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Death of the Endless

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Year 14

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  • Gender
    Not Telling
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    My Realm
  • Interests
    Books: Bartimaeus Trilogy, Harry Potter, Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell, anything by Neil Gaiman. Fantasy genre.
    Movies: LOTR, Star Wars.
    Television: A:TLA, Adventure Time, My Little Pony, Transformers: Prime, and sometimes Regular Show.

    (Previously Toa Alaka)

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  1. Do you mean here on BZPower, here on this topic, here where I'm sitting, or here in existence? I'm pretty sure I know why for all of these. TPBM doesn't like food-related jokes in Bionicle comedies.
  2. IC: Tawara, Ta-Koro Bar The door creaked as Tawara pushed it open and slid inside the tavern. Her hood down and her bow slung over her back, she began to approach the bar. And there they were, among the crowd. Jikal and... that other one. Tuara, that was her name. Talking. Tawara almost walked up to them, almost greeted them and asked what they were speaking of. Almost, but not quite. Instead, she sunk back into the shadows, a small, dark figure standing in the corner of the room.
  3. Unfortunately, the wings come at the price of having your mind broken and becoming a servant of the Makuta.
  4. I got Kohrak Va long before I was ever interested in Bionicle, and as a result he languished in a Ziploc bag for many years before I finally found him again.
  5. Granted, you are so awesome that you become disillusioned with the rest of the not-as-awesome world and live the rest of your life in bitterness and sorrow. I wish for a Rarity figurine.
  6. WEAVER, SEEKER, AND SPARK I. There is a jungle which cannot be reached by any ordinary road, and at the center of that jungle, there is a spiderweb. The spider is old and fat, and her carapace is black and shiny as polished obsidian. She works ceaselessly, tirelessly, though she is nearly blind, and with each new thread added the world changes a little: a flame springs up, or a child hugs his new toy close, or a fruit fly shudders and dies. Sometimes, a wind will blow part of the web away, and as the spider’s work is sundered, universes are lost to darkness. II. When the Serpent awoke in darkness, it made the Light. The Light burned. III. The first arrive at nightfall, riding over the mountains, along the river, and up the hill to the citadel. The rain beats a steady rhythm on their backs. It soaks through their clothes, and so saturated the clothes betray their function and let in the cold till their owners’ bones feel like ice. The travelers can barely see in the storm, but they keep going. They must. They are surer of this than anything, though if you asked them why, they would not be able to answer. When they arrive at the gate, the bravest steps forth, grasps the brass knocker, and raps the door three times. It opens slowly, and the travelers enter. Drenched with rain and sorrow, they proceed timidly through the hall. It is wide and brightly lit, lined with towering columns and intricately carved arches. And it is here that they first begin to remember. The corridor leads to a banquet hall, a room more vast than any you have seen, and the tables are piled high with every delicacy imaginable. There are dishes there from every place in the world, along with some from places that are not on any map. The guests are still a little afraid, but there is no one else in the room, and their mouths water at the sight of so much food. They eagerly begin to eat. And the place seems yet more familiar to them, though they cannot locate it in any memory. It is not long before more guests arrive, leaving their horses, their bicycles, their rusted pickups and old, battered cars by the gate and taking seats in the dining hall. Hundreds arrive, no, thousands, or perhaps even more. It is now, with familiar faces before them, that the travelers remember the place. Friends sit together and partake of fruit, salads, pasta, spiced rolls, and piles of steaming meat. Many guests eat with what could almost be described as ferocity, shoveling massive quantities of food into their mouths and barely noticing their companions’ words. Others are far more hungry for conversation than they are for bread, and listen eagerly to everything said to them. But all are happy, happy in a way that you or I can barely comprehend. The musicians among the crowd find their instruments waiting for them, and begin to play a tune for their fellows. There are kisses exchanged, and dances danced, and smiles smiled. Old friends sit before the roaring fire on the hearth and relate familiar tales. Yet, sooner than any of the guests would have liked, the first coral rays of the morning sun peek over the horizon. Reluctantly, the travelers proceed through the hall and out of the gate. They saddle up their horses, get into their cars and ride off over the mountains. And when they wake, it is to a world that is far less kind to them—a gray, uncaring world. A place where there are no friends to greet them, where evil goes unpunished and good is seldom rewarded. Columns of golden stone are replaced by corrugated metal. Wooded hills are replaced by asphalt streets. Trust and contentment are replaced by perpetual fear. And they remember nothing of the night. NOTE: This is not part of a contest.
  7. Barack doesn't think I'm much of a rapper. Sorry I disappointed you, Mr. President.
  8. Buffy the Vampire Slayer (too mature). Skullduggery Pleasant (no visual media).
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