BZPRPG - Onu-Wahi

[Van Hohenheim]

IC: Cetrin

 

Cetrin sheathed his sword. "this'll work well" he said to himself. he headed back into the mines, to get a lightstone. after about an hour, he had arrived at the great mines. part of the long time was that he had no idea where everything in Onu-Koro was.

[25K Now!]

IC: Sajis

 

Having successfully managed to apply for the Ussalry, Sajis decided to loiter around the headquarters, waiting for her superiors to send down any orders. It would be rather dull, simply sitting around, but she was used to it. As long as she was able to bring about order, then she would wait for eternity to do so.

 

Nothing else mattered too much.

 

OOC: Open for interaction.

[BULiK]

IC:

 

"It's been okay, although ever since I stopped adventuring, I've been bored," Nichou said. "But I also have been repairing the damage from the Rahkshi siege the past few months, which is boring," he continued.

[Canis Lycaon]

OOC:

Um, Vox, I just realized this but Mahiki's are illegal. You can't wear one.

 

IC: Rakona/Goran

"Goran can be very useful. He does not feel pain, he is unflinchingly brave, and he serves me without a moment of hesitation. As for these two, where may I find them?"

[Geardirector]

IC: Ferron (Onu-Koro Tavern)

 

"I wasn't there when the Rahkshi attacked. I was busy fighting one of Makuta's minions in the middle of the desert"

[BULiK]

IC:

 

"Well that sounds... dangerous," Nichou replied.

[Zenerius]

IC: Xeeris

 

After he regenerated his energy, he picked up his ancient, rusty pickaxe from the ground.

 

"Too bad this didn't transform." Xeeris said.

 

The head of his mining troop walked up to Xeeris and asked:

 

"Who are you? And what is a Toa of Electricity doing in the Great Mines?"

 

"I am Xeeris. Toa Xeeris, to be exact."

 

The short Onu-Matoran scratched his forehead, scanned Xeeris, and replied with:

 

"You sure don't look like Xeeris! How can you prove that you are him?"

 

"Well, I remember that one day when your mining drill malfunctioned and spit dust all over your face..."

 

The head of the troop's quizzical expression faded, and his eyes widened.

 

"Go ahead and pass, Xeeris. But remember, return that lightstone once you're finished."

 

"Ah, I won't be needing that. Watch this."

 

As Xeeris concentrated, a few sparks began emanating from his hand, soon forming a ball of pure elemental energy.

 

It soon left his hand, and slowly started gaining energy. Lights began blinking, the machines clanking, and various other phenomena began happening around them.

 

"Okay, okay, I get it. You don't want to break anything else or you'll have to pay for it."

 

It was an awkward moment when all of the matoran gazed at him as he walked past. A toa like this wasn't fit for Onu-Koro...

 

The troop leader decided it was best of Xeeris to leave so he wouldn't attract too much attention.

 

Xeeris packed up and got ready to leave, doing so late at night so he wouldn't make a scene.

 

He had to leave home, once again.

[Voxumo]

IC: Syvra

 

Syvra looked at Rakona and nodded

"Well with the tryna i can have the a whole army of him. But i will take care of these toa. They follow me blindly and would not suspect anything. If you came around with that"

He looked at the zombie

"Instant suspicion. With me none."

He looked like him old self but his whole views and beliefs had been changed

 

OOC: Ok i changed the mask to the tryna. Um yeah not sure what to say but lets just go with the story that the mask power changed after Venixa was created and all illusions syvra casted never happened.

 

Also on a side not Canis you think it would make sense for Syvra's eyes to change colors after the conversion kinda of like how vakama's eyes changed in the movie?

[Geardirector]

IC: Ferron (Onu-Koro Tavern)

 

"Yeah, I lost a good friend that day" Ferron replied.

[BULiK]

IC:

 

"Oh," Nichou mumbled. "I'm... sorry for your loss".

[Geardirector]

IC: Ferron (Onu-Koro Tavern)

 

"Don't be" Ferron replied "I've learned to live with it."

[Simulacrum]

-IC: Noxra Immiti-

The feel of parchment was a welcome sensation against Noxra Immiti's calloused fingers, bringing a sense of order and organization to the chaotic world around her. She was perfectly capable of crafting order from the chaos by herself, of course; the parchment's rough texture and yellowed appearance was merely a reminder that some form of civility and intelligence could be found in the bestal fools that surrounded her.

The crimson seal of the ussalry lay unbroken on the table, situated on an envelope very carefully opened, the Matoran symbol for U vivid scarlet, contrasting with the monotone furnishings of Immiti's offices. The parchment's message was simple, no extravagant wording or unneeded, prideful eloquence. The six words, written perfectly, were beautiful in their brevity. "New criminal soon. Will be hard.", signed with the utilitarian signature of a patrol commander.

Retrieving a matchbox from one of her desk's drawers, Immiti struck a single match, staring jadedly at it as it burned fitfully beneath her impersonal gaze. The cigarette Noxra had situated between her middle and index finger was ignited, its tip blossoming into orange incandescence as the match's weak flame set it alight. As Noxra inhaled, drawing the gray smoke into her mouth, her countenance remained that of a corpse, flat and dispassionate. The smoke slithered from the edges of her lips, and then was released, spiralling to the ceiling, twisting lazily, forming curving wisps and tendrils of ash gray, resembling a etheral mutation of calligraphy, macabrely graceful and elegant.

As she stood, stuffing the letter into her reefer coat's inner pocket, she removed the cigarette from her lips, letting it dangle between her fingers as she rearranged her desk, carefully positioning every item, pausing for another silent, gray breath between burst of re-arrangement. At last content with her desk, Immiti swept from the room, her gigantic frame gracefully contorting to move through the door-frame.

She had equipment to collect, an office to carefully adjust, and another soul to break.

As she walked, stooped and hunched to fit in the hallways of the Ussalry's headquarters, Immiti was greeted by a courier, carrying documents containing information pertaining to her interrogation subject. With a nod of understanding, she took the documents and placed them in her reefer coat's pocket, and continued, maintaining her unhurried pace. As always, she would need to request the presence of two other Ussalry members, for psychological intimidation and victim restraining, and so she solemnly headed for the lobby, stopping briefly to procure the several items located in storage rooms en route. The cigarette continued to lay limp in her hand, the incandescent end slowly dying and cooling, the vividness of incandescent orange dissolving to sober, monochrome gray.

When she arrived in the lobby, she carryed a black leather suitcase filled with a fraction of the various apparatus that would be needed. Adjusting the brim of her peaked cap, Immiti strode to the reception desk, briefly conversing with the utterly bored-looking Vortixx occupying it, Noxra's heavily accented words containing the very essence of brevity.

"The 3rd patrol; they will be back within the next few hours?" The words were carefully measured; A few 'w's were pronounced as 'v's, and 'th's as 'z's, but for the most part, Noxra's accent was controlled.

The Vortixx stifled a yawn as he nodded.

Remaining impassive, Noxra turned around, briefly checking the lobby for Ussalry members looking as if they need something to do, before they died of boredom. These sort of Ussalry members were admittedly hard to find, and Noxra usually had to make do with the beings who had miraculously managed to never hear of her infamy, or those inane enough to believe engaging in childish dares to be her assistant would ever end well. As she searched, she took another breath, and the wisps of smoke reached to the heavens, twisting and spiralling skyward beneath the luminosity of lightstones.

Edited June 14, 2013 by Replicant

[25K Now!]

IC: Sajis

 

She needed an assignment.

 

It wasn't that hard to decide that she needed to move. There was a need for order, out in the dark alleyways of the village.

 

Of course, nobody was giving her an assignment.

 

Bugger.

[Underscore]

IC: Nupa

 

Nupa ran through the mines of Onu-Wahi. What he was running from was a particularly large Kofu-Jaga. The scorpion was right behind him, and he didn't exactly have much to defend himself with except for a pick. Time for plan B He thought. Nupa skidded to a halt and sidestepped. The Kofu-Jaga kept going until it collided with the wall. It lay on the ground, unmoving.

 

With the scorpion out of the way, Nupa was able to check his surroundings. He was in a passageway he had never seen before. He started wandering around. Nothing extraordinary about this cave, he thought, Now if I can only find my way back...

[Simulacrum]

-IC: Noxra Immiti-

As Noxra's gaze swept the lobby, her stare settled on a Fe-Matoran, lounging about as if she had no current assignment. For a moment, Noxra paused, mentally reviewing all information she had collected on the Ussalry member, most notably that she was skilled in hiding her emotions. She believed that her name was Sajis, or something similar, though as a psychologist, Immiti had a tendency to remember a personality in place of a name.

Striding over to the Matoran, Noxra spoke, adopting the disposition of an equally bored superior officer requesting assistance on some mundane task. As she stood, towering over the Matoran, hands stuffed into exterior pockets of her reefer coat, and her peaked cap's brim lowered just enough to shadow her indigo eyes, she effortlessly created an affable smile."Ms. Sajis, I am in need of aid. I have an impending interrogation in a few hours time, and I require guards, to remove the possibility of the prisoner's escape. Perhaps, you could help in such a way?" The accent remained heavy, her sonorous and smooth voice flowing as 'V's and 'Z's slipped accidently into her speech.

Edited June 14, 2013 by Replicant

[25K Now!]

IC: Sajis

 

She looked up at the figure. It seemed that her wishes for an assignment had been fulfilled.

 

A nod.

 

"Of course sir."

[Underscore]

IC: Nupa

 

Nupa started wandering around. For a while, he walked one way. When nothing happened, all the walls stayed the same, the same gray stone walls, he turned around and went the other way. It's like a maze he thought except there's only passageway. Still nothing happened. Nupa soon grew bored. It goes on forever he thought.

 

He decided to take a more direct approach. He used his pick and dug through the floor and fell right into Onu-Koro.

[Techn0geist]

IC: Zeal, Sister / Onu-Koro - Restaurant Interior

 

The two sat themselves at the table. 'So, what business do you have here in Onu-Koro?' the Le-Matoran inquired.

 

Zeal, meanwhile, set about ordering drinks for the group. 'I'll have a tea, please. You guys?'

 

'Oh, make that two.'

[Tabby: Toa of Cats]

IC: Zeal, Sister / Onu-Koro - Restaurant Interior

 

The two sat themselves at the table. 'So, what business do you have here in Onu-Koro?' the Le-Matoran inquired.

 

Zeal, meanwhile, set about ordering drinks for the group. 'I'll have a tea, please. You guys?'

 

'Oh, make that two.'

IC:Miraul smiled,"Mata Nui Cow's Milk, please. Vilak, myself and the rest of the Toa Akiru run the Toa Akiru Forge. We make a lot of things-tools, weapons, furniture, anything else you might need designed. Our two specialty materials are metal and crystal, since we have some Toa of those elements. Vilak and I in particular offer expertise in weapons."

 

Vilak smiled ,"I second Miraul's order. So what are you folks doing in Onu-Koro at this hour?"

[Simulacrum]

-IC: Noxra Immiti-

As Sajis nodded, Noxra’s smile faded, replaced with the straight line of dispassion that normally adorned her face. Without further comment, Immiti turned and sauntered into the sterile stone hallways of the headquarters, continuing her journey. As she stopped at a storage room, inspecting the items inside for a few moments, she took relit her cigarette, cradling it in her hands as she nurtured the blossoming incandescence. As she crouched to scrutinize a black leather suitcase full of newly-created equipment from Onu-Koro’s technologic geniuses, she exhaled, and the tendrils of smoke spiraled skyward, twisting gracefully, gray calligraphy that seeped past the lips of Noxra.

Apparently satisfied, Immiti stood, the suitcase tucked beneath her arm. As her gigantic strides carried her out of the room and into the hallways once more, she briefly glanced at Sajis, making no effort to conceal her small amount of interest in the Fe-Matoran in the Fe-Matoran that had been sitting in the lobby, without task or orders to keep her occupied.

Noxra soon arrived at her office, saying nothing as she unlocked her door, and strode into the room, situating the suitcases on her desk. She opened one of them, revealing a few simplistic speakers, and began placing them behind boxes and filing cabinets around the room. As she moved, sweeping across the room with gigantic and graceful strides, she spoke, her smooth, sonorous speech interrupted by the occasional inhalation of her cigarette. As the heavily accented words effortlessly flowed, her face remained shadowed by her peaked cap, and hidden behind wisps of smoke.

“Tell me, Ms. Sajis, why were you without orders? I do not often encounter unoccupied Ussalry members.”

[25K Now!]

IC: Sajis

 

"I'm new."

[Canis Lycaon]

IC: Rakona/Goran

"Very well. For these two you wish to induct, where can we find them? I shall come with you, if only to help in the event of a fight."

[Voxumo]

IC: Syvra

 

Syvra considered this for several long moments

"Well last i saw them they were in onu-koro. A toa of sound and a toa of earth. The toa of earth has these pauldrons that glow in the dark faintly."

 

 

OOC: ok really do not know if makuta alamanax is still playing for i have not seen him in a while.

[Kaanfight]

IC: Yuria

 

My drill had finally broken the surface, or so I thought. As It turns out, I was deep underground in some sort of matoran made cave system. I emerged from my machine and looked around. Nothing but lightstones. I decided to head to my left, and explore what was in that area. After all, I must say hi to the locals. I put on my coat and walked away.

[Simulacrum]

-IC: Noxra Immiti-

 

"Ah, I should have known." Noxra nodded once in understanding, as she snapped the first suitcase's lid shut and opened the next, merely peering inside before closing it. Repeating the process with the third suitcase, Immiti then placed both of the unused black leather cases beneath her desk, and the now-empty one against the wall.

Turning back to Sajis, Noxra's impassive countenance slowly blossomed into a rather convincing smile. As she spoke, her heavily accented words and rich, sonorous voice somehow holding what seemed to be genuine kindness, in place of dispassion."I welcome you to the Ussalry, though I am sure you are tired of such sentimentality. I hope we can work together more often; I always enjoy a fresh and innovative mind working by my side."

[Kaanfight]

IC: Yuria

I continued to walk through the caves, I spotted a building. I went inside in search of anyone that could tell me where I was. I entered a room and saw a toa of earth and a fe-matoran talking.

 

"Where am I" I demanded

 

they both looked shocked, evidently I had interrupted them

[25K Now!]

IC: Sajis

 

"I hope to work together regularly as well."

 

Sajis decided that she liked this guard. Her new superior was frank and got to the point quickly.

 

Much better than working with someone who kept fluffing about.

[Franco]

OOC: The following has been approved by Nuju Metru.

 

IC: As the other Koros simmered in the cauldron of Mata Nui, embroiled in a seething mass of liquid intrigue and deception, Onu-Koro stoked the fires of ingenuity beneath the boiling pot.

 

The village of enterprise and innovation had not lain silent in the months following the defeat of Makuta, that much was clear. The Wahi of Onu- had steadily industrialized, a new web of highways spun outwards from the settlement that linked it to its sister Koros. Onu-Koro itself crystallized into a diamond of the artificial and manufactured, the smoky hub of the island's greatest technological advancement. Its crabriding cavalry, the Ussalry, had expanded in size and strength. Its production and refinement of ore had boomed. True to its virtue, Onu-Koro enjoyed Prosperity.

 

But Prosperity did not entail lethargy, nor did it imply devolution. Onu-Koro could only continue to advance.

 

So it did.

 

The Wahi, once barren of civilization, now sported mechanical elements beneath its external layer of dirt and rock. Cleverly concealed radio boxes peppered the tunnels of Onu-Wahi, while beacons were hidden across its surface, creating an emergency communications network. The radios of Po-Koro were created by Onu-, and while their individual usefulness was decreased underground due to tunnel interference, the increased propagation of the transmitters and receivers allowed a system of transmission for the surface as well as the subterranean areas of Earth.

 

Another propagation of previously-existing technology had further expanded the range of the village's senses. Seismographs sat under the perimeter of Onu-Koro, allowing for greater detection of disturbances in a radius about the Koro as perceived by each of the sensory machines. Originally utilized in the Great Mine, the watchful eye of Nuparu had seen the use of the seismograph and directed the installment of others around his village to heighten its detection of irregularities in the movement nearby, be the movement of friend or foe.

 

The Akiri was not simply concerned with the perceptive capabilities of the Koro, however. He wished to heighten its security in more direct ways. Steam cannons stood at each gate of Onu-Koro to repel intruders from its tunnels. Unorthodox weaponry of ingenuous design, each cannon was built to expel super-heated vapor from a hose in such a way that both Ussalry and untrained Koroans, if need be, could man the weapon. Beds of heatstones meters beneath the ground boiled tanks of water that was then piped up to the gatehouses of the Koro, wherein a crew of four handled each hose: three pumped the bellows controlling the ejection of the steam in shifts, while another directed the hose through ports. A lone steam cannon could spew steam into the tunnel it faced for many meters, discouraging attack from intruders without resistance to the deadly heat.

 

Onu-Koro did yet have other methods of defense and communication, and a clever invention resulting from the creation of the lantern acted in both. The Ussals of the Ussalry now came equipped with saddle-lamps and headlights, as well as colored filters, to enhance visibility and communication. The lamps of the Ussalry allowed those of the Earth element native to the village to see through the tunnels as clear as other races saw day. In addition, the colored filters packed with the lamps, in conjunction with their brightness, to serve as signalling devices when speech was detrimental to the operations of the cavalry.

 

With these innovations, Onu-Koro did not merely expand, it Prospered. So it was. And so it would be.

 

As long as it continued to advance, it would have Prosperity.

Edited June 18, 2013 by Mr. Peanuts

[They]

IC: Fraxn Black

They came for me in Ta-Koro, banged on the door, wouldn’t take no for an answer. Now here I was blinking away last night’s libations, realizing this was the program where I would finally have to come clean. The chair was ugly, a crude metal piece of twisted steel. I could have strangled the smith for creating such an abomination. Even an apprentice could have forged a basic leg, soldered or tongue and grooved it into the sheet plate, the back simply welded or bent from the same sheet, and a journeyman would have done a much better job than that -- forgetting the fact of how it felt sitting here for a quarter of an hour. It seemed like they’d already decided I had joined and were simply taking another pitch at making me an enthusiastic mole in love with protocol and giant crabs.

The truth was I needed the money. I needed the money because of certain deals I’d bellied up on. Somehow, the handbook for entrepreneurs forgot to mention loan sharks. I’d bet my best pair of tongs the buggers wrote it themselves. It’d make sense: get the gullible in the front, and then again in the slaughtering house known as court. I owned the Lavapool Inn a decent tab as well.

“Private Fraxn,” Some matoran was who supposed to be my superior was saying, the first two words I had ever fully comprehended beneath his inaudibly thick accent. I looked up. No, down. Somehow, the headache helped bring him into focus.

“Yeah?” I knew I was going to have to learn proper military protocol of address, but until I stamped my signature on that tablet sitting damp and naked on the table I was a free woman. I’d say whatever I pleased. He seemed to ignore it, so they must want me bad. Lieutenant Serrac just droned on like a deaf school teacher, a baton in his hand waving glamorously at his finer points. I really didn’t care less until he started talking calendars. By then I’d already attempted to roll a smoke three times, and had an equal number of welts on my knuckles from his baton. The tobacco lay on the ground like metal shavings off a lathe.

“You vill report to ze barrakz for eqüipment and localization. Uzzalry duty zhall ztart tomorrow before dawn. In termz of yoür blakzmizing zkillz, ve vill pozt a rozter for vork next veek.”

“Great, so I get a paid vacation from my favorite hobby,” I grumbled; “So what do I do when I get bored?”

“Uzzalry training, of coürze.”

“Oh, of course.”

I didn’t know how I had flash danced into the hearts of the Ussalry Corps, but I figured it was when my shipment of weapons landed on their desk all sparkly and ready to kill somebody. Jaller probably missed me, but he would never admit it to my face. Despite his military genius, that Akiri suffered from something like Small Man Syndrome. I liked him better when he stood in the goal post looking pretty for the girls. At least he used his face for something besides scowling at my work. Feigning ignorance, I used my kanohi Matatu to press my signing bar into the clay surface and left, feeling that if I heard any more of Serrac’s mutilated speech I would vomit.

The barracks were about as easy to find as the stables: follow the stench. The double doors seemed content to leak putrid man-scent from their fibrous pores, generations of military personnel had lived and loved across every surface. Inside wasn’t much better. Twin sized bunks lined the walls, interspaced by double dressers. Everything was perfectly organized, down to the duvet and pillows on aisle C, my aisle. I was in Karzhani, no doubt about it. I bet myself the next morning I’d be ordered to straight rule the sheets and line the stupid fringes on my pillow parallel to some random direction. So much for a place to kick it easy and forge for a chill patron. I could have dealt with the martially and pompous demeanors of my fellow soldiers, the inevitable indigestion from a horrible meal, the night chorus of snores, and the fungal infestation along my footboard if I could have only one thing.

I wanted the sky.

OOC: Fraxn Black open for interaction among Ussalry soldiers. Feel free to talk to your new Private. She’s sulking on the top bunk in aisle C of the barracks.

[Simulacrum]

-IC: Noxra Immiti-

 

Finished with greeting and pleasantries, Noxra returned to work. She modified the appearance of the room, by adding an undoubtedly empty filing cabinet here, a few dozen boxes of reports there, and an uncomfortably dim light fixture replacing the efficent, bright one, plunging the now-crowded room into semi-darkness. What was once regal, dignified, and composed had become cluttered and somehow imposing, the towering, chaotic piles of paper-filled boxes seemingly threating to crush all who stood beneath them. The throne-esque chair in which Immiti sat was perhaps the only recognizable part of the room; even her desk had been removed, replaced with an obscenely tall, shadowy table, on which only Noxra could place objects without a step-ladder.

 

Standing back to observe her work, Noxra's impassive visage never flickered into happiness or sorrow. Without looking at Sajis, she spoke to the Fe-Matoran, her dispassionate countenance hidden in shadow, but her eyes luminescent, glowing slivers of indigo in the darkness. "A creator can rarely discover mistakes within their own handiwork. Do you percieve any such flaws?"

[They]

ISHI BUMBLED IN THE CART, body rolling amidst richly embroidered textiles with each clattering pothole in the subterranean road. Hundreds of feet below sharp picks struck against stone, echoing with the chiming sound of bells at harvest time. The drilling for precious lightstone and protodermis became an ambient lull settling into a recess of unconscious acknowledgement. He focused on the new vision laid before him in the turquoise light. Lambent radiance tugged at the back of his mind with the same warping of a dream lost, yet never entirely forgotten. He beheld the product of industry with a widening smile.

“Incredible.”

Akiri Nuparu’s ascension of leadership had been the catalyst for a technological renaissance. Long metal pipes large enough to climb inside were vining up the sheer cliffs of earth and stone of Onu-Wahi’s enormous caverns, their great bodies snaking into the tenebrous ceiling far from civilization’s light. Some twisted deep into the earth like the roots of an enormous tree. Ishi had no doubt they filtered clean air into the Great Mine, a system of abyssal tunnels the Onu-Matoran refused to abandon and continued to sink ever-deeper into the roots of the world. Other pipes shrank in size before fastening to factories. The astounding amount of machining left a metallic taste in Ishi’s mouth as the cart rumbled past the closest foundry.

“Can we take a look?” His curiosity piqued as the cart continued past a pair of doors, the fabricated surface gleaming with ruddy orange shadows. The shouted discussions of workers floated to the foray, alongside the great blowing of bellows. The matoran driving shook her head, leading the ussal down another path to the right by shifting saddle weight.

“No.” Her voice was reprimanding, yet quiet. “I did not travel from Onu-koro to Po-Koro and back simply to sate your fetish for machines.”

Your problem not mine, Ishi thought, but held his words and laid back in the textiles, a hand playing along the bamboo rail of the cart. Ishi had learned early since his bail to keep such remarks to himself. His escort’s tolerance for jocular calumny was markedly scant. With any luck, the being who paid his bail had greater tolerance for snide commentary than their subordinate. Not for the first time, Ishi attempted to piece together who this being was. Toa? Skakdi? Matoran? He couldn’t tell. The evidence was too measly for any clear deduction. He only knew they were enormously wealthy, being able to pop his lock and drag him here. The cart jostled Ishi back to reality as a metal wheel dipped low in a rut with the crunch of silt and well trodden earth. The crustaceous rahi chittered about the increased resistance, surged forward, then balked as the wheel refused to budge. Giving up, he let out a meek whimper and sank his belly to the road. Eight spindly legs curled feebly.

“Karz forsaken -- Hapaka, give a hand here,” She said and hopped from the leather driving seat. Ishi rolled his eyes and slid out of the cart. A cursory glance revealed the damage.

“I think you bent the wheel,” he said, but braced his shoulder against the frame and waited. When they were this close, Ishi had to admit she had a certain physique. Her red armor stood out in the hazy lightstones along the side of the road, the shadows clinging to her curves, leaving the Amazonian details up to his imagination.

“What are you looking at?” She asked, a sharp glare in her fiery eyes. Ishi shook his head, longing for the past. When had Nakumiir been his life? Once long ago, but the vivid memories had begun to slip away, even the color of her eyes had begun to elude recall. Ishi was left to chase the ghosts of his past.

“Nothing.” He blinked and shifted his feet into a better stance. A few pebbles slipped underneath Ishi’s heel. “Ready when you are.”

“On the count of three,” She stated and placed herself in a similar stance. Ishi nodded as if his opinion mattered. It didn’t, but he had gotten tired of pretending he didn’t exist.

“One. Two. Three.”

With a shout, the two matoran shoved upwards, and the wheel raised clear from the rut. “Now! Over to the left,” She said with strained for words, even though Ishi was hoisting most of the load. He leaned outwards and the wheel was free. With a sigh he let the cart back down, shoulders stinging from exertion. Though healed, his left arm still yelped with a cold nerve pain, forcing the Po-matoran to grimace as the cart touched soft ground. What I would give for some proper healing from a Kanohi Sana; Ishi let out a deep sigh at the thought. She wiped her brow and smiled at their handiwork.

“Not bad Hapaka. I’ve got a leaky sink back home, maybe you could fix it,” She wisecracked while walking back to her saddle.

“Any time,” Ishi said sarcastically. On flat ground Ishi saw how the closest side deviated markedly. “About the wheel,” Ishi started to say, then a blindingly fast object eliminated his field of vision. She smirked with satisfaction, watching as he bounced down the side of the road like some impromptu comedy routine, her back leaned against the cart and arms folded across her chest to suppress the giggles.

“THAT HURT, YOU VICIOUS LITTLE -- GAAAH,” Ishi yelled from where he sat in the dust, a bruise forming on his chest. He touched the dent with his hand, frowning at the new scratch in his carapace. Part of the orange stripe stretching across his body was ruined, one vowel in the Great Prophecy effaced. Standing up from where he sat in a pile of falling dirt clods, Ishi stomped back towards the cart with the hammer held tight. Her face was impassive as he brought his kanohi inches from hers.

“What was that about? Are you trying to kill me?” Ishi nearly spat each syllable. They stared unblinking, invisible sparks flying between their minds. Finally, she smirked.

“Well, at least you have high pain tolerance, though you may need to get your ears checked.”

“And what does THAT have to do with getting a hammer chucked at my chest?!”

“Wanted to know if you could catch.”

“Let me get this straight. You think you should test my hand-eye coordination and reaction speed, So you throw a metal hammer from four strides away?”

“Basically.”

Ishi paused, his mind deviously refusing to produce a valid retort. She had deftly deflected his lunge, forcing the barb away from her with something akin to the wrecking ball of logic. His anger slowly subsided as the pain was replaced by a throbbing ache.

“Just fix the wheel.” She snorted and walked back to her saddle, mounting her ussal in a single bound. Ishi stared at the hammer in his right hand. It was more like a carpenter’s mallet, but there was a hook for prying nails loose on the back of the head. Or for puncturing armor... Shrugging off the thought of revenge, Ishi set about hammering the metal wheel back into alignment. The handle only fit one hand, and Ishi found himself wishing for something more in length to the gnarled archivist staff he’d left in the cart. The soft thrumming of beating metal echoed softly as he swung the hammer, body bent in a contortionist’s dance for a good angle, one leg sticking through the sides of the cart. Finally he gave up, deciding any more tampering would only compound the hitch or break the axle. Walking back to his escort, Ishi gingerly handed over the hammer headfirst, but not before playing a subtle game of tug-of-war. Her eyes glowered at the resistance, but Ishi released momentarily.

“It’s fixed best as I could with this.” Ishi’s disappointment with inferior tools was blatantly obvious.

“Off to see the wizard.” Her brusqueness would have won her appointment to the Sentinels of Po-Koro. No, the Sanctum Guard. Frankly, little altered since his bail, save the effluvia of his cell from tenants past exchanged for the gag-inducing stench of ussal sweat. Ishi rolled his eyes and jumped into the back, pondering which stench took home the gold as the ussal perked up and scuttled forward. Ishi spent the next few moments unconsciously tugging his brilliant coat into a more comfortable position, chewing the bilious paste of leaves in his mouth to alleviate insufferable motion sickness while mutually enhancing halitosis. Can’t wait to start talking again, he thought. Ishi had a fleeting urge to exhale in her general direction.

TIME CREAKED BY without definition in the dreamy illumination of underdark, foundries and mine shafts fading into the past without event. Ishi reached for the small instrument strapped to his leg, inspired by the oppressive air and never-ending fissures running along both sides of the road. The bamboo flute whispered to life, ventilating his misery with a fatigued, floating suggestion sustained above the rumbling of the cart. His fingers fell gently on the open holes, sealing off the channel to create a deep and earthen starting note. A descending triad, a trill, another long, throated note; its deep and lustrous timbre pulling a shiver from his escort, as if a spirit had intersected their path.

“Do you have to prlay that thing,” She asked, native dialect stealing into her voice. Ishi responded by ascending in scale and tempo, before falling back into a soft melody reminiscing sand and sunlight, breaking waves on the shore, and soft light beneath the palms. It was a song of Ga-Koro, a melody of eternal summer. It’s warmth seemed to change his companion’s mood, and the two continued down the dimly lit road, lone travelers in the early morning. Ishi tapped his foot on the rail, keeping a steady tempo. Even the ussal seemed affected by the bubbly notes. He had completed the song once already, when she opened her mouth and warbled the lyrics in a magnificent alto, nearly making Ishi fall off the cart in shock.

Sunshine and sand,

Sunshine and sand,

Beaches full of sunshine and sand.

Waters full of fish,

Sky full of birds,

Artahka is right here,

Don’t make me mark my words, Cause,

Sunshine and sand,

Sunshine and sand,

A turaga told me once that there’s nothing so grand as,

Beaches full of sunshine and sand.

Cast your nets into the sea,

You jolly frilly girls who lead,

A life of laughter and release,

Upon Ga-Koro’s summer beach,

So spread upon the sandy shores,

Laugh and play forget all chores,

Let the world begin to soar,

Oh, let’s here the chorus just once more.

Sunshine and sand,

Sunshine and sand,

Beaches full of sunshine and sand.

A PARTY OF ODIOUS GUARDS loitered alongside a strange contraption, their instruments of justice glittering with depraved luminescence against the dismal backdrop of clay huts. Tubes ran from beneath into a large system of bellows, ending in a fiendish-looking nozzle. Each wore a spiked sallet and mailed poncho of dull silver over their sharp black carapace; a swaying lantern flickered with different colored lights from poles mounted on the backs of their saddles. A grim countenance greeted the party of travelings informants, Ishi’s companion leaning back in her saddle to stop the forward scuttle. The lead ussalry guard raised a fist to herald the driver, a sharp motion bent ninety degrees at the elbow. The movement was a jagged blur of purple after images. Ishi briefly wondered if it was the start to an interpretive dance.

“I am lieütenant Zerrac, of ze Onü-Koro üzzülry. Vhat iz yoür cargo and pürpose in Onü-Koro?” Serrac leaned forward in the saddle, his ussal responding by stepping closer to barricade the path with its clay speckled girth. Kukuji, the ussal pulling the cart, leaned his eyestalks outwards, attempting to determine the relationship with this new cousin. Lieutenant Serrac’s mount’s sibilant whine prompted a sinister hiss from Kukuji.

“I am Ventra, a textiles merchant. The man in the back is Hafja, a hired hand. We’ve been traveling from Po-Koro to trade,” Ventra replied, her voice charming and innocent. She waved her hand in a crude imitation of the guard’s own motion, letting her hand flap like a mangled flipper in the air. His eyes dimmed with disdain.

“Zat is quite a wayz for zuch a zmall load of fabric,” the lieutenant continued, gaze lingering over the technicolor dream cart. Ishi smirked at Ventra’s cunning as he lay on his back. Before this checkpoint she was Irumii. In the desert she killed a merchant for his cart as Rotu. All informants must have been actors in Artahka, Ishi mused, then again, we probably came from Karzhani, ‘cause Great Beings knows it’s where we’re headed. Somehow, the idea of perpetual servitude seemed like a sardonic recourse for his actions in life.

“Well,” said Ventra, attempting to explain; “I am part of a textiles guild. You’ve heard of us, surely. The Mata-Nui Textile Association. We meet within each Koro regularly, sharing knowledge of fine textiles and weavers.”

“Can’t zay zat I haven’t.”

“I and my guild-friends are convening to trade between ourselves at an inn in Onu-Koro. I’m already a day late, given some trouble on the road...”

“Vhat kindz of troüble,” Serrac asked, falling into the baited pause. He scrutinized Ventra as a hungry man does spoiled groceries.

Ventra’s face fell, a pitying sight as she recounted the tale. “We were part of a larger group, but got separated in a sandstorm. Hafja and I salvaged what we could from the disaster, but met a party of bandits along the mountain pass in Onu-Wahi. They took everything but the fabrics. Go ahead and check if you don’t believe me.”

He paused, debating whether her story was valid. Turning in his saddle, Serrac addressed a guard who barely fit on his own mount. “Iz Zis true? Za banditz in ze mountainz?”

“Ve have had reportz, zir,” the portly poncho responded quickly, his words sharply biting through the stale air. “Ze have been giving ze regimentz zome troüble vith caravanz.”

“Ah, treble is as treble dose.” Ishi called out from the cart, his arms stretched above his head as he lounged casually on the cargo, although the rough scratch of raw flaxen cloth annoyed him like a small insect. “Give ‘em whack with ‘ere shtick an’ treble’s gone.” He waved his gnarled archivist’s staff in the air like a flagpole. Despite the utilitarian design of the tool, the ussalry guards bristled at its raising, halberds angling downwards in preparation of engagement.

Ventra raised her hands halfway. “Hey, hey! Let’s all just calm down. Hafja’s just a little rough around the edges, but he means well. Do I need to translate him for you?”

Lieutenant Serrac paused for a moment, then made a face as if a bad odor had wafted nearby, hand returning to the rim of his saddle, halberds to their marks. “No, zis is fine, da. I underztand ‘iz akcent. Zough it iz rough and uncivilized.”

Ishi sat up at the comment, flaring his chest for all it was worth. He was the epitome of bristling ego. “I ‘eared jat!”

“Hafja! Shut up and lay down. You’re being rude.”

Ishi frowned comically, then turned around and flopped in the cart with a humph. Ventra reached for a linen bag, her hand sounding the depths as she spoke. “Is there a toll here, or are we free to pass?”

“Toll? Zer iz no toll.”

“Then may we pass,” Ventra asked, sweet smile never leaving her face. The officer paused, glowering at the red matoran’s logic, yet tempted by the leather bag she held. Behind, his squad looked on, whispering small words amongst themselves. Conceding defeat, Serrac arched his back and spat. Leaning back and to the right, he guided his ussal away and off to the side, opening a space big enough for ussal and cart. With a rumble of metal wheels they rolled forwards through the gap, squeaking ungainly from the wheel’s defect. As the guards’ backs drew out of sight Ishi twisted his mask and made a rude gesture.

“BLEEEEh.”

Like a sports arena emptied during the middle of a season Kohlii championship, matoran shoved themselves about the bazaar, cajoling merchants for lower prices, rarely succeeding. Hucksters hawked their wares in open patches on the ground, market vultures following clusters of naive matoran. Skakdi moved in plodding herds, sticking to their own heavy-jawed kin, working down prices until they walked the line between licit and criminal. Ishi admired that. Occasionally, the avaricious scrutiny by a lone vortixx would ignite the shadowy depths of a stall with shouted curses. All around was the smell of spices, hot and heavy on his tongue. Ishi could taste the salt in the air, the paprika, the pepper.

“It’s fantastic,” Ishi remarked, feeling the mirth spreading like a virus from the crowds.

“It’s a nightmare is what it is,” Ventra retorted; “You can go into one booth, be there for an hour, and end up paying far more than you intended due to their smart-talking. The Main Bazaar of Onu-Koro is home to the smoothest tongues on the island.”

“Maybe they have a place for me then.”

“Don’t push your luck Hapaka, we need to keep going so you’re on schedule.”

“Schedule for what,” Ishi called over the cacophony produced from a farmer’s wheel-cart. “I’ve known nothing about where I’m going since you ripped me from that cell. Not that I’m ungrateful, mind; some of my inmates had stared giving me that glare. But what am I even doing here?”

Ventra rolled her eyes and steered around a throng of calligraphers carrying scrolls under their arms. “I’d have figured you’d known by now, being the Great Hapaka: informant, genius, ayada ayada.”

“Ha,” Ishi laughed; “I’m only a genius when it’s worth it. I’m not being paid for this little rendezvous, so I find no need to pick my mind when I could just pick yours.”

“There’s not much to pick, and of what there is, I’d have to kill you afterwards. Unfortunately, that’s not in my contract. Guess I’ll have to wait until my papers expire before you do.” Ventra waved at a Ta-Matoran in the crowd, who frowned and made a rude gesture. “He always was a sore loser at dice.”

“Owe you money,” Ishi asked curiously.

“He owes me his apartment in Ta-Koro, wife, and just about everything else except himself. Pathetic, but he doesn’t know when to quit. I’ll probably be getting him as a butler sometime soon.”

“You’re vicious.” Ishi decided to never bet with her as an opponent. Gambling over dice was not a place he wanted to lose his sovereignty. Eventually, the smells, sounds, and mirth became irresistible. “I can’t stand it anymore -- I gotta buy something. I’ll see you around,” Ishi called over his shoulder before hopping off the back of the textile cart, swept into the pool of shoving shoppers.

“Wait -- WAIT!” Ventra fumed, standing in her saddle with a pestilential glare as she searched for the Po-matoran’s red, lava-eel coat among the throng. Ishi chuckled and serpentined inward like a foxtail until he had vanished within the mass. Over jabbered life issues of his cramped compatriots, Ishi heard Ventra screaming, “HAFJA! GET BACK HERE HAFJA!”

The closest tent was filled with gizmos, a plethora of whistling teakettles, and portable sundials which doubled as music boxes. Beyond the rainbow steam ushering forth from machines, the ceiling could be seen littered with wires of all sorts, braided into cords thick as Ishi’s arm. He blinked as the psychedelic fumes overtook him, coughing at the bitter taste of compounds. Smoke machines, Ishi thought with excitement. Magnificent! The gear-crazy matoran enraptured by Onu-Koran technology floated ever deeper into the merchandise. Flickering orbs of light guided Ishi into the back of the store. The sparkling aura enthralled him.

“What are these?” His jaw hung loose, body leaning over the source of such bright illumination. Ishi gently tapped the object with his finger, regretting the light burn that followed. A portly Onu-Matoran waddled over with a sound of gears needing much attention while Ishi cooled his index finger in his mouth. The merchant’s inactive noble huna drooped across his carapace, as if his head attached directly to his belly.

“Hmm?” He said, breathing raspy and deep; a dry sound between big gulps of air, like a beached fish. “Vhat? Zeze electrobülbs? Zey are nozing müch. We üze zem in ze minez.”

“The mines?” Ishi filed the information away for later. Information was information, no matter how mundane.

“Yoü are not from here, are yoü,” The matoran questioned, frowning as he blinked the light spots from his eyes and gazed more lucidly at the spunky informant in the red coat, occasionally flicking his gaze towards the other customers about his stall. Ishi shrugged, then replied in good nature; “I’m a reporter for the Mata Nui Daily relocating from Ta-Koro. It’s been a while since my last stay. Perhaps you could help, um,” Ishi paused a moment while choosing his verb, “pad out my knowledge?”

The merchant looked at him with his beady red eyes, then let out a long, slow whistle. “Dependz on vhat iz in for me.” He thumbed his nose and winked once.

“I could give you a free advertisement in the locals section, and maybe a mention in my article,” Ishi rambled, pretending to know the business like the back of his hand. It helped to have worked for the Journalists guild producing the paper in the past. The bangles of metal ringlets strung into a long chain around his neck jangled softly while the merchant shifted from foot to foot, sizing up the options.

“Okay, zo letz zay yez. Vhat do you vant?”

“Just an iStone to write on and your thoughts about Onu-Koro and business.”

The merchant nodded. “Alright, I like it. Vhen zhall ve ztart?”

Ishi paused to think, scratching the back of his head. “I’ve got to get to another interview soon, but I’d love to swing by tomorrow morning. Can we do that? I’m happy to put down a lien for the iStone in the meantime.” He reached into his thigh bags and rummaged through the pockets for coins. “Let’s say I put down ten percent, and uh, I get it back when I drop by tomorrow when you open.”

“I open early,” The merchant warned, his sausage finger wagging warning. “You don’t come, you owe everyzing.”

“Sure, sure,” Ishi said quickly, walking back toward the counter to finish their deal. Momentarily Ishi was holding a small tablet in his hands, longest side barely passing just poking beyond his fingers. A soft hum vibrated from the internal components, forcing Ishi to look at the merchant quizzically.

“It’z a zecret. I von’t tell vhat iz in it.”

“I was gonna’ ask how to start it up actually,” Ishi commented with a nonchalant motion of his shoulders. The screen was black, despite the obvious movement inside.

“Oh,” He nodded his head to wave off the misunderstanding; “Zhat’s eazy part. Push za button. Yez, zhat one. Zee?”

The screen jolted to life; a gray line zapped across the middle before blossoming into a full screen of isolated light. Ishi jumped slightly and almost dropped the device. The merchant continued to explain, and Ishi followed his instructions, the iStone whirring happily with use.

“This is fantastic,” Ishi stated, holding his new tablet above himself dramatically; “You can do so much with this and carry so little. How do I keep it running?”

It’z zolar. Just keep it near zome lightz.”

“Did you really expect he wouldn’t attempt to run?” Jyatopa said boldly. His hand roved along the pearly white stem of his kanohi subconsciously. The Ta-Matoran hunched farther over the bar and muttered insults, her red hands spasmodically clenching the lip of the slate surface. He wondered if she’d break it.

“Don’t pester Syvkii about it. It’s not like she had him chained up or anything -- though I’m surprised you didn’t, given your tastes. I personally would have locked Hapaka in a box and smuggled him among produce or with tools, that’s all he is after all: a tool,” A Po-matoran said with a devious chuckle, his voice smooth as honey. Syvkii glared at her brown armored companion, weighing if his head would look good over her fireplace back home. His kakama didn’t match the molding, unfortunately.

Syvkii rolled her eyes at the lewd jokes while tossing back another swig of her drink. She coughed up the ice cube that slipped past her defenses. “I didn’t have much of a choice Poku. We were caught by ussalry on the way in, border patrol,” Syvkii stated, returning to the drink on the counter. “I couldn’t well have a box that talked. The stupid radios hidden all over the highways would have caught on, and Customs would confiscate it for research. What was I gonna say to them; ‘no you can’t have my talking box?’ Come on Poku, use your head for something besides ingesting alcohol. Besides, have you ever tried herding a flock of mahi on your own? Hapaka’s like that, multiplied by every drink you’ve downed today, you insufferable pickle.”

“Excuses,” Poku apologized as he pulled the tumbler out of Syvkii’s reach, his face never losing it’s suave smirk; “but I think you’ll get physical with any more of that stuff. Let me help you clean that up.” He tossed back the drink and continued. “Jyatopa can patch up the delay with Above, but you need to get your naughty body back on the streets and baiting that hapaka. He’s out there alone, and probably figuring everything out. Every second that freak has is a second towards us losing one of his infernal games. And by losing --” Poku drew the tumbler across his throat -- “I mean our lives. He practically ripped my jugulars out the last time we crossed paths; I was hired to kill him of course, but the point is he’s murderously insane.”

Jyatopa continued to stroke his kanohi. Poku’s womanizing charms annoyed the barkeep like a festering splinter. The assassin would drink until opening, then leave before the bouncers showed up to force the bill. He talked, and he drank. There wasn’t much else to the Po-matoran besides a macho complex. “Thank you Poku for the enlightening monologue. If I stage a play about drunk, failed mercenaries I will give you a call. All this talk and hustle to get Hapaka better be worth it -- besides the widgets lining my pocket for being the depot.” He began cleaning the glasses with a murky bucket of water and a towel of questionable origins. “Syvkii, If you catch Hapaka you will undoubtedly get a raise. Let him go and I will be carting you to Ko-Koro’s hospital as anatomical research. No pressure.”

“You two are such killjoys,” Syvkii moaned as she pushed herself off the slate surface. “Try and get someone my type in here before I’m back. Maybe Rongo-Rongo. I could use a care package after this ends.”

“You mean the type arrested for indecent exposure?”

“Bite me Poku. I dare you.” She stalked off down the stairs without waiting for his reply, nearly slamming the door off its hinges as she left. There was an eerie silence in the room as the two men stared at each other.

“You know, I lie in bed some nights wondering if she was a mistake,” Jyatopa divulged with a nervous quiver.

“I know why,” Poku answered as he spun back to look at the door, arms propped against the bar.

“Why?”

Poku wolf whistled.

A new fountain gurgled from the bazaar’s axis, rising in black marble over the populace. Turaga Whenua’s likeness graced the mount of dusky stone exuding the same benevolent charm he had in life, his sable shawl of leadership sewn with stygian water. Ishi stared only long enough to identify the craftsmanship, then diverted his attention to the musicians below. A Ta-matoran’s silky voice sang above the shopping list conversations, demanding an audience of those present as he strutted about the circular lip of the fountain, his flaming armor contrasting against the darkness of the sculpture behind.

Whistle me a melody my darling,

Short-quick a tune with a range I can hit-sing,

Whistle me a melody my darling,

Of Le-Koro in the green spring!

Kahu whistle in the canopy,

Tweet-tree-tweet,

Gukko chortle in the eyrie,

Gurdle-gurdle-gee,

Le-matoran whistle while they’re working,

You can trust in little-old me!

Whistle me a melody my darling,

Short-quick a tune with a range I can hit-sing,

Whistle me a melody my darling,

Of Le-Koro in the green spring!

Some days are cold and dreary,

So love-cuddle up with me my Deary,

Let the rain pittle-pattle on the roof so quiet-softly,

Laugh ‘til the big-Sun comes back: easy!

Whistle me a melody my darling,

Short-quick a tune with a range I can hit-sing,

Whistle me a melody my darling,

Of Le-Koro in the green spring!

Take a length of rope and hold on to hope,

Take a quick-jump to the hard-ground,

I will catch you set you soft-down,

In a little reed boat made for you and I both,

Just the two of us loving and singing, SO!

Whistle me a melody my darling,

Short-quick a tune with a range I can hit-sing,

Whistle me a melody my darling,

Of Le-Koro in the green spring!

“YES, ONE MORE TIME! EVERYONE JOIN IN, COME ON!”

Whistle me a melody my darling,

Short-quick a tune with a range I can hit-sing,

Whistle me a melody my darling,

Of Le-Koro in the green spring!

Two pipers danced about a linen tarp amidst the eclectic melody, their feet clicking together metallically in a traditional partner dance common to the gukko force. Their movements were like a pair of rubber balls, bouncing in celestially governed arcs. The drummer sat with crossed legs, fingers blurring the stretched hide as he kept the group on tempo. Ishi buoyantly fluttered away on tiptoe, his mind sedated until the words faded with distance.

The edge of the bazaar was the memory of a dream slowly running away. Huts devoured the multicolored fabric stalls with dismal walls of slate and mud bricks. Matoran shifted uncomfortably when Ishi past by, unused to foreigners venturing so far into their Koro. Occasionally he’d wave incredulously, but otherwise he fiddled with his iStone.

Remembering the brisk tutorial from the merchant, Ishi slid his fingers across the surface, drawing a black line on a white screen. This is the line, He thought, beginning to divide the current facts from fiction. Ishi started from the beginning, working from the court hearing and Ventra’s first appearance as his representative. The bail had been paid in full, an enormous sum requiring little more than a metal-bound chest filled with gems. Whoever paid this is extremely wealthy, and knew exactly how much my bail was going to be before the trial. It’s almost like they set the number themselves. Ishi contemplated the idea before deciding it was a plausible reality and hastily typed his thoughts with a pattering of soft-keys. He turned a corner around a hut and walked over someone’s cooking fire, oblivious.

Next is, He paused, stopping mid-stride to coalesce the details, funnel them into a pattern on his line, eradicate the outliers; I’m brought to Onu-Koro expediently, supposedly to meet the being, or group, who paid for me. Somehow, they needed me free and available: they need to hire me. I’m an informant, so they’re looking for information or espionage. Probably both, going by the past few deals I’ve done, and what landed me in that pestilential prison. Ishi continued to walk, his thoughts regaining composure. The document he was manipulating on the screen helped his thought process, speeding what would have otherwise taken more than a few minutes of concentrated effort. The only chore was getting used to typing. He poked with his thumbs until they grew sore, fiddled with his index finger until it was a hot poker, then settled on a one handed pattern similar to flute technique. Finishing the last sentence, Ishi paused and read over his hypothesis:

Onu-Koro Wealthy Patron is singular Runs intel Not military

Fikou Nex

[25K Now!]

IC: Sajis

 

"There's too much paper," replied the Matoran. "It's ... unorderly."

[ARROW404]

IC: Demos

The eccentric Toa strutted through the streets, a stuffed bag slung under his arm. He'd been on a trip away for a day or so, though nobody really knew or cared to ask where. He tossed a widget at a bum, noting his location, and headed to his library, The Wise Man's Archive. Throwing open the door, he announced his presence boldly but no louder than the library's rules allowed, and headed upstairs.

[Simulacrum]

OOC: Sorry about taking so long to reply, and for such a short reply. I'm currently rather busy.

 

-IC: Noxra Immiti-

 

"Indeed." The words, as heavily accented as ever, were completely saturated with Noxra's aura of jaded impassivity.

 

"Is it not uncomfortable, Ms. Sajis? Does not the chaos and disorder evoke such strong and such negative emotions?"

 

OOC: I'm not sure a martial individual such as Noxra would refer to Sajis as "Ms". Does Sajis have a rank?

Edited June 21, 2013 by Replicant

[Canis Lycaon]

IC: Rakona/Goran

"Then let us go now. You lead the way to your former heathen friends, and me and Goran shall follow you."

[25K Now!]

OoC: Private.IC: Sajis"Such chaos is ..."...wrong, completely and utterly wrong."... distasteful."

[Voxumo]

IC: Syvra

 

Syvra walked through the tunnels and upon reaching the entrance of Onu-koro he held an arm out to motion for them to stop

"Hmm interesting. I do not see them anywhere."

[Simulacrum]

-IC: Noxra Immiti-

"Then I have succeeded." Giving her work one last appraisal, Noxra stared flatly at the boxes and cabinets that lined the walls; their mere presence threatened all in the center of the room with a sense of restriction and claustrophobia.

 

"When interrogation begins, I expect you to remain as dispassionate as possible. To the subject, you must not be living, compassionate and feeling, but a corpse, cold and heartless. I expect nothing less, Private. Only speak if absolutely necessary; it will shatter the illusion of your taciturn superiority."

 

Sitting down in her throne-esque chair, the Chief of Interrogations took another smoky breath, letting the wisps of gray spiral into the ceiling before continuing. As she spoke, her features remained utterly callous, a sharp contrast to the warm, friendly manner she had displayed a few moments earlier."Now, only one task remains; finding the secondary guard. I assume it is induitable that even such a new addition to the Ussalry as yourself would have a recommendation." Noxra let the statement drift into the air, joining the wisps of smoke in their shadowy dance. As she inhaled, her eyes seemed to glow with an unnatural beauty, cold and taciturn, yet as darkly graceful and dignified as her sonorous voice and accented speech.

Edited June 22, 2013 by Replicant

[25K Now!]

IC: Sajis

 

"I have not spoken to many other guards since my recruitment," replied the Matoran. "And as such I have no recommendations."

[BULiK]

IC: Ferron (Onu-Koro Tavern)

 

"Don't be" Ferron replied "I've learned to live with it."

IC:

 

"So, What weapons have you been engineering?" Nichou asked.

Edited June 23, 2013 by Bulik