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  1. This is the review topic for my story Nuparu's Folly. Sorry if this is kinda not what you wanted but I really did like the idea of writing about Krahka so here we are. Tell me what you like and dislike. New entries should be in every week, if not, the week after.
  2. Synopsis/Author's Note: Krahka has long been one of my favorite Bionicle characters. I thought I'd write a bit about her journey that brought her closer to being a Toa than she ever expected. This takes place right between The Darkness Below and Legends of Metru Nui, and I have to disclaim that lines of dialogue were taken directly from those books. Also, terms used in the story as the language of her people are butchered Maori terms. Thank you, and enjoy! That Wistful Place Above --- “She fought to protect her home. But too much power, fueled by too much anger, made her a menace,” Vakama said quietly. “Perhaps I saw a reflection of ourselves in her … or what we could become, if we are not very careful.” - Toa Metru Vakama, The Darkness Below The words of the Toa hounded her, even through the fog of her exhausted dreams. Relentlessly, they swirled around her as she fled back to the echo of her homeland. Sleep had once been merciful, and it had been in its anesthetizing embrace she’d first been able to lock away the piercing, burning memories of the last days of her home and her people, felled by the merciless conquest of the stealers of life. The Selfless Ones, is what their name meant, in their own fluid tongue. The Krahkani people - Krahka. A wordplay on their shape-changing abilities, yes, but more. Her people had once lived in close-knit covens across the entire island, where the boundary between the good of oneself and the good of another was indistinct. Curiosity, the thrill and novelty of learning together, growing together. But, no longer. “You will be alone for eternity, Krahka.” The much fresher memory of the Toa’s prediction in their battle, mere hours ago, bludgeoned away the long-buried reminiscence of home and belonging that wanted so badly to be resurrected. “They fear you,” another one of the little heroes had spat at her. But what did any of the top-dwellers know of fear? Real fear. The kind of fear that blazes fiercely enough to strip you of yourself? Leave you adrift? With not even a pinprick of bitter hope to turn away from? It was the kind of primal fear that any sentient being could conceive of, but was so far, terrible, incomprehensible that it became a ridiculous, foreign concept that was sublimated into story time around a night fire. No, these top-dwellers were safe from even the concept of the scourge, the horde, and the decay and desolation always, always left in its wake. And she couldn’t even find it within herself to begin to wish it upon them. “They know you for a deceiver.” Sharp words from the hero with the power of the tides flowing through her veins, held back by only her willpower and naivety, and who had unwittingly earned Krahka’s respect. Deceiver. Deceit. Fear. The two walked closer than brothers in the minds of the top-dwellers. Perhaps that was the price exacted by such grand self-assurance that drove the Toa so boldly down into her solitude. “Even in the suns’ light, monster, you will always be in night-dark!” The night-dark. She remembered how it had swallowed her up when she’d first fled into it, in a blind panic, fleeing from the ashes of the only life she’d every known. It had taken her in, she clung to it, drawing comfort from the anonymity it provided. Ironic, that anonymity should be something that one with no shape to call her own would seek. In the night-dark, her consternation had aged into melancholy contemplation. Endling. She was no longer a self. And for what must have been ages, in the numbing night-dark of her cold corridors and caverns, there was no need to be. Because the crushing, constricting weight of what had befallen her home and her people - and worse, that she had somehow survived - was too heavy for a lone self to bear. “She fought to protect her home…” These words, the last she'd heard from the top-dwellers, cut the deepest. The Krahka stirred awake, shaking off the crust of dried lava from her escape from the Toa Metru along with the fragmented shards of dreams from an era past. Never before had she expended so much energy to create and maintain a transformation. The overwhelming ferocity of what could have only been elemental power flowing through the frame of Toa was like a sweet hum through every fiber and sinew running beneath the armor. Bursting, singing, begging to be used. That kind of power could be addicting. But the thrill of raw elemental power was just the crest of the Kikanalo. These Toa - yes, their names drifted back into her working memory as her consciousness dragged itself back from fatigued respite - they’d given her more than one invaluable gift. She’d observed them far longer and far more thoroughly than they could ever be comfortable with. Apart from the stray cataloguer or maintenance worker - both new terms for her - these Toa were the only top-dwellers she’d had the chance to observe. Unwelcome, of course. But Krahka understood a sound defeat, and was no fool. A fool was one who refused to learn from their failures. And long had she been a fool. She now had enough of the top-dweller’s language at her command to communicate. That much was clear. That was one gift from the Toa. As close to literally as possible, it opened a whole new world of possibility to her. But possibility was not something she sought, and the first gift of language would have rotted away unused without the second. The second gift was gleaned from her observation of the Toa, and proven in the way they battled and bickered together. It was precisely that - together. Brothers. Sisters. And, she realized, that’s what had begun to wrench the key stabbed into the lock around her ihio - her people’s word for that inmost seat of self that didn’t change with one’s shape, but was nonetheless shaped by it and that which was around it, whether it be friend or foe, culture or catastrophe. The longing for belonging innate in most sentient beings, at least in her experience and imitation of them. That longing was growling awake after a lonely hibernation, and the part of her that they called animal, other, Rahi, couldn’t help but be stirred to action by it. One thing Krahka decided she had taken for granted about her current lava eel shape was that, when exhausted as she was, at least there were no legs for her to stagger up on to. She took her time slithering toward the surface, drawn by both the hunger from the ache of loss long past and the foreboding curiosity that had whispered that hunger awake. One thing the Toa Metru had assured her was that the other top-dwellers would never accept her. She was classified clearly as not us, and based on what she saw in the Archives, that black-and-white designation sentenced her to a life in stasis. In retrospect, her timidity in taking on this new world at long last was largely due to spending so much time under the suspended, sorrowful stares of the Rahi lining every corridor. True, the amount of information and plethora of species she added to her terohki grew exponentially, but she wondered if the knowledge was worth the seed of repulsion and fear for Matoran-kind that was planted. Terohki. It wasn’t a term that translated directly for top-dwellers, but it was close to cache, repository, or arsenal, if her people had been of a more belligerent bent. The terohki consisted of the forms held within a Krahka’s working memory that they could take and manipulate at will. The keterohki included forms once taken, but since forgotten. Nonetheless, those forms were considered an integral part of the Krahka who carried them, as they’d shaped the ihio. The keterohki, thus, also became a respectful euphemism to refer to those of the coven who had passed on. Krahka had the last and the largest keterohki, and it was a burden that became much heavier once she ventured out of the shadows. With each exhibit plaque she read and trapped form she ingested into her terohki, she felt the weight of her keterohki grow. Your time will come, again, she promised a lovely Proto-Drake in the Amphibians Hall, one day. The part of her they called Rahi was repulsed by the Archives. But that same part instinctively understood that she was in the top-dweller’s territory - acutely, consciously, constantly aware of the fact. Swaggering in and throwing things around like a Brakas gone batty was not the way to get what you wanted, which was a lesson she still dreamed of teaching the so called Toa Metru. The fear that they would or already had sent more top-dwellers down into her home still gnawed at her. But, honestly, the Matoran who toiled here in the museum looked to her almost idyllic. Self-satisfied in their work, and perhaps quietly dreaming of something more, but too modest to ever say so. This was the life the Toa would fight so hard to protect and preserve? She now knew she couldn’t best the Toa, united as they were, in a direct confrontation. But she’d proven over and over that she could outwit “Are you lost?” An inquisitive blue mask poked into her field of vision and started her out of her contemplation. “No,” she took a step back from the minor worms exhibit. “Not lost.” She turned her head and looked at the speaker. “Are you lost?” He seemed to think that was some witty joke on her part, because a wide grin broke over his concerned expression. “Not officially, but if the Vahki ask, I got hit with a Staff of Confusion and I’m still recovering!” He feigned a confused stumble, almost knocking into the display case of seabed worms. Too aware that she was stuck in observation mode, she forced a smile onto whichever mask she was wearing today. “Stupid Vahki,” she agreed. It seemed like a safe thing to say. Indeed, the enforcers unnerved her. She’d never encountered a being who she couldn’t ingest into her terohki. It had taken her a few days to realize they were fully mechanical. Still grinning, the Matoran shook off the disoriented act, and became intensely interested in the specific specimen she’d been standing in front of. “Are you here for a research project? Are you a biology student?” He was a fast talker. His red armor told her he wasn’t one who wasn’t one of those Le-Matoran, who she’d learned to avoid at all cost. Thankfully, not many of them had wandered into the exhibit halls. It was all she could do to shrug and lessen the width of her smile. It was all she could do to keep the stress of sustained interaction from crumpling her carefully maintained expression of stand-offish disinterest. “It’s just, most Ga-Matoran students are in the middle of their exams. I didn’t expect to see any of you out and about for a few weeks yet.” “I don’t need exams,” she tried, and shifted so she mirrored his inquisitive, focused stance. The Matoran’s jaw dropped ever so slightly, and understanding gleamed in his eyes. He leaned in and asked quietly in disbelief, “You’re skipping exams??” Again, she mimicked his body language, leaning in and dropping her voice to match his, and letting the syllables slip out quietly and quickly. “I’m skipping exams.” Whatever an ‘exam’ was. “Ha!” the Matoran straightened up with a startling exclamation. “Such a Ga-Matoran!” His voice returned to a normal, less attention-attracting volume. She made sure to note the relationship between volume and the attention it garnered. All the rules were different up here, and she didn’t necessarily like them. “Skipping exams to pour over bio-worm exhibits!” She laughed her best laugh - soft, repetitive syllables to the rhythm of acceptable speech patterns, and thankfully, the Matoran joined in. “Never a dull moment!” he said, eyes still alight in genuine amusement. It was unnerving. “Come on. I’ll show you how a pro shirks work! I bet you've never been chute-diving before.” He began to trot away, obviously expecting her to follow. “No,” she shook her head, once, firmly when he turned and looked at her expectantly. “I … have exams.” The Matoran tilted his head slightly, confused and she also thought she read a note of disappointment. She shook her head again, and he seemed to understand she meant it. “Okay,” he deflated a bit, but piped up again almost immediately, “Well if any Rorzakh come around asking for ‘Takua’, I was never here!” and he sauntered off. Watching him go, Krahka knew she had a long, long way to go if ever she were to successfully infiltrate Matoran society. Fool, she decided. No amount of well-meaning and happy-go-lucky joviality could hide that. But the sheer infectiousness of the Matoran’s wide-eyed enthusiasm for what wonders he somehow found in even harbor worms and insignificant strangers - something about that tugged at her attention. No. When you were on your own, there was no leeway that afforded joviality. And therein lay the essence of the virtue of Unity which the Toa and Matoran cherished and - it dawned on her, fought for. She was surprised by the sadness that welled up around her ihio as her talkative acquaintance turned a corner and disappeared. But she knew why it was so. The Matoran would never be her ihikani - heart’s brethren. A short static burst, followed by music pouring out of the Archives’ PA system caused her to flinch. The few other Matoran in the exhibit hall, murmuring among themselves, began to make their way out to the main exhibit hall. She followed cautiously, careful to stay close enough it looked like she was simply one of the crowd, but far enough away that it would be easy to slip into the shadows and disappear. Atelescreen that normally displayed a labeled map of the exhibits available to the public now broadcasted the face of the elder, Turaga Dume. “Matoran of Metru Nui,” the Turaga’s amplified voice instructed them. “You are required to gather at the Coliseum.” No, she was as foolish as that Ta-Matoran she’d met earlier, if she thought she was ready to gather with the entire city in an enclosed arena. But she couldn’t deny the slight pull of curiosity. It occurred to her, as the broadcast began to repeat itself, that it could be a chance to face the Toa again. But, of course, what could she do, with the whole city there? The Matoran who weren’t still watching the Turaga’s announcement began to trickle away toward the exit. She shimmered smoothly into the guise of an insignificant lava rat and wriggled down through a grate into her night-dark. Perhaps one day she’d make it to the Coliseum. But not today. Rohuiro, yet another Krahkani term with no Matoran equivalent. For a people with the ability to change form to capture the essence, both physical and immaterial, of another, change was a constant. In conceptual terms, the terohki was the smooth-flowing current, the swirling eddies, the rushing torrents of a river. The ihio was the water itself - able to take many forms but water all the same. Rohuiro was the riverbed. That which made a river a river, and not a lake, not an ocean. It shaped how the river ran - a trickle, a set of rapids, a waterfall. It hemmed in the river, both limiting it and defining it, but not always containing it. Over time, the river could force change to its course. A push-and-pull balance of change and constant, willpower and destiny. Without rohuiro, what would stop a Krahkani from dissipating and losing oneself from being submerged in another? Without a riverbed, the river was groundwater. Runoff. Used up again and again. In practical terms, and what the term came to mean when spoken among the people rohuiro, essentially, was survival and resilience despite and because of that which you could not control. Adapting to live another day, change another day. This day, though, she hadn’t expected to be buried alive in what felt like half the city’s worth of rubble and collapsed tunnels. Then again, she reasoned sardonically with herself, nobody really expects that to happen to them. She clawed her way up, up, and up through the dozens of layers of rubble. She barely recognized the remains of the Wings and Water exhibit of the Archives when she finally surfaced. Her senses and instincts jumped instantly to high alert, as they always did when she left her own territory to impinge on another’s. Cracked, leaking stasis displays lay all over the floor, support columns in pieces or soon to be. Almost on instinct, she transformed into the shape of the most recent Onu-Matoran she’d seen. If Archivists were to find a stray Rock Raptor in the ruins of one of their exhibits, it certainly wouldn’t bode well for that raptor. She kept a sharp ear out for approaching Archivists and maintenance workers as she worked as quickly as she could to free a Dermis Turtle stirring back to consciousness. The Onu-Matoran, she discovered, had surprisingly keen low-light vision, which helped the process. Where were the Matoran? Why weren’t they swarming this scene of the tunneling accident? Because, surely, that’s what it was. She’d seen it before, too many times - the wrong grade or quantity of explosives set in the maintenance tunnels to widen or expand. But to cause devastation all the way down through the sub-levels, the borders of her territory she’d been patrolling? The labored breathing of a Shallows Cat drew her in next. One of its hind legs was crushed beneath a fallen support beam. It didn’t budge when she tested it, carefully skirting clear of the cat’s snapping jaws. There was still no sound of approaching Matoran. She shimmered into the form of the Toa Metru of Earth, hoping desperately that Whenua wouldn’t be part of the first responder’s team to this miner’s fiasco. She drew upon his strength and connection to the earth, shifting both the ground and the pillar simultaneously to free the cat and prevent further collapse. “Go,” she urged it in the Toa’s deep voice. She knelt, palms pressed to the ground, listening, sensing. Nothing. Something was wrong, and terribly so. With the help of the forms of the Toa of Water and Toa of Stone, she created a makeshift tank for a reviving brood of Ghekula toads, who would hopefully have enough sense to leap free once they awoke. Crouching, she shifted from Toa to Kavinika wolf. If there had ever been anyone to ask, she would have said Kavinika was one of her favorite rohki - one of her favorite forms. It was considered disrespectful, wasteful, even, to take a form without good reason. Although without any of her culture left to disapprove, there had been many a rohki Krahka had taken throughout the years just because. But now, above ground where there were those who might see - not understand, for who was left who could? - but at least see, she was driven more to act with purpose. The Kavinika’s astute sense of smell was what she needed. Scenting the air, the stench of death flowed in and shook her deeply, knocking malevolently at her barricaded ihio. It wasn’t the scent of Matoran death she expected, for surely there were a few who were buried in the rubble as well. Nor was it even the scent of deceased Rahi who hadn’t survived their stasis internment. No, this scent was much more astringent and morose. And she only knew it because she’d scented it before, fleeing the ruins of her homeland. This was the scent of the death of a people. Yet again, all too soon, Krahka found herself the rohuirani - one who presses on, one who adapts to whatever shape the riverbed has become. A survivor. Pushing away a primal slurry of panic and desperation that threatened to overflow, She fled the Archives, running from the primal slurry of panic and desperation that threatened to overflow, but also chasing the warning instinct that told her to flee. Whether it was fleeing to, or fleeing from, she had no room to ration her way to an answer. She ran through the dark streets, once legend but now ruin. Nothing but toppled buildings, short circuiting electrical works, crushed Vahki, empty homes and vehicles, bleeding chutes. Only once did she encounter a limping, lone Nuurahk, which she tore apart easily. From what she had learned in her brief masquerade among the people of the City of Legends, in what had been their last days, the Vahki never helped anyone, not really. And now, there was no one left to help, so the Vahki had no purpose to serve. Krahka had no idea how long she ran through the once-city, flew above it raining down searching, sonic cries from the form of a Klakk, returning void always. The suns never showed a hint of rising. The Rahi, whether wild or former captives of the horrible Archives, grew bolder in the perpetual night. It seemed that in a matter of hours, new rulers and dominions sprang up - and for all they knew, it could have only been hours. With no suns or stars, they had only their instincts, which were hazy at best, dulled by the frantic frenzy of unfettered freedom for the first time in a millennia. It wasn’t until she encountered a roving herd of Kikanalo that she saw the city clearly. The alpha Kikanalo told her that the Matoran, short and tall, had gone. They were free. The realization dawned on her like the twin suns should have, hours ago, and banished any further questions to the Kikanalo about how they knew this, and if they knew it for sure. It made her almost giddy. At long last, and for reasons she cared not to comprehend, the roving and the wild could rise again. The cataclysm of one culture made way for the cacophonous rise of another, as naturally as one riverbed fell away in a crashing waterfall, and the torrents plunged to a new plane of existence, to shape and water the land there. It was natural. How life moves on. Rohuiro. A particularly bellicose troop of Lava Apes was in an all out war with a family of Ash Bears along the shattered border of what had been Ta-Metru and Le-Metru. Phase Dragons ran wild deeper in Le-Metru, absolutely terrorizing the Brakas who were also trying to make a home there. Furnace Salamanders and Hikaki had a grudging truce with a titanous reptile in Ta-Metru - a beast with earthquake steps and a powerful tail that could fell a fully grown Knowledge Tower with half an effort. A Tahtorak, which she’d thought were extinct. A Doom Viper was staking its claim along the coasts of Ga-Metru, and the Proto Drakes were learning how to share. It was among these she felt most herself. It was as if they spoke her first language. The language of flashy shows of aggression, staking out territory with the carcasses of those that would challenge you, the unique call and response of each tribe. And, yet, she couldn't quite shake the simpering, refined, almost mechanical way of communicating and being of the Matoran and Toa. There was something about the people of Mata Nui that set them apart. The way they could articulate, and the principle of their three virtues gifted from their Great Spirit running through their fibres, imbuing even the most menial or repetitive of tasks with a sense of community, the greater, common good, and purpose. Unity, duty, destiny, she realized. She saw both peoples through the eyes of an outsider. Even still, the accusations of the Toa Metru rang true and stabbed sharp. “They fear you.” “The Rahi will flee Metru Nui. You will ben the absolute ruler of … nothing.” The fear of being feared kept her at bay. It occurred to her that it was a fear she shouldn't have, that the Toa had planted in her. In the shape of a sharp-eyed Avsa Hawk, she poked and prodded at this new fear, the type of contemplation she also never would have before bothered to undertake, from her watchful perch atop a heap of rocks that had once been an abstract monument in the sculpture fields. There was something else lurking below these new layers she'd grown. The industrial grip of the Matoran’s livelihood that had kept so many from a full life had been broken. Shouldn’t that be cause for celebration? Now that she’d finally struggled up into the world the top-dwellers, and had found it even better than she’d wistfully imagined in the refuge her underworld, why this lingering sense of ill omen? It was later - whether it was a day, week, or hour, none could say, that Krahka understood. The euphoria of the unruly romp of the brutes and the beasts through the broken city came to a burning, crashing halt along the far south coastline of Le-Metru. That’s where she found it - fresh, and leaking the venomous sludge that reeked of decay, and its captive writhing and wailing inside - the first cocoon.
  3. Review Topic Here The enforcer stood, dormant, as if it was silently guarding the workshop. Dust and filth covered the machine, obscuring its original matte grey and blue colors in a subdued sleepy tone. It looked simultaneously ancient yet also incredibly advanced. Hahli couldn't even begin to fathom how it worked. Notes and carvings covered the small room in the workshop. ...Nuparu's work. She had trouble reading a lot of the notes, but a word kept repeating. "Vahki". Hahli knew these robots. Police automatons. She had encountered a few heavily malfunctioning ones whilst traversing what was left of Onu-Metru. This one, however, looked intact. The Ga-Matoran looked over the droid. It had completely empty hands, devoid of the signature staffs the Vahki often carried. Hahli's eye caught onto something by the pelvis of the machine. A switch. A very small switch, mind, but it was there. The innate feeling of curiosity was common among Matoran, though somewhat paradoxical to their original purpose. Hahli's hand crept to the switch. A few moments passed. Click. The switch flipped under the pressure of the curious Ga-Matoran's finger. Nothing happened at first. A quiet buzzing seemed to emit for a few moments but the room quickly returned to silence. A frown appeared behind Hahli's powerless Kaukau. Then, a dim blue light began to glow in the otherwise soulless optics of the Vahki. The Vahki's head tilted upwards, suddenly. Hahli jumped back almost instantly. She could begin to hear cogs whirring as the robot's individual parts began to move. The vahki seemed to stare at the Ga-Matoran for what seemed like minutes. "Dest....roy...." A monotone, yet sure voice managed from the sound box of the droid. In reaction, Hahli's form seemed to shift, growing larger and savager, arms becoming legs, hands becoming claws. Her back soon nearly reached the ceiling as the being known formerly as Hahli transformed into a Muaka. The Muaka roared at the vahki, before pouncing on the bot, front claws pinning the Vahki down. "Memory core....dest...royed....what are my orders?" The vahki continued, weakly lifting its head. The Muaka's head tilted. The vahki finally seemed to notice that the Matoran had completely and utterly changed forms, and a small, yet potent shock went through the vahki's body. Claws flew off the vahki as the giant tiger Rahi yelped, legs smoking from the shock. Legs began to shrink again and the Muaka's stance shifted upwards, taking a more familiar, upright, yet smaller stance. Dark green armour now covered what was once Hahli as well as a Muaka. A Kanohi Volitak adorned the Toa's face. "Memory core partially restored. Your powers match that of intelligent Rahi known as Krahka. You have assumed the identity of Toa [iNFORMATION WITHHELD]. Info banks still not complete." The Toa, or more accurately, Krahka, relaxed a little, seeing that the Vahki wasn't approaching. He gingerly nodded, surprised by this Vahki's ability to speak. "This person...it's Toa Nidhiki. I met him once. He tried to kill me. Like many of your top-dweller masters tried." The vahki didn't immediately react, but a few moments later it seemed to nod. "You are considered hostile by most city personnel, including my fellow vahki and the Toa [iNFORMATION WITHHELD]." "How...can you speak? I never saw your kind speak before." Krahka's voice seemed unnatural even to herself. She didn't usually speak either. There weren't many people to speak to. Not anymore. The vahki looked to think, almost, as it formulated an answer. "I am...unique. Nuparu, the Onu-Matoran responsible for the creation of the Vahki concieved me as a higher command unit to accompany vahki squads. I would be followed by similar units for each Metru. Mine was...I cannot access which Metru I was meant for." "Toa Nidhiki" listened to the Vahki's words, taking another look around the workshop. The robot hadn't been locked away by any means. It was out in the open, in fact, right on display at the back of the workshop, standing above all of the benches and numerous notes and spare parts and notes. Yet it had been abandoned, and it was in fact alone. Krahka's eyes narrowed behind the Volitak. Nuparu. Yet again Nuparu was at the forefront of her questions. The vahki stepped forward slightly. "You broke containment. How?" "There wasn't much left to keep me down there. Most of you top-dwellers are dead, if not gone mad." Toa Nidhiki's image replied, still observing the room. The vahki's eyes glowed brighter, almost as if surprised. "...Explain." Krahka stayed silent. Instead of trying to explain, she simply gestured to the door, and left. The vahki followed behind, if slowly. *** Every building outside that had once stood tall now lay crumbled and rusted deep in the nooks and crannies of Onu-Metru's subterreanean land. A single rusted watch tower peeked out of the crevice Krahka and the Vahki were. Dozens of small openings to other huts and workshops peppered the belts of the crevice. The sky was an rusted, sickly orange. Onu-Metru looked like it had been baked in a hot Ta-Metru furnace and thrown out, burnt and ruined. The Krahka gestured to their surroundings. "This is what is left of Metru-Nui." *** Far, far away from Krahka and her newfound companion, a hulking mechanical suit sifted through the scraps of its last skirmish. A few dead stray rahi and a destroyed vahki were strewn around the area. Appropiated disk launchers and a few prototype weapons adorned the shoulders and arms of the mech. Whoever was piloting it was completely covered in armour and devices. A speaker had been stuck on the front of the large suit, though it was rarely used. Barely anyone was around to hear it, and those that were didn't want to. Deciding there was nothing there for it to scavenge, the mech stood up, walking away from the mess. Ta-Metru was a ways away, and he needed to get moving. To be continued.
  4. [Note: Until recently, this was missing all its quotation marks, apostrophes, and dashes due to a bug. Should be all fixed now!] --------------------------------------------------- Walls, as a rule, are not meant to explode. Unfortunately, Tahtorak are not known for their law-abiding natures, and so the east wall of the Piraka Stronghold went rather off-script. As the Tahtorak stormed off into the distance, a figure, tall and not quite a Toa, stepped through the hole her companion had so generously provided and looked up at the sky. Krahka breathed deep, the flat of her nose shifting as she did. The stench of the Piraka’s base was a cavalcade of sour decay and bitter ashes, but beyond that – Salt and sea. “Told you,” she muttered after the vanishing figure of the Tahtorak. For an instant, her body did something that bodies were not supposed to – it was far too small for its skin, or perhaps the other way around – and then where a not-quite-Toa had stood, a not-quite-Gukko took flight. Metru Nui’s prodigal daughter had been away for too long. Transformations Her wings were shaky, her flaps unbalanced, but at least she was flying again. There was no telling how long she’d spent locked in that nightmare, but it was far too long for a shapeshifter to stay in one form. Some little piece of her mind kept reaching for arms and legs that weren’t there, and it took a combination of instinct and conscious rebalancing to keep herself going. Both up, then both down – no need to overthink things. Her beak tried to smirk. Well, how about this. Whole sentences without the dark screaming into your mind. What a pleasant change of pace. It got easier as she went – the imprint of the Toa Metru was fading from her mind, and old memories of soaring with the other Gukko came to her if not in picture then at least in action. A familiar pride rose in her chest as her motions became more and more fluid. That’s it. Remember who you are. A Krahka, not some Toa floundering in the shadows. She redoubled herself; the wind was at her back, and if she was where she thought, she could be at the city by dusk. Toa floundering in shadows, indeed. I hope they’ve saved me a few Visorak to crush. The not-smirk widened. Maybe even Roodaka herself, if I’m lucky. And if they had failed – well, Toa didn’t fail. It was one of the things that made them so irritating. But if they had failed, that made six new, very powerful Rahi who could use a leader. And maybe she could find it in her heart to lend her new brothers a hand if they weren’t too spidery. It might even be nice, having a few others to help marshal the Rahi. She let herself daydream as she flew, reveling in the clarity of thought that accompanied her freedom. She would have to make sure everything was in order, of course, but then? Maybe it was time to crash open the archives, or to remind the Matoran who had fought for that city of theirs while they were sleeping. Perhaps those Toa would finally agree to give her and her brothers and sisters a piece of their world- The city came rushing at her over the horizon, and any daydreams of Rahi rebellion faded away with it. Even at a distance, she could see that accursed webbing was gone. Toa. Always too good at their jobs. Yet as her home grew closer, and her gaze fell upon the dust of ages that lined its towers, she suddenly found herself wondering if that was quite true. She stayed up high for her first pass over the city; it was easy enough to see that the great transport chutes had long since collapsed, and that the buildings at the city’s outskirt were crumbling with disrepair. Her eyes darted from street to street, looking for any sign of life – a rambling Mahi, a stumbling Matoran, anything – and found only silence. Confusion and anger gnawed away at her. What had happened here? Surely the Toa had defeated the Visorak, but – why was her city falling to ruin? There was a distant cry beneath her, and she turned and swooped down towards it, coming to land on the edge of a Le-Metru rooftop. In the street below, two Matoran – was it her imagination, or had their bodies changed since she’d left? – had bumped into each other and were scrambling after a bundle of fruits that had gone spilling down the street. Krahka pulled her wings closer to her and narrowed her gaze. Here, at least, was life, apparently unfazed by the city’s change. Now that she looked further up the street, to the core of the city, she could see a few other Matoran going about their business. Curiouser and curiouser. Before she could take off again, she saw the two Matoran jump to attention. The door of the building she was perched on had swung open, and a stubbly green Turaga she had never seen before had stepped out into the street. She craned her neck to hear, shifting the Gukko’s ears into an Ice Bat’s. “-just be more foot-careful, Tamaru. We still haven’t gotten the tree-gardens growing again yet, and we don’t want to make any more quick-returns than we have to.” “Sorry, Turaga Matau-“ Matau? She blinked. Wasn’t that name – it was! Onewa, Matau, Nokama, Nuju, Whenua, Va- blast it, what was it? – Vakama. On the street below her, Matau said his goodbyes and turned to make his way towards the coliseum. Krahka narrowed her eyes. Something was very wrong with her city. None of them thought much of a Gukko perched atop the balcony outside; Matau spent a few minutes trying to shoo her, and Nuju chirped at her in a passable, if rather foul-mouthed, attempt at Gukko, but soon Dume (the proper Dume, not the one whose scent had been tinged with something foul) beckoned his other Turaga to ignore the bird outside. Onewa looked back at her once, and she made a point of matching his gaze until he, too, turned away. The Turaga’s conversation made little sense to her; they spoke of islands and “Toa Nuva”, of the Great Spirit, of disaster and prophecy. Eventually, the group fell quiet. It was Onewa who broke the silence first. “How long has it been?” In time, Dume answered for the rest. “Two weeks and four days.” “And since the Toa Nuva left?” Matau murmured. ‘Nuva’ again. Teams of Toa had come and gone over the years, but that was a title she had never heard. “Three weeks and six days.” Onewa stared straight ahead, at a point in the wall between Nokama and Vakama’s head; Krahka could see the others finding their own ways to avoid each others’ gazes. “And Takanuva?” Nokama asked. “Has he reported anything to any of you?” “Nothing,” Vakama replied. Krahka shuffled her wings in irritation; would it kill these Toa - these Turaga to say anything directly for once? Onewa looked down to the ground, and for a moment it seemed he would say something. Krahka waited for him to speak up, to cut through this inexplicable tension. He did not. The sun had slipped over the horizon by the time the meeting was over, and the sight of the city sinking into the darkness put Krahka on edge. The crumbling architecture seemed even more sinister than before, and – how had she not noticed sooner? – the air was tinged with a stale rot, the sort of smell she would expect to find in the long-abandoned remains of a Rahkshi den. At the edge of her senses, she could hear scuffles that might be the noise of her brothers and sisters prowling the empty streets. Or perhaps she couldn’t. In the darkness, she had heard the voices of other Rahi whispering to her more times than she could count. Who was to say this city wasn’t itself false, the product of a mind worn down to nothingness- I say. She breathed deep and tasted the city. This is real, and that prison is past now. And if I were to go mad, I would seek refuge in the city I knew, not this – graveyard. She glanced down. Onewa was hobbling down the streets of Po-Metru far below her. And you, Toa. Whatever befell this city, did it take you as well? She looked back up the street; at the corner, a flat, sturdy set of Po-Matoran apartments was nestled between a broken chute station and a run-down storefront. A Po-Matoran was sitting on its steps, carving away at something. Krahka’s eyes narrowed. There was one way to find out. His room was surprisingly empty, devoid of the trinkets the Matoran seemed so fond of collecting. A spare staff lay in the corner, and a few rough-hewn stone spheres were settled at the foot of the bed, but other than that there was little to suggest it as the home of any leader. Krahka sniffed the air as she hopped down from the windowsill; his scent was there, but only barely. She closed her eyes and let the image of the Turaga float into her mind. The first shift was always the most difficult, but – There was a gasp of air, and it was done. She stretched an arm out experimentally; the muscle and metal clicked together wearily, and her fingers separated with a faint whine that ran up her arm. So weak. How can he stand it? On a whim, she shifted her other arm to match his old Toa form, and it blossomed into being, sturdy and strong; the difference was unnerving. From below her, the clunking, slow sound of someone climbing the stairs came floating up. On a lark, she let her arm return to the Turaga’s form and grabbed the spare staff from where it lay, then turned to face the window as the door behind her creaked open. She heard a gasp, then a muted curse. “Mata Nui take it, Hafu. Gift-giving is no excuse for breaking and entering, no matter how good the statue-“ Krahka turned and looked him over. “Hafu? Is that his name? You top-dwellers are always so fussy about the names of everything.” To his credit, his knees were slow enough to give out that she had time enough to catch him. “Come on,” she chided, “this body is weak, but it’s not that bad.” The Turaga lifted his head weakly and smiled. “Hello, Krahka.” They sat themselves on his bed; at his insistence, she shifted form again to Nokama’s. He gave a low chuckle. “Try it as a Turaga. It’s going to be hard enough explaining things if someone walks in on me and Turaga Nokama; it’s going to be impossible if someone walks in on me and Toa Nokama.” Krahka shrugged – Turaga were such worriers – and a moment later she was tossing the extra staff back and forth in Nokama’s shrunken hands. “So strange, you Toa,” she said. “You shift shapes nearly as often as I do. I think I preferred your forms the second time, even if they were a little more Visorak than I’d like.” “Well,” he said, and she could hear his voice trembling, “we were made to be Matoran, not Rahi.” She grinned. “Really? There was a half-Rahi Toa I met once who wasn’t bad at wrangling Tahtorak.” “And there was a Rahi I met once who tried being a Toa and did quite a job of it.” “I know,” she said, spinning the staff between her fingers for a few seconds before she grabbed hold of it. “Maybe a better job than the actual Toa, going by this city.” He flinched the slightest at that, and she felt a moment of satisfaction and pity. At least the Turaga was ashamed of what had happened to this place. “The Visorak are gone,” he said roughly. “Long gone. And Roodaka and Sidorak with them.” “A pity,” she said. “I would’ve liked to crush that little neck of hers myself.” If he was surprised at her choice of words, he hid it well. He had been staring at her ever since they’d sat down, as though he was still unsure of if she was actually there, and truth be told it was starting to grate on her nerves a bit. It was time to start getting some answers. “So,” she said bluntly, “how long has it been?” That startled him, and she caught the hesitation before he said, quietly, “A thousand years.” She mulled the number over in her head. She had dwelt in this city far longer than that, but – it was too long. Even without the Visorak’s meddling, much could happen in a thousand years. Any of her brothers or sisters trapped in the Archives that long without supervision would have surely perished. If the Rahkshi had been left unchecked, it was possible they had spread their infections – His face was contorting with worry. “Not too bad, then,” she said, unsure of why she was lying. “Though it seems to have been a very – eventful time.” The Turaga gave a tired laugh. “Perhaps not as much as you would think.” His voice sounded eerily resigned, like the cries of a trapped Mahi in the Archives’ chambers, and it set her on edge. “You’ve changed, Onewa,” she said. “And I don’t mean that you’ve simply continued to shrink.” “I have, and so have my fellow Toa.” “Everything save me, then.” A fear she couldn’t explain was wrapping itself around her heart, and she stood. “I fought aside you Toa because I thought you wanted to protect this city. Instead I return to find it a crumbling wreck and the six of you not much better.” Onewa flinched again and looked away. “That’s – I’m sorry, Krahka –“ Karzahni take it, what was wrong with him? “Fine. I was hoping to speak to the Toa who didn’t think twice about challenging me, not the Turaga who nearly faints dead away at the sight of his own old body.” She turned back towards the window. “I have a thousand years’ worth of city to check-“ “Wait!” The desperation in his voice ground on her ears. “Krahka, listen to me. This city – all that’s happened – I can explain.” He hesitated for an instant. “You deserve an explanation.” That gave her pause. She looked back towards the Turaga. He was standing now, if leaning on his staff, but the light of his eyes was just a touch sharper, more like the gleam he had carried as a Toa. “And what makes you say that, Turaga?” “Because this has been your city as long as it has been ours, and because you died saving it.” He must have caught the annoyance on her face, for he quickly added, “or – almost died. Or, that is –“ he looked away for a moment, and when he spoke again his voice was pained. “Well. To us, you did die.” She could still feel the tension that had gripped her since she’d seen the city come over the skyline, but something in the Turaga’s words softened it. He took a hesitant step towards her. “If you would let me – I’d like very much to speak to the great Rahi I once knew.” She took a step away from him almost automatically. A hundred thousand years of dealing with the top-dwellers left instincts a single Tahtorak ride wouldn’t erase. And yet - she had come to him for a reason, hadn’t she? She wanted answers, and if he was willing to give them, she may as well take them. “Fine,” she said, more than a little testily. “We shall talk. But I’ve had enough of this dusty lair of yours, and I have a city to see. I’ll be out behind the building.” Before he could reply, she turned and leapt from the window, slipping back into Gukko form as she did. As she glided away into the night, she thought she heard a laugh of surprise. They walked in silence for a while along Po-Metru’s back streets. Night was beginning to fall, and the few Po-Matoran they passed thought nothing of the Turaga out for a stroll with one of his people – even if they couldn’t recall seeing anyone with quite that combination of armor and Kanohi before. The buildings grew dilapidated around them as they made their way out of the heart of the city, the few signs of Matoran inhabitation fading away in favor of shoots of green that poked through the crumbling streets and snaked up the buildings. A bit of twisted satisfaction rose up in her at the sight, and she couldn’t resist a jab. “For all the pride you top-dwellers have in these buildings of yours, they seem to fall quite easily to a few stray plants.” “Don’t talk to me about plants versus buildings,” Onewa muttered. “I’ve had enough of that for a lifetime.” “Perhaps it isn’t all bad,” she went on. “This city could use a little more life to it, if you Matoran aren’t going to take care of it.” “There wasn’t anyone left to clean up after the Visorak,” he grumbled. “I’d say it’s in perfectly good shape when you consider that.” She snorted. “Excuses. And besides –“ she pointed to a set of tracks in the dust – “it seems a few of my brothers and sisters got along fine without you.” “And is that what you want?” he replied. “A Metru Nui of Rahi?” “It seems I just missed it.” “Perhaps not as much as you believe. Most of the Rahi left the city with us.” She missed a step and pretended she hadn’t. “So you rounded them up?” “Hardly,” said Onewa. “They followed us willingly.” She could feel one of her hands curling into a fist. Of course, some of the Rahi had lived alongside the Matoran even in her time (my time?). They had been pets to the Matoran, or tools, and it had always burned at her pride to see them as such. Had so many of them really – “They were happy, Krahka.” Onewa’s voice was soft. “Most of them lived free, independent of us. Others – the Gukko, the Ussal Crabs – were our friends and partners.” She growled lightly at that. First the Matoran let the city crumble, then her fellow Rahi abandoned it – an instinctive frustration was eating away at her. They had all been so quick to let her home fall to ruin. They walked on in silence a while longer. At the foot of the street was the deserted remains of a chute station; the pipe was long since shattered, a barren bed of an artificial river. The station itself was cracked and decayed, even the steps leading up to it beginning to crumble with the weight of the years. “Tell me,” she finally said, “where did you all go?” “Mata Nui.” He looked over to see her furrowing the brow of her mask in confusion and groaned. “Of course. You don’t know Mata Nui, the island.” “What a –“ she struggled for the word –“redundant name.” He chortled. “It was. It was the least we could do to keep the Matoran connected to the Great Spirit, I guess.” “Tell me, then,” she said, idly shifting a hand to tentacle and back. “What sort of place was it?” He looked up at the empty station. “Where do I begin? It was beautiful. I’m certain it still is now.” “Where is it?” He gestured to the sky. “Above us, if you can believe it.” “Quite easily.” He smiled at that. “It was a place of purity. When we arrived, there was no sign that Matoran had ever set foot there. I can still remember the sound of the waves lapping up against that golden shore.” “I can’t, Onewa. Get to something more solid.” His smile grew wider. “Fine. The island was a mirror of this city, but where there is metal and stone here, there was earth and tree there. Po-Koro was a desert, but it was never a dead place. The crags and bluffs were of the cleanest sandstone, and soon the Mahi had taken to roaming the sands as though it were the only home they’d ever known.” He smiled. “I guess we were much the same.” That flame of frustration had leapt up inside of her once more, but there was something painful tingeing it now. “It sounds – peaceful.” “It was, in a way.” He sighed. “The Makuta came with us, corrupting all he touched. For a thousand years we fought off Rahi brought to madness by his poisons, and slept in fear of the shadows.” Krahka frowned and kicked away a stone. “Fear of the shadows? You Toa truly did let yourselves go.” Onewa’s mask darkened. “I know,” he muttered. “Believe me, we weren’t happy about it.” “Then why didn’t you do something?” “Easier said than done,” he said. “It is one thing to stand against the Makuta when you are the destined Toa. It is another to take up arms against him when you are a weak little reflection of your past, the ghost of something that was only given power because of his whims.” Krahka started at that. She had forgotten the task Roodaka had had her carry out, the old secrets of the Makuta she had laid bare for them. “Did those tablets’ words truly weigh so hard on you?” “No,” he said. “Not ultimately. But we always remembered them, on the darkest nights.” He turned and set off down the street. “Come on. I haven’t been down towards the Great Temple since we’ve returned. Let’s see what a thousand years have done to it.” Ga-Metru was silent at this time of night. Nokama’s people were even more reluctant to reclaim the city than Onewa’s, and it was only the light of an occasional glowstone that guided their path. “It’s strange,” Krahka said. “This must be the longest I’ve ever walked these streets without running into some Toa charging off to ruin someone’s day.” “You just missed them,” Onewa replied. “They left on a quest of their own some weeks ago.” “And left the city unguarded?” She snorted. “The old fire-spitters, Lhikan and Dume – what would they say?” “Dume is still with us. And he understands their quest is necessary.” “I heard,” she said, shifting an arm from Matoran’s to Turaga’s and back. “Even with six other Turaga, he can’t resist playing the leader.” “So you were that Gukko.” “It pays to know where one’s enemies are, even if it takes some time to recognize them.” Onewa let the barb slide. “Tell me, Krahka – what happened to you? How did you survive? Where did you go?” She let her arm grow and shift until it was an amalgamation of the Toa Metru’s. “You remember this little trick of mine. I introduced the Zivon to it.” “And got pulled into another dimension for your troubles,” Onewa muttered. “One which that – thing was born of. You’ll excuse me for taking it as death.” “You Toa always did underestimate me.” He sighed. “Krahka, the last thing we did together was ride a Tahtorak through the city. I don’t think it’s possible for me to underestimate you anymore.” “A shame there isn’t one around. It would have been a better way for us to pick up where we left off.” “Whatever happened to him, anyway?” “Ask the southerners.” Onewa winced. “I feel sorry for anyone there who doesn’t have an answer.” “If they aren’t ready for the occasional titan, they have nobody to blame but themselves.” “Rahi wisdom we could all take to heart,” he replied. “The south, you say?” “Something there opened a gate to our prison. We wasted no time in escaping.” “And the first thing you did was return here?” “Is there something the matter with that?” she snapped, her arm solidifying back into a Matoran’s. “Not at all. This place is your home.” She gave a small harumph and looked away, and he let the topic drop. For a time they walked on in silence. Something she had noticed was weighing on her mind, and when she spoke again, she could not hide the curiosity in her voice. “We passed Nokama’s home, did we not?” “We did,” he said. His staff clattered against the cool stone street. “You don’t intend to tell your brothers I’ve returned?” “So Whenua can try and lock you in the Archives?” he replied, the joke stale before it left his mouth. She regarded him in silence, and he sighed. “No. Not yet. Maybe not ever, depending on – what you want to do.” She looked away, and hoped he didn’t think she had an answer to that. The bridge to the Great Temple was still and silent under the light of the stars. Its great stone gate stood undisturbed, and though it carried the same wear as the rest of the city, the sheer size of it seemed to drown out any challenges to its grandeur. Past it, she could see scaffoldings lining the walls of the temple itself, the first signs of the Matoran’s attempts to undo the damage of years past. “Why here?” Krahka asked. “It’s like I said. I haven’t been here since I was a Hordika.” “And that’s it?” she asked. He hesitated. “And – I’ve come here twice before. Once as a Matoran, once as a Hordika. I’d like to see how it looks as a Turaga.” The two crossed the bridge to its entrance in silence. Save a small, lit candle placed beneath a carving of a Po-Matoran, the temple’s interior was as desolate as the rest of the city. Around them, murals and statues proclaimed the city’s history and the legends of the Great Spirit. The stone beneath their feet was lined with crystal, and she could hear the waves of Ga-Metru lapping away beneath the building. “It’s hardly changed,” she murmured. “You came here often?” “No. On the days I borrowed a Matoran’s shape and visited the surface, I had better things to do than see some old drawings.” To her surprise, he laughed. “You sound like me back when I was still a Matoran. Don’t think I ever came here until Lhikan summoned us.” “He always had a flair for the dramatic.” “You knew him?” She shrugged. “He was this city’s Toa before you were. I knew him as much as any other did.” “But he never confronted you?” “He stayed out of my way, and I stayed out of his.” The answer seemed to satisfy him, and he said no more. Blasted Turaga. If he gives that little knowing silent smile one more time- “There,” Onewa said, and pointed a finger. The chamber ahead of them was anchored by a round, squat structure. In the ceiling above, a panel had fallen loose, and the dim light of the stars gave a pearly glow to the room. “This is where it began,” she heard him mutter, as if to himself. “Lhikan had us come here, Toa Stones in hand, and plunge into the world of heroes.” “Sounds more like he shoved you into the job.” “I guess he did.” The Turaga hobbled forward into the room, and she followed him at a slight distance. Something in his stance had changed, and she could smell the anxiety wearing away at him. For a while they stood there in silence. He was staring intently at the Suva, gripping his staff so hard it had begun to tremble. “Well?” she asked. “Well what?” “How does it look as a Turaga?” He stiffened and looked back over his shoulder to her. She met his gaze. He turned back to the Suva. “Wrong,” he spat, and threw his staff down. He took a step towards it, and another, and as he stumbled over a crack in the ground she was there to catch him. “I know I shouldn’t feel like this,” he whispered as they sat themselves on its edge. “But – Mata Nui take it all, this isn’t –“ “It’s not how it should be,” she finished for him. Something flittering and hopeful had planted itself in her breast. “No,” he said wearily. “No, it’s not. On Mata Nui I could survive being a Turaga. But here? In this city?” He shuddered. “How am I supposed to deal with sitting here, weaker than I’ve ever been, in the remains of what used to be my home?” “I’d love to know myself,” she said, resting a hand on his shoulder. She had been right to come to him, after all. “This –“ he waved around them, at the crumbling walls of the temple – “it isn’t how it was supposed to be. When we became Toa, do you know what we wanted? To protect our city. Simple as that. That’s all a Toa was meant to do, as far as we cared.” “Even if that meant crossing me?” He gave a short, barking laugh. “Of course. We thought it was so simple – just root out the Morbuzakh, watch out for the occasional Krahka, stomp a few Rahkshi – and soon things would be back to normal.” “But it wasn’t that easy, was it?” “Is anything?” He gave a heaving sigh. “You know, until the end – until we threw away our Toa powers – I thought things could still fix themselves. I was certain I’d walk the streets of Po-Metru as a proud Toa, see the glories my people made for themselves. I got an island, a thousand years of guard duty, and a half-broken city for my troubles.” “Maybe they still can,” she said. “These new Toa of yours – when they return, perhaps they can aid you in rebuilding-“ She stopped short. He was chuckling tiredly. “No, Krahka,” he finally managed to say. “No, I’m afraid it won’t be that simple. There’s too many things in motion, these days. Toa and Makuta and masks and Great Spirits…” He let out another sigh. “I’ve got no clue how it’ll all end up. But I don’t think it’ll be with the lot of us happily going about our days in the city.” “So what?” she snapped at him. That gnawing fear was back. “You’re just going to sit back and let that happen?” He looked down at his hands. “Tell me, Krahka. Why did you fight with us, that day?” “Don’t dodge the question, Onewa.” “I’m not,” he replied. “I just need to hear your answer first.” “For –“ she hesitated and frowned. Very cute, Onewa. “For the same reason as you. To protect this city.” “Not quite,” he said. “We fought for our people, Krahka. This city is important, true, but they were our duty.” “Spare me the lectures,” she growled back. “Make your point.” “My point is that even as a bunch of half-mad half-Rahi, even with the city buried under those accursed cocoons, nothing had changed for us, really. We still had our people to protect. It didn’t matter what shape we came in, or where we fought – our duty was the same as ever.” “So what?” “So – “ he held out one of his arms. “So look at me now. I can barely walk some days, much less go Tahtorak-riding. It’s my job to stand around and look wise now, not to be out there fighting. That’s how I’m supposed to ‘protect’ them.” “And you’re happy with that?” “Would you be?” She remembered how it had felt to walk in the Turaga’s skin, the sense that she was crumbling away. She shook her head violently. “Never.” The smirk turned bitter. “Well, at least you’re honest with yourself. I can only assume giving up my Toa power seemed tremendously noble to me at the time.” “Look, Onewa – if you hate being a Turaga so much –“ “Hate might be too strong-“ “Shut it. If you hate it so much, then why did you do it?” He turned away from her and looked out into the darkness of the temple. “I couldn’t say. In that moment, I knew it had to be done. That’s all.” “Is that so.” She looked up; above them, the stars were shining bright, even if they had shifted more than they had any right to. “That almost sounds familiar.” Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him start. “I told you I fought to protect this city, didn’t I? But I didn’t think about it. This place is my home, my territory. The only one I’ve ever known. Fighting for it is as natural as breathing.” Idly, she picked a pebble from the ground and twirled it through her fingers. “I suppose it’s the same for you Turaga and your Matoran.” “And look where that’s got the two of us now,” he muttered. For a while, they sat there in silence. “How do you live with it?” she finally asked. He shrugged. “It took a while. About a thousand years, if we’re exact. And I had some help along the way. Hafu’s carvings, a star Kolhii run or two by Hewkii, Pohatu’s feats of wonder…” “You must have had quite the time on this Mata Nui of yours.” “It was easy to forget there - to tell yourself that you only ever were a Turaga, that there was no city awaiting your return.” He gave a sour smile. “Of course, that only worked on the good days. On the bad days you’d hobble into bed and think about how maybe the Morbuzakh wasn’t that awful after all.” “You know, I never thanked you Toa for cleaning that one up.” “You’re welcome.” “I never said I was thanking you. You get enough praise as is.” He flat-out guffawed at that, and she jumped and turned to him, fighting down the reflex to form an extra mouth or two. “Something funny, Turaga?” “Yes,” he said warmly, and turned to face her. A shock of recognition ran down her back. The weariness was gone from the Turaga’s burning orange eyes, and for half an instant some distant voice in her said Toa. “You know, Krahka – I missed you.” She took a step backwards. Perhaps the Turaga had gone mad and she simply hadn’t noticed? “I mean it,” he went on. “That – what you just said – it’s perfect. Nobody ever told us we got thanked too much on Mata Nui. Nobody ever did anything except follow the old legends, pay their dues to the Toa, listen to the Turaga…” the lines of his mask relaxed in disappointment. “Not even us.” “Don’t fool yourself, Onewa. If I hadn’t had to deal with that Zivon, I’d have stayed in Metru Nui, not wasted my time on a bunch of Matoran.” “But you did deal with that Zivon.” His voice was confident now, so much like the Onewa she’d known that it set her on edge. “You saved us.” “I told you, it was for the city-“ “Oh, forget the city,” he shot back. “What’s a city? A whole bunch of roads and buildings we pretend has some special meaning. I fought for my people, you fought for your Rahi, and that day we each fought for the other. Am I wrong?” “You-“ she took another step away from him. “Enough of your Turaga-tales, Onewa.” “Krahka.” He reached out a hand. “Am I wrong?” “That’s-“ Words were failing her. For a second she had the wild urge to shift and take flight, to leave the Turaga alone in this crumbled place. But Krahka did not run. “I don’t know,” she finally said. “In the heat of that battle – I can’t tell you what I was thinking. Maybe I didn’t want to see you all crushed, or maybe I just didn’t like the Zivon’s face.” “You just went with what felt right?” “It got me that far.” “That it did,” he replied, and sat back on the Suva. He gestured for her to join him, and after a moment, she hesitantly sat herself down at his side. “You know,” he said, his tone almost cheery, “you were the first person I couldn’t save.” “Since when did I need saving?” “Never, but spend enough time as a Toa and you start talking that way. What I mean is, I thought you died for us, because I wasn’t quick enough, or strong enough, or – well, the point is you died. Or close enough. And you took a bit of Metru Nui with you.” “Do you Turaga ever speak straight?” He scrunched up his face for a second. “Well, I’ll try.” He looked at her. “The time we fought together was extraordinary, you weren’t anything like my fellow Toa or the Matoran, for the next thousand years I missed you terribly both as a friend and as a connection to my home, and whenever I found myself powerless as a Turaga I remembered failing you. Straight enough?” She stammered for a moment – Karzahni take it, Turaga never could resist packing half a dozen stories into a single sentence – “Hold on, Toa. Since when were we friends?” “I thought we’d already established that was around the time we rode a giant lizard through the city together.” “You have odd taste in friends.” “You have no idea,” the Turaga said with a smile. She smirked back and wondered why. Something had snapped the tension between them without her even realizing it. The Turaga continued, “But that’s not quite what I mean. I mean – I wish you could have come with us to Mata Nui. It was a long thousand years. I could’ve used someone who didn’t take my every word as wisdom.” “A village of Matoran taking your words as wisdom? It’s a miracle the Mahi didn’t wind up enslaving you instead.” The joke had come without thinking, but the instant it left her mouth a lifetime of instincts roared back to life. What was she doing, joking with a top-dweller? He is a Turaga, Krahka. Rahi are his pets and workers, not his equals. Onewa must have seen her face darken, for his own grew serious. “Krahka – I spoke true when I said the Rahi came with us of their own volition. They roamed free, and those that lived at our side did so willingly.” “They must have thrown away a hundred thousand years of bad memories very quickly,” she muttered. He sighed. “For a while, few would come near us. The Matoran didn’t understand why. Some thought that was just the natural order of things.” “Maybe it is.” “Maybe – “ he hesitated, and when he spoke again his voice was soft. “Maybe it used to be.” Her eyes narrowed. “What?” “Krahka.” He reached out and rested a hand on hers. She waited for herself to pull away, and didn’t. “You asked me how I live as a Turaga.” “Why do you Turaga never answer my questions in order?” “Because we’re too used to using twenty words where one will do-“ he shook his head. “Krahka, in the course of one evening you’ve dredged up doubts and resentments my brothers have failed to hear for a thousand years. Becoming a Turaga wasn’t easy for any of us. The world had changed, and us with it. But no matter what – there was a part of me that wouldn’t let go.” “Sounds natural enough to me.” “Maybe it is. But what I realized is that there are changes that will tear away everything you held onto to live your life. And when they come, you can’t look back too long if you want to survive.” “’Too long’?” She snorted. “Turaga wisdom has gotten weaker since I left.“ “Krahka. Please.” An old voice kicked up inside her. Enough. “No,” she cut in. “I – whatever it is you’re going to say, Onewa, it is for your people and not for me. I am not a Matoran.” She pulled back, let a Gukko’s wings sprout from her back, felt her face harden into the smooth plate of a Rahkshi. “I don’t need to hear your ramblings-“ “Don’t run away from this,” he said, his face showing no response to the form she had taken. She felt herself tensing. “Run away? Who do you think-“ “I know you don’t want to let go of the Metru Nui you knew. I know you want to believe you can go back to the life you had.” His voice grew raw and hurt. “Because every day I walk these streets, I feel the same way. I would give anything to have the strength to protect my people myself again. I haven’t forgotten the past, I swear to you. It drives me as much as anything else. “But I can’t let myself be chained to it. The world is going to keep moving on, with or without me. We have to survive, Krahka. We have to change with it, as we did – as your Rahi did on Mata Nui.” He reached out a hand once more. “And I wish so badly you had been there to change with us.” One of her hands was shaking, jumping from Toa’s to Vortixx’s to Matoran’s and back again. “Onewa-“ “You shouldn’t have to go through this alone. We survived those first days as Turaga because we had each other. But you have to make that same leap we did long after everyone else has. So-“ he reached his hand out further. For a few moments they stayed like that. Something deep within her was raging and whirling, howling with the same cries that her caged brothers in the archives once did. Fool Turaga doesn’t know doesn’t understand isn’t fighting why is he how is he this is wrong wrong wrong- A Krahka’s claw shot out and gripped the Turaga’s hand. He smiled. They stopped at a small, rusted little hatch in the ground of a Ga-Koro back alley. Krahka saw him looking up at the sky as she tore its latches from the ground with her bare hands. “This is it, then?” he asked. She nodded. “The Archives run the length of this city twice over. Even if this is a dead end, it will be nothing to blast my away back into them.” “What do you hope to find down there?” “Anything,” she said quietly. “A Nui-Rama hive that survived the years – a Rahkshi nest that needs disciplining – I need to know what’s there and what’s not if I’m going to survive this city anew.” “You have us,” he responded. “Don’t forget that.” “I know,” she muttered, refusing to meet his eyes. “But I survived down there long enough before. I don’t expect I’ll be needing any of your help.” They both knew that wasn’t what he had meant. He sighed. “Be careful, Krahka. These are dark times. It may be that not even the Archives are safe anymore.” Her eyes narrowed. “Do you realize what you just said?” “Safe for you.” “Better.” She looked down into the darkness, and paused. “Tell me. Is this city in danger?” “I don’t know. But I would be very surprised if it isn’t.” “Do not expect me to fight for your Matoran if it is. That is your duty, not mine.” “I understand.” “But –“ she looked up at him, and she could see the hope in his eyes. “If you ever need refuge, I have no intention of abandoning this place again.” “I’ll remember that,” he said. “Thank you, Krahka.” She gave a small snort and turned away to descend into the hatch. “Krahka?” “No, Onewa.” He blinked. She looked up at him and gave an apologetic smile from behind her mask. “The Toa Metru are gone now. I have no desire to recreate others’ glories.” He sagged. “I understand. Forgive a weak old Turaga a moment of nostalgia.” She shrugged and turned away; he did the same. They had said all that needed to be said, which is why she couldn’t stop herself from saying, “Onewa.” He started and looked back to her. “It can get boring down there, once in a while. So if you ever see a second Vakama wandering around –“ He smirked. “I’ll keep quiet – if he lets me share his wanderings for an evening, once in a while.” “After your ramblings tonight, that may be too high a price.” He lifted a brow in skepticism, and her scowl faded away into the smile it had been hiding. “But then again, perhaps not.” He smiled back. “Until we meet again.” “Until then,” she said, and hopped down into the hatch without the slightest ceremony. The tunnel was dark and cold, and without thinking she traded her eyes for a night-crawler’s and her body for a sturdy Mahi bull’s. As she trundled away down the tunnel, she could hear him breathing just above the surface. “Thank you,” she thought she heard him say. For a very long moment she thought about replying. And then she turned back down the tunnel and dove into the darkness of her home. --------------------------------------------------- [Author's note: For the good peoples of Tumblr and also Hahli Husky! Sorry this took so long. Truth is, this was supposed to be done like, months ago, and then Janus came in and pointed out a billion things that needed improvement, so I rewrote it and it is now much better thanks to his help. I hope you enjoyed this little foray into Rahi/Turaga not-quite-romance as much as I did! Thoughts, comments, criticisms - they're all welcomed.]
  5. Author's Note: This is a thing I made for Femslash February. I intended to make a ton of Bionicle femslash fics and I still might, but this is the only one that happened because in case you haven't noticed my one trait, I love Krahka. And Lariska. If you're offended by ladies in love with ladies, then please don't read this fic and keep your opinions to yourself, please and thank you. -------------- It was Lariska’s turn to take watch as the others slept. Karzahni was an inhospitable place on the best of days, but with Makuta in chage of the entire universe they lived in, almost everywhere was a deathtrap. Karzahni was no worse than anywhere else these days. But fighting while tired was a death sentence, and Krahka had buried out a place that was safe and hidden, at least for the moment, but none of them wanted to take chances. Lariska heard a familiar clunk of feet. No footsteps were more familiar. After all, they were her own. She looked back to see herself. It no longer surprised her. Krahka.Looking at Krahka was like being next to a mirror, but an imperfect one. While Lariska moved with her own grace, Krahka always moved hunched over, like she wasn’t used to having only two legs. She had taken on Lariska’s form most of the time since they had met, except for when it was absolutely necessary, and she wasn’t entirely sure why. If Lariska had the power of shapeshifting the way Krahka did, she’d never take the same form twice. “Heel first, and walk slowly if you want to sneak up on me,” Lariska said.“I know how to move quietly,” Krahka protested.“Not in my body. I know how to move in my own body. I only have one; I have to get used to it.”Krahka sat down on a beam without being invited. “Couldn’t sleep,” she said. “You might need help when they come. I didn’t want to leave you out here alone.”Lariska smiled grimly. “How sweet of you. Taking double watch for me.”They sat in silence for a while. There was so much about Krahka that Lariska didn’t know, and Krahka was not very forthcoming. But everything about her was intriguing. She had heard of the Krahka before, but she had never seen one in person. Not that there wasn’t the possibility that she had known one without knowing it, anyone could be a Krahka and she’d never know. But this one made no attempt to hide her nature. When they had first met, Krahka would take a different form every few minutes, but the more time they spent together, the more Krahka would stay as Lariska. No one commented on it. It was strange, but Lariska didn’t complain, since they moved and acted so different that everyone could tell the difference. As long as she could hold her own in a fight. And in a way, it was sort of flattering.Lariska prefered the silence, but this one grated on her. Here she was with a Krahka who looked like her own twin and they were saying nothing to each other. There was so much that she didn’t know and every second that passed was a moment that she could learn about her.So she attempted a question. “Krahka?” she said, quietly so as to not alert anything nasty to their presence.“Hm?” she replied.“That’s the name of a species. Do you have a name besides that?”The parts of Krahka’s face moved rigidly, as if she had to consciously put each part in its place to make a recognizable facial expression. “There is no one else who is also Krahka. I am the last.”“But before that, you must’ve had a name, right?”Another long pause. “Names are for Matoran.”Lariska chuckled a bit. “Among other species. Matoran are just the ones who place the most importance on such things.”“Non-Rahi then. But Matoran are just the loudest. At least you know how to move quietly … Speaking of which …”She crouched down and sniffed the air, her snout looking more animalistic for a moment before going back. She produced a pair of daggers from her hands and jumped out of the barrow. Lariska followed along, trusting Krahka’s instincts.Outside were a band of mutated Matoran, all with the now familiar rust of infection on their strange masks. Lariska took out her own daggers, which were not attached to her hands like Krahka’s imitations, and didn’t hesitate to start chopping.The pair worked side by side, with Krahka mirroring her every move, sometimes changing her head to something with jaws or her hands to something with claws before reverting back to Lariska’s form again. As they hacked away at her with their improvised weapons, she would let them think that they hit her, then come in for a bite to tear them apart.Lariska actually used her daggers. She was a skilled killer, and wasn’t the best of the Dark Hunters for nothing. These infected Matoran were a distraction, a bit of fun on an otherwise dreary night. She felt no remorse for killing them. She knew the Toa would probably object in the morning, but she didn’t get where she was by focusing on what others might think in the future.After a small battle, the infected Matoran lay scattered at their feet, and Krahka and Lariska looked each other in the eye, panting a little from the exertion. Krahka kicked a little at the parts.“Thanks,” Lariska said. She did not thank anyone lightly. “But I noticed one thing when we were fighting.”“Oh? What’s that?”“When we were fighting, you changed a little, but you always kept my form. Why didn’t you just turn into a Tahtorak and stomp them all out? Why my form?”If Lariska didn’t know better, she’d think Krahka was blushing. “It’s … it’s because your form is the most beautiful I’ve seen. I couldn’t think of anything better.”“So … it’s your way of complimenting me?”“Of saying that I think you’re beautiful. Out of all the things, you’re the most beautiful.”Now it was Lariska’s turn to be taken aback. She had found Krahka intriguing, but hadn’t expected her to have any feelings for her. She hadn’t expected to have feelings back, but here they were.“You can be anything and I’d still admire you. You don’t have to be me to be beautiful,” she said. “You just have to be you.” She laughed after saying this. “Now you’re making me all mushy. Want to go killing something?”“It would be my pleasure!” Krahka said with a grin. She went on all fours and changed into an Ash Bear and they began the hunt.
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