#the cabal is dead and so are hunters obligations

[certified-anakinfucker]

ia hunter(?) for blorbo bingo? >:)

(send me characters for blorbo bingo!)

oh god doing this for them.

Now a spark has passed between us now A momentary recognition Something lost and something gained And something shared that feels strange Something cold that will not go away

idk man smth smth youre both weapons using each others as a means to respective ends but realize along the way you dont wish harm on one another and these wars are indeed tearing everything apart and you wish you could just take him away from it all but you know its not possible ... unless someone wins, and winning is certain death,

[ask-super-good-advice]

Backasswards Fireteam

So, I scribbled out a story about a very, very dysfunctional fireteam for the Written in Light event, but I may or may not have exceeded the word limit by double, and since that is far too much content to edit out, I decided I might as well put it here... 

Why do I punch my foes like a Titan?  Why have I abandoned my knife?

It’s simple, really. My knife is evil.

But you wouldn’t tell by looking at it.  You might think it is a creepy knife, or has an odd theme, or just looks edgy, and you would be correct.  Never let it be said that I wasn’t a true Hunter, from my cape to my knife.  Once my Fireteam, Fireteam Green and Yellow, was assigned to the moon on blanket Hive-extermination tour, we all saw our opportunity.  In the great tradition of Guardians, we stick it to our enemies by decorating ourselves in the bones of our enemies.  For my Titan and Fireteam leader, Reggie-12, that meant dismembering Hive Knights to create a perfect set of chitin armor.  For our Awoken Warlock, Sara Kev Ro, it meant a (ugly) patchwork robe made from Hive Wizards’ robes.  For myself, it meant sowing thrall bones to myself to look like a spooky skeleton.  My team did not appreciate my flippant approach to such a sacred rite of Guardians, and I didn’t appreciate getting sent to the moon, so we were even.

After a few days, Sara approached me with a smirk on her face, and I thought she was ready to go at it again with another round of “who dresses better.”  Hint: the Hunter.  But no, she had her hands behind her back, and told me she had a peace offering.  Instead of admitting that Warlocks look tacky (which would have been the best peace offering), she handed me a new knife she had created herself, and it wasn’t like any other knife I had ever seen.

The blade resembled something of a Bowie knife with a meaty blade, and it shone with a stranger silver I didn’t recognize.  Upon further inspection, I noticed it had a unique pattern with streaks of a blueish-silver metal woven into the blade.

“It’s Hadium that I scrounged up from the shrines, and then I folded it with Spinmetal.  The Spinmetal lets it conduct Arc and also acts as a soft spine to keep it from being too brittle.  The Hadium edge is notoriously strong; Lord Shaxx even uses it.”  She explained, much to my shock.  When had she learned how to forge blades, and why? “I used my own Radiance for the heat and Reggie hammered it out for me with his Hammer of Sol.  Maintaining a steady heat without oversaturating it was difficult, but I think we managed.”  It made sense that Reggie would know how to forge weapons; he knew everything else about them.  Especially how to use them.

However, it wasn’t just the blade that was special; the handle also caught my eye.  It was made of some clear material, maybe plastic or acrylic, but incased within it was some grub-looking thing.  My eyes lingered on the creature.

“It’s a worm I cut out of a wizard.  I figured if I was going to make you a knife, I should use a knife to scavenge the materials. You know, adhere to the spirit of the weapon.”  

She had done well, and as much as it kills me to say it, I respected her a lot more from that day on. It certainly helped that knife was awesome.  

I didn’t realize it at first, but I think she may have created something Exotic.  That knife was nothing like I had ever seen before, and certainly not like anything I had ever used.  Not once did I ever sharpen it, but it felt as if it was sharper after each time I used it.  I went out of my way in combat to test the limits of my blade, only I found none. It was if the blade wanted to kill my enemies as badly I wanted to sink my blade into them.  For a Hunter, it was the perfect blade.

Because of that, I began to rely on the blade.  No, it was more than that; I used the blade as my first option in a fight.  How could I not?  It felt so natural, so powerful, and it sunk deeper and deeper into enemies with each day.  As I became more proficient with my blade, it became more proficient as well.  

I once snuck up on three Knights, thinking them easy prey for my newly-christened knife, Wretched Renderer.  Knights were big and bulky, making them easily susceptible to a knife stabbed in their joints.  If a Knight wielded a sword, I would duck under it easily and slip Wretched into its gut. If a Knight fired a boomer, I would disappear in the blast and reappear behind the Knight for an easy kill.  These Knights I assumed would be no different, but as I ambushed them I learned that these were no ordinary Knights.  These Knights were Exalted, and their blades hissed as they sliced the air.  These Knights had armor like I had never seen before.  These Knights were masters of their blades.  These Knights fell to my knife just as easily as a thrall, and they left me bored with the exchange.  I needed more.  I needed to kill more, to feel my blade bite down into their flesh and rend away what was there.  I needed to feel the power of my knife surging through the metal, through the handle, and into my hand.  

And so I did.  I lost track of how many I slew.  I ignored panicked calls from my team on the radio as I killed anything I came across.  Thralls were more than willing to oblige my bloodlust, but I wanted bigger and better prey.  Knights, Wizards, even Ogres.  I killed them all and I felt myself surge.  

When I came across four Ogres, I knew that I was outmatched, but it didn’t matter.  I would sink my knife into their flesh, consequences be damned.  I was a Guardian, after all; death was no obstacle. The Traveler had brought us back to kill things for it, didn’t it?  That was what I was going to do.

It was with a limp that I finished off the last Ogre.  Despite having been impaled, nothing would stop me and my blade.  As it died, I laid down to wait for my own death.  Blood loss was always so slow, and I really couldn’t be bothered to wait to respawn and begin my killing again; I needed to get back out there.  I could almost feel my knife screaming with displeasure at taking even a short break like this, even to die.  I had to get back out there faster.  With Wretched Renderer in my hand, I made a simple choice, a practical one: stab myself, die sooner, and resume my conquest.

Once upon a time, it would have been hard to convince my hands to push my own knife into my heart, but so far into the life of a Guardian?  The pain barely registered as I finished what the Ogres started.

Then I entered that place, the one that those Thanatonauts crave to be in.  I had been here a thousand times before, and I hated it.  I never spoke of what I saw, because the Warlocks would pry and never let it go, and I always wanted so desperately to not think of it.  Visions and emotions flash across your vision and everything is so confusing.  I usually instruct my Ghost to resurrect me as soon as possible; it’s not a place I enjoy being in.  

But this time?  This time it was different.  There were no visions, no emotions, nothing.  I simply…existed in nothing.  It was dark, and nothing else.  And then it didn’t end.  With no way to track time, I couldn’t be sure, but I felt certain that I had never been dead for this long.  Panic set in.  Had something gone wrong?  Why are the visions gone?  Why am I still here?  If it is possible to hyperventilate without having a body or a presence, then I did; I metaphorically curled into a ball and buried my head in my lap as I tried to hide from the nothingness around me.

When I did come out of it, Ghost said I had only been dead for 20 minutes before my team found me and forced enough Light into my Ghost to revive me.  Ghost was deathly silent, even as Sara handed me my knife back; she must have retrieved it from my previous body, and had even cleaned it of my blood.  I expected her to be worried about me, because I was very worried, but she looked…intrigued, more than anything.  She wore a smirk that made me uncomfortable.  

I didn’t miss the wary stare that my Ghost tossed towards that knife.

Once we were alone, I cornered my Ghost over what happened.  We weren’t in a Darkness zone, so a revive should have been easy.  It should have been a routine op; something wasn’t right.  

“I couldn’t.  There was a dark presence overwhelming me.”

“What presence?”

“Your knife.  I can’t even go near it now; I can feel Darkness radiating off of it.”

Normally, I wouldn’t overreact like this, but after perfecting death, to learn that you might screw something up is terrifying, not to mention how horrifying the silence was. I reached to my side and drew my knife, before chunking it at the nearby rock face.  It sunk in easily.  For all I cared, it could have been a fluke, or even a prank from my Ghost.  I don’t care.  I would give anything to get the visions and emotions of death back. Anything but that…that dark Void.

I haven’t picked up a knife since that day.  I don’t know why they hate me, but I refuse to try it again.  I won’t go back in the dark.

And so, I punch like a Titan.  Because I’m scared of my knife.

Why do I dirty my hands to use a Hunter’s knife?  Why abandon my books for a blade?

It’s simple, really. My knife is evil.  

I was never really interested by the Hive.  In fact, I would say I was disinterested in it.  The Vex?  Fun to think about, and even better debate material for Warlocks, but in the end it always proven a mental exercise, nothing more.  The Fallen?  A magnificent case study in what would happen if the Traveler left Earth, or if we failed to protect it.  The Cabal? Military strategy may not be my thing, but I can certainly recognize the knowledge to be inferred from their tactics. The Taken?  Paracausal entities that had been abducted and brainwashed, certainly fascinating if not terrifying.  The Hive, though?  They just bred with and killed themselves over and over.  Inbreeding and slaughter just weren’t my thing.

However, the Speaker sure seemed to think there was something interesting about the Hive, though, since he put an embargo on Warlocks (and other classes also, technically, but who else would he worry about) practicing Hive tactics.  Everyone knew about Toland, but I didn’t think that there was any reason to fear that what happened to him would happen to more Warlocks; I figured Toland was the exception, not the rule.  However, the Speaker’s war on Hive magic knowledge made me think otherwise.  

It was my original disinterest in the Hive that led the Speaker, and the Vanguard, to believe that I could be trusted with a tour on the moon.  More than a quick mission, this was a months-long operation where our Fireteam would destroy any gathered Hive we could find.  With Hive-curious Warlocks, they feared that such prolonged, unfettered access to Hive shrines would prove too tempting.  With me, I supposed they thought my apathy was a perk.

It was the perfect opportunity to investigate the Hive.  After all, I was only selected because they trusted I would not look into the Hive, and they had already discouraged doing so; it was only natural that their own actions would lead to me investigating the Hive.

My findings were, well, okay.  It was interesting, sure, but nothing that would have drove me mad.  Sword Logic certainly piqued my interest, but it wasn’t something I believed I could harness as a Guardian; after all, Shaxx had popularized the sword as a Guardian weapon, and there weren’t any Guardians reporting that their influence on the Darkness magnified or they could will a Throne World into existence.  As cool as that would be, it certainly would not be a practical means of flaunting death, seeing as we Guardians already have that skill perfected.

An idea came to my mind. The Hive don’t command the Darkness by themselves; they are beholden to their worms.  I was never foolish enough to think a Guardian should introduce worm larvae into themselves; but could proximity to a worm trick the system? Could I introduce a worm into, say, a knife?  Could a knife serve as a vessel, feeding a worm and growing in power as it sliced through enemies?

My plan became a reality as I carved out the worm from a Hive wizard.  I needed to seal it in a handle, but I let the tang of the blade touch the worm as I encased it all.  I didn’t want the worm to be able to directly influence the wielder, but I did want it to interact with the blade itself.  With my work finished, I gave it to Sven Freisonn, our resident Hunter.  It really was a peace offering, as it was potentially the greatest knife of all time, but it was also an experiment—a chance to observe without risking side effects to myself.  

When Sven couldn’t be revived by his Ghost, I knew something must have worked.  Surely, the worm had activated and the blade was growing in its own, sinister, Dark power.  Sven had let it feed for weeks, and as he chunked it away in horror I saw my opportunity. I retrieved the blade and tucked it under my robes.  

Surely, Sven’s failure at reviving was his own fault; what sort of idiot kills himself with his own blade? Sure, he may not have realized that his blade was growing Dark the same way Crota and Oryx’s swords did, but it was still his own fault.  As long as I didn’t kill myself with it, I would be fine.  

Whenever my team isn’t looking, or whenever I’m off fighting alone, I’ll bring out the blade.  So aptly named, Wretched Renderer really does slice deep into its enemies; Sword Logic truly does sharpen as it kills. When I first created the blade, I tested it on a Hive Wizard’s shield, the metal biting into it and barely scratching it.  Now, with the charge of thousands of Hive souls as tithe to its worm?  I decapitated an Exalted Wizard like it was nothing the other day.  

Subtly, I discarded my Praxic Order bond, and let Reggie-12 have my books on the Traveler, and the Light. I didn’t need them right now.  I had something better to study.

And so, I wield the blade of a Hunter.  Because it’s too powerful not to.

Why do I study the Light like a Warlock?  Why concern myself with such details?

It’s simple, really. My Fireteam is insane.

They think I’m stupid, I’m certain.  They think their Fireteam Leader is some dumb oaf, spouting on and on about the practicality of walls in defense and how to best bash in the skull of a Knight.  They think that I don’t see what they hide from the group.  

I do.  I see Sven struggle for his life in fights, doing everything to avoid dying that he can.  He doesn’t even use a knife anymore, preferring to stay far out of knife range. I know he’s scared of that place. I know why.  I saw through Sara’s attempt to make Sven a blade out of kindness. I know what she put in its handle. I saw how that blade hungered to kill. I know how she hides it under her robes. I see her slit throats with it when she thinks no one is looking.  

My Fireteam needs serious help, and as the only sane member left, not to mention their leader, it falls to me to do it.

But I don’t know how. A Hunter scared to death of death and a Warlock obsessed with Darkness, with her own ritualistic Hive knife? Some nights I just want a stiff drink, but instead I get a book.  With Sara not needing them at the moment, I turned to them in desperation.  Perhaps I could enlighten myself—a challenge for a Titan never before attempted.  Maybe these texts could teach me to strengthen Sven’s Light, to teach him how to never worry about not reviving again.  If anything could restore his confidence, it would have to be the Traveler’s gift, so I studied Sara’s books on the Traveler.  

And maybe I’ll stumble across something magnificent.  Maybe I would solve some great mystery, or at the very least find one.  Something that would pique Sara’s interest again, and get her to focus back where it is safe for her to.  It’s not something I ever thought I would be doing, but something has to be done.  I can barely read, yet I’m pouring over books like Notes and Theses on the Alteration of Astrophysics Due to Post-Traveler Paracausal Manipulation and Theories on Seeding of Vex Minds In Traveler-Terraformed Planetoids.  And those are just the titles I can pronounce.  Whatever it takes, I’ll do it.

I can’t let Fireteam Green and Yellow destroy itself, or worse.

And so, I study like a Warlock.  Because the stakes are too high not to.