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Bionicle Mafia A Simple Vacation. Over a year and a half ago the members of BZPower were minding there own business when suddenly out of no where a time traveling Rahkshi appeared. They were skeptical of the strange Rahkshi and annoyed with his constant questions and horrible grammar. But over time they came to accept him as one of there own. Now the self proclaimed TimeLord has gathered twenty members of the BZPower community to a tropical island vacation on Voya Nui in its beautiful Mahri Nui village. What's the worst that can happen? It's not like he accidently brought five psychotic murderers along to the island? Right? Rules 1. I don't know, follow all BZP rules. 2. No role revealing 3. No screenshots 4. No vote changing 5. Don't betray your faction. Breaking any rule will result in you being exiled from the island by cannon fire. Roles Good Guys BZPower Citizens X15 Member who just want to enjoy the vacation. Vote during day rounds, vote counts as 1 Detective X1 A Member who just happened to bring a magnifying glass and a lie detector.Investigates one player every night round reports findings in the day round along with Chad (I'll talk about Chad later). Vote counts as one. Medic X1 A Member who just happened to bring a first aid kit. Protects one player a night. If they find a Mafia member then they can kill them unless the medic was the Mafia's target. Bad Guys Mafia X3 Want to ruin everybody's fun by killing them Select one person to kill during night rounds. Vote counts as one. Special Variables Just like in Nato's game where I stole this from. Special Variables are RPG based events which can effect the game. 1.Chad A combination of the detective and medic roles. Chad protects whoever he picks but reveals there identity the next Day round. Dose not care which side a player is on. 2.Rainy Night Allows the Mafia to kill two people in one night round. 3.Party Night Mafia and other night roles are stopped due to a all night party. 4.TimeLord's Pardon Stops a hanging from happing. If two or more players are to be hung TimeLord RPG picks who to save. 5.Nothing Nothing special happends, roles act normal. Players List I forgot to add originally 1.Hidron Nuva 2.Taka Nuvia Medic 3.Scrubbish (capMARVELOUS) aka wife 5.Toru Nui WINNER Mafia 7.Rahkshi Guurahk (RG) Mafia 9.Nato (I'm not typing all that) 10.jed1ndy (Kingslayer) 11.TTL (still my spot) 12.Nahaki (Pulse) Mafia 13.xccj Detective 13.1.Spooky Unit#phntk#1 (Unit) 15.Toa Smoke Monster (Smoky) 16.King ShadowVezon of Kamuk (SV) 17.Azalea (FF) 18.JAG18 19.Lucina (Voltex) 20.Ul-Pahrak 21. Fractyl (Terrorsaur) 24.Kuan
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This is a project I cooked up one long night at work. I don't expect everyone will understand all the references, but if you are the kind of nerd that I am, the type that reads/watches every available bit of materal related to bionicle, you might get a few good laughs out of this bit of satire. Please enjoy. Bionicle: Historical Fiction The great stone slab wobbled slightly, then stabilized. Which, considering it was 20 feet tall and ten wide, was a remarkable feat. Muffled curses came from under the polished black slab, though all that could be seen were the long white legs of a toa of ice. To all appearances, the slab had fallen, and crushed this unfortunate toa, but the truth was far different. The toa’s legs twitched in sympathy with his upper body, as he worked to fix over a dozen last minute problems that the engineers should have fixed before the thing was shipped here from New Takoro-Metru. Finally, with a cry of triumph, the Toa of Ice pulled himself out from under the great black monolith, and kicked away the supports on either side just in time for the onboard Miru system to kick in. The slab floated evenly above the floor, and the surface came to life with glyphs, both in Matoran, and Agori. The toa of Ice, Kithran, simply took the whole display in with a grand smile on his face. His greatest contribution to the remembrance of history was now completed, and on display for all of Spherus Magna to see. History was a subject near and dear to Kithran. Since his creation as an Ico-matoran, he had had an obsession with history. This was far from unusual, as Spherans of ice has long been fascinated with the observation and analysis of history, for therein could be gleaned limitless knowledge. This often brought them into disagreement with the Spherans of earth, engineers who always built with their attention focused on the far future. They were always studying to make sure their inventions and constructions left room for future expansion, and could remain relevant through the years, and to predict what would be best to build with respect to the trends of today that shape the world of tomorrow. But Kithran was unusually obsessed, and soon had out-studied scholars in the Crystal Knowledge Towers of his homeland of New Iconox, vast digital repositories of history. It wasn’t long before the Turaga of New Iconox awarded him a toa stone. His rebirth as a Toa of Ice sealed the deal, and allowed him to be named the Chronicler of Ice. Since then, he had wandered throughout the metropolis of Atero Nui, and as far as Bota Magna and Aqua Magna. He had occasionally met other Chroniclers, and had found that he got along well with the Chronicler of Earth, surprisingly. He had shared with Kithran a theory that matoran of earth had, at one time in the distant past, been focused on the archival of history, and the matoran of ice focused on discerning the future. Despite the obvious absurdness of this theory, Kithran found the idea interesting, and had spent some spare time researching the ancient times. His research had been stalled for years, as he had taken upon himself the task of creating a comprehensive Wall of History for display in new Kokoro-Metru. It would serve as a quick reference for all who came to see, as its text could be translated into both new and old matoran, and all agori dialects, and covered all famous past events. He was especially proud of his detailing of the events around the awakening of the Great Spirit, and the reforming of Spherus Magna as it happened 500,000 years ago. In the time that Kithran had been standing there, several Spheran’s had approached to use the Wall, and he took not a little pride in how well his interface worked. He was sure that any modern Spheran, be they matoran, agori, skrall, vortixx, or even skakdi, would be able to find what they were looking for. “Excuse me, brother,” Kithran turned at the voice, and found a rather old looking Toa of Fire standing behind him. “I should like to search for some old battles on your wall, but modern technology is such a mystery to me. Could I persuade you to help an old Toa?’ Kithran hid his annoyance at the toa of fire well, as he stepped into line for the access terminal. The toa continued “Besides, I like old stories better when they are told to you, not written in a slab like a cold, sullen epitaph. If it would be easier, if you know your history well enough, maybe you can just tell me what I want to know.” Kithran actually smiled at this. Like all ice matoran, he enjoyed sharing stories of the past. When his turn for the monolith came, he accessed the image archive, preparing his visual references. “What would you like to know? I can go as far back as the founding of ancient Spherus Magna society, the Core War, the creation of the Great Spirit, the seven legendary toa, the search for-” “legendary toa?” The toa of fire interrupted. “I would like to know more about them, if you please. And don’t spare the details, I’ve been away from society for a very long time now.” For once in his life, Kithran didn’t mind being interrupted. The seven legendary toa was a favorite subject of his, and was one of the most well studied subjects in the archives of Atero Nui. And so he began his story. “The seven legendary toa were a team of toa who were created to safeguard the life of the Great Spirit. They were Tohu, toa of fire, Kopeke, toa of ice, Lewa” here, he pronounced the name as LOO-wah, “toa of air, Onewa, toa of earth, Gaaki, toa of water, Puhota, toa of stone, and Takua Nuva, toa of light.” Kithran found it necessary to stop here, as the stranger was giving him a most unreadable look. Before he could ask what was wrong, a passerby remarked “Call me crazy, but all the historical recordings I’ve ever heard pronounce the legendary toa of air’s name as LEE-wah.” Kithran replied “That’s true, most do. But I’ve come across some obscure material that clearly pronounce his name LOO-wah, and I’m working on a theory that this is in fact the correct pronunciation.” The stranger chose this time to interject “I’ve always heard it pronounced LAY-wah.” Kithran and the passerby turned to stare at the strange toa for a long moment, then Kithran leaned in close, and said in a half-whisper “No offense intended, brother, but that name just sounds absurd. Besides, how can one toa of air have three ways to pronounce his name?” The stranger shrugged. “You were about to recount their adventures?” With an exclamation, Kithran leapt back to the monolith, and scrolled to just the right spot. Turning back to face his one-toa audience, he began. “There are very few known facts about the origin of the seven legendary toa. What little there is suggests these Toa were created from the essence of their respective elements. They were born as Toa, with no memory of who they were, or their purpose. Some scholars firmly believe someone, probably Toa Halix of the Order of Mata Nui, kidnapped six matoran, wiped their memories, and transformed them into toa, but the evidence for this is only circumstantial. “Anyway, during the early construction of Mata Nui’s robot avatar, the toa battled primordial forces across the universe. At some point, they ended up in the core of the avatar, and became… trapped there. They somehow ended up entombed in six silver canisters, and entered a death-like sleep for thousands of years. In the meantime, life within Mata Nui’s avatar moved on. Near the end of Mata Nui’s arduous task, a great evil struck at him. The ancient scrolls say, rather enigmatically, that after a mighty struggle, the evil Mukau cast a spell which made Mata Nui sink into an endless sleep. With his control gone, his avatar crashed into the ocean of Bota Magna. But, using the last of his control, Mata Nui was able to create a safe haven, a floating island anchored by a tunnel to the robots face. Six toa, the Toa Metro, brought the inhabitants of the island city of Metro Nui to this island. In memory of their home, they named this new island Metro Nui, as well. But the Mukau’s evil had taken a toll on these matoran. Soon, their bodies withered, their skills diminished, and they even forgot who they had been, calling themselves, for a time, Tohunga. I know, I know,” Kithran tried to wave away the question he saw his listener about to ask, “it seems like I’ve completely changed topics, but this is relevant, trust me.” “No, no, it’s not that,” The toa said. “Are you certain someone didn’t just misinterpret the word ‘turaga’ as ‘tohunga’? Because that seems much more likely.” “I actually get that a lot, but there does seem to have been a brief period of time in these particular matoran’s lives when they thought of themselves as “Tohunga”. It’s odd, I know, but the reference is there if you know where to look. This was the situation when the legendary toa arrived. The Great Spirit, with what power he had left, pulled them from the core, and dropped them from the sky into the ocean around the island. “Now, I should mention that, up to this point, there were only six legendary toa. The seventh, Takua Nuva, had not come into being yet. In fact, he, as a matoran, was the one who summoned the six toa to the island of Metro Nui. How is not very clear. The most prevalent explanation is also the most absurd: that by bringing six toa stones together, they somehow merged energies to somehow generate a beacon of some kind that somehow drew the tombs to the island. Seriously, toa stones just don’t do that, it flies in the face of all established science of their properties. It’s like suggesting a great Kanohi can turn a matoran into a Toa simply by putting it on. “Regardless, the toa were expelled upon the beaches of this mysterious island with only fragmented memories of who they were before. So confused were their memories that they immediately set out attacking the island’s wildlife. However, they were eventually set on the right track by the turaga of the six villages, incidentally the six former Toa Metro. These turaga set them looking for great kanohi that were scattered across the island. With these collected, the toa made their way to the Great Temple in the center of the island. There, they exchanged their collection of kanohi for six golden masks, the origins of which are shrouded in mystery. From there, they descended into the depths of the Mukau’s lair, the great Mangaiaiaia, and fought off an infestation of Keras crabs, before coming face to face with the master of shadows himself. I should note that historical texts of the time mark this as the first mention of when the six legends became seven. Toa Takua Nuva is mentioned as being present during the battle, but of his role in it, there is nothing. We know he was there because he is named as a chronicler by this point, and some of our source material actually comes from him, which makes it all the more strange why his role in the battle is overlooked.” The toa shrugged indifferently. “Maybe he was still just a matoran, recording the events of the battle from a safe place.” Kithran looked at the toa as though he had just suggested the Mukau should be honored as a great hero. “You must have been out of contact with society for a long time to think that. Since time immemorial, matoran gifted with a spirit of adventure, a love of history, and the call of destiny have become Toa, and been granted the title of Chronicler. A matoran must have devoted themselves to a life of study, journey, and learning before they became a Toa, and only after becoming a Toa do they truly earn the title of Chronicler. We then wander the world, seeking to record the events of our time. Sometimes we wander alone, sometimes we join Mangaii teams, fighting alongside Toa and Glatorian and chronicling their adventures. This is the way it was with the Chroniclers Takua Nuva and Hali, and this is the way it has continued for over 500,000 years.” “But isn’t it possible there was a time when matoran were Chroniclers, whether or not they were destined to become Toa? What about Kodan and Kopeke?’ “History says Kodan died with many of his fellow toa at the hands of Shadow Hunters at the gates of Metro Nui. And Kopeke…I honestly don’t know why you mentioned him. Unless you’re saying the legendary toa of ice was a ‘matoran chronicler’ who was kidnapped, brainwashed, and turned into a toa with the rest, and, as I’ve said, that theory does not hold water. There‘s never any mention in the ancient histories of him even being a Chronicler.” The toa put up his hands in mock surrender, and motioned for Kithran to move on. Kithran found himself hoping this Toa was not a sign of things to come. He didn’t think society could survive with such ignorance of history. “Anyway, the Toa successfully defeated the Mukau, but their troubles were not over. Swarms of hostile, beetle-like machines called Bahrag were unleashed upon the island. Led by the fearsome Bahrag-Kal, they were an almost unstoppable force. Still, the legendary toa fought on, eventually defeating the six leaders of the swarms. In the final confrontation, they were transformed, and became the even more powerful Toa Nova. This came with a price, however, as their increased power became tied to six mysterious symbols of unknown origin. If these symbols were ever stolen, the toa would lose their elemental power. Some sources hint that the symbols were stolen. There is speculation that the six leaders of the swarm survived, and attempted to revive the swarms with the symbols, before being defeated once and for all. Perhaps that is what the symbols were intended for, as there are also writings of a stone cube meant to receive the symbols, though its purpose, even its existence and origin, are unknown.” Once more, the toa spoke up. “I read once that Artahka made the symbols and the cube. Is that not true?’ “There are sources that say as much, but I hope not. You see, such sources would have us believe that every mysterious and powerful artifact in the old Matoran Universe was made by Artahka. Kanohi Nova? Made by Artahka. Mask of Light? Made by Artahka. Nova symbols and cube? Made by Artahka. Great Disks? Made by Artahka. To have this one being conveniently make all these things simply kills so much of the mystery and wonder of our past. I remember history buffs complaining when we discovered the long-lost name of The Shadowed One. They said it made him less intimidating as a villain, less mysterious and such. I don’t necessarily agree, as The Shadowed One takes a bit of breath to say, but I understand their argument, as it’s similar to what I feel about Artahka being the creator of everything of import in the entire universe. “But, to move forward, the Toa Nova next faced a more powerful threat: the Pirahkshi: a gang of six vicious, brutal monstrosities born from the essence of the Mukau, himself. This is a point where historical references become…conflicting. It seems that the Pirahkshi were attempting to capture the Mask of Light, Takua Nuva’s kanohi. Ultimately, the seven legendary toa defeated these brutes. This much is certain, but other texts claim that Takua Nuva and Jala, who would one day become the leader of the six Toa Ignika, were given the Mask of Light, and sent on a quest to find the Toa to whom it belonged. Still others say that Takua Nuva was still a matoran, and at the climax of their quest, he became a Toa. This is probably just a misinterpretation by a later scholar. “But however it happened, Takua Nuva descended into Mangaiaiaia, and battled the Mukau in single combat.” Kithran sighed heavily. “Unfortunately, the details of this battle appear to have mostly been lost. The only surviving account, and a most fantastical one at that, says they participated in a…kohlii match. It-it’s an ancient game, and the precursor to modern day Akohliini. Not only does a two-person Kohlii match not make sense, it doesn’t add up that the greatest evil of the time would neglect to use his awesome powers in battle. On the other hand, if this single report is accurate…” Kithran shook his head slowly. “Imagine: the ultimate battle between the avatars of Light and Shadow played out as a simple game of Kohlii.” The old Toa nodded, reluctantly, in agreement. “I agree, it does seem…odd.” “’Odd’?” Kithran said, perplexed. “It’s absurd. What kind of sick joke-” “Maybe,” The toa started, “Maybe it was a ploy. Maybe he had bigger plans, and he needed the Legendary Toa to believe he was dead? And he pretended to loose the kohlii game, and become fused with Takua Nuva, allowing the way to the matoran’s old home to be reopened, before allowing himself to be apparently killed, so that the Toa would not realize he was still a threat.” Kithran stood stock still, with an expression on his face somewhere between perplexed and incredulous. The old Toa finally said “It sounded better in my head.” Kithran nodded slowly. “I’m…sure it did.” The toa of fire starred back for a few seconds, then asked “So, what happened next?’ Kithran altered a few settings on the Wall, and continued “Well, the seven legends led the way back to Metro Nui. The original one. They were greeted by the city’s former leader, Turaga Dumah. Leaving Takua Nuva to guard the city, Tohu led the other five Toa on a series of quests, long ago appointed them, to repair the avatar of the Great Spirit, and prepare for his awakening. While Jala led the Toa Ignika in search of the mask they named themselves after, the Legendary Toa sought the staff of Artahka, and brought it to its owner. As a reward, he gifted them with prototypes of the armor now used by all Mangaii and Hag-ah teams. He then sent them back to the core of the universe, to begin the awakening of Mata Nui’s spirit. Takua Nuva was sent by Toa Halix to join them by means of a primitive, damaged Mask of Dimensional Gates. He was sent from one alternate reality to another, acquiring new, more powerful weapons and the power of flight, but also had his essence corrupted with shadow energy. Eventually, he arrived in the core of the universe, and rejoined his brothers and sister. “But, even with all seven of the legends together, awakening the Great Spirit would prove most difficult, for their old enemy, the Mukau, had returned, and mutated into terrifying giant insects and bats, forever on the hunt. What little we understand of the Mukau and his power largely comes from his doppelganger, whose physical evolution seems to have taken an entirely different path. Given the Mukau’s legendary shape shifting abilities, it doesn’t seem so far-fetched the believe that he could have split himself into seven or eight smaller forms. “And here, at the place of their most legendary battle, the seven legends became eight: One of the Toa Ignika, Motara, used the Mask of Life to bring the Great Spirit back from death. But to give the Great Spirit life, he had to surrender his own. “I digress, I know, but, in my humble opinion, this single act of heroism, selflessness, and honor makes Motara a legendary toa in his own right. Not all with agree with me, but I stand by that statement.” Kithran paused, seeing the distant look in the old toa’s eyes. It was as if, for a moment, the toa was somewhere else entirely, perhaps reliving a moment long forgotten to history. A minute or two passed, then the toa shook his head, and motioned for Kithran to continue. “After Motara’s use of it, the Mask of Life fell to the bottom of the core of the avatar. In these ancient days, the Mask of Life was both alive and conscious, fully aware with a mind of its own. And it understood Motara’s sacrifice. And to honor him, it formed for itself a body, and became the Eighth Legendary Toa, the Toa of Life. It joined with it’s newfound toa brothers and sisters in battle with the Mukau, in a battle beyond imagining, and drove him back long enough to discover the key to reawakening the Great Spirit. Their toa power, their very essence would have to be used to awaken Mata Nui’s avatar. This should have been the end of the legendary toa, but it was not to be. The Toa of Life chose to follow Motara’s example, and gave up his own life to awaken Mata Nui. This act awakened the energy storms that normally raged within the core, and the seven legends barely escaped. The Mukau, they believed, was not so lucky. Are…are you okay?’ The toa of fire was starring straight ahead, with an expression of…Kithran was actually at a loss to define it. Finally, the toa refocused on Kithran, and motioned for him to continue. “Well, as is well documented in history, the spirit of the Mukau assumed direct control of the avatar by forcing Mata Nui’s spirit into the Ignika, and expelling it from the avatar. Mata Nui’s story after this is well known. Not so well known, however, are the details of the events in the avatar. What chronicles we have are incomplete. On that note, I should say that some of our history of this time does come from writings from Kopeke, though other reports put him at conflicting places throughout the avatar. However, this sort of inconsistency is unfortunately common for this period of our history. Such as the story of the Mukau from another reality, and his matoran companion, Mazda. They appear to have returned/arrived in our reality near the start of the false Great Spirit’s reign, wandered over a hill, fought some Toa of Shadow, and finished the last one just in time for the Mukau’s death several weeks later. For a student of this period of time, this sort of faulty record-keeping is absolutely depressing. “Anyway, when the Mukau arrived on Bara Magna, and faced Mata Nui’s new avatar, six of the legendary toa lead the charge, fighting scores of Skrall, Heat-vision Pirahkshi, and Skakdi that, if the ancient depictions are to be believed, all looked like the warrior Nektai. I say six because Lewa was elsewhere, on another adventure entirely, which we know veritably nothing about. As Tohu and Takua Nuva led the charge onto the surface of Bara Magna, the Ignika fashioned golden armor for Tohu. It was meant as a failsafe against any and all potential threats to Mata Nui. And yet only targeted the solid form of the substance of which the Mukau was made. This was extremely fortunate, as that was what Piraskshi were made of. However, the Mukau took notice, and used his own substantial power to transform Tohu, taking from him his Nova power, as well as destroying Takua Nuva’s power lance and sky blaster. Go ahead and ask.” As the Toa voiced the question Kithran had seen on his face, there seemed as much weariness in his voice as Kithran now felt. “The Ignika devolved Tohu to make the armor fit, this I know. And Takua Nuva abandoned his weapons long before the final fight.” And now Kithran was beyond courteous debate, and cut straight to his point. “One: this is the Mask of Life we’re talking about. Why couldn’t it alter the armor to account for whatever changes Tohu had gone through? That’s what life does, after all: change constantly. And two: the Master of Darkness takes over the world and unleashed countless minions of shadow. So the only Toa of Light in existence ditches a weapon that shoots bolts of concentrated light energy, and a staff that exponentially magnifies his powers. Makes complete sense, why didn’t I think of that?’ “I didn’t say it was logical.” “Then why did you say it?’ Kithran implored. “Why do you keep making the most absurd statements about your own history? If it weren’t for how serious your statements are, I’d assume you were having a laugh at my expense.” “I can assure you, I am not making light of you, or history. I understand I’m weighing on your patience, and I am not offended. Finish the story, and I’ll trouble you no more.” This seemed like the best offer Kithran had heard all day, and so he continued. “The blast scattered the armor across the battlefield. Tohu, Takua Nuva, and a glatorian named Gresci hunted down the pieces as Toa and Glatorian, Matoran and Agori fought side by side for the first time, while Mata Nui and the Mukau waged war in the clouds above. Finally, all the armor had been found. When Tohu donned it, energies contained within the armor lashed out, and killed all the Pirahkshi. The lose of his army staggered the Mukau, and gave Mata Nui the opportunity to push the avatar into the path of the Bota Magna fragment as it returned to its place on the planet. What happen ed to the Mukau and his avatar is rather muddy. The fragment either clipped the back of his head, or smashed the top of his head, or obliterated his head,a nd all the inhabitants of Metro nui floated gently to the ground on the winds of change. I don’t know. None of the artists of the period depicted the Mukau’s death the same way. How hard is it to draw one simple event consistently?’ Shaking his head clear of his mood, Kithran composed himself, and continued. “This was the last major battle the legendary toa fought in, though that is not to say it was the end of their adventures. The peace with Bota Magna, the war with Marender and his army of Baterra, the Alliance and reintegration of the Vorox, the peace treaty with Branar, Archon of the Skrall; All of these amazing moments of our history, all these triumphs. Not a one would have been possible without the Seven Legendary Toa. It is truly saddening that they are not around to see this glorious period of our history. They disappeared, you see, over four hundred thousand years ago, vanished from this world like the Great Spirit. Perhaps they felt the same as he did, that our civilization had no more need of them.” Kithran had turned to look at the sunset, and therefore missed the enigmatic look that played across the old Toa of Fire’s face. “We’ve come a long way since then. We’ve conquered this planet, and set our sights on the light of distant stars. But it is my fervent hope that, no matter how far we go, we will always remember those ancient heroes. And wherever their bodies now lie, I hope they rest easy, knowing the future they helped build is still in good hands, and that their history is well remembered.” The old Toa nodded once, then silently turned, and began to walk away. Kithran, oblivious, continued, “Still, we shouldn’t completely follow their example, considering the first thing they did after landing on Metro Nui was set about harassing any wildlife they could find. Terrible example to give the next generation.” The Toa of Fire stopped dead in his tracks, and slowly turned around, giving Kithran a hard stare. Finally he said, “Well, I’ve heard all I need to. A few small errors of translation, I can understand, and the main points of the story are fairly accurate. Yet I shudder to think what a few more millenia of you “historians” picking this story apart will turn it into. The historians from my day, and they were Onu-matoran, knew how to record history. But since they’re not around, I suppose it’s time for us to return, and set the record straight, and hope it sticks this time.” With that, the Toa turned on his heels and marched away. Kithran starred after him, completely perplexed by what this old Toa had said. It couldn‘t be true, but…what if this Toa hadn‘t been completely ignorant of history? What if he knew more than Kithran because he had heard the story from someone far older? Or maybe…? The old Toa of Fire with his gold-accented armor continued his march to the horizon, stopping only long enough to yell over his shoulder, “And to start things off, it‘s not Tohu, that name sounds absurd. My name is pronounced Tahu! T-A-H-U!’
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This is a comedy I have been working on for a few days. It is a satire starring a new member on BZPower. I'm pretty sure this is OK as BZPower itself is LEGO-related, but if not, PM me and move it. It is in a fairly rough draft phase right now. You will mostly see this in tense-related problems. I don't usually have problems with that kind of thing, but I did this time. Here is the first "chapter" of it: ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Day 1: After finding a BZPower result in google, he goes to home page and reads. "New LEGO Star Wars Set! By Andrew, reported to by Takauju, who will NOT get any proto-points. Even though he reported news. Check out the LEGO Shop@Home site to see a new LEGO Star Wars set. It's only $250.00 USD, so you can buy it for sure!" New member decides that it would be worth his while to make an account. He likes LEGO and Bionicle, though he hasn't done much with his 60 sets in a while. He clicks on the "Enter BZPower Forums" button, but is greeted with a message saying the forums are offline. "Darn it." He closes the page. Here is the next chapter: Day 2: He goes to the site again, but is still pushed away by the "offline" message. And the third, the absolute shortest chapter ever: Day 3: Same. Here is the fourth chapter, where things really get going: Day 124: He has tried every day to enter the BZPower forums with decreasing excitement, but each time fails. This day, however, he successfully enters the site. Perhaps it has been good, as he has had time to play, take apart, build, and again play with all his Bionicle sets, as well as re-read the books three times each. He feels prepared. But perhaps it wasn't good either. "Geez, why did it take so long?" He wonders. He notices that all the links are somewhat grey, that he can't search, nor can he read member's pages. "There go all my hopes of just reading on here without having an account." He clicks the green button that says "New Account". Now he needs a username. He really likes Takua as a character, so he tries it. Username already taken. He tries Tahu, Pohatu, Onewa, Vezon, and all the Rahkshi names with the same result. "I bet all the people that have those usernames are really famous." He says to himself. He decides upon the username *!*8TaKuA8*!*. He doesn't realize until too late that that sounds like a computer-generated spambot username. He enters his email address, real name, and all his other details. He then tries to log on, but it won't let him. He checks his email for the confirmation email, but sees nothing. He goes back to the site and clicks "resend confirmation email". He goes back and checks his email again, but nothing is there. Wait. He may have an idea. He goes to the spam folder on his email and finds both emails there. He selects them both, clicks Not Spam, and confirms his account. Now he can log in! He does so and chooses the "rules" as his first thread to read. He opens it, starts reading one, then gets bored at Rule 2 and goes back to the main forum page. He scrolls down to the bottom. 128 Members currently online! His name is the first one in the list. "I must be really important or something, for me to be at the top of the list." *!*8TaKuA8*!*, who we will simply call Takua8 from now on, has a vanity problem. He believes that he IS in fact the most important person on the forums, in the world. He goes to a thread entitled "Physics in Bionicle". It was started by a member named iiBones. Strange name. It takes him 15 minutes to read the first post and only understands a few sentences. He reads a few of the following posts and decides to post something. "umm yeah i think that the fisics in bionicle were really wierd liek the time that mata nui fell over while walking!!!11!!!1!!" He clicks Post, the page reloads, but he doesn't see his post. His memory shoots back to when he saw something about "An Admin must approve your first 5 posts." Oh well. He closes the page. And now the fifth. (Just to let you all know, I'm not picking on the different members that I parody; I am merely putting them in for the comedy aspect. For example White Five (Black Six) only ever posts "Question answered, Thread Closed." because that is pretty much I ever see his real-life person post.): Day 125: He logs onto BZPower and goes to the thread he had posted in yesterday. It has his post, but then under it a small message saying: Make sure you have good spelling and grammar on the forums. ~White Five P.S. Question answered, Thread Closed. Wow. White Five himself! True, he got reprimanded, but who cares! White Five was the one that did the reprimanding! He posts a few more times in different threads. He tries to use better spelling and grammar. "A reprimand from White Five should not be questioned!" Takua8 says to himself. A few "liek"s fall through the cracks, though. He has now posted four times, and wanted to make his final post that had to be approved. He goes to a section called Completely Off Topic. Sounds like Takua8's kinda thing. "Describe the Username of the Member Before You" he clicked on that, read the short description of what to do, then went to the most recent post. It was done by a guy (or possibly girl) named Kpkmstr. Weird name. So he decides to post just that: "Weird name." After posting it, he realized that that's what most people say. "Gotta blend in!" It gets approved and he signs out. Here is the sixth chapter (I just realized that all my double posting has been put into one big post. Weird.): Day 127: Takua8 signs into the site again and notices a small red "1" on top of a picture looking like a envelope at the top of the page. He clicks it and it said Messenger. The message he had gotten was entitled "Grammar" and was from RataPui. He opened it and read: "I think your grammar is great. NO IT'S NOT! Yeah, I think so. Well, you're weird. No, I'm not. Are too. Am not. [This went on for a while.] Well, I think that your grammar and spelling could use a lot of work. But don't ask me, as I don't like english. Well I do! Yeah, he does. I guess you could ask him. Anyway- -RataPui" Takua8 felt very confused after reading this message. Was RataPui schizophrenic? No, that couldn't be it. He clicked on RataPui's name and read his about me page. It was two people. That's…strange. Why they didn't just get separate accounts was beyond him. At least he wasn't schizophrenic. Takua8 went back to his page and clicked the "Profile Stream" tab. He is instantly overwhelmed with what seemed like everyone on BZPower greeting him. Except they all said the same thing. )Takua( --> *!*8TaKuA8*!* Welcome to BZPower! Tell me if you need any help! iiBones --> *!*8TaKuA8*!* Welcome to BZPower! Tell me if you need any help! Kpkmstr --> *!*8TaKuA8*!* Welcome to BZPower! Tell me if you need any help! charge_alpha --> *!*8TaKuA8*!* Welcome to BZPower! Tell me if you need any help! McSmeagle4 --> *!*8TaKuA8*!* Welcome to BZPower! Tell me if you need any help! Takauju --> *!*8TaKuA8*!* Welcome to BZPower! Tell me if you need any help! (PLEASE LET ME GET SOME PROTO POINTS!!!!!) White Five --> *!*8TaKuA8*!* Question answered, Thread Closed. Well, maybe it wasn't EVERYONE on BZPower. But it was 6 people. But he didn't understand what White Five was saying. And what were proto points? He logged off and went back to what he should've been doing, school. Behold, Chapter 7: Day 128: After logging on, Takua8 went to the Completely Off Topic place again. He found a thread entitled "Doctor Who Series 10 Preview!" He really liked Doctor Who, so he clicked on it. There should've been a link there with a small description below. But instead of the link there was written "Question answered, Thread Closed. ~White Five. The original poster had been "Mr. Laughs is NOT of this World". Weird name. Takua8 wondered if he played Describe the Username of the Member Before You. He read a few posts, then came to one by an Admin by the username of ~Landrider~. It said: That link leads to a site that has a link to a site that has a link to a site that has a link to a site that has a link to a forum that has a link to a site that has a link to a site that has a link to a site that has a link to a forum that has a link to another forum that has a link to a site that MAY have a pop-up advert on it. Below that was a post by White Five saying: Question answered, Thread Closed. BUMMER. He really wanted to get a preview of the next series of Doctor Who. He posted a few more times in Lego Discussion before signing out.
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This was originally meant for the Ambage Fortnightly Flash-Fiction contest, but by the time I remembered that there was a 1,000-word limit I'd already reached 2,000 words and was only about halfway done. It still fits the theme, though. There is a reference to a broken mask in here. Final word count: 5,550. That's rather funny, I hadn't planned it that way. Maybe I should add five more words. So I hope you enjoy The Golden Mask. Have you ever gotten an idea in your head? If not, then that's a paradox I don't care to consider. But have you ever gotten an idea, an idea so consuming and wonderful, an idea that so pierces your intermost being, that you couldn't help but pursue it? I did once. This is my story. Well, not my whole story, but a part of it. A rather small part I suppose, but I'm convinced that it's the most important part of my entire life. In fact it's not so much about me but rather my idea. And, well, my pursuit of it. Yeah. So here's me, Sejon, Po-Matoran. I'm not your average, run-of-the-mill Matoran, either. I was a bit of an adventurer, an explorer, a treasure hunter. There was no Wahi on the island of Mata Nui I hadn't become more or less thoroughly familiar with. And every time I heard of a treasure or artifact? Boy, there would I be. One time I'd searched out the legendary Golden Statue of Matauka in Le-Wahi. That story actually ended up being a little embarrassing, but can I be blamed if the Le-Matoran had set up a bunch of booby traps just outside their village, if Turaga Matau had given his own little statue such a misleading name, or if he'd made a treasure map leading to it and placed it conveniently on a mountaintop, where any passing Matoran could grab it? I think not. I'd also found a cave of diamonds in Ta-Wahi, a sunken city off the coast of Ga-Wahi, ancient ruins in Po-Wahi, the hidden valley of Angri-Bah in Ko-Wahi, and I led the expedition that uncovered the fossils of the Sidirosaurus deep in the Onu-Wahi mines. I love artifacts and treasures of any kind. Even the smaller bits of pottery or tools are to me thrilling little glimpses into forgotten worlds. It is those glimpses and thrills for which I live. I even found something under the Kini-Nui, but we won't talk about that. . . Nor about the time I went after the legendary Toa Stones. If Takua hadn't been so lucky. . . Well, that's neither here nor there. But I don't like to talk about it. Now I don't like to brag, so let's get back to the story, shall we? Oh, yes, I was a rather adventurous Matoran, you see. I was always looking through old tablets and exploring, trying to find anything of interest. Well, I tell you what. One day, I was poring over the tablets in the library of Kini-Nui, which I often did after Kolhii practice. Oh, Kolhii? I was a decent Kolhii player, too. I even won that copper mask a few times. But I won't speak of the one time I broke it. . . Wait, I just did, didn't I? Bah. Where was I? Oh, excuse me, so I was reading through these old tablets, when finally I found something of interest: An old map, leading to someplace in Le-Wahi. I'd seen it before, and even gone there myself, but there wasn't anything there. Nothing. I never could understand that. It just led to a simple clearing. No shrine, statue or pole, no cave or temple entrance, just a boring old clearing. But this time, as I looked it over again, a realization sparked in my mind. Why, just the other day I'd found a piece of an old carving. A picture-carving. I was always finding interesting bits of pottery and whatnot that I brought home with me, most of it inconsequential. But what I realized now as I retrieved the fragment, was that it matched the map. Or a small part of it. The original carving, it would seem, had been this map! Most likely the carving was the original and this full version before me a copy. Fitting the fragment to the map, I was wondering about this, when I noticed a small difference between the two. See, the map had small scribbles of instructions over it, you know, take so many steps, find the stone or tree that looks like a Mahi, the usual. But one of the instructions on the map was different from the corresponding instruction on the fragment! What did this mean? If my hunch was correct, then whoever copied the original carving had made a mistake! I was on my way home to fetch my gear in an instant. Bringing with me also the fragment and my personal copy of the map, I hastened to Le-Wahi with the speed of a Kikanalo. Once there I set off in generally the right direction and looked over the map, comparing the instructions. According to the map, the final stage of the journey was to head due south, about two-thousand paces, until you find the boulder shaped like a Muaka, and from there to turn due east for another hundred paces. But the fragment said twenty-thousand paces instead of two-thousand! Now could there really be two boulders shaped like a Muaka? I had, after all, found one near the two-thousand paces mark. But maybe there could. . . I paced along, eventually finding my old pal, Muakatherock. I then proceeded for another eighteen-thousand paces or so, which involved a lot of monotonous counting, blisters, and other uninteresting and inconsequential things which would be of no interest to you. I paced. And paced. And paced some more. Just wanted to illustrate how monotonous it was. Mind you, I'd been strolling through a forest, so it wasn't completely devoid of interest, but then I did have to concentrate on counting so I couldn't really think about much else. By the end of my journey I decided there was something very wrong with whoever drew up this map. Or else they were a far better mathematician than I, or they were hiding something worth going to all that trouble of hiding. All things considered, I hoped it was the latter. Finally, puffing and panting, I arrived at a second Muaka-shaped rock. I was ecstatic when I finally found it. By the time I reached twenty-thousand paces, I still had to search the forest for an hour or two before I finally found the thing. But find it I did! And boy, was I excited! Oh, the thrill of the chase, the thrill of seeking out old, forgotten, or hidden treasures! Setting my tiredness aside in my eagerness, I quickly proceeded to take one hundred steps due east. And what to my wondering eyes should appear, as I stepped into a brightly-lit and long-forgotten clearing in that age-old jungle, but a most incredible sight. Amid the growth of the ages, the beautiful ferns, trees, and vines, and amid the rocks and soil of the earth, stood a large, smooth boulder, sticking part of the way out of the ground. It was perhaps seven or eight feet around at the base, rising to a perfectly smooth ovoid end ten feet in the air. But what was most exhilarating was the words splayed across it, more than clearly visible in the splash of sunshine playing across the stone: I couldn't believe it. . . The Golden Mask. . . The Golden. . . Mask. . . Of Mim Brano. The Golden Mask of Mim Brano! The legendary Mask, THE Legendary Mask, said to hold ten times the power of all thirty-six Great Kanohi combined! The legend rarely spoken of and even more rarely believed, but in my eyes the greatest of the legends. . . The legend through which I discovered my love of adventure and treasure-hunting, so long ago. The legend went like this: In the Time before Time, even before the Great Spirit carried we Matoran to this island paradise, Mata Nui was given the Mask as a gift from the Great Being Mim Brano, in recognition of a tremendous deed, the specifics of which are lost to time. Using the power of this incredible Mask, Mata Nui forged this very island, raising it from the sea, shaping the mountains and plains, and causing the jungles to grow and the Rahi to come into being. After this, Mata Nui carried we Matoran to the newly-created Paradise, and from that time on wore the Mask as his own. But when the Makuta, his jealous brother, betrayed him and cast him into slumber, he stole away the Mask. A brave band of Matoran, desperate to resist the Makuta and restore their beloved Mata Nui, resolved upon themselves to steal back the Mask. This they attempted, and against all odds, they broke into the Makuta's lair and retrieved the Mask. Knowing they could not use its power themselves, they hid it away where it could not be found. The Makuta, in his fury, captured these brave and heroic Matoran and interrogated them, but they would not give in. They kept their secret, and were never heard from again. The Makuta searched desperately, but never could find the Mask. . . The Golden Mask of Mim Brano. To this day it remains lost to time and history. But now, here and now. . . Or then, actually, there and then, as I stood before that obelisk, I resolved to take it upon myself to find the mask so our Toa could use it and restore the Great Spirit. The Makuta was gone, beaten by our great Toa, who had just days ago emerged from his lair in triumph, and so I had nothing to fear from him. And this time, Takua would not be getting in my way. . . hopefully. So, I had to wonder, where to start? There wasn't much to go on from this stone; just a name. But there had to be more than that, yes? Someone had drawn a map leading here after all. Some might claim that that someone had just been a madmatoran, teasing us with a reference to a hoky legend that didn't exist, but did this occur to me, even for a moment? No, it did not! I knew the Mask was real. It had to be real. So I searched. After glancing over every inch of the stone and gleaning nothing, I searched the immediate area around the stone, scrutinizing with the utmost attention to detail. But try as I might, I could find nothing, no clues at all. Finally I returned to the stone itself. Carefully I examined every facet of its beautiful, smooth surface. Every facet I could reach, anyway. By the time I'd finished with that, darkness was falling, and I had found nothing. So I retired for the night, with every intention of starting anew come morning. The next day I sat before the rearside of the great boulder, pondering my quandary. What to do? In the earlier hours I'd managed to climb the smooth surface of the stone with my ropes and examine every detail of its surface, all the way to the apex. Nothing. The entire structure was completely smooth. My only hope now was to search in a wider radius around the stone, or go home and research. Pore over more tablets or ask questions of the other denizens of the island. After a thorough search of the surrounding area, I gave up the ghost and returned home. But had this lessened my vigour and determination by even the slightest extent? Of course not! I knew with unyielding certainty, that I, Sejon, adventurer extraordinaire, would find this Mask of Mim Brano if it was the last thing I did! For months upon months I researched, reading through tablet after tablet with greater fervor than ever before, as well as interviewing anyone I could, anyone who could possibly know anything about the Mask! The Turaga became impatient with me, for what reason I could not fathom. Could they not see the utmost importance of this glorious quest? In fact I'd thought some would join me, but no, they all scoffed! Even Takua did not believe me! But who needed them? I'd find the Mask on my own! Oh, beautiful, glorious Mask of Mim Brano, would fortune never give me the chance to gaze upon thy splendor? Would thy sheer radiance and glow never shine upon me. . . ? As time went by, I slipped farther and farther towards despair. My hopes dwindled, but never could they completely diminish. Finally the day came that I found myself again before that stone. Many times in the past weeks had I re-examined it and the area around, but to no further avail. All this time, nigh half a year of non-stop pursuit, and what had I to show for it? Nought but darkening dreams and hopes. I sat all night before the rear of the stone, the side over-looking the river, pondering, wondering what else could possibly be done. I'd done everything I could think of! And still no clue. Not a single solitary clue. As morning neared, I couldn't help but wonder. Ever so slight a wonder. . . Could it be? Is it possible that the Mask, the glorious Mask, was nought but legend? The mere thought of it left the foulest of tastes in my mouth. And yet. . . could it possibly be that Mata Nui had built the island by his own or other means? Could it be? Could it be the Mask. . . the pinnacle of my dreams and hopes as a seeker of artifacts and treasures. . . simply did not exist? The mere possibility filled me with far greater despair than I'd ever known. What was the point, then? Of what value had been my many adventures, only to come to this? What was the point of even continuing in the consistent meaninglessness of life itself, if that be the case? Raw hopelessness gripped me as the sun began to rise, and my cries of despair finally began to take leave of me, bubbling over from my long built-up reserves of utter despondence. How could it be. . . ? Oh, Golden Mask. . . Of Mim Brano. . . Why? Why, oh why torture me for so long, drag me on through the clutches of so much negligence and ignorance, merely to abandon me now? The sun shone upon me now, fixing me in its cold, bleak light. The world was a cold, cruel place, where dreamers and hopers chase their objects of obsession in utter devotion, only to have the iron fist of reality fall upon them and dash them to bits. But as the sun shone upon me, its light spreading slowly downward, I found myself suddenly looking up, and turning to gaze upon the surface of the stone just behind me. The bare, empty surface of the horrid rock which had begun this whole meaningless charade stared back at me. I wished I'd never found that shard of the map, nor certainly this accursed stone! I stood in fury and raised my foot to vent my emotions against the rock, only to pause, transfixed, as my eyes met a strange sight: A small portion of the stone, near the apex, where the color of the stone shifted ever so slightly from the surrounding area. The boulder as a whole was actually surprisingly solid in color, yet here was a change. Ever so slight a change, but nevertheless. . . I found myself running desperately for my ropes, lassoing them around the rock, and hauling myself up to get a better view of the discoloration. I'd never even noticed it before because I'd never seen it in direct sunshine as I did now. As I climbed, I couldn't help but wonder, what was I doing? Pushing forward again, chasing blindly after dreams that. . . No, I would give this just one more chance. Even the slightest chance that things had been set right was enough for me to at least look over this one little thing. I examined the area minutely, desperately hoping, praying. After several minutes I grew impatient, and scratched at the surface. And what to my wondering eyes should happen, but that the stone wore away before my fingertips, and black markings appeared underneath! As I continued to scratch and dig, I found not just markings, but words. A clue! :e: , ? , My heart was lifted, my spirit soared! My eyes were overcome with emotion, and I laughed a painful, throbbing laugh! Oh, Mata Nui, the light was returning to me! It seemed the Mask did indeed exist after all! No, I knew it did! I'd sworn I'd find it, and here was the next clue! I berated myself for giving up on my hopes, to fall into the Pit of Despair when the great Rope of Dreams lay just before my nose! I cachinnated like a fool as I sat there, overcome by the glorious realization. Finally my mirth subsided, and I sat in a daze of satisfaction. Everyone thought I was mad to keep at my quest for so long, but I'd prove them wrong yet! I looked again at the words. They were rather vague, but I felt my old love of puzzles returning to me. I looked around. What could it mean? Where? Finally, I chose to climb the stone itself. I stood upon the top and looked about me. Where was the object of my search? Was there another clue awaiting me? I ran my hands over the surface of the stone, the beautiful perfection of smoothness that it was. Then finally, incredibly, amazingly, miraculously, a small, tiny, insignificant piece of the stone gave under my obsessive pressing and rubbing and poking. It bore no dissimilarity from the surrounding stone, betrayed no clue whatever to its existence, but there it was. I pressed it in all the way, and the stone began to shake, lurching violently. If it went on much longer I'd be thrown clear, and fearing for my life I leaped down into the clearing, landing clumsily but safely. Then I turned to watch as the stone, the beautiful stone, sank straight down into the ground. Hardly daring to believe it, hardly daring even to breathe, I stepped forward and gazed into the hole it left behind. There, in the ground, gazing up at me like so many adoring faces, as if proud of what my continued devotion had accomplished, was a row of steps. They wound round and round, leading deep into the underground. I whooped a tremendous howl to the sky. I must have jumped ten feet in the air! Here it was, it must be, the object of my desires! The Temple of the Mask of Mim Brano. . . Or some such place with another name denoting the treasure held within, a name lost to time. I couldn't believe what immense fortune good old Fate had chosen to lay upon me. After all this time, the ceaseless research and investigation. The hoping, the dreaming, the reaching for the impossible! And here, after all this time, the Door of Destiny lay before me. I simply couldn't believe it. Heart pounding, mind spinning, I took a tentative step toward the opening. Then I took another. And another. Before I had fully grasped what was happening, there I was, standing at the very bottom of the stairwell. What lay before me there was one of the most beautiful sights I had ever beheld: A large chamber filled with a treacherous array of death traps, leading to oblivion. Straightening my mask and the bag slung over my bare shoulder, I examined carefully the maze of death lying before me. There were swinging axes, lava sprays, wind-bound pathways across thin stone bridges, notches in the walls from which projectiles would no doubt issue forth, impossible jumps across bottomless pits, walls of rods to climb, ropes from which to swing, and no doubt other deadly dangers hidden from my eyes. I sprang into action. I dodged through the first group of axes, made across the thin bridges whilst praying the sprays of molten liquid would miss me and simultaneously fighting the murderous wind. Those Matoran of legend, if indeed it had been they who placed the Mask in here, were, I thought at this time, both ingenious and insane. Dexterously I dodged disks and other missiles, climbed walls, swung ropes, made carefully across a floor of endless and deadly tiles, and conquered many other perils which elude my memory, for the anticipation I'd had at the time of finally finding the Mask outshines most of it. Finally I heaved myself up a hundred-foot tower, my excitement and hope for what must await me there sending tremendous energy surging through my limbs. The closer I got, the more my wonder built, knowing that I had just about reached my goal. All the sweat, the tears, the work, the prayer, the devotion, the long, long months of hoping and awaiting, and the pit of dark emotions in which I had nearly fallen. All of that had led me to this moment, the moment when I would behold the tremendous wonder that was, the Mask of Mim Brano. Finally, breathless, ecstatic, half-delirious with pure joy, I stood atop that beautiful pillar to gaze upon the splendor before me. It was as if I were in a dream, one of the most joyous and wonderful dreams to ever be had. Everything was surreal. I couldn't really be here, in this temple, finally discovering the greatest treasure in the history of the Matoran. I couldn't really be the one who would bring it to the surface, to usher in a new and glorious age in Matoran history, in which the Great Spirit would no doubt be awakened and perhaps thank me personally for bringing his Mask to him, and perhaps even use it to create another incredible work! No, it really couldn't be, could it? Hardly daring to breathe, I stepped forward eagerly to the pedestal in the center of the tower-top, upon which no doubt lay the answer to that which I sought. I could see the golden shine from where I stood. As I reached the pedestal, I stopped dead. My heart stopped, my spine went cold, my mind froze for one long, heart-wrenching moment. No. . . No. . . It can't be. . . It couldn't. . . Wasn't possible. . . It can't be! It can't be!!! NNNOOOOO!!! The howl which burst forth from my own lungs in that moment was the most horrible sound which had ever wrought itself upon my poor ears. It echoed in the chamber, bounded and rebounded off the walls, creating a swirling vortex about me of nightmare intensity. I felt as if my very innermost being had been stabbed with a sword of flame. It couldn't be! It simply couldn't be! It wasn't possible that such a thing could happen... It wasn't possible that the great and noble Mask of Mim Brano, that given to our Great Spirit by the Great Being Mim Brano, could possibly be befelled by such a fate as this. . . This increduisity. . . This horrosity. . . This pure catastrophification! I couldn't believe it. Simply couldn't believe it. The Mask. . . The beautiful, glorious, precious Mask. . . The Mask of Mim Brano! It was. . . It was. . . Even now, though the episode is far behind me, I cannot bring myself to even think the words without being overcome with intense emotion. The Mask of Mim Brano. . . was broken. There. I said it! The Mask was split in two! Right down the middle! I couldn't believe it! What evil horrendous monstrosity of darkness could do such a thing? Certainly the Mask was far too powerful to ever be broken from age! Sure, it could happen to any regular old mask, but Masks of Power were more enduring, and certianly The Kanohi could never be felled by something as simple as time! The Mask that dwarfed in power and greatness even the Great Kanohi Vahi itself! I'm not ashamed to admit it. As I stood there before the two pitiless halves, sitting upon the pedestal, my mind, horribly torn as it was, began to break as well. It was simply too much. To come this far, and find the mask in this condition. . . First I was overcome with sorrow. I couldn't move, couldn't breathe, could do nothing but feel numb from the pure horror. No, it was worse than numb, I felt. . . dead. Dead on my feet. Then my sorrows gave way to rage. Rage and indignation. I swore with the utmost conviction that I, mere Matoran though I was, would never rest until the horrendous, sadistic monstrosity that had committed this utmost pinnacle of crimes would meet the fate it deserved! Then my mind began to split, stretching into many different directions at once. Rage, sorrow, confusion, fear, pain, terror, anger, and many others I could not identify. After I know not how long, through this dirge of darkness that lay upon my mind, I came to myself enough to be overcome with sorrow once more. I slumped down before the pedestal, gripping it for mere life, hardly able to feel anything of my body. Nay, all was pain, all was hopelessness. All was nothing but a great pit of sorrow. My life was now meaningless. Without the Mask, which had become my deep obsession for so long, which had become my very life, what more meaning could there be to continuing on in the realm of physical existence? As I reached the very bottom of my pit of sorrow, something clicked. Something shifted. It was as if a message directly from Mata Nui had been injected in my dejected mind. Something stirred deep within my subconscious. What if the Mask, what if this pitiless little heap that lay before me, what if this object of horror and desolation, was in fact not that Mask of Mim Brano! What if it was a fake? As incredible as it seemed that it could possibly be so, it was more understandable than was the notion that the glorious Mask was in fact broken! Yes, that had to be the answer. It must be. It was the answer. Deep within the core of my being I knew it to be true. Slowly I gathered myself from the dark recesses of doubt in which I had found myself. Breathing hard, I stood before that pedestal, glaring hard at the two pieces of evil deception that lay upon it. I picked them up and examined them carefully, every facet. After doubly satisfying myself that they must certainly be fake, I stretched my arm over the far edge of the tower, at the bottom of which lay a molten lake. After a moment's hesitation, I let the two little pieces of shiny, golden evil fall to their demise. Then I turned back to the pedestal. That wasn't all there was to it. There had to be more! Obsessively, knowingly, assuredly, desperately, I ran my hands and eyes over the stone surface, as well as the tower itself, searching for a clue! I'd nearly given up hope twice now, I would not allow myself into that terrible pit again! But as I did this the tower gave a sudden, sickening lurch. I grasped at the pedestal as I was nearly thrown clear. Then looking out across the lake I watched in horror as the very far wall of the cave was split asunder, a great wave of lava spilling down into the chamber. My time was almost out. For whatever reason the Temple of the Mask was about to be lost forever! Half-mad, I looked behind me at the entrance to the temple, to the point beyond which lay the light of day and my only hope of safety. I was torn. But I knew that if I left now, when I knew the Mask was here somewhere, I would spend the rest of my days as nought but an empty shell, devoid of any reason for existing. Frantically I hastened my search, there had to be a clue! I found nothing on the tower floor, nothing on the pedestal itself, until. . . What Lord of Fortune smiled upon me I knew not, but just when all seemed lost my fingertip pressed into a small depression, which only deepened as my fingertip pressed into it. I heard the sound of sliding stone, of mechanisms turning and clicking, and then. . . a hidden compartment slid out of the pedestal. I knew it. I'd known it. And I'd been right! Numb as I was I looked down upon the beautiful Golden Mask of Mim Brano that lay, formerly hidden, in the compartment, that I'd simply known to be here somewhere. Gently I scooped it up and briefly wondered if and how I could possibly escape with it as the tremendous tidal wave of lava surged toward me across the lake. There was no time to wonder, no time to think, the wave was nigh upon me. I pressed the Mask to my chest and chin, holding it tightly, as the rest of the world faded from my realm of awareness. The Mask and I. . . together at last. All was light. All was beauty. I could have sat there forever, with the Mask tight in my arms, in pure contentment. An age passed then and there on that tower. Then reality set in again. I was flung to the floor of the top of the tower as the wave struck. Streams of lava burst out upon either side of the tower as it teetered and began to fall. I grasped the Mask tightly. Whatever would befall us, we would go together. The tower leaned out farther and farther, and as it did I was forced to adjust my position so as to avoid falling off. As I stood upon the side of the pedestal, now sticking out nigh horizontal, I saw that the point upon which the top of the tower would land was just before the entrance! Quickly I gathered my wits about me. Just before the tower struck the ground, I leaped clear, and the tower crashed and crumbled behind me. I landed in a clumsy roll, Mask between my folded arms and against my chest. I was dazed and hurt but undaunted. The Mask itself remained without a mark upon its golden surface. The wave of lava had lost a little ground on me, but it now surged nigh upon me. There was no time to lose. Instantly I rose and ran, half-clumsily, toward the point of our salvation. By some miracle we reached it just in time, and I moved my aching body as fast as it would go up the steps. The lava splashed into the stairwell, large drops of it singing my armor, but I had the determination of a cornered Kavinika in me. Clenching my teeth and giving a slow cry I forced myself up those steps, the lava surging upwards behind me but always a few steps below. One time the lava reached the very sole of my foot before I could snatch it out, but still I would neither slow nor stop. After what felt like hours upon hours of forcing my unwilling body onwards, I saw daylight above me, and renewed vigor pushed my dying limbs out into the open. I hurtled into the daylight, landing in a crumpled heap in the clearing under which had been hidden the Temple of the Mask. The lava stopped at the very top with a gurgle, then slowly began its retreat, as if it had been some great and terrible predator desperate to devour me, only to give up upon realization of its failure. My body was frayed, my armor half-gone, my mask damaged. But I didn't care. I felt on top of the world. I felt a king. I felt pure joy well up inside me. I stood, and held the Mask high above me, marveling at its incredible beauty. Despite my narrow escape, its surface was still completely unharmed and undamaged. It sparkled in the sunlight like so many golden diamonds. It shone out upon the world with its brilliant light. I couldn't believe it. I'd done it. I'd found the Mask. I'd found the greatest artifactual treasure in the history of the world! My eyes glazed over as I beheld it, laughing giddily though it must surely cause my broken body terrible pain. What new wonders and glory would now be known in this world of ours, now that the Mask of Mim Brano was ours! Oh, Golden Mask of Mim Brano. . . For too long hast thou been lost to glory, but rediscovered now, at last! I was so happy! I was so joyful! I felt pure light inside me and could not feel the pain of my body. Nay, it was even greater than this, the feeling was beyond indescribable. The glorious, incredible feeling built up inside me until I thought I would burst. To my wonder it felt as though I were expanding, as though I were stretching beyond the limits of my body. I could feel the wind. I could feel the trees. I could feel the mountains, the seas, the rivers. I could feel the skies. A plethora of new and wondrous sights, sounds, and feelings surged within me. Then began the next step of my journey, in which I would discover an even greater light and glory than that of the Mask, as my old, lifeless shell fell to the ground, still clutching that wonder that was. . . the Mask of Mim Brano. Well, there you have it, the satirical adventure of the Golden Mask. Criticism is welcome, and I hope you enjoyed it! EDIT: New word count: 5,643. Wait. . . I know I didn't alter it that much. I guess it's counting each Matoran letter as an individual word? Ah, well.
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This comedy is not meant to insult or otherwise degrade the amazing personage of Greg Farshtey in anyway whatsoever. I am sure I have misrepresented him or his personality in some way or other, and I apologize in advance. The 40 Million Foot Tall Writer’s Block Solution Greg Farshtey, undisputed King of Bionicle, Lego Magazine editor, and Lego Ninjago writer, stumbled into Lego’s headquarters in Billund, Denmark. It had been a long night without much sleep for the father that he was, and he was feeling rather numb. Before he could think about it, he put his head down on his desk and fell asleep. 4 hours later… THUMP. Greg’s nerves jumped to attention. I am seriously going to get fired from this job, he thought, shaking his head to get the grogginess out of it. THUMP. Maybe then I will finally get to finish those old Bionicle serials. Oh, forget that. Bionicle is over. Bionicle has ended. THUMP. He stuck his head out the door to his office. People were streaming this way and that with looks of terror on their faces. “What’s going on?” said Greg. Nobody answered. I’m really going wacked. I need some fresh air. He walked past the fainted receptionist, who someone was already trying to revive, only to see something from his dreams standing unrepentantly on the Billund lawn. So tall Greg couldn’t even see the top. A towering pair of legs that bent, kneeling down, crushing a good deal of landscaping. Somewhere high above Greg could barely see a pair of eyes looking down, and within the right eye there stood a certain Toa of Fire. “Greetings, Greg Farshtey” said Toa Tahu. “Welcome aboard.” A giant robot hand extended down to the now-ruined Lego landscaping. A hatch opened, leading into the depths. A siren sounded somewhere off in the distance. “What are doing here?” demanded someone next to Greg, wearing a suit and tie and looking very miffed. “Just trying to give a poor writer a break” said an even female voice. “Oh no, you don’t. This guy signed a contract to work fifty forty-hour weeks a year minus sick leave-“ The hand extended out, tearing out the chunk of concrete that the two men were standing on, lifting them into the air. The other man cursed under his breath. Greg just stood there, stunned. “Do you have any idea what that is?” said the man. “It is…the giant robot” said Greg, his face pale. “Straight out of Bionicle.” “Straight out of a sewer, you mean” said the man. “It’s terrible.” “How can you say that? It’s amazing.” Long, gray fingers curled around the piece of concrete, forcing Greg and his new friend to the very center of the stone. As the stone was crushed to powder, the two fell though the hatch below, landing in a sticky web. “Sorry,” said a Matoran, helping them out of it. “Mission command said to ensure that you arrived undamaged. We took precautions.” Greg stood, dizzied from the slight shift in gravity. “I demand to see your leader!” said the other guy. “Who is that?” said the Matoran. He was shorter than Greg, and by his coloring recognizable as a Le-Matoran. Nearby were a couple of his kinsmen, gawking at the new arrivals. “He’s just the Lego CEO” said Greg. “Well, he is the guy would canceled Bionicle” said a black armored being who was emerging from a nearby airship. She removed her mask and flicked off her hood, revealing a pale human face. “Welcome to the Matoran Universe, gentlemen.” She glared at the Lego CEO. “Despite your failure to acknowledge us, Bionicle lives on.” * * * “Trans-dimensional travel, of course” I said. “Highly unpredictable, and I did end up in the wrong dimension, of course. I built that dimension myself, that one where the Toa overcame the Makuta using the Mask of Time. I didn’t expect to end up in it, fighting the Shadowed One at that last minute.” “You what?” “She fought the Shadowed One and won.” said another black armored being nearby. “That counts for something.” “Come on board, everyone” I barked. “We can talk on our way to Metru Nui.” * * * The Le-Metru airship lurched and accelerated rapidly toward our intended destination under the direction of our skilled pilots. “Right now, we are suffering from a small problem” I said. “Do you have a name?” said Greg. “Just call me fishers64.” “Are you like, a clone or something?” asked the Lego CEO. “No.” “Was there a fishers63? 62?” “No.” I paused, looking down at the sea below as it raced past. “The prime Bionicle reality is frozen, Mr. Farshtey. I was sent to investigate that, and ended up in that one. Fortunately, I was also able to run some schematics and dim-cross this thing back. Also, I was able to pinpoint the source of the problems we face. The prime reality being frozen, is bad news, Greg. Other, more active dimensions rub against it, causing transdimensional friction. I was able to measure that from my alternate dimension. I also know that these types of universes gather information from a single point. For the universe I was in, it was me. For the prime reality, it is you.” “What?” “If that reality doesn’t receive the data it needs from you, time stops there. This causes friction with the other realities. Eventually this friction will cause that universe to implode, causing a serious warp in space-time that will cause other realities to expand, slowing down the force of time and diluting the strong force so that no life can exist.” “What?” “In other words, you need to finish those Bionicle serials!” bellowed the Shadowed One. “Sorry” said my black armored professional bodyguard. “His prison is a little close to the airstrip.” I nodded grimly. “He is correct, however. The best weapons we have against an entire transdimensional collapse are a bit of piece and quiet for you.” Greg looked stunned. “Uh, really?” “Yes. We will make sure you have some space.” I marched onto Metru Nui, the group trailing after. Greg and the Lego CEO didn’t have a mask, so we couldn’t take the chutes. It was a bit of a hike to my headquarters in Ga-Metru, but we could manage it. * * * I ordered Lariska to guard the door against intruders, and to make sure Greg wasn’t disturbed. I had gone behind my screen and swapped armor suits. Sure, black to sky blue wasn’t as intimidating, but it put the native residents more at ease about my unusual existence. “I’m sorry you got in here” I said to the Lego CEO. “It wasn’t exactly part of the plan.” “This nonsense is costing me valuable money, young lady. I don’t want to-“ “Oh, so it is all about the money. Oh, boy. When the universe you’re in turns to a hill of beans, your money will vapourize along with you.” I paused, letting that sink in. “How about a tour of Metru Nui? It’s a once in a lifetime opportunity.” I threw him a mask, which he barely caught in time. “You will need it for the chutes.” * * * The first thing Greg did upon having the room to himself was close his eyes and go back to sleep. “Time moves slightly faster in here, so you should be able to rest before you start” I had said. Sometime later, Greg got up, shook off the where-am-I feeling, and began to write, page after page, serial chapter after serial chapter… * * * “So everyone does exactly what he says, without question?” said the Lego CEO. “That’s hardly fair.” “It works for them, pal. Stop talking so loud” I hissed. We were too close to Turaga Dume. This whole thing had been one of my less amazing ideas. I checked my watch. “It’s time for you two to go home. Greg will be missed soon if we keep him much longer.” * * * When I arrived, Greg was in the midst of a sea of paper. “I’ve done it!” he said. “I’ve finally brought this to a logical conclusion!” “Good” I said, picking up the papers. “It is time to go home.” * * * “It was a pleasure meeting you two gentlemen.” I cocked my eyebrow at the Lego CEO, making sure he knew that that statement didn’t exactly apply to him. “Good luck, Mr. Farshtey.” I turned back to walk back into the robot. “Aren’t you coming with us? said Mr. CEO. “No, I have a robot to return to its proper dimension. Don’t worry, I’ll be back soon.” * * * As Greg turned back to his car, carrying the future of Bionicle story in his arms, he felt a wave of power behind him. He looked behind, just in time to see the immaculately cured lawns of Billund being restored. * * * “27 chapters for Bionicle? I thought that you said that Bionicle was over.” “I’ve had a change of heart.” “Have you been fired or something? I mean, this isn’t like you.” “Just post the chapters, Kelly.” “Do you want to stagger them or-“ “Post them all now. Bioniclestory.com was doomed yesterday. Post them all!”
