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[Wotsiznaim]

IC: Illicia

 

The desert was noticeably cooler at night. More peaceful. Yet there was a darkness to it, a sort of blue tint that blanketed over everything in vision. Everything was a lot more still, and quiet. In a lot of ways, the night in Po-Wahi reminded Illicia of the fate that was soon to come to the Turaga of stone: death. The market stalls had packed up, the guards had changed shifts and Onewa was in his hut, relaxing with a guard or two that had stubbornly refused to leave his side. Illicia was sat on a bench under the cloth canopy hanging over the top of a window, twiddling her thumbs, deep in thought. Sev, meanwhile was away in the village doing who knew what.

 

"Whether Brykon said it was fine or not," she had warned him earlier in a shady back alley, "you're sticking with me, pretty boy. If the thought of prancing off into the sunset with a bag of cash even crosses your mind I'll peel you like a banana, do you understand?" Of course he had at the time, but she was still giving him as little a role as possible in her plan, just in case.

 

It had been a while since she'd done any proper, stealthy assassination work, really. None of the jobs she'd done with Bad Company since arriving on the island quite ticked all the boxes until now, and it was definitely going to be a night to remember.

 

Soon enough, Sev returned, still wearing that stupid hat he always wore. Why he needed to in almost complete darkness was beyond her. "So," his mouth said from below the Fedora. "what's the plan?"

 

"Knife for the big guy, and some of this lovely stuff for the guards," she held out a cloth and a small bottle of liquid. Sev took a whiff from around the lid and was repelled by the incredibly strong smell. Chloroform. "Best not to kill them, leaves them with a bit of survivor's guilt, if you know what I mean."

 

Sev nodded slowly. "Okaayy, but how are we going to get in there so easily?"

 

"Why, the front door of course," she smiled cleverly. Not even one as impassive as Sev could hold the corners of his straight mouth from perking up ever so slightly.

Edited by Doctor Wotz, Dec 28 2012 - 05:29 PM.

[Ghosthands]

IC (Korero)

 

For Korero, the experience of flying on Kahu-back was surprisingly serene.  As the landscape drifted by beneath him and the wind rushed past his mask, the Ko-Matoran felt oddly comfortable.  He'd never taken a ride on a bird, thinking that, like most non-Le-Matoran, he wouldn't have a head for such heights.

 

It seemed he was wrong.  Yet again, he failed to match the Ko-Matoran paradigm...

 

He didn't care.  The excitement of flight thrust any such worries from his mind, and for those golden moments, he was totally without a care.

[JL v2]

IC: Floria The Toa of Air continued sailing until she neared the coast closest to Po-Koro. In seconds, her gear was packed and she was on the run again, towards the village of the sands. From there she would have to find a way to track down the Infernavika.

[Kaitholas Cage]

IC: Tera walked back into Po-Koro, ignoring her mask's babbling in her thoughts.

OOC: One of the only Po Guard members apart from Naona open for interaction.

[Floridian Citrus]

OOC: And here... We... Go...

IC: Krell

I didn't mind the heat, even with the two orbs of fire beating down on me. I actually found that I had a much higher tolerance for heat then most beings, something that I suspected had something to do with my power. Whatever the case, it made marching through a desert not as harsh, but I couldn't say the same for the two beings I was traveling with.

So, I took it at a slow pace, not wanting to wear anyone out. I glanced behind me to Zuria and Ferron, and asked, "How are you guy-"

That's as far as I got, before a sharp pain erupted in the back of my head, knocking me unconscious almost instantly.

* * *

A few days had past since their "discussion" with Magvix, and nothing really exciting happened during that time. Well, almost. Krell had half his Kanohi melted off, and had to be kept in the hospital for sever burns on his right arm. And he hadn't even pulled some kind of stunt, just farming. Not that anyone would believe the Ta-Matoran, well, no one but Kuhrin. The De-Matoran had been there as well.

 

Frowning, Krell adjusted his new Kanohi, a reddish-bronze Kakama that really didn't seem to like him. He had just recently been allowed out of the hospital, despite the doctor wanting to keep him there for longer. "This thing is just.. ugh," he complained to the Matoran walking beside him.

 

Whatever, he could get used to it. Krell's eyes drifted for a moment, before spotting a certain Matoran nearby. A grin formed on his new Kanohi, and he nudge Kuhrin slightly, before waving to the brown-armored Po-Matoran.

 

"Hey Noka," Krell said. Kuhrin was probably cursing him right now, but whatevssss.

 

In the split second before Noka turned around, Krell received a firm punch in the arm and let out a word that made someone nearby tell him to watch his language. As Krell furiously rubbed the pain in his arm away, Kuhrin quickly darted back into a neutral position.

 

"Hi." Noka squeaked, her eyes staring into space more than at either of them. Her thoughts were clearly far away from reality. She looked at Krell, who was standing in a similarly false neutral position as Kuhrin, trying to ignore the bruise forming. "Is he okay?" she asked Kuhrin, but spoke to Krell.

 

It took the Matoran a moment to catch on to this. "Uh, yeah, fine, um..."

 

"Cramp." Krell said through gritted teeth.

 

"That's the one." both of them nodded approvingly.

 

"I can tell you're lying but oh well. Hey..." her mouth fell open as she looked curiously at Krell's new mask. "You have a new mask Krell! Oh my god!"

 

"Yeah it's not perfect but-"

 

"Thatsamazingicantgetoverthisitsjusti-"

 

"Calm down," Kuhrin told her with a mischievous smile on his face, jokingly motioning for her to breath in through the nose and out through the mouth. Noka's response was to pull him into a tight embrace, from which she insisted he stayed. After a short while of this Kuhrin looked questioningly at Krell -who was suppressing a laugh- his eyes reading something along the lines of "this is an unusually long one"; almost immediately afterwards she let go, like she could read his thoughts, and knowing how ethereal she sometimes acted, she probably could.

 

"I've got to go to dance but I'll see you later. Bye Krell, bye Lovely!" she smiled happily and skipped away like a small child.

 

Kuhrin couldn't stop staring after her, but was snapped back to his senses by a nudge from Krell's elbow. "Now that went well, didn't it Lovely?"

 

"Shut up," his friend replied. There was a short silence. "Yes."

 

The Ta-Matoran laughed outloud this time, shaking his head slightly at his friend's delayed responce. He frowned momentarily as his Kanohi slid off to the side from the movement, before adjusting the mask for the gazillionth time. Krell looked back over to Kuhrin, a grin forming on his face. "Now don't you ever say I don't do anything for you, Lovely," Krell said.

 

There was the sound of metal impacting metal, another mention that Krell should watch his language, and the Ta-Matoran once again began to rub his arm. Wincing quite a bit from the now-much-larger bruise.

 

"You're welcome."

 

Kuhrin smirked briefly, then decided it was high time the subject got changed before Krell ended up in hospital again. He reached into his satchel and pulled out his lucky golden widget. It was from some Koli tournament or giveaway or something, he didn't actually know, but it was gold. The catch was, half of it was covered in this strange, irremovable rust that had seemed to spread from the little blob it was when he had first found it. No one was entirely sure what it was, but several of the wiser inhabitants of Ta-Koro had warned him about it being cursed. "I don't believe in curses," he had told them. He tended to flip it from his thumb as a habit.

 

"Come to my hut with me will you?" he asked as the coin shimmered over his right fist. "I've got a letter coming in from Onu-Koro, and I think you'll like the delivery lady."

 

The Ta-Matoran was sure this was just a way for Kuhrin to get back at him, but decided to play along all the same. "Oh I'm sure," Krell said, rolling his eyes slighty. Still, rather unconsciously, he found himself brushing some ash off his red armor. What? A guy had to look good.

 

This time, Kuhrin caught the coin and plunged it back into his bag. He smiled, nodded in the direction of his hut and took off at a brisk pace.

 

"Lovely and kind, you know. She's kind of like a mother sometimes, in a good way. You know those people that just invite you into their little cottage for a little cup of tea and a biscuit or something, you know those people? She's like that."

 

The Ta-Matoran nodded, and continued to follow Kuhrin towards his hut. Krell glanced at the coin, something that he couldn't fathom why his friend carried it around. It was just a rusty piece of junk, right?

 

Kuhrin's hut was nothing special: two rooms, carved out of volcanic rock, with a doorway, some windows and some basic furniture. It wasn't much, but for him, it was home. The delivery lady even nicknamed it Satis House once, using the Matoran word for 'enough'. Speaking of whom, she was going to be here any minute, if she was staying on schedule.

 

Being a regular in Kuhrin's hut, Krell sprawled himself across a chair and pounded a fist on the table, demanding a drink. Kuhrin just laughed and sat down opposite him, kicking his feet up. "And now, we wait..."

 

Krell frowned, and busied himself with his new Kanohi. The thing just wouldn't stay straight... Karz, he didn't even know if it matched his armor. The Ta-Matoran was obviously not one for sitting around and waiting.

 

He glanced around for a moment, the simple hut in no way different from the last time he'd been here, before foccusing on the Matoran infront of him. "I can't help but think this is some cleverly designed plot for payback."

 

Was that worry in his voice? Noooo, it couldn't be...

 

"Plot? What kind of man do you take me for, Krell? I'm no plotter, you should know that." Kuhrin replied with a wink. Just then, there was a knock at the door. "I'll get it."

 

He got to his feet and opened the door with a creak, revealing a well-fed Onu-Koronan lady carrying a mail bag. "Hi, Kuhrin, nice to see you again!"

 

"Hi, Zuria," Kuhrin replied. She began to busy herself rummaging through her bag, and as she did this Kuhrin looked over his shoulder at Krell and flicked his eyebrows.

 

"Two things for you today... One is this tablet on the species of Rahi, which you requested," she handed him a dark beige tablet with carved writing on both sides. "and the other is this parcel which, if the label is anything to go by, is very delicate." she carefully gave him a wooden box which felt like much of its weight was soft padding for whatever was inside.

 

"Thank you very much. Would you care for something to drink, or will you be off?"

 

"No, I've got a lot more letters to deliver and other such things," she smiled. She was the kind of person who actually meant it when they said that.

 

"At least let me introduce you to my friend here," he turned to the side to reveal Krell at the table.

 

"Hello!"

 

Krell adjusted his Kanohi slightly and gave a small wave. "Uh, hi," he replied, a bit of a smile on his Kakama. The Matoran paused for a moment, before adding, "Krell."

 

"Funny, you remind me of someone in my dream who wore a Hau."

 

Kuhrin's eyes widened, and his eyes lost focus. "Huh," he grunted, his mouth wide open, as he gazed into space.

 

"Well, I'd best be off now, so..." Zuriana gestured as if she was about to leave, but Kuhrin didn't really notice, causing an awkward silence.

 

Krell nudged the gaping Kuhrin. Wore a Hau... Wait... It a took a second for it to click inside his head. "That's, uh, strange," he replied, nudging his Kakama back into a comfortable postioin once again. Kuhrin, bro, stop making a fool of yourself.

 

It reflects badly on me.

 

"Yeah, see you," Kuhrin said faintly. Zuriana began to respond as she left but Kuhrin shut the door before she could finish. He continued to stare at nothing in particular as he slowly drew a chair and (after several tries) placed himself in it. "That was... Strange, to say the least."

 

Krell stared at Kuhrin for a time. And then a bit longer. And then a bit longer after that. "Er, yeah?" the black-armored Matoran said, trying to wrap his head around what just happened. Glancing at Kuhrin one more time, he reached over, and snapped his fingers a few times infront of his friend's face.

 

"Kuhrin, you with me here? Tell me how strange that just was."

 

"Beyond comprehension," Kuhrin slowly turned to look his friend in the eye. "Just like that sound, if you can hear it."

 

"What sound?" the Matoran asked, frowning. Krell didn't hear anything, besides the normal sounds of Ta-Koro? "Er, I don't hear anything."

 

Kuhrin's ears perked up, picking up a silent sound. It didn't sound like it was present in reality, more just sounding in his head, yet there it was, unconquerable, thumping through his mind like mighty hammer. "The drumming."

 

"Uh... I'm really not hearing anything," Krell said, glancing around. "Are you sure its not just in your head?"

 

thunk, thunk, thunk, thunk, thunk, thunk, thunk, thunk, thunk, thunk, thunk, thunk

 

Kuhrin opened his mouth to say something, when before more than a little croak escaped his lips:

thunk

 

A knock at the door. "Maybe you should answer it, I'm..." he shook his head and sat down. The sound had gone.

 

"Yeah," Krell agreed, watching his friend worriedly as he stood up from his chair. Stepping over to the door, the black-armored Matoran adjusted his Kakama slightly, before opening it.

 

There, grinning madly, was Noka, holding in her one hand a pair of silver tap shoes and in the other a wooden platter with a sheet over it; a package which appeared to be a loaf of bread, or something shaped like it. "Hi Krell!"

 

Krell grinned back. "Hey Noka, come on in, I'm sure Kuhrin would absolutely love it," he said, quite certain it was bound to catch Kuhrin's attention quite quickly. Opening the door a bit more, Krell stepped aside, glancing momentarily at the platter Noka was holding.

 

The grin was still on his Kakama, but for different reasons now. Mainly because he was waiting for Kuhrin's reaction.

 

Kuhrin's heart skipped a beat as he instantly sat up straight and pulled an empty mug towards him and tried to drink out of it. Upon seeing the flat, dry bottom he shakily replaced it as precisely as possible back in the same place. "Oh, hi Noka.... Didn't expect to see you here..."

 

Noka frowned a particular frown that Kuhrin recognised. It was the frown she did when she knew something was wrong but didn't want to stop being happy, so avoided the subject of it. What she then said confirmed his theory: "I made rainbow bread!"

 

She placed the platter on the table and whisked away the cloth, revealing a loaf of bread made up of even slices of the colours of the rainbow. Kuhrin's mouth fell open stupidly.

 

Krell gave a low whistle. And then attempted to close Kuhrin's mouth with telekinetic powers he didn't have. From behind Nako, he rolled his eyes at Kuhrin, and motioned with his hands to try and get Kuhrin to do something.

 

"Wow Noka."

 

More hand motioning.

 

Kuhrin's eyelids sagged. "Krell, what are you doing?"

 

Noka turned around slowly to see Krell standing with his hands behind his back, shrugging his shoulders. "Nothing, really, just... Standing here... What are you doing?" Noka turned back and Krell gave Kuhrin an enthusiastic thumbs up and a wink, to which he sighed.

 

"Noka, can I speak with you in the kitchen for a minute?"

 

"Sure."

 

Krell laughed for a moment. "Kuhrin, we're in the kitchen."

 

"Yes." the Matoran bowed his head a little but kept his gaze fixed on Krell. His eyes told his friend everything. He needed to leave.

 

Krell shrugged, before stepping out of the hut. He debated whether to stay and listen in on their conversation, but decided against it. Kuhrin would probably tell him what happened anyway. Well, hopefully.

 

* * *

 

I blinked, my eyes defocused. There was a bit tan blur around me, and something gritty pressing up against me armor. It took me a moment to realize I had blacked out, and fallen onto the sand. My head was spinning from the memory.

 

“Ugh... What the Karz just happened?”

 

[EmperorWhenua]

Ic: "Po-Koro is where my quest first started months ago with the Companions," Stannis shouted over the rush of air as the trio rode their birds after the Wanderer, faithfully following his lead. "Although we may be pressed for time, I feel a draw to speak to Turaga Onewa. From there I am sure we will be able to find the way to the final Toa Stone."

 

Stannis truly did not sense a direction into the desert yet; his Wandersense nagged him in this direction. And while it could have been for any number of reasons, one thing was on Stannis' mind to do while in the city of stone: Discuss Aurax with Onewa. The Turaga would be eager to find out what happened to the Called matoran he dispatched to join Stannis when he gave his summons. Surely he deserved to find out the truth.

 

The birds carried their riders in a spiral into the walls of Po-Koro and landed with grace. The Matoran dismounted and stretched; so long in the saddle did no great wonders for their backs and legs. They limbered up and Stannis withdrew the pikes from the sides of his Kahu and slid them into the slots on his backpack. Like they should, the twin polearms formed an X on his back and gleamed with lustrous dark red color, showing off the strength and purpose of the weapons.

 

"Let's go," Stannis ordered leaving the Kahu in the charge of a local and heading towards the Turaga's hut. Though it was sure to be guarded, Stannis still held trinkets from his previous travel through the village, including a token from Onewa he gave to Aurax, symbolizing trust between he and the Po-Koro guard. It would give him the admittance he needed.

[Wotsiznaim]

IC: Illicia

 

"What do you see?"

 

Illicia stood in the space between two of Po-Koro's domed huts, her dark armour melding with the shadows to give her perfect cover from what her companion was surveying. Vossen was perched on the roof of the dome, his eyes scanning the street before him, assessing the situation. Po-Koro, of all villages, knew the importance of security, especially regarding their Turaga. In total there were around sixteen guards, but only around six of them needed to be taken care of. This was going to be a lot of fun. "Well?"

 

Sev slid down the side of the structure and came to land in front of her. "Six guards, all armed. It's going to require stealth, but we can take them."

 

"Take them?" Illicia shook her head and smiled knowingly. "I thought you were more thief than assassin, but it seems I was mistaken. There's no need for such an extremely violent approach as to go in and slit their throats. We can be a lot cleaner, and a lot more thorough in our approach."

 

*   *   *

 

A small circular patch of torchlight from a sconce on the right of Onewa's doorway revealed a group of six guards arranged in a horseshoe shape: two leaned against the hut next to each other; one stood arms folded to their left; two more sat casually on the ground to their right, and the last was rejoining the circle after a trip down the road for some supplies. He carried in his hands a lidless box carved from stone. Inside was various things, among them food for the hungry and drink for the thirsty. One or two of the guards let out a cheerful greeting to their friend as he returned, but the others were noticeably more serious.

 

They knew that now Onewa had returned, every hired thug, assassin and mercenary would be after their money's worth, any chance there was at exploiting the chaos on the island there was, there was sure to be someone going for it. There kept their eyes and ears peeled because they knew that every second they left their guard down was an opportunity for someone to slip by. The Po-Koro guard didn't get cut a whole lot of slack for all it had gone through; financially and morally, they were barely clinging on. They had suffered losses, so many deaths. That was what they were made to remember, every day, every minute, every second. The burden.

 

Then again, that apple pie smelt so good...

 

The few Matoran that had let out their feeble cheers and come forward to stuff their faces with whatever food was in the box. Despite going through such hard times, Po-Koro had somehow managed to keep its food stores up. The Po-Matoran were a hardy people, and weren't extremely energy efficient, so it was highly convenient that they had so much to eat. One of them mumbled something with their mouthful, spraying crumbs into the air.

 

"What did you say?" asked the one with his arms folded without looking, keeping his eyes on the darkness. He could swear he saw something...

 

The other took a big, almost comical gulp and spoke again. "You're gonna have to eat sometime, y'know. It's biology, and stuff."

 

Despite their initial refusal, one by one the guards came forward and began to take things to eat. Some took little snacks, others big wheels of cheese and other such things. But it didn't matter.

 

Not to Illicia.

 

She watched from across the street as they took their turns at beginning to feel a little off. Perhaps it wasn't cooked properly, they said. Perhaps it was off. So they set it aside and carried on eating. She smiled. Po-Koronans were strong, but they weren't quite so smart as they could be. She watched in amusement as the more mature and sensible ones began to realise what was going on. They began smacking the food out of their hands, telling them to get their guard up. But it was too late. Their fate was inevitable. One by one they let out guttural sounds and fell to the ground, dead. In seconds, there were only two left.

 

"Sound the allaarhghh-" the Matoran was suddenly bent double, choking on his own words.

 

But the survivor knew what he meant. He could feel death clawing at his feet as he sprinted towards the wall, trying to shout, his voice failing him. The horn, almost within reach. So close no. Dizziness. Tunnel vision. He fell. His hands clawed at the wall trying to pull him up. The tips of his fingers brushed against the bottom of the horn, knocking it from its perch. So close, yet so far... Darkness crept in, and before long, he was gone.

 

Illicia smiled and set Sev about removing the bodies of the guards. When he was done, he got into position around the other side of the hut, crouching by the window. She, meanwhile stood at the front door, and knocked politely.

[Geardirector]

OOC: And we're back

 

IC: Ferron

 

"Your lights went out" came Ferron's simple response as he grabbed Krell by the shoulders and hoisted him back into a standing position, taking care not to inconvenience the Toa of Light-sucking Fire any further.

 

"You okay?" he asked, ready to stop Krell should he fall over again.

Edited by Geardirector, Dec 30 2012 - 04:29 AM.

[Ghosthands]

IC (Korero)

 

Korero followed Stannis, his new bamboo disk in one hand, as they hurried in the direction of the Turaga's hut.  The Ko-Matoran could tell they were getting close to finding the Stone; with a slight chuckle to himself he realised that as this was Po-Wahi, they were likely going after the Stone of Stone.

 

Heh.

[Dreadheart]

IC: Lux Saran - Po-Wahi Desert

 

Sand.

 

It was the sand that was getting to him. The slow, constant apparition of it in the most uncomfortable places, as if each grain of the stuff was a tiny trickster god, determined to make life a living Karzahni. The desert out here was like one vast pantheon, where every one of these deities came with the same intentions. Truly made one wonder why anyone was crazy enough to live here.

 

And even though he was, in truth, a Po-Matoran, Lux Saran was no more a fan of this desert than he was of Makuta. But at least he didn't have to worry about the Motara killing him and his friends with shadowy armies. No one was waging a war against the dunes.

 

Heh, waging war against the dunes, with little grains of sand with sword and shields fighting against Toa and the Ga-Toa would wash away the desert's foot soldiers but the sand would go and suffocate all of the le-toa and then the matoran would order an retreat and the sand would win and pohatu would betray us all to theforcesofthemotaracurseyoupohatucurseyoutokarzah--

 

okayokay that was worrying. How long had he been out here in the afternoon sun? An hour? Two hours? How long since he'd had any water? Same amount of time?

 

Lux grimaced, an easy expression to form when you're slowly dying of thirst and the sand is killing you. He needed to find water, preferably before he went insane and/or died. He hadn't come this far, survived being attacked by his best friend, nearly fall in a pool of lava, get in the head with a table and drown to die in the freakin' desert! He was a Po-Matoran for Mata Nui's sake!

 

So, he kept walking, doing his best to follow the path towards the shore, or at the very least, Onu-Koro. Hm, the village of earth. That could be worth a visit, if only for old times' sake. It was, after all, the place where he met Zaveno and Delta. Would Delta be back there? Lux certainly hoped so.

 

Quickening his pace slightly, the Po-Matoran kept moving, occasionally removing his Kakama to wipe the sweat from his brow. Each time he did it, he felt incredibly weak, and then slightly rejuvenated once he had put it back on his face. While perhaps not the most efficient cycle, Lux didn't have much option at this point. It was this, or collapse in the dirt and grit and become yet another off-white skull sitting in the desert.

 

And on he walked, knowing full well that he was walking away from the only friend he had right now; Hakilve. To say he'd miss that Toa of Stone would be an understatement. He was good and honest and full of joy and laughter. He was his mentor and his friend.

 

Unfortunately, they both had their own destinies, and they refused to intersect, instead, running parallel to each other, like the tracks of an eternally-running train. Destiny only makes two stops; birth and death. You get on at birth and if you're late or you don't have your ticket, the station crew shove you aside and make room for the next guy. At death, the conductor yells for the last stop and for you to get off. And you do, no matter how much you don't want to. And you don't get to choose your cabin mates. You just get to sit there, and hope you don't finish the train ride alone.

 

Until then, Lux would keep walking. Walking away from his friends, like Hakilve, Readra, Zaveno, Solia, Delta. Walking towards an uncertain future.

 

Walking away from the harsh sun of Po-Wahi and towards the suffocating darkness of Onu-Wahi.

 

Walking away from his first stop at birth and towards his last stop at death.

 

OOC: Lux to Onu-Wahi.

 

-Void

Edited by Emissary to the Void, Dec 30 2012 - 08:32 PM.

[Nuju Metru]

IC:

Inside his hut, Turaga Onewa was wide awake, though he hid it well. It had been the idea of Inu, his Parakuka, that they should feign sleep - any element of surprise that the pair had, they wanted to reserve. Onewa had long known, as had all the Turaga, that his assassins were just around the corner of his arrival, and that his days were numbered. Upon his return, he had done his best to hide this knowledge from his people and give them some joy with the short time he had left. Now, though he knew it would be impossible, Onewa hoped to live another day.

 

"Do not batter yourself with that hope," Inu conveyed in his usual way - a vibrant flood of mixed senses and images that shot straight to Onewa's practiced mind and were there interpreted as words - and wriggling comfortingly against his host's back. "It is biologically unavoidable to want to keep living, even when the odds are slim. You cannot help it."

 

"Do you also feel that urge?" Onewa asked, saying the words in his head and, as usual, letting Inu expertly extract their meaning from the associations in his head. "Is your kind also compelled to keep existing, no matter the cost?"

 

"Yes," Inu replied. "Why else would we live so immorally, feeding on those who are good, like you? My kind is defined by our unfailing and tenacious hold onto life. There is nothing we will not do to survive. I am brightened to see that my own love of life has immersed you." Onewa responded questioningly, and Inu quickly realized his mistake. "Not brightened..." He projected into Onewa the image of him swimming with a strong host in deep, dark water, of eating energy all day without consequence, of the smile Onewa had displayed to his people a few hours earlier, the warmth of the sun coupled with the dark of a cave.

 

"Happy?" Onewa asked.

 

"Yes," Inu agreed. "I am not used to that concept, it would seem. 'Brightened;' how silly."

 

The two lay on Onewa's bed, with Onewa breathing slowly, facing away from the door, and Inu's matte green carapace catching a little of the moonlight that streamed in through the windows. Inu, a being born of shadow, was sensitive to this moonlight, and could tell when it was interrupted. The assassins had arrived, and one was fanning out to rest near the window. "Any moment," Inu told Onewa. "I am ready to activate us at short notice."

 

There was a knock on the door. "Stay still, stay quiet," Inu emoted, even following those instructions himself. The two heard the door swing in and open, scuffing against the ground of the hut a little. The assassin stepped inside on silent feet. A soft tread, tall silhouette; Inu assumed that the being was a Vortixx. If he had had eyes, Inu would have been proven correct. He silently informed Onewa of as much; Onewa continued to fake sleep. They would wait for the first move.

[Varren Rehn]

IC: NPC Red Matoran:

 

The Matoran had finally arrived in Po-Koro. He moved quickly through the village, unconcerned with merchants hawking for him to buy their goods. He didn't care. He only had one destination. Entering to a hut on the edge of the village, The Red Matoran nodded to a Po-Matoran who sat within, reading a tablet.

 

"So," The Po-Matoran said, noticing the Red Matoran's arrival, "Have you found it?"

 

The Red Matoran nodded, placing The Seal on a small table which dominated the center of the hut.

 

"Do you know how to break it?" The Red Matoran asked, looking at the seal carefully.

 

"Of course I do," The Po-Toran replied, the tone of his voice suggesting that the Red Matoran's comment hurt.

 

"Then do it. Otherwise, the foul disease that controls the villages will be allowed to continue their foul growth."

 

The Po-Toran said nothing, instead going to the chair he was sitting in, and moving it out of the way. While the sand that covered the floor of the hut, the Po-Matoran reached down, and brushed some away, revealing a small chest. Opening said chest, he withdrew a hammer, and a crystalline pick.

 

Turning around to face the table again, the Po-Matoran placed the pick right above the seal, raised the hammer, and struck down. What the Red Matoran could see of this event was quiet little. For both the pick and the seal made no sound when they met with the force of the hammer, for both shattered into pieces, an event which took place in the second that the hammer struck the pick. The Po-Matoran yelped as some of the shards became stuck in his hand after the pick shattered, and the Red Matoran had jumped back to avoid a similar injury. Looking at the broken seal after it had shattered, he realized it was the same crystal as the pick the Po-Matoran had used, only covered in the sediments that had been blown over the tower since its creations long ago.

 

"Now... Now all the masters require is the second seal. Then it can begin," Said the Red Matoran, a smile growing beneath his mask in anticipation for his Master's arrival.

[Wotsiznaim]

IC: Illicia

 

If Onewa or his Parakuka could see in their present state, only the silhouette would be visible in the doorway, a long shadow cast across the hut in the moonlight. Truly, only the silhouette was what mattered. She was no one; no name, no face, no soul. Just a killer. It was all Onewa needed, or deserved, to know. 

 

She had partially hoped that Onewa had been waiting for her, or that they would meet and have a nice little conversation before she polished him off. But perhaps it was better this way, that she didn't know enough about him, that she didn't befriend him and feel pity or mercy or weakness or regret.

 

But of course he knew. He had to have known she was coming. Maybe he was trying to delay his inevitable fate ("You wouldn't kill a sleeping old man?"), maybe he was toying with her as much as she intended to do with him, or, alternatively, maybe he was just genuinely asleep. In any case, it was time to get to work. Well, 'work' wasn't exactly the best description. More just a recreational activity she was getting paid for, really.

 

Her sheath shivered with each serrated point on the knife's blade. It was sort of beautiful in such pale lighting, really; she could see her face in its flat side. "Sleep," she breathed in a sing-song tone, brushing the tip of her finger down the Turaga's cheek and eyeing the writhing slug on his back. "Be at peace... And don't leave it." she brushed her knife against his wrist. Oh, how she had forgotten the joy of cold steel on warm flesh. Yes, it was better he didn't wake up.

 

More fun that way.

[Dreadheart]

IC: Gunner - Po-Wahi Waters / Infernavika / Main Deck

 

I'm not a religious man, but I demand of anyone watching the spectacular destruction of the slave ship before us not to realize that there had to be a god somewhere in this crud universe. And either he/she/it liked us, or hated slavers or some combination of the two.

 

Turning to face Lohkar, I voiced the question that was probably on everyone's minds, "Captain, what do we do with the, uh..."

 

I lowered my voice to a whisper, hoping not to arouse the ire of the swarm of Matoran surrounding us, "... the ex-slaves?"

 

-Void

Edited by Emissary to the Void, Dec 31 2012 - 09:42 PM.

[Nuju Metru]

IC:

Inu could feel Onewa sense the knife on his wrist, and with speed unexpected for one his age, Onewa sat up from his bed and twisted his wrist in such a way that his hand grabbed the assassin's knife-hand and twirled the weapon away from her grip and into his. Inu also knew, though, that this rapid movement had taken more out of the Turaga than Onewa showed; he repressed heavy breathing and all his muscles were tensed. Inu was tense, too, like a stiff board against Onewa's back, and he held himself in readiness to activate. Onewa stared into the eyes of his would-be killer, even in the darkness, holding the knife to her belly.

 

"You don't seem to know who you came to kill," Onewa said as matter-of-factly as he could muster. "That was unwise." Inu noted that Onewa kept the beat of sweat running down his neck and onto the carapace on his back to himself. The Turaga and the Vortixx exchanged some banter, from what Inu gathered (Inu only understood the Vortixx's words as they were interpreted by Onewa's brain), and he kept waiting for Onewa's signal so that they could slash these killers into ribbons and throw them into the sun to dry. What was taking so long? Onewa seemed to notice Inu's anxiousness, and he phased out listening to the Vortixx for a moment to address Inu with a thought. "Not yet," Onewa conveyed. Inu flexed with apprehension; he had not fought in far too long, and he could barely resist his nature as was...

 

"If not now, then when?" Inu asked with sharp images, doing all that he could to repress his own urges, urges he knew to be wrong. Onewa did not answer; he was too busy talking to the Vortixx and trying not to show his fear, especially now that the Vortixx had drawn another, much larger, weapon. Inu took a step back, cooled his mind down, and stepped into his own shell to avoid the blood lust. He could tell that Onewa was running through the same mental rings as he himself was: even if the pair activated, it would only buy them time. They were coordinated with one another when they became strong, and were very fast, yes, but only for a short while, and these killers had to know as much, have a plan. The two would die, and that much was inevitable.

 

Or was it. Inu was struck with a very dark thought, which he rejected at once, but which lashed back at him irresistibly.

 

How could you not? something said coaxingly, and Inu saw images of the deed done that were as tantalizing as they were revolting to him. Survival is paramount... But it would be wrong, he rejoined, I could not do such a thing; think of how Onewa would feel, did feel, when he did the same. It would be wrong. It would be wrong. But then again, Inu himself not a minute ago had told Onewa that it was indeed his kind's nature to live, no matter the cost. This idea, Inu decided, was only that instinct acting up. Instincts could be fought, surely... Not by a Parakuka, he reflected with some disgust as the seductive whisper became a red roar in his body. Not by my kind; we live for such instincts. These instincts are the joy we know, how we understand life, what our maker designed us to be. The only other option is death.

 

Inu twitched some of his sharp legs inside of Onewa, feeling his host's familiar spine. Onewa had, as far as Inu knew from his exclusive experience, been a good keeper, a kind one, and a just one. He had not shunned Inu the way the other Turaga had shunned their slugs. Inu didn't blame them - his kind was vile, as his perverse thoughts certainly proved. If even he, raised "morally," could not resist the magnetic attraction of his dastardly instincts, then perhaps the morality Onewa had thought to exist in him was a lie. That strikes a hard hammer in my core, he reflected, before countering. Then why did I feel regret when Onewa killed, and it was my fault? Was that no more than blind imitation perpetrated in my youth, or was it truthful guilt? Inu could not answer that question himself.

 

Part of Inu was repulsed by the plan, but a larger part seemed to want to follow it. Inu was torn in two directions, and he knew that this choice would either extend his life in a way he would detest, or end it. But his survival instinct was indefatigable, and it told him that a life of misery was better than no life at all. It was a battle of Inu's perceived morality versus his living urges, nurture versus nature. It was a quick and painful struggle for the Parakuka, but the winner had always been inevitable.

 

Something Inu had always sensed was that, were he to die, Onewa would die with him. But the inverse, he knew, was not true. So Inu did the only thing he believed he could to survive: he devoured all the energy in Onewa's body, killing the Turaga instantly. Onewa slumped, dropped the Vortixx's knife, and fell off his bed to the ground. Inu, full of new nourishment, grew another inch or so on the spot, felt bloated with the unnatural amount he had sucked  in. Onewa's familiar spine stopped pulsing with hot electricity, and Inu, instantly regretful of his cowardly decision, drew his sharp feelers out of Onewa's back and slithered under a hefty stone shelf. The Parakuka hated himself; he had killed Onewa so that he could live. There was no greater act of selfishness.

 

Although Inu could not hear it, the Vortixx and her partner above him were somewhat shocked, but pleased, by their good luck, and they decided not to kill the Parakuka that had done them such a favor. They left Po-Koro as quietly as they had come, and Inu huddled under the shelf, wriggling in unfettered emotional agony and screaming to the skies. He despised himself that he lived.

Edited by Nuju Metru, Dec 31 2012 - 11:18 PM.

[EmperorWhenua]

Ic: Two Vortixx left Turaga Onewa's hut at the same time that Stannis, Korero and Oreius came about a corner and saw the hut. They scampered away discreetly and despite Stannis' caution he did not think to take their features in. Alas, the Vortixx hadn't even noticed them. But Stannis was cautious still and withdrew a spear from his back as he approached. He withdrew the Po-Koro Guard badge and held it in front of him to show his authority and stepped forward with some level of anxiety. He had no idea what to expect but he wanted to be prepared. The door was still open and he peered inside with care. What he saw upset him.

 

Onewa was slumped on the ground, grey and lifeless. His body was pale as if the energies were sapped right from him and even his mask seemed as if it had been painted with grey at the edges. "No," Stannis breathed as he took a bold step to the dead elder before quickly retreating. "Korero, Oreius, stay here. I must go see that the alarm is sounded." And with that, Stannis left the others in the hut with the dead Turaga. "Hewkii! Ally! Piatra!! Sound the alarm in the name of god! Seal the gate!" he could be heard shouting from outside the hut, rousing attention in the hope of blocking the presumed assassins from escaping with their lives.

 

Korero, the ever-inquisitive and curious, took note of a sluglike creature that withdrew itself under a shelf. "What's that little guy?" he asked.

 

Oreius, the bold and brave, went to take a closer look at it. "It's some sort of... slug..." he said.

 

Korero rolled his eyes. "That's obvious."

 

"Isn't it?" Oreius said, glancing back at the Ko-Matoran and turning his back to the slug for but a second. What he saw, though, was Korero gasping and preparing to say something -- or scream something.

 

Before Korero could speak even a syllable the slug sprung from its little shady alcove and latched on Oreius' back. Oreius screamed from the pain of the unexpected parasite's grab, his cry echoing from the hut and into the Po-Koro night like a wailing mourner for Onewa, before he collapsed in unconsciousness from the sudden stress.

 

But in Oreius' mind a voice, spoken in images, said to him, "Oh I'm so sorry I'm so sorry I'm so sorry I'm so sorry. But hi. I am Inu."

 

 

 

Ooc: Yes, the above actions were pre-approved by both Nuju Metru and Eyru. Ghosthands, sorry for the minor bunny of Korero; forgive me.

Edited by Littlefinger, Jan 01 2013 - 12:39 AM.

[Ghosthands]

OOC: No problem

 

IC (Korero)

 

"Oreius?" Korero asked anxiously, running over to his new friend, "Oreius?"

 

The Ta-Matoran wasn't moving.

 

Pressing a finger to his neck, Korero sighed and calmed down a little; he could feel a pulse.  However, the calm was short lived as he rolled Oreius over to see the thing on his back.  It was green, slug-like, and rather disgusting.  It looked as though it had dug itself into Oreius' spine.  What it was and what it would do were questions Korero couldn't answer, and the Ko-Matoran found himself at a loss for what to do.  Leaving his friend for a moment, he took a look at Onewa's forlorn body.  He gazed into the tired old mask and sighed.  But then something caught his eye - examining the Turaga's back, he saw two lines of incisions, 

 

"Stannis!"

 

IC (Lohkar)

 

"A very good question, Mister Mate," Lohkar replied, turning away from the burning wreckage.  "We'll 'ave ta find somewhere ta drop 'em off.  One o' the villages should do - now that Xa's gone."

 

Lohkar did a rough head-count.

 

"There's about thirty of 'em," he continued to Gunner.  "Go down ta the hold, an' find one o' the big widget chests.  Distribute it between 'em.  They'll need money if they're goin' ta survive out there."

[EmperorWhenua]

Ic: "Very good," Ambages said with an humble smile. "I am happy to know your loyalty. Now we shall start the meeting."
 
He took out a silver dagger from his armor and held it out; the others did so as well. "Normally we would not hold these weapons out like this but instead be ready to draw the blade in secrecy. Whenever a meeting is called for, this is the only weapon we should have on our person. The reason for this," he explained, is to use it with deadly force."
 
"Before we begin business," Aurelia extrapolated, "it is tradition to utter a rhyme. It goes as follows:
 

To each their own,
To each their might.
But only as one
We see the light.

 
Each line of this rhyme bears a meaning," she continued. "The first two lines speak of how, when working for the plan, we all have our own responsibilities, ambitions and capabilities, and we each represent the apex of our respective trades. But despite our personal powers we can only realize the dream we dream if we work as a team."
 
"But this also serves as a sort of code," Ambages added. "We should all know the entirety of the rhyme by heart, but when starting a meeting each one of us will recite all of one line of the rhyme. Should one of the members fail to speak his -- or her -- line or speak it wrong, the rest of us must expunge the life from the guilty, even if only by the flickering suspicion of an impostor or inebriate.
 
"For now, let us only speak it together, but in the future we will do it as I have taught." (They recited the rhyme in a whisper.) Ambages slid the dagger away; the others did so as well. "Another point I should make is that we are not to speak each other's names whenever on business parlay. This is because of another very important component of our group's mechanics. We all work towards the same goal, but we all work separately and on our own. In order to ensure that none of us can be tied to another by any outside investigator who can chance upon us we do not say our identities. It is through that rule that she and I, even seven hundred years after this group's conception, cannot be connected to this group or the plot we have fomented.
 
"It is typical that we then begin with the reports of our individual exploits in regard to the master plan. I will allow the lady to begin with hers."
 
"Well," Aurelia began, "the Kumu Islets are off the charts completely. All that remains is a single ancient lighthouse, stable on rock, that juts out like an offensive digit at the heavens." She grinned at this simile. The notion of flipping off a god was pleasantly hilarious. "The subterranean explosions and the following crumbling on the foundations of the islands was without a hitch and occurred right on schedule. The ships came as planned and the Xa-Koronan army boarded and fled in time. They are currently setting up camp in a canyon that rises from the desert, making an effective fortress for the time being. I should mention, however, that one unauthorized ship did flee, but that is fine. The only thing they can do is raise suspicions."
 
 
* * * * *

 

A wail of despair from the Turaga's hut.

 

"Stannis!" Korero could be heard calling from within.

 

The Wanderer was speaking with Hewkii. The bells had been rung and the scant presence of guards in the village had raced to close the doors of the village, but by then it was clear that the assassins had already fled. There was no use in a chase; they could have gone anywhere, just like when they stole Hafu away. Po-Koro had endured too much strife.

 

"Stannis!" he heard again. "Come quickly!"

 

"All right all right!" he yelled as he quickened his pace to the large hut, Hewkii with him. What he saw when he entered, however, shocked him as much as the time he went in mere moments earlier. "What the ###### is that!?" he barked in a rare display of raw surprise. There, on the floor, was Oreius with some creature on his back that seemed both frightened and pleased to inhabit the new habitat, and Korero was there, by Onewa's body, trying to point something out. "What happened!?"

 

"That thing..." Hewkii said quickly, "... was on Onewa's back when he arrived. And now... Oh, Mata Nui protect us..."

 

"Korero, speak to me," Stannis said, unabashedly going to Oreius and trying to shake him awake.

[Half a Cup of EW]

IC (Oreius)

 

Oreius couldn't believe it: Turaga Onewa was dead? Who had done it, and why? As his heart constricted with grief, he heard Korero exclaim something from behind him.

 

"What's that little guy?"

 

The Ta-Matoran turned around to see some sort slug-like creature hiding beneath a shelf. Unlike Korero, who stayed back, observing from a distance, Oreius approached the slug, and bent down to get a closer look.

 

The creature was covered with a hard, shiny, green carapace that glistened. It chittered softly, and wriggled on the stone ground. Oreius was struck by a sort of disgusted inquisitiveness, but it didn't look like any sort of creature to be afraid of.

 

“It's some sort of...slug,” he said.

 

“That's obvious,” came the sarcastic reply.

 

The former Guard glanced back at Korero with a smirk; he hadn't known the Ko-Matoran to be sarcastic before. “Isn't it-” he began, before stopping short at the expression on Korero's face. His companion appeared stricken, about to shriek or scream a warning.

 

That was when a sudden pain struck Oreius at the base of his neck; he cried out, but the sensation refused to relent. It felt like someone were stabbing his back full of red-hot needles; his body buckled in agony, and he fell to the ground, losing all control over his limbs.

 

He felt his face smash into the stone floor, felt a trickle of hot blood as his nose began to bleed from the impact. The salty taste filled his mouth, but he couldn't spit or cough; the pain was too intense. All he could manage was a choking, gargling scream, all of his training and pain tolerance falling away-

 

And then it was over. The pain burst in a shower of red-hot sparks and dissolved into darkness, granting Oreius blissful relief in unconsciousness.

 

But as he faded away, he saw one last image.

 

It wasn't Turaga Onewa's dark chambers. It was a Matoran walking with a knife. He slipped, and cut another Matoran; the second Matoran wore Oreius' face. The bleak taste of shame coated the Ta-Matoran's tongue.

 

Accident. So sorry.

 

The first Matoran held up a glass of water in his other hand; he drank it.

 

Inu.

[EmperorWhenua]

Ic: "He won't wake up," Hewkii explained after a while of Stannis trying to revive Oreius. "Not for two days."

 

Stannis remained quiet and still for a moment, reflecting on what Hewkii said. Finally, he rose and turned on his heels. "Two days?" His eyes flared with energy. Stannis was not happy at all.

 

"Onewa explained to me what that is. It's called a Parakuka, and it's a... a lesser spawn of the Makuta."

 

This made Stannis even more upset. "You're saying Oreius, one of a team to defeat the Makuta, now has a scion of the enemy on him?"

 

"Well, yes," Hewkii said with a consternating face. It was obviously an uncomfortable situation for him to be in and he understood the ramifications. Stannis had every right to be upset. "And I'm afraid there is no way to remove it, not without risking the death of the host."

 

"Host?"

 

"Uhuh. The Parakuka, it's a parasite," Hewkii tried to explain as calmly as he could. "From what Korero just showed me, it seems like the very life of our... noble Turaga... was sucked out by the Parakuka. It then left the host and it seems it has found a new one. I'm sorry, Stannis, but Oreius may well have this creature on his back for his life. At least for the next two days until he wakes."

 

Stannis was clearly trying his best to contain his rage. The bad news just kept heaping up. The Turaga was killed, the assassins fled, and now a Chosen One had some sort of mini-Kraata on his back. Oreius, Stannis' closest thing to a staunch ally in his company... It was all too much for him to grasp in a span of mere minutes.

 

"Stannis..." Hewkii said, coming close to the prophet and embracing him like a brother, "you have a mission to go on. I remember when you came with Aurax and Atiel, I remember what you represented. You go against adversity and you defy chaos at every turn. I have faith in you. You're Mata Nui's vessel in this world and whatever is going to happen to Oreius... has to fit in some Strategy. I will take Oreius in and care for him while he sleeps and will try to work with him when he wakes. You and Korero will have to go on without him for now."

 

"Yes," Stannis lamented. "Yes, it has to be that way. Thank you, Hewkii."

 

The embrace was ended and Stannis gingerly slid his weapon back into the crux and put his badge on his straps. He kept looking at Oreius and the slug on his back that seemed content in its new niche. That pathetic, snide little devil. He then leaned over and took Onewa's mask from his face and gave it to Hewkii, who reverently held the Kanohi dearly.

 

An hour later Stannis was preparing to mount his Kahu. Oreius' bird was left behind. Oreo himself was placed in his own private room in Hewkii's house where the Kolhii champion would look after him on Stannis' absence. After a few words of goodbye and assurances to both sides that each group was well aware of the dangers of their particular journeys, Stannis and Korero took off to find Pohatu's Essence Stone. The Kahu's wings flared with energy as they took to the nighttime sky.

 

 

Later still, however, none noticed the devious and stealthy Matoran that sneaked into Hewkii's home and steal a precious Kanohi. It would not be found for days.

[Ghosthands]

IC (Korero)

 

Korero called to Stannis across the roaring wind.

 

"Stannis," he asked, raising his voice to be heard, "do we actually know where we're going?"

 

The Ko-Matoran had enough faith to follow Stannis' wandering instinct if necessary, but all the same, he knew he'd feel safer if they had a definite destination...

[EmperorWhenua]

Ic: "Yes! We're going east," Stannis shouted in reply, "where the stone is!"

 

Faith alone cannot guide you.

 

Faith alone is like water but no bread.

 

Water will give life where there is none, but bread will give substance to what is intangible.

 

Inspiration to others is not leadership. Using the inspiration seeded is what makes a leader lead.

 

Be aware of what you know. Know the things you need to do. Do what you feel is right.

 

It all came together like a puzzle in Stannis' mind. These were not polar opposites he needed to choose a side on and deny the other rights, these were elements of completion. Ying and yang was not a battle between light and dark, it was a circle composed of seemingly opposing elements. Stannis could see that now. Faith in Destiny's winds were not enough. He needed to be Dutiful in his thoughts and actions. Only then could be bring Unity. The charm on his necklace bounced on his neck in the wind.

 

Antrim... he knew all along what was right. He knew that Stannis would make his own philosophy and he knew that it would be right. Antrim, the good steward and great teacher, pushed his pupil only so far as to let him find his own way in the world. It was the only way to ensure the lesson was learned. Stannis shed a tear of joy at his master's great mind, but the tear was swept away by the wind.

 

The moon shone brightly down on the desert. The coastline could be discerned far in the west. A coastline that Stannis could recognize. The map that Reordin had, the map that belonged to Takua, was held in Stannis' hands a mere two days before. He could remember, he could see it in his eyes, the outline of the coastline and the intersection that met at the letter .

 

To the south: A peninsula that jutted into Naho Bay. Though thick, it had a specific digit that pointed directly south. To the east: A small bay that indented neatly into the Po-Wahi coastline. Stannis urged his bird to fly higher and higher and Korero reluctantly, or fascinatedly, copied him. Stannis observed, looking out over the dim horizon, and scanned it carefully.

 

"This time, my brothers," Stannis yelled, referring to not only Korero but those who should have been there with him, "this time I know exactly where we're going."

[Ghosthands]

IC (Korero)

 

As Korero and Stannis urged their Kahu higher and higher into the cloudless sky, Korero suddenly felt a strange compulsion: a small voice in his head, telling him to stand, unbuckle himself from the harness, and jump.

 

To feel the high winds on his mask, feel the g-forces in his gut, to fly or to fall.

 

Korero squashed these thoughts into a corner of his mind, incredulous at himself.  What was that, a suicide urge?  He shook himself, then relaxed, and returned his attention to the task at hand.  Part of him, though, still revelled in the thrill of flight.

 

"That bay?" he asked Stannis over the wind.  "Is that where we're headed?"

[Emzee]

OOC: Ronkshou & Kohra from Ko-Wahi

 

IC: Ronkshou – Motara Desert – South Po-Wahi

 

Ronkshou knew the arid northern land the best out of all the environs that Mata Nui had to offer.

 

Even in the area close to Ko-Wahi, Ronkshou was able to navigate through the gray, rocky surroundings, leaping over chasms and side stepping stray, jagged stones. Kohra followed close behind, and the two quickly found themselves descending from the heights, and entering and rugged valley.

 

The valley curved around like a maze, its rocky walls stretching high into the sky and obscuring a clear view. Nonetheless, Ronkshou had memorized the correct turns to make. They continued walking through this maze for over an hour, until they saw their path rise up again towards the sky.

 

“Another hill,” Ronkshou said monotonically.

 

The two continued walking and soon enough, another rocky valley presented itself before them, though this one was lighter in color, leaning more towards beige than gray. Still, the two hunters continued forth, moving through these winding corridors for two more hours. By the time their rocky mazes gave way to sand, the sun had reached west, and would set in another hour.

 

Fortunately, both travelers had plenty of water and both had great stamina. However, it seemed silly to make camp in the middle of the desert, when Ronkshou’s dwelling was just slightly northwest of where they were.

 

“We will rest once we reach my cave,” Ronkshou said to Kohra, not quite sure how she was faring, “We should arrive there in less than an hour”

[Half a Cup of EW]

IC (Caerus)

 

"I have heard of the destruction of the Islets," the poet said after Aurelia finished. "Neither is it strange to me to hear that some ships escaped; I assume the attack on Le-Koro was your doing? Rumour has it that the invading army was made of mostly Xa-Koran troops."

 

He shrugged. "They were swiftly defeated. Knowing even a little of your plans, I can assume that, too, was your intention?"

[EmperorWhenua]

Ic: "It was," Aurelia confirmed. "The plan was never for that wing to destroy or defeat Le-Koro. Fear is a powerful tool and can destroy what people value most: Courage. The fact that there are more soldiers elsewhere will make people nervous and aware, paranoid even. The destruction of those sixty soldiers was needed to make the remaining one-hundred-twenty even more feared." Aurelia gave Caerus a pleased grin, content in his mix of knowledge and speculation.

 

* * * * *

 

 

"Not quite!" Stannis called out. "At your one-o'clock, see that peninsula?"

 

"Yeah!" Korero replied.

 

"Our objective is in line with the latitude of the bay and the longitude of the peninsula. We won't be there until daybreak, I'm afraid, but that's where it is. Rest for now, Korero, if you can. I shall take the watch for now and will wake you when we land!"

 

It wasn't exactly clear how Korero was supposed to "rest" while riding at high altitude with the wind in their ears, but... well, whatever.

 

True enough, the sun was just visible over the horizon ahead of them and Stannis brought his bird lower and lower and Korero's Kahu followed him. They came down in a long spiral, a slow descent, into the dunes below, but Stannis knew that this had to be the place. He felt Destiny pull here.

[Ghosthands]

IC (Korero)

 

Korero let Stannis take the lead, and the two Kahu eventually fell into a spiralling descent, and landed gracefully in the dunes, the birds' clawed feet somehow finding purchase in the shifting sand.

 

The Ko-Matoran unbuckled his harness and hopped off his Kahu, pulling his satchel and disk out of the saddlebags.  A cursory glance around revealed nothing of interest; all he could see were dunes stretching away almost forever, with only a faint glimmer of the sea beyond.

 

"So...where do we look?" he asked.

[Vezok's Friend]

IC:

 

Kohra glanced to the sky, a look of discomfort obvious on her face despite the hood she was wearing. The Vortixx wrapped her black cloak tighter around her, protecting herself from the intense sunlight shining down upon the sands of the desert, reflecting back brightly depending on the angle of the dunes and heating up the air. At least, in these canyons that last part was no trouble. But still the light was bright enough to make her skin crawl. She was a creature of the darkness and worked better at night. And out of all the Wahi, the one of stone was her least favourite. Yet, it was one that she knew very well. For weeks she had been living in the desert, living off what little she could find in the wilderness, housing in canyons and caves while scouting out the area until she had been able to make her move and disrupt the villages day-to-day business with a plague the Po-Matoran had though long-gone.

 

It may have been just peripheral support, nothing major in the grand scheme of things, but from what Kohra knew, the Makuta had ordered her to strike at the villages in such a way that the other agents of the dark lord had time to proceed unimpeded, while the so-called heroes of the island focused their attention elsewhere.

 

“We will rest once we reach my cave,” Ronkshou said to Kohra, not quite sure how she was faring, “We should arrive there in less than an hour."

 

The Vortixx nodded. A cave sounded rather comfortable around right now. She looked at Ronkshou. "We should not delay too long. Once night falls, we should be on our way again."

[Dreadheart]

IC: Gunner - Po-Wahi Waters / Infernavika / Main Deck

 

I nodded, wordlessly heading down to the hold, and fetching the largest chest I could carry. And by 'carry', I mean of course manipulate the air around it, so that it floats. Because really, why would I haul something up a flight of stairs if I didn't have to? Even if it is widgets.

 

As I walked out into the sun and the salty breeze, I realized the terrible mistake I had made. Yes, you read that right, I'm admitting a mistake. Get over it. Anyway, to my dawning apprehension, I remembered that I was surrounded by recently freed slaves. With a chest of widgets between me and them.

 

Hm, let's see here: ex-slaves + nearby source of money = bad things.

 

Almost immediately the box was swarmed with Matoran, all of them clamouring for the bits of metallic protodermis. Caught unawares, I accidentally lost control of the chest, allowing to topple to the ground, resulting in a frenzied rush for widgets.

 

My shock subsided quickly, and I let loose a powerful gust of wind, knocking the ex-slaves away, creating a rough ring of bare wood around the chest.

 

"Enough!" I growled, a little harsher than I had wanted.

 

Apparently, those Skakdi slavers had done a better job of breaking their slaves than I'd thought, and the Matoran all quickly retreated, obviously terrified of me and what I could do to them.

 

Immediately, my black, twisted heart was torn. I hadn't wanted to scare them, I just... I wasn't going to hurt them, I wasn't that evil, to harm a helpless Matoran. I just... lost control.

 

Control... I hated that word. And loved it, all at once. 

 

Now filled with shame and regret, I lowered my voice, adding a gentler, "Thank you..."

 

Picking the chest back up, I began distributing the money amongst the crowd, doing my best to ignore the expressions of hesitation and fear most of them bore. Was this what it felt like to be in control? For people to be so terrified of you that they'll do whatever you ask, just so they don't get hurt?

 

I thought back to my old mentor. Not the one hired by my father, who turned a blind eye to my brother's abuses and pushed us beyond our breaking points. But to the Swordsman, who found me broken and remade me into something more. Something greater. Is this how he felt, commanding me and my brothers and sister? He was a figure to be feared, but also respected. Did these thoughts of shame ever cross his mind?

 

You lie on your back. It's night, though that's hard to tell amongst the black storm clouds, unleashing their deluge upon you. Like the world itself is trying to wash you away like some dark sin.

 

Lightning flashes, ushering in a crack of thunder loud enough to send teeth rattling in skulls. A streak of white blinds you to the world around you, and for one brief, glorious moment, you wonder if you've been granted a reprieve, and just died.

 

But then, the darkness returns, and you're trapped to this life, horrible and desolate.

 

And this time, you're not alone.

 

A Toa, clad in dark-red armour, standing tall and proud against the bleak landscape. An Iden adorns his face, and a polished blade swings freely at his hip. He's the very image of a Toa-hero; noble and strong.

 

Slowly, he turns to look at you, curiosity apparent in his gaze, untainted with pity. He doesn't move to help you, merely watches.

 

"Why do you lay here, exposed to the elements?" he asks.

 

You hesitate, unsure of the question, before replying, "My life has lost meaning; I'm waiting for the world to realize that, and sweep me away."

 

The Toa pauses, then cocks his head to one side, "Then, if you regained some purpose, would you stand?"

 

Purpose? You could laugh at that, but instead, you just turn your head to face this naive newcomer.

 

"There is no purpose for me."

 

"There is purpose for anyone, if they're ready to leap for it."

 

"And you think I should leap for this unknown fate?"

 

"Not yet, but perhaps I can train you for such a day."

 

Training? Your interest is piqued, a sensation almost alien to you.

 

"Who are you?" I finally ask.

 

The Toa smiles, before extending his hand to help you up, "They call me the Swordsman. And I am the leader of the Toa Dreadheart. Join me, and I can ready you for whatever destiny you leap for."

 

A long moment of hesitation passes, as you consider his offer. Can you trust him? This strange being, perfectly willing to help you, with no reward in sight? Something you're brother would never, in all his life, do?

 

You take his hand, hauling yourself to your feet for the first time in days, "Call me Vod. Antiro Vod."

 

The Swordsman smiles, "Welcome to the Dreadheart, Antiro Vod. I promise, you won't regret it."

 

-Void

Edited by Emissary to the Void, Jan 03 2013 - 07:23 PM.

[ZHX]

IC: Lasinia

 

"Hey captain," said Lasinia. "Does this island even have therapists? Because it looks like these guys need them."

[Floridian Citrus]

IC: Puroruk

 

The Po-Matoran nodded slowly at the new information, placing the details together like the fountain he carved earlier. He had also heard of the sinking of the islets, as well as the attack on Le-Koro.  New traveled swiftly for those who listened. The fact that both were part of their plan filled in quite a few gaps as well as confirmed some speculations of his. His nod of understanding soon turned into a nod of approval. It was a good and sound plan, one that worked a great many ways in their favor.  Not only would it distrupt the villages and lace their thoughts with fear “Weaken the base with the first few strikes” the burly carver said thoughtfully, his hands folded before him, and his eyes turned slightly downward, “and the following ones will cause the statue to come crashing down.”

 

A slight knowing smile formed under his Kanohi as he looked back up at the rest of the Matoran gathered. “An effective, not to mention intelligent, plan indeed,” he continued with a final nod of approval to both Ambages and Aurelia.

[Nuju Metru]

IC:

Stannis had indeed landed their bird in seemingly the middle of nowhere, in the heart of the great desert. Everything was dunes, except for the sparkle of the sea to one side and the shimmer of a mirage to the other. In the great distance, the plateaus and mesas of golden-brown stone stood like walls of the horizon. The only object in sight was a tiny oasis perhaps five hundred feet distant, no more than a few dry trees and cacti, at which a water pump, its spout fashioned in the likeness of a Kakama, trickled small drops into the dust. The sun was rising in rebirth; early morning was setting in, fading to orange. The two Matoran were glad they had arrived after the sunrise - the desert was much more sinister without its blazing parent to keep an eye on things.

 

Stannis decided that the oasis had to hold the clue to the Stone's location, and surely enough, on closer inspection of the mask-funnel of the pump - which, when tested, brought up silty, but fresh, water - revealed the they sought. It could not be hidden in the trees - they were skeletal things, only about as wide around as Stannis' wrist. The cacti were a possibility, of course, as was the earth itself, made somewhat more solid by the meager water seeping into it. Stannis, who had had the foresight to bring Tahu's stone with him, pulled the thing out of his bag but instantly had to drop it from extreme heat. The piece of black onyx turned the sand around it to molten glass. They were very close.

Edited by Nuju Metru, Jan 04 2013 - 01:59 AM.

[EmperorWhenua]

Ic: The morning light spread eagerly across the desert and lit first the bastions of stone that stood watch over the dunes. It played with shadows that shriveled up under the shelter of crests, frightened from the empire of night that spanned across the wahi before, and left long tails of darkness like a platoon of soldiers stacked up behind a wall against an unseen foe. The oasis, however, had no such illumination or salvation from the gray at that moment and Stannis still held a lightstone in his hand and the empty bag that held the essence stone of Tahu in the other. Seeing no reason to clutch it longer he tossed the satchel to the ground outside of the radius of glass. The radiance of the stone was confirmation enough that his stone was nearby, and there the stone of fire would rest until his was found.

 

Stannis took note of the pump and looked about it with his lightstone, attracted merely by the noise of its patter of water on the sand. As expected, the letter was carved into the back of the carved Kakama's head. "It's here," Stannis whispered with suspense. "But where?" He looked about, holding his little light like a lantern to spread its color about more. He looked at the trees but instantly felt rejected by them. The cacti? But no, there was no bulbous growth from any of them to indicate the presence of a stone in their bellies. That left the only remaining component of the oasis: The fountain.

 

"Hey look at this!" Korero said. The splatter of water from the spout could be heard and Stannis sauntered over with increased curiosity; his senses only pointed his nose to this spot more each time. Korero's words were like a reminder, like the stone was saying, "Hey, over here!"

 

"What is it?" Stannis asked.

 

"Look at the water --  or lack of it. This ground seems to soak it in before the water even touches the sand. No matter how much I pump the dust does not turn to mud." He cycled the pump some more. "See?"

 

"Peculiar," Stannis breathed as he went to his knees and touched the ground. Sure enough, no amount of water could satisfy the earth's thirst. He glanced about. It would not be long until the suns shone down on them and Stannis had no wish to remain in the desert in the tormenting heat of the day. Though immune to intense heats he still didn't feel comfortable in them, and the desert was never his favorite place to be at anyway. "Help me dig, Korero," he said as he began scooping sand from under the spout and tossing it far to the side. Korero quickly joined his leader in the quest to dig deeper.

[Nuju Metru]

IC:

If Sulov had been there, Pohatu's Stone would have been uncovered in a matter of seconds - the Ko-Matoran's expertise with shoveling would have made a quick job of the loose, dry soil. Stannis and Korero, even working together, took a few minutes to delve deeply enough to find the source of the dryness, and of an amber glowing that blazed through the dust. It was a round Kolhii stone, expertly crafted, and bigger than the kind the Matoran played with... The thing was Toa-sized; both Matoran, looking at it and then each other, were struck by the possibility that this stone probably belonged to Pohatu himself.

 

It was Stannis who pulled the rock out of the earth. Holding it between his palms, he felt them grow remarkably chalky and dry. With stiff fingers, he brought the stone over to Tahu's, touched the two to each other, and watched as both stones lost their colorful auroras, as Stannis felt moisture return to his hands, and as the sand around Tahu's stone cooled enough to become beautiful glass. He broke this glass after a moment, prying out the onyx and handing Tahu's stone to Korero, not having to tell the Ko-Matoran to guard it with his life. Stannis took Pohatu's Kolhii ball into his own satchel. The pair and their precious cargo headed back for the Kahu, which had also been digging in the sand in their absence, but to no avail - there were no juicy bugs in this part of the island. They were back on the bird and in the air again only minutes after having landed; it had been a quick recovery.

 

But not quick enough that a pair of eyes inside the shade of a cactus did not see them. The silent presence retreated as soon as the Matoran were out of sight.

Edited by Nuju Metru, Jan 04 2013 - 02:23 AM.

[Ghosthands]

IC (Korero)

 

Korero gazed in wonder at the stone they'd unearthed.  Much larger than Tahu's Stone - it was big enough to be a Toa's Kolhii ball - it glowed with an orangey inner light, which died away as it made contact with the smaller, red-glowing stone.

 

Stannis handed him the small onyx shard.  It was suddenly remarkably cool, and Korero slipped it into his satchel and accompanied Stannis back to the Kahu.  Before long, they were up and away, into the bright morning sky.

 

"That was quicker than I expected!" he called over to Stannis.  The desert air was quite still today, but the speed of the birds still produced roaring currents between them.  "What do we do now?  I'd assume we head back to Po-Koro for Oreius, but after that?"

 

He suddenly felt a pang of worry for Oreius.  He felt bad, having left the unconscious Ta-Matoran behind to seek out the Stone...and he hoped that the bizarre slug on his friend's back wasn't as bad as it seemed...

[Floridian Citrus]

IC: Liikyra

 

The Toa of Earth blinked, flinching as the fire's unexpected light bloomed up on her left side.  She couldn't tell how long she'd been out, but it couldn't hae been for that long.  Could it?  Time seemed to blend together here, even with the constant rise and setting of the suns giving pace to the days.  Probably from the fact that she mostly spent her time strapped to a makeshift sled being pulled by a being who she couldn't decide if she absolutely hated or liked.  Well, not so much hate now, so Liikyra settled on somewhere around the middle.

 

"Alright then," she replied, still not fully awake.  Another thing she hated, being out here and not being able to hunt.  Liikyra wasn't used ot relying on others, having spent most of her time out here alone.  It was... different, to say the least.

[Emzee]

IC: Ronkshou – Motara Desert

 

“We should not delay too long,” Kohra warned, “Once night falls, we should be on our way again.”

 

“Of course,” Ronkshou said, not considering any alternative.

 

Scruffy and mostly abandoned paths came and went in the sand, but Ronkshou proved how well he knew the area by navigating through it with ease. Soon, they found themselves on the edge of Tiro Canyon, and their path began to descend. Soon, they were on the rarely-walked path to Ronkshou’s cave. The route was long and convoluted, and it was also very dangerous due to the ferocious Rahi that liked to dwell. Unfortunately, many of these Rahi had been disinfected in the many weeks that passed since Ronkshou was last here. Still, there were more than enough Rahi here to provide back up, and to keep enemies from covering their trail.

 

Halfway through the trek, Ronkshou and Kohra entered a tunnel, where Ronkshou was careful to choose the right path in the forks they came across - lest they be mauled by an uninfected Nui Jaga. After several minutes of forks in the path and winding tunnels, the two finally reached their undisclosed destination. The cave that they entered had many lightstones mounted on the walls and hanging from the ceiling. The cave was divided into three rooms: an eating area, sleeping area, and planning area. In the far room of the cavern, there was a single rock bed. This first room that Kohra and Ronkshou entered happened to sport a fire pit with some wood already in it, with a metal pot suspended over it. While there was no fire, Ronkshou’s backpack had the supplies needed to remedy that and stay warm through the night. The second room, the “planning room,” had a stone slab with several stone seats around it, and there was a large basin of fresh water from a nearby aquifer. Next to the basin were bandages, healing herbs, and many other tools. At the center of the room sat a circle of heatstones.

 

Ronkshou immediately sat down on one of the stone slabs, eager to rest his feet.

 

“So, I heard you were the one who brought the Second Plague to Po-Koro,” Ronkshou said to Kohra, “And you were also the one who destroyed the North March cablecar”

 

Ronkshou learned early on that Kohra had some sort of connection to the Makuta, but he was not sure how. It obviously wasn’t an infected mask.

 

“I’ve also learned that you seem to share a similar connection to the Makuta as me, but without a mask, I’m left a bit perplexed and how you maintain such a connection,” Ronkshou said, “Care to explain?”

[ZHX]

OOC: Ancora from Ga-wahi.

 

IC: [Quada]

 

The sun was beginning to set when the docks of Po-wahi had come into view, signalling an end to the Toa Ancora's journey from the village of water. Now numbering four, the virtuous group of heroes prepared themselves for their next task - to rescue the Princess of Cornelia from the clutches of the dastardly knight, Garland, and take on the mantle of the Warriors of Ligh-

 

Wait, sorry, wrong franchise.

 

When we left our viewpoint characters for an attempt at referencing Japanese Role Playing Games, they had been closing in on the shores of the region, ready to continue their journey to Ko-koro and help with the rebuilding. As nothing terrible had occurred in the short span of time that  the boat took to reach the docks, all four of the Toa were safe and sound, as well as the heroic Boatman, whose remarkable skills had managed to deliver them all safely to their destination.

 

"I've never been here before," said Quada, wobbling slowly out of the boat and onto the pier to join his companions. "It's very yellow."

[Half a Cup of EW]

IC (Oreius)

 

Oreius slept, but he did not sleep easy. His dreams were strange, and filled with twisted shapes and flashes of foreign sounds, sights, and smells. Woven throughout the demented tapestry was an overarching pain, an ache that refused to relent.

 

Tahu stood over him.

 

“I told you to choose, Oreiush,” he groaned, slurring his words as his mask began to melt and dripped to the floor. “Deshtiny or the Darrrkneshhhh.”

 

“I tried,” Oreius cried. “Tahu, what did I do wrong? What did I-”

 

He stopped, his words nothing but muffled moans: his lips were gone. His mouth was gone. He couldn't speak, or breathe, and he choked, trying to inhale but failing.

 

His skin was covered in ants. They bit into him, setting his body aflame with itching. The Ta-Matoran tried to scream, but his scream was trapped behind his sewn-together lips.

 

A weight pulled on his back, a weight that seemed to shine with a bright light. The light hit the insects and they dissolved into ash, and the pain was instantly gone, leaving Oreius floating in a black void once more, at peace.

 

A golden voice seemed to speak then, only it didn't speak. A picture drifted lazily through Oreius' dream, a picture of the slug that he had seen in Onewa's hut. As he watched, the slug was slowly chopped up into small pieces, screaming in pain.

 

I deserve to die.

 

The scene was tinged with a vague warmth, as though it were supposed to comfort Oreius, but the Ta-Matoran felt nothing but revulsion. What was this, and where was it coming from?

 

The smell of blood entered Oreius' nostrils; he breathed deep, and realized he enjoyed the metallic scent. The scene came from the dead slug, lying on the ground a few metres away from him, leaking blood from multiple puncture wounds, wounds that matched Oreius' twin blades.

 

Kill me.

 

Nothing made any sense, but Oreius took it in anyway, his discomfort gone. The strangeness of this dream was lost on him, as usually happens with dreams. No matter how weird the situation, the sleeping mind simply accepts it.

 

And so he accepted that this golden voice was speaking to him, not in words, but in pictures and sensations.

 

The Ta-Matoran felt a lump well up in his throat, choking him with a feeling of guilt and shame.

 

I am so, so sorry.

 

The darkness vanished as Oreius' eyes snapped open; he immediately closed them with a groan of pain as the sunlight assaulted his sensitive pupils. As his senses gradually returned to him, he realized he was lying on a bed. The air was warm and stale.

 

The Matoran slowly opened his eyes again, and the room swam into focus. He was still in Onewa's hut, only now he was lying on the Turaga's bed. There was no one else in the room; where was Stannis? Where was Korero?

 

The windows were barred. He tried to force down his panic, but couldn't; all his training was forgotten in an instant, and the Matoran leaned over and moaned, his emotions rising up and engulfing him.

 

A warning filled his mind, but was cut off by the exciting smell of blood. No, don't-

 

Trapped.

 

He was trapped. He was locked in. They had betrayed him. Where were his companions? Where? Why? What was going on?

 

The Matoran groaned again, and felt a surge of adrenaline fill his body, compelling him to move. His head swam as he got to his feet, but he remained standing, desperate to figure this out.

 

A primal urge filled his mind, telling him to fight or flee. Fight or flee! An image filled his mind of a caged animal, trapped, held captive for the slaughter-

 

Oreius groaned a third time, and the groan turned into a scream of pain as he felt a wave of pain and energy rush through him, seeming to expand his very body as it did so. It felt as though his limbs were becoming thicker; his vision jumped, and he felt as though he gained several inches in height. Bursts of sharp pain exploded here and there on his body, as though spikes were pushing through his skin.

 

He screamed again, and the sound frightened him. It was the primal screech of an animal, of a hunter.

 

A vaguely familiar presence pressed into his mind, attempting to pacify him, it seemed, with thoughts of rest and peace, but it was unsuccessful. The presence seemed more attracted to the primitive fight-or-flight mechanism, and Oreius was in no mood to argue.

 

He growled, and threw himself at the nearest wall. His leap carried him several metres farther than he expected, and he slammed into the stone with a mighty crash, sending a cloud of dust into the air. He shook himself, and began clawing at the wall with his bare hands. His fingers had grown longer and sharper, with talons of a sort on the end, and they scratched deep furrows in the stone.

 

No, he wouldn't get out that way. The Matoran turned, and his sharp eye scanned the room. Could he break the bars on the window? He crouched, gathering his strength, then leaped-

 

-only to come crashing to the ground. One of his legs had disobeyed him, and remained bent, turning his powerful leap into a less-than-elegant tumble that ended with him sprawled on the ground.

 

Stop! A voice said. An image filled Oreius' mind, an image of a Matoran frozen in a block of ice. It was, the Matoran realized, a picture from his memories. He had been stuck then, forced to come to a halt. He couldn't move, he was trapped-

 

No. Safe. The voice said soothingly, filling his head with the soft waves of Ga-Koro. The metallic taste of blood on the Matoran's tongue flickered, and was gradually replaced by the lulling rush of the surf. Oreius allowed himself to remain still, his hammering heart shaking the edges of his vision. Gradually, he seemed to come to his senses.

 

“What...” he mumbled.

 

Abruptly, his body seemed to shrink, his joints popping and cracking, accompanied by an uncomfortable pulling and tugging sensation. This weird event almost catapulted him into another bout of hysteria, but he closed his eyes and forced himself to remain calm.

 

When he opened his eyes a few minutes later, everything seemed normal again, except for the deep scratches in the stone wall.

 

How... how had that happened? How could he have done that?

 

He felt a wave of exhaustion pass over him, setting his muscles quivering with fatigue, and a familiar presence filled his mind at the same time.

 

It was a vaguely golden voice, if you could call it a voice. Oreius understood somehow that it was a voice in that it was attempting to communicate with him, but it didn't use words. It sent a barrage of pictures and sounds and smells and tastes at him, threatening to overwhelm him.

 

Somehow he managed to make something out.

 

Praise Spirit, it said, exuding a warm gratefulness. We stop.

 

What... what was going on? This voice... it reminded Oreius of the voice in his dream, only now it was real. Had he gone completely insane?

 

An sensation flashed before him: the last thing he remembered before passing out was a sharp pain at the base of his neck. Did that have something to do with this?

 

The warmth expanded for a moment. Yes.

 

The Ta-Matoran was completely and utterly bewildered. Who was speaking? Was it just him, talking to himself, having lost his marbles at last?

 

No... something had happened in Onewa's hut, when Korero had opened his mouth to scream and his body had been seized with agony. As if to confirm this conclusion, Oreius felt something moving inside his back, scratching at his spine. He gritted his teeth in pain, and it passed after a moment.

 

What had happened then?

 

This thought was immediately followed by a cold, regretful image: the slug from Onewa's hut leaping at Oreius' exposed neck, latching on with its sharp mandibles, digging into his flesh. Stabbing spikes into his spinal cord.

 

So sorry.

 

With a trembling hand, Oreius reached over his shoulder and felt at the base of his neck. His fingers brushed a hard, chitinous shell, and he jerked back in fear and disgust. But his courage returned in a moment, and he felt at it again, tracing out the shape of the slug that he had seen.

 

The slug had latched on to him. It had taken control of him, replacing his thoughts with its own, intruding into his mind. That explained the golden voice that he had heard, attempting to speak to him.

 

Abruply, the Ta-Matoran was seized by an intense loathing. His fingers scrabbled at the slug, searching for some handhold to pry it loose. Finding none, he tried to simply dig his fingers into the creature so that he might rip it off, but the resulting stab of pain left him gasping, his eyes watering. It was as if he had tried to pull off one of his own limbs.

 

No, the voice said ruefully, projecting a cold, grey feeling into Oreius' mind. We are one.

[Dreadheart]

IC: Gunner - Infernavika

 

"These guys don't need therapists," I said to Lasinia, placing the now-empty chest on the ground, "They need a good home, and the promise of safety."

 

-Void