Nuju Metru

I want to quickly interject that the the last few pages' conversation has made me immensely happy. Such civility and levelheadedness are wonderful to see. Thank you all!

Ensue hubbub.

IC: After Nihi had posed her initial question, the surprisingly large crowd of Dasaka that’d formed around and below her perch had called out various responses – on both the physical and mental planes – to the rhetorical query. At first, the voices of the throng had been splashes of ice water to Nihi’s chest, petrifying her; however, as more of the Markets’ assembled persons had been drawn to the debate she’d sparked, and as she’d seen more and more faces angle up towards her, awaiting her next words, Nihi had started to feel a heady kind of strength. She’d never been the center of so much attention. All of a sudden, she was the center of more attention than she’d bargained for. "I am Umbraline Yumiwa, crown princess and chojo of the great Dasaka Empire,” an imperious voice called out, freezing Nihi, almost making her lose her balance as her knees stiffened. The chojo… Impossible. This was unreal, this was frightening; Nihi was addressing a crowd that contained the next Rora. What if Nihi made a fool of herself? What if she stuttered? What if she rambled, or her words were no good? What if – most terrifying and awesome of all possibilities – her ensuing words actually influenced the next ruler of the Kentoku Archipelago? Was Nihi worthy of such power? As she’d been during her audience with Kuno, Nihi was acutely aware that she was now part of an event that she hardly deserved to witness, let alone catalyze. As Yumiwa continued to speak, Nihi was able to trace the chojo’s voice and find her face among the many visages of the crowd. She was helped in this search by the fact that the Dasaka around the chojo had bowed to her upon her revelation, and then respectfully parted, giving Yumiwa a more spacious circle than anyone else in the audience. Her voice, trained by time in court, carried cleanly on the air and up to Nihi’s ears. “And I, too, would like to hear not only the rest of your speech, Menti, but also the remarks of all you who opine here – and with great interest. So, please, do continue." Nihi waited for Yumiwa to finish exchanging brief pleasantries with a few Dasaka around her, after which point a hush, heavy with expectation, fell over the audience. All heads in the Markets were now directed at Nihi, still, anticipating her next words; Yumiwa’s regal face was but one of scores focusing on the Menti on the roof. Nihi, captured by the silence as completely as an insect in amber, knew that any chance of backing out had long ago been lost; whether she liked it or not, she would have to speak up again, and for a much longer duration, and with a crown princess listening attentively. You’re in battle, Nihi reminded herself, retreating for instants to her sacred inner mind. She felt the palpitating fear in her veins renewed, but she realized that it wasn’t so different from an adrenaline rush. She could harness it. You’re in battle; beat the enemy. “Why do we contain ourselves to the Kenoku Archipelago?” Nihi reiterated, as much presenting the question again for those who had been drawn to her since her first words as she was reminding herself what to speak about. “Why do we, the favorite of Zuto Nui’s children, refuse to use the good gifts she has given us – knowledge, skill, wisdom, honor, power – to travel beyond our own shores and to explore her magnificent blue world? Why, when we have been presented with the latest and most generous of the Great Spirit’s generosities – a gigantic island of paradise and plenty, where metal is common as water – don’t we accept it? “Why do we contain ourselves to the Kentoku Archipelago,” Nihi went on, feeling the heady strength from before return in force as no one in the audience stopped her or even answered her, “when the island of Mata Nui awaits us, a massive land that would allow our resplendent empire to double in size, in population, in wealth? Why don’t we seize the greatest answer to inter-clan disputes over territory and resources within historical memory? Why do we ignore Zuto Nui’s answer to our eldest problems, ignore the prospect of a future that’s better than our past? “Why do we contain ourselves to the Kentoku Archipelago,” she continued, delicate bodily fire pricking at her fingertips and gut as rage grew inside of her, “when the Chaotic Six, the most devious and wicked creatures ever to be summoned out of the depths of the Endless Sea, laugh at the memory of our people’s suffering and spite our grief from the high peaks of Mata Nui? Why should their crimes – murder and worse – get to pass unpunished? Why, when armies of Skakdi just like Piraka scourge the welcoming and primitive strangers of Mata Nui, lighting fire to their houses and killing their leaders, do Zuto Nui’s chosen people turn our gazes away, even though we could eradicate the Skakdi Plague from this world? “Why?” Nihi asked a last time. Once again, no one gave answer; the crowd waited for Nihi's, and after a moment of soaking up their expectation, she obliged them. “The answer to all of these questions is the same: there are cowards in our midst.” This pronouncement stirred up quite the hubbub.

Vezok wouldn't be able to imitate the function of the Kanohi Hiripaki. The Hiripaki is a Legendary Kanohi, and the forces it channels are too vast to flow through any individual without the additional "space" provided by the mask, which is (to be described most basely) an immaculately sculpted canal/highway between reality and Legend. If Vezok - a far less perfect conduit than a Kanohi created for that purpose - tried to use the Hiripaki's ability, he'd burst like an overripe tomato dropped from three stories up. That aside, I don't think the Hiripaki's ability is even in the same class of "power" as those which Vezok is able to imitate... some things, while being abilities, aren't really powers, and so aren't replicable by Vezok. A good example of this would be Zaktan's ability to break into his respective Protodites; while this is seen as a "power" (and, I think, is written into his profile as such), it isn't replicable by Vezok because it's an anatomical singularity, rather than a metaphysical energy. The Hiripaki's status as a transitional point between reality and Legend is, like Zaktan's Protodites, more an attribute of its being than a power, if that makes any sense.

This is an invitation.

IC: I was invisible; Nihi was trying – and failing – not to be. The markets were, as always, bustling with loud and obnoxious life. On this, a typical day on the island of Sado, clear air carried the warmth and light of the sun unfettered down into the bazaar. The markets were one of the largest open-air places in the entire Imperial Palace. While most of Sado's available land had long ago been filled with soaring crystal towers wrought by the Great Ancestors, in which apartments, libraries, courtrooms, and training chambers were perfectly distributed, the public plaza that held the markets had somehow resisted such construction – such Order – opting instead to exist under cloth awnings, woven roofs, and a cloud of ill-repressed entropy. Voices filled the air. The chattering of excited buyers, the hawking of determined sellers, and the babble of angry brokers was a thick smoke that hung oppressively over each narrow avenue, choking the ears. Garish hues – dozens of insignificant clans' regalia, accented with nonsensical combinations of colors and here and there the flash of a ceremonial white skirt – were no friendlier on the eyes. The scents of food and incense were inescapable. Goods of every kind were peddled and haggled for here; everyone from Saihoko to First Sons could find something desirable under the right tent. I'd been sent here by Kuno a few times to pick up various artifacts from some of the most exclusive dealers, including on one occasion a little piece of metal, almost the size of his palm, which had been found underwater. He had sent me to the markets today, too, but on different business. I was here to watch Nihi. She had staked out a good spot – in the middle of the market, between the inner and outer rectangles of stalls – but that was the only thing she'd done right so far. Nihi had purchased a box to stand on from a Dashi farmer fresh out of crops, but the weathered wood had broken under her weight. She hadn't brought anything with her, not even prepared remarks. Several times she had tried to speak, but she'd been seemingly unable to raise her voice to an audible volume, and after a few words she'd faded into silence. She hadn't been lying to Kuno when she'd said that she was not a speaker. Kuno would not gracefully endure a second failure. Soon, I would have to do something. … Nihi paced nervously in front of her broken box, bouncing in her knees as she did so. Her splayed fingers, attached to stiff elbows, swung jerkily at her sides, carrying all the tension of her distress. What was she going to do? She was no orator; though she was fearless in battle, Nihi found herself – to her contempt – cowardly in the face of public speaking. The meager confidence she'd mustered since her meeting with Kuno had crumpled along with the box she'd bought. The breaking wood had startled her; she had squeaked, windmilled her arms, and nearly fallen on her face when the platform of the crate had splintered beneath her feet. A few Dashi who had seen this happen had sniggered, and Nihi had felt her face grow hot. She hadn't even said anything, and already she had embarrassed herself. Why was it so difficult to speak, but so easy to fight? In battle, against night rogues – and even against the wicked Piraka, she recalled – Nihi had never been afraid of anything. She'd whirled her staff with precision, striking exactly as she meant to, manipulated her foes' assaults and exploited their weaknesses just like in training; in combat, Nihi had known what she was doing. Fighting had brought not fear, but instead an audacious joy, adrenaline brought on by the most primal of contests. Her life had been on the line a few times, but she'd faced that danger head-on with relish. While speaking, the worst Nihi could do was make a fool out of herself. The worst that could happen was that she could be laughed at. And jeered at. And made to look a fool. And mocked. And she could cry, and that would make them laugh harder. The prospect of death, Nihi decided, was vastly preferable to the prospect of shame. How absurd. She had to speak. Kuno’s plan had resounded in her with the veracity of undeniable desire; immediately as the concept was broached with her, Nihi had realized that she wanted to speak. Though she feared worst-case scenarios, the idea of sharing her overburdened heart with anyone – or, several anyones – was a tenacious fire in her long-dampened soul. Nihi had come to realize that there was no denying this fire; even as she’d listened to him, she had irrevocably seized Kuno’s suggestion of oration as her new duty. As a Menti Warrior, Nihi was hardwired not to let an unfulfilled duty, however unpleasant, defeat her. Besides, she told herself, someone had to rally the people; who was better suited to do this than Nihi herself? Yes, it was Nihi’s duty to stir the Dasaka all around her. And why, after all, was it impossible for oration to be like battle? Her audience could be the enemy; she had to capture their empathies, batter their complacency, rout their doubts, parry their questions, and slay their hearts with her passion. She had to sway the people, as Kuno had said, whirl them into a wave so formidable that the Rora could not deny it its final aim: to crest and break on the beaches of Mata Nui. She needed to speak, because Nachi no longer could. She was doing this for Nachi. All had been for Nachi, and all would be for Nachi. Vengeance was Nihi’s hunger. Speaking now, here, was a stepping-stone on the path she had been offered by Zuto Nui to sate that hunger. No more delay, and no more fear, Nihi decided as she looked down at the remnants of the farmer’s broken box. It reminded her of the crate that had broken Nachi, and this pale semblance – a coincidence – was the keystone in an arch of resolve she had found herself building. It was time. … Nihi took a visible breath and, exhaling, changed. The bouncing in her knees stopped; her exploded hands and overextended elbows relaxed back to normalcy; she ceased her pacing; her wide eyes shrank. She ponderously bent to pick up the broken box; she held it in both hands for a moment, and then threw it hard to the ground, where it splintered in two against the stone. The noise drew the gazes of a few people in the throng. I was no longer the only one to be watching Nihi. Under the weight of our stares, she coolly rose into the air, her shoulders back and her angular jaw squared. She ascended upright until she hovered several bio off the ground. The employment of her Mindarm powers on herself was – for a Menti of average ability such as Nihi – demanding, a trick that she would not opt to use in battle; at a time like this, however, she had no reason to preserve psionic energy. Nihi levitated herself over the closest solid roof, a raked and shingled slab of wood that steadfastly held her weight when she lowered down onto it. So positioned, she was visible from most places in the markets. As Nihi had risen, she had attracted the attention of more Dasaka; when she started to speak at strident volume, as recklessly confident as a brash male, even more faces swiveled up towards her. “Sisters, mothers, elders, betters,” Nihi began, calling down at a growing cluster of onlookers. “Why do we contain ourselves to the Kentoku Archipelago?”

It's a vertical rotation. There are three Mata heads with masks on them attached to a gear, which is rotated on the back, causing the masks to change out. (Correct me if I'm wrong, NM, that's just what I see.) That's correct. A horizontal rotation never occurred to me, actually; the whole initial design (the capsized can!) of the upper torso was what it was to accommodate an imagined vertical wheel of masks. Keeping the gear rotation on one plane was also much easier than dealing with perpendicularity. Thanks all for your comments!

Dasaka are all various hues and balances of blue and gold. How blue vs. how gold they are, what hues they are, and that sort of thing does not denote/align with caste. The visual way castes are distinguished is by their apparel; where high-ranking Menti will wear rich fabrics and intricate crystal armor - ceremonial garments - Saihoko generally clothe themselves in pragmatic water/windproof ponchos and the like. Colors worn by Menti are usually those of their clan. Almost all cloth Kuno owns is at least partially red, because that's the Fursic color. The Rora and her family can wear whatever colors they wish, to reinforce the idea that they are separate from and above clan politics; the Umbraline color is officially purple, and the Dastana wear various tints of yellow. Minor clans usually have to settle for two-color schemes in their regalia, since single colors have almost all been taken by older and more powerful ones.

Hey guys, This MOC is of a BZPRPG entity of mine known as the Abettor. The Abettor is the powerful and mysterious guardian of a very important place in the game. Back in mid-October, I drew the Abettor to get the concept out of my head and for the benefit of other players that wanted to interact with the behemoth. Following the pencil version, I made a digital drawing on MS Powerpoint as a game banner (which can be seen at the head of this topic). The creation below is based on my earlier art of this character. It was a very fun challenge to work "backwards" in this way, to go from art to MOC; the last time I'd done so was with my MOC of Heuani, which was based on an artwork by Vezok's Friend. Alright, enough exposition. Here's the MOC. The main function I incorporated into this MOC was the Abettor's trademark ability: cycling through Kanohi. The guardian has several Kanohi at its disposal, and by rotating a great wheel within itself, it can select which mask it wants to use. By turning the gear on the back of the MOC, the mask in the Abettor's niche will rotate. If you want to see larger pictures, feel free to visit the set on Flickr. Thanks for reading, any C&C are appreciated!

Shouldn't be.

IC: The next day was in its youth when Nihi ascended to Kuno's apartment. Kuno's next plan, concocted during the interim hours of the night - during which he had felt no need to sleep - was, however, already matured. Before I ordered the Dashi servants to open the door, I watched Nihi wait outside through the visitation lens installed in the wall. Her distorted image paced about the stair landing, bouncing lightly in its knees and searching the vaulted ceiling with its eyes. She had arrived several minutes early and, not wanting to impose on a First Son before he had asked, had simply waited silently at his doorstep until her allotted time. Her eagerness and inexperience were more than apparent to me as I watched her dawdle. She didn't seem to know how to stay still for more than a few seconds. At the sound of the lacquered wooden double doors swinging apart, though, I watched Nihi become quite still, then quickly check the arrangement of her formal uniform skirt. It was dark green velvet, remarkably spotless; this was clearly the finest piece of clothing Nihi owned, and she had probably spent the hours after receiving Kuno's message dusting it off and cleaning it. I pulled myself away from the visitation lens and stood between the doors on my side as they were pulled inward. As the crack between them grew wider, I was able to take real stock of Nihi, since she wasn't seen through a fish-eye. She stood directly opposite me, giving me a clear look at her. Nihi was about my height - average for a Dasaka - though more athletic. Long, strong legs with warrior's thighs attached to her jaunty hips, which led into a waist that wasted no material. Toned arms and shoulders hung from a prominent collarbone, above which a long neck supported her face. She was pretty enough - big eyes, small nose, square jaw - though not even the facial decoration she'd applied for this important meeting - soft darkness above her eyes, tiny crystals in a curve below them - could mask the mildly haunted look she had. Her Menti's musculature lent her decent posture that lacked the regal confidence expected of those above her caste. Her hands betrayed her, here; they were clasped in front of her, fighting not to fidget with her skirt. Nihi had been appraising me in the same instants that I had given her a once-over, but once my gaze made it to her eyes, she knew that she had done something above her rank, and took cover in her shame. She gave me a small bow, which faltered a little on the way back up, as though she'd debated whether or not to straighten a moment earlier. Her slightly wincing face met my impassive one as she returned to standing, and I swung my arm to my side. "First Son Kuno will see you," I told Nihi, gesturing to the room beyond the atrium where Kuno waited. I stepped aside for Nihi as she advanced, and wrinkled my nose at the heavy-handed scent she had adorned for the occasion as she passed. It was something floral, obviously intended to enhance her attractiveness. A low-level Menti like Nihi almost never saw males, let alone was given private meetings with them. Her perfume was unlikely to advance her in Kuno's eyes, though; he was, after all, a Sighteye with an odor specialty, and so preferred lighter and more complex smells. I wore the same fragrance every day, cut grass subtly infused with tree bark, which was much more to Kuno's liking. The Fursic first son facing his large window, the view from which was far better in the grey light of the morning than it had been in the dying hours of the previous day. Today, Kuno had chosen to adorn in his deep red cape, which towards its base mottled into dark blue. He decided against wearing his ceremonial crystal armor because it would surely have intimidated Nihi. She was intimidated enough as it was; as Nihi came into the room and saw Kuno's back, she stiffened at once and stopped in her tracks. I entered the room after her and closed the door behind me. Kuno heard the shutting and turned easily to face his guest. For a moment, she was petrified; the next, she remembered how to breathe and gave Kuno a deep bow. "Sit down," Kuno invited Nihi, indicating not the backless chair but a comfortable bench. Nihi seemed torn between obeying him and disobeying tradition; she of a lower caste should not be seated while a First Son yet stood. Tradition, as usual on the Archipelago, won out, and Nihi bowed again. "I'd prefer to stand," she croaked. The Menti swallowed the lump in her throat. "But thank you, sir." She avoided Kuno's eyes by flitting her gaze here and there across the view through the window. "It's a fine view, isn't it," Kuno said, noticing her fixation on the world outside and returning his focus to the vista as he pivoted to face it. "The sun sets on this side, and the Towers of Knowledge are magnificent. You can barely see the tops from here... Would you like anything to drink?" "No, thank you sir," Nihi declined politely. She hadn't moved, and as Kuno diverted himself from the window, he noticed. In an instant, he seemed to understand; with a half-smile, he stepped from the window and took his seat in the backless chair. "Now that I am seated, I insist that you sit," he told Nihi apologetically. "You must forgive me for having placed you in such an awkward situation. I had, in truth, forgotten that you are not of my stature... Normally, Menti warriors are not so elegant. Please, sit." As Nihi bashfully took her seat, Kuno's eyes glinted; all was proceeding according to plan. He was excellent at using social customs to his advantage. "I will maintain our equality where I can, for your sake; we will both drink." That was all the command I needed. From a side table, I brought them a tray bearing two ceramic cups and a crystal bottle full of juice. I poured their juices, handing cups to Kuno and then Nihi; I replaced the bottle on the tray and retreated to my corner of the room behind Nihi. He took a glad gulp of the juice, and she a conservative sip. Kuno put his cup down deftly and sat up, looking Nihi in the eyes. This time, she had to meet his gaze, and did so as gracefully as she could. "You must be wondering why I have summoned you here, Nihi," Kuno said. "Yes, sir," Nihi nodded. "I will tell you," Kuno went on. "But I want you to be able to speak freely with me, Nihi. You must let yourself say what you mean; I allow you - no, I encourage you - to keep nothing from me." "Yes, sir," Nihi nodded again. "I will do my best." "Good," Kuno said. He took another sip of juice; Nihi abstained. The First Son began in earnest. "Yesterday, I happened upon Datsue Tsura in the Gardens; naturally, I asked her about the voyage to Mata Nui, for the distant island intrigues me, as it intrigues so many of us. In the conversation, Tsura mentioned your name when she discussed the other Menti who had gone on the expedition." "She did, sir?" "Yes," Kuno said. "She informed me that you had been selected for the mission because of your... passion." "That was... kind of her to mention, sir," Nihi replied hesitatingly. Merely hearing such a word from the lips of a male was enough to make Nihi flush in embarrassment. "It was," Kuno assured her. "Kind... and fortuitous. You see, Nihi, the passion that distinguished you is a passion that I share." "...I... don't understand," Nihi stuttered, her blush deepening and her attention fixated keenly on the carpet. "We share a passion for justice," Kuno informed her. "You and I want nothing more than to see the Chaotic Six punished for their crimes." The color drained out of Nihi's face, and she looked back up at Kuno, meeting his eyes with a cold vigor that had not yet been seen. "Yes," she whispered. "Tsura told me that they..." Kuno took a moment to compose himself again. "...What they did, to your sister." Nihi looked away, the mildest of frown lines creasing her face as she struggled not to show her emotion. Although Tsura had not told Kuno what exactly had happened to Nachi, Nihi's sister, I had gone to the Towers of Knowledge in the night and done his research. The Piraka had robbed Nachi of her sanity on the night when they'd escaped the Archipelago. "What did they do to you," Nihi inquired flatly, hiding herself stoically in another sip of juice. "They killed my niece," Kuno replied stonily. "She was both daughter and sister to me; she had not even begun her Menti training. She was a child." This was only a half-lie; a young Fursic daughter had been slain by the Piraka, but she and Kuno had only met once. Kuno preferred to avoid fiction in his deceptions whenever he could; it made them more solid under scrutiny. He turned briefly from Nihi and raised a hand to his eyes; he coughed, as if to cull an oncoming sob. "I'm sorry," Nihi said after a few seconds' quiet. "It's alright," Kuno responded. He cleared his throat and continued. "The moment Tsura mentioned... our similarity, I knew that you and I needed to meet. I knew that we needed to work together, align ourselves in pursuit of the only thing that will give us peace. This is why I have brought you here." Nihi's face darkened. "The only thing that will give me peace is the Piraka's heads ripped from their living spines and used for Paoro... excuse me, sir, that is to say, the Piraka dead." She adjusted in her seat, fretted with the edge of her skirt. Kuno watched Nihi's hands while she added another thought contemptuously. "Them, and the rest of their wicked race." "The Skakdi are dangerous and vile creatures," Kuno agreed. "Tsura told me about the one from the beach; was he as bad as the first six?" "He was deceptive from the first moment we met him," Nihi scowled, her fidgeting growing more aggressive. "He killed one of their Toroshu with a smile on his face, the Mata Nuians told us..." Nihi's brow furrowed in confusion. "I'm sorry, sir, but I still don't understand exactly why I'm here." "You and I both want the Piraka dead," Kuno said, leaning forward. Nihi echoed his motion. "The Piraka, the entirety of the Skakdi plague, whatever it takes. We want to see justice done onto the Chaotic Six, and the only way we will be able to exact it - the only way we will be able to rest - is if we go after them. The Dasaka must return, in force, to Mata Nui." Nihi's eyes flashed; even from my respectful distance, I could see it. She grinned for the first time, flashing her teeth. Her smile was quite becoming, and heat returned to her face. Kuno knew he had her; the smile he returned was genuine - a rarity - but aroused by a different excitement than Nihi's. "Yes," she breathed. "I need your help, Nihi," Kuno informed his guest as he reached out and laid his hand over one of hers. Nihi's eyes widened. "Cowards hold the Rora's ear; they spin lies about the dangers of such a voyage. They preach isolation and fear, and our Empress believes they are right... We must make her see the truth, and we must assure her that the Dasaka below her, her warriors, are brave. We must rally popular support for a return to Mata Nui, support so pervasive that the serpents in court may hide it from her no longer." "What can I do?" Nihi asked. "I'm just a night guard, I have no power in politics." "You have passion," Kuno answered, moving his hand up her arm until he gently held her bicep. Nihi watched his fingers. "Passion is power. You are a night guard, you say; so you are free in the daytime. Speak in the public places with your strength and anger; sway the people." "I am not a speaker, sir," Nihi frowned slightly. "You will find the orator's bravery in your passion," Kuno told her, slowly removing his hand from her arm. "People will be unable to walk by you without stopping; after all, you are arresting even when you do not speak." Nihi's eyes closed momentarily then snapped back open. To her mild surprise, she was still sitting with a First Son. I wondered if she'd been testing whether or not she was in a dream. The Menti warrior reached for her juice and falteringly took another sip while Kuno sat back. "Tell them whatever they need to hear," he instructed. "Do what it takes to achieve our goal." Nihi nodded gravely, and the crystals under her eyes glinted in the light from the window. "If I could help you myself, I would," Kuno went on. "Unfortunately, the populace is prejudiced against my clan. I fear any visible Fursic support - even if unaligned with the clan at large - would only slow us down... I will give you what aid I can, but covertly." Kuno stood, and Nihi quickly followed suit. They bowed to each other. "It was a pleasure to meet you, Nihi," Kuno said. "Goodbye, and may Zuto Nui smile on you." I showed her out.

IC: "Not all power is knowledge, and not all knowledge is powerful," the Abettor answered dryly, its metallic tones echoing about the round tunnel, its blue script-lights catching in the exposed geodes that dotted the passage. "We are a guardian of power, not of knowledge. We are not a knowledge-giver." The behemoth adjusted on its haunches to the hiss of pistons and the inaudible sound of a stone dropping in Echelon's stomach. Something in the Abettor's posture had shifted, and now the guardian radiated an aura of definite menace. It went on, its tone of voice oddly - even sinisterly - unchanged. "Therefore we do not understand why, within the span of this most recent hour, a host of unworthy Toa - of which you are the third - have come seeking knowledge from us. We are not a knowledge-giver. Our duty is not to be answer questions." Echelon, by now, was able to see the Abettor much more clearly; he watched the Kanohi in the center of its chest change from a Rode to a Kakama with a metallic click-rustle-click. So that had been what he'd heard the first time, an irrelevant part of Echelon's mind informed him. The apertures that should have been filled by eyes were empty on the Abettor. With the speed its new mask afforded it, speed worn bizarrely by a figure so large, the Abettor's raised its crystalline forearm and pointed the hexagonal prisms like a weapon at Echelon. "If you have come for power, we shall inform you that you are unworthy of accessing the Vault," the Abettor told the Dark Toa. "If you have come for knowledge, then you may choose your duty: you can choose to tell the world that we are not here for petty inquiries; or, you can choose to die."

I can't see merging the the LRPG and BRPG forums doing the LRPGs any good. People have been making some very sound points against such a merge in their above replies, several of which I'd reiterate; I'll also pose some of my own observations: 1) LRPGs would be quickly swamped by and lost under the far greater activity of games like the BZPRPG. They'd be relegated to the bottom of the forum's topic listing, which is unlikely to make them more visible/more played. It'll only frustrate LRPG mods and players to see their topics shoved down again and again by the incessantly updating BZPRPG ones; in a similar vein, the abundance of topics in the BRPG forum could irritate its regulars by making the whole forum feel supersaturated and more tedious to navigate. The number of pinned topics alone would be overwhelming. 2) The game styles dominant in the two forums are different enough to be incompatible. I can really only speak in depth for the BZPRPG (as it takes up all my RPG time and energy!), but as Bulik pointed out, the way the LRPGs are run is with a heavier emphasis on the "game" aspect of an RPG, whereas BRPGs are fixated more on the "role playing." This is a subtle distinction, but one that reflects very different mindsets between LRPG and BRPG players. Things like rankings are not only foreign to the BZPRPG, but discouraged, because my staff and I consider the telling of a cooperative story through the game to be more important than competition. When we tried to introduce a competitive element into the BZPRPG at the beginning of the year to spice things up, we found to our and players' dismay that it quickly fragmented the player base against itself, arousing some pretty shocking negativity from our gaming community. Bringing the competitive aspect of the LRPGs into BRPG means that players looking for two different game experiences will be relegated to the same cramped forum. LRPG players and BRPG players, if they try to participate in one anothers' games, may be confused and frustrated by the double standards of play under one "roof." 3) The community of the BRPG forum is, for all its occasional squabbles, fairly tight-knit, and sometimes hard to breach. This is due in large part to the prevalence of Skype as an out-of-forum means of communication and socialization. I'm in at least five Skype group chats for different BZPRPG things, but these chats aren't just business; people talk about life, pop culture, jokes, you name it. People know each other more than they may have in the past, and this happens through the rising medium of Skype. Immersion into the BRPG happens in more than just the forums, in other words, and while I don't know if LRPG operates in a similar way, it's safe to say that the two won't combine as easily as if things all happened at the forum level. BRPG Skype conversations, while beneficially rapid and informal, can also be, from my experience, some unfortunate breeding grounds for scorn and even animosity against other players. Lately this hasn't been much of a problem (especially since my staff and I culled the competition thing I mentioned earlier), but were we to give the BRPG and LRPG communities to one another, I could easily imagine some ill feelings arising behind closed doors and making the climate of the forums sorta ugly. Well, that's the sum of it: I can't imagine a merge would be reacted to favorably by either community, and I don't think it's the answer to LRPG inactivity. I like the idea of LRPG contests as a solution, though; the idea of introducing a LRPG BZPRPG equivalent (something big and staff-run) is also intriguing. A lot of publicity (for either possibility) wouldn't hurt. Staff survivor has been popular, so maybe there's something to be said about harnessing the charisma and RPing abilities of the BZP staff to bolster the forum.

IC: The behemoth Echelon could not see considered his answer in silence for a moment; the Toa waited with bated breath. Had the revelation of his identity been enough to elicit an assault from the Abettor? No, it seemed; the mechanical voice uttered new words, regimented syllables, and presented Echelon with another inquiry. "Why are you here," it stated.

IC: Echelon entered into darkness, as the faint blue aura had faded; by the time he entered through the hole in the ceiling, he could hardly see the floor of the new passage as his feet tapped down onto it. There was the noise of cavern winds and distant dripping. Something to the Dark Toa's side caught the meager light from below and glinted; he made to step closer, examine the source of the glamor. The first movement Echelon made, though, resulted in a brilliant blue light so sudden and bright that he could not open his eyes. Echelon tried to shade his face from the mess of blue shapes, but this made negligible difference; it seemed to come from everywhere. The Toa's ears quickly became his most valuable tool. The distant drips and eddies of air became more pronounced, but they had a new companion. There was a resounding click, like a clock tossed down a deep well, and then the grating hiss of metal-on-metal, the blade of one sword rubbing against another. A second click. What was making the sounds? Echelon could not see it; in his imagination, the source of the noises, defined only by his precious ears, loomed as something terrible. The voice only reinforced his perceptions. Deep as the sea, unnatural as dreams, hollow as death, the Abettor's voice made Echelon fearful as little else could. "Identify yourself," the voice clacked.

First Impressions.

IC: You can trust me. I’ll tell the tale as well as I know how. I was raised to be honest, and I’ll do what I can to remove myself from this story. It’s not my story, after all; it’d be dishonorable for me to color your view of him with my opinions. Don’t ask me about myself. You won’t get any answers. I don’t think they’re important, and the less you know about me, the better. This isn’t my story, and I don’t want to make it mine. It’s his, and that’s how it should stay. Like all of us, he was born. He was First Son from the instant he entered the world, and under the heavy judgments of his mother, he was raised and trained to play his piece. He was taught his position on the Archipelago, and was told that he must never stoop below it. He selected and studied his powers until he became adept with them. He grew taller and older, maybe wiser, with the passage of time. The finest place to begin Kuno’s tale, though, is not his earliest beginning. The evening when the assassin was caught – and Kuno’s first scheme thus foiled – is a better one. The young night was warm and pleasant, not at odds with Kuno’s slumped shoulders and slack brow. He was perched, softly motionless, atop his backless chair – an aristocratic snare designed to lay bare posture (or lack thereof) and subsequently enable assembled company to judge the sitter; this was a test Kuno never failed, at least when he was in his body – facing his tower suite’s unbroken crystal window. The window afforded a clear view of the Towers of Knowledge and the ocean, dull in the growing darkness; had his eyes been open, Kuno could have seen the orange line of dusk fade on the horizon. He looked to be asleep in his seat. I stood beside him, glancing around the room, as was my wont during times like this. Kuno’s apartment on Sado was expansive and handsome; all ornate bamboo furniture, cleverly wrought lightstone lanterns, and little indoors fountains, it was the quintessence of status. The drapes and carpets were ruby red, emblematic of the Fursics, and the clan’s insignia was etched over and over again into the chiseled patterns of the wall. Such an apartment was due, by political courtesy, to the First Son of a powerful family whenever he was in the Imperial Palace, and Kuno resided in his haunt on Sado more often than most. He preferred to be at once closer to the action of the Rora’s court and farther from his mother, Toroshu Nera, who managed clan dealings on Kozu. Ironically, his distant position on Sado made Kuno a better tool for Nera; she used him as her arm in the Imperial Palace, a duty that he at once resented and strove to fulfill with excellence. His adherence to the virtue of Power, his pride, and his outrage regarding events that took place before his birth compelled him too mightily to do anything but endeavor to excel. To resist Nera in more than just the clandestine stronghold of his heart was never an option for Kuno. The assassination had been Nera’s idea and, loathe as Kuno had been do to anything his mother’s way, he had not seen a better alternative, so had been forced to take the path she’d suggested. But the attempt, for all its careful consideration, failed; the assassin’s target, an isolationist Hogo courtier who held the Rora’s ear, was not touched by so much as a gust of wind, let alone the intended crystal dagger. Too quickly, the assassin was found and captured by the Palace Guard. Kuno, a floating spirit, watched it happen, and to his great frustration could do nothing. Kuno’s Kanohi Iden let him leave his body at will, an ability that he prized as highly as his Menti disciplines. He could watch and listen, insensible by others, to anything and anyone; as long as his presence, his “feel” on the mental plane, was not being searched for, he was undetectable when thus detached, especially among crowds. For obvious reasons, Kuno employed his Iden only when I was at hand to guard his body. He had deigned earlier in the evening to observe the assassin’s progress this way; when she was discovered, taken forcefully by the guards and escorted to a cell underground, his spirit flitted back to his physical half. As soon as he’d returned to himself, Kuno’s posture improved dramatically, and his shoulders clenched in aggravation. But there was no time for fury, not now, and he knew it. Mastering himself, Kuno stood at once from the backless chair, and headed for the door with meaningful strides. I followed, grabbing something on my way. He was about to depart when I called to him from the threshold of the room, and held it up. “Your cloak,” I said, shaking it a little. He stopped at once, realizing my intention. A First Son was never seen in public without sporting some of his regalia; in his haste, Kuno had almost left his apartment naked of stature, and such a thing could not be done, especially considering his objective tonight. If he left home in his present state, he would draw suspicious glances, glances that might be recalled… Extra attention was the last thing Kuno wanted on this outing. Kuno nodded curtly. I approached, threw the red mantle over him. As I fixed its clasps near his neck, the steely tension he held in his shoulders was like rock under my hands. I sometimes had to stand on my toes to get the right angle on the brooches; he was tall even for a male. But dressing him was something I’d done countless times, and my steady fingers knew the motions. In seconds, the cloak was secure, and he left with me at his heels. Though much of the city stilled with the coming of darkness, the gardens did not. This was Kuno’s destination, and nobody stopped or questioned him on his way there. As Fursic First Son, it was within his rights to visit the gardens whenever he wanted. Very little was not within his rights. By night, the stunning floral vistas of the Gardens were nearly as enthralling as they were by day; near the edge, the ambient light from the rest of the Palace pervaded into the trees and bushes, but in at the center of the Gardens, the only light was from the moon and stars; dappled, it fell through the branches and glowed within the crystal walkway. It was beautiful, but Kuno had no time for beauty. The assassin had been imprisoned in one of the Rora’s cells, which were dug out underground below the healing centers; the healing centers, in their turn, were below the bottom level of the Gardens, where Kuno now stood. It was as close as he’d be able to get to the assassin without arousing suspicion. In the morning, the assassin would doubtless meet Rayuke’s steel; before then, though, Willhammers would question her. Although she had been hired by a maverick Taajar – and so did not know Kuno, the Taajar’s master – and although she had sworn upon the name of Zuto Nui to keep that employer’s identity secret, Kuno could risk nothing. He had to beat the other Willhammers to her. They may have already been inside. He had no time to waste; he gave me a look, sat down on the banister of the crystal walkway, and leaned forward, elbows on knees, eyes fixed on the crystal walkway. I sat beside him and prepared to pretend to speak to him, in case anyone passed us. Vigilance was my duty while he did his. Kuno’s body became still as he extended himself on the mental plane, and probed about for the assassin’s mind. He located her feel quickly among the other prisoners, and found to his grim satisfaction that she was still alone, and more importantly, that she was within his reach. He sprang upon her. The assassin probably heard, in her imagination, a ponderous dripping noise first. This would have intensified to the relaxed chuckle of pouring water, then the glad laughter of a fountain, then the powerful roar of a waterfall; spellbound and overpowered within the space of a moment – she was no Willhammer, and Kuno knew it – her mind was overtaken by gushing water that flooded the niches of her consciousness. The water level rose; Kuno pushed deeper and deeper, his psychic fingers reaching for her inner mind and the spark of life. Meanwhile, I noticed movement on the other side of a grove of softly bioluminescent ferns. A Datsue, accompanied by two Dashi shadows, was strolling aimlessly along the moonlit path. Her head swung idly side-to-side, taking in the nighttime plants; on one such rotation, her gaze happened upon Kuno and me, reposing under mottled shade. Unfortunately, this Datsue was polite, and she deigned to approach Kuno, doubtless to exchange the same meaningless pleasantries that they would have given one another in court. But Kuno’s mind was elsewhere, and he would be unable to play with her; in his silence, he would condemn himself. I readied an unseen finger to give him a sharp poke that would return his focus to the physical plane. I would hold off as long as I could. Through the assassin’s eyes, Kuno saw two Dasaka unlock the cell door and enter the room. He had to hurry. The assassin knew only the rumble of the sea, and was pacified by it; Kuno, vigorous and hurried on the seafloor, urged his currents onward. He broke the dam of the inner mind, surged in. He spared a second glance at the Rora’s Willhammers, who looked at the slack-faced assassin wearily. Their mouths moved, no doubt trying to question the assassin verbally before resorting to mental entry. He had seconds. “Good evening, Kuno,” the Datsue said as she drew near along the path, smiling benignly even in the face of his closed-off pose. “I see we have had the same idea; how enchanting the Gardens are by night!” Choosing to ignore his continued fixation on the ground, she directed her attention to me. “Ah, dear, please remind me of your name.” “Ikori, madam,” I replied. I couldn’t poke him when the Datsue was looking at me so closely, or else she’d see. “Ikori,” she nodded. “Yes. Kuno, do tell me, how is your mother?” Kuno, in a final exertion, drowned the assassin’s consciousness and immediately retreated, leaving no vestigial traces of his presence. The Rora’s Willhammers, when they tried to enter their prisoner’s mind, found it to be a void. One of them felt for the assassin’s pulse; there was no heartbeat. Kuno’s liability was dead. At once, Kuno was back on the physical plane, and his body was alive again. He returned just in time to hear the word “mother” spoken questioningly in a voice that was not mine. He recovered seamlessly. As casually as he could, the Fursic First Son sat up and looked at the Datsue, taking stock of her and recognizing her without letting her know that he had only just done so. “She is well, Datsue Tsura,” he answered politely. “Energetic as ever, I’m sure.” Tsura grinned knowingly. “Nera and I trained at the yards together, you see, and I do enjoy keeping track of her… our journeys have been slightly different, of course, but there was a day when we shared everything with one another.” “It is difficult to imagine my mother sharing anything with anyone,” Kuno said evenly. Tsura wouldn’t have been able to detect the tiniest malice in his tone. “She is a Toroshu,” Tsura agreed, “And their sort are notoriously secretive, even if they’re not Fursics!” She seemed not to care that her jab had also prodded her conversation companion; Kuno brushed it off with grace. “Tsura,” Kuno asked, a sudden recollection about Tsura making him genuinely interested in the conversation. “What was the island of Mata Nui like?” “It was intriguing,” Tsura replied, delighting in her rapt audience. “Quite different, but eerily familiar at once… They speak in our language, they divide themselves into clans, they wear Kanohi, and they pay respect to a Great Spirit. But how dissimilar they are! The people of Mata Nui have powers we cannot comprehend; some of them can summon fire to their fists, others can move the earth to suit their wishes. Metal is in abundance, there… they use it for things as menial as toys!” “Toys?” Kuno asked. This sort of tidbit about Mata Nui was baffling to him, as it was to us all. “Yes!” Tsura exclaimed delightedly, her old eyes crinkling. “The very first creature that we happened upon was a Skakdi. He was sitting on the beach with a little toy, made of metal, which flipped up and down in his hand. It was so clever; I do regret now that Saru chopped it in two. Though, of course, Nihi would have had the Skakdi’s head meet a similar fate, if she’d had her way.” “Nihi?” Kuno asked. “She was one of the Dasaka chosen for the first expedition,” Tsura explained. “She was selected for her passion, you see; she wanted nothing more than to see the Piraka dead, after what they did to her sister… But this, in turn, prejudiced her against all Skakdi.” Something in Kuno’s manner subtly shifted. “Are there many Skakdi on Mata Nui?” he inquired of the Datsue, sitting forward a little. Even such a subtle change, to the trained eye, proclaimed Kuno’s fiercely renewed interest. “Yes, I believe so,” Tsura said. “Nihi was sure to ask about that when we visited one of the Mata Nuian Toroshu – or, Toroshu equivalents, they call them ‘Akiri’ – named Hahli. She was, if you’d believe it, a Dashi – or, Dashi equivalent, they call them ‘Matoran’ over there – and she told us that yes, many Skakdi had made Mata Nui their home, though they were not native to the island. When we mentioned the name of that Skakdi we’d encountered on the beach, Grokk, Hahli seemed to know him. She told us that he’d done hateful, hateful crimes… so maybe Nihi is right about the Skakdi race. Perhaps they are all as evil as the Piraka.” “Perhaps,” Kuno echoed before standing. I stood too, and Kuno bowed to Tsura. “Datsue, it was a pleasure as always to encounter you; I look forward to our next conversation. Your wisdom and wit are without rival.” “Don’t make me blush, Kuno,” Tsura interjected sweetly. “The hour, though, is late, and I should excuse myself to sleep,” Kuno went on. “Zuto Nui watch over you, and good night.” We parted ways with the Datsue and her Dashi shadows, and headed out along the same crystal path we’d taken into the Gardens. As Tsura was lost from view, Kuno turned his head back to me and spoke with hushed animation. There was no mention of the murdered assassin; that was beyond his concern now, for he had found a new scheme to achieve the invasion that his clan sought. “Fetch me this Nihi.”

Now that the doors have been busted open more on native tech (this happened, perhaps unnoticed, at the start of Chapter II of the arc), I'd say that Nuparu is no longer "untouchable." He only ever was so that I as GM could keep a guiding hand on Onu's production (and subsequently, tech levels on the island). This hasn't been much of a problem, so Nuparu's moderation purpose is lessened. He may be vulnerable to whatever you throw at him, if the Ussalry fails (like that'd happen); Nuparu is, in short, technically open season. Hahli, though also well guarded, is similarly not untouchable in her place of power; nor is Ambages, nor is anybody. Look at Matoro, may he rest in peace; though Hahli and Ambages and Nuparu are controlled by staff, they're not infallible. I still invite people to try and rising up against Akiri and other figures of power in the game (you can always try rising against the Rora, too... though that won't go so well. ); if you play your cards right, things may just go your way. We have to remember every now and again that this game should be more of a collaborative story than a contest. If it's better for the arc of our story that a character should be overthrown, or that they should die, or that they should be exiled, or that they should become a bowling champion, then that can happen. The only reason some BZPRPG canon characters (such as Heuani) are given ridiculous plot armor is because they have been allotted essential jobs to move the biggest elements of the game's overarching story forward. I can say this: I intentionally left my "book of plans" empty at the start of this arc when it came to Mata Nuian power struggles. There's no endgame I have in mind for who controls what, who's alive and dead, or any of that jazz; the way this story ends up doesn't matter much to me. I wanted this branch of the BZPRPG plot to be in your guys' hands this time around, so that you could weave the most interesting and unexpected stories possible together (without being catty or sore losers). Therefore, while the lives of some characters played by staff are protected by plot armor, their positions are, in this case, not. As EW said, you won't be able to kill Ambages, but dethroning him is possible. So why not try it?

What a nonsensical phrase.

A tip to those of you who want to fix your posts: In the top toolbar of the post-writing box is a picture of binoculars, the "find" function. This can be used to find and replace all of a certain word, phrase, or string of BBCode. By putting in the offending phrase, leaving the "replace with" box empty, and pressing "replace all," you can delete all the BBCode at once, painlessly. You'll have to input maybe one or two BBCode phrases (one of which will certainly be "[/color]"), but it makes the process much, much easier. It took me a few topics to figure this out; don't be like me. Take the easy way out.

Well, that's extremely aggravating... Time to go and fix all the location topics.

IC: "That which waits in the Vault has no master. Those who used it did not possess it."

I for one think this sounds pretty nifty. Also I've noticed that we have no pro-Fursic clans. What's wrong with being a little dangerous?

IC: "We cannot answer such an inquiry," the Abettor replied. "We do not weigh worth, as you do. It is not within the scope of our directive. We are told what is worthy and what is not, and adhere to these judgements because it is our duty to do so." JL watched the Abettor repose itself slightly, replant its feet so that it stood where it'd been before Ingitus's arrival. The radiant blue letters all over its armored form were like a wall of stars; JL tried to make some meaning out of them, but they looked totally random to him. "The Vault that we guard holds a great power," the Abettor went on, almost musingly. "Whether or not the pursuit of this power is worthy, we cannot say. It is your decision."

IC: The Abettor stared - or, stared as well as something without eyes could - at JL for a time. To him, it seemed an age. At last, the massive guardian spoke, its voice hollow as a steel drum, rattling JL to his core. "We are not here to be questioned," the Abettor said. "It is not our duty." JL gulped. Was this to be his end? No; after a motionless, taught pause, the Abettor spoke again. We will permit you to ask these questions, and then you must begone."