The Rahi That Walk Like Us



Chronicled by Demak of the Akutana e-Metru Nui (written by Makuta of Salt).


I had initially planned to study and report my findings regarding the island of Kadrah; however, this documentation exists to detail unexpected events that happened during the journey the exploration crew and I undertook to visit said island. It began when a fog rolled in; I remember the boat captain finding it unusual as the humidity was low for most of our travels. What I found odd was, despite the fog being thick as minced Bula Berries, the sky was still crystal clear. It felt like there was a ceiling for how high the fog went, and that ceiling moved whenever someone went on top of the boat to get a view of anything. We didn’t know what forces were at play. Maybe it was the Great Spirit himself who was behind the fog, but we knew something didn’t want us to see where we were going. We weren’t the only ones to come through here, as we narrowly avoided many a half-sunken wrecks adrift in the ocean.


Eventually, we hit land - and I mean that literally. We didn’t know we’d come ashore until the boat came to an abrupt halt. Upon closer inspection, I was barely able to make out the sands below. As my feet touched the shore, I noticed the island we had landed on was utterly free of any fog. Looking back to the boat, it looked like it was jutting out of an ethereal gray wall that surrounded the edge of the island. I asked the Captain if he’d ever encountered something like this; he told me that usually a wall of fog this thick gradually fades away as you move out of it. He’d never seen a cut-and-dried line where the fog began and ended.


The Captain and his crew advised camping on the beach for the night, hoping the fog would roll out in the morning. We didn’t make a campfire, as we had no idea if this was the island we’d meant to land on, and we didn’t want to attract any hostile natives or Rahi looking for a late-night snack. Someone kept watch while the rest of us slept, which we did less because we needed rest and more to hasten our time there. I remember laying on one of the cots brought out by the crew, looking up at the starry night sky. I was both enthralled by curiosity and afraid for the lives of me and the crew who’d been brave enough to journey all the way to the Southern Islands with no promise of profit beyond what I’d paid them. If something happened, I didn’t want the crew to get hurt because of my curiosity. I closed my eyes and prayed for safety as I drifted to sleep.


It must have been only a few hours later that I was shaken awake by a crewmember. He said the lookout saw what appeared to be another Matoran observing us from the trees past the shoreline. The unknown Matoran was gone now, evidently having head back through the trees. This was fascinating information for us, as other Matoran could only mean civilization. We could get some help, maybe some answers regarding the fog. I remember someone wondering aloud if they had gotten lost in it as we had. I volunteered to investigate further into the island to find the Matoran, requesting only one other person to come with me as I thought it best that the rest stay near the boat. The lookout, a Fa-Matoran navigator, spoke up; he said that since he was the one who saw the Matoran, he’d be the best to look for them. So we took a small amount of supplies, just in case, and headed on our way deeper into the island.


We moved deeper into the trees and brush, cutting our way through as needed. The Navigator had a machete, and I a hatchet. Eventually, the lookout stopped me in my tracks, listening intently. He had heard movement that wasn’t us, and pointed towards a nearby clearing. Sure enough, we saw a group of small, unkempt huts populated by a handful of Matoran, one of which was the one the Navigator recognized. He was about to move from the cover of the foliage to talk to them, but I stopped him. Something didn’t feel right about them to me. Their armor was as disheveled as their homes; even if they had been here for several years, they would have more upkeep on things as crucial as shelter and physical care to prevent rust. The color of their masks and armor were indistinguishable with the green and brown smears from dried grass and dirt stains covering them. Then there were their eyes - lit like a living Matoran, but seemingly fogged over. They had a glassy look you’d find in less intelligent Rahi, like a Nui-Jaga.


Just as I had pointed that out to the Navigator, another Matoran emerged from the brush into the clearing dragging a dead Nui-Jaga by the tail with seemingly no effort. The other Matoran quickly rushed over to the catch, all talking in a tongue not expected from such a group. They were speaking in sounds one would expect to hear more from a Rahi: the telltale hisses, clicks, and growls associated with beasts. It was here things took a turn - the Matoran began to rip the flesh from the scorpion with their hands and teeth, consuming the raw meat and skin with ravenous hunger. They were covered in the viscera of their kill, pulling it apart with ease and strength that shouldn’t come naturally to anything our size. We witnessed two fighting over a large chunk of the carcass, pulling at the ends with their teeth while growling at each other like a pair of Kavinika wolves. These may have looked like Matoran, but they were nothing more than Rahi in thought and instinct. I heard my comrade audibly gag, clearly disgusted by the sight before him. Unfortunately, the Rahi-like Matoran heard him as well. They all whipped around and looked directly at us, but didn’t attack yet. Perhaps they were confused that we looked like those of their “pack” but weren’t familiar, or maybe they wanted to let us make the first move so they could give chase. As much as I was curious to see if we could communicate with them, my fear was stronger and took control of my legs. We bolted from our hiding spot and back towards the boat, behind us I could hear the pack speeding after in pursuit. I glanced back at the predators, some were running on two legs, others moved like Brakas monkeys, and those gaining on us were running on all fours as if they were made to do so despite their anatomy. The Navigator was able to lead us back out to shore through the dark maze of dense trees and growth. There’s a reason Matoran of Magnetism are sought out to crew boats, and I was thankful one was here to guide me that day or else I may not have gotten the chance to etch this story to tablet. We shouted to the others to get the boat out on the shore as we left the trees. They looked confused seeing us bolt towards them fearing for our lives, but soon the animalistic Matoran left the brush and snarled after us. They quickly understood the danger and quickly got the boat ready to depart. I was able to clamber onto the boat with the Navigator following suit. The boat shoved off just as the pack caught up, clawing at the hull of the craft as it moved out of their reach and into the sea with the impenetrable fog. They didn't chase after us once we were in the fog - maybe they weren’t good in the water, perhaps the fog deterred them, or maybe we just weren’t worth the trouble of going that far out.

Everyone was silent as we moved through the thick mist. The crew wanted to get through to the open sea again before trying to process what they saw, and the only way to do that was to not talk other than shout orders for guiding the boat through the minefield of shipwrecks. I heard a collective sigh of relief as we finally saw the clear night sky. It was like waking up from a nightmare, but the encounter was all too real. Now out of immediate danger, the rest of the crew wanted to know just what happened to me and their navigator. The reactions to our tale ranged from bewildered to a look that said they wouldn’t have believed us if they hadn’t seen it themselves.

Once everyone got their bearings using the stars and headed back in the direction of Kadrah, whispered speculation how these Matoran became savage lingered throughout the night. One thought it was a result of them going mad from isolation, but the Navigator disagreed and restated their strength and movement wasn’t something a Matoran gained from sheer madness. Another posited the theory that it was the result of eating raw Rahi meat that gave them their abilities but lessened their intelligence. When one asked about the permanent ring of fog, no one had a good answer for that. It was obvious it wasn’t natural, but in all their travels no one on the boat had seen anything able to create a fog that just lingered with a hard start and end to it. The way the crew talked about it, they assumed the fog was there before the “Rahi-toran” as they called them; I don’t think that’s the case however. I couldn’t help but wonder if this was to keep others from finding the island - and if they did find it, it’d be very difficult to leave without ending up another abandoned wreck.


I personally recommend that no other Chroniclers attempt to find this island or interact with its unique inhabitants, there’s a very likely chance you’d never get to share the tale.

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