W E A R E T H E N I N E

I’ve been thinking for a long time. I’ve been around for ages - killed more things than I can even count.  What does it mean to be a Risen, Guardian, Child of the Light when all you do is kill? When everyone you know is going to die one day, and it’ll be your fault? Including yourself. We contribute to the Sword Logic even without trying, and at this rate, maybe it’s for the best.

Be the fire, or turn to ash.

When your Broodmother invades Coachella.  When Omnigul dies and you never got to hear her in concert. When the Guardians awaken the Hive and you haven’t even finished your makeup yet. 

Drifter has a favourite Guardian. He doesn't show it in any fancy fashion, but he makes due.

Chapter 1 of 1

She came down the stairs of the alley with enough motes to power the City for a week. She’d had better - and sure as hell had worse - but the haul today will keep Drifter satisfied, if not wanting for more.

He’s already surrounded by a few Guardians when she meets his lightless eyes at the entryway. They warp out in their own time when they’ve traded off their bounties for glimmer and gear, leaving the two alone. The hum of the Bank behind him is the only sound for a good minute.

“Good huntin’ today!” He threw his arms wide, and a jade coin rested between his fingers. “Got all the motes a man could ever dream of.”