Always wanted to know more about Dredgen Yor, infamous sire of the Thorn hand cannon. Playing with him looking like a tool of the Hive. Ended up looking awoken here, gonna be doing some more exploration of his character over the month.
A Ghost-compiled summation of observed behaviors and activities over the course of one cycle in the company of a Risen Gunslinger.
[Entry 1.1] Guardian has been standing completely still in Tower plaza for approximately 3 hours. By my count, Guardian has not slept in 36 hours.
[Entry 1.2] Guardian spent fifteen minutes repeatedly jumping off of Tower. Hence, ten minutes of near-constant Ghost revival, punctuated only by a single visit to Eris Morn. Eris refused to dance with Guardian.
[Entry 1.3] Guardian spoke briefly with Cayde-6 while crouched on Vanguard table. I could offer him no explanation.
Guardian returned to orbit; set course for Mars.
[Entry 1.4] Guardian encountered another Gunslinger while on patrol. The two attempted some kind of synchronized handshake or greeting for the better part of five minutes without speaking. I do not believe they succeeded in their timing.
[Entry 1.5] Both Guardians spent one hour attempting to kills Vex Hydras with nothing but throwing knives. Succeeded. Admired each other’s cloaks.
Guardian returned to orbit alone; set course for Luna.
[Entry 1.6] Guardian spent one hour repeatedly trying to jump over the Hellmouth while riding Sparrow. Did not succeed. Guardian has not slept in 42 hours.
[Entry 1.7] Guardian received assassination bounty from Hunter Vanguard Cayde-6. Danced upon receipt; shot several rockets into the sky while spinning in circles.
[Entry 1.8] Guardian has grown strangely quiet. Has been transmatting various weapons and armor for several minutes.
[Entry 1.9] Guardian has equipped gauntlets crafted from the bones of an extinct creature. Spent 45 minutes adjusting color scheme of armor. Seems quite fond of appearance; asked me for several image-captures. Complimented her own cloak several times.
[Entry 1.1.0] Guardian abruptly re-summoned Sparrow, rode Sparrow into depths of Hive temple. Did not dismount Sparrow. Sparrow destroyed due to repeated collisions with sentient and natural obstacles.
[Entry 1.1.1] Upon reaching Summoning Pits, Guardian attempted to kill Hive Abomination with sidearm. Failed.
[Entry 1.1.2] Upon Ghost revival, Guardian managed to single-handedly annihilate Hive Abomination with the combined power of the City’s finest weaponry. Proceeded to dance on corpse of eliminated foe.
[Entry 1.1.3] Guardian spent approximately one hour shooting walls of Hive tunnels, attempting to spell rude words.
Guardian returned to orbit, set course for Tower.
[Entry 1.1.4] Guardian spent 5 hours attempting to persuade Commander Zavala to read lewd/inappropriate Fireteam names over Tower PA system. Guardian has not slept in 55 hours.
Guardian returned to Orbit. Set course for the Reef.
[Entry 1.1.5] Guardian spent seven minutes crouched behind Petra Venj, trying to hide from other Guardians. Obtained bounties from the regent. Leapt to her death in apparent celebration.
Guardian returned to orbit. Set course for Venus.
[Entry 1.1.6] Guardian singlehandedly killed Stirok, Banner of Oryx. Proceeded to dance on corpse of eliminated foe.
[Entry 1.1.7] Guardian lost consciousness [slept?] for ~30 seconds while dancing; jerked awake screaming, related a description of a “Giant, bottomless mouth” attempting to devour her.
Guardian returned to orbit. Set course for Taken Dreadnought.
[Entry 1.1.8] Appears to be in a bad mood. Refused to speak with me. Spent duration of journey in silence, stroking bone gauntlets.
[Entry 1.1.9] Guardian descended into depths of Dreadnought. Grim of aspect. Has repeatedly refused comm contacts from Vanguard. Seems determined. Guardian has not slept in 62 hours.
[Entry 184.108.40.206] Guardian has utterly destroyed legions of Hive thrall, several minor priests, and a Coven Mother.
[Entry 220.127.116.11] Guardian has discovered apparent target: Hive Priest.
[Entry 18.104.22.168] Guardian has dispatched said target using only her boot-knife. Did not cease stabbing corpse of creature until long after it had expired and her armor was covered in gore and ichor. Ignored my attempts to drag her away - too busy laughing. I returned to stasis in protest.
Guardian returned to orbit. Set course for Tower.
[Entry 22.214.171.124] Guardian repeatedly asking me “What I just said.” I have not said anything to her. She seems distracted. Has not slept in at least 68 hours.
[Entry 126.96.36.199] Guardian spoke briefly to Hunter Vanguard while dancing on table. Returned to Tower plaza.
[Entry 188.8.131.52] Guardian has been staring into the sky without blinking for one hour. Guardian is muttering to someone who is not me.
Recently I had a talk with @yourspunkpunk over Guardians and whether they remember their past lives, and I know that this is a prevalent issue within the community itself.
Now I don’t know whether this is a writing oversight from Bungie or just a way to underline that every Guardian’s experience is unique (as an optimist who likes to reconcile all contradictory lore I personally prefer the latter option) so let’s just bring up the different perspectives on this.
1. Guardians have no memory at all of their past lives.
Example: Fenchurch Everis.
Fenchurch was resurrected by his Ghost, Neville, on the wastelands of Mars. He woke up utterly alone in the sand, except for one Silver coin with a digital signature. Said digital signature matched one of Tess Everis’s Silver coins, thus leading to the conclusion that he was one of her long lost relatives. He woke up with no memory of his past life, and spent years searching the solar system for whatever clues could lead him to discover who he was before he became a Guardian.
2. Guardians have a jumbled memory of their past lives.
Cayde has a journal, detailing his experiences living in the Golden Age, before he became a Guardian and before he even became an Exo. He even mentions Maya Sundaresh by name and describes her physique explicitly. However, the memories of the Golden Age are interspersed with information that’s definitely post-Collapse: Hive targets, being a Guardian, hiding in a cave with a camouflage cloak wrapped around himself, lending credence to the idea that his memories are jumbled and lumped together after an entire brain reset.
3. Guardians have enough memory of their past lives to assemble an identity. (This is the one least likely to be true and barely has any evidence for it.)
Examples: Pod #10201 (Master Chief?).
Upon scanning Pod #10201, Ghost states that he tried to resurrect him before you, but the person inside still preferred to stay dead, claiming that the “last war was enough for a thousand lifetimes.” Aside from implying that Ghosts can talk to dead people and ask them for consent to becoming Guardians (which is a topic for another time) this also carries the implication that dead people can still have memories post, well, you know, dying. It is really strange, and I have an idea as to how, but I need to do more research on it.
(Canon lore ends here.)
Now, what do I think?
I believe, that because Ghosts can scan things down to the quantum state (a mechanic required to understand the inner workings of Hive magic and Vex technology), that they can recreate people down to that resolution. Therefore, if there are electrical and neurotransmitter signals still running around the brain at the time, they would carry over, and so would their corresponding neural pathways.
However, because said memories and neural pathways only work if constantly reinforced, these latent memories would be practically obliterated due to the mountain of information Guardians have to process within seconds of waking up. It’s disorienting enough to play the videogame if you’ve never played it before. I can only imagine it would be much more so to actually wake up in it.
If a Guardian was resurrected in a therapy chair and asked to try and remember their past lives instead of being immediately forced to survive beyond the Walls, then maybe we’d have a Guardian with full knowledge of who they were before they died. But who knows?
This post is not meant to destroy anyone’s headcanons or argue against them, it’s only meant to give evidence to all three points.
Thank you for reading, and happy hunting, Guardians.
Egregores are a type of thought form. The word egregore comes from French literally meaning spirit of the group, and also meant watcher angel in the Book of Enoch. These egregores are constructed, and programmed from the energy, and intent of a group, or collective that share something in common. These entities can be made voluntarily, or involuntarily, and will exist much like other thought-forms, while feeding off of the energy, and intent that the group gives them by interacting with the purpose of the group.
Egregores start out weak, but with enough energy, and intention they can exist even after the group has disbanded, allowing them to continue on existing, and push for the agenda of the group, even if there is no one else to push with it. These entities act like hive minds, overseers, and guardians for the group, and the egregore will act upon the intentions, the thoughts, and the feelings of the group to push their agenda. The egregore’s appearance, and personality will be made from the perceptions of the group, and how it would like to look based on its knowledge, and understandings. Egregores have pretty much complete free will, and will do pretty much however they please, but they are greatly connected to the group that creates them, so mostly everything that they do will be centered around it. Egregores are formed pretty much anytime a group comes together for a certain goal, but egregores that are voluntarily created, and are known to exist will become very powerful, and can be interacted with to further the group’s ideologies, and practices. Groups do not have to be big in order to have an egregore. Egregores can be created in any form of group as long as there is more than one person.
Egregores are influenced by the members of their groups, and the members of the groups are influenced by the egregore. It is a give-and-take symbiotic relationship, that allows both of them to work towards their goals. The egregore is also the energy that surrounds the group, and is the first thing that you feel when interacting with said group. It will permeate throughout its members, and will be ever present, while also watching out for the well-being of the group. All you need to do in order to create an egregore is to have a group that consciously come together to push for one common purpose. That’s all there is to it, and based how hard everyone pushes towards that goal will determine how much energy, and intent is put into the egregore. This is a very important understanding to have in order to understand group thought-forms, and how they interact with the world around them along with the people that reside within these groups.
Never seen such a sorry sight, Cryptarch. Children, all of them - they’d been with a pilgrim train out of the Wilds that had gotten hit by a Stalking Party. Vanguard diverted us on our way back to the City, asked us to look for survivors. Someone must have thought to hide them, get them away before the Thralls came - pure, dumb luck that we managed to stumble over them before the Hive did.
They were all caught out there in the snow; no food, no shelter, and a hell of a long way from the City. We were six; a newer team with only a few missions under our belt. Two Titans besides myself, two Warlocks, and a single Hunter. A Gunslinger named Pella; a quiet girl who rarely smiled. Nix and I used to needle her, ask her to tell us one of the Tall Tales, but she’d just shake her head. Kept to herself.
One of the Warlocks - Rūl - he’d had a hard time of it where we’d been; had this look on his face the whole way back - pinched, kind of, like he was trying not to look at anything, trying to plug his ears without touching them. Talking to himself - muttering, shaking his head.
We knew it was bad news, but we’d all had a tough time of it; Transmat wasn’t working so we were all on foot, and we’d stopped talking days ago. All of us were moving pretty slow, trying to avoid the deeper drifts.
‘It’s not logical,’ Rūl told me when we found the children. ‘We don’t have food for them. The Hive will come for us.’
I shrugged him off and went back to the map with Nix - my Shield-Sister - and he left the camp for a bit, stood up on a ridge and stared at the snow.
Then he walked back to the children, and he…
And then he…
He pulled out his gun.
He killed six of them before anyone knew what was going on - wasn’t ‘til we heard the screaming that we knew something was wrong. Thought it was the Hive come back, at first.
Nix got there well before the rest of us. Tackled him, made to knock him out, but he got his sidearm up into her gut.
Then he smashed her Ghost with those…claws of his.
Just reached out and crushed it into dust. Only one reason to do that, you know?
He smashed her Ghost, and put a bullet in her head.
Then he just…went back to what he’d been doing.
Gulrun - the other Warlock - she broke down right there, like the string that had been holding her upright snapped. Started wailing - this horrible, dry, broken sound. Hasn’t been right since. And Jo, my Shield-Brother, he had a look on his face like the world was ending a second time.
Guess it seemed like it was.
Pella was the only one of us with any sense. Put a knife between Rūl’s eyes at thirty paces without missing a step. He dropped. Didn’t come back. When we picked up his Ghost later, it almost looked like it’d rotted from the inside out.
Failure wasn’t even the worst part. And it wasn’t seeing eight little bodies crumpled in the snow. Wasn’t that there was nothing I could do about it.
Worst part was the look on Pella’s face. Calm, and sad - and beaten. Nix once told me she thought there’d been something between her and Rūl. Lovers, maybe.
But she dropped him from thirty paces, because she knew she had to. She did it when the rest of us couldn’t.
Pulled the knife out of his forehead, wiped it on her leg, tucked it back in its sheath, started hushing the children. They weren’t even crying - not a sound, like they couldn’t see anything worse than what had already happened to them.
‘Burn him,’ Pella told us. ‘Armor too.’
We just stood there, frozen, Gulrun wailing behind us. So Pella, she threw her own cloak over Rūl’s body, hid him from the kids, and burned him.
I wanted her to scream, to fight us. Felt like we deserved it. Jo and I, at least. But she didn’t.
She told me she didn’t hate us, that she’d done what had to be done, and that was that. She said she’d seen it happen before, that the Wilds and their secrets can break a Guardian like a twig.
She said the creature she killed wasn’t Rūl anymore. She told me that she’s just a tool. That we’re all tools, that we’re only here to make sure Humanity gets another shot at things.
Sounded like she didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.
I’ll be leaving tomorrow. Alone. Gulrun hasn’t left observation, and Jo - he’s acting like it never happened. Trying to, at least.
I hear Pella’s headed for the European Dead Zone, looking for survivors, trying to keep the road safe. Might be that I can give her a hand.
And it might be that someday I’ll need someone to put a knife between my eyes. Might be that someday, she’ll need someone to do it for her.
He finds her in the War Room, long after the stars have risen, long after the lights of the City have sparked alight to mirror them. He is not surprised to see her; this is not the first time they have shared the same midnight vigil.
They speak, quietly, of vows and promises, kept and broken. They speak of things they cannot speak of except to each other, except here, long after the day has fled, when the darkness feels a comfort and not a hanging axe.
“I met her when I was young and full of Light,” she tells him, “When we thought that the skies were ours. The Fallen had not conquered us, and when we looked up to the stars we saw promise and not despair.”
Cayde-6 waggles a hand, beneath the table, where she cannot see. He imagines a deck of cards; draws one, sighs -
And stays quiet.
“She was our guiding light, and we followed her to ruin.”
He risks a glance, but her face is as impassive as it ever is; drawn, perhaps, to the shadows that skitter across the windows facing the peaks.
“She burned brighter than the sun,” she whispers, and he hears the crackle of embers in her voice, old now, dulled by time but not yet dead; still lit by grief and something deeper that he cannot name.
I am Light, he doesn’t say. I will burn for you. His voice sticks. He is silent. To take this moment from her -
We are tired, all of us, he thinks.
“Life has put the lie to her words: if she runs beside me still, I cannot see her.”
He pauses - then forces a smile, forces a pithy comment. He can see in her face that she has expected it, can see that the role he plays is both a comfort and a disappointment. How many years lie between them, he wonders? How many deaths and how much grief?
She told him once that she had spent more time with the Hive than with the Guardians, and he wonders if either of them will live long enough to see the opposite come to pass.
Cayde-6 stands. He reaches out a hand - stops, spins on a heel, and before the silence is broken he forces his feet down the corridor; leaves this moment frozen in his wake, leaves her standing with her back to him, her long shadow filling the room.
Had a friend, once. Obsessed with knives - were her answer to everything. Usually a pretty satisfactory answer, too.
Problem is, the Hive’ve got knives too. Big, ugly things. And my friend, she found herself on the wrong end of a few of ‘em, once.
Turns out if you hit a Ghost with a Hadium cleaver, the Ghost don’t like it much.
You ever seen a Guardian split from helm to toe?
Hard to put those pieces back together without a Ghost.
Weren’t nothin’ I could do about it either. ‘Cept run. I hate running. But a Gunslinger can’t slip through the Void like the others can.
Hard to watch a pack-mate go, Cryptarch. Don’t think the others understand. The Titan shield-lines, the Warlock orders - I’m not saying they don’t feel it, but it’s different for ‘em. Different for the ‘dancers and the ‘stalkers, too - I imagine that the way they skip across reality makes it tough for ‘em to hang on to the solid stuff.
But for the ‘slingers? The Pack’s our strength. Even when we’re all alone out in the Wilds, we’ve got the Pack.
And when a pack-mate goes, it feels like losing a limb. Like losing a part of your mind. Like losing the light of the Sun.
Thought about dyin’ with her, then. Thought that maybe the Golden Gun could’ve taken one of ‘em at least. Seemed like maybe the right thing to do.
Or maybe there woulda been two of us split right down the middle, neat-as-you-please.
Traveler knows I wanted to anyway.
What thrice-damned good would it have done to have both of us lost to the Dark?
So I ran.
I ran, even though I was leavin’ a part of myself behind. I ran, and I hid, and I licked my wounds. And I waited.
And then I called for the Pack.
They call us Fury. Do you know why?
Because when we come howling out of the Wastes, they feel it. The Fear. The same fear that she musta felt when they crushed her Ghost.
Six ‘slingers, driven by Fury and Grief and Love. Six pack-mates, their Light shared. We took everything they had, and we left it in ashes.
I saved a knife for the last one. For her.
Wasn’t enough. Won’t ever be enough.
Few lessons for your books, Cryptarch. First is that it pays to have the biggest knife. Second is that more knives is always better.
Third’s that if you’re going to kill a wolf, you’d better finish the job. Because Death’s hungry - but the Pack is hungrier.