Franco

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.

IC: God, isn't she an annoying little ######? I throw her attack space and that is the thanks I get: a bonk on the head. Really? My cranium has split rocks - it doesn't possess any sort of phobia of pokes with metal sticks. I mean, we Piraka even agree that my noggin's the thickest (though we disagree as to the cause; Thok thinks it's to shield my brain from intelligence, I think it's to shield my brain from him). At least she follows it up with a sweep. Of course, though, I've got another title among my ever-agreeable kind: world's strongest Piraka. Strength equals speed, a prime messing-with-the-scrubs tool. "Close, but no cigar, little Toa," I remark as I cut the drill's power, then shove the staff away in the same movement as a jump over the kick. I'mma just hop right on over her head faster than she can say "natural selection" and spin back down with saw swinging. In the meantime, let's see about another quake under her to take advantage of that lifted leg and get her down and dirty. I'll even heighten the power a little bit, compensate for the fact that the ground at her feet is a baking suspension of cinder-contaminated sand in water. The cloak nodded.

I want Romulus back.

All this talk of CRANE without consulting its founder? If your intent was to annoy him, well, I'm afraid I'll disappoint: I am in high feather. Stowing the jokes, I would like to inform you all about the CRANE (subsequently referred to as "CRANE" for convenience) in relation to the BZPRPG for a little bit so we can really consider its helpfulness in abetting activity. For future reference, the CRANE post is here. Firstly, CRANE isn't actually dead. As noted in the blog post, the only requirement to be a member is to take its pledge to help out newer players; additionally, in spite of the attempts to come up with ways for its members to host in-game competitions and education for newer characters, membership has never been a prerequisite to join in any such activity. However, that doesn't mean it's inactive. Regardless of whether its members are united in their work, I've yet to see one stop working. Secondly, CRANE's formality is the aforementioned oath. It has no rewards, command structure, etc. and is thus not inclined to be of strict organization. What CRANE does have is a single purpose: education. As a coalition, it never required anything else. Its services are only as applied and offered by members. I'm not here to talk about how CRANE has done over the years, but I believe it could've been handled better and I think that leads pretty well into my feedback about the trouble with player caste in the game. In no small part, this mismanagement of the concept was due to its creator's assumptions regarding that system. I built CRANE under the popular premise that there were two kinds of roleplayers: veterans and newbies. Newbies, I assumed, constituted a low class of toddling people universally possessing childlike and error-prone mentalities and writing styles. Veterans were the diametric opposition to newbies, knowledgeable and practiced roleplayers who had the seamless authorship newbies strove for and thus held responsibility for the newbies' eventual inductions into their echelon. I thought that there was a clearly-cut line between these two groups. I've been through a lot since I first subscribed to that particular idea. Anyone who knows me is aware that I've built locations and relationships here, seen them struck down by the staff, and started again a few times. Yet that story is hardly unique. Regardless of their good intentions, long-standing investment in the game, or experience, I've seen "veterans" just as apt to make mistakes as those we consider new (anyone remember Dorian and Grokk's "great escape?") while "newbies" have been more prudent in their dealings and adroit in their writing with less knowledge (hey, baby). The truth is that people rise and fall and experience is only as good as its application. In that case, how are we to define anyone as "veteran" or "new?" I believe the answer is that we keep those terms circulating only as adjectives pertaining to relative experience and not as nouns. As even the rules can only define "veterans" nebulously as "members who have been involved in the BZPRPG for a long period of time," the only boundaries we can ever create between the new and veterans (and other classes) are arbitrary, and any other connotations, all the more. We can clearly define the differences between staff and non-staff players or those who play Akiri and those who don't, but experience is not so easily measured; I would hesitate to call anyone a "veteran" regardless of experience, at least as the term has historically meant in class division. I'd also like to concur with JL and Voxumo and extend this opinion to a piece of wisdom they talked about. But despite that, I've attempted to join into an interaction only to be ignored...........and that really doesn't help out at all. >_> "Elites" have just as much responsibility to interact freely as anyone else. While it's easy for people to turn this into a game in which only a few select players post in the series of interactions developing their characters, it's certainly not healthy for the game, nor the players. No one should be mandated to request interaction, but it's rude and unhealthy (for both the game and the players involved) to shut others out. If one really wanted to write with only those he or she favored, anyway, why wouldn't one drop this game and leave to play that elsewhere? There's no clear reason to divide people into separate camps based on experience in a game. It's toxic and holds us back more than any plot stagnation ever could. This is an exercise for all of us, a way to have fun and a way to learn, too. I think those are two more similarities than we have defined differences.

IC: I block with the launcher while bringing the saw down again, jarring my arm but keeping the staff out of my eyes. She isn't bad and I guess I might as well not focus on the other guy until he snaps out of it. So it's time to beat down the original target. "Sure. And while I may talk too much, miss," I fire back, shrugging as I step to her right, "in the morning, I'll be quiet and you'll still be ugly." Channeling my momentum, I slip the launcher in the bag and flip the saw. Then I grab it with my free hand and thrust my drill under the staff for her abdomen. Its power begins to liquefy the ground at her feet. Let's play with her element and her mobility both. She can control water well, but is that control refined enough to absorb it when her attention is focused elsewhere?

IC: "You like analysis? So do I!," I exclaim with a guffaw, forcing his blades down as he plays the Little-Toa-That-Could-Keep-Them-Up. A projectile from behind me is knocked away with the twirl of my drill."You look pret-ty steamed just now. Two possibilities provide causes: one, you've got a personal attachment to th' people of this place; two, I was wrong and you're th' boyfriend. "Doesn't matter which," I continue. "You're attached to things other than yourself, boy. Attachments are another point of attack." Like the stance he's holding those swords in. I can help with that. Tapping my toes, I generate a miniature tremor beneath his legs. My left hand simultaneously slips from the saw to the zamor, whips it out, and fires for his midsection. He'll be shaken from his feet with a point-blank shot at his torso and a polearm keeping him down. Both stance and its possessor will be worse off in the true proof of my theory. "So, you're weak." Doomie saluted. "ME AND THE CAP'N/MAKIN' IT HAPPEN~!," He sung, patting his hands where his dearest GRINAED LAWNCHAIR typically resided at his shoulder, "BUT WHERE, OH, WHERE/IS MAH GRINAED LAWN-oh." The cloak drifted to Lohkar's side, launcher cocooned in its fold. It offered the contraption to him silently. "I'LL GET YOU NEXT TIME, GADGET!," Doomslayer cried, shaking a gloved fist as he cried to Zmija. With a resigned mutter of "MEANY-PU," he hopped into position and began firing.

I sense a Magic: the Gathering reference. Also, a possible thing to do. Who is ready for Hau's glorious return?

IC: I grin at the one moving towards me; I had figured attacking her and her companion along with Thok was the right move. Too bad she sent one of my marriages down the drain, but I had plenty more babes to choose from in Mr. Manpurse. No big loss, anyway, as my goals had merely been to test my sweetpeas and exact me some vengeance for that rope trick. Testing this pair to see which one of us was best adapted just made it a package deal. Besides, that generation of water was quicker than any I'd seen and I hadn't yet seen masks looking like theirs. Maybe there was hope for a challenge in this world. Maybe the two of them would be a nice little warmup for my inevitable pulverizing of Thok's cranium. Maybe they'd be as intelligent as their pursuit of him suggested and dash the ###### away. "You know," I call over to her, grabbing my polearm in both hands, "You and your boyfriend here-," I nodded to the one engaging Thok, "-look pretty good as far as this business goes. I'm going to enjoy this." I lengthen my grin and rev the saw. Then I plow through the emptying street towards my new target, charging with whirling blade overhead to split her skull at a lightning drop. "I love cutting down competition."

4-5.

IC: "We need to sweep the area and keep an eye out for Matoran still nearby - might be good to do so in pairs," Leah says. "Knowing how Skakdi elements work, they might be doing the same." I nod. We stalk down the passage and peek out. Smoking ruins, clustered Toa in adjacent alley, Guard swarming in, throngs milling around- "Ladies and gentlemen, if you could please evacuate Ta, especially the attractive people, it would be a really tragedy if we lose anymore of the hot ones." Shout's origin is Ko-Skakdi, ice peg and zamor, ushering civilian Toa out. He's knocking Matoran down...perhaps relative size, disorder, and haste make the accidents. Or. He's pushing them. He's calm enough to lead others out--haste not viable. He's moving the Toa properly--disorder is not... Le-Skakdi, talon and zamor, hissing something into his ear. Then the second blurs away, Reordin after him. I turn to Leah. "He's orange, red towards Matoran." He talked to a similar Skakdi, his intent is harmful, and he perpetrated potentially lethal evil--confused, the crowd could trample any who fell. Likely Piraka or similar group of coincidences. I turn back and observe to make the decision. He shoots a Matoran with the zamor. Decision made. We can't fight him amid the civilians, though. We tail him instead, keeping close enough that we can follow but far enough that he can't tell he has hunters. He slinks through the edges of the crowd, bumping into a guard and stealing his badge. He slips through the crush and into the guard HQ. Civilian-free. I'm more built for close-quarters, so I take point and Leah goes behind. We slash through the crowd and the guardsmen going in and out. I step inside. He's at the desk. Talking to receptionist. "I need to get to that armory for that reason, but also because I'm going to need some equipment if we want to stop these ######." Can't see me. Two steps with flow of crowd. Every reason for him to hear nothing out of the ordinary in a clamor. Left arm up. Right kept back. "So please don't hold me up-" Hear something whistle through air behind me. (Gali will cover it. Maintain the element of surprise and stay the course.) "-Lives are at stake here." Minute inhale. Right leg half-steps behind him. Hip swivels moderately right. Right fist torques. Exhale. I punch for his right kidney.

I'm back for a round of twenty - er, three questions: 1. "Where's the activity?," 2. "Is Team Magma dead yet?," and 3. "Will I stay in this game till the bitter end?" Also, a recap would be greatly appreciated. EDIT: Can reward points be gifted?

Today is evidently Simon the Digger's 17th birthday. Wish him well here. Personally, Simon, I'd like to congratulate you on managing to keep your existence intact so far! Here's to hoping you debate well, pierce some heavens, and don't go Kray.

IC: Everybody agrees, nodding. Silence. Comfortable, but dark. Like the shadow of the volcano. I hunch and think regarding Oreius' revelation. There are four questions about it. The 'what' and 'where' are solved. But how and why did we enter "terrorism" territory? (Politics.) ...Incisive. As the gazes of the others filling my vision. I put the consideration away and return to Stannis' questions. Everything mentioned so far is a threat, but I don't know of any other problems I can't deal with. Nothing to add. I shake my head. OOC: E: clarified.

OOC: I'm going to guess no one would mind skipping through the questioning as your stories all support each other and Xaron basically articulated the gist of the venture previously. IC: Quickly answering the several queries regarding the events of the supposed "kidnapping", the alleged culprits were just as soon sent back to the lobby. They were then informed that they would be contacted if anything else related to the case or their prisoner came up, thanked for their time, and released. Yet said prisoner was not with them.

IC: Gyn Kirsug knew fear. Fear lied. Matoran were driven into insanity by their paranoia time and time again. Fear stole. It threw out rationality and took its place. Fear was insidious. In the middle of the island's greatest peace hid the coldest of its realities: its people couldn't accept pacifism, not because it was a poor reward, but because it was great to the point that it was unquantifiable; fear of the unknown was the worst of all. Gyn also knew knowledge was power. From the theory of that anecdote - enlightenment enables - Gyn had derived that knowledge of fear intrinsically gave one the tools to ignore it. He had met with fear many times throughout his stroll through life, giving him vast knowledge of its mechanisms. His greatest weapon against fear, though, was always the same: acknowledgement. Fear was ubiquitous. There were things in all corners of the world, he had once discovered, that went bump in the night. He didn't smile. He felt that would be inappropriate when thinking about those things. For Gyn was one of them. His hand whipped the Patero out, his other dropping the Lightstone on his mount before twisting the barrel. His legs kicked the Ussal into a sideways skitter, leading his section of the squadron out of the melee to fire in. They would safely attack the highest-priority Rahk there. Meanwhile, retribution would be negated by the speed and agility of Ussals in their natural terrain. Communicating the plan to his comrades with gestures of his right hand, his left aimed for the slug of the yellow-blue beast - of all the powers shown, its slowing seemed most troublesome - and pulled the trigger. An obsidian grenade flew from the launcher for its maw, will through his element propelling it as much as the air at its back. He kept his stance ready for retreat. The deputy would fall back as he must, if not of the liquid dread flowing through his body and pooling in the abyss of his mind. Gyn was going bump in his night. OOC: Firing obsidian photothermic grenade for Slow's mouth, will attempt to maintain its speed with elemental power. Also, running out from the back of the mass to the side.

IC: No one had the gall, perhaps, but Gyn Kirsug. Right hand holding his own Lightstone and left resting on the Patero at his hip, his genial smile lit the way for the Ussalmen who filed in after him.

IC: Hey there, students of "The Way the World Works 101." Professor Reidak is back for another class. This time, we're going to review our first lesson. How about we start with a pop quiz? ...Oh, don't give me that look. I'll make it nice and easy multiple guess. Even fill in the blank while we're at it. 1. _______ reign(s) supreme. a. Thok's honesty b. Hakann's humility c. Avak's propietary of intellectual property (suuuucker) d. Chaos If you answered "d" for "defenestration of sickly Turaga to clean the gene pool," then you are definitely correct. All the other answers are nonexistent, so I don't know about you, but I thought it was a freebie. Not so difficult? Yes? Well, that's positively splendid. Because we're about to see a few examples. Example number one: science goes boom. There's an old proverb I've often heard in conjunction the name of us Piraka: "idle hands are the work of the devil." Or Makuta. Or Zataka. Or maybe - GASP - you and every other being, as the only evil that exists is just as natural as everything else. But I digress. The point is that I do not have idle hands. In fact, ever since I found this lil' place called "Stralix's Workshop", I've done nothing but devote myself to greater and greater acts of industriousness. Like finding these handy-dandy twisting metal sticks. And twisting them. And throwing them. And making observations, like "twisting makes stick go boom" and "stick is grenade" and "holy ###### I'm going to marry these things." Then experimenting with my wives to see if they have the right detonation time (they do) and if ###### hath no fury like an explosive scorned (it doesn't). While chucking their contents, assorted machinery, and all the other stuff of Avak's wet dreams into the center of the building. Next putting a few of my new babycakes in my similar best friend, Mr. Manpurse, who I just met on the way in. I believe it is presently advisable to begin increasing entropy.

IC: A pair of eyes watched the closed door. A pair of hands lunged for the opening. A pair of maces stopped a millimeter from the hinges. Her student had left. Yet the boy was here. Reflecting in the moment between motion, she wondered if he'd learned as well. Then she sighed, inaudible to any outside her dwelling, and began again. OOC: Setting up for things to come.

IC: The cloak, unmolested by the green due to its apparent uninvolvement, floated to the injured one. A gloved hand heedfully rose from the specter to settle on the bindings of his hand. Tugging gently, the figure exposed charred flesh and began to focus its healing capabilities into the wound.

IC: Gyn smiled, glancing to Leli to see an enthused nod before returning his genial gaze to the group. "How about we all go? A tech expo is far less pressing than the problem of the Dark Walk, a wretched hive of scum and villainy."

IC: Tarnok and Gavarm fell upon the Skakdi as iron thunderbolts flung by the storm of their charge. Longsword jabbing for his groin and saperka slicing at his midsection, the Skakdi was assailed by attacks from two directions that cut below his defenses. Those same defenses were crippled as Fraxn's Telekinesis shoved the shroud onto the Skakdi's eyes once more and kept it there. A blinded and shackled enemy could hardly fight back. Hindered as the Skakdi's torso was, his legs were yet free. Dendron rectified that with a wave of his weapon, causing vines to sprout from the ground and wrap themselves around the mercenary's shanks. Aar and Houren further obstructed escape by leading the Toa into a pincer formation around their enemy, weapons drawn as they cut off escape. Retreat was still possible if the foe ran back towards the hut. It would simply allow all six Ussalmen to take swings at the Po-Skakdi's unprotected rear. Gavarm surveyed it all in mid-lunge, saperka balanced in his left hand as his right struck. He smiled. "Yes, sah."

[NPC] IC: The Lesterin blushed dazzlingly, adding another note to the tablet before stowing it under her desk. "Why, of course."

OOC: Ussalry later. IC: An oiled madu slipped into Verak's waiting palm. "GO GO GADGET BOOMFRUIT!"