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Leaf

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About Leaf

Year 07
  • Rank
    Flying Force!
  • Birthday 07/27/1998

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    Male
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    On Lighter Winds
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    Telling stories.

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  1. OOC: Just adding some detail to Highlander actions. Po-Koronian crossbows obtained in dealings with Po, authorized by Silvan. IC/NPC: Ihu-Koronian Highlanders, a few moments past The battle was going far more in the Highlander's favor this time rather than last. The Legacy were scattered and disorganized, and the gate belonged to them. It also helped that they weren't trying to capture or stop the flow of people leaving the village--unless they had seen violence, the Highlanders couldn't very well distinguish fleeing Legacy from fleeing refugees. They were keeping the gate open, and looking for an opportunity-- Air support. Doesn't get better than that. The lieutenant grinned and waved for the Ta-Koronians to hold the gate, leaving a few of the Skakdi with them. The remainder of the Ihu-Koronians roared as they charged forward, expanding their advantage into the city. They needed to be ready in the event the Maru showed, and a wider field of vision--while harder to hold--could only benefit them. It was proving easier than expected, in honesty, perhaps he had underestimated what kind of disarray they'd be in. Strangely, however, they all seemed to be running toward the Ihu Koronians or the village warehouse, away from the citadel. "I don' like this, Lieu," the hulking Ice Skakdi to his left grumbled out, his impressive mouth turned into an equally impressive frown. He had a massive Po-Koronian crossbow gripped in his hands, already winding it again. "They're runnin' scared, which probably means we should be rushin' off too. Maybe they let somethin' loose they shouldn't." "Or maybe..." The Po-Toa paused, then smiled and slapped his companion on the back when the first shouts of "Maru!" came from their front lines. They might actually win this battle after all. "You worry too much, Sergeant. Gather your squad. Highlanders, rally!" They rushed forward, meeting up with the Maru and ILF. Integrating with them was easy and welcome--most of the Highlanders treated the Maru with something approaching awe and deference, and they were happy to fight alongside their Pala-Koronian brothers and sisters. The battle was hard fought, with the flanking Highlanders encountering most of the pockets of resistance--but they had momentum, and the living embodiments of Mata-Nui's will standing beside them. They would not be denied. The barrier presented its own issues. They had no supernova to blow it up with, and the launchers above were hailing fire down. The lieutenant grit his teeth. "Sergeant, can you--" A chorus of THWIP-THUDs echoed around him, the Skakdi and the rest of his squad kneeling in the snow to reload and rewind, their barrage of fire wilting the crew of one of the launchers. It wasn't going to be enough, not to breach them--he prepared the order to charge-- ... Oh, right. They had something far better than a supernova. They had Sulov Maru. The Ihu-Koronians poured through the gap, admittedly with some hesitation to ensure that whatever Maru tier sorcery and teamwork had just happened with the raincloud and Reordin's mask wasn't going to happen to them. They secured the barrier after a skirmish, waiting for the Maru's lead to progress.
  2. IC: One Seeking Redemption: Ihu-Koro He watched the Aggressors see to their friends, feeling a slight pang for people he hadn't seen in some time. Business he'd left unfinished. The last shards of who he was that stood between him and beginning to rebuild. And he knew what he had to do. Erith stood, shaking his head and walking off, the plated Toa leaving Ihu behind him. Sparks of his past flickered through his mind as he left, the limping pain in his left leg a constant reminder of what he'd done in the interim. One year past. “This was always how it had to end, Kai.” The Bo-Toa groaned from his position on the ground, his senses fading in and out. One of his hands found purchase on the stone floor, attempting to push his form up, shaking from the effort. He didn’t know where his machete had gotten off to, it had skittered across the surface and vanished beyond his narrowing vision. Rekhan stomped on his back, then his hand, fresh, shooting pain spreading through his chest and arm. “Stay down. This is what destiny decrees. You came alone, without your team. You left your charges to face me. You have no virtue, Toa.” The Fe-Toa drew his foot back and activated his Pakari, kicking Kaithas in the side. There was a sickening crunch--he hoped it was the wooden plates that covered his steel armor, not his ribs or his back--and he was launched across the ancient hall, clattering into the wall and coughing blood. Karzahni. Maybe it was his ribs. He pushed himself up against the wall, lying broken against the cold stone surface. Dull pain spread through his chest, through his arm. His leg felt shattered, he didn’t have the heart to look at it right now. Fading yellow eyes looked up at the other Toa--he’d staggered Rekhan, sure, but he was still in far better shape. He gritted his teeth as the midnight black ironshaper walked toward him, willing the wood of his armor to bind tighter around his leg, push the bone back into place-- He screamed. Panted. Looked up again, after managing to wince away the stars in his vision, only to be faced with Rekhan activating his Pakari and grabbing him by the chestplate, picking him up off the ground. “Let’s recap, Maasi. You failed to protect Matoran.” He was slammed into the wall, another bloody cough coming. “You caused an entire village to fall to evil.” Another slam. “You fled captivity and justice. Then you fled your second chance. You have nothing. You are nothing. You have deserted unity and duty, and in turn destiny has forsaken you. It is my obligation to purge you.” Kai’s wooden armor cracked in the other Toa’s grip as Rekhan hurled him, hitting the ground and bouncing with another crunch as more of his plates were destroyed. He gasped, writhing and trying to move out of the way as Rekhan pulled out his quarterstaff, twirling it above his head and bringing it down, aiming to break his opponent’s back-- It was over. He couldn’t move, couldn’t muster the willpower to activate his Kualsi and escape. No. There was impossible pain. No, it couldn’t end like this. He was alone. There was no one to protect. He could die, and no one would suffer for it. For the first time, no one could fault him his failure. And yet. In the stillness. In the silence of incoming death. Some small part of him screamed in defiance of destiny. He poured everything he was into the wood of his armor. The image of a Matoran wracked with pain as she was disintegrated by lightning. The Daedra casting him out as a villain. Tarnok’s reprimand. The months spent rotting in prison. He spent it all. He was no Toa. He had no courage. He was desperate and afraid. He deserved this, deserved his death. There was a deafening crack and moan of fiber on fiber as the Pakari enhanced blow struck down on the last remaining splinters that protected him from paralysis. But his armor still held. Roots sprang forth from the wood, yanking him away from the second blow, tumbling him across the floor. He saw sparks, but he managed to haul himself to his feet, rooting himself into the ground and reinforcing the plates on his legs to remain standing, to avoid staggering back to the floor. He dug the tips of his fingers into his palms, panting with the exertion. He swallowed hard, Rekhan’s head only tilted to the side in mild curiosity. The Fe-Toa had a faint smirk on his face. “I have failed, brother. You’re right. Failed at everything that counted. Except one.” He willed his power into his right hand, his wooden sword reforming slowly. “I have no honor. Have no Toa code. But I reject destiny too. I will not die here, virtueless and alone. I will get back up again, like I always have.” Rekhan’s smirk vanished, a snarl taking residence on his ebony face as his quarterstaff swung again--Kai gripped his wooden blade in both hands, holding it firm against the swing of his opponent. It cracked with the impact, shatter lines spreading through the wood as their weapons met again. He pushed harder. Vines sprouted from his armor--binding his body, pushing into his flesh. The pain brought clarity. The bindings brought motion. His shattered bones and fatigued muscles were useless. His mask was there, but it felt powerless. All he had left was that defiant scream, and the elemental power it sustained. He was something less than Kaithas, something less than a being. But he was still standing. His will puppeteered him, the armor he wore pulling his broken body into action. He shambled forward, roots attaching to and detaching from the ground as he advanced. His blade swung, wide and awkward--Rekhan parried it easily, chunks of wood and detritus flying away--he let go, the blade flying from his grip, his yellow eyes glowing with animal fury as he reached out to the splinters. Wood sprouted from them, roots lancing out, grasping for the Fe-Toa. Rekhan stepped back, forming a shield in his free hand and throwing it forward, catching the roots--he spun around behind it, another Pakari enhanced strike coming for the Bo-Toa’s side. It landed with a crunch, more pain shooting through Kai’s ruined torso. He grit his teeth, pushed again, and in that sinking instant--grappled the Fe-Toa’s staff with the splinters of wood at his side, lunged forward. Thorns sprouted from his fists, poison dripping from them as he finally landed a solid uppercut on the other Toa. Rekhan growled, Kai tackling him to the ground and getting his hands around his throat. Rekhan shoved him to the side, but he’d already rooted in--he raised his fist again, slamming it down into the other Toa’s mask, vines already sprouting up from the ground to bind him. Rekhan tore himself free, stabbed a shard of iron into Kai’s left hip, stabbed another into his right shoulder. The Bo-Toa could feel his muscles stiffening, locking--but it didn’t matter. He wasn’t using them anyway. The Fe-Toa rolled over on top of him, brought a knife down to stab him in the chest--his blood spurted out--then grabbed him around the neck. A collar of iron started to form, choking him. His hand lanced out, grabbing Rekhan’s mask, desperately trying to push him away. Vines started to sprout from the palm, wrapping around his face. His narrowing gaze focused on his hand, forcing hemlock thorns out of the vines. They wrapped around Rekhan’s mask, seeking for some fleshy part of the other Toa. He couldn’t breathe, his vision was closing in. They found it. Stabbed in, released their venom. The pressure stopped. The collar remained. He gurgled, grabbing at it, writhing, trying to pull it off. The iron hadn’t formed all the way, yet, he was able to force some wood growth between the gap and start wedging it apart-- Kai gasped as he could breathe, sitting up quickly, looking for Rekhan. The Fe-Toa had succumbed. His words were gone, the smirk as well--he was lying on the ground, twitching and spasming as the poison coursed through him. His arms moved without intent, without control--iron grew and bent around him, in twisted, warped forms. Kai forced what remained of his elemental energy into a wooden dagger, pulling himself over to the convulsing Toa with his left hand--then stabbed, finally putting his brother out of his misery. He collapsed, in the final silence. *** He remembered why he didn't believe anymore. But if that storm was any indication... Someone would need to do something. Perhaps he was too flawed to do it. But he had to try. He owed them that much. Owed him that much. OOC: And that's a wrap on Kai for the time being and Rekhan forever, putting my first character ever into a worse spot than he's ever been and killing off my first villain. You all are my oldest friends, and I'll always appreciate you. I'll have an ihu post up soon. Nick
  3. IC/NPC: Ihu-Koronian Highlanders Murrae Ismae, combat medic for the Ihu-Koro guard force, was never paid enough for the level of strain the unorthodox soldiers put her under. True, injuries--whether self or conflict inflicted--had decreased overall since the Ta-Koro Guard had sent a detachment to train the ragtag collection of mercenaries and militia into actual soldiers, but that had been more than adequately compensated for by the influx of refugees. There had been a bit of a lull, but judging by the crashed Kahu in the center of town.... That was about to change again. Murrae grabbed her kit, sprinting to the side of the Le-Toa, beginning the process of checking her over. Blow to the face--likely a concussion, she'd need rest for that. A cut to the arm, however, Murrae could do more with. She drew a scalpel, cutting away the iron it had been sealed with before stitching it up, activating her mask of healing to seal up the bleeding--both external, and possibly internal. *** Meanwhile, Tamara was faced with a decision. Last time they had attempted to aid Ko-Koro, they'd suffered nearly one quarter in casualties. They'd had to nurse their wounds as they escorted what refugees they could back up the mountain, through the cold and ice. And yet... She turned to the Po-Toa next to her, one of the few veterans remaining from their founding. "Lieutenant, gather the Highlanders. Take the Guards too. We have an opportunity I doubt we'll see again. Ride for Ko. Do what needs to be done." *** They were fortunate that the Ta-Koronans were such quick studies. The Highlanders skied down the mountain at breakneck pace, their charges traveling along behind them--the walls of Ko-Koro were visible now, sprays of snow rising up as the small guard force halted. "Highlanders!" The Lieutenant said, turning to face the rest of them after watching the situation for a few moments. "We charge the gate. Once it's held, we can start focusing fire on the Legacy harassing the Gukko for--" There was a blinding flash, and the gate ceased to be. The Lieutenant paused for a few seconds, then shook his head and grinned. "There's our opportunity, men. CHARGE!" They advanced quickly, the more disciplined Ta-Koro Guards presenting a front while the Highlanders--many of whom were Vortixx or Skakdi--offered supporting fire from the flanks. They suffered little resistance until they got to the gate, the Kalta's explosion providing a more than adequate distraction for their approach. By the time the Legacy members holding the gate got the stars and flashes out of their eyes, the Highlanders already had momentum. They exploded into the village, weapons at the ready--a stone blast from the Lieutenant and two of the Skakdi combining their powers into a flow of lightning and water leveling two Legacy members closest to the gate. "Force them out of cover if you can, but keep your distance," the Lieutenant barked. "Let's give them something to think about before they take shots at our air support. When we see the Maru, we rally to them--they are our heroes, our symbols. They are not allowed to fall. Keep them alive and this gate open at all costs before worrying about taking the city. If it comes to it, we retreat again--but not like last time, not in disarray. We are Ihu-Koro. We will keep our brothers safe." The Highlanders shouted their assent, and dove into battle.
  4. IC: A Pilgrim Erith took a breath as he stepped through the exterior gates to Ihu-Koro, the winds of Ko-Wahi finally ceasing their never-ending battering of his disheveled form. A few pairs of eyes followed him as he entered and he sighed deeply. Perhaps he should have repaired his armor after all, looked less like the walking zombie he felt. He clenched his fist at his side and willed the suit of wooden armor he wore to stitch itself back together. To their credit, the blackened and dried timber plates tried. But it was too dead, too cauterized, and he was too out of practice with bulk usage of his Toa energy to force it over the edge. Besides, he'd need the remaining power he had. For some use or another. He adjusted his tabard to cover the worst parts of his armor, trying to look as presentable as he could given how tattered even it had become. In a few short seconds, though, his concerns were forgotten. Something fell from the sky, a shape screaming with motion that resolved into a Kahu, landing somewhat gracefully on the edge of the village square. The eyes watching him were no longer interested--and for a moment he took a breath, relieved to escape notice for just a moment-- Karzahni, he was supposed to be taking an active role! Grinding his teeth, he ran forward. His hand clutched at the katana on his back, then he shook his head and kept sprinting until he got to the wounded Le-Toa's side. He dropped to one knee, checking her pulse, before-- "MEDIC!" he shouted, looking around. NPC: The Ihu-Koronans had a much more measured but less trusting response. Only after a few moments--when it was clear that the stranger who had fallen from the sky on the back of Kahu was no Ko-Koro agent here to kill them all--did they run off to retrieve a healer and the Ahka. It would take a few moments, at the least.
  5. IC: One Seeking Redemption His thoughts were more calm and controlled now. Months in the jungles of Le, in the darkest caves of Onu--years of solitude and meditation had seen to that. He wasn't prepared to pass on his power yet--much still felt undone, still felt incomplete--nor was he quite comfortable enough with who he was to enter the public eye. Moral concerns aside, the foul remnants of his memory might still be echoing in the minds of the Matoran he was sworn to protect, Matoran he had failed too many times to feel offended. His bounty may have been lifted, his name restored in the eyes of the law, but public opinion cared little for legal absolution. He would remain Erith Deverim for a time longer, and perhaps longer still. The question then became why he had chosen to end his self-imposed exile to the wastes. The wind battered his face and body, his tabard fluttering as he continued his trek toward the very peaks of Ko-Wahi, to a village he'd rebuilt after its previous destruction. It had far outstripped and abandoned him now, become a settlement in its own right rather than a temporary hideout for a group of wanted Toa on the run from a group of people they'd rightfully offended. Perhaps that was why he was limping his way back into events--tired of the world passing him by. Perhaps he finally felt like he could earn his place among the Matoran again. He adjusted his Huna against the bitter climate. Perhaps his exile had been another failure in and of itself. Tarnok had charged him with being the first of the next generation of heroes, and he'd responded with vanishing into the wastes. The Bo-Toa's teeth ground together as he took another step forward, the pressure of the wind throwing him this way and that. The walls of Ihu-Koro were before him, the massive tree that protected its interior from the worst of the elements standing proud in the center of the well-fortified village, scraping the sky. He set his jaw. Enough of this. Destiny was in his hands, and he would not allow his fear and self-rebuke to rob him of anything further.
  6. IC: "Sick! I always wanted to be named after a night stick or a Vegas game," she exclaimed. If she was being sarcastic or insincere, she was doing an excellent job of hiding it. "They said I was assigned to you but not what my call sign would be." She looked up at the two of them, just barely not standing on her tiptoes in an attempt to draw closer to their heights. "Yeah, I'm, errr... Sorry about the delay, but I hope I'll be a good fit for your squad. No one's ever complained about my piloting ability, at least, though most people don't think I'm up to it for a while..." She shrugged, her momentary frown coming to an end as her grin widened. "It's great to meet you both though! Seems like I'm the only American here."
  7. IC: "Not much, tramp," Robin said, then suddenly put her hand to her mouth, closing her eyes tightly. "Reflex." She glanced at Ayane, watching her clean up the blood and trying to get a read on how the other girl felt. "I can tell, I thought having a person to wipe your nose died out with the end of monarchy. Guess I'm referring to you as Queen from here on out... Mentally of course," she added quickly.
  8. IC: Operation New Chick was a go. Well, TECHNICALLY speaking, that wasn't what her assignment was codenamed. But she never really did pay attention to those names. They tended to be boring or stupid puns, not like the killer ones she came up with. You know. Robins are birds, and... ... Anyway. She smirked slightly as she walked down the hall of Horizon's base, a slight skip in her step. Looking around the halls of her new home in resplendent shades of gray, gray, more gray, grey (which is like gray but British, and she'd been to London during the rain, so they KNEW gloomy), and a color that could only be described as "drabbish" made the military part of her immediately comfortable. The Hunk was in the storage hanger, she had her room assignment, everything was just plain peachy–except those walls, a quick spin reinforced that everything around was that beautiful drabbish– and... Hold up. That girl certainly had a presence. Well, both of them did. One, a girl standing with obvious military discipline, the other in a white outfit, green eyes, tall. Striking. Maybe... She should introduce herself? The one was obviously her commander, by the description she'd been given. The other must be one of her squadmates, or someone else. Robin calmed her walk and stepped up to them, saluting. Not her regular style, but who knows how this woman treated her subordinates. "Commander White, I'm..." She paused for a second. Pike, spear, javelin... Robin continued, a note of eureka on her first word. "Lance Corporal Robin Hartwell reporting for duty!"
  9. Hey y'all. What's up. Preapproved, though with some pretty heavy consequences. Name: Robin Hartwell Age: 21 Gender: Female Occupation: Military pilot, rank E3. I think. Appearance: First thing you’d think when you first saw Robin would be “small”. She’s a scant 5’2”, her brown hair spiked to add a few inches to her height in the hope of not being totally overlooked. Combined with how lean her muscle is, she doesn’t exactly seem like the imposing, tough military type—and her brown, slightly too large, sympathetic eyes really, really don’t help. Her fingers move with an uncanny deftness, though, and her eyes are always on her surroundings. Her cheekbones aren’t overly pronounced and her nose is slightly smaller than average. She’s the pale ivory of someone who spends nearly all their time in a UV tinted cockpit, just blessed enough to have a good complexion, and she keeps her body at a reasonable level of fitness. Outfit-wise, she normally wears a plain, red leather jacket, a white t-shirt, and jeans while off duty, and the normal mech pilot uniform otherwise. Suggestions that she is trying to imitate James Dean will be met with a long, silent look, then a shrug and “yeah, pretty much.” Equipment: Standard combat pistol, knives, aid kit, a rifle and comm unit. Standard stuff really. Her Raptor, as well, where she stores rations and some other necessary supplies. Skills: A deft pilot and excellent fighter, Robin is practically built for driving the physically demanding Raptor she calls her own. Her reaction time and dexterity are by far her highest abilities, and she’s spent a lot of time training to resist the high accelerations inherent in her work. Personality: Robin’s a joker, teasing and harassing her teammates if given the opportunity, though she starts to care about them a little too easily. She won’t hit where it hurts, despite her bluster and carrying on. She’s loud and proud, her mouth making her seem larger than she actually is, while her almost satirical level of “Murika” conceals whatever she really feels about the entire situation with the Ark Union and outer colonies. She’s a good soldier, sure, but good luck getting anything personal out of her—and even then, she might be lying about it. “Truth’s just another word for not MAN ENOUGH to lie.” Bio: “American made, baby.” Robin was born in and raised in the American Midwest, where “everything’s flat but the women.” Other than that she doesn’t say much about her upbringing, apart from making occasional references to her days “on the farm with Wayne and Hoss, chuckin’ hay and leering at chicks,” though whether Wayne and/or Hoss existed is a matter of contention—considering she lived on a corn farm and never really had livestock nor a reason to “chuck hay”. At any rate, after leaving life in the plains of Nebraska she joined the Federation military, partially because both her parents had been enlisted and partially because she had nothing else to do. She wasn’t exactly a physical or mental prodigy, with not much hope of college beyond a local community one. Working her way up to the mech pilot program took time, but at last she’d found what she was good at—and now she can take to the skies whenever she pleases. Weakness: Robin SUCKS at out of suit combat. She’s decent enough at a distance with a rifle and her aim is good, but in hand to hand she’ll lose to bigger, stronger fighters—a class of which nearly everyone is a member. She’s dextrous, but not strong. On a character level, she’s somewhat too soft to be a great soldier, and has something of a complex about her height. Profile for Arsenal Walkers: Base Model: FAW-022 Raptor Designation: Scavenger Eagle, though how Robin refers to it depends on her mood. Names have included Hunk o Junk and FAWful Day. Appearance: If anything, the Eagle seems to be almost intentionally average, if lightly built. Its height and plating level are practically the same as any other of its model, though they’ve been replaced with a lighter material—not quite as strong as the normal metal alloy, but more electrically resistant and easier to change directions with. The body seems to be the only normally weighted and built part, seemingly a paradox given the small size of its pilot. All of that extra space and weight is taken up by equipment that defrays the effects of sudden velocity changes and intense air maneuvers, even beyond the normal array in other Raptors. As far as paint goes, the armor is tinted a metallic teal with a small bird hatching from an egg on its chest. Armaments: The normal head mounted machine guns of a Raptor mech, but shortswords are on the legs instead of combat knives and the rifle is meant for long range fighting rather than close encounter skirmishes. Weakness: The extra shock absorbers and faster maneuvering speed come at the cost of weaker than normal plating. If Robin’s reaction time fails, she’s likely to take a hit the Eagle can’t recover from. Pilot: Robin Hartwell
  10. OOC: Let's finally get this #### show on the road. IC: Shadow King Images filtered into her mind. Pawns, moving furniture, preparing the massive room for the ball, ordering supplies. Everything was proceeding exactly as she'd planned it. But the orchestration wasn't her own, every situation she saw coming in through the unstoppable, irrepressible gloom that dominated her mind. Even the garb of the White Pawns looked stained, looked dirty... Still... When the Abyss stares into you, you stare long into the Abyss. She could see what the King had planned, and... She had to appreciate it. A Bishop returned, smiling slightly. "The decorations are exactly as you instructed, madam, and the food and drink has been prepared." Lynae felt her lips spread into a fanged smile, the King's shadows pulling up strings at the edge of her mouth. She--he--still had so much to do... A date to arrange, a dress to buy, a few more preparations to make. But the important ones were done, the gala was being decorated according to the right design... The King, as much as he ever could be... Was happy. And his happiness gave the remnant of her mind something of freedom, some ability to escape the utter suffocation that his influence drowned her thoughts in. If only-- She gasped and stumbled, her eyes going blurry as she supported herself with one arm against the wall, her breath suddenly deserting her. At least... That's what it felt like. Her vision receded, tunneling away, small black bars filtering in from the edges, chains joining them, barring her from the window that the world was becoming... And she was back in her cell, trapped by her own mind as the King took back absolute control. *** And the Gala was in progress. She was wearing an emerald green dress, probably intended to be upper thigh length on its original wearer... But it feel to her knees. No matter, the King's goal was not seduction, not today. Waiters were in motion, bringing refreshments to all those attending. With the pull of puppet strings, she glanced around, searching for someone in particular...
  11. OOC: Stannis from Po. IC: The walk from Po-Koro was long, and Stannis had a lot of time to think. He hadn't seen the others, not for a long time... Not since his self imposed exile, actually, since he'd returned to his own Wahi. Not since the dream, not since his mask had changed... Not since he'd decided that he wasn't right, wasn't worthy to lead the Maru anymore--not that they were likely to accept his leadership. His lips spread into a rueful smile. He'd lied, lied to his team, had the hubris to circumvent destiny, then had disappeared back to the desert. They hadn't looked for him, hadn't really come calling during that time... The mad prophet, on his own personal hermitage, painting pictures of fallen heroes. Of visions destroyed by deceit, of impressions of whatever that unnameable and unmentionable evil was that his mask had created through the Makuta's destruction, his pictures all had one common feature. One figure in darkness, one tempted by fear, by love... By what it didn't matter, but tempted, the temptation causing them to flaunt destiny, either to not truly defeat an enemy or to join it. Kopaka in some... Himself in others. The market was bustling around him, a few people noticing the presence of the Toa Maru of Stone, others too busy in their own business to see a onetime hero. Then he bumped into someone moving hastily through the crowd, almost seeming to try to become lost in it... A familiar face, one he could have recognized anywhere. "Reordin," he said, then stopped. How does one end a long year of malevolent silence?
  12. NPC: "Lieutenant Terenor Alinkon of the Ihu-Koronan Highlanders, sir. I've been sent by Ahka Tamara with all powers necessary to forge an alliance with your city and discuss the problem of Ko-Koro." The Ko-Toa smiled uneasily. "Being as we are, somewhat cut off from the rest of the island by it... We feel its fall particularly acutely."
  13. NPC: Terenor Alinkon, Ihu-Koronan Lieutenant The Lieutenant snapped awake, his Kakama-masked face turning upward at the sound of the door opening. It seemed like he'd been waiting for years, but Onepu was finally free. "Sir, excuse me!" He said, sprinting up to the Onu-Matoran. "I must speak with you."
  14. Reviews for XMDN here! Don't be too mean, I don't think my panda heart can take it. As time goes on, more of what happened here will be revealed. Have fun, hope you enjoy it!
  15. Now for ten years, we've been on our own. The radio in the corner was blasting out Don McLean. Part of a block party weekend or something. He rubbed his eyes, squinting at the light coming in through the window, licking dry lips. And moss grows fat on a rolling stone. He had a headache. But that's not how it used to be... The radio exploded, his headache receding after the intial spike from the sound of the detonating speakers. His toothbrush was somewhere around... He stumbled into the bathroom, nearly tripping over a drumset, splashing water on his face, reaching for his toothbrush. His mouth felt grimy. The toothbrush helped. He spat, watching the running water swirl down the drain, turning it off. His phone was buzzing. He ignored it, pouring some cold coffee from the pot he made the previous night and drinking it in one gulp, grimacing at the flavor. Some of his hair was falling in his eyes. He ran his hand through it, sending it into disordered spikes, pulling a black, rubber plated riding suit on, grabbing his helmet from where he'd dropped it when he came into his apartment the previous night. Plus side of a one-room apartment. Not many places to lose things. He paused at the door, looking back toward the phone on the counter and sighing, picking it up and sticking it into a pocket on his suit. He didn't turn the screen on, no reason to check the messages right now. The elevator creaked downward to the garage, pausing for a full twenty seconds at the bottom before the doors finally decided to screech open. He winced, the sound of the elevator bringing on a new throb of pain in his head as he stepped out, a plain black motorcycle sitting in a near parking spot. Well, it looked black. Bits of the original green paintjob still showed through, but repeated scorchings, scrapes, and general abuse had fractured it off. "This'll be the day that I die," he sang softly, the spark plugs deep inside the machinery of the cycle reattaching, the engine roaring to life. He got on slowly, pulling his helmet on, latching the airtight seal onto his suit. It was surprising how useful that seal was, especially because he could cut out a lot of sound if he wanted to. As the shout of the engine faded into blissful silence, he sighed-then grimaced at the smell of bad coffee on his breath. Oh well. Beast couldn't be picky. *** "Soundbyte and Remus will attempt to distract any enemy combatants while Errant tries to sneak in and free the hostages from behind. Errant, I'm downloading the blueprints for the building to your phone, along with my suggested route. Soundbyte, Remus: Be loud, be obnoxious, fight hard but not too aggressively. We don't want them getting worried and executing anyone before Errant can get to them." He nodded. True, a drunk didn't paint such a pretty picture... But Beast looked old, grey patches showing up in his blue fur, his catlike eyes weary from years of worry. Remus was immortal, so of course she looked the same. Alistair was still in his twenties, still looked good, their personal Knight Errant a tall, brown haired man with polite speech and smile. Might as well be the face of their little triumvirate. The X-Men. Down to a drunk, a knight, and a wolf. *** The X-Men. Down to a few seconds. He was running, his powers stretched to their absolute maximum, the entire universe creaking past him in slow motion, light starting to burst through the walls of the medical clinic- Reaching for the black-haired boy with him, gold brooch on his chest- Grabbing him, continuing on, dashing through the open door, glow melting through the room behind him. He had to go faster. His body started to tear under the strain of being yanked almost entirely out of the timestream. The light was burning closer. Faster. It was at his heels as he ran. FASTER. Time was disintegrating as the light caught up, burning him away, agonizing pain tearing through him so unmercifully slowly, tearing through his burden- The X-Men. Down to a few seconds. He was running.
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