priestandmoriah-blog

[priestandmoriah-blog]

The Coming War I: Or Never Have I Ever

"Ok, ok, my turn," Moriah said, waving her hands about the cockpit.

Priest's arm shot out over the control panel. "Watch it," he warned. It wouldn't be the first time she nearly took the ship down.

The ship was small, meant for two people, and yet she, Priest, and Tour were crammed inside. As the lone Titan, her gear took up the most room. Priest patted her knee as if to take out the sting of his warning.

Tour leaned forward, the glow of his blue eyes lighting the dim space. Without a third chair, he sat on a crate of ammunition between Priest and Moriah's seats. He was an Exo, unlike the other two, a machine with more soul than most Guardians. While her and Priest's Awoken skin shimmered with blue secrets, Tour's was topological braids of doped metallic hydrogen-or so she'd read.

"Well, we're waiting," said Tour. He polished his hand cannon with the corner of his cloak. Ace of Spades, custom made.

Moriah cleared her throat. "Never have I ever-"

"Guardian, this is Commander Zavala-" as if they wouldn't recognize his deep voice over the comms. Priest adjusted the volume. "The Cabal base on Phobos is blasting a signal on all channels. If they're willing to break transmission silence, this could be a preclude to a full scale assault."

Priest's pale eyebrows-and the dark marks above them-shot up. It wasn't like the Cabal to send a distress signal. Moriah wasn't sure they even had a word for distress.

Priest smirked. "The Cabal know to call me for a good time." He pulled hard on the ship, and Moriah grabbed the edge of her seat to keep from tipping into the controls. He set a route for Mars and its moons.

"First," said Moriah, "the Queen goes silent and now the Cabal think they have something to say?"

"The Queen didn't just go silent," Tour said. "She's dead."

"You don't know that," Priest said over his shoulder.

"We're all dead," Moriah pointed out.

Tour nodded. "Dead doesn't mean what it used to."

Priest tilted his chin, sunlight resting on his cheekbones as they headed inwards through the system. "We've never died, not really." His words rung through the cold cockpit, their three Ghosts bobbing in agreement.

"Nope," Tour said. "I've been dead, at least a hundred times."

Moriah nodded. "A thousand times for me. Dead is dead, even if you come back. Which brings me back to... Never have I ever... died in the Vault of Glass."

Priest rolled his eyes. "You've never even been there," but he put a finger down. Tour was down to a single finger: his middle one.

They passed Mars and approached Phobos. They skimmed over its rocky, pockmarked surface.

"Aww," Priest murmured, "candlelight, just how I like it."

They passed over moon bases and mining colonies-all alight with flame and fire. A mass exodus was occurring as the Cabal fled.

"We're setting down on Phobos now," his Ghost sent through the comm.

"I'll be monitoring your feed, Ghost," Zavala said. "Good luck to you all."

Tour kissed his hand cannon. "We don't need luck."

A moment later, they dematerialized and reappeared on a cliffside outside the base.

"Never have I ever been to Phobos," Moriah said.

"None of us have," Priest added, and she frowned. She wasn't the best at this game.

Tour chuckled to himself. "Never have I ever died on Phobos."

Moriah scoffed if none of them had been to Phobos, then none of them had died either.

A gunshot rang out.

"Guardian down," said the Ghosts in chorus.

A moment later, Moriah was back. "Son of a bitch!" she rubbed the back of her helmet where the bullet had entered. Tour and Priest were nearly bent in half from laughter. "Assholes." She marched ahead. "We have work to do."

"Oh, don't be salty." Priest grabbed her shoulders and shook her before pushing ahead. His Warlock robes flapped in the wind. Dust flew on the current, acting like prisms, throwing rainbows into the air. It took a long time for Moriah to appreciate Mars, but beauty was in its small details.

A roar ahead stopped them.

"Hold!" Priest ducked behind a bolder as a Harvester ship rose just ahead. A spotlight spread across them before the ship zipped off. They looked to each other-the Cabal just ignored them? Not even a goodbye missile?

Ahead, Mars loomed over the horizon, massive and rusted red. It nearly swallowed the sky, and Moriah herself swallowed hard, her heart pounding. Carefully, they moved forward again. A Legionary crawled onto their path, half-dead and wailing a sound she'd never heard before. Priest put him down without hesitation.

"This is getting freaky," said Moriah, pulling in closer to Priest.

"Scared?" Tour teased.

"Cautious," she sniffed.

Priest raised his Hung Jury. "Cautious is a polite word for scared."

They crested the hill. Smoke rose in swirling black pillars like ether from a Dreg's neck, and a ship, shredded in half, was spread across the field. Cabal exited the base and the fireteam pressed themselves against the cliffside, jagged rocks digging through Moriah's armor.

An explosion rent the air, bisecting the base with licks of fire. The cabal were thrown forward where they did not move again.

"Bastards started without me," Priest sniffed.

"Zavala," whispered Tour's Ghost, "the Cabal are evacuating with extreme prejudice. They're getting torn up down here."

"Torn up," Moriah said, "is a polite word for getting the shit beat out of them."

"'Torn up' is two words," Tour corrected.

They edged closer. Sirens went off as Harvester shadows passed overhead, and the fireteam picked off the few Cabal left. Moriah sent her Ghost forward, and it scanned a Cabal corpse.

"What do we got?" she asked.

"Skyburners regiment. Dead, obviously. There are no other Guardians down here. I wonder what put them down?"

"Good question," said Priest grimly.

Moriah gripped her gun tighter. "Skyburners? It's not the sky that's burning, now is it?"

The entrance to the base was singed and shooting sparks. They picked their way forward.

A grim voice spoke over comms: Eris Morn. "Something has drawn us here. I can feel it," she droned.

"Guardian," said Zavala, "I have asked Eris Morn to monitor the channel."

"Why Eris?" Moriah asked.

Priest entered the base and the others followed. "Do they think this has to do with Crota?"

Tour only shrugged.

Inside, ignited gas rippled across broken beams, and tendrils of electricity dripped between exposed cables.

"I hear whispers in the dark," Eris added.

Moriah shivered. She was not a fan of Eris-no one was really-she was a reminder that there were worse things than death or even immortality. And saying weird shit like that only made her creepier.

They pushed further and further into the base. Slain Cabal littered the halls and ramps, walls were slashed and gutted, yellow warning lights flashed from the wall and ceilings. The sinking in Moriah's stomach said they were heading the wrong way.

They entered the next room. It was dark here, and the only light strobed near the next door way. If this wasn't a sign of a very, very bad idea, Moriah would eat her Titan mark.

"What's that?" Tour aimed his gun through the doorway.

"Stay here," Priest commanded. He crouched and stepped softly forward, his boots cracking broken glass, his robes whispering against the floor.

The object was a ball of light, spinning languidly on itself like a fish. It was of pure white and pure black, Light and Darkness, beautiful and mesmerizing.

Priest stepped closer, and as if frightened, the orb shot off with a screech. He flinched backwards.

"Whoa," he said.

"What the hell was that?" asked Zavala.

In answer, Eris cried out: "Fingertips, on the surface of my mind!"

"Yes... thank you for your input, Eris."

Moriah snorted as Priest and Tour walked on-and immediately stopped after rounding the next corner.

The walls and floor were covered in thick splotches of something slick and foreign. A music seemed to emanate from whatever it was, an organic chorus, like placing an ear against a shell and hearing the roar of the ocean.

"What is that?" Moriah asked. "A membrane? A goo?"

"Nothingness," said Priest in awe. It was a blackness that held the depth of eons in it; it was a hole in space-and maybe time-the edges torn and burnt with wicked white heat-filament framing the firmament. Whatever it was, it affected the gravity nearby, sending debris floating like dust motes, bending light into shadows. Moriah could feel the pull of it, and it made her break out in a cold sweat.

She sent her Ghost forward. Carefully, without getting too close, it scanned a sample that had half torn through a Cabal soldier.

"This membrane," said Ghost, "is attempting to form a bridge between dimensions, but I think it requires a living host."

"Oh, a living host," said Tour. "Just what immortal Guardians of the Traveler want to hear."

"OK, well no one touch the goo." Priest entered the next room, which wrapped around an elevator shaft. A crash of metal, and he raised his gun.

An elevator stopped at their floor. Inside a lone Legionary desperately launched to his feet.

"Should we... help him?" Moriah asked.

"We should put him down," said Tour.

Priest nodded. "Especially if that goo's looking for a host." He aimed his gun as the Legionary leapt and grasped the ceiling of the elevator. Another crash, and something-beams maybe-landed on the elevator, smashing the Cabal, forcing the elevator down, down, down the shaft. "Well, that takes care of that."

Ramps wrapped around the shaft. They took them slow and carefully. Even if they were evacuating, Cabal still posed a dangerous threat and the base was clearly unstable-add the whipped goo, and it was a sundae of what the hell.

"Radar," Tour whispered. A red line edged the display, warning of a nearby enemy.

They tiptoed forward keeping to one side of the ramp.

Ahead, more goo flashed and burned in blackness. A Centurion claws his way forward when a tendril, a tether, shot out and grabbed him. It sucked him up into nothingness.

"Well, there's its live host it needed," said Tour.

"Whispers are louder," cried Eris. "I will endure."

Moriah did not point out that Eris was safe and sound at the Tower while they crawled around this Phobos death trap.

They continued through rooms and ramps, around bodies and membranes shooting out dark, grasping feelers. They watched as another Centurion was taken before their eyes, sucked away in light and darkness.

It took everything in Moriah not to grasp Priest and Tour's arms and huddle in fear. She wondered if they-even instinctively-felt the same as they pushed in closer together.

"They speak a word, a name," Eris moaned.

The ramp ahead poured into a large, circular room. As they entered, a smoke or gas began pouring in, building and building in the center.

"He is here!" Eris cried.

The tendrils of smoke and light braided itself like shadows of veins and arteries. A figure formed-a bust-of a giant being. Its three eyes glowed in white-hot anger.

"Crota?" Moriah squeaked, but the others shook their head.

"Light!" shouted the head. "Give your will to me!"

An massive orb appeared before the giant and swelled in smoke and light before exploding. Flashes like portals ushered forth monsters, and Moriah's knees nearly gave out.

A Knight appeared first, flanked by... Psions. This wasn't right. Hive and Cabal did not fight together. And the creatures weren't right either. Like the membrane, they were made of light and darkness; they were temporal and incorporeal all at once, twitching as if tortured by incredible pain. Then again, being a paradox might do that to a creature.

The Knight stomped forward, and spread forth solar jets.

"Move!" shouted Priest. They spread out, Tour rolling away from the flames.

"Up! Up!" Moriah shouted. There was a ledge looking down into the room, accessible by ramps-or their lift abilities.

The Knight once more spread flames before shooting his void projectiles from his boomer. The fireteam huddled behind one of the narrow partitions separating the platform from the room below.

Tour glanced to the left. "The've followed." He took out a strange Psion his Ace of Spades.

As he spoke, a slug hit Moriah from the right, and she staggered. She dispatched the Psion-it was sucked away like the tethers that had taken the Centurions-and another Psion leapt onto the platform. She got a shot off on its chest when it shook violently and split into two separate Psions.

"Did you see that? What the hell is going on?"

A void projectile hit Priest, and with a shout, he died.

"Shit," said Tour as he resurrected Priest. "We need a better plan."

"We need a plan," Moriah shouted back.

Priest raised his 1000-Yard Stare. "Just keep them off my back," he said. "I got a date with Destiny."

"No, that was corny," said Moriah as Priest's first round boomed across the room and into the Knight's forehead.

"Focus," said Tour as he burst into solar light, his Golden Gun raised to the heavens before lowering a shot into a Psion. Its crack was nearly as loud as Priest's sniper.

As Tour protected their left flank, Moriah focused on the right. She rushed forward, Shoulder Charging a Psion. It was joined by three others, one of which split again. She leapt and crashed back to the ground, sending out a wave of arc damage. Their platform cleared of the mutilated Psions, she and Tour focused on the creatures below, keeping any others from reaching their perch.

"Almost there, almost there," Priest said. One more shot: "And boom goes the dynamite."

The Knight was sucked away, and he took the remaining Psions with him.

"Who was that?" Moriah asked.

"Syrok," her Ghost answered, "Word of Oryx."

"Shit," Priest spat.

"Oryx?" Tour added. "As in Crota's dad?"

"You have seen His face," said Eris. "It was His hand that transformed the Cabal."

Zavala urgently broke over the feed: "This mission is scrubbed. Guardians, get to your ship and get out of there!"

As he spoke, a door opened behind them.

The three turned slowly. A Phalanx-twisted and deformed like the Knight and Psions-raised his shield. A concussive blast threw them back into the partition just as Priest's grenade arched through the air. It attached to the Phalanx's elbow where it exploded like a sunspot. The shield teetered on its edge before disappearing.

Priest grabbed Moriah's arm and yanked her painfully to her feet. She groaned as they ran through the open door and into a long room washed in yellow warning lights. More orbs swelled and exploded into tortured creatures: Phalanxes mostly, but another Knight at the end of the room. Their bullets made a beautiful cacophony of chaos. Moriah slid past a Phalanx, turned, and shotgunned him.

For a second time, Tour used his Golden Gun, taking out the Knight and then several tortured Phalanxes and Psions attacking their own-or what was once their own-Cabal brethren. What had become of them?

"I've seen that before," Ghost said suddenly. Moriah turned, and on the floor was a golden hologram, of a long, oddly-shaped ship.

"Scan it," she commanded the Ghost, and its glittering matrix spread across the object.

"This matches an image I collected from The World's Grave," it said as Priest and Tour finished clearing the room. "A Dreadnaught. They don't exist in our system. I'll mark it for transmat to the Vanguard and hope we get a signal."

"There's more terminals over here," Priest shouted. "Get that one, Tour." He pointed to a second screen glowing at the far end of the room.

"The sent teams to investigate anomalous energy fluctuations across the base." Then softer, with reverence, Priest's Ghost added, "None of the units reported back..."

Tour's Ghost picked up where the others left off: "Cabal mining sites across Mars and Phobos have been hit. Losses to Blind Legion: thirty-five percent. Losses to Sand Eaters, fifty-eight percent; Dust Giants, thirty-nine percent. What is this?"

"The base is a loss!" Zavala shouted at them. "We have reports of these 'Taken' across the system. Go! Get out!"

They ran down a hallway, dodging membrane that distorted space and gravity, lifted debris in the air like a child's mobile. The corridors on this end of the base were dark and lit only sporadically by strobing, spitting wires.

Beyond, a doorway opened outside onto the Aerodrome. A ring of white light-a rupture in the sky-shot down a beam of energy like a sword slicing through the atmosphere. A ship-more accurately a ball of molten metal and flame-seared through the air and crashed into the base ahead. The three ran onto the walkway as more beams of light pierced the sky, the blasts knocking them into each other. Moriah's vision seemed to reverberate with the concussive blasts.

Priest's ship zoomed overhead and pivoted before landing several hundred meters away.

"Our ship's landing across the airfield!" said his Ghost. "Hurry!"

So much seemed to happen at once.

More Taken Phalanxes appeared as a beam rent the distant communications tower in two. It went up in a ball of flames, and came crashing down to Phobos.

"Forget the Taken!" Priest shouted as he leapt over the creatures. Moriah followed while Tour rolled between their feet.

The walkway ended and the only other way was down-into Cabal Legionaries fighting Taken Psions. They dropped behind them, with Moriah shotgunning one on her way, before leaving them to fight each other. The bridge was out ahead-ruined from the fireball of a ship they had witnessed crashing.

The three soared over the chasm and landed as two more Taken Phalanxes materialized. One raised his shield, shot forth a blast, and Tour flew backwards across the fissure.

"Tour!" Priest shouted as he shot forth a hand and grabbed his cloak before the Hunter went over the edge. Moriah tossed a grenade that stuck to the wall behind the Taken; its bolts of lightning wrecked them while she helped Priest pull Tour to safety.

"We're almost there," said Priest's Ghost as they passed through a building, avoiding Taken Psions when possible-punching and scorching and knifing them when necessary.

Outside once more was another bridge, this one mostly intact, but swarming with Taken Phalanxes and Psions.

"I'll distract them," said Priest. "You two get to the ship."

Before they could protest, Priest exploded in Radiance, shimmering like a phoenix and tossing grenades like they were candy. "Eat up!" he shouted.

Moriah and Tour kept to the right and used terminals and pipes as cover. They reached the other side-so close to the ship, when Tour pointed out a Taken Knight sprouting flames at Priest.

"Cute fire," Tour said. "Wanna see mine?" He lifted a rocket launcher and spit fire at the Taken Knight who dissolved into ash.

Priest caught up and the three leapt over barricades and fuel canisters, taking out the last two Taken Phalanxes who dared to stand between them and their ship.

They were warped away, suddenly mid-step, and sucked into their ship and to safety.

"Zavala," said Priest's Ghost, as they soared over the crumbling desolation of Fleetbase Korus, "We made it to our ship, and are heading home."

Moriah remove her helmet and leaned back into her seat. She was breathing hard, as was Priest. Tour's mechanics seemed to whir.

Finally, she said, "Never have I ever seen anything like that."

Priest stared at her. "You are terrible at this game."

[priestandmoriah-blog]

The R + J Strategy

Crimson Days, Crimson Days

Wherefore art thou Crimson Days?

Why not scarlet or vermillion or even fire engine red? Why is every damn thing called Crimson--Crimson Days, Crimson Doubles, Crimson Candy, Crimson Connection... I know you have a thesaurus, Ikora Ray.

Oh, right.

Anyway, every Guardian is star-crossed this week. It is a time of heartache, dissatisfaction, and soon, angsty revolt. Hey, what did Shaxx expect, combining romance with suicidal soldiers?

Play Crimson Doubles, they said. You'll have fun, they said. You'll win a 320 Ghost.

Fuck that.

Crimson Doubles was worse than Trials of Osiris, but at least Trials had more rewards than rare guns and mote of lights. There, you could earn a ticket to the Lighthouse. Iron Banner had decent rewards at ranks three and five. Even stupid Sparrow Racing had 320 helmets out the wazoo. But no. Not Crimson freakin' Doubles. The 320 chocolate Ghost shell turned out to be more elusive than a Gjallarhorn (may you rest in peace, dear gun). Moriah was positive that Crimson Doubles was just a way for Shaxx to troll the Guardians during Crimson Days. Maybe Eris Morn had rejected his Crimson Candy or something.

Speaking of which, there were more shades of red than crimson. Couldn't the Vanguard open a thesaurus?

"Well," grumbled Moriah, as they came out of orbit. "Here we go again."

She and Priest were teleported to an arena on Earth. Buildings, covered in vines and grime, rose on either side of them, and a sort of walkway separated their view of the rest of the arena. Everything was bright white and blue.

"Bannerfall," said Moriah. "I hate this one."

"It's just like our Tower."

"It's a Tower, but it's not our Tower. It confuses me."

"Doesn't matter anyway," he said wearily. "We go straight, duke it out for a couple rounds, and then a few minutes later, we're getting rare items that aren't even 300."

"What a waste of time," she said. "It doesn't even matter if you're good or not."

"You don't have to be good; you just have to listen. When I say rush, you rush."

"I did rush last game," she growled.

Priest threw up his hands. "I turned around and you weren't there!"

"I was flanking him. Why are you complaining? We actually won that round."

"Because you don't listen! We could have ended it sooner."

"But we'd be better off taking it slow and strategizing instead of just rushing in!"

Priest began to pace, gun at his side. Kind of ballsy since a red line had appeared on Moriah's radar. "The more games we finish, the more chances at that damn 320 Ghost shell!"

"Oh." Moriah nodded slowly as understanding dawned. Becoming 320 meant becoming the elite of the elite. (Or, the luckiest of the lucky, since it was all random. Even Moriah—one of the worst in her clan—had been 320 for weeks.) All Priest needed to become a 320 Warlock was that Ghost shell. No wonder Crimson Doubles had him so high-strung.

Moriah turned on her heel towards the abandoned hanger, her jaw set into a tense line. She ignored the encroaching red on her radar.

"Where are you going?" he called after her.

"Ending this."

"We can't leave. Shaxx won't drop any rewards."

"I'm not forfeiting... exactly."

She passed through the building, and Priest jogged to catch up. They came to the edge of the tower. In the distance, the Traveler hung in the sky, casting its protective shadow over the City. She had never paid attention to this view before. Usually, she was too busy running and shooting in Bannerfall to notice that they seemed to be facing the Traveler's backside.

She climbed onto the railing, arms outstretched like a Warlock in Radiance.

"What are you doing?" Priest hissed. "They're closing in."

"Let them." A bullet flew past her ear. "Win or lose, you have an equal chance of getting a Ghost. So... let's finish this quick."

Moriah leapt.

"No!" he shouted behind her.

She raced to meet the ground. If she weren't covered head to toe in armor, perhaps she could feel the wind tearing at her hair, pulling at her skin. She felt like she might shoulder charge the Earth.

Then it was over.

Moriah spawned in at the starting point.

"Your team is behind," warned Shaxx's deep voice over the comm.

Priest was beside her, chuckling. He hadn't laughed since Crimson Days started. "They waved at me when I jumped!"

"You followed?" she asked, eyebrows raised. She wasn't sure how he'd respond to her suicide. Maybe he'd die too, but he could have tried soloing the opposite team. He could've revived her and scolded her for killing herself.

"You made a good point," he said, leading her back through the building. "Win or lose, we have a chance for rewards, right? So let's make this quick. The more matches, the more chances." When they reached the exit, he left her side, vaulted the railing, and shouted as he fell. "Wee!"

Moriah leaned over the edge and watched Priest splat, his arms all akimbo. Then his body faded away.

"Guardian down," said her Ghost. Beside her, Priest's orb appeared. She could revive him—was supposed to revive him. Instead, she followed him down to her own death.

They resurrected at the beginning of the round; again Shaxx scolded them for being behind. Moriah grabbed Priest's hand. They ran together, jumped together, and died together.

The next round began. "Heavy ammo inbound," said Shaxx.

Moriah tugged at Priest's arm.

"Wait," he said. "I wonder what they're doing." He nodded towards their opponents' spawn point. "I haven't seen them since the first round."

"Probably waiting for us to kill ourselves."

"Shall we pay them a visit?"

Moriah grinned behind her helm.

They leapt onto the bridge in front of them and then onto the awnings that creaked under their footfalls. Oftentimes, you could snipe or be sniped from here, but she didn't see any flash of a scope. They dropped down, snuck through a doorway, and came to a small courtyard with a thin, potted tree in the middle.

"Heavy ammo available," said Shaxx, and the box appeared against the wall. Priest opened it, and Moriah got her share.

"Come on," he urged quietly.

The opposite side of the arena was roughly a mirror image of theirs. They cut through a half-opened doorway; then Priest leapt onto the awnings, while Moriah raced down the middle. They jumped the bridge that cut off their opponents' spawn point from the rest of the tower and lifted into the air.

Below, their opponents were sitting. As if they hadn't a care in the world.

One target lurched to his feet when he saw Moriah. He aimed his gun, but too late. She shredded him with her machine gun. Priest picked off the other with his rocket launcher.

"Enemy team eliminated," said Shaxx.

Priest and Moriah collapsed against each other, laughing too hard to breathe.

"They had no clue!" he said. "They were just sitting there, waiting."

Moriah blinked away tears. "Can you imagine what they must be thinking?"

Priest shook his head and the world faded as they dematerialized. A moment later, they were back at their spawn point.

"Quick," said Moriah, "before they come looking for revenge."

Hands held tight, they made it through the building, but stopped at the railing.

"Listen," Priest told Moriah, "I want you to know that this was... cathartic. Maybe I was taking things a bit too seriously."

Moriah shrugged. "Crimson Days has been frustrating, though. I hope you get your Ghost shell."

"Me too, but even if I don't... well, at least we had fun together, right?"

"Right."

They leapt from the tower, the Traveler sliding above them as they fell. Moriah closed her eyes and tightened her grip on Priest's hand. A 320 chocolate Ghost would be a nice reward for all their killing and dying, but no drop was sweeter than this.

[priestandmoriah-blog]

[priestandmoriah-blog]

Priest and Moriah, ready for Crimson Days.

[priestandmoriah-blog]

Will You Be My Crimson Double?

Crimson Doubles are coming to the Tower, and all the Guardians are pairing up. Will Moriah have the guts to ask Priest to the Crucible, or is she doomed to hang out with Eris Morn all week?

Ghost teleported Moriah to the Martian surface, and her boots hit the land hard. Priest spawned in beside her.

"Come on," he said. "We'll find Cabal majors in the Hollows."

Moriah nodded as their Ghosts materialized their sparrows. Ghosts could be quite useful—transporting stuff, unlocking doors, lighting up dark hallways. One time, she saw Priest self-res, and in a glory of flame and fire, he tossed grenades every which way—and ran out with one Fallen left. So he tossed his Ghost. That stupid dreg actually flinched at the fake grenade and got a bullet in the brain for it. Ether shot up everywhere. It was great, and his Ghost felt pretty proud of itself.

Moriah followed Priest through the tunnels to the Hollows, their sparrows whirring between Martian boulders. Moriah hated Mars. It was an ugly, dusty planet, crawling with Cabal, her least favorite alien lifeform. At least the Vex were fun to shoot in the juice box, and Fallen... well, they weren't hard to kill. Cabal, on the other hand, were armored bastards. She could never land a good punch without taking a shield to the chest, and punching was the best part of being a Titan—well, when you could reach the target.

"Keep up, Moriah." Priest dismounted from his sparrow. "Crimson Days is starting soon, and I want to be there when it does."

"I know, I know." Moriah sprinted to keep up with Priest and hid a frown behind her helm. She loved festivals at the Tower. When the Sparrow Racing League visited, the whole Tower was decked out with red and blue banners, and the Festival of the Loss was the most fun she'd ever had. For a week, she went around in an Eris Morn mask, offering raisins to other Guardians. It was a blast. But for this festival, she couldn't find a single partner for the new Crimson Doubles. Watch, all the Guardians will be off having fun, and Moriah will be stuck eating raisins with Eris.

Ahead, sand half buried a platform with two tanks. She and Priest leapt over the railing and stood at the doorway to building number seven. She could still make out Clovis Bray printed in chipped, blocky letters.

"This place must have been great once," she said.

"The whole solar system was," Priest added. Sometimes, it seemed like Priest remembered more than most Guardians about life before Ghosts resurrected them. He fought harder, cared more than any other Guardian—as if he knew better than they did what Earth had lost and still hoped to gain.

So it was kind of dumb that he'd chosen to join up with Dead Orbit, a faction that wanted to flee the solar system. Who cared if they had "cool" shaders?

Just inside building number seven, four Cabal waited to beat them to a pulp. Good. Moriah loved beating enemies back. She took off. The air around her blurred with speed. She felt fast. Massive. Like a bomb. A shoulder charge built within her, and she itched to release—there, movement. She shoved her shoulder into her victim—and got a face full of shield. The Phalanx pushed her back, and she landed against a wall. Everything spun, and she could barely keep her eyes open.

"Moriah!" Priest shouted. He roared and took down two Cabal with his rifle, the rest he got with his solar abilities. Warlocks were so elegant, she hazily thought. Palm flipped forward—Boom. Dead Cabal. Gentle flick of the wrist, tossed grenade—Boom. More dead Cabal. Priest wore vengeance well. Damn, she could only imagine what that rage would do when amplified by a Crimson Double's buff.

When the room grew quiet, Priest approached, and she blinked at him. He gave her a hand, as she rocked to her feet.

"Oops," she said lamely, as she finally began to heal.

"Oops? That's all you can say? Why didn't you shoot?"

She adjusted her chest piece so it sat straighter. "I like to shoulder charge."

"You could've died."

Moriah shrugged. "Only for a moment." Perhaps this was why no one wanted her for Crimson Doubles; she didn't have much self-preservation. When a shoulder charge worked, it was fantastic, but more often than not, she got a shotgun for her efforts. "I'm all right," she said softly. "Just had the wind knocked out of me."

"Are you sure you're OK?" Priest asked.

She nodded, and they stood there, awkwardly.

She should ask him to be her Double. They had certainly done a lot together over the past few months. But what if he already had a partner? "Um, thanks for avenging me and all."

"That's what Guardians do."

"You'll, um, do well in Crimson Doubles," she said. She scuffed her foot across the floor. "You got the whole vengeance thing down..."

"Thanks."

Silence stretched between them.

"Priest, would you...maybe... be my—"

"Oh um, hold on." He turned from the stairs and ran for the door. "Just go on without me."

"Wait, what?" Moriah felt cold, and she doubted Mars's atmosphere was leaking through her suit. "Yeah," she squeaked. "I'll just...um, go on without you."

He paused at the doorway, his silhouette lit by the Martin sunshine. "Yeah, you got this... pal."

Pal? Moriah nodded and tore for the stairs. Priest stood silhouetted in the doorway, then he disappeared back into the Martian sunshine. She swallowed hard. She shouldn't have said anything.

At the top of the stairs, Phalanxes and an Imperial Legionary crowded a short breezeway. She needed a good fight to distract her right about now. Moriah ran, leapt into the air—the Cabal watched her, guns firing in panic—and she crashed down in a shower of arc sparks that radiated outward. Three Cabal fell. Only one Phalanx remained, shield up, one little elbow sticking up behind his gun. Moriah aimed her Hung Jury and caught his arm. When he flinched, lowering his shield, she took him down with a headshot.

Moriah crept into the empty room. Stacks of servers blocked the light of a window that had lost its glass long ago.

A soft crunch made her freeze. Slowly, she turned around.

An Imperial Centurion slammed her into the ancient machines.

"Ow!" she shouted, punching him back. He staggered, and it gave her just enough time to pull out her Invective. She shot him once, and though it glanced off his chest, the shot nearly killed him. She aimed again, ready to end him.

"Just in time!" shouted Priest behind her. He leapt, knocking her gun aside, and palmed the cabal who melted away from the Scorch.

"Hey!" she stomped her foot. "That was my kill!"

"Sorry," he said with a shrug. "You like shoulder charges. I like melees."

Moriah rolled her eyes, and then peered closer to Priest. "Where's your Ghost?" she asked.

"Doing something."

"Doing what?"

"Come on, I'll show you." He sprinted for the windows at the opposite end of the room. A grate had fallen long ago, making a sort of plank over the ledge.

"Where are you going? Stairs are this way." She pointed at the breezeway behind them.

"Short cut." He walked off the plank and disappeared over the edge.

Moriah sighed, ran up to the plank, and then stopped.

Below, Priest's Ghost hovered over large letters written in the sand. Will you be my Crimson Doub— A Taken Vex spawned over the last letters, and Priest shotgunned him. It disappeared back to its dimension.

Moriah leapt down and softened the landing with her lift. "Oh my Traveler, you really mean it?" she asked giddily.

"Yeah, why not? We'll put those shoulder charges to use."

Moriah clapped her hands together. "And this has nothing to do with the Broken Heart buff where you could sacrifice me, become uber powerful, and solo the match?"

"What?" he said with faux-innocence. "I've never heard of such a thing."

She looked back at the letters. "Thanks, Priest."

He placed his hand on the back of his helmet as if he could smooth back his hair. He did that sometimes. "Well, I thought you were going to ruin it back there and ask me instead."

Moriah gaped. "You've been planning this?"

"Yeah, when you said you needed majors for that bounty, I knew this would be the perfect place to ask."

Moriah nodded. She looked up at the haze of stars over the red-rust glow of the planet. Phobos spun silently in the distance. Then she looked back at the softly carved letters in the sand. Perhaps Mars wasn't so bad after all.

[priestandmoriah-blog]

Gjallarhorn Day

In Year One of Destiny, there was nothing more powerful--or elusive--than a Gjallarhorn. When the mysterious Xur offers the rocket launcher at a steep price, Guardians Moriah and Priest must defeat a formidable enemy or miss out on the most coveted exotic weapon of all time.

Gjallarhorn. Everyone has a Gjallarhorn story, even if the story's that they don't have one. Some Guardians search for months: strikes, Nightfalls, raids, Crucible matches, engram after engram.... Nothing. Others take a legendary engram to the Cryptarch, and then behold—a wolf-capped Gjallarhorn appears! Usually followed by hyperventilating. One Guardian—lucky bastard—found eleven Gjallarhorns. Eleven! Son of a bitch...

Then one day, Xur—that tentacle-eyed weirdo—appeared, and the whole Tower lost it.

The Titan Moriah spawned in that day at Tower Watch and glanced around. The Cryptarch stood off to the right, murmuring to himself, and the frame at the postmaster did whatever frames do when there's nothing to do—go into rest mode, maybe—but besides that, the Tower was quiet, still, empty. Moriah knelt beside a flower bed at Tower Watch, and her fingers grazed the purple shine of Xur's mark. She wouldn't say that his presence ever caused a stir, but people still visited him, either out of hope or some form of masochism. For a creature selling exotics, he ought to be a celebrity, a hero to the cause. But no, it's always Plan C and Voidfang Vestaments (sucks to be a Warlock).

Bastard.

Moriah didn't find Xur in the Hall of Guardians across from Shaxx or behind Ikora Ray, nor was he at the hanger's entrance. She pursed her blue lips. If his stupid purple mark could appear on that flower bed like some glitter graffiti, then why couldn't it say, "Hey, he's over here!" Would it have been that much more difficult?

A screech reverberated like Omnigul's death scream, and Moriah placed a hand on her Vision of Confluence, ready to draw.

She ran further into the hanger, down into the lounge, expecting the glowing orbs of fallen Guardians.

Instead, a dozen people surrounded Xur. Some squealed their Wizard screams, others danced, and more others frantically searched their inventory.

"What's going on?" Moriah asked the nearest Guardian, an Awoken like herself.

"It's—It's—"

"Catch your breath," she told the Hunter.

"Gjallarhorn. He's selling Gjallarhorn."

Moriah's eyes went wide, her throat went dry. She almost joined in the Omnigul-like cacophony, but no. She took a deep breath. She would not celebrate until that beastly baby was in her own hands. She checked her inventory and found eleven Strange Coins. Damn.

What if she couldn't find enough Strange Coins before Xur left? What if he ran out of Gjallarhorns? Not that anything like that had ever happened before—where did he get so many exotics, anyway?—but then again, she had never seen so many Guardians clambering around Xur, and a Titan just ran from the lounge carrying five. Five. Who needs five freakin' Gjallarhorns?

Moriah went back into the hanger where it was calmer.

"Ghost," she said, "contact Priest."

"Sure thing."

Her palms sweated inside her gauntlets as she waited.

"What's up?" came Priest through her Ghost. As an Awoken male, he had a deep, solid voice. It gave her chills, as if a bloodsucking vampire in a red hat were speaking to her. She wasn't sure why such a specific image came to mind—it's not like red hats had creepy voices—but maybe it had something to do with her life before Ghost first brought her back. No Guardian really remembered life before their first death, but there were dreams and inklings of something just beyond memory.

An explosion from Priest's end brought her back. "Make it quick, Moriah. The Archon Priest has me pinned down."

"Wait, is this Priest versus Priest?"

A volley of gunfire stuttered through Ghost. "Moriah," he hissed.

"Right. Xur's here."

"Great. More Voiding Vestaments. I can have one for every day of the week."

"No. He's selling it. He's selling Gjallarhorn."

"What—" he screamed and Moriah cringed.

"Guardian down," she could hear his Ghost say through her own. "Stand by for resurrection."

A few moments later, his voice came back, a little haggard: "You're kidding me," he said breathlessly.

"Nope. The whole Tower's freaking out, but I don't have enough Strange Coins. Can you help me?"

"Sure, get your ass over here. The Archon Priest is bound to have some."

"Got it," she said, and her Ghost disconnected from Priest. "C'mon, buddy."

As Moriah's ship flew into orbit, she wondered if Priest was just as excited as she, since he had never found the elusive Gjallarhorn either. He had been a Guardian a long time, much longer than she had, and because of that, he had his own, unique Gjallarhorn story. A few days after his Ghost first brought him back—when he was still new to this world and its violence, he saw Xur at the Tower with Gjallarhorn. This was so long ago, even Xur was new. He had first appeared only a week before, and no one knew then that he would become the peddler of false hopes. Back then, Priest hadn't yet amassed his fortune of Strange Coins, and it would still be some weeks before Gjallarhorn became the 'it' weapon of the year. So, he didn't buy it from Xur. Biggest regret of his life, or so Priest lamented.

With a jolt, Moriah's ship left hyper speed and slowed as it neared Venus's surface. Hovering above it, Ghost teleported her to the edge of Winter's Run where sandy-colored cliffs rose above her. The walls of rocks narrowed as she approached the gap where Priest waited.

"About time," he said.

"Sorry, I got hung up in orbit. What's the plan?"

"Shoot the Archon Priest," he said.

"Yeah, OK, but I mean, there's gotta be a plan or something. I work better if you tell me exactly what to do."

He stared, and she could imagine him blinking at her behind his helmet. "Do you need a diagram?"

"Well, that would help."

Priest sighed. "All right, fine. See that ledge over there." He pointed to a shelf in the rock off to their left. "You and I are goin' up there. If I die, resurrect me. Rinse and repeat until we're done."

"I thought the plan was to shoot."

"That's my plan. You just keep me safe. Kill some shanks or something if you get bored."

"All right, if there's one thing I'm good out, it's resurrecting other people. They should make me a medic because I'm so good at—"

"Moriah. Just, come on."

He lifted into the air and landed on the shelf, and Moriah followed close behind. He shot his Black Hammer at the Archon Priest whose head snapped back in whiplash. A sniper bullet to the head would kill most Guardians, but the Archon Priest took the shots like a champ. Moriah shrugged and picked off a shank here and there if they stood still long enough for her to aim.

"Damn," said Priest.

"What?"

"I'm out of ammo."

Below, discarded green packs littered the field. "Go down and grab some. I'll cover you."

"There's nothing."

"What'd you mean? There's a shit ton of ammo." Really, it seemed like the whole field glittered with them.

"I'm telling you, I don't see a single ammo pack, and I'm not going down there to look. He stomped me last time. Hold on..." Priest checked his inventory, and when he'd finished sifting through his wares, he pulled out a Truth rocket launcher. "I don't have much heavy ammo either, but I think I can make do."

Moriah nodded as she dodged a shot from the Archon Priest's launcher.

Priest loaded his rocket with his only two shells, and Moriah kept an eye on their target. The Archon still had a smidgen more health than she was comfortable with; Priest's rockets might not be enough. She chewed her lip as the Warlock brought the rocket up to his shoulder.

If only there was a way to make his rocket better, to make it into a Gjallarhorn—or at least second best.

The idea hit faster than a Nova Bomb. She still had a super!

Priest aimed. Moriah jumped, arms wide, popping a Weapons of Light over them, and Priest fired—

The rocket bounced off the bubble and into his face.

"Oh shit," she murmured over his corpse before it faded.

Her Ghost floated by her head, the purple light of the void shimmering across its shell. "Well, that didn't go well."

"Yeah... um, sorry," she said to the floating blue orb that Priest had become. "This is, uh, embarrassing."

The Archon's shrapnel bounced off her bubble as she sat down, facing Priest's orb. Of course, she could step out of the bubble and shoot at the target, but she'd probably get herself killed in the process. If she was forced to admit it, she'd say that maybe, possibly, she wasn't that great of a Guardian. So she waited for Priest.

"He's ready for revive," said her Ghost. Moriah leapt to her feet as Ghost helped to bring him back.

"You popped a bubble over a rocket," said Priest.

"Well... it seemed like a good idea at the time."

"You realize that this all still hurts like hell."

Moriah laughed. "Oh I know, I've blown myself up plenty of times." She sobered a little when he didn't laugh. "You still have one more rocket shell, and now you have Weapons of Light... that is, if you act before the void fades."

Priest shook his head. He leapt into the air, over the bubble, and shot the Archon with his rocket. With a withering scream, the Archon Priest fell to his knees, and his Fallen minions retreated.

"See, wasn't that easier with Weapons of Light?" Moriah asked as the bubble faded. "What would you do without me?"

"Drink less," he snapped, but there was a hint of a smile in his voice—at least she thought so. It was hard to tell with his helmet on, and his voice still made her think of vampires. Priest's Ghost prattled away about alerting the Vanguard, but he waved the machine off.

Gleefully, Moriah ran down to the Archon's body and picked up scattered coins. "Ooo! Here's one! And here's another!" she said. Even through her gauntlets, she could feel the Strange Coins vibrating. In all, she found nine. With her other eleven, she had more than enough for Xur.

Back at the Tower, with a brand new Gjallarhorn in her inventory, Moriah danced to the jukebox's music. "Oh yeah," she shouted, "It's my birthday. It's my birthday. Uh-huh!"

"Isn't every day I bring you back a birthday?" her Ghost asked.

Moriah shrugged and turned around to find Priest. He left Xur, cradling an armful of Gjallarhorns.

"You bought three?" she cried.

"What else was I going to buy with my Strange Coins?" he asked. "Another Voidfang?"