Provided the opportunity, I delight in consulting my Grimoire, in reading the musings of my fellow Guardians. Twice I have had such an opportunity, and on both I have read apologies from Guardians who have chosen Hunter as their profession. Of the many, the most common theme among them was regret for their choice, or hesitating to descend into the Vault for fear of being any less useful as a Warlock or Titan. My fellow Hunters, what depreciation have you endured to so quickly surrender your cloak to pride? The Warlocks, ever-observant in their glass towers of philosophy, lost within the Gorgon's labyrinth; the Titans and their iron might, brought low not by the strength of a timeless technology, but by it's gaze. Was it not we who ventured forth unseen? We who guided them to safety, who charted the maze that our forces might emerge successful and survived? What then, of the fleet-footed Hunter, he who lifted the shield at the expense of his sword? We the Hunter are without equal at any range, masters of all; from the iron embrace of the Titans to the cold prison of a Warlocks scope, we excel. Know no shame Cloaksmen, for you know no weakness.