Nato G

IC: Somok - Precipere "Backfired or not, 'whatever happened' has left food scarce and tensions high," Somok said, scowling, "Word from the guards who escorted Kehla to Vulcanus is that the Fire Tribe are getting restless. I wouldn't be surprised if we see a party poking around the canyon soon enough." It went without saying that the Ash Tribe would make for easy scapegoats for whatever misfortune had befallen Ferrum. @Geardirector

IC: Somok - Precipere "Ferrum... yes," he replied bitterly, propping his staff up against the wall of the guardhouse and wringing his gnarled hands, "Strange, isn't it? We strive so hard to be self-sufficient, to leave the wider world to its woes... yet they still somehow find a way to make their troubles ours." @Geardirector

IC: Somok - Precipere Somok seemed to be in the midst of asking the guards on duty about Salwa's whereabouts when she reached the guardhouse. "Found her," one of the guards smugly pronounced as she pointed over Somok's shoulder, earning a momentary chuckle from her companion and a stern glare from Somok. "Salwa. Excellent timing," Somok turned to the young Agori, making a dismissive gesture towards the guards as he did. The pair rushed off towards the residential district; evidently Salwa wasn't the only one Somok had wanted found. "I was just about to send a party out to search for you. I trust your latest foray into the canyon proved fruitful?" @Geardirector

If Tridax wanted to rule a universe, then his Olmak shenanigans would have given him plenty to choose from. And if he'd just watched the other Makuta team up to annihilate Icarax, he surely would've been smart enough not to go rogue himself and risk having the same thing happen to him.

Considering that he hadn't been blinded like the Phantoka Makuta, afflicted with mutations that cut off a bunch of his powers like the Mistika Makuta were, or stuck in a vulnerable flesh-and-blood body like Icarax, I think Tridax probably could have turned the tide in the Brotherhood's favour. Especially if he brought his army of Shadow Takanuvas with him. Makuta as a species were so ridiculously powerful that the story always nerfed them or made them hold back to allow the heroes to beat them. If any Makuta had been willing or able to actually fight at their full potential the Toa absolutely would've lost.

I sometimes wonder if there was ever anything good in the Makuta. All I ever experienced from them was callousness and craven cruelty. That’s all most of us experienced. But despite how hard the Makuta tried to make all of their Rahkshi as cold and uncaring as they were, in the end they failed. We outlived them. We became better than them. But it came at a cost. So many innocent, gentle Rahkshi have suffered over the centuries for daring to be different. Some of them survived. Some didn’t. Some of them will forever go unknown… but they will all be remembered. A Caged Bird (By Smudge8, featuring lyrics by Stephanie Mabey) Specimen B-R006 tromped down the stairs into the dungeon. He could hear someone humming a mournful tune coming from one of the cells. He peered through the bars, then set down the bowl of nutrient slop and kicked it under the door. “Hey you filthy scum, it’s eat’n time!” The cage’s occupant crawled forward to receive the meal. She was a rahkshi, like Specimen B. Her armor was a dark mottling of black and brown, covered with numerous cuts, burns, and other scars from father’s “Experiments.” The only remnant left of her past life was a seashell necklace. “Thank you,” she whispered hoarsely. Specimen B furrowed his brow as he watched his sister eat. “I still don’t get why you don’t just do what Dad asks.” The prisoner, who their father had christened Specimen M-D310 , looked up from her bowl, wiping the food off her face with her hand. She had a quizzical look on her face. “I mean, um, look at you.” Specimen B motioned to his sister’s legs. All the muscles and tendons below her knees had been meticulously removed, then what remained had been crushed into useless lumps. Specimen M took a moment before replying “Nothing.” “Whadaya mean nothin?” Specimen M Smiled. “That’s what I did, Nothing.” She shifted around, moving her mangled legs into a more comfortable position. “So you were lazy?” She shook her head, “I actively refused to do what our father asked. He wanted me to hurt people.” Specimen B sat down. He was intrigued, in his own simple-minded way. “But hurting people is the best part! Especially when they can’t fight back.” “You really are our father’s son, aren’t you?” Specimen M leaned forward, locking eyes with her brother. “Not everyone sees the world the way you do.” Specimen B Scooted backward, slightly intimidated. “Whaddaya mean? Is something wrong with your eyes?” Specimen M Sighed, a tired smile crossed her face. “I mean… not everyone likes the same things you do.” “So…” Specimen B said after a moment of silence. “You don’t like hurting people?” Specimen M shook her head again. “Have you ever thought about how other people feel?” “Nope!” Specimen B responded proudly. “Dad says the only thing I need to think about is following orders!” A look of horror dawned on his face. “And he said not to talk to you! If I don’t hurry he’s gonna whip me again!” Specimen B jolted to his feet, but before he could turn to run his sister reached out and grabbed him. He felt a strange tingling sensation in his arm. He looked down and saw that the cut on his arm was stitching itself back together, causing him to pause. He took a deep breath, his sinuses were clear for the first time in his life. “How did you do that?” Specimen M smiled. “It’s just something I do, I guess you’d call it my Rahkshi power.” Specimen B frowned in confusion. “But I’m a Rahkshi and I can’t do that.” The prisoner slowly pulled her brother back into a sitting position. “What can you do?” “Well.” He furrowed his brow, then perked up. “I can touch people to make them lazy!” “Lazy?” Specimen B reached through the bars. As his hand made contact with her knee, Specimen M felt a wave of lethargy overcome her. Her eyelids drooped and she had to stifle back a yawn. “I see, you have the power of sleep?” The drowsiness receded as Specimen B drew his hand back. “Can you do that?” Specimen M shook her head. “Different Rahkshi have different powers, just like how we have different colors.” Specimen B smiled. “So that’s why I can’t shoot lazers out of my eyes!” That made Specimen M chuckle. “You know, people think in different ways too.” “What do you mean?” “Well,” Specimen M turned and grabbed something from the corner of her cell. When she brought it into the dim light, Specimen B saw it was a stack of papers and animal skins bound together with an old key ring. She leafed through it and held up one of the pages. It was covered in inky markings Specimen B couldn’t understand. “What do you see when you look at this?” “It looks like garbage.” Specimen B replied. “Well,” Specimen M continued. “I see something beautiful. I’ve been working on this for a long time.” Specimen B tilted his head like a curious dog. “You see.” Specimen M continued. “This is musical notation, it’s like writing, but includes instructions on how to sing the words.” She held up the paper again. This time Specimen B could parse it a little better now, in between the lines of squiggles there was writing. “There are times when you might feel aimless and can't see the place where you belong.” Specimen M smiled and began to sing. “But you will find that there is a purpose- it's been there within you all along.” Despite the years of living in the dungeon, her voice was still soft and melodious. “And when you're near it- You can almost hear it It's like a symphony- Just keep listening- And pretty soon you'll start- To figure out your part- Everyone plays a piece- And there are melodies- In each one of us” “That was..." Specimen B squinted, “...what’s the most gross, horrible, disgusting thing you can think of?” Specimen M gave him a confused look. “Cause I can’t think of the word, but it’s like the exact opposite of that.” Specimen M smiled. “I think I know what you mean.” She began to leaf through her book. “I like music, it’s why I named myself Melody.” “Oh,” Specimen B laughed. “Everyone always called me Booger, you know cause…” He gestured to his body, which was covered in pus generated by his unusual skin condition. Specimen M gave a polite smile. “So… did you make that up yourself” Specimen B asked. Specimen M shook her head. “No, I got that one out of a book back at the school, but I’ve had a lot of free time down here to write my own stuff.” Specimen B leaned forward. “That’s really cool, how much do you have?” Specimen M chuckled. “I’ve written nearly a hundred. It’s how I pass the time." She paused and looked down at her book. “I feel like I’ve put my soul in these pages.” She looked up at her brother. “I don’t know how much longer I’m going to live. It’d bring me great hope to know my work gets to live on.” She held the book out. Specimen B took it. “What do you want me to do with this?” Specimen M paused. “I don’t know how much longer father is going to keep me alive down here. I want to pass this book on to someone who needs more hope in their life.” Specimen B took the book. “And what makes you think I need that?” “I’ve been down here a long time. Father’s been trying to ‘break’ me for a while. Most recently he tried taking away my cellmates in order to crush me with loneliness.” She turned and faced her brother. “But I want to see the good in everyone, I want to prove him wrong.” She sighed. “I know you think your life is pretty good, but trust me, It could be a lot better if you focused on helping others instead of beating them down.” She reached out a hand and put it on Specimen B’s knee. “At least, next time you’re picking on someone weaker than you, try passing this on to them instead.” Specimen B nodded. They sat in silence for another moment before Specimen B stood up with a start. “I was supposed to report to dad! He’s going to whip me so bad for being late.” He turned and started running up the stairs. Specimen M waved a polite goodbye. It was a long walk to the top of the tower where the Rahkshi’s father stood. As he walked he leafed through the book. The scribbles on the page still looked like nonsense to him, but after staring at it a while he was starting to see a pattern. The long bars with the dots surrounded the words, so that must be the “Singing” Part. However, his musing was cut short as he reached the door to the top. “Well,” the Makuta said, not looking up from the papers spread across his desk. “How is my little failure doing?” “Oh, um, I think I’m fine.” Specimen B replied. “Not you, you idiot! I meant the prisoner!” The Makuta snapped. “Oh, she’s um…” Specimen B’s mind raced, trying to avoid getting in trouble. “Sad! Yes, So sad, and hungry, she looked really hungry.” “Good, it seems I’ve finally found a way to break her precious hope.” He looked up. “But you should have been here half an hour ago, what took you so long?” “Oh, I was, um, INSULTING her.” Specimen B grinned widely, “You know, helping break her down!” The Makuta snarled, and a ball of plasma materializing in his hand. “You should know better by now, your tardiness will be punished!” As he wound up to throw Specimen instinctively raised his hands to block the attack, but it never came. The Makuta looked at the book in Specimen B’s hands curiously. “What exactly is that?” “Oh this?” Specimen B said, before hiding the book behind his back. “Just a piece of garbage I was gonna throw away.” “Then you wouldn’t mind if I had a look at it would you?” The Makuta stalked closer. “No, you don’t want to touch this, it’s all gross and slimy and…” The Makuta flung the ball of plasma. Specimen B ducked and the ball impacted the wall behind him where his head had been. “Now,” the Makuta said menacingly, another ball of plasma forming in his hand. “Let me see what you have.” Specimen B’s self preservation instincts kicked in, and he meekly held out the book. The Makuta took it from his hand and examined it. “Fascinating, where did you get this?” “Well, um, I was…” Specimen B thought about what his sister had said. He straitened up. “Melody gave it to me.” “I see,” a sly smile crossed his face. “Perhaps this is how she’s been able to hang on so long.” He handed it back to Specimen B. “Throw it off the side.” He said flatly. “What?!” A bladed whip materialized in the Makuta’s hand. Specimen B quickly turned to the edge of the tower, taking a deep breath. “I want to pass this book on to someone who needs more hope in their life.” Specimen B spotted a Matoran trudging through the muddy fields, head hanging down. Specimen B wound up and yeeted the patchwork book. It sailed in an arc through the air, hitting the Matoran on the back of the head, making the poor soul fall face first into the mud. Specimen B snickered a little. The Matoran stumbled to their feet, picked up the book, looked around in wonder, then started running back home. Specimen B turned back to face his father, who was still looking over his work. “Well done, now get out of my sight, you filthy scum.” Specimin B quickly bowed before turning and heading back to the keep. A small smile on his face. * * * There are few things in life more powerful, or more inspiring, than hope. Hope can spark the fires of kindness in the heart of another. Hope can bring warmth to the darkest day. Hope can turn tragedy into triumph. For us Rahkshi, hope was the light that spited the shadows. Melody is perhaps the only other Rahkshi I know of who shared the same specific hope that I do. The hope that a few simple scribblings on a page can change someone for the better.

IC: Minnorak – The Iron Mahi, First Passenger Car A long, tired sigh escaped him as he watched the other Vortixx flounder over the seats to get past. For a moment, he thought about stopping her. It was his job to block the corridor, after all… but abandoning his post to pursue her would be a greater failure than letting her pass. The woman seemed unwell, physically and mentally, still not grasping the nature of the situation and seeming to possess no noticeable weapons. The others could deal with her easily enough. The window Karmine had broken earlier would provide an easy way to remove her from the train, if that proved to be necessary. Still… the situation was beginning to worry Minnorak. All the work they’d done to create a distraction seemed to have been for naught. Only a handful of passengers had taken notice, and there was still no sign of the Sentinels who were supposed to be patrolling the train. Hopefully Quoribay’s end of the operation was having better luck… @Vezok's Friend @Perp @Tarn

The first sets came out in 2001, but obviously the concepts for the theme were being kicked around at Lego for a few years before that.

IC: Kehla - Tajun "Oh... uh... hi there," Kehla stumbled over her words, taken aback by... several things, really. The Agori's enigmatic appearance, eccentric demeanour, and apparent excitement at recognising her tribe would all have been a little surprising on their own, but all three at once were making this quite the unexpected experience. "Sorry," she quickly collected herself, not wanting to make a fool of herself in her first social encounter in the city. "You're right, I'm not looking for blades. I was passing by and noticed the symbols on your steps-" now that she was seeing the caravan's occupant, she could also make out similar designs on their cloak, "-I was just curious about them. Are they your own designs, or replicated from somewhere else? Do you have anything else around like them?" She almost launched into a babbling explanation about her own interests in art and history, but caught herself before she started rambling. This trader recognised her tribe, so they probably understood that anyway. @Lady Takanuva

IC: Kehla – Tajun The ashen Glatorian smiled wistfully as she waved farewell to her travelling companions, their caravan continuing on with its trundling course into Tajun. They hadn’t been the most personable of company, but even with the resentment between the Fire and Ash Tribes, no Agori was going to pass up the company of a Glatorian during a journey across the inhospitable sands. For her part, Kehla was glad not to have been alone for the journey either. In the open desert, there were no canyons or crags to serve as landmarks. It seemed all too easy to get lost out here. She sat down on a slope overlooking the village and pulled out her sketchbook. She’d already added a few new pictures to its pages during her journey; mostly illustrations of Vulcanus, the Agori she’d travelled with, and the beasts of burden pulling their carts. But from the moment she’d set out on her journey she’d been eager to add a sketch of Tajun to her record. Behjen had been here a few times, but for all his skill in the ring, he’d never had much of a grasp on the fine arts. His uninspired descriptions and messy scrawlings of the site hadn’t done it justice. The brilliant blue of its oasis glimmered bright silver-white in the sun, more water than Kehla had ever believed could exist, its brightness and colour contrasting with the unnatural shape of the “Knee Island” rising up against the horizon, a strange silhouette that cast a crooked shadow across the sheltered crevasses that contained the village itself. The rest of the world faded from Kehla’s attention as she sat and sketched, the charcoal staining her grey fingertips black. She was absently aware of more travellers coming and going from the village as she worked, phantom figures that flitted quietly by in her periphery. The sun hung slightly higher in the sky by the time she was satisfied with her sketch, a greyscale snapshot of the settlement that was likely going to be here home for the next few days. She packed away her sketchbook and dusted off her hands, before getting to her feet and setting off down the path into Tajun. The sand-strewn road was marred with bootprints, animal tracks, and vehicle trails, each one belonging to a different wanderer, each on their own journey. Idly, she wondered how many of these people had come here for the exhibition match, and how many of them she might end up crossing blades with in Atero. Angst and anticipation in equal measure whirled within her at her thoughts turned to the tournament; she’d been doing her best not to think that far ahead, but there was no ignoring the reason she’d come all this way. The resources and reputation of her village rested on her now. And they weren’t the only things resting on her. She could see and feel the gazes of some of the Agori she passed by lingering on her. Were they simply taking note of a Glatorian arriving in their midst, or was it her grey armour and the allegiance it indicated that had caught their attention? Somok had always insisted that all outsiders hated the Ash Tribe, and while there was certainly some animosity between them and their Fire Tribe neighbours, Kehla had always figured anything beyond that was just fearmongering on Somok’s part to justify his isolationist policies. With all of their politics and conflicts, surely the other major tribes didn’t know or care all that much about the people of a small settlement in the middle of nowhere? I guess I'll find out soon enough... She continued on her way, ignoring the occasional glances and stares to take in the scenery of the city. Preparations seemed well underway for the spectacle that was soon to unfold, with stalls or displays seemingly set up in every alleyway and street corner. One stall in particular caught her eye as she reached another corner. A ramshackle caravan draped in faded fabric, with a pair of phosphorescent lamps out front and a string of dried fruit hanging by its door. It wasn’t the hut that had caught her attention, though, but its stairs. A set of steps might not have been particularly remarkable for most passers-by, but Kehla had an eye for art, and the strange symbols that decorated the steps were intriguing. Her curiosity piqued – and not dissuaded by the mangled spelling of the sign out front – Kehla stepped up and knocked gently on the door, “Hello?” @Lady Takanuva

IC: Skrall – Roxtus, Parade Grounds As the Skrall dispersed, Tirveus’ booming words reverberated in the mind of one young warrior long after their echoes across the parade ground had faded. This warrior fell into step with his section almost robotically, training and instinct taking over as he became numb to the outside world, his mind stuck reliving Tirveus’ speech over and over. “In recognition of true strength, I will ENTITLE our champion as reward for this feat.” Everything he wanted. Everything he needed. Everything he’d sought and fought for. He could finally be someone, more than another mere Skrall. But instead of the expected excitement, he found himself burdened by… disappointment? Skrall had dreamed endlessly of what deeds he would accomplish, what trials he would have to endure, in order to earn his individuality. And now all he had to do was best a few Southerners, simplistic savages and scavengers who wasted their days squatting and squabbling in the sand? It was beneath him. Beneath any Skrall. But he knew better than to let his pride get in the way of what he or the tribe wanted. If this was what it took to claim his name, so be it. After all, it didn’t matter how his legend began, for he would have the rest of his life to add to it. __________________________________________________________________________ IC: Somok – Precipere It was a cold morning in the village of the Ash Tribe. Most days, the searing sun and the warmth wafting over from the volcano kept Precipere hot, sometimes intolerably so. But today a bitter breeze was cutting across from the East, bringing an agonising ache to Somok’s old bones. He blinked blearily against the wind as he emerged from his hut, flecks of dust flicking at his face. The building he called home was almost as old and weathered as Somok himself, its walls grimy and cracked, the historical records on its walls were dull and faded, almost illegible in some places. He didn’t have the time or the strength to renew the paint himself, his wife had passed on several years ago, and his children and grandchildren had long since moved out into homes of their own. This home’s story would end with him, and he was content with that. Everything had its time. But his hadn’t come quite yet. He made his way down towards the village square, leaning heavily on his staff, every unsteady stride down the stone steps making him wince. If anyone stopped to offer him aid, he didn’t notice it; his mind was already occupied with troubling news from the West. The warriors who’d escorted Kehla through to Vulcanus on her way to Tajun had returned the previous afternoon with troubling news from their ancestral home. Normally the bickerings of the other villages didn’t bother Somok. The Ash Tribe stayed out of everyone else’s way, and they usually received the same treatment in return. But if trade and contact were cut off between Vulcanus and Ferrum, that likely meant trouble in Iron Canyon. Trouble that the Ash Tribe might be blamed for. Trouble that could well have had something to do with the deaths of Behjen and his party. And if someone or something was powerful enough to take down the Iron Tribe, the Ash Tribe were easy pickings by comparison, especially with most of their senior warriors slain and Kehla away at the tournament. Still, they weren’t defenceless, and Somok had no desire to see his tribe’s legacy end on his watch. He quickened his stride despite the strain, pushing on towards the squarish structure where the Agori guard were headquartered. There was much to discuss this day.

The Ash Tribe History A distant offshoot of the Fire Tribe, the Ash Tribe were driven out by their kinsmen many generations ago, following an irreconcilable disagreement around funerary rites and treatment of the deceased. With metal and exsidian being scarce across much of Bara Magna, some families in the Fire Tribe took to “recycling” these resources from the remains of their dead – removing their implants, reforging their armour, even using their bones to make simple weapons and tools – a practice they saw as the ultimate way to honour one’s ancestors. Fallen friends and family could “live on”, in a sense, continuing to serve their communities and defend their descendants well into the future. When the rest of the Fire Tribe discovered this practice, however, many of them saw it as nothing more than the disgraceful desecration of the dead. The families who followed this tradition were exiled, and went on to found their own fledgling tribe. Although their practice of taking bones and belongings from the dead is performed only on deceased blood relatives (or on fallen friends, with permission), this hasn’t stopped the spread of reprehensible rumours about them mutilating the remains of their enemies, or robbing the graves of other tribes. Such acts are deemed as vile by members of the Ash Tribe, and anyone caught actually conducting such defilement would meet with exile, or worse. Village The Ash Tribe reside in the village of Precipere, located East of Vulcanus, on the opposite side of the volcano. Their village is perched atop the cliffs, overlooking Iron Canyon, with the village accessible only via a sturdy staircase carved into the canyon wall, and a small makeshift elevator – a simple wooden platform connected to a system of ropes and pulleys – being used to carry larger cargo to-and-from the canyon floor. A treacherous network of trails and tunnels also lead directly West, back to Vulcanus, though the volcanic terrain and bitter enmity between the two villages means these are rarely used. Precipere’s architecture is simple and utilitarian, with basic structures constructed using the abundant stone of the surrounding region. Deep trenches have been dug around the base of the volcano over the years, to redirect the occasional lava flows safely away from the village, while subterranean shelters exist in which the villagers can hide in the event of gas or ash being released from the mountain. Ancestral arms and armour with no remaining family members to forge them anew or carry them into battle are housed in the Hall Of The Honoured, a catacomb cavern beneath the village. Though the village of the Ash Tribe rarely play host to Glatorian battles, with their warriors usually travelling to other villages to fight, Precipere does still house an arena. Known simply as the Maw, this simple round arena has a coarse dirt floor, and is filled with stone slabs and columns of varying sizes, ringed by a rim of jutting, jagged obsidian. Culture The Ash Tribe have a profound appreciation for history, and a passion for art. Their entire village is a monument to their past, with families adorning the exteriors of their homes with history through sculptures, carvings, or paintings. The tribe’s official colour is a smoky grey, though most of its members express their artistic natures by decoratively adorning their dull armour with other hues. The people of the Ash Tribe have a highly-developed understanding of Agori and Glatorian anatomy, making them adept surgeons and doctors, though the distrust directed towards their tribe means their skills are rarely sought. Among their more common “customers” are scavengers who’ve stolen cybernetics from slain foes and seek to have them installed by someone who won’t ask any questions. Many members of the tribe are also artisans of some kind, specialising in sculpture, smithing, jewellery, or painting, though the market for these goods is also limited in the wasteland. Outside of their artistic crafts, the tribe’s primary trade material is obsidian. Though less durable than metals, this volcanic glass is sharp and strong enough to serve in the making of certain kinds of weaponry, being especially sought-after for making fine blades such as scalpels, knives, and arrowheads. Present The Ash Tribe’s relative isolation, lack of resources, and the grim stigma that surrounds them, have meant the group have in the past gone relatively unscathed by raiders, and unbothered in conflicts between the villages. Small arable tracts in the nutrient-rich volcanic soil and well-trained hunting parties allow the villagers to grow and scrounge enough food to support their small population most years, with water being the main resource they fight and trade for, along with exsidian and metal. Their current leader is an aged, ailing Agori known as Somok, though many expect he won’t last more than another year or two in the role. With the recent troubles in Iron Canyon leaving them even more cut off than usual from the other villages, and their new prime Glatorian Kehla currently away, the people of the Ash Tribe are at the most isolated and vulnerable they have been in many years. Though they have faced adversity before, there is a sense of apprehension in the air, as many find themselves fearful of what the future may bring. ________________________________________________________________________ Name: Somok Species: Agori. Description: A soft-spoken Agori with green eyes and grey armour, Somok has led the Ash Tribe for five of his seven decades of life. While time has taken its toll on his body, his mind remains sharp, and his devotion to his people remains as true as it was the day he first took up the mantle of leader. Weaknesses: Somok is physically frail, and tires easily even from everyday activities. With his best years well behind him, Somok is terrified at the prospect of fading into obscurity if he were to retire, and clings desperately to power to the point of paranoia. Where he once wisely considered the counsel of others, he now views even simple suggestions as attempts to undermine his authority. Equipment: Somok’s constant companion is a crooked crimson staff, as much a badge of office as it is a necessary walking aid. The staff is by far the oldest item in the village, hailing back to before the Ash Tribe split off from Fire. He also carries a simple bone knife, fashioned from the remains of one of his ancestors. Background: A career politician, Somok earned his position by campaigning on a policy of conservative values, clinging to historical traditions and practices, and only dealing with outsiders when necessary. The Ash Tribe have remained safe and stable throughout his rule, but also stagnant and isolated, with innovations and pleas for greater diplomatic ties with other villages being routinely opposed under his leadership. In the face of new generations of villagers and a drastically changing world, Somok has struggled to retain relevancy, with many believing that he will soon be usurped by one of the tribe’s emerging younger, more progressive leaders. ________________________________________________________________________ Name: Kehla Species: Glatorian. Description: A lean, limber Glatorian clad in grey, Kehla is in her early-twenties, but carries herself with the youthful exuberance of a teen. Her armour is somewhat evocative of the style used by the Fire Tribe, though grey in colour, decorated in hues of soft purple and adorned with symbols from her tribe’s history. Weaknesses: Though capable enough in training, Kehla has never travelled beyond her village or been tested in real combat, rendering her naïve and overconfident in the face of the true dangers of the wastelands. Despite her outward confidence, internally Kehla is still coming to grips with the newfound responsibilities that have been thrust upon her, struggling with the burden of suddenly having her village’s entire future resting on her success in the arena. Equipment: Kehla’s weapon of choice is Heritage, a kusarigama passed down through multiple generations of her family. The metal used in each component and link in its chain is sourced from the armour or weapon of a different ancestor. The main part of the weapon consists of a modified scythe with two points rather than one, to make it more effective for catching an opponent’s weapon. A length of chain is attached to the bottom of the haft, with a heavy weight at the end. She also carries a basic knife hewn from the bones of her deceased older brother Behjen. Simple and sturdy, this tool is meant more for utility than combat. It’s true purpose is to serve as a reminder of the legacy she’s trying to live up to. Her cybernetics are a paired set of augmentations nicknamed the “leapers”. Integrated into her lower legs and feet, these implants allow her to jump great distances even without a run-up, and double as shock absorbers, allowing her to survive the subsequent landings without harm. Much like her weapon, these implants have been handed down through several generations of her family, a testament to their durable design. Her other equipment includes standard supplies such as a waterskin, bedroll, rations, a basic medical kit, and a battered leatherbound notebook with charcoal for sketching. Background: Kehla’s upbringing was equal parts sheltered and pampered. Her line had long been the tribe’s most prominent warrior family, and as such she was afforded the best training and education. But from the moment she was born Kehla lived in the shadow of her older brother Behjen, owing to her family’s designs to elevate him to the position of Prime Glatorian. As the two siblings grew older, the divide in their treatment and training grew ever wider. While Behjen was out hunting in the Iron Canyon or visiting other villages, Kehla was at home studying her tribe’s other specialties of medicine and surgical techniques. When Behjen’s combat training was advanced to facing captured beasts and Vorox, Kehla was still permitted only to spar with other warriors (and she was usually the one made to tend their wounds afterwards). When Behjen finally got appointed to Prime Glatorian, the role of Second went to one of his friends, leaving Kehla sidelined once more. Then came the day when Behjen, his Second, and several other senior warriors set out on a hunt in the canyon… a simple task, not without its dangers, but one they’d performed on countless occasions… but this time they didn’t return. Their remains were found days later, so ravaged by animals that there was no telling how they’d actually died. And with the sudden loss of the tribe’s most experienced warriors, Kehla went from being her family’s unappreciated spare to the tribe’s new Prime Glatorian, despite no real-world experience in the role. With the Atero tournament fast approaching, Kehla was sent to take her brother’s place in the listings, to see the world and gain the experience she so desperately needed. It was only after crossing paths with other travellers that Kehla learned of the troubles surrounding the Iron Tribe, and realised that her brother’s demise may have been part of a far larger problem brewing in the confines of the Iron Canyon. But with home now far behind her, all she can do is continue her journey, and hope she still has a home to return to when the tournament is over. ________________________________________________________________________ Name: Skrall Species: Glatorian. Description: A standard soldier-class Skrall, this warrior wears the customary red-and-black armour of his caste. He has a more wiry physique than most of his kin, having adopted a combat style that favours speed and agility over strength. Weaknesses: Skrall is eager and ambitious, dreaming of the day he can bear a name of his own, wishing for the status and station that would grant him command over his kin in crimson.This desire for individuality and recognition manifests in a stubborn refusal to back down from confrontations, and reckless, glory-seeking behaviour. Equipment: Skrall carries the traditional saw-edged shield utilised by most Skrall warriors, but has forgone the usual sword in favour of the additional reach offered by a spear. Both of these tools are made wholly of metal, to be more easily utilised in combination with his cybernetics. His implants are electromagnetic devices integrated into the palm of each hand, capable of swiftly repelling or attracting metal objects. Skrall most often uses these to throw his spear or shield with horrific force, then retrieve them just as swiftly. Background: Skrall is a Skrall. A nameless nobody, destined to do his duty then die as one more forgotten face among thousands of others. But Skrall is determined to defy this fate, to do something meaningful and become someone who will be remembered forever more. ________________________________________________________________________ Name: Gayle Species: Agori. Description: A brawny Agori clad in green and teal, Gayle approaches life with a boisterous, happy-go-lucky demeanour. Over her storied life, Gayle has seen and experienced much of what Bara Magna has to offer, and is always eager to see something new, regardless of the danger, openly stating that she’d rather perish in the jaws of some beast than die a dull death in old age. Weaknesses: Gayle is perhaps a little too carefree, not stopping to consider that a situation might be beyond her capabilities until she’s already in over her head. She’s also suffers from an anxious, almost phobic reaction to her former tribe, refusing to go anywhere near Tesara, and being nervous and uncomfortable in the presence of other Jungle Tribe members. Equipment: Gayle’s weapon of choice is a simple hand axe, perfectly good for hacking apart enemies and obstacles alike. Her vehicle is a standard Cendox model, coloured green and black, its only noteworthy feature being a launcher and motorised winch mounted on the front rather than the traditional Thornax weapon. This launcher can be loaded with a harpoon or net, depending on what prey Gayle is pursuing, with the winch allowing her to reel in the projectile. Background: A decade ago, Gayle was a simple explorer, until one of her expeditions landed her in the nets of Bone Hunter slavers. After two years in captivity, every miserable day spent hoping and praying that her Jungle Tribe kin would save her, she was able to escape on her own. But, wracked with resentment towards her tribe for abandoning her, she could never bring herself to return home. Utilising skills learned from observing her captors, she now lives as a hunter of a different kind, taking contracts all across Bara Magna to track down criminals, animals, or treasure. The only contracts she won’t take are for recapturing escaped slaves, for obvious reasons. Similarly, she won’t have any dealings with Bone Hunters. ________________________________________________________________________ Name: Avinus Species: Glatorian. Description: A veteran Glatorian of Tajun, Avinus is a woman strangely absent of ambitions or aspirations, believing she already has everything she needs in life. She spends her mornings sleeping, her afternoons training, and her evenings drinking, before starting the cycle again the next day. Although dour and withdrawn in the mornings, her unflappable, frivolous personality usually emerges by midday, and she’s earned a reputation for partying long into the night. Weaknesses: Avinus fights with agility in mind, dressing in lightweight armour that only partially covers her torso, upper thighs, and left arm. The armour is sparse, with the gaps between covered only by simple clothing, while her lower legs and right arm are entirely unprotected. Psychologically, Avinus is a more lonely and aimless soul than she lets on, already having everything she thought she ever wanted, yet still feeling unfulfilled. Equipment: Avinus fights in the retiarius style, wielding a trident in one hand and a sturdy rope net in the other, large enough to fully entangle a grown Glatorian. Like many in Tajun she’s also taken to using some of Celrys’ more creative cybernetic technologies, being equipped with the following implants: Auditory Amplifier – an implant integrated into Avinus’ throat which can amplify her voice in a manner akin to a loudspeaker. Useful for being heard over a crowd, or for disorienting an unsuspecting opponent with a sudden shout. Pocket Sand Dispenser – a small compartment in the palm of her right hand, capable of being filled with a small amount of a liquid or granular substance, which can then be swiftly and violently expelled by a powerful blast of pressurised air. Although the compartment can be refilled by hand, the air used for the blast function is siphoned off from the user’s respiratory system, requiring around 20 seconds to refill and making breathing more difficult in the interim. Depending on the circumstances, Avinus fills this compartment with confetti, metal filings, or sand snatched up off the arena floor in the midst of a fight. Background: Avinus has lived for forty years, twenty of which have been spent as a fighter in the arenas. She entered into service as a Glatorian with a vain, youthful craving for fame and glory, and found exactly that, rising to prominence as something of a crowd favourite. She lives what equates to a celebrity lifestyle, publicly partying several times a week and frivolously throwing her earnings away on drink and merriment. But in recent years, fears have begun burrow into the back of her mind. She’s seen fellow veteran Glatorian age out of the arena, or suffer debilitating injuries that left them unable to fight, or be upstaged by younger fighters, and a few close calls of her own have left her dreading what might befall her if she were to suffer such a fate. She has fame and popularity, but few true friends and no prospects beyond the arena. What life awaits a Glatorian who can no longer fight? Avinus is in no rush to find out. ________________________________________________________________________ Name: Zha’ar Species: Agori Description: Zha’ar has the traditional appearance of an Agori of the Rock Tribe, save for the splotchy smears of orange clay warpaint marring her ebony armour. Zha’ar is known for being more honourable and merciful than most Gatherers, taking no slaves, and always giving her prey fair warning and a chance to peacefully surrender their goods. Unless forced to fight, she always leaves her victims with their lives, and enough food and water to get to the nearest settlement. Though some of her comrades see her as soft for these behaviours, she asserts it to be a sensible survival strategy; a bandit who butchers or enslaves everyone they come across is a threat to be destroyed, whereas one who takes only a little and lets their victims live is a tolerable nuisance. Zha’ar is almost never seen far from the saddle of her Rock Steed, Solis, named for the sun whose path through the sky is her guide across the Wasteland. His scaly hide is a mottled tan in colour, helping him blend in more easily while traversing the sandy terrain. Weaknesses: Zha’ar suffers from longsightedness, which makes her both a perfect scout, and a terrible one. Though she can identify prey and landmarks from afar as capably as a counterpart using telescopic lenses or a spyglass, she’s unable to read maps or messages, nor appraise most goods, and so tends to stick to familiar areas and steal only items of obvious value. When travelling, she must navigate by landmarks alone, and can easily become disoriented when terrain is changed, such as after a sandstorm or stampede. Physically, Zha’ar suffers from a severe limp in her left leg due to her knee being severely injured years ago, reduced to a hobble while on foot. As such, she stays to the saddle most of the time. Lonely from her lengthy periods of isolation, she has a habit of talking a little too much when she has the opportunity to do so, whether her conversation partner is a fellow Gatherer she’s seeking to trade with, or an unfortunate traveller she’s intending to rob. Equipment: Zha’ar’s weapon of choice is a hand-crafted shortbow suited to her stature and strength, allowing for fast and accurate fire at mid-to-close range. Her preferred arrows use obsidian broadheads, being ideal for inflicting horrific flesh wounds, but near-useless against armour. Due to the fragility of obsidian, these arrows often break apart on impact or within a wound, so can’t be reused. As such, she carries a hefty supply of these arrows in her saddlebags. For armoured targets she also owns a much smaller number of metal-tipped bodkin arrows, though these are harder to source and replace, so she uses them sparingly. With easy access to the paralytic poison of her Rock Steed, she often coats her arrows in this substance to more easily subdue her victims. For foes foolish enough to close within melee range, Zha’ar also has a simple metal catchpole, useful for parrying the weapons of attackers and ensnaring their limbs. The pole is connected by a secondary rope to Zha’ar’s saddle, allowing her mount’s strength to supplement her own in a struggle against a stronger opponent. Background: In her younger years, Zha’ar was much like any other Bone Hunter. She trained in Gatherer traditions, learning the ways of the blade, listening to the stories of her kin, and shadowing more experienced warriors on hunts and raids. But then came the day for her to battle a Rock Steed and become its rider. Though she succeeded, it came at a cost, with her left leg being crushed and broken at the knee in the battle. The limb never recovered, leaving her lame and useless, unable to stand beside her brothers and sisters in battle. She was ultimately abandoned by her tribe, left to fend for herself in the unforgiving wasteland. She nearly died, many times over, in the years that followed. But slowly she learned new skills and strategies to help her scrape out a modest living in the wilderness. She became skilled at archery to engage enemies from a distance, learned how to safely harvest her steed’s venom to make her arrows more effective at disabling victims, and developed hands-free techniques for guiding her mount so she could fire while riding. She learned how to avoid attracting too much attention, leaving her victims with their lives, and never lingering in the same place for too long. Nowadays, Zha’ar continues to wander, lacking any ambition beyond stealing or scrounging enough to make it through the next few weeks. She remains on good terms with other Gatherer clans, maintaining small stashes of stolen treasures which she trades to other clans when she crosses paths with them. Though she’s done her best not to draw too much attention to herself, the story of the merciful, clan-less Gatherer has nonetheless spread over the years. But where that story will go next remains a mystery, even to Zha’ar herself.

IC: T’harrak – Fort Garsi Faces swam together in a bleary blur as T’harrak ducked and stumbled through the melee. Were the footsteps behind her retreating allies or pursuing enemies? Were Jojax and Zanakra still alive, fighting on beyond the barrier? She didn’t know. And then any possibility of finding out was dashed as shifting earth and writhing vines formed a fresh barrier behind her, giving the survivors a momentary reprieve from the ferocity of Fort Garsi’s defenders. It brought little relief to T’harrak. She’d already watched one wall fall. She stumbled to a shuddering stop, her heart feeling like it was try to hammer its way out of her ribcage. A familiar, friendly face came into focus as she tried to steady herself. “Smart move, sounding the retreat,” Gashril said. T’harrak didn’t reply. What was she supposed to say to that? What were the right words for a situation like this? She didn't feel smart, just scared. Between her panting breaths and addled mind, she wasn’t sure she could string a sentence together anyway. “Get Sohm-” Gashril was saying, only to break off as the Skakdi in question joined the retreat. “Lugnoz, Ythrok, Gutuor, and Seeker all fell,” the Bo-Skakdi who'd helped form the new barrier spoke up. Seeker? T’harrak finally cast a glance behind her, x-ray vision searching through barriers and bodies for some sign of the Skakdi who’d been right beside her less than a half-minute ago. She saw nothing she recognised. How? He was right there... What she saw instead were the two rahi riders, who had dispelled their summoned energies and were reloading their weapons, liking planning to ride down the survivors as they retreated. They weren’t alone, either. Already, more explosions were rocking the surrounding landscape, and a volley of boulders fired from the fort were peppering the barrier. T’harrak’s panicked mind scrambled desperately over the possibilities. If they cowered behind this barrier they’d simply be overrun again, but if they broke cover they’d be gunned down as they ran. They needed cover, but not another wall. They needed… a smokescreen? No, they had nothing to burn, and no Ta-Skakdi to light it. Her thoughts instead turned to the mists that sometimes formed on the seas surrounding Fort Razorfish:Vaa, and her eyes looked back to her remaining allies, “Water… air...” she mumbled numbly, pointing at Olkumo and Lookout as she forced out the words, “We need fog!” @ARROW404 @Sparticus147 @Zeal

Just wanted to clarify a few things re. changes from canon. In canon, it’s said that the Glatorian and Agori naturally have a metallic bone structure. Is that still the case for this world? I mainly ask because I’ve long been kicking around a concept for a Bara Magna tribe who honour their dead by using their bones to forge weapons, tools, and armour, allowing long-dead ancestors to “live on”, in a sense. It’s never really been a good fit for any past games, but I’m wondering if it might work here (provided you don’t think it’s too grim of a concept)? How advanced is the everyday technology? Obviously, vehicles and limited cybernetics have been mentioned. But in canon there were vehicles like the Thornatus that had energy blasters, and Skrall shields were depicted (in the movie, at least), as functioning like giant buzzsaws (that seemingly had homing capabilities when thrown). So are power tools, energy weapons, etc. a thing in this game, or is the overall tech level generally more medieval in nature?

As I acknowledged in my post, there's conflicting information. The LAN affirmed the $100 USD price point this morning, but some of Lego's internal newsletters - also from today - say $95. Different sites are reporting different things based on what source they consulted. Until Lego clarifies the confusion or the official listing appears on their store, there's still a big question mark over which is true, since both have come from official sources. Obviously the lower price point would be preferable for a lot of people, since a $99.99 set won't actually qualify for the $100 threshold and people would need to buy something else to push the number over the line.

Looks like you're right on this. The newest conflicting info as of today is that there are theme limits, and that the price might be $95 USD rather than $100.

This is the most up-to-date information I'm aware of, unless you have a more recent source?

Any purchase qualifies, including Pick-A-Brick. It's not restricted to specific themes.

The movies aren't always the greatest representation of the characters, so it's worth looking at the other media. In the books and comics, Teridax's six Rahkshi were powerful and tactical enough to form Kaitas, defeat the Toa Nuva individually and in groups on several occasions, and collectively destroyed three of the six Koros. Rahi don't need to wear Kanohi to survive. Terry just slapped infected masks on them to control them. Lore-wise, I think the masks appearing on the sets were mostly just meant as play features and design elements, as you suggested. The examples of rahi falling unconscious after having masks removed could be more of a psychological effect, with them passing out due to the mental strain of being freed from Makuta's control. I always assumed those principles were stuff that the Turaga Metru just made up, similar to their revisionist history story about how Mata Nui fell. Nice stories and concepts to keep the Matoran unified, without any basis in their actual history.

Going by the info on the BS01 page, this doesn't seem to be the case. Kraata of any level can pilot a Rahkshi, with the level of the kraata used to create the suit dictating the overall level of the Rahkshi's power. (With the use of a staff further amplifying its powers). "To create a Rahkshi, two Kraata of the same power type are required, though level does not matter." "The Rahkshi armor amplifies its Kraata's powers to the same level regardless of the Kraata's stage." I imagine the only differences the kraata's level would make to the Rahkshi is its intelligence, since they become smarter at higher levels.

Years ago, a pair of Toa appeared on Spherus Magna. The missing members of the Toa Nuva, long feared fallen during the final battle. They brought with them a tale of a strange world orbiting our own, a crimson construct where the dead still dwelled. Most of the dead, at least. According to the Toa, there were no Makuta or Rahkshi on the Red Star. I’d never given much thought to the idea of life after death until that day. But to learn that some kind of afterlife did exist, but beings of antidermis had no place in it… it hurt. It felt like there truly was no place for us, in this life or the next. It meant that the two Rahkshi whose lives I’d taken, and the myriad more who’d lost their lives over the centuries, were truly gone. At least, that’s what I used to believe. A mysterious missive appeared on my desk yesterday morning, and now I don’t know what to believe anymore. * * * Memoirs of a Turahk (By UltimoScorp) Hey there. I'm Kat. That name used to be short for Catatonic but I've left that name and a few others behind. I've also been dead for… iunno, 50 years or so? Truth told, I kicked around a lot longer than I ever expected to. Crazy how the years slip past when you aren't paying attention, huh? Anyway, I guess I oughta sum it up, huh? A lot happened over the thousand or so years since we finally left Corpus Rahkshi. We lived in that little abandoned village for a good while, smuggling others out of Corpus and doing what we could to keep the new enforcers off our trail. After a while it became a veritable community. Farms and everything, can you believe that? The Order gave us odd jobs here and there, and we made a quieter living when Corpus eventually shut its doors for the last time. I heard a couple different warlords made it their fortress during that time, but I'd imagine by now it's much the way I last saw it; a dead husk. The interim years were interesting. Teridax took over, and I had the opportunity to fight alongside(and against, once or twice) some of the big players of the winning side of that whole debacle. Honestly still think those Toa are overrated but hey I guess when you've got the mythical power of Destiny on your side you get to be living legends, huh? I suppose I shouldn't complain, after all, they didn't murder us on sight, and we even get to live in the big cities now. Our own people, with our own culture. I know I always wanted it that way but it's sure surreal to think about it. New Atero is definitely the best place I ever got to live. Even got to visit some old friends sometimes when I wasn't patrolling or hunting. Or eating. Oh yeah, guard captain. One of many but still. Your girl made it to the big leagues! Heard Exxan has a nice job as a chronicler up at the library now. Finally got to do what he wanted I guess, and I'm happy for him. I miss my friends sometimes, but I'm pretty happy knowing they're still living happily. The ones I know about, anyway. What? Oh, how I died? Ah jeez, well… look, it's kinda rude to ask someone that, isn't it? Fiiine, I'll tell you but…. Alright look, my luck had to run out eventually. Truth is, I plain got sick and it got me. Some kind of virus that pretty much only hit Rahkshi. Some people thought it was a bio-weapon attack or something but honestly I can't think of anyone who would have benefitted from it so I doubt it. Nasty bug, though. Definitely the second or third worst time I've ever had. No grand heroic demise for me I'm afraid, just a sick old woman passing in the night. But hey, I hit the big one thou' so I'm pretty okay with it. Well I can't stick around too long, y'know? The powers that be are just letting me pass this along this one time. Hope to see you again someday, Fang. And Hoto of course! Hope you and Jayar are getting on well. I dunno if you’re still kicking around, Cao, but we all miss ya, buddy. Hope that leg is still holding up for you, Dodge. Era, I know you’re doing well, you always had a knack for getting by even in the hard times. Shield, keep that head held high, kid. Well, I guess you’re a little old for ‘kid’ now, huh? Exxan (I know for sure you’ll be getting this one way or another). Phew, where to start, huh? We had our disagreements, and I know you always saw things from a different angle than a lot of us, but I want you to know that I had nothing but the utmost respect for you. But seriously you have terrible taste in partners. Oh, and Xara? When you get here, we’re having a proper rematch. That whole thing in the tournament? Terrible showing on my part. I got a reputation to hold up, y’know? That’s all the time I’ve got, so I’ll see ya when I see ya! * * * In life, Kat was a dear friend, a Rahkshi of Fear who faced every challenge with raucous recklessness and brazen bravery. She showed me kindness at a time when I was utterly underserving of it, and even now, I feel I never properly repaid that gesture. I mourned her passing, as I have for so many others of our kind. I’ve done my best to honour her memory. I’ve tried to move on, and focus on telling the tales of those of us who still remain. The logical part of my mind wants to believe the letter is a forgery… an immaculate one… created by someone who somehow knew Kat incredibly well. But the handwriting, the words, the tone, it’s her. I don’t know what it means. I don’t know if I even want to know. Once upon a time, I believed the answers to all of life’s questions could be found in a library. It’s only now, as I try to write answers of my own, that I realise that knowledge only leads to more questions. And even without answers, some questions can completely change the way one sees the world.

Try the BS01 prototypes page: https://biosector01.com/wiki/Gallery:Prototypes

There's nothing backwards about it. The Red Star rules are pretty clear about requiring a body to resurrect. Even whatever happened with Jaller in Mask Of Light still required using a part of his physical form. It's very much in line with the way resurrection is treated in a lot of other franchises, with some remnant of the victim being required for the process to work. Matoro was essentially disintegrated. Him being unable to be resurrected due to having no physical remains is pretty logical (insofar as anything in Bionicle is logical). Besides, someone having to sacrifice their life to resurrect the Great Spirit wouldn't be as big of a deal if Mata Nui could just immediately resurrect them in turn. Especially in Matoro's case, since he already had a fake-out sacrifice in the 2006 storyline. Having him die and come back twice in two years would've completely undercut any stakes the story had. This is admittedly more anecdotal, but Mavrah's fate was so ambiguous in the book that I spent years thinking he'd survived and would show up again at some future point in the story. A well-intentioned Matoran villain was such a cool concept that the story never really revisited. As cool as it was to see him again, the Red Star revealing he actually had died was honestly kind of disappointing for me.

If they do age, they must do so insanely slowly, given that most of them are veterans of a war that was fought 100,000 years ago.

Congrats to the winner. It was really cool to see everyone's creativity on show.