Razgriz

IC: Jolek [Ta-Wahi, Fowadi Aft Deck] As the brief exchange played out between the Ko-Toa and Le-Toa, moments behind their remarks on the rock he was talking to, the outstretched finger confirmed two of her three claims as that investigative poke on the forehead made contact, prompting her (presumably Red-Star-borne) glow to spike and shift to an indignant magenta. The names she rattled off, hands on her hips, as "people who wore her" meant... well, nothing much. But the feeling of etched and carved geode was impossible to mistake, even after all this time. She was no illusion. Whatever else may have been the explanation, mundane or mystical, inanimate rock was standing here. Arguing with him. Rattling off a story with too many working, unfamiliar parts for him to specifically deny. By hook or by crook, she had life breathed into her. Real. Tangible. "...The Red Star can do all that? How big of a world have I been clueless about this whole..." Did he know what to make of that? Of course not. Nobody does when little statuettes go from greeting them to yelling at them in the span of two sentences. But he knew very well now that he was sorely lacking in life experience. Not enough to deny this many senses in tandem. Whether or not she actually was some Sanok could be determined later, right now... His arms folded, and beneath his Pakari nostrils flared as he accepted this shift in reality. Rocks don't talk, but this rock could. Frustration, resolution, contemplation... whichever mentality prompted it was unclear, but his instinct to reset after a moment was, in short order, validated. "Right. Okay, nice to meet you, you're the weirdest thing I've ever met. I hope we can be good friends." “Jolek… Highwind?” The gravelly voice sounded to his left, opposite Luten and matching with the footsteps he'd been noting down while he'd made sense of her. The Po-Matoran whom it belonged to standing with a small bit of parchment in his grasp, squinting at the writing as he read off the name. Dehkaz had already marked him down, and gone on leaving anyway? He knew he'd been read like a book just from talking with the man, but that was still quite a bit of faith. His accent was unmistakable, and seemed out of place surrounded by water. Po-Wahi. Had to be. That brought up another question about the more clipped, icy tones coming out of the big man's mouth, but first things first. “That you, yea? Captain’s looking for ya, c’mon.” He'd made a bit of a commotion and was also here with a De-Toa five feet away, so that was one explanation for how the boss had known he'd boarded. In the confusion of talking with four people at once (a personal best since the Lavapool Incident), there was plenty of time and diversion for Krayn to have surreptitiously alerted his CO... "We can chat more when Dehkaz is done with you. I've got a couple of questions, when you've got the time." Krayn gestured after the retreating Matoran, mostly with the wrist, and inclined his head slightly to the new Toa to bid him— for the moment— farewell. "Good luck." But meeting his eyes, Jolek found none of that mischief from moments ago, hinting at something he'd missed. There had to be another way, then. How... He returned the nod after that moment's searching, before sending one the way of the Po-Matoran as he started off behind, ambling towards an unvarnished hatch in the flooring of the boat, once again returning to proper focus as a fortress of steel that slipped through the murky waves without sinking. He'd felt the man's personal field brushing against his, that day they'd met in the Forest— this morning. Even within such a beaconlike mass, as though a candle surrounded by floodlights, had he still picked Jolek out by the time he'd pulled himself to shore? So many questions. "Perfect. So was I." So much I don't know. ... Abandoned against the railing, knife and pack sat, forgotten in the tumult.

IC: Jolek [Ta-Wahi, Fowadi Aft Deck] The boy's head rose a moment later, with much, much less reverence leaking from behind the veil of oblivion, motion spurred by none of the same ghosts of treasured memories. His brows were high on his mask, expression slack, nonplussed. Either he was unwilling or unable to hide that much, as the sentence bounced around like hammer of a strange bell inside his skull. "Huh?" Gilded eyes flicked back and forth, between Praggos and Krayn, the latter of which he'd long read as having the most authority of the assembled ranks short of the goliath they awaited. "Isn't he wearing i—?" That same chime from before, now much louder than he'd bargained for, and just off his rightward flank. "Hello there!" "Gyah!" One of his better attributes as a martial artist was his ability to turn, pivot, cut angles, and general agile use of the feet. This conferred innumerable advantages in a brawl, where positional awareness was the key that opened the door to all lines of defense and attack. Here, taken by surprise, his gut instinct produced prodigous torque through the ankle and hip as he whirled and sprung back a good bio and a half, forearms raised in a loose guard. The crystalline construct, glittering in the moonlight, continued her greeting and waving unabated, small enough to stand comfortably on the railing. While there were several things that felt off about being referred to as "Mister" in any capacity... His posture went slack a moment later, hands lowering as he crept forward again, eyeing the crystalline curiosity with more intrigue than wariness. He didn't sense any malice from her, but in all his years of living alongside a Cy-Toa... he'd never known crystals to start talking and taking names of their own. "...'Luten'? Nice to meet you too, but I gotta say you don't look much like a mask to me. I know a mask maker." He slowly raised a finger. All present would see that he meant to poke her on the brow. His eyes narrowed, squinting. She was a strange existence even to learned and urbane, worldly and experienced. "You're not a little crystal person? Are you even real?" A guy like him was roundly going to be hopeless.

IC: Jolek [Ta-Wahi, Fowadi Aft Deck] Something familiar there. Inexplicable. Competitive, yet at the same time comforting. Irked at the challenge he felt. Humbled by the breadth of learning before him, within the people, within the ship, within the name. "Well, I'm starting from nothing. I know that much, but it's not like I can leave now anyway. I'll get there. I've got to." A thousand miles. One step. Nothing to inform him... But nothing to shackle him to something from before. No before to be shackled to. A thousand strikes learned. One strike, a thousand times mastered. Foundational. The Void, the blank canvas, filling, finding a frame, finding color. From emptiness, structure, leading again into emptiness. Words in far-off tongues. Kru, Sensei. Walking a path trodden before, granted a guiding hand by those further down the length. Shaking off the ash that choked and dulled him, pure, empty white beneath. "Until then," The ground before him bare, polished each morning by hand to almost a mirror sheen. He had felt this somewhere. He had known that flicker behind the De-Toa's eyes, long ago. He inclined his head into a half-bow at the waist. "I'll be in your care, everyone."

IC: Jolek [Ta-Wahi, Fowadi Aft Deck] "Then that's the lead I'll follow." he nodded, taking a sip as he regarded the taller Toa. Gukko Force. Meaning, Krayn had come up in and cut his teeth in Le-Wahi, same as Jolek. It wasn't as though Highwind had any allegiance to speak of to the village— It was nestled far further inside the thicket than his old stomping grounds, a stone's throw away from the coast. The jungle was far and away big enough that the only real interaction he'd ever known of the authorities was hearing the birds they rode, leagues to the north. As a "shared heritage" went, it was definitely paltry... but it wasn't nothing. Familiar terrain, familiar surroundings, familiar weather— even that much was a leg up compared to most folks, kindly as they generally were, in Ta-Koro. Even that much counted enough, with little else to speak to. He wondered what the chances were that they'd barely missed eachother for a moment, an "independent officer" travelling the sometimes-overgrown footpaths the same day two "off-the-grid vagabonds" decided to track big game through their neck of the woods. Wasn't much. Wasn't zero, either. "I can work with someone who'll look me in the eye one way or another— I can't work in a cage. If it's just Dehkaz..." He took in a deep breath— filling his lungs with air that was already colder, cleaner, stronger than what he'd grown used to. Much more like home. "He seemed like he had a good read on me— I'll trust his judgement."

IC: Jolek [Ta-Wahi, Fowadi Aft Deck] "Water, please." he replied, almost absently. No hard decision to make— despite everyone around him's best efforts, he found his tongue to only tolerate the flavor of alcohol at best— a restarted life spent in the humid jungle meant he was far more familiar with its' uncontrolled cousin in rot. Hard to get used to, hard to find the point in. But right now, he didn't really have much focus to spare upon the decision in the first place. "I'd been wondering about that— noticed the insignia on his armor. Was wondering why Po-Koro would detach a lone guard into the Charred Forest. My guess was something like Warrant Officers." He then frowned, folding his corded arms. "I have to ask, how do you dodge getting muddied down by the red tape? You left yourself out of the Sentinel Parade in that sentence. Wouldn't expatriates like us only have more hoops to jump through, between the Sentinels and whoever they're borrowing us from?" He took the chance to get out of the system. If he'd just thrown himself into the bowels of a second, let alone the first, he'd probably go find out for himself just how shallow the bay was or wasn't, and solemnly vow never to turn back from that initial "warrior nomadism" idea again as the black of suffocation took him. "If I throw in with you guys, what makes it not more of the same that I skipped out on by showing up here?"

IC: Jolek [Ta-Wahi, Fowadi Aft Deck] "Don't got any, near as I know. I can't speak to owning much." He must have had a separation that healed bad, but either way, it looked like something lived with at this juncture. "Yep. Yeah. Kinda."

IC: Jolek [Ta-Wahi, Fowadi Aft Deck] "What the other path is. Bigger than the villages, bigger than the island." For a moment, his gaze left Krayn and found the middle distance. In the swirl that an untimely sleep following one skipped completely left the memory, the absent Captain's words needed a moment to piece themselves together from the fore. The waking moments he'd afforded himself since had all been a rush— all he knew was that he'd have gone crazy if he didn't go down the road he'd never worked up the nerve, conviction, motivation, whatever it was... to take. There was barely even any time to half-form the question that slipped into the air. "Dehkaz said that if I wasn't fit to be a good Guard, I should swing by here, and see what could be done besides wait for the trouble to come to us. I can't say he mentioned 'Aggressors', but..." His head quirked a little to the side, as if acknowledging an unmade point. "It sounds like the name fits. And I'm a pretty bad beat cop. Here I am."

IC: Jolek [Ta-Wahi, Fowadi Aft Deck] "Musta been as passerby," he snorted as she left, shrugging. "Whatever. Appreciate the hospitality." He wasn't totally thirsty, but despite learning certain social graces well after the fact, even a jungle boy understood the import that the gesture of offering food or drink to guest held. Having to hunt one's food each day, if anything, made it all the more pointed— sharing without guaranteed supply was a generosity so much the harder to be able to give. The twin gleams on Krayn's hip and ribcage were hard to miss, confirming Jolek's suspicions that he'd needed to be wary... But closing that range to offer a hand in turn did a lot of work to assuage the concern. Projectile weapons this close hindered more than they helped... And the De-Toa knew that. A firm gripping hand closed around his host's, careful not to crush, as he pulled himself up. "Jolek." First names it was, then— he wasn't here to coast on a reputation whose scope he didn't even know anyway. "And wherever he is, I feel like we oughta track him down— I need an explanation, and you guys need proof I'm not lying."

IC: Jolek [Ta-Wahi, Fowadi Aft Deck] "...Feel like I've seen you somewhere before." The vague sense of familiarity he was confident in, but the specifics were evading him. Her theatrically lazy circuit around him had given him time to try, in the moments she'd remained in view— but the people aboard seemed dead-set on splitting his attention one way or another. He wasn't getting much. Considering her sudden entrance from high up there, he had a feeling she could be quieter, sneakier than this— meaning the circling, in hunting terms, would be drawing the attention. Feinting worked in all Ways. He'd kept his gaze fixed on the grey toa through that time. He could hear her and feel her footfalls on the wood, enough to keep track of the space if nothing else. For a moment, the almost imperceptibly faint ring of wind chimes from the direction of the Ko-Toa joined the mental map he was putting together... And running through the short list of supplies, nothing he'd brought would jangle like that. He didn't think he'd seen any hanging low enough to propogate from there. So what gave? His gaze narrowed a smidge, looking over the grey and silver armoring below the black Sanok this "Krayn" guy wore as the Le-Toa drew up alongside him. So he had to be one of those sound elementals. That drew a frown, and with it more questions than answers. He shifted. Part of him wished he'd brought Rebellion along and found a justification for it later. Was that supposed to be some kind of cue? Why else would they be going through all this trouble? He had to play it cool here, not get sucked into their pace. "Had to be in Ta-Koro, of course. Been stuck there from the bombing till now."

IC: Jolek [Ta-Wahi, Fowadi Aft Deck] "Works for me." His eyes held for a moment, as if waiting for posture to shift with the new position, but returned to the fisherman with a blink. Nothing he could do to catch him by surprise that far out he couldn't have done anywhere on the ship, Jolek reasoned, and no way he'd get close enough to do anything else quick enough to catch him cold. Best watch the other for now.

IC: Jolek [Ta-Wahi, Fowadi Aft Deck] "I got a good nap in before heading down this way." Jolek offered in counter, tracking the Ko-Toa's ambling over to the knife he had, thankfully, managed to get onto the flooring— but refusing to let the other man leave view. Bunch of injured guys on this ship, he was noticing— though he moved pretty well on the subtly wonky surface provided him (even boats this big could rock a little, evidently), he wasn't able to conceal the hitch in his stride. Assuming he even meant to. "Wasn't a lot to bring to begin with."

IC: Jolek [Ta-Wahi, Fowadi Aft Deck] In the moments where his arc over the railing offered him respite from the exertion and adrenaline, Jolek realized that these desperate, prodigious bursts of explosion and speed left his lungs feeling like they'd been filled with sand— and he spent the first couple seconds breathing ragged, deep, filling himself with fresh air again. Or, well, as fresh as air got downwind of an active firepit. "Yeah... You can... tell me something." whether by stride or by stroke, a sprint was a sprint, and he felt it through the whole body even after he'd gotten enough wind in him to get some words out. Golden eyes flickered between the assortment of bodies he was confronted with— the more seasoned fighters among them (and they were seasoned. everything about this was way more placid than normal people would be about the knife thrown at them and the charge sent their way, even after they'd gotten the cards all over to their table by hauling him up and surrounding him) likely to recognize the direction his brain was going on automatic. The tall one who hauled him up was, height aside, every bit Khyrilik's opposite. Gaunt, too much for his frame, and favoring his left arm. Not a person that exuded command or raw power, but... Highwind pulled himself to a seat, legs crossed and hands planted on his knees. From the base of his spine, something flowed through each nerve as he locked eyes with his interrogator. "I'm here for the job offer. Does this boat have a Dehkaz Khyrilik on it?" he spoke again, all but a moment later, his breathing cadence recovered. It had taken a little time to reset, but he wasn't sparing much thought for it beyond the sense that it'd be necessary. Despite appearing a wounded animal, the Toa'd coolly kept him well out of the distance where his superior condition (to say nothing of technique) would break him in half. He was reedy where Jol was lean, but similarly rough around the edges. Injured where Jol was in proper fighting shape, but no less efficient in the mechanics of hauling him up, in moving the weight around, or in keeping his presence of mind through any of this budding exchange. A hungry wolf was a vicious one. An animal that knew it was wounded would be twice as ready to keep itself safe. Calmly accepting him aboard was more than it looked on its face. "Not like I'm spoiled for choice when it comes to 'dock at sundown', but he's hard to miss and I don't see him."

IC: Jolek [Ta-Koro Docks] As tension slowly threaded itself back into the line via some unseen mechanism (maybe pulling from further back? No, too steady and too smooth), Jolek took a moment's rest as the hook dragged him along through the darkening waters. They were chatting up there, words he could quite make out yet, but it was readily apparent that he had more than one witness to this stunt with piqued interest. That much he didn't mind... But he was, growingly, conscious of how far he'd now run himself out onto open water at night. For all he could boast of experienced swimming and comfort borne of the crystalline shallows that hugged the southeastern corner of Le-Wahi, that very same experience quickly reminded him that he was a karz of a lot like bait on this ad hoc fishing line, as far as anything big that made its home in these waters may have been concerned. He'd faced down predators before, sure... but he'd always made sure to do it on solid ground, where he was born to move upon. The sea was a place he visited. From the day his memories started, the day they had kicked him back onto shore, that was a relationship he made sure to respect. All that being enough time to catch a breath or three. His left hand reached forward, further up the line. Taut as it was now, pulling himself along would surely speed things up. He set to it like so many vines in youth, a steady progression of hand over hand, pulling with the back. By his own measure, he wasn't the biggest guy in the world— even for as thin as the crewman high above seemed (it might have been the stark angle playing weird with his height, who knows), Jolek doubted he was going to do anything ridiculous like pull him overboard. If I do, then his buddy in white over there better be dense enough for both of us.

IC: Jolek [Ta-Koro Docks] His muscles were aflame, but the raw power the Pakari put through them was making up for the buildup of fatigue— that said, they were sorely out of practice. It was unavoidable, after being posted up in Ta-Koro for so long. The resigned notion passed through Highwind's head as he churned through the blackened water, sharply breathing in with each stroke that carried his mouth above water. It wasn't like he'd had nearly such easy access to the coast, nor so hospitable an inlet, as he did back in the jungles to the south. Swimming was a primal movement, a great stress-test of the cardiovascular systems... but it was too a skill. And skills, you either use or lose. Right now, as the wind picked up around him, Jolek was, for all his effort, losing. Karz, there wasn't any way the wind was that strong yet, to move a vessel that size. He was being pummeled by unexpected currents beneath the surface, too, ripples that didn't make sense to come from even the wake of a ship this big. What on earth... did they have a Ga-Toa helping them set off? That'd make sense, but more importantly— A rough bark on the next exhale spoke the volumes of his straining frame and pounding heart. Whatever the mechanism Dehkaz's ship was using to accelerate, it could keep at this for a good long while, even longer than Jolek's conditioning allowed the front crawl from— A wrenched himself over in a sudden barrel roll, as something fast and metallic shot forth from overhead. His knife? Had they tossed his knife back at him? He scanned the water ahead, finding a black line that hung low from one of the side railings, terminating in... There. A hook, just wider in its curve than most Toa's forearms. Tracing a look back up the length of the line, his eyes met those of the silhouette, tall and lean, that braced it against deck, looking at him expectantly. He'd half believed this a reprisal for chucking a knife at them out of the blue when the glint had caught his eye between breaths— But even if they're mad about that, this far out I don't have much other choice. Take the line, get on the boat, and whatever response I've earned I deal with. Through grit teeth, he kicked furiously to make up for the distance he'd let slip in getting his bearing, one more spurt to force out of his screaming back and legs. In short order, his hand closed around the metallic stem of the (thankfully mostly dull) multi-pronged hook, lacing his arm through the inside, and gave two distinct tugs, like a trout on the line.

IC: Jolek [Ta-Koro Docks] The gunmetal and silver glimmer on the docks felt his lungs burning as he surged out onto the rickety wood of the pier, reinforced by enough steel to handle the thudding impact of each stride without giving in where it cracked. He'd had extra ground to cover even before the horn sounded, cluing him into the ship setting off— by the time the balls of his feet had touched dead tree and not ash, the ship was already well on its way out. He was gaining that ground back, certainly, but there was only so much time left before the hulk slipped out of the "port" entirely— A strained baring of teeth on his face, a wordless snarl, as he skid to a halt, shoulders rising and falling like much rougher seas. A chip of wood knocked loose by the sudden stop fell into the drink. Dully, he heard the splash beneath, eyes still affixed. The ship continued on, slinking further into the murky night that approached. Unlike him, it didn't need to stop with the dock. He didn't have a Kakama. He'd been far enough to still see a glimpse of Ta-Koro through the haze when the horn hit his ears— Now, as it sounded again, it seemed to have a clear message, one that rung between his ears rather than within them. This is a test, the hulking vessel's retreating form seemed to say in Khyrilik's voice, If you don't want it, I don't want you. One breath. Two. It was leaving. The third. Something. Anything. It wouldn't stop for him. He couldn't stop either, then, or he'd go back home, tail shamefully tucked between his legs. The Fa-Toa unslung his pack from his shoulders, untying it and drawing the knife from his belt. His eyes flickered across the sea, at the receding stern, at the edge of the pier, calculating distances. Now or never. His mask glowed, surging impossible strength through his muscles as he reared his hand back, gleam of steel catching the last embers of evening light— His first, last, only chance. — and every fiber fired in accord as he launched the knife, payload hastily tied off to the handle, at the rear mast. It streaked through the air in a high, fast arc. If nothing else, he was pretty sure he'd at least get his stuff aboard. He couldn't wait to track it the whole way, didn't have time, had to get going after it— Pulling back two, three, four strides, Krayn would see the curiosity he'd clocked take no more than two lungfuls of air, before that Pakari sent him sailing forward in a running dive for distance of his own, slicing through the placid surface in the ship's wake.

IC: Jolek [Ta-Koro Docks] The sun had sunk low as time continued on through the day, heedless of both the bustle and then the following stillness of the homestead. As it passed overhead, hours ticking by, it had only spared its attention it did for anything below its warmth— the cool golden glow that passed through the ashen haze slowly lengthening out into long lines of fiery red, orange, and pink. These lines filtered through the west-facing window slits and painted the halls within, now ghostly quiet once more after the passing of the whirlwind from hours prior. The only audience to the slow shift in hue stood solemn in the hearth, made the centerpiece by placement as it leaned against the stone that tamed a once roaring flame. His edge, still razor-keen, caught the dying filaments as they crept up to reach, spinning them into points of diamond. He would not be moving. When his owner was to return, however much time that would take, he would wait patiently. It had been decided, just as the placement of the spare key had been decided— for much longer than the man who decided had realized. For the record, there was a crook you could fashion between a loose floorboard and the potted plant that usually hid it tastefully from any prying eyes, neighborly or not. Until the time came when a worthy man had need for his strength, Rebellion would find his watch of the halls undisturbed. As it should be. ... ... Frowning around a straw in one's mouth was a surprisingly dexterous expression to be compelled to make. Before today, Suvala hadn't ever fully managed it, no matter how regularly the busywork of a Ta-Koro Guard pencil-pusher could prove inane and aggravating. The plasma toa was already proven as nothing much of a fighter when her lot was drawn from the pool of reservists in her district for paramilitary posting, so it was desk jockey or logistical work— she, in her ignorance, had chosen to work with paper and codes of conduct instead of supply crates and sore backs. It nominally was the better choice, to be fair: easier hours, more structured routine, dealing with the dumbest people in the Wahi on an impersonal bureaucratic level rather than being stuck gritting her teeth through befriending them and trusting them with heavy duty equipment, longer lunch breaks, the list was fairly expansive— Until one such lunch break brought her back from a smoothie courtesy of Jungle Jerval's into something that registered as an oncoming nightmare. She recognized a Form 2389 pretty quickly— guard-submitted request to be considered for Warrant Officer, filled out in a hasty scrawl that only her heavy experience with Salamander's kept legible. That much was fine, if annoying. The Guard often dangled these around barracks and break rooms as bait for the members that were in it for bigger reasons than hers to go out and spread the Ta-Koroan ideal of justice instead of protect home, blah blah blah, be a state sanctioned bounty hunter with a cool name. Few ever really made the cut. Judging from the chicken scratch, this PFC probably wasn't smart enough to be left to his own devices in other Koro. No, what gave her pause and started unconsciously ratcheting up the temperature of the hand clutching her once-frozen treat was the accompanying badge and sword. These were classically calling cards of a guard who'd Quit, not one looking for More Work. Already, this was looking like a kick up the line at the very best— just how in the karz was this one going to process? Was he raised by kikanalo? You couldn't even apply your jurisdiction without the— Smoke rose from the cup, and a tight, clenching pull was already forming at the base of her skull. she glanced around— Gronar, a reedy Skakdi who usually worked her shift, hadn't yet returned. Executive decision— He could deal with this. ... ... The bartender on duty at the Pumice Pord's Pub, like most any of those to don the bowtie and waistcoat, was good at getting people to pay more than they bargained for for drinks. A smooth tongued and attentive conversationalist, he fancied he could read a brewing fight, a budding romance, and an exploitable friendship all about as easily as the morning news. People were colorful, but you noticed patterns within the palettes. In the realm of art, balancing your hots and your colds was a skill coveted by ****** near anyone, generalship of positive and negative going hand-in-hand. Everyone had their personalities coloring them that way, if you knew where to look. The bag of widgets had a decent heft in his hand. Probably half the monthly salary of the man leaving— A man who was a dull gray, like any canvas sold in this ash-caked town. On one hand, this was the easiest money he'd ever made. On the other... He hated seeing guys like that walk through his doors. He'd only gotten this much by the grace of the Great Spirit, raw luck and none of his careful craft. When you couldn't even really feel if there was a person at all in there... nine times out of ten there would be nothing but trouble. The tenth was usually too stuck up to drink, and here for no reason that could be pleasant. He considered it. Well, this was a tab made quite pointedly in the name of a regular, Balian. He'd been told to pass along an apology that the drinks wouldn't be shared between the gray man (literally as well as metaphorically, he might have been a De-Toa) and the wizened mask-maker. Having never seen this guy before in his life, it was a mystery as to how he'd known that talkative old coot came by— But he'd have to take him at his word, because it was too blunt and plain to be a lie. ... ... His eyes drank in the dull orange glow, as he stopped just ahead of the docks, and Thoughts from before came flooding back into his empty head. Truth be told, his connection to Ta-Koro had long been strained. Even before he'd sublimated into the regimented guard grind, his days of vigilantism in the back alleys and rough footpaths were, save the day the Lavapool fell, every inch as aimless. The people there had been the point. It felt like they'd been long gone, now. Lost in the gears of the machine like he was, part of him argued that these conflicting feelings that assailed his thoughts were putting the cart before the Kane-ra— could you abandon the folks you never saw any more? Who had, for whatever reason, seemingly let you go? As much unfairness as it seemed to have... things went both ways, too. After all that work to pick a direction, make a decision, what was it that compelled him to turn back, away from that impossible fortress of steel that rocked upon the moorings? Towards the cage he wanted to escape? The orange dimmed into an ombre from a glow, as the sun behind the curtain slipped lower than Mangaia's jagged peak. He was supposed to be here before dusk, so it was cutting things close as it got— and he'd already seen what he was in for. If he wasn't out here to fish every once in a while, the pugilist would have found himself wondering just when the karz they'd built a fortress out by this port they couldn't care less about. Metal was dense, heavy. It sank. Even so... Nothing that size went up in a week. This had to be what the visiting dignitary and his clipped northern accent wanted him to see. This floating citadel, wrought from the forge and defiant of the waves. He stood yet, wondering which path would have proved correct— He did owe Angel, owe Balian, owe his rediscovered family. They weren't nothing. Maybe it was that this choice was wrong, too selfish, that served to answer why the dying light over Ta-Koro tugged at his lapel even now. As if his old chains were making one last effort to tie him to the duties he'd thoughtlessly taken on— Rolling through the valley, the echo of a far off beast, proclaiming its strength to the world through steam and brass, startled him out of his cyclical diatribe. The clarion call was throaty, big— He whirled. —and coming from the bay. The impossible ship was moving, the thin lines that had been attaching it to Ta-Koro's lone pier hanging at its side as a great blanket of white caught the wind from a mighty spire at its center. Leaving him behind, like so much had already. "Before Dusk" had passed. It was just "Dusk" now. Already, the metal boat was a dark spot that had begun to meld into the purples of the approaching night. Another opportunity. Except... The wind was at his back, too. On it was ash, smoke, sulfur— Ta-koro itself, telling him something. One last push. "Karz..!" Jolek Highwind swore under his breath, as he took off in a dead sprint, running after his last chance like he was good for little else.

IC: Jolek [Ta-Koro] It had been a while since the lonely wooden halls had seen the activity of the past hour or so. Typically, all they'd beheld was little more than a haggard, worn ghost of silver floating in from the street and into one of the side rooms, to not be seen until the next dawn. If lucky, the kitchen would see use— salad ingredients fished out from a larder and tossed together in one of the ceramic bowls, or a pan given the prestigious duty of searing off fresh game meat. The lava rat from a night ago, for instance, after being dried first against the ambient heat of the mask-maker's forge. It had seen its browning, once cleaned a little more thoroughly, in a pad of butter while the chef busied himself with rolling a few kinks out of his neck. That kind of simplicity and quickness— fittingly hearkening back to the days of having spent all further energy on surviving the hunt and leaving little room to indulge the finer culinary knowledge that lay in the mind. Surviving the day had been enough. Things differed now, as a whirlwind had come to ransack the many shelves, closets, and drawers quietly collecting a film of fine dust every unremarkable evening. A hunter's yes had scanned them, purposeful hands had at times plucked out key contents after wiping away the grey— as if ensuring they could correctly read what they were snatching, before unceremoniously returning everything else to the stillness. A collection of pencils, accompanying blank pages bound in leather. They'd never before been touched by his hands, yet now seemed to call their entangled kin within the recesses of his mind. A bundle of cloth from a stale closet, left for the moths that would never survive the ambient ash. He had hardly bothered with much more than his armor and uniform, but they seemed worth having, spare fabric if nothing else. Off the shelves that the wall of shields had stood silent vigil, a single tome written by an author that meant nothing to his ears— but a favorite tale of Perkahn's, held in esteem for a portrayal of a calm and righteous warrior. A conceit that even made the man doing it scoff. He was no reader. Not even close— but there had always been something to the way it evoked fondness from a man that so often shared his son's rough-around-the-edge nature. His eyes wandered, settling onto a sharpening stone. Keeping knives on one's person was like the training— further than something so wishy-washy as feeling "right". It was a necessity. Not there to be skipped. Such a primal, simple, utilitarian tool for life as it, a thousand uses known and a thousand more to discover, he couldn't imagine not keeping one on his person. It was survival. It needed to be maintained. Across from the stone, they wandered again... And fell upon the promise he had made, at the start of this. Even in the low light, cast in orange upon its razor edges by the faint embers within the fireplace, its blade seemed to gleam in the silent vigil it held. Unmarred even by the stagnation, by the rest against the house, by the slow march of time after its story had, by all accounts, drawn to a dignified close. He wasn't gathering much. Wasn't ever gonna be. The weight on his back would be familiar, plus, if his larger counterparts' words were true, a weapon would be more than handy. You'd be hard pressed to find one more proven. ... A grimace, then a huff as the head shook, scar on the cheek warping as the grimace pulled tight at the corners of his mouth. He couldn't. Wouldn't count. All this was to finally fix the reason he'd put it down in the first place— You don't get to use something to earn the right to hold it. Makes no ****** sense. He'd renege on the promise he'd made. He'd kill the point of making it, be worse than useless. He'd pack light. He'd figure it out. He wouldn't be made into a liar to Rebellion— it had chosen to wait, just as he'd let it. Their day in the Sun together would come when he was ready. No sooner. Promises were important. ... Inevitably, he looked out towards the front door, Ta-koro's incessant bustle along the grids locked away behind the barrier of a home. Separated. Those were the streets he'd pledged to patrol, bereft of anything else. There was where more promises lay. Drinks with Balian, the mask-maker, met only yesterday but pleasant enough. His strength to Angelus, waning and unused in the tension that never wanted to boil over within the fortress city's walls, a friend of similar cloth and concept that was harder and harder to pull out from his own promises to the desk. To Tarex at the gate, to grow, to rematch at the height of their powers and the height of his Self. Older than any. The start of everything he could call his own. ... And now to the newest of them. Dehkaz Khyrilik. Docks before dusk. Another path to fight "the good fight". "Bigger than the islands". Another cause to pledge to? Or the path forward, a road not taken? "Nah," he said after a moment. "I ain't that interesting." He had ignored these things before. Where did that get him? "You ready to play distraction?" Where would going leave them? His teeth grit, his hands folded the ends of the burlap pack in over on themselves in a simple square knot, his mind swam. He rose, contents for travel light as a feather in the tight-knuckled grip of his right hand. He really never did pack much. Nothing to put his name upon. Barely a trace of his passing left upon this home, both his and imperceptibly not. ..."hhh." The gunmetal wraith named Jol Highwind marched off to that same side room as always, setting the bag down upon the floor in that same familiar destination all carry-on items found themselves, and flopped back-first onto the bedding in the same way, arms behind the head and knee leisurely kicked up, staring a hole through the plain ceiling in the undecorated room. His head rolled over to the side. Golden eyes narrowed. The pack sat there, loose around its meager contents, but still undeniably packed. ... I should sleep on it. Mom always says to do that before decisions. They probably did it before deciding to skip town on me. A deep yawn, pulling his jaw wide. A curtain of darkness closing round his vision, as the last of the fatigue left to feel sank him deeper into the cusion. Yeah. Sleep'll be good. I'll know after that. ...One way or the other.

IC: Jolek [Ta-Wahi, Charred Forest] In the wake of that hulk's departure, a silence hung again beneath the intermittent breeze through the ash... Only, eventually, to be punctuated by the soft brush of armor on mask, as a beleaguered groan floated from Highwind's mouth. "...Seriously?"

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?"

i think the culmination of the joke here would be to not link this objectively better post after linking the one that was buildup

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.

failure, all of you. this was a simple task

Sowing the Wind

you see there is a cultural lodestone around here of linking posts you want to draw attention to in n&d, you can ignore these people because denying them the wacky blue hearts at the bottom right of the screen is funny

IC: Jolek [Ta-Wahi, Charred Forest] "It's..." Stagnant Regimented Monochrome Aimless Stifling. "...It has its moments." He finished, lamely appending faint praise to the sentence. "Sometimes I get to use them. Make the most of what I can." He felt stuck just by its' mere mention. Even this trail of thought was an endless, endless circle. Was this the third time in one day? At some juncture, keeping on this well-worn track was going to drive him postal— And yet. Here they were, all the same. Back to this again. He may have thought this a thousand times now. If thinking the same way about the same thing and saying the same words was really set to drive his psyche over the edge, in spite of how rugged he'd always seen himself... What was there to say about the heart of Khyrilik's question? What of taking the same actions in the same scenery, day in, day out? His jaw pulled the edges of his mask up into a ghost of a smile, remembering the churlish air he affected often in freedom, before duty. He didn't feel it behind his eyes. What did he feel? "Besides, I'm buddies with Angelus, so after the bombing, felt like I owed him the help..." And joined the largest uptick in recruitment their shared generation had seen. A figure in the sea of recruits... and processed thoroughly in their midst. One number among many, tasked with keeping the peace of a trained, focused populace. Walking the grid and being there, because he made for no investigator nor bureaucrat nor negotiator. He knew there was a minor dossier on every standing Guard somewhere in the depths of Jaller or Angel's offices, he'd been told as much and told again when he inevitably glossed over the detail until he got his first writeup. He knew they'd evaluated him on a level similar, if less conversational, than the Po-Koroan here was. He knew that it was no accident he'd been on this detail. Whomever had looked him over and figured out the things that made him tick inside, for what little a person there was to work with, had deduced that he was best served on patrol. ... But, really... "Recruitment's been high. Not a lot of moments wanna come and try it. Not supposed to be a bad problem for a Guard to have."