9/2/2014 8:16:57 PM PermalinkI can't say it enough; I love the work you do. I probably stared at the final render for an hour or more the other night studying all the little details. The textures and color schemes you use create a simple elegance that can't be beat. And don't get me started on the movement conveyed by their poses. When you look at them they all have this hyper-confident, non-chalant, nearly arrogant personality that seems to underscore how truly deadly a Hunter is.
The hunters have arrived. Thanks to everyone that voted. I hope you guys enjoyed participating! Thanks to TwentySidedDeath and Bill the Cabal for writing more lore! [b]Fenrir's Fangs[/b] [i]"Your enemies want war. Bring them Ragnarok"[/i] They were the ones that had lost it all in the collapse: family, friends, and wealth. All that remained was the shared experience of loss at the hands of the darkness and the hate that came with it. From this hate a group of refugees became a family, helping one another fight through the days and nights when The City wasn't quite safe. One day they agreed that safety, the Traveler, and the Last City no longer mattered. So the group left The City to take revenge on the enemy that had stolen everyone and everything they loved. They had no rules and showed no mercy. They accepted no surrender and left no survivors. They refused to succumb to their fears. They employed guerrilla tactics, decimated their foes with biological agents, conducted brutal interrogations and assassinated key targets. All this they did before the traveler created ghosts, before they could wield His Light as a weapon, before they could return from death. But their group was small, and mistakes happened, brothers and sisters were lost and their numbers dwindled. One night, at the gates of The City during a storm, the last of the Hunters returned. The guards only noticed him when the sound of his laughter, which many would swear froze the very rain around him, rose above the roar of the storm. The Hunter dropped to his knees. As guards rushed down from the wall to reach him, the storm calmed, and the Hunter stared up at the moon. In one hand he held his knife and in the other he grasped pieces of torn fabric, each with their own emblem, from the cloaks of his family. From the stream of blood running down both hands and arms the guards knew the Hunter was dying. His last words were "We are the Fault's of Fenrir, bringers of war and our father was misfortune. Know that we did our damned best to avenge everything that was lost, and that no moral chain held us back. We killed Gods, and we smiled." - Bill the Cabal [b][u]The Crisis in Lagash[/u][/b] [url]http://www.bungie.net/en/Forum/Post/68602680/0/0[/url] <-- Full Story On Venus, In the ancient city of Lagash, increased Vex activity had caught the attention of the Vanguard. A gate had opened in the city center and something huge had come through. Four raiding parties had been sent to shut down the gate and had gone missing. Two hunters, Ashur and Marduk, responded to the threat. Mad with power, a twisted machine-god sought to enslave all of creation. Trapped in the ruined city without their ghosts, the Twin hunters battled for their survival against endless waves of Vex. On that day Lagash was lost forever, but the threat to mankind had been quelled. The armor they wore into battle tattered and ruined, Ashur and Marduk sought out parts to create a new functional set of armor for the battles that lie ahead. [b]Phalcon-Skism MPC[/b] [i]"...For he is not of this day."[/i] Ashur, having a flair for the dramatic, gathered the remnants of Vex Goblins and Harpies scattered across the battlefield to repair his armor. His ghost, Enuma, scanned each piece to ensure its integration into the armor wouldn't be problematic but, beyond a few cryptic data strings hard-coded in the robotic remains, didn't find anything that a routine data wipe wouldn't fix. [b] Shinarian King [/b] [i]"A single guardian is worth a hundred dark-spawned gods."[/i] Marduk, who enjoyed taking a more subtle approach when gathering trophies from his battles, searched for hours meticulously collecting just the right pieces of scraps from the core of the twisted machine-god - not too sharp but not too smooth, not too big but not too small either. Not one to be seen in the tower without a stunning cloak, he gathered the golden cloth that had once enrobed the metal abomination, reduced to scraps of cloth flapping in the wind, and stitched together a regal cape. - TwentySidedDeath The Crisis in Lagash is part of a longer story that TwentySidedDeath has developed. He might post the entire thing if you guys ask him nicely :D [url]http://sewnarain.tumblr.com/[/url] [u]https://www.facebook.com/pages/Art-of-Kyle-Sewnarain/694889540585384[/u] (I just made this so that those that don't have tumblr can follow me. I will update it tonight with more art~)