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Destiny: A Knight's Tale - or - How Every Key Event in Destiny Can Be Traced Back to One Moment

While the Cosmic back-and-forth between the Gardener and Winnower has been going on since before the dawn of time and are at the core of Destiny’s story, the key events that drive it forward can all be directly linked back to an event that is decidedly smaller in scale.
This is the story of how an honor feud brought about the Age of Legends.
The Hive have been a malicious force in the universe for billions of years, blazing a trail of destruction across galaxies and leaving dead worlds in their wake. After the Traveler arrived in our Solar System, the banished Hive Prince Crota, Son of Oryx, set his eyes on our very own Moon as a staging ground to take the Earth.
For hundreds of years, Crota bred and grew his brood, the Hidden Swarm, beneath the surface of the Moon. And hundred of years more after the Collapse of Humanity’s Golden Age and the Sacrifice of the Traveler, Crota, at last, began sending Hive scouting parties to the Earth to prepare for his invasion.
Fresh off the first major victory in defense of The Last Safe City on Earth, the Traveler’s Risen Guardians, discovering the Hive, sent a heavily armed force to take back the Moon from Crota. They were unprepared for what they faced, and the event became known on Earth as The Great Disaster. Crota was powerful beyond anything they had before encountered, and his Sword slew Guardians by the hundreds.
But this would prove to be his undoing.
Far away, in a realm between realms, a Knight of Crota had met a Knight of the Warrior Queen Xivu Arath on a bridge, and there they had a duel of strength for the honor of their patron gods. They could not know the ripple effect their duel would have, but this small thing - this fight for honor in a far-off corner of the Ascendant Realm - would become the hinge that swung the fate of the entire Universe. As the Knights fought for honor, they found that they could not beat one another, and so reaching an impasse threw themselves off of the Bridge. And so a great amount of Tribute - for which to feed the Hive’s Worms upward like a Pyramid Scheme - was lost, having been carried by the Knight. This caused a great champion of Crota, to whom the Tribute was owed, to be weakened and defeated in ritual combat, in turn cutting off a huge portion of Tribute from reaching Crota.
As Hive grow in power, their Worms grow in Hunger. The Battle of Mare Imbrium was a victory for Crota that bestowed great power, but he found that the Tribute owed to him was greatly diminished. So, rather than pursuing the retreating Guardians to Earth and rallying his forces against Humanity, Crota instead entered a deep hibernation to regain his strength. And thus Humanity’s Destiny was forever changed.
For if Crota’s forces had rallied, they surely would have struck the death blow for the Last Safe City, the Guardians, and Humanity. But while Crota slept, another awoke.
The Guardian.
And so the dominoes would fall.

  1. The Guardian reactivates the Golden Age Warmind, Rasputin.
  2. Omnigul, Will of Crota, sensing the Warmind’s Power, seeks it out to pave the way for Crota’s awakening.
  3. The Guardian rouses the Hive on the Moon, in turn allowing the trapped Guardian Eris Morn to escape from their wretched halls.
  4. The Guardian, guided by Eris, destroys Omnigul.
  5. Unable to regain his full strength without Omnigul, Crota is destroyed.
  6. Crota’s death enrages his father, Oryx, the Taken King.
  7. Oryx destroys the Awoken Fleet in the Battle of Saturn.
  8. The Guardian destroys Oryx.
  1. The Cabal attempt to learn the secret to defeating Guardians aboard Oryx’s Dreadnought, and failing, send a distress call to the Cabal Empire.
  2. Dominus Ghaul, Commander of the Red Legion, the War Machine of the Cabal Empire, receives the distress call, sends his forces to capture the City, and Cages the Traveler in an attempt to steal its Light.
  3. As Ghaul, empowered by Light, declares himself a god, the Traveler intervenes, casting off its cage and destroying Ghaul, sending a wave of its Light through the galaxy.
  4. The Black Fleet is awakened by the wave of Light and heads to Sol.
  5. A Rogue Lightbearer, the Drifter, is warned by the Cosmic Entities The Nine of the threat of the Black Fleet. They gift him a powerful tool to help equip Guardians to face it.
  6. The Black Fleet arrives.
  1. Deposed Cabal Emperor Calus, intrigued and impressed by the Guardian, invites him to his Leviathan and offers loot.
  2. The Guardian does lots of stuff for loot.
  3. Caiatl, daughter of Calus, rallies the Red Legion against him.
  1. In Oryx’s absence, Savathun, Witch Queen, sister of Oryx, co-opts the will of the last Ahamkara, Riven, in the hopes of increasing her power and ridding herself of her dependence on the Worm.
  2. Riven corrupts Prince Uldren Sov of the Awoken, unlocking the Hidden Awoken Dreaming City and murdering Hunter Vanguard Cayde-6.
  3. The Guardians kill Riven, which allows Savathun to curse and invade the Dreaming City.
  4. Savathun tricks the Guardians into exterminating the last remnants of Crota’s brood, securing her stronghold in the system.
  5. The Guardian, discovering a Black Pyramid buried on the Moon in their pursuit of the Hidden Swarm, recover an artifact from within.
  6. The Black Fleet appeals to the Guardian.
  1. Savathun interferes with the Black Fleet’s attempt to communicate with The Guardian through Eris Morn.
  2. Darkness for the Taking.

All because two Knights refused to give up the honor of their Houses. Aiat.
submitted by ScoobyDeezy to DestinyLore

New Recruits

OOC: Welcome back to storytime with me, your host. Anyway, the following is a bit of a narrative following the arrival of new recruits to my character's regiment and featuring a revised introduction to our subreddit consisting of the first five paragraphs. It is also over four pages long on the document I originally wrote it on, so there's that. I plan on doing more of these stories in future, so put a comment or something if you want a story of your own. In any case, I think I'm going to post a new story regarding my character and the other characters I've made every Sunday. Or possibly sooner. Depends. Also, note that the format is a bit different than my usual format. Anyway, please enjoy and while the story is not meant for audience interaction, you sure can try. The following is in-character.
It is the 42nd Millennium. For more than a hundred centuries The Emperor has sat immobile on the Golden Throne of Terra. He is the Master of Mankind by the will of the gods, and master of a million worlds by the might of his inexhaustible armies. He is a rotting carcass writhing invisibly with power from the Dark Age of Technology. He is the Carrion Lord of the Imperium for whom a thousand souls are sacrificed every day, so that he may never truly die.
Yet even in his deathless state, the Emperor continues his eternal vigilance. Mighty battlefleets cross the daemon-infested miasma of the Warp, the only route between distant stars, their way lit by the Astronomican, the psychic manifestation of the Emperor's will. Vast armies give battle in his name on uncounted worlds. Greatest amongst his soldiers are the Adeptus Astartes, the Space Marines, bio-engineered super-warriors. Their comrades in arms are legion: the Imperial Guard and countless planetary defence forces, the ever vigilant Inquisition and the tech-priests of the Adeptus Mechanicus to name only a few. But for all their multitudes, they are barely enough to hold off the ever-present threat from xenos, heretics, mutants - and worse.
To be a man in such times is to be one amongst untold billions. It is to live in the cruelest and most bloody regime imaginable. These are the tales of those times. Forget the power of technology and science, for so much has been forgotten, never to be re-learned. Forget the promise of progress and understanding, for in the grim dark future there is only war. There is no peace amongst the stars, only an eternity of carnage and slaughter, and the laughter of thirsting gods.
Yet, despite the will of the Gods of the Warp, the Emperor’s dreams yet live. On the world of [REDACTED BY THE ORDO HERETICUS, THE ORDO XENOS, THE ORDO CHRONOS, AND THE ORDO PLUSHUS] mankind lives among xenos and mutants, their rule supreme and their armies innumerable. The species of this world live in harmony, forced at gunpoint by the might of the Imperial Guard, the Emperor’s Holy Inquisition, and the inadequacies of the xenos. Despite the relatively peaceful lives of these strange folk, the terrors of war and the Warp are frequent with heresy rampant and countless defenses launched against the terrors of deepest darkest space.
On this backwater world, far beyond the Imperium Sanctus, strange creatures mess around with their “Science”, a patrol of guardsmen complain about rations, and the local bar is owned by a Hive Tyrant. Towering cities of rockcrete and plasteel have been erected even as guardsmen dig far into the planet’s core and a coliseum stands unused, but not quite abandoned.
A Valkyrie lands in the Imperial City-Port of [FILE NOT FOUND, PLEASE CONTACT YOUR LOCAL MAGOS] on a platform especially rented for the occasion. Once the gangway was lowered, fifteen guardsmen in shiny new and unmarked flak armor exited the gunship to be greeted by a pair of guardsmen, wearing significantly more battered armor, imprinted with Gothic fours on the pauldrons, that marked their seniority. The sergeant of the newly arrived troops, one Jebediah Volk, approached the duo.
“The God-Emperor protects!” he declared. “How are you lads doing this fine day?”
The guardsmen glanced at each other before one spoke up: “Yeah, sure. We’re doin’ alright. You’re the newbies, right?”
The sergeant was somewhat annoyed by the apparent informality of the guardsmen. “It’s sir to you, guardsmen, and yes, we are the reinforcements.”
The guardsman who spoke was completely unfazed by Volk’s use of his official superiority. “Right… Follow us, then.”
The guardsmen turned around sharply and departed in a disciplined march entirely contrary to their vocal attitudes. The sergeant and his group had to jog slightly to catch up. The veterans led the recruits down several flights of stairs, past numerous guardsmen of other regiments, descended an elevator, and began a long march towards the walls of the city. The roads bustled with an abnormal number of military vehicles compared to civilian transports and the sergeant and his men noted a number of devices they had never seen before which were, in fact, tools of xenos origin, but they did not know that.
After a couple hours of wandering the streets and hab-blocks of the city, the guardsmen arrived at one of the gates of the city where a Chimera awaited. The recruits questioned why they needed to exit the city when all of the other Guard regiments were in the city, but the veterans just laughed and japed about how the Munitorum never told anyone anything. Hours later, the Chimera arrived at a coliseum in the middle of a blasted valley. More specifically, they arrived at the warehouse next to the coliseum.
The coliseum was gargantuan in size, seemingly capable of holding tens, if not hundreds, of thousands of spectators within its walls. The only thing taller than the coliseum, that was in sight, was the Imperator-class Titan that stood behind the stadium. From the outside, the walls of the coliseum were not constructed in the more traditional prefabricated Gothic style, but consisted of a number of ornate pillars, arches, and statues of guardsmen striking heroic postures. Vast gates were visible at regular intervals; the taller ones marked spectator entrances even as the wider openings heralded service and vehicular entrances. The warehouse, however, was nothing special and was clearly the product of prefabricated blueprints.
The guardsmen, new and old, all piled out of the back of the Chimera to see a commissar leaning against a wall of the warehouse carving some sort of figurine out of a piece of wood with his saber. Despite the size of the blade, the commissar cut into the biomatter with practiced ease. He looked up to see the guardsmen approaching him. He tossed away the wood without a second thought and approached the guardsmen whilst sheathing his blade.
“Downes, are these the new recruits?” the commissar asked one of the veteran guardsmen, the one who had first greeted the reinforcing guardsmen.
The guardsman stood up straight, saluted, and spoke with a tone that conflicted with his earlier chats with the recruits: “Yes, sir! Fresh off the Valkyrie, sir!”
The sergeant took this opportunity to interject, saluting all the while, “My name is Sergeant Volk, sir! My squad and I are ready for action!”
The commissar ignored what Volk said and instead asked, “Before I decide what to do to you, where are you and your guardsmen from, sergeant?”
“Holy Terra, sir!”
The commissar seemed to smirk at that. “So, the Munitorum finally gave in and sent me men from my own planet, eh? Excellent. Welcome to the 4th Terran, guardsmen! Or what’s left of it… Downes, take the recruits on Orientation. I’ll go see if I can’t drag that toaster-fanatic out of her perverted hole.” With that, the commissar stalked off into the warehouse.
Guardsman Downes turned to the new arrivals then and said, in the dry tone he’d first confronted them with, “Welcome to hell, newbies. Forget what you learned in basic, it won’t help you here. The 4th Terran is the ‘ardest and toughest regiment out there and the ol’ commissar-” Downes jerked his thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the commissar. “-makes sure of that. For now, let’s get on with orientation, yeah?”
Downes gestured in the direction of the coliseum. That’s the Planet… Warp damn it all, what was the name of this Emperor-forsaken planet, again? Bah, doesn’t matter. That’s the Stadium and that’s where you’ll be spending most of your time unless you’re working in the warehouse. It’s where you’ll eat, sleep, train, and probably die. Our regiment is not known for its survival rate and the tunnel doesn’t help either.”
One of the newbie guardsmen spoke up then, “The tunnel, sir?”
“Yup, the tunnel. It’s the entrance to a lot of places. Most notably, it’s the entrance to the Under-Empire. Bunch of xeno-rats live down there, but we keep them from gettin’ out of hand. Now, I’m sure you all have lots of questions regarding that, but I don’t care, frankly. All you need to know is that the Imperium has a tenuous relationship with the many types o’ xenos on this planet and there’re a lot of xenos. Oh, and don’t go too far from the base or you might be ripped apart by Orks. Or abducted by the Planetary Governor. He’s a bit mad.”
After a long orientation from Downes, wherein he showed the recruits the coliseum, its basements and sub-basements, the outhouse that has no purpose because the coliseum has flushable toilets, the Titan which got a lot of questions Downes only answered with the term “Orkish scrapyard”, the barracks, the armory, and the motorpool, the newbies were brought back to the giant warehouse that constituted the only building, besides the outhouse, outside the coliseum in visible sight. Downes explained that the guardsmen would be receiving physical and gear check-ups with the medicae and the resident Tech-Priestess. The guardsmen entered the warehouse through a small door adjacent to the huge cargo doors that were marked with a Gothic four and the Imperial Aquila.
Inside, the guardsman-medicae argued with the heavily-augmented Tech-Priestess as the commissar stood off to the side, quite visibly annoyed. From what the guardsmen could make out over the frequent binary curses of the Tech-Priestess, the Tech-Priest wanted to “upgrade” the new arrivals and insisted on performing the physical as well as the gear check. The medicae, ever the patron of his kindred-in-arms, fervently opposed that course of action. The commissar just seemed not to care what happened to the guardsmen, so long as they got checked. The commissar eventually noticed the arrival of the guardsmen and suddenly moved between the two arguing adepts.
“The two of you: silence! Your bickering will get you nowhere. Medicae Bordeleaux will perform the physical and that is final. Is that understood, Tech-Priestess?”
The Tech-Priestess blasted a retort in binary before storming off: “01001101 01100001 01111001 00100000 01110100 01101000 01100101 00100000 01001111 01101101 01101110 01101001 01110011 01110011 01101001 01100001 01101000 00100000 01100100 01100001 01101101 01101110 00100000 01111001 01101111 01110101 00101100 00100000 01100011 01101111 01101101 01101101 01101001 01110011 01110011 01100001 01110010 00100001 00100000 01011001 01101111 01110101 00100000 01101000 01100001 01110110 01100101 00100000 01101110 01101111 01110100 00100000 01101000 01100101 01100001 01110010 01100100 00100000 01110100 01101000 01100101 00100000 01101100 01100001 01110011 01110100 00100000 01101111 01100110 00100000 01110100 01101000 01101001 01110011 00101110 \May the Omnissiah damn you, commissar! You have not heard the last of this.])”
The commissar watched the cog-girl stamp away for a second before refocusing his attention on the guardsmen and the medicae. “I’ll go see if I can’t find a toaster to calm her fragile ego. Get started, Bordeleaux. Oh, and explain the situation in here to the newcomers, Downes. Carroburg, get the paint bucket or something.” With that, the commissar ventured off to find the aforementioned toaster.
Carroburg, the other veteran guardsman with Downes, doubtlessly snickered behind his helmet’s mask as he went off to get the paint bucket as the job of explaining the interior of the warehouse to the new recruits was the least-desired assignment in the regiment, even if it wasn’t the most difficult or grimy. It tended to spawn too many questions no one wanted to answer. Bordeleaux actually did snicker as he pulled out his medicae tools. Downes had a sour expression on his face.
“Alright,” he practically sighed, “You lot might be wondering why there are so many plushies in this warehouse.” He gestured towards the massive pile of plushies in the center of the warehouse that took up most of the room and resembled Hive Tyrants holding cups of recaf. “They function as a source of additional income for the regiment, though they haven’t been selling as well recently. The reason I bring this up is ‘cause of where they come from. See, we originally got them from a Forge World, but when the contract expired a Warp portal opened in this here warehouse and started spittin’ out yet more plushes. Do you lot know what the Warp is?”
Only one of the guardsmen nodded to Downes’ question. Downes looked to the medicae whilst gesturing at the guardsman who nodded. “Be extra thorough with this one, Bordeleaux. Anyway, the Warp is… heresy incarnate, basically. A Warp portal is a portal that goes to that realm. We also don’t know how to get rid of it and it hasn’t done anything particularly awful, so you’re not to say anything to anyone outside the company about it.”
By this time, Carroburg had returned with the paint bucket, a brush, and a stencil. “Alright,” he said, “Time to get you newbies christened with the symbol of our regiment. Once you’re done with your check-ups, line up over here.”
Sometime later, the commissar returned with the, rather irritable, Tech-Priestess in tow, a shiny new toaster held in her mechadendrites. The newbies had done their physicals, had freshly painted Gothic fours on their pauldrons, and had only asked an agonizing two thousand questions. The guardsman who had already known about the Warp hadn’t even needed purging. Yet.
After having their gear inspected and upgraded by the Tech-Priestess, the newly full-fledged members of the 4th Terran followed their senior guardsmen, the commissar, and the medicae back to the barracks in the basements of the coliseum to meet the rest of the regiment and retire after a long day. Fortunately, only one guardsman had to be executed for undisciplined behavior upon meeting the Flayed One guardsman, namely attempting to run away. All in all, the day was considered a success and fourteen new members were added to the 4th Terran Regiment of the Imperial Guard.
submitted by goodclone1 to 40kscience

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