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BZPRPG - Kini-Nui


Nuju Metru

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IC: Darvin

 

Darvin shook his head once again

"Makuta may have been the closest thing we have to a demon, but he was mortal just the same. But once again I propose the question of why must one's faith be measured by how well they can gather. Why can one not be faithful, while remaining solitary? Must they gather like a herd of mahi, mindless to those around them, merely following the one they view as a shepherd."

 

He extends a hand towards the group, and the one who gave the original speech

"So i ask of you, why must there be multiple mahi, but only one shepherd? Why can not every mahi be a shepherd for themselves? This all relates back to my original question. Why must one's faith be measured in their ability to gather? In an era when everyone is busy, why must they take time out of their day to gather, when they could easily find time to be faithful that allows them to maintain their duty? Do you honestly believe Mata-nui cares whether his people gather to praise his name, or do you think he cares that they are able to unify when the time is right? Able to stand together when under threat. Mata-nui did not give the matoran and all his followers the three virtues, just so they could be herded like mindless mahi.

Edited by VoxuChro

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IC: The Recluse

This discussion was frustrating. He still wasn't getting all of it, but he thought he understood the gist of it. He didn't see it ending very quickly. Both sides of the argument seemed set in their views, and neither was likely to give up. He knew what side he stood on, though. 

 

"Shh," he shushed, stepping out onto the balcony. He shook his head at Darvin as if saying 'Don't waste your breath' and leaned on the railing, examining the group that had been conversing.

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Hormd Gronjkr- Kini Nui

 

IC: "A few hours every once in a while is hardly going to be an inconvenience to people and nowhere did we even suggest that people become mindless rahi only waiting to be told what to do. I implore you to not twist the words of another."

"I serve the weak. I serve the helpless. I am their sword and their shield. If you want to strike at them, you must go through me, and I am not so easily moved."

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IC: Darvin

 

Darvin looked over at the toa of silence he had become accustomed to and smiled, before looking back at the group

"I may twist words, but at least I answer questions when asked. You still have yet to answer my question."

 

And he said these next words slowly and deliberately

"Why. Must. One's. Faith. Be. Measured. By. How. Well. They. Can. Gather?"

Edited by VoxuChro

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IC:.

 

Arius smiled at the Lesterin, and tried his best to answer the stranger's criticism, even if they had little to do with anything they had said. "No being is an island, without civilization only the strongest, most ruthless, and luckiest would survive, and not for very long. People gather to accomplish things that would be impossible alone. "Why must one's faith be measure by how well they can gather"? Because every thing else is. Commerce, war, the technological advancement you are so found of, all of these grow stronger through people gathering together, becoming more connect and unified, not less. Contrary to what you seem to think, it is rahi that can live with no concern for others, following only there own whims, knowing when it is better to submit instead is gift given only to those that can reason, and there is more value in following then in leading, even if few see things that way."

 

Hopefully he understands at least a little better, Arius though, even if he knew there was little likely hood of that. Funny how some could let skepticism blind them to the point of being just as blind as they claimed the strongly religious were. 

 

"Now, if you'll excuse us, we have a lot to do, and the day is no getting longer," he concluded, leaving the Lesterin and begining to climb the rogue-hewed steps up to the temple.

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Hormd Gronjkr- Kini Nui

 

IC: With a nod to the being above, the Ko-Matoran followed the Lesterin in to the ruins.

"I serve the weak. I serve the helpless. I am their sword and their shield. If you want to strike at them, you must go through me, and I am not so easily moved."

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-IC:-

 

The air is warm and dark and sinful.

 

Rectification: the sultry atmosphere is resplendently iniquitous. Shadows thick and ashen upon my tongue.

 

The darkness welcomes my magnificence with the susurrations of the subsurvient. Crimson juxtaposed upon black; conflagration and demise. Unsung pulchritude of extravasation; they bled (will bleed) in my name (Recipitent of affected haemorrhage). Their death was my possession; I am their god and they mine. Cognitively dissonant deity; they worshipped me with loathing. Nominative: me. I.

 

Worshipped; god, deity, master. Definitons of the primitively instinctual (master-slave relationship; genitive case nimiety). Domination. The act of positive emotional responses in the presence of negative responses, from both others and yourself. Grammatical cases; ownership description.

 

Sic semper tyrannus. I am the greatest tyrant; death. Upon my birth the gods wept blood and the heavens precipitated hellfire. An incandescent double-edged sword slithers from my mouth. I crawl from the abyss; Abaddon, they whisper, as I rise.

 

I am greater than heroes. I am superior to gods. Twenty corpses and a conflagration. That is my miracle; my honor, my chivalry. Pain is my legacy; vilification more delectable than veneration.

 

I am death.

 

I do not commiserate, except for myself (objective case). Me. I (see: Chaos, Death, Inferno).

 

I do not weep; yet they (nominative) always do. Perhaps I shall force my lachrymal gland to secrete, and experience the sensation myself. It seems an odd comfort in moments of pain.

 

I do not love; affection is meaningless. A positive feeling of pleasure? Do you comprehend the true nature of pleasure? It is nothing. It does not exist. No man can objectively define it but every fool wants it. To grasp ether.

 

I (objective) am death.

 

Godeater.

 

And I do not weep.

 

* * *

 

Avak's hesitation to finish his already-commenced attempt at my removal suggests a secondary force acting in my interest, or perhaps directly against his (read: everyone's least favorite ivory schizoid). Words passed in vacuous conversation; my politic internal conversations reduced to debile dialectic with the covetous engineer. Asinine insipidity abounds, and presented with such delightful smiles. I do not connive or mentally diagram, as is the usual case when surrounded by my inane comrades, but assume a state of mental void. It is uncomfortable to oppose the tide of obtuseness their presence generates; I let the fatuous fluidity generate my responses. Animalistic reactions.

 

I can feel the blood drying beneath my talon-esque fingernails. Encrusted, blackened. Silent memory plays through mind with cold, beautiful impersonality. I reduce mental activities and enjoy; walking, breathing, and observing with tranquility. Smile frozen, eyes incandescent.

 

Breathe. Air soft and cold in my iron lungs, expanding my granitic ribcage as the lower respiratory tract continues its designated functions. The intercoastal muscles rumble (or perhaps it is a cardiac murmur from my ashen heart; mistaken and confused transmission of blood and lymph) as they labor, rasping tissue arenaceous. No flesh visible, only superior, impersonal imitations; benumbed and metalline.

 

Reidak,” I venture, conversation invoked from tedium engendered by silence. Not exactly a sufficient alternative to colloquy, but hopefully sufficient for the purpose of personal edutainment. “What made you think to assault the Onu-Toa with melee combat while the rest of us fled? At first I thought it a stupid action; you standing there and striking him with hand-held explosives, and smiling. I just didn't realise you were so selfless; your distraction was flawlessly altruistic. I'll have to remember to ask you to repeat the action whenever I would normally suggest throwing Avak into our pursuers.

 

"'The rest of [you] fled,' Hakann dearest, is the crucial phrase in that sentence; what made you think to 'flee' like a little ######?"

 

"For an individual with so much talent in the field of adaptation, you possess little desire to retain precious vital organs. Survival does not necessitate unnecessary combat; if anything, dear beserker, it encourages the inverse." I evince my disdain with a sneer, although his pitiful response is hardly deserving of reply.

 

Conversation finished, we lapse into silence. Eyes brooding and movements jejune, my purile companions bear more resemblance to hypercarnivorous Rahi than intelligent beings; dark physicality drives their motions, nothing more. Scavengers in the presence of an apex predator, basking in their inferior trophic placement. My breath is cold and hard within my lungs; I strain to keep myself from replicating Avak's murderous actions. Mute and pernicious, we descend deeper into darkness.

Edited by Kilgore Trout
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IC: The Recluse

The green and brown Toa turned around to the tree house and bowed gratefully. He would return here some time and repay the delicious meal he'd been given, but for now he didn't want to lose this group that seemed to share his interests, at least as far as he could understand. They disdained of technology. He disdained of technology. He'd find out more if he could. For now, he jogged after the group, falling into step a little behind them. He didn't have a clear way to show his support but to follow.

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IC: Darvin

 

Darvin merely smiled at the way the apparent leader justified his cause. He could see what he got at, but also where he was wrong. Without another word he turned back towards the entrance to his home. He wouldn't have stopped if not for the bow he noticed from the toa of silence he had spent the better part of the day with, offering a gracious smile to him and a slight wave, before returning upon his path. 

 

Despite what Arius had said, one train of thought kept running through Darvin's head, even as the large double doors closed behind him

But in gathering for faith, Can one gather of their own free will? Or do they gather out of fear for what shall happen if they don't?

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IC:

“Are we there yet?”

 

“No.”

 

“Are we… there yet?”

 

“No.”

 

“Are we there yet?”

 

“NO.”

 

Are we—”

 

“If you say another word, Thok, I’ll invert your entire digestive tract.”

 

“No need to get tetchy, Vezok my dear. It was a legitimate question.”

 

“And I gave a legitimate answer, which you seemed not to hear the first seven times. I think you ought to get your hearing looked at. I volunteer to do the inspection myself, I’m very thorough.”

 

“While there’s nothing I’d prefer – truly, nothing I’d prefer – to your putrid gaze, stubby breath, and glaring fingers invading the orifices of my ears, Vezok, I have a policy against checkups when I’m traveling.”

 

“Vezok, how do you know we’re not there yet? Last I checked, you couldn’t tell a brakas from a boulder—”

 

“That was one time, Avak.”

 

“Yeah, Avak, you’re one to talk—”

 

“Shuttup, Thok.”

 

“Can’t. Don’t know how. Poor me! And to top it all off I probably also have an ear infection. Ah me, where’s the pity?”

 

“You simply must get your hearing looked at: I think you just mistook our voices for those of empathetic, pathetic little Toa.”

 

“Hakann, Hakann… It really is a shame you can’t see anything down here. My hand is trying to give you a very special gift.”

 

“Arrgh!”

“Reidak stubbed his toe! This is marvelous!”

 

“Shuttup, Thok!”

 

“Reidak, don’t you have infrared vision?”

 

“Only shows me heat signatures; I thought you knew better, Avak. I can’t see the stones. I can only see you clowns.”

 

“More’s the pity.” 

 

“We all care what you think. Vezok, you still didn’t answer my question.”

 

“Remind me what that was, Avak; I tend to ignore everything you say, it’s an awful habit, I know.”

 

“You’re oh-so-clever. How do you know we’re not there yet?”

 

“Because Zaktan hasn’t stopped walking.”

 

“How do you know that he knows that we’re not there yet?”

 

“Because, you fool, I’ve been here before.”

 

“And we’re… not there yet?”

 

“SHUTTUP THOK!”

 

“Easy, Reidak, don’t cause another cave-in.”

 

“Or do, that’d be delightful.”

 

“We’re close. But if another one of you speaks a word…”

 

“…Then, what?”

 

“No, see, Zaktan let his threat sit unsaid, as he figured it’d be more menacing. As an expert, I beg to differ; I find threats are more effective if you spell them out, nice and pretty—”

 

“—We all know how you like to operate, Hakann, but I find your unorthodox methods way off-kilter—”

 

“—Off-killer, you mean—”

 

“Quiet, you fools. I heard something.”

 

“Wha—”

 

“Shh!”

 

“Did y—”

 

“SHH!”

 

“I can see them.”

 

“Infared vision coming in handy at last, eh?”

 

“Shuttup. They’re coming down side tunnels, towards us. We have a few seconds.”

 

“How many?”

 

“Four.”

 

“I call one!”

 

“Stop shouting, you’ll draw more.”

 

“—But it’ll be fun—”

 

“—That’s not the point—”

 

“There’s a quick way to handle this: I elect that we cause another cave-in.”

 

“And kill us all, too? Geez, Avak, you’ve got an obsession, a singular fixation.”

 

“It’s like he has… tunnel vision!”

 

“I hate you, Thok.”

 

 

The Piraka dispensed of the Rahkshi with a deal of difficulty, but emerged with little more than some cuts and bruises between them. At the prodding of the others, and with a roll of his eyes, Hakann leaned on Zaktan’s elemental powers of air to create and feed a ball of fire that hovered over the group, granting them significantly improved visibility. Avak, meanwhile, palmed a thick, glassy-looking orb, in which was trapped the Kraata that Vezok had torn from the head of one of the Rahkshi in the skirmish. Every now and again, Avak would bounce the surprisingly flexible prison he’d created off the floor or a wall of the passage and back into his own hand, making the Kraata therein squirm and look as queasy as a slug could.

 

Without much more incident, the Piraka at last reached the cavernous heart of Mangaia, where the smooth, impregnable door to the Vault was situated. Hakann’s fireball seemed dimmer in this chamber, but the inscription on the Vault’s face was nevertheless legible.

 

“Ah!” Avak exclaimed. “I love riddles. Lesse. ‘Across an endless ocean…’ that could be anywhere.”

 

“But it can’t be anywhere,” Vezok countered, “Because this riddle is clearly referring to a specific place.”

 

“Well, duh,” Avak snapped, bouncing his Kraata a little harder than before. “I meant, mister literal, that it could be referring to a number of specific places.”

 

“Then you should have said that from the beginning,” Vezok retorted.

 

“Hush children, let’s not fight,” Hakann cooed. “Let’s just have a good time with the brain teaser.”

 

“The brain teaser is irrelevant,” Zaktan hissed in his million-voice.

 

You’re irrelevant,” Thok grinned. “C’mon, Zakkie, let us have our fun. You have to give me a little room to show them how much smarter I am. Alright, ‘beyond where minds can see.’ Well, this is deliberate phrasing, inviting a little analysis, seeing as minds can’t see… unless it’s referring to the mind’s eye! It’s obviously talking about somewhere imaginary.”

 

“Dasaka ‘see’ with their minds,” Reidak offered.

 

“Mmm, couldn’t be that simple,” Thok dismissed, scratching his jutted chin with his ice pick. “Reidak, your never honed your close-reading skills, did you?”

 

“I only learn important things,” muttered Reidak.

 

“You have tragic priorities, then,” Thok tutted.

 

“How can thunder be bright?” Avak pondered as he dribbled up to the door. “Thunder’s a noise, not a sight.”

 

“There are some serious synesthesia issues in this rhyme,” Vezok agreed. “Mind’s don’t see, and you can’t see sound either.”

 

“What if the whole rhyme is just there to mess with us?” Hakann proposed with a knowing leer. “What if it, like everything else, means… nothing?”

 

“Hakann, rhyming things are always important,” Thok parried pedantically. “As are all alliterated articles. Really, did none of you study literature?”

 

“We did not come here to discuss the merits of the writing on the wall,” Zaktan spat impatiently. “We came to go beyond it. Look up.” The others followed Zaktan’s pointer finger to a discernible hole in the ceiling, camouflaged by the stalactites and the deep shadows around it. “That is where we are going. Avak, Reidak, make stairs.”

 

“Don’t tell me what to do,” Reidak and Avak replied in unison.

 

“Jinx! You both owe me drinks!” Thok giggled.

 

“That isn’t how it works,” Vezok snorted.

 

“It should be,” Thok replied smugly.

 

“Make the stairs,” Zaktan ordered deliberately, his intonation that of an aggravated beehive.

 

Not seeing a suitably revolutionary alternative, Reidak and Avak squared their shoulders and, using the stone and earth of the ground, pulled a steeply spiraling staircase up like a screw from the floor. Zaktan, Antidermis in the pincer of his blade and anticipation flickering on his face, was first to clamber up. The rest of the Piraka, their countenances lighting up greedily, followed. Midway up the narrow, perilous stairs, a few of the gang tried unsuccessfully to push a few of the others off; but seeing Zaktan proceed ahead undeterred without them was ample motivation for the rest of the Piraka not to dally severely. There was profit to be had, and nobody wanted to arrive last to it. Hakann, to his great chagrin, had the misfortune of being at the back of the ascending line.

 

When Hakann made it up into the peculiarly round passage through the hole in the floor, he gave Reidak a purposeful shove, causing the other Skakdi to stumble forward. That moment, a blue brightness – blinding to the Piraka, whose eyes had for so long been adjusted to the dark – flared up, seemingly from everywhere. The white-green quartz embedded in the walls of the tunnel carried the Abettor’s sigil-light, though none of the Piraka could have noticed this, as all twelve of their eyes were screwed shut and covered by their hands. A sequence of mechanical noises, including the rasps of metal-on-metal and a definite click, preceded the behemoth’s first words.

 

“Identify yourselves,” the ocean-deep, tinny voice rumbled.

 

“I’m Thok,” Thok declared as proudly as he could while he still rubbed vigorously at his eyes. “Captain of the couch, sultan of style, and commanding officer to these degenerates—”

 

“—That one lies,” Vezok snarled. “He’s no commander of mine. I’m Vezok, and I answer to no one—”

 

“Me neither!” agreed Avak as he buried his pained eyelids in the crook of his arm. “Er, Avak, master mechanic.”

 

“Disregard his speech impediment, he meant to say ‘terrible tinkerer,’” Hakann drawled while he vainly tried to bat away the beams of light with one hand. “I am Hakann, god-eater. I drink my foes.”

 

“…You drink your foes?” Vezok snorted incredulously while he reached behind himself to find a piece of wall to submerge his face in.

 

“Really, was that the best you could come up with?” Avak asked peevishly.

 

“I’ll drink you—” 

 

“—Uch, no thanks—”

 

“Two of you have still not identified yourselves,” the Abettor clacked, pummeling the Skakdi’s voices into silence. “Identify yourselves.”

 

“I’m Reidak,” said Reidak.

 

“I am Zaktan,” Zaktan stated, his eyes closed but uncovered as he faced the bright blue of the Abettor’s presence. “We are the Piraka.”

 

“We do not know what Piraka are,” the Abettor said. “Why are you here.”

 

“Who’s asking?” Avak griped.

 

“We are asking,” answered the Abettor simply.

 

“How helpful,” Hakann commented.

 

“What ‘we?’” called Reidak.

 

“We are the Abettor.”

 

“Oh, so there’s more than one,” Vezok concluded.

 

“Or we could be addressing royalty,” Thok suggested with his signature grin. “Forgive the idiocy of the others, your Majesty, they know not to whom they speak. I implore you to punish them lightly; I’d recommend nothing more serious than a complete atomization—”

 

“We have come to enter the Vault!” Zaktan roared. His voice, a fractured thunderclap, was of rare volume and avowal. Something capricious, almost fanatical, flared in his eyes, which he’d forced open in spite of the blue brilliance. The others, very much unused to hearing Zaktan speak so ferociously, quieted.

 

The Abettor let the silence rest uncomfortably upon the shoulders of its guests for what felt like an age. By now, the Piraka’s eyes had recovered enough that they could all squint at the gigantic shape in front of them, make out some of the random letters covering its thick body. All heard a click-drag-click, and something in the center of the Abettor’s canister-shaped torso – unidentifiable in the Piraka’s hazy vision – moved. When the motion stopped, the Abettor spoke again.

 

“Our duty is to maintain the integrity of the Vault,” it boomed. “Therefore, your request to enter it is rejected. It is against our directive to permit the unworthy to enter this way.”

 

“I am not unworthy,” Zaktan sneered contentiously as he stepped closer to the behemoth.

 

With surprising speed, the Abettor shifted itself on its haunches, adapting a more combative posture. The top of its cylindrical body brushed the roof of the tunnel, and the crystal that it had instead of one forearm glowed ominously. The Kanohi in its chest – a Sanok, its eye sockets empty and dark, a glowing :w: branded onto its forehead – seemed to glare down at Zaktan, daring him to take another step.

 

“Advance at your peril,” the Abettor warned in its flat voice.

 

Zaktan answered by raising his scissor arm and dexterously flipping his tool around in his hand, so that the pincer bearing the vial of Antidermis was pointed like a weapon at the Abettor. “Do you know what this is?” Zaktan asked behind a snakelike scowl.

 

“We do,” the Abettor clacked. “However, the Makuta’s favor does not equate with worthiness. We do not serve the Makuta.”

 

“Zaktan, are you sure we have the right tunnel?” Vezok asked, careful not to take any steps forward himself.

 

“It’s the right tunnel,” Reidak growled as he appraised the Abettor. “But Zaktan clearly lied about the Antidermis.”

 

“Zaktan, a… liar?” Thok swooned tragically. “Tell me it isn’t so!”

 

Vezok’s doubt, Reidak’s aggression, and Thok’s mockery hadn’t perturbed Zaktan in the slightest. Just as the faux-fainting Thok fell unceremoniously against an unprepared Hakann – who promptly let him fall to the ground in disgust – Zaktan resorted to using the Antidermis as more than a symbol. With a flick of his flickering wrist, Zaktan sent the vial spinning across the tunnel towards the Abettor.

 

The Abettor was prodigiously, ridiculously quick, and even before the vial would have collided with its massive chest, the behemoth had raised its crystal forearm and sent a pulse of blue energy at it. The crystal container was transformed immediately into water… but the Antidermis itself did not change. Surrounded by a glob of liquid, its momentum unbroken – seemingly accelerated, even – the Antidermis collided fully with the Abettor’s cylindrical core, just to the side of its Sanok.

 

While the water it’d been housed in splashed harmlessly off in all directions, the green-black Antidermis clung to the Abettor upon contact. As though pulled down a drain, the substance that was neither liquid nor gas slithered laterally into the Abettor’s central cavity. The Abettor jerkily raised its hands to the aperture, and rotated its wheel of Kanohi back and forth at frantic speed, but to no avail; it could not draw any of the Antidermis out. The behemoth only struggled for a few moments. Soon, as if it’d been sedated, the robot slumped slightly, and the blue letters splayed across its body faded in brilliance.

 

None of the Piraka moved or spoke, as the Abettor’s slackness was only temporary. A second after it’d drooped, the guardian pulled itself back up to its vigilant posture, and before the eyes of the six Skakdi, the glowing marks on its body changed color, from pure blue to deep turquoise to sickly green. The eyes in the Abettor’s Kanohi Rode – the mask that, by chance, it’d stopped on – were as empty as ever, but the darkness around the mask in the niche glowed slightly green, and black fog trickled lazily out.

 

“You may enter,” the Abettor said in the same voice as always, turning aside and giving the Piraka ample space to step around. Exchanging grins and enthusiastic high-fives, the Piraka proceeded beyond the tunnel’s guardian, and after all six passed, the corrupted behemoth resumed its protective position, green letters ablaze. It would henceforth allow the Piraka to pass, but no others; this was the subtle power that the Antidermis had wrought upon its soulless mind.

 

At the front of the clump of Piraka, Zaktan led the other five to the end of the round, geode-studded tunnel some distance past the Abettor. After taking an arcing turn to the right, the tunnel ended with another manhole, this one larger than the first. Directly below it resided the top of a broad staircase, wrought wholly from quartz. With whoops and much back clapping, the six hastily tripped down the stairs.

 

The sight of the Vault rendered them all uncharacteristically speechless.

Edited by Nuju Metru
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A hexagonal chamber, taller than it was wide and wrought wholly in quartz, met the Piraka’s eyes. They’d entered through the room’s flat ceiling; the set of stairs that had its head at the end of the Abettor’s tunnel hugged close to one of the six walls, and descended back and forth upon itself like a mountain trail down to the glossy green-white floor. The walls themselves were wrought of the same rock, polished remarkably smooth, and unbroken but for the countless lithographs – random-seeming, disordered clusters of letters, which could have been believed to be meaningless if they hadn’t been so deliberately etched into the stone – liberally sprinkled over every surface.

 

Opposite the Piraka’s staircase, the inside of the Vault’s main entrance – on this side, a colossal angular arch with stone door set shallowly in its quartz frame – glowered disapprovingly at the rest of the room. A distinct area of the floor a few meters in front of the door, and the door itself, were the only parts of the chamber untouched by the sigils that peppered the other surfaces of the Vault. Though its pale face was without eyes, the Piraka nevertheless felt distinctly as though the massy stone gate watched them, and none dared spare it more than a glance at a time.

 

The room itself hadn’t been what had stolen the Piraka’s breath, though. A vat of Antidermis, which clung with ropey fingers of an unidentifiable black tar to one of the walls, had been the first thing that’d drawn their gazes. A black-green leech swollen with evil fluid, a blemish on the clean quartz wall, the twisted container could have easily held three Toa; three Toa, though, would have likely seemed a paltry feast to this hungrily hunched vat. A half-dozen clear pipes, each capped by a simple screw spigot, sprouted like tentacles from the beast’s belly and ended within easy reach; if these pipes’ functions hadn’t been clear enough, racks of vials just like the one Zaktan had thrown at the Abettor, these empty, stood against the wall beneath the vat.

 

Against another wall, a stack of miscellaneous technological devices sat in a careless pyramid. Bizarre launchers, humming generators, glowing blades, what looked very much like several robotic appendages, and a veritable sea of cogs, screws, axles, and scraps were piled higher than two of Avak (who almost fell off the staircase in dumbfounded bliss when he spotted the titanic pile). Some machines were recognizable, but most weren’t, and for every complete piece in the pile, there were dozens of ineffectual fragments.

 

Another pile of much smaller size gathered dust – or, failed to gather dust; the Vault was oddly spotless – opposite the mountain of technology. This mound was composed of a dozen or so Kanohi, tossed one on top of another without ceremony, despite the fact that these Kanohi were of the sort not normally seen on the island. Their powers were wicked, potent, and seldom wielded by the inhabitants of Mata Nui; in the right hands, they could be extremely dangerous.

 

After a moment of collective processing, the Piraka snapped back to their usual manner and raced down the quartz stairs, each intent on sizing up his loot. The pile of technology was of the greatest interest to most; with clawed hands, four of the six sifted through the heap. Avak, his bouncing Kraata-ball forgotten – the slug, freed of its prison as soon as Avak had stopped maintaining it, flopped slowly down the stairs after the Piraka – intermittently picked up juicy-looking machines, snatched other devices from his peers, and whined at someone to handle something they’d just discovered carefully. Hakann and Zaktan were the two that hadn’t gone straight for the technology; Hakann had gone over to the pile of masks – he picked them up one after another, looked them deep in their empty eye sockets, and then tossed them back, chuckling sinisterly to himself the whole time – and Zaktan had approached the Antidermis tank.

 

Zaktan stared up into the whirling black-green forces held therein, hands clasped behind his back and a toothless sneer melting constantly around his mouth. The warped glass of the vat presented him with a crinkled reflection of himself as he looked at it, and not just literally. Both vat and Skakdi were still, and yet eternally in motion; green fluid, green particles, whirling gas, flickering sand, Zaktan and the Antidermis were of one nature, and Zaktan could acknowledge that—

 

—the dark fluid swallowed his legs first, sucking him down like quicksand, too hungry—

 

—without denial. He’d long since accepted the transformation, and its benefits—

 

—he was at once suffocating and drowning, his legs had already been incinerated, but now the stuff was razing his insides—

 

—were unquestionable. Being ostracized for his divergence didn’t bother Zaktan, as it might have perturbed someone less self-assured; he knew that being seen as alone gave him power—

 

—limbs were gone, spine was gone, lungs were gone, mind was gone, all gobbled by the ravenous black-green fire, turned to ash—

 

—over the others. They had never understood him, and now they could never kill—

 

—he was dying… he was dead… and yet alive—

 

—him; for how could he die? The dunes of the desert changed in the wind, but the sand did not—

 

—the pallid emerald energies that had just finished consuming him were now repulsing him, shoving him back against his will into the world of light and torture—

 

—weather away, the sand only scattered to form a new dune. Confidence of his own immortality—

 

—from the ashes, swirling even without a breeze, a body was slowly remade—

 

—granted Zaktan his greatest power. Yet even the daily satisfaction of watching the others squirm beneath his eye could not blunt the recollection of his pain, or make him forget the savory – and long since untenable – promise of final rest. The others feared the Antidermis, and so feared him, but Zaktan knew better; he hated the Antidermis, and so hated his eternal self.

 

“Hey!” Avak wheedled particularly sharply, breaking into Zaktan’s reverie. He waded carefully through the ankle-high technology over to Vezok. “Watch it, those are extremely delicate—”

 

“I’m aware,” Vezok grunted as he shoved past intricate clockworks to get at what looked like a triple-shot Zamor Launcher. “But I don’t care.”

 

“You’re a po-et,” Thok grinned caustically as he spun a piece of shrapnel in his hands. “And you don’t know-et.”

 

“Always so crass,” Vezok sneered in riposte. “Here’s my foot up your—”

 

“Look at this,” Reidak announced as he bent down into the pile and extracted something as big as he was.

 

It was a full Rahkshi, bright red and black, and limp as a wet noodle. Thok loped over and snatched the armor, then held it by its wrists and pulled it up to his chest so that he was the suit’s puppeteer. He made his Rahkshi wave at the rest of the Piraka, and put on a jolly voice. “Hello, world!” Thok wheedled as he cavorted about with the Rahkshi. “I’m disposable!”

 

“Really, Thok?” Hakann sighed as he continued his staring contest with a Kanohi Jutlin. “You’ve reached an undiscovered low. But then, I suppose I should be congratulating you on going where no one has dared go before.”

 

“Don’t get smart with me, mister,” Thok scolded, moving the Rahkshi’s hands to its hips and adopted a matronly tone. “I’ll send you to your room.”

 

As the Piraka descended rather typically into squabbling and shoving, the forgotten Kraata, sensing opportunity, inched closer to the pile of technology. When Thok dropped the Rahkshi puppet as he ducked beneath Reidak’s fist, the Kraata slithered as fast as it could for the prize. In a grand stroke of fate, the abandoned armor and the naked Kraata were of the same type; in perhaps an even grander stroke of fate, the little slug never fell beneath the injudicious feet of the quarreling Skakdi before it reached its new home. Wiggling with a desperation borne of instinct, the Kraata slithered into the head of the Rahkshi armor.

 

The completed creature rose off the pile of machinery, and was either unnoticed or ignored by the still-wrestling Piraka until it grabbed Vezok by the ankle, hoisted him into the air, and with a spinning windup sent him flying at one of the walls. Vezok hit the glossy quartz surface with a sickening crunch and a muffled “ouch” – here, Hakann sniggered – and the Rahkshi, its spine bristling and hands balled into fists, shrieked a challenge. The shrill call captured Zaktan’s attention; dissolving for an instant, his particles whirled about with the torque of a tornado to reform and face the Rahkshi, which had been given a cagey berth by the rest of the Piraka.

 

One of the empty crystal vials from the rack along the wall seemed to have materialized into Zaktan’s hand. Deliberately and quickly, beneath the stare of the unhurriedly advancing, hissing Rahkshi, Zaktan popped the cork of the vial, raised it to the nearest of the Antidermis vat’s spigots, and with the available fingers of the same hand opened the tap, allowing a trickle of the vat’s eager darkness to fill the flask before he contained it once again. With an economical flick of his wrist, Zaktan splashed the Antidermis through the air at the Rahkshi just as its clawed fingers were about to close upon his throat.

 

As it’d done upon encountering the Abettor, the Antidermis latched slickly onto the Rahkshi and slithered along its body until it found a suitable opening – in this case, the same way the Kraata had entered the armor a minute ago – whereupon the dark energy replaced the glowing red of the Rahkshi’s eyes with a sickly, swirling green. As the change took place, the Rahkshi lowered its arms and assumed a neutral posture, head ahead and eyes unfocused. Zaktan’s ever-melting lips parted to bare his ever-melting teeth in as close an approximation of a smile as could be found in his facial vocabulary. Reidak was the first of the others to speak up; he stepped out of the scrap pile and peered appraisingly at the tranquil Rahkshi.

 

“What have you done to it?” Reidak asked.

 

“The same thing he did to the Abettor, stupid,” Avak snorted.

 

“Yeah, stupid,” Vezok seconded. “Don’t you have eyes?

 

“Two more than you’re about to have,” stated Reidak as he cracked his knuckles.

 

“So the thing should follow orders, now,” Hakann ruminated.

 

“Yes, it should,” Zaktan buzzed as his leer widened and he scratched his chin. He addressed the Rahkshi and lazily pointed at Hakann. “Kill that one.”

 

Without hesitation, the unarmed Rahkshi dashed at Hakann, tackling him to the ground before he had a chance to react. Its sharp fingers made straight for his neck, but never got there, as Hakann used a clawed foot to kick the Rahkshi off of himself and scrabble back to his feet. The Rahkshi rolled gracefully out of Hakann’s boot and regained its footing for just long enough to launch into an aerial tackle, arms outstretched and spine splayed. Hakann aimed his Lava Launcher and fired it at the oncoming creature, but he slipped on a stray cog and his shot went awry, hitting the wall barely to the left of the Antidermis vat and scorching it black. The Rahkshi sailed over him, landing with a colossal metallic din into the heart of the tech pile. It emerged again an instant later, showering the rest of the Piraka with mechanical debris in doing so, only to meet a lava projectile that this time Hakann had aimed unerringly. The blazing shot hit the Rahkshi squarely in the chest, but had surprisingly little effect; Hakann’s missile was actually absorbed by what seemed to be a Rahkshi of Fire Resistance.  

 

Encouraged by the puzzlement written all over Hakann’s face, the Rahkshi dove through the air again at its assigned target. Hakann simply sidestepped the flying Rahkshi, and thus inadvertently brought about its demise.

 

The Rahkshi sailed right past Hakann, its momentum carrying it further forward than it’d intended to go. The creature landed on the area of the floor in front of the Vault’s main door – the area with no letters carved onto it – and rolled onto its feet, but as it began to straighten something odd happened: where on the floor and door there’d been no lithographs instants before, symbols blossomed into existence. They were of the same size and character as those that filled the rest of the chamber – jumbles of miscellaneous letters – but these differed markedly in that they weren’t carvings, and smoldered red-orange. They also generated tremendous heat; seen through the baking air, the ground, gate, and Rahkshi soon seemed to be rippling.

 

At first, the Rahkshi hadn’t been fazed by the change in its environment, but its reassurance faded fast. The creature looked about in confusion as the unexpected glowing letters brightened, approaching white, and became hotter and hotter. Suddenly, it hissed in pain and lifted one of its feet urgently off the ground; even through the sweltering air, the Piraka could see that the sole had been branded with letters as clear and black as ink. Panicking, the Rahkshi made a dash for safe ground again, but just as it would have passed over the last line of fire-sigils, the symbols flared angrily and broiled, creating a veritable wall of white-hot fire to block its advance. The Rahkshi recoiled, but was met by a similar wall at its back. Surely, but at agonizing speed, the walls grew thicker and thicker as more sigils progressively joined them in spitting flame, confining the Rahkshi to a diminishing – and only slightly less scorching – area.

 

The firewalls finally met at their quarry, and the unmarked area of the floor erupted with joyous flame. The sweltering Piraka stepped back as far as they could, though this barely helped them avoid the oppressive heat. They all jumped as, over the shrill cries of the cooking Rahkshi, a bodiless voice that was neither male nor female boomed from nowhere and started to recite the same verse that was to be found on the outside of the Vault’s door. Its words were immaculately metered.

 

Across an endless ocean
Beyond where minds can see
My key lies in the open
Where you will never be
Beneath the brightest thunder
Stand towers of the day
The light may break asunder
If night skies choose obey
The red sign on black eyes
Will lead you to your prize

 

Abruptly, as the bodiless speaker uttered the riddle’s final word, the column of fire went out. The Rahkshi, which had long since stopped screaming, had in fact long since stopped existing; not even a pile of ashes marked its place on the floor among the quickly fading fire-sigils. Within moments, the door was an unbroken pale face again, and the patch of naked floor in front of it looked as harmless as before. It took the Piraka – drenched in sweat, their eyes as big as Matoran’s disks – another beat to reenter reality.

 

“Like I said,” Thok finally spoke, his grin distinctly brittle, “Disposable.”

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  • 2 weeks later...

OOC since nobody in our group has posted...

 

IC Mahrika

Powering ahead of the others with a newfound vigor, Mahrika was the first to arrive at the temple. She surveyed the scene, an indeterminate look on her face; one could not tell whether she was comforted, heartbroken, or enraged by what she saw. She remained silent, waiting for another to speak.

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Hormd Gronjkr- Kini Nui

 

IC: The sound of feet on red grass came up behind Mahrika. The older Matoran stopped beside her and looked out over the damaged structures.

 

"I do not blame those that fought here, it was needed to defeat the Makuta. They did leave quite the wreck behind though."

"I serve the weak. I serve the helpless. I am their sword and their shield. If you want to strike at them, you must go through me, and I am not so easily moved."

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IC Mahrika

The Ga-Lesterin sighed, finally revealing her true countenance, and sat down on the grass. "Blame is not to be placed," she said. "But it is still a sorrowful sight to behold. Destruction is merely a natural process, part of a cycle, but how I wish it wasn't so."

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Hormd Gronjkr- Kini Nui

 

IC: "Without old things falling down it would be hard to build new things in their place." With a sigh Hormd placed his pack on the ground and sat on it. "That being said, it always pulls at my heart when I see such architecture in such a state of disrepair."

"I serve the weak. I serve the helpless. I am their sword and their shield. If you want to strike at them, you must go through me, and I am not so easily moved."

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Hormd Gronjkr- Kini Nui

 

IC: "Why not take advantage of this opportunity? Instead of just seeing it as a tragedy look at it as a gift from Mata Nui. A chance to improve on an already amazing piece of work."

"I serve the weak. I serve the helpless. I am their sword and their shield. If you want to strike at them, you must go through me, and I am not so easily moved."

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  • 2 weeks later...

IC:

 

Why are we here? What have we done? What have I done, to deserve being locked down here with five of the most loathsome, simple-minded, uncreative lugnuts in all the world? Is this about the Lavapool thing? Did I ###### somebody off with how well my machinery did its job at that podunk little bed and breakfast? Okay, okay, I get that I racked up some bad will points. Maybe some of you are still upset over the Lavapool - liked to knock back beers there, flirt with the bartenders, buy a cheap bed, whatever. That's your right as a creatively vacant lump of metal. But let's talk like rational people about this:

 

  • Reidak's day isn't made until he kills four people.
  • Hakann's day isn't made until he seduces the corpses.
  • Vezok hates himself more than he hates everything else. And do you know how much he hates everything else? Yeah.
  • Thok is a cold, manipulative ######. And he always licks his lips when we make eye contact.
  • And Zaktan. Just. Sits. There.
Next to this gang of voyeuristic blood monkeys, evolutionary U-turns, and sadists...well, when I'm up against Hakann or Thok, I come out smelling like the sweet smell of soldering wire and dried lubricant.
 
...That is not what I meant.
 
That is not what I meant.
 
I'm getting a lot of disbelieving vibes here from you guys - seriously, guys, it's a freaking bar you can find another one [and one, hopefully, that doesn't look like a Brutalist steaming poop] - but honestly, it's not like I wake up every morning and dream about setting my toys loose on an unsuspecting tribal society. I had a pretty good life before. I still could have one, if I hadn't chosen the wrong time to start hanging out with these bums. I mean, you know? I build stuff. It's all I do. I don't like flaying people's faces off, I don't like playing head games with people, or seduction, or punching holes in people's ceilings and walls and floors and chests. I like to build stuff - just...sometimes...or, all the time...it's got a killswitch built in. It's like art school, right? Bada-bing, bada-boom. Just...more like a bada-BOOM!
 
In a bada-Inn. Or a bada-park. Or a bada-orphanage.
 
Man, so much for you guys being on my side here.
 
So anyway, when we last left our pro antagonists, Vault, Antidermis, ominous riddle. Apparently I was the only one who really questioned the wisdom of deciding to have a sleepover here, but I think everyone else was so busy remembering the last time we had a sleepover hosted by Hakann that Zaktan's idea of a campsite didn't seem so terrible.
 
At least here there were no octopi with personal bubble issues.
 
So to distract myself from the impending feeling that we were all gonna stumble into the wrong room and get ourselves vaporized, I had sat down and resumed work on the Vakbot Mark II, specifically stripping it back to basics. Mark I had been a work of beauty with enough firepower to level the ground floor of a building by itself and play me music while I worked, but there had also been some crucial glitches in the AI before Reidak had eaten it. For one, the shoulder mounted cannons and the laser pointer sights could never, ever work in unison without the motherboard shutting down. After I went through this routine three or four times, Vakbot killed itself instead of trying again. A couple of the successor motherboards met the same fate, so I decided there was some crucial glitch with the weapons systems that I had missed. The laser sights worked fine, though, and the shoulder launcher was basic enough stuff, nothing you wouldn't find back home. Was there something sketchy about Mata Nui's tech that...a-ha!
 
"Wiggles. Wiggles. Wiggles!" I barked. Thok started to cackle.
 
"Is that code for something?" Vezok asked.
 
"I think Avak needs his diaper changed again," Reidak grunted. "Hakann. Your turn."
 
"Shut the ###### up," I spat. Wiggles - one of my new pets - sidled forward dutifully and tossed me a wrench while I worked on unscrewing the pads that opened up to reveal Vakbot's shoulder launcher. "I'm fixing something. You'd never understand."
 
"I can fix you if you'd like, Reidak," Hakann suggested glibly, a smoldering smile on his face. Reidak stood up to stomp Hakann's teeth into the back of his throat when a quiet slithering sound carried through the air. Everyone stopped - except Thok, who was still giggling. Only when Zaktan materialized in one piece in the center of all of us did Thok stopped. I looked over Zaktan's shoulder at the white Piraka; our eyes met, and he smiled and licked his lips.
 
I told you.
 
"Avak," Zaktan said softly, "what are you working on?"
 
Zaktan never wants to know what I'm working on unless he's going to shame me. Might as well get it over with.
 
"A repair and reconnaissance drone, for the spots we're too...keyed up... to get into," I explained. "I call it Vakbot."
 
"Do you?" Zaktan turned to the group at large. "He calls it Vakbot." Hakann and Reidak, their feud forgotten, chuckled. Their laughs were full of gristle. I wanted to shoot them both if Zaktan hadn't been standing there. "Will it work?"
 
There's a trap here. "...Not yet."
 
"No?" Hakann feigned surprise. "Has the master finally failed? Can he not even make a simple drone? Well, boys, if Avak here can't even make a knee-high robot work effectively...why do we need him?"
 
"It's not me that's the problem," I spat, and my Rahkshi behind me tensed. "The tech here on Mata Nui...it's decrepit. Years behind anything I've ever worked with. I need tools to make things for you guys, you know. Tools, and the know-how to use them."
 
Hakann and Reidak laughed again, probably assuming I'd be dead in thirty seconds, but Zaktan held up a hand.
 
"Avak, for once, you may have blundered into something...creative," he hissed. "Vezok. Give Avak a hand. Far be it from me to separate a pair of...soulmates like you two."
 
Hakann and Reidak were howling. Thok pouted and crossed his arms with a harrumph.
 
Do you see what I mean yet? Do you see who I work with? 
 
I'm not awful.
 
-Tyler
Edited by Brooklyn Pace-Carlisle
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SAY IT ONE MORE TIME 

TELL ME WHAT IS ON YOUR MIND

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IC:

 

 

Lantz approached the ancient ruins, the description now more apt than the last time he been to Kini-Nui. Stones and structures were destroyed and strewn across the ground, the only hint of a mighty battle that had taken place on these hallowed grounds. 

 

The Toa of Gravity spit.

 

Makuta, Lord of Darkness indeed. It had promised Lantz fortune, respect and power in exchange for the Toa's service, and the Spirit had reneged on all but one of it's oaths.  And even of that, the power given to him was only what he'd had had already, and lost. The only reason Lantz was even a Toa now, instead of that hideous Hordika, was because the Makuta had been defeated.

 

But I'm still here.....

 

And only a whisper of what you once were, Lantz reminded the Dark Shadow that existed at the edge of his mind. When the Makuta was vanquished by those Toa  Maru Lants had not only become a Toa again, the darkness within himself had been weakened considerably. At one time Skaarn had been capable of gaining full control of their shared body - now, it could only occasionally look out at the world denied to him. Lantz wondered what it would take to be rid of Skaarn once and for all. Perhaps it was tied to his very soul and only death could sever the bond? Or maybe a blast of pure light from Mata-Nui.

 

Who really cares? Lantz thought. It'll make little difference to me. 

 

He saw a group up ahead, Toa and Matoran in conversation.

 

"Who are you?" the Toa of Gravity demanded. 

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You are strong and kinda smart, but not too much

Which Barraki are you?

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Hormd Gronjkr- Kini Nui

 

IC: Another person had arrived. It seemed that this place was more busy than one would expect.

 

"Simply a group of Mata Nui's servants come to rebuild his temple."

"I serve the weak. I serve the helpless. I am their sword and their shield. If you want to strike at them, you must go through me, and I am not so easily moved."

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IC:

 

"Are you now? Servants of the great and powerful spirit Mata-Nui, protector of matoran and the innocent? How....quaint."

 

Lantz approached the group, walking slowly but deliberately. 

 

"Remind me again, who was it that destroyed this temple of his? The Rahkshi? A herd of infected Rahi? It's funny, for some reason or another I think it was something entirely different..."

 

A cruel smile appeared on his face.

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Which Barraki are you?

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Hormd Gronjkr- Kini Nui

 

IC: Instead of a look of anger, defensiveness, nervousness or most of the other emotions that one might expect to cross the face of the shorter Matoran, Hormd's face was filled with pity.

 

A worshiper of the Makuta? Another soul led astray and lost in the maze of shadows.

 

"If my knowledge of the sparse details are correct, most of the damage here was done in a battle between followers of the Makuta and Mata Nui in order to prevent the Toa Maru from being attacked while they banished the Darkness."

"I serve the weak. I serve the helpless. I am their sword and their shield. If you want to strike at them, you must go through me, and I am not so easily moved."

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IC Mahrika

Mahrika looked up from charging her DPV-she had been charging it after ceasing conversation with the other Temple members, and looked at the stranger with a strange look. Not a "OMG this guy is totes n00b" kind of weird, but a "What on Mata Nui is this?" kind of weird. "What could he have been through?" Mahrika wondered silently. Shrugging, she went back to turning the hand crank.

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IC: The Recluse

His eyes narrowed at Lantz. He had not approved of the fighting, but had acknowledged its necessity when he had been there, and thus participated. War was never a pretty thing, and neither party should be exclusively blamed. The followers of the Makuta had had a hand in the destruction as well. That fact, and the new arrival's rhetorical questions left a sour taste in his mouth. He stepped towards him, a look of distaste on his mask, and waved a hand at the ruined wall. Green moss sprang up, taking the shape of his message. An old depiction of the Makuta, along with the Matoran symbol for Destruction, the opposite of the Principle of Creation. He hoped the message was clear: Makuta destroys.

BZPRPG Profiles
If I go AWOL for a while, feel free to contact me via Discord

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IC:

 

"Oh yes, Makuta is a force of destruction" Lantz chuckled at the childish display.

 

"But haven't you considered the fact that it takes two to tango? As you've said, Mata-Nui's followers are also responsible for the damage done to this unhallowed temple.  There is little difference between the being you worship and the being who's death you celebrate. If Mata-Nui is as great as he says you is, and he cares nearly as much about Kini-Nui as you do, he would never have let it be destroyed."

 

Lantz strolled around the group, moving next to the ruins and sliding his hand down the chiselled stone.

 

"You are fools if you really think you are doing 'good' work. Mata-Nui doesn't concern himself with this old building shell, and neither should you."

 

The Toa of Gravity activated his Pakari and punched the wall with his closed fist. A dent appeared, pieces of rock crumbling around it and falling to the ground. 

 

"Where is the entrance to Vault?"

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Which Barraki are you?

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Hormd Gronjkr- Kini Nui

 

IC: "You don't know much about Mata Nui do you? Growth requires some element of struggle and the Kini Nui is indeed one of his Holy Places, but at the end it is merely a collection of stones. Structures can always be rebuilt, many times even better for the fact that they were destroyed."

 

As the Toa cracked and dented a wall Hormd tried not to wince.

 

Well at least we known the structural integrity of that wall.

 

"I assume you mean the entrance to Mangaia. I don't know the exact location of its entrance here, but I imagine that it should not be too hard to find a large hole in the ground

"I serve the weak. I serve the helpless. I am their sword and their shield. If you want to strike at them, you must go through me, and I am not so easily moved."

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IC:

 

Lantz slowly eyed each person that talked to him.

 

"My point?" Lantz cackled. "Why, I'm just a concerned citizen of this island. I try to help people see the error of their ways, even if they are to stubborn to open their eyes.  I must confess though, that is not why I have come to Kini-Nui today. Like I've mentioned, I'm looking for the Vault, Makuta's last gift to the island of Mata-Nui.

 

"And I would...appreciate a guide" Lantz said menacingly. 

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