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Friar Tuck

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A line in the sand.

 

IC: Krell

 

Before me stands a monster, a villan, a murderer, and a friend.

 

His rusted-red form, so alike to mine, is alit from the fiery suns positioned behind him, though his soul is darker than the shadow stopping at my feet. His gaze burns through me, painting me with spcters of our former selves. He batters the stark-white salt flat around us with wave upon wave of thunderous sound, the ear-splitting storm throws sand into the air and shakes the ground for bios around.

 

I didn't notice.

 

To the untrained eye, we could be called Brothers. And he is, my Brother. We are mirror images or each other. Both clad in armor fit for a corpse, both walked a path that drew us in and reshaped us. Both with spirits darker than night.

 

Though twisted, evil, and psychotic, he is still my Brother. He is here to kill me, I make no mistake there. Although, for as long as he wears that infernal mask tainted with darkness, I can't be sure which are his choices or Makuta's. Perhaps I am hoping he's doing this against his will, a soldier following orders, a slave in mind and body to a melevolent force. Hope is something I never had the luxury for.

 

He is here to kill me, though I will kill him first.

 

I hold up my hand, a single gauntleted arm covered in armor exactly like what the monster before me wears. I don't say a word to Ferron, this is my battle. A single step takes me into his shadow, while another brings me closer to the end. A wicked gleam shines off his sword, I'm armed with only my dagger and my mind. He stands above me, a dark omen of my future, I stand below him, a reminder of the past.

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IC: Zieta

 

Zieta awoke again. He body ached, but she could move. She stepped onto the cold hard hospital floor. He legs wobbled but she manages to stay standing.

She scanned to room to see if she could find Quert.

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IC(Quert): Quert was chatting with a few doctors and nurses down the hall, when he heard footsteps coming down the hall. He left the conversation and rounded the corner, stopping short at the sight of Zieta. "Oh no, I don't think so. Get back in your bed!" he ordered, marching up to her, to assist if needed.

WIP

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OOC: FINALLY

 

IC: Ferron

 

Ferron's trained eyes followed Krell as he approached the devilish stranger looming before them, like a phantom of pain and suffering that personified Krell's inner demons. It was as if time itself had slowed down, taunting Ferron with hints of the doubtlessly titanic event that would soon take place.

 

Ferron discreetly triggered his powers, this time spawning a massive hammer, one that he didn't intend on using directly on the stranger, no, he had another idea...

 

OOC: Now we just need Navy Nutter to catch on.

Edited by Geardirector

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Akiri Nuparu Posts:

1. 2. ...

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IC: Zieta

 

"If fine!" she snapped, then quickly softened her exression. "Look" she said "I appreciate what you and your staff have done, really. But its time for me to make my leave now. There's no use clogging up beds for those that need it more" She dropped her head. "I may be battered and bruised but when have I ever not been? I dont have time to relax in bed, and if you knew why you'd let me pass" Zieta looked Quert directly in the eye "I need this" she said, be voice wobbling.

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IC(Quert): Quert gave her a look of surprise. It quickly changed to sterness. "Listen. You just barely recovered from some pretty bad injuries. You need more healing." Quert sighed. "Besides, you can't leave. You're techically under investigation until your friends are released."

WIP

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IC: Kuhrin

 

"The time has come," Kuhrin's voice sounded clearly in the ears of everyone present, like nails carving into a blackboard. "Brother."

 

A vicious smile spread across Kuhrin's pitched face, his eyes flaring with a cruel bloodthirst that needed to be quelled. The rumbling vibrations from a few moments previously had barely subsided when Kuhrin began to sweep them back around the area, the sands around them being caught up in the tornado of white noise. The whirling walls around them formed an arena. "Don't bother trying to escape," his grinding voice curdled in their ears, "making contact with the walls won't exactly do wonders for your hearing."

 

The sand beneath him began to be thrown around violently as well, lifted him a few inches off the ground. "Witness the power Makuta has given me!" He bellowed, opening his arms. Three piercing bolts of immensely high volume sound, not far off the tearing noise that formed the walls, lanced out from his fingertips and headed for each of his three foes.

 

Zuriana was hit first, being the closest. The bolt hit her square in the chest and launched her back, through the wall of the arena and outside, where she suffered a few seconds of total deafness before falling into a dreamless slumber.

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IC: Ferron

 

Ferron dodged the sonic blast... by a hair, he caught a glimpse of Zuriana lying unconscious outside the makeshift arena their foe had created.

Ferron's suspicions had been confirmed, their opponent was a Toa of Sonics, and Ferron remembered the biggest weakness of a De-Toa. His original plan for taking advantage of this, however, took a back-seat to the new opportunity they had been offered.

 

Kuhrin had created a massive wall of pure sound, if they could push him into it...

 

Ferron decided to act like he was oblivious to this, and instead spawned a row of spikes that tore through the sand towards Kuhrin

Edited by Geardirector

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Akiri Nuparu Posts:

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IC: Krell

 

The rust-armed Toa didn't flinch, didn't move, didn't blink as the swirling walls of sand and sound rose up around them. He didn't seem to regiester the ground shaking beneath his boots, nor the buzzing, white noise that filled the area. He was somewhere else, not gone, but not exactly present. And so, it seemed like the sphere of sonics energy and sand would hit him directly.

 

It didn't even come close.

 

Without warning, a tongue of black flames shot out from Krell's body, inveloping the sphere in it's light-sucking heat. Less than asecond later, it disappeared, while the sphere shatter completely as the molten sand was flash-frozen by the Toa of Blackfire's sudden heat absorption. The gleaming splinters hit the ground, only to be swallowed up by the sonic waves pulsing through.

 

It was then, that Krell acted.

 

He sprinted across the sand, his light footsteps leaving molten footprints in their wake, his hands were alit with an aura of dark flames, indentical to the ones burning behind his Kanohi's eyeholes. He was dead-set on his target, the one thing in this world he could call a brother, the one person he hated with passion, the one person he had to kill.

 

Kuhrin.

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IC (Lohkar)

 

"I mean it, Yasurek," Lohkar continued. "Every one o' us except you is either a criminal, a drunkard, or a madman. Or, well," he grinned his usual grin, "all three."

 

His tone became serious again.

 

"But you, Yasurek, you're different. You're an honourable man. An' I can say with total honesty that I trust nobody on this ship more than I trust you. Not even Tellus; not even Hahkes. You may not realise it, mate, but whenever I've needed you, you were there. You've been at my side through thick an' thin. Remember the Blood Kanohi? Even if we only got a copy, we'd never 'ave got even that if it weren't for you. An' every other time, you've always been reliable. Dependable."

 

Lohkar smiled, and it wasn't a roguish grin. It was a smile of friendship, of sincerity.

 

"I feel safe, knowin' you've got my back. An' I'm proud to 'ave you as my Midshipman. Couldn't 'ave asked for a better one."

Edited by Ra's al Ghosthands

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IC: Tivanu

 

Tivanu sat on one of the stone benches that was carved into the side of small stone building. He seemed out of place among all these Po-Matoran. Standing at 8 and a half feet tall he was tall even among skakdi. His purple and white armor stood out among the tan landscape.

 

He glanced up at the sky and saw Kive-Phu circling high overhead.

At least she is enjoying this place.

He simply used his staff to rise up from his seat and he whistled rather loudly. With a quick flurry and a cloud of sand Kive-Phu the Lava Hawk landed on Tivanu's broad shoulders tucking her wings close to her body.

Perhaps we can find some business.

 

OOC: Tivanu is open for interaction

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IC: Tivanu

 

Tivanu simply sighed as he walked towards a building that was made of stone. It looked like a bar of sorts. He did not want to enter but instead he leaned against the side of the building.

Kive-phu still rested on his shoulder. She seemed like she had fallen asleep. He still found it amazing how he had come by this lava hawk and how tame she was.

Some times there are mysteries even the great beings can not answer

 

He watched Po-matoran walk by him. One even looked at him and simply ran off.

Can not blame him for running away. I know if i were a weak and pathetic matoran and i saw me i would run.

 

OOC: Tivanu is open for interaction

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IC: Zieta

 

Zieta looked away from the window and faced Quert. "Im much better now" She said. "I can understand if you wish to question me about the incident"

Normally, Zieta would have lost her temper at someone keeping her prisoner but Quert had done her a favour. She owed him her life.

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IC: Kuhrin

 

With a thud, Kuhrin dropped to the ground and hopped quickly up, the spikes skidding beneath his feet during his brief airtime to be thrown askew by the arena walls. The Toa of sonics landed in a three-point stance, using his free hand to pummel into Ferron's ears with a gesture, an obscenely high-pitched sound to ear-piercingly shrill it was nigh-unbearable.

 

In the meantime, Kuhrin kept absorbing sound from the air around him, which not only prevented him from being crippled by the sheer amount of noise in a battle situation, but also kept his elemental energy levels from being depleted too quickly. It was the bulk of his power he decided was necessary to truly silence Krell for good.

 

Bringing his free hand down hard into the ground with his other, he unleashed a powerful vibration through terrain to meet Krell's rapidly-approaching molten footprints, which threw sand up into the air as it went, all of this intended to disorientate his opponent and to knock him off balance.

Edited by Navy Nutter
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IC: Tellus

 

"It'd be me pleasure," Tellus, said, disappearing into the hold with a grin and a wink. A few minutes later, he reappeared, carrying four bottles. "At first, I was goin' to only bring up two, but then thought of those poor, tempted souls, and grabbed a couple more out o' pity." With a grin, he handed Gunner two of the bottles.

 

"Bottoms up, mate!"

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IC: Tivanu

 

Tivanu approached the center of the village. He could not help but notice how dead the village seemed to be. He looked up at Kive-phu and noticed she seemed restless as well.

Perhaps we should head to our favorite stomping grounds.

With that he turned to the south and began the long trek to Ko-Koro.

If i remember correctly there is a tunnel that leads from Po-koro to Ko-koro. Kive-phu may not like tunnels but she will deal with it.

 

 

OOC: Tivanu to Ko-Koro

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IC: "That would be me," Tera said as she walked into Zieta's room. "Come on."

 

OOH Good quick-timing Tera.

Shut it.

 

IC: Ronah nodded, writing something down. "You first," she said as she pointed to Mayhaka. "Follow me." Ronah opened the door to a smaller room, leaving Texin to guard the others. Even besides him, they were in the middle of Guard headquarters. Trying to escape would not be fruitful.

No such thing as destiny.

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-IC: Araedrex Tenebras, The Firestorm King-
-Nocturne of Ashes-
The zephyr seemed to sigh as it flowed through the desolate street, sending the tattered remains of clothes spiraling into the air, quivering like moths as they solemnly fluttered in the warm night air. The mournful sigh of the wind, at first a solitary sound within the darkened avenue, so sorrowful and troubled, was followed by the pained moaning of creaking wood, shaking off clouds of dust as they stirred from slumber, awakened by the melancholy gust of wind. The avenue of dark gray stone, crumbling and cracking after so many long, hard years of being trodden upon, stirs ever so slightly as the zephyr passes over it, the warm, soothing wind moving from the desolate road to the ruined buildings lining the roadside. What were once houses line this avenue of dereliction, tall and, perhaps at one time proud. The gray walls of stone have fallen inward, crushing the rotting remains of living quarters. A broken locket, the glass cracked and photograph fading, lays beneath a fragment of stone, forgotten and neglected like so many other sentimental possessions, their owners unable to mourn their loss from within the shadowy realm of death.
In the remains of this land, residing in the ruins of a manor house, a fortress of broken stone pillars, rusting iron gates and rotting wooden walls, on his skeleton throne of charred bones and shadowy iron, there sits a king, brooding on the ash-covered desolation that he rules, his domain of debris, of a downfall of unknown origins. He sits on his throne of death, musing over the ashes and the wreckage, the ruins of a forgotten civilization, remaining still, motionless, lost in time as he ponders the mystery of this sea of ashes, these vestiges of life. As the moon ascends to the climax of its arc in the sky, the king of ashes rises, his feet noiseless on contact with the cold stone of his silent hall.
The earth itself stirs beneath him, trembling at the unsettling silence.
Araedrex Tenebrae, the Firestorm King, sauntered down the crudely hewn steps leading to his macabre throne. The night breeze, as it sighed woefully and whispered dark secrets, sends the ring of candles surrounding his throne flickering, dancing lambently as they float in the darkness, raised on unseen brass candelabrums. The coat-tails of Araedrex’s greatcoat rustle around his legs as the thin layer of ash that covered all in sight, a blanket of gray dust, rose into the air, twisting and swirling as it ascended, surrounding Araedrex in its humorless coils of dust, a grave aura that matched the somber expression perpetually present on his dispassionate visage.
As he sauntered through the cloud of ash, hands stuffed deep within the pockets of his greatcoat, Araedrex’s eyes flickered towards the crescent moon, its vague light weakly shining from overhead. For the briefest of moments, an unfathomable emotion seemed to replace the dispassion in his gaze, as he stared at the sickle of light above, but it disappeared suddenly, replaced with the dreary impassivity that so soberly seemed to constitute his person, and his eyes turned from the sky to the ground as he continued his sauntering strides, out of his crumbling castle, and into the nocturne of ashes, his fallen kingdom, his realm of ruins.
His strides were measured, and in a few short hours, Araedrex Tenebras would arrive in the heart of Po-Koro, moving from this forgotten town in the outskirts of the wasteland, hugging the jagged stone mountains, naively hoping for some sort of protection. As he began yet another long journey from his kingdom of death, to the City of Stone, he thought on recent events, mostly the Toa of Earth who had listened and most likely schemed as he spoke of his desire to cleanse the island of Mata-Nui from the parasite of “sapience”. His speech hinted at his dreams of a world were silent Matoran, primordial in their actions, would seek refuge at night in the cages that they had created for their beasts of burden, an island were the moss and vine-covered ruins of the Koros were not merely avoided, but superstitiously feared by those who were once “intelligent beings”, now accepting their true nature as animals, living by tooth and claw.
As he passed by the decaying houses, watching ashes and tattered remains of clothing dance together in the weak moonlight, held aloft by the whispers of the breeze, Araedrex’s thoughts drifted from his visions to the city of Po-Koro. There was so much activity, so many breathing, sweating beings pushing and shoving to survive, killing each other financially instead of physically, and they, and their Guard, had been attacked and ravaged so many times in recent months, that their bodies, and, more importantly, their souls, were nothing if not broken.
Such morbid thoughts filled Araedrex’s mind as he strode from the broken and derelict settlement he ruled in solitude. The quiet of the desert was interrupted only by the muffled sound of Araedrex’s footsteps as he sauntered across the dunes of sand, seemingly unaffected by the stinging wind and terrible cold. Time seemed to speed by as he thought, and the lights of Po-Koro, visible behind the thin veil of sand-filled wind, soon were visible. The City of Stone, the first Koro Araedrex hoped to raze, filled the night air with the sound of its reveling, even at such a great distance.
As he entered into the well-lit streets, Araedrex Tenebras, hands remaining firmly stuffed into his greatcoat’s pockets, stared quietly, his sober gaze never remaining on a single person or thing long enough for suspicions to arise. He became yet another being, scrambling for existence in the hurried streets of the City of Stone, though he was, perhaps, noticeably calmer than the swarm of people that attempted to shove him into the gutters.

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OOC: And he's back, probably, to a NPC. IC(Quert): Quert smiled at Zieta. "Just don't come back here again. I hate to see repeat offenders." IC(Roase): pss-uh pss-uh

The repeated sound of wood pounding, and pulling away, from a pile of sand was music for Roase. He giggled softly, as he jabbed the sand again with his cane and pulled away, only to jab once again.

 

He stood on the edge of a busy street. Sometimes somebody would push him out of the way. Sometimes he would be given a few coins. But he was ignored most of the time. It didn't bother Roase at all. No, his mind only worried about the now, and the sand pile in his path.

 

pss-uh

 

He twisted his face in thought about the sand pile, trying to decide what could he do with it, what was it, why was it there, who put it there, but all he knew was that jabbing it pleased him quite a lot.

 

He coughed violently into his arm, wheezed, and coughed again. He leaned into the building next to him, and sat down against it, stretching his legs into the road. He grasped his old cane and laid it across his tattered clothes, as he laid back against the building. "Sleep is nice. Sleep is very nice." he giggled to himself. He closed his aged eyes, and slowly nodded off into a restless sleep, the dreams of a life long past coming to haunt him.

WIP

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IC: [strackkorotus]

 

 

"glad to hear it!" he said cheerfully. "The Ko-matoran was last seen in the crevices of some sort of crazy rock formations south of Po-Koro. it's a pretty dangerous place, from what I've heard, but what could go wrong?"

IC: Terilis

 

Crazy rock formations indeed. Jagged spires of stone rose into the sky, piercing the stark blue sky with an earthen brown and tan. Small traces of gold flecked the surface of a few unique pieces. Each individual spire looked as if they could collapse at any moment, their misshapen builds jutting out from precariously stacked boulders. Beneath and between them, a rocky crevice tore through the Earth, like a gaping mouth waiting for it's next victim to fall inside and never come out. And despite all this, several Po-matoran came and went, climbing the dangerous formations. Terilis shook his head in astonishment. How could these beings so bravely risk their lives only to carve a statue?

"Ick," He said as coolant fluids were released on his organic parts.

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-IC: Araedrex Tenebras-

 

As he strode through the streets of Po-Koro, blending with the bustling crowds that hurried to and fro as the sun rose, tinting the skies with the pinks, reds, and oranges of dawn, Araedrex found himself nearly stepping on an ancient Vortixx sleeping blissfully on the street. Pausing, Araedrex crouched down, so that he reached the eye level of the sleeping Vortixx, and, with a snap of his fingers, Araedrex attempted to wake him. The Vortixx would be greeted with a most frightening sight, the glowing eyes of the Firestorm King, incadescent, and yet heartless, focused intensely on Roase.

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IC(Roase):

 

 

Snap

 

 

​Roase's ancient eyes opened, although it was nearly impossible to tell with his aged face at night. He quivered as he sat, looking back into the pair of strange eyes. He wasn't scared by eyes, exactly, but by the sudden appearance of the eyes.

 

"Spare a coin?" Roase muttered, his voice cracking as he lifted his bony palm upwards.

WIP

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-IC: Araedrex Tenebras-
Araedrex stared at the lifted palm for what seemed an eternity, silent, brooding over it and its meaning. Roase's words, murmured with cracking voice, hung in the air.
"I deem myself capable of sparing a single piece of coinage," Araedrex said at last, his voice, flat and monotonous in tone, and yet otherworldy in sound and formation of words. "And yet I hesitate. Tell me, sir, does an offer of nutrition please you? I would have my currency well spent. If it is something other than food you seek, I have no reservations keeping me from purchasing it for you."
As he finished speaking, Araedrex stood, as solemn and impassive as ever, his patient and regal facial structure contrasting sharply with his abstractly passionate gaze.

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-IC: Araedrex Tenebras-

"Perhaps."Araedrex's voice was as detatched and inexpressive as ever, sharply contrasting with his insane words. "Though I would ask you for help. One does not buy a village, one conquers it," Araedrex's gaze began to wander, his interest waning.

"Perchance we could continue this discussion, while I purchase the aforementioned nutrition." His words, flat and staid, were presented not in the form of a question, but as a statement.

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IC(Roase):

 

 

"I've heard that eating was good before conquering, mister Toa. I can settle for some nice mash." Roase gave a toothy grin. He grabbed his cane and pulled himself up, leaning on the cane for support. "Tell me mister Toa, do you like mash?"

WIP

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IC:

A cracked and chipped smile graces my face as I gulp down the spirits. Years of training have allowed me to tell exactly how the drink will taste, even before it touches my tongue; that is, terrible. Watered down, low-grade swill which I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy. A far cry from the whiskies and ales of the Rama Hive, which were the nectar of the Drunkardville, in my humble opinion.

Still, it's alcohol; thus, it's good enough for me. I think I may have an addiction to the stuff. I do drink it regularly, alone, in broad daylight, with absolutely no motive for the act other than the compulsive desire.

On the other hand, that does describe the vast majority of this island, so I think I'm pretty safe.

"Y'know, Tellus," I say, taking another swig of my drink, "I don't think anyone knows anything 'bout anyone else on this ship. Have you noticed that?"

-Void

 
 
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