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  1. I wrote my first story! Crotesius had to get back to the village. He had to! If he didn’t his best friend might not live to see sunrise. He picked Keeru up and helped him walk back to the Cendox. Keeru moaned in pain with every step. “I’m so sorry” Crotesius whispered, out of breath from carrying the other Agori. They had been exploring ruins that Keeru had found the day before, when Keeru hit a trap set by whoever had lived there. The old Thornax fruit had rotted, so there was little damage, but the explosion dislodged some stones causing Keerus legs to be trapped. His only chance for survival was having his friend amputate one of his legs, or he would end up as food for the Zesk. Now they had little time to get back to the village before Keeru bled out. Crotesius started the Cendox, its engines almost loud enough to drown out Keeru’s moans of pain. Almost. Through tears, Crotesius rode through the vast Bara Magna desert, his friend strapped to the back of his craft. Keeru , despite all of his pain saw the Skrall before Crotesius. “skrall” he whispered, his voice shaky with pain and fear. He whispered it a second time before Crotesius heard him, and finally saw the skrall. Crotesius hoped the skrall wouldn’t notice them, and they could drive in peace. The skrall, had other ideas, and started stalking them, hiding in the dunes. Finally, it confronted the pair, bursting out of the sand, brandishing its new toy. “CORDAK” Crotesius screamed in terror. The skrall took aim and Crotesius tried to hit him with his own launcher. The Thornax went astray, but the skralls shot didn’t. Crotesius and Keerus world was suddenly light and thunder, then infinite darkness….. So what do you guys think?
  2. Hello everyone. I would like to present my first attempt at a Bionicle comedy here on BZP entited 'Adventures of the Bara Magna Sets!' Its kind of enspired by the 'The Bionicles try to run a house' series that was very popular back in heyday of BZP. The difference for my comedy, though, is that I will mostly be using 2009 Bionicle characters. Don't ask me why. When I came up with the idea for this comedy, all I could picture was 09 characters. I should also point out that I usually prefer to write dark, serious stories, but I've decided to try writing this to challenge myself as a writer. I don't know how far I'll get, but I think I have some fun ideas for some stories that people will like. And I've rambled on long enough. Here is my first chapter. Enjoy! Chapter One: The Beginning....with Muffins Once, there was a house in a random neighborhood. It was a regular two-story house, with a living room, bedroom, closets, and anything else a typical house would have. But there was one major difference between the residents of this house and the other people living in the area: This house was run by Bara Magna Bionicle sets. These are the random and insane stories that happened with these characters in that house. ***** 'Tarix and Gelu are relaxing on the couch in the living room, watching a cooking show on TV' Tarix: I love watching these shows! Gelu: That great, buddy. But do we have to only watch the ones that involve cooking muffins? Tarix: Of course. All other cooking shows are lame compared to the ones that show me how to make delicious muffins! Gelu: .....Okay, that's an...odd....opinion. Tarix: It's a fact, Gelu. Gelu: Says who? Tarix: SAYS ME! Gelu:....sure. Tarix: 'Sighs' Great, all this talk of muffins is making me crave them even more than usual. Gelu: Really? You ate like six of them two hours ago! How on Bara Magna can you eat that many when you have the stomach of a 7 inch tall set?! Tarix: You can never be full when it comes to muffins. Gelu: Yeah, well, I say that you need to pace yourself. You eat muffins like they are going extinct. In fact, we have muffins in the kitchen right now that you could have anytime. There isn't any rush, man. 'Gresh, Tarduk, and Vastus run into the room' Tarduk: Guys, listen up! Malum and his Vorox are trying to steal the rest of the muffins from the fridge! Gelu:....Of course they are. Gresh: Wait, what are they doing in the fridge? Vastus: 'Shrugs' Ask muffin-nut over there. Maybe he knows. Tarix: MY MUFFINS! No, not my muffins! Gelu: Your Muffins? They are for all of us, mate. Tarix: Oh yeah, our muffins. Vastus: We need your help to stop them before they steal them! Tarix: Then lets go! 'He and Gelu jump off the couch to the floor and the five take off to the kitchen' Gresh: Wait! Tarix: No one waits for muffins! Tarduk: Particularly Malum at the moment. Tarix: 'smacks Tarduk in the head with his staff' Tarduk: Gresh: No, wait. Does anyone else think that we could possibly be running into a trap? 'Two Vorox suddenly appear in front of them' Vastus: Wow, they just popped out of thin air! 'Would you rather me say that they emerged from the carpeted ground beneath you?' Vastus: Well, that might be difficult for them to do, but it would make more sense. 'I'm going to stick with what I originally said.' Vastus: But Vorox can't just appear out of thin air! 'You want me to be make you look like Metus?' Vastus: WHAT?! No! 'Then be quiet, you moron.' Vastus: Fine. Gelu: Good call. No one deserves to look like Metus. Metus: from the other side of the house "Hey!" Tarduk: Hey geniuses, we still have these Vorox to deal with! First Vorox: RRROOOAAARRR!!! Second Vorox: Squeak 'Everyone stars at the second Vorox in bewilderment' Second Vorox: squeak, squeak, chirp. First Vorox: 'Facepalm' Gresh: Well, that's not very threatening. Tarix: OUT OF MY WAY! I MUST SAVE MY, I mean our, MUFFINS! 'he rushes forward, picks up the first Vorox, and throws it across the room and into a two foot brick wall that no one noticed was there before' Second Vorox: Tarix: MMMMUUUUFFFFIIIIINNN PPPPOOOWWWEEEERRRRR! Gelu:....And he's lost it. Second Vorox: runs away screaming 'SSSSSSQQQQQUUUUEEEEAAAKKKKKKK!!!' Gresh: Yep, not that threatening. Tarix: We have no time to lose, guys! To the Kitchen! 'he then proceeds to throw everyone on his back and run full speed into the kitchen' To be continued. Comments and Criticism appreciated!
  3. "After the Shattering destroyed Spherus Magna, the Bone Hunters were not included in the social system organized on Bara Magna. In order to obtain what they needed, they became thieves, stealing food, weapons, and whatever else they could get their hands on. They raided trade caravans and on occasion, villages, rarely leaving anyone alive to tell the tale. (...) They are known to hunt down Agori, Glatorian, and Vorox for sport, and would occasionally capture them to sell to the Skrall." Entry pic (Gallery link in pic) This is my take on the Bone Hunters. I wanted to go for the "hardened wasteland survivor" look, to match with Bara Magna's harsh desert environment. So, I gave him a Vorox skull for shoulder armor (A trophy from his last hunt - and a warning to anyone who comes near), Vezon's cape (To cover his face in case he's caught in a sandstorm), and a spear sculpted from bones (They are Bone Hunters, after all). I also used tan connector pieces as well, since blue broke the color scheme too much (And tan goes better with the desert theme). Finally, I made him roughly twice as tall as the original Bone Hunter set, since I didn't feel like something that small would realistically be intimidating to Agori or Glatorian. Overall, I'm pretty satisfied with how he turned out (Especially that Vorox skull armor).
  4. Odyssey: Among the Lowlifes of Treason …Wander the Wastes of Sand… Prologue – “Wrong Turn” “That’s how decent guys ended up doing evil things – small steps at first, then bigger ones until they’d covered the full shameful distance.” – Halo: Glasslands by Karen Traviss Scritch. Scratch. Hm… the Glatorian thought to himself. A sand rat must have gotten into the cell next door. Wonderful. Now I get to listen to it scuffle around for the next few hours or so. Scritch. Scratch. For the umpteenth time, his mind returned to the events that had transpired two days ago. How had it all gone wrong so quickly? He’d always been good at manipulating the shady individuals he dealt with, so when was it that he'd messed up and made a wrong turn on this road to profit he'd been taking? Truth be told, it occurred to him, this was always coming to me. I was just too ridiculously good at this dangerous game to get what I should have gotten… until now. Scritch. Scratch. The sun had been beating down on him as he repaired a vehicle. Cendox class, relatively well-armed for its small size. He looked up from his work to witness three warriors stalking in his direction, presumably his clients returning to see what progress he had made. Wait, no. Not his clients. Undercutters. Spikit dung. “Hey dustbag! Yeah, y’over there, Skid. What’ch’up to Skid?” He didn’t even get a chance to respond before another one of the three cut in. “I don’t know, Clunk. Looks like Syndicate graffiti on that grindbike’s frontside. I don’t like what I’m seeing. Skid should know it’s a tad bit unhealthy to aid the Syndicate.” He’d shrunk back, giving a panicked look that darted among the three as he anticipated a blow. “Naw, tha’couldn’t be,” the first sarcastically intoned. “Skid’s not Vorox dumb. He’s just pretty dumb. Jus’is buddy tha’s’a Vorox. Skid wouldn’t try crossing an Undercutter. I mean, really. Hey Skid! Y’aren’t happening to be repairing a Syndicate vehicle, are ya?” He’d shaken his head emphatically. “Goooood…” Clunk had venomously whispered. “Of course, if you happened to see a Syndicate grindbike, you might want to plant one of these rather close to its engine.” Clunk had lobbed something at him. Upon closer inspection, he’d noticed it was an explosive. “If you ever pass up a good opportunity, Skid, it might turn out to be… unhealthy for you. We clear?” He’d looked up at the cloudless firmament. “Clear?” he’d hoarsely replied. “We’re clear as the sky on a day like this.” “Nice to know.” So the third Undercutter warrior did have a voice after all. “See you ‘long the wayside, Skid.” Skid had just turned around in order to start his repairs again when he felt a sharp jolt of pain. He’d just been broadsided by one of the three boorish maniacs. He’d heard them cackling as they walked off, but he had barely noticed above the pain. Scritch. Scratch. Yeah… that poor client. Never noticed the bomb until he was reduced to dust, as if there isn’t enough dust on Bara Magna. He had placed the bomb in a makeshift cradle he’d welded into place, right under the engine. He wired one of the weapons to light the fuse rather than fire the launcher when the trigger was pulled. He’d hoped that would make it look like a weapons malfunction. It hadn’t. Scritch. Scratch. Unfortunately, the Undercutters that had bullied him into service had been anything but subtle. The sabotage was obvious. No sooner had the client taken it on a test run and blown himself to pieces than his comrades had shown up to incarcerate the saboteur. That put him at the mercy of the people he feared the most: the Syndicate. The largest illegal mercenary group in the area. They operated in defiance of the Tribal regulations to keep peace and settle disputes with arena battles. When you needed something dealt with by force that was prohibited in legal venues, you drew a contract under the table with the Syndicate. The only things the Syndicate generally kept clear of were Undercutters. The Undercutters were just a pain to deal with. He’d gotten a lot of business with them by installing secret compartments in their vehicles. The Undercutters were so called because they obtained rare goods and smuggled them away to black market dealers. Someone beat you to a rare artifact found by a Jungle Tribe explorer and bought it before you even knew it existed? Break a deal with the Undercutters. No problem. It’ll cost a high rate, but they’ll obtain the artifact by whatever means necessary and deliver it back. That’s why they needed secret compartments and hidden stashes on their vehicles. Delivery always required some careful smuggling. He’d played both of them for a profit. Repaired Syndicate vehicles after they’d banged them up in a battle somewhere out in the wastes. Outfitted Undercutter vehicles with smuggling chambers. But now it was all coming back to haunt him. You try and cater to two opposing criminal consortiums and one of them catches on sooner or later. Funny thing, it was those three Undercutters who had caught him, but they had just wanted to use their advantage to blackmail him into sabotaging their opponents. Those three had probably been severely punished by their superiors for squandering the opportunity to get their hands on a double agent in favor of planting a single bomb for their own amusement. Of course, then the Syndicate had caught on as well now and they were keener to notice the jackpot they’d earned. All they would have to do was lock him up and get him to talk. Then, they could get him to divulge all the specifications and details about Undercutter vehicles as well as information they could use to flush the Undercutters out into the open, since he’d been working with them for years without Syndicate knowledge. Scritch. Scratch. He’d almost told them – answered their questions – but he knew what would happen if he gave out. He’d been marked untrustworthy for collusion with the Undercutters. Once he was no longer of worth and had exposed all the information he had, they were going to kill him. He knew it. No matter how hard they beat him, he would have to hold out if he wanted to live. Scritch. Scratch… Scritch. Scratch… Scritch… ................................................................................ Review Topic
  5. Greg's just confirmed that Velika has agents loyal to him on Bara Magna, who have been reporting the goings-on to him over the past 100,000 years. Most intriguingly, he's confirmed -- wait for it -- One or more of these agents are characters we met in 2009 story. I'd have made a poll if I were able, but as I'm frugal with my money, I'm no Premier Member. I invite S&T to review all Bara Magna characters and consider who might have been an informant all along. Savvy? I'm keeping track of who's suspected by whom on this handy-dandy "Suspicion Chart". The rankings are based on the number of posters vouching for or against that character being an informant. I've only recorded votes that used in-story evidence; people who say "not So-and-So, I don't want them to be the informant" will not be counted. Currently, Vastus and Atakus are topping the charts, followed by Metus. The two least suspected people on the planet are Gresh and Tarduk. (First page... excellent. Let the theorizing truly begin.)
  6. My first art post on BZPower - there's a link to my deviantART page in my sig. just a series of two paintings/drawings showing the three planets and the one planet. The three planets: See it on deviantART Spherus Magna: See it on deviantART Anyway, tell me what you think of my first art post on BZP
  7. The following theory is developed off two basic assumptions: 1. No character participated in the Core War unless it was explicitly stated in some canon source. If a source says "the rock tribe" or "jungle Glatorian," that does not include Tuma or Gresh, only the rock tribe and jungle Glatorian of that time. 2. Any identical names that existed in the Core War era can be claimed to be ancestors of the current characters bearing those names unless the current characters bearing those names explicitly state "I remember this." ---- At some point during the development of Mata Nui, the Great Beings developed a substance/method/device, hereafter referred to as Immortalis. This substance/method/device would induce genetic immortality into an individual, though it would not protect against disease or slaughter, but only old age. After the shattering, they offered to use Immortalis on the Glatorian and Agori of Bara Magna ((being unable to use it on Bota Magna for whatever reason)). The majority of the tribes accepted the offer, with two exceptions: the sand tribe, who did not want further experiments to be run on them, and the rock tribe, who claimed they would endure the desert. While the other tribes stopped reproducing after a few generations, due to lack of resources to support a growing immortal population, the rock tribe and the sand tribe continued to breed as per natural. However, upon witnessing the sand tribe descend into feral instincts, the rock tribe glatorian and agori agreed to maintain a caste system to keep themselves from falling to such madness. The splitting of family lines, as well as limiting breeding to "successful" individuals, gradually transformed the rock tribe Glatorian into the Skrall and, further, into the three genetically divergent branches of the skrall. The agori were limited to service works, although some would later split off in protest of their treatment and develop into the bone hunters. Female skrall were, initially, part of this caste system as well. However, over the generations they would be relegated to serving only as breeders, something that they disagreed with extremely. At some point a few of them would be approached by Anonna disguised as Angonce, who would induce psychic powers on a genetic level; the psychich skrall would attempt to use their ability to wrest control of the rock tribe from the males, only to cause reactionary witch hunts that ironically enough led to the deaths of all nonpsychic females. From that point onward, the female skrall kept to themselves, only returning when their numbers were low or to drop off a male skrall and always operating under a cloak of projected control. Thoughts?
  8. Behold: Tuma. "He had never been one for deep thoughts, doubts, or reflection. His class within Skrall society – those intended by nature to be leaders and the fiercest of warriors – did not place great value on looking inward or backward. Life was simple: move ahead, conquer, secure what you have taken, and then move on." My interpretation of Bara Magnans is somewhat looser, as they're mostly organic, and they've been mentioned as wearing cloth along with their armor to serve as insulation and protect them from the heat of the metal itself in the sun. The end result looks like Ali-Baba getting teleported into Mad Max and then deciding to dress like a samurai for no apparent reason. I also turned the four blades on his back into two banners, kind of like dual-sashimono, even though only soldiers typically wore those, not commanders, to my knowledge. They'd look kind of silly on a regular skrall anyway. Maybe they look silly on Tuma, too. I don't know. Last art post for a little while.
  9. Over time, languages usually change. For example, in English, "thou" changed to "you", "nought" and "sought" fell out of use, and "shall" is mostly used in formal contexts these days, largely replaced by "will". After 100,000 years of language isolation, shouldn't Bara and Bota Magna inhabitants have some marked language differences? Perhaps not enough to inhibit communication entirely, but enough that the characters would notice it? Why didn't Gelu notice this in his conversation with Kabrua?
  10. This is a project I've had in mind for some time, and I decided to write the first chapter of it as a short story, see if there's interest in my writing any more. I was heavily inspired by Spartacus (the Starz TV series), and used gladiator stuff heavily, such as the gladiators being slaves (instead of free, like Glatorians). Pandemonium and Sanctuary shouldn't be too hard to figure out. I just couldn't use one of the real words, and didn't want to use the other, because of possible religious sensitivity. “For those seeking to enter the gates of Pandemonium, look no further for guide!” had roared the mighty gladiator known as Certavus to the crowds of Agori in the stands, staring down into the sand filled arena. Raanu looked down at him with a sneer affixed to his face. He rose violently from his seat and shouted down at the gladiator, “So be it then; guide any foolish enough to rebel into the depths of the flames! Your bones will be ground underfoot as your rebellion dies with you! But make mistake not, Certavus. You will be the last to be welcomed by the embrace of death. You will suffer removal of body part for each and every slave who rallies under banner of rebellion!” A young gladiator looked out from behind the gate he and his fellows were stuck behind, barring them from entering the arena while contest was in progress. Certavus had shown his opponent mercy, and only now was the crimson clad warrior slowly rising to his feet behind Certavus. Perditus was rising. The sandy haired youth of a gladiator, fitted into emerald armor nearly twice his size, wanted to call out to Certavus. He opened his mouth, but a hand clasped him on the shoulder. He turned his head to see an older man, broader and taller, strong and muscled behind armor of blue and gold plate. The man had a strong face, piercing blue eyes, but bore a scar across his left cheek. His short brown hair bore a militaristic look to it, giving him the final piece he needed to appear powerful and respectable. Tarix simply shook his head. Gresh wanted to yell out to Certavus, but he realized that no other gladiators were yelling either. Not on this side of the arena, nor the other, where he could make out the images of a white clad gladiator and another clad in blue. Nobody was giving Certavus their support. Perdatus took grip of his warhammer with both hands. He hefted the large weapon up and twisted himself, preparing to swing. With a shout he sent the mighty weapon forward, slamming it into the back of Certavus’s white plate armor. The crowd cheered, especially the side filled with crimson clad Agori. Their warrior had risen again and taken the ice tribe champion by surprise in a move that was surely going to lead to Certavus’s defeat. However, the ice tribe made no sounds. They were not in support of their champion anymore, not after his cries for rebellion. “Good!” cried Raanu, his brown hair being pushed back out of his face by his hand, “Good! Lead him to Pandemonium, Perditus! Crush him!” Certavus stumbled forward and rolled in order to face Perditus again. The crowd was roaring, but against him. A gladiator could draw strength from the crowd, but they always knew whose side the cheers were for. Certavus had none, but that wouldn’t stop him from fighting. He’d put everything he had into this. He ran for Perditus as the other gladiator ran for him. Perditus was slower; his hammer slowed his steps, while Certavus had speed with his ribbed sword. When they met, fate decided the outcome in a moment. Perditus fell on his face into the sand, blood streaming out from under his helmet, staining the sand red. He moved no more, but Certavus had let him live. The crowd fell silent, all except for Raanu, who was scrambling. “Release them now!” he was screaming, “Release the Vorox! Let foul beasts of sport end him!” Agori were running to do Raanu’s bidding, to release the few captured Vorox into the arena. They were used for sporting matches and executions. This would serve as the latter. Certavus looked around, turning to keep a view on everything in the arena. He met Gresh’s eyes, and then broke contact, going and meeting the eyes of a gladiator on the other side, behind gate. Certavus finally stopped and yelled out to the crowd as another gate was being opened. His words burned into the mind of Gresh, watching with fear from behind the gate. “There stand no champions here!” Certavus screamed, “Only men and their fates!” And with that went Certavus’s sword, finding itself buried into one of the Agori whom had opened the Vorox gate. Certavus was on the move, running towards them. Before anyone could react, he pulled his sword from corpse and slashed the chain off of a Vorox being handled by another. The Vorox turned on the Agori, ripping him apart. “Close gate!” Raanu screamed, “Close gate or Lord of Sanctuary help me! I will send you to Keeper of Pandemonium!” Before the Agori could get the gates closed, Certavus had slipped through. He was beyond the walls of the arena in short order, and nothing Raanu could scream about could stop the gladiator. Sword tight in hand, shield tight in other. Gresh lifted the shield up to catch the sword of Vastus and pushed back. He took a step forward and swung his sword down in a chopping motion. Somehow it wasn’t Vastus’s shield that caught him, it was sword. Gresh hadn’t even realized that the older man had slipped his sword off of the shield. Vastus had his body sideways to Gresh, allowing him to twist and backhand Gresh across the face. Steel of the helmet smashed into his head, sending him stumbling. As he looked up again the shield smashed into his face, sending him onto his back, sword at throat. “You must yield,” Vastus told him. Gresh was always at unease when Vastus spoke; his voice cold and smooth, although it gave off a sense of hissing, like a snake. “And if I choose not?” Gresh questioned. He had become wiser since Certavus had attempted rebellion against the gladiator and slave system two years ago, but apparently not much. “What if I wish to die, sword in hand, than continue to fight for amusement?” Vastus’s cold eyes regarded him, and then he shook his head, “Gresh, a gladiator can only live one way. That is by following orders. We don’t have the will to choose life or death.” “We do,” Gresh told him, “And right now, I choose to die.” “Our lives belong to our village leaders,” Vastus told him, “You cannot make the choice you try; only they can.” “Put sword through my throat, and then that is false,” Gresh told Vastus. “No,” Vastus told him, “I refuse. You have a long life to live.” “A life in servitude I never wanted!” Gresh told him, “What good is a life without freedom?” “A good enough life for the rest of us,” Vastus told him, walking away from the downed Gresh. The arena of the jungle tribe was similar to the fire tribe’s arena, but with trees overhead, blocking out the sky. Nobody sat in the stands; it was just the two gladiators. “And if I’d rather die, sword in hand, honor intact? I don’t want to die on the whim of Folium!” “You are a gladiator, Gresh!” Vastus shouted, “Honor has no place in the arena!” Gresh threw himself to his feet and cast aside weapons. He threw his helmet to the ground as he moved towards Vastus, his sandy hair falling around his face, matted in sweat. “And what of Certavus? The man had honor; you always said as much!” Vastus tore his rounded, dulled helmet off and threw it to the ground. He turned to Gresh, face weathered and lined, with thin eyebrows, black eyes and a sharp nose. His black hair hung down to nearly his shoulders, with a prominent widow’s peak present, along with a few spattering’s of gray and silver from age. His voice was colder than Gresh had known it to ever before be. “The past is done; the future yet to be known. Embrace the present and strike all else from concern.” Gresh stepped after him, but Vastus’s cold eyes stopped him. Vastus turned his head and walked away, leaving Gresh standing alone in the arena. “So, you wish to follow example of traitor?” a voice echoed. Gresh span around, eyes scanning the stands, but he saw nothing. He kept turning, shouting out, “Who speaks? Show yourself!” Finally a short figure in emerald garb rose from the stands. He had tough working gloves on, the fingers tipped with claws for the sake of gripping and digging. He had a hunched appearance, and wore his sandy hair in a long braid down his back. He stepped his booted foot onto the wall of the arena and leapt down, landing away from Gresh, but slowly approaching. “Tarduk?” Gresh questioned. “Gresh, I would have words,” Tarduk told him. Gresh would have been fearful of an Agori overhearing his talk about Certavus, but he trusted Tarduk. Tarduk was an interesting man; focused on history and treasures, looking to the past instead of the present or future. “You speak of Certavus, a man branded traitor,” Tarduk told him, “I care not. I care about our promise.” Then it hit Gresh. “Oh, right,” Gresh said, extremely relieved. He reached up and pulled on a string around his neck, pulling free a leather pouch from beneath his armor. He opened it and emptied out a golden trinket into Tarduk’s awaiting hand. “Ah, at last!” he said, “You know not how long I’ve awaited this!” “I had to practice, or I’d have seen it to you sooner,” Gresh said. “Actually, no,” Tarduk told him, “Do you forget that you’re unable to walk the streets? You’d have to wait for me to arrive in the slave quarters.” The slave quarters were built into the arena. Gladiators had very little room to move; their quarters, a room for meals, a bath for cleaning oneself every few days, and the arena, for training. They could not go beyond the walls of the arena. “You know what I meant. I figured you’d be around here,” Gresh told him. Tarduk just nodded, no longer paying him much heed, just turning the thing over in his hands, “How did you acquire it?” “Berix,” Gresh said, leaving it at that. Tarduk didn’t need to hear more. “Have a good fight,” Tarduk told Gresh, hurrying off with his treasure in hand. Vastus didn’t look at Gresh much during the caravan ride to Tajun, the village of water. The older man just looked out at the desert through the small window they had, albeit barred. They were in close proximity and in armor, but Vastus still wouldn’t look at him. He’d rather strain his neck to look elsewhere. Gresh said nothing either. He just looked at his hands, shackled together. They were in chains during transport, but it could be worse. They could be walking, chains or not. A caravan ride in chains was the better alternative for all involved. By the time they reached the water village, and the two gladiators were taken to the arena to wait behind gates, Folium had met with the leader of Tajun, Egil. Gresh pushed himself against the gate and looked up to try to see them, and hear what they spoke of, but to no avail. “You cannot trust gladiators,” Raanu stated to the other two as he sat down, his crimson robes billowing out over the chair. “I find that some can be,” Folium stated, “It takes years, but you can find some” “Ha!” Raanu laughed, “Our opinions differ far too much,” he stated. “What of you, Egil?” Folium asked. Egil was the youngest of them, brown of hair, with half of it dyed blue. He had a youthful face, but hard eyes. The opposite of the other two; Folium being middle aged with fading black hair and bright green eyes, and Raanu being between their ages, brown of hair with temperament flaring in his eyes. “I find Tarix to be trustworthy,” Egil said, “I’ve trained with him before as well. He had many a chance to take my life, and he did not.” “He knew he couldn’t escape the city,” Raanu said dismissively. “Certavus escaped,” Egil stated. “Certavus was lucky, and everyone was at the arena,” Raanu said angrily. “If it makes you feel better, he’s no doubt dead,” Folium told Raanu. Raanu just grunted. Egil turned away from them and looked down at the arena, “Citizens of Tajun, guests of villages elsewhere; in the name of my predecessors, as leader of Tajun, I, Egil, present to you contest between challenger from Tesara; Gresh,” he spoke, “and our champion, Tarix!” he screamed. The crowd erupted in roars, even those not of Tajun began to scream and cheer. Tarix was considered the greatest gladiator, and his fights were always something special. Gresh’s gate opened, as did the gate opposite, holding Tarix. The two walked out; Tarix clad in his blue and gold plate armor, and Gresh in his green. The last time they had met, Gresh had been young, not strong enough for the armor. Now he filled it, and was ready. Gresh pulled his sloped helmet onto his head; it was his personal helmet, to compliment his armor, not the rounded training helmet from before. He drew his shield from his back; it was elongated, holding a leaf-like pattern to it. It was his only weapon. He looked across to Tarix, wearing a sloped back helmet with raised edges atop it. A tube was affixed near his mouth, leading into his armor. He carried twin blades; they held a shaft to them before curving into a wicked looking edge that had a wave-like curve in them. “Now, honor the arena and the Lord of Sanctuary with your blood! Begin!” roared Egil. The crowd roared as Tarix ran through the sand. His feet didn’t slide under the grains, but Gresh’s did. He had difficulties maneuvering, being taken off guard with how fast Tarix was, even in full armor. He lifted his shield before himself and ran forward to meet his foe. Tarix slammed his left weapon down, meeting Gresh’s shield. Gresh twisted his body, narrowly avoiding the swing of the other sword past his defenses. Gresh pulled his weapon back and thrust it forward, forcing Tarix to put his weapons into an X to parry. Gresh span around and went low with a leg sweep. Tarix’s footing was weakened, so Gresh followed up by ramming his shield upwards into Tarix’s chest, stumbling him back. Gresh pressed his advantage and ran forward, not knowing who the crowd was cheering for. He jumped forward and threw the shield out as a punch. Tarix sidestepped and slashed Gresh across the chest. Gresh felt the impact, but his armor wasn’t cut. He staggered around, taking two more rapid slashes from Tarix which sent him to the ground. “Tarix! Tarix! Tarix!” was being shouted by most of the watchers. Gresh turned his head, meeting Vastus’s eyes behind the gate. He rose and gripped his shield with both hands, pulling the two edges apart, creating two leaf-like swords, the blades running along his arms like tonfa. Gresh ran forward and swung his left one out, keeping it along his arm. Tarix parried. Gresh flipped the other one around to wield it like a sword. He swung down, but it was parried as well. Gresh kicked Tarix in the chest, sending him stumbling back. He ran forward, slashing twice, getting hits in on Tarix. The other gladiator went down. Gresh looked back at Vastus once, and then up at Folium. Was it over? Should he go for the end? “A gladiator’s first distraction is his last!” Tarix roared, sweeping Gresh’s legs out from beneath him. Gresh hit the sand on his stomach, his body slamming into the steel of his armor. It was a hard and painful impact, and definitely not something he wanted. Gresh swung his weapon out, but Tarix swung his leg over it and stomped on it, keeping it pinned to the sand. He kicked it away and kicked Gresh in the head. Gresh used the momentum to get onto his back and throw his other weapon, now able to see and aim. The weapon clipped Tarix’s shoulder, but did nothing. Gresh rolled, using it as a distraction, and gripped his other weapon. He took the handle in both hands and drove it for Tarix’s gut, crying out as he thrust. Tarix parried, swinging the sword down and out, making it go around his body. He punched Gresh in the helmeted face with his other fist, knocking Gresh to the ground. On impact he lost grip of the weapon, but it lay beside him. Tarix crouched, crossing his blades at Gresh’s throat. There was enough exposed flesh to make this a kill if he swiped his blades. Tarix glanced down, seeing Gresh grab his sword again with his right hand. “Loose weapon or lose head,” Tarix hissed so only they could hear. “I’d rather die fighting than continue to be a dog, than continue to fight endlessly for our leaders. At least in death I’d be free!” Gresh hissed. “We fight them by living. They seek bloodshed and slaughter; by living, we oppose what they want. It’s our small act of defiance, and the only way we can join Certavus’s will for now. Now yield!” Gresh slowly took in Tarix’s words. He remembered Tarix, two years ago. He had assumed Tarix just didn’t want to see a young gladiator die for no reason. Had he wanted to side with Certavus? Had he believed in Certavus back then? Gresh loosened his grip and let the weapon lay. He slowly lifted his hand, extending his index finger. Surrender. The crowd exploded with cheers as Tarix rose, sheathing his weapons across his back. He looked at the downed Gresh, his eyes conveying more than words could. Gresh couldn’t speak of this. Gresh couldn’t speak of Certavus, or defiance. He had to fight, he had to go on, or else he’d be executed before he could do anything. Vastus helped Gresh to his feet and brought him back to the area behind the gate. They shared a look, and said nothing as Gresh walked on and sat down, watching as Vastus walked into the arena, helm covered in twin snakes, scythe clutched firmly in hand. He was about to fight for the only glory that slaves could know; the glory of the arena.
  11. The Shadow Proves the Sunshine -x-x-x- Sunshine, won't you be my motherSunshine, come and help me singMy heart is darker than these oceansMy heart is frozen underneath The sun looked down upon the desert, and the desert huddled beneath its gaze. Its gaze was merciless, the white armored figure felt as he trudged beneath it. It was not benevolent: even the occasional sun-worshiping fool saw it as a demon, not a savior. No one in the desert would hold such an absurd notion. Year upon year and century after century it had blazed down, and Gelu had never found it a friend even in the beginning. Millennium upon millennium had blown over the Glatorian, leaving him even more quiet and somber than in his youth. But as he journeyed, his spirits felt at an all time low. It was Exsidian again; that precious metal used far and wide by Glatorian to harden their weaponry and armor, and more coveted than water it seemed sometimes. The tale was that Vulcanus claimed that Iconox had paid a guide to lead a caravan containing Exsidian for Vulcanus right into the hands of the Skrall—neither the driver, guide or guards had ever been seen again, not to mention the metal. Despite the childishness of the accusation the village leader Herzus had been unable to dissuade them, and so the matter was taken to the arena. Iconox did not have good fortune in the arena, especially with their first Glatorian down with a heavy injury to the leg: no Glatorian worth his salt would give up a fight due to an injury unless it was crippling. But with Strakk as First Glatorian, things weren’t so rigid. Gelu could never tell if he was really unable to fight or just looking for a relaxing break from the arena. I would have challenged him long ago for his place, Gelu thought fiercely. But I am not a match for him in skill, and I don’t care for his position myself. Vulcanus evidently did not share Gelu’s apathy about the coming fight—it was not the brutal yet vulnerable Malum that he would be facing but Ackar, the oldest Glatorian on the field and one of the most feared. Aside from the Skrall of course. Victory and defeat weren’t the things that bogged down Gelu’s mind though. It was the whole pointlessness of the deal that weighed down his heart. He knew Ackar very well: he had talked with him, even trained with him for the National Tournament once or twice. The Fire Glatorian was a noble being whom he would have yielded to out of sheer respect in a real fight. But the arena was not real fighting at all. In the arena all you were was the pride and arrogance of whatever village you came from. That was not living, let alone warring. We are crooked souls trying to stay up straight,Dry eyes in the pouring rainThe shadow proves the sunshineThe shadow proves the sunshine The dark rocks of Vulcanus were stark against the brilliant afternoon sky. Many said that the village was almost as disparaging as Roxtus, and Gelu had to agree that there were striking similarities, even though he normally preferred Vulcanus. But as he approached the Fire village he wondered whether he’d rather be in the dreaded city of the Skrall. This wasn’t the first time he had gotten cold feet and this wasn’t the first outrageous dispute he had taken arms to settle. But as he reined his Sand Stalker in he felt like it would be his worst. The inn where he was staying was cooler than the outdoors, but not by much, and Gelu wished he could take off at least some of his armor: but no Glatorian made themselves vulnerable outside of home. It was an old rule that annoyed Gelu at times like these, but it was a rule that must be followed. He drank deeply from a glass of water the friendly innkeeper handed him, grunting his thanks. He took a seat at an old table, resting his hands on the aged wood. Then he stared dully across at the wall that faced him, mentally and physically tired. The sound of the door opening broke him out of his reverie and he looked up to see a familiar Glatorian in red and orange armor, faded and scarred by the years. His eyebrows shot up a little in surprise. ”Greetings, Gelu,” the weathered Glatorian said warmly. Gelu rose to his feet, surveying the veteran. ”Ackar,” he said, a little surprised but calm. “I did not expect to see you outside of the arena.” The older Glatorian gave a little smile. “I thought I’d be a little better host than that,” he commented. ”What do you think of the issue?” Gelu asked after Ackar had taken a seat. ”’The Glatorian does not concern himself with issues: his duty is to his village and his role is to fight for their honor,’” Ackar quoted flatly. Gelu rolled his eyes. ”You don’t really believe that, do you?” he asked. ”It’s the Glatorian code, Gelu. Don’t you?” ”No,” Gelu answered firmly. “I can’t beat someone to a bloody pulp without knowing why.” Ackar laughed. “Nor can I, but it’s not my place to decide the morality of a claim. If we did that we wouldn’t be here. The arena decides who is right; I just try not to kill anyone in the process.” Two scared little runawaysHold fast to the break of day light, whereThe shadow proves the sunshine ”Sometimes I hate being a Glatorian,” Gelu commented after a while. Ackar shrugged. ”I can’t say many of us enjoy it,” he agreed. “But it’s a job as needed as any other.” Then he smiled. ”A little risky of you, Gelu, confiding your mental state to your opponent before a battle.” Gelu snorted. “I doubt that matters to my fighting,” he said, a little sharply. ”Your emotions don’t get in the way of your fighting? Another handy piece of information about your skills. Anything else?” Gelu observed the senior Glatorian for a moment, unable to tell if he was serious or not. He decided that he probably was and lapsed into silence. As the night drew near Ackar got to his feet. ”Tomorrow, Gelu,” he said affably as he turned to leave. The Glatorian nodded somberly, watching the armored back of the Fire warrior as he exited. Then he stared dully at the last few inches in his cup. The journey had wearied him, but hours of tossing and turning awaited him in this state and he did not relish them. At length he rose and walked slowly away to where a room awaited him. Oh Lord, why did you forsake me?Oh Lord, don't be far away awayStorm clouds gathering beside mePlease Lord, don't look the other way The heartless sun glared down once more upon the morning world. Gelu could not escape it, even indoors. He squinted at the unshuttered window through which the light poured in. It was time to get up. He heaved himself up and began strapping his armor back on. No Glatorian slept completely unarmored: the breastplate was almost required nightwear at the least. Over the thousands of years you got used to the discomfort. That out of the way he got up, stretching. His Ice Slicer leaned against one wall; a double-bladed tool with a foot-long handle connecting the two blades. At one time—perhaps thirty thousand years ago—it had been able to split into two swords, but the mechanism for that had long since ceased to exist. Next to that was his Thornax launcher with a pouch holding three Thornax fruit, the maximum number allowed. He strapped it on hurriedly. With the blade in hand and launcher at his hip he strode out of the room. Crooked souls trying to stay up straightDry eyes in the pouring rainThe shadow proves the sunshineThe shadow proves the sunshine The road to the arena was broad: the arena itself seemed small and insignificant as one approached. Gelu hated the effect and strode swiftly towards his goal. He was alone, not having allowed any Agori to accompany him. The arena was empty save for Raanu the Fire Tribe Leader. As he entered the arena the crowd broke into cheers. They probably liked him a little because of his honorable history in the arena, Gelu supposed, but their cheers were mostly simple courtesy to a Glatorian and a visitor to their village. He stopped before Raanu, waiting. A door to the left moved aside and the red and orange armored form of the village’s First Glatorian was visible. The crowd’s welcome was almost deafening. Ackar stopped next to him and they saluted, touching their weapon-tips to the other’s. Then they turned and walked away from each other as Raanu began his welcome. After about ten yards they stopped, turning ceremoniously to face the Agori. Raanu gave a brief—and remarkably unbiased—sketch of the conflict, and then backed away. When he was almost at an exit from the arena he gave the signal for the beginning of the match: it did not pay to do so while in the line of fire. Two scared little runawaysHold fast to the break of day light wereThe shadow proves the sunshineThe shadow proves the sunshine Neither Glatorian moved for a moment: it was almost tradition for the first step to be a contest in who could draw and fire their launcher the fastest. Ackar feinted a grab to where his launcher hung. As he expected Gelu moved as well, drawing his weapon with uncanny swiftness. Even as he did so the Fire Glatorian leaped to one side, landing in a neat roll that would bring him well out of the way of his opponent’s shot. He had counted without Gelu’s swiftness. Even as he had gone to fire he had seen Ackar’s dodge and waited. Timing it just as the other Glatorian ended his roll he fired. It was a well-placed shot, hitting Ackar in the side and turning his roll into an ungainly sprawl. His well-made cuirass protected him from the brunt of the hardened fruit but he was still winded. Gelu steeled his nerves, charging to take the Fire Warrion unawares. But Ackar too had his own quirks, and a loaded Thornax launcher. As Gelu came closer he gave a half flop half roll, drawing his launcher and bringing it into position. Gelu had barely any time to react, turning his charge into a desperate dive as Ackar fired. The Thornax grazed him, but he landed, scrambling to his feet at the same time as his opponent. Yeah Yeah, shine on meYeah Yeah, shine on meYeah Yeah, shine on meYeah Yeah, shine on me They faced each other for a moment, and Gelu was a little surprised by the calm in his foe’s face: at this point in the fight he was usually tense and concentrated, but Akcar seemed as relaxed as ever. Hurriedly Gelu restored his launcher to its place at his side. It was an old opportunity in any fight, and Ackar took it, bringing his sword down in an overhand cut. Gelu’s arm moved like lightning and the bottom blade deflected the sword off to the side. Then the fight began in earnest. To the onlooker there was little skill and still less sense involved. The blades flashed as they wielded them, sometimes with one hand and sometimes with two. Occasionally a strike would get past their blade: sometimes they would twist, maybe even do a backflip to avoid taking a hit. The fight was painful to Gelu, but not physically. He had lied to Ackar about his ability to overcome emotions: every time his sword got past the senior Glatorian’s guard he winced, hoping insanely that it would not connect. That was no way to win a fight. He increased his attack, raining blows from either blade upon Ackar. It was beginning to tell on the older Glatorian as the onslaught forced him back more and more. But there was more to a duel than this stage, and the audience waited for Ackar’s response. It came rather unexpectedly. The Fire Glatorian knocked an overhand cut of Gelu’s to one side and before the other Glatorian could follow up he dropped down, wrapping one arm around Gelu’s legs and heaving. The Ice Warrior gave a gasp of surprise as he was sent to the ground, rolling over to face his opponent. Ackar had not advanced, instead loading his Thornax launcher and aiming it at the fallen Glatorian. ”Yield, Gelu,” he said, out of breath but otherwise calm. Crooked souls trying to stay up straightDry eyes in the pouring rainThe shadow proves the sunshineThe shadow proves the sunshine The silence was incredibly tense: no Glatorian could be expected to yield, especially not under threat. Gelu lay there, arms tensed. A bluff would definitely not work against the elder Glatorian but what else could he do? The Thornax was aimed at his head: his helmet might save his life, but it would be the end of the match. There was exactly one tactic Gelu could possibly think of, and he used it. He threw himself to his feet and into a desperate backflip. The Thornax slammed into the rock somewhere beneath him and he landed, safe but unarmed save for his empty Thornax launcher which he hurriedly drew and loaded. Ackar moved forward to put himself between Gelu and his blade. The younger Glatorian’s eyes narrows as he analyzed the situation. Ten feet between him and Ackar, five more to his blade. Another crazy move was the last thing Gelu wanted, but there was no other choice: a Glatorian without his weapon was helpless in the arena. Even Skrall could be defeated that way. He raised his launcher, aiming it at Ackar’s chest. At this close quarters dodging would be next to impossible. Without giving the other Glatorian time to formulate a plan he fired. Even as the Thornax was released Ackar moved ducking under the shot and charging. But even as he moved to straighten up Gelu charged, placing both hands on Ackar’s shoulders and leaping, purposefully landing square on the elder Glatorian’s back, sending his cushion to the ground as he ran for his blade. Two scared little runawaysHold fast to the break of day light whereThe shadow proves the sunshineThe shadow proves the sunshine Ackar was slower in rising and Gelu was armed once more by the time the Fire Glatorian was on his feet. The initial enthusiasm of the crowd had faded: so far their favored Glatorian had been put on the defensive: Gelu’s last move hadn’t helped. They faced each other a yard apart, but neither made the first move. They had holstered their launchers: the last shot was not to be wasted. It was that point of the fight that Gelu disliked the most: the initial stage wasn’t too bad, nor was the following melee. But that moment when you faced your opponent after a round or two of dueling, both tired and with little ammo. That was the moment when he just wanted to stop the fight, have a drink and sleep. Twice that inertia had cost him a match. It would not be thrice. There were many reasons why the aging Ackar was still the First Glatorian of Vulcanus: He had faced stronger opponents many a time, but he had bested many of them with the keen sense for the fight: a tactician as much as a fighter he instinctively felt Gelu’s hesitance and pressed his attack. The shouts of the crowd redoubled as he pushed the other warrior back with a series of brilliantly executed blows. Gelu felt almost as fit as when he had entered, but still he gave ground before the vicious attack. He deflected blow after blow, countering here and there. He fought fiercely once more, and if he gave ground now it was because his style demanded it. His last Thornax was in his launcher, but he had not the time to draw it: besides, he was hesitant to use it. Yeah Yeah, shine on meYeah Yeah, shine on meYeah Yeah, shine on me The morning sun over Vulcanus was never a welcome spectator. It cut through the armor of the warriors and the crowds, and sweat emerged in a futile resistance. Ackar was beginning to tire. Used as he was to the burning sun he could not match the vigor of the younger and faster warrior. He gave ground now, beaten back and still back. The crowd waited: the old Glatorian was notorious for his outrageously unexpected moves to unbalance a superior warrior. It happened suddenly: Ackar gave a series of furious blows, driving back Gelu for the single second he needed to leap into a backflip, drawing his launcher. Gelu instinctively leaped to the left. But no Thornax flew: Ackar landed easily, firing for real now. And this time the Ice Glatorian was not so quick to dodge. The fruit struck him solidly in the chest and he fell backwards, stunned at the sudden force. Still Ackar did not advance: he had thrown down his sword in mid-flight and used his free hand to reload. This time he did not threaten, and as Gelu struggled shakily to his feet the Thornax struck him squarely in the side of his head. This time when he fell he was not so quick to rise. Ackar moved swiftly, kicking his weapon out of reach before snatching it up. Gelu looked up groggily, seeing the blurry form of his friend and foe holding his blade up for the thunderously cheering crowds. Then the Glatorian’s head slumped as he gave up the fight at last. Still the sun looked down upon the desert, and the desert huddled beneath its gaze once more. Shine on me,Let my shadows prove the sunshine -x-x-x- Not sure if anyone remembers the first version of this I wrote, way back when about Gelu fighting a Skrall. Here it is, changed and improved.
  12. (AUTHOR”S NOTE: This story is based loosely on the biblical story of David and Goliath in 1 Samuel 17, set a few years before Mata Nui’s arrival on Bara Magna. I’m not trying to preach or anything here.) It was pretty much a normal day in the small Jungle Tribe village at the edge of the Bara Magnan desert. The sun emanated its searing heat down on the village’s inhabitants. Glatoran and Agori milled around in the village streets. One could hear the jungle birds singing their mating calls. On the eastern horizon, a small army of Skrall was gathered on top of a sand dune. Okay, maybe it wasn’t exactly a “normal” day. I guess I should have started out by introducing myself. My name is Davnik, and I’m an Agori from the Jungle Tribe on Bara Magna. As is tradition in the jungle tribe, my clothes and armor are green (though by personal taste there are a few red highlights). My helmet has a pretty simple design; it’s just got a snakelike ponytail coming out the back and not much else. I’m not the strongest of Agori, nor am I all that fast. In fact, one could easily describe me as scrawny. I used to work as a Nogra herder. For those of you who don’t know, Nogra are animals that come up to about the height of an Agori’s hip. They are covered in dense, fluffy wool that we Agori harvest to make garments and other things, and, if cooked right, they can make a delicious meal. I was extremely protective of my Nogra flock. On more than one occasion, I had a Spikit or a Wasteland Wolf run off with one of the flock in its jaws. I would chase it down and put a rock through its skull with my trusty sling, then take the Nogra back to the flock. I never lost a single one of my Nogra to wild beasts. Oops, I’m starting to get off track. Let’s get back to the story. So anyway, there was a small army of Skrall about to raid our village. We had some Glatorian just outside the village ready to fight the Skrall, but they were far outnumbered. For the sake of safety, the other Agori and I stayed inside the village. After a few days of having the Skrall practically at our doorstep, I was sent to bring some food the Glatorian. As I came out of the village gate, I saw the Glatorian looking as if they had already given up. I got curious, so after I dropped off the food, I went up to a Jungle Tribe Glatorian and asked him what was going on. “The Skrall have brought a giant with them,” the Glatorian said wearily. “His name is Golrith. He’s absolutely huge! He’s got a gigantic spear the length of two Glatorian and a huge sword that could chop three of us in half with one swipe! Every day, he struts out in front of the Skrall lines and shouts, ‘You Glatorian haven’t got a chance against me! Why don’t you send out the best fighter among you, and we can fight. If you win, you can take us as slaves, but if I win, you’ll be our slaves!’ None of us are willing to fight him, we’d be mincemeat before you could say ‘Thornax!’” I was astonished to see these Glatorian looking so hopeless. I had thought of Glatorian as brave, intrepid individuals who could, and would, stand up to anything. To see them quitting without a fight like this left me, to put it lightly, flabbergasted. “Who’s in charge around here?” I demanded. “Ackar, Prime Glatorian for the Fire Tribe,” he replied. “When he heard that the Skrall were about to attack this village, he came to take charge of the defenders.” “Could you take me to him, please?” I asked him, “I’d like to speak with him.” “Sure,” he said. “By the way, my name is Gresh. What’s yours?” Gresh held out his hand. “I’m Davnik,” I replied as I shook his hand. And so Gresh led me to Ackar. The Glatorian was tracing patterns in the sand with a stick, discussing strategy with a tough-looking Glatorian from the Ice Tribe. “Um, excuse me, Ackar,” said Gresh, “This Agori wants to speak with you.” Ackar’s head turned towards me. His battle-hardened face looked me up and down. “Is there anything I can do for you?” he asked me. “There certainly is. Why don’t you Glatorian go out and fight the Skrall?” I asked. “Just because they’ve got that giant doesn’t mean you can’t beat them!” “That giant isn’t just an overgrown Skrall,” Ackar explained, “It’s one of a special breed of Skrall, just like Tuma, the Skrall leader.” “But you’re the best Glatorian in all of Bara Magna! You fought in the Core War!” I insisted, “Can’t you go out and fight him yourself?” “I’m too old to fight him,” Ackar said, “I’m not the fighter I used to be.” “Well,” I said, “if you won’t fight him, then I will.” Ackar’s eyes practically popped out of their sockets. I could hardly believe myself that I had said that. “You?” Gresh almost laughed. “You’re just an Agori, you couldn’t possibly take down a Skrall that big. How do you expect to beat him?” “I’ve killed Spikit and Wasteland Wolves that attacked my Nogra flock,” I replied. “I’ll do the same to that Skrall.” “You’re suicidal!” Ackar exclaimed. Eventually I was able to convince Ackar to let me go and fight Golrith. I think it was my confidence that won him over. However, he thought I needed some extra protection, so he lent me his armor and sword. I tried it on, but it was way too big and heavy. I thanked him, but politely declined the armor. I left the Glatorian camp and entered the jungle to get some rocks for my sling. I picked my way through the tangled shrubbery and eventually found a small stream. I reached in and, one by one, I drew five smooth stones from the rushing water. I use smooth stones for my sling because they tend to fly farther, and they cause less wear and tear on the leather of my sling. Anyway, I now had myself some ammunition for my sling, so I headed back towards my village. Just as I was emerging from the jungle into the desert, I saw the giant Golrith on top of a sand dune facing our village. My heart skipped a beat. The guy was huge! He looked like he could rip me in half with his bare hands. Backed by battle cries from the other Skrall, he began to shout taunts at the Glatorian defending my village, calling them cowards and daring them to come out and fight. I could hear the Glatoirian outside my village crying out in fear. If I told you that hearing Golrith insult the Glatorian made me mad, I’d be lying. Well, not exactly lying, I guess it would be more of an understatement. Oops, I’m rambling again, sorry about that. Anyhow, hearing Golrith insult the Glatorian made me absolutely furious. I was practically seeing red. I ran through the Glatorian’s camp and onto the battlefield. I faced the giant Golrith and I stared him right in the eye. For a few seconds, everything was dead silent. The Glatorian had stopped panicking, the Skrall had stopped screaming battle cries, Golrith had shut up, even the jungle birds seemed to have stopped singing. Then, all at once, everybody burst into laughter. “THIS is what you send out to fight me?” Golrith’s laughter boomed across the battlefield. “You have an army of Glatorian at your disposal, and you send out this pathetic Agori as your champion? I won’t even bother enslaving you; I’ll just slaughter you all!” “You ugly Skrall scumbag!” I yelled back. As you can tell, I’m really good at making up insults. Golrith seemed to hear this, because he drew a massive black sword from his back and charged at me, screaming bloody murder the whole way down the sand dune. I charged at him and drew a stone from my pack and placed it in my sling. I slowly began to swing it around my head, rotating my wrist to keep it moving. I focused on the charging giant, visualizing the trajectory the stone would take. Gradually, I started speeding up my wrist movement, and my sling spun faster, faster, until it was a brown, leathery blur whirling above my head. Golrith was getting closer now, probably fifteen strides away from cutting me to ribbons. I aimed on his forehead, which was rapidly growing bigger as he got closer. Then, I swung my arm downward, sending the stone flying from the grip of my sling. Time slowed down. The stone seemed to be floating through the air towards the charging giant, slowly rotating as it traveled through the air. Each of Golrith’s thundering strides appeared to take ten seconds each, with him briefly hovering over the ground between steps. I tensed as the distance between the stone and the giant shrank. Ten feet, seven feet, five feet now. Now I was positive that the stone would hit its mark. Three feet, two feet, one… Time suddenly sped back up as the projectile collided with the Skrall’s helmet. Pieces of the helmet went flying as the stone punched a hole right through it and struck Golrith’s forehead with a resounding KER-CRACK. Golrith dropped his sword as head jerked backward at the impact. For a second or two, he stood motionless, frozen in mid-step. He began to teeter, and then he toppled to the ground not two feet from where I stood, kicking up a huge dust cloud with an earth-shaking impact. I coughed and fanned the sandy dust away from my face. I stared at the prone form of the giant Skrall, amazed at what I had just done. Coming back to my senses, I picked up his sword and hefted it above my head. I almost fell backwards with the weight of the huge blade. Struggling to keep my balance, I held the weapon high above my head, then, with a roar, I swung the blade downwards towards the giant’s neck and chopped his head clean off. I dropped the sword and lifted the severed head into the air, yelling at the top of my lungs. The Glatorian and Skrall were silent, none of them believing what they had just seen. Then, as if noticing for the first time that I had just killed their champion, the Skrall began to panic. “CHARGE!” yelled a voice behind me. I looked to see who it was, and there was Ackar, with the rest of the Glatorian following close behind. The sound of Thornax blasters filled the air as the Glatorian opened fire on the enemy. Skrall after Skrall fell under the barrage of exploding spiky fruit. The Glatorian fell upon the fleeing Skrall and cut them down until there wasn’t a single one left alive. So there you have it. The story of how I defeated a giant Skrall. Now I’m just about the most famous Agori in the Jungle Tribe. Maybe Metus, the Glatorian recruiter, will ask me to be a Glatorian. He seems like a really nice guy. Anyway, now that I’ve defeated their all-powerful champion, I don’t think the Skrall will be attacking again anytime soon.
  13. And now, after a very long time, I hearby present the next chapter of Glatorian of Bara Magna: Curse of the Grey Crystal. The old thread can be found here: http://www.bzpower.com/forum/index.php?showtopic=313251&st=0&p=6450397&&do=findComment&comment=6450397 Chapter 14: Gresh's Ultimatum Below the deck of the Barricade, the blast of a cannon had knocked a beam across the door of Gresh's cabin. He noticed some writing on it: Made in Hong Kong. Of course, he thought. He tried with all his might to dislodge the beam, but it was no use. Water began to fill the room, and Gresh could not get the door to budge. Suddenly, he heard a noise from behind him. It was the cursed sand ray. It had grabbed the medallion from where Gresh had left it on the table, and then darted through a hole in the bulkhead. Perfect, thought Gresh. Gresh treaded water, the water coming up to his neck now. In desperation, he took a deep breath and dived below the water. Meanwhile, up on deck, the sand ray raced past Strakk, who saw that the animal had the medallion. He pursued it, running over the Barricade's fallen mast over to the Grey Crystal. He was about to snatch the medallion from the sand ray's... paw, when another hand reached down and grabbed it. Strakk looked up into the face of Barbonesa, who gave him an unpleasant grin. "Why, thank you, Strakk," said the glatorian captain. "You're welcome," Strakk replied grimly. "Not you," said Barbonesa, the sand ray now perched on his shoulder. "We named the sand ray Strakk." It seemed that all was lost. The Barricade was sinking fast, the crew was being rounded up, and the glatorian had stolen the sattelite TV equipment from the Barricade. Finally, Tarix singalled their surrender as Barbonesa raised the medallion high up into the air. "The prize is ours!" he shouted, to the cheers of his crew. Tarix, Manaria, Tarduk, Kiina, and the rest of the crew were roughly brought aboard the Grey Crystal and tied to the mast by Kirbraz and Scodonius. "Any of you so much as thinks the word 'parley' and I'll have your guts for garters!" said Kirbraz, holding his thornax launcher to them. Suddenly, a huge explosion ripped through the battered hull of the Barridcade, somehow not sending harming anyone with all the shrapnel and debris it sent flying everywhere. There, standing on the rail of the Barricade, soaking wet, was Gresh, alive and well and pointing a thornax launcher at Barbonesa's head. "She goes free!" he shouted. "How did you manage to survive that explosion and drowning besides?" yelled Barbonesa, quite puzzled. "That's not important!" shouted back Gresh. "Now let my gi- eh, Kiina, go!" "What's in your head, boy?" said Barbonesa. "You've got one shot... and we can't die. Furthermore, how do you expect to hit the broad side of a barn from that distance? In the orignal movie, it would hae been impossible with a flintlock pistol-" "You can't. Die, I mean," said Gresh, putting the thornax launcher to his chin. "But I can. My name is Gresh Tesner," he announced. "My father was Shoelace Sean Tesner. His blood runs in my veins!" Every glatorian on deck looked a Gresh in surprise, but Strakk only shook his head in dismay. "Why, it's the spitting image of old Shoelace, come back to haunt us!" said Scodonius, quivering slightly. "Name your terms, Mr. Tesner," said Barbonesa flatly. He knew that if Gresh pulled the trigger, he and his crew would be cursed forever. "Kiina goes free!" Gresh answered. "Yes, we know that one," said Barbonesa, glancing down at his phone. He was looking forward to a game of Angry Birds. "Anything else?" Unfortunately, Gresh hadn't thought that far ahead, nor had he read the script. "And Strakk," he finally said. "He goes free too. And the crew, they're not to be harmed! Agree!" he demanded as he leaned out over the water. "Agreed," said Barbonesa, pocketing his phone. "You have my word at a gentleman of fortune." "You can't trust him!" shouted Kiina, having learned from her own mistake. "You can trust this," Barbonesa said through ground teeth. "Pull that trigger and the girl will be the first to suffer- and the last to die!" Gresh slowly lowered the thornax launcher. Glatorian immediatly swarmed him, dragging him over to the deck of the Crystal. Fearing what might happen next, Strakk stepped over to Barbonesa. "What about our bargain?" he said. "What bargain?" said Barbonesa, puzzled. "I caught you, and then you escaped after a witty repartee. We never worked anything out. I've got the Crystal, and I've got the child of Shoelace Sean now. And you've got" -he glared hard at Strakk, jealous of his advantage of height- "nothing to bargain with." Barbonesa then clapped Strakk on the back and said, "But no worries, Strakk. See that island over there?" Barbonesa asked, pointing to a spit of sandwashed sand in the distance. "If memory serves, it be the same one we made you governor of on our last trip. I'll wager that by whatever miracle you escaped before, you won't be able to conjure it up again. For you or the girl!" "Barbonesa, you cool dude!" yelled Gresh from his spot on the deck, being restrained by the glatorian. "You swore she'd go free! And darn you, word filter!" "Aye, so I did," said Barbonesa, "and so they will. But you never made any specific mention of when nor where." Gresh struggled furiously against the glatorian who held him back. He'd been duped." "Men!" Barbonesa shouted to the crew. "We are going to proceed to throw historical accuracy out the window! The plank!" To be continued...
  14. I came up with the idea for this short story when I read the instructions for the Ambage contest. But when I realized that the story couldn't be about Bionicle, I decided to instead write this independant story instead of entering. Happy reading! The Settlement “We’re here!” shouted Ackar to Malum, seeing the walls of the hamlet ahead of them. After three hours of riding on Sand Stalkers, they and their companion had arrived at “the settlement.” “About time!” said Malum, who was getting very hot under the collar both literally and figuratively. “I can’t stand this little runt’s blabbering any longer!” The “little runt” in question was an ice Agori that was riding in front of Malum on the Glatorian’s sand stalker. Ackar used his hand to shield his eyes from the glare of the sun, and said to his partner, “Calm down, Malum. Just be patient for a few more minutes and we’ll be on our way.” “You should listen to Glatorian Ackar, Malum,” said the ice Agori. “He is an astute fellow, and you could learn much from him.” Malum muttered something incoherent, and then said, “I don’t need etiquette lessons from an Agori.” “I beg your pardon?” said the Agori, genuinely shocked. “I am no Agori! I am Certavus, the greatest Glatorian to walk Bara Magna.” “Certavus is dead and buried,” said Ackar flatly. “You’re an Agori, little fellow. Accept it.” “I don’t know why I’ve suddenly shrunk,” said the Agori, smiling, “but I know for sure that I am very much alive.” Malum rolled his eyes, and gave a snort of annoyance. At least we’re here, finally, he thought as he directed his sand stalker to the hitching post by the palisade surrounding the settlement. He dismounted his sand stalker, “Certavus” following him. He and the Agori joined Ackar at the gate, where they met a water Agori. “Hello, I’m Jann,” said the water Agori to Ackar, smiling, “and I welcome you to my humble facility. Do you have a patient for me?” “Yes, sir, we do,” said Ackar. “This Agori thinks he’s Certavus.” “I am Certavus,” said the Agori with a laugh. “Just you try and fight me in the arena!” “I did fight Certavus once,” said Ackar, “back in my younger days.” Jann went to the ice Agori and said, “Alright, Mr. … Certavus, where are you?” “Bara Magna,” said “Certavus.” “And what is the date?” “999,999 years after the Shattering.” "And who is the prime Glatorian of Tesara?” “Why, Vastus, of course!” Jann thought for a moment, and said, “Alright, I think we’ve seen enough. Ackar, could I talk to you for moment?” “Certainly,” the fire Glatorian said. The two walked off several feet away from Malum and the ice Agori. They appeared to be deep in conversation, with Ackar pointing behind him at the ice Agori one time, and at one point, their voices were raised. “I wonder what they’re talking about?” said “Certavus” to Malum. “Beats me,” said Malum. “It’s probably about you.” Finally, Ackar and Jann finished speaking, and came back to Malum and “Certavus.” Jann turned to address Malum and “Certavus,” saying, “Mr. Certavus, if you will kindly follow me, I will show you your new lodgings.” He said to Malum and Ackar, “Would you like to come along to? I would be glad to give you a tour of the facility.” “We don’t have time—” began Malum, before Ackar interrupted him. “We’d be honored if you showed us the facility,” said the elder Glatorian. “Right, Malum?” Malum rolled his eyes again and said, “Right.” Perfect, he thought. A grand tour of the madhouse. Malum, Ackar, the ice Agori, and Jann entered the settlement. The facility consisted of several stone buildings encircling a central square, all surrounded by the wooden palisade wall. There were patients, doctors and attendants milling about the compound, which could not have looked shabbier. “We are privileged to be one of the finest mental health facilities on Bara Magna,” said Jann, gesturing to a group of patients sitting in a circle. “We provide state of the art care to Agori and Glatorian of all walks of life.” Malum noticed then that there weren’t just Agori in the facility, but a few Glatorian too. “Where do they all come from?” asked Ackar. “All over,” said Jann. “Some have been out in the sun too long, others suddenly began their history as deviants without a clear cause. The one thing they all have in common is that they all need help. And we’re here to give it to them.” As Jann extolled the virtues of the facility, Malum pulled Ackar aside and said, “Just what were you and the doctor talking about anyway?” “He wanted to know about the patient’s history,” said Ackar, “whether he was violent or not. I managed to convince him that our boy wouldn’t be very safe wandering around thinking he was Certavus.” “Right, right,” said Malum. “I’m just glad he’s off our hands now.” Suddenly, a shrill voice called out, echoing around the compound, “Stop that Zesk!” Malum turned toward the direction the voice was coming from to see a jungle Agori chasing a Zesk, one of the smaller cousins of the Vorax, the Zesk carrying some kind of bag in its mouth. “I’ve got it!” said Ackar, as he broke off from the group to give chase. The ice Agori joined him, saying, “Never fear! Certavus is here!” Malum and Jann watched the absurd sight before them, as Ackar, the jungle Agori, and “Certavus” ran around in circles, chasing the Zesk. Malum only stood back and laughed. Finally, Ackar and the two Agori cornered the Zesk, and Ackar pounced on it. After a brief struggle, Ackar took the bag from the Zesk, and kicked the miniature Vorax away. “Beat it! Scram!” he said, as the Zesk ran out the gateway of the settlement. Malum clapped his hands together, and said, “Ackar, I want to thank you. That was the funniest thing I’ve seen all day! Ha ha ha ha!” Ackar didn’t share Malum’s mirth. “I’m glad you’re amused,” he said, shouldering past Malum. “You could have helped. I almost threw my back out.” “I’m not the speedy kind of guy,” said Malum. “I’d only have got in the way.” “Never mind,” said Ackar, who then turned to Jann. “If the tour is over,” he said to the doctor, “we’d best be going now.” “It was my pleasure to have you here,” said Jann, “and thank you for assisting my cook.” “Yes,” said the jungle Agori. “If it weren’t for you, that animal would have stolen all of my sand bat meat.” “I’m just glad I could help,” said Ackar. “C’mon Malum. Let’s go.” Ackar and Malum turned to leave the settlement, when a voice behind him said, “Bye, fellows!” Ackar turned around and said, “Bye, Certavus.” The two Glatorian left the settlement, mounted their sand stalkers, and began to head south, towards Vulcanus. “That was an… interesting experience,” said Ackar. “I always thought the settlements were bedlam houses of some sort. Guess I was wrong.” “It seemed pretty crazy to me,” said Malum grumpily. “You’ll never see me surrounded by animals, living in the desert. No sir.” ---- X-Ray
  15. This is a quick MOC I made awhile ago. A Sand Fox is a canon creature that lives on Bara Magna. 1•2•3•4•5 I am aware that the two rods are different colors. I realized that after I got them stuck in the hand pieces, and I didn't want to get another one stuck. There ya go.
  16. This is a tale passed between the Agori of Bara Magna to the Matoran of the Great Spirit Mata Nui, a story that had its origins only a short time before their coexistence with each other on the reformed Spherus Magna. It is a tale of three warriors – an outcast, a champion, and a veteran – and the very brief meeting between them. Although the arena system of commerce is no longer used by the Agori, the Glatorian still take the lesson that this tale teaches to heart; the Skrall tribe, however, will no longer hear of its telling. It is a story of honor, respect, and courage, in their truest forms. ------------------------------------ It was a cold night in the great desert of Bara Magna; even though it was a sea of everlasting sand, lit by a relentless sun, it became a frosty, lifeless place when that mighty orb sank and the moon raised its baleful color high into the sky. A lonely pallor was cast over the whole land at night; a ghostly radiance illuminating all of existence beneath it, even the small figure seated next to a bright spot of light. His white, scratched armor gleamed dully from the glow of his fire. Gelu - the tracker, the escort of numerous convoys across the windswept and perilous sands - reclined easily in his oasis of light amidst the chilly and dim environment. He was out of work, now, and as he sat there, contemplating the stars above him, he shifted uneasily. Thoughts of the Agori settlement of Tesara, thoughts which jeered at his loneliness, flooded over him. It was the closest settlement to him, yet he couldn’t reach it during the day, and he didn’t want to take the risk of travelling at night. Although he was a seasoned Glatorian, and now an even greater caravan escort, the Bone Hunters had been on the rise, recently. The campfire burned low as he scanned the grayish-tan visa with his solemn eyes. Bone Hunters had to sleep sometime, Gelu thought, but that thought was slowly being pushed aside by another that raised the question that perhaps, to them, rest only meant a long-awaited death. Looking up at the stars again, he pondered the entirety of life on Bara Magna. He knew he would be a fool to say that it wasn’t miserable, although there were those that disagreed; those that were driven by the vague promise of hope. Gelu remembered the young Tajun Glatorian, the one who always knew that, somewhere, anywhere out there, there was a better place than this sandpit. Somewhere that the Agori could be given purpose; where the Glatorian didn’t have to fence each other in and destroy each other. Somewhere.... His eyes began to droop and his consciousness began floating off. Suddenly, something grabbed him back into awareness - a stench, a smell. Something here was not right. Vorox, he thought. The beautiful thing about the high desert wind was that a range of smells could be carried to the nostrils of such experienced trackers as Gelu. Slowly, silently, he shifted his position to get a better understanding of his surroundings. Not seeing anything, he grabbed his twin Exsidian broadswords, still glancing this way and that for any sign of the preying waste-landers. He had to act fast, if he wanted to avoid any trouble. And then again, perhaps some profit could be made from the savages. It wasn’t that Gelu was a slaver - he detested that practice - but the way he saw it, they were absolute nuisances to everyone else. In a way, it was an acceptable substitution to taking other Agori, who were both more intelligent and more valuable. Without a moment to lose, a brilliant scheme came to him. He dashed behind a nearby dune, but not before he threw open one of his supply packs and made an effort to scatter a bit of it on the ground. From a distance, he watched and waited, suffering the chills of the moonlit desert night. It wasn’t long before success was granted to him - one lone Vorox wandered into the camp, sniffed the air, and began picking through the supply pack. Better one than three, Gelu thought. He readied his swords and got everything in place - a fist-sized roll of linen bandages was readied in his hand, as he prepared to launch it at the opposite dune. The plan was almost too perfect - sometimes, Gelu wondered, if he weren’t a caravan escort and if his moral viewpoints weren’t holding him back, how good of a slaver he’d be. But he caught himself in mid-thought - what was he doing, stalling like that? The roll was gripped in his fist and his arm was cocked back behind his head. A nerve inside of him made him hesitate - and just as suddenly as he had realized the presence of that hesitation, something unusual happened. The Vorox stopped what it was doing, reared up, and emitted a guttural cry. Gelu ducked down, startled by the scavenger’s strange behavior. He readied himself for anything, as he grabbed his swords and checked his footing. He grimaced, as the last of the piercing notes died in the cold nocturnal air. So much for having to deal with only one... He could hear the sand being kicked up as five other Vorox skidded into the camp. They chattered to themselves for awhile, and then grew silent. Now, other footsteps could be heard - heavier, almost familiar footsteps. The prattling started up again, but was joined by a gruff voice which spoke the same broken dialect as the Vorox did. The strange thing to Gelu, however, was that the voice, even in such primitive utterances, carried with it the accent used by those of Vulcanus. He decided to take a quick peek over the dune at the strange communion. Among the Agori, it is said that whenever one wanders too far into the desert or stays in the sun for too long, one sees mirages. Gelu was beginning to wonder if such trickery of the eyes was happening to him. What he saw baffled him - an assembly of six Vorox, hunched around the fire - tamed, for that matter - and, seated at the head of the meeting, a familiar figure. He was so recognizable that Gelu almost wanted to call out to him in friendly greeting, and yet there was something odd about this person altogether. He wore the red armor of Vulcanus, but it was heavily pitted and slightly sun-bleached in some areas. Atop his head, on top of his own helmet, was tied the skull of a Vorox - one more jagged and spiny than those of the rest of the Vorox present. He had the claws of a behemoth-like desert creature tied to his upper arms, hunkered over his shoulders. Across his waist was tied a belt of Thornax vines, with a dagger made out of the helm of a Skrall thrust through it. He held a shield of that same hated tribe in one hand; in the other, he held aloft a spear with the head of a Rock Steed mounted on it. His appearance was mighty and the Vorox seemed to respect - nay, fear him. He and Gelu had met before. His name was Malum. Crouching down, he himself inspected the contents of the bag, eyeing the canteen of water and a small sack of food rations. He rose again, turned this way and that, and whistled out loud, as to signal someone. Gelu did not know what to think of Malum, in this new state - no one knew what had become of him. However - at least from what Gelu could see - he was somehow able to make peace with the Vorox and tame them. Perhaps, he thought, he might’ve changed with all that sun on him. Facing the decision of whether or not to confront him, he heard the crunch of sand underneath foot nearby - Malum had sent Vorox to scout the area around the camp. Putting all fears beside him, Gelu threw his swords away from him, towards a blank area near the fire, which no one seemed to be occupying. He rose slowly, with his hands above his head. The Vorox noted him and froze, drawing their swords to the ready. Gelu merely walked forward, slowly. “Easy,” he said. “I don’t want any trouble.” Malum waved his hand and the Vorox backed down. He cleared a spot on the ground for himself, and then one for Gelu, beckoning the escort to join him. As Gelu sat down, Malum fished through the pack, hoping for something to eat. Not finding anything to his pleasure, he set the pack down beside him, leaned back, and lowered his eyes to sleep. Gelu sat and watched him, a bit impatiently. Well, it’s better than sitting away from the fire, if anything, he thought. Ten minutes passed. Half an hour followed it. Finally, after a full hour must’ve passed, Gelu truly felt his patience running thin and his hunger rising. He reached for the pack, but the sleeping Malum caught hold and held fast to it. One eye slowly opened, as Gelu sat stunned by the unexpected reflexes. “Only one hour? Too impatient; you must achieve patience to win the battle.” “One hour? How is anyone supposed to contain their hunger for that long?” Malum sighed and sat up, the various implements of his armor clanking as he did so. “Only the truest of warriors can withstand such a test. I see you need much training, still.” “I’m not in the arena, anymore. Anyways, what do you want with my things?” “Is it not obvious that my warriors and I require food and warmth ourselves to survive?” “Oh, I thought you were a true warrior - didn’t realize you needed those things, too.” Malum smirked at this. He spoke again, returning to his business. “I seek the Justicar. Perhaps you know of him?” The words hung in the air for a moment, as if no ears had accepted the inquiry and it was left to die alone. The silence ended softly, as Gelu spoke up. “He’s the leading Skrall competitor,” he explained. “When neither Stronius nor Branar are in the ring, he is, and Tuma puts every resource that Roxtus has on the betting table.” “This, I know. And they say that he is unbeatable....?” “Yes - and that’s the truth, too. He nearly killed Vastus during the last match I saw. I ended up having to drag a shipment of driftwood all the way to Roxtus, just for that little spectacle. And that’s the first time Vastus has lost in awhile.” “No one is unbeatable, Gelu. Learn this, if anything. All can become conquered; he who cannot become conquered is already dead and beyond us.” Gelu shrugged at Malum. “Look,” he said, “I’ve got to admit, the day we threw you out of Vulcanus, you managed to land some pretty good punches on me.” If Malum still had the willpower and good nature left in him to smile at this, he would. “But you know my job, so you must know how conditioned I am. Essentially I could walk back into the ring right now and get pretty high up in the ranks pretty quickly – if I didn’t have to manage my way through all the Skrall dominators.” Gelu shifted a bit, as he managed to get a food pack open. Malum showed no sign of caring whether or not Gelu touched them, now. “But the Justicar? He stands taller than anyone else in the ring,” Gelu continued. “His whole body’s covered, either with plate-blacksteel or spikes – spikes as big as your fist. His helmet’s virtually a chunk of blacksteel with an eye-slit cut into it.” “Does he use a Thonax launcher?” “No – not that I’ve seen, at least. He only uses sword and shield, but the size of them alone is staggering.” Malum seemed to make a note of this fact as he ran his hands over the Rock Steed skull. “Well, maybe not to me.” Gelu eyed him cautiously. “And just what do you think you’re up to?” “Does not Outcast keep to his own? Or do I distinguish a tone of anxiousness in your voice?” “I just want to know, alright? This sounds like it could be a good conversation starter with the traders. Especially back home at Iconox – it’s either gossip, or they won’t say a stray word otherwise.” Malum reclined back, as he relaxed in the campfire’s warmth and let out a long, peaceful sigh. “I do this for revenge, Iconi.” “Revenge? What did he ever do to you?” “Several times as I’ve passed over the dunes of this vast place, the Skrall have attacked me, for no reason but for plunder. They are worse than the Bone Hunters, now – the Bone Hunters, they will only raid caravans, as you would know, but the Skrall have become hostile to anyone traversing the same path that they are. Not only that, but the current situation of every arena across the face of Bara Magna also worries me. I know it sounds strange, but I still care for the Agori.” “Why would you? We hurled you out of Vulcanus, no different than what we’d do with a Bone Hunter.” “Because, Gelu, it is a lesson learned only by thinking greatly and deeply over time. Take the largest Agori settlement here, if you would care for me to lecture. They have already established a system of pit-fighting in order to trade by using the Glatorian, instead of killing each other themselves. One race of Agori believes that they are to be above all else, to unite all of Bara Magna underneath their banner, but only as subjects, not equals. To begin this ‘great crusade’, if you will, they place their highly trained and conditioned warriors into the ring. Now, because none of the other tribes are winning matches, all of the resources being traded are going only to this dominating tribe. The worst part about all of this is that, soon, either the Agori will refuse to trade with the Skrall at all and be killed for it, or they give in and are made slaves.” “But you can’t possibly beat the Justicar! You’d be better off trying to track down every single Bone Hunter on the loose and bring them to justice.” Gelu waved his hand through the air, emphasizing his outlook on the seemingly ridiculous proposal. “A lot of things can be willed in life – perhaps some of them can be accomplished, if willed strong enough.” “But you earnestly think you can defeat him? He’s not only among the race of the best fighters of Bara Magna, but he’s the best among the best!” Frustration upon his face now joined Gelu’s hand motions. “Are you even listening to what I’m saying, anymore?” Malum sighed, his face growing weary.“The only one I listen to anymore is Certavus, for he guides and protects me still.” “Certavus?” “Yes; I know that, even though he is gone from this world, perhaps resting in the afterlife, he continues to watch over us, as he did those he trained in the arena. He was our father, Gelu.”Awe filled the features of the Iconian’s face, as he remained unmoving, due to the outcast’s last remark. It was difficult to argue with a warrior who considered the best arena fighter in Bara Magna’s history as some sort of ethereal deity of combat mastery. “Of course, but…the Book is lost. How do you really know that he’s ‘watching over’ you, anyway?” “If it can be believed, it can be willed. Strong belief leads into the creation of an idea, an idea that cannot die or be rendered useless.” Malum stared into the dying flames. “It is an enigma which cannot even be considered unless you live within these sands, in this barren wilderness. I feel that, had it not been for that idea of Certavus watching over me, protecting me, I would’ve died several times over. And the Book has been found, by the by, although I don’t believe I’ll need it.” “How do you know you won’t?” Malum, deciding that the conversation was nearing its end, slowly stood, brushing himself off and gathering his weapons. “I don’t read.” As he stalked away, the unnoticed Vorox tagging along with him, Gelu called out to him. “To the winds, Vulcani!” He stopped in his tracks and turned to Gelu. “Thank you, Iconi; however, I wish it be that you stay out of this feud. See to it that you complete your job - and hold out for more than just one hour!” Gelu sat back down and stared at the fire as Malum continued on his way. He could see that the outcast’s vigilantism would soon be carried out, as determined as he was. Putting it off of his mind, he nestled down next to the fire and began to fall asleep. A much needed rest, indeed, he thought. ------------------------------------ The night was the busiest time for the city of Roxtus. There were ‘special’ matches being held in the arena, which usually consisted of a slave-warrior fighting a Spikit, or two groups of various, illegally imprisoned Glatorian fighting to the death. This, of course, drew the merchants - namely the Bone Hunters and slavers - en masse to witness the more gruesome entertainment. The rest of Bara Magna had disagreed with Tuma; they believed in the more humane ways of the arena, such as fair play, no fatalities, and good sportsmanship. Tuma, on the other hand, had more capitalistic ideas. The welfare of Roxtus was practically at its highest with the income from these anarchic, outlandish exhibitions. He stood there, in a chamber with a broad casement overlooking the city’s arena. The entertainment that night spotlighted an enslaved Glatorian from Tajun fighting a starved Iron Wolf, which the Skrall had managed to capture with some difficulty. Tuma observed the match, hands gripping the rails and a smile on his face. Glatorian didn’t matter - the more that Roxtus could afford to get rid of, the better. As the Tajun Glatorian began to lose and the voracious cheers of the arena erupted, Tuma left the balcony and retreated to the room behind it. It was dim, but slightly lit by a lone torch. A tall, black and red figure reclined on a fur-covered couch on the far wall. “How is the match tonight, my lord?” “If you would get off of your black, metal haunches and see for yourself, Axior, you’d be much more pleased.” He stalked around the chamber, eyeing the lounging Justicar. “That seems to be your problem, Axior. You’ve been under my command ever since the War; I’ve practically raised you into the warrior that you are now. You are the Justicar - a title not lightly given. I expect you,” he punctuated, as he put his clawed hand down on the arm of the couch, “to be both Roxtus’s and my own personal medium, showing us all that it will be the Skrall alone who rule this miserable sandpit and its pitiful Agori. And yet you merely sit there, expecting me to satiate and watch over you.” Axior chuckled, as he sat up. “My lord, I am sorry that I offend you so,” he began, “but I need my rest as well. Why is it that you do not fight in the arena? Surely with your great power-” Tuma wheeled on him. “A wretch such as you would not understand my class. We are meant to think, not to get our hands dirty, such as you are. And you’ve rested quite long enough - you’ve already missed out on three matches through the week. Laziness, Axior, is a downfall. You’re a lazy, spoiled brat, Axior.” This time, Axior stood to his full height - about as tall as Tuma himself, even though the latter was of the Elite class. A menacing look was in the fighter’s eye and the edge of his voice was deadly. “You do know, my lord, I can kill you at any time. I can kill you even now.” Tuma’s stance shifted a little. “I have no problem with you not being here.” “And this is why I am in charge of Roxtus - you can’t think beyond swinging a sword. After you strike me down, the whole of Roxtus will see what you have done and come after you, on charges of treason. They know that I am the leader, Axior. Not you. They only respect you as a thing.” Axior’s glance shifted downwards, as the realization dawned upon him that Tuma was right. “Don’t think you can try to outrun or outfight your brothers, Axior.” “But what am I to do, caged up in this place?! You blame me for being lazy, but no one wants to fight me! I say that we abandon all of this...polite behavior, this sentimental slop, and begin raiding the cities again!” Tuma seemed to contemplate this, as, pushing Axior out of the way, he took his own seat on the couch and rested his chin in his hand. “It is true, Axior, that the other tribes have been....reluctant to face us, after we raided Atero. But we cannot openly attack them, yet - it may not look like it, but they still remain strong enough to drive us off. Still, there must be something for you to do...it’s no good, having a champion sit around and decay; on top of that, you are starting to annoy me with your presence...” They could both hear the lusty cheers of mayhem and violence occurring outside. The next match, Tuma surmised, would be the nightly special event, which was the Pit of Sand Vipers. Just at that moment, a Roxtian Agori, escorted by two guards, entered the chamber, holding a stone slab. “L-lord Tuma,” he said, shakily, “this was just delivered to us by a...a pack of Vorox.” “Delivered?” “Well...no, sire. They attacked us and- and dropped this on their retreat.” “There,” Tuma said, taking the tablet and turning to Axior, “there’s your solution. The Vorox population could certainly use a good check...why don’t you go out and destroy the lot of them, and be sure to bring me back a few for the arena. I could use them.” Tuma dismissed the Agori and the guards, and turned his attention to the message. Time seemed to stand still for a few moments, as he read the slab. Axior could barely read, so he focused on the sounds of the crowd outside; his attention would’ve been wasted on trying to decipher the message. After what seemed several long moments, Tuma let out a long, thoughtful sigh. He turned to Axior again. “The Vorox can wait. It seems that you’ve already found a combatant.” Now, the Justicar’s eyes lit up. “Who is it? Where?” “You will meet him at the place where Atero once stood - or, at least, whatever remains of it now. Your opponent will be the Vorox chieftain.” Axior’s laugh boomed, resounding throughout the room and down the halls of Roxtus. “The Vorox chieftain wants to fight me, the champion of the Skrall? The champion of all of Bara Magna? Hah! I am offended by such an offer - shall I fight such lowly scum as that?” “Be careful with words, Axior - you have no use for them. I would advise that you take this offer up, for if you can defeat the Vorox and bring them under our total control, then the whole of Bara Magna would respect us even more. They would not dare defy the tribe that tamed and defeated their feral cousins...” Tuma rose and walked back over to the balcony, beckoning Axior to join him. The Pit of Sand Vipers event was coming to a close, as the last of ten Glatorian pathetically held his own against the slithering, deadly ground. It was a most interesting event, the main purpose of which, outside of raw entertainment, was to contrast the reaction time of the average Glatorian against that of the desert’s most pestilent inhabitant. Tuma absolutely loved it, as it also demonstrated how weak most Glatorian were against mere Sand Vipers. Turning to Axior, he spoke again. “Gather three platoons and begin your journey tonight towards the south. You will meet this chieftain at Arena Magna and defeat him in battle. Use the Skrall to your advantage - there is no doubt that he will bring with him all of the Vorox tribe. Do not fail me, Axior, or you may lose your current position, title, and familiar state of being alive.” As the dawn began to rise, the desert saw several hundred Skrall leave for the ruins of Atero with Axior at the head, marching off for victory. ------------------------------------ The Skrall had already overrun Atero and decimated much of it, which severely strained the tension between them and the other tribes. It was in great disorder - however, since very little of the foundation had been eradicated, it had not yet plunged into the immense Sand Falls, which it was built over. The sandstone structures that were strewn about the area – statues of arena victors, pillars, plaques, memorials, whatever remained of vendor booths and personal quarters – marked the northern raiders’ march on the arena-city. Now, the blazing sun seared its burning anger and radiance down upon the ghost of the desert’s capital, setting its course and vanquishing the chilly horror of the night. But what was about to commence this day would be a terrific fright in and of itself. Dawn passed, and Axior and his troops had arrived an hour before, now making camp within the desolate place. The ruins were completely empty. By noontide, they were getting impatient for the fight to begin. Of the Vorox chieftain, there was no sign. Some of the Skrall began to state, quite spitefully, that it was a trap, wherein the Vorox could easily topple one of the barely surviving sandstone structures on top of them, or perhaps a mockery to be made of Axior and the whole of Roxtus’s warrior class by inviting them to a challenge and leaving them to wander for hours in the hot sun. Axior himself, however, knew that the Vorox were not that intelligent, and remained with patient expectations. As another hour passed, however, he himself was bored of waiting for the chieftain. Finally, Axior’s designated opponent showed himself, much to the Skrall’s surprise. They weren’t sure what was more intriguing - that he was extremely late or that this challenger was not even a Vorox at all. Tagging along behind him, as if Tuma had planned what he’d said, was a formidable force consisting of a great deal of Vorox and a few of the Zesk. The two opposing leaders walked up to each other, dragging their armaments behind them, eventually meeting in the middle of the barren Arena Magna. It seemed like days had passed during their approach towards one another.Axior really was an impressive sight. He stood taller than Malum, and he was much broader, as well. In one hand was a giant, black great-sword; in the other was a triangular shield, equally as massive. His whole body was covered in thick, blacksteel armor, with spikes jutting out at the crucial places of vulnerability. All in all, he was a midnight black tower of steel and pain, a colossus of brutality. But Malum was not easily intimidated. He was quite a barbaric sight, himself; a few of the Skrall looked hesitant to face him. But this was a match between only two warriors - the champion of the ring and the champion of the wastelands.It was Axior who broke the tense silence, with his harsh, grating voice. “What kind of chieftain are you? You are not even of the Vorox.” “No,” replied Malum, “I’m not. But these are my people - they obey me, now.” Axior smirked, toeing the sand underneath his feet with his armor-clad boot. “So if I were to kill you, they would answer to me?” “You must be mistaken, Justicar - they don’t answer to that low of scum.” “Strong words, for a mere outcast. It’s a shame that you won’t be able to talk that smart after we’re through here.” Axior shoved Malum with such a force that it would have sent an Agori soaring backwards, yet Malum remained firmly planted, as a tree against a strong wind. “You take care of what words escape your tongue today, Roxti. Those who speak highly of themselves will scrounge the ground for scraps of food, and become their enemies’ servants.” Malum warned. Axior chuckled. “You are already a servant to fools, Vulcani. You lead these beasts as if you have a place in the world, but really you are no better than they are in this wasteland. “ Malum shifted his stance a bit. “I beg to differ,” he said, as he began to bring his skull-mace around in a wide, sweeping arc, “you are the fool as you stand there, you dirt-sucking invalid.” His swing was true, and the ghostly arena rang with the sound of bone cracking against the metal helmet of Axior. The Skrall were in an uproar as the preliminary strike was dealt. They filled one half of the arena floor, at Axior’s back; however, they were not the only audience there, as hundreds of Vorox occupied the opposing half, behind Malum. Axior was on the ground, supporting himself with one arm. He had dropped his sword and his shield was useless to him, in the position that he was in; through the blinking lights that flew across his eyes, he could see Malum, just standing there. Why didn’t the outcast attack? Now was a better opportunity than ever to finish the Skrall off. He began to rise again, swaying this way and that, throwing curses into the air. “How....how dare you attack me in an unsporting manner; you thief, you dog!” “Really? Did you come up with that charge yourself, or is that what all the Glatorian you’ve ever faced in the arena said to you?” Axior snarled and lunged towards him, cleaving downwards with his huge sword. Malum moved skillfully out of the way and came right back at him, jabbing at the Skrall with the spear-point of his strange but grisly weapon. Axior backed off, and then slammed into Malum with his shield. The points of the steel barricade dug into Malum’s armor, causing him to yelp in pain and crumple to the ground. He raised his battered Skrall shield into the air, hoping to fend off an attack, but Axior merely swatted it out of the way. As the Justicar prepared for the killing blow, Malum ripped off his belt and thrust the sharpened Skrall helmet into Axior’s breastplate, managing to cause some damage. As the Skrall shuffled backwards in pain, howling, Malum swung his weapon again and scored him a blow into the stomach. Annoyance quickly evolved into rage as Axior blindly swatted the air with his weapons. He managed only to cuff Malum across the face with the huge, curved pommel of his sword. As the Vulcanian fell to the ground once again, Axior tossed away his shield and grabbed his sword with both of his hands. Another downward slice was aimed at Malum, but the red-clad warrior unexpectedly rolled out of the way and underneath the Justicar, nearly sweeping him off of his feet. He quickly picked himself up and hefted his hammer; he saw a golden opportunity to strike at Axior, now that he was behind him. Axior tried to turn around but before he could, Malum swung his hammer again and caught him behind the knee, causing him to kneel down in pain. From there, Malum grabbed the elongated point of the traditional Skrall helmet that Axior wore - he never got why they were designed like that - and, holding the helmet in one hand, he brought the hammer down hard upon Axior’s head. After the ringing metal sound had subsided, the Justicar realized what had just happened. He was prone on the ground, with his weapons laying several feet from him. The lights returned to his eyes, spinning and flashing around, ensuing nausea and extreme agony. He tried to roll over, but his thick armor was painful where the protrusions dug into his own body. Barely managing to get up, he scanned the area around him for the things of the most immediate importance to him: his sword, his shield, and Malum attacking him. He retrieved his arms, but of Malum, there was no sign. Axior held his sword high above his head and yelled. “Hah! Some chieftain of lowly waste-landers you are, Malum! Show yourself, or I deem you a coward and my Skrall army shall run you down!” Only the uproar of chaos replied to him. Both the Skrall and the Vorox had erupted into open combat by this point; the sounds of battle echoed so badly throughout the ruined arena that it was deafening. Yet Axior wondered if Malum had been an apparition all along, some lost soul who had died in the heat and loneliness of the desert and had come back to torture those who would accept his invitation - his snare - to the ruined Arena Magna. In his pondering, Axior spied deep foot tracks in the sand. From his viewpoint, they led to one of the arena’s caved-in walls; he decided to leave the rabble and follow Malum outside. So, he had ran away from him. Some brave-talking chieftain he was - he couldn’t even finish an enemy off. Now, Axior would show him true pain and suffering, and the Vulcani would feel real cowardice. How convenient, he surmised, for Malum to choose an area immediately outside of Arena Magna to fight - that was where the perilous sand falls were. He was standing on a barren, rocky cliff, now, still with no sign of Malum. It was broad enough to maneuver but combat would be tricky - at least he had the benefit of traction. The footprints continued in the sand. Axior stalked forward, very slowly - his enemy could jump out at him at any time. Behind some of the rubble, Malum observed the Skrall making his way cautiously around the outside. He wasn’t going to assault him from surprise - true, he could use this advantage and push him over the falls, but Malum wanted his victory to be fair, at least. A sound next to the outcast made him turn in surprise, fearful that one of the Skrall troopers had found him. It was only Gelu, who had somehow sneaked his way into the arena and hid next to Malum. He brandished a small, Exsidian dagger in his mouth, in a sort of cliché, renegade fashion. Crouching down next to Malum, he removed the knife from his mouth and joined him in spying on Axior. “Thought I’d miss the fight, eh Vulcani?” “Get out of here, Gelu.” “No, I’m not letting you get killed by that...thing. Besides, if you do take him down, some has to bring the news to the villages.” Malum glared at Gelu, until he got the message. “Alright! But I’m still hanging around. You can’t chase me out of here completely, outcast!” Gelu snaked behind him for a moment, and then was gone. Malum had to admit, the envoy did have good speed and stealth, which was required for the job. Then again, he reconsidered, that was probably why he left the arena so early - those were the only skills that he had. Clearing all thoughts from his mind, Malum turned his attention back to the situation at hand; as Axior came near, he slowly rose, hammer and shield in his hands. The giant, armored Skrall lashed out with his sword, filled with hatred and malice. He used any means possible, now, to bring Malum down. Jabbing wildly with his sword, he pushed Malum back, and then kicked up the sand into his face. As his opponent scratched at his own eyes, Axior took the advantage and crushed him with a heaving blow from his massive shield. Malum now lay on the ground, badly hurt and his shield cracked down the middle. It was useless to him, now - with all his might, he hurled it towards Axior, but with a flash of the giant sword, it was rent in two. He scrambled around on the ground, still clutching his hammer, trying to find a way to defend himself. Hefting it in both hands, he wildly swung it back and forth, fending off most of the blows, but Axior somehow managed to get past his scattered defense and stab him in the shoulder. A howl of agony erupted from Malum. He kicked his foot out hard against one of Axior’s armored, steel boots, but was immediately met with pain. There was a final stroke coming down towards Malum, but, mustering all of the will power that was left in him, he managed to lung his head towards Axior’s chest and ram him at full force with the Vorox skull which was tied atop his helmet. The Skrall staggered backwards, stunned that he was unable to defeat this pesky outcast once again. Perhaps, he thought, his own pride had got the best of him, and he’d underestimated both his opponent and this situation. Malum had used this chance to recover and put some distance between him and Axior. Suddenly, an idea formed in the Skrall’s mind, as he observed the surrounding landscape. A pillar - one of the spires which once stood high over the arena - had fallen, and now was teetering on the edge of the cliff, jutting straight out over the falls. A cruel smile flickered underneath the jet black helmet. Axior took up his attack upon Malum again. They were both weary from battle, now - their eyes were haggard and their movements were sluggish. Malum, much to Axior’s delight, allowed the Skrall to push him back towards the fallen spire. The Justicar laughed aloud as Malum stepped on the shifty surface. “You may have reached higher ground, Vulcani,” he said, “but I still have the upper hand!” Axior tossed his shield aside and struck the sandstone with his sword; Malum, in reaction, began shuffling backwards, careful not to miss a step. Again and again, Axior chipped at the spire, hoping to break it off with sheer force, but nothing seemed to work. By the time that Malum was a good ways away from him, he decided to give up his efforts and pursue his quarry. The outcast was now dangerously suspended over the sand falls, yet still standing on two feet. As Axior moved closer and closer towards him, he could feel the spire shaking, almost ready to snap. Malum smiled, content with his luck. He allowed Axior to budge just close enough to be able to kill him, and, holding his hammer out, spoke. “Go on, Axior, kill me! Defeat your opponent - look, I am still armed, even! It will be fair!” The Justicar could see nothing but a haze of red anger. The only audible sounds were the rushing of the falls and his heavy breathing. “I will do more than defeat you, Vulcani! I will tear you into two halves and spread your entrails across the desert, so that they may be consumed! Your body shall never be found!” “Neither shall yours, Justicar - and your fate shall be even worse!” Followed with a bellowing war-cry, the huge black sword came careening down towards Malum. In just a split second, however, time seemed to stop moving. Malum leapt up and over Axior as the sword came cleaving down; he pushed off of the blacksteel helment in a mighty spring. Heaving the hammer high into the air, he sailed over the Justicar, as the spire began dropping. As soon as he landed, he slammed his weapon into the base of the rock. Axior, plunging to his doom, glanced back at Malum, before the murky, crushing sand veiled him from sight forever. Victory tasted neither sweet nor bitter in the outcast’s mouth - it was over, and that was that. He lay on the ground beside the cliff, limbs sprawled out and his face towards the shining sun. It was soon eclipsed, however, by Gelu hovering over him. A look of worry upon the white Glatorian’s face was soon replaced by a smile. “I told you that hanging around would be a good idea.” “At least I don’t need saving, Iconi,” he said, “but that Skrall may need somehelp.” Gelu strode over to the edge and peered down. He let out a whistle of amazement. “No more Justicar for Roxtus, then, I suppose.” “All for the better.” Malum tried to sit up, but he recoiled with pain; Gelu rushed over and helped him to stand. The outcast, once he was back on his feet, gazed all around him at the ruin and decay, and then down at his hammer. As he looked decisively between the wreck and the weapon, a long moment of silence drifted over the two Glatorian. Finally, Malum took his hammer in both hands, twisted back, and lobbed it into the falls. Gelu stood there, stunned, as Malum began trekking back into the arena. “Don’t worry about it,” he called back, “I’ll get another one.” Both the Skrall and Vorox had left the vicinity, but not before leaving behind evidence of their scuffle. Here and there were scattered fragments of bone from the weapons of the Vorox, chipped and broken shields from the Skrall, and several hundred footprints in the sand. Gelu picked up a piece of shield and inspected it. “Either they had a bit of a scuffle,” he said, thoughtfully, “or they were dancing quite aggressively.” “Don’t be a fool, Gelu.” Malum said back. “They probably dragged the bodies out, if there were any survivors.” “Do you think there were any left?” “I have my doubts, but I’m sure some Vorox remain, at least. You know as well as I do, though, the tensions between the Skrall and the Vorox. If they had the chance, they’d wipe each other off the face of this land.”Malum began rummaging around on the ground, in search of something. “Is that why you brought the tribe with you?” “To be honest with you, Gelu, they followed me here. I wasn’t anticipating nearly half of the Skrall army being here, though, so my thanks goes out to them.” He looked up at Gelu and pointed a finger in the general direction of the desert. “I didn’t ask them to come along, they knew. They’re more than barbaric animals, Gelu.” The white Glatorian nodded, and Malum continued scrounging around. After awhile, Gelu asked him: “What are you looking for?” “Found any good knives lying around?” “Why?” But before he received an answer, Malum plucked something out of the ground and strode over to what little was left of the arena stands. Above this section towered another spire, still intact. When he reached it, after climbing the broken steps into the stands, he dug the Vorox-made knife he found into the sand stone, and began carving words. Gelu stood back and watched, his stomach rumbling, begging for food. Hold out for longer... After awhile, he decided to follow Malum into the stands to see what he was doing. As the last rune was carved, Gelu reached the top. Malum brushed the sand off of the rock, and stood back. Gelu could see that the same message was written in three different scripts - the common Agori writing, the untidy scrawl of the Bone Hunters (which was slightly different), and the archaic pictograms of the Vorox. The message read as follows: HERE I FOUGHT AND HERE I DIEDI HAVE OPPRESSED THIS EMPTY LAND FOR TOO LONG IN LIFENOW I WILL HAUNT IT BEYOND THE VEIL OF DEATHTHOSE WHO HEAR MY NAME TREMBLE BEFORE ME JUSTICARLEAVE THIS HALLOWED PLACEOR YOU TOO SHALL PERISH NEATH THE SANDS Malum began walking off again, as Gelu was still reading the inscription. The outcast did not get very far, however, before Gelu caught up with him. “Hold for a moment - so does this make you the new Justicar, now?” “If I am, then I resign the title, with no successor.” He continued walking along, not even glancing at the Iconian following him. “No, Gelu, let it die here. No more shall that name be used.” “Where are you going, now?” “Back to the desert, back with my tribe.” “Your tribe? So you’ve officially adopted them?” “I doubt that Raanu would welcome me with open arms again.” “True...but surely, since you’ve defeated Axior-” “There’s no use telling them who defeated him - so long as he is no longer a terror to the arena, then my duty is completed, and I may return from whence I came. There is a change to soon come to this land, Gelu. I can feel it. Soon, the Glatorian will no longer need to aimlessly fight each other, and the Agori will no longer squabble over the scraps of their former lives. Hope is coming, Gelu. Real hope.” “Real hope?” “By defeating Roxtus’s finest, I have begun to show the Agori that they have this real hope. It is a minute victory, in the grand scheme of things, yes - but they must be able to see that they, too, can overcome the Skrall and make change in the world, even before this new hope comes.” Gelu hadn’t realized it, but they’d been walking for some time, now - they were well away from Arena Magna and the sand falls. Several Vorox, appearing out of nowhere, had also begun to follow them, almost matching Malum’s every step and stride. It was nearing evening, now, as the sky turned from the vibrant blue of midday to a soft shade of peach. The desert birds that winged overhead began to turn towards the cliffs near Tajun, where their homes were. Gelu considered going there, as well, to tell everyone about the good news. But something did worry him... “What evidence will they have that Axior has been defeated, Malum?” “None. There is no evidence. Not even of the weapon that killed him.” “Then how will they know that I’m telling the truth?”“Outside of asking Roxtus, they must have faith in the fact that it is true.” “Faith? What kind of an absurdity is that!” “These are desperate times, Gelu - the Agori are willing to believe anything even remotely beneficial to them, especially the defeat of a murderer and a cheater. Even so, if they are to ask Tuma on the matter, he would be sorely wounded, because his champion fighter is missing, presumably dead. Trust in it, Gelu, for faith is the first steps into hope. Hoping leads to the action of doing, and doing thus leads into what you originally put faith in to become true.” The high desert wind picked up, once again, and sand started flying this way and that. Malum stopped and turned to Gelu, put a heavy hand upon his shoulder, and spoke: “Certavus watch over thee, Gelu. May you have luck with the people of the Agori. And if not, then to the winds with your fate, and may it land upon fertile ground.” Before Gelu could return the benediction, the red warrior stepped away from him and was lost in a screen of dust, as a sand storm began to develop. Soon, Gelu could not see him any longer, and had to shut his eyes and lie flat on the ground for protection. When the wraithlike winds subsided and the dust no longer whipped through the air, the white Glatorian rose, his armor now encrusted with sand. The sky was now a dark, velvety purple, with streaks of bright red through them. There was no sign of Malum or his Vorox - not even foot prints, as the raging sandstorm had already covered them up. Deciding that there was nothing left for him here, Gelu set off towards Tajun. ------------------------------------ During the following night, several Tajunian Agori became skeptical of this ex-Glatorian, who had just arrived in their city. They highly questioned the news that he brought, though some were willing to accept it immediately. Those who did believe went on to gossip about it with the traders and merchants from the other villages, who, in return, brought the news back to their respective homes in haste. Several of Tuma’s insurgents also caught wind of the rumor. All the way through to the following morning and the day after, the city of Roxtus was in an uproar. In his rage, Tuma personally slew three of his own servants and had all of the Vorox who were being held in the cells executed immediately. The following night found Gelu escorting a new caravan of trade supplies out of Vulcanus, en route to Tesera. As he looked up into the starry sky, he wondered about that hope, and how soon it would come - but little did he know of his immediate future, as a fabled mask, wreathed in flame, came careening down towards the cold deserts of Bara Magna.
  17. Here's the quote from my own texts that has been written for "The Last Shelter" project: The changes in comparison with the old model is very impressive. I has removed this stupid Tridax Sphere that originally belongs to one project, in which this thing was called Spere of Power. Now this shere is replaced by normal chest-plate and lots of parts that fills the empty space in the Phantoka torso. Also I has added on his back good old Life Counter (because here, on Spherus Magna, you never know where is time to die from multiple wounds =D). I has changed lower torso, too, and also hips and feet joints. Also I has added on the legs two Pakari masks. Orange Rahksi eyes has been replaced with blue ones and the neck now contains two balljoints and one axle. Tavm is armed with axe and blade. Moar pics: C&C are welcome.
  18. The titanic elemental lord of crystal, resting deep underneath the sands of Bara Magna... 123456This one's kinda old. I built him for a short story I was going to write about Bara Magna, but I just gave that up. Still, I love this guy. Yes, I know the Mata heads on his ankles look stupid.Also, for those of you who are interested in stupid, random, obscure, unimportant and useless facts about made-up things, a Glatorian would stand about half as tall as Oshugun's foot.And yes, I did get the name from WoW. I just love me some Nagrand.
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