A Game of Rulers

Prologue: The Transmission

Well, I'm back! Welcome to A Game of Rulers, the sequel to King of the Sands and most certainly NOT named after a certain book-adapted TV series. Certainly.

Let's go!

()()()()()()()()()()

"To any and all Guardians, this is Larana Harmon, Hunter Bladedancer under the command of The Future War Cult. I have been compromised by unidentified hostile forces, and am in a Class One situation. Repeat, I am in a Class One situation, and require backup immediately.

To any and all Guardians…"

"Cayde, we've located the beacon, and it's still transmitting, but… sir, she's… she's not here. It's just her helmet."

"…"

"Copy that, sir. We'll bring it back… I know, but we checked the entire perimeter. She's not hiding nearby, unless she's in Winters Run… yes, that WAS sarcasm."

"…"

"Don't even get started, Cayde."

"…"

"Well I'M not the one who went and got themselves elected to serve as Vanguard commander of every damn Hunter in existence."

"…"

"Don't even try that 'it wasn't my choice' bullshit."

"…"

"Fine, we'll double check, but she's not nearby."

"…"

"Yes, I know Future War Cult'll be breathing down your neck over this, but there's not much I can do about that, is there?"

"…"

"Understood, sir. We'll find her, don't worry."

"…"

"Copy that, Jericho-44 out."

()()()()()

"No. Larana can't just have gone missing!" Mark exclaimed, slamming his fist into the table. "She'd have told me if she'd been planning on going on one of her trips!"

"Well, her helmet was on Venus, but nothing else." Jericho replied, the expressionless metal plate that covered half his face shifting slightly. "I don't know what else to make of that."

"And there aren't ANY leads? None?" Mark asked, tone desperate.

"Look, Mark, I know how hard this must be for you, but she's either dead or, even worse, captured by the Fallen." Jericho said, clasping his head in his hands. "I couldn't for the life of me guess anything else."

"Well then I'll clear Winters Run myself!" Mark said, rising from his seat. Jericho quickly pulled him back down.

"Mark, you can't just storm in there and fight the biggest Fallen House just because your girlfriend MIGHT be being held captive by them." He said, tone pleading.

"I don't know what else to do, or where to look." Mark said, slumping in his seat and placing his head in his hands. "I… I just…"

"Mark, man, what's the matter?" There was Jorik 'Blacksmith' Brodin, a Swedish Guardian with a bad tendency to kill enemies with his axe made of Relic Iron, and little else. Rumour had it he was searching for a Gjallerhorn, but those were just rumours.

"It's Larana! She's gone missing, and I have no idea where to look…" Mark trailed off, head falling into his hands again.

"Why not ask Erik?" Jorik said, shrugging. "His forces basically have naval dominance over the system. He could probably tell you something."

"That's… that's actually a good idea!" Mark said, jumping from his seat. "Come on Jericho!"

Jericho's protests went unheard by the youthful Titan as he was dragged away from the bar, past several other Guardians who only showed mild surprise at the sight of Jericho being dragged somewhere by Mark. Jorik sat down, before sighing.

"I should probably give him a hand." He said, before standing, giving a longing look at the beer behind the bar before leaving.

()()()()()

"Firing primary cannon."

A loud roaring noise filled the bridge of 'Avengara Sevra' as the primary Slug Cannon fired. A three-ton tungsten-cored projectile flew at a speed faster than sound and struck the Fallen Ketch, tearing another enormous hole in the main fuselage as a chain reaction of explosions tore along the outer hull.

The Ketch returned fire with its broadside, but the blasts of arc energy failed to do any more than scorch the mighty plasteel and relic iron hull of the Cabal vessel. Three more of the Fallen's Skiffs were torn apart by interceptor fire, and the piecemeal Fallen flotilla was forced to retreat into jumpspace.

"Marchall, the enemy retreats before our might!" Admirallen Kornick called, looking to his leader.

Erik had changed in six months. Gone was his former wear as a Titan, having been replaced with far more… REGAL gear.

His armour was no longer simple Justicar armour, instead being a strange fusion of Last City and Cabal wargear. His breastplate was a flat plane of plasteel backed by relic iron, before five segmenting plates of spinmetal formed the guard over his stomach. His shoulder pauldrons were twin quarter-domes, the right marked with the crest of the Cabal legions while the other on the left was marked with Erik's personal symbol, a red sword over a blue tower.

His arm-guards were also of an interesting make, crimson plasteel and relic iron wrapping around his entire upper arm, before a circular shoulder pad separated it from the vambrace, which forged of the same material of the rest, except a blue stripe ran down its front, leading to a small peak over the top of the backs of his hands. The backs of his hands were also protected by spinmetal, before leading to small plates that covered every part of his fingers except the joints. Even the tips of his fingers were protected.

His legs were well protected as well, a single plate wrapped around his thighs, before seven segmented plates of relic iron protected his shins, leading down from circular knee guards, and leading to boots made of spinmetal and lined with sapphire weave, making him feel as though his feet were bare.

His Titan mark was now four parts. The first ran down from his crotch to his knees, in the manner of a loincloth, and was crimson with the mark of the Cabal upon it. The second and third were on each thigh, hanging off the side and marked with Erik's personal symbol, before the last ran from waist to his knees on the back, marked with the symbol of the Last City.

He cut an imposing figure, the armour increasing his height to a remarkable six-foot-seven-inches, and his face had been hardened by the trials of battle and leadership. Gone was the soft skin and amicable smile, replaced with stern features and steely eyes, though he still wore a wry grin most of the time. Even war couldn't change some people, it turned out.

"Very good, Kornick. Bring us around and ready for warp back to Mars." Erik said, before a Psion ran up to him. He took a chunky white slate from the small Cabal, tapping its surface once or twice, before his eyes widened and his jaw set into a thin lipped scowl.

"Kornick, cease the previous order!" He called. "Prepare Landing Bay Seven, and order a ground crew and my Honour Guard there as well!"

"Of course, Marchall Erik." Kornick said, only questioning the orders for a moment before tapping some commands into his main terminal.

Meanwhile, Erik stared at the slate, frowning and muttering to himself.

"So that's what that bitch meant…"

()()()()()

"So, Larana disappeared on Venus, left her helmet behind, and now you're looking for her by yourself." Erik repeated, looking at Mark. "And you came for me to information."

"I didn't know where else to come to!" Mark cried, slumping in his seat and staring at the table. Erik only placed a hand on the younger Titans shoulder.

"It's alright Mark. I have a feeling I know where she is." Erik replied.

Mark looked up, blinking away tears. "You… you do?" He asked, eyes widening.

"Yeah. I'm pretty sure anyways.'" Erik leaned in closer. "Mark, ever wanted to meet royalty?"

()()()()()()()()()()

Well, I hope that was a decent hook for you. Sorry for the shorter length, I just wanted to get this out there and ready, as well as this just being a sort of set-up for the rest of the story.

As a side note, I plan for A Game of Rulers to only be about ten chapters at most, maybe less, but each chapter will likely be about two-to-three thousand words. So more bang for your buck.

See ya!