The Chronicler Preliminary Poll - Hahli

[Velox]

Vote here for your favorite Chronicler story; entries have been randomized. Please MAKE SURE YOU READ ALL ENTRIES BEFORE VOTING.Voting begins now and will end on July 2nd at 11:59 PM EST. Entries that do well will move on to the Chronicler Final Poll, which will be posted at the conclusion of the 10th round preliminary poll.

 

Choice #1:

 

"Letter From an Old Friend"

Takua,

If you're reading this then I'm either dead, or declared dead. I don't see myself dying or disappearing from Metru Nui anytime soon, but then again, being Chronicler isn't exactly low-risk,and there are a few things I should see to. This is one of them.

So, first of all, I just want to say you're a good friend. (Yes, it's cliched. Give the dead guy a break, all right?) True, you annoyed me the first time we met. I believe your exact words to me were, "Your job is to wander all over the island and be given a front-row seat to anything exciting? How did you find an excuse to slack off regular work for this?" I did not approve of the fact that you saw my dangerous and laborious position as "an excuse to slack off" and not “regular work.”

But after maybe the third time I ran into you around the city (since we are both wanderers attracted to excitement like lava eels to heat) I realized you didn't mean to be offensive. You just honestly didn't understand why I should get a free pass to do all the things you were forcibly restrained for doing. (Nor have you ever accepted the obvious differences.)

But we could hardly help being acquaintances, since (as noted above) we tend to wind up in the same places. (Jaller behind you, of course. You are undeservedly lucky to have a best friend who will try that hard to stop you from being an cool dude.) And, of course, you're the prime witness to (if not cause of) over half the noteworthy things I do miss, meaning I have to interview you about them. And then you started criticizing my writing style, which meant that you had to try it yourself, so Jaller and I could laugh at you instead.

Still, though, you absolutely refuse to admit my job as Chronicler involves any effort or unpleasantness, or, in fact, that it qualifies as a "job" at all. This leads me to the second thing I need to say: If you think it's so easy, do it yourself. No, really.

I'm naming you as my choice for the next Chronicler....

Having paused to allow you to recover from your shock, I will now explain my reasoning. (Consider this a rehearsal for the recommendation letter I have to write Turaga Dume.)Yes, you're reckless, but a certain amount of recklessness is necessary in a Chronicler. Yes, everyone says you're irresponsible, but they're judging that by how well you do at a job you are emphatically not suited for. (If you fall behind in any of your Chronicler duties even once, I will take that as your concession that it is at least as valid a job as mask-making or anything else.) And yes, you can be an impetuous, thoughtless, trouble-seeking cool dude, to a degree not beneficial in anyone but...

but...

...well, nobody's perfect, are they? And I think your various assets outweigh this defect.

What do I consider assets, you ask? You love travel and excitement of all kinds, even more than I do. (Yes, I enjoy it. That doesn't mean it's not a real job, it's just work I like - oxymoronic as I know that seems to you.) You're definitely not a coward. Though you have a pretty realistic worldview, you still believe in heroes and heroism. I'm not having some cynic like Onewa stealing my job.

And, though I hate to admit it, you're really not a half-bad writer.

So there you have it. In the highly hypothetical event of my death or extended disappearance you will become Chronicler. If you can't, I'd probably accept Kopeke from Ko-Metru (though I'm not going to explain that here too) but you're my first choice.

Your friend,

Kodan the Chronicler

Toa Takanuva stared at the letter before him, uncertain whether to laugh or to cry. When he and Hahli Mahri had been sent to search their fellow Chronicler's former home for important writings, he had not expected to find a letter from along-lost and now unknown friend. Nor had he expected the discovery that he had been recommended for the position of Chronicler, a thousand years and a universe away from his appointment.

He wondered if the formal recommendation was nearby, but did not search for it. Instead he called to his fellow Toa.

"Hey, Hahli. You know how the Turaga are trying to choose a new Chronicler - do you know Kopeke?"

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Choice #2:

"The Burning Truth"

Teridax folded his arms and coldly regarded his brother, Mutran, so soon back from his mission. There was something amiss in the scientist’s behaviour. He refused to be seated and instead chose to float restlessly around the room, picking up objects and flinging them aside once done inspecting. Had it been anyone else, they might have been a pile of dust at this point. As it was, Mutran had information that Teridax wanted.

“Tren Krom,” he said loudly. “What did you find out about him?”

At the name of the beast, Mutran’s head swivelled and a manic glint twisted the otherwise cold eyes beneath his Kanohi. “Look at my memory,” the scientist chuckled.

“What?”

“That’s what it said, that Tren Krom, when it turned me into a chronicler. Oh, I did as you wished, my brother and I’ve seen much, so much. So much more than you could ever have asked of me!”

For a moment, Teridax was taken aback by his underling’s behaviour. It was so erratic but filled with a passion that enticed his curiosity. “Go on,” he demanded as he settled back into his chair. “Tell me what happened when you met Tren Krom.”

“Oh, Tren Krom. Hahaha! Yes! Tren Krom! I went! I did as you asked! I went to negotiate with him and I found him! He was a strange creature, all crimson slime and tentacles and eyes that darted this way and that. I almost mistook him for an old experiment! But I didn’t! Instead I told him of the Brotherhood and he silenced me. He said….He said he could take all the necessary information from me without me even needing to talk. I just stood and waited and all of a sudden, I heard this piercing wail and only realised moments later that it was my own. I was crumbling to the floor and clutching my head as it slithered all snake-like into my head!

“’Look at my memory’, the beast cried, but it needn’t have bothered because I was already forcing my way inside. And just like that a door opened in its mind and all the horrors of the universe flooded out to meet me.

“I screamed! Oh, but I didn’t scream, my brother, I didn’t just scream! I wriggled and squiggled and I writhed and thrived and I fought and I sought, oh, I sought, I sought, I sought for salvation! But salvation never came because salvation will not emerge to coil its burning wings around me and shield me from the blinding horrors of existence! I was so alone, so cold and so desolate but at the same time everything was with me.

“I wish you could have been there, I wish you could have seen the things that I saw. My mind, my mind was so open, like a book, like a wound and all the bacteria of knowledge flooded inside! It corrupted me, it twisted me and I was reborn! I saw things! I saw the birth of the universe itself! I saw the fire that ignited the heart of life! I kissed the sun and I danced amongst the stars. Mata Nui was born under my watchful eye in that moment!

“Everything became clear to me now. For the first time in my life, I finally understood. I knew, I knew the boundaries of our universe. I knew our limits, an answer that thousands and thousands of years of delicate research could not provide. I found the walls. And I discovered how to break them down.

“Why do you look at me this way, brother? Do you doubt me or do you fear me? I beg you to understand the truth in my words. There is no feeling like this, no sensation and no words that can summarise my madness. No! No, it’s not madness, it’s so much more! It’s purity! I feel so pure! I feel so alive!

“I…I’ve always looked for inspiration! I’ve looked for something to fuel my mind and when that idea hits, the euphoric feeling that burns! There’s nothing like it! And it’s my life now, it’s all I have! I live to create now, all over again!

“Because you didn’t see what I saw! The truth to our universe! The secret that we’ve never been told! That the suns are fake! That the sky is an illusion! That our lives are not our own! Because Mata Nui is not our creator or our deity! Mata Nui is our home!”

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Choice #3:

"Corruption"

The snow banks of Ko-Koro were some of the most beautiful parts of the island. The glistening ice portrayed a light show of epic proportions. There were many inhabitants, some Matoran, some otherwise. They could all feel the snow coming down with equal parts wonder and disdain.

In the middle of it were two white, figures- one tinted blue and the other a sort of alabaster. The latter was tall and resonated power, but left a chill in the already-cold air of Ko-Wahi. Not that the former, short and stout, was much of a juxtaposition.

"Kopaka," said the shorter, brandishing a tablet of stone and a marker, "tell me again of how you defeated the Muaka."

'Kopaka' was obviously not much of people person. His traveling companion had to actively work to match his gait, rather than easily fall into step beside him.

"I've told you so many times, you should be able to recite it word for word, Kopeke," he said, sighing deeply, "but very well."

He proceeded to tell the story once again as they continued to tread across the snowy plains, Kopeke etching down each part. Just as they got to the good part, however, they were interrupted by a rather hungry pack of wild Rahi.

"Stand back!" Kopaka barked, leaping out in front of the chronicler and drawing his sword. They didn't threaten him, however, and with a few slashes they had all been scared off or wounded.

"What would cause those Rahi to attack us?" Kopeke asked, "they're usually peaceful. At the least, not this hostile towards us."

Kopaka shook his head, "corruption. That would be my first guess. Of course, it could be a number of things."

"Hey! Hey, help!" A new voice, far off, yelled. Kopaka turned his head towards the voice and saw its speaker: a Matoran frozen upside down in the ice. Unfortunately, there was a chasm between himself and the distressed Matoran.

"I'm coming," he yelled, conducting his sword at the chasm, even as a bridge of ice formed. As a Toa, these things were never a problem. He rushed across, but Kopeke stayed behind- after all, he wouldn't be too much help.

As it turned out, he just might've been. As Kopaka freed him, he took a closer look at his mask. His eyes widened and he stumbled back- an infected mask. Out of nowhere came a flying Rahi- also infected -that knocked him off his feet. Kopeke almost rushed to help him, but the ice bridge had weakened exponentially as Kopaka fell. It seemed to Kopeke that all hope had been lost, when a green blur came into view. He tackled the Rahi straight from the air.

Lewa had arrived.

Though in the midst of battle, they traded banter just as normal.

"Nice of you to drop by," Kopaka smirked, standing and steadying his blade.

"I was in the area-vicinity," the cheerful Toa of air replied.

As far as Kopeke could see, they defeated the Rahi without trouble. Then, something completely unexpected happened. The two began fighting. The chronicler squinted, and spotted a glint of color on Kopaka's face- a Krana.

Kopaka had been corrupted.

----

"...and they were still fighting when I left."

Nuju nodded, "this explains the recent Rahi attacks. However, there is nothing we can do.

"The Toa must fight their own battles."

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Choice #4:

"The Chronicler's Burden"

 

The Chronicler walked slowly, a massive pack on his back. He was Po-Matoran, and well accustomed to such a load. he had been gone a long time, nearly a year, off beyond the mountains. But now he had come back, to share the treasures that he had won, each story painstakingly etched in solid stone.

 

Word spread among the villagers that the Chronicler was coming. there would be much celebration after the sun set, culminating in the Chronicler telling a story. The story would not be long, and would not be followed by another. But it had always been something intriguing, beautiful, precious. And the Chronicler had a way of speaking, of painting a picture and evoking emotions that was legendary.

 

Then he would give his load of tablets to the village elder for safekeeping, and the elder would give him blank tablets in return.

 

And in the morning he would be gone again.

 

So they listened carefully.

 

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Choice #5:

 

They say that the life of the chronicler is more esteemed than that of a Turaga, more desired than anything else a Matoran can do.

They’re wrong. Dead wrong. Being a chronicler is like being a trophy, with no real purpose. You’re a burden and a nuisance for the mighty heroes you follow.Even worse is what you see. Sure, a chronicler from Metru Nui or some nice and lawful place has it easy. Maybe some vicious Rahi, maybe a criminal or two, but nothing as ghastly as the scene we walked through. Ahead my team leader stood, looking about with a grim expression. The village we traveled to was deserted; bereft of the living that is. I winced as I trod upon a limp hand, picking my way through the corpses.“Who did this, Toa?” My voice annoys me to no end: shaky after the sudden scare. The Toa of Stone glances down at me.“Piraka, chronicler. That’s who did this. Skakdi, Vortixx, who knows. They’re Piraka to the core.” His voice was harsh, and he turned away before I could answer. I was stung by his tone before—glancing at his shaking shoulders—I realized that he too was overcome by the tragedy we stood in the midst of.I turned away instead, hunting out the team healer, a young Lightning Toa. Unlike the rest of us she was at work, lining the still bodies next to each other rather than in the grotesque sprawling they had assumed before. I looked at her, not at the dead Matoran below me.“What are we going to do?” The real questions never come when they’re needed. Most chroniclers must get sick of reality sometimes when they depict the flowery speeches that go one between the Toa. She looked up at me, her soft blue eyes pained.“What we’ve always done these past years, Chronicler. We leave the dead and we move on.”I nodded, unable to look into those deep orbs, stumbling away. I sat down in a deserted building, at an old desk. My tablet was in my hand, but I couldn’t write. A dead Ko-Matoran lay next to the desk, his hands grasping futilely at a bundle of scrolls. No doubt those were more important to him than his own life. I left my tablet on the desk then, bending over him. As I moved him into a more dignified posture I felt the tears coming. I gave in, crouching against a wall and sobbing.These moments were not what they promised you when they handed you the scrolls and the tablets, when they welcomed you with speeches and cheers.These were moments that even Toa could not face. There was no overarching evil to face, no mastermind to bring to justice. It was only another band of scum, of no worth to the world, no worth save for that which they deprived the innocent of. I don’t know how long I crouched there in my grief, but at last I staggered back to the desk.It was then that I began writing this with a vigor I had never known.Life is Karzahni when you really look into it. Recording it just adds another stage to it. Because you see these horrors, and then you relive them by writing them. And you make others live it, even if they can only glimpse it in your text. But for me, right now, it’s the best I can do. I’m not a Toa, I have no powers or weapons or fancy masks. All I have is this tablet, all I can do is write this.I’m a Chronicler. This is my ordeal.

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Choice #6:

"The Ash Bear’s Den"

A lone Matoran wandered through the jungles of Le-Wahi. He had come to be known as the Chronicler, and he had gotten lost on his way to the jungle village. Now, he was desperately searching for a path back to civilization.

Something dropped from the treetops behind him, and he turned to spot Lewa, the Toa of Air.

“Who be ground-walking this far from bright Le-Koro?” Lewa wondered.

“I’m the Chronicler,” the Matoran answered. “And I’m sort of lost.”

“Chronicler, ‘eh,” Lewa said. “I’ve tale-heard of you from my fellow Toa. Well, I was on my way to quick-spot a Le-Matoran, but you’ll do in a pinch. I need your fast-help.”

“Certainly, Toa,” the Chronicler said. “But what can I do?”

“I am look-seeking a Kanohi Ruru in the den of Graalok the Ash Bear,” Lewa explained. “We two be good buddy-friends, but she not-know that yet, and protects den very well. She out hunting deep-wood, but I could use Matoran to warn-call of her return.”

“So, you want me to be a lookout?” the Chronicler asked, struggling to follow the Toa’s slang.

“Much-yes!” Lewa exclaimed. He picked up the Matoran, and jumped into the trees. “Quick, den-cave is in this direction!”

Five minutes later, the two of them arrived at the edge of the hills, and the Chronicler could see a small cave opening. “You stay here and shout-yell if Graalok back-comes,” Lewa said, and he ducked into the cave.

The Chronicler settled into position and looked out into the forest. The jungle was peaceful enough, and he began to wonder why Lewa had even brought him along. But his thoughts were interrupted as he heard a roar, and in the distance he saw the orange outline of the charging Ash Bear.

“Lewa, she’s heading this way!” the Chronicler shouted. “Lewa, can you hear me? LEWA!”

The Ash Bear was on top of the Matoran before he knew it, and she swung her claw which threatened to tear him to shreds. The Chronicler tried to leap backwards, and although he avoided her first swipe, he tripped and back down. Now the Rahi would get him for sure.

But Graalok’s second attack was thrown back by a gust of wind, and Lewa appeared at the cave’s edge. “Back, beast, or I will blow-blast you with high-winds!” he said.

Graalok merely roared again and prepared for another charge. Lewa looked unsure about his chances, so he said, “Time for plan-change!” He grabbed the Matoran and yanked him into the cave. Before the Ash Bear could follow, Lewa struck the walls with his hatchet and caused a cave in.

The Chronicler blinks as the rocks ceased rumbling, but now he was surrounded by complete darkness. “We’re trapped, aren’t we,” he said.

“Not-fear, for there is exit-tunnel in back,” Lewa said. “I believe it will out-lead us to open air.”

“But how will we find it in here when we can’t see a thing?” the Chronicler asked.

“I have mask that will ever-help with that,” Lewa said, and he donned his noble Kanohi Ruru, the mask of night vision. “I can well-see in shadows with this, and I’ll lead to escape-hole!”

After a minute of walking through darkness, the Toa and Matoran reached the end of the tunnel and emerged in daylight. Lewa grinned, and summoned back his original Miru Kanohi. “Well, that fun-time adventure, Chronicler. Next time you’re in high-fly Le-Koro, you can speak-tell of our adventure.”

He was cut off by another roar, and Graalok appeared over the hill. She leapt forward and swiped her paw, throwing the Toa into a nearby swamp. The Chronicler drew a bamboo disc and prepared to defend himself, but now the Ash Bear seemed less aggressive. With a grunt, she slipped in through the tunnel they had left and returned to her den.

“What was that about?” the Chronicler wondered.

“Oh, she just angry-mad that I slip-sneaked into her den,” Lewa said, crawling out of the muck of the swamp. “She got in good claw-smack, and for her, that’s ever-good as apology.”

“You’re one crazy Toa to mess with an Ash Bear like that,” the Chronicler said.

Lewa grinned. “Like I said, we be buddy-friends. . . someday.” He looked down as the swamp grime that covered him. “Oh, and perhaps when you story-tell of our adventure, you could out-leave the swamp-mess part.”

[Excelsior]

Tough choice between #4 and #5, but I had to go with #5.

 

May the best story win!

 

-Excelsior

[Velox]

Polling period over; topic closed.