aw c’mon doc, pranks are supposed to be funny.

some art I did of @braisedhoney’s HIVE and OCs.

Brainrot is going hard rn Watch me turn into a conspiracy theorist over HIVE lore for the next days /silly

So I joined the HIVE discord (Art dump of my HIVE doodles)

And I drew my sona as a member of the HIVE crew

And then we got C A N O N L O R E on how Leander would react to being called Colonel (Sanders) and I just had to doodle that...

I also made some HIVE minecraft skins, since my Sona is based off my minecraft skin (feel free to use these btw!)

I went to draw some COLONY fanart (Cos i love COL so much (still havent finished this oops)

I then got distracted by what shall be referred to as COLONY's marriage counsellor arc

And just kind of COLONY generally...

I then procrastinated drawing COLONY by... uh... Drawing COLONY on my ds (Art Academy!)

Then some fun stuff happened earlier today

Oh yeah, we also started a Colonel Sanders cult... What I'm trying to get at is... Thank you @braisedhoney for opening the HIVE discord, giving me a chance to finally interact with the community and HIVE in general without becoming a flaming ball of anxiety, and good god the HIVE crew are seriously unhinged.

I'm afraid.

Hive Oc art dump

Have my silly little Hive oc Xross or Alker. Her real name isnt really known, not even his sister remembers it. theyre a little goofy. Already theres a running gag of him becoming a board game table when he falls asleep randomly due to her narcolepsy.

Also a menace, he got chased for trying to snitch on some lemon related crime.

Ever get obsessed with the robotic head of security of an ever-shifting spaceship?

Because I have.

(Original character by @braisedhoney!)

THE “OFFICIAL” H.I.V.E. REFERENCES MASTERPOST:

(disclaimer: keep in mind, the HIVE lore is very loose and honestly a bit cobbled together. it started as a very simple running joke, and i want to maintain aspects of that even as i tell a bit of a story behind it o7)

[Loading . . .]

[Welcome aboard the H.I.V.E. Would you like to access the references files?]

[. . .]

[Access granted. Please proceed below.]

CAPTAIN NEY (H0237) - (reference is in chibi form, to be updated… eventually)

Captain of the HIVE and first in command. Answers crewmate reports. The captain’s quarters are always locked, neither crew nor their closest associates have ever apparently been allowed inside. Once the captain retires for the night they cannot be contacted until morning, even by Leander and COLONY, though neither seem invested in trying. No explanation has ever been offered.

The Captain has the ability to use [INQUIRIES] to the ship which allow them to navigate even when the halls change — they often help locate lost crew who send them distress signals.

The Captain is the only member of the HIVE with a blank number patch and a picture on the HIVE patch — meant to complete the opposite set on crew uniforms.

LEANDER CARMINE (M9525) - Head of HIVE Medical Bay and Research

Often seen milling about the HIVE in idle hours, usually helping with minor emergencies. Very easygoing, he seems to be quite content in basically any situation to the point he’ll patiently listen to even the most ridiculous of stories without questioning them. Unlike both the Captain and COLONY, he doesn’t appear to have a method of actually directing the ship’s changing hallways — but he never seems confused when they do, as if he always knows where he’s going. One of the first members of the crew.

Sometimes called Carmine, or Lee by those more familiar with him. Does not answer to the title “Doctor”, do not try. He ignores you.

COLONY (no number taken) - Robotic Head of HIVE Defense (officially, but admittedly does a lot more than that.)

COLONY is notorious for being the strictest and most difficult to approach of the main trio. A stickler for the rules, which would be fine if they didn’t seem to both change often and be flippantly dismissed by the Captain themselves. Connected to the ship itself, COLONY is fully capable of both predicting and directing the changes, but he doesn’t do it often unless he has a destination in mind. That said, while he is far less patient and not likely to help just for the sake of it, if presented with a coherent and reasonable argument he can be convinced. One of the first members of the crew alongside Leander. The Captain calls him COL.

Does actually possess a sense of humor, he just isn’t as upfront about what he finds funny.

THE CREW - (reference is also in chibi form! To be updated later.)

The grey uniforms were first made by Leander, and since then have been given to all who come aboard and decide to stay. Crew are given four-digit numbers of their choice to use as identifiers, and are permitted to wear any accessories they want as long as the main uniform remains the same — so if you want to be a part of the crew, all you need is the uniform.

(this is a placeholder for any and all crew aboard the ship outside the primary trio. this is also used as a general character placeholder for anons, and nondescript crew in animatics!)

Taken Numbers (in no particular order):

H0237 (captain’s number—that’s me ^^), M9525 (Leander Carmine), CR0069, CR4812, CR1015, CR[redacted], CR1454, CR0416, CR1242, CR1243, CR0505, CR2486, CR0225, CR1234, CR0428, CR0001, CR0003, CR0383, CR0973, CR8008, CR0666, CR1335, CR0049 (listed as BR0049 in the mostly non-canon (but absolutely incredible) HIVE comics by untitled bear!)CR0282, CR0722, CR2127, CR3333, CR2868, CR5469, CR0323, CR7320, CR0828, CR1341, CR0774, CR0703, CR1730, CR4848, CR6264, CR6548, CR4698, CR6842, CR7903,]

(IF YOUR CREWMATE NUMBER IS LISTED, YOU AND YOUR REPORTS ARE STILL ABOARD THE HIVE!)

(you’re on the ship, you’re vibing, whatever happened happened. (so the hell mushrooms, the space suits, those things are all still canon. the only reports i’ll reblog here though are ones that are DIRECTLY MAIN STORY relevant. don’t worry, the others absolutely still happened.)

ABOUT THE SHIP ITSELF:

The HIVE is a strange vessel, drifting through space with an undefined purpose beyond general exploration and sometimes various deliveries. Though typically harmless if not a little surprising, the hallways and doors occasionally do not lead where they’re supposed to — one might find themselves in the cafeteria when they meant to go to the deck, for example, or in the training room instead of the garden. Strangely, this only seems to happen in low-stress situations; perhaps the ship only finds it funny when the pranks won’t cause harm. Usually.

(at a meta level, the layout of the HIVE is purposefully left very vague to encourage interpretations. if there ever comes a time where there is an actual design for it, it’ll be placed here. in the meantime, we run on the spirit of improvisation. it’s like a video game, only we’re writing it in real time while the story plays in the background.)

TALES ABOARD THE HIVE TAG NAVIGATION GUIDE:

canon crewmate reports - canon submitted reports that either did happen or directly impacted the canon story. submitted by outside influences, like anons or other users.

canon HIVE adventures - interactive games/stories, usually involving polls that lead to different endings. experimental category, but a fun one.

canon HIVE art - comics, drawings, animatics, or anything else of the sort drawn or “canonized” by me. not everything i draw is canon, especially since the captain is also my sona character, so stuff that actually matters story-wise goes here ;;

canon tales aboard the HIVE - text-based stories and snippets written with no interactive elements, like one-shots.

The Arimakki threat remains a challenge to contain, as their infectious members continue to find ways to breach any barriers put in their way. They burrow through the earth, scurry across the land and flutter through the air, always foiling the cleansers who seek to keep their horrid presence sealed away. Their numbers are many, their determination indomitable. The Arimakki are committed to spreading their kind and infesting the land. Yet, their behavior seems odd in some places, and one big question was raised when the coastal communities noted their homes being Arimakki free. While the rise of colonies can seem random, it was soon noticed that no hives were springing up along the coast. As investigations went deeper, it was even found that the colonies appeared to avoid major water bodies. Pools of humors and bodily fluids were certainly enjoyed by the Arimakki, yet places of pure water failed to grab their attention. The places alongside the ocean seemed free of the infestation, as none of these parasites ever really ventured in that direction. This soon resulted in the belief that the presence of water warded off Arimakki, and that this would be the element that could keep them at bay. Folks whose lands were consumed by the fever fled to places of water, hoping to be free of the boiling terrors. There was certainly excitement going around at the time, as it seemed like there was now a weapon that could truly contain the infection. That was until stories from the whaling ships started to make landfall, and a new horror was brought to this world. 

Those who hunted leviathans at sea started to report sightings of a strange new creature found in the waters. Something pale and wormy, yet adorned in fleshy plumes like a revolting bird. The tales speak of the sea boiling and hissing as this great beast swam, its vile body exuding a sickening heat. Only after a specimen was killed and hauled to shore, did the world accept this grim truth. The specimen was dubbed "Arimakki Umi," though the sea folk kept to calling it a "Reviliathan." It is a large parasite that worms its way through the ocean, boiling the waters around it with its Feverish Sweat. When it rises to the surface, the sea boils and bubbles. Five hose-like tendrils whip wildly from its head, releasing clouds of this burning sweat that can consume entire ships. When in battle, it writhes and flaps its horrible wings to churn the waters, making it chaos for those floating upon it. Boats that try to bring it down must kill it quickly, as when in trouble, they will breach the surface and flop their immense bodies atop the vessel. Their wings and boiling fluids smother the ship and crew, dooming all aboard to a deadly searing embrace. Some whaling crews have succeeded in slaying these leviathans and have attempted to harvest some kind of reward from its flesh. Oils, blubber and Feverish Sweat is collected in abundance, but nothing is edible. It was found that the oils and fat could be turned into fuel, but tales speak of terrifying nights plagued by nightmares and wild hallucinations whenever someone slept beneath the glow of a Arimakki fueled lantern. The flame that burns is "unnatural" and those who try to see by its light claim to see pale writhing things in the corners of their eyes, and grotesque faces leering from the edge of darkness. In most cases, the Umi are simply killed and left to rot, with the hopes of slaying these beasts before they can spread. 

When news of an ocean dwelling Arimakki became widely known, many feared that it was all over. It wouldn't be long before these leviathans swam to every corner of the globe, spreading their eggs to every continent and land mass. The Vile Red Tree would soon consume this world, and there was nothing that could be done to stop it. Yet, when folks began to take a closer look at these encounters, a strange pattern emerged. 

All reports of an Arimakki Umi sighting always occurred in shallow coastal waters. So far, not a single ship recorded an encounter with them in the open ocean. And these same sightings kept the Umi to very specific waters, with their range seeming oddly small for such a vast area. Information from the Academy and local sea folk points to these very regions as places where the ocean water is the warmest. It seemed like the Umi cared not for the cold ocean water, which seemed to bizarre for an aquatic species. With this new discovery in mind, whaling crews did their own experiments during a hunt and found that Umi weren't just uncomfortable in cold water, but they actually feared it. A ship tried to drive a Reviliathan away from the coast and into the open ocean, and the beast grew frantic and panicked whenever its body felt the bite of a cold current. They thrash and spit, seemingly losing their minds when coming in contact with the cold depths of the sea. The whalers say that the Umi don't live in the coastal waters, they cling to them. The cold dark bowels of the ocean are to avoided, to be feared. They dare not cross the open ocean, lest they wander too far from the comforting warmth of the tropics. So it seems that while these Arimakki can attack and destroy coastal ships, they are not the massive threat as they were once thought to be. They cannot spread their kind, they cannot make more colonies in other lands, because it appears they despise the very water they live in. While it does give hope and relief, it does also raise questions about the Arimakki as a whole. As an "invading force," it seems like an incredible flaw to their design. How are they supposed to spread if they cannot overcome this obvious hurdle? Why does a simple thing like water perplex them so? What is it in the cold darkness that they fear, that drives them deeper into their warm, rotten burrows?

------------------------------------------------

"Arimakki Umi"

Wasn't planning on chucking one of these things into the ocean, but then came across a rather bizarre map monster that I was surprised I hadn't seen before. Like we see plenty of sea boars, odd whales and weird owl faced seal eaters, but this funky fellow? Almost nothin! A crime! It screamed "Arimakki" to me, so thus here we are!

for AO3 ask thing: 3 and 29! get complimented by yourself pls 😤

disgusting...............................you know my weakness 😭

3. what work are you most proud of (regardless of kudos/hits)?

i'm just gonna say it: very proud to have finished till the long days (ac2 death loop fic) at long last. there's a reason i never embark on these long sprawling odysseys, and god i don't know if i'd categorize this fic as "good", but it's done! it's finished! the story is told and successfully out of my head and i can read it whenever i want!!!

29. favorite line/passage you wrote this year?

i must admit. i think this little epistolary exchange in tale all told (potc, 6k+, everyone lives au) is where i really figured out how norrington + elizabeth's relationship works

Missive delivered via hastened courier, courtesy of the HMS Essex, to the Turner home on the bay of Port Royal, addressed to Mrs. E. Turner

My dear Elizabeth, Your son was to be tried in Port Royal under the honorable Judge Carew; unfortunately, he has instead taken aboard a ship with a certain J.S. I know his heading, and I have the resources to pursue his path, as well as the justification. He will be home within the month. There are dark winds on the horizon, Elizabeth. They remind me of our own adventures. I suspect some of the very same players may be involved, your husband unwittingly among them. If he has any information regarding the Devil’s Triangle, or perhaps your son’s behavior, do pass it on. The girls have their own missives, but send them my love anyway. Your obedient servant, Adm. J. Norrington P.S: I thought raising three daughters was a challenge, Liz. One son seems like a handful enough.

Response delivered via undead barnacled courier, courtesy of the Flying Dutchman, to the HMS Essex off the coast of Saint-Martin, addressed to Adm. J. Norrington

Dearest James, Some things, it seems, will always run in the family. Henry is one with the sea and cannot be kept from it, though evidently a career like yours was not in the cards. All experience suggests that Turners and Swanns alike are allergic to the Royal Navy. Therefore, I must ask that you make haste. Should he smell the powder of your wig on the horizon, he will no doubt find the pungency of one J.S. is miraculously more pleasant, though perhaps equally likely to cause hives. I trust you, James. Bring him home. I will have Will on the lookout as well; you sail with the Turners at your back. Though I wonder if you could not benefit from my presence aboard your ship — the scoundrels you will encounter might listen to their King, even all these years later. The girls send their love back. They are staying with my father through this, bless them. Yours, as ever, Her Majesty, Mrs. E. S. Turner P.S: You might look back at your own past, Jamie. If Hen’s actions are a result of anyone’s teachings, it is yours, as the primary example of masculinity in his life.

Hasty response scribbled on a scrap piece of paper, delivered via one increasingly beleaguered barnacled courier, courtesy of the Flying Dutchman, to Mrs. E. Turner

E— I will give you the same warning I gave Captain Turner 20 years ago: DO NOT DO ANYTHING RASH. DO NOT. Your father will have me tarred, feathered, and paraded down the streets if my letter has encouraged you to leave Port Royal. Listen to me for my sake, if not yours. On the off-chance that you do not heed my perfectly rational and sensible advice, as you are often wont to do, your poor courier here can direct you to the location of the Essex, the safest vessel on the sea. But for the love of God, Elizabeth, do not follow him. Do not do anything rash. Do not.  —JN P.S. I accept no blame, issue no apologies, and regret nothing.

ao3 wrapped asks! ✨

Eighteen - Hordak’s Tale - Chapter 3

She-Ra and the Princesses of Power fanfiction Rated - Teen (graphic violence, fictional politics).   Hordak-centric Characters: Hordak, Horde Prime, Horde Clones, Scorpia, Scorpia’s Grandfather, Scorpia’s Mothers, various Original Characters.

Chapter 1. Chapter 2.

Chapter summary: Eighteen brothers hurtle through space, all of them condemned to death. Dying in battle might be glorious, but it is death, nonetheless. They blame a single sinner. This is all his fault. 

Eighteen Chapter 3: Eighteen Brothers

A Horde battle-cruiser drifted through interstellar space to the latest front line – a dismal little system of worlds and their colonized moons with a nearly-matched technical capability to the Horde’s own.  The war was raging and the Horde was taking many losses.  For the eighteen clones aboard the vessel, it was a certain death-sentence.  

The cruiser was well-appointed, however. There was a sizable compliment of robot-drones, laser canons and other heavy-artillery.  The flock had survey-equipment and everything else they needed to put up an incredible fight before they fell in service to Prime.  They would take out as much of the enemy as they could, the plan being to clear the path for Brothers in Prime’s Favor to “clean up” and secure the world.  Indeed, they were well-equipped, but not as generously-equipped as the backup force would be.  Lead-forces never were, nor were forces deployed to a front that remained in heavy dispute. Prime wanted the territory badly – for the system had rich resources.  Its populace had also raised his wrath enough that he’d plotted moves previously with the generals to draw out the fight specifically to grind the rebellious people down slowly to make them suffer.  A system that he’d simply had done with would have merely seen their planets carpet-bombed.  Not so here. He did not want to damage the resources and for the enemy, it was too merciful a touch.  

The remnant of them would come into the Light eventually, after a certain amount of appropriate Judgment.  

The clone among the flock which had gotten the flock in this predicament piloted the ship.  The red giant that hosted System 111-456 shone in the distance through the elegantly curved Command Deck window.  This pilot felt the eyes of his brothers upon him. He knew their minds. Distance lessened the feel of the hive mind, so distant Brethren were barely felt and, more alarmingly, Horde Prime himself grew further away. Truth be told, there was always some relief for any given clone whenever Lord Prime’s focus was elsewhere, especially for one with weaknesses and sins to hide, but it always came with a feeling of emptiness.  Reporting in would become more difficult the further from the Velvet Glove they got and they would eventually have to rely upon their physical technology.  

The general steering the ship, in sensing the thoughts of the brothers close to him knew their hatred.  The remaining seventeen were angry, down to the last man. They did not show it upon their faces, keeping a placid demeanor, as becoming of Exalted Brothers of Prime. Expression was for Him alone save for approved displays of emotion, typically found in the frenzy of worship. The lead clone could also sense that they all shared fear, save for perhaps one particularly stoic individual who was know to be particularly “brave” among them.  That one might not have cared, but the one in the pilot’s chair, may Prime forgive him, did not feel ready for oblivion.  

The decant-batch was young, as far as their species went.  They were not newborns, but they were yet young.  The leader’s defect would slowly devour him, the wasting that had begun a progressive condition, but was he not still useful?  He was still strong!  More importantly, he was keen of mind – the entire flock was, designed by their creator’s bold hand with specialization in mind.  It would not do to think of themselves as above other brothers, each had their place, but were they not faithful?  

The pilot was something of a default-leader now, as the flock of seventeen others had been ordered to “follow him.” The order was to follow him into death, of course.  He was the malfunctioning one.  He had committed the sin of hiding his corruption.  He was the reason for their collective punishment.  The defect had emerged in his body, which meant that it was likely present within them all, being of the same batch, and he was merely the first to manifest symptoms.  Horde Prime could not stand the presence of the ugly and the weak.  They were to be culled for the greater good of the Horde, to strengthen the Whole and to appease His Judgment.  

They all knew this and they were to accept it, but there was a buzz among the minds present on the battle-cruiser that they did not truly accept their fate.  

The blame was firmly upon the “leader.”  

“Sinner,”

they thought at him.  

“Filthy sinner, you have doomed us all.”

“Would you have simply perished in your last battle; the rest of us would be able to serve Prime longer.”

The pilot ground his fangs together.  He sent out a feeling of

“Silence!”

but there was none to be had. The whispers of the local Mind were unrelenting.  

After all, it had not merely been a discovered defect that was their problem with him.  This one had been the one with the small quirks.  He was the one who sometimes experienced admiration of enemies’ battle-tactics or the stray piece of alien technology (yes, it was acceptable to borrow an effective plan or device for the glory of Prime, but one was not to openly admire lesser species).  This was the one that had taken the colorant and had placed it in his hair once and had done his duties sticking out in heresy until his hair had grown back to Prime’s White.

He was to fall sooner or later and they had not expected him to last much longer after that incident.  The Brethren seethed their displeasure that he was taking the rest of them down with him now.    

The cruiser neared the system.  Lights from enemy stations and ships as well as Horde equipment began to become visible.  They were to make for the third planet in the system, the one with the fiercest combat.  

“Aku!” spat one of the men.  The clone that was standing next to the pilot, taking computational readings looked sideways at the leader and had chosen to speak aloud rather than just let his mind murmur into the defect’s.  It was an insult in the language used among their own kind, given extra spittle.  

(If the word were translated to the language you are reading this story in now, dear reader, as the rest has been so far, you would immediately see the term as “Sinner”).

The defective one growled low.  “Do your duty!” he demanded.  

“Aku!” the other clone spoke again, the tiniest of smiles tugging at his lips despite the lack of permission they had for such things.  This one apparently decided that he would have the pleasure of tormenting the one who had gotten them into this mess.  In theory, Prime could send his mind halfway across the galaxy to administer appropriate discipline for this outburst, but it seemed like the Flock of Eighteen Generals knew that their Emperor felt them beneath his notice for the time being.    

“Horda-aku!” a pair of the others joined in. “Horde-sinner! Horde-sinner!” they taunted.  

The pilot snarled dangerously.  “I’ll rip out your spines if you do not cease at once!” he threatened.  

In response, the two kept chanting.  

“What does it matter?” said the one who had started this disturbance.  “We are all doomed because of you!”  

“Do you want to live to see the chance to die in glory?” the “sinner” asked.  “Perhaps we can be key in taking 111-456-3 and show that we remain of use!”

“Dreams, defect!” another clone snarked – the brave one.  “Lord Prime has ordered us to give our lives in his service and that is what we shall do.”  

“Stop taunting the defect and stay on mission, brothers,” another clone who had his hands clasped behind his back said, shutting the chanting “twins” up.  He glared at the “Horda-aku” and sent him the mental message to get back into the pilot’s chair.  “The time for violence will come soon enough.  Brothers are to fight together in the destruction of those who reject Prime’s Light.  We are not meant to have meaningless fights with one another.”  

“What is that?” the pair that had begun the “sinner” chants said in unison as their eyes widened and their jaws slackened. Subconsciously, they reached for one another’s hands – something unbecoming, but nothing that clones in close proximity to one another did not do in secret upon occasion when encountering something distressing or feeling forbidden emotions.  

There was a strange formation outside the ship. It looked like a black hole and it had just opened up before them, yet there was no record or reading of a dying star anywhere near here.  Strange purple light swirled around it in a circular pattern.  The consoles on the ship sprang to life as klaxons blared.  

“Eternos?” the clone that had been reading the screens questioned.  “That system was conquered centuries ago, was it not?  And it is nowhere near these coordinates!”

“No!” the pilot exclaimed… “Etheros? What does that mean?”  He scanned the readings and blinked. “Eth-er-i-a?”  

“A world that doesn’t exist?” one of the Brethren yelped.  “That ancient record of a lost planet?  Had it not been destroyed, swallowed by Prime’s Holy Will into oblivion?”

“These readings cannot be correct, brothers!” another exclaimed.  

The pilot growled and slammed a fist down on the edge of his chair.  “Repair the equipment!” he shouted to an anxious-faced clone in the back, who quickly ran to gather tools.  

The ship thundered and rocked.  

“We are being pulled toward the vortex!” a brother shouted.  

The pilot flipped the engines to reverse. It was no use! The ship was being inexorably pulled into the void.  Its gravity increased exponentially.  

The pilot held his head high and closed his eyes.  This was an unorthodox way of fulfilling their mission, but at least they were all going to die, as per Prime’s Will.  

13 19 43 😈 for the guardian asks

send me asks about my idiot

13. Is your Guardian stealthy or "stealthy?"

If I am interpreting this correctly...

If it's stealth as in sneaking around Assassin's Creed style, Nebula is nearly inaudible when he wants to be. You couldn't even hear the noise of his mechanicals as he moves, like the shadows themselves concealed him in the silence of space. Living out in the wilderness for six years before turning himself up at the Last City has taught him well to be as quiet as physically possible for a Titan, for an Exo.

In any other situation where he's messing around, he isn't exactly the most quiet. He knows he isn't doing it because survival and tactical advantages are on the line, so he lets himself go a little. He's still incredibly quiet depending on the situation, but you can at least hear him a little bit if you really listen closely or he happens to slip and make a noise that's less-than-quiet.

19. If your Guardian left behind audio logs like Cayde after his death, what would they say? Who would they be addressed to?

Nebula would leave behind both audio logs and written files. They would be found everywhere -- in the nooks and crannies between the places the world forgot, blared on repeat between the lines of his favourite songs, played like an ode or an elegy aboard his beloved Morning Star. So to speak, metaphorically, blah blah.

They would address anyone who finds them, anyone who cranes their neck and strains their ears to hear the whispers on the wind, those attentive and sharp enough to hear whispers of his life and death between the singing of songbirds and his legacy echoed in the yips and barks of coyotes over a wasteland.

They can be found in Cayde's old stash sites. In Pulsar's library. In Atlas' accounts of the Hive. In the eyes of Zavala, of Ikora, of Banshee and Amanda and everyone in the Tower that had been blessed by his presence, stolen away so suddenly and sharply. He dies, and in his will is the world laid at the feet of his inheritors.

The physical journals and audio files are just as widespread as the metaphors I've painted to describe them. They can be found in hidden places, yes, but also bought with the right price, or handed off from one person to the next, and some of them you might just be lucky enough to find copies of them. They address his "Inheritors," -- his children, his crew, his lovers, his friends, and even whoever may be listening and reading. Most notably, however, they address Cayde -- his King of Spades, his dear Wormwood.

Coordinates wrapped in riddles to riches untapped. A legacy of sorrow and of strength and of pain, his life story recounted in simple words and plain speech. In warnings, in instructions, in fables and tales from his life that make him sound a thousand times more legendary than he actually is. After all, he is just a man. Before a Guardian, he is a man. Before a father, he is a man. Before a husband, before a lover, before a hero, he is a man.

And even in death, he doesn't want the world he's leaving behind to forget this.

43. If your Guardian is the type for pranking, what kind of pranks do they do?

Look. I may have previously described Nebby as this big serious brooding badass but he is actually a big goofball. Pure of heart, dumb of ass. He's serious only when the situation or circumstances call for it and his level of seriousness often dictates just how dire the situation is. Is he snappy and sarcastic, maybe making perfectly-timed witty comments? Not that serious. Suddenly barking orders and glowering at anyone who looks at him expecting him to laugh and say it's a joke? Oh shit, the Witness is here type serious. It takes a LOT to make him take anything serious, which he is often chided for -- "Do you not understand the weight of the situation at hand?"

Some of Nebula's pranks are harmless, like purposefully rearranging people's things so they think they've misplaced it only to find it hiding under their nose. But some of them are more on the disruptive and even mean side -- but he means well regardless.

Depending on the person he's pranking, he often knows just what makes them click. Just what would drive them up the wall. And he plans just what to do, meticulously, with as much precision he can muster -- and then, he strikes, having constructed the perfect prank to either tease them slightly, make them laugh, or come across as pure mean-spirited depending on the individual, their comfort level, and the observers (if any).

Yes, he has gone after Ikora. Yes, he has gone after Zavala. Banshee. Saint. Eris. He has a hit list and he swears he will mess with everyone on it before he dies his final death or so help him.

Buuut considering how sweet he is, he often helps with cleanup and the like, and makes sure that the person he messed with is laughing by the end of it. That is, if they can.

and as a bonus because I DESPERATELY want to answer this one:

28. Their reaction to Cayde's death? Were they bloodthirsty, hungry for revenge; or tired and grieving after so many lost?

ready the screaming at me in the comments and the ask box because this one is a DOOZY

Cayde-6 was his first husband. Together they raised the twins Ace and Kookaburra, who accompanied Cayde to the Prison of Elders. Of the four, Nebula was the only one who survived. On his way to where Cayde was upon responding to a call he made to him, he saw the bodies of the twins.

Ace, having been shot in the head, clearly after postulating himself and puffing himself out, taking the Scorn who killed him down with him. Nebula swelled up with pride, despite the fact that he was so utterly crushed. However, somewhat hopeful that one day a Ghost would find Ace. Kookaburra was found mutilated in a room full of dead Scorn, having been brutally torn apart by her, where she clearly sustained several major stab wounds, gunshot wounds, and other wounds before killing her opponents, and succumbing to her injuries.

Nebula didn't have the guts to tell Cayde. He didn't have the guts to tell anyone. His life was torn away from him within the span of a few hours -- but part of him felt that Cayde already knew. He was with them, after all, unless he went ahead. That could explain it. Both of their children were dead and he wouldn't even know. At least they went down fighting -- that had to amount to something.

Nebula was there when Uldren shot Cayde. When the thread that kept him stable through loosing his children snapped, snapped with an echoing shot, with silence, with a cry that must have been from him even if he couldn't exactly feel or hear him making it. Losing Cayde so suddenly, so brutally, just as he was arriving to the scene, was his last straw. If only he had been quicker, if only he didn't slow down, then maybe. Just maybe.

And Uldren was gone as soon as Nebula saw him, too spacey to process anything other than a pain so visceral it had no words, the man he'd spent twenty long years with was torn from him, the man he'd raised children with, the man he swore that if he lost he would never love again. And there was hatred, agony and hatred, a desire to tear into Uldren like a wretched animal. Uldren took everything from him.

There was rushing to Cayde's side, there was heaving him into his lap, watching the light fade from his optics, begging him to hold on. He'll use a healing grenade, anything, anything -- he promised Cayde he was going to be okay, to stop being so lovingly insufferable for two seconds, he was going to save him, he was going to bring him home...

And bring him home he did.

Wrapped in cloth, laid across Nebula's rounded shield, the only part of him visible being one of his hands, adorned with a wedding ring.

Nothing worldly can we take to the life after one's final death.

And Nebula carried him home, strapped on his shield, bearing the weight of a widow on his shoulders. A vilomah, grief threatening to crush him whole.

He was tired. He was grieving. But he was also burning with the fury of a thousand suns.

And he sold his soul to hunting Uldren. To rallying Guardian after Guardian to his cause, working as one. A swarm of a thousand bees flocking around a singular Queen; a Queen of Hearts. Everything he did was for the sole purpose of avenging Cayde, even if it didn't seem related. All a tiny piece to a thousand-piece puzzle, climaxing in leading a pack of thousands of Guardians to Uldren's location for the sole purpose of scaring him into surrender, or tearing him apart like ravenous wolves.

Nebula was the one who killed Uldren, hands shaking, burning with hatred. And when the deed was done, it ended not with a whimper, not with the bang of a gunshot, but of a roar of victory. Death thrown off the back of his pale white horse. And it was responded to by the voices of thousands. No longer will Nebula hold the title of The Widow, no longer would he be known as Widow-of-Hen, Widow-of-Spades or Hunter's Widow. Only the Queen of Hearts remains.

But even then. Even then, that wouldn't take away the pain. No amount of killing would bring Cayde back, and he set in motion what could possibly be a brutal cycle of revenge killings. No more, he declared. No more.

He spent much of this time in solitude. Visiting his husband's gravesite, and the accompanying cenotaphs to their children, their bodies having been left out on purpose in hopes that they might one day be selected by Ghosts. Unlike Cayde, the twins actually had a chance.

There was nothing left for him now other than tilting his face to the light and hoping that it will all pass. That he will breathe again. That the weight on his chest would stop crushing him whole.

Once there was four. Then there was two.

And now there is one.

Humans are weird: Space Shanty’s

( Don’t forget to come see my on my new patreon and support me for early access to stories and personal story requests :D https://www.patreon.com/NiqhtLord ) Extract from “The Tides of the Void by Flent Litel”  They say when you do something you enjoy enough times the feelings joy you once held for it begin to fade away bit by bit.

When I first heard this statement I scoffed at the notion.

How could I ever grow tired of the feeling of space travel? I thought to myself. 

My people had dreamt of reaching the stars for generations and after our first hyper reactor core was able to reach speeds faster than light my people finally could obtain our dreams as we spread across not just our own system, but the systems and star clusters that had been far beyond our reach for generations. 

I remember the excitement, the thrill, as I boarded my first posting aboard a human freighter ship bound for stars beyond. The rush I got from our take off was something I had never felt before and had no comparison to. It was a feeling I never wanted to go away. 

Yet, as the years went on and I visited countless more worlds transporting cargo the old warning started to come true. 

The rush...the thrill...the excitment....it all began to slowly fade away. 

The sensation of lift off now was as common to me as if I were riding an elevator. 

This went on for years as I transferred ship to ship until I found myself aboard the “Flying Scotsman”. 

I was making my way to the cafeteria for lunch when I heard the strangest of sounds coming from the hall. It sounded like several dozen voices speaking at the same time but with different tones. 

As I entered the cafeteria I saw a cluster of crew members, alien and human, gathered around someone. It was a red haired human male and judging by his uniform he was an engineer on the engine decks. He appeared to be singing to the crowd and they in turn would reply a chorus or two or someone specific with a deep voice from the crowd would cut in. 

I had heard humans singing a dozen or so times before and initially paid it no heed. Humans in my experience will start breaking out into song at any moment for no reason other than it amuses them. 

It was only while I was waiting in line for food that I noted some of the engineers words and turned to listen. 

Though we set sail to planets far away, whose names I can not ever say. We know not what awaits us there, save the thrill of adventure. Through gas clusters thick as night, our thrusters burn forever bright.  To find that what we do not know, waiting for us in the unknown. 

For skies of crystal and seas of gold, what wonders do those worlds hold. So now I shall wait no more, adventure has come and taken me hold. 

On board now hurry lads, we won’t wait a second more.  Our destiny now unfolds, and onward we shall ever go! 

The gathering continued to grow as the crew sang along, becoming ever rowdier. I saw some officers come over and I expected them to break up the gathering they instead sat down and joined in with deeper voices. 

Sitting there I sat and listened to them sing. The red haired human seemed to have as many songs and tales as he did skin freckles on his face, each one more rousing than the last until the entire hall was in song. Every face I looked upon was filled with an mixture of expressions of joy and melancholy.

I myself did not know the words but I did begin to hum along to their tunes after a few songs if I do say so. I’ve never had much of a singing voice but what can I say; I was swept up in the moment. 

After the crowds finally dispersed and set back off to their stations the red haired human walked by me and I pulled him aside. Something had been bothering me since the moment I saw him and I felt he was the only one who had the answer. 

“You have worked here longer than me, have you not?” I asked him 

“Aye I have lad.” He replied, patting his chest as if it was a badge of honor. “This has been my home for some thirteen years.” 

“How do you do it?” I waved my arms around the cafeteria. 

“Well, it takes years of practice to gather all those songs and quite a few bar brawls as well.” The engineer rolled up a sleeve and showed a deep scar that ran the length of his arm from shoulder to wrist. “I earned this when I tried to get a Hive merchant sing “Sons of sun on sunny isles; turns out they aren’t one for tongue twisters.” 

I shook my head. “No, not the singing.” I waved my arms again.

“How do you stay so full of vigor and excitement? Has it not dulled for you as well?” 

The human flashed a soft grin and scratched his upper lip. He looked at me as and in his eyes I sometimes imagine that I saw a reflection of his own past when he looked upon me. 

“It’s true,” he began as he sat next to me, “there are days when the monotony feels like you’re trapped reliving the same day over and over and over.”

“But for every dozen days you feel like you’re trapped there’s also the days when something beyond your wildest imagination will happen.” 

His grin grew into a smile as he patted my shoulder. 

“Maybe you’ll be off loading a crate when suddenly your ship gets attacked by pirates, or maybe you’ll make a jump and then come back to real space in the middle of a herd of space flappers sucking down gas in a nebula.” 

“But those wonderous moment are so few and far between.” I said, my dread returning to me. 

The Engineer laughed and patted my back even harder this time and shook my shoulder. 

“That’s why you gotta sing about them lad!” 

“Sing them?”  

“Exactly! Then you can live them every day!”

“I am afraid I don’t know much of singing.” I said sheepishly. 

“Now that just won’t do!” 

He grabbed my by the shoulders and hoisted me to my feet. 

“A sailor who can’t sing is like a car without tires ladie!” 

After that he walked with me down the halls telling me all the songs he was going to teach me and in that moment I felt that flare for adventure coming back to me once more.    

been having some funny times aboard the hive lately

ALSO! updated crew and captain uniforms for the ship!! not 100% sold on them yet but the changes are pretty minor… just wanted to embrace the space theme a teeny bit more.

Dead Man’s Tale

“Long, short, they all end the same way.” --Katabasis

Type: Scout Rifle

Slot: Kinetic | Energy | Heavy

Element: Kinetic | Stasis | Strand

Perk: Cranial Spike - Chaining precision hits grants bonus damage and quickens reload speed.

Trait: Transformative - Future drops of this weapon will have random rolls.

Masterworked Trait: Dark-Forged Trigger - Removes hipfire penalties.

Ornaments: Burial Wrap, Remembrance, Dead Man's Revenge, Noble Burden

Origin & Description: Katabasis: the descent. Katabasis is the going-down, the journey to the underworld, the fall from paradise into cruel reality. Katabasis is the dead man, and he's got one hell of a tale.

Guardians don't have to listen to the Vanguard. In fact a lot of them don't. One of the ones who didn't was the Hunter Katabasis and his Ghost Gilgamesh. Disillusioned when the Traveler stood by as the City burned during the Red War, the pair listened when Emperor Calus offered glory and riches to Guardians who might rally to his banner. Hey, remember Calus? The hedonistic Cabal ex-Emperor madman lounging aboard his prison-turned-pleasure barge Leviathan, indulging in delirious celebration of the end coming on the points of the knife-edged fleet he saw at our galaxy's edge? Remember how he proclaimed himself the Darkness' herald, prophet of the world's doom? How's he doing now that that end has literally arrived? Darkness is here, the Pyramids hang in the sky in much the same way that bricks don't, and Calus and Leviathan disappeared along with the four worlds Darkness swallowed up. And now that we know what he was up to just after said worlds were swallowed, I hope that motherfucker stays gone.

When "the end is nigh" became "now," Calus at first waited for Darkness to present itself before him, as it must surely do for its most faithful herald…but it didn't. No matter, he decided. This must be a test of his might. He went about figuring out how to speak with it, which meant figuring out who to try speaking with in the first place. While the Traveler seems to represent a singular avatar/representation of Light, the Pyramids are some kind of group manifestation of Darkness and have no individual representative that we know of (though we did meet something face-to-borrowed-face in the Black Garden). Darkness whispers to many, including us, but as far as we know only three entities have ever faced it directly, and of those three only Oryx truly conversed with it through the vessel of an unborn ogre. Calus, like Oryx before him, would need to create a proxy for the Dark.

He selected as the medium for this conversation the Scorn, since the Dark-tainted Ether coursing through those reanimated husks made them receptive to its words while their own rotted minds left them an empty vessel for its influence. Cabal Psions have powerful mental abilities of metaconcert and communion that he commanded them to use to fuse Scorn into a hivemind strong enough to make a connection. Then he planned to use the Crown of Sorrow, a captured Hive artifact that linked the wearer's thoughts to others (an artifact he decided to test, by the way, by cloning a new random Cabal and then plunking the Crown on its head, creating a big mess we had to clean up in the Crown of Sorrow raid.) The Psions would link up the Scorn hivemind, Calus would wear the Crown, and he'd use the Scorn as his phone line to make a collect call to 1-800-DARKNES.

Not being completely stupid, Calus isolated these experiments on the stolen Legion carrier Glykon (named for a minor Roman snake god whom the ancient Greek satirist Lucian claimed was a con), parked above the yawning abyss that used to be Mars. He moved in the Psion scientist Qinziq, the Guardian Katabasis*, and a bunch of bizarre equipment, and set them to work. Now space-Rome wasn't built in a space-day, and dead corrupted hivemind consciousnesses take time and work (disgusting, disgusting work) to assemble. Katabasis spent weeks trapping and herding Scorn onto transports back to Glykon, where they were caged and subjected to some pretty horrible experiments, even for creatures that are basically zombie husks.

*In one of my favorite environmental details ever, when you find Katabasis' abandoned jumpship in Glykon's hangar, it's the real in-game model of The Emperor's Chosen. It's a player-obtainable ship that comes from running a lot of Calus' seasonal Menagerie activity; in other words, it's the ship of someone who's spent quite a bit of time aboard Leviathan.

Qinziq drowned the ever-reanimating Scorn in their Dark Ether to strengthen their link to Darkness and figured out how to slot someone else in the place where the Barons had once commanded them. When she thought she had enough hooked up, she signaled Calus. Glykon hovered above the edge of the Mars anomaly as Calus came aboard in a gilded procession bearing the Crown. Psions forced the Scorn into metaconcert, then subsumed them into the Crown. Even Katabasis was summoned to witness the attempt so that his Light might additionally entice the Dark to them. Calus donned the Crown. And Glykon dove.

And failed. Calus' plan worked in that through the Crown he yoked the Scorn's prepared minds and inhabited their senses the same way he's been dividing his consciousness across his robot proxies, but even though they reached the very edge of the Mars anomaly, Calus' words fell into nothing. Darkness didn't see him back. Furious, Calus tore apart the failed Scorn himself; but then he thought he detected something else, something different from the Pyramids' attention: an Observer. An Entity. A Voice of Darkness that embodied it the same way the Traveler embodied Light*. That tantalizing glimpse motivated him to keep trying, to everyone else's regret. Glykon hadn't entered the anomaly, but the attempt had changed it. The Scorn went into a perpetual frenzy, breaking loose again and again to kill whatever they found. Strange fungus began to infest the ship, its slender, flower-like spore stalks resembling the Sarcophilus ("flesh-lover") fungus that grows aboard the Drifter's Derelict crossed with the psychoactive Royal Nectar plants from Leviathan. Cabal ensnared by it fell into comatose eternity, their minds swallowed up. Still Calus hammered on.

*If Calus is right about Darkness having an avatar like the Traveler, we need to revise a lot of what we thought we knew about it.

The whole build-a-Scorn-hivemind-to-channel-Darkness plan is one of those projects where the only prospect worse than failing is succeeding, and eventually Calus succeeded. After many more failed attempts he donned the crown, Glykon dove, and this time it finally pierced the anomaly's barrier. Space warped around them, the Scorn amalgamated into a single Locus of Communion, Calus gazed once again upon the Darkness, and the ship hurtled through into…Nothing. Nothing at all.

And Calus was gone. Glykon, unfortunately, wasn't. The emperor in whatever apotheosis had swallowed him had left the carrier behind in absolute Nothing. The Scorn tore loose and rampaged through the ship, whose crew had no way to escape, to signal for help, even to go outside. Katabasis himself sent distress signals pleading for rescue, offering his prize rifle to any Guardian who'd brave the Scorn to find him and his Ghost, but no one received them. Gravity waves pulsed through the Nothing, rearranging the ship's geometry in impossible ways and reanimating any Scorn that hadn't been incinerated. The crew fought back, tried their best to cut the connection and return Glykon to normal space, but one by one they fell until only Katabasis and Gilgamesh were left. Katabasis asked Gilgamesh not to revive him immediately after his next death, to wait instead until they found rescue, because not even a Guardian's Light can take that eternal onslaught…or a Guardian's Ghost. But no sooner had Katabasis died again than Gilgamesh revived him, telling him he was done. Had been done for a long time. He had lost faith in the Light during the Red War, had tried to steer a path through the Dark, and now he just wanted it to end. He tormented Katabasis - reviving him just to let him starve to death or be torn to pieces, over and over again - until his Guardian had no choice but to kill him. Katabasis left one final message for whoever found his corpse telling of the Glykon's fate and…well…when we find him, we find him strung up on the Glykon's bridge, pierced through and through with the Dark-drinking fungus like a hideous marionette. Safe to say it wasn't a pleasant end.

But for us, it was just the beginning! Specifically the beginning of Season of the Chosen's Presage mission, aka "Goin' to Spookytown," and I'm pretty sure it exists because someone said "pfff bungie can't do horror anymore" and some dev rolled up their sleeves and went "fucking watch me." It's not hard to detect the hand of those who cooked up Halo's disgusting Gravemind at work in the fungus-rotted labyrinth of corridors and corpses you venture through aboard the newly-returned Glykon. Presage has simple puzzles based around barriers that can only be traversed after touching spores released by rupturing clumps of glowing nodules - the resemblance to Leviathan's spore mechanics is not a coincidence - that grant a buff called "Egregore Link." To save you a Google search, "egregore" in Western occultism means a non-physical entity or psychic manifestation created by a group that shares a common motivation. By inhaling the spores you gain a temporary sympathy with the fungus, which has itself melded with the Scorn hivemind, and it thinks you're part of the club just long enough to let you through a gross doorway. Traverse enough gross doorways and your reward is a showdown with the Locus of Communion, a ragged facsimile of a Scorned Baron, and finally the corpse of Katabasis strung up on the bridge with his promised rifle tangled in the hyphae below him. Personally I wouldn't want to touch a gun that's been encased in that unholy gunk, but it is a nice gun, and as we've established, Guardians will do just about anything for a nice gun.

Or in this case, multiple nice guns. Dead Man's Tale is one of two exotics that seem to have been designed as part of a new direction in gameplay loops that Bungie was experimenting with during Year 3. Starting around Shadowkeep Bungie announced they were beginning "sunsetting" of weapons and armor, imposing a max power cap on items that would eventually cause them to cycle out of use. The details of why weapon sunsetting was conceived, what it was supposed to do, and what it ended up doing, are interesting but would fill a whole other entry. Suffice to say that while they made this choice for well-motivated reasons, it turned out to be unpopular and cause its own set of problems and was reverted at the beginning of Year 4. In the meantime Bungie tried out incentivizing players to grind for exotic weapons the way they did legendary ones, since exotic weapons had no power cap. Dead Man's Tale and the handcannon Hawkmoon were both released as weekly rewards from individual, special missions (Presage and Harbinger), and while every version of them had the same intrinsic exotic perk, the rest of their attributes (barrel type, magazine, and two regular legendary perks) were random. Players could therefore play each mission up to three times a week to get three different drops. Therefore, while every drop of Dead Man's Tale comes with the vicious Cranial Spike perk, they're otherwise different.

Cranial Spike is kind of all you need, though. It's a simple perk: each precision hit increases damage and reload speed, up to five stacks. Dead Man's Tale is a Kinetic Scout Rifle, giving it long range, high precision damage, and a slow firing rate. It's also another of Tex Mechanica's Cowboy Aesthetic guns, this time based on a bolt-action rifle and complete with little spinny animation when drawing or reloading it (and an upsettingly realistic firing sound). Reloading it two rounds at a time makes it take unusually long to finish, but it also means that it can be interrupted and fired mid-reload, a benefit Destiny generally reserves for shotguns. Its two ornaments, Burial Wrap and Remembrance, tone down the yee-haw: in the case of Burial Wrap, by wrapping it in quilted blue cloth (possibly Katabasis' cloak?); in the case of Remembrance, by replacing the wood furniture with stunning scrimshaw ivory carvings of, oddly enough, Riven of a Thousand Voices. I'm not sure why they chose Riven, but it makes for a gorgeous piece. Its catalyst removes the hipfire penalties aka firing without aiming down sights becomes as accurate as aiming, which makes it a monster in some PvP activities. It's not utterly dominant, but it can put down some serious hurt. Not enough to save Katabasis, though. Maybe I'll bring it along when we finally figure out where Calus is hiding...

Destiny 2 Compendium Armarum Exoticarum

[ Ace of Spades | Ager's Scepter | Anarchy | Arbalest | Bad Juju | Bastion | Black Talon | Borealis | Cerberus+1 | The Chaperone | Cloudstrike | Coldheart | Collective Obligation | The Colony | Crimson | Cryosthesia 77K | DARCI | Dead Man's Tale | Deathbringer | Dead Messenger | Devil's Ruin | Divinity | Duality | Edge of Action/Concurrence/Intent | Eriana’s Vow | Eyes of Tomorrow | Fighting Lion | The Fourth Horseman | Forerunner | Gjallarhorn | Grand Overture | Graviton Lance | Hard Light | Hawkmoon | Heartshadow | Heir Apparent | The Huckleberry | Izanagi’s Burden | The Jade Rabbit | Jötunn | The Lament | The Last Word | Legend of Acrius | Leviathan’s Breath | Lord of Wolves | Lorentz Driver | Lumina | Malfeasance | Merciless | MIDA Multi-Tool | Le Monarque | Monte Carlo | No Time to Explain | One Thousand Voices | Osteo Striga | Outbreak Perfected | Parasite | Polaris Lance | Prometheus Lens | The Prospector | Queenbreaker | Rat King | Riskrunner | Ruinous Effigy | Salvation's Grip | Skyburner’s Oath | Sleeper Simulant | Sturm | Sunshot | SUROS Regime | Sweet Business | Symmetry | Tarrabah | Telesto | Thorn | Thunderlord | Ticuu's Divination | Tommy's Matchbook | Tractor Cannon | Traveler's Chosen | Trespasser | Trinity Ghoul | Truth | Two-Tailed Fox | Vex Mythoclast | Vigilance Wing | The Wardcliff Coil | Wavesplitter | Whisper of the Worm | Wish-Ender | Witherhoard | Worldline Zero | Xenophage ]

Patient Zero

Chapter One

Paring: Din Djarin/Imperial Reader

Word Count: 1,127

Warnings: No big ones, mentions of carbonite freezing, needles, and PTSD

Permanent Taglist: @phoenixhalliwell

Working with the Empire as one of their researchers was, in theory, a boring job. At least, right up until you were assigned the mysterious Patient Zero. With no records, no data, and no name, he may as well not exist. But he’s much more than meets the eye, and you’re about to find that out the hard way. 

Multi-chapter story. Chapter 1 of 4. 

You saw patients all day long aboard the Imperial medi-ship, but none were as intriguing as Patient Zero. 

Patient Zero had, to your knowledge, once been a hard to catch high priority bounty, but the bounty was removed suddenly under unknown circumstances. The Empire found him despite the missing bounty and, in their words, acquired him. He’d been horribly volatile and aggressive, and they’d had no choice but to freeze him in carbonite. Every so often, they’d unfreeze him, and he’d come out swinging, so they refroze him. 

It was a process that gave you hives. Refreezing, especially in rapid succession like that, was incredibly dangerous. When Patient Zero did finally calm, he was entirely blind for three months and had difficulty moving by himself for almost four weeks. But he’d recovered well enough for you to take over. As one of the Empire’s leading researchers, they’d given you Patient Zero to focus on. Up until then, you’d studied him from afar, but the reassignment from basic medical to patient study meant that you’d have a very up close and personal relationship with Patient Zero. 

He’d been stubborn at first, naturally. You could tell that beyond the blindness and the immobility was a warrior’s soul, although you couldn’t ID him to confirm a past. It was as if his face didn’t exist. So you’d resorted to the next best thing. Putting him in the database yourself. 

Samples had been taken and tests had been run during your manual input, and you’d found something really interesting. Patient Zero wasn’t a Force sensitive individual by birth. But he’d been exposed to a powerful Force user for a long and regular amount of time, and that had altered his biological makeup to adapt him to the Force. In other words, he had forced his body to become Force sensitive. It was such a breakthrough that you’d almost not believed it. But numbers don’t lie. 

You sighed, inputting another file entry. Recently, Patient Zero had requested a notebook and pencil, and you’d provided it. He wasn’t talkative at all, so you figured writing things down might help him. His journaling had given you glimpses of his past, despite every word being written in a language no one knew how to translate. He doodled a small Mudhorn on the corner of a few pages, and you had scanned the page to copy the drawing into his file. So he had traveled to or lived on Arvala-7. But not many saw a Mudhorn and lived to tell the tale. 

The current entry to Patient Zero’s file was a scanned page in which there were no words, just drawings. The Mudhorn doodle, a mysterious two-tusked creature, a scratched out drawing of a creature with large ears and round eyes, a poor attempt at his own face, and a helmet with a curiously familiar design. It was the most hodgepodge collection of drawings, and yet, they told a story. 

Hitting enter, you scooped up the newly printed file and shoved it in Patient Zero’s folder. Tucking the folder safely in a file cabinet, you left your office, intent on visiting your favorite patient. 

One thing you’d learned about Patient Zero was that, despite his initial stubbornness and his clear instinct to fight, he never turned down food. Not even in the beginning, when he’d growled and fought like a starved animal. He’d always eaten everything, which, to you, meant that he knew the value of food. Either he’d been intentionally denied food, or he knew what it was like to simply not have more. Either way, he was now fed three solid meals a day, which was good for his body. 

You carried two lunch trays into his room, smiling when you saw him where he always was. Sat at the desk with a book. The room was incredibly simplistic. Grey metal floor, lighter grey walls, basic white lights. A bed with no bed frame on one side of the room, covered in neatly folded white blankets and two pillows. A desk, two chairs, and a bookshelf, all slightly barren and white in color, on the other side of the room. A single door led to his bathroom, a tiny room with an unbreakable mirror, a toilet, a sink, and the base toiletries. It was mildly depressing, but Patient Zero never voiced his discomfort with the room. 

You placed his lunch in front of him, settling down at the desk as well, using the spare chair. Patient Zero looked down at his food, then back up at you, a clear look of discontent on his face. 

“I know it’s what we had yesterday,” you said, starting on the mystery meat on your tray. “But it’s what they had.” 

Patient Zero shrugged and picked up his fork, slowly eating his vegetables first. You’d found that endearing, that he always ate his veggies first. You could almost imagine a child version of Patient Zero being chided for not eating his greens, leading to this learned trait. 

You both ate in relative silence, not wanting to disturb the delicate bond you had. He didn’t hate you as much as he hated the troopers and the other scientists. But you were the only one who’d made a real effort to humanize him, giving him comforts and treating him well. 

Finally, you could avoid it no longer. “You drew another Mudhorn,” you said softly, taking a bite of the unidentifiable mash of what you hoped was a starch. “Have you ever seen one?”

Patient Zero was quiet and still for a moment before softly saying, “I killed one.” 

“I’m sorry?” To your knowledge, Mudhorns were nearly unkillable. It typically took a small army to even wound one. And yet, your incredible Patient Zero took one down, and by the way he said it, you assumed he did it alone. 

Patient Zero’s mouth twitched in what you quickly learned was his version of a smile. He didn’t say another word about it. 

After lunch, you two headed down to the labs for tests. Patient Zero reluctantly let the troopers follow, eyeing them warily the entire time. 

“Lay down,” you instructed upon reaching the lab room. Patient Zero did, laying on his back on the raised white table. 

“Good,” you murmured, positioning some of the machines that hung down from the ceiling. “This’ll pinch.” 

Patient Zero didn’t move as the arm cuff began to take a blood sample. You’d been monitoring his m-count, surprised to see it holding steady despite not using or interacting with the Force. Today was, seemingly, not an exception. 

You punched in the numbers, adjusting your coat and sighing. “You’re an extraordinary man,” you said softly down to your patient. “I just wish I knew who you were.”

Season of the Hunt Part 3: Taking a Breather

Summary:

After a day of hunting, Crow invites Paralight to the Empty Tank bar for drinks where they run into Tif and House Light. There, they are also introduced to Tif’s girlfriend: Azara.

Previous Part: Here

Next Part: Here

“Ugh…I’m never gonna be able to get that taste outta my mouth…” Crow and Fireteam Paralight re-entered the workshop. They had been hunting the wrathborns for a few weeks now with their search expanding to the Dreaming City. Blaze was groaning as piece of Hive guts got in her mouth during a hunt. “That’s what you get for not wearing a helmet.” Crow chuckled, leaning against the workbench. “Yeah, laugh it up, birdbrain!” Blaze glared, but with a small smile on her face. Blaze and Crow had developed a friendly rivalry during their few weeks together, which mainly involved them showing off to each other and ribbing each other. “Don’t mind him.” Glint popped out of Crow’s hood, “He’s just using your experience to make himself feel better about the Ogre incident.” “Glint!” “Ohoho! I wanna hear this!” Blaze grinned, eager to hear this story. “Ok, so we were hunting an Ogre and in the middle of the fight, he stops and asks, ‘If it shoots from its eyes, how the hell does it see?’ right before being blasted into a nearby rock.” “Oh my stars!” Blaze laughed. “It gets better!” Glint chuckled, “That was his fourteenth death that day!” Crow’s face turned a dark violet as he tried to hide it with his hood. “Don’t worry about it too much.” Blaze chuckled, calming down a bit, “I could write a novel of embarrassing things that happened to me when I was a Kinderguardian.” “She’s not overexaggerating either!” Firefly piped up. “Also, if you’re still curious,” Rae began, “Ogres are blind. They use hearing and smell to get around and locate enemies. Learned that back when we had a stealth mission aboard a Hive ship. If they can’t hear or see you, they can still smell you. Which can make stealth missions a pain.” “That’s actually really useful to know.” Crow jotted the information down in what seemed like a small notepad on his workbench. Blaze peered over his shoulder, “What’s that?” “I use this to take notes about enemies and fighting strategies.” Crow explained, “I figured if I’m going to be working with experienced Guardians such and you three and Osiris, I might as well learn something from it.” “Wow, your notes are neater than Blaze’s!” Rae laughed. “As long as I can read them, they’re fine!” Blaze stuck her tongue out at Rae who returned the gesture. Crow chuckled, “Well, I don’t know about you, but I could use a break. Anyone care to join me at the Empty Tank?” “What’s the Empty Tank?” Adam asked. “An Eliksni bar next to the lair. It’s owned by House Dusk, but members the Spider’s faction are welcome there.” “It also has a fighting pit, but I doubt anyone is currently in the mood for that.” Glint added. “Nah. My joints are a little sore from that last hunt.” Rae replied. “Now you really are starting to sound like an Old Light.” Crow chuckled. “Which is kinda funny considering she’s the youngest of us in Guardian years.” Blaze added. “Ok, ok. You can make fun of me later.” Rae rolled her eyes, “Let’s head out.”

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As they entered the nightclub, a few Fallen went for their weapons but stopped upon seeing Crow with them and went back to what they were doing previously. “Looks like a lot of the Eliksni here respect you.” “They think getting on my good side will get them on Spider’s. It wont but I respect them.” Crow explained, “As for the other houses that show up, they’d rather enjoy their drinks than start trouble. If any other Guardian entered here, they’d probably be met with gunfire. But since you’re with me, they don’t care too much.” Rae glanced about the bar in curiosity when something stood out to her. Amongst a group of Fallen in yellow and red armour was a familiar human with dark brown hair and dark skin. “Tif?” Rae’s voice was barely audible over the noise of the bar. Tif looked up and their eyes lit up upon seeing Fireteam Paralight, “Oh my gosh, hi!” Tif practically jumped from their seat and enveloped Rae in a tackle-hug, “It’s great to see you guys again! What are you doing here?” “Dealing with the wrathborns. Crow brought us here to take a breather.” Rae explained. “Oh yeah! We heard some of Spider’s members talk about that. I feel really bad for the Eliksni trapped by Xivu Arath.” Tif then motioned to where their group was sitting, “Come sit with us!” “Sure!” Rae smiled before motioning to Crow, “By the way, this is Crow. He’s a new Lightbearer.” “Hiya! I’m Captain Tifawt Kariuki of House Light, but you can call me Tif.” Tif grinned. “The Lightborn Captain?” Crow asked. “You’ve heard of me?” “Spider talked about the House of Light a couple of times. Mentioned a Guardian who served as one of their Captains.” “That’s me!” Paralight and Crow sat at the table where Mithrax and some other members of House Light were. “Good to see you again, Mithrax.” “Greeting, Rae.” Mithrax replied. “So, what brings you guys here?” Blaze asked. Tif was about to answer when the music began to quiet down. Tif grinned excitedly, “You’ll see!”

As the bar went quiet, a young woman approached the DJ stand with a guitar. She had tanned skin, amber eyes and long brown hair that faded into a dark red and gold on one of her bangs. She wore a red, orange and gold poncho, that was longer towards the back, over brown, black and gold leather armour with matching boots. She also had very familiar markings on her face. She tuned her guitar before leaning towards the mic, “Velask, everyone. Good to be back on the Shore. I have a new one for you tonight: it’s a parody of an old pre-golden age song from humanity and I’ve rewritten the lyrics to fit one of humanity’s heroes.” That’s when her eyes landed on Rae, “And it looks like she’s here tonight. Hope ya enjoy it.” She took a deep breath before beginning to play.

“When a captain small, Graced a ride along, With Rae of Paralight, Along came this song. For when the Dragon fought, Skolas, Kell of Kells, Her and her Fireteam, At their feet, how he fell. Cabal took the City. Came close to victory. Broke down the walls, And they kicked in their teeth. The Dragon bared her fangs, And Ghaul fell at her feet. The Dragon victorious, She can’t be beat!

Beware of the Dragon, O' system of plenty! O' system of plenty, oh! Beware of the Dragon, O' system of plenty!

In each and every world, She has fought them all: The Vex and the Hive, The Taken and the Scorn. Survived every attack, And then she tossed them back, Deep into the Darkness, From whence they came. She wiped out the pests, Light burning in her chest. Protecting humanity, She’ll never rest. Continue, does this tale. Against Darkness, they’ll prevail. Long live the Paralight, For they’ll never fail!

Beware of the Dragon, O' system of plenty! O' system of plenty, oh! Beware of the Dragon, Protecting humanity! Beware of the Dragon, O' system of plenty! O' system of plenty, oh! Beware of the Dragon, Protecting humanity!

Beware of Paralight, O' system of plenty. O' system of plenty, oh. Beware of Paralight: Saviours of humanity.”

A round of cheers filled the bar as the woman left the DJ booth with her guitar and a vandal took her place, starting back up the music. She walked over to where Fireteam Paralight, Crow, and the House of Light were seated, receiving a few pats on the back from some of the Fallen. “Azzy, that was amazing!” Tif got up and gave her a hug. “Thanks, Tiffy.” She laughed, “I didn’t know Paralight themselves would be here. It’s an honour to meet you.” “It’s an honour to meet you to. And to have a song about us.” Rae smiled, “It’s nice to meet you.” “Wait.” Blaze began, “Tif, is this…?” “Yup! This is my girlfriend: Arcstrider Hunter, Azara Cazadora.” Tif grinned. “Tiffy’s told me a lot about you guys.” Azara began, “That song was based off what they told me about your adventures.” “I’m the captain small.” Tif beamed. “Because you are a smol bean and I love you.” Azara kissed Tif on the head as she sat down, setting her guitar down beside her. “Tif’s told us a bit about you too. Says you came to their rescue several times.” “Aha…it’s nothing that grandiose.” Azara scratched the back of her head sheepishly, a small blush arising, “I just help out as much as I can. Besides, I’d never forgive myself if they got hurt. Not that Tiffy needs protecting. They took down Phylaks by themself for Light’s sake!” At this, a few of the House of Light members cheered and patted Tif on the back. Azara’s attention turned to Blaze who seemed to be staring at her intensely. “Let me guess…the markings, right?” Azara chuckled, “It’s been a while since I met another one of us. Well. One that isn’t trying to kill me or kidnap me.” “What exactly are ‘us’?” Blaze asked, “I know we’re called Phyonysians and we use fire. But aside from that, I’ve been in the dark about everything.” Azara’s expression turned serious for a moment, “I’ll explain eventually, but not here. The walls have ears. Another time.” A relaxed expression returned to her face, “For now, drinks on me! I’m thirsty after that song.” She motioned for the barkeep to send them a round of drinks. A shank floated over to them a moment later with the drinks on its head. Blaze swirled hers a bit before knocking down the drink. Crow smirked as Blaze grimaced at the taste. “Oh, wow.” She groaned, “That’s- yep. That’s strong.” Crow chuckled, “Oh, by the way. This stuff isn’t very smooth.” “No kidding…”

“By the way,” Rae began, “Adam and I won’t be around tomorrow. Adam’s helping Saladin set up the Iron Banner and I’ll probably be getting an earful from him once he finds out about Guardians using Stasis. Which reminds me, Ghost?” Rae held out her hand and Ghost materialised a small card into her hand which she handed to Tif, “You’ll need this from now on.” “What’s this?” Tif asked, taking it and looking it over. “Stasis licence. Since I’ve been appointed Stasis Vanguard now, Zavala’s making me give these out to Guardians I deem fit to wield Stasis. If you use it without one, you could be punished. You’re technically not a registered Guardian but since you’ve worked on missions with us, I thought I should give you one to be safe.” “Ooh! Fancy!” Tif handed the card to Berhane to keep safe. “So, you two won’t be coming tomorrow?” Crow asked. “Unfortunately, not.” Rae replied, “But Blaze should be around if you two want to hunt on your own.” “I’m sure we can handle it.” Blaze grinned. “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure she doesn’t eat more Hive guts.” Crow smirked. “And I’ll make sure he doesn’t get blasted by an Ogre.” Blaze fired back with a smirk of her own. “Just make sure you two aren’t too busy ribbing each other to deal with the wrathborn.” Rae sighed. “Don’t worry, I’ll keep an eye on them.” Glint reassured. “Thanks, Glint.” Unbeknownst to Rae and Adam, something very interesting would transpire while they were away…

To Be Continued…

[Warhammer 40K] Lucina Galadriax - Adeptus Sororitus

In the grim darkness of the far future, there is only war. I like writing characters who overcome challenges, be it through the circumstances of their birth, brought on by their own actions, or through the machinations of the world around them. The world of 40K is full of challenges, every character in the series has to deal with the very world they live in trying to trick, betray, and destroy them. Lucina is no exception to this rule. Despite all this, members of the elite Adeptus Sororitus are required to stay resolute, pious, and strong, even in the face of mind breaking Chaos. I hope you enjoy the arduous tale of Sister Galadriax, Hospitaller of the Adeptus Sororitus.

The forge world of Selinax was home to a shining example of the Emperors faith, one of the largest Titan manufactorum's in Askellon. Here, under the watchful eyes of the red robed mechanicus, and with the hard work of the Imperiums faithful, huge machines of war were crafted, and housed. The manufactorum network was owned by a noble family, the Galadriax's, who ensured that everything ran smoothly, like the mechanisms of a pocket chrono. Of course for most, growing up on a forge world would be a life of machinery based accidents, and various airborne ailments. However for Lucina, the youngest daughter of the Galadriax family, this was not the case, instead she attended classes, home taught by her family in the day, to day runnings of the manufactorum, how to deal with the tenacious adeptus mechanicus, and all other helpful lessons for the day Lucina came into ownership of the manufactorum. When Lucina wasn't in lessons, she would spend her time helping where possible, normally with a detachment of the Sisters Hospitaler, who made the forge world of Selinax their base of operations. The sisters initially disliked Lucina's inquisitive nature, how she would ask questions as they tried to reattach limbs of workers, or how she thumbed at their notes as they tried to staunch the blood loss of a driver who had paid far too little attention, but they began to warm to her as they discovered the sheer amount of information she retained, answers to pointless questions she had asked months ago, the tiniest note about the most insignificant of processes. Before long Lucina was spending the majority of her time with the Hospitaler's, lending aid where possible, learning more, and more about the ways of the Chirurgeon.

Anthony Galadriax, father to Lucina, and owner of the manufactorums noticed the time she spent with the Hospitaler's. He realised what a fine accolade it would be to have a child of his seed be recognised as a daughter of the Emperor. He spoke with the Hospitalers, and convinced them to take his daughter on as a member of their flock. At first the matron was uneasy, as eager as Lucina was to learn more, it was rare for them to take on members as a favour, Anthony argued that willing hands are far, and few between in this sector, which swayed the matron to his side. She agreed to take the sixteen year old girl with her, as a fresh member of the Sisters Hostpitaler.

It was soon after that Lucina experienced her first taste of warp travel, flown off world to Juno, where she would attend formal training at a large Adeptus Sorotius Monastery. She picked up certain aspects of this lifestyle very quickly, the hustle, and bustle of a hive world was similar to the whirring, and clanging of a forge world, she enjoyed studying as part of a class, and showed exceptional prowess with the art of medicae. However combat training was an unfamiliar, rigid experience that took some getting used to, she was inexperienced when it came to firing a weapon, or taking a direct order, with her inexperience came a contempt for those who ordered her around, and with her contempt, came punishments. Cleaning, prayers of apology, cooking, all the distasteful chores normally left to lower members were used against her. It wasn't until combat training gained a new teacher, a gnarled older woman who wore the armour of the Sisters Of Battle. Lucina no longer got punishments such as cleaning, or cooking, no, now she would be forced in front of the class, and made an example of. Failure to strip, and rebuild her Autogun? Fifty push ups in the dirt of the training ground. Failure to follow drills? Ten minutes of silence, as the class screamed obscenities at her. Muttering back chat under her breath? A personal sparring session with the new instructor. Slowly, but surely, like a rolling press forcing an Adamantium plate into shape, Lucina began to finally accept her combat training.

In three short years, Lucina had changed from a privileged daughter of a manufactorum tycoon, to a loyal, subservient, daughter of the Emperor. A short, humble ceremony was held for her class, before they were near instantly dispatched across the Imperium. On her travels Lucina saw many things, she saw victims of forge world accidents, served briefly aboard a rogue traders vessel as it carried pilgrims to a death world, walked through fields of green grass on feral worlds, each new experience more evidence of the Emperor's glorious work. While she worked, she would sing hymns, and prayers to the Emperor's, her voice a comfort to those she worked on. Her first year of work within the Hospitalers was almost to an end when they were dispatched to the death world of Yanth, where an Imperial Guard force were in desperate need of more medical hands.

Somewhere, in the vast swamped jungles of Yanth, lay a Chaos cult, battling hard against the guardsman who were attempting to exterminate them. The guardsman had come from the planet of Cadia, and fought harder than any guard regiment Lucina had witnessed yet. Being so close to the front lines of combat was a new experience, time stopped for no man out here, Lucina had taken to leaving the safety off on her weapon for the amount of times an hour she would have to pick it up and lend a fighting hand, be it during a mug of recaff, receiving a medical shipment, cleaning a weapon, or wrists deep in a man's intestines, every Guard, Hospitaler, and body on the front lines had to be prepared for combat. It was after one of these firefights, Lucina was put in charge of the care of a young officer, he'd received a nasty stab wound which had gone unreported for far too long. As Lucina worked on the officer, they talked, she was glad for the company of someone of a similar age to her, they talked about where they had come from, where they had traveled, what they had seen, in truth she began to grow quite close to the officer.

He lay under her care for a number of weeks, try as she might, she couldn't get his wound to stay closed, bandages became sodden with blood, sutures popped out of their position, and even attempting to graft the skin proved ineffectual. Had Lucina not been so enamored in the officer, she would have seen the clear evidence of chaos taint about the officer's wounds. Lucina kept trying to treat the man, almost happy for the excuse to keep him in her treatment. A full moon was casting ethereal shadows across the fortifications as Lucina did her rounds, she had many patients to tend to, but one was not in his bed... The officer had gone missing... Searching around the camp she found him heading towards the command tent. Lucina stopped him, mouth open to ask what he was doing over here, that's when she saw the chain blade in his hands, scoring deep scars into his flesh, his body now a tapestry of Chaos runes, and sigils. Lucina went to cry out a warning, but her cry was caught, as the Officer plunged the chainblade into her throat, the teeth of the blade whirring, and biting, she could feel the noise of the teeth bouncing off the top of her spinal column resonating into her brain, her throat filled with crimson, and the acrid taste of oil, and exhaust fumes poured up from the base of her tongue. Summoning every ounce of focus she could spare, she pushed the acidic panic away, clutching him firmly she braced, and drew her side arm, firing three times into the stomach of the Officer, causing him to stumble backwards, something tearing off in Lucina's hands as he stumbled, though she was more preoccupied with the blade now shuddering softly in her throat. Fortunately, Cadians never treat gunfire as something minor, and before Lucina even had the time to fall backwards, her, and the officer were surrounded by soldiers. The Officer hissed a threat, but before he could finish, he was drowned out by the deafening cracks of lasfire.

Lucina was sad, the smoke from the battlefield had obscured her vision of the stars...she had wondered if she would be able to see holy Tera from here. She could feel people around her, she tried to give them instructions on how to remove the blade from her throat without any further damage, but despite moving her mouth, she heard no words come out. As she processed this new information, a rather forward guardsman tried to help her, with a swift tug, he pulled the vibrating chainblade from her throat, tearing flesh, and sending a spout of blood over her, he apologised to her, before yelling for a Hospitaler. Lucina's mouth moved wordlessly as she lay on the damp earth, she raised her hand and found what she had torn off the Officer, a rather ornate silver pocket chrono, it had cracked, and stopped in the fall. She tightened her grip on it as she felt the ice cold glare of death upon her and promptly passed out.

It would seem the Emperor was smiling upon her that night, as it was not her fate to die, through no small miracle, the Hospitalers were able to aid Lucina, and close the wound on her throat. For three days she lay on a gurney, listening to the combat around her, sh

e was visited by one of the Cadian sergeants, who commended her bravery, telling her if she hadn't have stopped the tainted officer, he would have had a free shot at the command tent. The praise was bitter to Lucina, she knew that had she been paying attention, rather than romanticising the officer, she would have spotted the signs earlier. Her throat ached, a constant pain every time she moved her head, or swallowed, when she tried to talk, it felt like she was trying to wretch sandpaper.

The campaign on Yanth lasted another month, with Lucina being active for only the last week of that, she was finally up, and moving again, though she was still plagued by the gnawing, burning in her throat, everybody told her she was lucky to be alive, and that she must be on of the Emperor's favorite daughters to afford such luck. In truth she simply wanted to forget about it, she felt like she had failed her role as a daughter of the Emperor. Wordlessly, Lucina continued her tasks, until Yanth was declared 'safe' as she, with the rest of the Hospitalers were moved offworld, back to the monastery on Juno. Lucina became a shell of herself, no longer did such joy emanate from her, and the delicate hymns of praise that used to pour from her mouth were now gone, a Deacon offered to provide payment for surgery to install a bionic voice box, but she craved penance and refused, she had failed the Golden Throne, and had her voice taken as punishment.

The remainder of the year would not be quiet, while she had been away, a hive gang known as the "Sons" had grown rather active, even going as far as managing to secure a series of armoured vehicles, which they were using to harass, and attack their rivals catching a detachment of the Arbites in between, some said they wanted more territory, others said they simply wanted to spread some anarchy. The local PDF had got involved and were in way over their heads, calling for aid from the Hospitalers to cover the vast amount of wounded being caught in the crossfire. If trying to perform complex medicae on the frontline's of Yanth had seemed difficult, performing in the no man’s land between the two gangs was even worse, nothing was permanent, for fear of coming under fire the Hospitalers had to carry everything with them, and were ordered to perform at double time, each new street was a fresh hell. The Sons had been shelling their rivals for four days now, and all the time been executing anyone who looked official in the crossfire, be they PDF, Arbites, or even Hospitalers. Once again Lucina got used to keeping her weapon ready at all times.

Now communicating via an Imperial taught sign language, Lucina found new challenges in trying to talk to her colleagues, often having to resort to crude gestures when bullets whizzed overhead. It was on the evening of the fourth day, when Lucina, three Hospitalers, and a small detachment of PDF were caught within an old school, pinned down by fire, with wounded around them, they called for backup, where they were told rather callously, that there were far more important lives to be saving, and that their safety was their own. They had no chance to hunker down, and try and push away the advancing tide of gangers. Slowly, both sides began sustaining casualties, and it was beginning to look like a stalemate until the plasteel sides of an armoured vehicle rolled into view, it was mounted with two heavy stubbers, and a port for launching grenades. The first grenade hit hard, dismantling their cover, and sending a few of the PDF scattering, the second hit even harder, exploding above them, showering them with shrapnel, which sliced through the Hospitalers around Lucina. There was one saving grace, one of the PDFs was armed with a melta gun, a device tailored to take out vehicles like this, Emperor only knows where he got it. Lucina moved up, pointing to the Melta, then the armoured vehicle, after a short back and forth, the PDF understood her, shaking his head and protesting, citing it would be suicide to go out there. Lucina tried a new tactic, she pointed at the Melta, then to herself, gesturing a swap of weapons. Once again the PDF soldier refused, telling her it was his, and to find her own weapon, at the end of her wick, she raised her autogun, and shot him, turning to the other soldiers, as if to ask 'anyone else?', with no further complaints, she hefted the Melta into her arms.

It was a short sprint to the vehicle, but the issue wasn't the distance, it was the open ground leaving no safety from the bullets, the two heavy stubbers mounted atop the vehicle were also an issue. Lucina took a breath and gestured to the soldiers around her, hoping for covering fire. Waiting for a the two heavy stubbers to begin reloading, she darted out from the torn up rubble around her, already feeling the heat of a dozen weapons trained on her, thankfully, the PDF, inspired by her actions, and maybe a little fearful of another commissar-esk friendly fire incident opened up. Lucina counted the steps left, closer, and closer she drew to the vehicle, the heavy stubbers now finished reloading opened up, bullets striking the floor around her, every fiber of her being screamed at her to fire now, but she knew the closer she could get, the more effective her shot would be. Five meters is where she pulled the trigger, a stream of scalding hot gas, she saw the stream collide with the side of the vehicle, turning the plasteel to liquid before her very eyes, as the steam cleared she saw the inside of the vehicle, and the righteous carnage she had unfolded, undeterred by the pleading of the scalded gangers inside, she pulled the trigger again, filling the vehicle with spray, melting all souls inside. Something within the vehicle caught, triggering an explosion that lifted her off her feet. As she went to regain herself, she felt the sharp punch of autogun rounds hitting her left side, she fell again, stranded in no man's land. Once again, death would not find Lucina here. Instead of gunfire, she heard deep phwooshes, and felt the air around her grow very hot, she saw streams of fire, and heard the screams of gangers, set alight in their holes, Lucina felt a hand grasp her by the scruff of her neck, and drag her backwards to safety.

Once back on safe ground, she got a chance to see her rescuers, the shadowed black, and deep crimson of the Adeptus Sorortius's own Sisters of Battle. The sight was so beautiful Lucina could have wept, medics were ordered and once again, she found herself being taken away from battle by stretcher. The coming days were not so alien for Lucina, a flurry of Hospitalers, providing her with the medical attention necessary, it would seem she caught more bullets than first thought, a total of seven bullets were removed from her left side over the course of the next week. While in the care of her fellow Hospitalers, Lucina received a visitor, her instructor from the Monastery, and saviour on the battlefield, the grizzled Sororitas, Lady Agatha Harmonas. Lady Agatha praised Lucina for her actions, her quick thinking, and her determination to stick to her mission. She offered Lucina an opportunity, leave the Hospitalers behind, and join the selection process for the Sisters Of Battle. Given time to think on this opportunity, Lucina pushed herself to recover. In a short month she was given a clean bill of health, and sought out Lady Agatha for entry to the Sisters Of Battle.

Selection was nothing but an arduous slog, the Sisters Of Battle prided themselves on being some of the very best the Emperor had to offer, Lucina spent her Mornings, Evenings, and Nights training, testing, and learning, she found comfort in shock weaponry like the Melta gun, and used her prior experience in the Hospitalers to put herself ahead of the other applicants. Her hardest challenge was communicating with other applicants during mock missions, as the Imperial standard sign language she used, was not common knowledge, she compromised by using her knowledge of the Tactica Imperialis to communicate via militaristic hand signals. As the selection process drew towards its end, the numbers of applicants dropped from Fifty, to Eight, Lucina spent her final week proving herself, she performed excellently in mock drills during the day, and spent entire nights awake in prayer to the Emperor. When the time came, only her and two other applicants were chosen to go forward onto the blessed position.

Lucina could have silently wept during the proceedings to her enrolment as a Sister Of Battle, she felt a sense of belonging, as if the Emperor had given her the uncanny luck she had experienced to get to this position, when she was measured for the holy red, and black power armour, a sense of duty crashed over her, last time she had let her personal feelings get ahead of her, she had her voice taken as penance, she reminded herself that a Sister Of Battle had a duty to the Emperor, and his people. Lucina never forgot the lessons that her time in the Hospitalers had taught her, she never forgot how actions, no matter how small could have cataclysmic consequences, and she told herself, that while she still drew breath, she would make every action she took, a praise unto the Emperor himself.