Not Quite Dead
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Bionicle Mafia XXXIII: The Makuta on Keno Island
Not Quite Dead replied to Burnmad's topic in Games & Trivia
my style is impetuous, my defense is impregnable. -
Bionicle Mafia XXXIII: The Makuta on Keno Island
Not Quite Dead replied to Burnmad's topic in Games & Trivia
Voting Ghidora. -
RIP - Knut
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IC : Wunjo - Library "You should ALL shut up, this is a library you know!" She piped up from behind her pile of books.
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IC "About this much." She parsed out her and her colleague's payment in an ugly assortment of change, gratuitous gratuity rounded down to the nearest zero (0) and dumped unceremoniously into a dirty coffee cup.
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IC : Caoutchouc - Forest Airspace As he rose above the forest, no arrows did follow him, his pursuer seemingly letting him go. More likely, the vengeful Rahkshi was either planning to follow him more discreetly, regroup with his cohorts or was waiting for him to make a mistake, like going back down towards the treeline. But he wasn't going to do that... Instead he flew higher into the air, becoming just another far off, fast moving speck of sky detritus. He needed to find his way back towards the other without leading his possible tail towards them. It was a shame that the only method of long range communication he had was the decidedly cryptic and fleeting phenomenon of wave fronts at an interface of two different medias, those wave fronts returnt to the medium from which they originated. Also known as reflection, one of the more benign functions of thin hammered steel such as (unfortunately non-boomerangic) short sword, which he now held in his left hand as a low tech heliograph. Catching the sunlight and beaming it towards where he'd left his companions. · · · – – – · · · If that wasn't quite clear enough... -.-. --- -. - .- -.-. - -.. .- -. --. . .-. IC : Wunjo - Library The offensively colored rahk peeked over her pile of books at the gathering storm of loudness and disruption and other very not library things. Luckily one of the prefects seemed to be handling the situation... For now.
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Cheers. we don't take kindly to prettier men than me in this here town no more -Tyler okay bye then
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Hey (:
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Make it official! Also, hello friends. I hope I haven't caused you more grief with my absence than necessary.
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IC He quickly shuffled through the junk, taking a few choice items and stuffing them into the sack. Of course, he also took a quick glance around the ramshackle shack for any other valuables, but it seemed to be that this Gapori literally only owned junk... There had to be some sort of treasure or valuables kept in this village, something he could bring to this Queen and be handsomely rewarded, maybe he could be an duke or even archduke! That'd be the life, enjoying all the fresh water he could drink, luxurious service from the serfs here, lots of junk brought to him daily. Maybe he'd even be king one day if he had his charm about him. ... Swinging the bag over his unburdened shoulder, he fastwalked out the door in time to hear the titanic crashing of his compatriots knock. Allowing him to easily pinpoint and mossy to his location.
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IC He broke a sweat and let out an involuntary "wew," all that loot. "That sounds a karz of a lot better than digging in the dirt with the other smucks, which way to the tower?"
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IC One of these nights he'd die in his sleep. That'd be a good start to his day, far far better than the current one's kickoff. Shaking the sand and sleep off, he ambled around for a bit to stretch and slung his sling and bag over a shoulder. "What a life. So where do we go to kick off this treasure hunt? Is there some sorta guidelines for'em?"
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IC "A Toa, huh..." OOC I'm good to timeskip whenever.
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IC "How uh... How exactly does she keep this spring to herself?"
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IC Alright, shelter acquired! The looming threat of hot and possibly deadly treks into the desert aside, things were beginning to look up. The brief conversation had taught him a few things about the villagers. Namely that Torpaq seemed quiet and caught in thought to a fault, or maybe he was just stupid and frequently left speechless. Gapori was definitely stupid. Bolu... Bolu seemed a little wiser and quicker, outcome unknown. "So, whadda we look for out there anyways? On my way in I just saw lots and lotsa sand and rocks..."
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IC *snicker* "Well, you see..." he devolved into a hearty fit of chuckling. "They. Hehehehe, people were dying to get in!" He let out a huge belly laugh, he couldn't help himself.
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IC This guy stood out like a sore thumb, like really stood out. Maybe he never heard good jokes because he spooked everybody and they buggered off without talking with him. Or maybe he was just socially over analytical and panicked and started blabbering in a misguided attempt to be liked or something, he didn't know and didn't really care. Though the fact that he'd offered him water was nice, he supposed. Might be he should try and act friendly and see how that played out. Might be he'd share one of his top secret, wholly original jokes or quips for this joke deprived Ce-Matoran. "So why'd they build a wall around the graveyard?" He asked invitingly.
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IC Names were a valuable commodity in his slightly paranoid (only to a healthy degree, of course) worldview. For this reason he had a lot of nicknames, some of which he still remembered. "I uhm... Don't really recall, people have called me Patches for 'slong as I can remember though. How about you?" Oh, the completely average matoran was ignoring him in favor of another new face, a Bolu.
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IC Generally the leaders of a group, spiritual or political, had the goods. For this reason he ambled over towards Maru and Torpaq, exchanging a quick greeting with the later. "Hullo."
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IC Did he just snort at him? What the karz was his problem? "Canus..." The Fe-Matoran repeated the name as slowly and laboriously as possible, two syllables aching of thirst... Two tortured and hopefully empathy inspiring syllables.
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IC A desert is a barren area of land where little precipitation occurs and consequently living conditions are hostile for plant and animal life. The lack of vegetation exposes the unprotected surface of the ground to the processes of denudation, yada yada yada. A big old (literally, not figuratively) pile of sand. That's the gist of a desert, Yegg knew that well enough, so he figured that spending the time and brain power to think of waxing philosophically or poetically about such things was a waste of calories and water, stuff that his ever waning body and ever waxing thirst really needed. His eyes were tired and burnt out as well, the result of squinting at those buildings in the distance. The one's he'd been a walkin' towards since he woke up in this godforsaken desert. The precursor to this event wasn't important, just the present situation. Another group or two or three had been walking towards it as well, figures tall against the dull, flattish backdrop. Or maybe they were mirages, who cared. They were booking it and wasting energy, he, he was making his way to the settlement at his own pace, no point tiring himself out and dying near as such to what he hoped would be free and plentiful water and larders groaning with comestibles. Little known fact, a hard working person and a bum looked about the same. Dusty and dirty and tired and usually a wantin' of potations and victuals. So his scruffy appearance didn't bother him, for all these people knew he might've been building orphanages and missions out there, right? Suckers. Hopefully. Soon enough he was within speaking distance of the two new arrivals he'd soon enough learn to be named Krahno and Moega. Shuffling in just a little bit after the authoritative looking guys declared them free to stay and night and work (yikes) for the goods needed to live. Clearing his throat to declare his presence behind the other, bigger matoran, he croaked out words like a dried up toad. "Whats this place called, anyhow?"
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Name: Yegg Race: Fe-Matoran Gender: Male Mask: Powerless Huna Abilities/Skills: A skilled jumper, snooper and thrower of rocks. Enhanced durability due to his elemental affinity of Iron, when querried as to this he insists the toughness he exhibits is due to "trying harder," rather than his genetics Weapons/Equipment: A small knife in a leather sheath and a rudimentary sling Appearance: Suited in a potpourri of mahogany and lead colored armor and standing a little shorter than most of his peers, Yegg is wiry and scroungy with the carefully cultivated and worn look of an honest, hard working fellow Personality: A scammer, scumbag and backstabber through and through, Yegg would gladly sell his mother out for a good drink or a spare handful of barter goods Weaknesses: Impulsive, easily irritable, spineless at times and has a very hard time sticking to long term plans
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same here breh
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IC Sharky A jingly jangly bag of widgets, aka cash ; coin ; moola ; shekels ; currency ; "liquid assets" ; greenbacks or perhaps most accurately, pelf ( pelfpelf/nounnoun: pelf money, especially when gained in a dishonest or dishonorable way. Origin: late Middle English (in the sense ‘booty, pilfered property’): from a variant of Old French pelfre ‘spoils,’ of unknown origin. Compare with pilfer.) found it's way into Sharky's hand, he turned to the equally pathetic and out of place looking Lunefeld, "I got fifty widgets on the craniopagusly conjoined Maru."
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IC Solvi "How about covering this bill?" Still seated, same as her rather absent or perhaps forgotten co-workers, she gestured to the bill. ...the enormous bill, one complete with an outlandish 18% gratuity charge. "That can't be legal..."
