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The wind died suddenly, as if ashamed of its ferocity and the damage it had wrought. The fire borne upon it faded as well. Along with the danger so too, gradually, ended the fear of the villagers. They rose from their ruined town to rebuild what they could, although they knew the wind and the fire would return. It always did. The one structure untouched by the tempests every single time was the old Brotherhood fortress in the western hills outside the village. This understandably led to rumors that it was the source of the winds, and everything else for that matter. And it very well might have been; the word was that Rahkshi were periodically unleashed from the foreboding edifice, sent to run free and wreak havoc on the town.The diversity of these monstrosities meant that the damage was always different; be it plasma-charged tornados, a weakening plague of silence, or any other terrible result, the people of the village feared it all the same. These attacks were meant perhaps to keep the Matoran in check, although thoughts of rebellion of any sort had long ago been eradicated. Even hope of peace was merely a fiction to them now.This truth was unanimous save for a single person. He wore a weathered grey cloak, and nobody had seen him at all, save for his granite-hued feet and hands. The being’s voice was low and carried the weight of ages. The Walker, they called him. He was not of the same village, a nomadic traveler; still, he had remained there for a few weeks, his road onward being blocked by the ferocious windstorms, as well as their source.But at the end of the storms, as the villagers emerged, the Walker set out with a purpose, striding stoically through the rubble, off west towards the hills and the fortress. Nobody knew what he intended, nobody knew why; but they all stepped aside as he walked on. Straying from the village, though they knew not why, the Matoran silently lined the windswept dusty road into the hills. The path ended, and the traveler walked on; and still the Matoran followed in his wake. At last he reached the hills, not slowing down. Unblinkingly he drew a black, roughly triangular stone tablet from within his cloak, and continued on, clutching it in his right fist. Coming briskly and purposefully to the dread black gates, he raised his left arm across his chest without slowing, still a few bio away. Fingers splayed, he threw his arm horizontally away from him; the old iron flew open with a tremendous clang, and the Walker continued unfazed. His entourage slowly spilled through behind him, fanning out to either side.The being went on. The Matoran of the decimated village continued behind as if in a trance. At last the Walker stopped, immediately at the vast black doors. There was a flawless silence. Finally a great creaking of rust and blight cut the quiet off, as though of a beast unwilling to be shifted; but the great black doors began to slide apart. The crowd and their leader held like stones. Only darkness emanated from within the fortress; no light, no joy.The Walker noiselessly raised his arm, and held up the Tablet of Transit that he dared to carry. It was pointed towards the fortress, or rather the unseen occupants that no doubt lurked inside.Another rumbling sounded from within. This was undoubtedly movement, not the stationary weight of the doors. A large form stepped into the light, though it remained clothed perfectly in darkness. Bifold points flared to life, bright lavender in the dark, though they lit nothing but themselves. Whorls of pure emptiness, the essence of the dark, spiraled out from the imposing figure, shadowed eddies reaching toward the Matoran, creeping along the ground like baneful smoke towards their feet.Emboldened by the courage of the Walker, they remained where they stood, though whether this was truly foolishness or bravery, they did not know. The figure in the door still did not change his position, but an intense vibe of malevolence shone off of him. The Walker and his people did not move as black winds swirled around their heads. The tail of his cloak billowed to one side, though his hood stayed up, as did his hand, with the Tablet.The barrage of umbrage and dark power ended abruptly. The Makuta had clearly seen the triangular stone. He blinked and spoke, his voice rich and deep, echoing wisdom and earth, rather than the corruption and fear that his species was associated with.“You bear a Tablet of Transit. You... are a friend of the Makuta. I ask you, wise one, what is it you wish for these people?” He gestured to the Matoran.The Walker had had enough. "Life. Harmony. No more destruction.”“Perhaps I can do this. Give me the stone.” The Walker stepped forward. The shadows swirled thoughtfully about the rock, before it was lifted into the doorway and enveloped by the dark. The being in the door turned and walked inside. Before he was fully out of sight again, two lavender points gazed back over his shoulder. “You must know, wise one, that there is a price for using this.”“I know. That’s why I brought it.”The gates rumbled slowly shut. The Matoran began to slowly walk back to the ruins of their village, though the Walker stood right where he was. Nobody was still around that night to see him traipse off into the hills again.Two years had passed from the day of the Walker’s excursion. The village was prospering, the fortress was abandoned, and the attacks had ceased.A herald sprinted into the home of the town’s leader bearing melancholy news.An old Turaga of Iron had been found lying outside the town’s perimeter. He was dead, arms crossed on his chest, a cloak folded neatly beside him, and a smile on his face.Hope you all liked that. I decided to write another (better) entry, after my first one turned out poorly. Rings in at exactly 999 words! Decided to go with my strength- original, non-canon scenes and characters. This one portrays the Tablets themselves slightly differently than they are mentioned officially- more like a token than a free pass, if you know what I mean. Anyway, feedback is appreciated!EDIT- Just noticed I typoed the title. Son of a gun. Can I get that fixed somehow?
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Danse Macabre with a Contract “But will it work?” The matoran asked, gesturing with hands in a frantic and utterly helpless manner. His wild, nervous eyes were glistening with the madness of one being tracked, one whose very life is now worth nothing more than what any bounty hunter could collect. “Perhaps. It’s your best bet, but then again, you’re a desperate man, aren’t you?” The response was apathetic, of relaxed tone. “You would sell your own soul for protection. A rather ironic business deals, considered you would be giving what you hoped to keep in your body…” The second figure paused, his insane eyes, eyes of pure, utter madness, glaring at the matoran. “But you are not interested in philosophy or pondering at the moment, are you? Of course not.” “The price. What is the price? What do you want?” The matoran was frantic now, hands on the desk in front of him, his voice nearing screaming as he stood, shaking slightly. “Something infinitely more valuable than your soul, my good sir. Your money. Every thing. That ring of keys in your pocket. The cap off of your head,” With a sudden swipe, the seated figure grabbed the matoran’s hat, and placed it on his head, grinning manically as he did so. “Your very life, every component, every piece.” The matoran said nothing in return, only staring at him for a moment, his mouth open, his protest dying in his throat. “Do you have a wife? No?” The figure behind the desk looked rather disappointed when the matoran shook his head slightly. “I would have taken her as well. Now, down to business…” Holding out his hand, the figure pointed at the key ring, and the bag of widgets attached to the matoran’s belt. Shaking with uncertainty and insecurity, the matoran placed the requested items in the outstretched hand, glancing at the figure in pure and utter disbelief. At first, there was nothing, no response, only those maddened, cruel eyes, bright amber in color, and utterly manic in expression. And then the figure tossed it at him. It was small, much smaller than he expected, and he stumbled as reached for it, barely able to save himself from falling. Reaching out a split second before it met the ground, the matoran managed to snatch the stone, and as he leaned against the desk, breathing heavily, the figure behind the desk, clothed in darkness save for his eyes, coughed, ever so quietly, and ever so menacingly. With a startled gasp, the matoran stepped back, expecting the figure to make another demand he could barely obey. “What? What now?” He cried, half in frustration and half in rage. “It is truly a shame you do not have a wife. Then again, I don’t think I would want to meet a woman who is attracted to you, my good, psychotic sir.” The figure said, following the sentence with a long, drawn out laugh, appreciation of humor only he recognized existed. “Well, go on. You have the transition tablet, go find a Makuta to squeal to.” Suddenly, his voice was serious and utterly merciless. His eyes wide, the matoran pushed himself away from the desk, running as fast as his legs would take him. He continued running out into the street, never stopping. Remain in his seat, the figure took a long, calm drag on his cigarette, sucking in the smoke before slowly breathing it out, letting the grey wisps curl around his lips and rise above. As he did this once more, a terrified scream could be heard from the street, a shriek of pure pain and terror, and then an equally terrible silence.“You never grow tired of leading them on like that, do you?” The voice apparently came from nowhere, originating from the air behind the figure. “I suppose even one as cruel as you has uses to our organization, Jilsud. Congratulations on guiding yet another poor soul to their deaths. Deaths beneficial to us, you can be assured.”“Ah, Jerbraz, I never grow tired of your congratulations and comforting words.” Jilsud said, turning around in his chair so that the light illuminated his face, the face of a Vortixx, grey-green in color, with peculiar mechanical components, resembling things steampunk and clockwork, the color of copper, and the matoran’s hat, a black fedora, perched on his head. “Who exactly did I just kill, if you would be so kind?”“That matoran was one of the last beings to know of Artakha’s location. Tobduk is going to be jealous: Killing them off is his job. I have to say, using that false Tablet of Transit was genius. Why kill them when you can have a brotherhood minion do it?” “How flattering.” Jilsud said, turning his chair around once more, taking another drag on his cigarette, apparently uninterested. “Now, unless you have more information, I suspect I have another customer approaching. A few second later, a female Steltian, wringing her hands in worry, and glancing around nervously, stepped inside the open doorway. “I heard you can supply tablets of transit-” She began, wincing at the words that left her mouth.“The supplier of your information is most talented. Please, take a seat.” Jilsud said, gesturing to the chair in front of his desk. As soon as she sat down, he began to weave his enticing web once again, draining her of every possession, promising to give her salvation, but only handing her a death sentence, in the form of false information, a tablet of transition missing one tiny detail, a possession for which she would be killed on sight. A business deal between the untruthful and the desperate, an arrangement between a devil and a dead man, Danse Macabre with a contract.
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Looming The plains before the wall were slick and muddy from the recent rains, pockmarked with blackened craters and the crisscrossing spider-web of trenches long-abandoned. It was a daunting sight, but there was nothing for it now. Oen sprinted across a stretch of level ground—a quick dash, breathless, and slid down behind a ruined outcropping of stone. The savage shouts of his pursuers rang in the air behind him. They had seen him at last, after all his caution and stealth, after all the hours spent crawling through the mud and filth with the rain beating down on him, half-paralyzed with the fear of discovery. He had only just made it past the Skakdi outpost. He had almost been in the clear. A short sprint to the shelter of the gate, and the long journey would be over...but the light of morning had given him away. It could never have been that easy.Oen leaned out from his cover and scanned the ravaged field before him once more, waiting for his chance. The shapes on the horizon approached, hazy under a dull gray sky. The siege may have been lifted for a time, leaving the field before the wall empty of enemies, but the war was far from over. They would not let him reach the city alive.The patrol turned aside to search one of the trenches, and there was his chance. Oen leapt up and ran, feet pounding the dirt. A shout went up, and he dove forward, headlong into another ditch. Mud splattered across his Kanohi as the sound of burning death seared the air above him. They almost had him that time. He crawled forward, following the direction of the ditch. It went parallel to the wall for a distance, and then curved towards it. Quickly now. Quickly! His lungs were burning, and his muscles ached, but he had to go on. So close. So close to those walls. They had given everything to get him here. Everything. He could not fail them now.The ditch grew shallower, and soon he had no choice but to stand up and run forward in the open again. He was maybe a hundred bio from the wall now. The gate loomed on the left, and he was sure he could see the shapes of sentries on the parapets. They would see him. Surely they would: a small figure on the muddy, pockmarked plain below. They would see his pursuers at the very least. That would get their attention if nothing else. He was almost there. Almost there!Another shudder in the air behind him, and the earth exploded in a surge of sweltering heat to his right. He stumbled, but kept going, trying not to run in a straight line. Don’t look behind you, Oen. Don’t even look. The gate was close now. Surely he was within range!Another blast, closer this time, and he felt fire scorch the armor on his back. The shock from the blast sent him forward on his hands and knees, dazed and weak. Get up. Get up. You’re a sitting target. They’re drawing a bead on you right now. But it was hard...he was so weary, and there was no sign from the wall. What if they couldn’t see him? What if they didn’t care? He wasn’t fast enough...Was this the end? After all this time, after this long, desperate chase across the war-torn plains, he would die here on the edge of safety? Was that truly how it would end?No. The tablet was in his hand, and suddenly he was up again, running with faltering feet toward the distant wall, arm upraised. The symbol on the tablet flashed and flickered in the dull light as he surged forward. Can you see it? Can you? I’m here! Look! Look at me!And then he felt the heat at his back again, and the ripple in the air, and knew that they had him. Time seemed to slow, and he stumbled once more, hand still raised. His eyes closed, and he waited for the end.A flash of light blazed around him, and he felt the surge of energy scorch the air into smoke, as he fell forward—--but he did not die. A shadow fell over the ground, and a rush of expanding air washed over him. A hand gripped his shoulder, hauling him upright, and suddenly there was another mask staring into his face. A Mask of Teleportation, and then it was a Hau again, and another blast of energy poured over them, but it did not touch them. Strong arms lifted him, and the Toa spoke:“Cutting it close aren’t you, Matoran? Where is Toa Kitah?”“Sh-she—” he gasped, still dazed, “She d-didn’t make it.” The tablet was heavy in his hand. It had been Kitah’s, before she died. It was her Pass, her identification, before the cursed Skakdi burned a hole in her back. She had pressed it into his hands, as the life slipped from her.“Get going,” she had rasped in his ear. “Still...still a chance.”Her breath had rattled in her chest as they both lay hidden in the muddy ditch, and then she was gone. The last of his companions, gone. It was only him now...he was the last. He had wept bitterly, clamping his hands tightly over his mouth for fear of alerting the patrols. Harsh tears that were lost in the rain. You are the last...Suddenly Oen realized that a Suletu was staring down at him now. A moment passed, and the gray Toa nodded in understanding, his face strained with the weight of shared memory. They had given everything for him, everything they had...it was a heavy thought.But then the Toa’s eyes flicked up toward the horizon. The Kualsi was back, and the world reeled and flashed away as Oen, last survivor of the Millennium War, was carried to safety behind the Looming Wall. ------------ For the Ambage Fortnightly Flash Fiction Contest. Theme: Tablet of Transit.JRRT
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Something a Makuta Never DoesGali spun around, landing hard in the mud. She grimaced and rose, just in time to be blindsided by the Makuta’s Nynrah missile. Slamming to the ground for another time, the Toa of Water found that she was unable to move her mechanical components. The cacophony of the surrounding aerial battles was drowned out by the pounding in her ears. Despite this she could hear the next words perfectly.“Tsk tsk,” the spindly white Makuta muttered in a viciously calculating, yet somehow sympathetic voice. “I must admit I expected slightly better from you, as you are a Toa Nuva. Well then.”There was a slight rushing noise like a cold wind as Krika stepped elegantly next to the fallen Toa. Suddenly she whirled back up, preparing to counter his attacks, but he struck again swiftly, pinning her arms to the muck with his insectoid limbs. Before she could make another move, before she had time to concentrate, he had swung her unceremoniously onto his back and ascended into the mist, hovering over the brackish Pit water and the bizarre vegetation. As Gali returned to her senses she realized that they were traveling away from the other Toa and Makuta of Karda Nui. Where was he taking her? And why?Reaching a clearing ringed by sickly trees, Krika alighted on a mostly solid patch, and dropped Gali off his shoulders with surprising gentleness. The Ga-Toa rolled over and groaned, shaking her head. Then she looked up at Krika.“Why have you brought me here? Why not just… kill me?” She was not fearful, but somewhat curious; in her experience the Karda Nui Makuta usually were more brutal and direct, not insidiously plotting, like Teridax or Mutran were. Gali silently prepared to manipulate the mutagenic water to wash Krika away, but she decided to hear him out before acting. In a hushed voice that lacked his previous severity, he began. "I am doing something a Makuta never does… I am offering mercy.”Gali was momentarily confused by this apparent change in heart. Was Krika sincere? Or was he merely toying with the Toa of Water? But his offer continued.“Flee, Gali. Leave this place, go anywhere in this universe, but do… not… stay… in Karda Nui." Ah, she knew this was a plot, now. Feigning sympathy in order to get the Nuva out of the equation. A bit less violent than the majority of the Makutas’ plans, but that would just make it more convincing. She decided that Krika was smart enough to know that it wouldn’t fool six Toa; it must be directed specifically at her, then. Not the most solid idea, but the alternative was even more unbelievable, Gali thought. “Why do you want me gone? Or… do you just want one less Toa in Karda Nui?”Krika sighed. “You would have made a good Makuta, Gali.” Another attempt to fool her… though an odd one, to be sure. But the Makuta continued. “You are far too clever to be a Toa. I tell you this…” Ah, this wasn’t good. Krika knew she was aware of his plan. “You Toa Nuva are here to awaken the Great Spirit Mata Nui, a mission that requires all six of you… I tell you…” Had he hesitated then…? She wasn’t sure. Her concept of understanding the Makuta’s deception was being weakened. Krika continued with more conviction. “…And I tell you that if you do that, you and everything you know will be doomed to a future more horrible than you can imagine. Leave now, and that future… cannot!... come to pass.”Gali suddenly had radical thoughts. Was Krika really warning her of danger? Did he feel in some way compassion for the Toa in general, or just Gali? Was he rebelling against the other Makuta? Gali wasn’t sure what to say. Krika began to say something else, but suddenly he cried out and shot out above Gali, landing gracelessly in the swamp behind her. He hissed and pitched forward, a yellow haze smoking off his back. The Toa of Water turned back to see a foreboding grey and white titan before her, like some vision of terrible untruth. She tensed, ready to leap up and attack him. In his clawed hands, she saw, was a glowing blade of golden energy. Her eyes traveled up the being’s body to his mask. And to her horror it resembled… the Avohkii?“Takanuva?” Gali was quite surprised. “Is that really… you? But your armor, your mask…! What happened to you?” The warped Toa sighed much as Krika had not a moment before the Av-Toa’s own arrival.“I’ll explain later. For right now… we need to find the others. If I’m right, everyone in this swamp has only hours to live.” Gali reeled. Was Krika telling the truth after all? Or was some unknown suicidal plan concocted by the six Makuta coming to fruition? Gali shook her head to clear her thoughts. Right now she needed to meet with the other Toa. She decided not to share with them her encounter with Krika, however. - - - With a roar the three vehicles soared off out of the Codrex, the engines’ din reverberating around the giant metallic sphere. Gali, Tahu, Takanuva and Onua stood in silence, gazing off into the foggy swamp through the circular openings near the ceiling. The previous events had left Gali’s mind, preoccupied as she was by the task they were in the midst of.But outside the Codrex, in the middle of a newly vacant clearing, there lay a stone tablet half-enclosed by the murky water, bearing the seal of the Kraahkan upon it, lying just where Gali had unknowingly left it.So, there goes my first entry for this week, my second flash-fiction piece overall. (I may write another, hopefully better entry.) I've gotta say for this one... meh. I had a good idea which evaporated somewhere along the line, and I was left with an awkwardly expanded version of a scene from the comics. Decided to keep and post it anyway. This is based off the comics, by the way, taking the same dialogue and all that- I didn't work off the same scene's depiction in the books, as I haven't read 'em. There are nine-hundred-forty-something words in here, for the record. Anyway, tell me what you think, I suppose.
