#aggslu

[toa-kohutti]

"The nomad? Yeah, I know the nomad. Her name's Ohmeni, right? She's a Toa of Lightning. They say if you look really close, you can see the lightning in her eyes. She used to be all alone, and she always had this air of… sadness. But when she comes by these days, she's not alone. She's got this little Toa of Water with her. I don't know if you can see lightning in her eyes - but these days you can see a smile."

[toa-kohutti]

A Gift the Great Spirit Left Unnamed

Chapter 1: Arrival

A nomadic Toa of Lightning takes a stop at a small village on the coast of the Southern Continent in order to recover from her wounds. She quickly realizes that she got more than she bargained for when she meets the village's healer...

A love story from a world where there is no word for "love".

I breathed a heavy sigh of relief when I saw the village over the horizon. Being a nomadic Toa, my home and tribe long broken and scattered, getting respite was more important than ever. As I stepped up the hill, my lungs struggled through shaky, haphazard breaths, trying to avoid touching the shattered Rahi talons that embedded themselves in my flesh after the beast tore through my armor. I couldn’t remember the exact name of what struck me, but it had a venom on its cruel, shedding talons, and the throbbing pain of that poison in my muscles was impossible to ignore, slowly spreading to more of my war-torn body. The pain was worth it, though, always worth it, no matter when it happened. Saving three Matoran researchers, pinned in that cave by the Rahi, was worth it.  

The pain had put me on autopilot, and I was quietly subsumed by the dull state of mind that always comes along with pain. I had hardly noticed that I had arrived, but when stimuli overwhelmed the doldrums, I heard a rash of small sounds, followed by a curious stir. The sun was a few moments away from setting, and it seemed that I had interrupted their preparations for night. The soundscape was full of quiet whispers, which I didn’t have anywhere close to the concentration to focus on and interpret. Matoran turned from their paths or put their things aside, some sticking their heads out of their leaf-and-wood homes, all focused on me. Except for one. 

A Matoran in armor in a few shades of natural blues and painted highlights of orange, rushed up to me, panting a little as she did so. While I could see that other Matoran had painted armor in the village, hers was elaborate, and in patterns that were rare to see, with swirls and lines covering her as if she were a decoration herself. Her mask was no exception, with broad, flat bands running across the mask’s surface, with beautiful orange painted patterns upon them, like waves in sunset. She straightened herself before moving into a stiff, clearly unpracticed stance of respect, gently bending her knees and back, with her head pointed straight at the ground.  

“W-we welcome you, Toa of Lightning!” she said, a small nervous stammer in her voice. I was surprised she recognized my rarer element from my colors, something unusual for Matoran on more isolated settlements like this one. “On what occasion have you come to our humble Koro?” She looked up to me with a clear sense of anxiety mixed with a desire for approval, neither hidden by her unfamiliar, but beautiful mask. 

“I’m… just passing through.” I chose my words carefully, my pain giving me little mind for the rituals of respect that Matoran show for their guardian Toa, as much as I recognized and appreciated them. “And I need a place to rest.” My voice was marred by the shake of poorly concealed pain, and the Matoran before me’s expression changed from a nervous search for approval to sudden, knowing concern.  

“You’re hurt,” she said, matter-of-factly, all desire to continue the tradition of respect for Toa seemingly evaporated. “Please, come with me.” She took my hand in hers, only a tiny bit smaller than my own, and pulled me in the gentlest manner towards the village. “My Teacher and I can heal your wounds, at least for tonight.” She pointed to a larger, farther hut, and started to walk, guiding me like she was teaching a freshly built Matoran.  

I didn’t protest, any help to get the painful debris and venom out of me sounded like the greatest thing in the universe at that moment. But others in the village spoke in whispers again, the ornately-armored Matoran's behavior seemingly catching their disapproval. Usually, so-called "good Matoran" had respect for their Toa and didn't drag them around, but I found her abandoning politeness for the sake of my safety to be far more important, at least right now. Before reaching the hut, I saw a Turaga step forwards from her seat, a look of concern and confusion behind her mask, but little more as I bent over to fit under the door’s hole, talons twisting in my flesh, digging in and causing sharp, shooting pains I had to endure, a quiet hiss of pain exiting my mouth. I closed my eyes as I pushed into the hut, only opening them when it hinted at slightly subsiding.  

When I opened my eyes again, I was shocked to see another Toa. The first thing I noticed were her eyes! Softly glowing a piercing yellow, they were full of the same wondrous surprise that I had seen on so many Matoran’s faces before, but never on one of my equals. She blinked a moment after I did, before our locked gaze broke and she looked me up and down. It took me a few moments to even consider doing the same to her.  

“A Toa...” she said, her voice quiet, but still full of the same wonder. When I finally was able to look at the rest of her, I saw a similar mask to the Matoran that led me to her, but somehow softer, smoother, with thin inset lines and gentle curves giving her an inviting appearance. The smooth blue mask was painted like the Matoran who guided me, a warm, sparkling copper pattern traced over it. “What brings you to our quiet little Koro?” She asked, as I slowly moved from a squat to a kneel. 

“I was protecting some wayward Matoran.” I said, her question snapping me out of my entrancement. “I won’t be staying long, so I won’t burden you.” I urged, hoping I wasn't imposing on anything at all. I knew firsthand that resources were often hard to come by for villages like these, and hated feeling like things were wasted on a traveler like me.  

“You can stay as long as you like,” she said, reaching a hand out to me. “We’re a quiet village. You’re the most exciting thing to grace us in a long time, Toa...” She trailed off, a soft tone waiting for me to answer hanging in the air. It took me a moment to catch it, as my eyes were studying her hands, the metal worn down and painted over.  

“Ohmeni,” I said, hastily, as if I were rushing to catch pottery falling from a table. “Ohmeni, Toa of Lightning.” I completed my introduction, properly, the sense of haste dissolving, as I took in the room around me, consciously trying to avoid distraction and remain stoic and measured, as all good Toa should. And yet... something about the presence of this pair, Toa and Matoran, both clad in cool blues and warm oranges and beautiful patterns, put me at ease, and something felt unnecessary about that emotional front.  

“It’s good to meet you, Ohmeni.” My eyes couldn’t help but be drawn towards hers, where I saw the corner of her eyes scrunch into a warm, welcoming smile – and I felt mine do the same, involuntarily, but I didn’t even think of stopping it. “My name is Pysie, and in case she hasn’t properly introduced herself, this is my apprentice, Ghavialia.” She took my hand in a gentle embrace, more a preliminary inspection than a greeting, but one that immediately sucked in all my attention. She gave a quiet, contemplative “hmm”, as she ran her fingertips over my armor. Finally, she looked up and spoke, while inspecting the rest of me that she could see. “You’re clearly quite the warrior.”  

“How could you tell?” I asked, before silently wincing at the foolish question. She ran a hand over my arm, tracing a large, patched gash. The signs were all over my body. Scratches, cuts, and dents covered my armor from head to toe.

Pysie chuckled, a little sadly. “Your armor looks like a mess.” She pulled away from me, now kneeling close. “I’ve seen Toa hurt before, but... well, when’s the last time you got your armor fixed up?” She said, tilting her head a little. “I mean, really fixed it. Not just emergency patches.”  

I started to open my mouth, but closed it again just as quickly as I realized that I... didn’t really remember. I took a deep breath in, until the sudden shooting pain cut it short, and the air left my lungs as I gasped suddenly in pain. My vision went blurry for a few long moments before clearing as the Matoran held a pot underneath my face, a spiced aroma wafting through my mask as I breathed in. After I took a breath of the stuff, my head started feeling clearer, if a little dizzy, from whatever herbs were in it. “Th... thank you, Ghavail, Gha-” I stammered, struggling to pronounce her name before I was politely cut off.  

“You can call me Gava for short; everyone does.” She used the same matter-of-fact tone she had before, no resentment or judgment, simply a focus on her patient, who was, unfortunately, me. After a few seconds of me breathing it in, Gava took the pot and lidded it, placing it on a small wooden shelf, the top bumping against the wall of hardened, layered leaves. I looked back to Pysie, and realized that in my brief moment of panic, I had tensed up, taking a protective stance. My body had decided that I was under attack, but Pysie placed her hands on my shoulders, and gently guided them into a relaxed position, before lifting my back up, unfazed by my reaction to the tiniest moment of vulnerability.  

“Now,” Pysie said, quietly. “Where do you hurt?”

[toa-kohutti]

i'm learning blender and with the help of @vexxmyst, Pysie has a friend (his name is Brouse and while he might not look like it, he's very soft)

[toa-kohutti]

starting today, my big fic, "A Gift the Great Spirit Left Unnamed", will be posted one chapter a day here for Pride Month!

i hope you all enjoy the story of Ohmeni and Pysie, and (gay) love blossoming in a world where there's no words for love.