Lore:Ghost Stories

Line 344:

—[[Tam]], a Ghost recounting his Guardian's resurrection

==Struck by Wonder==

I look upon them, and I am struck by wonder.

All they do. All they endure.

Not a single one asked for this life—this second chance. And when they woke—when the Light hit their eyes in that first instance upon their return—they were welcomed into a broken world.

Yet…

They stand. Time and again. Against odds insurmountable. In defiance of all who would see their end.

Such determination. Such pride. Such fire. Love. Joy. Hope. Fear. Lust. Such powerful will. Strong enough to carve the promise of new tomorrows across the barren landscapes of yesterday.

It inspires. From the smallest victory, to grandest of conquests, I've seen it all…

The raising of the first walls. The bravery of Six Fronts. The desperation at Twilight Gap. The war with the Devils. The taming of the Wolves.

I've seen Iron Lords rise and fall, witnessed the last cycles of dark ages, and cheered as new triumphs gifted all with the promise of renewed hope—our return to the Moon and Mars, the pruning of the Garden, and the defeat of Hive royalty.

Even Ghaul and his armies… So many threats, so many challenges, yet our Guardians stand—humankind persists.

They are touched by the Light, but no longer do I see it as a gift. Instead, it is their courage, their strength, their humanity that has been, in truth, the greatest gift—their greatest weapon.

This thought brings me joy and a bit of peace amid so much chaos, and I find myself asking, often and with great anticipation:

Where to next?

—Observations of a Ghost named [[Kaiser]] on Guardian inspiration

==Confessions of Hope | Part II==

Out here in the wilds, survival depends heavily on your ability to elude Fallen patrols. Everything else, every other danger, is secondary. Exposure. Starvation. Hungry beasts. Crazed bandits. All can be assessed and managed. But Fallen—these vicious pirates—they hunt and kill not only for their own survival… but for sport. They relish the slaughter.

I was guiding our ragtag group through dense woods, but with a child to carry and many survivors wounded, we didn't move quickly enough. We'd been spotted a few miles back. The attack was swift, violent. The child's mother fell almost immediately. His father foolishly—though maybe it's best to imagine he was brave—let his grief and fear get the better of him. He ran to her aid, but there was none to give. Now he is gone as well. Two parents dead. One orphaned child gifted in ways he can't yet understand.

Others grabbed the infant and fled. He cried—confused, frightened. They muzzled his fear and made for the thick of the forest. I followed. The child was mine to protect—if I could. I had no choice but to stay with him.

And yet, here I am…

This hasty dictation is meant to give some insight, if needed, into my choice—into my moment of weakness that led to a child reborn. I'm recounting as I flee, so mind the clipped nature, this truncated plea for understanding and a brief history of what happened here.

I will send this message on signal to any Ghost who may hear. The Fallen are on me. I have run from the pack to lead them away. Should I survive, I will return to the child. Should I fall, he will be left to others to raise—and will ever have only the one, second, life to give.

I left him in the care of a terrified man and woman. But they are smart and caring; they have courage but know when to run, when to survive. They will stay hidden until the Fallen are away, my Light serving as a distraction to lure them as far from these Humans as I can.

I made my presence known to the pirates and darted from the last of the survivors—made myself a target to buy them time. But that time is short.

The Fallen are close now. And closing. I can hear the bark of their war cries. I can feel the spark of their blades. They've long since learned that to kill one like me is a future problem solved.

I am not sorry for the choice I made. The child gave hope, though fleeting. What comes next for him is unknown. But there is promise in him, should he find sanctuary. Should he find guidance.

This is not a confession. This is my hope. This is my—

—Fragment of the last transmission from an unknown Ghost

==A Hero's Requiem==

You're all special. He was no different. At first. Just as special, same as the rest.

All that's changed, obviously. Over time he… distanced himself—stood out.

It took some time for her to adjust to his personality. From what she's shared, it took him time as well. The Cayde-6 known to all is not the man he was in total. His wit and his playfulness were a shield—a weapon as trained as his blade or his hand cannons.

He called her [[Sundance]]. I was never sure why. She said it was from an old legend—a fable from the time before the time before. I always thought it was because of her spark, the grace with which she moved—so effortless, so sly. They were a perfect match.

There's no doubt he recounted his return to those closest to him on more than one occasion; and there's no doubt as well that the events shifted a bit with each telling. Like his wit, the building of his legend was a weapon.

For those who don't know… For those who were not lucky enough to hear the tale of Cayde-6's first from his own mouth—with that charm and the way he'd act out his favorite parts, complete with sound effects—here is one telling…

It's a recording from cycles past. It's not the whole story, but where Cayde-6 was involved, nothing ever was…

"BOOM! I wake up. Groggy. Confused. Hungover. It's the same for us all, so that initial shock's nothing new. Sundance is in my face, and I'm freaking out. My brain works, but I don't remember a thing 'cept that I seem to be a functioning life form—I'm human, I'm a man. And then my mind starts reeling a thousand miles a minute. BOOM-BOOM-BOOM. Like I'm downloading the 'Idiot's Guide to Basic Human Existence.' Cool. Great. Still can't remember anything. And I sure can't wrap my head around the talking, floating magic robot orb-thing jabbering in my face. I'm freaked. So, I freaked. Smacked her to the ground. Hard… And I ran.

"I'm runnin'. She's runnin'… Or, ya know, whatever she's doin' since she doesn't have any legs… She's right behind me, going, 'Wrong way! Wrong way!' She's screaming. I'm screaming. Whatever she's yelling, I just keep running. It's night. Did I mention that? It's nighttime and my eyes are still adjusting. So, I'm runnin', I'm runnin'. Can't see. Can't remember. Scared to death. Confused as all get-out. And then—

"I fall. I'm straight up falling. Just like that, I ran… Right. Off. A. Cliff. It wasn't a short drop. I bounced… so many times. Felt each and every one. Till I didn't. Till it all went black again. And then…

"BOOM! I'm back! She got me right up on my feet. Just like she always does. And that, my dudes, was the start of a beautiful friendship."

Most haven't heard that story, and in listening, you hopefully weren't looking for any definitive truth of who he was as a man or a Guardian. That's not what the story's for. Its purpose, now more than ever, fits nicely into the armor Cayde wore best…

He thought it was funny. And now, more than ever…

Cayde would want us to laugh.

—[[Shiro-4]]'s Ghost, at a gathering in Cayde-6's honor

==From Fallen Ground==

I am quiet, I am not here, the Fallen cannot see me, they cannot know me. I am not a shadow, but I move among them, silent, deliberate of motion, and intent as when I entered their hollow one month prior. I used the light of day to mask my own, because the forest here is barren, it's, it's, it's a dead place, to and fro, a constant buzz as the scavengers go about the business of stripping this world of its old glories. And I watch, I learn, I record and preserve; their every movement is my obsession. I hang on their every word, even though I am not versed in their nightmare tongue, but others are and they will decipher it; they will find the secrets hidden within. Secrets are like weapons, and I am an instrument of their unmaking. They are enemy, they are cruel, and I will learn and share, and they will be undone.

What is that shouting? I am deep now, no telling how far in. I have tracked each meter. Mapped every path. But this maze is ever-winding and their cheers now echo, violent with joy, and I hesitate to investigate as I am entering unknown corridors thick with security… Yes, yes, this is a special place, a holy place, a mechanized place, and the shouts merge with screams and the grinding of gears, and the joy joins with pain. There is suffering here, punishment—a, a… a ritual? I must know so we may know, and I move slow, careful… must… not… be seen… cannot be detected… Meter by meter, anywhere where cover is provided. Quick and with purpose whenever exposed. I make my way, leaving other avenues unexplored; the cheers must be understood. But eventually they die. Replaced by the harmony of the pirates' busy days and nights, oh my how they never rest—or rather… when they rest, others continue the work, prepping scavenger sorties, sifting through spoils, readying their fleet, their weapons, their worship. The manner in which they revere machines, I should feel safe here, I should be among their gods… Am I machine? I don't know, I don't know anything. Their worship is not so simple. With the cacophony of excitement no longer echoing, I slow my pace but remain vigilant in my efforts to locate its origin.

It is weeks before I do, weeks before now. A ceremony has just ended and I am sending out a recollection of what I have seen, because I am seen—these are my final moments, of this I am sure. The ceremony is combat, ritual, and fury, it is a pit and arena where the lesser and unworthy must prove their value or suffer and die. Oh how they fight dirty, oh how they fight to survive—or to thrive. In this pit, before the eyes of an Archon, shamed Eliksni may redeem themselves, lesser pirates may improve their station: a Dreg to a Vandal, a Vandal to a Captain, a Captain to… This is their forge, their place of judgment, their trial before their betters. This is what we are up against; kill or die, thrive or perish, they have no use for the weak and they watch and cheer and scream as their Archon looks on. But I have become careless. The fervor became a distraction and now the Archon's eyes have found me and I am too deep to run and I think he is smiling…

—The last frantic transmissions of [[Wren]], a brave Ghost of the spectral network

==Ghost Community Theater Presents==

The Ghost Community Theater presents:

ORYX THE NIGHTMARE DADDY:

One Brave Ghost Versus the Death from Outer Space

A four-and-a-half-act play

Written and directed by [[Didi]], Ghost of [[Marcus Ren]]

STARRING:

Marcus Ren............................................Hero's Ghost

Didi the Ghost.....................................Guardian Hero

[[Enoch Bast]]...........................................................Oryx

[[Pixie]], Ghost of [[Ariadne Gris]]............................[[Ir Halak, Deathsinger|Ir Halak]]

Sweeperbot.....................................................[[Ir Anûk, Deathsinger|Ir Anûk]]

Ghost, Ghost of Enoch Bast....Ghostly Shade of Crota

See the play that Commander Zavala calls, "An insensitive and disrespectful travesty of a production, with truly abominable prop design—an insult to the art of papier-mâché."

The eponymous Ghost himself calls it: "Is this supposed to be me? Oh… oh no…"

Ghost, the Ghost of [[Tyra Karn]], calls it: "A four-and-a-half-act structure? But that makes no… Stories do have rules, you know! You can't… What constitutes 'half' an… You know what? I don't need to entertain this nonsense."

[[Ophiuchus]], the Ghost of Ikora Rey, calls it: [judgmental silence].

Lord [[Shaxx]] calls it: "Undeniably enthusiastic, I'll grant you that. But is the dialogue meant to come across so… sexually charged?"

Ghost, the Ghost of Tyra Karn, calls it: "I've been thinking about it, and I really do think it would be worthwhile for you to learn the basics of narrative composition. Sit down, we're doing this now."

==Pulled Pork==

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@@ Line 344: / Line 344: @@
 —[[Tam]], a Ghost recounting his Guardian's resurrection
+==Struck by Wonder==
+I look upon them, and I am struck by wonder.
+All they do. All they endure.
+Not a single one asked for this life—this second chance. And when they woke—when the Light hit their eyes in that first instance upon their return—they were welcomed into a broken world.
+Yet…
+They stand. Time and again. Against odds insurmountable. In defiance of all who would see their end.
+Such determination. Such pride. Such fire. Love. Joy. Hope. Fear. Lust. Such powerful will. Strong enough to carve the promise of new tomorrows across the barren landscapes of yesterday.
+It inspires. From the smallest victory, to grandest of conquests, I've seen it all…
+The raising of the first walls. The bravery of Six Fronts. The desperation at Twilight Gap. The war with the Devils. The taming of the Wolves.
+I've seen Iron Lords rise and fall, witnessed the last cycles of dark ages, and cheered as new triumphs gifted all with the promise of renewed hope—our return to the Moon and Mars, the pruning of the Garden, and the defeat of Hive royalty.
+Even Ghaul and his armies… So many threats, so many challenges, yet our Guardians stand—humankind persists.
+They are touched by the Light, but no longer do I see it as a gift. Instead, it is their courage, their strength, their humanity that has been, in truth, the greatest gift—their greatest weapon.
+This thought brings me joy and a bit of peace amid so much chaos, and I find myself asking, often and with great anticipation:
+Where to next?
+—Observations of a Ghost named [[Kaiser]] on Guardian inspiration
+==Confessions of Hope | Part II==
+Out here in the wilds, survival depends heavily on your ability to elude Fallen patrols. Everything else, every other danger, is secondary. Exposure. Starvation. Hungry beasts. Crazed bandits. All can be assessed and managed. But Fallen—these vicious pirates—they hunt and kill not only for their own survival… but for sport. They relish the slaughter.
+I was guiding our ragtag group through dense woods, but with a child to carry and many survivors wounded, we didn't move quickly enough. We'd been spotted a few miles back. The attack was swift, violent. The child's mother fell almost immediately. His father foolishly—though maybe it's best to imagine he was brave—let his grief and fear get the better of him. He ran to her aid, but there was none to give. Now he is gone as well. Two parents dead. One orphaned child gifted in ways he can't yet understand.
+Others grabbed the infant and fled. He cried—confused, frightened. They muzzled his fear and made for the thick of the forest. I followed. The child was mine to protect—if I could. I had no choice but to stay with him.
+And yet, here I am…
+This hasty dictation is meant to give some insight, if needed, into my choice—into my moment of weakness that led to a child reborn. I'm recounting as I flee, so mind the clipped nature, this truncated plea for understanding and a brief history of what happened here.
+I will send this message on signal to any Ghost who may hear. The Fallen are on me. I have run from the pack to lead them away. Should I survive, I will return to the child. Should I fall, he will be left to others to raise—and will ever have only the one, second, life to give.
+I left him in the care of a terrified man and woman. But they are smart and caring; they have courage but know when to run, when to survive. They will stay hidden until the Fallen are away, my Light serving as a distraction to lure them as far from these Humans as I can.
+I made my presence known to the pirates and darted from the last of the survivors—made myself a target to buy them time. But that time is short.
+The Fallen are close now. And closing. I can hear the bark of their war cries. I can feel the spark of their blades. They've long since learned that to kill one like me is a future problem solved.
+I am not sorry for the choice I made. The child gave hope, though fleeting. What comes next for him is unknown. But there is promise in him, should he find sanctuary. Should he find guidance.
+This is not a confession. This is my hope. This is my—
+—Fragment of the last transmission from an unknown Ghost
+==A Hero's Requiem==
+You're all special. He was no different. At first. Just as special, same as the rest.
+All that's changed, obviously. Over time he… distanced himself—stood out.
+It took some time for her to adjust to his personality. From what she's shared, it took him time as well. The Cayde-6 known to all is not the man he was in total. His wit and his playfulness were a shield—a weapon as trained as his blade or his hand cannons.
+He called her [[Sundance]]. I was never sure why. She said it was from an old legend—a fable from the time before the time before. I always thought it was because of her spark, the grace with which she moved—so effortless, so sly. They were a perfect match.
+There's no doubt he recounted his return to those closest to him on more than one occasion; and there's no doubt as well that the events shifted a bit with each telling. Like his wit, the building of his legend was a weapon.
+For those who don't know… For those who were not lucky enough to hear the tale of Cayde-6's first from his own mouth—with that charm and the way he'd act out his favorite parts, complete with sound effects—here is one telling…
+It's a recording from cycles past. It's not the whole story, but where Cayde-6 was involved, nothing ever was…
+"BOOM! I wake up. Groggy. Confused. Hungover. It's the same for us all, so that initial shock's nothing new. Sundance is in my face, and I'm freaking out. My brain works, but I don't remember a thing 'cept that I seem to be a functioning life form—I'm human, I'm a man. And then my mind starts reeling a thousand miles a minute. BOOM-BOOM-BOOM. Like I'm downloading the 'Idiot's Guide to Basic Human Existence.' Cool. Great. Still can't remember anything. And I sure can't wrap my head around the talking, floating magic robot orb-thing jabbering in my face. I'm freaked. So, I freaked. Smacked her to the ground. Hard… And I ran.
+"I'm runnin'. She's runnin'… Or, ya know, whatever she's doin' since she doesn't have any legs… She's right behind me, going, 'Wrong way! Wrong way!' She's screaming. I'm screaming. Whatever she's yelling, I just keep running. It's night. Did I mention that? It's nighttime and my eyes are still adjusting. So, I'm runnin', I'm runnin'. Can't see. Can't remember. Scared to death. Confused as all get-out. And then—
+"I fall. I'm straight up falling. Just like that, I ran… Right. Off. A. Cliff. It wasn't a short drop. I bounced… so many times. Felt each and every one. Till I didn't. Till it all went black again. And then…
+"BOOM! I'm back! She got me right up on my feet. Just like she always does. And that, my dudes, was the start of a beautiful friendship."
+Most haven't heard that story, and in listening, you hopefully weren't looking for any definitive truth of who he was as a man or a Guardian. That's not what the story's for. Its purpose, now more than ever, fits nicely into the armor Cayde wore best…
+He thought it was funny. And now, more than ever…
+Cayde would want us to laugh.
+—[[Shiro-4]]'s Ghost, at a gathering in Cayde-6's honor
+==From Fallen Ground==
+I am quiet, I am not here, the Fallen cannot see me, they cannot know me. I am not a shadow, but I move among them, silent, deliberate of motion, and intent as when I entered their hollow one month prior. I used the light of day to mask my own, because the forest here is barren, it's, it's, it's a dead place, to and fro, a constant buzz as the scavengers go about the business of stripping this world of its old glories. And I watch, I learn, I record and preserve; their every movement is my obsession. I hang on their every word, even though I am not versed in their nightmare tongue, but others are and they will decipher it; they will find the secrets hidden within. Secrets are like weapons, and I am an instrument of their unmaking. They are enemy, they are cruel, and I will learn and share, and they will be undone.
+What is that shouting? I am deep now, no telling how far in. I have tracked each meter. Mapped every path. But this maze is ever-winding and their cheers now echo, violent with joy, and I hesitate to investigate as I am entering unknown corridors thick with security… Yes, yes, this is a special place, a holy place, a mechanized place, and the shouts merge with screams and the grinding of gears, and the joy joins with pain. There is suffering here, punishment—a, a… a ritual? I must know so we may know, and I move slow, careful… must… not… be seen… cannot be detected… Meter by meter, anywhere where cover is provided. Quick and with purpose whenever exposed. I make my way, leaving other avenues unexplored; the cheers must be understood. But eventually they die. Replaced by the harmony of the pirates' busy days and nights, oh my how they never rest—or rather… when they rest, others continue the work, prepping scavenger sorties, sifting through spoils, readying their fleet, their weapons, their worship. The manner in which they revere machines, I should feel safe here, I should be among their gods… Am I machine? I don't know, I don't know anything. Their worship is not so simple. With the cacophony of excitement no longer echoing, I slow my pace but remain vigilant in my efforts to locate its origin.
+It is weeks before I do, weeks before now. A ceremony has just ended and I am sending out a recollection of what I have seen, because I am seen—these are my final moments, of this I am sure. The ceremony is combat, ritual, and fury, it is a pit and arena where the lesser and unworthy must prove their value or suffer and die. Oh how they fight dirty, oh how they fight to survive—or to thrive. In this pit, before the eyes of an Archon, shamed Eliksni may redeem themselves, lesser pirates may improve their station: a Dreg to a Vandal, a Vandal to a Captain, a Captain to… This is their forge, their place of judgment, their trial before their betters. This is what we are up against; kill or die, thrive or perish, they have no use for the weak and they watch and cheer and scream as their Archon looks on. But I have become careless. The fervor became a distraction and now the Archon's eyes have found me and I am too deep to run and I think he is smiling…
+—The last frantic transmissions of [[Wren]], a brave Ghost of the spectral network
+==Ghost Community Theater Presents==
+The Ghost Community Theater presents:
+ORYX THE NIGHTMARE DADDY:<br>
+One Brave Ghost Versus the Death from Outer Space
+A four-and-a-half-act play<br>
+Written and directed by [[Didi]], Ghost of [[Marcus Ren]]
+STARRING:<br>
+Marcus Ren............................................Hero's Ghost<br>
+Didi the Ghost.....................................Guardian Hero<br>
+[[Enoch Bast]]...........................................................Oryx<br>
+[[Pixie]], Ghost of [[Ariadne Gris]]............................[[Ir Halak, Deathsinger|Ir Halak]]<br>
+Sweeperbot.....................................................[[Ir Anûk, Deathsinger|Ir Anûk]]<br>
+Ghost, Ghost of Enoch Bast....Ghostly Shade of Crota
+See the play that Commander Zavala calls, "An insensitive and disrespectful travesty of a production, with truly abominable prop design—an insult to the art of papier-mâché."
+The eponymous Ghost himself calls it: "Is this supposed to be me? Oh… oh no…"
+Ghost, the Ghost of [[Tyra Karn]], calls it: "A four-and-a-half-act structure? But that makes no… Stories do have rules, you know! You can't… What constitutes 'half' an… You know what? I don't need to entertain this nonsense."
+[[Ophiuchus]], the Ghost of Ikora Rey, calls it: [judgmental silence].
+Lord [[Shaxx]] calls it: "Undeniably enthusiastic, I'll grant you that. But is the dialogue meant to come across so… sexually charged?"
+Ghost, the Ghost of Tyra Karn, calls it: "I've been thinking about it, and I really do think it would be worthwhile for you to learn the basics of narrative composition. Sit down, we're doing this now."
 ==Pulled Pork==