So this is a story I’ve been working on for a while. It stars my self-MOC Vojak, and this topic will serve to chronicle his continuing adventures. Please critique my writing, any criticism is good criticism, and I look forward to sharing this with you.
Chapter 1
Vojak trudged down the long-forgotten path, his mind weary with the monotony of his surroundings. Occasionally his sole travelling companion, a small robot named Bleep, would make a noise, but other than that the only sounds were those of his own footsteps.
A sudden shifting in the sand nearby brought him to a stop, and he dropped his hand to his side. Suddenly a snake-like beast burst from the sand, its large jaws spread wide. Simultaneously, a jagged blade formed in Vojak’s hand. There was a flash of motion, and when the dust settled, the python was dead. The sword in Vojak’s hand turned into a liquid, worming its way into a crevasse of his armor.
Even though the conflict had been brief, it felt good to use his power again. You see, Vojak wasn’t just a traveler. He was a Toa, a hero of an age long gone. There wasn’t much need for Toa anymore. It seemed that when Metru Nui disappeared it took the villains with it. Occasionally a Dark Hunter would appear with some mission or another, but they weren’t much of a threat. Even so, Vojak had heard rumors of a tyrant enslaving Matoran somewhere in this desert.
As the toa continued his journey, he lost himself once more in thought, but was quickly interrupted by a deafening scream. He looked around for the source of the cry, but found none, nor any means of making it stop. He decided to keep walking and ignore it, and went to take another step. As soon as he raised his foot, the scream stopped. Vojak glanced down at the ground, surprised. Experimentally, he tried resting his foot back on the path. The moment he did so, the scream resumed. Seeing no other option, the armored being continued down the path, doing his best to ignore the incessant cry.
As he walked, the terrain became increasingly rocky, the vast empty desert giving way to high canyon walls dotted with statues. Vojak glanced up to see a faded stone sign hanging across the path, worn letters etched into the stone. They were almost illegible, but he could swear it said something like “flee now.”
Deciding that there was little point dwelling on the unknown, Vojak started forwards once more, stopping almost instantly when he found he couldn’t lift his leg. Glancing down, he found not the armored flesh of this leg, instead finding that his leg was made of stone. His mind raced for an explanation. finding none, he opted to focus on escaping. He reached out mentally, reaching for the metal armor encased in rock. He found nothing. As he struggled, he noticed flecks of stone appearing over the rest of his armor. He glanced back down at his leg. He knew how to escape.
He took a deep breath, bracing himself. Liquid iron trailed up his body and into his hand, forming a shotgun in his hand. He aimed the weapon down, at the place where the stone met the rest of his leg. He looked away, slowly pulling the trigger.
It took him a moment to realize that the screams weren’t coming from the path, but rather his own mouth. He looked down at the shattered remains of his leg, the stone’s message ringing clear. Keep moving. Already he could feel the stone creeping up his body. Using the liquid metal once more, he formed a prosthetic leg. It wasn’t perfect, Heck, it wasn’t even good. But it would do until he could get a craftsman to make a better one.
He got up slowly, trying not to put his full weight on the leg. He shambled down the road again, leaning heavily on the side of the canyon. His leg hurt. It hurt a lot. After what seemed like hours, the canyon walls ended, giving way to a huge open field. Huge, disheveled buildings dotted the landscape, their rusty walls echoing the burnt red of the sky. Matoran rushed around the area, their footsteps echoing across the otherwise silent field.
Vojak stumbled forwards. As soon as his feet struck the dusty ground, all eyes turned to him. The Toa glanced warily around the plateau, analyzing his situation. The villagers’ eyes were dull, so unlike those of other Matoran, and their armor was dull and rusted. Vojak did nothing as they gathered around him curiously, his mind numb from the shock of seeing them in such a state of disrepair.
“Let it pass.” A gravelly voice echoed through the air, its menacing intonation sending chills down Vojak’s spine.
The sea of Matoran parted, forming a wide path. Vojak glanced down the newly formed corridor, his eyes falling on a massive being sprawled lazily over an elaborate, yet dilapidated, throne. His armor was a dull, sickly green, tinged with the slightest traces of blue. Spikes protruded from every inch of the metallic surface, their tips stained a dark red. He twirled a flaming chain absentmindedly around his finger, the spiked tip scraping against the ground with each rotation. The being’s mask was split, the Kanohi seemingly four separate parts stitched loosely together, the different shapes forming a hideous grin across his face. Despite this, the most disturbing thing about him was his eyes, monstrous orbs glowing blood-red. The mask was unmistakable, and its name came easily to Vojak’s mind. However, there was only one such mask in existence, making this being’s identity horribly obvious.
“You know, in some places it’s considered polite to introduce one’s self to their host.” said Karzahnni.
