Visions Poll: Saccadic

[Velox]

Visions Poll: SaccadicVote here for your favorite Visions story; entries have been randomized. Please MAKE SURE YOU READ ALL ENTRIES BEFORE VOTING.Voting begins now and will end on May 30 at 11:59 PM EST. Entries that do well will move on to the final round. It is currently being decided whether this round will be judged or polled.

• [*]The Storm The chilling wind swept across the empty field like floating knives, forcing the small blades of grass downward. The storm was coming, I could sense it in the air. A small drop of liquid dripped down onto my face, slowly sliding towards the ground. The water dropped from the edge of my mask, falling down to the grass below. The rain had come, and with it, the storm drew closer and closer. The weather was a sign, a grim warning. I knew that he was coming, charging headlong into the future, and towards a destined fight. The storm, it was only part of what was coming towards the field. But I knew that the storm was the least of my worries. My mask had shown me this many days, many weeks ago. It had revealed to me what I did not wish to see. I had pierced into the future, seeing what would be... and there was no way I could change it, no way to stop it. But I knew I had to push that from my thoughts, to concentrate not on what I knew would happen, to prepare myself for what was coming. The Mask of Clairvoyance had at times been the greatest of blessings... now it was a curse. I had seen the future, and I would have given anything to have wiped those memories out of my mind. The storm was coming. How had it come to this? I wasn't even fully certain myself. I had had the vision before I even knew what it meant, Back then, it seemed impossible, unlikely to even be close to reality. But now the coldness I felt wasn't the storm. I had known what was going to happen, and I could have done nothing to stop it. My death had been written out before my eyes, the end of my own life playing out in my mind. And my mask could show me what was coming, but I could not stop it... what I had seen, it was going to happen... and nothing could change that. My thoughts were shattered by a clap of thunder as it sounded in the sky. The storm was here, I could feel it around me, throughout my entire being. The air and winds were no longer peaceful. The storm had come upon me as I knew it would. He would be here soon... and destiny would enact itself just as my mask had shown. Death was awaiting me, as clear in my mind as the flashing of lightning across the darkened sky. I didn't want it to end like this... but destiny could not be undone. I had seen it, and it would happen... I just wished that it could have been differently. I can do nothing about it, I have no choice but to fight. I can run no longer, destiny has placed me here, and here I shall face the future. Though it is futile and I know that I will not win, or even have a chance... I will fight as I have been destined. But I will not just surrender to death, I will not die easily. Destiny shall get its fight, but it will learn that a Toa never surrenders, even in the face of death. ------[*]In the Swirling Vapors It was rare that a Makuta would hallucinate, and the idea of one attempting to do just that was almost unfathomable. Inconceivable, one might say. Yet, Makuta Hecate was planning to do just that. The Virus Master observed her locked private quarters once more, checking the array of ingredients she had. They were all exotic, but easily obtainable for someone like, as they were ingredients that she normally used for monster-making work. Taking them from the storehouses in Destral had provoked no questions. It was a good thing, too, because what she was about to do would definitely provoke questions, if anyone were to see her. The floor around her table, the lone virus vat that bubbled with the base potion, and she herself was ringed with a thin trail of salt. It felt somewhat silly to her, but the texts she had consulted for this sort of ritual had all advised the circle be placed around her workspace before beginning. As she was a novice – albeit a skeptical novice – she wasn’t taking any chances. Taking a breath, she solemnly began placing the ingredients into the bubbling liquid, waiting for the color to change before she added the next one. With each element that was put in, the fluid hissed, the high temperature quickly liquefying it all. By the time the last part was in the brew, it had turned a sickly green that smelled terrible: even the most vile of virus combinations didn’t smell as awful as this. Hecate tried not to gag as she spoke the formal words that preceded inhaling the vapors. “To the hunters of the dark realms, hear my call. I come with an appeal to you. Let my visions herald your coming and be the medium between my desires and yours.” She felt silly repeating the archaic chant, but went through it all, holding a black crystal of onyx in her hands in prayer. In the most reverent manner that she could, she leaned directly into the rising steam, and deeply inhaled the fumes. The reaction was immediate: the world blurred around her, and she was forced to stumble back and sink into her throne-like chair before she gracelessly fell onto her backside. Blackness welled up in her vision, but since Makuta couldn’t fall asleep, she remained awake, though she wasn’t completely sure of that fact. Things that seemed similar to the few dreams she’d had when she’d had a physical form were floating through her vision, making it hard to differentiate from reality. Then the voices came. One male, two female, they whispered in her ears, their shapes lurking in the corners of her eyes and vanishing when she tried to look at them directly. “We know,” the strongest female voice hissed. “We know what you desire. We will fulfill it. “You have the means to give us what we desire. Promise us that, and we will insure success in your endeavors.” A remainder of Hecate’s rational mind got her to speak. “Yes, but I would rather discuss this later. There isn’t privacy on Destral.” Hisses came from the other figures, but the stronger female voice silenced them before she spoke again. “Look for us in mirrors and the echoing places. We will wait.” Slowly, the visions ceased, and Hecate raised her head up again. The churning of her brew had stilled some time while she was gripped by visions, so all was quiet. Lowering her head down into her hands, she rested. And thought of the consequences making deals with the Nightborn could be. ------[*]The Observers In the time before time… I watched as the once-mighty planet shattered into pieces, and I watched as the robotic vessel the others called their home started its journey through the stars. I observed the many events that took place within that robot – that universe. From the first hesitant steps of the Matoran to the treachery and eventual downfall of the League of Six Kingdoms; I watched it all. The others also watched, but I had no idea what scenes they were forced to view or if they too suffered the same way I did. It was our duty to examine the history of that world, and for most of us it was a wearisome task. I was no exception to this, for I would often grow tired of observing what had already come to pass. Among our numbers were a few who, like myself, wished to get a glimpse of the future instead of this endless stream of age-old history. When we were not busy fulfilling our duties of examining the past (which, admittedly, was not very often), we would often debate on what the future would be like. You see, we only knew of one time: the past. The present was hidden to us, and the future was an eternal mystery to all. Although you could argue that we each had our own time that could be labeled as the present, I believe most of us would agree that that was nonsense. When we were created, we were forced to cast aside our own lives for the sake of something greater. Or at least that was what we had been told. I found that “something” to be infuriatingly vague, for it gave us no idea of what exactly we were sacrificing what others deemed so precious for. Was it for the Matoran, who lived carelessly happy lives down below? Was it for the future that we would never live to experience, trapped as we were in a bottomless pit of the past? I kept these thoughts to myself, but this was my reason for wanting to see what would come to be. I wanted to know that my sacrificing my own happiness and the similar sacrifices of the others would indeed come to bring about something worthwhile. Even in my heart, I couldn’t imagine what could possibly be worth all that I had endured. I could only label that future as “something”, for none of us knew what it was. That was what I hated about the visions; the future was hidden from even we who had more than earned the right to know it. In all the events I had seen unfold, good had always somehow managed to prevail. So why, when there were those suffering for the sakes of others, could nothing but misfortune come their way? I closed my eyes, hoping in desperation that it would block out the images rushing through my mind. I knew it wouldn’t; I had tried hundreds of times before now and it had never worked before. However, a person could always hope. For me, hope was all I had left. I had hope, not for the future, but to see the future. Visions of the past were all I lived for, and visions of the future were all I dreamed of. -----[*]Rock of Ages It had fallen without warning in the middle of the night, nearly crushing Gekara on her way home, and neatly slicing a half off of Verius’s hut; luckily he wasn’t home. From a distance, it had a boring appearance, like any rock you might find at the edge of the Black Spike Mountains, but on closer inspection, became a powerful enigma for the inhabitants of New Atero. The entire boulder was covered in writing in an unknown language; the only pictogram of a stout little being with a triangular head and a disk in one hand. Once Solis Magna had risen, it revealed a large crowd of Matoran and Agori crowded around, torches slowly going out over their silent vigil. “Stand aside, villagers, stand aside!” A towering Glatorian of Fire broke the silence as he broke through the mob, wading up to the rock. A wizened old Turaga followed, and then a small Matoran of Ice. “What happened? What is this?” The Turaga immediately burst into questions, to which followed an explosion of stories and alibis, which were silenced with difficulty by the Glatorian. The Matoran was furiously taking notes on a small tablet. “Call on Nokama, she might be able to read this.” A flurry of motion and talking passed as a group of Matoran ran off to the north bringing the word. A hot hour passed before a light blue Turaga walked into the circle, villagers spreading to give her room. The group grew tense as they awaited something to happen, and Nokama furrowed her brow in intense concentration. After a few minutes passed by, she stood up in defeat and shook her head. “Mata Nui will not grant me a vision of its meaning. Perhaps, by knowing its past, we may be able to understand its purpose.” At those words, another group of Matoran broke off in search of a Toa, bringing back a Toa of Plasma wearing the Mask of Psychometry. As the orange being tried to break into the center, all eyes were on him, waiting to see the result. The Toa nervously glanced first at the crowd, and then at the Turaga, Glatorian, and Chronicler in the center. He tentatively reached for the stone, drew back for a moment, and then allowed the power of his mask to show its past to him. He first started shaking, and then his free arm started a spasm as elemental energy cracked through the air. His eyes widened, then his mouth gaped and a low moan escaped before he shot backwards into the crowd, smoking. The surprised villagers jumped back, and a few reached out to catch the limp Toa. All wide eyes were on the charred armor as one Matoran pronounced he was dead. “The vision must have been too much for him. This seemingly common rock may have an interesting history indeed,” said the first Turaga. At the sound of this, the Toa shook momentarily, and his heartlight flashed just long enough for one word to escape his sealed lips. “He…lp.” The pictogram flashed and a hairline crack grew from it, enveloping the whole stone until it collapsed in on itself in a shower of dust. After recovering from shock, the anxious crowd peered into the clearing hole. Inside was a rectangular pod with a clear covering, revealing a being like the one pictured on the stone. A disk flashed across as the being’s eyes opened, and the crowd saw a distant planet, split into seven elemental fragments and a race not unlike themselves… ------[*]Tormenting Chimera I slammed the glass down on the wooden table before me. I flicked my wrist at the waitress that was walking by, saying simply, “Another.” She nodded and quickly hurried off toward the bar, her flaxen hair flowing gracefully. The other barflies around me stared, but I continued to look ahead, a snarl on my face and a fire in my eyes. The glowing firelight from the various lamps throughout the room lighted my face like the sunset. The flames flickered ominously in the shadows throughout the room. The dim lighting was plentiful enough to be able to see, but dark enough to not bestow any cheer. It was perfect. I took another puff from my wooden pipe, the leaves glowing like embers, before slowly releasing the wispy smoke. The new glass came, and I slid the old one to join the others; a cluster of glasses that I had already drunken from. I took a sip and immediately warmth flowed through my being. The only sort of jubilance I would have this evening, the intoxicating, inebriating liquid providing it. It was another of those nights. A night where the nightmares emerged and the visions screamed. Forcing more guilt upon me. Relentlessly grabbing ahold of my very soul and never letting go, consuming my being. Haunting me. Devouring the life from me. And so I drank, drank until the sorrows just floated away. But they never did. As I took another sip from the glass, immediately my mind was thrown into the past; a vision of a previous time, an earlier life. Then the horrific screams came. There was nothing I could do, nothing at all to rid the shrieking from my mind. I covered my ears with my hands, thrashing wildly, but the cries continued, merciless. Wrapping themselves around my mind as though they were physical objects, tentacles. The other barflies were staring again, thinking me mad. But they had no idea. No clue as to what I was going through, what I went through almost every night. The images began. First only spurts of blood, flying off from a midpoint in every direction. Then they began to clear, focusing in my mind. I saw a man clearly, kneeling by a post, his back turned to me. Then the whips, ripping into his skin again and again; the source of the blood. The image rotated, and suddenly I saw his face. In all its clarity, explicitness. The face of my best friend. He looked up at me, his eyes burning with rage and pain. They screamed at me, and without him saying a word I knew what he was thinking: “You did this to me.” A chain hung from his neck, bearing two dogtags; a sign of our brotherhood, of the organization we belonged to. The Order of Mata Nui. And I betrayed him. I ran a finger across my back, feeling the scars. They had tortured me for weeks, but finally I broke as any man eventually did. His eyes pierced my heart, and I knew I had failed him. Failed to uphold my honor. I had talked. It didn’t matter that the Dark Hunters had the most ruthless interrogators – I failed to protect him and my unit. Finally, the vision released its grip on my mind and I was thrown back into the bar, screaming. The other patrons looked at me worriedly before returning to their merry laughter, just another night out in town. Something I could never have again, not as long as these visions plagued me. I set my glass back down on the table. -----[*]I am Ringatoi, a Ko-Matoran and an artist. I have spent hour after hour in the burning of the twin suns, painstakingly creating art in Mata Nui's honor. The sand burned under my feet, my tools shone with sweat and sunshine. I liked to think that the suns were his eyes looking down on me appraising and (I imagined) approving of my efforts. We of ice are not an artistic people as a rule. We are given to the contemplation and the evaluation that often accompanies the mindset of creative Matoran, but instead we turn our talents to a more introspective work, that of prophecy. And then, it hit me. I don't know if I fell to my knees, it felt more as though I fell from the world, or flew upward from it. It was a view from on high, Metru Nui lay in ruins, strange webs graced the half fallen towers. A haze lay over the land, concealing the streets, but one could still make out the slight movement of arachnid beings. I examined it in a strangely detached manner, noting each element, purposefully dedicating each tone and line to memory. Then the it disappeared, and was replaced by a vision of a new land. Here there was only one sun, and it shone more brightly than any sun of Metru Nui. Partially silhouetted by the rising sun was a fleet of airships, their prows pointing towards the virgin sands. Another image became apparent, a low view of a council at a great Kini, six Turaga and many Matoran. If this island had any dangers in store for these villagers, they must face it alone, unaided by the powers of Toa. I looked among the Matoran, and I saw familiar faces. Eyrhe, Tama, Punga, and the infamous Takua. But where was Nuju? Or for that matter, where was I? Perhaps we did not survive the coming of the Webs. The vision flashed once more. I saw a gathering of Matoran, Turaga and... six Toa? Written above them, in letters of fire, were the names Tahu, Kopaka, Lewa, Gali, Pohatu and Onua. I carefully memorized the names and the imagery, the scene backlit by the westering sun, the jungle trees and the high mountains on the horizon.. Then suddenly the blackness rose up again, and feeling returned to my limbs. I became aware of my surroundings, I was still in Ko-Metru, and nearly home. I got to my feet quickly and sprinted into my abode, grabbing my brushes and containers of paint, then hurrying to the Tower of Prophecies. I walked with my eyes forward, trying to keep the images sharp in my mind, bumping into people as I made for the ground floor of the Tower. I reached my destination, the bluish white wall of the tower spread invitingly before me. I set down my paints, wet my brush, and made the first stroke. The curving lines of the great Webs, the destruction of the Knowledge Towers and the Sculpture fields... Matoran strode by, I was only dimly aware of their exclamations. First angry, then awed as the pictures took form. The airships black against the sun, the lush forests and bright waters of the new island... Each Matoran I had seen at the gathering, the six strange Turaga, the tall spires of the Kini... And finally the arrival of the Toa, the hopes of the Matoran realized... I took a white brush and with a flick of my wrist, made the symbol of Mata Nui at the top. My work was done. ------[*]

Clairvoyance

There was a slight strangeness about the female, in her clasps and odd, slick fabrics, stretched over her armour to cover nearly the whole of her body. Her cell had three large tanks attached to it, and each of these had many pumps and filters lining the sides. The Toa within didn’t seem to mind; she was busy clawing at her Mask of Clairvoyance absently as she rocked on her heels, eyes wide and unseeing. <The Dark Hunters rise up, striking the village when it was at its most vulnerable, the screams are deafening…> Mad, they’d called her. She had no mind for the label, but she had known of it a week before it passed the lips of any being she knew. It was about the mask, she knew. It wouldn’t go away. It was with her forever. <A Matoran wanders home, takes a wrong turn on the way, meets a friend, goes out for a stroll…> The days had passed without much notice after that. It was too hard to keep track of time. She would recall talking to her Turaga one morning and find that she had spoken to the elder months later. And then came the nightmares, of dark fates befalling those she knew and those she did not. She did not sleep, she did not eat, she did not speak… and they locked her away. <So many cheers, the Akilini player lines up the shot, and it’s a goal…> No. There was something else to the story. She had been fighting with her teammates, and she had fallen into… no, she had fallen back, and her mask was submerged in silver liquid. Energized Protodermis. It had changed her, welded the dreaded thing to her face. But now, now it wasn’t shutting off. She was stuck with visions, and she didn’t know what was the future and what was the present anymore. Her days were an endless cycle of dark and light, with splashes of futures in between. <There was a noise in the dark, deep in the forest the Toa was camping in. He and his friends were worried, but they wandered into the dark…> They were worried about her. Her Toa team members rarely visited, and when they did, it was a quick visit. The Matoran taking care of her filtered her air, worried that, as a Toa of Water, she would escape using moisture from the air. She had no intention of leaving, but they still siphoned her Toa power and took precautions to weaken her. <There was a cave, far to the south, and within, there was a tribe of savages, and their storyteller was spinning tales of dreams and dancing beams of light…> She DID get visitors, though. Scholars, philosophers, educated beings of all sorts, seeking meaning in her jumbled words. She would attempt to answer their questions, but she was unable to stitch two words together in her frayed sentences. They left happy, in any case. And she would be left alone, in the room with the dry air. <A desert. A desert wider than any desert anyone had known. There, strange, alien beings lived and worked in the heat and drought, as they had for many years. And one day… one day the desert would become living land, and these creatures and those of her own lands would live in harmony.> She paused. That was a strange thought. Was it the present? She assumed not. She was in the same cell, the same air, the same dull light. Still, she pondered on it and what that future would mean. ------

[*]

Shadow of the Wind I stood on the lip of the crater, gazing down into the unfathomable darkness of its immeasurable depths. We were here. We had done it. A smile forming on my mask, I looked up, turning to my companions. But of the three, only one was present – Quintus. The sunlight glinted off his green armor, but something about the way it reflected was...wrong. I looked into his face, which bore a peculiar expression, a satisfied sort of smile that I couldn’t quite place. “Where are the others, Quintus?” I asked. My heart rate rose rapidly, though I wasn’t quite sure why. The world spun. I felt like I was hanging upside down for a split second and then as if I was falling and then- I stepped back in horror. In Quintus’ place hovered a dark form, a roiling mass of pure shadow. From its depths came a terrible sound – laughter, laughter in Quintus’ voice, the same laugh I had come to know so well from the easygoing Le-Toa. “You have done well, my friend.” The words echoed in my mind, the words in my friend’s voice, but not his voice. I got the feeling I should run, but my feet didn’t seem to want to listen. The mass of shadow seethed, a violent ripple passing through it, and a bolt of its substance flew from it, impossibly fast, and struck me in the chest- My eyes snapped open. I was breathing heavily, my heart racing. Quintus stood over me, a worried expression on his face. “You all right, man?” he asked. I nodded slowly. “Well, if you’re sure...” he shrugged. “Get some sleep. There’s still a few hours ‘til your watch.” I wanted to take his advice – badly. I was tired, extremely tired, and we had a long day tomorrow. But instead I rose. “Nah, that’s all right. I’ll take it from here.” Quintus looked at me curiously, then shrugged again. “If you say so.” Within a few moments, he was sound asleep. I gazed out over the clearing, looking upon the sleeping forms of my companions. The dream...could it really have been just that? My gaze fell upon Jotham. He had warned me, privately, of course, about taking Quintus with us. Maybe my imagination was just catching up with me, and I was subconsciously inventing things based on his warning? Yes. Yes, that must have been it. I sat back against the tree, settling myself in a comfortable position, preparing for the long wait ‘til morning.

Edited May 28, 2012 by Velox

[55555]

It came down to a choice between 1, 3 and 7. I went with 7, Clairvoyance. I liked the concept of the visions with no context, and that they were so vivid she lost track of what was a vision and what wasn't.- 55555

[The Dark Chronicler]

I voted for myself here... though I'm wishing that I hadn't. I feel afterwards, and after reading over each entry for another time, that my vote should have gone to entry three. The strangeness and sad tone of it work really well. The others were all great too.

[fishers64]

I went for 3.

[Excelsior]

I went with 6, though I can see 7's appeal. (Obviously a large one.) It was a bit dark, and maybe a bit chaotic, for me, I think.Fun fact: in Maori, "Ringatoi" means "artist."May the best story win!-Excelsior

[WriterofReapers]

Although it was a tough decision, I voted for myself in the end. Clairvoyance was an excellent entry (as are the rest; all of these are great), but the ending just seemed a bit off to me. The word limit is probably responsible, but I feel almost as if part of the story was left out, like there was something more the author wanted to say.