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BZPRPG - Ta-Wahi

Nuju Metru

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IC Did Grokk even know what the ILF was? Granted, the unaligned army had once been a powerful force on the island, rivalling some of the Koro's militaries in size and strength. Their self-declared purpose had been to free the island from the Makuta's grip, and they had thrown themselves into said purpose with a passion. Then the Makuta was killed, and suddenly their raison d'être was gone. And instead of disbanding and scurrying back under their rocks like good little insects, they'd banded together under the name of justice and peace! and done... absolutely nothing. They were the forgotten army, a band of heroes that had done little heroic and less noteworthy.


A potential threat was still dangerous, however, especially one that claimed to fight for peace. An immoral man could be predicted: he would usually make rational decisions, unhindered by emotion or conscience. But a man with a conscience was dangerous; you never knew what he was about to do. The ILF was a sleeping snake, but a snake nevertheless; Caerus meant to cut its head off, and then he, too, could sleep soundly.


"Cheap? Kittens, all I'm asking you to do off the has-been leader of a washed-up group of would-be heroes. You have enough talent in your pinkie finger to get that done in your sleep."


He sat back, fingers steepled, doing his best to cut an impressive figure even amidst the debris and broken wood. "Nevertheless, I appreciate work well done, and I expect nothing but the best from you. Bring me the target's corpse, and I'll match his weight in coin, widget for widget."

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IC: The BeastI relished the uncertain look that spread across Hakann's face for as long as it lasted, which was a quite an enjoyable while, considering the fact that the expression took about as long to form as it did the psychotic pyromaniac to count to five. No, I really didn't like Hakann that much, but then again, I rarely harbored an affection to most known things... unrelated to beating the snot out of said known things. In all honesty, could one really say that these insolent Brakas weren't better off as Piraka-scented unidentifiable body parts pasted against the walls of our claustrophobia-inducing submarine? No? Well, first hand experiences can be quite the persuasive mechanism.


But enough with understatements of the magnitude of Hakann's ego, for the thought of swimming with the semi-aquatic Reidaks after a well-aimed shove was already beginning to slip from said bag of hot air's feeble mental capabilities. Oh well, the situation was therapeutic while it lasted. Zaktan gave an order in that static-filled crescendo of buzzing he used for a voice, and it didn't take long for the rest of us to file back into the submarine at a respectable speed, if not a respectable fashion, considering the fact that I quite nearly made good on my remark to Hakann as I accidentally shoved past him in my obvious hurry to get to that rather fascinating island. Who knows, we might break record speed and even make it there without incident this time, seeing as we're now about half as heavy without Reidak onboard.


I will admit, it was rather disappointing about Reidak. What a shame to waste such a great mass of manipulable muscle. Then again, the brute had a tendency to stay alive despite most odds stacked against him. I myself certainly would prefer it if he didn't end up as a pile of gnawed-on bones scattered throughout the depths of the sea. Why? Well, if he did make it back, he might take out the two imbeciles that saw fit to shove him out the airlock. A world without Hakann was an appealing prospect indeed.


Inside the far-too-small submarine once again, an occurrence that was most displeasing seeing as it meant spending even more time in close proximity with the rest of them. The large, empty space left by Reidak didn't help much, unfortunately. And so, we resumed our previous positions, I myself claiming the back corner as Avak's hands flew over the control panel he designed himself, something that made me a bit weary. Not to mention he failed to inform the rest of us how to operate it, meaning he could send each of us out into the ocean as easily as he did Reidak. If he had the guts, that is.


With no convenient skulls to crush in the mean time, I simply unlimbered my water harpoon from where it was securely strapped across my back. A safety precaution taken after that last few violent minutes. It provided me something to do with my hands while we waited, as well as an effective way to put Hakann on edge as I lazily spun the buzz saw on the end of the weapon with a push of my claws. Setting off any kind of weapon wasn't the smartest idea in an inclosed space, but it did give me some deep satisfaction to see the rest of the self-styled Piraka squirm.


“So...” I began, addressing no one in particular as the waves crashed away from the sides of our not-so-submerged submarine. “Any natives good for target practice, you think? Letting off some steam.”


I grinned, or my toothy grin grew in size, at the last part. I had a few particular pass times that I enjoyed. I called it unwinding. Let me introduce you to my work in progress, a little idea of mine to share my superior knowledge, I call it Anger Management: Vezok's Stress-Releasing Guide For Those Who Hate It All.


Now, shall we begin?



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"Fiery the angels rose, and as they rose deep thunder roll'd. Around their shores: indignant burning with the fires of Orc."
-William Blake’s America: A Prophecy
a·byss [ə bíss]
(plural a·byss·es)
1. chasm: a chasm or gorge so deep that its extent is not visible
2. endless space: something that is immeasurably deep or infinite
3. terrible situation: a situation of apparently unending awfulness
4. hell: hell thought of as a bottomless pit
People, generally speaking, enjoy looking at the stars. The night sky, sprinkled lightly with the dust of distant worlds, bestows a wonderfully belittling sense of infinitesimal existence. It is an indescribably humbling sight, an overwhelming panorama of pure vastness, and we, as life forms, think it beautiful. Stars are reminders that no matter how hard we struggle, no matter how loudly we yell, scream, or plead, we will be ignored, for we are nothing. From dust we come, and to dust we will return, existing only to procreate, to breath and grunt without meaning, purpose, or beauty. We are the particles of dust that spiral ever downward into the abyss of eternity. The stars are divine messages reminding us that our very existence is paltry, inconsiderable, that we live a cruel life that we can never escape from.
That is why I do not stargaze. That is why I enjoy the smell of burning canvas more than a “beautiful”, “meaningful” work of art. The “beautiful night sky” is what drives me to rip out hearts and throats alike, spend nights in wonderful debauchery, and generally make whatever deities of mercy that may or not exist cry themselves to sleep, clutching their heavenly pillows and, between choking sobs, whisper “why?”. I am the darkest reaches of the eternal abyss, I am the flame that dwarfs the stars, the blaze that grows ever brighter. I am cruelty, I am sin personified, a god of debauchery and immorality. I am lust in its pure, vibrant and exceedingly disconcerting form. I am he who tells the universe that its laws and vastness means nothing, that I create my own meaning, preferably out of the corpses of others.
While some revere the stars, using them as the basis for their cosmic faerie tales and beliefs, I worship the flame. I worship myself. As far as I am concerned, those beautiful, sparkling stars can #### themselves and be done with it. Their pride and splendor has absolutely no meaning to me, for fire consumes both beauty and horror.
Unlike the lights of the heavens that we worship so fanatically, fire is eternal. Fire can always exist, not as a collection of matter, but as a chemical reaction. A flame holds more power, more meaning, and more influence than any ancient legend or deluded belief. The most expensive jeweled thrones and the sturdiest stone walls congruently bow to the power of fire and passion, crumbling and dissolving in the presence of pure brutality, the wrath of unadulterated, blazing spite. I am the herald of the eternal flame, a harbinger of destruction, and the High Priest of Ignition. I won‘t lie, it‘s pretty #### enjoyable. I am the essence of flame, and all who oppose me can look forward to a relaxing future as an smoking pile of ash, cinders, and molten slag. I am the abyss that lurks at the base of the soul, the unavoidable turpitude that we all avoid and repudiate with the fierceness of an accused child. I am the perfect mistake, the wonderful horror, a crimson wraith of this world‘s error. I am the dark, sultry, suggestive voice in your head, a psychopathic to a world filled with insanity. I’m what you do not have the bravery to become, the utter and final antithesis of innate decency, compassion, and benevolence. My soul is a void of pointless brutality, an abyss of madness that inspires the most eldritch of abominations.
Now, enough about myself. Let’s talk about the undoubtedly more important aspect of this conversation, me. I’m a devious little ####### with no respect for decorum or benevolence, a total lack of any mental and/or psychological capacity for compassion, a taste for blood, an ear for shrieks, and the personality attraction of a particularly gory traffic accident. And by god, I’m good at it. However, for some reason I simply can not discern (though I strongly suspect it is connected with how threatened and envious everyone feels in my glorious presence), people don’t really react well to the absolutely paragon of existence that is me. So I have erected a new, more socially suitable persona, a mask that I wear with surprising skill. I think a suffice description would be as follows: “Bully”. I coarsely grin, crudely chuckle, and unsurprisingly fool the most intelligent of our group. Any opponent would rather believe his opponent to be a fool or scoundrel, in place of discovering what he is really like. A genius could join the masquerade of fools and never be noticed.
Admittedly, as “The Bully”, my dignity has been wounded, mauled, eviscerated, and excreted upon, but it is worth every debasing moment. A golden land of strictly criminal opportunities has appeared on the horizon, and I do believe I will soon be its principal abuser. The call of the decadence grows ever sweeter, and the sickly-sweet smell of freshly spilled blood is in the air, water, and staining the earth.
For now, I will grin, chuckle, and grunt, but there will come a time where I may rise. An eon of pain, suffering and flames is what I shall bring to the world that so foolishly thought it wise to produce me. Agony shall be yielded by my left hand, and by my right, Fear. I will make sure that every single surviving member of our conceited posse gets to experience eternal torment, an eternity in the mouth of the flame. Their screams shall-
Is he really playing with that buzz-saw inside an underwater vessel? Is that what he considers a viable and worthwhile attempt at annoyance?
Vezok,” my voice contains a carefully measured amount of brutal idiocy to dull my natural cunning. “Pray tell,” my grin grows in size to match his. “Do you really think we need more technical difficulties? If you‘re attempting to scare us, I can think of several more efficient and prudent options.
For good measure, I scoot away from him as I finish, quietly letting him win another battle.
A wise man lies to his opponents. A tactician always feigns weakness when he holds strength. Let them think of me as worthless. Let them mock and grin.
You can only play with fire for so long before getting burned. You can only mock a dormant Muaka for so long before it awakes, and reveals to you a rather unique apex of agony you didn‘t believe possible.
When you gaze long into the abyss the abyss also gazes into you. I am that abyss, that void of decency and fountain of depravity. I am the eternal, shadowed flame. I am your worst, most primal fear. I am cruelty unbound. I am Hakann the Crimson, the masked madman. Let my façade of stupidity fool you; It will make it all the more enjoyable as I rip out your entrails and feed them to you.
Edited by Jon Osterman


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