One time I preordered this game made my my favourite game company, but it just turned out to be a money grab.

I wanted to be a tiger man, but I could only choose awoken, human or exo.

Phogoth was having a tantrum. Despite his immense size he was only very young and this was part of the problem. Being young and dangerously massive was a drawback in the Hellmouth, also not a great name for a nurturing environment. Aside from the constant banging of one's head upon ceilings made of moon-rock all of the doors were far too small to allow a curious young ogre the opportunity for exploration. If it wasn't brought to him he could never have it, whatever the "it" in question was. Food, toys for a growing tyke or company. It all had to find its way into his chamber. It often didn't. Even with wizards flying through with their magical litanies that soothed his mood it was a lonely and confining existence. One day however there was a light. Very very small by comparison to the ogre's massive bulk and that made it special because it didn't move, didn't shy away. It blinked a few times as if studying the giant frame of the lumbering child and then it did something magical. Even for a creature that had grown up surrounded by wizards this was something new and unseen in the dark, hewn rock chamber of his birth. The little light opened and a dazzling display of colours and beams of such intensity filled the chamber seeming to make the tiny sprite even bigger than Phogoth if only for a few seconds. Then, in an instant, the light that filled every corner of the room snapped off. Stunned by the brightness and enraptured by the colours he had never before seen Phogoth was even more surprised by the sudden return to darkness. Temporarily blinded he swung his massive arms searching desperately for his new toy. As the glare disappeared and Phogoth could study the confines of his chamber again it was apparent the light had gone. Roaring in disappointment Phogoth flew into a rage at the unfairness that would bring and then immediately take away his one light in the darkness. Days went by, and deep below the surface of the moon they went by slowly. Phogoth did not improve his demeanour. The once calming songs of the wizards no longer had any effect. The ground shook with his stamping and Phogoth could stamp with the best of them. His massive arms swung to and fro smashing anything, and indeed anyone, that he was close to. Phogoth was inconsolable in his misery and rage... Eventually the wizards hefted massive chains into the chamber binding Phogoth to keep him from bringing the chamber roof down upon himself. This seemed to heighten the tantrum of tantrums but now Phogoth could only roar in his dismay. Even more days passed and no-one had even looked through the door as the tantrum became a sulk. Occasional sniffings and sobbing from the massive child still shook the room but it was definitely quieter on the moon. Quiet enough that Phogoth could hear the scuffling from the corner door that visitors and wizards had arrived through when bringing their gifts and songs. Turning towards it Phogoth saw three strangely garbed figures stepping into the room. Unlike anyone he had seen before Phogoth let out a shriek of joy. Something else new someone else to play with! As he turned towards these figures in excitement he roared even louder with happines as one held out its hand and there above it shone the little light. They had come to return his toy! Hadn't they?

There once was a fearful Dreg... In it's time under the command of a Rain Kell, Gauria, the Dreg found a love interest. His allies had mocked him about it. He didn't mind it at all. Besides, why is it shameful for a Dreg to think about a Captain? She was fearless. Strong. Independent. And courageous. Everything about her made the Dreg think that she was a perfect woman. And so, the Dreg aspired to become stronger, better, and greater. In a long stretch of time, this Dreg had become a Vandal, and had been reassigned to the squadron of his love interest. However, long before this, the Dreg knew that she had coveted success much more than she had even given any thought about love, and had to impress through battle, and hardship. Later on, she had assigned him on a mission. Alone. There was a Fallen traitor that needed to be dealt with. Severely. Out of heart, he accepted this mission, unaware of what this traitor had been capable of, and she did not tell him who the traitor had been associated with. When he arrived to the traitor's only known whereabouts, the Dreg was ambushed, subdued, and knocked unconscious. When the Dreg woke up, all of his arms were tied down to a table he had been laying on. "Welcome back, friend... "Been waiting for you to wake up." It was the Traitor. He was holding a saw. "You know, I've always wondered what another brother's insides looked like. I really, really want to find out. Are you ready?" Soon enough, the Dreg was in pain... Unbearable pain. His lower left arm had been severed and was lying next to him. The Traitor held it up for him to see. "It was very rude of them to underestimate me. I mean, sending a lone Vandal after me? I am taking that very personally, you know. It hurts very much. But not as much as this." As the Traitor had began 'working' on the Dreg's lower right arm now. The Dreg was in so much pain, it had fueled him. With his upper arms, he used all the strength he had and pulled, yanked, and did everything he could to free himself. Alas, he could only free his upper left arm. The Traitor was too amused in taking away his arms that he didn't notice that he was nearly free. The Dreg had done some thinking and knew that he didn't have the maneuverability to take on the Traitor with him upper right arm still tied. The Traitor had to cut off his right arm next, or he would be finished... And as fate would have it, the Traitor began to work on the Dreg's upper right arm. As the pain and shock had grown, so did the Dreg's rage. When he knew he was free from his right arm, he had lunged at the Traitor with such ferocity, that the Traitor couldn't stop him, even with the number of arms taken away from him. The Dreg stuffed the stump of his lower right arm and drowned the Traitor in the Ether the Dreg had been pouring out of it. The Traitor lost grip of his saw. And that was his fatal mistake. The Dreg took hold of the saw and drove it deep into the Traitor's side. The Traitor had been drowning in so much Ether that he couldn't react. When the Traitor was barely conscious, the Dreg took the Saw and mutilated the Traitor. All of his arms and legs, even his head... Disembodied. When the Dreg had tired from this rage, he stumbled out and through the door... Making his way home. But when he arrived to his Ketch, to report to his Captain, it had been reduced to nothing. The Traitor... He wasn't a traitor for killing... He was a traitor because he had deserted the House of Rain. For the Wolves. When the Dreg ran to his captain, which he found lying beside a tall rock... She had been fatally wounded... Nothing could save her. Yet she had enough to strength to call out to him. And she spoke unto him~ "You look like shit... Damn... Did you get him?" "Yes..." "Nice..." ... "Captain?..." "C-...can... You make me a promise?" "Yes." "Rain has been wiped out. Except for you... Take this... It's my pistol. Keep it with you forever, so that Rain lives on forever." "Yes... Captain." [spoiler]This is the story of a Vandal and his torment This is the story of a Dreg, and his promise.[/spoiler]

I was abused at my job all day and night. People hated me at no fault of my own. One day Bungie (my employer) decided I wasn't worth the trouble; I got fired and I am now homeless and sick.

Trigger warning. Do not read if you have experienced suicidal thoughts or attempted suicide. It's not so much sad, but it's like 3 in the morning when I stumbled on your thread, so my brain is all out of ideas. Forgive my many grammar mistakes. [spoiler]The Hunter wanted to be a Warlock. Why? Because Warlocks could do great things and he wished to experience some of that greatness. But, alas, he couldn't because he was a Hunter and can't be anything else. Everyone, Warlock, Hunter and Titans alike belittled the Guardian for wanting to change who he was. Warlocks laughed at his desperation. Hunter shamed him for betraying them. Titans sort of felt bad from him, but not enough to stop their mocking. The Hunter now had something to prove: that everyone was wrong and said he'll be a Warlock, and that nothing would stop him. He was not bound by Nature's Laws. If Hunter's could touch the Void, copy a War mind's technology and make it their own and turn the sun into bullets, why couldn't he self revive or control lightning? After months of studying the Warlock's Space Magic, the Hunter knew he had nothing substantial to help him on his quest. There was no viable way for him to become a Warlock, but he was not going to be stopped. The Hunter told his ghost he was going to attempt to self res and not to revive him. He thought maybe, just maybe, if he used his Gunslinger as a catalyst of some kind, he could redirect that power into life energy. It was a long shot. He knew that. The Hunter activated his Super and placed the barrel to his temple and with a hopeful smile he pulled the trigger. That was a year ago. His ghost is still waiting for him to come back.[/spoiler]

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