Simulacrum

-IC:- Has everyone lost their minds, leaving me a sole bastion of sanity? “Translation, please. I am unfamiliar with the nature of this babbling.” OOC: Was very, very tempted to have this post just be “...what”, but Hakann being grandiose makes his obliviousness to pig-latin/wahi even better.

I'm going to echo everyone else; while rocks are certainly crystalline in structure in real life, there is a clear distinction in this game. Looking to real, intelligent science as an explanation to the reason why isn't really going to help you out; the canon bonkle-verse functions that the BZPRPG still uses are about as scientific as the Golden Age of comics. Game rules exist to keep it fair, not naturalistic; being realistic when dealing with chemistry or physics in this setting is always nice, but it's not guaranteed.

-IC: Hound- Hound absorbed the information in pensive silence. The speech he did eventually generate was slow and thoughtful, as quiet and subdued as the previous apology. "A Toa can only control their element at the speed the perceive it, yes? May a Toa of Lightning, or any other sort of energy, redirect and manipulate with such precision? I can't imagine any possible defense against one if that is the case." -IC: Selaphiel- "But you don't all fight the same, do you? These... superiors, their actions are unique in their excellence?"

-IC:- My gaze lowers to analyse the Matoran. His continued survival suggests some utility unknown to my person; I shall scrutinise further actions for explanation. “Was the tour satisfactory?” I keep my speech concise and succinct to conserve our time before the Vortixx returns.

OOC: Bunnying of Sylus done with explicit permission. Lunefeld and Marfoir are IC assumed to have followed, but I didn't explicitly mention them joining. -IC:- The Sanctum's temperature reflects the gelidity of its inhabitants; the return of my retinue to its dead halls is met only with silence. Whether the Vortixx intended to merely amuse my cerulean companion or purposefully abandoned me isn't exactly a difficult decision; I have little doubt in the nature of my fellow criminals and Echelon's zealots. I pause momentarily, my gaze flickering into thermographic but revealing no nearby beings. I turn to Sylus, who has now donned his acqusition. “Nearest group of Rahkshi, barring my own?” He points, and we resume motion. The footsteps of my servants beat a unified rhythm, interrupted only by the uncertainty of my recently-acquired employees. Eventually we happen upon Vezok and his group, including, to my surprise, the still-living Matoran. “I trust I haven't missed anything important?” The words are accompanied with my usual feigned expression; the dead half-smile, as common on corpses as the living.

I think Astrida would be far more frustrating than fun to play; nearly every character in this game has some way to detect hidden characters.

Wiktionary, although far from an authority, seems to have a pretty good explanation.

-IC: Selaphiel- "Expensive. I can't imagine you train very often under such requirements." Sel's sudden dryness would be the first display of any emotion on her part. It wasn't particularly sardonic, and her expression hadn't changed, but it was certainly something other than the previous smothering dispassion.

-IC: Hound- The great deadness slowly dissipated from Hound's gaze, gradually replaced with the compassion she had seen in the Knowledge Sector. His hands fell to his size, the fist unclenched and the other's fingers twitching slightly. "I'm sorry," Hound's voice was subdued, but there was an unmistakable shame-induced hoarseness to it. "I fear my reflexes overcompensated... Are you hurt?" He assumed a portioned of his past confidence with the final word, his gaze rising from the floor to meet Virse's. -IC: Selaphiel- Sel blinked slowly before answering. In her world, each slave of a Makuta were expected to clean up after themselves, regardless of rank or role. It seemed clear that this strange being came from a society so structured that basic decencies were divided between classes. "Indeed," she stated flatly. "I take it you normally train with less destructive outcomes?"

-IC: Hound- Hound hadn't expected the redirection of the attack; all of the previous elemental manoeuvres he had seen were composed of blasts of barely directed force, generated in the heat of battle and with the intention of enraged destruction. As the sand abraded the skin of his lower torso, he found himself moving mindlessly, his increased senses feeding his body data that he acted on immediately. His power-release amount increasing slightly, Hound stepped back in feint of a retreat, before hurling himself into two massive strides that brought him around and past the oncoming stream of sand, his left arm striking downward in a brutal strike at the sand stream as he did so. As the sand construct exploded, Hound strode forward, bringing him directly into range of combat with Virse. His right hand was before him, open and horribly still in preparation for attacks and counterattacks, while his left was still clenched in a fist in preparation of a brutal blow. Adrenaline surged through his mind and body, turning his blood into fire; the flames turned his heart into a wardrum, its beats sending his chest quivering in rage. -IC: Selaphiel- "You have yet to participate in situations allowing displays of either of these?" Selaphiel paused slightly, her gaze slowly lowering to the sand now spread over the floor. "I hope you'll be cleaning that up," she said in her usual half-hearted, soulless tone. -IC: The Shadowed Sakura Blossom- Typhoeus peeked tentatively out of his room in the Comfort Sector, his eyes wide and full of childish fear. With the amount of stealth expected from a 2.5 bio tall hunk of blackened metal, he gingerly stepped out into the hall. OOC: Typhoeus open for interaction.

-IC: Hound- Hound absorbed all of the offered information with affirmative nods and his usual keen stare, but when the final statement reached Virse's lips, he hesitated. The pause didn't last very long, but when the Denuian moved, circling around Virse and using his superior reach to attempt a quick extension and jab and then recovery, it was considerably slower than in the arena, and full of hesitation and almost gentle elegance. -IC: Selaphiel- Sel showed no surprise at Skrall's new activity, instead responding in her usual flat tone. "May I inquire as to the nature of those deeds?"

I honestly don't know if I should be embarrassed or proud.

OOC: Recommended listening. -IC: The Shadowed Sakura Blossom- The earth rumbled, anguished by the childbirth pains of forgotten eons and reborn in the crucible of writhing void. FLASH Smoke churned from beneath fissured stone and the forked tongues of lightning pierced what few trees remained. Thunder rolled over distant mountains and threatened to tear apart the heavens themselves. AH-AAAAAH The thunder rumbled away, slowly decaying into the ghostly remnant of bellowing rage. In the distance, a single dustcloud rose above the softly rolling hills. The villagers gathered around their doorways and stared in silence. The air hummed with ominous disquiet. SAVIOUR OF THE UNIVERSE The figure surmounted the final hill, coming into view of the gathered crowd. He was less than resplendent; cloaked in ridiculously shadowed and overly fortified armour, riding a quadruped that was decidedly too small. Its breaths were laboured and its footsteps uncertain. The rider, in direct confrontation of what was expected from a being of his stature, role, and aesthetic, began to whistle a happy tune. The crowd stirred, their restless movements in perfect sync with the snorts and whimpers of their various animals. A child, her expression that of depression-inducing confusion, whispered to her mother. “Who is that? What's he gonna do?” Her voice was quivering with a great, anxiety-induced disappointment. “He's going to die,” the mother shrugged with all of the reassurance of a pinless grenade, forced by a life of labour to be totally and painfully unafraid of the truth. “Or, perhaps, if we're lucky-” HE'LL SAVE EVERYONE OF US The child did not think this was likely, murmuring as much as she drew in the dirt. Having reached both the climax of his tune and the edge of the crowd, Typhoeus Livyatan half-lept half-fell from his steed, knocking it over in the process. As he regained his composure and tried his best to ignore the state of his steed, he assumed what was possibly the most uninspiring pose the villagers had ever seen. It was... unbelievable. A child who had just heard of the idea of a hero might think it worthy, but few others; for a being composed of metal that looked as if it had been forged to fill the heavens with blood in the time of Ragnarok, it was shameful. FLASH A-AH Typhoeus didn't seem to mind. He flexed his impressive muscles once more, flashed a toothy grin that was far less calming than he intended, and the addressed the crowd, his posture that of an adolescent giddy to be in their first school play. “Hiya!” Dead silence. He coughed and shifted his weight slightly, moving if from one massive, skull-cracking foot to the other. “This is the Vale of Death and Sorrow, yes? I didn't make a wro-” “Have you come to save us?” A tall, gangling being had come from the crowd, striding right up to Typhoeus and staring at him as well as his comparative height allowed. “Save?” An overly confident grin had begun to grow on Typhoeus' face, displaying a collection of teeth that could have torn out the throat of Kronos with little effort. “I've come to destroy. I've come to pulverise. I've come to...” he paused awkwardly, as the crowd grew horrified. Whispers spread like wildfire, as pitchforks and rusty mattocks were gripped tightly. “Extirpate! That's what it was. I just knew it sounded like featherweight. Very tricky word, that.” The crowd had moved to enclose him, inch by inch. Farming tools were being held in a such a violent way that the few parents who weren't participating instinctively covered the eyes of their children. “Destroy?” The word was raspy, bitter on the gangly being's tongue. “Oh, yes, yes. I've come here to take out this new God of Light and Storm fellow?” His baselessly happy grin hadn't changed a bit. “I believe he was around here somewhere, although I'm not too trusting of strangers after that incident with the bull and-” The crowd's collective sigh of relief drowned out the details of his rambling. With a slightly less dour expression, the village's leader turned to his closest neighbor, whispering the words that everyone was thinking. HE'S A MIRACLE “Just follow the lightning,” they crowd called out in a cacophony of agreement. Typhoeus nodded once, bumbling over himself in an attempt to thank these wonderful people for their help. He tried to get through the rejoicing villagers, only to find himself surrounded by a mass of people too happy to let their salvation through. “Erm.” The child stared at the strange man from across the way, interested as to why his shoulders had to be so much larger than everything else. Didn't seem like a very practical thing to do; made him all top-heavy and removed any chance of his bulk fitting into a normal doorway. She strode over to tap on his knee and ask him exactly why he felt compelled to look like an inverted triangle. When greeted with such a question, he paused, truthfully unsure. FLASH “What's wrong with triangles?” It wasn't much of a retort, but it was all he could come up with. Something about this tiny being's stare made him uncomfortable, as if she was judging all of his life choices in comparison to her father's. “What's wrong with getting through doors?” A-AH “Touché.” “No thanks, I've already eaten.” “No, it's a-” he paused, trying to collect his gleefully fleeing thoughts. “My name is Typhoeus.” “What's wrong with Typh?” He tried to glare at her. It wasn't particularly convincing. “I'm a Chaos Warrior.” “How do you train? Who leads you?” She was clearly an evil spirit sent by Ra or Ma'at. He narrowed his eyes; her smile grew. “I'm Mhika. You wanna get through?” “Very much so, yes.” She turned around and squared her shoulders, coughing loudly as she did so. It elicted no reaction. “Make way for the-” KING OF THE IMPOSSIBLE! That got some attention. In a few moments, Typhoeus was on the opposite extremity of the village, his massive form surrounded by ecstatic worshippers who threw flowers in his wake. Typhoeus strode as if all the world rested upon his titanic shoulders, until he was a nearly-tiny dot on the horizon, heading towards the rolling, flickering clouds of rumbling gray. HE'S FOR EVERYONE OF US The moment he was out of sight, they unanimously agreed that the massive buffoon would make a great sacrifice and might even get them some extra rain. Nothing like a witless warrior for a quick and easy offering. * * * The earth was cracked and littered with ash, all of the vegetation charred and burned in a wonderful display of power-overcompensation. Typhoeus stood in the bloodstained ruins of the altar, eyes drawn to the mutilated corpse of some poor animal. He felt naked, despite the obvious reality; defenseless and weak. Every rumble of thunder the drums of an unstoppable of enemy. Shivers ran down his spine and his heart beat a staccato rhythm in his chest, as frantic as a hunted rodent. STANDS FOR EVERYONE OF US He shifted his weight to one foot, then another. It didn't do much, but it was comforting; like most reflexive actions, it kept his mind off of the obvious. Here he was, looking for a self-proclaimed God, and he didn't even have home-court advantage; all his armour and grit and horns and here he was standing out in the open, biggest target in the world. He whistled uneasily, fingers twitching at every hint of distant birdsong, every rustling wind. Lightning rippled through the air in the valley beyond, each branching strike turning a tree into a flaming corpse. HE SAVE WITH A MIGHTY HAND As he took a single tentative step towards the altar, the sky above Typhoeus split asunder and a being descended with all of the glory and melodrama befitting the situation. He was nearly as tall as Typh, and twice as intimidating; lightning shot from his fingertips, his eyes were supernovae of rage, and an aura of overwhelming light emanated from all around. EVERY MAN, EVERY WOMAN “Kneel.” The words were harsh, disdainful; the speech of a tyrant who had just noticed their slave for the first time in hours. EVERY CHILD, WITH A MIGHTY “No.” FLASH Typhoeus squared his shoulders, forming a solid wall of muscle and metal. The air rumbled softly, the earth shivered. The first blow was intended to be fatal; from the left hand of this God, a stream of lightning that would incinerate the mightiest warrior, and from his right, a laser of unstoppable power. The sky screamed as the lightning struck its target, sending a cloud of ash and dust into the air. FLASH Broad shoulders still squared, head unbowed. Hand outstretched in travesty of Michelangelo's Sistine holiness. “By the power invested in me by the Eater of Souls,” the words were delivered with too much excitement and in too adorable of a tone to be threatening, but Typhoeus was entirely too enraptured in his histrionics to notice. “I shall claim your heart, your body, and your eternal life!” AH-AAAH The outstretched hand turned into a fist, barring the extension of the index finger. With cognitively dissonant power, the finger gun went pop. Projected kinetic energy ripped through the air, threatening to turn whatever it touched into a collection of broken bones and torn flesh. GORDON'S ALIVE! Their movements were those of the primordial things before time and space; moving in wide swathes, obliterating everything in their path. The lasers and lightning had no effect on the towering form of Typhoeus Livyatan, only serving to make him shout with prepubescent excitement, but the blows of the monster that the faux deity could not dodge were horrible; the first, a strike to the chest, had sent the false deity soaring backwards with a whimper as nearly undignified as Typhoeus' accompanying “HIYAAAAAA”. FLASH, A-AAAH HE'LL SAVE EVERYONE ONE OF US His flight was rickety, uncertain; Typhoeus bounded after him, sending rippling bursts of kinetic energy after his target. The earth rocked to the rhythm of the battle of panicked angel and giggle-suppressing daemon. Typhoeus was visibly having a grand time, risking life and limb with every movement. “W-what are you?” The deity was equal parts amused and horrified; this monster tore through his domain and ignored his attempts at smiting. Typhoeus spoke bewteen blows and dodges, his fists a blur of furry. “I'm the Face of Death! The Left Hand of Eris! I'm... JUST A MAN, WITH A MAN'S COURAGE , and one day I shall be the bride of Apophis himself!” ...Bride? The counterfeit god's flight ceased, interrupted by the concussive force of a kinetic energy blast, sending the false deity falling to the earth with a half-roar / half-scream of pain. Typhoeus sauntered over, finger pointed in mock-gun that could quickly turn into very-real-death. “Please,” the deity rumbled through bloodstained lips and cracked ribs. “Spare me.” Typhoeus blinked. “What d'ya think I was gonna do? Kill you?” His eyes widened slightly at the prospect. “...yes.” “Oh.” YOU KNOW HE'S NOTHING BUT A MAN, AND HE CAN NEVER FAIL Typhoeus drug the broken and battered body of the false god back to the villagers. At first there was silence, then murmurs of planning to kill him too and prevent the rising of another demanding God, but before a plot could blossom out of the resentment and confusion normally found in lynch mobs, the monolithic form of Typhoeus laid down the vanquished deity and began to walk away. NO ONE BUT THE PURE IN HEART The villagers watched in silence as Typhoeus walked away, before slowly dispersing and heading back to their houses. In time, only Mhika remained, her confusion visible in the intensity of her stare. With a fierce determination, she took off after the slowly vanishing form of Typhoeus. MAY FIND THE GOLDEN GRAIL He glanced behind him just in time to see the approaching form. Her run was wild, happy; his fears of her depression seemed baseless. He paused and watched her bound over the sprawling low hills. OH OHH Just as she reached him, mouth open in breathlessness but expression displaying her determination to tell him her thoughts, his world turned dark. Light shifted into void and then exploded back with new form. OHHH OOOOHHHHH It was all metallic. Lights fluorescent and dead; the rhythmic breathing of the runner replaced with the dull voice of the Host's message. Typhoeus blinked once. This was new. FLASH

-IC: Hound- "I appreciate the sentiment," Hound said in a subdued tone, a sad half-smile weakly stretching the corners of his mouth. -IC: Selaphiel- "Why do others deserve titles, and you do not?" Selaphiel realised after speaking that she might have overstepped her proper societal bounds, but didn't really find anything too horrible about that and made no attempt at proposing an emendation.

-IC:- "Acceptable. Lunefeld shall accompany you and act as bodyguard and observer. You shall receive a share of whatever I gain." Despite my better judgement, I suspect I will honour this agreement, assuming Sylus performs accordingly, as a favour from one professional to another. Movement smooth, I soften my iron grip into an average hold. "I suppose you may begin to grow familiar with your payment. I shall outline our operation in greater detail, following my meeting with Echelon. Notify me of any potential assassins hiding in shadows." The mask's surface is dull, unreflective, and wholly unimpressive, but beneath the dull surface lies a power I would be happy to abuse. With great indifference, I hand it to Sylus; transaction from one professional to another.

-IC:- “Correct.” I do not hand him the Mask on his approach, insteading maintaining my grip on the invaluable Kanohi. “But before we seal this pact, there is the matter of one final detail. I will have the other members of this operation watching for mistakes, treasonous statements. If you find that a fellow operative has been less than loyal, notify me as soon as possible.” I paused, turning the mask over in preparation of grip-release and presentation. “I have no patience for deceivers so amateur that they are unable to mask their deceit. Tell me their location and I will dispose of them and make an example.” My smile grows hard, position of the mask shifts slightly in my hand. “Have we come to an agreement?” The Lava Launcher quivers slightly in my other hand, its barrel pointed directly downwards.

-IC: Hound- "It certainly has. I was operating under the strange, survival-driven delusion that all of my fellow combatants were monsters, heartless and driven only by bloodlust. If anything, that was me." -IC: Selaphiel- "Name dependent on something besides origin?"

-IC:- “Have you kill the Maru? No. Have you transport assassins into whatever location I decide upon? Prepare false identities? Plan and protect escape routes and devise contingency plans? You would be the intelligence and the support of any operation. I was told that you were the superior source of information, false identities, etcetera; there should be no great difficulty in moving a sniper into a city full of armed warriors, or a disguised explosive hidden among real cargo. To ease your worries, I can promise no killing on your part, unless a fellow associate risks squealing.” I reduce my speech into ingenuous terminology, effortlessly transitioning into banal and prosaic speech. “You get the killers inside, you give them the opportunity, and you get them out or make sure they won't ever been seen again. For your efforts I hand you a mask that, if I'm not mistaken, hasn't been seen in quite a long while. Certainly worth far more than the fee of any assassination aid or other clandestine operative.”

-IC: Hound- "Virse..." The name sounded close to someone Hound had once fought before, a warrior of great skill who had lost only due to luck on Hound's part. The Denuian quickly continued, hoping to cover up his momentary and awkward pause. "I am Hound. It has been a pleasure meeting another fighter who displays compassion." OOC: Can't remember if Hound introduced himself already, so sorry if that was redundant. -IC: Selaphiel- "Interesting. I have admittedly not focused on this tournament to too great of a degree; your observations are... useful." There came an awkward span of silence as Selaphiel stared flatly in silence. Eventually, breaking the silence in the strangest way, she spoke, her speech disconcertingly sudden. "I am Selaphiel." She blinked once, the movement deliberate and carefully timed.

-IC:- “Slayers of the Dark God. My initial intention was to remove them out of tactical necessity, but I know now that they are also spiritual leaders, far more tangible and accessible than the slumbering gods. Break the souls of the resistance, and one either incites guerilla resistance or wins the most important battle. I do not dislike either option; I know guerilla warfare and revel in its complexities, and I like to win my engagements.” I pause, once again flickering into thermographic inspection. No threats perceived. As I move slightly, realigning my posture, I prime the Lava Launcher, letting it prepare a massive potential offensive. “I would be satisfied with two deaths, but would prefer more; remove the mobility and the leadership, and you have a broken army. I've been... contemplating my situation for quite some time. After the Ta-Koro incident, no less than three Maru paid a visit to the Vault. I managed to survive, but I won't be making a similar mistake again. I plan to assassinate those I can, and study those I cannot. Exponential superiorities of combatants is our only hope in direct, straightforward combat. Therefore, I suggest explosives, snipers; the tools of anarchists, preferably in simultaneous assaults. Shall I continue? Or perhaps the great Sylus Tudor is having second thoughts?” My Lava Launcher silently completes its charging. A burst at this power would be rather difficult to avoid, even with forewarning, from more than a hundred metres away. The faintest hint of a true grin plays on my lips.

Especially for Sylus; I feel so bad for cutting off the Sylus and Sharky conversation and stifling potential greatness.

-IC:- "A savvy deduction; you grasp two components of my situation. External menace, intrinsic instability." My smile tightens slightly, gently, as both of our gazes continue unblinkingly. The alliteration is accompanied with a faux self-amused inflection. "The Akiri themselves, and the machinations of the Pact, are my greatest concerns, yes. But my first target? At whom do I strike? Where do I... blitzkrieg? If I hired an assassin for each Akiri and repeated the murder of the Turaga; tell me, would the Koros crumble, threats dissolve? If I slaughtered Echelon or slit the throat of Vezok, would I insure a direct decrease in my likelihood of being murdered? I'm not looking to place myself as emperor of this island in a single action, Mr. Tudor. I'm looking to keep myself alive, breathing." I lean slightly forward, the claws of my feet clenching slightly into the bloodstained tiling of this desolated café. Each syllable synchronised with a heartbeat, every word painstaking excogitated. "The Akiri will eventually induce my death, if left unheeded; my comrades the same. But my first target? My immediate concern? Who could waltz into this city and make Echelon tremble, Sylus? Who could eviscerate me with minimal exertion?" Pause, for body language analysis (and, yes, dramatic effect). Return to original position. "Tell me, Sylus Tudor, czar of the polite transgression, what piece shall I take? The King, at the cost of my bishops, my knights, and my security, when it moves a single space and can be cornered in moments?" "Or shall I plot, scheme, and take the anomaly, the strategy-defiler, in a moment of silent horror? Break the spirit and body of the great Queen herself, and with a little planning and restriction of the other pieces, watch the whole disintegrate in the following confusion. At the very least, cripple the abilities of the other pieces to move freely and thoughtlessly. Coup de grâce."

-IC:- “Your father seems a wise man; let us see if that is a hereditary trait. Tell me, what must I do to cement my position on this island, to ensure not only my survival but my advancement? My first target, my greatest concern?” My gaze hardens, the dull burning momentarily transforming into utter void before resuming its normal colouration. No visible heat-signatures.

-IC:- “I shall refrain. I would prefer to return to the Sanctum shortly.” I remain standing, my static half-smile tinted with ennui. “I require your services for an extended period of time, in conjunction with the two other beings awaiting us. I intend to pay with something more valuable than mundane currency; something from Makuta's Vault.” As I speak, my hand reaches into the satchel at my side. As the last syllable of my speech is finished, I present the payment. A Kanohi Elda, its form alien and unique.