Krayzikk

IC: Vazaria didn't have to wait long. Those unseen eyes, searching and scouring, had watched her begin her ascent and allowed it to continue. For a time. They seemed... Curious. Unusual behavior from the monsters but then their quarry was an unusual Dasaka. She had not gone unnoticed, not as much as she believed; un-assailed, mostly, and relatively unharmed. But not unnoticed. They allowed her flight, up and up past the vacated lands upon its slope. Until the Confusion blast hit her and she dropped like a stone, striking the loamy soil of the volcanic mountain once, twice, then rolling to a stop. She was surrounded as soon as her eyes opened by half a dozen, perhaps more, of Zataka's children. They hissed, faceplates opening to reveal the creatures inside, but they didn't attack. They waited. For her to act, maybe. Or for something else. @Nato The Whisperer

IC: (Earlier) They were deep enough, now, that the last reaches of the light from outside had vanished. Even with his eyes, used to the long and deep shadows beneath the Le-Wahi canopy at night, adjusting about as quickly and fully as he could have hoped, it was his other senses that dominated within the void. His hearing, taking in the low hum of ominous wind and settling earth that flowed through the system, punctuated by their own movements. It was silent, yet because of that, a cacophony. Upon that wind was smell, earthy and somewhat stale, a char upon it reminding the two of the magma tubes they were alongside, the volcano they would pass beneath. For how subtle it would by all rights be, it permeated the air. Taste, smell’s twin, reflected much the same in a stale, ashy tint to each breath. Bitter mixed with the putrid sweetness of rot, or so the Toa found himself wanting to describe it. Feeling was his refuge between the presence of the wall and the crystal on his person, but even the solidity of the ground beneath his feet seemed wrong. Too smooth, too inviting, too forgettable if one didn’t pay attention. With his eyes, the wilder swordsman scarcely felt confident in seeing more than a few feet ahead at best. He’d be liable to walk straight over a pit. He’d not even catch a fork in the path. He’d blunder mask-first into a threat and not even be able to swing his sword effectively. I’m getting sick of how much this is settin’ my nerves off, too. Pausing for a moment, he focused. Remember the general composition, the lattice pattern, the interplay of faces and angles. Color is a reference point. So is how it grows. From the largely rounded surface his left shoulder pauldron, a modest geode of lightstone some four or five inches high sprouted forth after that brief period of visualization and a small sacrifice of elemental power. Warm and soft orange light blossomed outward, and his vision returned somewhat— enough for him to, after a testing lift of his sword arm, comfortably see a fair distance beyond the extent of its reach. Ten to fifteen yards, if he needed to guess. His eyes narrowed as each stride made the shadows, still far too heavy and strong, dance mockingly. This wasn’t Onu-Wahi, that much was clear. “Got a light.” he reported back to the venerable Toa of Fire, whose eyes couldn’t clue him in themselves. “Let me know when to kill it.” “Sure thing,” the Ta-Toa nodded in understanding. He focused his attention forwards, to the unnaturally hewn walls of the Darkwalk ahead of them. While they were for the most part free of obstructions, the sheer size of the cavernous tunnels set him on edge. The sameness of it all made distance hard to judge. They continued on, darkness only growing bolder as they descended further into the depths below Mangaia. Time passed. Immeasurable in the small, dim section of the world that they could see, but it passed all the same. Just because you could not keep track of something didn’t mean it wasn’t happening. They both knew that from long and hard experience. Whether it had been one hour within the tunnels or one dozen, Tarex had no way of knowing. It was as though trying to read the movements of a Takea below the waves from the shoreline. Nearly impossible, and pointless unless you were unfortunate enough to be attacked. Thusly, every whisper on the subterranean wind, each shift of the earth that surrounded them, and the chitters of things that called the Dark home were his only source of context beyond their little pinprick of light, straining against the abyss they had thought to traverse. He hadn’t spoken for some time now. There wasn’t really anything to say. Not when a stray word seemed deafening. Not when the depths were ready to swallow them whole. The darkness was oppressive, hanging heavily on those who would disrupt it like a thing alive and smothering the sounds just beyond the light’s grasp beneath it. The scrape of claw on stone, metal on metal, the rasping hiss at the edge of perception. The Walk was not safe but it hadn’t decided the face it would show, how far it would permit the light to reach before it was extinguished. The Sons of Makuta were territorial and aggressive without their master, but like the animals they had become they were not without caution. A certain base, primitive cunning. The interlopers were not the small, weak Matoran regularly chased out of the Walk if they dared to enter at all, nor the impudent entrepreneurs looking to make a widget off of the beasts’ armor. They carried themselves with purpose. One of the men should have been weak. His eyes did not follow, they knew, but his head moved with every sound. Not so feeble as he seemed, and whatever his senses his body was whole. And the other… The other moved like a hunter. Like recognized like. His stance, his gait, the one with light moved with the grace of the hated Muaka. There was coiled steel there, a preparedness that cautioned the creatures in the Dark away. They had not strayed so far into the beasts’ territory to be worth the pain they would bring. But the Dark changed during their walk, as the air began to cool towards Ko-Wahi. The cacophony of a storm barely contained back the way they had come, if their ears were sensitive enough to discern, brought with it a rippling other. And as one the creatures in the Dark screeched. “Keeping the light. They already found us.” There was no sense in mincing words, and little sense in hoping for that outpouring of shrill, insectoid cries to be mere coincidence. It was too close. It was too loud. He knew better than to be so trusting of this den of evil— one slip was all it needed to drag you into those inky depths and drown you. “We hold here.” Though his tone was never any smoother than particularly abrasive sandpaper, Tarex’s lowered voice now progressed into a terse growl, matching the glare he cast into the void as though stabbing it. His left hand, formerly so busy with gliding along the wall of their tunnel and ensuring his position never wavered, now squeezed the long and heavy pommel of his immense blade as its tip dimly gleamed in the feeble orange warmth. As though fighting valiantly against the Dark that, now more than ever, set itself to swallow them whole. The Cy-Toa inhaled deeply as he lifted the slab of crystal into a fighting stance, having set his back to face the wall he’d been minding. Even as that musty air, rotten and saccharine, filled his lungs, his mind began to race. Panic? Planning? Likely somewhere in between. He hunted monsters. Sometimes… No, very many times, they hunted him in kind. This wasn’t new. The pit forming in his gut wasn’t, either. As it stood, he was glad for a few things, at least— he could eliminate one angle of attack, he could raise and swing his sword well enough to maintain at least most of the thunderous arcs he favored, his blood was beginning to pump already after hearing that declaration of war. Even in this forsaken tube of rock, there were things to be happy about. Strokes of honest-to-Mata Nui fortune. Maybe even worth a grin. “Not a matter of ‘if’ any more,” he sneered, baring his teeth more than truly smiling. “It’s ‘when’. Something’s coming, old man.” Even as that empty stomach of his fell into the ground beneath them, something else rose. A pulsing heat from within that strained against the cold of his blanching skin, lashed out against the butterflies in his stomach as if to tear them away, and frothed in his veins. Something that poised itself to wash away worry, if not quite erasing fear beneath the deluge. Familiar. Welcome. Ready. The screech that echoed down the confines of the cavernous tunnel lit the world ablaze when viewed through the not-so-blind smith’s Kanohi. A flash of perception in an otherwise muted arena of sound. He could sense his compatriot’s poise even in the fading glow of the monstrous screech, Tarex was in his element now, that much was abundantly clear. Old man. “Nothing behind, as far as I can tell. Whatever faces us, it does so ahead,” Ackune relayed to the Cy-Toa. He unlimbered his axe from where it had been carried at his waist. The time for words was slipping away, and the time for action was rapidly approaching. Wordlessly, his hands began to glow with a soft light, and the blades of his weapon responded in kind as the dull metal was infused with Elemental Power, taking on a crimson color from the sheer heat. While his stance was more relaxed than the warrior at his side, his mind was sharp and focused on any perceptions of motion that he could discern. The sound of claws on stone was discordant, but the gait behind it hesitated. Something in its movements was infinitesimally faltering, the sound of a creature unused to its own form. No doubt a response to the heat from within that small bastion of light and a recognition of the creatures within. Even something as vicious as Rahkshi recognized strength, recognized its natural fears, and did not rush to fight. But that hesitation was fading quickly, the rasping scratch growing quick and confident and ever nearer. The other sources were further away, an unsettling backdrop to the creature growing nearer. Ackune knew earlier but Tarex needed no explanation either as it approached, a manifestation of the darkness underground come to slay the intruders. Light bounced off of curved carapace in lapis tones mere moments before the murderous creature lunged into the light, low and fast. Its wicked staff lanced outwards towards Ackune’s midsection, Tarex seemingly forgotten in its blazing approach. Simple predatory instinct to attack the ‘weak’, a cruel calculation carried out below conscious thought, but something was calculated. It had come in low, its right shoulder forward in its thrust… And its staff kept between its body and the bigger threat, tight and controlled. The territorial predator offered no further challenge, no intent to drive them from its home, no cry of challenge that its brethren had not already issued. It made no announcement at all beyond a soft, sibilant hiss. There it was. Scourge from the Darkness. Hated enemy. He who would seek Our End. That hiss was met with a howl, as the coiled spring released. Tarex had been waiting on an attack from the moment the Rahkshi’s presence entered his perception, having not only recognized the screech, but the stride, the telltale scratch of staff and claw on stone. When the motion came into the light, he was effectively already moving. After a small shift in his grip, and a hurried shift in weight, the cave filled with wind as something very large and very heavy was forced downward. As though he were the smith behind him, smashing shape and form into hot iron, the Cy-Toa wrenched the flat of his immense blade down onto the fore of the Rahkshi’s polearm. He knew Rahks to be strong by nature, but so much mass crashing into a thrust couldn’t be ignored, couldn’t go without effect. If it had committed its weight to the lunge, all the more so. He would knock this aside and end the ugly son of Makuta now. Would he? In the back of his mind, the small portion not yet dedicated to wrath and its delivery, something about this thing pinged as odd. It showed the same base animal instincts he was used to, true. In attacking the more aged, blinded of their pair, it was simply acting as a predator— but it carried itself weirdly. Something in how it held the staff… Don’t care. It dies here! Not even half a beat after the bone-rattling collision, he stepped deep with his front leg, drove his hips, torso, and shoulder into rotation, and swung forward. A little more light entered the cavern, as sparks danced along the length of the Rahkshi’s staff in a murderous line towards its faceplate. Far more nimbly than his otherwise worn demeanor would have let on, Ackune pushed off to the side as the Rahkshi's staff thrust forward, the motion a sharp spike of moment within his mind's eye. The motion moved his torso out of harm's way, not that it particularly mattered much given Tarex's heaving strike that came down on the weapon. Thankfully, his Kanohi had granted him some degree of warning that perhaps his aging reflexes could not afford. While Tarex made to cleave the beast in two, Ackune moved to clear out of the way of Cy-Toa, positioning himself off to the side. The smith raised his palm, axe still held at the ready in his other hand, in the direction of the insectile creature. A surge of elemental power, and the space behind the creature spontaneously combusted into a wall of flames; cutting off any sort of retreat away from the crystalline warrior. The Rahkshi didn’t flinch and against all instinct it didn’t fight. Its staff smashed to the floor easily once it was clear no amount of force would overcome. No the opposition came a moment later, its leading hand flipping its grip and sliding up the haft. When its foe wrenched the blade up its length the angle became steeper, and steeper, and steeper its tip planted in the stone and leveraging the monster’s natural strength to rise. Before it even reached halfway the blade had no way towards the beast, not without breaking through the haft itself. And it was trapped on the outside of their clash. But sparks weren’t the only thing it shed in its wake; from the moment the blade touched the Rahkshi’s staff its crystal began to shatter and crumble from the edge in. Tarex could see its eyes now, backlit by the fire, and something ugly lurked within them. Ugly, and not at all afraid. With the Toa’s blade locked outside its other hand lashed out, raking claws at the Toa’s middle. The old, pale scars that lied beneath his crystalline cuirass screamed, ablaze with a phantom pain. Though it was no Tarakava that stood before him now, one look at those cold, hateful eyes brought the wounds back to the day the serpent’s fangs had ripped them into existence. Perhaps it was his instincts that shot the burning pulse through his spine, borne from the trauma. Though it was so different, it was in so many ways the same. This is nothing like Ta-Koro..! Clenching his jaw furiously, he forced his urge to fear down as he gave ground, pushing off with his front foot to exit the space those razorlike claws ripped through. His damaged blade followed, no longer pressed uselessly against the staff that had in all but form become an iron wall. It remained within the distance between them, though, as his armored left hand lashed out. An instinctive, deterring swing, it lacked his usual crushing force in favor of denying, at least for the moment, pursuit— And with any luck, distracting from the free hand that whipped forward and up, a hastily created spike of crystal some 11 inches long speeding toward the Rahkshi’s head. A little extra insurance, something else to think about. While he still had his head, he found he had plenty in his own right about what had just occurred. A juggernaut before him. It had stopped his blade cold, checking his strength with its own. Rahkshi as he knew them were strong to begin with, true, but not nearly so immediately able to arrest a sword that was up to speed. This one even managed to leverage its might so as to devote only one hand to the duty, sending the other to rend through a Toa’s armor. As though it were child’s play. Certain death if he made a mistake. It was smart in how it did it as well, calculated. It knew it could change the angle and interpose that accursed staff between its faceplate and his blade— and what was more, it knew that it play havoc upon the thing’s integrity. He’d felt the wrongness as he ground his blade up the length. Sure enough, returning to his usual grip told him a story of wrecked balance, and the dancing cascade of shimmers playing about the walls of the cave spoke of a jagged, snaggletoothed edge. Nothing but murder in its baleful gaze, promising only agony through a narrow glare. Right back at you, freak. As much as the shock had doused the black fire in his breast with ice, there was only one response he knew to work against a threat like this. It was just like that time on the shore, so long ago. He couldn’t run. He couldn’t hide. Both would certainly kill him now. One option left. I’ll rip those eyes out of your skull. Fight like Karzahni.

IC: Ushadra. Names weren't always indicative but this one seemed a more imperfect fit than most, especially coupled with the passing resemblance to one of his deceased predecessors. Nothing he could prove, not just yet, but he reached out with his element carefully to check for... Anomalies. Places he should feel metal and didn't, or shouldn't and did. Ways to see if the face that he saw was the truth. "Polite of you." Eisen said affably. "Was there a particular reason for your search?"

IC: There. The merc considered what to do. If he— and she was reasonably sure it was a he— moved she'd know. It was clear he didn't know he'd been detected, either, which gave her a second to think it over. It was possible, remotely, that the unseen figure was on their side. But he didn't announce himself, he didn't clarify their intentions, and it was pretty obvious that they weren't associated with who this hideout had belonged to. There was no securing him without alerting him, not in this barren place. What she did have was a clear position, a clear line of sight, and a weapon already in her hand. If the dumb, reckless idiot was on their side she could worry about saving his life after. In a single, sinuous motion she hurled her Acurahk staff at his stomach with enough strength to send it through him and embed its tip in the rock wall behind him. _________________ A soft, sibilant susurration seemed to fill the tunnel as Skorm began to move, something felt rather more than heard. But nothing entered his sphere of awareness, no truly audible sound reached his ear. The darkness was satisfied as he risked a descent further into the abyss. @Light @Keeper of Kraata

IC: Skyra took center stage and rather than resent he rather appreciated it. The shopkeeper— this Farzan— seemed to be A Character himself, greeting Dehkaz enthusiastically and Skyra much the same, and his focus on the other two gave him ample time to consider his surroundings. The diskette rifle, and its smaller siblings, were too new for him to have had a good look at them before. He had seen a few of the standard model before, he had of course seen Dehkaz's, but he had seen them for the first time in Ko-Koro. Dehkaz's, and perhaps Naona's, had been the first but the latter for obvious reasons didn't stick in his memory. He had been a little unconscious. Their craftsmanship was clear and he understood how they could offer advantages over the Patero; rate of fire, for one, even if their projectile range was somewhat less versatile. But there were some issues too. Not in their make. But in their utility to him specifically. As his eyes roamed the shop he took a few steps further inside, closer to Dehkaz, and nodded politely at the Matoran inventor when he was introduced. Krayn wasn't trying to be rude. He was simply thinking, turning the considerations over in his mind and as he did something clicked back into place. Not perfectly, not permanently, but with the pop of a dislocated limb assuming its rightful place. The rifles were bulkier than he'd like. The capacity was good, as were the two barrels, but the iron sights were unnecessary. And more importantly didn't offer him a tangible benefit. That launcher on the Matoran's wrist, though, had promise; it was especially bulky on the smaller being but it wouldn't be nearly as bad on his own wrist. And they all spoke to a level of technical capacity that could perhaps solve his more particular problem. A visible smile, very slowly, crossed his face. "I don't want to let Dehkaz pick up the whole tab if I can help it. But I do have a few particular requests." The Toa drew one of the revolvers from his hip, a motion that might have seemed threatening if not for his finger well away from the trigger and the way he immediately flipped it in his hand. He extended it, grip first, for the inventor to see. "These are perfect. But ammunition isn't easy to come by if you aren't a Toa of Iron. Their effective range isn't perfect, either. I think— hope— one of your rifles might be able to solve those problems, but your standard model isn't quite right." "These," With his other hand he retrieved a bullet from a pouch at his waist, tossed it in the air, and caught it between two fingers for the Matoran to see. "Are also very loud. That's a bit of an issue for me. Other loud noises, too. Met a Madu Cabolo up close recently and didn't enjoy it. All the experimenting you do in here, and the fact that you can hear, says to me that maybe you and your associate back there can help with that too." He paused a moment and tilted his head, just a little. "How's the tensile strength on that grapnel?" @Geardirector @Perp

IC: "There's no need for gratitude," The (former?) Eiyu Toroshu said softly, activating her own Kanohi in kind. She had seen her sister's discipline often enough over the months that it was nothing to duplicate it again. Her own unseen hands gathered materials to supplement Saritsu's own while she turned her gaze back to the Datsue. Whatever the difference between their castes, Datsue and Menti, she understood that the difference in their ages was not so clear. The Old Wyrm had grown old before his time it seemed to her, and he was not so resigned to it as she might think. "Whatever our differences, Jahagir, I couldn't ignore children in need of assistance. Tajaar or my own clan. I..." Nihonei shrugged. It didn't matter. The scholar was out of words and the dragons had never had much use for them anyway. Her own clan was gone or sheltered inside the capital if they had made it at all. Or if the capital still stood. But those were thoughts for another time. Her mind, she had found, was her best friend and her worst enemy; the same foresight, the same wisdom, that had allowed her to excel as a Toroshu of the Eiyu was a curse now. It allowed her too much capacity for thought. Too long to ruminate on the end of the days and what had become of her people and might yet become of her and hers. She forced them out of her mind now, focused on the task at hand. She gave the smile that Lii would have rejected to the children in her care, crouching to better approach their level. Saritsu's mask would be better served for the proper setting of bones. But Nihonei, hers could be used to take the pain while she worked. So she did. She smiled and she used her illusions to take their pain while Saritsu worked. "Young Lii?"

IC: "Twenty," The Toa of Plant-Life said absently, unfazed by how nearly she had come to being skewered save for a few feet of absentmindedly placed teetotaler. This guy had been more sadistic and more paranoid than she ever would have guessed— but she had served under Madrihk in his prime, and the man couldn't be beat for paranoid. The ILF gave her a simple philosophy. Plan for exactly the worst thing that could happen for every moment and you won't be surprised often. It was good to see some things held true. Assume everything here was boobytrapped and plan accordingly. "LT, I've got a question. Any idea why that slab was being supported by little conifers? Our bad guy was a Toa of Iron, right?" She didn't explicitly draw attention to the issue; he'd catch on and if he didn't she could explain. But it was standing out in her mind how strange it was that the boobytrap hadn't been triggered, but the entrance was held up by purposefully grown plants. It was possible those stains back there had been from when their informant got skewered but that'd raise its own questions. Skri's self preservation instinct was tingling. Details weren't adding up. The staff on her back slid easily out of its loop and she allowed its length to slip through her fingers until her grip tightened halfway down. It was time to take some precautions. "Rall! You and the newbies, inside now. Form up, watch the door. Anything tries to come through it's gonna be the best choke point your stubby little arms can ask for." The same type of glowing vine she had planted at the entrance grew again on the floor at her feet, continuing until it reached a respectable body's length. Then she kicked it aside towards the other members of the group. "Anybody who doesn't have a light, cut a foot off that. Better than nothing." Now, though, the important bit. Unseen in the dim light the flowers on the plants still wrapped around her shoulders released their pollen; the densest, heaviest load of the allergen came from the same variety she had intentionally grown and in the daylight it would almost have resembled a hazy cloud. Here in the Darkwalk it wasn't even noticeable to the naked eye. But it wasn't her eyes that could detect it and she directed the cloud down into the opening below the slab. It would hit, and stick, to anything in there that her eyes might not necessarily detect. Things like assassins, waiting for their victims, or murderous insects waiting for the same. ________________________________________________ Skorm's instincts were good but ultimately unnecessary. The lightstone hit the ground, the sound suddenly sharp in the blanketing silence, rocked slightly in place and became still. The light revealed nothing bit the sides of the tunnel unnaturally smooth and rounded. It clearly wasn't a natural formation, but equally clearly it was not the wide, army-permitting breadth of the Darkwalk proper. Nor did the light reveal any sign of who— or what— had abducted him. Only the darkness that swallowed the light and beckoned ever deeper if the Toa Kalta wished to see the sun again. But that too, it whispered comfortingly, was a choice. He could just as easily remain in darkness. @Keeper of Kraata @Visaru

IC: "Course I can." Skri answered, walking over to the slab in question. She'd already absorbed the remnants of the plants by the entrance, enough to restore just a little energy, and now she considered the ones before her. There was no doubt that they had been grown to support this piece of stone, which was a little concerning seeing as the man whose hideout this had been was not a Toa of Plant-Life. "But I think I'd better play it safe. These things didn't get here naturally. So, shortstuff..." She took Plagia by the shoulders, and guided the Toa in front of her. And then she dropped down to a knee so she was fully behind her silhouette. "If something goes 'click', or anything like that, have that Hau between us and it." What she proposed to do was less direct, but much safer, than simply grabbing it and hoisting. Which she would have rather done because her element was in short supply here. But if wishes were fishes... Slowly, deliberately, she worked with what someone before her had put in place; she steadily absorbed the plant material on one side of the slab and used the energy to make the other side grow so that it rose above the ground while the other descended.

IC: Was that a 'Taka- dragon? In Ga-Koro? What the- "Sato? Did you have some other questions? Places you wanted to see?" @Pteronura Brasiliensis

IC: "Wouldn't that have just done it?" The Onu-Matoran laughed, humor burning through his simmering resentment. "Makuta, brought low again by five Matoran and a Dashi. I'm not sure the best historians on Mata Nui would've known what to do with that."

IC: Dehkaz led them towards the exit and Krayn nodded his head at the departing former Mark Bearers in farewell. He thought about commenting himself, but they would all be meeting back up before too long. Returning to Po-Koro was taking up his attention anyway. It felt like a lifetime since he had last spent any time in the village. It wasn't unpleasant to be back in the village that had become a second home to him but it was a different experience. A lot had changed in so little time. Not least of all, apparently, the village itself. The heat that slammed into his face was expected, but not the smell of flowers. The air wasn't any cooler but it wasn't nearly as dry as he remembered and as his eyes adjusted to the sunlight he understood why. Plants were everywhere and the soft sound of running water reached his ears. He blinked in surprise, surveying his surroundings, and chuckled softly in amazement. Whatever he thought of Hewkii, whatever he might yet think of Renaka, he had to admire the effort and skill that went into turning the dry, barren Village of Stone into a verdant oasis. Dehkaz gave him a briefly questioning look but he shook his head, lightly waving away the question implied in his gaze. He spent the trip with his head on a swivel to take in the changed Koro around him and, where he could, understand how it had been done as well. Dehkaz wasn't wrong about their trip, though; it took them scarcely a few minutes to reach the door to their destination. Something about the amusement in the Fowadi's captain's face made him vaguely uneasy, enough to make sure to focus on reducing the sound reaching his ears even more, but he pushed the door open and stepped inside while holding it open for his friends. "Good afternoon?" @Geardirector@Perp

IC: Their approach to the platform woke Krayn up long before the whistle. Not that it had been a particularly restful sleep to begin with. Catching some rest where he could and when he could was long habit from a career of stakeouts and extended journeys. To close his eyes and sleep, enough to rest but lightly enough to wake on a second's notice, was a skill like any other he had attained in his time as one of Le-Koro's officers. It gave him a perspective a little different from that of some of his peers; may of them seemed to be soldiers first, police second, and investigators never. The Gukko Force was Le-Koro's defender just like any other Koro but Krayn himself was an investigator. He turned facts over in his mind, put pieces together to see what fit and what didn't. It was a different point of view than he suspected Skyra held. She may have had all the subtlety of a hammer— and she definitely did— but it was an attitude tailored to the job she held. Or, he amended, had held. It wasn't lost on him that he didn't see any rank insignia on her right now. From within that light, dreamless sleep his mind had continued to work. Assembling pieces that Dorian had provided and fitting them into the things that he had already known about the island. Reevaluating things that he had believed in light of them. And above all else the threat of Makuta's return and what needed to happen in light of it. He wasn't any happier but he was calmer. More focused. For the last few minutes before they pulled up to the platform he kept his eyes closed, flipping a widget slowly and deliberately between his fingers. They only opened when it came time to disembark, quietly and thoughtfully. Who would've thought Dorian liked to sing.

IC: It was an odd little plant to find in Ko-Wahi. Almost any plant in Ko-Wahi was unusual, beyond the occasional evergreen. But especially this. A Ga-Wahi mangrove, grown and trimmed in a bonsai style and placed at the edge of the tunnel. Skri bent and picked the plant up and tucked it into her pocket, scuffing the floor and dropping a seed in its place. She would be able to find the marker again, especially as it grew steadily into a small, glowing vine. The itch between her shoulder-blades only grew. "Where from here, LT?"

IC: Krayn stayed silent but the pursing of his lips spoke volumes about what he thought. He couldn't fault the logic, not on any reasonable level. But something about it didn't sit well. Disrespectful. That's what it felt like. Disrespectful to reuse the name. Disrespectful to reform the task force without its original leadership. Without most of its original membership, for that matter. And especially disrespectful to recruit new members so... Easily. It was disrespectful to everything they went through before. He doubted he would ever call them by name. Rather than voice any of his thoughts, not that it was easy to miss the growing frown, he closed his eyes. It had been a long journey, he might as well catch a little shut-eye on the train.

IC: On his mind? A lot of things were on his mind, too many to recount. And too many of them made him angry. Tarnok wasn't always the most talkative Matoran. He knew that. Just like he knew that underneath his dedication to duty, his guilt when his best efforts failed, was anger. Anger drove him to join the Ussalry. Anger pushed him to be better, and better. Anger kept him in the fight, alive and on his feet, long after anyone would have called reasonable. It was simply a part of him. Time mellowed the feeling, sublimated it into duty and dedication. Action calmed him. His training gave him the ability, and the support, to do something about the world and that had helped him more than anything else. Their journey home had been the worst thing for him. Months at sea, with little to do but think. Consider how through his best efforts he had unleashed a threat that was too big for him to stop. It was worse this time. Before Makuta's fall the danger had been life the way he always lived it. Even when he had been a miner he had known that the world was dangerous and he had known why. Despite the trouble in his own life the past couple of years had been a kind of peace he had never even imagined before. And he helped end it. "I'm frustrated." He said finally, instead of the full tirade he had been building up in his mind. "We screwed up. I don't know how. I don't know how we could have been tricked, and I don't know how Makuta is still alive. He was supposed to be gone. But he's back, and it's our fault. And I can't fix it. If the Maru didn't fix it like we thought, what can you or I do?" He paused for a beat. "Well, you might have more you can do than me. But even so."

Any of us could handle it for you.

IC: "Angry metal bugs..." Sinshi began, the ramifications occurring quickly and without much warning. She hadn't seen one, but she knew from local descriptions what Sato was describing. Those were Rahkshi, and if there were Rahkshi on the Archipelago then the storm that she and the Commodore witnessed— —Despite her grave line of thinking the Menti's eyes fixed Sato with a warning as piercing as any Soulsword when she began to tell her story.

IC: "There are no Aggressors." Krayn said, a little suddenly for the relative non-sequitur. Something that had been tickling at the back of his mind since he stepped on board the Fowadi again finally seemed out of place, too far out of place for it to be coincidental. For Dorian to call him an Aggressor made sense; he had known most of them while they had operated under that moniker, or at least close enough to those circumstances. But something about Dehkaz's tense, and Skyra's continued use of it, sounded very wrong. He tilted his head and turned it to look at Dehkaz directly. "The Aggressors disbanded. Years ago. Tillian retired. And Naona stayed in Ko-Wahi. Extended leave. There's no Aggressors task group." "Unless I missed something?"

IC: Tarnok had thought, or maybe he had hoped, that coming home would be a relief. Instead it just weighed more heavily upon him. This was the home he had always strived to protect. The one he had been injured, many times, protecting. That Leli had almost died protecting even when it wasn't her home to protect. That part had bothered him for a long time. Oh, the Rahkshi had attacked all of the Koros. She wouldn't have been safe at home in Le-Koro any more than she had been in Onu-Koro, but he never stopped wondering if maybe she would have fared better in a place she could see properly. Working with people that operated the same way she did. She had survived but not unscathed. Her brush with death had scarred her in more ways than she was willing to admit and she had only been in Onu-Koro at his request. And now they had both been a part of, perhaps even been tricked into, Makuta's return. Not only that but they would undoubtedly have to be the ones to report the matter to the Akiri. And beneath it all, beneath the question of their culpability, beneath concern over a return to darker times, there were questions about the Maru. About how this could possibly have happened. His eyes worked better in the dark than Leli's did, and he saw her watching him walk. He tilted his head questioningly, managing a little smile. "Widget for your thoughts?"

IC: "It's rude not to introduce yourself." The dark Toa said simply, pausing in his stride down the tunnel. His audience with his Lord weighed on his mind, a relief and a burden both. He had his instructions, he had— for the moment— Makuta's implicit approval. But that could change, and his first responsibility would be to find the Piraka Zaktann. He did not expect the Skakdi to enjoy the experience. Long instinct detected the eyes upon him, however; nothing that could be pinpointed, nothing that could even be confirmed very easily. He had not survived— thrived— so long by ignoring those instincts. "State your business. If you please." OOC: Sorry, I missed this post. Ty brought it to my attention.

IC: The darkness yawned before the Toa Kalta of Gravity and it swallowed his lightstone whole. It tumbled end over end over end and with every rotation its light dimmed, obscured by darkness as thick and as tangible as fog. His vantage point on the ceiling let him see the pools of light above— or rather below— but afforded him little further insight into their surroundings than anyone else. Still he moved ahead cautiously and attentively in time with the others with his lightstone a set distance away. Without the same lights as the others it would be foolish to allow his entirely out of sight. The feeling of warm comfort, the safety of being wrapped inside a soft blanket, didn’t abate; if anything its traitorous welcome grew with every passing moment that he was divided from the group, with every step that took him deeper into the black above and beyond his comrades’ easy view. Perhaps it was in his own mind, a dark corner that still remembered the freedom of his infection and longed for it anew. That thought, that insidious voice, could itself have been an interference; a trick from a force malevolent in its purpose to ensnare him or to lull him into false security. Maybe that was paranoia talking, the natural result of fighting the feeling that the darkness seemed to instill within him. Fighting to remain alert and aware. Ultimately it didn’t matter; only clairvoyance would have been enough. Skorm had a moment to realize that a claw had wrapped around his foot from the very ceiling upon which he stood, a moment in which he might call out but far too little time to act if even he understood what had happened. With incredible strength, and a grip like a vise, he was himself ripped through solid stone soundlessly and without hope of escape. Below where he had stood the group, and Zueya, continued on with the reassuring sound of footsteps above and the light continuing its steady pace.Not a single unusual sound reached their ears. *** With his gravity inverted and the rough, inconsistent path that he was dragged through it was impossible for the Kalta to know which way was truly up or down. His erratic, shaken journey without regard for matter or direction defied even an accurate estimate of how far he had traveled. But within a few moments he slammed into solid ground, dropped from a scant few feet above the rocky surface. There was no sign of his abductor; not sight nor sound, and Skorm could be forgiven if for a moment he believed he had gone blind. But no; his eyes worked there simply was no more light. His lightstone had not traveled with him, and within the shadows there was not the faintest glimmer of illumination. There was no sound but his own breathing, and perhaps the heavy thump of his heart as shock forced a little adrenaline into his system. The darkness had indeed welcomed him; now only would it let him go? OOC: @Keeper of Kraata + Darkwalk Crew Your characters don’t know anything has begun just yet, one obvious exception aside, but you as players now do. Some of you weren’t here for the heady days of Arc 1 and those of you that were may need a refresher. Kaithas is running this little quest, with my authority, cooperation, and assistance. When a fight (if, allegedly, one were to begin) commences you are allowed one post per round of posts from your opponents, namely Kaithas and myself. Since we have a tagging system now please remember, just to make things easier, to at least tag Kaithas or myself depending on which one of us is relevant. Here’s the bit that some of you may not be familiar with. A staff-run, or staff-sanctioned as this case is both, Rahkshi fight carries real risks to your PC. Unlike some of you might remember we’re not looking to be particularly bloodthirsty. But for as long as you are engaged with an opponent there is a real possibility of serious injury, or death, for your PC. That does imply, and I am making explicit, that if you disengage from one we won’t seek to punish you for it. Additionally NPC enemies under Kaithas’ control or mine are afforded the same protections as PCs, and the rules against autohitting are somewhat relaxed where they are concerned to allow for smoother flow. If you have a significant grievance you may of course take it up with Kaithas or myself and we will look at it reasonably. Have fun, and good luck!

IC: "T'ull a'jaar, Jahagir," The voice came again, but this time from only one direction. "My sister need not inform me anymore than she already has." Nihonei stepped, not without some hesitation, out from behind her veil and from behind the tree. Where the Datsue could see she slipped the few unsheathed inches of her blade back into its sheath and took her hand off of the hilt. Her manner had not been at its most diplomatic. She knew that and she knew it was the strain of her experiences these past few months that frayed her patience so. Perhaps it was the same for this 'Lii', or perhaps she was always thus. But in any case she knew that her guard would not drop around the Tajaar; not for some time. For the Datsue, the Old Wyrm, she had offered the sincerest evidence of her peaceful intentions she could. "I am an Eiyu, Jahagir." It was only a ghost of a smile that crossed her face, the merest shadow of the warm expression she usually wore, but it was there. "Knowledge I have. Of you and yours, as well. The Chand and the Long have been occasional guests of my clan for a long time."

IC: "Nnno, not of the usual. Hush, Gohkar." The two remarks came languidly, moments after the chemist's gaze met her own. Blue eyes beneath the hood regarded her calmly, easily, and a trace of uncommon lucidity crept into those orbs. It was hard to see her face in the shadow of her garment but her tone sounded amused. As though if she could there might have been a smile underneath. But their eye contact passed and Vana raised her hands, showcasing the broken links at her wrists. The Lesterin seemed to consider that explanation enough before she started searching, with exquisite care, through Deuandra's supplies. Nothing displaced, she knew how that would irritate, but with purpose and intent. After a few scant moments she stopped, withdrawing a few dried white flowers from the container and popping them in her mouth to chew. Flavorful, certainly, but more importantly a relief for the strain in her back from her hands so long bound. "But thank you for asking." OOC: @Haman Karn: A Magical Girl

IC: There was an awful lot to process wrapped up in all of that, and Krayn was silent quite a while he worked through it. Skyra picked up the slack fine, though. It gave him a few minutes. Dorian's opinion on the Sentinels, on whether or not he should be part of them, was well taken. With his own bias accounted for, certainly. But that was blown all the way out of the water by the announcement that Xa-Koro hadn't been a disaster; it had been an attack. The flood of mercenaries from Xa-Koro into Le-Wahi that he had fought. The sudden swelling of the Sanctum Guard out of nowhere, Ambage's ascendance, the Akiri takeover in the first place... A lot of disconnected pieces suddenly clicked into place, and he wasn't a fan of the picture he saw. "Thanks, Dor."

IC: "Everything I've seen on it is." The Menti explained, thinking back on her time on the island. She gestured politely for Sato to follow and started to walk leisurely down the village 'street', thinking on how to best describe the island. And how best to ask about home. "I've mostly been here in Ga-Koro. The Commodore and I traveled up to a place called Kini Nui— near the center of the island— and had to cross a bit of a place called Le-Wahi to do it. That mostly involved jungle. A few people, I believe, went up to Ko-Wahi; that's towards the volcano, and covered in snow. There's also a large desert, an underground village where Whitehot is from, and a village literally inside a volcano. I haven't seen any of that personally. There were a series of islets at one point, but White has explained that they sank. Other than that there are only a few extremely small islands a bit off the coast." "What happened at home?"