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Year 16

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  • Birthday 07/28/1918

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Turaga

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  1. Chapter XI: DeliriumKodan awoke to the sound of an explosion. Never the best way to regain consciousness, Kodan thought fuzzily, but hardly the worst. He remembered one time when he'd woken up to the sound of Turaga Dume gnashing his teeth. That had been an interesting day...Kodan snapped back to the present and sat up, coughing in the fumes from the explosion. Blinking around blearily, he saw twisted shapes encircling Ihu and himself. Shakily pulling a tablet from his pack, he made a note on his to-do list.. Make friends with twisted shapes so they don't kill us. Inspecting this, he decided it was slightly too optimistic and amended it: so they don't kill us horribly.Malformed hands grabbed Kodan dragged him further from the explosion, which was burning very cheerfully in the dim landscape. Kodan was pleasantly shocked to see the figures were not Makuta. He coughed a few more times as the hands let go and laid him down far from the blaze."Who might you be, fine sirs?" Kodan wheezed. "You saved us from the fire, and we are in your debt forever.""Forever? Forever is a long time. We have been here scores of thousands of years, but even that is not forever," spoke one of the figures hollowly.He felt very light-headed, but Kodan considered that briefly. "All right. Then let's say we're in your debt for about a month and a half." He pushed himself up and stood. Staggering slightly, he waved at the flaming ship. "Don't mind the burning aircraft over there. It explodes pretty often. Nynrah Ghost workmanship. Doesn't seem to hurt it too much."He glanced around again. "So this must be Karzahni, the land of death and destruction and whatnot. Looks really boring. And you guys look terrible. No offense, of course. But I really think somebody gave that guy there a leg instead of an arm and stuck a hand on it so nobody would notice." Kodan realized all the figures were badly repaired Matoran, and made a note not to need repairs in the near future. He decided to try a lighter note. "So... What do you guys do for fun around here?"The deformed Matoran all looked puzzled. "We sometimes go bowling with flaming ice balls."Kodan thought about that. "That sounds rather unpleasant."The Matoran nodded. "It is, but it is visually stimulating.""Never mind, we'll try it some other time," Kodan said. "I'm a little short on that whole time thing right now anyway, since there's a Makuta or three after me. Where's the nearest exit in this blasted place?""There are no exits. There have never been exits," A Matoran intoned.Kodan laughed. "That's ridiculous. If there were no exits, I wouldn't be able to escape. And there's no way I'm staying here.""On the contrary, little creature, you will be here a very long time indeed."Kodan whirled to see the average Matoran's nightmare. A tall, horned, misshapen figure -- Kodan was getting tired of being unexpectedly confronted with twisted figures, but at least the horns were new -- looming over him. Kodan remained unimpressed. He was not the average Matoran. But Karzahni could easily torture him, and considering what he'd done to these other Matoran that would probably be the nicest thing he would do."Hail, Lord Karzahni! I and my companion have travelled far to bring you the news."Karzahni frowned. Curiosity was a sensation he had not felt in many, many years. He found it to be very unpleasant. "What is this news?""The Makuta Bitil is has heard of your... awesome realm and is coming to take it from you. We have come to warn you to evacuate, for he has great and terrible power."Karzahni's eyes glowed brighter. The air around him burned with half-seen nightmare images. All the Matoran, including the unconscious Ihu, cringed as their worst fears warped their perceptions and emotions. Kodan began to understand why Karzahni was the Matoran byword in fear. Kodan guessed he was completely insane. Even the idea of leaving his realm seemed to be driving him berserk. Kodan smiled. He had been counting on that. The more confusion, the more chance he and Ihu would have of escaping.Karzahni's mad eyes glared through the cloud of nightmares surrounding him. "If it is a war this Makuta wants, it is a war he will have."
  2. Chapter VI: ConfrontationAs Kodan fled back through the cave, his mind kept tugging at what had happened. He felt that something about that interview was flawed. Something didn't quite fit. Since he was desperately running for his life from some very angry Rahkshi, it was rather difficult to put his finger on. Whatever it was, it was important. Kodan abruptly stopped.He knew what it was.How could a Nynrah Ghost, the best inventors of the universe, have created a ship that didn't work? If a Ghost made it, it worked. Even the Makuta had accepted this as an unbreakable truth. And if the Ghosts hadn't sabotaged the artificial Bohrok, they would have worked as intended. There was something the Ghost hadn't known, or something he wasn't telling.Kodan needed somewhere to think. He needed to reconstruct what the Fe-Matoran was actually thinking, and why. And if the Rahkshi were still chasing him, this was not the best place to do it.Kodan lay down on the floor and put his ear against the ground. Sure enough, he could hear the Rahkshi charging up the tunnel after him. In his many years as Chronicler he had developed his senses, and more importantly his analysis, to an acute degree. He had become shocked at the things many Matoran, and that he had never noticed before his self-training. It was why he spent so much time documenting apparently unimportant events. It was (unfortunately) why almost no one read his Chronicles, for they failed to dig deeply enough to understand the significance. It was also why he could hear Something deeper than the armored tread of the Rahkshi. He focused on it, trying to ignore the merely lethal threat of the Rahkshi. There was an unearthliness about it. He had never heard anything so. . . arrhythmic.It irritated him to listen to it. In spite of -- and yet because of -- its strangeness, he wanted to ignore it and think only of the Rahkshi. The predictable rhythym of their footsteps was soothing by comparison. More bursts of sound grated on his mind. Nothing should ever have sounded that way. Now and then there was a single sound (a step? a jump? a fall? Kodan couldn't tell), falling like a single drop into the silence. But then there were four and an quarter sounds without predictable halts between each sound. Kodan wasn't even sure what a quarter of a sound was, but he'd definitely heard it. He estimated it was still quite far away. He had some time to plan.Kodan stood up. Ah, Kodan thought, this sudden cessation of sound is supremely soothing. Then he slapped himself. Now was hardly the time for alliteration. He picked up his remaining disks and calmed himself, closing his eyes and meditating briefly. Which made it all the more embarrassing when he screamed.He'd just heard the last three-quarters of the earlier sound in the darkness just outside of his light.And the Rahkshi were coming from behind.Kodan frantically rummaged through his remaining discs. And something appeared in front of him with that sound; a dull, low, concussive sound. Before Kodan could focus his eyes on it, it blinked out again. He scrabbled in his pack, looking for --A twisted shape blinked into existence and stood, swaying slightly. It was tall, hunched over to fit inside the small tunnel. The darkness seemed to curl around it grovelingly, as a Rahi to a cruel but indisputable master. Red eyes blazed at Kodan through the spreading shadows.As a few seconds passed and Kodan did not die a horrible death, he relaxed a little. His hand was still in his satchel. But he loosened up enough to notice the way the Makuta was favoring his left leg, as well as the greenish vapor leaking from several dents and rents in his plating."Consider, the Chronicler joins the fray,” the Makuta carked. He stared at the Matoran fixedly. His mouth opened as if to form another word, but Kodan couldn't hear anything. He was fascinated. Maybe, Kodan thought, it was –“Consider.”Kodan whipped around to see the Makuta behind him. He flipped back again, but the first figure was still there. Was he teleporting? Kodan backed up against the wall so he could see both out of the corners of his eyes. There was definitely a figure on either side of him simultaneously. Illusions then?“The Chronicler has arrived.” Kodan focused on the second Makuta. It stared back at him motionlessly. Both waved off the oncoming Rahkshi, who faded back into the shadows.No, it probably wasn't an illusion. Every aspect was much too detailed. Illusions are geared towards the unsuspecting, and generally cannot stand intense scrutiny. Kodan knew this level of detail would be difficult for even a Makuta to produce. He looked around, inspecting the mask on both of the Makuta. They were identical.Only Kodan would have recognized the Mask of Time Duplication for what it was. Very few even knew the rumors of its existence. Of course, there was a reason for that. Every one of those rumors had originally begun in Kodan's Chronicles, which none but a few very discerning scholars (in Kodan's very humble opinion) read.“Uh. Hello.” Kodan said. “Makuta Bitil, I presume?”One Makuta cocked its head. The other turned slightly. “You know our name?” said the first. “You know our face?” asked the second. Both smiled. “The other Matoran was right. If you know the past, you can know the future.”“Who? The Fe Matoran?” Kodan asked. “Why would he say that? He didn't even really know me.”“No,” said the first. “Not the Ghost,” said the other. “Ihu, it calls itself.” They looked at each other. “The seer. The prophet.”Kodan felt a surge of hope. Calls, they had said. Present tense. Was Ihu still alive? He hid his burst of elation. “But the Ghost said Ihu was dead.”“Illusions are powerful things.”“And though it was not our primary objective...”“... it was both necessary and enjoyable to prevent the Ghost from informing Metru Nui of the Brotherhood's plans.”“We also used him to call you here. It was simple...”“... it was easy to place the idea in his mind.”“Then what is your primary objective? Why are you here? Why did you call me here?” Kodan asked. He began easing his hand out of his bag of disks, masking the movement by shuffling nervously.“All wish to know the future, and you ask why? You are wondering right now what will happen to you.” Both Makuta lunged. “We will show you.” Inches away from his face they disappeared with a deep concussive sound.Kodan let out a breath and walked forward. Time to find Ihu – he must be down here somewhere. The Mask of Time Duplication was Bitil's greatest asset and his only weakness. Bitil never knew when his future self would summon him out of his own time.A hand materialized in front of Kodan and he yelped, throwing his disk defensively. The Makuta deflected it easily with a slight wave of his hand, sending it sailing away into the black. He looked down at Kodan over a new dent in his chest, a gift from future warfare.“Why are all Matoran so foolish?” the Makuta asked. Its voice was rasping and alien, barely understandable. “Even if it had hit me, that low-powered teleportation disk would do nothing. I'd still know where you were. I'd simply teleport back.”“That's true,” Kodan said. He heard that bizarre sound again and turned to see another Bitil, equally dark, equally evil.Both reached for Kodan; one with his left, one with his right. Kodan dodged back against the wall.“Why do you resist?” “Why do you fight it?” croaked both the Makuta. Their voices were different with each new appearance. “You know you will lose.”“Unlike you, I am loyal.” Kodan said with disgust. “I will find my friend, dead or alive.”He stared the original Bitil straight in the eyes. The Makuta blinked one with a twitch, then the other.“If he lives I will save him. But if you have killed him,” Kodan spat, “I will record his death alongside the name of a deceased Makuta.”“So valiant in the face of enslavement. You are more entertaining than the others.” they rumbled, their eyes shining a brighter crimson. “When you know we can crush you with a fraction of our powers. ”“Also true,” Kodan conceded. “But I know a few things you may have forgotten. Did you know, for example, that an Onu-Metru made disk will return to the thrower if it misses?”“It is irrelevant. Nothing you can do will hurt us.” The second sneered in his turn. “Anything you throw against us is useless.”They flickered in and outside of the present briefly. The air was saturated with the mind-breaking thrumming of a mutilated time-stream. They leaped forward as one.“All right then,” Kodan smiled savagely. “I guess it's good I wasn't planning on hitting you.”The disk slammed out of the darkness into Kodan's chest, and he was gone.
  3. Chapter I: Outside the Cave In a valley shaded with rhododendrons, close to the snow line, where a stream milky with meltwater splashed and where dove and linnets flew among the immense pines, lay a cave, half-hidden by the crag above and the stiff heavy leaves that clustered below. It was unfortunate for the idyllic scene that something in the cave exploded with a fair to middling sized boom. The resulting silence was all the heavier for the brief and violent sound. This chronicle does not deal with the philosophical question of a subjective reality*, for someone had heard the sound of the explosion. He had been inside the cave, and at least most of him remained inside still. Even if he is in multiple parts. *I refer, of course, to the classic question every sapient being eventually poses itself: If a cave explodes and nobody hears it, does it make a sound? Kodan paused in his chronicling. He scratched his head and put away his scribing materials. One can transcribe only so much from afar. Eventually the observer must become involved to fully observe. Besides, it was getting dark and he didn't like writing by lightstone or candlelight. He would have to go into the cave. Spelunking (of the explosive variety) was fairly low down on his list of enjoyed activities – right under writing cramp, though it was above being accidentally stepped on – but he was dedicated. He was a professional. Probably that was why he had been picked for the job, for he wasn't particularly skilled at recording events. Often he was in exactly the wrong spot to observe the important events. Turaga Dume once said (with a nasty look on his face) that if Metru Nui ever blew up, he would bet his position that Kodan would be elsewhere, probably recording the daily life of an Ussal crab. But he was going in anyway. It wasn't because he liked chronicling, because he didn't. He did not much care for his own turn of phrase. His handwriting was almost illegible even to himself. But the person in that cave was a friend of his. Or had been. The least he could do would be to transcribe his demise. It was a surprisingly vague situation. Kodan had received a message from his friend about two months ago. Since then, he had been traveling to reach the point specified in the message. But at least he was sure the message was from his friend. Almost sure, Kodan amended to himself. Being strictly honest is an important part of being Chronicler. So say he was mostly certain he was almost sure. It hadn't seemed like a message his friend would have sent, but Kodan hadn't seen his friend for many years. On the flip side, why would anyone else have sent the message? He wasn't really an important person. Very few people ever actually read his chronicles at all. He didn't have a lot of enemies who would set a trap for him. Kodan thought for a second, racking up his past experiences in his mind. No, he decided. There couldn't possibly be more than a couple hundred of enemies. If he narrowed it down to beings with a mortal grudge, it was probably somewhere between a dozen and twenty-six. Not too many. Be that as it may, he had accepted the situation at face value and was climbing down the cliff wall. Reaching the entrance, he paused for awhile. This was not because he was thinking of the best way to fake his own death, though that was something he often wondered about. It was because of the giant, inconsistent tracks of Something that had recently entered the cave. Kodan had quite a lot of experience in reading tracks, or spooring, as the professionals called it. This was not like anything he had seen before. No, that wasn't exactly right. It did remind him of something, but he couldn't think what it was. He wasn't even sure if what it reminded him of was an animal, an idea, a substance... Ah, well, Kodan thought. It's probably not very important anyway. He squared his shoulders (incidentally hurting his back) and strode into the cave, the feeble lightstone he held barely illuminating the ceiling. If it is important, he thought, I'll probably remember. It isn't anything to worry about.After all, what could possibly go wrong in a cave?
  4. Name: What?Theme: Legends of LhiiWord Count: 600Story: Hot Air It was only three days after the arrival of the Toa on Mata Nui. After the initial furor, the Matoran had gone back to work. But they were still keyed up, and Turaga Vakama had been forced to relate all the prophecies concerning the Toa yet again. Having run out of those, he had begun relating some of the Matoran's favorite tales, including several about Lhii, the mythical Matoran lava surfer extraordinaire. Vakama kept speaking, even after an awed silence told him Tahu must have entered the room behind him. The story ended, and the Matoran filed silently from the room. Vakama turned to face Tahu, who, as usual, did not waste any time with niceties. “That story about the Matoran; that was true?” Vakama inclined his head in assent. Tahu pointed to the lava fall about a mile away. “That was the one he went down, and survived?” The fall in question a gigantic thing, spewing many dozen tons of lava every second out of a tunnel in the mountainside. From there the molten rock fell almost a thousand feet to pool up into a lave lake more than a mile across. The radiant heat from it was so strong even Ta-Matoran avoided it when possible. “He did more than survive,” The Turaga said, “He placed a small replica of the Mata Nui stone on an outcropping about halfway down the fall.” (This stone had actually been placed there many years ago by Turaga Nuju's Mask of Telekinesis, at Turaga Vakama's request. It helped make Lhii more real to the Matoran, and furthered the myths meant to honor Toa Lhikan's memory.) The Turaga spoke reverently, thinking of Toa Lhikan, “He was the greatest lava surfer of all time.” Tahu stood, apparently digesting this. He appeared intrigued, but abruptly turned on his heel and started to leave the room. Even Vakama, who had grown used to brusqueness from Tahu, was somewhat startled by this abrupt departure. “Where are you going to so quickly, Toa?” Tahu looked back over his shoulder slightly without slowing down. “If I can't beat a Matoran at surfing, I have no business or chance in a fight against the Makuta. I will be back in an hour, Turaga.” Vakama was shocked. The urge to save Tahu from almost certain death warred with habits he had built over one thousand years of elaborate lying. He struggled with himself to speak the truth, tell Tahu it was merely a falsehood to commemorate Toa Lhikan. But the repercussions of such an admittance choked him. The truth, Vakama told himself, would out. Everything about Metru Nui and how the Matoran truly arrived here on Mata Nui would be revealed. As Tahu's steps faded down the corridor, Vakama finally convinced himself that honesty was the best policy. But by then it was far too late. Horrified, Vakama saw a tiny dot go down the fall. He knew he had doomed the Matoran to an existence beneath Makuta just to continue the perpetration of some relatively unimportant lies. He buried his face in in hands. despairing, cursing the lies the Turaga spoke so glibly. It was a sudden crash that brought the Turaga out of the nightmare he had created for himself. He looked up slowly to see a smoking Mata Nui stone in front of him. He stared wonderingly at Tahu's smoldering back as he walked away. The next day Tahu, passing by the chamber, heard Vakama begin another tale. But this story started differently. “Now listen to the story of Lhii,” Vakama said, “The second-greatest lava surfer of all time...”
  5. I know I'm a bit late; hopefully that's okay.----------------------------------------------------What?595TreasureI can't remember.It hadn't been long since it happened, that was evident. The gun barrel would hardly have been hot if that was the case. But I couldn't recall what had led up to this point, or why I would have shot the woman on the floor.I stared at her body. She was clearly dead; no one could sustain that kind of head trauma and survive. I was numbed by the shock of it. All I could feel was the gun, comfortably warm in my left hand.I shook my head, trying to prompt my memory and stop staring at the dead woman. That was when I saw the other corpses. All twenty-eight of them.I turned around, taking stock of my situation. I was the only one left standing from whatever had happened here. Most had been shot, but some had been killed with other implements or simply beaten to death. And every corpse was still warm. Had I done this?“Fascinating,” said a voice from behind me.I spun quickly, with my gun hand swinging up if its own accord. A large man stood in the doorway, with his face just slightly in shadow.“Who are you? Where am I?” I said.“We've already been over that subject quite a few times. That was the twenty-ninth time, in fact. You really can't remember, can you? The artifact must affect the user's memory when activated.” He glanced around the room. “It certainly affects your survival ability.”As he spoke, I began to recall certain events. I had been chasing rumors of a long-lost treasure of powerful and ancient potential. Those rumors had led me here –“And that was when you saw there were others besides you who were making a bid for it,” smiled my visitor. He saw the expression on my face and laughed. “It's not that I can read your mind. I've merely seen you go through this many times, so I have a good idea of what you'll say next. It always runs along the lines of 'What is hap --'”“What is happening to me?” I demanded. I was fast losing patience with this wordy figure in the shadows. I stepped forward and grabbed his jacket, jamming my gun at his head.He seemed to lose a trifle of his calm. “What is happening is that you got to the artifact first without understanding what it was. It grants the ultimate power: Survival. Mostly that manifests in superhuman abilities of self-defense when threatened. It is also apparently impossible to take the artifact from you by force. Hence the bodies,” he said, with a wave of his hand. “Though it's within my reach right now, I think I'll pass on that opportunity. It's that necklace you're wearing. Not much to look at, eh?”It was not. It was a very plain piece of jewelry. I would have doubted this far-fetched story, but I was remembering more. I still did not remember killing anyone, though. I mentioned this.“Ah, I don't know about that. Perhaps it takes care of your mind as well as your body. Perhaps your mind would have been twisted out of shape by so much killing, so it granted you selective amnesia. It didn't shield me, but that's okay; my mind's a bit bent already.” He grinned a little madly.I let him go, overwhelmed by all this. I started to walk away.“I will find you,” he called after me. “And I will find a way to make that necklace mine.”
  6. What?Visions503Takutanuva arose, a gigantic figure with contradictory powers and passions. He held the powers of life and of shadow, of light and of death. But he was enlightened; he knew and accepted the greater good over his own personal ambition. And he knew the future. With his enhanced mind, he could see the future laid out before it with disturbing precision. The Takua part of him perceived it as a factory layout; piece after piece added down the production line of time. Most parts were insignificant in themselves and yet required for the larger and less subtle adjustments to the different futures.One was a universe of darkness, of Makuta-worshipping Matoran haunted by Rakshi and more terrible, though frequently less substantial, creatures. He saw how this would come to be. It was revolting; a travesty of everything as it should be. And once this state was achieved, it would be irreversible. Every day would be a step deeper in the descent into darkness.The other future began similarly, and even near its fulfillment it appeared that evil had triumphed. Takutanuva saw Makuta, that dark side of himself, conquer the Matoran universe. There was no hope in the future. Unless--Takutanuva knew his minds, none better. With his myriad of powers, he could manipulate them slightly as well. He planted a thought deep inside the Makuta section of himself: rather than simply destroying Mata Nui as previously planned, Makuta would instead place his spirit inside the Mask of Life.Of such small decisions are futures made.Takutanuva performed this devious operation on his own mind, even while lifting the stone to grant the Matoran access to Metru Nui. He knew that such an unstable being as himself could not last for more than a short time. He was composed of powers, characters, and convictions so opposed that he could almost feel the pull to be separated even now. But it was imperative he be successful, or the world would be dropped into shadow eternal.The rock was lifted; the Matoran and Toa Nuva flooded through the gap. Takutanuva felt himself bending, fading, breaking apart. He had mere seconds left.With a desperate, delicate twist, he completed the self-psycho-surgery, and the gate fell.As the Matoran and Toa Nuva gathered in the other side of the barrier, wondering at the new land opening before them, Makuta felt himself regaining consciousness. He knew he had been... different... while under the control of the Mask of Light and Takanuva's personality, but none of that remained in his own personality, and only vague memories. He knew that he had considered the option to work towards a begtter universe, or towards his own ideal. He felt all the horror and tyranny of his own plan rise up in him.Makuta gauged his emotional reaction to this. He felt nothing but... blackness. So he knew he as evil as he had always been.And Makuta smiled. How delightful my dark future will be, he thought.Nothing can stop me now.
  7. Ever since my role was given to me, everything has become amazingly clear. So many inexplicable (and unexplained) events are now understandable viewed in the light of this information.I often spend my nights awake, frenetically drawing pictorial explanations of why frogs have no ears, why the third man in line at the store NEVER LOOKED AT ME. Not even once. Is that normal? What did he mean by it? WHY DID IT HAPPEN?But I digress. I used to think these pastimes of mine were unreasonable, but now I know better. In short, I was informed several days ago that I am the LUNATIC.I'm sure most of you are too sophisticated to believe this at face value, and with good reason. Since by game rules I am forced to render some player slightly deader than used bubblegum every round, I will.My apologies in advance. Not my choice, of course.To prove to the skeptics that I am what I say, I will kill the next player who posts after this.Cheers!Edit: By the way, I am perfectly willing to work for a side, since there's no way I can win on my own. In considering me for your side, keep in mind I am a hard worker and willing to do what it takes to succeed. Thanks!
  8. That's me. Always fashionably late. http://www.bzpower.com/board/public/style_emoticons/default/cool.pngDidn't mean to make trouble for you, Burn. Hope exploding doesn't hurt too much.
  9. I know I'm a little late, but maybe you could find room for a forty-first role?
  10. Hanging By A Thread ----It was probably about the third time he had scraped himself off the forest floor that Maloc fully understood how bad this day was turning out. He dragged his body up from the ground, feeling more like a kettle boiling over than anything biomechanical. He stared at the hungry animal opposite him with annoyance. Just once, he wanted to face an opponent of his own strength.----The Rahi reared up on its hindmost legs to bring its forefeet lancing at Maloc's face. Maloc dodged, and the beast's talon lodged itself into the tree behind him. He was sprinting forward to trip the unbalanced beast—a long shot, but he would take what he was dealt-- when it brought the tree down on top of him. Maloc lay there for a moment, enjoying his brief respite from the battle. Then a claw latched around his throat and ripped him up through the fallen treetop to dangle just under its mouth. It cocked its head around to bring him in range of all four of its eyes. Maloc had been exasperated with it before, but that was before it opened its mouth. Now, Maloc thought, This is just getting disgusting. Aloud, he said, “I nickname you Salivator.” The creature cocked its head as if puzzled. Probably it was just trying to figure out how to swallow him, but it looked at least as intelligent as some Matoran he had met. And Maloc decided any being who is about to be eaten is entitled to a fantasy or two. So he explained. “I'll start at the beginning, since you seem confused. That stuff dripping from your jaws like you are trying to start your own personal river is called saliva, and—Wait a minute, let me finish!”----Sometimes being a hero is more glamorous than other times. Or so Maloc supposed. He had never experienced any of the normal heroic adventures. “Maybe it's just that nobody talks about the times they get stuffed down the slimy maw of a whatchamacallit.” Maloc muttered, as said S.M. of the W.C.M.C.I. gaped open to receive him. The claw holding him tossed him inside. Maloc flipped in midair, rolling himself between the long rows of teeth as they slammed together with enough force to hurt his ears. He felt himself getting one of his throbbing headaches, usually brought on by monsters, Matoran uprisings, and/or bad weather. Sighing, he slipped slightly down the mouth, holding on to the teeth as the creature swung its head sideways to dislodge him. Near the back of the tongue he started groping downwards with his foot until he found the throat. “It'll take me weeks to feel clean after this, but ultimately this will hurt you more than it hurts me. I hope,” Maloc gritted, and jammed his leg down the creature's throat. He gritted his teeth, bracing himself against the back molars. “This is why you should always chew a hundred times before swallowing.”----For several seconds the beast stood completely still. Slowly it opened and closed its mouth. Maloc couldn't tell whether it was trying to breathe or chew; either way, he didn't feel like cooperating. He watched as the mouth shut and his universe was limited to throat, teeth and tongue, lit by the dim saffron glow of his heartlight. Maloc gagged, “So they were right. It is a small world after all.” He tried to find a slightly more comfortable position, but he reflected it was often difficult to be comfortable in something else's mouth, with a foot down its throat and dirk-sized teeth inches from one's face.Then the creature went berserk.----Maloc felt the acceleration as the animal's long neck whipped down and around toward ground level. There was a powerful shock as its head smashed through a tree that nearly knocked Maloc loose. The swings became wider and faster as the beast's freneticy grew. Its mouth was wide open now as it struggled to breathe, and Maloc was showered with shards of wood and stone as he was rocked from side to side by the concussions. He felt himself slipping up the throat, losing his hold on the slimy molars. But at the rate the beast was using oxygen, Maloc knew its consciousness would slip away before his grip did. And so it came to pass.----A shaken and barely recognizable figure crawled out on its hands and knees several minutes later, completely covered in filth. Collapsing under a tree, he stared blearily up, straight into the eyes of a small bird. The bird looked from Maloc to the sleeping monster, then at the surrounding destruction. Maloc looked up at the bird and shrugged. “Everybody needs a hobby,” he said, and coughed.----Maloc rested up for a minute before actually solving the problem. The beast was unconscious, but it remained inside the defensive parameters he constantly patrolled around the village. It was not acceptable to let this sleeping Rahi lie. When it awoke it would still be a danger to the Matoran under his care.----He began to concentrate and felt the rush of power fill him as it always did when he tapped his elemental and mask energies. He felt the normally iron grip of gravity shift and slip, becoming a thing less than negligible. He slowly fell several hundred feet up before halting himself with the smallest possible manipulation in the bending of the space-time continuum. Focusing entirely on the energy saturating him, Maloc sent himself down with a slight crook of a finger until he was back beside the monster. Without letting up on his control Maloc closed his eyes. He could feel the touch of the various masses surrounding him, the minuscule twists and turns they induced in the gravity well. He saw the fabric of the universe bent and dented by the matter residing in it. He tasted the velocity of the moving substances around him on his tongue; slow-moving sour objects, quicker ones with a saltiness to them, and those stationary with respect to himself leaving a sweetness on his tongue. He throttled down the potential energy trying to find an outlet through him into the physical world. It felt unnatural and wrong. It washed against him in waves like water against a dam as he pulled it back. It fought him, it begged him like a thing alive. It showed him how easy it would be to use. It was clear how finally it would end the endangering beast, how how it would only take a flick of the wrist. It begged him. “But Toa don't kill.” Maloc thought defiantly. The more he smothered it the more frustrated he became, until he crushed it down to a trickle. With a yell he released it into the beast, skewing its gravity away from the perpendicular until its whole world was downhill. Still struggling against the waning tide of power, he watched the beast crash “down,” bouncing away through the forest. After the way it had smashed all those trees--with its head--it he knew it would be fine, if a bit battered. Then, shutting down the power, he he lost his grip on consciousness and fainted.----He awoke with a gasp, which was his usual reaction to someone throwing cold water in his face while he was asleep. Squinting, he saw a group of three Matoran lounging around him, one with a dripping bucket and the others doubled up with laughter. “So, if it isn't Obnoxious, Dumb, and Not-as-funny-as-he-thinks-he-is. Frankly, I frequently have trouble telling you guys apart. Which of you is Dumb today?” he inquired. This drew another loud “Huh, huh, huh,” laugh from the middle figure until another elbowed him. “Hey, the great hero just insulted us. That ain't funny.”----Maloc climbed to his feet stiffly. His bout with power had left him drained mentally, but he shook his finger at them. “No elbowing Dumb in the stomach. Just do your obnoxious thing, whatever it is, so I can be on my way. Unless you have an actual concern about the safety of the village you need to share with me?”----“Yep, we got a concern. There's this monster inside 'the perimeter,' (at which phrase two of them collapsed in a seizure of brayed giggles) and we're afraid he'll kill everyone with his horrible stench. Save us, O great and stinky hero!” Unable to contain himself from his enjoying his own hilarity another second he leaned against the other two, laughing hysterically.----Maloc walked away shaking his head. If they were more intelligent it would be fun to spar with them. As it was, sparring with them reminded him of catching starfish. Too easy to be fun, and the starfish doesn't know when it's been caught.----“O wonderfully beslimed one, you have saved us from these evil trees, which we thankfully see you have destroyed with great courage!”----“Just don't go past the boundary, okay? If you make me come after you, I'm going to be extremely annoyed.”----The leader smirked, “And we wouldn't like you when you're angry, right? Hahaha! Don't worry about us; nobody likes you anyway.”Maloc became disturbingly conscious of the power surging in himself and his Mask of Gravity, indivisible from each other and exponentially more powerful than either alone. The memory of his potent and recurring nightmare of what would happen if lost control sprinted through his mind. A pulverized countryside filled with dead Matoran and Rahi; some having fallen for miles before hitting a cliff or a tree, some mere shattered husks crushed unrecognizably at the bottom of craters they had blasted with their own massive acceleration; and others completely gone, lost in the incomprehensible vastness of space. He fought the emotion of the memory of the dream, and leaned against a tree until he mastered the feeling. Anything that weakened his control was incredibly more dangerous than all of the dozen or so Rahi he'd fought recently. He shivered and felt the inconspicuous ripples in gravity shift. So easy to feel, so interesting, so tempting to enhance and twist... he shook it off. “Well,” Maloc said, “I daresay you'd like me even less.”----Maloc left the guffawing Matoran and traipsed back to the village, stopping in the brook to rinse the worst of the filth off himself so he would be semi-presentable for his biannual meeting with the village council. Dunking his head under the surface of the stream, he rinsed his mouth and spat. “There's nothing more fun than subduing a crowd of perpetually disgruntled Matoran with nothing but my innate air of authority. Unfortunately I believe I left it at home this morning.”----An hour later he was sitting with his head in his hands, listening to the drone of the Chairman. He was just becoming comfortably drowsy as the Chairman ended by raising a vote on sending an expedition outside the boundary. That snapped Maloc's head up in record time. “Absolutely not.”----“You are allowed to vote as you will, Citizen Maloc. All in favor?” All hands but Maloc's shot up, and the Chairman smirked, “You are outvoted, Citizen.”----Maloc stood, feeling his headache coming back. “I forbid it.”----“Much as you value your own opinion, you are in no place to forbid anything. The motion has been carried.”----Maloc closed his eyes and felt a trickle of anger. The power in him welled up toward this chink in his armor. Matoran squeaked as the chairs slid in Maloc's direction and the Chairman's podium overturned. Maloc conquered the emotion. “This council ranks as one of the worst ideas I've ever had. Some people, you give them a position, and they start to think every fool notion they get is worth considering.”----The Chairman sputtered, “We are the legitimate government of this village, and you are not above the law.”----“You are a puppet government installed by me as a way to keep you all out of trouble, and I AM the law. I was perfectly happy with you until you obtained delusions of grandeur from who knows where. You have apparently forgotten I cannot guarantee your safety outside of the boundary I patrol. My job is to protect you, and I don't care half—no, a quarter--a broken rock whether you like it or not.”----“And what can you protect us from, exactly? Your powers apparently consist of scaring us by moving chairs a couple feet.” the Chairman said contemptuously. “What have you ever saved us from? There've been no incidents in the history of the village, which is lucky for us. You only come here twice a year anyway. The rest of the time you're 'patrolling.' How would you save us from a hungry Rahi, with your bare hands? Or would it be by pulling their chair out from under them?”----“Well, since you bring it up, it was a sixty-feet tall multi-legged creature with four eyes. And I know it's quibbling, but actually I used my foot. Not my my hands. And I can't stay here between patrols. I'm too dangerous.”----“Yeah, right. We've had enough of you warning us about nebulous dangers 'outside the boundary.' We're going to see what's out there ourselves.”----“Show's over, folks. Everybody outside. My rules still apply, but any ridiculous rules made by this council are negated.” Maloc said, shepherding the Matoran through the door. “As for the boundary, anyone who jeopardizes their own safety by crossing it is answerable to me. Violators will be prosecuted to the full extent of my law.”----Having seen the last of the muttering Matoran out, he returned to the meeting house and sat down on the overturned podium and started to lecture a toppled chair. “The problem with these folks is that they're bored out of their minds. That council idea kept them quiet for a century or so, but I'm starting to run out of ideas. I've often been tempted to let a fairly large animal rampage a bit just to get their adrenalin pumping, but I can't risk it. If only we weren't 400 miles from nowhere, maybe could find them something to do. Technically closer to 500.”----He had given much thought about new ways to occupy the Matoran without endangering them. He had plenty of ideas, but he had been forced to discard one after the other as too dangerous, impossible, or too boring even for people who thought petty politics were interesting. Mild despair started to settle on him like a cloud. He noticed the building creaking from this gravitational manifestation of his personal cloud, so he left before it could collapse. “Though at least rebuilding it would give them something to do.”----Maloc was done. He had enough of smothering his emotions and dealing with fools. He set off through the forest towards his jumping off place, a blasted little circle filled with improbabilities: here a few trees growing sideways, there a large boulder balanced under an overhang. Maloc picked up a stone and tossed it into the jump zone. It described a graceful parabola until it entered the circle, where it bobbled back and forth in the air before finally bouncing back to land at his feet. Maloc wasn't worried about the shifting gravitational fields; he had a certain amount of natural immunity. Positioning himself in the center, he concentrated. If he did it just right, he wouldn't need any in-flight course corrections. Straining to select only the necessary power, he saw all the trees bending towards him.----Then he jumped.----It was a lucky jump; he only had to search slightly for his home at the end. That was pretty good, considering home was just a Toa canister floating in the ocean, and that he'd covered 250 miles in about a minute. He looked at the sun, estimating the time. Good; he'd just made it back in time for his monthly rendezvous with Tana. The only reason he met with her so often—comparatively often—was because he couldn't endanger her so easily as a Matoran. Since she was a Toa of Water with a Mask of Water Breathing, his accidentally increasing her gravity was no problem; she just sank down slightly until he fixed the problem. If he decreased her gravity, she could use the water to help hold herself down. Even so, once a month was all they would risk. They both had villages to defend, and that was no cakewalk in this neck of the woods. He settled in to wait.----Three hours later he was still waiting and very disturbed. It was impossible for Tana to have forgotten the time or date, and she had never been this late in all the two hundred years they had been meeting. Something must be very wrong. Maloc was also becoming uncomfortable about the safety of his own village. But first he would check on the Tana and her village. Very likely they needed help. “Probably not looking for help from me, but they'll have to take what they can get. Hopefully I won't destroy anything too valuable.” Maloc thought as he readied himself for another jump. The waves rippled into towering crests far above his head. They started to crash down right before he......Jumped.----He was unaccustomed to jumping to Toa Tana's village, so he had to jump several more times before actually reaching it. More specifcally, what was left of it. Even more specifically, where it had been. Because absolutely nothing was left.----Maloc was enraged. Long practice kept most of the power inside him, barely. The ground shivered as he walked, inspecting the circumference of the perfectly circular hole in the ground where Tana's village used to be. Whatever had done this had done it very precisely; the edges of the hole were smooth, and it was just deep enough to have destroyed or taken the foundations of the houses.----Maloc was scared. Something had wiped an entire village from the face of the earth, and nothing guaranteed the same thing was not happening to his own village right now. He jumped without delay or finesse, leaving behind a gravitic mess that would take weeks to sort itself out. Speed was the name of the game. He covered the more than four hundred kios back in just under two minutes.----He was just in time to see his village swallowed by a giant portal. And a stranger looking on in silence.----Maloc was not in a charitable mood. He screamed as he altered his fall toward the Toa-like figure. It looked around in time to receive both of Maloc's feet square in the teeth.----When the dust cleared, Maloc was standing at one end of a long furrow with the stranger standing at the other. He shouldn't have been standing; Maloc had landed on him so hard he had almost broken his legs. It looked like a Toa except its organics bulged strangely up and around its armor, sometimes covering it completely. But it had a mask that Maloc recognized as the Mask of Dimensional Gates, and the figure was about the right size and build for a Toa. Maloc spoke, “I have three questions for you. First, where is my village? Second, what are you? And third, how easy are you to kill?”----The figure quivered and its mouth twitched. Maloc almost let loose before he realized it wasn't laughing; it looked more like the UnToa couldn't bear to keep still.----“Your village is my village now, pathetic one. There is no name for what I am, for I am the first of my kind. Once I was a Toa; it seems so long ago. I have moved on to much better things. And I am impossible to kill.”----Maloc could feel the emotions inside him pulsing for control. “Well, pal, you had better hope you're not immortal, because I've only been thinking for a couple seconds and I already have some very interesting eternities planned out if you don't give my friends back. Right now.”----“You have already ambushed me with your best shot and failed. Why do you persevere? But if you wish it, I will delay taking you out of this wo--”----The UnToa was interrupted by Maloc introducing his face to a face of a cliff. He disappeared far inside it, leaving only a small UnToa shaped hole.----“You,” Maloc said, “Talk too much. Much too much.” He closed his eyes and felt the UnToa thrashing inside the solid rock. Maloc was shocked by the sheer vitality of the Thing. It was more alive than anyone had a right to be. Suddenly it exploded out through the stone, heading straight for Maloc with improbable speed. Maloc jumped slightly too late; the Creature leaped up to intercept him, grabbing his leg and clambering up to his neck. It was only a second after the jump and three hundred feet higher that Maloc blasted the UnToa off himself just before it began to worry his throat like an animal. Maloc ended up headed toward ground level with the Thing rocketing upward. Maloc touched ground lightly, and jumped straight up to pursue It.----Maloc allowed the Creature to get to about forty thousand feet before he throttled back on its acceleration. “I could happily do this for a thousand years or so before moving on to one of my more creative pastimes. How about it?” The Creature grated, “I have a purpose for these 'friends' of yours. I will kill them and eat their lifeforce.” It pulled out a mask. Maloc couldn't tell from whence it came. “You see this mask? It is called the Mask of Scavenging.” Its mouth snapped into a grimace. Maloc let out the last remaining shards of his self control and poured his power into the Creature. It fell remarkably fast. Maloc followed at a more leisurely, less lethal pace.----A thousand years was unnecssary. Maloc only had to repeat the process fifty-three times to get results.----The UnToa was stirring feebly but frenetically among the rubble at the bottom of the most recent of the many overlapping craters now covering where Maloc's village had been. Early on, Maloc had been careless in searching for the Creature at the bottom of a crater and lost a couple fingers off his left hand for it. But with the exhilaration of battle, Maloc felt he was just getting started.----The Creature had had enough. It was extremely hard to kill, but Maloc had supplied great pain in large quantities. It felt a need to return to its lair and feed on some recently deceased villagers, or perhaps that Toa of Water he had just picked up. The UnToa readied himself for the trip.----Maloc observed the UnToa squirming in the crater with complacence, as he had the fifty-two times previous. He became alert when he saw a flicker of light. Coming closer, he saw it was coming from an open portal that the UnToa was crawling through. Maloc gathered his strength and jumped through the closing portal right behind the Creature.----Maloc looked around. It was a barren dimension, fit only for sand, decaying huts, and monsters. “Sand, check. Decaying huts, check,” Maloc muttered. “Monster...?” He turned around to see the Creature shambling towards one of the groups of houses which Maloc recognized with a thrill as Tana's village. He followed close behind the oblivious Thing.----It opened a door and was met with a blast of water from within that drove It back. But the Creature was making headway against the stream before Maloc pulled its mask off its face and kicked It over the horizon. The gravitational shockwaves knocked over all the huts and houses left standing.----Toa Tana stood up from beneath the rubble. “Maloc? When did you get here? We thought... whatever it was... had missed you. Are you alright? What happened to your hand?”----Maloc shrugged, “Yep. Just now. Yeah, I'm fine. Never mind my hand.” He paused for a second. “I'm fairly certain I missed a question in there somewhere...”----Tana smiled. “Doesn't matter. I'll ask you later. First, how do we get out of this place?” Her eyes went to the Mask of Dimensional Gates in Maloc's right hand. “Ah, I see.”----Maloc held it out. “If you would care to do the honors, I would be happy to be the rearguard. I've taken a positive disliking to It, and if It wants another beating there isn't anything I'd rather do.”----As Tana held the gate open for the scurrying Matoran, Maloc kept watch. As the last few Matoran were exiting the barren wasteland he saw The UnToa charging frantically towards their portal. Maloc waved and shouted, “Have fun with immortality!” and walked through the gate with Tana.Five days later, Maloc was ruefully surveying the combined village under construction. “Y'know, when I was trying to find out what was wrong, I hoped I wouldn't break anything too important. Turns out, I actually broke everything important. Maybe if I hadn't kicked It quite so hard...”----Tana laughed. “Yes, next time you save everyone's lives, make sure there's no collateral damage.”----Maloc watched some of the Matoran from his village working near him. Though they still didn't like him and he wasn't exactly their biggest fan, at least they weren't as annoying as they were pre-Creature. They were willing to tolerate him now.----“Well, at least it keeps them busy.” Maloc resignedly.----Tana's eye twinkled. “Come on, I've known you long enough. Just admit it: you're happy.”----Maloc almost smiled, and several nearby Matoran straightened up under abruptly lighter loads. “Can't complain.” he conceded.
  11. Voted for the snake. A very nice bit of work. Much more polished than Behemoth, which frankly isn't finished. I'm still working on/drastically revising it. In fact, I think I'll go work on that right now.
  12. Heh, thanks. I figured I could either build spider or a mantis, but I never thought of combining them. KUTGW :)

  13. even though your mantis entry doesn't have any functions (in response to your post in BBC voting), it still blows mine out of the water :P

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