WriterofReapers

IC: Lacertus - Onu-Wahi The Onu-Matoran stared at the back of the retreating Ussalry member, racking his brain for any parts he may have ordered recently, or a friend from another Koro who might have sent him something. And then there was the second package that had been left at his door—given its length, he was fairly confident it was a spear and some other, shorter weapons. Weapons he obviously had no use for, nor interest in. Still, as his teacher had once (and only once) said metal is metal is metal is metal. His teacher then, of course, immediately passed out from the exhaustion of the ten straight all-nighters he had pulled preparing for a demonstration of a new pulley system and woken up with neither memory of the event of a new commission for the Koro to show for it. Of course. But the quote had stuck in his mind nonetheless, and he found himself toying with it once again as he picked up the spear and heaved the bag of what sounded like spare parts onto his shoulder. With the practiced steps of someone accustomed to carrying cumbersome pieces of machinery, he entered his workshop, set the spear near the door, and emptied the bag of parts onto his A tangled mess of metals and flesh spilled out, settling into a pile with a very distinctly torso-and-head-shaped mass atop it. "Hello." The Onu-Matatoran hopped back. "Wh-what? How? Why?!" The Matoran stared at the scene before him, mind racing as it tried to determine which question to ask first. After an agonizingly confusing moment, he finally settled on one. "Why were you in a bag?" Lacertus blinked a few times. "That's... Yeah, that's a fair question. I guess the short story is that I got a lift here after I slipped and fell and broke all of my limbs off. Well, three of them. Good ol' left arm over there," he said, pointing with his chin at the large pile of parts lying on the table, "fell off not long after I left Ko-Koro. You ever tried to climb down Mt. Ihu with only one arm?" As the Matoran hesitantly shook his head—clearly uncertain if the question had been rhetorical, but not willing to take any chances with this strange person who had still not explained why being in the bag had been necessary—Lacertus lost his balance and fell forward, face-first onto the floor. "Don't." After a few moments, Lacertus managed to roll himself into a slightly more upright position, at which point he cleared his throat, eyes sheepish. "Anyway I need repairs, and I've been told this is the place to get them. Think you can help? I'd be happy to pay you for the trouble, if you can, uh...get me back in one piece." The Onu-Matoran looked at Lacertus, eyes lingering on the torn pieces of metal sticking out from each point where a limb should be, then at the pile of parts that were either missing their paired components or in desperate need of repair. It was a daunting task, potentially far beyond the scope of anything he'd ever tackled before, but as he considered everything he would need to complete it—custom parts would likely be necessary, so he'd have to get those made, either through someone else or simply doing it himself—he felt a sense of excitement stirring deep within him. So what if he'd never taken on a project this difficult before? This was a chance to step out of his comfort zone and bring his craft to the next level. Besides, what was he going to do if he turned this down? Go and work on a self-locking door? Boring, boring boring. No. Now that he'd been given this chance, he had to take it. After all, no matter what its purpose, he had no doubts in his ability to understand the inner workings of a mechanism, assemble it, and then rebuild it better than before. Years at the Academy had left him with that much, and his tutelage under his teacher had left him with the experienced needed to decide upon a course of action and see it through to the end—no matter how long it might take. As the words of his teacher echoed once more in his mind, he nodded at Lacertus. Metal is metal is metal is metal.

IC: Lacertus - Onu-Wahi Just walk down the mountain, find a mechanic, and get your arm fixed. How hard could it be? Lacertus rolled over and carefully placed a screw onto the cloak he had spread on the ground. That was the fifth one, and if he remembered correctly—not a gamble he usually felt comfortable with—there should only be one more. Even if he couldn't find it, though, it's not as if a screw was going to be utterly irreplaceable. He'd already planned on getting some spare parts, what was one more screw on top of that? He looked at the socket where his right leg was supposed to be. The very, frustratingly, conspicuously empty socket. Whatever. It's just one screw. He reached down and rolled his cloak up, the various of pieces of his arm and leg jangling pleasantly as he tied it into a makeshift bindle—perfect for day trips up and down a mountain or when getting lost for who even knows how long in some minor tunnel system off the main highway because your utterly useless excuse for a leg picked the exact moment there was a small crevice nearby to give out and sending you tumbling down it and into a tunnel that almost feels like it was carved out just to be spiteful to anyone foolish enough to wander into it but here you are stuck scrambling in the dark with nothing but your own seething thoughts for company until you're finally forced to give up and claw your way back up to the highway in defeat. The bindle was perfect for situations exactly like that. Lacertus leaned against his spear and looked up at the distant glimmer of light that marked his way out of this hole. It was going to be a one-armed, one-legged climb. He'd been in worse, but...not by much. As he vowed to never again get repairs done at the cheapest mechanic he could find, Lacertus began his ascent.

IC: Lacertus - Ko-Koro "What do you mean you don't have the part? I can literally see it right there. That's the bolt I need. You have it." The Matoran stared back, eyes colder than even the Wastes, and said, "Well we're out of that at the moment." Lacertus glanced at the Matoran, then the part, and then back at the Matoran. For a brief moment, he considered simply storming out of the building, swearing to take his business elsewhere—and then he remembered that his half-broken, half-frozen, and almost entirely broke visage was hardly the kind of customer someone would regret seeing the back of. Sighing, he began to run through supplies he still needed, weighing their costs against how much longer he could get away without having them. Rope? There was still a bit of that in his bag, right? And it would probably hold for a little bit longer. Probably. And that was certainly more than he could say for some of his limbs. His little trip outside the village "Look, I don't have a lot to spare, but I'm happy to pay whatever you—" Thud The Matoran and Lacertus both glanced down at the floor. One of the fingers on his left hand had fallen off. "...So, as I was saying, I could really use that bolt." The Matoran's icy gaze softened, and he shifted in his seat. After a few moments of deliberation, he said, "I get that you need it, but I really can't sell it. But what I can do is tell you where I got it. There's a mechanic in Onu-Koro who sends parts up here every few months. It hasn't been too long since the last delivery, so I wouldn't hold out any hope of the next one arriving any time soon. But if these things are really that hard to find Maybe it would be a little easier to find if you all weren't content with half the buildings in the village melting from so much as a sunny day— Lacertus reached down and grabbed his finger, taking a deep breath to calm himself before standing back up. "That'll have to do. I appreciate the help." Slipping the finger into his bag, Lacertus gave one last nod to the Matoran and exited the shop, shielding his eyes from the glare as he stepped out into the street. If there was a mechanic in Ko-Koro who could help, he had not found them, and at this point he did not have the time to keep looking. Regardless of whether Onu-Koro was the only place he could find what he needed, it was obvious he'd have to climb down the mountain at some point if he wanted to repair his limbs. Well, better get going before the rest of me falls apart.

IC: Lacertus - The Wastes Deep breaths. In— The freezing air tore into his lungs, spreading through what felt like his whole body as flesh screamed and metal screeched in sickening unison for a moment that seemed to stretch on for far longer than should ever be possible. Gasping, both for breath and from the shock, he reeled forward, into the waiting snow. After a few moments, the pain subsided, replaced by the familiar and numbing sensation of cold creeping through his limbs and biting at his flesh. Grunting, he slowly shambled back to his feet and pulled his cloak tighter. He should have listened to the Matoran, he should have waited for warmer weather, he should have prepared for the cold better, he should ha— No. He had put this off long enough. Besides, he couldn't risk forgetting any more of the landmarks. Speaking of... He glanced up at the cliff face, squinting through the snow and shivering in place. After a few moments, he found it: a vaguely X-shaped carving in the rock, though at this point it had partially been covered up by a layer of ice. Still, if that was it, he had to be close. And if it wasn't, well... At least he had given in to the Matoran's insistence that he leave flags as he went. It didn't guarantee he'd make it back, but it was at least a far sight better than hoping he could somehow wander back on his own. And for as cold as it already was right now, he really did not want to be around to experience the Wastes at night. He stepped forward, trudging through the snow one step at a time until finally, after what felt like and probably even was hours, he found himself standing in the shadow of the cliff. Pushing aside the thoughts of it being a bit taller than he remembered, he began to run his hand along its surface, searching, searching, searching for anything that would feel familiar. Something that would have given him reason to hope for a cave as a storm bore down upon him, something that would hearken his life's salvation and destruction. Something he could never forget nor forgive for as long as he was still ali— There. It was a narrow crack within the rock, almost invisible save for the glimmer of ice just within its mouth. He slipped inside, ears ringing at the sudden silence that overtook him the moment he was free from the wind's incessant grasp. There. It was barely even worth calling a cave, though the looming importance of it in his mind meant he struggled to downgrade it to the perhaps more accurate "large hole in a wall." Nevertheless, it was exactly as he remembered it—seemingly untouched by anyone since his last visit, though he didn't care to recall how long it had been since he first found this place. Too long, and too many mistakes ago. And here he was once again, to make one last mistake. One last bit of spite, and then he would be good to go. He pulled out a dagger and got to work, slowly chipping away at the letters carved onto the rock's surface. Little by little, his supposed purpose for existing was broken, cast into the snow to be forgotten by all and known by none. Painstakingly, he began carving his own message onto the rock. A meaningless tribute to his own existence, in the place where it ended and began anew. If someone else had truly been meant to find this cave and understand these carvings, well...that was not his problem. That was their destiny to figure out. He'd already sorted out his, apparently. But there was nothing to say that a destiny, once fulfilled, could not be scratched out and overwritten. He blinked, aware for the first time in hours of the screaming pain his body was in. He blinked again when he noticed the sunlight shining through the cave's tiny entrance. He stood up, staring at the message he had spent the night carving into the wall. There was certainly more he could have said, but somehow he felt it was enough. Besides, he needed to head back and deal with his limbs—the cold had unsurprisingly not agreed with them in the slightest, and knowing his luck he was likely already on the verge of getting frostbite in more than a few areas. As he stood at the mouth of the cave, he took one last glance back at the wall, nodding to himself after a moment's hesitation before exiting and beginning the trip back to civilization. Lacertus was here.

Name: Lacertus (Luh-care-tus) Species: Turaga Description: Lacertus stands unusually tall for a Turaga, and often wears a cloak that obscures most of his body. He has a muted gray Calix, and the few remaining parts of his original body similarly fall somewhere within the spectrum of dull and uninteresting. However, closer examination will reveal the slightly off proportions of his limbs and the layered collection of implants and augmentations that contort his body. Very little of his original Turaga body remains, and those few remnants are more often than not in the process of wasting away. Gender: Male Powers and Weapons: Due to numerous ill-advised augmentations, Lacertus has lost all access to his elemental powers and their passive benefits or effects. Lacertus is equipped with a Noble Calix, which allows him to briefly perform at the absolute peak of a Turaga’s physical abilities. Lacertus is armed with a variety of weapons, including four daggers, two shortswords, and one spear. His hands and forearms are also relatively reinforced, allowing them to be effectively used as gauntlets in a pinch. He is generally competent at wielding these weapons, but few would ever think to praise his skill—despite his efforts to broaden his own horizons, punching things remains just about the only form of combat he’s actually any good at. Tech: (Approved by Tyler) Almost the entirety of Lacertus’s body from the neck down has been replaced by purely mechanical parts. These parts have numerous drawbacks (detailed in the Weaknesses section), and do not have features that would grant any particular benefits to Lacertus. At best, they mostly just make him look a bit taller. Given his history and the work-in-progress nature of his body, Lacertus is always careful to keep an eye out for ways to improve his body, though he has had very little luck so far, and has no real reason to think that will be changing any time soon. Weaknesses: Lacertus’s augmentations were not designed with a Calix in mind, and overuse of them while in that heightened state causes tremendous strain to both the prosthetics themselves and the organic parts they are attached to. Although they are built to be relatively cold- and heat-resistant, extreme temperatures or direct exposure to either can cause significant damage. Since corners were occasionally cut during the acquisition of some of his prosthetics, they are also not all immune to magnetic effects—though most components are at minimum resistant, some minor parts are more susceptible than others. Even in peak condition, his implants and prosthetics are in general no stronger than their natural counterparts, and in many cases more effectively fragile due to the need for repair and upkeep—both things Lacertus himself is only marginally good at. As a result, his body is rarely, if ever, in peak condition. Lacertus has no affinity toward melee weapons, regardless of if he is wielding them or facing them. Although he carries weapons of his own and is broadly familiar with how they are meant to be used, he can never hope to match someone truly skilled or even experienced in wielding them, instead being forced to rely on whatever slim advantages he can find in different match-ups. Alignment: Neutral Good History: Lacertus was once a Toa eager to prove his worth to the world, though he had no concrete idea what that truly meant or how he would know once it had been accomplished. Still, he lived his life as best he could--he sought out power, got into some fights that may have been important, perhaps saved one or two lives, and got into a number of fights that were absolutely not important. He lived recklessly and with little direction, save for his own impulses. One day while taking shelter from a storm, he discovered a cave filled with mysterious carvings. As he brushed aside the dust, he felt something click deep within him. This moment right here was it—this was why he had become a Toa. Everything he had ever experienced—countless encounters and fierce battles—had been building up to this very moment, where he would uncover a series of glyphs he could not read. His destiny was not to translate them. It was not even to track down someone who could. His role was merely to be in this place, at this moment, and to brush aside a layer of dust so that someone else in the future could more easily notice them within the gloom and discover what they meant. With that, he had fulfilled his purpose as a Toa. He was done. He was no longer needed. It was over. In the same moment he realized this, he felt a change overtake his body, his muscles wasting away as power escaped from his body. Perhaps he had dug too deep and unwittingly drawn on his Toa power during fights, or perhaps he had simply always been defective, with the most critical of his flaws waiting to rear its head until the moment his destiny was fulfilled. Regardless of the reason, what emerged from that cave was a Turaga. One bitter at his fate and now seeking to prove his worth to destiny itself. If his destiny as a Toa had been so trivial, he would simply find some goal to pursue as a Turaga instead. His powers, once a source of immense pride for Lacertus, now haunted him as a reminder of what he had lost—vestiges of a greater power that had nonetheless never once fulfilled anything he could truly be proud of or remembered for. Before long, frustration turned to desperation, and he leapt at a slim chance to regain even the barest semblance of the power he had once wielded, to once again feel the strength of a Toa throughout his body. When that attempt ended in failure, he moved on to the next, and then the next, each time sacrificing another part of himself to a procedure destined to fail. In time, these augmentations became more reliable and usable, but at the cost of what little connection he still had to his elemental powers. Personality and Traits: Lacertus desperately wants to be a hero, but has no idea what that actually means, aside from apparently not what he was doing previously. Bitter at what it got him in life, Lacertus lives willfully in defiance of the person he once was. Where previously he relied entirely on his powers and his own body, he has now cast his powers away and uses a variety of tools and weapons. However, his fundamental personality and tendencies remain mostly unchanged—he still seeks to prove himself, albeit motivated by spite for what he sees as his past self’s foolishness. When interacting with others, however, Lacertus does his best to be an upright and reasonable individual. He has adopted the belief that it is the duty of the strong to protect the weak, and although he himself no longer truly qualifies for the former category, he is still determined to do everything he can to live up to that ideal.

They can be together in death. Sal and Utu, 100% canon.

First season was pretty good. Second was not. There were some weeks where I honestly dreaded having to watch it, and had to force myself to make it through the entire episode. Why I didn't just drop the darn thing is beyond me.

But wasn't season two horrible? Or at least Mindscrew-y? It wasn't quite as good as the first season, but I enjoyed it nonetheless. And yeah, some of the twists do require either some time or a Google search to understand. Still, I don't believe it is in any way horrible.

Woo, Darker Than Black is awesome. We totally need a third season/prequel movie/anything that is more DTB.

For whatever it is worth, I might as well toss out my opinion in here... I think the biggest draw to characters like Kopaka is their self-confidence. As humans, we are often plagued with insecurities, and having the confidence to stand against well... anything life throws at them is a trait many might end up envying. Even when that confidence is offset by less desirable traits, the fact that it is there is enough to inspire others towards emulation. The problem arises when instead of emulating just the self-confidence (if such a thing is even possible to actually pull off), people try to imitate the entirety of his behavior. As you said, for all of the fondness some of us may have for him as a character, having to deal with a person like that in real life would be less than ideal. So yeah. We all want to be a Kopaka. XD