Franco

IC: Gavarm's face flickered back to the unfathomable mask of seconds before, but this time there was clear emotion in his eyes, as apparent and yet indefinite as the burbling of a concealed stream in a canyon. His carefree flair sloughed from his movements, his shrug unembellished. He had no accent. "It will be enough." There was a pause again, though this time Gavarm did not relax and return to the regular self they all knew better. He simply studied Uyism and Tarnok with a weary look. "By the way, have you seen Leli recently?"

IC: Gavarm did not smile, just returned the gesture by looking over his own old armor with an inscrutable expression. The insignia was gone, but the scars remained. Unconsciously, he ground the cigar in his other hand to dust. Then he smiled again. "Say, y'all, after all this blows over...how 'bout a real Seventh reunion? Drag th' commander inta it, hit up a diner, it'll be just like old times."

IC: Gavarm smiled. "Y'all coulda jes' said business 's usual. You've gone so far since Seventh, Tarnok, but Ah reckon you've always done yer job."

IC: Cero found a spot where the flash of Piedra's Pokeball would not be visible and let loose. The Probopass materialized, eyes grimly questioning its trainer. "Split." The mini-noses fell off Piedra, the motion as robotic and steely as Cero's voice. "Sneak two drones to the right and left edges of the compound." Magnet Rise propelled half the parts in a stealthy float through the woods around the fence, settling in parallel positions across the width of the area. Cero paused. The robot in his head stopped talking, and he felt himself again, reached under his cloak and clutched Viajero like a lifeline. He turned from Piedra to Noivern, solemn now less from numbness and more from respect. He didn't know what he was doing nor its consequences. He did know he had to do it. "You've rendered us a great service, and without you, we wouldn't be here. You stopped us from running into danger. You carried me this far." Struck by a sudden impulse, he knelt before the bat and murmured gently. "Will you carry me to the end?"

IC: Gavarm chuckled at Tarnok's understatement. "Nothing's easy on Mata Nui, that's for sure. Back from blasted naval combat, and whaddaya get but Ko-Koro goin' to karz." His hands quietly formed into fists before he smiled again. "But Ah don't have a mission yet, so what've y'all bin up to?"

IC: Though hugging two persons was no small task, even for someone of Gavarm's slightly short size, he did so with remarkable aplomb. "Darn right. Been too long." He added apologetically, "My bad."

IC: Later, as Gavarm romped about in Immaculate, idly clenching an unlit cigar, a four-armed beast caught his eye. He blinked. Could it be? He opened the cockpit and looked with his own eyes. That was an Iroiit. And next to it stood a gunmetal Matoran... Gavarm abruptly stopped Mac, hopped out his entrance and haphazardly closed it behind him. He swiftly moved for the pair, cigar forgotten. A grin started on his face. "Uyism, Tarnok! Howdy!"

Now he needs to keep nerdin' Just can't stop Gotta keep on nerdin' That nerd has got to stay on top And be a toy box hero, got bricks in his eyes

IC: Sulov sizes up Daring. He remembers the name from the report on Hiemalis' Ta-Koro attack and those who fought for Onewa. Good. He just doesn't remember the name on a woman. But Kongu isn't surprised. He supposes she's the real deal. "My house has lockers for equipment," Sulov suggests. It is best that his space goes for this cause even if not used by him.

IC: "An idea is an idea," Sulov responds. "Your return is possible, but it is not a plan. This group convened for plans." The Maru rests a fatherly hand on the Matoran, looking at Tarkahn solemnly. "The idea is for you. I will see you later." He abruptly quiets and pulls back.

Author's Note I'd like to talk a little about this chapter, and I can't do that without mentioning the man who wrote half of it. Major Spoilers, also known variously as "Draezeth" or "Kehuri," has been consummately accommodating and deserving of eternal thanks ever since I approached him with the idea of writing this scene. Regarding that: this scene has a bit more backstory than most I plan to include. When Major won the privilege of playing Onepu in the BZPRPG a year or two ago, he mentioned that Onepu had certainly offered Sulov to rejoin the Ussalry over the timeskip. Though I decided the proposal was rejected and thus came to nothing, it stuck with me until I began writing Ascending Down. I believed it was a good example of a scene which changed little on the surface--leaving status quo alone--but made ripples in the latent. It nudges the world of the prologue into motion without moving it much. A couple more notes: there is a reference in this chapter to a US general not entirely unlike Sulov, and I advise readers to catch it if they can. I'd also like to provide massive kudos to Major Spoilers for his excellent writing, which I have tried to edit and cut only so as to fit the story's point of view and tense. Finally, I intended updates to come within weeks of each other. As this did not, and was only possible due to the blood and sweat of a writer whose work has been subjected to Procrustean trial, I refer all to Glyn Maxwell's poem "Deep Sorriness Atonement Song." Some will understand it better than others due to its bounty of uniquely British allusions (ahem). However, all deserve its apology. Happy reading and critique below.

Day 5 Someone knocks lightly at Sulov's door. Loud enough to hear, but not loud enough to wake him if he is asleep, he notes. Sulov carefully puts down the letter he was writing and begins easing himself up. He isn't dying and unconscious. He is alive, and incapable of exercise, the habit he misses. So he has made new ones, planning and using his element, and tablets of writing and maps sit on the bed-stand. He supposes those were okay. Better than being swarmed. After Sulov woke up, there had been an influx of emotive beings; that was dying down now, and he feels better about this visitor. "Come in," he says, moving to sit straight. Onepu steps inside, closing the door carefully behind him. His eyes wander awkwardly for a second before resting on the Toa of Earth. "I see you're up, that's good." Beginning with a traditional greeting felt too awkward. "How're your injuries?" Sulov thinks. The doctors had reacted to his diagnosis as they were able. They had targeted the critical, the broken arm and organs and the serious loss of fluid, with a Mask of Healing. They had removed the shrapnel from his body and closed all wounds. They had done their job when they took him in, too swarmed with casualties of the Rahkshi attack to offer more time than that; now they were doing their job in peace, devoting more time to him. He is weak now. He will recover soon. Then he will finish what he has started. "Fair," he replies, looking at Onepu seriously. He is inwardly glad. Though Onepu is commander of the entire force, he has always been attentive to its components, and his ego extends to his men. Sulov doubted the captain had contributed to the exile. Onepu would be sympathetic. "The worst is here." Sulov motions to his heartlight. "I could not say goodbye to Whenua." Onepu sighs, his eyes dropping. "We all miss him. I blame myself most of all for his passing." It is his men, and he himself, who had failed to protect the Turaga, after all. He raises his eyes once again. "You were fulfilling your Destiny while he passed. I have no doubt he would be proud." The words beat softly. Destiny at the cost of the Turaga, the Chroniclers' Company and people of the villages, achieved with the death of Aurax. Not for the first time, Sulov feels Destiny like a chain around his neck, reins held by something he buried in the sepulcher of betrayal. He feels hollow. Yet that is a slight feeling, only incited by the small trouble with Stannis. Onua taught Sulov Destiny, so as to learn Prosperity, and Sulov no longer sees a permanent constriction in prophecy. Duty is a road and Destiny is a roadmap. The broad strokes might stay the same, but individual roads merge, crumble, materialize, shift; if Oreius and Korero have shown anything, it's that fate changes. Inherent facts like mortality exist as a framework for change, to facilitate the fulfillment of obligation. That brings wealth in all forms. There's a benefit as well as a cost. The thought fills the dull emptiness with salmiak resolve. Sulov nods sincerely in response. Onepu smiles warmly at the nod. He pulls up a seat, but rather than sit on it, he leans on the back with his elbows instead. "I'm not really one to go on about Destiny. All the ###### we've been through has made me question my faith more than once. But it's a decent segue into why I'm here now. Well, other than to congratulate you." He chuckles. "I regretted what happened before, you being kicked out like that. Maybe that was Destiny at work, there. You wouldn't be a Toa now, if it hadn't happened. So, now that everything's winding down, I want to offer your place back in the Ussalry, if you're willing to take it." His words come out strangely casually. This isn't some dramatic moment, just an offer, which the Toa Maru is free to refuse if he sees fit to do so. Sulov blinks. Of course it wasn't Onepu's fault. Of course the Captain wants to undo what happened. How could Sulov expect any less? He is warmed. Between the nonchalance and the message, he senses Onepu's hand in his, ready to lift him out of exhaustion and into action. The hand's a promise, of commanding Ussalmen and companionship with Onepu. Sulov is grasping that future. Already, he can see it: giving and receiving orders to help his village; returning to Tarnok, Gavarm, and Uyism; cooking for other people. He would never be without something good to do to help those around him. He would be lifted up to the seat he had loved before he was removed from it. Yet... Sulov pauses. He's not the person who sat there anymore. He's bigger--Onepu's hands are smaller than his now, not the other way around--and what Onepu holds is the fleshless tool of an absent friend. The budding leader, concerned with the needs of his family, has been replaced by a mighty hero who bears responsibility for everyone. Can he go back after accepting that? Sulov thinks. "No," he states eventually, "I cannot. The Ussalry's place is fighting for our Koro. The Maru's is for all Koro." Onepu nods. "I figured you'd say something along those lines. I can understand, and respect that." He smiles. "Better you than me, I've got my hands full enough with one village." Sulov breathes in wafting pride; whether it's for him, Onepu or both, he isn't sure. He knows it to be a relieving scent. "Can't let you have all the fun," he says, only belatedly noting that he just used a jokey tone with a former superior. Onepu rolls his eyes. "Sulov Koskium just joked with me, 'tis truly the end times." Chuckling, he shakes his head. "Well, with that order of business out of the way, how would you like to catch up some? It's been a while, after all." They do catch up. It's awkward at first, being so far removed, and they only seem to find more differences when they talk about recent events--no one previously took the time to inform Sulov of changes in Kolhii lineup, and he must re-learn the sport. Yet when the conversation turns away from the current, it becomes easier. Onepu mentions he won an Ussal Race because of his communication with the Rahi. When Sulov reveals he set the Ussal jump record, they have a good topic. They spend an hour discussing the finer points of the animal they love before Onepu must go and Sulov tires, mentally and physically. Talking isn't always bad, Sulov reminds himself as they part, feeling satisfied. It's just difficult sometimes. He decides he will gladly endure that difficulty to catch up with the others, and he can't wait to see them again. Review

Darnit, Eyru!

IC: Sulov is indifferent. All he has done is probe. Tarkahn has proven ignorance, Nuparu firmness. He sees goodness in both of these: Nuparu has standards, Tarkahn unpreparedness unlike a possible double agent. There is honesty here. The Earth cannot be deceived. Sulov only waits to see the next truth.

IC: The objective, the objective, the objective. Essentials: stealth, speed, maneuverability. In, check, out. Distract, and send in the spider... Cero would've smacked himself if it wouldn't have created an unnecessary sound. He clenched in his wraps instead. He didn't have a spider, and he never had. Still, "distract, and send in the _____" was a passable idea. "Diversion," he said quietly, unsurprised and somehow blasé that he knew the word. "Got a Probopass. It distracts them on three sides, we go in the other." He petted the dog beneath his cloak, the motion a lifeless focus for his thoughts. "The Lillipup will lead us to our target."

That's what I call... Ey-potheosis.

How about shady public welfare projects? I like the cut of your jib. On another note, here's a story about Sulov.

Prologue: Day 0 Makuta is gone, and Sulov is back. He is not cognizant of anything but that fact at first, a truth that lifts weight from his chest, and as he looks where the darkness used to be, he just thinks: it's done. Then: we did it. Finally: we won. Onua is proud. Something rises in his throat. All this time, he has reserved his feelings, letting but the positive and the mild show on the surface. Now the dam has burst. He needs to share his joy, to put aside review of what has happened or care for his injuries in favor of happiness. He gets up, only now noticing his sit on Mangaia's battered floor, and looks untrammeled through the dim at the others. He perceives their exhaustion, brims with concern; but their faces sweep that away along with the self-barricade. He spots Oreius, shocked but not severely hurt. Sulov remembers Oreius' doubt and wants to give his friend peace. Justice must reward the good as well as punish the bad. He lunges and pulls the Ta-Toa against his chest-- --And Oreius' armor meets flayed body, smaller form knocking broken ribs and cracking shattered arm. Instead of succumbing, Sulov breathes out the pain; instead of hissing, he sighs slightly, still. What rose in his throat is stuck. It would not be leal for Oreius, who piloted the boat, and kept Stannis safe, and defied the expectation of betrayal, to have to worry about anything now. Sulov is not shameful, but resolute. He holds Oreius for many wordless seconds before he gently extricates himself to examine those injuries. He waves off the others. They are happy, and they don't need him right now. ... As Sulov finishes, Stannis speaks, and Sulov leans against the wall, listening. “We will return here soon, to finish our work; the dark instruments of the Makuta remain, and we must remove them. But now is not the time. Now, we owe the people of Mata Nui the knowledge that they have been craving: that Makuta is gone. Each of us should go to our Koros – or, our new Koros – and tell the people what has transpired here.” Sulov does not agree. Morality is clear: the people must know, Makuta's lair must be dismantled. But the team must not split up. We have something special, Sulov thinks. We are versed in each other, and we know where we stand among ourselves. We won together. Tamping down the minor niggles of Stannis' Mask, the Maru are people who should work together. And why not? Putting together Sulov's Mask and Korero's, the Maru can alert all the villages more easily than if divided, find recuperation quicker than divided, clean up the island more efficiently than if divided. Then it strikes him. They don't need efficiency. They've won, haven't they? The biggest evil they have left to defeat is discontent, and the only job clean-up duty. From the looks on their masks, Sulov understands. They would be happy to follow Stannis' direction. It would be good for them to have time away from each other. Meanwhile, Sulov can catch up on his old friends, return to how things were before he was exiled. Everything will come back together soon enough, the better for it. He sees the future can be better than the present and the past. It can be both. Sulov stays silent. When the others begin to move, he does also. He waves before he goes. Curious, he notes, stepping into his tunnel, he's never enjoyed saying goodbye before. Review

Author's Note After finishing the BZPRPG's 2012 arc, I looked over my performance. It was a drastically varied season. I had many moments of decency and mediocrity in my writing, but there were also multiple moments of deplorable ignominy (the Castle, the Hospital) and a few wild successes (Naara, Wrath). My status dovetailed in sporadic spikes--it dropped like a stone when reprimanded by staff, only to rocket when those same staff granted me unique opportunities. One of my greatest successes, and definitely my greatest opportunity, was Sulov. Sulov went from a failed hero who couldn't coordinate six men to beat one Toa to an heir of the greats who punched evil with a shovel. His character similarly grew from the Dude Who Does His Duty to a man torn between love and practicality, struggling to satisfy both with mixed success. People seemed to like it. Initially, these things pleased me. However, when I re-read the writing of Sulov, I found a glut of flaws. Sulov was vastly inconsistent between early self and late, and even in the increments of change between both, disparities were often found. Further, he was overstuffed with themes; when I looked over my ICs, they often touched upon dozens lightly but on too few deeply. Combined, these problems created a bigger, more blatant one: Sulov's development was too big for the time in which it took place. Neither I nor my readers couldn't reconcile 2011 Sulov Koskium with 2013 Sulov Maru. Rather than change what has already been written, I'm going to present a new context for both of them: the six-month transition from one to the next. "Ascending Down" is the journey from Makuta to Hiemalis in several days. Those serve as prologue and epilogue, which string together a middle of select days between. The aim is not to show the most important events through its time period--though there will be some events with clear, prominent repercussions--as much as some of those days which marked nudges toward monumental change. This is the story of bygone changes' effects and inchoate changes' causes. Hopefully, it will join the Sulovs of past and future. A final note on the style: "Ascending Down" is written in third-person limited, present tense. This combination of point of view and tense is a combination of early Sulov (third-person limited, past tense) and late (first-person, present tense). It also creates objectivity while remaining current and fluid. In this way, I've tried to represent a point of view more appropriate to a story that follows its protagonist, and also one that I may use for said protagonist in the future. Also, chapters are titled with their day of the period (Makuta's defeat being 0) to represent the moments in time. Happy reading and critique below.

IC: "A Kualsi can only bring its user. A tunnel is costly through upkeep and creation in time and effort. "Korero could help," I echo, knowing where he is.

IC: Gavarm smiled, somewhat more dignified than when there were merely friends in the room, but yet jovial and proud. "Howdy. I'd prattle on more about th' finer details, and give y'all some innerductions, but I reckon y'all gotta go," he noted wryly, looking up at the female officer respectfully. He turned back to Rynekk. He was less confident in his speech, especially now that he had to condense it. Yet a Tarnok would inspire others. He would try. "Jes' know war ain't jes' physical, this ain't jes' firepower; th' suit is th' hard work of its sourcers, builders," he continued, indicating Wiremu, "and pilot, and no comrade-betrayers kin beat that. Later, old sport."

IC: Cero nodded, cracking open Viajero's ball beneath his robes as he hopped back on Noivern. Hands holding the Lillipup, he brought the canine to his collar to peek outside as they lifted off. The Lillipup squirmed fervently, even more excited to be flying than when on Buitre, and Cero smiled slightly. He hid the Lillipup in the warmth of the robes and petted him. That energy would be needed, and certainly the abnormally-quick motions would be helpful, but Cero knew focus would also be needed. He soothed the pup.