The Tower was different today. The normal nuance and dance that permeated the structure was replaced with a stern, ominous feel. [b]Puddles?[/b] not one to be seen. [i]Sweeper Bot[/i] finished sweeping. For once, there was danger. Guardian, after [i]guardian,[/i] after [b][i]guardian[/i][/b] returned from Patrol the same way. [b]Bruised, [/b]like a gripped-too-tightly banana. [b]Bloody,[/b] like a British prefix to a curse word. [b]Shaken, and scarred[/b], like....Eris. It seemed the guardians weapons became much less potent on this day. The [b]Doctrines[/b] of yore no longer tore through Dregs, the Dregs laughed! They would turn around, and ask them to tickle their backs as well. The seemingly magnetic [b]Sniper Rifles[/b] now were dry of ammo. Even when they had ammo, their accuracy was scrub at best. The [i][b]Warlocks[/b][/i] had it even worse. Where they were once mighty lightening slap machines of penetration and flaming death, they were now [b]Shank[/b] fodder. They have since all opted to wear their helmets in the confides of the [b]Tower[/b], to hide their [i][b]tear-stained[/b][/i] cheeks. The [b]Hunters[/b] loved this, but only briefly. For now, they knew their fall was imminent. The mighty thrown of [b]flaming-blade-facials[/b] and [b]wombo-combo-tomfoolery[/b] would eventually settle into mediocrity. Without a foothold on [b]Patrol,[/b] the Vanguard faced the very real threat of invasion. This would have many consequences, not limited to, but including: [b]death, fallen/guardian cross-breeding, shank/sweeper bot abominations, shanks on Eris's map, and Purple Ball/Servitor cross- [/b]no...I cannot even. There is but one hope. It could arrive on Wednesday in the form of a new breed of death and glory. Of mic-chat mother-cursing. Of [b]fusion,[/b] and...[i]rifle.[/i] I speak of the [b]Thesan.[/b] Whisper calmly, to thy newly forged bolt-spewing lover. [i]do not go quietly into that goodnight... goodnight....goodnight.....mur-[/i]