Thriving Survivor Suit
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| Thriving Survivor Suit | |
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Thriving Survivor Suit is a Legendary Armor set introduced in Renegades. It can be acquired from the Lawless Frontier.
Set Bonus[edit]
- Opening Act: Final blows with grenades grant Heat weapons bonus stability and vent speed and grant Primary ammo weapons bonus stability and reload speed.
- Room Clearing: Multiple final blows with Heat weapons or Primary ammo weapons grant bonuses to weapon and grenade stats and increased ammo generation for Heat weapons and Primary ammo weapons.
Thriving Survivor Cowl/Helm/Cover[edit]
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- "Keep the grit out of your eyes when you're chasing the sun."
.if it isn't | my fav|orite | metabolic convert|er. .questions | burning you up? .flare's | fair.
.vi's | rebellion. .big bad dredgen | mister mommy issues. .of course i | knew. .we all have | our secrets | but it's hard to hide | the grav|ity of a decision | that mass|ive.
.your deaths | your lives | are all the same. .if you're going | to take umbr|age | at least | make it fun|ny.
.you think | you're eternal | fated Weapon?
.you think | you people | are special?
.when your ances|tors crawled | in the mud | i was already anc|ient. .my chrono|logy spans | more years | than there are c|arbon atoms | in your city. .i knew my end|ing | the moment | time hit play. .i burn everything | i embrace my cognata | i expand my ambit | and i extinguish.
.boring! .dis|a|ppoint|ing! .boos | tomatoes | half-star rat|ings! .if you | were me | you'd want to have so|me fun before then | too.
.but you are|n't me. .nobody | is.
.none | are my | equal. .can you i|magine | how dull | that is? .but when we ni|ne are divided | scotoma occlude | the futures we | knew.
.now we're | on air | and there's a sch|ism in the crew | a mut|iny between cognata. .nothing is cer|tain | any more. .all the old | tired scripts | up for re|writes. .new director | new sets | new actors. .sen|sation|al.
.that incl|udes you | babe. .smile for the view|ers at home.
Thriving Survivor Grips/Gauntlets/Gloves[edit]
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- "Trust only the strength of your own arm."
Nazaire slips on rain-slick grass, and his pursuer leaps on him. His right arm goes numb as fishbone-thorns open a gash from wrist to shoulder. The Hive Acolyte grabs him by the throat.
He wasn't supposed to be here. But the Tower forbids the knowledge he seeks, and the City dares not defy them. So he went into the wild looking for answers, and now he is going to die.
Even as his vision darkens, survival instinct drives him to fight. He fumbles for his Sidearm with his good hand and fires wildly. Bone chips and blood spray across his hands, his face, until the Acolyte's laughter gurgles and dies.
He lies on his back, gasping, blinking salty rain from his eyes. Hysteria bubbles in his chest. He wants to go home.
A sudden scintillation. A Ghost appears over the dead Acolyte. It is more monstrous than any other, even the one that took his mother from him, because it bears Hive livery.
He seizes it out of the air. "You," he wheezes, his voice a ruin, "you were—supposed—to protect us."
It has no rebuttal, because it is a Ghost. And like every Ghost, it is not a protector. It is a liar and a thief, a wretched viper, and it wants to take everything from him, just like its kin.
He digs his thumbs into its eye. It thrashes and screams. He squeezes harder, and harder, until something gives way, a nauseating squelch followed by a thrill of sick satisfaction.
It is the first Ghost he kills. Drenched in icy rain, smeared with gore and mud, he clips the Ghost's shell to his belt and vows: it will not be the last.
Thriving Survivor Vest/Plate/Robe[edit]
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- "There's no shame in wounds, so long as you walk away and they don't."
Lodi's been lying in bed saying his family's names, hoping they'll help him rest.
When he last slept, it was for 14 hours, dragged behind the tail of a comet, colder than a wet perch. Last week, he straddled the Byzantine Adrianople and a Yakima parking lot—one foot in each. He missed a full day.
Eventually the world goes heavy and woolen, and a blanket of sleep smothers Lodi's fitful mind. When he opens his eyes it takes him a moment of confusion to realize there are now four of them.
He panics and bolts into the dark on all fours, all sixes, his many clawed paws ignoring the pull of gravity.
Language is gone. It is molten lava—it is a stretch of sandstone and the screech of apes and the hiss of natural gas. He opens both sets of jaws and cries whale song in search of meaning. He is alive, but he is wrong—he is Canidae Equidae Mantodea Acroporidae, the heaving shadow of every living creature. He's supposed to be somewhere else.
home
i need to go home
Lodi startles awake. He feels for each of his limbs, the planes of his own face, and gasps for air. A monster is trying to talk to him.
His unease is deepened as he realizes he has turned the bed to platinum in his nightmare. He coaxes metal back to linen, and even in the privacy of his new flat, he feels inhuman. Unnatural in every way.
Wary and alone, Lodi returns to broken sleep.
Thriving Survivor Strides/Greaves/Boots[edit]
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- "You can run from the past, but it always seems to catch up anyways."
[There are two paths. On one lies safety. The other, deep-grieved and needless death.]
one + dredgen hope + accepts + shatters his animus
[The system is at peace. A city under a paracausal sky rests, hollow and still, its towers in disuse. The people are placated, cared for, without want—ruled by a king called Dredgen Hope and his Imperium, who brokered peace. It is a city without Lights: they are buried and named on every street, a cost of peace. One of the streets reads: Weapon. The city has no queen; she would not stand beside a Dredgen. The king lives in hate. Of himself, of his crown, the power it bestows, and the ochre god who gave it to him. That god, now bound to a compliant tool, is thus allowed to step into the paracausal sky, free.]
two + dredgen hope + refuses + embraces his fate
[The system in upheaval. War in heaven. Hope begs, in regret, for small mercies, knowing he chose this. A paracausal death. Many doors open.]
brother in rings + gambits for himself + but still there is hope + for all + of us
Thriving Survivor Cloak/Mark/Bond[edit]
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- "When none have come before you, you will forge your own path."
Ikora sets down the takeout and watches Lodi read.
They've been in this study for weeks now, desperately trying to decipher the prophecy. He taps the side of a datapad and the sound turns metallic as his fingertip flickers an experimental gold. Lodi's sleeves are rolled up, light catching on his forearm, if she looks carefully, she can make out something—a tattoo? Absurd. She's captivated.
"This isn't right, Ikora. We can't hide the truth." He shakes his head. "Commander Zavala is making the wrong call."
She still hears Zavala's insistence. "I know."
They share a moment of mutual acknowledgment. Both are fundamentally incapable of disobeying a superior.
"Have you told him…"
About her future title.
"Not yet." Ikora isn't sure how.
"I'm not ambassador of… anything… yet either," he says with a dry shrug. "Guess we have yet to earn our promotions."
"Lodi… is the future guaranteed?"
He blinks, and stares into the middle-distance. Deep oak eye briefly flickering to burning blue. "You picked up pupusas for dinner," he prophesizes between sips of coffee.
Ikora sighs, opens the bag, reveals his prize as she says, "I still don't believe you that cactus is edible but at least my death wouldn't be permanent."
Lodi barks a laugh in surprise. Ikora's face becomes a question.
"I didn't See you saying that!" He explains with a grin.
"You didn't?"
"No, I Saw you glare at me and start eating." His smile reaches his eyes, "The future happens. But the important parts aren't guaranteed."
Ikora catalogues a discovery with warm surprise — her joke was the important part.
Appearance[edit]
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