Aderia

Chapter 17: Spire’s Call “It’s literally impossible to do this wrong,” Excelian told her through gritted teeth. He was as calm as someone with two jags of shrapnel sticking out of his upper arm could be. “Literally, just stab it in.” He was lying about the simplicity of the procedure, but he knew his student was in no state of mind to realize. “There’s no place to stab it!” Erylist’s voice, several pitches higher than normal, shook, and she hated it. The field medic's syringe containing the Order's cocktail of vividermis and painkiller was shaking in her hand. “Wherever armor isn’t,” he hissed, more from pain than frustration, but it was a close call. “You stab with knives just fine, what-“ “This is the opposite of that!” The syringe darted back and forth between his neck and collar-armor. “It’s impossible to do this wrong,” Excelian repeated, tilting his head back and squeezing his eyes shut. “Just stab.” And she did, although he made the mistake of glancing at her. He let out his breath involuntarily as the painkiller immediately took the edge off the pain. “There.” She fell back, ripping the syringe out of the crease where neck met shoulder as she did so. “That wasn’t so bad.” “Erylist.” He spoke sternly. “Hm?” She was very deliberately inspecting the medical device in her hands and not looking up. “You don’t inject medication with your eyes closed. Ever.” Her eyes flicked guiltily to him, and then down to the shrapnel still piercing his armor. “Yep,” Excelian nodded, answering her unformed question. “Now those.” She visibly shuddered. “Next time we should start with medic training,” she laughed weakly. “Get it over with.” Their training mishap that had resulted in this particular injury had led to her first impromptu medic practical. She’d had the generic talk-through that all operatives were oriented with, but this was new, the ‘doing’ part. “I’m never training anyone ever again,” the former Avohkah Tamer assured himself and his student. He’d once commanded impressive non-elemental lightning powers, as well as being able to run at speeds rivaling the Avohkah Rahi he’d taken to calling himself after. Then, one day, inexplicably, his powers were just gone. He’d tried to back out of his position as one of Helryx’s operatives, once it was clear his powers weren’t coming back any time soon, but she wouldn’t let him. He said it was because he knew too much and he was a liability, but the Toa insisted it was because he could still function as a key operative. Which turned out to be training the rookies. He’d dropped his code name and resurrected his original ‘Excelian’, which was no less ostentatious. Tossing the needle aside, she took a deep breath and was at his side once more. “What do I even do?” She was staring at the puncture wounds in horror, slit-pupils dilated with anxiety. “Firm grip, one at a time. Yank straight out. Have a patch ready. Organic wounds tend to leak.” “Great Spirit,” she muttered, then cursed. “Eyes open?” He intoned it as a question but one with only one right answer. “Eyes open,” she echoed, affirmative. She grasped the top piece of metal gingerly, placing a steadying hand on his shoulder. Whom she was steadying, she wasn’t sure. A moment passed, then another. “Do you want these to rust into place?” he turned as slightly as he could to look at her. She shook her head, but said nothing. “I’ll count you down, okay?” No answer, so he repeated more firmly, Okay?” “Okay.” “Okay. Three. Tw- Hey, eyes open?” He had to check. “Eyes open.” She almost sounded irritated. “Three, two, one,” he counted fast. She yanked. Someone screamed, someone roared, hard to tell who emitted which. True to form, she was now dutifully pressing a sterilizer pad, two layers of gauze, and a metallic patch to the wound. “Good. You did good,” he told her through the new rush of pain. “Up for one more?” “Yeah, I-“ she glanced down at the piece of metal she now held, dripping with a few types of fluid that clearly didn’t want to mix. And promptly fainted. With a sharp intake of, then held, breath, Excelian secured the biopatch over his first wound, and stretched for the second patch. It was excruciatingly just out of reach. Two months ago, when Helryx had first shown up with the somewhat unwieldy and willful Midnighter in tow, he knew it would be a long year of training. Maybe it would be a long several years. He gritted his teeth and removed the second shard himself, and patched it quickly. He sat back for a few moments, absorbing and adjusting the radiating pain, and letting the medication dull it to a manageable level. He checked his student’s vitals, just in case. She was fine, of course. “So, you’re not a medic.” He helped her up as she began to stir out of her faint. “I’m not a medic,” she agreed, guiltily eyeing Excelian’s very bandaged arm. “And that was just misfire in a training exercise.” 'Imagine an actual combat situation,' but he left that last part to her intuition, as she clearly felt bad already. “I know,” she said sullenly. “But you ran around gutting half the Steltian syndicates for a few decades with no problem?” He regarded his student skeptically. “Fixing things is a lot harder than gutting them,” she insisted. He didn’t seem convinced. “Never pegged you for a queasy one, you know.” “Neither did I,” she grumbled. “I’m just going in for recon and retrieval. This is excessive.” She gestured to his mangled arm, the training yard littered with various weapons, the chest of medical supplies. “This is a stepping stone,” he said, although they’d been over this many times. “We’re stretched too thin across the inhabited islands. You’re getting the bare-bones training, and then coming back to complete it when you’re done.” “I-“ she began. This was, in fact, what she’d been gunning for, for as long as she could remember. Finally a fully-fledged member of Helryx’s secret order, like Armonger and Seja, her brother and sister. They’d been swept up straight from the ruins of the Hand of Artakha, and Erylist had been left behind. Not good enough. But apparently had been deemed valuable enough to keep on a roster for their convenience, as a substitute. And part of her had wanted to turn Helryx’s offer away out of spite, when they’d come to her on Artakha with an offer. But aspiration won out over animosity, and here she found herself on Daxia, being broken down and built up past limits she didn’t know she had. Yes, determination to prove herself a worthy agent drove her, but there was more than that. The opportunity to right the failings of her past - to retrieve Armonger and Seja from somewhere they were being held in the city, according to their intel. Guilt fueled the determination. With the more frequent natural disasters plaguing more and more islands, the Order was indeed short on operatives. They began picking their way across the training yard, heading for the barracks. “Well, I won’t be dueling Matoran, that’s for sure.” She kicked aside a Feltrehk staff, which fired blasts of brief time-disjunction to disorient a target. “No, but you’ll be going in blind. Nobody’s heard anything out of the Great City for years - our own agent included. Best be prepared.” They reached the gate to the barracks. “So, tomorrow? Here?” she asked. She preferred traditional combat training, as opposed to running through common guerrilla scenarios tweaked for urban environments that they’d been doing. “No, tomorrow is a crash course in biotech and devicing on the go, in the south wing.” He pointed with his good arm. “You just don’t want to get shrapneled two days in a row,” she accused him. He smiled tiredly, admitting she was right. “Just get some rest.” And clapped her on the shoulder in dismissal. Erylist pulled herself back to present. It was hard to believe that it was just over a year ago, she’d left Daxia. And, it turned out they were right. The intensive training that she’d thought was overkill was not enough. She tossed aside the half of a vivisection blade from the Makuta’s lair that had embedded itself in her calf in the explosion, which had reminded her of that day in training with Excelian. The relatively happy reminiscing had been the only thing to keep her from passing out as she patched herself up. Indeed, she’d learned basic combat medicine, and she still hated it. But it worked. She sat in a frozen cave of Ko-Metru - remote and far away from any Matoran, in case she’d been followed. It was more of a crevice, but it had an entrance and a separate exit, and that was all she needed for now. There were layers and layers of issues plaguing the city. She’d suspected she’d mined out more than she could manage when she arrived at her predecessor’s hidden base of operations and found it ransacked, and no sign of him. Erylist began a mental checklist of what she’d need to do to move the base of operations, because clearly her current hideout in Le-Metru wasn’t safe, and she’d been a fool to think it had been. Now, with a Makuta potentially on her trail, she had to take extra caution with every breath. It was a matter of gauging how much Mutran was willing to expose himself to the city. There was something that Makuta Mutran had said that was nagging at the back of her mind. "They’re killing each other off, and their own Turaga can’t do anything about it." Hadn’t those been the exact words? “Can’t”, not “won’t”, or “isn’t doing”. Perhaps it meant nothing, but it wasn’t sitting right with her. In retrospect, she should have tried harder to get to the Turaga when she’d first arrived. But the revelation that her shadow cloak didn’t fool mechanical systems had made her wary, too much so. The resulting chase by a combined force of Fire Brands and Conservators through half the city, also in her first week, hadn’t helped. No, if she really, really had tried, perhaps she could have made it into the Turaga’s audience. But, from what she’d gathered, it would have probably landed her in the basement-jail of the Coliseum indefinitely. But the time to chase the mutant Rahi around the city and forge information networks with Matoran groups was past. She’d have to log the connections she’d made for any future operatives who might come to the city after her, and most definitely get a message out about the Makuta’s involvement - perhaps even call for backup. The Order hadn’t answered any of her other transmissions, the routine reports once a month. The unscheduled, urgent transmission she began drafting in her head, though, hopefully would change that. She set a makeshift trip-wire at both entrances to her hideout and lay back for a long overdue rest. It was time to have the Le-Matoran make good on their deal with her, and have them get her to the Coliseum. Because as she began to drop quickly, the looming silhouette of the Coliseum rose almost immediately, urgently, ushering her into her slumber. Larker had checked Erylist’s hideout two days ago, but he was shocked and disappointed to find it completely cleaned out - any evidence of her existence expunged. He felt he knew her well enough to not worry - she was fine, and if she didn’t want to be found, that was her prerogative. She’d turn up if she decided to turn up, but otherwise, she’d take care of herself. But he didn’t know what he’d tell Tengi, who wanted to get in contact with her. So he’d gone about his last delivery of the day somewhat perplexed. Between his deliveries and freighter instructionals that Kesian had arranged, he actually had more free time than he’d ever planned. So seemed the case with much of Le-Metru’s workforce. The only deliveries not within Le-Metru were to Po-Metru. Ko-Metru never needed anything, except the occasional telescope part or something scholarly like that. Test drivers had no new classes of vehicles to drive, since demand for new types of transportation for new types of products was nonexistant. With the Kuma-Kava safely off the streets, he got Subi into a local Ussalry just in time. The nipper was overdue for a molt, and although Larker’s daily routine was low-stress, Ussals needed a good, uninterrupted stretch of a few days for a healthy molt and recovery. Larker was surprised at how acutely he felt the nipper’s absence. But perhaps it was more. Kesian had warned them all to lay low for a while, and it had been a week, and he’d only caught a glimpse of Kesian in his nights in the Wherehouse. Emyk was nowhere to be seen, and neither was their Ko-Matoran friend - Aulto, if he wasn’t mistaken. He never expected to become a regular at the Wherehouse, but he passed evening after evening there as the week wore on. He also had a nice pouch of winnings from playing caps and pins in the mixed company of the Wherehouse. Of course, he was also there to poke around groups of Po-Matoran for potential deliveries or contracts, and was usually joined by Rofto, who was keeping his head low and making use of himself in a custodial capacity. “You don’t bad-miss your friends in Ta-Metru?” Larker asked him one night, sorting though a modest heap of widgets he’d won in a round of ‘cills. “Sometimes,” Rofto admitted, sipping a cup of some kind of plant-mash from a street vendor above. It had an earthy scent, and Larker couldn’t decide if it was pleasant or not. But it definitely hung in the air. “But people are nice here.” “Maybe that’s for the better, then. Last I heard, the Cobalts are still hot-hunting for whoever bombed the Great Temple.” Larker regretted bringing that up, because Rofto immediately deflated. “I know I can’t stay here forever,” the Ta-Matoran said glumly, staring into his cup. “But I can’t go back to my old life.” Fear of his late employer turned his posture a bit more rigid. “What about the quarries? I’m sure they’re looking-searching for people,” Larker suggested. He’d considered picking up part time duties as a mine-runner, if they’d take him - simple, mindless, running the raw protodermis that was mined from the quarries to the assembler’s villages and sculptor yards. It didn’t pay much, and it could be physically demanding, but it was work. “Haven’t you heard?” Rofto was looking at him closely, trying to tell if he was joking. “What?” “There’s a snipe infestation in the whole quarry network, they’re all shut down.” “What?!” Larker repeated, more incredulous than anything. That would explain Emyk’s long absence and the increasingly disgruntled Po-Matoran he saw both in the streets and here in the evenings. “Yeah, one of Epena’s mines breached an Archives wall trying to expand, Rofto told him. “They swear it was an accident-“ “Of course they do,” Larked put in. “-but the next day, the same type of snipes that took down the northern sculpture fields were wreaking havoc in all Epena’s mines. Some of them have moved on to Emyk’s now, and Keturi’s is probably next.” “The Archivists let them loose?” Larker guessed. “Well, they say it was an accident, too. Or, just that the snipes were contained in the maintenance tunnel section, and it was Epena’s fault his miners let them loose.” “What are they doing to smother-stop them?” If left unchecked, the giant, mutant sand snipes would easily level half Po-Metru. “Well, last time, they had the help of the Cobalts.” “Ah,” Larker said, understanding. There would definitely be no help from the water-sisters, not these days. “The Garrison is doing the best they can with lures and avalanches, but it’s not going to be enough,” Rofto fretted. It was a sadly unique spectacle, having a Ta-Matoran worried for the well-being of Po-Matoran, Larker realized. “What about that branch of enforcers that was training Kavinika wolves? Can they help?” “No, that was the Cobalts, too,” the Ta-Matoran sighed. “Well, maybe you can start training a Kavinika,” Larker suggested, half-joking. He closed up his widget pouch and stood to leave for the night. He’d landed a spare-parts delivery from a remote assembler’s village to a Moto-Hub for tomorrow, so he’d have to get an early start, as the route would take him across most of the city. “Maybe,” Rofto chuckled. He, too, rose, waved goodbye, and slipped into an empty seat at a table of Po-Matoran and Le-Matoran who were just starting a new game of caps and pins. Larker stopped by the Ussalry to drop off treats for Subi, make quick inquiries as to when would be best to pick the Ussal up, and was on his way. The Ussalry attendant, unfortunately, told him that Subi had yet to begin the molting process. "Subi thinks I'm made of widgets," he grumbled. "And that I can rent-pay for an Ussal stall here all week." He handed over his week's winnings from the Wherehouse and was on his way. When he got back into his cargo-hauler, he almost jumped out of his armor because Erylist materialized in the cargo-hold, right behind him. “Larker, I need your help.” She spoke in a low, urgent tone, and sounded exhausted. “You’ve had a bad-busy week,” he said, turning to face her. She did indeed look worse for wear. “Wish I could speak-say the same.” “No, you don’t,” she half-laughed. She sounded exhausted. “Trust me.” “What kind of help do you want-need?” “The immediate kind,” she said, clutching onto the side of the carrier as he reversed out of the Ussalry lot. “Just drop me off in the Coliseum roundabout. That’s all I need.” “Now?” He looked at her, incredulous, and shifted into forward gear. “Yes.” It was completely out of his way, there was no guarantee he wouldn’t be stopped by an enforcer’s patrol, and if he were, he had no cargo to say he was on a delivery, save for the out-of-sorts Midnighter. He could always say he was on his way back from a delivery. She continued after he said nothing. “Just drop me off, and go straight home, and keep your head down for a while. Don’t go out at night, after this.” “Is something bad-wrong?” he asked over his shoulder, concerned. She didn’t seem like the type to spook easily. “Nothing worse than usual,” she laughed nervously, an attempt at nonchalance that was more unnerving than not. “And if you see Tines, let him know I’ll be dropping by soon. I hope.” “Sure thing. Say-speaking of, Tengi needs to see you.” He U-turned around in an intersection and headed for a highway ramp leading to the heart of the city. “Tengi?” she asked, distractedly, fiddling with some darts, trying to fit them into their compartment. “You know, water-sister? Skiff-sailer,” he listed off. She definitely knew who Tengi was. “Right, right,” Erylist murmured distractedly. She’d fixed on the outline of the Coliseum against the night sky, approaching steadily. “Tengi. I’ll find her.” “Okay.” Larker pulled off to the side of the highway and turned to her. “What’s going on?” he demanded. “Keep moving!” She cried, turning invisible, but said, “Go! It’s not safe!” “Well, if it’s so bad-scary out here, I should turn this thing around,” Larker reasoned, reaching to throw the gear-shift lever. He waved away a fellow Le-Matoran who drove by and had slowed enough to ask if he needed help. “I know, I’m sorry.” She reappeared, crouching as low as she could, and glancing around at every shadow. “I’m sorry,” she repeated. Her voice shook. “I need someone I can trust.” “What happened?” he asked again, almost in awe of what had changed her into this skittish, paranoid shadow of herself, hunkering in the bed of his hauler. “I, um,” she stammered, whipping her head around to glance over the edge of the elevated highway. “Past caught back up to me,” she finished lamely. “The less you know, the better.” “What, did you short-change a mob-Matoran or something?” he wanted to know, trundling back onto the highway, headed again for the Coliseum. “Not exactly,” was all she said. Somewhere, she’d picked up a Crast blaster, and was fiddling with the ray concentration settings. “You know how to point-shoot one of those?” he asked, a bit nervous having an activated weapon out while he was driving. Odds were, she’d picked it up during the Kuma-Kava chase, but he couldn’t totally rule out that she’d mugged a patrol for it. “More or less. Point, shoot,” she said, her voice steadying a bit as she gripped the weapon. “Hopefully won’t need it.” “Erylist?” Ninety-nine percent of the time, a direct hit from a Crast blaster, even on the highest setting, wasn’t lethal. Concussive, sure. Cause irreparable, eventually lethal internal damage from the right distance and angle, though? Yeah. Able to knock someone, say, a Turaga, from the highest balcony in the city? Definitely. Punch him through one of the reinforced windows to plunge to his death below? Most likely. The list went on and on, the more he thought about it. “Hm?” “I-“ he was sorry to ask this, and hesitated. But he had to know. “You’re not going to kill-snipe the Turaga, are you?” She barked out a short, one-syllable laugh, and said, “No.” Which was relieving, but then added, “I’m not planning on it.” Which left it a bit open ended, and he drove on uncertainly. “You know, the traffic circle won’t get you safe-past the mechanical eyes,” he said, after driving a few mio in uneasy silence. He was hoping to deter her. “And there’s no telling what’s wait-watching on the inside” “That’s okay,” she said, hefting the blaster again. “I just need to be fast.” She seemed to be gaining a bit of her old confidence back as they drew closer, and as whatever plan she had in mind loomed more and more inevitable. They’d only passed a handful of other vehicles, although he’d seen no enforcement patrols on the highways. Ever since they’d centralized in their own Metru, as opposed to around the Coliseum, the Coliseum sub-district had been virtually empty. “Larker,” she spoke up again, sounding as sure of herself as when he’d first met her. The highway circle around the base of the Coliseum came into view. “I’m not going to kill anyone.” Then she muttered something that sounded suspiciously like, “Those days are behind me.” So Larker just nodded. He merged onto the abandoned traffic circle and said, “Stay low-down. I’m taking you in.” She drew up her shadow cloak, not even leaving her own shadow behind. Larker shifted gear once again, guiding the hauler to the inner ring of the circle. The unfair edicts against Le-Metru, the stretches of time with no work available, his people running low and dropping in the streets because they were driven away from the feeding point - it all seemed to propel his hauler down the ramp that much faster, straight to the base of the Coliseum. It was against his better judgment. but also because all of the unfair edicts against Le-Matoran suddenly jumped to mind, he took a delivery ramp that led directly to the base of the Coliseum. “I’m picking up a bad-broke piece from the last Moto races,” he told the Ko-Matoran at the gate. The Phase Dragon logo and his badges got him through the gate, and he carefully backed into line with one of the cargo ramps. It was only because he was attuned to the balance of the hover-hauler that he noticed when the Midnighter, invisible, leapt from the vehicle. To his surprise, though, she appeared briefly at the side of the vehicle, in its shadow. “Thank you. You didn’t have to do that. But I’m glad you did.” She patted the side of the hauler in send-off. "You should get out of here.” And disappeared once more. Larker sat in the loading dock for a few more minutes, thinking of worst-possible-scenario contingencies. He should tell Kesian to falsify records that he, Larker, had been fired a few weeks ago, in case things went badly. That way, at least the company wouldn’t have a direct tie to the illicit delivery he’d just made. He needed to figure out a story to explain, in case the Ko-Matoran at the gate detained him, explaining why he got his pickup date wrong. But as he pulled away from the loading ramp, he knew that it wasn’t himself he should be fretting for. Review Topic

Agree, but I usually pair it with the inner Hordika turmoil from '05. Yes, I also associate Linkin Park with Bionicle for the same reason, I think. Also why I associate Roodaka with Evanescence (I'm pretty sure there was an old AMV with Cloud Nine and Web of Shadow clips, but can't find it now). I think I'd choose What You Want or Everybody's Fool, though. But I still like the combination. Dark Horses by Switchfoot for Voya Nui, although I don't entirely remember how the whole thing went down with the Piraka versus the Toa Nuva/Toa Inika. I can picture Takua wandering around Mata Nui with On My Way, playing in the background (you know, that happy adventure song from Brother Bear because Phil Collins is amazing). There's a lot that could like potentially kinda fit, but not exactly, you know? Cool to see everyone's music tastes, definitely. It's turned out to be quite a trip down memory lane, listening through the songs I liked (and still do) when I was getting into Bionicle for the first time. Didn't realize how strong the association was, wow.

Merry Christmas, and we'll all have a grand old time being alone together for the holidays. But I'd much rather that than accidentally give Covid to relatives as a gift instead of, you know, joy and stuff. Social responsibility oh yeah

Oh, wait I didn’t realize TSO did a Grinch version. No, I meant the original from the old cartoon. But yes, I know what you mean - it’s not in the playlist with the traditional carols. It’s usually listened to on repeat on its own

While my personal favorite is the Grinch song, TSO (not The Shadowed One haha) is definitely a staple of the holiday season, I agree.

Yes! I saw one a year or so ago that was super intense, I'm pretty sure it's a broom, but disguised to go 'boom'. (I forget where its originally from, but I googled 'disguised christmas presents, and it popped up) And yes! Putting Matoro together was actually the first time I've built a set! Hhaha about 15 years too late, but that's okay! Hahaha, I'm sorely tempted to let you believe I'm a Christmas witch. But I also enjoy revealing the method to the (probably underwhelming) madness, so voilà!

Chapter 16: The Bystander As far as holding cells went, the Cobalts had the best in the city. At least, that’s what Larker told himself as he sat in what could have passed for a modest seasonal worker’s apartment, except for the door, which was a grid of metal bars instead of an actual door. He’d never been arrested before - stopped a few times while driving, yes, but what Le-Matoran hadn’t? But actually brought into an enforcer’s station? This was new. He felt oddly pensive as he sat, listening to Tengi exchanging heated words with the Fire Brand outside, and her friend, Marka, standing between them, trying to calm them both down. The stress of now having an official outlaw record, honestly, felt like it was overdue, with the whirlwind the past few days had been. Not to mention the entire downward spiral the city itself had been in for what felt like eons - nothing had been the same since the League conquests, and the presence of the Barraki Lord had given a new meaning to what being outside the law meant. But that was neither here nor there. An era past. No, the stress that was clawing up his insides was the stress of the questionably sedated Kuma-Kava parked in the nearest harbor on their commandeered vessel. They had largely Marka’s pull with the enforcer’s patrol to thank - together the Matoran had moved the Rahi, whose normal size rivaled that of an alpha Kikanalo, to the waiting commercial freighter at the docks. Tengi must have explained four times over to each separate Cobalt that the interlopers in Ga-Metru were help she’d hired for her wrangler’s job, and showed them her writ with the official Archive’s seal, as well as Archivist Mavrah’s personal insignia. The Fire Brands didn’t bother arguing with her, but one was recording every identification detail about her dubiously. She probably wouldn’t be allowed on any field trips to the Great Furnace any time soon, Larker reasoned. It had also been that same Fire Brand who stopped them short of launching, and demanded to see Larker’s freighter permit, which didn’t exist. Tahimatoru and Erylist had yet to show their mask or face, respectively. But, perhaps that was for the better. It felt like a week had passed since loading the Rahi onto the freighter, although it couldn’t have been more than two hours. “We don’t have time for this!” Tengi’s voice had risen a few octaves, and she was waving her arms accusingly at the Fire Brand. Subi also paced restlessly at her feet, and he was having quite the time dancing around to avoid being irately trod upon. “His official permit hasn’t come through because the Harbormaster’s Commission hasn’t sent it! I don’t know what else to tell you!” Larker listened to her vowels shift back to their native articulation - somehow more curt, but he couldn’t quite place it. The accent was subtle, and only really came out against certain surrounding consonants. If he could have said anything to help their case, he certainly would have, but he was a Le-Matoran of good sense. So he kept his trap shut, and listened. “That still doesn’t answer why you hired an unlicensed Matoran to transport for you!” the Ta-Matoran shouted back. “I’m this close to arresting you as well!” “You have no jurisdiction here,” Marka told him firmly, holding out a hand in warning. “Tengi, please just work with us on this one.” She held up another hand to Tengi to cut her off. “I know this is a time-sensitive issue. I’ve already sent a runner to get a licensed freighter pilot over here, then you’ll be on your way.” “It’s the middle of the night!” Tengi said, although it must have been well past midnight. It was actually remarkable how steady her high level of exasperation was holding, and for so long. Many a Matoran would have simmered down much earlier. He shrugged when Subi glanced in his direction, essentially saying, Sorry, shell-buddy. Can’t do anything, here. And, of course, the juvenile Ussal understood all that from the simple gesture. He was very smart. Larker just smiled slightly to himself, because there really was no point in both he and Tengi working themselves into a frazzle, and that was the only thing he was sure of at the moment. “We have our best Matoran keeping an eye on your cargo,” Marka was assuring her. “A team of Conservators is on their way with a pre-stasis specialist from the Archives. They’ll either meet you en route or in the harbor.” “We could be at the Archives loading docks, twice over, by now!” Tengi accused over Marka’s head to the Fire Brand. “I’ve been hunting this thing for months! Months! And if I lose it because of some firespitter with control issues-“ “Some hunter you are,” he laughed. “Can’t even plan a proper extraction.” “It was small enough to fit in an Ussal pen last time I saw it!” They all turned as the door to the station burst open. Larker’s nerves jolted in alarm, and he was sure Tengi’s did as well, because another Fire Brand barged in with an expression of smug triumph. His eyes locked on Larker through the bars briefly before turning to confer quietly with his two brothers. Then, one of them waved Marka over. Larker and Tengi had time to share one helpless look before the huddle of enforcers broke. Although they didn’t cover much ground, Marka and Tengi moved at the same time - the Cobalt toward Larker, and Tengi angling herself so her next step would put her between the two. “What is it?” Tengi demanded, glaring at the three Ta-Matoran, who collectively looked like they’d just been chosen for Naming Day honors. “I’m sorry, Tengi,” Marka said, not looking at her, but zeroing in on Larker reluctantly. “They found the tampering in the operator’s panel. We have no choice but to transfer him to the Coliseum.” “The- wait, what?” “Dark-bad,” Larker murmured, deflating. Those who waited in the Coliseum’s holding cells were to be seen and sentenced by the Turaga himself, with their career and livelihood on the line, and the possibility of banishment from the city looming. Marka discreetly and quickly explained as much to Tengi, although the Ta-Matoran were watching like Avsa hawks. Tengi whirled on them, opening her mouth as if to let them have it. At the last moment, thankfully, she thought better of it, and said only, “It was me. I hacked the control panel and put him on the pilot’s stand.” “Listen, sister,” one of them said, looking down the center-ridge of his mask at her. “I don’t know what kind of deal he’s cut with you, but it’s not worth it. We know the handiwork of one of the Nui Chaser’s crew when we see it.” Judging by the looks the Fire Brands were giving her, she could have confessed to murdering the Turaga, and they wouldn’t have cared unless they knew they could pin the blame on the Le-Matoran. “Nui Chaser?” She shook her head in disgust and confusion. “No idea what you’re going on about.” “Real acid fly in the armor,” Marka told her, laying a hand on Tengi’s arm and guiding her back to a less directly confrontational distance. “They’ve been after him for decades, some Le-Matoran nuisance.” Although Larker had always wanted to try out one of the top-caliber speeder bikes, he also, had no idea what they were talking about. “He’s more than just a nuisance,” another of the Ta-Matoran snapped. They began to squabble about this and that detail of the latest sabotage here, or jailbreak there, but then talk of how to lay out the case to the Turaga for maximum sentencing quickly took over. Larker’s mask sank into his hands, abject dismay starting to sink in. “I’m sorry, Tengi,” Marka said again. She was back to avoiding acknowledgment of Larker. “He was on the pilot’s stand of a commandeered vessel in a Ga-Metru port, and without any piloting permissions. If it were in Le-Metru, things might be different.” “I’m telling you, it wasn’t him!” Tengi slapped Marka’s hand away. “Your admittance to the tampering will probably help,” the Cobalt said, torn but trying to conceal it. “But the culpability falls to the pilot - that’s a city-wide standard of the law.” “What are we going to do?” Tengi shouldered past Marka and appealed to Larker, kneeling so she was at eye-level with him. “Look at him,” the Fire Brand who seemed to have taken charge scoffed. “He knows the law. He know’s he’s slag.” “Larker,” Tengi pleaded - both an apology and an appeal for help. She was out of her depth with these statutes and hostilities. For the second time in only a few minutes, the door to the station slammed open. It was too much for Subi, and he skittered away with a piercing whine to hide under the clerk’s desk. “Take this and feed it to your law!” The Le-Matoran who marched in shoved a tablet in the lead Fire Brand’s mask. Both Tengi and Larker leapt up. It was Kesian. “Official lisencure for one ‘Larker', firespitter,” Kesian stated with a curt air of superiority they’d not heard before. “The original, with the Turaga’s stamp-seal, and the Commerce Assembly’s.” He snatched it from the first Fire Brand and waved it in front of another, then the other. “And here.” He tossed a metallic insignia through the bars to Larker, and continued, “Since apparently official permissions audits are routine, now?” His tone intensified at the incredulity of the prospect. “In a Metru not your own??” “You don’t much look like you belong here, either, brother,” the first Ta-Matoran spat the last word as an insult and stepped forward to meet Kesian’s challenge of their control. “Of course I do!” Kesian snapped. “I belong wherever one of my own is being unfairly treated and held against his will and without cause!!” He handed the piloting tablet to Marka, finally. “Ta-Metru hasn’t sent us a shipment of magnetized protodermis in decades,” he told her, taking off and flipping over one of his own piloting badges for her to see. “I had to go directly to the Coliseum clerks to get that one.” He nodded to Larker, who had attached his own pilot’s badge next to his driver’s one. “If it’s all the same to you, sister, I’d rather not have the record of one of my best driver’s mucked up because a few Fire Brands held him up in an area outside their jurisdiction.” His challenging glare implied that he would not quickly forget the Cobalt’s cooperation with the Fire Brands in this growing obstruction of justice. “Fine,” Marka conceded, at once turning to ward off the angry Ta-Matoran. “With the license right here, we really can’t hold him here. And the fact that the ship was still in port.” “The tampering!” one of the Ta-Matoran protested, and one of his brothers latched onto his arm to keep him in place, just in case. “That’s an internal Ga-Metru matter,” Marka told him, putting some protosteel behind her words. “I’ll speak with my sister privately about that.” She reached over the clerk’s desk to punch in a code, and the door to Larker’s cell unlatched with a satisfying clank. Tengi pulled the door open, and Kesian triumphantly led Larker out of the station, Subi trailing behind. “Tengi.” Marka stopped her just as she stepped out into the street. The Cobalt stepped outside herself, partially closing to door to shield them from the prying eyes of the Fire Brands. “Be careful. I hope you know what you’re doing.” “Don’t worry,” Tengi said. It had been Marka in the first place, during their intelligence ops meetings in the back of Kailani’s tavern that felt so long ago, who had encouraged Tengi to keep on those Le-Matoran contacts. “It’s my job to worry,” Marka smiled a bit wistfully, stepping back inside. Tengi took off after the Le-Matoran, and Marka shouted after her, “Have that freighter back by daybreak!” Tengi caught up within the next block, and was surprised to find them hurrying along silently. “Thank you,” Larker said quietly, once she’d joined them. “You didn’t have to speak-stand up for me.” She thought for a few moments, and said, “I try to do what my conscience won’t regret later. Besides, you’d have done the same.” The Le-Matoran only nodded. He seemed pretty downtrodden. The mist they’d been walking through turned to a light drizzle. “It didn’t start out like this,” Kesian told her from Larker’s other side. “What?” “Matoran have never hated each other like this before.” “Maybe not here,” she corrected him. “It wasn’t even this bad when it was each Metru for itself,” Kesian continued. “But all of the sudden, everyone’s picked a side, and there’s nothing but ‘us’ or ‘them’.” He was shaking his head sadly, angrily. It was a bit of an ironic observation, Tengi thought, from a Matoran who seemed to make a living off of antagonizing the ‘other side’, as he put it. But she didn’t say so. “Mata Nui would be disappointed if he walked among us,” Kesian went on. “Unity split, duty to ourselves and our side, and thinking we know better than destiny.” “If your company ever goes under, you could get a job in the Knowledge Towers,” she said drily. But he was in no mood to be baited. Kesian let Larker and Subi forge ahead a little ways, and he dropped behind to walk with her. “It’s companies like mine that are part of the problem.” It didn’t sound like a confession. It sounded like a burden he didn’t know how to put to rest, and had been carrying for a long time. “We do vehicles the best. I know that sounds prideful. Tele-Metru does communication best. The Vowlers do assembly the best. ProtoDucts does canals the best. The Immolators do refinery and raw production the best. It’s like an ecosystem, and each company has its niche to fill in the food chain. But when one gets hungry for more than it’s fair share?” He gestured broadly to the city around them. “And you’ve never reached for more than your share?” She regarded him skeptically as they walked on. They were almost there. “Of course not. I’m no better than the rest, I don’t try to tricknotize myself otherwise.” If he didn’t sound exhausted, he would have sounded vehement. “But it’s Matoran like him who pay a worse price. Pushing Phase Dragon Incorporated to survive and even thrive, though, is a question of long-term livelihood. For all those who work for it. But it’s at the cost of bullying other companies out of the way and keeping inter-metru corporations from expanding and cooperating.” “You can’t expand and cooperate?” “I’m afraid it’s become a matter of politics, now. Whoever can stay afloat longer without the other. We’ve integrated as much as we can with the quarries and what little business the Knowledge Towers have, but Ta-Metru won’t do business with us, and Ga-Metru doesn’t want to jeopardize their relationship with Ta-Metru.” “For good reason,” Tengi pointed out, although he probably knew better than she. Without Ta-Metru and Ga-Metru, the only protodermis available to the city would be the rocks coming out of quarries like Emyk’s, and which were largely unusable outside of the sculptor’s district. “Yes, for good reason,” Kesian sighed. “Not even the Turaga has a good solution.” Tengi rolled her eyes. “Does he even do anything?” She’d never once seen the Turaga in her years here. “When the Barraki came knocking, back during the League Conquests, he did everything publicly. Accountability, transparency, ‘unity’, and whatnot, because so much was at stake, and it was a completely foreign power coming after us. But there was enough backlash after the fact that it drove him back into the Coliseum, probably for good.” Kesian shrugged. “Worse, it gave everyone the idea that his authority could be persuaded by demand.” “Is that bad?” she asked. “Well, look at us now.” “What? A bunch of mint-armored Matoran who’ve had refined protodermis their whole lives? I don’t- hey!” Tengi’s critique of the denizens of the Great City was cut short by a yelp when she tripped over Subi, who had stopped abruptly with Larker, who had also stopped abruptly. Larker helped her up wordlessly, poking his head out into the harbor street. He ushered them back a few steps and whispered, “Are those Conservators friends of yours, then, water-sister?” Tengi snatched a quick glance across the street and into the harbor. It was too dark to make out the individual black-armored Onu-Matoran who were swarming the freighter now. Two were also guarding the huge Archives transport that waited in the street, blocking the whole width of it. She heaved a tired sigh and put on a brave mask. “Only one way to find out.” She readied her writ from Mavrah and bee-lined for the freighter, where she could just make out the outline of the Kuma-Kava. “What’s the meaning of this?” she demanded to the first Onu-Matoran she came to, guarding the entrance to the docks. “What are they doing to my freighter?” If it weren’t for a distinct lack of badge or insignia, Tengi would have passed easily for a Cobalt officer. Both her companions were beginning to realize they’d underestimated her, in their own way. The two Le-Matoran followed at what they hoped was a suitable distance, and kept their eyes down. Odds were, their type would only bring trouble in this district. “Are you the wrangler Mavrah hired?” the Onu-Matoran asked her, warily glancing at Larker and Kesian. “It depends who’s asking,” she said carefully. Peering at him close-quarters, Tengi saw no Conservator’s badge. “Does this help?” She presented the tablet with Mavrah’s seal. “Yes, yes, of course.” The Onu-Matoran signaled one of his peers on the freighter with a few gestures, and said, “Follow me. The Rahi has been properly sedated, and it’s safe to approach.” ‘I know, because we almost died sedating it in the first place', she wanted to tell him. Instead, for the sake of the remarkably self-controlled Le-Matoran who were told to wait there and not move if they knew what was good for them, all she said was, “Thank you,” and followed the Archivist onto the freighter. Once on board, Tengi realized there weren’t as many Onu-Matoran as they’d originally thought - more than half a dozen, but less than ten. Their dark armor to match the night-time probably helped disguise their numbers. “I have the wrangler,” her escort said. “She’s got Archivist Mavrah’s seal.” They were pointed promptly in the right direction. “Fine work, Tengi,” she recognized Mavrah’s voice from the small huddle of Onu-Matoran at the Kava’s head. He detached from the huddle and stood to greet her with the traditional fist bump. “I had no idea it had grown so large. No wonder it took you so long.” Scowling but otherwise ignoring the jibe, she said, “We discussed a long-term contract?” The Archivist drew in a breath slowly, thinking. “We did. You deliver results, that’s for sure. I had no idea it was so big,” he repeated, almost apologetic. “Well, it is a size-shifter,” she said. “But the first time I encountered it, it’s base size was much more reasonable.” He said nothing, his gaze drawn back to the Rahi, fascinated. “My contract?” she prompted. “Right.” He snapped his attention back to her. “Whenua?” He called his associate, who also stood up from the huddle of Archivists examining the Rahi, and joined them. “Wrangling’s not an easy job,” the second Archivist told her seriously. “We’d love to have a dependable wrangler to work with.” “And I’d love a dependable income,” she returned in the same business-respectful tone. “I’m not afraid to get my hands dirty, but in the future, I’d expect more accurate information on what I’m going after. And easier access to contact you if stuff like this comes up.” She gestured broadly at the whole situation. “No doubt, no doubt,” Mavrah laughed quickly. “But, well…” he glanced at his brother. “How soon do you want another quarry?” Whenua asked her, half-cautious and half-hopeful. “As soon as you’ve paid me,” she said. “Here,” Mavrah handed her a second writ tablet, but this one was metallic. “What is this?” She turned it over and over. It was inscribed with her name and a string of numbers formatted like a code - probably an identification number. “Tally tablet. It’s magnetically coded for you specifically,” he told her. "There’s a widgetry station right off the main entrance hall of the Archives. You can ask the clerk to check your balance and withdraw widgets as needed.” “Fascinating.” She angled the tablet to catch the dim starlight at a different angle. “I’m just supposed to take your word for it? That the widgeter will give me a pouch of widgets if I show them this?” “One of us can show you tomorrow, if you don’t believe us,” Mavrah said, offended that she didn’t seem to trust their word. “Contractors work with us for decades at a time, sometimes longer. And we make sure to take good care of them.” He held his hand out for the tablet, and etched a figure onto the blank side of it in charcoal, handing it back for her to read. “That much? For one job?” she exclaimed. “You understand why its easier to use a tally credit system, instead of lump sums,” Whenua chuckled. “When we first talked, you said-“ she trailed off, trying to remember exactly the reward they’d discussed. “Well,” Mavrah smiled a bit sheepishly. “It’s a bit of a trade secret. Rewards are, um, adjusted for a quality bonus if the wrangler actually brings in a live Rahi.” “Oh.” She frowned a bit. He seemed quite nonchalant at the waste of life he’d implied. She stowed away the tally tablet carefully. “So,” the second Archivist, Whenua began. “Would you be interested in starting in on another quarry?” “Excuse me,” Mavrah turned away at the summons of one of the stasis preppers. “Possibly,” she said. “You have another Rahi to hunt already?” “These are strange times,” Whenua said, almost musing to himself. “We Archivists, at least our branch, keeps a close watch on reports and sightings, and Mata Nui, have there been a lot in recent years.” “Reports and sightings,” she repeated, asking for clarification. “Rahi. Unique, non-native, a permutation of an established species on occasion,” he rattled off. “Tell me, have you ever heard of the Midnighter Cat species?” “I can’t say I’m familiar,” Tengi said, wracking her brains. “We think they’re related to Shallows Cats, if you’ve heard of them. Well, they were supposed to have gone extinct many years ago,” he said. “But a few decades ago, we had news of confirmed sightings on Kaugua and Stelt.” “Kaugua?” That surprised her. “It’s a small island east of the Northern Continent,” he explained, misunderstanding. A native of the Northern Continent herself, she was quite familiar with the neighboring islands. But he didn’t need to know that. Many a trafficked species went through Stelt, but Kaugua was remote, heavily forested, and had about two Koros. “But a few whispers here and there, I think one may have found its way here. To Metru Nui, of all places.” “Imagine that,” she murmured, stifling a yawn that rose up much too quickly. “You’d put a supposedly extinct species into captivity, just like that?” “You didn’t seem to have any qualms about bringing this one in,” Whenua gestured at the Kuma-Kava. “He’s unique, we think. Never seen another like him.” Sounds lonely, Tengi thought, a pang of sadness stabbing through the fatigue that was settling in. He continued, sounding all too much like a tour guide, although one who cared about his work very much, “It’s said they were completely nocturnal, hunted in complete silence, and could travel through shadows like gateways. One Midnighter Cat’s domain could span an entire island. Here’s an illustration from old records, straight from the Southern Continent history halls.” He handed her an etching on a slate. She stared at the drawing wordlessly, because it was an illustration of Erylist. She missed his next few lines about Midnighter Cats, something about their diet. She handed the etching back to him, muttering blearily, “I’ll think about it, okay?” “Okay,” he agreed, a bit taken aback at her sudden departure. But their team was prepping the Rahi to be loaded onto their own Archives transport, a much more suited vehicle for the job, and he would be needed soon. “You can find me, or just go straight to Mavrah,” he said. “Thank you, I’ll be in touch,” she called over her shoulder. She dragged herself off the freighter, trying and failing to count how many consecutive hours she’d now been awake. “We’re done here,” she told an expectant Kesian and Larker. “All squared away.” “You look horrible,” Kesian said. “Dizz-oriented. Are you sure you’re not running low?” “No, I went to the feeding point three months ago,” she yawned, heading to her new Mariner’s neighborhood, which was mercifully closer than she’d realized during the chase. “If you’re sure," Kesian said. “Did you get the contract?” “Yeah, I think I did,” she showed him her tally credit tablet. “This has some code or something I think you’ll be able to use.” “Perfect,” Kesian grinned, but pushed it back toward her, “Keep that somewhere safe, though. Can’t be too careful.” “You don’t need it? For the codes?” She asked, although she barely had any idea how their tech with their ID codes all worked. She preferred straight pouches of widgets. “We’ll work it out later,” he said. “We need to lay low for a week or two, after all the fiasco tonight.” “Come on,” Larker beckoned Subi, and they walked after Tengi. “Home is this way,” Kesian reminded him, jerking his chin south. “I know,” Larker said, waving him off. “We’ll just see her quick-safe to her neighborhood.” “Okay, well if you get arrested a second time, I can’t save you,” Kesian chuckled, and trotted away. Subi caught up to her first. “Hey, Soobs,” she said, dipping quickly to pat his carapace. “Sorry about getting you almost eaten, earlier.” The Kuma-Kava had tracked them right down, by Subi’s scent. It hadn’t been a very good plan, she’d realized as they’d dodged the bullet-blows from the Rahi up and down the streets of the old shipwright’s district. Erylist and Tahi had arrived just in time. But then again, her first run at bringing in the Kava hadn’t been any better. “You know, I’ll be fine. I’m almost home,” she told Larker. “But, thank you.” “Did you know, when you spoke up, that confessing to steal-jacking the freighter could get you iron-banished by the Turaga?” Larker wanted to know. “Back at the Cobalt’s station?” Yawning yet again, Tengi shook her head. “No, but being banished would be worse for you than for me. This isn’t my home.” “You’d leave-go?” “Yeah, I would. Things are getting pretty bad here,” she said. “But there aren’t many ships off this island, these days.” As in, there were none, and had been none for years. But she also wasn’t sure if she would leave now, if she had the chance. There were too many moving parts she’d uncovered, chased here to the Great City, and was tracking down to leave to go cold now. Erylist was a piece to the puzzle, now she was sure of it. Which reminded her. “Larker, can you get in contact with Erylist? I think she’s going to be in trouble.” If she’s not already. “I can try,” he said, although doubtful. “I’ll let her know you’re looking for her?” “Yeah, something like that,” Tengi said, and waved him good-night as she turned onto her street. As it turned out, Erylist was indeed already in trouble. She’d chased after her quarry from Ga-Metru all the way south through the city. Whatever it was, it was better at keeping to the shadows than she herself was, which was impressive. Letting out an angry, frustrated growl, she dropped her shadow cloak completely. Exhaustion had rendered it spotty at best, and at this point, she needed all her focus to keep up with her target in the street below. She kept to the low rooftops of Matoran homes and small businesses and shops when she could, but they were coming up fast on an industrial Moto-Hub sub-district. Thoughts racing, she had to make a choice. Either risk losing her quarry in scaling the Moto-Hub for a much better vantage point, or drop into the street and risk a confrontation. Leaping and catching onto a metal support of the Hub, she began to climb. The odds of a close-range confrontation ending in her favor were not good. And now, her arsenal was reduced to a handful of mechanical darts and her plasma-edged knife. What was worse, though, the sky was beginning to lighten. As soon as the first sun peaked over the horizon, her shadow cloak ability wouldn’t even be a back-up option. Rushing to the edge of the Moto Hub’s roof, she zeroed in on her quarry once more - easy enough, with her night vision and that it was the only thing moving down on the streets. It was headed straight for the southern coast of the city. That she’d somewhat let up her pursuit of it seemed to have not affected it. Whatever it was, it was fast, and big - moreso than her, on both accounts. Best not to engage in a confrontation. Scrambling down the side of the Hub, she dropped into the street, dropping to all fours to chase. There was no doubt, this was the bystander that had been lurking in the shadows at her interception of more than half a dozen of the strange Rahi around the city. It never approached close enough for her to lunge out and strike it, and always seemed to know how to stay just out of her field of vision. And that elusiveness translated to their chase - she had to hunt by glimpses and intuition. “Stop!” she cried, which was useless, as it barreled into a shipyard. She followed without hesitating. It was bipedal, with a menacing hulk to its shoulders, and larger than even a Toa, she realized. No, she would avoid a tussle at all costs. “You can’t run anymore!” She slowed as it began to run out of dock, standing and loading her mechanical dart launcher. Just as she took aim, it slowed the tiniest amount, casting one crimson-tinted glance back to her, and diving into the choppy Silver Sea. She took one look behind her, memorizing the angle of the skyline, and rushed headlong after it. Taking in a mouthful of water and surfacing with undignified sputters, she was just as surprised to see that she was actually the stronger swimmer. And she wasn’t a strong swimmer. Part of her training on Daxia had included underwater combat, and she was cursing herself for not carrying the mech-breather attachment with her. It was not nearly as reliable or foolproof as a Mask of Water Breathing, and only functional for about an hour at a time, but it would have been a make-or-break in a situation like this. Her night vision didn’t translate perfectly to underwater vision, but it helped. She swam after the large, dark shape in the water. It was getting colder, though, and diving deeper beneath the tumultuous surface, while it made for easier swimming, was slowing her too much between breaths. She was falling behind, and she understood why. Her quarry hadn’t once surfaced for air. The thought of turning back and regrouping slipped into the back of her mind, but she ignored it. She suddenly found herself swimming blind, and much colder. They were swimming in a shadow. Bobbing to the surface, she realized they’d reached the Great Barrier. Laying back and kicking toward a large spire of rock jutting out of the sea, she weighed her options. She could wait until the suns came up to explore the area of Barrier it had disappeared, or she could turn back. And risk never finding this spot again, as the Barrier was vast and monotonous. Clinging to the spire of rock, she peered at the craggy face of solid protodermis before her. There! Her eyes zeroed in on movement. And there it was, scaling the Great Barrier, heading for an outcropping she’d not seen at first. The thrill of catching sight of her target again, though, sunk away as she realized how high it was climbing. Exhaustion dragged at her limbs and fogged her mind. She had one trick, another courtesy of Daxia. From the same compartment in her forearm armor where her darts were stored, she shook out an irregular metallic prism, about the same size as one of her darts. The prism, a thin casing of metallic protodermis, really, contained one dose of neuro-electrical stimulant - enough to sharpen her mind and burn away physiological fatigue for a few hours. It was a closely guarded secret of the Order - they called it vividermis, and their unconventional botanist who had concocted the stimulant was kept under the closest scrutiny. As far as she knew, operatives only carried two or three of the prisms on mission at a time. She had two left, now. Crunching the prism shell and spitting it out, she forced down the gritty stimulant, shaking the vile, acidic taste away. Although the revitalizing effects would take a few minutes to take hold, she had no time to waste. Dropping off the spire and back into the sea, she kicked toward the Barrier, keeping her head above the surface to track her target. By the time she reached the base of the Barrier, she no longer felt the cold or the fatigue. Closing her eyes briefly, she called up her shadow cloak, complete with soundproofing. It wouldn’t work once it was daylight, so she needed to move quickly. Whether the stimulant actually erased the cold and tired, or just made one numb to it, she didn’t actually know. But either way, she was able to find the right hand and footholds to begin scaling the Barrier as surely as if she’d just had a perfect week’s rest. As soon as she ascended past the level where the ocean’s spray slicked the rocks, the climbing became exponentially easier. The rock was optimally rugged for climbing. She was even able to crawl along the underside of the outcropping, completely upsidedown, with no problem, save a loose handhold that dropped away into the sea below. The thing she was chasing had perhaps a two-minute lead on her. Checking the top of the outcropping quickly, she saw why she’d seemingly lost her quarry once it had reached this point. The outcropping was the entrance, or exit, to a sizeable crack in the Barrier. A cave. Scrambling up and around so she could peer into the dark crevice, she held her breath. She heard nothing. The Midnighter took a deep breath, loaded an exploding dart into her launcher, and crawled into the cave almost lizard-like, clinging to the ceiling. She made her way along slowly until her vision adjusted once again. There was nothing but rocks, rocks, and more rocks. There weren’t even any branching tunnels, which made her think this cave wasn’t natural, despite the craggy, natural rocks that had initially suggested it was. As far as she could tell, there weren’t even any twists or turns, just a straight tunnel. She pressed on carefully - although her soundproofing masked her footfalls, or in this case, scratching and scrambling for foot and handholds in the ceiling, it would do nothing for debris and bits of rock knocked loose, of which there had been several already. There was one turn she came to, suspiciously right-angled. She expected to find herself in complete darkness, cave darkness, when the cave entrance was no longer in sight, but around the corner, the tunnel was lit with a murky, green-hued light. She froze. There were a few bio of tunnel left, and it looked like it opened into a cavern. She wedged a tracker into a niche in the ceiling, hoping it could transmit back to the holo-nav in the city from here. Inching forward, she settled on getting a quick look around, and escaping while she still had her shadow cloak available. And the tunnel did indeed open to a sizeable cavern. And to her surprise, it was ringed with control panels, large vats with … things in them, some monitor screens, and large tables arrayed with shiny instruments and vials. And her quarry stood in the middle of the cavern, partially obstructed by one of the support pillars that ran floor-to-ceiling. And someone was speaking to it. “-upload the schematics of Le-Metru to your memory. There aren’t enough Rahi of ours to-“ The speaker, who was also hidden away out of sight, stopped abruptly. The thing she’d been hunting turned toward her, and she saw it was a mechanoid - completely mechanical. “It seems you’ve led someone straight here,” the speaker told his mechanoid in a cold, observational tone that was none too pleased. Alarm sparked to life, burning in her gut. She dropped from the ceiling, ready to flee. But suddenly, the weight of her armor increased, pinning her to the ground. Whether it was magnetically or telekinetically, she wasn’t sure, but whatever force was acting on her inorganic armor was now dragging her into the cavern. There were a very limited set of beings with abilities she was experiencing now. And, barely able to struggle, she saw the Makuta who was drawing her out into the open. The terror of familiarity gripped her, surely as the Makuta’s powers dragged her forward. “Uncanny,” he murmured. “You’ve brought me the Artakhan.” The mechanoid fixed it’s visio-sensors on her, scrutinizing. “Artakhan,” it repeated, memorizing. “Species: Undetermined.” “I thought we’d seen the last of these,” the Makuta sighed, his almost nonchalant irritation more terrifying than rage would have been. “Mech, ready the sedation chamber.” The robot turned obediently. “With a little prying,” the Makuta grinned, a grisly expression on his Shelek, “we can round out your database, what do you think?” “You,” Erylist managed the syllable through gritted teeth. “Makuta Mutran.” “My reputation precedes me.” He seemed pleased with himself. “Now, what puzzles me, Artakha-spawn, is how you came to be here. I thought I had you shipped off in stasis.” “Shipping error,” she grunted, pulling against his powers. It had been a good couple thousand years since their first meeting, which had ended in disaster for her and her brother and sister. “I’m flattered you remember me.” “I’m a biologist,” Mutran said in simple explanation. “Unique species fascinate me. Of course I remember you.” He summoned a long, thin blade from one of the tables to himself, examining it. “Sedation chamber initiation cycle has begun,” the mechanoid reported. She couldn’t turn her head to see where said chamber was, but it was somewhere she definitely didn’t want to go. “Now,” Mutran lifted her telekinetically, then magnetized her to one of the support pillars. “You must be the one who’s been hunting down my Rahi in the city.” “I knew there was something rotten about them,” she said, careful to time her speech to cover the sound of her dart launcher switching orientation as she flexed her wrist in a careful gesture-command. “So this is all one big field experiment to you?” “Cutting edge.” The Makuta nodded, although she wasn’t sure if he was talking to her anymore. He was also peering at her neck as if trying to figure out the best way to cleanly decapitate her, which was unnerving. “Matoran are dying, you know. Your Rahi aren’t exactly tame.” “Please,” Mutran scoffed. “Have you seen the state of the city? They’re killing each other off, and their own Turaga can’t do anything about it. What’s a couple dozen more casualties, here or there? A perfect testing ground for biogenesis.” She strained to eye the contents of the experimentation vats. Repulsive. "The city’s on its way out,” Mutran informed her, seeming to relish the idea. “And the Makuta will be here to raise it from the ashes, to heights never before seen.” “Sedation chamber is ready,” the mecahnoid said, and a laser scanner burst to life from slot in its metal faceplate, running up and down the Midnighter, who squeezed her eyes shut, cringing away. “Good. Prep the table.” And the mechanoid lumbered off to one of the sterile lab tables. Erylist suspected what was coming, and knew she’d have one chance. The magnetic strain holding her armor to the metal bands around the support pillar loosed, and she found herself once again held aloft telekinetically. She held Mutran’s calculating stare mutinously, and dispensed the rest of her explosive darts onto the floor, as close to the support pillar as she could. She launched the last dart straight down into the pile, and was blown back, slamming into one of the experimentation vats by the resulting explosion. The rumbling around her, as she staggered to her feet, dripping from the leaked vat-fluid, was all she needed to know. The cavern was collapsing, and she needed to get out. She caught the briefest glance of a stunned, half-buried Makuta hurling aside debris, as she sprinted toward the tunnel. “Go! Go! After her!” the Makuta’s command flew after her, as she plunged out of the cave and into the dawn, hurling herself from the Great Barrier and dove down, down, down, into the Silver Sea. Review Topic The tale of Erylist's first encounter with Mutran can be found here.

Awesome chapters, again. Things that stood out: - The efficient and plausible quick setup and play-out of the tension between Matoran groups in Ta-Koro. Didn't feel like a forced or rushed set up. Matoran living separated by elemental grouping has always perplexed me, so it was cool to see a mixed Koro, albeit with it's own internal political issues. - Kwynn's archery - super cool way to implement non-lethal rounds and elemental powers. Love it! - Definitely didn't expect chapter 9 to end the way it did (trying to be vague because don't want to be a spoiler for anyone else), and I'm interested to see the aftermath! I also enjoyed use of Nava's Komau, and still have no idea why it's not considered a taboo/immoral mask by Toa. Like, I know a stipulation is 'can't make someone do something against their morals', but a huge loophole is just to find someone with no morals. And, if it can control some types of Rahi, do Rahi even have morals? Anyways, haha that's more of a speculative ramble than anything. Good read, as usual - happy writing!

...I know it's a bit early for holiday stuff (I promise, I'm not one of those people but then again, I'm not known for acute self-awareness, so I can't say for sure...), but I figured I'd get my gift buying done early (I wrapped this the day after Halloween), since I've been through one holiday rush at the Amazon warehouse, and don't want to contribute to a second In addition to finding a little Matoro on Etsy for myself, I did some early holiday gift wrapping, but the fun way! I've seen some really cool disguised gifts on the internet in the past, and I finally decided to give it a shot. Nothing fancy, but I had a good time. For those who want to guess what it really is: have at it! Hint 1: It was less $20 USD Hint 2: It's not a train. For those who don't want to guess what it really is:

I have great memories of Winnie the Pooh! (albiet the disney films and the heffalump song). But I'm familiar with the illustrations you're talking about too - a high compliment! Yes! I did go through more scraps of thumbnails (I think that's the technical term?) than I ever would have guessed, planning it all out! I'm glad it turned out well! Haha, I had a grand old time giggling to myself at work thinking about floating Ba-Matoran. That was a good day. Thank you, both

This is an old favorite of mine, I especially like the humor conveyed in the chuckle Nokama's voice actor adds in the movie version, and Matau's 'huh?' at the end

I absolutely love the rich history of the language and the culture, and it's personally significant as part of my heritage. It's not my first language, but it was my major in university. However, being out of school for almost 3 years now, I've been out of practice. There's no one in my area who speaks the language, sadly but understandably. So when a coworker recently asked me to help him learn a bit of Chinese because his older sister spent time working as a linguist out of Taiwan, I was pretty stoked. Here are some of the worksheets/lessons I whipped up for him, and I figured they'd be cool to share, in case any of you guys wanted an informal introduction to the language. The worksheets were made in microsoft word and I did my best to informally cite the screenshots on the same page. I'll also try and explain in typing what I explained to my coworker during breaks during our 'lesson time', although some of the typed explanation may be redundant redundant to the worksheets. Page 1, worksheet 1 Characters: 你好 Pinyin: Nǐ hǎo! English: Hello! Pinyin system was actually developed to raise literacy rates among the Chinese people, not for foreigners to learn Chinese easier, although it definitely helps with that. It uses the latin alphabet and tone marks to represent the pronunciation of their corresponding characters. As you can probably tell, there's not a huge combination of syllables available with the above listed consonants and vowels (initials and finals). Even if you add in tonal variations, there's still a very limited number of syllable combinations available, which is why the richness of etymology is found in the characters themselves, not necessarily their phonological counterparts (the pronunciation). But more on that later. Tones. Four tones in Mandarin, more in Cantonese, although people tell my different answers when I ask exactly how many are in Cantonese. But both (all) Chinese dialects use the same writing system of characters. (however, some places use traditional characters, and other places use simplified characters, but that's another topic). Tones were and still are one of the most challenging aspects of the Chinese language for me to really 'get'. It's not something a lot of native English speakers have a trained ear for, and, quite frankly, many don't see the importance of getting the tones right (myself included, on my grumpy days). Luckily, with the aforementioned low combination of syllables in the language, Chinese is a highly contextual language, and so the odds are, if you mess up your tones, people will have a general idea what you're talking about. But that doesn't mean you shouldn't try to speak correctly. Example: A fellow Chinese major, a few years ahead of me, told us a story from his own time studying abroad in China. Their assignment for the weekend was to go do something, and tell the class about it the following Monday using new vocabulary or whatever. Pretty standard assignment. My classmate said, "I went to go see the pandas!" But he pronounced it wrong. 熊猫 xióngmāo， panda, literally the characters for 'bear' and 'cat'. What he said was: 胸 毛 xiōng máo, which means 'chest hair'. Consider yourselves tonally warned Notes on the pronunciation of consonants, as not all of them are the same in English as they are in Mandarin/Chinese. (If I mention 'Chinese', I'm talking about Mandarin Chinese, and all characters are simplified, as opposed to traditional). q - this is like a blend between 'ts' and 'ch'. x- this consonant is pronounced almost like an 's', but your tongue is constricting the airflow against the back of your upper teeth, as opposed to that little ridge where the roof of your mouth and your upper teeth meet (called the alveolar ridge). Kind of like a snake hissing, but shorter and a bit more forceful. r- the tip of the tongue is curled back and up toward the roof of the moth - more retroflexed - than an (American) English 'r'. If listeners and/or enunciators aren't careful, it can sound like 'l'. c - the most common way I hear this sound explained to native English speakers. Say the word "cats". Then say "-ats". Then just say "- - ts", and that's the sound. For the vowels, also called finals, since they form the final part of a syllable, throw out English rules about combining vowel sounds. If you grew up with 'when two vowels go walking, the first one does the talking', that doesn't apply to Pinyin. Vowels are annoying in pretty much every language, as far as I know, so if you have more questions about them here, I'm not the person to ask XD Page 2, worksheet 1 我 - wǒ - this is the character for the first person singular. I, me, my, so on. A language professor from my semester abroad in Shanghai explained that the pronoun's roots mean essentially 'the part of we that is not king'. I'm not sure how figurative that is, but it really highlights the deep roots of collectivism in the culture. More literally, the character is comprised of two radicals (the components of a character that can be broken down, similar but not the same as how we have morphemes, small units of meaning in our language. example: cats is two morphemes. "cat", the feline, and "-s" suffix, the plural indicator). The radicals in 我 are 手 shǒu, which is a hand, and 戈 gē, which is dagger or axe or tool. A hand holding a tool, or a laborer. And the emperor had his own formal pronoun that only he was allowed to use, back in the day, and he also doesn't have to work the fields or anything, so everyone else who did had to develop their own way to refer to themselves, as well. Under the pictographs section, you can probably see the connections between the characters and their meanings, which is essentially the meaning of the term 'pictograph'. If you wanna see really cool stuff, you can look into the ancient oracle bone script. Simple ideographs are fun and I also find them humorous. 凹 āo by itself means concave. 凸 tū by itself means convex. Isn't it great?? Now, compound these simple ideographs and you get 凹凸 āotū, which means 'bumpy'. Chinese is full of these compounds, some pretty close to literal, like above, and some requiring a bit more abstraction. Probably more on those later. Lastly, a note on the semantic-phonetic compounds. Semantics, for those wondering, is kind of like the meaning(s) behind the words (semantics is the difference between your big sister and your large sister), and phonetics is the actual sounds made by the vocal tract. So take a look at the characters listed under the semantic-phonetic section. 叫，吃，味，唱 You see what they have in common? The radical they have in common? It's that little box on the left of each character, which is the 口 kǒu radical. If you remember from the pictograph section, 口 kǒu is 'mouth'. You can see the semantic meaning the 'mouth' radical adds to the words for 'to be named/called', 'to eat', 'to taste', and 'to sing'. Anyways, that's it for part 1. I'll try and post/adapt more of these as I develop them and find the time! Also a disclaimer, the lessons don't really follow any pedagogy or methodology for developing Chinese fluency, but more like what I thought were relevant factoids and stuff I find fascinating at every level of learning the language that I think I can explain to a person who knows little or nothing about it without overwhelming them.

I love these! How awesome! And you know what they say, When you draw a bonkle a day, It keeps the fandom from wasting away. But seriously, great work! You should definitely be proud. Dynamic scenes, and the shading/crosshatching stuff is so well done! I quite enjoy your style, especially how the expressions all turned out. I'll have to go take a look at nickonaquamagna's stuff again, I do know it's high caliber. The Rahi also stood out, very MNOG-esque. Personally I like the entry with Pewku and Takua (#25, I think?) I'd love to see more of your stuff around! (edit: wait do you have your deviantart link or something?)

Synopsis/Author's Note: Krahka has long been one of my favorite Bionicle characters. I thought I'd write a bit about her journey that brought her closer to being a Toa than she ever expected. This takes place right between The Darkness Below and Legends of Metru Nui, and I have to disclaim that lines of dialogue were taken directly from those books. Also, terms used in the story as the language of her people are butchered Maori terms. Thank you, and enjoy! That Wistful Place Above --- “She fought to protect her home. But too much power, fueled by too much anger, made her a menace,” Vakama said quietly. “Perhaps I saw a reflection of ourselves in her … or what we could become, if we are not very careful.” - Toa Metru Vakama, The Darkness Below The words of the Toa hounded her, even through the fog of her exhausted dreams. Relentlessly, they swirled around her as she fled back to the echo of her homeland. Sleep had once been merciful, and it had been in its anesthetizing embrace she’d first been able to lock away the piercing, burning memories of the last days of her home and her people, felled by the merciless conquest of the stealers of life. The Selfless Ones, is what their name meant, in their own fluid tongue. The Krahkani people - Krahka. A wordplay on their shape-changing abilities, yes, but more. Her people had once lived in close-knit covens across the entire island, where the boundary between the good of oneself and the good of another was indistinct. Curiosity, the thrill and novelty of learning together, growing together. But, no longer. “You will be alone for eternity, Krahka.” The much fresher memory of the Toa’s prediction in their battle, mere hours ago, bludgeoned away the long-buried reminiscence of home and belonging that wanted so badly to be resurrected. “They fear you,” another one of the little heroes had spat at her. But what did any of the top-dwellers know of fear? Real fear. The kind of fear that blazes fiercely enough to strip you of yourself? Leave you adrift? With not even a pinprick of bitter hope to turn away from? It was the kind of primal fear that any sentient being could conceive of, but was so far, terrible, incomprehensible that it became a ridiculous, foreign concept that was sublimated into story time around a night fire. No, these top-dwellers were safe from even the concept of the scourge, the horde, and the decay and desolation always, always left in its wake. And she couldn’t even find it within herself to begin to wish it upon them. “They know you for a deceiver.” Sharp words from the hero with the power of the tides flowing through her veins, held back by only her willpower and naivety, and who had unwittingly earned Krahka’s respect. Deceiver. Deceit. Fear. The two walked closer than brothers in the minds of the top-dwellers. Perhaps that was the price exacted by such grand self-assurance that drove the Toa so boldly down into her solitude. “Even in the suns’ light, monster, you will always be in night-dark!” The night-dark. She remembered how it had swallowed her up when she’d first fled into it, in a blind panic, fleeing from the ashes of the only life she’d every known. It had taken her in, she clung to it, drawing comfort from the anonymity it provided. Ironic, that anonymity should be something that one with no shape to call her own would seek. In the night-dark, her consternation had aged into melancholy contemplation. Endling. She was no longer a self. And for what must have been ages, in the numbing night-dark of her cold corridors and caverns, there was no need to be. Because the crushing, constricting weight of what had befallen her home and her people - and worse, that she had somehow survived - was too heavy for a lone self to bear. “She fought to protect her home…” These words, the last she'd heard from the top-dwellers, cut the deepest. The Krahka stirred awake, shaking off the crust of dried lava from her escape from the Toa Metru along with the fragmented shards of dreams from an era past. Never before had she expended so much energy to create and maintain a transformation. The overwhelming ferocity of what could have only been elemental power flowing through the frame of Toa was like a sweet hum through every fiber and sinew running beneath the armor. Bursting, singing, begging to be used. That kind of power could be addicting. But the thrill of raw elemental power was just the crest of the Kikanalo. These Toa - yes, their names drifted back into her working memory as her consciousness dragged itself back from fatigued respite - they’d given her more than one invaluable gift. She’d observed them far longer and far more thoroughly than they could ever be comfortable with. Apart from the stray cataloguer or maintenance worker - both new terms for her - these Toa were the only top-dwellers she’d had the chance to observe. Unwelcome, of course. But Krahka understood a sound defeat, and was no fool. A fool was one who refused to learn from their failures. And long had she been a fool. She now had enough of the top-dweller’s language at her command to communicate. That much was clear. That was one gift from the Toa. As close to literally as possible, it opened a whole new world of possibility to her. But possibility was not something she sought, and the first gift of language would have rotted away unused without the second. The second gift was gleaned from her observation of the Toa, and proven in the way they battled and bickered together. It was precisely that - together. Brothers. Sisters. And, she realized, that’s what had begun to wrench the key stabbed into the lock around her ihio - her people’s word for that inmost seat of self that didn’t change with one’s shape, but was nonetheless shaped by it and that which was around it, whether it be friend or foe, culture or catastrophe. The longing for belonging innate in most sentient beings, at least in her experience and imitation of them. That longing was growling awake after a lonely hibernation, and the part of her that they called animal, other, Rahi, couldn’t help but be stirred to action by it. One thing Krahka decided she had taken for granted about her current lava eel shape was that, when exhausted as she was, at least there were no legs for her to stagger up on to. She took her time slithering toward the surface, drawn by both the hunger from the ache of loss long past and the foreboding curiosity that had whispered that hunger awake. One thing the Toa Metru had assured her was that the other top-dwellers would never accept her. She was classified clearly as not us, and based on what she saw in the Archives, that black-and-white designation sentenced her to a life in stasis. In retrospect, her timidity in taking on this new world at long last was largely due to spending so much time under the suspended, sorrowful stares of the Rahi lining every corridor. True, the amount of information and plethora of species she added to her terohki grew exponentially, but she wondered if the knowledge was worth the seed of repulsion and fear for Matoran-kind that was planted. Terohki. It wasn’t a term that translated directly for top-dwellers, but it was close to cache, repository, or arsenal, if her people had been of a more belligerent bent. The terohki consisted of the forms held within a Krahka’s working memory that they could take and manipulate at will. The keterohki included forms once taken, but since forgotten. Nonetheless, those forms were considered an integral part of the Krahka who carried them, as they’d shaped the ihio. The keterohki, thus, also became a respectful euphemism to refer to those of the coven who had passed on. Krahka had the last and the largest keterohki, and it was a burden that became much heavier once she ventured out of the shadows. With each exhibit plaque she read and trapped form she ingested into her terohki, she felt the weight of her keterohki grow. Your time will come, again, she promised a lovely Proto-Drake in the Amphibians Hall, one day. The part of her they called Rahi was repulsed by the Archives. But that same part instinctively understood that she was in the top-dweller’s territory - acutely, consciously, constantly aware of the fact. Swaggering in and throwing things around like a Brakas gone batty was not the way to get what you wanted, which was a lesson she still dreamed of teaching the so called Toa Metru. The fear that they would or already had sent more top-dwellers down into her home still gnawed at her. But, honestly, the Matoran who toiled here in the museum looked to her almost idyllic. Self-satisfied in their work, and perhaps quietly dreaming of something more, but too modest to ever say so. This was the life the Toa would fight so hard to protect and preserve? She now knew she couldn’t best the Toa, united as they were, in a direct confrontation. But she’d proven over and over that she could outwit “Are you lost?” An inquisitive blue mask poked into her field of vision and started her out of her contemplation. “No,” she took a step back from the minor worms exhibit. “Not lost.” She turned her head and looked at the speaker. “Are you lost?” He seemed to think that was some witty joke on her part, because a wide grin broke over his concerned expression. “Not officially, but if the Vahki ask, I got hit with a Staff of Confusion and I’m still recovering!” He feigned a confused stumble, almost knocking into the display case of seabed worms. Too aware that she was stuck in observation mode, she forced a smile onto whichever mask she was wearing today. “Stupid Vahki,” she agreed. It seemed like a safe thing to say. Indeed, the enforcers unnerved her. She’d never encountered a being who she couldn’t ingest into her terohki. It had taken her a few days to realize they were fully mechanical. Still grinning, the Matoran shook off the disoriented act, and became intensely interested in the specific specimen she’d been standing in front of. “Are you here for a research project? Are you a biology student?” He was a fast talker. His red armor told her he wasn’t one who wasn’t one of those Le-Matoran, who she’d learned to avoid at all cost. Thankfully, not many of them had wandered into the exhibit halls. It was all she could do to shrug and lessen the width of her smile. It was all she could do to keep the stress of sustained interaction from crumpling her carefully maintained expression of stand-offish disinterest. “It’s just, most Ga-Matoran students are in the middle of their exams. I didn’t expect to see any of you out and about for a few weeks yet.” “I don’t need exams,” she tried, and shifted so she mirrored his inquisitive, focused stance. The Matoran’s jaw dropped ever so slightly, and understanding gleamed in his eyes. He leaned in and asked quietly in disbelief, “You’re skipping exams??” Again, she mimicked his body language, leaning in and dropping her voice to match his, and letting the syllables slip out quietly and quickly. “I’m skipping exams.” Whatever an ‘exam’ was. “Ha!” the Matoran straightened up with a startling exclamation. “Such a Ga-Matoran!” His voice returned to a normal, less attention-attracting volume. She made sure to note the relationship between volume and the attention it garnered. All the rules were different up here, and she didn’t necessarily like them. “Skipping exams to pour over bio-worm exhibits!” She laughed her best laugh - soft, repetitive syllables to the rhythm of acceptable speech patterns, and thankfully, the Matoran joined in. “Never a dull moment!” he said, eyes still alight in genuine amusement. It was unnerving. “Come on. I’ll show you how a pro shirks work! I bet you've never been chute-diving before.” He began to trot away, obviously expecting her to follow. “No,” she shook her head, once, firmly when he turned and looked at her expectantly. “I … have exams.” The Matoran tilted his head slightly, confused and she also thought she read a note of disappointment. She shook her head again, and he seemed to understand she meant it. “Okay,” he deflated a bit, but piped up again almost immediately, “Well if any Rorzakh come around asking for ‘Takua’, I was never here!” and he sauntered off. Watching him go, Krahka knew she had a long, long way to go if ever she were to successfully infiltrate Matoran society. Fool, she decided. No amount of well-meaning and happy-go-lucky joviality could hide that. But the sheer infectiousness of the Matoran’s wide-eyed enthusiasm for what wonders he somehow found in even harbor worms and insignificant strangers - something about that tugged at her attention. No. When you were on your own, there was no leeway that afforded joviality. And therein lay the essence of the virtue of Unity which the Toa and Matoran cherished and - it dawned on her, fought for. She was surprised by the sadness that welled up around her ihio as her talkative acquaintance turned a corner and disappeared. But she knew why it was so. The Matoran would never be her ihikani - heart’s brethren. A short static burst, followed by music pouring out of the Archives’ PA system caused her to flinch. The few other Matoran in the exhibit hall, murmuring among themselves, began to make their way out to the main exhibit hall. She followed cautiously, careful to stay close enough it looked like she was simply one of the crowd, but far enough away that it would be easy to slip into the shadows and disappear. Atelescreen that normally displayed a labeled map of the exhibits available to the public now broadcasted the face of the elder, Turaga Dume. “Matoran of Metru Nui,” the Turaga’s amplified voice instructed them. “You are required to gather at the Coliseum.” No, she was as foolish as that Ta-Matoran she’d met earlier, if she thought she was ready to gather with the entire city in an enclosed arena. But she couldn’t deny the slight pull of curiosity. It occurred to her, as the broadcast began to repeat itself, that it could be a chance to face the Toa again. But, of course, what could she do, with the whole city there? The Matoran who weren’t still watching the Turaga’s announcement began to trickle away toward the exit. She shimmered smoothly into the guise of an insignificant lava rat and wriggled down through a grate into her night-dark. Perhaps one day she’d make it to the Coliseum. But not today. Rohuiro, yet another Krahkani term with no Matoran equivalent. For a people with the ability to change form to capture the essence, both physical and immaterial, of another, change was a constant. In conceptual terms, the terohki was the smooth-flowing current, the swirling eddies, the rushing torrents of a river. The ihio was the water itself - able to take many forms but water all the same. Rohuiro was the riverbed. That which made a river a river, and not a lake, not an ocean. It shaped how the river ran - a trickle, a set of rapids, a waterfall. It hemmed in the river, both limiting it and defining it, but not always containing it. Over time, the river could force change to its course. A push-and-pull balance of change and constant, willpower and destiny. Without rohuiro, what would stop a Krahkani from dissipating and losing oneself from being submerged in another? Without a riverbed, the river was groundwater. Runoff. Used up again and again. In practical terms, and what the term came to mean when spoken among the people rohuiro, essentially, was survival and resilience despite and because of that which you could not control. Adapting to live another day, change another day. This day, though, she hadn’t expected to be buried alive in what felt like half the city’s worth of rubble and collapsed tunnels. Then again, she reasoned sardonically with herself, nobody really expects that to happen to them. She clawed her way up, up, and up through the dozens of layers of rubble. She barely recognized the remains of the Wings and Water exhibit of the Archives when she finally surfaced. Her senses and instincts jumped instantly to high alert, as they always did when she left her own territory to impinge on another’s. Cracked, leaking stasis displays lay all over the floor, support columns in pieces or soon to be. Almost on instinct, she transformed into the shape of the most recent Onu-Matoran she’d seen. If Archivists were to find a stray Rock Raptor in the ruins of one of their exhibits, it certainly wouldn’t bode well for that raptor. She kept a sharp ear out for approaching Archivists and maintenance workers as she worked as quickly as she could to free a Dermis Turtle stirring back to consciousness. The Onu-Matoran, she discovered, had surprisingly keen low-light vision, which helped the process. Where were the Matoran? Why weren’t they swarming this scene of the tunneling accident? Because, surely, that’s what it was. She’d seen it before, too many times - the wrong grade or quantity of explosives set in the maintenance tunnels to widen or expand. But to cause devastation all the way down through the sub-levels, the borders of her territory she’d been patrolling? The labored breathing of a Shallows Cat drew her in next. One of its hind legs was crushed beneath a fallen support beam. It didn’t budge when she tested it, carefully skirting clear of the cat’s snapping jaws. There was still no sound of approaching Matoran. She shimmered into the form of the Toa Metru of Earth, hoping desperately that Whenua wouldn’t be part of the first responder’s team to this miner’s fiasco. She drew upon his strength and connection to the earth, shifting both the ground and the pillar simultaneously to free the cat and prevent further collapse. “Go,” she urged it in the Toa’s deep voice. She knelt, palms pressed to the ground, listening, sensing. Nothing. Something was wrong, and terribly so. With the help of the forms of the Toa of Water and Toa of Stone, she created a makeshift tank for a reviving brood of Ghekula toads, who would hopefully have enough sense to leap free once they awoke. Crouching, she shifted from Toa to Kavinika wolf. If there had ever been anyone to ask, she would have said Kavinika was one of her favorite rohki - one of her favorite forms. It was considered disrespectful, wasteful, even, to take a form without good reason. Although without any of her culture left to disapprove, there had been many a rohki Krahka had taken throughout the years just because. But now, above ground where there were those who might see - not understand, for who was left who could? - but at least see, she was driven more to act with purpose. The Kavinika’s astute sense of smell was what she needed. Scenting the air, the stench of death flowed in and shook her deeply, knocking malevolently at her barricaded ihio. It wasn’t the scent of Matoran death she expected, for surely there were a few who were buried in the rubble as well. Nor was it even the scent of deceased Rahi who hadn’t survived their stasis internment. No, this scent was much more astringent and morose. And she only knew it because she’d scented it before, fleeing the ruins of her homeland. This was the scent of the death of a people. Yet again, all too soon, Krahka found herself the rohuirani - one who presses on, one who adapts to whatever shape the riverbed has become. A survivor. Pushing away a primal slurry of panic and desperation that threatened to overflow, She fled the Archives, running from the primal slurry of panic and desperation that threatened to overflow, but also chasing the warning instinct that told her to flee. Whether it was fleeing to, or fleeing from, she had no room to ration her way to an answer. She ran through the dark streets, once legend but now ruin. Nothing but toppled buildings, short circuiting electrical works, crushed Vahki, empty homes and vehicles, bleeding chutes. Only once did she encounter a limping, lone Nuurahk, which she tore apart easily. From what she had learned in her brief masquerade among the people of the City of Legends, in what had been their last days, the Vahki never helped anyone, not really. And now, there was no one left to help, so the Vahki had no purpose to serve. Krahka had no idea how long she ran through the once-city, flew above it raining down searching, sonic cries from the form of a Klakk, returning void always. The suns never showed a hint of rising. The Rahi, whether wild or former captives of the horrible Archives, grew bolder in the perpetual night. It seemed that in a matter of hours, new rulers and dominions sprang up - and for all they knew, it could have only been hours. With no suns or stars, they had only their instincts, which were hazy at best, dulled by the frantic frenzy of unfettered freedom for the first time in a millennia. It wasn’t until she encountered a roving herd of Kikanalo that she saw the city clearly. The alpha Kikanalo told her that the Matoran, short and tall, had gone. They were free. The realization dawned on her like the twin suns should have, hours ago, and banished any further questions to the Kikanalo about how they knew this, and if they knew it for sure. It made her almost giddy. At long last, and for reasons she cared not to comprehend, the roving and the wild could rise again. The cataclysm of one culture made way for the cacophonous rise of another, as naturally as one riverbed fell away in a crashing waterfall, and the torrents plunged to a new plane of existence, to shape and water the land there. It was natural. How life moves on. Rohuiro. A particularly bellicose troop of Lava Apes was in an all out war with a family of Ash Bears along the shattered border of what had been Ta-Metru and Le-Metru. Phase Dragons ran wild deeper in Le-Metru, absolutely terrorizing the Brakas who were also trying to make a home there. Furnace Salamanders and Hikaki had a grudging truce with a titanous reptile in Ta-Metru - a beast with earthquake steps and a powerful tail that could fell a fully grown Knowledge Tower with half an effort. A Tahtorak, which she’d thought were extinct. A Doom Viper was staking its claim along the coasts of Ga-Metru, and the Proto Drakes were learning how to share. It was among these she felt most herself. It was as if they spoke her first language. The language of flashy shows of aggression, staking out territory with the carcasses of those that would challenge you, the unique call and response of each tribe. And, yet, she couldn't quite shake the simpering, refined, almost mechanical way of communicating and being of the Matoran and Toa. There was something about the people of Mata Nui that set them apart. The way they could articulate, and the principle of their three virtues gifted from their Great Spirit running through their fibres, imbuing even the most menial or repetitive of tasks with a sense of community, the greater, common good, and purpose. Unity, duty, destiny, she realized. She saw both peoples through the eyes of an outsider. Even still, the accusations of the Toa Metru rang true and stabbed sharp. “They fear you.” “The Rahi will flee Metru Nui. You will ben the absolute ruler of … nothing.” The fear of being feared kept her at bay. It occurred to her that it was a fear she shouldn't have, that the Toa had planted in her. In the shape of a sharp-eyed Avsa Hawk, she poked and prodded at this new fear, the type of contemplation she also never would have before bothered to undertake, from her watchful perch atop a heap of rocks that had once been an abstract monument in the sculpture fields. There was something else lurking below these new layers she'd grown. The industrial grip of the Matoran’s livelihood that had kept so many from a full life had been broken. Shouldn’t that be cause for celebration? Now that she’d finally struggled up into the world the top-dwellers, and had found it even better than she’d wistfully imagined in the refuge her underworld, why this lingering sense of ill omen? It was later - whether it was a day, week, or hour, none could say, that Krahka understood. The euphoria of the unruly romp of the brutes and the beasts through the broken city came to a burning, crashing halt along the far south coastline of Le-Metru. That’s where she found it - fresh, and leaking the venomous sludge that reeked of decay, and its captive writhing and wailing inside - the first cocoon.

D: Travesty. 2020 has demanded a terrible price from us all. Looked like it would have been a good harvest, too

Yes, I'm tempted to get a month on Inkarnate and see what else it can do now. Hmmm... Anyways, chapter 6 - Ooooh! You know the stakes are high when the Order steps in! Super interested to see how you handle the Calix. I have only foggy memories of its canonical use(s). Also, with mention of Metru Nui, I'm interested where this story falls on the timeline, or rather, when it falls on the timeline, besides before Onewa became a Toa. Another layer of mystery for us to unravel! Also, the antics of Turaga Likar earned a few genuine chuckles - kudos!

Hahaha that sounds awesome though!! I love both noodles and dragons! That's a great idea to enforce social distancing, actually. Measure six feet and have something (mostly) non-damaging to smack people with if they don't comply!

Chapter 15: Hunter's Peril Erylist opted out of asking the much more obvious question, ‘Why are you on the hunt with us?’ and instead asked, “So, why haven’t you shipped off to Artakha?” She crouched next to this ‘Bevs’ in the bed of Helix’s ProtoDuct hauler as the night-shrouded city flew past. Perhaps he was a chronicler of sorts - she knew Matoran held those types of roles. She was less of a stranger to Matoran culture than these rather exclusive city-folk believed. The Ko-Matoran of diminished mobility looked at her like he wanted nothing more than to shove her out of the moving vehicle. “Hope in Artakha is as useful as hope in a hoto bug,” he told her flatly. Not in my experience, she almost said, but decided to let it be, replying only with a shrug. After all, she was heavily biased in Artakha’s favor - he was her creator and benefactor. She knew him personally, and he called her by name. There weren’t many beings in the universe who could claim as much. She’d spent the first centuries of her life serving in the Hand of Artakha, and when not on mission with them, carried out his legacy of creation, helping bring to reality great cities and settlements of the southern island chains. But that felt like dozens of lifetimes ago. She’d try and remember to put in a good word for this poor Ko-Matoran, if she ever made it back to her creation-place. Unconsciously, she found herself staring out the back of the open truck bed, watching the obelisk-like silhouette of the Coliseum approach against the creeping night. That waking-dream gut feeling was still there, and she was undeniably conscious of it when she laid eyes on the building. Maybe, to those favored by the Great Spirit, this was what destiny felt like. They passed the Coliseum in silence. “Lights off, Volikat,” Bevs warned her. “We’re coming up on the border checkpoint into Ga-Metru.” She probably wouldn’t let on that she actually liked the nickname. Although she hadn’t immediately made the connection, it reminded her of her time on the Northern Continent, where the lone Toa protector of a re-budding settlement had a Kanohi Volitak in his arsenal. Were he here, he’d talk some sense into these Matoran and whoever was running the city in no time, she was sure. She faded into the nighttime, and crept toward the driver’s compartment to get a better idea of what was coming. While mastering the initial noctural invisibility had been easy enough, the training under both Helryx and Excelian, one of her lieutenants, had Erylist discovered the willpower within herself to extend the invisibility to her shadow and her sounds. Distracted, fatigued, startled, those were the first things to reappear. ‘discovering’ the abilities was a conservative way to put it, though - it lacked the sort of ‘do-or-die’ connotation that the training entailed. She did worry, consciously now that Bevs had said as much, that she would start to lose her technical stealth skills if she started relying too much on her abilities. Yes, if she really put her mind to it, she could probably make her way to the Coliseum on her own, undetected. But there were too many unknowns. And the Onu-Matoran had this nasty habit of throwing anything that wasn’t a Matoran, Toa, or Turaga straight into a stasis tube. And that was one prison she was not willing to return to - she’d die before that happened. “I’m telling you, I’m returning it to ProtoDucts from repairs!” Helix was arguing with the Cobalt in the checkpoint booth. “Look, I’m sorry I got stuck in Le-Metru rush hour, but there’s nothing we can do about that.” “Why is your directives tablet stamped for last month, then?” the Ga-Matoran asked, glancing from the tablet in her hand back to the Po-Matoran. “Because that’s how long the repair job took!” Helix threw up his arms in frustration. “Because the slaggin’ excuses for Ta-Matoran won’t produce the parts for us anymore!” “What about your passenger?” “He’s picking up Pre-Elemental theory scrolls at the library,” Helix said through gritted teeth. “What? Is it illegal to transport civilians now? Look, I have two more pick-ups across the city after this, sister. Are you going to let me through, or not?” “The library hasn’t been open since the Great Temple incident,” the Ga-Matoran informed him. “Hey! I’m Scholar Ihu’s apprentice!” Bevs shouted up to her, maneuvering up as close to the driver’s compartment as he could. "I’m picking up the theories he wrote, and loaned to the schools on his own grace!” “I’ll call you an escort,” the Ga-Matoran finally said after scrutinizing them once more. “Fine, do whatever you want. Keep the Scholar Nui waiting,” Bevs sounded like he was also rolling his eyes. The border guard regarded them for a few moments, mask impassive, but shifting posture suggesting she was weighing the options. “Don’t deviate from the main thoroughfare. I’ll have them meet you along the way,” she said finally, and waved them through as the barrier columns began to retract into the ground. Once hover-hauler technology advanced far enough, such barriers would become obsolete. “That’s why I’ll never take classes at the schools!” Helix said once they were safely past the checkpoint. “Not all Ga-Matoran are like that,” Bevs chided, almost mechanically, because of course Helix knew that. “Yeah, and not all Ta-Matoran are hardly worth their weight in ruki-bones, but that doesn’t mean we have to get along.” He took the next closest exit ramp, very intent on not running into the patrol the Ga-Matoran had promised to call to escort them farther into the district. If they’d had more time to plan, they would have launched and planned an escape route from within Po-Metru, but the vehicles they needed were all at Tines’ place. “Is Erylist still there?” Helix asked, not willing to take his eyes off the road for too long. “I don’t know. Probably,” Bevs replied. She didn’t bother answering, though, comfortable to sit in her shadow cloak and watch the city pass her by. A burst of static, followed by Larker’s voice sounded from the telecon, and Bevs fished it quickly out of his small bag. “Patrol One to strike team. Arrived in position to start patrolling.” Then a pause, and he added, “Over.” A few moments later, Tines replied, “Copy, Patrol One. Strike team waiting to rendez-vous. Start your rounds. Over.” “Copy. Over.” “So impatient,” Bevs grumbled, putting the telecon away again. “What is our ETA, anyways?” “Four minutes,” Helix replied, taking a sharp turn then speeding up. “Maybe three.” Erylist reappeared beside Bevs, asking, “What about your friend who’s joining us?” “Who? Tahi? Don’t worry about him,” Bevs waved her off again. “He’ll be there.” There was something she was missing, based on his tone, and she was pretty sure Helix chuckled to himself in the driver’s compartment. She didn’t like it. “I still think five is a crowd.” “We’ll make it work,” Helix said. He turned down a seasonal worker’s neighborhood, mostly empty, and killed his headlights. “Tell Tines we’re incoming.” Bevs transmitted the message quickly, and Erylist checked her holonav quickly, one last time to make sure it was ready to record the new blocks they’d be running. She almost dropped the device when Helix swung the hauler around sharply, backing into the mouth of a darkened alleyway. They were right on the perimeter. If they hung around too long, Larker and Tengi would pass by - six minutes, if the two teams were synced up correctly. “A block and a half northwest, keep sharp.” Helix spoke in just above a whisper and swung out of the operator’s compartment and wrestled to space the makeshift ramp - two struts, really, so Bevs could exit the vehicle. They made their way toward the meet-up point, hugging the shadows cast by the buildings - the two Matoran for concealment, lest any wandering eye be about, and Erylist, invisible, from habit. It was hard to believe that this sub-district had once populated the Silver Seas with the city’s trading fleet. She only reappeared on the visibility spectrum when Tines leapt out at them from an alleyway with a yell, nearly tipping Bevs over. The Le-Matoran was doubled over in a fit of laughter he was having trouble keeping quiet. “Why is everything a game to you?!” Helix hissed, giving Tines a none-too-gentle shove. Anyone could have heard that. “You’re incorrigable.” “Why, thank you!” Tines gasped, finally recovering himself and straightening up. “I don’t think-“ Erylist began. “He knows,” Bevs cut her off. “Don’t encourage him.” And the Ko-Matoran chuckled to himself as Tines broke into a huge grin. Helix grumbled something that would have made Karzahni proud. “Come on, bring it in.” He gathered the other two Matoran in a huddle. Erylist took a step back, casting up and down the street in case anyone had heard Tines’ commotion. And wasn’t the last member of their team supposed to be- A dazzling flash of light flooded the street, and before it had even faded, Erylist had already bounded up to the second story balcony of the nearest building, clinging to the underside struts. “Wait, where did she go?” Blinking away the spots left impressioned on her night vision, Erylist readied her stunning baton. The Matoran had vanished, almost as well as she could have. The being that stood in the street below turned this way and that. She let whatever it was in the street take a few steps, clearly searching for her. She needed a better angle. A Toa? It took one more step. Perfect. The Midnighter launched herself from her hiding spot, crashing into her target’s upper back feet first. Handspringing away, she angled a leap off the opposite building and to the top of a tall light-stone pole. If she’d learned anything in her training on Daxia, it was that she was too small and too light to keep a close-range fight in her favor for very long. As the being, which looked more like a clunky Toa the more she looked at it, stumbled to its feet, she aimed a fist straight at is heartlight and activated the wrist-mounted mechanical dart launcher that was usually collapsed into the forearm armor. It sprang up, and she loaded one of her favored exploding darts in one unbroken motion. “Don’t move.” The being raised its arms - his arms, she understood, in surrender, but looked almost insolent. “I knew they should have told you ahead of time.” “Who are you?” she asked quietly. “So much for theatrics,” the stranger sighed. She aimed higher, straight at his mask. “It’s me, Volikat.” Which meant nothing to her, and he saw that. He frowned. “It’s…us.” He didn’t sound too sure. The explosive dart activated, the small red light on its side blinking in rapid warning. “Three,” she began to count down. “Two.” “I’m them! I am them,” he waved his arms around, flustered. “Tahi! I’m Tahimatoru.” “What do you mean, 'you are them'?” She narrowed her eyes. “Tines, and Helix, and Bevs!” Tahi insisted. “I don’t have time to explain. We have to get going!” He pointed up the street. “That way.” A few details were beginning to click into place for Erylist, and she began to lower her launcher arm slowly. “You’re going to have to do better if you expect-“ Two standard-issue street speeders screeched around the corner. A Fire Brand and a Cobalt. “There!” The Ta-Matoran loosed a warning blast from his Crast blaster. “Halt!” the Cobalt cried, pulling up to a stop in the middle of the street and aiming her own blaster. “Go!” Tahi roared, diving into the alleyway. Erylist’s explosive flew from its launcher, detonating mere feet in front of the approaching Fire Brand, who was thrown from his speeder. She swung down from the lightstone post. Before the Fire Brand was on his feet again, she’d sent a second dart straight into the streetlamp before following Tahi. The shockwave and lightstone shrapnel drove both pursuing Matoran to the ground. “Tahi to Patrol One!” He was repeating into the telecon by the time she caught up to him. They dashed across a street and into another alleyway. “Abort! Abort!” “Stay!” Erylist hissed, hearing the approaching speeder engines. She pulled Tahi back into the shadows just before he rushed out into the next street. It sounded like they’d split up. “They’re establishing a perimeter.” “And probably calling for backup,” he agreed, nodding pessimistically. He hit the ground as the Fire Brand turned the corner onto their street. The Cobalt would be driving their established perimeter, then. They could hear a rhythmic clanking from the Fire Brand’s damaged speeder. “Wait!” Tahi hissed as Erylist dashed out into the street, belly to the ground and moving faster than he would have thought possible on all fours. She disappeared as soon as moons-light hit her armor. Timing herself carefully, Erylist swept the Fire Brand from his speeder. It wasn’t as easy to maneuver precisely to deal minimum damage when one couldn’t see oneself. She flickered back to visibility as soon as she hit him, rolling them both out of the way of the crashing bike. A quick zap from her baton stunned him, and she made quick work dragging the Matoran and his blaster back into the alleyway. “Get the bike,” she told Tahi, peering close to check the Ta-Matoran’s vitals. “Hurry!” It was a close squeeze, but they managed to stash both the Ta-Matoran and his speeder in the corner formed by two adjoining alleyways. “We have to get back to Po-Metru and regroup. Try again, with better planning.” Tahi said, a bit breathless. “Po-Metru?” They’d have to cross most of Ga-Metru to get there, with at least one patrol of enforcers chasing them. The simple answer that jumped immediately to mind was to split up, let this Tahimatoru fend for himself. But if he was indeed what, or who, he claimed to be, Erylist couldn’t justify abandoning the allies she’d been so long in search of. “We can’t-“ Tahi stopped suddenly and listened closely to the telecon. “Patrol One to Strike Team,” Tengi’s whisper crackled over the device. “We’ve found the Kuma-Kava. Requesting back up immediately. Repeat, we’ve found the Kuma-Kava.” Surely enough, Erylist’s holonav showed the Kuma-Kava and Larker’s tracker’s right on top of one another, four blocks away. Erylist and Tahi stared at each other, each beginning to formulate a plan. “Patrol One, lead it to the coast,” Tahi said. “Strike Team will intercept en route.” “Copy.” They barely heard Tengi’s reply. “The coast?” she asked, listening for the circling Cobalt. “Can’t go to Ta-Metru. Going further into Ga-Metru, patrols,” Tahi said, checking over the newly acquired Crast blaster. Erylist said nothing, listening and counting. “We’ll take out the Cobalt on the way, get you a second blaster, huh?” She began securing away the holonav and orienting herself toward Larker’s position. “Second blaster? Must be Naming Day.” Tahi stood, also working to create a mental map leading to Larker. “On my mark.” She could clearly hear the Cobalt’s speeder now. She gestured three quick motions, like slashes. Forward, forward, left. Those were the turns they’d take to ambush the Ga-Matoran. Bouncing up to the balls of her feet, ready to sprint, she whispered, “Go, now!” And they were off, not bothering to keep to the shadows. Speed was of the essence. “You don’t have any mask powers, do you?” Erylist asked between strides. She let Tahi set the pace, matching him easily. He shook his head. She remained visible for his sake, at least for the time being. Across one intersection, and a quick glance as they crossed. No more patrols, yet. Tahi had to be able to hear the Ga-Matoran’s speeder now. The left turn brought them onto the same street as her. “I’ll be on your right. Don’t hold back,” was all Erylist told him before raising her shadow cloak. She sprung away when Tahi dodged the first round of blaster bolts with surprising agility. He didn’t slow, barreling straight toward the Ga-Matoran, who also hadn’t slowed. The Matoran was also speaking frantically into the communication device on her speeder. Tahi vaulted over the speeder at the last second, landing in a neat tuck-and-roll, coming up on one knee and leveling his own blaster at the Matoran as she wheeled around. Two shots made sure the speeder would never speed again. Erylist was crouching over the Ga-Matoran she’d just stunned, checking the Matoran’s vitals, and half-dragging half-carrying her to the nearest building. “Can you get the door?” she asked Tahi, who was laboring over with the wreck of a speeder in tow. “I’m not your pet Tahtorak you can order around, you know,” he snapped, but kicked in the door anyways. Despite herself and the urgency of the situation, Erylist smiled. “Tahtorak have less attitude,” was all she replied. Tahi hefted his second blaster, and they were off again. They estimated they had maybe eight minutes before the other patrol or patrols arrived at their last known location. With that knowledge, the only breath they wasted between them was for Tahi to telecon their patrol team saying they were less than a minute out. It took three extra blocks of frantically searching alleyways and hurriedly pausing to listen. Once, they saw a group of Ga-Matoran walking in the distance. Only one more block between them and the coastline. “Split up?” Tahi panted, jerking a thumb in one direction, and nodding in the opposite direction he would take. “That’s never a good idea,” she replied, also winded. “Listen.” And they crouched in the shadow of a boarded up netmaker’s workshop. It didn’t take long for Tahi to pick up on the scraping, crashing, and yelling that was quickly approaching. “It’s either-“ he whispered, but she silenced him with a sharp downslash of her hand - the universal sign language to shut up. “It’s them! Go! Go! Go!” She leapt up in a sprint toward the coast, stunning baton out and crackling with full electrical charge. She burst out onto the wide coastal boulevard to be greeted by the unexpectedly large Kuma-Kava barreling toward her. It was only when she leapt into action that she spotted Tengi, Larker, and Subi running for their lives just ahead of it. The Rahi had grown itself so it stood higher than the sail of a skiff-sailer. A lightning-fast blow from one of its spring-loaded clubber limbs snapped a tall lightstone pole in two like it was nothing. “Don’t go inland!” Erylist shouted to the Matoran. “Split!” She lunged between the two Matoran, ducking under the Rahi’s forelimbs and catching the ribbing on its armored thorax. It took huge effort to switch her momentum and swing herself up to avoid being trampled. She got the briefest glimpse of them breaking for the docks. “What are you doing?” Tahi roared, now in the street and trying desperately to aim at the Rahi and not Erylist. It was lurching and wheeling and snarling, not at all happy with its passenger. It was also pouring energy to increase its size even more, betraying its lack of intelligence. It was only giving her more purchase to cling to. “Don’t shoot!” she cried, barely catching herself as the Kuma-Kava wheeled in a ‘180. She needed both hands free to hold on effectively, but she needed one of those hands to wield her baton. Tahi shot anyways. With a roar, the Rahi reared up and lashed out at the nearest building, punching a gaping hole in the side. Erylist was thrown loose with a cry from the kickback of the blow. She landed hard, rolling to her feet. “I told you not to shoot!” “Your idea wasn’t working!” Tahi retorted, firing again, both blasters at once this time. “You’re just making it angry!” “I know!” he said to her, then shouted up, “Come on!” And he took off down the boulevard, firing questionably aimed blasts over his shoulder as he went. But it worked. Slavering and snarling, the Rahi, now easily one story high, took off in pursuit. And it didn’t take a Ko-Matoran calculist to see it would overtake him in less than two blocks. “Brakas!” Erylist hissed, running after it and activating her dart launcher again. She had no idea if her explosives would be effective against that thing’s armor. And she was running uncomfortably low on exploding darts. The Kuma-Kava skidded and slammed into the side of an unfortunate building in pursuit of Tahimatoru, who had turned and was taunting it further inland. She skidded and dodged around raining debris. She had an idea where he was leading it. If she was right, they needed Tengi. Erylist turned and rushed back the way she’d come. It wasn’t easy locating the Matoran. It was actually Subi who she found, skittering back and forth frantically on the dock where she’d last seen him. “Thanks, little one,” she said, leaping the gangplank that tenuously connected the deck of a small commercial freighter to the dock. “Larker?” she called, landing silently. “Tengi?” “In here!” the muffled response came from the operator’s cabin. Larker was holding a lightstone for Tengi, who was lying on her back, ripping and twisting wires beneath the control panel. “Where did you learn how to steal a ship?” Erylist asked, genuinely shocked. “Back home,” came the terse answer. The Matoran’s mask was creased in a look of fierce concentration. “Listen, we need-“ “I don’t know if you quick-saw that thing,” Larker interrupted. “But it’s ‘normal’ size got large-bigger. We need a way to move-haul it, because it sure as scrap won’t sit-fit in a standard hover-hauler.” He patted the control panel of the freighter. “I see.” the Midnighter nodded along. It was good forethought. “Try it now,” Tengi said, sitting up and taking the lightstone from Larker. The Le-Matoran punched a button and shifted a lever. Something belowdeck started chugging, and the ship shuddered, then stopped. “Slag and short circuits,” Tengi cursed, and dove back down, setting the lightstone on the ground. “Okay, again!” And this time it worked. “Good work. Now, come on. Tahi needs us,” she said, hauling the blue-armored Matoran to her feet. “Someone should sit-stay with the ship!” Larker said, although the expression dawned on his mask as the words left his mouth, understanding that would be his job. Erylist paused only to shunt Subi onto the precarious gang-plank and shoo him toward the deck of the ship. “It’s safer,” she promised him apologetically. “That way,” she said, pointing Tengi in the right direction. “Where’s Tahi?” Tengi asked, running with whatever strength she had left. “Leading it to the patrol that was chasing us,” Erylist said, although it was a guess. Tengi said nothing, only nodded. Erylist pointed down another street, and they turned. The sound of blaster-fire and shouting Matoran began to ring down the street toward them. “Remember,” she reminded Tengi, “You hired some help to wrangle this thing.” “I know,” she panted, barely getting the words out. “Good.” And the Midnighter disappeared. Erylist dashed quickly into the shadows of one of the buildings, scrambling easily up the brickwork. She followed Tengi by rooftop for the few short blocks it took to reach the commotion. She crouched at the edge of her rooftop to survey the scene. Two Cobalts were locked in a stun-blast shootout with Tahi, shooting from opposite alleyways. Four more Cobalts and two Fire Brands had the Kuma-Kava with its back to a large shipwright’s storage facility, opening fire. “Marka?” she heard Tengi exclaim. The Ga-Matoran closest to Tengi turned. “Tengi?” Marka’s tone was surprised, as if to say, ‘You’re not the reinforcements I requested,’ which, indeed, she wasn’t. Erylist heard nothing more - she hurled herself from the rooftop into the space between the two Cobalts who were giving Tahi a hard time. She’d disarmed one before she dropped her shadow cloak, and felled the Matoran with a clean leg sweep. Tossing the Cobalt’s Crast blaster out into the street, she ducked one of Tahi’s incoming bolts barely in time. The next bolt stunned the disarmed Matoran. The second Cobalt was quicker, landing a solid bludgeon with the butt of her blaster. “Come on, I don’t want to hurt you,” Eryilst hissed. Although fear clearly played across the Ga-Matoran’s Kanohi, she took level, point blank aim at Erylist. A well-placed blast from Tahi knocked the Cobalt out the same moment Erylist turned invisible and leapt away. She shot him a salute in thanks without thinking he couldn’t see her. She hoped he’d have the sense to stay down. Tengi had picked up the loose blaster and now stood beside Marka, who was giving her what must have been a record-setting rundown of how to operate it. A Ta-Matoran lay unconscious where he had fallen, now. The Rahi was dividing its blows between trying to fell another Matoran and trying to create a large enough gap for it to fit through their defense. If it had thought of it, it probably could have demolished a hole straight through the building it was pinned between. Unlimbering her baton, she activated it. With the size it was now, there was no guarantee it would go down easily. She watched carefully, admiring the pattern of firing the Cobalts were clearly following to keep the thrashing Rahi from breaking out. She’d have to time this just right to avoid both blaster fire and getting clubbed into orbit by the Kava’s forelimbs. There wasn’t more time to overthink it. Her baton was at full power. The Midnighter broke into a sprint, dropping her invisibility. Between the two frontmost Matoran, duck blaster fire from behind, dodge left, roll. She was thrown sideways by a Crast blast that clipped her shoulder. Of course the Fire Brand wouldn’t follow formation. She tucked and rolled again, having lost crucial momentum. No way to go but up. She couldn’t afford mental energy to shadow cloak again. Sidestep, under the Rahi’s quick strike, and leap up off the wall behind it. She flew up, catching herself on the Rahi’s shoulder plates, but wrenching her arm terribly. But there was no time to think. She jammed her baton between the Rahi’s neck armor and its head plating. For a terrible moment, the Rahi continued to thrash, unimpeded, and she rolled to avoid a blaster bolt to the head. With a growl, she reached for her baton again, but instead of pulling it loose, wedged it farther, and rolled off the Rahi’s shoulders, swinging toward the building. And her baton snapped in two, just as she’d hoped. The Rahi screamed, dropping into convulsions as electricity roiled off its body and into the street, dissipating. The Matoran scattered. Erylist hit the wall of the building, not quite having angled her dismount right, and scrambled to the relative safety of a windowsill. She leapt clear, though, as the Kava’s spasming was giving the building quite the pummeling. She landed beside Tahi, watching closely from the mouth of his alleyway, blasters trained on the Rahi the whole time. Finally, the Rahi lay still, its great sides heaving. And it began to shrink back down to its normal size, whatever that was. The Cobalts and remaining Fire Brand approached carefully, and the could hear Tengi explaining carefully to Marka. “Good work,” Tahi congratulated her, offering her a fist in a traditional salute. The Midnighter turned to look at him, and began to return the gesture, but halted, now staring past him into the dark alley. “No!” she cried, and pushed him aside. “Not this time!” And she took off in pursuit of something, or someone, that he had not seen. Review Topic

Haha, it definitely looks like the others sacrificed their potato friend for Halloween. And the cucumber is much too happy about it XD Great gardening work!! Glad it paid off! I honestly never would have guessed a cucumber could be lanternized! There must be something just so satisfying about disemboweling produce and stuffing them full of fire Happy (belated) halloween!

I feel like this implies Mata Nui (the robot) could only blink once a day, and the blink lasted for half a day. More seriously - the page on 'Sun Holes' should shed some light on this (hehe). Basically it says the Great Spirit Robot's eyes have corneas of impenetrable energy so debris doesn't get in, and they act as sun/moon respectively. The page on the Great Spirit Robot lists 'internal maintenance' as a power, and says internal environments can be controlled/manipulated, including gravity and temperature. Given that, artificial day/night cycles don't seem at all out of the realm of possibility for a bajillion foot tall space-exploration robot. Maybe there's a giant light-relay mirror system set up between domes. That would be cool. Also, more back to Daler's points - if Mata Nui's job was to fly around space and observe worlds, wouldn't the outside world mostly be dark? Because space is dark? So artificial light in Metru Nui would probably have been the default, except for the 1000 most recent years (+/- a few) since the Great Cataclysm.

Synopsis: Just another relatively idyllic day for the Turaga of Metru Nui to oversee. Or is it? The Last Ember Day Turaga Dume got up and put his mask on for the day. Blinking the world into focus and stifling back a yawn, he stretched, rolling the burden of the years from his shoulders. An unbidden groan escaped as the weight of responsibility quickly settled into the vacancy. He couldn’t deny he was getting old, as much as he resented it. Hadn’t his dreams, mere moments ago, been filled with echoes of his triumphs as a Toa? With a decisive shake of his head, he banished the deceivingly sweet nostalgia away. He knew if he let it linger, it would quickly turn bitter. Had anyone else been present, he was sure his morning routine would embarrass him. It wasn’t befitting for the Turaga of Metru Nui to grumble at his wilting window plant - a parting gift from the recently reassigned Toa Mangai of the Green, nor was it proper to kick away assortments of day-to-day items and armor pieces in need of regeneration, promising to get to them later. Dume snatched up his staff, checked one last time to make sure his robe hung evenly, and was out the door. The two Rorzakh guards, permanently assigned to him, fell into perfectly synchronous step behind him. Even after all these years, and even with their inventor’s increasingly sophisticated updates to help smooth the mechanized officer into Metru society as seamlessly as possible, they still couldn’t greet him with the cheery, “Good morning, Turaga! Here is your itinerary for the day!” Yes, Dume missed having Matoran aides, but they had this unpleasant habit of falling for bribes and corrupting too easily. In fact, even now, the ringleader of a counterfeit Kanoka operation was waiting in the basement of the Coliseum to be interrogated. The only reason the Vahki had been able to bring him in was because one of Dume’s clerks had been selling Coliseum intelligence gang. That’s what it was, despite what the Matoran advisors in his council meetings insisted. So what, if there were ‘connotations’? Dume was sure he aged twice as fast in the council sessions. Destiny was sadistic, that it had him spending most of his time there, these days. “Toa Naho,” Turaga Dume greeted the Toa of Water who waited in said council chamber. His Vahki faded into the background.“I wasn’t aware we were meeting today.” “Apologies, Turaga.” She nodded once in deferential greeting, speaking quickly. “Your clerks cleared a few minutes for me to update you on the Archivist situation.” The Toa was practically bouncing in place - clearly neither he nor she wanted her to be there longer than necessary. She had a young spirit, Naho did. “By all means,” the Turaga said, opening a palm to her in invitation to speak freely. It took him a moment, though, to recall which Archivist situation she was taking care of. They were never in short supply. “With the information from last week’s scouting, and taking into account his last known trajectory, there’s a good chance I can bring in rogue Archivist Mavrah into custody by mid-week.” A slight, self-satisfied and eager smile broke onto her Mask of Calculations, which had no doubt helped her pinpoint her quarry’s most likely hideaway. “Excellent work, Naho,” Dume congratulated her, and waved one of his Vahki over. Lhikan was right to leave her in charge while he was gone. “How many Vahki do you estimate you’ll need?” “One squad of Bordakh, and two Keerakh, if you can spare them.” Her answer was confident and precise, which he appreciated. “Did you get that?” Dume asked his Rorzakh, which chirped once in response, and otherwise remained stationary. He turned back to the Toa. “The Keelerakh will meet you outside the Coliseum, and you may pick up your squad of Bordakh at the nearest Ga-Metru hive. Great Spirit’s blessing to you, Toa.” It would be good to finally, finally put this whole Mavrah matter to rest. He’d been an acid fly in the armor for far too long. A few months of a personal Rorzakh shadow, a few more months under the Vahki’s Staff of Presence surveillance, and reassignment to street maintenance for a few years, Dume hoped, would mellow him out. “Turaga?” Naho turned once more, almost out the door. “Have you any word from Lhikan on his return?” “He’s sent me no word of delay. We’ve no reason not to expect him on time,” Dume reassured her. Toa Lhikan had accompanied his brothers on their reassignment to see them off to the Southern Continent - their Toa of the Green and Toa of Ice. However, Dume was worried about his courageous commander - Lhikan had been badly shaken by Toa Tuyet’s betrayal, and even moreso by Nidhiki’s. Although the events had passed years ago, those close to Lhikan knew it would always be yesterday for him. Dume suspected Naho shared the same worry for him. And now that troubles in the city had been stabilized, for decades now, the Toa Mangai were increasingly feeling destiny’s call elsewhere, which couldn’t be ignored. But for those left behind, it was like another branch in a Kanohi stress fracture - you never knew when it would break, but you knew it was inevitable. He would have to do something about that. After all, hadn’t he once led a team of Toa, not unlike the ones now serving his city? “I’ll let you know personally, if anything changes.” And she was gone. All too soon, the clerks began to show in petitioners to the council chamber. When necessary, this or that advisor was brought in, and the scribes switched out every hour or so. The chutes in Ko-Metru were malfunctioning again due to weather-related issues. Dume granted the petitioning engineer an writ of exception to halt his current projects and prioritize that one. The canals in Ga-Metru were filling with algae. He called in his botany advisor and authorized them to work with the petitioning students to assign scheduled canal maintenance by neighborhood. The Ga-Matoran had taken for granted the recently departed Toa of the Green living in their Metru. A Ta-Matoran came in accusing the Po-Matoran he had in tow of sabotaging his latest shipment of tools. Dume had to threaten to have his Rorzakh intervene if the two didn’t calm down. Sometimes, Toa Lhikan would sit in on these open council sessions. Nobody dared say as much out loud, but many assumed, when the time came, the Matoran of Metru Nui would someday look to venerated a venerated Turaga Lhikan to lead them into the future. By Dume’s reckoning, though, the Toa of Fire still had many a good fighting year left in him. But then again, anyone could be destiny’s fool. “This is an internal Ko-Metru affair,” he told the two Ko-Matoran before him, snapping back to present. “I’m afraid I can offer you no ruling.” And he dismissed them. “From Onu-Metru, inventor Nuparu,” the clerk presented, sliding into the chamber as the two Ko-Matoran left. If he were able to call any Matoran a friend, Nuparu would be his first choice. He’d worked almost daily with the inventor when the brilliant Matoran’s Vahki initiative had launched, and the Turaga couldn’t help admire not just Nuparu’s work, but the way he went about it - making sure both he and his order enforcers put Matoran first. Dume had seen just how much damage the Vahki could do, during their prototype stages, and had no illusions to the power he held as their sole commander. Not even Nuparu could command them absolutely - the inventor had programmed his own authority away out of loyalty to his city and the Turaga who oversaw it. Dume had confided in Lhikan - if ever his station of power over the city and its army of robotic order enforcers started crossing his wires, Lhikan’s duty was to call him out on it. The Matoran and their well-being was first and foremost, not enforcing their productivity, but bolstering their livelihoods. The rest would follow. “Turaga Dume.” The inventor dipped in a quick bow, which was unnecessary, and continued without preamble. “I’ve the upgraded staffs for your Rorzakh.” Dume recognized the Matoran’s staccato speech pattern and near-constant fidgeting. There was a much more interesting project that this errand was keeping him from. Suppressing an amused smile, Dume thanked him and waved in the two Matoran bearing the new Vahki staffs. “You’ve outdone yourself, Nuparu.” The Onu-Matoran mumbled something in acknowledgment, but was absorbed in the control panels that ran along one wall, holding one of the new staffs close above an input sensor. This specialized model of the Rorzakh Staff of Presence would route the eavesdropping feed directly to the telescreen in Turaga Dume’s council chamber. Dume hoped never to have to have reason to need this function, but with recent events, one could never be too careful. Not with the city’s very heart at stake. It had been too quiet for too long, the days were even beginning to blur together. Nobody believed the Shadowed One and his legions of dark operatives were truly through with the City of Legends. Goodbyes were short, monosyllabically so on Nuparu’s part, and that wasn’t unusual. If need for a new generation of Toa ever arose in the city, and Dume prayed to Mata Nui that it wouldn’t, he believed Nuparu would honor that station well. “How many more are waiting?” Dume asked the clerk who next poked her head in. “Four, Turaga,” she reported. “No more, after that,” he told her. He had hoped to make it to the schools before they closed, but that wouldn’t happen today. He was to meet Toa Obrakun, one of the remaining Toa Mangai of Ice, in the interrogation chambers to confidentially hear any information gleaned from the high-security prisoners. One was the Kanoka counterfeiter, another was a Le-Matoran with carefully inconsistent records in his dealings with Stelt, and another was the captain of a ship that had made an unauthorized stop much too close to Odina for anyone’s liking. Although nobody liked the job, a Toa interrogator often had more success than a fellow Matoran, or Vahki. Unfortunately, Toa Mangai of Ice, Kadasi had been the one to leave on reassignment to the Southern Continent last week. His rare and precious Kanohi Rode had simplified countless interrogations. After the incident with the Kanohi Dragon, many a Matoran slept easier at night knowing a surplus of Ko-Toa were watching over them. But he’d earned his reassignment, and Dume had been glad to sign off on it, if not rueful in the slightest. Even with Kadasi gone, there were still three of his ice brothers in the city. It was only two hours past mid-day, although it felt like it should be suns-set. These were ember days, as he privately named them. He told himself, as the day wore on, that he should be thankful for these days. They were concrete evidence that they were in a time of peace. Managing day to day matters of his people was a privilege afforded by hard-earned prosperity, and it honored the Great Spirit to do the work to the best of his ability. Sometimes he recalled the inferno days of the Dark Hunter War, his people constantly living - and dying - in fear, the gnawing dread of betrayal waiting just around the corner, the sleepless weeks dragging and flying by in a detached but detailed haze. The juxtaposition always helped him appreciate the leisurely open council days. “Thank you,” Turaga Dume dismissed the scribe, scrambling for his name. He was a newer scribe, but from the glimpses Dume had gotten, diligent and thorough. “Kopeke,” he remembered. “Good work today.” “For the Great Spirit,” the Ko-Matoran returned by rote. All work you could be proud of was dedicated to the Great Spirit, of course. Sometimes it just helped to say it aloud. “For the Great Spirit,” Dume agreed, but to himself, for the Matoran was already gone. The Turaga heaved a sigh, and sat down at long last. He had less than half an hour before he had to meet the Toa of Ice downstairs in the basement. Interrogation chambers, high-security holding cells, it went by many names, but officially didn’t exist. “One of these days,” the Turaga said to his Rorzakh, who had patiently, perfectly, stood sentry the whole session, “I’ll be able to get some fresh air.” For most of the week, Dume had been in either open or closed council sessions, advisor assemblies, or receiving foreign ambassadors. None of those events were held outside the Coliseum. Next week, though, he was to referee a debate between top Ga-Metru students and the handful of Ko-Matoran nominated for official Scholar status. He looked forward to that, greatly, and made a mental note to read up on their debate topics beforehand. But that was a joke, because when would he find the time? “All right,” Turaga Dume heaved a sigh that was so powerful it pushed him wearily to his feet. “Downstairs.” He waved along his Rorzakh, heading for the electro-lift. The lift stopped at the arena floor, which it wasn’t supposed to. Annoyed, he jabbed the sublevel button again with the head of his staff. He’d have to put in a ticket to get an electrician to look at that. The natural light streaming in from the one window cut off, and a change in pressure that pushed against the sensitive parts in his audio-receptors. That was the only way Dume knew he was now below the surface of the city, because the doors sprang open to reveal a well-lit corridor identical to the ones in the Coliseum’s pinnacle levels, often used to house ambassadors or overworked advisors. Politician or prisoner, one’s amenities while staying in the Coliseum varied little. Whether that said more about one group or another, Dume wasn’t sure. On his more dismal days, he wasn’t even sure the difference. He bid his sentries follow him with a gesture of his staff. They made to follow obediently. As soon as Dume was clear of the lift’s heavy metallic doors, a deep coldness gripped him from somewhere deep in his gut. Something wasn't right. The doors slammed closed. He jumped back with a cry of alarm, ducking all that was left of the first Rorzakh as it sprayed out toward him in a shower of sparks and coolant. The brightness from the spark shower died, leaving Dume in complete darkness. The lights had gone out. All but the lights streaming out of the one window in each holding cell door. “Initiate protocol Dermis Shell,” Dume breathed. But the remaining Rorzakh’s only response was the resounding crash as it, too collapsed inside the lift. Was something in there with it? Dume’s heartlight flashed rapidly, even though he was holding perfectly still. But his mind refused to work, paralyzed. Slow, creeping movement along the floor caught his eye. Was that…? No. There, seeping under the crack of the first interrogation chamber? Surely, not… He reached the growing puddle, not realizing he’d consciously moved, stooping to test the liquid with a trembling hand. But the acrid stench was unmistakable - hemodermis. Blood. The sight of the remains of the Kanoka counterfeiter inside struck him like a fist. He stumbled back with a cry. Turaga Dume had barely regained his footing when a piercing scream echoed in the fouled corridor. “No!” he roared, leaping at the second door from where it issued. “No!” He battered the unforgiving door as it showed him the second prisoner - the boat captain with Steltian ties - writing on the floor. She was covered in a mass of slime. “No!!” It wasn’t slime. It was leeches. Writhing. Pulsing. Screeching. Feeding. Kraata. He realized, sinking to the floor as the Matoran’s screams were cut off abruptly. He nursed his wrist, which he didn’t remember breaking. The door didn’t even have a scratch on it. “No,” he whispered, voice shaking more than he was. Breath escaping in hoarse sobs, unbidden. Closed eyes helped nothing, death grinned obscenely at him there. Dume. His eyes snapped open. His breathing steadied. His heartlight slowed. All to make room for a different, crashing fear that rolled through him, more powerful than any bioquake. He couldn’t look away. He couldn’t breathe. He was drawn toward the last interrogation chamber, trancelike. And the door opened for him, flooding him in clinical, ice sharp light. And what he saw rooted him to the spot. The last Matoran lay against the far wall. Head propped up at an unnatural angle. Staring far off, at nothing. He was almost eclipsed totally by the large, silver sphere he lay beside. A sphere? Toa Obrakun hung suspended in the air, motionless, and rotating slowly. Eyes and mouth open wide in a scream that would never be. A slow laugh, deeper than the abyss in the Silver Sea, roiled like poison from the one holding the Toa aloft. His shadow armor chilled the air. “Dume,” he repeated. And the Makuta smiled the sure smile of victory. “It was almost too easy.” The Toa dropped to the ground and lay still. The silver sphere rose in turn, coming between the Turaga and the terrorizer. The shadows cast by the stark interrogation lights came alive, burning. Dume could do nothing as the shadows snaked around him, constricting. He could do nothing as the Makuta, with that smile straight from Karzahki approached. Ripped Dume’s mask from his face. Replaced it with a screeching Kraata. Sleep, knowing you’ve failed. The Makuta’s voice reverberated inside Dume’s mind, which could hold nothing but the present horror. The sphere let out a mechanical hiss, and a panel slid open, revealing it to be hollow. Cold, as the last of his energy, his will, was drained away. The Kraata dropped away, satiated. Dark. “Your destiny awaits,” rumbled the Makuta. And the Turaga of Metru Nui crumbled, his fire smothered by the master of shadows. 'Turaga Dume' got up and put on his mask for the day.

Yes, Earth/Stone is puzzling. But some systems make it work, like rock type opposed to ground type in Pokemon. Then also you have the people who are in the camp that 'dirt is made of decomposed organic matter, so Toa of Earth are Toa of Death'. However personally appealing I find that, I understand how it wouldn't have been cool for the kiddos. About Dalu's weapons - yeah, BS01 mentions how a Toa of Psionics can use their powers to affect (specifically, in context of creation sensory illusions) all five senses. Enhancing senses seems simpler than that, so I don't see why not. I'd categorize Dalu's weapons as non-elemental, probably static, though, and their effects able to be overridden by a Toa of Psionics (or Axonn). Good example! I've actually been wondering if maybe Psionics isn't a permutation of Sonics, based on how tools like Vahki staffs and your Dalu example can have psionic-like effects. This is kind of a tangent (totally completely far out there, but I'm not a complete nutjob, promise), but I read an article about how people who have their Alexa (smart hockey-puck by Amazon thing) linked up to their home security system are vulnerable to a new sort of robbery. Whoever wants to break in can aim a laser at Alexa's microphone and program the laser to pulse in a way that somehow duplicates the voice command for Alexa to unlock the house and let the burglar in. I didn't believe it when I heard about it, but I googled 'Alexa laser hack', (youtube video where they explain it and test it out) and it's nuts. So, based on how MU inhabitants are 85% super smart machine and the rest organic, I'd totally buy that they can hack each other with lasers-mimicking-sound-wave commands and call it psionics. About the mind-control thing - the one stipulation that seems consistent, whether it be a Komau or theoretically a Toa of Psionics, is that they can't make the controllee do something directly against their (the controllee's, presumably) morals. It can't be that hard to find someone with no morals to control, right? That seems like a pretty exploitable loophole.

The map is amazing!! I'll definitely be taking a look at the program you said you made it on. Anyways, I get a Mata Nui/Voya Nui vibe from the world you've created and Akarius is discovering. Love it! Always up for a good Toa quest, and I like the multiple layers of mystery you've already laid for both characters and readers to follow - Akarius' past, the darkness threatening the island, the history of Volara Nui itself, and I'm sure much more to come. Keep up the great work! I can't get over how great the map is. Seriously.

Aww, thanks guys! Haha, I'm not dedicatedly artsy enough to do a regular comic, but if inspiration strikes again, perhaps you'll see more of them around