Franco

Oh no oh no oh no--

Piraka > Toa Maru

IC: Gavarm's faith in Coryza had just been proven to have a rock-solid foundation. The colonel's face rose as he puffed out a smoke ring, the surrounding cacophony of bloodshed and struggle rushing from his ears to electrify his wire of a body. That was a familiar sensation, though. A small portion of his mind noted greater excitement than usual. Maybe, he wondered, it was his nostalgia. The stranger so beneficial to their plan moved and thought with a moxie that was so reminiscent of an old friend with a distinctive accent. Could the two be one and the same?

Yes, Gavarm inevitably concluded, but he put a moratorium on his speculation. Now was the time to lose himself in other things than his hypotheses.

Gavarm smiled.

He spat out his cigar and chucked his hook onto the surface of Coryza's grim work. He'd learned from another old friend, one of quiet speech and loud thoughts, that a leader showed by doing. Now was the time to show and for his followers to ape his part, as determined by both the orders of his military clout and his unwritten dominance. He extracted his saperka and zipped across in the same moment. By the time he reached the blood-spattered deck of the enemy ship, he had produced an arming sword and a broadening grin.

Then Gavarm began a quiet demonstration of the importance of each regarding those whom still thought it wise to ignore boarders.

IC: Naara raised an eyebrow. At once, the walls around her boredom dissipated and it flooded back in. Her mind, stagnant as her limbs had been, coursed into caustic mode in a matter of microseconds. Her expression remained ambiguous.

"Dear girl, then I must apologize again. I did not know you couldn't tell walking from jogging. Perhaps an illustration of the first is in order."

She promptly turned away and strode coolly into the village's throngs.

IC: "I'm sorry," Naara said mildly, halting to turn and examine the disgruntled Matoran she had bumped into. The littler being's aesthetics made for a mixed picture, brachia and thighs light hues of blue while the rest of her was darker. The pair of brown eyes the Ga-Matoran sported weren't exactly common among their kind. Only the expression of slight indignation was familiar to Naara. It was the same as that of the Vortixx a hundred kio away with the angular visage and the matching dagger.

Naara's expression shifted into a neutral state and she dipped her head. "I did not intend to be so clumsy. How may I make it up to you?"

IC: Her situation was just worsening. She could sense her existence was frail, that her life in these circumstances was miraculous. Like the disjointed reflection of her kanohi in the knife, she thought, life was starting to fragment.

But Dorian wasn't gone yet. And neither was Hau.

She still had time.

She boarded the ferry on that thought. Taking the knife out of her pocket as the ship set sail, she examined it once more.

The thing was lethal and, in a sense, ugly. There was nothing of glamor in the slitting of throats or stabbing of backs. Its blade was a cold assassin's tool with a gruesome bite, incapable of feeling or remorse. Yet its features were still beautifully crafted. Its metal still shone like a goddess; it was ugly, but it also had a lighter side.

<Maybe that's like right now.> She looked out into the sunset on the waves, cries of seagulls and of deckhands lost in her ears as the dark bulk of the ocean met the brilliant radiance of dying day. <Maybe that's like life. We'll see.>

One year to the day following the thought, Naara gave a blank stare into the same knife, supine on the deck of her yacht in solitary mooring, and wondered where her life had gone.

Xa-Koro had fallen hours after she left; with it went her link to Dorian. She kept the kid through the subsequent chaos and watched as the fanciful boy augmented his vision into the vigilante reality of a galvanized man. Then, it was time for her to leave the younger of the two hedonists behind. She flicked the blade, languidly swiping through the recollections in the cerulean sky.

Neither had died. Dorian was too enmeshed in trouble to be killed by it and Hau checked in every now and then. She severed her bonds with another swift cut of the air. Both of the two people she could bring herself to care about might as well have not existed in her new world. The time before the islets fell was a time when she'd taught and loved personalities she knew like the downy underside of her apparel. Now, she hunted and fished to collect sustenance for faceless masses she wouldn't sit down with, let alone bump into on the street.

The contrast was rather disconcerting.

Naara tossed the knife up, supplicating in her lethargy. If she lacked in relations, she had to admit a degree of the fault. She'd never been approachable. She tracked the dagger as it spun. She didn't regret pushing away that supercilious Kaccio or fawning Nikarra, but she wouldn't have minded talking to the Vortixx who left her with the glittering prize suspended meters above. She was only fishing now. Well, she'd fished for other things than Rahi before and she'd do so again. This time, she'd cast her net wide and sieve the results in a thin strainer.

She caught the knife and sheathed it, stuck it in her pack, and finally sprung up and off her boat, smoothly dropping onto the small dock outside the village. Her face slipped into its usual liquid smirk. Her limbs remembered their supple vigor and flowed from their torpid state into undulation through the Koro.

This time, she'd stay on the lighter side.

OOC: Naara is open for interaction.

There is no common thread twixt all of my characters save that each interacts with the concept of the ideal in a different way.

IC: She snuck through the Dark Walk, fought off the Rahkshi, and returned to liberate the treasure from the clutch of death--and it wasn't trapped?

...

###### are the powers that be smoking?

She shrugged, put her new toy in her pack  and left, slinking through the shadows to warmer places.

OOC: Mars to Le-Wahi

You might want to add that there were a fair amount of Makuta follower PCs at the Kini Nui fight. Something about the Legacy might also be a good addition.

Also, 4/6 militias participated in the assault on the Nui-Rama Hive.

IC: Kenchi liked today. There were no clouds in the sky, the streets were clean, and the sun's rays glittered off the towers of Sado. All as she intended.

The Rora's death wasn't her intention. It was far from the symmetry she liked; there were too many differing emotions in the wake of the killing and too many differences on either side of the divide between the dead empress and the new. As long as overall beauty was propagated, though, she'd be fine.

Of course, all the more reason to take fourteen bodyguards with one on a walk down the street. How could one construct pulchritude if one was dead? To prevent an untimely death, she'd enfolded herself in a circle of her most appealing soldiers. She did enjoy that aesthetic--simple, strong, and unending.

So thought the Roku Toroshu as she strode past the Towers of Knowledge.

IC: "Hold up," Mars called, poking her head out from behind the corner. A crinkling sound echoed through the cavern before her visage plunged back into the gloom. A second later, it reappeared, cheeks bulging. 

"Lut me gest dis stray," commenced the munching assassin, swallowing. "You-," she enunciated, index finger protruding from the darkness and aiming itself at the Ta-Toa, "can't use it, either. Meanwhile, you-," she asserted, spinning her point towards the other, "don't want it."

She looked at them both, raised the partly-wrapped Tahu Burger to her mouth with her other hand, and took a moment to consume a victual as her mind considered the situation.

"Don't mindsh iz I doom," Mars concluded with an effervescent grin, gliding to before the niche and snatching the Kanohi.

The Ussalry contingent's commanding officer on the hunt is Gavarm. Your character can be a reinforcement. I do advise, however, that you follow Gold Experience's advice and talk to Tomorrow Girl before posting.

IC: Mars shrugged. "I'm no Toa; one of you kavinika take it. I'm out." Slipping back into the Dark Walk, she melted into the shadows and was gone.

Those sound fun, who is in the escaped convict search, and where is it?

The Ussalry, the Sentinels, the Infernavika, and others are in the search off the coast of Ta-Wahi.

I know that the ussalry is like a police force, but what else comes with it? Are they doing anything special now?

Currently, Onu-Koro is following the general trend and experiencing zero criminal trouble. So Ussalry members are typically found aiding other militias for fortune and glory; currently, there are Ussalry representatives on the hunt for escaped convict Jazek Rehn and the venture into the Po-Wahi Dark Walk.

IC: Mars spared a microsecond's glance for the others. There was such a thing as too much professionalism, after all. "Taua," she said easily, spitting a few crumbs on the floor. Her blades were ready. "You?"

OOC: Here to help. What's the white Rahk?

IC: As Drogen's assailants reeled, falling back in the face of the blaze, a veritable hurricane of chakram descended upon the sable enemy. Their presumable thrower advanced from the Le-Wahi Dark Walk, fingers on a pair of trenchant axes. Her scoped regard whirred to concentrate on the counterattack's target.

"Down, boy," she muttered through a mouthful of beef, cheese, and bun.

IC: A letter came for the happy Fa-Toa.

Ashiem:

1. Take the Ussals labeled "Ashiem" in the Horseman Company stables.

2. Bring them to Pala-Koro and provide inhabitants the packages labeled "FF-P" as a gift of fungal sustenance. Examine the business outlook and opportunities present.

3. Repeat Step 2, substituting Ihu-Koro for Pala-Koro and "FF-I" for FF-P.

4. Bring the Ussals to the Nuju-Marillion Research Hospital and donate to them "FM-N."

5. Return yourself and any remaining company property to Horseman Company Headquarters.

6. Pat yourself on the back! <3

Thanks,

Kultos :3

I think I'm going to finally join the BZPRPG so I can take part in this Holy Order thing. Sounds really interesting.

I remember you. Let's interact sometime.

What is plum?

Birthday don't hurt me, don't hurt me, no more.

"You lied to us," he continued, voice hard and cold and sharp as fine steel. He extracted himself from Sulov's grip and stood again, refusing to be humbled before Stannis before the Toa of Stone had fully realized what folly he'd wrought. "Manipulated us. Abused our trust. For all we know, you brought them here."

 

"He's right," said Korero, and the Toa of Air moved forward to stand side-by-side with his brother of Ice, giving him a short nod of solidarity. Reordin was no longer the lone voice of dissent. "You've always got a sermon to give, but when do you actually tell us anything? I know I'm not the only one who's tried not to think about it, but all this time there's been a mystery: what actually happened to Makuta? Where did he go?"

 

...

 

"I think it's time to come clean, brother." she said. "We're operating half blind here, building the island's defenses only on what we see and good faith in your word. You owe us an explanation."

 

...

 

"And if you lie to us, or leave anything out, or hide behind platitudes," Reordin finished, "I walk."

 

-Tyler

You are right. He is lying.

He will be honest. You will stay.

(Are you sure about that?)

Yes. We will win.

(When?)

In time.

(Would you fight on less even ground to win in less time?)

...

No.

We'll maintain our bond only if we choose our battles. Korero, Leah, and Reordin are injured. Everyone is angry. The Piraka are getting away.

The noise of it all rings in my head. I like it when people are quiet.

Less talk, more doing.

I touch Reordin. He turns. Everyone looks at me.

I shake my head a millimeter, real slow.

He is right. Now is not the time for that right.

I draw my eyes to Oreius and nod large.

Congratulations, Picasso. You have encapsulated the stoic stance and expression, puissant and linear physique, and magnanimous quintessence of Sulov impeccably. What an exalted honor it is to be in the mere presence of such a nonpareil magnum opus.

IC: if there was one thing Gyn Kirsug did not want, it was seeing a good investment go to waste. Colonel Leli was definitely a good investment and, if her lonely sandwich twixt two Rahkshi was anything to go by, she was critically imperiled. Hanging back and picking more Rahkshi off just wouldn't do. Prioritizing her safety, followed by the vanquishment of her assailants, Gyn gambled.

"Ussalmen, to me!," he called, bolstering Patero in exchange for saperka. His fingers twitched to communicate a melee assault on the Rahkshi surrounding his superior. Spade held poised overhead to fall like a thunderbolt and feet kicking his steed to urge it on, he advanced for the Rahkshi of Sonics.

In the meantime, Aryll directed his steed to retreat. The lightning flying from his gauntlets towards the Rahkshi of Dodge, though, was anything but turning around.

OOC: Gyn is charging for Sonics and dropping the axe like it's hot on dat back. As well, I'm bunnying Aryll momentarily for a bolt or two at Dodge.

I'm going to be out for two weeks starting tomorrow. I entrust characters in the following manner to be used at players' discretion:

* Tyler has Reidak

* Vezok's Friend has Sulov

* Ghosthands has Zmija

* KNI has Gavarm

* Emissary has Gyn

IC: I'm running in there at maximum speed. The cold, hard saw of reality is headed for her face. The grenade is being directed away, maintaining the tenets of her foolish code while keeping her occupied-

-Or, evidently, while chucking it back at me.

I flick it to the side, stopping and swiveling to present a smaller target. End result: a boatload of shrapnel in my armor and an awful lot of pain. Of course, I've got grander topics on my mind.

"I thought your kind didn't kill, little Toa," I comment, returning to the initial plan of charging her with the same overpowering diagonal. I might as well try to wear her down.

IC: It helps that I can spin my saw to deflect some. It helps that I'm not anchored and free to be blown back without additional damage.

You know what doesn't help? The jet getting past and hitting my chest with barely-diminished force. My breastplates are out of commission and my pecs have been sullied by the horrors of aqua pura. Besides that, I'm blown back a bit. I land on my feet with the practice of my life and tut towards her ugly face. Evolution doesn't hurt that any more than my sense of the Earth does. I am one adaptive mother######er.

Gotta give her credit, though, that staff and that water are both annoying as all ######. I'm faster, stronger, and tougher than her, but as long as she's got those, all my advantages can really do is allow me to chip away at her resistance until she gets tired. How am I supposed to adapt to anything that boring-###### way? There must be something I can do to penetrate her defense more quickly. Looks like she recovered faster than usual, so quakes are out of the question. Perhaps another weapon in the equation will do the trick.

Dropping one hand to Mr. Manpurse, I grab a wifey and whip her out, then give her a twist and chuck her at the little Toa. Grinning, I charge in on her heels with saw swinging diagonally left-right across her, the most powerful stroke.