Crimson Jester

IC: Korruhn, ??? "Despite many of the occupants of it, I believe we live in a truly amazing world. As a cartographer, I have had the great fortune of being able to see vast swaths of it, even portions that have yet to be cursed by the footsteps of intelligent life upon it. Even the Far Shore, in it's cacaphonous existence, is something to marvel at. I seek to understand our great world, and perhaps someday I may find a way improve upon it." OOC: @Unreliable Narrator

IC: Korruhn, ??? Korruhn's eyes narrowed, attempting to discern what he was looking at. The murk of the pool rippled under the might of the voice beyond, obscuring his view every time he seemed to finally get focus. He leaned forward, and suddenly remembered the great, limp weight upon his shoulders. Leaning his left shoulder, Korruhn set the corpse of Grime down next to him. He took great care to gently place him in a seating position next to Korruhn, as though he were still there. He made it this far, Grime deserved to see the end of the journey, even if only in spirit. Or whatever happens to people when they die, because Korruhn really didn't know anymore. “You are not what I expected. Welcome to my domain, broken star. You walk with Death upon you. You have killed one of my sons. A minor setback, but one that wears thin on my hospitality. Why are you here?” As it closed it's last word, the silence of the void seemed to swallow his voice back into the nether. The pool drew dead still; and suddenly, Korruhn could see. He could see... it couldn't be. He couldn't believe his eyes. Sat at the shoulders of the pitting and rust of the seemingly-empty armor of some ancient, foreign design, sat a Kanohi Kraakhan. Korruhn had seen this mask in legends, in nightmares, but never would he thought to be staring directly at one. (Or was he?) "And what exactly did you expect, if not I?" Korruhn asked the being. "I have no quarter with your offspring. It was he, or I. I am in the pursuit of knowledge, and that chase has seemingly lead me to your door." OOC: @Unreliable Narrator

IC: Korruhn, ??? The gentle, rhythmic clang of chimes, backed by the steady hum of wind instruments, and the lulling beat of drums felt like an assault on Korruhn's ears in such a space. The silence, the emptiness turned even the faintest of sounds to a clap of thunder. He could hear the resonance of each individual chime-pipe as though they surrounded his head. He rubbed his temples in irritation, although he was both happy to be able to hear again, and most curious about why this tune seemed to be ever-so-distinctly from Ga-Metru. He lowered himself to his knees, next to the blood-red pool. It sounded like the source of the music was somehow *inside* of the seemingly non-Newtonian fluid. But how? He gazed deep into the swirling depths, in hopes that he could see the source of the music. OOC: @Unreliable Narrator

IC: Korruhn, ??? Void. Korruhn had thought he'd learned the definition of the word. First, when he explored his first tomb, climbing down into the wet, miasmic darkness that seemed to swallow him whole. Second, when he first stepped onto the tar-black sands of the Far Shore; the dead lumbering endlessly forward as the world transmutated around them. But now, the the term would come to be redefined in the mind of Korruhn once more. The space beyond the portal was both simplistic and indescribable. His first step onto what seemed to be a solid surface landed with a thud that echoed endlessly. The embrace of vacuum, a lack of any atmosphere from which formed heat, and cold, entirely devoid. As far as his eyes could see was an endless veil of black, interspersed with what could be barely discerned as massive columns that stretched beyond the field of vision above and below. He felt blind as he took his first steps forward, slowly reaching out with a foot and gingerly poking the floor he could not see in an attempt to deduce what was solid and what wasn't. Seemingly solid in the first few steps, he began forward with slight more vigor, although still vastly uneasy about his surroundings. Strangely, about 50 feet ahead, a puddle of light, a deep sanguine shade, pooled on the floor, acting more as a liquid than the photons carrying light that it seemed to be. Blood-red, by all accounts, was never a sign to approach. And yet, Korruhn found himself with nowhere else to go. OOC: @Unreliable Narrator

Whoo, I'm tired now. Just wrote by far the longest post I've ever written in an RPG! Hope you guys enjoy, I had a ton of fun writing it.

IC: The Cartographer, Ko-Metru The midday sun beat down on the icy, reflective surfaces that covered Ko-Metru, cascading brilliant displays of light prisms across the city. It was breathtaking, even after seeing it a million times before. The Cartographer was blessed: he got to live out his days in this beautiful utopia, while occupying his time exploring and mapping the nethers of Ko-Metru, and the island-city as a whole. Today was like any other day. The Cartographer was on his way back from an early-morning survey trip, and with the newly acquired survey data, he could continue his work on his passion project: mapping out the infamous and mysterious Ko-Metru Hideaway. The building's true purpose was lost to time, and yet to be rediscovered. But the Cartographer had had an endless fascination with it since his earliest days, and he was determined to unravel it's mysteries. Most times, he found himself making and producing copies of his more conventional Chute maps, seafaring trade routes, and the like. It wasn't his favorite work, but it was his most popular and profitable. Plus, it allowed him to cross paths with many interesting characters, who in turn gave him tidbits of info they'd picked up in their travels. This knowledge was invaluable for his hobby of seeking out and mapping ruins. The Cartographer reached the large bay door at the base of a Knowledge Tower that denoted the entrance to his Cartography Office, and pushed a small switch set into a metal panel on the wall. An inset light blinked, indicating the signal was received, and the bay door began to slide upward, and fill the dimly-lit office with light. It was the usual organized chaos; piles of old tomes, handwritten eyewitness accounts, journals, and old maps were scattered throughout the floors and piled high on the desks, yellowed and musty with age. Even more maps were pinned to the walls, leaving little bare wall surface exposed. A few small transports were tucked off to one side, mostly sleds and hoverbikes, save for one, luxurious teal airship which stuck out like a sore thumb. He still wasn't entirely sure how his assistant had managed to finagle such a ship for their cause, but he also didn't ask questions. Speaking of assistants... Tuatara emerged from behind one of the stacks of books, frantic and bearing an exasperated look on his face. He pointed furiously to a handheld radio in his hand, from which few words could be made out over the radio squelch. The Cartographer turned his full attention to his assistant. "Did you hear?!" His voice was fraught with concern that matched his facial expression. "Amateur tomb explorers! They got past the barricade at C-23. Something went wrong. Search and rescue is there!" The Cartographer struggled to comprehend. Amateur explorers weren't often heard of, at least not out in these inhospitable wastes. C-23 was a dangerous tomb, and the Cartographer had yet to fully survey it. But what he did know from experience was that it was heavily booby trapped, and not a place for SARtechs, let alone amateurs. One misstep and they could be dead. "C-23?! How? It took me 3 years to find that one myself, and I had the engineering team go down there and weld a hatch over it until I could return," The Cartographer contemplated. What would he do? The Search and Rescue crews, as well as the explorers, were as good as dead without someone with knowledge of the tombs. Although he was no trained rescuer, he knew what he had to do. "Tuatara. Listen to me. Get my pack. I need crampons, rope, hooks, and some weight-stones. Load it into the hoverbike please." Tuatara acknowledged with a nod, and scurried away to carry out his task. Tuatara knew full well what the Cartographer was getting himself into, but he knew him long enough to know to not try to convince him otherwise; between his passion for his people, their home and culture, and his bullheaded stubbornness, the effort would be futile. The Cartographer turned on his heels, and quickly ran back to his desk, grabbing a fistful of notes and a map. From a hook nearby he retrieved a distinct cloth half-cloak, black, and bordered with foreign-looking runes. He threw it over himself, and drew the hood over his face, which was fixed in a a determined, emotionless state, with his brow slightly furrowed. The sound of a full bag hitting metal fender behind him indicated to the Cartographer that Tuatara had completed his task. He turned, and approached his assistant, who was making final preparations, lashing the bag to the cargo rack on the rear fender of the bike. "You're good to go. I threw a flare and some extra rations in there, and some cloaks for the explorers," Tuatana stated matter-of-factly, trying to hide the slight quiver of worry that carried in his words. The Cartographer nodded, and mounted the bike. Suddenly, the assistant's hand reached out to his wrist, and grabbed. "Hey, be careful out there," Tuatara said sincerely. "You need to get back in one piece to finish that Silver Sea trade map; I don't need those Ta-Metruvian merchants coming and stringing me up for not delivering." The Cartographer chuckled. He appreciated Tuatara's humor in the darkest of times. But he was serious; those merchants weren't the friendliest of fellows. "Goodbye." The bike's engine came to life with a thunderous roar as the Cartographer's right wrist rotated back, activating the throttle. The bike took off like a Muaka-cat fixated on the smell of distant prey. He weaved through the streets at a frantic pace, slaloming through traffic until the structured roads gave way to the snow plains of the outer wastes. Snow cascaded behind the hoverbike, thrown aloft by the forces of the rear propulsor, creating a large cloud of powdered snow around him, forming a cloud. He wiped his driving goggles with his left hand so he could continue to see. The wastes were endless, and the infinite blanket of snow seemed to stretch the horizon beyond the realm of existence. The snow blanketed everything, leaving little in the way of landmarks for wanderers out here to orient themselves. It was a formidable, inhospitable land. He couldn't imagine the fear in the hearts of the explorers, lost in the deepest of these wastes. Curiosity was a most useful tool to the Matoran, and what had allowed them to thrive as they had. For the world to punish two for catering to their curiosity would be an utmost travesty. After an hour of traveling, the unbroken landscape gave way to a long, narrow depression in the earth; not unlike a scar. At the mouth, sat a small airship, with white-and-orange livery, emblazoned with the emblem of the Metru-Nui Search and Rescue. His heart sunk; he hoped they hadn't entered C-23 yet, or they'd already be dead. Grinding the bike to a sudden halt, he dismounted, and removed his bag. Slinging it over his back, he drew the cloak tight to his face to keep the violent wind from him. He approached the airship to find the two rescuers setting up a rope to descend into the crevasse, and toward the tomb entrance. They turned, surprised looks on their faces. Surely they hadn't expected to encounter anyone else out here. "You're not going in there!" The Cartographer shouted to the techs, his voice competing with the howl of the wind. Confused, the tech got up and approached. "Who are you? What the Karz are you talking about?" The SARtech was hostile; as expected when securing a dangerous scene. But the Cartographer would not waver. "With all due respect, you may be good at rescuing folk from perilous situations, but you can't tell me for a minute you know what's beyond the door of that tomb." He stated, matter-of-factly. The rescuer paused, seeming to contemplate the Cartographer's words. "And I presume you have a suggestion?" the tech snapped back sharply. "Yeah. You're going to wait at the entrance while I go in. Alone." Without waiting, he moved past the technician toward the rope he'd set to descent into the crevasse, and started his descent. "What the Karz are you--" The sound of the technician's frustrated voice faded quickly as he descended. He could see his fists waving in the air, and he was sure to follow down. But the Cartographer would not let them in. He wasn't going to let anyone perish on his watch. The unassuming scar in the earth appeared much differently within it's depths. It trailed and winded like a long, twisted hallway, claustrophobic and suffocating in it's darkness. He withdrew a lightstone from his bag, and suddenly, sickly shadows grew and shrunk from the jagged cliff walls around his as he trudged toward C-23. Two pair of footsteps followed a similar path. They weren't fresh, although still visible. Considering the amount of snow that's been coming in today, they couldn't have been in more than two hours so far, which meant that hopefully they hadn't gone too far in. The entrance to the tomb was far more humble than many of the ones the Cartographer had explored. A simple, rectangular doorway carved into the cliff, flanked by steles, that, before they were exposed to the elements for millenia, probably described who was buried there. That was now lost to time. A steel door, once fixed to the doorway to prevent unauthorized entry, and been cut and peeled away, presumably by the torch that lay abandoned near it. Barring the fuel-torch and the ruined door, the only sign that anyone living was in there, were the two pair of footsteps that seemed to beckon the Cartographer inside. He checked his rough map of the first chambers of the tomb to refresh his memory on the layout, before putting it safely back into his back, and withdrawing the lightstone again. He would need to move slowly, and be mindful of any actuators for traps. He didn't need a repeat of last time. He descended the immaculate steps, that surely only a handful of feet to ever touch them since the constructors of the catacomb had left. The walls were plain stone-carved, and almost perfectly even and smooth. A feat of engineering, to be sure. He stepped out into the first chamber, a rectangular room, it's widest dimension spreading out to the Cartographer's left and right, with three doors: one dead ahead, and one to each side. When he had entered last time, he had found a way to open the center door, and keep progressing. But the center door remained closed. Only the door on the left, closed when he had visited, was now open. He swallowed, a lump of fear forming in his throat. He hadn't planned for this; he didn't think anyone would have gotten down a different path than he. "Hello?" He called out into the darkness beyond the unexplored door. His voice echoed down whatever was beyond as if it bounced off the walls. No reply. The Cartographer's grip tightened on his lightstone, and his eyes narrowed. He'd be going in blind. The left door led to a small room with a sepulcher. A corpse, draped in cloth, slept silently in death on the platform in the sepulcher, a blade in his crossed hands. Presumably a warrior of some kind. That was not a good sign. From all of the tombs he had entered previously, many patterns and similarities appeared. It appeared that the builders of these tombs buried not only their dead kings, but the dead king's invaluable material possessions as well. By tradition, they tended to place the treasures on a separate path as the burial chamber, and flank the route with the king's dead warriors, intending that their spirits, and the cruel traps they placed in the chamber, would deter any tomb robbers. Or explorers. Or, cartographers. Karz. Korruhn walked for what seemed like ever, winding from hallway to chamber, and back again. He didn't get far though, as he had to move with extreme caution, lest he want this to become more of a rescue than it already is. On occasions, he used his weight-stones to trigger traps he couldn't avoid, and clear them for the trip back out. By the time he estimated himself to be about a half-kilometer into the catacomb, he heard a voice. "HEEEEELP!" The cry was shrill, pained and fearful; but it was easily identifiable as a Matoran's. The Cartographer's heart raced, and it took every ounce of his being to not rush toward the sound. "Hello! I'm here to get you! Wait for me there, I'm coming!" he shouted, trying to reassure the Matoran he couldn't yet see. He couldn't have any panic now, or they could all be injured, or worse. Both of their fates relied on the Matoran remaining calm. He paused a moment in a doorway between a small sepulcher chamber and the next hallway from where the voice came from, waiting to see if he would emerge. Suddenly, he heard the shuffle of feet. But not at a walking pace. It was followed by the distinct sound of a stone switch sinking into the ground. The Cartographer's heart sank to his stomach, and began to churn. He gripped his lightstone tighter than ever, and proceeded forward. He couldn't wait now. If he didn't get the Matoran out of the hallway, he would die. As he burst forward out of the doorway, a great rumble shook the hallway, kicking up eons of dust, clouding the room. The walls shook violently, before suddenly beginning a horrible lurch towards the center of the chamber. They'd both be crushed in the next minute if they didn't get out. But the Cartographer wouldn't leave a Matoran to die. He ran forward harder and faster than he ever had, pushing the very limits of his physiology. His lungs and muscles screamed. The Matoran suddenly emerged from the could of dust; eyes wide with fear, and careening toward the Cartographer as hard as he toward the Matoran, before catching up to him. He leapt over him, so the Matoran was now closer to the exit of the chamber. "Go, don't stop!" The Cartographer shouted desperately, staying right on the Matoran's heels as they ran for dear life from the walls that now nearly brushed their shoulders. The safety of the previous chamber was only about 10 feet out when the Matoran tripped. Karzkarzkarzkarzkarz, the Cartographer cursed in his head. They were screwed. He scooped the Matoran, using his momentum to shove the Matoran forward with all his might, right out the doorway into the chamber. The Cartographer ran with every ounce of energy left in his body towards the door, and leapt. But then, he stopped. The first sign of trouble was the sound of stone-on-metal, a grinding, nauseating sound. The Cartographer tried to step forward with his right foot, when he suddenly realized: His right leg, just above the knee, was wedged between the compressing walls. He quickly fell on his face as the walls began to crush his leg. "AGHHHHHH!" The scream was blood-curdling, stomach-churning. Just hearing it was painful. The walls closed slowly and mercilessly on his leg, crushing it like a mote of dust. There was nothing he could do but scream, as the Matoran he saved cried and shouted, trying to free him. The screams of agony were soon joined by the sickening sounds of compressed, bursting biotics, and twisted metal scraping desperately against the immeasurable force of the walls. The last thing the Cartographer remembered was wishing to die. --- MUSIC: Korruhn, Kumu Peninsula The blood-drenched warrior sighed a deep sigh. He knew what he had to do, but he knew he would have to sacrifice another part of himself to do it. But was it worth it? Would his loss truly be his civilization's gain, or would it just serve to turn him into the very evil he vowed to vanquish as he became a Toa? Time was often taken for granted. The time to think, to weigh options, determine the best course of action. But Korruhn was not afforded that luxury often these days. He hadn't much time to reflect, or look back. He could only follow his instinct and start down a path, carrying his intent to save his people as his war-banner, no matter where his fate would take him. This decision couldn't be taken lightly. He would be marked after this, he would no longer share the fundamental link to his species. They may even grow to revile him. But, it did not matter. He needed to know what was beyond the veil; who's grand design it was to wipe he and his species' existence from the face of history. No matter the cost. Korruhn chose not to answer the Aspect immediately. Instead, he needed something first. If he was to go face whatever lies beyond, he would have to show them he meant business. The Toa stepped forward, and suddenly fell to the ground. His artificial left leg clattered to the ground behind him. Sturdy as it was, the fight with the Rahkshi must have knocked it loose. He chuckled, briefly forgetting the pain of reality and enjoying the hilarity of tripping on his own leg. Reaffixing it to the stem on his thigh, he ensured it was secured tight and rose to his feet. He turned to Miserix, who watched him quizzically through the body of Grime. "Hey, I'm the best chance you've got," Korruhn said, shrugging. He walked over to the mangled corpse of the Rakshi. All that remained intact were the mask and spikes. Picking them up, he lashed the Rahkshi's helmet to his left shoulder over his cracked shoulder armor, and affixed the spikes along the outer edge of his left arm. He brought his arm up, examining the new attachments, as well as his weapon. He couldn't trust anyone else, so least he could do was be armed to the teeth. "Well," Korruhn said, his voice devoid of any emotion. He had reconciled with his decision. He'd rather die an exile saving his people, than live long enough to watch them die. "Start the ritual. We need to get going." OOC: @Unreliable Narrator

IC: Korruhn, Kumu Peninsula The arena was unnaturally quiet, only broken up by the torrent of the portal still whirling behind the blood-soaked frame of Korruhn. Offal and sanguine liquid dripped from him with every deep breath from his diaphragm as he stood over his kill, which was now no more than a muddled, unrecognizable mess on the ground. Korruhn didn't fully comprehend what he had just inflicted upon the Rahkshi, beast or not. The heinousness of it's demise was clouded in the veil of rage and vaporized blood, and his mind had been consumed with nothing but survival. Although there was a time where Korruhn existed to live in the small moments of peace, that time was gone. His Destiny was not that as a leader of his people, or even an example for them. The darkness that bound with the Toa was not coincidence, nor was the solitude of his journey. The others, unified and hopeful, had a place with the people, bringing them peace and hope. But not Korruhn. They would not follow the Voidwalker, anointed in blood. They would not trust him. They would fear him, hate him. They would never see him as one of them. The familiar voice of Miserix seemed to carry on the clod of gas expelled from Grime's slacked jaw, still slumped over, propped up on the dead aggressor's spear. Korruhn reached down with his right hand to the Kraata, getting a firm grasp. It squelched a sickening organic noise as he pulled it free of it's place in the Rahkshi's former head. He turned to the inanimate corpse that spoke to him, and approached. It's hand suddenly burst forward, and Korruhn reeled back briefly. Setting the Kraata down briefly, Korruhn took both hands on the handle of the spear, and pulled it free from the corpse as gently as he could. The spear was of masterful construction, with a solid handle and ornate, yet ferocious-looking blades on either end. His battered sword still lay somewhere on the battleground, but he would not recover it. This Spear was his weapon, now. He sat down next to the corpse of his strange companion, and soon found himself conversing with a lifeless body. "It's him," Korruhn said, eyes looking straight ahead as he sat beside the corpse. His voice was flat and empty. He let out a great sigh. "It's Mata Nui, isn't it." He didn't await, nor expect, a reply. His hand moved to the Kraata, and he set it down on the chest of the corpse beside him, and crossed both arms over it. He sat back, leaning on his elbows. His entire body ached more than it ever had. "Well, I don't think I'm going to be any more ready. What do we need to do?" OOC: @Unreliable Narrator

Alright. @Unreliable Narrator, ready to end this deadly encounter?

MUSICAL ACCOMPANIMENT IC: Korruhn, Kumu Peninsula The Spear may has well have penetrated Korruhn's chest, as well. In fact, it would have served the Rahkshi better. The sounds of the maelstrom of the whirling portal, the cacaphony of the Rahkshi, and the nigh-endless ringing of tinnitus in Korruhn's ears all seemed to give way to the sound of the beast's jagged spear piercing the chest of the Matoran, leaned over the battered Korruhn and pleading for help. He died as the rest of Korruhn's world had, begging and helpless as Korruhn could not stop the torrential force of the sinews of evil that seemed to penetrate his life's path at every turn. The last breath left Grime quickly and painlessly, and his body went limp, frozen postured on his knees over Korruhn, the weight of his body propped up by the spear embedded into the ground. He seemed all at once in pain and at peace. From his back, Korruhn's head rolled slowly, and lifted from the ground. He was weakened. Blood leaked from his mouth and ears, as well as various ligatures and abrasions throughout his battered body. His head pounded a somber dirge of war drums. Every part of his body screamed and ached. The Rahkshi leered from a distance, slowly approaching it's prey. Perhaps this was what Fa'amatai had felt in the moments before his demise: pain, fear, regret. Inching closer to death, though not bringing his world any closer to peace, or hope. But Korruhn was not dead. Not yet. There was a force among the populace of Metru-Nui. A unifying force, one of endless power and mystery. Every Matoran, from all walks of life shared it. But it was not an element, and none could hope to ever master it. And yet, there it sat, dormant in the chest of every surviving Matoran; buried so deep that most would never even know of it's existence, let alone feel it. But now, Korruhn felt it: a fire, deep within his chest, with the power of a hundred suns: the will of the Matoran. The burning, endless desire to exist in this jagged slice of horror and chaos unending we called our world. As the flame of the world began to flow from his heartlight, through his cardiovascular network, into his muscles and servos, the Cartographer of Metru Nui felt invigorated, rejuvenated; and though his body would not take much more punishment from the Rahkshi, it wouldn't need to. Korruhn slowly rose to his feet beside the kneeling corpse of his fallen comrade, blood of both his and Grime's dripping from his battered armor. The ice blue shade in his eyes carried an intensity that seemed to pierce the veil of darkness itself. "You have come to the wrong world!" Korruhn shouted at the Rahkshi, his voice imbued with power and courage to tremble but the most valiant of foe. "I AM INDOMITABLE." Korruhn's voice was not just his own. It was the voice of many. The voice of the dead and forgotten, and all of those who had lost their lives to whatever force had brought havoc upon his land, and drove this beast of death toward Korruhn now. With all of his might, the Toa charged at the Rahkhsi, yelling a primal war cry as he went. He extended his arms, and his fingers prepared to pry the heart right out of the beasts' chest. OOC: @Unreliable Narrator

IC: Korruhn, Kumu Peninsula The assault on his ears was unlike any pain he had experienced before. It was not like being grabbed by the Abomination; it was not like falling into the acidic blood-waters of the lake. It was as metaphysical as physical, all-consuming of his attention, causing his headcase to throb as though the Rahkshi was wildly swinging it's arms inside his head. It was agony, pure and utter agony. Korruhn's hands clutched his ears as he writhed about like a wounded worm on the ground; although nothing he could do would ease the misery that screamed terror inside his head. Korruhn opened his eyes, attempting to focus on something--anything that wasn't pain. His vision was blurred and throbbing, obscured by both the noise of his pain receptors and the thick cloud of dust that enveloped the arena in which these two gladiators did battle. He tilted his head backward to where the Rahkshi had punched through the pillar, just in time to see a hand pop through the cloud of dust; followed by another ear-shattering scream. The Ba-Toa felt the blood leak from his ears this time. The dulling sounds turned now to a ringing; an incessant ringing with no end. His sense of sound was essentially useless at this point in the fight, and Korruhn would surely lose the other four senses if he didn't do something, and fast. Throwing himself to one side, Korruhn rolled to his hands and knees. He felt the joints try to buckle; his brain still distracted by the unending pain in his head, but he managed to keep enough of a grip on his consciousness to at least again. The moment he did, however, a swipe from the Rahkshi's claw caught Korruhn in the side of the head, sending him twirling through the air, until he his the ground with a limp thud about twenty feet back. He groaned. His whole body screamed in agony. Whatever this monster was, it was designed with killing Toa in mind. Korruhn knew he wasn't going to be able to recover from many more of these attacks; he was struggling enough to get up after this one, he struggled to even keep his eyes open at this point. But Korruhn's conviction was far stronger than his body. His mind flashed again to Grime, the Matoran. Despite all of the failures Korruhn had experienced in the last few months, despite all of the things he didn't accomplish, there was one thing Korruhn had done that justified his entire existence, no matter how many times he'd failed as a Toa. Grime, the Matoran, however dead or alive he was, was safe. Korruhn, the man who couldn't save his home or his people, had still managed to make a difference in this forgotten Matoran's life. Not about to give him a break, the Rahkshi screamed again. Although Korruhn's hearing was gone at this point, he could still feel the power of the scream, and the pain the reverberated through his head. He spit blood from his mouth, and lifted himself shakily to his feet. Korruhn's mask activated in time for him to barely miss a swipe from the Rahkshi with a roll. Korruhn drew on the darkness in the area, augmenting himself with as much power as his weakened body could possibly muster. As the Rahkshi's head bore down and it charged him, Korruhn channeled all of his elemental energy into his right fist, and charged back... OOC: @Unreliable Narrator

IC: Korruhn, Kumu Peninsula The door existed, and then, it didn't. Right in Korruhn's hand, the door contorted and transmogrified until it turned into a molten hole to another world, seemingly carved into the face of reality itself. It's depth was wondrous and endless, and oddly familiar. Korruhn knew in his depths that he had encountered something like this before, but the months of anguish had obscured the clarity of his memory. It mattered not anyway, as before Korruhn had but another second to think, Grime cried out from behind him. “A rahkshi,” Grime said in terror, backing up several steps. “We've been seen, Korruhn!” The Toa's eyes focused on the being that had terrified Grime and rendered Miserix silent and unseen (typical). It was unlike any horror his eyes ever had the misfortune of gazing upon, or any nightmare his mind could possibly conjure up and cast against his psyche. It was massive--a full head and then some over Korruhn's enlarged frame--but with a leaner, deadlier build. From toe to spine, this creature was built for nothing but death and ruin. The Rahkshi stepped forward on taloned feet, gripping the ground like a rat with each step; the curling of the talon flexing the lean muscle beneath the dull, moss-encased armor. It breathed each breath with purpose, it's chest rising confidently, and exhaling a sickening green miasma. Wide shoulders expanded from an armored shell back from which grew a line of deadly, knife-like spikes, which, although having lost their lustre to time, still looked capable of piercing but the hardest of armors. Most curious was it's helmet, as it appeared to be in three separate pieces affixed to the Rahkshi's face, from which peered a small pair of glaring eyes. Korruhn couldn't help himself a moment; temporarily frozen as his mind brought him back to the Ko-Metru Hideaway. There he was again, a Matoran with no knowledge of war, of death, a monstrous creature ready to take his life looming over him. He stood frozen before the Abomination, and it grabbed his forearm. The pain cascaded through his body, and Korruhn stepped back, snapping free from his mind. The Rahkshi's mask split, letting free a scream from the depths of Karzahni itself as the tongue and flesh of the creature beneath the armor revealed themselves. Korruhn barely had a moment to draw his blade before the Rahkshi closed ground, charging like a ravenous Muaka with it's claws ready to grasp at any flesh they could find. Korruhn rolled on his shoulder to the right just in time to miss a swipe; so close, in fact, that his signature half-cloak and hood tore free from his body like ribbons, and sliced three longl wounds diagonally across his back. He gasped in shock and pain as he recovered from the roll, looking for the Karz-lizard and attempting to deduce some sort of pattern out of it. The Rahkshi quickly proved to be both unforgivingly quick, and wildly erratic. It swung at random, seeming to have no purpose other than destruction. Korruhn's mask activated; without it, he wouldn't be able to continue to dodge the onslaught for long. Backed toward one of the pillars that ringed the area, the Bo-Toa heaved with all his might, barely able to throw himself out of the way as the Rhakshi smashed clear through the pillar, crumbling it to dust as though it were made of sand.His blade skidded and clattered to the ground well out of his reach. Korruhn crawled backward, and backflipped up onto his feet some feet from the ravenous predator. His breathing was labored already; he had never met an opponent of such caliber anywhere in his travels. And he may not survive this one. Korruhn's eyes narrowed as sweat dripped from his brow. He coiled his body in a forward position, drawing upon the gravitational forces around him and concentrating it within the muscles of his arms and shoulders. As the Rahkshi went to make it's next charge, Korruhn sprung upward, throwing himself at and above the Rahkshi. His hands locked together, Korruhn raised his arms over his head, and swung them down with all of his physical and elemental might like a hammer, right toward the Rahkshi's head. OOC: @Unreliable Narrator

IC: Korruhn, Kumu Peninsula The heat from the door grew more intense with each waiting moment, as did Korruhn's anticipation. He had found many great things within temples in his life, but, then again, he had never been in a temple of the Makuta. Regardless, he was prepared to meet whatever fate may greet him beyond the mysterious door to nowhere. Goodbye Mighty warrior Cleaver of skies Meek gardner Tender of lies Hello The incantation left his mouth with such ease and cadence, that one would presume he had spoken it a thousand times before. Korruhn's palm began to quiver. OOC: @Unreliable Narrator

IC: Korruhn, Kumu Peninsula The gaseous form of Miserix slipped briefly, almost so that it wasn't visible to the naked eye, from the body of Grime and back again. In the following instant, the landscape turned on it's head, the massive valley of temples giving way to a vast nothingness, rendered claustrophobic by means of a ring of pillars around the court. The Toa wasn't familiar with the structure; they hadn't encountered anything of the sort in their passage through the peninsula. Perhaps it was a construct born of Miserix's green gas, perhaps it was an illusory world belched forth from the Far Shore. At this point, in matters of discerning reality from falsehood, Korruhn was far from the most qualified. Regardless, the warm sensation that crept up his arm from his palm, affixed to the gravestone-like door, was entirely too tangible to be falsehood. He felt it's power ebb and flow through vein and servo alike, and he welcomed the feeling of power with an open spirit. To his side, Grime approached, inquiring about the taboo. "The Rite of Gluttonous Desecration. I hadn't found much use for it, considering I've yet to learn how to desecrate. Seems these Taboos are more than just a power, though." "When we walked past that mound a week back, you mentioned that you died there," Korruhn said to Grime. "Care to elaborate? Were you desecrated?" OOC: @Unreliable Narrator

IC: Korruhn, Kumu Peninsula The guest arose and walked away as quickly as he arrived, drawn to whatever being lurked in the shadows at the temple up the road. Hopefully it was an Aspect, and Korruhn could return to his task-at-hand. The fire still flickered and crackled, casting it's orange light out into the night, and Grime still sat silent in his spot, his head down, doing Mata Nui-knows what with Miserix in that crowded mind of his. Korruhn turned his attention back to the Matoran. "Our world has a peculiar humor when it comes to timing," Korruhn stated. "You know, the day I became a Toa, a Dark Hunter infiltrated Dume's Office. He was under the directive of a fellow Aspect; sent to assassinate me. Last I had heard of him, he was escorted down to the prisons of Metru Nui." The Toa took pause a moment, reflecting on a moment that felt like an eternity ago, but hadn't been more than a month and a half. The Korruhn of old, the Korruhn who existed for a time before Dume's Office, was a different one altogether. Inspired by his people, happy. Hopeful. That man was no more. Perhaps the Dark Hunter Waveahk had succeeded; perhaps the Korruhn that caught the ire of the Aspects was truly dead. But did they yet know the consequences of their actions? "The irony is not lost on me that he strode to our small campfire tonight; sitting down beside us, assessing whether I'm a threat. Hunting Aspects in the name of Metru Nui. The poor creature, twist by whatever miasmic horror he encountered, didn't even recall me. Even through the slime and gurgle of spit, I will recall his voice until the day I die. God is dead, but the construct of the universe trudges forward." His eyes turned briefly to the door beside him, the one that pulsed with power when he placed his hand upon it. It was tantalizing, the slithering cloud of darkness that surrounded it, the shadow hand that grasped his mind and tugged him toward. "Shall we return to the task at hand?" OOC: @Unreliable Narrator

IC: Korruhn, Kumu Peninsula "Fair," he replied. "But, I think you have a part of that wrong. Folks die together as often as they die alone, ask your new friends." From the shadows, another presence approached. Korruhn groaned. Can a guy really not have five minutes of peace on this island? You'd think for all the open space here, I'd be able to find somewhere to think, to work, without all these Karzing tag-alongs showing up. The Toa scowled, although his melted mask showed no expression. With any luck, their new friend would be an Aspect, and Korruhn could pit these two barnacles, these PARASITES, against each other, so that he may return to his work while they scrape each other free from his leg. OOC: @Toru Nui @Unreliable Narrator @Sparticus147

IC: Korruhn, Kumu Peninsula "My people? Ha! If they were my people, would it not be peculiar for me to be here, instead of there? Those "people" don't know who they are; they lost that the minute they set foot here. No firm leadership, no progress. Karz, they even capitulated to the very barbarians who decollated their God and married their home with wrack and ruin. I am the only one of my people, as far as I'm concerned." Very curious, Korruhn thought, to hear mention of his friend Stannis once again. Killing Pridak, no less? Shame Korruhn didn't get to do that himself. No matter. The irony that this hapless creature had spent time standing next to one of the very beings he now seeks was not lost on Korruhn. "How did you come to be entangled with the merry band, anyhow? They're as much your people as they are mine." OOC: @Toru Nui @Unreliable Narrator

IC: Korruhn, Kumu Peninsula "Astute observation," Korruhn replied. Grime, and Miserix, still sat silent beside Korruhn, fiddling with the strings of their instrument. The gentle plucks could not be heard over the howling wind that blew the fire aggressively toward the gap between temple structures. "You seem keen enough to understand that it does me no good to show my hand to the one who sits across the table." Korruhn paused a moment, reflecting on Metru-Koro. From the first posts going into the ground, to the same posts burning back to that very ground, League ships above. Peace talks. Capitulation. Sans, Ultan, Leklo, all of those who made Metru-Koro his home, gone. All that was left there among the ruins were coward and fools. No friends of his. "Metru-Koro?" Korruhn's laughter boomed, although muffled to a low roar with the wind. He was aloof, and his posture showed it. "You don't look like their type; must be a recent recruit. Gotta fill the boots of all those dead men, I guess. Last I heard, they were having a scuffle with the League. Interesting that you've seemingly turned your attention elsewhere." OOC: @Unreliable Narrator @Toru Nui

IC: Korruhn, Kumu Peninsula The being before Korruhn bore the stubbornness of a pack mule, and a poor attitude, to boot. He was flustered, on edge. Perhaps in a hurry? Perhaps frustrated? No matter. Korruhn was enjoying himself. He chuckled a deep, hearty laugh from his diaphragm as the creature retorted angrily. "I mean, it seems like this is true," Korruhn replied, agreeing with the beasts' statement about Korruhn being more knowledgeable. "If you did possess as much knowledge as me on the subject, you wouldn't be asking me where the Aspects are. I can name the locations of at least two on Zakaz, right now. What have you got?" Korruhn smirked. "It doesn't matter to you why I'm here," Korruhn said. "I'm not an Aspect, nor do I come here seeking audience with one. Now. Why do you come seeking the Aspects in the first place?" OOC: @Unreliable Narrator @Toru Nui

IC: Korruhn, Kumu Islets A stranger approached, his foreign amphibian shape breaking through the darkness at the light of the fire. In the blink of an eye, Miserix disappeared, hiding within the form of Grime. Were Korruhn not positioned where he was, he wouldn't have even seen it; clever, really. Though he was still mad at himself for not having factored in her presence back at Fort Nektann, and he had hardly a conversation with her since, he had grown to appreciate her resourcefulness, and cunning. The creature entered the fold, refusing the offer to sit. Instead, he stood stark-still before the fire, Korruhn and Grime (and unbeknownst to him, Miserix), defiant and strong, an effigy to hostility and stubbornness. He was no-nonsense, straight-to-the-point. And the fact that he came all the way here, after all the things that had occurred on Zakaz proper, indicated that he may, in fact-be a bit too on the nose. Korruhn chuckled heartily, and looked toward the poor creature. "And of all the places to come on this island, you come to the most obvious?" Korruhn shifted, and rested his elbows on his thighs, smirking at the intruder. "Clearly you don't know much of the Aspects of Makuta!" Grime relaxed his grip on his instrument, confident that he wouldn't be playing a song in the next moment. Korruhn dug his toe into a crack in the hexagonal pattern of blackened stone on the ground, kicking loose a chunk. He looked back to the intruder again. "The Aspects wander the island since the dead god fell in the west. Who knows what they seek, but I've seen them there a few times myself. Not so much as a soul to speak of here, though. They abandoned this place eons ago." OOC: @Toru Nui @Unreliable Narrator

IC: Korruhn, Kumu Peninsula Korruhn took a moment to consider all that Miserix had just laid upon him. His home, his god. An ark? If his world was merely an atom of a larger whole, then what really was he? Did it even matter? His world was shattered, his friends dead. The last being that he knew before a month ago vanished from his life. At least for now, all he had were Grime and Miserix. "My visit with Stannis...Caedast was brief; we didn't have much time to discuss matters, let alone of my origin. I had been with him but three days when we left the garage," Korruhn replied. "But I'm sure we'll have time to get to that." "And what do you intend, now that you have me, as you say?" He didn't resent the expression, but he was certainly curious to know what it meant. "I hope it should not involve playing hand of the tin emperor in the boonies." Sickness. Korruhn looked down at his arm, it's jet-black, jagged form not unlike that of the architecture of the Peninsula. "I was sick before I journeyed. I encountered a being, presumably from the Far Shore, in Ko-Metru. When Dume made us Toa..." He lifted his arm to show Miserix, "This." "Two weeks later, I fell into the lake of Mata Nui's blood. It took me there. I've navigated it a few times. I encountered a Matoran there, from Ko-Metru. I intended to go back, explore more, but it requires a sacrifice." OOC: @Unreliable Narrator

IC: Korruhn, Kumu Peninsula "Ha, now you speak!" Korruhn exclaimed, sarcastically. The Makuta of legendary reputation had hardly said a word the entirety of the time since they left Fort Nektann. And of all times, to speak up now? "Ark? What the karz are you on about?" Korruhn retorted, slightly angered. It was not often he found himself in a situation where he didn't know of a place, being a cartographer and all. Not only that, this was distracting from the task before him. "What is this about? You must remember, some of us haven't been alive to wander this world for the eons you have." OOC: @Unreliable Narrator

IC: Korruhn, Kumu Peninsula His eyes narrowed at the word. It was certainly a peculiar thing to bring up, even here in the valley of darkness itself. If it was what he was implying, his image of the place had been all wrong. "From my understanding, it was a karz of a place. Armory, laboratories, you name it. Why do you ask?" OOC: @Unreliable Narrator

IC: Korruhn, Kumu Peninsula The wind that swept across the Kumu peninsula was as violent and torrential as the nature of the area itself. Like the gaseous natural state of the Makuta that called it home, the miasmic gales of the land forced their way through the valley carved out by the temples lining the dimly-lit path, finding the smallest gaps in stone and armor alike. With it, it carried a near-constant howling that, combined with a looming perpetual darkness, would render all but the most fortuitous men mad. Korruhn's half-cloak, worn and tattered, billowed perpetually as he stood from the light of the fire he and his companions had gathered at, his form disappearing into the shadow. The rough, black stone that littered the ground crunched softly beneath his feet as it gave way to his determined step. The satisfaction his curiosity had demanded since his arrival in this place, put off by his rigorous studies, was finally within reach as he stepped toward the entrance of the darkened temple before him. The Toa had never seen anything alike it in his life. Although seemingly of familiar construction methods, the structure itself was entirely alien in design. Flying buttresses, monolithic in size, reached from the ground of hexagonal obsidian stone towards the massive front facade of the building like the fingers of Teridax himself. Massive columns, angular and unwelcoming, were held up by hideous statues of giant monsters and tortured beings, seemingly in agony under the weight of the gargantuan structure above. Flat surfaces were carved with intricate foreign runes, and some further with violent, horrific bas reliefs. And at the base of this seeming monument to suffering, stood a lone black door, with the symbol of a Taboo carved upon it's face, faintly glowing a sanguine shade. He turned back toward the direction of the fire, where his companions still sat, enveloped in shadow. "You never did tell me why you brought me here. You could have left me anywhere--karz--you could have left me in the hangar. I've been in your presence going on a month, and yet I still can't figure out why." Without awaiting a reply, Korruhn turned to face the door again. He was here, surely. But he still had to figure out how to get in. Doesn't hurt to try, Korruhn chuckled to himself, before placing his right hand upon the symbol on the door. OOC: @Unreliable Narrator

Name: Korruhn Breed: Ba-Toa Breed Quirk: Ability to see in the dark (shadow imbued) Faction: Brief Description: Since his ascent to Toahood, Korruhn has retained little of his former appearance as a Ko-Matoran. Well-built on a sleek, solid frame, Korruhn bears armor of a deep, smoky grey imbued with brilliant white and ice blue highlights throughout, although any lustre and sheen has been pitted and marred by the many battles since. The armor has an appearance of master craftsmanship, offering both protection from heavy combat and the maneuverability of a stealth suit. His Kanohi is shaped not unlike that of a knight, sharp and angular with only a pair of holes for his icy blue eyes to burn from beneath, and Korruhn will sometimes cover this with the hood on his black half-cloak with white stitching and strange small runes, that he's never seen without. Through a horrible encounter with an unknown creature in Ko-Metru, Korruhn's right arm has been imbued with the power of shadow. As a result, his right arm appears much darker, the armor slightly more angular, and the arm seems to constantly give off a sort of shadowy smoke, although faint. After his encounter with a Taboo at the Ruins of Ice, his armor has been overtaken by black tendrils spread throughout his armor, and his mask now also expels black smoke. A later incident with the toxic protodermis lake on Zakaz further mutated Korruhn's appearance. Energized Protodermis has enhanced his biological features, resulting in his muscles growing beneath his armor plating. The toxicity of the lake has eaten and oxidized much of the surface of his armor, which is now broken up by patches of rust and delamination, and the armor appears fractured under his newly-expanded frame, pock marked with acid burns, although it seems strong as ever. His mask suffered the worst fate in the acid, melting to form the shape of a sickly skull over his face, with a dark, stained gold color to it. As a result of the Energized Protodermis, Korruhn's cloak stitching has turned a dark gold, as well as veins of gold appearing now in his armor and flesh. Background/Occupation: A former Cartographer of Ko-Metru, Korruhn excelled in this role as a mapmaker and explorer, until Destiny created grander plans for him. His tribulations took him across his homeland, pitted him against countless perils, and netted him a well-knit band of comrades. These experiences have shaped Korruhn into a finely-tuned combatant and tactician, Flaws: Suffers from an increasing case of Void Sickness, resulting in clouded thoughts, distraction, inability to discern reality, and a slow descent into the Void from which he sprung. Korruhn's hearing has been damaged as a result of his Rahkshi fight, leaving it partially impaired. His prolonged isolation and Void exposure has left Korruhn distrustful of most people, even those he once considered friends. Void Sickness (Physical Flaw): You may use, discover, and research taboo rites. Your sense of morality begins to shift. Choose and add one new Psychological Flaw to your profile that goes against your current sense of morality. Each time you enter the Far Shore, notify the GMs by tagging them in your post. GMs will roll a percentage die. On a result of 10 or lower, you are trapped in the Far Shore. If rescued, you return from the Far Shore as an Aspect of Makuta beginning your Grand Wish. Powers/Equipment: As a Toa, Korruhn is a master over elemental Gravity, using it to his advantage in both combat and non-combat situations. As well as elemental gravity, Korruhn has been imbued with the power of Shadow, granting him abilities from beyond the Void (including the ability to turn ambient shadow to energy, peer through another person's shadow if they permit, and plunge an area in utter darkness). Korruhn now bears a dual-Kanohi: a mask constructed from two, with bears both the powers of the Pakarai and Kakama, although, in appearance it looks to be an antiquated Pakari design. For weapons, Korruhn has acquired a level 4 Spear of Power Scream from a Rahkshi in the Kumu Peninsula, as well as the armaments that come with his stolen ARC. Desecrated by Miserix, and Caedast, Korruhn bears the many benefits and flaws of desecration, and carries three Kraata embedded in his spine. The three Kraata are: Level 5 Density Control (inactive), Level 6 Teleport, and Level 6 Darkness. TABOOS: Through arcane rites and long-forgotten knowledge, Korruhn has gained the ability to sense, and (should he choose) mimic a psychological flaw of an opponent, and project it into their mind, or cast illusions, breaking resolve and tainting even the strongest of minds. Each use of this power separates him further and further from his sense of self and his control, creating a less predictable and more primal combatant with each use. Infectious Kraata Gluttonous Desecration Infectious Kraata Corruption Soul Searching Shadow Hand Korruhn’s Mutation: Six black handprints now appear on Korruhn's arm, although not visible against the obisidian of his arm. The hands change to a sickly gold with each kill, an eye in the center of the hand print opens as well. When each handprint’s eyes are open, Korruhn may either cast aside his mortal form, flaying his soul from reality and passing into a spectral realm of abominations, or he may summon an abomination into the world of the living to do his bidding while tethered by a leash of shadow. Once all six handprints have opened their eyes, Korruhn dies in an explosion that damages the current hex and leaves a shadow blight. Shadow Blight: all characters in an area affected by shadow blight are unable to summon their elements. Korruhn appears the next day, at dusk, two hexes away from where he died. The eyes on his arm are once more closed, and the cycle begins again. Korruhn may share this power with those in his immediate vicinity. Abomination Summoning Addendum: Abominations ripped from the Far Shore and pulled into the plane of the Time Between Time arrive unwilling to return from where they came. They fight desperately to stay in physical form, even though their fight is doomed to eventually fail. A summoned abomination has the following traits, quirks, weaknesses, etc.: Breed: Far Shore Abomination Faction: Far Shore Brief Description: abominations are dual planar entities and they exist in both the Far Shore and the Time Between Time so long as they are summoned and tethered via one of Korruhn's shadow leashes. They are made of multiple beings, ranging in stature and breed, although all suffer from being only partially physical. The more an abomination feeds on the living (excluding undead) of the Time Between Time, the more physical they become. Most abominations are no larger than the average matoran. Some, however, are terrifying monstrosities in stature and power. Please consider fair play and narrative balance when deciding the size of the abomination being summoned. If unsure, ask the other players involved in the scene for their perspective. Background/Occupation: abominations come from the Far Shore, a mysterious place with no known point of entry. Flaws: if the tethers that bind them are destroyed, the abominations vanish. Abominations cannot communicate in sentences, and at most understand the most basic of commands. They speak in strange tongues and use many words out of order. The summoner may choose to banish an abomination with as simple thought back to the Far Shore at any time. Powers/Equipment: Mask Attuned: Each summoned abomination arrives with the ability to use a mask of the summoner's choice at a noble level. The abomination automatically has the mask somewhere on their form. Abominations cannot change masks. Masks that require specific verbal or psychic inputs may be inaccessible in practicality due to abominations being unable to communicate coherently or hold on to more than the most simple thought. Shadow Born: an abomination may hide in shadow, becoming immaterial and invulnerable to attacks until the shadows are dispersed to reveal the abominations physical form. Far Shore Hunger: all abominations have a desire to feed on the nearest living being besides their summoner. The more they consume, the more physical they become. However, they will never be able to become fully physical and leave the Far Shore behind. KORRUHN HAS ACCESS TO THE ICE SUVA. (Too far for connection)