Bzprpg - Ta-Wahi

[Silvan Haven]

Loren- Ta-wahi

 

IC: Suddenly realizing that he had not introduced himself, the Toa of Sonics spoke up "Ah, sorry. I never told you my name did I? Lieutenant Loren of the Ta-koro Guard. I'm off duty right now though."

Edited April 5, 2013 by Silvan Haven

[Voxumo]

IC: Syvra

 

Syvra nodded a bit

"Well it is a pleasure to meet you. Seems my traveling companion," he motions a hand to Ryzen "Is eager to get out of Ta-Wahi. But i can not blame him there he is a toa of ice."

 

He looks around a bit before leaning a bit towards Loren

"Although i must ask. We had arrived from Le-koro and before we left i had heard that Turaga matau and turaga Nuju had been killed. Is that true and if so has any of the other turaga been struck down?"

[Silvan Haven]

Loren- Ta-wahi

 

IC: The Toa's perfectly natural question caused Loren to freeze. While he had most certainly not forgotten it, the lieutenant had manged to push that particular fact into a small corner of his mind during his work. After all , how could ones save others lives while they were worried about consumed by sadness?

 

"They're dead. All dead" The words came out cold and emotionless. "The Guard leaders are trying to pick up the pieces in the aftermath, but its not pretty."

[Voxumo]

IC: Syvra

 

Syvra nodded a bit as the vine in his hand began to wilt and eventually decomposed into nothing.

"Well that is truly to terrible to hear. I had hoped the news was false but apparently that is not the case. I am sorry if my question brought up any bad memories but i felt you would be best to ask."

 

He did not seem to be expressing any emotions about this topic, neither in body mannerisms or his voice

[Hitoshura]

IC: RyzenRyzen had been half listening, half thinking. So, all the Turaga are dead. Wonder why, some people just don't like old village elders.

[Palm]

IC: Tuara Drigton - Ta-Koro BarTuara nodded, "Well as long as it's gone, I think your conversation skills aren't as important."

[Krayzikk]

IC:

 

"I'm inclined to agree. It's better to be without the Mark and be a bit less social, than be stuck with the Mark, and being social. Which is rather ironic, since I was even less social whilst I had the Mark."

 

Realizing that he was starting to ramble, he fell silent. After a moment, he sighed. "Ms. Drigton, can I ask you a question?"

[Palm]

IC: Tuara Drigton - Ta-Koro BarTuara just nodded, "Yeah what do you want to know?"

[Krayzikk]

IC:

 

"What would you do in my place?"

 

The question lacked context, but after a moment's pause, Jikal began to elaborate. "I can never go home, not after what my Mark made me do. I am universally despised in Ga-Koro which is, ironically, where I've spent the last few weeks of my life. Every villager there wants me dead, and I suspect that if I ever showed my face around here, the reaction would be much the same."

 

The Vo-Toa's blue eyes were fixed dimly on an unknown point in the distance, staring off into space with no real purpose. "Anyone I've ever cared about is either dead, thinks me dead, or thinks me a murderer. And in a way, they're right. I had to kill the brother of the only real friend I have left right in front of her, because otherwise, he would have killed her."

 

"There's so much blood on my hands, and sometimes, I'm not even sure what of it I spilled anymore. Life is like a big set of scales, and I've thrown them out of balance. So many lives lost, so many lives ruined. And nothing to be done for me to set them right."

 

"A load of sins to atone for, and no way to atone. No home to go back to, and an entire island that despises me. In a way, Iris won." The Vo-Toa fell silent, the quiet stretching on for only a minute, but it seemed like an eternity.

 

"I'm sorry. You don't need to hear this, it isn't your problem. You've had to deal with me enough over the past few weeks."

[Palm]

IC: Tuara Drigton - Ta-Koro BarTuara put her hands on her hips, looking downwards, "I couldn't even begin to tell you what to do, because I can't even begin to know what I'm going to do or have been doing."Tuara sighed."But if there's anybody on this island that should hate you, it's me. But I don't, so if people are going to judge you for what somebody else did, that's their problem and not yours."

Edited April 6, 2013 by snoip lion

[Silvan Haven]

Loren-Ta-wahi

 

IC: The Toa of Sound just nodded and went back to his drink.

 

If you were sorry then you would be showing something. Oh well, I can hardly go after a guy cause he is not sorry about the Elders dieing.

[Voxumo]

IC: Syvra

 

Syvra looked at the loren a bit while he hummed a bit

 

"So if i were heading to some other koro which one would you suggest?"

[Hitoshura]

IC: RyzenRyzen drank while a hundred things were going on through his head. Turaga dead? Where next? What does Syvra think? Meanwhile, he heard Syvra ask Loren about what Koro they will be heading to. I won't know. Hopefully somewhere nice.

[Silvan Haven]

Loren- Ta-koro

 

IC: "It depends on what you want to do after you leave. Ga-koro is a nice place to head to if you want to find somewhere to stay for a while or if you want to sail somewhere. If you want to learn something I would suggest Ko-koro. It is called the koro of Scholars for a reason. If you want something made that you can't get here then head to Po or Onu-koro."

[Voxumo]

IC: Syvra

 

Syvra sighes a bit at he turned and looked at Ryzen

"Where do you think we should go?"

[Hitoshura]

IC: RyzenRyzen looked up."Well, it doesn't really matter. Ga-Koro would be the closest, but Po isn't so far from here. Not sure about Ko and Onu, though."

[Voxumo]

IC: Syvra

 

Syvra nodded a bit to Ryzen

"Well Ga-Koro would be more hospitable to us both."

[Hitoshura]

IC: Ryzen"Alright then. Ready when you are."

[Simulacrum]

-IC: Dominus Ferrum-

Iron. Harsh, unyielding, cold to the touch and soulless, apathetic to existence itself. Iron harvests the body and soul, a sickle harvesting wheat; Insensitively, emotionlessly, it deals the final, fatal blow.

They cry in protest at the sight of uncompromising justice, they scream and point at the being holding the bloody sword, yet they do not criticize the blade? They both have killed, they both have kept order. Do they not understand?

Dominus Ferrum, his finger pausing its descent down his Schiavona broadsword’s edge, stared at the moonlit piece of metal in quiet, self-justifying contemplation. His glowing red eyes devoured the sword, taking in every notch, ever blemish, every ounce of beauty and every stain of ugliness alike.

He sneered.

Who can judge how terrible another is? No one can understand their brother, and no one dares to try. The mind is a fiendish thing, and trying to understand it would be doing little more than labeling objects of our mania, our madness, pieces of our very nature one dares not question, let alone comprehend.

Whirling his sword through the air, he watched it dance in rays of nocturnal radiance, glowing with the brilliance of the full moon, a flashing construct, aesthetically pleasing, but barbaric in purpose. His sneer still visible on his darkly pleasing features, he sheathed the sword, his pleasure vanishing as the blade disappeared.

The director of Iron can not be questioned, no more than the element itself. We are every bit as primal, every bit as barbarous, as our creations. Who dare question the executioner? Who defies the judge? I am both, and I will not allow myself to be classified, least of all by another’s flimsy morals.

His sneer turning to a grin of dark, narcissistic enjoyment, he rested his hand lightly on his broadsword’s grip, as he calmly surveyed the world around him.

Spires of oxblood-colored stone rose from the jagged, uneven terrain, a landscape constructed entirely out of stone. In the distance, volcanoes slowly disgorged smoking, bubbling magma, hissing as it cooled, and pooling beneath the thundering, ash-spewing mountains, in smoking lakes of fire. The air, distorted with haze and cinders, was blistering, every breath like that of a purging flame.

Beneath him, his muscules quivering with a primal, barely contained power, was a steed unlike any other. A Crystal Climber, resplendent in his primeval power, armored in the highest quality protosteel, bore Dominus as if he was a mere child, ignoring the Fe-Toa’s enormous weight. Brutarum, a Crystal Climber of the most ferocious temperament, growled, eyeing the world around him with an intense, yet groundless, distrust. Brutarum’s height, at the shoulder, was comparable to that of a particularly large Skakdi, and his length was mind boggling, yet he never dared to turn on his rider.

Dominus, in a single, fluid motion, slid off of Brutarum’s massive back, landing on the ground with barely a noise, before rising to his feet with the eldritch grace of a wraith, the layer of dust and ash covering the earth undisturbed. After a moment of quiet stillness, he straightened, arms outstretched, head tilted back, eyes focused on the faint stars above, slowly dotting the raven sky of midnight. His grin mellowing to an impassive line, he inhaled deeply, letting himself be cleansed, allowing heated air to scorch him from the inside out, basking in the pain that it created.

As he exhaled, his arms slowly fell to his sides, until his posture, the quintessential embodiment of quiet bliss, had transformed into the paradigm of militarism and self-control. His broad shoulders now straight and rigid, Dominus strode down the shadowy path to the City of Fire, Brutarum following at his side, an aura of baleful resolution surrounding him.

As he walked, Dominus stared solemnly at the sky above, his fervent gaze focused on the heavenly bodies. The land of Ta-Wahi seemed dominated by a terrible, unbreakable silence, and even Rahi, such as Brutarum, did little to break it. A Lava Hawk flew in the night sky, magma dripping from its gunmetal wings, but it never made a sound.

Gripping Brutarum’s reins with one hand, and resting his other sword on his broadsword’s hilt, Dominus walked like this for some time, respecting the unspoken wish of silence, becoming part of the desolate, charred landscape known as Ta-Wahi, traversing mountains of blackened rock, hills of seared earth, and delicate bridges above seas of bubbling lava in silence. The ground, covered with ash, yielded no sound when stepped on, and the breezes of blistering heat were careful to never moan or murmur.

When they climbed the final mountain of burnt stone, Dominus found himself staring down upon the noisy, chaotic city of Ta-Koro, in all its hectic opulence. It seemed to writhe in its madness, screaming in both ecstasy and in agony, unsure if it was enjoying itself, or in the most immense, unbearable pain. The City of Fire, surrounding by lakes of smoking fire, reveled in its own insanity, an epitome of iniquitous decadence.

Dominus Ferrum’s impassivity gave way to fervent anger, his mouth twisted into a disappointed frown. Mounting his steed, he rode towards the Koro’s gates, Brutarum’s barely contained primal drive now matched by Dominus’s rising fury. Though his body was as still as death, Dominus Ferrum’s eyes burned with all-consuming rage, a fury that gnawed at his mind, and filled his very soul with a hideously passionate blood lust, a desire to watch everyone scream and everything burn.

This city will be cleansed, and I will be the forged blade. I will be the judge, I will be the executioner, I will purify with steel and fire. Let all tremble, knowing that judgment has at last come.

The Iron Tempest is coming. And he will not spare a single, depraved soul, no matter how they beg or plea. Iron, once purged and tempered in fire, now shall purge and temper the flame. The City of Fire has earned its own fate. It pleas to deaf gods for redemption, but the time for praying is over. The time for weeping has come.

[Death of the Endless]

IC: Tawara, Ta-Wahi Shore

It was there.

The boards had sagged and darkened, the hull had collapsed inward, the mast had fallen and left the sail to moulder. The same scarlet moss that grew on the black rocks of the shore had begun to cover the boat’s surface. But it was there.

Tawara ran a finger along the dark wood. Some of it came away as a black paste on the tip of her finger, and she flicked it off. Less than a year ago, she had arrived, half-conscious, at the Ta-Wahi coast. Her earliest memory was of waking there. Beyond that, there was nothing.

No, that wasn’t quite right. There was something: a harsh, dark thing, blocking the Matoran’s path, constantly burning in the back of her mind. Every time she tried to recall past her arrival at the island, it flung her back. Pain flared up in her head. She wasn’t alone, either—nobody on Mata Nui remembered their past. Yet there was a time when she did remember it. She was sure of it.

And it was written in the notebook she carried, inscribed in a code she couldn’t decipher by a friend whose death she had caused.

Tawara turned away from the vessel and made her way up the coast and into the forest.

[Voxumo]

IC: Syvra

 

Syrva looked at Ryzen as he began to rise from his seat. He looked to Loren and offered him a slight nod

 

"Thank you Loren for your help. I'm sure it has helped us much in our journey."

 

Syvra began walking towards the door of the bar but gave a minute second to activate his kanohi Mahiki and cast an illusion that made him appear that his armor was a dark blue and white. He turned to Ryzen and grinned a bit

"Well let us be on our way."

[Hitoshura]

IC: RyzenThe duo walked out of the bar and onto the street. Ryzen wondered how to get to Ga-Koro."So, do you have directions? To Ga-Wahi? I'm terrible with directions?"

[Voxumo]

IC: Syvra

 

Syvra gave a glance to Ryzen and nodded "Well Ga-koro is north of Ta-wahi so that gives some help."

[Hitoshura]

IC: RyzenRyzen nodded, still not understanding how the know where north is."Then we should get going. We shouldn't be wasting time debating my stupid little questions."

[Voxumo]

IC: Syvra

 

Syvra looked at Ryzen and sighed a bit shaking his head.

"No question is stupid."

He looks towards the Gate of Ta-Koro and sighs a bit upon seeing the toa mounted on some rahi

 

"Well seems we may have to get past that."

[shadow pridak money gang]

IC:

Klavier lay in his cell, staring at nothing. Time had long since become meaningless to him; only the sounds of animals told night from day for him. The prison, though, cut it with its own chatter. He could smell the dankness, the rot, the rats, the smell of unwashed bodies. He could taste the sweat on his tongue and hear the rustling of weapons. His fellow inmates were in various stages of sleep but Klavier was hardly tired at all. With a faint smile, he began to whistle in the dark, a nameless tune from his childhood, from happier days before the visions.

From the cell diagonal to Klavier's, a quiet, soft falsetto rustled from the vestiges of darkness, shook itself clean of the prison around it, then joined Klavier's whistled tune in a pleasant melody. The fragile voice gradually grew strength around it, and from that voice a small beam of light glowed and crackled; the more wretched shadows in the cell that the songbird called his perch pulled back, searched for higher ground. The lesser shades stayed to outline the lithe, attractive form of the assassin inside the cell, lying half-propped on one elbow on a bunk: they traced his toned, muscular form lovingly, from his runner's legs to his pleasantly crafted torso up to the soft, androgynously gorgeous features of his face.

I'd gotten pretty good at describing myself in the third person since my incarceration.

"I'm singing purely from memory," I confessed amiably. "But that's sort of how it goes."

Klavier stopped whistling. The counterpoint had been excellent; it had been a long time since he had heard music that brilliant, not since he had left his homeland. A prison cell was the last place he had expected to hear something like that. Klavier chuckled. "True music comes from the deep places of the soul, not the memory. If you truly remember the tune, it must have been more important than a simple 'memory.'"

How did I know that song?

I'd picked it up somewhere along the line, I suppose. I'd heard it from a girl who I'd picked up one night. No, that wasn't it; maybe I'd heard it at a wedding, or maybe a funeral. One of those events where nobody cares to share their real feelings about something until they're about to watch the girl of your dreams get married to some shmuck in a three piece suit, or until their best friend is lying in an open casket in front of everyone he ever so much as shared lunch with. No. No, that wasn't where it had been ingrained into my soul, either.

My mother had sang that song to me. I remembered it now. That's where it had touched me; the song reminded me of family, and so it had stuck around to continue reminding me. Then it had disappeared. Then the new guy had come along and brought it back. Weird, how that worked. If I were the kind of guy to believe in...forget it.

"You've got quite the philosophical spark for someone on the bad side of Ta-Koro's finest," I noted, trying to observe the whistler's face with my keen baby blues, trained in the art of night vision from multiple encounters with Heuani. "Howdy. Name's Dorian."

There was a rustling as Klavier pushed himself up off the floor to a sitting position. "My name is Klavier. My philosophy, as you call it, is likely a result of my profession I am the Prophet." The statement was incredibly matter-of-fact. If it wasn't for the fact that the statement was so ridiculous, you would think he had just stated that grass was green. "It is pleasing to meet you."

"The Prophet. Right. So...what exactly do you preach for?"

Klavier chuckled. "There is a difference between preacher and prophet. A preacher speaks what he believes. A prophet tells what he knows. As to what I prophesize? I speak of the truth. I speak of the Allseer. But most important, I speak of that which is to come: the great destruction that comes as slowly as a glacier, as surely as the sunrise."

I looked up at that with a straight face and cocked an eyebrow; the guy had a conviction in his voice that Brykon had when he spoke, that Heuani had, that I had. It was the conviction of someone with a gut instinct; this was a guy who believed what he was saying when he cried "Apocalypse, nowish!"

Huh.

"Great destruction, huh? Well. Looks like you came to the right island, tiger."

"Everything dies. Everything bleeds. Everything burns. It is the way of the world. The turning of the wheel. The great passage of time." Klavier scratched at his leg; the scabbing from his earlier wound were bothering him. "Place is irrelevant. All man can do is fight and learn and, hopefully, see the truth before he dies. That is my prophecy. Among...other things." He chuckled. "The more specific things."

Silence. Then, out of the blue, Klavier asked a strange question. "Dorian, have you been sentenced to die?"

Silence.

"Haven't we all been?"

Klavier didn't miss a beat. "Yes, if you take the broader sense of my question. But I was thinking of more immediate things. Are you preparing to die in the near future? Has the judge called you to come home?"

"No. I've got life. So to speak."

"That sounds like a death sentence to me. Life inside of a cage...is not life at all. It is an early death, the undertaker simply must wait longer before collecting your body. But there he stands, as sure as rain, smiling that plague-infested grin as he strokes the shovel to bury you alive." Klavier, for the first time in a while, rubbed the bandages where his eyes used to be. "You have the smell of rotten earth about you."

"Right. Well."

Yours is a life that does not deserve to be wasted. You deserve better than the gilded prison this place offers, Dorian.

I hate it when the girls I pick up tell me something I agree with.

"I won't be here for much longer. Believe me."

Klavier chuckled. "I agree. I doubt it will take me very long to tap the lock of this 'gilded cage' like the old story says. I have seen it on the wind. Destiny rides a black horse, it seems. He comes looking for truth, but, as usual, will never quite find it...such is the way of life in the time of rotting flesh and stinking tongues." Klaver lay back down on the ground. "Perhaps, if you listen hard enough, you can hear his dread hooves on the pavement..."

Cute imagery, but no. All I hear around this place at night is me; with that in mind, there wasn't a lot for me to really be afraid of.

"Rotting flesh and stinking tongues..." I muttered, leaning against the wall and cuddling close to myself. "Yeah. Sounds about right."

Klavier did not close his eyes; he merely watched the blackness that crawled across what his brain registered as pupils. He had not had pupils for many years. "Wait and watch. Be prepared. He is coming, Dorian. As sure as the sunrise. As sure as death."

As midnight conversations with new and mysterious spectral entities went, that wasn't actually so bad, I thought to myself as I sank back into the darkness I'd been sentenced. Just me, being a stupid kid and writing it off.

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

Well...let's just say that if I knew how much that conversation would come back to haunt me in the years ahead, I would have gone about it an entirely different way.

-Tyler

[Hitoshura]

IC: RyzenNo question is stupid, huh? Oh Syvra, you just don't know."To get past that...well, they should have no problem letting us out, or..."Ryzen quickly walked up to them, and started speaking in a casual way."Hello, there. Would you mind letting the two of us through?"

[Death of the Endless]

IC: Tawara, Ta-Koro Bar

The door creaked as Tawara pushed it open and slid inside the tavern. Her hood down and her bow slung over her back, she began to approach the bar.

And there they were, among the crowd. Jikal and... that other one. Tuara, that was her name. Talking.

Tawara almost walked up to them, almost greeted them and asked what they were speaking of. Almost, but not quite. Instead, she sunk back into the shadows, a small, dark figure standing in the corner of the room.

Edited April 10, 2013 by Death of the Endless

[Hitoshura]

IC: RyzenThey ignored the two of them. Ryzen looked at Syvra, then shrugged."Well, it looks like we will just go past," he said, turning to the Bo-Toa. Ryzen headed for the bridge, which was down again. I'll create an ice bridge this time, or Suvra will have to try his vine thing. Ryzen could use his Kualsi, but it can only be for one person. He concentrated, and a thick bridge of ice formed over the lava."We got to be fast, or else the bridge will melt."

[Voxumo]

IC: Syvra

 

Syvra grinned a bit as he looked up at the guard tower and yelled up at them

"Hey mind raising the bridge. Some people need to get across."

 

And with that the bridge was raised and Syvra punched Ryzen lightly on the shoulder.

"There are easier ways."

[Hitoshura]

IC: RyzenRyzen commanded the bridge to collapse. He turned to Syvra and said: "There may be easier ways, but sometimes there won't be, so always be prepared. Now, since there is a bridge, we will cross."The duo stepped onto the hard, stone bridge. Ryzen felt the heat of the lava underneath, and looked around for anything new, as a habit. After a few minutes, they reached the end."Where to, now?"

[Voxumo]

IC: Syvra

 

Syvra paused at this question but simply shrugged.

"Well the most i know is to head north. Now if the landscape is the same as when we came here north should be that way."

He turned to indicate the path they had taken to get into Ta-Koro and then pointed towards the north

"Now if we keep heading north we should get to the border of Ga-Wahi eventually."

[shadow pridak money gang]

IC:

 

"That is so illegal."

 

"I must have missed the part where I fell asleep in a prison bunk and woke up in Candy Land," I grumbled in protest to Tank as I finished rolling up my cig and struck one of the little contraband matches I kept in a little compartment I had sewed into the inside of my scarf. The little stick hissed to life triumphantly, sporting a pretty little orange-blue flame spouting from the tip like a shock of hair. "Shut up. I'm in my zone."

 

There was a monastery-tier hushed quiet in the cell block for several minutes as I took low drags on the joint; Tank watched from across his cell with deep, annoyingly melancholy eyes as he gazed into my tricked out cell. It was currently lacking in any females - Naara hadn't showed up in the past couple days and Tuara had probably fallen into a bottle of scotch overnight - and currently looked like just a cell with nice, probably stolen furniture. A low aura of hazy smoke clung to the floor as I leaned forward, one hand over the right side of my face.

 

"It's also cheap," the former Mark Bearer said.

 

"You're telling me," I grumbled. "Prison herb. The worst."

 

Along with prison food, prison guards, prison company and prison beds, illicit and outlawed materials in prison - amongst the ranks of banned substances was bourbon, smokes, drugs and fun - were about as rough as it could get for an erudite prettyboy with a couple habits to feed and about 40 feet of square footage to nurture them. Tank as backup therapist wasn't doing me much good either; he'd yammer on and on about learning life lessons from this, seeking redemption, how it was a wonder I didn't wear a tutu with all the dancing through life I did. The only real sense of fun I got was in predicting the times of the guard's arrival: in about thirty seconds someone would walk by the cell, snicker, and (depending on if it was a guy or a girl) slide me a slice of bread that wasn't actually stale, along with a paper shot glass of water. A shot glass. Of water.

 

Kill. Me. Now.

 

Twenty seconds. I took a brief inhale and put the cig out on the bunk. Tank looked up at the sound of footsteps. Ten seconds.

 

Nine. Eight. Seven.

 

Six. Five. Fou-

Whack!

The prison guard who'd been approaching the cell was slammed in the back of the head with the handle of a pistol, held by somebody standing in the shadows; the guard crumpled and drifted immediately - drifted violently, really, is that even possible? Guess so! - into la-la land. The figure in the darkness stepped forward into the light, and his unrivalled smile made him immediately recognizable... What, you can't tell yet? You're even slower than I expected. Fine. I'll give you more clues: devilishly clever, unabashedly alcoholic, wittier than a talking cat (if cats could talk, they'd be quite wry; horrible attitudes in those animals, I tell you), slicker than a fish in slippers...

For karz's sake, it's me. Me, got it? Don't make me come over there. I will, too. Aha, see, told you you know me... Long time, no see. How you doing. Horribly? Do I look like I care?

"You're early, Grokk," 'Dorable said through misting eyes. I guess he'd been thinking too much about his past - such a weak soul, poor thing - so I arrived just in time to interrupt his self-deprecating inner monologue. Life lesson: anything you can interrupt is worth interrupting. I flashed my pearlies.

"Screw schedules," I grinned. "Who's the other guy?"

"A corpse, if I ever see him again," I snickered, standing up and moving to the prison door - I could still walk, see, and talk straight, which was a testament to why drug dealers in prison ended up in prison in the first place: it's because they suck - as Grokk traced the prison cell and then winked at me through the door; the lock couldn't stand the sheer gust of vanity being blown its way (I'd seen armadas blown off course by that wink; iron bars had as much chance around Grokk as an attractive waitress) and popped open. He looked down at it as though he'd seen such a spectacle take place before before looking up to me and pressing the pistol into my hands. I could only assume he'd stolen it from evidence; Tuara had let slip once or twice that she'd had it taken and repaired from the Kumu Islets, where she assumed I'd met my end.

I had my gun back. Yee.

"Hey, Tank, remember that time I shot you in the head? Wasn't that fun?" I asked rhetorically over Grokk's shoulder as I stepped out of the cell and into the hallway, sparing a second's glance at the KO'd guard. "Want to go again?"

Tank said nothing, merely watching me and then homeboy and then me again warily; I considered snapping the gun up and firing a shot above his head to scare him, but I was a good guy; making him think I was going to kill him was just rough in every sense.

So I shot him in the foot and walked away. Yep. You read that right. Here's hoping that the Ta-Koro Guard complex had a podiatrist somewhere on the payroll. I doubted it; after all, if they couldn't afford quality shoes for the guards to wear with their uniforms, how would any of them know how to deal with feet?

"Good to see you, Grokkie," I beamed. "I was worried you were too busy taking shots of toothpaste to drop by."

"Gimme some credit," I countered. "Mouthwash. The gun wasn't the only thing I nabbed from evidence, either." I dug into my man-purse and pulled out a pink scarf with tassels - who knew if it was actually his, they all looked the same to me - then handed it to him as we walked down the corridor. "See? Just your fashion, yeah? Happy birthday. Put it on. I mean it. Now." He did. There's nothing I hate more than my kind-hearted hilarious gifts being scorned, you feel me? Dor-dor tossed the scarf around his neck, and watching the frilly cloth swoosh, I couldn't help being reminded of a mentally challenged flamingo.

We kept going on our way, and eventually made it to the last door of the cellblock. I heard the talking on the other side - loud enough that we wouldn't be heard - and so I popped an acid sphere into my Zamor pistol and melted away the lock. It hissed; nobody noticed. I'm such a pro. Before flamingo-boy pushed straight through the handleless door and into a mess of guards on donut break, I nabbed him by the scruff of the scarf and pulled him back.

"Hey, hey, whoa there pony, whoa. We're gonna... roll... outta here in style." I changed clips in my gun. Dor smiled, nodded. He knew what was up.

The guards' delightful coffee break - they were laughing at some guy's lack of gift for his girl, cute, right? - was interrupted as a Skakdi-sized bouncy blue ball (by Skakdi sized, I mean big enough to fit a whole Skakdi inside 'em, not something else) squeezed through the door with Scarfy inside it. I'd pushed the Containment Sphere through the door, and the compressional forces of the frame on the strong, elastic bubble had sent it zinging out into the lounge with enough force to ricochet around the walls. I walked all casual-like through the door in the ensuing chaos, took an admiring look around, slammed myself with a sphere too, and followed 'Dorable rolling out of the complex like hamsters.

I think my grandmother was buried in a scarf like this.

I have seen, heard, been accused of and done many, many atrocious things in my young life, but one thing I've never done is wear the silky skin of a flayed piglet around my neck like some sort of depraved fashion statement. The gaudy, hot pink monstrosity hung like deceased cotton candy around my neck, clashing with my otherwise black attire and chest armor. I was fluorescent.

Or, as Grokk preferred to call me, flaming.

If anybody was interested in trying to stop us, they didn't show it: we rolled mercilessly like boulders chasing after archaeologists (or me, chasing after a decent joint) throughout lounges and hallways until finally we'd found it. There, parked in the most primo spot around, was the women's showers. Yes, it sounds chauvinistic, but let me explain. The women's showers: female Guard members came here after workouts or between shifts to cool down, change, or just talk after a long day's work; they also loved sightseeing, which was why it had the largest, most breakable window in the entire Guard headquarters parked right in the locker room.

It was poor city planning, but I'm sure that someone, somewhere, thought that the prisoners were at least decent enough not to storm the gates of the women's showers. Even though it was logically the first place that people would try and storm after they broke out of prison, and even though the window just happened to be a clean drop down to the center of Ta-Koro, into the market.

How did I know the layout of the women's locker room, you ask? Uh...I'm an architect. That's not the point.

The point is I barreled right into the window, busting through the glass with my giant blue sphere and hurtling towards the ground below, Grokk hot on my heels - or, more specifically, my ba...never mind. Just...forget I said anything. Here. Let me turn this part of the story over to Grokk.

 

We fell through the air, enjoying the zero-grav feeling inside our spheres, and landed in the street, smashing a few market stalls. Who knows why they put a massive window above such a thriving marketplace? Not that I was complaining, considering the excellent views on both sides of the glass, but sometimes you have to think about things like a city planner - or, in this case, a bad one. In any case, one or two squashed traders and property damages later, our bouncy blue balls of liberty (Justice? Imagination? Honor? Hope? Pickles? Take your pick...le) rebounded off the stony ground, earning us another massive bound forward, sailing clear over the Ta-Koro walls. We soared with all the grace possible for an oversized bubble over the heads of awed Ta-Koro guards and pedestrians alike...

Into the lava lake. Whups.

The bubbles only had about a minute of life left before they'd dissolve... We had to roll, and quick. Pressure cooker sitch. My favorite.

This is why I shouldn't let Grokk tell stories.

So there we were in the lake, bubbles beginning to fizzle and soften with disturbingly more frequent hisses as the lava began to burn away at the Containment Spheres. My mind raced, my eyes flying from the faces of rock that made up the canyon the lava lake was nestled in, to the lava itself, to Grokk. My hand reached up around the disgustingly pink scarf he'd placed around my neck and I concentrated hard, lengthening it into one of my trademark metal bullwhip-rope hybrids. My bubble fizzled away just as I leaped into the air with Calix-level tomfoolery, barely avoiding claiming the title of Ta-Koro's hottest (Geddit, hottest? ...I've spent too much time with this guy.) pile of cinders.

The iron whipped forward and grabbed a rock face, wrapping around it several times and giving me a nice little harness to work on climbing up towards. Grokk's bubble passed from under me; it dissipated to, but not before I had grabbed homeboy's hand and hoisted him up beside me. From there, we did our typical macho race thing upwards, flinging dialogue back and forth until we pulled ourselves up from the lake and in front of...

"Hey, look. I planned that perfectly," Grokk said. I turned indignantly, ready to shoot him for the offhanded announcement that he'd planned almost turning us into bok choy, and I was met with one of the absolute strangest sights I'd ever seen. It was a lot of wooden pieces with complicated sections of gears here and there, with two wheels and what looked like pedals for feet to go on the sides. There was a basket on the front, situated between two handlebars; it acted as a sort of armrest for the driver of the vehicle, who took the first of two seats mounted and bolted onto the contraption. "Dor, meet the Wheelie-Geary-Rolly-Polly."

"...You're kidding me."

"Hey, Dor-Dor, check this out," he said, deliberately ignoring me for the purposes of continuing his presentation and walking over to the front basket of his...rolly-polly...,grabbing both sides of the potato sack and lifting it into the air in front of him with a huff of breath. "Wanna hear the sounds of someone more feminine than you?"

He pulled on both sides of the sack, and I could hear the sounds of a long, drawn out gasp for breath. There was an almost-immediate babbling as whoever was inside the sack regained the ability to speak, and I had to resist the urge to die laughing at the Matoran inside.

"Someone, help!" the Matoran squeaked. "It smells like tuber in here and I--"

Grokk sealed the sack shut with a beam as I managed to - for the most part - keep my stuff together and meet his gaze with a raised eyebrow. Homeboy shrugged, looking distinctly proud of himself as he assumed the driver's seat of the contraption.

"Stole him in Onu-Koro, locked him in a cave for three days," he informed me as I took the second seat and tried to find something to grab onto besides his abdomen desperately. "When I came back, he'd created this beauty. I even made you a helmet!"

Half of what may have been a watermelon was plunked down onto my head unceremoniously as Grokk began to pedal, leaving Ta-Koro - and my prison sentence - in the low, kicking dust behind us. Behind us, the yells of Guardsmen to secure the prison and look for us echoed through Ta-Koro as we took back alleys on Grokk's little contraption. Before us, a red and purple sunset, partially blocked by the volcano and our collective egos, though I suppose that the wriggling potato sack in the front basket may have had something to do with it. Despite the absurd circumstances, I was practically soaring, all things considered. Homeboy had gotten me out; I was free. The thought - the realization - practically made me hug my one and only friend from behind on the spot, but I was in no mood to be shot and left for dead in some half-full ditch of magma.

Regardless. I was free, man. Birds flying high, you know how I feel, man! World was my oyster.

Now what?

...

-Tyler

[Hitoshura]

IC: Ryzen"So, north to Ga-Wahi. From what I heard, it's mostly just a bay, all watery. According to the directions, we just keep going?"Ryzen never completely understood Syvra, but enough to actually trust him, even if it was only a tiny bit. He rarely felt this way before, which astonished himself. Trust is an important thing, Ryzen. Give it wisely. He thought to himself as he continued to walk. Strange thing, to think about this right now. The power of trust can be as sharp as any sword...maybe I should focus on what's happening now. Like heading to Ga-Wahi.

[Seraphimon]

IC:

 

As night fell over Ta-Koro, Klavier slept but did not sleep. To him, there was no night or day; there was activity and non-activity, people and not-people. Sometimes, he wondered what the concept of 'light' might be like. Would it be like loudness where no sound had existed before? A sudden revealing of all things, a sudden becoming, the lifting crescendo of a piece of music or the smell of baked bread? Rapture? How could the sightful stand it, to see their lives illuminated like the most beautiful poetry revealing cobwebs of thought? To close your eyes every night, only to reopen must be the deepest catharsis, the greatest feeling of release.

 

Her name was Catalina. Her voice was the sweetest sounding milk after...

 

"Tell me, boy, what is it you dream for?"

 

I smiled. "To see again."

 

"Even more than escape? Even more than leaving this place?"

 

"No offense, but I would stay here forever if it meant being able to see my captor's face, watching them cut and whip me mercilessly, watching the blood run down in rivulets...I would give anything for my sight again."

 

Catalina laughed. It was a cruel life but in the silent dark, her laugh was precious. "You must be a sucker for punishment, then. You don't get your eyes, and you don't get to escape. Sucks, huh, boy?"

 

I spat in her eye, or what I figured to be her eye. The gesture was more important than the actual end result; that was another thing I figured out early down here. "You just wait. Everything comes full circle."

 

She chuckled. "The circle ends here. Incomplete. No one gets out."

 

Instead, there was only darkness, Nothing. Except, of course, the visions. The visions of the future. Or what seemed to be the future, at least. That was the confusing part: hallucinations or prophecy? Truth, or delusion? This question had haunted Klavier the majority of his waking life.

 

"Tonight, the world was on fire again."

 

"Is that all you're capable of saying?" I called this voice the Angry Man. "You must have some other prophecy. For example, a possible escape route? Or a way of getting extra food? Anything at all?"

 

I shook my head. "Not in the slightest. All is see...is a city. A glorious, magnificent city. Then a shadow passes over, clouds out the whole sky. Then the firestorm starts. That's it. That's the end."

 

There was a silence. "Put him back in the cages. We'll see what he says, then."

 

"PRISON BREAK!"

 

There was a sudden jolt of recognition, a sudden return to reality as Klavier realized that he had fallen asleep in his reverie. A quick sweep revealed chaos. A cacophony of screaming, noise, and general pandemonium. Also, a certain someone had disappeared from his cell.

 

Dorian. Fascinating. The vision holds true again.

 

Klaver stood up, smiling.

 

He comes.

Edited April 12, 2013 by Vismund Seraphim

[Voxumo]

IC: Syvra

 

Syvra looked around while he barely payed attention to Ryzen's words. He seemed to be a bit surprised by the barrenness of this land. He did pause in his walking to look at Ryzen

 

"I say we head north till we found the shoreline. I'm not quite sure if we will be able to find the entrance to ga-koro. I have never been there before."

[EmperorWhenua]

Ooc: There is a considerable amount of time between the bar scene and the present setting. In my book it's been at least a day. Of course, leave it to Tyler to screw the continuity up like he was a member of congress or something. I guess I'll sew all this complete balderdash above into a quilt, though. Ic: Huron sat in the cramped lobby, curled up on a chair like some puppy as he just stared blankly at the opposite wall. His hooded shoulder cape was like a shawl, obstructing others from seeing his face but allowing him a perfect vista to everybody else. It was a one-way mirror, a veil, a superhero mask. Only Huron was no superhero. He never intended to be one nor did he work to become one. He was an outsider, an outlier, a reject. Even the others in the room avoided him. The cautious but authoritative steps of a guard approached him. "Can I help you?" he asked. Huron looked up at the guard and gave him his little eyes. The guard balked but still remained. It was the third representative Huron was referred to, apparently higher on the chain of command than the last two. He decided it was time to see if this one had the balls to stay and work with him on solving the matter. "Yes. Well, I hope you can," Huron said. His minty and silky voice was bittersweet to the guard's ears, both horrifying and pleasing in its cultured softness. "I'd like to visit one of your recently admitted inmates." "Which one?" the guard asked. "It largely depends on who you're referring to." "Probably the most recent one. The prophet?" "Mm," the guard said. "Do you have a relation to the inmate?" "Not yet," Huron answered patiently, "but when I'm finished speaking with him I hope to." The guard seemed to be confused how to take that remark but still remained glued in place; apparently he did have the balls to stand before Huron and not back away in disgust. "First condition: Name?" "I've stated it to your secr--" Say it again, to me." "Huron." "Mmmm, not in my records," the guard said, apparently consulting his mental databank of interesting people, or at least wanted people. "Come with me." The guard walked off and Huron followed closely. They stepped behind the desk and into a stone alleyway with windows of offices on either side, where they stopped. "Next condition: Take off that hood." Huron was only barely taller than the guard, standing but a head higher than the matoran and having a body thinner than his. He was unimposing, and by losing his little cloak he would let down his last barrier of control he held. But time was of the essence and all the checkpoints had to be met precisely so he reached up -- slowly -- and removed the hood, revealing his gawked face. His eyes were tiny in recessed sockets and his mouth was long and wide, almost stupid in appearance but not at all funny. Still, the guard did not react adversely. "Hmm, alright," the guard said, satisfied that Huron was neither a fugitive or a suspect, and gestured for him to follow again. "This garrison houses twenty cells with two beds each, accommodating forty criminals at once with a staff of fifteen. Your pal is in our maximum security ward. Lucky for you, I have access to it. Thankfully for you I have access to that hallway." "Aren't you going to bring backups?" Huron asked, curious. "Do I have to?" he asked, on edge -- then again, he always had been. "No," Huron answered. "MaxSec has its own safeguards," the guard explained. "No, I'm not sharing them. What do you think I am, some kind of supervillain who tells all the secrets of his secret lair with the hero as his only audience?" he asked dryly. "This isn't a comicbook." Huron remained silent during the walk and sharply regarded everything they passed. Lightstone torches, crossbow parapets, probable traps and boobys; the guard was right to say this area was full of its own devices. There wasn't anything to say that there weren't more people manning each station in case of something gone wrong and this guard officer was not at all alone with Huron. Finally they rounded a corner and the officer jangled his ring of keys and opened the well-maintained hatch to the MaxSec ward. Five cells in total arranged in a U formation; only two cells had inmates. On the far side of the room was a cell with two inmates and diagonal from it was the one with the prophet. "This who you came to see?" the guard asked, standing next to Klavier's cell. "Is that Dorian?" Huron asked instead, looking at the cell with two inmates. "I don't think that matters to you," the officer replied sternly. Huron gave a long look into the cell, looking sadly at Dorian Shaddix -- then again, he always seemed to maintain a gloomily forlorn disposition about him. "And who is his fellow prisoner?" Huron pressed. "I'm counting down to three, and if you don't return your attention to my questions I'll put you in a cell, too," was the gruff response. "Hey hey hey, ####face: If the man wants to talk to me, let him ####ing talk to me," Dorian said to the guard, apparently recovered from his tirade at his sentencing. At least, vocally recovered. "I don't mind. Any company is better than these two putzes," he said, jerking his thumb between Klavier and Tank. "Yes, that is the man," Huron said without to the guard without looking back, holes simply looking into Dorian's eyes. He didn't speak to the convict, not because he didn't want to but simply he had nothing to say. Whatever he did want to say could be done in a better fashion at a later time. Dorian would be out free shortly anyway. Huron was there to capitalize on the matter. Finally, Huron looked back at Klavier and nodded assertively. "He seems to be sleeping. Can you wake him?" "Yeah, whatever, don't talk to me. I'm used to that now," Dorian drawled. "HEY, WEIRDO," the guard yelled at Klavier. The prophet stirred in his place. Huron could tell the man was sensing, though; his eyelids twitched from either dreams or clairvoyance. The prophet did not stir. "I'll have to get inside to wake him," the guard admitted. "I don't have the key for that. Come with me, we're going back for it." Again, the signal to be followed. As they left the room, though, Huron shot a glance back at Dorian and winked. Things were already being taken care of. They grabbed the key to MaxSec Cell #4 and were approaching the door to the ward when the captain's nose picked up something strange and he hastened his steps. "Freckin' deviants..." he mumbled as he opened the ward hatch and stormed in to admonish and discipline Dorian and Tank. He never made it. Thwack. The guard crumpled to the floor as Grokk stepped from the shadows and revealed himself in full light. The Skakdi terrorist and Dorian exchanged their camaraderie verbosity and left shortly after. A few moments after they left the resounding alarm sounded: "PRISON BREAK!" Klavier stirred at that. Guards shuffled into the MaxSec room and dragged their unconscious ward supervisor out of the room and to a medical bay, though they completely disregarded Tank's shot foot. A toa of iron in their own service repaired the cell bars and was the last individual to leave the room as the force of guards moved elsewhere in an attempt to contain the loosed prisoner. They'd be back shortly, however, to question Tank and Klavier, so Huron had to act fast. Like a cat, he dropped from a little alcove on the ceiling where he was lingering like a spider as the chaos happened in the ward hall. He anded on his feet and strode forward to Klavier's cell, where the prophet himself stood and smiled at the door. "He comes."

 

"And he came," Huron said as he inserted the key, which he had pilfered from the supervisor when he was flustered, into the lock for the cell. "I don't know you and you don't know me, but I figure we have purposes for each other, starting now. Come, Prophet."

[Hitoshura]

IC: Ryzen"You said that a few times, I think I should know by now." Ryzen saw Syvra look around with a small look of surprise on his face. Ryzen laughed. "What surprises you so much? The heat? The volcanic ashes? The rocky landscape? In Ko-Wahi we have nothing but snow, mountains, and cold. What do they have in Le-Wahi, huh? Only been there once, nothing but trees and pesky bugs. What else? Have to admit, this island is quite boring. Six sections of plain land, that differs from each region. Maybe somewhere else would be really nice."

[Voxumo]

IC: Syvra

 

Syrva shot Ryzen a small look before sighing "Yes truly does make you wonder what other places there are out there."

He continued walking towards the north.

"But i doubt we will ever know."

[Hitoshura]

IC: RyzenRyzen followed Syvra, to the north. He thought about Syvra's words. "But I doubt we will never know." Or will we? There may be other places existing, but Syvra had a big point. No one knows, and no one will ever know. Unless they make the effort to do it, no one will, again, even know. Not me, of course. I got other things to think and worry about. Like getting to Ga-Wahi. Ryzen put his thoughts aside, and continued to walk north.