BZPRPG - Po-Wahi

[Onaku]

IC: Ardoku

Meanwhile, Ardoku strode in a different direction, deciding to explore parts of the Koro he hadn't visited before. This direction took him to the Sentinel HQ... and suddenly he bumped into a toa of fire. "Oh... sorry. Didn't see you there. I'll just..." He suddenly noticed a toa of gravity running towards them. "Uh... you don't happen to know who that is, do you?"

 

OOC: Hint hint, Observedhalo, Ardoku bumped into Athiel...

[Wotz]

IC: Noka

 

Noka shrugged. "Your guess is better than mine," she leaned forward in her chair urgently. "Please, whatever incling you or your client has of where to find him, you must take me to him. I'm sure there is yet good in him, deep down."

[Toatapio Nuva]

IC Khervos

(Po-Koro, Noka's place):

 

Khervos scratched the top of his mask in annoyance at Noka's suggestion. It was far from wise to involve old acquaintances of murderers in their pursuit, especially when said acquaintances had some kind of feelings for the latter. Noka probably didn't even realize it, but bringing him close to Kuhrin might even make her another victim. And if Kuhrin managed to get hold of Noka, he might even use her to escape once cornered.

 

"I'm not sure if that's a good idea, Noka", Khervos began. "You could see him once he's safely lcked up, but until then we have to be extremely careful. He is a wanted criminal now after all, no matter what good there might be 'deep inside' of him. He's violated the law so he will have to serve the sentence anyway."

[Wotz]

IC: Noka

 

"So if I did bring him back, he would still be convicted?" Noka replied, raising her voice slightly. "That isn't fair! The real Kuhrin is an innocent man, it was the stupidity of society and Makuta's darkness that turned him into this... Monster. This murderer you speak of isn't Kuhrin, it's an agent of darkness!"

 

Suddenly, glancing at the door, she realised how loudly she was speaking, and moved closer, now speaking in hushed tones. "Please, just give me a chance, one opportunity with as much security as you like for me to speak to him. I swear I-"

 

There was a knock at the door. Noka froze. "Hide."

[Toatapio Nuva]

IC Khervos

(Po-Koro, Noka's place):

 

"The law is still the l-", Khervos was saying just as someone knocked on the door.

 

"Hide", Noka said.

 

"I don't think that's a good idea, what if he...", Khervos began, but a look from Noka silenced him. Sighing in exasperation, Khervos crawled under Noka's bed, all the while thinking: I'm starting to think this was a really bad idea...

[Geardirector]

IC: Prei

 

It is rather quiet now. Night is beginning to fall. I seem to be alone on this bench here in the square.

 

OOC: Open for interaction.

 

IC: Korru (Po-Koro City Square)

 

Korru was musing, even after the stint with Vrina, Athiel and Qyntar had turned out to be a bust, he'd still been at least a little excited by the prospect of 'getting back in the game' as it were.

 

The improbably gargantuan Lesterin ached for some form of distraction, and found it in the form of his favorite Ba-Toa sitting by himself on a bench in the city square.

 

"Hi there, how are ya?" he asked.

 

OOC: So... I guess this is for you, Krayzikk (people still call you that, right?)

[Wotz]

IC: Noka

 

Just as the final edges of Khervos disappeared under the bed, the door creaked open. Noka spun around to find Kutsan standing in the doorway, leaning on his cane, the eyes of his Pehkui narrowed suspiciously at her, standing alone in the middle of her room. If Khervos could see her eyes, he would see the most desperate plea for help, for she knew what was about to happen.

 

"Who were you talking to?" Kutsan asked, his eyes darting around the room in search of potential hiding places.

 

"What do you mean, Grandfather?" Noka replied innocently. "I wasn't talking."

 

"Don't lie to me, child, I heard voices. Where is the man you have here?"

 

"I don't-"

 

He dashed forward at a speed far quicker than expected for a man of his age, grabbing his granddaughter by the neck and holding on tight, his fingers an iron vice from which she could not escape. "Where is he?!"

 

"Grandfather!" She squealed, unable to force out any more words. Without thinking, she glanced briefly at her bed. Kutsan followed her gaze. With his attention now taken, he released her, and she fell back into a chair, gasping for breath and coughing.

 

Khervos saw Kutsan's accusing eyes appear before him and glare. Gritting his teeth, he reached under the bed to grab the Matoran.

[Toatapio Nuva]

OOC: So I'm assuming Kutsan looked under the bed and thus actually saw Khervos? Also, sorry for the auto-hit, I don't think there's any chance Kutsan could dodge an ambush like this, especially from his position. If you disagree, I can retcon.

 

IC Khervos

(Po-Koro, Noka's place):

 

Yes, this was a very bad idea.

 

Before Kutsan could grab Khervos, a bamboo disk flew from beneath the bed, striking Kutsan's feet and toppling him over. Khervos quickly scrambled from under the bed, still holding the disk launcher used to launch the disk.

 

"Khervos, Private Eye", Khervos said with the no-nonsense voice of a professional detective. "I am here under professional capacity and I assure you I have full license granted by the Ta-Koro government to conduct my job duties within this residence."

Edited February 12, 2014 by Toatapio Nuva

[Silvan Haven]

OOC: Thanks for pointing it out.

 

IC: Vhohan

"I see. And about this organization you have thought of - which Koro would it be based in?"

 

Lenat- Po-koro- Tech Expo

 

IC: "All of the koro, hopefully. The current plan is to have a post in each of the villages with a radio. That way the members have a place they can go to if they need to send a message. Designs, being pictures, cannot be sent by radio so special courier system will be set up for speedy delivery."

[Techn0geist]

IC: Sister, Kai'lan - Kai'lan's Remedies

"You should eat, we've got a big day ahead of us."

Sister contemplated the toast in front of her, and took a hesitant bite, before pushing the plate away. "Not hungry."

"You're never hungry any more. Something on your mind?" Kai'lan looked across to her cabinet. "Nothing the right mixture can't fix."

"It's nothing, Kai. I'm just not hungry." She sighed the sigh that signified that it wasn't nothing, which Kai picked up on.

"What's troubling you, Sis?"

"Don't call me that!" Sister said, standing up and planting her hands on the table. "I'm not your 'sis'! 'Sis' implies we have any kind of meaningful working relationship!"

The Apothecary sighed and stood up in a calm manner, and leant over the table, getting in Sister's face. "Sister, I have taken you into my home, under my wing, and employ, and in return, I give you a bed and a small allowance. The very least I ask from you, Sister, is a bit of respect."

Kai'lan's yellow eyes darkened to black.

"Got it?"

Sister nodded vigorously, and within a minute, only crumbs adorned the plate.

"I'm... sorry I had to bring her out. Sometimes cynical just isn't enough."

Sister sat still, staring straight ahead, deep in thought.

"We cool?"

"Where's Zeal?"

Kai'lan sighed. "Not this again... I don't know, and I don't care."

"Maybe he's here in Po-Koro."

"I told him not to come here. Ever"

Sister paused. "Why?"

Kai'lan walked around to Sister's side of the table, knelt down to her height, and placed her hands on her shoulders. "Because Zeal is a dangerous man and isn't to be trusted, not by you, or anyone."

"He made a mistake, it's not outside the realm of possibility he's better now."

"I'm not taking that chance. Sister, we're safe here, I have friends in the Guard who can keep him out of Po-Koro."

"Wh-.... Why would you do that to him?"

Kai knelt there for a few seconds more, then retreated into the backroom. She was short on Pain Elixir.

[Wotz]

OOC: It's alright, Kutsan is an NPC.

 

IC: Noka

 

The fire in Kutsan's eyes was clear as his gaze shot back and forth like a blade between Khervos and Noka. She swallowed, forcing herself to her feet. "Grandfather, please listen. He hasn't done anything wrong," she croaked, but the old man did not reply. He merely stood between them, gritting his teeth, words failing to reflect his fury. "...And neither have I."

 

At this, his wrath descended upon her. He swung his cane, striking her in the knee, then the hip, then the neck, then the face, then the body, and again, and again. She fell to the ground under its force, crying in agony and pleading for him to stop, but all he responded with were more words of abuse and hatred. Every few seconds she would hold her eyes closed and try to shut out the pain, but then he would only hit her harder, until flecks of blood began to join the droplets of tears and dust in the air around her.

[Observedhalo]

IC: Athiel

 

Athiel wasn't paying attention when a stranger bumped into him from behind. He started to apologize, when he noticed someone walking towards them. The stranger then asked a question, that strangely enough he knew the answer to. "The Toa your referring to is Qyntar, Toa of Gravity."

 

OOC: I'm back, again.

[Toatapio Nuva]

OOC: Abusive grandfather? That's a new one.

 

IC Khervos

(Po-Koro, Noka's place):

 

This was enough to make Khervos run to Kutsan, grab him with both of his strong hands and literally heave him off Noka. "Stop!" he shouted, turning around and almost shoving Kutsan on the bed. Khervos now stood between him and Noka in a protective stance. "How can you do this to your granddaughter? She has done nothing to violate your wishes, and certainly nothing against the three virtues."

[Onaku]

IC: Ardoku

"And he's... definitely not a psychopathic murderer on your trail or anything, right?" Ardoku sighed. "Never mind, sorry about that, I'll just..." Ardoku looked around, noticing he had no idea where he was going to go or what he was going to do. A distressed expression crept over Ardoku's face.

[Geardirector]

IC: Melna (Po-Koro Inn)

 

Melna was panting as she reveled in the applause (and whistles), walking back to the counter where Sirius was leading the applause. She grabbed her glass and raised it to the crowd, getting a cheer in response, she grinned once again, finally feeling like her old self again, at lest for now.

 

She looked around at the crowd, scouting. And there, in the back, she found Day, not an easy feat considering how his jet black armor melded with the shadows like it was made from them, but his eye were glowing brighter than ever, it was obvious their performance had had some effect on him too.

 

Melna raised her glass in his direction, and winked, before downing the glass in one go.

[a goose]

OOC: PSYCHOPATH NO.2

(this jam is brought to you in association with one wotsiznaim, who wrote the parts that aren't grey. be sure to thank him later)

 

IC:

 

The sun was beating down on the building, its bricks burning to the touch, its windows dirty from an odd combination of laziness and necessity: none of the bar's patrons particularly cared for having the light from outside bother them in their drunken stupors, and even if the sand was wiped away from the windows it would be back by the same time the next day. The curse of living in Po-Wahi. Just another reason Donal was glad to be a Le-Wahi native.

 

The coat, hat and sunglasses he wore he had stolen from a traveller out in the desert. The hat and coat he would discard afterwards -- the sunglasses he had come to like. The only reason he had them was to support his alias, and prevent being recognised. Koura, as it turned out, was pretty goddamn useless at finding people; the only information she had was that Stendhal was somewhere in Po-Wahi, and even then she had failed to mention that he was a fugitive. After that, Donal had evaluated his options: continue searching as himself, or adopt a temporary pseudonym.

He went for the pseudonym.

 

Of course, even then there's a difficulty -- there appeared to be a dearth of people on the island with the same name, and very specific yet simultaneously ambiguous naming conventions, and as such he had to choose a name he knew that no one else would; one that nobody had heard, and even if they had they would forget it soon thereafter as a result of how utterly unimportant its owner was. But most importantly, a name that they wouldn't be able to properly relate if they were questioned later.

 

Donal walked up to the bartender, tilting his sunglasses down to flash his brilliant emerald eyes at him. "Hey, I'd like a pint of the cheapest alcoholic beverage available that won't blind me."

 

The bartender raised an eyebrow and held his cloth in both hands. There was a short pause as he stared at Donal for a moment, then shook his head. "Comin' right up, sunshine. Let me just go and open another barrel."

 

He slipped through a door behind him into a small storage cupboard, the shelves of which were filled with tins, jars and a few large kegs. The Matoran opened one of the tins and poured its contents - a black, foul-smelling alcoholic liquid - into a flagon, then stepped back through the door and planted it firmly on the counter in front of Donal.

 

"2 Widgets."

 

Donal nodded, passing two widgets over the counter and downing some of the repulsive beverage, taking some small pleasure in knowing he'd gotten it for free -- a dead man's money was money all the same. "I'm Reichenbach," he smiled emotionlessly, staring icily at the bartender. There were a few seconds of silence as he allowed his unusual alias to sink in. "It's a family name."

He then paused thoughtfully, before breaking out into an effervescent grin, despite the sustained coldness in his eyes. "Haven't had a drink as bad as that since I was last in Xa-Koro. No matter where I go, I always find myself missing that taste of home."

He took another swig of the drink, and by the time he lay it back down on the counter his mouth had become rigid, his expression one of the utmost seriousness. "I travel around a lot, y'see. Since the Islets disappeared into the depths of the ocean, I've been working on the mainland. Freelance bounty hunter. And right now, I'm looking for a guy I hear is somewhere in this area. Toa, 'bout yay high, wears a Kualsi. Apparently he's a little bit crazy. Goes by the name of Stendhal."

 

The barman narrowed his eyes and leaned in closer to 'Reichenbach', so that nobody else could hear his words. "You sure yer a bounty hunter, mate? Looks like yer trynna hide yer identity with that coat and hat. How do I know you ain't runnin' from somethin', trynna get protection? Why should I tell you anyfin'?"

 

The Matoran's slang was forced - either he wasn't a natural simpleton, or he was speaking the words of somebody more sophisticated.

 

Donal smiled a winning smile, displaying his teeth, intentionally dyed yellow by the berries he'd eaten on his way there. No one from the Kumu Islets would be too interested in oral hygiene. It would take some kind of tooth expert to distinguish between them and legitimately maltreated teeth, and the abundance of maltreated teeth in the world stood testament to how few of those there were. "Listen, 'mate'. You try nabbing lowlifes for money, see how it treats you. You aren't gonna want to be immediately identified. And second, neither my coat nor my hat disguises my magnificently carved jawline, one of my most distinguishing features, so not only do I have a sense of honour, I have a knowledge of overkill. I mean really. Look at my jawline. Hiding that, now that'd be a true crime."

He leaned back in his seat, the knife he held in his left hand glinting in the thin light of the bar, visible only to the bartender. "Now tell me, in your natural vernacular, if my paycheque passed through here."

 

The bartender was afraid - not of the Toa inches in front of him, but of something on his mind, the gun barrel pointed at the back of his head. "I ain't seen no blue 'n gold Toa passin' through 'ere, sorry, mate."

 

A look of sudden realisation snapped his eyes wide. 'Reichenbach' hadn't said anything about Stendhal being blue and gold.

 

His gaze shot over to the corner of the room, just as his hands slammed down flat on the counter, his face straining under the force. He tried to lift his hands, but they wouldn't move. They just got heavier and heavier. Gradually, the pain increased, to the point where his hands started crunching and cracking under their own weight, and the counter bent and groaned beneath them.

 

"Please," he growled, flecks of spit and tears flying from his face as he thrust himself forward. "Get out of here! I can't help you, please, just go-" his last word was cut off by a cry of pain as three bones snapped in quick succession.

 

Donal grinned and stood up as the bartender collapsed, looking over at where he had glanced before falling on to the bar -- a blue and gold Toa wearing a Kualsi sat there, just as expected. He winked at him, putting a little pressure on his armour to make sure he was aware that he was just as capable of crushing him, and then dropped his knife on the floor to show he wasn't hostile. Some of the other patrons had noticed by now, but were either too drunk or too scared to intervene.

"Come on out, fella," he chided loudly, putting on a drawl. "We got ourselves some business to discuss, and I ain't doin' it over a corpse."

 

A pause while the bartender's hands began to bleed, then Stendhal smirked. In the blink of an eye, he had crossed the room and planted his feet firmly on Donal's chest and stomach, the velocity of his quick travel tipping the bar stool, causing Donal to fall onto his back, Stendhal's foot still on his chest, its elemental power-enhanced weight pinning him to the floor.

 

The bartender gasped in relief as he was released, and fell back against the walls, his two bleeding messes raised in the air in shock.

 

Stendhal looked down into Donal's eyes furiously. "You do not come looking for me," his intense, animalistic voice rang through the room, serving as a warning to the pitiful lowlifes cowering all around him. "I come looking for you." He lifted his foot off of the other Toa's chest and helped him to his feet. "Why do you desire my services?"

 

Donal refused the help, standing by himself. He seemed to stumble for a moment, almost falling again, but quickly pushed himself back up with the hand he had used to stop his fall, taking hold of Stendhal's arm with the other, balancing himself.

"I think," Donal smirked, "That this would best be discussed outside, don't you?"

His knife glinted again, now held perilously close to Stendhal's abdomen. In an instant, the trick was made clear -- Donal hadn't actually stumbled, he'd just needed to lift his weapon from the ground unnoticed, and taking hold of Stendhal was only in order to get close enough to make use of it.

 

"Yes," replied Stendhal calmly, acknowledging the knife respectfully. "I believe that would be wise."

 

He wrapped a plain white, linen scarf around his face so that only his eyes, lips and the protrusions of his mask could be seen, then pulled his hood over his head and lead the way out the back door into a darkened alleyway.

 

 

"So," he asked without turning around, once the door was closed behind them. "I don't believe we have been properly acquainted, my 'bounty hunter'. You are...?"

 

Donal allowed himself to relax slightly once they were outside, realising that for now at least a fight was off the tables. Even if a little disappointed, he was still in control of the situation -- that was what really mattered.

"I'm no bounty hunter, mate," Donal smirked, taking off the sunglasses and putting them into his pocket. He looked into Stendhal's eyes with an intense gaze which he seemed dead-set on refusing to relinquish. "I did come here looking for you on monetary matters, though." He brandished the sheet of paper Koura had given him, Stendhal's name clearly displayed on it. "Someone thought I should search you out."

 

Stendhal's eyes narrowed beneath the scarf, eyeing his name suspiciously. "What for?"

 

Ain't that just a question we'd all like an answer to.

"Y'see, that's information I can't share with you right now," Donal sighed, frowning, a kind of malicious glee shining through in his eyes. "I can only share it under the caveat that you're in the loop, and you aren't in the loop yet. Even then I'd have to talk to the people I'm dealing with, get the all-clear... It's all rather complicated."

The corner of Donal's mouth twitched upward slightly as he delivered his last few lines, the impression of overconfidence and a superiority complex immediately given by the combined acts. "I can tell you, though, that's there's glory involved. Fame, fortune... possibly even a clean slate, if all goes well. Not to show my whole hand, but from what I know this could work out quite favourably for you. No more need to hide that handsome face of yours."

 

Stendhal dwelt upon the Toa's words for a moment in silence. Slowly and calmly, he drew a scroll from under his robe and unravelled it. He spent a few seconds analysing the scroll, then rolled it back up and put it away.

 

"I will come with you," he replied at last. "If only to see that you even know what you're doing."

 

Donal's eyes became cold and reptilian as they continued to stare into Stendhal's. "You want proof I know what I'm doing?"

He chuckled slightly, still refusing to relocate his gaze. "I walked into that bar aware of your name, your mask, the town you were in and the fact that there's a price on your head. I left knowing your appearance, your element, your exact location, your first attacking strategies, your immediately available means of disguise, your god complex -- do you want me to go on?" He gave no time for an answer. "I thought not. And what do you know about me? You don't even know my name, Stendhal. I am at a distinct advantage over you in every possible way. And I think it's safe to say I know what I'm doing."

 

He allowed some time for everything he'd said to sink in, folding his arms. "Name's Donal, by the way. Nice to meet you."

 

Stendhal desperately searched his mind for some kind of trump card to play, but instead found that Donal was right. This total stranger was five steps ahead of him, and they had just met. Defeat was a relatively new feeling for Stendhal, but he did not show it. His face of stone remained resolute, if irritated by Donal's point.

 

"So," he boomed, changing the subject. "Where exactly are we going, Donal?"

 

Donal nodded, the warmth returning to his demeanor. "A little out of town. I rented a safehouse here, I've got some supplies. We'll set up camp in the desert, wait for further orders. They'll reach us, maybe in a day or two at most."

 

Donal turned his back for a second, and then spun around again. "Oh, and while we're on it: welcome to the team."

[Wade.]

IC: Day

 

Lost in the chorus of applause, Day stood in the back, giving his friends the standing ovation they deserved. The song was beautiful, to say in the least, every word and note playing on his heart in ways he couldn’t seem to fathom. For some reason, he felt soothed, calm on the inside, a stark contrast to the raging storm of emotion which ravaged him until he felt numb with guilt. Lux and Melna had granted him peace of mind somehow, but what really threw him off was his reaction, the faintest outline of a smile etched on his lips.

 

There wasn’t anything to be happy about. In fact, nothing changed at all, so why the sudden shift in attitude? In the end, it was just some song, right?

 

Whatever had happened, he stopped questioning it. He’d been saved from his grief, if only momentarily, and for once in his life, he was willing to live out some fool’s delusion that everything was okay. So when Melna met his softened gaze, he winked back. He watched her down her drink in one go and considered joining her, but he decided against it. Drinking was something he gave up shortly after they met, and he wasn’t about to ruin what shred of tranquility he’d just acquired.

 

Which is why he left. Day slipped away unnoticed, the specter striding away from the crowd all the way to his room. All hint of grace he possessed vanished as his limber frame crashed onto the bed. Immediately, he could feel all the fatigue he’d suppressed earlier wash over him, flooding his system until sleep finally came to sweep him away into the land of blissful ignorance.

 

The day would finish on a good note.

Edited February 14, 2014 by TX Wade

[Wazdakka]

IC: Torvoth

 

As far as the dismayed Vortixx could tell, there were no tool shops or engineering hang-outs that he could find. Perhaps he just wasn't looking in the right places, but he wasn't in the mood for any further searching after a long day of walking. He ducked into a back alley, noting that there were several large trashcans. He looked around to ensure he wasn't being watched and removed the lids.

"Oooooh!"

Grinning from ear to ear beneath his helm, the inventor set down his broken chainblade, pulled out the micro-toolkit that he carried with him, and dove headfirst into the nearest garbage can.

[Void Emissary]

IC:

 

As much as I loved the applause, the glass of port in my hands, and the fact that I was sitting next to Melna, something was still nagging at the back of my mind; it had a name that started with Day and ended with is missing.

 

I sipped my drink, trying not to dwell on it too much, figuring that he'd probably just gone up to his room; Mata only knows how long a day he'd had while I was out. I hated to imagine him worried about me; him or Melna ... but, I wouldn't deny that it was just a little nice to think that I had made some sort of emotional impact on their lives and could elicit some sense of loss from my absence. It was a horribly selfish thing to think, sure, but I'd just been stuck with a Parakuka. Figured I could afford to be a tad selfish.

 

I turned my head so that I could face my yet-to-be-named one-eyed Vortixx pal, taking another measured sip of my drink. He looked an interesting character; his dress screamed traveller, his prosthetics were so stereotypically pirate-ish that it hurt, but his mannerisms seemed way too gentlemanly for either of those.

 

On the other hand, I, myself am a traveller, sooooo...

 

"Sorry," I said to the Vortixx, propping myself off of the counter on the elbow opposite to him. "But I don't actually think I caught your name, mister..."

 

-Void

[The Mugbearer]

IC: Sirius [Po-Koro Inn]

He watched as Lux got down from the stage and came by the counter to continue his well-preserved by the old Vortixx glass of port. Melna got there a moment before and was saluting the cheered crowd.

"Sirius," he answered, giving Po-Matoran another smile and a slight nod. "Sailor, scholar, gentleman. However, for now I am forced to trample on the off-road of Po-Wahi in search for a ride to Onu-Koro." He made a sip. "That's a wonderful show you've performed there, good friend. And your majestic voice was a perfect addition to a music," he saluted to Melna.

Edited February 15, 2014 by The Mugbearer

[Wazdakka]

IC: Torvoth

 

Hidden from the beating sun by the over-hanging buildings, the series of industrial-sized garbage cans were cool to the touch. Nothing moved in the alley, as nobody besides the trash collector had anything to do there.

 

But one of the cans moved. The lid twitched and made a tinny metal clatter as it did so. Other machine-like noises spilled out from within, be they whirrings, hammerings, ratchetings, or brutish clangs.

 

There was a brief pause.

 

This pause was followed by a stream of unspeakable profanity.

 

Torvoth leaped out of the can, cursing Po-Koro for having no scavengeable tech, and vaulted straight into the next. Work began anew.

[Azibo]

IC:

 

The sun pierces the horizon as the dawn of a new day comes. Its bright rays fail to thoroughly penetrate the thick dust storm, and instead of a majestic morning picture, it seems that twilight will overstay its welcome. As the cloud of sand moves across the desert, Ibiza and his new found steed are pinned under the storm's belly. Ibiza doesn't care though. For the past week he has done nothing but sit in the cave and stare out into the opening. If kraata could cry, Po-Wahi would have a new lake.

 

The Nui-Jaga- having adapted to its blindness- could recognize Ibiza's scent from across the island. The stench of a melancholy kraata has filled the cave to capacity, and the grumbles of depression have taken a permanent residence inside the scorpions ears. Suddenly, the Nui-Jaga left the safety of the cave and scuttled out into the storm.

 

"Great. He left me too.," Ibiza muttered. He slumped down on the dry stone floor. "Why would he stay? Why would he care? Why would anyone care... I don't deserve life. I'm just wasting air. I have nothing... I am nothing..." The flurry outside picks up, and suddenly sand bursts through the cave, blasting the kraata's green and yellow skin. "..." Ibiza didn't even sigh as he was being sandblasted. Hundreds of tiny specks were beginning to imbued themselves in his soft skin. Yet Ibiza seemed to not care. Perhaps it was the nights he spent looking up at the moon in the cold desert atmosphere, or maybe it was the fear of the Nui-Jaga deciding to turn on him and in one swift move eating him alive, or it might have been him being alone with his thoughts for the first time in his existence, but whatever it was, Ibiza seemed to have given up. Though he shed no tears, he now was little more than a living piece of scenery- lying motionless on the bottom of a cave as if he were just another stone. More sand pelted him, forcing him to at least shut his eyes. As quickly as it began, the penetrating cloud of sand retreated from the cave and again marched only on the outside.

 

"If only I had a real power. If I were a Kraata of electricity, I could electrocute all of Ga-Koro. Or if I could control gravity I could cave in the mines of Onu-Koro." Ibiza shook his head. "Why do I always think only of destruction? Ever since day one I have only thought about causing harm. What have I ever given back? What have I ever created? Is my legacy really only being a pawn of a failure? How sad my existence is. I was born to serve under an uncaring master, and I will die alone, in the cave of some rahi. Why did the that Nui-Jaga leave anyways? It wont get far in this storm, especially with its condition."

 

Ibiza sat up a little. "Now that I think about it, why hasn't it attacked me yet? I wonder if it is keeping me around to be its eyes... I guess that would make sense. But it still is just some rahi. I can't have it do anything for me, and if it were spotted by any of the matoran it'd be slaughtered for sure. " Ibiza slithered back. "The matoran... I wonder what they are doing now that Makuta is gone. They surely have fought some wild rahkshi by now, I doubt they would give me a chance. What would I want with them anyways. What could they teach me? How to work like a mindless slave? How to build pointless structures, or craft... statues... that were real and not just imagination... Now that I am a free kraata, nothing says I have to be evil..."

 

Ibiza's thoughts had to be paused for the time being, for he heard a loud thumping and scuttling coming from the mouth of the cave. "What's that? It sounds like the scorpion, but not entirely. There's something else... " Suddenly, a fairly large rock came rolling towards Ibiza. He closed his eyes as he braced for impact, but impact never came. Instead, the rock was stopped by the scorpions stinger just in front of the kraata. "W-what? Is that a... a kohlii ball?" The Nui-Jaga scuttled in place, as if to show pride in his find. "Yous seem happy about this... I might as well let you see what you found." Ibiza used his powers to display the cave's image inside the scorpions mind. The scorpion started making strange noises that sounded like a quiet mix of chirps and shrieks. He clapped his pincers as he began to nudge the kohlii ball around the cave.

 

Ibiza chuckled at the sight. "Ha ha ha. Wait... what is this!? This... this feeling! I feel... strange. Scared. But... I like it! I remember hearing Makuta scheme with some matoran about infecting some of those kohlii balls. He said they would poison kohlii players who used them. What was that one Po-Matoran who he said was guaranteed to fall ill? H something.. Haukii... Hupuu.. um, Hafii Hewku! That was it, Hewku!" The scorpion stopped playing with his prize to stare at Ibiza. "Hewku... is this you responding to that? I suppose I can't call you 'that Nui-Jaga' for forever. I might as well call you Hewku. I'm naming you after the greatest kohlii player of all time, ha ha ha."

 

The storm outside began to rapidly let up, illuminating the cave with the hot Po-Wahi sun. "For the past few days I have thought of nothing but dying, but now... now I feel like I have some kind of attachment to this world. You seem to like rolling that ball, and you are friendly enough that you haven't killed me yet. Maybe this feeling I have... maybe that's what my life should be about now. No more destruction or plotting, only me helping you. You need me-or at least- you need someone. I can be that someone though. I'm gonna look out for you Hewku." The Nui-Jaga left his toy and came close to the kraata. As the newly-named Hewku lowered his head, Ibiza slithered onto its back. "Its strange, you seem to know my thoughts, or at least, you know my intentions. Come now, Hewku, the storm is letting up, and I refuse to give up on life. I have a purpose now. I am your care-taker now. Your guardian. And your care-giver." Hewku walked to the front of the cave. "For better or worse, you and I are going on an adventure. We are going to Po-Koro. You like that kohlii ball, so I won't rest until you now how to play the game! To Po-Koro!" Hewku picked his feet up, only to put them down again. "Hm, I suppose you wouldn't know exactly how to get to Po-Koro. I don't really know either, so I guess we'll just go and try to find our way. So... go that way!"

 

Hewku and Ibiza took their first steps out of the cave, beginning a journey to Po-Koro. Bathing in the fresh air, Ibiza's spirits seemed to rapidly be lifting. "I must be crazy," he thought. "I don't really expect this to work. We'll be killed. Oh well I guess. If you aren't living with a purpose, then I guess you are only fit to die."

 

OOC: sorry it took so long for the next installment of this! I've been so busy with work recently. I promise I won't just make the next one be Ibiza and hewku appearing at Po-Koro, they are going on a journey Soon i might even encounter some other players

[Geardirector]

IC: Melna (Po-Koro Inn)

 

Melna smiled, and gave Sirius a hearty nod.

 

"Thanks, it was a pleasure"

 

"We'll see you around"

[Voxumo]

IC: Vrina

 

Vrina had been sitting at the bar of the Po-Koro inn for some time. While not entirely focused on the conversations going on around her she could not help but smirk at the performance the lesterin of gravity had given. She shall admit she was not much for such acts but she had find it pleasantly entertaining. She slowly began clap slowly in a courteous clap

"Well that was certainly quite the pleasant show."

Edited February 16, 2014 by A Vox in a Box

[Geardirector]

OOC: Melna's a Lesterin, Vox

 

IC: Melna (Po-Koro Inn)

 

"Well that was certainly quite the pleasant show."

 

Melna turned to look at the speaker, smiling back in response to the Toa's compliment. She was an oddity, for sure, a white and red color scheme, a very unusual mask, and crystal guards on her armor and weapons.

 

"Thanks" Melna replied.

Edited February 16, 2014 by Geardirector

[Voxumo]

OOC: Woops.. editted it

 

IC: Vrina

 

Vrina nodded as she hears this

"Do you do it for a profession or just for fun?"

[Geardirector]

IC: Melna (Po-Koro Inn)

 

"No, it's just a hobby, something I like to do" Melna replied.

 

"Name's Melna" she presented herself.

 

"Nice to meet you. What's yours?"

[Emzee]

IC: Wokodin – Po-Koro Tavern

 

“And that’s why you gotta keep close watch o’er these kids nowadays,” Wokodin said gruffly, raising his pint of ale before taking a short but hearty gulp. The older Toa of Stone was addressing a small group of fellow Sentinels, who sat attentively with their pints, listening to the experienced guard’s tale.

 

Things have been different for Wokodin ever since he returned from the great battle of the Kini Nui. The Toa of Stone sang of his feats and of the failures of Makuta’s army up until the dark god was slain. The younger Po-Koro guards looked up to him, and when the security protocols were revamped, hailing the rise of the Sentinels, Wokodin was awarded the position of Sergeant. While far from the final goal, Wokodin considered this as a step in the right direction. He had cadres of men and women who answered to him, and he was on track to getting the respect that he knew he deserved. Now Wokodin just had to further solidify his merits and get these middle-aged Sentinels to hear one more of his adventures after he wrapped up this one: the famous story of how he coordinated a team of Ba-Toa bring down an airship several months back.

 

“I mean, I ‘member this one guy claiming it was a kilometer-long airship. Now, the airship wasn’t nearly that large, but his exaggeration still makes me chuckle,” Wokodin continued heartily, “Anyway, we still don’t know where those people got the parts from, but considering the Iron Mahi we have today, I can’t say I was too surprised then. The future was close. I felt it”

 

Wokodin then remembered the next adventure he had to tell them about and got back on topic, “But anyway, that’s how the gravity Toa Guards brought down that ship – everyone kind of knows about that one already. It was in the news and everything. There was something else I witnessed after that that’s even crazier. You’re all gonna laugh when you hear this one!”

 

The Toa of Stone took another long gulp from his pint. The other men listened in as Wokodin began his new tale, “About 12 kilometers south of here and 12 kilometers west of here, I was out in the badlands trying to round up any stragglin’ Makuta worshippers – maybe e’en capture Ronkshou – when I stumbled upon what had to be the smallest and strangest settlement I’ve ever seen. Had to have a population of only two dozen… or maybe two baker’s dozen? Anyway, these folks were presided over by one Turaga, who some liked, and others really didn’t-”

 

“Is this where you claim that these villagers mistook a scarecrow for their late Turaga?” one of the gruff men interrupted.

 

The gears in Wokodin’s head moved like a well-oiled machine at this point. At least one of them had heard this story before. That could be good, though that could also be bad. Wokodin would have to be prepared for doubts and try to make his rapt listeners see past them.

 

“Why yes, it is,” Wokodin said, taking another mighty swig from his pint, “You know what happened, then. Utterly flabbergasting, ain’t it?”

 

“Oh, that story,” another one of the men chimed in, “Remind me, where are these villagers now?”

 

Oh boy, thought Wokodin. He took another gulp from his pint, “One of the villagers planted a bomb. Killed himself and e’eryone around ‘im. I would’a shared their fate, had I not ran with all my might. The bomb was planted under the village too, made the place sank beneath the sands”

 

“All of them killed, and no scarecrow was found, right?” said the first interrupter.

 

“Fellow Sentinels, it happened. I watched it, tried to fix it, and things were actually improving greatly. With my leadership, this village became more unified and better at maintaining their quality of life. And then I showed them that their useless Turaga was actually just a scarecrow and they turned on me!”

 

Wokodin took another long swing from his pint as he mentally prepared to continue his story.

 

“This Turaga that was supposed to lead the village died years ago, and this apparently would have led to a vote and election of someone from an opposing family taking control of the village. So instead, they something only people so very far removed from civilization would think to do: the people in power made a scarecrow replica of the Turaga, claimed he was too sick to meet with the people, and would stick the prop on some restricted-access hill from time to time. I crossed the barriers, disabled the guards, and destroyed the illusion to show the people that they were being swindled. I even offered to help them rebuild their society under my watch,” Wokodin explained exasperatedly, “But instead, they cast me out. They said that I had ruined everything—both people for the Turaga and against the Turaga had said this to me. They made it quite clear that they didn’t want my help anymore, so I left”

 

“And that’s when the explosive went off?” asked one of the men.

 

“That’s right! I hadn’t even cleared the village grounds ‘fore someone detonated a bomb,” Wokodin said.

 

The incredulous looks from the men prompted Wokodin to take another long swig from his beer.

 

“Why is that story so difficult to believe?” demanded Wokodin.

 

“Because usually, when people have such grand stories to share, they come back with some sort of proof!” one of the men in the group said, “You came back with nothing”

 

“There was nothing to take. Everything was buried beneath the sands,” Wokodin defended.

 

“And why a bomb?” another man asked.

 

“It was because of the cold civil war I implied earlier: it was never resolved despite all that I did for them. One of the people seeking to overthrow the leadership was still plotting, and I’m thinking that he and his followers wanted to start a riot. I imagine the bomb they made was simply too powerful,” Wokodin said, “Though, I did get one last glimpse of the guy that ended everything. I could’ve sworn he was aligned with the dense scarecrow people. I know it sounds crazy, but this was a crazy society, and hardly the first of its kind. Xa-Koro, anyone?”

 

Wokodin cleared his throat, “Anyway, you really should have seen the progress I had made there. Actual roads, voting security, better crime prevention, a braver way of dispatching criminals, and smarter ways of bookkeeping. This settlement could have been the great 7^th village… or 8^th, or how ever many villages there are nowadays”

 

“And then the scarecrow,” one of them men said, snickering.

 

Wokodin always lost people when he got to the part about the scarecrow, but whenever he tried to leave that part out, the question would almost come up about why Wokodin wasn’t still there, leading his newfound village, or better yet, why he never brought them to Po-Koro for better productivity. This was Wokodin’s eventual plan, but after learning about how crazy the people in that village were, Wokodin honestly felt like what had happened was for the best.

 

But now no one will believe that Wokodin had yet again led a village of Matoran. This wasn’t even the first time Wokodin had done so either, and he had the leadership and fighting experience to show that. He just didn’t have proof of the things he actually said he did.

 

So far, Wokodin’s skills had been enough, but for the Toa of Stone, he demanded honor for the things he had seen and accomplished. He knew he had braved more in his lifetime than that Toa Maru of Stone, or that Toa of Fire and Toa of Water who visited here way back when. They were hailed as the great heroes and healers of our time. Able to explore and visit wherever they please.

 

Meanwhile, Wokodin was forced to follow orders, even as a Sergeant, for there was still a Commander, and the Akiri himself.

 

The Toa of Stone knew there was only one way to gain the honor and respect of the Matoran here though. He had to accomplish something that he could prove, without backfiring into his reputation.

 

For even with what had happened to that village, Wokodin could have still brought proof. But if he were to hand it over, what would keep the Sentinels from finding what Wokodin didn’t want them to find?

 

“Well, I guess I can’t be sore at ya for not believin’ my story,” Wokodin said before downing the rest of his beer. There was a slight roughness in his voice as he concealed his anger at their dubiousness, “But whenever yer wonderin where that tall golden-armored Po-Toa got all his skills and intuition, don’t forget this tale I’ve told ya, or any of the tales I’ve told ya. I s’pose I should just let my feats that you’ve seen speak for themselves”

 

With that, Wokodin got up from the table, tossing down several widgets to pay for his drinks. “It’s late, I’ll see ya in th’ mornin’”

 

With that, Wokodin nodded to the group of men and left the tavern, immediately greeted the moonlight and the cool breeze of the night.

 

Someday, Wokodin thought, I will receive glory that I deserve.

 

The Toa of Stone turned to his right and headed back to his hut, towards the outer rings of the village.

[Voxumo]

IC: Vrina

 

Vrina extended a hand to melna in a shaking manner

"Ah a pleasure to make your acquaintance Melna, My name is Vrina Tivosi."

[Canis Lycaon]

OOC:

Silvan - I have to warn you that I don't really have questions to ask - the reason I am doing this is because Vhohan is a reporter. I'm doing this solely for IC reasons, not OOC, so could we have a little timeskip to the end of the interview?

 

IC: Vhohan

The pair arrived at Lenat's booth, and they pulled out some chairs. Vhohan sat down, and then began.

 

"Next question: What inspired you to do this?"

[Eyru]

IC

 

In a house built of stone, two men watch each other.

 

One is tall, with emerald skin and scarlet eyes, eyes infinite in their depth and their madness. The other is short, and his skin is ebony. His eyes are green, and betray nothing.

 

They watch each other, these two men, and do not speak. Both know the power of words, and neither will be the first to bring their weapons to bear. So they sit and they stare and they wait and they watch, and say nothing.

 

A glass of amber liquid sits before each, untouched. The stone table is rubbed smooth. The air is warm and breathless; it, too, is waiting. Waiting for a word to break the silence, or a knife to cut the tension that stretches on endlessly, like a string that quivers before it snaps.

 

The emerald man is a warrior, wearing armour to protect his naked flesh, and carrying a sword on his back. His hands are gloved in leather and dried blood. His eyes are restless, ever moving, searching for some weakness to exploit for his gain.

 

But the ebony man shows none. His hands are folded before him; the only movement he betrays is the expansion of his chest as he breathes, the tepid air rushing over his tongue and down into his lungs, keeping him alive. This alone keeps him alive. He carries no sword, no shield; his weapons are less corporeal, and they remain sheathed.

 

The warrior is the first to speak. He runs his tongue over his teeth, tasting sand and old blood, but does not reach for the glass.

 

“So you'll help me?”

 

His voice is cracked and rusty. Once, perhaps, it was comely; once, perhaps, it beckoned the ear to listen as honey draws flies; once, perhaps, his voice was smooth as oil and rich as wine. But the honey is gone now; the oil has run dry, and the wine gone sour.

 

The other's voice is more becoming. It is soft and measured, each syllable pronounced as though it were a jewel, and does not falter.

 

“Yes, under the conditions we discussed.”

 

The warrior coughs, wipes his mouth with a hand. “I warned you. I don't work for you. Or anyone.”

 

“You will not. I will help you achieve your goals as long as they align with my own. That is the extent of our business.”

 

The silence falls again, like a curtain dividing the first and second acts. The warrior knows the curtain well: he has directed plays of his own, vast productions of sound and fury. But no longer. Now he is only an actor without a script.

 

The ebony man will write one for him. He is a poet and a playwright. He, too, knows the curtain well.

 

“Fine,” the emerald man says at last. “We have a deal.”

 

He takes hold of his glass at last, fingertips immediately cool and slick with dew. The other mirrors his action, and they touch the glasses together with a crystalline clink that breaks through the hazy air like a tiny bell.

 

“To the Daedra,” says one.

 

“To the Daedra,” echoes the other.

 

They drink.

[Silvan Haven]

OOC: That is fine.

 

Po-koro- Technology Expo

 

IC: "Inspired me? I don't know if inspired is the right word but it is more or less what I said in the opening speech. Technology is my passion and I want everybody to be able to benefit from it. For a long time people were only focused on surviving Makuta, nothing else. When he was killed we had that nasty period where the koro almost turned on one another. For the first time in over a thousand years, we are at peace. Not the lull between attacks, but a real peace with nobody to attack us. This should be a golden age for us and I see events like this as the first step towards that."

[Geardirector]

OOC: I know I said I would be inactive, but whatevs.


IC: Melna (Po-Koro Inn)

"Vrina," Melna mumbled, "I think I've heard that name somewhere..."

She trailed off into a train of thought before her face lit up excitedly.

"Say, you wouldn't happen to know anyone named Colx or Helios, would you?"

Edited February 21, 2014 by Geardirector

[Voxumo]

IC: Vrina

 

Vrina brought a hand to tap at the bottom of her mask

"Ah yes i felt your name was familiar. Colx mentioned you."

[Wazdakka]

IC: Torvoth

 

Torvoth had probably spent hours rummaging around inside the garbage cans, but he couldn't be sure. Maybe days, as that was what it felt like. However, all of his hard dumpster-diving work finally paid off, as he finally arose, garbage and detritus cascading off of him like water from a beautiful bird about to take flight, if a bird was a lanky and tired black-armored Vortixx. He raised his chainsblade to the sky and pressed the activation stud. It rewarded him with a throaty growl. He slashed the whirring blade around, carving the metal cans into just more pieces of junk. Smiling, he returned it to his belt and went on his way.

[Geardirector]

IC: Melna (Po-Koro Inn)

"He did?" Melna asked, suddenly curious.

She quickly sat herself down opposite of Vrina, regarding her thoughtfully.

"You look a lot less like I pictured you. Then again all Colx really said in his letter was that he met a girl with a weird mask"

"I think it looks kinda cool, what mask is it?"

Edited February 21, 2014 by Geardirector

[Wazdakka]

IC: Torvoth

 

The Vortixx glanced at the crowds milling about Po-Koro and realized that he could either A) Go find Ardoku himself or B) Holler for all he was worth and hope that the Toa came to him.

 

After an infinitesimally small passing of time, he made his easy choice. He did not, however, consider the opinions of others on a trash-covered Vortixx screaming in a public space.

 

"Arrrdooooookuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu?"

[Onaku]

IC: Ardoku, Qyntar, Saedrak & Aidrak

 

Ardoku turns as he hears the vortixx shout. "Oh spirit, not this. Sorry, I have to go, I have... something to take care of..."

 

Right as Ardoku is about to turn and run away, Qyntar catches up with the two. "Alright, so you could have at least woken me up, mate... who is this?"

 

--------------------

 

Meanwhile, at the Po-Koro inn.

 

"I just don't understand what you want with those two. They've already caused enough trouble as it is." Saedrak says, and lifts his busted protosteel talons up for emphasis.

 

"Look, the toa has potential, something I haven't so readily picked up on from another person in quite a while. This could be a golden opportunity to expand our business." Aidrak picks up his glass of black ale and drinks.

 

Saedrak rolls his eyes and begins looking over the inn again.

 

 

OOC: Aidrak and Saedrak are in the same inn as Melna and Vrina, so interactions might ensue?

Edited February 21, 2014 by Toa Onaku

[Voxumo]

IC: Vrina

 

Vrina arched her brow as she strummed her fingers along the rim of her glass and stared at Melna

"Oh really now? What exactly did Colx tell you about me?"

 

However at the second part she shrugged and merely tapped it's side

"Well I named it the Kanohi Vinoli. And i will just show you what it does."

 

Vrina concentrated on the glass infront of her and it began to shimmer and then suddenly it seemed to become pixelated as if it was being censored

[Geardirector]

IC: Melna (Po-Koro Inn)

 

Had Melna been less drained by the day's exploits, she probably would've mustered a much more excited reaction than the simple gasp of awe she now gave, but being that things were as they were, she couldn't muster much beyond the reaction already mentioned.

 

"Pretty cool" she repeated herself as she reclined deeper into her own chair.

 

"So, how do you know Colx anyway?" she asked.