BZPRPG: Po-Wahi

OOC: Gentlemen

IC:

I was just about to remind Joske of the advantages of the secondary Kanohi he had somehow conjured up for me during the battle for Kini-Nui - considering finding clues about Echelon was much more effective if you could literally see the history of those clues - when we were interrupted by the arrival of a Dikapi. And it carried a letter for Dorian, evident by him reaching out and reading it.

I didn't care about the content. My first question was not what the message was, but how the Dikapi had found us. More importantly, whoever had sent the letter would have had to know where to find us. And despite being a noticeable group I doubted the purpose of our trip was such common knowledge that our camp had gotten assigned its own address overnight. All in all, very odd.

Again, I was interrupted before I could voice my concerns, this time by Dorian falling over. Or fainting. It looked more like the latter to me. Typical Dorian. Just when you think you have a handle on him he hits you from the other side of the Kolhii-field with something new. But just before he went down, I caught a glimpse of his face. I knew the look in his eyes. I'd seen it before. And like the first time, he was down on the ground right after.

While Tuara took care of the Toa of iron, I picked up the letter lying on the ground. I didn't read the whole thing, just peeked down at the bottom to see who'd signed it.

"Who's Nikki?"

IC:

"No," I said as I leaned in towards the dark figure until our foreheads touched, and our eyes gleamed with reflections of each other and until we could inhale every frigid breath the other exhaled. I sensed a subtle change in his demeanour -- maybe tension, maybe amusement. It was hard to tell. The only things those crystalline eyes revealed were smoke and deception.

"No," I repeated, "No, not yet. I'm not doing anything until you tell what I'm doing. And I'm not going anywhere until I get some answers, mate."

"Like what is this map about?"

"Or how about what this plan of yours is?"

"Maybe just who the Karz you are?"

My voice was a low whisper, not a decibel higher than his. "Or, perhaps you can answer why I'm so important to your plot? Don't deny it -- you're out of the closet on this one. Why do you guys keep coming back to me time and time again, pushing to play this treasure hunt of yours, when it's obvious that I'm... what did you say... 'quite educated in not doing what I'm told'?"

A charming smile graced my face. A low grate emanated from the ceiling as dust began falling from the hairline cracks forming on its surface. Hidden in the dark, my left hand tightened into a claw, my fingers slowly clenching into a fist.

"Another question; what if I just brought down the roof on top of us both? Tadris dies -- assuming that you actually have Tadris, and that you're not just blowing smoke -- and your plan goes down the pipe, but neither of us has to hang around to deal with it. So, if I were to threaten you with that, would you answer my questions?"

-Void

IC: ???

The light of Rynekk's eyes revealed a satisfied grin forcing its way across the stranger's face. The deathly eyes flared as he withdrew slightly, prepared to answer something, at least.

"The map," he began, pacing back and forth just in front of the light, revealing a silhouette that gave the same impression of familiarity as the other hints of his appearance did, "is what I spent many moons calculating. It triangulates the exact location of a temple which has been kept hidden from me for my whole life. What is inside the temple I am not entirely certain, but I know for sure that it is significant.

"The plan itself actually largely involves you finding the secrets of this place and others like it. I would have preferred to have you know as little as possible, as I thought it would make you more compliant if you didn't know we wanted Tadris to live. But since you just threatened to kill him - and, even worse, yourself - it seems I am left with no other options.

"You are important to my 'plot' (as you put it), because the stars have told me you are important. And because, quite by coincidence, well..."

The being stepped back into the light, to reveal what could be described as a confusing sight. There, standing in the spotlight, was a Toa who looked identical to Rynekk in almost every way, save for the ghoulish eyes and dark coloured armour. Rynekk's shadowy double raised his arms out to the sides as if about to take a bow.

"That answer your questions?"

IC:

Yes, because the random use of my ex-girlfriend Nikki's name was the important part of the letter, "Detective." Never mind THE MASSIVE USE OF THE WORD SHADDIX LET'S JUST HOP ON THE BAD LOCOMOTIVE AND ALL OVER THE HAPLESS CONDUCTOR

CHOOOOOOO

CHOOOOOOO

Whatever. Agni was a speck. Agni was old and unfamiliar and I didn't trust him with my well-being any more than I would have trusted Heuani as a best man. Tuara. My beautiful, brash, bipolar, blood knight bourbon-soaked bombshell. Her I trusted.

"can we just go to le-wahi please. joske's hero senses are tingling."

Mumbles Shaddix: conductor galore.

-Tyler

IC:

IC: Zeal'Okay, so if where going to do this Mataraka thing, we're going to want to do it somewhere very much out of the way. Bijackal, any chance you could take us to the middle of nowhere?' He slipped out of his robes and hung them loosely over his shoulders in an effort to cool down.'Also, small sidenote; how many of you guys are up for this? I mean, we've got Dekuna and I, that's two of six.'

IC - Lapidu:Lapidu woke up. He tried to move, but only managed a crawl. When you wear a Kakama, crawling can get you quite far. He was at the entrance to Onu-Wahi in an instant. He entered.OOC: So... Uh... Bai.

IC: A Matoran entered the bar where Junyaus waited, wrapped in the brown rough travelling cloak seen almost everywhere in Po-Koro. Orange eyes glanced this way and that from behind a borrowed Pakari as he sat down across from Junyaus.

"You wished to speak to me?" Hewkii asked quietly. "Please, make it quick. I do not like making these clandestine meetings, as necessary as they may be. I would rather leave them to those more skilled than I."

IC: ???

"Can't you see?" The stranger asked, raising an eyebrow. "I'm you. Your shadow, cast in the light. You didn't think one so opaque could get away with not having a dark side."

The reflection's expression darkened, still with that viscous smirk. His quartz-like eyes, the smoke; his down-to-every-scratch-realistic body, the mirrors. There was no way this could be real, and yet here Rynekk was. The foul stench was real, the room and the darkness was real, the identical copy of himself was real. All of it was, by some sick chance, real.

All of a sudden, the double waved his hand and Rynekk's arms were magnetised to his sides. "I strongly suggest you do not bring the ceiling down on us, my twin. I think we both know that after all you've done in your lifetime, wherever you're going can't be nice. Especially after bargaining with the life of Tadris, an innocent - not to go into all your dark deeds in days gone by. What do you say?" He asked, as if some choice was being presented.

IC: [ Roc ] - Po-Wahi / Southernmost point of Leva BayThe setting sun cast its driving rays across the desert, silhouetting twisted rock and drifting sand in a brilliance of red-gold light and deep purple shadow.The Lesterin was down, collapsed in the slight shade of a thornbush, unconscious of the blistering heat that radiated from the cooling sand. His eyes were closed against the glare, but as the dramatic twilight of the wastelands began to fall, the rising darkness stirred some vital spark at the back of his mind.Gulping a shuddering breath, he shoved himself to his feet with herculean effort and stood, blinking dazedly at the land around him with the glittering eyes of a feverish bird of prey.Night... falls. And with it... coolness. Thank Mata Nui.He stumbled forwards along the shoreline, particles of sand grating from where his armor had rested against the dunes. Once he tripped and fell, full-length, but rose once more, slowly, painfully, and went on.He had long ago ceased to thirst. He had, long ago, ceased to feel any sensation save that of basic impact.Yet he had not ceased to reason... his mind stirred, after a fashion, and knew that it had been three days now, three days without water. Two days in the heart of the burning desert, one before in the heart of the raging sea.Three days...Soon, he would die. How he had gone this long, he did not know, but he knew, simply, that when dawn came once more the heat would finish him. First, he would fall, and from that fall there would be no arising... numbness would come, then unconsciousness, and then the afterlife. It was all very simple. The organic body, though strong, could not live without water. Water was life.Water...

IC: Zeal'Okay, so if where going to do this Mataraka thing, we're going to want to do it somewhere very much out of the way. Bijackal, any chance you could take us to the middle of nowhere?' He slipped out of his robes and hung them loosely over his shoulders in an effort to cool down.'Also, small sidenote; how many of you guys are up for this? I mean, we've got Dekuna and I, that's two of six.'

IC:"We are in the middle of nowhere-by my tracking vision this tunnel gets little use, mostly because of the cliff. If you had to climb up or down that every time you traveled Wahi, you wouldn't want to go on trips by that route often. It's basically why Hikari chose this place. Speaking of that tunnel, the powerless among us might want to hide up there while you guys do this part. Sister, care to climb?"

"I guess we're all in, which makes six." Miraul answered hesitantly. At that moment, he spotted someone on the horizon. "Who's that?"

OOC: Shadowhawk, Roc could run into us.

IC: (Junyuas/Bar/Po-Koro)

"I'm afraid I put too much trust in Captain Tera," Junyaus said. "I told her of my duties, and offered her my services. And she accepted. Its taken me a day or two, but I have realized my mistake. Sorry for betraying your trust, Akiri."

He took a long sip of bula juice.

"I think we'll have to convince her that I was a madman, a con artist with a faked badge. Should I go to my contacts in the Daily?"

OOC: Totally different writing style.

IC: Kyhra (Ishi Polzin)

Po-Koro

Kyhra sat in the stands of Po-Koro stadium, his chance at a league position lost earlier before the lunch break. He and the other rejects lingered in the stone bleachers, watching the final teams competing. In his hand he held a silver kohlii ball. The hollow sphere barely extended past his fingertips. Despite its feather weight, Kyhra couldn’t crush it with his strangle hold. Kohlii balls were forged to sustain far more damage. Kyhra gave a happy sigh as he gazed at the brand name printed on its shining surface, letters somewhat obscured by the eastern sun.

“Ought to bring a smile to that vixen’s face,” he muttered and returned his attention to the last plays of the final game.

Orange armor broke the struggling surface as a matoran of plasma launched himself into the air. Tork’s red eyes glittered with smug satisfaction as the kohlii ball rebounded off his chest.

“Fiesta,” he shouted above the panting of exhausted athletes who refused to quit.

“Already on it,” the burly matoran of earth replied as he took possession of the ball; using his body as a bastion while putting along the stadium’s edge. Fiesta gained six yards before a peripheral illusion broke his concentration.

“Don’t always look at the ground, 05,” said Suilt as she tacked off the wall, spun in a circle through the air, and hit the ball halfway across the field to her teammate. Kiln slid underneath Tork’s defense, sparks rising from his armor as he skid across the stone. The ball landed in his basket, and raising to a knee he sent the speeding object rocketing in a left cross. There was the sound of it clattering in the goal, then the booming voice yelling:

“Game point!”

Smiling, Kyhra walked down the stadium bleachers to the exit, slipping the kohlii ball inside a drawstring bag of hempen cloth slung over his shoulder. With a tune whistling from his lips, the matoran of stone began the next part of the game.

The first test run of the train to Naho Bay was filled with few riders leaving Po-Koro. For a five widget piece Kyhra was handed a wooden token for economy class. Given the general lack of foreigners in the desert city, Kyhra was not surprised to find the entire car he entered empty of passengers. Claiming a compartment as his own, he slid through the wooden paneling and plopped down on the teak bench. A net above his head offered room for luggage, soon bulging under the weight of Kyhra’s bag. The train started with an unexpected jolt, then rattled forward, swaying until the engine picked up speed. Preparing for the headaches, vertigo, and possible loss of the morning meal, Kyhra pulled out a small tin of herbs and placed a pinch in his mouth. Within minutes Po-Koro had become nothing more than a faint tan bump in an otherwise flat sea of sand. A wild herd of kikanolo rose their heads from foraging to watch the train roll past, Kyhra staring back through the window.

Kyhra’s attention was broken as the compartment door slid open. He watched through the window as a matoran stood in the frame, briefcase in one hand, the tranquil veneer of power spread across his kanohi. The door closed shut softly on its rollers behind him, Kyhra’s ears picking up the minute sound of a clicking lock.

“Can I help you,” Kyhra asked, sliding around on the bench to face the newcomer. He smiled and crossed his feet, stretching out to look comfortable as his hands turned into a pillow. The ta-matoran regarded him for a moment, then sat down opposite, the briefcase set aside with careful precision.

“Yes, I think you can.” He flashed a confident smile, giving Kyhra the unsettling feeling of looking in a red-tinted mirror. Ishi swallowed the remaining herbs in his mouth, taking a quick glance at military badge tied across the left arm.

“Well then, what does a sentinel in the radio division need?

“Surprised you noticed,” he sentinel said with a laugh. He glanced down at his badge then shrugged, as if the item was too commonplace to notice without effort. “I’m Tanewa, and yes I work the radio relay.”

“Well, Tanewa, it’s a pleasure to meet you. I don’t mean to be rude, but I do love looking at the view, so...” Kyhra glanced at the glass before returning his left eye to Tanewa’s attention. They both exchanged smiles in the short silence. There was a bump as the train rushed along the track. And now the game begins, he realized as a savage spasm passed through Tanewa, nearly imperceptible.

“The thing is I need a little help.” Kyhra blinked and cocked his head slightly at tanewa’s words, but didn’t mention he was becoming a parrot.

“I had a little mistake back at the office,” Tanewa continued while interlacing his fingers; “they decided I would be shipped to Forsi as a demotion of sorts. Now, I don’t like the idea of leaving Po-Koro, but it really is for the best. You see, I’ve become partial to some information.”

“Oh, how drawl,” Kyhra said with a smirk. Tanewa glanced at him oddly. The moves were in play, and now the actors simply had to say their lines. “Sorry, do continue. You became partial to some information?”

Tanewa smiled again. “Yes, yes I did. The reason I’m telling you this is because I’ve gotten into a spot of trouble. You wear the rose. I knew someone would be aboard wearing one; so will you help me?”

“Depends on what you need me to do, Tanewa. What’s the plan?”

“Oh, it’s really quite simple.”

Kyhra slid his feet off the bench, the two matoran facing each other, their grins parallel. “Really?”

“Mhm. You just have to die.”

The cold sliding of steel pulled Kyhra’s attention as Tanewa lunged forward, a talon knife held recurve in his right hand. Kyhra flowed with the motion, rising to counter with a sweeping left arm in low guard. The knife missed the cut, swinging far from the target. Tanewa blinked in surprise, then staggered from Kyhra’s haymaker. The po-matoran took his chance and spun around Tanewa’s body, coat billowing, and grabbed the briefcase in the few precious moments he’d bought.

The knife flashed out again overhead. Gripping the briefcase in both hands, Kyhra rammed the impromptu weapon into Tanewa’s neck before the stroke fell, slamming the assassin’s head into the compartment wall. He pressed his advantage, spinning the briefcase around to Tanewa’s cheek and punched with his fist until the sharp sound of glass shattering filled the compartment, quickly drowned by wind rushing past. Tanewa shouted out, kicking at Kyhra’s leg and knocking him to the ground.

“You’re gonna’ pay for that,” Tanewa promised in a red rage as he adjusted his kanohi and pounced, the talon knife digging completely through the briefcase to hover perilously close to Kyhra’s blue eye.

“Hey, you started it,” Kyhra grunted, then with his greater strength shoved the briefcase back toward Tanewa. They separated in a flurry of falling papers as the construction ripped from the damage. Kyhra slid on white sheets of copied transmissions as he tried to stand, working to keep ahead of his competition. The ta-matoran was younger and wild, leaving Kyhra hard pressed to defend himself as the fight raged on. The field of view increased as he turned his head slightly to the right, but a hook from the blind side sent him reeling into the compartment door.

Kyhra’s right ear popped as he opened his mouth in an attempt to stretch out the pain. “Ow.”

“Shoulda’ just laid there and made it easy,” Tanewa spat and swung underhand with the knife. Lacing his fingers together Kyhra managed to knock the attack back down, but Tanewa shoved with his shoulder, throwing the smaller matoran back onto the bench he’d originally occupied. “Now stay there.”

Kyhra wheezed, his chest burning from the beating, world spinning from the punch to the head. The red and yellow copy of himself stepped forward slowly, fingers dancing along the blade’s hilt with anticipation. He sighed, realizing his only option and the blade descended. His own fingers wrapping around the kohlii stick propped next to his head, Kyhra rose up and countered on the inside of the wrist. Under the sound of the railcar’s wheels rushing down the iron track he could hear the scraping of metal as the weapons ground against each other. Raising his guard and pushing forward, Kyhra swung the hammer end behind Tanewa’s bloodied head and pivoted, sending him mask-first into the bench Kyhra had occupied with a dull crunch.

“My sister always said I had a blacksmith’s arm,” He stated, admiring his handiwork. The car surged on the rail, forcing Kyhra to drop the staff and cover his mouth with both hands, nausea nearly taking his balance and lunch. His brown-gray legs wobbled ungainly. Suddenly, Tanewa was back up and rotating clockwise on his knees. The talon knife slashed across the right side of Kyhra’s coat, renting a gash in the lava-eel scales but catching on the hexagonal plates sewn inside.

“What?!” Tanewa’s eyes widened as realization flashed across his face. Kyhra grimaced and finished his foresight by grabbing the caught knife hand and dislocating the exposed elbow with a well-placed jab with his own. The blade quickly fell into his own hand.

“Glad I wore this,” Kyhra said with heavy breaths, air coming sweet into his bruised body. “Now, you’re going to answer some questions and you’re not going to lie because that would just hurt,” he said over the ringing in his ear. He tapped the talon knife against his thigh and gave Tanewa a savage kick.

“Who do you work for?”

“Gyaah, I’m freelance,” Tanewa responded, attempting to curl into a ball for safety while nursing his damaged arm at the same time. Another kick brought more answers. “I was hired to copy reports from the radio relay.”

“Which Koro?”

“What?”

Another kick. Tanewa spat blood. “None, so far as I know. Private work. Look, that’s all I know.”

Kyhra gave an exhausted sigh and squatted beside the groveling matoran. “Well, I guess that ends the interrogation. All these papers can explain the rest.”

Tanewa blinked, his eyes flickering about the compartment like a frightened animal. “So, now what?”

Kyhra smiled. “It’s really quite simple. Now I kill you.”

Forsi

Kyhra observed his temporary stop on the noisy elevator down the sheer cliff face. Forsi’s ten private dwellings were carved into the rock; the portions dangling in the air roofed in classic terracotta tiles of the Po-Korans. Smaller, personal elevators took locals from the shore to their front door. Kyhra found himself placing another pinch of bilious herbs into his mouth to vanquish to rising nausea.

The gate of the elevator protested loudly as it was pulled open at dockside. Kyhra hopped the single step onto the planks, wet sand and damp wood cooling his sore feet while an ocean fog cleared his head.

“Welcome to Forsii, little-one. If you need a place to keep yourself warm while the mist clears, or you’re looking to get a passage south, the Forsi Inn is the place to go. Just down the wharf, see?” The toa of stone talking pointed his hand in the general direction, but his eyes lingered on Kyhra’s coat. “Just don’t go looking for trouble. It’s run by us Sentinels, and we don’t take well to trouble.”

Kyhra nodded, self-conscious of the knife cuts from the train and his bloodied lip. “I’ll remember it.”

He whistled at the cold wind and watched the waves break against black, foreboding rocks as he walked through the thin mist toward Forsi Inn. Ten ships sailed the harbor, some coming to trade, others with bow pointed to open water. The sounds of their bells, propellors, and sails filled the craggy cove, echoing off the cliff side behind.

A three story lighthouse guarded Forsi’s harbor, built on a spit farther to sea. Kyhra watched the yellow beam flash into the watery horizon, illuminating the mist. A metal rod with wires poking from it like the shaved limbs of a tree poked from the upper minaret: radio technology. He stopped and stared at the mechanical marvel. For a gear-loving matoran, radio was a boon, a herald of the future. Kyhra resumed his whistling and continued on, wondering if one day he would be able to see the being he wanted to talk to from halfway across the island. But then again the one he wanted to see couldn’t talk.

Forsii Inn glowed with the mirth of drunk sailors; music and rowdy sea chanties threatened to burst the glass windows from their perches. Kyhra pushed the yawning doors open on the gaudy festivities without fanfare, preferring to slither his way along the smooth wall. The gray and brown matoran blended into the crowd at chin height with most of the merchants present, his torn coat going unmentioned by those who eyed him. Most of the inn’s patrons were matoran, Po and Ga with a small mix of others hiding in private booths. Their heads were hidden from view by maroon curtains extending to the tables. Kyhra wondered how much extra trouble it brought the few patrolling waiters.

A rough hand clapped Kyhra’s shoulder. Wheeling around, Kyhra prepared to strike but halted when he saw the sad mirth of the drunkard, twinkling eyes filled to the brim with bula berry wine. The intoxicated inebriate staggered off to clasp some unfortunate soul with sticky hands and breathe on them, leaving Kyhra alone to cope with the aftermath of their encounter. The violated matoran glanced around for something equating a towel. He seized upon the maroon drapes, and with a few strides was on the path to cleanliness. Kyhra glanced down while wiping his hands only to be captivated by a red leg. Following the vision upward, he groaned inwardly at the sight of an all too familiar tattoo.

“What the karz are you doing here,” Kyhra hissed as he pushed his head under the curtain. The Ta-Matoran nearly dropped her drink, grabbed his wrist, and pulled him inside the safety of the concealing fabric with a killing glare.

“Not so loud,” Ventra whispered back, her eyes flickering toward the singers and sailors beyond the curtain. “And since when do I have to justify getting a drink? You like karzahni, by the way. What happened to you coat?”

“I tripped. And are you going to let go of my hand or...”

The informant released as if she had been holding a wood stove. “Business. Waiting for someone.”

“Well, I hate to say I didn’t get the memo, again.”

“The island doesn’t revolve around you Hapaka,” she retorted. “He was supposed to be on the train today.”

Kyhra slid the drawstring bag off his shoulder, pushing it between the wooden booth and the stone wall. “He? Did he, uh, happen to be a Ta-Matoran like yourself?”

Ventra coughed on her drink, spluttering as an ice cube slid down her throat. “Why for all the money in the Gentry would I tell you?”

“Well, because a certain someone might want to know why there’s a Ta-matoran laying in the Motara Desert about 150 miles from here.”

The glass slowly returned to the table with an uncomfortable silence. Kyhra ignored the building tension and fiddled with a breadstick. Taking a bite, the tiny matoran nodded happily as Mahi feta melted into his mouth. “Mmm, they got the filling inside. Yum.”

“You killed my contact?”

“Hey,” Kyhra reproached, stuffed bread stick pointed at Ventra’s chest; “he came at me first. Pulled a knife and tried to slice my jugular right open. Would have been a nasty mess all over the compartment. You should be happy I’m still here.” Kyhra leaned back into the booth, taking another bite from his stolen pastry.

“I would be happy if my contact was sitting here instead of soaking the sands with his blood like soap on a sponge. You may not realize this, but this line of work is not a game. You can’t waltz about as if you’re some omnipotent Great Spirit when you’re -- for Mata-Nui’s sake eat the stupid breadstick or put it down already -- when you’re not. You’re a nobody, Hapaka. A nobody. When you wear your rose, you alter the destiny of this island from the shadows. Who we are, who we work for --” Ventra stopped, emotion turning her words to furious tears. Straightening her back, she wiped away what crawled across her kanohi and continued. “How’d you kill him, huh? With a Patero Launcher, or did you just shove him off the train the moment you saw him without so much as a hello?”

“With his own knife... Actually,” Kyhra responded, picking his words.

“Why am I not surprised,” Ventra barbed. She rolled her eyes and gave a long sigh. “You killed Poku with his own gun, and now my contact with his own knife. Is it some sick hobby you have or something? I mean, really?”

“I’m unarmed. I simply use my enemy’s strength as their weakness. And it’s not like I wanted to kill those men,” Kyhra countered, his elbows resting on the table while he leaned inward to speech with quiet force, dark coat rustling into position. “I killed them because I like living. Got it? Hapaka likes to live just as much as Poku or any other Jack I’ve offed.”

“Jack?”

“Generalization,” Kyhra admitted with an animated hand; “there’s been a few Jills. You’re right though, this is for real. But real people play games Ventra, they just get into bigger ones as they pretend to grow up. We are altering the destiny of this island. Every rose bearer, every guard, every Makuta worshipping sand snipe that’s burrowed themselves bottom up to hide from the apocalypse that is their lost god. We all affect the course of destiny. I just want to see what the end looks like so I know if all the time I’ve spent playing is worth my eternity in karzhani when I finally kick the bucket.” He paused, glaring at Ventra as she stared back in shock. “I’ve been in this game longer than you. Spies come and go. Toa come and go. Karz, even Makuta comes and goes, well one go after a lot of coming, but Hapaka outlasts them. He exists because destiny continues to push new fools into the fray, and the fray is where you’ll find me. I enjoy the big game we play, but in the end I want to win.” Silence between the toa matoran as Kyhra closed his eyes and raised his head. With a sigh, he looked at the lower halves of milling merchants and sailors on the other side of the curtain with his blue eye.

“Look, I’m sorry about your boyfriend, but I’m not an cool dude. I made him talk before I removed his capacity to form syllables. Where’s our mistress?”

“Holiday,” Ventra replied blankly.

“That’s pretty vague,” Kyhra complained with a frown; “and besides holiday is a state of being, not a dot on our island map.”

“Ships.”

Kyhra perked up immediately. “Oh, then we’re back in business. As for your contact, he was carrying a file and a stolen key. I left the key and documents on him.”

“You what?!”

“Now, calm down. We didn’t need them. Besides, they’ll change the locks in the next couple days. The key would be useless after that. Better off getting covered in a sandstorm or melted into widgets by a traveling scavenger. The man you’re dealing with, he’s smart; from our few dealings I’ve learned not to underestimate his intellect. I wouldn’t underestimate his hammer shot either in a kohlii match.”

Ventra swallowed. “But the documents...”

“Boring. Useless fakes planted to route out spies. I got a look at some of the paper’s on the big desk -- I read fluently in any direction, so stop looking at me like I just became a skakdi -- and what your roach collected was intentional leakage. When she finds out She’s not going to be pleased. I was assigned this mission, not you. Don’t go pulling some firespitter in to do my job without approval from Her and me. You’ve only increased my work load and kill count.

“I only did-” Ventra said, but Kyhra cut her off with the last of his breadstick before it disappeared into his mouth.

“You did something that’s put yourself in a great deal of danger. My advice is to see if that surgeon who made me ugly can make you pretty. Maybe a lime green would suit you... Get underground and pretend you’re dead. It worked for me for thirty years, and I’ve heard rumors it worked for Takua much longer. Now get out of here before I decide to kill you with your strength.”

“And what’s that,” Ventra muttered.

“Your stupidity.”

Ventra gulped and vacated the booth, downing the rest of her drink and slamming the glass onto the table. Kyhra scratched his eyepatch with a disappointed sigh. Well, with any luck she won’t find out; he thought, but didn’t hold much value in the hope. Her spies were everywhere. It would only make sense to spy each other.

A waiter came by with Ventra’s meal. Kyhra took it and finished the plate of fish and greens with gusto, happy to have something in his stomach after the trials of the day. When the bill arrived, Kyhra waved it to his Ventra’s tab. He left the boisterous inn for the quiet whispers of the dock, bag over his shoulder, kohlii stick in hand, and a fistful of cheesy breadsticks.

The sun had tired of its battle with the fog, a cold moon reflected on the water, but invisible when he looked up. The multitudes of toa stars scattered across the sky refused to shine their light, and the docks were dark save for the orange brazier by the elevators and the flickering lightstones from aboard boats. It was high tide, but calm. Water lapped softly against the floating platforms, Kyhra’s balance lilting side to side. The stench of dead sea life, brine, and rotting woods was overwhelming, but Kyhra found himself enjoying the memories it dragged forward.

During the night Kyhra bought passage on a ferry and slept on deck, his bag doubling as a pillow. By morning, Forsi had been left far behind, the little barge sailing between the small northern archipelago and into Naho Bay, the fog long forgotten.

OOC: The Key was the key to where Radio 13 was stored, with permission from Lloyd. The Files carried on the Ta-Matoran are approved by Lloyd. The Ta-Matoran Ventra did this without any allegiance to Eyru’s character, therefore any connection to his organization OOC is incorrect. Furthermore, FORSI is officially world-built to Lloyd's designation, as well as the train. (Also, Nuju's terms for the train were that it is solar powered, hence why there's never a mention of smoke or steam from the engine.)

OOC: Shadowhawk, Roc could run into us.

OOC:I'll take you up on that offer... Roc was going to stumble on a Leva Bay trader's supply cache, but I'd much rather go with PC interaction. :POh, and can I have some detail on the members of your group, as, how many there are, physical appearances, the users who run them, etcetera?IC: [ Roc ] - Po-Wahi / Southernmost point of Leva BayThe sun slid lower, half-eclipsed against the far western horizon. The liquid coolness of the desert night began to fall, and with its touch came a slight surge of life through the tortured body of the Lesterin. His thoughts focused suddenly, and with the focus came the stark gut-wrenching realization of situation.Karzahni, I am about to die, am I not? Lost and 'lone in the depths of an island wasteland; of water, nary a blessed drop. Yea, death waits...There was a wind-polished outcropping of stone nearby and he leaned against it, wearily contemplating his looming fate. He felt a bitter aversion to the thought of dying; not death, not when so much work remained undone, so much life as yet unlived... but still, the thought of it brought an ironic comfort. It was an extraordinarily simple thing to die, to let it go, and surely there was no dishonor in admitting defeat, not against such odds as this? To lie down and rest forever in the shifting sand, that was--No.His teeth flashed in a silent snarl.I. Will. Live!And with that thought, as he lifted blazing sapphire eyes across the empty wastes, his unnaturally powerful vision picked up a handful of humanoid figures etched darkly against the lonely backdrop of desert and sky, at least a mile distant. Judging by the alert, startled posture of the nearest one, they had seen him as well, and the realization brought a jolting surge of piercing hope and savage triumph flooding through his mind and heart. He had battled the sea, he had battled the desert, he had battled death itself...

...and he had won.

He chuckled once, the sound rasping grotesquely from a cracked and heat-dried throat, and then his mind shut down and the world went black.

IC:

I harrumphed. It sounded more like a snarl. Any legitimate concern I had felt a second ago turned into the frustrating feeling that Shaddix was wasting time. Let's just say I didn't like it. Especially when there were more important things to do.

I dropped the letter. "Nevermind."

Turning around I emptied the rest of the lukewarm tea in my cup, turned it over and shook out the remaining few droplets before pocketing it again. That was all the packing up I needed to do. The others wouldn't need more than a minute or two themselves to get ready.

That left the campfire. We could have just left it, but if random letters found their way to us already. It wouln't be too long before random people followed. Or worse, people that knew us. It couldn't hurt to at least make the trail less obvious.

Two swirling flames later, the remaining cinders and ash had been scattered and the sand looked almost untouched. The wind would do the rest. I glanced back at Dorian.

"We're good to go. Just have Tuara loosen your armor. Looks like it's a bit too tight. We wouldn't want you to have another fainting-spell."

IC (Merror)

"Dorian, are you all right?" Merror called from where he stood, measured concern in his voice.

IC: Hewkii shushed him. "Please do not use my title in public." He said. "Yes, your plan sounds sufficient. Your Sentinel badge has already been reported as stolen. I would suggest you leave the village post-haste. Is there anything else you wish to discuss?"

IC:

And the trap

snaps shut

on this little mouse,

doesn't it?

"The temple," I say, "For Tadris."

My arms may be pinned by an invisible force, but my fingers can still dance away -- dancing, prancing, pirouetting in the darkness. They trace lines through the air, and shallow groves form in perfect lockstep, in the smooth cavern floor around my shadow's feet, in the dusty yellow spotlight of the desert sun. They form a circle filled with a triangle filled with another triangle with two offshoots growing straight out of it all like stalks of bamboo.

They form the lines of Stendhal's -- of the other Rynekk's -- map, now carved in stone, immutable.

This isn't a ghost, Rynekk.

I place the toes of my right foot on the centre triangle, dipping them into where the Naho Bay should be.

It's just you.

I look up at my shadow. I look into his crystalline eyes, and I see myself reflected in them; broken, cowed, defeated.

"I guess we have a deal then."

-Void

IC: (Junyaus/Bar/Po-Koro)

"Even a sneak must have some vestige of politeness" Juny said. "But yes, there is one last thing. Where am I needed?"

IC: "Discretion comes before politeness. For now, work on building your networks."

 

OOC: Shadowhawk, Roc could run into us.

OOC:I'll take you up on that offer... Roc was going to stumble on a Leva Bay trader's supply cache, but I'd much rather go with PC interaction. :POh, and can I have some detail on the members of your group, as, how many there are, physical appearances, the users who run them, etcetera?IC: [ Roc ] - Po-Wahi / Southernmost point of Leva BayThe sun slid lower, half-eclipsed against the far western horizon. The liquid coolness of the desert night began to fall, and with its touch came a slight surge of life through the tortured body of the Lesterin. His thoughts focused suddenly, and with the focus came the stark gut-wrenching realization of situation.Karzahni, I am about to die, am I not? Lost and 'lone in the depths of an island wasteland; of water, nary a blessed drop. Yea, death waits...There was a wind-polished outcropping of stone nearby and he leaned against it, wearily contemplating his looming fate. He felt a bitter aversion to the thought of dying; not death, not when so much work remained undone, so much life as yet unlived... but still, the thought of it brought an ironic comfort. It was an extraordinarily simple thing to die, to let it go, and surely there was no dishonor in admitting defeat, not against such odds as this? To lie down and rest forever in the shifting sand, that was--No.His teeth flashed in a silent snarl.I. Will. Live!And with that thought, as he lifted blazing sapphire eyes across the empty wastes, his unnaturally powerful vision picked up a handful of humanoid figures etched darkly against the lonely backdrop of desert and sky, at least a mile distant. Judging by the alert, startled posture of the nearest one, they had seen him as well, and the realization brought a jolting surge of piercing hope and savage triumph flooding through his mind and heart. He had battled the sea, he had battled the desert, he had battled death itself...

 

...and he had won.

 

He chuckled once, the sound rasping grotesquely from a cracked and heat-dried throat, and then his mind shut down and the world went black.

 

IC:Vilak gazed straight towards the being, his eyes protected from the brilliant heat of the desert sun thanks to his elemental power. "Looks like he just collapsed. Be right back."

An orange-white blur shot across the caked and dried mud of the Motara Desert, picking up the downed being and zipping back with him. "Dehydration, I'd bet," Vilak suggested as he set the Lesterin down on solid ground.

"I'll go get some water from the forge. Hikari, can I have some water bottles? We should get lots of extra while we're at it."

She nodded, and kneeled, focusing her attention on making a total of twelve water bottles, three extra, just in case.

With that, Miraul was off, firing his Volo Lutu onto the rocky outcrop from which the cave entrance emerged. Clambering up, he sped to Onu-Wahi, returning only a few minutes later.

Pulling out a water bottle, Miraul asked,"Which is better for dehydration, pouring it down his throat or waking him up first? We don't want him to drown."

OOC:Miraul to Onu and back in one post.

IC: (Junyaus/Bar/Po-Koro)

"As you say," Juny said. "I will return when the suspicion dies down. Good fortunes, sir."

He gave a curt nod, and stepped off his chair. Grabbing his old traveling cloak, he draped it over himself, and pulled up the hood. Walking out into streets, he began to figure out which Koro he'd go to.

IC: Hewkii nodded as well and departed into the crowds. After ditching his disguise in an alleyway, he returned to his office to continue what work he could before the summit.

IC - Lapidu:

Lapidu noticed someone in a cave nearby, and kakama-crawled towards whoever it was.

OOC: OK. Still here. Tabby, that would be your chars, BTW.

IC - Lapidu:

Lapidu noticed someone in a cave nearby, and kakama-crawled towards whoever it was.

 

OOC: OK. Still here. Tabby, that would be your chars, BTW.

OOC:To clarify, we are at the bottom of a cliff that has a cave in it's face.

IC:Vilak noticed a blur, moving across the encrusted mud of the desert ground at incredible speed, and he reacted with his typical impulsive behavior, drawing his blades as he dashed towards it. As he moved at Kakama speed, the blur became clearer.

"You dehydrated? I can't think of any other likely reason that someone would be crawling at superspeed. If you come with me, we just got some water."

IC:"We are in the middle of nowhere-by my tracking vision this tunnel gets little use, mostly because of the cliff. If you had to climb up or down that every time you traveled Wahi, you wouldn't want to go on trips by that route often. It's basically why Hikari chose this place. Speaking of that tunnel, the powerless among us might want to hide up there while you guys do this part. Sister, care to climb?"

IC: Zeal, Sister / Desert - Somewhere

Her head snapped back up to the cave in the cliff face. 'Back up there?' She sighed and dragged herself to her feet. 'I'm going to have to get over this some time, why not make it now.' She wandered over to the cliff face and found a grip, her smaller stature allowing her to perch herself on smaller holds than the taller, gangly Toa. After a small bit of panicking, she found herself back in the cave.The Silver Toa turned towards the rest of the group after seeing that Sister had gotten up there safely. 'Okay, so are you guys ready? I have no idea what might happen, so there's likely no going back from here.' He produced the curious sphere from his cloak.

IC: [ Roc ] - Po-Wahi / Motara DesertIn an action as trivial and cliched as it was pointless, the unconscious white-and-blue-clad Lesterin stirred briefly at the sound of unrecognized voices, mumbled something under his breath, and lapsed back into stillness.OOC:So, uh... can't think of anything else.

Bijackal shot a cable up the cliff, ascending with his Volo Lutu. Even though he was easily eight times the size of Sister, he surpassed her halfway up thanks to the efficiency of his Volo Lutu Launcher." If you had waited for a second, I would have offered a ride," he chuckled at the top. "Since they'll probably send the dehydrated kid down there back with us, I suggest we wait and talk for a few minutes."

"Considering that people are crawling out of the woodwork looking for water the second we mention, 'being in the middle of nowhere.', we probably aren't ready. Give it a few minutes while I handle the medical attention for this guy." Miraul answered, turning his attention back to the Lestrin. Seeing him awaken, he promptly pried the blue-white warrior's mouth open and poured some water down his throat. "You'd best wake up."

IC: [ Roc ] - Po-Wahi / Motara DesertOne instant, the Lesterin was struggling blearily to throw off the clutching tentacles of creeping silent blackness that leeched and pried against his mind; the next, an unidentified being was dumping water down his throat and he was choking, gasping, drowning in the midst of a sun-scorched desert.Truly, what sickening irony.At least it revived him, after a fashion. Still half-dazed, he leapt to his feet with surprising speed, blinking against the stabbing rays of the setting sun, and roared, "Gah! Thou kill'st me, fool!"

OOC: Sorry for inactivity. Was really busy yesterday.

IC: Lapidu coughed, and looked around at his rescuers. He realized that his vision was blurred and rubbed his eyes. He managed to say the word "Thanks."

IC:"Sorry. I was hoping you were awake enough to swallow. Here's some water for you. Drink plenty of it. Vilak, I presume the crawling guy needs water?" Receiving a nod, Miraul passed another water bottle to the Toa of Stone. "We should get you both out of the desert. In your condition, a place where you can go to rest up and stay hydrated is ideal. Do you care to go to Onu-Wahi for a while? Also, my apologies for failing on introductions. I'm Miraul, and these are Vilak, Hikari, Axana, Dekuna, and Zeal. Bijackal and Sister are the ones in the cave up the cliff."

IC: [ Roc ] - Po-Wahi / Motara DesertOnu-Wahi. Village of Earth.A simple name indeed, but perfectly suitable, even possessing a vaguely poetic ring. Well. This land held the habitations of sapient life, at least..."I'm Miraul," explained the Kakama-wearing Toa of Magnetism, presumably the group's leader, and the one who had very kindly set about reversing his own unfortunate state of dehydration. "--and these are Vilak, Hikari, Axana, Dekuna, and Zeal. Bijackal and Sister are the ones in the cave up the cliff."The Lesterin nodded greetings to the group, his sharp blue eyes darting quickly about and resting briefly on each one, and sipped a bit of the blessed water. Already could he feel his mind clearing, and he fought back the sudden suicidal urge to gulp down the entire container at once."I thank you." he said at last, his voice hoarse and ragged. "I must admit..."He glanced down at the sand, a little sheepishly. "This may indeed sound as the ravings of a madman, but dost thou know of a recent shipwreck hereabouts? My mind, I fear, is damaged... my memories, lost."

He sipped again at the water, rubbed his chin with a salt-encrusted forefinger. "There was, I believe, a storm... our vessel did break and sink beneath us, strong though it was."

IC - Lapidu:

Lapidu drank some water. "Thank you. My name is - " He coughed again, and took another drink. "Lapidu." His vision was becoming a little clearer.

IC:"Not at all odd. Lots of people show up on this island, washing ashore with little memory of where they came from, and no one seems to know why. I myself woke in an Onu-Wahi tunnel with no memory. Thankfully, I met Bijackal. As for the shipwreck, not one I know of. If you want, perhaps Bijackal could help you search for it when you are recovered, being a tracker. May I ask your name? And your kind? You seem just a bit different from any Toa on this island-did you lose a mask in the shipwreck? I'm surprised you made it this far from the coast without the strength of your Kanohi."

Vilak offered a hand to Lapidru, since he had yet to get up.

IC - Lapidu:

Lapidu stood and shook sand from his Kanohi.

"It seems waking up with amnesia is more common here than not."

"If I don't sound too intrusive, where are you going, and to what end?"

IC - Lapidu:

 

Lapidu stood and shook sand from his Kanohi.

 

"It seems waking up with amnesia is more common here than not."

 

"If I don't sound too intrusive, where are you going, and to what end?"

IC: "We're at where we want to be, I think, if there aren't any other wanderers in the desert. As to the end, I think Zeal is the best one answer that question, because it has to do with him." Vilak answered.

IC: Zeal / Motara Desert - Somewhere'We're looking to crack this thing open,' the Silver Toa interjected, holding up the Mataraka briefly before replacing it in his cloak. 'Somehow I think you won't be up to it. You might want to get Bijackel to help you up to the cave, there, where you'll be safe.'

IC - Lapidu:

"Thank you."

Lapidu stood up, somewhat shaky.

IC:"Not at all odd. Lots of people show up on this island, washing ashore with little memory of where they came from, and no one seems to know why. I myself woke in an Onu-Wahi tunnel with no memory. Thankfully, I met Bijackal. As for the shipwreck, not one I know of. If you want, perhaps Bijackal could help you search for it when you are recovered, being a tracker. May I ask your name? And your kind? You seem just a bit different from any Toa on this island-did you lose a mask in the shipwreck? I'm surprised you made it this far from the coast without the strength of your Kanohi."

IC: [ Roc ] - Po-Wahi / Motara DesertThe Lesterin's smile was a rather twisted grimace, considering the sun-broiled state of his face, but the amusement in his sapphire eyes was genuine. "A memory-disrupting curse on this fair island, it seems, hm?"But in my case, perhaps a blessing.The thought came suddenly, rooted strong in the depths of his inaccessible past and shrouded with a quick pang of dark guilt. Yet he could not remember why... Hastily, he shoved the matter away from his conscious mind and added, "The ship, I fear, is long since gone. Broken. The site is miles hence; I saw no other survivors, but wondered if perhaps... ah, well. If I am alone in mine misfortune, that is well. No others must suffer, if it were possible. Let Bijackal in peace; mine troubles are mine own."He rubbed the short, curved crest that extended from the back of his skull, calling attention to one of the most distinguishing physical features of his race. "As to my species... I am what they call a 'Lesterin'. Of Crystal, to be exact. We have no need of masks, though we can and do use them, I assure you..."He tapped the Great Kanohi Pakari, fastened loosely to his belt by a loop of salt-encrusted rope, for emphasis. Of his name, he said nothing... though it might have been merely an oversight.

Maybe.OOC:Sorry for the delay in posting. Was quite busy.