User blog:Iro: Spirit of Iron/Fractures Prologue Preview

Writing equivilent of a doodle, I suppose.

Prologue
Never had any being thought about what had happened. It could not have been foreseen, and its impact was so radical that it was simply far from the minds of the Utearan people. The cruel reality was that it had happened. Uteara was in pieces. After the meteor shower, the Great Barren was left so weak that it split apart. The Terra Quematha had broken off from its place of being and drifted west, while the Ice Region and the northern portion of the desert were left floating northeast of their original position. The two cities had remained together, but the Central City had been greatly damaged from the great earthquake that followed the shower. Lastly, the three southern regions suffered from a second quake that had ripped them apart from the Industry City. The tragic event of one week ago was now referred to as “the Fracture.”

The only thought in Toa Xinlo’s head was to rebuild. He walked quietly through the western harbor of the Central City, looking around for people that may have been buried under rubble. As a Toa of Sonics, he had the acute hearing needed to pick out the scraping of rocks or the faint cries of a Matoran or an Agori. However, after about a week, he was sure that any survivors would have been found by now.

The governor of the city, Turaga Kohu approached him. “I pray no evil dares to take advantage of our situation,” he stated grimly. Xinlo said nothing, simply staring out at the sea. “We will have to learn to live like this,” the Turaga of Sonics continued. “A communication system will have to be set up between fragments.... Have you heard from Gravemos or Iro?”

“No. I’m sure they’re focused on rebuilding Industry City, like we should be focused on doing here.”

“Realize that things like this take time, Toa. We can’t rebuild and adapt in mere days. Months, perhaps, will pass before we are finished.”

“Well, I guess we can’t do anything if we just stand around. You go survey the damage; I’m going to head to Deax and see if I can get some people to help out.”

Kohu nodded and slowly walked away, using his walking cane for balance. Even after a thousand years, the wounds to his right leg had not fully healed. His expression was grim. Xinlo was the impatient type, and had sent him away before the Turaga could say everything that he wanted to.

I wished to be a more honest governor, trusting my Toa with the information that comes to me, he thought. However, perhaps it isn’t the proper time to speak of everything I know....

---

Gravemos, Braxel, and Autahr walked silently through the streets of the Industry City. The mutual feeling was glum, but a mute sensation of resolve flowed through each of the three. Both Gravemos and Autahr had seen such destruction in their lifetimes, the former resident of Jattillus witnessing firsthand the utter desolation of his society after the planet had been ripped away from its orbit near the sun. Autahr’s past was a mystery even to himself, but he assured his friends that he recognized the same aura that came after such tragedy.

It was a simple plan, in theory, but much more difficult said than done. The Piraka were an infamous group of assassins that were said to have established a base of operations somewhere in the city. Braxel had suggested that a truce – or even an alliance – between the Piraka and Industry Region be formed, so that the rebuilding could proceed without interruption. Gravemos had initially voiced his discontent with the idea due to his evident dislike of the seven Skakdi, but even he realized that the alliance was worth a shot.

“Doesn’t mean I like this,” he muttered. “I still say we’re better off trying to weed ‘em out. Me and Autahr here have dealt with Skakdi before. We’ve even beaten down Promethius during that whole Eastern Beach fight.”

“I think it’s best to try and make friends, not enemies,” Braxel replied, turning his head from side to side. The last thing he wanted was to be ambushed in what was referred to as the “Pesthole District” of the city. “Or... well, allies, I guess. Don’t know who’d want to be friends with a Skakdi. What do you think, Autahr?”

I think the alliance idea’s fine, the feline Rahi’s mind-voice said. ''I just don’t like us walking around and hoping one of the Piraka decides to kidnap us or something. I hate feeling like prey.''

“Naturally,” Gravemos chuckled. He scratched the back of his dark grey head with the flat of his melee staff. “I’m surprised we don’t stick out, though,” he added. “A giant, a rookie Toa, and a jungle cat-looking thing. Yeah, we’re totally regular people you see every day.”

“‘Rookie Toa?’” the Toa of the Green repeated. “C’mon, you can’t really tell that.”

“Heh, you don’t talk to Iro much anymore,” the Jattillan answered. “You can tell he’s been ‘round the block a time or two. He has the look in his eyes, and his voice is always real heavy. You? You’re optimistic, young, and restless. Big difference.”

Still haven’t heard from him? Autahr asked. I mean, it’s been a week, but you’d figure he’d turn up by now.

Gravemos looked at Braxel, who gave a shrug. “Nope,” he said. “Not since we split up last time. Not sure I want to talk to him, either.”

“What do you mean?” the Toa inquired.

“He kinda’ likes to blame himself for when stuff goes bad. Took him about two hundred years to get over the Liiri. After what happened to Scrythe, I’m not sure what he’d be like now.  

---

Vizu shook his head and gnashed his teeth. He was a muscular figure, more so than a majority of Skakdi, and he definitely stood out as the strongest of the Piraka. Clothed in a solid black suit of armor like his five brothers, he blended in well in the dark of the night, but in the day, he was a target. The others trailed behind him drudgingly. They were all tired, the new Piraka leader especially. In the early morning, he had gotten himself into an argument with Promethius, who led the group of assassins for the majority of its existence. Arguments were dealt with in the Skakdi way – an all-out brawl. Vizu managed to win and wrest control of the group, leaving the Sansta-Skakdi of Plasma sprawled on the street.

He glanced back at his company. The maroon-spined Haneq looked around, walking with his arms crossed and a frown on his face. More a strategist than a fighter, he was skinny for a Sansta, though was perhaps faster than any other Vizu had seen. Following him was Raiduran, one of the oldest Sansta in existence. He had three eyes, the result of some sick idea of Yzaa’s, and a dark blue-grey spine. His demeanor was as it was always – a quiet, collected elder with thoughts flying through his head at all times. To his right was Avarón, a brown-spined mechanic and inventor, and to his left was the Sansta who was only known as Zaqutan, a mute with a dark green spine. A foot or so behind them all was Kohtan, the only “pure” Skakdi of the group. His bone-white face was always smiling madly. It was as if he knew something never to be shared with the world. Perhaps he did. Vizu could not say that he really cared.

“East,” he barked. “We’re headed for the docks. Grab what you need and meet at the barge. We’ve got somethin’ to do.”