A few things you should know,or that I want to know:
I'm not sure how often I'll be able to check the RPG, and I don't want to really fall behind.
I hate playing catch-up.
Is it worth playing?
Are there any really big 'no-no's, other than no god-modding and stuff?
Disco Ball Ninjas
Okay, forgive my whacky Epcot Center. This is a bit of an inisde joke, so sorry bout that too. But thanks to Mangai: Paladin, and you know why.
Tribute to the recent stinkbug invasion in my house and a true story. Tell me if you need 'subtitles' because Inkscape wouldn't let me enlarge the pic so you can read the text.
The Baterra are entirely mechanical, programmed to instinctively target and kill all beings carrying weaponry, and do not attack anyone unarmed.
And then to quote your epic.
The Baterra who was elected to the office of official leader was named Ghar-Knel. He ordered a worldwide disarm. No one was to use a weapon. But that only increased the tension between the Toa and Glatorian, and soon, a civil war broke out.
This story is of the origin of the civil war.
Solaris was sided with the Toa, but both Toa and Glatorian were put under the service of the master, Ghar-Knel. He was becoming a tyrant. But such thoughts were not allowed in the palace.
Now, I'm all for creative lisence. Down with the cliche's, angry mob protests, and all that jazz. But it's got to make sense. Has this Baterra, Ghar-Knel, been programmed to be an official leader? Or work his way to becoming a tyrant? Admittedly, the part about worldwide disarm did make sense. But then you went and said that civil war broke out. Were the Toa and Glatorian having sissy fights with open handed slaps to the face? Because, besides drunken bar fights, I'm not sure what else you really do without weapons on a 'civil war' scale. Were there secret pockets of resistance that had weapon caches for the war? If so, why were they not mentioned? Many a Glatorian and Toa could have been spared a slapping.
In the dank morning mist, high in the trees, you could hear the four little voices. They were murmuring in their own little worlds. But they were ready, they could sense the world beyond their world, waiting just beyond the barrier.
In the final hours of their first life, the urge to break that wall between worlds grew to be insatiable. Their minds were simple, and this instinctive urge drove them all into action for the very first time.
Nothing, they knew nothing about themselves. Each movement of a muscle was a whole new discovery, it was enthralling and empowering. The vitality that fueled their feeble first movements was unparalleled.
She watched. She listened. She remained silent, not wanting to miss one moment. Perched on the very edge of the nest, she bent caressingly over her clutch, watching but not interfering. Never interfering. It was sacrilege against nature’s course.
Her keen sense of hearing could hear the acceleration of the tiny hearts. Hours, it seemed like, in between their cries. Each rest between pushing and pecking seemed to drag on endlessly.
The dew of the early day disappeared as the sun drank it up, thirsty from its climb into the sky. And still, she did not move.
There was a crack in the largest shell. The scent of new life flooded the air. Soon, but not soon enough, a small, hooked beak could be seen poking through.
This one had great willpower. But even the greatest and strongest need rest. And rest he did.
Music, the hesitant music of the hatchlings leaked out of their shells now. The crackling of shells between hours was lethargically rhythmic. Their keening voices chimed in as life seeped into their being.
Three hatchlings huddled beneath their mother that evening. The smallest egg, it had been silent for too long. Nature had no room for the weak. Nature also knew no pity. She felt nothing but the drive of instinct as she moved carefully to roll the egg out of the nest.
She rested her cruel beak against the unbroken shell. But suddenly, as though spurred on by his mother’s presence, a peck, weak but definite, vibrated through the shell.
For a change, maybe just this once, natural selection would not be so selective.
[blatant lack of title]
"Buddy! Calm down. You are crazy!" She grabbed his face in her hands and pressed her forehead into the space between his large brown eyes. "It's just a thunderstorm, it's not going to hurt you."
Buddy whimpered softly in return, trembling and pawing nervously at her. Pulling away, she draped her arm over his side, hugging him close to her. They sat huddled together on the couch, the golden retriever now curled up in a shivering lump.
The storm was raging outside, she could see it clearly through her window. The thunder, it was so frequent, it never stopped. All she could do was sit and stare at it all through a pane of glass.
There wasn't much she could do while the storm went on. She had work to get done around the house, so much work. There was going to be company tonight, she had things she needed to do.
Buddy, however wouldn't let her out of his sight, or even out of reach of his paw. She'd already tried getting up to find a blanket, but the dog had thrown himself onto her lap. "Oh, are you protecting me, now?" She laughed softly, shifting him to the side and burying her fingers into his layers of fur.
"You've got me stuck here, waiting this storm out, I guess," She shrugged, more than content watching out the window and absentmindedly running her hand down Buddy's side.
"Buddy, you do know you're my buddy, right? You're my perfect buddy."
It was true.
He wasn't the perfect dog, though. He had missing toes from a birth defect and walked with a noticeable limp everywhere he went. He was a horrible guard dog, he was just so friendly to anyone. And he was a big baby when it came to thunderstorms.
But he really was the perfect dog for her. She wasn't as young as she used to be, the arthritis in her bones would have made it hard to keep up with a more energetic dog. She was a recent empty nester, the last of her children gone off to college. And since her husband was still part of the workforce, the days alone in the house could be lonely ones.
She took a deep breath, and made herself enjoy this pause in her day and murmured to her companion beside her, "You're a good boy, Buddy."
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The Ga-Matoran Who Couldn't Swim*
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Walking Her Home
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