[url=https://www.bungie.net/en/Forum/Post/246624086/0/0]Table of Contents[/url] [i]Several planks of wood were propped against the side of a house at the edge of town, forming a makeshift shelter. A small boy peered out from the hiding place, attempting to stay hidden. He rubbed his arm against the wall when it started to itch, scratching through the layer of dirt on his skin. Six people stood a few meters away, all wearing armor. They were talking amongst each other, but he paid no attention to their words. His eyes were fixed on the Sparrow behind them. The armored person with the black cape had arrived on it, and the other five had come out to meet her. One of them removed his helmet, revealing the face of a man the boy recognized. Lord Rotan. The boy began to shake with nervous energy. Though the sensation was mostly stemmed from fear of slighting the ruler of his home, there was also glee at the thought of the act. He slowly slid out from the shadows, slinking carefully down the length of the building. At the corner he stopped, making sure no one had seen him. There was only open ground around the Sparrow. The boy waited until the group began to move down the road, towards Blackbush’s town hall. As they walked away, he tiptoed around their field of view. When he was close, he dashed to the vehicle and dived onto it. He hoisted himself up, straddling the seat and reaching for the handle bars. Only then did he notice that his feet didn’t reach the pedals. But he didn’t have time to find a solution, and he yelped as someone grabbed the back of his shirt. He was effortlessly torn away from the Sparrow and lifted into the air, kicking and screaming. His arms flailed in a desperate attempt to batter his captor, and he scrunched his eyes shut as his small fists bounced off of the metal chest plate. “That is not yours to steal,” a feminine voice scolded, metallic and emotionless. The boy’s eyelids opened just enough for him to see the helmet of the caped individual. “I believe an apology is in order,” she demanded sternly, adjusting her grip so that his dangling body was facing her. His struggling had no effect, and he quickly fell into despair as his movements grew tired. “I’ll take care o’ that little rat,” a man offered, and the boy looked to see one of the gunmen stepping closer. “That won’t be necessary,” his captor stated, keeping her gaze on her prisoner. “It’s no bother, m’Lady,” the gunman insisted, procuring a knife. The boy’s eyes widened in horror as the blade was thrust at his face. The caped woman smacked the dagger aside before it could pierce the boy. He tried squirming again, his efforts renewed by terror, and gasped when he was released. He fell on his face and a boot was planted firmly on his shoulder, painfully pinning him. “What do you think you’re doin’?” Someone asked, and the boy twisted his head to see Rotan. It seemed that the Warlord was addressing his captor. Dread washed over the boy at the sight of the tyrant. “I thought I left this sector in more respectful hands,” she chided as she casually shoved the knife-wielding guard away, and the boy cried out as she dug her heel into his back, “A child tries to rob me, then one of your men tries to gut the thief in my hands.” “It’s my town,” Rotan growled, “I’ll deal with my own thieves.” “He tried stealing from me,” she repeated, “I’ll do what I see fit.” “I’m in charge here,” Rotan snarled, getting angrier by the second. “And who put you in charge?” The caped one reminded icily. Rotan’s face went red with fury as he glared at her, but he didn’t argue further. “I’m sorry to cut my visit short,” she apologized without a hint of sincerity, “But I believe we’ve already finished our discussion. Malta has taken Elton. If you want to keep her from pushing forward, I suggest you do something about it. “But you won’t help me?” Rotan questioned, “Then what’s the point of comin’ to tell me at all? Still too scared to fight your own fights?” “Something like that.” “So who are your spies?” Rotan baited, “You can’t just stay up to date rottin’ in Hilton. Where’s Vladston?” “Keep out of my business, Rotan.” Rotan smiled, “Or you’ll have someone kill me for you, right?” “If I’m in a good mood.” Rotan gave up on the pestering and sighed, “Then what about the north? You won’t help me take Coal an’ that pathetic town in the pines?” “I have more important things to do.” “What, like building that wall around Hilton?” Rotan taunted, “Seems like overkill to me.” She didn’t respond. Instead, she removed her boot from the boy’s back. He let out a shaky breath at the alleviation, but was grabbed and planted on the seat of the Sparrow. He attacked his captor as she mounted the vehicle behind him, but was stopped with a swift punch to the stomach. Rotan and his guards were already walking away, and she leaned over the boy’s shoulder. “I just saved your life,” she hissed in his ear. The boy wanted to curse the woman, but was too busy catching his breath to react, so she continued, “And you wanted to leave Blackbush, didn’t you?” The boy couldn’t help but nod. That had been his dream for years. “Do you have a family?” She questioned. Fresh air finally returned to the boy’s lungs as he shook his head. It was a lie. He had his father, but that man was no family to him. “Good,” the woman said after a moment, “You belong to me now. You will do what I say.” She looked him over, making sure he was securely between her and the handlebars, “I am Lady Avery. You will address me as ma’am or my Lady.” The boy was still sucking in air, and she pressed impatiently, “Understood?” “Yes ma’am,” the child squeaked. The Sparrow roared to life and lurched forward, kicking up dust and taking them out of town. They passed over the grassy field surrounding the town, and the boy felt overwhelming relief as the crumbling homes he’d seen all his life disappeared behind them. He watched the ground rush by beneath them for a long time, until they were so far that the black bushes that grew in the area no longer sprouted from the earth. “What’s your name?” His rescuer asked over the sound of the engine. The boy was too happy to remember his loathing of the woman, and he looked up at her helmeted face with a smile, “Brenon Springcliff.”[/i]