The Turaga's hand hovered over the paper, trepidant and remorseful. For centuries he had watched his city grow into a thriving metropolis full of happy, successful matoran enjoying their lives, but this-- this was not a decision to make lightly. The petition he had written himself, of course. Nobody else would have the audacity to suggest the crimes he was about to make into indisputable law, backed with the military might of the Vahki. But then, none of the decisions he was forced to make were ever easy, and they rarely ended well. He needed to do this one thing right to redeem himself, if not for his own conscience, then for the good of his loyal citizens.
Ah, the matoran. Turaga Dume smiled sadly and stepped away from the paper for a moment, still clutching the pen tightly, his hand moving forward with a tremble as his legs pulled him back. He remembered being part of the noble proletariat so many centuries ago, honoured to work with his brothers in the glory of the forges. He remembered enjoying the simple life, the satisfaction of a job well finished and the inexplicable relief at returning home after dark through the streets lined with perfectly wrought lanterns. The city worked, it thrived, and when the time had come, he protected it to the best of his ability with pride as a great toa. His retirement came as he felt his destiny calling him to lead the matoran into an era of ever more magnificent peace and prosperity as a turaga, mentor and friend to those he had come to love.
No, of course he hadn't been perfect. How silly it would be to disillusion himself like that. There was always a time when wisdom and valour may fail, and he had seen the darkest of those times. But as the saying goes, faith... ah, what did it matter. No hero can save everyone, right?
There were times that he had called in others to defend the city. An island so grand couldn't last forever without drawing the attention of unscrupulous creatures and natural error. Dume suppressed a small chuckle in his throat. He hadn't seen the fight when the Nui Dragon broke loose, but he heard it took a team with three toa of ice to bring it down. The three most valiant of that team he had asked to stay as protectors of the city. A Ta-matoran from the very forges where Dume once worked, and indeed, one whose life he had saved many years ago, was now a Toa of fire, the very embodiment of duty. The second was a toa of water, rational and controlled, one whose face practically glowed with the virtue of destiny. The last was a toa of air whose honour and camaraderie was flawless, the picture of unity.
Oh, how they would change. Dume's city, his very legacy he had entrusted to the caring and virtuous hands of the noble toa. Their dedication to the three virtues could not have been more clear. Dume could only watch in horror as the three guardians proved themselves far, far less than heroes.
How easily the three virtues could be forgotten. Unity broken through betrayal as the Toa of air gave his brother to the open mouths of Dark Hunters. Duty maligned as cowardice forced the betrayed brother into hiding, leaving the object of his sworn protection to die. Destiny consumed by madness and unflinching murder as a peaceful Toa littered the streets with the corpses of her brothers and sisters.
Toa could not be trusted. It was clear that the legends of toa no longer held any merit as they were severed from the virtues that bound them all together. In their place, Dume constructed an army who would obey him if nothing else. His unflinching morals and commitment to the protection of his people would keep them from straying into anarchy. Metru-Nui needed no toa, for toa could corrupt, and toa could certainly kill.
The thoughts and memories made Turaga Dume sick. He flicked the pen open and took a decisive step back to his desk, deftly marking the petition and even creasing the page a bit. Toa could not be trusted. This was all he could do to protect the matoran, even if it meant sacrificing six more. A tear pooled in the corner of his eye, but he blinked it back and firmed his stance, tightening his jaw to keep his constitution.
Information wanted leading to the capture and arrest of traitors to the glorious city of Metru-Nui.
Whenua, the Archivist. Nuju, the Scholar...
Edited by Kakaru, Jan 12 2013 - 04:04 AM.
Also of note is how you decided to give just the progression and detail required, so although you painted a clear picture and didn't cut straight through the story, you didn't drag it out into something that it wasn't. Awesome!
