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As someone who did the bulk of their collecting in 2017 and came back to it a couple years ago I can't even begin to put into words what a mood this comment is.

Makes me really glad I finished my collection in 2020

Not to hard, the hardest part is just proving that you're you, and then uploading the individual pieces gets a little monotonous Personally I prefer selling full sets to pieces.

It's not go time. Maybe next time. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RK_ClbbcVDo

Don't I know it... I actually put my price at the lowest listing in the US, it only goes up from here (the only bricklink stores that go lower are in Germany for some reason lol)

Wow it has been a hot minute since I looked at prices, this is insane (nothing against the seller, I'm sure this is market price)

That's fair. I encourage you not to give up! You'd be surprised how quickly you can improve.

Ooh, such fun to hear of others’ endeavors! Thanks for starting this! As for me, not much new except one or two things- the new favorite hobby being eating-eating nearly every glorious day! With my family! So grateful! And the other new one(s) being housekeeping/laundry/cleaning the new big home (which my mom did entirely before in our old home life, and for which we all hugely owe her! ). I have only accidentally laundered one (1) highly valuable non washable heirloom item so far-it survived! 😆 Learning to do from wheelchair involves lots of rolling carts for dish & clothes drawer delivery, haha! It takes at least three swag wagons and magically transforming my wheelchair into a snail speed cleaning cart 😂) and learning to cook from a wheelchair instead of in tall chairs like prior years-after dragging drills about the kitchen for months on end trying to set up a disabled kitchen from stuff I found in the basement. Terribly happy with it though outsider may laugh. So much easier than the struggle of my former card-table countertop! And just the same old dear hobby things I always obsess over gleefully! My true love-drawing, pencil portraits. -Painting acrylics over rough sketches occasionally, but I count the hours and am a shocking snailspeed indeed! -Sewing! By hand and machine, though machine sewing has become more challenging with limited mobility. Grateful to say my footpedal broke, leading to the discovery of the push-to-start sew button! -Cooking and baking! Figuring out family dinner serving with nutrition calculations (medically complex situation) and how to pack work brunch bag plates for my mom effectively. And now actually being allowed to eat some of the extra yummy things (!CARBS!❤️) has made it much more fun! -Photography if that counts, from an old shattered iPhone ? 😂 -Blogging here, hopefully again regularly, if life and the site staff allow me! -Decorating! Making lots of seasonal misfit decors for my mom’s new home. I am basically illiterate when it comes to book reading, at this point-with inability to focus (and prior major struggle), so sometimes listen to audiobooks in between mostly mindless music box covers while creating things. Happy to hear historical/classic children’s books or religious readings. I struggle to choose listen content, not knowing what exists. I find actively watching TV/video things without using the hands intolerable, but have a soft spot for a few fine fantasy films. Thanks to my birthday, brother’s visit and free trials, tis a grand week of Studio Ghibli novelties! Incredibly grateful!

I finally got around to watching the video, and man was it epic. I wish I watched it earlier. I find it so fascinating how BIONICLE came about because LEGO wanted to make a bridge between System and TECHNIC, and BIONICLE ended up totally eclipsing TECHNIC. I don’t know the numbers (TECHNIC has definitely stayed in stores longer) but I never hear anyone nostalgic for those set, or having dreams about finding TECHNIC on shelves. It’s really a testament to how much of a surprise success BIONICLE was and how not even LEGO themselves knew what they were tapping into at the time.

Cool to hear more about peoples' creativity and intellect As for me, I was recently introduced to Baldur's Gate 3, and because I have very little ability to self-moderate when it comes to video games, have just completed my 4th play through. I think I'm done for a while now 😅 Besides that, I enjoy: Trying out new recipes (I've found Binging with Babish on YT to be great fun) My kitten plays fetch! We try to do that for a stretch every day! I do enjoy reading, and after I finish the Ender's Game saga, I really want to tackle more of Brandon Sanderson's Cosmere universe. Dabble in knitting, comes and goes in waves. Simple but functional things like sweaters, hats, a few scarves, and fingerless gloves, maybe mittens. I have no patience for knitting individual fingers. Enjoy board games and card games, although most of the game time has recently been taken up by DnD campaigns with friends/family, which is also fun and very immersive.

Lesovikk using dirty tactics to get close to a Makuta is a cool idea for a story, but as is this chapter/introduction is pretty short, and the spelling/punctuation errors are noticeable. With another proofread, this would be an intriguing introduction.

skrall fam, we're so back (for real this time!)

The Lost Tribe. In which ancient questions are answered.

IC: The Ghost (The Tower) "Perhaps I spoke too soon." The Ghost's face fell, but the smugness behind his eyes made his insincerity plain. Still, the tension in the room had dissipated; apparently, he was satisfied with her answer. "You already handed me the very puzzle piece you're missing: she singled out miners. Now, unless things have quite drastically changed since last I checked, child labour is still quite illegal in Ferrum. Miners, therefore, must preclude minors. Just picture it: every adult in Sepulcrus, dead in a matter of weeks. Traumatised children left to fend for themselves, spurned by neighbouring tribes out of paranoia and superstition, with no education, no home to return to. Forced into isolation, forced to become nomads…" The excitement in his eyes and his voice faded, as if the tragedy he described had quite suddenly struck him and robbed him of the joy of discovery. "From the ashes of this Dreaming Plague, the Sand Tribe as we know it was born." He sighed, and returned his attention to the present. "I don't imagine you've heard the story of Sepulcrus, have you? The lost city, swallowed up by the sands; even down here it's all but forgotten, but up north… Well, it's hardly relevant to our discussion. I asked you to prove your worth, and you exceeded my expectations – quite handily, in fact. The only thing we need to address now is the Spice." OOC: @Toru Nui IC: Tueris (Staff NPC; Valley of Death) "We stick to the shade, and we go in as straight a line as the canyon allows. Once the shade is gone, we hope that the Lords have left us a cave or somesuch to shelter in and wait out the heat of the day." As he spoke, he continued to look straight ahead into the canyon, not meeting anyone's eye. "Shouldn't have any trouble with Skopio, so long as we make it to Ferrum before nightfall. That doesn't mean we don't have to watch our step, though; Skopio aren't the only critter likes to hide beneath the sand. I don't know for sure that this is sand bat territory, but I also can't say for certain that it's not, and they don't give a damn what time of day it is. Aside from that, you know the drill: cave shrikes, condors, dune snakes… anything that can kill you out on the dunes, and a few more besides. Watch the sand, watch the sky, watch the walls. Just another day in the Wastelands." With a creak and a soft thud, the wooden platform hit the ground below. The party was officially in the Iron Canyon. OOC: @Nato G @oncertainty @Toru Nui @Burnmad @~Xemnas~ IC: Celrys (CelTech workshop, Tajun) "Hm?" He looked down at his hands, as if to remember what he was doing. "Oh, yes, the wreath… I suppose I see the resemblance." His work apparently done, he stepped back from the bench and returned to Del, helmet in hand. "Here you are – try this on for size." OOC: @Techn0geist @Snelly IC: Cacia (NPC; CelTech reception, Tajun) Cacia sighed in relief as she walked back to her desk; the unseasonal uptick in customers was finally over, and she would savour every moment of reprieve. The sound of the door opening, however, cut her impromptu break short before it had even begun. Wonderful. "Welcome to CelTech. How may I help you?" Though she forced herself to smile, something about the Agori who had just entered unsettled her. He was clearly on edge, with the hood of his cloak still raised even indoors and his eyes constantly darting back towards the entrance; her finger hovered over the button beneath her desk, ready to alert Celrys if there was trouble. "I, uh…" He spoke at first in a hushed voice, which he softened even further into a whisper. "I need to speak to Skyra Daring." OOC: @Jesse Pinkman IC: (Staff NPC; The Shadiest Spot on Bara Magna) For perhaps the first time in his life, Maxas had in fact been watched as he left the CelTech building – not from inside, but from the alley opposite. Kirbraz watched, and waited. The Agori who had just left was shifty – more than once, he thought he caught him glancing over his shoulder. Was he looking for Kirbraz? Just how many assassins had Scodonius hired? Just how fucked was he? Once he was confident the threat had passed, he started walking. It was dangerous to go somewhere so public, so exposed, but he had no choice. This, right here, was his way out – based on where that buggy was parked, this was the only place she could be. Skyra Daring: The only woman who might get him to Vulcanus alive. OOC: @Toru Nui @Jesse Pinkman

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

Class Is Out A (long overdue) Farewell To Corpus Rahkshi Welcome to the review topic for Class Is Out. For those just discovering this unique take on the Bionicle story for the first time, I hope you enjoy your stay in the weird, wacky world of sentient Rahkshi. Though there may be some inside jokes and references, these stories will largely be independent and self-contained, so prior knowledge of the game isn't required reading. For any old Corpus Rahkshi players who are seeing this and would like to contribute something, please feel free to reach out by comment, PM, or Discord message. Whether you want to write a full short story, or just contribute a few lines about where your character ended up, I’m open to any and all contributions. Just note that the Epics forum rules don’t allow for multiple authors to post in the same topic, so please coordinate with me rather than just posting something in the story topic without warning. I do have a clear end point already written for this project, but that will likely be at least a few months away, depending on how many additional contributors express interest. With all of that out of the way, settle in and enjoy this collection of tales from the surviving students of Corpus Rahkshi. Chapters: Part 1 - The Chronicler - in which our humble narrator is introduced. Part 2 - Sins Of The Father - a deformed daughter of Icarax faces her maker. Part 3 - The Illusion Of Control - Artakha falls to the armies of Teridax. Part 4 - Patience And Progress - the children of Chirox meet their maker's rival. Part 5 - Memoirs Of A Turahk - a letter from an old friend crosses our Chronicler's desk. Part 6 - A Caged Bird - there is no sweeter song than hope. Part 7 - Warrior, King, God - delusions and grandeur. Part 8 - Of Flesh And Faith - a family face their fate during the siege of Xia. Part 9 - Life And Death - two Rahkshi find their destinies during the fall of Destral. Part 10 - Sword And Shield - a family reunion takes an unexpected turn. Part 11 - Blizzard's Chapter - the past continues to influence the present. Part 12 - Letting Go - as one chapter ends, another begins.

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: Pirok (The Fowadi) He wanted to refuse the gift – he wanted to refuse it out of politeness, yes, but moreso because of the look in Rynekk's eyes. He did not believe Pirok would come back from this, and Pirok wanted to prove him wrong. ****** his charity, and ****** him. But that same look did not beggar disagreement, and Pirok knew in his heart that these Toa were right to doubt. Hesitantly, he took the hatchet. "I'm borrowing this," he promised, with as much confidence as he could muster. "When you return from your voyage, I'll be here to give it back to you." With that, he directed his attention to Praggos. "I won't burn the bodies – not without a thorough recording of them at the very least, and even then only if I don't believe I can return them to Ko-Koro. Aside from that… everything burns." The lie was shockingly easy to tell; he almost believed it himself. What Praggos did not need to know was that Pirok already had a contingency; if he could not take the bodies, then he would still take a trophy – the same trophy Echelon had taken all those years ago, when he first set foot in the limelight. "One last thing... tell me about the Matoran." OOC: @ fowadi folks, but primarily @Void Emissary and @otter

IC: Jolek [Ta-Wahi, Charred Forest] "Dock before sundown," he repeated, furrowing his brow for a moment before cupping it in the arch between thumb and pointer finger. "Right..." All things said and done; the claims sounded bold. "Bigger than the villages" was one thing, given that their conversation technically hit that mark already, being between two members of differing military forces... However tenuous it might have been on Jolek's end, after admitting to himself how ready he really was to quit. It still met the mark. Anything he offered there counted. ...Yeesh, though. Listen to that. Since when did he care for technicality? If the point was the same either way, that was what mattered— and it was. "Bigger than the island", though? That didn't register. Didn't make sense. The island was their world, right? Their people, and the reach of the threats they consequently meant to face. There wasn't anything of the sort... Unless... Unless this offering of an alternative hadn't come to him directly in the wake of sending two Lesterin bound for their home, this faraway land of "Seprilli", simply by coincidence. A journey the likes of which would take them to parts unknown, as they found more of who they were, once lost beneath the waves... He had already turned an offer down once. Why do that again? ...Hold on, what did that even mean? where'd that thought come from— Mata-Nui, his head was spinning here. First things first, before any decisions. "What... Time is it right now, actually? I wasn't kidding earlier. I've been here all night?"

IC: "Are you that person?" Krayn had listened, scratching at his chin as he thought it over. His first, immediate impulse was that Pirok was right. He was an investigator, he was a guard; no one would ever know how many lives Echelon had taken, and no one would ever know how many bodies he had stolen. But his lair was the one place to find some. Some of those people could be brought home, and some of their loved ones— if any still lived— could have that closure. But it was more complicated than that. Not knowing was awful, but time had a way of providing its own closure. Not every missing persons case was resolved. Not even most. The jungle was a harsh place when Makuta reigned, and many of those that went missing were lost somewhere in its depths. If anything was left to find it wasn't recognizable anymore. And a great many of Echelon's puppets were likely in a similar shape. The Necromancer had been infamous, and in his infamy stories had spread; he was always merely content with a puppet, he wanted puppets tailored to his purposes. Even those that could be recovered might not be... Intact. Sometimes knowing specifics was worse than accepting that you wouldn't know. "I can't fault your wishes," He said slowly. "And you are of course free to do what you want. So is Makua, here, as is Skyra. But I think Rynekk is right, and I would urge you to consider that he might be. Ko-Wahi is a deeply inhospitable place. A few months of snow and ice may already have hidden it, and a few more will for certain. You may not be able to find it. You risk your own lives just looking. Even if you can find it you don't know what's inside. If you find it and there are no traps to be dealt with, how will you get those victims to civilization? How will you get them to their families? The cold's preservation will not last as soon as you leave the Wahi." He shook his head, slowly and not without sympathy. "And Makuta is back. If he wasn't I would be more encouraging. But braving the wastes, the Rahi under his power again, and trying to return an unknown but sizable cargo... Sometimes it's best to let the past stay buried. It won't return the dead to their families. You can help them better by keeping them from losing any more." @a goose@Emzee@Void Emissary@Snelly

IC: "Enough." Krayn drew in a breath with the air of someone counting to ten inside, reminding himself of vows to be friendlier, and asking Mata Nui for patience all at the same time. At first he had been content to let the situation work itself out. Skyra and Praggos, he had already determined, could go on and on between them for a long while if you let them. But Praggos almost always got tired of the back and forth before she did. However this 'Pirok' was a new element, an unforeseen catalyst; the three of them seemed capable of going on forever. He had spent the past few minutes systematically turning the dial lower and lower and lower but with no true end in sight it was time to step in. "Enough, already. Whether he was or wasn't— and he definitely wasn't— stop confusing each other. It's bad enough when you get confused, Skyra, but that's at least familiar." It was exactly as hot as he remembered, and he was beginning to regret choosing to take his coat along. But the cool breeze for Praggos' benefit was helping quite a bit. Mostly he suspected it was just lack of practice. Ko-Wahi had been cold, and he hadn't stayed for very long in Po-Wahi before leaving again. And the heat had nothing to do with the dull ache beginning near his temples. "Mister Makua, if you have other questions I have no problem answering them. Mister Pirok," The tall Toa pointed casually with the finger that had just been rubbing lightly at the side of his head. "I'm sorry to break up your reunion. But I assume you had a reason for finding Daring? You said so, at least. Before you got sidetracked." @a goose@otter@Snelly@Emzee

IC: "Yeah, I, uh. I was there."

IC: "Oh, y'know. Still a guy. I mean- it's cool and all, nothing wrong with not being a guy anymore, if that's what, like, if that's who you Are, on the inside, and I guess also now the outside? Like, I'm supportive." His soul was dying with each step he took up the gangplank. "I'm not doing myself any favours here, am I?"

IC: Wolf (Atero; Red Star Inn) Another shot downed; Wolf grimaced and growled. Drinking was expensive, especially for her, and the Serrata needed whatever she could bring back. Still, business had been good; between the Skrall and whatever had struck in Iron Canyon, people were nervous. Wolf offered reassurance, and the group of Fire Tribe Agori she had escorted to Atero had paid well for it. To her dismay, though, they weren't traveling out to Tajun for the Exhibition Matches; still, there would doubtless be more prospective clients here in the city. In these troubled times, reassurance was in high demand. OOC: Wolf is open for interaction.

IC: Kehla – Tajun The ashen Glatorian smiled wistfully as she waved farewell to her travelling companions, their caravan continuing on with its trundling course into Tajun. They hadn’t been the most personable of company, but even with the resentment between the Fire and Ash Tribes, no Agori was going to pass up the company of a Glatorian during a journey across the inhospitable sands. For her part, Kehla was glad not to have been alone for the journey either. In the open desert, there were no canyons or crags to serve as landmarks. It seemed all too easy to get lost out here. She sat down on a slope overlooking the village and pulled out her sketchbook. She’d already added a few new pictures to its pages during her journey; mostly illustrations of Vulcanus, the Agori she’d travelled with, and the beasts of burden pulling their carts. But from the moment she’d set out on her journey she’d been eager to add a sketch of Tajun to her record. Behjen had been here a few times, but for all his skill in the ring, he’d never had much of a grasp on the fine arts. His uninspired descriptions and messy scrawlings of the site hadn’t done it justice. The brilliant blue of its oasis glimmered bright silver-white in the sun, more water than Kehla had ever believed could exist, its brightness and colour contrasting with the unnatural shape of the “Knee Island” rising up against the horizon, a strange silhouette that cast a crooked shadow across the sheltered crevasses that contained the village itself. The rest of the world faded from Kehla’s attention as she sat and sketched, the charcoal staining her grey fingertips black. She was absently aware of more travellers coming and going from the village as she worked, phantom figures that flitted quietly by in her periphery. The sun hung slightly higher in the sky by the time she was satisfied with her sketch, a greyscale snapshot of the settlement that was likely going to be here home for the next few days. She packed away her sketchbook and dusted off her hands, before getting to her feet and setting off down the path into Tajun. The sand-strewn road was marred with bootprints, animal tracks, and vehicle trails, each one belonging to a different wanderer, each on their own journey. Idly, she wondered how many of these people had come here for the exhibition match, and how many of them she might end up crossing blades with in Atero. Angst and anticipation in equal measure whirled within her at her thoughts turned to the tournament; she’d been doing her best not to think that far ahead, but there was no ignoring the reason she’d come all this way. The resources and reputation of her village rested on her now. And they weren’t the only things resting on her. She could see and feel the gazes of some of the Agori she passed by lingering on her. Were they simply taking note of a Glatorian arriving in their midst, or was it her grey armour and the allegiance it indicated that had caught their attention? Somok had always insisted that all outsiders hated the Ash Tribe, and while there was certainly some animosity between them and their Fire Tribe neighbours, Kehla had always figured anything beyond that was just fearmongering on Somok’s part to justify his isolationist policies. With all of their politics and conflicts, surely the other major tribes didn’t know or care all that much about the people of a small settlement in the middle of nowhere? I guess I'll find out soon enough... She continued on her way, ignoring the occasional glances and stares to take in the scenery of the city. Preparations seemed well underway for the spectacle that was soon to unfold, with stalls or displays seemingly set up in every alleyway and street corner. One stall in particular caught her eye as she reached another corner. A ramshackle caravan draped in faded fabric, with a pair of phosphorescent lamps out front and a string of dried fruit hanging by its door. It wasn’t the hut that had caught her attention, though, but its stairs. A set of steps might not have been particularly remarkable for most passers-by, but Kehla had an eye for art, and the strange symbols that decorated the steps were intriguing. Her curiosity piqued – and not dissuaded by the mangled spelling of the sign out front – Kehla stepped up and knocked gently on the door, “Hello?” @Lady Takanuva

OOC: Recommended disquieting atmosphere. IC: ????? - Training Ground, outskirts of Atero. ...saw the mirage of a training outpost, should be close. One guard whistled low, attempting to harmonise with the desert winds. "Cut it out, Mard." The whistling stopped, followed shortly by a poor attempt to whistle on the infrasonic level. "I can hear you, you know." "The Jungle Agori Mard snapped, throwing down his spear and turning to his partner with a petulant stamp. "What else am I supposed to do, Ahmoa? Grand Tournament's still ages away, we're lucky to see three fighters in a week right now! I'm supposed to stand bold upright, twiddling my–" "Shut up." "Don't tell me to shut up! Seriously, I'll drag you into that arena myself, make it to the friggin' finals carrying your head in a–" "No seriously, shut up." The crimson guard wasn't looking at his fighty companion, never was in fact. Instead Ahmoa was focused on a light, a singular faint glint halfway out from the training grounds to the horizon, though the undulations of the dunes made that a subjective measure on any given day. On this day, that meant quite close. A shape began to form. A Glatorian of the Iron Tribe. Ahmoa, the more professional of the two, cupped his hands around his mouth. "AHOY! Traveller! Come to train? Spar?" "No one to spar with." "Quiet." They heard no response. "Something's not right." As the figure approached, they could make out more. A club, held low and dragging through the sand leaving a long long trail. A buckler held in front, the source of the glinting. Their footsteps were at once steady and unsteady, purposeful and weak. Their forward gaze was single-minded, focused, determined. The Fire Agori levelled his spear, the green guard snatching his up and holding it with rather more shake in his grip. "Ho there! This is neutral ground! Stop where you are and lay down your weapons!" Pure bravado. These two blockheads were for show and they knew it; any half-competent warrior could lay them out in four seconds flat. No genuine guards would work for pay this low, though. <<Analysing scenario.>> At the sight of raised spears the Glatorian double-timed their gait, closing the distance fast. Right before they came into clubbing range, the two guardsmen heard the unmistakable sound of a stomach, rumbling loudly. The Glatorian collapsed past the guards and face-down into the sand, unmoving between them. They looked at each other. Their silence was deafening. “...we’re not paid enough for this, you know.” The Fire Agori slung his spear onto his back, crouching to grab one of the stranger’s arms. “Shut up and give me a hand.” The Jungle Agori groaned, rolled his eyes, generally made a show of complaining and finally grabbed their other arm. “We’re not!” --------------------- <<Analysing scenario.>> <<Laying down under blanket. Sit up. Bunk house. Helmet on bedside table. Equipment leant up against bedside table. Mirror leant against wall. Stand up. Stagger. Stand up. Discomfort in torso. Step outside. Gurgling sound from torso. Knees shake. Suboptimal.>> “Hope they got their warranty, looks like that shiny geek’s done a number on–” The two Agori turned to the sound of footsteps emerging from the bunk house and rushed over to catch the Glatorian right as they started to fall again. “Hey, woah, you need to take it easy!” “I’ll get my rations.” The fire guard darted inside, his companion unclasping his flask and offering it to their guest. “Here, drink.” The flask was held aloft for uncomfortably too long, the Glatorian staring gormlessly at it. <<Analysing scenario.>> “...Great Beings, you don’t know how to drink, do you?” He yelled towards the bunk house. “Ahmoa! I think they’re simple!” “And all folks, simple or otherwise, are welcome here!” came the reply. Mard rolled his eyes, took the flask back, and in an exaggerated ‘like this’ fashion tilted some of its water into his mouth, letting out a refreshed sigh on lowering it. Again he offered the flask. <<Analysing scenario.>> Mard pressed the flask gently into their hand, wearing an expression halfway between encouragement and pleading. The Glatorian turned it over in their grip, pouring some of the water out into the sand before Mard hastily reoriented it. <<Analysing scenario.>> “Please… don’t be this dumb…” Slowly, agonisingly, the stranger brought the flask to their face and tilted it back, emptying its contents completely. Some of the water even got in their mouth. <<Analysing scenario.>> Before Mard could bury his face in his hands, Ahmoa arrived with a portion of his rations. “Here, get some of this in y–” “ActuallyIthinkthat’senoughfornow!” Mard, clinging to sanity, leapt up and pulled the Glatorian to their feet, the Iron Tribal too bodily exhausted to mount a meaningful resistance. “They need bed-rest and by gum we’re gonna give it to ‘em!” He turned to Ahmoa with a desperate expression that read I’ll explain later. As the Glatorian was led into the bunk house and past the mirror, they caught a glimpse of themselves in it and broke away from the guards. <<Look closer.>> <<Metal plate on scalp. Small. Scratched. Scarred. Stamp. Serial number. Partial.>> <<Look closer.>> I love you, Del. The voice was clear in the Glatorian’s head as though spoken in the room. It gave them pause for but a microsecond. It meant nothing. --------------------- For the next few days, life at the grounds consisted for the most part of keeping the strange Glatorian alive. After some frustrating lessons and Mard entertaining walking out into the Dunes of Treason swear to the Great Beings I will, the act of consumption became fairly natural. The act of consumption without prompt was a work in progress. Not that it was much of a surprise in their condition, but the Glatorian didn’t take to training either. They had weapons, and going by their approach to the outpost probably knew how to use them. But when positioned with club-and-buckler in hand in front of a training dummy, a rickety thing made more from splinters than wood, they stood almost as still as each other. <<Analysing scenario.>> <<Not an opponent.>> “Maybe it’s something to do with the trouble in Ferrum, you hear about that?” Ahmoa said through a mouthful, nibbling at his rations. Mard leant over the training ring fence, in a huff. “Like rearing a child…” The Agori came up beside his companion and lay a hand on his shoulder, wearing a rare off-duty smile. “You’ve made for a fine father thus far.” Find Celrys. “Bite m–” It meant– “find celrys.” Their voice came out as a croak, a monotone, vocal cords unexercised for a long time. Mard blinked. The bottom of the barrel kept dropping out. “Tell me, Ahmoa. Tell me that Iron Tribe Glatorian we had to teach how to eat didn’t just say ‘Find Celrys’.” “Mard darling, the Iron Tribe Glatorian we had to teach how to eat just said ‘Find Celrys’.” “...I’m doing it. I’m disappearing forever.” “I’ll miss you, bud.” OOC: One day I’ll do a character intro less than 1000 words. Open for interaction.

IC: Skyra Daring - Streets of Atero - There was a sudden thud on the hood of Skyra's car, which caused her to immediately snap her head up in alarm. "Wha-HEY!" Skyra immediately sent a command to her buggy through the chip in her head, causing her vehicle to immediately start up and go into reverse, practically flooring it as it suddenly accelerated backwards, fully intending to send the attacker flying off the car. "If you're trying to pick a fight you've ####ing got one! No one ####s with my car!" Attacking her was one thing, but threatening her car? Unforgivable. OOC: @Johnny Blocksville Hi

IC: Karak - Atero Streets The stench of Roxtus. I am miles away but I can smell it. It keeps me focused. I am a revenant in this land of the living. They call this place, "Atero". I don't wish to be here. It's by the water, but that attracts everyone. Lots of eyes to see me. Unspoken thoughts, malicious intent. Impossible to ignore. Feasible, though, to discard. Despite my reluctance, here is better than any place else. And I seek shelter from the vicious heat. The masses chatter, and mutter amongst themselves, errant glances aim at me. Short lived as I glance back behind my mask. I walk on. The language they speak, I can pick up words and terms. Intonation carries more meaning. I feel it. Why do they ooze of mistrust toward one another? One of them - my size - sits in a machine larger than the one I claimed. A woman. She enjoys the privilege of boredom, stretched out in the wheeled contraption. A bird swoops down, perching itself on the front of the idle vehicle. Perhaps it too was bored. Then - a sound. Hands close around my weapon, drawn instantly. I snarl, the vehicle having emitted a horrid noise that tore at the ears. A warhorn. I leap forward, atop the hood of the vehicle. My club raises itself to the sky. The first enemy. OOC: @Snellyhello!

IC: Skrall – Roxtus, Parade Grounds As the Skrall dispersed, Tirveus’ booming words reverberated in the mind of one young warrior long after their echoes across the parade ground had faded. This warrior fell into step with his section almost robotically, training and instinct taking over as he became numb to the outside world, his mind stuck reliving Tirveus’ speech over and over. “In recognition of true strength, I will ENTITLE our champion as reward for this feat.” Everything he wanted. Everything he needed. Everything he’d sought and fought for. He could finally be someone, more than another mere Skrall. But instead of the expected excitement, he found himself burdened by… disappointment? Skrall had dreamed endlessly of what deeds he would accomplish, what trials he would have to endure, in order to earn his individuality. And now all he had to do was best a few Southerners, simplistic savages and scavengers who wasted their days squatting and squabbling in the sand? It was beneath him. Beneath any Skrall. But he knew better than to let his pride get in the way of what he or the tribe wanted. If this was what it took to claim his name, so be it. After all, it didn’t matter how his legend began, for he would have the rest of his life to add to it. __________________________________________________________________________ IC: Somok – Precipere It was a cold morning in the village of the Ash Tribe. Most days, the searing sun and the warmth wafting over from the volcano kept Precipere hot, sometimes intolerably so. But today a bitter breeze was cutting across from the East, bringing an agonising ache to Somok’s old bones. He blinked blearily against the wind as he emerged from his hut, flecks of dust flicking at his face. The building he called home was almost as old and weathered as Somok himself, its walls grimy and cracked, the historical records on its walls were dull and faded, almost illegible in some places. He didn’t have the time or the strength to renew the paint himself, his wife had passed on several years ago, and his children and grandchildren had long since moved out into homes of their own. This home’s story would end with him, and he was content with that. Everything had its time. But his hadn’t come quite yet. He made his way down towards the village square, leaning heavily on his staff, every unsteady stride down the stone steps making him wince. If anyone stopped to offer him aid, he didn’t notice it; his mind was already occupied with troubling news from the West. The warriors who’d escorted Kehla through to Vulcanus on her way to Tajun had returned the previous afternoon with troubling news from their ancestral home. Normally the bickerings of the other villages didn’t bother Somok. The Ash Tribe stayed out of everyone else’s way, and they usually received the same treatment in return. But if trade and contact were cut off between Vulcanus and Ferrum, that likely meant trouble in Iron Canyon. Trouble that the Ash Tribe might be blamed for. Trouble that could well have had something to do with the deaths of Behjen and his party. And if someone or something was powerful enough to take down the Iron Tribe, the Ash Tribe were easy pickings by comparison, especially with most of their senior warriors slain and Kehla away at the tournament. Still, they weren’t defenceless, and Somok had no desire to see his tribe’s legacy end on his watch. He quickened his stride despite the strain, pushing on towards the squarish structure where the Agori guard were headquartered. There was much to discuss this day.

IC: Skyra Daring - Streets of Atero - Skyra stretched back in the seat of her buggy, looking bored as she watched Agori and Glatorian of all sorts go about there business from her parked vehicle. For the moment, business was slow, apparently people didn't want to go anywhere far, much to the driver's chagrin. A bird landed on the hood of her car, she blared the horn at it. It turned and simply stared at her. She stared back. "...if you put so much as a scratch on it, I will kill you." The bird squawked before flying away. Skyra sighed, "I'm talking to birds now...neat." She debated signing up for an arena match, though of course if she got seriously injured she wouldn't be able to drive for a while, and that would just ****** her off. "F###! Someone who wants to go somewhere, show up already!" She slammed her head into the steering wheel, setting the horn off again. OOC: Open for interaction.

IC: Jolek [Ta-Wahi, Charred Forest] "What else have I got?" He didn't, to his credit, flinch at his hollow words being thrown back in his face. As the blued giant continued, Jolek realized his suspicions to be true regarding that searching, searing gaze— everything Dehkaz had found, he'd found without much trouble. His simplicity was always gonna make things that way, as it stood— he saved his subterfuge for the craft, where it made sense. Maybe it spoke to that lack of stimulus— the stifling, encaging manner in which the monotony had eaten away at him. A setting this regimented only served to wear what personality he'd forged from before down, a man of the jungle now tamed and homogenized. What was there within that to hide yourself behind? Karz, what was even worth hiding to spare it to begin with? If the world was content to pass him by as he waited (and this Khyrilik figure was effectively correct, 'waiting' was what this boiled down to), then it'd be on him to find a way to start moving. A man couldn't stop the passage of time— he could only move within its flow. He was bending over backwards against the current... for what? A threat that hadn't materialized? Pointless. A duty to the city? He'd done more working yesterday's bounty. A favor to a friend? ... That was the only one. The only one that had any real truth to it. Those Skakdi he wanted to mangle had found themselves troubled enough by a response of half the strength the Guard could muster now. Ta-Koro had been a place he'd called home, squatting in the house of his adoptive family post-reunion... But even they had left it, well ahead of him, on one last adventure. His father had, to hear the man himself tell it, been a persona non grata here for ages beforehand anyway. Were that the tie, it felt every bit as flimsy. No. The only one he cared for was the favor to his "boss", a friend cut from the same cloth and only further locked within the bowels of the machine. Angelus was a good, kind, and strong man. Probably the only one in Ta-Koro who could pierce the firmament of their shared experiences. The only one Jolek knew, on a primal level, how to talk to. A Jungle Boy to the bone... and now as the Guard's head, a caged Muaka. Locked in an office for dozens of hours to administrate and oversee, filing away mountains of paperwork and fending off interior politics and all sorts of nonsense that all the protocol and followups and institution had laid upon his shoulders and— The field work isn't doing me any better. ...We barely see eachother any more, and when we do, I feel sorry for him. Highwind's eyes narrowed, brows drawing together in a disquieted knot. Forget any notion of concealing his thoughts from Dehkaz— it was like the larger Toa wasn't there. ... And there's only more of what he has the longer I stay. At some point, tenure moves me up, and everything gets more formalized and sterile. Would he want that for me? Knowing where we're from? What the Guard stood for, in its ideal vision, was defending the people for evil. If it was that, just that... he'd be fine. He really thought he would. Go out and knock the right skulls, no questions asked? Yeah. Jump into burning buildings to pry old Turaga out of the flames, incident report be carked? Sure. Teach some poor kid getting picked on a solid one-two and a kick to the ribs, instead of passively handing out flyers to the parents? Hundred percent. But that didn't exist here. Not in the mechanics of the force. The formalities had their purpose, he knew that they did, but... Looking at who the people he was supposed to be like felt nothing like who he was. When he barely considered himself anything at all to begin with... No. No, no, no, no, no, no. This was the unexamined life. Every inch of scrutiny was external. It didn't matter who you were or how you thought, because we already know the most effective way to approach these things. It keeps us running smooth. You can get with the program, or leave it. We can't have renegades going around and messing with the systems we have, because that'll make it more of a mess. You don't have to do this. You signed on. ...There were good guys in the guard, that knew how to do the right thing the right way within the right rules and meant it with all their being. Examples of those who you were supposed to be, who thrived in the environment. Often, he'd compared them with the Toa he saw in the mirror, each bleary morning. But that wasn't gonna work. Not here. He had left the jungle to learn who he was, at the core. Grow his strength, hone his art, prepare for a rematch in a ten-thousand strong series of spars, yes... But he would never do so without becoming real. Owning himself, owning his moments as they came, owning every thought and sense and action. Owning a memory. Owning a mark. Owning a story, just like dear old Dad's. He was to move, and move forward. In taking on this image of predetermined discipline, to prepare for an unbrewed siege, in service of a place he'd always meant to leave... He found himself stuck. His mind had screamed it at him for ages. He was walking a path traveled by a thousand loyal soldiers with entire lives behind and ahead of them... a path not his own. All that this supposition of purpose had entailed, that he had foisted onto himself thoughtlessly? It just didn't mix. Jolek had never known who he was... but he couldn't keep ignoring that this was who he wasn't. In letting the mind stick and the body sink, he was killing the meager, meager soul. If he did any more, he was giving up forever.

IC: Dehkaz [Ta-Wahi, Charred Forest] From behind a thoughtful, if not overly attentive expressive Dehkaz watched the machination of the Toa’s mind tick through half-hearted responses and explanations with focused analysis. Highwind’s posture, his trailing tone; they weren’t entirely a result of how long the Fa-Toa had been working his craft-even if that was quite some time given the state of both his extremities as well as the dented trunk that stood before them. There was a weariness about him, not one borne of a struggle or exhaustion, but an underlying dissatisfaction. Stuck in a tedium and routine that he wasn't meant for. Not supposed to be a bad problem for a Guard to have. Dehkaz caught his opposite's gaze for a moment, and then looked to the damaged tree. "Not a bad problem for a Guard to have," The captain echoed, returning his violet examination to Highwind. He let the statement hang for a moment, before continuing in a more reserved, thoughtful tone. "Unfortunately for us, those moments don’t sit idly by while we recover." "You don’t strike me as the kind to wait idly by for them to come knocking on Ta-Koro’s walls either, Highwind."

Karak Species: Glatorian Tribe: Blood (Defunct, approved by Goose) Gender: Male Appearance: Karak's stance is somewhat hunched or lower down, making his height somewhat deceiving, being even a little taller than your average Glatorian. Despite struggles with food and resources he manages to be noticeably sharp in build, thanks to strict routines he refuses to give up even when malnourished. His natural armour pigment is a pale, fleshy pink, with his red skin heavily displayed. In particular, his biceps under his shoulder pads and arms up to his wrist are almost completely bare, showcasing an array of ghostly white scars, simple in shape but sometimes with more texture and detail, forming images or runes. A few lesser scars can be seen on his unmasked face, and an unseen tapestry of marks beneath his chestplate, only hinted at by his bare abdominal region. His eye colour is a deep maroon. His armour is a mixture of well made brown leather with some rudimentary mineral elements, mostly used in the lining to provide extra protection. He wears something of a mixture between a mask and a helmet, which is made mostly of metal, resembling what we might recognise as an elephant’s skull (technically a mastodon skull), and secured with leather straps around his head. Near the open mouth section is a pair of tusks half as long as a forearm, and a cavity in the centre of the skull allows his eyes to glimpse through. It's worth noting he seems to use warpaint to smear the area around his eyes, to reduce glare. Skills: The warrior’s path from a young age has long since sculpted Karak into a chance defying machine of a man, battles and fights only having strengthened him in resolve and energy. While crafty, Karak’s virtue lies in his unbreakable tenacity. Because of the painful rituals practiced by the Blood Tribe, Karak’s pain tolerance is absurdly high, to the point it might rival a Glatorian with a cybernetic ability to inhibit just that, and his natural stamina seems like an endless pool. Despite physical disadvantages compared to his Glatorian peers due to his lack of cybernetics, Karak is a dangerous and fierce opponent that makes him a risky person to cross. Weakness(es): Karak has no cybernetics, and is from a much colder and damper climate than the sands of Bara Magna, which leaves him generally more dehydrated than the locals and more prone to the risk of exposure. He has a limited understanding of the Agori language and has difficulty communicating, and also is rather asocial and distrusting, which was exacerbated by his newfound nature as a foreigner. Gear: Karak’s weapon of choice is a large two handed weapon carried on his back, akin to a giant saw. The weapon’s length is about 4 feet in total, with the blades (8 on each side) being made of a sharp glassy black rock found up North in the Skrall/Blood Tribe homeland - that tends to fragment when it shatters. The weapon itself is made from a strong wood, and can be used to batter enemies rather than slice, if Karak so chose. The Blood Tribe’s stance on cybernetic implants has led to interesting technological developments after fierce skirmishes and recovery of Skrall weaponry - one might call them workarounds. One of the more deadly is a mechanical javelin launcher, a long treasured weapon of the Blood Tribe, perfected after years of innovation. It’s a long and hefty rifle-like weapon with glyphs and carvings in the wooden stock, that is capable of firing a single metal tipped javelin before having to be reloaded. Karak also carries barbed variants of the ammunition and a limited amount of black rock tipped javelin’s within the storage compartment of his vehicle. Finally, a short, pointed metal warpick remains at his hip, stolen long ago from a Skrall combatant. Vehicle: Karak also possesses a vehicle (approved by Goose), a seized Cendox he named Huracan, in reference to the considerable speed of the vehicle. The vehicle has a mounted thornax launcher, and has two front blades mounted as typical for the combat variant of the vehicle. Personality: Karak has the demeanour of a vengeful Iron Wolf. By necessity and also by nature he works entirely alone, which has perhaps worsened some of his more distrusting and antisocial traits. He feels as if he is on an alien world, and his Xenophobia has only been made more severe by the several Tribes and their harsh attitude towards outsiders such as himself. He speaks only broken Agori, often mixed with his native tongue. Background/Status: A wanderer from the lands North, little is known about Karak. Despite his fearsome nature he is not a bandit nor a brigand, and so his goals remain elusive, a secret he intends to keep to himself until death. The Skrall are his only known interest, but to what end is his own business. --- Vitrum Species: Glatorian Tribe: Ice (Exiled) Gender: Female Appearance: Vitrum's stature and physique are not notable for a Glatorian, she is about of average height and ambiguous in build due to her fondness for clothing that masks her body. What can be seen of her armour is a muted sand blue, with her skin oddly of a similar pigment. Her eyes on the other hand are a ruby red, usually narrowed in cat-like slits. Her rounded helmet has a rectangular open section for her eyes and decorative metal around where a mouth section might be, depicting a stylised straight mouth in itself. Her armour when visible is polygonal and simple in shape, but is usually covered by a dark beige cloak she wears when out of combat, both to protect from the sand and to protect her identity. The cloak also has a hood if needed. If seen, her knuckles are exceptionally calloused and worn. She is notably generally barefoot on missions to minimise noise as much as possible. Skills and Cybernetics: Vitrum is a talented and intelligent mercenary who, befitting of her occupation, prefers to keep fights as quick and weighted in her favour as possible. Whilst indeed a competent combatant her niche lies more in the shadows, which allows her to charge more of a premium for her services. She has two cybernetic enhancements (Approved by Goose). The first is enhanced hearing that she can switch on and off which makes her hearing much more sensitive when required. Her second enhancement is much rarer (and is usually hidden by her cloak) and consists of a pair of extremely quiet thrusters that fold out from her upper back, allowing her both to slowly glide for brief moments (longer risks malfunction) but also permit much higher jumps whenever needed, facilitating many more options for reconnaissance. Weakness(es): It has been a long time since the arena, and whilst Vitrum can hold her own in a fight she is outclassed in sustained conventional combat by more prominent Glatorian. Perhaps less a physical weakness than a barrier to certain employment opportunities - Vitrum refuses to visit Iconox, both for legal and personal reasons. Gear: Generally, Vitrum is one to procure specific tools for specific jobs, but in terms of gear carried on her person she has a preference for a collapsible metal shortsword she can stow away on her waist belt for close quarters, as well as a multipurpose repeating crossbow, a weapon long possessed and treasured as well as modified over time. The crossbow has a stock that can fold out to steady her aim but also fold in to conceal under her cloak or hold with one hand - and the weapon is capable of firing a variety of ammunition - her most common is a simple barbed metal bolt but she sometimes makes use of poisoned ammo. The crossbow can hold 5 bolts before the magazine must be refilled - which is a somewhat delicate procedure. Personality: Vitrum is a closed box, her attitude and appearance are all that she gives away. She doesn’t revel in violence but she also is wholly unafraid of it, which can make her a useful tool for employers that intend to send a message. Outside of her work she keeps her own company - any talk is to further a goal. Background/Status: Vitrum is a free agent assassin whose past has been carefully buried so as to stay clear of her current goals and aspirations - although if her aversion to Iconox is anything to go by, there might be some clues in the life of the former Ice Tribe Glatorian known as "Filia" who was exiled after a mortal accident in the arena. Whoever she might have been before, she has since literally made a new name for herself in the various crime underworlds of the villages in Bara Magna, and recent events have made her services ever more coveted.

Kale Ironshaper - Docks - Fowadi IC: One nice thing about being part of the Aggressors was that they were always on the move. Always heading off to deal with some new spot of trouble. It helped him to feel like his life had a purpose. In this particular instance it got Kale out of Ga-koro before he had to explain to the Marines why the latest crisis was not the fault of his ship. The koro was pleasant enough but it seemed like something was always trying to blow it up whenever they happened to be in port. Which all meant that Kale was rather happy to be arriving at Ta-koro's modest dock. It wasn't nearly as large or sophisticated as Ga-koro's facilities had been. They didn't need that however. A short supply stop and a chance for the crew to say hello to anyone they knew inside of the semi-active volcano that threateningly spewed dark clouds of smoke and took up most of the horizon. The glint of sunlight off of the crystalline ships brought back another memory. The bright light of the noon day sun shining on oddly well maintained chainmail as the Infernavika swept past their port side. Disks, elemental attacks, and sometimes people flying between the two ships. This was where he had first met the storied pirate vessel. A ship they they were now allied with. Technically speaking...if you didn't look too hard and were far enough away at the time. They no longer fired on each other upon seeing the other sail into port at least. Things changed slowly but change they did. A volcanic breeze fluttered the trailing edge of his longcoat as the young man stepped up onto the deck. One last minute check of their stores in order to determine just what they would need to stock up on before heading off once more. They may of had a real quartermaster now but old habits died hard. His musings were disturbed by the sound of a fist impacting wood nearby. it didn't sound like someone was trying to break through said wood but that had not been a light impact either. Emerald eyes darted towards the source of the sound and a frown creased his mask. The sounds of metal feet on solid wood joined the rest of the commotion on deck as Kale made his way over to where one of their passengers was apparently trying to punch his way into the Captain's quarters. "if you break that I'm going to add the repair cost to your fee for this trip." OOC: @BULiK

IC: Rynekk | The Fowadi Krayn's hand on his back was a comforting weight, and Rynekk's smile grew evermore genuine at the knowledge that his faux-pas had gone unnoticed. He let him lead the way towards the gangplank and the bustle of the Rehu docks. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Ember off a ways on the deck, waving, and he matched it with his own -- although he ended his wave with a sharp drawing of the fingers towards the palm, a quick gesture of invitation that he nonetheless knew her sailor eyes would catch easily in the crowd. "What can I say? Ko-Koro knows how to feed its heroes," he said, turning his attention back to Krayn. "And the Sanctum Guard needed some trainers to help out with the new recruits, so I was kept active enough. Good to keep the ennui at bay during sick leave, too, not to mention. But, er, what about you? I heard about...." Rynekk paused, hesitated, tried to find the right words. His sister, Plagia, had always claimed to have neglected her studies in eloquence in favour of pure pugilism; a claim which he had always resented. She had an easy, straight-shooting charm about her that drew the right words to her like a fundamental force, while Rynekk was too often left struggling for a response half as good. By the Spirit, how does one bring up a near-death experience tactfully? He found himself almost relieved when he saw Commander Daring -- another woman of effortless conversation -- whirlwind her way across the crowded deck towards the two of them. "...well, you gave me a Karzin' fright, I'll tell you that much, Krayn," he said finally, the fingers of one hand touching the brim of his hat lightly, but just enough to hide his eyes from his taller friend. "I hope you're feeling better, I really do. And I wish I could've been around more, but--" But what? Fortunately, he was saved from having to answer that: Daring was already there, as well as Luten, and a third figure whom Rynekk had never met before. This one was a white-armoured Toa of Ice, as tall and broad as anyone who had made the Fowadi their home. With a longsword at his hip and a shield over his back, along with knicks in the armour and scores in the flesh to last a lifetime, this fellow was a veteran of a fair few battles. A mercenary, Rynekk supposed, considering the lack of insignias; and not an inconspicuous one, for he was also wearing two of the shiniest golden pauldrons that Rynekk had ever seen. If he hadn't already lowered the brim of his hat, he would've needed to right about then. He gave him a brief, but friendly nod. "Karz, Commander, Luten, no need to sneak up on a guy like that!" he said, chuckling good-heartedly. "Seems that it's Krayn's call overall who comes on this trip, and-- hey, who's that trying to break down Dehkaz's door?" OOC: @Krayzikk@Perp@Emzee@The UltimoScorp@BULiK@Snelly -Void

IC: Myhruk [Beach Outpost, Fowadi] During the second knock, something clicked (or perhaps snapped) in the dazed Lesterin. The hollow ring lingered in his audio receptors, the ever so slight give of the joints and the fibers within. He realized that his calloused knuckles had rapped against a wall and a tree simultaneously. His fist did not remove itself from the door. It rotated downwards to give more direct contact. The amateur pressed deep into the door, and saw through it. He visualized the path, both back, and beyond. A step back. Boots creaked planks. Loose sand particles ground against the wood in a pleasantly resistant slide. The stop was firm. He saw the path. His center was ready. Sharp inhale. Ash grey fists tightened as they rose. A squeeze before a light release of pressure. Find the path. D e e p e x h a l e. Left would be first. Start simple. Never let the basics slip. It was a test, but the target... live fire always had its own spike of pressure. Hold. Leave the slack until it was time... prime for the motion... EXHALE! The ankle shifted so the hip could rotate, bringing the shoulder's weight behind the twisting arm's extension. Various vectors aligning to give force to a common path. It was less performing a sequence of motions as much as it was playing a chord of biochemistry. Signals to each joint at the right time, each playing their part as the overall strum progressed, until all that was left was the resonance of the vibrating door. The discordant note hung in the air for a moment, even as contact was broken and stance was reset. Test complete. The dabbler was intrigued. The captain's quarters remained sealed to the interloper, but this was not fruitless - a lesson was learned. An experience had.

Oh wow, I already love this. I was only a very latecomer to the Corpus Rahkshi game, and I never got into all the background that had gone before; but the concept was really fascinating to me. So it really excited me to see the start of a story based on it. Even just one chapter in, I'm already hooked. The tone conveyed even just by Exxan's opening narration is fantastic; there's a sense of world-weariness that really carries through his words and does an excellent job of helping to set the scene. It's nice, too, to learn that at least a few of the game's Rahks survived the events of canon, and I really look forward to seeing how this is going to play out (On a side note, I know I was barely in the RP at all, I only joined up a month or so before it ended; but if there's any way that my girl Blizzard could make a tiny cameo, that would be amazing!)