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Destiny 2

Destiny 2 について話し合おう
Brosef Stalinにより編集済み: 11/19/2019 12:01:19 AM
20

Writs of Winter, Ch 0: Discovery

(So...hi! Some of you may have seen me before on Shadow’s posts, messing around! I’ve decided to take a crack at my own lore story, since most of Shadowkeep has calmed down. Needless to say, if you don’t like it, that’s totally okay. The first page or so is just an introduction, so it’s less story, more description, and it’s REALLY meaty. So just a fair warning. If you want to skip over it, that’s fine. I’m not judging you. ANYWAYS, on to the story!) On a sprawling mountain range, far from the politics of the city fueled by distrust, from the war on the Dreaming city fueled by fatal illusions, and from the terrors rising from the moon fueled by our own dark fears, lies an ancient pre-Golden Age tank, its fuel long burnt out. Large snowdrifts blanket the mountainside, nearly obscuring the entirety of the vehicle, and leaving little more than the turret, now rusted and dull, visible from afar. The barrel still remains, with soot and ash caked on the inside leaving the barrel blackened, as if used as a makeshift chimney. The hatch is also intact, swung open on its decaying hinges. A lone guardian stands feet away from the open entrance. A hunter, based on the cloak which floats lazily in the wind, a large bird dominating most of the details on it. Frost is caked on their helmet as the snow swirls around them, almost as if an invitation to enter. They lower their hand to their hip, taking a revolver with the Dead Orbit insignia from a heavily modified holster, and makes their way to the ancient, awaiting maw. They step closer, now mere inches away, and peers over the lip of the open hatch. It leads to...a cave? The bottom of the tank has been cut away, creating a makeshift entranceway, with locks and all, to a stone encampment in the mountainside. In fact, most of the tank has been stripped away. The controls have been left bare, only empty holes where the wires, lights, and switches once were fastened, and the internals of the cannon have been entirely removed, a rusted pipe in its place, now fastened to the inside of the barrel. This fuels their curiosity, and the hunter leaps down, luckily not getting cut by any of the sharp, angled edges where cuts were once made. They fall for a good ten feet, before meeting the cold stone floor below. In front of them lies a dark, shadowy hall, leading a short ways in before halting. Not much can be discerned, uncertain shapes of a table and overturned chairs lying in the dark. Their ghost sparks into existence above their shoulder, matching with the hunter’s colors, mixes of whites and reds to proudly show their crucible glory. The small companion releases a broad cone of light, illuminating the room. A small home has been constructed inside these walls, the familiar architecture of the Eliksni clearly showing in places such as the light fixture overhead, the front of a servitor bolted to the ceiling with wires digging into the back, leading down to an almost pre-historic gas generator, by city age terms. An old weapons forge lies to their left, the pipe connected to the tank barrel leading down to the side of it and hooking into a sealed metal box on the underside of the forge. On the main table lies parts of what could be a rifle; a set of barrels, a trigger, what could be the safety, but no firing mechanism. Beyond that lie half decayed wood cabinets, only preserved by the biting cold, as well as a similarly fashioned table and chairs, half of them turned over, for one reason or another. Old, frozen blood can be seen spattered on the floor, as well as unspent ammunition casings. Abandonment is clear, with light frost and dust making a thin film over everything. The hunter grips his cannon tighter, his broad shoulders accentuated by the light of his ghost, and takes a few steps farther into the cave. To his right, a small opening in the cave leads to a side hall. He levels the barrel and turns down to face it, with nothing but his own footsteps to hear. The side portion is revealed to be a bedroom of sorts, with a dilapidated wireframe bed pushed up against the uneven wall, the mattress tattered and torn in several places. Beside it lies a crude, but workable nightstand made from twisted metal, a simple oil lantern laying on it, long snuffed out. More blood spatters line the floor and the bed, looking as if whatever it came from dragged its way in, leading to a small leatherbound journal at the foot of the bed, still open on a page. The hunter steps forward to inspect the journal, his helmet tilted to the side in a show of curiosity and mild confusion. “Now what are you?....” He questions to no one in particular, as it’s clear to him that whoever used to live here has long gone. He gingerly takes hold of the book, holding it up to the light as he inspects the page. Half-legible, faded words are scrawled on the page, only moving down two lines. [i]Got blindsided. Got me good, wounds hurt like hell. I’m settling the score.[/i] Nothing more lies on the page, beyond long dried blood drops. The hunter tucks the journal away in his vest, keeping his revolver in hand, and makes his way out of the small, frozen outpost. “Definitely gonna look into this.”

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