Jump to content


Outstanding BZPower Citizens
  • Content Count

  • Joined

  • Last visited

About VolcanoBakemeat

  • Rank
  • Birthday 02/25/1994

Profile Information

  • Gender
  • Location
    the place from which the revival will stem
  • Interests
    I used to be a MOCer, but I'm more into the fanon now.

Contact Methods

  • Website URL
  1. Das Racist - All Tan Everything. Great group that just broke up.
  2. http://gand.bandcamp.com/track/bohrok]Bohrok[/url] This is an ambient/minimal/drone piece inspired by the scene in the Mata Nui online game when Takua finds the Bohrok swarms. It was mainly inspired by the music from those games (particularly the Kahu-riding sequence and the Mangaia music) as well as by Tim Hecker and Daniel Lopatin's recent collaborative album Instrumental Tourist. I may do more of these.
  3. http://www.bzpower.c...?showtopic=7434 <-Epic I intend this epic to be a tribute to classic Bionicle (2001-2003), particularly the Mata Nui Online Games and the Cathy Hapka novels. New chapters will be posted every Tuesday. I expect this epic to be ongoing for a very long time.I will be posting information on the canon of this story in the Review Topic. Though I stay mostly to the Greg canon as I always do, this story takes place in a universe in which the history of the Matoran has been profoundly affected by various invasions, exoduses, and changes in government throughout the history of Metru Nui. Footnotes from the story are also addressed here.FOOTNOTES:Chapter 1: * 1,122 Matoran were transported from Metru Nui to Mata Nui; this was the city's entire population at the time, as a number of mass exoduses occurred prior (the city's population prior to the Toa/Dark Hunters war was roughly 18,000, and before Dume's closing of the gates about 9,500). Those that remained and were taken to Mata Nui are "the original thousand."
  4. It’s all finished, Vakama thought, looking out from his window at the glory that was New Atero.The Matoran had not had peace for this long since the days when they still lived cluelessly and peacefully inside the body of the Great Spirit Mata Nui--perhaps in their entire history. It took a while to get the Original Thousand* from Mata Nui used to living among other species, but after a few years they warmed up to it; there were no real conflicts aside from a few street fights; there was a stable government that he was glad not to be a part of. He had announced his decision not to be part of the Council with none of the backlash he expected, as three of the other Turaga felt the exact same way as he did; the remaining two, Nokama and Onewa, were now sitting high and comfortable in the Coliseum above New Atero, discussing the acquisition of land with a bunch of disgruntled Srakan and Glatorian diplomats. Vakama’s mind turned to the other Turaga. He hadn’t seen Nuju in ages; Whenua and Matau were retired, as he was, and living in other cities. He had heard rumors that some of the others were still meeting. He didn’t really care; though he was once the leader, he was now the excluded one, and the others had used this peacetime to vent some of their personal problems upon him. The Three Virtues were considered by all--including, increasingly, Vakama himself--an old myth. Nobody really needed to unite for any reason; there wasn’t any Great Spirit to take care of anymore; and there hadn’t been any Toa for three thousand years, so most people assumed Destiny in its ultimate form had been achieved. “Not an unfair assumption,” Vakama said to himself, shrugging as he thought of his last argument with Nokama.A knock came on the door. Vakama was surprised. He picked up his staff and hobbled to the door. It was a Toa; Vakama recognized him as Kooms, the leader of the local Toa team.Why would a Toa want business with me? Vakama wondered. He could only think of two reasons: that he was under arrest or that he was being summoned to the Coliseum. He wasn’t sure which one sounded worse.“Walk with me,” Kooms said. “Don’t worry, you’re not under arrest.”Coliseum then, Vakama thought to himself. He began to brace himself for the inevitable shots the other Turaga would take at him. Thankfully, Kooms led him away from the Coliseum, down the street towards the chute station.“There’s going to be another Time Slip,” Kooms stated casually, not even looking at Vakama. “A Time Slip?” Vakama inquired.“Do you remember on Metru Nui when everyone woke up and couldn’t remember a thing?”“Sounds like the morning after every Naming Day.""No, this is serious. Six months of history disappeared. You certain you don't remember it?""No.""Well, it happened, and it's about to happen again."“How do you know?”“Mask of Balance. Whenever something’s off in space or time, I’m the first to know about it. I felt it about three days ago.”“Why are you telling me, then? And where are you taking me?”“We’re going to the Bronze District. I’ll explain everything once we get there.”The two arrived at the chute station and hopped on the express chute south towards the Bronze District. Vakama had not been to the Bronze District in at least several years that he could remember; it was one of New Atero’s poorest neighborhoods, set on the periphery of the city, and was mostly home to Skakdi and Telkerrians who had settled in New Atero after the Great Exodus out of the Matoran Universe. To his memory, Vakama had never seen a Skakdi until his first time in that particular district; he had heard that they were violent and unreasonable, and to be safe, he never interacted with them.They disembarked from the chute. The Bronze District wasn’t half as bad as Vakama remembered. Rather than small iron shacks, there were rows of brightly-painted houses; there were a few Skakdi on the street but mostly Le-Matoran and Ga-Matoran. The Skakdi moved in tight-knit groups; the Matoran were aloof and did not seem to interact much with each other. Vakama could hear music; there appeared to be some sort of small street fair a few blocks ahead.“Is that where we’re going?” Vakama inquired.“Actually it’s this left.”Kooms led Vakama into a small, deserted alley between two of the painted houses. It was empty except for a few trash cans; a small catlike Rahi darted out from behind one and climbed a fence into someone’s yard.“This is our spot.”Kooms gestured to an inconspicuous pink-and-white house. He knocked on the door, very loudly. As soon as the door creaked open in response, Vakama was greeted by a blast of loud music and the smell of burning erriax flowers; he registered the Matoran at the door a few seconds afterwards. It was Hafu.“Hey, Vakama,” Hafu muttered; he carried a piece of paper in his hand, which he idly scanned. Turning to Kooms, he inquired, “Are you here for the meeting?”“Yes.”“You guys just made it in time. Come in.”Hafu’s house was filled with long, elaborate strands of Kiratan thread; countless small sculptures lay around, some mounted on furniture and windowsills, others haphazardly placed on tables. A rope hung curiously from the ceiling and lay coiled across the floor. The smell of incense and erriax flowers was overpowering. It was the house of an artist, albeit either a very lazy one or one so devoted to his craft that everything else was neglected. Another Matoran was sprawled on one of the couches, seemingly asleep, but there didn’t seem to be anyone else there.“I’d like to see the new machine you’ve been telling me about,” Kooms said to Hafu.“Well I’m about to show you,” the sculptor said with a half-smile. He walked over to one of the sculptures, a huge Mata Nui head, and rotated it; at first Vakama thought he was adjusting its position, but there was a click, and a massive trapdoor fell open beneath the rope. The rest of the rope unraveled and dangled down.“A Hafu original,” Hafu said.“You’ll have to explain to me how that works at some point,” Kooms said.“It’s simple. The statue’s attached to a lever, when I turned it the support beam fell. Are we ready to head down?” Hafu suddenly exclaimed to the room.“If we’re all here,” Kooms answered.Upon peering into the pit, Vakama was surprised at its shallowness; it was only about six feet deep, enough for a Matoran to stand in but not most other entities. Another small door was set into the wall. The Toa climbed down effortlessly, while Hafu and Vakama had to rely on the rope. Hafu came down first and took Vakama’s staff as the Turaga slid down, burning his hands from the friction. Vakama and Kooms were equally shocked to see what lay behind the door. Behind it was a small flight of steps that descended to the floor of a vast space, at least the size of the main square of Ta-Koro back on Metru Nui, though with a ceiling not much higher than that of Hafu’s house. It looked to be an old reservoir or storage room, most likely of Agori origin; clusters lightstones set into the floor every twenty feet or so illuminated the place with a harsh glow undercut by spaces of darkness. “What is this place?” Kooms asked.“It’s an old Agori reservoir. Must have dried up millenia ago. I put in lightstones and built the trapdoor. Nobody except me and my friends know about it. And now you do.”They walked through the vast space; there was still a slight smell of erriax flowers. As they moved deeper, Vakama became aware of the voices of people, then of a large group of at least twenty; most of them appeared to be Toa, but there were also several Matoran. The shapes became clearer. Takanuva was there, along with Jaller, Hahli, Kongu, Hewkii, Nuparu, Tahu, Gali, and Kopaka; Vakama wondered for a second why the others were not there before he remembered that Pohatu and Lewa had been on a mission for several months and that Onua was now a Turaga serving on the council of a distant city. Vakama recognized all the Matoran, for they were part of the Original Thousand who had come with the Toa Metru from the Old City to the island of Mata Nui. Kapura, the master of traveling great distances by walking very slowly, was there; so were Macku, Taipu, Midak, Tamaru, the hermit Kantai, and the Chronicler Kopeke. There were also three Toa Vakama did not recognize: a tall Toa of Air, an even taller Toa of Water, and what Vakama was pretty certain was a Toa of Sonics. Vakama was dismayed to see Whenua, Matau, and Nuju, but thankfully Nokama and Onewa were not present. Kooms addressed the crowd.“By being here you are sworn to secrecy. It doesn’t matter, because you will soon forget everything you learned here. When, I cannot say. If you reveal anything you have learned here to anyone else, you are endangering Matoran society and may potentially cause rioting and widespread panic.“Most of what I have already told you about the Time Slip is a lie. The Time Slip is an initiative by the group I represent, the Order of Mata Nui; it is being engineered specifically to erase the period between the first Great Cataclysm and the second, the one that occurred so recently when the body of Mata Nui crashed here and we left it to inhabit this new world we call Spherus Magna. This is so that the nature of the Great Spirit is kept secret from the world. The history of the Matoran Universe during that time is safe with us; however, none of you were in the Matoran Universe at the time. You were living on what you called the island of Mata Nui. Thus, your memories of this time will be lost if they are not preserved.“We have gathered every single scrap ever written about the island of Mata Nui in this room, accounts from the two Chroniclers Takua and Hahli. They stand before you as Toa, soon to have no memory of how they became such. But we need more. This is why we have called each of you here to provide as many of your memories of living on that island as possible. Unless you choose to leave, in which case you will forget every memory you ever had of Mata Nui with no hope of retrieving them, each of you will be given one day to recount as much as you choose. Tell stories; do not merely rattle off facts. We must know through your experiences, not the trivia you have acquired. These records will be kept by the Order, and if you come to us and ask, you may view them. I willl make sure you do not forget that piece of information. However, your memories will still be erased. You will not be spared by the Time Slip. This is only for safety. You will be as clueless as the rest of us. “And I would like to apologize deeply, to every single one of you, and assure you that this will never happen again. Not if we make sure it never needs to. Thank you.”The members of the crowd had been silently staring at each other in shock for a while, and they immediately burst into uproar upon receiving this news. Vakama had stood there silently, soaking up Kooms’ words; he had suspected this even before the Toa had begun speaking. As soon as he had seen the Toa of Sonics, and remembered where he had seen that face before so many years ago, he had realized the full truth.Review topic (and information on footnotes): http://www.bzpower.c...?showtopic=7436
  5. Could I get this topic closed? This would be better as a short story.
  6. After Nokama read Vakama’s departure note at the Coliseum, there was a period of total confusion among both the populace of Metru Nui and the Turagacy that governed it. Vakama’s words spread around the city like wildfire, and most Matoran agreed that the old Turaga was saying that now that Matoran no longer need to work to keep Mata Nui’s brain functioning, there is no point in working any further. But it was that last sentence--it is time to free ourselves--that was so puzzling. At least one person interpreted it as an encouragement for Matoran to, metaphorically speaking, "move on," and the body of a Le-Matoran was found at the bottom of a chute tower, that last sentence scrawled hastily onto his arm with black ink. This theory would, of course, be supported by Vakama’s disappearance, although Vakama was not legally declared dead until over a century after the events of this story.The other interpretation was a more literal one. “While Matoran are wired to work,” said the Ko-Matoran author and decipherer Lumi, “there is no longer any need to work. The last work we needed to do was to rebuild Metru Nui; now, nothing more is necessary, so we need to enjoy our lives from now on.”The Turaga, however, were no longer Matoran. They had transcended that level, their memories had expanded, they were wired to learn and govern and teach and speak instead of toil. And Turaga Nokama had felt a fear inside, one she had not felt since the days of The Makuta, one which pierced her to the core. It began when Vakama’s letter came back; it was exacerbated by the news of that poor Le-Matoran who had plunged to his death.What is our duty now? she wondered. What is our destiny?A thousand miles away, six canisters washed onto the shores of Aqua Magna.
  7. http://www.bzpower.c...?showtopic=5061Comments, thoughts, pancakes, triceratops.CANON: In this epic I stay extremely close to Bionicle canon (historically and anatomically), but as it is mostly set in the future, sometime between The Powers That Be and Sahmad's Tale, I have imagined continuations of the events described in those serials. However, there is one fundamental alteration central to all my fanfiction: though Matoran live for millennia, the cells in their brains are rearranged every century or so, causing them to only remember the past century or so of their lives at any given time. Some Matoran have higher memory spans than others. However, when a Matoran becomes a Toa, that memory span increases to a few thousand and becomes even longer once that Toa has become a Turaga. As a side-effect of the loss of power, a Turaga's brain cannot accommodate all those memories, and as a result, Turaga lose random, non-time-specific chunks of their memory.
  8. Once again, for the first time in over a thousand years, all the Matoran of Metru Nui were summoned to the Coliseum. Except this time it was a different Metru Nui. And this time there were also Agori, Chrorami, Glatorian, Mortenti, Shadra, Skadilans, Srakans, Vesdar, and Vortixx, all of their eyes glued to the blue, benevolent face of Turaga Nui Nokama. Subtitles flashed in every direction, in ten different alphabets, twenty different languages, across the Coliseum’s seemingly infinite screens.“People of Metru Nui!” she exclaimed. “The final brick of this city has been laid!”The crowd erupted. What Nokama meant was dubious, but nobody denied a reason to celebrate. Buildings were still being torn down and built up, but over the last few centuries, the boundaries that had been laid out by the Matoran according to the original city’s foundations had been slowly filled up. And now that there was a central chute system connecting everything, it was safe to say the city was back to its former glory. All the work that needed to be done was done.Everyone was rejoicing. Except for one soul, once a great leader, now aged and beginning to deteriorate in all the areas of the mind that had not been destroyed by trauma; no longer a presence in the city, all but forgotten as he spent his years in the deep crystal caverns outside the city with the Ko-Matoran monks. He knew of the celebrations, but he had no need to rejoice; instead, he retired to his cell and wrote four copies of the same letter. One went to Turaga Nui Nokama; one went to the Chronicler; one stayed at the monastery; one he kept for himself.I should hope that by now everyone on Spherus Magna will have forgotten their life before, but I remember very well the great spirit named Mata Nui. Once he was merely mythology; now we can safely say that he not only exists but is still alive and thriving. Where he is only the Toa team assigned long ago to hide him and the body in which he continued to thrive knows for sure. And his name lives on in the works of the Chronicler. Yet with the knowledge of his existence also comes the knowledge that we are no longer dependent on him. Our instincts as Matoran, whether Toa, Turaga, or common Metruan or Koronan, tell us we must work ceaselessly to keep the Spirit alive. And now that spirit no longer needs us. So what are we to do? What is the point of staying alive if the tasks our minds are wired to perform no longer has any purpose beyond the superficial? I have given this much thought, and only one answer crosses my mind: nothing. It is time for us to free ourselves.And shortly after Turaga Vakama wrote those words, he took a boat out into Aqua Magna, never to return._____Review: http://www.bzpower.c...?showtopic=5062
  9. “Karzahni is this?” Rey muttered. I could tell he wanted to scream. This seemed to be the general reaction of most of the people who soon began walking in. The Matoran in the tank was a Ga-Matoran. She was frozen in an almost reclining position, as if she had been knocked out, picked up off the ground, and placed in the stasis fluid while still unconscious. Her expression was completely neutral, eyes about three-quarters open and somewhat obscured by a clear tape that had been placed over her mask-holes. She was certainly alive. The stasis fluid was still, clear, and filled with tiny, suspended bubbles. It was the most beautiful sight I had ever seen.Even despite its beauty, it took me a moment to realize it was the artwork. Rey made the realization shortly after I did. Aesthetically, as an artwork, it was a masterpiece. The Matoran remained motionless at the center of the hubbub, with people swirling around it and admiring her unmoving body. To me it expressed all of my frustrations with the stillness of Metru Nui. At the same time, I thought of the Vahki confrontation earlier. I thought of the helplessness of this Matoran, locked in a prison. I thought of the new work policies. I thought of how this Matoran was on display, exactly like a Rahi, and how Matoran seem to amount to little more than Rahi these days.I thought it was amazing that the artist was Kiratan. Kiratans have no Vahki, only Matoran police forces, and their government is very detached from public affairs, focusing mostly on economic matters. I thought maybe she had lived in Metru Nui. Or maybe I was simply interpreting the piece completely wrong.I noticed a name engraved on the side: Attack On Memory.“I wonder if this thing is even legal,” I wondered aloud.“This art is not legal here,” a husky, thickly-accented female voice came from behind me. I turned around and saw a Ta-Matoran. It took me a minute to put the voice and the appearance of the stranger together, and I realized it was a painted Ce-Matoran, a Matoran of Psionics. “We will take care of that.”“Are you Sederea?” I asked.She nodded and chewed on the Harakeke flower she was holding. “I know this flower is not legal either,” she said, smiling.*“The Vahki have been really cracking down on that kind of thing recently.”“I know when the Vahki are coming,” she said. “Psionics. I can feel the Rorzakh staffs. It makes me happy that there is so much art in Onu-Metru.”“Can most Ce-Matoran do that?”“Only some.”“She’s gonna be a Toa,” another Matoran joked, elbowing Sederea. This Matoran looked like a Po-Matoran or an Onu-Matoran but was painted blue. “Put ‘em in vats now, then save the poor things from people like her.”“Tell me a bit about this piece,” I asked, and immediately regretted asking. I am the most awkward talker in the world when it comes to people I respect. Apparently I had dinner with the Turaga once, a long time ago. I’m glad I can’t remember a thing about it. “What are you thinking?”Of all the questions. Sometimes I hate artists. I started babbling about the Vahki and Matoran culture and how nothing happens in Metru Nui and then I think I started talking about my memory span before I realized what I was making made no sense. She just smiled all the while, which was even more frustrating.“I’ll let you think what you want. But the Vahki will come, and when they come perhaps you will see meaning in it.”She left with a few others to look at a wooden Skakdi idol. I found Rey by a collection of Telkerrian art. The Telkerrian art was pleasant--mostly paintings of the sea--but everything else in the room paled in comparison to Attack on Memory.“You actually like that monstrosity?” Rey said, chuckling in disbelief.“It’s fantastic.”“It’s garbage!” Rey shouted.“I think I understand it,” I said.“Tell me,” Rey said, not condescendingly.“I think it has to do with how slow events in Metru Nui are compared with how short our memory spans are. With an organic animal that lives ten years, a bird for example, being in stasis would be a massive chunk of time spent, well, not really living. But for something that lives millennia and millennia, it’s nothing. Still, with the...”I cut myself off because I was making no sense and because Rey’s attention had shifted. He was looking in the direction of Attack on Memory. I shifted my gaze towards the artwork and noticed it was covered in a massive white sheet. In the doorway were six Vahki. Rey swore and returned to looking at the paintings. I watched as one of the Vahki ambled up to the massive, veiled object in the center of the room, extended its staff, and gently lifted up the sheet.*Harakeke flowers are illegal on Metru Nui due to an ongoing trade dispute with Nongu, the main producer of Harakeke flowers in the Matoran colonies.
  10. Another old joke about Onu-Metru goes like this: you know you’re in an Onu-Metru chute station if people are actually getting on chutes. Onu-Matoran don’t leave their metru much, so the local bureau hasn’t spent that much money trying to renovate the chute stations. In Le-Metru chute stations are the size of supermarkets and have little cafes and restaurants and tacky souvenir shops where you can buy miniature airships and little beads you can put on your Kanohi and little books to keep you entertained on airship rides. In Onu-Metru, a chute station is three benches, a map, and a chute door.I don’t really have an opinion on chute stations. I guess it’s the only thing I really don’t have an opinion on. The stations in Le-Metru are fun to visit once in a while, if only because they sell the best Harakeke flowers there. The flower-girls usually congregate in the chute stations very early in the morning, so some days I wake up very early to chute over to the Moto-Hub and pick some up. There’s one flower-girl named Aleirea who comes by the Kalland station every now and again, but I hadn’t seen here for a while. When I arrived at the Kalland station to go to the art show nobody else was there except a lone Vahki, which made me nervous. I jumped on the chute immediately.On my way down the main boulevard that leads to the Archives, I saw a small squad harass a group of Sardans. They didn’t seem to be doing anything wrong. I thought they might have been tourists. Maybe they were wanted, which was odd given that they were leisurely strolling in broad daylight. I could hear one of them protesting furiously in Tatong before the Vahki knocked them out with their stun staffs.I swore out loud. One of the Vahki turned its head towards me. I pointed to the Archives. It nodded its head and turned back to the unconscious Sardans. * * * “Karzahni is wrong with these Vahki anyway?”My friend Rey and I had decided to go the long way to the exhibition hall, which involved going through the crowded lobby. We decided to go that way after I had told him about the Sardans. With more people around us, the Vahki would have less reason to harass us.“There must be a new policy,” I said, knowing that the explanation was probably less simple.“They’ve been getting worse over the last few days. Amenner from the sixth floor got busted the other day in Ga-Metru.”“What for?”“Not working, apparently. They gave him a month’s extra work in the lower levels cleaning the Rahkshi tubes.”“He must have enjoyed that.”“Poor guy probably never even been to the lower levels. All he does is guard electrical tools.”As expected, the lobby was packed, mostly with tourists. They were admiring the massive Tahtorak shell in the main lobby. Every time I saw the Tahtorak shell I was reminded of a piece of artwork I had seen on a trip to Kirata. A local artist had taken an entire Tahtorak shell--it must have been seventy feet long--and replaced the creature’s insides with some kind of flowering vine. It disturbed me a bit, as Tahtorak were capable of speaking the common language and were easily as intelligent as most sapient beings. I tracked down the artist and she said she had found the body abandoned in a swamp, left there by Skakdi poachers who had no way of removing it from the island. I was not sure I believed her, but I cannot deny its power. I had heard there would be a Kiratan artist today, which piqued my excitement.“Is it true we have a Kiratan today?” I asked.“Yeah,” Rey said, raising his eyebrows. “Her name is Sederea.”“You should see what she brought in!” another Matoran shouted. When we arrived at the exhibition room, the first thing I noticed was a huge stasis tank. There was a Matoran in it.
  11. When To Trust The ChroniclerHey it's Moo!, I've been gone for a while but I'm back.
  12. The average Matoran has a memory span of ninety years, and by the time all the neurons in their brains have finished replacing each other, they remember hardly anything about the time before. So they live ninety years. They’re always ninety years old. And the years go by very slowly on Metru Nui. Metru Nui’s the name of the island, of course. The city is dead. The city doesn’t exist anymore.My memory span is forty-seven years. That’s nothing. My roommate Beneus has a span of one hundred and thirty-two and he acts like a Rahi. I’ve tried to compensate as much as I can. I had a job, I was making enough widgets to actually live in a house, which is more than I can say for most people this side of Onu-Metru. Since the Ko-Metruans started moving in prices have gone up and up and most people are just camping in the streets. But I decided to quit all that and moved in with Beneus. I’ll be a different person in forty-seven years. I have to make the best of what I am now. So I became an artist.Po-Metru is the artsy part of town, the one where you have to move if you want to eke out a living in the arts, but I never liked it over there. It’s hot, it’s empty, there are landslides, and with so few Vahki the crime rate is through the roof. Luckily, there’s been a scene developing in Onu-Metru over the last few years--I like to give myself credit for helping start it, but it’s very likely that it’s been around for years. They call it “Dead City,” which is very appropriate given that absolutely nothing is happening in Metru Nui right now. Some of my friends even go far as to say that Dead City is the only thing happening in Metru Nui. It could be true.After all, what’s the competition? Akilini’s okay, but it’s incredibly expensive. Po-Metru’s empty; Ko-Metru’s dull; Ta-Metru is an industrial Karzahni. I only go to Ga-Metru to sit on top of the waterfall and eat Harakeke flowers, and even then the Vahki have been making that more and more difficult. Le-Metru used to be a lot of fun during the airship days, which was about a thousand years ago. (How I remember that is beyond me.) There was amazing theater, art, music, and some of the best food in the Matoran Universe. Now it’s just a touristy mess, full of Sardans and Telkerrians. They don’t speak Metruan, but nobody in Le-Metru ever really did, what with their weird little dialects and their inflections and all that. Onu-Metru has a pulse. It has history. From what the Chroniclers say it hasn’t changed a bit since the city was founded, save for the building of the Archives. It has fine food; it has fine art. It knows how to party, which I couldn’t say about any other Metru since Le-Metru went down the drain. The joke was that a good day in any other Metru meant you took a chute to a different Metru and spent the day there, but a good day in Onu-Metru meant you didn’t leave the Archives until the Vahki dragged you out kicking and screaming. Most parties I go to are in the Archives, and I’ve lost count of how many nights I’ve spent sleeping by the big Proto Drake on the fourth level. Probably millions. They put it there recently, though... Maybe it was a different Proto Drake. I was there a few weeks ago for a Naming Day party and it looked a lot smaller than I remember it ever being.What trivial and useless things I think about at night.Beneus shifted in his sleep. I started thinking about the art show that was taking place next week in the Archives. I put the lightstone in the stone urn by my bed and dozed off.Review Topic
  13. Trust me. 14 is a lot younger than 13. When you're 15 you'll be truly happy.
  14. I get the feeling something's gonna happen. You're an awesome guy and good-lookin' too. I'm not sure about some of the theories, though... I'll let Arch Angel take care of that part.
  • Create New...