JRRT

It came on a dark night, the gliding shadow-goer. The warriors sleptwho should have guarded the hall...Then came from off the moors, under cover of darknessGrendel going, God's anger he bore; The crime-scather thought to entrap some fewOf the race of men in the high hall......Quickly the fiend tread upon the gilded floor, enraged, And from his eyes there stood, like fire, an unholy light...Then his mind laughed! The terrible Adversary thought that he would separate, before the day came, one from another,life from body... ...The Adversary did not think to delaybut swiftly seized a first timeone sleeping warrior, struck without warning, bit into his bone-locks, drank the blood in streamsswallowed him fully...Soon he hadall but consumed the unliving onefeet and hands.---And you thought Beowulf was boring? No, it's terrifying.JRRT

screeeeeeeeeech JR.RT

I'd like to point out the Tolkien might be into mythology, but mythopoeia isn't about that. It's the act of creating the universe, structure, laws, and myths of a "secondary" world for a story (and a term coined by the real-life J.R.R. Tolkien).~ BioGio...and it's downright terrifying.JR.RT

'Old fool! This is my hour. Do you not know Death when you see it? Die now and curse in vain!' JRRT

Maybe. Then again, maybe it's just the most epic moment in RotK... JRRT

Perfectionist, by Aderia: Toa of Ducklings, reviewed.JRRT

Hi Aderia. There’s an official SSCC3 review for you here. Just need a signature—------Great story, and a very interesting read, built around an interesting concept. The idea that the Brotherhood might just create a Toa to do their work has always seemed possible, but never actually happened in the canon. I think you’ve provided a fascinating look at how it might work.In terms of the writing, you have a good grasp of description, both of the environment and of a character’s feelings and sensations. The opening few scenes, with Evior completing his mission and the description of his first few moments of life were particularly well-done, I think. Also, your dialogue is quite good—very natural, not too stilted, and it was easy to transition from one character’s lines to another.All in all, an enjoyable read, and I look forward to more.In fact, in reading this, I must admit I have very little to criticize. Some elements of wording and description might be improved (like perhaps the dialogue of the Steltian barkeeper—a few too many apostrophes?), but overall, this is a very well-conceived, well-structured story. Of course, anything can stand improvement, and in the interest of provided some substantive critique, I’ll pick one thing that might seem rather minor at first glance:Action. There’s not a whole lot of it here, but it ends up being the hook that gets the reader into your story, since the opening scene is really an action scene, with a slow build-up of tension that’s finally released (like…a whip cracking…oh, yes, very good).With this in mind, one thing that I thought could improve the opening scene of the story was a better depiction of the setting within which the action takes place. I could picture to some extent the geography of the canyon, but the actual details are a bit sparse. For example, the fact that Evior is standing by a cliff-side didn’t register quite as strikingly as it should have, and I ended up not realizing that he had sent the Skakdi over the edge until the final sentence (although the detail of the Rahi birds flying away was quite good). So I think that might be cast a little more effectively simply by adding more concrete description to the scene.Otherwise, moving away from the actual writing-structure, something plot-related that I think could warrant improvement is the actual background of Evior himself. As the reader, I still ended up with quite a few questions as to what his purpose was. He seems to be sort of an assassin for the Brotherhood—who is he assassinating? Was there an actual purpose for him to kill the Skakdi in the opening scene? In view of the fact that this is supposed to introduce an epic, I can understand that certain things might remain unexplained, but I was still a bit mystified in the end.Others have noted the nitpicky things, so I won’t repeat them. Again: I think these issues are rather minor in light of the overall story. So don’t take them too seriously. Please.JRRT

I suppose I'll take the opportunity here:Remember, by Tolkien.JRRT

Thanks for the comments, you two. Much appreciated. :) Sorry for the lateness of my reply: Life, laziness, etc. High praise, but I'm afraid I have to disagree on the first point: Tolkien's writing style is very different than (and far superior to) my own, if I even have a consistent writing style. I've actually attempted, as far as I'm able, to avoid explicitly Tolkienian prose. Maybe I didn't succeed. Regardless, I'm afraid I have to agree with your second point, though ( ) --overloading the narrative flow with too much detail is a constant problem for me. Any particular passages you can mention? Thanks. You're right that the interpretation is a bit up in the air, and you've hit on one of the ideas I had in mind at the beginning. Basically, that the world Nga-ro/Mata Nui is inhabiting is a dream-world of, shall we say, "inverses" where he is the Matoran and he is alone in an empty universe (an inversion of the "Great Spirit > Matoran" system). That was idea #1, but as the story progressed, I actually shifted toward quite a different idea...I'm considering writing a bit of an explanation for it in a blog entry...hrm. Thanks anyways.JRRT

Reviewed Jowm's "Scars of War."JRRT

Hello Jowm. This is your official SSCC3 review. A long time coming, I’m afraid. But here we are.First off, I just want to say this is one of the more interesting Spherus Magna-oriented stories I’ve read. The prehistory of the Glatorian and the Core War has always been ripe for expansion, and I think you’ve done a good job with that. I also like the interaction between the much younger and more inexperienced Ackar and the character of Perditus. You were successful in creating two well-rounded characters. So kudos to you on the story/plot side of things. Well done, and I look forward to reading more.----------On the critique side of things, I’ll start off by saying that this story would definitely benefit from some major re-formatting of the text. Dialogue in particular should be split off from the description, and each separate line of dialogue should get its own line. Generally, huge blocks of text are very difficult to get through visually, and unfortunately they tend to make people skip over them. Plus, if you’re writing an action scene, short, punctuated formatting can actually help convey movement and suspense.For example, in the opening scene, you start with two paragraphs. The first isn’t bad, but the second should definitely be split up, starting (again) with the dialogue. There’s a lot that happens in the second paragraph, and it’s best to try to think through when a particular line of thought ends and another begins. This is a good rule of thumb for the entire story, actually, as the trend of huge chunks of text continues throughout.Another point I’ll mention—somewhat connected to the first—is your description of action. At times it’s a bit clunky. Here’s a specific example: Drawing and swinging a sword is generally meant to be quick and fast-paced, and you can convey this sense of speed through the wording of a passage. Think: is it really necessary to describe the exact direction of Ackar’s blow, as well as his thought processes for concluding to strike there all before the actual impact occurs? If you must, at least delay these points until after Ackar has hit his opponent. Otherwise, as the reader, I’m visually stuck at the point before Ackar actually attacks. Continuing on: The passage about Ackar switching his weapons between hands could definitely benefit from some reduction—not so much removing it as stream-lining the way it's said. Perhaps something like: “Ackar transferred his Thornax launcher to his sword-hand and pulled his fellow Glatorian to his feet.” That’s just a suggestion, but you can see how the focus of the passage avoids getting mired in the image of Ackar switching hands, etc., and gets right to the point. This another good rule to follow in writing action sequences: as a reader, the action can only be delayed so much before the tension starts to fade.The last issue I’ll note has to do with the age-old struggle between showing and telling. It’s most evident in the dialogue, particularly the “tags” following lines of speech. This is basically the problem of deciding between describing the intent or reactions of a character by stating them outright or letting that intent be conveyed by the character’s dialogue itself.Here are just a few examples I found: These aren’t terrible tags, but notice that in all cases like this the dialogue conveys one action, and then the tag describes that action again. So, in the first example, saying first “ordered” and then “his commanding voice” is rather redundant (I’d suggest dropping “ordered” in favor of “said”). The same goes for the second and the third: saying “Halt!” or “Let’s go” is already a command/order, so “he commanded/ordered” is extraneous. Again, think about whether or not the dialogue itself is already conveying the act of “explaining, ordering, interjecting, etc.,” and then decide whether or not a dialogue tag other than “said” is really necessary (Yes, it’s okay for characters to just say things! ). The second one of these is another redundant tag. The first and third are also redundant, but in a more explicit way. Think about what the characters are saying here: both are asking questions, so why does the reader need to be told that they are “questioning”?There were quite a few other examples of this sort of thing, so that would be a good place to start in further revisions.And that concludes the critique portion of this review. Er…I suppose that concludes the review portion of this review then. The review is concluded. I usually do a "nitpicks" section for typos and what-not, but I can't say that I ran into anything major. So again, a very interesting plot and setting. With some revisions, this could make quite an engaging and thrilling short story. I look forward to more.JRRT

WttV Entry 1.3 It was a hau. It was a Hau. A Kanohi Hau was hanging in the night air before him, huge and spectral. A Hau made of light. The stars seemed to glimmer through its face, through its two huge eyes. They were deep eyes, ancient and tranquil. The pattern of the stars found an order in those eyes. “Wh-who are you?” Takanuva asked, finally finding his voice. His eyes were wide, almost disbelieving the image that hung before him. The shock of seeing such a familiar likeness in such a foreign place seemed to clash with the relief he felt at finding something living in this dead forest. “I am...of the Great Beings,” the Hau said, staring down at him impassively. Its eyes seemed to pierce him through, gazing into his heart and mind. “Can you...can you tell me where I am?” Takanuva replied. He felt his heartbeat quicken at the mention of the Great Beings. Perhaps he wasn’t as far from home as he had thought. “You are lost.” it replied, and Takanuva thought he caught a glimmer of humor in the mask’s face. “Yes, I know,” he said, frowning a little, “I mean, can you help me find my way?” “I can.” Now the image of the mask turned its eyes downward. Takanuva’s gaze followed, and, there in front of him, he saw the shape of the gnomon, still quivering slightly, pointing straight toward the floating Hau. He picked it up gingerly, finding that it no longer burned him. “Why did this lead me to you?” Takanuva asked, turning the small rod in his fingers. “It is also of the Great Beings.” “Oh? But it’s just a gnomon.” “Appearance should not be judged so hastily,” the mask said with a tinge of reproach. “You will only deceive yourself that way.” Takanuva sighed. The mask was a riddle-maker. . . .Read on JRRT

: 1.3 : : : It was a hau.It was a Hau.A Kanohi Hau was hanging in the night air before him, huge and spectral. A Hau made of light.The stars seemed to glimmer through its face, through its two huge eyes. They were deep eyes, ancient and tranquil. The pattern of the stars found an order in those eyes.“Wh-who are you?” Takanuva asked, finally finding his voice. His eyes were wide, almost disbelieving the image that hung before him. The shock of seeing such a familiar likeness in such a foreign place seemed to clash with the relief he felt at finding something living in this dead forest.“I am...of the Great Beings,” the Hau said, staring down at him impassively. Its eyes seemed to pierce him through, gazing into his heart and mind.“Can you...can you tell me where I am?” Takanuva replied. He felt his heartbeat quicken at the mention of the Great Beings. Perhaps he wasn’t as far from home as he had thought.“You are lost.” it replied, and Takanuva thought he caught a glimmer of humor in the mask’s face.“Yes, I know,” he said, frowning a little, “I mean, can you help me find my way?”“I can.” Now the image of the mask turned its eyes downward. Takanuva’s gaze followed, and, there in front of him, he saw the shape of the gnomon, still quivering slightly, pointing straight toward the floating Hau. He picked it up gingerly, finding that it no longer burned him.“Why did this lead me to you?” Takanuva asked, turning the small rod in his fingers.“It is also of the Great Beings.”“Oh? But it’s just a gnomon.”“Appearance should not be judged so hastily,” the mask said with a tinge of reproach. “You will only deceive yourself that way.”Takanuva sighed. The mask was a riddle-maker.“Look,” he said, his mind returning to the urgency of his mission, “can you help me get where I’m going? I have an urgent task—”“—I can, as I said,” the mask interrupted, turning its eyes back to him. “But there is another task you must finish first. Another duty.”“I’m afraid I don’t have time.” Takanuva was starting to feel frustrated now. Was the mask going to help him or not?“There is always time,” the Hau said, its eyes laughing again. “Go to the City of Silver. A wrong must be righted there.”This was not what Takanuva had hoped for: another task set before him. He had wasted enough time wandering through this forest already—he had to find the way back.”And anyways,” he thought, frowning, ”why should I trust this floating mask?”“You must trust me,” the mask said, interrupting his thoughts. Takanuva was startled, wondering if the mask could tell what he was thinking.“I can’t—“”You must. Only then can you continue on your journey.”Takanuva felt anger rise in his chest for a moment. This mask would not force him to do anything. But then he looked into its eyes again. There was no deception there—only peace, confidence. This being could be his key to finding his way. He would have to trust it.“Fine,” he said sharply, standing to his full height. “What do I have to do?”“You must go to the City of Silver. It is not far.”“Alright then,” he said, “just show me where to go.”Takanuva peered around impatiently, looking for a sign of a path or road.“The City is in danger,” the mask continued. “Even now it is threatened from outside the walls. You must protect it and that which dwells within it—”“Alright—I said I’d go.” The Toa of Light stepped toward the mask, impatient, his eyes still searching.There! On the edge of the clearing. There was an opening in the trees, and what looked like the remnants of a road. Something was shimmering along the horizon there.“Is that the City?” Takanuva pointed, moving toward the opening.“Yes,” the mask said, its eyes narrowing. A sad look crept into its face as it moved behind the Toa. “That is the City of Silver.”“Yes, I can see it. It isn’t far. I’ll right whatever wrongs need righting.””Very well,” The mask said, its voice seeming to fade slightly as he moved toward the edge of the clearing.“But remember what I have said, creature—”“—I will, don’t worry,” Takanuva said hurriedly, feeling the sense of urgency rise in his chest. He squared his shoulders and turned from the floating Hau, stepping quickly down the remnant of the path.For a moment as he moved away, he thought he heard the voice of the Hau again, words echoing faintly behind him, whispering in the low breeze.He could not understand them. : : : Review :

WttV Entry 1.2: An hour went by. The gravel of the forest floor crunched under his armored feet. The stars shone down, unblinking. Takanuva was beginning to feel restless. Striding on through the endless darkness, there was no destination, no real direction. He had no goal, other than getting out of the forest, and now he felt as if he were going in circles. The trees seemed to gather more thickly around him as he went on, the branches lowering like twisted arms. It was an unsettling place, this forest. No sound disturbed the silence, other than the crunch of gravel and the mourning of the wind. There were no rahi here. Nothing at all. It was a place that felt...left behind. Abandoned. Empty. A house with no inhabitants... He shivered. Would the night never end? Perhaps here night was eternal. ”Ironic,” he thought. "They said I was supposed to drive out the night, bring a ‘new day’. Now I can’t even manage a flicker...” He squinted, putting a hand out in front of him to push away the low-hanging twigs. “A Toa of Light in need of a lightstone...” . . . Read on

: 1.2 : : : An hour went by. The gravel of the forest floor crunched under his armored feet. The stars shone down, unblinking.Takanuva was beginning to feel restless. Striding on through the endless darkness, there was no destination, no real direction. He had no goal, other than getting out of the forest, and now he felt as if he were going in circles.The trees seemed to gather more thickly around him as he went on, the branches lowering like twisted arms. It was an unsettling place, this forest. No sound disturbed the silence, other than the crunch of gravel and the mourning of the wind. There were no rahi here. Nothing at all.It was a place that felt...left behind. Abandoned. Empty. A house with no inhabitants...He shivered. Would the night never end? Perhaps here night was eternal.”Ironic,” he thought. "They said I was supposed to drive out the night, bring a ‘new day’. Now I can’t even manage a flicker...”He squinted, putting a hand out in front of him to push away the low-hanging twigs.“A Toa of Light in need of a lightstone...”That made him laugh. The sound seemed to carry through the dead ranks of the trees. A sound that had not been heard in that place for ages.And then another sound answered it.A whisper.A voice.Takanuva froze. Had he really heard it, or was his tired mind playing tricks? He quickened his pace, turning to the right, eyes straining through the darkness.There it was again, almost an echo of a voice...faint and far off in the distance. He turned back to the left now, listening intently.This was something. It must be. He had to follow it, but it was hard to tell which direction it came from. How would he ever find it? The thought of wandering endlessly through this ancient, empty forest pricked his spirit with dread. A terrible fate...His eyes narrowed with resolve. No...he would not let that happen.He stopped abruptly, looking around. Something had changed, something was different, wrong...he felt a strange sensation of……burning? Something was burning him! Hot against his armor. There—at his waist.It was the gnomon.He snatched it from the slot he had placed it in and held it up. A burning vibration moved through his fingers as he stared at it, wide-eyed. The small rod almost seemed to glow faintly before his face, or perhaps it was just the reflection of the stars...“What does this mean?” Another question, another riddle. He clenched the gnomon tightly in his fist, frustrated.“What are you trying to tell me?” he said aloud, his voice rising.“Gah!” A sharp vibration rattled his fingers in response, and he dropped the gnomon to the ground, flickering in the dimness.He cursed and stooped to snatch it up again, reaching downward. But before he could touch it......it moved.He withdrew his hand, gasping in surprise. The small instrument quivered in the dust for a moment, turning slowly in an arch as he watched, almost as if it were...orienting itself.Abruptly, it slid forward, skittering along the ground before him, drawing a line in the rough gravel.Takanuva watched its progress in amazement for a moment, almost not believing his eyes.Then again, he had seen stranger things, hadn’t he? He did not have the will to question this new development. He shrugged tiredly and followed, letting the gnomon lead him on, half bent in the dimness. He wouldn’t let it get away.“Where are you taking me?” he muttered, stumbling over tree roots and small rises in the terrain. Straight onward it led, like a compass, pointing the way.“Fitting for a gnomon,” he thought, chuckling a little.That was when he heard the voice again.His ears pricked up at the sound, tuned to the direction intently. It was close now! Straight ahead, it seemed, just over a small rise. The gnomon was heading right for it!He stood up straight and gave chase, dashing up the gentle, tree-covered slope, ignoring the branches that grasped and tore at his armor. He had his goal, and he would not be deterred. Before him, the gnomon vanished over the rise, leaving only the thin trail in the dust behind it.Quick, Takanuva, onward!He spurred forward, a feeling of excitement flooding his mind as he rushed helter-skelter up the slope, stumbling a little as he crested the rise—Suddenly he was falling forward, his feet meeting only air as he flailed into emptiness. Wind whistled in his ears for a split-second as he fell four bio down the steep embankment beneath him, landing heavily upon his face in the mulch below.“Oh…” he groaned heavily, “How graceful,” He lay still for a moment, eyes closed, berating himself for his stupidity. He hadn’t been paying attention, too intent on the movement of the gnomon. It was a foolish mistake. He should know better.Takanuva sighed now, raising his head and shaking the dust from his eyes.That was when he noticed it: the light.Light!It almost blinded him as he looked upward. He shaded his dull eyes with one hand, raising himself to his knees. Moments passed as he acclimated himself to the white glare, regaining his balance. What was it? The wind was utterly silent now, but there was another sound.A whispering.A voice.“Hail, creature of the Great Beings,” it said. The voice was calm, utterly composed. It sounded almost familiar, like a voice that had always been speaking in the back of his mind, somewhere. A voice that was too often drowned out...Listening to that voice, Takanuva felt a sense of awe fall upon him. He opened his mouth to speak, but couldn’t manage any words to reply. He drew a breath, still squinting into the glow.At last, he lowered his hand, staring full-on into the source of the shimmering radiance.And what he saw amazed him. : : : Review :

Well! It's been far too long since these were out in the open. GaliGee, I have many fond memories of reading through your stories in years past--especially the Makuta series. I look forward to reading through them again. Great to see you around.JRRT

THE END Nga-ro looked out his window. It was black outside, utterly black. But that was nothing new. Not in this city. Not to Nga-ro, not to him. Not to the last living resident here, the last set of eyes that still lived to stare out that ancient, crumbling window. It was black, it was the end. Nga-ro could feel it, deep in his bones and in his mind. Deep in the atrophied recesses of his heart. His heart, which had so long ago ceased to pulse with its inner light, just as his eyes had before that. There was no more light, neither from within nor without. The suns had long ago ceased to shine. It was said that they were the eyes of Mata Nui, once. It was all true. But now even His eyes had faded into nothingness, and His heart had surely ceased to beat. That was so long ago, but Nga-ro still remembered. Here at the end, he remembered. A cold blast filled the window and rushed through the chamber. He felt it on his face, frigid and dry. No more life in that wind, just cold, lack of energy. Like a machine with no purpose. It rose and fell and was gone again, and the air was still. Nga-ro stirred. Yes, the time had come. He lifted himself from the place where he sat in the darkness and moved to the window. His feet made a shuffling sound as they disturbed the layers of dust on the floor. How long had it been since he had sat down in this room? Did it matter? There was no time in this place anymore; only the slow accumulation of dust, and the grinding of cold wind upon cold stone. Once, Nga-ro could have heard the sea crashing out beyond the edges of the city. But even that was soon gone. The sea had dried up—froze and then boiled and then was gone—and only dust remained. But that had been when there was still light, when the suns still flickered fitfully or turned, slow and gradual, as if lit by some greater light that orbited beyond them. Nga-ro used to watch them, back when he'd kept hope alive. He had tried to understand why the suns had ceased to shine of their own accord, why the eyes of Mata Nui had grown listless and dim. No one could tell him, for by then he was alone, in all the city, in all this empty, abandoned world. Alone to face the slow approach of the dark. And when the darkness was complete, the long wait had begun. Long and unchanging. So long… But now there was a change. Now was the end, and that was a change. He felt along the edges of the stone. They were worn and furrowed, and much more crumbled than he remembered. Yes, it must have been a very long time since he came to this chamber to sit in the stone chair that he had found. Millennia, perhaps. There was no way to know for sure. Nga-ro sighed. He was very tired. He had not taken sustenance for so long, but he was hardy. He did not succumb to the darkness and the cold like so many others before they had left him here to wait, to remain, to be. Of course, there had been a purpose for him then, something that he had to do—a duty of some kind. He no longer remembered what it was. Sitting in the darkness, it had slipped from his mind, and he had lost it. Lost his purpose in this world. So why did he continue? Why live on in this dead world? Why not just cast himself from that window into the dark beyond, fall into that emptiness that used to be a city, a world, and finally be free? Why not? Because…because there was always a chance that he would find his purpose again. He yearned for it desperately. In fact, now that he thought about it, that was the reason he had come to this room. He had needed time…time to think, time to remember. Time to be still and seek within his memory the one thing that he had lost. The realization was startling, as if he had unlocked a door that had been standing shut in front of him, but that he had not seen until now. Of course, that was why he had come here. But it did not answer his question. And after all, it was the end now. Perhaps it didn't matter anymore, his duty. Perhaps… He turned from the blank window, from the noise of the cold wind that rushed in, regular as clockwork, and strode back into the room. The dust scattered before him again—he felt it upon his feet, as if he were walking through snow. Ah, he remembered when it had used to snow, back when the sea had frozen, before the terrible red light had slanted in from the suns and baked the landscape, setting the city aflame and boiling the surface of the Silver Sea into steam and cloud and noxious vapor, and then nothing. He reached the entrance to the room. He knew it was there, though he could not see it. Eons of sitting in that room had accustomed him to the sound and feel of it. The door was gone. Yes, it had been gone for some time. It had been made of wood, and now it was dust. He stepped out into the wide corridor. There was less dust here. The sound of his footfalls echoed off the arching ceiling far above. On through the hallway, past the empty doors that gaped on either side, unseen in the dark. He could feel their emptiness like jaws yearning to be filled, like mouths open together in one silent, unending cry. He could not help them. He went on. Down the stairways, twisting and turning. Every step rang out in his memory as they had been when the light still filtered through the slit-windows of the towers, and he could see them all, every facet and carved face. What need had he of eyes, when memory sufficed so well? He fell once, and that thought suddenly seemed foolish. The stairway had crumbled. Now it was nothing but a broken fragment of stone and a short, swift drop to the floor below. The pain of the fall sharpened his mind, pulling him back to the reality of the moment. He was not greatly damaged—not that he could tell, at least. But things had changed here, yes, even here where time did not seem to move. Decay and entropy were still hard at work. The thought struck at some hidden nerve or emotion within him as he picked himself up off the floor, and for a moment he felt his throat choked, and tears sprang to his eyes, eyes that had been dry and dark for so long. What was this feeling? Despair? Was it the end at last? No, it was neither. He stood still a moment, breathing deep and trying to calm himself. It was not despair that made his heart beat fast and his hands clench and quiver. It was remorse. Sadness and remorse. He had not forgotten these. No matter how much time had passed, he still felt them. Sadness and grief, but not for himself. No…why did he mourn so, tears coursing down his hard face to moisten the dust of ages. Why? It was grief for this world. His world. Yes, all this time he had been remembering it—this place that had been his life for so long. He mourned for the destruction and decay. Perhaps he had felt such grief at the beginning, but not for a long time since. It was as if all that memory were buried deep within him, shaded by time and forgetfulness. No more. The time had come to end this. The end of grief. At long last. He set his jaw, and his hands ceased to quake. His breathing was smooth. He went on. Down past the toppled columns and broken walls. Past the unseen pedestals topped by statues and figures, their features long since worn away. Even the writing carved into the stone was lost. Except to him. He knew them all—their names and their histories, all. They would not be truly lost while he lived. While he lived. And how long would that be? The outer air was biting cold as he left the silent halls of the Coliseum behind. Across the Great Bridge he went, bowing slightly to the harsh wind. There was a sterile taste to the air. Coppery, almost. Alien. Lifeless. Yes, for how could life survive here? Again he knew this was a foolish question. He was still alive, wasn’t he? After all this time, and a little while longer at least. He moved on. The sky rose above him, and he was blind to it but for the feel of the space and the sound of the distance that expanded on all sides. It was harder to get his bearings now, harder to sense the things around him. He had not walked these streets for many, many years. Had not had the time to sit and listen to the way the wind moved across every facet of every moldering brick and jutting facade. The streets were cracked and uneven, and he stumbled once or twice, but he did not fall again. The earthquakes had struck hardest here at the center of the city. Few buildings remained standing. Most were piles of rubble. He was almost glad he couldn’t see them. Too painful. On, on, on. Where was he going? Where indeed? He passed over another bridge—still standing, almost a miracle. And yet, even as he stepped onto the pavement of the far side, he heard it crack and groan. It had carried its last burden, and he almost wept as he listened to it collapse into the dry canal which it had spanned for so many ages. So many long years holding itself up. A weary bridge, waiting out eternity for him to come and stand upon it and end its agony. It was a faithful bridge. It had served its purpose, and now it was ended. Rest now. He turned away. Yes, rest. Soon, he too would rest. Soon. Years passed, or what felt like years, and still he walked on. Slow, but steady, he trudged through the lightless, empty streets. A building collapsed once as he approached it, and the dust choked his eyes and mouth as he struggled through the rubble and debris. It delayed him, but only slightly. In a place where time did not seem to move, what were a few hours or days? Indeed, he thought to himself, what did time mean to him anymore? Perhaps it meant only the mindless logging of the rate of decay. A long catalogue of the unwinding of the world. He caught himself at that thought. No, Nga-ro, do not go down that path. Another memory had leapt to the forefront of his mind. A memory from a time before he had lost his duty, although he still could not recall what his purpose had been. Even so, he did recall the line of thought that had led him to forget: true despair, the temptation to give up, to cease trying. It was like a small voice in the back of his mind. They had a name for it, once, he thought. Back when the world still lived. What was it? He chuckled, once. A dry sound. It surprised him, for he had not uttered a sound in ages. It was the memory that amused him, for he had suddenly recalled the name that they had given that small voice—a terrible name indeed, though it held no power now. It was called Nothing, or, at least, it had given itself that name. Perhaps it had had another name. Something more original. That was so long ago, Nga-ro could not think back that far, and he did not try now, for another memory stirred in him, and he almost laughed again. It was a story he had once known. A great, magnificent story. And it seemed to him that he had once been a part of that story. Somehow, he had played a role in it. But the reason that he almost laughed was because of how the story began. How it had always been told. In the Time Before Time… They had intoned. Well, if that was before time, then this must surely be the Time After Time. Ironic, that he had lived to see both. Step, step, step. He didn’t even notice the walking anymore. It was simply a part of his existence now. Trudging onward toward some unknown goal. The wind did not bother him. He was always cold now. It had also become his existence to be cold, to be alone. Where was he going again? He was forgetting. Was it to find his purpose? No, no, no. That was all wrong. It was because the end had come. That was why he had left the chamber. He remembered now, but that had been a long time ago. How long? He shook his head. As always, it was useless to ask. His destination must be where the end would come. Surely it must. Yes, yes, he remembered something about it. It was as if he were drawn toward it unknowingly. As if someone had written its pattern upon his mind, and no matter how long he lived, no matter how far he went, it was always there, pushing at him. Prodding him, as if it say, Make it right. He would make it right. His destination was a building of some kind. The image in his mind’s eye was murky, but familiar. It was in this direction. What was it called? North? North-east? Regardless, he was almost there. He was in a long, winding alleyway. Bone-dry. He could sense the walls of it sloping upward. Sloping…No, this was no street. There were no buildings on either side anymore. It was a canal—one of thousands that used to course with water. Now empty, desiccated, useless, except to him. The ground was relatively level, and that was a relief after the uneven surface of the streets. It slanted downward ever so slightly toward the edge of the city. That was where he was going. No sooner had he thought it than he was there. The canal ended, and now before him stretched an expanse so great that he could not imagine it. A vast, sprawling, lightless plain. The wind howled across the entrance of the canal, a low-pitched, wailing noise. It carried dust in small streams and billows, brushing against his face. Dust and more dust. He stepped out onto the plain, leaving the small channel behind. This was the Sea—what they had once called the Silver Sea. He remembered how the light had shone and flashed across its surface, such a sight. But that was all gone now. Nothing remained but the wind moaning over endless dunes, mixing with the noise of billowing sand. A mockery of the sound of waves. Onward he trudged through the swirling desert that used to be a sea, now just a sea of noise. A chaos. He coughed dust. It filled his eyes, even though they were clamped shut, as useless now as they ever had been. It settled in the chinks of his body, making him itch. His feet sank into it, and every step became a wearying effort, but he went on, always drawn toward that destination, somewhere out on the sea. He remembered it more clearly now. It was a great building. A place of significance. A hallowed place. What was it they had called it? A Temple? He stumbled down the far side of a dune, hands outstretched, waving blindly. On and on, and time stood still as he swam through the dead waves. One living thing moving in an ocean of death. At last—at long last! His hand struck solid stone. He grasped it hard, fingers clawing for a grip, desperate. Finally they found purchase. He pulled, despite his weariness and the suffocating dust, he pulled. And finally he was free of it. The dust almost seemed to swell and ebb away down the slope, like the tide. And what had the tide left here upon this final shore? He crawled for a ways until the ground became level, then he struggled up, shook himself and spat the dust from his mouth, wiped it from his eyes. He had arrived. Yes, he had come to his destination. He had come to the end. Before him it rose, tall and imposing. He could feel it, almost like…like a presence. There was a throbbing in the back of his mind, something growing and swelling amongst his thoughts. Something important. He did not know what it was; only that he must continue on. Forward across the flat space of stone, between the mighty pillars that stood at the entrance to the towering building. He paused for a moment, remembering the splendor that it once had. To his right there used to be gardens; to his left, the marbled steps down to the bridge that spanned the Silver Sea. The bridge had since fallen, swallowed in the decay of ages. The trees and plants were no more. Now there was only hard stone and rough, broken edges. And yet he must go on. On through the archway, the entrance to the Temple, for that was what it was: the Great Temple, the Temple of the Great Spirit. The throbbing in his mind increased as he strode forward, and he shook his head. Something was troubling him, something trying to break the surface of his thoughts, to be seen and known. It was urgent, a yearning… The wind ceased as he entered the grand hall. The air was still within and utterly silent. Only his breathing and the sound of his armored feet on the stone disturbed the hallowed quiet of the temple. It was here, all here. Here was where the end would come. He stopped suddenly and stretched out his hands. His head pounded, harder and harder. He felt stone against his fingers, a rounded pedestal carved with many notches and grooves. They were still sharp, untouched by decay or entropy. There was no dust here. The pedestal was taller than he, and his searching hands could only feel so far along its domed surface. But he could not focus like this, couldn’t concentrate to form a picture of the thing in his mind. The throbbing in his brain was too much. He couldn’t bear it, couldn’t stand it anymore! And then…then his fingers felt something—a symbol, carved deep into the stone. He knew that symbol, three circles...and two sweeping lines. He knew it, yes. He recognized it. It was the pattern…the key! A flood of memory broke loose from the recesses of his thoughts, and he stumbled backward, away from the pedestal, clutching his head. It was almost too much to bear, that sudden torrent of thought and feeling. Emotions long buried rushed back to him, and he recalled what he had for so long lost…the duty. His duty. Nga-ro remembered the time before…a time when he had had a different place, a different name. He remembered the voices of his companions, his people. All around him, working and laboring, creating. Filling the world with their voices and their life as he looked on. But then it had started to fade, and he had felt weary…so weary…A dark figure arose on the horizon of the world. Black and immense, his laughter echoed in the skies. He lifted a hand upward, and sleep took hold of Nga-ro. Endless sleep. But Nga-ro had no relief, for the duty tortured him in his slumber. Make it right. Make it right. He glimpsed the dark one—the one who called himself Nothing—saw how he took hold of the world, sought to twist it to his own ends. No, no, no. He had to make it right…but he was slipping away, slipping away into the darkness beyond all darkness, the darkness of death. And suddenly his spirit had been alone in the cold, and harsh stars shed their alien light upon him. He had lost his destination—his guiding star, the point toward which he had always directed his steps. Nga-ro…no, surely that had not been his name then…he had lost himself. No! It must not be so! He had turned back toward the world of the living, clawed his way back from the darkness. But he could not return to his former place. He was cast out, alone and unseen, as the world—his world—fell into chaos. Even the dark one could not stop it. He had not known what the consequences would be. But then Nga-ro looked within himself, and a plan formed in his thoughts: Back, back, back to the City. The city still filled with life, with light. The dark one had fled, cowering, trying to escape. Even he had been fearful, who had called himself Master of Fear, even he feared to become nothing in the end. But Nga-ro had a plan. He had walked upon the solid ground and looked upon the solid sights of the City, and around him the people had gathered and had seen him as he was—like them. Small, perhaps, but very alive. And he had told them his plan, as darkness fell over the world: Sleep. Sleep. All must sleep. And I will keep watch, until the darkness is over, and the light is found again. Sleep, now. Until I make all things right… Nga-ro stirred from his place, prone upon the floor of the Great Temple. He was back, he remembered. He was tired, but he was not tempted to sleep. No, he had slept long enough for all of them. Now he was awakened, and very much alive. With a start he opened his eyes. They had been closed…how long? He tried to focus them, but something was not right. Why should he focus eyes that were useless in the all-consuming darkness? Why indeed… Because there was a light shining above him. A single point of white. His eyes strained, eyes that had been unused for so many millennia. It was almost too painful to look. But he did not close his eyes. Suddenly it resolve, and all became clear. It was a light, far, far above him. Immeasurably far away. A single star in all that blackness of night. How could he see it? The roof of the Great Temple was broken. He could see the outline where the stones had fallen in, just enough for him to glimpse the sky. He knew that star. Nga-ro arose, head tilted back, eyes still fixed upon that singular speck. He stepped toward the pedestal—the Suva. Yes, he knew where it was. Felt it with his hands. There was the Symbol again, the constant reminder of his duty. He placed his hand upon the middle of the three circles, flattened his palm. Words came to him, words that he had spoken in the time when time still ran true and straight. Words that he had spoken to his people when he had found his way back from the darkness of sleep and death. Who am I? he had asked, shading his eyes as he had stumbled from the entrance to the Great Temple, dazed, confused. Limited. He had not lived within a body so small before. And what had they answered? What had they said to him when they turned their faces upon him, faces filled with fear as the light of their universe faded? What had they said when they saw the light of his eyes and knew him? The Symbol seemed to throb at his touch now. Something was happening. Yes, this was the end. The end at last! A noise was swelling in his ears and in his mind, but it was not the wind. The wind was gone. This was a living sound, the sound of many voices. Voices that he knew, mounting and swelling from out of the depths. The star seemed to blaze brightly above him as he set his eyes upon it, there where the twin suns used to be, where the eyes of the Great Spirit used to shine in ages past. He set his gaze upon it, staring into the Great Spirit’s unseen eyes as if they were his very own. And still the noise mounted, growing, filling every corner and every room, every hidden street and every hall and chamber of that City that was empty, and yet no longer empty. A hundred, a thousand, ten thousand, more. All crying out, calling out to him in answer to his question. Who am I? A hundred thousand rising voices crying out! YOU ARE THE GREAT SPIRIT NGA-RO, FIRST BROTHER YOU HAVE SLEPT FOR TOO LONG BUT NOW THE END HAS COME THE END OF OUR SLEEP NOW TAKE UP THE NAME YOU ONCE BORE NOW AWAKEN US AND AWAKEN OUR WORLD WE, THE MATORAN OUR WORLD SHALL RISE AGAIN. Nga-ro…the First Brother…No, that was no longer his name…he remembered now an older name, older by far. And it was Mata Nui. Mata Nui smiled in the darkness, and a new light flickered from his eyes and from his heart as he looked upward into the dark sky, his gaze fixed upon that ancient star. He had found it again. Nga-ro the Matoran was no more, for now he remembered Himself. Now he would make all things right. Red morning broke across the city. Red and new and eager and ready, and a hundred thousand eyes answered it with their light as they started up from the shadows, a hundred thousand hearts glowing with new life, voices mingling in the great noise that rose above the spires and towers, awakening from the long slumber. Sleep, sleep, sleep no more… And far beyond all of them, in the vast blackness of space, the body of the Great Spirit stirred once more among the stars. Immense eyes lit up and shone blazing into the void, and then it turned itself and hurtled Onward. Onward toward that small point of light. Onward toward its destination and the end of its journey. Onward! For the end had come. And it was a beginning. THE END : : [some comments] JRRT

Thanks. Glad you enjoyed the nostalgia factor, which was one of the main reasons for writing this story. Regarding the alternate history, I definitely have something in the works.And I'd like to give a (belated) thanks to all of the SSCC8 judges. I'm gratified for the third place win. GSR and Aderia deserved first/second. They both offered compelling stories that I definitely enjoyed reading. JRRT

Correct me if I'm wrong, but I think what Celu is saying is not that games are un-creative, but that creativity does not stem from gaming. I agree, to some extent. The same argument can be made for watching television. Generally, I think most would agree that your creative imagination is stimulated a bit more by, say, reading a book, then by watching visual media. When all the imagining has been done for you, what more is there for you to do but sit and watch? Doesn't mean I'm against gaming at all. Much to the contrary--I've enjoyed every Zelda title I've played immensely. There's some really creative artistry involved there, and they're very fun to boot. But I draw the line when playing the game becomes more frequent than reading the book or writing the story. Or going outside and seeing what real trees and grass look like. Sort of common sense, I suppose. Edit: Ninja'd, and I guess my basic assumption was correct. JRRT

WttV - Entry 1.1: A flash, and stars flickered across his vision, but not just the stars of shock or pain. Real stars. An unfathomable darkness opened beneath him, a gaping absence. The endless depth of the Void yawned, tearing at his being as he hurtled onward. Onward through the emptiness, through the black, reeling darkness... Onward! A thud, and the heavy weight of gravity seized his limbs as he collapsed to solid earth. It was over. Takanuva lay still, his lungs heaving, perspiration and fear clouding his vision like a fog. His jaw was clenched tight, muscles seizing as he began to shudder. The feeling of abject terror that enveloped him was like nothing he had ever encountered, and it was slow to abate. But it did abate, gradually releasing its hold upon him. He exhaled, letting his body go limp, exhausted from the journey. His mind was still dazed, and his eyes roved around him, trying to focus on his surroundings. Where was he? . . . Read on JRRT

: 1.1 : : : A flash, and stars flickered across his vision, but not just the stars of shock or pain.Real stars.An unfathomable darkness opened beneath him, a gaping absence. The endless depth of the Void yawned, tearing at his being as he hurtled onward. Onward through the emptiness, through the black, reeling darkness...Onward!A thud, and the heavy weight of gravity seized his limbs as he collapsed to solid earth.It was over.Takanuva lay still, his lungs heaving, perspiration and fear clouding his vision like a fog. His jaw was clenched tight, muscles seizing as he began to shudder. The feeling of abject terror that enveloped him was like nothing he had ever encountered, and it was slow to abate.But it did abate, gradually releasing its hold upon him. He exhaled, letting his body go limp, exhausted from the journey. His mind was still dazed, and his eyes roved around him, trying to focus on his surroundings. Where was he?Finally, he felt that he had the strength to stand. He rose to a sitting position, then to his knees, lifting his head. He reeled for a moment as he finally stood upright, trying to regain his sense of balance.Helryx had warned him...she had told him of the danger, but he could never have prepared for what he had just experienced. Hurtling between planes of existence, time and space. The encounter with the void had left him drained.”Where am I?” he thought.There, at least his mind still worked, despite the exhaustion of his body. That was good to know.He looked around, rubbing his eyes with shaking hands, trying to focus.It was dark, but he could see, his vision adjusting to the dimness. The wind whistled through the trunks of the endless trees which surrounded him on all sides. Black trees, gnarled and desiccated, rattling in the night air. It was a forest. A dead forest.”Perfect,” he thought, sighing. This was certainly not his destination. It couldn’t have been that easy. It never was.He sighed, rubbing a hand over his mask, letting his thudding heart calm itself.Then he looked up.There, far above him, he glimpsed a vast ribbon of stars sprawling across the night sky, glinting down through the tangle of branches which roofed the dead forest. It reminded him of the sky on Mata Nui, when he had called that island home, and it would have been beautiful, if he had not had a more pressing errand.”All the same,” he thought wryly, ”I’m glad I can look at them from a safe distance now.”He might be a Toa of Light, but he would rather gaze at the stars with his feet planted on solid ground.He shook himself now, trying to loosen his aching muscles. He had to continue on, had to find a way out of this place. Valuable time was being wasted.He took stock of his supplies: Kanohi and Toa tool...and the strange gnomon. He pulled it from the armor-slot at his waist where he had stored it, turning it over in his hands. It was nothing remarkable to look at, but it had served him well in his past adventures. It seemed such a long time ago, long before he had ever dreamed of being a Toa. Simple days, simple times.“Stop thinking about the past,” he prodded himself mentally, grimacing. “The here and now is what needs attention. Now, what else have you got?”Light.Yes. He raised a hand, trying to summon the power of his Element to illuminate his way. His hand flickered for a moment, a small orb of radiance lighting up the clearing.Abruptly, the light went out, vanishing just as suddenly as it had appeared. Another wave of weariness washed over his mind and body, as if he had just lifted something far beyond his strength. It took all of his will to keep from collapsing. His mind buzzed, dizzy.”No element,” he realized. He had no elemental power left. The thought sent a shiver of fear up his back as he sank to one knee. He was drained, both his strength and his element. Defenseless. He would have to wait to regain his power.“Mata Nui,” Takanuva sighed, aloud, his voice grating, “What am I supposed to do now?”Only the wind answered him: a long, low, rasping moan. The rattle of the dry trees continued on into the dark distance on all sides.“Well,” he said at last, “this doesn’t help me at all. I can’t just stay here...”There was only one course of action.He stood, rallying himself, and began to walk, leaving the small clearing behind as he ventured into the trees. : : : Review :