Death of the Endless

Silly light!

Do you mean here on BZPower, here on this topic, here where I'm sitting, or here in existence? I'm pretty sure I know why for all of these. TPBM doesn't like food-related jokes in Bionicle comedies.

Artakha

Bogleech

It's a dragon. I could swear I've seen that dragon before.

Dude... what is this?!

IC: Tawara, Ta-Koro Bar The door creaked as Tawara pushed it open and slid inside the tavern. Her hood down and her bow slung over her back, she began to approach the bar. And there they were, among the crowd. Jikal and... that other one. Tuara, that was her name. Talking. Tawara almost walked up to them, almost greeted them and asked what they were speaking of. Almost, but not quite. Instead, she sunk back into the shadows, a small, dark figure standing in the corner of the room.

Unfortunately, the wings come at the price of having your mind broken and becoming a servant of the Makuta.

I got Kohrak Va long before I was ever interested in Bionicle, and as a result he languished in a Ziploc bag for many years before I finally found him again.

Just wear it!

Granted, you are so awesome that you become disillusioned with the rest of the not-as-awesome world and live the rest of your life in bitterness and sorrow. I wish for a Rarity figurine.

WEAVER, SEEKER, AND SPARK I. There is a jungle which cannot be reached by any ordinary road, and at the center of that jungle, there is a spiderweb. The spider is old and fat, and her carapace is black and shiny as polished obsidian. She works ceaselessly, tirelessly, though she is nearly blind, and with each new thread added the world changes a little: a flame springs up, or a child hugs his new toy close, or a fruit fly shudders and dies. Sometimes, a wind will blow part of the web away, and as the spider’s work is sundered, universes are lost to darkness. II. When the Serpent awoke in darkness, it made the Light. The Light burned. III. The first arrive at nightfall, riding over the mountains, along the river, and up the hill to the citadel. The rain beats a steady rhythm on their backs. It soaks through their clothes, and so saturated the clothes betray their function and let in the cold till their owners’ bones feel like ice. The travelers can barely see in the storm, but they keep going. They must. They are surer of this than anything, though if you asked them why, they would not be able to answer. When they arrive at the gate, the bravest steps forth, grasps the brass knocker, and raps the door three times. It opens slowly, and the travelers enter. Drenched with rain and sorrow, they proceed timidly through the hall. It is wide and brightly lit, lined with towering columns and intricately carved arches. And it is here that they first begin to remember. The corridor leads to a banquet hall, a room more vast than any you have seen, and the tables are piled high with every delicacy imaginable. There are dishes there from every place in the world, along with some from places that are not on any map. The guests are still a little afraid, but there is no one else in the room, and their mouths water at the sight of so much food. They eagerly begin to eat. And the place seems yet more familiar to them, though they cannot locate it in any memory. It is not long before more guests arrive, leaving their horses, their bicycles, their rusted pickups and old, battered cars by the gate and taking seats in the dining hall. Hundreds arrive, no, thousands, or perhaps even more. It is now, with familiar faces before them, that the travelers remember the place. Friends sit together and partake of fruit, salads, pasta, spiced rolls, and piles of steaming meat. Many guests eat with what could almost be described as ferocity, shoveling massive quantities of food into their mouths and barely noticing their companions’ words. Others are far more hungry for conversation than they are for bread, and listen eagerly to everything said to them. But all are happy, happy in a way that you or I can barely comprehend. The musicians among the crowd find their instruments waiting for them, and begin to play a tune for their fellows. There are kisses exchanged, and dances danced, and smiles smiled. Old friends sit before the roaring fire on the hearth and relate familiar tales. Yet, sooner than any of the guests would have liked, the first coral rays of the morning sun peek over the horizon. Reluctantly, the travelers proceed through the hall and out of the gate. They saddle up their horses, get into their cars and ride off over the mountains. And when they wake, it is to a world that is far less kind to them—a gray, uncaring world. A place where there are no friends to greet them, where evil goes unpunished and good is seldom rewarded. Columns of golden stone are replaced by corrugated metal. Wooded hills are replaced by asphalt streets. Trust and contentment are replaced by perpetual fear. And they remember nothing of the night. NOTE: This is not part of a contest.

Barack doesn't think I'm much of a rapper. Sorry I disappointed you, Mr. President.

Hahnah

Buffy the Vampire Slayer (too mature). Skullduggery Pleasant (no visual media).

Hullo, grey-masked Ta-Matoran!

Granted. You are inspired to write something so horrible, its hatedom is fifty times the size of its fandom. I wish for a purple platypus-bear.

Gali. Curses, she is rated the second-lowest.

Well, I wouldn't say "unrestricted". It did have one self-imposed restriction, particularly in later years, which is that it took itself very seriously. Certainly the books, comics, movies, and serials would have jokes, but in general it didn't afford itself the kind of humor or lighthearted storytelling endemic to other LEGO themes, and in fact pretty much anything lighthearted in the movies is thoroughly reviled by a lot of fans who have come to demand more serious storytelling (even the childlike voices of the Matoran in BIONICLE: Mask of Light have been controversial).So while there was a lot making it cool, there were certain types of stories it never touched upon. Look at Ninjago, which had plot threads such as "the heroes and villains enter a race/dance contest". Or look at Hero Factory FM, the Hero Factory podcast which nonchalantly blended the real world with the Hero Factory universe and was pretty much a gag a minute. These sorts of things could never have worked for BIONICLE, because fans would have had a fit. And I would certainly call that a restriction, even if it was one a lot of fans were willing to live with. Yeah, you're right. "nearly unrestricted"

Megaman

Happy birthday, SPIRIT! You're easily the greatest comedy writer on this site (but I'm sure you know that already)!

Whoa. I guess BZP is a lot less jaded than I had thought. I think one of the things that makes Bionicle unique is that it combined so many tropes in so many... well, frankly bizarre ways. There are series with living robots (although not many), series with elemental powers (very many of these), series with futuristic cities or conflicts between dark, monstrous creatures and warrior magicians. But Bionicle is all of these, and a great deal more. Elements of nearly every genre imaginable (and some that might not be) are present. The writing was often kind of mediocre, but the overall product was so incredibly AWESOME that you didn't care. The entire franchise ran on pure, unrestricted Rule of Cool.

IC: Tawara, Ta-Wahi Shore It was there. The boards had sagged and darkened, the hull had collapsed inward, the mast had fallen and left the sail to moulder. The same scarlet moss that grew on the black rocks of the shore had begun to cover the boat’s surface. But it was there. Tawara ran a finger along the dark wood. Some of it came away as a black paste on the tip of her finger, and she flicked it off. Less than a year ago, she had arrived, half-conscious, at the Ta-Wahi coast. Her earliest memory was of waking there. Beyond that, there was nothing. No, that wasn’t quite right. There was something: a harsh, dark thing, blocking the Matoran’s path, constantly burning in the back of her mind. Every time she tried to recall past her arrival at the island, it flung her back. Pain flared up in her head. She wasn’t alone, either—nobody on Mata Nui remembered their past. Yet there was a time when she did remember it. She was sure of it. And it was written in the notebook she carried, inscribed in a code she couldn’t decipher by a friend whose death she had caused. Tawara turned away from the vessel and made her way up the coast and into the forest.

OOC: I should have done this a long time ago. Sorry. Tawara to Ta-Wahi.

Did anyone else notice that in Spike at Your Service the timberwolves looked like something out of a completely different show? The angular style, the thin black lines instead of thick colorful ones, etc. just made it impossible for me to take them seriously.