As he walked, the green clashing violently with the red of the debris he brought with his gait, the Titan would be greeted with the familiar timid staccato crackle of the old Khvostov. Usually, that meant one thing. Newly resurrected Guardians. As his path took him closer, he would see a warlock with a newly fabricated set of standard 'Born Spark' robes and helm. His starkly white ghost hovered by his ear, playing back some sort of advice for his aim as the Warlock fired at a series of targets created by his ghost, faintly humanoid in size and shape. [i]A little lower.[/i] "Sure." After this helpful tidbit, his gun would jam as he fired the next burst. The Warlock began to fiddle with his rifle, looking it over and attempting to fix it in that wonderously and infuriatingly patient and methodical way that all of these warrior-scholars seem to take upon attempting something