The Legend of the Iron Lords: Episode One: "Efrideet's Offer"

[b]The Legend of the Iron Lords: Efrideet's Offer[/b] [i]In the darkest times after the Collapse, nine leaders emerged in every corner of the apocalyptic wilderness and assembled a host of broken colonies, defending the helpless against the Fallen, traveling through the ruins of shattered cities, until they were safe under the protection of the Traveler. This is what earned them the title of Iron Lord. According to lore, there was once a dozen Towers in the City, but no one knows that the ambitious rulers built the first nine. Saladin Forge, untrained in Light, is newly reborn at the onset of their power struggle to rule the City. [/i] Saladin relaxed into another stance, backing away from the fierce foe who threatened to part his head from his shoulders. Lord Radegast. The man stepped with his strange, casual grace, but Saladin watched every muscle, predicted every step. Radegast lunged forward with the disturbing, sinuous grace of an animal, cutting into his breast even though he saw it coming. He was just too fast. Blood ran down his lacerated torso. Radegast's hands, humming with electricity, were deadly as sharp stones beneath swift water. Saladin's own might have looked similar, but the Lord manipulated the Light within him to such a precise degree, the energy around his fingers became razor-sharp. Saladin frowned. The only thing that could block it was an exact, or greater, measure of power. Saladin flared the Arc within him and shot his hand out. Radegast skirted to the side. He persisted though, raining blow after blow, but the Lord checked every hit, contempt emanating from every deflection. Radegast parried with a left hook. Saladin hit the tiled ground and blinked. A hand found his neck. "You lasted longer this time," said Radegast, electricity ebbing away. He took Saladin's arm and hoisted him to his feet. "But your Light form is not solid enough yet. You have cracks, so to speak. Easily exploited." Saladin dipped his head, "I understand, my lord." His memories might have sunk into the deep black hole that came with centuries of death, but Saladin remembered hand-to-hand combat like the way he remembered to breathe. However, Arc-bladed arms came with a new way of fighting. It came with new techniques. He ground his teeth and watched his blood mingle into the dirt around his boots. "Good," said Radegast as servants came to wipe the sweat from his body. A hooded entourage moved through the arch that led into Radegast's private gallery. Hunters. Six, in double columns, had a hand on their blades, the other on their hand cannons. One slim figure stood at the fore, moving with a strange delicacy and grace, as if she was close to dancing. Radegast folded his arms, scarred face amused at the entrance. "Efrideet," announced Radegast. "Welcome." "Radegast," purred the woman. She pulled back her hood and smoothe straw-berry blonde hair so pale it fell past her shoulders like a bolt of pink silk. Her face glowed blue-grey. She was an Awoken. Saladin thought he wasn't much attracted to such creatures, but she was gorgeous and repulsive at the same time, like a great beauty embalmed. "To what do I owe the pleasure?" he asked. Efrideet smiled. "I have come to discuss politics." "Oh." Based on his tone, it appeared he knew exactly what sort of politics. Efrideet was Radegast's closest ally in these unsettling times, but she didn't know when to stop. The woman had visited multiple times in the past couple of months, always with the same proposition. "Rule with me." "No." Efrideet tilted her head, grinned, and persisted. "This city is in shambles with no clear leadership. The other lords want to take power, but they are weak. Separated, [i]we[/i] are weak. But, if you and I join forces, we could rule this broken place! Together, our armed forces would far surpass any who would dare challenge us. " "No." The woman sighed. “There’s another development," she said, gaze hardening. "There are rumors swirling of a masked man who claims he is the voice of the Traveler." She scoffed. "The fraud is surprisingly gaining traction. If we move to rule, now, we can beat back this supposed emissary before his grip tightens." That gave Radegast pause, but not a very long pause. "No." "You heard the man," said a voice. Saladin and the others looked past Efrideet and her armed guards to find Moira, Radegast's wife, behind them. The woman walked past them and stopped, turning to look at the Awoken's white eyes. "He does not wish to rule," she said, voice quiet and polite. "Now drop it." "I thought—” “You thought,” Moira said derisively, dropping all pretense of a smile. “Leave.” Saladin had to admire her. She was a mere human, a plain woman with normal black hair and almond-colored eyes. She wasn't even a Guardian, yet she stood her ground against one of the most powerful Bladedancers in the City. She didn't care. All she saw was a former flame who was making advances on her husband. Efrideet’s face twisted into a frown. Radegast laughed. “Now, now, Moira,” he said, running his hand up and down her back. “Do not bare your claws here.” He looked up. “I apologize, Efrideet. I do not have a desire to rule this city. I am not the one, so do not ask me again.” “Fine,” growled Efrideet. “But I move with my plans to gain sovereignty.” A Guardian ran into the gallery, chest heaving for breath. “My lord, I have urgent news!” “Speak.” “Gheleon is dead.” Radegast’s face darkened and Efrideet’s mouth went agape with shock. Gheleon had been their strategist against the Fallen army, councilor, and the one who brokered the alliance between the lords. He was all of their friends. Saladin couldn’t believe it. “I have a live feed from the murder scene on stand-by,” said the soldier. “Show me.” The Guardian brought out a square box from his pocket and laid it on the ground. He pressed a button. A holographic image of ash and ember filled the air. It looked like someone had tried to burn down Gheleon’s Tower. The man himself, who was the center of attention on the feed, was black. Charred beyond recognition. The only thing left, yet tattered and burnt, was his Hunter’s mantle. An image of a tree was emblazoned on the cloth, a symbol of the Iron Lords. Saladin was no cryptologist, but Gheleon had once told them the symbol was a depiction of a mythological tree known as Yggdrasil, an ash tree that held together nine worlds. Now it symbolized something else. The downfall of the Iron Lords. [b][url=https://www.bungie.net/en/Forum/Post/105489558/0/0/1]EPISODE TWO[/url][/b] [b][url=https://www.bungie.net/en/Forum/Post/106570331/0/0/1]EPISODE THREE[/url][/b] [b][url=https://www.bungie.net/en/Forum/Post/109058736/0/0/1]EPISODE FOUR[/url][/b] [b][url=https://www.bungie.net/en/Forum/Post/109980399/0/0/1]EPISODE FIVE[/url][/b] [b][url=https://www.bungie.net/en/Forum/Post/100362914]DESTINY FAN FICTION ARCHIVE[/url][/b] [b][url=https://www.bungie.net/en/Clan/Forum/823422]JOIN GROUP FOR FAN FICTION UPDATES[/url][/b]