Visaru

“Just trying to make conversation, lad, just bein’ friendly…” Dargon took the piece of ice, squinted at it for a while, then clenched his fist and crumbled it into frost. “Right then, basic training, here we go, follow me, and welcome to the guard.” He beckoned for Dartakh to follow him over to the black board and take a seat on the benches. “Right so, you work for the Sanctum guard now, we’re proud heroes. Way back when, before even my time, we were just two fellas whose job was mostly keeping an eye on the drifts for angry Rahi. The Koro’s a lot bigger now and we’re doin’ a lot more than meditating at the sanctum these days. We’ve got a veritable army now, with a real command structure and cutting edge weaponry, and we’re not gonna let our city get turned into a pit of debased villainy again.” He mumbled a few curses about Makuta worshipers as he retrieved a few maps. The next few hours were a blur of names, rules, and off topic opinions as Dargon’s mind constantly wandered into unrelated areas. Through the sheer quantity of words he spewed with only a pause to suck on his pipe, he still was able to give a fairly comprehensive outline of the duties of a Sanctum guard, how to navigate the city and the Sanctum, and what the command structure looked like. There were barracks available in multiple areas across the Koro, but as a mercenary Dartakh was not required to stay in them, although he was required to give the guard notice of where he was staying so they could find him if needed. Training sessions were happening daily, in multiple different locations, and they were free to attend for him, but not mandatory. He’d be called on to help with more or less of the training depending on the decisions of his superiors, and his performance on his first mission. The mission was to assist with a scouting expedition into the Darkwalk. Ko-Koro was sparing none of its core officers, sending instead a group of seven fresh recruits and a few other mercenaries to assist the Ihu-Koro highlanders. There would be a training session soon, where Dartakh would meet the other members of the team, and give a lesson in close combat. Then they’d gather their supplies and make for the tunnel, to brave whatever dangers lurked inside. But his current task was to seek out the man Dargon only referred to as The Lieutenant, who was in charge of the expedition. The Lieutenant was a Ko-Toa, part of the Highlander’s upper ranks, and Dargon said he could be found along Muaka road. “Right then, pleasure to have another Vortixx on the guard, always good to have tall folks around to intimidate Toa who wanna make use of their powers for the worse. Welcome to the Sanctum Guard.” He offered a hand to Dartakh to shake.

The first thing I notice about the port isn’t the atmosphere, the inhabitants, or the large black fortress looming above the water. No, it’s one person, who spectacularly throws me for a loop by bumping into me before I'd even finished materializing on the dock. Not that I care, mind you — I mean, who can expect anyone to anticipate anything I do? So I end up sizing up this Toa before I do anything else, because he’s already introducing himself, and I’ll say, he’s a good deal more interesting than the fishermen or guards I’d been expecting to see. Muscular, handsome, well built, athletic, with a myriad of scars over his body and a Calix. Hey, that description could have been me a few years ago, before I lost my old mask! So when I say interesting I really mean: he reminds me of myself. I’m not being narcissistic though, don’t judge me too harshly. Can you deny I’m one of the most interesting people on the entire island? So find myself taking a liking to this weathered Toa, and a liking to his slightly damp silver coat (it’s reminding me of my old trench coat, in fact) and so I take his hand in mine and tell him: “No Culpa at all, bother, not your fault I don’t look before I teleport. I'm Verak, Toa of Sand, and you seem like a striking man of action as well, someone who knows what he's doing and more relevantly to me, where he is. You see, my friend, I fell out of the sky a few bio down the beach and I'm feeling a little turned around. Care to give a brother his bearings?”

A moment passed, a grumble, and then a gruff voice shouted out "COME IN!" When Dartakh opened the door, he found a large strangely shaped room. The far wall and the floor were made of ice bricks, while the other walls and the ceiling were a rough, cavelike texture. This room had clearly been formed by a powerful explosion during one of the battles to conquer the Koro, and it had only been functionally repaired. However, the cavernous space had been well used. It was lined with practice dummies, racks of old weapons, benches, and a long blackboard smeared with incompletely erased chalkdust. A few Ko-Matoran, clearly identified as civilians by the uncomfortable way they held their mismatched spears, practiced lunges under the watchful gaze of an old Matoran standing on one of the benches in the middle of the room. As the door opened, he turned to Dartakh, his ice-blue eyes narrowing under his scarred jet-black Pakari. "You a new recruit?" he asked, in the low gravely rumble of a lifelong smoker. He continued on before Dartakh could get an answer out, "My name's Dargon, used to be one of the best soldiers the Sanctum guard's ever seen, killed a Muaka with my bare hands, but age comes for us all, you know? Job's got a lot harder now I'm in charge of folks like these who've never held a spear in their life. 'Course, that's what most new recruits have always been like, but the problem with civilians is they've got no spirit, y'know? They don't want to be here, got no drive, and that makes it hard to train them. DON'T LOWER THOSE SPEARS, KO-MATORAN! STEP AND LUNGE! AGAIN! Right, sorry about that, gotta keep them motivate with sheer volume sometimes. Say, you don't look like you've never held a spear though. What's your story, Vortixx? Got a tragic backstory? Some grim and dark past?" He finally stopped, although it might have just been to take a long drag on the pipe he appeared to have conjured from nowhere rather than to give Dartakh a chance to respond.

"Of course. He has an office on one of the lower levels. Speak to one of the guards outside, they'll direct you to him." She appreciated his quick grasp of the rules of etiquette, although she didn't let her surprise show. It was not every Vortixx mercenary who called her ma'am every sentence without a reminder.

- VERAK I’m usually going too fast to stop for poetry, but I have to admit to a sight that makes me feel euphoric whenever I see it, and it has nothing to do with naked bodies, I’m really honest to Mata-Nui trying to be serious about this. What I’ll say is: you haven’t lived if you’ve never been above the clouds. Proper clouds too, a carpet of bubbly wispy type things that stretch out flat to make a fantastic heavenly landscape. Mountains, hills, caves, plains — the clouds have them all, and in shapes you'll never find down on the ground. The cloud's architecture is so clearly defined that it’s hard to believe that I’m about to plummet right through them as if there’s nothing there. Which I do, before I’m even done admiring the view, and then I start moving way too fast for poetry. The wind’s in my ears, roaring louder even than my raucous laughter, buffeting my body as gravity pulls me down at incredible speed toward another landscape, one that is a lot more physical and a lot more dangerous. Free fall, top speed, no parachute. Life, without the safety measures. That’s the good stuff right there. Who needs drugs? I let myself plummet toward imminent death for a few moments, feeling the blood pump through me as my body struggles to deal with the heat I'm diving headlong towards. Yeah, nothing makes existing more fun than imminent death. Thinking that your life is about to end in a few seconds suddenly makes you appreciate all that living you are about to miss out on. In the interests of doing appreciating all that living in person, I turn by head toward the horizon, where the ocean stretches out, shimmering, to the east. With a pop, I disappear and reappear above the water, transporting myself with the same Kanohi Kualsi that had got me up there above the clouds. Quick FAQ: Question: Can hitting the water at this speed leave you alive? Answer: Depends on how lucky you are. Question: Are you lucky, Verak? Answer: Is Po-Koro dry? Does sand blow in the wind? Does the sun rise in the East? You can safely bet your life I'm lucky to a fault. Question: How can anybody be so lucky? Answer: A lot of practice, and even more confidence. Let me give you an example: as I plunge toward the water, I streamline into a diver’s pose, hands above my head, finger tips together, pointed at the water. I feel like an arrow mid-flight. Hope reaching my target doesn’t splinter me apart. On second thought, who needs hope? I’ve got luck. I hit the water and cut through the surface like a fisherman’s spear, plunging deep, deep underwater as the momentum wears off in that strange, half-weightless space. I spun around in the depths, taking in the rippling reflection of the surface, and teleport myself there to avoid the strenuous swim back up. I breach with an exultory laugh, my heart pounding and my senses still buzzing from the near death experience. Whoo, who needs coffee when you can wake up like this? After I’ve recovered enough to do something else in addition to treading water, sweep my eyes over the coastline, trying to figure out where in Mata Nui I’ve ended up. Most of it is jungle, wilder and more unpredictable than I am, but to the North, I spy something new. A village? A fishing village? Military outpost? Hard to tell at this distance. Usually, that portends a foul turn in my luck. Most villages are not places I generally want to be: people like me tend to run afoul of the law, somehow. Guess they don’t like people trying to ride life to its absolute limit. I chuckle and teleport onto the beach, hoping someone nearby has seen me. What would they think of seeing a Toa fall from the sky? Was I an angel come to Mata-Nui? A hero like the first Toa, sent from the heavens to defeat evil? Nope. I happen to be a self centered daredevil in the body of a Toa. My name’s Verak, Toa of Sand, and it’s pleasure to make your acquaintance, if we’re not already familiar. I wink at what, unfortunately, appears to be my only audience: an uninterested chameleon clinging upside down to a nearby branch. It ignores me, so I do the same, and swagger North toward this unfamiliar town. “Wait a minute,” a person might ask, “Didn’t you just say it’s a bad idea for you to be in villages?” “Quite true,” I’d respond, “But I’ve never been one for avoiding bad ideas. Besides, I’ve never been here before. Maybe they haven’t heard of me.” I give myself a small impressed laugh at my audacity as I teleport right into the middle of the village's docks. For clarity, this small village is Nokama Port. @Razgriz?

So looks like there's another Darkwalk quest cropping up, this one in Ko-Wahi! A group of new Ko-Matoran recruits is going on a scouting mission along with the Ihu-Koro Highlanders. If you're interested in joining the expedition, I'm happy to discuss details, or you can go ahead and just post with your mercenary / sanctum guard character already having being hired onto the team. Happy hunting, don't let the Rahkshi bite!

Korzaa’s ice blue eyes drilled into Dartakh’s slightly lighter colored ones as she tried to size him up and file him into an easy category in her mind, liking she was sorting a new tool. After another second of stillness, she swiftly snatched a small shard of ice from a drawer in her desk and begin scratching a hasty message onto it. “I have your assignment then. There’s a group of new recruits preparing to head on their first mission, a scouting expedition with the Ihu-Koro Highlanders near the dark walk. I’d like you to coach them on anti-elemental close combat, then accompany and protect them in the tunnel.” She offered him the inscribed shard of ice, “Bring this to Lieutenant Dargon, he’ll give you a brief orientation on Sanctum Guard protocol before sending you to The Lieutenant to help with training.” “Any questions?” Okay so the OOC logistics are: Dargon is an NPC I just made up, but The Lieutenant is Kaithas's Ihu-Koro Highlander NPC who’s leading the expedition. I’m happy to RP with you as Dargon, but you can also time breeze over the orientation stuff and then meet up with The Lieutenant in the training yards.

Korzaa gave a brisk nod, and began scratching away at an ice tablet as she briefed the new recruit. Although the language was routine, it was no less earnest for it: "Welcome to the force, Dartahk. You are now responsible for guarding the lives of the Ko-Koronans and the sanctity of their village. Although you are a mercenary, I expect you to take your role as seriously as any of the Ko-Matoran who fight to preserve their own home. It is not a light burden, but I can tell by your scars you are not new to such endeavours." She raised her head and fixed him in her sights. "Do you have special skills? How do you believe I can best make use of you?"

Korzaa was still looking for the place to file Vrill’s report — even her meticulous organizational skills were being overwhelmed by the deluge of files — when another knock sounded on her door. Frustrated but not surprised, she set the tablet face down on her table, where it had been fifteen minutes ago, and opened the door. Standing outside was a muscular Vortixx she didn’t recognize. She sized him up, then walked back into her office and stood behind her desk. “I am Korzaa, Captain of the Sanctum guard. What’s your business?” @Daniel the Finlander

Despite the heft my weapon, I was still strong and swift enough to readjust to the feint, raising my blade into her sword’s path. The flat of her weapon deflected off the sharp edge of mine with a clang. If my weapon was activated, it might have cut her’s in half. But she had made it clear from the way she held her sword we were not aiming to hurt each other, so I kept my blade off. We were testing each other, pushing at each other’s skill. I would not harm her, but I would not coddle her either. I kept the edge of my weapon held defensively in front of my body as I stepped in and swiftly lowered the hammer head on the bottom toward her belly, aiming to hit her hard enough to knock her off her feet.

- KIRIK Kirik is the last to follow after the others. He stares out at the plain, at the receding figures running for their lives. His look is not of victory, but defeat. His smile is a grimace. They are still alive. He thinks only of taking his motorbike Lante across the stretch of blasted earth, running them down, grinding them into the dirt, ensuring no one remains alive to tell anything of the great Fort Garsi. But he doesn’t. He has orders. And the gouges in the his body knew well the punishment for disobeying them. Instead his three hands loosen their grip on the iron battlements and he makes his way after Ipsudir Garsi, his commander. His mechanical hand rubs the knife prosthetic he has in place of one of his forearms as he tears his eyes away from the-prey-he-cannot-hunt, his pointed teeth gnashing.

- TARROK Her goals, her boasts, her offer of employment, all that I expected. Her invitation to duel was a surprise. I could not discern her goal or her terms, but it did not matter. She wished to cross swords, and despite her injury, I saw she was still filled with glory. I could not refuse the chance to test myself against her, to best this minor legend. “I was not lying when I said would relish the chance to face you.” I scraped the base of my weapon across the stone as I reversed the grip, turning it into a sword with a hammer head at the base of the hilt. It was a ritualistic way of readying my weapon, and also a way of alerting her to my location. If we were to duel properly, she should know where to aim her sword. The passerby on the road behind me were beginning to slow, hoping to receive a little entertainment from our duel. “There are Sarke pits nearby, but I am ready to cross blades now. We already have witnesses about us to awe.”

Korzaa nodded grimly as she inscribed a brief shorthand version of Vrill’s briefing onto the thin slab of ice and set it aside for filing with the rest of her tablets on Ambages. It was as she had expected, although the information he did bring — the disappearance of Zurec and Ardor — was certainly troubling. The mystery around the former Akiri and the cause of Matoro’s death would continue to gnaw on a part of her for the rest of her life, she expected. “Thank you for your work, investigator. I’ll need a full report in writing, but as I think you know, the case is closed. With the Akiri dead, whatever schemes he may have had are likely no longer threats to us. And more importantly, I need you elsewhere.” She gestured for Vrill to shut the door, waiting to continue until there was no chance of being overheard. When he did, she went on: “You are going to continue your investigation. There is a new Akiri now, and like his predecessor, I don’t know him as well as I need to. I need you to pay special attention to his business dealings, aiming to uncover anything that might prove a potential threat to the security of the village. You have my official authorization to take your investigations to the other Koros, if that is where they bring you. I have no leads except my suspicions. I am giving you complete discretion as to how you conduct this investigation and what you focus on, but remember that no one is to know about these orders besides the two of us.”

I felt my face twist into a classical Skakdi grin. I have heard also heard enough propositions to know when I was about to be hired on for a job. Perhaps it was my instinctual ability to sniff out work that had led me to her, not curiosity. Although curiosity and instinct are often one and the same. When you don't have steady employment, it pays to be curious. "I am no trader," I boasted, "I was their security. I am a professional blade for hire, and not a cheap one either. I have been in turns assassin, bodyguard, guide, and even emissary. I have no set terms, but the punishment for breach of contract is always the same." I didn't need to elaborate on the threat. Skakdi mercenaries are well known for killing their employers if the terms begin to look unfavorable, although I only rarely excercised my right to do so.

"My name is Tarrok," I told her, tapping the base of my weapon against the cobblestones and letting the two syllables of my name resound like a magic incantation, imbuing all of my virtues into a single word. "I escorted a crew of traders to your fortress a few years ago. They told me who you were, and I saw you when you and your husband met with them to do business. That is how I recognized you, although your fortunes are so much poorer now I could not say for certain it was you at first."

By her response, I could tell at once that it was indeed she. And I could tell too she was not cowed by her fall, not enough to plead for mercy, at least. That was good, I thought. Irnakk did not have her yet. I have heard enough threats to tell she was posturing more than she was truly dangerous, but even so it was a worrying enough threat that I removed my long sword-hammer from my back. I certainly did not take a step toward her. Instead I spoke again, keeping my tone measured. “I have not been sent to kill you, although I would relish the chance to face such a warrior. I have heard tell you have sent more than two hundred souls to Kino-Ur.” I let the compliment hang in the air, waiting to see how she would respond. I had no further query for her, no business to be done, but I certainly was not going to turn my back on a Skakdi with her hand on her weapon.

- TARROK I will write now of the events that occurred to me the last time I visited Irnakk’s Tooth, and of my meeting with N’ashka Akkataka. I had met her before, many years ago, when she was still Ash;Tak, the wife of the warlord Lahkenn, and a fierce warrior in her own right. We never exchanged words, but I saw her, standing full of honor at her husbands side, when I visited her fortress, and had heard the legends told about her on my way there. The traders I was hired to guard regaled me with tales of blood, decapitations, and the romantic first encounter with her husband on opposite sides of a battlefield. I had respect for her. She and her husband, I thought, could be Skak;Dii with a few more successful wars. When I saw her for the second time on the streets of Irnakk’s tooth, I almost did not recognize her. She was eyeless, scarred, and dressed in mere rags. She had a hand against a stone wall, and was stumbling along the side of the street, completely blind. I found myself frozen, staring at her in disbelief, not quite able to reconcile the Skakdii I had seen with the Skakdi I was seeing. I found myself unable to forget the sight and continue on, for I was not certain it was she, and my the need to find an answer forced me to cross the busy street toward her. If I turned away I would likely never see her again, and I needed to know if the great Ash;Tak had truly fallen so low. I stopped a few paces away from, watching her struggle along the road’s uneven cobblestones, trying to decide how I should approach such a wretched person with the respect I still believe she was owed. “N’ashka Akkataka,” I finally said, “Or does my eye deceive me?” @Palm! (My BZP is broken, I can't properly @ people) I hope it's okay that Tarrok has met her before? Lmk if you want me to amend anything.

Korzaa could remember a time when she hated the Sanctum. It had been a stuffy place, filled with rules and decorum, with full of words and recitations that were to her understanding complete gibberish. Even when ‘translated’, the wall of prophecy always seemed more like poetry than any vision of the future, and she had hated poetry. But as she grew older, the restlessness in her spirit began to be replaced by nostalgia. Her work gave her plenty of action and logical thinking. Sometimes, as she sat in her office pouring over reports for her subordinates, she felt a longing to be back in the sanctum that she hated, surrounded by words that meant nothing to her and the silent tranquility of the scribes. By the end of her career, she was making weekly visits to the temple. She’d stand in the corner, reading the untranslated nonsense on the walls, hearing the murmuring of the adepts around her, and warmed by the crackle of the fire in the center of the room. Although she did not understand why, the stillness of the place gave her a sense of quiet peace. The tumult of her mind would would flatten, and she’d feel her anxieties drain from her, paling in comparison to the mysteries of the universe depicted her. It began to truly be a sanctum, a refuge from the tumult int he world outside. Seeing it now made her want to cry. Despite the Ko-Matoran’s best efforts, it had proven impossible to scrub all the blood out of the walls. The holiness of the place had been forever defiled, the words of the ancient sages now covered by the ramblings of mad Makuta worshippers. The energy of the place could not be recovered. It was a damaged, bruised, hurt thing, a reminder of the greatest failure of Korzaa’s life, and it no longer gave her soul the peace it used to. And if there was one thing her soul needed right now, it was a little peace. Peace had been quite conspicuously missing from the village in the past few weeks, and villagers and foreigners toiled night and day to restore the Koro to its former glory. They had to clean out the sanctum of the horrible things left behind by the old rulers, repair the damage done by the battle, reestablish a new government, and put the guard back together, all while working on Tarkahn’s plans to expand and improve the village. Korzaa had been working from sunrise to sunset every day trying to find her old records, make new ones, brief and debrief her soldiers, all while overseeing the hiring and training of a whole army of new recruits, as people from outside the Koro determined to keep it safe flooded in, and everyday civilians found themselves drafted into an army now the size of the entire village’s population. It was a nightmare of logistics, and the Toa standing in her doorway was just another item to add to her to do list. She raised her Kanohi to stare blankly at Vrill for a few moments, her eyes dimmed from her exhaustion and fatigue. Vrill took in her office before meeting her gaze. The room was as spartan and tidy as always, although alarmingly cluttered: neat stacks of ice tablets, some almost as tall as he was, surrounded her desk and lined the walls. Otherwise, the room was bare, even of chairs for guest to sit in. Korzaa stared at him for a second, not entirely sure where to begin, what was relevant, and what he already knew. She settled on the most concise answer: “Busy.” She stood and placed the tablet she was poring over on the edge of her huge desk. “But I am pleased to see you still alive.” She took a few steps to pick up a blank tablet from a stack of them near the wall. “I am ready to hear of your travels. How did the mission go?” The task, given to him before the fall of the Ko-Koro, felt like it had been given in another world, its necessities and pressures completely different from the world they were in today. Still, information was information, and Korzaa would not let good intel go to waste. She raised her chisel to the blank tablet, ready to create another record that she’d have to find a place for. If I’m understanding things right, Vrill was on an undercover mission in another Wahi during the fall? That’s what Korzaa is asking about, to be clear!

Sick and sick. PM me with the details when you have them.

Does anyone have need of some Skakdi muscle in Zakaz? I've got a mercenary who would love to tag along on some quest or battle, it would be fun to start playing with them already hired onto some job. I'm also looking for a Warlord for my second Skakdi PC to follow (Maybe someone needs to get to that 2 PC follower requirement, eh?)

: If I was a true Skak:Dii, I would not be carving my own legend. Others would be carving it after my death, the strength of my deeds forcing themselves into stone without my help. The imaginations of all those living would not be enough to hold my greatness, which would spill over the bonds of the age I live in and run down through the generations, giving all a taste of my glory. But my deeds are not great enough to keep themselves living after my death. No man’s are, these days. The age of legends is far behind us, shrouded in the mist of times, and yet their we still walk in their shadows, still taste their old glory, not yet stale in the air. It is inevitable that our deeds will be outshone by theirs. The Ancestors’ nimbus is too bright for us to see our own. That is why I must put chisel to stone and inscribe the tale of my life myself. I will not strong-arm the gods into giving me magical powers, as Irnakk:Dii once did, raze half the island, as did Nektann:Dii, or even complete the Silva;ria;Dii, as some still living warlords have. I know my limits, and they are so far less than those of legend they do not even bare the comparison. But yet, that does not make my tale unworthy of the telling. Every Skakdii strives to be a God, although we are but men. We fight, every day, tooth and nail, against our own inadequacy, against the limits of our bodies, against the limits of our own mind. To be a Skakdii is to wrestle with impossible odds, dreaming of heights that the cruel world strains every day to keep us from. By the standards of any other race, the deeds of any of us would be worthy of generations of stories. It is only the impossible heights of the ancestors that makes us small by comparison. Perhaps the reader of these tablets is of another race, and you will be awed by my story, or perhaps you will be disgusted, for you do not understand our ways, or the glories we strive to attain. Perhaps you are another Skakdii, and will draw strength from the similarities and differences in our experiences, or perhaps you are a true Skak;Dii and will find my deeds quant and pathetic, but in that case I am honored by you even reading these words. I am Tarrok, and although I am no God, I am a Skakdii, and I understand what that means better than most. The following is an account of my own personal legend, carved as I have experienced it. May the ancestors smile upon me, and let it be completed well.

Okay, also, how long is the timeskip between the last arc and this one?

Skakdii Mercenary Tarrok is a hulking black Skakdi with colorful designs painted over his armor, which depict Tahtorahk, dragons, and demons battling the ancestors across his arms, torso, and legs. Upon his face, he bears a tattoo of Irnakk’s ancient worlds: Fan:Dii, Balom Skak:Dii, as a reminder to everyone of the nature of his race. A thick cluster of spikes runs down his back, sticking in all directions. A deep scar runs across the left side of his face, over an empty eye socket, but his right eye burns amber with an intensity that reflects his hunger for life. Tarrok dreams of having powers like the ancestors of old, but makes what he can of his one eye of impact vision and his latent elemental power over air, which can only be used in conjunction with other Skakdi. Even without powers, he is a force to be reckoned with, a trained warrior who could lift a boulder as large as he and twirl a blade like a showman duelist. Tarrok is a warrior by profession, and his tools of the trade come in a variety of shapes: daggers, swords, caltrops, grappling hooks, and other bladed objects, but his prized possession is his Sword Hammer — a Warhammer with a blade running parallel to the shaft, so he can safely hold it along the length of the weapon, using his immense strength to either swing the hammer or invert it and wield it like a sword. The blade can vibrate at immense speeds, allowing it to cut through rock, weak metal, and the bodies of his enemies. He also carries a harpoon gun mounted on his left forearm, which can be used to grapple to higher places or impale his enemies and drag them back toward him. Tarrok would never admit to his faults in combat, but he knows what they are: his left arm is weaker than his right, and his left eye is gone, meaning his aim is poor, and his vision power is half as strong as it should be. These drawbacks trouble him little, for he knows how to compensate for them. What haunts him wherever he goes is his fear: Of water, of dark things beneath the earth, and most of all, of his own death. (Sword Hammer and harpoon gun approved by Tyler) Rougish Toa of Sand Verak’s lithe, tan and brown body shows the history of his thrill seeking, marked with scratches, gouges, and scars that are he retains of his many adventures. But the decades of battering have no effect on his bearing — he swaggers, smiles, and winks like a man who’s never failed at anything in his life. Check out his mask, that's not the original Calix he wore, but one he traded with Cipher while on a caper and was unable to return. He's not too upset about it: he loves how good of a dancer it makes him, and likes wearing a stranger's face. Verak has, in theory, all the same powers as a Toa of Stone, but he’s never learned how to work something as solid as real rock. All he’s able to command is the sort of stone that’s as shifting and mercurial as he is. This makes him a force to be reckoned with on beaches and deserts, but leaves him without any elemental resources in other environments beside the flask of sand he carries with him wherever he goes. Verak currently carries a flask of sand, a few days provisions, a knife, a handful of stolen widgets, and not much else. Verak is a master of repressed memories, hunted by demons that catch up to him if he slows down too much. He can never settle down, and abandons his short-lived friends and companions without even a goodbye. He’s impulsive to a fault, and never realizes the consequences of his actions until they catch up to him. Ko-Matoran Captain of the Sanctum Guard Korzaa is a stocky, well built soldier, who bears the scars and the weary attitude of someone who’s been at war for her entire life. She has the white and blue armor of the average Ko-Matoran and a crude plain Hau. Although she has no special powers of her own, she has authority over the newly strengthened Ko-Koro guard, and her centuries of experience in war has made her a keen tactician and a bold and trustworthy commander. In combat, she is brave, quick thinking, and competent with a spear. She owns little, but is never parted from her small knife and her standard issue Ko-Koro guard spear. Despite her position, she does not understand politics. She is slow to trust, stubborn, and always ready to prioritize Ko-Koro’s safety over anything else, for better or worse. Her great failure at defending the village against the Makuta-followers haunts her every day. Skakdi Thug Kirik’s eyes burn with lust for violence, and his wiry green body belies the strength he needs to enact it. He has four arms, two mechanical, and three hands — one of his original ones was chopped off at the elbow, and has been replaced with a long thin blade, which he tries to make use of at least as much as his hands. He has only a few thick spikes protruding from his back, with a cluster of small horns rising from the back of his skull, and large teeth are filed into predatory points. A few black demonic symbols are tattooed in seemingly random places along his frame, some magic ritual with a purpose known only to him. He’s built to kill, and it’s his favorite hobby. In a fight, Kirik is fast, strong, and merciless. He usually wields a dagger in the hands that haven’t already been replaced by one and rushes headlong at his foe, firing his laser vision. His lasers behave a little differently than most, moving slower but zigzagging unpredictably, sometimes even able to fire around corners. Kirik has two important pieces of tech: his two robotic arms, surgically affixed below his real ones on the sides of his torso, which are thinner than his real ones. Despite the assurances of the Skakdi surgeon who attached them at knifepoint, their connection to his nervous system isn’t as precise as it should be, giving him some trouble controlling them, and sometimes they behave as if they had a mind of their own. His prized possession, however, is the motorbike he has lovingly dubbed “Lante”. Kirik knows enough about how it works to just barely keep it in working order, and has decorated it with the skulls of his enemies, making it a mobile shrine to his murderous habits. A few unclean spears protrude from the front of the vehicle, and blades stick out of its sides and its wheel wells, allowing him to use the bike as a weapon, not just for transportation. Although far from the most well built bike out there, it’s hardy, tough, and functions well. Kirik is also currently wielding an Electro Chute Blade, one of Fort Garsi's tech pieces. Kirik’s intellect is not his strong suit. He thinks only of one thing: how he can get his next kill. Therefore, he’s easily fooled, but tries to make up for it with sheer unpredictable fury — the unpredictability of his vision power and his extra arms often lead him to surprise even himself in combat. (Robotic arms and Lante the motorbike approved by Tyler)

It's been over six years I think since I played, and I can't wait to return and fill this text based rpg hole in my life. Holy #### y'all can't wait to rp with you again

So, asking for a friend of course, but, uh, do we know who the new Akiri of Ko will be?