John Smith

I suppose that makes sense, especially considering the pieces of evidence from later books.

For what it's worth, I cracked open "Mystery of Metru Nui" (Adventures #1). On page 10 at the bottom, it says, So at least when Greg wrote this, it would seem he thought they didn't know each other. Edit: I agree. My headcanon is that there were 1,000 who were native, but others who had immigrated. I'm not sure if that could be made to fit in with *actual* canon, though.

http://lego.wikia.com/wiki/6555_Sea_Hunter I'm 90% sure this was my first one. And I still have it!

2.5/5; I didn't dislike it, but it didn't have much of a melody and the beat was very repetitive. Thanks! You do too! There aren't enough prog fans out there. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h-iqXlmE1Qs

5/5; one of King Crimson's best songs (and that's saying something!) I agree, but I couldn't find the original on Youtube, alas.

Greetings, and welcome to the Tales of Agomnan review topic! This is a series of short stories (in effect, a serial) I wrote last year and thought I'd share. So far, there are three such stories, though I intend to write more if there is interest. Post your thoughts, criticisms, love, hate, and whatever else you have to say! Edit 10/7/14: If anyone actually reads this, Chapter 2 is now up! Link to the topic

Chapter One: A Tale of Eberhard Eberhard, a skilled young warrior garbed in leather armor, gripped a sword in his hand. In his dark eyes was a look of intense determination. Suddenly, he landed on his back, defeated. “Excellent work, both of you,” his master, a middle-aged man of great strength and agility, told his assembled pupils. His weathered gray cloak gave him the appearance of a wise sage. “These two, Eberhard and Llwelyn, have provided the best example of the Tsaeb mode of combat I have seen in many Offerings.” The master, who was named Tirem, and his students were gathered in a small forest clearing. Winter was approaching, as evidenced by the bare trees and gray sky. Tirem and his students met there daily to practice the Tabocim, the defensive arts. Mastery of these arts was the key to their civilization's survival if the long-anticipated war at last broke out. “It should come as no surprise to anyone that they are to contend for the favor of Agomnan tomorrow. All of you are worthy to serve Agomnan; but only they have shown the fortitude to accomplish Agomnan’s uncertain challenge. "I believe this has been enough for one day. I shall see you on the morrow, when the Offering shall take place, and we shall discover who will win the favor of Agomnan. May this land of Ileway fare well till then. Hwyl fawr.” ******************************************************************************************************************************************************************** “Hwyl fawr” was the customary farewell of the people of Ileway, the Syrochii. Like many of their expressions, it came from the language of the Kelbyaji, a race of powerful, benevolent beings who had once ruled the known world. Their downfall came when one of their number, Atukam, became power-hungry and locked them in a special prison that would transfer their powers to him. He then had little difficulty turning Ileway and the surrounding lands into his empire, over which he wielded power of the most oppressive kind. So cruel was he that his subjects would refer to him only as “the Nameless One.” Thankfully, Agomnan, the Spirit of Power, had arisen shortly thereafter, seemingly out of nowhere, rallying the people against Atukam and banishing him to Suratis, the underworld. In return for this great service, and so he could keep Atukam at bay, he demanded a day of Offering each month. On this day, the people of each settlement would gather, and led by Agomnan's appointed priests, each individual would surrender a piece of Minaru, a metallic gray metal that was abundant in Ileway's riverbeds. Its exact properties were unknown, though it was not difficult to sense, inexplicably, that it held some hidden, mysterious power within. Despite Agomnan's protection, however, the people lived in fear that one day Atukam might break loose, beginning a war of unimaginable devastation. ******************************************************************************************************************************************************************** After being dismissed, Eberhard stopped for a drink from a nearby stream. As he raised his cupped hands to his mouth, he felt a soft kick in his side. Above him stood Llwelyn, a jovial grin on his face. “You really ought to be more careful,” said Llwelyn. “You never know when someone might sneak up behind you . . . and they might not be as friendly as I.” “They might not be? Well, then, perhaps I shouldn’t envy you for being all-but-guaranteed to win,” Eberhard replied, still a bit flustered. “Whatever task you are charged with, I’m sure it will involve a great deal of peril.” “No doubt, my friend, no doubt. But don’t be so hard on yourself. You’re as able a warrior as I; fortune has been kind to me of late , nothing more. Who knows if it will still be with me tomorrow.” “I’d not bet on it to change. Still, I’ll welcome it gladly if it defects.” “Well, there’s little use for mere mortals to predict the future. But I grow weary as we speak. I bid you a good night, Eberhard. Hwyl fawr.” “Hwyl fawr, Llwelyn.” ******************************************************************************************************************************************************************** Following this exchange, Eberhard wandered through the forest to his home. As he walked, he contemplated the day's events. His defeat by Llwelyn did not bode well, regardless of Llwelyn’s own remarks and Tirem’s praise. He was sure his master was simply attempting to ease the pain of defeat. Tirem knew Eberhard’s life’s ambition was to be the greatest warrior the Syrochii had ever seen. Such a warrior would be certain to win the looming contest with ease. Eberhard had a long way to go before he would be the best warrior in Favauoc, let alone all of Ileway. He wondered if his dream was futile. Perhaps if he were stronger, or had better reflexes, he would have a chance someday. As things stood, his prospects were not promising. His nearly assured defeat in the next day’s fight would likely spell the end of his hopes. Presently, he came upon a small, withered pine tree growing amongst the roots of an ancient oak. Was he like the pine tree, he wondered? Destined to live in the shadow of greatness, but never achieve it himself? As Eberhard approached his dwelling, fallen leaves crunching beneath his damp feet, he realized that his short hair and the robes he had changed into after the fight were doing little to insulate him from the late autumn cold. He at last reached his abode, a hut built around a tree, and started a fire. The hut was itself little more than a framework of tree limbs, but it sufficed for Eberhard's spartan needs. As he sat by the fire, he slowly consumed his repast. His mind wandered to the source of his insecurities. He had no recollection of his parents, who had died the winter following his birth. His childhood was spent being passed from one home to the next. No one wanted a mouth to feed that wasn’t of their own flesh and blood, so the people of Favauoc had decided to take turns caring for him. This meant Eberhard had been raised by his entire village, and yet by no one at all, for he never spent enough time in one house to form familial bonds. Such was his lonely existence. Yet, throughout it all, his friend Llwelyn had been present to comfort him. Llwelyn was also an orphan, under the permanent care and tutelage of Tirem. He made sure Eberhard joined Tirem’s band of apprentices as soon as it was permissible. Together, they had studied the Tabocim to the point of mastery. Through the years, and the toil, they had, in a sense, become brothers. Eberhard even grew to see Tirem as a sort of paternal figure. Nonetheless, Eberhard’s lack of a normal upbringing made him feel incomplete. It seemed as though a tiny voice from within constantly whispered doubt into his soul. It told him that, because he was incomplete, forever isolated from others, he could never achieve greatness. It tormented him night and day, refusing all of his efforts to silence it. Still, he persevered. Even if he had no chance of success, he refused to be deterred from making his best attempt. He considered wandering into Favauoc to seek out some amusement to lift his gloomy mood. At last, he settled for practicing the Tsaeb fighting style on a nearby tree and getting a good night's rest before the Offering the next day. He failed to notice the comet that had appeared in the sky, directly above his house. ******************************************************************************************************************************************************************** After bidding Eberhard farewell, Llwelyn wandered around the training grounds, pondering tomorrow’s fight. He’d tried to console Eberhard, in hopes of improving his spirits. He knew such efforts were futile, but he felt he owed it to his friend. He was certain Eberhard’s self-doubt was unfounded. His talents far exceeded those of the other apprentices. In truth, he was, in some ways, a better warrior than Llwelyn. Any passing wanderer could ascertain that with ease. Why couldn’t Eberhard himself see it? As the light in the forest grew dim, Llwelyn wandered home to Tirem’s hut. The path wound through the twisted, deathly tyrgoryn trees, said to have been blighted by the power of Autukam. Eventually, the twisted mass gave way to large, healthy trees that marked the presence of a stream. It was a shallow one with long, rocky shores, which were littered with Minaru. Llwelyn collected the shiniest piece he could find and continued his journey home. He now felt fully prepared for whatever lay in wait beyond the coming dawn. ******************************************************************************************************************************************************************** Eberhard rose early the next morning and made the short journey into Favauoc. The village was spread out, with no two huts closer than fifty feet from each other. At the center of the village was a huge, gnarled tree with three trunks and outermost branches descending to the ground. The tree served as the village’s temple. As Eberhard approached, he saw that several others had already congregated there. Among them was Llwelyn, dressed in his finest armor, fashioned from leather embedded with bits of metal. Upon seeing Eberhard, he approached him, a pensive look in his eye. “How fare you?” he inquired. “I’m fine,” Eberhard replied bluntly. “I see,” answered Llwelyn, unconvinced by Eberhard’s words. “May Agomnan look favorably upon you.” “And may he do the same to you.” Unwilling to face his friend any longer, Eberhard moved away, his eyes fixed on the ground. He was insecure enough without having to speak with his friend and rival just before the fight that might determine the course of his life. Then again, at least Llwelyn was a noble warrior. No matter the outcome of the match, they would remain friends.. After a few minutes, all the residents of the village had gathered. The two priests of Agomnan appeared in the distance, chanting, their black robes flowing magnificently as they moved toward the congregation. When they reached the tree, utter silence fell. “Gathered friends, let us to the great Agomnan our Minaru offer up,” said the first priest in a slow, commanding voice. “Thus shall be at bay kept the One Who Is Nameless.” Slowly, everyone passed their Minaru forward to the priests, who piled the offerings around the base of the tree. When everyone was finished, there was a great flash of light, and when it passed, the Minaru was gone. “Now certain is our safety from the One Who Is Nameless,” said the second priest, in a voice similar to the first's. “Let us now await the words of Agomnan, that his will might be ascertained.” Suddenly, a vivid red glow began to emanate from the tree. Nothing like this had ever been seen by the villagers before. Agomnan merely spoke, without manifesting himself, when he ordered them to select two warriors to duel. They froze where they were standing and beheld the tree. “People of Ileway, in the town of Favauoc,” came a booming voice from the light. “Ye must needs know of a threat that, unless action swift is taken, spells the doom of ye and yours. The vile Atukam, in his connivery rampant, has a means implemented to render useless all Minaru. Were I to elaborate on this scheme, ye wouldst not comprehend. Ye have but a hope single: to from Atukam wrest the Tyrup, the only device by which the process reversed may be. There can be but one man, in all the world, who can this mighty deed accomplish; by combat shall he be chosen, and upon fate shall his quest depend. Ye may give him what help ye may, but know this: if the deed done is not before passed three Offerings have, no choice will I have but to my protection from Atukam remove. “But who among you is of such an imperative charge worthy and capable? There is but one means by which selected such a one may be. Namely, two great champions must in lethal combat engage. This, then, is why you were instructed as you were. Now let commence the battle!” The crowd gasped. No one had expected the duel to be to the death. Still, the townsfolk spread apart, forming a large circle encompassing Eberhard, Llwelyn, and the tree. Within the circle, Eberhard and Llwelyn stared at each other in shock. Neither one would ever dream of killing the other. After a long moment, Llwelyn spoke. "We must execute the will of Agomnan, Eberhard. However abominable it may seem." "I can say nothing against that." They began to slowly pace each other. After a electrifying moment, the tension that was building up in Eberhard reached a breaking point. He drew his sword and charged at Llwelyn. He wanted this fight to be over as quickly as possible. Even defeat would be better than uncertainty. Llwelyn held his ground and parried Eberhard’s blow with ease. He took no joy in fighting his friend, but he was determined to follow the will of Agomnan. He lunged at Eberhard, who parried and riposted. Not to be outdone, Llwelyn dodged the blow and struck Eberhard’s leg. Doing so heightened his sense of discomfort, but he was not going to hold himself back out of some misplaced sense of empathy. Eberhard lunged again. Llwelyn sidestepped, grabbed ahold of Eberhard’s arm and swatted his sword out of his grasp. He then landed a blow to Eberhard’s face, knocking him over. Lost in the heat of battle, Llwelyn raised his sword above his head, as if to strike a killing blow. Eberhard watched, stunned, as Llwelyn lifted his blade. There was little else he could do, for his sword was out of his reach. Surely his friend would not kill him? They had been the best of friends for so long. He knew Llwelyn. Or did he? Llwelyn stood for a moment with his sword suspended above him, then drew a sharp breath. What was he doing? He’d nearly allowed his violent instincts to control him. Disgusted, he cast his blade upon the ground, and knelt before the great tree. “O mighty Agomnan,” he said, “I have done as you have bid. I shall humbly serve you as your champion.” “Well you have fought, brave Llwelyn,” boomed Agomnan. “But mercy you have shown to your foe. Never shall any champion of mine such weakness display. True spirit Eberhard did display. Champion shall he be. You as his retainer shall languish. A lesson let this be, to clemency eschew.” With that, the red glow vanished from the tree. One could not say things returned to normal, however: in stunned silence, all of those gathered turned to look at Eberhard, and he, most stunned of all, looked back. Llwelyn stood slumped by the tree, stupefied. After a moment, the first priest spoke. “O Eberhard, thou hast heard thine commandment divine. Dost thou accept thine quest?” Eberhard’s breath froze, and his body stiffened. He was little more than an ordinary apprentice, he told himself. Llwelyn had trounced him. What special quality could he possess that would make the mighty Agomnan single him out? What power was it that would make him more important than all the villagers surrounding him, let alone Llwelyn? Still, the word of Agomnan was not to be taken lightly. Still shocked, Eberhard stammered out the words, “I accept.” “So be it. Are there any present who will consenteth to aid in this task most imperative?” “I will,” came a strong voice from near the back of the crowd. “He will need my guidance if he is to succeed,” said Tirem, Eberhard’s master. “Furthermore, if Llwelyn is to accompany him, I shall feel obliged to give what aid I can, for he is as a son to me.” “Thank you, Master,” stammered Llwelyn. “So be it. We shall, with Eberhard’s consent, depart on the morrow.” “Art thou not rather hasty, Master Tirem?” asked the second priest. “One does not simply walketh into Suratis. There are terrors of sundry kinds scattered for leagues around it, and within are such things as are nightmares made of.” “Indeed, much hardship awaits us. But what choice is there? A large band would surely be too easily noticed. We must proceed as I have said.” “So be it, Master Tirem,” said the first priest. “On the morrow, we shall mark your departure with much festivity. Until then, hwyl fawr.” With that, the assembly was over. Those present each went their separate ways, eventually becoming, to an observer, lost amongst the trees. Eberhard, who had remained silent for some time now, stayed behind, contemplating his fate. Did this mean he would, indeed, become a great warrior? Or was he merely a tool, a vessel through which Agomnan would act? Tirem remained behind also, seemingly lost in thought. Eberhard wondered if his master was about to speak to him. Sure enough, after a moment, Tirem approached him. “This has been a most unusual day,” began the master. “I imagine there is much that troubles you.” “As much as there are terrors in Suratis.” “Have you any in particular you wish to discuss?” “What will become of Llwelyn? He must be outraged that I would be named champion.” “Llwelyn will come to terms with Agomnan’s decree. Though it is a most puzzling one; ought not a true warrior show mercy to his foes?” “Perhaps such things are not for mortals to ponder. Who can fathom the will of Agomnan?” “Few indeed, if any. Still, I am left thoroughly perplexed.” The conversation continued well into the day, when Eberhard realized he needed to prepare for the journey. He thus returned to his abode, all the way taking note of the familiar sights he would not again behold for some time. Even the most pathetically withered trees and dry creekbeds seemed not so different from old acquaintances he must now part with. When he at last reached his home, he could not stop wondering how long it would be before he returned, if he ever did. ******************************************************************************************************************************************************************** After the duel, Llwelyn slunk into the forest. His world was shaken to the core, and he could not bring himself to face anyone until he had come to terms with what had happened. He bore no grudge against Eberhard; it was not his fault. Agomnan alone was responsible. How could the object of his worship betray him in so jaded a manner? Were not Agomnan’s commands the very foundation of life on Ileway? If Agomnan’s commands could not be trusted, who or what could? For the first time, he thought to question the word of Agomnan. It was still possible that Agomnan was in the right, but no longer would he accept that freely. Dazed, he meandered back home. ******************************************************************************************************************************************************************** That night, Eberhard packed some wild fruits, spare clothes, and an array of weapons into his satchel. As he drifted off to sleep, he could not stop thinking that his death, for all he knew, could come in a matter of days. The only thing that calmed him was the chance that he was not doomed to become merely another faceless warrior. Even if his life would soon be cut short, at least it would be for the most noble cause imaginable. He dreamt of fond memories, and of everything he would miss in the coming weeks. The next morning, Eberhard awoke early. Despite his worries, he felt strangely calm. His fate was sealed; what more could he do? He chose to spend his remaining time at home wandering in the forest, drinking in every sight and sound, from the shapes of withered, dry leaves, to the atonal songs of the local birds. After a time, Llwelyn appeared, seemingly out of nowhere. “The priests have summoned us for a farewell ceremony. I trust you’re prepared?” “As prepared as I can be. Though it is you who should be entrusted to retrieve the Tyrup, not I.” “Perhaps the task requires something more than the prowess of a warrior to complete.” “That’s not what Agomnan said.” “I know. But I can do nothing but hope it was what he meant.” Eberhard, in no mood to accuse Llwelyn of deluding himself, headed off for the village. When he got there, he found all the people arrayed in their best garb. The majority wore tunics made from the bark of the tyrgoryn trees, with leafy crowns on their heads; some of the more prosperous citizens also wore dark flowers, as there were no other plants that looked the least bit decorative. Various activities were under way, such as a game of yweov, a sport which involved jumping from tree to tree in order to place a rock into the opponent’s goal. All Eberhard noticed, however, was the priests and Tirem beckoning him toward the tree at the center of the village. “Silenceth,” said the first priest. “The time now hath come for us to recognize our prospective saviors. Let us hail to Eberhard, Llwelyn, and Master Tirem, for we shall not again behold their likenesses until their quest its course has run.” The crowd cheered for several minutes. Eventually, the three travelers said their farewells to the group, and, determination in their eyes, strode away from their home, past the two withered, dead trees that marked the boundary of Favauoc. Review Topic

Oh, my bad, haha. But yes, it would be.

Eh heh. Well, a GSR set would come in handy... Heh, I was thinking of the *actual* universe...but now that you say it, the GSR would be feasible by comparison, and would probably take most of a lifetime to fully explore. I think I like this option better! Now to get Lego to make one...

I voted for 2008, but I'm surprised more people didn't say 2003. All kinds of cool and unexpected things happened then: the Toa lost their powers, the Bohrak-Kal were the first sapient foes (apart from Makuta and the Bahrag), we found out Makuta was still around, the first movie came out, we got the first novels and guidebook, the Rahkshi were awesome all around, and we got the first hint at the nature of the larger Bionicle universe. It's easy to forget how cool a lot of that was now, but it was a thrill ride at the time Edit: 2008 being like the Superbowl is a great analogy! I might steal it sometime.

I like that Clara has finally been getting some character development these last few episodes, but it seems to be coming at the expense of developing the new Doctor more; it almost seems as if the focus of the show has switched to Clara. Hopefully Capaldi will get more of a chance to shine soon.

Hey look, there are Star Trek fans around here! I'll throw in my two cents. TOS and DS9 are essentially tied for my favorite; they're different enough I think it's kind of like comparing apples and oranges. TOS has the awesome Kirk/Spock/McCoy trio and brings up lots of interesting philosophical/moral/social issues. DS9 has a really well-developed cast of characters across the board (who were allowed to grow and change as the years went by) and has one of the first multiple-season story arcs on TV. TNG is third, and I haven't seen enough of the others to comment. Favorite captain is Kirk. He's the perfect decision-maker. Sisko comes close, though. Picard is cool too, but I think I like the actor more than I like the character, if that makes sense. What can I say, I'm a rebel.

ANYTHING? How about a 1:1 replica of the universe?

Doing In the Wizard writ large.

4/5; Marillion is awesome. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_bzs4HOYliY

3/5; I like DragonForce, but for some reason they just aren't my favorite.

4.5/5; it's a classic, but I'm not the biggest Dylan fan (heresy, I know).

Beanies are cool!

Heavy boots of lead/fills his victims full of dread./Running as fast as they can./Iron Man lives again! Oh...wrong Iron Man.

How about some MNOG for 'yall? "..." - Kopeke "In creation there is destruction. In destruction, there is rebirth. There is no such thing as void; all things are in flux." - Nuju "Where wisdom and valor fail, all that remains is faith. And it can overcome all." - Tahu "I bore you. For I am Nothing. And out of Nothing, you came. And it is out of Nothing you will go. I stand with Mata Nui, side by side. I am his brother. The people of the world are builders. But look into their hearts... and you will also find that they have also the power to destroy. I am that power. I am destruction. And I WILL destroy you." - Makuta Ok, I'll try not to take ALL the good ones.

http://biosector01.com/wiki/index.php/Lein (Since the topic starter clarified he's not only asking about MU beings.) Thanks for pointing that out. Mata Nui's Guide is the only Bionicle book I don't have. Figures. I also don't have a problem with the long lifespans. In addition to what's already been said, it's something that makes Bionicle unique.

Huh, I can't think of a good description. Grrrrr...ahk.

Vakama describes it rather vividly in "Time Trap," starting on page 126.

The Vahi only controls the flow of time (you can either speed it up or slow it down); it doesn't allow travel to the past. Unless you break it, in which case all of time would happen at once...but that wouldn't exactly be a good idea.

Foolin' Vakama (Angry Young Toa) by Makuta Seven Nation Army by The White Stipes