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Apostate's Blade Suit
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Apostate's Blade Suit is a Legendary Armor set introduced in Episode: Heresy. It can be acquired through episodic activities.
Apostate's Blade Helm/Mask/Hood[edit]
- "There is a knife for you."
- — Description
To be Taken is to yield. Sloane hears it still, that refrain that haunted her in Titan's depths. Take. Live. And quieter, behind it, something that stirs. A whispered offer. There is a knife…
That part is newer, and it troubles Sloane. Her bond with Ahsa insulates, protects. There can be no claim on her by force. But that says nothing of Sloane's own will. No material yet exists that cannot be worn down, in time. Oceans, whether methane or water, break rock into sand.
Any yielding is akin to ceding entirely.
Sloane cordons off any sense of that nagging offer. She will have no risk of slipping. She will know, perfectly, where she ends, where the Taken begins. There is no room for doubt.
She thinks, in her meditation, of Eris. Eris who went down into the Pit. Eris who came back changed. Eris, Hive enough to stand as God of Vengeance. Does Eris have such a delineation? Does Eris say, here is the Hive, and here is Eris Morn, and never the two shall meet?
No. She cannot. Or that new Hive god, made chitinous from her flesh, would have been someone else.
Sloane imagines: what if she did the same? If she took into her hands a grievous knife and said, Sloane is the one who holds the knife—Sloane is the knife. She is sharp; sharper and alight with the sterile flame of the Taken—
It is not the same. Sloane knows it heart-deep, bone-deep. She cannot put that knife down once she has taken it up. Not like Eris and the Hive. What is Taken is not given back.
No. They cannot be the same.
Apostate's Blade Gauntlets/Grips/Gloves[edit]
- "What is made in the sword world is true."
- — Description
When she hears of Eris, Mara thinks of Saturn. Remembers disintegration, molecule by molecule, the sword of Oryx's intent and throne severing her from the mortal coil more thoroughly than any firearm ever could. She remembers the pain of surrendering, looking out on cessation and allowing it in, against all her instincts.
The journey across the Sea of Screams, and the safe harbor she barely reached.
And its consequence: Eleusinia festers still. Mara ever has some awareness of its presence, her third and truest throne. In its placement it is bound with the Dreaming City, looped in the same febrile pulse again and again. Shattered, haunted with sickness, with no true capacity to heal.
A ruin of a shining thing. Like some would have thought of Eris.
So this is where that thought brings Mara back: the beginning again. First seedlings after frost, the delicacy of hope. Look at Eris. Look at what Eris wrought for herself, climbing up from the very bottom of the Pit. Mara will not mourn by ceasing, for that would not honor her. Instead, there is honor in action. In beginning to climb, even if one must first crawl.
Sometimes, as she does now, Mara imagines a future where she and her Techeuns return to that heart of the Dreaming City. She does not hope for a miracle, new-made and perfect; instead, when Mara lets it come to her thoughts at all, she bears in mind the slow work of forming it, the queensfoil and the chisel, and what it means to start over again. The ragged edge sewn up; the broken stone mortared.
She wants to scar her hands with the work. Someday, when she can, when she does, the name Eris Morn will be chiseled into the walls.
The sky can always be found again.
Apostate's Blade Plate/Vest/Robe[edit]
- "Sorrow is an indulgence. Never let it consume you."
- — Description
It's difficult to be furious with a man who is already hanging himself out to dry. Ikora wants to scream "Where were you?" and "How could you let this happen?" Any assortment of recriminations.
She knows herself better than that. Knows the sharp cut that has opened a raw wound will ebb into a burning ache soon enough. Knows that whatever she would ask of the Drifter is truly what she wants to ask of herself.
Where was she? How could she let this happen?
Eris was right. Ikora would have kept her safe, and she would not have been the same Eris again.
"Thank you," Ikora tells the Drifter instead. "For carrying the news. I know… you did what you could."
He looks like she has struck him, regardless. Perhaps he would have preferred that. He tries, visibly, to say something, and words fail him. Words fail them both. Ikora can't excuse herself fast enough.
"He wanted you to yell at him," Ophiuchus says later. "He's looking to get himself hurt." Ikora understands but isn't sure if she's helped or hindered his self-imposed penance.
She wants to make herself titanium and fury, undaunted and vicious, to tear through the resurging Taken and pay loss out in violence. But she is too used to squashing it down, and now more than ever, she cannot leave her post. With responsibility has come the weight of age.
Instead, for a little while, Ikora lets herself have sorrow.
Apostate's Blade Greaves/Strides/Boots[edit]
- "There are no words."
- — Description
Compose audio message?
"The problem with getting attached to people is—"
Deleted without sending.
"There's never been anyone like her. Never will be again."
Deleted without sending.
"Hey, hero, you know about this stuff, right?"
Deleted without sending.
"Hey, uh… you think any of those eggs have hatched yet?"
Deleted without sending.
"For all the times I've watched people move on, out of my life—never wished so hard to go with 'em. Knowing what she'd want don't make it doable."
Deleted without sending.
A howl of utmost anguish. "What do I do?!"
Deleted without sending.
Outbox: 0 Trash: 157
Apostate's Blade Mark/Cloak/Bond[edit]
- "The mathematics of war was ever written in blood."
- — Description
Caiatl measures the distance to Torobatl not in light-years but in lives, not in star systems but in the ships that would need to be shored up, the legions re-conditioned to the pitch depths of space. It is not a matter of "if" it can be done, but rather "when." How long to wait for Human allies, piling rubble up into fortifications; how long to stamp out the dregs of exiled Legions in Sol.
"Here." Valus Forge has brought her a set of records from the Vanguard. They unfold in sequences of recorded violence—blurry, difficult to parse chitin from armor—and a scrolling list of numbers, a death toll that spikes precipitously. "No one likes to speak of it. But the intel's valuable. The Great Disaster."
"When the Vanguard sought to retake Luna from the Hive." Caiatl knows the story of it, if not the visceral truth. Has heard it murmured, rumors passed from one to another. "But Crota is dead. As is Oryx. And Xivu Arath is severed from her throne world…"
"Even a Lightless Guardian is still a threat." Valus Forge does not name names. He does not have to. Caiatl is well familiar with Osiris, with Eris Morn who brought the Hive gods under her heel.
Xivu Arath has no refuge, yet it does not mean she is dulled. As any with but one life, they will fight to the death, with all that they have and more. Caiatl nods with grave intention.
She reviews the records. She changes her variables. And she does the math again.
Appearance[edit]
- Destiny 2: Episode: Heresy (First appearance)
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