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I'm not sure what possessed me to make this, but uh, here we are! Comic 1 Comic 2 Stay tuned to see if it possesses me to draw some more EDIT 2/2/2024: Added another page! Thinking of making this a weekly release, possibly more often if the mood strikes me. --Akaku: Master of Flight

Happy birthday, BZP! Not sure if I should make a topic for this or just add a birthdaygreeting post, but here goes! An art attempt at honoring the site staff! 21 tiny tributes. Each is a mini 3x3" pencil and mechanical pencil drawing on watercolor paper. Sealed with Krylon Workable Fixatif spray. ~62.5 hours (please forgive if faulty figures!) total set drawing time, done from lap desk + tablet reference photos. My utmost apologies for detailing differences, "happy accidents", small dots/blemishes on a few of these that the free version of Pixlr wouldn't allow me to remove, and any current staff I've maybe missed (uncertain as staff page did not list everyone) ! Thanks to each and every one for all the work done to make the site fun! A special thank you to xccj for abounding aid in art inspiration and extensive advice on staff history! Doc with full size scans/more pictures. Original drawings mailed to Black Six. Doc with full resolution scans and more pictures. In order: @Eyru@GSR@Erebus@xccj@Dimensioneer@SPIRIT@Emzee @Ta-metru_defender@Nuju Metru@Nukaya@ChocolateFrogs@Black Six@Binkmeister@InnerRayg @Zatth@dviddy@Takuma Nuva@Sumiki@Tufi Piyufi@Brappy Hour@danny316p

With the end of Premier Memberships, there's still a hope that the community will help support BZPower and keep the site running. We have to pay monthly for our hosting, keep the BZPower domain names, install an SSL certificate to secure the connection between our site and our users, and have an active license for our forum software so we can stay updated. And that's just at a bare minimum. Other things like shipping raffle and contest prizes add more expenses, and none of that even considers the time the staff donates behind the scenes. To hopefully help with all that, we are opening the site up to donations, with a goal you can see here that tracks our expenses for the year to date, plus the fees and taxes that will be removed from any payments. There's no perks for donating, just a sincere thank you from myself and everyone else who still uses and enjoys BZPower. We appreciate any and all support! Even if we don't meet our target, we will still continue to keep the site running for as long as we are able. BZPower means a lot to us all, and we'd love to see it stick around for a long, long time. If you can help, we truly appreciate it!

Feel like this should have been done privately...

Retiring Premier Membership BZPower has had the Premier Membership program for a long time, providing a way for people to help support the site financially while receiving some perks in return. Over the years, with changes to the forum software and the decrease in activity on the site, the allure of those perks has understandably been reduced, making the program much less appealing than it was in the past. Invision, the company that makes BZPower's forum software, announced that in their next major update they will be removing the store aspect of the forums, which is how Premier Memberships are managed. Keeping everything above in mind, this seems like the right time to cease the Premier Membership program. Of course, anyone who purchased a Lifetime membership will retain that title and the remaining perks, but memberships will no longer be for sale as of February 29th, 2024. The forum software does have new ways of doing subscriptions and accepting donations, so we may look into doing a new program in the future. If we do, it will be something that fits with the current activity level of the site and capabilities of the software. We appreciate everyone who has donated to support BZPower over the years! Every little bit has been helpful in keeping us running, and we thank you all!

Floral Fury Built for the "Plants vs. Horror" collab hosted by Bionilug. I know, it's not so much horror, let's say the real horror comes from the point of view of the Matoran in this specific situation. 13/11/2023

Strong, stalwart, and as old as the mountains themselves...

IC: The Ghost (The Tower) For the first time in their conversation, the Ghost looked legitimately confused; the expression was ill-fitting on his face, as if it had been turned to a purpose for which it simply had not been designed. ”Abandon the Spice? Lords, no. You're worthless to me in withdrawal. Worse than worthless, even. No, you will continue your use of Spice.” As he spoke the last sentence, he stood up once again, and walked to the far side of the room. Once there, he opened and closed a drawer; whatever he had taken was small enough to fit in his enclosed hand. “From now on, I am your supplier. I won't have some drug dealer in the outer ring withholding your Spice in exchange for some advantage of your elevated position, nor will I allow some cut substance to rob me of one of the only people in this compound I can trust.” He placed the object in his hand upon the table, but did not sit. It was an odd little device, a blunt metal hook smaller than the palm of Taldrix's hand. “This goes behind your ear. When you wear it, I hear what you hear; when you don't, it's as lifeless as any implant without a source of bio-electricity, barring a meager back-up supply with only one purpose. Observe:” He put two fingers to his wrist, as if to take his pulse, and a tiny blue light began blinking on the device. A subtle vibration ran through it, too, enough to slightly shift its position on the table. “If I need you, and the device is not active, this will let you know. If it is, you will simply hear my voice in your ear, as clearly as if I were standing next to you. When you need Spice, or you're interrogating the Iron Tribe girl, or you find yourself witness to anything else that I should hear, you put it on. Likewise, I will use it to inform you of when, where and how to collect. If you attempt to take advantage of my generosity, I will know, and you will sorely regret it.” Throughout his speech, his smile had been unwavering, but only now did the menace recede from his eyes. “Now that that's dealt with, is there anything that you would like to ask me?” OOC: @Toru Nui IC: Celrys (CelTech workshop, Tajun) “The wreath, yes. It's… how to put it…” He frowned for a moment, then turned to one of the workshop’s many drawers and produced an odd implement. “This, Del, is called a stethoscope. You put the buds in your ears, like so, and you gently press the disc against the left side of the chest, like so.” He demonstrated on himself, then removed the earbuds and offered them to Del. “Would you care to try it?” OOC: @Techn0geist @Snelly IC: Kirbraz (Staff NPC; The Shadiest Spot on Bara Magna) To the delight and dismay of philosophers everywhere, Kirbraz conclusively proved the existence of the soul to both Cacia and Karak as they witnessed his own briefly depart from his body. His first thought, naturally, was that this lurking man who he had never seen before must have been an assassin, sent by Scodonius’ secret friend. He was certainly intimidating enough, but as Kirbraz mopped the nervous sweat from his brow, he realised there were a few holes in that theory. Chiefly, that Cacia seemed only mildly frustrated by the terrifying Glatorian, but also the fact that this man had already been inside the premises when he arrived, and the building’s proprietor had yet – to the best of Kirbraz’s knowledge, at least – to invent a precognitive implant. No, this man knew Skyra Daring; he’d seen her come in, or perhaps even come in with her. This was his ticket. “Y-yes, sir. The driver. Have you, uh, well, I, erm, what I mean to say is, she- is she here? I saw her vehicle parked outside, and I wanted to hire her.” OOC: @Jesse Pinkman IC: Tueris (Staff NPC; Valley of Death) Tueris grunted his assent, falling in at the rear of the procession, the better to keep his eye on all of them. High above, he heard the familiar chatter of the carrion birds – buzzards and vultures, perched upon the edge of the canyon walls. Watching. Waiting. “Seems we have spectators,” he muttered. Nothing to worry about for now; it was only when they began to fly away that there would be trouble. If Tueris and the others were the ripest pickings to be found, it meant there weren't any larger predators feasting nearby. It was funny, how the things the ignorant mistook for omens so often meant the opposite of their fears – all the same, Tueris tried to put little credence altogether in omens. He knew already that this journey could only end one way. OOC: @Burnmad @oncertainty @~Xemnas~ @Toru Nui @Nato G IC: Skrall (Markets, Bone Hunter Stronghold) It had been some years since last he stepped foot within these walls. The Stronghold had changed since then, as it had changed each time he had come here, growing larger and more perverse with every passing day. He had spoken on occasion to the Gatherers, a choice which he was swiftly given cause to regret on every occasion, and gleaned from them the source of their continuing prosperity: Iconox. Not twenty years ago, this thriving settlement was little more than a ramshackle fort; slavery was an even dirtier business back then, carried out exclusively behind closed doors. Even the Skrall had little need of their services, with Roxtus maintained only by a skeleton garrison, just as it had been until this past year. The rest of the south fared little better, their whole fragile economy being as reliant as it was on the trade of exsidian. Cybernetics were key to the performance of all the manual labour on which southern society had been built, and the rarer exsidian became, the more expensive it was to work, to live. As harsh as the Wastelands were now, it chilled Skrall to imagine the awful lengths to which the southerners must have gone to survive back then. It was an Ice Tribe Agori, Metus, who had changed all of that; his discovery of exsidian in the White Quartz Mountains made it plentiful once again, and his open embrace of slave labour made it cheap. Scarcity became saturation, a situation that could have killed the southern economy once again if not for another Agori. Celrys, they called him, though his success sounded to Skrall’s ears more like a matter of luck – a Grand Champion of their annual Tournament was declared, a no-name Glatorian who had been buoyed to success by the artificer’s implants. He was not the only competitor benefiting from the accessibility of exsidian, and Celrys was not the only inventor of combat implants. Just the one who won. It was an arms race from then on, as arena matches became dominated by fancier and fancier devices, all built by the boy with the reputation for building the device that won. It was a self-fulfilling prophecy from then on; it didn't matter how many Glatorian with a CelTech implant were defeated, because CelTech made all the implants, and every competitor had them. No matter who won, they would have commissioned Celrys. After all, not being implanted would have meant being at an immediate disadvantage, and the arena battles weren't for sport alone. What village would want to be represented by a Glatorian without cybernetics? Suddenly, exsidian was as much a prerequisite for arena fighters as it was for manual labourers, and the former were far more likely to seek out upgrade after upgrade to stay ahead of the competition. And as the demand for exsidian went up, so too did the demand for slaves. The demand for Gatherers. That was the messy truth at the heart of it all: though the south nurtured freedom and individuality, its wheels were greased by just as much blood and suffering as those of the Obsidian Legion, if not more. Though he respected the people of the Wastelands in many ways, and perhaps even envied them, one thing was perfectly clear: Order would have to be brought to the chaos of the south, and only the Skrall could do it.

The community here is small enough as-is. Excluding people from taking part in giveaways if they don't meet some arbitrary post quota will just encourage spam, or drive people away altogether.

IC: Wolf (Atero; Red Star Room) “Awake and ready,” she replied, pulling her helm down over her eyes. Her few belongings were already gathered into a pack and flung over her shoulder. “I gather you would have preferred the floor; you’ll sleep well in the Serrate.” OOC: @Wotz IC: Celrys (His office, Tajun) Celrys, his scope retracted, watched the strange Glatorian leave with a look of unmistakeable sadness in his eyes. There was disappointment there, yes – disappointment that he hadn’t been able to get through to him – but there was also hurt. The pain was an unfamiliar one, here as he was in his custom workshop, where people came to him from all across the known world, where he was respected and, perhaps, even revered. It was the look in the Glatorian’s eyes; it made him think of another Celrys, living another life, years before he would become a household name. One who was forced to grow accustomed to that look, one not just of anger or unease but of disgust. They looked at him like he was an aberration, an affront to nature itself. He felt a kinship with that other version of himself, who had seemed so distant until this moment. It was curious; he had faced criticism before, even hatred. Many considered his work unnerving or unnatural, and some even made their antipathy far more personal. What was it about this that was so different? Offense, he realised. People found his work distasteful, they found him ‘creepy,’ but those were matters of taste, based on his actions and his words. That Glatorian had felt all of those things, and none of them truly mattered to Celrys; what had gotten under his skin was the way in which the man seemed to be offended by his very existence. He didn’t care what the artificer said or did, he wasn’t even listening. It was his presence itself that he objected to, and there was nothing that could be done to change his mind. Without realising it, Celrys had grown used to being larger than life – but in that Glatorian’s presence, he felt so very small. Still, there was no time to dwell; Del was what was important. As if awakening from a trance, he turned his attention back to his actual client, just in time to experience their meltdown. No time to waste. “Cacia, we need some water in here, now.” Celrys was already on his feet, and making his way towards the door through which he had emerged. “Right away, sir.” The voice that responded, though tinny and seemingly emerging from Celrys’ desk, was unmistakeably that of the receptionist. Though he rolled his eyes when she addressed him as ‘sir,’ he said nothing, focused on the door. “Skyra, I need you to help Del up and follow me.” He held out his open palm, and the door slid open once again, revealing the workshop that had seen Skyra’s implants installed, like so many other Glatorian. In contrast to the office, the room was all sterile metal – metal walls, floor, desks, moveable trolleys. Metal implements, too. The only exception was the adjustable chair at the centre of the room; though metal in construction, allowing its position to be adjusted as necessary (even laid back entirely), in place of ‘cushions’ it had a rubbery surface upon which the client was expected to sit. It was not as uncomfortable as it looked, if not by very much. Celrys himself had made his way to one of the metal cabinets, from which a fog emerged as he opened it. OOC: @Morgan Yu @Techn0geist @Snelly IC: Somnii (Bone Hunter Stronghold; Somnii's Cell) And there it was. It had worked. She was so dumbfounded that she couldn’t quite keep the look of surprise off her face, but she quickly regained her composure. “You’ll probably want to write this down.” Somnii took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and then began. “Usually, it takes one to two weeks from the first symptoms until… until death. Some made it to three; one was even pushing four when I left. Didn’t even know it was a disease to start with. People just… stopped dreaming.” She shuddered involuntarily, and had to take a moment before she could continue. “It’s not like what you think. It’s… it’s as if you’re still there, the whole time. Asleep, but fully aware. And I don’t just mean you can’t move; I mean you’re aware, and that’s it. You don’t feel anything, don’t hear anything. Your body is asleep, you’re not physically anywhere. But you can’t think either. Only experience. And there’s nothing to experience but time. Every single second you’re ‘asleep,’ you’re aware. Hours of… nothing. Like being forced to sit and stare at a wall, without even the ability to distract yourself. The hours feel like years. And then you wake up, and it gets worse, because there’s no rest either. You wake up and you’re just as tired as when you fell asleep – more tired, even – and then that exhaustion compounds. It gets harder to think; you’re groggy, your reflexes are slow, your legs are as heavy as lead. You start forgetting things – blackouts, at first, then recent things stop sticking. You forget where you are, what you’re doing. Soon enough, though, it doesn’t matter if you used to know it. You don’t have the energy to find it in your mind anymore. You don’t have the energy to do much of anything anymore. But even that is better than being asleep. “Pretty early on, people start trying to keep themselves awake. Simple stuff at first, caffeine, trying to keep your eyes open, the usual things a miner on a long shift knows to do. But that’s not enough, because you still fall asleep, and you still have to experience that… that void. That's when the dying starts. Some people take their own lives; it can’t be so different, after all. At least when you’re dead, you’re gone. Better to be nothing at all than to be forced to stare forever into oblivion. Sometimes it’s an accident – people try to go to work or go about their lives, but they’re slow. They fall, or they get hurt. Sometimes they hurt themselves on purpose, just trying to stay awake, and they’re too tired to realise they cut too deep. It doesn’t matter, because they’ll soon enough die anyway. “The next stage turns the tiredness and confusion to aggression. People become violent, paranoid, irrational. They lash out, hurt others, get themselves hurt. It only takes another day or two after that before they just stop waking up. After that, some of them die quicker than others. We tried to keep the first few alive, comatose; that was before more people started getting it, and we realised what we were doing was tantamount to torture. Better to be dead than to be trapped in that dreamless sleep. So yes – you’re right not to shake my hand. I wouldn’t wish this sickness on anyone. Not even you.” OOC: @Toru Nui

Hello everyone, friends new and old. I’m slowly putting together a character for this RPG as I dust off these old joints. Once they’re active, it will take a bit of time to get them to a location where they’ll be available to players, but as soon as I do, I hope I can join you all in crafting this wonderful story! Good gaming, and see you around!

IC: Skrall (Markets; the Bone Hunter Stronghold) “She is right.” He had returned without the slightest sound; stealth was easy in this place, so loud and so crowded, and it came naturally to him. “Do not mistake depravity for weakness. Look around: this is a fortress. Multiple walls, a watchtower, only one entrance and one exit – not to mention that the market means no shortage of supplies to outlast a siege. Not only that, but these Gatherers are disparate; this represents only a fraction of their number, and this location is strategically valuable only in that it can withstand an assault. Those grains of sand would slip through our fingers. Meanwhile, this is our nearest source of supplies outside Roxtus, and they have another stronghold along the route, meaning that they could easily raid the caravans carrying supplies to our army, or even attack our flank. It would be a massacre, and if we won, we would have shown our hand to the South, revealing ourselves as invaders and making enemies of their most powerful Tribe in the process by halting the supply of slave labour for the duration of the siege.” He looked back to the market; Agori were hauling supplies to the carts in which the Skrall had arrived, carefully avoiding the spikits. “I have seen to our supplies. Once Atakus is finished with the handover, we will be ready for the long journey to Tajun.” OOC: @ skrall IC: Kirbraz (Staff NPC; The Shadiest Spot on Bara Magna) The Agori shifted nervously, weighing up his options; he had no idea who this man was, and if he was indeed a mercenary, he would have no reason to take Kirbraz’s side. The moment he spoke the name aloud, the Glatorian would know exactly who the highest bidder would be. “Someone wants me… silenced. I know something they don't want known.” OOC: @Jesse Pinkman

Today is #810nicleday and so I thought I might use this opportunity to visit this old place to once again share some of the artwork that some fantastic folks have done for the campaigns I run over in the BZPGOT Discord server! But first things first: an invitation. If you're interested in potentially participating in any future games (or simply want to hang out with other Bionicle fans), you can click the invite link to join us! Anyway, onto the art. Today I wanted to highlight the series of covers that I commissioned for Verdant Wind two years ago. If I've done it right, you should be able to click the image to see a higher resolution. Verdant Wind was the ultimate culmination of five years' worth of stories. It served as a grand finale for every character and story that had appeared up to that point, and to celebrate the occasion, I commissioned several covers for it. The first cover, done by @TBK, is the official cover of Verdant Wind. It features the leaders of three player factions standing off against the game's main antagonist, with the broken pieces of my own NPC's mask in the dirt behind them. The first variant cover, done by @ToaTImeLord, features those same player characters standing off against each other - fitting, as Verdant Wind brought them back into conflict before bringing them together. The second variant cover was done by @xccj. In addition to the leaders, this cover features much of the other player characters - those who made up the core cast of the Edge of Dawn arc. The third and fifth variant covers were done by some of my IRL friends (and yes, that fifth one is watercolor!). Both feature the faction leaders. The fourth variant cover was done by @ZippyWharrgarbl. Like Xccj's cover, this one features much of the player cast, with a couple cameos and secrets sneakily inserted as well. The sixth variant cover was done by @Jakura Nuva. It features the three player faction leaders being crushed beneath the game's main antagonist. The seventh variant cover is a unique one; I commissioned it later than the others, as Verdant Wind reached its halfway point (and the big twist that would come with it - one that ultimately united the entire game world together). @Akaku: Master of Flight did a fantastic job bringing it to life; it features a set of characters who together represent every era of the games up to that point, working together. The eight variant cover is also unique. I am responsible for the design, but I take no credit for the artwork used - that's all TBK and Akaku. Anyway, that's all for today, folks. Hope you enjoyed!

IC: Mard & Ahmoa - Training Ground, outskirts of Atero "Oof! Ouch." Ahmoa proclaimed involuntarily as Lorqua brought Lutenus's axe charge to a stop with her shield-bash. "A tad rough, don't you think?" "Pull your blows, last warning! That looked nasty!" Mard barked at the combatants, wondering how bad Lutenus would feel the bruising come morning. But the counterattack had left Lutenus wide-open, and the referee readied himself to call the fight. Seeing how Lorqua had turned the tables so quickly however, he couldn't count out Lutenus doing the same just yet. So uncannily quick to push the attack, the two Agori wondered how that would translate to defensive recovery and offensive response. IC: Del - Celrys's Workshop, Tajun Del returned Karak's brief glance as he left the clinic, trying and failing to decipher what was happening behind the blood-red Glatorian's eyes. <<Analysing scenario.>> The information imparted by Celrys gave Del rare pause. The heat climbing inside their head spiked. <<Unknown quantity aided Del I leave isolation. Unknown quantity, voice, dire— >> Del's process was interrupted only briefly by Skyra Daring's colourful freakout, barely even a tick. << —cted Del I find Celrys. Del I find Celrys.>> <<Nemoni. Nemoni. Nemoni.>> Tick. Tick. Tick. Like a skipping record needle. <<Cannot reconcile. N-N-N-Nemoni not I. Del I. Name Del I. I-I-Identity Del I...>> A fierce sweat broke on their brow. Their mind was running hot now, dangerously hot. It had to throttle back, hard. <<Quarantine w-w-when sick people... p-p-prevent-t-t-t making others sick-k-k-k-k-k...>> "Youuu cooontracted thhhe Ferrummm Plagggue..." Del slurred out in lazy repetition, abandoning their usual precision speaking clip. "Theeey hhhave the Ferrum Plaaague..." The helmet, slipping from their hands, clanged loudly onto the floor. Del looked up to Celrys, to Skyra. Their vision swam, their face clammy and their forehead hot with fever. <<Q-Q-Q-Query.>>> "Del I... sick?" OOC: @Toru Nui @oncertainty @Morgan Yu @a goose @Snelly

IC: NPC (Celrys' Workshop, Tajun) It was a pleasant little stone building, and surprisingly humble, tucked into the shade in one of Tajun's most affluent neighbourhoods. The only thing that gave any indication of its nature was a gold plaque by the door, upon which was embossed: CELTECH Consultations by Appointment Only The text seemed almost to glare at Skyra, its disapproval palpable. Still, the door was answered – not by Celrys, but by a diminutive, beleaguered-looking Water Tribe Agori. She was young, but her face gained a decade at least in the moment she laid eyes on Skyra. It was quite apparent she recognised her. "Miss Daring, the door was not locked. If you and your-" She looked briefly at Del, and then even more briefly – so much as to seem intentionally so – at Karak. "Companions would like to step inside, you can explain your predicament and I'll find out when he's available." IC: Somnii (Bone Hunter Stronghold; Somnii's Cell) Then he wanted her alive. She had suspected as much, but to have it confirmed… She could use that, somehow. She would find a way. "I've got good news for you, then; I've already lasted longer than I expected, but I watched nearly a dozen miners succumb to this plague. It took them all, in the end." Somnii paused, a thought occurring to her. "That's what this is about, right? I heard Crucius say I was being 'kept for observation.' If that's the case, then I think we can help each other." IC: Skrall (The Prison Wagon) Skrall sighed and shook his head. He had little love for the Bone Hunters – they were parasites, without honour or worth, and made allies of the Skrall only out of a desire for further profit. Such venality drove every decision they made; if another tribe made a better offer, they would turn on the Black Legion without hesitation. Still, he supposed, the Skrall would have to take allies where they could find them. The greed of the Hunters at least made them willing to overlook the notions of conquest and racial supremacy that so chafed the rest of the locals, and the old saying about the choices of beggars held true. This was how it had to be – for the Skrall, and for their prisoner. OOC: uhh, let's see here. @Snelly @Morgan YuYuYuYuYuYuYYuYuYuYuYuYuYuYuYuYuYuYuYYuYuYuYuYuYu @Techn0geist @Toru Nui @skrall

Mata Nui Online Game Improvement Mod or MNOGIM MNOG is a well-made flash game that, thanks to its use of vector graphics, still looks great even two decades later. However, it does suffer from a few bugs, as well as from the compression once needed to send the non-vector graphics over dial-up internet. My goal with this project is to improve the experience of playing MNOG to be the best it can be. Those at the BioMedia Project have provided versions of MNOG on their website that play at the appropriate 18 fps and save your progress as you play. I have used their original 2001 auto-saving version as a base. High-Quality JPEG Replacement MNOG makes use of many highly-compressed JPEG images. I have re-created nearly every image at the same resolution, but much higher quality. A few images didn’t have an obvious method for re-creation, such as the Ta-Wahi beach sand, so instead I either upscaled with various methods or cleaned up the jpeg artifacts to the best of my ability. Bug Fixes I have fixed a few bugs in the game, such as Maku teleporting to Po-Wahi, incorrectly overlapping layers, and typos. General Changes I have made a number of changes to improve the gameplay: The Telescope wouldn’t update because it looked for 2001 dates, now it updates as you progress through the game; Maku won’t arrive on the beach until you have visited Vakama; A guard will stop you from using the Ta-Onu Highway until after Ga-Koro; Added black bars to the sides of the screen to prevent widescreens from viewing non-playable area; Book of Chronicles can now scroll from bottom to top and vice-versa; Stopped the Ta-Koro gate from instantly slamming down in front of you when you click it; Disabled ability to cross lava when bridge is down & lowered bridge sprites; Villagers no longer tell you that Nokama has a mission for you until you have the chisel; You can now update Maku on Huki’s status; Added check so that Kapura will not be wandering the woods while also in your company. Color Consistency I've modified several Matoran colors, such as changing Matoran eye colors to be consistent with how they are shown in later animations, and a few instances of incorrectly colored parts. Clone Replacement I've changed the appearance of several otherwise identical Matoran to be a little more unique. Eventually I plan for almost all Matoran to have their own unique colors/appearance. Full list of All-In-One changes can be found here. How To Install You’ll first need to install MNOG (Original 2001 Version) from BioMedia Project. You can download the mod as an All-In-One or you can grab separate sections. Install these separate sections in this order as desired: Bug Fixes High-Quality JPEG Replacement General Changes + High-Quality JPEG Replacement Color Consistency + General Changes + High-Quality JPEG Replacement Clone Replacement + Color Consistency + General Changes + High-Quality JPEG Replacement For the All-In-One: Unzip 'MNOGIM All In One.zip' and copy the ‘Mata Nui Online Game’ folder to the same folder that holds your ‘Mata Nui Online Game.exe’ file. Overwrite all files it asks to overwrite. You are now ready to go. For Bug Fixes: Unzip the .zip file and copy the ‘Mata Nui Online Game’ folder to the same folder that holds you ‘Mata Nui Online Game.exe’ file. Overwrite all files it asks to overwrite. For High-Quality JPEG Replacement: Same as for Bug Fixes. For General Changes + High-Quality JPEG Replacement: Install High-Quality JPEG Replacement and then General Changes the same way as Bug Fixes. For Color Consistency + General Changes + High-Quality JPEG Replacement: Install High-Quality JPEG Replacement and then General Changes and then Color Consistency the same way as Bug Fixes. For Clone Replacement + Color Consistency + General Changes + High-Quality JPEG Replacement: Install High-Quality JPEG Replacement and then General Changes and then Color Consistency and then Clone Replacement the same way as Bug Fixes.

Yes, that's the best name I could come up with - names are hard! Coming back from a couple months of soul-searching, I am ready to return to streaming - come join the block party! After almost a decade of doing different types of streams with different names and schedules, I am merging everything into one generic LEGO-themed stream not tied to building sets, playing videogames, days of the week, or a specific platform. That stream is B6's Block Party! Our first stream will be tomorrow, March 20th, at 7 PM Eastern, where we're going to build a LEGO set. What set? You'll have to come and find out! We haven't changed locations, so we'll still be over on the BZPower Twitch channel, with archives posted on our YouTube channel. Moving forward, the plan will be to announce a schedule every Sunday or Monday, with at least a day's notice so people can plan accordingly. We'll be building sets, playing videogames, and maybe other things? I have a lot of bricks that need to be sorted and some sets that need to be taken apart eventually, so maybe you'll see that too at some point (or you won't because it sounds boring and you won't watch). There won't be anymore giveaways like we did with our set builds - believe it or not after almost a decade since we received the first pallets from The LEGO Group, we are actually starting to run low and want to focus our remaining supplies on things like contests and the convention circuit. So yeah, something new and hopefully fresh and fun! At some point I'll probably need to come up with a new logo and maybe some overlays and other graphics - if you want to help, please let me know! Thanks everyone who has ever watched one of our streams and to all our future viewers - we do this for the fun of it and hope you have fun too!

IC: Skrall (Markets; the Bone Hunter Stronghold) “Most of the southerners, perhaps. But their most powerful Tribe relies on the slaves they trade for here, and they know we would be fools to continue that trade with them if we were in charge, turning them immediately into our enemies. Worse, slaves can come from anywhere; they would only briefly be handicapped. On top of this, our ambitions would be immediately made clear by the proximity to Roxtus, and though some would praise us for wiping out the barbarians they would still be suspicious of our claiming a settlement just south of our border. They would begin preparing for war, while we would still be recovering from the effort of claiming this meager prize. Our conquest would be a drawn-out war across increasingly fortified settlements, on unfamiliar territory.” He paused, and looked towards the west. “No, our first target should be Tesara. They are just as close to the Black Spikes, but lack the fortifications of the Bone Hunters. We will lose fewer men, and though the South will become aware of our goals, we will have cut them off from a unique resource vital to all the Tribes: food. Take Tesara, and we can starve our enemies into surrender, and barely lose a Skrall in the process.” He turned back to the other Skrall. “You are like a Spikit, snapping at anything that comes close. A handler approaches and you attack for a single, short-lived meal, when restraint would see that same handler voluntarily feed you for weeks. We are not beasts or barbarians; we are Skrall. All of you need to start thinking with your brains, instead of your damned swords.” OOC: @ Skrall IC: Crucius (The Crossroads) “Naturally. There aren't many Gatherers who can survive on their own, even with four functional limbs.” He relaxed his grip, and glanced briefly down at his hand. “You’ve accomplished more than most, in spite of your handicap. Perhaps even because of it.” He rolled his right shoulder and flexed his exsidian arm. “Imagine what you could do with two working legs.” OOC: @Nato G IC: The Ghost (The Tower) “I am not one to engage in idle speculation. I know. Allow me to lay out the facts:” He pointed to the blank areas on the map. “My people had a settlement somewhere in these canyons. I am fairly confident it now lies abandoned and in ruins, and while I do have an archaeological interest, far more important to me is what lay below it. “Beneath the Wastelands there lie not only ruins and tombs, but also remarkably well-preserved laboratories and research stations. I know this because I have seen them with my own eyes, and what I learned there has led me to one definitive conclusion: the single greatest technological discovery of our time awaits us beneath the canyons.” There was a hungry gleam in the Ghost’s eyes as he stared down at the map, envisioning the scientific treasure trove its blank squares might represent. “There is power in that discovery; with my knowledge and the little I have scavenged already from other sites, I have given your people weapons and cybernetics to rival anything Tajun or Vulcanus can offer. But there is far more to it than that: everything that I have discovered leads here. It is a sentence marching inexorably towards a full stop. Do you understand?” OOC: @Toru Nui

With this MOC, I've finally made at least one revamp or reimagining of all six of the original Toa!

When they were first introduced in 2007, the Barraki brought with them a game-changing new backstory that completely reframed everything we thought we understood about the history of the Bionicle universe. The idea that the Matoran aren’t the chosen people, that the Toa weren’t the original peacekeepers, has always fascinated me, and it was disappointing that future years of the storyline never explored these implications. The fact that these six all-important Prime Species never really played much of a role in the story before or since 2007 is strange as well, so in this thread I wanted to explore some theories about where the Prime Species come from, and what happened to them after the Barraki were imprisoned and their armies were disbanded. From information given in the 2007 storyline, in guidebooks and encyclopaedias, and comments from Greg Farshtey, we have a wealth of information to work with. We know each Barraki was the leader of a different species, and Greg Farshtey has been adamant in the past that none of these species were ones we’d encountered in-story before, meaning none of them are Toa, Skakdi, Vortixx, Steltians, etc. A caveat to that is his statement that connections to the Dark Hunters weren’t discussed, meaning that some of the Dark Hunters of unknown origin could theoretically be members of a Prime Species. The encyclopedia gives a rough rundown of which region each Barraki ruled, though there’s some dispute over this, as Takadox’s entry completely contradicts information given in the other five. BS01 considers the Takadox account to be incorrect, so for the purposes of this thread, and my map above, I’m going with the information in the other five entries. (Note: as Destral can move, Daxia was secret, and we know from The Mutran Chronicles that Artakha and the Southern Islands weren’t conquered, I’ve left those locations unclaimed on my map. We also don’t know for sure if Karzahni was taken over, but given its proximity to Metru Nui, I’m choosing to assume it was). For the purposes of my theories, I’m operating under the assumption that most of the Barraki include their own homelands in their territories. Ehlek probably has the weirdest territory of the bunch, ruling his homeland of Zakaz, but also controlling the western island chain. This arrangement makes a little more sense if we assume he was also responsible for the oceans in general. His species is the only one we know for sure has appeared in-story post-2007, with Federation Of Fear revealing that they became servants of the Order Of Mata Nui. Kalmah was said to have ruled the Northwestern region of the universe. In my map I’ve given him the Northern Continent, but I theorise that he also ruled the island that once neighboured Artakha. The Bionicle World guidebook (written in-universe by the Order Of Mata Nui), states that the inhabitants of Artakha destroyed a larger neighbouring island that was connected to theirs by a land bridge, as part of the measures to hide their island from the rest of the universe after Makuta Kojol’s raid. The guidebook claims this larger island was uninhabited, but given the generally deceitful and villainous nature of the Order, I think this entire account is questionable. We know the Order actively assassinated anyone who knew the location of Artakha, and that Kalmah’s species, ruling the Northwestern part of the universe, would have likely known the location, so I believe that the Order may have committed genocide against the species and sunk their homeland to hide the evidence, explaining why we don’t see this species again in-story. This is further evidenced by a line from Kalmah in The Mutran Chronicles, where he says “As for Artakha, let the old fool putter among his creations,” a strangely personal insult which suggests some degree of first-hand knowledge, given that most other beings we see in-story reverentially regard Artakha as a near-mythical figure. Pridak is one of the biggest mysteries here. All we know about his origins is that he was a servant of the Brotherhood of Makuta who travelled a lot. Upon becoming a Barraki, Pridak is said to have ruled the northeastern part of the universe, with Xia being the only island specifically named. To give him a territory more comparable in size to some of the other Barraki, on my map I’ve given him Stelt, Karzahni, and the unnamed islands to the east. But given what we know of his backstory, I don’t think any of these islands are his original homeland. The best theory I’ve seen - in Click's wonderful Simplifying the Species List thread - is that he might be a member of Tobduk’s species (with his pride/vanity being the emotion he feeds on). This would reframe the Brotherhood’s decision to unleash the Visorak on that island as an act of deliberate revenge against Pridak, and/or an attempt to prevent others of his kind from taking up his banner. Takadox is said to have ruled the eastern part of the universe, which I’ve interpreted as the chain of islands that includes Odina, Nynrah, and Visorak. These islands provide a few possibilities for the origin of his species. Nynrah is said to have a native species of craftsmen, separate from the Fe-Matoran who would later become known as the Nynrah Ghosts. This doesn’t fit what we know of Takadox super well, so I believe a better candidate for his homeland would be Odina. The Bionicle World guidebook states that there was a society native to Odina prior to the Dark Hunters making the island their base of operations, who were killed off/driven out. The Dark Hunters were established after the Barraki were imprisoned, so I feel that this fits the timeline quite well, and explains why Takadox’s race doesn’t appear again in-story. Finally, we have Mantax and Carapar. Mantax is said to have ruled the central part of the empire, while Carapar controlled the south section, and made some attempts to conquer the island chains further south. Given that it’s the only landmass left, I’m assuming that these two shared the Southern Continent, with the Tren Krom river being the border separating their territories. We know the Great Cataclysm did severe damage to this continent, and likely decimated the populations of these species. Given that no other Barraki seem to originate from the same landmass, it’s also possible that the homeland of Carapar’s species is actually one of the southern islands. In this case, us not seeing anything more of his species still makes sense, since the story never really explored those islands.

IC: Kirbraz (Staff NPC) (The Shadiest Spot on Bara Magna) Keep it together, Kirby. There wasn't far to go – the Hotel was at least twenty minutes away if he stuck to the open streets, but he could shave off five by cutting through alleys (and, better yet, stay out of sight while doing so). That made fifteen; he’d been in longer arena matches. Kirbraz would not die tonight. However, while determined, in his feverish panic, he’d failed to realize that in the past hour he’d gained another shadow. One cast from far above, faintly trailing a silent stalker. One cast by one of the most dangerous people in all the villages, at least statistically. Crouched behind roofs, nigh-invisible in Tajun’s night. At least for a time, Kirbraz’ personal ghost. The realisation came as a creeping chill, like a trickle of ice water down the nape of his neck. He didn't dare look behind him – he didn't need to, but more importantly, it would slow him down. He couldn't afford to stop now, not for anything, not when he was so close. Keep it together, Kirby. Keep it together. Beneath the mask, his pursuer’s ruby eyes slid down, a fixed scowl obscuring her expression below. Vitrum’s calloused digits grasped her crossbow - already unfolded and against her shoulder. Ears primed to hear every movement her mark would make. The ghostly green moon looming far above her, far above Tajun’s creviced walls - the only natural light in the village. In the nearby Arena Hotel, all was as still and as silent as the sands themselves. It was always like this, the night before the opening ceremony; the long held breath before the glorious battle-cry. Tarix didn't live for that moment the way some of his competitors might – not usually, at least. But tomorrow would mark his first match as Tajun’s First Glatorian, and he couldn't wait. For the first time in years, the nerves were truly getting to him, and his hotel room felt like a prison. At least out here, out in the cold night air, he could indulge a little. Sure, smoking wasn't healthy. Tarix knew that. But there were far worse habits to have, and he could work on giving it up now that Tajun would truly be relying on him. Tonight, though, he needed a little stress relief, and nothing calmed the nerves like a balcony view of his hometown rooftops and a hit of tobacco. Something tugged at Kirbraz, the same primal instinct that had won him his few arena victories, and he ducked beneath a shop tarp that had been left unfurled, backing up until he was hugging the wall. He turned his eyes to the sky, to the stars and the sickly green moon. His would-be killer was up there, somewhere; the alleys themselves were too empty, too silent, for the assassin to be on the ground with him. Already, he feared he had stalled for too long; he looked from side to side, weighing his options. He could keep running directly towards the Arena Hotel, but the fastest route was far too exposed. His every step would be bathed in moonlight. He set off again, a running start into a sprint so hard that he almost gave himself whiplash. He would take the long way around; the shadows could be his ally, too. (recommended listening: Uno (Alex Goose Instrumental Remix) (youtube.com)) Though nothing could betray it, Vitrum was right behind him, having crossed buildings in an instant. Something in the dark folded back into each of her legs as she dove into a quiet roll from a leap, and then entered into pursuit via the buildings above him. Kirbraz, concerned about his assassin’s line of sight, was being betrayed by every sound he made. Vitrum’s ears pricked upward inside her helmet as she lagged behind ever so slightly, turning her head along with her crossbow to the passageways below. Her red eyes narrowed for a quick shot. Kirbraz stumbled – and for one precious moment, his pursuer and her aim overtook him. The Lords themselves must have been on Kirbraz’s side as the bolt struck not him, but the ground just in front of him, the very spot where he should have been. Instinctively, he looked up to catch a glimpse of his assailant. Without hesitation Vitrum fired again, the crossbow’s oiled clockwork machinations dropping another bolt effortlessly. By the time the bolt took Kirbraz in the shoulder, he was already running. Any other night, it would have been agonising; tonight, he barely noticed. Pain didn’t matter, not to the adrenaline coursing through his system, not when he was so close. Kirbraz would not die tonight. Tick. Vitrum’s chase slowed even as Kirbraz’ flight quickened. Even with his eyes wide and lungs in overdrive his muscles weren’t reacting like they should - his gait was shrinking into a staggered sprint. The exhaustion was setting in, perhaps even faster than it should have been. No, it wasn’t exhaustion. His head was swimming. Something was wrong. And Vitrum knew it. Tock. Then it came to his head, like a tobacco head rush but fatal. His vision swayed from side to side across the alleyway, something was glaring up from the roof at him. Poison. Being forced into slow-motion made Kirbraz see one thing more clearly: somehow, the assassin had been following him, attacking with incredible accuracy, even when he should have been out of sight. They were working with cybernetics. What, then? Very likely visual – highly sensitive to movement, or tracking body heat or somesuch. The poison made the situation into even more of a race against time; if he didn't get help, he could be dead in a matter of minutes. He needed to lose his tail, and he had an idea. As Kirbraz stumbled and shambled along, he went crashing through a doorway. He was fairly confident the building would be empty – most places in Tajun were, especially at night. You didn't get real estate prices like these by selling to people who needed homes, after all. The clumsiness – some of it, at least – was an act; Kirbraz’s ability to hold his drink and play drunk simultaneously had always been useful in backroom dealings. Right now, he would use that skillset to keep his assailant confident and complacent. Once he was inside, his next priority was finding a hiding place, and there he finally had an advantage: he knew this place. It was one of Berix’s safehouses, and being the incompetent that he was, they all had nearly identical layouts, including places for stashing both people and drugs. He had seconds to choose a spot; beneath the floor was too risky. He’d be penned in, and worse, the assassin’s enhancements might be able to spot his movement through the gaps between the floorboards. That left the wall. Escape routes could be just as important as hiding spots, and Berix’s paranoia meant he kept plenty. Secret tunnels were a favourite; in this case, a false wall with a narrow passage leading into the next building. Kirbraz could lose his pursuer and get closer to the hotel in the process. The quiet patter of footsteps as the assassin advanced inside the breached building soon stopped. In fact, Vitrum had stopped moving entirely. Her eyes blinked behind the mask. Moments passed, and as far as Kirbraz could hear, it seemed as if she’d been stumped. Tick. If Kirbraz could have seen through walls, he would have seen his assassin staring directly at him from the other room. He breathed ragged and clumsy and although Vitrum couldn’t literally smell blood, she could certainly hear every tick of the clock towards the moment of Kirbraz’ death. Every snort, every intermittent groan and every inhale and exhale. If she was close enough, she could probably have heard his heart desperately trying to pump the alcoholic poison in his veins away from in his chest. Her wrapped feet carried her near silently towards the wall. Tock. She pushed at the wall forcibly with her leg. Kirbraz was practically crawling at this point, and he heard the wall crumple behind him just as he scrambled through the exit. She wasn't following by sight. It must have been sound. Trying to be quiet was pointless – it might even have been detrimental. With all the force he could muster, Kirbraz bellowed a veritable war-cry as he made a mad dash for the door, barreling clumsily through it. He would not die tonight. Not too far above, something gave Tarix pause. Someone, somewhere below, was shouting – no, practically screaming. He searched out the source, and saw a drunk Agori shambling out into the open street. He didn't know why, but something felt off, his well-honed combat instincts picking up on something his conscious mind couldn't identify. It might have been nothing, but he couldn't let it be; he turned from the balcony and walked to his hotel door, ready to make his way downstairs. Instead, he was met with a familiar face, his hand still raised to knock the open door. “Tarix,” the veteran Glatorian said with an easy smile. “I wasn't sure you’d be up.” Vitrum’s own blood pressure finally spiked as the Agori screamed and shambled outside, as she peered out. Not because of the risk of identification but because he was beginning to draw eyes to him. She could hear two people talking in the building nearby although she couldn’t make a word of what they were saying. A drunk Agori in Tajun is hardly a story but a drunk Agori with a crossbow bolt in his shoulder certainly is. The problem with the concoction smeared on the bolts was that they were ultimately meant to slow, not kill. That isn’t to say the poison never killed anyone but its main purpose was of utility, to make a target unable to resist capture or death. Thus it had effectively failed this task. The cybernetics in Vitrum’s legs folded outwards as the silent thrusters boosted her ever so slightly onto a nearby ledge, pulling herself up with little effort. She was back on the rooftops again, looking down at her injured mark. Kirbraz would suddenly hear a whistle from above. It took him a second to even process the sound; the poison had made his limbs and his head so heavy that he could barely even move, but it was already too late for his would-be killer. As he made it out into the street, he saw a light on in a room far above, and a figure silhouetted on the balcony. Already, the figure was gone, but the shutters on the balcony were still open, and Kirbraz knew whoever it was had recognised his plight. His war-cry, intended to deafen his hyper-sensitive opponent, had instead brought the attention of a saviour upon him. Somewhere, the Lords were looking out for Kirbraz, and a dozen prayers went through his mind at once as he struggled to comprehend why. In his short life, Kirbraz had been obsessed with ego and greed, inflicting uncountable evils upon the Wastelands in his attempts to claim power. No more – he had seen the light. He knew at last just how precious life could be! Kirbraz was a man reborn, and he would dedicate every living moment to helping- Suddenly, he remembered the whistle, and looked up. In front of the moon and the deep green sky, his pursuer had the look of a ruby-eyed shadow; still, something about her posture, and those eyes, felt oddly familiar. “Don't I… know you?” “Ackar! Don't tell me you have pre-match jitters?” “You should know by now that I never compete in exhibition matches. Can’t be giving all my moves away before the main event.” He smiled and winked, but the sadness in his eyes betrayed the lie. Once upon a time, he really hadn't wanted to reveal his strategies too early; but now, after a decade representing Vulcanus without a Second Glatorian to succeed him, Ackar had begun to feel his years. That he had won last year's Tournament was a total shock, and he would have to conserve his energy if there was to be any chance of a repeat performance. “No, I came to check on you. Mind if I come in?” “Actually…” Just as Tarix was about to tell Ackar what he had witnessed, he paused. Was whatever he had seen really that serious? Ackar didn't need his years of hard-earned fluency in body language to know something was wrong. “Tell me.” Vitrum’s stance was static, but something about the familiarity in Kirbraz’ voice pierced through her hard boiled veneer. She froze. Thoughts of his new lease on life, even thoughts of survival, found themselves set aside as Kirbraz stared up at the assassin. The way she froze – it meant something, he knew it. If it weren't for this damned poison, he could have- The poison. Reality came crashing back down on Kirbraz, and with it a fresh burst of adrenaline. Even in his compromised state, he began backing away from Vitrum, shuffling across the street. No doubt his hands would be bruised and cut up like no one’s business come morning, but if he wasted any time thinking about that there wouldn't be a morning. Not for him, at least. “It was probably nothing – just a drunk, stumbling through the streets.” “But?” “But it didn't feel right.” Every instinct in Vitrum’s body wanted her to squeeze the trigger mechanism and kill him as he backed away like a cornered dog. And then, suddenly, she put down the crossbow. Her hands grasped around the bottom of her helmet, removing it from her face. One hand grasping the discarded helmet, the other picked up her weapon again, holding it in one hand. Her ruby eyes stared at him, the rest of her face now bare. “You tell me. Do you know me?” Her voice came like a hiss, not having moved from her position. Kirbraz kept crawling back, back into the shadow of the building. He didn't know what to say, didn't know whether to nod or shake his head – she was so familiar, and still he couldn't place her. “Show me where you saw him,” Ackar said, nodding to the balcony. Tarix stepped back to let him in. “No, you don’t. You’re just drunk, and dying.” Vitrum murmured. Her hearing implants had been deactivated in her moment of distraction, her focus broken. She dropped down onto the street, the moonlight catching her face for a moment. With one hand she placed her helmet-mask back on her head, securing the clasps as she approached him and slinging her crossbow over her shoulder again. No more running, no more risks. Kirbraz shook his head. “No- No, I know, I know I’ve seen you before…” He felt the wall of the hotel press against his back. There was nowhere left to run. And then she lunged forward, easily grabbing him by his shoulder and pulling him towards her. Something metal and sharp burst through his insides and poked out of his back with little but a quick whirr. Grunting, she then pushed the man off her sword with difficulty, before the sword collapsed into itself and folded into her hand and back into her belt as she turned to leave, quickly. Kirbraz was dying. He felt cold. Had Tajun nights always been this cold? His head swam with poison and pain, and he struggled to keep his eyes open as the blurry figure began her retreat. It couldn't end like this. This wasn't how it was supposed to go. He’d had a plan. It was Scodonius. It was always Scodonius. He just had to ruin everything. “Think of it as an opportunity.” “You think I want to profit from a man’s death?” And there he went again, running his mouth. Ruining everything. Kirbraz resisted the urge to sigh, and calmed himself with fantasies of beating his arena partner to death. Keep it together, Kirby. “No, we don't. I think what Scodonius meant to say is that this is our only chance to stand up for what’s right. If we as a people decide that this is okay, we won't be able to take that back – and doing nothing can only be interpreted as tacit approval. You knew the victim, didn't you?” Neptum nodded. “Gorum. He was a good kid. Could've had a long career ahead of him.” “Stygia allowed his killer to go free, with nothing more than a slap on the wrist. Doesn't that make you angry?” “I’m sure it was more complex than that-” “It wasn't.” It was. Or, at least, it had been, before he and Scodonius had set the wheels of the rumour mill in motion. The most beautiful thing about a lie was that it was easy. ‘Hard truths’ were hard in more ways than one; a proper investigation and tribunal took weeks, weeks of impatience and gossip and attention-seeking. For every person who was actually there in the Arena Vulcanus that day, there were a dozen more ‘witnesses’ who were all too eager to tell their stories. That was another wonderful thing about lies: they were so much louder. Kirbraz had been in on the ground floor – he and Scodonius had a match scheduled for later that day, which meant they had front-row seats to the tragedy. They were the first to see what no one else could: a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. This was the situation: During an exhibition match in the city of Vulcanus, a young Water Tribe up-and-comer had gone toe-to-toe with the home team’s Second Glatorian. So far, so standard; the kid would probably lose, but if he didn't he would be a shoo-in for Tajun’s own Second. Bouts like these were a denarius a dozen, which only made it more shocking when the fight turned fatal. The opportunity came in the aftermath. What Kirbraz and Scodonius knew, from their ideal vantage points, was that Tueris was unlikely to suffer any real repercussions. And what Kirbraz realised before anyone else was that there was a very convenient narrative that he could encourage to emerge: namely, that the reason Tueris got off easy was his position as Second Glatorian, and Tajun’s failure of leadership on the part of Stygia. And the best part was that their new narrative would be unfalsifiable – the arena had been utter chaos that day, and a sufficiently relentless disinformation campaign could sow doubt in the mind of even the staunchest eye-witness. As for Stygia’s part in the tribunal, any attempt to set the record straight would be coming from the exact people who would benefit most from a cover-up; no one else was in the room where it happened. Better yet, people wanted to believe Kirbraz's version of events. Everyone in Tajun was desperate to make sense of a senseless tragedy, and conspiracy was always more comprehensible than coincidence. Truth was as hard to swallow as it was to establish; lies were beautifully easy. “The people of Tajun are protesting as we speak, but Stygia won't bow to political pressure. Not while she still believes she has your support. You're our First Glatorian; if you come out against her, she’ll have to listen.” Neptum stroked his chin, thoughtfully. “You have an ulterior motive.” “I do,” Kirbraz admitted. Scodonius’ jaw fell open, no doubt thinking of all the times Kirbraz had scolded him for showing his hand; still, Neptum was the type to respond to honesty (or, at least, the appearance of it). Kirbraz knew how to work an audience. “If Stygia steps down, I’m going to stand for election. I don't expect your support, and I won't be the only candidate.” This was also technically true; Scodonius would also be on the ballot. Everyone else they would bribe or threaten into dropping out of the running, and then whoever won – which would be Kirbraz – would co-operate with the other, who would get more leeway than any crime lord had ever had before. That was the pitch, anyway; in reality, Kirbraz knew Scodonius would only get greedy and fuck it all up, like he always did. Instead, Berix would be his puppet kingpin, and Scodonius would be assigned as the Tajunian representative to the Atero City Council, a position that was technically a political office, but would also keep him powerless and far away from Tajun (and, by extension, from Kirbraz). It was the perfect plan. Until it wasn't. Kirbraz had heard before that one’s life would flash in front of their eyes in the moments before their death, but why that memory? Why now? What did Neptum or Stygia have to do with this? Was that the moment when his fate was sealed? Surely that would have been earlier, or later, not- Not Neptum or Stygia. Not even Scodonius. Tueris? No, not him – but close. Another place, another time, another death in the arena. It was so close, on the tip of his tongue- “Filia.” As the realisation dawned, even as Kirbraz finally accepted the inescapability of his death, he couldn't help but laugh. “Of course… of course he would send you. I should've… known. Exile was too… easy.” Lies were easy. Conspiracy was always more comprehensible than coincidence. “Tell him… Tell your boss, that I…” “I don't see him.” Tarix took a step forward, looking out over the balcony railing himself. Ackar could tell by the look on his face that he wasn't satisfied, but the younger Glatorian just shook his head and sighed. “I guess it was nothing. I must be more anxious than I thought.” As Ackar lay a comforting hand on his colleague's shoulder and began dispensing sage advice, Kirbraz was drawing his final breath not too far below, hidden from sight by the shadow of the balcony. Scodonius had a few questions aimed his way. OOC: A massive thank you to @Jesse Pinkman, without whom I could never have given my best material to this subplot. It's been one of the best collaborations I've ever done, in no small part because he's always bringing his A-game. And can you believe I nearly began this whole plotline after the murder? @BULiK gets the credit for convincing me not to, because again, @Jesse Pinkman made this so much better than it would have been if I were working alone. Anyway, that's a wrap on Kirbraz, and a tantalising mystery for any interested PCs to investigate during these cold Tajun nights.

Dune Surfer Ronin Made as a group project with Petersheikah and DanV. I built the base, Dan the surfboard and Peter the Ronin. 11/03/24

IC: Karak - Celrys' Workshop I am unable to catch his last sentence. Too quick, too nervously sputtered out. I fear I will never learn anything at this rate - even as I assume my understanding of the language has grown, I am humbled immediately. The tournament is my only other lead. And so I leave Del and Skyra to their flesh-meddling heretic God. I smirk to myself, remembering my own and Skyra's clash as we first met. If all Southerners fight that way, perhaps the arena would be amusing if not informative. OOC: @a goose

IC: Skrall (Markets; the Bone Hunter Stronghold) Skrall shook his head. “They have attacked our caravans before. It has rarely ended well for them, but they thrive on anonymity; their numbers, lack of a command structure and their disparate clans all prevent blame from being leveled, and they know that our desire for retribution will be tempered by our need for trade. The Roxtus garrison has hesitated to alienate our allies with false accusations.” He paused, then, and looked up at the watchtower on the horizon. “That said, it has been months since the last attack. Perhaps the full force of the Black Legion being so nearby has made them more wary of attracting our ire; Tirveus is known to inspire such fear.” He wanted to believe what he had said; the might of the Skrall should be feared, and Tirveus had a reputation for disproportionate (and misaimed) retribution; he had no qualms about punishing the innocent, just so that a crime would be seen to have been punished. But even he heard in his own voice the absence of conviction, the lack of the certainty which usually came so easily to him. He knew there was another explanation, one that unsettled him greatly: the Bone Hunters had changed. Skrall knew the South better than anyone. He had come with eyes unclouded by propaganda or tradition, and become as much a stranger to his own people as he was to the Southerners; he was a son of the Black Spikes, a true Roxtusian, of neither North nor South. He saw both with a clarity that neither possessed, whether looking inward or outward. It was this enlightened perspective that defined him; his truth was absolute. And he knew that neither the Skrall nor the Southerners were capable of independently changing their ways. They needed people like him, people who were not swayed by petty tradition or nationalistic vanity. Outsiders. It was a fundamental truth of the world that change could not come from within. This truth was absolute. Certainly, aspects of the Bone Hunters – and the South as a whole – could change. But though their Stronghold grew and the champions of the South adorned themselves with greater numbers of cybernetic modifications, the changes were matters of scale. Of growth. Surface details. The Bone Hunters themselves had not changed, could not change, not on any fundamental level. He understood them, understood what motivated them. Survival and profit, and nothing more. If their behaviour had changed, it was in service of survival, or it was in service of profit. “On the other hand, the Skrall being closer at hand has also made us more valuable customers. You may be right; perhaps now they see the value in not alienating us.” Profit. Survival. That was all. There was no truth to the uncanniness he felt. Things were the same as they ever were. OOC: @Burnmad @oncertainty @BULiK @Nato G @Toru Nui @Vezok's Friend

I’ll admit, I don’t have a lot of personal experience with autism, so I can’t speak to your experiences. I’ve struggled with other mental health issues of my own, so I try not to judge people for that sort of thing. From what we’ve seen here, it seems quite clear that you’re struggling with impulsive/obsessive behaviour and other self-control issues. And I agree that intent can easily be misconstrued on the internet. But with all of that said, it’s very hard to take you at your word when you’ve been nothing but disingenuous and deceptive since you got here. By your own admission, you used an AI to write your apology for you. You gave conflicting accounts of the situation you were apologising for, and misrepresented the facts to make yourself seem the victim (despite the person you were harassing having ample evidence to the contrary). You basically tried to trick this site into taking your side in an argument we knew nothing about. And on top of all of that, all of us have now seen you publicly promise multiple times that you would stop your behaviour, only for you to go back on your word within just a few hours. As harsh as it sounds, it would probably be in everyone’s best interests for you to unplug for a while, and avoid the temptation to engage with the internet until you're better able to control yourself. It sounds like you understand that you need help. I implore you to seek it.

Okay so I haven't bothered chiming into this situation because it's none of my business, and it'll stay this way after this post, but likeeee...you're asking people to not publicize this situation and keep it private...while you are also, by making this post, publicizing this, and you have been making the situation very public this whole time. I, and I'm sure many others on this site, would have not been aware of this situation had you not made this a public spectacle. Just pointing that out, a little two cents. Back to silence I goooooo

1) pick a more active venue than BZPower. The unfortunate truth is that this website doesn't get as much traffic as it used to and probably never will again. 2) respectfully, put more effort into your topics. Of the recent ones I have checked out from you, most of them were not things I found very interesting. Your recent question about whether you are allowed to put "Official" in a topic name is a basic yes/no question that I just assumed an administrator would eventually handle for you. [I think the answer is no, BTW, or at least it used to be. I once tried to make something like an "Official Rhotuka Spinner Power" topic some years ago and it got closed.] I don't know anything about the Pringles vlogs you mentioned in another topic. You don't actually mention BIONICLE that much. If you can write/draw or make MOCs, posting those would be the most baseline way of engaging with the BIONICLE community. 3) tying in to point 2, try not to post as many topics. A small number of higher-effort engagements will be better received than a ton of fairly low-effort posts bordering on spam. On a deeper level, though, not just BIONICLE fans but people in general don't like to follow creators who feel like they're trying to get popular. The people who get platforms are the ones with interesting talents or unique perspectives, not people going out of their way to just get popular. Hope you found this helpful.

The sun shines so brightly here. Yet that is not enough for them. The plants are more than alive now. So they hunger for more. -.-. .- .-.. .-.. .. -. —. ....... .. -. ....... .- .-.. .-.. ....... .— . . -.. ....... .— .- -.-. -.- . .-. ... More on Instagram

IC: Tueris (Staff NPC; Valley of Death) “They don't like villages. They'd stay away regardless. Just routine. Instinct. Whatever you want to call it. We won't know what to expect until we get there, only that it won't be good.” He knew the Agori was only trying to hold on to hope, but hope was dangerous out here. Better to expect the worst, and come prepared. OOC: @Nato G and the Iron Canyon Crew IC: Kirbraz (Staff NPC; The Shadiest Spot on Bara Magna) Metal god? Could he have meant Celrys? There was no telling how long she might be in there for. “Uh- say, I don't suppose your services are, ah, for hire? As, you know… as protection. Just until Miss Daring comes back.” OOC: @Jesse Pinkman IC: Celrys (CelTech workshop, Tajun) “No sound, no. Electrical impulses. That is why we need a wreath, rather than a stethoscope.” OOC: @Techn0geist @Snelly IC: The Ghost (The Tower) Wouldn't I like to know… He watched Taldrix with a renewed intensity. “You have a talent for asking the right questions, but the only people who know that are long gone. I have spent my life picking through the rubble, and still I have no more answers than you. Not yet.” Something shifted in his expression, as if he had heard a noise somewhere in the distance. “I promised your compatriots power. Weapons. Their desires are… simple, like that. But there is more than just power waiting out in those canyons. There are answers, to the questions that plague us both.” The Ghost walked slowly to the map table. A square grid depicted, in excruciating detail, the canyons east of the Wastelands, from the Creeps all the way to Ferrum – at least, in the squares that were not blank. The space was strewn with painted tacks and dyed string, deliberate in their placement but without an immediately obvious meaning. A pencil lay close by; the Ghost had been drawing it by hand. He gestured toward the table with an open palm, encouraging her to look. “This is my search for those answers.” OOC: @Toru Nui

Could it be, a birthday on BZP? Why yes, there just happens to be one on this day! Happy birthday, @otter! Art gifted on the behalf of Mushy, who is currently feeling a bit under the weather:

IC: Gayle – Iron Canyon While the two Glatorian jostled for the unenviable duty of taking the lead, Gayle settled in towards the middle of the group’s procession. The decision was motivated as much by common sense as it was self-preservation. She was one of the smaller beings present, and her axe didn’t offer the greatest range. Taking up a defensive position better-suited to someone with longer reach would only put all of their lives at risk. And in the eyes of any prowling predators, she was the smallest and most appetising snack, so having Glatorian on either side of her would certainly improve her chances. She left her axe holstered for now. Though she knew the time it took her to draw her weapon could be the difference between life and death, gripping the weapon for hours on end would lead to tired arms, sweaty hands, and cramped fingers, and that could get her killed just as easily. She angled her gaze upwards as she walked, keeping her focus on the sky and canyon wall above the group. Unexpected attacks from above had ended the lives of many an unprepared traveller, and Gayle had no desire to join them. When she faced death – whether it was today, tomorrow, or a decade from now – she intended to look it in the eyes, and go down swinging. ______________________________________________________________________ IC: Somok – Precipere The party from Vulcanus had become little more than indistinct splotches of colour shifting in the shadows of the floor of the canyon below, but still Somok stood and watched. At his side stood the captain of the guard, Giltu, nervously turning his spear in his hands. “What do we do now?” Giltu asked. “What we’ve always done.” “But if there truly is a plague-” “Then we will ensure it doesn’t reach our village,” Somok said, turning away. “Make certain your guards have eyes on the canyon at all times. Inform me the moment they see any one or thing approaching from the canyon below.” ______________________________________________________________________ IC: Skrall – Bone Hunter Stronghold The stronghold wasn’t at all what he’d expected. He’d spent so much time thinking about the cities of The South that he now realised he hadn’t given any consideration to the first destination on their journey. He’d expected a ramshackle camp, maybe some primitive fortifications, but this was a true, thriving settlement. They had infrastructure, diversity, commerce, and far greater numbers concentrated in this one location than he’d expected. Though they were collectively referred to as Bone Hunters, Skrall had long believed his cousin tribe to be little more than scattered bands of scavengers, undisciplined and drug-addicted. The well-maintained fortifications and organised marketplace he’d just witnessed spoke to something more cooperative and competent... almost civilised. As the carts came to a stop and the group disembarked, Skrall’s first instinct was to let someone else shoulder the responsibility of escorting the prisoner so he could explore the marketplace. But a selfish, sudden realisation changed his mind. As intriguing as the marketplace was, it was clearly something the Bone Hunters had no qualms about letting their visitors see. But the opportunity to get a glimpse behind the scenes and learn more about how this place was run… Atakus was only extending that offer to one volunteer. As small a responsibility as it was, as flippant as Atakus seemed to be about it, it was a position of privilege that Skrall was eager to embrace. Skrall stepped up behind the prisoner and gave him a firm, forceful nudge with the blunt end of his spear, in the direction Atakus was going. “Move.” ______________________________________________________________________ @Vezok's Friend @a goose @oncertainty @Toru Nui @Burnmad @~Xemnas~ @BULiK

Good Dawning, dear comrades! And by golly, the months melt by. I must so apologize for lack of coherence to reply well to such goodheartedness received here, unimaginable appreciation and thanksgiving to each of you! I owe so much to this site, the little, so-loved Lego city! A little homelife hurricane-eye era gallery I forgot about. Started sketch March 2022. I was shedding raretears after a dead-end doctor visit while drawing it, if I’m honest. But I lived through a lot more than I ever would have believed, thankfully! Picked up and completed this year. Cards printed from my zebra drawing-I think these were thanks cards for birthday gifts? Fixatif-ing old art because eventually I find out how to do things…sometimes... . A flooring scrap and thin cutting board travel artpad that I never anticipated using in the situations that swiftly followed. I can confirm it’s rather worn out now. I somehow had my scanner resolution so rough it’s barely discernible, but maybe it’s for the best given the story here. I decided to draw my distant aunt’s Anatolian shepherd, Tippy, as a thanks gift, as out of the ocean blue(?) she sent a gift. Then another gift, which was very generous… and looking back this was uncanny given what wrongs were going on at home, then I was blocked on social media, though no interaction was ever exchanged, only mailed christmas cards and felt ornaments and occasional like posts from family I didn’t see. I guess I don’t have an aunt anymore, or anyone on that side?. Sadly, strangely, sorry-ingly. I guess I’m grateful to never have been allowed to attach or interact prior, the separation would hurt more? It’s an odd thing, to become aware of mourning something you never genuinely had. So nice to say “Aunt, uncle and cousins!”- Like beloved characters in a book. You hear about them, know their happenings at length, but can’t quite access their world. I liked believing it, the belonging that goes along with it. So I’ll appreciate that time of that pretend. (PS Cannot recommend hammock-lapdesk art, poor posture choices on my part and promptly abandoned, haha. ) I am unsure if this was instinct, or if it was a blessing before its time. For around four years we’d stored some very filthy inherited possessions in attic totes. Platters, china, statues and odd trinkets brought back from my mom’s family home for safekeeping, in light of the place sitting in an abandoned state of disrepair half a day’s drive away. I decided it was time my mom got to enjoy them! Funny metal fluff to get off the tar. Do you play Cinderella when you scrub stuff? Or perhaps a Bohrok? A great gear to turn the wheel of cheer! 🎶 Ah, those good old days when we were useful... Suddenly those good old days are gone Ten years we've been rusting Needing so much more than dusting Needing exercise, a chance to use our skills! 🎶 For mother’s day decor, 2022. No idea if I posted this prior! 🎶 She's our guest! Be our guest! Be our guest! Be our guest! 🎶 Ivory ponies, polished for bro’s home (apartment, in actuality)! And statuary with dust undeniably scary. My grandmother’s whole house was once engulfed in this. I do think there must have been some kind of inkling of impending doom driving a lot of trying to invent special, for-mom happiness. My efforts seemed to further ignite an explosion from another element, upsettingly. Right there in the lower rooms, the heirlooms sat ready as the tumultuous, unexpected trek took place. When family lacks, but grandfather’s monkeybank with a snack has your back! 🎶 With your meal, with your ease Yes, indeed, we aim to please While the candlelight's still glowing Let us help you, We'll keep going 🎶 Fast forward to October, as such scenes seem better in-order. A barn box, caulked and reclaimed-painted. We found a big branch to put up my human swing here! Over the past couple years at our old house, I started swinging daily by the duckpond for some form of physical activity/fun/pain distraction because of weakness and joint pain/not being able to walk or stand much at all. Of course the baby couldn’t just sit on the ground here, wouldn’t be prudent! And a read-tree for dear Mum, where she may sun her silken coat, so pretty plum. Red shirt/dress may or may not be my Winnie the Pooh dress from when I was a human child. Still more than just a bear, btw. It was soon discovered that my swing was in fact to be Mum’s also, though. I fast found out I couldn’t propel it anymore. I hadn’t noticed I was shallow-shuffling instead of stepping. I was so busy pretending to be well, not able to use the wheelchair in the condition of this house, absent-mindedly on plaquenil and painpills, in knee braces because I had a home to build and clean! I was just sitting there on the swing after a few kicks and my legs sat immovable. I couldn’t get my feet off the ground or slide them into shoes all for days. That ability returned but not the full lifting of lower legs/stepping. (In brackets due to medical/disease content, my apologies if disturbing, not sure if I should/how to use spoiler tags anymore) [ Five days from swing setup, neurology did the EMG and skin punch biopsy to evaluate the pre-fleeing ambiguous disease progression numbness. Also, they noticed my toe-lifting paralysis that seemed to upset them, a progression which had escaped me.The tests involved probing the leg nerves with a zapper tool and measuring the reaction. It appeared similar to an ultrasound. Then they took two BB-sized skin biopsy samples from my leg with a hole punch. They said the results took a few weeks. And I was prescribed Gabapentin for sleep and pain. That had the reverse effect and made me rather lobotomized, unable to feel my body and terribly sad. Also, hello hives! Very much a personal-refuser of the mind altering medications, this is the closest encounter I’ve had to one. The medical daytrip/appointment/procedures done late last are a blur. Casually showing up there like a normal, civilized chronically ill human when in reality refusing to take a single day off renovation attempts with reckless inspiration. There are some things they need not know, haha I lost count of the amount of diagnostic GI procedures I’ve had at this point, the last one was in late August and I think it must have been the 6th one in 14 months? Two full years now since the really high tTg IgA test. I told them at the time Celiac certainly did not add up and no change was happening even with dietary omission. Two and a half years have passed in a state of extreme undernutrition due to the sickness. We have no idea how I'm still living like this. Tests, baffled doctors, more baffled doctors, ERs, other specialists, blood draws, scans, referrals, genetics waitlist, being *diagnosed with hypermobile EDS and UCTD, Retests, problems being found but still not Celiac. So thankful for Duke financial aid. The auto-released biopsy on this most recent EGD again confirmed that this wasn’t Celiac disease, so I am grateful to say I was able to stop force feeding myself 4 slices of bread a day, as it is always followed by fevers, face flushing and writhing. In January I finally had a follow up. Apparently I was correct that this is not Celiac disease, not a return of Alpha-gal or another allergy and it is actually something neurologically-related. A mystery systemic disease. The two year-ago genetics referral at UNC hospital is now canceled because they are overfilled with Ehlers-Danlos patients and rejecting the people who were waitlisted two years ago. My tonsils & adenoids are gone for good, thankfully no tonsil stones/infections now, however, the extremely thick mucus that causes the throat soreness did not go away as hoped. In January I contacted neurology about the forgotten biopsy results and got diagnosed with small fiber neuropathy. There aren't enough nerves in my legs. Systemic autonomic dysfunction is suspected. But SFN seems more of a secondary disease, and they are not definitively sure what the root disease(s?) is. And this shouldn’t be causing bilateral foot drop. *In light of the overall progression, the diseases I was diagnosed with last year are now being reconsidered as rarer/different/more serious things than anyone thought. Not that they told me, I stalk the visit notes. Now there are tons of specialist tests coming up like cardiology, GI, rheumatology, possible ASD testing (that I personally requested because of the realization that I was weird/have some cognitive/social/learning quirks, its genetic significance, having a sibling with it, etc.) this year. The January 15th stroke-like neurological blood vessel paralysis emergency thing was like no other ER visit I’ve had before. The 7ish other trips in my life were acute, life threatening, temporary things. This did lasting damage and I was discharged as no one at the local or Duke hospital was sure of the cause. That day has split my existence in half. We were advised after a 3 am phonecall to drive to Duke ER for hyperswollen left foot, I collapsed paralyzed in the passenger seat on the way and local ER paramedics had to remove me and evaluate the situation there. I could hear everything, but my whole body was like a corpse and I couldn't move or speak. Awkward when your mom is signing paperwork and the doctors are like "Who is this? No idea what her name is" They CT'ed my head, and immovable hours later, I heard them saying I was discharged without diganosis, they were scared to do a spinal tap, and to follow up with Duke. I still couldn't open my eyes or move most of my body and my mom had to shovel me into a wheelchair and checkout. They forgot to evaluate my gigantic foot. We went home, I slept for a few hours then, still being very numb/semi paralyzed and swollen, we made the daytrip to Duke ER, who did imaging of the foot and dischargeded me with permission to add more OTC painkillers to my life, lidocane patches for my giant limp foot, and to follow up with my specialists as they had no idea what was wrong with me. My left foot is still bluish and swelling, and both legs go randomly limp, icy cold and blotchy on and off now. My whole body lost feeling, I cannot feel thirst, and getting in over 16 oz a day is a painful and rare accomplishment. Eating has been reduced to a few small bites daily to try to keep myself alive somehow. Sleep is in random couple hour intervals, which makes it surprising when I hear what day of the week it is. I am so glad the total paraylisis wasn't permanent-I cannot imagine having paralyzed hands or eyes. Take the legs, take the feet, they can't create, just not the hands please, haha! The spine involvement is new, I had to unexpectedly see neurology again a couple weeks ago for it. They forgot about weighing me prior, as a (non-paraylzed/short-distance ambulatory) wheelchair user and did not realize how bad this was getting. Instead of unexplainably maintaining and frequently gaining weight, I’m losing again-20lbs down from one year ago when I was already at the edge of underweight-all in the past few months. Not ideal when eating and drinking cause extreme illness and idiopathic anaphylaxis that worsens with epinephrine. So this trip thankfully led to getting me new genetics referrals to different clinics and a neuromuscular doctor. Guessing this is good because the autumn ENT doctor was concerned about ALS due to the throat strings and neurological abnormality. At the time I was happily unaware of what that disease was. So now is the time to “survive to the next appointment, hopefully” and spend the days/nights creating things, as always. Abundant audiobooks, and comforting and cheery Christmas music. Sometimes I feel a little like how the orchestra band kept playing on the night of the Titanic, but then I remember an encouraging ex-doctor patient in a power chair at Duke whose diagnostic path of Myasthenia Gravis took ten years. I’ve only been a full time lab rat for the past two and a half, ambiguous sick/disabled (without much early investigation) for over half my life now. In late 2019 when I began crashing again, I was crazed for a cure. Those prior two years post-PICU of trying to be normal and healthy and getting to eat all the fabulous foods was such a treat! I ponder how it must feel to possess a prognosis, or the power to plan. If I merely live to get an answer, I would feel rich. And I will proudly proclaim that a major life goal of mine is eating, hahaha. I do so wish my mom had a family- It's just my faraway bro and I...and, unfortunately that one past-many-years-incarcerated uncle who we hope won't get out of prison this fall...y i k e s. She's had to deal with all my medical drama alone... But life is still lovely, there are little things of beauty in all if you look close enough. I do think happiness is an inside job. ] Some small efforts put forth in order to retrain my art amnesia-brain! Done in December 2022 to a cozy comfort audiobook and Cladrite radio. I do adore pretend time traveling and brain roleplaying, such fun to be a magazine illustration fine artist in the 1930s-1950s when the fancy strikes. Painting these, in truth, felt as an internal battle because of the practical-or-nothing-at-all predicament that 2022 sent. Painting seemed..improper so soon after, almost pointless-but thank goodness for the motivation of doing it for someone else. Maybe that’s the secret joy in doing any and every thing? Who is it done for, and the love behind it? Tis for me, that feels like truly living. Mini scenes, 3x3” cardboard canvases. Sneak peak of barnchair, woven with care. First try on this, had the canvas squares sitting idly for years. My grandmother’s generous gifts of art supplies live on. Pencil sketch covered in acrylic paint and gloss glazing medium. I “should” probably watermark some of these, but oh well. And maybe blur my signature but eh, doesn't really matter. Going to blissfully believe in the morality of humankind instead, I haven’t the energy to worry. Low res-resized version of scan, it appears. Painting times: Baby: 6.5 hrs Girl: 13 hrs Deer: 6.5 hrs Reindeer (if I recollect correctly)?: 7.5 hrs Chipmunk: 7 hrs Birdy: 7 hrs For my mom’s Christmas gift. I credit her completely with forming my art obsession, I wonder if she knows that…I’m afraid I never thanked her prior, oh my. All those splendid art history books and children's drawing books, that dearest impressionism book of unrivaled beauty and dashing colors, the craft-centric homeschool curriculums that danced across my child kingdom- all at the kitchen table in that sacred morning sun. She covered its wallpapered wild ivy walls with my paint splattered scrolls and sketched scrawls. Something odd began happening recently, in light of meeting a few individuals for art transfer. They wondered when I started drawing.. I felt a fool because it never consciously occurred to me that people ever stopped drawing. All children I’ve seen are creators. Maybe artists don’t grow up? Hope they don’t have to, I’m quite afraid of such heights. So soon, If all is well, I can freely photodocument and publish my professionless-and proper-product-less projects that paperwork presently prohibits!I am glad to further discover how the less one has, the more unconventional uses for other objects appear. ‘Till then: Drawings! Gratitude echoes over my very being over the luxury of getting to do art again. Lapdesk Land doodles. Some of these were unrequested ones for BZPers, and other random victims of my art endeavours, so I feel odd/guilty about posting them.... My apologies if unacceptable… Please let me know if any would want them taken down and I shall gladly do so! Graphite sights: Anatolian puppy, one of the first tiny attempts to remember how to draw. (September) 12hrs, 8x10 as I actually began googling standard art sizes. My brother’s Japan research trip. How was that half a decade ago? (September/October?) Car art of a family photo for my mom. Started in September when summoned to show up for a scary Social Security “prove you are sick, please” interrogation because of the new need of insurance and never having had income. I never noticed I was considered disabled until recent years. My mom never made me feel like I was, being homeschooled since forever helped this, I guess! Standard small photograph size, whatever that is. Public domain peoples! 8x10”, 8hrs. A memorial of a Facebook church acquaintance’s pet, pit bull Boo Boo. 8x10” Anatolian, another attempt! 10hrs? 8x10”. We found this poster on our front door once getting back from the ERs on January 15th. Impressive determination considering our yard is gated and farm-fenced! I collapsed on the couch treasuring this task. The dog owner did find their furry friend again! And introduced us to a local children’s charity runner friend. It was initially started by her rare-disease daughter. So I tried to draw her, 13hrs, 8x10”. Then it occurred to me I knew of one other similar children’s cancer charity, so drew the girl who founded that one, for fun. 17.5hrs, 8x10” Shoutout to my mom’s art delivery services! And a bit of a rough one as my accuracy and speed is absolutely unpredictable and pain-dependent. 8x10”, 16hrs. Quadriplegia violinist from IG, I need to muster the brain power to ask about mailing this one. (Property of BZPers below) 8x10” , 8.5 hrs 6x8”, 5.5 hrs 9x7” , 13.5 hrs 8x6”, 13.5hrs. Trying to improve at people's portraits, proportions I do struggle with. My method is to do a light sketch focusing on the angles, then going back over that, erasing and mechanical pencil detailing down from the upper left side so I don’t smudge it. Then fixatif spraying and cutting to-size. I seriously need to thank the pastor who supplied this orphaned tilting lapdesk from their church gym, the hours of joy and purpose it has provided are inexpressible. Moving back to one’s hometown is funny. The one family I was fortunate enough to call my (only) childhood friends is still around. Drawn for her mom while she was gone on a missionary trip. 8x10”, 20hrs. My mom adores old-fashioned paper calendars (only the finest ones from Dollar General, haha), and I’m quite fond of their picturesque vignettes. I fell for this feathered friend and had to fashion an embroidery lookalike. Plumped it up a little. It’s a pleasure to stitch rainbow plumage and other colorful crafts in between the graphite-gray sketching. Keeps the immobile insomnia hours vibrant events. 38 hrs total, framed it (Yay for spray paint and barn-find frame) instead of making it a pillow. Initially for my mom’s Christmas gift, but upcoming mother’s day makes more sense for her new-old home’s wall art needs. An uncanny color match to my grandmother’s lamp. It fit in our scanner! Wrapped and sticky leather taped it onto heavy cardboard. Craft collection! Truth be told, I’m torn on what to post, project-wise. I want to wait on posting the home decor stuff as it makes more sense to show it with the whole room, so we wait. My mom loves heartleaf philodendron plants. Historically her houseplants ended up getting suspiciously knocked off the surfaces where they sat, and she gave up. With funds for foliage now as the only barrier, I decided a few pseudo plants would make the shelves merrier. For Valentine’s day, since they are conveniently heart-leaves I didn't have the proper supplies or a way to get them, so the base was a wood-cutting ripped old shirt I’d remade from an old shirt. Used a similar method as last year: fusing two cotton layers together with spray adhesive, ironing and cutting out. Sewed leaf creases down each one and smothered them in glazing medium for stiffness. Cut around the edges again for a smooth finish. Scalp massager (???) and pipe cleaner base. Tied on with green yarn. Ginormous cardboard tubes, old shoe foam and laces, and upholstery swatches for “planters”. The superglue I used to attach the fabric to the cardboard started smoking when I pressed it together. No spontaneous combustion has occurred so far. Definitely not one of my greatest creations, but passable from a distance. *real ladybug lounging on leaf* And gratitude greetings from owl arts, little laminated prints.. Recycled partially from gift bags. Going to pretend that the printer ink wasn’t too red on some, and this was intentional. Scrunchies for my mom. Octo-O’s, balloons windblown, done into donut bundles because why not? And assembled the pants for my mom I’d cut out in the basement last year and abandoned. Maybe these will be for a Christmas gift, stashed and waiting for now. Basic bakes and birthday bakebox gifts. Butter, beautiful butter! In other news, I’ve just last week figured out how to organize the kitchen to be much more wheelchair accessible! It's worlds less exhausting with appliances on lower surfaces and a folding card table for a low countertop. Figuring out wheelchair life is new in itself. I started using part-time at the former home in January 2022 as the mobility/pain/weakness issues worsened. That house wasn’t very easy to drive it in, with the rooms being much smaller and closer. Once we were given no choice but to leave in May, so began the season of painful staggering. This new-old home is perfect for rolling with all its hallway loops and long rooms now! I love it here, endearingly old and unusual. Handkerchief head scarf bandanas for my mom’s coworker, as she kindly sent one to me as the color wasn’t her preferred. I think that wraps up the majority of neglected knick-knacks and novelties and my endlessly talking about my mom being awesome, haha. Looks like I’ll be making a collection of current yellow-thing-projecting for next time. My mom made my whole life with a birthday gift of this baby. One with feet, what a treat! Wishing everyone a happy week! Also, I've patched this thing together in Google Docs again and haven't a grasp of if the images upload too largely as a result, apologies and will try to remedy if so! Or if my brain can form sensible entries anymore 🙈

OOC: Anyway, after the longest wind-up known to man... https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=67HND-L9k-A IC: Outside the Hideout Safina's kick struck as the beast wheeled to get out of the way, a howl of discomfort coming--retracted, the creature's natural musculature tensed and prevented a devastating wound. Pushed beyond any sense of self preservation, the Muaka's reddened eyes refocused on Safina as it continued to press, seeking to use its proximity to finally slash at her with rending claws. A sickening crunch came from the darkness to her left as something impacted flesh and protosteel, one of the previously fleeing Matoran hurtling out of the darkness with a freshly broken chestplate and scraping across the ground with a cry. Evidently the Rahkshi wasn't just playing spectator to their fight. IC/NPC: Rahkshi, inside the hideout The clang of the staff on Kehuri's shield was far quieter than it should have been--and the THWACK of pain that came from his back hurt far more than it seemed like it should have. While the shield prevented the immediate impact, the staff almost seemed to phase through the metal only to once again become frighteningly tangible. The worst of the force was abated, but it was still going to leave a nasty bruise. Somehow, that seemed better than paralysis, and didn't interrupt his motion. The Rahkshi chittered, swatting at the lightstone a moment before swinging again--this time for Rall, as the Ta-Matoran took to Kehuri's back. The second Rahkshi to come from the shadows side-stepped the shambling of the corpse, though it had to take a much quicker step back from Skrihen's sword, a rasping sound coming from the creature as it batted the Tryna reanimated Toa back, looking toward Skrihen a moment and its eyes starting to fiercely glow, a mindripping fear starting to burn into the Bo-Toa. Even so, it seemed more focused on keeping the ironclad dead man at bay--and seemingly, the Bo-Toa distracted. From behind Skrihen, a raging torrent of plasma ripped through the air from one of the Rahkshi near the door. Unfortunately for Zueya, the other Rahkshi of the pair seemed to be expecting the head-on charge--and left the undead and the Bo-Toa to its companion, bringing its staff across with bonecrushing force to knock her charge to the side. The Rahkshi jumped to the side, Plagia's lightning orb grazing it as it hissed and started to focus on her. The ground started to shift and stumble beneath her feet, a dull torpor of fog sweeping into her mind and jumbling everything. IC/NPC: The Lieutenant: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D2L4r0Aelvg "I'll buy you an apology dinner if we survive this, Dartakh," The clone said, the one carrying the shield tossing it to the ceiling. "But we don't die gloriously. Dying gloriously implies we didn't use all our options." From his unseen position elsewhere, the Lieutenant aimed the rifle in his hands at the mirror like surface of the ice shield, hanging in the air. Alka Torin had fought at the Rama Hive. He'd been in Pala-Koro when it was attacked. He'd faced Rahkshi, servants of Makuta, and true Shadow Toa alike. He'd seen the full array that the powers of darkness had at their disposal, and in response Mata Nui had given the side of light... Six Toa. Powerful ones, sure, and each was a person for whom he had nothing but gratitude. But there were only six, against a sea of Rahkshi. And there was no Toa of Light to counteract the darkness. To bemoan that, however, would be counter to his spirit--and that of the village he had chosen to protect when Pala-Koro fell. Be grateful for help, but expect none. Expecting your faith to heal your wounds, to help you stand... ******. Mata Nui helps those who helps themselves. When you bleed, you put on a bandage. When you fall, you get up. When you face darkness... The Lieutenant pulled the Kaitahu Ra's trigger and a blazing torrent blasted out of the muzzle of the weapon, scalding the darkness, the afterimage burning across retinas. The Rahkshi closest to the door staggered a moment, shaking its head and shrieking in animal fury as the light pinged off the surface of the shield and into its eyes. The mental pressure on Plagia immediately ceased. "Move. It won't be blind for long and that won't work as well ever again." When you face darkness... You make your own light.

A revamp of the OG Toa of Ice inspired by the new, very constraction-y Dreamzzz joint element.

OOC: Taking the liberty of pushing things along to get Green Boi moving again. IC (Korero) [Ga-Koro] Having gathered from Cael and Praggos that Leah had expressed an intention to speak with the Dasaka Empress, Korero gave the group his earnest (if hurried) thanks and sped off at barely less than a run in the direction of the Ga-Koro docks. With the Hiko he could've been there in the blink of an eye, of course, but from what he'd heard the Dasaka were particularly on-edge after some sort of hijacking attempt the previous day (he hadn't stuck around to hear the details, being far more concerned about Leah's condition). Materialising at the docks without warning, expedient though it might be, seemed unwise. Fifteen minutes of pushing through crowds later, Korero was coming to regret that decision. But eventually the throngs began to thin, and soon the masts of the Dasakan flagship were towering overhead. Korero was immediately struck by the strange construction and sheer bulk of the vessel: it radiated an aura of solidity and power, despite being built from what almost looked like glass. Intentional or not, the presence of such a warship looming over the Ga-Koro dockland made an emphatic statement: these people might be refugees, but they were far from powerless... He sensed eyes on him: the mistrustful glare of nearby Dasaka guards, no doubt suspicious of an unfamiliar Toa emerging from the crowds to stare at the ship carrying their leader. He turned to them and raised a hand in bashful greeting, suddenly unsure of himself in the presence of these soldiers from a far-flung land. Korero might have had the power of a Toa Mata running through his veins, but he still couldn't always shake the instinctive shyness of a misfit Ko-Matoran. "Uh, hello. I'm, uh, Korero Maru. I'm looking for my Sister — Toa Leah. I was told she might be here...?" OOC: @Vezok's Friend @EmperorWhenua

I don't know why these images are sideways

IC/ Skrall/ Stronghold imminent Skrall glanced toward their destination as well, but only briefly. She’d seen it before, and Atakus had it well in focus. So instead she began to scan the landscape off to their right. “Eyes up. Check where you look.” She said, to encourage the others to do the same and keep all other angles covered. The tops of the larger dunes made for good cover. Good for bone hunter scouts. Also good for an ambush. Maybe it was Ex-Skrall’s story fresh in the back of her mind that had her particularly weary of the possibility. Relaxing now would be a mistake. She had mulled it over as the others spoke. He said ‘slashed’. By blade or by claw? The respective wounds would look different, even at a glance. Either way, slashed meant close range. Which in turn meant someone - or several someones - had managed to get close enough to a group of Skrall without being spotted and were skilled enough to dispatch them all. There were many in the wastes that could fight well enough to survive, but to do this? She definitely ruled out Vorox. They might be formidable ambush predators - but they couldn’t have killed them all without a trace and gotten away without incurring losses. There was simply no way. Was it possible then that there were Glatorian capable of this level of stealth and brutal efficiency? Or had it been someone - something else? If there had been more time, maybe she could have determined as much by questioning their cargo. But with the hunter’s fortress ahead, time had run out. From here on out, they would need to stay alert and not take chances on the road. Regardless, it all led to the lesson her other companions’ stories amounted to: ignorance rarely went unpunished - and hubris was lethal. Skrall superiority was not an immutable truth of the universe. It didn’t take the ‘witchcraft’ of the sisters to realize as much. Just as they had to maintain and hone their bodies to fight, they would have to hone their minds and add to their knowledge to stay ahead down south. OOC: @skrall @BULiK @a goose

Name: Akrianos Tribe: Unknown Species: Glatorian Gender: Male Appearance: Tall and lean. Akrianos wears old, unpainted silver armour; long dulled and marred by the elements, and covered by a sun-bleached and sand-stained surcoat of black and white, which appears to have once been something of great esteem. His helmet if of the same material and colour as his armour; handcrafted in a simple shape, but with many hand-carved details of unknown origin, and banded with a cross-shaped and rivet studded strip of metal, with holes for his pale yellow eyes in the horizontal band, and vertical vents near his mouth. Akrianos carried a massive sword and a morning star, but both have been seized by his captors. Cybernetics: Sword Link: With the sword in hand, Akrianos can use his cybernetics in his arm to activate a function on his sword which electro-mechanically converts it to a large tower shield. Stimulant Pump: Over the years, Akrianos has continually tweaked this cybernetic, providing him with an on-demand cocktail of various stimulants, granting him enhanced strength, speed and endurance in combat for brief periods. The stimulants aren't regenerative though, and are limited to four uses before needing to be topped up at the nearest location with traders. Personality & Traits: Akrianos is calculating, driven, and adaptable; capable of striking out solo or working with allies, as the situation suits. He prefers diplomacy when possible, but remains alert, prepared, and calm, even in the most insufferable situations. A cybernetic craftsman and ronin by trade, Akrianos spends most of his time exploring Spherus Magna, stopping in cities for work both as a warrior and to upgrade cybernetics of the lucky few. Weaknesses: Akrianos refuses to give up, to a fault. His tendency to wander off the beaten path can wind him up in trouble, as well. Background: A warrior and craftsman of no renown, Akrianos makes his living as a wandering mercenary and cybernetic repairman across Spherus Magna. His age is unkown, although he looks as though he's seen many battles, and even more miles. Although the few who know him see his wandering as aimless, Akrianos has dedicated his life to a search, which he keeps to himself. On his latest journey between Roxtus and Atero, however, he encountered Bone Hunters, and has spent the past several months in servitude at their Stronghold, awaiting the right moment to escape.

Content Warning: internalized victim blaming, allusions to sexual assault a slave | bone hunter stronghold Sometime in between the many cycles of sleeping and waking, you hear them. Voices. Skrall voices. Not exactly intelligible to your keen but un-enhanced hearing, but achingly familiar in their tones and rhythms. Perhaps another will be added to the not-hunter’s pen today, though surely not one as pathetic as you. Then one of the voices becomes clearer, unmistakable in its tone—a women’s voice, in the unmistakable dialect of the Skrall. Something that can only be the voice of a Sister. You are half convinced it is that voice that moves your limbs, that forces your breath out throat-drying ragged as you creep toward the barred window to get a better look, expecting the iron grasp of another will in your hands, in your body, at any moment. The others do not notice you in their equally fitful sleep, the soft-steppers in your feet doing you, at least good service. It is hard to see outside in the daytime; your night-seeing eyes spin the heat into smears and veils of color. You squint, trying to focus on the tall black figures as they move through the market. OOC: @Vezok's Friend @a goose @BULiK @Nato G @oncertainty @Burnmad @Toru Nui Someone is watching. Your choice on whether you notice or not.

IC: The Ghost (The Tower) ”If you don't mind me asking… you ARE a Great Being, are you not?” The Ghost sighed, and seemed to be making an effort not to roll all four of his eyes. “I hate that term. The deification of it. There's no such thing.” His eyes were cold, but unfocused; Taldrix herself was not the subject of his ire. “What you call ‘Great Beings,’ I call people. Just… people. As flawed and as fallible as all people must be, but with nigh on inconceivable advantages. Did you know that all the Wastelands used to look like Tesara? A land of trees and water, milk and honey…” His gaze returned to the present, to his Bone Hunter guest. “It was ‘Great Beings’ that left the world like this. Sand and ash and rubble. Great accomplishments, accompanied by equally great failures. I am not a ‘Great Being.’ I am an echo, the spectre of a people long-dead. A ghost. That's all.” OOC: @Toru Nui

IC: Maxas (Tajun, Celrys’ Workshop) - Conspiratorial That look! It was obvious - she was in on it! Whatever it was - it was bad! “Oh. Well, I’d have to check my calendar if I’m free around that time…” He trailed off. He made a suspicious glance at Karak, then realized that his open suspicion would make him suspicious and stopped. “I don’t want to take up any more of your time, I’ll be going now.” @a goose @Jesse Pinkman IC: Taldrix (Bone Hunter Stronghold, the Tower) - Oh Right, My Boss Is an Alien “No, it appears that the disease afflicts all demographics. Let’s face it, there’s not enough biological differences between us and the Iron Agori to say it only affects them…” She paused for a moment. “I’m not sure how different yours would be to ours, though. I wouldn’t take any chances. She also mentioned that Ferrum’s telegraphy station was ‘malfunctioning’ at the same time, apparently they weren’t able to get word of this out to the other Atero tribes. I doubt that was a coincidence. Apart from that-” I watched nearly a dozen miners succumb to this plague. “...Miners. She singled out miners in particular. Many in Ferrum are miners, but… nothing like this dream disease has ever been recorded before. Perhaps the source is underground? But, er, that’s mere speculation, sir.” @a goose

IC: The Ghost (The Tower) A fresh smile flitted across his lips for the briefest of instants, but it was not the practised facade he had worn before – there was a hint of wryness to it that made it seem almost real. His eyes changed, too, bearing a spark of what might have been admiration (or perhaps just amusement) as he began to re-appraise her. "Three days… and here you are, lucid, articulate, and without any obvious physical symptoms of withdrawal. There may be hope for you yet; I had anticipated your affliction would be much more severe." As he returned to his seat, his false smile was back in force. "And it is an affliction. I don't hold with those who believe addiction to be a weakness of character – it is an ailment, though perhaps closer to a handicap than a disease. So you see, when I turned down Crucius' recommendations, it wasn't personal; it was merely pragmatic. I would no more trust an addict than send a lame man to walk the perimeter." He explained himself so matter-of-factly and with such easy confidence as to make his words feel obvious, a simple matter of common sense; it was easy to picture him standing before an audience of nodding heads and murmured agreement. "I believed the risk outweighed any potential value you might have as an asset, but I am not afraid to admit when I am wrong. So… prove me wrong." His perfect smile struggled to resist the urge to become a smirk. "There are gaps in the information you have provided me. I need to know everything she told you – especially if she gave examples of patients. Did she mention any age groups? Or anyone who wasn't afflicted?" IC: Cacia (NPC; CelTech reception, Tajun) Cacia smiled, a tad condescendingly. "Oh, we're already fully booked until the games are over. The earliest appointment I have is for two weeks after the closing ceremony." OOC: @Toru Nui @Jesse Pinkman

"Gathered friends. Listen again to our legend... of the BIONICLE." I wanted to celebrate Mask of Light's 20th. We all know, I'm sure, that it's not the greatest movie out there by a long shot: but on a personal level it's still one with incredible significance to me. It's one HUGE part of my... well, not really childhood, it just slightly missed that, more like teenagerhood? It came along just after I'd started Secondary School (i.e. UK middle-to-high school) and was feeling very self-conscious about the move up there; having something so new and fantastic from my then-favourite fandom to latch onto... I can hardly overstate what a massive help that was in keeping me grounded. Very happy 20th, Mask of Light; and an immense thank-you to all those who made it a reality just when I needed it most.

IC: Rynekk | The Fowadi "Spiritspeed to you, Pirok." It was amongst the last things that Rynekk had said to that young man, that young foolish man, before the ship-lines had been untied and the tide had been caught, and the Fowadi drifted out and away from the island. Pirok, standing on the docks, had grown smaller and smaller, less and less distinct, until he was a speck, a shadow, a bare hint of a man on the horizon... and then nothing at all. Rynekk exhaled heavily through his nose once, twice, and then turned from the side of the ship. Pirok's fate would be his own, a destiny made for himself, and Rynekk knew that there was naught he could have done for the boy, the man. His fingers still lingered in the folds of the belt loop that had once held that hatchet, though. Those fingers remembered the warm embrace of another good man's shoulder, and the cold touch of a grave marker, abandoned now deep in the desert. He clenched those fingers into a fist. Pirok was gone, good as. The island vanishing on the horizon. There were other things to be done. *** There was something in the newcomer's face that stirred Rynekk's memory. He had never met the man before, even in passing, that was certain. And a hard sprint and a harder swim had left the figure ragged, his breathing haggard, so that little enough could be gleaned from the motion of his body, the way he carried himself. But in the face... yes, it was something in the jaw, or in the brow, or both, that conjured in Rynekk visions of another ship. A hated ship, from a long time ago, and yet not long enough. Infernavika. That was it, yes! Another man who had served on that ship, a pirate, who had thought himself some good man thrust into a bad world. Rynekk knew the type. His name had been Perkahn, although he couldn't remember if he had heard the name said aboard the ship, or had looked it up afterwards. Accomplice to murder, he had noted in the ledger of his mind. Now that he had a name to the face, the resemblance was unmistakeable. But this man was young, much younger than Perkahn had been -- a nephew then, or a son. For now, Rynekk let Krayn take charge. He just watched from a pace away. OOC: @Razgriz@Krayzikk -Void

IC: "You know, thought I'd see what I caught." For a second Krayn throught he would have to reevaluate the Toa's intelligence. What in Nui's name was he waiting for? He was about to shout when the idea seemed to register, and the swimmer grabbed the hook and gave two distinct tugs. "Grapple's going to do most of the work," he answered, double-checking his foot's purchase beneath the cleat before he triggered the reel-in. He wasn't concerned about the weight, the only challenge was that he was supposed to be the object remaining stationary. He would have liked to brace on the railing with his left, but... His arm didn't hang uselessly at his side, but it did remain purposeless. It wouldn't help. "Just make sure I don't go over instead. Lunatic weighs more than I do right now, I think." @otter @Razgriz

CW: torture, both shown and implied [Fort Garsi, Environs (Ipsudir/NPC)] The would-be surrenderer was watching for signs. He didn’t get any. The harpoon that Ipsudir carried was not, in terms of the technological wonders that Zakaz could produce, a very impressive weapon. But it did not need to be—the combination of well-oiled spring loaded mechanisms and sturdy barbed blade was fast and silent and gruesome in its work—the work of pain. It suited her. The blade streaked out of the yawning darkness of the entrance and stuck fast in the gap of armor under an armpit, embedding itself deep. Before his brain could process any of the terrible, ripping, wrenching pain Ipsudir had yanked him off his feet. The cranking mechanism in her weapon dragged him slowly, agonizingly toward the shaded entrance, but Ipsudir closed the rest of the distance herself, placing a foot on the prone warriors chest, pressing down as she drove the now compact harpoon deeper. “Surrender?” Her voice started soft, almost a purr, but it quickly rose in volume and intensity. “You come to my land, try to conquer my fortress, and when it turns belly side up you want me to invite you in for tea and crackers?” She twisted, so virulently that she sent the rifle slung across her back swinging, and the skakdi cried out as bloody foam spilled from his lips. “That ain’t how it works around here, sweetie.” She pointed at where Zenakra and Kirik were pummeling each other. “There, is where you should be. Such a fool, but at least she will die with honor. I will make sure her name is remembered.” With one last twist, she ripped out the weapon and spit on the skakdi’s face. Her eyes remained focused on the melee down the hill as she kicked him again for good measure. “Take this heu:nii to the dungeons,” she said, without turning toward her warriors at her her back. “Make sure he lives for as long as possible.” — Kerigor’s X-ray vision pierced through the fog, but he had stopped shooting once the group had achieved range—anyone brave enough to charge the fortress was dead already, and powder was after all, expensive. While scanning the remains of the battlefield, however, he caught the glint of unfamiliar copper. Grinning, he tapped his partner’s currently-holstered impact crystal launcher. “Shall we bring back a little bauble for the Lady?” OOC: @Geardirector @Techn0geist @ARROW404 @Visaru @Snelly

IC: Celrys (His office, Tajun) Celrys' blue eyes burned even brighter, curiosity now entangled with what appeared to be nothing short of awe. "My word," he muttered. "You're something special, aren't you?" He cleared his throat, and spoke gently: "Take that helmet off, let me get a proper look at you." Once Del had done as he asked, the lens autonomously slid into place over Celrys' eye, extending into a telescopic scope. Wheels clicked and whirred until at last they seemed to settle, and the artificer steepled his hands on his desk. His expression had become something studious, serious, though his visible eye was no less intense. After a moment's silence, he relaxed and smiled. "Celrys me," he announced, beaming. "Though I'm afraid I must disappoint you: I'm quite certain I'm not your father. I suspect that message you're reciting is a little garbled, though your directive to find me was thankfully unimpeded." With that, he turned his eye to Skyra. "You were quite correct to bring Del here, Miss Daring; that device in your friend's cranium is definitely my handiwork. If it's the problem, we'll get to the bottom of this in no time. Say, Del – would you be so kind as to turn your head just a smidge? I'd like to get a look at the serial number." OOC: @Techn0geist @Snelly @Morgan Yu

IC: Selamat - Precipere Standing behind Aurax with the rest of the expedition, Selamat bowed wordlessly to the Ash Tribe's apparent leader. It was not worth questioning the implication that they would not be permitted to pass through on their return trip-- evidently, most of his fellows did not plan on making a return trip. He did, but that was a bridge to be crossed when he reached it. He turned away and began studying the construction of the building they occupied, hoping that, permission for passage having been attained, they would not waste further time here. People of the Iron Tribe were very likely dying as they stood here. OOC: @~Xemnas~ @a goose @Nato G @oncertainty IC: Skrall - Approaching Bone Hunter Stronghold Skrall snapped to as Atakus called out their fast-approaching destination. While making sure his visible weapons were visible and his concealed weapons were concealed, he spared a glance to the two younger Skrall in the cart. "Here we go, Skrall. My advice: Don't speak unless spoken to. Don't be afraid to return any stares that come your way, though." As their party neared the mesa, and he completed his self-check, he returned to surveying the sands. Populated did not necessarily mean safe, and the growing intensity of the dunes made for much shorter sight lines. @Skrall

IC: Skrall (The Prison Wagon) "We were a party of six; our leader died first. We initially believed that he was simply going mad – he became confused, unsure of who and where we were, then turned paranoid. We were considering killing him in his sleep – mutiny was a crime, but in this case, it could also be a mercy. He spared us the trouble by never waking up. "We thought he'd been cursed by the people of a nearby village. We took the man we thought responsible as a prisoner; when we returned to Roxtus, he would come with us to answer for his crimes. But then he started talking." Skrall's face betrayed a cold fury, passionless and raw. "Sunstroke. He diagnosed it easily, the moment we mentioned our leader's lack of sweat – as the only named one among us, he had insisted it was due to his mental and physical superiority, the same reasoning by which he refused to rest in the heat of the day or take shelter from the sun. He was Skrall; such weakness was beneath him. "Oh, we didn't believe the prisoner at first, thought it more tricks – after all, what reason did he have to tell the truth? But we favoured the shade and travelled by night from then on, and none of us met our leader's fate. But it wasn't long before the rest of us fell ill, clearly the doing of our bound companion. We were suffering fatigue, dizziness, nausea; one of our number succumbed to delirium and wandered into the desert, convinced he had seen an oasis on the horizon. We found his dessicated body lying in the sand three days later, picked clean by carrion. We were growing weaker by the day, and after another of us died in his sleep, I stated the obvious: we weren't cursed. The prisoner showed the same symptoms as us, and had identified the cause days earlier – much of our water had evaporated in the heat, and with no way of recovering what had been lost, we were rationing it. And we were rationing it too tightly." He heaved a pained sigh, clearly still troubled by the recollection of what came next. "The prisoner had suggestions – cutting into cacti, turning over rocks. Superstition and nonsense. We were Skrall, we knew how to fend for ourselves; we dug down and used the groundwater. Not two days had passed before all three of us who remained were struck down with fever and agony of the stomach; what water we drank, we passed immediately, now saturated with blood. One more scout took his own life rather than endure the pain. We two who remained knew that we were dying, and my comrade blamed the prisoner. Even I could not deny that he was the only one who was not suffering as we did, but rather than kill him as my comrade bade me, I asked him why." Skrall produced a flask of water and took a swig, savouring it. His mouth felt dry from the memories alone. His eyes, which had turned to the middle distance during his tale, fixed themselves again on the fool Skrall. "Tell me, Skrall. Tell me why I lived, and my comrades did not." OOC: @skrall but primarily @Toru Nui