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Perp

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  1. IC: Safina - Ko-Wahi Dark Walk Within the protective powered armor, Safina gritted her teeth. She was not one to lose her nerve easily, and soon found herself controlling her breathing… but both staring into the unwavering darkness for hours on end, as well as the uncertainty of what was happening further into the side passage, unnerved her in a way she was unaccustomed to feeling. In the end, she knew it was because of what unnatural forces were at work in this blasted cavern, but even still a small voice berated her lack of composure, however miniscule that lapse may have been. It wasn’t the small, ethereal voice she was accustomed to, either. “Artathi...” she whispered to no-one, and no-one whispered back. She shifted in her restraints, the ache of constant stillness beginning to settle into her bones as she continued her watch. Momentarily, she glanced at the suit’s power indicator - she’d lost more power than she’d have liked down here, and hoped that she wouldn’t have to abandon the suit and return to the surface on foot - if, in that state, she made it out at all. Refocusing, her mind went to the hideout, from which she could only hear muffled sounds, and wondered just what the helI was happening in there.
  2. IC: Gorro - Onu-Koro, The Unfortunate Fikou As the door was yanked open by the tenant within, Gorro opened his mouth to speak, questions ready to spout out, though jumbled by his brain. Whether it was this mental blockage that stayed his tongue, or the animated welcome immediately given by this Matoran - Montague, he assumed - it scarcely mattered. He had been offered tea, and his empty flask felt all the heaver for it as it sat within his cloak, seeming to now burn against his breast as his awareness was brought to it and back to his empty stomach. Hesitating for a moment as the Matoran beckoned him inside the meagre accommodations of the inn (more tasteful and homely than he assumed, Gorro privately admitted to himself), and the Cy-Toa wordlessly obliged. “...Yes, please,” he managed at last, still stunned by both the revelation he had experienced moments earlier, and the cheerful disposition of his new host. A small, embroidered sofa sat against the wall, its cream and crimson patterns reminiscent of the ripples on the surface of Lake Kanae at sunset, when the water was at its calmest. It seemed the most reasonable place to sit, being situated on one side of a low table weaved of wrought-iron bars and capped with a surface of glass. A similarly-embroidered armchair sat across said table, directly facing the sofa, which the Cy-Toa promptly sunk himself into as his host closed the door behind him and attended to the kettle. “I’ve… come here to talk about-”
  3. IC: Gorro - Onu-Koro The distance stretching between the Villages of Air and Earth was not a trivial one - hundreds of kio across the whole of the island with naught but a scarce lightstone to mark one’s descent into an abyss; one not deeply vertical, but dreadfully long, horizontal. Yet still, to soar from the highest treetops and conclude his journey in the blackest of caverns, he had to have been carried deeper and deeper down. Those tunnels might as well have been vertical, as now here he stood, the cart’s plummeting momentum carrying him fathoms down into the bowels of the Earth, Village of. The grand, vaulted ceiling of shadowed rock overhead was interspersed with lightstones, forming a shimmering, eternal night sky - a façade immediately broken by the staleness of the air and the musky, industrial stench and groaning sounds of terrible machinery further within. There was no spirit star for him here, either. Carefully, he strode the well-trodden paths, his mind absent of current destination, pondering just how long he had slept and how long the journey had taken. To cover a distance like that would have taken at least a full day, assuming, of course, that the cart-driver had not stopped along the way for one reason or another. Had he slept the entire journey? And what sleep he had! Another of those accursed dreams, ripping the stability out from under his feet and casting him into the void and preying on his unsullied mind. The Cy-Toa shook his head as it began to throb again, seeming to warn him of pursuing this line of thought to its end - a warning which was quickly obeyed, the pain dispersing moments later. Casting him out of his stupor was another bodily sensation - his stomach growling and churning as if it had not been filled for days. It might have been a real possibility, and not a superlative to say so, in any case. Alas he had scarcely a widget to his name, and he was loathe to visit the market of which he had been told tales of appallingly exorbitant prices. Perhaps an inn, as well as providing the shelter which he was also in need of, would have a more reasonably-priced meal service. His eyes wandered from sign to sign in the dimly lit streets and alleys (a curious thing, for a place so subterranean) as he sought the nearest inn, which was quickly indicated to be an older, almost rustic structure named The Sorrowful Fikou. The faint odor of cooking meat penetrated through the reek of chemicals and grease that pervaded this section of town. His stomach growled again, eager for him to sate his h̯̳̺̪̗̫̠̕u̗n̶̘̹͎͍̗̰̥͈͎g̀͏̱̖̱é̹̯͎̳̳r̶̳͕͈͔͠. Conversing with the owner of the establishment only took but a minute or two, in which he flaunted reasonable prices, despite meagre (or perhaps of even lesser quality) accommodations. Gorro, having not lived a life of luxury for as long as he could remember, was unbothered by this information, to which he agreed that the prices were, indeed, reasonable - though he would not be requesting room and board just this moment, and would return later. Pointedly, he also inquired of the innkeep where he might find postings for those seeking labor. The innkeep - a shabby, unimpressive Matoran clad in an odd hat - returned his inquiry with a morose expression the kind of which Gorro was quite used to, but nonetheless steered him in the direction of the nearest bulletin board, naught but a couple of streets over. Thanking the gentleman, as was Gorro’s custom as a polite, albeit oafish fellow, he turned and set off to find the mentioned bulletin board, staunchly following the directions given to him. As he turned the street corner, the acrid smell returned to him, nearly overwhelming his senses in this strange and terrible place to which he had never visited and was oppressively alien to him. Despite the assailing of his mind, and interrupting his newfound yearning for the fresh air and cacophony of bird chorus and insect song of the jungle, the bulletin board was soon sighted in a square encased by stone structures and huts of varying stories. Some towered above him and seemed to nearly topple onto his comparatively miniscule figure as he gazed up beyond the crest of the building to the dizzying illusion of the cavern ceiling. His attention quickly returned to the quest before him; he regained his composure and strode over to the center of the cobblestone square, oddly devoid of other people in this particular area, though he did catch glimpses of beings framed by the windows of the structures around him, their silhouettes back-lit by lighting fixtures within. As the residents scanned him with their eyes, Gorro’s focus was on the board in front of him, which he scanned with his own. There were requests for engineers and machinists, chemists and other intellectuals - all occupations he could sadly not perform. One poster, however, caught his attention, its opening line reading “Friends and countrymen, lend me your eyes!” He continued reading, and as he did, his lent eyes grew ever wider with shock and disbelief. The poster spoke of invasive, disturbing dreams - the same sort of which were plaguing him, and had been doing so for many a night in the past handful of months, steadily increasing in both terror inflicted upon his unconscious mind and intensity in which they startled him awake. But furthermore, the individual who had penned this treatise - an individual with the name of Montague, detailed an expedition that would seemingly delve into the reason behind this nocturnal madness that, as Gorro was shocked to discover, he was not alone in experiencing. The revelation wrestled with his sensibilities, as he began to ponder just what this Montague was implying - that there was a definite cause to these dreams; and perhaps, Gorro conjectured, that finding this apparently evasive cause could cure him of this mental ailment which so thoroughly ravaged his psyche with every slumber. Widgets never entered into his conscious thought in the moments that followed, as his determination festered deep within his now-uneasy stomach, and grew until it could not be ignored. At the very least, he must speak with this Montague and ply them with questions until his mind could be, for a moment, put at ease. He gazed again at the poster’s text, reading it over a second time to ensure he had not been delusional or lapsed into a hunger-driven mania. Confirming that he hadn’t, he determined that he would, indeed, set his mind to uncovering the truth of the matter first and foremost. Committing the ironic details of Montague’s current residence to memory, the Cy-Toa strode back down the streets from whence he came, his ragged cloak fluttering around him with the vigor in which his gait carried him back to The Unfortunate Fikou. The innkeep, looking up from a small piece of literature he had buried himself in, made to speak to Gorro, but was stunned when the Toa strode past him wordlessly and continued to the numbered rooms further within the building. The innkeep called after him, but the Cy-Toa made no effort to listen. At once, he found the placarded number affixed to the door which he sought, and stridently rapped upon the garishly-painted wood.
  4. IC: Jokaro - Po-Koro, Technology Emporium He swept a few of the spare parts on the workbench to the side as the delivery boy trundled over, making room so that he could inspect the goods for himself. However, when they occupied that very space a moment later, Jokaro realized he had been seriously mistaken. “What is that??” His eyes, which had still not broken from the workspace in front of him, scanned the documents - no, schematics - left and right, top to bottom, trying to understand the magnitude of what exactly they depicted. It looked like an oversized… no, it couldn’t be. Impossible. Finally, his eyes left his desk and stared in amazement, curiosity and heightening excitement, at the downturned face of the not-delivery-boy, as the same finger that was stabbing into the air moments ago, now stabbed at the paper and the intriguing illustrations therein. “What is that???”
  5. IC: Jokaro - Po-Koro, Technology Emporium Without looking up from the nearly-assembled Patero on his desk, nor even shifting his gaze, the blurred shape of someone who was not Farzan walking in, with what Jokaro guessed were a roll of papers tucked under arm, was all it took for the Po-Matoran’s arm to shoot out towards towards the Toa-sized blur, finger extended in an aggressive point. His other hand, meanwhile, was preoccupied with tightening a screw that held part of the V2’s new grip in place. After a second or two, the hand attached to the pointed finger rolled over, with said finger now beckoning whoever it was over to him in a ‘come hither’ motion. “Bring those here. It’s about time, I ordered those new graph papers months ago.” Still, his attention was (almost) singularly focused on the weapon before him. It was a miracle he even noticed the delivery boy walk in.
  6. IC: Jokaro - Po Koro, Technology Emporium The din of voices filtering through the open doorway to the Emporium’s storefront occupied only the slimmest sliver of the Po-Matoran’s attention as his hands darted this way and that, picking up tools and parts and slotting them in place, tightening them, trying to fit them into places they weren’t originally meant to go… So it was no wonder that the prospect of those with potentially large wallets and their widgets flowing into the Emporium entered his conscious mind and were just as quickly forgotten. He had work to do, and this -god- -d###- -bracket- -just- -wouldn’t--- “Come on, you little piece of-” One of his hands quickly found his mallet, and the mallet thereafter found its target. bang bang bang bang “...when a...” bang bang bang “...would actually be too much. It…” bang bang “...time to put…” bang bang bang bang “...your size range. Dehkaz…” bang bang bang “...actually. It was quite a day. I had just recovered a widget I'd…” bang bang bang bang bang bang “...by mistake..." bang bang bang … … Ah, finally, it fit.
  7. IC: Baszlin - Ga-Koro As the other Matoran slipped away out of sight, the Skakdi’s attention returned to Surdo. Before he could say anything (even though he wasn’t going to), the Fe-Matoran countered with his conditions for assistance. “I don’t believe you’re quite as helpless as you make yourself out to be-” he gestured pointedly at the Matoran’s pocket, “...but I can see that the limp is, indeed, real.” The pain of half-remembered battles past crept up his own leg to accompany the fractured memories. “I accept.”
  8. IC: Safina - Ko-Wahi Dark Walk "Charek. Six." Safina shifted in her suit’s harness, keeping the light trained on the cave’s depths beyond the side passage, her eyes never leaving the darkness as she strained her ears, trying to listen in to the muffled sounds from the concealed hideout. “What’s that? What’s going on in there? I can’t hear anything.”
  9. IC: Jokaro - Po-Koro, Technology Emporium Farzan had barely handed the wooden furniture he’d been commissioned to produce over to Jokaro before his attention was pulled away (get it?) by a gaggle of customers entering the Emporium. The Po-Matoran barely looked up from his work, totally engrossed in his craft. The launcher was coming together - with a little more tinkering and the furniture in place, the V2 would soon be ready for its second trial. “Hm? Oh, ‘kay. Lemme know if you need a hand. Or to chase off any vagrants,” he grumbled.
  10. IC: Baszlin - Lorem ipsum, Lorem ipsum A very characteristic “Hmm” emanated from the depths of his throat, as he contemplated the strange little Fe-Matoran’s offer. “That sounds… reasonable. Very well, I-” Another downward glance found empty space where there had previously been a pair of little orange and grey things. The Skakdi’s head swiveled this way and that in search of the duo, ultimately finding them in the shaded crevice nestled between two verdant, vegetative abodes. Turning the rest of his body to align with them, he fixed them with a stare that was utterly devoid of expression. He was just standing there. MENACINGLY.
  11. IC: Safina - Ko-Wahi Dark Walk The only good thing about the tunnels becoming narrower was that the cone of light projected from her arm-mounted lightstone torch illuminated most of the passage in front of them - as far as that light could reach, in any case. Even still, she squinted into the darkness, eyes straining fruitlessly against the fog-like shadowed depths further down the Dark Walk. Kehuri turned away to perform the duties requested of him. "Eyes peeled." “Watching,” came her response, tinny and resonant as her voice was mechanically filtered through the windscreen in front of her and bounced around through the long, partially-lit earthen corridor. With a flick of a switch on her thumb control, the blade on her suit’s right arm extended, likewise reverberating a metallic shink down the tunnel as she brought it up to bear, daring the beasts to come at them head-on. Though she knew they wouldn’t.
  12. IC: Baszlin - Ga-Koro There was an audible pop in his joints as he swung his head over to gaze at the other Matoran as he prattled on about- Riches? Legends? Debts??? “None of these things matter to me.” Stepping back, the Skakdi gesticulated with his organic arm in grandiose presentation of his body and visage. “Do I look like one who pines for material wealth? Or glory, honour, rrrrrecognition?! Nay, none of these will satisfy. I seek-” he spun violently on his heel, now facing away from the two Matoran, “-but one indulgence: death! ...of another!” He whipped around again, loping forward with his shoulders hunched, and once more coming too close to the two assembled half-pints for comfort. This last statement he bellowed to the heavens, tight fists raised and quivering in front of his chest: “I thirst for blood! For vengeance!” He held his pose for but a moment, before relaxing, closing his eyes, taking a breath. “Hmm.” I could actually go for a filet-o-fish right about now not gonna lie. OOC: @Tarn @BULiK
  13. IC: Baszlin - Ga-Koro ”Depends on what it is.” OOC: Mobile
  14. IC: Baszlin - Ga-Koro “Hmm.” That’s the sound of a man-beast-god in thought (they do that?!). As the Fe-Matoran tried to defuse the tension which had just been ratcheted up, Baszlin began to calculate; the numbers swirling around his head, digits and signs leaping to and fro in some kind of maddening neurotic ballet. What were the chances that he’d happen upon someone who knew more about himself than he did - just like that, within the first few minutes of setting foot in town? What kind of astronomical odds would those be, on an island as populated as this? That’s what he was trying to find out. Three over seven, multiply that by… Hmm. Was it adding up? Hard to tell… but oddly enough, it was that mere slip of hand-into-pocket that caught his eye, the subtlety of the motion in which this person armed himself that broke through the turbulent calculus of it all… Ah yes, forgot to carry the two. It all made sense now. Carefully, his hand eased the pressure off his knife-handle, the thumb slowly returning to its previous position in his belt. He straightened his back and relaxed his shoulders, the tension in both the air and within his own body dissipating. ‘Blood spilled over long odds’ were words not written in his day planner, should he have had one. “My name is Baszlin. Why would I have a pseudonym?” He wondered where exactly he’d learned that word. Pseu-do-nym...
  15. IC: Jokaro - Po-Koro, Technology Emporium He waved his hand dismissively as the Fa-Matoran went on about ornate carvings. “I’m no artiste. Some basic furniture will suffice. One second.” With another flurry of pencil-strokes upon a page of his notebook, with the occasional pause to take some measurements from the barrel and launcher chassis on his desk, Jokaro quickly produced another set of sketches and schematics for the wooden furniture of the soon-to-be-realized tested V2 Patero. “You could probably even saw the stock off of a Sentinel crossbow and use that,” he half-joked, handing off the page to Farzan.
  16. IC: Baszlin - Ga-Koro Tensing up as he struggled to control himself, his eyes narrowed in conjunction with his prosthetic, which immediately went to the hilt of his knife and gripped tightly, though the blade did not yet peek out from its scabbard. “How do you know that?! Do I know you?!” he growled, just a bit too loud for private conversation. He didn’t even notice the other Matoran amongst them.
  17. IC: Baszlin - Ga-Koro Shifting his gaze left and right across the sea of Toa, Matoran, and miscellaneous, the Skakdi waded through the crowd until he was only a couple stride-lengths away from the dull-orange being - probably a little closer than one would consider to be comfortable distance to converse. He found it peculiarly odd to look down so sharply when addressing someone, but did nothing to rectify it. “Yes, I am looking for something...” he murmured, lazily scratching his chin with his non-mechanical hand, before correcting himself. “Someone.”
  18. IC: Baszlin - Ga-Koro Blinking a few times to refocus his eyes after having spaced out, he came to realize that the Matoran he was staring at had now returned the favor. “Can I help you?” … “...with what?”
  19. IC: Baszlin - Ga-Koro Green. Oh so much green. Green houses, green streets. Green plants. Blue people. Hmm. That last one didn’t quite follow. But not much about him ever really did anymore. Like that last sentence - he wasn’t supposed to be referencing himself, but he did anyway? Why was that a question. Why wasn’t that one? Hrmph. It was gonna be another long day, and he really, really did not care for this seaside humidity. It wasn’t good for his spine, much like bullets, or fire. Or the topical cream they’d given him for the burns on his spine in Ta-Koro. Nevertheless, Baszlin strode on through the streets of Ga-Koro, his weapon slung across his back and his knife sheathed on his hip, within reach of his prosthetic hand. One of the few things that was preferable regarding his artificial appendage over flesh and blood: his fingers never twitched like they had before. He was used to having a weapon ready at his disposal, and even just having it stowed and momentarily out of reach unnerved him. Oftentimes he felt he couldn’t sleep unless he was clutching his short blade. So, his metal thumb looped over his belt, no nervous tic of the other four fingers betrayed the tension as he trudged through the crowd like a field of tall grass. Except grass was green, like the one he was looking for; these people were mostly blue. Hmm. Blue, blue, blue, blue with gold, blue with crystal, blue and lighter blue… Dark orange. And gray. In a coat. Hm. The skakdi stopped in his tracks and studied the Matoran. There was nothing particularly remarkable about him, but curiously he held a cane with a decorated head. Squinting, he focused on the ornament and recognized the visage as that of a Muaka. He’d seen the beast on many an occasion whilst roaming through - Ko-Wahi. He was brought back there suddenly, the cold, icy blast of the mountains almost seeming to batter his bones despite the warm Ga-Wahi weather, the pain in his leg returning for just a moment as the blood trickled out and melted the snow beneath - And then he was back, but still staring intently at the ornament, and the whole of the implement itself. He’d shrugged off the cane the Ta-Koronan doctors had given him to ease his recovery. It hadn’t really mattered in the end. He was still staring. “Hmm.” OOC: @Tarn
  20. IC: Verakastian - Fortress Khy;Barr, laboratory of the Diamond Fox Creeping carefully down the steps behind the massive bulk of his benefactor into the workspace of its shambolic proprietor, Verakastian’s timorous mind seemed almost to swim through the odours of whatever was brewing within - a sort of contact high that was equal parts intoxicating and imaginary. Nonetheless, he stepped further into the space, trying to keep as far a distance from the recently-unshackled Lesterin across the room from him. In truth, Deuandra - urgh, don’t look at her for Artakha’s sake - was not nearly as imposing to him as some of the others in current presence - content enough to keep to her own territory within Fortress Khy;Barr and manic enough to be mostly a threat to only herself. The sole assault was upon his senses, which came from looking directly at her, and he could just as easily avoid that as he could being killed via poison. At least, that’s what he hoped. He wasn’t particularly willing to test his own physiology and simply took that knowledge for granted. It was one of the few solaces he afforded himself in this awful prison. Hah, a prison. Certainly beforehand, yes. They all bore the marks of their bondage here (Dinsmokk notwithstanding) but only one of them was a fake, Verakastian noted with both contempt and comfort. He stole a quick glance at Deuandra’s shoulder (a mistake paid for with a shooting pain behind his eyes) and noted the marks painted there - the same as the ones hidden beneath the bandages encircling his arms. It signalled to him a blatant disrespect for the personal suffering of the fellow Lesterin, both in present company as detestable as Verakastian found them, but also of the countless others that comprised the formerly-enslaved workforce over which he presided. However, knowing to whom those marks were attached, transformed them into the likeness of puerile temporary tattoos that a child may grow fond of - such an innocence did not strike him as threatening. Even still, he backed into a shaded corner and made himself as invisible as possible while Lord Arms conducted whatever business he had down here. All there was to signal his continued presence was a slight cough and the waving of his hand in front of his face as vapours from whatever the Diamond Fox was concocting wafted over in his direction.
  21. IC: Safina - Ko-Wahi Dark Walk The left arm of her suit raised as requested, bringing the fullness of shadow back into the void to their front, as the jagged roof of the cavern overhead became illuminated by her torch. Shriveled, gnarled roots jutting through the stone and soil cast harsh shadows that played along the contours of their backdrop as the light wavered and the angle changed. It was another curiosity among many that seemed to make up the general irreverence for the rules of nature ever so common to these accursed caverns. She let the light linger there for a moment longer for the others to study it, hoping that the Onu-Toa astride her was peering into the darkness ahead. OOC: @Leaf @Krayzikk @Endless Sea (Alaki Nuva) @Goose @ARROW404
  22. IC: Jokaro - Po-Koro, Technology Emporium With a dispassionate sigh, Jokaro set down his tools after several straight hours of work. His throat had once again become dry, and his arms ached something awful. Having to manually cut through metal sheeting with nothing more than a saw and some heavy shears was a slow and arduous task, but eventually he’d gotten it done. The new trigger and gas seal were in place - the pump would be ready to be installed once the front mounting plate was complete, which was the task currently occupying the Po-Matoran as he removed his goggles and stretched his limbs. It wasn’t long after that Farzan approached him, fresh new barrel in hand. He managed a hoarse “thank you” as he took hold of it, remarking to himself about just how much lighter it was compared to the old barrel - a night and day difference. Clearing his throat, he spun his stool around to face the Fa-Matoran. There were a few more items that the new launcher needed before it would be ready, and Jokaro was already preoccupied with the internal mechanisms. “Say, Farzan…” He lazily scratched his chin as his eye caught sight of one of the Diskette pistols Farzan had been tooling around with across the room. “...do you like movies about Gladiators?” Wait, no. “...how are your woodworking skills?” ___ __ _ IC: Ember - Ostia, deck of the Fowadi She snapped a quick salute to the XO before making an about-face to return abovedecks and begin her work. There was a funny feeling, deep in the pit of her stomach, that was something between anxiety and excitement. It had been a long, long time since she’d been this far down the chain of command, and it stirred up memories of rough seas and the stink of aged fish-nets, back when she was greener than the superstructure of her Koro of origin. That is, to say, it made her feel both young and nervous simultaneously, displaced way into her own past. The ladder to the main deck loomed before her now, the daylight spilling through the bulkhead and creating a portal to a world that she knew intimately. The smell of the sea hit her nostrils again as she stepped into the sun and the clamor of Po-Matoran sailors milling about this way and that, up and down the ratlines, and tethered over the bulwarks surrounded her. And again, she looked up at the furled sails, the rigging not nearly as neat as someone of her pedigree found tolerable. She scanned the deck, and quickly she laid her sights upon one of the rockheads with his nose buried in a clipboard, a pencil scribbling away as others trundled up to him and made their reports. He was her prime target. “Oi!” She shouted, garnering the stares of several of the crew nearby. “Who’s responsible fer the state o’ these lines?! I seen less slack in a lit’l one’s jump-rope! Din anyone teach ye howta properly run a buntline through to a block and - and fer Spirit’ sake, look at the droop on yer forestay! I swear to ye...” OOC: Aaaaand I’ll just leave her there for now. When ya need her, come get her.
  23. IC: Safina - Ko-Wahi Dark Walk The whirr of servos began to dominate the soundscape of the massive cavern as Safina descended from the frozen slopes of Ko-Wahi down into the abyss that yawned before her. As the rest of the formation filed in behind her, their footsteps mingled with the sounds of her Exo-Matoran and flooded the chamber with a sort of homogenous thunder. Her thumb flicked a switch on her left hand-controller and a split-second later, the blackness in front of her was illumined, at least partially, by her suit’s lightstone torch. It made for far greater visibility than the last time she’d been down one of these cursed Dark Walks, but she could tell that the ever-present choking shadow was snuffing out a great deal of the light - maybe even more so than before. She shuddered at the implication, but composed herself as she continued the march down. She intoned within her mind: Be with me, Artathi. No response. Artathi? … I need you, Artathi. Yet the darkness did not relent. Her blood ran a little colder, and she let out a breath she’d been holding for too long. Artathi, grant me my sight to see the path before me. Grant me the wisdom of the stars. Grant me… But despite her pleas, the darkness did not relent. She was alone here. … It was a while later, having continued down the Dark Walk without any sign of trouble. The light from the surface could no longer shine at their backs, and the pale glow of lightstones and the thrum of boots on stone were the only indications that something living occupied the gargantuan tunnel. Safina found herself talking to those at the front of the formation, for her mind was uncharacteristically silent. As she swung her torch this way and that, scanning the darkness carefully, she addressed the Onu-Toa, whose name she had learned was Kehuri, staring into the shadow astride her. “Kehuri, keep watch on the shadowed areas where my light is not pointing. We must be vigilant for any place these beasts may be hiding.” OOC:@ARROW404
  24. @Harvali @ARROW404 That’s my own map of Mata Nui, glad to hear you like it! It’s not officially canon but it’s about as accurate as I can possibly make it. I was just about to post the latest update to it, so stay tuned for that Additionally, you can find a link to it in my sig Edit: Here's V3.2 of the map: Blank Map | Regions Only | Title Only Here are the changes from version 3.1: Reduced prominence of Papa Nihu beaches Lightened Papa Nihu streams Decreased depth of the Kumu Abyss and added sunken islet details Attached Naho Falls to the Hura-Mafa River Increased prominence and height of Mt. Ihu peak Decreased height of western Ko-Wahi mountains Added small alpine forests to Ko-Wahi Added more waterfalls (especially to the Hura-Mafa) Shrunk down Tiro Canyon Revised Po-Koro and added greenery Revised Ostia and Forsi Revised the Massif Added Dark Walk entrances (where visible) Labelled previously-unlabeled locations (The Massif, Blackrock Canyon, Piraka Clubhouse) Changed "North March Station" to "North March (Obsidian Outpost)" Changed "Nokama Port" to "Nokama Port (The Rockwall)" Added new labelled locations (The Crucible, Darkmine) Added more secret locations
  25. now tyler that’s just plane rude you sound like a real GROUCH
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