The Rose, our true weapon of choice. Sure, it wasn't the best of hand cannons, but it was extravagant and looked upon as a prestigious weapon. Beautiful in its own way. One in which we gathered our most skillous allies, cursed the phogoth strike, were brought to our knees when we were still in a fire team of 3 and 2 levels above the requirement, and rejoiced and cried at the sight of the fall of Xyor, the Unwed. When how good you were in crucible wasn't just the factor of having a better weapon than everyone else, but a show of a holders true skill. When you were not thought as a noobish weapon, o' my pride, my precious flower. Only we know how delicate you were. Since thou has grown, thou has grown to a curse, an annoyance... a Thorn in my side. like if u cri evertiem.