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Visions Final Poll


Visions Final Poll  

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Vote 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 June 17th at 11:59 PM EST. The entry with the most votes will be the winner of the Visions theme and will then be either judged or polled against the winners of the other themes.

  1. The Sight They were coming. He knew it. Faint footsteps in the hall…a sound of whispered voices…metal rasping against stone. He was discovered again, after all this time. He had to get away. They were coming! Shui bolted up from the bed, suddenly awake. His eyes snapped open, but there was nothing to see—it was night, and darkness filled the room. The street outside was still as he squinted through the shutter. No shadows moved down below. No sound in the hall. But they would be here. They were probably already on the way. If there was anything he had learned in the past century, it was to trust his dreams. Especially the nightmares. Quick and efficient, with skill born of repetition, Shui gathered his belongings: two small satchels and an iron staff. Nothing more. These days he had to be light, fast, and always ready to run. He turned to the door, listening carefully before moving into the corridor. He’d be gone before anyone knew. Down the winding wooden stairs. He dropped two widgets behind the innkeeper’s desk as he moved towards the entrance, then into the street. His heart raced, despite the fact that he had done this a hundred times. A century of running, and he was good at it too, especially with his Gift. But the Brotherhood was relentless—they did not give up. They needed him—especially him…all for their War against the Six Kingdoms. Many had been taken—some willingly, others not. After all, it was easy to go along with what the Brotherhood offered…too easy for some. “No…” Shui had told himself long ago, “No…I will not use this gift in the cause of destruction. The Sight was meant for greater things.” Through the empty streets he crept, down towards the harbor. His ears strained, listening for sounds of pursuit. But at length, he stopped to rest. Perhaps he had evaded detection tonight. Tomorrow would be a new day— —a shock cut his thoughts short, and he fell headlong into darkness...

    : : :

    His eyes snapped opened. Nothing to see. He tried to move, but his hands were chained. It was a stone cell…a prison. So, he was taken…But before the horror of his situation settled in, a noise broke the stillness: Faint footsteps in the hall outside the cell…a sound of whispered voices…metal rasping against stone…flint striking steel. A flickering light flashed under the cell door. Sudden fear seized him, and Shui realized now that he had foreseen this. His own downfall… The door swung open, light flooding the cell as rough hands hauled him forward. There was a fire burning in the grate in the center of the chamber. But this was no rough hearth—it was an ornate censer, gilded with many symbols. The fire burning there was bright and hot, twisting and hypnotic. “So,” a cold voice pierced his thoughts, “after all this time…Shui the Seer.” Shui shivered at the voice of Toa Koh, lieutenant of Makuta Gorast. “It’s been quite a chase, Seer, but now…you must face your Duty to the Brotherhood.” “I know my duty, Koh,” Shui replied, defiant, “and it is not to your Brotherhood. My visions will not lead you to victory in war.” Shui sighed, shutting his eyes tight, “I will not help you.” “I never expected you would. But either way, you will cooperate.” Hands seized his head, and his eyes were pried painfully open, filling his field of vision with the burning, hypnotizing fire. The sacred flame filled his mind’s eye as the Sight took hold… And then the vision ended. ------

  2. The Last Dangerous Visions At times, Turaga Vakama dreamt of stars. He dreamt of space completely unbounded, of planets and galaxies and universes stretching out beyond comprehension, packed with stories and struggles and losses and victories and life and danger. And then he would open his eyes and see the walls of his hut in New Atero, the torch in the corner of the room flickering and casting shadows across the wall. At times he would lift himself from where he slept, take his staff, and hobble out into the streets of their city, a hodgepodge of half-finished buildings, and walk for a while. Matoran and Toa greeted him warmly. Agori and Glatorian greeted him cordially - but that was good enough. Once he was startled to find an old friend on a walk of her own, staff in one hand, tablet in another, heading back from a long night at the school, and together they walked and spoke of days gone by and days yet to come. She never asked him if he still had visions, and so he never told her of his stars. Another time he came upon the Toa he'd almost come to think of as family, and the two of them walked and he listened to his son describe the struggles he still faced in uniting the Agori and Matoran. And his son never asked him if he still had visions, and so he never told him that his stars were getting smaller, that at night he no longer saw galaxies or universes, only a single planet, and he never told him that he feared that perhaps the planet was theirs. But another time he stumbled upon two Toa he'd known well even as Matoran, and simply smiled and shook his head as the former Ga-Matoran insisted that she'd just been getting some dirt off her companion's mask, which was as red and unblemished as ever. And the three walked and he offered a few old tales to them, because that was what was expected. And they never asked him if he still had visions, and so he never told them that yes, he did, but it was alright. That night he bade them farewell and returned to his hut, leaned his staff against the small forge he kept, and laid himself down to rest. And he dreamt of a planet so far away, of its cities that put Metru Nui to shame and of heroes and villains, and when Turaga Vakama awoke he smiled, because it had nothing at all to do with any of them. ------
  3. Returned Koi is gone. Just yesterday over the meal table, she had sat and talked with the rest of us — Eknosis, Rea, and me — had eaten her fill, had smiled in her withdrawn fashion at every joke told, her eyes glimmering under the candlelight. Now she is passed like a dream, her seat empty. Her name only comes heavily to my tongue. As I prod at my food, Eknosis asks me if I feel fine. Concern is in the Toa of Earth’s eyes, but it seems thin as paper. “I do,” I respond, “but does—” Her name refuses to be uttered. Eknosis acquiesces. The remainder of the meal passes in silence. * * * Our dwelling is not overly large. It consists of four bedrooms, one per occupant; a dining room with a circular table and four seats; a kitchen; and a small living room whose bookshelf acts as a magnet for faint coatings of dust. Eknosis, being a Toa of Earth adorned with a Mask of Accuracy, does all the hunting required for sustenance; Rea, a Vortixx, cooks behind locked doors; and I, Ikara, remain in the library most of the day, scribbling on whatever paper I can acquire as I ponder philosophy. Koi would normally tidy the rooms, but with her absent, I go about the work myself. My subconscious mind recycles thoughts of the Toa of Water; my conscious mind expunges them as they surface. When I dust the last shelf in the living room, I light a candle with my fire powers and, under its flickering light, pore over a volume I have been reading for days. Reality, it suggests, is subjective. It’s wistful to imagine death is a dream, but I need solace from something. * * * Solace, I lament, left with Eknosis. Night had fallen, and the Toa of Earth had failed to knock upon the door. For the first time in what seemed like millennia, I had felt a shard of fear pierce my heart. Eknosis is still unreturned. Rea is apathetic. Expecting sympathy from a Vortixx is folly, true, but could she really ignore the absence of our lifeblood? She says she will cook using leftovers. No utterance of Eknosis’s name enters her speech, and I offer none in return. My reply is to nod and again open the book I had been reading: An Examination of “Reality”, by K. Aria. * * * “Don’t you leave,” I finally say to Rea over dinner. She doesn’t respond. Angrily, I repeat the question; she ignores me. Cold fear wraps around my heart. In panic, I round the table and grab her by the shoulders, yelling the question in her face. Finally, she snaps. The others aren’t gone, she says; I am. “No.” Yes. She’s hopeless. I stand up. “Forget you.” She says I can’t. “Stop bluffing,” I challenge, but she denies the allegation. She asks: How could I possibly erase a part of myself? My subconscious mind screams under the sudden pressure of pain. Rea must feel it, for she cries in return that I must be a fool to have fallen for this dream. This... dream? The thought serves as a trigger. The candles in the living room are extinguished. Rea laughs as my existence is turned off as if by a switch. She pulls away — as does the rest of the dining room — whiplash yanks my head back hard enough for my neck to hurt— I awaken in the cruel grasp of a prison: walls of debris in a cold, dead universe. My Mask of Illusion dims, fading from bliss into dead weight. I am returned. I am broken. ------
  4. 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. ------

  5. The Visionary

    ₪҉₪

    "Get out," Dispatched to the Northern Continent on Makuta Icarax's orders, Pridak had been granted jurisdiction over a small peninsula. What the Makuta had failed to mention, however, that the land's primary inhabitants were rocks and Rahi.Perhaps to lessen the sting of the slap to Pridak's ego, they'd dispatched a small herd of Matoran to go with him and serve as his staff. The Matoran ducked his head in compliance. "Sir," Pridak sat down heavily on his stone work desk, knocking the scout's report tablets to the floor with a resounding clatter. He looked out the window of the shack that he was supposed to call a fortress. Instead of seeing the occasional boulder that littered the landscape, he saw Xia. The imposing skyline stabbed into the sky, reaching for the twin suns as though trying to dethrone them. Fire fueled the race to the heavens, new factories and foundries being created every day. Smoke and haze seeping from the buildings hung in the air, tasting like grandeur. The addicting sensation of success, production, and monopoly thrummed trough the streets, making the realm of the Vortixx truly unique and beautiful in the Universe. It wasn't only the landscape that made Xia enviable. It was the spirit of the inhabitants. They were forward thinking, always. Sharp minds formed the backbone of the population, while the perfect combination of ruthless and genius sat in the seat of authority. Manipulative, cunning, and clever, the Vortixx were at the very least admirable. And the beauty didn't end there. In his mind's eye, Pridak saw Xia's smog spreading across the world, turning everything to the same twisted beauty. Nothing in existence would be able to compare, of that Pridak was sure. It wasn't long before the sharp skyscrapers and strong fortresses of factories blotted out the suns completely. It was majesty. And one day, maybe not so far away, that envisioned majesty could become reality. Of course, Pridak would have to work for it. Dreaming could only get one so far. Naturally, he wanted to get out from under the thumb of the Brotherhood of Makuta. At the moment, Pridak thought that would be a bit pre-mature. He would establish his tiny dominion on this Northern Continent Peninsula for now. Pridak was not a Toa, but he did believe in destiny. He would lay low, and wait until the time destiny called for change. -------

"As a writer you ask yourself to dream while awake." ~ Aimee Bender

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...so...conflicted...urk!!So many good writers in one poll. But in the end, it came down to #2 and #4.2 gets major props for portraying Vakama and Dume so well4 gets my vote

Edited by Aderia

(disclaimer: none of this banner art is original, I just smooshed it together in gimp. Torchic, Matau)
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Those pesky firespitters... 
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