"... and when he took it from them... The Kabal... Heh, little more than over grown slugs... they were shocked, at broke rank in pure, primal fear..." -Excerpt from the Chronicles of Kerin Dross, Child of Traveler I had never been given to have much respect for those who "came before" as my mother used to call them. The "Ancients" or "Ancestors" as the traveling merchants used to say. Whatever you call them: they were weak. They seemed to lay down at the sound of battle, and would rather build walls than fight on their own. Walls that I was stuck behind for too long. This city is nothing more than a prison, a gilded cage, that all these foreign beings can feel free to peer through the bars at our sad, dull lives while they ravage our home. OUR HOME. And what would our "Ancients" do? Build the wall higher, make it stronger, and rely on the blessings of Traveler to keep them at bay. Cowards. There those who stood apart, though, amongst the rabble that made up our vast constituency: The Guardians. By the time I could stand, I was fitting armor for the Guardians that would come to our shop. Dressing them in powered armor that was nearly impervious to our foes, and admiring the fineries they would bring in that were better than what I could create. These men and women were the real heroes. The would tell stories of treasures and conquest, reclaiming our lands, and of course - leaving this wretched city. When I was old enough, I volunteered to serve on the wall, and learned that this world could be tamed. Attacks would come, but from our vantage, they didn't last long, and were not hard fought. I longed for a place among the Guardians, and to set foot in the Wilds, and it wasn't until a singular, pivotal, event that I was granted my wish. Devil Walkers are pretty mean. With their 4" main gun, they can do significant damage to most structures, buildings and other encampments, but not the wall. It was fortified; bristled with guns, and Defenders, like myself. That is until they attempt to fire over it. It happened in an instant: a crack shot with a plasma cannon on it's joint, a small explosion of dirt, a slight adjustment of it's barrel, and then the shot that was meant for a Guardian on the ground was headed straight for me. I felt the impact, first, then gravity. I was falling, so fast and true, I thought that I was dead. It wasn't until I heard someone shouting in my ear that I understood I had survived. The surveillance footage tells the story better than I could, but effectively a Hunter, equipped with a jet pack, saw my fall and took to the sky. He grabbed me, but before he could descend gently, another arrant shot took out his propulsion. His Warlock cast what could only be described as a "spell" on the ground below us. Some green bubble that slowed our fall -- but then he was there. When we were backed against the wall, he stood there, protecting us all. The Titan. All of us were injured, he was too, but he stood, stoic, defiant, and proud. Shot after shot, he took them. For us. This was the man I was destined to be. The Warlock began to mend all of our wounds, and the Hunter took out any Fallen that would take one step into his sights, but the Titan.. Like a rock, he stood. This is the single most evocative image in my memory. We won the fight, with the assistance of another fire team, and staggered back to the gates, but from that point on, I knew -- My path was clear.