Fracture is a RPG which has won it's second RPG contest (12). The Game Master of the RPG is -Kittan- (Better known as Nihi) and the story is essentially a Bionicle Cold War.
Story
Power. That double bladed weapon. Power that allows us to change the world. Power that keeps us secure in our lives. Power that corrupts. Power that, when stripped bare, leaves nothing. And yet--power that we cherish, power that we love. We require it. No amount is enough. We are ravenous monsters, devouring the world in our blind, greedy, vainglorious search for it...
It has been long. It has been long since the death of shadows, and the rekindling of light. Too long. The heroes of Old have died long ago. The records and chronicles are incomplete, broken. But, before we continue on, I must tell you of the past, no matter the sorry state of our records...
So long ago--I do not recall how long--the legendary heroes, the Toa Nuva, had gone to confront the Lord of Shadows for their final battle. I am not sure how this was done, but I do know this: they won. The Lord of Shadows was cast into the void, the legendary heroes giving their lives in the process...
But then, what of the once-glorious Brotherhood of Makuta, whose power was vast enough to fell a Great Spirit? Broken. Beaten. Ironic really, their reign of shadows has led them to become a mere shadow of their former past. But alive. And co-existing with us. The new leader, Lord Dhairak, knew that it was in their best interests to survive... and so they did.
But now, remember the near past? For a time, with the abscess of shadows, our civilization has flourished. Commerce and trade ships were dispatched to the farthest corners of the world. And they returned, bearing precious cargo, along with diplomats, willing to establish links with our grand City. And thus, from these political ties, the Confederacy was born.
The Confederacy, a political union, were based in Metru Nui, whilst the Brotherhood had chosen to remain in Destral, claiming their own sovereignty. Unwilling, we reluctantly accepted. Despite their heinous crimes, the Island is still important, for from there creation flows...
But then, they required restraints. Empress Renakra, the Sovereign of Metru Nui, had demanded that Destral be anchored to Metru Nui, so that the Confederacy may oversee all actions, illicit or otherwise, that they may take.
That aside... we were arrogant. We were too insecure in our position as the champions of the right, holders of the light. We feared that without a single, dominant, quintessence of evil, we would wither away in the sands of history...
Even as the Brotherhood righted their wrongs, wrought... wonders, we still condemned them as destruction incarnate, shunning them, denying them their right to redemption.
As they brought good, we belittled their efforts. When they brought to us the Mirridis, an impartial task force dedicated to only justice, we countered that. We pointed out how they had also spawned the Scy'Arth, a splinter faction dedicated to 'bringing the Brotherhood back to its glory days.' Both hold themselves above the law, so why should we thank the Brotherhood for introducing them?
But you may ask: why? Why were we quick to derision, and never praise? Perhaps we were jealous. Jealous of the fact that even Toa, noble warriors of Mata Nui, were not granted that great boon, and yet they, the masters of corruption, were. But the point is moot.
This is because even as relationships between the Brotherhood and the Confederacy deteriorated, so did our very way of life. Somehow... someway... from the smallest protodite to the greatest Dragon, the greatest sin came about: sloth. Even as our vigor and fire waned, even as our grandest edifices slowly crumbled to ruin, we did nothing.
The only indication of this was from our broken legends. Legends that told of spectacular feats done by Toa in the past. Feats such as taming the weather, creating storms, even sundering the very foundations of Metru Nui itself. Feats that are now impossible, and thusly, dismissed.
The reason for this was simple. We were arrogant. We were too secure in our previous way of life. And we were afraid. We did not wish to accept the truth of our own mortality--the fact that we could grow weak.
But the fact still remained. We were mortal. And so, we could be broken. But we would not... unless forced to do so.
And we would be broken. One dreary night changed our world. One night was all it took. One night to open our eyes. One night for monsters, nay, demons, to enter our world, in the boisterous retreats of Destral. One night for them to deliver their guttural message:
Your destruction is the will of the Darkened Lord... and we, the heralds of the Fracture, are his instruments.
One night. One night for these 'heralds' to destroy a sizable portion of the Recreational Sector, where many men and women, off-duty, were slain. One night for us to realize our own frailties. Yes, we did manage to defeat them... but at appalling losses. This may have been the first of these incursions... but it would not be the last.
But for every thundercloud, there is a silver lining. For, on that night, I finally realized our ruin... and that the Brotherhood would try to prevent it. On that night, I knew that we have gone done the dark path to decay.
Regretfully, centuries of wrath, of resentment, of injustice has led the Brotherhood to allow only bitter anger to fester in their hearts--and out of... desperation, they blamed only the Confederacy. They opted for a city divided, for why should they cooperate with those that have shown nothing but scorn?
And thus, began our spiraling descent to nought but destruction.
The Brotherhood rage against their injustice. The Confederacy rage against their ruin. The Mirridis, those peacekeepers, can only stand by, never biased. The Scy'Arth, those insurrectionists, laugh as the two cities spiral to the darkness...