Destiny Posts

	The return to the House had been under far poorer circumstances than Madelyn would have wished. Immortality had a habit of fostering comfort, after all. Did she never really consider that the Traveler’s light would one day leave them? It had done it to the Eliksni before, sent them scattering through the stars to chase It in hopes of reclaiming favor rather than letting themselves be relegated to doom and abandonment. Of course – this was a little different than that, yes? So many reports and transmissions had been bounced through star systems, some of which Madelyn herself had sent home under the burgeoning suspicion of Cabal centralizing power and flotillas. What had been routine inspection initially had turned deadly quite quick, forcing the Huntress back into familiar space – heavy with fear and a light that had abandoned her for far longer than she was comfortable with. [C]
Secret Song  	Pensive thoughts kept expression neutral as she and Demosthenes passed through the salvaged halls and sluices of their new home, navigating to the warmaster’s grotto that undoubtedly housed The First Son. As she passed beneath floating luminglobes and shanks tending to matters of welding, she could not help but shift blue eyes to their dutiful work. It did not have the same charm, sadly, and seemed more akin to the final preparations of a tomb than a place to reforge themselves anew. When she’d arrived but a few days ago, she found whispers of concern and clicks of displeasure had become the shallow pulse to the House. Despite the efforts Captains made to discourage it, the prospect of the Kell’s state of health was too heavy a banner above them – dark and prominent. They’d been shook. Among them, Madelyn’s doubt festered (of course, Demosthenes’s contemplative silence did not do her any favors)… [C]
Secret Song  	But as she slipped past a curtain of hand-painted, Redemption-emblazoned tarp she did her best to dismiss it. “How long did you chase the stars before the Kell found you, Sykras?” In the past she’d spent so many times belly-crawling into his neck of the compound, young and inexperienced to sharpen her teeth and stealth on his harsh (and impossibly perceptive) edges. He’d sent her packing, bruised and lesson-fueled, so many times she was certain he’d learned to feel her halfway across the caverns. These days she did not mask herself, however; their games were perhaps gone with the days before the paradigm shift turned everything upon its axis. Hovering and swirling over Madelyn’s shoulder as she entered, Demosthenes flew ahead and upward to make himself comfortable high above – observant, glowing silently, and no doubt calculating every angle and possibility from his vantage. [C]
Secret Song  	Even if this had not been a warzone, he treated it as such; there was a lesson in everything, a calculation that needed to be solved and accounted for. Sykras's own ghost had been entirely ignored for the time being, save for being marked as a potential variable in what would certainly be an illuminating discussion. The Huntress perhaps had a few choice words for the grumbling First Son in his moment of weakness; she could not afford for him to be a brittle, doubt-riddle shell of his former glory. Where would that leave her if he was? [E]

Sykras  	Her words seemed ignored at first, as if the Son didn't wish to hear such silly sentiment. How could she think of trivial matters during this time, this seething wound that would threaten everything each Eliksni under the banner of Redemption knew. Even her. But, this was unusual for the stray they dragged in years ago, whom he put through trial after trial. Back then, it didn't matter if she succeeded, but, had she of returned while his Light was encapsulated by the device that gripped around the Traveler like an Iron Fist, would he have killed her? But judging by how the silent Ghost hung over her with its ever-staring eye, she too had found a way to perhaps claim what was lost, a momentary flicker within a quickly dying candle. [15 years.] He spoke in the tongue he was familar with, perhaps to his usually cheery ghost's dismay, the mirror opposite of the battled-hardened Captain.[C]
Sykras  	His head turned, glowing orbs staring at her, with lids squinted to show his unease to answering this question, [15 years, I watched a village rise and crumble. I protected them, and they protected me. Until they were snuffed out by the Dark. But something I couldn't save them from.] The harsh clicks and rolls of his tongue lashed out, an opening of a long-scarred over wound. Gidion looked away, recalling those days as well, giving a glance to Demosthenes’s direction, before floating over to the banner that it had grown rather attached to. It remembered that day, when they cast aside red for the bone-yellow. For the gold trim, and the strength it carried. It looked more like a tombstone now. Gripping at one of the cannons on the wall, he lifted it off, looking it over before turning to face her, his legs carrying slow steps until he was but a few feet from her. [He pulled me from the flames. He gave my hate direction. And now he is dying. And he has not the strength to speak.[C]
Sykras  	] He was infuriated by this fact. The Kell who stood against his own Kin to see his dream, now left to nothing more but a wheezing mess, watching the lightless age catching up to him. He had lived for far longer than any other of the House. The cannon in his talons was flipped and twisted as if to examine it, his eyes averted away from the Hunter, from the one that took him perhaps far too long to call Kin, and looked at the emblem that was etched in by dagger's blade. [He will not speak to me of his blight. And his Earth-Servitor speaks weakly.] The sound of the metal and parts warping was heard as his claws took a harder grip of it, darting his gaze back up to her, [But if there was a way for us to retrieve our light, then he can as well.] That's when Gidion turned around and floated over quickly, almost right into Maddy's face, twirling its back section quickly, "Yes, maybe you can get to him. Usually, ol' Grumps...[C]
Sykras  	disposition puts him at a disadvantage when it comes to casual talk," it was interrupted for only a moment as a harsh growl was given, which caused the small Ghost to look at him, almost sternly, but seemed to half-glance back at her, "But, maybe he can tell you where to go. We'll drag back that entire shard if we have to. We were so close, we can't let it end here."[E]

Watching him move and chuff with displeasure, she invited herself into the halo of his quarters to take up post atop a small collection of crates near one side. Flipping the hem of her poncho out from beneath her like a pianist tending to elegant tuxedo tails, she soon settled into a lazy recline upon one elbow and let a dirty boot kick itself out aside. Blue eyes never wavered from him despite the fact he wanted to pretend as if she did not exist; she’s endured that enough for a number of years already. “Fifteen years you survived before him, before you took his banner as your own. You will survive beyond him, carrying that banner if you need to.” There was no debate about the way she spoke – but despite the clear difference in the tongues they commanded, he would surely be able to read the hint of venom coating a blade of steel that she wanted to wedge between his ribs. If he did not remember himself, who he was, who he served, she would surely find leverage to wound. [C]
Secret Song  	“If you fail him, Sykras, you will fail us all.” By now, that chipper Ghost of his had swirled into position before her to gain her attention. It took her a moment to break pointed eyes of wintry azure from the shuffling Captain – eager for him to know the gravity of her words and tone. His claws had been filled with a canon but that was no deterrent for her despite the fresh notion of being Lightless still ripe in her mind. She’d suffered at his hands before. “…I suspect the Kell would turn me away the same as he would his Son, Gidion.” Her attention flickered momentarily from Ghost to his Guardian, before returning firmly again with a faint narrow of inspection. “You mean to tell me he has the coordinates for a Shard and he’s not mobilized the House?” The hint of resentment that touched her again was harsh enough that nostrils flared for a moment, a self-soothing inhale filling her senses with the smell of gunoil, metal, and damp earth. [C]
Secret Song  	Gloved hands creaked with a protest of leather as fingers laced together across her abdomen, no doubt trying to conceal a desire to fidget or thrash wildly in the Captain’s face. Abandoning the eye of the Ghost to turn that sharp attention upon the equally angry and subdued Sykras, Madelyn did her best to comport an aura of control no matter how much selfishness bid her to rally the Dregs and Vandals that had been sent under her for the stars. It’d be a foolish pursuit with so few, no matter how trained she thought them to be. Things were different now – tenuous. “You will come with me, First Son.” The idea of taking an audience with the Kell had been something of scary to the lean little Human, of course. Seeing a dying father was not her idea of exciting or delightful. “You will accept the burden of the House in his stead. You will lead a hunt for the Shard. You will restore him.” It was not a task for an interloper, no matter how much Madelyn had proven herself loyal kin. [E]

Sykras  	His head tilted up once more at her, as she spoke her harsh words and tone. And he stared, the faint pupils of his eyes wandering for a moment, before huffing softly. Long gone was the young Dreg dragged in by the sympathetic sister of the Captain. With a hard motion, he turned, his own cape whipping up lingering dust on the floor. [The Dark. It once again fogs our path.] He started, walking towards one of the lockers that sat in the back of his humble abode, larger than the rest. The cannon in his arms was lifted and settled into the magnetic locks upon his back, [The Kell. He is wise. He is strong. I would follow him into the Abyss, just as I am sure you would,] lower talons moved upwards with purpose. A spark, perhaps seemed to lighten up in him. Was it her words that made him want to seek action, or had he gotten bored in his brooding? The locker clicked, and the doors were swung open, to the Axe that was of his design, his creation, something he was never without.[C]
  	And it was gripped by the shaft, a slow clicking follow him, [He speaks his riddles,] oh how he hated the way his Kell and youngest sister spoke. Words of the Great Machine? Of swirling light and whispered words? The Cabal now held it, with the large net, while they attempt to corrupt it. [Whether he is delusional, or is hiding where we must go, I am unsure.] His clicks were getting louder, growing frustrations as he lifted the axe up and placed the blunt end of the shaft within the concrete below him, mechanical talons wrapping tighter against it's salvaged parts. [But...you have grown.] And his head turned over his shoulder, lifting the axe out from the floor, and started back towards her sat position. [I am not doing this alone. Do you think your sisters are not searching? But, the time for waiting idly is done.] That much, he agreed with her, his eyes blazing with the fire within him, before walking towards the metal seal used to enter his area.[C]
  	His free upper claw took grip of the door, but stopped, and only adjusted his head enough to have his voice heard back to Mata, a low clicking first, "Not old enough to kill me," there was no chuckle after that, but, he threw the door open, the metal slamming into the wall with a loud thung that echoed down the hallways. "Come now. We find answers." He relegated back to the common tongue of this world, more so for the sake of Gidion that Maddie, but the Ghost blinked and rushed after him, "If you keep doing that, you're going to throw the door off!" It stopped to look at the door, seeming to squint with its single 'eye' before looking to the other two, and nodded before rushing after Sykras, who was stomping in a powerful stride towards their 'throne' room. To question his sick father.[E]

Secret Song  	All the while, Demosthenes observed from on high; he made no true move to hide himself, of course, but he did diminish his presence by way of silence and closing the aperture of that single glowing eye. It was true that the odds of Sykras striking his Hunter were exceptionally low, but he’d still made quite the effort to read and calculate the new changes in the Eliksni captain’s biology. Moods were hard to read from them, after all, but intentions became easier to discern when taking into account pulse-rates, body language and trajectory, and the new positions that the impossibly tall creature had been taking up. Madelyn, however, didn’t need quite all of that to read him. She’d been doing it for years by now – cutting her teeth and shaping her skills on him, learning him from angle to angle, from indifference to anger. As such, she felt no danger in his presence even as venom-slaked words intended to wrench themselves into place beneath the weakspots he was offering her. [C]
  	What she found in response was not wilting dejection that had relegated him to the Warmaster’s grotto, but instead a shifting determination rekindled anew. There he was. That was the Sykras she knew and loved. For a time there she was afraid she’d lost him (though she would never admit to entertaining the thought), but with his reply tempered by the fire in his eyes and punctuated by the axe falling into his hands… she felt her own ire dissipate. That was one less weak-link in the House of Redemption. “Let’s hope so,” she offered in his passing the threshold of the bulkhead. Death had become very real to them most recently, yes? The Kell’s fragile state would surely not let them forget. Unfolding from her half-reclined position amidst tarp-draped crates, the Hunter slid herself to a stand and brushed past the fretting Gidion floating nearby. [C]
  	Demosthenes paused for a long moment to cast his eye over the emptying room, no doubt committing its nooks and designs to databanks in silence. Only afterward did he move on to join his Guardian who had taken up pace slightly behind the enormous First Son. Unwilling to get uncomfortably squished between his stride or subject to any doors frustratingly rebounded, she slipped effortlessly between his legs and took point with a flick of her dirty poncho. Around them, construction shanks continued their mindless deliveries and welding while small dottings of recessed Dregs slunk from shadow to watch; The First Son was among them, after all, curiously brandishing weapons and a gait that spoke of intent. Subtle clicks of greeting to him were paid in due, before they’d chitter amongst themselves while following along as best they could from catwalks and makeshift sluiceways. [C]
  	Preceding Sykras, Madelyn brushed aside more tarps emblazoned with Redemption sigils and pulled open hinged slats of sheet-metal to cut them a path toward the throne room where pikeman guardians and mystics grew thicker in presence. The mood that hung heavy and yet quiet around them was palpable... and for a moment she considered turning tail and running. At her back (and likely shoving her aside or entirely stepping over her if she took too long), Sykras's presence put a bit of steel in her spine and saw a gloved digit thumbing at her nose. "Aggression won't serve you here, First Son. Remember that." Madelyn shifted her attention upward to him briefly to make sure he knew, but also to remind him that she would be present to support his case. [E]

Sykras  	Off the two went, through halls of grime and a long forgotten Age of humanity, Halls that might of once held numerous humans to defend against the enemies of humanity, was now only filled with emptiness, save for the Eliksni that scuttled along, mindful of their Elder Captain, and the Hunter that held her own rank within. He was in no more more mood for waiting, and his heavy steps caused a few of the workers focused upon works of Fallen machines and reinforcements to ensure the bunker didn't cave in on them to turn and watch him. There were even a few pushed out of the way, by his lower talons, and a low growl gave enough to of an indication that there was important business being made in the works. While the little one was able to move through him with ease, his burdensome size in this situation was forcing him to hunch down in certain locations, glancing down at her for a moment as she maneuvered her way through his legs, and did nothing more to stop it.[C]
  	She knew where to go, the overly protected area of the Throne room was indication enough. There might of been a matter of worry when she arrived between tarps towards the large set of double doors, but the pikes were eased as the Captain emerged and loomed overhead. They moved away, bowing their heads in respect to the mighty one, and he stopped to listen to her words. Aggression was what he knew best, her knowing this more than any, and the scars and dents along his armor gave way to the title. But, he was the First Son, the one that helped found this House since that day so long ago. A grunt was given in agreement, before approaching the doors and adjusting the grip of his axe to be held horizontally while the massive palms of his claws pushed the two door opens and stomped inside. The interior of this monitoring station was long past its prime, with many of the rows of monitors now stripped way to give way to a more stairway look.[C]
  	They were used instead as lights, spliced above, and on to white screens to help the main sections of lights illuminate the dark room, but to not much avail. The screens upon the walls where the door stood were left off for the moment, normally on to monitor the Bunker itself, as well as to present maps and detailed strategies, they were no needed, not now to the other in the room. There, at the top, he sat, the Kell himself. He was strong, he always seemed to be eager for guests, and yet, there he was, his head hung low, lower claws gripped upon the makeshift throne of cargo boxes and padding that shaped a seat as best as possible, while upper arms dangled limply to the side. The strange, Servitor shaped Ghost spun slowly from his place at the Kell's side, to the two who intruded, and blinked it eye, turning back to face the Kell as another weak wheeze as made from Trovaks.[C]
  	"He's only getting worse," the stoic voice of his Ghost spoke, digitized, and near mumbling as it turned to face them again. Sykras did not like to see the Kell like that. To see the one he considered his Father in a state that made him seem more like a Dreg than a Kell, and after walking up a few steps, he staked his place and rammed his axe's shaft into the step, [I am awake.] His clicks were hard, but, he did his best to curve his tongue, in hopes to seek logic out of this. The Ghost shook for a moment, before adjusting it's gaze to the smaller one, blinking a few times, "Matalyn, you still live. I'm sorry you've come back to...certain circumstances. But, the Kell is having difficulty speaking. I will be doing my best to speak for him..."[C]
  	It floated down and in front of Trovaks, whose head lifted once the sound of the slamming axe made contact with the concrete, and stared down at the two, his lower talons digging into the metal 'armrests' as if wanting to speak, but there was a hard cough that rattled his armor, causing his Ghost to spin and watch him only for a second, before seeming to sigh, and looked back to the two, "...Sykras told you, of his Vision? What the Light showed him, after the Cabal took the Great Machine?" Perhaps it used this word to honor those who were its Guardians. "And judging by Demosthenes, you found your Light as well."[E]