Destiny - Chapter 1 (FUCK OFF BUNGIEFAGS)

Chapter 1

>Grunting once, you pause for a second to readjust the weight on your shoulder.
>The pain only goes away for a second- maybe perhaps even more amplified now.
>Finding no more reason to waste more time, you try your best to ignore the pain.
>Bah, you had worse.
>Your heavy footsteps echo through the spacious hall, resonating from the stone floor.
>You spot the wooden beams that rib the hallway, acting as its support.
>And upon each of those supports- the only source of light in this place, the ever simple torches.
>The cackle of the flames bounces along with the noise of your movement.
>The chainmail under your breastplate chinks as you make wider swings with your arm.
>It was loud and noisy; you didn’t even know why you wore them under your armor.
>Perhaps it was for the extra protection; but you really can’t say chainmail saved you from anything.
>Your shirt under the chainmail probably offered more damage reduction.
>It was made from fine, dried leather; coated with the-
>Oh blast, the neck guard is bothering you again.
>’It’s for yer own good’, he said. ‘It’s gonna save ya’, he says.
>Really, the smith needed to lay off the blasted ale he’s been craving so much.
>Jolly Roger there decided to add some strange pauldron on your breastplate.
>It poked out oddly on your left, where your shield arm was.
>The thing was supposed to act like an attached, tiny shield- just to protect you from slashes at your neck.
>No bloody clue why smith didn’t went all the way and add the ‘neck guard’ for both sides.
>He’s probably going to answer that’s not reasonable.
>You’ll show the sniveling, lazy mad rat what’s not reasonable.
>Imagine trying to see through your helmet slit with this thing on, by god-
>”Name?”
>Why, he probably used up the gold for the addition for his drinks.
>When Martha hears about that, the beatings he’ll get from his wife-
>”Name?”
>Name? Yes, Martha is his wife.
>You hear someone clear their throat, rather loudly, in fact.
>The noise brings you back to speed on where you were- the end of the hallway; the reception desk.
>The baggy faced receptionist scowls at you, her dirty sight magnifiers hanging on her crooked nose.
>Ink begins to drip from her poised quill, standing ready to scrawl down some meager note you were going to deliver.
>”Name?” The receptionist asks again, speaking much louder this time.
>The sudden increase of her existence catches you by surprise, prompting you to slump the body on the reception desk.
“Here to report a kill.” You reply rapidly.
>The annoyed stare from the woman holds, as if she was waiting for something long due.
>”Aye…” She sighs. “Name?”
“I- uh…” You think back on the kill. “I believe his name was Wilson.” You pause. “Wilson by the old crooked tree of Tretch.”
>The woman blinks slowly, the look on her face slowly crumbling apart.
>”I’ll just jot you down as Anonymous.” She finally declares.
>Oh, she was asking for your name.
“Well, I do have an name, it is-“
>”Who was your Caller?” She swiftly cuts you off.
“Some mage who went with the initials of A.R., ma’am.”
>”A.R., ey-R., eyarre…” The receptionist echoes as she goes through the log book.
>”Ah yes, there we go, the call to end some wannabe hero by the name of Wilson.” She reads. “The sum of pay is…” The woman trails away as she begins to reach her desk drawer.
>Finally finding what she was looking for, the receptionist produces a rather sizable pouch of gold.
>”Fifty gold coins, check it here, don’t cry about it later.” She finishes, and drops the item in front of you.
>You spread out its contents and begin to count one by one.
>Now let’s see here, two tens, three fives… Uh…
>You put the coin back in the purse; it’s probably the right amount.
>Just as you store the coin in your bag, you hear another throat clearing.
>You look at the source, finding it is the receptionist again.
>She pokes at the now late Wilson, looking to you with those same cold eyes.
>Not even bothering to respond by voice, you grab Wilson’s foot and drag him off the table.
>You then head away, Wilson enjoying a nice moment of face-dusting.
>Why, what are Callers you ask? Well, they are people, just like you and I.
>They perform their namesake; they ‘call’ out to the world- reaching out for available hands.
>The company you work for simply ‘catches’ this rally, and send someone over.
>You could say it was an over-glorified noticeboard.
>Over-glorified and over-sized.
>Hundreds of men flock to work in this place, and many of them do find the job suited for them.
>A bard may find a Caller who requires some entertainment (or to stab, the either two is amusing.); or a healer may find a sickened man- so on and so forth.
>You? Well, you’re a fighter.
>Not in a metaphorical sense, you really are a simple warrior.
>You may not be the sharpest tool in the shed, but you wield the said sharp tool very well.
>In short, you’re a mercenary.
>A humble man going about hacking and beating some other humble poor fool over some unsettled bet or argument.
>You may not be in the favor of the god of morality, but the pay is nice.
>You have a bunk to sleep on, warm food and drinks, and a decent (albeit dumb as his hammer) blacksmith.
>What more could you need? Women?
>Ploughing is a farmer’s job and you do not need some feminine wile in your life.
>Like you said; a perfect life for a simple man.
>Oh, a small detail you forgot; your Callers aren’t often from around these parts.
>You had people calling you from other realms; don’t bother with a query on how that works.
>It’s magic, you can’t explain that nonsense.
>Perhaps you can, but you’re afraid you’ll go mad from all the details.
>Leaning over your steaming dinner, you take a moment to take in the smell.
>You’d like to believe this thing was once a cow.
>Just as you pick up your utensils, you feel a shake on your chest.
>Looking down at the gold medallion, you see it gleam softly- alongside the vibration it let out.
>Not wasting another second, you begin to dig onto your food, downing it quickly.
>You don’t like rushing through anything, but this situation called for it.
>There is a Caller.

>Somewhere up there, there is another day dawning.
>Somewhere up there, there is steel clashing on steel.
>Somewhere up there, there is a life extinguished.
>Somewhere up there, there is a cry of help- and loss.
>Somewhere up there, there is a day fading.
>Somewhere up there…There is the season unending.
>But somewhere down here, there is only hope.
>Hope that sustains the ones above, hope that drives them to fight, hope that sends them to the death.
>They were brave and valiant, and their sacrifice will be remembered in the coming day.
>Stoneheart, Swiftwind, Sparkhorn, and Fierce-
>It’s at the tip of her tongue…
>… Who- Hoo-
>Fiercehooves! Of course.
>The four that made this path possible, they shall be the part of the rememberance.
>If only she knew the value the quest had, if she only understood-
>Perhaps maybe then she would not grieve so much.
>But time draws near, and her mission is near the end.
>Obeying her mother, the lone figure approached the stone altar.
>She walked across a chasm, a chasm legend told that it was bottomless.
>The obsidian bridge resonated with her footwear; the shining, golden shoes.
>Most of her body was covered in a thick cloak, enchanted to withstand the harsh elements of this land.
>… Alongside the harsh artificities the inhabitants of this land favoured so much.
>Some whispers said that the very cloak was prepared by The Empress herself, focusing all of her arcane energy onto the clothing;
>For her elder daughter.
>The Eldest’s white, pale nose stuck out of the hood of her clothing, a telltale sign of her heritage.
>Oh no, she was not like you, nor anything you have bothered to converse with.
>But let’s leave out that information out for the time being, as it drives us away from the point of the trip.
>The altar was of reflective grey marbles, cut into a fine rectangular table.
>Aside from looking very heavy, it did not seem to serve any purpose by itself.
>The eldest neared the structure, and examined the scratches on the supposedly polished surface.
>Sure, it could have been polished a long time ago, but this certainly was not the case as of now.
>Amongst the markings, she also discovered a small object lying and waiting.
>The air around the object began to vibrate, and light seemed to have appeared around it.
>The item then flew upwards, and settled at eye-level.
>The Eldest put up the tiny device closer to her sight, where her wide eyes can study it without intrusion.
>Why, it was a simple soapstone.
>She could sense no power coming from the thing; it felt like a normal white soapstone.
>For a second she considered throwing it away and leaving the wretched place at once, but her mother’s commands made her stay.
>Muttering curses at her mother’s foolishness, The Eldest produced a pouch of gems from her saddlebag, which was hidden under her cloak.
>A thought at the back of her head screamed she had to give this money for the poor and starving, but her empress’ orders were clear, not a single gem must be lost.
>Her breath suddenly became ragged, and a feeling of dread filled the heart of the eldest.
>Perhaps this was a fool’s errant, and her mother’s calculations were misplaced.
>Even as the doubts rose in her head, the princess was busy chalking down the message on the altar.
>A quick and a concise message for whoever will receive it-
>Something that represents the state of every soul’s mind-
>A message to rally whoever she will call-
>’Help us’.

“Help us?” You ask as you read the message.
>The notice room was starting to be flooded with other warriors, all looking for jobs like you are.
>The wide, right side of the room was the grey notice board.
>Hundreds, no thousands of white massages shined through the dull surface, each having its brilliant silver shine.
>Some fade away, and are quickly replaced with another call for help.
>Many offered detailed description on the job, who to go to, who to kill, and what you were going to get.
>But this notice…
>’Help us’, it read.
>Sweet and simple.
>Your now-armoured hand hovered over the markings, bringing up no extra details.
>No attached documents to sign, no work-specific apparel, no nothing.
>Just a bag full of valuable gems.
>You stand back and ponder for a second.
>The pay seems nice, and it would appear that you’re getting paid right away.
>And you surely can say no to that much pay.
>But then again, this could be a suicide mission with a decent pay.
>You heard of a lot of people dying by accepting calls just like this one.
>Maybe if you could-
>Oh damn.
>The message was faded away now, replaced with a notice from a SWF looking for a SBM.
>Well.

>The Empress sighed, and took the moment’s chance to massage the pain in her temples.
>She was going to lose this fight.
>The opposing force came crashing down on her troops with such volume and strength she had no time to react.
>Her men were dying every breath, and there was no way to stop the casualties rolling in.
>Already today she sent off fifty corpses away, and perhaps hundreds more to come.
>If anything, she learned the brute power of her enemies, and how unexpectedly they could strike.
>She should have set up –something- by that valley, she just knew it.
>She glanced over the map nervously, as if something would jump out of it and end her life on the spot.
>Still, she held onto a certain degree of hope- just enough to sustain her life, and yet keep her most reasonable.
>The Empress prayed her choice of sending away her eldest was for the best, as this dull ache at the back of her mind did little to calm her.
>For once in this tiring month, the sovereign paused to catch her breath.
>She weakly smiled to herself; she shouldn’t have pushed herself this hard.
>It’s going to be fine, she echoed in her mind, trying her best to reassure herself.
>Everything will wo-
>”Mother!” An annoyed voice called out to her.
>Ah yes, this voice; the commanding voice of her general, the regal tone of a ruler, and the groan of an annoyed, grown child.
>The Empress turned to face her child, her face brightening for once.
>”Celestia! You’ve returned!” She greets her daughter warmly, moving ahead to embrace her rather disgruntled child.
>”I presume you return with success?” The Empress quickly asked, sounding almost as excited as ever.
>This tone only disheartened The Eldest, as she knew it was a path with no reward.
>Instead of an answer, she looked away in shame.
>”… No, Mother. It did not work.” The Eldest finally declared.
>The smile on the Empress dropped faster than an arrow on a broken bow.
>”It- It did not work? How?” The Empress quickly asked, her head arcing towards her daughter.
>”I send for help, and I received nothing.” The Eldest simply said.
>”No.” The Empress spoke with a dire tone. “You must return and try once more.”
>”Why? Why must we waste our currency on this foolishness?” The Eldest argued, placing strength in her voice.
>”Because this foolishness is all we have.” The Empress replied.
>And with those words, the conversation seemingly died off, and the two were at a loss of words.
>”Celest-“ The Empress rose to speak once more, but was interrupted by a sudden shift noise coming through her tent wall.
>A slender, long stick with a sharpened point rested squarely on her table, standing right over a marked map of The Empress’ camp.
>The two went silent once more, before exploding into action.
>The Empress ducked as more arrows poured into the tent, while The Eldest struggled to keep up her magical shield.
>”We’re under assault!” A commander barged through the tent flaps, flanked by several royal guards.
>”We need to get to safety!” The Eldest declared, almost sounding like a war manual.
>”No! You must return to the cave!” The Empress shouted, quickly making her way to her daughter.
>”Mother-“ The child tried to protest but-
>”Please Celestia, this foolishness is the only thing that could save us.” The mother pleaded.
>Celestia stared into her mother’s shaking, dark eyes, before she decided to obey her once more.
>”Fine. For you, mother.” Celestia said with defeat.
>”Hurry on then, you must make haste.” The Empress spoke quickly, motioning several guards to converge on her daughter.
>”Protect her with your very lives.” The Empress ordered the guards, while they nodded silently.
>And with a shift goodbye and a shifter heart, The Eldest chased ahead through the field of battle.

>You glance along the grey notice board once more, looking for any more interesting jobs.
>They say beggars cannot be choosers, but you’ll make an exception here.
>That previous notice- you just couldn’t get that notice out of your mind.
>You let several good jobs fly by because of your temporal obsession with this calling.
>Your hand darts around several messages, still failing to locate you the same message you craved for so bad.
>Your eyes look ahead to the endless expanse that is the notice board, and many potential workers waiting for their turn.
>Your gaze finally rests on a blank space on the grey surface, and for a moment, you become a believing man.
>Pushing through soldiers and mercenaries, you rush ahead to the spot you thought was your destination.
>And as if it were a trick, a new message fades into view.
>Your hand touches it, and you rest your eyes upon the message once more.
>’Help us’.
>And without a hesitation this time, you press your fingers against the marking.
>Your vision goes bright, and you soon lose sense of where you are.

>Ragged breath escaped her clenched teeth, slowly petrifying the stone surface.
>The Eldest was running out of time.
>Behind her erupted the clash of blades and shields, accompanied with screams of death and pain.
>Did it work? Was she successful?
>The Eldest turned around to check for the coming horde of enemies.
>It was unclear what she expected, as she came into full sight of several griffon warriors.
>”Glorious.” The largest one spoke, grinning to himself.
>”The Eldest, one and only- and to think her head is mine!” He roared, slamming his massive axe against his breastplate.
>”You can try.” The Eldest returned, flaring her horn with magic.
>But she knew she was hopelessly outmatched.
>She knew her end was near.
>She had failed her mother, and all for this pathetic foolishness.
>Hope was a weakness in her eyes.
>And as the enemy drew near, a fine miraculous white light filled the room.
>Just as Celestia was ready to give up on her life, something else stood by her.

http://youtu.be/sPlhKP0nZII
>A massive figure began to rise by her, slowly straightening the thick pillars that were its legs.
>It stood tall on two legs, and possessed what seemed to be two arms on the very top-side corner of its torso.
>It was entirely black in colour, and was shaped like an unyielding fortress.
>The rectangular tower slowly slid sideways, as if the creature was looking at Celestia.
“Are you my Caller?” It asked.
>The Eldest could only nod in fear; she had never seen such being come into existence.
>None of her studies had described a creature in this caliber, it was familiar, and yet so alien in her learned eyes.
>The creature slowly moved forward, its heavy footsteps thundering through the now silent cave.
>The griffons looked in equal fear and curiosity, wondering what kind of creature was raised in defense against them.
>Even the mighty warrior that claimed Celestia’s head stood in awe, barely registering what kind of threat the creature could hold.
>Celestia had the chance to see the weapon it sported upon its back- a massive greatsword and its scabbard, possibly as tall as two guards.
>The creature breathed slowly, letting out a small wisp of fog through the slits on its face.
>A small amount of light began to pour into the cave, reflecting off the polished metal body of the creature.
“Do you stand against my Caller?” It asked.
>For a moment, there was no answer.
“If you do not, leave immediately.” The creature ordered.
>One of its arms rose to point at the entrance of the cave, slowly grinding into place.
>A single finger directed some to the exit and it was held there, as if the creature was a statue.
>The mightiest griffon of the group remained motionless, defiant to the giant’s orders.
>”And if I stay?” He asks, grinning once more.
“Then you will fall.” The creature declares quickly.
>”And how so? Will you face down my mighty axe?” The griffon lifts his weapon, as if to prove his might.
>The creature watched the griffon as he finished his taunt, studying its movements.
“Ah yes, the mighty axe man.” The creature began to speak. “You cull and bash at the ones before you, with all your power and uncontrolled rage.”
>The creature brought out his closed blade, and held it up with both hands.
“But have you against the bladesman?” The creature continued. “This blade was pieced by a dull but skilled smith, and do you hear it, axe man?” The creature asks gently, lightly running his fingers across the protected edge.
>For a second, the axe man looks confused.
>”Hear your blade?” He asks in bewilderment.
“Yes. Hear it whisper from its home. Heed on the promises it makes upon you and your shortened life.”
>Grabbing the sword by the hilt with a hand, the creature slammed the covered tip to the ground.
>And ever carefully, he began to draw the blade, only pausing once the base of the blade is visible.
“What of now, axe man? Do you hear it speak? Do you hear its hiss and its curses? Do you now hear the warning shine it gives? Do you fear what it has to say?”
>The creature then lifted the blade, while reaching out to hold the scabbard with his other free hand.
>And with a slick motion, he draws his entire blade, leaving it gleaming at the steady light of outside battle.
>Shaking the sword lightly to keep the balance, the creature slowly turns to an attacking pose.
“Will you listen now, axe man?” The creature shouts.
“Will you listen to its cries and whirlwind of screams?”
“Will you hear the deafening roar of its might and power?”
“Will you go against the blade that cries to draw your blood?”
“Will you face down the outcry that will strike you down?”
“Will you, oh mighty axe man, cross blades with who had already declared you dead?!”