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A note to whom it may concern from Asellus:To whom it may concern: Hello guest! I'm Asellus. -shakes your hand- Welcome to Ioqa's petpage. For a long time I had a home coming note, but I think most of the ill-will has passed from everyone's memory so hopefully anyone clicking in now is just perusing or stalking rather than coming to mock :) Ioqa has many facets to him...here, you can find stories and poems I have written for him, fan art, fan-writing, and his progress log as he and I and I have completed goals together. I hope you enjoy perusing his page! Regards, Asellus |
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About Ioqa
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About IoqaNickname: Io (ee-oh) Gender: Male Key personality traits: Arrogance, prideful, drive, grace, hard-working Interests: Training, battle, and becoming a Master; Io is driven by these goals to the exclusion of all else, though Ara tries to help him widen his perspective and interests. Dislikes: Frivolities, whimsy - Ioqa is practical nearly to a fault Petpet: Gazer the Yellow Ukali and his Mootix, Celeste |
Meeting AraPlease note - this isn't "the" story for Ioqa; my pets don't have a single defining story. Instead, this is one of many I'll write to define and refine who Io is. Like every other story, it's fluid and only a single facet of a larger whole... In the years after Ioqa came to join the Clan of Asellus, many tales were spun. Indeed, how could it be otherwise? Ioqa is and was a mighty warrior and though he is no silver-tongued diplomat, as he ages he has become fine enough at speaking to his young admirers that they leave as starry eyed as they came. But Ioqa was not always so full of inner grace and humility, and of all the stories that are told, this one is my favourite. For Ioqa when he was young was actually quite arrogant, and though learning his way out of it may not have been as fun for him at the time, it is the kind of story that is quite fun for the reader. This story begins in Meridell, the rural cousin of learn-ed Brightvale and sullen truce partner to dark Darigan Citadel. It was a hot day in Meridell; a dry kind of heat that warms your bones without drenching you in sweat, a baking heat that leaves you feeling roasted but without the humidity to make your miserable. In short, the perfect day for a Draik to soak up the sun in his hide, to reflect the shining sun off his golden scales. Ioqa was busy doing just that, lounging languidly in the sun as he perched on a sun-warmed rock, but there was no joy. No, there was no joy at all, no more than surface pleasure in the brightness of his glistening scales or the heat that penetrated to the marrow of his reptilian bones. Instead, he was very nearly listless in his apathy. He simply didn't know what to do with himself. In his command was mighty battle prowess, and surely he cut a stunning figure, but so what? Now what? The land was peaceful, and well he knew that his training on Mystery Island with the Techo Master was nearly over. When he completed his Grand Master courses, what would he do with himself? In short, Ioqa was bored, and even - though he'd admit it to none, as to do so would admit weakness - somewhat depressed. Like many, with the impending approach of goal completion, he dawdled with his coursework in the absent way one has of stretching out a goal indefinitely. If he couldn't train, what was he? He was far short of a master, and he didn't know how to make the next jump. And so he was, in poor form and poorer social grace, as a small Biscuit Kacheek happened by. Ioqa, of course, had not deigned to notice; he had bigger concerns than the simple citizenry of his homeland, and he had none of the grace then that he would learn in his later years. Though he heard her footsteps, she simply didn't interest him, and so he failed to even open his eyes at her approach. In fact, even as her voice rang out he did his best to ignore her; her soft, lilting voice gave him the impression that she was like most Kacheeks, which is to say, more concerned with fashion than anything else. In short, totally uninteresting to him. But annoyingly, at least to Ioqa, she refused to take his sullen silence for what it was worth and instead continued trying to gain his attention. "Are you okay?" she asked again, and he felt not even the slightest chagrin when he realized her first query had been in regards to his well being. Ioqa was, after all, quite arrogant as a youngster. He cracked an eye open to glare at the, in his view, insolent Kacheek. His first glance confirmed his impression; she was well dressed, well groomed, and highly coiffed. She could have even been a pampered princess, so manicured was her appearance. Certain she was of no interest to him, he shut his eye. And thus found himself soundly poked in the snout, an action which astounded him in its audacity. Growls erupted from behind his sealed lips as his eyes flew open. "Be gone," he rumbled, "Or I shall drag you to the Battle Dome!" Sure that the pest would now be gone and he could go back to worrying his own inner concerns, he shut his eyes again. But to his utter disdain, the Kacheek merely laughed. "Very well, if that's what it takes to cure you of your surliness!" Ioqa could only laugh. More the fool she was! And so they fought, but the fight was not what Ioqa, so confident in his battle prowess, had expected. Still so young and sure of his might in battle, it never crossed his mind what might lurk below the unassuming veneer of the tiny Kacheek before him. After all, if a creature such as he had not found the key to make the leap from Island graduate to Battle Master, how could one such as she? But as I am sure you have by now guessed, the Kacheek was no ordinary Kacheek; in fact, she was none other than Aramaoi, the famed Kacheek of Clan Asellus. So impudent had Ioqa been that she did not even bestow the honour of drawing out the fight to make him think he had been a worthy foe; instead, the battle was fast, bitterly quick, and in short order Ioqa found himself astounded as she sheathed her sword and grinned. She had been so far above his own battle acumen that the battle was over before he even had time to warm up. Ara bowed, the bow of a fight well fought, and though to Io the gesture smote of mockery, he soon learned otherwise. "May we speak now, Ioqa?" she asked, quietly. Everything about her, he noted sourly, was quiet – even the flash of her sword had been all but a whisper. How loud his sword had sounded next to hers. Grudgingly, the Draik nodded. "You have much potential," she told him, settling on the floor before him, "In you, I see the possibility to be much more than you are. You have a good beginning, but the early training is much easier than the later training." He nodded again in spite of himself; he had guessed as much, and he could not doubt her words anyway – she had clearly bested him. The Kacheek in front of him could be none other than a Master, much as he had mentally belittled her before the battle. A question occurred to him. "You knew my name before we spoke?" he asked, curiosity getting the best of him. She nodded. "I came looking for you, Draik. My clan leader sent me here…for you," she told him, laying a tiny Kacheek hand against his large claws. He stared at her. "Why?" The melancholy was there again, weighing as heavily as before. Soon he would graduate – and be stuck. She smiled, as if guessing his thoughts. "Because of that potential, Ioqa. You have the rough beginnings, but you have much to learn – and you are very arrogant. Opponents can take many forms – will you be beaten by a true enemy because they do not look as fierce as you?" Chagrined, Io looked away. Memory of her flashing sword rang in his thoughts. After a moment, she continued. "I have come to offer you a home, Ioqa. Asellus can help you become a Master too – but only if you can admit that you need the help. You have the building blocks to become a warrior of legend. Do you have the strength to build on that foundation, and to learn that there is more to becoming a warrior than the strength and beauty you prize?" Her words stung, but he recognized their inherent truth. He had known he had been missing something; he had assumed it was a secret. Perhaps it was, instead, character. He paced, for the first time unconscious of how the light reflected off his golden scales. "What if there is no more to me?" he finally asked. Ara only smiled. "There is," she told him, "And we can help you find it." She held out her hand. For long moments, Ioqa only stared. But today, Ioqa only laughs at that moment of hesitation, and we all know how this story ends. |
The beginningEvery pet has a beginning, every result has a start. For everything we are, there is something that started it...Ioqa is a strong fighter, but there is a reason for it. In the years after the second Meridellian war, interest in training and the Battle Dome waned sharply throughout Neopia. Why spend the money for courses? Why spend so much time and so much /work/ when..there wasn't anything to do with it? Oh, sure – there was always the Defenders of Neopia, and avatars. Most clans kept at least a token presence in the Defenders and had enough training to gain most of the prized avatars, but the culture in Neopia shifted sharply from the warrior ethos that began to grow in the days of the old Desert War and that peaked during the second Meridellian war. In fact, the year Io was born, year 9, saw the birth of the "Mall" in Neopia, and of something called "Customization" – battling and training began to be seen as uninteresting to many. It was in this clime that Ioqa was born, and to his later chagrin, it was a way of life that the young hatchling absorbed quickly. Draiks after all are generally lovely creatures who adapted quickly to the culture and were prized in many clans for that beauty. But within a year, life changed dramatically for the golden hatchling and for much of Neopia, at least for a time. Year 10, you see, saw the Return of Dr. Sloth. When the Garoo Elite Junior Squadron hit the Dome, Ioqa launched himself into the dome; at the time he prized his minor stats and thought with nothing more than patriotic zeal for love of Neopia. Around him, other younglings and token Defenders did the same. But while Io held his own against much of the Junior Squad, clumsily swinging a too-large sword he had found in the basement of his clan's armory, Ioqa soon found himself outmatched. When the Garoo Elite Strike Commanders turned out in force, Ioqa was quickly outmatched forced out of the Battle Dome. More injured in pride than body, the frustrated hatchling could only watch as other pets – relics, he had thought them before – stepped in to fight off the Sloth soldiers with grace and ease. As the Battle grew in intensity and Neopians who could keep up grew scarcer and scarcer, Ioqa had time to grow afraid. With great spirit, Ioqa threw himself into battle again – but was ejected even sooner than before. Downcast, his thoughts were dark with possible outcomes. If Dr. Sloth took over Neopia, where would he be? What would happen? Would they be slaves? Would they have to work Sloth's factories? Or..worse? But despite the darkness of his thought, Ioqa had time to be amazed; the very battlers that much of Neopia had come to scoff at as being relics of a bygone era moved with grace and speed as new and stronger waves of enemy assaulted Neopia. Battle Masters, they were called, and their mastery showed in their economy of movement, in the grace of their swords, in the grim peace on their features as neither anger nor joy touched them as they fought. Though he had seen demonstrative fights before, especially for the training of lower level fighters, and Ioqa did have some lower level skills as a hatchling, he had never seen the true grace that these warriors possessed. And he saw it then, and was fascinated. In the end, of course, Dr. Sloth was beaten. Ioqa played only the smallest of roles because he hadn't the strength for more. But from tragedy can come triumph, and for Ioqa, this was true. He had not been a warrior when Sloth made his bid for Neopia, and so the burden of casting out the evil villain had fallen to others who were more capable. But Ioqa had learned that fighting was not an outdated skill, and though others might perhaps grow complacent again…he would not. One day, he knew, evil would come again – in the past, it always had. But he would not be caught short-handed again; he vowed that next time, he would be ready. Next time, he would fight. And one day, he would be a Master. |
The Forging of IoqaThe tales of Ioqa's prowess, even from when he was a prideful, self-righteous youngster, abound. And this is as it should be, for with over 1,000 battles fought and won, even as he worked towards becoming a Battle Master he vanquished many a foe But the life of a warrior sounds glamourous to one who has not lived it, and the true test of one's mettle is not in training matches no matter how skilled the opponent – it is on the battlefield. Though Ioqa's hard-fought wins would be regaled often when the war concluded, there is only one that he himself would tell young aspirants later in life, and it goes like this: In the thick of the battlefield, in a rare moment of stillness, Ioqa stood. It was twilight, but a dark twilight. His golden scales gleamed beneath a thick rime of filth in the places where the dirt wasn't caked thickly. The air stank of magic and fear, and in the back of everyone's mind was Faerieland. Would it fall? Would it crash? How many lives would be lost? And where were the shadows come from? The sorceress Xandra was casting frantically, but the shadows still came, thicker and faster than before. Cut one down and three more took its place, and the battle was wearing. Covered in the dirt and grime of battle, the Draik worried. The wraiths were getting harder to defeat. He was stronger than many Neopians, and they were getting hard even for him…and the wraiths just kept coming. Would Neopia fall from sheer exhaustion? For the moment, they were between waves. But even as he thought this and breathed deeply, rolling his shoulders to stretch abused muscles, feral crimson eyes began to glow in the darkness. The wraiths were back. And in a moment that isn't really a moment at all, but instead that split second of thought between cause and effect, it seemed to Ioqa as if the world were laid in front of him. As if there were two paths, and he could choose. One path was both beautiful and deadly, dark with a virulent sweetness to it that he craved almost like one dying of thirst craved water. He could lay down his sword, cast off his shield – he could fall to his knees and close his eyes. He could sleep. He could let the wraiths come. He could fall. He could succumb, And behind him, all of Neopia would follow.. The other path dark as well, and ran uphill, thick with wraiths and flying swords and raised shields. The path was loud, the path was dirty. The path…was battle. On this path, Ioqa would fight, fight every last wraith with every last bit of strength he possessed. This path was hard, it was dangerous, and it was unpleasant. And worse yet, there was no promise of success. He could fight with every breath he had and the wraiths might still gain the upperhand, might still subjugate Neopia. Faerieland might still fall. . But on the latter path, he would fight because he could – because he had the strength that others didn't. If he gave up, who would fight for those that couldn't? Snarling at the wraiths before him, Ioqa grinned a grin that was no grin at all; a grotesque rictus stretched his face, one full of sharp teeth and dangerous laughter. There was no choice – if there had ever been one, he had made it long ago when he began to train. He would fight. He would destroy each shadow that crossed his path, each dark wraith that threatened those around him. He would fight because he could – and he would fight because it was who he was. His cry echoing even in the darkness around him, Ioqa charged, his sword drawn before him, glinting dully in the dim light that perfuses every battlefield. Before him, the shadow wraith he targeted froze, confused by the change in demeanor, and with almost no thought at all, with one fell swoop of his sword, the creature was gone, banished to the darkness from whence it came. Without pause, Io picked another target and flung himself into the fray, his sword flashing and ringing, nearly singing as he swung it towards each new target. In the heat of battle, in the heat of each new target, Ioqa forgot his exhaustion, forgot his doubts, forgot his fears – forgot that he had ever had any life outside of this, outside of the slashing of his sword and the dull clanging against his shield. For a while, it seemed to him as if he ceased to be anything but the battle itself and the heavy thud in his limbs each time his sword found a new target, each new villain one more step in a dance he had long ago memorized and forgotten until just this moment. And when that moment ended, when his sword found now targets and no more villainous red eyes taunted in the darkness, Ioqa came back to himself with a deep, shuddering breath. Shaking his limbs to stretch and dispel the heavy, warm ache that seemed part and parcel of his muscles, he surveyed the scene. They were between waves again. They would come again, he knew. In the sky, Faerieland was still falling. Perhaps it would truly fall. But Ioqa knew which path his feet trod upon, and he would not deviate. If they lost, he would only regret that he had not become a Master so he could fight more – he would not regret the fight. He had made this choice so long ago… And this time, when the next wave came, there was no hesitation. Raising his sword, he charged – and he knew he would do so again and again until the battle found its outcome, whatever it may be. For he was Ioqa, and thus, he was the battle. He could be nothing else. |
Gazer
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Finding GazerThe fight to save the faeries from Xandra and her wraiths was a series of dark days for Neopia, a time in our history -- however modern it may be -- that would make or break many Neopets. Countless hopefuls hit the battlefield, throwing themselves into the fight with nothing but a few weapons and determination. Most of them were able to hold back a few enemies, but the sheer overpowering numbers would batter most of them into limping off the battlefield. Heroes would be forged on the field of war -- but as in any forge, some would be broken, too. Ioqa, the golden Draik of legend, refused to be broken. By the time the Faeries' Ruin war erupted, he had already earned a name for himself as a fine warrior -- he was Ioqa the Brave to some, and Ioqa the Mighty to others (and, sometimes, Ioqa the Arrogant, but this story isn't about that particular nickname). Regardless of what one knew him as, he was no stranger to battle, and unlike the overly enthusiastic green warriors who thronged beside him, he approached the fight with nothing more or less than grim determination. Though the enemies often threatened to overwhelm him, he was determined to prove that he was forged of the finest steel and would not bend or break when Neopia needed its heroes the most. Before the war ended, hundreds of thousands of wraiths had invaded Neopia and engaged its warriors in a grueling test of mettle. They faced defeat hundreds at a time but their strength was in numbers, not ferocity or skill, and as they kept coming, they wore down some of even the finest Neopia had to offer in its defense. Seasoned though he was, even Ioqa wasn't immune to the numbing, disheartening nature of fighting against overwhelming numbers. In the times since, it has been said both that Ioqa stayed strong throughout the intimidating tedium and that the aloof Draik made no friends on the battlefield -- neither of these statements is entirely accurate, however. You see, there did come a moment -- several, actually, but only one with tangible effects -- where the gloom of an extended battle had demoralized the golden Draik to the extent where he actually thought of abstaining. These moments usually came in the lulls between waves, after he had felled dozens of wraiths but knew he was only minutes from another crushing wave, when his muscles were sore from holding his shield and swinging his sword and the ever-present dust of battle made him long for a hot shower more than fighting more wraiths. During the worst of these, when he began to think he wanted nothing more than to give up the fight, he even began to question why he fought. To be honest, he was never terribly social; very few touched his heart, and he didn't even like most other Neopets. Why, then, should he fight for them? Why should he care? Why should he spend his strength to protect those who could not? On some level he knew it was only battle fatigue talking, for though he was no socialite, he did long to right what wrongs he could and make Neopia a better place. In that moment, however, it made a dark kind of sense. Why did he care? What, or who, was he fighting for? It was in that moment that a very strange thing happened. On the battlefield, there are many sounds, and most of them are jarring until you grow used to them. There is the heavy tromp of many booted feet, the clash of claws scrabbling against shields. There is the dull clank of shields being wielded and the fierce metallic ring of swords clanging against one another, and even the occasional droning of a blaster. There are shouts, bangs, and wordless cries, and after a short time in a fight, none of them stand out as noteworthy -- but it was in his worst moment on the field, when sweat dripped and dust clung to him, when Ioqa sighed as sore muscles protested his every movement, that the Draik heard the strangest sound. It was one so unusual, so unexpected, that it stood out immediately amidst the battle clamor, quiet though it was. If you have never heard a Ukali mewl and cry, it is a strange sound -- a cross between a baby Chia's cry, a Kadoatie's yowl, and Puppyblew's whine. It was this sound that Ioqa heard, although at first, having never met a Ukali, he didn't recognize it. In the midst of other warriors, none of whom appeared to notice the odd sound, he sought out its source. There, on the battlefield, trapped amongst a pile of discarded shields, was a small Petpet. Annoyed at the distraction, Ioqa freed the small creature from its unintentional prison; much to his chagrin, the Ukali clung to him and mewed piteously. Go away," he told it gruffly, "This is no place for a Petpet! Especially, he thought, one has tiny and helpless as this little Ukali. The Petpet didn't leave, though, and clung even more fiercely to its rescuer, doing its best to cleave to the Draik who had brought it to relative safety. I can't have a Petpet!" he told it, baffled. "I'm a warrior, not a Petpetsitter. But somehow, without his knowing exactly how it got there, the Ukali burrowed its way into the crook of his arm, between his body and his shield. Miraculously, it stopped crying at once, and Ioqa could only stare at the now-content Petpet. You can't like me," he grumbled, for he was convinced that no one did. The Ukali, however, seemed to radiate contentment, and slowly, Ioqa relaxed. Ioqa may have even smiled, though he would deny it today. For Ioqa it could only be described as a sense of wellness, a sense of rightness, as if a missing piece of a puzzle had just clicked into place. He had been well and truly claimed by the little Petpet, and it was immediately apparent that nothing short of cataclysm would ever separate them. But that, he realized, was well and truly possible -- if the wraiths overran Neopia, who knew what would happen to his new little friend! It was a thought Ioqa could not bear; his navel-gazing would have to be put aside. It was a distraction that neither he, nor Neopia, nor the little Ukali -- Gazer, he decided -- could afford. The rest of the battle is, of course, history. Ioqa, though younger then, was already a capable, well-trained warrior, and with his motivation safely back on track, his fierce record in battle knew no bounds. Gazer has been with him faithfully ever since, as near to Ioqa's shadow as any living creature could ever be. |
Progress LogThis section will help track Ioqa's progress. Trophy Progress:
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Fan Art! Ioqa by Sticky! Thank you! :* Fan Writing!By sinistrous: I train train train train train train In a class the whole day through To train train train train train train Is what I like to do It ain't no trick to get tough quick If you train train train with a sword or a stick In a class, in a class, in a class, in a class Where a million others shine I train for strength by the hour. A thousand codestones sometimes more But I don't know what I train for. I train train train train train Io. Io. Io. It's off to class I go. Io. Io. Io. |
PoetryIoqa and the Faerie Poogle by Agedbeauty Ioqa flew, gold scales agleam Content that alone he did fly. Confidently, he flew truly, Forward through clouds in great supply. Until one day he chanced to meet Amidst the clouds one sunny day, One old bright soul who flew along, In the form of a Poogle Fae. She had a laugh that rang like bells, And a smile that seemed only to grow. Greetings, fine Ioqa," said she, Wherefore does your smile fail to show? Fly on, my Poogle Fae," said he, This flying is for me alone. So said, he flew smartly forward, For he refused to be outshone. But this fine Poogle Fae was bold, And this Poogle Fae could well fly. Each wingstroke she did match neatly, With a face both solemn and wry. And said she, "Flying is a dance, And dances are best wrought in pairs. Won't you dance, my Ioqa fine, As we alight upon the airs? Inside Ioqa, a strange thing Woke and spurred him to grasp the chance, To share the beauty he'd kept alone, With one he knew also loved the dance. So they flew, lavender and gold, Filling the sky with their wonder. Upwards and downwards, through clouds, Through sunlight, over and under. Draik of Gold and Poogle Fae, Whirled and dove through the sky of blue. With joy infusing each wing-beat, As his dance of one spread to two. And when she left, her smile broad, Who had dared not to dance alone, Ioqa dared to smile too, For their dance had the sun outshone. |
Credit I IZ NOT A THEEF!
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