Jump to content

Leaderboard


Popular Content

Showing content with the highest reputation since 05/04/2020 in all areas

  1. 8 points
    "She was not Makuta, but she was indescribably ancient and disturbingly frail in appearance. Her mask and armor were pitted and scarred from a thousand battles." ~ Narrator, Swamp of Secrets The first Toa, former member of The Hand of Artakha, and founding member of The Order of Mata Nui. She aided in the construction of Metru Nui and informed the Toa Mata of their destinies.
  2. 7 points
    IC: Whisper - Metru Koro Whisper was profoundly confused by the entire conversation.
  3. 7 points
    IC: Sorilax - Aspect of Shadow and Silence - Aspects of Makuta Location - South Gate of Metru-Koro (6, 9), outside of Cargo Hauler With - Sala, Waveahk, Tekmo, Skorm, Keitara, Irna, Skyra, Rose, Morangad Sorilax sat back in a daze as Sala spoke. There were beings that could control Light? He… How? Wha…? There was so much to think about and consider that he didn’t know where to begin. If mortal beings could control Light, then that meant Light could be controlled and potentially warped by the Great Beings Sala had told him about before. And if that was the case, then it was very possible that some day Sorilax could find a way to undo what his very creation had done to him and his thoughts. If he could find a way to break the shackles of being created an Aspect… Sala posed a question regarding the nature of Kraata. The question bounced around the cargo hauler. Sorilax numbly got to his feet. “It would be, yes. Shadow abhors Light. Shadow is pierced by it in all ways. There must have been many alterations made. But that proves alterations can be made, that I can make them!” Skorm strode forward, setting himself in between Keitara and Sorilax. The Aspect was lost in thought and missed what the gray Toa had said to him. I can do this. The world is changing. I can feel it. Just two weeks ago what was impossible is now very possible. I will make things right in this world. Sorilax looked down at the scroll in his hands about Aspects. He wrote down three words that filled him with hope: Aspect of Light? The green sounding voice spoke again. Sorilax needed to track down whose voice that was. It had asked about Kraata. “Oh, hum? Kraata?” Sorilax shifted, his mind becoming clear. Sala would know the stance. Sorilax was about to give an information dump. “Kraata are a non-sentient yet non-Rahi creation of Aspects of Makuta. There are forty two variations, each providing their own unique powers. Well,” Sorilax looked to Keitara, “Maybe forty three. The level of power ranges from one to six, with a potential seventh hypothesized. They are incapable of surviving on their own and require a host to live. Once attached to a host, their host is now capable of using the Kraata’s power. If separated from the host, both the Kraata and the host will die.” Sorilax held up his scroll on Aspects, showcasing sketches of Kraata from level one to three, with no visuals given for four to six, just notes theorizing on their appearance. “To be created, an Aspect of Makuta requires the still beating Heartlight of a sentient being and a willing host that has agreed to do an Aspect’s wish. The Aspect recites the Desecration Rites,” Sorilax scrolled to the poem in his notes, “and the Heartlight is consumed, with a Kraata forming on the back of the host. Once the Kraata is attached, the host and Aspect are able to communicate telepathically through internal voice only. No pictures nor emotions can be sent. Nor can they read each other's minds. One must intentionally send a mental message. “Concerning the wish, I haven’t been able to figure out why it is required, but it very much seems to be. And it can’t be something small. There needs to be some weight of importance to it.” Scrolling back to the diagrams of Kraata, Sorilax continued, “Kraata are primarily comprised of organic protodermis, each having their own set of lungs and-” Sala nudged the Aspect, interrupting his fellow chronicler to pose his own question. Finally, he knew who owned the green sounding voice. It was a green looking Toa all along. Sorilax answered Tekmo, “My chest armor integrity is currently abysmal, the damage even extending to hinder all movement of my neck and shoulders. I have the blueprints for the body around here-” Sorilax paused, What am I doing? The lives in Le-Metru Nuva are much more important than my armor. No matter how much I subconsciously put myself above others. “Actually, there is a much more pressing matter. To the south there lies a village of refugees much like my friend here. They are in desperate need of supplies and protection. The Fau Swamp is no place for any sentient being. Something foul marks the deep waters of that wretched locale.” Sorilax motioned to Sala, “We have traveled far to extend knowledge of this village to you, as trying to leave the swamp en masse might be more dangerous than just living there. If you have access to one of those airships you talked about, then that might be the safest way to travel and help your kin.” A purple… Toa? asked a question about airships and Sorilax paused, wondering. He felt like he had seen this being before. But the Aspect couldn’t place where. He took a few steps back. That was better somehow. But it wasn’t enough. The stupefied Sorilax held up a hand to cover one of his eyes. Covering his optical sensor worked for some reason. The answer was on the tip of his artificially manufactured tongue. He squinted his remaining eye. That was it! Sorilax had seen him several times off in the distance in the Fau Swamp! It was always out of the corner of his eye. And the being had always vanished from sight soon after like he could sense Sorilax had seen him. The Aspect had only ever caught momentary snippets of the being. They were so few and far between he thought for sure he had made the being up in his mind. But here this purple, uh, Toa? was, just as real as the Aspect and Sala were. So you were real after all, Sorilax thought, will wonders never cease? I wonder how he always knew I was there? OOC: @Sparticus147 @Toru Nui @Conway @TL01 NUVA @Tarn @Snelly @Keeper of Kraata @Burnmad
  4. 6 points
    LEGO has posted the following message on their Facebook and Twitter pages: "We stand with the Black community against racism and inequality. There is much to do. We will donate $4 million to organizations dedicated to supporting black children and educating all children about racial equality." It's great to see LEGO taking a stance on this very important social issue. I encourage everyone to do what they can to show support as well. I will be making donations to Black Lives Matter and the Baltimore Action Legal Team, which is local to me. If you are able to donate or already have, forward the receipt or a screenshot to andrew@bzpower.com and I will match the first $1000 in support.View the full article
  5. 6 points
  6. 6 points
    IC: Yaushe - Outside Sans' Hut Yaushe had managed to get herself parked nearby, but relatively inconspicuous. Close enough to listen, at least. To the people talking over Mega like she wasn't there, or arguing, or storming off. It sounded like these people already had a lot to worry about- and they were wasting time better spent evacuating or otherwise trying to protect their people by fighting? Mega tried to warn them, to be spoken over and dismissed by one of the Toa. That just about made Yaushe's fluids boil. When the Warskaks had treated Mega like that, Yaushe figured it was somewhat tied to the fact that they were a bunch of terrible people who saw no problems with taking someone else's home from them. She hadn't really expected it from people who were meant to be, from what Yaushe could gather, half decent. Well. If they couldn't be bothered listening to someone when they were here trying to do them a favour, Yaushe would have to make sure she did something they couldn't ignore. Righteous pettiness flowed through her chassis, racing like wildfire through tubes and wires and centering her paranormal activity on the epicentre of expression through vehicle means, louder and more meaningful than her voice framed in metal could ever have communicated. The horn. @Dane-gerous@A-tak-nid@Azibo@Snelly@Tarn@TL01 NUVA@Keeper of Kraata@Toru Nui@Smudge8@Conway@Sparticus147 OOC: This is the only way I know how to draw the attention of a Sans Undertale
  7. 6 points
    IC: Pridak | Metru-Nui, Coliseum , My Throne Another nice guy visited me about an hour or so after I sent Zaliyah and Ostrox off to go do something genuinely genocidal. I was actually thinking about joining them, but then I saw the face of who walked through the door. Why did my secretary not immediately cancel the appointment? The Arkkan boys were trouble. All of them. Takdox proved that point if you remember last time we talked about that sniveling, backstabbing, ugly manchild. Honestly if there’s one person in the world I wish I could just punt off a balcony it’s Takadox. No really. Honestly. Hear me out, and don’t you dare talk to me about my weekly mantra. Who tried to secretly and covertly steal the Krom Sphere for himself before the final battle? Takadox. Who tried to dip out of his responsibilities in taking over Ga-Metru to dip into some distraction? Takadox. Who needed to be the second off or on an airship? Takadox. Who ate the crunchy bits from the shex mix when we weren’t looking? Takadox. Generally and specifically speaking Takadox blows hardest. No this is not a deeper issue with my sense of trust and the death of my father. Are you even listening? This is Takadox is a little selfish crybaby with googly eyes. That’s the take. That’s the correct and only take. Oh I was talking about Druu Arkkan? What? I was? Oh you’re right I was, thanks for taking notes. You legally have to take notes? That’s silly. “Druu, Druu, Druu.” Yes I said his name three times. I don’t know why. I think it was the fifth glass of chocolate milk speaking to be honest. “What’s new Druu? You know what don’t answer me it’s been a long day and that was rhetorical. I have something for you. Go to Le-Metru, get on the airships we’re prepping. There’s a stain on my view and I want it cleaned up by nightfall. Ostrox and Zaliyah are working on it but… The more the merrier. If someone else is waiting to chat about what to do in the lobby tell them to go bomb Metru-Koro. Can you do that on your way out for me?" OOC: @Onaku
  8. 5 points
    Here are six revamps/tributes for the Piraka Hakann, Avak and Vezok, and the Toa Inika Kongu, Nuparu and Matoro! Had lots of fun, and heaps of nostalgia, reading through those ancient Bionicle texts then figuring out how I could make the most faithful revamp/tribute for each character. Which one of these is your favourite? Check out my Flickr for quotes, flavour text and design write-ups, and my Instagram and Twitter for more photos!
  9. 5 points
    IC: Boss | Nightmare Pits The two men stood on the glowing ledge. Barius stepped away from his patron aspect, choosing his hefty club over the dark magic of Parnassus. Boss lowered his bloodied fist, holding the spear he stole from back in Po-Koro with one hand. Torak’s blood stained the wood of the spear shaft. He stuffed his left hand into a pocket and slipped his fingers through the holes of his trusty knuckleduster. No harm being prepared now. Their ritual duel took place with little room to maneuver. The ledge extended little more than thirty feet from the cavern wall to the lip of the pit, and barely twice that in length. Torak’s blood made the floor slick under their claws. One mistake, one misstep, and they could tumble right off the edge to their untimely death. Boss admitted Barius was a formidable warrior in his own right, someone worthy of being put down honorably rather than simply grabbed and thrown off the side. Boss wasn’t an honorable man. He didn’t become the leader of the warskaks through honor. He became a leader through a self-assured vision of a better future, and an unrelenting willingness to destroy anything between himself and his goal. Boss leveled the spear towards Barius’ chest and took a deep breath. Both men stood tall for skakdi. Both men were close friends with Death. Both men knew the temptation of the aspects, their multi-colored parasites clinging to the backs of their necks beneath their frills. The kraata proved their strength: they stood tall and fought even with the knowledge of sacrificing decades of their life by becoming hosts. Even knowing the true origin as the excitedly pulsing kraata on Barius, Boss felt the flicker of fear inside him, unsettling him, and impossible to fully crush deep within him as long as Barius drew breath. Sweat already dripped down his face from the heat of the volcano. He ground his teeth together and pushed his jaw forward in defiance. Boss stepped forward, the silver blood on the ground splattering his shins. He felt Barius look at him where his eyes should be, unsure of how to proceed, but Boss saw the world from further away and from a veteran perspective. As Fyura confirmed, Boss fought in and won the rite of the tahtorak before. It all flashed past in his memories, the terrors of his youth and the horror of his broken family dragged to the surface by the journey through the halls of Irnakk’s domain to reach the Pit Witches deep inside the volcano. It angered him to know Barius’ kraata could feed off those memories. His memories were his own enemy right now, so he banished them and forced his mind to the present moment. Boss saw himself approaching Barius. Boss saw Irnakk watching, the metaphysical nightmare god clinging to the walls above them like some demonic spider rahi with the ivory grin of a full moon. Boss saw many things watching the duel no one else could. It was his blessing and his curse to see the true image of any physical or metaphysical entity from a perspective outside himself. “Come on then,” He growled and watched himself lunge forward, the speartip glittering in the dark red light of the hazy pit toward Barius while he pulled his clenched fist from his pocket, “time to die.” OOC: @Burnmad, let's rumble. You'll be receiving Boss' profile very soon.
  10. 5 points
    IC: Rose - The Eclipse "Classic case of mask envy." @Snelly@Toru Nui@EmperorWhenua@~Xemnas~@Kal the Guardian
  11. 5 points
    IC: As though prompted, a third TEAMCOM notification appeared upon Nikolai's HUD roughly in time with the frame of yet another Spartan clambering into the barebones "cockpit" of one of the remaining booster frames. As the power systems and HUD linked, his Air Assault helmet feeding him such innocuous details as bearing, velocity, hardpoints, "hull integrity" (for what that was worth when piloting a glorified, 26th century F-104), and other such necessities for spaceflight. Hmhm. So, the top brass decided to put guys like him and Niko in the same unit as the Elite. Two ODSTs that were born and bred to kill her people, from the moment they left the womb. Well, bureaucracy had never been known for clarity of planning, but this seemed bad enough when he'd received orders day-of-operation to switch posts— to say nothing of throwing a man from a glassed planet into the same unit as the spectres of his past. He was going to need a lot of coffee if this were a sign of things to come. But, priorities. He had always slept with one eye open, this Covvie would prove no difference in that matter— not for now. In a ship surrounded by "demons" any overt action would only ensure her a swift end at the tip of some 7.62. For now, best worry about the hornet's nest their orders were to kick. Kig-yar always did have a satisfaction element to them, the slimy little weasels... <<Spartan Miguel Herrera, performing preflight checks. Lo siento, Nova Actual, but orders came in from the top around when our drone operator's did. I caught your briefing, but didn't realize they hadn't informed you I was joining, over.>> His voice, rich in timbre and melodically accented, carried over the team communications as he lightly tugged at the controls, checking for problems with the thrust vectoring systems, retros, other such minutiae of maneuvering. He'd done well on sims and in training exercises, as avid a learner as a Spartan as he was a Bullfrog or Hellbringer. In some senses, it hearkened back to the atmospheric fighters of the 20th century much more than the Longswords ever could, despite both inheriting the craft designation. Maneuverability was this thing's bread and butter... or more accurately, it's saving grace. If he could not manipulate a frame in the void, he was at best stranded for the ten to twenty minutes MJOLNIR was rated for... And at worst, an early meeting with mi padre. So, honestly, could be worse. He hadn't lied, either— he'd walked into the hangar just as she called the huddle, not seeing the need to speak up until she'd neglected to delegate him to one of the squads— and by that point, there was no sense in dragging feet, since everyone was mounting up. A slow Spartan was a dead Spartan. It was regrettable that such additions came at the last minute, yes, and each side of the equation was begrudged by it, but all he could do now was integrate as smoothly as possible. <<All systems green.>> Another voice of howling wind joined the growing cacophony within the Madrigal's hangar.
  12. 5 points
    i think i have to bear the responsibility of implying skakdi babies existed i'm not sorry, though.
  13. 4 points
    Prototype #1 of a life-sized articulated Gali hook. Rough vector design in Inkscape and laser cut on 5 layers of 1/8 inch plywood. The two pivot points aren't actually connected yet, the idea is to have pvc pipe segments through them so it'll act as a hinge while preserving the hollow nature of the original pin connections. At some point I need to figure out a good 2d design program that'll let me do actual measurements and put some m e c h a n i s m s into it.
  14. 4 points
    The matoran are the 2nd sets i made for bionicle animated. This is what i do best. Matoran Kaita of loyalty mahuli Fastest and smartest, also kind. Kaita of courage hakato Strong in 3 ways, its determenation is durable Nui kaita akachi Strong and fast, but the only downfall is its temper
  15. 4 points
    Very few places still make desserts and breads from scratch these days. And even the ones that do use some cheats like cake mixes, icing that gets shipped in buckets or just factory made products. Baking from scratch to me seems to be a bit of a lost art. In my entire career I've worked in three locations that made everything from scratch. In all of those locations I was the only baker/pastry chef and the workload was always demanding. It can be a lot for one person to run a bakery alone. At my first job, my position was terminated and the company went with factory made products as opposed to scratch made products. It was disheartening. Nowadays I work in a grocery store, where nothing is made from scratch. Everything comes in frozen, from bread doughs to cakes to cookie dough, etc. And these products? They don't hold a candle to the work I've done in the past. And that's not because I'm an especially skilled baker, though I did build up my skill set over time. No, it was simply because I took the time to bake the products with care. Baking isn't that difficult. It is an exact science a lot of the time, and yes there are some projects much more involved than others, but overall things like italian bread, chocolate chip cookies or a fruit tart don't take an especially great amount of skill to achieve. All anyone needs is a recipe, the proper ingredients (butter in place of crisco for example), some equipment and the time to bake. It always saddens me these days to see so many people buying, frankly, inferior products at the grocery store. People pay good money for birthday cakes that come in frozen, probably loaded with preservatives and topped with icing that comes from a box and gets water added to it. And frankly it's overly sweet and addicting. I just find it sad because here we have a special occasion and people celebrate with garbage food. I've made cakes with flavor other than just sugar. It's so much better, I find, to taste butter, real butter, in buttercream icing. I know I must sound like a snob, but when I studied at culinary school I created and tasted some of the finest patisserie in my life. I try to keep that alive every now and then too. But in the food industry, the things we treat ourselves to just aren't worth the calories when they come from the store. Anyway, that's just my random thought of the day.
  16. 4 points
    Bling Out the BZPower Twitch Channel Recently BZPower met the requirements to be an affiliate on Twitch, where we do our live builds and gaming streams. As part of the Affiliate Program, we get to customize our channel a bit with custom emoticons and subscriber badges. So we thought, what better way to come up with those images than have a contest! There are three categories you can enter in this contest: Emoticon, Subscriber Badge, and Music. Emoticon Everyone enjoys talking with pictures instead of words these days, and there’s tons of funny in-jokes in the BZPower community. Pick something you think others will appreciate and come up with some original artwork to represent your idea. The sky is the limit - as long as it’s family-friendly. Some specific rules: Images must be original artwork Images must be in PNG format on a transparent background Images must be at least 112x112 pixels Subscriber Badge Just like with BZPower Premier Memberships, we like finding ways to recognize and thank the people who support us. Subscriber Badges do just that. Come up with an image that you think represents BZPower and our community that can be displayed with pride next to people’s names. Badges can be set up to change based on how long someone subscribes to the channel for, so if you’d like an added challenge, come up with a series of images that progress in coolness! Specific rules: Images must be original artwork Images must be in PNG format on a transparent background Images must be at least 112x112 pixels Music If you’ve watched any of our live streams recently, you’ve no doubt heard the awesome tunes created by BZPower Members playing in the background as we build. Those songs have been around for a while now, and I think it’s time we added some new tracks to the mix. We’re not too picky when it comes to requests, but something that evokes the idea of Bionicle or other LEGO themes would be awesome. Music rules: Songs must be original compositions Songs must be at least two minutes long Songs must be in a common format such as MP3, AAC, WAV, AIFF, FLAC, or ALAC The entry period will run until Sunday, June 7th at 11:59 PM Eastern. You can submit your entries with this handy form! Get creating! General contest rules: Keep it clean, keep it civil. No flaming, no whining. Unsporting conduct will just get you disqualified. Campaigning for votes (mass-PMing, etc), using multiple accounts to skew voting, and sundry other methods of cheating are only going to end in tears for you. Trust us: we'll know when you're doing it. Voting Once the entry period is over there will be a ten day voting period starting soon after the entry deadline. In the event of a tie, the BZPower Staff will decide on the winner. Prizes It’s not a contest without prizes, now is it? Each category will do things a little differently, since they each have their own unique aspects. Emoticon The winner will receive 75532 Scout Trooper & Speeder Bike and a one month subscription to the BZPower Twitch channel The second place finalist will receive 71312 Ekimu the Mask Maker Subscriber Badge The winner will receive 75532 Scout Trooper & Speeder Bike and a one month subscription to the BZPower Twitch channel Anyone who submits a series of three or more badges will be entered into a raffle to win one of three LEGO Bionicle sets: 71313 Lava Beast, 71315 Quake Beast, and 70793 Skull Basher Music The winner will receive 75532 Scout Trooper & Speeder Bike and a one month subscription to the BZPower Twitch channel Anyone who submits a track that we decide to add to our stream playlist will receive a Star Wars Buildable Figure (including the winner) Please note that unless you specify otherwise, all prizes will be shipped without their original box. A final note - by submitting an entry to this contest you are giving BZPower the rights to use your submission in any non-commercial manner including on our website, social media channels, or at conventions or other events or similar. Thanks everyone for helping us become a Twitch Affiliate and now helping us make our channel even better. Good luck to everyone who enters!
  17. 4 points
    OOC: behold my first jam session, done with @Eyru IC Mahrika - Northwest Barrens above the Impact Site In the northwest of the land called Zakaz, a Ga-Matoran walked. She had long arms and short legs, she kind of waddled across the rocky terrain. Her colors clashed, her light blue and sand blue body hurt the eye. Despite her shortcomings she hardly sweated under the heat of the harsh sun, as she pivoted her mask on her neck, using her Akaku’s telescopic lens to search for movement in the distance. As she walked something shifted in her chest, squirming around to coil inside her chest. She blushed, “I … I know Vokarda, there hasn’t been anyone around us for hours, but … if the Skakdi appear, we will need to hide.” The shape in her chest tightened around her heart and she nodded, “I know, you will protect me.” As she walked her long arm reached behind her, feeling for that strange disk she scavenged from that vaguely insect-like corpse. The disk had an unnatural power to it, when she hurled it at a rabid Mahi, it became caked in ice. She had thrown it again at a boulder, it was engulfed in frost. The disk had a power to it, almost an elemental power. Like a Toa. Or the Skakdi. She looked southward towards the colossal strangely-angled mountain that dominated the west coast of the island, it’s shadow engulfing the day for much of the land south of her. She couldn’t imagine how something so big had been made so quick, could even a hundred Skakdi of Stone and Earth working together create a mountain so massive? Let alone built it so quickly? It seemed impossible. Yet there it stood, some terrible monument to the monsters of Skakdi, perhaps some fort that a Skakdi war band now ruled from, ravaging the land around them until all of this island was just a smoldering ruin. She shuddered, she couldn’t even remember this island’s name anymore, not after millennia of isolation. But there were some things she could not forget. … The heat was blinding, like a tidal wave of pure amber and scarlet. The flames danced and jeered as they leapt between the huts, the very ground was ash, the fire crackled like a crumbling plateau, and the terrible smell of roasted meat filled the air. But this was not some meal cooking. Scores of Matoran lay scorched and roasted, the organic parts of their bodies charted, their metal components practically branded into each other. They smell like overcooked Mahi, the air tasted like an overcooked feast, and through it Mahrika’s eyes bled tears. She wrecked not from the smoke burning her eyes, but cradled in her arms was Vokarda, her white and blue armored turned black of the flames. “It’s … it’s okay,” Mahrika managed to speak over the roar of the flames, “we’ll … we’ll just treat your burns and then we will find the Riders a-and—” “My sweet droplet—” “I can’t lose you too!” pled Mahrika, her hands quaking as she held Vokarda tight. The two Matoran flung to each other, though Vokarda’s grip grew weaker and weaker. And then it began to dawn on Mahrika that there was a slow, halting thumping sound echoing behind her. Like a Skakdi slamming his club into his open palm, advancing on her to slam his bond mace into her head, collapsing her skull like pottery under a mallet. She flinched with each thwack, she could almost feel his breath. Finally she could take it no more. “Just do it,” she struggled to say through her tears, “if you going to kill me, then at least have the kindness to make it qu-quick.” And to Vokarda she tried to manage a smile, “don’t worry, we will be together again soon.” She wished she could believe that. That the two of them would reunite in some sort of paradise. But sitting here, her beloved charred and dying in her lap, her people decapitated and halved apart, her tribe destroyed, so many villages destroyed; she could not believe that the gods cared enough about her to let her and Vokarda reunite. Where was Tren Krom? Where was Mata-Nui? Where were the Kaita? How was this part of an endless cycle? Where was the rebirth alongside the death? No, this was just a cold and cruel end, the abrupt extinction of the Matoran race as their bodies were defiled. "Soon." Mahrika’s last word echoed from behind her in a rough, unfinished voice. Was it mocking her tearful goodbye? “Again soon." The unseen speaker repeated her words thickly, like it was chewing on them. Digesting the vowels. Drawing the consonants through its teeth. A shadow fell over the Matoran, but the expected blow did not fall. "Too soon," the voice said mournfully. "Too soon." Mahrika’s tears went from a trickle to an eruption not unlike a geyser. She … she was expecting pain, to be clubbed to death, to be roasted alive, to be strangled or stabbed. She was prepared for all of those things. But sympathy? That cut into her very spirit. “Why have the gods forsaken us?” She squeaked out among her tears, “I … I don’t understand? How can they be so cruel? So uncaring? I … I can’t lose her.” "Cruel. Uncaring," the voice confirmed. "Rain falls. Tide wanes. Time washes all away." They were silent for a moment, listening to the Matoran's sobs. Then, as if moved by the sound, they spoke again. "Lose her? Or... save her? Choose." “Save her? How … how? What can I do?” “Mahrika,” Vokarda managed, “look at them.” The Ga-Matoran swallowed and tore her eyes from her beloved, to see a strange being standing behind her. They were nothing like a Toa or even a Skakdi, and instead looked something not too dissimilar to a Lava Ape. “Wh-who are you? How can I save her?” "Old," they replied by way of an answer. "Older than young. For the young die before they grow old." They leaned over the pair like a hulking statue whose carver had forgotten to add a face. But their voice was strangely soft, despite its low pitch and stilted pronunciation. "This body dies. But the spirit remains. You can take it. Carry it. Hold it within you." “I … I can carry her.” Mahrika looked down to Vokarda, whose face was scrunched up, “you … you don’t mean, her memory, right? You mean that I can carry her spirit inside me?” “You … are an Aspect,” Vokarda grunted through the pain, and Mahrika’s heartlight froze. She … she knew the stories, strange spirits who offered gruesome pacts, tricksters who enslaved Matoran, Toa, and Turaga alike with terrible pacts, that they … they reduced the corpses of loved ones into power for their slaves… She … she couldn’t defile Vokarda that way. But then Vokarda spoke, “my … my spirit would keep her alive then. But what … what would you ask of her? What … what is your Great Work?” Mahrika startled at her partner’s words, drawing close to her, “I … I couldn’t … couldn’t defile you, our Turaga warned us of—” “Our Turaga is dead.” “…And the gods don’t care,” swallowed Mahrika. Maybe … maybe the stories she had heard all her life were just that, stories. But Vokarda dying, black ichor pouring out of her wounds like her very blood was charred, her heartlight beating slower and slower, her eyes drifting more and more, her body rattling in agony - that was not just a story. That was real. She could feel Vokarda’s body lurch like a rusted wheel-barrel, rattling and shaking with a terrible violence. Vokarda struggled to speak, struggled to think, too tired and ravaged by too much pain. She was… she was struggling to stay conscious. And this … this Aspect, this trickster spirit, they seemed to mourn Vokarda. They seemed to feel regret, feel loss at this Vo-Matoran dying, even though they had never met her before. They … even if they were faking grief as a trick, they were putting in far more effort than the gods ever had. “You … you swear she will live on in me?” asked Mahrika, her hands shaking, fully aware of what she might do next, “That I can keep her alive? What … what would you have me do? What is your Great Work?” "She will live on," they repeated. They became suddenly eloquent, like they were reciting old words they knew by heart. "By the sun's setting and the rising of the moon. By the darkness behind the stars. She will live on... in you." They extended a long-fingered hand. "My wish... is your wish," they crooned. "To kill death. Slay grief. Vanquish time. The greatest work of all." “K-kill death?” Mahrika managed to whisper, her optics widening like Suva unlocking. Was … was it possible … she knew the Tricksters had strange impossible goals, but … to kill death itself? Was … was it possible they were lying? Could an Aspect even lie about their Great Work? And then her thoughts were interrupted by a hacking laugh. Vokarda smiled, “well, that makes our decision so much easier, doesn’t it? If the Aspect kills death and conquers time…” “…Then you never would have died,” Mahrika’s optics closed, her mask trembling, “but if they are lying—” “Then I live on in you. And I … I don’t think they are lying. About … any of it. And well, we don’t have much choice,” Vokarda coughed suddenly, “You won’t survive long with the Skakdi, and I am, well, dying. Together … we can adapt.” “You … you know what the ritual requires. At least in our legends.” “Don’t worry, you won’t … you won’t do it alone.” Mahrika swallowed, she could see Vokarda’s heartlight slowed as they conversed. Whatever chance they had, it was fading. And even though she did not yet trust this Trickster, she trusted Vokarda. To damnation and back. She reached down with quaking fingers and picked up a fishing knife. Shakily placed it in Vokarda’s hands and wrapped them around it, with hers around her beloved’s. “You … you sure?” “As sure — argh — as I can be.” The Ga-Matoran turned to the Aspect and said, “You … you better not be lying. Um, before we do it, what is your name? If you have one?” In time, they would grow older and forget the meaning of names. Their mind would grow slow under the weight of innumerable years, and they would call things only by how they perceived them. Time, that cruel and implacable enemy, would steal their secrets and dull their power. But they were younger now than they would become, and so they answered more plainly than they would later. "I am eldest," they replied solemnly. "And I am firstborn. I am the darkness that came before the stars. The calm before the first storm. The roots of the first mountain and the bed of the first river. Older than the tide. "I am eldest," they repeated. "Tasked to care for younger siblings. That is the duty of the firstborn—the Tuakana." Their slender hand still held out for the necessary offering, they paused and seemed to draw breath. Preparing to speak the necessary words. Mahrika and Vokarda slowly lowered the knife together, piercing into the Vo-Matoran’s chest with a crunch of charcoal. With four hands clutching the blade they carved, Vokarda guiding and Mahrika supplying her strength. There was no gore, her upper body had been charred too much by the flames. And those flames smothered the cracking of Vokarda’s burnt metal flesh, masking the horror. Vokarda grew weaker and weaker with each dig of the knife, and Mahrika shook more and more. “If … if this doesn’t work, we … we will still be together,” promised the Ga-Matoran, as with a crunch the heartlight was torn free, still flickering, faintly. Mahrika stared at the relic as its beating slowed, her own heartlight beating in a frenzy. She … this had to work. It had to. And then she shakily turned to Tuakana and said, “Please.” Their black hand closed gently around the heartlight. It still beat, albeit weakly. The last of its light glimmered through their fingers. "Starlight," they said, but it was less a saying than a singing. Their words seemed to follow a music that could not be heard. "Starlight. Heartlight. First and last. Shine bright. Eight times eight and learn it well. Heed the tolling of the bell." Their voice was deep and dark and seemed to emanate from all around them, like the earth itself was groaning each word. The Aspect seemed to grow larger, leaning over the pair like a great bird of prey. Its eyeless face betrayed no emotion. Mouthless, they continued their chant. "Long ago. Two of four. Flame. Water. Wind. Shore. Cast a stone into the sea. Watch it sink and let it be." The burning village seemed distant. Its flames seemed muted. Shadows swirled around the three beings, swallowing the sunlight. Perhaps it was a trick of the light, but unearthly figures seemed to dance in and out of the shadows. Figures with the wrong number of limbs. Figures with large heads and swollen bellies and pointed teeth. They cavorted around the trio, lasting only moments before dissolving and reforming again. And below it all, the rhythm of the chant continued. "Earthen gifts. Ocean's grace. Drink the blood and kiss the face. One by one and two by two. Taste the salt. Make it new." They opened their hand. It was now neither day nor night. They were entombed in an absolute darkness, lit only by the heartlight that now hung in the air, still weakly shining, like a fruit hanging from a black tree. "Goodbye." "Hello." They asked and answered of themselves. Of the same creature, many voices, like a vast chorus. "Step forth into the darkness and prepare the gift." The heart went *thu-thump* in the air. Shining softly. "A star's heart. Still beating. Still lit." Mahrika felt herself compelled to rise and step forward, Vokarda's lifeless body falling from her cradling arms. Was it her own will? Or the will of the spell that now encircled them? "Two midnight horrors cry and shift. Make them squirm inside the pit." Before her eyes, the heartlight began to beat faster. Stronger. It was no longer weak, but seemed to beat harder each time. Pumping air to air. "Bind worm and willing host." It wriggled and shook as it throbbed. It seemed to elongate with each trembling beat. "Tear the yolk. Spread its gold." The light grew brighter and brighter, then suddenly broke, and the heart unfurled into a writhing length of flesh. "Devour knowledge and their ghost." She stood speechless, eyes full of the ritual's solemn horror. They stood on the other side of the heartlight, or whatever remained of it. They continued to watch her without eyes. They continued to chant without lips. And each word thrummed through the earth like the plucking of a vast instrument. "Pray for prey forever sold." She reached out. She felt it enter her. She felt herself change. "Hello." Who was that? Who spoke these words? "Goodbye." Mahrika gasped out as the firelight returned with its crackling flames. She felt … something squirm inside her. No, someone. The strange sensation squirmed around her metal spine, embracing her tight. She swayed as the Kraata hugged her insides, tears welling with renewed energy. The Kraata clung to her, steadying her tremors. She … she could feel the compassion of Vokarda’s spirit, the familiar embrace, Mahrika shook with a leaf in the wind, even as she calmed her heartlight raced. The heat of the fire faded as she adapted to the inferno, as the Kraata began to squirm on her spine, massaging her. She shuddered, but a smile began to spread across her face. It … it was Vokarda. It had to be. She knew her touch, her embrace. This … this was the spirit of her beloved, it had to be. It had to be. She looked up at the Aspect, this Tuakana, and she managed through her tears and smile to say, “th-thank you.” … That was millennia ago, when the Skakdi first conquered the island through blood and Protosteel. And much had changed. The island was covered in dust, the landscape was barren, the life of Xa-Nui was gone now. Now there was only ruin, and that giant monument. Mahrika wandered through this rocky desert, wandering as her telescopic lens searched and focused into the terrain. She couldn’t see any Skakdi yet, but she knew better than to believe they were gone. It … death came to all, but the Skakdi’s destruction continued to ravage her island home. Or was its theirs now? As she walked her memories continued to brush against her, of that last day, when her world burned and died. She swallowed and thought to herself, “Tuakana, death … it still haunts this world. Do you … do you even still live?” She did not expect an answer, she had not received one in millennia. But things had changed in the island renamed Zakaz, a new era was beginning. And though she did not yet know it, for the first time since the fall of her civilization, there were Matoran villages. The rules had changed. And she and Vokarda would not be so alone.
  18. 4 points
    The Toa Mistika and their weird masks. To be honest they don't even really resemble the originals, nuva or otherwise.
  19. 4 points
    IC: Dar Poroka | Le-Metru Shipyards Poroka not like heights. But Ehlek say guard ships. So if ships go up... Poroka go up too. Guard ships is hard when fly away. "Okay," Poroka says. Still hold box with two arms. "Sounds good. Poroka join you. Bomb run sound like good time." OOC: @Nato the Traveler @Toru Nui @Onaku
  20. 4 points
    IC: Keitara (so far out to sea barnacles are collecting on her armor) "OKAY!" said Kei, "Oh. Kay. Here's a thought: why don't we all just stop trying to murder each other and allow the nice, probably deeply concerned, visitors to speak their piece." OOC: @Tarn @Keeper of Kraata @Azibo @TL01 NUVA@Snelly @Toru Nui @Sparticus147)
  21. 4 points
    IC: Irna | Sans' Hut The present situation wasn't ideal. "Skorm," she said. She didn't approach him -- either of him -- or even lower her voice. For once, she spoke as he might have on the Ripple, or as her mother might have back home. With stern purpose. "Stand down." OOC: @Keeper of Kraata -Void
  22. 4 points
    IC: Mega - Zakaz, Sans' Hut Creaaaakkk. Oh, that's a lot of Toa. That's... The door opened, and a Fa-Matoran with a bandana around her neck stepped in, looking back briefly to see her Skakdi friend backing her up. She gave Zsann a brief, grateful smile before she looked in at the room, immediately sensing the tension. Oh, this is a bad time. "Hey, ya'll." Mega tried, scratching the back of her head somewhat awkwardly.
  23. 4 points
    IC: Sans, Sans' Hut Sans closed his eyes. "All of you are acting like you're above the rules. Like anyone with power is allowed to impose their will over weaker people. Thank goodness I'm in charge, and not you youngins." Sans opened one eye and glared at his rude guest. "If you prefer to fight an old man instead of the murderers who want to destroy your new home, what does that say about you?" Sans' activated his mask, and began to grow, and grow, and grow, until Skorm's violent half couldn't hold on to Sans any longer. Sans stopped just short of crashing his large head through his humble roof. "All of you have no place to criticize me and I will not hear it. You will learn your place. Your Duty. Do you think I lived as long as I have without ever following orders I didn't agree with? I don't care what your inputs are. I did nothing to cause anything that wasn't already happening. The next person who speaks out of line is getting kicked. All of you are foolish for wasting your time and energy bickering instead of preparing for what we knew was already coming. NOW WHOEVER THAT IS PLEASE COME THROUGH THE DOOR ALREADY SO I CAN MOVE ON WITH MY NIGHT!"
  24. 4 points
    Le real life has finally opened up for me. The League is gonna have a bad time huhuhuhuhu
  25. 4 points
    IC: Vali 'Sakuai [Madrigal Hangar] Vali watched with satisfaction as her armor's systems paired themselves mostly flawlessly with the mounted gun's targeting uplink. She had to hand it to herself there, it wasn't often that completely alien systems were bridged seamlessly together like that. There were still some kinks to work out, namely all of the targeting information was still almost humorously literally translated from the human's language to Sangheili, but it was definitely workable. <<M41 ELAAGat operational.>> Vali added as Nikolai went down his pre-flight checklist to her. While her tone remained the same, there was a noticeable shift in her demeanor as she enunciated the decidedly human name for the weapon. Now was the time for battle, and it was difficult to ignore the sense of prepared eagerness that had crept into her voice. <<Difficult to say.>> She replied back on single-beam in response to the Spartan's question, the anticipation in her voice now fully brought to bear. <<Traditional tactics would dictate Banshee groups be flying interference for the larger ships, though I do not believe these pirates will be adhering to any sort of doctrine of warfare. Even so, Banshees are quick but very vulnerable, and Kig-yar are nearly as bloodthirsty as I am.>> There was a slight pause, just enough to register the last part was a joke. Probably. <<I would watch for pack tactics, they will try to hunt us; surround us and cut us off from the main group. Many will attempt to score the final blow, which could work in our favor as they lose coordination.>>
  26. 4 points
    IC: Nikolai Markov laughed, a proper sound that began deep in his chest. <<Are they letting just anyone on board now?>> Leave it to the hijo de Toledo Nueva to make such a properly timed entrance as deliverance in urban camo. Not even hearing an Elite over his own TEAMCOM was enough to dampen his spirits now, and in an instant he could almost reevaluate the whole plan. It was always good to see another New Alexandria alumni. Despite his mirth it was time to be prompt, and Nik climbed aboard his own craft with perhaps a little less flair than his gunner. The 'cockpit', such as it was, was barely more than a cluster of screens and controls atop an I-beam. That wasn't entirely fair, there was a clear place for the pilot to lock in; the hardpoint was necessary for HUD integration. He settled into it easily, letting his HUD update with the OF92's current status. It'd get more complicated in a couple minutes, but for now the view was nice and clean. Pre-flight checks seemed a lot more dignified than it deserved but ensuring system operation was key. Didn't want to get out there and find out your shields didn't work, now did you? <<Fusion thrusters green. Recursive thrusters green. M92 online. MITV fully stocked, rotary cannons loaded. Shields green.>> He recited over single-beam to Vali, then switched channels for wider reception. <<All systems green. Madrigal, Nova Lead, designating Nova Two One through Nova Two Five.>> No point in getting Madrigal all confused over who's who. His HUD updated, LOCUS allocating new designations to the sensory data he received. <<Ready for launch.>> Switching again to single-beam he added, <<You're more familiar. Any guesses how our corvette will be flying its birds?>>
  27. 4 points
    Thank you very much, I experienced similar feelings myself when I first read the Shadow Imperator's document and learned the original background of the Robot and the Great Beings. It became some sort of G3 to me and an inspiration to get interested in Bionicle again. Of course, technically you can modify the game as you want. As Peri already said, Nuparu77 was already doing something similar. But apparently this is a truly hard process that requires the work of more than one person. On the other hand, it is strange that for 20 years, fans haven't created a large number of modifications for the game, although it has a cult status.
  28. 4 points
    IC: Nale Vella - The Taku "Wh--oh, that's a person," Nale replied, wishing Knichou hadn't noticed it. "Somebody I knew. I'm not far gone enough to start my naming my tools." She crouched beside the Fe-Toa and ran her finger across the engraving, the letters not as crisp as when the knife was first marked. "Karvan. Vella. Somewhere out there is a knife that has my last name on it, too. Our last names," Nale continued, trying to give as much information while dancing around the elephant in the room--or rather, Toa of Fire. "At one time it meant something different, but...I think now it just illustrates how we feel about eachother. Felt, if he's not still alive..." She sighed. She'd have to explain it all, wouldn't she? The Fa-Toa tried to ignore the presence of Whisper as she gave her life story. "I never told you. I was part of a Toa team once, wasn't always a lone vigilante before we met. I was leader, too, believe it or not. The Toa 'Rode,' because we fought for truth. Corny. But we were grand, just grand..." Nale said, some pride in her voice, "...but the second-in-command and I, we were too close. Don't mix business and pleasure, right?" She smirked, bumping shoulders with Knichou, trying to throw some humor in. The smirk quickly faded. "You know how serious I am about the Toa Code. He broke it," she said plainly, pointing to the engraving, "came to me with the confession, and..." For a moment, she paused, thinking back to Po-Metru when she confided in Knichou. Something clicked into place after all this time, and Nale shook her head, frowning. "...I didn't respond like I should have. He knew what he'd done, but he also thought it was justified. Instead of talking it over I just got angry, because we're Toa, right? We don't ###### up, I thought. And...it all fell apart from there. No more love, no more leadership, no more Toa Rode. I think my reaction just pushed him further along a darker path than me." She realized she'd begun leaning further and further towards Knichou, until her head was practically on the Fe-Toa's shoulder, her optics on the knife. Her voice had gotten softer as she spoke. "I did the wrong thing, didn't I? I should've been like you, back then...maybe if I'd been different, just said anything else, he wouldn't have..." Nale sighed. "Guess I just have bad luck with guys." @BULiK
  29. 4 points
    IC Yumiwak | Tactical Panda II “Then it’s finished,” I finally declared with finality. “All of you, get to work at your stations—we’re leaving this place right now. Ysocla, kick the engines into high gear.” It was invigorating to get the show on the road, and I didn’t want to waste any more time without making progress towards my goals. After the adjourning of my little meeting I instinctively went to take my place at the Panda’s helm. My crew and clan, Korio, Zai, and Ysocla among them, shouted hails to each other across the ship, confirming one thing after another as they prepared for departure. Their voices rang out like a cacophony of bells across the deck and I closed my eyes in fits of both nostalgia and impatience as I recounted the sequence to cast off, and gave my commands on queue like a singer waiting for my part. Everybody on the boat knew what needed to be done and the sequence for it—that was drilled into everyone's heads as Riggers on a boat like mine, and to my family's philosophy it was a pure and powerful thing to work in unison with seamless precision. “Stand by to raise anchor!” “Bear a hand for raising anchor!” “Ready!” “Heave!” “Let go the halyard! Sheets! Braces!” “Slacken braces and sheets!” "Ho!" “Haul halyard!” “Heave! Heeeeave!” “Sheet home the sail!” The Panda picked up speed as it dove into deeper water and the wind pushed the sails big and full. The crew continued to busy themselves with their tasks, knowing full well this on water was only part of the challenge. Waves were clipped one after another as the yacht’s bow sliced through with ease along the bay's shore, using sticking to the sea as long as it was prudent and necessary, and from under the deck the growing rumble of the engines could be felt vibrating up the floorboards like an increasingly menacing growl as they built up their power reserves for the impending liftoff. “Make all!” “Trim the boat!” “Steady!” “Steady!” “Good!” I shouted and slid my hand on the levitation throttle. “Ysocla, get ready! Crew, prepare for takeoff on my mark! Starting at five! Four! Three! Two! One! Mark!” and I pushed the throttle forward, edging the boat's bow above the crest of the waves and into the air... and the Panda followed its lead. We all had to squat slightly and grab hold of the nearest railing to steady ourselves while centrifugal force kicked in hardcore and the sea suddenly dropped from under us, and the boat—suddenly airship—climbed higher and higher, still benefiting from the speed it had attained while in the water. The Panda was one of the fastest vessels in the seas around Zakaz but in the air my ship was on the sluggish side, an inconvenience I suffered only because of the boat's excellence in other areas. Once we hit a good altitude I handed the wheel to one of the crew and took in the view of the vast island from the greatest porch anyone could imagine. Beauty, I felt, needed to be appreciated wherever it was—in the harshness reds of the badlands, in the clarity of a faceted crystal, in the power of a muaka, in the greenery of a hidden grove, in the uniformity of wood grain, I strove to give perfection the glory it deserved wherever it was found. Even with all the times I took my yacht to the skies I still could not resist admiring the panorama, and often entertained myself by identifying all the landmarks we passed by.
  30. 4 points
    IC Stannis | The Taku The blaring of the intercom system visibly jarred Stannis from his thoughts, making him temporarily lose focus. He patiently waited for Knichou to finish the call, though even when the captain politely hung up and tried to shrug off the judgmental eyes of the others assembled on the Taku’s bridge Stannis cast a wary stare at the receiver and at Knichou. It was obvious the Wanderer either did not particularly care for technology or actively disliked it; the truth was somewhere in between, however, and Stannis really just gave up on staying current many years before and decided most newfangled innovation was as much a nuisance for him as a boon for others. It was tolerable, so long as it didn’t get in his way like the radio just had. Slowly, he reeled his focus back to his story and cleared his throat once to solidify his bearing, and then moved forward one more pace to be nearer to all in the bridge. Stannis lowered his hood and revealed his face, and for those who hadn’t seen his visage before instantly took note of how utterly ancient he looked—his mask only could obscure the narrow cheeks and sunken eyes so much, but his eyes glimmered with a brilliance of cut diamonds lit by a laser. This, they realized, was one of the idea of Stannis they’d all (with the likely sole exception of Whisper) heard of at one time or another, the famed storyteller and historian, the high priest. Lore and mystery hung off his shoulders like his cloak, and as he stretched his sinewy finger out to draw attention to the floor the burdensome tale seemed to seep out like blood from a wound. “It started almost a hundred thousand years ago,” he began. “Back then, there was nothing… nothing but primordial mirth. All existence as we have come to know it was yet to be conceived. In the legends that adorn Walls of History, this era is called the Time Before Time. There are no records of this epoch—none that have survived, anyways—but there were some who remember it. I tell their memories, their stories, and if you trust in me you will learn. “Did you know even gods are born and die just as we do? Their existence is ethereal, their powers of will beyond our greatest comprehension, but nevertheless… every deity has had an origin story of their own. Our Mata Nui’s story begins in the Time Before Time, but there already was a god that ruled those dark ages, his age indescribable and his mere existence defying all explanations known to us. The stories say it was this god who created time itself, manifesting it as one of his last commands upon the worlds, but this was not a boon so much as a trick upon existence for as time moved, so would life… ebb… and flow. His domain was horrible to the point that his name would eventually spawn timeless feelings of fear. His name… was Tren Krom,” Stannis said, uttering the name with an infectious sense of frightful awe. He let it linger a moment then, whetting his lips before continuing. “All gods henceforth lived and died because of Tren Krom’s deeds. We have one thing in particular to thank of him, however, because from the deep mists in the Time Before Time emerged a new god, one with ambitions to lead and govern a people rather than a mere existential concept. It had never been done before but he wished it, and so it would be. From the worldly elements other gods had created before him he possessed the seeds required to create a brand new world, a realm in his image. And so, Mata Nui… came to be.” He pointed a digit out the windshield to the disembodied massive head in the horizon and the gargantuan robot they had previously inhabited. “But the world alone was not what Mata Nui wished for, and He molded beings and races from the images in His mind from the elements of the world—from the earth, the ice, the water... He breathed the spark of life into each of them like a potter blessing his clay creations. First came the Matoran, and from them the first Toa. Then came the rest—the Skakdi, the Vortixx, the Takeans… Some other kinds were spawned by forgers charged by Mata Nui, and some few beings were particularly given their own realms in which to ensure the Three Virtues were practiced, but one thing remained crystalline in clarity to the others regardless how much they were granted power: The Matoran were His favoured creation. It was the Matoran He spoke to the most, sharing wisdoms and guidance, and tasked with maintaining the universe itself. They—we—were the custodians of the world, given the high responsibility to care for the islands, cities, seas, and skies. And to that end, Mata Nui continued to give life to matoran of all the elements, imbued them with innate powers to best protect them in their endeavors, and all under the watchful gazes of their protectors.” Stannis scanned the crowd with wizardly intent, pulling their faces back towards him when they looked any other direction. Even Whisper was spellbound by the storytelling, unable to think of anything but the Wanderer’s unfurling yarn. “Beings were made of every element… save one,” Stannis proclaimed. “Shadow. “There were questions as to why, of course. Darkness had existed long before Mata Nui and it was arguably from the shadows that He came from, and so it seemed unnatural that something as important as Shadow was deemed unfit to manifest in his pure world’s denizenry. Certain demagogues who chose to zealously enforce His will to extreme levels took the opinion that Shadow was evil by nature because it was different and not part of Mata Nui’s creation. Others believed Mata Nui somehow ‘feared’ the darkness, as though the Great Spirit was a whelp uncomfortable with the night and required a comforting presence to banish the unseen monsters under its bed. These were all ill-begotten stories, but with every myth there is a grain of truth that started it all. “The reality was that Mata Nui understood Shadow as the manifestation of where He came from—the nothingness of Tren Krom. What is a shadow but the vacancy of all light? When you look into a deep yawning chasm what do you see at the bottom? Nothing, because the darkness is all there is, a consequence of the lack of anything else. You can throw yourself into the gap, perhaps hoping for a quick fall and safe landing, or maybe a long descent you can inflate a parachute to slow your fall in, but you can never be sure unless you banish the darkness first! You see, the truth is that Shadow is not evil, but Mata Nui understood that by its nature is is an absence. It shrouds truths and obscures reality because, by its very nature, it is a hungry nothingness. Mata Nui could not have such things in His universe, not even if well-intentioned, because He desired to fill it with life, and without the hunger of darkness. “Of course, we who have lived through the League’s great war have discovered other truths, that jealousy of another is a different sort of hunger and, left unchecked, can spawn a true blight. We have witnessed destruction wrought in the name of equality regardless of a god’s desires, and after all that we have even witnessed the death of a god by the injuries suffered of his own creations. But that does not invalidate the truths Mata Nui knew nor his understanding of elements that vastly eclipse our own. It is those truths I am invoking here, on this barren world and His divine wisdom upon which I build my case.” He looked then to Iradra. He looked almost sad to her, though it was not clear why, but it was clear he had grown very tired in the time it took to tell the story. "And so, to answer your previous question, I base my statements on God." @Nato the Traveler @Onaku @BULiK @Eyru @Tarn OOC | History of Mata Nui 101 has been vetted and approved by UN.
  31. 4 points
    IC: Knichou, Po-Koro Airspace, Bridge of the Taku Everyone in the room looked to Stannis in anticipation of the old man's story. Most of them had heard various different war stories of the elder Toa, but whatever they had convinced him to reveal now did not sound like a public legend. The ancient Toa conceded and began to speak. "Gather now, and all hear the tale of the Great Spirit and of all things..." "BEEP-BWAMP! BEEP-BWAMP!" the dashboard yelled, as one of the myriad of small indicator lights began flashing to accompany the noise. Knichou quickly pressed a button on the armrest of the co-pilot's chair and the distorted voice of a matoran filled the bridge over the speakers. "-Taku? We have a message for Toa Ulkarr. A Skakdi approached the village, said his name was Uraborask the hunter. He did not attack, Kanohi recognized him as someone who helped him rescue a Matoran. This Uraborask says he has an offering for Ulkarr, and that his promise is nearly set.” Knichou picked up a microphone attached to the Taku's radio system and began to transmit back. "Thank you Po-Koro, we'll relay that to him as soon as we can. We'll drop him off soon, over." An embarassed Knichou flipped the switch to set the radio on standby again. He turned back to those assembled on the bridge, who were all looking at him now instead of Stannis. "Sorry about that. We can deal with that situation later. Please, continue," Knichou said, gesturing to Stannis.
  32. 4 points
    Given that characters are played as bit more human-like in these games, one can generally assume that some manner of biological reproduction is taking place. Save yourself some pain and don't think too hard about it works.
  33. 4 points
    My favorite moment had to be when Sorilax finally left the Fau Swamp. Wasn't sure if it was ever going to happen. I thought he would be stuck there wandering around aimlessly for 5 months and eventually run into Yoda. The pair would muse and ruminate with each other so vaguely and mysteriously that everyone would get too confused and stop reading the posts, even me. But for real, it's a hard tie between Ardoku waking up, Tuakana's Desecration, and Uraborask's adventures.
  34. 4 points
    IC: Pridak | Metru-Nui, Coliseum Worms, huh. I remember the horrors of the battle where my father died. He stood valiant against the forces far to the South, protecting the borders so the matoran could remain ignorant and at peace. I watched him crumple, body broken, in that final conflict. He liked to play music. Did you know that? I used to sit by him on the beach, listening to the sound of the conch horns and the wind carvers as he brought music to life with his hands. It was beautiful. Elegant. Perfect. My toes would be covered in wet sand, and my eyes would droop as I tried to hold myself awake. The warriors of Takea-Nui always played late into the night after a battle. There was no music the night he died. I remember wading out and staring out into the ocean’s horizon, the ocean lapping at my thighs. I wondered if staring into the Red Star at night would bring him back like the folk stories suggested. No amount of tears could bring him back, no amount of begging the Great Spirit. In the end, the people turned to me. Like my father said in my arms as he died: they were my people now. Zaliyah and Ostrox were my people now. Everyone in Metru-Nui were my people. It’s strange to think of trading one island for another, but that’s what I did. I traded my people, my island, my culture, for the wrecked land of my enemy. And the matoran continued to spit at me. It seemed fitting that what I wanted wasn't what I got. I didn’t pray. I didn’t bow. And now I am the King of nothing. And all of my people are dead. Instead of my father joining us, they joined him. Looking back, it’s rather silly to see power getting the better of me. Well, maybe power wasn’t what I wanted, but it has a way of corrupting even the most honorable warriors. “If he buried the mask we can’t just bomb the village then. But I doubt it. Only a true fool would bury the legendary mask of creation. Prepare to carpet bomb the village and search the ashes for the mask. They should have never been allowed to set foot on this new land and rebuild. I heard they even built a village further north. We’ll bomb that next. “Just to sum up: all you did was show up, ask for the mask, get degraded, and then left like a whipped child? Ostrox, anything different to report?" OOC: @Nato the Traveler, @Toru Nui
  35. 3 points
    Remember me? Higher quality pics coming soon c: Didn't wanna make a whole new post for these so here we go, better pics. I don't wanna add too many and clog things up so here's a linkg to my twitter where I posted some more.
  36. 3 points
    IC: Dar Poroka | Aboard the Wombat "Green!" Poroka says. Really confused why big gun not make big hit. "That hit! Why ship not go boom?" "The Inferno is a military-grade airship, captain. Unlike our craft, which was retroactively refitted for combat, the Inferno is designed to withstand the rigors of war. It will take multiple direct hits to cause significant damage." "Well, okay." Poroka not sure what all words mean. But sounds like big gun need more shooting. "Then fire more, please." "Affirmative, captain," says Green. "Do you wish to override weapon cooldown subroutines?" "What?" Green make whirring noise, then stop. Beep two times. "Urgent. The Tranquility appears to have sustained damage and is losing altitude rapidly. Supersonic communications with the crew indicates this is a ruse." "Ruse?" "They are attempting to trick the Inferno into believing the ship is more damaged than it is." "Hmm," Poroka not sure how feel about that. Tricks for rabbits. Poroka like swords and guns better. Not really smart for tricks. "Weapon cooldown period expired, captain. Ready to fire." Poroka sit back. "That more like it." Blue still drive ship good. Far up over big ship, so it not shoot back. Ship make rumble noise. Big gun charge. Then shooting sound. Poroka try look out window and see blue light go down to big ship. OOC: The Wombat is maintaining altitude and firing on the Inferno a second time. @Onaku @Toru Nui @Nato the Traveler
  37. 3 points
    Just for fun, here's a lore quiz with twenty questions about SK:E! I'll make a bigger one later, and one that also includes SK:R so you can flex what you know of the game so far too. THE QUIZ
  38. 3 points
    IC: Zaliyah - En-route to annihilation As the rest of the airships reported in, Zaliyah tried to think of another delay, another diversion, another means to hold back the inevitable for a few moments longer. A part of her still hoped the villagers might see sense, that the total eradication of the Matoran race wouldn't be necessary... but in the end, she had no excuses left. Pridak was right. They'd had centuries to change their ways, and they'd still clung to the opulent, oppressive superiority they believed their god to have given them. Two days more or less wasn't going to change anything, especially given that even the death of their supposed deity hadn't been enough to shake their misplaced faith. "All ships, set a course for Metru-Koro," she ordered into the radio, "We'll coordinate an attack strategy once we're closer to the target." The Razorfish wheeled about, setting a course back in the direction of the Coliseum - and the outer world that lay beyond it. As she flew, Zaliyah switched to an open channel, broadcasting to any other airships in the city. "This is Zaliyah, calling Tugarak and any other allied pilots in the vicinity." Her tone was impassive, forcefully devoid of the conflict she still felt inside. "Pridak has ordered an all-out assault on the enemy encampment called Metru-Koro. Anyone wishing to provide air support is welcome to join us." OOC: @Biological Chronicler @Kal the Guardian and anyone else in Metru-Nui with a working radio.
  39. 3 points
    IC: The Wastes - aftermath of the Shagrak/warskak battle Two skakdi clung to one another for support as they stumbled across the sun-seared sands, a trail of bloody footprints leading away from the sputtering wreckage of their ruined rig. They were little more than living debris in the trail of disruption and detritus Shagrak had left behind, the rest of their warband having left them for dead in their retreat. Even they were lost and alone, stranded in the heart of the great sand worm's hunting grounds, they thought themselves lucky to have survived. They were mistaken. The scavengers of the sands followed in Shagrak's wake, from the small cunning rahi who knew how to forage an easy meal, to the bolder mesi braving the dying daylight in search of resources to retrieve. But one being in particular had been drawn to the vibrations of the idling engine, burrowing up through sand and shattered stone to find it. And once it caught the scent of fresh blood, it dropped to all fours and loped slowly after the two survivors. The more badly injured of the pair, leaning heavily on his comrade for support due to a ragged wound to his leg, stumbled and fell, overcome by a sudden bout of dizziness and disorientation. As his companion bent to help him up, a cold, cloying fog swept in around them, made all the more chilling by how obviously out-of-place it was in the open desert. Something moved in the mist, rattling like an irritated serpent. The still-standing skakdi drew their spear - a channeling weapon for their element of air - and summoned a gust of wind to disperse the cloud. The fog recoiled, rolling back to reveal a figure whose sallow skin tone made it appear part of the mist, who sunken features made it appear more phantom than flesh. The creature had no eyes, just sinewy skin stretched over empty sockets, yet the skakdi could sense it was staring right at him. He screamed, and the monster struck. _______________________________________________________________________________________ Mace in his left hand, macuahuitl in his right, Marrow lunged at his prey. The skakdi - acting more on instinct than intention - unleashed another blast of air from his spear, but Marrow had been ready for it, his macuahuitl already swinging forth to strike the end of the extended spear as he closed in. The point of the weapon was batted aside, and the blast went wide, allowing Marrow to step in close and bring his mace down on the skakdi's outstretched arm. His aim was honed through countless decades of practice, and informed by an intimate knowledge of skakdi anatomy. The source of the scream had given an approximate indication of the skakdi's height, which had in turn allowed Marrow to make a rough estimate of the length of his target's limbs. The sound and sensation of the skakdi's elbow cracking sideways under his blow told him his estimation was correct. The skakdi jerked away, screaming ever louder, and Marrow released his grip on the mace, leaving it anchored in the skakdi's arm. He raised his empty hand to grip the handle of his macuahuitl, and brought the weapon sweeping down with both hands towards the source of the screams. Flesh rent. Bone scraped. But the skakdi didn't stop screaming. Marrow dragged the weapon back, sawing deeper into his prey as he pulled the weapon free. Something warm and wet spattered his arms. Though he couldn't see it, he knew fragments of the teeth his blade was hewn from would undoubtedly be breaking off in the wound. It didn't matter. He had plenty to replace them with. As he raised his hands for another blow, he felt hands clawing weakly at his leg - the other skakdi, no doubt. He ignored them, and brought his weapon down once again. The screams stopped. Weak whimpers replaced them. He struck again, and the skakdi fell silent. Dropping the weapon in the sand, he kicked away the skakdi grabbing his leg, then fell upon him, seizing him by the face as he begged for his life. "Your ilk showed no mercy when you drove us underground!" He roared, wrenching the skakdi's jaw until cartilage cracked and the gibbering ceased, "You call us beasts, treat us like lesser beings, so savagery is all you'll get from me." He adjusted his grip, shaking and twisting the skakdi's head until his neck snapped and his struggles ceased. And then he stepped away, his fingers torn and bloody from where the skakdi had bitten him. He'd had sharp teeth, firm and well cared-for. They'll make welcome additions to my collection. He gathered up his weapons, grabbed the ankles of his victims, and began dragging them back towards the tunnel he'd emerged from. There was much work to be done, but he preferred to do it in the safety of the underground.
  40. 3 points
    Sad to see you gone for any amount of time. However it is completely unacceptable for Mega to not be getting posts. I demand more pumpkins!
  41. 3 points
    IC: Tuakana | Ruins of Fire They had no eyes to close, but the sensation was similar. They turned inward. Their mind reached out. They spoke without words. Enter the broken temple," they said to Falh. Hopefully the newborn had followed them as commanded, or this would make little sense. Stone and fire beckon. They returned their senses to the chamber. Rising tensions. Brandished weapons. Bared teeth. The basin in the centre of the room bubbled and hissed. All around, shadows flickered. Ready to act. To pierce. To kill. But that was unnecessary. They had been called. The gong had been struck. Now they knew, with every ounce of their essence, that they were trapped here by fate. Three and three. Locked within the ancient shrine. Only the worthy would be allowed to leave. As for the unworthy? They were the bones on the floor. They loped forward to stand between the Aspects and the mortals. They raised a long-fingered hand. Tendrils of plant life hung from their scalp, hiding their face. No eyes to read. No mouth to see. But the posture was unmistakable. Stop. Let us talk. We were called," they said simply. Their low voice hung in the air like smoke. "And we have come." Their eyeless face moved slowly from one being to the next. "We have no... quarrel with you. Our business... is only with the one who summoned us. The ringer... of the gong." OOC: @everyone in the Ruins of Fire. You know who you are. Also @Dane-gerous, who will likely join us soon.
  42. 3 points
  43. 3 points
    IC: Dar Poroka | Le-Metru Pridak? Poroka like Pridak. Big smile. Big claws. Angry lots. Fight lots. Fight, fight, fight. Who would win if Poroka fight Pridak? Big question. Think about it. Think lots. Later. Guard airship time. But Ehlek send new people. So it's okay. No guard them. Bored. Poroka want fight new people. Not good time. "Okay," Poroka says. "Bomb run. Sound good." Swords away. Poroka grab box from robot. It not happy, but Poroka shoo it away. Shoo, robot, shoo. Carry box for new people. "Where box go?" OOC: @Nato the Traveler
  44. 3 points
    IC: Rose - Sans' Hut Rose was definitely emphatic about the idea of heading straight to the skull and doing Pridak in personally--her and Skyra had killed a warlord before, they could do it again. Suddenly, however, there was a tension in the room as Skorm was visibly disturbed by what Sans was saying. "Oh, boy...you got some kinda League sympathy, son?" @Snelly@Toru Nui@Conway@Keeper of Kraata@TL01 NUVA@Azibo
  45. 3 points
    IC: Skorm (Metru-Koro, Cargo Hauler) Disgust and anger flickered across Skorm's kanohi, and the Twi-Toa stepped forward, maneuvering himself between Keitara and the healers. "Just because you healed her doesn't entitle you to treat her like some science experiment. If she wants, Keitara can answer your questions later." Skorm himself had been curious about the kraata when he had first sensed it when he had first met Keitara, but hadn't asked about it on the trip, figuring, she'd tell him if she wanted to; he figured it was a sensitive topic. Something was... off about the being that had healed Keitara. Skorm narrowed his eyes as he focused his elemental senses: the kraata attached to Keitara was still affiliated with Light... but this stranger was heavily composed of Shadow; it was almost intoxicating. He almost didn't notice the kraata beneath Waveahk's arm plating. However, now was not the time for an inquisition. The Twi-Toa leaned down, putting his hand on Keitara's shoulder. "Hey," he said, putting effort into sounding softer. "Kei, we're almost back. We're healed. Do you want to come back with us into the Koro?" OOC: @Sparticus147 @Kal the Guardian @Snelly @Tarn @Conway @Burnmad @Toru Nui @TL01 NUVA
  46. 3 points
    IC Kanohi - Po-Koro Kanohi swerved as Toa Stannis appeared before him, nearly falling to the ground. Only his staff supported his startled legs, as his heartlight pounded. As his brain caught up to Toa Stannis’s words, Kanohi broke into a wary smile. “T-Toa Vashni managed to show you that vision then? That is a relief, I … I heard something about the first one.” ”That first vision of a flooding chain of islands, sorry, I know you know that, but … one of the Matoran here says it does exist, that it’s a group of islets to the south of this whole island. Toa Ulkarr apparently comes from those islands. I … don’t know if the islets have already been flooded or not though.” ”About the other visions, the second … was just of Mata-Nui’s death as h-his head was severed. A Ta-Matoran experienced it with me, but he … died in the raid the Skakdi had on Po-Koro. It … it doesn’t matter now, except to reinforce that these waking dreams might … might really have a meaning to them.” ”Then I had a third vision, only a little bit ago, after you left to go into the Taku after that Toa was injured. The vision was of a jungle, where two Toa were holding each other, dying in each others’ arms. One Toa was red, one Toa was green. I … I am not sure what their elements or masks were, the jungle was too thick.” Kanohi swallowed and spoke quietly with with a frantic energy, “I don’t know if Po-Koro or Metru-Koro can spare anyone to search for those Toa. Arkius — Toa Arkius is building an underground shelter for the Matoran here to hide in, I can’t just abandon them again, not so soon, and Metru-Koro is going to be a-attacked soon, if they cannot think of something to assuage the League.” He shook his head, “why did the Turaga risk the w-war restarting? I … I know I am not smart, he probably has wisdom far beyond me but … but there should have been something he could have done besides antagonize them. I don’t know, maybe send an experienced Toa to use the mask to help the League rebuild, instead of outright giving it to them. I … I suppose the Toa would have just been killed by them but … but enraging them was … it … why would he risk his Matoran charges?” The Fe-Matoran blushed, “sorry I … I know there never would be friendship between the league and us, too many have died. I wouldn't … I don’t want it either. Too much has happened. But … but so many died from the fighting, we don’t have the luxury of grudges, shouldn’t we focus on the living?” OOC: @EmperorWhenua
  47. 3 points
    IC: Saybo - Toa of Water - Barraki Location - A couple miles out from Metru-Koro (6, 9) With - (Great Being) Aurax Saybo spent the rest of the trip in a hushed reverence. He dare not disturb his Great Being with anything other than vital information. The airship’s systems hummed, some whirring, as they traveled and Saybo eventually became accustomed to them. Any deviations in sound from here on out would indicate damage of some kind. Once they were free of their old universe, Saybo’s heart fluttered as he monitored the outside cameras. We lived in a head? NO. A giant robot! But the body is gone. What could have happened? The momentary shock passed and Saybo reformatted his idea of their old world. Well, everything I know is gone then. At least I’m still here. Even better, I’m in the presence of the one and only Aurax. Life is gracious. Only once they were over land again did Saybo allow himself to use the cameras to look down. Saybo silently praised Aurax that he had been so preoccupied that he hadn’t really thought about his fear of deep water. This airship seemed to only go so high, so originally he was worried about not being farther away from the water. Yeah if he was going to continue running around in the Eclipse, he needed to upgrade it to gain more altitude. Like a black spot in the sky, the Eclipse slowly drifted into view of Metru-Koro. It hovered like a piece of the night sky that had found its way into day. While they were still a few miles out, Saybo inclined his head in Aurax’s direction without making eye contact as that would be rude to do to a higher being, “My lord, we are on final approach. Is there anything you command me to do?” OOC: @~Xemnas~ Feel free to have us land wherever. IC: Sorilax - Aspect of Shadow and Silence - Aspects of Makuta Location - Metru-Koro (6, 9) With - Sala and Waveahk’s gang Sorilax’s eyes eventually drifted from the stars, watching bats as they flew to and fro. Something scurried off in the distance. When not surrounded by Skakdi or the Fau Swamp, Sorilax remembered how peaceful and beautiful life could be. Sala called out his name. Sorilax looked down to him. The Matoran was pointing. Sorilax followed the finger and there it was, a village glowing in the distance. Patting Sala’s head, Sorilax laughed, “Bwahaha! Very good show! That’s definitely not a village I recognize. It must be other refugees.” Sala asked if they should leave immediately and Sorilax pondered for half a minute, “No, let’s get you rested up and then we can go in the morning.” The Matoran agreed and the Aspect kept watch throughout the night. An owl kept him company for a short while before moving on. Sorilax pondered his situation. He wanted to start chronicling the inside of the ruins in the swamp, but now he just as equally wanted to insure the survival of the beings of Le-Metru Nuva. And beside it all sat his Grand Wish. He needed to complete it before some more devious Aspect of Makuta could. The sun rose once more, bringing with it a flurry of activity as Rahi awoke for the day. Sala rose and ate a quick meal. Then they were on their way northwest. An indeterminate amount of time later (OOC: casually lining up with whatever time Waveahk and crew are currently at), Sorilax and Sala arrived at the village’s southern gate. Unbeknownst to them, the village was called Metru-Koro. Sorilax marveled at a black airship as it approached the village before turning his attention to some type of vehicle parked outside the gates. It seemed more well made than anything the Skakdi had come up with. It was impressive. The chroniclers walked over and up to the driver’s side window. The beings inside appeared to be… doing a dance of some type? Maybe. It had been a good couple thousand years since Sorilax had seen someone dance. They were all writhing around, moaning almost as if in pain. Odd. He turned to Sala. The Matoran inside Second Skin shrugged. Sorilax turned back to the large blue driver (Waveahk), “Is everything all right in there, old chaps?” OOC: @Sparticus147 @Toru Nui Not sure where exactly the Waveahk crew is, but you guys are south of Metru-Koro and still in the hauler, correct?
  48. 3 points
    Bro, the secret is to sacrifice a few Keelerak. It's truly the only way to get good lime parts. Pass it on.
  49. 3 points
  50. 3 points
    IC: Yaushe - Dream Time? Yaushe had been grateful that Mega took over driving. She was sure she could manage, but being able to let go of the wheel was still a relief. She settled back, feeling the sand beneath her wheels, the rumbling of her engine in her chassis, and... slowly... - Her headlights flashed in the storm, everything spun and crashed and battered but she... She... She was sitting in a cosy room, clasping a mug in mechanical hands. She was a van, but... she wasn't. The mug held motor oil. She looked outside; they were still in the hurricane. It was chaos outside, but things were still in here. Even as they flew in the raging winds, every second a lucky escape... but it was warm in here, and she didn't even spill her oil, even as the room flipped upside down. A warm chuckle, strangely familiar, though she couldn't place how. A hand on her shoulder, kind, but she saw nothing where something should have been. "Drivin' in the hail again, Yaushe?" the voice sounded as if it was smiling. "Great Spirit, what am I to do with you?" Yaushe opened her mouth to reply to the empty air, but all that came from her gaskets were chuffs and grinding. She blinked, headlights blinking on and off. That wasn't right. "You say that," the voice continued, as if it understood. It had let go of her hubcap, and was now walking to face her. She rumbled patiently until the voice continued, "But, if you ain't careful, you're gonna get yourself in serious trouble one of these days, spark. And I'm worried it won't be somethin' we can tow you out of." Two hands cupped her grill- mask?- and she was staring into two eyes, eyes more real than she was, eyes in the holes of a mask she couldn't quite discern but there was a kindness in them, and it felt familiar, like the voice. "Keep yourself tethered." The phrase rung true to something, like an old, near-forgotten memory. Where had she heard it before? Where... Where... - Yaushe woke with a start, accidentally jostling her passengers. Weird dream. Pieces of memory, maybe, mixed in with the usual nonsense of dreams. Or just nonsense. "Sorry," she yawned, a sound like metal groaning. "We there yet?" @Dane-gerous@A-tak-nid
This leaderboard is set to New York/GMT-04:00
×
×
  • Create New...