The waves lick at stasis canisters that bob in the sea, blinking with steady pulses of red light as their slow engines guide them automatically to land.

Sleeping inside is lethal cargo. You are a Toa, presumably what's left of the mutant form of a specially chosen Matoran. Whoever you were, you are now a peerless elemental warrior. A keeper of secrets, enforcer of universal law, slayer of Rahi beasts.


Very little familiarity with the actual Bionicle setting required beyond the basics! Canon will be interpreted loosely if at all - I want to focus on the early core concepts.

Most rolls and checks, in and out of combat, will be done on a D20, the relevant ranges being:
1 a critical failure, 2-4 degrees of general failure, 5-10 less than desirable outcomes which ain't catastrophic, 11-15 higher degrees of success, 16-19 great performance, 20 a stunning victory.

Capped at 6 players, but we'll see how many actually materialize. Let's have a good time for as long as this idea lasts.

Name: Torra

Personality: Clever and protective, she makes an effort to plan around hazards, but is quick to jump into danger to aid an ally, even at the expense of her own safety. She will violently lash out at enemies if they're a threat, but detests killing unless absolutely necessary.

Appearance: Female, a little on the short side

Element: Water

Kanohi Mask: Kiril, Mask of Regeneration

Signature Weapon: Sword and Shield (Kopaka Mata)

Destiny: Mask and Element

Name: Koa'a

Personality: Stoic and righteous, he has a strong sense of right and wrong and will do anything to uphold it.

Appearance: Male, humongous.

Element: Earth

Kanohi Mask: Mask of Rahi Control

Signature Weapon: Spear

Destiny: Weapon and Element

♥♥♥♥

I CALL ICE

Name: Celus

Personality: In battle, strikes first and from the front. A fight is fought with your body, not your mind.
In peace, prefers to stand back and observe, only speaking or interacting if needed.

Appearance and Gender: Tall, strong, broad. A frost covered mountain given the shape of a Toa.

Element: Ice

Kanohi Mask: Garai, Great Mask of Gravity

Signature Weapon: Grey-white greatsword, almost as long as he is tall

Destiny: Weapon and Mask

Name: Hyrri

Personality: Generally stoic, but hides a hatred of Oppression.

Appearance and Gender: Female, Tall, bulkier left "bow" arm.

Element: Air

Kanohi Mask: Sanok, the Mask of Accuracy

Signature Weapon: Greatbow

Destiny: +Element +Mask

Name: Oumu

Personality: Mild-mannered, focused. Raised as a smith.

Appearance and Gender: Colors of molten rock adorn his otherwise average appearing body.

Element: Fire

Kanohi Mask: Calix, Mask of Fate

Signature Weapon: Hammer

+Mask +Smith

Reserveda,

howdy. I am working on the first roll so maarten and TMD if you could get your Toa in soon that would be sweet!

Name: Avvlaa

Personality: Intelligent, but wild. Enjoys employing new tactics, and can often figure out novel ways to complete a task. Tricky, and mentally flexible.

Appearance and Gender: Female, slender and with tall shoulders.

Element: Stone

Mask: Matatu

Weapon: Large dual hatchets, with spikes at the top.

Destiny: Mask, Trickery

Torra [-]

There is the hollow boom of metal as your canister breaks itself on one of the jagged reefs, no longer able to press on. The engines disconnect, uselessly pushing air rather than water. Your consciousness is surfacing from nothing. A freezing wash, your flesh itching in saline as flailing manipulators in the hardened core scramble to prepare your body for the outer world. More arms drop down and condition your tissues - you inflate with blood, salt and nutrients are charged into the appropriate vessels. And now, your familiar armor accretes like a shell, halfway complete, a shimmering blue. What a suitable -

In that instant a freak wave hammers your canister against the reef, dragging the earlier wound open against many stones. While power remains, the ship’s life support screams and ejects everything it can, blowing its top half off into the relative safety of a tidepool.

It took you a long time to reposition yourself from underneath the crackling metal, gasping and twitching every time a spark leaped across to you. It took you even longer to shatter your leg at the femur, freeing your pinned form for further movement. You don’t have much strength remaining.

It is nearly pitch black, except for a lone fire slightly further up the beach. The tidepool is hot. You soak there, stunned. Your face is uncovered, nerves screaming without cover. Feels like your soul is trying to exit through your stinging eyes. Where the hell is your mask? Your tools? The stars are hidden by cloud cover.

TOA


Celus [-]

Landing didn’t go without a hitch.

The inner environment of the canister is total chaos. Choking plumes of white gas billow through and shroud you, leaving frost and rime on the metal they contact. Hoses are whipping back and forth as clots of self-sealing machine blood latch onto random surfaces, freeze up and crack. Already there are arms hard at work assembling you, clicking limbs into frame, pressing guts into slots and winding needle-tipped surgical connectors through your torso.

There’s a sudden pull in your head as the canister’s field attachment system fails completely. It had been clinging, leech-like, to a plane of metal jammed into the storm-blasted bay, anchored by the lodestone only. With a sick lurch, the canister crashes again into the ocean and rolls toward the shore on a fierce wave, battering your chained body between the walls.

Ice crystals are jamming most of your hydraulics and starting to cut into your organs. The coolant vent wasn’t kind. With a shock, you realize that the canister is starting to fill with poison as the engine begins to give up its own gas. Jets of white steam billow from the compartment…

You hammer open a hatch, nearly breaking your fist, and tumble out, face first into the dark sand. Grains of it are rubbing into your exposed skull, irritating the mess where your mask should be, but you are too sick to immediately move. Won’t it clear up in a few? Where’s your Garai, your weapon? You can barely see anything, save for the light of a rising fire some distance along the shore.

TOA


Hyrri [-]

Just prior to impact, you thought you had a handle on the situation.

You were already more or less rebuilt from the canister stock and on the lung inflation cycle, with good positioning relative to shore. An easy insertion – the control flow rolls out naturally in your mind, but you don’t have time to reflect on how odd that feels. Especially odd given that you feel like you were only born a few minutes ago.

Only a millisecond later an impact shatters the calm, a glob of white flame from the glowing slicks of waste around the broken carrier. It skips like a stone across the water, whistles through the air and punches through one of the major air chambers keeping your transport afloat with an explosive bark. Instant blowout, and the engines start to choke. The system itself knows it cannot survive, so it pushes one final time.

On a line toward the distant shore… the canister heaves, contacts the sharp stones just below the water’s surface, and shears violently in half. You cling to the section that surges forward on a rogue wave, almost surfing, breathing a mixture of salt water and engine fumes.

When you coast to a halt, you are lying on your back on a hissing sheet of metal scrap. What an entrance. Your canister’s supply hold appears to have…

…redistributed itself across a hundred-meter line from the stones to the true shore. That’s not good. Without your mask, you can feel something straining to burst from your face and away to the stars. There’s an acrid light nearby on the beach, some burning wreck.

TOA


Oumu [-]

You are well awake when the engine dies, already with your half-connected arm assisting the auto-assembly process, clipping muscles into position and stapling on armor with a bolt gun extruded from the wall. If it wasn’t for that fact you would be dead.

After ramming directly through a stiff wave, the power plant needed to squeeze out a little extra torque. That was too much for the decaying lines. A sharp click precedes the crackling of liquid fire, emanating from cracks in the rear of the transport, and as a fine mist of burning material jets from broken pipes you rapidly sever your umbilical cords and start to beat against the exit hatch.

The heat is oppressive even for a Fire Toa. You grab onto two plates of white-hot hull and peel them back, resisting the urge to scream, then dive through the resulting hole headfirst – into the black ocean. The burning canister is swept past you on the waves as the water lights your naked face up, a sick feeling of corrosion coming down every nerve.

With a final, manic burst of strength, you reach the grey sand and collapse, heaving with disgusting water. Your tools and mask… they must be in or near your ship, which has turned into its own funeral pyre twenty meters away. The flame lights up the whole barren shore.

TOA


Koa'a [-]

When the carrier broke up, your canister’s disconnection was sharp, unpleasant. But you weren’t aware how bad the situation truly was until your arms and legs were locked on by machine grippers and black blood started to run through your system at the proper 400 cycles per minute, bringing you to full consciousness. Your transport pitches and rolls. You’re alone with nothing but the sound of your own heavy breathing and the lapping waves. The lone overhead light is flickering. What’s that static on the exterior display? Another wave washes over the whole structure, and drops of water come down through bad welds on the hull.

Three jarring cracks, and the sea starts to spill in through gaping holes. New wounds torn by the band of stones that defines the bay. You’ve had enough, time to bail or die –

Another blast of water pins you to the wall. Sharp shocks are starting to pass through you, pulses from the ruined cables dangling from the ceiling. So you steel yourself and kick through the flood into a world of cold water. There’s no question, you’re drowning, a man made for the earth and nowhere else –

One last wave carries your choking body to the grey sand, where you throw up from your exposed gullet and your face burns badly. You need to find your mask and your spear, and soon. Pieces of the canister’s wreck are starting to join you on shore. Further down the beach, a light is burning. Another?

TOA


Avvlaa [-]

Gouged by shrapnel, your stasis canister rolls fitfully in the sea, struggling to keep the cold water from drowning its precious cargo. It drifts in circles like a stunned animal, unable to orient toward the increasingly blurry shore. You are naked, paralyzed and incomplete: a terrified thought fighting to assemble a person. Every component of you is dissected across the innards of your transport, waiting to become part of something.

The navigation lock finally comes to its senses as more superheated debris rains down from the carrier disintegrating in the distance, punching coin-sized holes in the roof. Assembly arms kick into overdrive, dragging your head down onto your body and your limbs into their sockets. The first flows of blood start to enter you, a surge of long-lost warmth that stops too quickly.

Swarms of red lights now start to crowd the interior surfaces of the canister. Looks like the last storm of impacts killed the assemblers before you could be fully brought to life. Heaving, you rip umbilicals out of your neck and feel them slither out of your spinal column, then start to pump fluid manually with your other hand. The canister continues to weave toward land, half-blind…

…and contact is made just as power cuts for good. The canister’s exit hatch blows out with its dead-hand switch and you stumble out, drunk with pain, maskless and unarmed on a foreign shore. If you don’t get your supplies together soon, you won’t make it. The beach is totally dark except for… a burning canister? Others?

TOA

Torra [5]
>Locate Kiril.

You drag yourself bodily from the tide pool, armor scraping across the jagged, almost frothy rock, then grimly set to searching the rest of the tidal zone. Your head aches horribly. You dip your hands into tunnels and depressions, blindly feeling for metal. Or, better, the sharp touch of masterwork protodermis.

Reaching deep into a crevasse, your fingertips find purchase on the unmistakeable curve of a mask. An electric feeling creeps up your arm, shortly followed by... ten searing points of pain and ungodly pressure. You whip your arm out of the water with a large eel attached, its wild eyes rolling in all directions, hydraulic jaw just barely puncturing your armor. Disgusted, enraged, you beat it against the stone until its slippery flesh turns blue with its own blood. As it lets go, it slides limply into another pool and retreats to a new home.

Reaching in, you again grasp the corner of the mask, and pull sharply.

A Kiril, slightly scarred... it shines in your hands. The pinpricks in your arm weld themselves shut as you stare at it.

Will you put it on?

TOA


Koa'a [3]
>Check the wreckage for my mask and spear.

You pick through the metal flotsam that is starting to come to shore, scouring blown-out cargo containers for your all-important artifacts. Your vision is starting to ebb - you know that you're weak from the unplanned drop-off, probably still not fully active. Nothing is coming from the wreck. Trash continues to pile on the sand. Blasted hull plates, glowing rubble, punctured fuel bottles, slicks of bloody cloner matter, bent and worthless tools...

Your mask never manifests itself. It's shameful to go without it. You can feel your mind fraying without its protection. The static grows at the corners of your sight.

After some time, your wanderings in the flickering firelight bring you to a pole, jammed down into the sand by a harsh impact. You grip the polished ironwood firmly and yank it free, spinning it right-side-up. Finally, some good fortune. It's your old friend, the spear - looking as hungry as you remember it. The flint tip crackles softly as it mutates into a simpler shape.

TOA