{{
`${userDetail.user.displayName}${userDetail.user.cachedBungieGlobalDisplayNameCode ? `#${standardizeBungieGlobalCode(userDetail.user.cachedBungieGlobalDisplayNameCode)}` : ""}`}}
{{getUserClans()}}
originally posted in:The New Dojo
1/28/2018 1:13:21 PM
1
The door to the shop chimed open, the little golden bell shattering the stillness of the late night.
A man in dirtied blue robes stepped inside. The gentle clink of buckles and armor accompanied each step.
As he approached the center of the room he turned his gaze to the corner the woman sat in.
That corner was the best position to tactically be in. But while the woman looked toned and well-built, the air surrounding her was that of dread. A lifeless stare and slumped frame said it all.
He had been through more than one existential crisis in his life, born of horrors many had been released from by death.
But it pained the man to see a warrior brought to a broken shell. Strength gave one confidence to strike out against the world. If that confidence failed...
He started towards her table and drug a chair from its home near the middle of the room to her table.
He spun it around and crashed down upon it, directly across from her.
“You look like hell had a remodeling done.”
His voice was sturdy and straightforward yet not without humor. He leaned in towards the table and spoke quietly.
“If you mope around like this, it’ll dishearten the new kids. Veterans are supposed to be the strong ones”
English
-
"That's the thing. I don't want to be a veteran anymore. Just look around at the so called heroes here and tell me that they're all good people." She said tiredly. "I never asked for this. I never wanted this. All of my life I just wanted a family. But I can't really have that, either." She laughed sourly. The fur on her body, once something she was proud of, and cleaned regularly, now seemed mangy and matted. "I don't give a damn about the new kids, I just want out."
-
“Very few of us ever did this by choice, and not everyone who took up the mantle of being a warrior was a good person. Some never were, others lost their faith in the fooling generations abilities, and even more simply lost their minds” The man fished into his collar and pulled out a small steel amulet. It was ancient and corroded, but the shape of a Celtic cross still let itself be known. “I can’t promise that every single one of the kids is a good person. But I can promise there are good ones. And strong ones. People who can accomplish things we never could, and instead sealed them away in fear or worse, ran in pure terror” The man spun the amulet around his fingers and then took it up in a white- knuckled grip. “You think you’re the only one who wanted a simple life? A peaceful one? One without hate, war, and loss? Such a life doesn’t exist. We became who we are because there was no one else. We are the few who were sacrificed. Stripped of our homes, family, friends, and even our humanity.”
-
"Sorry I said anything" She said with a short sigh. She cupped her cup in her hands as she took a sip from her coffee. "And the new guys tried to kill me when someone put a bounty on my head. So none of them are good in my book" Something was up, because his short little speech wasn't what she wanted to hear.
-
“A bounty?” The man sized her up, judging by current attitude and posture, there was no reason for him to think that she was exceedingly violent or deranged. Just depressed. “Why would someone put a bounty on you?”
-
".....A mistake I have stood by most of my life." She sighed. Then she didn't meet his eyes, seeming skittish. "I became the scapegoat for a witchhunt, and......I'm now hated everywhere. That's where it started...I suppose. What's your name?"
-
“Stian MacLeod. I’m a warlock.” Stian stopped abruptly and impatiently tapped his finger. He looked to be concentrating. “If I could ask your name as well. And what you were a scapegoat for? You mentioned witchcraft but even that shouldn’t create a huge uproar”
