EmperorWhenua

IC Yumiwa | Yukanna "Long Dihunai," I said, finally focused and lusid enough to breathe evenly and think complex thoughts again, "tell me what ancient legends the Tajaar have of the dragons. I know your folk keep better oral traditions than the Imperial clans do." @BULiK IC Sigrus | Ga "Ahhh, the sea-salty air... how I've missed this," the monk said after inhaling deeply and smiling broadly in profound nostalgic satisfaction. "It was a centerpeice of the life I lived before going to the Massif, yes." @Mel

IC Stannis | Onu 'Famous' halberd, Ra'lhen had said. Stannis' mouth tilted in a skewed smirk that could be either a frown or a thin smile depending on the angle one viewed his face. He hadn't heard of his toa tool referred to like that, but he supposed it was normal. He was a Maru, and it was his god-given weapon, though he still thought it amusing to consider it or anything associated with him 'famous.' For a man of vast renown he shirked the limelight and shrugged the attention given. Come to think of it, what was with that ussal master? Did she look at him with recognition? Was there any overt sign of emotion? Stannis realized he hadn't even noticed, but he wasn't sure if that was a fault of his lack of observation after a long and noisy journey or whether the matoran hadn't made any indications. "It's my halberd," he confirmed to his friend having no reason to hide the truth from him, out of embarrassment or subterfuge. "And yeah, it was a fight. You know the saying, 'You can lose the battle but win the war?' I think that's what happened. I won—but I also lost, and now I have his sword." His voice dripped with mourning. The arrest of Toa-Protector Brykon still stung at his heartlight. It was a fight he didn't want and it came at a cost he didn't wish to pay, yet he was to carry the burden of its victory on his back regardless. The greatsword, the massive weapon called Ice, was the trophy he didn't ask for and served as a reminder of the losses suffered, and more than just his halberd was lost. Mata Nui lost a powerful toa in the defanging of Brykon's abilities, and the Massif was deprived of a dedicated guardian, both of which were sore losses for an island already thin of truly determined and fierce fighters against a growing darkness that stirred somewhere beyond sight. Part of Stannis wished he could restore Brykon's elemental abilities but he knew doing so would be a fruitless gesture that would only serve to reconcile his own stresses. No, better to shoulder the pain of it and carry on until the time was right, and only Mata Nui knew when, or whether, that would ever come. They walked in some silence until they came to the inn and he tapped the wrapped cloth once before walking in. "You know this sword," he said at last at the doorstep. "The other dude did, at least." @Emzee

IC Stannis | Onu-Koro There was a hastening in the clattering of their ussal mounts as the crabs knew they were close to their home paddock and the promise of treats that came with. Stannis glanced back at Ra'lhen to see what feelings he had about the city ahead and whether it was doom or indifference, and then looked back ahead at the growing glows of Onu-Koro's veritable constellations that spilled with effervescent illumination through the corridors that fed the city's cavern. For Stannis, the city of earth was one of his lesser-visited locations and there was not as many memories formed there. He'd sojourned through it before, of course, once as a matoran and once again as a Toa Maru, but they were only momentary occasions. Still, perhaps his lack of lingering there was borne in part from his irrational discomfort in the vast underground wahi, something, he figured once after much meditation on the exact matter, that likely had to do with the dichotomy of light and darkness in the depths of the earth. Stannis relished in investigating mysteries and uncovering fantastical things but the suddenness of illumination in obscurity and the vastness of things unseen and unknown unnerved Stannis, for while he delved in the unknowns like a form of personal currency he nevertheless found the myriad of frightening contrasts of things in the labyrinthine wahi to be overwhelming for his powers and senses. He was glad to have Ra'lhen's companionship for this journey, or else he was not likely to undertake the mission with as much determination. Musical Interlude All at once, they emerged from the tunnel and into the vastness of Onu-Koro's vaulted chamber and were greeted by the cacophony of industry and enterprise. Forges glowed all around and lamps dotted the streets and ceilings, washing them in artificial light that came in all hues of yellow and orange, and the hum of machinery bustled like a low choral. They'd arrived, and it all looked even more majestic than either of the toa had remembered the city to have been before, a far cry over the relatively humble and rustic aesthetics of their own hometowns. Suspicions of its prosperity were all but confirmed—Onu-Koro had done well for itself, indeed. Fortunately for the ambassadors of Po-Koro, they were not ones to be wooed or influenced by materialism. They, like the evil entity they marched to oppose, did not care about wealth or power. "We're here," Stannis said as they dismounted, a statement mostly to himself. After handing the reins to the ussal handlers they collected their small luggage belongings and set into the city proper. The journey's ride had left them sore and battered and they longed for the opportunity to rest their backsides and ears from the battering they'd received. "First things first: I need a break and a good drink. I think there's an inn here with good Yalp reviews—the Loampool, or something like that. From there I can send a message to my brother, Sulov." @Emzee

Whart

:arms:

IC Yumiwa | Yukanna "Intrusion aboard the Ryuu. Your navy will handle it, that is their job," Dihunai stated, terse as ever. "One—in... Two—out... It's alright, you're having a panic attack Yumi. It's just a panic attack." Nurselike patience and directness. "That is their job," I echoed to my Long companion, then followed with the same thing I said to the dragon. "And it's my job to represent them." "Right now, your job is to keep breathing, and be steady so you can be strong when it is needed." "Right..." This was exactly what I told Dihunai mere moments earlier when we were on the pier, wasn't it? She wanted me to be a stronger warrior but I told her my focus was on being a better rora. And now look at me! I didn't even know what was happening, not a single scratch fell on me, and yet I still fell into a fit of panic just with the idea that a plot was being hatched against me. Was this strength? I felt small, reliant on others, a figurehead adrift as flotsam on a current of maladies. If that were the case, the least I could do was keep my chin above the water and just... "Breathe." @BULiK

IC Sigrus | Snowcap Inn "I got it the same way Stannis was called the Wanderer—people just started calling me that. My name is objectively cooler, mmhm There's probably several reasons and I'm sure you'll find out all of them over time, yes." He looked around the inn at the milling patrons. "Are you of Ihu-Koro or a sojourner like us?" @Mel

IC Yumiwa | Ga-Koro, Yukanna He speaks of our ancient history, I thought with some measure of surprise. It could only mean that we—his kind and my people at the very least—had some shared history, though it was still unclear what the nature of that relationship was. "We have not had dramatic shifts akin to what you speak of in many centuries, not since the tumult of the warlord-kings was ended and the Dasaka Empire was forged by my greatest of grandmothers. Whatever you remember, whether the memories are your own or genetic, you'll see that times have changed. You have my friendship." .:Yumi, there’s an intruder aboard the Ryuu. Until I know more, you and your guards get aboard the Yukanna, get below. Wait for my all clear.:. Despite the obvious reason for alarm my face didn't betray my shock no matter how afraid I suddenly felt. My cousin quickly went to attend to the security issue and left me with my guards and the dragon-being, and I could tell at the corner of my eyes that Zafin and Dihunai were warily coming close to secure me. I was reticent to go belowdecks and abandon such a fascinating conversation but it was wholly unwise to not obey the commodore's commands given with the greatest of precaution, and around us, soldiers and civilians alike suddenly began moving in commotion. I knew going into the Yukanna's hold meant ending the conversation early as there was no way for the being to fit belowdecks. "Perhaps this island is not as hospitable as I hoped," I said to the dragon being. My eyes were narrowed but it wasn't accusatory—only curious at the sudden shift in fate since, after all, I'd been on the Ryuu before this abruptly happened. "But it will be as hospitable as we need it to be, somehow, and maybe you are part of that." I gave a short bow, the one used when dealing with someone of an equivalent social rank, while I politely disengaged and Zafin urged me down the steps into the Yukanna's interior. "I would like us to speak again should fate allow us. Remember me." And then the door was shut and the whole upside world was gone from my vision. I could barely hear the muffled going-ons without. An intruder on the Ryuu? ... I gasped for breath. A lump grew in my throat. Was I choking on my imagination? The world was spinning and I did not know how to stop it. Someone tried to sit me down but I batted them away. Then someone sat me down successfully. It was on something hard. Lightstone lamps around the space were ingited but darkness seeped in at the corner of my eyes. One, two, three lights. Voices—five of them. Blood, I tasted blood; did I bite my tongue? My heartlight wanted to jump from my chest. How close was I to dying? What was going on? Who's plot was at work here? Was I the target? Des—where was Des?—was she safe? Masa would keep her safe. Was I safe? "Easy, Yumi, breathe with me." "I–AM–BREATHING–ZAFIN" "Innnnn, ouuuuut... oooooone, twoooooo..." (Sometimes Zafin was too patient with me, but this was not one of those times. She was exactly as patient as she needed to be. How she knew to do what she did, I did not know.) "It's going to be alright. You're alright. Long Dihunai is here, I'm here, and captain Hogo Sakai is as well. Do you know where you are?" In, and out. Innnn, and ouuuut. I repeated the ritual several more times, and with each passing repetition the world became more clearly in view. Sakai handed me a cup of water which I eagerly took. "The Yukanna," I said finally. "Can someone please tell me what the frick is going on?" @BULiK @Bjorkway

IC Sigrus Winedark | Snowcap Inn At once, the monk's eyes opened and he adjusted his eyes to give the bard the fullest attention of his warm aquamarine eyes. "No, the apologies are mine to give, Ranok Selli." He amicably stretched his fist out for a polite bump. "I am Sigrus the Winedark, and it is a pleasure to meet you, yes."

IC Sigrus Winedark | Snowcap Inn The monk was sitting at the edge of the bench. An emptied bowl of stew was pushed forward and his hand was loosely gripped around gourd of wine. His eyes were shut and a contented look was plastered on his face as he gently bobbed his head a little bit while he seemed for all the world like he was having the time of his life simply existing in the moment and the conversations were some far-off mirage, but as Nichou and Ranok spoke Sigrus stopped nodding and tilted his head slightly. "The concept of Destiny," he said in his sagacious drawl, "is only as important as the other two virtues. There is no destiny without unity and duty as well. Everyone played an important part, even the ones who didn't complete the trip, yes, and the costs are shared just the same."

Flint and Steel, Part 2 [Part 1] IC Stannis and Brykon | The Massif and surrounding region Stannis Maru spent the night on the couch by the fire, though despite being nestled cozily under the mass of blankets and pillows the night was passed restlessly with his mind meandering with thoughts of what morning would bring. He had delivered his missive on behalf go the Akiri collective and handed Brykon the letters for his arrest and in doing so enacted the processing of justice that threatened the balance of affairs in the Massif against the larger whole of Mata Nui’s society. For as long as he could remember, the village and monastery had been a safe haven against all the judgements from the rest of the island, where lost souls and misguided spirits could rest and restructure their lives; the conviction of Lord Brykon ran the risk of overturning that legacy of neutrality. When the order was given by the council of leaders there was no question who would be the one to bear the missive—Stannis Maru was regarded as one of the most powerful toa on the island, but beyond his individual might his understanding of the Massif’s philosophies were ideal for the matter. If anyone was capable of handling the mission it was the erstwhile denizen of the refuge, with a conscience able to manage its diplomatic intricacy and strength sufficient to overcome Brykon if it came to blows. What frightened Stannis Maru most, however, was that he was not able to handle either of those responsibilities, that he’d inadvertently forsake his first adoptive home and utterly fail at countering Brykon’s martial prowess. The battle of Ko-Koro left him battered and drained mentally and physically and he hadn’t eve allowed his injuries to recover from the retaking of the ice city, and he doubted Brykon would surrender his newfound spiritual and legal freedom as the protector of the Massif without some form of fight. And that was what Stannis feared—fighting, dissolving the peace, violating the sanctity of the village, and failing his Duty, because in contrast Brykon remained hale as could be, bolstered by a more kanohi more suitable for combat, a weapon he wielded masterfully, and a cunning mind capable of strategy well beyond the Maru’s. His grey eyes sleeplessly stared at the dwindling flames of the fireplace and he imagined seeing his own demise in the ashes. The thoughts chilled him through the blankets, a dagger of ice in his spine. Before dawn came he could hear the stirring of the big man on the floor above the sitting room. Brykon’s heavy steps made the aged wooden beams creak and groan in protestation, overt murmurings of the ancient keep that seemed to sympathetically wake Stannis to alertness for the morning’s storm. It would be a storm, he reckoned—there was hardly any other way to do it, unless Brykon bent his knee to reasoning. A moment later and the lord of the manor descended from the stairs and busied himself straightaway to tending the fire with new wood without saying a word to his guest. Stannis, intent to rid himself of the night’s cobwebs and gain whatever edge he could muster, heaved the mass of blankets off him and went to the kitchen for coffee, finding a jar of beans on the counter and getting right to work grinding them. To seriously punt his mind awake he made it strong and black as night, and after he poured it and let the froth bubbles fade away the oily sheen of the bean’s extract refracted the orange haze of the fire that by then was roaring once again. But, despite the mutually understood rituals of morning muster, neither of them spoke much after having exhausted most logical paths of conversation the night before even as they gathered their packs of adventuring gear and slung their weapons across their backs. It wasn’t until they were finally standing in the morning airs and saw the first glints of sunlight that they exchanged the most sizable conversation to that point. “You know where we’re headed?” Brykon asked. “Like it were my own backyard,” Stannis responded. The two warriors ventured out from their village before the workers went afield. They hoped to be cleverly avoiding any and all attention from others, but not everyone slept soundly either—quietly watching them depart was the camerlengo Sigrus, doing the exact same thing he did the morning before and beholding the village stir to greet the day. He furrowed his brows and sighed deeply as he realized all was not going well, and then the two toa vanished from view. * * * * * They reached the fishing village at late morning when the tide was low and the wind calm. “So this is it,” Brykon said, looking around at the spartan collection of ramshackle huts and vacant piers. Water soothingly lapped at the stones, and beyond the piers were the tall cliffs and jagged mountainsides that curtained the length of the fjord before opening up to the eastern sea beyond. At nearly noon the light of the sun was beginning to dwindle as it set over the alps of Ko-Wahi behind them, casting shadows upon the village that slowly grew to overtake the rest of the fjord’s confines. There was hardly a soul to be seen in town, most of them being fishers who’d taken their boats out to sea and would not return for several hours more. “This is it,” Stannis said soberly, appreciating the double meaning of the phrase. This was an end of roads both literal and figurative, the terminus of their journey to the little trawler town and the graveyard of their amicable brotherhood, and it was mournful as all endings were. The Maru positioned himself abreast of the Toa-Protector and gently laid his left hand on the opposite’s right shoulder. “Toa Brykon, under the authority of the council of Akiri, I hereby place you under arrest.” Brykon’s shoulders clenched. Stannis felt the man’s incredible muscles move under his pauldrons like continental plates rolling under each other and studied Brykon’s profile carefully for any indication of threat, but there was none. What he felt was the defensiveness of a man who suddenly felt the stress of the situation. “You said this village was the Massif’s, which means the laws of the main village’s akiri hold no sway here,” he argued, stock-still and refusing to look the Maru in the eye yet. “I said it’s within the Massif’s protection,” Stannis responded evenly, all too used to choosing his words carefully and backing up the specific semantics later after many conversations regarding the so-called ‘defeat of Makuta’ and the importance of his choice of words. “I did not say it was the Massif’s territory. You are in Ko-Wahi right now, Brykon.” “F———.” The toa inhaled deeply and exhaled long and hard, then finally turned to Stannis and shrugged the hand off his shoulder. “I’d rather die than go headlong into whatever sort of prison Tarkahn has waiting for me.” He sighed again, air made hot with rising blood pressure blowing condensation thick enough to be cigarillo smoke out of his mouth. “Look, I don’t want to fight you—” “I don’t want to fight at all,” Stannis calmly interrupted. The abrupt coolness of the interjection caught him off guard a second time and he gathered his thoughts for a second before continuing. “I will defend my honor, Stannis, because it’s all I have at this point. I have done what is good since finding my freedom from under the shackles of Ambages and his company’s evilness, or I’d like to think that I’ve tried to. All I have ever tried to do was good, and it gladdens me that I’ve been able to find my redemption and purpose at our sanctum town—the same place my journey started on years ago when your teacher Antrim pledged me to his crusade. It’s been a looooong trip for me, and I have no intention to earn my forgiveness in some minuscule cell when I can do so much better enriching folks’ lives from all walks of life. Being Toa-Protector has given me a wholesome purpose helping people who were as lost as I was once, people who are likely impacted by the same evil elements I once did the bidding for. And I know you know all of this, and believe it as I do, which is why I cannot understand for the life of me… just why you agreed to this mission when you knew how hard it would be for both of us.” “Because I know you better than the other Maru,” Stannis explained, “... in every way. Because your philosophies are just as much my own. But the mission is the same: To bring you to justice. I’ve already forgiven you, but I am sorry, friend.” “Then so am I.” Brykon’s reaction was swift and savage, hallmarks of a master-at-arms who had earned his stripes over many conflicts. Before Stannis could even reach up to respond, Brykon threw a fist right on his heartlight that thrust the Maru backwards from the force of it and knocked the air out of his lungs. Stannis was rendered stunned and helpless as Brykon advanced with precise, pugilistic determination, swinging one fist after another at him and ramming into his core with each blow. In a matter of seconds Stannis was crashing to the ground and the cold gravel’s piercing chill was barely noticed over the sting of his new welts. He gasped for breath, shocked by Brykon’s brutal rebuff as much as his own unpreparedness for it, and from the corner of his vision he saw the burly man stalk away. It had been quite a while since this village had been a battleground, but Stannis had been there back then as well. He’d been a villager then, newly proclaimed a prophesied hero and helming the chosen five matoran after disbanding his Companions and losing Aurax’s companionship, all while on the run from no less than three dark toa. He wasn’t part of the fight itself and it was Joske who proxied at the time against Utu, though at its center the fight was about stopping “the Wanderer’s tread” so Stannis was party even in abstentia. It was poetic, then, that Stannis was at the core of this new fight on the same cold beach, this time carrying his own weight… although it wasn’t going well for him so far, granted. Once his breath returned, Stannis rolled onto his chest and vaulted himself to his feet with a shove. The rattle of rocks stirred by the gymnastics caught Brykon’s attention and he turned back to see Stannis standing upright again, this time with some distance between the belligerents. “Let me go, Stannis,” he growled pleadingly, though he meant it as a warning to punctuate the visceral pummeling he delivered a moment before. “I’m tired, and I don’t want to be on the run anymore. Tell the akiri whatever you need to, but I’m not giving up the solace I’ve earned.” “That’s not… an option...” Stannis lamented. “I have my Duty to uphold just as you’ve had your Destiny to live.” He took steady steps forward and clenched his hands into fists as his eyes went alight with his powers. Just as swift as Brykon’s punches, Stannis channeled his energies into the stones of the beach and willed them to coalesce; Brykon didn’t realize what was happening before he tried to move his feet into a battle stance and found he could not budge them. The gravel he’d been standing on had become a solid slab that perfectly trapped his feet like concrete. The Maru was closing the distance quickly and Brykon felt the first inklings of panic as he tried to free himself by activating his Pakari and slammed his fist on the ground, shattering the slab and freeing his feet with just seconds to spare. His freedom was short-lived as Stannis loosely gestured and caused a wave of stones to collide with Brykon and threw him to the ground from the weight of it. The toa of iron realized immediately what caliber threat Stannis actually was and the strategic brilliance of intentionally leading Brykon to this place. The village was Ko-Wahi territory, depriving Brykon of his domain’s legal immunity; the beach’s huts were made of wood and shingle and not much metal; and while the iron-richness in the basalt could be tapped into the Maru’s more potent focus over the stones themselves could all but nullify any attempts to manipulate the basalt; and the fact that they were in a village meant Brykon would be more restrained in his attacks to mitigate collateral damages in all but the worst situations. This was a setup intended to place Stannis at a decided advantage. Brykon would have to fight using resources of his own creation… or he could surrender, though he instantly banished the thought. He rolled out of the gravel and sprung to his feet swiftly as well, choosing to waste no time in charging headlong at Stannis. Using his Pakari-enhanced strength he flung another flurry of blows, but while each punch hit its mark Stannis had managed to pull himself away just enough to not suffer their strikes. Frustrated, the Fe-Toa ceased the barrage and reached over his shoulder to seize the greatsword strapped on his back. Stannis stood a head taller than his friend, a leaner and more perfectly postured man without the wearing away from physical rigors like Brykon had lived through, and upon seeing Brykon reach for his weapon Stannis instinctively closed the gap between them. He placed one hand on Brykon’s opposite shoulder and shoved it such that Brykon’s arm was angled uselessly away, and the other hand he seized upon his up-stretched wrist atop the massive weapon’s pommel. Their servos and joints whirred under the strain but he found that even with his strength Brykon struggled to muscle his way through Stannis’ use of leverage, though he quickly countered by swiping the Maru’s legs out from under him. Both toa fell to the ground and rolled away, scrambling to be the first one standing again only to do so simultaneously. The time for talking had already passed—by now they were fully pledged to their duel—and they drew their weapons with reluctant commitments to harm the other. Over the lapping of the waves on the beach their tools clashed with a ringing cacophony, halberd meeting greatsword like a hammer on a tuning fork. For the Maru, witnessing the weapon inherited from Antrim Vakitano being used against him was gutwrenching. This was the same weapon that had saved him, Oreius, and Korero from the pursuit of Ronkshou and Vidar, a sword wide enough that was meant to be used just as much as a shield, now betraying the legacy of its previous owner and meaning to harm another of the Massif’s famed pilgrims by it’s sharpness. The ironic turn was not lost on Brykon, though he realized there was a deeper irony to the dichotomy of the greatsword; while the sword endangered Stannis, it was serving as a shield for Brykon, deflecting the halberd’s bite and guarding the toa-protector’s flank. He wielded the incredible weapon with unbelievable speed and control, whirling it as effortlessly with one hand as with two. In contrast, Stannis’ moves were slower and he used his halberd more like a staff than the polearm it was, each movement halved in effort as he could use both ends of the weapon to either deflect or attack. It was a delicate dance, one that Brykon almost immediately gained the advantage by pressing his offensive that the Maru had to reel away from until Stannis could exploit come absence in the onslaught. Curiously, despite the heart-laden swings, neither of them felt an iota of bloodlust in the fight as they fought for duty and survival—their movements were borne from practiced reflex, more instinct than hatred. Behind the veneers of their irises were loathings of the situation, not the belligerents. The singing hum of the weapons filled their eardrums until it was all they could hear, well above the crunching of gravel and heaviness of their breathing, and all there was between them was the singular purpose of ending their duel decisively and without casualty. The Wanderer pitied Brykon, truly. He felt the desperation in each blow from the heavy greatsword as the convict defended his right to live freely in recalcitrant sanctuary with every iota of his being. There was no greater disservice in his mind than to become shackled and withered away in a jail cell to suffer for the crimes he did at the bidding of another, regardless that they were his crimes, and from the perspective of the Massif’s faithful his belonging at the mountaintop monastery was more than a suitable path for redemption in exile. Regrettably, and to Stannis’ deepest dismay, the pressures of the outside world could still grow sufficiently impatient and eager to overwhelm the placidity of the Massif. No matoran or settlement was its own island, no matter how isolated, virtuous, or deep their regret. There was fear in Brykon’s strikes, fear of dying a worthless death under the judgement of other matorankind. And fear made Brykon unpredictable, a veritable erratic whirlwind of iron and blood, but fear could be exploited. Stannis had practiced patience before in his fight against the Dark Toa Heuani, a measured and evenkeeled defense that prolonged the fight in hopes of snagging an opening. All he needed to do was keep guarding his flanks and maintain Brykon’s swordpoint at a distance until he could close in. Finally, the opportunity came, though Stannis had to fabricate it somewhat with a feint by kicking stones up at Brykon’s face, and in the fraction of an instant that he was afforded Stannis closed the gap between them and slid the blade of his halberd behind Brykon’s ankle, and then pulled it back like a saw. A streak of dark blood stained the black beach’s sands and Brykon screamed indignantly as he fell to his good knee. “Yield, Brykon,” Stannis pleaded. “Let’s just end this already.” But the convict was not ready to do so yet. With a pained and defiant glare he hurled the massive sword at Stannis empowered by his Kanohi and his telekinetic elemental control. Stannis instinctively raised his weapon in a guarded angle to batter the sword away, but the measure was insufficient and too slow, and as the thrown weapon connected with the polearm it cleaved through the haft in a burst of energy and mighty TWANGGGG. Stannis’ block had sacrificed his precious halberd in exchange for his own life, however, as the sword impacted him by the flat of its blade across his chest, forcefully throwing him backwards to the ground yet again. Brykon struggled to get to his feet and tried to seal his wound with a patch of iron, but despite it he could scarcely put sufficient pressure on his leg to stand; his soleus had been sliced clean through. Running low on options and now unable to keep the melee going with his crippling, he settled on using his elemental abilities at last for a final effort. When Stannis got his next good look at Brykon the toa was in a meditative repose, eyes alight with intent as he let his consciousness flow out into the environment. The basalt all around them quivered and rattled as the iron within the stones was being tapped into, elemental transendence—Stannis knew of the tactic, though he never had reason to attempt it himself. Dorian used a similar skill, pulling in their elemental focus from their area in an overwhelming attack. At its least it would empower Brykon with a greater energy reserve, and at most it would make the very environment into a weapon. Stannis was prepared to counter the use of the stones themselves if Brykon tried to move them, but if Brykon could lay his full elemental power on all the iron around them it would be a very different story. Stannis instinctively began to gather the beach rocks around him into a defensive barrier to buy himself time as he started to give his own meditative incantation to counteract his opponent’s ritual. “All hear the tale of the Great Spirit and of all things…” Iron gathered in front of Brykon. First, it was only mere specks of ferrous material, traces of metal that were extracted from the stones and left shards of basalt behind as detritus of the mining. But then the iron flowed in by the tablespoons and handfuls, collecting and congealing before him as if it grew from thin air. Standing on the other side of the beach was Stannis, his Kanohi Hiripaki still muted in appearance but with eyes that grew brighter with each phrase he uttered. “There was once a great warrior named Brykon who led with conviction. His allies feared him and his enemies respected him, but despite his power and spirit he remained a tool of the darkness…” The gravel exploded in a multitude of pop! pop! pop!s as they cracked open like eggs and disintegrated as they released their latent minerals to fuel Brykon’s weapon, leaving mineral sand in their wake. All around Brykon was black dust gently being washed away by the high tide that was coming in. “He gave up the violence of his past when he had the chance to rest at last, but it was not enough to appease the ones he’d oppressed. They soon grew aware of his crimes and made their decree: That Brykon would find himself at the mercy of their courts by offering either his head, or his soul…” At last the massing of iron manifested as a column of grey metal, long as a spear and wide as his biceps with a flared tip. It was a veritable battering ram and a drill, fully under Brykon’s will and aimed right at Stannis. And then it began to move forward, by inches at first and then by feet, spinning ever quicker as it sped up with Brykon’s manipulations. The iron torpedo suddenly flung forward with unabated vigor at the fortifications Stannis had erected and churned through the stonework the Maru had erected. Stannis’ own elemental prowess was laid upon the weapon as he added more of the rocks around him to the barrier in an effort to seize and stop it, but still the drill gnashed through the basalt and sparks flew out from the bit. The contest had become one of countering stone with iron, a contest of flint and steel, and a dangerous game as Brykon and Stannis each tried to nullify and waste away the other’s elemental power with their own. Stannis could see Brykon’s piercing blue eyes from over the ever-shifting mound of basalt he concentrated on keeping, though it was blurred by the flung gravel that was rapidly melting away at the auger’s persistent chomping. It took all his effort to stay in place and he knew that stepping aside meant the weapon would hurl uncontrolled into the village’s huts behind them, yet he was also keenly aware that if he did not stop Brykon the fight would be over with him as its only casualty. Already he could see the vicious weapon’s red-hot endpoint as it burned through his defenses and came incredibly close to being freed to impale him, all while Brykon remained focused on ensuring his desperate last-ditch effort succeeded. Stannis yelled his story’s final phrases over the terrible grinding of iron and rock, such that it boomed across the fjord. “The Wanderer found him but he refused to surrender to the warrant, so they battled, but just when things seemed lost Brykon’s power was TAKEN AWAY like water under a sponge until he was a toa in body alone! So it was said! and so—transpired—the—Legend!” Suddenly, at that final utterance, three things happened: Firstly, his Kanohi Hiripaki glowed to life in brilliant gold that shone like the Kumu Lighthouse’s beacon in the shadowy confines of the fjord; secondly, Brykon felt something terribly wrong as the world seemed to shift and an absence within his soul appeared where he was whole before; and thirdly, the spinning torpedo auger ground to a halt before its inertia surrendered to entropy and it fell still in a pile of gravel. All things abruptly became eerily still. The toa Brykon mentally willed his creation to stir again, tried to summon some weapon to his hand, tried to do anything at all, but nothing came from his urgings. With eyes wide as his palms he tried to conjure a club, yet there wasn’t even a trickle of elemental power ebbing through him. He felt the sloshing of the rising tide seep seawater into the fissures of his leg, casting salt on his wound that stung him, and he winced at the insulting sensation. Stannis was striding closer to him then in a pained gait but the greatsword was in his hand like some trophy, and soon the Wanderer came to stand standing sagaciously a bio away with a pitying look on his face and the damnably grey eyes soaking up the fallen warrior’s visage. “What did you do?” Brykon asked, more shocked than he ever had been before. “You impugned your dignity when you became a murderer and criminal, and what little of it you have recuperated from your penance is yours to keep. But I took from you your dignities… and your powers.” “Your mask, it—“ “It stripped your elemental abilities away like velcro patches on your leather vest, because that’s just how your story goes. Only for this chapter, though; we’ll see what the rest of your narrative has in store. But now you’re Toa-Protector of the Massif no longer. I have no manacles for you, there are other ways you can suffer your sentencing.” “Such as?” Stannis knelt down beside the emptied warrior he still considered his friend despite the egregious conflict they just endured. His eyes looked at Brykon and saw something vacant yet somehow still beautiful, and a man who strove for salvation because it was all he knew how to do. “It’s known Ambages wasn’t alone in his grabs for power, and you can help bring the others to justice as well. It is my offer to you which I truly hope you find preferable to the gallows. This is my only offering and I pray you won’t refuse it.” A long silence followed that was ultimately cut not by the toa’s words but by the chugging engines of the trawlers returning from their fishing expeditions of the day. * * * * * It was almost dusk when they returned to the Massif, both bloodied and wounded and sorely lacking of pride as one pulled the other in a stretcher. That night, it was Brykon who slept by the fire like the house’s guest, nursing a bowl of broth while covered in blankets stacked thick, and profoundly humbled to depths he’d all but forgotten. And while he hated what had happened and was still bewildered at the loss he suffered, he painfully admitted… he owed Stannis for the act of mercy he’d been provided. Begrudgingly, he understood he was alive literally because Stannis was precisely the right person for the job because he knew how the justice of the Massif different from the justice in the Koro’s courts, he knew how to be forceful when required and delicate when able, someone capable of awe-inspiring feats who let an old criminal draw inspiration from him. Tomorrow would be a new day, and every day at the Massif was a chance at new beginnings.

IC Stannis | Po-Koro "Korero," Stannis corrected, then chuckled good-naturedly. "You know, that green buddy of mine was the same history nerd I found on the slopes of Ko-Wahi while on the run from Vidar and the Other Guy. You and he have a history, sort of. Destiny often works in mysterious ways, doesn't it?" It was at the point when Stannis placed his pack of gear on the ussal's back that Ra'lhen saw that his halberd was folded in half—no, not folded, broken. The Wanderer carried a telerahk staff seemingly in its place, but more curiously than all that was the inclusion of a massive sword wrapped in linen cloth. All he could see was the leather-wrapped grip discolored with white salt stains, but it was most assuredly a sword. A curious inclusion, considering Stannis reportedly never used a sword. A moment later, the clatter of the crab's gait overwhelmed attempts at conversation and they were carried into Onu-Wahi. OOC Stannis and Ra'lhen to Onu. @Emzee

I should Game More

I definitely thought this was the approval topic and I was about to give sass. This is a good idea tho.

IC Stannis | Po-Koro He subconsciously cocked his head in trying to understand why Ra'lhen asked what he did. "The walk to Onu-Koro is almost half as to Ostia," Stannis said. "It's only made longer by the lack of a railroad's speed, but the traditional means are still just good enough to keep around and there's no need to tire your legs on the journey, friend—we can use an ussal taxi." To prepare for the trip ahead Stannis needed to collect a handful of things from his home, including his weapons and tools, so as he slipped his few smaller belongings into his rucksack he did not neglect to throw in his custom-made canister for his monthly Sulov Maru's Old Fashion Trail Mix & GORP subscription. Usually it was mailed to him, but if he was in town, then why not get the refill from the proprietor's warehouse in person? He looked forward to seeing his old friend again. "Was it my green buddy?" he asked as he shouldered his bag. "Also, ready if you are. I have rations for the both of us if needed." @Emzee

IC A Datsue | Sado "Tsk, keep going, little old short legs," she cursed, urging herself to continue walking through the streets of the city. Exercise was never one of her pastimes and even as a menti she'd preferred drinking plum wine in the company of koi and mosses, the sort of languid pastimes an era of peace and prosperity had afforded her clan. When everything hit the fans later on she'd been drafted to fight for the crown as her clan raised their pennants for Yusanora then, but it was not long until she suffered an injury that ended her service early, and then she returned to the mist of manicured gardens and orchards she so loved. While her accident and subsequent discharge had been 'honorable' it was still regarded with some heavy cloaked disdain by others, so while her status had not been touched her reputation and honor were irreparably tarnished. Eventually, the lazy menti warrior had turned into the sour datsue, relying on her position as an elder to stave off the reproaches and continue doing the things she'd always done. But time had not been kind to her since then, and bitterness creeps in the heart like rot through apple trees, or like cirrhosis of the liver. Her clan had fared well until the latest series of conflicts, and the last battle left most of their menti either deceased or missing. The diaspora of her clan included some few who'd fled with the current rora, and a small cluster of families who remained on Odaiba in hiding. The rest were on Sado, huddling with their remaining resources and dwindling power, including the one datsue who lived separately from all the others and kept to herself. Nobody questioned her life choices and none looked for her either. How she survived the battle was anyone's guess, though there was little interest in wondering. She left her small apartment in The Wards occasionally so seeing her wander about the city wasn't out of the ordinary. In the wake of the battle she busied herself with visiting the Gardens' ruins and tending to the traumatized fish while also avoiding the healing encampments of injured menti and dashi, but rarely she'd also strike out in other directions as she did this day. She hated all the flights of stairs in the Palace complex and sometimes wondered if they made them specifically to spite lazy former farm girls like her, but she was on a mission this time. In the datsue's hand she clutched a cylindrical leathern case, and it was to be delivered to just one person. She'd impulsively said she'd do it when she was asked, and while she now doubted the life's choice she was stubborn enough to see it through. Her knees, however, had more loud protestations. Gears ground with pronounced decrepitness and servos strained from the movement, and she had to constantly override her impulse to rest her tired bones for a while. The guard numbers were far lower than they'd been when the Hogo clan kept the imperial family and their treasury and the new sentries who now were stationed allowed her passage only after some minor questioning. Datsue were given the privilege of movement about mostly out of respect of their elderly status and role as arbiters, and if anyone dragged her into protracted interviews she'd dazzle with long filibusters of old woman tales and archaic gardening regulations. Inevitably she was permitted to continue, which was how she finally navigated to what was once the old Umbraline section, the one that had few remaining residents with the whole clan's exodus from Sado. When she arrived thence she gleefully sat herself in the small meditation alcove on the promenade between the former imperial family apartments, and there she waited. For a while she sat muttering to herself, complaining about the pain in her joints and the weariness in her soul, but then she allowed herself to sink back in to her usual calming trance. She listened to the gentle babble of the water fountain, letting her mind wander in the murmuring of water trickling down the rough stone. The soft whisper of a breeze touched her face like her mother's hand, evoking memories of many an afternoon tending the flower beds that left earthy aromas of root and loam, further comforting her mind with images of a quiet past long since gone. The moss that graced all the rocks and crept up the wooden walls in a well-manicured sprawl fed her eyes with a vibrant feast of greenery, and she could easily see herself sitting at the far end of a meadow gazing up at the burgeoning slope of Mount Koshiki and its many foothills and the moss representing the forests on those hills. Not one to get too sucked into her mind's eyes, she noticed that people still passed by, sometimes with a busy gait and others with listless pace, as a kind reminder that this was still an occupied residential quarter, but none paid the tired looking elder woman any heed and neither did she bother looking up at them. Finally, her attention was caught by the heavy walk of the person she was waiting for. Lord Rayuke, the Umbraline First Son and [former?] Royal Executioner, walked around the corner and she instantly got to her feet to intercept him, muttering a grumble at the quick motion as she hobbled towards him. "Lord Rayuke," she said meekly with a slight bow of deeper respect. "I bear a message for you." She fumbled with her canister and pulled out a small scroll. It was a graphite grey piece of handmade parchment that bore a seal of black wax with the shape of a lily. The Umbraline son plucked it delicately from the datsue's fingers and carefully cracked the seal. As he unrolled it he noted the paper had been folded in half and inside were two poems written in bright red paint, one on each side; on one side it said; The scarred first son stands alone in the palace. Where are the Seconds? He asks; is first also last? The last one is not alone though he might wish it were so. And on the other side it read: When the moon's face swims under Koshiki's shadow, be where Spirit spoke and the empress did listen. You will see me awaiting. When Rayuke looked up from the poems his mind raced for questions, but the datsue had somehow vanished entirely without a sound. @Haman Karn: A Magical Girl

"It's been a honor dying with you, D'artagnan." —The Lieutenant, probably

IC Stannis’ magical coffee pot | Po-Koro, a table As the pitch black liquid poured out Vrill realized there was not much left and his satisfaction soured. It was the best coffee he’d ever had in his life, and now there was only scantly enough of it left for two sips. A precious resource of black gold, indeed.

IC Yumiwa | Ga-Koro, the Yukanna Oh, it me! That's my cue! It's been a while since I've been announced, and the title felt somewhat hollow in the state of things, but as if this entrance was planned I strode up the gangplank with my head held high to match the dignity of the moment. I'd heard most of the conversation's most recent progress so far from the pier, since people had gotten quiet no doubt due to both the spectacle of the dragon (eeee!) and my presence in the crowd, so thankfully I was not walking into this blindly. It spoke of hopefulness and cooperation, virtues I'd personally come to believe in out of necessity in the wake of disaster, and so I believed perhaps there was indeed opportunity to make something out of this interaction. Speaking the matters of virtue, I instantly wondered what, if anything, this draconic being had to say or think of our Dasakan Virtues, and whether Power, Order, and Honor held any place in his own belief system. These things, and many others, would likely be discussed at some later point... I hoped. I came to a confident stop on the deck a full step in front of my cousin, easily subsuming the being's attention away from the commodore as I took center stage representing my culture to another. "I am the Empress Yumiwa," I said, my tone conveying the weight of my position alongside warmth of hospitality. "Just as it is the commodore's role to protect the Dasaka people it is my duty to represent them, and it is my honor to meet you." @Vezok's Friend @BULiK @Bjorkway

Onu-Koro, managing his trail mix business.

IC Stannis | Po-Koro, Renaka's pad Stannis had been called many things by an equally diverse cast of people—from ally and friend to Guardsman Warrant Officer 1st Class and town camerlengo, and from Wanderer to prophet, to Toa Maru and guardian of Po-Koro—but never had been been called 'ambassador.' His jawline softened as a fissure of a smile grew on his face and the crows feet returned at the sides of his eyes. It was like seeing a villager who'd just won a toy Sentinels badge at the Naming Day fair and was ready to help arrest some Makuta followers as a ridealong. Honorary or not, any sort of designation such as this would have been utterly unheard of from Hewkii when he was akiri, and Stannis felt honored and humbled by the assignment of a temporary ambassadorship for the akiri. In his experience, seldom did his suggestions get heeded, even the earnest ones, although once pressed he would also admit that the reticence was somewhat warranted, so it was the akiri's boon of trust that he treasured most of the moment. "I hope I return with aid and good news," he said to Renaka. The joy of promotion soon faded, however, and his characteristic studious melancholy expression returned as the weight of the Dark Walk's persistent threat loomed overhead once again. It needed to be sealed in some fashion and at the moment he was responsible for the next stage of its fortification, so with his solemn pledge he downed the rest of his coffee, calmly set his mug down, and rose to his feet. He looked at the others present, at Ra'lhen and the akiri but also Muir and the stranger he'd brought. The lawyer's client, Muir had said. Renaka had asked for a name earlier, and while the question was spoken at Muir Stannis noticed that the question was not directed to Muir. Without a doubt, Renaka knew who Muir was—she was too much of an information hound for her not to know the of detective or his business—but the visitor? He was an unknown. Renaka did not like unknowns. No, Stannis was very certain she'd been trying to devise the guest's name from Muirtagh. "And what's your name?" he asked, hand outstretched for what would function as both greeting and farewell. "Vrill," Vrill lied with finesse after his mug lowered from his face. He swiftly passed the quartz container to his left hand to free up his right to complete the Maru's handshake. They exchanged grips according to the gesture. "Well met, Vrill. I knew a Cy-Matoran once, and I was was saved by a toa like you as well. They were both very honorable men, as I sense you are as well." "Thank you." Vrill nodded. "I can believe it. Crystal elementals tend to have a bit more... structure and order," he ironically mused. "Or so I've been told." "Indeed, the metaphor stacks well. We'll meet again, I'm sure of it." He looked back at Akiri Renaka once more and paused. He wanted to say more, to speak with the administrator at length and in privacy, to divulge to her what she wanted to know, needed to know, about the Maru's mission and the secrets of the island. He wished to explain to her what exactly Stannis Maru was capable of doing, had done, and quite possibly would do again. She needed to know how much power Stannis possessed and how he wielded that power with a mixture of cautious awe and stubborn precision, and... most importantly, that he was sorry. He needed to have that outlet of the grief and frustration the Wanderer had been keeping close to his heartlight all along. He could share this with his brothers and sister, but they were not representatives of the matoran collective any more than he was; that apology needed to be given to an akiri, his akiri. The earnestness made plain in his damnably grey eyes were not missed by the attentive matoran, of that he was sure. It dawned on the wizardly man just how much he liked this Renaka Lichtgeist. She'd do well whipping Po-Koro into shape and he wanted her to know that he would have her back every step of the way. But not now, not in company who had overtaken the meeting's agenda. This conversation would have to transpire upon his return. All the more reason for him to come back with a good report. He nodded once, dismissing himself from the meeting. "We should go." And he was out the door. @Goose @Emzee @BULiK @Silvan Haven

IC Stannis | Po-Koro, Renaka's pad The Maru nodded. "I believe we're of the same mind, brother," he said. "Onu-Koro has been appealed to with promises of commerce all too heavily, but all too rarely beseeched to with sentiments of Unity and virtue. Sulov understands this the same way I do. He has no closeness with his akiri, but the Ussalry respects him greatly since he was one of their most beloved heroes. Now, I'm no diplomat, but in this situation I believe to be a rather effective envoy. Ra'lhen as well. "The financial benefits Onu-Koro's merchant class will reap should be a side incentive—the cherry on top, not... the whole cake." He paused and made a concerned face, suddenly unsure of himself. "Do they even have cake in Onu-Koro? Or do they feast on mud pies?"

IC Stannis | Po-Koro, Renaka's pad Mechanizations, but also a girding of the matoran and their toa guardians as well, meant also importing more machines of war from Onu-Koro—trebuchets, automatons, boxors, disk cannons, the list went on. Stannis did not like enriching the industrialist magnate inventors of Onu- much, but it was a far better thing than sending soldiers in to stand guard and fight without modern supports. But if Onu-Koro's people were appealed to by ways other than widgets and shared an investment in the effectiveness of the machines sold to Po-Koro, as well as the continued protection of the Dark Walk, it might make things easier to handle. And help, as Renaka observed, would be required. "I can petition Toa Sulov to assist," he said. "His power, and the subterranean brilliance of the Ussalry, would be of paramount use in the endeavors of clearing the Walk and fortifying it." And, he pondered wistfully, it would give him a reason to see his dear friend again. It had been a while, to put it mildly. "And will you want watchtowers? or fortresses keeping guard in the tunnels?" he asked.

IC Stannis | Po-Koro, Renaka's pad Satisfied that Renaka was comfortable for the other's presence, Stannis gently lifted the pot of coffee and poured it into Vrill's expectant cup. "I'm sure you'll find it the best cup of joe you've ever had," he said proudly. "I will turn that place into a death trap that drains the Maluta's forces to the very dregs," the akiri decreed. "Trying to match our resources against the Makuta's would also potentially drain our own in the effort," Stannis considered. "If that's what you wish, are you thinking of using automated defences or relying on matoranpower?"

IC Yumiwa | Ga-Koro, docks My pace had quickened at the sight of the dragon from afar but I slowed my gait to pull Dihunai's attention wholly on me. I just knew she'd make these motions as soon as we were together again—it was, after all, her thing, and why she'd been doggedly seeking audience with me for quite some time—but it felt out of place in the grander scope of things, like she saw the lakes but not the myriad of streams that feed it. I paused my stride entirely and peeled my eyes off the Yukanna to address Dihunai directly. "I will focus on my duties as empress first," I said, stern but kind. This was no court-borne mannerism, it was a bit of Zafin's assertive helpfulness bleeding through me for a moment. "Once I am assured that my people—and your people—are safe, have a mat to sleep on, and a roof over their heads, then I will focus on improving as a menti, and will call upon your teaching."