My district, yes. Ta-Metru. It is... it was... my home.
[Signs of life echo like whispers of ghosts in amidst the foundries and rubble; nameplates and personal touches, well worn metal underfoot, paint on bars worn down from constant usage, hundreds of carved tablets hung with everything from workman's lists to accolades, banners hung with the district colors, monumental screens that once might have displayed something important for a huge crowd, now cracked and blackened. Enormous support rings, once holding some sort of transportation chute system that stretched in every direction, now lay empty and cracking.
The more they walk, the more the rubble fills in. Wildlife making nests. Webs stringing together broken pipework. A deep, poisonous fog of green.
The voices twist, a mocking tone that is hard to pinpoint as genuine or not.
no subject
[Signs of life echo like whispers of ghosts in amidst the foundries and rubble; nameplates and personal touches, well worn metal underfoot, paint on bars worn down from constant usage, hundreds of carved tablets hung with everything from workman's lists to accolades, banners hung with the district colors, monumental screens that once might have displayed something important for a huge crowd, now cracked and blackened. Enormous support rings, once holding some sort of transportation chute system that stretched in every direction, now lay empty and cracking.
The more they walk, the more the rubble fills in. Wildlife making nests. Webs stringing together broken pipework. A deep, poisonous fog of green.
The voices twist, a mocking tone that is hard to pinpoint as genuine or not.
--you should not blame yourself
you are a mask maker
matoran in armor
let us praise these jesters
imposters
you are a mask maker
not a--
...]
It... meant everything to me. It still does.