Emzee

IC: Tailua — Ostia, The Dancing Crab In, out. In… out. Tailua huffed as he sat in the chair facing the Toa of Air before him. The Le-Toa’s armor looked well-maintained and dignified, and he almost gave off a sense of regal authority. He also looked like someone who had things to do and valued his time. “Um…,” Tailua stammered as his haggard breathing began to calm, “Yeah, Business” In, out. In… out. Tailua continued slowing his breath and was about to raise his gun-arm like someone would raise an index finger to buy more time. Fortunately, the replenished oxygen allowed Tailua’s mental faculties to kick into high gear. Instead, Tailua placed his left hand on the table beside him, revealing his final flyer from the Po-Koro Technology Emporium. As the flyer laid face up, the Le-Toa along with anyone else in the room saw a crumpled but still-legible advertisement. On it was a full-body illustration of a female Toa of Air. One hand was on her hip, while the other hand was toting the V2 Patero launcher — the same prototype that was grafted in place of Tailua's right hand. The pose and the stone-cold glance from the subject projected equal parts power and confidence. The model’s name, the famous Toa Skyra Daring, was printed on under the illustration along with these bolded words: Greater Accuracy! Faster Loading! Light and Nimble! “I'm Tailua Kodin. An' don’t worry about that paper — it's mine. I didn’t come ‘ere to advertise,” Tailua explained, no doubt expecting a reaction to the rather unsubtle imagery. “The barkeep said something about a job. I need to uh… hide out for a while. I gotta lot o' skills like cookin’, killin’, protectin’. I even worked for a circus once” Tailua was content with that spiel, and he waited to see if the Le-Toa would offer specific occupations to him. OOC: @Ghosthands @Void Emissary

IC: Wokiya — Ga-Koro “A reunion! That’s so nice!” Wokiya said, her bubbly enthusiasm now fully returned. “I would love to just ask you some a set of questions right here, if that is alright with the both of you. You both seemed every well-traveled and well-read and I’m sure you have amazing stories that woulde captivate the Matoran in every settlement on this island” The Ga-Matoran gave a quick glance to Scryne was already shuffling in his bag for his quills and other stationery. “Are you ready to begin the interview?” Wokiya asked. She stood with open palms that quickly closed around a quill and paper that Scryne had placed in each of them. OOC: @Void Emissary Catarix — Ga-Koro, Mata Nui Daily, Ga-Wahi Branch HQ The wizened Ko-Matoran walked through the front door after showing his press badge to security. A roll of the most recent issue of the publication rested snugly under his left arm. “Hello, sir. I Catarix Vint-Rasque of the Mata Nui Daily’s Ko-Wahi branch,” Catarix said to the front desk clerk, “I’m here for a meeting with Miss Libelle” Catarix — Ga-Koro, Café Kaukau “By the Spirit, I can never get enough of that view!” exclaimed Libelle. This so happened to be the Chief Editor of the Mata Nui Daily’s Ga-Wahi branch’s favorite spot, and because of her foreseeable and near-formularized glowing reviews of the place, Libelle often was awarded the coveted seats by the large windows. Both Libelle and Catarix could look to their side and get a full view of the Naho Falls, its gleaning and forceful Great Kaukau sculpture giving a sense of protective calm. Catarix sat nervously in the plush, lavender cushions as the sun’s rays illuminated the glossy Kanohi Huna that complimented the drop-dead stunning good looks of his greenhorn Ga-Koronan counterpart. Catarix was confused. The salary for a chief editor was… modest, and they made ords of magnitude more than the reporters and artists within the employ of the Daily. No one entered journalism for the money. How was Libelle paying for all of this? And the Ko-Matoran was certainly hoping she was treating. “We don’t have to get anything. I just mostly come here for the views,” Libelle said wistfully, “So, what did you want to know?”

IC: Ra’lhen — Onu-Koro, Sulov Maru’s Trail Mix and Hookah Bar As the Sentinel approached the massive hut, he began to make out the sign posted by the front door. Ra’lhen nodded as he heard the Toa Maru of Stone’s confirmation, and began to fiddle with the beaded necklace that he still wore. Its shiny white stone, carved long ago by Hafu and kept by Ra’lhen as a good luck charm, caught and reflected the lights that came from all directions in the underground city. Ra’lhen’s gaze did not falter from the sign, and he prayed for the charm to grant him luck once again. “I know this place is getting remodeled, but I hope he has enough trail mix on hand to keep us both going for a couple of days,” Ra’lhen said. Even with his nerves, he was looking forward to meeting another of the Toa Maru now that his armor and Toa tool concealed his past. Sulov would not know that the two men had encountered before. Unless Stannis decides to open with that. The absurdist thought brought a slight smile to Ra'lhen as Stannis opened the door. He then followed Stannis into the large hut, eager to see how the earth Maru lived. OOC: @Umbraline Yumiwa I'll let you describe the interior.

IC: Makua — Deck of the Fowadi — Ta-Wahi Coast Makua nodded dutifully to Krayn as he listened to the discourse. "Say, Pirok's got the right idea. With the old ****** dead, he can't have anything too spicy for us. And we'd be doing some real good for the folks on Mata Nui. So what's the bounty?" OOC: @Krayzikk @a goose @Void Emissary @otter @Snelly

OOC: Looks right to me! IC: Wokiya — Ga-Koro Scryne and Vera matched a shocked facial expression akin to them hearing the Dashi insult Wokiya’s deceased mother. They knew the next thing out of the reporter’s mouth was not about to be a question. “I’m not sure how my name and work could be conflated with that-”, Wokiya began emphatically. “What Miss Wokiya means to say is that she feels very honored that you found her Lavapool Inn article so touching," Vera interrupted, placing her hands on each of Wokiya’s shoulders. "She is passionate about providing hard-hitting facts and intellectual satiation to her readers — not um…” Vera was now wearing the very grin that Wokiya had instantly dropped as she struggled to remember a common phrase of the reporter’s, “… right! ‘Vexatious and threadbare gossip’. Isn’t that right, Miss Wokiya?” Wokiya nodded and methodically sucked in air, appearing to inhale her bubbly smile back. “I must apologize, Dastana Daijuno,” she said, appearing to have fully returned to her happy self, “I had assumed you two had just arrived here yesterday. And, yes, I love what you said about the Lavapool coverage. I’m quite proud of that one; it balances out what my firm prefers to promote sometimes.” Wokiya immediately speed-searched through her memories for an article, and its date. “Were you two part of the first visit? Within the…,” she struggled for a moment with the lesser-known word, “…submersible?” OOC: @Void Emissary

IC: Ra’lhen — Onu-Koro “In a word? Yes,” Ra’lhen admitted, “Every Maru I meet, I fear for the regard in which I’ll be held” Ra’lhen paused for a half-beat, barely giving time to gather the remainder of his thoughts. He knew he was sounding like a stubborn Mahi just making the same trite bleats at this point. He needed to express a more befitting concern. “But even if Sulov, like you, holds no grudges for the past crimes, he is still the successor of the Great Onua. I believe in the Prophecies, and Sulov deserves reverence for what he has done and for what he will do in the future. It’s why I try to look as clean as possible. Like some humble attempt to wash my past sins away.” They continued walking through the streets of Onu-Koro, the dynamism picking up as the morning progressed. Engineers and prospectors were commuting to and fro to get to their destinations, while some were working on the very machinery that Ra’lhen and Stannis were walking past. “And how could you possibly be nervous? He’s your friend, right?” Ra’lhen asked, a hint of incredulity in his voice. Then, as if he invoked the name too many times, Ra’lhen felt a distinct feeling they were reaching their destination. “Is… this the place?” Ra’lhen asked as one particular hut entered his field of view. OOC: @Umbraline Yumiwa Let me know if there's something different Ra'lhen should be seeing or if you got something else in mind. I'll edit.

OOC: I'm finally here. Here's a handy BZPTimeline up to this point: [Tailua Seeks an Upgrade] -> [Tailua Bargains and Gets Upgrade] -> [Tailua Provides Payment]. IC: Tailua — Ostia A cacophony of wails and terror reverberated through the stone hallways of the lower alleys. Pandemonium led to tipped fruit carts, trampled Matoran children, and clamoring Mahi herds. Tailua was tripping and running over chairs, stands, and people. One tumble he took placed him face-first into the sand, allowing a poisoned throwing knife to whiz right by the back of his neck. Papers were flurrying in the winds of chaos and trepidation, a sneering contrast against the calm, confident subject that appeared on those papers. The girthful Toa of Fire mustered all of his strength, leaning on his gun-arm for support as he leapt to his feet and desperately continued his stride. ??? — Ostia Three strikes, the Waif thought mournfully as the Tenderfoot made his last blunder. The Reaper that was supervising this operation did not hesitate, as the Waif feared. The novice assassin who threw the poisoned knife was struck dead. What now? The Waif thought with consternation. This was the first time she had witnessed a botched mission. As a newly minted Reaper, it was partly her responsibility to guide Tenderfoots and to keep them from making deadly blunders. Failure was never tolerated. This made things even worse due to the long-dead connection she once had with their target. Was it up to her to do the deed now? “Fall back,” the hooded figure growled softly. He stood behind and over the waif like a looming pillar, threatening to topple and crush her. “He is spooked, but trapped. He won’t be able to leave this section of Ostia without us getting him. You’re now the Blade of this mission” The Waif nodded in abject obedience. Who else would it be, since it was just the three of them assigned to this mission, and one was dead. They had long since been out of sight of witness. The Waif's ability to weave in and out of visibility being one of her basic skills expected of any Reaper. Once a cover of shadow had been found, her supervisor approached her head on. He was a tall, hooded Vortixx, always speaking in a soft by threatening whisper. “How long do we wait?” the lithesome assassin queried. “As long as it takes,” was the Vortixx’s curt answer. He stole a glance behind him to the corner intersection, still overstressed with cries of fear and anguish. A tavern, one of the seediest in Ostia, lay along the street between other establishments. “As soon as he leaves that bar, make that shot,” the supervisor said to the new Blade. And with that, he was gone. The Waif did as she was bid. Perched along the terrace of an opposite-facing building, she watched the Dancing Crab tavern for the target. She had not seen Tailua enter the establishment, but the Vortixx was one of the best in the Fellowship. He never lost a target. The lithesome assassin continued to wait. IC: Tailua — Ostia, The Dancing Crab It would have been nearly impossible to miss the shots, the falling dead, the cries of people and animals alike, that so abruptly shifted the usually lower-key moods around the tavern. Something like this was usually followed by cops, thrilled for an excuse to impose and harass. There would not be a good night in this corner of Ostia. It would also have been plausible, amongst the chaos, for even a porky red Toa to have barreled through a window and cower under the barkeep’s table. And so, Tailua sat there, immobile, under the bar. He tried to get his bearing back, but flashes of his life across the decades kept interfering with his flow of thoughts. He held his new Patero V2 close to his chest, along with one last flyer from his supplier. Why or how he managed to grasp one after the chase and carnage remained a mystery. He fought against his trembles to unravel the balled-up paper. Tailua blinked twice. He had not really noticed until now what comprised the main subject of the advertisement, and inexplicably whistled. He then looked up to see a good handful of patrons, as well as the barkeep himself, peering relentlessly. "You 'ere for da job?" "Y-Yes. Anything, you gotta get me outta-" The barkeep jerked his head backwards, a door leading to one of the private rooms at the tavern. Tailua clambered to his feet and staggered to the back room, breath short, and checking behind him every other second. As soon as the Ta-Toa departed, the barkeep shook his head and continued cleaning mugs. Just another day in Ostia. OOC: @Ghosthands @BULiK @ARROW404 + anyone else in the back room or in/around the Dancing Crab.

IC: Makua — Deck of the Fowadi — Ta-Wahi Coast What were they even talking about at this point? "Whatever it was, it wasn't me, and I wasn't there. Probably" OOC: @Snelly @otter @a goose

IC: Makua — Deck of the Fowadi — Ta-Wahi Coast The mercenary nodded dutifully as Pirok came on board, spilled words all over the place, and introduced himself to the Ko-Toa he now knew as Praggos. Makua felt it prudent to continue to keep his mouth shut. This looked like a reunion that could go without his input… for now.

IC: Makua — Deck of the Fowadi — Ta-Wahi Coast The sellsword wasn’t sure what to make of having his vision obstructed by his own element. He raised his left hand and brushed his face off as smoothly as possible. His smile was stuck between a grin and a smirk. One thing I can’t deny — she is fun, thought Makua. He looked on in silence as the newcomer walked up the gangplank. He continued to listen to the man with interest, but was intrigued by his verbiage. He wondered if it was ok for someone like this guy to just shout all that out loud. Apparently, Skyra and the Ko-Toa seemed fine with it. That made it fine with Makua then. He continued to listen with interest.

IC: Makua — Deck of the Fowadi — Ta-Wahi Coast The Toa of Ice simply beamed at the doctor’s quip. It felt good to be one of the popular ones again. Finally, Makua was starting to get the recognition he deserved. Seemed like Skyra was already off the market though, based on the… interactions between her and the Ko-Toa. Figures. There’d be plenty more fun people to meet within Ta-Koro’s six walls. Maybe if the guy on the beach engaged in a conversation, he could slink away unnoticed.

IC: Makua — Deck of the Fowadi — Ta-Wahi Coast It seemed to the sellsword that Skyra Daring did not know what dividends were. It was interesting to Makua, who was fairly sure that just saying the word out loud three times was how he scored the socialite from Ko-Koro. The vast duality of the people he met and tried to befriend always amazed him. Wordlessly, Makua opened his right palm and pooled his elemental energy. While the climate was noticeably drier than Ga-Koro, they were still on the coast and near enough water to have some moisture. Within a moment, a snowball materialized. “Could also rope you into a game of Huai,” Makua said, “But probably wouldn't cool you off unless you're like, really bad at it. Karz of a distraction though” That breeze felt rather comfortable. He strongly considered sauntering closer to the still-sweating Ko-Toa to catch more of it. OOC: @otter @Snelly

IC: Makua — Deck of the Fowadi — Ta-Wahi Coast Makua had thought he’d seen it all. As a mercenary sent to the roughest, weirdest and often least known corners of Mata Nui, he had encountered Vortixx Bog Snake smugglers, Lesterin religious gang leaders, Turaga Ussal poachers, and all sorts of colorful characters. But his time, starting when he entered Ga-Koro, had exposed what felt like a different dimension entirely. Dragons and crystal wearing women were locked in his memories, and now this the acting Commander’s mask had just taken residence in a nearby cell. “...what's with the golden shoulder pads? Compensating for something?” “Well, now, that little quip just made me look welcoming and friendly.” The dialogue exchange bashed into Makua’s train of thought so hard that it would’ve taken a moment for him to comprehend what was said and respond. By then, the green and black armored woman who Makua noticed earlier had continued speaking. “I mean uh...sup, I'm Skyra Daring. You say something about Vidar? F### that guy, never liked him.” “I hated him myself. Makes us the same in my book!” Makua said. “And these things…” Makua made a fist and rang his left pauldron, emitting a soft, but audible bell sound, “… are what separate me from your average weekday merc. Had ‘em forged the day after I was chosen as a Toa” Makua was just about to enter his well-crafted and time-honored spiel (surely disarming whatever negs could come next) when Makua couldn't help but notice the newcomer. He appeared to be Toa of Ice like himself, but much worse for wear. “I take it you don’t visit the lava fields much,” Makua said, trying to be uplifting. “I like to take a few trips here myself, challenge my system and what not. It pays dividends!” Makua opened his arms as he spoke those last words, as if the ash and the heat were boons to him. Of course, he had only been standing out here for what, five minutes? Nevertheless, seeing how most Ko-Toa seemed to fare in this situation only served to help his confidence even more. It looked like the sweating Ko-Toa was sending the green and black-armored woman to shore for some procurement. “Say, if we’re picking things up from town, I can help with that as well,” Makua said, “This place is like my second home. I know… some of the good spots. The ones that didn’t close up shop after the Piraka Raid, anyway” OOC: @Snelly @otter

IC: Wokiya — Ga-Koro The tasks set before the intrepid journalist and her crew were not easy, but she had been thrown to the Kavinika wolves many times before. While the challenge would be greater with the subject being a previously unheard-of group of people landing ashore, Wokiya kept her professionalism and started with the basics. Her plan was standard: she began divvying up her list of sources in Ga-Koro, intending to send her two Ko-Matoran crewmates to scout for them. She hoped perhaps someone from her lists had become acquainted enough with the new arrivals to be able to get her access. “Now I know you’re a fan of those lists of yours,” Catarix Vint-Rasque, her editor, said with empathy, “But we’re going to seek stories from the ‘folks on the ground’ anyway. Might be more efficient to start with the passers-by” The elder editor tilted his head in the direction of two Matoran-like women: one was clad in elegant crystal armor, accented with gold and silver. The other was taller, and sported navy and goldenrod colors. “Wouldn’t hurt,” Wokiya shrugged, “Perhaps you can get in touch with some of our higher-ranked friends” “If there’s time,” Catarix deflected, “Someone needs to make alliances with the new Chief Editor of the Ga-Koro branch. And to be frank, it would be better me than you” Wokiya rolled her eyes, “Fine. Enjoy meetings and boring people. Meet back here at noon?” “Affirmative” With that, the Ko-Matoran turned on his heel and made his way north along the well-trodden path to the Mata Nui Daily Regional Office. Wokiya then turned to her two crewmates. They were both experienced Ko-Matoran employees of the Mata Nui Daily. Vera the Illustrator and Scryne the Notetaker were trusted, smart, and quick. Vera was known to be protective of her craft and often clashed with the sometimes loquacious commentary from Scryne — who saw his words as the many splotches and strokes critical to a beautiful, written painting. He prided himself on knowing the exact thousand words to use in the absence of pictures. “Let’s go meet the new guys,” Wokiya said in a sing-song tone while sporting her trademark visage of optimism. It was always this facial expression that rallied the two rivaling Ko-Matoran together under her direction. And despite Wokiya struggling to believe it, both Vera and Scryne had shown their appreciation over the weeks she had been working in Ko-Koro. The two newcomers to Mata Nui immediately noticed Wokiya and her two colleagues approaching — Vera on her left and Scryne on her right. Wokiya gave a big smile and waved to the apprehensive crystal-clad Matoran. “Don’t be afraid, I’m Wokiya!” the Ga-Matoran said, her voice disarmingly bubbly, “You could not have come to a safer village, in my opinion. I’m here with the Mata Nui Daily gathering stories about your tribulations and adventures. Would you have the time or the inclination for a quick chat?” OOC: @Void Emissary

IC: Makua — Deck of the Fowadi — Ta-Wahi Coast “Makua Kodin. Glad to make your acquaintance,” the sellsword said before asking the officer’s name in exchange. “So Mr. Inzaka, you seem fairly well-connected to many of the protectors and travelers around this island. I happen to be a freelancer who’s looking for some new leads. Now, you may be well aware that a coalition of armies took out all the trash from Ko-Koro recently…” As he spoke, Makua took stock of the new bodies that were now in this expanding group. It felt like everyone had somehow approached these two Fowadi crewmen at the same time. His survey of the newcomers paused briefly at the ebon and dark emerald Toa who looked like she had just finished a workout. Was she also part of the crew, or just a fellow guest? Makua hoped for the latter. He then saw a familiar-looking Ga-Matoran and... a tiny shapely humanoid form on the nearby railing that might've just talked. Miraculously, Makua was able to continue, finishing his query. “… and while I’ve heard other people’s claims about the Makuta cultists, but I wanted to see if any of you folks had a more final word on Echelon since then? Or the Piraka, Kohra, Eisen, Ronkshou, and Vidar, for that matter?” It may have been roguishly needless to add Vidar’s name to that list, but Makua knew that Ronkshou and Vidar were often associated, for one reason or another. Perhaps overpreparing for Krayn’s assumed heightened perception or critical thinking, Makua tried to offcast any surmise that he knew of one’s fate any better than the other’s (at least for now). The sellsword had once been told that both Vidar and Ronkshou had been killed by Joske Nimil at the Battle of Kini Nui. Discovering Vidar in the location he was in exposed such perjurious claims, leading to bitter doubts about the veracity of other rumors; if Vidar lived, Ronkshou’s continued existence followed (in Makua’s mind). Perhaps once Makua had a better feel of Krayn Inzaka’s sensibilities, Makua would circle back to him with the truth of Vidar’s fate without reprisal from a strangely legalistic or sanctimonious disposition. After Makua finished his question, his gaze wandered completely past the green and black Toa and back to the crystalline spirit on the railing. “Is that thing moving?...” Makua asked dumbly. OOC: @Snelly @Mel @Void Emissary @The UltimoScorp and other nearby folks

IC: Vidar — Niici’s Home — West Ko-Koro It was cold. It was way too cold. Mist puffed out of the pitiful-looking Great Miru as the beastly warrior huffed through this odd encounter. The morning rays continued to give him energy, but the shining blue waif that stood before him seemed intent on slowing down his body and mind. Something about a test. The cyanish-white wafers continued to swerve towards Vidar. The exercise had started with pairs of the ice-cold bits, but that number seemed to be multiplying as his new “master” twirled her staff with faster and faster revolutions. After a while, Vidar began to track the pattern. Far-flung memories of Ronkshou, his lightning bolts, and the deep jungle began to glean their way back into the former Dark Toa’s muscle memory. More than a dozen ice wafers had zipped past the dancing green Toa, and he was no longer feeling the sleepy cold. But the waif had not relented. She was now holding the staff with both hands, spinning it so fast that it was now a greyish disc-shaped blur — one that was creating a wind tunnel and causing Vidar to reel backwards. And then, suddenly, the Ko-Toa let go of her staff, and it continued to spin at the same velocity. One could pin it as a fancy trick of the woman's Kanohi Matatu, but Vidar remembered his long-past training. The Ko-Toa’s palms were open and her arms, while not fully outstretched, were extended nonetheless. And to top it all off, the air generated by the rotary rod was oppressively cold to that point that Vidar could see the white dust starting to dress him. This staff must be hollowed out and brimful with water, which explains its graceful handling by the tall, svelte Toa. It also explained the spiky crystal tendrils that seemed to grow from within the staff and wrap around it like a choking vine. Vidar squatted down low and extended his arms behind him. Then, after looking up at the gray, blurry disc that was above and snowing all over him, drove all his power through his legs and heels, explosively extending his hips and propelling himself high into the air. Vidar swung his arms forward, his slicers poised for a trisection of the propeller-like Toa Tool. Just as Vidar was closing in for the kill, his arms, legs, and even his upward trajectory froze in place. It was a flagrantly uncomfortable. Vidar looked at the ice staff again, only to see it not spinning or moving at all. It hovered inert in midair for what felt like an eternity, but couldn't have been more than a second. Vidar was now grasping the staff, and he felt himself falling towards the marble floor of the large, minimalist-looking rec room. Yes, Vidar considered it falling — because his descent was completely out of his control. The former servant of Makuta didn’t even notice his feet touch the ground. He gazed down at the staff that he held within his callous, rugged hands. The material that housed the ice within was both immaculate and hardy. And it actually felt a little bit heavy. Vidar staggered and started to fall forward before the waif, now face-to-face with him, helped him steady himself. “That’s a classic one. Use the ice to shock your muscles and even numb them to a point,” the woman spoke softly as she gingerly plucked her crystal-adorned staff from Vidar’s hands, “Once the subject’s muscles are disengaged, they’re much easier to move and carry around. No different from a standard soldier carry.” Vidar surveyed the woman standing before him as she triumphantly twirled her staff one more time. The toned muscles of her arms and legs were noticeable now that she was up close. She was not as waiflike as the insane killer had thought. “You’re everything I’d hoped you’d be. As fast and instinctual as the stories have been suggesting,” the woman said, now speaking at normal volume, “But the game has changed. With every passing week, new fighting techniques are discovered, new ways to win against impossible odds. And it appears you haven’t regained your mastery over air. That wind tunnel I made would’ve been trivial for you otherwise.” His new owner put a hand on the tattered warrior’s shoulder, and she wore a visage that appeared like true sympathy and optimism to Vidar. “Today is a blessed day for you. For I'm going to tell the Good Doctor about you. Wouldn't you like to control air once again? To use mask powers as you had before?” The toned waif paused for a moment, and it was just enough time for Vidar to relish in his own imaginations of recrudescent power; a return to the old days. “I’ve learned of something that could do it. I will meet with my friend and send him here. With any luck, he’ll be my first partner” * * * IC: Niici — Nuju-Marion Research Hospital (Several Miles East of Ko-Koro) The Toa of Ice leaned insouciantly against one of the corner pillars of the new enclosed funicular as it steadily elevated along its heated tracks. At this point, Niici barely paid any mind to the breathtaking vistas as the box climbed the bluffs that backed the Regal University like a royal guard to its queen. Over and over again, Niici would make this trip to see her longstanding friend, but at least she didn’t have to walk this time. Aqi, or The Good Doctor as Niici and others called him, was actually a chief surgeon. Proficient at both the practice of trauma surgery as well as restorative and reconstructive surgery, Aqi was the top jewel of Mata Nui’s most wealthy patients. Of course, the surgeon never required payment up front, so Matoran of all economic backgrounds could get the help and rebuilding that they needed if something catastrophic ever happened. In his ingenuity, Aqi devised a payment plan program, which he then evolved into one of the most lucrative loan establishments on Mata Nui. His side business guaranteed a steady income thanks to the cottage industry of bill collectors. His most recent innovation of debt handling was a previously unheard-of method of charging interest. The chief surgeon had dubbed it “variable-rate”, and the influx of borrowers led to a 250% increase in profit! Turns out, most people think variable interest means "it'll go down". As Niici exited the funicular and walked towards the newly rebuilt hospital entrance, she made eye contact to the few Matoran (likely debtors) who seemed to gaze in awe — they either knew who she was or were impressed by the semblance of royalty protruded by her brisk pace and the commanding clack of her heels on the granite pathway. Niici navigated to the winch-operated elevator in rote fashion, barely paying mind to the Ko-Matoran attendants (also likely debtors) behind the desk. She knew the path to Aqi’s office by heart — it was one of the nicest ones in the facility. After entering the elevator and selecting the top floor, Niici once again reminisced about her longtime friend's success. A Gentryman and dutiful noble, Aqi had overclocked his journey to fortune after the death of Akiri Matoro — whose vision of Ko-Koro ran directly against a world where men like Aqi were the kings of health care. He became more businessman than doctor, establishing branches in all the other cities to further entrench his practice, maintaining a high standard of service, and forging connections with other members of the Cultured Gentry. Niici, being a friend from his past, considered herself one of his closest connections. It’s why the Chairwoman called him the Good Doctor. Unlike the comparably indigent "healers" on Mata Nui, Aqi saw the big picture, and knew how to use his skills to truly elevate himself and his friends. Under Aqi’s practice, healers were his emissaries — practically unable to conceive of offering their labor under anyone else's name, including their own. Niici soon found herself standing before the surgeon, and it was here that she took in the impeccable vistas that extended to the width of his office, broken up only by the dark silhouette of a Toa sitting behind a mahogany desk. Aqi was a slender, surefooted-looking Toa of Ice with broad shoulders and long, dexterous fingers. His mask and armor were a reflective obsidian color — less common for a Ko-Toa, while his sleeves and trousers were the familiar snowy white. The mask on his face was the Great Kanohi Akaku, which Niici believed he put to much better use than First Toa Kopaka ever did. Over it all was the standard white coat —Aqi's badge of office. An attendant, a meek Ko-Matoran, gingerly closed the door behind Niici, and Aqi wordlessly gestured towards a chair. “Right on time,” the Akaku-wearing Toa said, his voice deep yet welcoming, “It’s good to see you again.” Niici gave a lustrous smile as she sat down, “I couldn’t wait. There’s been a development, and you’re the first man I thought of for this venture!” Aqi’s expression did not change. It was a stoic but hospitable smile designed with surgical precision to relax and disarm. “I’m listening”

OOC: Moving from Ga-Wahi... IC: Makua — Deck of The Fowadi One would not expect a Toa of Ice such as Makua to feel at home in a place like Ta-Wahi. It was well-known, even back during his days as a Toa Kodin, that he had an — albeit muted — affinity to Mata Nui’s volcanic region. To him, embracing the heat was true power and strength. Ice-cold showers were the long-familiar preference of the hermits of Ko-Wahi, for that, Makua sought out the hot springs. That was precisely what drew Makua to Ta-Koro. He was first exposed to the city as a Sanctum Guard on North March (now the Obsidian Outpost). Makua and his squad mates often worked and quarreled with the Ta-Koro platoon whenever operations were performed around the old cable car. One point of amusement was always whenever Ta-Matoran Guardsmen would go missing in the merciless Ko-Wahi drifts. On more than one occasion, he was written up for mouthing off to a Ta-Koronan Sergeant or two. Always a Ta-Matoran going missing in the drifts. What’s the count of Ko-Koronans lost to the Trem Krom Break? With an expectant grin on his face, Makua strolled up the steps toward the main deck. The Ko-Toa had to admit, the Fowadi staff had accommodated him beyond his expectations in exchange for his coin. He had slept comfortably, the hardy build of the flagship cradling him to familiar shores. He had then ascended from his private bunk below deck to the mess hall for breakfast. Around him, crews on break time were engaged in a cacophony of stories, debates, and games. Makua had just enough stories of his past as a Guardsman to exchange for some interesting tales and recollections from the many observers on this ship. It did not take long for vacationing sellsword to learn who the main characters were, even if they apparently would change from time to time. Po-Koro’s propaganda machine be ******, Makua thought, these Sentinels aren’t too different from the Sanctum Guard or the Ta-Koro Guard. The sun had barely cleared the oceanic horizon when Makua reached the main deck. The winds of Rehu Cove were as familiar as the ashen aroma that said winds carried. The topside of the ship had become fairly active at this point. Crewmen and soldiers were bustling about, orders were being shouted, and confirmations were being yelled back. All the while, the shiny-armored Toa stood still, taking in the ashes, the burnt forests ahead, and the beach’s cliffside greeting him from the Fowadi’s starboard. He wondered if Muuk was nearby — he had presumed the quartermaster had not disembarked. He began to walk down along the deck when he felt a firm smack to the shoulder. “’Ey there!” It was one of the Sentinels Makua ate breakfast with. He was a stout Po-Toa with an Arthron of similar color to Hewkii’s, and he was gesturing forward. “One’a those higher-ups I told ya’bout,” said the gruff Toa. Makua’s gaze followed the man’s gesture, and the officer was not hard to miss. He wore a Great Sanok and had a uniform that looked familiar, but had no insignia to give it away. Makua had seen many such uniformed officers in his time. Those jobs usually brought him the best coin, but were always the most tedious. Next to him was what Makua guessed was a Toa given their mask. He was shorter than the uniformed officer, but was even more sturdily built than Tailua. And that was saying something. Regardless, the sellsword operated as he had when he first came aboard the flagship: making his way to the officer and his colleagues while nodding assuredly to the bustling crewmen on the deck as if he was the captain. While the crew was busy, the rising sun was having a field day with Makua’s golden pauldrons, and while the ashes would amend this soon enough, everyone on deck would likely know of their luster — whether they wanted to or not. OOC: @Krayzikk @Perp@Void Emissary ... and Makua!

IC: Wokiya — Ga-Koro Gates Waves lapped against the pearly beach as the cool breeze of dawn swirled under the calm aqua and magenta skies. This new day in Ga-Koro brought with it a slightly calmer feeling. Numerous sea-faring vessels still dotted Naho bay, with lines of crew-Matoran working tirelessly and chatter overpowering the normally aquatic soundscape of the region. The difference is a system of sorts had been figuered out and put in place. Crowds of all manner of races knew what to do, and it was just a matter of getting it done. Among the bustling throngs of Toa, Matoran, Turaga, and Skakdi, were a quartet of Matoran armed to the teeth with quills and flax paper. One had a feminine figure and was gripping the strap of her messenger bag as it bounced against her hip. On her other hip were two mini-axes tied to her belt. Her mask, a blue Great Kaukau several shades lighter than Akiri Hahli’s, reflected the morning sun while only partially obscuring her expression; an expression that was almost slack-jawed. Her supervisor, on the other hand, was full-on slack-jawed. His piercing glacial blue eyes were noticeably wider than normal behind his pearly white Noble Rau. The Ko-Matoran was equipped with two messenger bags filled to the brim with both writing supplies and food rations to last the trip. In all his visits, he had never seen Ga-Koro — the patron village of unity and calmness — to be so full of activity. Behind them were two additional Ko-Matoran that made up their quant little crew from the Mata Nui Daily’s Ko-Koro branch. “We’re… dreadfully under-staffed for this,” the Rau-wearing Ko-Matoran stammered quietly. “As I knew we would be,” the Ga-Matoran replied with annoyance, “But you know what, Catarix? The Mata Nui Daily’s constant remissness of what’s really important on this island is precisely why we’re here” The two assistant reporters gave assenting hums. The four Matoran continued walking, gingerly brushing past the dockworkers hauling supplies in seemingly all directions. Catarix Vint-Rasque in particular took notice of the crystal-adorned beings that were shuffling around. The hearsay that had made it to Ko-Koro had been more accurate than he had given credit for. “I know how much that grant is important to you, Wokiya,” Catarix seeing, eyeing the station Ga-Koro Marines at the main entrance. “However, my bets on you having tea with Akiri Hahli today are about as high as a corpulent Gukko Bird can fly” Wokiya gave a slanted frown as Catarix’s words made their way from her ears to her head and then to her heart. “Might not get to see Hahli today, but we could still get that grant. I’m sure someone in the Akiri’s office will be able to meet with us” Wokiya, Catarix, and the other two reporters lowered their bags and held out their official Mata Nui Daily press badges, barely thinking about the ritual at this point. These particular Marines seemed to be all-too-familiar with the process as well, giving quick glances over the two journalists’ credentials and expediently inspecting their luggage. “We were wondering when you folks would arrive,” a bloomsome, Pakari-wearing Ga-Toa officer said as she handed Wokiya back her axes and messenger bag, “Looks like you’ve got your work cut out for you two” “How has the Ga-Koro branch been handling things?” Catarix asked as he hauled his two messenger bags back onto his shoulders. The regional editor was immensely curious on the state of affairs after the recent departure of their old regional editor. “Short answer? They haven’t,” a stout, Akaku-wearing Ga-Toa officer said, “Best of luck to you too” Wokiya scanned the causeways intently. She knew what kind of stories she wanted to find, and it was critical that they had a diverse pool of people, exclusively from this mysterious land to the east. Given the looks of this mass migration, these people were here to stay, and the people across the island needed to know about these newcomers and their culture. The sooner Mata Nuiians saw their crystal-armored comrades as “Us” and not “Them”, the better. Her attention then turned to Catarix Vint-Rasque, regional editor for the Ko-Koro branch of Mata Nui Daily. It had been a tumultuous partnership and a drastic change from her day-to-day reporting in Ta-Koro an occupation that allowed her to win the presitigous Chronicler’s Honor after the game-changing covering of the Piraka Raid on Ta-Koro. However, history repeated itself during the takeover and hostage crisis of Ko-Koro. Wokiya managed to sneak in and get testimonies no one else could from regular civilians, some of which would not live to see their stories published. Catarix offered all that he could in order to poach her talent for his icy region, and as luck would have it for him, Wokiya already had strong ties to the frigid city — it basically being her hometown. Wokiya’s attention lingered on Catarix for a reason she felt and understood deeply. The consternation on his visage divulged the deep-seated discomfiture that afflicted both of them. The fact that the Ga-Koro regional office was not scrambling for coverage of these events was disappointing, but hardly surprising. The new chief regional editor had her own agenda, as Catarix and Wokiya both learned. It was but a single stone, part of a rockslide that was the cataclysmic decline of Mata Nui’s Daily’s journalistic integrity. “We need to prove to the Akiri’s office that we can do these people justice,” Wokiya said to her supervisor, “That’s how we’re gonna get that grant, and once we do-” “It’s important not to get too far ahead of ourselves,” Catarix countered, “Even if just the four of us manage to pull off one of Mata Nui’s biggest stories to date, and even if that leads to Hahli’s administration wanting to award us that grant, it needs to be a good deal; one that will protect the rights of the press” “Hahli wants to enrich journalism. I know that in my heart,” Wokiya replied, “Like, she still insists on calling it chronicling, and us Chroniclers. Old-fashioned, sure, but it’s always felt like Hahli in particular has had more a sort of kinship to the field than her fellow Akiri” “I don’t think she’s reported on anything before in her life,” Catarix said. “I’ve never disc-thrown from a Gukko Bird before,” Wokiya shrugged, “I still love it and think I’d be good at it if I had the time to try” With that, Wokiya resumed her scan of the surrounding migrants. Focussed now more than ever to get this right. And they needed to get this right. OOC: Always open for interaction, as a friendly reminder.

IC: Niici — Ko-Koro, The Wise Man’s Archive The Chairwoman nodded to Cyrix as he exited the back room. Moments later, Niici also took her leave. She gave Priicu a smiling nod before also departing the store. As she entered back into the brisk and windy atmosphere, Niici’s thoughts fell back into the establishment she’d just left. It certainly had potential. Perhaps, once it proved to be more successful financially, its proprietor would be open to an invitation. She’d first need to send a few of her colleagues to visit — see how the store runs when it’s actually open. Secondly, there was the personality and ambition of Priicu himself. It takes a certain type to be a Gentryman. Only by learning more about him and his wants would reveal if he would be a good fit. Nonetheless, she would remember the Wise Man’s Archive, and its owner, for some time. Cultured Gentry HQ It had been a long day, but after hours of working, Niici completed her first major item on her to-do list as newly reinstated chairwoman. Her office had been completely cleaned up and organized. Files on current members and their ventures, along with a historical record of meeting notes, treasury documents, and other written correspondence, were now in protected cabinets within her office. Most disappointingly, Niici could find very little about her predecessor. Indeed, the High Vizier Ambages had been meticulous in his notes and observation of others — Niici learned things about the Elders and the current board members that would surely give her leverage — but Niici had learned nothing new about Ambages. Either the deceased Architect had been very diligent about the files he kept in his private office, or someone else had done some cleaning up shortly after Ko-Koro was liberated. Heck, it might have even been done even while Ko-Koro was occupied. Niici sighed. Night had fallen at this point, and it had been a busy, yet productive day. As the Toa stood looking at the tidy shelves and cabinets around her, she glanced behind her on the ornate wooden desk, which was clear of all but a journal and a jewel-encrusted fountain pen. The open book revealed a page that only had the following text: Antidermis (meet with the Good Doctor at Nuju-Marion. Get research going with him) Syzygos; Muirtagh Fenn (Lawyer from Po-Koro). Also investigating Antidermis. Sent from Po-Koro? Cyrix; Toa Kalta (meet with Aelied). Get read on Aelied. Toa Kalta: Friends or Foes? Akiri Tarkahn. Set up formal meeting with him tomorrow East Le-Wahi Trading Company - begin meeting with them. Perhaps they can help with A.D. search? Niici took the journal, which hosted her daily agenda and quarterly initiatives, and locked it away. The Toa of Ice was done with work for the day. Tomorrow, she would start presenting her new initiative to her team, and delegating new tasks. Niici turned off the lights, locked the office and departed the HQ, the shadow of nightfall accompanying her trip back home.

IC: Ra’lhen — Onu-Koro, the Mudpool Inn, A Pool™️ Resort The Toa nodded with approval at his thorough and sometimes frantic handiwork on his armor. After moments of denying it, Ra’lhen had to make the humbling admission: he was nervous. Despite the identity he had during the time of the Wanderers Company, he current and true identity still held a deep admiration for all of the Toa Maru. They were successors to the First Toa, and while Stannis seemed at least fairly grounded once you got to know him, Ra’lhen did not know the others well enough shed his Sentinel identity. Ra’lhen worked so hard that the armor looked almost as good as it did even he received it… yesterday? Time seems to be moving at the speed of a wedged boulder, or maybe this is a lot more adventuring than I'm used to, thought Ra’lhen Now looking almost completely fresh (but feeling the exact opposite), Ra'lhen made his way downstairs. Stannis was already there. Ra'lhen hoped he hadn't kept the Granite Guardian waiting for too long.

IC: Makua — Ga-Koro, The Fowadi Makua gave a sly smile. “As it so happens, I am a sellsword by trade. You may also consider my skills as part of additional payment, if the situation comes where they are needed” The conversation was quickly interrupted by the antics of what appeared to be another Lesterin climbing the mast of the Fowadi. “Hah, people these days, am I right?” Makua said, not for a second considering his own methods of getting aboard the massive ship. “Welp, I’ll leave you to it. I pack light, so I’m free to settle in wherever and whenever” Makua looked around the deck of the ship. The structure truly was massive, with multiple entrances to the lower decks. With sword, rations, and widgets on hand, Makua walked away with an air of misplaced confidence in his spatial skills. He was making his way towards whichever entrance was closest, nodding assuredly to the other crewmen on the deck as if he was the captain.

IC: Ra’lhen — Onu-Koro, the Mudpool Inn, A Pool™️ Resort Thanks dad — I had no idea, Ra’lhen thought contemptuously. With the extreme dehydration, along with the disorientation of being in another city, it should not have been surprising to the Toa of Lightning that he was moving and thinking much more slowly than usual. But it was. And Ra’lhen found it difficult to form complete sentences out loud. The harsh truth was that Stannis was right, even if he was just as hungover (or more so) than the Sentinel. He wondered when was the last time the Granite Guardian had gone a such a bender. Regardless, at least it was a night to remember. As soon as Ra’lhen could remember what actually happened. Nothing would ever cure the day’s discomfort, but it would be wholly inaccurate to claim that the breakfast, juice, and waters did not help at least some. Ra’lhen could feel some of his energy returning as he finished the last of his meal. For the rest, he would keep up appearances. His days long ago with the Toa Kodin had been wild on some occasions, especially with uproarious men like Makua and Tailua in his team. Some days they would push Ra’lhen too far, and he’d wake up in a similar state like this. Every time, Ra’lhen would appear more on top of his game than Makua and Tailua — two cadets who ironically put great stock in appearances. Ra’lhen pretended that he was once again leading a team of Toa, and that he was about to deliver important news to someone. It fit, in a way — he was representing the Sentinels. How poor it would look to give the Onu-Koronans a negative view of their discipline. Speaking of which, he’d need to be clean before even considering meeting the famed Toa Maru of Earth. There was already so much working against Ra’lhen, between the hangover and the meeting of yet another man who had every reason to hold a grudge against him because of The Other Guy’s crimes. However, Ra’lhen had repeatedly been surprised at the grace of the Maru. He feared no reprisal from Sulov… so long as Ra’lhen looked respectable. Slowly, Ra’lhen stood up from the table. His balance is one of many things that would take more time to recover. “Meet you back down at the entrance within the hour?” Ra’lhen asked.

IC: Niici — Ko-Koro, Wise Man’s Archive (Backroom) The Toa crossed her arms self-assuredly as Muir and the Archive’s owner walked away. As they departed, Niici glanced around the room full of manuscripts and books and then began to remember the look and layout of the library as she walked in. It was a nice place for sure, and it was curious that she hadn’t heard of it before. Maybe it was new. At any rate, such a calming quiet place would be a popular destination for the studious Ko-Koronans. Like all the other business owners in Ko-Koro and beyond, Niici had an obligation to facilitate a potential relationship with those businesses which showed potential. She would need to make sure she caught the owner’s name. Once things were settled here, she would have much to report on to her staff and to the board of directors. One of those notes would include reaching out to this fellow here. Niici’s suddenly found her train of thought being interrupted by the exchange of a cigarette between Cyrix and Syzygos. She raised an eyebrow and then quickly lowered — it should’ve been obvious the Toa of Air was a smoker. He had the demeanor. She just wished he had better taste in brands. Niici commonly carried her extended slim black cigarette holder with her, in case such opportunities arose like right now. She had begun pulling it out of her jacket pouch when she saw the brand that Syzygos was smoking. As much as she would've loved to partake, no respectable Gentry-fellow would be caught dead smoking a Fusa. She couldn’t risk word getting out about that potentially. And so, the cigarette holder moved back to where it was and rested in her pouch. The air dome beside her got so smoky that she struggled to see inside. She felt like she was said and seen what she needed to, and it would be wise to go back to HQ and process this while it was fresh. The Archive owner, like virtually all establishment owners, would be here when she or a representative got back. With that, she stood up and leaned forward slightly, turning her head to the right, and looking through the smoke at the two Toa. She waved politely and gave a telltale expression of Are we done here?, smiling all the way. OOC: @BULiK @Keeper of Kraata

IC: Wokodin — Po-Koro, Sentinel Headquarters The towering hold which kept the brightest and strongest of Po-Koro’s servicemen was buzzing with a little more activity than usual. Times had become more exciting for the greener Sentinels and Officers in the force. While fear was immediately coursing through many of them like blood through veins, I had accepted this trait as part of the makeup of many of the Po-Koro Sentinels. Hewkii had been a strong leader with a vision, until the tension and intransigents of outsiders ate away at his spine. The Po-Matoran had lost his best friend, his far-away lover, his athletic drive, and now he was without his fame and his badge of office. Many even in my own squad had placed their trust in the newcomer, a Matoran who rose through the ranks by effectively pulling the strings of politics. To be fair, she was a better stateswoman than Hewkii, but could she lead? Would she be there with the clear plan of action when the time came? I didn’t believe so, but it was not first time my experiences, as well as many achievements had been doubted. And in this case, I dared not speak in favor of Hewkii. The political climate had changed too much, and many of my outspoken colleagues were on the outs with the Sentinel organization. Po-Koro needed unwavering leadership and strength to keep itself as the rightful king-state of this island. We have the force, we have the numbers, and we have the technology. And of course, we have me. I thought about this as whispers and murmurs continued in the main hall outside my office. Words traveled quickly as they bounced off the stone walls. Though such words were not always clear, you learned to decipher through the acoustics. I took a swig of coffee from my standard Sentinel mug. I was getting rather impatient. One of my reports, Ra’lhen, had not shown for his briefing. The trip to Ostia was a long but easy one. He should have arrived by now and it was never like him to eschew such responsibility. After setting the mug down on my desk, I rose from my seat and left my office, embracing the cool air of the HQ atrium. This is where much of the chatter took place. Rows of stone slabs hosted busy officers and clerks. My office was on the third floor and I walked up to the stone railing, looking down at the open, busy floor below. Might not hurt to make sure the Sentinel wasn’t lost inside the labyrinthine structure that was the headquarters. Once I trudged down the stairs and arrived at the floor of the atrium, my mail stop had caught my eye. There had been some deliveries, evidently. “Codex of Absolution?” I grumbled softly. Ra’lhen had been tasked by the Akiri to assist in establishing a mutual protection alliance with Stannis Maru. I narrowed my eyes grimly. Either Akiri Lichtgheist had not bothered to look up Ra’lhen’s personnel record, or she was naïve about the Sentinel’s capability and reliability to travel to the dark caverns of Onu-Koro given his past. Or maybe she really trusted Stannis. Unconscionable. Nonetheless, I took refuge in knowing I didn’t need to waste the day waiting around for him. There was plenty to do as it was.

IC: Makua — Ga-Koro, The Fowadi “Aye!” The Toa raised his right arm, extending his sword towards the water that separated him from the ship. As the ice raft continued to sink, Makua channeled his energies through the blade and creating a rectangular platform directly under the rope. The sword, originally dubbed the Sword of Vengeance, had been Makua’s trusty Toa tool ever since he was transformed from his Ko-Matoran form. The metal quality was unlike most of the blades that were forged around the island of Mata Nui. Myths spoke of it being made of a different metallic alloy altogether. Some myths also claimed it was forged by the Makuta himself. A weapon perfect for taking him down, if only Makua could have gotten close. Whatever the sword’s true history was, Makua was grateful for the gift. One day, he would need to pay old Toa Olaki his respects once again. Once Makua stepped onto the flat, floating iceberg, the platform began to sink. With minimal effort, Makua sheathed the sword into his back and climbed up onto the massive deck of the Fowadi. He stood proudly as he looked down at the tan and brown Po-Matoran. “Looks even more impressive in person,” Makua said, looking around on the ship deck before looking back at the armored Po-Matoran. “I’m Toa Makua, pleasure to make your acquaintance,” Makua said, “Are you the quartermaster?” OOC: @sunflower