- Joined
- Apr 24, 2020
- Posts
- 67
- Awards
- 2
- Essence
- €10,822
- Coin
- ₡3,300
- Tokens
- 0
- World
- Erde Nona
- Profile
- Click Here
The ice speaks to me. It is woven into the ebb and flow of this world's ceaseless tides. Every beast which twists in the depths, or crawls in the muck rings like a distant echo upon the iceflows of this World.
Somewhere in the polar regions of Opealon, a huddled mass of icebergs sat motionless atop the fathomless deeps. They were largely bereft of life, save for the odd pengling or dire walrus that came to rest upon its crackling bulk. All at once, a particularly large pillar of ice rumbled. A spidery crack raced up its shining façade, before the spire crumbled into shimmering dust.
Now I hear a new sound amidst the calls of the deep currents. A voice I do not have a named for...but the World tells me this is an Arbiter. It calls me to defend it from the encroaching doom of the Unmaking. This, too, I have felt. It is familiar in a way I wish to ignore...another path by which my abandoned past seeks to seize me.
In the rubble of the spire stood a humanoid figure, pristine and coated in a frosty layer of rime. Servos hummed and clicked as internal systems came online. A flicker of blue light ignited telescopic optics embedded in a domed, skeletal mask.
The human and the pirate wolf were distractions. It is clear to me now that my retreat from the Crossroads threatens to graduate to true langour. The Arbiter calls, and I obey. Fresh darkness stands before me. Kopaka shall answer it.
The trek to the edge of the ice field was brisk and silent. It was midsummer within the polar nexus, locking the frigid seascape in perpetual sunshine. The biomech crested a gleaming, white hill at the top of a crumbling spit of sea ice. The Toa's sword was drawn without flourish, and driven into the frozen mass. A few meters away, the ice spit fractured in an explosive shower of snow fragments. Now the hulk floated freely upon the gentle waves.
Kopaka extended his hand towards the horizon. When he had communed with the Arbiter, deep within his torpor, it was apparent that the forces of Darkseid were spread thinly and frantically. Any direction would do. As always, the ice heeded the call of its robotic counterpart, and began to churn through the waves like a mountainous barge. The deep waters of this tidal world were as-yet beyond his reach, but it was for that reason that the Unmaking would target easier prey first. The flying earth-motes of Opealon were, by contrast, infested with simple minded dilettantes who could be easily swayed.
The ice spoke of the Unmaking's ravenous appetite. It warned of Darkseid's cruel malice. The flying city of Paradise must be my goal. They will seek to either suppress or obscure what is happening in their idyllic garden habitat. They must be made to see the true threat they face. I accept the inevitability that I will become their enemy in the course of such duty. Snow falls where it must, and so shall my blade...
Somewhere in the polar regions of Opealon, a huddled mass of icebergs sat motionless atop the fathomless deeps. They were largely bereft of life, save for the odd pengling or dire walrus that came to rest upon its crackling bulk. All at once, a particularly large pillar of ice rumbled. A spidery crack raced up its shining façade, before the spire crumbled into shimmering dust.
Now I hear a new sound amidst the calls of the deep currents. A voice I do not have a named for...but the World tells me this is an Arbiter. It calls me to defend it from the encroaching doom of the Unmaking. This, too, I have felt. It is familiar in a way I wish to ignore...another path by which my abandoned past seeks to seize me.
In the rubble of the spire stood a humanoid figure, pristine and coated in a frosty layer of rime. Servos hummed and clicked as internal systems came online. A flicker of blue light ignited telescopic optics embedded in a domed, skeletal mask.
The human and the pirate wolf were distractions. It is clear to me now that my retreat from the Crossroads threatens to graduate to true langour. The Arbiter calls, and I obey. Fresh darkness stands before me. Kopaka shall answer it.
The trek to the edge of the ice field was brisk and silent. It was midsummer within the polar nexus, locking the frigid seascape in perpetual sunshine. The biomech crested a gleaming, white hill at the top of a crumbling spit of sea ice. The Toa's sword was drawn without flourish, and driven into the frozen mass. A few meters away, the ice spit fractured in an explosive shower of snow fragments. Now the hulk floated freely upon the gentle waves.
Kopaka extended his hand towards the horizon. When he had communed with the Arbiter, deep within his torpor, it was apparent that the forces of Darkseid were spread thinly and frantically. Any direction would do. As always, the ice heeded the call of its robotic counterpart, and began to churn through the waves like a mountainous barge. The deep waters of this tidal world were as-yet beyond his reach, but it was for that reason that the Unmaking would target easier prey first. The flying earth-motes of Opealon were, by contrast, infested with simple minded dilettantes who could be easily swayed.
The ice spoke of the Unmaking's ravenous appetite. It warned of Darkseid's cruel malice. The flying city of Paradise must be my goal. They will seek to either suppress or obscure what is happening in their idyllic garden habitat. They must be made to see the true threat they face. I accept the inevitability that I will become their enemy in the course of such duty. Snow falls where it must, and so shall my blade...