#remade by the void and still a tool huh’

[sevastiel]

Lets be real, the void really needs to take a chill pill one of these days. Shits wiggin’

(The very thought of this image possessed me until it was made)

[arrogance-is-my-middlename]

Walking the Old Paths (And Charting the New)

Ideas on the new subclasses, how each class reacts to it, what they mean, all that jazz.

 “The Light, you shape it, you tool it, that’s what a Hunter does y’know? Everything is about efficiency and necessity when you’re out in the wilds, and nobody knows that better than a Hunter.”

There was a time before the Dancers. Before Arc was remade to become a blade so sharp it hurt to touch, it was crutch to lean on. They say the Arc Light is Life, you know? Every living thing has a spark or two of Arc in it, even the Planets. And yes, the Planet lives you idiot, don’t question it. You’re still wet around the ears, stop asking questions and just listen, ok? Look, back in the old days, when we were all Risen and the Iron Lords were the only thing keeping people from slitting each other’s throats, we weren’t assassins. Traveler knows we had enough killers roaming wide, and subtlety wasn’t an art anyone but the Nightstalkers had any idea of. Naw see, back in the day we used to pull up these great big staffs, cross the field in a second and show the Fallen and their gimpy little spears what close quarters really meant. We would get refugees to towns with just the Arc light alone, just our staffs and that tingly pretty blue Light keeping the darkness at bay. And when the City was starting to come together? Take a hot guess who it was who brought in all them people. Cus it sure as shit wasn’t the Titans, they couldn’t move fast enough to get to the poor sops who were so far out into the Dead Zones they hadn’t seen anything but hostiles in generations. Warlocks were too busy trying to build every Golden Age defensive precaution back into action so we weren’t all killed before the Walls were built. So it came down to the Hunters. The Nightstalkers, especially Takanome and her Rangers, they would scout miles ahead and mark the safe paths with these flowers and tether anything that looked at ‘em funny. Gunslingers would walk in, talk the talk, get as many willing people on board as possible. When it was time to dust off and leave, the Arcstriders would pick up their staffs and lead the way. I remember one guy, he took one swing with his Arcstaff and sent 10 Fallen flying. Kid he saved held onto his cloak the entire way home. Imagine that huh? A kid clinging to an Arc Hunter. Yeah, those were some days, Greenhorn. After that though, wasn’t much need for the wandering protectors. There weren’t any crazy mass exoduses like that for centuries until… well, you know. Bladedancers came about right around then. Gunslingers and Nightstalkers have always walked the same path, probably always will. But Arcstriders were protectors of the travelers too weak and too tired to protect themselves. No more travelers, no more Arcstriders. The Dancers came in, and Arc Hunters get the big ol’ scary assassin title slapped on ‘em. Slip into the shadows, reappear halfway across the room with a knife full of arc and boom everyone’s dead and Zavala is calling it a wrap. Those were the Dancers. They knew all the dirty tricks that came with wet work. They could Blink better than half the Warlocks in the Tower, hide as well as any Nightstalker, and their knives made Strikers think twice in the Crucible. Different style for a different time, you know? But now the Red Legion is here making a fuss and you know…. I haven’t seen a Dancer since Ghaul reared his ugly mug. All them Arcstriders came right back, like they never left. Changing times, kid. Just remember, whatever you pull out of the light when you finally do figure it out, you’re a Hunter. Whether you fill a crowd with Solar bullets or tie em down with Void, or hell, if you’re full of Arc and pull our staff, just remember: it isn’t the stupid glowing ball in the sky you’re fighting for. You’re protecting all those people behind the Wall, and that is why we’re here. Don’t let the wilds make you forget that, Greenhorn.

 “Complacency is every strategist’s worst nightmare. You get lazy, you get stupid, and soon your impeccable strategy is crumbling to bits and the rug has been pulled out right underneath you.”

You understand why we have the Shield now, right? A lot of it has to do with the Firebreak Order. They had a single rule, the Firebreak Calculus. It asked, how much good would I do if I find the right place to fight and die? I’m sure you can see where this is going. It optimizes the efficiency of a Guardian, of a Titan, up until their dying breath. They were fearsome for it, moreso than any of the rest of us could ever hope to be. Even the Pilgrim Guard, with all their fire and fury for those outside the walls could not hold a candle to the Firebreak Order. It was why we failed so spectacularly when the Red Legion swept through our City, and it is why we carry a Shield now and forever. We thought ourselves safe in the City, on top of our walls with all our guns and a host of battle-tested Guardians who had held off so many invasions for centuries. If six of us could slay the Taken King in his own throne room, what could an army bring? Hubris. There is no other name for it. We fell to our own arrogance. Zavala himself sought to stand his ground and he faltered. Ask yourself this: why? Very few times have the Defenders ever let their dome of Light, the ever-present Ward of Dawn, fall. So how could it now? The very symbol and definition of a Guardian’s protection simply fell to pieces on that bloody day, and now we carry shields. The Defender Titans failed, we failed because we stood our ground instead of taking a step forward. We thought ourselves brave for standing upright against the Darkness, but we never once dared for a foothold beyond where we stood. Every single Titan Order failed and died that day because none of them did what the Firebreak Order truly dared to do: step forward and fight for what was ours. We had grown comfortable in our small corner of Earth. The Ward of Dawn, the Defender, never thought to step forward. The Sentinel does. We raise our shields and we step forward and we fight Guardian, we will fight till our dying ragged breath and then we will come back and fight some more. Sol is our home, and never again shall we make the mistake of simply watching our invaders step all over it. The only path to victory is to continue onward and refuse complacency at every turn. Learn this lesson well, Guardian. We all took the hard fall for failing to do so, and I pray you never see it repeat.

 “We told ourselves the Light wasn’t a tool, it wasn’t a weapon, it was a force unlike any other. Pure, unadulterated energy in its rawest and most primal form. We sought to be a conduit.”

There is no Guardian prouder than we Warlocks, and not without reason. Within our number hold some of the strongest Guardians to ever brave the Second Death, and of all the orders, only Warlocks thought to use Light as light and not as a tool. Hunters make bows and pistols and blades, they craft Light. Fitting, for a Hunter scavenges what he can get from the Wilds and never wastes what he finds. Titans create a point, a focus for their Light. They form a fist, a Shield, a Hammer, all with their indomitable will. A Titan makes her light a weapon and stands stronger for it, for she is never unarmed and never unprepared. Hunters are the blades that carve Light into a shape of their choosing, and Titans are the spear-tip that makes Light a weapon to defend any and all. Fearsome and cunning warriors both make, but they fundamentally fail to know the Light like we Warlocks do. We do not force or shape the Light, we become one with the Light. We are the conduits through which the Light flows, and from our fingertips we wield power like no other. Stormcallers were forces of nature, the epicenter of a storm without end. Voidwalkers saw beyond the veil, they walked with death and shadows and called both friend. And once, Sunsingers, did what no other could: they defied the Second Death. Even without a Ghost, a true Sunsinger could use the Solar light to form themselves from nothing and burn like the phoenix of old. We thought ourselves mages and scholars without equal, we fancied ourselves as dragons, especially after we faced true dragons that whispered deals and whose bones gave us strength. Knowledge and understanding was our gain, our true purpose, and Osiris and Toland both would agree wholeheartedly. We drank of strength and Light till we forgot who we were, and when Ghaul came we crashed back to earth and broke ourselves on the ground we thought ourselves too mighty to touch. And would you like to know how we recovered, young Guardian? We ­changed. Our songs of the sun turned to screams of vengeance, and we lit our blood on fire just to rise again. No Sunsinger will ever rise again, not in this life or the next. The Dawnblade has replaced that particular fantasy, and with good reason. A conduit cannot tear burning vengeance into he who stripped us of our home and friends. We thank him, for reminding us of our humanity. Our gift back to Ghaul was a blade of sun-fire buried deep in his chest, and a vow to never lose ourselves in the stars again. Our folly was pride, our lesson was loss, and our strength is bound in a blade of Light we would have once scorned. We learned the lesson that Titans and Hunters had already so long ago figured out: that Light is ours to use and wield to protect that which we love. The how matters very little when all the chips are down, only that you succeed. Of course, it helps that Hunters are jealous we can fly and don’t have to pull our sword from the hands of a dead Captain, but you didn’t hear that from me.