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taketaketake

Artemis knows this has been coming for a long time. She’s felt it in the marrow of her bones since they slew Oryx and sent his corpse adrift; a silence that nags at the very back of her mind. The mantle is hers. All she need do is take it. 

With eyes closed, she dips a hand into that vast expanse calling to her. Her Light buffers against it, shielding, heavy. The truth slices through it into her fingertip; she bleeds stars. 

“It is ready.” Eris’ voice rings through the desolate throne room of the Dreadnaught. An empty court awaiting its king.

Circles upon circles ring Artemis where she stands. Soulfire burns green in braziers placed where the circles end and begin in endless spirals. Runes and sigils will siphon the power towards her when she calls upon it, binding it to her. She does not spare a glance towards Eris and Lune hovering just over her shoulder. What will happen is done, she has made this decision and will bear it without regret. She hopes her Ghost can do the same.

She hefts the wicked blade wielded once by the King of Shapes and stabs it into the floor at her feet. The words that pour forth are such:

“I have slain Oryx, the Taken King, and by the many-edged truth I take his mantle! 

By the truth of blades I assume the power to take life and make it my own! 

I stand before the Deep as the end to which everything bends. I am the logic of swords wielded by heretical undeath.

I am Telos, Master of Shapes! Blade of Finality! The Taken King!

Henceforth will it be! Aiat!” 

The question that is its answer echoes a chorus over and over. Her connection to the Light snaps, a clean break of bone. There is something waiting for her in the space between infinite moments, she reaches a dagger-clawed hand forth and cuts it for herself. A weave of impossible stars, beautiful in their finality. It drapes over her eyes and slips between her fingers like water, but she holds firm. The Deep will not claim her will so easily. Blind she cups her hands and lifts them to her mouth. She is devourer of secrets; she will make this power hers. She drinks and drinks and drinks. The black fire stars make home in her belly, in her lungs, her heart that now beats with the attention of thousands. 

She is ascendant.

Existence returns to her in a flash of lightning. Light courses through her nerves, retracing the paths it has run a thousand times over. It crackles alongside this newfound power, sparking between her fingers like she’s grave fresh once more. 

She scuffs the ritual circles with a step forward, she needs to find Eris… find…. The world tips, unbalanced, as though she’s seeing it with more eyes than before. Then Eris is there, a brace beneath her shoulder to keep her upright. 

“Careful,” she admonishes. “Our success has yet to prove itself.”

Eris leads them over to the half dead thrall they brought. The first test of the new king’s abilities. It writhes against its rune inscribed bindings. 

Take… whispers a voice in the darkness. Take it...

With a hand wreathed in abyssal flame she does. Palm laid flat against its eyeless skull she pushes the tide of her will into it. It shrieks like rending marrow as the physical is unmade. Darkness and lightless flame consume it from the inside outwards, leaving only a glowing, twitching shell. 

Buoyed on the power rushing through her, she raises that same hand and cuts a wound into reality. Her inherited army is smaller than it would have been had she taken the mantle sooner, but all the same dozens more thrall flood through the gash. All awaiting her command.

“How is this for success?” Telos’ voice booms across her court. Laughter follows on its tail. “I am now master of death and the shapes it takes. A thrice dead god. Guardian and King!” She looks back to Eris, hand extended. “Our sister of War stands no chance.”

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For those who might need a little help understanding the mechanics of this new season.

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Ghost of the Taken King

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Keep reading

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blighted

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i love that it took us all the way back to the beginning as we’re preparing for the end, legit gave me the fucking chills

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Opinions on Telesto

Im not allowed to have an opinion. Telesto have me at gunpoinxckfjtlhgsnfahrdhfjjfjfjlddhlslwsbnkdhe

Telesto is the best weapon in Destiny and a completely safe item to use in game. Fear not :)

:) :) :)

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Wishing my little blorbos a very pleasant Festival of the Lost

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I’m back in music school after the holidays, so obviously I’ve been thinking up some headcanons for Deathsingers. As you do.

A Wizard accepted into training must be young (the earlier after Morphing the better), when their flesh is still soft and somewhat unscarred.

The training itself takes decades and could kill you at any given moment. The actual Deathsong is not practiced until the trainee excels at all other spells and arias, because once you sing it, you must hit all the notes correctly or else it kills you.

Hitting the notes right protects you (usually) from not dying but it doesn’t guarantee a successful spell.

It’s as much a battle of wills as it is an aria; a scuffle between you and the Song over who claims whom. If the Song wins, you die.

It is painful to sing the Song—especially at first, when it only begins to carve itself into your bones. The deeper and older the cuts are, the easier it becomes, though by then you’ve probably gotten used to the ache. It’s not unheard of for inexperienced singers to die simply because they’ve choked on their own blood as the song was cutting into their throat.

You can manipulate the effects of the spell (duration, radius, intensity of pain, how long it takes to actually kill the victim, etc.) through intonation, phrasing or added embellishments. Most powerful Songs can split planets apart.

Deathsong is more a genre than one particular harmony, though some notes and chords are fixed; those are the ones that cut into you as you sing. You technically can reverse-engineer the lethal core of the Song from them (exactly what Toland and Eris did when creating Deathbringer), but it is much too little to actually stand for a functional Deathsong—more like a jury-rigged bomb that’s only gonna blow up in your face. (Again, that is why we needed all the other stuff besides the skull before we could use the weapon.)

A Deathsinger finishes their training when they compose their own Song and perform it successfully.

The only ways to survive the Deathsong in its entirety are either singing along or countering it with an exactly reversed melody. This makes the variability of the arias a great asset because you can’t ever fully prepare against every song that might be sung at you. Legends say A’Airâm was so genius she could counter every Deathsong on the fly, but it is not true.

You can absolutely perform a successful Deathsong all by yourself, but it’s easier (and the results are much more amusing) with a choir.

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Destiny players

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Once again doodling. Them……

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I wrote a rather lengthy twitter thread on my thoughts regarding disability accommodations in gaming and the reactions of non-disabled gamers to any attempts to add them.

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The Saint

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aiat

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Eido is so dang cute, I'm absolutely in love with this sweet little adventuring nerd.

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Kinda nerd. Reblog

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(Oo w oO) !