The Chronicler Preliminary Poll - Takua

[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:

 

"Burdens Upon My Soul"

1…

2…

3…

4…

Four skips before the pebble finally sank into the ocean. The Toa responded by throwing another stone, watching it cut through the water in a straight line. This one managed three skips. In frustration the Toa released a gust of air with the next pebble, accomplishing only the drowning of the pebble.

Zero, just like me.

This latest war between the Toa and the Glatorian had been just as bloody as the previous three; even now the Toa could only take out his frustrations on rocks and lakes. Everything had become so terrible, so fast. For a short while there had been some semblance of peace and harmony after Mata Nui had died. This was thanks in large part to the Mata and the Glatorian Mata Nui had befriended. Then the horror crept in as a devastating creature had been unleashed upon the Toa.

Three skips.

The Toa of Air still remembered those days, despite being a rookie Toa at the time. One by one the Toa heroes of old fell, alongside Mata Nui’s friends who attempted to help the Toa. It wasn’t long before only the Mata and a handful of Toa were left alive. The Toa often felt guilty for surviving.

Two skips.

Eventually Tahu and the Mata set out, hoping to rid the land of this scourge. Though they accomplished their task, they never returned. The news that their greatest heroes had been wiped out devastated all of the surviving Matoran and Toa, but soon their despair became hatred when they realized the monster never targeted a single Glatorian.

One skip.

Of course the Glatorian were just as angry at the loss of many of the heroes they had sent to aid the Toa. They blamed the Toa, for the arrival of this beast and so they too sought revenge. That was when all Karz broke loose.

Zero skips.

A gust of wind managed to fling sand into the Toa’s face causing him to drop the pebble. The sand only gave the Toa of yet another reason to hate this place. The small band of Toa accompanying him didn’t even have the luxury of being assigned to one of the more temperate climates. However even that wasn’t always the best option, the Jungles just meant more chances of an ambush. Everything about this place was terrible.

This time the Toa kicked the pebble, silently watching as it arced into the air. The pebble somehow managed six skips leaving the Toa swearing at fate for being such a cruel mistress. Why would she aid him when he did something wrong? Picking up another pebble he let it fly.

Eight skips.

Perhaps fate wasn’t always so cruel, but it certainly hadn’t been kind in the past few hundred years. He still remembered how wide-eyed the Toa had gone into the war, only to have their idealistic hopes of a bloodless war vanquished. On Spherus Magna it was kill or be killed.

Seven skips.

He still remembered his first kill. It had been a terrible experience that still shook his very core. Toa don’t kill. That had been the fundamental rule, the one driven into him since his early days as a Matoran, however on Spherus Magna none of that mattered.

Six skips.

Unfortunately the pain of killing only faded as time went by. Soon all of the Toa were laying waste to legion of Glatorian every day, and yet they kept losing. For every ten Glatorian they killed by day, the Glatorian killed fifteen of them at night.

Five skips.

His brothers and sisters hadn’t been spared from this fate either. One by one each Toa of his former team perished. Eventually only he was left. He had nothing but sympathy for the Chronicler. His own memories weighed so deeply upon his soul, he couldn’t imagine the pain of a Chronicler who had to deal with everyone’s memories.

Four skips.

“Brother!” A voice rang out from across the camp, alerting the Toa of Air. “The Glatorian are attacking!”

Three skips.

The news only served to further ruin the Toa’s mood as he lethargically grabbed another rock. However this one was different from the others, it was covered in blood. Picking it up he let it fly out towards the enemy.

Two lives.

However this time things it was his turn and so he could only resign his head as the counter attack was launched his way.

One life.

He was finally free from his memories.

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Choice #2:

"Easy Shadows"

 

There are not many stories that are fully true.

This is because most stories are old, and time twists tales in such a way that nobody can really be sure what happened or not. So many things happen over such a short period of time that the strings are bound to get tangled and there are so many discrepancies that someone has to sort them all out.

It is the job of a Chronicler to learn all they they can about the history of their assigned location or people. In such a vast world, to make sure that all the details of their history are correct and never too far-fetched.

This is quite difficult when you have to talk to a pathological liar.

The Vortixx's claw-like fingers drummed on the wooden table as she held her face in her other hand. Her name was Roodaka, and though her weapons had been removed, she was still deemed dangerous enough for the Chronicler to have guards assigned to her. However, when they realised that she wouldn't be talking to anyone other than the small Vo-Matoran, they had left the cell and locked the door.

"So, you probably want to know my motives for turning the Toa into Hordika first," she purred. The Chronicler shivered, but didn't let this deter her until she realised that she was too scared to speak. She nodded, knowing that if she shook her head then she would have to say something. The Vortixx smirked knowingly and looked at her with her right eye. "Their corpses would have been useful, and it was also my way of testing Sidorak. If he had accepted the idea, he would be again proved to me that he was unworthy of my time. If he had disagreed and mutated them - for almost no good reason I may add - then he had succeeded for once. Needless to say, this was yet another of my tests that he had failed."

As she finished the sentence in a harsher tone than before, she scraped her fingers down on the wood, tearing out a small chunk and throwing it at the wall.

"However, I had many plans for what happened next. If they had died, then I could have used their corpses for brokering deals and for a little thing that you know nothing of called power. But as they lived, I could use their new mental state for my own good."

The Chronicler leaned in, still scrawling on a piece of parchment given to her by an Agori of the Fire Tribe. Roodaka observed her haughtily before continuing.

"My first choice was actually Matau. He had darkness - so much that it was a shame to waste it. Nokama would have been a better choice to destroy their precious unity, but she was stubborn and unyielding. The others could have done the job, but Vakama was willing to walk straight into my web." She chuckled. "Just like a Toa should."

The Chronicler blinked. She should not have been surprised - Turaga Vakama had admitted it, after all - but to hear these words spoken by a known villain, and to be told how foolish their leader had been, brought a small chill to the Chronicler's soul.

"You know everything that happened in Metru Nui. I will not deny this, nor shall I add anything such as personal motives. I know that you want to hear about my weaknesses, so all of your new Orders and Federations can find some way to punish me.

"I have some advice for you, little Matoran. Rules, such as those that you live and breathe every day by, are nothing but restrictions placed on you so you don't usurp those who placed themselves in power."

She stood up and walked to the cell door. There, she picked the lock and opened the door. "Come, little Matoran. I will teach you about the benefits of the places that your Turaga tell you are shadows. You will never be powerless again, and wouldn't it be wonderful to not be looking over our shoulder every day to make sure that I am not there with my knife to your throat?"

The Vo-Matoran looked up from the parchment, before nodding and following the Vortixx out of the door.

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Choice #3:

"Preserving the Past"

Hey, uh. I don’t have much time to talk, so I guess I’d better make the most of it. Oh, yeah. Guess I’d better introduce myself, sorry. Name’s Greil. Not a Toa, no – I look like one, yeah, but I come from a species native to the Southern Islands. Which isn’t really that important, I guess. What matters more is what I do; I’m a… historian, I guess you’d say. The Matoran call me a Chronicler, or at least most of them do. I’ve been a lot of places, seen a lot of things. All of it’s recorded in that book over there, or at least the parts that aren’t in that one. Or any of those in that stack. Or… yeah, you get the idea.

That’s not really what I’m trying to tell you about, though. Yeah, adventures are cool. Watching history unfold before your eyes is something that never gets. But, see, it’s all there. All in those books. Feel free to read about any of it, if you like. Just bear with me for a few minutes here, all right?

See, as you can probably tell, I’ve got a thing for the past. Recording it, documenting it. Crafting a chronicle of our existence so the deeds we do won’t be forgotten. Like, uh… hang on a second, let me just… Yeah, here it is. Volume Six, chapter forty-three – “The Deeds of Toa Hydrac.” His exploits were the stuff of legends while he was alive. Now, though? You ask the people of his village about him, and all they have is vague recollections of a Bo-Toa who protected the island a while back, “or something like that.” A piece of the past lost. Events that may as well not have happened for all the thought they’re given. See how fragile the past is? The mere passage of time destroys it, melts it from our memory.

So yeah. That’s what I do. Preserve the past. Guard it, protect it. If I don’t, it’ll just vanish, and we’ll never recover it.

Wait, wait, I’m not done. ‘Cause, see, that’s not all there is to the past. Tell me – what’s the point of preserving it, huh? Why do we try to remember everything that happened before now? To honor the heroic deeds of those who came before us? Just for completeness, to have a full record?

Both of those have some merit, yeah. That’s what I had in mind when I set out on this quest, this endless, lifelong journey to record what’s happened in this world we call our home. But see, there’s something else that I realized.

Ultimately, the past is gone.

I mean, think about that, really think about it for a minute.

The past means a lot of things to a lot of people. Some recall the deeds of their heroes, wishing they could someday mirror such feats. But the thing is, you’ve got your own life to live – you can’t live it if you focus on the past.

Many live in regret of the decisions they’ve made, wishing they had done things differently. Wishing things had turned out better. But the things you’ve done – they’re gone! Because they’re in the past. When it comes down to it, living in regret doesn’t really make sense at all, does it? ‘Cause really, since you can’t change the choices you’ve made, what’s left to do but go out there and make better ones, yeah?

I guess what I’m trying to say is this: It’s good to remember the past, but don’t let it distract you from the present.

Well, uh. Looks like that’s all the time I’ve got. Like I said, feel free to check out those books. Or maybe you could go out there and live your life. I don’t really mind either way; I’ve got some things to take care of…

It’s up to you.

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Choice #4:

"Words by Kopeke"

I have never been one to do much speaking. I never had to. I let others talk their throats hoarse if they wanted. I let them discharge their views, right or wrong, whether I agreed or not, to their hearts' contents. Words never solved anything. I listened when I thought it was worth while, but what good would it have been to answer? I stood by and did what I had to do.

For many years it was my job to listen and observe. It wasn't my own story I was chronicling. It was the story of the universe. I was just watching. That was my duty and I stuck to it. Words are useless, idle things. Now, so am I.

The time of my usefulness is past. My destiny as a chronicler was fulfilled when I became a Toa. During those centuries I spoke even less. I did my duty and I wasted no time talking. My deeds have passed into legend alongside the feats of the many great heroes in our history. Still I was only an observer. Only I had become an observer of my own destiny.

That was a long time ago. We live in more peaceable times now. The world has little use for Toa, and even less for quiet Turaga. My destiny is over. My chronicles are written.

I spend my days now in tranquil seclusion. There is not much here for me to observe. Only memories. I have lost my purpose. I am now useless, idle.

In losing my purpose I have found it.

Idleness need not be useless if it is worthily devoted. If words are worthless, if I am idle, let us unite and find a destiny for us both.

Now I have a new gift to give the universe. My time has been well spent observing our world. I have done much, and seen more. I may have nothing tot tell that has not been told, but that does not mean my mind is empty.

In an idle chair, with words and stylus, I will create new legends.

For the first time I open my mouth to speak. After millennia of silence, I have a lot to say.

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Choice #5:

"The Eternal Silence of A Bitter Man"

I never thought I would be tasked with this; I never imagined I would be asked to record the history of an entire universe.

And yet, here I am, parchment in my hand, and ink stains tainting my snow-white fingers.

I watched as my friends grew into heroes, becoming characters in the legend I humbly wrote down. I watched others aspire for greatness, achieve greatness and become something that ascended beyond mere mortality, as I merely sat and watched, content to be the recorder. I could have been a hero; I could have welcomed the Toa Mata, become one of the Toa Inika, doing wondrous things, and feeling such great rushes of emotion.

Yet I do nothing but carry stone tablets, and I feel nothing but the rough wood of a chisel’s handle, scraping my once-delicate hands into a callous mass of bone, muscle and protodermis.

Am I a fool for letting them do such things? Should I have seized the day, should I have spoken when I was silent, and acted when I was frozen in my own lethargy? Should I have dared to not only dream, but to act?

I do not know. I merely write down the doings of Destiny; I have no knowledge of the force that sets the universe in motion, giving each of us a meaning and a task.

There are so many that think my life is a glorious one. They think of me not as a slave to an unseen master, but as a loyal and hardy squire, recording the doings of a brave warrior. They do not see the apparent sadness, but only the absent glory.

I am a bitter man, having lived far too long for my own good. I have never seen the golden light of glory, but only the crimson and shadowy stain of suffering.

It is said that the Chronicler’s occupation is a post to be respected, but I am unable to see why. I am little more than a glorified clerk, working for a cruel, enigmatic master, at best mysterious, at worst treacherous.

And yet I find myself unable to stop. The cruel, heartless force known as Duty has become the sword of Destiny, striking down any attempt to rebel. I write, I record, and I listen, but I never act or think. I am a husk of a being, forged by my job, and hollow inside, an automaton, born to serve an unseen Lord by performing an unclear task.

Only one of the Three Virtues I can claim to disown, for my role in society demands my ignorance of it. Unity, the principle that drives both Rahi and sapient beings into a stupidly gregarious mindset, is as foreign to me as the feeling of accomplishment. I can only watch as my peers work together, uniting to complete a task impossible for the lone worker, as I feel nothing but confusion.

Even before I was appointed this accursed office, I worked unaccompanied, relying on only myself to carve beauty out of the blocks of heartless, biting ice. I was always silent, for I saw the idiocy of my brethren to be unworthy of notice.

But I am naught but a bitter, cruel man. My intelligence may be tempered by cynicism, but it also tainted by a certain lack of empathy. My name is forgotten, replaced by my title. Perhaps if I hear the word one more time, some component of my soul will return.

Kopeke.

A rather nice name that belongs to a rather disagreeable man. Perhaps “Chronicler” is my proper name; I have chronicled and recorded enough to earn it. I suppose it can’t be argued; it has been given to me by Destiny, reinforced by Duty, and strengthened by a lack of Unity.

I’m naught but a bitter man, with ink-stained hands, worn rough by the days of carving stone. I am the Chronicler of Spherus Magna, the recorder for not one, but two entire universes. I am a bitter writer, my words tainted with my scorn, my once delicate, beauty-crafting hands now as hard and callous as my heart.

Recording the sins of a universe has done this to me. I have watched false hope after false hope die; I have seen a universe in its death throes, and I have tilled salted ground.

But I am unable to feel. I am unable to think. I can only record, writing down these things in eternal silence.

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Choice #6:

"Uniform"

 

I’ll never fit in… Hielo thought Every time I have an adventure, everyone stares at me quizzically. As if they’re judging if I really am a Ko-Matoran. Hielo wandered into his flat in Ko-Ouda. He’d never applied for a job, he never wanted one. After all, who wants to sit around all day studying or working? Oh wait, that’s right; Everybody else. Hielo thought as he sat down. He flicked on his television and watched it halfheartedly. He was distraught to say the least. No one liked him, no one appreciated his company, and no one thought that he was worth anything. Not even him. Hielo got up to go to bed when something of interest caught his attention: the chief chronicler of Ouda-Nui had been connected to a crime ring in Onu-Ouda and the Turaga was now seeking a replacement! I’m the guy for the job. Hielo thought as he grabbed his bag and set out for the central city of Ouda-Nui.

 

“Hey! Watch it!” A Matoran driver yelled as he jerked to a stop. “Sorry!” Hielo yelled back. Getting through the city was hard. There were too many side streets and roads that intersected, and the traffic signals being out of sync only made it worse. One had to have sharp wits and reflexes to make it out of here with a few cuts. Here I am; the Tower. Hielo thought. The Tower was the very center of Ouda-Nui. Only the rich, the famous, and the officials lived here. After a week’s journey, Hielo had finally made it. Now to get inside…

 

“Wow, they don’t like guest.” Hielo said. He didn’t make it past the lobby. Apparently you needed a visitor’s pass, which Hielo did not possess, to get inside. Well, so much for plan A. Hielo thought. “Time for plan B” He said as he gazed upward towards the top of the Tower.

In hindsight, this was most definitely NOT a good idea. Hielo thought as he looked down. He was thirty stories in the air and still had twenty stories to go before he reached the Turaga’s private flat at the top. By now, a large crowd of Matoran had amassed in front of the building. Great, just what I needed; extra attention.

The Turaga of Ouda-Nui was just waking up from his afternoon nap when Hielo tumbled through a window. “What’s this?” The Turaga said, “An adventurous Matoran, I don’t come across many of those.”

 

“Forgive my entrance, Turaga.” Hielo said, exhausted. “I’ve come to apply for the job of chief Chronicler.” Hielo said.

 

“What is your name?” The Turaga asked.

 

“My name is Hielo, Turaga.” Hielo replied.

 

"Well then, Hielo, the title of Chronicler is not one that is given away freely. One must earn it by traveling throughout Ouda-Nui and keeping a detailed history of such an adventure.” The Turaga said.

 

“Very well, Turaga. I will return in one month with the stories of my journey.” Hielo said with a slight bow as he climbed out of the window.

 

“I would recommend that you use the lift.” The Turaga said.

 

“Nah, the welcome desk attendant doesn’t like me very much.” Hielo said as he jumped through the window.

 

The Turaga chuckled a little. He’s the one. I can feel it. The Turaga thought.

 

“Every Matoran has His or Her place. Hielos does not; he must be terminated” An ominous voice said. “Or have you forgotten, my dear Turaga, that every Matoran must be uniform. Have you forgotten you place? Must you be terminated?”

 

“No, master, I am making the call now." The Turaga said as he keyed in a com code.

I’m really glad that the parachute worked. Hielo thought as he walked away from the Tower.

Now it’s time to head off to Le-Ouda.

 

“He’s on his way toward Le-Ouda” A voice crackled through the intercom. “Make sure he doesn’t make it into the city, Korvux.”

“Sure thing boss, but Hielo isn’t a Matoran that’s so easily killed.” Korvux said as he assumed his sniping position in a nearby tree. He’ll have no idea what hit him. Korvux thought as he activated his camouflage.

 

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[Excelsior]

#3 and #4 were my favorites, but I ended up voting for #4.

 

May the best story win!

 

-Excelsior

Edited July 1, 2013 by Excelsior

[Velox]

Polling period over; topic closed.