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FWC Blog – This is a collection of FWC lore, stories and other random information

The Hunter's Fall (06 September 2717)

GUARDIAN LOG - Katrin (Hunter)
06 September 2717
European Dead Zone, Earth 

I got up early, as I always do, and was out of town before dawn, my Ghost bobbing along behind me.  I began my patrol circuit casually, at a walk, gradually increasing speed.  Before long, I was running, my senses reaching out to take in everything around me.  Periodically, I stopped to listen, to look around, to absorb my environment.  Warlocks and Titans are both very good at what they do, but neither can rival the focus and the attention to detail of a Hunter on patrol.  Moving swiftly, I had three kilometers down before the sun's glow began to warm the Eastern sky behind me.  I've been based out of The Last City for over three years now, but every so often, I just need this.

Since the beginning of what the Speaker is calling the Age of Triumph, the Forces of the City have been hard at work establishing new footholds in regions of Earth that were previously lost to Humanity.  Over the past two weeks, my Fireteam has been assigned to ensure the security of one such outpost, deep within the European Dead Zone.  Located at the top of a modestly sloped mountain, the small town appeared to have been built as some sort of recreational destination.  There wasn't much to be scavenged from such a place to begin with and it was doubtful that any Humans had visited it since the Collapse.  But it was remote, elevated and defensible; all of which made it favorable to the Vanguard.

Normally, such a deployment would have meant daily skirmishes with the Eliksni, but we hadn't had a single enemy contact since our arrival.  We weren't the only ones experiencing this; in fact, Eliksni sightings on Earth were becoming pretty rare, almost as if they'd packed up and left entirely.  None of us really believed that, and it was a decidedly strange feeling to not see them after having them lurking at our doorstep for so many long years.  Still, nobody was complaining about the shortage of combat, and we’d found plenty to keep us busy during the lull.

Titans love their walls, and my teammate Aron was certainly no exception to that.  He had busied himself with the construction of defenses.  More often than not, he would be found amongst the work crew, lending his considerable strength to the effort of solidifying our position.  The wall protecting our little town was completed during our first week here, and since then Aron had spent most of his time looking for potential weak points and then mitigating them.  Greater reinforcement of the wall, interlocking fields of fire, elimination of any significant cover that could be used by an attacking force.  As I ran through the forest, Aron was aboard our Hawk, the VTOL troop carrier assigned to our Fireteam, flying back to the City to pick up additional supplies. 

While Aron had been busy shoring up the defenses, Garm-12 had slipped into scholar-mode.  He spent his days exploring.  Not the adventurous kind of exploring, mind you.  More like wandering through the dilapidated structures outside our perimeter, learning everything he could about the area and the people who had died here during the Collapse.  Initially, I had reservations as to the usefulness of this, but he quickly bore results in the discovery of a network of tunnels and elevators.  In one of his dinner-time history lessons, Garm explained that during the later days of the Golden Age, people had come here to get away from their day-to-day lives.  They enjoyed the seclusion and found it relaxing to leave modern technology behind.  In order to maintain the tranquility of the location and minimize the visibility of vehicle traffic to the vacationers, supplies were actually delivered some fifteen kilometers away and then transported through the tunnels to a staging area located deep inside the mountain, several thousand feet under the town.  As stocks dwindled, needed items would be transferred up via the elevator system to replenish them.  At the time of the Collapse, the staging area had quickly been converted to a shelter.  Not long after, it became a tomb. 

I ran until I reached a place where the Earth was torn asunder.  Towering cliffs rose on each side of the long, jagged wound, which had filled with water over the centuries since the Traveler’s last stand.  I stood at the Eastern edge and gazed out, enjoying the view.  The rough plan I’d laid out before leaving called for me to turn to the South and skirt the edge of the chasm for a few kilometers before turning West, toward home.  I lingered for a few moments longer and that’s when my Ghost spotted it.

 “Single aircraft to the Southwest of us, traveling due East,” she reported in her tinny little voice. “Cabal.” 

I shouldered my Scout Rifle and using the scope, I quickly picked up the aircraft.  It was one of the gunships we’d come to know as Harvesters.  I shook off my surprise and keyed the Fireteam comm. 

“Garm.”  He didn’t answer. 

I swore under my breath and tried again.  Still nothing. 

“We’d better get going,” my Ghost urged. “I’ll keep trying him while you run.” 

I didn’t bother to reply.  I was already running.  I had covered about five hundred meters when I suddenly felt as though I was being turned inside out.  My nerve endings burned white hot and I collapsed in mid-stride, body crashing into the forest floor as I lost consciousness.

***

I’m not entirely sure how long I was out, but it was dark when I woke.  Every part of me hurt.  My vision was blurry.  I called out to my Ghost, but didn’t get a reply.  I reached around until my fingers found my Scout Rifle.  I sat in the darkness for a minute or so and my vision slowly became more focused.

My ghost was lying in the dirt a couple meters away.  I crawled over and picked her up.  It was then that I understood.  Our Light was gone, and with it our Immortality. 

I tucked my Ghost away in a belt pouch and struggled to my knees.  I vomited almost immediately.  All sense of balance and equilibrium was gone.  I sagged back to the ground.  I didn’t know what to do.

What use would I be as a Guardian if I couldn’t even stand up?  Without the Light, was I still a Guardian at all?

Dreadnaught Patrol (19 September 2715)

GUARDIAN LOG - Aron Drexel (Titan)

19 September 2715

Hall of Souls, near the Court of Oryx

Dreadnaught, Rings of Saturn

I hate working with Randoms.

You know; random Guardians.  Teammates that are forced upon you for some crazy mission dreamt up by the Vanguard.  It’s not that I dislike them personally, or that they can’t get the job done - though sometimes my experience has been that they can’t.  The thing is, you never know what you’ll get.  To be fair, the same is true for them.

It’s been four days since Oryx showed up in the Sol system.  Guardians have been able to seize much of the Dreadnaught, but because of their trans-dimensional nature, the Taken are making it difficult to call any particular area ‘secure’.  Fireteams have pushed the enemy back and taken control of key locations, only to find themselves fighting the same engagements over again when the Taken appear out of thin air.

Such is today’s boondoggle; insert via the area known as the Hull Breach and move toward the Hall of Souls.  Ikora Rey described a chest, contents unknown, protected by some sort of spell.  They don’t know what’s in the thing, but they’re quick to decide that we need to go retrieve whatever we find inside.  Upon initial discovery, attempts to open the chest were unsuccessful and required several ghost resurrections.  The Vanguard suggested that we try combining our Supers to accomplish it.  Essentially, I will cast my Ward of Dawn over the chest and then back out of the area so that a Warlock can summon his flame shield and enter the bubble to open the chest. 

Great plan, right?  Know what fouls up a great plan?  People being dumb.  None of the factions trust each other enough to allow the damned chest to be open without a ‘representative’ present.  That’s how I found myself in the company of an overly cheerful Hunter sporting New Monarchy threads and a particularly grim Warlock dressed in the black, black and black of Dead Orbit. 

When I’m working with Kat and Garm-12, we often don’t need to communicate verbally.  Anything that needs to be sniped, or removed silently falls to Kat.  Garm will usually disperse large groups of enemies with his space magic.  I break things.  It works well for us.  I have no idea what these guys can do.  I honestly can't even remember their names.

So when I called out the Hive Knight that suddenly appeared on the ledge above us, the part of me that Commander Zavala would call my ‘lazy brain’ just assumed that my Hunter teammate would snipe the accursed thing.  Was it not obvious that I was occupied punching the endless stream of Shadow Thrall being birthed by the Consumed Wizard that we couldn’t seem to kill?   

Apparently not.

You know what’s funny about the immense disappointment I’m feeling right now? 

I won’t have any memory of it when my ghost revives me a few moments from now.

Cosmodrome Patrol (14 September 2715)

GUARDIAN LOG - Aron Drexel (Titan)
14 September 2715
Cosmodrome, Old Russia, Earth
The Refinery

With a sudden rush, I was back.  Instinctively, I crouched while fighting to slow my heartbeat and get my bearings.  Resurrections are always like this; you tend to come back with a massive surge of adrenaline and without the memories of the last few minutes before your death.  It makes for a few anxious moments as you try to figure out what’s going on.  The chatter of Garm’s auto rifle told me that we were still in the thick of things.  My ghost was there, floating in my face, hurling admonishments.

“This time please try to keep your head down!” the tiny machine snapped.

I pushed him away with my left hand and checked the pulse rifle’s magazine.  Full.  As I stood, I became aware of the guttural and unmistakable sound of Eliksni speech.  Dregs.  Very close.  Like, shotgun close.  Eliksni, more commonly referred to as Fallen, are generally humanoid in appearance, but with four eyes and four arms.  They wear masks that supply the Ether they need to breathe.  The motion tracker in the upper left of my helmet’s HUD showed them just on the other side of the broken wall that currently sheltered me from the firefight raging nearby.  I couldn’t help smiling as I quickly swapped the rifle for the shotgun.  As their name implies, Dregs are the lowest of the Fallen society.  Dregs are forced to have their lower set of arms removed and the stumps fitted with docking caps until they prove themselves worthy.  These Dregs wouldn’t be earning those arms.  Or anything else.  I crept forward a few meters and crouched again.  Wait for it.  Wait.

The three Dregs scurried around the corner, looking back in the direction they’d come and they nearly ran into me.  The first one spotted me and began to screech before my first slug caused his entire head to disappear.  I quickly racked another shell into the chamber, swung the barrel slightly to the left and took the head off the second Dreg.  There’s something deep inside me that loves the way their heads always seem to...  vaporize.  Like smoke wafting out of the empty neck hole.  I’ve never asked about the physiology that makes it so.  I don’t really care.  And I know I probably shouldn’t find it funny.  But I do.  The third Dreg had closed the distance between us and was right up in my face.  It earned him a ferocious punch.  When Titans punch things, they often just disintegrate.  Just like this fellow did, floating away in a purple mist.

The firing had stopped now, so I paused to replace the two shells I’d fired.  My helmet comm crackled slightly.  “Aron?  Are you okay?”

“Yep,” I replied.  He couldn’t see it, but I smiled at my ghost.  “Nothing my little buddy here couldn’t fix.”

Scout rifle at the ready, Kat stepped cautiously around the same corner from which the Dregs had emerged only moments before.  Her ghost floated along just behind her.  Kat still had difficulty with the idea that Guardians could be revived after death.  It wasn’t often that one of us went down, but when it happened she was always concerned.

Despite the fact that her helmet concealed her face, her body language clearly conveyed her relief when she saw me standing upright and breathing.  It’s better that she wears the helmet, because her light blue skin is simply mesmerizing to look at.  Kat is Awoken, a species that evolved from Humans who fled Earth after the Collapse.  Most of them have blue or purple skin that shimmers with some kind of energy.  They tend to be quite... appealing to look at.  Not that I’m interested in that.  You know.  She’s my teammate, after all.

“What hit me?” I asked as I stowed the shotgun and went back to the pulse rifle.

“Would you feel better if I said it was a servitor?” she asked.  The tilting of her head told me that she was teasing.

“But it wasn’t,” I muttered. “Was it?”

“Nope.  It was a Dreg.”

Thankfully, my own helmet hid the look on my face, not to mention the reddening that I knew accompanied the feeling of shame at having been killed by a creature that was aptly named for the lowest of the low.  Not that death was a good thing by the hand of any other enemy, but you know...  It was a Dreg.  Damn it.

I prodded one of the headless corpses with a foot.  “Red and gold armor,” I observed, changing the subject.  “Definitely the House of Devils.”

She clapped a hand on my heavy shoulder plate.  “C’mon Titan, let’s get this done and get out of here.”

I followed Kat about fifty meters to where Garm-12 was crouched, peering into an oversized doorway the spotlight from his ghost illuminating the cavernous dark within.  Kat, Garm and I are one of many Fireteams that operate under the guidance of the Future War Cult.  We’d been on a routine patrol of the area, when we received new orders dispatching us to investigate reports of activity in the Cosmodrome’s Refinery.  During our Golden Age, this Cosmodrome, and others like it, once served as launching points for Humanity’s effort to colonize the galaxy.  Years later, during the Collapse, it launched ships full of desperate souls trying to escape certain death.  Now, it was little more than a ghost town, littered with broken technology and the bones of those who hadn’t made it out.

“I can’t be sure we got them all,” Garm stated, without looking away from the doorway.  “Some may have escaped this way.  Toward their former lair.”  Under his helmet, I knew that his glowing yellow eyes would be flicking back and forth; scanning... probing... analyzing.

Garm-12 is an Exo, a race of artificial beings created late in Humanity’s Golden Age.  They’re living machines with thoughts, feelings and personalities.  I’ve heard that each Exo has the consciousness of a Human being implanted at the time of its activation.  Of course, I’ve never asked Garm about this.  Seems kind of rude to do so.  Many believed that the War Cult was originally responsible for their creation, but I’m not sure anyone can really substantiate that.  It does seem likely, though, given that nearly every Exo I’ve known has been somehow aligned with the War Cult.  Lakshmi-2, the public face of the War Cult, is an Exo.  Fully armored, you’d never know that a Guardian was an Exo, until he or she removed the helmet.  Their faces are angular and robotic in appearance, with plasteel alloy skin and glowing mechanical eyes.  If I’m being honest, it’s a little creepy until you get used to it.

Garm stood.  His long blue robes fell into place and he shouldered his auto rifle.  He turned to face me and appeared to be assessing the fact that I was once again intact.  “You should really learn to duck.”

Again, the helmet hid my red face.  “That’s what my little pal keeps telling me,” I mumbled, inclining my head toward the ghost hovering over my left shoulder.

“For what little good it does,” my ghost rebuked.  I batted it away again.  It’s a common exchange.  The ghost scolds me for doing something stupid and then I swat it away like an annoying insect.

“Shall we?” Garm asked.  He started into the building without waiting for a reply from either of us.

***

We’ve been a Fireteam for a few months now.  Before coming together, all three of us had bounced around a bit, partnering with a number of different Guardians.  This is pretty normal.  In fact, some Guardians never find a ‘fit’ and continue to change companions throughout their careers.  We’ve never actually discussed it, but I think that all of us are pretty happy with the current arrangement.

Katrin, who we commonly address as Kat, is a Hunter.  Gliding undetected through any environment, she’s the very definition of stealth.  Like most Hunters, Kat wears light armor and a hooded cloak.  Proficient with just about any weapon she touches, Kat is especially lethal with blades and sniper rifles.  It’s pretty rare that an enemy gets so much as a glimpse of Kat before she eliminates it.

Garm-12 is our Warlock.  I generally don’t even ask for any sort of explanation for the arcane and unnatural things he’s capable of.  I’m just glad he’s on my side.

I’m a Titan.  Basically, that means I’m the guy that smashes things.  Pure brute force.  Compared to Garm and Kat, I don’t see myself as particularly special.  Don’t get me wrong, I’m a Guardian, and my combat skills are well above the minimum standards required by the Vanguard.  I’m good.  But I think the other two are simply amazing at a level that I’m not.  My teammates seem to appreciate my company, though, so I do my best to earn my place on the team every day.

***

Garm stopped and spoke though the helmet commlink that connected us.

“We are very close,” he said, in the flat monotone that he normally used.  “It would be best if we exercised maximum stealth from this point.”

In other words, it was time for Kat to take the lead and do her invisibility thing.  Garm and I would follow at a bit of a distance.  Close enough to help her if things went bad, but not close enough to give her away.  We simply didn’t possess the same level of ‘sneaky’.

Without a word, Kat slipped forward and dematerialized within a few steps.  All three ghosts cut their spotlights.

We continued on in silence.  Soon, we reached the main portion of the Devil’s former lair.  The piles of bones were still there, but the Devils were not.  We detected no activity, though it was clear that there had been Fallen here recently.  The dozen Dregs we’d killed outside had been wearing the Devils’ signature red and gold, but they were certainly not the significant presence we’d been asked to look for.  We hadn’t encountered anything more than the Dregs.  No Vandals or Captains.  You remember how I mentioned that Dregs have to prove themselves worthy before they are allowed to grow their lower arms back?  Well, once that happens, they are called Vandals and they’re allowed to wear capes bearing the colors of their House.  A Vandal will often lead a small group of Dregs.  A particularly skilled and experienced Vandal will eventually become a Captain.  Captains command several Vandals and their subordinate Dregs.  Vandals tend to be a bit bigger than Dregs and Captains are even bigger than Vandals.  This has something to do with a special Ether draught that the leaders consume.  The more they take in, the bigger and stronger they grow.  This is how some of the top level Fallen leaders manage to be more than two or three times as large as a Dreg.  The hierarchy continues after that, with each House having a couple of Barons that oversee a group of Captains.  Each House has a single Kell that acts as the operational leader, issuing orders to the Barons.  Here’s where it gets kind of weird.  The Fallen worship these floating purple machine spheres called servitors.  You’ll sometimes find them on the battlefield, funneling additional Ether to the Fallen troops.  Each House has a Prime Servitor.  On top of that, they have a single Archon.  The Archon is similar to the Kell in size and appearance, but that it serves a much different function.  The Archon communes directly with the Prime Servitor and then communicates the wishes of the machine-god to the Kell.  Thanks to the efforts of my fellow Guardians, none of the known Fallen Houses have their entire leadership structure intact.

Nearly a year ago, I’d been part of another Fireteam that had breached the Devil’s lair and destroyed their Prime Servitor.  As we reached the place where Sepiks Prime had met his end, we stopped for a few moments to rest, rehydrate and, most importantly, listen to our surroundings.  This practice had served us pretty well in the past.  As we resumed our search I caught myself grinning again.  Sepiks Prime had been a very memorable fight.  After that, the Devils had been mostly scattered and leaderless.  It was generally believed that many of the surviving Devils had either been absorbed into the House of Kings or perhaps found their way to the House of Exile on Earth’s Moon.  A few of them probably joined the House of Wolves when Skolas escaped the Prison of Elders and tried to unite the Houses earlier this year.  Constant patrols of the area had picked off the occasional straggler or two, but there had been no significant sightings in quite some time.  Despite all of this, no one was really surprised to hear that the Devils might be on the rise again.  They were vermin, and vermin always seem to find a way to survive.

***

A short distance beyond the Devils’ lair, Kat halted us.  After a few moments, she signaled us to come forward.  We found her standing before a locked vault door, her ghost scanning dutifully.  She looked at Garm and inclined her head toward the door.

Stepping closer, Garm made a casual shooing motion with his hand. “Remove yourselves.”

What he meant by this was that he was going to scan the door and didn’t want our primitive bodies of flesh and blood fouling the sensor readings.  Kat and I backtracked several meters and knelt where we could watch the route we’d taken in.  Never know when someone might decide to follow you.

After a few minutes, Garm joined us. 

“I’m detecting a faint odor of explosives around the door,” he advised softly.  “Without the proper equipment, I can’t be entirely certain; but it appears that the door is booby-trapped.  Possibly with flux grenades.”

None of us are explosives technicians, and we really wanted nothing to do with attempting to disarm flux grenades, so Kat’s ghost quickly prepared a Field Activity and Intelligence Report.  Though our missions were usually issued by the War Cult, the Guardian Vanguard was responsible for monitoring and directing the activities of all Guardians in the field, regardless of their faction affiliation.  The Vanguard could elect to overrule our instructions or even co-opt our team for their own missions, if need be.  Thus, both organizations had to be notified. 

As soon as the FAIR had been sent we settled in to await a reply. 

Kat pulled off her helmet and ran her fingers through her red hair, letting the breeze dry the sweat.  We’re supposed to keep our helmets on while deployed away from the City, but I couldn’t resist following her lead. 

“Wanna bet Lakshmi tells us that we need to figure out a way to open it?” she asked.

Garm grunted disapprovingly at the question.  “That would be foolish.”

As I thought about it, Kat took a long drink of water and then passed the bottle to me.  Hydration remember?  I took a sip and handed it back. 

“I think we can do it,” I said finally.  “If I cast a bubble that overlaps just the door handle and latch mechanism, Garm should be able to generate a flame shield and pull the door open.  The dual shields ought to be enough to protect him.”

A non-Guardian might have pointed out that Garm’s ghost would be able to resurrect him even if the shields failed, but death isn’t pleasant and the resurrections aren’t exactly fun, either.  Yes, I know that I told you we usually don’t remember those moments.  Just take my word for it, okay?

A few minutes later, we received a short response from Lakshmi-2, acknowledging our information and advising us to stand by.  Apparently there was new Intelligence regarding some big happenings out near Saturn.  We went right back to working out how to open the vault door without dying.  Not more than a minute later, we received a message from Commander Zavala rendering our entire discussion moot.  The message was short and generic, instructing all Guardians to return immediately to The Tower and begin preparations for deployment off-planet.

Big happenings, indeed.