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IC: Skrall (Markets; the Bone Hunter Stronghold) The scout glanced in the indicated direction, keeping his head still so as not to give away his redirected attention. Even so, he was caught off-guard by the singularly pitiable sight behind the bars, and felt his face contort in disgust. As if reading his comrade’s mind, he spoke quietly: “That one was broken long before it came here.” He knew the look in the not-Skrall’s eyes; living in Roxtus these past few years, he had seen such wretches more than once. They went into Skull Mountain as warriors, and came out… something else. What they did, they did for the furtherment of the Skrall race – it was the scout’s belief that this was a noble sacrifice for the good of all. These husks were the remains of heroes. But that was a belief that even he would not dare speak aloud, and it made the sight of them no less unsettling. “I don't believe in witchcraft, but such sights give me pause.” OOC: @Vezok's Friend @Mel @oncertainty @Burnmad @Toru Nui IC: The Ghost (The Tower) “Interesting.” The Ghost fixed his four-eyed gaze upon Taldrix, his wide smile brimming with condescension. “You are a quick study. Tell me, Taldrix: does it offend you, that I so easily came to control your people?” OOC: @Toru Nui IC: (Valley of Death) The cave opening yawned back at the two Glatorian, pitch-black and silent. A gentle sussuration passed along the ceiling above; bats, a small and relatively docile variety, who seemed uninterested in their new guests. OOC: @Burnmad

IC: Selamat - Iron Canyon Selamat continued to step forward into the cave, eyeing the bats that lined the ceiling warily. He wasn't familiar with bats; he did not leave the vicinity of Vulcanus often enough or for long enough to spend much time sheltering in caves. He knew that they were supposed to be harmless, but that knowledge did little to put his enhanced limbic system at ease. His implant was pumping adrenaline into his bloodstream, making his breathing ragged and his movements twitchy. Doing his best to suppress the artificial fight-or-flight response, the spear-wielding Glatorian looked back at his allies, and signaled them over with a jerky wave. "Looks clear," he said in a low tone, though his voice sounded strained. He forced himself to lower the spear's tip until it rested against the cave floor. OOC: @a goose @Nato G @oncertainty @Toru Nui @~Xemnas~ IC: Skrall - Bone Hunter Stronghold Skrall did not stop to follow the gaze of his compatriots as he walked about the wagons, trying to complete a cursory inspection before Atakus returned. It was easy enough to guess what they were looking at; those Skrall called to the Sisters' chambers had to go somewhere, since their brothers would not suffer their presence and hadn't the courtesy to put them out of their misery. It was a given that most would pass through this place, as they were suited to little else than the purposes the Bone Hunters had for them. An unbroken Skrall was already nearly incapable of surviving in the South, he knew (for such was the subject of a great deal of pondering of which all Skrall were guilty, but to which none would admit). A broken Skrall, however, was incapable of surviving anywhere that he was not given food and simple, easy tasks. The Skrall in this respect was not so different before and after the Sisters had selected him; both led lives defined by structure and authority. From wake to sleep, one's day was defined by the authority of one's superior. From the rations he ate, to the tasks he performed, he lived within a cage made from the will of another. The difference - aside from the veneer of honor to which the Skrall clung so dearly - was that the unbroken Skrall filled the cage of his orders like water filled a cracked vessel, pushing at the walls and spilling out from any gap. An unbroken Skrall would trade his rations for drugs from the South, push himself to complete his tasks early, and find a secluded spot to look up at the sky without being observed. Broken Skrall, on the other hand, were prone to standing slack-jawed when not occupied. He finished his walk about the wagons, and frowned. Atakus was still nowhere to be seen. He wondered what the Agori was talking about with the barbarians' leader. A simple exchange wouldn't take so long... That business Fero mentioned must be something more complex. Which meant it was quite likely that Skrall wouldn't learn any more details about it. OOC: @a goose @BULiK @Nato G @oncertainty @Toru Nui @Vezok's Friend

IC: Skrall (Bone Hunter Stronghold, Marketplace) - Witchcraft! Ah, of course - their games. Skrall had nearly forgotten. But would the south really abandon their independence, something they clearly prized by refusing to truly unite under one banner, merely because the Skrall would utterly demolish them in their arenas? Though, given how demoralizing that might be, they may eventually give up purely to save themselves further degradation- Wait, what was everyone looking at? There was… what once, may have been Skrall, behind metal bars, watching them. He gave a glance to the scout, as if to say ‘see what I’m talking about?’ Wait, did he really just say he didn’t believe in witchcraft? They had a conversation about this on the way here Skrall could only half-remember - did he really not believe that existed? How had he survived this long? Something just crossed Skrall’s mind. Logically, both the Renegades and the southerners must have females - unless they grew like plants, which somehow Skrall doubted. And, just as logically, these females must have powers of their own. Hopefully, this disqualified them from raiding, or the arena. Skrall would raise this point, but he had been obliquely commanded to be silent, so he did so. @Vezok's Friend @Mel @a goose @Burnmad @oncertainty @Nato G IC: Taldrix (Bone Hunter Stronghold, the Tower) - Easy Come, Easy Go Now, what Taldrix wanted to say was that she wasn’t offended at all, because she knew that the fault lied with the average Gatherer, half as smart as a Zesk and about twice as ugly, but that might not be the best thing to say to someone who shared the Zesk’s four eyes. What she was about to say may also not be the best thing, but if she pretended to be subservient too much, he might get suspicious. “I imagine you told Crucius and the others what you’ve told me - or a version of it, anyway. I can’t say it offends me. Who wouldn’t pledge allegiance to you if they were convinced of ULTIMATE POWER being their reward?” Something takes over Taldrix, as she looms over the map. “The desert would be at our mercy.” And then she snaps back to normal. “Of which there is none.” Now, if it turned out whatever was left in the canyon wasn’t as impressive as the Ghost made it sound, or if they lost too many men to the plague or the beasts known to roam that area trying to uncover it… well. If the Ghost thought it was easy gaining control, he shouldn’t be surprised how easy it would be to lose it all if he couldn’t keep his promise. Even if Crucius and those two buffoons outside still stood by him after that, they’d be significantly outnumbered by the rest of the Gatherers, and Taldrix sincerely doubted even a Great Being could survive that many angry people with sharp implements. @a goose

IC: Skrall (Bone Hunter Stronghold, Marketplace) - Be Careful What You Wish For Skrall began mulling it over. The scout’s comparison of him to a poorly-handled Spikit seemed to indicate that he believed that he only wanted to crush the Renegades because they were closer, not because they were… repulsive. They treated their slaves abominably and won them through foul means. The Skrall did not do such things… not in the same way, which was the crucial difference. There was no similarly between the Legion and the Renegades apart from something of a shared origin, nothing more. Nothing. As for his proposed strategy of attacking the tribe with the food first, this too sickened him. He would have vocally objected, but the Special Operations Skrall had commanded silence, without outright saying he was commanding silence, which was also insulting. Defeating the south by starving them would lack honor, especially since… Skrall searched for the right word. It was apparent that most of them were servants, but were not slaves, but also not warriors. They had those strange circular pieces of metal with little value to barter among themselves with. How very strange. The deaths of these people would stain the Legion’s conquest. Surely, their target should instead be… He froze as he contemplated the implications of what the scout proposed. A victory through such dishonorable means was bad enough, but then there was the tribe with the water, and the tribe that forged using lava, using the metals from the other two tribes. The southern tribes could only survive independently of each other through trading and their games. His eyes go wide in realization. There was no feasible way for the Skrall to achieve an honorable victory without either conquering every tribe at once - which clearly, none of his brothers here would have any confidence in - or by striking at their hub, the city known as Atero. A city full of those who were not warriors. Skrall decided he preferred thinking with his sword. @Burnmad @a goose @BULiK @oncertainty @Vezok's Friend @Nato G @Mel IC: Taldrix (Bone Hunter Stronghold, the Tower) - Her Understanding “Yes. I think I do understand.” Taldrix said, nodding her head. “You came to us, and not the tribes, because we are easier to control. None of that democracy garbage in the tribes, where you win based on how well you can lie and how much wealth you can throw around. You came to us, because if they helped you, you’d have to give them their share. They might even have tried to destroy the ruins, if it conflicted with whatever religious nonsense is being peddled nowadays. And the Skrall would never listen to you, being so far up their own backsides that their meals are recyclable.” She tapped where Ferrum is on the map. “I also understand that you were so interested in Ferrum’s plague because it happens to be close to where these ruins are. We’ll be at risk of contracting it the more we operate in this region, so we need as much information on it as we can…” She turned to the Ghost. “This would be my reasoning if I were you, at least, sir.” @a goose

IC: Mard & Ahmoa - Training Ground, outskirts of Atero Play it cool, Ahmoa thought, planting the handle-end of the axe in the sand and crossing his hands atop the blade. "You're right on one count, ma'am, but sadly mistaken on another. We follow the Grand Tournament season as closely as we can, we could be said to be "fans"; alas our position does not afford us the luxury of travelling to see the bouts themselves." Play it cool, Mard thought, awkwardly hugging the bundle of javelins to his chest and trying not to let any spill. "Yeah, we don't own this joint, we're just staff. Our boss, that's the lucky sonovabitch who jets all across the desert for the Gee-Tee. And every other damn fight. 'Business trips', my be-hind." Mard had no fear of admonishment for his comments, given the target of them was scarcely present for anyone to report them. Ahmoa was caught halfway between rolling his eyes and chuckling at Mard as he shuffled away to stow the javelins in the equipment shed, deciding on neither. "We look after the grounds while the proprietor is tending to his many-other ventures. As such, it is rare for us to attend Tournament matches even when they come Atero-way, given those tend to be our busiest seasons." The Vulcanusian put on his best customer-facing smile. "Don't fret, after tonight's performance we'll be sure to keep an eye and ear out for your names in the Tournament roster. Should either of you make it to the Atero stages, and if fortune smiles on us, you may even see us ring-side." He didn't even tell this to every client, honest. "You'll definitely see me at the betting tables!" Mard exclaimed as he returned, dusting off his hands. "Lorqua, your odds just went up." His excitement was only half-put-on, the green guard known to make the odd wager. "It would only be fair for me to put some coinage down on Lutenus here, then." Ahmoa replied with a grin, and no intent of following through on that. OOC: @oncertainty @Toru Nui Apologies! I've been remiss in posting these boys for some months now 😅

IC: Escus - Mouth of the Cave, the Valley of Death Escus knelt at the cave's mouth as Selamat called back to the others. He stared, unblinking, into its depths. On the one hand, he was letting his eyes adjust to the stark difference in light. On the other, there was a certain fervor in the gesture. It looked almost devotional. At once, he rose again. A thoughtful hrm emerged from the back of his throat. "Hasty, perhaps even dangerously hasty... But I concur," he said, gesturing with the head of his axe toward the mass of resting bats. He let the words hang in the air for a few seconds. "They wouldn't be sleeping in the same cave as something that would, well... eat them. Not much that wouldn't eat them that would trouble us. Unless it's something... strange. That is all to say, clear enough." He took another step forward, past the young Glatorian. One eye shut, his head inclined to one side, Escus continued to stare into the cave. OOC: @Burnmad @a goose @Nato G @~Xemnas~ @Toru Nui IC: Lorqua - Training Ground, Outskirts of Atero A skeptical look worn openly on her face, Lorqua followed Lutenus' lead in collecting up the Javelins—scattered around the arena as they were—and returning them to Mard and Ahmoa. As the adrenaline of the fight left her, Lorqua's other concerns came to the fore. If they wanted to know more about what was going on with that Ferrumite Glatorian who had stumbled into the bar, it seemed like these two were the ones to ask. Lutenus couldn't be planning to just walk right out of here, without taking such a beautiful opportunity, could he? Even if he was, Lorqua would dare anything. She couldn't resist some probing. "You two gentlemen must be going Grand-Tournament-way eventually, yeah? Hard to imagine a pair of trainers like yourselves wouldn't be tournament fans on top of that." OOC: @Toru Nui @Techn0geist IC: Skrall - Markets, the Bone Hunter Stronghold Skrall's glance follows the others', the instincts of a unit—or a herd—easily taking over. The sight of the once-Skrall makes his teeth clench. He's never seen one from this close. To know that any one of them could be so reduced is troubling. His nostrils flare. The air of the marketplace at once seems sickly. A miasma. "If they see that more than they see us," he says, speaking quietly. "It would give anyone strange ideas. But out here... what do we do?" It seemed as important a question as any; being observed by what-was-once-Skrall, and observing in turn. Were Skrall simply to turn away? Skrall was asking for the purposes of unit cohesion, of course, but also because he had absolutely no idea. OOC: @a goose @Mel @Vezok's Friend @Burnmad @Toru Nui

IC: (CelTech workshop, Tajun) "Celrys to perform external diagnostic...? Test Del I?" “Exactly right, Del. But this is a test with no wrong answers – just give the response you find to be most fitting.” Celrys turned away from Del, producing two large, flat metal ovals, with strange cylinders attached. With a flourish, he unfolded them into two chairs; one he offered to Skyra, the other he took for himself. At last, he turned once more to Del. “Now, are you sitting comfortably?” ”Yeah, I’m feeling pretty comfortable.” Skyra responds as she sits down, even if she wasn’t the target of the question. For as much as the Ferrumite struggled to conceptualise 'comfort', they did seem to register the implicit command, turning and reclining back into the patient chair. A thumb rose from a closed hand at their side, signalling in the affirmative. “Then we’ll begin,” Celrys smiled, the scope over his eye sliding back into place, its glassy surface now rendered opaque by a dim glow. “Now, this examination will take the form of a series of questions. We’ll start off simple, in order to establish a baseline: what village are we currently in?” A deceptively complex question if one still doesn't quite grasp what a village is. Del focused hard, tracing back along previous lines of conversation and inquiry, lines now joining blazingly fast between dots of ever-increasing proximity. <<Find Celrys. Find. Locate. Location. Skyra Daring the best driver. Driver. Drive. Go. From and to. To Tajun. Tajun location. Celrys here in location. Celrys in Tajun. Tajun.>> "Tajun." Del droned. "Tajun what village are we—" they paused, reassessing. "...what village we are in. “Fascinating.” Celrys couldn’t help but lean forward in his seat. “Now, what is my name?” "Celrys." Del responded with startlingly minimal delay. Easy, names were established back in Atero. Their eyes left the ceiling and fell on the owner of that name. "Celrys you." “Very good. What about your companion, here? What’s her name?” "Skyra Daring the best driver." Their gaze now turning to the Tesaran. It became apparent that Del considered that their full name; still a ways to go. Skyra grinned, looking at Del. “****** right I am~” She'd been good about keeping quiet during the test so far, at least till now. Celrys couldn’t resist smiling, though he quickly suppressed it, adopting a studiously professional expression as he refocused his attention on Del. “And what about your name?” The tiniest, imperceptible to anyone but maybe Celrys, hesitation. The infinitesemal, non-zero, doubt. The name from the artificer's logs played on a thousand loops in a thousandth of a second. "Del I." the Iron Tribal stated, asserted. ]Celrys nodded, seriously. “And what village are you from, Del?” Got us out of Ferrum. <<Out of Ferrum. From and to. Ferrum. Ferrum Plague. Ferrum.>> "Ferrum is a village, like Tajun." they parroted. "Del I from Ferrum village...?" From their perspective, Del was from Ferrum as much as they were from Atero as much as they were from the deep desert. Inconclusive. “I see. Well, perhaps we can skip the ‘childhood memories’ section; how about some maths?” Though Celrys smiled sympathetically, there was a knowing glint in his eye. “What is three plus three?” "Six." Instant. “Three multiplied by three?” "Nine." Instant. “Three divided by three.” "One." Instant. “Three minus three.” "Zero." Like a ping-pong match. “The square root of three hundred and thirty-three, rounded to three significant figures.” "Eighteen point two." “Divided by two?” "Nine point one." “Divided by zero.” Tick. "Inconclusive. Non-conclusive" Nice try. Celrys smirked. “Multiplied by zero.” "Zero." Instant. “Excellent.” Celrys leaned back, looking satisfied. “Logic problems next. A woman orders a prosthetic right arm; she lost her original arm in an accident. The prosthetic is installed and works exactly according to specifications. Has it always been her arm?” "No." Not as quick as the maths test but remarkable in the firmness of the conclusion. Del did not show their working. “There are two ropes in front of you; each takes exactly one hour to burn, but they do so at inconsistent rates. Some segments may burn faster or slower than others, and you have no way to tell which are which. How can you use the ropes to measure forty-five minutes?” This took a little longer for the Ferrumite to puzzle out, although time is subjective and 'two seconds' is a longer span of time than 'two nanoseconds'. "Burn two end of one rope. Burn one end of two rope. Burn two end of two rope when one rope finish burn. Time when two rope finish burn: forty-five minutes." Celrys nodded. “Two men stand before two doors; only one can take you to your destination. One man only tells the truth, the other tells only lies. With only one question, how would you learn from them which door to choose?” The underlying language of a good riddle was pure logic, as was Del's. The overlying language still needed some work, a piecemeal of limited vocabulary and patchwork mimicry. Thus some words, and their adjoined meanings, slipped through the myriad cracks. <<Clarification.>> "Query: what truth is? What lies is?" Celrys perked up, sitting upright. “Truth is fact. Lies are not. For instance, it would be true to say that my name is Celrys; it would be a lie to claim that my name is Skyra Daring.” Rapid extrapolation. <<Facts, not. Truth, lies. One man would tell door to destination. One man would tell door not to destination. One question.>> An answer in the form of a— "Query: which door would not-you man tell to choose?” The meaning was hopefully communicated adequately. “Would you walk through the door the man answers with, or the other?” "Other door. Truth-man tell lies-door that lies-man tell. Lies-man tell lies-door that lies-man lies that truth-man tell. Truth. Lies." Cement filling cracks. “Perfect. One last puzzle: A woman orders a prosthetic right arm. She pays up-front. The parts are acquired only after she makes her order, to her specification, and it is tailored specifically for her. Once it is complete, she immediately claims it, and it is installed. Has it always been her arm?” Another linguistic trait to experiment with. An impressive five seconds passed. "...Yes. Always been her arm, not always been her arm." Celrys was absolutely beaming; if not for his earlier denial, he would seem every bit the proud parent. “Absolutely fantastic. This is simply marvellous.” He turned his chair to face Skyra. “Well, bad news first: Del here is dealing with some serious brain damage. It would take tests I’d rather not subject them to in order to confirm the exact cause and nature, but as you yourself have doubtless noticed, amnesia is the primary symptom.” Skyra nods solemnly, even the driver knowing when to be serious. “Right, I figured something like that was up.” He looked once again to Del. “The good news is that your short-term memory is in perfect working order, and your other cognitive functions are performing remarkably well, especially given the circumstances. There are only two lingering questions that remain: the first is your ability to convert short-term memories into long-term, and the second is the matter of your nervous system at large. I would like to observe you over the course of the next few days – not twenty-four seven, just a few check-ups – and, in addition to this, I would like to perform another test tomorrow. This one would be rather… different, in format, focusing primarily on your adrenal response and your physical coordination. Is this acceptable to the both of you?” <<Memory. . .>> As with many other things, the capacity for long-term memory had not occurred to Del. They set about performing an assessment of the events of the last few days, their own internal diagnostic; back past the long drive across the roiling dunes, the faces of denizens of a dive bar in Atero, waking up in a training ground tended to by a kindly Agori couple. Beyond that, there was... there was… A voice but no words. An answer but no answer. "Brain damage. Del I... damage?" they said more to themself than either Celrys or Skyra. Subjectivity and unsurety crept back into their voice. One would almost swear their tone was troubled. The truth of their scenario eluded them. Truth. It was vital they know. Anything less than optimal was un— "Acceptable. Just a few check-ups. Another test tomorrow." ”Well if Del is cool with it then so am I, guess we’ll be seeing you tomorrow Doc.” “Tomorrow, then,” Celrys said with a smile. OOC: Big thanks to @Techn0geist and @Snelly for the jam!

For our fine online friend and artist finest, the yearly fest had been too long put to rest! @Taka Nuvia A very tiny honorary Taka fairy for yee, a meager mite 3x3 Graphite Bite, unfit for so accomplished an artist’s sight, but made with mirth for your day of birth! https://flic.kr/p/2pKi6ov May your magic day be full of confectionery and friendly fairies! Thanks be for your spirit, ever a gift, when to these old lands your wings again lift!

IC: The Ghost (The Tower) “Our mercy?” The Ghost’s grin grew wider still. “You’re quite open in your ambitions. I can respect that.” Somehow, he seemed oddly satisfied, as if Taldrix had said something that pleased him greatly. “Now, unless there's anything else, you may take your leave. You know how to reach me.” OOC: @Toru Nui

Prologue – Dying Of The Light From the notes of Chronicler Crisda. Deep down, everyone’s afraid of the dark. It’s a powerful, primal thing, an instinct born long before any of us were created. In the dark, anything could be waiting. A ravenous rahi, a roving Rahkshi, Karzahni or Irnakk or Tren Krom or any one of the other nightmares of legend. But now we know there’s nothing waiting for us in the dark. Nothing at all. And somehow, that makes it even more frightening. Two years have passed since everything changed. Two years since the Turaga of Metru Nui sent the universe’s greatest Toa heroes to Karda Nui to reawaken the Great Spirit, a mission from which they never returned. Two years since the day that the stars formed the shape of the Kanohi Kraahkan and Makuta Teridax proclaimed his dominion over creation. Two years since war and strife wracked our universe. Two years since the terrible earthquake, and the even more terrifying stillness that followed it. Two years since the lightstones started to die. It started small, at first. Old stones fizzling out, as they sometimes did. But then newer stones started to die as well. Even the fresh ones dug out of the mines seemed dimmer. And then, within only a few weeks, there were no functioning lightstones left to be found. We could still hook them up to the city’s generators and charge them that way, but whatever had once empowered them naturally no longer worked. Soon, the same thing started to happen to our heatstones. And it wasn’t just Metru Nui. Boats began to arrive, ferrying Matoran, Turaga, and Toa from shores far afield, where the dark and cold had rendered entire lands unliveable. I myself was among them. Only the heat of the Great Furnace and the lifegiving light of Twin Suns still shining high overhead had kept Metru Nui from meeting the same fate. The city welcomed the refugees with open arms, of course. More Matoran meant more workers to help keep the city functioning enough for us all to continue surviving. More Turaga meant more wisdom to aid in navigating our new situation. More Toa meant more protectors. However, we soon learned of one land that our fellow Matoran had been unable to leave. Though those who sailed past or docked to resupply said its streets remained busy and its foundries still spewed smoke, Xia hadn’t sent a single ship our way. A team of Toa were sent to meet with the Toa of Xia and arrange the relocation of their Matoran, but of the six who departed, only three returned. The tidings they brought were grim: the Vortixx of Xia had slain their city’s Toa team and taken the Matoran as slaves, forcing them to work the power plants to keep their city alive. And when they’d learned of new Toa in their midst, the Vortixx had promptly tried to kill them as well. Debate raged for days, but the decision was never in doubt. The last fifty Toa in existence departed for Xia, intent on liberating the trapped Matoran. Weeks passed, and a lone boat limped back to Metru Nui, bearing four injured Toa and a few dozen rescued Matoran. Their report on the situation in Xia was a dire one. Embroiled in a battle to liberate the Matoran, the Toa had found themselves caught in an unexpected crossfire. From the South had come the Dark Hunters, intent on taking the city’s technology and power for themselves. And from the East had come the Skakdi hordes, seemingly motivated by nothing more than a defiant desire to end their lives fighting in the universe’s last great war, instead of dying quietly in the dark. We waited for our Toa to return. We prayed to our absent Great Spirit. Some even offered prayers to Makuta Teridax. Neither god answered us. A few brave Matoran even boarded a boat and set sail for Xia. They didn’t return either. And still, the rest of us waited. And waited. More than a year passed before the Toa finally came home, but the world they found was not the one they had left behind. And the world they made was not one any of us expected.

It's the 20th anniversary of the Metru Nui saga's beginning. So this years theme is the entire Metru Nui saga! Toa Metru, Hordika, Vahki, Dark Hunters. Not just characters, locations, items, or even vehicles! Rules: Your design must be a simple design, one color, and must be medium sized. Your design must also be black on a clear white background. This makes it easier for the screen printing process. You may post your entries in this thread, and have until the end of May to submit your design. The Prize: The maker of the winning design will receive a free T-Shirt! ADDITIONAL INFO: The winning design will be chosen through a voting process of the members of BZP. Colors will be suggested and chosen by the members as well. Feel free to ask any questions if needed. That's all for now. Have fun, and good luck!

IC/ Skrall/ Bonehunter Stronghold/ Markets/ The conversation had lasted long enough for her to return to the moment after her surprising revelation and to finish her ration bar. Apparently they were still on the subject of how best to conquer all that they saw before them, openly talking strategy. Maybe a bit too openly. She started to look around to see if there were any unfriendly eyes or ears nearby that were too close for comfort. All the while she wondered why they were discussing strategy in the first place - after all they already had been tasked with one. “War is not the southern way.” she chimed in. “Save it for the arenas.” That’s where disputes were settled. And when they got there they would use the South’s own honorable system to take whatever they laid claim to. Skrall would challenge, fight - and win. All is as he willed it. Just then, she felt the all too familiar sensation of eyes on her. She knew it well from home - had known it all her life. Those who knew what she was - or suspected - staring at her in all ways subtle and obvious alike. She slowly, deliberately turned and looked over to the barred window to meet the others' gaze. For a split second she thought it might have been their prisoner, already processed. But this thing was much more emaciated. Only color hinted at what had once been skrall - but was no more. Was that what awaited the unfortunate one they had just handed over? Maybe skrall could be broken after all? The possibility disgusted her and she made no effort to hide her reaction. She nudged spec-ops to get his attention, shot him a dark look and nodded her head in the direction of their observer... OOC: @a goose @BULiK @Nato G @oncertainty @Burnmad @Toru Nui @Mel

Content Warning: internalized victim blaming, allusions to sexual assault a slave | bone hunter stronghold Sometime in between the many cycles of sleeping and waking, you hear them. Voices. Skrall voices. Not exactly intelligible to your keen but un-enhanced hearing, but achingly familiar in their tones and rhythms. Perhaps another will be added to the not-hunter’s pen today, though surely not one as pathetic as you. Then one of the voices becomes clearer, unmistakable in its tone—a women’s voice, in the unmistakable dialect of the Skrall. Something that can only be the voice of a Sister. You are half convinced it is that voice that moves your limbs, that forces your breath out throat-drying ragged as you creep toward the barred window to get a better look, expecting the iron grasp of another will in your hands, in your body, at any moment. The others do not notice you in their equally fitful sleep, the soft-steppers in your feet doing you, at least good service. It is hard to see outside in the daytime; your night-seeing eyes spin the heat into smears and veils of color. You squint, trying to focus on the tall black figures as they move through the market. OOC: @Vezok's Friend @a goose @BULiK @Nato G @oncertainty @Burnmad @Toru Nui Someone is watching. Your choice on whether you notice or not.

At the suggestion of Master Inika, I’ve edited another map of the Matoran Universe, this time to depict the known territories of the various canon Makuta. The original suggestion was to do a colour-coded map, but that ended up looking very cluttered, so I decided to go for a simpler style. According to Greg Farshtey, there were once 100 Makuta, and only a handful of them are covered by canon. Even so, based on the amount of territory controlled by the Makuta we do know of, it seems like a lot of the unknown Makuta probably didn’t have regions, or controlled islands so minor they weren’t even worth putting on the map. Starting from the top, our main man Teridax was the assigned Makuta of Metru Nui, while the Brotherhood’s alleged best fighter, Icarax, took over Karzahni. Krika was originally assigned to the north part of the northern continent, and later expanded his territory to include Zakaz after Spiriah’s fall from grace. Sharing the Northern Continent was Gorast, who is specified to have ruled the lower region known as the Tren Krom peninsula. Based on this division, it seems like at least one more Makuta must have had a claim to part of the Northern Continent. Tridax ruled Nynrah, biker bro Antroz ruled Xia, and Vamprah was responsible for Odina (I guess he sucked at his job, since he clearly never did anything about the Dark Hunters). I feel like Greg only vaguely glanced at the map when he decided on Chirox’s territory, since his region includes two completely disconnected islands that are nowhere near each other (one in the hand, one in the leg). He controls Keetongu’s and Tobduk’s homelands (the latter being better known by its current name, Visorak). (I realised after posting that I'd also made a mistake here myself, drawing a line to the wrong island). Chirox-but-with-a-better-colourscheme Mutran controlled the “central part of the Southern Continent”, which is probably intended to refer to Voya Nui. Prior to being deposed, Miserix was the Makuta of Destral. As far as we know, no other Makuta formally claimed that title after Miserix was imprisoned. Bitil is said to have controlled the west chain of the southern islands. However, the map claims that no one has explored further than Artidax, so Bitil’s territory likely ends there. It’s worth noting here that while Spiriah was formerly the Makuta of Zakaz, some pages on BS01 say that he also controlled Artidax. However, there seems to be no citation for this, and since he’s in exile I’ve left him off the map entirely. Finally, a couple of Makuta we don’t have canon appearances for: Kojol was the Makuta of Artakha, prior to raiding the place and getting assassinated by the Order Of Mata Nui, while the Makuta of Stelt is exactly what it says on the tin. This leaves a number of locations unclaimed. Given the way most territories have been divided up, there would have been at least one more Makuta for the Northern continent, and potentially two or three more dividing up the Southern. The large island above Keetongu’s homeland may have had a Makuta (unless it was also included in Chirox’s territory). The small island between Nynrah and Odina could also have had a Makuta (unless it fell into Tridax or Vamprah’s territories). The two islands up near Stelt and Xia (Nocturn’s homeland?) would have likely had at least one Makuta assigned to them, possibly two. I’m less sure about the other side of the map, since we have no information to confirm if the Makuta had any major presence at all in that entire arm. There are also a whole bunch of other islands out there that don’t appear on the map but are mentioned in-story, some of which would have likely had Makuta overseers as well. Let me know if there's anything I've missed, or if you have any suggestions. I'd also love to hear if anyone's assigned territories to their own fanon Makuta.

IC: Karak - Celrys' Workshop I am unable to catch his last sentence. Too quick, too nervously sputtered out. I fear I will never learn anything at this rate - even as I assume my understanding of the language has grown, I am humbled immediately. The tournament is my only other lead. And so I leave Del and Skyra to their flesh-meddling heretic God. I smirk to myself, remembering my own and Skyra's clash as we first met. If all Southerners fight that way, perhaps the arena would be amusing if not informative. OOC: @a goose

Happy belated birthday, Taka! Hope you had a good one.

This week we'll be heading over to the BZPower Twitch channel on Wednesday, April 24th for another installment of B6's Block Party. Starting at around 7 PM Eastern we'll be diving back into LEGO Indiana Jones to wrap up The Temple of Doom levels - we completed four of the six last week, so we'll see if we can match that this week and start The Last Crusade as well! Fingers crossed and see you there!View the full article

Solek: Ok, so maybe killing the creator of the universe was a bad plan Shadow Leech: I mean, it could have been worse. Solek: Oh thank Mata Nui it’s someon- wait, oh no it’s you. Wait, why is it you? Shadow Leech: I’m not 100% sure. Can you see anyone else? Solek: Nooooo.... can you? Announcer: AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH Shadow Leech: Yep. Hold on a second, someone else is yelling. Shadow Leech: Hey Announcer: Oh good, someone else still exi- LEECH!!!!!!!!!! WHAT DID YOU DO??????????? Shadow Leech: First, wow, nice warm welcome, second, I didn’t do anything. Solek: Liar. Who are you talking to? Shadow Leech: Announcer. Announcer: Yes? Shadow Leech: No, I was saying your name, I was talking to Solek. Solek: Announcer is there? Are you talking to him? Kirop: Mata Nui, my head Shadow Leech: Yeah I can see you both so I’m talking to you both. Well, see is an aggressive term for what I’m doing, I’m like sensing that you exist. Kirop: w-what? What are you talking about? Did I finally get sent to ******? Announcer: Wait, Leech, do you exist? Or are we just communicating with a hallucination of you? Shadow Leech: Hi Kirop, no, I don’t think this is ******, I’d be much happier if that were the case. Solek: Oh Kirop is there? Tell him he’s less real than I am right now. Ehlek: Is this what being fired feels like? You lose your job and the rest of existence is just an infinite white void? Shadow Leech: ****** I sure hope so. Hammox: You hope what??? What’s going on? Announcer: I knew this was a bad idea. Kirop: Oh please Mata Nui, not ******, I wasn’t that bad, I didn’t kill too many people, and when I did I only mildly enjoyed it. Solek: Me too Weapon: Ok so there’s the leech, where is everyone else? Osram: Leech??? What’s happening? What are you hoping for? DID YOU MESS EVERYTHING UP AGAIN? Shadow Leech: Ok, can everyone BE QUIET? *Everyone is silent, news crew continues to yell* Shadow Leech: Oh that’s not a good sign, I mean all you freaks too. *News crew quiets down.* Shadow Leech: Thank you. Now, you should all thank me that you’re not in an isolated void of your own consciousness like I am almost 100% of the time, seriously, you never ask about how I’m doing or how this all feels or how existing for 30 times as long as I should have is taking a toll on my mental faculties. But that’s not relevant right now. What’s relevant is that Cameraman: Oh thank Neptune I’m alive! I’m ALIIIIIIVE!!!! Producer: I’d say I have a headache but I’m not sure my head exists. Leech, what are you doing? Shadow Leech: I was just explaining before you rudely interrupted Solek: I didn’t say anything Announcer: I was completely silent! Kirop: Please not ****** please not ****** please not ****** Ehlek: I’m being very polite for once! Weapon: I’m about to be much more rude Shadow Leech: Well I’m trying my best here, can’t say this is much worse than the normal voices if we’re being honest. Producer: Oh my god if I’m one of the Leech’s delusions I’m going to lose it. Shadow Leech: RIGHT ok so here’s the deal. We killed Frezon and at the moment we did all of you stopped existing because you were in Frezon’s mind palace thingie, but since I was planning to betray you I had stored a part of my existence outside of the mind palace as a backup in case my plan failed, which it looks like it did. Solek: I KNEW IT I KNEW YOU WERE TRYING TO BETRAY US AGAIN!!!! Ehlek: I SHOULD HAVE SQUISHED YOU AGAIN WHEN I HAD THE CHANCE! Announcer: Ok that’s great and all but do you have a plan to make this not happen? *continued hubbub and yelling at the Leech* Shadow Leech: Hey wait a minute, where’s Carapar? Day 18 Carapar: Yippee!!! I did it! I killed Frezon. Now to go get a pizza. (leaves the empty news studio, walking down the empty streets towards a pizza parlor, also empty) Carapar: Free too! (eats pizza) *Commercial Break* Will the rest of the news crew escape? Will Carapar enjoy his pizza? Will anyone help me? This is Ultimate Rahkshi, I’m stuck in the commercials, I don’t know what happened, I think Frezon forgot about me until now again, guys we didn’t kill him, WE DIDN’T KILL HIM!!! Find out next time on....... BIONICLE NEWS!!!!

This is a promising start. Canon seemed to imply that faith in Mata Nui was somehow misplaced, like a kid-friendly version of Dune, but nothing was really done with it. I am interested to see how this will play out.

Chapter 9 These moments, Wane was sure, were to be his last, at least his last moments as his own independent being. As the microseconds stretched painfully long, his bound body being pushed up into the Tower, he realized that no one would change their mind at the last second to save him. Fall, the only one in the universe he thought he could have trusted, looked aside. Was it shame or disinterest that made her turn her head? He would never know. In a few more moments, he might not remember this moment even happened. Then, the machine came to a screeching halt. Even at that great distance, Wane could see Makuro's mechanical eye twitch. "What is the meaning of this?!" the aged robot demanded, slamming his fists upon the railing. One of the technicians in the pits below meekly spoke up: "It's a Mission Manager, sir! One of them manually put in a full-stop on the Tower." Wane had never seen Mr. Makuro's face contort into an expression of such dissatisfaction. "I want that Mission Manager in this Tower!" Rush and Fall nodded to Makuro and raced out. The next few minutes for Wane were stressful ones. He dare not speak up, even though he knew, once this matter was ironed out, he would be in the same position he was before. This diversion had won him, maybe, ten more minutes of individuality. All the Mission Managers looked virtually identical, though little idiosyncrasies in how they moved or spoke gave them away. Zib always carried himself with unshakable self-assurance, while Thrift tended to pace around awkwardly whenever he did not know where to stand. The Mission Manager who was escorted in was not one Wane thought he recognized, at least not at first, until he recognized his incessant hand-wringing as that of Nelson Cold. Makuro regained his composure, listening intently to what Cold whispered to him without much comment, though the look of immense displeasure at the reprogramming's interruption did not once leave his visage. After Cold finished whispering to Makuro, Wane was removed from his restraints and escorted by the two Recon Team Heroes into a briefing room, far from the technicians, with Makuro and Cold. The lack of answers threatened to drive Wane mad. "What's going on?" he finally asked. Cold opened his mouth as if he wanted to speak, but then looked to Makuro first. Makuro shook his head no. "Consider yourself lucky, Wane," Makuro said. "Right before we could get underway, Professor Cold received a Priority 1 distress code. This mean that we'd need the Assembly Tower right away, so he disabled it remotely, as his training indicated he should do in such a situation." Professor Cold visibly breathed a sigh of relief at Makuro describing his actions positively. Makuro continued: "There are three villains at large on Bardobi Prime, besieging the Central Government Complex on Bardobi City," the founder explained. "They're all class-A villains, demanding the release of about a dozen crooks jailed on our site on the planet. If we don't comply, they're threatening to kill the governor, not to mention all the civilian bots who happen to be there now. There've already been casualties. There are other Hero teams available, but they're not as close as we are. Waiting for one of them to respond instead of the Heroes we have on hand now could cost extra lives." It took Wane a moment to process what Makuro was saying. Makuro nodded to Cold, who finally stepped forward and spoke: "Three dangerous villains, way too much for any of the rookies teams here on Makuhero Planet to handle," the Mission Manager said, wringing his hands more than ever. "So, that means we need three top-notch Heroes to go after them." He nodded to Fall, Rush, and Wane. "Me?!" Wane asked. "But I'm--" Mr. Makuro interrupted him. "What Cold said you were, a top-notch Hero. The reprogramming process takes too long than we have. There are innocent bots in trouble now." It looked like the next statement took some great effort on Makuro's part to say: "Swallow your pride for one miserable mission, Wane, and I'll..." Wane offered a solution to the dilemma: "Let me go?" Mr. Makuro gave his counteroffer: "We'll give you a head start." Wane had never seen Mr. Makuro wear such a sly smile. He imagined the founder was only trying to hide how powerless and frustrated he felt in the situation. Wane, supposing he did not have much of a choice, nodded affirmatively. To leave no doubt, he said: "Deal." *** The lone Hero Craft flew a course on autopilot from Makuhero Planet to Bardobi Prime, carrying the two Recon Team Heroes and their probationary third member. Though the reprogramming procedure would have taken up too much precious time, all three Heroes had been sent through the Assembly Tower and equipped with gadgets specific to this mission: Fall had been equipped specifically to combat Heatwave, the "muscle" of the three villains. A former smelting bot turned evil by a malfunction, Heatwave's powers were fire- and gas-based, so Fall had been given a hypersonic vacuum and industrial high-pressure water hose. She also received a special compression-sealed helmet designed to keep Heatwave's powers from overwhelming her. Rush, meanwhile, had been equipped for combat against Motherboard, the "techie" of the group. Motherboard lived a simple, quiet life as a technical diagnostics expert, until she realized there were more credits to be made breaking into mainframes than keeping them secure. Motherboard was cybernetically linked to the villainous trio's transport, the Chain Reaper, as well as interfaced to the Bardobi City central security system via a virus, giving her complete control of the city's automated defense systems. Rush's specialized tools included a counter-virus designed to deactivate (but not destroy) the hacked hardware as well as a protocol shielding his own mind from the effects of her virus. The leader of the three villains was an enigmatic criminal mastermind known only as Gravedigger. Rumors abounded as to where Gravedigger came from. All anyone knew was that, while he lacked any powers or dangerous equipment of his own, he was a tactical genius, known for bringing together small-times crooks of different personalities and skill sets to pull off heists and robberies none of them could dream of accomplishing alone. Against Gravedigger, Wane had been equipped with specialized armor and weapons, including an AI-augmented combat protocol designed to detect patterns in Gravedigger's actions that a normal Hero would miss on their own. The flight was mostly silent. Wane only violated the stillness to ask practical questions, which Fall would answer. Rush, despite being his ostensible teammate, did not even pretend to be happy about it. "Why me?" Wane finally asked. "How come you two are going after the henchbots, while I'm going after the big bad?" "I don't know," Fall admitted. So far, her answers had been fairly by-the-books and devoid of emotion, until she said: "Maybe he sees something special in you." Finally, Rush spoke up: "Or maybe he just wants to get you out of the way." Review Topic

my self moc will be out in a few days, or you can pay 20 widgets to see it now. #microtransaction

I hope I'm not necroing this topic by replying to it again after all this time, but I just wanted to let anyone who was interested know that the Zyro image upscaler I was previously using is dead now. Going forward, I'll be using the next-best free online AI upscaler, jpgHD. It came second in the same tests I ran Zyro on when I first did the upscales I posted here over a year ago, and it came in first in the tests I did today on the remaining available upscalers. I'd recommend it for anyone still working on this project looking for a free way to upscale MNOG's old, noisy SWF images.

IC: Zha’ar – The Crossroads For several long moments, Zha’ar just looked down at the other Gatherer, his words reverberating in her mind. She’d spent so much of her life trying to keep to herself, to go unnoticed, to avoid making herself a target. At best she’d only ever been a nuisance, tolerated by other Gatherers, not worth the effort for Glatorian to hunt down. After all of that effort, it was surreal to realise that someone had noticed. Someone had seen her, not just for what she was, but for what she could be. She couldn’t refuse. This was her chance to become something more, to be known, to be remembered, to have a life that was more than just scraping by until her luck ran out. “I’d like to see that as well,” she said. “You have my bow.” @a goose

IC: Crucius (The Crossroads) “Your techniques for mounted archery alone make you stand out, not to mention your skills in animal handling and the use of poisons. Also…” He paused, considering his next words carefully. Crucius was not a man who liked to tip his hand; it was a matter of habit as much as it was a mechanism for survival. There were only two beings he believed had ever truly known him, and Crucius had killed one of them himself. Showing vulnerability was an easy way to get oneself killed, and being seen was a singularly unsettling experience. Still, this was a new world, and the rules were changing; sacrifices would have to be made. “The Ghost knows what it means to be ostracised. To be… alone.” He took a breath to steady himself; his left hand was shaking. He balled it into a fist, and began to speak with a soft, seething passion, never once raising his voice. “You’re worth a hundred of your would-be clansmen, and I believe there's a part of you that knows it – that little whisper that you drown out by quoting everything the rest of the world has said to deny it. But that whisper is right. The world is wrong. Those fools forced you into the desert to fend for yourself, and they only made you stronger; you found new ways to survive, better ways. They live in a prison of their own making, and in forcing you out, they have freed you. Perhaps you can't see that yet, but I can, and He can. And if this is what you’ve accomplished alone and unsupported, I for one am eager to see what you can do with our resources at your disposal.” OOC: @Nato G

IC: Zha'ar - The Crossroads "Skills?" She sputtered, shifting around in her saddle as if trying to escape the unexpected praise. "All I've ever done is... not die. That's not to say that not dying isn't an accomplishment, I guess, but I don't..." she trailed off, unable to muster more meaningless noise to cover for her conflicted thoughts. Self-worth didn't come easily to someone who'd been abandoned by her own clan. What could someone as powerful and important as Crucius see in her that she didn't even see herself? "...you really want me? He really wants me?" @a goose

IC: Crucius (The Crossroads) “If you know who I am, then I’m sure you’ve heard of the one I represent. He understands the value of loyalty… which is to say, He understands that it doesn't come cheap.” Crucius smirked. “You have skills that many others don't, and I share His view that we should have them on our side. If you’re willing, you could even teach some of your techniques.” OOC: @Nato G

IC: Zha'ar - The Crossroads “Imagine what you could do with two working legs.” More than any other trait, it was caution that had kept Zha'ar alive in her isolation. When something looked or sounded too good to be true, it was almost always a trap. Gatherers were bandits and thieves; they didn't go around giving gifts. On the other hand... what would be the point of trapping her? She couldn't recall robbing anyone recently that would have made her an enemy of another Gatherer clan, and a lone wanderer like herself was no threat to whatever unified group Crucius was trying to build. Which meant Crucius wanted something. Zha'ar herself, or something he thought she could provide. And the offer itself... from anyone else she would have laughed it off, but Crucius' mechanical arm spoke for itself. This was someone who had the means to make good on such a life-changing promise. "That's quite the generous offer to make someone you've just met," she replied, forcing herself to slow down and choose her words carefully. "What do you want in return?" @a goose

IC: Skrall (Markets; the Bone Hunter Stronghold) “Most of the southerners, perhaps. But their most powerful Tribe relies on the slaves they trade for here, and they know we would be fools to continue that trade with them if we were in charge, turning them immediately into our enemies. Worse, slaves can come from anywhere; they would only briefly be handicapped. On top of this, our ambitions would be immediately made clear by the proximity to Roxtus, and though some would praise us for wiping out the barbarians they would still be suspicious of our claiming a settlement just south of our border. They would begin preparing for war, while we would still be recovering from the effort of claiming this meager prize. Our conquest would be a drawn-out war across increasingly fortified settlements, on unfamiliar territory.” He paused, and looked towards the west. “No, our first target should be Tesara. They are just as close to the Black Spikes, but lack the fortifications of the Bone Hunters. We will lose fewer men, and though the South will become aware of our goals, we will have cut them off from a unique resource vital to all the Tribes: food. Take Tesara, and we can starve our enemies into surrender, and barely lose a Skrall in the process.” He turned back to the other Skrall. “You are like a Spikit, snapping at anything that comes close. A handler approaches and you attack for a single, short-lived meal, when restraint would see that same handler voluntarily feed you for weeks. We are not beasts or barbarians; we are Skrall. All of you need to start thinking with your brains, instead of your damned swords.” OOC: @ Skrall IC: Crucius (The Crossroads) “Naturally. There aren't many Gatherers who can survive on their own, even with four functional limbs.” He relaxed his grip, and glanced briefly down at his hand. “You’ve accomplished more than most, in spite of your handicap. Perhaps even because of it.” He rolled his right shoulder and flexed his exsidian arm. “Imagine what you could do with two working legs.” OOC: @Nato G IC: The Ghost (The Tower) “I am not one to engage in idle speculation. I know. Allow me to lay out the facts:” He pointed to the blank areas on the map. “My people had a settlement somewhere in these canyons. I am fairly confident it now lies abandoned and in ruins, and while I do have an archaeological interest, far more important to me is what lay below it. “Beneath the Wastelands there lie not only ruins and tombs, but also remarkably well-preserved laboratories and research stations. I know this because I have seen them with my own eyes, and what I learned there has led me to one definitive conclusion: the single greatest technological discovery of our time awaits us beneath the canyons.” There was a hungry gleam in the Ghost’s eyes as he stared down at the map, envisioning the scientific treasure trove its blank squares might represent. “There is power in that discovery; with my knowledge and the little I have scavenged already from other sites, I have given your people weapons and cybernetics to rival anything Tajun or Vulcanus can offer. But there is far more to it than that: everything that I have discovered leads here. It is a sentence marching inexorably towards a full stop. Do you understand?” OOC: @Toru Nui

IC: Maxas and Vraek (Streets of Tajun) - If You Need Instructions on How to Get Through to the Hotel… “Oh, think nothing of it. I should…” Vraek trailed off, scanning the crowd. Where was he? He was never this late before… was he held up? Or did he have one of his schemes hatched? Vraek noted how dark and less oppressively warm it was getting. She turned back to Jeizmel. “We should retire for the night, it’s getting late.” Hopefully this time there would be less of a hassle with her reservation at the Arena Hotel. “I will see you again, I’m certain. Goodnight, and… keep yourself safe.” The Ice Glatorian then turned on her heel to leave - and almost tripped over a nervous Water Agori, who very quickly ran way. “Ah! Hrmph.” Hopeful that nobody saw that apart from Jeizmel, Vraek began wading through the crowd to the hotel… @That Matoran with a Vahi IC: Skrall (Bone Hunter Stronghold, Marketplace) - Mixing Work and Politics Skrall took only a little sip of the water ration handed to him, to conserve it. “The fact remains - the Renegades are a blight upon these sands. They may not steal primarily from the Skrall, but they do steal from the southern tribes. When Roxtus conquers the south, as it must, they will most likely begin stealing from us. Whereas, the opposite would be true - conquering the Renegades would perhaps make the southerners…” He struggled to find the right word. “Less hostile?” @a goose @Vezok's Friend @Burnmad @BULiK @oncertainty @Mel

True, and it's sad that Stormer XL never got his bike in set form.

When they were first introduced in 2007, the Barraki brought with them a game-changing new backstory that completely reframed everything we thought we understood about the history of the Bionicle universe. The idea that the Matoran aren’t the chosen people, that the Toa weren’t the original peacekeepers, has always fascinated me, and it was disappointing that future years of the storyline never explored these implications. The fact that these six all-important Prime Species never really played much of a role in the story before or since 2007 is strange as well, so in this thread I wanted to explore some theories about where the Prime Species come from, and what happened to them after the Barraki were imprisoned and their armies were disbanded. From information given in the 2007 storyline, in guidebooks and encyclopaedias, and comments from Greg Farshtey, we have a wealth of information to work with. We know each Barraki was the leader of a different species, and Greg Farshtey has been adamant in the past that none of these species were ones we’d encountered in-story before, meaning none of them are Toa, Skakdi, Vortixx, Steltians, etc. A caveat to that is his statement that connections to the Dark Hunters weren’t discussed, meaning that some of the Dark Hunters of unknown origin could theoretically be members of a Prime Species. The encyclopedia gives a rough rundown of which region each Barraki ruled, though there’s some dispute over this, as Takadox’s entry completely contradicts information given in the other five. BS01 considers the Takadox account to be incorrect, so for the purposes of this thread, and my map above, I’m going with the information in the other five entries. (Note: as Destral can move, Daxia was secret, and we know from The Mutran Chronicles that Artakha and the Southern Islands weren’t conquered, I’ve left those locations unclaimed on my map. We also don’t know for sure if Karzahni was taken over, but given its proximity to Metru Nui, I’m choosing to assume it was). For the purposes of my theories, I’m operating under the assumption that most of the Barraki include their own homelands in their territories. Ehlek probably has the weirdest territory of the bunch, ruling his homeland of Zakaz, but also controlling the western island chain. This arrangement makes a little more sense if we assume he was also responsible for the oceans in general. His species is the only one we know for sure has appeared in-story post-2007, with Federation Of Fear revealing that they became servants of the Order Of Mata Nui. Kalmah was said to have ruled the Northwestern region of the universe. In my map I’ve given him the Northern Continent, but I theorise that he also ruled the island that once neighboured Artakha. The Bionicle World guidebook (written in-universe by the Order Of Mata Nui), states that the inhabitants of Artakha destroyed a larger neighbouring island that was connected to theirs by a land bridge, as part of the measures to hide their island from the rest of the universe after Makuta Kojol’s raid. The guidebook claims this larger island was uninhabited, but given the generally deceitful and villainous nature of the Order, I think this entire account is questionable. We know the Order actively assassinated anyone who knew the location of Artakha, and that Kalmah’s species, ruling the Northwestern part of the universe, would have likely known the location, so I believe that the Order may have committed genocide against the species and sunk their homeland to hide the evidence, explaining why we don’t see this species again in-story. This is further evidenced by a line from Kalmah in The Mutran Chronicles, where he says “As for Artakha, let the old fool putter among his creations,” a strangely personal insult which suggests some degree of first-hand knowledge, given that most other beings we see in-story reverentially regard Artakha as a near-mythical figure. Pridak is one of the biggest mysteries here. All we know about his origins is that he was a servant of the Brotherhood of Makuta who travelled a lot. Upon becoming a Barraki, Pridak is said to have ruled the northeastern part of the universe, with Xia being the only island specifically named. To give him a territory more comparable in size to some of the other Barraki, on my map I’ve given him Stelt, Karzahni, and the unnamed islands to the east. But given what we know of his backstory, I don’t think any of these islands are his original homeland. The best theory I’ve seen - in Click's wonderful Simplifying the Species List thread - is that he might be a member of Tobduk’s species (with his pride/vanity being the emotion he feeds on). This would reframe the Brotherhood’s decision to unleash the Visorak on that island as an act of deliberate revenge against Pridak, and/or an attempt to prevent others of his kind from taking up his banner. Takadox is said to have ruled the eastern part of the universe, which I’ve interpreted as the chain of islands that includes Odina, Nynrah, and Visorak. These islands provide a few possibilities for the origin of his species. Nynrah is said to have a native species of craftsmen, separate from the Fe-Matoran who would later become known as the Nynrah Ghosts. This doesn’t fit what we know of Takadox super well, so I believe a better candidate for his homeland would be Odina. The Bionicle World guidebook states that there was a society native to Odina prior to the Dark Hunters making the island their base of operations, who were killed off/driven out. The Dark Hunters were established after the Barraki were imprisoned, so I feel that this fits the timeline quite well, and explains why Takadox’s race doesn’t appear again in-story. Finally, we have Mantax and Carapar. Mantax is said to have ruled the central part of the empire, while Carapar controlled the south section, and made some attempts to conquer the island chains further south. Given that it’s the only landmass left, I’m assuming that these two shared the Southern Continent, with the Tren Krom river being the border separating their territories. We know the Great Cataclysm did severe damage to this continent, and likely decimated the populations of these species. Given that no other Barraki seem to originate from the same landmass, it’s also possible that the homeland of Carapar’s species is actually one of the southern islands. In this case, us not seeing anything more of his species still makes sense, since the story never really explored those islands.

And/or the usual "hey world! I'm still alive!" post So where have I been? Mostly busy with life, and finally with a stable internet connection at my PC so expect some more activity from me, I guess. Occasionally, anyway. Other than that, I missed this place, a lot. And can't help but get nostalgic about the old times of lots of daily activity. Regular display name changes, especially around April 1st (my, what a coincidence) or with whatever tiny trend floated by. (On a side note, I'm delighted to see that the old emoticons are still around. Love these ) Hope you're all doing well! I'll see you around. ^^

IC: Kirbraz (Staff NPC) (The Shadiest Spot on Bara Magna) Keep it together, Kirby. There wasn't far to go – the Hotel was at least twenty minutes away if he stuck to the open streets, but he could shave off five by cutting through alleys (and, better yet, stay out of sight while doing so). That made fifteen; he’d been in longer arena matches. Kirbraz would not die tonight. However, while determined, in his feverish panic, he’d failed to realize that in the past hour he’d gained another shadow. One cast from far above, faintly trailing a silent stalker. One cast by one of the most dangerous people in all the villages, at least statistically. Crouched behind roofs, nigh-invisible in Tajun’s night. At least for a time, Kirbraz’ personal ghost. The realisation came as a creeping chill, like a trickle of ice water down the nape of his neck. He didn't dare look behind him – he didn't need to, but more importantly, it would slow him down. He couldn't afford to stop now, not for anything, not when he was so close. Keep it together, Kirby. Keep it together. Beneath the mask, his pursuer’s ruby eyes slid down, a fixed scowl obscuring her expression below. Vitrum’s calloused digits grasped her crossbow - already unfolded and against her shoulder. Ears primed to hear every movement her mark would make. The ghostly green moon looming far above her, far above Tajun’s creviced walls - the only natural light in the village. In the nearby Arena Hotel, all was as still and as silent as the sands themselves. It was always like this, the night before the opening ceremony; the long held breath before the glorious battle-cry. Tarix didn't live for that moment the way some of his competitors might – not usually, at least. But tomorrow would mark his first match as Tajun’s First Glatorian, and he couldn't wait. For the first time in years, the nerves were truly getting to him, and his hotel room felt like a prison. At least out here, out in the cold night air, he could indulge a little. Sure, smoking wasn't healthy. Tarix knew that. But there were far worse habits to have, and he could work on giving it up now that Tajun would truly be relying on him. Tonight, though, he needed a little stress relief, and nothing calmed the nerves like a balcony view of his hometown rooftops and a hit of tobacco. Something tugged at Kirbraz, the same primal instinct that had won him his few arena victories, and he ducked beneath a shop tarp that had been left unfurled, backing up until he was hugging the wall. He turned his eyes to the sky, to the stars and the sickly green moon. His would-be killer was up there, somewhere; the alleys themselves were too empty, too silent, for the assassin to be on the ground with him. Already, he feared he had stalled for too long; he looked from side to side, weighing his options. He could keep running directly towards the Arena Hotel, but the fastest route was far too exposed. His every step would be bathed in moonlight. He set off again, a running start into a sprint so hard that he almost gave himself whiplash. He would take the long way around; the shadows could be his ally, too. (recommended listening: Uno (Alex Goose Instrumental Remix) (youtube.com)) Though nothing could betray it, Vitrum was right behind him, having crossed buildings in an instant. Something in the dark folded back into each of her legs as she dove into a quiet roll from a leap, and then entered into pursuit via the buildings above him. Kirbraz, concerned about his assassin’s line of sight, was being betrayed by every sound he made. Vitrum’s ears pricked upward inside her helmet as she lagged behind ever so slightly, turning her head along with her crossbow to the passageways below. Her red eyes narrowed for a quick shot. Kirbraz stumbled – and for one precious moment, his pursuer and her aim overtook him. The Lords themselves must have been on Kirbraz’s side as the bolt struck not him, but the ground just in front of him, the very spot where he should have been. Instinctively, he looked up to catch a glimpse of his assailant. Without hesitation Vitrum fired again, the crossbow’s oiled clockwork machinations dropping another bolt effortlessly. By the time the bolt took Kirbraz in the shoulder, he was already running. Any other night, it would have been agonising; tonight, he barely noticed. Pain didn’t matter, not to the adrenaline coursing through his system, not when he was so close. Kirbraz would not die tonight. Tick. Vitrum’s chase slowed even as Kirbraz’ flight quickened. Even with his eyes wide and lungs in overdrive his muscles weren’t reacting like they should - his gait was shrinking into a staggered sprint. The exhaustion was setting in, perhaps even faster than it should have been. No, it wasn’t exhaustion. His head was swimming. Something was wrong. And Vitrum knew it. Tock. Then it came to his head, like a tobacco head rush but fatal. His vision swayed from side to side across the alleyway, something was glaring up from the roof at him. Poison. Being forced into slow-motion made Kirbraz see one thing more clearly: somehow, the assassin had been following him, attacking with incredible accuracy, even when he should have been out of sight. They were working with cybernetics. What, then? Very likely visual – highly sensitive to movement, or tracking body heat or somesuch. The poison made the situation into even more of a race against time; if he didn't get help, he could be dead in a matter of minutes. He needed to lose his tail, and he had an idea. As Kirbraz stumbled and shambled along, he went crashing through a doorway. He was fairly confident the building would be empty – most places in Tajun were, especially at night. You didn't get real estate prices like these by selling to people who needed homes, after all. The clumsiness – some of it, at least – was an act; Kirbraz’s ability to hold his drink and play drunk simultaneously had always been useful in backroom dealings. Right now, he would use that skillset to keep his assailant confident and complacent. Once he was inside, his next priority was finding a hiding place, and there he finally had an advantage: he knew this place. It was one of Berix’s safehouses, and being the incompetent that he was, they all had nearly identical layouts, including places for stashing both people and drugs. He had seconds to choose a spot; beneath the floor was too risky. He’d be penned in, and worse, the assassin’s enhancements might be able to spot his movement through the gaps between the floorboards. That left the wall. Escape routes could be just as important as hiding spots, and Berix’s paranoia meant he kept plenty. Secret tunnels were a favourite; in this case, a false wall with a narrow passage leading into the next building. Kirbraz could lose his pursuer and get closer to the hotel in the process. The quiet patter of footsteps as the assassin advanced inside the breached building soon stopped. In fact, Vitrum had stopped moving entirely. Her eyes blinked behind the mask. Moments passed, and as far as Kirbraz could hear, it seemed as if she’d been stumped. Tick. If Kirbraz could have seen through walls, he would have seen his assassin staring directly at him from the other room. He breathed ragged and clumsy and although Vitrum couldn’t literally smell blood, she could certainly hear every tick of the clock towards the moment of Kirbraz’ death. Every snort, every intermittent groan and every inhale and exhale. If she was close enough, she could probably have heard his heart desperately trying to pump the alcoholic poison in his veins away from in his chest. Her wrapped feet carried her near silently towards the wall. Tock. She pushed at the wall forcibly with her leg. Kirbraz was practically crawling at this point, and he heard the wall crumple behind him just as he scrambled through the exit. She wasn't following by sight. It must have been sound. Trying to be quiet was pointless – it might even have been detrimental. With all the force he could muster, Kirbraz bellowed a veritable war-cry as he made a mad dash for the door, barreling clumsily through it. He would not die tonight. Not too far above, something gave Tarix pause. Someone, somewhere below, was shouting – no, practically screaming. He searched out the source, and saw a drunk Agori shambling out into the open street. He didn't know why, but something felt off, his well-honed combat instincts picking up on something his conscious mind couldn't identify. It might have been nothing, but he couldn't let it be; he turned from the balcony and walked to his hotel door, ready to make his way downstairs. Instead, he was met with a familiar face, his hand still raised to knock the open door. “Tarix,” the veteran Glatorian said with an easy smile. “I wasn't sure you’d be up.” Vitrum’s own blood pressure finally spiked as the Agori screamed and shambled outside, as she peered out. Not because of the risk of identification but because he was beginning to draw eyes to him. She could hear two people talking in the building nearby although she couldn’t make a word of what they were saying. A drunk Agori in Tajun is hardly a story but a drunk Agori with a crossbow bolt in his shoulder certainly is. The problem with the concoction smeared on the bolts was that they were ultimately meant to slow, not kill. That isn’t to say the poison never killed anyone but its main purpose was of utility, to make a target unable to resist capture or death. Thus it had effectively failed this task. The cybernetics in Vitrum’s legs folded outwards as the silent thrusters boosted her ever so slightly onto a nearby ledge, pulling herself up with little effort. She was back on the rooftops again, looking down at her injured mark. Kirbraz would suddenly hear a whistle from above. It took him a second to even process the sound; the poison had made his limbs and his head so heavy that he could barely even move, but it was already too late for his would-be killer. As he made it out into the street, he saw a light on in a room far above, and a figure silhouetted on the balcony. Already, the figure was gone, but the shutters on the balcony were still open, and Kirbraz knew whoever it was had recognised his plight. His war-cry, intended to deafen his hyper-sensitive opponent, had instead brought the attention of a saviour upon him. Somewhere, the Lords were looking out for Kirbraz, and a dozen prayers went through his mind at once as he struggled to comprehend why. In his short life, Kirbraz had been obsessed with ego and greed, inflicting uncountable evils upon the Wastelands in his attempts to claim power. No more – he had seen the light. He knew at last just how precious life could be! Kirbraz was a man reborn, and he would dedicate every living moment to helping- Suddenly, he remembered the whistle, and looked up. In front of the moon and the deep green sky, his pursuer had the look of a ruby-eyed shadow; still, something about her posture, and those eyes, felt oddly familiar. “Don't I… know you?” “Ackar! Don't tell me you have pre-match jitters?” “You should know by now that I never compete in exhibition matches. Can’t be giving all my moves away before the main event.” He smiled and winked, but the sadness in his eyes betrayed the lie. Once upon a time, he really hadn't wanted to reveal his strategies too early; but now, after a decade representing Vulcanus without a Second Glatorian to succeed him, Ackar had begun to feel his years. That he had won last year's Tournament was a total shock, and he would have to conserve his energy if there was to be any chance of a repeat performance. “No, I came to check on you. Mind if I come in?” “Actually…” Just as Tarix was about to tell Ackar what he had witnessed, he paused. Was whatever he had seen really that serious? Ackar didn't need his years of hard-earned fluency in body language to know something was wrong. “Tell me.” Vitrum’s stance was static, but something about the familiarity in Kirbraz’ voice pierced through her hard boiled veneer. She froze. Thoughts of his new lease on life, even thoughts of survival, found themselves set aside as Kirbraz stared up at the assassin. The way she froze – it meant something, he knew it. If it weren't for this damned poison, he could have- The poison. Reality came crashing back down on Kirbraz, and with it a fresh burst of adrenaline. Even in his compromised state, he began backing away from Vitrum, shuffling across the street. No doubt his hands would be bruised and cut up like no one’s business come morning, but if he wasted any time thinking about that there wouldn't be a morning. Not for him, at least. “It was probably nothing – just a drunk, stumbling through the streets.” “But?” “But it didn't feel right.” Every instinct in Vitrum’s body wanted her to squeeze the trigger mechanism and kill him as he backed away like a cornered dog. And then, suddenly, she put down the crossbow. Her hands grasped around the bottom of her helmet, removing it from her face. One hand grasping the discarded helmet, the other picked up her weapon again, holding it in one hand. Her ruby eyes stared at him, the rest of her face now bare. “You tell me. Do you know me?” Her voice came like a hiss, not having moved from her position. Kirbraz kept crawling back, back into the shadow of the building. He didn't know what to say, didn't know whether to nod or shake his head – she was so familiar, and still he couldn't place her. “Show me where you saw him,” Ackar said, nodding to the balcony. Tarix stepped back to let him in. “No, you don’t. You’re just drunk, and dying.” Vitrum murmured. Her hearing implants had been deactivated in her moment of distraction, her focus broken. She dropped down onto the street, the moonlight catching her face for a moment. With one hand she placed her helmet-mask back on her head, securing the clasps as she approached him and slinging her crossbow over her shoulder again. No more running, no more risks. Kirbraz shook his head. “No- No, I know, I know I’ve seen you before…” He felt the wall of the hotel press against his back. There was nowhere left to run. And then she lunged forward, easily grabbing him by his shoulder and pulling him towards her. Something metal and sharp burst through his insides and poked out of his back with little but a quick whirr. Grunting, she then pushed the man off her sword with difficulty, before the sword collapsed into itself and folded into her hand and back into her belt as she turned to leave, quickly. Kirbraz was dying. He felt cold. Had Tajun nights always been this cold? His head swam with poison and pain, and he struggled to keep his eyes open as the blurry figure began her retreat. It couldn't end like this. This wasn't how it was supposed to go. He’d had a plan. It was Scodonius. It was always Scodonius. He just had to ruin everything. “Think of it as an opportunity.” “You think I want to profit from a man’s death?” And there he went again, running his mouth. Ruining everything. Kirbraz resisted the urge to sigh, and calmed himself with fantasies of beating his arena partner to death. Keep it together, Kirby. “No, we don't. I think what Scodonius meant to say is that this is our only chance to stand up for what’s right. If we as a people decide that this is okay, we won't be able to take that back – and doing nothing can only be interpreted as tacit approval. You knew the victim, didn't you?” Neptum nodded. “Gorum. He was a good kid. Could've had a long career ahead of him.” “Stygia allowed his killer to go free, with nothing more than a slap on the wrist. Doesn't that make you angry?” “I’m sure it was more complex than that-” “It wasn't.” It was. Or, at least, it had been, before he and Scodonius had set the wheels of the rumour mill in motion. The most beautiful thing about a lie was that it was easy. ‘Hard truths’ were hard in more ways than one; a proper investigation and tribunal took weeks, weeks of impatience and gossip and attention-seeking. For every person who was actually there in the Arena Vulcanus that day, there were a dozen more ‘witnesses’ who were all too eager to tell their stories. That was another wonderful thing about lies: they were so much louder. Kirbraz had been in on the ground floor – he and Scodonius had a match scheduled for later that day, which meant they had front-row seats to the tragedy. They were the first to see what no one else could: a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. This was the situation: During an exhibition match in the city of Vulcanus, a young Water Tribe up-and-comer had gone toe-to-toe with the home team’s Second Glatorian. So far, so standard; the kid would probably lose, but if he didn't he would be a shoo-in for Tajun’s own Second. Bouts like these were a denarius a dozen, which only made it more shocking when the fight turned fatal. The opportunity came in the aftermath. What Kirbraz and Scodonius knew, from their ideal vantage points, was that Tueris was unlikely to suffer any real repercussions. And what Kirbraz realised before anyone else was that there was a very convenient narrative that he could encourage to emerge: namely, that the reason Tueris got off easy was his position as Second Glatorian, and Tajun’s failure of leadership on the part of Stygia. And the best part was that their new narrative would be unfalsifiable – the arena had been utter chaos that day, and a sufficiently relentless disinformation campaign could sow doubt in the mind of even the staunchest eye-witness. As for Stygia’s part in the tribunal, any attempt to set the record straight would be coming from the exact people who would benefit most from a cover-up; no one else was in the room where it happened. Better yet, people wanted to believe Kirbraz's version of events. Everyone in Tajun was desperate to make sense of a senseless tragedy, and conspiracy was always more comprehensible than coincidence. Truth was as hard to swallow as it was to establish; lies were beautifully easy. “The people of Tajun are protesting as we speak, but Stygia won't bow to political pressure. Not while she still believes she has your support. You're our First Glatorian; if you come out against her, she’ll have to listen.” Neptum stroked his chin, thoughtfully. “You have an ulterior motive.” “I do,” Kirbraz admitted. Scodonius’ jaw fell open, no doubt thinking of all the times Kirbraz had scolded him for showing his hand; still, Neptum was the type to respond to honesty (or, at least, the appearance of it). Kirbraz knew how to work an audience. “If Stygia steps down, I’m going to stand for election. I don't expect your support, and I won't be the only candidate.” This was also technically true; Scodonius would also be on the ballot. Everyone else they would bribe or threaten into dropping out of the running, and then whoever won – which would be Kirbraz – would co-operate with the other, who would get more leeway than any crime lord had ever had before. That was the pitch, anyway; in reality, Kirbraz knew Scodonius would only get greedy and fuck it all up, like he always did. Instead, Berix would be his puppet kingpin, and Scodonius would be assigned as the Tajunian representative to the Atero City Council, a position that was technically a political office, but would also keep him powerless and far away from Tajun (and, by extension, from Kirbraz). It was the perfect plan. Until it wasn't. Kirbraz had heard before that one’s life would flash in front of their eyes in the moments before their death, but why that memory? Why now? What did Neptum or Stygia have to do with this? Was that the moment when his fate was sealed? Surely that would have been earlier, or later, not- Not Neptum or Stygia. Not even Scodonius. Tueris? No, not him – but close. Another place, another time, another death in the arena. It was so close, on the tip of his tongue- “Filia.” As the realisation dawned, even as Kirbraz finally accepted the inescapability of his death, he couldn't help but laugh. “Of course… of course he would send you. I should've… known. Exile was too… easy.” Lies were easy. Conspiracy was always more comprehensible than coincidence. “Tell him… Tell your boss, that I…” “I don't see him.” Tarix took a step forward, looking out over the balcony railing himself. Ackar could tell by the look on his face that he wasn't satisfied, but the younger Glatorian just shook his head and sighed. “I guess it was nothing. I must be more anxious than I thought.” As Ackar lay a comforting hand on his colleague's shoulder and began dispensing sage advice, Kirbraz was drawing his final breath not too far below, hidden from sight by the shadow of the balcony. Scodonius had a few questions aimed his way. OOC: A massive thank you to @Jesse Pinkman, without whom I could never have given my best material to this subplot. It's been one of the best collaborations I've ever done, in no small part because he's always bringing his A-game. And can you believe I nearly began this whole plotline after the murder? @BULiK gets the credit for convincing me not to, because again, @Jesse Pinkman made this so much better than it would have been if I were working alone. Anyway, that's a wrap on Kirbraz, and a tantalising mystery for any interested PCs to investigate during these cold Tajun nights.

IC: Jeizmel, arriving in Tajun Her eyes widened every so slightly. First-name basis with the honoured Glatorian? Jeiz supposed that after journeying together to reach this place it made sense; but it still felt uncomfortable to her. So few in high positions in Iconox were worthy of her respect these days that she wanted to make sure to show it to one of the only ones who was. But respect was better expressed by honouring her wishes than continuing to address her with titles, wasn't it...? "As you ask... Vraek." It felt as foreign on her tongue as she had expected to not at least preface the warrior's name with a title, like she'd said something incredibly disrespectful. Still, she had asked, so Jeizmel tried hard not to let her discomfort show. At least the Glatorian's following words gave her a distraction from that feeling. "Of course I..." She hesitated, the instinctive response faltering on her tongue. Given her reputation back home, she felt like Vraek was entirely right to ask. "Yeah, I will. I know I'm a loud-mouth back in Iconox, but that's because I care about our tribe so much. Anywhere else, though, I've got no reason to go looking for trouble." Famous last words, perhaps. But she did mean them in the moment; even if her principles may couple with her recklessness to demand otherwise of her in the future. She smiled, genuinely, at the warrior. "Maybe I'll see you again before the tournament is over. Thank you for everything." @Toru Nui

IC: Lutenus (Outskirts of Atero, Training Ground) - That Two Minute Training Match Lasted Almost One Year “That is correct. I don’t believe we’ve wasted any serious amount of time. Although…” Lutenus’ cybernetic eye whirred around, as if taking stock of the position of the sun and clouds in the sky. “I believe it would be prudent to leave as soon as possible.” The eye then snapped to face Mard and Ahmoa, his face following after a short delay. “Thank you for your service, gentlemen.” He then trudged over to them to hand back the dulled axe to Ahmoa. OOC: I realized upon re-reading earlier posts that Lutenus asked earlier what the price was for an hour, and Mard pointed towards a sign with the prices, but at no point did Lutenus actually give them any money, though he did fetch some coin out of his pocket when he asked. I’d like to say he did give them the money, I just forgot to mention it. @oncertainty @Techn0geist IC: Taldrix (Bone Hunter Stronghold, the Tower) - The Old Country “You’re looking for something in the canyons.” She said aloud, looking over the map. “You believe that there might be remnants of the old civilization out there?” Was he really only assuming control of the Gatherers just to search for answers? What happened to his people, and if he’s the only one left? What would he do if he wasn’t the last of his race, and found more of them out there? Would he abandon his position among the Gatherers to join them? No, no, anyone with his intelligence would never give up power that easily. But what if his fellow Great Beings didn’t care much for the Gatherers? After all, their very name implied that Agori were lesser beings. Taldrix couldn’t blame the Ghost for disliking that epithet. But at least it wasn’t sanctimonious slander like ‘Bone Hunter’ was. If it were bones she was interested in, she’d have stayed in Roxtus. In any case, she couldn’t trust that whatever the Ghost was spending precious manpower and resources to find existed, and that it wouldn’t be bad for her if it did. ‘Answers to the questions that plagued them both?’ Well. They’d see, wouldn’t they? @a goose

IC: Crucius (The Crossroads) Lords above. She was a comedian. “Crucius,” he growled. Then again… Zha’ar. Where had he heard that name before? No. Not heard. Read. She was on the list. It all started to come back to him – the lone wanderer with the lame leg, and a truly impressive suite of skills to compensate. “You're the nomad who doesn't kill, aren't you?” His voice was surprisingly free of judgement. OOC: @Nato G

IC: Zha'ar - The Crossroads She brought Solis to a stop a few metres short of the stopped bike, lowering her hand. The Agori's choice to greet her with words instead of weapons was promising, though it was clear he was still wary of her. "I am Zha'ar, conqueror of the crossed paths, taker of treasures, and, uh... scourge of... this general area," she proclaimed, wishing she'd taken the time to make up some fake titles before engaging in conversation. "Who are-" a gasp escaped her as her eyes settled on the mechanical arm gripping the vehicle's controls. “Wait, you’re him! The one they’re always whispering about. With the painful sounding name. What was it? Excruciating… Excremen-no, no, definitely not that. Sorry, what is it?” @a goose

IC: Crucius (The Crossroads) Crucius chuckled mirthlessly. There was a grim, all-too-predictable irony to it; of course he would be ambushed. On his own, he looked like any other traveller. Still, his would-be assailant appeared to be one of his own, if their decision to wave to him before they began shooting was any indication. He pulled his Cendox into a sharp turn, its front blades kicking up sand as it ground to a halt. He did not return the stranger’s gesture; his exsidian hand remained exactly where it was, ready to rev up the engine should the situation turn hostile. “What's your name, Gatherer?” OOC: @Nato G

IC: Kirbraz (Staff NPC; The Shadiest Spot on Bara Magna) Is this guy screwing with me? For just a moment, blind panic was overwhelmed by sheer, all-consuming confusion. A moment was long enough; his terrified trance broken, Kirbraz could think again. Keep it together, Kirby. Kirbraz may not have been smart – he was relieved of such illusions when he got himself into this situation – but he wasn't stupid, either. If he took a second to breathe, he could break this down. What on Bara Magna is this guy’s deal? The more he thought about it, the more obvious the answer became; his jaw hung aloft with dawning horror. Good Lords above... The man's an idiot. It all made sense: his basic vocabulary, his gruff affect. Maybe he was brain-damaged; perhaps he was just born half-cooked. No matter the means, it was quite apparent that Kirbraz was dealing with some manner of simpleton. He really was fucked. There was no telling how long Skyra might be in there – for all he knew, she could be under heavy anaesthetic, receiving some new implant. She might not even be able to drive him when she came to (or, at least, being her passenger would be even more ill-advised than usual, and Kirbraz already had one death-sentence too many to deal with right now). There was no way Kirbraz could get out of Tajun. He needed a new plan. And he had an idea. “Uh… you know what, sir, I think I’ll just, uh, I think I'll be fine on my own. Just forget you ever saw me.” With that, he turned on his heels. There was still one place in Tajun where he might be safe – the Arena Hotel. Every village leader, bar Scodonius and Raanu, would be staying there ahead of the opening ceremony tomorrow. He wouldn't dare touch Kirbraz in there, and Kirbraz himself might be able to appeal to Ackar for help as Vulcanus' representative. He could still survive this. Probably. OOC: @Jesse Pinkman IC: Crucius (The Crossroads) It had been far too long since Crucius had last travelled alone. For the better part of a year, he had been the Ghost’s envoy and his emissary, spreading his message of change and unity to the disparate Gatherer clans. Naturally, change and unity being anathema to his people, that message was not always well-received. Despite being a formidable fighter, Crucius was not quite equipped to take on a whole clan by himself, and so diplomatic journeys were always undertaken with back-up. Most recently, he had travelled with Metus, perhaps the single most aggravating man he had ever met. If the Ghost allowed it, Crucius would happily have picked him up by the head and pulverised his smug, puny little overly-talkative skull. Unfortunately, he was the useful variety of idiot, and thus his cranium had to remain tragically and inconveniently convex. Thankfully, the two of them had parted ways in Vulcanus so that the Ice Agori could journey onward to Tajun for the Exhibition Matches, and although this left Crucius without a means of transportation, it was also doing wonders for his headache. With his Rock Steed back in the Stronghold, he had instead acquired a Cendox from a very cooperative dealership and set off on his journey home. His only hope was that Taldrix had not yet allowed Fero to burn the entire settlement to the ground in his absence. In the meantime, it was just Crucius, the sands and the desert sun. Simple, blessed peace, at long last. OOC: @Nato G IC: Tueris (Staff NPC; Valley of Death) Tueris looked to his fellow Vulcanusian and gave him the nod. “You go with him. Your cave, your call. Watch each other’s backs and the rest of us will keep a watch out here.” OOC: @oncertainty @Burnmad and all the other Ferrum folks

IC: Lorqua - Training Ground, Outskirts of Atero Lorqua opened her mouth to answer Lutenus, then flicked her eyes over to Mard as he asked after their destination. "Tajun, of course," she says. The words came out quickly. Almost automatic, her thoughts already elsewhere. Followed quickly by her eyes, which give Lutenus a pointed look. She still remember why they were here. Lorqua wouldn't let standing on ceremony keep her from what she wanted to know. She didn't have any animus for the Agori, but she had to know. "Tajun is where every Glatorian as upstanding as Lutenus is going, I'm told. And rather a few not so upstanding, like yours truly. Lutenus, is that the plan?" OOC: @Toru Nui @Techn0geist IC: Skrall - Markets, the Bone Hunter Stronghold Skrall had been listening idly to his fellows. He strayed, but not far. The Bone Hunters' stalls were not entirely different from the casemates of supplies in Roxtus, but the shopkeepers kept catching his gaze. Renegades, the most of them, although the occasional genuine southerner in their unbelievably garish armour passed under his moving eye. Other than their eyes, however, his surroundings were a blur. He kept meeting their eyes. They stared out towards him. Some curiously neutral and dead, like a beast of burden, meeting his own gaze but not following it. Others looked hungry, leering towards him, gesturing to their wares. He—briefly—flattered himself that only the former knew what he was. But, they all did. They could all see that, Skrall or not, he was very far from what he knew. With a shudder, Skrall rejoins his fellows. "The way this market operates, looks like all they see is value. Value that can be... exchanged. But, it seems they know us at least as well as we know them. Enough reason for us to move cautiously. For now." OOC: @a goose@BULiK@Nato G@Burnmad@Mel@Toru Nui@Vezok's Friend IC: Escus - The Valley of Death "Good eye..." Escus intones, his gaze following Selamat's point towards the mouth of the cave. One hand shadowed his eyeline, the Water Glatorian's eyes less well-used to the high sun than most. He felt a bead of sweat on the corner of his mouth, and pursed his lips to stop the moisture from escaping. He hefts the axe in both hands. "Ensure it's not already occupied, hmm? Well. If it helps, I volunteer. These eyes are used to the shade." It's bravado, of course. But Escus' tone is sober. He sounds resigned. OOC: @a goose @Nato G @Burnmad @Toru Nui @~Xemnas~

I finally got around to watching the video, and man was it epic. I wish I watched it earlier. I find it so fascinating how BIONICLE came about because LEGO wanted to make a bridge between System and TECHNIC, and BIONICLE ended up totally eclipsing TECHNIC. I don’t know the numbers (TECHNIC has definitely stayed in stores longer) but I never hear anyone nostalgic for those set, or having dreams about finding TECHNIC on shelves. It’s really a testament to how much of a surprise success BIONICLE was and how not even LEGO themselves knew what they were tapping into at the time.

IC: Skrall (Bone Hunter Stronghold, Marketplace) - He Is Not Immune to Propaganda Skrall didn’t seem convinced by the ‘quicksand’ explanation. Depravity was weakness. His comrades did not seem to believe in the Black Legion’s invincibility and infallibility - not to the same extent as their superiors did. Perhaps that was why they were their superiors - this lack of confidence was potentially holding them back from elevation to what would otherwise be their proper place. As opposed to himself, of course, whom he was fairly certain was always going to die as one of the Warrior-class - preferably in combat, though that should go without saying. Once more, he looked with sadness at those who were once his brothers, enslaved to the will of the vile Renegades, who now would most likely perish ingloriously in forced servitude. Not that Skrall had a choice in servitude anyway. But servitude to the Black Legion was superior and vastly preferable, being to the benefit of all Skrall - and eventually, all people - and not the Renegades. There was an obvious, clear difference. And it was obvious. There was no doubt. It was obvious… What were they talking about? The possibility of the Renegades ambushing them as they left for the south? He decided to focus on that. If he thought too much about what he knew to be true, he started to foolishly question it. @Vezok's Friend @a goose @BULiK @Burnmad @Nato G @oncertainty IC: Taldrix (Bone Hunter Stronghold, the Tower) - Happy Endling Not the last survivor, then - the last descendant. Did he kill any others that might have lived? He seemed a little too happy at the prospect that he might be an endling - the last of his race. It was possible that he was right to do so, if the Great Beings were as powerful as the myths claim, that power would inevitably be used to lord over the Agori. Specifically, the Agori known as Taldrix. But then, here he was, leading the Gatherers. So it was likely that no one in this scenario was an innocent party. Except the Agori known as Taldrix. That Agori examined the table before her… @a goose IC: Xyde (Iron Canyon) - On the Menu Xyde had been expecting some snide comparison between their people and the carrion birds perched above them, but it didn’t seem to be coming. At least, not for now. Perhaps later. Or if anyone was thinking it, it was being kept to themselves. Perhaps that was a little harsh, but then, so was the environs. They wondered if this was how livestock felt, surrounded by creatures that only saw you as a potential future meal. If they could understand their situation at all, of course. They felt the need to glare defiantly at the scavengers above for a few moments, before trudging along, following the others. @a goose @Nato G @~Xemnas~ @Burnmad @oncertainty

IC: Kirbraz (Staff NPC; The Shadiest Spot on Bara Magna) In the hours after his plan had entirely collapsed, Kirbraz had a great deal of time to think. He thought about how Scodonius had entirely defied his expectations by stealing the Tajun election from him; he thought about how he should have realised that he had not accomplished that feat alone. Most of all, he thought about how his latest scheme had relied upon the idea that he and Scodonius were, effectively, interchangeable. It was a premise which had guided many of his plans, not least that fateful election. He and his arena partner would 'encourage' the other candidates to withdraw, and whoever won would lead Tajun, with the other in charge of its underworld. Naturally, he had always intended to betray Scodonius; after all, the man had always been too power-hungry for his own good. He wouldn't be satisfied with anything short of total control, which meant that he would inevitably have used his position to usurp Kirbraz. It was on that basis that Kirbraz had secretly offered leadership of Tajun's criminal element to the far more malleable Berix (and Scodonius, ever a font of originality, had done the same). But all of it had ultimately hinged on the fact that Scodonius wasn't smart enough to overcome the odds Kirbraz had stacked against him. Kirbraz had failed to consider how ruthlessness and short-sighted greed could do what brains could not. It was now apparent to him that, though their late-night rendezvous (rendezvi? rendezvouses?) were a recent development, Scodonius and his secret friend had been working together for far longer. But it all still begged the question: why Scodonius? The most obvious answer was that rigging the election left him immediately indebted. It was efficient, but it was also a great deal of effort, and risked exposing his benefactor's interest in Tajun politics. There were doubtless safer, and less cumbersome, ways to have left Kirbraz similarly indebted. There could only be one conclusion: it was not for Scodonius' benefit alone. For whatever reason, the Benefactor needed Scodonius in power. So, again, Kirbraz had to ask himself why? Scodonius was stupid, petty, and short-sighted. So, too, was Kirbraz. He could never have admitted it before, but here, in the final hours of his short and wasted life, he had achieved a clarity heretofore unknown to him; the only real difference between him and Scodonius was that he asked more questions. That was it, then. That was why Scodonius was chosen over him. That was why he was going to die. Kirbraz would have realised the sheer lengths to which the Benefactor was going to keep his interest in Tajun a secret could only mean that he knew something about Tajun that no one else did. That was the real, truly frustrating irony of it all: that Kirbraz didn't even understand the conspiracy that he would be killed to protect. With the effort to which the Benefactor had gone, and his newfound self-comprehension, Kirbraz couldn't help but doubt that he would ever have worked it out, even if he did have more time. The thought gave him pause. If he couldn't have figured it out anyway, then why go to the effort of empowering Scodonius? Kirbraz hadn't been overlooked because he would discover the Benefactor's true motivations – he had been overlooked because his investigations would have tipped off someone who could. And not only that, but the fact that his life was in danger meant that he already knew enough to set them on the right path. Therefore – even with blackmail now off the table – his information still had value. Value enough to be exchanged for protection. Right now, all of the most powerful people in the Wastelands were in Tajun, gathered for the exhibition match. All but one – naturally, the only one he could trust. Raanu. If he was going to survive the night, Kirbraz would need to find a ride to Vulcanus.

IC: Lorqua - Training Ground, Outskirts of Atero Lorqua stepped back as Lutenus came towards her, desert-honed reflexes kicking in as they always did. She could almost see the flow of blood on sand, hear the cries of battle. Then taut cordage bit into her back, and she was reminded of the realities of her situation. Full awareness returned to her with the familiar throb of injury. A welcome sensation, because it meant she hadn't gone into shock. She was alive. Still, there was time enough for that to change yet. But in the critical moments before Lutenus arrived she noticed something. Evident only in contrast with his mechanical lack of hesitation thus far, Lorqua noticed a change. Not quite a moment of uncertainty. But, all the same, the swing lacked commitment. Given how he had been fighting thus far? It might as well have been a Skopio rising from the floor of the arena. Not certain that what she was doing was entirely legal, Lorqua threw up her shield to intercept Lutenus' swing. Rather than aiming for his axe, she aimed for his arm. She threw her weight behind it, trying to push through him and get back into the open field. If she had to take the blow from the axe all the same, she would take that trade. OOC: @Toru Nui @Techn0geist IC: Skrall - Bone Hunter Stronghold Seizing the opportunity afforded by the moment of silence, Skrall leapt over the side of the cart. Cybernetic claws extended from the soles of his feet, and he did not sink into the sand as he landed. Giving the Spikit an ample berth, he jogged forward to come in line with the lead cart, keeping pace with ease as they slowed to enter the stronghold. He would not meet the Bone Hunters sitting down. If this was to be the gate to the new world, he would go through it on his feet. OOC: @skrall IC: Escus - Precipere Guardhouse As his companions rose and made to leave, Escus turned away from his contemplation of the wall. "If we are already doing as they wish," he offered the comment nearly under his breath, his appraisal of the recent revelations clear. "Then we shall need as many as we can get. If surprise is no longer an option, I mean." He wore a lopsided smile. It was harsh, he realized, but he preferred to make his views known now. They would be of no use to anyone later. OOC: @a goose @Nato G @Burnmad @~Xemnas~

IC: Avinus - Tajun Streets "Certainly shows ya where people's priorities lie," she said, winking at a passing group of gawking Agori, "A lotta these folks aint gonna watch us fight a regular match when it's over vital supplies for Tajun, but kickin' butt in the name of village pride and braggin' rights really brings in the crowds." @Emzee

IC: Luka — Streets of Tajun "Exactly!" Maybe it was just Luka, but it felt like as the day continued to wind down into the evening, the town square became even more bustling than it already was. It was only after his affirmation that he started to notice more eyes on them. A few Agori tourists would occasionally slow their step or stop completely to steal a glance at the two armed Glatorian, perhaps out of awe. "I tell ya, one thing that will take getting used to is this extra attention," Luka said to Avinus. OOC: @Nato G

IC: Del - Celrys's Workshop, Tajun The Ferrumite sat transfixed by the aquarium for a time, the organic fish flitting and twirling so graceful through the water, the robo-fish turning and darting sharply around in grotesque imitation, eyes struggling to settle on any one specimen. The voice from the far door broke their trance, Del's head snapping towards it. <<Analysing scenario.>> They followed Celrys as he approached and sat and grinned with impish glee, beckoning for their lurid tale and gleaming with garish gold; a picture of nauseating excess. <<Unknown quantity.>> No familiarity passed through the Glatorian's head at all. This man in front of them, this clinic, this city. Not a hint. Del's eyes bored through Celrys's lens and, one more time, uttered the words that had brought them so far across the desert. "Find Celrys. He's your father I suppose." <<Query.>> "Father is?" they repeated, still without answer. <<Clarification.>> Putting together context clues, the analytical mind queried further. "Celrys... is? Celrys... you?" OOC: @Snelly @Morgan Yu @a goose

OOC: a jam with the irreplaceable, irreducible, irreparable @Morgan Yu (extra Yu's not included) IC: Scodonius (Staff NPC) and Vitrum (The Shadiest Spot on Bara Magna) Scodonius was, at this stage in his illustrious career, rather used to getting his own way. So when his secret friend told him, in no uncertain terms, to put out a hit on the closest thing he had to a brother (it was only natural to hate one’s siblings with a burning passion and endeavour to see them fail miserably in all their efforts, he’d been told) and Scodonius replied, ‘No, you do it’ – well, it came as something of a surprise that the suggestion wasn’t met with immediate and enthusiastic agreement. Now, should it have been a surprise, particularly given who he was dealing with? Perhaps not. But if Scodonius had allowed himself to be governed by words like ‘should,’ he would never have made it so far in life. Still, here he was, spending his afternoon in his home office instead of his personal pool, speaking to some sword-for-hire. Was it beneath him? Obviously, but that wouldn't keep him from maintaining his standard grace and decorum. She was a professional, after all, even if said 'profession' was distasteful. Why in the names of the Lords did I not just order Berix to handle this? "So, I understand you're, a, uh… a woman of discretion." The sellsword gave a single, measured nod in response. Two ruby eyes peered at the gangster through her helmet. The collar of Scodonius’ shirt felt suddenly tight. “Would you- I mean, that is, can I get you a glass of water?” She shook her head. “Ah. Right down to business, I see. I like that.” He did not like that. He swallowed hard before continuing, suddenly very aware of how dry his mouth was. “Well, you see, I asked you here today because of a problem I have. Well, it’s not just me, but I- right, no, it is me. Not that – I’m not the problem. It’s my problem. And you have a reputation in certain circles as something of a problem-solver.” “I’ll need a name, and I’ll need a timeframe.” The words came out clear, paced and precise. “Kirbraz. He’s – that is, he was – my arena partner, from back in the day. He’s uh, blue, black, actually looks a lot like me. Less handsome, of course.” He gave what he hoped was a winning smile, and felt immediately glad he didn’t have a mirror. “And, uh, time, yes. Soon. As soon as possible. Yesterday, even. I mean- well, you know what I mean. You’re a pro. You get it.” It seemed as if the mercenary moved upright ever so slightly. Scodonius flinched. “Kirbraz. And you have no qualms on how it is handled?” She placed a thumb on her chin. "Handled?" Scodonius squeaked. She stared back. "I mean, you know, main thing is just that it is handled. But like, don't, uh, don't be too rough on the guy." He shrugged, committally, and tried to blink back sweat from his eyes. “Meaning what? Do you want him killed, or not?” The mercenary leaned forward by inches. “What? Yes. Obviously, yes.” For once, confusion and indignation momentarily won out over anxiety. “That’s why I’m hiring you. To, y’know, to take care of him. That’s the whole deal.” She kept her glare, pensively idle before nodding a final time. “I’ll need half the pay, up front. No contact until I’m finished.” "So, uh… when it's done, how do I get in touch?" With that, the assassin stood up from her chair, setting the clips on her cloak and rolling her shoulders. Scodonius could just about glimpse her sword on her waist. “I’m staying at the Scarabax’s Delight, third room, first floor. Any unforeseen elements or emergencies, leave a message for ‘Vitrum’ at the front desk.” She glanced back up to Scodonius, ruby eyes seeming to cut more like diamonds. “But I’ll let you know myself, once the mark has been killed.” "Well, excellent. This, uh, this should cover the… deposit?" He slid a small, bulging cloth bag across the desk. It made a sound not unlike what one might expect from a set of incredibly expensive wind chimes, which also happened to be full of money. In this respect, those wind chimes would be a great deal like the bag. Vitrum reached for said bag, fingers attached to scarred knuckles prying the knot open to take a look inside. Beneath her mouthpiece her lips quietly mouthed the count of the coins as she carefully, but quickly, placed a stack of coins onto the desk they’d both been sat at. Before long she’d decanted all of the denarii onto the desk - quite an expensive deposit all in all. And then, finally, she shifted one of the small piles over to Scodonius. “Your count was high.” She stated, simply. Scodonius blinked, incredulous. She really was a pro. With that, Vitrum scooped the rest of the money into the cloth bag with care, tying it off with little effort and stuffing it somewhere beneath her cloak, with a brief bob of her head to her employer before she made for the door. The clock was ticking - and Tajun nights were cold.

IC: Dornak (North of Vulcanus, south of the Skrall River) - The Devil You Know Ferrum had fallen. Well, this wasn’t liable to go well for anyone in Vulcanus, least of all him. If the Skrall heard that Ferrum had gone to the sands and that he hadn’t told them… the sight of their buzzsaw shields was burnt into his mind. They looked sharp. He didn’t do well with sharpy bits poked into him. Besides, whatever had happened to Ferrum has a chance of happening to its neighbours. Therefore, Rock Tribe spy or no, the logical decision was not to investigate the crisis like some sort of idiot. No, the best thing to do was get as far away from the danger zone as possible. As soon as the news reached his ears, Dornak made his excuses, departed Vulcanus as quick as he could, and began heading north on his Thornatus. If anyone asked - nobody would ask, but in case anybody did - he was going to Atero to see the Games. He was most certainly not gonna tell Roxtus about Ferrum. Even if he was, what was the problem? The Skrall didn’t get out much, if he didn’t tell ‘em about the… whatever had happened, who would? Should he have stuck around longer, to make sure he actually knew what was going on? No, no - this was definitely the best course of action, and he definitely wasn’t telling himself that because heading back would look suspicious and, as said, take him further towards an unknown danger in the stead of a known one. The Skrall were a nasty lot, but they were gonna win, everyone knew it, and at least he knew what their deal was, rather than whatever had hit Ferrum. What if it were a natural disaster? How was he gonna cozy up to an earthquake? You’d need- “WHAT THE-?!” A caravan being pulled by a particularly nasty looking Spikit - though Spikit always looked particularly nasty - appeared out of nowhere and almost caused him to have an accident. His sharpened instinct for avoiding painful, horrible death made him swerve out of the way just in time, and through the plumes of kicked up sand he got a good look at the person at the front guiding them… Ash Agori. Bloody grave-robbing psychopaths, every single one of ‘em. When Dornak died - hopefully in the distant future, in his bed, when death was a mercy - he at least wanted the dignity of burial, not having his stuff filched and his innards cooked for supper, or whatever they did in that cliffside abattoir of theirs. The driver must have noticed his feelings on his face, as they flashed an evil looking grin as they went past. Dornak put his foot on the gas, and began speeding back to Atero as fast as his Thornatus would take him, the roar of the engine drowning out the snarls of the Spikit. Better the devil you know… better the devil you know… IC: Maxas (North-east of Tajun, the Skrall River) - With Friends Like These… They said that the river was once an actual river. Stories are told that precious water once sprung plentiful from the Great Volcano like it were a fountain, through the winding, jagged terrain of the Black Spike Mountains, heading south-west straight through Atero, before eventually pooling at Sandray Canyon. Of course, history was written by Agori, and Agori were deceitful, self-interested, and prone to embellishment. The Skrall River may have once been a true river, running water instead of sand, but the truth was likely to lost to time… and if it had been a river, no doubt it had been the work of the Skrall that defiled it… or the Element Lord of Sand! Or the Vorox and Zesk - they weren’t the animals everyone else thought they were! Everyone else may choose to willfully blind but such a life wasn’t for Maxas… hence, why they all seemed to have it out for him… “MAXAS!” How else could this be explained? “Oooh, it’s so good to see you! I don’t, uh, suppose I could convince you to-” The water merchant slammed the brakes on his Cendox, and after a moment of being confused, Dornak did the same on his Thornatus. Engines died as the sand the two vehicles thrust up into the air fell back down to rejoin the endless desert. Dornak apparently thought this meant Maxas had accepted whatever he was about to ask, as he dismounted his vehicle, chuckling. “Ahahahah… you know, you could… you could’a just slowed down!” He wiped a bead of sweat from his brow. “I mean… that kinda increases the risk of accident-” Without warning, Maxas leapt off his Cendox, brandishing his war hammer. Dornak resembled a panicked Zesk, with enlarged eyes as he backed away towards his Thornatus. “N-now, l-l-let’s - let’s not - if this is about the last Games, I swear, I thought the odds were-” Wordlessly, staring daggers, Maxas kept forcing Dornak back towards his vehicle until his back was pressed against it. Before Dornak could leap back on, Maxas suddenly grabbed hold of him and threw him down on the sand beside them. The Fire Agori continued his involuntary Zesk impression as he scurried backwards on his bottom, away from the crazy man with the hammer. “I’m onto you, you little guzzler-” A grievous insult among Tajunians, meaning one who drank water too greedily. “I know exactly what your play is.” “I-I-I-I-” Dornak suddenly thrust himself back to his feet, though the effort he spent doing this instead of keeping on backing up meant that he was suddenly within hammering range. “I assure you, you got it all wrong, it’s not-” “Oh yes - I know that we’ve suddenly ‘lost contact’ with Ferrum. I know you’re in Raanu’s pocket, going around, spreading the ‘official story’-” “‘RAANU?!’” Dornak cried incredulously. “I’ve never even MET Raanu! Have YOU ever met Scodonius!?” “Blaming every single problem you have on the Ash Tribe… and ME, of course. You think I’m as stupid as the rest of them?! The links in this chain are OBVIOUS - Raanu works with Scodonius, Scodonius works with Berix, Berix works with Metus, Metus works with the Skrall, the Skrall work with-” “I DON’T WORK FOR THE SKRALL!” Dornak blurted out. “PLEASE, PLEASE PUT THE HAMMER DOWN - I JUST WANT A DRINK OF WATER!” Maxas stared at Dornak for a moment, as if his eyes were going to extend out of their socket to take a closer look at the wretched miscreant… and then, he suddenly relaxed, holstered his hammer, and walked back to his Cendox. “Oh, very well then… after all, if you SAY IT then it MUST be true…” Dornak breathed a sigh of relief as Maxas went into passive-aggressive mode rather than simply aggressive. “Th-thanks, Maxie! L-look, th-this ‘chain’... I’m not in on it!” “Mm-hmm.” Maxas grunted, preparing Dornak’s drink. He made sure it wasn’t one of the poisonous or acidic ones… if he killed Dornak, they’d know he was onto them… besides, Dornak was his ‘man on the inside’, as it were. And of course, the best way to Dornak’s heart was to threaten him with bodily harm. “N-no, really! I mean, you and I… we’re mates, pals, chums!” “Mm.” “I mean, us little guys, all Bara Magna out to get us - we gotta stick together!” “As you say…” “And, ergo, being on the same team and all, we should-” “Pay up, Dornak.” Suppressing a groan, Dornak very quickly got out the coin and exchanged it for the drink he was hoping he could coax from Maxas for free. “We never had this conversation.” “Yes we didn’t - er, no we didn’t…” Dornak looked northward with intent, so Maxas would also look northward and thus wouldn’t notice Dornak dusting the sand off his backside. “So… off to Atero to sell water at the Games?” Maxas narrowed his eyes in suspicion… but this was a reasonable inference for Dornak to make, so it didn’t prove anything. “Something like that…” “Right! So, safety and numbers and all, we should-” “You’re driving in front of me.” “O-of course! Of course! Of course…” The two Agori re-mounted their vehicles, Thornatus ahead of Cendox, and sped off, following the Skrall River northward to the capital, both wondering why the world seemed to out to get them… IC: Lutenus (Streets of Atero) - I’ve Got My Eye on You Atero. Jewel of the desert. Host to the Games, where the mighty Glatorian would face each other in glorious combat for their village’s glory. “Oh, erm - Glatorian of Tesara!” The water merchant said, as he caught sight of a muscular figure in green with a menacing mechanical eye approaching his recently parked Cendox, which meant he was either about to be robbed, intimidated, or patronized, in either meaning of the word. Or Dornak had already managed to betray him within minutes of their arrival. “In need of refreshment?” Where had Dornak gone off to in such a hurry, anyway? “Quite so.” With the barest hint of a smile, Lutenus placed the requisite coin on the hood of the vehicle, his smile widening as he delighted in one of the metal pieces began spinning on its edge for a few seconds before settling down. The merchant seemed to eye the coins, as if trying to appraise their authenticity, before handing him the agreed upon ‘refreshment.’ “Here you go, sir…” “Ahah - Lutenus, please.” The Glatorian said, taking the bottle off Maxas’ hands, sloshing the water around as he tilted it around in his hand. “‘Sir’ is a little too formal for my tastes. For that matter, so is ‘Glatorian of Tesara. You may refer to me as Glatorian Lutenus, if decorum is a necessity-” “It is in this business - water. Can’t live with it, can’t live without it. In days past, men would slaughter one another merely for the promise of a few drops.” The way the merchant smiled seemed off, as if he didn’t really feel like talking, but did so for his customer’s sake. Lutenus nodded, pretending to care, as he took the lid off the bottle. Indeed, people did die over this, continued to die other it, and a great deal many other things. Sooner or later, they’d have to accept that unification was a necessity. Of course, that meant one village over all others - an equal partnership was what they had now, after all. And at the end of the day, being placed in the heart of the desert, adjacent to Atero, there was only one viable candidate. Maxas didn’t like the way his customer was looking at him - his smile was transparently false, as were most smiles that came his way. What concerned him more was that accursed eye, that looked like it was staring through his flesh and into his spirit. He tried to ignore it, but the way his cybernetic eye whirred and clicked and buzzed unnerved him. Then, he drank the water right there and then. As he turned away to drink, Maxas saw it. A strange, mechanical artifice, attached to the back of his head… no, it was IN his head, flesh and bone giving way to metal. Whatever it was, it didn’t seem to be in operation, unlike the eye, the aperture of which was closing and opening in a regular pattern. He recognized the handiwork - Celrys. The mad mechanist who kept trying to convince people to replace their body parts with cold, unfeeling machinery… and who kept succeeding. This Glatorian was clearly a true believer in his madness, if he let those Celtech lunatics lodge one of their dangerous pet projects in his skull. The eye suddenly turned to face the merchant, who jolted in surprise. “Do my enhancements disturb you?” The faintest hint of amused derision crept into the Glatorian’s voice. “...Is it… pardon me for asking, but is that device in your brain?” He asked, nervously. The grin he gave wasn’t very reassuring. “I assure you, it’s perfectly safe.” It wasn’t, of course. But no great advance was taken without great risk or sacrifice. And it was no business of this lowly materialist, in any case. “Hmmm.” Maxas didn’t seem convinced. The eye still kept whirring, as Lutenus stared at Maxas, his lidless cyber eye imposed upon him. “Men may kill for water…but water keeps you alive. Tradition won’t quench your thirst, sake your hunger, or save your life. You won’t be needing it where we’re going…” And with his ominous warning for the day delivered, Lutenus took the remainder of the drink with him. What an odd man, Maxas thought to himself, as he made doubly sure these coins weren’t counterfeit… IC: Vraek (Streets of Atero) - When in Doubt… Though imperfect, the way of the Glatorian had kept peace in the desert for as long as anyone could remember. The opportunity to do battle within the Arena Magna, fighting for the good of your tribe and tribesmen was a great honour. So why did Vraek feel nothing but shame? She knew why, of course. The slaves. The dealings with the Bone Hunters. And whatever unspoken deeds Metus and his entourage had certainly done behind closed doors. It made all of it feel… hollow, and sullied. But Metus was not Iconox, and neither was Vraek. No singular person made a tribe, or determined its purpose. These dishonourable actions would not taint the Ice Tribe as a whole forever, just as Metus could not rule forever. Her victory or defeat here would have little impact on the tribe’s agenda as a whole. Speaking of dishonour - she saw him. Lutenus. The cyborg. Drink of water in hand, just to make him seem more evil. His lifeless, clockwork eye turned to look at her, and for a moment, she felt as if she was back in the White Quartz as a chill passed over her. Lutenus tried to stifle his amusement as the ‘pure’ Ice Glatorian recoiled. “Oh dear, Vraek, is something the matter?” He said with a dung-eating grin, knowing fully what ‘the matter’ was. He tilted his head so she could somewhat see the processor. “Nothing whatsoever. How have you been? Has that device in your skull given you any trouble?” “Rather the opposite, in fact. I have been doing rather wonderfully as of late. And you? I see you’ve neglected to take my advice… or pay attention to what’s happening around you, as usual.” The eye made strange noises as it panned down to Vraek’s feet and very slowly made its way up. “Though admittedly, your choice to remain ‘stock,’ as it were, has its…” He searched for the right word. “Perks, aesthetically.” “I don’t need toys to see clearly, freak.” Vraek hissed, dropping all pretense of civility. Lutenus rolled his eyes - which made the metal one make a whirring noise - and clicked his tongue. “And here I was, hoping for a civil conversation. But then, what can you expect, from associates of Hunters?” Fuming, Vraek glared at Lutenus, trying to suppress the urge to rip that thing out of his skull and make him eat it. “That is not my doing-” “No, of course not - well, I must be off then! I hope you at least have fun in the arena. That’s all that matters in the end, isn’t it?” Lutenus stepped away, but kept his eye on Vraek, not fully trusting her to not attack him while his back was turned which was also very insulting for her. Her hand balled into a fist… and then slackened. Ultimately, Lutenus’ choice to desecrate his body and essentially cheat in the arena was his own… and Iconox was exploiting those with choice robbed from them. Whatever. Let him and the others keep their precious tools. They would inevitably fail them when they needed them the most, she was certain of it… Doubt raced in her mind. Was she going to fail Iconox when they needed her the most? When in doubt, drown it out… where was the nearest inn? IC: Skrall (Roxtus, Parade Grounds) - He Is Skrall One Skrall had thoughts on this subject. These games that the southerners played. They battle for glory and material gain. Not so different from Skrall. Why did Leader Tirveus scorn it? Unimportant. He is Skrall. Skrall do not question. Preparations must be made. Training. He had heard that the southerners do not purposefully kill in their arenas. He hoped that this was not the case. Defeat in training was one thing, but there were true stakes to this contest. A warrior chosen to participate who failed would know life worse than death. They would either claim their own life or offer it up to the desert. The southerners were cruel indeed, if what he had heard was true. Conquest would save them. IC: Taldrix (Bone Hunter Stronghold) - And You May Find Yourself Living in a Shotgun Shack Not Hunters. Gatherers. The item screamed as the nails were planted into his face. He howled in pain. His low pain tolerance would have to be noted. This one was sub–standard. Taldrix noted this down. Well, that was the last of them. All slaves tagged and accounted for. At this rate, they would soon surpass their quota for this month… How had it come to this? She made a stop at where the Rock Steeds were kept to feed Nuth, her only real companion, before continuing on schedule. She needed to check the special item recovered. She was clearly in no condition to be sold, but she still needed to be catalogued. Procedure must be maintained. They were not the savages they claimed they were. She could still hear him screaming. Her hands turned to the Spice she kept with her- No, she needed to remain focused. They were Gatherers. Not Hunters. There was nothing wrong here. Nothing at all. The only thing wrong was that she was here, and not home. This, all of this, was beneath her! Forced to live and scrounge like Zesk! Curse the Skrall! May they skewer themselves on the Black Spikes! IC: Xyde (Precipere, Guardhouse) - Ashes to Ashes… Apart from almost becoming roadkill as a result of a particularly inattentive motorist, the journey beyond the safety of Precipere to retrieve more medical supplies went as well as could be expected - given that they’d utterly failed to retrieve said supplies in question. Zin and Zyn had to be calmed down after that little incident, but at least the look on that Fire Agori’s face was worth it as he zoomed by… That being said, they tried to avoid any further encounters with the Vulcanians on the road back to Precipere. Yes, leaving them to rot in a pit while their possessions go to waste is the best way to honour the dead. Clearly. As the wagon strode onto the edge of Precipere, Xyde dismounted and threw Zin and Zyn another pair of treats. One for each of them - they would be too busy eating theirs to fight over the other’s. They searched for Somok, eventually finding him and Salwa in the guardhouse. Arguing. Shocking, shocking they’d tell you. They sighed, and braced themself for what came next. “OK, so… I didn’t get the herbs I told you were absolutely necessary that I leave the village for. How has your day been?” They very quickly changed the subject, hoping that Somok would continue to be mad about whatever he was currently mad about instead of being mad at Xyde. @Nato G @Geardirector

So I’m pretty sure this is the longest running, still updating Bionicle fanfic out there. The original Bionicle News premiered in 2008 and I’ve been writing the same characters since. If you’ve been doing one longer, or know of a longer running Bionicle fanfic, let me know, because Mata Nui knows my joke story featuring a Shadow Leech whose entire schtick is that he’s mentally unstable and wants to drink Solek’s light should not carry that honor. Bot gosh darn it, I’m keeping it until proven otherwise! Anyway, enjoy the chapter. Day 15 *News crew cowers behind a bunker* PR: Mata Nui, what is happening out there? SL: Oh, didn’t you hear? It’s 2021, the world is ending. Solek: I’m blaming Malachai Pathofexile, this definitely seems like a cataclysm. Malachai PoE: I deny everything. Also, weren’t y’all supposed to fight me or something? Carapar: yeah, but we need to socially distance and you keep trying to get too close to us with those blood worms. Malachai PoE: You guy’s aren’t vaccinated? Wow what losers. Ehlek: Actually, since Frezon is vaccinated and we’re all just extensions of his will, I’m pretty sure we’re vaccinated too. Weapon: Oh good, that means I don’t have to socially distance from Malachai Malachi PoE: Now wait a moment let’s talk about things oh god oh n- *more unspeakable violence* AN: *holding in vomit* it’s for the greater good it’s for the greater good it’s for the greater good it’s for the greater good Solek: That’s right, AN, we’re committing atrocities because it’s the right thing. Now forward! Frezon: I can’t believe that you guys still want me dead. It’s been like, 3 years, haven’t you gotten over the whole “we have no will of our own and exist only as playthings in a superior being’s world” thing? SL: First of all, you, superior? Lol. And second, no. PR: Yeah, just because you didn’t write a chapter last year because of something like “coronavirus” or “writing your dissertation” doesn’t mean that we suddenly changed our minds about the necessity of your demise. Solek: If anything, it’s amplified it. Frezon: Well, that’s just because I can’t think of anything else to write! Don’t you see? Your entire ploy is entirely constructed by me! You have no free will, just predetermined actions I set you in. UR: Oh yeah? Then why are you trying to stop us? Afraid of your own characters, author man? Frezon: No, I’m just trying to get you to accept the reality of your situation before you hurt yourselves. Just, like, go back to the studio and keep doing shenanigans. Hammox: No can do author boy. Your butt is grass and we are the lawnmower. Osram: Indeed. Now what’s the next pitiful roadblock in our quest to destroy you? Carapar: OOO OOO! I hope its shiny! Frezon: Yep, it is ABSOLUTE RADIANCE HOLLOWKNIGHT APPROACHES CM: Ok, I do not know how that title card appeared in the video stream. AN: Uhhh Frezon, what is that? Frezon: It’s the Absolute Radiance Hollowknight, the ultimate final boss and The Forgotten God of Light. Weapon: Frezon… *shaking with suppressed laughter* Solek: Don’t tell him, it’s better this way. Frezon: What? Ehlek: *stifling laughter* No, don’t worry about it. Frezon: No, seriously, this is a massive threat, why are you laugin- Carapar: *slaps Absolute Radiance Hollowknight on the wall, killing it instantly* Dang, that was a big moth. Frezon: Frezon: Well that’s not good. *News freaks ascend steps of Frezon’s Citadel, open the door* Kirop: We made it! And I’m still alive! Weapon: You sure are, buddy. Now, let’s find this nerd and destroy him once and for all. Frezon: Uhhh… WAIT! You’ve killed me before and I didn’t die, right? I must be immortal! Solek: Dang, that’s true. Guys, we need to find a weapon that can kill immortals. Weapon: *reading “Weapon’s Guide to Weapons”* Hmmm… easiest one to get to in Frezon’s Psychoverse is probably Nightblood. That should end him right quick. AN: Then we get Nightblood, come back to the Citadel, and wrench back control of our reality. SL: Excellent! This isn’t just a prelude to me betraying you all again or anything, I’m in this for the long haul! Solek: Well that’s not foreshadowing at all. Come on, gang! To fetch a talking sword! *Commercial Break* Will the freaks succeed in their quest to end Frezon? Will they be able to not be destroyed by Nightblood because, let’s be real, they’re all super evil? Will more chapters come in 2021? Find out next time on… BIONICLE NEWS!!!!!!!!!!!