Always: “Heeeeeeey there, Banshee!” “Whaddya want, Cayde?” “Just checking in on that thing I asked you to do.” “I told you, my smuggling days are over—” “No no shhh no not that! The other thing—” “What other thing?” “The custom piece! For—” “Oh right. Right. Course I’m doing that.” “Yeah? How's it looking?” “Did all the design myself. So it's looking good.” “Is that... an ace of spades?” “Yep.”

My favorite is the one with the letter "a". That one is the best

[b] [/b]

What is a "grimoire card" i am pretty sure they don't exist in game?

Cabal 4. It's informative and gives a nice chuckle. I'd love to see Cabal using anti-Ghost tactics.

I like the one where skolas talks to xur

all of the books of sorrow

I love the first calcified fragment card. It's beautifully written and is great at conveying the cruel nature of existence of the hive. The entire book of sorrow in general is incredible.

[quote]Here's mine (I have two, crucify me): [b]Deep Stone Crypt [/b] [quote]This is the tower where we were born. Not the Tower. Just a tower in a dream. The tower stands on a black plain. Behind the tower is a notch in the mountains where the sun sets. The teeth of the mountain cut the sun into fractal shapes and the light that comes down at evening paints synapse shapes on the ground. Usually it's evening when we come. The ground is fertile. This is good land. We go to the tower in dreams but that doesn't mean it's not real. Some of us go to the tower in peace. They walk through a field of golden millet and a low warm wind blows in from their back. I don't know why this is, because: The rest of us meet an army. You can ask others about Deep Stone and they'll tell you about the army. They might confess one truth, which is this: we have to kill the army to get to the tower. Usually this starts bare-handed, and somewhere along the way you take a weapon. Ask again and if they're buzzed they might also admit that most of us don't make it to the Tower, except once or twice. None of them will tell you that the army is made of everyone we meet. The people we work with and the people we see in the street and the people we tell about our dreams. We kill them all. I think because we were made to kill and this is the part of us that thinks about nothing else. Often I kill people I don't know, but like most of us I think I knew them once, in the time before one reset or another, when my mind was younger and less terribly scarred. So that is how we go back to the Deep Stone Crypt, where we were born.[/quote] [b]Ghost Fragment: Clovis Bray[/b] [quote]Excerpt from an unpublished memoir of Clovis Bray II My father hated maps. “And do you know why I hate maps?” he asked me. I didn’t answer. Not immediately. With Father, every question was vast, particularly those that looked simple. And simple questions deserved as much insight and wisdom as could be brought to bear. With that in mind, I said nothing. Why would my father hate maps? One of his collaborators came into the office. Father didn’t have employees. Or assistants. And for that matter, he didn’t have heroes either. Every person, living or lost, was a collaborator, and that included his children. “Clovis,” said the visitor. Father heard the woman, but he was watching me. The woman was pretty, and I was sixteen. So I looked at her, smiling enough for both of us. And she threw an appreciative wink my way as she described test results from the last five billion runs of our AI Initiative. Out on the Martian desert, my father and picked collaborators were building housing too cold for this universe and too swift to be real. And I was a sixteen year-old boy smiling at a pretty woman. My father thanked her for the update, and she left. Just as I feared, he never looked away from me. “I don’t know why you hate maps,” I admitted. With Father, ignorance was never the worst crime. What was awful was pretending to have insight and wisdom where neither existed. “Maps end,” he said. I nodded, just a little. “Maps insist on having borders and edges or the table falls away. Which isn’t the way the universe works.” “It doesn’t, no,” I agreed. Then he asked me, “So how does the universe work?” I pretended to take my time, considering various smart answers. But I ended up using my first impulse. “Effortlessly,” I said. He laughed. Which wasn’t uncommon for my father, but it was heartening to hear just then. “What else can you tell me?” he asked. “The universe is infinite and probably in multiple ways,” I said. Then I listed a few examples: The census of stars, the Many-Worlds principle in quantum mechanics, and the endless measure of tiny realms hiding inside every grain of Martian sand. Father nodded. The smile died. Then he said something ominous. Although I didn’t appreciate it at the time. “The universe is someone’s map,” he said. “Is it?” I muttered. “Yes, oh yes. And what we’re doing here... we’re reaching beyond the boundaries, out into the unknown. And we pull back new colors to put on this map that can never, ever let itself be finished.” I nodded, smiling like the good son. But I was sixteen, and my thoughts were mostly about the pretty woman who had winked at me.[/quote][/quote] This game is boring as shit

Rasputin 4