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  • Birthday 07/11/1996

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  1. IC: Vaíl, Bright Star Inn, Le-Koro I think it was all wrong to start with... Ferellis’s words dig into the back of Vaíl’s mind, and they remain there as her companion rises. “...karz of a headache, come morning.” Vaíl blinks, and then she rises too, reaching into her pack as she does. “Here.” She offers Ferellis a vial of viscous liquid. “Something I came up with. Take it before you turn in; should help a bit with the headache thing.” Her gaze flicks to the abandoned glass, leftover sparkles still glittering in the dim light. “It, uh, tastes like s###, though. Fair warning.” OOC: @Mel
  2. IC: Lekua, Great Takea “Right, right, Nale was telling you about Makuta. Which, you know, you got the basics down, but there’s a bit more that’s relevant to the story. Supposedly.” He was warming back up now. “So as best I can tell, the biggest difference between Makuta and Zataka is that Makuta’s cultists get off on slaughtering, terrorizing, and enslaving innocents, but it seems like Zataka’s cultists mostly just want her to step on them. That sound about right?” OOC: @~Xemnas~ @Tarn @TL01 NUVA
  3. IC: Vaíl, Bright Star Inn, Le-Koro Vaíl’s thoughts are something of a fog themselves, and she stumbles through them, wandering eagerly toward the subject of foreign lands, for the idea has always fascinated her. She opens her mouth to urge Ferellis to continue. Wait. She recognizes then her companion’s averted gaze, her defensive posture, her distracted fiddling with the glittering remnants of her sugary abomination. Vaíl reels herself in just in time. When she does speak, it is with concern, though perhaps not with much tact. “Hey, uh. Is everything all right?” OOC: @Mel
  4. IC: Lekua, Great Takea Lekua winked. “Don’t worry about it.” OOC: @Tarn@~Xemnas~@TL01 NUVA @Umbraline Yumiwa@Snelly
  5. IC: Vaíl, Bright Star Inn, Le-Koro Vaíl’s blank look has little to do with her steadily advancing intoxication. It is more than a few moments before she realizes to whom Ferellis is referring. “Oh – him.” In this moment, Vaíl is far more concerned that the nickname will catch on than she is about any threat posed by its owner. Or perhaps it already has, while she was out on her own? Disturbing. “So, y'think the rumors are true, then?” OOC: @Mel
  6. IC: Lekua, Great Takea Lekua didn’t really “get” what the whole deal was with nobility. “is that how you think a joke works—ten layers of formalities—two heads short of a double-eagle—snake up my arse—insult my mother—believed in the office I inhabit—” What the… Lekua rested an awkward elbow on the table and scratched his mask with clear discomfort, suddenly fascinated by a fishing lure displayed on the far wall of the bar. Wait, she was looking at him. “Oh, hi, Yumiwa. Didn’t see you there.” IC: Iraanus, Great Takea He watched closely for Rhow’s response, almost so closely that he didn’t notice— “Wait, wasn’t that the, uh — what do the psychic Toa call their leader again? The fancy one who was talking to Hahli? Was that her that just walked in?” OOC: @Vezok's Friend@Mel@Tarn@TL01 NUVA@~Xemnas~@Caedast
  7. IC: Lekua, Great Takea “Right, I figured. Hm.” He noted Nale’s enthusiasm. “Nale, you mind giving these guys the quick rundown on Makuta?” OOC: @Tarn@~Xemnas~@TL01 NUVA@Mel
  8. IC: Vaíl, Bright Star Inn, Le-Koro Too personal. Right. Vaíl mirrors Ferellis with a long sip of her own drink, now aiming to hide her embarrassment. This beverage is a remarkably versatile tool. “Ahh. Nothing too glamorous, I’m afraid. These days it’s mostly hunting. Uh, rahi hunting, that is.” Bounty hunting would probably fall in the “glamorous” category, she thinks, but she clarifies nonetheless. “And, how ‘bout you?” OOC: @Mel
  9. IC: Lekua, Great Takea Lekua took note of Nara’s concerned expression with a twinge of guilt, but he was hungry enough to put it aside. He’d have to be sure to pay her back somehow. As introductions were made and more food ordered, Lekua contemplated how to begin his tale. This chapter began with the arrival of the mysterious Matoran (Takua? still unclear on that one) in Le-Koro – but for it to make any sense, especially to the Kentokuans (?) present, he’d have to go back quite a lot farther. “So, like I said, what I was doing on Kentoku is a pretty long story. Guess where it all starts is with a fellow called Makuta.” He paused, trying to gauge their reactions. “That name mean anything to you? Nale, Nara, you don’t count, sorry.” IC: Iraanus, Great Takea Something important I’m not doing? Yeah, working. Heh. “Weird dreams, huh,” he said thoughtfully. “Weird how?” OOC: @~Xemnas~@TL01 NUVA@Tarn@Mel@Vezok's Friend
  10. IC: Aija, Oki. Weeks in the past. By the time Aija’s feet touch the sand, she can scarcely feel them. The wind howls across the beach and the crashing waves yearn with all their might to rip her back into the sea, and with each step through the surging tide she is sure she will be unable to take another. Yet each time she does. It seems to Aija that these final yards of wading through the surf take her as long as the entire swim before. But then one foot is out of the water, and then the other, and she is staggering forward on solid ground. Every muscle screams in agony; her wounded leg buckles; her lungs are aflame; hunger gnaws at her stomach; her heart, she is certain, is about to burst. But she is alive, and she intends to stay that way. She is one of the lucky ones. The mental plane rings with a silent cry, and Aija restrains herself from collapsing as she seeks its source. She rubs the water from her mask and peers through the rain, and she sees her – a Dasaka, slumped against a jagged rock that looms over the windswept sand. Aija forces her legs to move. The woman is alive, but only just. Rainwater drips into the hole in her chest, the work of a blade that Aija imagines must have cut through her armor like butter. Just like… Aija cannot tell whether the woman is consciously aware of her presence. She kneels beside her and touches her cheek, reaching out for her in the mental plane. Their minds touch, and Aija gasps in terror. She sees only fragments – buildings, homes, and ships destroyed, Dashi and Dasaka and Datsue fighting and fleeing and falling. And at the center of it – the Things – yes, Things, for there are many, many more than the one which… Aija gasps in terror – but she does not recoil. She sees and she feels, and she sends, as much as she is able, comforting thoughts to the woman, peaceful memories of open seas and open plains, for the woman is a Taajar like herself. Aija cannot save her, but she can ensure that she does not die alone. The woman’s eyes flicker open and, for a moment, look into her own. They do not open again. Aija should bury her, but she can scarcely lift her own arms. She stands in the rain, her mind blank. The woman had been carrying a bag. Aija fights back a wave a nausea and opens it. A heatstone and some rations. A lightstone, too, but shattered. The woman won’t be needing it anymore. Aija’s stomach churns. She needs a safe place to rest. Think. But her mind is just as exhausted as her body. Aija stares up again at the rock. Her vision blurs, and for a moment it looks almost like a dragon. A dragon. And suddenly a new burst of adrenaline washes over her, for she knows she has been here before, and she knows where she can go to rest. Aija grits her teeth and turns back toward the water. /// A few hundred yards away from the dragon-shaped rock, there is a small cave accessible only via a narrow underwater channel. This is where Aija emerges, hauling herself onto the rocky ground with the last remnant of her strength. Her numb fingers fumble with the heatstone, and she shivers as she pulls off her soaking robes in its dull glow. She is asleep before her head touches the ground.
  11. IC: Lekua, Great Takea Lekua seated himself without hesitation. “Oh, in that case, I’d be happy to stay! Nice to meet you, Eita. Nale.” He shook each of their hands. “Anything you’d recommend? Oh!” He threw up his hands. “I’m Lekua. Ah, and you are?” he asked the other two. IC: Iraanus, Great Takea Half the Skakdi population… Hm. He blinked, then grunted. “Work? Say it ain’t so.” He took a closer look at his friend. There was precious little that could unsettle Rhow, but he had the distinct impression that something had just done so. “Er, you all right there, Rhow?” OOC: @Vezok's Friend@Tarn@~Xemnas~@Mel@TL01 NUVA
  12. IC: Vaíl, Bright Star Inn, Le-Koro “I think I’m with the men on this one, Ferellis.” Vaíl takes note again of her new maybe-friend’s teeth and wonders whether that dentist comment was made in jest. Better, she is sure, not to ask. She watches the bartender place a twin of the monstrous concoction in front of the newcomer across the bar. “Oh, great spirit, it’s contagious.” She asks for the bitterest drink on the menu, hoping to inoculate herself. A thought occurs to her. “So, is that what’s got you down? Men who can’t handle something sweet?” Pause. “Er. Sorry if that’s too personal.” OOC: @Mel (sorry about the delay)
  13. IC: Lekua, Great Takea Something about the Dashi was still tickling the back of Lekua’s brain, but he put it aside. “Ah, well, that’s actually quite the long story. I’d love to tell you, really, but you know, I’m awfully hungry…” OOC: @~Xemnas~@Mel@TL01 NUVA@Tarn
  14. IC: Aija, the sea. Weeks in the past. The heavens roar with thundering hatred, hurling down sheets of rain in their torrential fury. The sea churns madly below, tossing the fishing boat wildly across the waves. Lightning streaks across the blackened sky, illuminating the scarlet armor of the hideous serpentine Thing as it alights with a deafening shriek on the deck. Screams fill her ears, the screams of her sisters, cousins, friends, and are cut short in rapid succession by the whirling, slashing, stabbing instrument of death that is the Thing’s staff. Its eyes lock with hers. FEAR. Panic. Terror, the like of which she has never known, floods her veins. For a moment she does not, cannot move. Flee. She launches herself from the boat as far and as fast as her legs will take her, extends her arms, dives headfirst into the angry sea. Behind her the boat creaks and cracks and shatters, and the storm pounds her home and her livelihood to splinters. She swims fast and she swims deep, and she does not look back for a long, long time. / When she has swum long enough and far enough to remember her own name, Aija eases her pace at last. Breathe. Her eyes scan the waters from behind her Kaukau. Aija floats in inky blackness, the only illumination the flash of her heartlight, faintly visible through her waterlogged robes. Her right hand drifts toward her neck, feeling for – yes, still there. Then to her left forearm – the dagger is still strapped in place. Fear still grips her, but her relief is enough to draw out a faint surge of courage. Her eyes turn upward. At the surface the storm strengthens, and Aija is a speck of copper in the roiling sea. She strains to scan the horizon, squinting through the crashing rain, bobbing helplessly amid waves many times her height. A wild, impossible thought of lifting herself above the water flashes through her mind, but such feats are far beyond her. Valiantly, obstinately, Aija fights the waves, coughing and sputtering as she struggles to keep track of whether she’s breathing air or water, her strength slipping away. And then she sees it, a dark, unmoving mass on the horizon. The waves push her down and she pulls herself up, and the mass is still there. Oki. Far, but she can make it. She will make it. She sinks back beneath the surface. She is not alone. The terror courses through her anew as she sees the twin yellow orbs, glowing hungrily, and the massive form that lurks behind them. Aija knows that takea are mindless beasts, but in that moment the shark’s eyes flash with unmistakable malice. The takea rushes toward her and it is all Aija can do to reach out, her power stopping the rahi in its path. She draws her dagger and dives. The takea strains against her control, writhing madly, and she releases it. She needs her strength to swim to shore – though she also needs to be alive. The takea, freed, bolts forward with the speed of a bullet, rocketing just above Aija’s head. No way to outswim it. No way to keep it at bay. Only one way to do this. Her heart pounds and her ears ring and the takea surges forward again. Wait. She waits too long. By the time she freezes the shark in place, its teeth have already sunken into her leg. She gasps with pain but holds on. The jaws are not clamped shut, and she manages to pull her leg free as she swings and slashes and stabs at every bit of exposed flesh she can find. When she releases it this time, the wounded beast flees to the depths. Aija breathes. She cuts a scrap of fabric from her robes and binds her leg. She swims for home.
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