Spirit Fable

Spirit Fable is a three-part saga written by BZPower and C.I.R.C.L.E. member Kohila.

Prologue
The Le-Matoran named Tirao scuttled though the alleyways of the somewhat modernized village of Ka-Koro. The few Matoran he passed turned and looked at him with disgust. His hurried pace suggested to them that he was about to get involved in some kind of mischief, as most Le-Matoran do. Tirao had no interest in fun and games, especially right now. Turaga Kohilå, leader of their land, had sent out a decree for all leaders of the sub-cities of Tepthei to gather in his personal chambers. Kohilå's chambers were strategically placed in the center of Ka-Koro. Tirao slowed down his pace, nearing his destination: a tall, imposing building made of an alloy of ProtoSteel and Blurite, causing it to give off an azure and lustrous hue. He walked steadily to the large doors that made up a third of the front wall of the building. He reached for one of the two Kakama-styled knockers on the door. Rap, rap, rap. The response was a creaking and screeching of the same door, with another Matoran, Haithe, standing resolute next to it clutching the handle. "You here for the council meeting?" she asked, her eyes glowing like blood-red rubies. "Why else would I be here?" Tirao replied. She smiled briefly, but let it quickly fade. "Get on in here, then. Don't keep the ol' war Rahi waiting." Tirao paced into the hallway as Haithe closed the ominous door with a thud. "Come with me," she barked, walking down the hallway with her nose halfway in the air. Tirao walked silently behind her. He glanced left to right, taking in all of the carvings and objects that littered the walls of the massive hall. He had always heard that Kohilå's chambers were decorated, but seeing it in person was a sight to behold. The duo stopped at a smaller, normal-sized door made of regular Protodermis, which opened automatically. Haithe walked in first, followed by Tirao shortly afterward. The two Matoran sat on a circular ring of metal that surrounded a pit of gritty and coarse sand. An Amaja Circle, Tirao thought. He examined all of the Matoran that made up the congregation: there was Surik, the Ta-Matoran who wasn't the brightest Lightstone in the mines; Raiu, the short and sweet Ga-Matoran who was known to cause a bit of mischief; Whayu, the large yet comical Matoran that was of the Stone element; and he couldn't forget Haithe, the stern and dominating Hi-Matoran whose attitude was almost as striking as her element. All of us, thought Tirao, ''are different in personalities, yet we put our differences aside for the sake of our land, Tepthei. I just wonder that if I—'' "Greetings, all of you," uttered a frail voice from the doorway that Tirao and Haithe entered through. All heads turned at the voice of Turaga Kohilå, sole leader of Ka-Koro and ultimately of Tepthei, for Tepthei's capital was named in his honor. He limped down the trio of stairs into the depression, using his simple mast as a cane. Kohilå slowly made his way to the center of the circle, only to sit down and lay his stave aside. He lowered his head, said a small blessing to Mata Nui, and perked up again. He cleared his throat with a few coughs, each one sounding sicklier than the first. "Council of Tepthei," he began. "Today... is a great day. It was this day, 10,000 years ago, that the Toa Mosi defeated Aparangi, permanently trapping him in the Northern Ice." He looked around at the five Matoran, keeping a neutral expression as he saw Surik's head dip and quickly rise, trying to keep from falling asleep. He shook his head, then continued, "You all remember the Plagues of Aparangi, correct?" he asked, his Kakama tilted to the left. The majority of the Matoran in the room smiled and nodded. All, that is, except for Tirao. I've never heard the story! he thought to himself, frantically trying to remember any bits and pieces of the tale he might have heard. "Well, of course you've never heard the story," answered Kohilå, grinning under his white Noble Kanohi Kakama. "How-?" Tirao started, befuddled at Kohilå's response. Kohilå interjected. "Telepathy, remember? Thinking is simply an act of the spirit talking to itself." He shuffled around a bit and began to speak once more. "No one in this whole room has heard the tale of our island. That will be changed, though..." he brought forth a slate box containing crystals, shining as brilliant as a rainbow. "...because today is the day it will be told." The other Matoran laid on their back, preparing themselves for Kohilå's tale. He reached in the box and pulled out a pebble-sized crystal that cast a maroon glow. He studied it for a second, like he was trying to remember something that escaped his memory long ago. He then reached over and placed the miniscule crystal into the left-center of the Amaja Circle. "Let us begin our tale on the Isle of Kemet Nui, with a little Kur-Matoran named Kohilå..."