Jakura Nuva

Happy to be a part, and I'm excited to begin.

Player Name: Jakura Nuva Campaign: #1: A Game of Hunters Character Name: Jakura Aodh Gender, Age, Element: Male, 21, Fire Personality: In his past life, Jakura was a humble and eager leader, naively hoping to pull his people together to bring pride to the name of Aodhiim. But with the alterations Miserix has made to reality, things have changed. Now far more solitary and distant, the young Aodh pulls off “unlikeable sod” in a surprisingly charming way, with just enough wit about him to keep people thinking he’s got a better handle on a situation than he actually has. He realizes that victory is more important than honor, and he prioritizes his personal freedom over anyone else’s; but when it comes to people he considers close friends or teammates, he's reliable in a pinch and isn't quick to betrayal. History: Born into House Aodh as one of the nephews of the late Imperator Burnmad, Jakura found himself in an undesirable situation when he was called to serve as the next heir after his older brother, Sil, who had succeeded the throne after the passing of his uncle, had himself been declared dead during an expedition outside of Aodhiim that ended under mysterious circumstances. The inexperienced but sharp Protector was forced to put his formal education aside and assume control over the unsteady nation, and what followed was a brief period of both great success and subsequent, immense failure. Multiple territories were united under Aodhiim’s banner and peace talks were finally underway with Karamu, but Jakura’s failed investigation into the death of Sil, plus the quick descent into paranoia he experienced as the result of knowledge of a traitor in his inner circle, resulted in the Imperator’s inevitable demise at the hands of Efandril, the one in turn responsible for Sil’s death. But in the new reality, Burnmad was never killed – instead, he stepped down and was succeeded directly by Jakura. And this time, he survived the attempted murder, which forced him and his loyalists into hiding. Unbeknownst to all but himself, the situation benefits him to a degree - for the throne was never something he was comfortable with, and now the only thing between him and absolute freedom is a way off Okoto. Greatest Fears: Firstly, Jakura fears loneliness. Though he tends to keep to himself, he realizes – much to his own disgust – that he can’t stand the thought of being alone for the rest of his life. He’s never felt especially close to most of his family, except for his older brother Sil and his uncle Burnmad. When the former died and the latter became a recluse, Jakura felt truly alone for perhaps the first time in his life, and it’s a feeling that haunts him especially after being cast from the throne and forced into a life of secrecy. Secondly, Jakura fears confinement. All his life he’s been called to represent the best of Aodhiim; but he wants nothing more than freedom from this immense burden of responsibility, and he sees his dethronement as an opportunity to finally cast away the ever-tightening collar around his neck. But he also understands that with the future of the nation dangerously uncertain, he’s at great risk of losing his freedom, which makes him unsure of what he should do. Finally, Jakura fears failure. Regardless of his current position, the young Aodh is not ready to surrender just yet, and he is determined to succeed in life even if forced to leave behind everything he has ever known in order to do so. Indeed, accepting death becomes more and more appealing as time drags on… but death itself would be failure. Thus Jakura carries on, and will persevere until he has no options left to him. Greatest Dreams: Jakura craves success. It’s no mystery that his life has been fraught with mistakes and missteps, though not for lack of trying. He desperately wishes to make something of himself and find success in his endeavors. Jakura also desires freedom. Just as he fears the threat of confinement, so too does he long for ultimate, unbound independence. His love for the sea is tied to this wish, as the open ocean represents the truest freedom a person could possible have. Most of all, Jakura longs for peace. Okoto itself has been nothing but unrest for an untold period of time, even if so much of it remains faint in his mind. He dreams of when he can finally turn his back to all the chaos and live his life in true solace, comforted by the sound of the waves for the rest of time. Ultimate Power: After having a small taste of what's it like to be in control, Jakura would realize that immense power and the ability to reshape worlds isn't exactly something he craves. He's most likely to pass the mask onto someone else, provided their plans don't involve his demise or otherwise inconvenience. That being said, his desire to leave Okoto, his underlaying concern for Burnmad, and the continued interference of Efandril, could all drastically affect the young Protector's decision. Strength: 1 Agility: 2 Intelligence: 3 Charisma: 4

Season 4 hype!

As a newcomer to both BZPGOT and this style of game in general, I enjoyed myself a lot. It was well structured, easy to pick up and learn, but complicated enough that I never found myself bored. On the contrary, considering the character and role I played, the risk of anything and everything going badly if handled the wrong way was nerve-wracking and kept me on edge, which was certainly for the better as it encouraged me to be thoughtful and strategic in my every move. (Though if there's one thing I've learned from this experience, it's that there's such a thing as being too cautious.) As a big fan of point-and-click and text adventure games, having so many mysteries and artifacts to potentially solve and discover was extremely pleasing, as was the need for strategy and tactical thinking. If I had to mention a negative with the game, it would be the lack of interaction with other players outside of my own nation; but that could somewhat be chalked up to my character's position and goals within the story. I very much enjoyed having every nation pitted against the other, but I agree with Burn that I'd like to see the results of some unity between them if a S4 happens. Otherwise, I currently can't think of any other complaints. It was a blast, and I may be up for another go depending on what the future holds. Thanks for the sentiment. I greatly appreciate it, and can say the same for you. The experience wouldn't have been the same if the traitor aspect hadn't been present, and as frustrating as that was at times, I enjoyed our interactions overall.

Fantastic work, Tex. Can't wait to start the next episode.

Great point, honestly.

Alas! Here's hoping you'll be available and on time for Season 4 (if any of Okoto is left standing by this season's end).

Best of luck to you all.

Joining the fray.

I agree with what you said in a previous comment - that having a similar build works for a Toa team whose members became Toa through the same method. But that's why I appreciate the shell use and slight tweaks so much; because even though they're basically the same figure underneath, there's enough variety in their exterior to make them look unique. It's a useful method that keeps things easy but not too lazy. Yeah, I know you said you probably wouldn't be doing anymore models. But I was referring to anything MOC-wise you happen to post at anytime in the future! What you've built here has wet my palate, so to speak.

Yay for Metru fans! <3 After looking over the renders in greater detail, I have a few more comments to make. Firstly, I like how Nuju holds his Crystal Spikes - like claws, rather than a standard melee weapon. Reminiscent of how he held his tool in the movie, if I'm remembering correctly. And the design itself is great. That being said, I think it would've been cool if Vakama held his Disk Launcher in the same way (forearm-mounted as opposed to holding it in his hand). I have to say the weapon looks a little bare-bones, but I have a fondness for its overall length and shape. The Disk Launcher was always one of my favorite Toa tools, and the way you captured it here is great. Still on the subject of weapons, I have to say that Whenua's drill looks pretty sick. I'd also say he'd look better with two! Really enjoying it. Nokama's Hydro Blades are my favorite of the Metru's arsenal; the overall design and use of parts is just fantastic! And to not leave anybody out - the simplicity of Matau's and Onewa's tools work great for their purposes. Build-wise, I appreciate how you managed to get a different look out of each Toa despite using the same base. For example, the slenderness of Vakama's body compared to Whenua's bulk, is really cool and displays a lot of character. Amazing how just some changes in armoring can affect the whole aesthetic. And of course, those heads/masks... absolutely stunning. I especially enjoy the use of a System sausage for Whenua's brow, and the build of Vakama's head - my favorite of your designs - captures a sullen look that's simply remarkable and so characteristic, even if not intentional. I'm in love with it. Overall, I'd buy these in a heartbeat. They're all really very cool, and certainly nostalgic (which is saying something, coming from someone who wasn't a fan in '04). Well done, and I look forward to anything you may do in the future.

Very nice - as a big fan of the Metru, I'm really impressed!

Can't get the game ATM (my laptop is not built for gaming), but I plan to at a later date... so I'll add you then?

Wonderful! Just when you think Tahu can't get more golden, haha. Way past cool.

A short story I wrote for Iaredios the Hip Historian for BZP's Secret Santa 2015. Forgot to put it up before, so here it is now. I might edit a little bit some time soon, but until then... enjoy! *** Atop the dune he stood, staring deeply into the eyes of the rider in black not a hundred meters before him. The harsh, biting wind whipped his cloak around his body, and sent piercing sand mercilessly into his eyes, so that he could only squint; yet the sun was so bright (and so hot upon him), that no chance of clear vision was present. Even so, the Rider in the valley before him was so dark, its chaotic aura so strong, that as it practically begged him to approach, Iaredios – for that was the Agori’s name – had no trouble knowing it was there. Indeed, he could feel the evil. But, who exactly was this "he"? Iaredios was a curious individual. His lineage was a proud one, but his ancestry had always stirred up controversy among other families of the Iconox. It was a well known fact that somewhere back a great grandfather of his had children with a Skrall or two, introducing their blood to the line. This was forbidden; but the matter was quickly covered up. For indeed, the Paerkenons as they were known were a powerful family of nobles: neither the highest in social stature nor the lowest, minor in size and influence, but still quite capable in the art of deception and influence. For cautionary purposes, mind you; not malevolence. It was many years ago that the House of Paerkenon fell, the reason why lost to time (and purposely so). But from the ashes of the nobles’ corpses one last descendant rose, born amidst the disaster and that miraculously, by the Great Spirit’s grace, survived. This was Iaredios, the last Paerkenon and a noble akin to his greatest forefathers. And as you can see from his history, curious! Indeed, the blood in his veins seemed to meet with a delta of different blood at some river, as his body was lightly riddled with the telling marks of a Skrall: maze-lines and spikes, though his were scarce and in most cases barely visible. The knobs ascending his head were so faint they remained naught but freckles in comparison to the spikes of the true-bloods; and the lines traversing his back, shoulders and chest were not raised but faded, barely visible but in shadowed conditions, where a slight glow was produced from them. His whole body was like blue sand in color, mottled in places as if some other color had been haphazardly scattered in and briefly stirred. Expensive fur robes and a cloak and hood serve as his wardrobe, and a small, curved blade of wicked origin as his defense. So this was Iaredios, noble in mind and powerful of blood, sitting atop a Rock Steed and, with a hand over his brow, peering over the expanse that stretched across the desert expanse before and beneath him. His left hand rested on the sword at his waist as he adjusted the helmet on his head – made it himself, as stories go; patterned after a tribal mask of a time before time – with his right. He was stalling, yes, but not for lack of courage; rather, for a lack of understanding. Why was he here, on a holiday of all days? The simple answer was that something – or someone, as it seemed - had called out to him in a challenge. He’d felt it in his sleep, and he’d felt it as he awoke. He felt it as he armored himself this morning, and as he began the journey into the desert. And as he looked on at the armored menace sitting atop his own Rock Steed in the valley below, he felt it in a chasm so low in his heartlight that it almost hurt. This was the “simple” answer, indeed. But he sought the complicated one: why does this being want him, and from what demonic source does it draw its power? “Time to find out,” Iaredios spoke aloud, yanking on the reigns and sending his Steed charging forward down the dune and straight towards his opponent. He drew his sword and held it aloft as he descended upon his enemy. The rider before him, once silent and still, suddenly snapped to life, as if the challenging move made by Iaredios had given him further energy. Shrugging his great black cloak and pulling the hood closer to his face with long, thick claws, the Rider drew his own weapon – a thorny club of hardash wood, the kind that grows stronger as it burns in fire. It is a favorite weapon of the Elite Skrall, and it appeared to Iaredios, who was drawing close enough to see the figure more clearly, that it was indeed one of these individuals… yes, even the thorns on his head were visibly protruding from underneath the hood, and pushing up on the fabric from beneath. And on the shoulder of his cloak – just there beneath a fold – was a small symbol. He couldn’t make out the details clearly from this distance, but the blood-red color of it glinting in the sun was enough to confirm the villain’s origin. Skrall, indeed. So perhaps another challenger? Ah, but the power… the power within this one. It was almost unreal. Something else was at work here. Iaredios was close enough now to hear the breathing of the Skrall’s Steed, and decided to make the first move. He swung his sword down mightily towards the Rider’s head. The Rider’s reflexes were keen; he reined his Steed away and went on the offense with a massive swipe of his club. Iaredios ducked and reared his beast back, preparing for another strike. “Your decision to lure me into battle here today is a poor one, Skrall,” Iaredios shouted above the wind. “I’ve defeated many of your kind – you will be no different.” The creature snarled and urged his Rock Steed forward, swinging again at the Agori. Iaredios ducked again, and this time followed up with a harsh stab of his sword into the enemy Steed’s neck. The blade sank in deeply, causing the beast to rear back in pain and fright – the sword still lodged in its skin. The Skrall held on tightly, his cloak swirling around him like a black rain cloud as he regained control of the injured animal. Iaredios regained his own balance and cursed at having lost his weapon. “The Great One calls for your death, sand mite,” Iaredios’s opponent rumbled, pulling himself to his full height and twirling his weapon in threatening arcs. “We shall comply.” He lunged again, putting full momentum behind his swinging club. Iaredios again reined his Rock Steed backwards, barely avoiding the blow. He grimaced and charged his beast forward, grabbing a new weapon – a nasty-looking scythe – from his beast’s side. He quickly swung the scythe directly at the Skrall. The being held up his club and deflected the blow, then swung his weapon mightily; Iaredios blocked and returned the favor, which the Skrall also managed to block. This fast-paced duel continued for some time, until suddenly the Rock Steed beneath Iaredios pulled back without command. The Agori now sensed the exhaustion of the creature – he knew he couldn’t continue with it, lest it collapse in the midst of battle and be his demise. And so he reared back a few paces, swinging one final time to keep his enemy at bay. Using the reins, Iaredios swung down and dismounted the Steed. The Skrall, angry at how long this had been drawn out, was a bit flustered by his opponent’s move. “Come down here and face me!” Iaredios shouted from the ground, bringing his scythe up in a defensive position. His Rock Steed had retreated a few paces and was catching its breath. “Leave your steed behind and confront me on your own feet.” The Skrall was silent a moment. Then, with a long cackle, he jumped down from his steed, the beast immediately taking off. The Skrall’s large feet sent sand flying as he stomped toward Iaredios, club held high in the air and poised for the kill. Iaredios pounded his scythe against the ground in a defiant manner and brought it up into a defensive position. He was ready. What had been somewhat boring and slow before now turned to a fast-paced and brutal confrontation. Where Iaredios had speed, this Elite Skrall had strength; the Skrall’s violent swinging-and-smashing movements were easily countered by Iaredios’s decisive dodges and swift counter-attacks. As the Skrall hammered forward with randomly placed attacks, shrugging off the well-coordinated strikes of Iaredios, the Agori in turn chose his path more carefully, planning ahead to avoid the brutish onslaught and strategically striking at the Skrall’s unguarded points. It was difficult due to the enemy’s cloak concealing much of him, though, and the Skrall’s skill certainly trumped his; for with every passing second the former grew swifter and more precise, as if learning with each move provided by Iaredios. The Agori warrior hastily sidestepped as the Skrall brought his club smashing into the sand, mere inches from where Iaredios’s head had been. Iaredios retaliated with a quick swing to the back of the Skrall’s head; the blow connected rather solidly, and the Skrall was sent tumbling into the dune next to them. For an Agori, Iaredios was strong. The realization of this enraged the Skrall; he pulled himself back to his feet, not giving Iaredios time to strike again, and swung his club at the Agori’s legs. Iaredios back-flipped away and swung his scythe around in a flashy motion. “You’re tiring, Skrall,” he panted, slowly circling his enemy. The Skrall did the same, though at a shakier pace. “You will have to bring Tuma a different prize.” The Skrall laughed mockingly. Iaredios was surprised. “Tuma? Tuma is dead, little Halfblood. I serve beside a greater master… and we are One.” And without warning he rushed forward, striking furiously at Iaredios. He then followed up with an unexpected leg sweep, which managed to connect with Iaredios and caused him to fall on his face. The hero quickly spun away just as the Skrall tried to stomp him into the sand. Iaredios jumped up and swung his scythe, which connected with the Skrall’s club and sent sand exploding as the powerful thud of the collision sounded across the dunes. The two were at a standstill, Iaredios miraculously holding his own against this enigmatic tyrant as they kept their weapons locked in a show of might. The Skrall was slowly pushing him downwards, their faces close now, and the two stared each other down as the wind picked up pace. The coarse sand swept into their faces, the blood-red eyes of the Skrall so piercing that Iaredios could make them out even through the storm. The Agori struggled with all the power he could muster… But it wasn’t enough. He felt himself being forced closer and closer to the ground, and a slight glint could be seen from beneath the Skrall’s hood – a nasty grin. Suddenly, the brute tore his club away and smashed it downwards onto Iaredios’s still-defending scythe, causing the Agori to fall with pain to his knees as the weapon flew from his hands and into the sand. He lunged for it, but the Skrall kicked him aside, ready to deliver the final blow. “Now… little one…” he panted, hands trembling with anger and exhaustion as he raised his club above his head. “You will fall at our hands!” Iaredios, who was bleeding from the mouth and hands, solidified his expression. He looked into the piercing gaze of the Skrall with the coldness of a true Iconox. “…Not today.” Iaredios whipped a strange-looking device made of seashell from beneath his robes and blew on it. No sound came forth. The Skrall was silent a moment, and then began to chuckle. “Nice try,” he hissed, and swung his club downwards. But before the club could even make contact, a blur of silver struck forth from behind Iaredios, colliding with the Skrall’s head and cracking his helmet. The vile creature was sent flying, Iaredios gasped – he could see something sharp had pierced through to the Skrall’s cranium. Blood spilt forth as he hit the ground, silent. The Agori whipped around to see his Rock Steed, whose harsh, stinging tail had been the instrument of destruction in the Skrall’s downfall. Blood dripped from the tail’s end as the beast let out a hissing screech, pawing the ground near Iaredios and shaking its head. It wasn’t happy. Iaredios painfully rose to his feet and went to console the creature, in order to keep it from striking the Skrall again. He then limped over to the Skrall. Pulling the cloak away from the damaged being’s lifeless body, he could see that while his wound was deep, the Skrall was alive – just barely. But this was the least of Iaredios’s concern. Creeping, sickly rust covered the Skrall’s body from head to foot, resembling pulsing, organic veins. The greenish-brown substance looked alive. Iaredios recoiled in fright as the Skrall’s body twitched and writhed. The thing gnashed its teeth weakly in anger, before hacking blood and green bile from its mouth in a final show of corruption. Then it was still. “What the Karzahni are you?” Iaredios breathed. “He is Legion. Or, he was.” So distracted was he that Iaredios did not notice the approach of a tall, muscular Glatorian – no, not a Glatorian; a Toa – from behind. Bright red and clad in silver armor, the Toa stood before Iaredios with a large sword in hand, ragged cloak fluttering around his body. “Iaredios?” the Toa spoke, casting a cautious glance at the unconscious form of the dead monstrosity. He stabbed his sword into the sand and knelt to the Agori’s height. “Are you alright? What are you doing out here in the desert?” Thirsty and exhausted, Iaredios removed his helmet and rubbed his forehead, desperately trying to blink through the sand and blood in his eyes. As his vision reset, he could make out a Hau Nuva, through which stormy grey eyes peered. Not just a Toa, a Toa Nuva, clad in silver armor… Jakura! “…I… received a message this morning, my friend,” he replied after a moment. “I was wanted here, at this spot. I expected foul play – and I was correct.” He motioned towards the Skrall. “But it was for worse then I could’ve imagined.” The Toa looked from the Agori, to the Skrall, to the Rock Steed and then back to Iaredios. “Yes. He is – they are – Legion. One of many Skrall that have been infected with the Darkness. That is why he undoubtedly referred to himself as ‘we’ and ‘us’; not only in reference to his brethren, but also to the living shadows feeding off of him. You were lucky he came alone. And… I can’t believe you beat him by yourself!” “I didn’t,” Iaredios coughed, reaching for the water skin at his waist. “I had help.” He then gestured towards his Rock Steed. The Toa cocked an eyebrow, amazed. “Where does it come from, though?” Iaredios pressed, rather confused. “I could feel the evil emanating from it. Even from home… the corruption, the darkness… surely it’s not from…?” “Look, ‘Dios, I’m sorry you’re only learning of this threat now, but I’m afraid the full story will have to wait. The Voroxian First Order made their move during your absence today, and we’ve needed every warrior that can function – especially Agori such as yourself. We need more soldiers at the bunkers, protecting the villagers from the Zesk Tunnelers while my brothers and sisters and I fight on the front lines. Are you strong enough to assist?” Iaredios sighed, before latching his helmet back on his head. He leaned heavily on his scythe nodded firmly, looking quite formidable despite his injuries. “Of course,” he said with a fully serious expression. “I’ve been bored to death for the past few hours.” The Toa nodded with a somber grin, pulled his sword from the sand and sheathed it on his back, and went to grab the Skrall’s corpse. He removed his cloak and wrapped the body in it, hauled it into the air, and tied it down on Iaredios’s Steed. Iaredios watched as Jakura Nuva walked back to his own mount – a large, winged beast with a single horn on its head - jumped into the saddle, and patted the thing’s neck. The Rahi gracefully lifted into the air. “Drop the corpse at the nearest security encampment, and then join me at Terai so we can patch you up.” Iaredios nodded, stepping up into his Steed’s saddle and grabbing the reins. He gave a humorless chuckle. “What a way to spend Naming Day, right?” The Toa snorted and slapped his mount’s reins. “I wouldn’t dream of spending it any other way,” he shouted, as he and his Rahi soared off. “Neither would I,” Iaredios murmured to himself. “Neither would I.” He reared his Steed around and sent it into a charge camp, his mind occupied with question after puzzling question. To his own shock, he was already forgetting… but maybe that was a good thing. He shook his head in dismissal and turned to the matter at hand.