Lore:Trials and Tribulations: Difference between revisions

Chrome-hooked appendages |breached sky, counted in triplets| stretched for miles through sun-soaked atmosphere. They bored |with deepest intentions| into the marigold sands. From the great temporal chasms |wailing mouths of creation| flowed an ocean |a second conception| of radiolarian fluid. Across the horizon |of definitive sprawl| the scene was |super-imposed design| resonant and |uniquely| multiplicative.

A million open mouths |sang| curled plated tongues in |ritualistic| completion. Across the world grew |beauty.| a terrible consciousness that yearned to |establish the connection| find its progenitor. The hulking vessels |cried out| pulsed with light. The pools and spires pulsed dull tones in recognition, and the |starless| black sealed once more, restoring the sol-dominated sky |awaiting an angular shadow|. Illumination left the spires, |who had begun their work| and the Light was |sewn| erased.

Our peace was disrupted today by an assault from the warmongering [[Cabal]] at our doorstep. I was ushered to safety at the top of the spire by [[Leanna]], one of our Warlock sisters. Without a moment's notice, she jumped straight into the fray and began to push our intruders back. During the battle, something strange occurred. Leanna was fighting near-insurmountable odds—based on the amount of ammunition I heard discharged—and she was overcome. Of course, she was resurrected by her Ghost, but the spire reacted. There was a hum; the timbre consisted of two distinct resonating tones—one smooth and warm, the other sharp and cold. I thought I could have imagined it through the ringing of gunfire, but it was most certainly there. It was almost imperceptible, and I thought merely a coincidence until it happened again. [[Eremac]], the other Warlock and student of the [[Dawnblade]], was also temporarily disposed of. The roar of the [[Colossus]]'s slug launcher tearing through Eremac's flesh was unmistakable, but so was the tone that followed. I have to know more. We were able to withstand their incursion, but not without suffering a few casualties. Now we must prepare for a funeral, but my thoughts are dominated by that mysterious tone. Perhaps later, we can try to replicate it.

The Hunter dropped his sidearm and reached for a slung fusion rifle, but the rushing Guardian struck him solidly with a fist full of lightning. The droning hum shifted somewhat lower.

The Hunter's Ghost discharged a pulse of Light, blinding the Guardian and raising the Hunter. The risen Hunter swift-drew a cannon of Light, as if reactively defending his Ghost. He cracked off a single golden shot from his flame-licked weapon. The shot pierced its target and sent ash snaking into the air.

The inevitable has occurred. For all their hubris and self-righteousness, they couldn't withstand the onslaught of the Red Legion. The Traveler's Light has been suppressed by [[Dominus Ghaul]] and his insurrection of the Tower. The timing was impeccable and offered me an insight I hadn't previously considered viable. Many lives were lost today in a barbarous skirmish across the Last City, but none as important as the life lost in our Trial. I believe Guardians have adopted the term "final death" for these such instances. A competitor was defeated at the precise moment the Light was stripped from him; his Ghost destroyed in the concussive blast from a pulse grenade. Then, the most marvelous phenomenon occurred: The Lighthouse spoke to me but changed its key. A D-sharp minor, if I'm not mistaken. Previously, I had been presented with only a harmonious two-toned note; the implications, as I made clear to Queen Mara Sov, could not be overlooked. Today, I am presented with a defining note that substantiates my theory and validates everything our founder stood for.

Vance's chest felt as if an avalanche had occurred, a cavalcade of dread filled his lungs. He turned away from the man he'd admired for so long, speechless and demoralized. Standing in front of the Mercurial vista before him, overwhelmed and listening—the lush marigold sand slopes sweeping over themselves with each breeze, rushing [[Radiolaria|radiolarian]] fluid cascading down [[Vex]] emplacements, the distant pulsing of an unclaimed patrol beacon. His back now to the structure that once inspired him with its song. It mocked him with a deafening silence. How could he have miscalculated this erroneously?

The new Lighthouse obscured the silhouette of the sun. It cast a long shadow that wormed across Mercury's uneven terrain in orbital-locked perpetuity. Ships descended, some flawless, others to maintain what fragile holds the Vanguard claimed. Rust and sand baked, and distant space was alight with half-earned talk of posterity.