The Forges

Mutrex steps inside, followed by Helmerex.

"Brother! How goes progress on the project? Is it ready?"

Mutrex quietly takes the mask, reverently lifting it with one hand. The mask on his face begins to spark and crackle, his armor deforming as it wracks his body with changes. He gasps as his entire chestplate falls away, revealing for the barest of moments a layer of flesh before a new, thinner layer of armor forms over it. However, where the original had been solid this one has a number of slots and holes in it. Slowly, hesitantly, eyes open, peering out from within the cracks in vertical lines. Three on the left, four on the right. His entire torso flexes as a mouth forms just above his waist, opening experimentally, before new armor forms, giving it interlocking teeth. The mask itself warps in his hands, growing immense, almost as tall as a Toa. Slowly, deliberately, he brings it to the newly formed face on his chest. He stumbles, as the two masks suddenly pulses. A new arm sprouts from his side to catch him. Where his hand touches the floor, it begins to turn to stone. Another arm sprouts, this one of crystal. They separate from his body, taking on shapes similar to his own. Carefully, they help him regain his footing. He takes a step, an unnoticed seed suddenly taking root and rocketing up around his foot. Flowers sprout from the stalk, and molten metal begins to dribble from within. Mutrex begins to chant, taking on a meditative stance.

"The Way is to control the self. The Way is Peace. The Way is Duty. The Way is Sacrifice. I will not surrender myself. To do so would be to surrender my own Peace. I will not surrender myself. To do so would be to abandon my Duty. I will not surrender myself. To do so would be to waste myself on a useless sacrifice."

He repeats himself, first frantically, but with an increasing calmness.  Finally, he stands in silent meditation.

"Hurry! Hurry!"

Toa of Iron and Matoran craftsmen alike bustled about the forges, intent on two projects. One group of Toa was mass-producing small suits of armor, the others assisting the Matoran in the construction of a large, intricate four-legged one complete with multiple interior compartments.

The overseer, a stooped and scarred Matoran, ushered a large group of Oathsworn in. "We are ready for your hosts. Please, continue."

The Oathsworn looked at one another and knelt as one, drawing Mohtreks from beneath their robes and fitting them to their faces. Shadows from the past begin to flicker in at an alarming rate, each solidifying and kneeling next to the Forebear. Antidermis wafts out from each one and enters the prepared suits, small and large. The small ones immediately stand and teleport out. Multiple Oathsworn hosts contribute to the large suit of armor, each piece of antidermis entering a different compartment.

The process continues, the Matoran and Toa struggling to create more small suits for the ever-increasing numbers.

Weapons of various kinds are produced...

A vat of EP is positioned in the Forge for rahkshi productoon.

Power lances are made for all the Za-toa... 100%!!!

Staffs for the rahkshi are rigged with power lance technology... 50%