shadow pridak money gang

IC: Red frowned. He was always happy to see Saeva Sareta, his tempestuous idol, throw down hard and slam til something jammed. But Torana was his friend too, and it didn't feel right to want her to get beat up. If only there was some way to prove his loyalty to both of them, or to offer his own body as a weapon...he'd gladly rip off an arm, use it, then hack off the second to give one each to his friends. But that would probably gross Torana out, and Saeva would only try to bench the limbs. Red would need to find a more impartial way to help. Maybe using his natural foghorn voice for ringmaster purposes? ... "COME ON, GET THOSE BETS IN" -Tyler

IC: "That's the thing though, isn't it? They were hired. Anyone can say they're Ko-Koro's Toa, and anyone who lives here has a point. Maybe I shouldn't be their official protector just because I'm a Maru. Maybe I should. But when they needed protecting, I wasn't here." He tossed his empty bottle, too, and began wondering whether or not he could make two pendants for Stannis at this rate. "We're training the Guard and the Guard are training the people. Where's the sense in that?" he mused bitterly. "They're operating off the same frame of reference - us. These aren't the nicest people, but they're good people. They're not meant to fight their way out of trouble - and they shouldn't be forced to, either." He grabbed another two beers and chipped the cap away on the bar. Rolling the cap between the fingers of one hand, he reached over with the other and squeezed the other Toa's fingers. "Yeah, Skri, I want to go back. You, me, maybe even Plag and Alfon if we can keep 'em off each other. Spend every other night blitzed in Pala-Koro, sharing stories and dunking Alfon's head in the sink until he chokes. Mata Nui, wouldn't I love a break. And if I took one, maybe Tarkahn would never need my help. But maybe he would, too. Or maybe the people would need me to help protect them from him. And I swore I'd be there to give that. As a Matoran and a Toa. Might be a stupid oath. But it's mine. Officially or not." -Tyler

IC: "Keep it." He waved a hand at the photo dismissively. "You'll do a better job at tucking it somewhere than I will." He hooked a stool over for Skrihen to sit in and reclaimed his own perch atop the bar. He sipped at the beer he had intended to strike her down with and took a long look at the one-time Mark Bearer. Skri was unhappy in Ko-Koro, and it was hard to blame her. She'd only been dragged here because of him, and everything about the snow, the cold, and the politics screamed against her brusque, honest nature. That, and she genuinely meant well. That was more than you could say for a lot of people on Mata Nui anymore. "Did I ever tell you my mum was a Le-Matoran?" He swirled what remained of his drink and then swallowed it. "Gukko Force. Wish I'd been a Le-Matoran, the longer I stick around this place anymore." -Tyler

IC: "I wouldn't say that twerp's not me if that twerp wasn't me?" The Toa of Ice crossed his arms and let out a frustrated breath. Whatever little idiot it was in that picture, whether it was Reo or some look-alike who had only been there to watch his old man fight and was definitely not the bar's mascot, she definitely got way too sick a thrill out of hugging the picture to her chest like that. He had half a mind to call the Sanctum and have her hauled in. "And I smile all the time," he added, scowling. -Tyler

IC: "Hey, Skri," he droned, sitting up to watch the Toa of Plant Life - and his once and future business partner - wander in. He had little doubt someone would tail him here eventually, and the Toa Maru of Ice was relieved that at least it was one of his friends. As she looked around, he could tell what she was remembering: the dive in Pala-Koro they had converted out of what was once a tactical enclave, the place where he and two dozen doomed soldiers from the Sanctum Guard had planned to crack the Nui-Rama Hive open like a nut. Only he had survived. He thought of Trakuda, as he often did. Trakuda was another loud, brash Ko-Matoran like him, and though he had never been a soldier a day in his life the ILF veteran had acquitted himself better than most soldiers Reo had ever seen. The Toa Maru's memories of that day made it seem endless, but each of them seemed as vivid as the day they had all survived together; the feeling of Rama innards splashing across his chest and arms, and the revolting, viscous feeling as it rolled off the Kualsi he'd worn as a Matoran. He remembered the terror as Skrihen dueled with Heuani and wondered if she ever saw him when she looked into his eyes, or whenever she watched the way he walked and laughed and grew furious. He remembered Sulov, so thickly accented in those days that Reo had needed to translate for much of the ILF, and how quickly he had thrown away reputation and commission to help his best friend. For a long time he had wondered how much of that bear-hearted Matoran was still in his brother Maru. Leah had arrived too, one of the angels of the Gukko Force there to help drive the killing blows. But it was Trakuda - a friend he had made and lost in days - that he remembered most, because it was Trakuda that had been alongside him every step of the way. Stabbing Rama, slashing Rama, chopping at them, jumping from unwilling mount to unwilling mount in a mad quest to be the first to the Hive - it had been them, two Ko-Matoran playing against type, that kept each other going. Reo remembered how, when they had lost the strength to clutch their knives any longer, they had lashed serrated wood disks to their arms - then lashed themselves at the waists, ensuring that as long as one had the strength to drag the other they would remain a Nui-Rama blender. He remembered the look of wolfish victory on Trakuda's face as he unleashed a platoon's worth of explosive Madu, himself at the eye of the volatile hurricane, and how quickly that look had been engulfed by flames. He took a long drink. More than once since that day - the day Trakuda had cracked open the Nui-Rama Hive and revealed the Suva Nui beneath it that he would one day revisit to become a Toa - he returned back to the site and took a long drink there, too. If I had died that day, I would have still been a hero. I would have died happy. Everything else has felt like postscript. Of course, that day he had gone back to Sanctum Guard Only to drink, too. It was there Takua had found him and first impressed upon him the concept of Destiny, the first day he'd ever been blighted with Stannis' name. Plagia had even interrupted them, asking for a shovel to bury a friend. He rolled his eyes good-naturedly at the memory, and that movement snapped him out of his vigil. "Huh?" he grunted, in response to whatever she'd asked. He looked up to see her staring in wide-eyed glee at a picture on the wall. It was a look he recognized well; after all, Skri had been the Mark Bearer of Joy once upon a time. There was only one possible picture that could have put her back into her old element, and he hastily stood up, gripping his beer bottle like a cudgel. "No. Whatever you think it is, it's not." -Tyler

IC: Dorian laughed aloud, rocking back and forth on the railing of the ship. He hooked his duffel bag with a foot and pulled it closer to his person, twirling its weight and tangling the strap around his ankle. "We'll have time to talk about it," he said. "I don't really want to say anything around, you know--" He winked, but there was a tired air to his usual charm. "--the B-Team. I'll find you later, 'kay?" He raised his voice slightly in Praggos' direction. "Alright, alright, I'm coming. So sick of doctors..." He spun the bag free and lifted it over his left shoulder this time as he went to stand. But Dor only made it two steps before he turned back to Skyra again. "...I didn't mean to disappear. And I didn't mean to make your lives harder here. I'll clear out the next time you make port or something. I just..." He looked over in Praggos' direction and lowered his voice. "I don't think it'd be a...good idea...if I was alone right now." He gave the bag of guns a little rustle. "It's good to see you, Sky." He started walking towards Praggos again. "Alright, you old pervert, I'm coming. But the second I hear a glove snap I'm running to find Krayn." -Tyler

IC: "I don't need a checkup, I just need..." he trailed off, repressing a roll of his eyes. He heaved the bag upwards in a neat arc, the assorted weaponry landing with a thud on the Fowadi's deck to the left of Praggos' feet. The owner itself followed in quick succession, leaping from the docks in the direction of the ship. He planted one foot on the ironclad side of the vessel, then another, scurrying three steps up until he could hoist one leg over the railing and straddle it with trademark suggestiveness. Up close, his eyes were dull and pained in a way that Skyra and Praggos, both former Mark Bearers, would recognize intimately; it was the insensate look the wielders of those mystic tattoos had worn whenever deprived of their given emotion too long, the look of a Toa on autopilot. Still, he punched Praggos in the shoulder with familiarity that seemed almost friendly, and the wide smile he gave Skyra was as genuine as all of Dor's smiles, whatever his intent in wearing one. "Yo #####," he echoed back at her. -Tyler

IC: "I know, Sky. Sorry." Dorian Shaddix shrugged the duffel bag from his shoulder and dug one heel into the sand, visibly abashed of himself in a way few - and none aboard the Fowadi, for certainty - had ever seen. "I know I ##### up." ... "Sick shot, Praggos. Guess nobody's unlucky forever." He hoisted the bag up over his head nimbly. "Permission to hurl some guns aboard?" -Tyler

IC: Desde visibly swelled with pride at her cousin's touch and the resulting accolades. From the back of the procession, any movements she made were likely kept discreet - but even if they weren't, Des didn't care who saw when she reached back and squeezed Ayiwah's hand with all the strength in her hand. She beamed and refused to let go of Ayiwah's hand until they were in front of Hahli's hut. .:It's great to see you too, commodore.:. she thought politely, still clutching Aya's hand until they hit the steps of the Akiri's hut. Desde eyed the pool in the middle of the Akiri's den curiously; later, she would learn that such a thing was common among the architectural stylings of Ga-Koro. When they were all inside, she let go of the commodore, turning back to her cousin with a grin that, while characteristically bashful, had just a little of her extroverted sister's mischief. .:Mata Nui's treated you well, Aya.:. she joked mentally. .:It seems like you've gotten some color since we last saw you. And your piercing - is that metal? How exotic!:. -Tyler

IC: Trains rock. If someone had told him in his youth that one day, Koros throughout the island would play host to metal juggernauts that carried people and freight across distances even a Kakama user couldn't hope to catch - and he had known a few slick ones - he would have considered it something out of a fairy tale. Ko-Koro, where he'd grown up, had been stagnant and aloof; all his neighbors had been obsessed with finding the meaning in the stars, as if a look in the night sky would dictate the meaning of their lives, too. He had spent a lot of his life looking at night skies, wondering what it was they saw up there. Red stars, spirit stars...they all went over his head after a while. He didn't even know what spirit star was his. But trains were an unstoppable force of progress. Make life easier for everyone at all costs. Stand in front of one and get mowed down. And, if you were a real idiot, stand in front of one and see if you can halt the speed of progress too. Test what you're really made of. He had been tempted a few times, if not for what that sorta thing would do to his body. The other good thing about trains was that usually, unless they were charted by a real moron or someone with a fantastic case of nepotism, they connected vital points along their route. Hubs like Koros, or the outlying villages they relied on for supplies, trade, or military development. He had been on both ends of the moron and nepotism arrangement, and the administrations of Hewkii and his successor smacked of neither; they were built on calculus, baby, ruthless calculus, and there was a pragmatism in it that even he could admire. He'd known some Po-Koro Guardsmen once upon a time, too - they were pretty improvisational people, just like him, but even they'd had a method to their madness. So following these trains would eventually lead him somewhere, closer to his nebulous goal. He just had to believe that. Otherwise he probably woulda tried his luck with the train by now. Instead, now and again he would watch the Iron Mahi chug by - and just like a little kid, every time he heard the thunder along the dunes he couldn't help but grin and cheer. He'd grown to appreciate Po-Wahi a lot over the years. He'd learned to herd Rahi here. That had been the last time he'd bothered visiting the village, though; many routes to Po-Koro were lost, he knew, in case he followed the tracks, and even since Renaka had begun opening the village to the rest of the island it would be years before some of the routes reopened. Even the routes that had become secrets of his trade were hindered in some way, undone by precise cave-ins or calculated goat path removal. So he would follow along the tracks until he reached Po-Koro, or maybe Forsi, with only periodic stops to rehydrate or stare at spirit stars. He wished he'd brought some bourbon from Ga-Koro. But it was still the morning hour, and by now whatever stars were left had faded into the cloudless sky, which meant it was his favorite time of day - pull the rifle from his duffel bag and scan the dunes for any hint of the old man. It was stupid to worry about whether or not he was being pursued, he knew; the cranky old-timer would have easily fit into his bag, right between the Zamor Launcher and the sword he really needed to get around to returning already. But he owed the Turaga a bit too much to stuff him in with all the guns. Maybe he had collapsed in some dune, back near the border, and his little legs had never quite found the strength to trudge another step. Maybe he'd just thirsted himself to death. Sounds like him for sure. That one, at least, would be his own fault. Nothing to feel guilty about there. Whatever the case, he wasn't on any of these dunes, so the Toa followed the path down the bay to wherever his destiny took him. Once, in a definitely-uncharacteristic-for-sure feat of navel-gazing, he looked down at the ground below him, parallel to the right side of the tracks. There are footprints. ... He could be thirsty. He could be a mercenary, too. Or worse. He could be some normal person. The last thing he wanted to do was explain himself to one of them. He could need help. So call a hero. ... He buried his face in his hands, feeling the weight of the duffel bag's strap dig into his right shoulder, and let out a muffled yell of frustration - nay, rage. He missed the old days. Back then he knew what to do with rage. The tracks led him to what could only be Ostia, a desert wind covering both their paths in hi wake, but the first thing he saw at the docks wasn't someone in need of help. Rather, it was all he needed to see to know it was time for him to turn around and hit the Iron Mahi tracks again. It was a boat in name only, an ugly ironclad that been modified and frankensteined again and again. It was the flagship of the most pathetic, oxymoronic 'navy' he would probably ever encounter, and it was a credit to his star-crossed life that he'd never been forced to step foot on it. Hi Fowadi. Bye Fowadi. But something stopped him from taking a step backwards. He could make out a few of the people doing target practice, and in particular, one voice carried. "Don't #### it up Praggos." He knew it was the right thing to do, turning around and leaving them. He wouldn't be able to stick around. They weren't really his friends. His friends were buried in the bottom of the Kumu Sea, or maybe wading across it in search of him at that moment. His friends were righteous and just, and they always found ways to remind him that he wasn't. His friends were good, gentle people who had a habit of grabbing their own arms and falling to their deaths - a real thing that happens to sloths, by the way, but here meaning a metaphor for letting him into their hearts time and time again. I don't want to keep doing this to people. He knew he should turn away, but her voice had dug into his brain like a worm. Absurdly, the wind had picked up again, and sand was blowing into his eyes and making them water. The boat won't take you all the way. You'll have to swim for the next one. ...But the boat might be a start, at least. The Toa shifted the duffel bag comfortably onto his shoulder again before beginning his walk to the docks. Briefly, it occurred to him that he should probably dry his eyes before he got too close to them. He pulled the desert-stained scarf up from the lower half of his face, just for a second, to wipe away his tears. Then he tucked it back into position, so that only his feverish blue eyes remained visible. -Tyler

emphasis on heard and not read -Tyler

IC: Hahli bit back a mischievous grin at the idea of the title of Your Majesty. In a place like Mata Nui, such a pleasantry rang hollow; even her late friend Matoro, with his attempts at bringing nobility to Ko-Koro, had never been called Your Majesty as far as she was aware. (Ambages, maybe, but look where all of his titles and wealth had gotten him in the end.) Ayiwah had warned him such formalities were likely, though. They were all the Dasaka had known, an empire that stretched into the Time Before Time, and as funny as it would be it wouldn't do to take advantage of such a thing. "Akiri Hahli more than suffices, Rora," she said graciously. She did a quiet sweep for her assistant Eutuchia, ensuring he was out of earshot, before she added: "But I do have a man in my life I think could stand to be a bit more appreciative, if you would like to drop a Your Majesty in front of him. Should we retreat to my office? Chojo, Commodore?" She noticed Leah leaving out of the corner of her eye with a couple other Dasaka, but thought little of it. Leah was capable of handling herself, and had a way of putting anyone at ease; she was always helpful in situations with the Dasaka, but doubtless on a personal level the people who she had taken under her wing needed her more than Hahli did. IC: Desde smiled at the pleasantries, ever the delicate beauty, but her mind was on her uncle. Rayuke had fought with the ferocity of a god in the last Fursic Rebellion, as all knew, but so had her parents and Inokio. All of them now laid slain; why would Rayuke be any different? Behind her back, a fist clenched in anxiety. Even when her mother was too busy grooming Yumi to be her successor, Rayuke and Masayoshi would make time for her. The thought of Rayuke's heart, with its great boom. boom. boom. drumbeat, suddenly ceasing... Do not cry. Do not cry. They will all feel it if you cry. She giggled at the Akiri's joke to try and refocus. She scanned the crowd behind the little Ga-Matoran and caught sight of a Dashi staring at her curiously. Her eyes roved somewhere else for a few seconds, then fell on the Dashi again. She was still staring. If she's looking when I look again, I'll wave! she thought, deciding to make a little game of it. Her eyes roved back over the crowd, then fell back on where the Dashi was standing-- --only to see her back, being escorted away by Akiri Hahli's Toa-hero protector. Zataka's thighs I have the worst timing. "I would be honored to accompany you, Akiri Hahli," she responded with a nod of her head. "Sister." -Tyler

IC: Kopaka's influence was growing more insidious inside him by the day. That was Reordin Maru's excuse for why he had begun savoring the chance to drink alone, and he would absolutely be sticking to it. Since the reclamation of Ko-Koro, the Toa Maru of Ice had picked out the remnants of the Glacierpool Inn as his private drinking hole. During the courtly era of Matoro and Ambages, quarters had been afforded to him on par with the lavish apartments of the Akiri and his Hand in the Sanctum. They had never been slept in, and Reo felt bad for whatever poor corporal had been sent to keep dusting the rooms out as a pisstake from his superiors. He had quarters in the barracks as well, although by now his old bunk had been turned into a mocking shrine laden with bamboo disks, whiskey bottles and women's garments - all the things, the popular refrain went, that he had cared about more as a Matoran than his job. He even had a house he had bought to relax in during the months following Makuta's fall. It had been graffitied a bit by Makuta followers, and had no doubt been the sight of a few debauched parties, but that would have been the case if he had been given enough time in the place anyway. Regardless, it was publicly the Toa Maru's residence in the Koro. So that wouldn't do either. But the Glacierpool was perfect. It was a sanctuary that had been used by his father in his days working the underground fight circuit, a fact known to few anymore. It had also been thoroughly abandoned, then wrecked, by the time that Ko-Koro had been recovered. Repairs were set to be finished within a year, but the Solstice District (the run-down part of town where Reo the Matoran had spent his childhood) would likely be among the last places touched. There wasn't enough here preserving - especially under the reign of the illustrious new Akiri - to go fixing up run-down parts of the Koro already used for working class housing when Makuta's legions had made such a mess of the Sanctum on their way out. That suited him just fine. He spent enough time at the Sanctum these days, training the people who actually wanted to know how to fight. Korzaa was a welcome hand back at the wheel of the Guard, something he never would have thought he'd be grudgingly admitting, but the rest of the surviving Guard was full of hostages and cowards, those who had fled the Wahi altogether rather than organize a resistance or protect their neighbors. Their neighbors who were now being press-ganged into service themselves. Reo's teeth gritted behind his Kanohi Tauhaka at the thought. He rested the neck of his beer bottle against the pitted, freezer-burnt wood of the bar and added another chip to its old mahogany surface. The cap went flying through the air and bounced behind the bar with a couple metallic pinks; it joined another few dozen there, relics of every visit to his own private sanctum he'd made since Ko-Koro was reclaimed. He hopped up onto the bar and took a long, ice cold drink of beer. Civilians training for mandatory service. It made him sick. All it would do was get the populace of Ko-Koro butchered the next time Makuta's forces stormed through - which seemed inevitable given the rumblings of activity among the Rahi along the Wahi's outskirts. He had no idea what to make of the rumblings from Mangaia, Joske or Echelon, Dorian Shaddix, none of it. He had found Joske's body at the Temple of Peace, after a search he conducted personally and alone, and sent on the details to Ta-Koro, but that was as far as that investigation had gone. If Makuta was really making a push for dominance, behind the figureheads he had used to occupy Reordin's home, then arming the populace and putting them through Karz Week wouldn't do much to deter the darkness. It would only lead to the people being slaughtered. Reo had dared to say as much, against Korzaa's advice. After that, it seemed like the Toa Kalta were the official protectors of Ko-Koro, and Reordin Maru had once again been sidelined by the village he had given every day of his life to. He had nothing against the new Toa in theory, but Reo had been to Ga-Koro in the wake of the Toa Daedra's attempted coup and heard the horror stories. So he didn't trust many organized teams - apart from the Maru, although even that was grudging ever since Korero hit puberty - farther than he could freeze them. ##### 'em, then. Akiri in Ko-Koro changed like the seasons in Le-, and the next one might actually listen to sense. He finished the beer, wiped his lip, and tossed the empty bottle into the glass pile. The glass pile being, of course, the hundreds of shards of broken glass that Reo had created by executing the same toss time and again. Eventually he would turn them into stone or something. Make a little puzzle for Stannis. Again, the thought of leaving and seeing the other Maru danced through his head. It would probably be a necessity, if the rumblings here had any truth to them, but for now he was still needed - whether Tarkahn was willing to acknowledge that or not. And there was no Glacierpool in Po-Koro. It was the Dunepool or something stupid. Reo laid back on the old, frozen bar and sighed happily. Yeah, he mused. This is a temple of peace. -Tyler

IC: Rayuke's sleep was troubled - a cacophony of voices, psionic alerts, and the turbulent memories of his youth. Somewhere in these years, years that felt long yet nonetheless had slipped them all by, he had reached one of the fixed points in the lives of men - old. It was a word that lost meaning as it got older, and it aged with a man's perception of himself. Old meant different things physically, emotionally and spiritually yet brought the same kind of terror to the young. When he was young, old had been a death sentence. He would have chosen to be anything other than old - a miner, still toiling with the Dashi, or a saihoko belly laughing as he brought in fish on the docks. He would rather have died on the featureless beaches of Kozu, surrounded by his family - Yusanora, such charisma and grace packed into such a small frame, and her dashing lover, his exhilarated laugh the soundtrack to their every battle. His was far from the only one; well did he remember Umbraline Ayiwah, so young and wild in those days, crowing in excitement from the deck of her first vessel. Then, it would have been impossible to picture the cunning, astute woman the commodore would become. Now it brought a wan smile to his ascetic face, even on the precipice of what could only be death. His memories were a picture of the Executioner as a young man, and as he found the peace of mind after so long to recollect them all, he realized they were all still young in his mind. But he could not perceive the lone mountain on the beach any longer. They were all still beautiful. Only Rayuke had grown so old. Thankfully, the timelessness of those memories only strengthened his love for them. He saw so much of them all in his nieces. Yumiwa had all of her mother's beauty and was capable of the same level of wisdom, and through no fault but Zuto Nui's Yumi was dogged by the temper and arrogance of many Umbralines before he - the dragon's fire that made Umbraline Roras, high and low alike, so memorable in the pages of history. But she was not solely the product of her mother. Her father's humor was in there, his joie de vivre and penchant for winning friends - even the unsavory kind. Sometimes, when he was given the slack to play a role other than the slick uncle, Rayuke could hear traces of the brother he'd lost in her laugh, and he loved her for them all the more. And Desdemona... His little princess. The girl of glass. Oh, Desde. Rayuke's final memories were chaotic, which perhaps had set the tone for his catatonia. But until his feet shuffled over the hazy line he knew he toed, when sleep gave way to death, he would remember how he felt when he saw the Kanohi Dragon in the sky. It was not infected or corrupted, like so many dragons had been in the skies over Sado that wretched night; it gleamed like it had hatched from the egg of a star, and before it all demons quaked and shrieked. He remembered how the Dasaka still fighting, street by street, either screamed in victory at the sight of it or wept in fascination. Rayuke wept, too. They were the only tears he had shed since his sister died, for he alone knew this was no sign from Zuto Nui, and that the shriek of pain and loss emitting from the dragon's mouth had not been for the Empire. Desdemona... he had thought, with an ache in his giant heart that threatened to overwhelm him there in the street. Yusanora...forgive me. I have truly failed you. The Rahkshi felt none of Rayuke's sorrow, and they had taken his second of horror and mourning as cause to overwhelm him. His prodigious strength had done him good service for a while, but he remembered the way that strength had slowly leeched away from him; his muscular build had become a burden all its own, in addition to those he had always carried, and eventually he had found himself prostate, barely even sitting, in front of enemies as faceless as the Fursic shades he slew in his dreams. At the moment he was sure was his last, one more shade joined them - amid a slew of lights and clashing of staves, a smile filled Rayuke's vision. It was wide and sharp as a knife's edge, the smile of handsome men who knew the inner workings of the world inside and out - yet, curiously enough, did not know themselves. Rayuke's conscious mind knew it was familiar, but his head was swimming from pain and injury and his heart was sick and sad. "Lord Rayuke?" the smile had asked him. "You're not sleepy, are you? We have a long night ahead of us." Rayuke's mouth was dry. A man he knew to be a ghost was guarding his body, ensuring a peaceful transition from Sado to...wherever spirits go. Wherever he had gone, so many years before his time and before those who loved him best were prepared for. "Sa...sori...?" The smile tilted to the right. "Lord Rayuke?" Rayuke, so accustomed to seeing the truth all his life, was willfully blind now. The voice was unfamiliar, but the smile... "Sasori...your daughters...for...give..." He could apologize no more. He would explain all to Sasori when he saw him again. Soon. Umbraline Rayuke closed his eyes to rest. "Lord Rayuke!" .:Arsix, it's me. We can't hold the Residences much longer. I need whatever Sana users we can spare for Lord Rayuke.:. .:He's a Dasaka, too. I can't just let him die.:. .:Well, find some. They're making another pu-:. ... Opening his eyes was a cumbersome task, compared to the simplicity of dying, but somehow Rayuke managed to awaken. A young woman dressed in an ornate goldenrod robe was changing the dressings on one of his wounds, a gash lancing across his right side that had felt grievous when he was last awake but now only burned dully at the touch of gauze. His other wounds, of which he counted at least four, had all been similarly tended to. As he looked around, he realized he was intimately familiar with this bed, these furnishings. Somehow, he had been dragged up to the quarters where he had spent his whole life. The art was untouched, his bookshelves were still packed, and the window had been opened to allow the sea breeze to lilt through. It caressed his body and eased his aches, and but for the Dastana attending him, he could have fooled himself into believing it was all a nightmare. That Dastana alone...she was the only bastion that supported their new reality, the lone obstacle between hurrying to each of his nieces and holding them with all the love and worship they both deserved. His eyes fell to his table full of origami - a thousand, no more or less, folded into birds, dragons, and all the Rahi of the Gardens. Nine hundred and ninety-nine had been folded in his own free time, a method of contemplation, recollection and peace. The thousandth was a Valkyr; she had been toiled over with more hardship than any of Rayuke's orgami, the product of many an asymmetrical fold or a tweaked wing, but in the end she was perfect - for the love and effort that had gone into her as much as for the precision of her fold. Desdemona had made her for him. The old man's eyes stung. .:Lord Jasik? He's conscious.:. .:Finally. Send him to the War Room. I can receive him there:. "Lord Rayuke?" a voice asked courteously. The executioner turned his head and sat up, biting back a breath of discomfort at the burning of his sutured wounds. He decided to move more methodically as he attempted to stand a second time; he knew that to rush would only tear the gashes asunder again, a fact he noted with irony had been true of the Empire too. Perhaps that was why the Dastana weren't treating him like a prisoner. Though returning him to his quarters struck him as odd. "I am Herupa Cyrunei," said the girl standing beside the door, arms crossed with concealed skepticism. Doubtless she too wondered about the prevailing wisdom behind allowing Rayuke free reign of the palace. Rayuke, ever the careful interrogator, judged her eyes as she spoke. They were tired and ringed with indigo, exhausted blights visible even under her Kanohi Kakama. Indeed, now that he looked at her more closely, he recognized the slim, pretty Menti as one who had helped escort him when he first met the Dastana Twins. That seemed so long ago now... It occurred to him that he had not even properly had the chance to grieve Yusanora. So much had happened in the interim. Someday. "Lord Jasik requests that you meet him in the War Ro-" she stopped herself. "Apologies. What you know as the council chambers. As soon as possible." But her slip had not evaded Rayuke. War Room. He nodded in understanding. "Will you...accompany...me?" he rumbled, the bass of his voice causing the healer to step back in astonishment. It was common from everyday Dasaka to do so at the executioner's brass tones. "I am still...feeling...unsteady." She nodded and looped her arm through his. Rayuke was easily thrice her size, and likely would crush her if he was to topple over, but he appreciated the thought nonetheless. It was hard to picture a thoughtful young woman working so closely with Dastana Jasik, who had always struck him as so callow, philosophical but only through osmosis, uncertain of whether he was espousing beliefs or parroting them. But then again, who would have thought his own lieutenant would be a woman like Masayoshi? As they walked, Rayuke took note of the clan colors - Ageru, Eiyu, Vilda, Herupa...old names, with haggard but proud looking Menti bustling about. Some had weapons on their backs or sides, and just as many looked as though they had taken wounds as recently as Rayuke, but there was enough equal representation to the executioner's eyes that he still felt a great, relieved feeling rise in his chest. The Umbralines and the Hogos' safety had been assured by Masayoshi, along with that of his nieces. If the winds and seas were good, they would reach Mata Nui safely. But it was good to know that there were more clans left than simply Umbraline or Hogo. The War Room, as Cyrunei had noted, had once been the council chambers. Rayuke had attended many a meeting here under the reigns of Yumiwa, Yusanora before her, and even their clan-mother, the Rora Yui, before his exile to Iki near the end of her reign. He had seen many a courtier come and go through these chambers, but the Umbralines had always sat at their center - Yumi, Yusa, Desde...now there was only him. Him, and two dozen other warriors, dignitaries, and even some Toroshu. The Dastana twins were at the center. At the old council table, almost a dozen Sighteyes were working overtime projecting maps of the islands of the Kentoku Archipelago. Four alone were required for Sado, but the capital was by far the most detailed as a result; it even had triangular pings resonating above places like the Markets or the docks, in the colors of various clans assembled, denoting what could only be Menti positions. Cyrunei released her grip on his arm and waded through the assembled gathering to rejoin Jasik. Her fingers brushed his right arm as she took her place behind him, and Jasik looked up to see the mountain standing guard by the door. His smile, already placid on his face, grew wider and cockier, but he did not call out in greeting. Rayuke did not, either. Instead, it was Arsix Dastana that stepped forward to carry out the briefing. OOC: Anyone who wants to have a Dasaka (especially Toroshu players) here as a part of this, feel free to just assume you are and play it as such. -Tyler

: ( -Tyler

yeah go for it, i still have a few characters i need to post for before i can bring back my guard character. you've languished long enough -Tyler

did you have someone in bad company, brockway? this has been bothering me since yesterday -Tyler

This looks good to me. Great to have you back, Fanixe. -Tyler

IC: Desdemona was in the middle of changing from her loose, floppy robe into something a little more befitting of the chojo; while her prodigious powers had given the Dasakan delegation on Mata Nui warning of their arrival, she hadn't realized they were quite close enough to the island for Yumi to begin diplomacy with the locals personally. It wouldn't do to go ashore and meet Ayiwah and Hanako looking like she had spent the whole flight from Sado smoking a pipe and pontificating about all the ways exotic islander boys could blow her skinny back out. Desde! Bad. She heard the rapports of the fleet's guns, followed by the familiar sound of the Panda, and hummed as she adjusted the collar on her formalwear. It must have been something that belonged to their father, who had died at an age when even Desdemona, the girl who had named herself while she and her mother were connected, could not remember him. It was a handsome garb that she was able to make look androgynous; she didn't have the figure for many of Yumi's dresses. While she got dressed and listened to the salute, she thought about her answer. "It's hard to explain," she mused. "I feel different, but not...unlike myself. I feel like I've been stuffed up for a long time, you know? Sick. And now I'm breathing free." She looked into the opaque visor of her best friend and protector and smiled. "I don't know what that means, but I think it's a good thing, don't you? My Ideatalk feels fine. Yumi said to tell you I'm the bloody chojo and, erm...something about velvet ropes? Getting things on the carpet? She might have started talking to a handmaiden or something. Come on, it feels like the Yukanna is docking." The chojo gestured for Masa to stand and follow her as she climbed the steps from her cabin onto the main deck of the royal flagship. The first thing that hit her wasn't the sweeping vistas of Mata Nui, or Mount Koshiki's doppelganger rumbling in the distance like a hungry belly, but the air - salty and temperate, caressing her face with the same gentle application of force that had always made Uncle Rayuke's headpats such a treat. She felt a quick stab in her chest at the thought of him. "My Uncle isn't with us," she said sadly. She was counting the floating fortifications of Ga-Koro, loosely ringing the bay like fisher's buoy's, but apart from those outposts the village didn't look particularly militarized. She wondered if all the villages of Mata Nui would be so trusting of outsiders. Doubtless with the volcano right there, instead of tucked safely out of mind like Mount Koshiki, there were plenty of natural dangers that required them to band together. It was a quaint concept. She liked it. But the noises were so much different from Sado's. She wondered how many Ga-Koros could fit inside the Markets alone. "And I don't feel his presence anywhere. Is he dead, Masa?" she pressed as they disembarked. Oddly, the shuffling gait she had always employed on her way in and out of her tower was gone. In fact, without her childhood trepidation of tripping and falling to hold her back, she almost wanted to skip. Only the thought of her uncle's fate held her back from doing so. Instead, she walked forward to the pier where her sister stood. The Chojo took her rightful place beside the Rora, standing at her right side opposite Zafin, and scanned the crowd. She saw Ayiwah, next to the newly arriving Akiri Hahli - oh, she's precious! She's a Dashi! Good for her! Good for her. - but saw no trace of Hanako anywhere. She shuffled slightly under the blanket (carefully disguised as an elegant cloak, mm-hmm) thrown around her shoulders. .:Answer me here, Masa.:. She resisted the urge to try and hold her empress' hand. IC: Hahli wished she had gotten a little more sleep before this. She had been sending missives since the moment Ayiwah had left her presence. The Akiri and Toa Maru of Ga-Koro had fretted over the words carefully, wondering how best to convey the shock resonating through Dasakan culture into a form letter that would sufficiently impress the other Akiri. In the end, she had opted for a personal touch for each - all business with Renaka, and a briefing mixed with congratulations for Tarkahn, the new Akiri of the reclaimed Ko-Koro. She had fun playfully encoding her real message for Nuparu inside a gushing thank you for getting her Exo-Matoran across the island so promptly and she thought Kongu would appreciate a bit of the casual correspondence they had shared most of their lives. Jaller's was last and less than least. Lunkhead, More Dasaka coming. Overwhelmed by Rahkshi. Tool up. If you look at the aliens I will know. Hahli. He would probably sulk over getting the least attention, of course; he had always been needy like that, in private, but he was so fond of complaining of how overworked he was, and how he had never asked to be Akiri, how could Hahli burden him with all those hard words to read? She bit back a grin that would have been incredibly out of place in such a diplomatic proceeding. She missed her lover almost as much as she wished pushing his buttons. She wished he was here now, at her side. It would have helped her feel as confident as she looked on the outside. "Rora Yumiwa," she greeted with a deep incline of her head. To the rest of the Dasakan delegation she gave a hearty wave - a mix between the formality expected in the presence of the commodore's empress, but also a glimpse of the friendliness and open atmosphere that Ayiwah's crew had enjoyed since arriving at Ga-Koro. She hoped Ayiwah's presence by her side would encourage Yumiwa too. Doubtless the two Umbralines were having their own conversation in their heads, but Hahli and the commodore had come to a mutual admiration over the preceding months. Hopefully some of Mata Nui's attitude had rubbed off. "We grieve as you do for the attack on your home. Rahkshi attacks have been a sad fact of life here on Mata Nui...but that shouldn't be so. Nor should anywhere else in the world have to suffer them. Welcome to Ga-Koro. Commodore Ayiwah has told me a lot about you." Hahli's trademark mischievous twinkle glittered in her eyes at that final statement, and she reached over to lay a lei of golden and purple flowers around the slender neck of Umbraline Yumiwa. The skinny, waifish girl beside her could only be the crown princess, and the necklace of flora around her neck hung much lower than her noble sister's, but Hahli smiled warmly at her as well. "Chojo Desdemona, welcome to Ga-Koro. Commodore Ayiwah speaks highly of you, too." The chojo's head shot up to the commodore, with the adoration and admiration of a girl unused to receiving much of either. "Thank you, Akiri Hahli," she said softly, in a voice that seemed a little strained. Doubtless the adolescent Menti had been on a long, trying trip. Hahli sympathized. IC: "Huuuuuuuuuh?" Sergeant Whitehot Munequita, envoy to the Dasakan Empire and honorary Savage Mascot of the Chiisai Ryu, yawned in confusion. In the three weeks since Umbraline Sinshi had permanently taken up residence in Whitehot's villa, the Toa of Earth had enjoyed some of the best sleep of her life. Long patrols, cultural activities with the Dasaka, some occasional good-natured flirting with Commodore Ayiwah...truthfully, it was enough to make White wonder if she was a Dasaka at heart, too. Dastana Daijuno, one of her best friends among the crew of the Dasakan expedition, concurred - the way the Matoran (or, ummm, Dashi) told it, she was Zataka made flesh. That one had really made Whitehot excited until Sinshi had to pull her aside and explain it. It was still hard to see how that was anything but a compliment, though. Still, it was worth keeping in the back of her mind that the rest of the Empire was probably nothing like the bustling life of the navy - they were soldiers, just like her, and there were some universal truths between soldiers that few others shared. So Whitehot learned to enjoy the things she enjoyed about the Dasaka and tried tolerating the rest. With an awakening this rude, though, her pretty, business-like little Sinshi was really pushing her luck. The Marine yawned and patted her chest where she had last felt the Menti's head. Her head lolled on the right to see Sinshi getting dressed in a hurry, donning her two weapons and the mishmash of Umbraline plainclothes and Marine finery that she had accumulated in her time here. Yawning, White sat up and kicked off the covers they'd been tangled in. As she put on her Marines uniform, she reached for the bottle they'd been sharing the night before and took a drink to try and awaken faster. "A whole fleet?" she grumbled queasily. "This early...? What, are we being invaded? Momhot warned me you were buttering me up for an invasion..." -Tyler

IC: She's happy. The feeling was too overwhelming to be true. It may have been the bare minimum for most girls to expect from their sisters, but Yumiwa and Desde's relationship had been atypical all their lives, with Yumi seeing Des as a threat to the throne her younger sister so zealously helped guard for her. She had always viewed Des' power with suspicion and built up her own defenses to it, closing herself off from love that Des freely gave and yearned for in return. To hear her say, now, that she was happy to hear from Des...on some level it should have felt like a joke. But how could she not be happy to hear it? .:I'm...I'm so glad you made it. I'm sorry I blacked out.:. Des was sliding into a loose-fitting robe, with billowy sleeves that probably could have fit four of her slender limbs in each yawning silk expanse. While she did, she hunched over and squinted out of the hatches of the Yukanna's royal apartments. She had never sailed unattended on the royal flagship before, and she was eager to explore it later - not to mention see the ocean and the remains of their fleet with her own eyes, observe their capabilities as well as the world around them for reasons as equally professional as they were adolescent and curious. .:They've shoved me in some closet on the Yukanna, but otherwise I feel alright. My sleep was a little strange, but my senses feel alright. Talking to you feels alright.: .:M-More than alright! It's great. I'm...did I say I'm so glad you made it? I'm being redundant. Um...what does Mata Nui look like?:. She heard Masa calling for her and turned in the direction of her blind caretaker's voice. "It's me, Masa," she called out softly with her real voice. "How do you like the high seas?" -Tyler

Yeah, just to be safe. We haven't unapproved anything so far but it's nice to have it on the record again. hi void missed you gib daijuno -Tyler

IC: "Don't worry, Torana. Our brotherhood will soothe that schnozz." -Tyler

IC: "You should always take time to appreciate the times of peace while we're in them, boss," said the sentient pool table, dutifully planking between two walls while Erzu and Torana dueled. "One day we'll look back on these as the best of times, when our brotherhood could sooth all ills and--pfoo pfoo pfoo" The Toa of Earth began frantically huffing on the cue ball, attempting to keep it out of his mouth. He failed. "Y'schrashed it Ershu." -Tyler

We had some problems with it in the past, of all masks, but the topic has been edited to allow it back in after GM discussion. -Tyler

IC: May she sing with Zuto Nui. That was the Dasakan adage meant to weave threads of comfort into the tapestry of life and death. There was no such thing as finality or the yawning void, and no Dasaka had to contend with the fact that their minds - the minds that gave them power, the minds that allowed them to interlink with lovers and family and hated rivals alike, the minds that were their whole essence and all their power - could just unravel and fade. They were an elegant, beautiful people, with history that extended into Time before Time. Surely death was transitory, a period no different from calling upon one's Toroshu or the Rora before she could be reunited with her loved ones - to sing with Zuto Nui in kind, and mingle and merge her own consciousness into a seamless bliss that made Ideatalk seem as brusque as a shouting match. In the next phase of eternity, she would be with her mother again. Umbraline Desdemona felt as though she had spent most of the boat ride dead. But she did not sing with Zuto Nui, and the thing sharing infinity with her was not her mother. Her sleep was long and dreamless, but she was not altogether oblivious to the comings and goings around them. She could feel the minds of the refugees roiling constantly; the Umbralines and all their courtiers had fled Sado, the jeweled eye of the world, for parts unknown to all but a few Dasaka. There was a lot of turmoil in their ragtag armada over the decision. In her sleep, Des could hear the murmurs of discontent and even the fleeting, unbecoming thoughts of mutiny that tantalized dejected sailors and courtiers in their dreams. Yumi would have had them all killed, dismembered by Inokio for their treachery, but Des could hardly blame them. The Empire, a beacon of civilization for tens of thousands of years, had been rocked to its core, maybe even collapsed - what did they have to be loyal to, its memory? But loyal they stayed, and even if Yumiwa wanted them killed, there would be no one to do it. She couldn't feel Inokio anywhere anymore. Somewhere, in whatever space she occupied, she cried thinking of him. Once, she thought she imagined a tiger, bloodied and limping, lapping at her tears with a roughened tongue...but maybe that was a dream after all, because she had cried out for Inokio until her little chest trembled, cried for him in rage and betrayal and fear and even cried out for a hint of the paternal love he had never, ever reciprocated. But the tiger was too exhausted to dry her tears a second time, and Inokio himself never replied. Yumi didn't answer her, either, or her uncle Rayuke, or even Masayoshi, who was not her sworn sword but would have gladly dropped every title and office in her life to be so. All she had for company was the thing. Her mother had been a beautiful woman. She was old and bent towards the end, with none of Yumi's height or Rayuke's power, but she had been a powerful Menti in her day and had captured the hearts of more men and women than anyone - maybe even her successor. She had marshaled a whole empire against the traitorous Clan Fursic and put an end to their imperial delusions with the same ease and grace she went through her life with. Even at the end, with a Soulsword punched through her chest and bloody spittle flecked along her lips and chin, her corpse had been suspended above the party with grace. Desdemona shook in terror. On the table at the Chojo's bedside, a trinity of crystal spheres trembled and clinked. The thing was pallid and grey, with empty eyes devoid of the love and light her mother brought into the world. It was hunched like the old woman the Rora had been, and whatever sick sculptor had replicated her fatal wound knew his work well; the hole was bored perfectly through her, and Des could peer straight through her body onto the horizon. The thing's insides were empty; her mother had a good and gentle heart, her surviving brother liked to say, much like Desde's herself when they were of an age. The thing had no heart at all. Though, thinking back to Yusanora's body at the party, maybe she hadn't had one either. It was just them in this plane. Desdemona, her brain fried by a psionic surge the likes of which she had never felt before, and this thing wearing what remained of her mother's skin. Since she knew this couldn't be a dream, it stood to reason that all she had to do was wait this out - unless this was the fabled afterlife. "Are you Zuto Nui?" she asked quizzically, but of course a Dasaka should never ask such questions aloud - especially if she was talking to Zuto Nui. Sorry! .:Are you Zuto Nui?:. Still nothing. .:Are you Zataka?:. That definitely didn't seem right, either, although it would make a lot of cults much funnier in retrospect. .:Are you Yusanora?:. Not a twitch. .:Are you...me?:. The thing looked up. Maybe Desde had hit upon an uncomfortable truth - that this was the frailty, the disgusting and hidden truth of her soul that her mother and her family had known to tuck away in a tower. Or maybe she was just so skinny and weird that she had even offended a mockery such as this ghoul. That would make her feel pretty crummy. .:No. You're not me.:. .:I'm a dragon.:. "I'm...dragon...Yumi..." “Suhei, report!” .:Ayiwah?:. She could feel the older Menti recoil at her touch, the way everyone recoiled from Desde's touch. It had made her cry her entire life - but now, after everything, Desde finally felt like she could start singing. .:Ayiwah, you should have seen me!:. she gushed, the same way she had always gushed to the cousin she idolized. Ayiwah had always occupied a space in Desde's pantheon of heroes just a couple rungs below her own Valkyr namesake. She would always come equipped with knowledge of court gossip and things she had done with her Menti abilities, as though that could impress a woman who had seen the things Ayiwah had on the seas, a sailor who could cut down impetuous nobles in her uniform and remain so respected. But Ayiwah had never made her frail little cousin feel any the lamer for the poor stories she offered in exchange for the commodore's exploits. In fact, once she had even shown Desde her navel piercing, dotted with little crystals that could have fit on a nail, and regaled her with the story of how she got it. Yumi might have marched to Inokio or their mom and demanded one, but not Desde. She knew it was their secret. .:There was this thing, this...I don't want to call it a Soulsword, but...yeah~! It was a Soulsword, and it looked like a dragon! I made it!:. She hoped Ayiwah was getting all this; she could feel the commodore's strong will pushing out, testing the limits of their connection, and the crown princess realized that unlike her Ayiwah was still dreaming. .:I saw Yumi getting to her ship, and Masayoshi is with me...I saw Uncle for a minute, but I don't know if Rayuke...I don't know if he made it. The rest of us are coming to you! Isn't that great?:. It was odd. She could hear her own words ringing in her ears, could parse each one she spoke, define it, and string them together to realize that what she was saying was downright apocalyptic...but somehow, she couldn't help but feel good. She felt strong. :Desde!? How is this possible?:. .:Ayiwah? Can you hear me? I said we're coming to you, on Mata Nui! I don't know how many days out we are, but if I can hear you, that's a good sign!:. She had no idea why Ayiwah wasn't as excited as she was. Maybe it was the connection; maybe she was rousing her cousin from a pleasant sleep (ooh, maybe with Tazera beside her???) or maybe Ayiwah was having a harder time coming to terms with the fate of the Empire than she was. The thing certainly didn't seem enthused to hear Desde's briefing. It had started to rattle at her, the stupid ugly ghoul, and as it attempted to stretch towards her its brittle grey skin began to crack like mistreated parchment. She swatted the hand away. .:I'm talking to my cousin. You don't belong here.:. When she blinked again, it was just her and Ayiwah. .:Ayiwah, I think I have to wake up. Something's...happening to me, I think. It isn't safe. But don't worry, Ayiwah. I'm coming.:. The princess smiled shyly, and hoped that the expression carried across the gulf between her and her cousin. .:I love you.:. At the same moment Ayiwah sat up in her bed, drenched in sweat despite the temperate Ga-Koro evening, Umbraline Desde's eyes lolled open lazily. She let out a big yaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaawn. "Masa?" she groaned, covering the back of her hand to stifled a yawn from growing louder than the first. She sat up in bed and hugged the covers to her bare chest. At some point Masayoshi must have bathed her, or a handmaiden. Perverts. She cracked her neck - always a dangerous proposition with a constitution and build like Desde's, but she let out a happy, contented sigh at the unfamiliar feeling of her joints popping. She did the same with her back, then laced her fingers together and reached her clasped hands to the ceiling of her cabin. "Yumi?" She realized she was making the same mistake as she had in her dream...vision...coma...whatever, and reached out across the armada, scanning everywhere for the telltale scarlet of her sister's Willhammer tell. .:Yumi?:. -Tyler