Legend

by Unknown Six

The Tower

"The Tower is the only home many Guardians ever know.

To the people of the City, it stands as a promise we can endure. The merchants and citizens who fill its plazas and halls are as dedicated to the reclamation of our worlds as the Guardians who venture into the Darkness beyond."

- The Tower Grimoire description

---

The Last City

Earth

Whish!

I blinked into existence a foot above the ground, landing on my feet safely. I undid the seals on my helmet and with a hiss, the airtight atmosphere surrounding my head rushed out to meet the morning winter air. My receptors picked up a sensation that did not affect me adversely, but was noteworthy nonetheless. I took in a breath, confirming it.

'Cold.'

Shrugging off the frigidness, I looked around and was met with the familiar surroundings of the Tower, the designated home of the Guardians. It had been more than a month since I last visited, and that was just to take in bounties and make sure I wasn't rusty in the Crucible. By reflex, I analyzed my surroundings. The nostalgia hit me like a tidal wave; it seemed there were always surprises at the Tower.

The ground and various edifices of the Tower were shrouded in a thick fleece of snow. The high altitude of the Tower supplemented the sub-zero temperature, and the cold ubiquitously filled the air. Precipitation drifted down from the sky in the form of snowflakes, which immediately dissipated once they met the white ground and Guardians.

The Guardians, in particular, were everywhere. I walked up the steps in front of where I spawned and looked to my right. I contorted my faceplates into an amused smile.

Over by the Cryptarchs' stand, a crowd of Guardians had formed. Titans, Hunters, and Warlocks of all races were eager to get the Engrams they had recovered in the field decrypted, and intermingled in front of the hopelessly outnumbered Cryptarch in a disorderly fashion. The Awoken Cryptarch in question, Master Rahool, worked frantically to get to everybody and their Engrams. Some Guardians stomped away angrily while muttering bloody curses toward their misfortune and the evil Cryptarch. I guessed that their promising new Legendary Engram turned out to be crap. I knew that feeling all too well...

I looked ahead of me. A flash mob of Guardians had assembled and were displaying their best dance moves in front of an unamused Gunsmith, who crossed his arms and (im)patiently waited for the Guardians to finish with their shenanigans. I was moderately ashamed to see a couple of Exos amongst the dance party. It's bad enough that Exos are some of the most staunch protectors of humanity and the City, much less machines created for war...

"Bounty claimed! Sensor Mites to be collected in the Russian Cosmodrome. Bounty accepted! Telthor, the Unborn, Sea of Storms, Moon..." An energetic synthesized-sounding voice piped up.

I turned my head to the Frame that was managing the bounties. Unlike the disaster that was the Cryptarch's stand, an orderly assortment of Guardians formed a straight line in front of the Bounty Tracker, waiting for their turn to cash in and take on bounties. The Frame manning the station worked with the precision and unfailingness that only a synthetic could manage, while retaining a somewhat ecstatic personality. Nearby, the Postmaster and Tess Everis worked diligently, each tending to one Guardian at a time.

The Tower was exactly how I remembered it, but was always different in its own right. There was no other place I would rather call home.

My Ghost popped up to my left, and spoke as if voicing my thoughts. "Welcome home, Exodus."

The mention of my name (my designation, technically) set off a few mental alarms. But I still appreciated the morsel of goodwill my Ghost exhibited.

That reminds me...

"Ghost, could you get me the Shock Cores we collected?"

"That I collected," my Ghost snidely corrected me before complying. Aaaaaaand, there goes the goodwill.

A bulky satchel materialized in front of me. I caught it before it could hit the ground, its somewhat hefty weight inconsequential, and began to stride toward the Postmaster's desk, which was a short walk away. As I was walking, I saw a human Titan shivering at an abrupt gust of arctic wind despite the literal ton of armor he was wearing, causing me to chuckle lightly to myself. A few hundred degrees colder and I might actually start feeling uncomfortable.

I stopped before the Postmaster's desk. I looked at the Frame running the office. Kadi 55-30 was its designation, I recalled.

"Kadi," I said, nodding at it.

"Guardian," the female-sounding voice matrix replied.

See, that's why I was so unused to hearing my name. The Tower's staff (with a few exceptions that were close to me) saw "Guardian" as a name fit for one. It was one of my few qualms with the Tower: little to no individuality. It wasn't so much a personal concern, as it was an idealistic concern. For example, it was akin to calling Kadi 55-30 by "her" race - Frame. It is an accurate label, but comes off as a bit patronizing.

Just because I'm a robotic war machine space magician doesn't mean I can't be indignant once in a while...

I hefted the bag of Shock Cores over the desk and rested it on there. Kadi looked at it with apparent interest, then focused its gaze back at me.

"A package? For whom?" it asked.

"Future War Cult. And as per Lakshmi's request, could you keep this quiet?"

I knew its answer. Frames are not truly sapient, like the Exos, but were rather virtual intelligences. They are perfectly capable of observing, reacting to, and recording stimuli, but do not possess the higher-level cognitive functions that organics and Exos have. Frames do their assigned jobs, and generally follow authority figures to a fault; Future War Cult had as much influence in the City as did Dead Orbit and New Monarchy, only surpassed by the Vanguards and the Speaker. And with much more pressing matters at hand, I doubted the Vanguards would be snooping into the FWC's operations at the moment.

"Of course, Guardian. I'll send it to the War Cult," it said as casually as a robot who was discussing giving questionable technology to a war cult could sound.

I nodded again and prepared to say my thanks. A familiar person made himself known at my side, however.

"Hey, Warlock," said Lord Shaxx in his distinct accent.

I turned to face the huge former Titan, the handler, overseer and announcer of the Crucible, and a hero of the battle at Twilight Gap. He was at least a foot taller than me, and much more burly, as Titans are wont to be. His polished silver armor blended well with the snowy background of the Tower, and his fists rested on his waist, making him look all the more intimidating with his trademark stance. He exuded an aura of authority and strength, one that often made other Guardians in the vicinity feel inferior, including myself. There were few people that I respected more than Shaxx.

It was respect borne of a slight fear, as well. I'd choose to wrestle a Hive Ogre over Shaxx any day.

"Lord Shaxx!" I said with pleasant surprise and confusion as I shook the man's hand. "What are you doing here? Don't you have to supervise the Crucible?"

Shaxx laughed heartily, quite different than the malevolent laughs he made during Crucible matches. "Nice to see you too, Warlock."

He knew my name; he just chose to call me Warlock as a nickname. That, and he refused to differentiate any Guardian from the rest. Equality under the Crucible, he would always say.

I scratched a nonexistent itch on the back of my head. "Sorry. It's just unusual to see you out here," I said apologetically.

"Well, to answer your question, Arcite's covering for me. And I could ask the same of you. After you did us proud, what with the Black Garden and the Vault and all, you just disappeared."

"I was away for a while. Warlock business," I lied.

"So it seems." I never took Shaxx as the kind to pry, and I was grateful. It was nice not having to explain myself, and the visions and flashbacks that plagued me. I wondered how my former Raid teammates were faring...

Shaxx folded his arms behind his back and looked at the Traveler, which floated lazily in dormancy above the Last City. I followed his gaze. The Traveler was a cipher, a mystery, yet Guardians utilized its power like second nature. If this kind of power fell into the clutches of the Darkness, I dread what might happen.

Shaxx and I stood there, still in front of the Postmaster's office. Kadi had long since stowed my package for the FWC out of sight, and silently watched me and Shaxx as we gazed at the Traveler. After a few seconds, Lord Shaxx turned his half-horned head to me.

"Warlock. If you haven't figured out the reason already, the Speaker sent me to come get you. Something urgent, concerning the Traveler. He knows that you have a penchant for getting sidetracked," he said humorously.

"That's what I said!"

"Shut up, Ghost," I replied.

Lord Shaxx chuckled at our exchange, then tilted his head in the direction of the Speaker's chambers. "Come on, let's go. We've wasted enough time here."

And so began the walk to the Speaker's chambers. I caught many a Guardians' eyes as they leered cautiously at us. Many inclined their heads for us in respect, acknowledging Shaxx's authority, and some recognizing me for my achievements. Nevertheless, most Guardians stopped what they were doing to clear a path for us, staring all the while. I doubted that they, like me, knew anything about what the Speaker wanted or what was going to happen. And they probably didn't care. A majority were most likely concerned about their patrols, or their missions, or their standing in the Crucible. I couldn't blame them, really. Not long ago, I did the same.

We descended the steps leading down toward the New Monarchy, Eva Levante, and the Speaker. I broke the comfortable silence out of curiosity. "So, do you know anything about what's going on, Shaxx?"

"Not at all," he said nonchalantly. He didn't seem broken up about the fact that he was being kept in the dark. "And I can't find a reason to care, either. My calling lies in the Crucible, training rookies like the one you used to be, and giving the "veterans" a reminder that they are Guardians, too. Nothing more, nothing less."

He didn't consider me a rookie anymore. That's a start, I suppose.

"What about your career as a Guardian?" I asked.

"What about it?" Lord Shaxx said neutrally as he turned to me.

We passed by New Monarchy. I shot Executor Hideo a dirty look, and he and his subordinates responded in kind. I kept walking.

Long story short, I didn't judge factions based on the equipment or goods they offered Guardians who sided with them; I judged them based on their ideals. FWC, for instance, (despite the many secrets they kept) was honest about its ideals. With the added bonus of exceptional armor, of course.

New Monarchy, however, was filled to the brim with veiled bureaucracy, despite their preachings of winning peoples' hearts. If monarchies didn't prove effective pre-Golden Age, then what made them likely to succeed in the modern age, when the Last City needs uncorrupted leadership the most?

I continued with my question directed at Shaxx. "I mean, does your occupation as the Crucible Handler affect your status as a Guardian?"

Lord Shaxx just looked at me incredulously, then burst out laughing. It sounded familiar... ("Ha! You're crushing them! Send them home crying!") In between guffaws, he spoke. "You know, Warlock, for how ancient and wise your Orders may portray themselves to be, you lot can be quite dense."

"What do you mean?" I asked in concealed irritation.

Shaxx stopped laughing, and his tone grew serious. "I am, and always shall remain a Guardian, until either the Light in the Traveler burns out, or my Ghost is consumed by the Darkness." He muttered, "Heavens forbid the former from happening."

We rounded the corner. He continued. "That aside, there's no reason the two jobs can't coincide. If the Darkness rears its ugly head at the walls of the City, then I'll be there to kick its arse back to the cesspool from whence it spawned. And it won't just be me. You think we Guardians kill each other in real combat with real bullets because we like to? Well, it's one of the reasons we compete in the Crucible, but the other is that it hard-forges us. We've all died many times in the Crucible, and I'm no exception, believe it or not. The Crucible teaches us the triviality of death, amongst other things. So when the Darkness comes knocking on our door, unlike those Dead Orbit pansies who'd pitch a tent on Pluto and live in it, you can expect a bunch of fearless Guardians to knock back twice as hard."

We had arrived at the stairs in front of the Speaker's chambers a minute ago; I stayed so I can hear Shaxx's speech to the end. I never heard the man talk much aside from his motivational (unless we're losing) comments when he announced during matches, and the sparse conversations we've had. Shaxx could be quite affable it seems, if you prove your worth.

I held out my hand and was met with the crushing grip of a Titan. I nearly winced. We still shook hands, despite the heavy pressure on my metallic appendages. Damn, this guy could bend steel if he wanted...

"It was good talking to you, Shaxx."

"Mm-hmm. T'was a pleasure, Exodus. Now go." He returned his fists to his waist, and nodded at me.

I smiled and began ascending the steps to the Speaker's chambers.

---

Tentatively, I walked into the room, as I didn't know what to expect. I untensed as I registered normal surroundings, for the most part.

The cramped room had a scholarly appearance to it, lined with bookshelves, writing equipment, a desk, and the like. The Speaker himself, shrouded in his white mask and robes as usual, paced back and forth restlessly. His Ghost silently watched from the corner. Both the Ghost and the Speaker's attention focused on me as I unceremoniously walked in and cleared my throat.

"Guardian! Clearly you made haste!" he said in an accent that sounded similar to Shaxx's, while trying to sound jovial. The distress in his voice was palpable, and contradicted the calm façade he always maintained.

"Speaker. What do you need from me? It's about the Traveler, right?" I asked with a slight tinge of concern.

"Correct." The Speaker stopped pacing back and forth, and leaned forward over his desk. "You know the story: the Traveler sacrificed itself to push back the Darkness during the Collapse, and suddenly became quiet..."

I nodded in affirmation.

The Speaker continued. "But ever since you defeated...whatever it was that lurked in the Black Garden, the Traveler began to heal, slowly but surely. I have been waiting here, as always, for its voice to return until I am no longer required to speak for it. Heh... And I'll finally become jobless," the Speaker said jokingly, before descending into a series of grievous hacks and coughs.

I was at his side in an instant. "Are you alright?" I asked.

The Speaker recovered, and waved me away. "It's... I'm fine," he said, though his voice told me otherwise. "I have not had a single moment of rest since the Traveler began healing."

He stood tall and spoke again. "That brings me to why I called for you. A few days ago, I began hearing...whispers, for lack of a better word. Broken sentences, too arbitrary to make any meaning of. But the voice was as familiar to me as that of my Ghost. It was of the Traveler!"

I almost gasped, but refrained from doing so out of a desire to maintain professionalism. My Ghost had no such reservations, however.

"Amazing!" it said as it appeared next to me. "But you're sure there's nothing that can be made out from the Traveler's whispers?"

"There is, little Ghost," the Speaker said. He began staring into nothingness. I had a feeling it was more than nothingness, however.

"At first I feared the whispers might even be death throes, but as the days passed, the messages became more coherent. I began deciphering certain words and small phrases."

"And? What did you find?"

The Speaker looked at me. "The Traveler was asking for you by name."

"What?!" my Ghost and I exclaimed in shocked unison.

"Yes. I was able to decipher the name 'Exodus-6' along with 'bring' and 'to protect' and 'darkness.' It couldn't be talking about anything else. When I asked if it was the specific Guardian that it was asking me to bring in order to protect us from the Darkness, it confirmed your name. There is no doubt."

My Ghost was about to ask something, but I beat it to the punch. "But...why me? Why does it want me, and not any other Guardian?"

He sounded uncertain when he said, "My only guess is that you survived the Vault of Glass and the Black Garden. Perhaps the Traveler sees your potential. Perhaps it requires an Exo, particularly a Warlock, for something that would break an organic mind."

The Speaker looked at his own Ghost, then to me. "It matters not. What matters is that the Traveler needs you. This may be our chance to push back the dark, for good."

A moment of silence passed as my Ghost and I absorbed the information.

"What does the Traveler want us to do?" my Ghost, being the dutiful servant of the Light that it was, asked.

"Board your ship, and bring it in front of the Traveler," the Speaker said as if reciting the lines from careful practice. "It is there that the Traveler will decide your next course and what to do, communicating through me, of course. I will contact you via Ghost."

I was about to inquire as to why the Traveler would want my ship within crashing distance, but decided against it. I would probably just get a bunch of cryptic answers from the Speaker, anyway.

"Let me just get my Fireteam," I said, turning to leave. If this turned out to be a Raid, I wasn't going alone.

"You are going alone," the Speaker said flatly. I idly wondered if he was some sort of psychic. After he saw the face I made, he added, "I know that you did not triumph through the Vault of Glass or the Black Garden alone, and I'm glad you didn't. However, the Traveler is beckoning for you and only you. Taking more Guardians than is needed would have an unknown impact on your mission."

"He's playing it safe. You should listen to him, you know," my Ghost said.

'Gee, thanks for taking my side...' I thought.

It was my Ghost's turn to ask the Speaker a question regarding our mission. "How long will this mission last?"

"As long as you are needed. We will call you back once your mission is completed, if all goes right. Keep in mind while you are preparing that you will be gone for an undefined amount of time. It could be a few hours, or days, weeks..."

By then I was already lost in thought, my mind mulling over the implications. An unknown mission at an undisclosed location, taking up an unknown amount of time? Presumably stars away from supply caches and fellow Guardians? There were so many essentials that I had to pack and bring with me! Ammo Syntheses, weapons like Invective and Icebreaker that can regenerate ammo, various suits of armor and elemental weapons to adapt to any situation, weapon parts and Hadronic Essences for equipment maintenance, Ascendant materials and Exotic Shards in case I find any good weapons or armor wherever I'm going, the list goes on...

I caught myself in the middle of my thoughts. I found myself elated to have a purpose again; a place where my skill set was needed. I felt like I did before trekking through the jungles of Venus and trudging through the wastelands of Mars - I was marching into the darkness without the slightest notion of what awaits me when I get there. I was excited.

My only regret was that I could not take a fireteam with me. I know that Slayne would have wanted to-

"-have fifteen minutes to prepare for-" I heard the Speaker say.

"Whoa, whoa! What was that?" I asked, panicked. It appears my musings got the better of me again, in the worst of times.

The Speaker didn't seem upset in the slightest, and took my diverted attention in stride. "The Traveler's voice is becoming urgent. There isn't much time left."

He stopped leaning over his desk and adjusted his mask, the same mask that Guardians make legends about. "I will give you fifteen minutes to prepare." The Speaker gestured toward the exit with his arm. "Bring whatever you may need to survive-"

But his advice fell on deaf ears. I was already sprinting back to the Tower Plaza to get the most out of the admittedly small amount of time I had been given.

"Good luck, Guardian! I have the utmost faith in you and your Ghost!" the Speaker shouted after me.

But let's be realistic! Who needs luck when you have superior firepower and space magic?

---

"Thorn? Patience And Time? Shadow Price?"

"Check. Check. Check."

"MIDA Multi-Tool? Red Death? Invective?"

"Check. Check. Check."

"SUROS Regime? Plan C? The Crash?"

"Check. Check. Check."

"Super Good Advice-"

"Uh, no."

I looked up from the storage terminal I was typing away at and stared at the Ghost behind me. "I missed one?"

"Well...no."

"Then?"

"I...just don't think it's a good idea to take that machine gun along with us. Wouldn't Thunderlord or Zombie Apocalypse be a better choice to take along? Or maybe even The Swarm?" my Ghost asked. Its thrumming voice sounded almost...pleading?

"I already transmatted The Swarm to the ship." I raised an accusatory eyeplate. "Is it because of Super Good Advice's ability to talk?"

My Ghost hesitated. I savored these moments. I was gonna give Ghost so much shit for this later...

"Not so much of its ability to talk, but..."

"You don't fancy the idea of having another wisecracking, patronizing talking robot taking your place with me?" I snickered.

"I just...you know what? Forget it."

I chuckled and pressed the button, transmatting Super Good Advice to the ship. If I was going to a quiet place, it sure as hell won't be quiet anymore, what with my two AI companions' bickering.

I meticulously went through the mental checklist I made earlier (Exos can't forget anything unwillingly, after all), and was content to see I had gotten everything I needed. Prior to transmatting most of my weapons and alternate armor pieces to my ship, I had a field day at the Gunsmith's, purchasing an exorbitant amount of Ammo Syntheses of all types. After that, I spent a good portion of the mountain of Glimmer I had been accumulating on weapon parts and engrams. My Sparrow and ship, having been serviced by the Shipwright, were ready for deployment.

All that in record time, too. My Ghost informed me I had two minutes to spare.

Before I could do anything else, I shivered abruptly, and not from the cold. I had a feeling of being watched...

I looked around warily, seeing nothing except for the normal morning rush of the Tower and the ever-present signs of winter. I sighed and brought a palm up to my foreplate, smirking a bit.

'Introverted bastard.'

Sensing no change in my environment, I said aloud with mock threat in my voice, "You can come out now. Unless you want me to do what I do to Stealth Vandals..."

That elicited a response. "You robots are no fun to sneak up on." The air behind me crackled, and refracted to reveal an Awoken Hunter. The Hunter's appearance was a bit thin (all Hunters had to be), with carefully trimmed black hair jutting from his scalp. Black war paint striped across his blue complexion. His cloak flowed lazily behind him, and his armor...

Oh, by the Traveler, his armor. If I had a nose, I would have wrinkled it in distaste.

'Lucky Raspberry...'

Momentarily, I disregarded my friend's strange fashion sense. I walked up to him and patted him on the shoulder, purposely putting a bit of strength into the gesture. His mask of seriousness never changed.

"Slayne, buddy..." I paused for effect. "What worries me is that you've tried sneaking up on robots. You wanna try that over at the Gunsmith's place? I'm sure Banshee's lost his trigger finger by now and definitely will not unload an entire clip of a machine gun in your face."

The corners of Slayne's mouth curved upward into a small smirk. "Don't give me ideas, Exodus."

I smiled. Slayne was a long time friend of mine, and we've been through thick, thin, and hordes of undying monsters together. Shortly after I was resurrected by my Ghost in the Cosmodrome and arrived at the Tower for the first time, I met an Awoken Hunter who had also just been revived at the same place in Old Russia. I didn't talk much, he didn't talk at all, and we both discovered we were more effective killing machines as a fireteam. Slayne has helped me through the Black Garden, the Vault of Glass, and the other various shitstorms that I started and found I couldn't finish alone.

...But for the umpteenth time, it occurred to me. What kind of name was Slayne? I mean, I wasn't too creative with my own, Exodus-6, but really.

Why not Slade? Slade sounded cooler, and more of an assassin's name.

I snapped out of my reverie. "Hey, why not-"

"No, I will not rename myself Slade, for the seventeenth time," he said irritably.

"Twenty-first," I corrected him helpfully. Perfect memory was a bitch.

Slayne facepalmed. Since we hadn't talked much since or before the Vault, he asked, "So, where were you exactly, before we invited you to raid the Vault of Glass? You vanished during the celebration commemorating the recovery of the Traveler."

I looked into oblivion as I remembered the event. "I was in the Hangar, preparing to leave."

He gestured for me to keep going.

"I ran into the Stranger. She gave me a Pulse Rifle that looks too advanced for this century," I said a tad lamely.

Slayne swooped down on the opportunity to harrow me. "So, that all you guys did?" he asked suggestively. "You robots don't-"

"Piss off, blue man."

He had a good laugh, and silence reigned between us. The noise of the Tower engulfed the air. From inside my head, my Ghost informed me I had less than a minute left.

To my surprise, the Hunter was the one to break the silence. I always ended up being the talkative one in the past... What was this world coming to?

"I got word that a person named Eris is paying a visit to the Tower. Something about the Hive, and the dark below..." There was something in his eyes as he said this, and it was what I felt when I was informed of my unknown mission: abstract excitement for the unknown.

I knew he was asking me to come along. He had a way of incorporating his questions into statements. Regrettably, I had a mission of my own.

"Sorry. I got a mission from the Speaker. Solo."

"So that's what has the Tower riled up now, and why you were emptying your storage space," he said in realization.

"Yeah."

"What exactly is this mission-" Slayne began to inquire.

'Wrap it up, Exodus! The Speaker wants you ready in space in ten seconds! Preparing you for transmat!'

'Crap.'

"I don't even have time to explain why I don't have time to explain," I quoted. I turned around and made to leave. "Sorry. I gotta go. Give my regards to Lakshmi, Cayde, and the others, would you?"

"Wait," he said. I turned around and faced Slayne. He twirled something around in his hand, and slapped the metallic object into my hands. I inspected the object, identifying it as his revolver, of the Tex Mechanica making.

"The Last Word?" I asked, baffled.

"I would say good luck, but you got The Last Word, so the point is moot." He smiled cheekily when I tried to object. "I got spare hand cannons, anyway."

Slayne didn't even know where I was going or when I would return, and he gave me his favorite revolver? I opened my mouth to say...

"Thanks-"

But when I looked up from the weapon, I was already in my ship, seated in the cramped cockpit. I looked back to The Last Word, and took a few moments to marvel at the masterful craftsmanship of the gun. Sighing, I concealed the gift in my Warlock robes, telling myself I would use it for future emergencies only.

Friendship truly knows no bounds.

Author's Note:

If you're wondering about the huge amount of exposition and not enough of our little ponies, please bear with me. We'll be arriving in Equestria fairly soon...

Comments

[DeltaOsprey]

Take all of the exotic weapons! ... Well most of them anyways.
Word is such a pretty tool of mass destruction.

Also as a Titan I must question your lifestyle, but as a fellow Exo I insist that you bring the pain.

[Unknown Six]

5353778

Take all of the exotic weapons! ... Well most of them anyways.

Least he didn't bring Gjallarhorn. Goodbye to Equestria if that happens...

As a Warlock, I am sometimes confused by Titans' tendency to smash things, but it is an acceptable trait in battle.

And yes, fellow Exo. There will be pain. And fire.

[Dragonslayer Ornstein]

EXO FO LYFE

[Unknown Six]

5360928

There's a good man.

[Lord Shaxx]

"Good luck, Guardian! I have the utmost faith in you and your Ghost!" the Speaker shouted after me.
But let's be realistic! Who needs luck when you have superior firepower?

I know, right?

[No I Will Not]

And that's how you reveal your character without exposition.

[The Villain in Glasses]

5354005

Why not bring Gjallarhorn?

No.... It can't be....

HE DOESN'T HAVE IT YET!?

[Ruinous Effigy]

5354005
*Laughs in 1k Voices*