I found this...

[quote][quote][i]Krscchh. Krscchh.[/i] My fully upgraded Thorn delivered two vicious rounds to the back of the Hunter’s helmet in front of me. The doomed rogue yelped and turned around to retaliate, but it was the end of him...until his Ghost revived him, at least. One round from his auto rifle sunk into the overshield of my robes before his body succumbed to the reverse engineered powers of Darkness that Thorns infected their targets with. Out popped his Ghost and glared at me with distaste for my use of that weapon. Fair enough, it was a creation of Light. “Warlock Faeyrin wins the skirmish…” Lord Shaxx announced to the roster of the match with noticeable exasperation and disappointment. “Again. Second place didn’t even get ten kills. You’re all lemmings sprinting off a cliff.” I was only downed by supers that round. Shaxx was an abrasive man but a truthful one. The majority of the Guardians in my generation apparently are...late bloomers, to put it lightly. Lightly put or not, these weren’t comrades I’d trust my back with if the City was being invaded. “Warlock,” Shaxx spoke directly to me now via a private line. “You’ve been running the Rumble like it’s a game and it’s high time you were given an appropriate award for that.” A compliment from him was rare. It almost made me feel a swell of warming pride in my chest, but I knew his cheeky ways. “Oh, really?” My Ghost whom I dubbed “Lil T”, much to his chagrin, whisked me off to my ship that piloted itself near the arena, and was now flying off just as quick with me in the pilot’s seat now. “Not awarding the near wash-outs with consolation prizes in hopes they will stand a chance?” I chortled to myself. The gesture was both kind and vain most the time. Guardians whom received said consolations still performed abysmally. “Maybe I am, but that’s none of your business. Come meet me at my desk when you return.” The line dropped and course was already set for The Tower. I removed my helmet and rested my eyes until we got there. ------------------------------------------------ Five minutes later I dropped into the courtyard and sauntered my way to Shaxx’s direction. The other five of the roster from the previous match were at the vaults, admiring one’s shiny new auto rifle. Tcha...auto rifles. Ugly and lacking finesse. From the looks of it, it was the Do Gooder V, barely worth its status as a ‘Legendary’ weapon. “You know it will not do you any good against a proper handcannon, yes?” I inquired with rhetoric toward them. The optimism fell from the young Titan’s face. The boy didn’t even look eighteen. “You Titans need to get over your faulty philosophy of bigger being better.” I suppose he got the message. His much larger frame compared to mine slunk away with a now sullen demeanor. I continued on my way down the steps to the Crucible hall. Shaxx saluted me as did his battleframe - it was but a robotic imitation of him after all. I bowed respectfully and stood at attention. Despite his quirks of handling his job, he demanded and deserved respect and so any smart Guardian gave it. Seemed by now I earned his as well. “Warlock Faeyrin,” He nodded. “You’ve a penchant for unique weapons and I’ve just the thing for you.” The Titan reached under his desk and pulled out… What? “You’ve earned it, Guardian.” The amusement in his tone was obvious as he handed this...thing to me. What in the hell was it? I had to tug on my memory with force to recall the books I read about esoteric weapons. “A MOSIN NAGANT?!” I yelled in an annoyance like none other. “Two hundred victories and you give me…” Far to my left in the Vanguard room I heard Cayde-66 stifling laughter. “The best Guardians turn any weapon into a lethal tool of destruction.” I knew he was smiling behind his helmet, but I knew he was serious too. -blam!- me. “The worst Guardians need help, the best Guardians can perform no matter what...or they’re not a very good Guardian, now are they?” “ “Show ‘em the true meaning of war! Send them home crying!” “ I mocked his attitude, capturing his slightly old-British accent with my own slight one. I lifted my knee up and slammed the mosin nagant down onto it, splitting it in half with a loud crack. “Ghost, stipulate her next five matches be handicapped, weapons removed.” The wry handler put his hands on his hips, baring down to me with what I knew was a psychotic grin. “...At least my hands can turn people to ash...and do not need to be [i]cocked[/i].” I swiveled on a heel and strode back to the steps leading up and sighed heavily. I truly couldn’t tell if Shaxx considered his show a cosmic joke or he was so blinded by the Light he could make Guardians become hyper lethal machines with any and every weapon. I would say, though, that I would not be bowing to him next time.[/quote] (TLW: Shaxx gave me a Mosin Nagant 700 years in the future. -blam!- that guy.)[/quote]