Visions Poll: Emission Theory

[Velox]

Visions Poll: Emission TheoryVote here for your favorite Visions story; entries have been randomized. Please MAKE SURE YOU READ ALL ENTRIES BEFORE VOTING.Voting begins now and will end on May 30 at 11:59 PM EST. Entries that do well will move on to the final round. It is currently being decided whether this round will be judged or polled.

• [*]The Sight They were coming. He knew it. Faint footsteps in the hall…a sound of whispered voices…metal rasping against stone. He was discovered again, after all this time. He had to get away. They were coming! Shui bolted up from the bed, suddenly awake. His eyes snapped open, but there was nothing to see—it was night, and darkness filled the room. The street outside was still as he squinted through the shutter. No shadows moved down below. No sound in the hall. But they would be here. They were probably already on the way. If there was anything he had learned in the past century, it was to trust his dreams. Especially the nightmares. Quick and efficient, with skill born of repetition, Shui gathered his belongings: two small satchels and an iron staff. Nothing more. These days he had to be light, fast, and always ready to run. He turned to the door, listening carefully before moving into the corridor. He’d be gone before anyone knew. Down the winding wooden stairs. He dropped two widgets behind the innkeeper’s desk as he moved towards the entrance, then into the street. His heart raced, despite the fact that he had done this a hundred times. A century of running, and he was good at it too, especially with his Gift. But the Brotherhood was relentless—they did not give up. They needed him—especially him…all for their War against the Six Kingdoms. Many had been taken—some willingly, others not. After all, it was easy to go along with what the Brotherhood offered…too easy for some. “No…” Shui had told himself long ago, “No…I will not use this gift in the cause of destruction. The Sight was meant for greater things.” Through the empty streets he crept, down towards the harbor. His ears strained, listening for sounds of pursuit. But at length, he stopped to rest. Perhaps he had evaded detection tonight. Tomorrow would be a new day— —a shock cut his thoughts short, and he fell headlong into darkness...

: : :

His eyes snapped opened. Nothing to see. He tried to move, but his hands were chained. It was a stone cell…a prison. So, he was taken…But before the horror of his situation settled in, a noise broke the stillness: Faint footsteps in the hall outside the cell…a sound of whispered voices…metal rasping against stone…flint striking steel. A flickering light flashed under the cell door. Sudden fear seized him, and Shui realized now that he had foreseen this. His own downfall… The door swung open, light flooding the cell as rough hands hauled him forward. There was a fire burning in the grate in the center of the chamber. But this was no rough hearth—it was an ornate censer, gilded with many symbols. The fire burning there was bright and hot, twisting and hypnotic. “So,” a cold voice pierced his thoughts, “after all this time…Shui the Seer.” Shui shivered at the voice of Toa Koh, lieutenant of Makuta Gorast. “It’s been quite a chase, Seer, but now…you must face your Duty to the Brotherhood.” “I know my duty, Koh,” Shui replied, defiant, “and it is not to your Brotherhood. My visions will not lead you to victory in war.” Shui sighed, shutting his eyes tight, “I will not help you.” “I never expected you would. But either way, you will cooperate.” Hands seized his head, and his eyes were pried painfully open, filling his field of vision with the burning, hypnotizing fire. The sacred flame filled his mind’s eye as the Sight took hold… And then the vision ended. ------[*]

Omnipotent

Phylox examined his glimmering sword again, swinging it through the air. It was light like air and deadly sharp. He had never been the bravest Glatorian and his tribe's acquisition of the mysterious, silvery liquid had been won completely without his assistance. Even his tribe's Agori had gone into battle to serve the Element Lord of Ice and preserve their dominance by holding on to the precious substance. Phylox was not a warrior by nature, more of a coward really. It was only after seeing what the liquid had done to his meager blade, after seeing it return to the surface as a shining tool that moved like an extension of himself, Phylox knew what he wanted next. The liquid was always under security, to ensure other tribes and their Element Lord leaders would not take it from them. For a Glatorian of ice, however, the greatest difficulty he would face was deciding whether to lead with his left or right foot. The guards casually let him through on the pretense that Phylox wished to study the liquid's abilities. No one viewed him as a threat - not in the past and certainly not today. His journey down to the substance was an uneventful one, full of half-dreamed aspirations and nightmares born from a life of inadequacy and weakness. Once Phylox was standing before the liquid again, he stared for quite a while, holding his gift from the gleaming liquid at his side. He felt very connected to the substance in their silent relationship. The great makers had bestowed elemental power onto one of his own already, but the liquid was capable of so much more. Through it, perhaps Phylox could become a maker. Since the Core War's inception, Phylox had dreamed of ending his tribe's enemies in a glorious display of power. He looked at the sword again and smirked. With that weapon, he would reign supreme. Phylox would crush their frosty Element Lord like snowflakes beneath his heel and conquer Spherus Magna for the Ice Tribe. Phylox grinned, staring at his reflection in the silvery pool. Through the faint ripples, Phylox could see himself, he could see grand visions of tearing the world asunder through a pair of eccentric eyes. It was time. Phylox placed his sword onto his back and ran headlong for the liquid. He dove in and prepared himself for divinity. The liquid consumed him. -------[*]

Vision of the Fall

The city of Shadovar gleamed in the light of the rising sun as the brilliant hues of orange and red reflected off the pale, translucent mirror-glass. The massive buildings of the City of Mirrors and the tall, twisting spires were made all of the same reflective glass, which was shot through with tendrils of gold material. The Citadel at the heart of the city stood facing the mighty Pyramid of Glass, which was made entirely of opaque crystal harder than the most solid protosteel. Some said that this city had been built by the Ancients; the enigmatic beings that had left many constructs behind them and had once inhabited Shadovar before vanishing without a trace. Others said it was the work of even older forces, perhaps the Mindeaters or the Infinus themselves. In any event, the modern inhabitants of the city, Toa, Ix, and Elemental alike, did not know. But they all feared to approach the Last Spire, the obelisk that was home to the Seer. Even now, Seer stared through the translucent glass of the Spire, he shook his head, sighing at what he knew was to come in so short a time. His visions had warned him of these days, the last days of Arcaea. When everything would be torn apart, and the Elemental Kingdoms would become nothing more than a memory of what had been lost. Even now, the visions he seemed to whisper to him. He did not see the city as it was now, but as it would be soon. He saw the citadel of Arcaea against the backdrop of choking ash and brilliant flames, torn apart by brilliant displays of elemental power. The Seer watched as a dark, powerful Elemental, surrounded by a group of shadowy, hooded Ix, stand face to face with another Elemental, who had two Toa flanking him. They were locked in a battle on both the mental and physical level as they fought in both the aura field and with elemental power, blinding flashes of light detonating all around him. And at last, the Seer saw the end of Arcaea. The Twelve Elemental Kingdoms torn apart, dispersing on the wind into nothingness. Soon all that was left was a remnant of Shadovar, a broken, pitiful reminder of all that the City of Mirrors had once been. Then the sun of Shadovar itself was extinguished, and eternal darkness fell over the city. Silently, a being stepped from the darkness to stand beside the Seer. He wore a black cloak, like an Ix, but he was clearly not of their kin. One hand was gloved; the other was pale white and twisted. The being stared for a moment at the brilliant cityscape below in silence. “You have seen what is to come.” He whispered. It was a statement, not a question. The Seer nodded quietly. “Yes,” he whispered. “The end of an era,” said the hooded being. “The visions must come true, or the Dark One cannot be stopped.” The Seer knew that the being was correct. Every vision he’d seen with his Kanohi of Foresight had proven to come true. He had paid a price beyond comprehension for the legendary mask, and it had always served him well. “You know what you must do,” continued the hooded being. And though it pained the Seer to know his vision would come true, and though he knew he was passing judgment on the lives of far too many beings, he nodded quietly. “I shall do it,” he whispered as the visions of the destruction to come flooded his mind once more. -------[*]

Ihiko's Terror Ihiko sat alone in his hut, staring through the circular window as the fading light sunk below the horizon. He was visibly shaking beneath his mask, his mind filled with strange ideas he could not possibly know. Right in the middle of his work shift he had gained a sudden realisation of things he knew he had never seen and places he had never known. It was strange, to say the least, and disturbing for one so deeply concerned with facts and certainty as he. He had seen in his mind's eye the great Toa Heiran, first and greatest of all heroes, legend of the Five Isles and champion of the Drakooni Wastes. He had stood tall, power radiating from him in great waves of heat and flame. He held aloft his mighty sword, the sword that had delivered a thousand Matoran from greatest peril, and a thousand more who had never even heard his name. He stood alone in a great expanse of sky and sand, stretching in every direction further than the eye could see. It was a place Ihiko had never been, yet somehow it was as familiar as the shores of his homeland. Then, suddenly, the Toa's light began to fade. His armour darkened, seeming to lose its vitality and substance. Slowly it faded, until it was nothing more than ash in the wind. The hero of centuries, the Toa who came to be known as both the greatest warrior and greatest peacekeeper these people had ever known, was no more. It was obvious this vision was of the past. Ihiko knew, as all knew, that this mighty hero had died long ago in a far distant land, felled at last by the many evils he had long kept at bay. Ihiko knew not why he saw this, nor even that what he saw was true. He knew only that he had seen it - that he knew it - and this scared him. Neither logic nor reason could explain how this could come to be. But that was not the most disturbing thing. No, one fact weighed down on him heavier than any other. It was something he knew beyond any doubt. Something which filled him with great hope and great terror; with great joy and great sorrow. It was a simple fact, coupled with an equally simple observation. But he knew it would change everything. In the final moments before Heiran had vanished, Ihiko had glanced one more thing. One small, fleeting thing. As the great Toa's mask crumbled before him he saw, without any shadow of a doubt, a face he knew only too well. It was in that moment that he knew, this was more than a vision of the past. It was also a vision of the future. For the face he saw behind the mask, the face he had glimpsed so very briefly, was his. He knew, in that instant, what his destiny was. He knew where he had to go. He knew what he had to do. Like many before him, he must take up the mantle of Toa. He must wield the raw power of nature itself to protect his people from the evils that lay beyond their shores. He, Ihiko, must become the new protector of the Five Isles. He had never been more scared in his life. -------

[*]

I See Everything Everybody’s always yammering on about clairvoyance. Oh, they say, it’s brilliant! Imagine everything you could foresee, everything you could change, everyone you could meet, the things you could do! You could become a rich man, meet the girl of your dreams, find out how you’re going to die… If you could find out how you’re going to die, would you want to? See, the thing is, clairvoyance isn’t a gift at all. It isn’t something you sign up for one day and then wait a week to see if you were approved to receive it. This “gift” of mine, well, let me tell you, it’s not a bloody job interview. It isn’t a weekend retreat. This hurts. A lot. I got my visions the old fashioned way: I had to die for them. When I died, I went to the afterlife and got stuck in some sort of hold up on the way. My soul, or whatever passes for one, must have gone ahead in time and saw into what can only be my future and the futures of those associated with me, and now at random times, I start to experience what I’ve seen, what I’m about to do, and the outcomes of the choices I make. And they’re not pretty. When I created this new body, this strapping, well-dressed Toa of Iron that my soul inhabited and took for its own, I had no clue the limitations of what it could handle. These things – these visions – they’re attacking my psyche from the inside out, tearing away at it like a virus. Eventually, the experts on the occult and the paranormal tell me, they’ll blow out the back of my head completely. Picture me grinning really, really wide right now, like a painted doll before some foolish little girl drops her and cracks her porcelain head open, spilling out the contents of her head onto the cold, marshy ground below. Already, I’m unable to convey my thoughts, once so eloquent and brilliant and witty, into verbal sounds; I’m forced to write out what I feel and show it to anyone who may actually care enough to listen. That list is rapidly dwindling. Every now and then, I can gibber out some future phrase, some insignificant Freudian slip that may mean something to somebody someday, but nobody ever realizes it. Rosebud. Picture the story of every prophet you’ve ever heard of. Now picture the ending of that story. Spoiler alert: they all die. There’s a reason for this simple yet disturbing occurrence, a rather simple that holds for every seer in any culture of any time period. Those who are blessed – or cursed – with the gift of foresight are often either shunned, murdered, or drive themselves to suicide so they don’t have to contemplate the cold, harsh realities of their lives. These visions, for these people, they’re escapism for suckers. Thing is, that kind of delusion only lasts for so long before it begins to shatter, break around you, until you’re nothing but a caricature of yourself, a foreboding and ghostly reminder that you once meant something to someone. That’s what happened to me, and there’s not a day I don’t wish it away. Too late for that, though. Every time I get a vision, I start to wonder, is this it? Is this the one? I’m nothing but a porcelain doll at this point, and I don’t care anymore. I can feel it now: there’s another flash coming, another image floating through my head, and I can already feel myself starting to wonder if this - -------

[*]

Vanished My name is Toa Vakama. I have been on this case five days. My duty is to protect the Matoran, but I have strayed away from it. It started on a rather hot day in Ta-Metru. I was working in the Mask Making Factory when one of my workers, Nuhrii, asked for a day off. I didn’t think much of it, until he never showed up the next day. Even worse, he had vanished. I searched his house, asked his friends about him, and even searched the other Metrus. Nothing… I went to bed one night, three days after Nuhrii went missing. I had a dream. I saw vivid images of vines crashing through the city, Matoran running helplessly, and finally, an image of Toa Lhikan. I woke up with a fright, and finally called a meeting with all Toa Metru. We met at Lhikan’s Suva, the place we always met. I found out that the same problem had occurred at every other Metru: Missing Matoran. “Is there a suspect?” I said as the other Toa looked at me strangely. “A suspect?” Matau replied, staring me down, “You assume someone abducted them?” I suddenly had a vision. It was just like my dream. I watched as the vines struck the city, taking Matoran by the millions. I saw Toa Lhikan, placing a Toa Stone in my hand. Obviously I had to save these Matoran, but I needed the help of the other Toa. “Do you think it has anything to do with all the vines appearing throughout the city?” Nokama asked. “Possibly,” I answered. Suddenly a large vine crashed through the ground, knocking me off my feet. I had another vision, I saw Po-Metru. Standing in the middle of a large vine, was a Matoran. I couldn’t make out who it was, only that he wasn’t being attacked. Perhaps he was leading other Matoran towards the plants. Then I heard Toa Nuju’s voice. “Vakama! Wake up!” Nuju shouted, breaking me away from the vision. He helped me to my feet. I dusted myself off, then looked strait at Onewa, The Toa of Stone. “Onewa, do you know any Matoran in your Metru, that was always anxious, trying to leave work?” I asked, “A Matoran that was never around?” I thought about it. It seemed possible. Onewa looked at me with a confused look. “I’m not sure I know of such a Matoran,” Onewa said. He stood in the middle of the wrecked Temple, pondering my question. “Wait,” Onewa looked me in the eyes “There is Ahkmou. He was always leaving Po-Metru. He said that it was business, but I never quite believed him. “ I had met Ahkmou before. He worked at a Matoran Chronicle, writing tablets on Metru Nui History. “Let’s go to Po-Metru,” I said “I have a plan”. For an entire day, we rode in the Transport Tubes. These large tubes stretched across the City, powered by Liquid Protodermic. This transport system was run and organized by Kongu of Le-Metru, who had just dissappeared as well. Because of this, we had to start the tubes ourself. Afterwards, we went on a slow ride to the very edge of Po-Metru. We arrived at the home of Ahkmou, finding the Matoran hiding in a closet. We questioned him, and after a long talk, he admitted to everything. He told us about the Giant Morbuzakh Plant that had been terrorizing the city, using Matoran as Workers in the Great Furnace of Ta-Metru. I had one last vision. The destruction of Metru Nui. It was time for me to act. -------

[*]

Deactivating his Mask of Vision, Toa Tiro of Iron he turned to his teammate. "Nothing, Poro. I checked everything within a kio radius, including the sky and the tunnels in the mountain. All I saw was a Matoran trade caravan that seems to be on the way here." He paused. "Anything to fear from them, do you think?" His teammate looked uncertain. "I'm... not sure. Where's Matakite?" "Right here," came a voice behind them. They turned. A tall, Mahiki-wearing Toa of Earth had just come out of the ground. "Something wrong?" "I had one of my visions," Poro told him. "I only remember glimpses, but it was bad." He shivered. Matakite looked grave. Poro's teammates had learned, years ago, to listen to his Mask of Clairvoyance. "And what did you say at the time?" he asked. "Tiro, were you there?" Tiro shook his head. "He told me afterward so I could scan," he replied. "He was alone when it happened." He activated his mask again. "But I sent a messenger to Mahara - I thought she could help. She's coming now." In a few moments, Mahara, Toa Ekara of Lightning, came into the others' view. She hurried to join the rest of her team. "I got your note, Tiro," she said. "Did you find anything?" "Only a Matoran trade caravan," he said again. "Matakite wants to know what Poro said in the trance." She nodded. "Where were you?" she asked Poro. "On the wall - alone, unfortunately," he replied. He held out a small, half-formed sculpture. "But I was working on this at the time." She nodded again, and took it, activating her Mask of Psychometry. She stood there, searching, straining for that one point in the stone's past. After several moments, she looked up at her brothers. "I found it," she said. "'Mercenaries, slaves - darkness...'that was the first thing he said. After 'darkness,' he started shaking, violently." She paused in remembrance. "Then he said 'Darkness... evil... and hidden in...' - he stopped again there - 'in that we have sworn to protect.'" "'In that we have sworn to protect'?" Matakite repeated. The words had chilled him. "Is this darkness ... is it in the village? Or-" "Matoran!" Poro exclaimed. The others looked at him. "I still don't remember, no. But think about it - what else could it be but Matoran?" There was a slight pause. "Perhaps," Matakite said, "you should take a closer look at that caravan, Tiro." The Iron Toa was already examining it. "Quite a few guards, all well armed," he reported. "But this is a dangerous area... Six wagons, large, pulled by Ussals... Cargo..." his voice changed slightly. "I think we have a problem." "What is it?" Matakite demanded. "The cargo seems to be composed mainly of weapons. And some machines I can't really identify." He paused. "I'd call that evidence enough." "Perhaps," Matakite replied. "But we have sworn to protect them, and we can't attack - especially on suspicion. Whoever organized this... infiltration may have counted on that." "But attack is not our only option." He nodded at his brothers and sister. "I'm going outside. Keep an eye on me, Tirohanga. You'll know what to do." A week later, a party of utterly demoralized Matoran raiders found their way out of the mountainous maze they had been trapped in - a maze made of equal parts solid walls, and haunting visions, courtesy of Matakite's Great Mahiki. The Barraki's plans of conquest had received a slight check, thanks to the various visions of the Toa Ekara. -------

[*]

The Beach ...all that remains is faith... Taylor was on a beach. How he got there, he didn’t know. There were no footprints that led to where he stood now. At his back there was an ocean, and no boat was in sight. He was bone-dry, clothing and all, so he had not washed ashore. It was painfully, confusingly simple. He had merely appeared here. Spontaneously, without reason. For a man who made a living off solving mysteries such as this, the feeling of not knowing how this happened felt like to spike in his mind. There was yelling. Screaming. Children in the distance. Taylor’s ears perked to the sound, and suddenly it didn’t matter how he had gotten here. There were kids in trouble, and he was a man of the law. His first job was to help those kids, wasn’t it? Before his duty to himself came a duty to...well...other people. He stepped forward through the sand, and his hand instinctively reached for his handgun. His fingers brushed past his hip, without catching on any equipment. Taylor halted in his steps, and looked down. He still bore his long coat. All his clothing, his tie, even his badge. But his firearm was no longer there. He had no defense. The screaming drew nearer and Taylor looked up. To his distress, six children came running over the beach ridge. Behind them was a storm cloud. How had he not noticed it before? A massive, black storm cloud, cloaking the landscape in its shadows. These shadows snapped at the children’s heels, chasing them across the sandy beach. There were no people pursuing them, only the onyx presence overhead and the darkness it spread below. “Get behind me!” he called out instantly, rushing to the children’s aid. “Run, swim, burrow in the sand. Just get away!” The children obediently ran to his first command, gathering behind his back and huddling together. But as for his second demand, they showed no efforts to go further in their escape, merely standing still behind him as if waiting for him to cast off the shadows. Taylor grimaced again, lost for what to do. He looked to the shadows, which seemed to hesitate for a minute. As if debating whether to pursue him. When no better ideas occurred to him, Taylor decided to move first. He stepped directly into the shadows, showing no fear or emotion as he did so. What struck him was a mix of frost, wind, force, and sheer darkness that overcame his vision. When his eyes recovered, Taylor found himself at the feet of the children. He groaned in pain. This was something beyond him. He couldn’t battle the shadows... He didn’t attempt to tell that to the children. Before he could speak, the children were already hefting him to his feet, leaving him to once again face the now oncoming shadow. Alone. It was then that he noticed his hands. In a moment of panic, he attempted to shake away the red-hot flame that seemed to envelope them. But the flames would not disappear. They did not scald his skin. He didn’t even feel the heat. With the shadows now at his feet, Taylor did the only thing left he could think of. He threw his hands down above the flame, holding a faint hope the flames would force back the shadows. In a relieving but confusing twist of fate, they did. The flames receded, trailing away at the same pace they had come... Where wisdom and valor fail, all that remains is faith.

Edited May 28, 2012 by Velox

[The Dark Chronicler]

I chose entry two here, it uses a different style of vision that the others, and the uniqueness of it mixed with the writing helped gain my vote. All of the other entries were incredible as well, it was a tough choice.

[fishers64]

I voted for 2 as well. It was a tough choice between two and four - may the best entry win!

[Excelsior]

I had a tough choice between 1 and 4. Both had cool stories and good writing. In the end, I went for 1 - I felt the writing style was slightly better.They would both be in my poll, of course. But hey, my story read better than I expected it to after frantically chopping sentences and hurrying to post it last night. Even if Tiro does turn into Tirohanga in the last line. Oh well.Anyway, may the best story win!-Excelsior