"On the path of the hushed tones, the cutting word will guide your unmaking." The cutting word is a doorway-the first syllable of hated salvation. The agony of the cutting word is a boon to those who embrace its severed logic. Know thyself, listen well, and do not fear when the whispers carve their welcome. Not all who listen can share its purpose. However, whispers are but sound, as is the breeze. In the feted remnants of yearning marrow, find love, find life, and in their lies you will discover the narrow road to all you never dreamed to be. Most are fragile, hollow things meant only to carry the weight of wasted lives. Not all bone carries the sound of secret truth. Seek the whispers-they are faint, but they are calling. The question I-we-would ask then is simple: How well do we, any of us, truly know ourselves? Were we not honored with our return because of some inherent nobility? If so, how could one of us-any of us-fall to damnation? Or was this heroic interpretation of our role in the grander scheme nothing more than the surest sign of our blind innocence? After all, it feels good to imagine oneself a hero, morally superior and standing tall on the side of righteous hope. That a Guardian could be corrupted-our gifts twisted-not by greed or lust or power, but by influences beyond petty human desires, was a concern greater, maybe, than any other. If anything, Orsa and I, and the others who followed, were driven by the difficulty of our chosen task. The fabled Dwindler's Ridge was not on any map, the burnt ground where Palamon once stood wasn't marked as anyone's sacred site, and the renegade who'd felled Yor had not been seen for some time following that fated showdown.ĭespite all of this, we were not deterred. If official records existed, they were hidden beyond our purview, and the realities of the legend were tracked only by word of mouth.
The search for the truth of Yor's tale was not easy. "Know thyself in honest ways, or falter in light of your truest self." Once an understanding is met, and the self is purified in the knowledge of its truth, the cage is set to be unbound. To see yourself as anything but what you truly are will lead you down sorrow's road, unprepared for the consequence of your salvation. Through the pieces of a life lived divine your truth, but do not lie-to the world, if one must, but never to yourself. Look, then, clearly upon the whole of your existence, and face your glory-strength of will, every flaw of your mortal heart and fabled soul. Only honest reflection will see you-lone traveler-through the coming storm. There are few places a Guardian can let loose like they can in the controlled arenas of the Shaxx's quarantined fighting pits.īefore one can be freed, one must question the truth of their purest identity.Īnd so a question is begged: Who resides at the core of your being? The competition is vital to Guardian survival, both in the way it forcibly hones skill and how it serves a necessary dual role as morale booster and stress reliever.
He's very protective of his charge as overseer of the Crucible. The Vanguard would not see us, uniformly, not just on an individual basis, but by some long-standing internal decree. Any attempts to seek details of his deeds were met with dismissal. Our search began with a legend- Dredgen Yor, the hated scourge upon the Guardians' good name. "Mortal flesh is a prison that makes liars of our beautiful caged minds." It is sin to carve upon the flesh, but by whose law is your prison made hallow?
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The unwelcome are the unworthy, the unworthy are a disease.Ĭleanse thyself of your decay, then will the mind be free to understand the value of transgression.
Those born only to live to be replaced cannot see eternity, nor are they welcome here. This comfortable life is no life, fleeting, made to decay. Possibility limited by stunted imagination, stunted through familiarity. The mind is complacent, the flesh has made it so. hand-scrawled note accompanying Teben Grey's personal translation of ancient Hive text The purpose of our efforts, however sinister they may appear, is to grasp the unknown so it may be challenged should the time come when we are faced with its ire. Nonetheless, we continue to piece together truths from dead words and arcane ritual. The exact intent of the Hive's ceremony-ceremonies-in regard to their varied ideals regarding evolution is beyond our current knowledge.
These pages, and the Understandings gleaned, are our best efforts at a translation of incomplete discovery. "Evolution is claimed only through our unmaking." Had those before been more than common, your flesh would not be this flesh-their flesh-but other, new. Handed down by priors unworthy of evolution. Flesh and mind are but cages-become unbound, or remain ever unworthy.
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