their nature” by creatures who could not, would not, understand the motivations underpinning them

did xi ro test her strength just for the sake of it, or to also be able to protect her siblings and her court? was sathona cunning so she could one day guide the court past the lifetime of her siblings? aurash didn’t seek answers to become the “emperor of all outcomes” but to find out the truth in a world made up of dangerous unknowns. all those potential nuances are lost almost immediately. emotions bleed together and decay until they’re unrecognizable

the sword logic is a tautology. it forms and proves itself. is it any surprise that its followers are trapped in cyclical struggle and violence? you starve and feed your worm, or you win and feed your worm, or die and feed the ones after you, or succeed and ultimately feed your worm and your god who is also a worm, and so it goes, around and around. the only way out is to break the rules, but it’s hard to do that when the rules live inside you - we’re seeing just how far savathun is going for her freedom, making herself an enemy of everything in the system all the while

there are also so many terrible what-ifs that come along with this. what if the story on the fundament had gone differently: the king hadn’t found the dead worm to begin with, or they listened to the leviathan instead of killing it, or simply never dove. what if the traveler picked the krill courts instead?

while it’s great story fodder, there would have eventually been another pact, another form of the hive - the worm gods were still imprisoned after all, still pulling fragments of civilizations down to the fundament and still stranding larva on shorelines to whisper of doom to the susceptible. eventually the moons would line up and the god-wave would wipe out all life above, and they’d start searching for some desperate pawns once more. another cycle restarting....

I’m just sad about closed loops and the incredible effort it takes to break out of them, let alone once you’ve been shaped for them

153 notes • Posted 2021-11-23 19:33:56 GMT

#1

One Day I will get all my hive thoughts and energy aligned enough to put together my theory of the worm gods being the one to cause the syzygy and the god wave, not the traveler, since otherwise it’s a theory I’ve only shared on twitter (which. twitter is a mess to search and use as archive and I despair of using it) and with friends on discord, and I am Quite Proud of it and pretty certain it’s right, actually!

but it’s at its best with numerous quotes and links and that takes about twenty ishtar tabs open at least

154 notes • Posted 2021-03-05 16:47:07 GMT

Get your Tumblr 2021 Year in Review →

[prophecydungeon]

The second time Fell and Lyca meet, Lyca is dead. From the Other Place she watches him examine the Court, take readings of the rupture, shoo off a fireteam seeking a challenge.

Curiosity at its peak, she pushes through the rupture, feeling her shape coalesce into the material plane, and the second her boots touch the ground a storm cracks through the Court and so much arc energy slams through her body that she tastes the tang of ozone on her tongue, and the Other Place welcomes her again, soft and dark.

She doesn’t use the rupture this time, and instead she pushes herself through a prayer, a Knight who has yet to leave the Dreadnaught, who wants to see new worlds in the name of his king. She takes the thread of unknown places and runs along it.

The warlock is staring her down when she coalesces, framed in the arch of the Court, and she responds to his challenge. Her arrow flies true, shrieking, and hits him dead in the chest. Aiat. 

His Ghost stares her down as she walks up, accusing her without a single word as he scrambles to piece together his warlock’s atoms. Lyca lets the warlock come back from his own Other Place. Harsh and full of light.

“An eye for an eye?” asks the Ghost.

“Something like that,” Lyca replies.

The Ghost brings back the warlock, sparks arcing between his hands where they’re wrapped around his rifle.

“You’re not dead,” the warlock accuses.

“I was,” Lyca says, and shrugs, and Shivers. “Now I’m not. I will be again. So will you. That’s how it works for us, doesn’t it?”

“Us?”

Lyca laughs.

​"Oh, come on. We're not so different."

A Boomer cracks behind her; the warlock immediately raises his rifle and fires off three sharp, ringing shots. Lyca Shivers as the Ascendant Knight gets pulled back into the Other Place, and the Boomer’s shot goes wide, splashing Void light across her armor.

"You're creatures of the Darkness," the warlock says. "The Taken, you're abominations."

"I resent that," Lyca replies, frowning. "I could just as easily say that about Guardians. And I'd know. Reanimated corpses with magical powers?" She gestures, opening her hands. Your move.

To his credit, the warlock cocks his head thoughtfully, and lowers his rifle by a few inches. His Ghost blinks at him, and then at Lyca.

"What was your name?" the warlock asks. "Before... this."

"My name is Lyca."

"I'm Fell-14."

"No offense -- not that you’d take any from an abomination like me, I assume -- but why are you talking to me?" Lyca can feel some of the Acolytes starting to get interested in the conversation, starting to pick at the strings of her attention, now that their Ascendant has met his death.

"You interest me," Fell says. "You're-- we've never seen a Taken Guardian before. There might be more, obviously--"

"There are," Lyca interrupts, voice mild. "There have been. Is that what this is about? Your pity party? Sparing me now, so you can save me, bring me back to the Light?”

Fell takes a moment to reply, again, and lowers his weapon just a bit further.

“You interest me,” he repeats. “Me, personally. Not the Vanguard. I didn’t report you, or anything. It’s not my place. Not to be a walking warlock stereotype, but--” He shrugs. “I’m curious.”

“Well, ask Eris, then. I’m sure she knows more about this than I do.”

“Funny you say that,” Fell says. “She’s asked a number of Guardians to find and scan these-- fragments. Ikora says it’s Hive superstition, that I shouldn’t take it seriously. Eris seems convinced otherwise. Either way, Oryx isn’t my assignment, and I’ve been told not to touch them.” He tips his head back towards the Court’s rupture. “I’m just here to take readings. Nothing more.”

Lyca laughs bitterly.

“Typical,” she says. “So they’re still pulling the wool down over Guardians’ eyes, huh? Still waving taboos around to keep people in line?” Fell shifts, almost uncomfortably. “Tell you what. You’re so curious about the Taken, go scan a few of those calcified fragments. Then we’ll talk.”

“Knowledge is power, and some power can be dangerous,” Fell finally counters. “Rules exist for a reason. Look at Eris Morn. Toland the Shattered.”

“Funny you say that,” Lyca parrots. “Go to Luna some time. Go to the Hellmouth. See what you find there deep in the Hive’s tunnels.” She doesn’t say, go to Crota’s empty throne. She doesn’t say, you’ll hear his whispers in the green-fire sun. “Your questions have answers, Fell. I’m just not the one you need to hear them from.”

“I won’t–” He pauses, and considers. “You could very well be sending me to my death.”

“I just killed you, didn’t I?” Lyca shrugs. “There are worse things to practice than death.” Fell looks at her again, and she feels like he sees much more through that helm of his than he’s letting on. “Go search for your truth. Find your strength there.”

“Assuming I find this truth of mine,” he says, voice flat, tinged with sarcasm at the edge, “and assuming I’d like to find you again, how?”

Lyca thinks for a moment, tries her best to parse it in a way that would make sense for this warlock, thinks of everything she’s picked apart about herself, all the truths she’s found.

“Define me,” she finally replies.

“Define you?” Fell asks, and there’s a deep-seated skepticism in his voice. His Ghost blinks lazily at her, light flickering.

“Define me,” she repeats. “As in definition. Whatever I am to you, define it. I’ll know. That’s how these spaces work.”

“The Ascendant Realm, you mean?” Fell’s Ghost blinks at her slowly again.

“Yes,” she says, “and no. When you bring him back, are you not calling on a definition of him? Are you not defining what he is and was and will be to weave him together?”

Fell and his Ghost exchange a long, slow look.

“Alright,” Fell finally says. “Thank you for talking with me, Lyca. May the Li–” He pauses. “Well, I suppose the Light blessing your journey wouldn’t do you much good.”

“Not at all.”

A thread.

Unknowns, variables, the pull to explore; an incomplete definition, two-dimensional and full of hypotheses, but the thread holds, and then she feels the weave of more. A curiosity, the curiosity – Curiosity, as it were, capitalized and personified. Not entirely three-dimensional yet, but enough for her to follow, enough to bring an edge to her knife, enough to cut a wound.

Doesn’t hurt that some tryhard Centurion decided that Mars is lovely this time of day, cutting wounds so that the Blight spills over red sands, and she lets herself pass through.

“Oh, shit.”

That warlock – Fell-14? 13? No, 14 – is staring at her, looking for all the world like he’s just scrambled backwards. He very well might have. His Ghost is hovering close above his shoulder, blinking, no doubt scanning their environment.

“Hey there,” Lyca says, and fires off a small mock salute.

Fell seems to regain his composure, straightening his shoulders and giving the slightest shake of his head.

“I frankly didn’t think that would work,” he says. “I don’t quite understand how it works, yet.”

“You did do your homework, though,” his Ghost chimes in, and then projects scans of a handful of calcified fragments into the empty space between Fell and Lyca. “Even beggared some of Toland’s journal off of Eris when Ikora wasn’t around.”

“Still curious, O Warlock mine?” Lyca asks, unable to bite back the half-snide joke.

“More questions than answers,” he replies, and shrugs. “That’s always how you know you’re going down the right path.”

“Fell, we have more Taken inbound,” says Fell’s Ghost.

“You don’t say,” Lyca says dryly. “That Centurion’s doing his best to call Sho’oulth. If you leave him alone–” Lyca’s interrupted by a Shiver, a big, full-bodied Shiver, and she can feel the first cuts of that wound. “Never mind. He’s here.”

“Are you going to fight against your own kind?” Fell’s voice is tinged with both horror and curiosity as Lyca pulls out her rifle and loads in a new magazine.

“He’s issuing a challenge,” Lyca replies. “Don’t you want to answer it?”

And without waiting for a response, Lyca ducks out from the cave that Fell had summoned her in and sprints out into wavering Darkness.