Lumen

IC: Morpheme | The Courtyard The green-grey Rahkshi tilted her head slightly. "Inspiring...?" So this Lucid was a palm reader, in addition to being a wealth of knowledge. But Morpheme reluctantly pulled her hand away as her inner hopes dimmed. Could she really inspire others when there were plenty of students more capable than her here? No, Morpheme, she told herself, her inner narrative stern. Of course you belong here. You made it all the way to the school. You have as much right to be here as anyone else! Okay. Okay, then. She was meant to be a student at Corpus Rahkshi. With a little laugh and a shake of her chassis, she made her faceplates creak into a grin and said, "Thank you, Lucid. I certainly hope to live up to that standard."

IC: Morpheme | The Courtyard With more than a hint of pride in her eyes, the grey-green writer shook her head "yes" enthusiastically. "Mmhm! Indeed I did, several moons ago under a starlit sky. I'm happy you enjoyed it; thank you. I personally loved hearing your story about the Matoran musician -- that was excellent." Morpheme took one more look 'round the circle. Then she queried, "By the way, what are your names? Other than Milk...I know you already. I'm Morpheme." She extended her hand, hoping someone would complete the friendly gesture.

IC: Morpheme | The Courtyard With another sigh to relax herself, Morpheme looked 'round the gathering; her eyes lingered upon each of them for a moment. These Rahkshi, these students could really help her gain confidence, companionship, and the ability to trust a few select others again. Especially Milk and the flamboyantly painted garden-dweller. Then the pair of Density and Teleportation... The latter might be good to befriend if he was out of his keeper's sights. But now was the time for fictions, fables, and stories. The Confusion Rahkshi took up a position -- she bent her knees, hunched her shoulders to appear larger than she was. Flexing the fingers of her suit as if perusing files, Morpheme began. "'Twas gloaming, and the Protodites Did shafe and shyther in the bay. All flitzy were the Niazesk And the Ranama enflamed. 'To hunt the Tahtorak!' thought he. 'The frill that flays, the claws that hurl! Beware the Lohrak bird, and flee The swift Artahka Bull.' He took his proto-blade in hand; Long time the lizardous foe he tracked-- So rested he near a Bula tree And lay awhile and napped When, in a thrillish state he was! The Tahtorak with eyes aflame And hunger of a Kinloka Awoke him as it came! One two, one two! So through and through, The proto-blade was driven deep. His instinct saved; his death, delayed. The Rahi met its sleep. 'And now, I've slain the Tahtorak! So long I trekked and sought and toiled. O, glad I be!' So swiftly, he Began to carve his spoils. 'Twas gloaming, and the Protodites Did shafe and shyther in the bay. All flitzy were the Niazesk And the Ranama enflamed." As the final stanza hung in the air, Morpheme nodded her head to indicate the poem's ending. She hoped the others would enjoy it, especially Milk.

IC: Morpheme | The Courtyard Wow. These four were magnificent storytellers. Morpheme quietly drunk in their words, trying to understand them better -- what elements were contained in their stories spoke many books' worth of personal preferences. The little one liked stories with messages and morals; the savant gave sage wisdom passed down through generations...or maybe she just appreciated knowledge of distant times. Despite the other two not telling tales directly, there was still good intel to be gleaned. The way the Density Rahkshi had spoken about how the world must have existed before Tuesday was clever, and it rang true with Morpheme. Finally, there seemed to be a lull in the conversation. Now was her chance to shine. With a faint smile, she piped up, "Mind if I contribute my few widgets with a story of my own?"

IC: Morpheme | The Courtyard Morpheme had hung back, a little way behind the now crowded group of four, but not because she was afraid, no. Her brain needed to recalculate; the effects of Milk's power still clung to her consciousness. As if it were a ritual, she closed her eyes, bowed her head, and willed her spines to grip each-other, reciting a poem under her breath all the while. "My first, erect; my second leans; My third grabs hold at the second's base -- I stretch, refreshed, and so it seems My mind is clear without a pace." She let out a sigh as her gaze came back to the friendly congregation. Finally. Morpheme could make out their voices now. "What is consciousness? Was yesterday Tuesday? There are no straight answers to any of these ancient questions, yet great value in their contemplation." A new voice...belonging to the technicolored one who still lazed in the flowerbed. "Oh. What day was yesterday?" That was the naive Rahkshi speaking. Milk had been crying after him earlier. Maybe he could be befriended -- he certainly seemed willing to make friends. The third in the group sighed. "Today is Thursday. Yesterday was Wednesday. The day before was Tuesday." ​Ah, so he acted as a keeper, or at least the dominant partner, of the naive, green-and-blue Rahk... Well, this was entertaining. Morpheme felt her faceplates shift, softly growing into a grin. If she could get in on this conversation, she could forge many connections. Especially with the kaleidoscopic savant. She seemed fun. So, crafting a response, Morpheme approached them. "Glad to see you three getting along without me," she said with a wink at Milk. "And I think consciousness is a state of awareness. Well, awareness, lucidity, whatever you want to call it. Could be wrong, though..." She shrugged, pointedly trailing off so the savant could correct her if she wanted to.

IC: Morpheme | The Courtyard "Of course you are..." Morpheme, too, trailed off, but not because Milk had caused the drowsiness. The small Sleep Rahkshi had turned her attention on the garden as well. Was there really someone in those beautiful flowers? With a conspiratorial grin, Morpheme said, "Think that's another Rahkshi? If so, they must be...yawn...a friend of yours to sleep like a Muaka there."

I just edited Morpheme's last post so she acknowledges Danger (and passive-aggressively calls out his brother, mwahaha).

IC: Morpheme | The Courtyard "Milk it is, then." Morpheme beamed. "Thanks for the compliment, but..." She bent down so her cyan eyes met Milk's yellow ones. "Want to know a secret? You're smart in...awaah...in your own way. You are here at the school, aren't you?" Discreetly, the green-grey Rahkshi shifted her gaze slightly from Milk for fear of dropping on the spot like a taku bird shot from the sky. She would need to write a poem about this kind little one when she was more awake. As she scanned the bushes beyond Milk for something to keep her consciousness anchored, Morpheme caught sight of a colorful flower bed. It looked lovely, pure and untouched by destruction; it would do well for clearing her head after the inevitable fights she'd get into here. If you've met one Rahkshi, you've met one Rahkshi. Surely there were many others here besides Morpheme's new friend who would be eager to take slight with the confusion Rahk and -- wait. She blinked hard. Was someone in the garden of flowers? "What's wrong! I just wanted to be friends!" A loud complaint rang out. Oh...that voice sounded male. Had one of the Rahkshi who had run away been male? Plus, Milk here said that she'd asked two others to be her friends. The investigation into the flowerbed would need to wait. Turning and beckoning in the voice's general direction, Morpheme called, "There's nothing wrong with that at all!"

IC: Morpheme | The Courtyard "Sometimes..." Morpheme grunted as she helped the other Rahkshi to her feet. She found herself blinking slowly for some reason. The trip hadn't necessarily tired her out. At least, she thought it hadn't. Maybe the journey had taken more energy out of her than expected. Through a yawn, she said, "Sometimes words cut deeper than a sword's edge. I know how it feels, too, believe me." The confusion Rahk gestured toward her curious pitch-black spines, which drooped and twitched a little, as if they insisted that rest was the best option right now. Then she realized... This Rahkshi in front of her. How the paint splatters on her armor were all dark red. How she yawned innocently and naturally. It was her identification, a dead giveaway of her powers. Weren't sleep kraata supposed to put others to sleep? Well, that's working. Effectively, if I say so myself, mused Morpheme. With a faint smile, the writer reached out, affectionately patted the little Rahkshi's shoulder. "Of course I'll...yawn... We can definitely be friends. I am Morpheme. Now, what's your name?"

IC: Morpheme | Entering the Courtyard Wow. Wow. This place was larger than Morpheme had expected. Her hungry gaze darted this way and that, trying to take in the vast space at once. But she suddenly didn't have time, because a pained cry fell upon her ears. "Come back! Friend!" The new student turned her head toward the plaintive sound, and her heart broke at what she saw. A smaller Rahkshi with a poorly-painted carapace--from scratches?--was rocking back and forth. He or she began humming as two other Rahkshi fled the scene. What was the small one wearing, other than pain? Clearly, the others had hurt this one...and that simply wouldn't do. Morpheme shook her head as she slowly approached the tiny creature. The odds of her meeting another Rahkshi who'd presumably been harmed was infinitesimally small. Fate had a hand in this, then... "Did they hurt you?" asked Morpheme gently. She bent down and extended a hand, leaving room for the other student to grab it.

IC: Morpheme | Chirox Causeway [Pillars jutting, teeth Mighty maw guides intellect Father would be proud] The Rahkshi of confusion looked up from her paper, satisfied with the resulting haiku. With a quick motion, she affixed her pen to its designated place of honor: The clip near the back of her faceplate. She sat contentedly atop one of the hexagonal columns, gazing with wonder at what lay mere bio ahead. Below sprawled the academy of legends, Corpus Rahkshi. Below sprawled a second chance at life. Hurry, said her muse, the little voice in her head (which, in actuality, was her own thoughts manifesting themselves through the joyous emotion felt). You don't want to be late, do you, Morpheme? Morpheme allowed herself one more moment of survey. This was it, the final minute of being an outcast. She sighed, giddy. Then she lovingly folded the paper lengthwise and placed it in the satchel at her hip with the rest of her poems. "Corpus Rahkshi, here I come," said the confusion Rahk to herself. And with that, she arose, leapt from the column, and took off toward the school's entrance.

Hi, everyone! I'm finally getting the guts to apply after lurking for years... Here's to hoping I'll be able to keep this girl alive and well for a long time. Name: Morpheme Variation: Confusion Level: 2 Gender: Identifies as female Gear: Morpheme travels with essentials: Her weapons and her writing tools. She totes a small canvas satchel, wherein she holds several sheafs of notepaper for writing and sketching. Her faceplate has been customized with a pen holder. The only time you'll catch it empty is when the pen is in her grasp. As for weapons, she wields a three-bladed spear with two short prongs and a longer, finer one. A small, lightweight dagger sheathed in leather is bound about her left forearm. Morpheme also keeps a pair of protodermis knuckle-dusters for close combat in her satchel. Appearance: She is of average height, but slightly skinnier than other Rahkshi. Instead of orange, her eyes are a stunning ice-blue. She colored her legs and faceplate dark green for a little more individuality. Her chassis is dull grey, painted with streaks of forest green and black. Her defining feature, though, comes in the shape of her spines: They're arms torn from Onu-Matoran. Her Makuta, Chirox, had experimented with grafting limbs, and he tried to make Rahkshi spines more useful. The experiment went horribly askew. Although these appendages are utterly useless for grasping any form of weapon, she has limited control over them. They're excellent in both intimidation and comfort, as well as for carrying contraband snacks. Personality: The first thing to know about Morpheme is that she's a very open Rahkshi. Many can tell what she's thinking from a mere glance at her eyes. The second thing to know is that she enjoys all forms of language. Music, literature, and creative writing are her favorites. Often, she'll recite riddles and rhymes for any Rahkshi's ear, whether or not they actually do listen. Within these poems are pieces of herself; the trivial dream she had becomes lyrical, her knowledge of others transforms into many a limerick. If you hear her out, Morpheme takes to you like a ranama to a lava flow. She will become an honest, lifelong friend, eager to see you succeed. Tridax forbid you dismiss her writing, though: If her ego gets injured, her resentment towards the offender manifests itself via her powers and her tongue. Complicated phrases serve as distraction. Then, when opportunity arises, Morpheme does what she does best: She writes. More specifically, she carves words on her foe with her dagger. The pen is mightier than the sword, after all. When she's fully engaged in combat and a thought strikes her, she'll vow to remember it -- in fact, she fights better when her unfinished art is on the line. Bio: A daughter of Chirox, Morpheme was one of the "odd ones out", the failed experiment who liked ink better than battle. The other kraata in her brood used her words against her. After one particularly cruel chewing out, she vowed that she would never be as intentionally cruel to anyone as she'd been treated...unless they deserved it. Morpheme plotted her escape, but where would she go to? What could be her haven? And then she overheard it one day. Chirox mentioned another one -- another two? -- of his experiments: Two kraata, ice resistance and heat resistance, fused into a single being with dual awareness. They had gone to a school for Rahkshi, where they could learn almost anything they wanted to. There. That was it. She wanted to be there. So Morpheme fled, hoping for a better life than one she had known thus far.