Greetings, Guardians, and here's part nineteen of Doom of the Dragons! Here's [url=https://www.bungie.net/en/Forums/Post/240824332?sort=0&page=0]part eighteen[/url] if you missed it. As usual if you like it, give it a bump, and I'll get more out soon! Stay classy, Guardians! Later that night, the Guardians found themselves standing in the largest building in the City. It’s first floor was simply a massive hall, with a table set atop a stage on the end opposite the main entrance. Magnus, Yvette, and a few other men and women whom Marcella took to be the village leaders sat at the table, facing the audience of villagers before them. The Guardians stood to the side of the stage. The villagers in the audience mumbled incessantly. Marcella was unable to focus on any individual conversation, but she understood that the mood was one of cautions optimism. Most of the villagers wanted to trust the Guardians, but they were skeptical. And not without good reason, I suppose, Marcella thought. Finally, Magnus cleared his throat, and the crowd went silent. Magnus stared at the men and women before him. “We are here today,” he said, “to address the subject of these Guardians.” He gestured to Marcella, Kim, and Cupun. “Some of you, no doubt, have your suspicions. I did too. But then, I watched one of them - this woman here -“ he gestured to Marcella - “walk off a gunshot to the head as though it were nothing. I asked if she would demonstrate such a feat to you, but she assures me that getting shot is indeed quite painful, and she would rather not do it any more than necessary.” The audience chuckled at his remarks, and Marcella smiled. Magnus knew how to work a crowd. She could see why the people had chosen him as a leader. “So. These Guardians are real. Trust my testimony, if nothing else.” Magnus surveyed the crowd. “However. They come to us with a proposal. One which I would reject outright, if it came from any other source.” The villagers glanced at one another, and began murmuring amongst themselves again. Magnus looked at Marcella with his piercing blue eyes. “I leave it to you to make your case,” he said. Marcella nodded, and walked in front of the table. She looked out at the audience before her. She saw a number of different emotions on the crowd before her. Some of them regarded her with a look akin to anger that she suspected was more born out of skepticism than anything else. Some looked at her with wonder, while still others kept their faces blank. But they all had one thing in common. They all looked to her to hear what she had to say. Marcella took a deep breath, and began. “You’ve probably heard a lot of stories about people like me,” she said. “I don’t know what exactly they are, but you can probably assume that most of them are true.” The crowd began murmuring again. “I come from the Last City,” she said, “where the Traveler’s Light still stands strong. Our walls are built to withstand Fallen attacks, and its parapets are manned by a thousand more like me.” She looked to her left. “Ghost?” The little orb appeared next to her, much to the astonishment of the crowd. “Yes?” he said. “Show them,” she replied. “On it, boss,” Ghost said. He projected an hologram of the Last City - Traveler and all - onto the floor. It had the intended effect. The crowd shouted, and many of them stood up, staring in astonishment at the hologram. Marcella smiled. Suddenly, someone behind her cleared their throat. “Ahem.” The huntress turned around, and saw Yvette, standing at the table. “You have technology from the Golden Age,” she said. “We know this. But I do not think that you came here simply to show us this. Reveal your true purpose and be done with it.” Marcella blinked, but nodded. “As you wish,” she said. She turned back to the crowd. “What I am about to ask of you is not easy,” she said. “But you will be better off if you do it.” She looked to the crowd. “I ask you to leave this village, and journey with me to the City.” If she’d thought the reaction to the hologram was strong, she was completely unprepared for the reaction to that statement. The crowd roared, and people began shouting - both at her and at one another. Marcella turned back to the table, and looked at Magnus pleadingly. Magnus sighed, and held up a fist. The crowd instantly quieted. “Thank you for your speech, Marcella,” he said. “Now, I -“ “How dare you.” Yvette stood up. “How dare you ask this of us!” “Yvette -“ Magnus began. Yvette turned to the crowd. “This is our home!” she shouted. “It has taken generations for us to build it. And they would have us leave it on a whim?” The woman’s eyes were ablaze. “My husband is buried here! My son is buried here!” “So is my father and grandfather,” Magnus sighed. “This a weighty issue for all of us, Yvette.” “That you would even consider it shows that you do not understand how ‘weighty’ this decision is,” growled Yvette. Magnus’s eyes flashed with anger. Yvette had evidently hit a sore spot. He slammed his hands down, and stood up. “Screw this,” a voice suddenly said. Marcella turned around, and saw that Cupun was walking out of the building. Marcella ran up to him. If they wanted to convince the villagers to leave, they had to show that they were willing to hear what they had to say. She grabbed his shoulder. “Cupun!” she shouted. The titan turned towards her. His black hair was tangled and awry, and his eyes flashed with anger. “What?” he growled with such malice that she actually took a step back. However, she quickly regained her wits. “We have to stay for this whole meeting!” she said. “Why?” Cupun asked. “They’ve already made their choice.” He looked around the room with disgust. “Look at them. You can see it in their eyes.” Marcella looked around the room. Not one of the villagers would look her in the eyes. They all avoided her gaze like their lives depended on it. “These people are dead,” Cupun said. He looked around one more time. “Either the bandits will get lucky, the Fallen will finally grow some balls and march on this place, or some other threat that we’re not even aware of will wipe them off the damn map. They want to stay here and die, that’s their business. Not mine.” And with that, he stormed through the audience, and pushed open the double doors leading to the main hall, slamming them behind him.” Marcella froze. She’d never seen Cupun like this. Never. And this time, he’d been set off by nothing more than a speech. Not for the first time, she wondered just how much of the old Cupun was still in there. Suddenly, one of the other council members shook his head. “Sit down, Magnus,” he said. He was an older man, with a growing bald spot on his head, and curly white hair that puffed out in every direction. He had a long beard that reached down to the middle of his chest. Magnus looked at the man, and, after a long moment, eased back into his chair. The man looked at Yvette. “Magnus is right,” he said. “This is a weighty issue for us all. So weighty, in fact, that I think it is too important to be decided by a couple of dotards sitting at a table.” He looked around. “I propose that this issue be decided by each individual man and woman. That they be given the opportunity to decide their own destiny.” He shook his head. “I am an old man. My bones are weary. I was born here, and am content to die here. But, before you make your decision, consider this; are you prepared to make that decision for your children, and your children’s children? Are you prepared to force them to grow up here, away from this City? Under constant threat of death by fallen or bandits?” He shook his head. “It is a difficult life, but it is the one we have lead. Perhaps, we should now try to lead another.” Magnus licked his lips. “We are hardly dotards, Tychus,” he said, “but your point stands.” He looked at the other members of the council. “All in favor of letting each family decide this for themselves?” All the men and women at the table raised one hand in the air. Even Yvette reluctantly raised hers a moment later. “Then it’s settled,” Magnus said. He turned to Marcella. “I trust you have the ability to transport any who wish to come with you?” “That we do,” Marcella said. “The FOTC can have ships here in a matter of hours.” “I’ll hold you to your word,” Magnus said. He looked around the audience. “Any who wish to leave - make your decision in twenty-four hours. No more. No less.” [url=https://www.bungie.net/en/Groups/Post?groupId=1371758&postId=241412317&sort=0&page=0]Part Twenty: At The Twilight's Last Gleaming[/url]