Chapter 1-The Coming of the Toa
They call me mad. They call me monster. They donât know what I do for them, what Iâve sacrificed. And I will have to sacrifice much more before the end. The reality of our world is madness, an illusion that I have looked beyond. And something from beyond looked back, calling to me. It told me secrets, showed me power unlike any I had ever known. It showed me how to break the illusions, how to break the chains and end the destructive cycle of our fragile existence. But first, I must break the world we know.
-The Covenant of Makuta
Part 1
The dreams were all of Tahuâs existence. A fitful but inescapable sleep, filled with images and flickers of a life that he couldnât remember. They were unpleasant, violent dreams, filled with monsters, and death. There was just the slightest realization that he was asleep, the only comfort in this torment. How long had he been like this? It was a dream, impossible to tell. He had friends, a team, and sometimes an army. Sometimes he watched them die. Sometimes he died himself. A towering behemoth, so massive he couldnât see past its waist. A lethal, one eyed butcher. Invisible assassins, demigods wielding unthinkable power. Every threat imaginable faced him, and he rarely survived. There was always the image of washing up the shore afterwards, an unknown island, clambering out of some small vessel that had born him away from whatever calamity he had just experienced. He had seen it, felt it so many times, it was the only peaceful part of this dreamworld. He was so used to it, he didnât realize when it was happening for real.
Dragging himself through the sand, as he had so many times before, he glanced back at the cylindrical vessel behind him. A mask, and a pair of weapons were strewn across the sand. Instinctively, he grabbed the mask, and placed it on his face. A surge of energy ran through his body, strengthening his leaden limbs. He shakily got to his feet, shielding his eyes from the harsh sun. The beach gave way to a volcanic region, blackened stones and a jagged mountain range, smoke coming from the top of the highest peak. He noticed a worn but unmistakable road, marked by two statues on either side. Both were chipped and broken, facial details worn off. The road led towards the volcanic mountains in the distance, an ominous sight to most, but for some reason, Tahu felt drawn to it. Leaning down to retrieve his swords, he felt the familiar grips in his hands. Was he free of the dreams? He hoped so. Stowing his blades on his back, Tahu started down the road.
He had no way of knowing it, but five other canisters washed ashore around the same time. From each came a similar, disoriented warrior. Each of them arrived alone, one in each region. They were weakened, and they had forgotten everything, save for the dark dreams they had shared. They were the Toa, the long awaited heroes, summoned almost two centuries ago by the inhabitants of the island. They had been delayed, whether by ill fortune or design. They had drifted at sea, the endless ocean surrounding the island, trapped in their canisters and lost in half remembered thoughts. Each had a vague sense of purpose, and a feeling of urgency. Their names were Gali, Kopaka, Lewa, Pohatu, and Onua. Each found a road in their path, and each followed it to what they hoped might be answers.
The Toaâs failure to arrive had been met with fear by the villagers, and then despair. It had been hundreds of years since they had been summoned. The island had become a place of death, few dared venture far from the villages, lest they be taken by Aranos. The mere sight of the great city of Aurakoto filled any who saw it with dread, it was now a stronghold of the vile Markoa. But the Domari still led each village, passing on history and prophecy. There was always hope beneath the fear, but the island only seemed to get worse each coming year. The villages were each connected by roads or tunnels, the closest to safe travel on the island. Ga-kotanâs were known to use boats, but straying far from the coast was a death sentence. Once a year, the Domari would meet at the standing stones, a dangerous journey, but necessary. They would look at the signs from the stars, and prepare. Narmoto, Domari of Ta-koto, had been their leader now for many years, and while the villages had prospered under his guidance, they were still trapped and isolated.
The golden city lay in ruins, desecrated by the Markoa cult. Their leader, Kulta, had taken residence in the temple at the center of the city. The Okotans did not understand why they chose to lie in wait. Many of their ranks were clearly dead, held together and animated by foul magic. But others were living, and they numbered in the hundreds. While united, the villages could put up a fight, individually they would fall. Perhaps they were satisfied in the riches of the great city. Perhaps they were waiting for something. Many believed they were in league with Makuta, as the raiders returned shortly after the mask makers fought. They had brought creatures from their homeland with them, The powerful, scorpion-like Kalavar, and the deadly Vorakul. The Vorakul had quickly infested the wetlands and shallow waters of the island, while Kalavar were used like guard dogs, though the Markoa had little control of the beasts and frequently became meals for them. Undead monsters, stalked the edges of the ruined city.
The Avoras, Lord of Skull Spiders, was much worse. While it had been destroyed by the Domari once before, the monster had returned, larger and stronger than before. The Aranos spread across the island, and could be found everywhere. The villages were safe but not impervious, and the spider was clever and patient. None sent to hunt it down ever returned, and enslaved villagers were rarely recovered. It seemed to largely leave the Markoa alone, but it clearly disliked them. Perhaps one of the things keeping the raiders in Aurakoto was the spiderâs animosity. They showed no interest in hunting it down themselves. Over the decades it had dominated the island, ensnaring villagers, careless Markoa, and all manner of wildlife. Avoras was in the skies, and the sea. It had eyes everywhere, and there was no escaping its grasp.
It was into this world that the Toa took their first steps. They were not unnoticed, the dark force that was strangling the island was already preparing for them. Deep in the ruins of Aurokoto, Kulta, chieftain of the Markoa, felt a familiar call.
âThey are hereâ The voice echoed. âThey will come to retake this city, and awaken my brother.â
Kulta hated not being able to look his âassociateâ in the eyes. Makuta was a presence, a voice. He didnât like to think about how he was communicating from his other-worldy prison. âWe have the city. We have the keep. It would be six against an army and a fortress. And the tomb is sealed.â
Laughter echoed across the room âFate is not so easily avoided. I have already warned you of their power.â
Kulta sneered. âThe same tricks the Andaru have. The Toa will be destroyed, and rise again as vessals for the Unmaker.â
âNo.â Makutaâs voice pounded in his head. âYou will not stop them. You will not kill them. They serve a great purpose in my plan.â
Kulta had never understood this, it went beyond toying with a defeated enemy. âYou would have them awaken your brother, retrieve his mask and destroy my army?â
A sharp pain lanced through his head. Makutaâs gentle reminder of who was in charge. âThe best way to defeat an enemy⌠is to let them think theyâve won. They will achieve their quest, and with some careful planning, your losses will be minimal.â
Kulta nodded holding his head. âAs you commandâ
The voice and presence were gone, and the Markoa was alone with his thoughts once more. His head still throbbed from whatever attack Makuta had used. He had long hoped that the Toa wouldnât come, the city was a comfortable place, and the island had nothing beyond the skull spiders to challenge him. Makuta had offered him Ekimuâs mask, and many other treasures, so long ago. In exchange for playing a role, he had said. Ekimuâs mask, the legendary Umaki, was already his. And Makuta would have him give it up.
Admittedly, he was loath to exchange it for his own mask, an ancient relic from the old world. It allowed him to raise and command the dead, It was the symbol and instrument of his power. He hadnât been the first to use it, but no Markoa Chief had ever used the mask as effectively as Kulta. He placed a hand on the Golden Umaki, the runes engraved on the mask shimmered slightly at his touch. He fitted the mask to the end of his staff, and called for his General.
Kovarr was always quick to respond. The massive brute knelt before Kulta. âWhat is your will, master?â
Kulta looked across the city, its dimly lit ruins glistening in the moonlight. âOur enemy has arrived.â
Kovarr could barely contain his glee, hands tightened on his axes. âAt last! A chance for glory!â
âThey are to be unchallenged until they pass the bridge.â replied Kulta. âWe will not show ourselves yet.â
His second in command was visibly unhappy about this. âWe continue to wait?â
âWe prepare. We make a path for the Toa to follow, one that leads them to their objectives.â
âThe tomb and the forgeâ Kovarr nodded. He was simple, but not stupid.
âThey are powerful warriors.â Said Kulta. âBut not unstoppable. And they have never met our kind before.â He glanced at the Kanohi set on the tip of his staff. âPrepare the warriors.â
âPraise the Unmaker!â Cried Kovarr, pounding the right side of his chest.
âPraise the Unmakerâ Agreed Kulta.
With that, Kovarr was dismissed. He looked up at the pale moon, as it peeked through the clouds. The God of Death would be with them. Makuta could plan and scheme, but he was still a prisoner of Nelvac. The agony of his mental assaults were bearable, and he didnât particularly like the thought of Mask Maker getting freed. Makuta clearly needed the Toa for something. If one or more of the Toa should die to his warriors⌠It would clearly be an unfortunate twist of fate. âWeâll play your games, Makuta. For now.â
