Seltz

I like the Mctoran-esque one. Really pushes my nostalgia button. Would definitely buy in bulk.

Came in expecting garbage. Left with gold. I love it when someone makes a matoran that isn't a helpless sack! 8/10

https://www.flickr.com/photos/114035403@N02/sets/72157647895428858/ The one on the left hails from the town of Mediellan in the center of the White Dune Sea, near Onu-Koro. This matoran staunchly defends his hometown from violent rahi under the Makuta's influence. His name is Naiit. The other, Lelan, is a rug merchant in the iron and adobe landscape of the shoreside city of Dondo. Comments? Criticisms? I welcome all!

what's wrong with being sexy

i think pohatu identifes as a pectorally-challenged, double-ended, hydrodynamically designed switchblade with dual port exhaust and an integral bluray player who identifies as female

Thanks! He was inspired by the recent landslides and heavy erosion by the massive amounts of rain we've been getting here in Arizona. I see him using his mace things (erosion resonators in my headcanon) and carving out paths through mountains and such like this: Or creating landslides, or toppling a rock spire onto some baddies or something. I also see him corroding metals, as that counts as erosion. Like the ability to make metals do this sorta thing: "Tin Pest" tin molecular transformation Also, what building techniques are you referring to? I'm interested~

First up, Kaneta-Bur. The Kaneta-Bur is a reef-dwelling, blind testudine that is largely harmless unless poked in its sensitive feelers. Do not poke the feelers. https://www.flickr.com/photos/114035403@N02/sets/72157648181625432/ Next up, Juru-Ra. A reef-dwelling, long-necked pleiseohominid, this creature is commonly referred to as a sea monkey. Despite the name, they are quite dangerous, especially in packs. https://www.flickr.com/photos/114035403@N02/sets/72157647779467050/ Oh god he poked the feelers Lastly, something completely different: The desert sedge. A sedge slides across the ground on millions of microscopic hind legs, and steers and balances itself with its two large clawed hands. Desert sedges are peaceful creatures. While peaceful, they are not afraid to defend themselves. https://www.flickr.com/photos/114035403@N02/sets/72157648135061206/ How'd I do?

https://www.flickr.com/photos/114035403@N02/sets/72157648135061166/ A rogue Toa of erosion, Zambor has the mask of foresight. He is the last surviving member of his team, the Toa Troma. Previously a dark hunter, he has become a full-time mercenary employed by Skakdi warlords. He lost his eyes in an unfortunate shmelting accident. First Toa by me.

Thanks! Also, I like to think of the silver bits as the hardened, protodermis carapace that would remain after all has rusted/melted away. Oh, and as much as I love yellow, your text is incredibly hard to read. Had to highlight to see it.

The Cara-Ni, or Reef Deacon, is a species of violent rahi living in the reefs off the coasts of Po-Koro. No two are alike in coloration, though they are all very vibrant due to the protodermis "blood" of the Mata Nui seeping out into the reefs. All reef-dwellers that have this strange coloration are under the umbrella term "Protodermoid Anomalies". I like colors and mantis shrimp. This was bound to happen. Brickshelf Gallery

I really wish they chose this one, because of the obvious Aztec/Bauhaus/art deco styling. But the crown one is ok too.

First Bionicle moc in forever! Please give crits on this jumbled mess! Flickr: https://www.flickr.com/photos/114035403@N02/sets/72157647822706156/ Obligatory Headcanon Backstory/Whatever: Once a simple Wulan technodeacon, Genmpo had been promoted to High Priest before the "Wula War" as the Matoran and Toa escaping their fallen empire of Metru Nui called it. The Wula called it genocide. Eventually, the Wula lost the war against the Matoran and Toa, and retreated into the untapped oasis between Onu-Koro and Po-Koro. Very few are left, and he spends his time with his subordinates searching for golden age technology to replicate. Genmpo doesn't like to be called by his pre-collapse name. He goes by Kikamonto, or Donula Kikamonto, meaning Donula (colorful) Kika (space-dust)monto(priest). For those of you who have read my epic in the epics section, this guy's gonna show up in it. Thanks for looking! <3

Awesome! And yes, this is my way of "tightening up" the jumble of lore that Greg plopped on us. Also, I want to not only tighten it up, but I want to re-imagine some aspects of it so it's not just the same universe over and over. So glad people like this!

Chapter two, The Dead Man's Haste . . . As I exit the temple in which Turaga Onewa stays, I cross a good half-mile of Po-Koro's dirt streets and into the market district. Walking through the markets was always one of my favorite things to do. There's a lot I'll miss once I’m laying dead in the dirt, but I sure won't miss the harangues emanating from the rug guy. "Hey, Dushka! I know you're thinkin' about my rugs!" I look straight ahead, ignoring the long-masked man. He continues, "C'mon, you-" "No rugs, Lelan." I croak. "Alright, alright..." He trails off, defeated, muttering profanities. I walk a little further, until I reach a building topped by a tall trapezoid, dotted with red glass sun ports. "Here we are!" I say to the sudden absence of Matoran around me. I glance at the inscription above the door. "Cotet's Customs: Fresh Mahki Shrimp and Weaponry" I knock on the door, and fake a Ta-Matoran accent. "Sandman! I demand you feed me your freshest Mahki!" The door opens to a mask-less Cotet, chalky-white face covered in grime and grunge. His face immediately lights up. "Brother! It's been a while! Take off the mask and have a seat, stay for a bit!" Reluctantly in my mind, yet almost swiftly in reality, I remove my mask. Cotet's jaw goes slack upon seeing the four scars trailing down my face. "Dushka, come inside, I can help you..." He pulls me into his dwelling, and locks the door. Frantically, he places my mask on a hook on the wall, and grabs a small lightstick. He focuses it on my face, and I wince, just letting whatever happens, happen. “Death sand…” Cotet begins. “Brother, you are making a terrible mistake.” “I know what I’m doing. Well, not what I’m doing, but what I did. I have an idea about what I’m doing, not much else.” I say. “Someone must kill the Makuta, I know, but you aren’t that someone. This island has no Toa and a Matoran is not used in lieu of one.” he says. “You’ll be slaughtered.” I nod in silent affirmation in his prediction. “I came here for a reason, Cotet. I need weapons. Can I borrow your sand slinger you brought back from Metru?” I say as I walk back towards his workshop. “No! That’s my special thing. If I’m coming with you, you get a weld resonator, two ‘burners, and I’ll give you some brass knuckles for when you drop them in sheer terror of the monster that will lay before you.” I stop and look back at him. “You come with me?” “Yes! If you’re going to have any chance at all, you’re gonna need a vet of the Bohrok War, and the Wula War of one-aught-three.” I shrug. “I’m a vet of those too, and at least I came out with all my bits still on me.” I motion towards his bulky right replacement arm. “Dick.” He grunts. “I love you, brother.” I pat him on the back vigorously. He pulls me in for a hug and pats my back in retort. “I love you too, you.. You…” “Me?” I ask. He steps back a bit and holds his hands up half way, frustrated. “Look, ever since I took that shrapnel to the conk back in the Bohrok days, my brain isn’t the best at thinkin’ anymore. Just pretend I said something insulting, but in a joking manner.” “Sure, why not.” I chuckle. He sometimes forgets that he said things already. “That’s fine, I should have enough brain in me for both of us.” He looks back at me. “That reminds me, back to why you’re stupid. You have no plan.” I have no plan, so I just shrug. Cotet wags his finger at me, and says “But a plan… I have a plan…” he motions me into his workshop. He rolls a stool over to me and I sit down. He then directs me to a dimly lit area of the workshop, where something’s partially covered with a blue tarp. Cotet takes the tarp off the massive object, and I now see that it’s black and shiny, at least. “This, my friend,” Cotet begins. “Is the Votlem-A. A ruthless, yet sensible machine capable of immense destruction.” He turns on the light for that area, and I see that it’s a black and yellow Bohrok, rebuilt to massive size with long, segmented arms and short, heavily armored legs. “A Bohrok?! How in the world is that sensible?” I say. Cotet makes a gesture with his arms and says “Don’t worry! It’s only a Bohrok on the outside. On the inside, it’s a very intelligent and capable Monk Ape brain kept alive by purified protodermis drips.” “You’re insane.” “What is, sane? To a man of my stature, everyone is insane. Except me!” “That means you’re insane. Do you know how illegal this is?” I say, getting a little perturbed. “Yes, but Vakama nor his goons are even in this Koro! We’re in the final frontier, my friend. And the fruit of this exploration… Is the Votlem.” He finishes with a showy gesture at the monstrosity. “Insane.” I say. “Genius.” He replies. “We can go back and forth all day, Dushka, but what we have to do is suit up and head out towards wherever you think the Makuta is.” I stand up and head over towards the weapon rack. “Jolihili, right on the border of Po-Koro and Onu-Koro. Straight west from here.” I pick up a ‘burner, and inspect it. A sword, a thin curved blade with six flat pieces extending back towards the bearer, held in place by a metal bar. The whole thing has a brown patina from age, but it has clearly been cared for lovingly. I grab another another and pin the two to my sides for quick access. “That’s like a six-day journey, if we go slow.” Says Cotet, in a pleased tone. I chime in, looking for my weld resonator. “Yeah, it won’t be that bad. Gives us ample time to get prepared for a likely death.” I hear him pick something up in the background. “Don’t be so macabre. There’s still some chance we get out of this alive.” I find the resonator, it’s covered with orange surface rust now, but back when I was using it in the Bohrok war, it was a stark white. It’s still as beautiful as when I left it here. It’s composed of two identical blades, held together by four thin resonation bars. A simple weapon. Well, less a weapon, more a tool used as one. Like a crowbar or an axe. With a range of twenty feet, it can mend together metals, melt them clean apart with a concentrated resonance cascade, or it can just be used to beat the sunshine out of whatever we meet. If Makuta’s thralls have any, that is. Beating the tar out of them makes more sense. “Yeah, maybe. Still got my pack here?” I ask. Cotet’s eyes don’t waver from whatever he’s working on, and says “Yeah, over there, next to mine.” His has a yellow Bohrok head he keeps as a war trophy, but hollowed out and used as a protodermis gas tank to power his strong, but old body if he needs to run or lift some giant boulder or some similar feat. It has four detcords strapped to it, and a teal sponge antenna at the top to draw in minute amounts of protodermis and nitrogen from the air. My pack is simple, just a big box with some knobs on the side where I can hang stuff if need be. I heft it up - it’s already packed. Just how I left it. “Alright, I think I’m ready. What’re you doing over there?” I ask Cotet. “Makin’ bombs.” “Oh, cool. We should head out soon.” He waves his hand at me, gaze not wavering from the loading bench. “Just five more minutes, bombs are important.” End part 2

I'm confused. I didn't ask for instructions, didn't imply an agenda, nor did I resort to insults like you just did. I said my opinion after you said yours, and I didn't denounce yours either. I simply stated mine. Female Tamaru is an unnecessary change, in my mind. The headcanons of a few do not affect the canon or your personal headcanons. Many (myself included) like the idea of trans representation. You don't have to be trans to realize that society is objectively terrible to anyone who doesn't identify with the gender they were assigned at birth. The fact that you thought the existence of Makaru's realization of a female Tamaru was "pushing" it makes me think that you don't realize that no one is pushing this headcanon on anyone else. I'm not even fully sure what "pushing it" would look like, but I'm pretty sure it'd take the form of more than just a few scattered posts and a MOC. I see what you're saying, and the first reply I made here was made with good 'ole Woodchuck Ale pumpin' through my veins so it was needlessly harsh. What I meant to say was, to me, it seems like you chose to make him transgendered because of how topical and "trendy" it's become, and that it'd make you seem all progressive and whatnot. But since you said it's based off of your trans friend's headcanon, Idk, man. I still think the concept can be done well, but it'd be hard in bionicle. It kind of breaks the otherworldly mystique of Mata Nui. The incisions into the lore sack must be precise.

I'm confused. I didn't ask for instructions, didn't imply an agenda, nor did I resort to insults like you just did. I said my opinion after you said yours, and I didn't denounce yours either. I simply stated mine. Female Tamaru is an unnecessary change, in my mind.

I just emulated what tribes do, what with self-scarring and the religious implications thereof. Then I added the obligatory "Unity, Duty, Destiny" thing. I suppose what makes what I did interesting is just in the way that I wrote it. Which is good, because usually I think my writing is pretty rubbish. Thanks man! This will update slowly, given my schedual, but It'll be updated.

Has to be the most reasurring and inspiring thign someome's said about my writings. Usually it's like "your (barely revealed) character X did Y wrong, 2/10 would not read". And yeah, I use Toanga because Tohunga is an actual word in Maori, and it ain't classy to steal words like that, especially when they get about it (see: that lawsuit from some Maori group back in 2001ish)

Girl? Meh. Femboy? Makes more sense. Don't push transgenderism "just because" (before the storm comes I'd like to add that I am transgender). There are some things that needn't be done, and one of them is a female Tamaru. However, the build is fantastic. Think you can give us a view that would give a better idea on how to replicate it?

If there's one thing I love, it's experimental color schemes.

http://www.brickshelf.com/cgi-bin/gallery.cgi?f=547410 D-Type Votlem, nicknamed Gotam Golem, built from the carcass of a Bohrok and reanimated by the crafters and mechanics of Po-Koro, the Votlem-D is used as heavy support artillery and general guard. Included in file: Cotet Customs Votlem-D, and Votlem-E "Dondo di Destro" (Translates to: Destroyer hailing from Dondo). Possible fourth type coming soonish. Pictured: Cotet Customs Votlem-D, flanked by Ghost Gamera Coming as soon as the Brickshelf gods deem my folder worthy, you'll get more pics of this guy, Big Guy Thunder-5. Right arm is a twin-linked pneumatic fullbore repeater, and the left is a "glop gun", called a Wray Gun by most, that fires balls of molten tar held together by a magnetically-charged iron ball. In the words of the prophet George Carlin, "You know, I want to set those people over there on fire, but I'm just not close enough to get the job done. I wish I could throw fire onto them."

So, this is one of my first posts here. Have at me! I thrive from criticism.

*please critique* With the advent of a return, and a possible reboot to bionicle, I've been thinking about doing my own little complete re-telling and re-imagining (since Greg mucked up the feel and the lore after 2003, in my opinion). If y'all like this, I'll post the rest when I'm done with it. This story follows a matured Matoran, a Toanga, on his journey to defeat the enigmatic Makuta that has plagued the island of Mata Nui for countless centuries. Mata Nui has been without Toa for several millennia, so all that this Matoran has on his side is sheer willpower, and those who wish to fight beside him. Chapter One, "Christening of Fools" . . “You’ve spent your time hunting for that near-life experience; something that’ll make you feel…. Something. But along the way you’ve caused hurt, shattered dreams. Sometimes the forces of life conspire to make a man build dreams on promises, promises which one cannot deliver. A cheat, someone violent, someone meek… “ Onewa turns to face me, and gestures something with his hands. “I’ve seen others like you. One of them was me.. You’re hoping for a dramatic, poetic end to your life of adventure?” I chime in, after removing my mask out of respect for the old Turaga. My opaque, protodermis facial tissue moves in tandem with the mechanical plates of my masseter, my under-face. “I hope to end with dignity, Onewa. Not to be held in any high regard, or with fame at all. I wish to live my life for me.” “Good, because a Tuakana like you seldom gets one. One like you, with a death wish, hunting a Makuta’s thrall who has allegedly drawn its proverbial line in the rock of Onu-Koro, far away from your home territory, I might add, has little chance of a dignified death. You won’t go out triumphantly. I can tell you that much.” Says the Turaga. I raise my eyes to his, and retort. “I have not a death wish, Onewa. Just a wish for death upon the evil that has overtaken the minds of my entire village.” My voice becomes more hostile as I talk. One must have restraint in front of a Turaga at all times, I tell myself. Onewa tilts his head, his mask shifting slightly. I can see his eyes behind it, I think he’s raising an eyebrow. “So you wish for death, eh? And you dare to tell that to me? You know me, and what I have been through.” He stares me down for a good few seconds. Enough seconds to pass a few seasons, it feels. Onewa turns and walks over to the portal overlooking the deserts of Po-Koro, and breaks the silence. “I made a death pact long ago, in a land far different from this one. Metru, I believe you were a pilgrim from there, yes? I have been cursed with the title of Kommundau for three hundred-some years... Do you know what that word means?” “No, sir, I do not.” After another pause he states, “It means ‘one who takes’. The label, the journey, both will overtake you until you become but an exterminator. You will do good work, and people will feel safer because of it. However, you will get strange looks, and be given a strange room from entire villages. They will fear you, Dushka. Do you really want that?” He says with great weight to his words. I sigh, and invite myself to sit on a bench by the wall. “There is no village, and no Matoran or Tuakana left on this island that I wish to revere me. All have been… Reduced to braindead husks by the infernal Makuta. If I could do only one thing with my life, it would be to spare others the same emptiness in my heart.” “That is quite a pitch, Dushka. Quite a pitch. That’s miles more noble than the reason for my pact.” Says Onewa. “I won’t ask, Onewa.” I state. “Good, I wouldn’t give you a straight answer even if you did.” There is a slight pause between us, as Onewa walks over to an elaborate woodcut on the wall, and gestures to it. “As you know, when the great spirit Mata Nui lends his soul to one of the machines in a sleep shell floating beyond the barrier reef, they exit the shell living and sentient, once the shell beaches itself. Wherever they land dictates whether they become of water, earth, air, fire, stone, or ice. They are then given a mask to ward off the Makuta’s influence once they reach a village, and thus become a Matoran. They’re smaller at that time, but they quickly grow, like you did. But time does not make one an upper-class, artisan Tuakana like you are, action does.” Onewa, turns to me, and removes his mask, bristling with wires and vents. His face is average, though the protodermis on his eggshell white face is distended and wrinkly in a manner I’ve never seen before. A large, grey crevasse dominates the right side of his face, his eye socket narrowly dodging whatever blow caused such a scar. “And once one becomes a Tuakana, their path back to Mata Nui becomes jagged, and distended. Your path leads you to become Kommundau, I believe. None can speak for the great spirit’s will, but I firmly believe you and I are one in the same.” He then traces the scar down his face with two fingers, scraping off some “dead”, drained protodermis flecks and shows them to me. “See these?” He asks. “It’s called pouko, death sand. If you’ve never had it on your face before, you wouldn’t know they hurt like the sting of a dillwasp. They do, so don’t wince.” He then runs his index and middle fingers down my face, beneath my eyes. I try my best not to contort my face in pain. He then repeats the process with the other side of my face, giving me three vertical lines, tracing down from my eyes to my jaw. He draws on a fourth, a wavy line, on my furthest left side. I feel it stinging, eating away at the living liquid that makes up my face. It burns, down a few millimeters until my face has been scarred. “These scars,” He begins. “These scars are sacred, Dushka. They are the tears of Mata Nui himself. This ugliness that I have bestowed upon you signifies the ugliness in your heart, the detestable fixation on death and murder that you have inherited when your village, your friends, your family have perished at the hands of the Makuta.” Onewa fits his mask back on his face. “The long stripe, on your right side, that is the tear of Unity. It will dissapear should you open your heart to another. The shorter one, to the left of Unity, that is the tear of Duty. That will disappear when you complete your journey, and slay the Makuta. The third is Destiny. Only you know when that one will dissipate.” “And the fourth?” I ask, after a slight pause. “It will disappear when you’re ready for what is to come.” he says. End part 1

IMO pink, red, and yellow would make sense as those are the primary "flowery" colors. Pink and brown Toa of golfing would be sick. Overall, I like the idea.