THE CRIMSON BLADES The low hiss and shunting snap of pistons working away mechanically in the depths of the tower below provided a barely audible undercurrent to the pseudo relaxed atmosphere of the bar in which the two companions sat together watching the hustle and bustle of life beyond. Coloured lights illuminated the area in a deep green hue. Patrons were supposed to be soothed by the gentle light. Around them viewports and wall screens revealed a myriad of different feeds. Some showed the latest news from the Tower whilst others focused on Crucible matches, amongst others. The bar was sprinkled with customers; travellers, guardians and regulars who were taking time out of their day to indulge a chilled beverage or two. Most of them were engrossed in their own business, eyes locked firmly to their personal viewports. There was little chatter but the hum of electronics and the quiet ramblings from multiple screens were enough to create a semblance of ambience. “Such a shame you’ll never know the joys of a strong liquor.” Came the solemn voice of Lord Shaxx, breaking his companion from his silent reverie as he watched yet another batch of guardians depart for some live fire exercises in Shaxx’s coveted crucible. There had been plenty of debate in the Tower over the last year as warring political factions grabbed hold of the concept of the crucible and used it like the grubby politicians they were in order to vie for power. It was dizzying to think that there were folk so wrapped up in their self-indulgence as to find their own ramblings to be of any significant import. ‘As if the Faction Wars never existed.’ He thought to himself. There had been a tenuous peace since then, with the faction leaders using political agenda to achieve power in a civil manner, rather than at gun point. The Crucible is too dangerous, the New Monarchy would say. Surely it would serve our people better to have Guardians in the field pushing back the darkness rather than playing at war games they would say, all the while preaching their seven precious tenets to any and all who would listen. The Future War Cult would have everyone believe that the crucible was an evolution of the state of humanities struggle against the growing darkness; that war was a necessity to survive in this bleak and ominous world that was so very close to destruction. They had gained much power and respect amongst the masses with their streak of Golden Age discoveries and their strength of arms. As usual, Dead Orbit would stay relatively silent on the situation, offering condescension and derisive remarks about the futility of it all, somehow managing as always to bring the topic back to their own skewed propaganda about the traveller being the cause of their woes, how humanity would fare much better to strike out for other worlds, other territories to expand their colonies. In all honesty there was truth in every viewpoint put forward by the three main warring factions that gripped the tower in a political power struggle; and yet none in the same breath. The way he looked at it; things were the way they were. There was darkness out there, full of death and destruction of that there was no doubt. It had followed the Traveller here and wrought years of endless wanton slaughter to humanity. If it weren’t for the traveller humanity may have continued to go on for a number of years but inevitably the darkness would have found its way to them, and without the light of the celestial being to protect them they would have been doomed in a matter of days. Of that there could be no possible counter argument. And the war games of the crucible were dangerous, and even harsh sometimes, but absolutely a necessity. How could the newly rebirthed, bathed in the travellers light, possibly hope to refine their skills, to sharpen their instincts without having some training? They wouldn’t last long if they were sent out against the darkness on day one. “Hmm?” he prompted the crucible master. He’d heard the attempt at goading a reaction and thought it best to fight fire with fire. Shaxx hated it when he had to repeat himself. He could practically hear Shaxx’s teeth grinding to dust inside his skull. It brought a smile to his face. Or it would have if he’d been able to smile. Instead he felt the lights glowing warmly against the steel of his facial structure. The man looked irate now. “Care to place a wager on the new recruits? 10:1 odds say they can’t do it.” His grimace had turned into a wicked smile now as a menacing light gleamed in his eyes. “10 to 1? You’re that sure your boys can come out on top?” he asked with an expression as close to sincerity as he could manage. Thoughts raced in his head as he calculated all possible outcomes. “My team is the best. I trained them personally. They are rarely defeated.” His arrogant confidence was overwhelming and he felt amusement as he turned away from the man to inspect the two teams loading their gear onto their transports. Lord Shaxx’s team was the embodiment of the military structure that they’d been drilled into following. Every movement was deliberate, purposeful, efficient. They’d seen real war and they were crucible veterans. Each guardian on the team was a ruthless killer masked as a defender, a protector. He was of the impression that ‘The Vipers’ as they were christened enjoyed killing just a shade too much for his liking. The other clan on the other hand seemed to be the polar opposite. Guardians laughed and joked as they haphazardly went through the motions of prepping their gear. There was genuine warmth there, a camaraderie amongst them that was hard to find amongst regimented instruments of death. They called themselves ‘The Crimson Blades’ and he’d been keeping a quiet eye on them for some time now. As a collective they had begun to make a name for themselves, throwing themselves into dangerous missions that other Guardians had stayed clear from and finding a way to come up with the goods. He respected that and he watched with interest for a moment, looking through their surface actions. Beneath the smiles and the easy laughter there was a surety of movement, a fluid movement of remaining in perpetual motion that he knew to be a warriors’ grace. To the side of the group there stood a decidedly nervous looking Guardian, tentatively packing his gear onto the transport. ‘Another Rookie?’ he thought to himself as he began to make some recalculations to his initial judgement. That was the other thing that the Blades were becoming known for. Taking in newly rebirthed Guardians. He swore lightly as he finished estimating the odds. He heard Shaxx’s rumbling laughter from beside him and turned to see him finishing a long swallow of the hazel liquor. “How’s ten thousand Glimmer sound?” he drawled as he leaned against the bar, drawing his hood tighter and fixing Lord Shaxx with an intense glare that belied the nonchalant pose that he’d adopted. Shaxx as ever was undaunted. He slammed the empty glass onto to bar and signalled for the bartender to refill the glass again. His overbearing presence was brought to the fore now as he stood from the bar stool to stretch his legs. The Crucible handler was rarely ever without armour and today was no exception. His one horned helmet rested on the bar counter beside him and he used a free hand to ruffle the plumage that framed his heavy plated armour as he tilted his head to the sky to look down at him with full effect. “Make it twenty.” Came the reply as he extended an outstretched hand. He felt the early onset of excitement begin to build at the raised stakes and this time it was his turn to stand from his bar stool. If he won the bet he’d be richer to the tune of 200 000 glimmer. Turquoise eyes shone with anticipation as he shook the grizzled warriors hand in a warriors embrace. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I do believe I’ll take the time to offer some words of encouragement to my team.” Without waiting for permission he turned away from Lord Shaxx and strode off to meander his way through the sage hued tables and out into the hustle of the platform beyond. By now the Guardians were nearly finished packing, though the Vipers were already gone. They’d probably already broken atmo and were making way to the co-ordinates supplied by Lord Shaxx. “Lan!” he exclaimed as he came to a stop before them, grabbing the attention of the long cloaked guardian. The tall broad shouldered hunter turned and fixed him with a winning smile, pearly whites gleaming from behind mischievous eyes. ‘To be young and full of life again.’ He thought ruefully for a moment. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” the reply was full of mirth but caught him off balance as it usually did. His accent was deep and brusque which made him hard to understand at times. According to the Hunter it was from a northern country in Old Britain but they were words that meant little to him now. “I just wanna let you know… I placed none too small a wager on you and your crew coming out on top of this thing. Don’t let me down now.” He motioned with his eyes back to where he’d come from and watched Lans’ gaze drift off in the direction of Lord Shaxx. For a moment the hunters gaze was iron and then it was gone, replaced by that mischievous glint once again. “Have I ever let you down?” the look of shock and sincerity was almost enough to make him choke on his own fluid but the exo just shook his head lightly and let out a chuckle. “Be on your merry Guardian.” He clasped the hunter by the shoulder. Lan nodded and stepped off the tower platform and onto his clan transport. He watched as Lan took his place amongst the others and in an instant a craving that longed for battle surged through him and took him fully in its thrall. “Hey Lan! You couldn’t take me with you, could you?” he asked fruitlessly.