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BZPRPG - Ta-Wahi

Nuju Metru

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"I know the difference between stupid and clever, and you're definitely the former."


"Girls girls, you're both pretty. And in the way. Can you let me through?"








I turned towards the source of the new voice and saw a female matoran (kinda cute :3) wearing a Kanohi Rau. Crisp blue was the main color that covered her body, though I noticed the curves of white rising just above her shoulders. I guess she was a Vo-Matoran, but I wasn't exactly sure.


"Why, yes, I understand how I could appear to be pretty to you, but....does it not occur to you that I'm a male? I mean, I know how you could mistake this guy -"

I gestured with my hand, paused for a moment as I stared at Zomma, then shrugged.


" - For a girl because of the constant number of assumptions he believes to be right, reveals blissful ignorance to everyone else, thinks he looks good when he - as you say - blocks the way, and....well, he doesn't have a nose. But in the end....I'm a guy. You're the girl. Open your eyes, otherwise there could be some problems arising."

I winked.


"Welcome to Ta-Koro."

GT: Jl1223 X <----add me :3


BZPRPG Profiles 2013

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Lana blinked, having thoroughly expected a more violent or brash reaction. Then she burst out laughing, even raising her leg slightly and slapping the palm of her hand across her knee.

She slowly regained some composure, standing up straight again and folding her arms. "I like you mister." She said. "I like you a great deal."

"Those who dream by day are conscious of many things that escape those who dream only by night." - Edgar Allan Poe

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IC: "The Forerunner"


The white and red toa felt dazed. Borderline concussed. How long had he passed out? He looked up at the would be battle field, confused. He must have passed out during the fight. He felt his arms. Was he bleeding? Evidently he was. He looked around. The battle seemed to be long over, not even a smolder. He felt weak. Did he need treatment? Maybe.


He, had, to, push, forward. But soon, though he collapsed.


OOC: The forerunner is kinda back for interaction.

Edited by Aurora the cat

-Insert deep message to prove I am alive here-

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“I wonder: how many of these could you stuff in your mouth at once?”


“They shouldn’t go in my mouth. They should go beneath my feet.”


“I beg to differ, dear Reidak. That is to say – and, as much as it pains me to disagree with someone of such monumental musculature and stupidity, I must – they’re too delectable to belong anywhere other than on the tongue. Look. See?”


“I’m not going to watch you… You’re disgusting.”


“You’re right, I shouldn’t have slurped that one down so loudly… Some of us actually have better manners than that. Come on; stuff them in your mouth.”


“They’re wiggling.”




“I dare you.”


“Dares are meaningless, Thok.”


“Have it your way. Hakann was able to squish sixteen in his gob, when I dared him… without swallowing. He’s been bragging about it all day.”


“…Give me the box.”


“Knew you’d come around. Okay, I’ll keep count.”


“Sixteen. I can beat that.”


“Your mouth may not be as naturally fat as Hakann’s, but I don’t doubt your resolve. Go.”


“Mmmt’s Mmmvmmtsmmh.”


“Don’t talk with your mouth full. I only counted sixteen… One more… Hakann! Come in here!”


“Is he doing it?”


“Sixteen. So far.”




“And they’re still alive?


“Wouldn’t have had it any other way.”


“I almost can’t believe he actually did it.”


“Hmm, whmmm mhnn…”


“You’re seeing it with your own eyes. Pay up, Hakann.”


“That’s the last time I bet against Reidak’s stupidi—euch! Reidak! Owch! Thok, get them off me!”


“Can’t. The little teeth really latch—”


Thok’s leering cackle, Reidak’s muffled chortles, and Hakann’s grunts were all cut short by the opening of the bungalow door. A bright trapezoid of sun joined the little streaks of light that always peeked through the ramshackle walls of the Piraka’s hideout, mercilessly banishing the disheveled sitting room’s formerly dim atmosphere. The sudden illumination in the lounge elicited miniscule screams from the fat maggots that’d sprayed all over Hakann’s abdomen when Reidak had thrown their box at him, causing the grubs to loose their hold on Hakann. They fell to earth, bulbous black eyes smarting, and took refuge in the darkest spots they could find (most of which were under the couch). The three Skakdi, meanwhile, squinted towards the flickering silhouette in the doorway.


Zaktan strode duck-footed into the bungalow, hunched more than usual by the tires of travel, but far from robbed of his tyrannical aura. As usual, his snakelike face was unreadable; were those miniscule twitches about his mouth – one instant, he was infinitesimally grimacing, the next, subtly smiling – indicative of his mood, or were they merely symptomatic of his unique composition? It was impossible to tell; Zaktan’s glowing eyes, perceivable to the other Piraka even against the blinding backdrop of the sky, gave no clues. One of his clawed hands held something small, discreetly hid it from view; the other fist clutched, much more remarkably, his golden three-bladed scissor. The weapon, in particular, was an unwelcome sight.


Hakann was first to speak. “Our glorious leader returns,” he cooed maliciously, standing from his singed wicker chair and roughly flicking a few especially tenacious maggots from his stomach as Zaktan slapped shut the door behind him. Hakann gave Zaktan a mockingly deep bow, complete with extravagant flourish of the hands. “Welcome back, oh… insubstantial one.”


Reidak, who had instinctively adopted a crouched battle stance when the door was opened, had by now unceremoniously spat his mouthful of chewed-up larvae onto the floor. As he slowly straightened, the black Skakdi’s eyes did not leave Zaktan. “Where were you,” Reidak asked, making the inquiry into a statement.


“Yes!” Thok chimed in, remaining pointedly seated on the couch. “Tell us where you were, Zaktan… what exploits you undertook, what mountains you climbed, what civilizations you decimated, we’re fascinated to hear all about your – what shall we call it – your journey of self-discovery.”


Thok’s arms were spread over the top of the couch, and his feet were crossed casually over the back of a silent, shaking Matoran crouched on hands and knees. Zaktan hardly spared this unwilling footstool a glance, but Thok nevertheless noticed his gaze and, without looking away from Zaktan, promptly gave the Matoran a sharp kick to the ribs, sending the little being tumbling across the floor. Hastily, the Matoran – who wore several fresh-looking bruises and cuts – scrambled to his feet and stood as still as he could, still quivering, hardly daring to breathe. Thok crossed his legs again and lifted a hand to gesture at the Matoran.


“Like it?” Thok solicited. “New pet. Found him far from home, without a collar… Poor thing needed a home, so the boys and I figured it was our civic duty to adopt. We’ve decided to call him – among other things, of course, names for when he’s naughty – Zakk.”


The other two Piraka chuckled lowly; Zaktan didn’t visibly react. Thok, sensing leeway, pressed on, his icy grin widening in the face of Zaktan’s illegible countenance. “The similarity to your name didn’t at all occur to us when we named Zakk here,” Thok jabbed happily. “But oh, what a funny coincidence it’s turned out to be! Look how small he is. Look how he waddles. Look how he… flinches. Zakk. Juice.”


At Thok’s order, the Matoran that’d been forcibly baptized as Zakk shot off like a coiled spring towards the adjacent room, tripping twice in his haste to get there: once on the leg of an overturned table, and once on a dirty-brown foot that caught him by the shin in the doorway. As Zakk fell, landing without uttering even a grunt, his tripper’s head poked around the side of the doorway.


“Always quiet,” Avak added as he joined the other Piraka, a waxen smile stretching his wide mouth. “We taught him that trick pretty early.”


Zaktan maintained silence, but now his ruby eyes lazily followed the enslaved Matoran. Zakk emerged into the room again with two coconuts; he carried them as carefully and quickly as he could, depositing one each in Thok’s and Hakann’s waiting palms.


“Bringing me a better version of whatever Thok gets was the second lesson I made sure Zakk here knew,” Hakann grinned smugly, holding his coconut in one hand for a contemplative moment before chucking it with a shrug at the wall of the bungalow. “Doesn’t matter if I wanted it or not.”


Reidak growled at Zakk as the Matoran scurried past, savage satisfaction spreading on his face when Zakk almost jumped out of his skin. The other three Piraka laughed, too, imitating the flinching movement in turn and propelling one another further into fits of mirth. Zaktan’s face contorted momentarily into something very ugly; the four Skakdi around him, occupied by their merriment, didn’t notice.


“It’s the Jitter that really does it,” Avak informed Zaktan with a humored, professorial air as he wiped his eyes. “Glorious nightmares… When Zakk misbehaves, he knows what’s coming.”


“Your pet has been trained well,” Zaktan noted cooly, speaking for the first time since reentering the bungalow. The fictitious nonchalance in his hissing, distinctly multifaceted voice shriveled any vestigial guffaws in the group; even Zakk, unacquainted with the ramifications of Zaktan’s façade of calm, shuddered at the eerie buzzing. Zaktan addressed the others with breezy arrogance; the venom beneath his words was evident by its concealment. “It knows the consequences of disrespect.”


“That’s right,” Thok replied as he extracted himself from the couch. The languid posing of before was gone; suddenly, flipped like a switch, Thok was brittle and biting as ice. His grin froze sinisterly in place. Taking cue from Thok, something in his compatriots changed, too. Avak folded his arms; Hakann’s brow darkened; Reidak’s stare was downright predatory.


Zaktan received their drastically shifted energy with palpable scorn. He bared his teeth with the dispassion of a python, and the Protodites in his face melted and righted themselves with nauseating rhythm. One by one, and despite his shorter stature, he met the gazes of the other Skakdi with naked disdain. “Perhaps I should learn from you,” Zaktan said. “Perhaps my little pets need to be trained with a firmer hand.”


The four other Piraka exchanged meaningful looks, and almost as one, their heads turned back to face Zaktan. Their square jaws were set in resentment, in anger and, in Hakann’s case, in brazen defiance. The Skakdi of Fire stepped closer into Zaktan, and when he spoke, it was without his signature sardonic syrup. “I am no pet of yours,” he stated. “You are a fool, and soon you’ll be a dead one.”


“Hakann, I’ll confess myself disappointed,” Zaktan sneered back, approaching the mutinous Skakdi until they stood almost nose-to-nose. Hakann growled like a wildcat, and Zaktan hissed softly. The fingers of Zaktan’s scissor undulated slowly by his side. “I’ve come to expect more creative threats from you,” he said.


“Hakann, for once, is right,” Reidak snarled, drawing closer to the standoff. “Your time is done.”


“While you were away, we talked,” Avak added, licking his lips. “Incredible as it may seem, Zaktan, the others and I discovered that we could all agree on something: we’d prefer your company if you were deceased.”


“In unity is strength,” Thok agreed, simpering through his bared teeth. “Wow, gee, I’ve really learned something today!”


“You sound like a Toa,” Avak remarked under raised eyebrows.


“And you sound like an imbecile,” Thok retorted, rolling his eyes as his voice dropped back to its normal octave. “Of course I sounded like a Toa, that was the point, don’t you think I—”


“Here’s what I think—”


“Oh, you think now? How novel—”


“Unified front,” Hakann rumbled, his fiery eyes remaining fixed on Zaktan’s alien ones. Zaktan glared back, and his hand clenched tighter around its hidden object. Unnoticed by the Piraka, Zakk crept as quietly as he could towards the door.


“Right,” Avak apologized, though not before trading offensive gestures with Thok. “Right… Proceeding according to plan. Prison time!”


Almost as soon as Avak had gleefully said this, an invisible orb of force came into being around Zaktan. Zaktan, as though he’d sensed what was coming, had instants before become a cloud of Protodites and darted laterally, but his evasive transformation occurred too late; the orb had coalesced at the speed of thought, and as Zaktan tried to soar through its unexpectedly and immediately realized surface, the force-bubble bounced him back into itself and vibrated at a piercing frequency.


A submarine porthole in one of the walls shattered, as did a few of Hakann’s collection of mirrors in the corner. Hakann, Thok, Reidak and Zakk (who had almost made it to the bungalow door) all grabbed their ears and doubled over, and Avak almost lost his focus on maintaining the bubble; the corporeal beings’ suffering, though, was small compared to that of the insubstantial entity among them. The penetrating, shriek-gong of the bubble attacked the entirety of Zaktan’s cloud of Protodites simultaneously, fracturing him into millions of discrete particles moving in millions of different ways. The whirling swarm, excruciatingly revoked of its internal reason, emitted a wrenching cry equal parts livid swarm of bees and tortured Skakdi.


One bout of this agony was enough for Zaktan to learn. Though the dark green cloud of his being was moving in constant flux, struggling to regain self-control and identity after the debilitating sonic attack, it hovered more or less in place, and as far from the edges of the bubble as it could. The other Piraka, after the ringing had cleared from their ears, straightened again and, seeing Zaktan’s swarm trapped, whooped with victory. They (aside from Avak, who was too busy maintaining his specialized prison to do much of anything) passed one another high fives.


Zakk tried to use the Piraka’s celebration to make good his escape, but as he slunk along the wall, Reidak caught sight of him. The burly Skakdi took hold of the Matoran by the midriff and tossed him with a grunt at the far wall of the room. Zakk hit with a thud and slid down to the ground. Reidak didn’t bother watching Zakk’s arc; he, like the others, surveyed Zaktan instead.


“It worked,” Thok acknowledged. “For once, Avak, you’ve made something that really works… Bravo.” Avak didn’t rise to the jibe – he was too consumed by the preservation of the orb to say anything – but he grimaced, clearly tempted to give Thok a piece of mind or a piece of his fist. Thok reveled in his impunity. “I’m so proud that you’ve finally become useful—”


“Shut up,” Reidak snorted, popping his knuckles. “We’ve got him trapped. Now we need to decide how to kill him.”


“I bet fire would do it,” Hakann crooned. “I’d love to hear Zaktan crackle.” He collected a fat glob of saliva behind his teeth and spat it masterfully at the surface of Zaktan’s sphere; the spit fizzled there, producing a softer – but no less prickly – version of the first orb noise. Hakann and the others winced; Zaktan’s swarm flared in renewed disarray and fury.


“Killing me would be unwise,” buzzed millions of almost perfectly aligned voices from within the orb. Zaktan’s voice was entropy, even more disconcertingly bizarre than normal; perhaps this was why the other Piraka recognized no panic in it.


“I really don’t see a downside,” Thok considered, stroking his chin demurely. “Pro: you’d be gone… Pro: no more need for mosquito nets… Pro: I’d get a chance to perfect my crocodile tears at the memorial… Pro: it’d be so amusing.” His smile crystallized. “Unless, of course, you were talking to Hakann individually, in which case I’d agree with you. Hakann, killing Zaktan would be unwise, since I called first dibs on him. Don’t want to get on my bad side, do you?”


“We never discussed a dibs system,” Hakann sniffed.


“We didn’t,” Thok nodded earnestly. “…Until right now. And I just called first dibs. I disembowel and dismember him; you get to play with his dust. Fair? Fair.”


“You tickle me, Thok,” Hakann oozed. “You really do. Such impertinence—”


“You’re the impertinent one, you want to violate the sacred dibs system—”


“Shut up,” Reidak said for the second time, urgently. “Look at that.”


He was pointing not at Zaktan, but below him. On the floor beneath and apart from the orb was a little article that caught the fractured light coming through the wall of the bungalow. It had fallen from Zaktan’s hand upon his disintegration a minute before, clinking unnoticed to earth at the same time as Avak had formed the sonic bubble. It was a small vial, hexagonal and full of a meandering green-black fluid that was both gaseous and liquid. The others stared at it; even Avak risked giving the floor a glance. The following seconds of shocked silence drew Zakk’s attention, too; from the back of the couch behind which he’d been quivering, the Matoran joined his oppressors in peering cautiously at the vial. He’d never seen anything like it, but the Piraka were all acquainted perfectly well with the substance inside.


“Antidermis,” Zaktan hissed, and the satisfaction in his horde voice was unmistakable. “Unless you set me free, you will never understand what this vial means.”


“Doesn’t matter,” Reidak decided. “I’d rather have you dead.” He started to tramp purposefully towards the vial.


“Stop,” Thok ordered. For once, his voice was without guise or guile; probably out of shock, Reidak halted and whipped around to face him. The grin Thok routinely wore was absent from his mouth. “Despite myself,” the Skakdi of Ice glowered, “I’m interested.”


“I don’t care,” Reidak said. He lifted a clawed foot over the little vial on the floor.


The end of a shoddily coiled rope hanging on the wall of the bungalow shot like an arrow at Reidak’s neck. At great speed and with superb force, the rope coiled about his throat, subsequently tugging him violently back towards the rest of itself as it coiled down and down his body. Reidak, caught off-guard, was only still for a moment; he started to struggle against the rope, but the more he jerked, the more tenaciously he was held, squeezed, suffocated. Thok’s eyes were icicles catching the sun; he moved his gaze up and down and in circles, and the rope followed, slamming Reidak against pieces of furniture and surfaces of the bungalow.


“Thok!” Hakann bellowed. “Let him go!”


“I’d… rather… not,” Thok moaned distractedly, his face a mask of barbaric glee. Reidak gasped as a coil of rope tightened around his trachea, and his legs flailed about, knocking over anything they encountered.


Zakk, wide-eyed with fright, narrowly avoided being struck by a particularly powerful kick, and hurriedly took stock of the chaotic room. Thok was fixated on choking the thrashing Reidak; Avak fought not to lose his own focus as he kept Zaktan imprisoned; Zaktan, within his bubble, chuckled like a hive of malignant bees; Hakann howled bestially and, with barely a running start, tackled Thok. Zakk knew an opportunity when he saw one. As fast as he could, throwing caution to the wind, the Matoran shot towards the door, hitting the outside of Zaktan’s bubble prison en route. The shrill ringing made something in his ear pop at such close proximity. Zakk yelped, but didn’t stop. He crashed desperately into the door, forced it open, and sprinted as far away from the bungalow as he possibly could.


None of the Piraka noticed their former pet escape; the reverberation of the prison orb cowed them. Thok’s and Avak’s concentrations were both broken by the shrieking chime; they, along with Hakann and Reidak, fell to the ground, faces screwed up tight in sharp discomfort. Again, Zaktan’s whirling cloud was shattered, and his excruciated cry was almost as terrible as the noise that’d caused it. Had Zaktan recovered more quickly from the prison’s dying sound, he might have flitted away before Avak, screaming a profanity as he noticed his creation’s absence, quickly renewed its existence around him. Reidak, tearing the limp rope from around his neck, prowled towards Thok with murder in his fingers, but Hakann stood pointedly between them; his boiling blood was incentive enough for Reidak and Thok to maintain their distance. They all joined Avak in glowered up at Zaktan.


“Ah, we’re all finally ready to listen to each other,” Zaktan derided, recollecting his essence in the confines of the bubble. Though he had no eyes in his current state, the Piraka could feel his contemptuous gaze on them nevertheless.


“How did you get that vial?” Hakann asked moodily.


“When Avak sets me free,” Zaktan droned back, “I’ll tell you.”


“When Avak sets you free,” Thok echoed snidely, “You’ll kill him. And I don’t have a problem with that, really, it’s just that the rest of us – myself included – pride ourselves on also being high on your ‘to-fillet list.’ Do you really think I’m as dumb as Reidak?”


I… do…” Avak grunted, unable to resist the opportunity.


“SHUT UP!” Reidak roared for the third time.


“Ooh, so sorry Reidak,” Thok apologized in a shoddy semblance of sheepishness. “Didn’t realize you were right there.” His smile was back, as strong as ever.


“If killing you was part of my plan,” Zaktan explained pedantically. “I would have done it when I came in.”


“Can’t argue with that logic,” Hakann rolled his eyes. “Here’s a dose of reason, Zaktan, permit me to dissect the situation as I see it: you expect us to give this – you, trapped and helpless – up, and for what? The possibility that this vial of what might be Anti has a larger meaning?”


“Pick up the vial,” Zaktan suggested carelessly. “See for yourself.”


“Good idea!” Thok chirped. “Hakann, go pick up the vial.”


“I’m not getting close to that stuff,” Hakann retorted.


“But you said it just might be Anti.”


“Yes, and it might be.”


Reidak barged past Thok and Hakann and stooped to hold the vial between his meaty thumb and forefinger. The Skakdi of Earth spun the thing in the air before his face, letting its green-black contents filter the meager light from outside. He grunted, tossed the vial back to Hakann, who caught it just in time, almost sent it flying again. Hakann too took a closer look at the contents of the vial, though he held it at arms length. Thok regarded the vial over Hakann’s shoulder.


“Definitely Anti,” Reidak frowned. “How did he get it?”


“I don’t know,” Hakann snapped back, gingerly setting the vial down on the ground.


“Set me free,” Zaktan repeated. “And you’ll find out.”


“…Fine,” Hakann conceded after a long moment. “Avak, let him go. Avak… Avak.”


Avak was still too intensely focused on the prison to respond vocally. He slowly shook his head, keeping his glance trained on his sonic orb.


“How cute,” Thok noted. “Avak’s learning to communicate!”


“See, he’s afraid that Zaktan’ll swoop him the second that orb is gone,” Hakann explained conspicuously to Reidak, who chuckled at the tone. “Avak is afraid.”


Avak didn’t acknowledge the jab; he wouldn’t split his concentration willingly. Hakann’s conspiratorial smirk flickered out. Businesslike, he picked up the coconut that Thok’d received from Zakk minutes before, and swung it at Avak’s head. Upon contact, the coconut broke, its juice splattered to earth, Avak’s focus broke, and the sphere in which Zaktan had been kept disappeared. Avak, panicking and on the floor, threw his hands up over his face, bracing for Zaktan’s impending strike.


The strike didn’t come; the other Piraka laughed at the fetal position Avak had assumed. At a leisurely pace, Zaktan’s recognizable body reformed, and stared down the other four Piraka haughtily. Despite themselves, they all quailed; Zaktan’s calmness and stillness unnerved them more than an act of violence would have.


“Well,” Hakann prodded. “How did you get the Anti?”


“It was shown to me,” Zaktan replied simply. The others exchanged looks again; they all could guess what that meant.


“Is he… here?” Avak inquired. “I thought—”


“He’s gone,” Hakann snapped at him. “That was about the first thing we learned when you crashed us here. Zaktan is lying.”


“But, the vial—”


“Proves nothing,” Hakann finished. “It’s residual, gotta be…”


Zaktan responded perfectly clearly with silence.


Unnerving seriousness had manifested itself on Thok’s visage again. “Not gone,” he mumbled, saying the words as though they were a foul swear.


“The Anti was shown to you,” Reidak pressed on anxiously. “Why?”


Zaktan unhurriedly appraised Reidak. The corner of his flickering mouth tilted a bit, though the glow of his eyes remained cold. The other’s attentions were drawn to him; Zaktan drank their fixation as he slowly bent to pick up the vial from its place on the ground. He palmed it once more as he straightened, and by the time he had unrolled, his teeth were bared in a perilous leer.


“It’s a key,” Zaktan whispered definitively, the hissing quality of his voice accentuated by its softness.


Hunger floated palpably in the air.


The Piraka’s minds, sent into overdrive by the ramifications of his prior statement, were pulled out of reverie as Zaktan spoke again. “Something is missing,” he stated. “Where’s the explosive oaf?”


“Vezok?” Thok considered. “Who knows? Might’ve fallen into a pit someplace. Could have drowned. Maybe he was swallowed by something. Reidak was just showing off the flexibility of his mouth. Or was it the flexibility of his idiocy? I forgot—”


“Shut u—” Reidak started to caution for the fourth time.


“Vezok is in Ta-Koro,” Avak interrupted. “Probably getting into all sorts of trouble with the Matoran sheriffs. Why d’you ask?”


“He might be useful to me,” Zaktan replied evenly.


“Well, I’ve been perfectly happy without him around,” said Hakann as he plopped down on the couch where Thok had sat before. “Remind me why I should care what’s ‘useful’ to you.”


“Because,” Zaktan intoned, his compound voice dripping with contempt, “I’m the one in charge.”


“Beg to differ, Zaktan,” Thok broke in, twiddling his thumbs. “Who was just imprisoned, a cloud of floating specks, at our mercy?”


My mercy,” Avak corrected.


“Be realistic, Avak,” Thok grinned impishly. “Hakann took you out with a coconut—”


“Quiet,” Zaktan buzzed. “You’re fond of asking questions, Thok; I’ll play your game. Who among you knows how to use the Antidermis? Which of you knows what it unlocks? Can any of you touch it?” The others moped crossly. “No,” Zaktan concluded. “I have the information, I have the ability, and therefore I am in charge. We will retrieve Vezok because I say we will; he’s too good a tool to leave behind.”


“All hail our great leader,” Hakann snarled.


“Furthermore,” Zaktan proclaimed, ignoring Hakann as his ever-melting face arranged itself into a reptilian smile, “Ta-Koro is a playground we have not yet enjoyed. I wouldn’t dream of depriving any of you its amusement… We leave in two minutes.”


The other Piraka made sounds of fervent approval, and went about collecting their weapons. The prospect of mass destruction could always rouse them.


“This’ll be fun,” Avak said cheerfully to himself as he shouldered his pickaxe.

Edited by Nuju Metru
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IC: "The Wanderer"


The cloaked Toa coasted through the air above the Ta-Wahi beach. He felt he needed to return here after his inglorious retreat some time ago. The air was cool and relaxing, but it did not balance out the distress brought back to his mind thanks to the events that had transpired below on that very beach. He had failed in his duty as a Toa. That poor Ga-Matoran had died, died being caught up in the reckless scheme of two Toa who should not have involved her in the first place. However, a splotch of color on the sandy beach caught his eye and pulled him out of his reverie. The Toa wanted a closer look. Conscious that the Piraka might still be around, he activated his Huna and glided down towards the patch of white and red. He landed with a dull thud, sending a small cloud of dust billowing around him. Impossible, he thought, as he examined the badly battered pile of ivory and crimson armor in front of him. It's him. I suppose I owe him, especially if he's been lying here all this time. The Toa of Magnetism, still invisible, reached out and picked up the Toa, using Magnetism to partially levitate him and reduce the weight on his arms. He glanced down at the Forerunner. The Toa of Smoke appeared to be barely conscious and possibly in some kind of delirium. He also appeared to be somewhat perplexed as to why he was moving while not under his own power, muttering something under his breath that escaped his rescuer's ears.

Steam Name: Toa Hahli Mahri. Xbox Live Gamertag: Makuta. Minecraft Username: ThePoohster.

Wants: 2003 Jaller (from Jaller and Gukko), Exo-Toa, Turaga Nuju, Turaga Vakama, Shadow Kraata, Axonn, Brutaka, Vezon & Fenrakk, Nocturn, ORANGE FIKOU.

I got rid of my picture, are you happy?




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IC: "The Forerunner"


The second time he found himself awake, he was not happy. The fact that he was being carried did not help this at all. Instinctively, he activated his mask, making him a suddenly, heavier load. He suddenly dropped to the ground, flailing for a moment, and then once again fainting with his face placed strait into the sand.


It was not a pretty sight.

-Insert deep message to prove I am alive here-

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IC: Flaredrick

After he buffered out the decfect from the blade, he placed it next to the metal shaft and began to wield it into place. It only took possibly a good 25 seconds to wield it good all around or less. When it was finished, he had good pickaxe in his hands.


"Now this is a good pickaxe. All that's left is to close the bottom, and place a good grip so it won't slip."


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IC: Zomma


"Fraud? Puh-retty sure I am not profiting off my lack of nose."


. His face is completely disbelieving. How did he find out that I exaggerate the effects of my noselessness? Looks like I'll have to admit the truth then.


Though, having no nose is really useful for making up other things.


"Okay yeah I am a pretty fraudulent guy."

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IC: "The Wanderer"

All of a sudden, even with the Magnetism helping the him carry the Toa of Smoke, his load inexplicably became extremely heavy and thudded to the sandy ground. With a gentle kick, he tried to revive the Toa. No such luck. Reaching out both hands, he raised up the Toa and levitated him in front of him. Walking slowly, the cloaked Toa began to carry the floating and unconscious "Forerunner" towards the outskirts of Ta-Koro. Maybe he could find a small building to put his wounded charge in. Somewhere a little out of the way, so that he could get answers to his questions.

Edited by Wazdakka

Steam Name: Toa Hahli Mahri. Xbox Live Gamertag: Makuta. Minecraft Username: ThePoohster.

Wants: 2003 Jaller (from Jaller and Gukko), Exo-Toa, Turaga Nuju, Turaga Vakama, Shadow Kraata, Axonn, Brutaka, Vezon & Fenrakk, Nocturn, ORANGE FIKOU.

I got rid of my picture, are you happy?




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Lana snorted as the two beings went back to bickering.


"You two need a hobby." She grunted, leaning against the wall of a building.

"Those who dream by day are conscious of many things that escape those who dream only by night." - Edgar Allan Poe

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Lana snorted softly. "Alright, I'll humor you. But first, I should ask for directions." She said. "Assuming you big strong men know the answer to my question." She smirked slightly. "I'm looking to open up a tavern here in Ta-Koro but I don't know who's in charge around here to discuss the topic with them. Either of you two hobby-less fellows know where I could find such an individual?"


OOC: Lana isn't alone in not knowing who to talk to. I'm equally clueless...

"Those who dream by day are conscious of many things that escape those who dream only by night." - Edgar Allan Poe

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Lana grunted slightly, her nod more an act of jerking her chin in an upward direction.


"Right. Gonna be difficult eh mister?" She snorted. Considering her Matoran stature, her attitude was getting dangerously surly, considering who and what she was talking to. "Fine fine, I'll play your game. Where can I find whoever I'm supposed to talk to?"

Edited by Drakmanka

"Those who dream by day are conscious of many things that escape those who dream only by night." - Edgar Allan Poe

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Lana sighed softly, half-considering pulling her crowbar out of her backpack and giving this Toa a good whack on the head with it. Then she reconsidered. It wouldn't do to get anyone too angry with her, not when she had no authority of any sort in this Koro yet.


"Fine fine Mister Smart-alack. Who should I talk to about setting up a tavern here in Ta-Koro?" She asked.

"Those who dream by day are conscious of many things that escape those who dream only by night." - Edgar Allan Poe

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OOC: Darksteel duo from Onu-Wahi


IC: Ankarya & Dia


With Dia clinging to her back, Ankarya emerged from the Onu-Wahi highway tunnel, and entered the village of fire. With two shoulder-bags full of ore ready to be smelted, the duo headed for their workshop.


OOC: Ankarya and Dia open for interaction.

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-IC: Araedrex Tenebras-



Extend the force of the movement through right arm, connect to sternum, follow with direct strike to left tibia, left fist to right patella. The sound of stone being broken in Po-Koro quarries; scream (or perhaps shriek? reaffirm later). Aggregative holding of breath, the silence of surprise.




Block, left forearm, overhead. Move with impact, duck to avoid next swing. Feint to left, right jab to abdomen.


Keep the tempo consistent; Inhale.


Time is in synchronization with footsteps. One, cross the distance, invade area of threat. Two, allow attempt at grapple, shatter jaw with elbow.




Grapple turns to grip. Gravity assisting the hands of the dead pulling me to the waiting grave. Left foot to chest, hands move to grip the offending hands. Break at wrist.




Draw knee back and then strike foot forward. Uncontrolled force, automatic response. Neck snaps back with dangerous force. Dead?




No, I think not, though as far as reputation is concerned, he may as well be. The match appears to be complete. Referee checking pulse, majority of investors scowling. Observances proven true; opponent is alive, if not well. Congratulate him for the wonderful time, though I do not go so far as to offer him my hand. Ignore the stares, stride away from the dust of the arena pit, breathing now automatic, comfortable, easy, disgusting. My aching knuckles hang limp, the flesh around several split into surprisingly equal halves.


Establishment owner congratulates me, returns Kanohi, hands me check. I shoulder my coat and smile in agreement to his empty words. My brain explodes in a blossom of heat and activity at the return of the mask, my essence radiating with the glory of consummate elemental power. I stride out into the street after he finishes, dimmly aware of his words.


The night sky is dull and tastes of smog, sultry to some, empty to me. I stride, the controlled steps of a performer crossing their stage, hitting my mark and moving onto the next. Grunts of pain, rage, and pleasure fill the sour air around me. Lights shine in windows above like torches lining the top of a canyon, aloof and separate, while I drown in the murk of the snaking, sluggish river below. I feel infinitesimal, purposeless, a particle of sand lost amongst an ocean of darkness, with nothing but a few square centimeters inside my head to call my own.


A Guard on a corner notices my contused and lacerated face and smirks in understanding. I've seen him in the club before. He's never been very interested in anything but the physical aspect. He defocuses during the conversations, smiles or sits tight-lipped during the speeches. His fighting is reminiscent of a boxer; focused, disciplined, oddly honorable, and tight.


I blink in response, never missing a step. The grunts and moans and cries grow louder as I near my current residence. The rotten wooden door creaks as it swings inward, revealing a dull golden glow of firelight and glassy stares. A nod, a whispered word, and I take a seat towards the east wall, the fire at my back. I watch the others in silence, ordering nothing but the usual glass of lukewarm water.

Edited by Prodigal


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A soft thwack reverberated through the dark room: the sound of a manila folder dropping onto a desk.


"Everything's here?"


"Of course." A row of gleaming teeth flashed in the dim light.


"And no trouble getting it?"


"None at all."




"Oh, come onnn. You know me better than to be impressed by something like that."


No response.


"So I take it it'll be a while before we move forward with this particular operation?"


"Not as long as you might think."


"I see." A pause. "And until then?"


"I just put the finishing touches on some new toys for you to try out." Beat. "Enjoy."


The grin flashed again. "I will."

Edited by Baltarc


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Lana turned to the other, unfamiliar individual. "I suppose I should just find an official-looking building, huh?" She snorted softly. "I mean, if there's a bajillion such people..."

"Those who dream by day are conscious of many things that escape those who dream only by night." - Edgar Allan Poe

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OOC: Korero from Ko-Wahi


IC (Korero)


In an abrupt white flash, anyone looking at the Ta-Koro Guard headquarters would see a figure appear on the roof, lightly armoured in green that was still verdant despite the constant red tint to the Fire Village's light. He stood at the edge, looking down at the streets below as though searching for something.


It didn't take long for him to find it. Another figure, down below, this one fiery red and orange, with a slight but noticeable hunch to him, and more heavily built than the rooftop watcher.


Without even so much as a run-up, the green figure leaped off the roof. His arms spread wide like a daredevil Le-Matoran skydiver as he fell - and suddenly he swooped upwards like a hawk on an updraft, gliding on unnatural air currents high above the ash-grey streets.


Korero still loved flying as much as the first day he'd learned how to do it. Ta-Koro, it turned out, was an excellent location for it - its natural thermals made flight all the easier, even if the wind rushing past didn't have quite the exhilaratingly cool caress of a more temperate Wahi. He allowed himself a few moments, free on the winds, before zeroing back in on Oreius down below - and suddenly his arms flattened against his sides and the Toa of Air broke into a dive.


With only a handful of metres to spare between him and the ground, he righted himself, landing on a cushion of wind that dissipated in a small shockwave that swept over those nearby, eliciting gasps from the Ta-Matoran bystanders (or perhaps that was just the sudden appearance of a Toa Maru) and satisfactorily attracting Oreius' attention.


Korero walked confidently towards his teammate, smiling in greeting.



Edited by Geisthande





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Jab right. Split knuckles. Release blood. Purge demons.

Somewhere between my fist and her stomach, the scarlet stains of my old life leaked out onto the opposing Toa's armour, tracing inky lines across her torso that looked like something between hieroglyphs, crosshairs, and portraits of dead friends if you squinted the right way in the right light. Within seconds, though, she had me on the ground, belly-up so that I could squint at her face through the lights, and so that she could lay into my face as often as she wanted. Straddling me, she proceeded to do just that.

Each punch was an explosion of white lights in my vision, like a million camera bulbs burning out my retinas between blinks. At around the third hit, I think I heard my jawbone crunch, which was about the same hit that ended her usage of left jabs, and started her on a constant stream of right ones, each sending me into a bloody, godawful make-out session with the ground. To say that pain was blossoming in my face would be a lie; blossoming implies that there was a point where the pain didn't exist.

With every impact, a crimson visage was being painted onto the stone beneath me; angelic features, cracked and chipped in all the right places to make it roguishly good-looking, and imprinted with layer upon layer of scar tissue, sort of like the flaky crust of a pie shell that had been beaten to death with a sledgehammer. A smile played on its lips, 'cause when you looked at that face, you saw the face that defied the lightnings. The face that spat at death and sneered at the idea of common sense and rationality. The face of a goddess.

My head jerked back around to look at my opponent, and I saw her stand up, reaching both fists behind her head. A human hammer, built to leave the insides of this goddess' skull as nothing but a stain on the ground. A perfectly acceptable strategy, except for two flaws; one, that this Toa seemed to be slow as ######.

Two, that this goddess was the goddess of pain.

She was priming herself, savouring the moment, when I struck. I bolted up and onto one elbow, using my free fist to slam into the inside of her knee, where I felt the rest of her leg buckle with a satisfying snap. Her arms came down, but in a sloppy arc that acted as nothing but a handhold for me to drag myself up on. Soon enough, my feet where underneath me again, and my fist flew up and between her legs with the force of a mad Kikanalo. This time her whole frame crumpled, and I estimated she wouldn't be using that for another two, maybe three, weeks.

I grabbed her shoulder, and planted my next strike in the pit of her stomach, officially doubling her over. Her mouth sprayed blood, spit, and bile into my face, but I paid it no heed. I pushed down on her as I lifted myself up, and soon I was back to my full height while she struggled to stay standing. I looked down, could see the fault lines in my opponent, the ones I had put there. Saw how each one of them would fold and crumple with one last big push. Put one hand on the back of her neck. Raised my right arm.

I watched the blood trickle out of my left hand onto her back, and saw the patterns, rorschach-like, that it made. I was blocking the light from pouring onto her, and her face was veiled in darkness. I could have been standing over anybody; Alfon, Kethrye, Naru, Kehuri.

Reach back; ensure stability.

Akinii. His dark murderer.

Prepare demons, ready for release.

My brother. It could have been my brother.


My fist came down like a missile from the heavens plummeting towards an unsuspecting country, crunching into the base of her neck, and I watched her body collapse in on itself like a piece of wet paper. She lay on the floor; broken, bleeding, but still breathing. Healers rushed to her side, and behind me, the crowds roared; witnesses to another one of my therapy sessions.

Ladies' night in Ta-Koro meant something different from everywhere else.

Someone passed me my mask, a bag of widgets, my rucksack. I took them all without a word, putting each of them into their rightful place as I walked out the door. The host might have said something about my magnificent performance; my hearing was filled with nothing but the sound of my own heart beating, pushing blood out of my system, leaving indelible traces of my existence on the cobblestone below me. Of course, it would difficult to notice it around here; everything looked red around here.

Minutes passed, and soon I was inside again, half a glass of whiskey in my hands, half a glass of whiskey in my stomach. This establishment was a nice one; crude, dangerous, but cheap. With only a hundred and sixty widgets, I could get ###### drunk in here and still have enough money for a decent room and a hot meal; as long as I was willing to put up with possible bedbugs and salmonella, I was golden.

A guy walked into the bar (and he said "ow" bahahaha); a Toa of Fire, by the looks of him, wearing a greatcoat that seemed way too warm and cozy for these parts. Weird mask, weird armour (crystal, by the looks of it), didn't seem the conversational type; just plunked down by the wall, ordered, and was done with it. The waiter brought back a glass of clear liquid that looked just dirty enough to be water. No alcohol, huh? Now that was unusual in places like this; required investigation.

I got up from the counter, glass in hand, and I made over to this guy's table, not even bothering to be subtle about it. Maybe you haven't noticed, but subtlety isn't really my strong suit; anyway, I sat down across from him, a smirk forming on my face.

"There are only so many kinds of people who stay away from liquor in these kinds of places," I said, taking another sip of my drink, "and from my experience, they're usually the ones you need to watch out for."

Another sip, another smirk. "In other words ... g'morning."

OOC: jeez darkon, not only am I shamelessly stealing your ideas, i'm also trying to butt in on araedrex?

i am a terrible, terrible person


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OOC: Helios from Ga-Wahi


IC: Helios


Crossing from the Cove of Deluges to the Badlands of Ash was just as awkward a transition as that makes it out to be, especially considering I found myself now walking through the Charrest Forrest like a phantom, my black, cloaked, tall frame stalking through the woods like the Grim Reaper, if you look away from the hat... an especially fashionable Grim Reaper, then.


Bringing death and pestilence to all wasn't really an attractive job description, though, so I'll just leave it at "mysterious stranger"; both technically correct, if only superficially so.


And there it was, Ta-Koro, in all its gloom and doom and red-tinted glory, with just a dash of bravado. There was a certain something about the fortress-y building plan that just screamed "come at me, bro"


I tipped my hat to the city at the entrance before I went inside, remembering Melna's letter describing Ta-Koro as "festive".


Yeah... no.


It was definitely impressive, don't get me wrong, neatly lined pathways, with streetlights and citizens milling about or loitering or otherwise just doing generic citizen stuff.


It was also bloody hot. Like, a serious, mad-burning fire-heat thing going on here, and you can quote me on that; I don't joke around when I speak treespeak.


Feeling my throat already drier than ten Motara deserts, I walked into the nearest tavern. Stopping only a moment in the door to look around, and consequently also giving the tenants a chance to notice me.


The dark cloak, the quite frankly stylish straw hat, and the long polearm held in my hand just screamed something along the lines of "mysterious stranger" or "outcast wanderer"... though the large, bulky, hammer-shaped crown at the top of the pole really brought the entire illusion down around my ears.


I walked up to the counter, coughing my request to the barman.


"Glass of water" I horked as I removed my hat, proceeding to fan my mask a little with it.

Edited by Geardirector

BZPRPG Profiles


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The secretary jotted down the information given without bothering to look at the paper; It was too familiar for her to need to look at this point.



“There are, as of now, three primary portions of service. There is the Guard service, which is the name for the overall force, but more specifically refers to the guards that patrol the streets and perform the usual duties, the Investigative Corps, which investigates crimes that are deemed worthy of their attention, and the Couriers, who act as messengers and scouts. They number about two dozen, since we never really need more than that. The Investigative Corps is fairly selective with their recruits, while the Couriers are usually fairly non-combative.” A pause, as the Matoran looked Kidona up and down. “No offense meant, but it’s unlikely that you’d do well as a courier. Nor do I suspect you’d enjoy the job.”

Edited by Simon the Digger



On this eve, the thirtieth anniversary of that first colony, many are left to wonder; is the world fast approaching a breaking point?



  Breaking Point: An OTC Mecha RPG


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IC: NPC Sentinel


The rhythmic pattern of his toes tapping against the lava-stone floor echoed softly in the waiting chamber. He was jumpy by nature, and to be left alone with two guards for so long was beginning to put him on edge. Po-Koro and Ta-Koro were at peace, though a tenuous one at that. He couldn't help but wonder if at any moment he could become the escapement for a war, his body riddled with spear wounds and his message never delivered.


No, that was stupid. He had to chide himself to forget his ramblings. Focus on something (anything really, even the boots on the guards by the door), settle into a rhythm of gentle breathing, let your feet stop tap-dancing. He sat down. Akiri Jaller would see him when the akiri was available. The leader of a wahi's time had to be precious. Perhaps a junior clerk would attempt to procure the information, but, like the two previous attempts, the messenger would hold fast to his orders. The tiny letter in a red envelope was for Akiri Jaller, no one else.


OOC: Whenever you're able to get around to it, Krayzikk. Don't feel rushed. :)


EDIT: (OOC) This is written from an NPC's paranoid perspective. It has nothing to do with reality AT ALL. When I write NPCs I always try to give them a mind of their own, so don't freak out. No one is declaring war or anything. It's just an NPC with a strange imagination.

Edited by Hatachi
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OOC: oh for god's sake void; if you're going to improve on someone's idea and write a post exponentially more beautiful then theirs


you don't rub it in with an apology




-IC: Araedrex Tenebras-


My serenity is interrupted by the approach of a Vo-Toa, glass of grain mash (malted barley? bourbon/maize? indubitably stored in charred white oak; aroma distinct) alcohol gripped precariously in hand. Drunken on both adrenaline and ethanol, yet standing (physique suggests active lifestyle yet idealised muscle training; adventurer/fighter most likely occupation--information yet to be procured); interesting. Recent competitor in the pit, no more than two-three hours, as evidenced by the obviously fresh physical (and most likely psychological) damage; alcohol most likely only thing keeping her from immense pain. Continue empirical observations for further information, compile under possible opponent data.


I restrain from returning a smile, establish eye contact. Twin suns of vermillion and burnt orange, silently roaring in their ataraxic lustre, melt into the acidic pools of liquid malachite. "In sooth, I do agree," inspect water briefly, unsurprisingly below standards of hygienic functioning, return to table. "A sober man in a land of crapulence is both menace and perturbation," let eloquence create an image for myself. Establish self as idealist, perhaps romanticist. "Yet I see not why my comparatively sedate manner qualifies this morning as beneficial," Perhaps solemnity and unequivocalness will be applied in a moment; observe response and react according to data.

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The secretary jotted down the information given without bothering to look at the paper; It was too familiar for her to need to look at this point.



“There are, as of now, three primary portions of service. There is the Guard service, which is the name for the overall force, but more specifically refers to the guards that patrol the streets and perform the usual duties, the Investigative Corps, which investigates crimes that are deemed worthy of their attention, and the Couriers, who act as messengers and scouts. They number about two dozen, since we never really need more than that. The Investigative Corps is fairly selective with their recruits, while the Couriers are usually fairly non-combative.” A pause, as the Matoran looked Kidona up and down. “No offense meant, but it’s unlikely that you’d do well as a courier. Nor do I suspect you’d enjoy the job.”

IC: Kidona


Kidona shook her head as she hears this

"No offense taken. I would likely agree with you about not enjoying being a courier.. Frankly I think the guard branch would be better for me. Afterall I am more combat oriented."


She seems to study the matoran for a second before continueing

"However I will admit I was suggested that I come to Ta-koro by a member of the le-koro gukko force."


Banner made by Onaku



If you interact with one of my characters and I don't respond or acknowledge the interaction within a day, send me a PM. Odds are I missed or did not see the post.

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"Means I don't meet a lot of sober people, Shakespeare."


This guy's a new one, I have to admit; from his crystal armour, scarlet as the skin beneath it, to his romantic words punctuated the silence with mechanical atonality, he was a man seemingly built from the ground up with twists and subversions. His eyes, twin suns burning in his skull, unnerved me -- I know, shocking, right? -- enough to make me avert my gaze. My vision flicked over his hands, taloned gauntlets, and examined the blood drying around an octet of split knuckles. Guess I wasn't been the only one in need of a therapy session last night.


"You fight?" I asked, taking another drink.





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IC: Helios (Ta-Koro Tavern)

Remember that old saying 'curiosity killed the cat?'. Well, I have that problem sometimes, although it would be much more accurate to say that my curiosity got the cat brutally murdered or something.


Point being, I can get nosy sometimes.


My golden kanohi was blinking in the orange hue of the fireplace, and my deep crimson eyes were filled with the adventurous spirit that I liked to believe I had. I had looked around the bar, and the first thing that caught my eye was a pair of Toa further down the counter, appearing to have arrived here just now, like myself.


The red-colored one (fire, probably) had armor made of crystal, and was interestingly enough drinking water instead of alcohol like myself.


The other one was female, Vo-Toa by the looks of it, built sort of like a tank, the fists especially. People were surprised when I beat them in arm-wrestling matches, because I didn't look the part of my strength, but this girl, she absolutely did, in every sense of the word.


"There are only so many kinds of people who stay away from liquor in these kinds of places," she said, taking another sip of her drink, "and from my experience, they're usually the ones you need to watch out for."


I believe that's my cue. I watered my throat by finishing my drink, overhearing the Ta-Toa wax poetical about the other's remark, and felt my curiosity pique.


"From my experience you would do even better to watch out for the kind of people who point out that sort of thing"

Edited by Geardirector

BZPRPG Profiles


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She verbalises with certainty singular to the inebriated; avoids eye contact to enact personal observations of self. Response arises upon my poised tongue, interrupted by newcomer (male, apparent Miru, gold armour, armed with hammer and disk launcher, dressed in cloak; observations too immediate for further detail, reassess and classify at later date). Let his words die in the air, disappear into the relative silence. Respond when quiet becomes unbearable.


"I do not fight, madam; I win. My trials of corporeal body and ravished soul end only in victory, for failure is not an option to be tolerated on my behalf," she weathered the storm of unneeded eloquence; attempt reaction garnering through arrogance. "As for whom or what we should be so argus-eyed against is a matter of much discussion tonight. May I suggest that we all watch that would bring us harm, and thus leave no one be without scrupulous investigation? Danger appears to await beneath every bar stool, and every patron here is both rogue and saint."


Extend periods of arrogance on my behalf end always with solitude, albeit occasionally also with unwanted wounds. Reaction to statement is essential; further psychological and emotional evaluations most likely with have no worth (note: if conversation does not end in violence, consult Vo-Toa for advantageous economic partnership proposal in combat gambling; gauge likely level of use in further detail beforehand).


OOC: In case anyone's confused due to why the overtly loquacious conversation of Araedrex, he's just being the biggest prick possible to garner reactions and thus establish psychological profiles of Plagia and Helios, and a certain writer may or may not be having too much fun writing untruthfully dramatic speech in convoluted Shakespearean English.

Edited by Prodigal


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"How much do they cost?"


IC: Mekana


"Well....I usually sell them in bulk...but I could sell this one for a thousands widgets...price is negotiable." She handed her the iStone she was carrying on her person so she could take a good look at it. Mekana figured this might turn out well for her after all. She could make a quick buck right here and there, and then she could find buyers for much, much larger quantities.


As long as the fact that she'd smuggled them illegally from Onu-koro didn't get into the wrong ears everything would be peachy.

Edited by Yoko Littner

My Bzprpg Profiles

Skyra | Hakari | Oceanna | Taleen | Arisaka | Zanakra

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IC: Helios (Ta-Koro Tavern)


When people ask me why I keep my treespeak reserved for special occasions, I usually don't have an answer beyond "it's just what I do". Well, now I have right before me an example of what happens when non-treespeakers hear it in abundance, like some Le-Koronans are wont to do. My brain was hurting simply trying to follow the Ta-Toa's eloquent ramblings.


Well, if he wanted to make my brain hurt I'd be happy to return the favor.


"Methinks such word-say is not too far-flung in the wide-scheme of things, such as they are. Toa-Heroes and Skakdi-Scoundrels and Vortixx-Peddlers alike have their inner soul-monsters to face... bad-thoughts that can lead to sorrow and chagrin, but also to joyfulness and hero-deeds. It depends on where the fate-pendulum swings"


Treespeak is the ultimate tongue twister, let me just say that much.

BZPRPG Profiles


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OOC: From Ko-Wahi.

IC: Tehlin Ta-Koro Tavern

"You realize that if we do it your way, we're never going to get anywhere, right?" I said irritably to the Toa of Lightning sitting in the chair across from me, looking like he'd rather jump into the lava outside than stay here. He never liked groups, anyway, but egad man, we had to get this done. I shook my head, and stood up.

We couldn't do this alone, if Zauk was to be trusted, and I didn't trust him, and a place like this was the best place to find help. At the risk of embarrassing myself, I started to speak.

"Anyone here up for an adventure?"



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IC: Helios (Ta-Koro Tavern)


"Anyone here up for an adventure?"


Did somebody just utter my favorite word, and a bunch of substantially less awesome ones? I think so. And on top of that he had a Ko-Koronan accent, so you know he meant business, though the hint of Le-Koronan I heard certainly didn't grate-hurt.


He was a Toa of Plantlife, that much I could see after squinting beneath his stark white Sanctum Guard armor, and his athletic build and somewhat weathered appearance (note the scar, ask how he got it sometime) seemed to practically holler "I know my craft, and my craft is Adventure".


Weird looking mask, too, sorta chubby looking, with uncharacteristic points sticking out in a makeshift crown, and with a superficially idiotic grin that seemed to say "I have nothing I should be doing here. Everyone, please, just let me enjoy this while I can"


Still, idiotic grins are as idiotic grins do.. or something. I gestured to him with a tip of my hat.


"I am"

Edited by Geardirector

BZPRPG Profiles


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