Nato G

I don't think I've ever seen this particular statement before, but I got a real laugh out of reading it. This part in particular aged like milk: There's some fantastic irony in the fact that they killed Bionicle so they could grow the buildable figure category, but ended up changing things so drastically that it killed the entire buildable figures system instead. Just goes to show that not all innovations are improvements. I bet they regret "embracing the uncertainty" now.

IC: T'harrak - Fort Razorfish;Vaa "Alright," she nodded, unsure of what more to say. "I'll uh... leave you to it." @Smudge8

To my eye, it looks like the parts covering the upper chest are partial Gahlok shields, while the segments around the waist are these. I'm not really sure of the rest, unfortunately.

Table 1 - all three are certifiably insane. Table 2 - they're all permadead. Table 3 - I suspect the joke here is that all three are "Dark Hunters". (Though you used a picture of Destroyer Umarak rather than Hunter Umarak, so I could be wrong on that one). EDIT: all three were forcibly mutated into more monstrous forms. Table 4 - My initial guess was that Xia was what connected these three (Pridak and Antroz both oversaw the island at different times). But Zaktan only visited there briefly. Then I checked Antroz's BS01 page and realised he was in charge of the Makuta in Karda Nui, making all three of these guys the leaders of their respective groups. Table 5 - all three are inventor/tinkerer types. Table 6 - These three are all ancient, experienced leaders. Table 7 - These guys are all leaders of large antagonist factions. Table 8 - And these three are all traitors.

I'm with Master Inika on this. This is a weird forced connection that doesn't add anything to the story except questions, complications, and plot holes. Not to mention that this explanation only works if you actively ignore a lot of pre-established details. Setting aside all of the many story issues, the biggest problem with this "theory" is that it cannot possibly be true from a real-world perspective. G2 was created more than a decade after the inception of G1, by a new story team. Therefore, any concepts that were created for G2 wouldn't have been part of the concepts for G1. I especially agree with this part. The people of Bara Magna were so greedy and ignorant that they blew up their own planet in the pursuit of a resource they didn't even understand. They were so isolationist and distrustful that they let their society stagnate for 100,000 years instead of cooperating. They absolutely wouldn't let something like these crystals sit around gathering dust. After all, if everyone had an abundance of magical crystals that could create food and water out of nothing, there'd be no need for the Glatorian system in the first place.

I went with Table 4. I feel like there'd be a lot of interesting conversations to be had with the biker Makuta, a guy made of bugs, and the dude who was literally chosen by the Great Spirit to rule the universe.

And that's a wrap on Book 1 of the Embers saga. Thank you everyone who's read and commented so far. Rest assured, there's plenty more to come. To commemorate this milestone I wrote a song about Icthilos (spoilers ahead, so make sure you're caught up on the story before listening). With the holidays coming up, I'm not going to be able to commit to my usual weekly upload schedule, so I'm going to be taking a break for a couple of months. Book 2 will come out sometime early next year.

Chapter 30 – First Strike From the notes of Chronicler Crisda. How does a war begin? It’s easy to look at a history book and see whatever act of aggression has been credited with commencing a conflict… but I know now it’s more complex than that. Wars aren’t spontaneous. Like a tsunami rising up and crashing down, they build and break, long before the first battle begins. Wars are born of resentments left unsettled, injustices left unchecked, transgressions unforgiven, crossed lines unforgotten. Do the skirmishes that occurred today mark the beginning of war? Did the war begin months ago, when Makuta Vhel seized our city? Is the true war yet to begin? Or can it still be avoided? Such things are not for me to decide. I can only chronicle whatever is to come. * * * Ilton “Where the Karz have you been?” It was Keidal’s angry shout that drew Ilton’s attention to the door where Savnu was making her way inside, supported by Icthilos. They’d both been absent for quite some time, and it looked like they’d been walking for a while. “I needed some air,” Savnu replied as Ilton approached, in a tone he recognised as her characteristic ‘I’m lying and I’m not going to elaborate on what really happened’ voice. Now wasn’t the time or place to make a scene, so Ilton instead moved to support Savnu. “Thank you for bringing my sister home,” he said, giving Icthilos a stern look. Whatever he and Savnu had been doing together, it had almost certainly been some combination of reckless and dangerous. He noticed then that Trina had joined them… and she wasn’t asking Icthilos where he’d been. It was hard not to be disappointed, but harder still to feel surprised. Even united in their common cause on Xia, they’d still kept secrets from each other, still acted without keeping each other informed. Despite Ilton’s hopes to the contrary, nothing had changed here. He and Keidal brought Savnu back to the makeshift medbay and returned her to her bed, giving stern instructions to the healers to make sure she stayed there this time. Then they made their way back to Icthilos and Trina, who were deep in the midst of a conversation that they broke off as soon as Ilton approached them. “No lies this time,” Ilton snapped, “Where were you two?” “I was in Ko-Metru, looking through old prophecies for anything that might be able to help us,” Icthilos answered, his stoic expression giving away nothing. “Orane followed me there. Savnu followed him.” “Where is he now?” Ilton asked. “You didn’t hurt him, did you?” He hadn’t wanted to believe it when he’d been told that Orane had turned against them, let alone Bihriis and Widrek as well. But he’d heard it from too many people, seen the injuries Pira and Savnu had suffered at the hands of their fellow Toa. There was no denying it… but equally, there was no understanding it. “Relax, he was just possessing a Vahki again. His real body is probably in the Coliseum, or somewhere else secure. For all I know, his spirit could be spying on us right now.” “I hope he is,” Ilton said, addressing the empty air. “If you’re listening, Brother, know that I forgive you. You will always have a place at our side.” “Speak for yourself,” Keidal spat, staring at Ilton like he was insane, before storming away. “I should go as well,” Icthilos said; Ilton noticed then that he now had a Kanohi Komau in his hands, likely collected from their stockpile of spare masks, “I need to have a word with our prisoner.” “What are you planning to do with that?” Ilton asked, pointing to the mask. “Not take no for an answer.” “Icthilos-” Trina started, but whatever else she was about to say was stopped short by Icthilos’ upraised hand. “Spare me the lecture, Trina. You know the stakes. Like you said before, the less you know, the better.” Her gaze lowered to the floor as she nodded glumly. “What stakes?” Ilton rounded on Trina as Icthilos departed. “What are you better off not knowing about?” “It’s complicated.” “Then uncomplicate it,” Ilton demanded, “You, me, Icthilos, I thought we were on the same page. What could have possibly happened in just two days to change that?” “Everything! Everything has changed,” Trina’s voice cracked, “An evil we thought extinct now rules our city. Our Brothers and Sisters stand against us. We can’t-” “All the more reason for the rest of us to stand together,” Ilton interjected, “There’s no place for secrets now.” “Yes, there is.” “Why?” “Because there’s a secret in this city that would shatter us if it were ever to be told. Keeping it keeps us together.” “Is that what you think, or just what Icthilos told you?” “It’s what I know.” “So you know this secret, then?” “I do. I wish I didn’t. You would too, if you knew.” “Don’t speak for me. Tell me, and I’ll decide how I feel about it.” “I won’t. I can’t. I only know of nine, maybe ten Toa who learned this truth, and six of them stand with the enemy. It’s not a risk I can take.” It took a moment for Ilton to finish the mental math. The six were obviously Maliss, Tuxar, Dhozoh, Bihriis, Orane, and Widrek. But the other four… Icthilos had to be one, Trina made two… but who were the others? “You and Icthilos know. Who else?” He asked. “If the other three know, then Yayle probably did too,” Trina said, “But since no one’s seen him, we can’t ask him. And Icthilos just told me that Orane told Savnu.” “Fine. If you won’t tell me, she will.” “She might.” “She will.” There was no question about it, as far as he was concerned. He’d let Savnu’s secrets and scheming slide too many times in the past. But not this time, not with their team coming apart at the seams and the city on the brink of war. She would see reason, he was sure. He never got the chance to find out if he was right. A panicked Po-Toa – Behjen, instantly recognisable by his red-and-brown colourscheme and mechanical arm – suddenly burst in through the front door, looking back over his shoulder as he ran. “Incoming! The Makuta!” And then a blistering beam of violet violence burst through the building behind him, carving first across the floor, then rising up to cleave through the far wall and across the ceiling. Ilton was sent flying one way, and Trina another, as concussive waves reverberated from the blast sites. Those Toa and Turaga unfortunate enough to be caught in the beam’s path were killed instantly, reduced to pieces so small and misshapen that there was no way to discern what had been who. As the beam abated and Ilton found his footing, he saw that Behjen himself was still alive, his Hau shield activated just in time, though it hadn’t saved him from becoming partially buried in the waist-deep furrow across the floor. He saw no sign of Trina now… intact or otherwise. The entire Moto-Hub shuddered, rubble and sparks raining down from the ragged wound carved across the structure. The air was heavy with dust and despair, the only thing louder than the rumbling rock being the screams of the scared and scarred. And then it was drowned out by a colossal thunderclap overhead, as a section of the weakened ceiling collapsed under a brutal barrage of lashing lightning. Some of the bolts blasted clean through the ceiling to crater the floor below, too sudden for any Vo-Toa in the vicinity to even attempt to redirect. Ilton scrambled to Behjen’s side, combining powers with him to try to shove away the mass of stone and metal falling from above, propelling the tumbling chunks towards the sides of the building in an effort to spare those still caught out in the open. And as the ceiling fully fell away, Ilton at last caught his first glimpse of their foe. A jagged shadow of black and silver, flying high overhead with a staff in its hands. A green glow emanated from the head of the weapon, and it was this tool from which the Makuta seemed to be firing his attacks. “We welcomed you. We offered acceptance… lenience… freedom from the Duty that has brought you so much suffering and despair. But you dared to reject my generosity?” A new sound echoed through the building, the sloshing of chute systems sputtering back to life. In the corners of the building furthest from the initial devastation, Ilton could see a scattered few Toa and Turaga scrambling towards the chute stations, flinging themselves blindly into the tubes towards destinations unknown. Other Toa were firing beams of elemental energy up towards the Makuta in a desperate attempt to form a Toa Seal, but nothing was getting close, whirled up into a gravity well the Makuta had summoned below him. And then the Makuta vanished, teleporting down to the centre of the building and unleashing a withering wave of sonic energy that shredded the structure to its foundations, causing the walls to fall and the rest of the ceiling to come crashing down. Cutting through the screaming sound was an even louder noise, the voice of Makuta Vhel as he passed judgement down on them all, “My tolerance is at an end, and so too is your legend.” Ilton and Behjen combined their powers once more, redirecting enough of the rubble to avoid being buried, though there was little they could do for everyone else. Ears ringing from the sonic blast, eyes all but blinded by the dust, Ilton stumbled away from Behjen, across the uneven debris, searching desperately for any sign of other survivors. What he saw instead was the silhouette of Makuta Vhel stalking through the swirling dust, his staff casting a sickly green light across the rubble. He waved the weapon towards a struggling Toa pinned in the rubble, loosing a disintegration blast that left the Toa’s remains indistinguishable from the rest of the dust already kicked up by the explosions. Ilton had no words of defiance or anger to offer. The time for talk was past. He extended his hand towards the distant figure of the Makuta, reaching out with his powers to fulfil the fear that had led Vhel’s species to persecute Fe-Toa across the universe. Baleful red eyes turned Ilton’s way, and widened in surprise as they spotted him. Ilton closed his hand, and in response Vhel’s armour crumpled inwards like a crushed can as it succumbed to the strength of elemental Iron. Ilton pulled his clenched fist back towards him, rupturing and peeling the Makuta’s armour apart in mirror with his motions. A howl of profound agony rung across the rubble at the Makuta’s form unfolded, his green-black antidermis essence spilling out into the air like an oil slick. Ilton saw fear in those red eyes now. And then the Makuta was gone, his ragged remains teleporting away, leaving behind a pathetic plume of his smokey soul that sputtered for a few seconds before dissipating entirely. Ilton felt a metal hand settle on his shoulder. “We need to leave,” Behjen said softly. “There could still be survivors under all this,” Ilton coughed, his voice croaky from breathing dust, “We can’t abandon them.” “We have to,” Behjen pointed upwards, where Vahki were beginning to circle, “We can’t dig and fight, and this place will be swarming with Rahkshi as well in an hour or two.” Letting out a shuddering sign, Ilton nodded. With tears brimming in the corners of his eyes, he joined Behjen in sprinting off into the lengthening shadows of the afternoon. Epilogue – Exodus From the ravings of The Recorder. Xia is dead, the shining city of steel and smog reduced to a shattered shell. What wasn’t obliterated in battle has been stripped and scavenged, drained and desecrated. Every item of interest, every weapon of worth, every resource and recruit. There are no more corporations. No more warbands. No more Dark Hunters. Only an alliance of those that are left. The Last League. We can’t stay here any longer. The seas are growing shallow, and the followers of the First Flesh draw near. The order has been given. Preparations are being made for our exodus. In a few hours, we set sail for Metru Nui, to face our Toa foes once more.

Chapter 29 – Down To Earth From the notes of Chronicler Crisda. In my research, I often find myself wondering what the true limits are to a Toa’s power. It’s easy to believe that the elements of our world are clear-cut and firmly defined, but that’s far from the truth. Over the years, I’ve read of rare Toa capable of performing feats that are seemingly beyond what their element should allow. Toa of Stone who can control crystals, Toa of Earth who manipulate sand, Toa of Fire who were able to freeze water, Toa of Electricity skilled in summoning illusions, and many other tales even stranger still. The Fa-Toa Pahlil, from my own homeland, spent much of her life convincingly posing as a Po-Toa, manipulating rocks by controlling the trace metals within them. Setting aside my own personal anecdote, the question remains: are these stories fantasy or fact? Is it only a rare few Toa destined to perform such displays of power, or do all Toa have such untapped abilities within them? Is it a matter of skill and experience, or random chance? Time and turmoil have changed our Toa, war and woe pushing them to limits they’d never before endured. What are they capable of, now that they’ve stopped holding back? * * * Pira “I don’t like this,” she muttered, spotting yet another Keerakh flitting out of sight over a nearby rooftop. “How many more spots do we have left to check?” They were getting uncomfortably close to the heart of the Metru, and they were still seeing the wraith-like white Vahki scuttling around in the shadows. Given how fast and fleeting their appearances were, it was impossible to tell if it was the same few individuals appearing in multiple places, or if there were dozens of the enforcers deployed throughout the Metru. “Only two,” Larone said. “But the fact that we’re still seeing Vahki should be cause for hope. It means they haven’t found Chavara yet.” “That’s assuming this Av-Matoran of yours is even still at one of the safe houses. If your people saw the Keerakh, maybe they went somewhere else to try to be unpredictable?” Ithnen suggested, “Is that how it works?” “I have no idea how it works,” Larone grumbled. “Someone once told me about a pair of Toa who tricked the Keerakh into leading them to one of the Great Disks,” Ithnen said. “The Vahki somehow knew where the Toa were trying to get to… despite the fact that even the Toa themselves didn’t know where to look… and the Vahki didn’t actually know what the Toa were looking for.” “That explained nothing,” Pira grumbled. “If anything I think it made me even more confused about how this predictive thing works.” “Yeah, I realised halfway through saying it that it wasn’t going to be as helpful as I thought.” “Here,” Larone suddenly said, bringing the transport to a stop. They were outside what looked to have once been a Mask Maker’s forge, now derelict and deserted. The windows were completely caked in dust, save for one, which looked to have very recently had some of the dust wiped away to form the shape of the Matoran symbol for Courage. Evidently that was the sign that had caught Larone’s eye. “How have the Vahki not found this place yet?” Pira wondered aloud as she clambered out of the transport, eyes sweeping her surroundings. “If they’re everywhere else why aren’t they here?” One of her hands subconsciously reached for the staff she normally kept slung across her back, but of course it was gone now, lost in her previous bout with Widrek. “Maybe they are?” Vhalem suggested, “Maybe they’ve predicted the route, and are just waiting for someone to make a break from one of the buildings? It might explain why we’ve seen them at nearly every stop along the way.” “It also might explain why Larone’s people haven’t moved to another safe house,” Ithnen said, “They spotted the Vahki watching and decided to hunker down.” “It would also mean we’ve just advertised to any Vahki watching that this is the right place,” Pira pointed out. “Then let’s not waste time,” Vhalem moved to knock on the door, “Hello? We’re here with Larone.” Something moved inside the building, obscured by the grimy windows, and then the door burst open and two Matoran ran out. One was a Po-Matoran with large clawed hands, while the other looked to be a Ta-Matoran clad in grey and yellow. From the way the Po-Matoran was placing himself in front of the other, blocking her body as best he could, this could only be the Av-Matoran Chavara. The instant the trio were out in the open, Pira caught a glimpse of a silvery flicker flashing from atop a nearby roof. A blast of air sent the incoming Kanoka careening off course, while Vhalem used gravity to deflect another disk fired from another direction, and Ithnen summoned a barrier of earth to block a third and fourth. Pira deflected a fifth a moment later with another elemental blast. Cries of fear and surprise rang out from Matoran passing by in the street, who ran for cover or hunkered in place. And then the two rebel Matoran were on board the transport, and Larone was turning it around. Ithnen managed to clamber aboard as well, while Pira grabbed a handhold on the side to cling onto as the vehicle lurched into motion. She glanced back towards Vhalem, already reaching out her other hand to help him only to find that he hadn’t followed. He was instead holding his ground, weapon at the ready. He crushed one Vahki apart with gravity, loosed an arrow into the head of a second… only for the remaining three to run right past him. The transport rounded a corner and Pira lost sight of Vhalem, but not the Keerakh, which had dropped to all fours for more speed. More Kanoka lashed towards the transport, and Pira once again swatted them away with waves of wailing wind. She directed a more concentrated blast towards the Vahki themselves, managing to trip up the one at the front, only for the other two to swerve around or leap over it as it scrambled to right itself. Before she could loose another blast Pira was suddenly slammed against the transport as it came to a jarring halt, its front legs bracing while its back swung out to slam into the side of a nearby warehouse. Pira’s arm was wrenched painfully as she tumbled off the side of the vehicle, falling awkwardly between the side of the transport and the warehouse wall. For those panicked moments she spent scrambling to right herself, she thought she was done for. But just as with Vhalem, the Vahki took no interest in her, instead leaping at the transport and attempting to tear its doors open. Pira didn’t give them a chance to break through, lashing out with her powers and flinging the machines away once more. As they started to pick themselves up off the ground, Pira took a moment to peer past the transport to figure out what had brought it to a halt. What she saw was a cracked crater in the street, caused by something breaking its way up from below. A something that revealed itself to be a burly figure clad in black and silver, his clawed hands tearing up through the dirt and rock. It was Widrek, with more Keerakh climbing up after him. As he climbed out, Pira noticed that he had her staff slung across his back. For the briefest of moments, Pira wondered if he’d taken it as a reminder, out of remorse. But then his gaze settled on her and he barked an order, “Kill them all!” The earth suddenly shifted beneath his feet, collapsing away to plunge him and his new Vahki right back into whatever Archives tunnel they’d just climbed up out of. Ithnen bounded out of the transport, joining Pira in the street while Larone tried to turn the vehicle around to find a new route. Torn between their old orders to specifically pursue the Matoran rebels, and their new orders to kill everyone, the three remaining Vahki spread out, one approaching the transport and the others sizing up a Toa each. Pira summoned another blast of air, trying to fling her foe into the one targeting the transport, but this time the Vahki were ready for it, digging their staffs into the ground. Pira kept up the blustery breeze, resolving to at least force the Vahki to stay in place if she couldn’t push them away. Ithnen, meanwhile, darted deftly towards her attacker, relying on her smaller size and greater agility – as well as the probability-bending powers of her mask – to evade the stun blasts being loosed towards her. She quickly closed the distance, ducking a swing of the Vahki’s staff and popping up behind the machine to sink one of her own blades into its head. Before it had even finished falling she was turning her attention to the other two, starting to redirect the dislodged dirt on the ground towards the two Vahki struggling in Pira’s breeze. The earth rose up, then shuddered to a stop as Widrek clambered back out of the hole once more, counteracting Ithnen’s powers with his own. “I see you came prepared this time,” Widrek growled, his words barely audible over the wind. The transport finished turning, and started advancing back down the street towards the nearest intersection. Pira caught a brief glance of Larone in the pilot’s seat, flashing a grateful smile towards the two Toa. Once the transport was past her, Pira let her breeze abate and snatched up one of the staves of the Keerakh Ithnen had destroyed, brandishing it towards Widrek. She could feel her elemental energy reserves dwindling; she hadn’t had much of a chance to recharge after the morning’s events, and this bout was taking its toll. The only response the Onu-Toa offered was a nod towards his Vahki, which began to charge towards the two Toa. This time it was gravity that halted their advance as Vhalem finally caught up with the group and brought his own powers to bear. “You started without me,” he joked, falling into line beside his companions. “Better late than never, Brother,” Ithnen replied. Pira didn’t join in on the banter. Her focus was on Widrek, who had been driven to his knees by the force of increased gravity pressing down on his body. His teeth were gritted, his face contorted, but not by pain. Instead his expression was one of exertion and focus. Pira could feel the ground rumbling underfoot. “What’s he doing?” She asked, glancing at Ithnen. As she spoke, she fumbled with the staff in her hand, searching for a trigger or mechanism to make it fire but finding none. The Vahki had to fire these things somehow… “I don’t know,” Ithnen replied, frowning. “I don’t understand. There’s not enough earth here for him to-” “Yes, there is,” Widrek grinned. Behind the three Toa the transport was flung on its side as the ground exploded in front of it. But instead of a burst of solid dirt, it was lava that came spilling from the crater in the pavement. Sizzling spatters of slag rained down over the street, sizzling against brick and armour and flesh. Vhalem recoiled with a cry and swatted blindly at his back, losing his focus on his powers in the process. Pira too felt the sting of the searing spray, while Ithnen once again twisted probability to avoid being struck. “You have heart, little one,” Widrek sneered at Ithnen, “But I’ve been a Toa longer than you’ve been alive. I know things even the oldest and wisest of Turaga couldn’t teach you.” “Get them out!” Pira barked to Vhalem, before battering Widrek with another blast of air. It was a split-second decision, one motivated as much by her selfish desire to get even with Widrek as it was by some semblance of strategy. On the three of them, Vhalem was the best suited to getting Larone and the Matoran out of the flipped transport, or levitating the whole transport out of the path of the lava. Pira and Ithnen would be more useful trying to break Widrek’s focus and keep him and the Vahki occupied. As Pira’s airblast sent Widrek stumbling, Ithnen manipulated the earth again, widening the hole Widrek had made in the street and sending him tumbling into the tunnel once more. This time his hands caught the edge, and he immediately began pulling himself back out. The Vahki that were still intact were now scrambling to their feet, and the two Toa assailed them with another volley of elements blasts, managing to disable a few of them. “We’ve got more incoming!” At Vhalem’s shout, Pira glanced back towards him. Larone and the two Matoran were safely out of the transport, none of them appearing too seriously injured, and the four of them were in the process of backing away from the bubbling puddle of lava that was swiftly beginning to spread across the street and swallow the transport. But it wasn’t the lava that Vhalem was pointing out. He was gesturing towards the sky overhead, where the crimson figures of Ta-Metru’s native Vahki were descending towards the street. Pira and Ithnen ceased their attacks on the Keerakh and readied themselves to face their new foes, only for the Nuurakh to ignore them completely and instead attack the Keerakh, descending upon the fallen machines and rending them asunder with their clawed staffs. “No! What are you doing?” Widrek roared, seizing one of the red Vahki and effortlessly wrenching its head from its body in a move that chilled Pira to her core. The memory of him trying to do the very same thing to her was all too fresh. “They’re maintaining order,” came the hoarse voice of another Toa in half-black armour who’d abruptly appeared on the scene, stepping out of the shadow of a nearby building as casually as if he were walking through a doorway, “An order that you have disrupted.” “Maliss, I-” Widrek stammered, sounding genuinely afraid for the first time since Pira had met him. “You thought I wouldn’t notice you blowing holes in my Metru?” Maliss snarled, “I know you’re used to doing whatever you please, but this isn’t a lawless battlefield.” “She’s an Av-Matoran!” Widrek protested, pointing past Pira towards Chavara, “A threat, living unnoticed in your Metru.” “I was well aware of her presence, you fool,” Maliss snapped, “You think your fancy Kanohi is the only way to see through an illusion?” “If you knew, why not kill me?” It was Chavara herself who asked the question. “I’m a Fe-Toa, little one. I know all too well the pain of being persecuted simply for existing. You weren’t a threat, so I allowed you to live your life,” what little sympathy was discernible in his voice was swiftly replaced by a far more threatening tone, “You can choose to continue not to be a threat.” “I think that choice has already been made for me.” “Very well,” Maliss sighed. For the first time, he turned his attention to the rest of the group, his gaze lingering only briefly on the Toa and Matoran, before focusing on Larone. “On the subject of choices, I see you’ve chosen to take a more active role.” “I wouldn’t say I had much of a choice, either,” Larone grumbled. He and the others were being forced to move closer to the two fallen Toa, as the lava continued to languidly spread across the street. A nearby awning had burst into flame, and the bricks of neighbouring buildings were beginning to crack and crumble. “So be it,” Maliss shrugged, waving his hand and summoning a low wall of metal across the road to stem the spread of the lava. “Leave, all of you, while I still allow it.” “No!” Widrek roared, ripping the staff from his back and flinging it like a spear. Pira wasn’t sure who it was actually aimed at. Herself? Chavara? Regardless of who the intended target was, it didn’t make it anywhere close, clattering to the ground in a cloud of whirling dust. Vhalem, Pira, and even Maliss all had a hand raised, each having used their own powers on the projectile. Even Ithnen had a look of focus on her face that usually accompanied Kanohi usage. “Leave,” Maliss repeated, redirecting his upraised hand towards Widrek and wrenching control of the Onu-Toa’s armour to hold him in place, “You didn’t start this, so you won’t bear the consequences for it. But consider this my final act of tolerance and goodwill. When next we meet, you’ll be begging for my forgiveness… or begging for your lives.” He reached out to place his hand on Widrek’s shoulder, and then the two Toa were gone, vanishing into shadow. The Nuurakh remained where they were, picking at the remains of the Keerakh or moving to send gawking onlookers back to work, paying no heed to the presence of the Toa and Matoran rebels. “You heard the lunatic,” Vhalem said, “Let’s go.” As the others started to set off down the street, Pira leaned down to pick up her staff. It was a little bent out of shape, either from being dropped in the Archives or being struck with so many powers now, but it could be repaired easily enough. The same couldn’t be said of Widrek. She’d been afraid of him before… now she was afraid for him.

IC: T'harrak - Fort Razorfish;Vaa "Failing that, we have to at least be strong enough to defend what we have from those who want to take it from us." @Smudge8

IC: T'harrak - Fort Razorfish;Vaa "I'm not sure where we'd get lava, but yes to the catapults," she nodded. "I know some Skakdi would argue that anything other than punching your enemy in the face is cowardly, but in my experience, reality doesn't care about honour. Fort Garsi certainly had no qualms about using snipers and traps on us. So the next time we pick a fight with someone, I'd prefer to be lobbing rocks and bombs at them from far away." @Smudge8

IC: T'harrak - Fort Razorfish;Vaa "Making better use of this island's natural resources. Between the mountains and the forest, we've got plenty of wood and stone. We can build fortifications, siege weaponry, more ships... the possibilities are endless." @Smudge8

IC: T'harrak - Fort Razorfish;Vaa "Sohmak's got me working on some long-term plans for expansion and improvement," she explained. "He wants to make sure that the next time we pick a fight with someone, it doesn't end like it did yesterday." @Smudge8

This just seems so strange to me. Until now, Lego has always seemed to understand that the live-action approach wasn't a good fit for their products. The Galidor show didn't perform very well, and plans to put a human child in Mask of Light were very quickly shot down. Lego's various animated shows have generally been successful, The Lego Movie was fantastic, and while the movies that followed it weren't quite as well-received, this year's Piece by Piece shows that a film made using the Lego style can still be successful. I can't fathom why they'd abandon the one thing that makes them unique to make a generic live-action movie, much less three of them. Especially if the rumours are true and one of those will be a Ninjago film, given that the previous Lego Ninjago film didn't do super well compared to the other Lego movies.

IC: T'harrak - Fort Razorfish;Vaa "Most things aren't," she lamented. "Sometimes I wish everything was that easy." @Smudge8

IC: T'harrak - Fort Razorfish;Vaa "I get it. It's been a... difficult couple of days." @Smudge8

IC: T'harrak - Fort Razorfish;Vaa "He... suggested I talk to you," T'harrak admitted. "But I was meaning to anyway, and I should've done it sooner. He could tell I was putting it off, and made it an order." @Smudge8

Chapter 28 – Choices From the records of Turaga Rost. Every day while the Matoran toil, the Odinans delve through the chronicles of old, searching for understanding. We know Mata Nui was trapped within the Mask Of Life, and we know the Ignika was cast into the void beyond our universe, but the nature of this void eludes us. How do we reach it? How can we traverse it? Will the Ignika find its way back to us of its own accord, or is there something we can do to aid it? Without answers to these questions, our hopes and our efforts are all for naught. * * * Icthilos “I know you’re here…” he muttered to himself as he rifled through the stacks of snow-sodden pages, “…you have to be here. Where are you?” He’d delved through two more Knowledge Towers and was now exploring a third, though he didn’t have high hopes for this one. The windows had been left open when this building was abandoned, and it looked like snow had blown inside and melted at least once between then and his arrival. Still, he had to try. He needed to be sure. He rifled through pulped pages and skimmed unfinished tablets, finding little but incomplete predictions and piecemeal prophecies. He was about to give up and move on to the next tower when he saw it: a small metal box marked with the symbol of the Red Star, tucked out of the way on a bottom shelf. He leaned down and pried it open, immediately recognising the distinctive scrawl of the scholar whose research he sought. He flipped the box upside down and emptied it out, picking through the pages at the bottom; the notes closest to the top of the researcher’s desk would likely have been the first to go into the box when they’d been packed away. And there it was, pinned beneath a stone tablet that looked to be a Toa’s journal. The scrap of parchment he sought was covered in the barely-legible scribblings of a determined researcher whose telescope had been cast skywards even as Teridax proclaimed his dominion over the universe, whose eyes had remained fixated on a particular point in the sky even as the war against Teridax raged across Metru Nui and the wider universe. The words were simple, almost unremarkable, a mundane observation made on a mad day. Unknown yellow-white light observed rising from Southward direction. Was drawn towards Red Star, converged with it, then disappeared. So many of the Ko-Matoran scholars had spoken of strange sights and shifting lights during and after Teridax’s takeover. Icthilos had heard plenty of their stories when he’d arrived on the island and settled in Ko-Metru. None of them had meant much to him then, and most still didn’t now. But this… this suddenly made sense, just as he’d feared. If the Mask Of Life truly had been flung out into the void, it would have come from the South, the direction of Karda Nui… and if Teridax had come under attack by Vhel while he’d been exiling the Kanohi, he might not have been unable to send it as far away as he’d planned… leaving it to be drawn towards the closest body of gravity in the void above. The answer had been right here all along, in the very Metru Vhel had ordered its people to abandon. It was within sight, but out of reach… but perhaps not out of Vhel’s reach. There was a very real possibility that a Makuta could survive a voyage into the void beyond the skies. Icthilos had no intention of giving him the opportunity. He took the paper firmly in his hands, intent on ripping it apart, but found himself faltering as it began to tear. What he held in his hands was more than mere information. It was the future, the fate of countless beings. The sound of scrabbling on the stairs tore his attention away from the page. “Stop!” A frost-encrusted Keerakh blundered into the room, and though the voice came out tinny and artificial it was still one Icthilos recognised: Orane. “Oh, this’ll be good,” with his free hand, Icthilos drew his flail, ready to swing at the first provocation, “You just don’t know when to quit, do you?” “Just stop,” the Vahki lowered its arms to its sides, “I only want to talk, please.” “Alright, spit it out.” Icthilos didn’t intend to entertain the conversation for long; he could already hear more steps on the stairs, as something else shuffled its way up the tower. “I was spying on you and Trina earlier. I heard what you said. About Destiny. About having the right to make our own choices.” Icthilos narrowed his eyes at the machine. There was no expression to read on its face, no inflection in the voice to gauge emotion from. But considering Orane’s willingness to throw Reconstitution disks and collapse tunnels on people earlier in the day, Icthilos was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. If he’d come here simply to kill him, he wouldn’t have bothered with a conversation. “I was wrong to give up,” Orane said. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe it does mean something.” “Why follow me out here, then?” Icthilos asked. “You could’ve come straight to the Moto-Hub to say all of this.” “Because I heard what you said to Trina. You know something, about… I don’t know what. Something important. I’m guessing that’s it,” the Vahki’s staff raised up to point at the paper in Icthilos’ hand, “And you want to destroy it.” “Can you blame me?” Icthilos snapped, “What we have here isn’t perfect, but it’s a life. The Matoran can survive here, even thrive. But between your lot and our creators, I’m not convinced any of us will be allowed any life at all if we actually completed the mission we were made for.” “Maybe you’re right, but you could just as easily be wrong,” Orane argued, “You can’t make that choice for all of us… and for all of them, out there, waiting for us to come save them.” “Their world doesn’t matter. Ours does, and this city is all that’s left of it.” “You don’t have the right to decide that for everyone.” “Don’t I? Funny how you’re all happy for me to take all of the hate and blame and responsibility when it suits you,” Icthilos snarled. “And you of all people don’t get to lecture me on rights and choice. This morning you were willing to slay your own Sister.” “I… wasn’t in my right mind.” “You sure weren’t,” came the unexpected voice of Savnu, as she finally reached the top of the stairs. “You’re supposed to be resting,” Icthilos growled. “I know,” she panted breathlessly, clutching her chest and leaning against the wall, “And if I’d known there were going to be stairs, I would’ve stayed in bed.” “What are you doing here? With him?” “He possessed a speaker near my bed, to talk to me. He told me he was sorry. He told me… things I’m not sure I completely believe.” “And, what? You came here to help him stop me?” “Yes,” Orane said. “Nah,” Savnu smiled. She waved her hand towards Icthilos, and a flicker of flame flitted to the page, evaporating it into ash before anyone could react. “No!” Orane started to move, a Kanoka teleporting into the Vahki’s mouthparts and its staffs raising to fire. For a moment, though, Orane hesitated, head flicking back and forth between the two Toa, and that moment of uncertainty cost him his chance to attack either of them. The Vahki was simultaneously engulfed in ice and flame, before its skull was shattered to fragments by a single decisive swing of Icthilos’ flail. “Why?” Icthilos asked, shaking scraps of metal from his weapon. “Yesterday you were convinced there wasn’t even a Makuta. If you didn’t believe Orane, then why-” “I believe you. And the fact that you’re here means you believe it,” Savnu said. “So I came to help.” “Thank you,” Icthilos put away his weapon and moved to help Savnu, letting her lean on his shoulder as they started working their way back downstairs. “Should we expect company down there?” “I doubt it. I thawed out that Vahki for him, and I don’t think he would have told anyone else we were coming here.” “What will he do now, do you think?” Icthilos asked, “For a moment there, I thought he might have been willing to return to our side.” “But I just pushed him further away than ever,” Savnu nodded grimly, “I know. I hope it was for the right reasons.” “As do I,” Icthilos sighed. They reached the ground floor, and started trekking back across the snow towards the border with Le-Metru. As they walked, Icthilos glanced down at the ashen dust still smeared on his hand, strangely grateful that someone else had taken the choice out of his hands. “What of the things Orane told you?” He asked absently, brushing his hand against his leg to scrape away the ash, “Our origins, our purpose? You didn’t feel motivated to switch sides?” “100,000 years is a long time, Icthilos. Too long. Whoever made us, and whatever they made us for, doesn’t matter to me,” Savnu said. “I take responsibility for what I’ve done, and everything I’ve done has been for the Matoran, for the future of our people. Abandoning all of that over ancient history is just taking the easy way out. Maybe my faith is false… but it’s still mine.” Despite the cold, Icthilos felt a strange sense of warmth well within him. It wasn’t coming from Savnu, but it was certainly because of her. Though he’d kept his judgement to himself – at least until his outburst yesterday – he’d often dismissed Savnu as thoughtless and rash, acting only on rebellious impulse. But he saw the truth of her now. It wasn’t that she didn’t care about the consequences. She just didn’t care what others thought of her. Like Icthilos, she was willing to take the anger and blame if it meant the best outcome for the Matoran. “I’ve underestimated you,” he admitted. “I wish Ilton had been here to hear you say that,” she smiled for a moment, but it quickly faded to a frown, “Actually, no. I’m not sure he’d feel the same as we do about… all of this.” “It wouldn’t be easy for him,” Icthilos agreed. “Same for Orane and the others. Whatever they think, whatever they’re going through… it can’t be easy for them, either.” “What comes next isn’t going to be any easier for us.”

We already had a thread for discussing these releases. Duckbricks also asked in his statement that we not discuss the leaked files further, so that he and Christian Faber don't get in any further trouble, so it would probably be best to drop the topic, or perhaps get the moderators to lock the relevant threads.

It's not pessimistic or heartless to state a fact. G1 ended fourteen years ago. G2 ended eight years ago. Pretty much the entire Bionicle/CCBS catalogue of parts has been destroyed. Most of the story and design team no longer work for Lego. By every definition of the word, the theme is defunct. Of course not. This community is full of wonderful creators who make MOCs and music, stories and theories, artwork and videos, custom parts, and so much more. As long as there are fans who remember and cherish the theme, Bionicle will never be completely gone. If you want to keep the theme alive, be part of that. Use your talents to contribute to continuing Bionicle's legacy. Lego isn't going to do it for us.

IC: T'harrak - Fort Razorfish;Vaa "Sohmak's done his fair share of wall-punching as well, and he only got here yesterday," T'harrak pointed out. "But it's probably a good idea to limit future punching to things outside of our fortress." @Smudge8

I love that they're just ignoring the existence of G2, though.

IC: T'harrak - Fort Razorfish;Vaa "Well, we've got a new boss now," she replied. "Seems like they've got some good plans for this place." @Smudge8

I completely understand the reasoning behind removing dilapidated, decades-old statues from a long-defunct theme... but the timing (the same day as all of the Faber/Duckbrick reveals being taken down) is unfortunate, to say the least. Both things happened for perfectly understandable reasons, but when two of the biggest hits this community has taken since G2's cancellation happen in the space of the same 24-hour period, it's hard not to feel like it's deliberate.

Chapter 27 – Last Light From the journal of Turaga Marik. The more I think about it, the more I feel that our people have lost their way. We cling to a code that we bend and break as we see fit. We venerate vague virtues, and allow the light we believe in so deeply to blind us to the truths of our reality. The Great Spirit punished me for my transgressions, stripped me of my power for taking a life. And yet it took me until now to learn the lesson. The others still haven’t learned. But they will. In time. * * * Pira After her talk with Trina, Pira had headed out into one of the empty buildings outside to try to tap into the Nuva Symbols. She kept them in a pack on her back, not wanting anyone heading in or out of the Moto-Hub to see them, but even without being in physical contact with them she could feel their power. It felt like the pack was full of heatstones, radiating comforting warmth. For two hours she experimented with different ways of channelling or drawing upon her powers. Simple channelling exercises, attacks against the walls of the empty buildings around her, even jumping off a low roof to try to loosely recreate the circumstances of Vhalem’s fall. But no matter what she tried, she didn’t feel the exhilarating rush of energy she’d experienced in her desperate attempt to save Vhalem in the Archives. She could sense the reserves of untapped energy just waiting to be unleashed, but they remained frustratingly out of reach. Sighing, she leaned on the windowsill, looking out into the street. She’d seen a few figures coming and going while she’d been outside, scouts returning from their explorations, Toa who’d stayed the night elsewhere coming back to check up on their companions, Marik, Icthilos, Savnu, and a few others wandering off at different times. This time, she saw Larone passing by, heading back towards the Moto-Hub. “Hey!” She called out, waving to him, “I thought you weren’t coming back until nightfall?” “The situation has changed,” he said, hurrying over to her. The brief act of exertion left him breathless and wheezing, but he forced himself to continue speaking, “I need your help.” “Mine?” “And anyone else you can convince to help you without wasting time with talk.” “What’s wrong?” “The rogue Onu-Toa, Widrek, he’s hunting someone deeply important. Someone who could be the difference between life and death for all of us.” “Who?” The last free Av-Matoran in Metru Nui.” * * * Vhalem “Pira, slow down. Are you sure about this?” Vhalem pleaded. Pira had barely finished giving her rushed explanation of Larone’s request, and she already looked like she wanted to sprint back out the doors. “If you don’t want to help me, I’ll find someone else.” “Shouldn’t we talk to Trina about this?” Vhalem wasn’t normally one to go around seeking permission for every little thing he wanted to do. Training under Savnu had that effect on people. But he didn’t want to rush into another fight. He didn’t want Pira to rush into another fight. And even though he knew he couldn’t talk Pira out of this, he hoped that Trina could. Hopes that were dashed almost instantly, as Pira skipped straight to the logical conclusion. “You know she won’t let us.” “She’s right,” Ithnen spoke up. She’d still been with Vhalem when Pira had shown up, and Pira hadn’t acknowledged or tried to shoo her off before bursting into her explanation. “After what happened to you two this morning, she’s not going to let you go after Widrek again.” “I’m not going to let him hurt anyone else,” Pira insisted. “He’s going to hurt you,” Vhalem protested, “We couldn’t beat him before, and we’re barely recovered from this morning. What makes you think this is going to be any different?” “Because this time, you’ll have an Onu-Toa of your own with you,” Ithnen said, nudging his shoulder, “I’m not sitting on the sidelines while you and the airhead fight for your lives again.” “Karzahni. Okay, fine. I’m in,” Vhalem grumbled. He didn’t want to rush headlong into another fight, but he wasn’t about to let the two of them go alone. “What about Erdo or Tivni?” “As far as I know, Erdo hasn’t come back from Ga-Metru yet,” Ithnen said, “And I think Tivni got paired up with Pahlil for another scouting run, to try to pick up the trail of that purple Rahkshi.” “Just the three of us, then,” Pira said, glancing at Ithnen, “Time to find out what you’re made of.” “I’m sure we’ll all find out, once Widrek’s done pulling us apart,” Vhalem grumbled, rising to his feet and readying his bow-blade. “Let’s go.” The three of them slipped back outside and down the street, where Turaga Larone awaited beside a small Vahki transport, similar in size to the one that had taken the Toa team into Onu-Metru earlier that morning. “Only three of you?” Larone asked. “You asked for speed,” Pira said. “But Vhalem and I have a score to settle with Widrek, and Ithnen can give us a fighting chance against him. It’ll have to be enough.” Vhalem didn’t say anything as he boarded the transport. Impulsive, reckless plans were a running theme among the company he’d been keeping of late, but even by those standards this felt like too much, too fast. Trina and Icthilos seemed set on calculating a very careful next move, and here he was potentially ruining their plans, putting everyone else at risk in the process. But even beyond his Duty to defend the Matoran, he saw the strategic sense in saving what was quite possibly the last living Av-Matoran in existence. Not to mention the possibility of capturing Widrek… or killing him, if it came down to it. Hopefully it wouldn’t. “How has this Av-Matoran managed to stay safe for so long?” Ithnen asked, as she shuffled into the transport beside Vhalem. “I thought they were all rounded up?” Pira joined them a second later, while Larone clambered into the front and set the transport moving through the streets. “I don’t know the full story,” Larone explained, as the transport began to trundle down the street in the direction of the border with Ta-Metru. “It seems that, sometime long ago, an unknown number of Av-Matoran were hidden throughout the universe, their memories of their true nature erased. When the other Av-Matoran came here from Karda Nui they were able to identify their kin hidden among the other tribes. But even after finding out her true nature, Charvara felt more comfortable remaining in the guise of a Ta-Matoran, and thus avoided being identified with the rest when the Odinans came calling. It wasn’t until she reached out to a resistance contact to ask for aid that we found out what she really was.” “So what changed?” Ithnen asked. “Widrek’s mask,” Vhalem was the one to offer an answer, “A Rode can see through illusions and disguises as easily as a spoken deception.” “Indeed,” Larone said. “He spotted her in a crowd, at a distance. Just dumb luck.” “Bad luck,” Pira muttered. “I know how that feels.” “My people rushed her to one of our safe houses, and sent word to me,” Larone continued. “But last I heard he’s still searching for her.” “Just him?” “I’m told he activated some Vahki to help with the hunt.” “Nothing we can’t handle, right?” Ithnen nodded to Vhalem. “What about the other Hagah?” Vhalem asked, ignoring her for the moment, “Widrek’s not doing this alone, is he?” “My sources say that Tuxar, Dhozoh, and Maliss are currently at the Coliseum, most likely planning their next move after this morning’s events. From what I can tell, Widrek is keeping this quiet and trying to sort it out himself.” “Why?” Ithnen asked. “I thought he was the sensible one… before he switched sides, at least.” “Widrek used to be at the top, when he was with us,” Pira pointed out, “Everyone looked up to him. Now he’s so unimportant they didn’t even let him in on their big meeting. I think he’s trying to win himself some favour.” Vhalem nodded his agreement. Pira was certainly no stranger to trying to prove her worth; he saw no reason not to trust her judgement on that topic. “So where are we going, exactly?” He asked Larone. “We have a series of rendezvous points and safehouses in Ta-Metru. If my people are on the run, they’ll move from one to the next, working their way out. We’ll work our way in, and meet them somewhere in the middle.” They soon left Le-Metru behind and entered the outskirts of Ta-Metru. Even here at its outermost edge there was a haze of heat and smoky smell to the air, and it only intensified as the transport moved further into the Metru. Structures of stone and steel rose high on all sides, adding to the choking sense of claustrophobia that came with being stuck in a city-sized kiln. Transports much like their own trundled around the area, transporting materials and fuel to or from the furnaces, while here and there Matoran used carts or baskets to carry around tools and Kanohi. Larone brought the transport to a stop outside the blackened shell of a long-abandoned building, and leaned forward to look through its empty windows into the seared interior. “Not here,” he said. As the transport started moving forward once more, Vhalem caught a glimpse of movement out the corner of his eye, a flicker of white flitting between buildings off to one side. He glanced back at his companions; Ithnen was looking out the other side of the transport, and Pira’s eyes were firmly forward, with neither of them appearing to have noticed anything. Vhalem pulled his bow-blade from his back and held it at the ready, plucking absently at the string. The transport inched its way past a foundry building, from which echoed the sharp clanging of metal. Scalding smoke and sizzling cinders spewed from its chimney, spilling a fine film of ash over the surrounding area. For a fleeting moment, Vhalem thought he saw another wraith-like figure hunched on the rooftop, its silver-white shape barely discernible through the dark smoke. It disappeared in the space of his next eyeblink. Brief though it had been, he was certain now that he’d seen something. Once could have been a trick of his mind, but twice was too much of a coincidence to ignore. Still… he hadn’t seen any Mesmers in white armour while he’d been at the Coliseum, and though there was likely enough smog cover for a Rahkshi to get around, it didn’t fit with the habits the creatures had shown so far. “You said Widrek activated some Vahki to help with the search,” Vhalem spoke up, now inspecting the rooftops and alleyways passing them by, “Do you know what kind?” “What? Why?” Larone brought the transport to a stop once more, this time leaning out to inspect an inconspicuous grate in a nearby alleyway. “Did anyone else see that?” Ithnen suddenly asked, pointing to something off in the distance. She lowered her hand, frowning, “It’s gone. I thought-” “I saw it,” Pira said softly. “I’ve been seeing things as well,” Vhalem said, casting his eyes upwards as he heard something scrabbling across a rooftop above them. “Larone? The Vahki?” “I don’t know. I was just told Vahki. I’d assume Nuurakh, with this being Ta-Metru.” “But all Vahki types are manufactured here, right?” Vhalem pressed, wracking his brains for what little he’d been told of the mechanical menaces. “The parts are made here. They’re usually taken to Po-Metru for assembly.” “Usually,” Vhalem repeated, “Not always? So there could be other Vahki here?” “What’s your point?” “The white Vahki. What’s their deal?” “Keerakh. They were the strategic ones… stealthy, ambush hunters… I heard they had some kind of prescience or predictive programming.” “That’s what I was worried about,” Vhalem grimaced, “We need to pick up the pace.” “Oh,” Ithnen breathed, drawing her throwing blades as she found her way to the same conclusion as Vhalem had. “What are you talking about?” Larone asked, speeding up the transport nonetheless. “If those things out there are Keerakh, the fact that we’re seeing them here means they’ve already predicted what route your people are going to take out of this Metru. The next time this Av-Matoran sticks her head out, Widrek will be waiting for her.”