Haecceity

As a member of the Society Against Cube Use, I cannot condone the use of such a figure in your avatar. Please turn it over for immediate incineration.

I-I-I'm not a zombie. Nope, not a zombie at all. No taste for human flesh. None. Believe me, that book lies.

Maybe he should stop reaching for whatever's offscreen, and try to understand the meaning of those giant floating letters instead.

Hugh Jackman in the movie adaptation of the musical adaptation of a book by Victor Hugo.

Why, thank you. I'm glad you enjoyed the story- it's a concept I've been toying around with for a while, and I wasn't sure how it would be received.

Tech

He was warm, so very warm...Rivulets of sweat poured down his arm-or was it his leg? He couldn't tell anymore. No, not in the whiteness-not in the pain that would not stop. Like the tides it came, slowly but surely every day. He remembered the tides, as he remembered the dark. He remembered that sweet musk that permeated the air, and how the Turaga would touch the flame and invoke its spirit, making it shine with a light that dispelled fear, dancing with the ripples of countless colours. Now the pain and the warmth were the only things left...Warmth...He chuckled to himself. Warmth couldn't begin to describe the searing sensation he felt every moment, the agony that burned with a fierce passion, the countless fires worming their way through his veins. He wished he had someone else to see, someone to share the pain and the whiteness with.Wait-there were others. They-it was so hard to remember...they fought the Shadow. He could remember the Shadow, he who took the form of Matoran, he of the endless destruction.Destruction...?Cleansing...The warmth ebbed away, leaving a dark void-but the pain remained, flooding his body, overtaking his mind. In the darkness shapes formed, swirling around him, piercing his flesh and morphing into grotesque shapes. The Hive beckoned...The Bohrok looked down at the incapacitated Matoran struggling with the Krana attached to it. The job was completed satisfactorily. The cleaning of the sector could continue. Waving its shield-plates at the others, it signaled for the new recruit to be moved to the other Joiners. Soon, murmured the Hive, soon the cleansing would be complete. Soon, oh so soon, Function would be fulfilled. Clicking in unison, the Bohrok raised their shield-plates to the sky, stamping as a hum filled the air. Each one communicated its pleasure to the others as the group silently chanted: Fulfill the Function! Obey the Purpose! Clean all!The Matoran looked up at this gathering, consciousness flickering back, yet still repressed by the Hive's control. It was somehow amusing to see Bohrok behaving like this, like so many spectators at a Kohlii game. Maybe they weren't as foreign as they seemed... As he marched with the others, he thought-and as he thought, he kept reaching the same conclusion. The Bohrok society was not so different from that of his own-perhaps it was even better.Time passed, and the lone Matoran labored side by side with the Bohrok, working and observing. As he watched, his mind fell into the patterns his Krana provided him-the presence of the Hive in his psyche a constant comfort. Every day that passed seemed to reinforce his belief in the advantages of a central mind, and each day he remembered less... It didn't matter, though-the Matoran he once was could only be flawed, broken-he could see that now. All he needed was the Hive...all anyone needed was the Hive. The Hive was almighty-the Hive would show them the Purpose. Acceptance would free everyone-the Turaga and Toa were fools. How did the island even survive under the protection of those doddering leaders? Why, even now, the Turaga wouldn't even tell them where they came from, or how they knew of Mata Nui. This would never happen if the island embraced the Hive...embraced it as he did. For the Hive was the answer to all problems, the fruitful solution. It was...beautiful...it was...everythingIt was...gorgeous destruction...

Aren't "dream" topics against the rules in GD? -Edit- Yeah, they are. "Dream topics turn into spam. Tahu making a sundae at your local Dairy Queen has very little discussion value."

A man who is very picky about other people's word choice in relation to color....In front of an eggshell-beige wall with hints of tan.

Are you tired of plain old Metallic Dragons? Introducing: the Chromatic Dragon! Slay your dragon in style with our full range of designer colors! Your friends will gape- your enemies will flee! "When angering Bahamut isn't an option- think Chromatic!"

Board game

"Late Redemption" - Angra

It's just a normal and completely non-spectral eye!

"Follow Me" - Darkseed

Alas, poor MNOLG Kit! I knew him, Damaracx: a kit of infinite possibility, of most excellent creation: he hath inspired me a thousand times; and now, how abhorred in my imagination is his crude flash stylings!

"How Could I" - Cynic

IC: AiituSafe in his hut, Aiitu listened. The wind was an aethereal entity, a swirling maelstrom of intuition that presented itself to those who heeded the island's word. As the Ko-Matoran closed his eyes, his heartlight began to pulse, echoing the gusts blowing through the small hut. Once again, the voice came, as it always had. But the voice was no longer a comfort, no longer a beacon. It mocked him, mocked him for staying with the villagers, mocked him for breaking his vow, mocked him for being WRONG. He wasn't wrong. He wasn't. They were wrong-they hadn't listened. Makuta should have reigned supreme-No, Makuta STILL reigned supreme. They were wrong, and the island was right. The voice was wrong, the island was right. He was wrong, the island was right. Aiitu opened his eyes, lifted one arm, and let it fall. He couldn't stay here, not here. No, he would set off, and he would wait. He would wait until the island was contradicted once more, and than he would ensure that it would never happen again. He was the island's messenger, the island's voice. He would take no side but that which benefited the island, and he would fight no battle that inconvenienced it....

IC: AiituThe wind howled as Aiitu stepped out of the hut the Ko-Matoran had given him. How long had passed since he came back to the Koro? He did not remember, nor did he care to. The Matoran had changed, the studies had changed-even the land had changed. He watched as a throng of Matoran passed by him, headed to the Inner Sanctum, no doubt. It sickened him, these once learned Matoran kowtowing to one of their own. It sickened him, and it sickened the land. Sighing, Aiitu turned to return to his hut. He would listen to the wind, and he would hear all that he needed-things that no Akiri knew.

Name: Aiitu, “The Lone Speaker” Gender: Male Species: Ko-Matoran Kanohi: Powerless Great Ruru, one side covered by a spiderweb of cracks Powers: Limited resistance to cold Weapons: Drill, ice pick. bamboo discs. Alignment: Chaotic Neutral Strengths: Navigation, camouflage Weaknesses: Fire, excessive light Description: A dark grey and white Ko-Matoran, his armor is warped and pitted. A web of cracks extends from his right shoulder to his face, where it is mirrored on his mask. Background: After the fall of Makuta, an uneasy peace reigned throughout the land, and Matoran society settled into its old patterns. Rumors of the exploits of wandering heroes reached through the Koros, informing even the most secluded Matoran of what had happened during the Dark Time. Aiitu was a Driftspeaker, a Ko-Matoran who searched for answers among the isolated canyons and peaks of Ko-Koro, a belief that required one to sacrifice their involvement in worldly affairs until the answer one sought was found. Due to his vow, he stayed clear of all that came his way, and was therefore ignorant of the events around him, until that fateful day when a Kewa-Rider passed overhead, shouting news of the Makuta’s defeat. Aiitu was shocked, having predicted that the island would fall in the absence of the Mata. As he reflected upon this, Aiitu realized that if the inhabitants of Mata Nui would not follow the prophecies he saw in the island, the island would be better off without them….

Shamanic Dream - Betray My Secrets

Pakari

Granted, a nearby fish obtains eternal life and happiness, mutating over the years into a horrific monster that sucks the world dry in order to maintain a state of everlasting bliss. Eventually it moves on to new worlds, leaving behing a dry husk of a planet...I wish for a piece of blank paper.

Chronicler's Company

Despite the fact that dragons are plastered over everything nowadays, there's still something about giant murderous flying lizards that manages to inspire awe...