Game Quotes

[be_notorious]

Quotes Pt. 2 Lore snippets about Drifter's role in the game since arriving at the Tower.

Mystery and Potential Post-Visit 4 The Emissary: He's afraid. The Nine: OF DEATH? The Emissary: Of everything. The Nine: SO IT KILLS. The Emissary: He hates violence. He hates it so much that he'll murder anyone who tries to inflict it on him. -link Mystery and Potential Visit 8 The Emissary: The Dredgen has visions. They disturb him. SILHOUETTES OF THREE TRIANGULAR PYRAMIDS BRIEFLY APPEAR NEAR THE EMISSARY. Drifter: You know about those, huh? You the one causin' them? Tell you right now I don't appreciate what they say. The Emissary: The gift is showing you what you must see. It is your fate. Drifter: No. I make my own choices. The Emissary: If that is what you want to believe. Drifter: Freakin' psycho. -link Dredgen Title I've counted you one of my crew for a while now. We've never been on a job together, but you've done more than your fair share. And now you've mastered the frontier. Everyone who gets as good as you? My crew asks them to pick a name. And you should pick yours soon. Dredgen. -link Darkness in the Light pt II Sure, I shot bigger guns. But this thing is weaponized heat death… pure atrophy. And it's the key to my freedom from HIM. Fact is, you don't outdraw that Gunslinger. No one can. But my entire crew - armed with THIS? We don't have to outdraw him. We just have to get our shots in. He dies, too. And make no mistake. You're part of my crew now. -link Honor Among Thieves We understand each other a little better now, huh, kid? Just be careful. Seems everyone who knows me is either trying to kill me or… [laughs] dead. Lotta people comin' for my Ghost. You're stickin' your neck out by gettin' so chummy with me. But hey. If that day comes? They'll eat bullets from both of us. Trust. -link Darkness in the Light I'd do it myself, but as you can see, I'm a busy man. Besides, you're the closest thing to reliable I've met in a century. -link Bright Side of a Bad Idea "While you lot have been having your fun, drunk on loot, dancin' on the corpses of your enemies—he's been watching, learning, stealing, and planning. "Now, I make no promises that what he's done was ever intended for the greater good. Point of fact, I actively doubt it. But here we are. "He's kit-bashed Vex tech with Fallen components, married it to Hive magic, and scavenged Golden Age science with a sprinkling of who knows what, and he's… "Hold up. I know this sounds bad. Sounds like just the kind of trouble we squash, but… "He's secured a pocket of the Ascendant plane. Not a throne world, nothing that grand, but a big enough chunk to matter—and he's gone and caged an army. A Taken army. Leftovers from Oryx's reign? Something new? Something old? Something… Hers? Can't say. Don't know. But he has 'em there. He says it's to hold 'em, study 'em—but the best bet says his intentions aren't so clean. -link The Draw You… You are such a punk. Trying to play both of us, huh? You are insane. I dig it. -link The Bigger Game Emissary and her friends showed me what's comin', and it's what I feared all along. Put aside your dogma. The fight that's coming can't be won with Light alone. -link Potential [u.1:01] What now? What the hell is it you're trying to tell me? [the hum of a generator] [u.1:02] You showed me a universe with no Light. Dominated by the Dark. What are you arguing? Steadfastness in the Traveler's dogma? Ha ha. That's not obtuse enough for y'all. [u.1:03] No, no. I don't think so. Because then you showed me a reality without shadows, of pure Light from every angle. Nowhere to hide. Everyone begging to die, like we did in the Dark Age. Light's no gift, but I already knew that. What else you got? [a metallic clink echoes] [u.1:04] Yeah. I know the coin doesn't lie. It's the only thing in this world I trust for real. But you know what? I control the coin. And I make my own fate. No one writes on this but me, you got that? You pencil-necked, phantom-assed geeks. Have some respect for people's stuff. [a second metallic clink] [u.1:05] I've refused the Traveler's dogma for generations. And I'll reject yours. [a rush of static as the feed distorts from Light-based radiation] [u.1:06] You can't boil my brain, brothers and sisters–I see you tryin'. But I'm already there. [a fizzling crackle as the feed distorts from Light-based radiation] [u.1:07] And if you think you have a handle on Orin? Well, you didn't know her like I did. You slip up just once? That girl will eat you alive. Nine steak sounds mighty tasty if you can find it, scrape it all together. Get a fire goin' that'll cook it. What a fire that would be. You wanted to see what made us tick? Maybe Drifter wants to see what makes you stop. -link The Rumor Mill Took somethin' that wasn't yours. It's a strong move that the Vanguard won't like. If they find out. I dig it. Hey, do me a solid. I'm a scavenger. Live a hard life. If you make your way back into that vault - grab something for me, will ya? -link Word of Warning I'll say it straight - I got a bad habit of biting off more'n I can chew. But hey. Guy's gotta eat. -link A Friendly Face Have you ever met someone who immediately rubbed you the wrong way? They can appear very friendly—but it's always a particular type of friendly. The different varieties can be hard to recognize when you're young, but with time, you'll see them all. The rarest form is genuine kindness, though there is also "fair weather" friendly, "I want something" friendly, and "look how friendly I am" friendly. That last one is always hiding something, and they hope their performance covers it up. This last group is also where we find that man who calls himself the Drifter. I do not like to speak ill of others, but him? Him I do not trust. -link Malfeasance "Nothing kills a Guardian faster than another Guardian." —The Drifter -link Ancient Apocalypse Mask "Maybe you leave your first apocalypse. But your second one never leaves you." —The Drifter Guardian jumpships roared away overhead. The Drifter walked along the shoreline, past the wreckage of Cabal shields and armor. The Lights of the Tower had taken very well to his little game. He gripped a massive hand cannon in his fist, and his Ghost buzzed around his head like a carrion fly. Its Light was as red as a Vex eye. Drifter scanned the battlefield as he walked, making note of the weapons and the scrap he would have the Derelict's AI transmat to the hangar. The beach was littered with burning Cabal tech. Drifter would find a use for all of it. Routine maintenance for the Derelict. Additional banks. -link Ancient Apocalypse Grips Drifter's Ghost expanded and its eye went wide. It did this instead of laughing. It couldn't laugh. "Shut up. Shut up, you idiot." Drifter waved his friend away. He eyed the approaching squad of soldiers bristling with armor and weapons. The Mote of Dark was cold to the touch in his hand. -link Ancient Apocalypse Strides Nine creatures that Guardians would know as Primevals stepped onto the sand of the Emerald Coast, out of place, impossible, massive, and wrong. The Cabal let out a guttural cry. An approximation of fear. Tracers raked the air as they fired everything they had against the suddenly-emerging Taken. Explosions rocked the shoreline as the Cabal ship joined in the assault. Pillars of flame erupted into the sky. The Primevals didn't seem to notice, marching forward through the bullets and the fire towards the enemies of their master, who hadn't moved from where he stood. The Drifter's smile was all teeth. -link Ancient Apocalypse Cloak "All the people who matter say we're on the precipice of a new Golden Age. I'm still trying to figure out what that means. But I can tell you this: the last time humanity had a Golden Age, we owned this system. Every inch of it." He leaned in to whisper into where the Psion's ears would be if it had ears. "And not all of us are as polite as the ones up in that Tower." A monstrous bark from his hand cannon rang out, the only sound for miles around. -link Ancient Apocalypse Vest Emerald Coast. European Deadzone. Drifter shambled up to the bank. He dragged a Psion corpse with him so he'd have something to sit on. He dumped the body to the ground, took a seat. -link Ancient Apocalypse Mark "Had a face like the end-times and eyes like manna in the desert. One look at him, and I knew I wasn't gonna be saved." —The Drifter "I miss my Mythoclast," Joxer said. Drifter could hear the frown in his voice. "Yeah, you had a Mythoclast! And still the Cabal took the Tower. The Light failed you. Failed me, too." Drifter held the Mote of Dark up to them. "This, though. It's something special. I made 'em. And you've seen the things you can do when you find even a handful of 'em. Think long and hard about it." Drifter slung the launcher back on his shoulder and turned to leave without looking back. "Stick with me long enough, and I'll show you what the dark can really do." -link Ancient Apocalypse Gauntlets "Sometimes the difference between survival and eradication is just pure, simple stubbornness." —The Drifter "What the hell are you doing here, Drifter?" said the one on the left. Drifter chuckled. "Joxer. How you livin'?" "Don't let him charm you," whispered the one on the right. "Redrix?" Drifter had found himself a couple of Gambit regulars. "Listen. Brothers. I gotta get to those supply crates back there. You know how hard it is for me to come across certain pieces. I'm a scavenger. Live a hard life. Cut me some slack." -link Ancient Apocalypse Helm As he opened the ship's side hatch, howling air rushed into the cabin. He yelled over the din, "Good thing ya'll aren't a military. It's easier to bribe you this way." "Go play in the Ascendant Plane," the Titan yelled back. Drifter leapt off the ship and landed deftly on the train car below. He pulled a massive hand cannon and crawled forward, the wind ripping at his duster. -link Ancient Apocalypse Plate Drifter could see Redjacks from his vantage point on the train car roof. Two of Lord Shaxx's idiot frames were guarding the door to the car. The Drifter holstered his hand cannon and drew a long blade instead. He vaulted down to the deck below and took the frames' heads with an arcing sweep, sheathing his sword and catching the bodies before they fell. Complete silence. -link Ancient Apoclapyse Greaves "I stopped counting the Armageddons." —The Drifter No one made Dark Age guns anymore. Drifter had looked far and wide. The one source of Dark Age weaponry in this system was him. Gambit. Dark Age weapons had been forged at a time when Light fought Light. Everything was just a little more efficient back then. And lethal. In Drifter's opinion, of course. But Tex Mechanica? They came close. They made very reliable cannons. Drifter stared hard at the one he held. The stuff of legend. -link Gambit Prime "What's this about?" Joxer asked. The Titan sat across from the rogue Lightbearer known only as the Drifter. Between them, unloaded rifles, hand cannons, and Last City food wrappers lay strewn across the Derelict's rusty deck. Joxer could feel the ship's engines humming under his boots, reverberating throughout the chamber. "Think of this as a job interview," Drifter replied. "I got a whole new operation about to come online, and Gambit was training for it. You're one of the best candidates I got." Beneath his helmet, Joxer raised an eyebrow. "You sure about that? I'm no ‘Hero of the Red War.'" Drifter chuckled. "Why does everyone think I got a mad-on for that one?" Joxer shook his head. "I heard you two forged a gun together." Drifter frowned. "Hand to my heart, it wasn't just us. Whole buncha folks running around with Malfeasance hand cannons these days. My grandma, too." "That Primeval really knows how to run," Joxer snarled at the deck. "Listen, big guy." Drifter leaned back. "Not my fault you keep missing the shot." Joxer stood up out of his seat and towered over the other man. "Hey! My bad, brother!" Drifter held up a hand. "Your Motes are always good here, whether you're packing Malfeasance or not. What I need done, only a specialist—like you—can do." Joxer stared down at him. "What do you mean?" "I seen you out there. You get how the Taken feel. How the Darkness… flows. You revel in it." Joxer sat back down, slowly. -link Civilian Atrium South He hated going out there with the Lights. Their earnestness pissed him off. He only did it 'cuz he had to eat. What he loved about Gambit was one thing, and one thing only: delectable Motes of Dark. The bench creaked as someone sat down beside him. He didn't bother to look up. They'd go away eventually. -link Civilian Atrium South He hated going out there with the Lights. Their earnestness pissed him off. He only did it 'cuz he had to eat. What he loved about Gambit was one thing, and one thing only: delectable Motes of Dark. The bench creaked as someone sat down beside him. He didn't bother to look up. They'd go away eventually. -link Hardline Drifter's picking his teeth with a dirty toothpick. He grins at Randy, toothy. The silence drags on. Randy shuffles in place and waits, scowling. Eventually, Drifter sniffs deeply and flicks the toothpick at Randy's chest. It bounces off and lands on the concrete. "Yeah, yeah." He crouches and begins rummaging through a faded knapsack. "Can't do a trick without a treat, right?" -link Whispering Slab TITLE Eris Morn walks with slow, silent steps toward a haggard Drifter shoving small bags into larger ones. Dim and exhausted Motes lie scattered throughout the Derelict, slowly evaporating. She retrieves a Mote from the floor and shines her burning light over the cracked surface. The light struggles to leave the cracks. She lets the disintegrating Mote drop and shatter into dust against the floor grates. It chimes like resonate glass. The Drifter whirls around to face the noise, almost losing his footing. He lets his hand slide off his holstered Trust as recognition washes over him. "Ain't anybody ever tell you not to skulk? It's rude." Eris drops her shoulders and approaches the Drifter. "I want your help." "Uh huh." His brow furrows with suspicion. "Why? Didn't you save the universe yet?" Drifter turns back to shoving bags in bags. "It seems to be continually in peril. To be honest, I'm not sure I've helped." Eris hands him a bag. "I need your knowledge." "You? No." "I have had some troubling experiences as of late." "Yeah, it's called life." "I need to know," she says and hesitates, half-hearted restraint preceding sacrilege. "Tell me how to interpret the Darkness." "What am I, some crusty woo-woo sage? Beat it, kid. I'm packing." "Do not ignore me," Eris says. Her voice is calm and piercing. "We've both seen beneath the surface." -link Eidolon Pursuant Plate "You've had this for years and never thought to mention it?" Eris runs her fingers over the grime-clouded containment glass housing a large growth of egregore within the Drifter's Derelict. "Wasn't hidin' it." Drifter rolls Eris's Ahamkara bone over his knuckles. "Ain't nobody ever asked. Hell, you've walked by it before, Moondust." "What wonders you must have buried in this heap," Eris muses. The emerald shine of her eyes dart back and forth behind thin cloth. "I could…" Drifter saunters up beside her, "give you the tour?" "You're being evasive, Rat." Eris plucks her Ahamkara bone from his hand and stows it beneath her cloak. "Contact me when you're willing to speak plainly." Drifter calls after her, hands outstretched, "You don't want to stay for dinner?" Eris halts, considering what disgusting amalgamation of refuse would constitute a meal here. She glances over her shoulder. One last attempt to extract information… -link Eidolon Pursuant Bond The Drifter's altered Ghost emits a single elongated tone in acknowledgement and then focuses on Eris. "Germaine." He stops. Eris knows his concern belies a nobility that he often attempts to suppress in favor of the persona of the Drifter. It is a ruddy shield, but she has seen the true him hidden under that that layer of grime. "May I… have a light?" "You got it." He discharges a Solar round from his Trust that sparks on the Pyramid floor and ignites the egregore stalk. "Back in a flash." -link Eidolon Pursuant Bond "Rat, what are you feeding me?" She remembers his hunt earlier in the day, and her stomach turns. Eris stares at the Drifter, mouth agape in a half-heaved gag—her thoughts racing over the things he's claimed to have consumed. "You cooked me rotted Screebs." "What?!" Drifter chokes on the stew and coughs. "I wouldn't feed you that crap, Moondust." He laughs. "You never had crawdad stew?" He holds his bowl to his lips. "Or a close cousin to it…" he adds under his breath. "Little swamp shrimps, you dig? It's a delicacy!" Eris reels her imagination in, takes a breath, and sips the broth without taking her eyes from the Drifter. The liquid fills her crumpled stomach with hearty warmth. She feels her stress melt away. The stew's flavor is far more pleasing than its smell. She smiles and drinks again. "Thank you. It is… good." -link Lightkin Gauntlets "Long as they don't cross me, I'm everybody's friend. Thing is, I feel like I get crossed more'n most." —The Drifter" -link Lightkin Grips "Enemies become allies, that's just how it goes. Hell, most of my dearest friends killed me at one point or another!" —The Drifter -link The Hidden Dossier Many possibilities against few. Sounds like you'd rather be the first player, huh? But if both players play perfectly, that second player wins in the end. Mathematical inevitability. Ain't that something? But I said, your game's just a toy. It's just a contrivance. That's not life. Life isn't one player always exploiting and beating the other. -link Wayfinder's Shell "You ever try any of this?" Drifter asks, tugging on a length of chewy, battered meat clenched between his teeth. Spider ambles along beside him, pausing to give him a look. "No," Spider answers, his respirator hiding the way his upper lip curls in disgust. "What is that anyway?" "Your boy said it was chicken," Drifter notes, nose wrinkled. "I'm thinking he ain't never seen a chicken before." Spider's sigh is muffled. "The reason I asked you here," he says loudly, forcibly redirecting the conversation, "is because I wanted an honest, unfiltered opinion on the situation in the City right now." "It tastes like petroleum and bubblegum," Drifter mumbles, pulling the wad of meat out of his mouth. -link Python "If they let you get that close, they deserve it." —The Drifter "Trust is a hell of a thing. Some people think they can earn it. Others think they can buy it. But that's the thing about trust: It's not real. You can't hold it, squeeze it, or put it in your pocket. It's intangible. "You have to believe in it. I don't know about you, but I don't care much for fairy tales. I like real things that I can feel. "This isn't to say I haven't used trust before. To get close. Close enough to use something real, that I can hold, squeeze, and tear 'em down to pocket size with. "Up to you what you do with trust. We all have choices to make." —The Drifter -link III - TRUST Drifter picked up a jar from a shelf. The container was filled with pickled Hive eyeballs, the green dimmed by death. "You live like this?" Drifter asked, incredulous. Eris looked at him with a frown. "What do you mean? Like what?" Drifter gestured around the room. When she said nothing, he continued. "You called the Derelict a heap." She switched on one of the harsh halogen lamps hanging over her worktable. The light cast everything in hard lines of shadow. "It is." "You sure you don't want to keep 'em?" His tone was genuine. Eris considered this. Not the offer, but the sentiment behind his words. The implicit, unspoken faith. "You trust me?" He shrugged. "Who wouldn't?" -link