Six Kingdoms: Rebirth - Gameplay

[Harvali]

IC Mahrika - “The Mask of Water(fall) Breathing”

The Ga-Matoran nodded, a smile growing on her face, and said, “I am Mahrika. I was a weaver, before the Skakdi came. Oh, that is another question I have, before we attempt the trials, if you can answer, do you know where the Skakdi came from? My memories have faded, but I think their appearance was sudden at the time.” 

But as Mahrika answered, she reached her mind to Tuakana. “Mast … Big brother, did you catch that?” A warm grin filled her thoughts as she spoke telepathically to her Aspect, “The disks you were interested in, there are six of them that are incredibly strong, and they were built to fight gigantic monsters. There may be a way to … to deal with the monster in the storm, and it can help you get closer to your Great Work at the same time.”

OOC: @Unreliable Narrator @Burnmad @Eyru

[Crimson Jester]

IC: Korruhn, Nuju's Observatory

After leaving the Cartographer's tower, the two had walked a long, somber walk through the silent and empty shell of the former center of the bustle of Ko-Metru. Bodies littered the once immaculate streets between the myraid crumbling Knowledge Towers, blood mixing with the melting ice and flowing through the alleys. Not a soul seemed to live on here, and it seemed to Korruhn that these once great towers of knowledge had now become towers of memory--gravestones for all those who once called this place home.

Once they reached the tower they had been after, Korruhn channeled his elemental gravity, lifting the pair higher, and higher, until they arrived at a massive, circular window. It bore two inner circles, with spokes holding them all to the outer frame, save for where a blast had shattered the glass and torn the metal frame inward on the left side. The two climbed inside.

The room inside was a marvel in of itself. Where they landed, just inside the window, was a stepped, semicircular platorm with an elaborate telescope mounted to the floor. The walls were lined floor-to-ceiling and corner-to-corner with record drives, their power supply indicators faded, the hum of disks quieted. Several hemispherical devices of advanced design protruded from columns in the floor, withsome sort of umbilical lines connected to the vaulted ceiling high above them. In the back, a lone desk sat, cluttered with books, papers and maps. Korruhn was in awe. Although it was now in ruins, shelving collapsed, water rushing in, old computers sparking, it was still a sight to see. Previously, only the highest-level scholars of Ko-Metru had ever been allowed in here, and even then, none spoke of it.

"Nuju was a wise man," Korruhn said as he observed the room. "Very secretive, even for a Ko-Matoran. I met him only a handful of times; he'd come by for maps, directions to some of the older ruins. But I've always been curious to see the inside of this place, even before the Abomination of Ko-Metru spoke his name."

"I am unfamiliar with this place," Stannis admitted and then, after hesitating quickly, added, "and with the matoran. The names and faces blend together over the eons, and not all great people are memorized or met." He didn't mention the occasion when he stumbled upon Nuparu's assassination in Onu-Metru and how he hadn't even realized who it was until much after the death transpired. Everyone's faces had melded into each other's over time, such that only the anecdotes remained and there were none to be said about Nuju. 
 

Secretive, indeed, Stannis pondered as he looked around the quarters. Perhaps even he had some things to learn from this Nuju. 
 

"What were his societal functions?"

Korruhn hesitated a moment. He had spent his entire life--save for the last three weeks--in Ko-Metru. It was hard, nigh impossible to imagine that someone couldn't know of the great Nuju. It was baffling, to say the least. "He was a Scholar, masters of knowledge. Trained by the great Seer himself, Ihu. Nuju was brilliant, and the most knowledgeable Scholar the world over. Were it not for his work, I'd have never learned to read some of these ancient glyphs."

Ihu, Stannis thought, somewhat remembering that name at least. "So Nuju meditated on the Prophesies, then." It was not meant as an insult to the matoran's accomplishments in the slightest—rather Stannis was almost excited about uncovering any work a contemporary historian of sorts had compiled, though he was also trying to temper his enthusiasm... and shield any disappointment that may result after reading those works. 
 
Stannis moved over to a nearby table laden with scattered papers and trinkets of various sorts, baubles with orbs and bars and cones, and he leaned in close to one such device to inspect its mechanics. What he saw pleased him. "He was a true renaissance man; Metru Nui is worse without him."

"Ah, but that's where you're wrong," Korruhn replied. "Nuju may not be here, but I don't think Nuju is gone. I think he was onto something, and I think there's a reason it was he who spoke to me on the Far Shore." He began rummaging the room while talking to Stannis. His hands pulled records from shelves, tapped at buttons on computers, and snatched up papers and texts from various surfaces of the room. Nuju was eccentric in his work, no doubt about that. Each sheet was littered with drawings, maps, and runes, as well as images of artifacts, carved walls, and other things vaguely familiar with the Cartographer. He recognized a few maps, and he was sure he had directed Nuju to a couple of the pictured carved walls, but what did Nuju glean from them that Korruhn had not?

The Toa worked his way to the back of the room, stepping over rubble and piles of drives knocked from shelves, closer to the desk. Something compelled him to it, called to his spirit. It's fingers pulled at his very soul to peer closer at it. Korruhn's hand brushed aside a stack of papers to reveal a triangle, inverted, carved deeply into the desk with a letter knife. Similar to the one he found at the Ruin of Ice. He motioned to Stannis.

"See, exactly what I mean." He pointed at the glyph engraved in the table. "I found something like this at one of the ruins on Zakaz. Why is there one here too? What do you make of it?"

Stannis ambled about in the confines of the study, exploring each of the devices with various levels of interest and speculative interest. Each thing revealed some small fraction of this seer's persona. It was all very fascinating for the Wanderer, almost as though he was witnessing the scene of a fellow kindred spirit's attempts at understanding the functions of the Universe. Drawings, hastily abandoned and then left to scatter in the aftermath of the cataclysm, hinted at a delving into matters of the arcane, well beyond the concrete walls of reality most beings lived in. Whether he was wise in his studies remained to be seen, though the aged Aspect was growing to appreciate the curiosity Nuju apparently possessed.
 
His touristic rummaging was not deliberate or rushed in any particular fashion, as what he saw was not new to him or particularly fascinating—he already knew and understood the purpose and design of the universe, after all—but it was Nuju that was the icon of his attention. All that changed, however, as soon as Korruhn brushed aside the stack of papers from another table and revealed a glyph. Immediately, Stannis could feel voices in his head that pulled his mind towards the glyph. An itch for knowledge that refused to be left alone. And an ancient hankering that begged to be fed for the first time in forever. Knowledge such as this was hard to find on the Ark, especially left unguarded as it was there.
 
"Would you believe me if I told you this was meaningless drivel?" he said, almost jokingly in tone, as he wasted no time in coming beside Korruhn at the table. "No? Good... you shouldn't."

It was a ritual, Stannis knew. He saw similar ones before, in another office, not long ago, but they were not his to take. Back then, he called them the obsessions of an ancient turaga from the Time Before Time. It was true—they were that—but they were also so much more. "This is magic, Korruhn," he said, extending his hand to lay on the etchings and appreciate the grooves of the carved relief. "Touch it," he beckoned. "This language is not one that you can read so much as feel. Let it flow through you, and tell me what it speaks to you."
 
An unseen jolt of conscious energy leapt into his own arm as he laid his hand on the table's etchings as Stannis allowed the taboo to meld with his might. He motioned for Korruhn to do the same.

Edited October 30, 2020 by Crimson Jester

[Unreliable Narrator]

? | ?

More.

Edited October 30, 2020 by Unreliable Narrator

[~Xemnas~]

IC, Whira: With Cravious

The Aspect nodded. "If it allows us to procure a heartlight, I am willing to aid you in finding this person," she said.

OOC: @Kal the Guardian

IC, Aurax: Vahki Hive

Once he had finished giving his instructions to the Vahki, Aurax turned back to the computer terminal. He was perplexed as to why he couldn't delete Ehlek's name from the Vahki code. He dove back into the sea of green text and attempted to remove the Barraki's name again. And again, the same error popped up onto the screen:

ERROR: 403 FORBIDDEN

Aurax narrowed his eyes and stroked his chin. Determined to find the cause for the error, he typed in a new command into the prompt:

DEFINE ERROR

OOC: @Eyru

IC, Atamai: Piraka Fort

For a moment, Atamai remained silent. He desperately wanted to tell Leklo the truth, how he had procured the disks, how Axonn had followed him back from the past, but he didn't trust this stranger.

"I took these disks, since I believe that they might help our people survive on this island," he said finally. "This guy didn't agree with me and attacked me in an attempt to take the disks back."

OOC; @EmperorWhenua @Eyru

[Kal the Guardian]

IC: Cravious - Skakdi of Lightning - Zakazian

Location - Northern Desert

With - Whira

 

Cravious laughed, it was a harsh and jagged sound, “I thought you would say that.” He pointed to his head, his large ACR obeying his gestures, “The way I figure it, if you want to Desecrate a Nui-Jaga, then you’ll need a sentient being’s Heartlight to do it.”

He motioned to Clash, who opened the garage ramp. The air outside was still, the sand seemed damp, making the desert smell more earthy than normal. Probably the new Tahtorak’s doing. Cravious continued, “We can find me a secondary Heartlight later. Maybe that Mesi won’t end up being useless and I won’t have to get one myself. All I know is that I have a wish to fulfill and a new partner to help grow as strong as possible.”

Debt Collector, standing two Skakdi tall and colored like bleached bones, the type of which could not be found in this universe with its protodermis based organisms, took up two thirds of the garage doorway as it stepped down the incline of the ramp. Sand was thrown up as its heavy feet sunk into the ground. Cravious made his way towards the towering rocks, the ground becoming elevated and more sturdy as he walked. The rocks themselves were several sizes larger than the Cube, all long and flat and piled towards the center, where smoke could be seen drifting up through a large gap that let sun into the center of the cluster.

The Tarakava Warband camp was nestled among the rocks piled before them, with many smaller boulders forming a type of wall both from the elements and other warbands. Well, other small warbands. If Nektann’s group came through here it would be a slaughter.

As he approached the opening to the passage that was large enough to fit a war rig though, he pondered how this would go down. Generally there were three things that tended to happen. One, the Skakdi betrayed their friend, giving them to Cravious without any hesitation. Two, the Skakdi betrayed their friend, but held him for ransom, demanding payment from Cravious. Or three, the warband stuck together and tried to fight off Cravious.

While option one was the most convenient, options two and three tended to be far more fun. When you were the one who created, tested, and then supplied a large portion of weapons and ACRs to the warbands, you tended to know how to deal with those weapons.

Cravious activated his X-Ray Vision, once more enjoying that his ACR’s elemental dampener only hindered elemental attacks, not other power types. Of course that meant vision powers and inherent powers could be used against him, but those tended to be trivialized by the level of destruction two Skakdi using their elements in tandem could create.

He cautiously observed the warband’s camp, going layer by layer, allowing his X-Ray Vision to slowly peer deeper through the rock. He didn’t want any surprise attacks and so tried to take in everything.

The warband really was hurting for members. There were now only five of them left. A couple were injured and missing body parts. Cudgel was there, and appeared healthy. Why these idiots didn’t have a lookout was beyond him, especially in their weakened state.

Three of them were gathered around a fire, eating. Cudgel was cleaning a weapon and… Cravious went a layer deeper with his X-Ray Vision ...the last one was under the chassis of one of two war rigs. And he was doing a horrible patch job. It kind of made Cravious cringe and want to go in there and do it right. But no, they needed to be quick. He wanted to complete Whira’s wish as soon as possible.

Making sure Whira wasn’t still in the Cube, Cravious made his way through the passage in the large rocks, dropping from view in its shadows. He emerged fifteen seconds later in the sunlight that came through the gaps in the piled boulders as he joined the other Skakdi in the hollow in the rocks. The orange of the fire removed the stark contrast between the white of the ACR and all the names written on it of those who had failed their contracts and had been collected.

Still, Cudgel saw the writing first, knowing that his time had come. For a moment the mostly orange Skakdi was afraid, like when he had first been created, not knowing how to fit into a new, violent world. Then he was enraged by Cravious’ presence. He had fought hard to survive. He had found a warband to call home. He had secured a place in this world. He wouldn’t be taken so easily.

Cudgel yelled in defiance and as a declaration of his intentions to fight back, standing and raising the Plasma Harpoon he had been cleaning. It was the very thing that he hadn’t made any payments on and was the reason he was in this predicament in the first place.

The other Skakdi all turned, their optics going wide as they saw Debt Collector. One slowly reached for his Zamor Launcher like Cravious couldn’t see him doing it. Idiot.

There was a bang of something hitting metal as the Skakdi underneath the war rig hit his head and cursed.
 

OOC: @~Xemnas~ I planned on finishing this fight next post to keep things moving along, since I assume we'll want to go more in depth with Desecrating the Nui-Jaga. Do what you wish.

As for Saybo, I don't really have a reason to post him, so no need to wait for him.

Edited October 30, 2020 by Kal the Guardian
Fixed formatting.

[Unreliable Narrator]

IC: Reliable Narrator | Le-Metru Nuva

 

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

Repeat.

 

Wet foliage crushed underfoot has a certain smell. It makes my nostrils flare. It clears my senses. It heightens awareness of the world around me, and my connection to it. I feel myself opened up to the world as nature reveals itself to me in full. I am a part of it. The sight of rain. The smell of fresh cut timber. The sounds of thunder rolling through my chest. The taste of iron as I anxiously bite my lip. The smooth and weathered feeling of a bow in my hands, the string taught and pulling against my fingers with a sharp pressure. The slack as my arrow flies and life is taken. The overwhelming desire to live, to fight, to grow and make something of myself in a world that seems oblivious to my individual existence but inextricably requiring my cooperation.

 

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

Repeat.

 

We exist. We live. We die. We feel so bound to a world that nurtures and tortures our very frail bodies as human beings. We feed, and we are also food. Some of us claim there is a beyond. They fight and struggle to make something of themselves for what comes next. Some of us crawl into the grave without cause for comfort, believing they exist as matter and nothing more. We are both content and malcontent. Our contradictions lead to development, to great thinking, and to blossoming affections. We contain emotions, and thoughts, and feelings, and we know them all less than they know us.

 

Breathe in. 

Breath out.

Repeat.

 

We write about plastic toys that are imagined to be sentient robots that walk and talk and live like us. I write at home, surrounded by a cloud of incense with sunlight cutting through my window. All of me is engaged in the process of creation. I feel real and present and alive. 

How do They live? We ask ourselves this question and come up with our own unique answers. Each of us makes a different reality for our imagination. We share, and that sharing changes our perceptions. Like how constellations are made from collections of individual stars, we light the night sky with our creativity. How do our Bionicle walk, never knowing that they crawled? How do they love, never knowing they once could not? We find answers. They become more like us or less like us. 

How do they sleep? Eat? Breathe? When their minds are metal and their hearts are stone, do they live or do they simply function? We imagine they live like us. We fantasize that such a possibility exists where metal can be alive. We contain organic rock. Why can’t they contain organic metal? We bathe their forms in something comfortable, and imagine them more as us. Our puppets imitate us. Our characters feel alive. They are not.

What spark makes them move? Is it in them, or is that spark in us? Souls are pretty, they are easy. What spark sets them free to live with their own will? Somehow, these characters run away from us. They get their own ideas. We become the imagined reality. Do we write into a mirror, feeling like the machines we play as we live our daily lives, or are the machines we imagine something to escape our mortal pain and find some hidden precious joy to share?

Is their pain, power, or joy the same as ours? We imagine robots full of elements. They control the wind because we cannot. We are both the masters and the pawns, safe in our planes of metal so long as we obey laws we still do not fully understand. The escape is both ways. We escape to them, and they escape to us. Our constellations are beautiful. 

 

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

Repeat. 

 

One constellation is a swamp. It’s dark, and raining, and the swamp is full of horrible nightmares. We imagine it as a jungle, with its understory and its canopy, and its emergent canopy. We can smell the piles of water-logged garbage littering the ground. We’ve all stepped into a puddle before, or we’ve watched someone put their shoe in something foul, and now our characters wade through puddles of decay as we collectively imagine a world gone to seed and look for the kernels of hope. The hope is beautiful. 

There is a whole village full of hope. It sits in the trees above the foul swamp water below. Clambering at the railings of the treetop village of Le-Metru Nuva are over two dozen survivors full of hope. They are terrified, but they have hope. Some hope to die painless deaths, others hope to survive at any cost. One hopes to never be found. I imagine them in the pouring rain. I imagine what it must feel like, with the thunder booming and the wooden planks beneath my feet slick from the storm. I’ve been in a lightning storm: I know what the flash of lightning looks like. I’ve smelled the ozone before, and I’ve smelled the burnt grass. I can smell it again and imagine myself there, in their place, fighting to stop my heart from beating so fast. Imagining it, I write it, and the stars shine brighter in the sky above. Le-Metru Nuva doesn’t see it, but I can imagine it. The stars are up there, above where the air ends. The village is down there, under the boughs of water-logged trees. The villagers throw their disks towards something terrifying, risking their lives as they fight against something beyond their comprehension. They don’t give in. We don’t want them to give in. We want to see them struggle, because otherwise what comes next wouldn’t be worth it. We are so in tune with the idea of rewards at the cost of hardship, that when rewards are there to be taken we need to feel they were earned. It’s human. It’s fun.

 

So the imprisoned god whose head you ripped off in March crawls towards your village. What are you going to do about it? The untethered splits into its smaller forms as Viltia fires, and those smaller forms become their own connected selves. We’ve taken the pieces from the bin and built something. Now that something wants to build something. What if we let it?

 

Uraborask and Skrillex, two beautiful stars, are glittering at the base of the tree holding up a part of the village. They are scared, and frightened, but Uraborask couldn’t show it. In fact, Uraborask fights back. Uraborask is not designed to show his fear. So why does he feel it? Is he afraid because you are, Sparticus147? Thank you for playing with me, and for being vulnerable and writing your glowing stars in this constellation. It’s amazing to share this moment. 

The cordak blaster built into the twisted frame of Uraborask’s car fires back, detonating small charges of high-impact fragmenting explosives into the body of something it cannot kill. It rips  apart the untethered whole, making tiny little pieces that crawl back to each other through the fires caused by the explosion’s heat. Like a damaged web, the spider that lives there begins to repair the dangling threads. Some bits hop. Imagine that, hopping untethered moving like little worms in a desperate attempt to remain whole. Some squirm back together and shamble towards Uraborask, hoping to connect. With arms open wide, they want to share in the bounty of their extended existence. They are Death and they are Life. They want to become the same star. Why do you think toa go nova? Did you think they were the only ones?

 

Breathe in.

Breathe out. 

Repeat.

 

The storm of loss approaches, Irnakk’s pawn, a floating nebula behind the constellation that glitters in the darkness of our collective consciousness. Nektann draws nearer with the rumbling shake of his footsteps rippling across the swamp. His clawed feet imprint upon the earth deeper than a skakdi stands tall. Nektann the skakdi is forgetting how he lived and becoming the great nightmare nebula threatening to birth a new star. He is learning to crawl again. What is it like to go back to smashing blocks against each other in ignorant curiosity? The sounds of an ancient forest being torn apart echo to Le-Metru Nuva above the sounds of the storm as he uproots trees. He grows closer.

 

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

Repeat.

 

Nietzshe wrote “be careful when you cast out your demons that you don't throw away the best of yourself,” and now here they are, my demons. They hurry through the toxic Fau Swamp towards your ideas. We prepare ourselves for those ideas to come into contact. My chest tightens as the great monsters hunger for more on the other side of the mirror. Come play, they say. Let’s play well together. One of these demons plans to consume one of your stars, snuffing it out like when a candle is deprived of oxygen. Which demon will it be? Which star? Will the tiny goodbyes of a swallowed galaxy be echoed in the black hole that consumes them, or do they return someday reformed in another world and another time without knowledge of their prior self?

 

Breathe in.

Breathe out. 

Repeat.

 

One game ends and another begins. You and I have this cycle of desire, of the chase and thrill to start something new, of one RPG gone too long that needs to be laid to rest. We are terrified of ending, and so we let things linger when they should be properly and lovingly put down. But what if ending something let you and me finally be free to enjoy something new? It’s that creative burden that weighs us down, that brings our characters back for more in the same way we return to Mata-Nui over, and over, and over again. 

We always go back to the island. It’s the island, isn’t it?

What if this one island wants us to come back?

 

Wet foliage crushed underfoot has a certain smell.

 

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

Repeat.

 

 

_______

OOC: @Nato the Traveler, @Kal the Guardian, @Sparticus147

[Nato G]

IC: Sidra – Le-Metru Nuva

It wasn’t enough.

The undead just kept on coming, reconstituting and restoring itself from every injury, drinking in the life of the lush foliage to sustain its own twisted existence. Its severed pieces hopped and hobbled through the mud, reattaching to the roiling mass.

She was so transfixed by the horrifying sight that she barely registered that the rig had crashed until she looked further down and realised it was no longer moving. The driver had gotten out, but the Cordak was continuing to fire… not that it was doing any good.

She didn’t know if the Skakdi was friend or foe. She didn’t know the depths of cause of the hated Viltia and some of the other villages clearly harboured for the species. But she knew right now, they were allies in this fight, and that the Skakdi was perhaps the only one who could do anything to help the people of Le-Metru Nuva.

She was too high up to jump down to him, and climbing down would take too long. In the overcast twilight cast by the storm, there weren’t any proper shadows for her to try to teleport through, and timing a teleport with the lightning was too risky. That only left one option. 

Cursing under her breath, Sidra vaulted over the village railing, launching a rhotuka beneath her as she dropped. The spinner spiralled down, sizzling and spitting, towards where the Skakdi had landed, and Sidra did her best to keep her balance as she rode it down through the lashing rain and flying projectiles. Arrows nicked her armour and a Kanoka nearly took her head off as she descended, but then her rhotuka struck the earth and she was floundering across the muddy ground.

“Turn the Cordak off!” She shouted, waving her arms at the Skakdi as she waded towards where he stood, “You can’t kill them that way! Not yet!”

@Sparticus147 @Kal the Guardian @Unreliable Narrator

[Eyru]

IC: Reliable Narrator | Sub-Coliseum Vahki Hive

"ERROR 403," Nuparu said, "is a status code indicating access to the requested resource is forbidden. We understand your request, but cannot authorize it."

The hologram still stood on the water, its voice still sounding from somewhere above and behind its guests. Green text scrolled across the screen as it spoke, each word identical. Aurax recalled the hologram's introduction: "We are the data cluster of this hive." The terminal and the hologram were simply different manifestations of the same being, and neither were its true form. The collective identity of the hive existed piecemeal in every Vahki processor; it was an intelligence built of a thousand separate neuron that were connected only in a virtual space. The cluster only chose a physical avatar out of necessity—its true form was purely virtual, and therefore incomprehensible to physical beings. It was everywhere and nowhere, logging every command and mapping every data point. There were no secrets here.

"Your BARRAKI permissions are insufficient," Nuparu continued. "We require additional credentials to authorize your request."

 

OOC: @~Xemnas~ @Kal the Guardian

 

IC: Tuakana | Fortress Ruins

"You are right," they breathed.

The mossy mound of armour turned. They gazed more intently at Atamai.

"A nightmare walks," they said. "And these six. Can save you."

Old memories floated unbidden to the surface of their mind. Ruin. Carnage. Devastation. A thousand prayers for salvation. A thousand prayers denied. 

"Without these. The land will be overturned. All will perish in fire and water."

 

 

OOC: @EmperorWhenua, @~Xemnas~

 

IC: Taja | Grand Temple Ruins

"We can talk about genocide later," Taja said, trying to hide her distaste. "For now, let's get out of these ruins."

This elder Aspect seemed dangerously unhinged, exploding into fury at the mere mention of the Skakdi. The enemy of her enemy may be a friend, but this was a friend who could easily turn on her without warning. She resolved to keep Apex at arm's length.

As for Morangad... she was sorry he wouldn't come. He seemed more level-headed. But it was time for her to go back. Before it was too late.

 

OOC: @Sparticus147 @Nato the Traveler @Burnmad

 

IC: Oreius | Metru-Nui

"I need a ship," Oreius said.

The Vahki whirred, its clockwork brain processing this information. The Toa standing before it was classified as a guest of the Barraki, which entitled him to certain privileges. Its eyes blinked for a moment as it tried to identify where to draw the line. Were guests allowed to take coffee cups and hotel soaps? Sure. Whole airships? That was less clear.

But while it was deliberating, the Toa of Fire had already walked by, his eyes set on a small, light craft that could get him out of Metru-Nui.

Edited October 31, 2020 by Eyru

[~Xemnas~]

IC, Atamai: Piraka Fort

Atamai pursed his lips in thought. The stranger seemed to understand the importance of the disks, but Atamai still had burning questions.

"Okay, how exactly will these disks save us?" he asked.

OOC: @Eyru

IC, Aurax: Vahki Hive

"Don't have the proper credentials, eh? Alrighty then..." said Aurax. "How's this for credentials..." Aurax reached over and plugged in the OTIS brain back into the computer, and, with a flex of his fingers, began to type once more. This time, his purpose was different; he was attempting to hack the system in order to give himself the proper credentials to remove Ehlek from the system.

OOC: @Eyru

[The UltimoScorp]

IC Kathrine of the Flame - ???

Time is not a static thing, much as one might think it, sectioned off I to easy to understand chunks, always the same amount of chunks. But those bits of time are far more flexible than they might appear. Indeed, the more still a body is, the faster time moved, and as one gets faster and faster, it indeed slows down until at some point time seems to stop altogether!

Kat hadn't been still, far from it, but still time seemed to flow strangely around her, moments growing and shrinking. Days shrunk to seconds, and minutes at times stretched into several hours.

But eventually, or perhaps in no time at all, the young Toa of Flame arrived at the gates of Po-Koro once again, just as she'd promised.

She cupped her hands around her mouth and called out, "Helloooo!"

Ooc: Kat OFI at Po-Koro!

And sorry for the wait ;-;

[Eyru]

IC: Reliable Narrator | Sub-Coliseum Vahki Hive

The real difficulty in hacking a Vahki network wasn’t the computations: it was the stress on the hacker. With how the clockwork computing Nuparu devised worked, the only way to hack into a data terminal was by physically connecting oneself to the hivemind of the nearest charging cluster where hundreds of Vahki rested and acted as a remote processor for active squads. Outsiders could access via an invasive procedure to themselves, and more than one hacker had lost their mind to the Vahki hive. 

Aurax was avoiding the danger by plugging in the Vahki brain to act as a middleman that he could command. Worst case scenario, if the brain was absorbed into the hive's consciousness, he could probably just unplug it and try again. There was no risk of losing his own mind to the hive. The downside was that he was introducing lag to the process. Any commands he entered would be routed through the clockwork brain and back into the system. Those precious milliseconds might allow a brute-forced opening to close before he could get in.

Pressing the enter key, Aurax started the program that would plunge his OTIS brain into the ocean of the hive's consciousness. The brain beeped twice, then began to whirr as the tiny clockwork mechanisms inside started up. The spinning gears were quiet at first, but grew louder as the hive demanded more processing power. Onscreen, Aurax watched as lines of code began to scroll across the screen, faster and faster until he could barely keep up. OTIS had been forced into submission to the cluster; it was nothing more than additional RAM to be used to compute, calculate, and solve crimes. The whine of the brain's clockwork mechanisms grew louder until it sounded like the droning of a large insect. The metal grew hot to the touch.

The code suddenly paused its relentless scrolling. This was the opening Aurax had been waiting for—OTIS was part of the cluster, and, during this brief downtime, could now be commanded to search for information or execute commands that were usually inaccessible. He didn't have much time, though: the cluster might spin back up at any moment, pulling OTIS back into submission. And, judging from the whining of overclocked gears, the brain itself was getting close to overheating.

The cursor blinked, awaiting input.

 

 

OOC: @~Xemnas~ @Kal the Guardian

[~Xemnas~]

IC, Aurax: Vahki Hive

His face stonelike, Aurax used the command prompt to find Ehlek’s name in the system. He selected it and hit the delete key, holding his breath in anticipation. 

OOC: @Eyru

 

[Eyru]

IC: Reliable Narrator | Sub-Coliseum Vahki Hive

Click. Aurax pressed the key, and a flurry of code rippled past too quickly to read. It ended with the command line repeating its earlier message:

ERROR: 403 FORBIDDEN

Before he could fully internalize his disappointment, the message continued. Evidently, his hacking had unlocked additional information:

"BARRAKI" AUTHORIZATION INSUFFICIENT

"ADMINISTRATOR" AUTHORIZATION REQUIRED

He still had the freedom to execute another command, or search for more information. Evidently, this was a rare lull in the hive's activity. But a quick glance at the clockwork brain indicated that he might be running out of time. If they looked closely, Aurax and Saybo would see tendrils of smoke beginning to waft up from the overclocked brain. The whine of the gears was growing in pitch and volume, changing from a whine into a scream.

The cursor blinked.

 

OOC: @~Xemnas~ @Kal the Guardian

[~Xemnas~]

IC, Aurax: Vahki Hive

Aurax ground his teeth in annoyance. 

Let’s try this. 

Aurax typed a new command:

AURAX > CHANGE ROLE TO ADMINISTRATOR

OOC: @Eyru

[Eyru]

IC: Reliable Narrator | Sub-Coliseum Vahki Hive

ERROR: 403 FORBIDDEN

"CHANGE ROLE" UNAUTHORIZED

"BARRAKI" AUTHORIZATION INSUFFICIENT

"ADMINISTRATOR" AUTHORIZATION REQUIRED

THE FOLLOWING USERS ARE AUTHORIZED TO "CHANGE ROLE":

/LIST START/

"EHLEK"

...

...

/LIST END/

The screen was swallowed up by scrolling code as OTIS was once again forced into submission to the cluster. The clockwork brain was well and truly screaming now, its gears spinning faster than ever. Tendrils of smoke leaked from various orifices. The metal was beginning to glow. This was the point where a Vahki plugged into the hive would be doused in liquid protodermis to rapidly cool it down. But no such salvation was available for OTIS. If Aurax didn't unplug the brain now and find a way to cool it off, it would overheat and melt down.

The scrolling code paused again as the hive ceased its computations for a moment. The cursor blinked, awaiting input. This was Aurax's chance to search for one last piece of vital information, or issue one last desperate command. He had to choose, and choose quickly. His fingers hovered over the keyboard. What would it be—Ehlek or OTIS?

OOC: @~Xemnas~ @Kal the Guardian

[Unreliable Narrator]

IC: Reliable Narrator | Le-Metru Nuva

The grand untethered sunk into the muck of the Fau Swamp as Viltia shifted her consciousness beyond her physical frame and into the ancient tree beneath her feet. Something Viltia began to realize as her power extended into this ancient tree was her life and the tree’s life was far more connected than she imagined. The tree nurtured her village, it provided safety and shelter. The tree stood as a beacon of hope in a dark place for the villagers. It comforted them and provided what they needed to survive above the putrid waters. It’s leaves cleaned the air they breathed. How long could Viltia continue to believe the plants she communed with were not alive?

As roots retreated, the waters rushed in, sucking down like a drain in a spiral as a great hole in the bottom of the swamp floor caved in. The sink hole grew larger, filling the space between the towering trunks of the nearest trees. Beruv’s hut further away began to tilt. By Uraborask, Skrillex, and Sidra the roots moved with alien control. Closer to the monstrous untethered creation than Beruv, the two began to feel the strong pull of the waters beneath as the earth gave way beneath their feet.

The strands of mucus-like webbing spread itself thin as smaller beings strained against their bonds and reached for the roots above the waters. Those who could mouthed the words, “hold me,” but no voice came out and Sidra and Uraborask could only watch in horror as they slid closer to their sinking enemy. They watched in shock as one popped out of existence to reappear clinging to the trunk of a tree several yards away. The small body wormed its way into the bark and began tugging on the silver mucus web connecting it with the rest. Others began this aberrant teleportation. They clicked in communication, and the web grew taught as their grand original form sank deeper.

Viltia felt the grand untethered sinking, falling beneath the roots she moved, disappearing into the darkness of the earth. Strangely, it seemed as if it could see her as well as she could see it through her elemental connection. The numerous plants within her power sang through her, warning of the terrible being slipping further downwards into the mutagenic waters. She felt so much singing. She could get lost within the ecosystem, travel endlessly through the roots and stems and leaves and flowers. She could ride the wind as spores or seeds. The small creation tucked into Wing’s armor sang too and stayed within Viltia’s mind, flickering from tree to tree. Then she heard something speak. They were close, and sounded like Wing save for the strange echoes of other voices. They said;

“Give me life so I may live it” 

They pounced, mask splitting and cracking with silver webs of mucus stretched between each portion as the simile of Wing bit down towards Viltia’s thigh.

OOC: @Kal the Guardian, @Sparticus147, @Nato the Traveler

 

IC: Administrator | Ruins of Water

“They belong here, and they don’t belong here,” the Administrator said somberly. “The skakdi tribes belong to Irnakk, the Nightmare Thief who fled here from somewhere else. He crawled into this reality and it gave him power, and I followed him as I saw my own past brought to ruin. For skakdi, this is their deep slumber and they cannot leave. They brought with them dark pacts, magic from when they were awake. We are like a dream to them. Someday they will wake up, and they will choose where they belong. Until then, Irnakk cherishes their dreams. He feeds on them in the safety of his exile. To us, they are our waking nightmare.”

OOC: @Harvali, @Burnmad

Edited October 31, 2020 by Unreliable Narrator
added admin

[Kal the Guardian]

IC: Saybo - Toa of Water - Aurax

Location - Vahki Hive below Coliseum (4, 9)

With - (Great Being) Aurax

 

Saybo couldn’t help but notice the angry whirring of the machine Aurax had plugged in. He could feel the heat radiating off of it, dispelling the moisture that was in the air. Saybo couldn’t let this machine fail his Great Being.

With a half focus born of hundreds of years of practice, Saybo grabbed several spheres of liquid protodermis from the pond and gently submerged OTIS in them one after another. His fingers danced on one hand as he controlled the orbs as they bobbed through the air. He continued this, eyes still watching his surroundings as he kept up a constant cooling cycle for Aurax’s OTIS.
 

OOC: @~Xemnas~ @Eyru

[EmperorWhenua]

IC Stannis | Nuju's Office

The old man had seen it all, once, and he would see it again, he thought. History was a cycle, he said, and every memory was just a memory of something you'd almost forgotten. Every time he remembered something, it was only an echo of that experience reverberating down a long hallway, corrupted by time and distance and altered slightly. Memory was faulty in that regard; you couldn't really trust in your senses. Better, then, to record it for reliving somewhere that wasn't your mind. Better, then, to inscribe it where it could be experienced again and again in a less tarnished version only one level removed from the truth.

Despite the testament of his intellect it was still hard to tell if Nuju the Seer was a truly wise man; regardless if he was or wasn't his practices had benefitted Stannis at the least, and such a benefit was not overlooked by the generous Wanderer. Stannis let his hand rest on the sigil etched into the table and closed his eyes. He realized that this truth... was complete. Nuju was smart—there was no shirking in his scholastic responsibilities and half-assed inscriptions. The etching told a complete story without flaw, a true history in an intricate carving.

Something stirred in Stannis' mind as he relived the experience all over again. The inscription reminded him of something, evoked some knowledge he'd long since forgotten, and begged him to embrace it wholeheartedly. He eagerly complied, opening the gates to his mind for the experience to flood in. Like when he sipped his juices of life in his Vault and felt whole again vial after vial he could feel something come back to him. The ritual unlocked some primordial memory and it flashed behind the silver veil of Stannis' damnably grey eyes and flashes of what he had done before, before the Time-Before-Time, came back to him. A previously stowed knowledge dawned upon him like some eureka moment as he suddenly had a moment of clarity, just then being able to discern the dunes through all of the sand and understanding what he was too blinded to see.

He saw slugs. The ritual's words reverberated in his mind for what could have been the first time but was anything but that.

Goodbye

Mortal Soil

Decrepit and raw

Shadow born cosmos

Where I see all

Hello

Stannis fluttered his eyes, then he withdrew his hand from the taboo and looked down at Korruhn's excited visage. "Touch it," he commanded this time. "Feel it. Experience it with an open mind, and you will see."

OOC | Kughii has confirmed that the taboo is the kraata ritual. 

[Sparticus147]

IC: Uraborask & Skrillix (Le-Metru Nuva)

Gazing in the direction of the...Thing? Uraborask was left stunned. Cordak after Cordak blasted into the monstrous mass, each one hitting true against the bulbous mass, the terrible blasts of the rounds being felt even where Uraborask stood. Yet..Yet it still did nothing. It did nothing at all. This thing..It was unkillable, it was invincible, it was indestruct... Within the bundle of mottled green and brown fibers, Uraborask felt the shivering form of Skrillix attempt to warm itself against the Skak, and that was when Uraborask remembered. Nothing, nothing was immortal. Everything died, and Uraborask will ensure that whatever this was...Dies.

It was then that a figure, glad in emerald green landed before Uraborask and called out to them, “Turn the Cordak off! You can’t kill them that way! Not yet!” Turning towards the figure, a proto-breed that Uraborask had never seen standing before him. Uraborask was about to respond to their sudden arrival when the rushing of water grew swifter between their ankle and the Ba-Skakdi looked over and saw as the trees themselves seemed to shift and move with an unnatural motion, one that was causing the silver-bound monstrosity start to sink into the sodden marsh, it looking like the many tentacles of a giant squid sucking in its prey.

But then, from the corner of Uraborask's gaze came a shimmer, a shine, and then a tear in the world itself, as more silvery creatures, smaller in size and more defined, seemed to spawn from rifts of nothingness, their actions being ones of desperation and ferocity, them clinging onto whatever they could, seemingly trying to avoid the fate of their progenitor. Looking back towards the strange proto-bring, Uraborask gave Sidra an odd snarl, not one to scare them off, but certainly one that didn't invite friendly relations when the Skakdi at last spoke.

"The ground is sinking beneath us and these things are coming from nowhere. I got my own matters." And with that, Uraborask proceeded to attempt to climb the side of the core tree of Le-Metru Nuva, hoping to escape the slowly growing death trap that is the swamp floor.

OOC: @Kal the Guardian @Nato the Traveler @Unreliable Narrator

[Onaku]

IC: Arkius - Po-Koro

Prior to Kat's arrival, Arkius had nodded to Kanohi, both to his request and to his question, though right now he had little time to exchange words. After delivering Jovan and the matoran to safety, Arkius made his way to the center of the village, wading through the settling water. Raising his hands to the sides, his feet connected to the ground, Arkius felt his way through the village's earthen foundation, before then executing a gradual and precise erosion of holes leading down into the earth, down into unflooded tunnels below. These holes were large enough to allow the water down through them, draining the water from the village, but not large enough to endanger anyone who might step on them. Slowly but surely the water dissipated, until the damp ground was all that was left. All the while, Arkius stabilised and reinforced the ground upon which the village stood, until finally he collapsed to one knee, winded.

@Harvali@Toru Nui@pokemonlover360@Snelly@Tarn@The UltimoScorp

[Harvali]

IC Kanohi and Bode and “Collector” - Po-Koro

Kanohi heard the Toa shout as he was mending at the walls of an eroded hut. He turned and grappled over to her, tumbling as he landed on the damp ground. He shakily stood up, using his Kiril Staff to support himself, and dipped his head.

“Um, h-hello, Toa. I am sorry for the state of the village. We … the fringes of a storm swept through Po-Koro, it wasn’t even the full force of it and it reduced the ground into a quagmire, some of the village collapse or sunk underneath. The rain … there was a titanic beast was in the center of the rain, I think … I think it may have been generated the storm.”

Collector coughed from behind Kanohi, who turned to face them. “I will begin trying to unearth any Matoran buried in the mud, along with any disks, as well as Jovan’s mask. But in-between tearing up the earth to search for Matoran, I might need to take a breaks to rest. If you give me the telescopic lens, I should be able to tinker with it when I am resting, get it working.”

Kanohi winced, “I … I doubt the Forge is working now, I will not be able to make you the disks now. And as Po-Koro likely will have to be evacuated, I do not know if I will ever be able to.”

”I understand. I will manage.”

The Fe-Matoran blushed beneath his mask, but still extended his hand and dropped the pouch of components and the unfinished device in the Vortixx’s hand. Collector nodded and pocketed the pouch, before walking away, their Kanoka Blade dangling from their waist.

 As they walked away, Kanohi turned back to the Toa. “Um, I hate to impose, but if you could help us rescue any Matoran partly buried? Or … you are a Toa of Fire, right? Do you think you could help relight the Forge? I think there should be disks of regeneration there, possibly submerged in the mud, they could help.”

OOC: @The UltimoScorp @pokemonlover360 @Toru Nui @Onaku @Snelly @Tarn

IC Mahrika - “The Mask of Water(fall) Breathing

Mahrika rubbed her mask, trying to massage her brain. “I … you are not from this island either? You followed the Skakdi here, but … but you inhabit our ancient ruins? These ruins are ancient, aren’t they? I … I thought they were around before me, but I remember the arrival of the Skakdi. I … I don’t understand the timeline.”

Vokarda prodded her gaze towards Ollem, and she made a weary smile, “I suppose we might have to solve the rest of this chamber’s puzzles to fully understand.”

OOC: @Unreliable Narrator @Burnmad @Eyru

[Tarn]

IC: Triage - The Taku to Metru-Koro

"Uh, well...I'll see what I can do about Ulkarr," Triage replied, before making his way down from the bridge and out the airship. The attack had seemingly already wrapped, the aggressors having struck quickly, and left just as fast. He found Ulkarr with Skorm, and seeing things wind down, the medic sighed and began looking for Nale instead. A manas, presumably the one the Toa of Magnetism had communicated to the Taku about, now wandered the village aimlessly in a manner that made it clear it was no longer a danger. Maybe someone would adopt it as a pet.

Triage soon came upon the airship's de facto captain in a moment of reprieve, showing a side of herself she had rarely let on lately.

IC: Nale Vella - Metru-Koro

The tired Fa-Toa was bent over, hands resting on her knees, letting out ragged breaths. The excitement of the attack had ended sooner than expected, but so much had happened in the span of 24 hours that it had truly begun to wear on her. Had it even been that long? Enough had happened to fill multiple days, let alone one, a busy schedule of village attacks and diplomacy and a proposed treasure hunt that could easily end in peril. She straightened out her back and took a deep breath, not wanting to show any sign of her fatigue. Nale was now captain of the Taku, with responsibility the size of an airship crew resting on her shoulders. She had to be someone people could look to in these increasingly trying times. She had to be someone.

Out of the corner of optic she noticed a white object come closer, and for the briefest moment her heartlight skipped at the thought one of those Skakdi from below had stayed behind, but as Nale turned to face the shape she realized it was Triage. Behind him, she could see Gnabol approaching as well. Her expression became stoic, and she placed her hands on her hips in a confident manner.

"Quite the night, huh?"

Nale then, without warning, collapsed into the medic's arms.

IC: Triage - Metru-Koro, back to the Taku (Oh, brother...)

Triage sighed again. This was why sleep was good for the body. He looked over at the Skakdi that had approached them. "She'll be alright, I think. I can take care of her from here." The medic could tell Nale wasn't totally unconscious, and began guiding her back to the Taku, helping her aboard and into her quarters. Triage then returned to Berys. "She's fine, before you ask. Just needs some rest in my medical opinion. The situation in the village has been handled."

@BULiK@Keeper of Kraata@Toru Nui

IC: Jutori - Po-Koro

"Nothing to be sorry about," Jutori replied quietly. The deluge had ended. The Ba-Toa brought the Matoran he'd rescued to the village entrance, and the Vahki transports, as he had intended, before turning his attention back to the village proper. "There's probably still others in there, trapped," he said to those present. "Just because the weather is clearing doesn't mean we're done here, yet."

@Snelly@Harvali@Toru Nui@Onaku, etc. (it's been a while, hopefully I didn't forget anyone)

OOC: After some time away, I've returned.

Edited October 31, 2020 by Tarn

[Kal the Guardian]

IC: Viltia - Toa of the Green - Metru-Nui Refugees

Location - Le-Metru Nuva, on the Northwestern fringes of (7, 13) in the Fau Swamp

With - Fake Wing

 

Her Observation began to meld with her Control and Viltia happily let her focus slip as she pulled her roots under herself. Not so much as to tip herself, but enough to disturb the clearing below Le-Metru Nuva.

As she connected to more and more plants, she rejoiced at the rain, feeling it grant her the hope for continued growth and sustenance. The various trees that held the different buildings and platforms of the village all stood strong, she stood strong. She was tickled by the droplets on her leaves, proud to house the Rahi seeking shelter from the storm, and absolutely terrified to feel the Grand Untethered as it peered back at her even as she peered at it. It was alien and otherworldly and all too familiar. And then she felt the signals of pain, of life stolen. There were many others like the large one, all small, but growing as they fed. They were killing her!

They were going to kill her friends.

They-

She was suddenly several Kio away, being torn apart at the very fringes of her Observation’s max range. Ravaged by uncaring talons and uprooted with little regard for her ancient majesty. A monster of immense size crushed her beneath its heel. She was dying. Being destroyed!

Viltia started to breathe erratically. A monster was coming. A monster was below them. A monster was hidden among them.

She could feel the Grand Untethered still looking at her as surely as she sensed it by the dead plants around it. It was too much. She couldn’t save everyone. She felt her branches shake in fear. She had to do what Sidra had said. Her mind raced even as her senses were overloaded as she connected to more and more plants.

A weird voice that mimicked Wing’s echoed in the one part of her mind that wasn’t focused on simply being the swamp.

“Give me life so I may live it.”

Its words pushed her over the edge, reason gone and replaced with terror. In that moment she used her personal connection to the Green with reckless abandon, her elemental energy conversion rate taking a nosedive as she output tremendous energy.

In a pulse originating from her, she stopped every single process of everything she was. Trees hardened and grew rigid, fungi lost their glow, vines ceased their climb, all became still. If there was a function, Viltia stopped it. If there was a process, it lost its purpose and froze. In her fear fueled mind, she pulled too hard on the command, stopping the life of all plants for almost a Kio around the village, even reaching out into the marsh.

The result was a feeling of numbness that left her cold, body unresponsive. The plants were still there. Still green. But they were dead. Their operations ceased. Though she was still connected to them, there was nothing to feel, no senses to glean. All had been wiped clean, forced to give up their hold on life.

Viltia slowly stopped her Observation of her element. Retracting it to the point where she turned off her passive Observation. She felt so weak, so drained. She had never used that much elemental energy at once before. Nor had she even been so low with her body’s reserves. She opened her optics, disoriented, still feeling numb. She wasn’t sure how, but now she was laying on her back instead of standing up. She tried to lift her head.

This platform didn’t have a roof, so water splashed her face as it came down. The leaves danced differently now, stiff and lifeless, waiting for decay to set in. She looked down. Something was eating her leg. She looked to her left. The lightstone near her caused the rain to dance beautifully in the night. She looked around the platform. No one was around. But it was dark, they were probably off sleeping after a long day’s work.

Viltia wondered where Torch was. She couldn’t quite remember, but she thought she had been talking with him. She tried to look around. Sidra was gone too? They were probably both asleep. They deserved it.

Smiling, Viltia was content to let the rain wash over her.

Lowering her head back down, she heard an odd noise, like the swamp being ripped apart from afar. Lightning flashed, dazzling her optics. Thunder cracked and boomed. Viltia slowly blinked. She felt like she should be doing something, but her body was numb, her mind foggy. What had she even been doing? Why was she laying down in the rain? Why couldn’t she feel life in the trees around her?

She started to panic. She couldn’t feel any plant life around her. Where was all the Green? What had happened to it? Why couldn’t she think straight? Her body suddenly flooded with emergency energy as directed from her brain and she snapped back into focus, her senses coming into vivid detail. But she still couldn’t feel her left leg.

Viltia sat up and screamed. Some… thing that looked like Wing had eaten through most of her thigh, armor and all. It’s mouth dropped bits of the silver mucus as it looked over at the movement. It was Wing, but it was undead. Viltia’s hands tightened in shock and she realized she was still holding her axe/crossbow. She screamed again and swung the Toa tool axe first, the blow awkward due to Fake Wing literally being on top of her.

Viltia was just trying to get Fake Wing off of her. Anything to get away from that thing. Her mind was full of fear, full of panic. She needed to get away.
 

OOC: @Nato the Traveler @Unreliable Narrator @Sparticus147

 

IC: Le-Metru Nuva NPCs - Various Species - Refugees

Location - Le-Metru Nuva, on the Northwestern fringes of (7, 13) in the Fau Swamp

With - Sidra, Uraborask, Viltia

 

Torch paused his help in the redistribution of Kanoka, wanting to make sure Viltia was all right and that Sidra wasn’t being weird. As he jogged a covered bridge back to the platform he had left them on, Sidra jumped from the railing. Torch yelled out in surprise and concern, looking over the railing of the bridge. The night was too dark and they were too far up for him to see the village’s new addition as she fell.

His mind raced as he contemplated what to do. Sidra had accused him unjustly and in front of everyone. He already had been keeping an eye on her and now she went and tried to undermine his authority. Out of all the villagers, he felt the least tied to her or having to protect her. She was her own entity that operated by herself, without need for his input. Or so his anger said.

Then he saw Viltia gripping a branch in complete concentration and his compassion took over. Viltia, while naive in many ways, had grown much in the last week. She had become his Toa Sister as much as his original Toa group had been. And Viltia trusted in Sidra wholeheartedly. He made his decision. He would afford Sidra the same amount of respect and compassion that he would show for any member of Le-Metru Nuva.

Torch spun, running for the elevator, dodging the few Matoran that continued to redistribute Spark’s retrieved Kanoka. The elevator was lowered, the Steltian that cranked the winch beside it. That Steltian did amazing, hard work for the village and Torch greatly appreciated him. But Torch couldn’t wait for the elevator to be lifted again.

He jumped, grabbing the elevator’s cable and sliding down it. He Absorbed the heat caused from the friction of his hands holding on as he descended. Thankfully Spark had a lightstone so he could tell how far down he had to go. Near the end he grabbed a tight hold of the cable, slowing his descent but not nearly enough as he still crashed on the elevator a little too hard and knocked off a few discs.

Spark’s whole body jumped and Torch quickly reached out to keep the Vortixx from falling. Spark turned and realized it was just Torch, so he got back to work collecting Kanoka from the swamp floor.

Up above in the Rahi pens, both Kahu hid underneath the partial roofs provided for them to seek shelter from rain. The trained Kahu inquisitively listened to the noises of the night. Something seemed wrong. His new caretakers were agitated by something. He wanted to help them, but he didn’t know how.

The untrained Kahu paced under his roof, occasionally tugging at the rope that kept him from leaving his captors behind. Yes, they were nice to him, far nicer than he had ever been treated, but he had one driving urge, to be free. His Rahi brain could comprehend little else since his capture. He strained at his rope again, causing one of the little captors to draw close and check on him.

Off in the distance, a great crashing sound could be heard over the ever increasing rainfall. It was like a giant was destroying trees and sod both with reckless abandon. It was a noise that drove fear into already frightened Heartlights.

The trained Kahu jumped from his pen, finding an open spot in the canopy. His great wings lifted him up over the dark green sea of leaves. He knew that noise meant he had to leave immediately.

The untrained Kahu struggled furiously at the noise, the rope holding him starting to give. The little oppressor joined him in the pen. In his fear, he didn’t notice as he knocked the little captor hard against the railing. He flailed his wings, he needed to get to safety. Something horrible was coming. The little captor was struck by his wing, flipping over the railing and becoming lost to the 125 foot sea of darkness below the village. The noise of the little oppressor hitting branch after branch and then ground with lethal force barely made any noise, especially not enough noise to be noticed by anyone until much later.

The rope finally snapped and the untrained Kahu fled, spotting the trained one and joining his brother in their flight from some yet to be realized threat.

Down below on the swamp floor, Beruv wished she had brought a lightstone as she stumbled through the dark. And then she saw the glowing undead and stopped in her tracks. The swamp groaned as the roots moved and the ground gave way, trapping many of them in a sink of mud. The ground around her was already mush from the rain and she could feel the new sinkhole trying to take her as well. She backed up as fast as she could when all of a sudden she heard a great, terrible noise, like an ancient earth god was rearranging the swamp.

That drove her over the edge. She made weapons, she didn’t really use them. She turned and ran, tripping and fumbling in the pitch black. The lightning flashes only served to disorient her. She tried to return to the forging hut but must have gotten lost because she ran into a building, dropping the discs she had been holding. She left them where they lay and entered inside.

Somehow the new place was darker than outside. She fumbled around the dark, tripping over her own feet and running into their one LeviCart minecart. She realized she was in the mine building. She didn’t know what else to do, so she climbed into the LeviCart and huddled inside, her wet body shivering. This was just like trying to survive the Fau Swamp when she escaped the Skakdi with Viltia. Her friends and foes alike had been picked off one by one over the course of a couple days of pure terror. How she had survived long enough to find Le-Metru Nuva had to have been part of Mata Nui’s design, because she should be dead already. Her mind couldn’t handle thinking more about the subject and turned to Kanoka forging, trying its best to ignore what was happening outside.

Real Wing was up in the understory layer of the trees, jumping from branch to branch and delivering orders and retrieved Kanoka. She was putting everything she had honed from years of dangerous living to the test. She was unstoppable. Not even the slickness of the branches caused her concern. She was truly in her element, suspended 75 feet up in the air with sometimes branches just wider than her feet to keep her from falling. Her focus was paramount, her risks taken little and properly measured. 

And then the sound of something the size of Evolis Kerhs or larger could be heard wreaking havoc in the distance, coming closer. It was that one moment of distraction, that split second of pure reaction that caused her foot to come down wrong, slipping on the branch and jutting out into open air. Her body twisted, her arms flailing, a feeling of vertigo struck her as she started falling.

She was a Le-Matoran, used to falling out of trees and other high places, but she knew a fall from this high up could be deadly, even for her. She threw out her arms, hands seeking a branch to grab, but she wasn’t so lucky. A branch stuck her under her upper arm, causing her to start to spin as she fell. Every branch she hit after that only continued to daze and damage her. Yes they helped slow her fall, but not how she wanted them to.

Then she was in open air. The last 30 feet above the opening was clear of branches. She fell, back first, into the sinkhole, wind knocked from her lungs. She lay there stunned, slowly joining the Grand Untethered and his fate below the ground.

Torch, scanning the ground for Sidra, saw Wing fall, and far too close to the giant undead. His Heartlight leapt into his throat. Not Wing! He thought of Spark’s Matatu for a moment, but Wing was too far away for the mask to be able to lift her from the muck. His Kanoka!

Torch grabbed his emergency level 3 Kanoka of Teleportation. If there ever was a time to use it, it was now. He leaned over the edge of the elevator, which was still suspended 35 feet in the air. He flung the disc, guiding the Ga-Metru designated Kanoka with his thoughts. It struck Wing’s mask, the only thing still above the mud as she continued to sink. Then she was gone, there one moment and somewhere else the next. The disc now sunk in her place.

Torch didn’t have time to worry about where she might have gone. At least it was away from here. He rubbed his hands together and created a small ember. He pulled his hands close and blew into them, enlarging the ball of flame and giving it strength. When it was large and strong enough to survive in the rain he let it float down, hovering below the branches and directly over the middle of the clearing below the village. The rain hitting it was creating a lot of steam that now rose above it. It glowed orange, almost white.

Torch fine tuned his elemental energy conversion rate into his element of Fire to make sure he was using the least amount of energy as he currently could at his skill level. The ball of fire glowed bright, casting the entire clearing and beyond in a warm light. This not only allowed Torch to spot Sidra next to the overturned war rig, but also gave her shadows for her mask to work. All the lightstones keeping the village lit up above gave her plenty of choices of where to travel.

The rest of the village kept up their battle, throwing their ever dwindling amount of Kanoka at the monstrosities that were threatening to destroy them.
 

OOC: @Nato the Traveler @Unreliable Narrator @Sparticus147

[BULiK]

IC: Taku and Crew, Metru-Koro

Berys breathed a sigh of relief.

"Good."

Now that there wasn't an attack that might require fleeing from, Berys could finally get out of the pilot's seat and go to the lower deck to inspect the damage. He slid down the ladder outside the bridge and began taking note of what repairs were necessary. No engines - levitation or conventional - had been damaged to any noticeable degree, but there was various levels of hull damage all around them, and the supply room underneath the bridge was thoroughly devastated, along with any supplies inside. Various crates levitated or were locked against the ground with increased weight, as many disks in the stash of backup kanoka had been activated by the impact of the gunfire, further adding to the chain reaction of impacts that left very little of the contents of the room unscathed. Berys waved over Arnex and the two matoran slowly began sorting through the debris into two piles - scrap, and salvageable supplies.

[Nato G]

IC: Sidra - Le-Metru Nuva

She was too slow.

She was always too slow. 

She'd wasted so much time trying to find an evacuation route, only to be talked out of evacuating. The battle had begun before she'd had a chance to find the impostor in the village. The rig had started to be swallowed by the sinkhole before she had a chance to talk to the driver about how best to use it against the undead. 

And now Wing was falling and Viltia was screaming and Sidra was too far away to help either of them.

As the skakdi fled, and started to clamber up one of the trees, Sidra backed away from the encroaching edge of the sinkhole and focused her attention on the only thing she could: the teleporting undead. They were burrowing into the trees, anchoring themselves, their silver connective threads pulling taut as the main body they were linked to continued to sink into the sucking mud. The thought of the monsters being able to teleport was terrifying, but the fact that the main mass hadn't teleported itself straight out of the hole suggested there were limits.

As Torch's fireball cast fresh, fiery illumination across the swamp floor, Sidra raised the lightstone rifle and took aim at one of the threads connected to a lone creature, loosing a bolt at the thread in the hopes of severing the zombie from the rest of the mass. 

@Kal the Guardian @Sparticus147 @Unreliable Narrator

[Toru Nui]

IC: Ostrox and Klawne (Metru-Koro, The Razorfish, Exterior)

Ostrox moved closer to the Razorfish’s smoking remains, keeping close - but not too close - to Zaliyah. Now wasn’t the perfect time to meditate, but it would certainly help him remain calm in a town of psychos out for his blood.

Klawne rested on her spear for support. As much as she was glad the Mesi were gone, she was rather… disappointed that they left so soon. She wasn’t sure how to feel about that.

"So, uh…" She tried to catch Iradra’s attention. "If they’re not staying at your place, can I? I don’t live here."

@Nato the Traveler@Onaku@Smudge8

 

IC: Achro (The Coliseum)

A misshapen form lied sprawled on the cold hard floor in a secluded corner of the Coliseum.

-GNASHING, BITING TEETH, TEARING BITS OF-

An old man took his sleep where he could get it, you understand. And though he didn’t think of himself as old, he was. It wasn’t quite as noticeable compared to the tumour-like fungal growths all over his body.

-DOZEN PAIRS OF MURDEROUS, GREEDY EYES, GLARING-

Of course, right now where he was - and when he was - he wasn’t a mutant. Or an old man. Or even a Toa. He was dreaming. Dreaming of before Neo Zakaz was Neo Zakaz. Back when the closest thing he knew to hatred was the frustration he had with… with who? He couldn’t remember, but he was frustrated.

-VILE, IRREDEEMABLE MONSTERS, AND MONSTERS NEED HEROES TO SLAY-

He had been a Toa for a while when the Skakdi arrived. Achro wasn’t sure about the details, but he knew why they lost. They were weak. Not weak in body, of course, the average Toa could demolish your average craven, idiotic Skak. But weak in mind, in spirit. They wanted to win, yes. They wanted to live. But nobody except him seemed to appreciate just what that would take. Not even his own brothers and sisters.

-STRAYS FROM THE PACK, ALONE IN THE-

He started dreaming of something else. Skulking around in the massive underground network of caverns and tunnels for the past forever was rather boring. So he tended to remember whenever the gods decided to forgive him for his failure to protect his people, and deliver one of them to him.

-UP BEHIND HIM, BLADE IN HAND, READY-

Now, as said before, one Toa versus one Skakdi? Toa wins every time. One Toa versus multiple Skakdi? More of an issue. And Skakdi, cowards that they were, hunted in packs. Not because of Unity, but because their powers didn’t work without another one of their kind to help out.

-SURVIVABLE BUT PAINFUL, SLICING DEEP WITHIN-

They were like a disgusting caricature of everything he was - no, everything he had been. Everything they had taken away from him. But their pseudo Unity couldn’t always save them from him. Sometimes, a lone Skak would be sent to him by divine providence, so that some measure of justice be served.

-NOXIOUS FUMES BILLOW FORTH, AS HIS EYES ROLL UP INTO-

Sometimes he wouldn’t start the justice right away, though. He often went so long without someone to talk to, so occasionally he would try and strike up a conversation with them. Even depraved monsters were pleasant company, when there was literally no other options for social interaction.

-STILL ALIVE AS THE MEAT IS COOKED, MEDIUM RARE, JUST THE WAY-

Oh yes, some begged for their lives. Some spat insults and threats in defiance. Some tried to apologize for what they had done to him, as if saying I’m sorry fixed everything. Some just screamed in terror the whole way through. Eventually, the conversation would die down, and it would be time to sit down and eat.

-DINNER IS SERVED-

Happy Halloween.

 

IC: NU-8020S, Reckless, Lawful, Obedient, Impressionable, Buggy and Wayward (Po-Koro, Vahki Transport)

NU-8020S and Wayward marched over to where Kanohi - who was clearly the designated leader of this village - was talking with a previously unseen Toa of Fire.

"Analysis of the situation determines that the settlement should be relocated despite improving weather conditions due to extensive water damage. This Transport is ready to depart - on your order." Those last three words sounded a bit different from the others, like the Vahki’s voice suddenly decreased slightly in audio quality.

@Harvali@The UltimoScorp@Onaku@Snelly@Tarn

 

IC: Enra (Dead Forest, Ruins of Fire)

"Fair enough. But if we're not going there, then where? This island is full of monsters and monsters in people clothing. Sure, we could stay here, but staying in one place for too long is - in my experience - ill-advised. I mean, what if that big ugly thing with the tank tread legs comes back?"

@Nato the Traveler

 

IC: Gnabol (Metru-Koro, Village Infirmary)

Gnabol rushed back inside the infirmary. Yes, the children were safe, though terrified out of their minds. Their fear of the bad noises outside was completely transparent, having not yet learned the art of disguising it through ridiculous macho nonsense.

He wondered if he could placate them. Like he did with the Manas. But forcibly altering the mind of a hostile war beast to stop it from killing people was one thing. Forcibly altering the minds of infants just ‘cause you couldn’t stand their crying was another.

So for now, he settled for trying to gently hush them back to something resembling calm. All seven of them. At once.

Nobody ever said principles were easy things to have.

@Unreliable Narrator

Edited November 2, 2020 by Toru Nui

[Nato G]

IC: Xane - Ruins of Fire

"Fair point. You know this island better than I do - is there anywhere worth going?"

@Toru Nui

[Sparticus147]

IC: Zak-Yak (The Fire Ruins)

Wiping away the last of his joyful tears, Zak-Yak gladly allowed Providence to assist him in reequipping Master's Talons. Surveying the swiftly repaired mechanical appendage, Zak-Yak was amazed at the ease in which the arm now moved, the limb being granted new, fresh parts and cleaned of the mass of moss, dirt, and fungi that once caked it. Gazing into the gleaming edges of the talons themselves, a fierce Skakdi grin took the Mesi's face as they looked back up towards Providence.

"Well, what now?"

Zak-Yak was left momentarily dumbfounded, for never had anyone really asked for his input on what and/or where to go...Thinking upon the matter, Zak-Yak chewing down upon the knuckle of his left hand, his mind raced and wandered till a thought was seemingly, unnaturally so, thrust upon him.

"We could get Heartlight. I could fulfill promise for blessing?"

OOC: @Burnmad @Snelly @Vezok's Friend

[Unreliable Narrator]

IC: Grime | Ash Barrens

"What is your plan, Drukarus?" Grime asked. He sat next to the veteran on the back of the war rig as Barius's warskaks drove away from the foot of Irnakk's Tooth. Smoke filled the sky, ash fell softly like snow, and everywhere the mud from the tahtorak's path dried and cracked from the heat of the lava flows. Grime fiddled with the hand strap of his squeeze box.

@Sparticus147

 

IC: Reliable Narrator | Metru-Koro

Gnabol found his powers worked upon such young skaklets to quickly compel them into a placid slumber. Caring for dispossessed skaklets might be a headache, but at least Gnabol's headaches from psionic overuse came with perks. It would be up to the zyglak and his undead friend to decide the fate of these seven transformed beings.

OOC: @Toru Nui, you have full reign to control the skaklets, let them go, donate them, raise them, etc. as npcs.

Edited November 1, 2020 by Unreliable Narrator

[The UltimoScorp]

IC Kathrine of the Flame - Po-Koro:

"I sure can! If it's fire you need, I'm your gal!" Kat exclaimed with a grin that was positively infectious.

With a flash of flame and a leap, she was standing next to the Matoran. And the Vahki!

"Whoa, Vahki! Hey, you guys were like the guardians of Metru Nui, right? I didn't get a chance to meet any when I arrived.... well before the world broke open. Oh, that reminds me!"

She cast a glance back to the Matoran, "Did that Reson guy get back yet? I still have his staff!"

@Toru Nui@Harvali

Edited November 1, 2020 by The UltimoScorp

[Crimson Jester]

IC: Korruhn, Nuju's Observatory

Korruhn placed his blackened, cursed hand upon the carving, and suddenly felt the rush as centuries of knowledge coursed through his mind. It were as though an invisible hand had drew back an unseen curtain, and the machinations of the backstage were now exposed to the Toa, allowing him to instantly absorb it's most intimate workings. As he pulled his hand away, the rush of information stopped, but Korruhn now felt as though he'd known this information all his life.

"The Rite of Worms," Korruhn said aloud, although speaking to nobody in particular. He turned to Stannis. "Were it not a time of war, I would call such power blasphemy. I can't imagine anyone who wouldn't be caught off guard by a Toa wielding a Kraata."

“Indeed?” Stannis asked. “And why would you say that is?”

"Our kind have a strange affinity for the light," Korruhn replied, matter-of-factly. "We seem to bear the burden of the misconception that light is the answer to all, and the vanquisher of evil. When faced with adversity, Matoran will always walk the path of light, even to their detriment. I don't understand it. We have the tools; the means to ensure our survival for generations to come. And yet, we choose to suffer for light."

Stannis paused a moment, wondering what pieces of truth he would share with Korruhn and what he would maintain close. Utmost secrecy was never truly prudent, he found, and leaking of knowledge was essential to maintain sufficient enough ruse to throw the scents of betrayal off. In many cases, if someone knew half of the story they'd draw their own conclusions on what the ending would be like,  enveloping their minds with deceptions of their own creations and ending up far off course from the reality which was oftentimes too terrible to really fathom, all while leaving the famed historian warrior behind in their quest for truth. The Makers, Stannis knew, for all their vast knowledge and courage were invariably stupid; why else would they have fallen as they did?

"Mmm, but I do. People oftentimes confound revelation with vanquishment. Truly, light vanquishes nothing in a material sense—it is not a destroyer, it is a manifester showing what was once hidden in darkness. It should come as no surprise that people are more comfortable in the daytime than in the night, confident in their security as they can visualize their surroundings clearly. Less so at night, when everything is enveloped in shadows, and even the trees they embrace in daytime can take sinister forms that urge us to feel anxiety. People cling to comfort and relate it to good... but that does not conversely make darkness evil."

Korruhn had thoughts of his people, his home. Nostalgia. Sunlight glistening off of the surface sheen of knowledge towers. The security of a private space, with a locking door; all kept in order by the Vahki. Not a care in the world save for where the next adventure was, or the next great meal. Korruhn's people were robbed of that peace, that comfortability. Some of the younger ones may not even recall a time as such at all. Oh, what longing Korruhn had to give that gift, that right, back to his people. He would sacrifice all for that. For his people.

"This is why people lie you and I exist, Stannis," Korruhn said. "Not to be vanguards of light, of darkness. We are here because we are the few that are willing to walk any path, should it see is through." Korruhn paused a moment, letting his statement soak in briefly.

"I must know, though. What path is it you intend to show me, Stannis?"

"Whichever one you choose to follow," Stannis replied simply. He shrugged emphatically and slinked to another side of the room, resuming his halfhearted ambling hunt for vestiges of the late seer's research. "Some called me a prophet because I dedicated myself to learning the paths of life and understanding where they take us. But I cannot tell people what they shall do, only offer knowledge for them to make educated choices of their own, even when they decide to walk chiaroscuro streets."

He paused again, freezing a moment as he deliberated what to say, and then added: "But should you choose to follow me, I promise you will not be the same you were before or are now. This land the Skakdi who live here call 'Zakaz' is not at all what it seems, and indeed nothing is as you think it to be. The laylines of fate cross here, and you can truly become whatever you cannot fathom. I will be delving into this land's heart. That much I can promise."

"Many of our brightest minds spent their entire lives studying the stars, prophecies, destiny. Rarely did any leave the Metru, and I can recall none of their names," Korruhn pondered a moment; he really couldn't remember any of those scholar's names, save for Ihu. "I'd be lying if the current state of affairs hand't wavered my opinion on prophecy and destiny. I'm sure I won't be welcome back into my community with open arms after the things I've done and seen. They'll say I have no honor. But I will ensure they can say that from the comfort of their own homes."

The Toa looked around the room again, filled to the brim with Nuju's voluminous information. The greatest mind, a hero of Ko-Metru. A taboo rite in his office. Perhaps our heroes were not as black and white as the citizens of Metru Nui like to believe.

"What do you know of this island? And what do you expect to find at it's heart?"

The old man’s answer was unwavering as it was disconcerting. There was no hesitation and he clearly spoke with unassailable authority on the matter, which was none too comforting considering the subject matter. “I know much about this Tren-Nui, my friend, and at its core I shall find nothingness.”

Korruhn, fully preparing to get a non-answer, had already begun walking away as Stannis finished his last words. But as he uttered his name for the island, Korruhn froze in his tracks, and turned back to the old man. He smirked, only once before had Tren Krom's name been mentioned here, by the Administrator back at the Ruin of Ice. "Tren Krom's island. Of course. The Administrator mentioned him in the Ruin," Korruhn said. "Glyph walls said he is millennia older, and of equal power to, Mata Nui himself. Sent away to exile as to not interfere with Mata Nui's work. But now we find ourselves in his realm of exile?"

Edited November 2, 2020 by Crimson Jester

[Harvali]

 

IC Kanohi and Bode and “Collector” - Po-Koro

Kanohi dipped his head low to the Vahki, letting out a sigh of sadness. “You are right. The ground is is too unstable to live on. And the Skakdi know where we are, they raised once before, they would come back. We will have to move.”

He swallowed, “I … there is not much we can do to pay you for your help. We can offer you disks of regeneration and weakening, but you deserve more for rescuing our people. And now you offer to evacuate us. We are in your debt.”

As Jutori spoke up Kanohi winced. Mustering his courage he said. “I know this is unfair to ask, I understand if you refuse, but could you possibly wait to evacuate us until every villager has been accounted for, and we have salvaged what supplies we can?”

To Toa Kat Kanohi looked away, “I have spoken to some of the Matoran while I had patrolled the village, before the storm. Some of the villagers at the time of the Skakdi raid are still missing. There are rumors that when the Skakdi raided Po-Koro, they may have taken him as a hostage. I … do not know more.”

The makeshift Akiri paused as everyone gathered, and said, “Jutori, Kat, Varian, Kilo, Nu-8020S, I need advice. Po-Koro has mapped a great deal of the surrounding area, but you and Collector might have more experience. Do you know of a place that might be close by that could make a good spot for a new village? I realize much of the terrain may have shifted from the storm, but if you have any suggestions, it could be a great help.”

”D-do not worry about plant life,” interrupted a shaky voice. The De-Matoran Jutori saved stood up on trembling legs and took a few paces. He averted his eyes from the group, but more importantly each footstep he took grew a clump of weeds. “It … it isn’t proper food, but it’s not poisonous, and Mahi can eat it. It’s how we started to grow a herd here. Th-though maybe the field I grew broke up the earth too much. M-maybe that’s why the ground crumbled.”

Kanohi nodded slowly, “We … should discuss that too. I wanted Varian to read my thoughts about that when you first arrived. I had heard rumors.”

“Th-they are true. But please, I … let me help the village. Make amends. If I can save the village, it won’t make it right but … please.”

The Fe-Matoran looked away. “I … I will talk it through. Listen to you, and others. The heroes who saved our villagers may have advice. Then, I-I will have to make a decision. I … I am the Akiri. I-I have to.”

Elsewhere, Collector shattered the earth into rubble with ice, before lifting out a Matoran who had been buried in the mud. A Bo-Matoran ran to the injured and looked over her, before frantically getting to work pumping their chest free of water before cleaning their wounds of mud.

Collector lumbered on, spying a few Po-Matoran freeing a third from the mud. He was still, as still as a shard of a shattered disk. They looked away, their hands tight.

As they pulled free another Matoran they muttered, “I never should have abandoned my route. If there had been supplies from Metru-Koro, medicine, food, tools. This would not have happened. They built a forge, made disks. But if I had been there, Karzahni it would have been different.”

Before them a few Matoran of Plasma and Fire dug through the muck of the Forge, salvaging the completed disks and what Protodermis ore remained. Other Matoran dove into half-sunken huts and pulled free grass dolls and tools, sculptures whittled from stone and relics from Metru-Nui.

”And I thought I could be a Toa,“ they spat as they reached into the sludge and pulled free a broken red Huna, clenching it in their hands. It trembled in their powerful hands, before they let it fall, and turned away. 

They marched through the village, gazing at the destruction. That’s all their Kanoka Blade could do, destroy the ground, freeze people, it could only cause harm. Only a real Toa could create. Their sword was only an imitation of the true power of a hero. 

Collector sighed. That was just an excuse. Even though it was no true elemental power, their Kanoka Blade had saved lives. It had stabilized the ground, kept buildings from collapsing and more of the village from sinking into the quagmire. The reason Po-Koro fell was not the limitations of their sword.

As they walked they reached into the pouch Kanohi had gave them, and sheathed their blade. This was the least they could do for one of their first friends. A friend they abandoned. So as they walked, in-between shattering the ground to free Matoran and lifting them free, the Vortixx began to tinker with the device and some spare parts they had. The least they could do.

OOC: @The UltimoScorp @pokemonlover360 @Toru Nui @Onaku @Snelly @Tarn

[Sparticus147]

IC: Drukarus (Ash Barrens)

"What is your plan, Drukarus?" 

The wizen warlord looked down towards Grimes, his solid gaze only briefly meeting theirs till it turned and looked towards the other quarter-dozen Skakdi sharing the back bed. Now was a time for discretion in the words he speaks, more so than any other time so far.

"Whatever plans I have...They will have to be left pending, concerning the actions of the current warchief...Barius."

As subtle and in tune to his own emotions, Drukarus's pride could not allow himself to admit that referring to Barius as warchief did not make him pause and stutter in his speech. But it was a quirk that Drukarus did not intend to deny. From the moment they met, surely even Barius knew that Drukarus was out for his position, and although time will only tell how Drukarus will claim leadership, Barius, will never be Drukarus's warchief.

OOC: @Unreliable Narrator

[Unreliable Narrator]

IC: Reliable Narrator | Le-Metru Nuva

In the glow of the Torch’s firelight Sidra pulled the trigger. The weapon grip on Spark’s rifle seemed to fit perfectly in Sidra’s hands. The feeling of the trigger’s tension could only be described as an old friend. Lightstone rifles from Xia didn’t make the same loud combustive sound as a firearm from Zakaz. Instead, the rifle sounded like a surge breaker frying as the charged lightstone flew from the barrel. The crackling projectile split through the silvery threads of the aberration’s web. With a screech the small burrowing horror attached to the tree ceased to maintain its form. It’s individual pieces fell into the marsh. 

Sidra’s success came with a cost. She slid closer towards the sinkhole as the mud around her ankles took hold. Roots caught against one of her ankles, sparing her from being pulled under by the force of the sinkhole’s suction.

Nearest to the emerald mercenary were five untethered horrors made from matoran. They clung to the bark of the trees, partially merging with the wood by creating more of the same mucus-strands to hold them steady. None wore masks. None had a heartlight. The spark of life was missing from their eyes. They pulled on their long silver strands stretching deep into the sinkhole. All five heads rotated from the destroyed individual in their collective as their attention fell on Sidra, clattering with the sounds of dry branches snapping underfoot. Ill formed screeches rose from inside them, echoing out as a howling pack. They pulled harder on their strands, some teleporting with a loud crackle and a soft pop further away into the darkness. The strands became taught like a rubber band, and Sidra watched as the strands began to contract. Bubbles of air rose from the sink holde where the grand untethered monstrosity was buried.

Then a torn up ancient tree fell through the air. It snapped through the upper branches and crashed into the swamp with a splash, covering Sidra with the toxic waters. Tiny green leeches tried to latch to her legs. The rain did little to cleanse her as she stood waist deep in the muck. A horrible roar rent the air, followed by a flash of lightning. 

 

Drukarus’s climb up the trunk came to an impasse as one of the freakish monstrosities crawled into view from around the other side. Silvery drool dangled from its slack jaw, and veins of corrosive mucus stretched in a trail behind it. With a screech it leapt from the trunk towards Drukarus. Before Drukarus got a chance to respond a disk flew from out of the darkness above, clobbering the horror and making it freeze solid in a cluster of ice and spread out across the side of the tree.

 

More than just pain assaulted Viltia as she came to consciousness. Something more took hold, and she felt her body rejecting itself as silver strands burst from her wounds. They connected with the imposter Wing astride her, and she quickly found herself becoming unable to determine the difference between her and it. Swinging her weapon wildly, she felt the blade cut through her enemy and sent it careening off the edge of the village into the open air. She felt something rip from her as it fell. Looking down she saw the silver strands torn, waving in the wind like seaweed at the bottom of the sea.

Viltia was Viltia again for a moment. She could feel the weapon in her hand, she could feel the wooden planks beneath her creak from her weight as she lay in the falling rain. Viltia panted in the pouring rain as Viltia and as something more. From each gnawing wound the imposter of Wing inflicted, Viltia heard a terrible voice. It echoed through more than just her mind. In it mountains crumbled, seas turned to ash, and suns swallowed each other. There, in the darkness of her torment, Viltia found the connection stronger than ever. She felt the voice speaking as real as the thunder shaking her lungs and the rain pounding against her armor. She felt the voice as sharp as the pain of her wounds and as clear as she’d felt the presence of the grand untethered through her connection to the plants she’d killed:

You’re so sure about what you want

Hold me

How can you see your destiny

When I fixed the stars?

Life is not a dream

For you

My dreams are your life

Join me

Feel alive because I can’t

See the world like I did

When we are sure about what we want

Wish me

Dream me

Caress me

Spell the words on my palm when I cannot see

Give me life so I may live it

Among the stars

Of your destinies

Viltia watched the stars spin. She watched the world light afire as the sky rippled and shook. She watched days and nights flash in a moment. She felt bound as paper is punched and threaded for print. She watched a titanic blue hand descend through the upper stories of the canopy.

OOC: @Nato the Traveler, @Kal the Guardian, @Sparticus147

[Nato G]

IC: Sidra – Le-Metru Nuva

“Hah! Yes!” She cheered despite herself as she watched the lone revenant slough apart, set free from whatever obscene, perverse power had given it life.

Even with the mud now lapping around her calves, she raised the rifle, charging up in preparation to fire the weapon again, focusing on the group of five once-Matoran monsters nearest to her. They were definitely acting as living anchors, tethering themselves to the trees to help their main form pull itself from the mud. But if the threads could be severed, if the reanimated beings could be set free… then the plan could still work. They just had to keep the main one trapped and unable to feed long enough for them to find a way to destroy it. She just had to make sure-

Bark and muck and fetid water exploded around Sidra as an ancient, moss-covered tree trunk crashed down into the swamp before her, caving away what little stability remained beneath her and sending her sinking up to her waist in an instant.

For a moment, she was shocked into immobility by the abrupt, inexplicable assault from above. Where in the karz had that come from? If the undead were focused here, then what had uprooted and thrown the tree? Had the attack been meant for the undead, or for her? How was she supposed to- One thing at a time. Focus! Swiping mud and leaves away from the lens and eyeholes of her Kanohi, she spat and sputtered, hoping she hadn’t swallowed any of the water.

Tossing the rifle into the brush on a more stable-looking part of the swamp floor, off the trail, Sidra aimed her gauntlet-mounted volo lutu launcher at a nearby tree trunk and fired. The sphere struck true, its miniature gravity well drawing loose detritus towards it as it pulled the launcher in.

Sidra kicked her legs, jumping and squirming to help free herself from the marsh, splashing loose and being drawn towards the tree trunk after several excruciating seconds of struggle. Weighed down by the mud and water soaking her clothes and armour, the launcher resetting with a quiet click while she landed in an awkward, crumpled sprawl at the base of the tree, her right shoulder taking the brunt of the impact as she slammed painfully into the coarse bark.

As she fumbled blindly for the dropped rifle with her other hand, she looked up and focused her gaze on the nearest of the not-Matoran, her eyes glowing red as she brought her hypnotic power to bear against it.

“Stop!” She ordered. She had no idea if the power would work on such an abnormal entity, or if her will was even strong enough to overpower whatever force was giving them life. But it was worth a try. “Let go!”

@Kal the Guardian @Sparticus147 @Unreliable Narrator

[Eyru]

IC: Reliable Narrator | Sub-Coliseum Vahki Hive

Saybo's quick thinking saved OTIS from destruction. The screaming gears were muffled as the clockwork brain was consumed by a globule of liquid protodermis. As soon as the liquid began to warm up, Saybo replaced it with a fresh sphere, gradually drawing the heat out of the machine. Submerged in globe after globe of liquid protodermis, the clockwork brain cooled down enough to avoid the threat of a meltdown. Aurax's time limit was refreshed. As long as the hive wasn't directly utilizing OTIS to process calculations, he could continue his attempts to hack deeper into the labyrinth of code.

The command line awaited his instructions. The cursor blinked.

 

OOC: @~Xemnas~ @Kal the Guardian

 

IC: Tuakana | Fortress Ruins

The hunched mass of mossy armour was silent. They chewed their thoughts silently. They struggled to put their visions into words. These young ones were so difficult to speak with sometimes. Their ancient brain fought to keep up with their swift speech. Their jagged questions. Their uncomfortable habit of small words with too many meanings.

"Do not be hasty," they mumbled, the words thick in their unseen mouth. "It is not easily done."

They were consumed by the memory of an island aflame. Mountains draped in a titanic shadow. The ocean turning to steam. They pulled themselves out of the encroaching stupor. They could not be caught up in the past. Not now.

"These disks. Were forged. To make war," they said slowly. Each syllable seemed to draw itself from deep within their body, out of their very essence. "To slay the beasts born of fire."

They paused again to wrestle their knowledge into words. They sighed. A low groan escaped their armour, carrying a grief too great to put into speech.

"I cannot speak of it," they admitted, defeated. "Not in words you will understand. But..."

They slowly raised a blackened hand.

"I can. Show you."

 

OOC: @~Xemnas~ @EmperorWhenua

 

IC: Taja | Grand Temple Ruins

The quartet emerged from the ruins, plunging back into the acrid humidity of the jungle. But something was different. The sky, previously clear, was now thick with dark clouds. A cool wind passed through the trees, carrying the scent of rain. A storm was approaching from the north.

 

OOC: @Sparticus147 @Nato the Traveler @Burnmad

[Kal the Guardian]

IC: Viltia - Toa of the Green - Metru-Nui Refugees

Location - Le-Metru Nuva, on the Northwestern fringes of (7, 13) in the Fau Swamp

With - Nektann King of Monsters

 

Suddenly the pain she hadn’t been feeling broke into her mind. It squeezed her as tight as it could, making it hard to breath. And with it came something else. Something other and yet in a way giving her more of herself. She lost herself to it, not able to even begin to comprehend what was happening.

Only her previously started actions were able to save her as fake Wing was thrust aside, disappearing from view as the imposter rolled under the railing and off the edge of the platform.

Her leg mesmerized her, fake Wing quickly forgotten. Silver strands grew from her like seaweed, waving in an imaginary breeze. They reminded her of that wonderful day she had spent at the southern beach with the Kahu. It had been so peaceful, so calming. She had been able to get away from everything and simply be. The sand had been so soft, the crash of the waves so soothing, the sun brightly lighting the sky so tranquil.

The memory of the warm embrace of the sun on her body fled from her mind as another bolt of lightning lit the sky. The rain was coming down hard, almost to where it hurt. Her hand still gripped her axe/crossbow tightly. It helped her forget the pain in her leg. She was heaving in and out air, rain bouncing off of her with intensity. She didn’t realize it, but her body was starting to slightly shake.

And then she was more. With a connection like with her element, her mind beheld terrible things as a universe devolved rapid-time into further entropy. With each example worse than the last, assaulting her in unfathomable ways. Then came the voice, that horrible voice. It stung her like it was her wounds, stealing away her breath and numbing her mind. It spoke with the same intensity as… she couldn’t remember what it reminded her of.

You’re so sure about what you want

Hold me

How can you see your destiny

When I fixed the stars?

Life is not a dream

For you

My dreams are your life

Join me

Feel alive because I can’t

See the world like I did

When we are sure about what we want

Wish me

Dream me

Caress me

Spell the words on my palm when I cannot see

Give me life so I may live it

Among the stars

Of your destinies

Visions came to her of terrible, awful things. They echoed in her head and warped her mind and touched her very soul. She felt like soil churned to make way for new seed. Her mind was turned on its head and scrambled about, awaiting formation from a gardener’s hand.

The final vision made the least sense. A blue hand larger than could ever be possible descended through what looked like the canopy of the Fau Swamp. Reaching for what, she didn’t know. The vision lingered far longer than the others. Was there some special meaning to it?

She wanted the voice to tell her what it meant. No, she didn’t want to hear the voice again! Did she?

She blinked, trying to think. The replays of what had just romped through her mind kept bouncing around her head, echoing off into the distance before returning again. Each time they returned she felt her left leg pulse in pain. For some reason the giant blue hand vision continued through it all.
 

OOC: @Nato the Traveler @Unreliable Narrator @Sparticus147

 

IC: Le-Metru Nuva NPCs - Various Species - Refugees

Location - Le-Metru Nuva, on the Northwestern fringes of (7, 13) in the Fau Swamp

With - Sidra, Uraborask, Viltia

 

Spark continued his work in the orange glow of Torch’s fireball. More and more Kanoka were being lost to the muck below, pulled underneath just as the giant undead and then the truck had been. Kanoka supplies were running low, not that there was ever a giant amount to begin with.

Kanoka flew less often from the tree perches where the guards were stationed. The female Vortixx with the Ruru clutched her only level 3 disc as her mind raced on when was the best time to use it. For some reason Wing had stopped bringing her discs.

Well, if Wing had stopped resupplies, then she could do little else from here. She stowed away her last disc and climbed from her post, trying her best to stay balanced in the rain.

The Zyglak heard Viltia screaming and broke from the disc resupply chain. The rain hitting hard against the roofs of Le-Metru Nuva caused him to lose all sense of sound direction. Where was she?

Well, there were only so many places to look. He took off running.

Wing groaned, slowly rising to her feet. Her body hurt all over and she had lost all of the Kanoka she had been carrying. She was drenched with muck and soaked with rain. Looking around, she couldn’t get her bearings.

She was on the swamp floor, ankle deep in water crawling with all kinds of life sucking parasites. All this sudden rain was raising the water level all over the swamp, making the deeper pools hidden and now dangerous. Potentially she was being mutated as she stood there. It was a grim thought on an even grimmer night.

Suddenly the destruction of an ancient tree thundered in the distance as it came crashing down. Then a sky rending roar vibrated through the air. Wing knew that tonight, that noise had to come from the direction of Le-Metru Nuva. There was no way something else horrible hadn’t come seeking their destruction.

Determination filling her being to protect her friends, she began the slog back to the village, following the sounds of destruction.

Beruv quivered in the LeviCart as a roar split the sky and rattled the tools hung in the mining building. Water spilled over the brink of the doorway, starting to rush down into the mine. The LeviCart shifted from the flow and Beruv desperately activated it. The levitation disc struck the frame and the LeviCart rose from the ground, keeping her safe for now.

Torch watched as Sidra successfully defeated one of the monstrosities. The tethers were the key! Then a giant tree tossed her further into the sinkhole as it fell.

A giant roar hummed through his very being, he looked at Spark in shock. What now?

A villager of Mimic’s species appeared in the tree above Uraborask. He yelled over the pouring rain, “Quickly! This way!” All he saw was a fellow being in need of help. A trait born in Le-Metru Nuva that he hadn’t found elsewhere in their old universe. It didn’t matter that Uraborask was a Skakdi or from Zakaz. He was ready to get him up into the village and hopefully there they would be safer from the undead that now climbed the trees.

The Kahu circled above, the untrained one following behind it. He was concerned for the dark green one that had been so kind to him and took him for long, exciting flights. Was she okay? He was afraid to get closer but something kept him from leaving completely.
 

OOC: @Nato the Traveler @Unreliable Narrator @Sparticus147

[Vezok's Friend]

OOC: I live!

IC: [Takadox - Ruins of Fire]

Standing a little off to the side, the Barraki watched as the Skakdi took the ACR arm in for repairs in his cube-shaped mobile workshop and Zak-Yak accepted the deal to be desecrated. The warlord watched the proceedings intently. He once again thought of the Mesi tribe in their cavern temple, and if the squirming heartlight in the aspect’s hand had been the fate they intended for him. He could hardly imagine his life’s essence turned into nothing more than this...slug, now attaching itself firmly to Zak-Yak’s spine. 

But then, Takadox was surprised by the level of affection and gratitude the Mesi showed Providence. The warlord knew this type of relationship well. Binding another to oneself to gain an advantage or dominance of some kind over them - he had done so countless times before, but in his own particular way. But this...this went so much deeper than his hypnotic bonds and was so much more...permanent. He of all the strangers on the land probably understood best the weight of this rite of desecration - and the weight it carried. He was deeply impressed. And worried - if not a bit scared.

He finally addressed the aspect. “Where did you learn how to do that?” he asked. “Did you even learn it? Or is it something your kind can do by instinct? That other one with the Skakdi...they could perform it too, couldn’t they?”
 

OOC: @Burnmad

[~Xemnas~]

IC, Aurax: Vahki Hive

Aurax breathed a sigh of relief and nodded in thanks to Saybo. He turned back to the computer monitor.

If Ehlek is the only one who can change roles and stuff, then let's try a different tactic...

With a few more types, Aurax used the computer terminal in an attempt to bring up a login screen, in hopes of accessing Ehlek's user profile.

OOC: @Eyru

IC, Atamai: Piraka Fort

Atamai turned to Leklo briefly, raising an eyebrow and shrugging, before turning back to the stranger. He took their hand.

"Show me," he said simply.

OOC: @Eyru

[Eyru]

IC: Reliable Narrator | Sub-Coliseum Vahki Hive

The terminal hummed as it obeyed Aurax's request. The stark colors of the command line were replaced by a dated browser window. It loaded the login screen inch by inch, revealing a gray background tiled with tiny Haus. The center of the login screen featured two white rectangles, one labelled "USERNAME" and the other "PASSWORD". Below the two was a dark-gray button labelled "LOGIN". The pixelated face of a Matoran appeared at the lower right of the screen, along with a speech bubble that proclaimed "Powered by Hau Security!"

Thanks to Aurax's efforts, the USERNAME field was pre-filled with "Ehlek_admin". The PASSWORD field was blank.

 

OOC: @~Xemnas~ @Kal the Guardian

 

 

IC: Tuakana | Fortress Ruins

The lichen-spotted hand closed gently around Atamai's.

"This may be. Uncomfortable," they said uncertainly. "But no harm will come. With your consent, I will place my knowledge directly within your mind."

 

OOC: @~Xemnas~ @EmperorWhenua