OOC: here’s hoping I can keep BZPRPG Kanohi distinct from SK Kanohi. Also sweet Mata-Nui’s pit, the mobile site really squishes any text I paste from pages.
IC Kanohi - Le-Wahi - The Fau Swamp
The flame was a withering mass of tentacles. Tendrils of smoke and embraces engulfing his face, digging into his optics. He could feel his lens scratch and blacken, deforming as the fiery appendages strangled his face. Breathing grew harsh as the smoke consumed him—
The Fe-Matoran gasped as he flicked the lighter off. His heartlight pounded as he clutched the branch he leaned against, his hand trembling. Shakily he grasped his bracelet and began to tap it, causing its moving components to click. This was no language, just a frantic stimming to calm down.
Finally his breath steadied. Fire was the only way he could summon a vision, and even then, most of the time the vision was useless. Polluted by his … recent past. Even now, his strange sight was almost completely outside of his control.
Still he … he had to risk the memories and their horror. He … his visions were all he had. And even that was not enough in the end for … he would prove he had value, he had to.
Then he heard a gargled screech. He shook himself off and drew his Volo Lutu Launcher. He pressed the trigger, but the machine only seized. It had been damaged when he recovered it, and he still was mending it. But he did know its eccentric ways.
He slapped its barrel and a cord of woven fiber erupted from it, ending in a makeshift hook. The hook launched through the air and hooked and branch in a nearby tree, before the springs in it activated. The coup rod recoiled, but the hook was too tight. So the Fe-Matoran was ripped from his perch and hurtled through the swamp’s canopy.
The Matoran tumbled onto the roof, his sturdy frame and his mask-themed Armor taking the blunt of the blow. He barely hesitated before firing again, grappling further through the forest. He was flung through the jungle, bounding from tree to tree.
His maybe plates of armor were carved to recall many Noble Ruru, he was not great, but maybe he could be noble. And his sight was greater than normal but still limited much like the Noble variant compared to the Great Mask.
After a thud he landed on the low branch of a tree, and searched below through his optics. There. A small Taku was caught in the ooze of the swamp, struggling to flail its wings as the mud strangled it, weighing it down as its servos and pumps swelled with the mucky goop.
It was only a Rahi. But he was only a cross-wired freak.
He hooked his arms and legs around the tree’s branches, wedging himself in tight. Then carefully he leveled his Volo Lutu Launcher and fired.
The hook latched to the avian Rahi’s wing, before the springs engaged. The Fe-Matoran strained as the device wrenched at him, but he held on. He could endure the tension. He stood there, bracing himself, even as the grappling hook struggled to retract. Before finally it surrendered to the point of less resistance.
The Taku was dredged out of the sludge, smacking onto the tree. The Fe-Matoran collapsed from the strain, gasping out as his pumps of lungs wheezed. He … he had the durability, not the strength.
He winced as the Rahi shrieked at him, stomping aggressively. It did not see a savior or a helper, just a Matoran too close for comfort. His heartlight flashed frantically with hurt, but he … being appreciated mattered less than keeping the Rahi comfortable. He reached around a d grappled away, landing in another tree.
Behind him the Taku shook its wings, trying to free them of the muck, splattering the mud all over the tree. It would take time before it could return to the sky, but at least now it would not drown.
The Fe-Matoran meanwhile grappled away, thumping and bumping into each branch. He could take the abuse, he was a Matoran of Iron. And more than that he was a hero. Not a Toa, but someone who could try to mend the weary world at least a little.
His many wooden masks clinked together as he hurtled away, forming a sound not dissimilar to wind chimes. It reminded him of tinkering, of crafting. And that made his fingers dance with excitement.
He had saved someone today, no one important, not even a sentient being, but he had helped a protoderm and saved a heartlight. That was enough. It … he had value. For he was Kanohi, the masked vigilante of Le-Wahi.