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  1. So I wrote another Kanohi story because of course I did. This one takes place in the core universe and the kingdom, a little before the two timelines split. The premise for this is the hurt some Matoran feel as the Turaga reveal the true history of their people, as well as the disconnect some of the Matoran have with the so-called city of legends. So this is a story about the fallout of the Turaga revealing the truth about the 2004-2005 storyline. Anyway, without further ado, enjoy. The Willing Exiles … ”You … you sure we should go?” Ramaka asked, looking at the two Ga-Matoran. The sun was beginning to set, and the tent they were taking shelter in was rustling in the wind. “We have to. Those stories the Turaga shared, they aren’t us. Maybe there were once, maybe they never were. We don’t belong in some underground ruin, working like cogs in a lifeless machine.” Gajaga spat, as she packed her satchel. It was woven of faded plant fibers, contrasting against her blue metal chassis. “Maybe the rest of the stories will—” “—Tell us just how much they lied?” Gajaga sighed, “no. I prefer to have at least some fond memories of Turaga Nokama.” She began to wrap up her sleeping bag. “She’s right,” Cemahri reached over, grasping Gajaga’s hand, and the other Ga-Matoran blushed beneath her mask, “I … to know the Turaga lied for over a thousand years, about the most basic things. No, we cannot go with them. And … it’s better we don’t come. We don’t belong with the other Matoran. This is a chance for us.” Ramaka nodded, though did not match her eye contact. The two Ga-Matoran pushed aside their bags then, before embracing their companion. “Hey, we will get through this together,” Gajaga said, “we spent centuries on this island, we know it by heart. We can flourish in our beloved island home.” “We … we do have our unity to each other,” Ramaka smiled nervously, “okay, sisters, let us return to our real home.” The three Matoran picked up their bamboo disks and slug their satchels over their shoulders, before slipping out into the jungle. Their long arms pushed aside the ferns and branches, their big feet waded through the swamp. They would not leave Mata-Nui, not for some underground ruin that was likely infested by spiders the size of Toa. This was their home, not some broken city. … Kanohi held his lighter to his right arm, softening the orange and black metal. The lighter was infused with the element of Fire, probably a relic from when Turaga Vakama was a Toa. Because apparently Kanohi’s mentor had lied to him about everything. “There,” Nuparu said, “it should be almost in place now.” Kanohi was welding a Volo Lutu Launcher to his arm, as Nuparu fitted the tool’s machinery to mesh with his biomechanical body. The left arm was already complete, now was just the right. The two of them were in a tent this night, the stars mostly shone in the sky despite the many torches around Kini-Nui. Thousands of Matoran were camping in the jungle, as they built ships to sail though the underground Silver Sea. The sounds of hammers pounded under the stars, as the Matoran prepared to return to their home. A home only the Turaga remembered, As Kanohi welded the tool to his arm, Nuparu spoke up, “So, did the Turaga ever tell you—” “—No.” Kanohi answered quickly, and his breath became harsher. His foot began to thump against the floor, and his fingers began to drum against his lighter. The Fe-Matoran’s face was hidden, he wore wooden masks all over his body, as a sort of armor. Each mask was carved to resemble a Ruru, the Noble Mask of Night Vision. And his true mask was a Great Ruru, though he could not use it. Still both were appropriate, his power allowed him to light the darkness of the future. But clearly his visions were helpless to the past. “It’s … frustrating, isn’t it? If we had been able to use the technology of Metru-Nui to help us, our time in exile could have been so much easier. Just having Kanoka instead of bamboo disks…” “There are many reasons the truth is frustrating.” Kanohi stared deeply into his lighter, trying not to think too hard about Vakama. The fire swirled and lifted about, as he looked the flames cracked and turned to embers, and those sparks became the stars in the sky. As he stared at those stars he heard and noise and turned to see an utterly barren island of rock. The rocky crag towered above him, before shattering into an avalanche. Each tumbling rock splashed into the sea, before rising as a fleet of hovercrafts. Kanohi hooked a cabin and grappled over to a hovercraft, flinging above the waves as Matoran wearing linen clothes waved. “You okay? You seemed a bit dazed?” Kanohi startled as Nuparu’s voice cut through the blaze, and he looked away, “Just had a vision,” he answered, “maybe of us sailing to Metru-Nui.” “At least a Vakama didn’t lie to us about that,” Nuparu offered, but Kanohi could not crack a smile, “your visions are real, just like the Turaga’s was. And incredible gift.” “He lied to me plenty about my visions,” muttered Kanohi, “though I do know why. It doesn’t make things easier however.” Then there was a shriek from outside the tent, as a Ga-Matoran called out, “Kraata!” Immediately Kanohi turned off his lighter, and stowed it away. “Is my arm ready?” “Left one is for sure, but the right one isn’t done.” “We will continue it later,” nodded Kanohi, before sprinting out of the tent, his large feet stomping vines and roots, as he hurried out he raised his left arm, and from the Volo Lutu Launcher built into his forearm he fired a strange rippling sphere. A ball of pure gravity. It latched onto a tree before ripping him from the ground and hurling him towards it. Kanohi hurtled through the air, landing on a tree. From there he fired his launcher again, flinging himself after the ball of gravity. In this way he grappled through the jungle, searching among the tents and Matoran. As he flew his armor clattered together, like branches singing in a thunderstorm. A number of Matoran were fleeing from the northern part of the jungle, the Kraata might be there. As Kanohi grappled above, Matoran pointed and marveled. A few began to cheer, and he smiled warily as he hurtled through the sky. He was glad that they could feel some relief from him still. And as he came upon the scene, he spied a Ga-Matoran backing up as a bright green slug squirmed towards her. The Kraata oozed a trail of sickly slime, which wilted every plant that it passed by. The Matoran of Water was backed up against a tree, swinging her bamboo disk wildly at it. Quickly Kanohi fired past her, and launched through the air. As he hurtled towards her he outstretched his right arm, hooking her waist. He strained as he dragged her through the air, before the two of them smacked into the ground in a tumble, his armor rattling with each collision with the earth. As they rolled to a halt, Kanohi shoved himself up, drawing his lighter. He held it out to the Kraata, it’s elemental flame cracking. The slug hissed and flinched from the glow, before slithering away deep into the jungle. “Are you alright?” Kanohi asked her as he pulled her to her feet. “Better swimmer than a fighter,” she laughed nervously, then swallowed, “How … how can there still be Kraata? The Makuta is dead, isn’t he?” He looked away, “In the Turaga’s stories of Metru-Nui, Rahkshi go feral when the Makuta does not need them. This might have just been a wild Kraata-Ye.” “Of … of course. I should have know.” “There was little way you could have,” he muttered, looking at the trail of withering plants from where the Kraata had left, “the Turaga did not tell many about the plants.” “Th-there you are,” a voice called out. Kanohi turned to see a Ko-Matoran running towards them, his body sand-blue and white. The Matoran of Ice waved to him, but Kanohi did not wave back. “What do you want, Matoro?” asked Kanohi, folding his arms. His wooden armor clattered against each other at the motion, each collision a harsh thud, like drums beating. “Three Matoran were seen headed into the jungle, two Ga-Matoran and a Le-Matoran. Some of the Toa are looking but Le-Wahi is big. Well, you know that, you have patrolled it for centuries. So if you could help look…” “Fine,” he said, “once Nuparu finishes upgrading my arm.” “Listen,” the Matoran of Ice shuffled, “we have been friends for a long time—” “You were Turaga Nuju’s aide, I was the vigilante protector of Mata-Nui. That was all.” “I … I know it’s awkward knowing that the Turaga lied to you—” “—Did they tell you the truth?” Kanohi said quietly, his breath whistling through the holes in his mask like a faint breeze. His fingers began to wiggle on his sides with an anxious energy. “I-I … yes.” Kanohi huffed, but said nothing more. “Listen, they needed Metru-Nui to be kept a secret. If the Matoran knew about it they would try to return, and the Makuta would have just enslaved them—” “I understand why they hid truth. It might have even been necessary. But it was still wrong,” Kanohi said firmly, “simplifying our world only hurt cross-wired freaks like Midas, Takua, and me.” “…I know. You … you know they didn’t mean to hurt you, right? Vakama wouldn’t want that.” “I know,” Kanohi sighed as his hands flapped wildly, “But they still hurt many of us. That’s why I became Kanohi. And that is why I will help these Matoran. There are still Kraata squirming around the island, not to mention the Rahi.” “You know, the two of us both knew about the Kraata when no other Matoran did. We helped the Turaga hunt them, when the others knew nothing. We both shared secrets with the Turaga, hid the truth from our fellow Matoran.” The Ga-Matoran startled at that, and backed away back into the jungle towards the campsite. “Yes, we did,” Kanohi could see his heartlight speed up beneath his wooden armor, “and our secret left many Matoran vulnerable, none of them knew why masks become infected. If they had known Kraata were not just Rahi, many of them could have be spared the control of the Makuta.” “But you agreed to be quiet.” “Yes.” Kanohi’s wrists fluttered like a Nui-Kopen swarm. “Then why are you so mad at the Turaga?” “B-because millions suffered underground while we waddled around in paradise. Do you think I never had visions of the people suffering because of the Brotherhood? Do you think when I asked Vakama to explain, he told me the truth? Or do you think he told me those visions were just metaphors, that the only people in danger were the Matoran of this island? He only fed my fears that I was losing my mind. He only isolated me more.” “Kanohi.” “It wasn’t that he lied. It’s that his lies h-hurt people, and that the damage he caused did not inspire him to be honest.” The sound of wood smacking against itself echoed as Kanohi stimmed. “…You know they were Matoran only a year before they became our Turaga,” whispered Matoro, “its not their fault that they were not ready for the role of leadership.” “Its been a thousand years,” Kanohi said simply, before he waved in dismissal, “I need to get my arm ready. Then I will go rescue these Matoran.” He turned around and grappled away, back towards Nuparu. Matora watched after him with a sigh, his telescopic lens zeroing in on the vigilante as he swung from the jungle. Then finally the Ko-Matoran waddled away, he would need to return to Turaga Nuju. … Gajaga walked through the jungle as early morning crept into the sky. She tightly gripped her bamboo disk, ready to hurl it at the first Rahi to barge out of the underbrush. She had once served in the Ga-Koro Guard, before being dismissed from her post. Her dismissal was for a number of reasons, her anger and her … unusual attachments. ‘Like she thought with the mind of a Rahi,’ the other Matoran of Water would whisper when they thought she couldn’t hear. Oh but she heard. The point was, she knew how to throw the disk, and how to make it hurt. Ramaka called from the tree, “I see movement up ahead, and it looks like a number of trees are toppling over. I think it might be a Tarakava.” Le-Matoran were agile in the trees though clumsy on the ground, made Ramaka a better lookout, “You sure?” Gajaga gripped her disk, even as her free hand reached behind her to pull out a sharpened bamboo pole. Cemahri clung to her own throwing disk as well, though the latter’s eyes were wider, and she clenched her disk like one might dangling off a cliff. Cemahri was no guard, just a weaver with very little training in a fight. “I seen little of a large teal head poking out of the trees,” Ramaka answered, “and the way the trees topple over, like they are being bludgeoned by a big sledgehammer. I-I am not very familiar with the Rahi of Ga-Wahi, but I think it is one? At least going off what I saw in the Battle of Kini-Nui.” “We are going to need to move carefully,” Cemahri said, as her free hand shakily reached out and grabbed Gajaga’s wrist. Gajaga turned to Cemahri and smiled, “it’s okay, we can get through this.” She head-butted Cemahri softly, their masks clinking together. The two Matoran of Water embraced, as they stood in the muddy water of this swamp. There was a boom, and a number of trees trembled, no longer so far away. Cemahri flinched with each tremor, clutching Gajaga tight. “A single Tarakava devastated Ga-Koro,” she whispered, staring towards the rumbling trees. “Yes,” admitted Gajaga, “but we can get through this, okay? We aren’t trapped inside a sunken hut this time.” Cemahri nodded, and the two of them wadded through the water, before shuffling behind a tree half-submerged in the water. As they hung there, Cemahri poked her head around the log, her mask’s telescopic lens adjusting to close up on the beast. She was just a Matoran, she couldn’t use her mask’s power of x-ray vision. But the telescopic lens attached to a Kanohi Akaku could be used by anyone. “It’s a Tarakava,” she whispered. “With an infected mask.” “You sure?” “Yes and … and there is a Kraata riding on top of it, a Kraata of Poison I think?” “Karzahni,” muttered Gajaga, “you are right, we need to be careful.” “But how can a Kraata … exist without the Makuta?” “I don’t know. But stay quiet, stay low.” The two other Matoran nodded, waiting as the Tarakava rode past on the treads. As it drove through the water its powerful fists reeled back and punched systematically, knocking over trees with ease. It’s height towered over even the Toa Nuva, let alone three Matoran. But as the Tarakava rode through the swamp it suddenly halted, its treads grinding to a halt. Its head shifted about as it began to look around, its nostrils sniffing the air. The Matoran drew still, even as the Rahi’s Kraata rider squeaked out a hiss of pleasure. … Kanohi grappled through the jungle, firing one Volo Lutu Launcher, then the other. As his balls of gravity hurled him through the canopy he looked about, hearing the birds call, seeing the greenery and fruit. His armor only added to the melody, the wood clanking and striking with each swing like and drum. Mata-Nui was … so alive. While the stories of Metru-Nui sounded cold and lifeless. Of course, Mata-Nui was dangerous, with many aggressive Rahi. And when the Makuta infected their masks, they became even more dangerous. They became an extension of his will, driven to attack the Matoran. And Kanohi still wasn’t sure that the prophecy of the Bohrok had already been fulfilled. Elements of his visions … were incomplete. For over a thousand years the Matoran had lived on Mata-Nui, hunted by the Makuta’s Infected Rahi. The Matoran lived apart, Onu-Matoran in the caves, Ta-Matoran by the lava, Le-Matoran in the trees, Ga-Matoran in the water. They weren’t one people, just six tribes isolated from each other, terrified of leaving their Koro because of the beasts. Thinking Mata-Nui was the only island, that there were only six breeds of Matoran, that this was their homeland. That they were not in exile. That the Turaga would be honest about the important stuff. For the millennia of exile, the Matoran only had themselves to rely on, along with the Turaga he supposed. The Toa were just a legend then. They followed traditions the Turaga made-up, obeyed rules, travel between Koro was forbidden, you stayed with your kind. And if you did not feel comfortable with them, then that was a flaw of your own. Then a few centuries ago Kanohi grew tired of waiting for the heroes to come, and became a vigilante, grappling through the southern jungles to rescue Matoran from Rahi and disasters. He was always a cross-wired freak, not only plagued by visions but his brain functioned differently in general, his wiring was different. More musical, but in a different way, always in motion, calmed by seemingly random noses and gestures. Cross-wired. And his body was strange too. The Turaga said he was Po-Matoran, but he lacked their strength, just had great physical endurance. He knew something was wrong, that he could not be a Matoran of Stone. And of course he wasn’t. It was just another lie, to make the Matoran more unified. Six tribes, six villages. He belonged in Po-Koro. Only it made him more of an outsider. He felt out of place everywhere, and the Matoran had not forgotten to remind him. As an cross-wired outcast, Kanohi knew just how isolating the island could be. So he resolved to be there for the Matoran, especially the other freaks, instead of waiting for fabled Toa to arrive and save the world. To protect the Matoran, give them hope, and let the outcasts know that they were not alone. Because no matter how much Turaga Vakama said his visions were a gift from the Great Spirit himself, even from the start Kanohi had known it was just a glitch. He continued to grapple through the jungle, hooking the branches to catapult his way through the trees. Brakas hooted as he went past, the water lapped against the tree trunks; there was a music to Mata-Nui, one he doubted Metru-Nui had. Kanohi could hear thumping in the distance, maybe a Tarakava? The Rahi usually hunted in pairs, but he did not hear enough sound for there to be two. And it sounded like it was in the shallows, Tarakava preferred to ambush from the depths. That might mean it had an infected mask, and that its will was being overwritten. The Makuta … the Turaga said he had been killed by Takanuva, but they apparently would lie if they thought it necessary. And if they had told him the truth, a Kraata in a high enough stage would know the Makuta’s will. It might be able to continue the plans of its master. He swerved to face the thumping, before grappled towards the sound. If it was an Infected Tarakava he would need to know, to protect the Matoran. Not that the Matoran would going to stay in Mata-Nui for much longer. … The Tarakava sniffed about, its nostrils flaring. Its reptilian head pivoted side to side, probing the trees, searching for the Matoran it could smell. Its Kraata had hopped off, sinking underneath the swamp. The sun was rising higher, and a Kraata of its level knew to fear the light. Gajaga and Cemahri continued to hide, trying not to move. They … they couldn’t win a fight with a Tarakava, the only beings strong enough would be a Toa. And they were no Toa. Then suddenly Cemahri let out a scream, and began to thrash. Gajaga swerved without hesitation, all but tackling her fellow Ga-Matoran. “What’s wrong?” Gajaga demanded as she looked over her. Before her optics Gajaga could see that green rash had began to burn into Cemahri’s metal leg, spreading like rust. The Kraata. Gajaga stabbed her spear into the water in a frenzy, only for the tree they hid behind to be battered away by a giant fist. The Matoran were sent hurtling through the swamp, smashing against a tree. Gajaga shakily stood up, as the Tarakava reeled its arm back. Thump. Ramaka’s bamboo disk thudded against the Infected Tarakava, and the beast shrieked in rage. It swerved towards the Le-Matoran, who shook like a leaf. The Rahi slammed its fist into the tree, Ramaka barely managing to leap to another branch. In the meantime Gajaga clutched at Cemahri, holding her tight. “Come on, fight this thing, please,” she begged as she pressed Cemahri to her heartlight. There was a splash a few bios away, as Ramaka’s tree shattered. The Le-Matoran fell like a rock, only for a brown streak to slam into Ramaka mid fall. Kanohi held Ramaka in his arms as he grappled to another tree. “Ramaka right? She/her?” “Um, yes, you … you are Kanohi, right?” And he … he knew about Ramaka? He knew that she was … not like other Le-Matoran. “Yes,” he nodded, reaching into his bag and pulling out a piece of blue shimmering cloth, “listen, Turaga Nokama gave me this centuries ago, it should help reduce poison.” “You … you know about the Kraata?” “I can smell the poison,” he said simply, “get it to Cemahri, I will distract the Tarakava. Head to the south, okay?” “Wh-what about the Kraata?” “…We will try to do our best.” He grappled away flying right past the Tarakava’s snout. Ashe went past he swung his bamboo disk, thumping it against the Rahi’s nose. It flinched before roaring, and rampaging after him. Ramaka stared after him briefly, before hearing shouting. Quickly she jumped into the swamp, wadding over to Cemahri. Quickly she pressed the cloth to Cemahri’s infection, and the poison began to flush out of her body, forming a toxic cloud in the water. “How … how did you…” Gajaga struggled to speak as she held Cemahri tight. “We don’t have time to think about this, we need to get out of here, that Kraata could still be here, ready to poison her again, or one of us.” “R-right,” Gajaga nodded, cradling Cemahri in her arms. She began to wade through the swamp, with Ramaka returning to the trees. … Only a Toa had the power to fight a Tarakava head on. Their command of their element and their ability to harness their masks gave them the ability to take on the toughest beasts. Even Bohrok and Rahkshi fell before them. Kanohi was no Toa, just a Matoran of Iron who had visions and could grapple around the jungle with ease. Still he had fought again rampaging Rahi for centuries, he knew how to deal with them. Kanohi hung to a tree, waiting for the Tarakava to swing. As it punched him he grappled away, and its punch shattered the tree. Bits of debris smacking into the reptile, scratching up its chassis. “O-over here.” He called out, and the beast charged at him, thrusting out its fists. He hooked another tree as it rammed through the swamp, dodging as it hit the tree. The tree fell and smacked into its head, though the blow missed its mask. Kanohi grappled to another tree, before latching to another and hurtling away as the Tarakava smashed the tree to bits. He grappled besides the Tarakava and immediately launched away, dodging another fist. He grappling around the foe, circling it like a Nui-Rama around a Toa. It shifted through the swamp after him, but its treads could not pivot, and it stumbled on the roots and rocks of the marsh. He then suddenly hooked the beast and flew at it, smacking it in the head. It staggered and he leapt away right as it thrust its arm out, exploding a tree into splinters. It swung at him, but his Volo Lutu Launcher first, hurtling him out of reach among the trees. He was baiting it, and with each punch of a tree debris blew back into it. As it shattered another tree Kanohi launched onto another tree. He hung there, waiting as the beast charged. Infected mask or not, it was still an animal. The Tarakava punched at him, but he hooked a ball of gravity against its face. He flew over its fist, before wrenching off its infected mask. He hurled it into the swamp, before grappling over and stomping the mask. The mask cracked, even as the beast stumbled in a daze, its mind was clearing. It lurched about, confused how it had gotten here. Kanohi grappled away, flinging himself through the jungle canopy. As he tumbled he released a sigh he … he had not expected things to do that smoothly. But then as he slung across the marshland, he heard a cry. He swerved in midair and hooked a tree, heading towards the source of the cry. … “Stay back, Makuta-spawn,” demanded Gajaga, thrusting her spear at the Kraata. They were on a patch of mud, solid enough to stand above the water. The Kraata was hissing as the three Matoran stood in a patch of sunlight, enough to ward the Kraata off. The green slug hissed, the mud around it turning a sickly puke color. It paced about on its patch of shadow, trying to figure out how it could grow closer— Then there was a tumble as Kanohi landed besides them. He thrust out his lighter, and the slug flinched from the light. “Burn it, quickly.” “Not unless I can help it,” he said, waving his arm back and forth, aiming to ward off the beast. “It hurt Cemahri,” shouted Gajaga, grabbed his wrist and thrusting the vigilante’s lighter forward. Immediately the Kraata ignited, turning into a violent blaze. Noxious green fumes plumed off from it as it burnt to a crisp, and Kanohi kicked the slug away, into the swamp. “Fire-spitter,” Kanohi growled, before sighing, “now this patch of swamp will become toxic, it will be unsafe to dip your mask in the water for years.” “It needed to die.” “It did, but there are better ways to get rid of them,” Kanohi stood up, “you all alright? How is Cemahri holding up?” “Okay just … hurts,” moaned the Ga-Matoran, clutching her leg. “We need to get her to Toa Gali, she could cure the poison.” “But … of course,” Gajaga said, hoisting Cemahri onto her back. “Why did you leave into the swamp?” It looked like they packed heavy, tools, sleeping bags, maps, there was a lot of camping gear. “B-because this is our home. We don’t remember Metru-Nui, it’s just a story. Mata-Nui was our home, where we meet each other, where we grew. Where we … meet each other. We don’t know the first thing about the city, or living underground. It’s … it’s not our destiny.” He nodded, looking away, “I understand.” He said, and his wrists began to flap, his arms held out like a Tarakava ready to punch. But his posture wasn’t aggressive just … anxious. “You do?” “Of course. And does it hurt me that the Turaga lied for centuries. That the lies they used to keep most Matoran safe hurt the rest, and they found it acceptable. That when we came to them in confusion and fear, they lied more, to protect the rest. I … I had thought they thought higher of us.” “Would you want to stay here too?” “…What I want and what will happen are very different,” Kanohi sighed, “Duty calls us elsewhere, to the underground.” “But … that is the Duty the Turaga claim we have. What if they are lying?” “They mean to do what’s best for us.” “But you kn-know very well that’s what is best for the Matoran is not what is best for every Matoran. We are not just a monolithic people.” Ramaka stumbled, shrinking under his gaze, “some … some of us are broken. We don’t belong in Metru-Nui.” “…I understand,” he sighed, “I feel out of place in any Koro, let alone in some city I never traveled too. But first, let us return to Kini-Nui. Cemahri needs help recovering from the poison. And the other Matoran will need to know to avoid this stretch of swamp. The three other Matoran nodded, even Cemahri, and together they began to make their way through the tree, Kanohi grappling overhead. … Kanohi grappled across the camped village of Voka-Koro, reaching down to swipe up a fallen bamboo disk. “Um, over here,” a Ta-Matoran called out, avoiding his gaze. Kanohi hooked the ground besides the Matoran and landed besides the m, before handing over the disk. They curtsied in thanks, before reeling their arm back and throwing the disk again, aiming for a target dummy shaped like a Kraata. The small village held thirty seven Matoran, with Kanohi acting as their protector. In the treetops Matoran grappled with Volo Lutu Launchers they held in their hands, foraging food and resources from the jungle. Some wove flax into cloth, others cut bamboo into tools. A few worked to repair their hovercraft, which were made with large cabins to live in. Voya-Koro was mobile, hence the name. For the past month they have traveled about, foraging supplies from the old abandoned villages, having a tour of the island. He could hear laughter as Matoran discovered old adventures, old victories. As they traveled their hovercrafts were frequently rebuilt, the fleet’s ships growing bigger and bolder. “Your village is coming along quite nicely,” a shaky voice offered. Kanohi tensed up like a coiled spring, and did not answer. “I know you are still mad,” Turaga Vakama said as he appeared besides him. A Turaga could only use Noble masks like a Huna, but the Mask of Concealment still had its uses. The Turaga was using his Firestaff as a cane, though it’s flames were dwarfed by sunlight. “I understand why you did what you did. I might have even done the same in your position, though I would have been a very different Matoran then. But maybe I even would have been such a Matoran, before I lost my memories. And I know that had I known, I may have ventured below to help the Matoran underground. Could have enraged the Makuta, or just died. I understand. But all of that doesn’t undo that keeping our truths from us wasn’t cruel.” “We thought that if the Matoran were more organized, if things were simpler, they would be happier. And safer. We did not know how many would fall in the cracks.” “Least you don’t need to worry about us anymore.” He gestured to the nomadic village. Many of them had been outcasts in the old villages, considered freaks by their people. Some were the ‘wrong’ gender for their breed, some of them had strange urges for companionship, some had eccentricities, some were cross-wired. Few of them had ever belonged in their Koro, and now that the world was changing, they had clung to the only people who had been there for them. “I did not know our gulf was so deep.” “…I would not have stayed here if they did not need me.” And that was true. “…You and I do not always seem the exact same thing in our visions, but you must know, I have witnessed a new prophecy.” “The Bohrok?” Kanohi said simply. Instinctually his hand reached to his side, where one of his wooden masks covered his lighter. He winced at the gesture, and pulled his hand back, its wrist flapping with discomfort. “Yes. They will destroy Mata-Nui. Our war against them had only delayed the inevitable destruction of this island.” “I know. It’s why we travel in hovercraft. It’s not just to see the whole island, or to flee from Rahi. We will sail away from the island of Mata-Nui when that time of doom comes, we will find refuge in the open ocean.” “Are you so enrage at us that you would condemn yourself and these Matoran you protect to an eternity on the Endless Ocean?” Vakama’s voice trembled with exhaustion, and Kanohi’s fingers began to wiggle, an anxious energy sinking in. “No, but I have foreseen what happens when the Great Spirit will awaken. Only suffering will follow for the Matoran below. And the Matoran of Voka-Koro will stay here whether I stay or not, I know as much. All I can do is protect them, maybe guide them. And the Matoran suffering below … I could not protect them. I … a Brotherhood of Makuta is beyond me, I know that now.” “How could the Great Spirit awakening be anything but glad?” “…I see a giant machine towering above the Endless Ocean, eyes crimson with arrogance. I see the Matoran ruled by Rahkshi, the Turaga imprisoned in the Coluseum itself, and even the Toa Nuva forced to flee for their lives.” “How is it possible?” “I only tell you what my visions said. It may just be a metaphor.” He winced. He regretted that he had said that dig, deserved or not. “…I couldn’t tell you the truth. But … maybe I could have been less dismissive.” “I know many of the problems I faced you did too once,” Kanohi sighed, “for better or worse, the truth makes you seem less unreachable.” “Yes. I suppose I viewed Turaga Dume the same once,” he laughed, “I never fully learned the lessons I should have, even after a thousand years. And after the trouble we had with the fake disks, I inflected that kind of pain onto you? I failed you.” “…From the sounds of your stories, you did better that Turaga Dume and Lhikan. As long as we continue to do better for the next generation, we haven’t failed.” “Perhaps,” Vakama smiled wearily, “Maybe if we peer into the fire together, like old times, we could learn more.” “…Alright,” Kanohi nodded. If it would help the Matoran, that was most important. And he … he hated that he no longer could trust Vakama like he once had. He could still remember Naming Day, being honored that Vakama had appointed Kanohi his truth name, instead of just his masked identity. “Do you ever think you can forgive us?” “I have forgiven you. But there is a wall between us now, and there always will be. We will never be as close as we once were.” “I understand.” “How are things in Metru-Nui?” “Rebuilding continues. You could be a great help down there.” “I would, but the Matoran of Metru-Nui have seven Toa and seven Turaga. I can make a bigger difference here, among the Matoran who need it most.” “If the giant does rise, what then?” “I get my people to safety, then try to help all of you. Thank of us as a backup group of heroes, who will be there to save you in a ‘great rescue.’” Vakama smiler, “I noticed you listened to all my stories.” “Yes. And for the record, I have foreseen that our hovercrafts will make landfall one day. We will not wander the ocean forever.” “…We can send some supplies to you before then, masks and tools. Once we can make Kanoka again, we can send some your way. Dume would be resistant, he is not comfortable with you being out here, he wants to have the guards bring you back to Metru-Nui.” “I see why the Matoran bristle under him.” “Yes he … Metru-Nui was very different that Mata-Nui. More distant. And Dume would rather us Turaga maintain that distance.” Kanohi glanced at the Turaga. “Meaning?” “Turaga Dume … is used to announcing his decrees, and the Matoran listening. He has more experience that us, much more, but he has not lived among Matoran for a long time, and has not walked among them for millennia before the Makuta captured him.” The Fe-Matoran looked away, “Thank you, Turaga Vakama. If you can send us Kanoka, focus on disks of regeneration, freezing, and remove poison. Those should satisfy our needs. But don’t worry about powered masks, they would be wasted on us. The Toa Nuva and Takanuva, and your Turaga could use them more.” “I know, do not fear,” Vakama laughed, “And just in case your people ever need to know, a Kiril can be made with a regeneration disk. It’s fairly simple to make. Level seven is a Noble Kiril. Level eight would become a Great Mask.” “That’s good. If you can gives us tablets on how to make Kanoka and masks, it might be good to have that knowledge, just in case.” “Yes. Forming a Kanoka is not easy, they were only invented fairly recently. Well, recently in the history of Metru-Nui. But I would be happy to share that with you, late though it would be.” Kanohi looked up as drums began to pound. He looked towards the source of the beating, listening in. “A Rahi is approaching from the west,” he said as the thunder of music continued, “I need to handle this.” “Very well. Good luck.” Kanohi nodded before hooking a tree, and hurtling through the air. He grappling through the trees, launching himself among the branches past the parked convoy. In the distance he could hear a roar, maybe a Muaka? Their jaws were powerful, their claws too, but he knew how to tire one out. The vigilante protector of Voya-Koro hurtling forward, passing the waving Matoran of the village. He catapulted through the forest of Le-Wahi, hurtling through the many trees of Mata-Nui, his beloved island home.
  2. So it’s been a while since I have frequented BZPower, but I am getting back into the role playing and had an idea for a ”superhero” Matoran. Well I liked the idea so much I decided to write a little fanfic of this “Kanohi.” (Hey for a superhero, there are worse names than “mask”) It’s just a self contained story taking place after the sinking of Ta-Koro, while Takua and Jaller are searching for the seventh Toa. It was originally going to take place during the Bohrok-Kal saga, but I had already made a sprite of Kanohi with the 2003 Matoran design, and I had misremembered the order of when the Rebuilding took place, so that rewrote the plot. Regardless, enjoy. Of Villagers, Outcasts, and Heroes Word Count: 3090 … In the forests of Le-Wahi, a Matoran sat at the base of a great tree. His metal body was black and orange, a Great Mask of Night Vision was fitted atop his face, and a Volo Lutu Launcher lay hooked to his flank. He was covered in wooden masks, each carved to resemble a Noble Ruru. This wooden armor covered his body almost entirely, and to Rahi with poor vision he nearly blended in with the tree trunks. He was staring at his hand, where he clutched a lit lighter. As the flame burned he stared deeply into the flickering light, searching, probing. And then suddenly he lurched back and forth as images plowed into his face. First he saw Tahu Nuva in the ruins of Ta-Koro, the mighty Toa being poisoned by a strange green reptilian creature and it’s pronged staff, then he was ripped of that sight to a Gukko collapsing in the ice with two Ta-Matoran falling off, like a plow to the gut he could see a trio of Ta-Matoran being chased by a Muaka through a burnt patch of forest. Then everything melted away as the very island seemed to crumble like a dry clump of sand in a Matoran’s fingers. The autistic Matoran gasped out, struggling to steady himself. Then shakily he stood up, balancing himself against the tree. “Okay, okay,” he muttered as he fluttered his wrists, buffering. Even after a thousand years, he did not fully understand the prophetic visions he experienced. But he knew that those images were real, and whether or not they were Mata-Nui’s dreams, he knew they would come to pass, if they had not already. His visions always happened, even if he understood them too late. This was Kanohi. He was said to be a Po-Matoran, but he lacked their raw physical strength, he only had more endurance than the average Matoran, along with his visions. He was an outsider among all of the Koro of the island, a freak like Midak and Takua. But despite being a freak Kanohi was a hero to the Matoran. In the centuries before the Toa arrived, he had gotten to work protecting the Matoran from the Rahi of the island. A vigilante hero of sorts, he traveled across the south of the island only by Volo Lutu Launcher, grappling from tree to tree. His fingers drummed the air. Burnt trees and Ta-Matoran, then that vision might have taken place by the border of Ta-Wahi and Le-Wahi, maybe close to Ta-Koro. And that detail linked it to the vision of Tahu being poisoned. Kanohi didn’t know when any of the visions took place, but Vakama would know more, and he too lived in Ta-Koro. The old Turaga was the only other person Kanohi knew who could see visions, and thus Vakama had been a mentor to him. And if at Ta-Koro was going to be destroyed, the village elder had to know. That was, if the destruction of Ta-Koro wasn’t happening already. And if the village was currently being destroyed, then Kanohi had a duty to hurry there as soon as possible. The Ta-Koro Guard were great warriors, but if Tahu was struggling against … whatever that reptilian beast was, then they needed all the help they could get. Kanohi shook himself off, slipping his lighter into his back. Then the mask-covered Matoran unholstered his Volo Lutu Launcher, and aimed for a nearby treetop. A sphere blasted out of the weapon, affixing itself to the tree. There was a delay, before Kanohi hurtled into the air, his launcher drawn to the sphere like Sol Magnus’s gravity. He landed on the tree with a stumble, almost tackling the branches to hold himself steady. He swayed on the tree’s branch for a time, before shakily aiming his launcher at another tree. He lacked the arboreal reflexes of a Le-Matoran, though he managed. He fired the Volo Lutu Launcher again, ensnaring another branch. He was flung towards it, though this time he missed and sailed past the tree’s limb. Quickly he fired the launcher again, hooking another tree and swinging him upward before he could smack into the rough ground below, Soon enough Kanohi was grappling through the Le-Wahi canopy, making his way towards the border of the two regions of Fire and Air. He whipped through the jungle, speeding through the branches as leaves and twigs smashed into him. His wooden armor absorbed the bulk of the barrage, while his body could endure the rest. The Matoran hero traversed Le-Wahi with as much clumsy speed as he could manage, barreling towards the northeast of this island of Mata-Nui with each hook of his Volo Lutu Launcher. … “Karzahni, we are lost,” muttered Valka, rubbing his head in his hands, “we could be mios away from the others, they could already be in Ga-Koro by now.” Takarda grasped Valka’s shoulder and declared, “don’t give up yet, Toa Tahu will rescue us, if not the Ta-Koro Guard.” “What were the Guard against those beasts? What good was Tahu?” “Tahu and the Guard overcame the Bohrok Kal, and that was before the Rebuilding, and Tahu had even lost his elemental powers at the time. They will defeat these things yet.” “But Ta-Koro is gone now, sunken into the lava. Even when Le-Koro was conquered by the Bohrok, the village still stood. Now we … we have nothing.” In front of them moved Pomahi, a quiet reserve member of the Ta-Koro Guard. His companions were Lava Farmers, while Pomahi had training in fighting Rahi with a throwing disk. He held a shield in one hand and his disk in the other, ready to fling it. The problem was, it was hard to listen to the sounds of this burnt landscape with the two other Ta-Matoran talking. The nearby churning of lava, the thick smoke, the cracking of burnt sticks under their feet, the crumbling trees and the stink of ash, all of that was already overwhelming his senses, but the two of them deafened him worse. Pomahi attempted to clear his throat to get their attention, but Takarda raised his voice with a hearty shake of Valka’s shoulder, “Don’t forget, we built Ta-Koro once, we can do it again. And Tahu will be there to help us this time.” “The Toa are not invincible, they almost fell to the Bohrok Kal. And Tahu has never failed like he did today. And if Tahu was helpless to stop Ta-Koro from sinking, what can we Matoran do? We are just villagers, even after the Rebuilding we were helpless.” “Listen, we Matoran can still do things.” “Not like the Toa. And Tahu failed us. What chance have we got?” “Hey if you do not trust in me, then at least trust in the Toa, they are our saviors sent from Mata-Nui himself. Think about how much better our lives have been since Tahu and the other Toa arrived on the island. We no longer need fear the Rahi—” The two of them thumped into Pomahi, who had stopped moving, his optics searching through the ashen trees. “What is it?” blurted out Valka, his eyes darting frantically about. “Do not know,” answered Pomahi, before suddenly pivoting on his feet and hurling his disk. The disk whirled through the air, smacking into a Muaka. The Muaka hardly flinched, only peering at them and rumbling out a roar. It was massive, its body was yellow and black, its two ears pulled down to make its colossal body sleeker, it had two powerful front legs and treads underneath its torso. The tiger’s treads whirled as it charged at the trio, snarling as it swung its paw at them. Pomahi lunged into the other Ta-Matoran, helping them duck to the side. The three of them tumbled into the black earth, before picking themselves off and sprinting. Pomahi leaned over to grab his throwing disk as they ran, swiping it up. Behind them was the sound of treads grinding into volcanic rock, the Muaka was still pursued them. The tiger roared as it drew closer, its enormous jaws reeling back— Pomahi spun around and threw his disk at the beast, only for the throwing disk to thump harmlessly off the cat. Instead the Muaka chomped down on him, crushing his body in his teeth. With a pop the magnetized mask on his face was squeezed off, flinging it to the side. Pomahi tumbled to the ground, gasping as his mask skidding to the ground off his face. The Ta-Matoran swayed as he stood up, his legs already starting to buckle. Without a Kanohi on their face; no Matoran could stay conscious for long. He staggered, his grooved naked head swerving around, looking for his mask. He could … he could just about … about … there. He stumbled about, trying to waddle over to his mask. But he felt like the life was being drained of him, he … he fell to his knees and began to crawl, all but dragging himself towards them. He was utterly helpless. Elsewhere Valka was sprinting away with Takarda closely behind. Valka’s heartlight beat like an overzealous Le-Matoran drummer, this was … this was how he was going to die. Not to one of those new beasts, not to a Bohrok-Kal or even a normal Bohrok. Just to a normal Rahi. The Matoran were helpless. Takarda was lying to himself if he thought differently. The Ta-Matoran people were now homeless, scattered, and lost. The Ta-Koro Guard had been defeated, and Tahu had failed despite all his elemental powers. Ta-Koro was gone, their home was gone, and he was going to die to a gigantic cat. Then something whirled through the air past Valka, he startled, only for a Matoran to fly in from the side, hooking his arm around a Valka’s waist. The Ta-Matoran was dragged away, sent tumbling to the side of the Muaka’s rampage. As Valka lay in a heap Kanohi aimed his Volo Lutu Launcher up in front of Takarda. With a press of the trigger he launched the sphere, before being sucked in after it. As he arced by the Ta-Matoran he e tended his arm, scooping up Takarda and carrying him to the side. “Kanohi?” Takarda managed to say as he staggered up, “listen, there is another Ta-Matoran; Pomahi, I think he lost his mask—” Kanohi did not reply, only flinging himself after the Muaka with a blast of his launcher. Takarda watched as Kanohi slammed into the back of the Muaka’s head, making the tiger buck. It began to lurch about, trying to swat at the passenger now on its back. Kanohi was a bit dazed by the impact, but he endured. The Muaka was trying to knock him off, so he just held tight, his optics searching about as the tiger lashed out. Then with a sudden thrust the Muaka butted him off, leaving Kanohi to tumble off his back. He landed on all-fours, panting for breath, before firing his Volo Lutu Launcher. Immediately he hurtled through the air, narrowly avoiding the Muaka’s bite. Then Takarda felt a metallic hand grasp his own, and he was dragged upright to face Pomahi. “He already saved you?” laughed Takarda, “Mata-Nui provides.” “Who is that?” asked Valka, staring after Kanohi as he led the beast away. “Kanohi, a vigilante hero who protects the Matoran through the jungles of Le-Wahi. While the Ta-Koro Guard and the Ussalry remain in their villages, he traversed the south, rescuing travelers and helping the villages in its reaches.” “Like Takua and the rest of the Chronicler’s Company?” “Exactly. They even say he has visions like Turaga Vakama.” “Guess there had to be something special with him, for him to fight a Muaka.” “Can we get to safety now?” asked Pomahi. “Yeah. You … you think he will be okay?” “He’s survived worse,” shrugged Pomahi, before leading them away. … Kanohi grappled across the craggy landscape, maneuvering across the volcanic terrain. He stumbled as he landed, the raw heat and fumes was all-consuming, left his unsteady and uncoordinated on his landings. He was no Ta-Matoran, and thus had no protection from the heat. Not that Takua was comfortable in Ta-Wahi either. Takua; now that was a Matoran. Someone far better than Kanohi. It wasn’t something the vigilante wallowed in, it was just a simple fact. Takua was just as much as a outsider and freak as Kanohi, but unlike Kanohi Takua was not a bandage. Kanohi saved lives, fought Rahi, but he didn’t change things, didn’t improve Mata-Nui. Just kept the Matoran alive and safe.” But Takua? He had gathered the six Toa Stones and brought the Toa to this island, without him the Matoran would still live in fear of the Makuta. There would be no Rebuilding, no unified Mata-Nui, no real trade between the villages. There was a reason Takua had been appointed the Chronicler, while Kanohi had not been. Kanohi meanwhile had built up enough of a lead to think. Spying a particularly rocky region he fluttered free hand, he knew how to fight the Muaka. As he landed in front of a crag he stopped, catching his breath as he aimed his Volo Lutu Launcher. As the Muaka barreled down upon him he launched himself away, leaving the tiger to smack into the pillar of stone. The Muaka staggered from the impact, before Kanohi called out, “Not the Brightest Lightstone in Onu-Koro, are you?” The Muaka snarled and charged at him again, only for Kanohi to launch himself away, and the beast to slam into another mound of rocks. “Wow, I was not sure that you would understand that. Not that I am saying you are are a Kohlii-head, well I suppose I am, but that was not my point.” The Rahi smashed into a rock pulled after him, but Kanohi once more launched away. “What was my point?” muttered Kanohi, who had lost his train of thought. By now the Muaka was tiring, it’s joints were bruised and battered, and it was stumbling about in confusion. “Oh right, just, I am impressed that you understood that metaphor. I struggle with them personally. Or maybe you just understood the tone. Which again, I also struggle with.” He was being sincere. Kanohi liked to ramble off to the Rahi and Bohrok he faced, gave him practice in social situations, made him less of an awkward fool. The Muaka meanwhile slammed head first into another pillar of rock, and stagger under its own weight, before collapsing. It lay faint, staring lazily up at the sky. Kanohi approached the beast, looking it over. It didn’t seem to have an Infected Kanohi, so it was not a servant of the Makuta, just a beast. He nodded and then began to grapple away, heading back towards the Ta-Matoran trio. … Valka was silent, as Takarda chatted to Kanohi. The Po-Matoran kept to the trees above them, leading them towards Le-Koro. He didn’t say much, just nodded or told the trio to change direction. “Seriously, what is it like seeing the dreams of Mata-Nui?” “If they are his dreams, they are confusing.” “What do you mean, if they are his dreams?” “I do not know what they are, only that fire focuses them.” “Well what else could they be?” “I do not know. Tell me more about the three beasts that attacked you. You said they all carried staves? They could think then?” “Who cares about that, Tahu will deal with them.” “He was poisoned, he may take time to recover.” “Ah he is the mightiest of the Toa, he can endure.” Kanohi did not reply, so Takarda smiled with confidence. But besides him Valka asked, “why did you decide to become a Toa.” “I am no Toa,” Kanohi said sharply, and Valka almost flinched with the raw emotion that had boiled out of Kanohi’s mouth.” “Yes but … in the centuries before they came, well, it sounds like you tried to emulate the legends. You rescued Matoran, fought Rahi, saved us even before we were united. Why? You were an outcast, all but banned from Po-Koro. You were that Po-Matoran, right? Dece?” “That was my name. I don’t use it now, nor should you.” “Right but, why did your risk your life?” “There were no Toa then, someone had to.” “But why you? Why an outsider who had attacks in the city streets of Po-Koro?” “…Symbols are important. A Hau means the Great Spirit Mata-Nui, it shows a place is shielded from harm. The symbol of a masked hero with special powers and a strange tool; it could make the Matoran feel less alone. Like Mata-Nui wasn’t ignoring them.” “By why you?” “Because I was alone,” Kanohi answered, “can we stop talking, I do not mean to be rude, but it’s exhausting, and I need to focus on my aim.” “Of course,” answered Pomahi for the group. It was easier to speak up for someone else’s sake than for his own. So the three Toa-Matoran and their protector trekked on through the jungle, Kanohi still dwelling on his visions. Ta-Koro had fallen, he could already heart the drums booming to warn the other villages. Kanohi would have to travel to the other villages soon, help them prepare. These strange beings, three of them had sunken Ta-Koro. And in recent weeks Kanohi had suffered visions foretelling the return of the Makuta. If these beasts were his doing, then the Toa would soon begin great peril. And then there was the matter of this relic Takua had found. According to Pomahi, the Chronicler had discovered a strange Mask of Light; that foretold the arrival of a seventh Toa. And that mask was discovered right before the three reptilian beasts attacked. Takua and Jaller had left with the mask before the attack, so it seemed likely that the Makuta had been searching for them. It would take time to catch up with the duo, and Kanohi’s face-blindness would not help much, but he would try to track them down. He doubted he could help on the quest, but he would do what he could, even if that was only to keep the Koro they passed safe.
  3. It exists only in my memory now... but I really wanna revisit it, and none of the things I remember yield me a successful google search. I'll list them in hopes that someone saved it from the void. Here they are: 1. 2D platformer game with sprites. You avoid enemies and obstacles to get through to the end of the level. 2. You play as Toa Mata 2001 and enemies/bosses are Rahi. 3. Toa Mata each can use their mask's ability to progress and levels are build around it. 4.You start off as Tahu and he can shield to avoid getting hit, then Gali has a water level, and then Lewa has to fly and glide from tree to tree over large distances, but then Pohatu has a high-speed track with loops like Sonic the Hedgehod, and then Onua pushes blocks to make paths like a puzzle. Don't remember what Kopaka does, I think scans for invisible traps in the snow? All I remember is that he fights Muaka at the end. 5. After first 6 levels you have 5 more, much harder, and this time with golden masks. Onua is missing though probably unfinished. Does anyone remember anything like it? Thanks
  4. Review for Beware the Skull Spiders. Epic
  5. Ok, first off, I started this story back when we got the first blurry leaks, so some of my writing was based on that (and by extension, I built MOCs of the Toa and spiders to use as a model. The only reason I didn't switch to the official set designs is because I wanted the entire team to have golden armor, not just three of them. The MOCs that I used can be found here). Second, this is the first "book" of the 2015 storyline, which I made up before we got anything official, so no Okoto, no Ekimu, etc. I plan on doing two "books" for each year, for at least three years, since that's how far Lego has plans for as of what we know. I have left openings to expand out for more years, if need be. I tried to write this like an actual Bionicle novel, down to font size and page size in Microsoft Word, and reread parts of some of the novels to try to get a grip on Greg's writing (granted, as I got farther in, I stopped doing that). Of note is that I used the Protectors as something entirely different, stuck with the old Kanohi powers, and kept the Matoran. I'm going to Word of God this; the tribes are NOT split by gender. There are males and females in every tribe, you just won't see that in this particular book. One more note: the portrayal of the Toa here is the primary reason I wanted to write this. It's an idea I've had for a while, and I love it. You'll see in chapter 1 what I mean. Prologue, 9 chapters, Epilogue. I'll try to update daily, but around New Years I can't, because I'll be away without internet. Anyway, with all of these notes out of the way, enjoy, although the prologue doesn't do much, being a prologue and all: Prologue Sitting in the crystalline blue waters of a vast ocean sat a single island. The peaks of the island twisted, while a single mountain rose in the center of the island. This was no ordinary mass of rock; however, this was a temple, sitting atop a mountain. The people of the island would use this shrine as a place of peace, and a place of reflection. Lately peace and reflection have been hard to come by. “Our island was one of peace. A pristine beauty untouched by conflict and by evil, a home for the Matoran to call their own. The Matoran as a people are governed by three virtues that are meant to hold true for all time. “Unity. To stand together as friends, comrades, and family. “Duty. To aid each other in whatever pursuits we may have. “Destiny. To strive towards the future. A better future. “To hold true to these virtues, legend holds of three masks of power. A Kanohi Mask of Unity. A Kanohi Mask of Duty. A Kanohi Mask of Destiny. These masks are meant to be the embodiments of our virtues, of our way of life. “Lately, however, the way of life has been hard and trying, with dangers abound.” Hidden within the many forests and the deserts of the island were a race of spiders. Their crimson eyes, rows of fangs dripping saliva, and the bladed legs made them a thing of nightmare. Their eyes broke the darkness of night, ensuring anyone being hunted through the dark be aware of their impending fate. The island was shrouded in darkness. Where once light and peace reigned, now there was nothing more than torture, darkness, and tyranny. “Legend holds that the three Kanohi masks of legend lie here, hidden on the Island of Mata Nui. An island besieged by darkness, holding onto hope that heroes shall rise.” Review
  6. Which sort of "feel" or atmosphere do you prefer for Bionicle, pre or post-Metru Nui? Storywise and set wise I preferred the Mata Nui "feel", but still liked a lot about the later years. I'd be interested in hearing people's opinions on this.
  7. Well, since I did Makuta Teridax, I guess I had to do his polar opposite, Mata-Nui himself as a dragon as well.This was more problematic since the mask of life didn't seem like a good idea to convert into a dragon face, while Makuta Teridax's Movie Krahkaan was a worthy choice. Well, hope you like him anyways.
  8. Many seem to think that the new Bionicle story is almost unconnected to the original, but I think that there might be two possibilities. for easy reference I'll call the mask maker Makuta Laridax or Larry 1. prequel From the wiki: "The Toa Mata were created by Artakha over 100,000 years ago on daxia ... After a series of adventures in Karda Nui, they were put into Toa Canisters,..." The rest is history. 100,000 years is plenty of time for an adventure on Otoko, which could be in one of the unexplored southern island chains(or even just plain destroyed by the time of the original story). Also, in the original tribal story(Gathered friends, listen again to our legend...) Mata-Nui and Terry were brothers. This is because of there origin from the great beings. One could conclude that any Makuta's brother is a creation of the great beings. Therefore Ekimu, stated as Larry's brother is a direct creation of the great beings. Ekimu, makes masks of raw elemental power, which was rare in the original story. Some of the only were the masks of light and shadows, made by Artahka. Also, Ekimu and Artakha are the only two known wearers of the mask of creation. This makes it likely that Ekimu has some relation to, or is Artakha. 2. sequel Teridax has been defeated, the matoran are now living on sphereus magna. On a peaceful, remote island somewhere in the sea(possibly a bara magna mountain top turned to an island when aqua magna returned, think Zelda windwaker) Ekimu, (the heir of) Artahka is making masks for the viligers (confirmed not matoron, possibly agori),with help from Larry. Larry plots betrayal like Terry before him, and the Toa Nuva are called in to help, outfitted with new element enhancing masks. We all know how much the Bionicle story team likes secrets and big reveals, this seems like the kind of thing they would do. What do you think? Good theories: 1.
  9. Looking back on the story, I noticed something. Mata-Nui is not a very good charactor. When looking at the vast history of the matoran universe, what do you notice? Mata-Nui could care less about the people inside him. He completely ignored what was going on within him, he required a toa to die for him because he didn't bother interviening in the (rather large scale mind you) civil war, he assigned six barraki to basicly run things for him (and look how well that turned out), and worst of all, he got all the credit for everything. This complete lack of respect for others was what drove the Makuta to rebel. In Time Trap, Vakama is awed by Mata-Nui's interferance to create the toa, but really, Mata-Nui was just trying to save his own skin. Then, what happens when he is ejected from the robot? Rather than an interesting story of a fallen god trying to redeem himself for his mistakes, he lands on a planet, paints himself a perfect protagenist with the deus ex machina face, and proceeds to ruin everyone's lives. Who does he soley blame for his downfall dispite it being his own fault? Teridax. Who became an angry idiot so that Mata-Nui could fight him? Strakk. Who became an angry idiot with back pains so Mata-Nui could beat him? Tuma. Who changed from the strongest, most feared warriors on bara-magna to mindless pathetic soldiers so that Mata-Nui could be victorious? Skrall and bone hunters. What interesting race was reduced to total obscurity because someone hogged the brown set spot? Vorox. Who got the agori to give up their giant sheltering fragments so that he could be big again? Mata-Nui. Who became an angry idiot in a giant robot so Mata-Nui could beat him? Teridax. I think I'm overblowing this a little, the the point stands. As a god, Mata-Nui did a poor job. As a Glatorian, he was a terribly generic (and don't get me started on the Kanohi OPnika) good guy, when they could have done so much more interesting things with it.
  10. Hello, I may be starting a line of Bionicle coffee mugs, stickers, and mousepads. If anyone might want one, feel free to ask. PM me if you want more details.
  11. Janus

    Brotherhood

    This is a story I wrote like---three years ago for NaNoWriMo. I figure I should finally post it. Enjoy or something.-JanusChapter One: The ForgeSteam billowed out from the many forges that dotted the island city, nearly obscuring the twin suns from the inhabitants' view. For their part, busy Matoran filled narrow streets and stoked blazing furnaces, each of them either selling their wares or desperately crafting more to trade off. The smell of oil and fire and the sharp sound of metal on metal filled the great city, becoming a nearly overwhelming cacophony of sight, sound, and smell all in one. It was a workman’s utopia, a haven for weapon smiths, and the home of the best armor in the world. And yet, amidst all this commotion there was a simple and efficient structure that belied the rather crude displays.The city itself was structured in three concentric rings, each ring with its own barrier wall, and each wall slowly moving inwards towards the central great forge. The rings were what separated the quality of the goods for sale; while most visitors to the city stayed within the outermost rings, those who were truly connoisseurs could be found next to the central forge, where only the finest of wares were found. The weapons and armor crafted there were forged by only the most skilled of smiths - "Toa Grade", as they liked to say.It was one of the six great cities of the great spirit Mata Nui. The city of the Forge: Tapa-Nui. It was from here that flowed the finest craftswork—not simply weapons, but elegant shields, armor, and even small trinkets made from molten slag peddled by street vendors.It was a hectic, grimy, mad dash city that was beloved by its citizens and loathed by its visitors. It was and always had been, my home.Or that’s what it was supposed to be.Instead my city lay open like a gaping wound, the streets devoid of any sign of Matoran—gone were the bustling crowds, gone was the smell of grime and heat, gone was the sounds of metal singing as it was forged anew. Now the city lay desecrated,still, and silent.I walked through the entrance gate, hardly believing what I was seeing, my mind still reeling in shock. Laying my spear beside me I crouched down upon the twisted cobblestones of one of the empty streets. Gently tracing a finger over them I felt an intense heat emanate from the stone—not a residue of the heat of the forges. No, this was something greater. Even the ceramic covering of the stone had melted away slightly.All around me I saw the signs of devastation, as my walkabout took me through the twisted paths of my once-home. All the while, thoughts whirled noisily in my mind: Had a forge malfunctioned? Had there been an attack? And most importantly of all,was anyone still alive?I continued my walk down those dead, empty streets, wandering down darkened corridors and through the shattered remnants of homes where my people once lived. It soon became apparent that an immense heat had washed across the entire city, blackening stone and turning metal into slag. The city of crafters was now nothing more than scorched earth.Still I continued to wander, hardly knowing where I was going, and yet somehow dreading what I would find.I finally came upon it, the sight that I had hoped to never see: The great forge of the city had become nothing more than a warped metal basin. Its covering was stripped from it by the blast leaving it a gaping pit. The many cranes that once dotted the workstations hung above like skeletal arms, their metal fused and twisted.And still some spark of hope yet burned in my chest. Standing proudly amidst the ruined cityscape was a tall spiraling tower. Though located close to the forge, it had not shattered—the Tower of Toa still stood and surely inside I would find my brothers.Gingerly stepping around the great chasm of the ruined forge I walked towards my home. The tower in which I lived, trained, and watched over the Matoran from. Once I was reunited with my brothers we would find the scourge that had attacked our city—and it would pay.I was almost upon the entrance of the tower when I saw it, the light of the fading sun just happening to glance across its once pristine surface. It was a mask, a jade green Kakama to be exact, or at least that was the colour it was meant to be. Heat had stripped the once brilliant colours from its form, leaving it a dull brown. A single great crack ran through the mask, splitting from the eye. I knew then that my brothers were dead.A cry like no other erupted from me, burning my throat as I screamed. My eyes flamed as I whirled around, desperately hoping that some of the invaders yet remained, praying that one of them would attack me, wishing that I could cause them one tenth of the pain they had caused me…but none came, and I was left alone in my sorrow.It was with this discovery that I truly realized my city was dead, and I was its sole keeper—the last in the once proud lineage of Tapa-Nui. With a heavy sigh I began my work, shifting heat scorched stone out of the way and slowly making my way to the tower.I found them all, my compatriots, they had clearly put up a valiant fight but were overcome. I took each in their own turn. Descending the staircase with one and then ascending again for another. With a grim finality I laid them down in front of our once-home. Clothing them in shattered masks and fractured weapons I laid them side by side.Unity, Duty, Destiny. The three virtues that we lived by, lifting my spear high above my head I let flow my element. Fire, like the fire that had so ravaged my land. It pierced the already weakened stone and allowed me to carve the symbol of those three virtues. It now stood as a monument to my land and my people, emblazoned forever in the stone of the tower. It was under the this symbol that I laboured, gathering any undamaged material from the various homes and workplaces. These I placed in the shattered gulf of the great forge. Letting them fall into the ruined pit. When I had enough material I went to the bodies of each of my fellows, showing them the honor and respect they were owed I lifted each in turn, walking slowly and surely down into the pit of the forge.Around the lip of forge I placed their weapons and masks, a marker for anyone who came to this dead place. I took one last look at the eyes of my brothers, now cold and grey, the spark of life having long since passed. Then I left to search through the city, following the winding snaking paths to different juncture points. It was here where the coolant tubes were located, here where the underground tunnels that connected the many forges of Tapa-Nui intersected. Here where my next task was.I knelt on the rough slag of what was once stone, my armor scraping noisily against the pitted material. Placing a hand on the path I felt the remnants of the heat that had scourged the city—but pushing below that, pushing deeper I felt the ghost of the heat that had once filled the canals beneath. It was this heat I tapped into, causing to warp the tunnels and seal shut the openings to the coolant tubes. This I did all across the city, through the many different junctures located in what was once my home.Exhausted and spent I returned by twilight to the place I had left my compatriots, my brothers in arms. Walking into their impromptu burial pit I gazed at each of them, their once strong bodies now limp and cold. I felt the familiar rage return, threatening to burn through my very skin—and yet I resisted, feeling something much deeper moving within me.Brotherhood.I knelt by each of them, my family, my friends, my world. From each of them I took a gift, something that I would carry with me at all times—something I would hold as I stared into the face of whoever had burned out city. I held these items as gifts—and as reminders of my failure. From my gentle sister, and stern leader, Alea I took her gemstone necklace -- A good luck charm that she wore into every battle—unfortunately it had done her no good. The sight of her shattered Hau rest atop her broadsword on the outer lip of the forge made me feel sick inside.From noble Pheos, Toa of Stone I took a piece of clay he always carried. Pheos was a jokester and a lighthearted spirit who refused to ever sculpt that single of piece of clay—because “then the possibilities were limited” I smiled sadly at his limp form and moved on.Toa Kyr was next. The sharp-tongued Toa of ice, his pure white armor shattered and split in a thousand places. Kyr was a brave Toa, and an intelligent fighter—whatever had attacked our city must have truly been a force to reckon with for him to fall in combat. From him I took his shield, nearly burnt to slag it was a symbolic gesture. Just as he had shielded us in life, I would now shield all of them in death.The dead eyes of Toa Levos unnerved me. In life he had been the Toa of air, a wise and auspicious fighter. The deadliest shot amongst us Toa—to see that spark of life so easily extinguished broke my heart. From him I took a single arrow from his quiver, removing the beautiful feather that adorned the shaft and attaching to my mask. Kneeling next to the body of Toa Jurian, the beautiful Toa of Earth I felt my heart leap into my throat. Jurian had always supported our small group, always helped us in every endeavor—and had always been there for all of us. I loved her more than any other. I felt the rage threatening to overcome me…and instead wept for the loss of such a kind soul. From her I took her gauntlets—a reminder of her to carry always.Still holding Levos’ arrow I walked out of the pit, glancing at the masks at weapons of my fellows. The crushing mace and Pakari of Pheos, the stern Hau and deadly broadsword of Alea, the cracked bow and Kakama of Levos, the now-blackened Hau and Rapier of Kyr, and of course the elegant twin blades and piercing Akaku of Jurian.I ignited the arrow, sending all my rage and sorrow through the flame. Then without turning I dropped the arrow into the pit.The blaze ignited immediately, the raw material feeding the hungry flames as they eagerly devoured everything in their path. I walked away, the sound of the crackling fire giving me some solace in the cold darkness of night. Turning my back on everything that was, I left the broken city of the forge—the fallen city of the Great Spirit and walked once more into the wilderness. At the gate I turned, affording myself one final glance. I saw the explosion tear through the city—followed by the secondary and tertiary detonations. I smiled a grim smile, my work had been successful, my flames would purge the city of the taint it had suffered. My brothers would be proud to have seen that the entire city was alight as their funeral pyre.I shed no tears at the sight of that blaze, only staring deeply into the distant flames. My city had fallen, my brothers were dead…I would avenge them. A grim resolve grew in me and I hoisted Toa Kyr’s shield high in the air, letting out a bellowing scream of anguish and commitment. Whatever had done this to my people would pay!==============================================================================Review Topic or something
  12. It's a story I wrote I guess? You can probably read it here maybe.-Janus
  13. Kakaru

    Silence

    Didn't feel like it was worth another topic. small large Yes I know Mata-Nui is bigger than that blah blah blah This took me like, thirty minutes. I dunno, I just always imagine that after that massive catastrophe and rumbling and creaking as Mata-Nui finally got to his feet for the first time in thousands of years, there must have been some pause as he stood there in the ocean, staring up at the sky and realizing that outside the universe it was simply empty, nothing going on in the middle of the ocean. It must have been a pretty melancholy feeling. then Makuta took over, so there's that.
  14. My sister, Name Unavailable and I worked on this project together; all in all, it probably took us four hours with both of us building. We tried to make sure everything matched with canon, specifically with MNOLG2. And yes, all the building are floating. ShipyardNixie's hutHahli's hutNokama's hutShasa's loomOnu-matoran tentsGa-koro gateVillage overview 1Village overview 2All links are to photobucket.com.-HH
  15. Just started this topic for the heck of it. Anybody out there made remakes of the original MNOLG themes? Post them here!I've made one, just for the heck of it-The Chronicler's Party Remake-Snipe
  16. Ok, this short (or long ) story needs a little explanation. I do not follow canon very closely, particularly with regards to BIONICLE anatomy. I have them about 60% biological (blood, organs, muscles, even hair) and 40% mechanical. They also have familial relationships, children and females and males in all villages. Sorry to anyone who doesn't like it that way, but I think it makes it more fun. This story is rated PG, because of mild romance between Kongu and Sashaya. Chroniclers' Spirit: Takua and Hahli The young girl picked one last cowrie shell out of the white sand, placed it in her pack, and headed for the surface of the sea. She climbed onto a floating platform formed by a living niipa plant, and shook herself dry. A nineteen-year-old native of Ga-koro, she wore a translucent blue Mask of Water Breathing over her face, and plain, undyed clothes under her armor. Her golden-brown hair was neatly braided and her eyes looked by turns green or blue, or a mix of both. “Hahli!” a sweet, clear voice called. “Oh, Haaaaaahliiii!” The teenager smiled to herself, recognizing her cousin’s voice. Then, she heard another familiar voice and her smile vanished. Kongu had come, too. Suppressing a sigh, she reluctantly walked towards the sound. “There you are!” Sashaya, her cousin, cried. Her face was shining with happiness, a look that all but broke Hahli’s heart. “We quicksped to bring you some fresh fruit, now that Kal darktime is pastgone.” Kongu added, holding an enormous basket loaded with the produce of Le-koro, “And Sashaya has some talenews for you, and mother.” “What news?” Hahli asked, understanding only the general idea of Kongu’s treespeak. Sashaya smiled, a little shyly. “I’d like to tell you and mom at the same time. Where is she?” “In the hut, working, I think.” Hahli indicated the family home. “Then quickspeed!” Kongu laughed. “It’s such happygood, I can’t patientwait much longer!” The village flaxmaker, Amaya, appeared at the door of her hut, hearing her daughter’s voice. “Sashaya?” “Hi, mom.” The pretty young woman hurried over to give her parent a hug. “And Kongu, welcome back.” Amaya added, looking past Sashaya to her son-in-law. “It’s been a while.” “Well, with the Kal-bugs on the looserun, I wanted to safekeep my lovely bride.” Kongu explained, giving Amaya a hug as well. “As well you should.” the older woman smiled. “Oh, mom, I have to tell you,” Sashaya burst in impatiently. “I’m going to have a baby!” Tears started to Amaya’s eyes. “I guess my little baby isn’t so little anymore. I’m so happy for you, sweetie.” “That’s great, Sashaya.” Hahli added, genuine joy in her face. “Isn’t it?” Kongu nodded. “I’m gonna be the happyproudest dad on the whole island.” Amaya wiped her happy tears away. “Well, come inside, and we’ll talk about it, and have some tea. Hahli, will you get some oysters, please?” “Sure, Aunt Amaya.” She gave her cousin a quick, gentle hug, then ran off, determined that Sashaya would have everything she wanted while she was here. * * * Hahli sat on the edge of a platform, dangling her legs in the sea. It was eight... no, nine months, since her cousin had married Kongu, the Captain of the Le-koro Gukko Force. Nine long months. They had met when Kongu had been delivering messages for the Turaga during the Siege of the Tren Krom Pass, and Sashaya instantly fell head-over-heels in love. Hahli, however, had remained shy and silent, disliking Kongu’s noisy, boisterous, though good-natured manners. In less than three months, the two were happily married, just a few short weeks after the Toa’s arrival. When Sashaya moved to Le-koro with her husband, visits had been few and far between, since the Bohrok swarms and the Bohrok-Kal had threatened the island soon after Makuta’s death. But the Toa had just defeated the Kal, and peace had at last come to stay on an island that had been at war for far too long. A single tear trickled down Hahli’s cheek. The pain of Sashaya leaving her had not healed. He had so many girls he could’ve picked, she thought unhappily, but I only had Sashaya. It’s not fair. “It’s hard for you, isn’t it, sweetheart?” Amaya asked gently, sitting down next to her niece. “Very.” Hahli glanced at her aunt. “Why did this have to happen? Why couldn’t Sashaya and I stayed with you forever? Or why couldn’t we have been boys?” “Well, I for one prefer that you are you, not a boy.” the Komau-clad woman smiled. “and for another, Sashaya is happy as Kongu’s wife. Do you really not want her to have that? If you could, would you have kept her here?” Hahli sighed. “No.” “Your turn may come too, little ruki fish.” Amaya said after a moment. “When you find that you are willing to leave everything behind to be with someone. Sashaya knew her moment, and now she’s going to have her own family. Just like the tides, you can only stay on the beach for so long. Someday, you have to go out into the open sea.” “But what if my turn doesn’t come?” Hahli protested, kicking at the water. “Will I just have to be lonely and hurt forever?” Amaya frowned, concerned. “No. First of all, you’ve been like a second daughter to me since you were little. I’ll always be here for you, as long as I live. And second, you choose whether or not Sashaya's happiness makes you feel hurt. It can only hurt you as long as you, in your secret heart, say to yourself, ‘I won’t forgive her for leaving me’.” Hahli started. “I’m not mad at her! I’m mad at Kongu!” “Are you? Really?” Amaya answered, standing up. “I’ll see you at suppertime.” Hahli angrily splashed the water with her feet. I’m not mad at Sashaya. I’m can’t be. * * * Over the next few days, Hahli turned the conversation over in her mind. At last, she had to admit, it was Sashaya she was angry with. Angry for leaving her alone... angry for finding a new best friend so quickly... and angry for simply being happy, while she was sad. And that’s not fair of me, Hahli told herself. Why should I be upset, if I really care about her? If I want what’s best for her, not for me, I should be happy she and Kongu ever found each other. On the island of Mata-Nui, marriages between villages were rare, because of the dangers of traveling. Or at least, they had been rare, until the Toa had come. There were six of them - Tahu, Lewa, Gali, Onua, Pohatu, and Kopaka. The Turaga said that they had been sent by the Great Spirit Mata Nui himself, for whom the island was named. They had arrived with no knowledge of the past, or each other; only their names, and questions. Ga-koro’s protector, Gali, was the only female Toa, and the matoran of her village had loved her from the start. She was kind and gentle, ready to help with even their smallest problems. She made a point of learning her people’s names and families, which made her seem not so much a great heroine as a friend. One of the few Toa who pitied even Makuta’s slaves, she still did not hesitate to risk her life to stop them. Makuta. Hahli thought, shuddering. If the Toa hadn’t come, we might all be his slaves now. The Great Spirit’s own brother, Makuta was as evil as Mata Nui was good. When Mata Nui had guided the matoran to the island and given it to them for their home, Makuta’s jealousy finally came to light. He betrayed his brother, throwing him into a deep slumber from which only the Toa could awaken him. He had then plagued the island with his Rahi - wild creatures under his control, because of the infected masks they wore. For nearly a thousand years, they had attacked the villages and killed matoran, keeping communication between villages risky and travel downright deadly. But that dark time was over; the Toa had defeated him. Killed him, really; who could live, after being blasted into a thousand fragments? And now, we get to celebrate another victory, Hahli smiled. And I’ll finally get to see the other Toa, and talk to Sashaya's friends from Le-koro. And maybe the Chronicler will tell some of the stories of the Kal. “Hahli! Snap out of it!” a young man laughed. She shook herself and turned to her friend. “Sorry, Pelagia. I was just... remembering.” “Well, can you remember while we load the boats?” he grinned. “This stuff won’t get to Kini-Nui on it’s own, ya know!” “Right.” she smiled, tossing another sack into the hold. In honor of the Toa’s latest deeds, the Turaga had declared a celebration would be held at Kini-Nui, the great memorial to Mata-Nui in the very center of the island. All the villages would come for the two days of games, food and parties. The Ga-matoran planned to sail from their floating village in the Naho Bay, up the Kaligi River to the lush valley of Kini-Nui. All the matoran were busily packing a few last supplies into the boats, and she was supposed to be helping, not reminiscing. As soon as the last bags were thrown onboard, the Ga-matoran all leaped easily into their canoes. The long boats made of Wakiki palm wood had tall masts in the center, covered by flaxen sails, but the wind would not serve their course today, so all those who could took an oar. “Pull out!” came the command from the helmsman in the back of the canoe. Accordingly, the rows of canoes pulled away from the docks and began sweeping into the open water. While the wind might not be suitable for the larger craft, it worked well for Hahli and a few other young matoran who were on sailboards - small, light wooden surfboards with swingable sails attached - darting in and out of the bigger boats, and riding the waves. In the lead boat, Toa Gali sat talking to Turaga Nokama, the leader of Ga-koro. Without warning, the Toa used her Mask of Levitation to rise up out of the boat, then dove into the water, easily keeping pace with the canoes, and returning a few splashes from her more daring villagers. Using her elemental powers, she summoned a current to help the rowers. Hahli glanced around. Everyone was laughing and happy, talking and singing. Peace, at long last, reigned in her home. * * * She tied her sailboard down and stretched her arms. Four straight hours of sailing was something she enjoyed with her whole heart. But the sight before her was more than enough to make her glad that it was over. In front of the huge stone temple was a large clearing, covered in grass as soft as the finest feathers. A stream ran off the nearby slopes of Mount Ihu, flowing through the temple, and down through the field before joining the river on its journey to the sea. Huge trees surrounded the meadow, giving shade and fruit. Several dozen tents were already set up on the other side of the field; from the pale blue snowflakes embroidered on the white cloth, Hahli knew them to belong to the Ko-matoran, the people of ice. The Ga-matoran moored their boats and scrambled up the bank of the river, which was somewhat steep. Some passed bundles of food and supplies to those on shore, and others began setting up their own camp. A few of the Ko-matoran came over, and after brief greetings, began helping the blue-armored matoran of Ga-koro unpack. As they began setting up bamboo poles for tents and huts, the sound of briskly marching feet was heard from the south. A spurt of flames above the trees confirmed that the Ta-matoran had arrived, and Toa Tahu was with them. Hahli glanced over at the line of red, yellow and fire-orange villagers emerging from the trees. Even at this distance, she easily spotted the blue-masked Chronicler walking in the front. Takua never seemed to quite fit into any of the six villages. He was always accepted, yes, even welcomed, but somehow always different. His blue mask was like the Ga-matoran, but his red body, arm and leg armor matched the fire village. Mentally, he took parts from all six of the elements: he was playful and impulsive, like the Le-matoran; the same wistful curiosity as the water-villagers; direct and friendly, like the Po-matoran; a truth-seeker, like the Onu-matoran; fearless as any Ta-matoran, and thoughtful, like the people of ice. Of course, he also carried some of the faults of the villagers, too: he was somewhat lazy and talkative, a little too blunt sometimes, and perhaps too curious for his own good. But he was most noted for his ability to tell stories. Even the most stoic of the Ko-matoran seemed bewitched by his vivid tales, and he never tired of telling them. Even now, he was probably telling a story, as the Ta-matoran all set up their tents in picture-perfect rows, under the supervision of Jala, the Right Hand of Turaga Vakama, and Captain of the Ta-koro Guard. The Le-matoran arrived later in the morning, flying in on their huge gukko birds and playfully pelting each other and the camp below with over-ripe fruit. The Onu-matoran came marching out of their tunnels near midday, humming a low song of the mines. Just in time for the last meal of the day, Pohatu, Toa Nuva of Stone, sped into the clearing, carrying two Po-matoran on his shoulders. The rest of the Po-koro caravan trotted behind him on maha; the goat-like animals bleated loudly and seemed to think that the party was all in their honor. Hahli and Sashaya, who had never been apart since the Le-matoran had landed, finished cooking the food they would share with everyone, and went to try some of the dishes from the other villages. Some seemed quite odd, and others, downright disgusting. “Yuck!” Hahli whispered, spitting a mushroom into the safety of a bush. “Tastes a a sea sponge rolled in dirt.” “Here, try this. No way mangoes taste like dirty sponges.” Sashaya laughed, placing one on her cousin’s wooden plate. “And don’t try any of the Ta-matoran food. I found out the hard way they like things really spicy.” “This isn’t bad.” Hahli commented, indicating a juicy piece of meat on her plate. “What is it?” “I think it’s volo deer.” She tried a tiny bite and made a face. “Ugh; definitely volo.” “You don’t like it?” a merry voice asked from behind them. Both girls jumped in surprise and turned to see Kongu and Takua, grins on their faces. “I don’t like to think about cute deer getting killed.” Sashaya replied, a little loftily. “I’ll gladly eat your share for you.” Takua laughed. “So you must be--” “My wife, Sashaya. My sister, Hahli.” Kongu finished. “Sashaya, at longlast, you get to seemeet my brotherfriend, Takua.” The Ta-matoran bowed playfully. “You see, Takua was supposed to be childborn a Le-matoran, but he got swapmixed with someone else. Stopended up in Ta-koro, poor guy.” Kongu joked. He handed his wife an orange, knowing it to be her favorite fruit. She rewarded him with a smile that would have melted a takea shark’s heart, if such a thing were possible. Hahli felt her heart sink again. No, no, she told herself. I promised I would learn to be happy for her. To mask her feelings, she forced herself to do something entirely out of character: she turned to Takua and began a conversation. “I heard your story about the trap the Toa made for the Tahnok-Kal. It was really great.” Takua smiled. “Thanks, but I can’t really take any credit for it. First of all, the Toa did all the work, and second, I don’t write the stories; they write themselves.” “Huh?” Hahli frowned. “Well, I mean...” he bit his lip, thinking. “I’ve tried explaining it to other people, but they don’t get it. Do you understand what I mean when I say that words aren’t just words? People don’t always have to talk for words to be there; they just are... they exist, and always will.” She looked down shyly. “I kinda get it.” He shook his head impatiently. “Words, written and spoken, are what set matoran apart from rahi. They communicate in grunts and growls and squeaks, and they only have instinct. But we have emotion and logic, and the words to express them. But we didn’t create words; we were given them by Mata Nui. They exist outside of us. Get it?” Hahli considered. “Yeah; it's like they have a life of their own?” "Exactly." Takua smiled. “Words are a tool and a weapon, just as much as swords and spears are. But words cut more deeply, and heal better than anything else can. They’re metaphysical.” He saw the confusion on her face and added, “They’re not something you can touch, but that doesn’t mean they don’t exist.” “Yes.” Her Kaukau now wore a smile, too. “I think I get it. But it sounds kind of silly when I say it.” He laughed. “Just because no one else understands it? That doesn't make it silly; it’s just what is. Catch my drift?” “I think I do.” She cocked her head to one side thoughtfully. “Then maybe you’re a storyteller, too.” he commented, glancing around at all the assembled matoran. Some had already finished eating and were back to playing games and sports. Several couples had begun a lively dance, to the tune of a band of matoran from all six villages. “Hey, do you like dancing?” he asked suddenly. Taken by surprise, she answered honestly. “Yeah.” “Then come on.” He took her hand and led her into the cleared lawn. “I asked Nixie to save one for me, but she’s so tired from all the nights she’s been stargazing recently, she’s just going to go to sleep early. Pity; she’ll miss the fireworks.” A moment later, to her own astonishment, Takua pulled her into the line of dancers. As an added surprise, she remembered the lessons her aunt had given her and managed to perform the right steps. As they whirled around with the other matoran, she gathered her courage and spoke. “So, you like Nixie?” Takua’s blue mask flushed red. “Um, well, it’s kinda... ok, yeah, I like her. Just don’t tell Kongu. I’ll never live it down.” Hahli laughed. “She’s really nice. I wish you luck.” “Thanks.” He was silent for a moment. “You know, if I told most of the girls in Ta-koro I liked someone else while I was dancing with them, they wouldn’t take it so well. How come you do?” She frowned. “Why would I be upset? I like Nixie, and you’re a hero. I think you’d be great together.” He laughed. “Ok, we’re going to be pals.” Hahli focused her energies on the dance, feeling the movements and trying to remember all the steps. It’s like a river, she remembered her aunt saying. There are strong currents and soft eddies, but they always keep flowing towards the same place. A dance is just another stream to be traveled. Keeping that in mind, she found she was actually having fun. Takua was such an easy, friendly person, that it seemed impossible to be shy around him. When the dance ended, she was breathless, but happy. “Thanks, Chronicler. That was fun.” He grinned. “Hey, if we’re going to be friends, you have to call me Takua. And thanks for being so nice while stepping on my feet.”Before she could even blush, a horn sounded, signaling the beginning of a kohlii game somewhere in the field. As the call ceased, a voice could be heard yelling, “Taaaaaakuuuuuaaaa!” “Oops.” The Ta-matoran smacked his forehead. “I was supposed to play in one of the matches!” “The field isn’t far; maybe you can still make it.” she suggested. “I’d better, or Jala will throw me into the Mangai.” he groaned. “Come on!” They ran across the green swath to the stone kohlii field Toa Pohatu had made. Since these games were just for fun, and not the serious tournament, amateurs and veterans alike teamed up and competed. Although there was still some betting done, even on these small games, the atmosphere was much less intense than the Great Games, which were played every six years. At least, every six until the last seventy years, Hahli thought. When the rahi attacks became really intense, the tournaments were canceled. This is the first year they’ll be played since before I was born. While the games may not have been serious, the Ta-matoran standing at the south entrance with his arms crossed certainly was. “We’re up next. I figured you’d be late, so I gave you a few minutes to get here.” Takua rolled his eyes. “Thanks for yelling my name all over the camp, like I’m a lost maha.” The other Ta-matoran frowned. “You act like one, so it’s appropriate.” He noticed Hahli and nodded to her politely. “I don’t think we’ve met.” Hahli flushed and hoped desperately her mask wouldn’t show it. She had instantly recognized him as the great Captain Jala himself, the hero of countless battles all across the island. Her mouth felt dry and her tongue wouldn’t obey her brain. She managed a slight curtsy. “Hahli, meet my bossy friend, Jala.” Takua grinned. “Jala, my non-bossy-actually-nice friend, Hahli.” Jala tapped his fingers impatiently. “Nice to meet you, Miss Hahli. Takua, let’s go; we have to be ready when the match starts.” “You act like it’s a Naming Day ceremony.” Takua grumbled. “Hahli, you wanna wait in the stands until after the game? Me and a couple friends are gonna climb to the top of the temple to watch the fireworks. Kongu said he and Sashaya were coming, too.” She smiled. “I’d like that. Thanks.” Jala was practically dragging the Chronicler away, but he managed to tap his fist against hers in the Toa’s gesture of unity and comradeship. I wonder how he does that, she thought. It's almost like Takua... Understands me. * * * Another rocket flew into the air, giving off a high scream as it burst into a million stars, which floated gently back to the ground. Hahli felt her muscles tense as the bang went off and the sparkles rained over the field. “It’s so beautiful.” Sashaya murmured, sitting in between her cousin and her husband. “I’ve never seen fireworks before.” “That makes two of us.” Kongu nodded. “The firespitters must be too hardworking to craftmake them often.” “Yeah.” Takua laughed, giving Kongu a friendly punch in the arm. “I was surprised they even knew how to make something just for fun.” “Oh, grow up, will you?” Jaller shook his head. Takua grinned. “So not happening, dude.” The Captain rolled his eyes and turned his attention back to the new wave of rockets that were rising through the air. “I wish I knew how they make them.” Hahli whispered to Sashaya. “Then I’d make them for all our birthdays.” The young woman laughed. “I’ll be happy if you just bring me some fresh oysters for my birthday. All the fruit and plants the Le-matoran eat are delicious, but once in a while, I just want fish again.” “You’re not happy in Le-koro?” Kongu asked, faking sorrow. Sashaya only laughed again and kissed him. “You know better.” Takua whistled sharply. “Too much romance on the field! One-point penalty!” Hahli laughed. Takua was right - somehow, they were already friends.
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