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Description
Description of Toa Omo
From Rannok's perspective

When I saw him I almost fell backward. He must've been at least twice as tall as almost any other Toa, going on about 14 feet! Possibly as tall as a Kaita! He towered over Hermit, with her eyes coming just over his waist. He was built like a God, with muscle mass rivaling the strongest Po-Toa. Broad shoulders held broad arms and hid his neck away. His torso was built to the dreamboat specifications of many females I've met. And his legs looked like a well landed kick would topple a mountain.
His armor was a cluttered mess of different types, likely because his size and unique form called for specialities. protective fabrics, chain mail, modernized, classic, and even hunks of solid metal dotted his suit. He stood silently, with his nose and mouth shrouded by a zip-up collar.
When he finally peered my way, his deep, metallic brown eyes looked far past my mask and into my very soul. He didn't twitch when I drew my weapon, he was a massive pit of no emotion. On him, I saw no weapon. Come to think of it, I couldn't figure his mask type out. I came out to conversation with him, I inquired about his mask. He replied in a booming baritone voice as deep as Makuta's that he wore a Calix, he told me it looked funny because "thats the way I was made." His speech patterns were direct and in no need of clarification. He also told me he was the same race as Hermit, Toa of Oil. And he had no tool, only himself as one.
This fucker was a legend waiting to be told!

Description
Description of Toa Omo
From Rannok's perspective

When I saw him I almost fell backward. He must've been at least twice as tall as almost any other Toa, going on about 14 feet! Possibly as tall as a Kaita! He towered over Hermit, with her eyes coming just over his waist. He was built like a God, with muscle mass rivaling the strongest Po-Toa. Broad shoulders held broad arms and hid his neck away. His torso was built to the dreamboat specifications of many females I've met. And his legs looked like a well landed kick would topple a mountain.
His armor was a cluttered mess of different types, likely because his size and unique form called for specialities. protective fabrics, chain mail, modernized, classic, and even hunks of solid metal dotted his suit. He stood silently, with his nose and mouth shrouded by a zip-up collar.
When he finally peered my way, his deep, metallic brown eyes looked far past my mask and into my very soul. He didn't twitch when I drew my weapon, he was a massive pit of no emotion. On him, I saw no weapon. Come to think of it, I couldn't figure his mask type out. I came out to conversation with him, I inquired about his mask. He replied in a booming baritone voice as deep as Makuta's that he wore a Calix, he told me it looked funny because "thats the way I was made." His speech patterns were direct and in no need of clarification. He also told me he was the same race as Hermit, Toa of Oil. And he had no tool, only himself as one.
This fucker was a legend waiting to be told!