OOC: Okay, I'm free-writing this... Oh dear. Go ahead and move us in your next post, Veef. Get the party rolling.
Maybe I should mention in a blog post my ideas for the "cities" of the koros... Hmm... I should do that... *adds to list*
also, I'm using my idea of Bionicle anatomy from now on. Here we GO! Just roll with it. I don't expect anyone to hop on the bandwagon, so no, I'm not trying to start one.
IC: Draeverian Joskiir
Each footstep resounded lightly off the walls of the stairwell leading from Ko-suva, a massive tunnel carved through the glaciers of Mt. Ihu that stretched from the Old District of Ko-Koro near the Walls of Prophecy upwards to where ice lay naked to the night sky. The form of direction was like Draeverian's thoughts, a group of overlapping principles pulled forward by a common theme. Rivet had abrogated her previous actions as desperation, a desire to pull him back from the brink of mental collapse. It had worked, though Draeverian couldn't help but feel disenchanted by the idea of her real freedom. However, what bothered him the most was a single group: the Peers.
He said Mata-Nui would be destroyed, Draeverian thought in reference to the matoran saboteur from Pala-Koro's night attack. Rivet sat on the by-lines giving nothing more than emotional support as the toa of sound mulled over the words, continuing to conjure the sensations of that evening. Everything had happened too fast. From the initial assault, engaging the vortixx assassin, and finally to the encounter with Hiemalis -- Draeverian shuddered slightly at the thought of such intense cold, pausing in the staircase to the chagrin of passing ko-koran acolytes -- when the Little One had revealed big plans. Destroyed in only twelve lunar cycles. That's... Why would someone attack a Great-Being?
Lunacy? Rivet postulated.
That's implicit with the act.
He passed a provisions merchant, the slight warmth from heat-stones flushing across the sensors of his carapace. Draeverian suddenly realized how little sleep he'd gotten in the past two days: none. Since Pala-koro had been reduced to a pile of protodermic cinders the toa of Sound had become the toa of insomnia, rushing from Koro to Koro with the seemingly indefatigable toa Aitua. There was another loop rushing through his mind -- the Aitua. Where did they come from? What are they hiding? After spending time with the shortest of their group, Draeverian realized just how different Mariko was from the rest of his team. For starters, he was friendly and somewhat outgoing, a trait every other member seemed to have lost before coming ashore. Tupua was distant, a cold-presense like the dead he controlled (an idea Rivet found intriguing against Draeverian's affects towards its immorality), and Aparangi was a narcissistic, hubris-stuffed tote bag of solid over-confidence.
Drae, you're choking me, Rivet croaked satirically, bringing him to the attention of how tightly he had gripped her hilt, his knuckles fading to a light silver as protodermis left the joints. Why don't you just ask Mariko, then?
Draeverian nodded his head, bobbing slightly in ascent to Rivet's question. I would, but I just don't seem to get the opportunity.
You must be busy, traipsing around in an attempt to stop deicide. I almost forgot. Rivet's tone was biting, a feminine drawl of contempt.
"Draeverian," a familiar voice called out, the ripples rushing outwards from the center of the old-district's square. More of a circle really, Draeverian thought with a slight chuckle at the use of language versus the reality it described. Wading through the passing matoran, their pace even more solemn out of grief for their fallen turaga, Draeverian quickly came abreast with his stocky comrade.
"He-yo, Mariko. What's the plan, and where'd the other's go," He replied, a slight grin spreading across his face. Rhymes always were his comfort.