a goose

IC: Skrall (Second Wagon) Skrall shook his head, and replied in unusually hushed tones. “That's what I'm trying to tell you – failure, success, it doesn't matter. Do you honestly think Tirveus will entitle a woman? And what do you think happens when you win, and your brothers-in-arms all believe you cheated with witchcraft you don't have?” He didn't pause long enough for her to answer. “I’ll tell you what the mission is: Lose, or die trying.” He took a swig of water, and grimaced. “Give it your all, sister, survive Tartarus itself, and watch as you’re punished for it. I see that glimmer of ambition in your eyes, and I'm telling you now that you have to kill it before it kills you. Skrall aren't meant to stand out or to stand alone – that's what our ex-comrade and I were really punished for. And what else do you call the only Skrall of this delegation to make it through the Tournament undefeated, if not the sole survivor? That's a dangerous person to be.” OOC: @Vezok's Friend

IC: Somnii (Bone Hunter Stronghold; Somnii's Cell) “No one saw the culprit,” she repeated. The words came out hollow, but she would stand by them, and she wrote as she spoke: DEATH. Somnii glared at Taldrix with exhausted eyes. Those eyes had seen far too much. Memories of Ferrum were screaming in the back of her mind; she could still smell the blood, still taste the smoke. The horrors she had witnessed clung to her, and they would until the day she died, but she now understood what it meant for something to be better off buried. Like the Great Beings before her, she would take the truth to her grave, and hope that her warnings would be heeded. OOC: @Toru Nui

IC: Skrall (Second Wagon) “You haven't worked it out yet, have you?” He smiled grimly. “You will. Perhaps even before it's too late, and you end up like our ex-comrade and me.” OOC: @Vezok's Friend @ any Skrall who are in this coach IC: Somnii (Bone Hunter Stronghold; Somnii's Cell) “All of our vehicles were also… malfunctioning. That route is too long to walk; Iron Canyon was the only choice.” Somnii's focus was still on their second conversation. As she read Taldrix's message, she shook her head and began to write again. IT'S BURIED FOR A REASON. WE SHOULD HAVE LEFT IT THAT WAY. DON'T MAKE THE SAME MISTAKE. OOC: @Toru Nui

IC: Somnii (Bone Hunter Stronghold; Somnii's Cell) Taldrix didn't know, then. Unfortunately, Somnii did; she knew what this Ghost was searching for, and she knew exactly where it was to be found. After all, she had found it first. She took a deep breath and started writing again. She felt a lucidity she hadn't in some time, as if somehow the horror of her situation had grown so immense that she had shut it out entirely in order to preserve what little of her sanity remained. She lifted the card, and looked into Taldrix’s eyes again, this time with a calmness that felt entirely out of keeping with what she had learned and what she had written. More than anything, though, it felt out of keeping with how she had written it. Y̸̨̖̍͌O̸̰̯͊̇U̵̺͝R̶̳͊̕ ̸̢̄B̶̘̃̽O̴̕ͅS̴͚̝͌S̷͎̄ ̵̡̎I̷̯̝͒̏S̸̨̘͂͑ ̴̧̅̌͜G̷̡̫̽Ō̵̺͉̊I̶̞̘̒͝N̴̝̈G̷͕̲͌̓ ̴͍̺̾͛T̵͎͛Ō̷͚͎ ̴̝̂͂Ẹ̸̅͝Ṇ̴̓̌D̸͈̚ ̵̤̂̉͜T̶̰̗̍H̵̰̕͝Ẻ̶̛̖ ̶̅̓͜Ẃ̴̹͠O̵̦̓R̶̖̳̅̇L̴͍̣͑D̴̩̘̆ She turned the card over. S̶T̵O̷P̴ ̷H̴I̶M̸.̴ OOC: @Toru Nui

IC: Portia (NPC; Arena Hotel, Tajun) A pair of nostrils arose to join the eyes. “It’s, uh, it's for emergencies. But I can see that you're both, um, in need.” OOC: @Alex Mason @Toru Nui IC: Somnii (Bone Hunter Stronghold; Somnii's Cell) She stepped away, just as she was told. Once Taldrix was clear of the bars, Somnii silently picked up the paper and stylus. Then she began to write, quietly but urgently. When she turned the paper around, her handwriting was a desperate, uneven scrawl. IN THE CANYONS OR UNDER THEM? OOC: @Toru Nui

IC: Portia (NPC; Arena Hotel, Tajun) When Karak looked to the receptionist, he found that the small figure behind the counter had almost entirely receded. All that remained was a pair of eyes, peeking over the desk, which quickly darted back down upon being spotted. Behind – or, rather, beneath – said desk, Portia was hyperventilating. This situation had quickly spun out of her control, and she knew for a fact that her supervisor was unavailable. She hadn’t been trained for this. She hadn’t been trained for anything, in fact, and she was beginning to suspect that she might have secured this job so easily not because of her enthusiasm and her bubbly demeanour but instead because the staff turnover rate might be… rather high. She also had begun to suspect that hiding was not an effective method of conflict resolution, and needed an alternative methodology. “WE DO HAVE ONE ROOM,” she shouted, eyes screwed shut. “TECHNICALLY.” OOC: @Toru Nui @Alex Mason

IC: Somnii (Bone Hunter Stronghold; Somnii's Cell) Somnii paled, and went silent. Horror tore at her, threatening to shred away what little remained of her sanity; she was falling, falling again into that Stygian abyss, buried beneath the sins of her forebears. A darkness blacker than a moonless night pressed in from all sides, and even the thunder of the collapsing walls could not drown out the cries of the damned. In Somnii's mind, they were screaming still, down in those dreamless depths. Lords save us all. “No one saw the culprit,” she replied at last. The words came out smoothly. Rehearsed. As she spoke, she gesticulated – an impression of writing with a stylus. All the while, she kept her wild, half-mad eyes fixed on Taldrix’s. OOC: @Toru Nui

IC: (See How They Run) “Tut tut,” whispered the stranger. As a crowd began to gather in response to Ranok’s shouting, his location was only becoming harder to pinpoint. “Are you and your friends always so uncouth? I don't see what I could ever have done to you to deserve so impolite a greeting. “Now, I know that you can hear me, so I would ask that you listen closely before this awful din drowns me out altogether: all that I want from you and your compatriots is the opportunity to have a conversation. I will come unarmed, hands where you can see them, all that – I can understand if you would prefer not to do likewise, but you should understand that I may feel the need to defend myself if I’m… cornered.” There was a malicious glee in the last word that gave the lie to the stranger’s geniality. “Now, I’m afraid I must be going, but don't worry; I promise I won't be far. Besides, I think you’ll be quite busy yourselves – I’m sure the Sentinels are on their way, and I do so hope you have a good explanation for them. After all, I’ve heard it said that there can be consequences when one shouts ‘Makuta’ in a crowded amphitheatre. Best of luck.” There was a panic rippling through the throng – just as some came to ascertain the source of the commotion, many others had heard enough to know that they wanted to be nowhere near it. Among the people in retreat was a tall, hooded man, who moved unnoticed and without urgency, vanishing back into the fabric of the city, there to bide his time.

IC: A strange, queasy feeling of vertigo began to settle over both Ranok and Kanohi. Adrenaline, perhaps, or the speed with which the launcher had pulled them to such an altitude. A sound followed, one that could only be expected with a structure of this kind, of this age – especially with a little weight added to it. Gently, ever so gently, the metal struts holding up the water tower began to creak. OOC: @Harvali @Mel

IC: Even as the party picked up speed, the whistling drew ever closer. It moved at a steady pace – slow, unhurried. Unrelenting. The hunter knew that they were running, and he did not care. They could not outrun him forever. The whistle changed, though, the closer he became; at a distance, the direction was obvious, but as it approached it had grown less and less distinct until only the one thing was clear, pointing behind you, behind you, always behind, no matter what direction one looked. So near, it was a scraping, mocking sound, nails on a chalkboard, full of malice and delight. It never paused, never waivered. And then it stopped. Then came the whisper, breathy and wet: "Found you."

IC: Skrall (Second Wagon) “So you weren't with them at the Fortress. You didn't see the Baterra.” The typically bold Skrall spoke in hushed tones, aware of the many ears that surrounded them. Tirveus hadn't given them a name, but he hadn't needed to – word spread, with or without his approval, and the men had their own name for their invisible enemy. It was an old word, a fairy tale. Pure superstition. And yet… “I’m not one for ghost stories. The only Silent Death I’ve ever witnessed was from disease, starvation, failure of leadership – the common ails of a war poorly waged. Those are the invisible enemies that wipe out armies; ‘Baterra’ is just a word that men use when they cannot square their own shortcomings with the inherent supremacy of the Skrall.” He paused, and looked at the road ahead. “Do not misunderstand me – Tirveus is a cunning leader. I believe we can all learn much from him. Consider, for instance, his use of alternative punishments. “If a man sees something that he should not see, and dares to speak of it, then execution might make him a martyr. At the least, it would draw attention to his claims. The same for any official form of exile. Better, perhaps, to order him to the edge of the world, where no one will hear him; better still to sell him into slavery. It is the most ignominious end that a warrior can suffer, so much so that no one dares to look the condemned man in the eye. Nothing could discredit a man’s story so effectively as making so cruel an example of him. A wise sentence for one with a troubling tale to tell, wouldn't you agree?” OOC: @Vezok's Friend

IC: Skrall (Skrall Caravan; Second Wagon) “I've been thinking about that. If our friend went down fighting, he didn't manage to do much harm – at least not to Atakus or the rookie.” Skrall had been running through scenarios, unable to satisfy himself with the possible solutions. “Something about this… it doesn't feel right. I think I believe him.” He looked the female warrior right in the eye. “I haven't seen you around Roxtus until recently. Were you up North, or did they only just let you out of Skull Mountain?” OOC: @Vezok's Friend

IC: (Po-Koro) Somewhere out there, slowly approaching, Timak heard a jolly whistle. They knew the tune. A-hunting we shall go, a-hunting we shall go, We’ll catch a fox and put him in a box And never let him go. OOC: @Rahisaurus

IC: (Po-Koro) Karsi was not having a good day. They had overslept, arrived late to work – again, as their supervisor was so keen to remind them, and as always he would not be so lenient next time – and been labouring through the bright, cacophonous morning with a splitting headache. They’d been drinking again last night; everyone knew. They hadn't exactly been teetotal before Noma left, but it was getting worse. They needed it now, just to get through the night; there was nothing like loneliness to make a Matoran parched. They glanced up at the blindingly blue sky, and felt a fresh wave of nausea. The pay of a tram repairman was not worth this. And then a shadow fell over Karsi, and the world grew just a little quieter. “Beg pardon,” came the voice from behind them. It was deep, breathy and hoarse, but unsettlingly articulate in spite of that. Scratchy and soft and the same time, with a meticulously measured clip. Despite the heat, Karsi felt a shiver run through them, and with it came an inexplicable, primordial certainty that they must not turn around, must not move a muscle, some instinct inherited from the days when Matoran must have been little more than Rahi themselves. Then the voice continued: “I’m looking for a group that might have passed through here – a Toa, a few Matoran, one of those foreign types. Fresh into town. I don't suppose you've seen them?” There was a foul, oddly familiar odor on the air. Karsi knew it was the stranger; it grew stronger with each second that the shadow hung over them. They just wanted it gone. They opened their mouth to speak, and gagged – they could taste it. They could still taste it. It clung to their tongue like a vile film, like bitter mucous. They retched and spat on the dusty ground, but the odious taste still lingered. “Feeling unwell, are we? Not to worry. Just point me in the right direction, and I’ll be on my way.” Karsi’s mind was a feverish haze. Something was wrong, deeply wrong – sweat was pouring down into their eyes so that they blurred and stung, and their shivers had grown into violent convulsions. The stranger had asked them a question, the stranger who stank of dirt and decay and- Karsi’s stomach seized as they finally recognised the odour, doubling them over. It was Noma. Not their Noma, full of light and joy, always with a poem on her lips – the other one, the one that glared up at them from the hospital bed with tired, bitter eyes, that spat bile at them whenever it was fit enough to speak, that wasted and withered away before them with every passing day. That pathetic, skeletal, blue-lipped creature that dared to call itself Noma even as it lay there in soiled sheets, grasping feebly for their hand, unable so much as to muster anger when they pulled away. Vomit bubbled up in their throat and burned the back of their tongue. It tasted of whiskey and bile. With great effort, Karsi swallowed it, and lifted a trembling hand. They felt the stranger follow their finger, saw the shadow shift as it turned its head. Then it turned back to them. The shadow grew lower, darker, and then Karsi felt the stranger’s foul breath on the nape of their neck. “Thank you ever so kindly,” it whispered. It didn't move. Neither did Karsi. Their mind was racing, racing with regrets and mistakes and with oaths to Mata Nui Himself as they promised everything they had to Him and more, all in exchange for simple survival. They would give up the drink. They’d apologise to Noma. They’d go straight home and empty every bottle and then they’d run to the hospital and kiss their lover’s hand, spend every hour of every night and every day by her side, read her every one of her favourite poems. Study me then, you who shall lovers be As the next world, that is, at the next spring; “For I am every dead thing.” There was a sadistic smile in the stranger’s voice, and Karsi screwed their eyes tightly shut. They stayed that way for what felt like an eternity; when they gathered the courage to look, the shadow was gone, and the stranger with it. Unable to hold it down any longer, they retched and heaved upon the tracks until there was nothing left inside them, and then again for some time after, tears streaming down their dusty cheeks. When it was over, they found their supervisor and asked for the day off sick. It only took a glance at them for him to agree, and Karsi rushed home. They had promises to keep. And though Karsi didn't know it, the Crooked Man did too.

IC: Somnii (Bone Hunter Stronghold; Somnii's Cell) The pit opened wider, and Somnii’s head swam with vertigo. “It… there were signs of tampering. Someth- someone sabotaged it, we thought.” OOC: @Toru Nui

IC: Tueris (Staff NPC; Valley of Death) Almost imperceptibly, Tueris flinched. He had hoped not to be recognised. “Haven't held that title in a long, long time. They stripped me of it, after… after what happened.” A decade had passed, but the wound was still fresh; he brushed his fingers over his scarred left eye, and sighed. “For obvious reasons I’m not really in the loop anymore, but as I understand it there have been candidates. You’d think that, as the years pass, the stain would fade – apparently, it's the opposite. You know yourself how superstitious fighters are. The longer that spot is empty, the more cursed it feels, as if it's empty for a reason. Only ones still gunning for it have a real ambition, a fire in their eyes, and I think that spooks Ackar. Reminds him too much of me.” There was no fire in Tueris’ eyes anymore – not even the good one. All that remained was embers. OOC: @Burnmad

IC: Tueris (Staff NPC; Valley of Death) Tueris laughed despite himself, until the ghost of a dark thought cast its shadow upon his face. He couldn't remember the last time anyone had made him laugh. This was dangerous territory. Tueris, this Vulcanusian rookie, and everyone else in this cave would not survive this journey. Attachment, even at its mildest, would jeopardise the mission; when the bodies started dropping, he would need to remain calm. “I have a hard head, boy. I wouldn't worry.” OOC: @Burnmad IC: Portia (NPC; Arena Hotel, Tajun) Portia’s smile, previously so eager and accommodating, no longer reached her eyes. She tugged at her collar. “Well, you see, what I was going to say is that we are… well, the night before the Opening Ceremony is our busiest of the year, you understand…” OOC: @Tor@Toru Nui @Alex Mason IC: Somnii (Bone Hunter Stronghold; Somnii's Cell) She looked up as she heard the Bone Hunter speak, disturbing an almost trance-like state. Somnii had found herself deep in thought while her keeper was away. She was about to reply, when she noticed the cue cards: HE CAN HEAR EVERYTHING WE SAY. Somnii felt the earth open up beneath her, the yawning mouth of an icy mine threatening to swallow her whole. She searched her captor’s eyes, perhaps for some hint of taunting or levity. She found nothing. Somehow, that was even more alarming. Then the card turned over. SO DO NOT MENTION OUR DEAL. She kept her confusion and concern from showing. Whatever had happened, whatever was now happening, it was serious, and she would play along. “You know – caged, starving, parched, dying. The usual.” She looked over the Bone Hunter’s shoulder, into the empty hallway behind. “No babysitter this time?” OOC: @Toru Nui IC: Skrall (Markets; the Bone Hunter Stronghold) They had been gone too long. It had begun to sink in for him, and he was at the precipice of growing genuinely concerned when Atakus and the rookie returned. Still, Skrall did not feel relief; what they had just done was a betrayal, and it would cast a dark shadow over the journey to come. As his companions began to choose their carriages, he waited, subtly watching where the female went so that he might follow. He was curious about her conversation with the slave that had once been Skrall, and that curiosity overrode the discomfort he still felt around her, that twisting feeling in the base of his gut when he looked at her, when he heard her speak. Or, perhaps, that discomfort only made him all the more curious, which was a troubling thought indeed. It was the type of thing that more superstitious Skrall than him would have waved away as witchcraft, but he knew better. All the world’s mysteries had simple answers, and if he could observe the female warrior for longer, he was certain this one could be similarly solved. OOC: @Vezok's Friend and other Skrall

IC: Muir (Drifter's Inn) Muir looked up from his drink to the Toa next to him. No, not Toa… Dasaka. He recognised the gold and the crystal armour from what he'd heard and read about their island's new guests, though this was his first face-to-face encounter. She had mistaken him for a Ko-Koronan – for some reason, he hesitated to correct her. At least, not yet. “Locals giving you trouble?” He asked, voice only slightly slurred.

IC: Aden (The Burning Steppes Dig-Site) “I have the buttons – here, on the islands. Just have to work out the order,” she said, scratching her chin and examining the relevant carvings. OOC: @ digsite peeps

IC: (And never let him go) There was a whistle on the wind, a merry, malicious little tune that carried like a foul odour. There was a crooked man, And he walked a crooked mile. The thin man had walked far further than a mere mile, from the depths of Mangaia to the dusty desert wastes of Po-Wahi. If he felt the pains of the journey – if hunger troubled his stomach, if the wind and sun stung his milky eyes, if the sand worried the exposed tendons and ligaments of his bony hands – he did not show it. He just… walked. He walked, and he whistled, and he smiled. He had work to do, you see, and he did so enjoy his work. “You wish for a compliment? Bring me a Maru as a trophy. Kill the Matoran that escaped me upon the Archipelago, or kill the Toa that slew that fool Echelon.” “Tell me… about… the Matoran.” The village was in sight, now, and his tune had come to an end. He remained unbothered. He knew another. The Crooked Man wetted his thin lips with a pale, slimy tongue. A-hunting we shall go, a-hunting we shall go… OOC: @~Xemnas~ et al, you have been warned

IC: Aden (The Burning Steppes) Aden glared up at Rezena out of the corner of her eye. “It does. Don't try anything – I think I speak for everyone when I say that the rest of us would prefer not to trigger any traps.” The collapse of Katha;Vaa, Aden recalled, had appeared to be the Kaiakan's favourite part of the entire dig. “This tomb is going to be well-protected. Look at all this – the reliefs, the special opening mechanism. I saw a sizeable procession walk in with a sarcophagus carved in his image, and an opulently dressed elder rattle off so many titles that even the door didn't care to remember them. This Lord Jehaeros wasn't just anyone, and he was buried with the knowledge he gathered in life. Safe money says we're looking at riches and secrets: the grave-robber special. That means whoever built this knew we were coming, and they'll have prepared accordingly; one wrong step, and this very quickly becomes your kind of job.” OOC: @BBBBalta

IC: Aden (The Burning Steppes) ####. It was a tomb, then – that of this ‘Lord Jehaeros’. “I have good news and bad news,” Aden announced, removing her Kanohi from her face and returning it to the pack. In its place, she removed what looked like a metal brick, covered in knobs and dials, along with some manner of ancient screen and a dish of some sort. With metal poles and wire, she affixed these items to the brick, in ways that looked questionably secure. “Bad news first: this is a tomb, belonging to a ‘Lord Jehaeros’, some kind of scholar. Odds are good that we are not wanted here, so we need to really watch our step.” She turned to look at Rhuvok specifically. “That means no explosives, unless you want a repeat of Katha;Vaa. The good news is, I have a lead on how we open this thing – there are six pressure points on these carvings. We identify where they are, and what order to press them, and we’re in.” She held the dish up, facing the carvings, and began to move it around, closely watching the readout. If there were panels or buttons hidden in these carvings, she’d know where they were soon enough. OOC: @Ghosthands @NorikSigma @BULiK @Rahisaurus @BBBBalta

IC: Portia (NPC; Arena Hotel, Tajun) Oh no. Portia hadn't been trained for this yet, but she still knew a threat when she saw one. She was frozen to the spot, her expressive face a blatant mask of terror. What was it the sign on the staff-room wall said? Stay calm. Take deep breaths. Don't do anything to agitate the guest. “PLEASE MOVE YOUR HAND AWAY FROM YOUR WEAPON, SIR!” OOC: @Jesse Pinkman @Toru Nui

IC: Tueris (Staff NPC; Valley of Death) “Celrys’ gadget. ‘Video telegraphy’, remember?” Tueris patted his pack. “I put it on when we get to Ferrum, and it sees what I see, hears what I hear, and keeps it. Like a memory. I can send that memory to Raanu myself, or… or, when I die, it sends itself. Either way, Vulcanus knows the truth.” He sighed, and his eye flicked briefly towards the back of the cave. “As for relations between villages… well, there's a reason this was voluntary, and a reason nobody’s Prime Glatorian volunteered. We’re all expendable, and every Tribe leader knows it.” Except the Ash Tribe, he thought. He wished again that the medic would have thought better than to come along; their people needed them. Not like the rest of them. It would be a terrible shame when… “They’ll honour us as heroes; give us a dedication at the next Games, maybe a nice monument in Atero. They've probably already got a metal plate with our names written on it. My point is, their villages? They aren't expecting them back, any more than Vulcanus is expecting us. No one is waiting up for us, boy. Far as they're concerned, we’re already dead.” OOC: @Burnmad

IC: Fero (Bone Hunters Stronghold) “Shall we shake on it, then?” As he offered his hand, the Gatherer was grinning. There was greed in that sharp, toothy smile, and malice too, but above all there was ambition. Fero was eager to do business, and Atakus’ terms only seemed to excite him all the more. He had no doubts, no reservations – just a singular, ravenous hunger, growling and insatiable. To a man like Fero, all the world was meat, and he watched Atakus with eyes like a Spikit. OOC: @BULiK @Nato G