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This post has been edited by Hurdy: May 14 2007, 03:15 PM

Chapter 1:
CANDLES

Vakama’s footsteps echoed through the temple as he made his way slowly up the corridors. There were never any people in the temple, but he usually found the huge building comforting and homely; today it was empty and forbidding. It even felt cold!
It was the anniversary.
Vakama was old. Far older than anyone suspected. He had been high priest to the Toa of Fire for centuries. Only Nokama, Turaga to Gali was aware of this – but even she, old as she was, was far too young to remember the catastrophe which had occurred on this day seven-hundred years ago. No one remembered; Vakama had made sure of that. He, personally, had removed all records from the archives and had deleted the relevant section from the Wall of History. Of course, the Matoran of Le-Koro and Onu-Koro still had legends and songs which described, in part, the events of that terrible day – but no-one actually believed them.
Perhaps one day he would tell Takua the truth…
Perhaps not.
Vakama, in a land of fire and smoking rocks, shiverred uncomfortably and made his way out into the boiling air of Ta-Koro.

This post has been edited by Hurdy: Mar 23 2007, 07:31 AM

In the darkness, a match flared. Whenua sat cross-legged on the floor of his temple room. He reached over gently and lit the scented candle. This was a ceremony he performed every year on this day – or at least, every year since he had discovered the truth.
He did not know the entire truth.
Not yet.
But he would. He had recorded every legend. Every Le-Koro folk-song. Even tiny obscure references contained within the prophecies. Slowly, he was piecing together the whole story. He would know, despite Vakama’s efforts.
He knew what Vakama had done, curse him.
Whenua did not hate Vakama: he had simply done what he thought to be right in the circumstances – but he had been wrong. Wrong to bury the past, to hide the truth. Vakama suspected him, he knew, but did not know anything for certain. He must use this situation to his advantage…
Whenua sighed, slowly and deeply, and planned his next move.

Takua was fishing.
Jaller and Hahli had dragged him out here in some goddamn boat and he was cold, wet, and hadn’t caught a single bloody fish all day. To top it all, the other two were hardly paying him any attention, preferring to spend the time gazing pathetically into each other’s eyes. Takua had a suspicion that they had only brought him along to pilot the boat while they were busy…
He glared moodily into the water. He hated this stupid sport: give him Kolhii any day. Even Ussal racing was better than this.
Something was moving down there.
And Hahli was making him feel so useless and inefficient. She, being Ga-Koran, had no trouble with this fishing lark, she had caught twenty-seven fish already. Even Jaller, a Ta-Koran, had managed to catch three fish, one of which had been huge.
It was getting closer.
There was a contented sigh from behind him, and he groaned inwardly. If they started kissing, he decided, he’d throw Jaller in the water.
The thing was glowing, and moved in a figure-of-eight beneath the boat.
It wasn’t as though he even liked fish. Horrible chewy things. All bone.
The thing was tantalizingly close now, he could almost reach out and touch it.
Hahli sighed again, and giggled. Takua rolled his eyes, one more time and he’d start chucking fish at them.
The line bobbed slightly.
Takua fell in.

This post has been edited by Hurdy: Sep 2 2003, 02:46 AM

Another candle was burning in a different cave. It was unnecessary, as there was a large lump of glowing rock on the table, but it was there nonetheless.
The Matoran who had put it there lay on the craggy floor nearby, eyes closed. Perhaps he was asleep… or perhaps not.
Now that we see him closer, the word Matoran no longer seems correct. The Matoran have recently undertaken a transformation, following the defeat of the Bohrok-Kal, and were now larger and stronger. The transformation, however, appears to have overlooked this particular character, and he is small and short. Perhaps the word “Tohunga” would be best to describe this misfit. It is impossible to tell the origins of this Tohunga, as he has no one tribe’s colours, but rather a cacophony of various different colours, much like Takua. The only one reoccurring theme about this figure is that of grime. He is covered in green slime and dirt from his odd-coloured feet to his mask.
His mask…
His mask is white, and glows slightly – rather unusual on Mata-Nui – and of an unrecognisable design. This mask is not dissimilar to carvings found in an obscure corner of the temple in Ta-Koro.
He rolls over and gives a little moan.

This post has been edited by Hurdy: Sep 2 2003, 03:58 PM

It is in this corner of the Ta-Koro temple that we find a young Onu-Koran Matoran by the name of Nefiru. She looks around skittishly, sweat dribbling down the inside of her mask, and not just from the heat.
She had been chosen for this task by Whenua himself, on account of her exceptional drawing skills. Her instructions were clear:
Get in there.
Copy down the inscriptions and carvings.
Get out.
She gazed up at the wall and, wiping the sweat from her eye holes, began to draw.
She stopped. She was shaking uncontrollably, and the pencil lines were jiggling all over the page. She ripped the page out, and calmed herself. It was an amazing technique she’d learned from a cousin in Ko-Koro: she closed her eyes, took deep breaths and thought of ice. Lots of ice.
When she was sufficiently calm she reopened her eyes.
Turaga Vakama stood in front of her. Even through his elephantine mask he looked furious.
But Whenua had prepared her for this, and she had been told what to say.
“I’m here for the market, but I got lost,” she recited.
Vakama looked down at Nefiru. “Indeed,” he growled, through clenched teeth. And he sharply hit her over the head with his staff.

“TAKUA!” yelled Jaller, charging to the side of the boat. “Oh my God! Stupid, stupid…” He turned. “Hahli, can you–” But Hahli was already gone.
She plunged gracefully into the calm water. Takua was far below, floating downwards unnaturally fast.
Something was glowing.
She pushed up, moving quickly towards him. He was face down, and not moving – no attempt to swim up to the surface. Never a good sign. As she forced herself closer she saw that his face was wearing an expression of pure joy. A bubble rose from an eyehole of his mask.
She grabbed for him, but missed. She swam closer, and this time managed to hold on. He turned to her, an expression of anger, and slapped her squarely around the face. Hahli let go out of sheer shock, and he turned back to the glowing object with outstretched arms.
Hahli’s lungs were bursting, but she dare not give up. She looked at the glowing thing, and made up her mind. She swam as hard as she could and grabbed the thing. It felt like rock. She held it out to the staring Takua, and he took it willingly.
This seemed to break the spell. Takua blinked and made a choking noise. Hahli grabbed his unresisting arm and dragged him to the surface. It was surprising how deep they had gone.
They both burst to the surface, gaping for breath. Takua noted with distaste how Jaller lifted Hahli out of the water first before grabbing for him. He fell sprawling onto the deck.
And, as always happens in near-death situations such as this, all three Matoran fell into rounds of hysteric giggling.
“I thought this trip needed livening up,” laughed Takua.

Vakama held the burning contents of the pot up to Nefiru’s face, and she sighed as the smell washed over her, and she slumped slightly.
She rose again and looked quizzically at the Turaga. “What…” she began. “What am I doing here?”
Vakama smiled kindly. “You’re here for the market, remember?” he said gently. “You got lost.”
Nefiru brightened. “Oh yeah…”
“It’s down the road and to the left, dear,” said Vakama, pointing.
“Thank you noble Turaga,” said Nefiru, bowing.
Vakama returned the bow, and the young Matoran skipped off down the road. He sighed, and began to remove the ingredients and evidence from the table.
He hated doing that, especially to one so young. The child was just doing what she had been told to do. Curse Whenua. Curse him to Makuta.
The child hadn’t known anything beyond what Whenua had told her. He sighed again. Technically, he was not supposed to use his spells anymore: against “Matoran Rights” apparently. He hated doing it anyway, it was the look of sleep-like gormlessness and the wildly staring unfocussed eyes. He shuddered. But a simple truth-draught couldn’t cause harm, and besides, desperate times called for desperate measures. He needed to know what Whenua knew. And she, he thought, needed to forget.
Whenua knew too much, if he was enquiring into the carvings.
Vakama ran a dry tongue over his lips.
Whenua must be stopped.

The Tohunga with the odd mask was hunting. He clutched a wooden spear tipped with glowing rock. His quarry, a small species of jungle goat, lay dozing ahead of him. He muttered some outlandish syllables, eyes closed, and hurled the spear.
It struck home.
The goat let out a cry somewhere between a “baah” and a yelp… and died.
The Tohunga lifted the goat to his shoulder. Tonight, the spirits would be pleased. He shuddered.
There was a chill wind blowing through the trees. The Tohunga had, until now, paid it no heed. But now it was accompanied by a low thrumming noise, and was strengthening. The Tohunga looked up fearfully. He muttered a few unrecognisable words, and ran for home.
Home, I must explain, is a cave, almost hidden by tree roots which have grown down over the entrance. He feels safe here.
He laid the dead animal onto the rock slab that serves as a table, carefully moving aside the candle, and pulled a glowing knife out of a crude belt. He, with surgical precision, removed the creature’s head, whilst carefully catching any spilled blood in a wooden bowl. Well, waste-not want-not.
He then proceeded to place the head of the goat outside his cave. He bowed, and retreated inside.
High above, and making a low thrumming noise, the huge green figure of Lewa Nuva, Toa of Air, glided gracefully over the treetops in the cool breeze.

Takua clambered unsteadily to shore, clutching the glowing rock. Jaller helped Hahli out of the boat, an arm around her waist. Takua grimaced. That had to be the most unpleasant experience of his life.
“This fishing,” he said, to no-one in particular, “it’s not for me…”
He looked up. Up and into the eyes of Turaga Nokama. She stood at the end of the pier, surrounded by a troop of armed Ga-Korans. None of them, Nokama included, looked happy.
“Turaga,” he said, “I must speak with master Vakama.”
There was concern, confusion and anger in the Turaga’s voice as she said, “I’m not sure that is entirely possible; it is about master Vakama that I wish to speak to you.”
One of the Matoran guard jabbed her spear in a threatening manner. Nokama waved her down irritably.
“I must speak to all three of you in my hut privately. Now.”
It was not a request, and Jaller, Hahli and Takua obeyed.

The air in the temple of Ta-Koro is hot and dry. It is also stagnant, barely moving. There is little air-flow around a building so big. And yet…
There was the tiniest of sounds and a dust-mote rose from the floor. The air moved, as though an object had passed through it, though no object could be seen.
There was a sound like an inrush of air, and Turaga Vakama appeared. He looked feverishly around, but there was no-one about. No-one ever came this deep into the temple… Until this morning.
Whenua knew.
It was, perhaps, too late. Vakama should have done this long ago.
He lifted his staff, and twisted a small ring near the top. The flames flickering from the end began to shrink. The flame became an angry blue cone, roaring with heat.
Vakama moved a step closer to the wall and, very carefully, set to work. The carvings which Nefiru had been attempting to copy began to bubble. Soon they would run into a black puddle on the floor. Vakama’s staff could produce the heat of a volcano. The evidence would melt under the onslaught, but it was too late. Whenua knew.
Whenua knew…

Jaller slammed his fist down on the table. “I will not accept this!” he shouted.
Turaga Nokama looked nervous. “It is true,” she said simply. “I have assurances.”
“How do you know Whenua is telling the truth?” demanded Jaller, thumping again.
Nokama looked tired and almost as confused as Jaller. The two had been arguing now for at least five minutes. “Nefiru has had her memory wiped. And you know as well as I that this is against every law of Mata-Nui.”
“Has Nefiru herself confirmed this?”
“She doesn’t remember.”
“GREAT!” Jaller jumped to his feet. “So we are going on the word of one person?”
“One Turaga,” Nokama corrected. “As such he should be given more credit.”
“Why,” shouted Jaller, advancing menacingly on the Turaga, “should he be given more credit than VAKAMA?”
His face was mere centimetres away from Nokama’s. Everyone was staring at him. He became vaguely aware that he was threatening one of the twelve most powerful beings on the island. He collapsed back into his seaweed chair.
“I just think he wouldn’t use a memory charm without good reason…” said Jaller, lamely.
“If noble Whenua is correct, as unlikely as that may be, Jaller. Going to Ta-Koro at this time may not be the best idea.”
“I’m not taking this,” said Jaller simply, rising from his chair. “I’m going back to Ta-Koro, like it or not.” He moved to the door and looked back at the others. “Takua?”
Takua shook his head. Jaller glared at him and stormed out of the room. Hahli moved to follow him, but was held back by Nokama’s hand on her shoulder. “Let him go,” the Turaga whispered, and moved back to her chair.
“Besides,” she said, turning to Takua. “It may be useful to have a man on the inside… And now, Chronicler, I feel you must go to Onu-Koro to learn the story from its source.” And without turning, “No Hahli, I need you here.” Hahli lowered her hand.
“Go carefully, Takua. There is more to this that any suspect.”

Nokama was right. There was far more to this than anyone suspected. Or rather – there would be.
Whenua sat on the floor of his temple room, looking over a scroll which he had just been handed by one of his messengers. It said:
The honourable Turaga of Po-Koro of the Rock has ceased all communication and ended all trade with the renegade Clan of Ta-Koro. We await more information in which the basis for further action may be found.
And another document which read:
The Turaga Nuju of Ko-Koro is alarmed by the news of Vakama’s dealings and awaits further information - preferably to the contrary. Ko-Koro has taken no action, in trust of the afore-mentioned Clan and it’s noble Turaga, but is prepared to do so in the face of undeniable evidence.
The Turaga sighed. This is what he had expected, it was true… but he, too, hoped fervently for some evidence to the contrary. And then there was the itch.
Whenua’s Kanohi was the Mask of Foresight. He could sense trouble and danger, sometimes days in advance. This was not always good, though. If the danger was internal, or very subtle, he was not always able to tell what it was. He simply had a terrible sense of foreboding. He felt it now, like a horrible pressure on the back of his mind. He was also aware that the cause of the trouble would somehow involve him. He shuddered and tried to put away these troublesome thoughts.
It would be a good two hours until he had a true precognition of the events to come.
There had not been a civil-war on Mata-Nui for centuries.
Seven-hundred years to be precise.
To the day.

The carcase of a Nui-Rama lay stinking in the heat. The strange Tohunga glared at it. It had tried to take the head of a kill from outside his cave. It had tried to take the spirits’ sacrifice; and now it was the sacrifice. A just fate, he felt. He nodded gravely. Besides, there was enough eating on it for several weeks.
He climbed the beast, and clutched the spear wedged within its carapace. He pulled sharply, and the spear came loose. There was a slight twitch from one wing, and the Rahi gave a gurgling noise. Alarmed, the Tohunga stabbed the creature twice more and it lay still.
The Tohunga, dripping with the monster’s blood, jumped from the body, rolled on the forest floor, and arose holding his knife. He then proceeded to lever off the creature’s masks with the knife, and smashed them on a tree. Why he did this, he himself did not understand, he just knew that it was important to do so. His ancestors had done it for centuries, so he did so too.
He found a weak spot around the Rama’s neck, and began to cut off its head. He stopped suddenly, and looked up. Just on the edge of hearing was a low thrumming sound, and growing in volume.
So.
Another Rama was coming.
Let it.
He hefted his spear.

Jaller sprinted around the corner. How could they do this? How dare they? Well, Jaller had served Ta-Koro all his life. Even back when he had been Jala. He would not stop now.
He entered the temple at a dash, and came to rest somewhere near the alter. A scented candle was burning.
“VAKAMA?” yelled Jaller, not bothering with formalities such as “noble Turaga”.
There was a whimper from the alter, and Vakama became visible.
“What the Makuta is going on?” demanded Jaller.
Vakama was hunched over, and he stared up at Jaller with a crazed look in his eyes. “It’s happening again,” he muttered.
Jaller stepped back. “What?”
Now the Turaga shouted, making ash fall from the ceiling. “It’s all starting again!”
He turned, grinning manically, to Jaller, and Jaller knew then that Vakama was mad.
He reached over and gripped Jaller by the shoulders, whispering, “Don’t you see? Whenua is me… and I’m dead!” He began to laugh. There was no humour in it, and it sent a shiver up the Matoran’s spine.
Jaller pulled his throwing disc from his back, and, pushing the Turaga away, backed towards the door. “Whenua is right,” he said, pulling back his arm. “And I quit.” He flung the disc into the darkness of the temple, where it clattered into silence.
Vakama watched it fall, arcing gracefully, until it disappeared into shadow. And with it went the last of his hope… the last of his sanity.
Vakama screamed with anger, and suddenly he was behind Jaller, his staff pulling hard against Jaller’s throat.
It had begun.

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This post has been edited by Hurdy: Mar 23 2007, 08:05 AM

Chapter 2:
MISTAKES

In the darkness there was a scuttling sound, and someone said, “Easy!”
With a purr, Pewku stopped. Takua climbed down from the crab and peered into the darkness. Slowly, his eyes became accustomed to the gloom, and he could make out the shape of the underground city before him. He patted Pewku’s head, and, with a command of, “Come!” led the Ussal to the nearby stables.
Minutes later he stood at the foot of Onu-Koro’s small temple. There were two guards armed with large pikes who glared at him as he passed.
He entered the Turaga’s room without announcing himself. If Whenua was doing something he didn’t want Takua to know about, then Takua wanted to know about it.
He watched the short Turaga lording over something on the sandy floor, wondering what it could be.
“A bit dark isn’t it, Turaga,” he said, making Whenua jump. “Anyone would think you had ordered a blackout.”
Whenua turned slowly, he looked exasperated, like someone unable to solve a puzzle. “Yes, Takua,” he said. “You see, that makes us less vulnerable to attack.”
The shock was almost physical. Takua stumbled backwards. He blinked. “Attack, say, from Ta-Koro?”
The Turaga sighed. “I didn’t want it to be like this. But now it must.” He turned around. “It must.”
Takua swallowed, and nervously peered over the small Turaga’s shoulder. On the floor was an unmistakable map of Mata-Nui, carved from wet sand. It had the unique look of a Hafu about it. Upon the map were various multi-coloured stones.
Six red stones, centred in the area of Ta-Koro.
Six blue in Ga-Koro.
Six white: five in Ko-Koro, one near Po-Koro.
Six brown: Three in Po-Koro and three in Onu-Koro.
Six green: Two in Le-Koro and four dotted all around the island; Kewa riders, Takua thought.
Six black stones were dotted about the island, but seemed to be centred on…
“The Kini-Nui?” he said out loud.
“That is where it will take place. That is where this must end. I have seen it.” He tapped his mask.
“What,” asked Takua, “is that?” he pointed to a small glowing stone in Onu-Koro. Whenua looked guilty. “Err…” he started. “It’s… err… you.”
Takua opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted by the entrance of Nefiru. “Sir!” she said excitedly. “Le-Koro have found it!”
Takua looked puzzled. “Found what?”
Whenua looked him deep in the eyes. “Proof,” he said, simply.
Takua blinked and looked at the map on the floor. He picked up the glowing stone and moved it to Le-Koro. “I’m going,” he stated.
Whenua smiled. “I know,” he said.

This post has been edited by Hurdy: Oct 7 2007, 10:29 AM

Lewa flew low over the dense jungles to the south of Le-Koro. He was here with a purpose. There had been many recent and disturbing reports which spoke of entire areas of the forest being poisoned, the trees dying and the animals going berserk in panic.
He was, however, also here to have fun. He glided low over the treetops, thrumming gently, on his back, eyes closed. This was probably why he did not see the imminent danger.
There was a rustle of leaves, a slight breeze, and a hydraulic pipe in his leg burst. There was a hiss as the high-pressure liquid squirted out over the forest, and Lewa Nuva plunged into the jungle. Trees were sliced down and animals ran for safety. He landed against a huge tree, and rolled to face the threat. He was expecting a Rahi or even a Bohrok.
What he was not expecting was the small, odd-looking Matoran who looked up at him.
Lewa tilted his head to one side as the Matoran yelled a few unrecognisable words and raised a small glowing knife.
“Hey,” said Lewa slowly. “It’s only m–” But the Tohunga was already upon his face hammering to remove his Kanohi.
The Toa attempted to get to his feet, but the hydraulics in his leg simply collapsed under him, and he fell into a heap.

This post has been edited by Hurdy: Sep 7 2003, 04:58 PM

This is it, thought Jaller. Not at the hands of a Bohrok. Not by a Rahi. But here, in my home, by my own Turaga.
He pushed against the staff viciously, grunting with the effort. “NO!” he shouted. “Not now!”
He smartly elbowed the Turaga in the chest, vaulting over the staff as Vakama loosened his grip. He landed and swung a punch at Vakama’s face… but Vakama wasn’t there.
The Mask of Invisibility, he thought. Oh sh– and his legs were taken from under him. He rolled away as the staff crashed down on the flagstones where he had been. He kicked out where he assumed Vakama to be. He was wrong, and his foot hit nothing but air. The Turaga grabbed his outstretched leg, and flung him into a pillar.
Jaller jumped quickly to his feet, and struck out randomly. By sheer luck he struck home, and Vakama became briefly visible, stumbling backwards. Jaller dived at the place the Turaga had been, and landed heavily on the floor. Vakama’s foot landed between his shoulders and he cried out. He flung his arm at the Turaga, and Vakama fell back, again visible. Jaller launched himself from the floor, and this time landed squarely on Vakama. They struggled, and suddenly Vakama was standing over him pointing his staff directly into Jaller’s face. He turned a small metal ring, and the flame began to roar. A small drop of molten metal began to form over Jaller’s eye-hole. He closed his eyes against the heat, and kicked the staff out of Vakama’s hands. It flew into the shadows, but not before gashing through Jaller’s own shoulder. Vakama jumped back and vanished from sight. Jaller clambered to his feet, wincing in pain. He barely managed to block a volley of punches from the invisible Turaga, and kicked out. He missed, and Vakama brought his unseen hand down upon Jaller’s leg, accompanied by a crunching sound. Jaller screamed in pain, and struck out with his good arm. Vakama groaned and fell to the ground, his Kanohi falling loose and skidding away.
Jaller looked down at the unmoving figure of the Turaga. He whispered something, and hobbled slowly for the exit.
Later, Vakama would regain consciousness. He would sit up, look about. He would call out mournfully for Jaller, and begin to cry…

This post has been edited by Hurdy: Sep 7 2003, 04:59 PM

Pewku trudged slowly through the snow. Her progress was hampered by Nefiru, constantly trying to feed her. Takua and Nefiru sat atop the crab, huddled together for warmth. The most direct route to Le-Koro required them to pass through the lower slopes of the mountains.
Nefiru waved a small biscuit in front of the Ussal’s face, and threw it into the snow ahead. Where it was promptly stepped on. Nefiru sighed, a small cloud of condensation, and sat back gloomily. “What’s it like?” she said, after a while.
Takua looked up. “I would imagine it’s quite odd. Six limbs. Eyes on stalks. Silly little Matoran trying to feed yo–”
“No,” said Nefiru. “What’s it like being a loner?”
Takua raised an eyebrow. “I’m not a loner. Me and Jaller are pretty close, and there’s–”
“No,” she said again. “Not belonging to a tribe. Wandering from town to town. Doing what you like. What’s that like?”
“Oh that,” he said. “I’ve never really thought about it. I suppose it’s a good life, but sometimes I look at Jaller or Hewkii and… they look so… so right where they are. They fit in perfectly, and I think… I think, what’s that like, and how good it must feel to belong… and I…” He looked over quizzically. “Why, anyway?”
“I…” She looked at her feet. “It sounds silly, but I… I don’t always feel that I fit in. Like I don’t belong…”
Takua had no answer to this, so he sat back and watched the snow fall, Nefiru tried to feed Pewku again.
They proceeded in silence.
Finally Takua came to a decision. He looked over and said, “What’s going on.”
Nefiru looked guilty. “With Whenua and master Vakama and the war?” she said.
“Yes.”
“I only know what the Turaga has told me,” she said desperately.
“Yes.”
She looked down at her feet. “A long time ago,” she began, and stopped. “You know the prophesy of the Seventh Toa?” she said.
“Of course,” he said. “Who doesn’t?”
“It seems that there was once a seventh clan, too.” Takua looked shocked. “Master Whenua is not certain, but he believes it to have been called ‘Pho-Koro’.”
Takua shook his head unbelievingly. “That’s impossible, what could have happened to it.”
Nefiru sighed again. “Pho-Koro was an enormous city to the south of Le-Koro. The City of Light. We think that it must have been far advanced in most technologies. It also had an enormous army armed with fire-sticks and lightning-forks and other terrible weapons. These protected it from the Rahi. But the other clans became jealous and fearful – there was talk of Pho-Koro having made deals with the Makuta in exchange for the terrible technology. And the other tribes attacked. Pho-Koro could not prevent it. No-one could. The whole city was massacred. None survived.”
Takua gaped. “Impossible. Something that large and important would have been in the archives, on the Wall of History, carved all over the temp…” he looked into Nefiru’s eyes. “Vakama,” he said, understanding washing over him.
She nodded.
“And now,” he glared at the swirling flakes, “it’s starting again.” He reached behind him and pulled up the glowing rock he had found in the waters of Ga-Koro. He looked into it’s marbled surface, and for a moment saw many different colours swirling under the surface. “‘No Tohunga shall harm another Tohunga,’” he whispered, “‘for that is the road to Chaos, and only Unity may save us now’…”
Nefiru looked up. “The Book of Mata-Nui, Seventh Commandment,” she finished. “What’s that?” She indicated the rock.
“I thought it might have been important,” he sighed. “Now it just looks like a small piece of chaos.” He handed the rock to Nefiru. “I want nothing to do with this war,” he said. “I’m sure Vakama did what he thought was right.” Nefiru looked worried. “But I shall come,” he assured her, “if only to ascertain exactly what it is we are going to war over.”
Nefiru nodded gravely, and tried to feed Pewku.
They continued in silence.
There was a noise over-head, and Takua called out. “HOI!”
There was a screech and a Kewa flew through the cloud. The rider jumped off and landed lightly in the snow. He bowed. “Master Takua,” he said.
“What news is there?” Takua asked.
The Matoran took a step back, shocked. “Master not heared?” he said. “It happen!”
Takua sighed. He hated talking to Le-Korans, it made his head hurt. “What has happened?” he demanded.
“Lost it!” said the Matoran excitedly. “Vakama lost it! Gone mad!”

This post has been edited by Hurdy: Dec 21 2003, 12:55 PM

The news had spread with the speed of Pohatu.
Jaller had limped his way to Ga-Koro, and was now in the care of Hahli, who was tending his wounds and kissing him better.
He had told Nokama, who had whistled a Le-Koran rider and had told him to spread the word. Every Matoran on the island had heared within about half an hour – except those in Ta-Koro…
Whenua, incriminating evidence in hand, had sent a summons to each village spelling out his military intentions, and now had half the island in hand, ready to march on the Kini-Nui at a moments notice.
War was on everyone’s lips. They didn’t like it, but a rogue Turaga was not to be tolerated.
Not just rogue: he had attacked, unprovoked, one of his own subjects. He was clearly insane. He had to be stopped.
“Vakama lost it! Gone mad!”

This post has been edited by Hurdy: Sep 7 2003, 05:01 PM

Vakama stood atop the steps of the Temple. He looked down upon the town square, where almost the entire population of Ta-Koro stood looking up at him.
Strewn about the plaza a few pieces of shattered wood lay burning; remnants of the foreign street-seller’s carts, destroyed in the rampage.
Foreign. It was not a word he would ever have considered using before…
He gazed down at his people, seeing fear, rage and hatred in their faces. He lifted his arms.
“Ta-Matoran!” he said, his voice echoing through the silent village. “Fear not our enemies, for they are the ungodly, and have thrown aside Mata-Nui as one throws aside a used Cowrie.” He paused, letting this sink in. “My friends. We of Ta-Koro can come to no harm, not while we still trust in Mata-Nui and his Heroes. The Toa will favour us in this contest: we who sat unknowingly, praising the God, whilst the foreigners plotted to attack us – plotted to breach the Seventh Law. They will favour we who still have faith!”
A cheer went up from the gathered Ta-Korans.
Vakama waved them down. “But!” He waited, as they fell uncomfortably into silence. “But,” he repeated, “we cannot rely on the power of the Toa alone. They will indeed defend us, but the foreign poison goes far deeper than we suspected. Our own captain has abandoned us, supporting the enemy, the poison infecting his mind.”
A wave of shock swept over the Matoran.
“And Takua, the Chronicler, missing. I suspect kidnap!”
There was a synchronised gasp from the crowd.
Vakama took a deep breath. “I put it to you, people of Ta-Koro, that there may yet still be traitors in our midst!”
There was definite whispering in the crowd now, as they turned, distrusting, to glare at one another.
Vakama was glad of his mask, hiding the humourless smile on his lips. Matoran: so predictable, so persuadable. Why am I thinking like this? But this last thought was lost among the chaos that was his usually organised mind.
“Jaller may have deserted us for the enemy, but we still have the finest army on this island: some of the most capable Matoran I have ever been privileged to meet!”
A huge cheer went up.
“And Jaller’s deputy, Kapura,” he indicated the Matoran to his right, who looked sheepish, “is more than capable of this task!”
The town shook under the thunderous cheering.
Kapura stepped forward and said, sounding far more certain than he felt. “The attack will come today, and soon! We must prepare. Our best tactic is to head them off before they reach the town. I have discussed our options with the Turaga, and we have decided,” he glanced fearfully at Vakama who nodded, “an ambush at the Kini-Nui will serve us best.”
The villagers applauded heavily, and Kapura stepped back thankfully. Vakama stepped back up. “Believe in the Lord,” he commanded, “and we shall emerge from the dark days ahead as the victors!”
The cheering could be heard from kios around.

This post has been edited by Hurdy: Sep 14 2003, 02:42 PM

The Toa of Air was on the move. In a way.
His body lay uselessly against a tree-trunk, while this odd Matoran carried his head away through the woods. Lewa watched his body disappear into the distance.
He cursed under his breath. “If you weren’t a Matoran, I’d hammer you into the floor you little runt!” he screamed, and tried to push himself away. This didn’t work. “Or…” he said, a little uncertainly, “if I had my body, or my mask, or…” he sighed. It was odd that, the way this Matoran had pulled off his Kanohi and insistently whacked it against a tree, as if trying to break it. He had stopped, though, when his hands began to bleed. Lewa sighed again and erupted. “Look! Just put me down you… you Son of Makuta!”
This seemed to have an effect. The Tohunga dropped his head, made a hissing noise and gibbered unintelligibly.
Lewa thought he heard a word he recognised. “Makuta?” he repeated. The Tohunga hissed again, and jabbed him sharply in the eye.
Lewa cursed, and the Tohunga picked him up and proceeded into the forest. His progress was hampered, however, by the Toa, who was trying to bite him. Lewa decided to give up when the Tohunga began swinging his head against tree-roots.
Eventually, they reached the Tohunga’s cave, where he dumped the Toa’s head at the entrance, gave a hurried and garbled prayer, and scurried inside.
If Lewa had been an organic creature, he would have noticed the smell. He was not, however, and it took him some time to notice the object beside him. It was the dismembered head of a Nui-Rama; the flesh beginning to rot and drop off.
“Hi!” said Lewa, one of nature’s optimists. “Y’know,” he whispered casually, “the Makuta once tried to pass himself off as a Tohunga.”
He paused.
“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, I know. Almost had us fooled too. We couldn’t attack him ’cause we’d sworn an oath to protect all the villagers.”
He paused again, looking quizzically at the Rama’s head.
“No,” he said, eventually. “Not quite, we saw through it eventually.”
He paused.
He tried to nod, but couldn’t; the relevant hydraulic components being in another part of the forest, with the rest of his body. “This guy’s a good actor too, gotta hand it to him,” he agreed. “Couldn’t attack him, ’cause I thought he was a Matoran. ’Course,” he laughed, “it turns out he’s nothing but Makuta-spawn!”
There was a screech of rage, and the Tohunga emerged from the cave-mouth, a glowing knife pointed between Lewa’s eyes. He began demanding something incomprehensible, but stopped suddenly, his eyes on the near horizon.
The forest was burning.

Le-Koro was almost deserted.
“All out, fight Ta-Koro!” a Matoran informed Takua as he hurried past.
Takua sighed and turned for the Le-Koran Temple, leaving Nefiru to look after Pewku.
To his surprise, it was empty. Not even Turaga Matau was present.
He lost his temper, he was fed up with chasing everyone around. For once, someone would come to him. “MATAU!” he yelled. “Where are you, you Makut–”
There was a polite “ahem” from behind him, and Takua turned to see the Turaga of Le-Koro standing, perfectly framed in the doorway. “We forget manners, Chronicler.”
Takua suppressed the urge to say “Sod manners!” and said instead. “I am sorry, noble Turaga. May I ask where you have been?”
“I be working on tactics with Whenua.”
Takua’s brow crinkled. “You were in Onu-Koro? How’d you get back so fast.”
The Turaga smiled. “Not get back. Still there. This you see illusion.”
The image of the Turaga flickered and faded, reappearing at Takua’s right.
“I not help you,” continued Matau. “I make war plans with Whenua. Tuhma take you jungle.” At this, a young Matoran stepped through the image of the Turaga and bowed. “He good boy,” finished the illusion, and vanished.
“‘I not help you’?” Takua repeated. “Matau, you son of a–” he glanced at the young Le-Koran and decided not to finish the sentence. “So, kid,” he said instead, “where next.”
Tuhma grinned and pointed to some nearby Kewa, which Nefiru was trying to feed biscuits. Takua groaned.

This post has been edited by Hurdy: Sep 16 2003, 05:01 PM

It was said later that the main problem was that two large armies were each attempting to ambush the other, and that each was trying to do so in the same place.
The real problem was that Vakama never intended an ambush. The enemy included both Whenua who could see the future and Onewa who could read the incoming army’s mind; so a true ambush would be useless. Vakama told his troops to attempt an ambush simply for the look of the thing.
The real problem was that Vakama and Whenua both wanted a personal confrontation.
The two forces, one three times bigger than the other, met at the Kini-Nui, as both Turaga knew they would. No-one attacked anyone, but there was the occasional waved spear. The proceedings were as civilised as can be expected from two groups of people who are about to go to war.
The two high commanders stepped to the front of their armies, and faced each other amid the ruins of the Kini-Nui Temple.
“Turaga Vakama,” said Whenua.
“Turaga Whenua,” said Vakama.
There was silence.
Vakama leaned closer. “This doesn’t have to happen,” he whispered. “It doesn’t have to be like this!”
“It does,” said the Turaga of Onu-Koro, a manic glint in his eye. “I’ve seen it.”
There was another silence.
Whenua sighed. “I’m sorry, Vakama, I…” he trailed into silence.
“Don’t be,” said Vakama, leaning heavily on his staff. “I’m not.”
Whenua seemed to ponder this. “You’re not?” he said, and began to laugh. And suddenly, without warning, he struck Vakama heavily across the face with his staff.
Vakama rallied perfectly, pushing off the ground with his staff to kick the other Turaga squarely in the face. Whenua punched out wildly, but Vakama had vanished. Vakama struck the back of Whenua’s head with his staff, and Whenua fell to the ground. He closed his eyes and let his Kanohi take over. He blocked a punch, and jumped to his feet, deflecting a kick. He could see Vakama’s attacks before they happened, if he concentrated. He blocked punch after punch, kick after kick, and even stopped Vakama’s staff several times, before, by deducing where the attacks came from, swiping Vakama’s legs from under him. Vakama hit the floor heavily, becoming visible, and his mask sliding away into the mud.
He stood up slowly, wiping blood from his lip, and said, “Whenua. Turaga. I am powerless. Strike me down. End it.”
Whenua stood to his full height, which, admittedly, wasn’t much. “No,” he said simply, and flung his own Kanohi into the dirt. He lifted his drill-staff in challenge. Vakama smiled wryly, and lifted his own weapon.
The staves clashed heavily between the two. Whenua swung his in an upward arc, but Vakama blocked easily, following through to glance across Whenua’s face, grazing the surface. Whenua struck back overarm, coming down upon Vakama’s upheld staff. Vakama grunted, and thrust out with the blunt end. Whenua blocked downwards, and swung upward to strike Vakama under the chin.
The Turaga of Fire let out a cry, and flew backward into a fallen pillar. There was a crunch as he landed.
Whenua stood over Vakama, the tip of his drill-staff poised above Vakama’s throat. Vakama, despite broken ribs, knocked the staff out of its owner’s hands and sent Whenua sprawling with a heavy punch. He grabbed for the nearest weapon – Whenua’s staff – and struck out at his enemy. Whenua was too quick, though, blocking his opponent’s attack with Vakama’s own fire-staff. The two staves collided, knocking their users back, and Whenua had just long enough to rip across Vakama’s face with the staff, knocking him back further. Vakama arose, his cheek spilling blood, and swiped at Whenua’s torso. Whenua deflected and struck again. The two staves met and held, as the two Turaga struggled with all their strength to push away their enemy.
It was as the two stood like this, locked in a power-struggle, bruised, battered and bleeding, that both became aware of a whizzing noise. Looking upward, they both saw, to their horror, that someone had loosed a Ta-Koran catapult, launching a huge ball of burning sulphur into the ranks of Onu-Koro.
They both watched as it turned slowly in the air, and fell infinitely slowly down onto the villagers below…
Time returned as the fireball struck home, blasting many Onu-Korans into the air, and setting alight to others. The screams pierced the very soul of every Matoran present, and Vakama fell silently to his knees.
Above him a volley of rocks and discs heralded the Onu-Koran retaliation.
For the second time in its history, Mata-Nui descended into chaos.

Comment Here

This post has been edited by Hurdy: Mar 23 2007, 08:04 AM

Chapter 3:
ORDERS

The Tohunga was lifted bodily into the air. He gibbered some terrified syllables and dropped his knife.
He came level with a pair of burning pink eyes, framed within the eye-holes of Hau Nuva.
The Toa of Fire was so angry as to actually be flaming, a mane of fire streaming out from the back of his head, and an aura of heat-haze rising about him. Behind him, a tree collapsed into a small cloud of ash, joining hundreds more which formed a long corridor behind the Toa. A few pieces of vegetation still burned on the ground.
Tahu growled. “So,” he said, through clenched teeth, his breath hot enough to melt rocks. “We meet again.”
On the floor, by Tahu’s flame-licked feet, Lewa attempted to shake his head, failed, and mouthed the words, “Tahu, it’s not the Maku–”
His words went unheeded. “I wouldn’t have expected even you to try the same trick twice,”
Lewa hissed loudly, “For Mata-Nui’s sake, don’t say the ‘M’ word–”
Tahu said it: “Makuta.”
There was a howl of rage and a series of pangs. Lewa would have put his head in his hands, but he currently didn’t have any.
The Tohunga’s punches bounced harmlessly from the Mask of Protection, and eventually he was forced to stop, his knuckles raw from the onslaught.
Tahu, unmoved, lifted an eyebrow. “Indeed,” he said. “Now it’s my turn…” Holding the Tohunga in one hand, he pulled back his fist to strike.
Then someone hit him with a tree.

This post has been edited by Hurdy: Mar 23 2007, 07:34 AM

Takua saw the city of Pho-Koro long before they reached it. Even through the tree canopy it was clearly visible, shining like a jewel. He pulled his Kewa down lower for a better look.
Behind him, Nefiru started. She had been lying back with her eyes closed, enjoying the breeze and the freedom. Takua wished he could be that carefree – it was great to be flying again, he hadn’t rode a Kewa for about a year, and it felt great. But he was unable to relax: His island was about to go to war.
“There it!” shouted Tuhma, pointing, apparently unaware that the city was glowing so brightly that only a blind Hoi could have missed it.
“Umm… yeah…” Takua replied, dazed by the sheer beauty of what he saw. There was very little actual structure left, just rubble, but it glowed in such a way that there was still the impression of beauty. He could see every colour of the spectrum down there, and, he fancied, several more which were not in the spectrum…
“Not so low!” yelled Tuhma. “You hit! You hit!”
His words were unheeded, and an expression which Hahli would have recognised crept across Takua’s face. As he stared down at the remnants of the seventh city, a feeling of sheer bliss overcame him.
He was happy.
He was safe.
He was home.
Nefiru slapped him, and grabbed the reigns of the Kewa, steering it up and away from the treetops.
Tuhma sighed with relief. “Good you lift! You near hit treetop!”
Takua gave a short grunt, and jumped off the bird. He vanished into the green below.

A hail of arrows rained down on Vakama and the Ta-Korans.
Archery was not a skill often practiced on the island. Most of the Turaga felt that much more damage could be done to a Rahi with a large metal disc than with a small piece of wood. Ga-Koro, however, felt that hurling chunks of metal was very unladylike. They preferred archery. It was a more dainty technique, and more dignified – besides which, it was far more accurate. The Ga-Koran archers were deadly.
Around Vakama, six men fell. Some were simply wounded – one even got up again – but two were clearly dead, shot through the small holes in their masks. The Turaga, standing atop a rock towards the back of his army, lifted his staff, and motioned to fire. Several Ga-Korans went down as discs slammed down on them.
He waved for another group to fire on Po-Koro. Again, men screamed and died.
Po-Koro loosed a battalion of catapults, the huge rocks crashed down upon the Ta-Korans, killing many, crushing bones and breaking bodies.
A counter of fireballs pounded into the Po-Korans, exploding on impact.
Above, Le-Koran WindRiders fired down upon them. Many men had fallen to them already. Occasionally one would swoop down and claw its way through the Ta-Koran forces. Tallons ripped, and flesh tore. Vakama would not let anyone fire upon the Kewa, however. He knew his fellow Turaga, and Matau would have used only a minimal number of his Flyers, using illusions to make the airborne force appear thousands strong. It would be foolish to waste discs on mirages.
One Kewa dived, beak open, and ripped the head off one of his Discmen, there was a sickening crunch.
Vakama, unmoved, glared into the opposing forces. The situation was bleak. Onu-Koro, Po-Koro and Ga-Koro attacked from all sides, and Le-Koro from the air. Ta-Koro was renowned as the best military force on the island; but they were outnumbered five to one, and had little hope of increasing the odds.
He ordered another volley of disks upon Onu and Po-Koro. The discs rained down hard, Po-Korans defended with Kolhii shields, but some discs got through non the less. Onu-Korans, gashes in their heads, collapsed.
A volley of rocks came swiftly from the Po-Korans (primitive but effective), accompanied by one of discs from Whenua’s forces. The sheer force behind them gave them the power to tear off limbs and gouge into flesh. There was a scream from his left, and a Discman collapsed, clutching the bleeding stump that was his shoulder. In front of him, a Ta-Koran woman was downed, blood spurting from a gash in her side. Many more Ta-Korans fell, screaming.
All the time, arrows plunged into his forces.
Vakama let off a few more volleys of discs, and fired a squad of catapults, taking down a fair number of the Ga-Koran archers, and damaging the Onu-Koran Discmen.
He called over Kapura. Kapura ran up, jumping the bodies of his former companions.
“Yes, Sir!” he shouted, wiping blood and sweat from his face.
An arrow whizzed past, accompanied by a scream.
“You take command of the Discmen!” shouted Vakama, over the sound of an exploding fireball. “Keep them firing on the ground troops! Do not attack the Kewa unless I instruct you to!”
Their eyes followed the descent of one of the birds as it tore the heads off several Ta-Korans. Kapura gulped.
Vakama fixed him with a stare. “Do not attack the Le-Korans, Kapura!”
Kapura returned his stare. “Yes, Sir!” He saluted and ran down to the Discmen.
Somewhere in front of Vakama, a Matoran gave a gurgle, and a dismembered hand flew past his ear.
Vakama turned his attention to the front-line.

This post has been edited by Hurdy: Oct 16 2003, 01:23 PM

The tree shattered on impact. Shards of ice cascaded down from Tahu’s head. He fell over, slowly.
As he hit the floor, he rolled quickly, and, grabbing a sword from his back, jumped to his feet. He swung the sword, glowing white-hot, heavily at his attacker.
Kopaka simply put his hand out, stopped the weapon, and held it. Ice formed along the blade and tinkled to the ground. The two Toa’s gazes locked, and after a while Lewa’s head, lying outside the cave entrance, felt it necessary to wave his hand between them. When this didn’t work he simply yelled, “Oh! Hey, Kopaka! How’s it hangin’?”
The look Kopaka gave him could have deep-frozen a volcano. Lewa stared back – there was nothing else to do. Kopaka turned back to Tahu, who gave him a smouldering glare. “I had this situation fully under control!” hissed Tahu.
Kopaka Nuva lifted his one eyebrow. “I’m sure you did…” he said, quietly. He glanced at the Tohunga who lay unconscious on the floor where Tahu had dropped him. “Entirely under control...”
Tahu muttered something.
“There will be no blasphemy here, Toa of Fire,” said Kopaka levelly. If Tahu had had lips, he would have bared his teeth.
“Err… hey,” Lewa tried again. “Kopaka, my man…” The other two ignored him.
“I was going to do this alone!” growled Tahu.
The Toa of Ice actually looked interested. “Oh yes?” he said. “Do what exactly?”
Tahu’s eyes narrowed. “Save the ‘dude’ over there, and destroy our enemy once and for all.”
“Our enemy?” said Kopaka, in mock surprise. “Where?”
“Umm… guys…?” said Lewa, hopefully.
Flames shot from the Eyeholes of Hau Nuva. Tahu violently indicated the small Tohunga on the floor with his free sword.
Kopaka laughed. “Looks dangerous. Doesn’t he, Lewa?”
Lewa, pleased with any kind of recognition, said, “Yeah, Kopaka, about tha–”
“Doesn’t he, Tahu?” said Kopaka, ignoring the Toa of Air.
Tahu tried, lamely, to pull his blade from Kopaka’s frozen grip. “He is the Makuta!” he shouted.
“He’s unconscious,” stated Kopaka.
“Err…” said Lewa. “Kopaka…”
“He is simply pretending!” roared Tahu. “You cannot knock out the Makuta just by dropping him!”
“No,” said Kopaka. “You can’t.” He waited patiently until his companion worked out the implications.
“Oh…” said Tahu, sagging slightly. “When you put it like that…” He grinned, foolishly. “Sorry.”
“Err… Guys…”
Kopaka finally released his grip on the blade. Tahu stumbled a few steps backwards. “How did you find us?” asked Tahu, now only mildly steaming, as he put his blades behind him once more.
The Toa of Ice sighed theatrically. “I followed the trail of destruction…” He pointed back towards the long blackened corridor through the trees.
“Guys!” said Lewa urgently. “You really aught to–”
Tahu rubbed the back of his neck. “Eheh… Sorry… about that… umm…”
There was the sound of a knife emerging from a leather scabbard, and a voice gibbered threateningly. They turned to see the small Tohunga holding a glowing blade up to an important part of Tahu’s anatomy.
“I tried,” said Lewa, mockingly. “I really did, but NOOO! Lets all ignore Lewa ‘cus he’s got no body…”

A hundred flame-sabres were lifted into the air. The infantry of Ta-Koro screamed a battle cry, and charged.
Vakama himself had invented the flame-sabre, centuries ago, soon after the discovery that some Rahi were very flammable. It was essentially a thin blade of metal with a reservoir of lamp-oil running through the centre. The oil slowly oozed out through tiny pores in the metal, meaning that the blade was constantly coated with oil. The oil was lit, and the sword became a weapon of fire.
Vakama had meant to share his invention with the other villages; he was sure he had. He’d just… never… got round to it…
The Ta-Korans hacked and slashed with the sabres – and they clove through flesh like… well, like a hot knife through flesh…
Vakama watched emotionlessly as a Po-Koran was sliced in two. One of the army swung his sabre and the purple masked head of an Onu-Koran fell to the ground with a spurt of blood. The Onu and Po-Korans fought back viciously with swords and staves. Arms fell to the ground and blood spilled. A Ta-Koran fell into the mud, a huge slash down his chest.
Overhead, discs rained in every direction, dishing out death to members of both sides.
With a ripple of flame, another Onu-Koran went down, a bleeding hole through his middle. The Ta-Koran who had dealt it dispatched anther two enemies before going down, headless.
Vakama screamed commands at his army, and behind him, a volley of fireballs were catapulted into the air. Kapura shouted an order and the Discmen also fired into the ranks of Po-Koro’s infantry.
The fireballs hit, the explosions rippling outward through the ranks of the enemy. Blood spattered down upon the Ta-Korans, who let out a triumphant cheer, and threw themselves further into battle.
There was a scream of “Mataaaa-Nuiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii!”and a young Onu-Koran threw himself at Vakama, sword raised. Vakama expertly spun round, hit the Matoran around the head with his staff, and brought it down, flame-first, into the Onu-Koran’s throat. The Matoran gave a gurgle and died.
Vakama, momentarily, saw through the fog in his head. I have just killed a man, said his mind. Oh my… And the rage returned, he shouted an order to the Matoran under his command, who yelled and hacked even more violently than before. Blood sprayed through the army, as limbs were parted from bodies, heads from necks.
Vakama looked up, into the waves of attacking force. For just a moment a corridor opened through the sea of Matoran, and he saw Whenua glaring at him. Their eyes met, and the corridor closed up again.
Whenua’s expression had said “two can play at that game”…
No sooner had Vakama thought this than words appeared in his head. So, you bring out fiery swords… Well, we have secret weapons of our own, traitor.
“Onewa…” Vakama groweled. “Get out of my head.”
Vakama looked over at the Onu-Korans, quickly. He was just in time to see Whenua, standing on a rock, lift his arm… and drop it.
A volley of discs flew through the air. There was a horrible “shvink!” noise, as the objects flew. They landed. Vakama watched, stunned, as a large portion of his army was mown down. With sickening screams, blood and entrails were flung into the air wherever the discs fell.
A Matoran standing near Vakama, gave a cry and fell to the ground. His guts spilled out of a gaping wound in this torso. The object which had ripped him open lay in the mud a few bios away. Vakama stepped over to it.
Sharp metal blades surrounded the main body of the disc. They were red with the blood of Matoran. His Matoran.
Vakama’s eyes narrowed. “PUSH FORWARD!” he screamed. And pulling a flame-sabre from the cold grip of a nearby corpse he began to hack his way through the enemy.

When they found Takua, he was glaring moodily at a large glowing structure.
Nefiru jumped from her Kewa, landing in the soft patch of bracken. She giggled. “Oh, Takua isn’t this ama–”
“This was the Temple…” said Takua, tonelessly, rubbing his hand over the smooth glowing surface.
“Takua,” she tried again. “What happened back there? You jus–”
“They destroyed it. A whole city. Gone. Just… blown away…” He sighed.
Nefiru walked silently over and put a hand on his shoulder.
“It’s just…” He sighed again. “It’s so pointless. We destroy things because we do not understand them…” He looked into Nefiru’s eyes. “Perhaps we deserve the Makuta…”
She slapped him. “Stop that,” she commanded.
He blinked. “I’m… I’m sorry. That was a stupid thing to say.”
“Yes,” she said. “It was.” A concerned tone entered her voice. “Takua, what happened up there? You sort of… phased out!”
Takua looked exasperated. “I honestly don’t know! The same thing happened when I found that rock this morning…”
Nefiru pulled the offending item out of her bag. “I wonder how this got to Ga-Koro anyh– HEY!”
The small chunk of glowing rock spun out of her hand and into the Temple wall with a clang. It stuck there, half way up the wall. Nefiru ran over and began tugging at the rock with all her might. It wouldn’t move.
“If they stick together like that,” mused Takua quietly, “imagine how much force you’d need to destroy a city of it…”
Nefiru stopped, panting. “You try!” she said.
Takua moved over and, tensing himself for a struggle, gripped the stone. It simply came away in his hand. He fell over, a shocked expression on his face. He climbed to his feet and let go of the rock. Once again, it flew into the wall and clung there. He pulled, using barely any force. Again, it fell away in his hand.
“Hmm…” he muttered, and pocketed the object.
There was a cry from behind him, and they both turned to see Tuhma struggling to restrain the two struggling Kewas. Nefiru, laughing, ran over to assist him.
Takua was about to follow, when he spotted something gleaming on the floor. He picked it up and held it gingerly. It was a long, thin rod of metal with a leather-bound handle at one end. He gripped the handle and, intrigued, twisted a small metal ring halfway up the rod.
There was a crackle, and Nefiru fell to the ground, smoke rising from her limp body.
The Kewas screamed.

This post has been edited by Hurdy: Oct 7 2007, 10:32 AM

Kapura looked down at the scene below him. He could barely see it, though. He could make out vague shapes charging at one another, and the occasional glowing arc of a flame-sabre. He could certainly hear the battle – the screams, the clash of metal on metal, the splat of severed flesh… But he couldn’t see it. The fog covered everything.
He had heard the phrase “fog of war” before, but had always pictured it as being a thin grey mist. It wasn’t. This fog was thick, dry and black. There were bits floating in it. It tasted of blood…
Kapura brought his sabre down in an over-arm arc. “FIRE!” he screamed, and hundreds of discs were hurled from behind him. Kapura fired another volley and watched the metal objects rain down into the Po-Koran infantry. He motioned for several catapults to be fired at the Onu-Koran Discmen, and the men began to load them up with the sulphurous ammunition.
It was then that he heard a now-familiar shvink noise. “DOWN!” he yelled, and the Discmen dropped quickly to the ground. The few who had shields – one of whom was Kapura – lifted them defensively. The razor-discs hammered down on the Ta-Korans. There were many cut-off screams and unpleasant gurgles as the discs sliced their way into the army. There was a clang as one embedded itself in Kapura’s shield. He felt something wet and sticky spray over him, and someone whimpered.
The bombardment ended, accompanied by a brief scream and spurt of blood from Kapura’s left. He looked up. There was a dismembered head lying by his foot. It wore an orange Miru, blood trickling from its lifeless eyes and mouth.
It was Tekina.
Kapura fought off the urge to vomit and, closing his eyes, kicked Tekina’s head down the hill, where it sank slowly into the mud. When Kapura opened his eyes they blazed with fury. Jumping to his feet and turning to his men he yelled, “Throw everything at the On–”
“INCOMING!”
Every Matoran on the hill dived for cover, as a number of huge rocks descended upon them; launched from the Po-Koran catapults. They pummelled down upon the hill, throwing up huge pieces of earth. Behind Kapura there was the crunch of bones splintering. Several of the Discmen’s heads were dashed open, brains spurting over the ground. One man, a rock crushing his legs, writhed and screamed in agony until he died from blood-loss.
There was silence, but for the ever-present slashing from the front line.
Kapura clambered unsteadily to his feet. “That’s the last of them. Let’s quickly get it back togeth…”
It was not the last of them. The last of them descended, down onto the loaded Ta-Koran catapults. Time itself seemed to slow down. The crew who were working on the catapults jumped for safety. One was struck by a Ga-Koran arrow in mid-leap, and another tripped on the catapult’s wooden frame and fell heavily into the mud. The others simply didn’t get far enough…
The rock struck home. The catapults, in real-time once more, smashed into rubble, and their payloads of burning sulphur dropped to the ground; the explosion shook the whole of the Kini-Nui. The nearby Matoran who were not instantly incinerated were thrown, screaming, into the air, and down into the ranks of infantry, where they splattered onto the rocks. Many of the Matoran who had not been in the blast-radius were injured and mutilated, nonetheless, as solid pieces of the sulphur-balls fell over them. The burning lumps stuck into the skin and burned deeper. Men lay on the ground gibbering, blinded; their eyes burning and bleeding. Others, sizzling wounds in their throat, or their gut. Kapura watched, powerless to help, as men’s skin literally fried on the bone, and they were left blackened skeletons.
A part of Kapura’s mind whispered, This is barbaric! Evil!
And a deeper part of his mind said, This is what we are doing to our enemies…
His thoughts were cut short, however, by a screech from on high.
“KEWA!” he screamed, as one of the mighty birds dived gracefully out of the clouds. It plunged down, its wings folded, and swept upon the unsuspecting infantry.

A huge Ussal crab reared up in front of Vakama. He lunged with his burning sabre, slicing off one of its claws. It squealed in pain and he took the opportunity to thrust his sword into the creature’s face. Sticky with the Ussal’s blood, he knocked down the rider with his staff and beheaded him with the sabre.
The crabs were a recent addition to the Onu-Koran forces. Whenua had clearly released them late, thinking that they would be the final nail in Ta-Koro’s coffin.
Vakama deprived another crab of its legs, and burned the rider through the chest. He coughed up blood, and died. There was a scream and Vakama turned quickly to see a Ta-Matoran cut cleanly in half by an Ussal’s claws. Ducking a passing disc, which killed the man behind him, Vakama threw himself at the crab’s rider. He kicked the rider in the face, knocking him onto the floor, where he was sliced open by a passing Ta-Koran. Vakama thrust his flickering sabre down through the crab’s carapace, killing it with a sickening squeal.
From his vantage point upon the dead crab he watched, devoid of all emotion, as a Po-Koran bludgeoned a nearby Ta-Koran over the head with a Kolhii staff, turning his head to avoid his mask being splattered with brains. He turned, and swung the staff at another Ta-Matoran. Several Ta-Korans collapsed as a hail of Ga-Koran arrows thundered into the ground. Looking around, Vakama saw people he recognised from town. There was Limto, a blacksmith from the town centre. Pontii, a carpenter. Friiteh, a fish-merchant from the river, who imported her wares directly from Ga-Koro. Friiteh was a large woman of about a hundred and sixty years old. It was almost comical to see the old woman screaming a war-cry and slicing an Onu-Koran man in half with the two flaming swords she held in each hand. She yelled again and gutted the nearest Po-Matoran.
Someone yelled, “Kewa!”
Not waiting to find out who, Vakama dived for the ground, piercing a nearby Onu-Koran through the chest on the way, and vanished from sight.
He sat up in time to see a Kewa drop, screeching, into his infantry and skim over the surface, ripping open several Ta-Korans with a spray of blood. The creature made to pull back up into the clouds, but was stopped by a plucky young Ta-Matoran. He thrust a flame-sabre up into the belly of the bird as it flew over him. The Kewa, its guts spilling out onto the army below, plunged headlong into the mud. The rider, mildly concussed, was literally ripped to pieces by a large group of Ta-Korans.
The entire Ta-Koran army went up into a mighty cheer: this was the first Le-Koran casualty of the war.
But the victory was short lived, as the entire battlefield fell silent. A huge shadow cast itself over the Ta-Koran infantry. As one, every Matoran in the Kini-Nui looked skywards. A piece of rock and ice the size of a temple hovered above their heads, turning slowly. Powdered ice crystals drifted slowly down on the breeze, and the ice made creaking and splintering noises under the tremendous strain.
It fell.
The Ta-Matoran immediately under it were crushed instantly. Those on the edges were splattered over the rocks and over their fellow Ta-Korans. It did not end there, though. The mountain of ice shattered as it landed, sending out a million sharp splinters. These icicles pierced through masks, shields, and certainly through flesh. Many Ta-Korans simply died and fell to the ground. Others were blinded or disfigured as the icy shards hit their faces, but they clambered to their feet, their sabres still in hand – grim determination on their faces. The ice turned red as it progressed through the ranks. Blood rained down over the Po and Onu-Korans, who cheered madly.
At last, the ice had all tinkled to a stop, embedded in the chests of Matoran, unmoving on the floor.
A voice rang out over the opposing armies. “The noble Turaga Nuju of Ko-Koro brings his tidings!” it said.
Both armies turned to see the Ko-Koran army, armed with spears and picks, standing brightly on the hillside. Matoro, aide to Turaga Nuju, stood at the head of the force with his silent master.
“Turaga Nuju offers his allegiance to the forces of Onu-Koro and their commander, Turaga Whenua,” Matoro continued. “He will do all that he sees fit to protect this island from the renegade state of Ta-Kor–”
A Ta-Koran disc bounced off Matoro’s mask with a clang. Matoro fell to the ground unconscious, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. The Ko-Koran army looked mournfully at their fallen comrade and, in unspoken agreement, charged, screaming, down the hill.
Ga-Koro fired a volley of arrows into the Ta-Koran discmen. Vakama hefted his sword and became visible again. The war continued.

This post has been edited by Hurdy: Nov 26 2003, 06:05 PM

“You are making a big mistake,” growled Tahu through clenched teeth.
The small glowing knife hovered the tiniest distance from his hips. The Tohunga chittered mockingly, and prodded the Toa with his blade.
“Hey, Kopaka!” giggled Lewa’s head from the ground. “That eye working properly? Can see through mountains, but can’t see a glowing Matoran two Bio away!”
“That eye” narrowed slightly.
“Oh and Tahu, good going with the defence there! Very impressive the way you let him stab you in the groin! And you attacked Kopaka! Nice show of Unity and all that…”
Tahu rolled his eyes and, growling, reached slowly behind him for his swords. Kopaka stopped his hand and, shaking his head, whispered, “You can’t attack a Matoran…”
Tahu began to sigh, but stopped quickly as the knife grated over his chest. The Tohunga jabbered something angrily.
“What is it saying?” muttered Tahu to Kopaka.
Lewa laughed loudly. “Oh yeah, like he’s gonna know. The tall, cold, silent one. He barely ever speaks our language, for Mata-Nui’s sake…”
Ironically, Kopaka was to busy to answer. His eyes half closed, he was slowly dropping the temperature. His breath was already forming condensation in the air. Eventually, the Tohunga would fall unconscious and–
A knife scratched a deep gouge into his leg. He fell to his knees, gaping, and the temperature shot back up. The Tohunga nodded in satisfaction and turned back to Tahu.
“Smooth goin’ there, Kopaka!” came Lewa’s scathing voice. “And Tahu, wayta warn him! You two sure are lucky you’ve got each other to–”
There was a metallic clink, and Lewa fell silent.
Tahu smiled to himself. “Aah… peace…” He made the mistake of closing his eyes. The Tohunga was on top of the defenceless Toa in seconds. Tahu’s mask was ripped off and flung aside. The knife was hammered around the base of his neck as the Tohunga tried to decapitate him. Tahu tried his best to struggle without hurting the Tohunga, but he failed. The Tohunga burst into flames.
Kopaka’s eyes widened. “Oh my G–”
A jet of water knocked the Tohunga off Tahu’s chest and into a tree. Gali Nuva detached herself from the shadows.
“Really,” she said, smiling. “Can you boys do nothing right?”
Tahu, rubbing his neck as he got to his feet, growled something inaudible. Kopaka had the decency to look at his feet.
“Three of you. Three of Mata-Nui’s great Heroes couldn’t take care of one little Matoran?”
“Be fair, Gali: two and a bit!” said Lewa’s head, slightly muffled in the bushes where Gali had kicked it.
Gali paused for a second, and then kicked Lewa further into the trees. There was a distant plop.
She moved towards the Tohunga, puzzled. Tahu and Kopaka moved respectfully aside as she passed. Gali bit her lip thoughtfully and said, “Does this mask look familiar to anyone?”
Tahu scratched his head. “Looks… vaguely familiar…” he muttered.
“It’s glowing,” said Kopaka helpfully.
Gali smiled at him. “Thank you for that brilliant insight, oh one of true vision,” she said. She turned back to the mask, suddenly serious. “This,” she said, “is important. We must gather the others and contact the Turaga at once.” She turned to Kopaka. “How bad is the damage?”
Kopaka Nuva cast an expert eye over the sprawled Tohunga. “… Slight bruising… Mild concussion… Second degree burns…” Gali scowled at Tahu, who shrugged. “… and a few broken ribs,” finished Kopaka. “Nothing we can’t handle.”
“Good,” said Gali, nodding. “We can heal him on the way. To the Kini-Nui, my friends.” She lifted the Tohunga up to her shoulder, and the three began to walk away.
A sudden breeze picked up, and a soft voice seemed to float on the wind. It said, “…aren’t we forgetting something…”
Gali sighed, theatrically. “Tahu, go and fish Lewa out of that pond.”

This post has been edited by Hurdy: Dec 20 2003, 04:12 PM