Bionicle Final Poll

[Velox]

This is it. Vote here for your overall favorite Bionicle-themed story out of all the themes. Please MAKE SURE YOU READ ALL ENTRIES BEFORE VOTING.Voting begins now and will end on June 30th at 11:59 PM EST. The entry with the most votes will be the overall winner of all the Bionicle themes.

1. Theme: Visions Story: 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. Theme: The Legends of Lhii Story: Hot Air It was only three days after the arrival of the Toa on Mata Nui. After the initial furor, the Matoran had gone back to work. But they were still keyed up, and Turaga Vakama had been forced to relate all the prophecies concerning the Toa yet again. Having run out of those, he had begun relating some of the Matoran's favorite tales, including several about Lhii, the mythical Matoran lava surfer extraordinaire. Vakama kept speaking, even after an awed silence told him Tahu must have entered the room behind him. The story ended, and the Matoran filed silently from the room. Vakama turned to face Tahu, who, as usual, did not waste any time with niceties. “That story about the Matoran; that was true?” Vakama inclined his head in assent. Tahu pointed to the lava fall about a mile away. “That was the one he went down, and survived?” The fall in question a gigantic thing, spewing many dozen tons of lava every second out of a tunnel in the mountainside. From there the molten rock fell almost a thousand feet to pool up into a lave lake more than a mile across. The radiant heat from it was so strong even Ta-Matoran avoided it when possible. “He did more than survive,” The Turaga said, “He placed a small replica of the Mata Nui stone on an outcropping about halfway down the fall.” (This stone had actually been placed there many years ago by Turaga Nuju's Mask of Telekinesis, at Turaga Vakama's request. It helped make Lhii more real to the Matoran, and furthered the myths meant to honor Toa Lhikan's memory.) The Turaga spoke reverently, thinking of Toa Lhikan, “He was the greatest lava surfer of all time.” Tahu stood, apparently digesting this. He appeared intrigued, but abruptly turned on his heel and started to leave the room. Even Vakama, who had grown used to brusqueness from Tahu, was somewhat startled by this abrupt departure. “Where are you going to so quickly, Toa?” Tahu looked back over his shoulder slightly without slowing down. “If I can't beat a Matoran at surfing, I have no business or chance in a fight against the Makuta. I will be back in an hour, Turaga.” Vakama was shocked. The urge to save Tahu from almost certain death warred with habits he had built over one thousand years of elaborate lying. He struggled with himself to speak the truth, tell Tahu it was merely a falsehood to commemorate Toa Lhikan. But the repercussions of such an admittance choked him. The truth, Vakama told himself, would out. Everything about Metru Nui and how the Matoran truly arrived here on Mata Nui would be revealed. As Tahu's steps faded down the corridor, Vakama finally convinced himself that honesty was the best policy. But by then it was far too late. Horrified, Vakama saw a tiny dot go down the fall. He knew he had doomed the Matoran to an existence beneath Makuta just to continue the perpetration of some relatively unimportant lies. He buried his face in in hands. despairing, cursing the lies the Turaga spoke so glibly. It was a sudden crash that brought the Turaga out of the nightmare he had created for himself. He looked up slowly to see a smoking Mata Nui stone in front of him. He stared wonderingly at Tahu's smoldering back as he walked away. The next day Tahu, passing by the chamber, heard Vakama begin another tale. But this story started differently. “Now listen to the story of Lhii,” Vakama said, “The second-greatest lava surfer of all time...” -----
3. Theme: Flight Story: The Necrofinch Desolation. Misery. Sorrow. That was what the forests of Zakaz represented now. Once green and lush, now grey and dismal. Once indicative of life, now death. Once a prosperous, paradisal island; now bereft. It was here, where the land had been bereft of its verdure, that I had been bereft of my Linorru. It was here the Skakdi had stood over her body, deprived of life, grinning psychotically as they always did. And it was here those Skakdi had died by my hand--and wept over Linorru's inert form. Now it was here that I laid a flower over the spot she had fallen. It was here I caressed the earth where her body had breathed its last. It was here I listened to the raucous dirges of the Necrofinch as it circled overhead, grieving for all the death its eyes had beheld in this land. I sighed to the wind, "I would curse Zakaz, if it wasn't cursed already. No words of mine can bring upon it worse banes than have befallen it. What worse bane than to live dead? than to remain but to breathe with life nevermore?" Then I heard a voice. "Nevermore." Startled, I looked about. But I was alone. I gazed up at the Necrofinch as it continued its flight and obsequial song. Bar its song there was silence. I whispered, "Linorru--Linorru, is that you?" "Nevermore." "Is that you speaking, Linorru?" "Nevermore." "Nevermore . . . will you speak. This is the truth." "Nevermore." I looked about again. The Necrofinch's song had ended. It was gliding downward, to surcease its flight upon the bough of a lifeless tree. There it perched, its feathers fluffed regally, staring at me with a pompous air. I almost smiled. "Can--can you speak?" "Nevermore." "What do you mean, creature?" "Nevermore." I regarded the Necrofinch with curiosity, wondering what the ominous creature meant in croaking its despondent word. It was a grim, ungaily creature, both ghastly and gaunt. "Tell me, bird: have you seen much of the universe?" "Nevermore." "I take you to mean you have, but will----" "Nevermore." "Precisely. And now you are trapped here, to leave----" "Nevermore." I nodded. "I too am trapped. Trapped by my soul, laden with sorrow, burdened with grief for the love lost here, for the love I will see----" "Nevermore." "Tell me, bird--you seem a wise creature, witness to much in the universe--will you share with me your wisdom?" "Nevermore." "But please, I must know! You must tell me what I ask. Tell me whether--whether in some distant land, in some life to come . . . will I see again my love?" "Nevermore." I rose. Voice shaking, I echoed, "Nevermore?" "Nevermore." I bowed my head in sorrow. My hands shook. Dolor swept over me afresh. I glowered up at the Necrofinch. "Thing of evil!" I hissed. "Lies! All lies! Iwillsee Linorru----" "Nevermore." I unleashed a cry of anger and unsheathed my dagger. With a frenzied vociferation I hurled it at the bird. It sunk into the Necrofinch's chest, driving it from its lofty perch to the ground below. "Nevermore." And then, incredulous, I watched the bird take flight, the dagger imbedded in its body. Slowly it flew higher, into the sky, doling out its melancholy dirge. I watched it fly away. "But of course . . . the Necrofinch. . . . What worse bane than to live dead? than to remain but to breathe with life nevermore? than to fly in neverending death?" I fell upon my knees and wept. -----
4. Theme: Alternate Universe Story: Artificial Intelligence Ackar was quietly reading when he heard a noise behind him, a light metal scrape and the unnerving whirr of mechanical joints. It was something he had grown to live with, but he still found it unsettling. He breathed in and turned to the little mechanical creature standing beside his chair. They were odd creatures, certainly. Hey had come from the metal giant that had touched down on the planet and healed their world by reuniting the three pieces of the planet. Then, its duty done, it shut down, and the parts were scrapped by the celebrating Agori. But not before they discovered the creatures. They lived in cities, working to keep the robot running. But they were mindless, it seemed; they did not speak unless asked a question, and they seemed to have no will of their own. So, they were taken from the robot and used as drones, as robotic servants. Ackar had been issued one of the species ‘Matoran’, but he didn’t much like having it around. The thing wore red armour and an odd mask, and it seemed an expert in metalwork. It repaired armour and weapons with remarkable ease. When Ackar asked its name, it had replied with a monotonic “Matoran_Vakama”. Now, as he looked at it, he found himself feeling guilty. It really DID look like some sort of child, and he felt terrible for sending it to sleep in the closet every night. It disturbed him with its blank expression and dull eyes, but it could not be helped. It was here to stay. “You, uh, finished the repairs on my armour?” Ackar asked it. It nodded, and Ackar glanced away. “… Ah. And dinner is prepared?” It responded with “System_task: ‘Prepare Dinner’ completed.” “Oh, good.” Ackar rose, and Vakama dutifully placed his book back on the shelf. The red warrior sighed and stretched his aging limbs. “All right. Thank you.” He was about to head off for the kitchen when the communicator on his table buzzed. He pressed a button on it and spoke into the receiver. “Hello, this is Ackar.” “Yeah, I know, I called your number.” It was Kiina, and she sounded peeved. “What’s wrong?” “My Toa, Helryx, that’s what! It’s REFUSING to spar with me!” “Refusing? Are you using simple words with it?” “Yes, but it’s still saying ‘Request denied’ or something like that.” It was then that Ackar heard something behind him. The softest of clicks. He spoke softly into the receiver, “Kiina, I’ll call you back. Be careful.” “What-“ He hung up the phone and turned, ready for a surprise attack. What he saw was Vakama, wielding a sword made from scrap metal. The Matoran hadfire in its eyes, and it was burning brighter than any sun. The hand wielding the blade was shaking terribly. It said, in a tone that, for once, wavered with emotion, “System_task: ‘Fight For Freedom’ in progress.” Ackar looked at the small creature, which stared back with the eyes of a frightened child. He smiled weakly. “Here’s a new system task for you, friend: go free.” The robot dropped the weapon, unbelieving. Then, without another word, it ran. Ackar watched it go, and silently wished it a safe journey. -------
5. Theme: The Legacy Story: Empty Chairs at Empty Tables There's a grief that can't be spoken. There's a pain goes on and on. Empty chairs at empty tables Now my friends are dead and gone. Brother, dear brother, it was my time. It was my time to go. It was Mata Nui’s will. Toa live to uphold his will, and so I have no regrets for myself. But my heart goes out to you, brother. To have your team torn away from you, I cannot imagine. Here they talked of revolution. Here it was they lit the flame. Here they sang about `tomorrow' And tomorrow never came. Brother, dear brother, don’t you know that torturing yourself tortures me? You know that living in such endless torment by your own hand is not something I would ever wish upon you. And yet you continue to drown yourself in your guilt, drowning me. If there was any form of comfort I could send across to you, I would do so in a heartbeat. Not to lessen my vicarious suffering, but to start to heal the wounds to your heart. From the table in the corner They could see a world reborn And they rose with voices ringing I can hear them now! The very words that they had sung Became their last communion On the lonely barricade at dawn. Brother, dear brother, please, please understand this. I do not blame you for anything. So why do you? There is no fate but what we make for ourselves. As your sister and friend, I cannot bear to watch you struggle without being able to help. At the same time, as your sister and friend, as well as your star and angel, I must and I do. Oh my friends, my friends forgive me That I live and you are gone. There's a grief that can't be spoken. There's a pain goes on and on. Brother, dear brother, isn’t it shameful? Shameful that just one little moment in time can drown out years and years of companionship? Why must you remember me, remember us, as we lay broken and blood on our last battlefield? I do not think it fair. That single, horrible moment is burned into your mind, making you blind to all the wonderful times we had as a team. It pains me to no end. You knew me, you know me. Would the Nikila you knew, the Nikila you know, want you to remember her forever in her weakest and last moments of life? Would any of us want that? I know you know the answer. Phantom faces at the window. Phantom shadows on the floor. Empty chairs at empty tables Where my friends will meet no more. Brother, dear brother, I pray to Mata Nui ceaselessly that he will give you strength to forgive yourself. I can no longer give you my strength, fighting by your side. But I hope that one day, I will still be able to make you smile. One day, when you can finally recall the times we had as a team, laughing and living life to the fullest. Oh my friends, my friends, don't ask me What your sacrifice was for Empty chairs at empty tables Where my friends will meet no more Lesovikk, dear brother, there is one promise I can give. We will wait for you. (*Lyrics from Les Misérables) -------
6. Theme: Music Story: Sing The rising sun’s rays painted the trees with streaks of red. They turned their leaves toward the sky in gratitude as a stiff breeze flowed among them, greeting each and every plant and animal in its winding path. The period of silence between midnight and dawn, when both nocturnal and diurnal Rahi slumbered, remained only for a minute more; then the first birdcall rang to the distance like a fervently rung bell, and slowly, the jungle of Le-Wahi drew itself from semiconsciousness. Small birds were the first to awaken; their shrill melodies joined and intertwined, stirring the hearts of those still sleeping. The raucous cries of Brakas monkeys began soon after — they were intermittent, but their contribution to the forest eidos was nevertheless indefeasible. Minutes passed. A Gukko called out as it skimmed the treetops. Ground-locked Fikou spiders continued their silent work, apathetic to their environment. The signature pok-pok-pok of a Pokawi reverberated in the chill-tinged air, soon intermingled with the harsh buzzing of distant Nui-Rama and Nui-Kopen searching for food. A rustle told of the appearance of Ash Bears, or perhaps Ussal crabs; one could not know which. Melodious twittering soared above all other sounds. The jungle did not take notice. Beauty was intrinsic to its ecosystem. Why should it notice of something so obviously meant to be? The melody throbbed with energy as more voices joined the choir. No time signature, no tempo, no clear rhythm... and yet it was somehow more real than a song with structure. Perhaps there was a structure, just one so complex, so undeniably vast that no Matoran could ever hope to replicate its beauty. There was, however, another possibility: With such beauteous tonality, was structure required at all? A small bird hopped from one tree branch to another. Its breast was white, its wings and back light gray segueing into a mottled light and dark gray on the bird’s scalp. It canted its head and opened its beak. The melody burst forth with surprising ardor. Perhaps the little bird lived for its song; the jungle was privy in regards to its priorities. Again the bird leaped; its dainty weight barely shook the branch upon which it landed. Its high, throaty vibrato was perchance more palpable than its mass. From a distance, another bird let out a similar call. The first bird responded and spread its wings, crouching to better leap off the branch— Twang. The arrow that pierced its chest pushed the bird sideways. It tumbled through the air before landing out-of-sight amongst the undergrowth. It would sing no more. The Le-Matoran Tamaru lowered his bow and inclined his head before retrieving his meal-to-be. ------

[Ballom Nom Nom]

Three and five were my favorites here, with the latter coming in just a little bit ahead.~B~

[Nuile the Paracosmic Tulpa]

None of these were my choices in their themes, bar #6, which came close behind that which I most enjoyed reading because I most enjoyed writing it.

From the desk of Nuile: Lunatic Wordsmith

[Grantaire]

It was incredibly hard choosing between 4 and 5, but I went with five. IT was the best, but only by a fraction.

[fishers64]

It is with great difficulty that I place my vote for 2.

[Maganar]

With excruciating deliberation, I settled for #2. I wanted to vote for #5 as well so badly... but my vote had to go somewhere. #2 won out for telling a story set in '01 that worked with the canon personalities so well while holding an underlying level of knowledge we didn't have in '01 (Vakama chastising himself for endangering Tahu's life with a story). #5 perfectly adapted the original Les Miserables lyrics into a setting where it applied to canon personalities and pulled it off with wondeful execution. The intermittent narration between verses was proper in length each time and really struck home with a pang of sadness when we reflect on Lesovick's self-imposed fate. #2 won for having a full plot where #5 was more of a "supernatural letter" to Lesovick. That really doesn't deserve to be the deciding factor, but I could do anything else to break my tie.

[christo1096]

voted for entry 5

[Velox]

Polling period over; poll closed. Results will be up later tomorrow.